cornell university library ps . a the autobiography of an ex-colored man. olin date due dans lars oct . oct for gaylord printed in u.s.a. - the autobiography of an ex-colored man lege quod legas boston sherman, french & company preface this vivid and startlingly new picture of con- ditions brought about by the race question in the united states makes no special plea for the ne- gro, but shows in a dispassionate, though sympa- thetic, manner conditions as they actually exist between the whites and blacks to-day. special pleas have already been made for and against the negro in hundreds of books, but in these books either his virtues or his vices have been exag- gerated. this is because writers, in nearly every instance, have treated the colored american as a whole; each has taken some one group of the race to prove his case. not before has a composite and proportionate presentation of the entire race, embracing all of its various groups and elements, showing their relations with each other and to the whites, been made. it is very likely that the negroes of the united states have a fairly correct idea of what the white people of the country think of them, for that opinion has for a long time been and is still being constantly stated; but they are themselves more or less a sphinx to the whites. it is curiously in- teresting and even vitally important to know what tesse Ų the motives which prompt me to do it. i feel ski chapter i i know that in writing the following pages i am divulging the great secret of my life, the se- cret which for some years i have guarded far more carefully than any of my earthly posses- sions; and it is a curious study to me to analyze that i am led by the same impulse which forces the unfound-out criminal to take somebody into his confidence, although he knows that the act is liable, even almost certain, to lead to his undoing. i know that i am playing with fire, and i feel the thrill which accompanies that most_fascinating pastime; and, back of it all, i think i find a sortdancer of savage and diabolical desire to gather up all the little tragedies of my life, and turn them into almost a practical joke on society.write society and, too, i suffer a vague feeling of un- criminal satisfaction, of regret, of almost remorse from which i am seeking relief, and of which i shall speak in the last paragraph of this ac- count. i was born in a little town of georgia a few years after the close of the civil war. i shall not mention the name of the town, because there is «Гue burning of like حم) but altra finn alto an, wat ass the autobiography of one; was are people still living there who could be con- nected with this narrative. i have only a faint recollection of the place of my birth. at times i can close my eyes, and call up in a dream-like way things that seem to have happened ages ago in some other world. i can see in this half vision a little house, i am quite sure it was not a large i can remember that flowers grew in the front yard, and that around each bed of flowers a hedge of vari-colored glass bottles stuck in the ground neck down. i remember that once, while playing around in the sand, i became cu- rious to know whether or not the bottles grew as the flowers did, and i proceeded to dig them up to find out; the investigation brought me a ter- rific spanking which indelibly fixed the incident in my mind. i can remember, too, that behind the house was a shed under which stood two or three wooden wash-tubs. these tubs were the earliest aversion of my life, for regularly on certain even- ings i was plunged into one of them, and scrubbed until my skin ached. skin ached. i can remember to this day the pain caused by the strong, rank soap getting into my eyes. back from the house a vegetable garden ran, perhaps, seventy-five or one hundred feet; but to my childish fancy it was an endless territory. i can still recall the thrill of joy, excitement and wonder it gave me to go on an exploring expe- dition through it, to find the blackberries, both کرے کہ میر سے ابر - اس کے رد پره د مور در r سے مر مر گیا ہے سر - - of eritre chipcfers an ex-colored man هام ل ) ( la ripe and green, that grew along the edge of the fence. i remember with what pleasure i used to ar- el rive at, and stand before, a little enclosure in which stood a patient cow chewing her cud, how i would occasionally offer her through the bars a piece of my bread and molasses, and how i would jerk back my hand in half doi fright if she made any motion to accept my offer. i have a dim recollection of several people who moved in and about this little house, but i have a distinct mental image of only two; one, my mother, and the other, a tall man with a small, dark mustache. i remember that his shoes or boots were always shiny, and that he wore a gold min " chain and a great gold watch with which he was always willing to let me play. my admiration was almost equally divided between the watch and chain and the shoes. he used to come to the house evenings, perhaps two or three times a week; and it became my appointed duty when- ever he came to bring him a pair of slippers, and to put the shiny shoes in a particular corner; he often gave me in return for this service a bright coin which my mother taught me to promptly drop in a little tin bank. i remember distinctly the last time this tall man came to the little house in georgia; that evening before i went to bed he took me up in his arms, and squeezed me very cf the autobiography of lutet after through a ten-dollar gold piece, and then tie the tightly; my mother stood behind his chair wiping tears from her eyes. i remember how i sat upon his knee, and watched him laboriously drill a hole is obviously ist is monetary coin around my neck with a string. i have worn that gold piece around my neck the greater part of my life, and still possess it, but more than once i have wished that some other way had been found of attaching it to me besides putting a hole ? ithrough it. on the day after the coin was put around my neck my mother and i started on what seemed to me an endless journey. i knelt on the seat and watched through the train window the corn and cotton fields pass swiftly by until i fell asleep. when i fully awoke we were being driven through the streets of a large city–savannah. i sat up and blinked at the bright lights. at savannah we boarded a steamer which finally landed us in new york. from new york we went to a town in connecticut, which became the home of my boy- hood. my mother and i lived together in a little cot- tage which seemed to me to be fitted up almost luxuriously; there were horse-hair covered chairs in the parlor, and a little square piano; there was a stairway with red carpet on it leading to a half second story; there were pictures on the walls, and a few books in a glass-doored case. my mother dressed me very neatly, and i devel- an ex-colored man once again entral oped that pride which well-dressed boys gener- ally have. she was careful about my associates, and i myself was quite particular. as i look back now i can see that i was a perfect little wordeu aristocrat. my mother rarely went to anyone's house, but she did sewing, and there were a great many ladies coming to our cottage. if i were around they would generally call me, and ask me my name and age and tell my mother what a pretty boy i was. some of them would pat me on the head and kiss me. my mother was kept very busy with her sew- ing; sometimes she would have another woman helping her. i think she must have derived a fair income from her work. i know, too, that at least once each month she received a letter; i used to watch for the postman, get the letter, and run to her with it; whether she was busy or not she would take it and instantly thrust it into her bosom. i never saw her read one of them. i knew later that these letters contained money and, what was to her, more than money. as busy as she generally was she, however, found time to teach me my letters and figures and how to spell a number of easy words. always on sunday evenings she opened the little square piano, and picked out hymns. i can recall now that when- ever she played hymns from the book her tempos were always decidedly largo. sometimes on other evenings when she was not sewing she would play the autobiography of how more. no one knew but she. the memory of that pic- simple accompaniments to some old southern songs which she sang. in these songs she was freer, because she played them by ear. those even- ings on which she opened the little piano were the happiest hours of my childhood. whenever she started toward the instrument i used to fol- low her with all the interest and irrepressible joy that a pampered pet dog shows when a package is opened in which he knows there is a sweet bit for him. i used to stand by her side, and often interrupt and annoy her by chiming in with strange harmonies which i found either on the high keys of the treble or low keys of the bass. i remember that i had a particular fondness for the black keys. always on such evenings, when the music was over, my mother would sit with me in her arms often for a very long time. she would hold me close, softly crooning some old melody without words, all the while gently strok- ing her face against my head; many and many a night i thus fell asleep. i can see her now, her great dark eyes looking into the fire, to where? ture has more than once kept me from straying too far from the place of purity and safety in which her arms held me. at a very early age i began to thump on the piano alone, and it was not long before i was able to pick out a few tunes. w en years old i could play by ear all of the hymns longs for embrace mustached مع رله جرار was seven an ex-colored man ry -- リ​aoi's and songs that my mother knew. i had also learned the names of the notes in both clefs, but i preferred not to be hampered by notes. about this time several ladies for whom my mother, sewed heard me play, and they persuaded her that i should at once be put under a teacher; so arrangements were made for me to study the piano with a lady who was a fairly good musi- cian; at the same time arrangements were made for me to study my books with this lady's daugh- ter. my music teacher had no small difficulty at first in pinning me down to the notes. if she played my lesson over for me i invariably at- tempted to reproduce the required sounds with- out the slightest recourse to the written charac- titt bituin ters. her daughter, my other teacher, also had to her worries. she found that, in reading, when- & fisani ever i came to words that were difficult or unfa- , fiskaits miliar i was prone to bring my imagination to the rescue and read from the picture. she has laughingly told me, since then, that i would some- v times substitute whole sentences and even para- graphs from what meaning i thought the illus- ime grubase i trations, conveyed. she said she sometimes was not only amused at the fresh treatment i would give an author's subject, but that when i gave some new and sudden turn to the plot of the story she often grew interested and even excited in lis- tening to hear what kind of a denouement i would bring about. but i am sure this was not due to the autobiography of imagination again dullness, for i made rapid progress in both my music and my books. and so, for a couple of years my life was di- vided between my music and my school books. music took up the greater part of my time. i had no playmates, but amused myself with games -some of them my own invention—which could be played alone. i knew a few boys whom i had met at the church which i attended with my mother, but i had formed no close friendships with any of them. then, when i was nine years old, my mother decided to enter me in the public school, so all at once i found myself thrown among a crowd of boys of all sizes and kinds; some of them seemed to me like savages. i shall never forget the bewilderment, the pain, the heart-sick- ness of that first day at school. i seemed to be the only stranger in the place; every other boy seemed to know every other boy. i was fortu- nate enough, however, to be assigned to a teacher who knew me; my mother made her dresses. she was one of the ladies who used to pat me on the head and kiss me. she had the tact to address a few words directly to me; this gave me a cer- tain sort of standing in the class, and put me somewhat at ease. within a few days i had made one staunch friend, and was on fairly good terms with most of the boys. i was shy of the girls, and remained so; even now, a word or look from a pretty stainch" etc an ex-colored man woman sets me all a-tremble. this friend i bound to me with hooks of steel in a very simple way: he was a big awkward boy with a face full of freckles and a head full of very red hair. he was perhaps fourteen years of age; that is, four or five years older than any other boy in the class. this seniority was due to the fact that he had spent twice the required amount of time in sev- eral of the preceding classes. i had not been at school many hours before i felt that "red head” -as i involuntarily called him—and i were to be friends. i do not doubt that this feeling was strengthened by the fact that i had been quick enough to see that a big, strong boy was a friend more of to be desired at a public school; and, perhaps, in a struice spite of his dullness, "red head” had been able . lation, to discern that i could be of service to him. at any rate there was a simultaneous mutual attrac- tion. the teacher had strung the class promiscu- ously round the walls of the room for a sort of trial heat for places of rank; when the line was straightened out i found that by skillful maneu- vering i had placed myself third, and had piloted "“red head” to the place next to me. the teacher began by giving us to spell the words corresponding to our order in the line. “spell first.” “spell second.” “spell third.” tled off, “t-h-i-r-d, third,” in a way which said, “why don't you give us something hard?” as the autobiography of the words went down the line i could see how lucky i had been to get a good place together with an easy word. as young as i was i felt im- pressed with the unfairness of the whole proceed- ing when i saw the tailenders going down be- fore "twelfth” and “twentieth," and i felt sorry for those who had to spell such words in order to hold a low position. “spell fourth.” “red head," with his hands clutched tightly behind his back, began bravely, “f-o-r-t-h.” like a flash a score of hands went up, and the teacher began saying, “no snapping of fingers, no snapping of fingers." this was the first word missed, and it seemed to me that some of the scholars were about to lose their senses; some were dancing up and down foot with a hand above their heads, the fingers working furiously, and joy beaming all over their faces; others stood still, their hands raised not so high, their fingers working less rapidly, and their faces expressing not quite so much hap- piness; there were still others who did not move raise their hands, but stood with great wrinkles on their foreheads, looking very thought- nimi on one nor ful. the whole thing was new to me, and i did not raise my hand, but slyly whispered the letter "u” to "red head" several times. “second chance," said the teacher. the hands went down and the class became quiet. “red head,” his face now an ex-colored man red, after looking beseechingly at the ceiling, then pitiably at the floor, began very haltingly, “f-u-.” immediately an impulse to raise hands went through the class, but the teacher checked it, and poor “red head,” though he knew that each letter he added only took him farther out of the way, went doggedly on and finished, “r-t-h.” the hand raising was now repeated with more hubbub and excitement than at first. those who before had not moved a finger were now waving their hands above their heads. “red head” felt that he was lost. he looked very big and foolish, and some of the scholars began to snicker. his helpless condition went straight to my heart, and gripped my sympathies. i felt that if he failed it would in some way be my failure. i raised my hand, and under cover of the excitement and the teacher's attempts to regain order, i hur- riedly shot up into his ear twice, quite distinctly, “f-o-u-r-t-h," "f-o-u-r-t-h.” the teacher tapped on her desk and said, “third and last chance." the hands came down, the silence became oppres- wic, sive “red head” began, “f”— since that day i have waited anxiously for many a turn of the wheel of fortune, but never under greater ten- sion than i watched for the order in which those letters would fall from “red's" lips—“o-u-r-t-h.” a sigh of relief and disappointment went uptocy from the class. afterwards, through all our tant school days, “red head” shared my wit and scafe gaat an ex-colored man of them as "niggers.” sometimes on the way home from school a crowd would walk behind them repeating: "nigger, nigger, never die, black face and shiny eye." on one such afternoon one of the black boys turned suddenly on his tormentors, and hurled a slate; it struck one of the white boys in the mouth, cutting a slight gash in his lip. at sight of the blood the boy who had thrown the slate ran, and his companions quickly followed. we ran after jo them pelting them with stones until they sepa-fe wores rated in several directions. i was very much ejen wrought up over the affair, and went home and though told my mother how one of the "niggers” had auritird struck a boy with a slate. i shall never forget how she turned on me. “don't is fitan you ever use that word again,” she said, “and don't you ever bother the colored children at school. you ought to be presid's ashamed of yourself." i did hang my head in view balansee? shame, but not because she had convinced me ace la that i had done wrong, but because i was hurt by the first sharp word she had ever given me. my school days ran along very pleasantly. i stood well in my studies, not always so well with regard to my behavior. i was never guilty of any serious misconduct, but my love of fun sometimes got me into trouble. i remember, however, that the autobiography of یکم فر کرد و - god ༣༩ my sense of humor was so sly that most of the trouble usually fell on the head of the other fel- low. my ability to play on the piano at school exercises was looked upon as little short of mar- velous in a boy of my age. i was not chummy with many of my mates, but, on the whole, was about as popular as it is good for a boy to be. one day near the end of my second term at school the principal came into our room, and after talking to the teacher, for some reason said, "i wish all of the white scholars to stand for a mo- ment." i rose with the others. the teacher looked at me, and calling my name said, “you sit down for the present, and rise with the others." i did not quite understand her, and questioned, “ma'm?” she repeated with a softer tone in her voice, "you sit down now, and rise with the others.” i sat down dazed. i saw and heard nothing. when the others were asked to rise i did not know it. when school was dismissed i went out in a kind of stupor. a few of the white boys jeered me, saying, “oh, you're a nigger too." i heard some black children say, “we knew he was colored.” “shiny" said to them, “come along, don't tease him," and thereby won my undying gratitude. i hurried on as fast as i could, and had gone some distance before i perceived that “red head” was walking by my side. after a while he said to me, “le’ me carry your books." i gave him chapter ii since i have grown older i have often gone back and tried to analyze the change that came into my life after that fateful day in school. there did come a radical change, and, young as i was, i felt fully conscious of it, though i did not fully comprehend it. like my first spanking, it is one of the few incidents in my life that i can h mains, remember clearly. i in the life of every one there very is a limited number of unhappy experiences which litle ij are not written upon the memory, but stamped there with a die; and in long years after they can " memories be called up in detail, and every emotion that was thought testirred by them can be lived through anew; these tetail are the tragedies of life. we may grow to in- needed clude some of them among the trivial incidents of for histos childhood-a broken toy, a promise made to us which was not kept, a harsh, heart-piercing word "ontras - but these, too, as well as the bitter experiences tas and disappointments of mature years, are the tragedies of life. and so i have often lived through that hour, that day, that week in which was wrought the miracle of my transition from one world into an- other; for i did indeed pass into another world. r in his minsi ، اور کرنے اور an ex-colored man strange how title is "ex-colorry jins a (tis teangiten i ultite celoku hokes a distinton from that time i looked out through other eyes, my thoughts were colored, my words dictated, my actions limited by one dominating, all-pervading idea which constantly increased in force and weight until i finally realized in it a great, tan- gible fact. and this is the dwarfing, warping, distorting influence which operates upon each colored man in the united states. he is forced to take his outlook on all things, not from the viewpoint of a citizen, or a man, nor even a human being, but from the viewpoint of a colored man. it is won- derful to me that the race has progressed so broadly as it has, since most of its thought and all of its activity must run through the narrow neck of one funnel. and it is this, too, which makes the colored peo- ple of this country, in reality, a mystery to the whites. it is a difficult thing for a white man to learn what a colored man really thinks; because, generally, with the latter an additional and differ- ent light must be brought to bear on what he thinks; and his thoughts are often influenced by considerations so delicate and subtle that it would be impossible for him to confess or explain them to one of the opposite race. this gives to every colored man, in proportion to his intellectuality, a sort of dual personality; there is one phase of him which is disclosed only in the freemasonry of his own race. i have often watched with interest the autobiography of و در هر و and sometimes with amazement even ignorant col- ored men under cover of broad grins and minstrel antics maintain this dualism in the presence of white men. i believe it to be a fact that the colored people of this country know and understand the white people better than the white people know and un- derstand them. i now think that this change which came into my life was at first more subjective than objective. i do not think my friends at school changed so much toward me as i did toward them. i grew reserved, i might say suspicious. i grew con- stantly more and more afraid of laying myself open to some injury to my feelings or my pride. i frequently saw or fancied some slight where, i am sure, none was intended. on the other hand, my friends and teachers were, if anything differ- ent, more considerate of me; but i can remember that it was against this very attitude in particu- lar that my sensitiveness revolted. "red" was the only one who did not so wound me; up to this day i recall with a swelling heart his clumsy ef- forts to make me understand that nothing could change his love for me. j i am sure that at this time the majority of my white schoolmates did not understand or appre- ciate any differences between me and themselves ; but there were a few who had evidently received in- structions at home on the matter, and more than didn't want beteta differendu an ex-colored man > once they displayed their knowledge in word and action. as the years passed i noticed that the most innocent and ignorant among the others grew in wisdom. i, myself, would not have so clearly understood this difference had it not been for the presence of the other colored children at school; i had learned what their status was, and now i learned that theirs was mine. i had had no particular like or dislike for these black and brown boys and girls; in fact, with the exception of “shiny,” they had occupied very little of my thought, but i do . know that when the blow fell i had a very strong whommial:tv aversion to being classed with them. so i be- came something of a solitary. "red" and i re- mained inseparable, and there was between “shiny” and me a sort of sympathetic bond, but my intercourse with the others was never entirely free from a feeling of constraint. but i must add thať this feeling was confined almost entirely to my intercourse with boys and girls of about my own age; i did not experience it with my sen- iors. and when i grew to manhood i found my- as self freer with elderly white people than with those near my own age. troisir i was now about eleven years old, but these emotions and impressions which i have just de- scribed could not have been stronger or more dis- tinct at an older age. there were two immediate results of my forced loneliness; i began to find used to treatment the autobiography of ons مرد تو و می دم company in books, and greater pleasure in music. i made the former discovery through a big, gilt- bound, illustrated copy of the bible, which used to lie in splendid neglect on the center table in our little parlor. on top of the bible lay a pho- tograph album. i had often looked at the pic- tures in the album, and one day after taking the larger book down, and opening it on the floor, i was overjoyed to find that it contained what seemed to be an inexhaustible supply of pictures. i looked at these pictures many times; in fact, so often that i knew the story of each one with- out having to read the subject, and then, some- how, i picked up the thread of history on which is strung the trials and tribulations of the he- brew children; this i followed with feverish in- terest and excitement. for a long time king david, with samson a close second, stood at the head of my list of heroes; he was not displaced until i came to know robert the bruce. i read a good portion of the old testament, all that part treating of wars and rumors of wars, and then started in on the new. i became interested in the life of christ, but became impatient and disap- pointed when i found that, notwithstanding the great power he possessed, he did not make use of it when, in my judgment, he most needed to do so.. and so my first general impression of the bible my later impression has been of a number of modern books, that the au- internal power struggle was what an ex-colored man وارد ایران مرته cation, i think it was called “the mirror,” a lit. hoveorto thors put their best work in the first part, and grew either exhausted or careless toward the end. after reading the bible, or those parts which held my attention, i began to explore the glass- doored book-case which i have already men- tioned. i found i found there "pilgrim's progress, “peter parley's history of the united states," grimm's “household stories,” “tales of a grand- father,” a bound volume of an old english publi- tle volume called "familiar science," and some- body's “natural theology," which latter, of course, i could not read, but which, nevertheless, i tackled, with the result of gaining a permanent dislike for all kinds of theology. there were several other books of no particular name or merit, such as agents sell to people who know nothing of buying books. how my mother came by this little library which, considering all things, was so well suited to me, i never sought to know. * tartu but she was far from being an ignorant woman, and had herself, very likely, read the majority of these books, though i do not remember ever hav- ing seen her with a book in her hand, with the exception of the episcopal prayer-book. at any rate she encouraged in me the habit of reading, and when i had about exhausted those books in the little library which interested me, she began to buy books for me she also regularly gave aldet the autobiography of ہے ہم ان from stres trore change transitions parral www. . very popular for boys. are alwaus he was so skillful in his instruction, and filled me me money to buy a weekly paper which was then at this time i went in for music with an ear- nestness worthy of maturer years; a change of teachers was largely responsible for this. i be- gan now to take lessons of the organist of the church which i attended with my mother; he was a good teacher and quite a thorough musician. with such enthusiasm that my progress—these are his words—was marvelous. i remember that when i was barely twelve years old i appeared on a program with a number of adults at an enter- tainment given for some charitable purpose, and carried off the honors. i did more, i brought upon myself through the local newspapers the handicapping title of “infant prodigy." i can believe that i did astonish my audience, for i never played the piano like a child, that is, in the "one-two-three" style with accelerated mo- tion. neither did i depend upon mere brilliancy of technic, a trick by which children often sur- prise their listeners, but i always tried to inter- pret a piece of music; i always played with feel- king. very early i acquired that knack of using the pedals which makes the piano a sympathetic, singing instrument; quite a different thing from the source of hard or blurred sounds it so gen- erally is. i think this was due not entirely to natural artistic temperament, but largely to the an ex-colored man so- ivyo, Į did not enjoy; later this feeling grew into pos- vós, to have our first rehearsal. at that time play- ing accompaniments was the only thing in music itive dislike. i have never been a really good accompanist because my ideas of interpretation tus were always too strongly individual. i constantly lise forced my accelerandos and rubatos upon the loist, often throwing the duet entirely out of gear. perhaps the reader has already guessed why i was so willing and anxious to play the accompani- ment to this violin solo; if not,—the violinist was a girl of seventeen or eighteen whom i had first heard play a short time before on a sunday after- noon at a special service of some kind, and who had moved me to a degree which now i can hardly think of as possible. at present i do not think it was due to her wonderful playing, though i judge she must have been a very fair performer, but there was just the proper setting to produce the effect upon a boy such as i was; the half dim church, the air of devotion on the part of the listeners, the heaving tremor of the organ under the clear wail of the violin, and she, her eyes almost clos- srint who ing, the escaping strands of her dark hair wildly namions framing her pale face, and her slender body sway- ing to the tones she called forth, all combined to fire my imagination and my heart with a passion though boyish, yet strong and, somehow, lasting. i have tried to describe the scene; if i have suc- ceeded it is only half success, for words can only the autobiography of partially express what i would wish to convey. always in recalling that sunday afternoon i am subconscious of a faint but distinct fragrance which, like some old memory-awakening perfume, rises and suffuses my whole imagination, inducing a state of reverie so airy as to just evade the powers of expression. she was my first love, and i loved her as only a boy loves. i dreamed of her, i built air castles for her, she was the incarnation of each beautiful heroine i knew; when i played the piano it was to her, not even did music furnish an adequate outlet for my passion; i bought a new note-book, and, to sing her praises, made my first and last attempts at poetry. i remember one day at school, after having given in our note-books to have some exercises corrected, the teacher called me to her desk and said, “i couldn't correct your exercises because i found nothing in your book but a rhapsody on somebody's brown eyes.” i had passed in the wrong note-book. i don't think i have felt greater embarrassment in my whole life than i did at that moment. i was not only ashamed that my teacher should see this na- kedness of my heart, but that she should find out that i had any knowledge of such affairs. it did not then occur to me to be ashamed of the kind of poetry i had written. of course, the reader must know that all of this adoration was in secret; next to my great an ex-colored man inay ng aur uron ? love for this young lady was the dread that in some way she would find it out. i did not know what some men never find out, that the woman who cannot discern when she is loved has never lived. it makes me laugh to think how success- ful i was in concealing it all; within a short time after our duet all of the friends of my dear one were referring to me as her "little sweetheart,” or her "little beau,” and she laughingly encouraged it. this did not entirely satisfy me; i wanted ...!!,, to be taken seriously. i had definitely made up zut my mind that i should never love another woman, current and that if she deceived me i should do something her desperate the great difficulty was to think of appite api something sufficiently desperate—and the heart- less jade, how she led me on! so i hurried home that afternoon, humming snatches of the violin part of the duet, my heart beating with pleasurable excitement over the fact that i was going to be near her, to have her at- tention placed directly upon me; that i was going to be of service to her, and in a way in which i could show myself to advantage this last consid- eration has much to do with cheerful service. the anticipation produced in me a sensation some- what between bliss and fear. i rushed through the gate, took the three steps to the house at one bound, threw open the door, and was about to hang my cap on its accustomed peg of the hall rack when i noticed that that particular peg was the autobiography of occupied by a black derby hat. i stopped sud- denly, and gazed at this hat as though i had never seen an object of its description. i was still looking at it in open-eyed wonder when my mother, coming out of the parlor into the hallway, called me, and said there was someone inside who wanted to see me. feeling that i was being made a party to some kind of mystery i went in with her, and there i saw a man standing leaning with one elbow on the mantel, his back partly turned toward the door. as i entered he turned, and i saw a tall, handsome, well dressed gentleman of perhaps thirty-five; he advanced a step toward me with a smile on his face. i stopped and looked at him with the same feelings with which i had looked at the derby hat, except that they were greatly magnified. i looked at him from head to foot, but he was an absolute blank to me until my eyes rested on his slender, elegant, pol- ished shoes; then it seemed that indistinct and partly obliterated films of memory began at first slowly then rapidly to unroll, forming a vague panorama of my childhood days in georgia. my mother broke the spell by calling me by name, and saying, “this is your father." "father, father,” that was the word which had been to me a source of doubt and perplexity ever since the interview with my mother on the subject. how often i had wondered about my father, who he was, what he was like, whether an ex-colored man my father. tain that for that moment he was proud to be he sat and held me standing be- tween his knees while he talked to my mother. i, in the meantime, examined him with more curios- ity, perhaps, than politeness. i interrupted the conversation by asking, "mother, is he going to stay with us now?” i found it impossible to frame the word “father”; it was too new to me; so i asked the question through my mother. without waiting for her to speak, my father an- swered, "i've got to go back to new york this afternoon, but i'm coming to see you again.” i turned abruptly and went over to my mother, and almost in a whisper reminded her that i had an appointment which i should not miss; to my pleasant surprise she said that she would give me something to eat at once so that i might go. she went out of the room, and i began to gather from off the piano the music i needed. when i had finished, my father, who had been watching me, asked, “are you going?” i replied, “yes, sir, i've got to go to practice for a concert." he spoke some words of advice to me about being a good boy and taking care of my mother when i grew up, and added that he was going to send me something nice from new york. my mother called, and i said good-by to him, and went out. i saw him only once after that. i quickly swallowed down what my mother had put on the table for me, seized my cap and mu- the autobiography of sic, and hurried off to my teacher's house. on the way i could think of nothing but this new father, where he came from, where he had been, why he was here, and why he would not stay. in my mind i ran over the whole list of fathers i had become acquainted with in my reading, but i could not classify him. the thought did not cross my mind that he was different from me, and even if it had the mystery would not thereby have been explained; for notwithstanding my changed relations with most of my schoolmates, i had only a faint knowledge of prejudice and no idea at all how it ramified and affected the entire social organism. i felt, however, that there was something about the whole affair which had to be hid. when i arrived i found that she of the brown eyes had been rehearsing with my teacher, and was on the point of leaving. my teacher with some expressions of surprise asked why i was late, and i stammered out the first deliberate lie of which i have any recollection. i told him that when i reached home from school i found my mother quite sick, and that i had stayed with her a while before coming. then unnecessarily and gratuitously, to give my words force of con- viction, i suppose, i added, "i don't think she'll be with us very long." in speaking these words i must have been comical; for i noticed that my teacher, instead of showing signs of anxiety or lyuwaherer مندر کے اره مال من die an ex-colored man sorrow, half hid a smile. but how little did i know that in that lie i was speaking a prophecy. she of the brown eyes unpacked her violin, and we went through the duet several times. i was soon lost to all other thoughts in the delights of music and love. i say delights of love without reservation; for at no time of life is love so pure, so delicious, so poetic, so romantic, as it is in boyhood. a great deal has been said about the heart of a girl when she stands "where the brook and river meet,” but what she feels is negative; more interesting is the heart of a boy when just at the budding dawn of manhood he stands look- ing wide-eyed into the long vistas opening before him; when he first becomes conscious of the awak- ening and quickening of strange desires and un- known powers; when what he sees and feels is still shadowy and mystical enough to be intangi- ble, and, so, more beautiful; when his imagina- tion is unsullied, and his faith new and whole then it is that love wears a halo—the man who has not loved before he was fourteen has missed a fore-taste of elysium. when i reached home it was quite dark, and i found my mother without a light, sitting rocking in a chair as she so often used to do in my child- hood days, looking into the fire and singing softly to herself. i nestled close to her, and with her arms around me she haltingly told me who my father was,-a great man, a fine gentleman,-he the autobiography of loved me and loved her very much; he was going to make a great man of me. all she said was so limited by reserve and so colored by her feel- ings that it was but half truth; and so, i did not yet fully understand. chapter iii perhaps i ought not pass on this narrative without mentioning that the duet was a great success; so great that we were obliged to respond with two encores. it seemed to me that life could hold no greater joy than it contained when i took her hand and we stepped down to the front of the stage bowing to our enthusiastic audience. when we reached the little dress room, where the other performers were applaud- ing as wildly as the audience, she impulsively threw both her arms around me, and kissed me, while i struggled to get away. one day a couple of weeks after my father had been to see us, a wagon drove up to our cottage loaded with a big box. i was about to tell the man on the wagon that they had made a mistake, when my mother, acting darkly wise, told them to bring their load in; she had them to unpack the box, and quickly there was evolved from the boards, paper and other packing mate- rial, a beautiful, brand new, upright piano. then she informed me that it was a present to me from my father. father. i at once sat down and ran my fingers over the keys; the full, mellow tone of the the autobiography of instrument was ravishing. i thought, almost re- morsefully, of how i had left my father; but, even so, there momentarily crossed my mind a feeling of disappointment that the piano was not a grand. the new instrument greatly increased the pleasure of my hours of study and practice at home. shortly after this i was made a member of the boys' choir, it being found that i possessed a clear, strong soprano voice. i enjoyed the sing- ing very much. about a year later i began the study of the pipe organ and the theory of mu- sic; and before i finished the grammar school i had written out several simple preludes for orgar which won the admiration of my teacher, and which he did me the honor to play at services. the older i grew the more thought i gave to the question of my and my mother's position, and what was our exact relation to the world in gen- eral. my idea of the whole matter was rather hazy. my study of united states history had been confined to those periods which were desig- nated in my book as “discovery,” “colonial," “revolutionary,” and “constitutional.” i now began to study about the civil war, but the story was told in such a condensed and skipping style that i gained from it very little real information. it is a marvel how children ever learn any his- tory out of books of that sort. and, too, i be- gan now to read the newspapers; i often saw ar- an ex-colored man ticles which aroused my curiosity, but did not en- lighten me. but, one day, i drew from the cir- culating library a book that cleared the whole mystery, a book that i read with the same fever- ish intensity with which i had read the old bible stories, a book that gave me my first perspective of the life i was entering; that book was “uncle tom's cabin.” this work of harriet beecher stowe has been the object of much unfavorable criticism. it has been assailed, not only as fiction of the most im- aginative sort, but as being a direct misrepresen- tation. several successful attempts have lately been made to displace the book from northern school libraries. its critics would brush it aside with the remark that there never was, a negro as good as uncle tom, nor a slave-holder as bad as lagree. for my part, i was never an admirer of uncle tom, nor of his type of goodness; but i believe that there were lots of old negroes as fool- ishly good as he; the proof of which is that they knowingly stayed and worked the plantations that furnished sinews for the army which was fighting to keep them enslaved. but, in these later years, several cases have come to my personal knowledge in which old negroes have died and left what was a considerable fortune to the descendants of their former masters. i do not think it takes any great stretch of the imagination to believe there was a fairly large class of slave holders typified in la- an ex-colored man were been chosen as class orators in our leading uni- versities, of others who have played on the 'varsity foot-ball and base-ball teams, of colored speakers who have addressed great white audiences. in each of these instances i believe the men stirred by the same emotions which actuated “shiny” on the day of his graduation; and, too, in each case where the efforts have reached any high standard of excellence they have been fol- lowed by the same phenomenon of enthusiasm. i' think the explanation of the latter lies in what is a basic, though often dormant, principle of the anglo-saxon heart, love of fair play. “shiny," it is true, was what is so common in his race, a natural orator; but i doubt that any white boy of equal talent could have wrought the same effect. the sight of that boy gallantly waging with puny, black arms, so unequal a battle, touched the deep springs in the hearts of his audience, and they were swept by a wave of sympathy and admira- tion. but the effect upon me of "shiny's” speech was double; i not only shared the enthusiasm of his audience, but he imparted to me some of his own enthusiasm. i felt leap within me pride that i was colored; and i began to form wild dreams of bringing glory and honor to the negro race. fx for days i could talk of nothing else with my mother except my ambitions to be a great man, a great colored man, to reflect credit on the race, î the autobiography of va boy to lead. i dwelt in a world of imagination, and gain fame for myself. it was not until years after that i formulated a definite and feasible plan for realizing my dreams. i entered the high school with my class, and still continued my study of the piano, the pipe organ and the theory of music. i had to drop out of the boys' choir on account of a changing voice; this i regretted very much. as i grew older my love for reading grew stronger. i read with studious interest everything i could find re- lating to colored men who had gained prominence. my heroes had been king david, then robert the bruce; now frederick douglass was enshrined in ithe place of honor. when i learned that alex- ander dumas was a colored man, i re-read "monte cristo” and “the three guardsmen” with magni- fied pleasure. i lived between my music and books, on the whole a rather unwholesome life for of dreams and air castles,—the kind of atmosphere that sometimes nourishes a genius, more often men unfitted for the practical struggles of life. i never played a game of ball, never went fishing or learned to swim; in fact, the only outdoor exer- cise in which i took any interest was skating. nevertheless, though slender, i grew well-formed and in perfect health. after i entered the high school i began to notice the change in my mother's health, which i suppose had been going on for some years. she began to complain a little and an ex-colored man to cough a great deal; she tried several remedies, and finally went to see a doctor; but though she was failing in health she kept her spirits up. she still did a great deal of sewing, and in the busy seasons hired two women to help her. the pur- pose she had formed of having me go through college without financial worries kept her at work when she was not fit for it. i was so fortunate as to be able to organize a class of eight or ten beginners on the piano, and so start a separate little fund of my own. as the time for my gradu- ation from the high school grew nearer, the plans for my college career became the chief subject of our talks. i sent for catalogues of all the promi- nent schools in the east, and eagerly gathered all the information could concerning them from different sources. my mother told me that my father wanted me to go to harvard or yale; she herself had a half desire for me to go to atlanta university, and even had me write for a catalogue of that school. there were two reasons, how- ever, that inclined her to my father's choice: the first, that at harvard or yale i should be near her; the second, that my father had promised to pay a part of my college education. both "shiny” and “red” came to my house quite often of evenings, and we used to talk over our plans and prospects for the future. sometimes i would play for them, and they seemed to enjoy the music very much. my mother often prepared accedi زر با ما itnu "au coentins an ex-colored man been watching beside her for some hours, i went into the parlor, and throwing myself into the big arm chair dozed off into a fitful sleep. i was suddenly aroused by one of the neighbors, who had come in to sit with her that night. she said, “come to your mother at once.” i hurried up- stairs, and at the bedroom door met the woman who was acting as nurse. i noted with a dissolv- ing heart the strange look of awe on her face. from my first glance at my mother, i discerned the light of death upon her countenance. i fell upon my knees beside the bed, and burying my face in the sheets sobbed convulsively. she died with the fingers of her left hand entwined in my hair. i will not rake over this, one of the two sacred sorrows-of my life; nor could i describe the feeling of unutterable loneliness that fell upon me. after the funeral i went to the house of my music teacher; he had kindly offered me the hospitality of his home for so long as i might need it. a few days later i moved my trunk, piano, my music and most of my books to his home; the rest of my books i divided between “shiny” and “red.” some of the household effects i gave to “shiny's" mother and to two or three of the neighbors who had been kind to us during my mother's illness; the others i sold. after settling up my little estate i found that besides a good sup- ply of clothes, a piano, some books and other the autobiography of trinkets, i had about two hundred dollars in cash. the question of what i was to do now con- fronted me. my teacher suggested a tour; but both of us realized that i was too old to be exploited as an infant prodigy and too young and inexperienced to go before the public as a finished artist. he, however, insisted that the people of the town would generously patronize a benefit concert, so took up the matter, and made arrangements for such an entertainment. a more than sufficient number of people with musical and elocutionary talent volunteered their services to make a programme. among these was my brown- eyed violinist. but our relations were not the same as they were when we had played our first duet together. a year or so after that time she had dealt me a crushing blow by getting married. i was partially avenged, however, by the fact that, though she was growing more beautiful, she was losing her ability to play the violin. . i was down on the programme for one number. my selection might have appeared at that par- ticular time as a bit of affectation, but i consid- ered it deeply appropriate; i played beethoven's "sonata pathétique.” when i sat down at the piano, and glanced into the faces of the several hundreds of people who were there solely on ac- count of love or sympathy for me, emotions swelled in my heart which enabled me to play the an ex-colored man -“pathétique" as i could never again play it. when the last tone died away the few who began to applaud were hushed by the silence of the others; and for once i played without receiving an encore. the benefit yielded me a little more than two hundred dollars, thus raising my cash capital to about four hundred dollars. i still held to my? determination of going to college; so it was now a question of trying to squeeze through a year at harvard or going to atlanta where the money i had would pay my actual expenses for at least two years. the peculiar fascination which the south held over my imagination and my limited capital decided me in favor of atlanta university; so about the last of september i bade farewell to the friends and scenes of my boyhood, and boarded a train for the south. chapter iv the farther i got below washington the more disappointed i became in the appearance of the country. i peered through the car windows, look- ing in vain for the luxuriant semi-tropical scenery which i had pictured in my mind. i did not find the grass so green, nor the woods so beautiful, nor the flowers so plentiful, as they were in connecti- cut. instead, the red earth partly covered by tough, scrawny grass, the muddy straggling roads, the cottages of unpainted pine boards, and the clay daubed huts imparted a “burnt up” im- pression. occasionally we ran through a little white and green village that was like an oasis in a desert. when i reached atlanta my steadily increasing disappointment was not lessened. i found it a big, dull, red town. this dull red color of that part of the south i was then seeing had much, i think, to do with the extreme depression of my $pirits—no public squares, no fountains, dingy street-cars and, with the exception of three or four principal thoroughfares, unpaved streets. it was raining when i arrived and some of these un- paved streets were absolutely impassable. wheels crvene an ex-colored man sank to the hubs in red mire, and i actually stood for an hour and watched four or five men work to save a mule, which had stepped into a deep sink, from drowning, or, rather, suffocating in the mud. the atlanta of to-day is a new city. on the train i had talked with one of the pull- man car porters, a bright young fellow who was himself a student, and told him that i was going to atlanta to attend school. i had also asked him to tell me where i might stop for a day or two until the university opened. he said i might go with him to the place where he stopped during his "layovers” in atlanta. i gladly accepted his of- fer, and went with him along one of those muddy streets until we came to a rather rickety looking frame house, which we entered. the proprietor of the house was a big, fat, greasy looking brown- skinned man. when i asked him if he could give me accommodation he wanted to know how long i would stay. i told him perhaps two days, not more than three. in reply he said, “oh, dat's all right den," at the same time leading the way up a pair of creaky stairs. i followed him and the porter to a room, the door of which the proprietor opened while continuing, it seemed, his remark, “oh, dat's all right den," by adding, “you kin sleep in dat cot in de corner der. fifty cents please.” the porter interrupted by saying, “you needn't collect from him now, he's got a trunk.” this seemed to satisfy the man, and he went down the autobiography of them awoke a feeling of interest; that was their dialect. i had read some negro dialect and had heard snatches of it on my journey down from washington; but here i heard it in all of its full- ness and freedom. i was particularly struck by the way in which it was punctuated by such ex- clamatory phrases as “lawd a mussy!” “g’wan man!” “bless ma soul!" “look heah chile!" these people talked and laughed without restraint. in fact, they talked straight from their lungs, and laughed from the pits of their stomachs. and this hearty laughter was often justified by the droll humor of some remark. i paused long enough to hear one man say to another, “w'at's de mattah wid you an' yo' fr’en? sam?" and the other came back like a flash, "ma fr'en? he ma frien? man! i'd go to his funeral jes de same as i'd go to a minstrel show.” i have since learned that this ability to laugh heartily is, in part, the salvation of the american negre; it does much to keep him- from going the way of the indian. the business places of the street along which we were passing consisted chiefly of low bars, cheap dry-goods and notion stores, barber shops, and fish and bread restaurants. we, at length, turned down a pair of stairs that led to a base- ment, and i found myself in an eating-house some- what better than those i had seen in passing; but that did not mean much for its excellence. the + an ex-colored man place was smoky, the tables were covered with oil- cloth, the floor covered with sawdust, and from the kitchen came a rancid odor of fish fried over several times, which almost nauseated me. i asked my companion if this were the place where we were to eat. he informed me that it was the best place in town where a colored man could get a meal. i then wanted to know why somebody didn't open a place where respectable colored people who had money could be accommodated. he answered, “it wouldn't pay; all the respectable colored peo- ple eat at home, and the few who travel generally have friends in the towns to which they go, who entertain them.” he added, “of course, you could go in any place in the city; they wouldn't know you from white." i sat down with the porter at one of the tables, but was not hungry enough to eat with any relish what was put before me. the food was not badly cooked; but the iron knives and forks needed to be scrubbed, the plates and dishes and glasses needed to be washed and well dried. i minced over what i took on my plate while my companion ate. when we finished we paid the waiter twenty cents each and went out. we walked around un- til the lights of the city were lit. then the porter said that he must get to bed and have some rest, as he had not had six hours' sleep since he left jersey city. i went back to our lodging-house with him. the autobiography of from home; here the red hills had been terraced ap? and covered with green grass; clean gravel walks, well shaded, lead up to the buildings; indeed, it was a bit of new england transplanted. at the gate my companion said he would bid me good-by, because it was likely that he would not see me again before his car went out. he told me that he would make two more trips to atlanta, and that he would come out and see me; that after his sec- ond trip he would leave the pullman service for the winter and return to school in nashville., we shook hands, i thanked him for all his kindness, and we said good-by. i walked up to a group of students and made some inquiries. they directed me to the presi- dent's office in the main building. the president gave me a cordial welcome; it was more than cordial; he talked to me, not as the official head of a college, but as though he were adopting me into what was his large family, to personally look after my general welfare as well as my education. he seemed especially pleased with the fact that i had come to them all the way from the north. he told me that i could have come to the school as soon as i had reached the city, and that i had better move my trunk out at once. i gladly promised him that i would do so. he then called a boy and directed him to take me to the matron, and to show me around afterwards. i found the matron even more motherly than the president was an ex-colored man fatherly. she had me to register, which was in effect to sign a pledge to abstain from the use of intoxicating beverages, tobacco, and profane lan- guage, while i was a student in the school. this act caused me no sacrifice; as, up to that time, i was free from either habit. the boy who was with me then showed me about the grounds. i was especially interested in the industrial building. the sounding of a bell, he told me, was the sig- nal for the students to gather in the general as- sembly hall, and he asked me if i would go. of course i would. there were between three and four hundred students and perhaps all of the teachers gathered in the room. i noticed that sev- eral of the latter were colored. the president gave a talk addressed principally to new comers; but i scarcely heard what he said, i was so much occupied in looking at those around me. they were of all types and colors, the more intelligent types predominating. the colors ranged from jet black to pure white, with light hair and eyes. among the girls especially there were many so fair that it was difficult to believe that they had negro blood in them. and, too, i could not help but notice that many of the girls, particularly those of the delicate brown shades, with black eyes and wavy dark hair, were decidedly pretty. among the boys, many of the blackest were fine specimens of young manhood, tall, straight, and muscular, with magnificent heads; these were the the autobiography of kind of boys who developed into the patriarchal “uncles” of the old slave régime. when i left the university it was with the de- termination to get my trunk, and move out to the school before night. i walked back across the city with a light step and a light heart. i felt per- fectly satisfied with life for the first time since my mother's death. in passing the railroad station i hired a wagon and rode with the driver as far as my stopping place. i settled with my landlord and went upstairs to put away several articles i had left out. as soon as i opened my trunk a dart of suspicion shot through my heart; the ar- rangement of things did not look familiar. i be- gan to dig down excitedly to the bottom till i reached the coat in which i had concealed my treasure. my money was gone! every single bill of it. i knew it was useless to do so, but i searched through every other coat, every pair of trousers, every vest, and even into each pair of socks. when i had finished my fruitless search i sat down dazed and heartsick. i called the landlord up, and informed him of my he com- forted me by saying that i ought to have better sense than to keep money in a trunk, and that he was not responsible for his lodgers' personal ef- fects. his cooling words brought me enough to my senses to cause me to look and see if anything else was missing. several small articles were gone, among them a black and gray necktie of loss; an ex-colored man odd design upon which my heart was set; almost as much as the loss of my money, i felt the loss of my tie. after thinking for awhile as best i could, i wisely decided to go at once back to the university and lay my troubles before the president. i rushed breathlessly back to the school. as i neared the grounds the thought came across me, would not my story sound fishy? would it not place me in the position of an impostor or beggar? what right had i to worry these busy people with the results of my carelessness? if the money could not be recovered, and i doubted that it could, what good would it do to tell them about it. the shame and embarrassment which the whole situation gave me caused me to stop at the gate. i paused, undecided, for a moment; then turned and slowly retraced my steps, and so changed the whole course of my life. if the reader has never been in a strange city without money or friends, it is useless to try to describe what my feelings were; he could not un- derstand. if he has been, it is equally useless, for he understands more than words could convey. when i reached my lodgings i found in the room one of the porters who had slept there the night before. when he heard what misfortune had be- fallen me he offered many words of sympathy and advice. he asked me how much money i had left, i told him that i had ten or twelve dollars in my the autobiography of pocket. he said, “that won't last you very long here, and you will hardly be able to find anything to do in atlanta. i'll tell you what you do, go down to jacksonville and you won't have any trouble to get a job in one of the big hotels there, or in st. augustine.” i thanked him, but in- timated my doubts of being able to get to jack- sonville on the money i had. he reassured me by saying, “oh, that's all right. you express your trunk on through, and i'll take you down in my closet.” i thanked him again, not knowing then, what it was to travel in a pullman porter's closet. he put me under a deeper debt of gratitude by lending me fifteen dollars, which he said i could pay back after i had secured work. his gener- osity brought tears to my eyes, and i concluded that, after all, there were some kind hearts in the world. i now forgot my troubles in the hurry and ex- citement of getting my trunk off in time to catch the train, which went out at seven o'clock. i even forgot that i hadn't eaten anything since morning. we got a wagon—the porter went with me--and took my trunk to the express office. my new friend then told me to come to the station at about a quarter of seven, and walk straight to the car where i should see him standing, and not to lose my nerve. i found my rôle not so difficult to play as i thought it would be, because the train did not leave from the central station, but from a an ex-colored man to pass. smaller one, where there were no gates and guards i followed directions, and the porter took me on his car, and locked me in his closet. in a few minutes the train pulled out for jackson- ville. i may live to be a hundred years old, but i shall never forget the agonies i suffered that night. i spent twelve hours doubled up in the porter's basket for soiled linen, not being able to straighten up on account of the shelves for clean linen just over my head. the air was hot and suffocating and the smell of damp towels and used linen was sickening. at each lurch of the car over the none too smooth track, i was bumped and bruised against the narrow walls of my narrow compartment. i became acutely conscious of the fact that i had not eaten for hours. then nausea took possession of me, and at one time i had grave doubts about reaching my destination alive. if i had the trip to make again, i should prefer to walk. an ex-colored man i modestly mentioned my ability to teach music and asked if there was any likelihood of my being able to get some scholars. my landlady sug- gested that i speak to the preacher who had shown me her house; she felt sure that through his in- fluence i should be able to get up a class in piano. she added, however, that the colored people were poor, and that the general price for music lessons was only twenty-five cents. i noticed that the thought of my teaching white pupils did not even remotely enter her mind. none of this informa- tion made my prospects look much brighter. the husband, who up to this time had allowed the woman to do most of the talking, gave me the first bit of tangible hope; he said that he could get me a job as a “stripper" in the factory where he worked, and that if i succeeded in getting some music pupils i could teach a couple of them every , night, and so make a living until something better he went on to say that it would not? be a bad thing for me to stay at the factory and learn my trade as a cigar maker, and impressed ion me that, for a young man knocking about the country, a trade was a handy thing to have. i determined to accept his offer and thanked him heartily. in fact, i became enthusiastic, not only because i saw a way out of my financial troubles, but also because i was eager and curious over the new experience i was about to enter. wanted to know all about the cigar making busi- hurned up the autobiography of care. ness. this narrowed the conversation down to the husband and myself, so the wife went in and left us talking he was what is called a regalia workman, and earned from thirty-five to forty dollars a week. he generally worked a sixty dollar job; that is, he made cigars for which he was paid at the rate of sixty dollars per thousand. it was impossible for him to make a thousand in a week because he had to work very carefully and slowly. each cigar was made entirely by hand. each piece of filler and each wrapper had to be selected with he was able to make a bundle of one hun- dred cigars in a day, not one of which could be told from the others by any difference in size or shape, or even by any appreciable difference in weight. this was the acme of artistic skill in cigar making. workmen of this class were rare, never more than three or four of them in one factory, and it was never necessary for them to remain out of work. there were men who made two, three, and four hundred cigars of the cheaper grades in a day; they had to be very fast in order to make decent week's wages. cigar making was a rather independent trade; the men went to work when they pleased and knocked off when they felt like doing so. as a class the workmen were care- less and improvident; some very rapid makers would not work more than three or four days out of the week, and there were others who never -- an ex-colored man showed up at the factory on mondays. “strip- pers” were the boys who pulled the long stems from the tobacco leaves. after they had served at that work for a certain time they were given tables as apprentices. all of this was interesting to me; and we drifted along in conversation until my companion struck the subject nearest his heart, the independence of cuba. he was an exile from the island, and a prominent member of the jacksonville junta. every week sums of money were collected from juntas all over the country. this money went to buy arms and ammunition for the insurgents. as the man sat there nervously smoking his long, “green” cigar, and telling me of the gomezes, both the white one and the black one, of maceo and bandera, he grew positively eloquent. he also showed that he was a man of considerable educa- tion and reading. he spoke english excellently, and frequently surprised me by using words one would hardly expect from a foreigner. the first one of this class of words he employed almost shocked me, and i never forgot it, 'twas "ramify.” we sat on the piazza until after ten o'clock. when we arose to go in to bed it was with the under- standing that i should start in the factory on the next day. i began work the next morning seated at a bar- rel with another boy, who showed me how to strip the stems from the leaves, to smooth out each half an ex-colored man was able in less than a year to speak like a native. in fact, it was my pride that i spoke better span- ish than many of the cuban workmen at the fac- tory. after i had been in the factory a little over a year, i was repaid for all the effort i had put forth to learn spanish by being selected as “reader.” the “reader” is quite an institution in all cigar? factories which employ spanish-speaking workmen. he sits in the center of the large room in which the cigar makers work and reads to them for a cer- tain number of hours each day all the important news from the papers and whatever else he may consider would be interesting. he often selects an exciting novel, and reads it in daily installments. he must, of course, have a good voice, but he must also have a reputation among the men for intelligence, for being well posted and having in his head a stock of varied information. he is generally the final authority on all arguments which arise; and, in a cigar factory, these argu- ments are many and frequent, ranging from dis- cussions on the respective and relative merits of rival baseball clubs to the duration of the sun's light and energy-cigar-making is a trade in which talk does not interfere with work. my position as "reader" not only released me from the rather monotonous work of rolling cigars, and gave me something more in accord with my tastes, but also added considerably to my income. i was now earn- the autobiography of the race. ing about twenty-five dollars a week, and was able to give up my peripatetic method of giving music lessons. i hired a piano and taught only those who could arrange to take their lessons where i lived. i finally gave up teaching entirely; as what i made scarcely paid for my time and trouble. i kept the piano, however, in order to keep up my own studies, and occasionally i played at some church concert or other charitable entertainment. through my music teaching and my not abso- lutely irregular attendance at church i became ac- quainted with the best class of colored people in jacksonville. this was really my entrance into it was my initiation into what i have termed the freemasonry of the race. i had formu- lated a theory of what it was to be colored, now i was getting the practice. the novelty of my po- sition caused me to observe and consider things which, i think, entirely escaped the young men i associated with; or, at least, were so place to them as not to attract their attention. and of many of the impressions which came to me then i have realized the full import only within the past few years, since i have had a broader knowledge of men and history, and a fuller com- prehension of the tremendous struggle which is going on between the races in the south, it is a struggle; for though the black man fights passively he nevertheless fights; and his passive resistance is more effective at present than active common- an ex-colored man resistance could possibly be. he bears the fury of the storm as does the willow tree. it is a struggle; for though the white man of the south may be too proud to admit it, he is, nevertheless, using in the contest his best energies ; he is devoting to it the greater part of his thought, and much of his endeavor. the south to-day stands panting and almost breathless from its ex- ertions. and how the scene of the struggle has shifted! the battle was first waged over the right of the negro to be classed as a human being with a soul; later, as to whether he had sufficient intellect to master even the rudiments of learning; and to-day it is being fought out over his social recognition. i said somewhere in the early part of this nar- rative that because the colored man looked at every-: thing through the prisń of his relationship to society as a colored man, and because most of his mental efforts ran through the narrow channel bounded by his rights and his wrongs, it was to be wondered at that he has progressed so broadly as he has. the same thing may be said of the white man of the south; most of his mental ef- forts run through one narrow channel; his life as a man and a citizen, many of his financial ac- tivities and all of his political activities are im- passably limited by the ever present “negro ques- tion.” i am sure it would be safe to wager tha no group of southern white men could get to- an ex-colored man numbers it is but a small proportion of the colored people, but it often dominates public opinion con- cerning the whole race. happily, this class rep- resents the black people of the south far below their normal physical and moral condition, but in its increase lies the possibility of grave dangers. i am sure there is no more urgent work before the white south, not only for its present happiness, but its future safety, than the decreasing of this class of blacks. and it is not at all a hopeless class; for these men are but the creatures of con- ditions, as much so as the slum and criminal ele- ments of all the great cities of the world are creatures of conditions. decreasing their number? by shooting and burning them off will not be suc- cessful; for these men are truly desperate, and thoughts of death, however terrible, have little ef- fect in deterring them from acts the result of ha- tred or degeneracy. this class of blacks hate everything covered by a white skin, and in return they are loathed by the whites. the whites regard them just about as a man would a vicious mule, a thing to be worked, driven and beaten, and killed for kicking the second class, as regards the relation be- tween blacks and whites, comprises the servants, if the washer-women, the waiters, the cooks, the coachmen, and all who are connected with the whites by domestic service. these may be gen- erally characterized as simple, kindhearted and the autobiography of faithful; not over fine in their moral deductions, but intensely religious, and relatively,—such mat- ters can be judged only relatively,—about as hon- est and wholesome in their lives as any other grade of society. any white person is “good” who treats them kindly, and they love them for that kindness. in return, the white people with whom they have to do regard them with indulgent affection. they come into close daily contact with the whites, and may be called the connecting link between whites and blacks; in fact, it is through them that the iwhites know the rest of their colored neighbors. between this class of the blacks and the whites there is little or no frietion.y the third class is composed of the independent workmen and tradesmen, and of the well-to-do-and educated colored people; and, strange to say, for a directly opposite reason they are as far removed from the whites as the members of the first class i mentioned. these people live in a little world of their own; in fact, i concluded that if a colored man wanted to separate himself from his white neighbors he had but to acquire some money, edu- cation and culture, and to live in accordance. for example, the proudest and fairest lady in the south could with propriety—and it is what she would most likely do-go to the cabin of aunt mary, her cook, if aunt mary were sick, and minister to her comfort with her own hands; but if mary's daugh- ter, eliza, a girl who used to run around my lady's an ex-colored man kitchen, but who has received an education and married a prosperous young colored man, were at death's door, my lady would no more think of crossing the threshold of eliza's cottage than she would of going into a bar-room for a drink. i was walking down the street one day with a young man who was born in jacksonville, but had been away to prepare himself for a professional life. we passed a young white man, and my com- panion said to me, “you see that young man? we grew up together, we have played, hunted, and fished together, we have even eaten and slept to- gether, and now since i have come back home he barely speaks to me." the fact that the whites ? of the south despise and ill-treat the desperate class of blacks is not only explainable according to the ancient laws of human nature, but it is not nearly so serious or important as the fact that as the progressive colored people advance they con- stantly widen the gulf between themselves and their white neighbors. i think that the white people somehow feel that colored people who have educa- tion and money, who wear good clothes and live in comfortable houses, are “putting on airs," that they do these things for the sole purpose of “spit- i ing the white folks,” or āre, at best, going through a sort of monkey-like imitation. of course, such? feelings can only cause irritation or breed disgust. it seems that the whites have not yet been able to realize and understand that these people in striv- the autobiography of ing to better their physical and social surround- ings in accordance with their financial and intel- lectual progress are simply obeying an impulse which is common to human nature the world over. i am in grave doubt as to whether the greater part of the friction in the south is caused by the whites having a natural antipathy to negroes as a race, or an acquired antipathy to negroes in certain re- lations to themselves. however that may be, there is to my mind no more pathetic side of this many sided question than the isolated position into which are forced the very colored people who-most need and who could best appreciate sympathetic coöp- eration; and their position grows tragic when the effort is made to couple them, whether or no, with the negroes of the first class i mentioned. this latter class of colored people are well dis- posed towards the whites, and always willing to meet them more than half way. they, however, feel keenly any injustice or gross discrimination, and generally show their resentment. the effort is sometimes made to convey the impression that the better class of colored people fight against riding in “jim crow” cars because they want to ride with white people or object to being with humbler mem- bers of their own race. the truth is they object to the humiliation of being forced to ride in a particular car, aside from the fact that that car is distinctly inferior, and that they are required to pay full first-class fare. to say that the whites an ex-colored man are forced to ride in the superior car is less than a joke. and, too, odd as it may sound, refined col- pored people get no more pleasure out of riding with offensive negroes than anybody else would get. i can realize more fully than i could years ago that the position of the advanced element of the colored race is often very trying. they are the ones among the blacks who carry the entire weight of the race question it worries the others very little, and i believe the only thing which at times sustains them is that they know that they are in the right. on the other hand, this class of colored people get a good deal of pleasure out of life; their existence is far from being one long groan about their condition. out of a chaos of ignorance and poverty they have evolved a social life of which they need not be ashamed. in cities where the professional and well-to-do class is large, they have formed society,—society as discriminating as the actual conditions will allow it to be; i should say, perhaps, society possessing discriminating tenden- cies which become rules as fast as actual conditions allow. this statement will, i know, sound pre- posterous, even ridiculous, to some persons; but as this class of colored people is the least known of the race it is not surprising. these social circles are connected throughout the country, and a per- son in good standing in one city is readily ac- cepted in another. one who is on the outside will often find it a difficult matter to get in. i know the autobiography of pof one case personally in which money to the ex- tent of thirty or forty thousand dollars and a fine house, not backed up by a good reputation, after several years of repeated effort, failed to gain en- try for the possessor. these people have their dances and dinners and card parties, their musicals and their literary societies. the women attend social affairs dressed in good taste, and the men in evening dress-suits which they own; and the reader will make a mistake to confound these en- tertainments with the “bellman's balls” and “whitewashers' picnics” and “lime kiln clubs" with which the humorous press of the country il- lustrates “cullud sassiety." jacksonville, when i was there, was a small town, and the number of educated and well-to-do col- ored people was few; so this society phase of life did not equal what i have since seen in boston, washington, richmond, and nashville; and it is upon what i have more recently seen in these cities that i have made the observations just above. however, there were many comfortable and pleas- ant homes in jacksonville to which i was often in- vited. i belonged to the literary society-at which we generally discussed the race question- and attended all of the church festivals and other charitable entertainments. in this way i passed three years which were not at all the least enjoy- able of my life. in fact, my joy took such an ex- uberant turn that i fell in love with a young school an ex-colored man teacher and began to have dreams of matrimonial bliss; but another turn in the course of my life brought these dreams to an end. i do not wish to mislead my readers into think- ing that i led a life in jacksonville which would make copy as the hero of a sunday school library book. i was a hale fellow well met with all of the workmen at the factory, most of whom knew little and cared less about social distinctions. from their example i learned to be careless about money; and for that reason i constantly postponed and finally abandoned returning to atlanta university. it seemed impossible for me to save as much as two hundred dollars. several of the men at the factory were my intimate friends, and i frequently joined them in their pleasures. during the sum- mer months we went almost every monday on an excursion to a seaside resort called pablo beach. these excursions were always crowded. there was a dancing pavilion, a great deal of drinking and generally a fight or two to add to the excitement. i also contracted the cigar-maker's habit of rid- ing around in a hack on sunday afternoons. i sometimes went with my cigar-maker friends to public balls that were given at a large hall on one of the main streets. i learned to take a drink occasionally and paid for quite a number that my friends took; but strong liquors never appealed to my appetite. i drank them only when the com- pany i was in required it, and suffered for it the autobiography of afterwards. on the whole, though i was a bit wild, i can't remember that i ever did anything dis- graceful, or, as the usual standard for young men goes, anything to forfeit my claim to respectabil- ity. at one of the first public balls i attended i saw the pullman car porter who had so kindly assisted me in getting to jacksonville. i went immediately to one of my factory friends and borrowed fifteen dollars with which to repay the loan my benefactor had made me. after i had given him the money, and was thanking him, i noticed that he wore what was, at least, an exact duplicate of my lamented black and gray tie. it was somewhat worn, but distinct enough for me to trace the same odd de- sign which had first attracted my eye. this was enough to arouse my strongest suspicions, but whether it was sufficient for the law to take cog- nizance of i did not consider. my astonishment and the ironical humor of the situation drove every- thing else out of my mind. these balls were attended by a great variety of people. they were generally given by the wait- ers of some one of the big hotels, and were often patronized by a number of hotel guests who came to "see the sights." the crowd was always noisy, but good-natured; there was much quadrille danc- ing, and a strong-lunged man called figures in a voice which did not confine itself to the limits of the hall. it is not worth the while for me to de- an ex-colored man scribe in detail how these people acted; they con- ducted themselves in about the same manner as i have seen other people at similar balls conduct themselves. when one has seen something of the world and human nature he must conclude, after all, that between people in like stations of life there is very little difference the world over. however, it was at one of these balls that i first saw the cake-walk. there was a contest for a gold watch, to be awarded to the hotel head-waiter receiving the greatest number of votes. there was some dancing while the votes were being counted. then the floor was cleared for the cake-walk. a half-dozen guests from some of the hotels took seats on the stage to act as judges, and twelve or fourteen couples began to walk for a "sure enough” highly decorated cake, which was in plain evidence. the spectators crowded about the space reserved for the contestants and watched them with interest and excitement. the couples did not walk around in a circle, but in a square, with the men on the inside. the fine points to be consid- ered were the bearing of the men, the precision with which they turned the corners, the grace of the women, and the ease with which they swung around the pivots. the men walked with stately and soldierly step, and the women with consider- the judges arrived at their decision by a process of elimination. the music and the walk continued for some minutes; then both were able grace. an ex-colored man tion the world-conquering influence of ragtime; and i do not think it would be an exaggeration to say that in europe the united states is popularly known better by ragtime than by anything else it has produced in a generation. in paris they call it american music. the newspapers have already told how the practice of intricate cake walk steps has taken up the time of european royalty and nobility. these are lower forms of art, but they give evidence of a power that will some day be ap- plied to the higher forms. in this measure, at least, and aside from the number of prominent in- dividuals the colored people of the united states have produced, the race has been a world influence; and all of the indians between alaska and pata- gonia haven't done as much. just when i was beginning to look upon jack- sonville as my permanent home, and was beginning to plan about marrying the young school teacher, raising a family, and working in a cigar factory the rest of my life, for some reason, which i do not now remember, the factory at which i worked was indefinitely shut down. some of the men got work in other factories in town, some decided to go to key west and tampa, others made up their minds to go to new york for work. all at once a desire like a fever seized me to see the north again, and i cast my lot with those bound for new york. chapter vi we steamed up into new york harbor late one afternoon in spring. the last efforts of the sun were being put forth in turning the waters of the bay to glistening gold; the green islands on either side, in spite of their warlike mountings, looked calm and peaceful; the buildings of the town shone out in a reflected light which gave the city an air of enchantment; and, truly, it is an enchanted spot. new york city is the most fatally fascinating thing in america. she sits like a great witch at the gate of the country, showing her alluring white face, and hiding her crooked hands and feet under the folds of her wide garments,-constantly enticing thousands from far within, and tempting those who come from across the seas to go no farther. and all these become the victims of her caprice. some she at once crushes beneath her cruel feet; others she condemns to a fate like that of galley slaves; a few she favors and fondles, rid- ing them high on the bubbles of fortune; then with a sudden breath she blows the bubbles out and laughs mockingly as she watches them fall. twice i had passed through it; but this was really my first visit to new york; and as i walked an ex-colored man about that evening i began to feel the dread power of the city; the crowds, the lights, the excitement, the gayety and all its subtler stimulating influences began to take effect upon me. my blood ran quicker, and i felt that i was just beginning to live. to some natures this stimulant of life in a great city becomes a thing as binding and neces- sary as opium is to one addicted to the habit. it becomes their breath of life; they cannot exist out- side of it; rather than be deprived of it they are content to suffer hunger, want, pain and misery; they would not exchange even a ragged and wretched condition among the great crowd for any degree of comfort away from it. as soon as we landed, four of us went directly to a lodging-house in th street, just west of sixth avenue. the house was run by a short, stout mulatto man, who was exceedingly talkative and inquisitive. in fifteen minutes he not only knew the history of the past life of each one of us, but had a clearer idea of what we intended to do in the future than we ourselves. he sought this information so much with an air of being very particular as to whom he admitted into his house that we tremblingly answered every question that he asked. when we had become located we went out and got supper; then walked around until about ten o'clock. at that hour we met a couple of young fellows who lived in new york and were known to one of the members of our party. it the autobiography of was suggested we go to a certain place which was known by the proprietor's name. we turned into one of the cross streets and mounted the stoop of a house in about the middle of a block between sixth and seventh avenues. one of the young men whom we had met rang a bell, and a man on the inside cracked the door a couple of inches; then opened it and let us in. we found ourselves in the hallway of what had once been a residence. the front parlor had been converted into a bar, and a half dozen or so of well dressed men were in the room. we went in, and after a general intro- duction had several rounds of beer. in the back parlor a crowd was sitting and standing around the walls of the room watching an exciting and noisy game of pool. i walked back and joined this crowd to watch the game, and principally to get away from the drinking party. the game was really interesting, the players being quite ex- pert, and the excitement was heightened by the bets which were being made on the result. at times the antics and remarks of both players and spectators were amusing. when, at a critical point, a player missed a shot he was deluged by those financially interested in his making it with a flood of epithets synonymous to "chump"; while from the others he would be jeered by such re- marks as "nigger, dat cue ain't no hoe-handle." i noticed that among this class of colored men the word "nigger" was freely used in about the same an ex-colored man sense as the word "fellow," and sometimes as a term of almost endearment; but i soon learned that its use was positively and absolutely prohibited to white men. i stood watching this pool game until i was called by my friends, who were still in the bar- room, to go upstairs. on the second floor there were two large rooms. from the hall i looked into the one on the front. there was a large, round table in the center, at which five or six men were seated playing poker. the air and conduct here were greatly in contrast to what i had just seen in the pool-room; these men were evidently the aris- tocrats of the place; they were well, perhaps a bit flashily, dressed and spoke in low modulated voices, frequently using the word “gentlemen”; in fact, they seemed to be practicing a sort of chester- fieldian politeness towards each other. i was watching these men with a great deal of interest and some degree of admiration, when i was again called by the members of our party, and i followed them on to the back room. there was a door- keeper at this room, and we were admitted only after inspection. when we got inside i saw a crowd of men of all ages and kinds grouped about an old billiard table, regarding some of whom, in supposing them to be white, i made no mistake. at first i did not know what these men were doing; they were using terms that were strange to me. i could hear only a confusion of voịces exclaiming, the autobiography of “shoot the two!" "shoot the four!" “shoot the four!” “fate me!" “fate me!" "i've got you fated!” “twenty- five cents he don't turn !" this was the ancient and terribly fascinating game of dice, popularly known as "craps.” i, myself, had played pool in jacksonville; it is a favorite game among cigar- makers, and i had seen others play cards; but here was something new. i edged my way in to the table and stood between one of my new-found new york friends and a tall, slender, black fellow, who was making side bets while the dice were at the other end of the table. my companion explained to me the principles of the game; and they are so simple that they hardly need to be explained twice. the dice came around the table until they reached the man on the other side of the tall, black fellow. he lost, and the latter said, “gimme the bones.” he threw a dollar on the table and said, "shoot the dollar.” his style of play was so strenuous that he had to be allowed plenty of room. he shook the dice high above his head, and each time he threw them on the table he emitted a grunt such as men give when they are putting forth physical exertion with a rhythmic regularity. he fre- quently whirled completely around on his heels, throwing the dice the entire length of the table, and talking to them as though they were trained animals. he appealed to them in short singsong phrases. “come dice," he would say. “little phoebe," "little joe,” “way down yonder in the an ex-colored man cornfield.” whether these mystic incantations were efficacious or not i could not say, but, at any rate, his luck was great, and he had what gamblers term "nerve.” “shoot the dollar!” “shoot the two!” “shoot the four!” “shoot the eight!" came from his lips as quickly as the dice turned to his advantage. my companion asked me if i had ever played. i told him no. he said that i ought to try my luck; that everybody won at first. the tall man at my side was waving his arms in the air exclaiming "shoot the sixteen!” “shoot the sixteen !” “fate me!" whether it was my com- panion's suggestion or some latent dare-devil strain in my blood which suddenly sprang into activity i do not know; but with a thrill of excite- ment which went through my whole body i threw a twenty dollar bill on the table and said in a trembling voice, “i fate you.” i could feel that i had gained the attention and respect of everybody in the room, every eye was fixed on me, and the widespread question, “who is he?” went around. this was gratifying to a cer- tain sense of vanity of which i have never been able to rid myself, and i felt that it was worth the money even if i lost. the tall man with a whirl on his heels and a double grunt threw the dice; four was the number which turned up. this is considered as a hard "point" to make. doubled his contortions and his grunts and his pleadings to the dice; but on his third or fourth he re- the autobiography of won. throw the fateful seven turned up, and i had won. my companion and all my friends shouted to me to follow up my luck. the fever was on me. i seized the dice. my hands were so hot that the bits of bone felt like pieces of ice. i shouted as loudly as i could, "shoot it all!" but the blood was tingling so about my ears that i could not hear my own voice. i was soon “fated.” i threw the dice -seven-i had won. “shoot it all!” i cried again. there was a pause; the stake was more than one man cared to or could cover. i was finally “fated” by several men taking "a part” of it. i then threw the dice again. seven. i had “shoot it all!" i shouted excitedly. after a short delay i was “fated.” again i rolled the dice. eleven. again i had won. my friends now surrounded me and, much against my inclina- tion, forced me to take down all of the money ex- cept five dollars. i tried my luck once more, and threw some small “point” which i failed to make, and the dice passed on to the next man. in less than three minutes i had won more than two hundred dollars, a sum which afterwards cost me dearly. i was the hero of the moment, and was soon surrounded by a group of men who ex- pressed admiration for my "nerve” and predicted for me a brilliant future as a gambler. although at the time i had no thought of becoming a gam- bler i felt proud of my success. i felt a bit ashamed, too, that i had allowed my friends to an ex-colored man persuade me to take down my money so soon. another set of men also got around me, and begged me for twenty-five or fifty cents to put them back into the game. i gave each of them something. i saw that several of them had on linen dusters, and as i looked about i noticed that there were perhaps a dozen men in the room simi- larly clad. i asked the fellow who had been my prompter at the dice table why they dressed in such a manner. he told me that men who had lost all the money and jewelry they possessed, fre- quently, in an effort to recoup their losses, would gamble away all their outer clothing and even their shoes; and that the proprietor kept on hand a supply of linen dusters for all who were so un- fortunate. my informant went on to say that sometimes a fellow would become almost com- pletely dressed and then, by a turn of the dice, would be thrown back into a state of semi-naked- some of them were virtually prisoners and unable to get into the streets for days at a time. they ate at the lunch counter, where their credit was good so long as they were fair gamblers and did not attempt to jump their debts, and they slept around in chairs. they importuned friends and winners to put them back in the game, and kept at it until fortune again smiled on them. i laughed heartily at this, not thinking the day was coming which would find me in the same ludicrous predicament. ness. an ex-colored man that were brought into evidence when drinks were paid for, and the air of gayety that pervaded, all completely dazzled and dazed me. i felt posi- tively giddy, and it was several minutes before i was able to make any clear and definite observa- tions. we at length secured places at a table in a cor- ner of the room, and as soon as we could attract the attention of one of the busy waiters ordered a round of drinks. when i had somewhat col- lected my senses i realized that in a large back room into which the main room opened, there was a young fellow singing a song, accompanied on the piano by a short, thick-set, dark man. be- tween each verse he did some dance steps, which brought forth great applause and a shower of small coins at his feet. after the singer had re- sponded to a rousing encore, the stout man at the piano began to run his fingers up and down the keyboard. this he did in a manner which indi- cated that he was master of a good deal of tech- nic. then he began to play; and such playing! i stopped talking to listen. it was music of a kind i had never heard before. it was music that demanded physical response, patting of the feet, drumming of the fingers, or nodding of the head in time with the beat. the barbaric harmonies, the audacious resolutions often consisting of an abrupt jump from one key to another, the intri- cate rhythms in which the accents fell in the most the autobiography of unexpected places, but in which the beat was never lost, produced a most curious effect. and, too, the player,—the dexterity of his left hand in mak- ing rapid octave runs and jumps was little short of marvelous; and, with his right hand, he fre- quently swept half the keyboard with clean cut chromatics which he fitted in so nicely as never to fail to arouse in his listeners a sort of pleasant surprise at the accomplishment of the feat. this was ragtime music, then a novelty in new york, and just growing to be a rage which has not yet subsided. it was originated in the ques- tionable resorts about memphis and st. louis by negro piano players, who knew no more of the theory of music than they did of the theory of the universe, but were guided by natural musical in- stinct and talent. it made its way to chicago, where it was popular some time before it reached new york. these players often improvised crude and, at times, vulgar words to fit the melodies. this was the beginning of the ragtime song. several of these improvisations were taken down by white men, the words slightly altered, and pub- lished under the names of the arrangers. they. sprang into immediate popularity and earned small fortunes, of which the negro originators got only a few dollars. but i have learned that since that time a number of colored men, of not only musical talent, but training, are writing out their own melodies and words and reaping the reward the autobiography of lieve that it has its place as well as the music which draws from us sighs and tears. i became so interested in both the music and the player that i left the table where i was sit- ting, and made my way through the hall into the back room, where i could see as well as hear. i talked to the piano player between the musical numbers, and found out that he was just a nat- ural musician, never having taken a lesson in his life. not only could he play almost anything he heard, but could accompany singers in songs he had never heard. he had by ear alone, composed some pieces, several of which he played over for me; each of them was properly proportioned and balanced. i began to wonder what this man with such a lavish natural endowment would have done had he been trained. perhaps he wouldn't have done anything at all; he might have become, at best, a mediocre imitator of the great masters in what they have already done to a finish, or one of the modern innovators who strive after orig- inality by seeing how cleverly they can dodge about through the rules of harmony, and at the same time avoid melody. it is certain that he would not have been so delightful as he was in ragtime. i sat by watching and listening to this man un- til i was dragged away by my friends. the place was now almost deserted; only a few strag- glers hung on, and they were all the worse for an ex-colored man drink. my friends were well up in this class. we passed into the street; the lamps were pale against the sky; day was just breaking. we went home and got into bed. i fell into a fitful sort of sleep with ragtime music ringing continu- ally in my ears. chapter vii i shall take advantage of this pause in my nar- rative to more closely describe the “club” spoken of in the latter part of the preceding chapter,- to describe it, as i afterwards came to know it, as an habitue. i shall do this, not only because of the direct influence it had on my life, but also be- cause it was at that time the most famous place of its kind in new york, and was well known to both white and colored people of certain classes. i have already stated that in the basement of the house there was a chinese restaurant. the chinaman who kept it did an exceptionally good business; for chop-suey was a favorite dish among the frequenters of the place. it is a food that, somehow, has the power of absorbing alcoholic liquors that have been taken into the stomach. i have heard men claim that they could sober up on chop-suey. perhaps that accounted, in some de- gree, for its popularity. on the main floor there were two large rooms, a parlor about thirty feet in length and a large square back room into which the parlor opened. the floor of the parlor was carpeted; small tables and chairs were arranged an ex-coloredy man a about the room; the windows were draped with lace curtains, and the walls were literally covered with photographs or lithographs of every colored man in america who had ever “done anything. there were pictures of frederick douglass and of peter jackson, of all the lesser lights of the prize- fighting ring, of all the famous jockeys and the stage celebrities, down to the newest song and dance team. the most of these photographs were autographed and, in a sense, made a really valu- able collection. in the back room there was piano; and tables were placed around the wall. the floor was bare and the center was left at for singers, dancers and others who entertained the patrons. in a closet in this room which jut- ted out into the hall the proprietor kept his buf- fet. there was no open bar, because the place had no liquor license. in this back room the ta- bles were sometimes pushed aside, and the floor given over to general dancing. the front room on the next floor was a sort of private party room; a back room on the same floor contained no fur- niture, and was devoted to the use of new and ambitions performers. in this room song and dance teams practiced their steps, acrobatic teams practiced their tumbles, and many other kinds of “acts” rehearsed their "turns.” the other rooms of the house were used as sleeping apartments. no gambling was allowed, and the conduct of the place was surprisingly orderly. it was, in an ex-colored man mouth, while he carried in his heart a burning ambition to be a tragedian; and so after all he did play a part in a tragedy. these notables of the ring, the turf and the stage, drew to the place crowds of admirers, both white and colored. whenever one of them came in there were awe-inspired whispers from those who knew him by sight, in which they enlightened those around them as to his identity, and hinted darkly at their great intimacy with the noted one. those who were on terms of approach immedi- ately showed their privilege over others less fortu- nate by gathering around their divinity. i was, at first, among those who dwelt in darkness. most of these celebrities i had never heard of. this made me an object of pity among many of my new associates. i, however, soon learned to fake a knowledge for the benefit of those who were greener than i; and, finally, i became personally acquainted with the majority of the famous per- sonages who came to the “club." a great deal of money was spent here; so many of the patrons were men who earned large sums. i remember one night a dapper little brown- skinned fellow was pointed out to me, and i was told that he was the most popular jockey of the day, and that he earned $ , a year. this latter statement i couldn't doubt, for with my own eyes i saw him spending at about that rate. for his friends and those who were introduced to him the autobiography of he bought nothing but wine ;-in the sporting circle, “wine” means champagne-and paid for it at five dollars a quart. he sent a quart to every table in the place with his compliments; and on the table at which he and his party were seated there were more than a dozen bottles. it was the custom at the "club" for the waiter not to re- move the bottles when champagne was being drunk until the party had finished. there were reasons for this; it advertised the brand of wine, it ad- vertised that the party was drinking wine, and advertised how much they had bought. this jockey had won a great race that day, and he was rewarding his admirers for the homage they paid him, all of which he accepted with a fine air of condescension. besides the people i have just been describing there was at the place almost every night one or two parties of white people, men and women, who were out sight-seeing, or slumming. they gen- erally came in cabs; some of them would stay only for a few minutes, while others sometimes stayed until morning. there was also another set of white people who came frequently; it was made up of variety performers and others who delineated darky characters; they came to get their imita- tations first hand from the negro entertainers they saw there. there was still another set of white patrons, composed of women ; these were not occasional the autobiography of rich widow. she went by a very aristocratic sounding name, which corresponded to her appear- ance. i shall never forget how hard it was for me to get over my feelings of surprise, perhaps more than surprise, at seeing her with her black companion; somehow i never exactly enjoyed the sight. i have devoted so much time to this pair, the "widow" and her companion, because it was through them that another decided turn was brought about in my life. chapter viii on the day following our night at the “club” we slept until late in the afternoon; so late that beginning of search for work was entirely out of the question. this did not cause me much worry, for i had more than three hundred dollars, and new york had impressed me as a place where there was lots of money and not much difficulty in get- ting it. it is needless to inform my readers that i did not long hold this opinion. we got out of the house about dark, went round to a restaurant on sixth avenue and ate something, then walked around for a couple of hours. i finally suggested that we visit the same places we had been in the night before. following my suggestion we started first to the gambling house. the man on the door let us in without any question; i accred- ited this to my success of the night before. we went straight to the "crap” room, and i at once made my way to a table, where i was rather flat- tered by the murmur of recognition which went around. i played in up and down luck for three or four hours; then, worn with nervous excite- ment, quit, having lost about fifty dollars. but i was so strongly possessed with the thought that the autobiography of i would make up my losses the next time i played that i left the place with a light heart. when we got into the street our party was di- vided against itself; two were for going home at once and getting to bed. they gave as a reason that we were to get up early and look for jobs. i think the real reason was that they had each lost several dollars in the game. i lived to learn that in the world of sport all men win alike but lose differently; and so gamblers are rated, not by the way in which they win, but by the way in which they lose. some men lose with a careless smile, recognizing that losing is a part of the game; others curse their luck and rail at fortune; and others, still, lose sadly; after each such experi- ence they are swept by a wave of reform; they re- solve to stop gambling and be good. when in this frame of mind it would take very little persuasion to lead them into a prayer-meeting. those in the first class are looked upon with admiration; those in the second class are merely commonplace; while those in the third are regarded with contempt. i believe these distinctions hold good in all the ven- tures of life. after some minutes one of my friends and i succeeded in convincing the other two that a while at the “club” would put us all in better spirits; and they consented to go on our promise not to stay longer than an hour. we found the place crowded, and the same sort of an ex-colored man thing going on which we had seen the night be- fore. i took a seat at once by the side of the piano player, and was soon lost to everything else except the novel charm of the music. i watched the performer with the idea of catching the trick; and, during one of his intermissions, i took his place at the piano and made an attempt to imitate him, but even my quick ear and ready fingers were unequal to the task on first trial. we did not stay at the “club” very long, but went home to bed in order to be up early the next day. we had no difficulty in finding work, and my third morning in new york found me at a ta- ble rolling cigars. i worked steadily for some weeks, at the same time spending my earnings be- tween the "crap" game and the “club.” making cigars became more and more irksome to me; per- haps my more congenial work as a "reader” had unfitted me for work at the table. and, too, the late hours i was keeping made such a sedentary occupation almost beyond the powers of will and endurance. i often found it hard to keep my eyes open and sometimes had to get up and move around to keep from falling asleep. i began to miss whole days from the factory, days on which i was compelled to stay at home and sleep. my luck at the gambling table was varied; sometimes i was fifty to a hundred dollars ahead, and at other times i had to borrow money from my fellow workmen to settle my room rent and the autobiography of pay for my meals. each night after leaving the dice game i went to the “club” to hear the music and watch the gayety. if i had won, this was in accord with my mood; if i had lost, it made me forget. i at last realized that making cigars for a living and gambling for a living could not both be carried on at the same time, and i resolved to give up the cigar-making. this resolution led me into a life which held me bound more than a year. during that period my regular time for going to bed was somewhere between four and six o'clock in the mornings. i got up late in the af- ternoons, walked about a little, then went to the gambling house or the “club.” my new york was limited to ten blocks; the boundaries were sixth avenue from twenty-third to thirty-third streets, with the cross streets one block to the west. central park was a distant forest, and the lower part of the city a foreign land. i look back upon the life i then led with a shudder when i think what would have been had i not escaped it. but had i not escaped it, i would have been no more unfortunate than are many young col- ored men who come to new york. during that dark period i became acquainted with a score of bright, intelligent young fellows who had come up to the great city with high hopes and ambi- tions, and who had fallen under the spell of this under life, a spell they could not throw off. there was one popularly known as “the doctor”; an ex-colored man he had had two years in the harvard medical school; but here he was, living this gas-light life, his will and moral sense so enervated and dead- ened that it was impossible for him to break away. i do not doubt that the same thing is going on now, but i have rather sympathy than censure for these victims, for i know how easy it is to slip into a slough from which it takes a herculean ef- fort to leap. i regret that i cannot contrast my views of life among colored people of new york; but the truth is, during my entire stay in this city i did not become acquainted with a single respectable fam- ily. i knew that there were several colored men worth a hundred or so thousand dollars each, and some families who proudly dated their free an- cestry back a half-dozen generations. i also learned that in brooklyn there lived quite a large colony in comfortable homes, most of which they owned; but at no point did my life come in con- tact with theirs. in my gambling experiences i passed through all the states and conditions that a gambler is heir to. some days found me able to peel ten and twenty dollar bills from a roll, and others found me clad in a linen duster and carpet slip- pers. i finally caught up another method of earning money, and so did not have to depend en- tirely upon the caprices of fortune at the gaming table. through continually listening to the mu- the autobiography of sic at the “club,” and through my own previous training, my natural talent and perseverance, i developed into a remarkable player of ragtime; indeed, i had the name at that time of being the best ragtime player in new york. i brought all my knowledge of classic music to bear and, in so doing, achieved some novelties which pleased and even astonished my listeners. it was i who first made ragtime transcriptions of familiar classic selections. i used to play mendelssohn's “wed- ding march" in a manner that never failed to arouse enthusiasm among the patrons of the “club." very few nights passed during which i was not asked to play it. it was no secret that the great increase in slumming visitors was due to my playing. by mastering ragtime i gained several things; first of all, i gained the title of professor. i was known as the “professor" as long as i remained in that world. then, too, i gained the means of earning a rather fair liveli- hood. this work took up much of my time and kept me almost entirely away from the gambling table. through it i also gained a friend who was the means by which i escaped from this lower world. and, finally, i secured a wedge which has opened to me more doors and made me a welcome guest than my playing of beethoven and chopin could ever have done. the greater part of the money i now began to earn came through the friend to whom i alluded an ex-colored man as quiet and appreciative attention, and when i had finished i was given a round of generous applause. after that the talk and the laughter began to grow until the music was only an accompaniment to the chatter. this, however, did not disconcert me as it once would have done, for i had become accus- tomed to playing in the midst of uproarious noise. as the guests began to pay less attention to me i was enabled to pay more to them. there were about a dozen of them. the men ranged in appearance from a girlish looking youth to a big grizzled man whom everybody addressed "judge.” none of the women appeared to be un- der thirty, but each of them struck me as being handsome. i was not long in finding out that they were all decidedly blasé. several of the women smoked cigarettes, and with a careless grace which showed they were used to the habit. occasionally a "damn it!" escaped from the lips of some one of them, but in such a charming way as to rob it of all vulgarity. the most notable thing which i observed was that the reserve of the host increased in direct proportion with the hilarity of his guests. i thought that there was something going wrong which displeased him. which displeased him. i afterwards learned that it was his habitual manner on such occasions. he seemed to take cynical delight in watching and studying others indulging in ex- his guests were evidently accustomed to his rather non-participating attitude, for it did cess. the autobiography of not seem in any degree to dampen their spirits. when dinner was served the piano was moved and the door left open, so that the company might hear the music while eating. at a word from the host i struck up one of my liveliest ragtime pieces. the effect was perhaps surprising, even to the host; the ragtime music came very near spoiling the party so far as eating the dinner was concerned. as soon as i began the conversation stopped suddenly. it was a pleasure to me to watch the expression of astonishment and delight that grew on the faces of everybody. these were people,—and they represented a large class,—who were ever expecting to find happiness in novelty, each day restlessly exploring and exhausting every resource of this great city that might pos- sibly furnish a new sensation or awaken a fresh emotion, and who were always grateful to any- one who aided them in their quest. several of the women left the table and gathered about the piano. they watched my fingers, asked what kind of music it was that i was playing, where i had learned it and a host of other questions. it was only by being repeatedly called back to the table that they were induced to finish their din- when the guests arose i struck up my rag- time transcription of mendelssohn's “wedding march," playing it with terrific chromatic octave runs in the base. this raised everybody's spir- its to the highest point of gayety, and the whole ner. an ex-colored man company involuntarily and unconsciously did an impromptu cake-walk. from that time on until the time of leaving they kept me so busy that my arms ached. i obtained a little respite when the girlish looking youth and one or two of the la- dies sang several songs, but after each of these it was, “back to ragtime.” in leaving, the guests were enthusiastic in tell- ing the host that he had furnished them the most unique entertainment they had "ever" enjoyed. when they had gone, my millionaire friend, for he was reported to be a millionaire,—said to me with a smile, “well, i have given them something they've never had before." after i had put on my coat and was ready to leave he made me take a glass of wine; he then gave me a cigar and twenty dollars in bills. he told me that he would give me lots of work, his only stipulation being that i should not play any engagements such as i had just filled for him, except by his instruc- tions. i readily accepted the proposition, for i was sure that i could not be the loser by such a contract. i afterwards played for him at many dinners and parties of one kind or another. occasionally he "loaned” me to some of his friends. and, too, i often played for him alone at his apartments. at such times he was quite a puzzle to me until i became accustomed to his manners. he would sometimes sit for three or four hours hearing me an ex-colored man when i was not playing for my good patron i was generally to be found there. however, i no longer depended on playing at the “club” to earn my living; i rather took rank with the vis- iting celebrities and, occasionally, after being suf- ficiently urged, would favor my old and new ad- mirers with a number or two. i say, without any egotistic pride, that among my admirers were sev- eral of the best looking women who frequented the place, and who made no secret of the fact that they admired me as much as they did my playing. among these was the "widow”; indeed, her atten- tions became so marked that one of my friends warned me to beware of her black companion, who was generally known as a "bad man.” he said there was much more reason to be careful because the pair had lately quarreled, and had not been together at the “club” for some nights. this warning greatly impressed me and i resolved to stop the affair before it should go any further; but the woman was so beautiful that my native gallantry and delicacy would not allow me to re- pulse her; my finer feelings entirely overcame my judgment. the warning also opened my eyes sufficiently to see that though my artistic tem- perament and skill made me interesting and at- tractive to the woman, she was, after all, using me only to excite the jealousy of her companion and. revenge herself upon him. it was this surly black despot who held sway over her deepest emotions. an ex-colored man many i do not know; for the first knowledge i had of my surroundings and actions was that i was rushing through the chop-suey restaurant into the street. just which streets i followed when i got outside i do not know, but i think i must have gone towards eighth avenue, then down towards twenty-third street and across towards fifth avenue. i traveled not by sight, but instinc- tively. i felt like one fleeing in a horrible night- mare. how long and far i walked i cannot tell; but on fifth avenue, under a light, i passed a cab containing a solitary occupant, who called to me, and i recognized the voice and face of my million- aire friend. he stopped the cab and asked, “what on earth are you doing strolling in this part of the town?” for answer i got into the cab and related to him all that had happened. he reassured me by saying that no charge of any kind could be brought against me; then added, "but, of course, you don't want to be mixed up in such an affair.' he directed the driver to turn around and go into the park, and then went on to say, “i decided last night that i'd go to eu- rope to-morrow. i think i'll take you along in- stead of walter." walter was his valet. it was settled that i should go to his apartments for the rest of the night and sail with him in the morning. we drove around through the park, exchanging the autobiography of shining full upon it, and it glistened like a mam- moth diamond, cut with a million facets. as we passed it constantly changed its shape; at each different angle of vision it assumed new and as- tonishing forms of beauty. i watched it through a pair of glasses, seeking to verify my early con- ception of an iceberg—in the geographies of my grammar-school days the pictures of icebergs al- ways included a stranded polar bear, standing desolately upon one of the snowy crags. i looked for the bear, but if he was there he refused to put himself on exhibition. it was not, however, until the morning that we entered the harbor of havre that i was able to shake off my gloom. then the strange sights, the chatter in an unfamiliar tongue and the ex- citement of landing and passing the customs of- ficials caused me to forget completely the events of a few days before. indeed, i grew so light- hearted that when i caught my first sight of the train which was to take us to paris, i enjoyed a hearty laugh. the toy-looking engine, the stuffy little compartment cars with tiny, old-fashioned wheels, struck me as being extremely funny. but before we reached paris my respect for our train rose considerably. i found that the "tiny" en- gine made remarkably fast time, and that the old- fashioned wheels ran very smoothly. i even be- gan to appreciate the "stuffy” cars for their pri- an ex-colored man vacy. as i watched the passing scenery from the car window it seemed too beautiful to be real. the bright-colored houses against the green back- ground impressed me as the work of some ideal- istic painter. before we arrived in paris there was awakened in my heart a love for france which continued to grow stronger, a love which to- day makes that country for me the one above all others to be desired. we rolled into the station saint lazare about four o'clock in the afternoon, and drove immedi- ately to the hotel continental. my benefactor, humoring my curiosity and enthusiasm, which seemed to please him very much, suggested that we take a short walk before dinner. we stepped out of the hotel and turned to the right into the rue de rivoli. when the vista of the place de la concorde and the champs elysées suddenly burst on me i could hardly credit my own eyes. i shall attempt no such superogatory task as a description of paris. i wish only to give briefly the impressions which that wonderful city made upon me. it impressed me as the perfect and perfectly beautiful city; and even after i had been there for some time, and seen not only its avenues and palaces, but its most squalid alleys and hov- els, this impression was not weakened. paris be- came for me a charmed spot, and whenever i have returned there i have fallen under the spell, a the autobiography of spell which compels admiration for all of its man- ners and customs and justification of even its fol- lies and sins. we walked a short distance up the champs elysées and sat for a while in chairs along the sidewalk, watching the passing crowds on foot and in carriages. it was with reluctance that i went back to the hotel for dinner. after dinner we went to one of the summer theaters, and after the performance my friend took me to a large café on one of the grand boulevards. here it was that i had my first glimpse of the french life of popu- lar literature, so different from real french life. there were several hundred people, men and women, in the place drinking, smoking, talking, and listening to the music. my millionaire friend and i took seats at a table where we sat smoking and watching the crowd. it was not long before we were joined by two or three good-looking, well- dressed young women. my friend talked to them in french and bought drinks for the whole party. i tried to recall my high school french, but the effort availed me little. i could stammer out a few phrases, but, very naturally, could not un- derstand a word that was said to me. we stayed at the café a couple of hours, then went back to the hotel. the next day we spent several hours in the shops and at the tailors. i had no clothes except what i had been able to gather together at my benefactor's apartments the night before the autobiography of tition to the reader. i played not only for the guests, but continued, as i used to do in new york, to play often for the host when he was alone. this man of the world, who grew weary of everything, and was always searching for something new, appeared never to grow tired of my music; he seemed to take it as a drug. he fell into a habit which caused me no little annoyance; sometimes he would come in during the early hours of the morning, and finding me in bed asleep, would wake me up and ask me to play something. this, so far as i can remember, was my only hardship during my whole stay with him in europe. after the first few weeks spent in sight-seeing, i had a great deal of time left to myself; my friend was often i did not know where. when not with him i spent the day nosing about all the curious nooks and corners of paris ; of this i never grew tired. at night i usually went to some theater, but always ended up at the big café on the grand boulevards. i wish the reader to know that it was not alone the gayety which drew me there; aside from that i had a laudable purpose. i had purchased an english-french conversa- tional dictionary, and i went there every night to take a language lesson. i used to get three or four of the young women who frequented the place at a table and buy beer and cigarettes for them. in return i received my lesson. i got more than the autobiography of but i did not hear the music. slowly the deso- late loneliness of my position became clear to me. i knew that i could not speak, but i would have given a part of my life to touch her hand with mine and call her sister. i sat through the opera until i could stand it no longer. i felt that i was suffocating. valentine's love seemed like mock- ery, and i felt an almost uncontrollable impulse to rise up and scream to the audience, “here, here in your very midst, is a tragedy, a real trag- edy!” this impulse grew so strong that i be- came afraid of myself, and in the darkness of one of the scenes i stumbled out of the theater. i walked aimlessly about for an hour or so, my feel- ings divided between a desire to weep and a de- sire to curse. i finally took a cab and went from café to café, and for one of the very few times in my life drank myself into a stupor. it was unwelcome news for me when my bene- factor-i could not think of him as employer- informed me that he was at last tired of paris. this news gave me, i think, a passing doubt as to his sanity. i had enjoyed life in paris, and, tak- ing all things into consideration, enjoyed it whole- somely. one thing which greatly contributed to my enjoyment was the fact that i was an ameri- americans are immensely popular in paris; and this is not due solely to the fact that they spend lots of money there; for they spend just as much or more in london, and in the latter city can. an ex-colored man they are merely tolerated because they do spend. the londoner seems to think that americans are people whose only claim to be classed as civilized is that they have money, and the regrettable thing about that is that the money is not english. but the french are more logical and freer from preju- dices than the british; so the difference of atti- tude is easily explained. only once in paris did i have cause to blush for my american citizen- ship. i had become quite friendly with a young man from luxembourg whom i had met at the big café. he was a stolid, slow-witted fellow, but, as we say, with a heart of gold. he and i grew at- tached to each other and were together fre- quently. he was a great admirer of the united states and never grew tired of talking to me about the country and asking for information. it was his intention to try his fortune there some day. one night he asked me in a tone of voice which indicated that he expected an authoritative denial of an ugly rumor, “did they really burn a man alive in the united states ?" i never knew what i stammered out to him as an answer. i should have felt relieved if i could even have said to him, “well, only one." when we arrived in london my sadness at leav- ing paris was turned into despair. after my long stay in the french capital, huge, ponderous, massive london seemed to me as ugly a thing as man could contrive to make. i thought of paris the autobiography of as a beauty spot on the face of the earth, and of london as a big freckle. but soon london's massiveness, i might say its very ugliness, began to impress me. i began to experience that sense of grandeur which one feels when he looks at a great mountain or a mighty river. beside lon- don paris becomes a toy, a pretty plaything. and i must own that before i left the world's metropolis i discovered much there that was beau- tiful. the beauty in and about london is en- tirely different from that in and about paris; and i could not but admit that the beauty of the french city seemed hand-made, artificial, as though set up for the photographer's camera, ev- erything nicely adjusted so as not to spoil the picture; while that of the english city was rug- ged, natural and fresh. how these two cities typify the two peoples who built them! even the sound of their names express a certain racial difference. paris is the concrete expression of the gayety, regard for symmetry, love of art and, i might well add, of the morality of the french people. london stands for the conservatism, the solidarity, the utilitarianism and, i might well add, the hypocrisy of the anglo-saxon. it may sound odd to speak of the morality of the french, if not of the hypoc- risy of the english; but this seeming paradox im- pressed me as a deep truth. i saw many things in paris which were immoral according to english an ex-colored man standards, but the absence of hypocrisy, the ab- sence of the spirit to do the thing if it might only be done in secret, robbed these very immoralities of the damning influence of the same evils in lon- don. i have walked along the terrace cafés of paris and seen hundreds of men and women sip- ping their wine and beer, without observing a sign of drunkenness. as they drank, they chatted and laughed and watched the passing crowds; the drinking seemed to be a secondary thing. this i have witnessed, not only in the cafés along the grand boulevards, but in the out-of-way places patronized by the working classes. in london i have seen in the “pubs” men and women crowded in stuffy little compartments, drinking seemingly only for the pleasure of swallowing as much as they could hold. i have seen there women from eighteen to eighty, some in tatters, and some clutching babes in their arms, drinking the heavy english ales and whiskies served to them by in the whole scene, not one ray of brightness, not one flash of gayety, only maudlin joviality or grim despair. and i have thought, if some men and women will drink-and it is cer- tain that some will—is it not better that they do so under the open sky, in the fresh air, than hud- dled together in some close, smoky room? there is a sort of frankness about the evils of paris which robs them of much of the seductiveness of things forbidden, and with that frankness goes a women. the autobiography of certain cleanliness of thought belonging to things not hidden. london will do whatever paris does, provided exterior morals are not shocked. as a result, paris has the appearance only of being the more immoral city. the difference may be summed up in this : paris practices its sins as lightly as it does its religion, while london prac- tices both very seriously. i should not neglect to mention what impressed me most forcibly during my stay in london. it was not st. paul's nor the british museum nor westminster abbey. it was nothing more or less than the simple phrase "thank you," or some- times more elaborated, “thank you very kindly, sir.” i was continually surprised by the varied uses to which it was put; and, strange to say, its use as an expression of politeness seemed more limited than any other. one night i was in a cheap music hall and accidentally bumped into a waiter who was carrying a tray-load of beer, al- most bringing him to several shillings' worth of grief. to my amazement he righted himself and said, “thank ye, sir,” and left me wondering whether he meant that he thanked me for not com- pletely spilling his beer, or that he would thank me for keeping out of his way. i also found cause to wonder upon what ground the english accuse americans of corrupting the language by introducing slang words. i think i heard more and more different kinds of slang dur- an ex-colored man ing my few weeks' stay in london than in my whole “tenderloin” life in new york. but i sup- pose the english feel that the language is theirs, and that they may do with it as they please with- out at the same time allowing that privilege to others. my “millionaire” was not so long in growing tired of london as of paris. after a stay of six or eight weeks we went across into holland. am- sterdam was a great surprise to me. i had al- ways thought of venice as the city of canals; but it had never entered my mind that i should find similar conditions in a dutch town. i don't sup- pose the comparison goes far beyond the fact that there are canals in both cities—i have never seen venice—but amsterdam struck me as being ex- tremely picturesque. from holland we went to germany, where we spent five or six months, most of the time in berlin. i found berlin more to my taste than london, and occasionally i had to admit that in some things it was superior to paris. in berlin i especially enjoyed the orchestral concerts, and i attended a large number of them. i formed the acquaintance of a good many musi- cians, several of whom spoke of my playing in high terms. it was in berlin that my inspiration was renewed. one night my “millionaire” enter- tained a party of men composed of artists, musi- cians, writers and, for aught i know, a count or an ex-colored man still think that the only spot on earth? wait until you see cairo and tokio, you may change your mind.” “no,” i stammered, “it is not be- cause i want to go back to paris. i want to go back to the united states." he wished to know my reason, and i told him, as best i could, my dreams, my ambition, and my decision. while i was talking he watched me with a curious, almost cynical, smile growing on his lips. when i had finished he put his hand on my shoulder.—this was the first physical expression of tender regard he had ever shown me—and looking at me in a big-brotherly way, said, “my boy, you are by blood, by appearance, by education and by tastes, a white man. now why do you want to throw your life away amidst the poverty and ignorance, in the hopeless struggle of the black people of the united states ? then look at the terrible handicap you are placing on yourself by going home and working as a negro composer; you can never be able to get the hearing for your work which it might deserve. i doubt that even a white musician of recognized ability could succeed there by working on the theory that american music should be based on negro themes. music is a universal art; anybody's music belongs to every- body; you can't limit it to race or country. now, if you want to become a composer, why not stay right here in europe? i will put you under the best teachers on the continent. then if you want an ex-colored man forces, we cannot annihilate it; we may only change its form. we light upon one evil and hit it with all the might of our civilization, but only succeed in scattering it into a dozen of other forms. we hit slavery through a great civil war. did we destroy it? no, we only changed it into hatred between sections of the country: in the south, into political corruption and chicanery, the degrada- tion of the blacks through peonage, unjust laws, unfair and cruel treatment; and the degradation of the whites by their resorting to these practices; the paralyzation of the public conscience, and the ever overhanging dread of what the future may bring. modern civilization hit ignorance of the masses through the means of popular education. what has it done but turn ignorance into anarchy, socialism, strikes, hatred between poor and rich, and universal discontent. in like manner, modern philanthropy hit at suffering and disease through asylums and hospitals; it prolongs the sufferers' lives, it is true; but is, at the same time, sending down strains of insanity and weakness into future generations. my philosophy of life is this: make yourself as happy as possible, and try to make those happy whose lives come into touch with yours; but to attempt to right the wrongs and ease the sufferings of the world in general, is a waste of effort. you had just as well try to bale the atlantic by pouring the water into the pacific.” chapter x among the first of my fellow passengers of whom i took any particular notice, was a tall, broad-shouldered, almost gigantic, colored man. his dark-brown face was clean shaven; he was well dressed and bore a decidedly distinguished air. in fact, if he was not handsome, he at least com- pelled admiration for his fine physical proportions. he attracted general attention as he strode the deck in a sort of majestic loneliness. i became curious to know who he was and determined to strike up an acquaintance with him at the first opportune moment. the chance came a day or two later. he was sitting in the smoking-room, with a cigar in his mouth which had gone out, reading a novel. i sat down beside him and, of- fering him a fresh cigar, said, “you don't mind my telling you something unpleasant, do you?” he looked at me with a smile, accepted the prof- fered cigar, and replied in a voice which com- ported perfectly with his size and appearance, “i think my curiosity overcomes any objections i might have.” “well,” i said, "have you noticed that the man who sat at your right in the saloon during the first meal has not sat there since?” an ex-colored man he frowned slightly without answering my ques- tion. “well," i continued, “he asked the steward to remove him; and not only that, he attempted to persuade a number of the passengers to pro- test against your presence in the dining-saloon.” the big man at my side took a long draw from his cigar, threw his head back and slowly blew a great cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. then turning to me he said, “do you know, i don't object to anyone having prejudices so long as those prejudices don't interfere with my personal liberty. now, the man you are speaking of had a perfect right to change his seat if i in any way interfered with his appetite or his digestion. i would have no reason to complain if he removed to the farthest corner of the saloon, or even if he got off the ship; but when his prejudice attempts to move me one foot, one inch, out of the place where i am comfortably located, then i object.” on the word "object” he brought his great fist down on the table in front of us with such a crash that everyone in the room turned to look. we both covered up the slight embarrassment with a laugh, and strolled out on the deck. we walked the deck for an hour or more, dis- cussing different phases of the negro question. i, in referring to the race, used the personal pro- noun “we”; my companion made no comment about it, nor evinced any surprise, except to slightly raise his eyebrows the first time he caught the sig- an ex-colored man merciful but justice-loving god in heaven, and i believe that there is, we shall win; for we have right on our side; while those who oppose us can defend themselves by nothing in the moral law, nor even by anything in the enlightened thought of the present age.' for several days, together with other topics, we discussed the race problem, not only of the united states, but the race problem as it affected native africans and jews. finally, before we reached boston, our conversation had grown familiar and personal. i had told him something of my past and much about my intentions for the future. i learned that he was a physician, a graduate of howard university, washington, and had done post-graduate work in philadelphia ; and this was his second trip abroad to attend professional he had practiced for some years in the city of washington, and though he did not say so, i gathered that his practice was a lucrative before we left the ship he had made me promise that i would stop two or three days in washington before going on south. we put up at a hotel in boston for a couple of days, and visited several of my new friend's ac- quaintances; they were all people of education and culture and, apparently, of means. i could not but help being struck by the great difference between them and the same class of colored people in the south. in speech and thought they were genuine courses. one. the autobiography of to paraphrase, “have a white skin, and all things else may be added unto you." i have seen ad- vertisements in newspapers for waiters, bell boys or elevator men, which read, “light colored man wanted.” it is this tremendous pressure which the sentiment of the country exerts that is operat- ing on the race. there is involved not only the question of higher opportunity, but often the ques- tion of earning a livelihood; and so i say it is not strange, but a natural tendency. nor is it any more a sacrifice of self respect that a black man should give to his children every advantage he can which complexion of the skin carries, than that the new or vulgar rich should purchase for their chil- dren the advantages which ancestry, aristocracy, and social position carry. i once heard a colored man sum it up in these words, “it's no disgrace to be black, but it's often very inconvenient.” washington shows the negro not only at his best, but also at his worst. as i drove around with the doctor, he commented rather harshly on those of the latter class which we saw. he remarked : “you see those lazy, loafing, good-for-nothing darkies, they're not worth digging graves for; yet they are the ones who create impressions of the race for the casual observer. it's because they are always in evidence on the street corners, while the rest of us are hard at work, and you know a dozen loafing darkies make a bigger crowd and a worse impression in this country than fifty white an ex-colored man thee men of the same class. but they ought not to represent the race. we are the race, and the race ought to be judged by us, not by them. every race and every nation is judged by the best it has been able to produce, not by the worst." the recollection of my stay in washington is a pleasure to me now. in company with the doctor i visited howard university, the public schools, the excellent colored hospital, with which he was in some way connected, if i remember correctly, and many comfortable and even elegant homes. it was with some reluctance that i continued my journey south. the doctor was very kind in giving me letters to people in richmond and nashville when i told him that i intended to stop in both of these cities. in richmond a man who was then editing a very creditable colored newspaper, gave me a great deal of his time, and made my stay there of three or four days very pleasant. in nashville i spent a whole day at fisk university, the home of the "jubilee singers,” and was more than repaid for my time. time. among my letters of introduction was one to a very prosperous physician. he drove me about the city and introduced me to a number of people. from nashville i went to atlanta, where i stayed long enough to gratify an old de- sire to see atlanta university again. i then con- tinued my journey to macon. during the trip from nashville to atlanta i went into the smoking compartment of the car to the autobiography of smoke a cigar. i was traveling in a pullman, not because of an abundance of funds, but be- cause through my experience with my “million- aire," a certain amount of comfort and luxury had become a necessity to me whenever it was obtainable. when i entered the car i found only a couple of men there; but in a half hour there were half a dozen or more. from the general conversation i learned that a fat jewish looking man was a cigar manufacturer, and was experi- menting in growing havana tobacco in florida; that a slender be-spectacled young man was from ohio and a professor in some state institution in alabama; that a white-mustached, well dressed man was an old union soldier who had fought through the civil war; and that a tall, raw- boned, red-faced man, who seemed bent on leaving nobody in ignorance of the fact that he was from texas, was a cotton planter. in the north men may ride together for hours in a “smoker” and unless they are acquainted with each other never exchange a word; in the south, men thrown together in such manner are friends in fifteen minutes. there is always pres- ent a warm-hearted cordiality which will melt down the most frigid reserve. it may be because southerners are very much like frenchmen in that they must talk; and not only must they talk, but they must express their opinions. the talk in the car was for a while miscel- the autobiography of turned very red and had very little more to say. the texan was fierce, eloquent and profane in his argument and, in a lower sense, there was a direct logic in what he said, which was convincing; it was only by taking higher ground, by dealing in what southerners call “theories" that he could be combatted. occasionally some one of the sev- eral other men in the “smoker” would throw in a remark to reinforce what he said, but he really didn't need any help; he was sufficient in himself. in the course of a short time the controversy narrowed itself down to an argument between the old soldier and the texan. the latter maintained hotly that the civil war was a criminal mistake on the part of the north, and that the humilia- tion which the south suffered during reconstruc- tion could never be forgotten. the union man retorted just as hotly that the south was respon- sible for the war, and that the spirit of unforget- fulness on its part was the greatest cause of present friction; that it seemed to be the one great aim of the south to convince the north that the latter made a mistake in fighting to preserve the union and liberate the slaves. “can you im- agine,” he went on to say, “what would have been the condition of things eventually if there had been no war, and the south had been allowed to follow its course? instead of one great, pros- perous country with nothing before it but the con- quests of peace, a score of petty republics, as in an ex-colored man central and south america, wasting their ener- gies in war with each other or in revolutions." “well,” replied the texan, "anything-no country at all is better than having niggers over you. but anyhow, the war was fought and the niggers were freed; for it's no use beating around the bush, the niggers, and not the union, was the cause of it; and now do you believe that all the niggers on earth are worth the good white blood that was spilt? you freed the nigger and you gave him the ballot, but you couldn't make a citi- zen out of him. he don't know what he's voting for, and we buy 'em like so many hogs. you're giving 'em education, but that only makes slick rascals out of 'em." “don't fancy for a moment,” said the northern man, “that you have any monopoly in buying ig- norant votes. the same thing is done on a larger scale in new york and boston, and in chicago and san francisco; and they are not black votes either. as to education making the negro worse, you had just as well tell me that religion does the same thing. and, by the way, how many edu- cated colored men do you know personally?” the texan admitted that he knew only one, and added that he was in the penitentiary. “but,' he said, "do you mean to claim, ballot or no ballot, education or no education, that niggers are the equals of white men ?” “that's not the question,” answered the other, the autobiography of "but if the negro is so distinctly inferior, it is a strange thing to me that it takes such tremendous effort on the part of the white man to make him realize it, and to keep him in the same place into which inferior men naturally fall. however, let us grant for sake of argument that the negro is inferior in every respect to the white man; that fact only increases our moral responsibility in re- gard to our actions toward him. inequalities of numbers, wealth and power, even of intelligence and morals, should make no difference in the es- sential rights of men.” “if he's inferior and weaker, and is shoved to the wall, that's his own look out," said the texan. “that's the law of nature; and he's bound to go to the wall; for no race in the world has ever been able to stand competition with the anglo-saxon. the anglo-saxon race has always been and al-d ways will be the masters of the world, and the niggers in the south ain't going to change all the records of history.” "my friend," said the old soldier slowly, "if you have studied history, will you tell me, as con- fidentially between white men, what the anglo- saxon has ever done?” the texan was too much astonished by the question to venture any reply. his opponent continued, "can you name single one of the great fundamental and original intellectual achievements which have raised man а the autobiography of the texan was somewhat disconcerted, for the argument had passed a little beyond his limits, but he swung it back to where he was sure of his ground by saying, “all that may be true, but it hasn't got much to do with us and the niggers here in the south. we've got 'em here, and we've got 'em to live with, and it's a question of white man or nigger, no middle ground. you want us to treat niggers as equals. do you want to see 'em sitting around in our parlors? do you want to see a mulatto south? to bring it right home to you, would you let your daughter marry a nigger?” “no, i wouldn't consent to my daughter's mar- rying a nigger, but that doesn't prevent my treat- ing a black man fairly. and i don't see what fair treatment has to do with niggers sitting around in your parlors; they can't come there un- less they're invited. out of all the white men i know, only a hundred or so have the privilege of sitting around in my parlor. as to the mulatto south, if you southerners have one boast that is stronger than another, it is your women; you put them on a pinnacle of purity and virtue and bow down in a chivalric worship before them; yet you talk and act as though, should you treat the negro fairly and take the anti-intermarriage laws off your statute books, these same women would rush into the arms of black lovers and husbands. it's an ex-colored man argument, i can see it in a different light. the texan's position does not render things so hope- less, for it indicates that the main difficulty of the race question does not lie so much in the actual condition of the blacks as it does in the mental attitude of the whites; and a mental attitude, es- pecially one not based on truth, can be changed more easily than actual conditions. that is to say, the burden of the question is not that the whites are struggling to save ten million despond- ent and moribund people from sinking into a hope- less slough of ignorance, poverty and barbarity in their very midst, but that they are unwilling to open certain doors of opportunity and to ac- cord certain treatment to ten million aspiring, education-and-property-acquiring people. in a word, the difficulty of the problem is not so much due to the facts presented, as to the hypothesis assumed for its solution. in this it is similar to the problem of the solar system. by a complex, confusing and almost contradictory mathematical process, by the use of zigzags instead of straight lines, the earth can be proven to be the center of things celestial; but by an operation so simple that it can be comprehended by a schoolboy, its position can be verified among the other worlds which revolve about the sun, and its movements harmonized with the laws of the universe. so, when the white race assumes as a hypothesis that it is the main object of creation, and that all things else an ex-colored man happy-go-lucky, laughing, shuffling, banjo-pick- ing being, and the reading public has not yet been prevailed upon to take him seriously. his efforts to elevate himself socially are looked upon as a sort of absurd caricature of “white civiliza- tion.” a novel dealing with colored people who lived in respectable homes and amidst a fair de- gree of culture and who naturally acted “just like white folks” would be taken in a comic opera sense. in this respect the negro is much in the position of a great comedian who gives up the lighter rôles to play tragedy. no matter how well he may portray the deeper passions, the pub- lic is loth to give him up in his old character; they even conspire to make him a failure in serious work, in order to force him back into comedy. in the same respect, the public is not too much to be blamed, for great comedians are far more scarce than mediocre tragedians; every amateur actor is a tragedian. however, this very fact con- stitutes the opportunity of the future negro nov- elist and poet to give the country something new and unknown, in depicting the life, the ambitions, the struggles and the passions of those of their race who are striving to break the narrow limits of traditions. a beginning has already been made in that remarkable book by dr. du bois, "the souls of black folk." much, too, that i saw while on this trip, in spite of my enthusiasm, enthusiasm, was disheartening. ck ething the autobiography of dividuals of the race. southern white people de- spise the negro as a race, and will do nothing to aid in his elevation as such; but for certain in- dividuals they have a strong affection, and are helpful to them in many ways. with these in- dividual members of the race they live on terms of the greatest intimacy; they intrust to them their children, their family treasures and their family secrets; in trouble they often go to them for com- fort and counsel ; in sickness they often rely upon their care. this affectionate relation between the southern whites and those blacks who come into close touch with them has not been overdrawn even in fiction. this perplexity of southern character extends even to the mixture of the races. that is spoken of as though it were dreaded worse than smallpox, leprosy or the plague. yet, when i was in jack- sonville i knew several prominent families there with large colored branches, which went by the same name and were known and acknowledged as blood relatives. and what is more, there seemed to exist between these black brothers and sisters and uncles and aunts a decided friendly feeling. i said above that southern whites would do nothing for the negro as a race. i know the south claims that it has spent millions for the education of the blacks, and that it has of its own free will shouldered this awful burden. it seems to be forgetful of the fact that these millions an ex-colored man those two southern luxuries, fried chicken and roast pork, is plentiful, and no one need go hungry. on the opening sunday the women are immaculate in starched stiff white dresses adorned with ribbons either red or blue. even a great many of the men wear streamers of vari-colored ribbons in the button-holes of their coats. a few of them carefully cultivate a fore lock of hair by wrapping it in twine, and on such festive occa- sions decorate it with a narrow ribbon streamer. big meetings afford a fine opportunity to the younger people to meet each other dressed in their sunday clothes, and much rustic courting, which is as enjoyable as any other kind, is in- dulged in. this big meeting which i was lucky enough to catch was particularly well attended; the extra large attendance was due principally to two at- tractions, a man by name of john brown, who was renowned as the most powerful preacher for miles around; and a wonderful leader of singing, who was known as “singing johnson.” these two men were a study and a revelation to me. they caused me to reflect upon how great an in- fluence their types have been in the development of the negro in america. both these types are now looked upon generally with condescension or con- tempt by the progressive element among the col- ored people; but it should never be forgotten that it was they who led the race from paganism, and the autobiography of kept it steadfast to christianity through all the long, dark years of slavery. john brown was a jet black man of medium size, with a strikingly intelligent head and face, and a voice like an organ peal. he preached each night after several lesser lights successively held the pulpit during an hour or so. as far as subject matter is concerned, all of the sermons were alike; each began with the fall of man, ran through various trials and tribulations of the hebrew children, on to the redemption by christ, and ended with a fervid picture of the judgment day and the fate of the damned. but john brown possessed magnetism and an imagination so free and daring that he was able to carry through what the other preachers would not at- tempt. he knew all the arts and tricks of ora- tory, the modulation of the voice to almost a whis- per, the pause for effect, the rise through light, rapid fire sentences to the terrific, thundering out- burst of an electrifying climax. in addition, he had the intuition of a born theatrical manager. night after night this man held me fascinated. he convinced me that, after all, eloquence con- sists more in the manner of saying than in what is said. it is largely a matter of tone pictures. the most striking example of john brown's magnetism and imagination was his “heavenly march"; i shall never forget how it impressed me when i heard it. he opened his sermon in the the autobiography of reader this may sound ridiculous, but listened to under the circumstances, it was highly and ef- fectively dramatic. i was a more or less sophis- ticated and non-religious man of the world, but the torrent of the preacher's words, moving with the rhythm and glowing with the eloquence of primitive poetry swept me along, and i, too, felt like joining in the shouts of "amen! hallelu- jah!" john brown's powers in describing the delights of heaven were no greater than those in depicting the horrors of hell. i saw great, strapping fel- lows, trembling and weeping like children at the “mourners' bench.” his warnings to sinners were truly terrible. i shall never forget one expression that he used, which for originality and aptness could not be excelled. in my opinion, it is more graphic and, for us, far more expressive than st. paul's "it is hard to kick against the pricks." he struck the attitude of a pugilist and thundered out, “young man, yo' arm's too short to box wid god!" as interesting as was john brown to me, the other man, "singing johnson,” was more so. he was a small, dark-brown, one-eyed man, with a clear, strong, high-pitched voice, a leader of sing- ing, a maker of songs, a man who could improvise at the moment lines to fit the occasion. not so striking a figure as john brown, but, at “big meetings,” equally important. it is indispensable the autobiography of is answered by a sound like the roll of the sea, producing a most curious effect. in only a few of these songs do the leader and the congregation start off together. such a song is the well known “steal away to jesus.” the leader and the congregation begin: “steal away, steal away, steal away to jesus; steal away, steal away home, i ain't got long to stay here." then the leader alone: "my lord he calls me, he calls me by the thunder, the trumpet sounds within-a my soul.” then all together: "i ain't got long to stay here." the leader and the congregation again take up the opening refrain ; then the leader sings three more leading lines alone, and so on almost ad infinitum. it will be seen that even here most of the work falls upon the leader, for the congrega- tion sings the same lines over and over, while his memory and ingenuity are taxed to keep the songs going generally, the parts taken up by the congrega- tion are sung in a three-part harmony, the women the autobiography of counted for; they are mostly taken from the bible; but the melodies, where did they come from? some of them so weirdly sweet, and others so won- derfully strong. take, for instance, “go down moses." i doubt that there is a stronger theme in the whole musical literature of the world. and so many of these songs contain more than mere melody; there is sounded in them that elusive un- dertone, the note in music which is not heard with the ears. i sat often with the tears rolling down my cheeks and my heart melted within me. any musical person who has never heard a negro congregation under the spell of religious fervor sing these old songs, has missed one of the most thrilling emotions which the human heart may ex- perience. anyone who can listen to negroes sing, “nobody knows de trouble i see, nobody knows but jesus," without shedding tears, must indeed have a heart of stone. as yet, the negroes themselves do not fully ap- preciate these old slave songs. the educated classes are rather ashamed of them, and prefer to sing hymns from books. this feeling is natural; they are still too close to the conditions under which the songs were produced; but the day will come when this slave music will be the most treas- ured heritage of the american negro. at the close of the “big meeting" i left the settlement where it was being held, full of en- thusiasm. i was in that frame of mind which, in an ex-colored man the artistic temperament, amounts to inspiration. i was now ready and anxious to get to some place where i might settle down to work, and give ex- pression the ideas which were teeming in my head; but i strayed into another deviation from my path of life as i had it marked out, which led me into an entirely different road. instead of going to the nearest and most convenient railroad station, i accepted the invitation of a young man who had been present the closing sunday at the meet- ing, to drive with him some miles farther to the town in which he taught school, and there take the train. my conversation with this young man as we drove along through the country was ex- tremely interesting. he had been a student in one of the negro colleges,-strange coincidence, in the very college, as i learned through him, in which “shiny” was now a professor. i was, of course, curious to hear about my boyhood friend; and had it not been vacation time, and that i was not sure that i would find hi i should have gone out of my way to pay him a visit; but i deter- mined to write to him as soon as the school opened. my companion talked to me about his work among the people, of his hopes and his discouragements. he was tremendously in earnest; i might say, too in fact, it may be said that the ma- jority of intelligent colored people are, in some degree, too much in earnest over the race question. they assume and carry so much that their prog- much so. the autobiography of ress is at times impeded, and they are unable to see things in their proper proportions. in many instances, a slight exercise of the sense of humor would save much anxiety of soul. anyone who marks the general tone of editorials in colored newspapers is apt to be impressed with this idea. if the mass of negroes took their present and fu- ture as seriously as do the most of their leaders, the race would be in no mental condition to sustain the terrible pressure which it undergoes; it would sink of its own weight. yet, it must be acknowl- edged that in the making of a race over-serious- ness is a far lesser failing than its reverse, and even the faults resulting from it lean toward the right. we drove into the town just before dark. as we passed a large, unpainted church, my compan- ion pointed it out as the place where he held his school. i promised that i would go there with him the next morning and stay a while. the town was of that kind which hardly requires or deserves description; a straggling line of brick and wooden stores on one side of the railroad track and some cottages of various sizes on the other side constituted about the whole of it. the young school teacher boarded at the best house in the place owned by a colored man. it was painted, had glass windows, contained "store bought” fur- niture, an organ, and lamps with chimneys. the owner held a job of some kind on the railroad. an ex-colored man his hands were tied behind him, and ropes around his body were fastened to the saddle horns of his double guard. the men who at midnight had been stern and silent were now emitting that terror instilling sound known as the “rebel yell.” a space was quickly cleared in the crowd, and a rope placed about his neck; when from somewhere came the suggestion, “burn him!” it ran like an elec- tric current. have you ever witnessed the trans- formation of human beings into savage beasts? nothing can be more terrible. a railroad tie was sunk into the ground, the rope was removed and a chain brought and securely coiled around the victim and the stake. there he stood, a man only in form and stature, every sign of degeneracy stamped upon his countenance. his eyes were dull and vacant, indicating not a single ray of thought. evidently the realization of his fearful fate had robbed him of whatever reasoning power he had ever possessed. he was too stunned and stupefied even to tremble. fuel was brought from everywhere, oil, the torch; the flames crouched for an instant as though to gather strength, then leaped up as high as their victim's head. he squirmed, he writhed, strained at his chains, then gave out cries and groans that i shall always hear. the cries and groans were choked off by the fire and smoke; but his eyes bulging from their sockets, rolled from side to side, appealing in vain for help. some of the crowd yelled and cheered, the autobiography of others seemed appalled at what they had done, and there were those who turned away sickened at the sight. i was fixed to the spot where i stood, powerless to take my eyes from what i did not want to see. it was over before i realized that time had elapsed. before i could make myself believe that what i saw was really happening, i was looking at a scorched post, a smoldering fire, blackened bones, charred fragments sifting down through coils of chain, and the smell of burnt flesh-human flesh-was in my nostrils. i walked a short distance away, and sat down in order to clear my dazed mind. a great wave of humiliation and shame swept over me. shame that i belonged to a race that could be so dealt with; and shame for my country, that it, the great example of democracy to the world, should be the only civilized, if not the only state on earth, where a human being would be burned alive. my heart turned bitter within me. i could under- stand why negroes are led to sympathize with even their worst criminals, and to protect them when possible. by all the impulses of normal human nature they can and should do nothing less. whenever i hear protests from the south that it should be left alone to deal with the negro ques- tion, my thoughts go back to that scene of bru- tality and savagery. i do not see how a people that can find in its conscience any excuse what- the autobiography of go to the theater and applaud the impossible hero, who with his single sword slays everybody in the play except the equally impossible heroine. so can an ordinary peace-loving citizen sit by a com- fortable fire and read with enjoyment of the bloody deeds of pirates and the fierce brutality of vikings. this is the way in which we gratify the old, underlying animal instincts and passions ; but we should shudder with horror at the mere idea of such practices being realities in this day of enlightened and humanitarianized thought. the southern whites are not yet living quite in the present age; many of their general ideas hark back to a former century, some of them to the dark ages. in the light of other days, they are sometimes magnificent. to-day they are often ludicrous and cruel. how long i sat with bitter thoughts running through my mind, i do not know; perhaps an hour when i decided to get up and go back to the house i found that i could hardly stand on my feet. i was as weak as a man who had lost blood. however, i dragged myself along, with the central idea of a general plan well fixed in my mind. i did not find my school teacher friend at home, so did not see him again. i swallowed a few mouthfuls of food, packed my bag, and caught the afternoon train. when i reached macon, i stopped only long enough to get the main part of my luggage, and or more. an ex-colored man to buy a ticket for new york. all along the journey i was occupied in debating with myself the step which i had decided to take. i argued that to forsake one's race to better one's condi- tion was no less worthy an action than to forsake i one's country for the same purpose. i finally made up my mind that i would neither disclaim the black race nor claim the white race; but that i would change my name, raise a mustache, and let the world take me for what it would; that it was not necessary for me to go about with a label of inferiority pasted across my forehead. all the while, i understood that it was not discourage- ment, or fear, or search for a larger field of ac- tion and opportunity, that was driving me out of the negro race. i knew that it was shame, un- bearable shame. shame at being identified with a people that could with impunity be treated worse than animals. for certainly the law would re- strain and punish the malicious burning alive of animals. so once again, i found myself gazing at the towers of new york, and wondering what future that city held in store for me. the autobiography of several dollars for “ads” which brought me no replies. in this way i came to know the hopes and disappointments of a large and pitiable class of humanity in this great city, the people who look for work through the newspapers. after some days of this sort of experience, i concluded that the main difficulty with me was that i was not prepared for what i wanted to do. i then decided upon a course which, for an artist, showed an uncommon amount of practical sense and judgment. i made up my mind to enter a busi- ness college. i took a small room, ate at lunch counters, in order to economize, and pursued my studies with the zeal that i have always been able to put into any work upon which i set my heart. yet, in spite of all my economy, when i had been at the school for several months, my funds gave out completely. i reached the point where i could not afford sufficient food for each day. in this plight, i was glad to get, through one of the teachers, a job as an ordinary clerk in a down- town wholesale house. i did my work faithfully, and received a raise of salary before i expected it. i even managed to save a little money out of my modest earnings. in fact, i began then to contract the money fever, which later took strong possession of me. i kept my eyes open, watching for a chance to better my condition. it finally came in the form of a position with a house which was at the time establishing a south american de- an ex-colored man with me. partment. my knowledge of spanish was, of course, the principal cause of my good luck; and it did more for me; it placed me where the other clerks were practically put out of competition i was not slow in taking advantage of the opportunity to make myself indispensable to the firm. what an interesting and absorbing game is money making! after each deposit at my sav- ings-bank, i used to sit and figure out, all over again, my principal and interest, and make calcu- lations on what the increase would be in such and such time. out of this i derived a great deal of pleasure. i denied myself as much as possible in order to swell my savings. even so much as i enjoyed smoking, i limited myself to an occasional cigar, and that was generally of a variety which in my old days at the “club” was known as a “henry mud.” drinking i cut out altogether, but that was no great sacrifice. the day on which i was able to figure up $ , . marked an epoch in my life. and this was not because i had never before had money. in my gambling days and while i was with my “millionaire" i handled sums running high up into the hundreds; but they had come to me like fairy god-mother's gifts, and at a time when my con- ception of money was that it was made only to spend. here, on the other hand, was a thousand dollars which i had earned by days of honest and the autobiography of so blue as to appear almost black. she was as white as a lily, and she was dressed in white. in- deed, she seemed to me the most dazzlingly white thing i had ever seen. but it was not her deli- cate beauty which attracted me most; it was her voice, a voice which made one wonder how tones of such passionate color could come from so frag- ile a body. i determined that when the programme was over i would seek an introduction to her; but at the moment, instead of being the easy man of the world, i became again the bashful boy of four- teen, and my courage failed me. i contented my- self with hovering as near her as politeness would permit; near enough to hear her voice, which in conversation was low, yet thrilling, like the deeper middle tones of a flute. i watched the men gather around her talking and laughing in an easy man- ner, and wondered how it was possible for them to do it. but destiny, my special destiny, was at work. i was standing near, talking with affected gayety to several young ladies, who, however, must have remarked my preoccupation; for my second sense of hearing was alert to what was being said by the group of which the girl in white was the center, when i heard her say, "i think his playing of chopin is exquisite." and one of my friends in the group replied, "you haven't met him? al- low me” then turning to me, "old man, when you have a moment i wish you to meet an ex-colored man played the accompaniment for her. over these songs we were like two innocent children with new toys. she had never been anything but inno- cent; but my innocence was a transformation wrought by my love for her, love which melted away my cynicism and whitened my sullied soul and gave me back the wholesome dreams of my boyhood. there is nothing better in all the world that a man can do for his moral welfare than to love a good woman. my artistic temperament also underwent an awakening. i spent many hours at my piano, playing over old and new composers. i also wrote several little pieces in a more or less chopin- esque style, which i dedicated to her. and so the weeks and months went by. often words of love trembled on my lips, but i dared not utter them, because i knew they would have to be followed by other words which i had not the courage to frame. there might have been some other woman in my set with whom i could have fallen in love and asked to marry me without a word of ex- planation; but the more i knew this girl, the less could i find it in my heart to deceive her. and yet, in spite of this specter that was constantly looming up before me, i could never have believed that life held such happiness as was contained in those dream days of love. one saturday afternoon, in early june, i was coming up fifth avenue, and at the corner of an ex-colored man to console her, and blurted out incoherent words of love; but this seemed only to increase her dis- tress, and when i left her she was still weeping. when i got into the street i felt very much as i did the night after meeting my father and sister at the opera in paris, even a similar desperate in- clination to get drunk; but my self-control was stronger. this was the only time in my life that i ever felt absolute regret at being colored, that i cursed the drops of african blood in my veins, and wished that i were really white. when i reached my rooms i sat and smoked several cigars while i tried to think out the significance of what had oc- curred. i reviewed the whole history of our ac- quaintance, recalled each smile she had given me, each word she had said to me that nourished my hope. i went over the scene we had just gone through, trying to draw from it what was in my favor and what was against me. i was rewarded by feeling confident that she loved me, but i could not estimate what was the effect upon her of my confession. at last, nervous and unhappy, i wrote her a letter, which i dropped into the mail- box before going to bed, in which i said: more "i understand, understand even better than you, and so i suffer even than you. but why should either of us suffer for what neither of us is to blame? if there is any blame, it belongs to me, and i can only make the old, yet strongest plea that an ex-colored man not remain with me long. i waited one, two, three weeks, nervously examining my mail every day, looking for some word from her. all of the letters received by me seemed so insignificant, so worthless, because there was none from her. the slight buoyancy of spirit which i had felt grad- ually dissolved into gloomy heartsickness. i be- came preoccupied, i lost appetite, lost sleep, and lost ambition. several of my friends intimated to me that perhaps i was working too hard. she stayed away the whole summer. i did not go to the house, but saw her father at various times, and he was as friendly as ever. even after i knew that she was back in town i did not go to see her. i determined to wait for some word or sign. i had finally taken refuge and comfort in my pride, pride which, i suppose, i came by nat- urally enough. the first time i saw her after her return was one night at the theater. she and her mother sat in company with a young man whom i knew slightly, not many seats away from me. never did she appear more beautiful; and yet, it may have been my fancy, she seemed a trifle paler and there was a suggestion of haggardness in her countenance. but that only heightened her beauty; the very delicacy of her charm melted down the strength of my pride. my situation made me feel weak and powerless, like a man try- ing with his bare hands to break the iron bars of the autobiography of which she would unconsciously attribute to my blood rather than to a failing of human nature. but no cloud ever came to mar our life together; her loss to me is irreparable. my children need a mother's care, but i shall never marry again. it is to my children that i have devoted my life. i no longer have the same fear for myself of my secret being found out; for since my wife's death i have gradually dropped out of social life; but there is nothing i would not suffer to keep the “brand” from being placed upon them. it is difficult for me to analyze my feelings con- cerning my present position in the world. some- times it seems to me that i have never really been a negro, that i have been only a privileged spec- tator of their inner life; at other times i feel that i have been a coward, a deserter, and i am pos- sessed by a strange longing for my mother's peo- ple. several years ago i attended a great meeting in the interest of hampton institute at carnegie hall. the hampton students sang the old songs and awoke memories that left me sad. among the speakers were r. c. ogden, ex-ambassador choate, and mark twain; but the greatest inter- est of the audience was centered in booker t. washington; and not because he so much sur- passed the others in eloquence, but because of what he represented with so much earnestness and faith. and and it is this that all of that small but an ex-colored man gallant band of colored men who are publicly fighting the cause of their race have behind them. even those who oppose them know that these men have the eternal principles of right on their side, and they will be victors even though they should go down in defeat. beside them i feel small and selfish. i am an ordinarily successful white man who has made a little money. they are men who are making history and a race. i, too, might have taken part in a work so glorious. my love for my children makes me glad that i am what i am, and keeps me from desiring to be otherwise; and yet, when i sometimes open a lit- tle box in which i still keep my fast yellowing manuscripts, the only tangible remnants of a van- ished dream, a dead ambition, a sacrificed talent, i cannot repress the thought, that, after all, i have chosen the lesser part, that i have sold my birthright for a mess of pottage. economic robert w. woodruff library emory university special collections & archives the leopard's claw a thrilling story of love and adventure from a european castle through the west african jungle, disclosing a deep insight into the quality and spiritual influence of african social institutions and conditions, and revealing a profound psyschic interpretation of african inner life, all clustered about the mysterious function and signifi¬ cance of the leopard's claw, by george wf ellis, k.c., f.r.g.s., ten years secretary and charge of the legation of the united states to the republic of liberia, west africa, author of negro culture in west africa, the negro in social progress, dynamic factors in the liberian situation, etc., arid contributing editor of the journal of race develop¬ ment, clark university, worcester, massachusetts. international authors' association new york publishers' foreword we have, as publishers, a sincere pleasure and satisfaction in presenting to the great reading public, this thrilling story of the "leopard's claw" by -mr. george w. ellis. it is a story of true mystery ancf adventure, in which is interwoven several charming phases of the gentle passion of love set in different parts of the globe, ranging from picturesque by-ways of the english countryside to the wild and lawless interiors of africa. the descriptions and character- drazving are done by one familiar with not only the places and persons concerned but with human actions and motives and with an eye to the exciting in fiction that betrays one long versed in the art of story-telling. we get in the last chapters a glimpse of the great ivar just about to spread its heavy pall over the world. all in all it is one of the best nar¬ rations on which we have ever placed our imprint and we feel sure the great reading public will heart¬ ily and instantly respond to the fascinations of the tale. the publishers. new york, april, . the leopard's claw chapter i dublfiy castle in the county of worcestershire, dubley castle stands uopn a high eminence overlooking petting hill, the great industrial center of coal mining, iron and electrical works. built in the twelfth century, the old feudal castle is sur¬ rounded by high walls, containing port' holes for guris as in feudal times. the castle'and the surrounding" works are the property of" his lordship, the earl of dubley, one of the wealthiest nobleman of the realm. in the library of this ancient' castle, the earl sat in a large arm-chair before an open grate fire although it was a bright summer morning. for many years'he had suffered with chronic gout. his infirmity, together with the loss of' his young" wife in" early life, had rather in¬ creased his choleric and stern disposition. of middle size in height and a tendency to stoutness; a clean shaven face showing his firm and stubborn lips and chin, his lordship looked to 'be'about three score"and ten. his two sons, harold, now the earl of montroy, and the' honorable oliver monchrief, were trained under his stern discipline. lord montroy, a man of about , had made a very satisfactory settlement when" he married into a very wealthy but newly made aristocratic family according to the plans of his father. his light mustache covered the leopard's claw i want the matter settled very soon," the earl announced. oliver turned in his chair uneasily, then he arose and approached his father appealingly. "father, that can never be. i am already married to miss eva ennis, the daughter of squire ennis, of stonehenge county, wilt¬ shire. we were married last evening, and i have come to ask your iorgiveness and blessing." lord dubley leaped from his seat and shaking his fist, he exclaimed: "oliver montcrief, have you really married the daughter of that pauper squire of stonehenge? you will never have a farthing from me to support that family." "but father, eva is from a very aristocratic family, and " "go away and never return to this castle! oliver! » as he struck the table a violent blow, the gout seized the old earl. so he dropped into the chair and grabbed his right foot with one hand as he shook his fist at oliver with the other. oliver rushed to his rescue, but pushing him away, the earl pointed his finger and exclaimed: "oliver montcrief, you are no longer my son. go!" oliver turned and started away, but turned, as he reached the door, and made a last appeal to his father for forgiveness and his blessing. but the earl was obdurate and ordered oliver to begone. so oliver directed his chauffeur to drive to montroy castle, in the scottish moor¬ lands. chapter ii young montcrief seeks aid of brother driving through vales and over hills, crossing rivulets and creeks, over well constructed bridges, they crossed northumberland and reached montroy castle. the leopard's claw we would like to have enough to go to some other coun¬ try, say to alaska, out in the american wilds, or australia. eva loves the country and we both have decided to try our fortunes in some foreign land, until father relents. if you can manage to help us get a start, old fellow, we will be very grateful." lord montroy tried to discourage the idea of leaving england and promised to act as mediator. he also placed his country seat at roxborough at oliver's disposal. thanking him^ oliver promised to remove his wife to rox¬ borough villa, with the understanding, that lord montroy would use his influence to obtain a colonial appointment from the british colonial office in case the earl of dubley refused reconciliation. parting from lord montroy in a happier frame of mind, oliver rode through the evening shadows, into the english frontier. early the next morning, driving down a long country lane, they approached a large old brick mansion, the right wing of which seemed to be a recent addition, while the ivy vines covering the main structure partly obscured the ravages of time. a gravel walk, the side of which was bordered with beautiful flowered hedges, led to the front entrance of the building. a siender girl in white, reveling in the glow of health and sunshine, ran down the walk with cheeks which ri¬ valed the nearby primroses. her heavy waves of dark brown hair, escaping their confinement, blew about her face in curls, causing her conspicuously to display the little gold circle upon her third finger as she tried to brush away the mischievous curls. oliver stopped, the automobile, leaped < out and, ran to meet her. folding her in his arms she inquired about their fate. they remained at the mansion until the late afternoon, when with the last au revoir over they returned to the automobile and drove away as the twilight en¬ shrouded the surrounding scenery. the leopard's claw it is surrounded by terraces and lawns, and orchards and oak trees form a wooded background. driving upon the cement driveway on that bright moonlight evening, lord montroy saw the couple seated in the floating marquee of the japanese garden. they were enraptured so in each other that they did not note his approach until he hailed them. when oliver looked around and saw his brother at the landing, he quickly reversed the lever which controlled the automatic pulley, and stood holding his arm around eva's waist as they floated back to their moorings. oliver presented his blushing bride, who, after kissing her brother-in-law, stood still as lord montroy placed her hand in oliver's and gave them both his blessing. lord montroy expressed a desire to remain in the float. he, expressed his approval of his sister-in-law, sitting op¬ posite, by his almost paternal and devoted glances. the principal subject of his visit became more difficult to mention, for to his mind, the picture of the delicate water* nymph in african surroundings was very unpleasant. eva finally retired in order to supervise the preparation of tea upon the terrace. lord montroy watched her tripping gracefully through the variegated bordered walks as the moonbeams played upon her truant curls, and an almost inaudible sigh es¬ caped him as he wondered if it were a premonition of evil in consequence of his tidings. "pull up, old man, i know the old pater is badly cut up and you hesitate to tell me," oliver remarked. "yes, that is a part of the unpleasant news, oliver. are you really serious about the colonial proposition?" "yes, harold, we have quite made up our minds upon that subject," oliver replied. lord montroy then stated the proposition of mr. servier, but tried to dissuade him from accepting. grasping his brother's hand, oliver ex¬ pressed his thanks in his usual impetuous manner. eva returned and taking her brother's arm invited them the leopard's claw passing down the mersey oliver and eva proceeded along the channel watching the sceneries of the devon¬ shire and french coasts. two days afterwards they passed through the bay of biscay and only by a change of luck and a capable captain they emerged out of one of the roughest passages the steamer had ever had. the first stop was at funchal, madeira, one of the portuguese islands off the african coast. a party con¬ sisting of oliver, eva, and captain griffith and a few other passengers, went up by rail to the catholic estab¬ lishment on mount carmel and lunched. the sceneries of the way are multifarious tropical fruits: bananas, plan¬ tains, oranges, mangoes, pineapples, star apples, sugar cane, grapes and sweet plums, as well as a rich abundance of variegated flowers of the sweetest fragrance. they decided to try the thrills of the human locomotive power down the steep incline. seating themselves in basket sledges, holding a couple of passengers each and drawn by two strong portuguese coolies, they began their exciting toboggan ride down a snowless landslide. run¬ ning pell-mell at breakneck pace, the coolies refused to heed the loud and excited cries of "stop, mad men! oh, help!" and numerous other complaints, threats and pleas, but continued as they shouted in reply: "no stop, no stop, unless we get vino bibo." the party finally acquiesced to their debauching de¬ mands, when they immediately halted on the ledge in front of a public house. the publican, who was well up in the graft, immediately appeared with a large tray of sparkling quart bottles of red madeira and glasses. the coolies did not allow the wine to be served in the cus¬ tomary goblet, but emptied several bottles in the quickest possible moment. they also had a little grafting business in view, for dr. barnes, one of the passengers, who understood portu¬ guese, heard the head carrier say to the publican: "these are rich people, you must charge them twice as much for i the leopard's claw amused by the sight of the half nude black boys, who swarmed around the steamer in small skiffs and from their little craft dived and scrambled for the silver pieces which the passengers threw to their special favorites. mr. solomon, a representative of the firm, met them upon the deck and introduced himself. they had almost to fight their way to the stairway, through the numerous boat boys who tried to assist in taking the luggage and renting their respective craft to tow the party to the landing. at the wharf,mr. solomon assisted eva into the sedan chair borne by four boys with an ornamental and canopy shaped parasol which shaded the sun. seating themselves in similar conveyances the two men followed through a curious group of sierra leone market men, women and children, changing in color from black to light brown. the loose wrappers, slippers without hose and bright chrome yellow colored handkerchiefs of. the women were to eva as a replica of an exhibition scene at the crystal palace. the black coolies trotted along at a very fast pace and soon turned up market street and regent road. the party passed numbers of passengers in hammocks and similar conveyances to their own. imposing stone and brick buildings arose along the principal residential sec¬ tions. the coolies, trotting a short distance down the regent road, halted in front of an iron gateway which opened upon a cement terrace leading to a short stone stairway of a brown stone residence. the house was of a pattern most unusual fori the" tropics, on almost square and massive stone structure;: plain, out¬ side except for the . green lattice window shutters and rough stones, it had no pretense at architectural beauty. two ill-kept flower gardens gloomed at the^front on each side of the cement walk, enclosed in an'iron fence! if the outside were not as picturesque as they might have hoped, they were agreeably, surprised upon entering to find themselves ushered into a spacious hall of polished the leopard's claw tion room was plainly but tastefully and comfortably furnished and opened into the private office furnished in the usual office style. they both opened into french win¬ dows upon the side veranda shaded by green canvas movable shades. scattered upon the veranda were cosy madeira and deck chairs, in the midst of which stood several small tables. mr. solomon presented the office force to the future manager, in conjunction with which post he filled, ad interim, with his position of head salesman. they spent half an hour upon the veranda, where they were served whiskey and soda and other drinks by the steward boy, wearing a clean long white shirt. this oliver noticed that the european merchant traders were not entirely void of luxuries in their african quarters. after dispatching one of the accountants to obtain a temporary permit for oliver to drive his machine, mr. solomon summoned the office porter. a heavy-set black giant, of about seven feet, whose brawny muscles well might cause the envy of jack johnson, answered the call. acting upon instructions he unbolted and raised a heavy trap door, which no two men of ordinary strength could budge. after securing it against the wall, he stood in readiness for further orders. oliver hesitated a little to proceed when he noticed the slender iron hook holding up the door, but mr. solomon, assuring him of its firmness, proceeded down the steps. they entered the retail department from the rear en- trpjice and passed up the ill-smelling and littered aisle. oliver interrupted the lifting of some of the tobacco leaves from the open drum propped against the rear end of the counter by some small urchins who seized the oppor¬ tunity while the party conversed. the retail department was under a young sierra leo- nian of about thirty, dressed in stylish european clothes, and with an english college education. two underclerks the leopard's claw of the same nationality and a native store boy completed the force of this department. they then proceeded to the front yard when oliver supervised the uncrating of his automobile, in the pres¬ ence of a curious crowd of the market street sierra leonians. the honk of the auto-horn caused a general panic, and it was with the greatest difficulty that oliver piloted the machine under the direction of mr. solomon down the kissy road through the ruined market wares and stumbling pedestrians. chapter vi oliver meets governor of sierra leone the next morning at a. m. oliver drove up to the capital, where he had an appointment to meet the gov¬ ernor. the large mansion, constructed of stone and brick, was built with two wings in which the legislative bodies assembled. situated upon a slanting hill side, it is surrounded by court yards and ornamental trees. oliver was ushered into the governor's private office, where governor row, a middle-sized man of about thirty-five, light complexion, sandy hair, blue eyes and with a sharp pointed mustache and goatee, sat beside a table. when oliver was an¬ nounced governor row arose and, holding out his hand to oliver, exclaimed: "i take great pleasure in welcom¬ ing to our colony the son-in-law of my old friend, squire innis. i have not had the good fortune to visit stone- henge since your good wife was quite an infant." oliver remained to lunch and left very happy in the anticipation of the surprise and pleasure eva would ex¬ press at his tidings. during the cool of an afternoon mr. solomon accom¬ panied the couple on a drive through the town. on pass- the leopard's claw ing the large three-story brick building of the british west african bank, they halted and watched the large crowd of sierra leone natives passing up and down the stairway, on to the large furabay college, the massive historic buildings on the outskirts of the town, then down the country road to fulla town, passing tropical fruit trees, frame cottages, log cabins and bamboo huts. they halted before a small native village and watched the syncopated steps of the half clad young women dancers who whirled and danced to the sounds of the tom-tom, gourd music, hand-clapping and sweet, melo¬ dious but weird minor strains. the excitement of the automobile caused a loud crowd to attempt to race with the iron horse, and to give vent to a boisterous expression of mirth when the racers found themselves quickly out¬ distanced. arriving at fulla's town the party halted at a distance and dismounting walked a few paces where they stood listening to the fatie and watched the mohammedan vil¬ lagers, some clothed in flowing gowns, while others, wear¬ ing only waist draperies, bowed silently with the faces toward mecca amid the islamic strains of "bismi allahi." a fortnight after they were settled in their colonial home, eva stood watching oliver coming home to lunch, as she peeped through the curtains of the drawing room, until he was near the gate, then running through the library entrance to the side garden she stood conspicu¬ ously in hiding behind a large cabbage rose bush, as the pink and fragrant petals of a large half open bud brushed against her truant tresses. oliver pretended to search for her when finally run¬ ning suddenly, he smothered her in his arms, crushing the gallant rose bud against her cheek. "guess who this letter is from dearie," he said, as he held an envelope behind him. after a childish guessing game and forfeited kisses, oliver opened an envelope bear¬ ing the executive official seal and they both read together the leopard's claw "good morning, mr. anderson, please be seated," oli¬ ver began, as he pointed'to a chair, "i want a little in¬ formation upon the export commodities under your super¬ vision. will you please enlighten me as to the best method of preserving the fibres for shipment so as to obtain the highest european market prices?" "by thoroughly drying the piassava and grading it before shipment," mr. anderson replied. "i notice that you take the opposite method in this firm. may i inquire if the bales stacked in the yards for shipment were registered as first or second grades?" "both," the clerk replied. "you will kindly oblige me by personally supervising the loosing and drying of the same and whatever loss occurs from next week will be borne pro rata in propor¬ tion to your salaries." oliver spent a very strenuous day, and before closing time, every department showed signs of the new era. he had set the store boys to work under a european clerk, separating the broken grains from the good grains of coffee. he repeated the same with the palm kernels, and then turned his attention to the rubber which lay strewn under the counters, stuck to the floor and full of trash. he then assembled the employees, and told them that be¬ ginning monday the company would only bear the loss of perishable commodities when it was through no fault of the employee, and that he would take stock at the end of the week. on the next day he visited the cooper shop and watched the colored american youth of about as he dexterously handled the iron gauge while measuring palm oil in the large wooden puncheons. oliver borrowed the gauge and surprised the gauger when he pushed it through the bung of the barrel as if he had gauged oil all his life. after examining the registered number of gallons re¬ corded upon the iron rod, he compared the same with the numbers recently recorded upon the books. detecting the leopard's claw of coarse cloth and of native manufacture and reaching to his knees. over this hung down the right side a large leather bag suspended from the left shoulder. his hair was in a checkered pattern of four inch small plaits and separated by cleanly shaven inch wide lines, sometimes varying from square divisions, triangles and circles, just as his tonsorial artist had fancied. extracting a red bandana parcel from his bag he squatted upon the ground in front of oliver and unloaded the package. "you wanna buyee dis silver daddee," he added as he held up two bars of platinum of about three or four ounces respectively. oliver examined them and said, "this is no silver, where did you get them from?" "dat be for silber, true it get some brass dere, but true, true, i tell you, me no put him dere; so me got him from dem mountain." the poor fellow had been unable to use the hard sub¬ stance and decided it was amalgamated with brass or copper, therefore he had hesitated to take the metal into the store for fear of being detected. oliver paid him £ ($ . ), twice as much as he had asked, and thus won the confidence of the man. he told oliver of the kamee mountain, or gold mountain, at a short distance in the interior. oliver made notes and ob¬ tained his promise to return shortly with more and to act as a guide. after supper oliver sat in his favorite armchair as he watched eva embroidering the dainty little articles over which she smiled so dreamily. "eva, here are two pieces of platinum weighing nearly half a pound. i paid £ for them to a fellow from the interior who asked only one," oliver remarked as he walked over to eva's chair and held the bars for her inspection. "he promised to take me to the mountain where he says gold and other metals are also plentiful." the leopard's claw a cloud passed over eva's face. "oh, oliver," she ex¬ claimed, "you are not going to leave me." "silly, what are you talking about?" oliver replied as he kissed her. "do you think i would leave my little girl at this time? not for all the diamonds in africa. but i refer to some time in the near future, when i shall try prospecting so as to make enough money to take you back home and support you in the manner our social standing demands." "but we are happy here, and i am satisfied. why don't you wait until we can save enough from your salary?" eva replied. "because, dear, i never cared for the mercantile life. if you will recall it was prospecting we both decided upon at first. i don't want our child to grow up in africa, and i could not accept my brother's bounty. he has a daughter of his own and my sister-in-law has never had very much love for me. let us say that for dress and incidental, the commission will suffice, and i can place £ to my credit. how many years it will take to accumulate a sufficient sum to retire and live in england. it will require at least £ per annum to live through, so you see if i can locate the gold mountain i can sell the mine and soon return to our native heath." "yes, darling, i understand, especially since you are trying to assist father recover a part of our ruined for¬ tunes. oh, you naughty boy, you tried to hide it from me. never mind who told me. i know and must kiss you for it. "but oliver," she continued in a more serious tone, "promise me upon your honor that you will never attempt to make the trip without me." "but that would be impossible, eva, i could not take you into the interior; the risk would be too great." eva smiled but continued to urge her plea very insist- ingly until oliver made her the promise. would that some fairy had tipped her to urge the abandonment of his the leopard's claw project, for then their lives might have remained one of unbroken happiness. the advent of miss lucretia montcrief soon occupied their time, so that the mining proposition was for a time forgotten. chapter ix miss lucretia montcrief miss lucretia's aristocratic rule and patronizing man¬ ner tended to draw the couple closer, rather than the monopoly of eva's attention; for to the latter's chagrin, lucretia let it be plainly understood from the first that she preferred the arms of yanga when she desired repose, and eva and oliver only when she cared to satisfy the appetite or to be amused. eva had a large-sized photo taken of lucretia when she reached her first birthday. she wrote upon the same "to grandpapa, from lucretia montcrief, freetown, sierra leone, west africa." she mailed this to the earl of dubley and repeated this each succeeding year. if her countenance expressed a little wistful sadness when the home mails failed to bear an acknowledgment of the receipt of the photograph, no one noticed it, and she carried her secret with the hope that some day the earl would relent. after a year or two oliver began the study of miner- ology and thought seriously of the interior trip. that the earl had not relented caused him a bit of unhappiness as lucretia grew older. thus the montcriefs lived an uneventful life in their colonial home. one afternoon, as luck would have it, as oliver was about to leave the front yard of the store, the fancy barbed head fellow of the platinum deal five years before, approached him again. oliver soon recog- the leopard's claw nized the hair cut and stopped to greet him. "hello plaits, so you are back at last." "my name be fahn, sar," the evil genius grinningly replied. "me bringee some fine rock dis time, see you wanna buyee." oliver examined the stones which he took from the same bag. he discovered among the white diamonds three rare stones of pink and a dozen or more rubies. oliver determined then to make the trip at once. per¬ haps had oliver stopped to figure the length of time fahn had taken to return, he would not so easily have been deceived and made to believe that he could reach the mines and return in a year's time. but such is fate. he acted in this as in everything, and began the preparations of his interior trip. when he showed the stone to eva and told her of his determination, eva only reminded him of his promise and added, "oliver, lucretia will be five years old next week; won't you write a letter to your father asking his forgive¬ ness with lucretia's photograph enclosed? i don't think that you should leave for the interior without his bless¬ ings." was that a foreboding which she felt? "all right, little one, i shall write dad by the same mail that i write harold. i am writing mr. servier for a year's leave of absence. i am sure that it will be granted, for i have remained upon the field these five years. eva, i feel like an exile and had hoped that harold could have managed dad; but it seems that i am really disinherited, so that you see, my dear, we will have to make our own fortunes and return to our country very shortly." had oliver followed eva's wishes and written the letter to the earl immediately, all might have ended well; but he allowed the rush of the preparations to crowd the let¬ ter to the last moment. the leopard's claw through woodland scenery and native villages, they rode for miles until they reached the terminus at pendembu. pendembu is a large african town of mud huts, many of which axe plastered with kaolin clay and polished to a smooth and glistening surface. the houses are arranged almost in circular rows, the center of which is the court, or open "kitchen," where the king holds audiences. numerous palm trees surround the town and are enclosed by a heavily bordered forest. king kyndemah was also the caliph of the mohamme¬ dan faith in that section. he was a tall, imposing, black man; clean faced and dressed in a long striped ulster robe of native manufacture under which was a white robe. around his neck hung beads, several rows of leopard teeth and claws, and upon his feet were sandals. by his side lay an elephant tail, while behind him two boys in white robes fanned away the troublesome flies with palm leaf fans. seated upon a stool in his kitchen court sat the king with others as he received. he received oliver's party kindly after the exchange of gifts in the court and offered the hospitality of the vil¬ lage, as he made efforts to secure carriers and interpreters according to the governor's previous instructions. after two days the party began their journey; eva was carried in a hammock by four men; yanga with lucretia in another, oliver with a long staff with a sharp pointed iron on the bottom, walked between either at the side or behind, as the road permitted. he carried his coat across his arm, while a rifle was strapped to his shoulders and two revolvers and cartridges belted around his waist. he as well as eva wore a helmet, while lucretia wore a bonnet. varnee, tobey and fahn carried light articles for im¬ mediate use and a gun strapped upon their shoulders, while a caravan of men carried the camp and mining the leopard's claw hammedan faith, clothed in white robe and dress, sat in the open kitchen and received his guests. oliver presented him with the usual piece of white cloth, handkerchief cloth, rum and tobacco. he in turn presented a goat, piece of ivory and fowls, but his countenance did not express the goodwill that the king of pendembu had shown. "me wan some powder and gun all same one you get," this chief quirlebah made known to oliver the dash was insufficient "well, you will have to send to europe and order the gun if you desire a duplicate of this, and my powder is not for dashes but for work i am going to do in the country. sorry i cannot oblige you, chief," oliver replied, as he started to summon his carriers. chief quirelbah's eyes flashed. "i must hab gun pow¬ der for shoot gun to burry de chief," he called out to oliver. turning back oliver approached him and said, "what would you have done for salutes if i had not arrived? don't try any of your tricks with me. governor row will see that you pay for any annoyance you may cause my party." "governor row, foh, foh! (pshaw) dis country no be¬ long to english, i be chief here, me be free people, fear governor." oliver soon realized the truth of this taunting boast when he left the audience court. his carriers crowded around him clamoring for their pay and refused to pro¬ ceed. it seems as if they had been informed that war was on the pathway they had planned to traverse. oliver found himself helplessly tricked by quirlebah and decided to offer a compromise of gun powder so as to leave the unhappy town. this restored order, the chief dashed lucretia a canine pup and the carriers resumed the burdens. the caravan started interiorward about i p.m. the leopards claw passing through a dense bush of wild coffee, ferns, etc., they entered a marshy forest. oliver was taken upon the shoulders of one of the carriers and they waded the small ponds; sometimes the carriers' feet sank so deeply in the mud that they had to be relieved of some of their heavy burdens in order to be extricated. they made very slow progress and the night shadows approached just as they landed upon the dry ground, amid the dense forest. chapter xiii jungle terrors with a pocket electric light oliver assisted with the clearing of space and the putting up of a temporary tent. lucretia began to cry when the night shadows began to enshroud the forest and the cries of the owls and other night visitors protested at what they considered intruders. the little dog curled up at eva's feet, when without a sound, a leopard with a quick bound seized the little animal before anyone was aware of its approach. the yelp of the dog causer eva and yanga to look up to see the little creature disappearing in the dark jungles. the whole camp became alarmed and oliver was so nervous over the narrow escape that he would not leave their side and ordered fire to be made around the camp after stowing his loved ones safely in the tent. he then divided the carriers into watches and stood guard nearly the whole night, only snatching a few moments of sleep when varnee and tobey assisted and watched in his stead. lucretia rested well except for the mosquitoes, and eva's and yanga's faces showed the anxious vigil they had kept within the tent. continuing their journey through the forest, they ar- the leopard's claw rived at a deep and swift-flowing creek. the carriers were obliged to cut trees which, acting as a bridge, enabled the party to cross them only with great difficulty. at a short distance further they reached another creek with no suitable trees near for logs. oliver started up the bank a little ways to search for means of fording, when varnee, who followed, cried, "jump back, master." on looking as he jumped oliver saw a monstrous croco¬ dile pursuing. they both began running, but remember¬ ing the wife and child, oliver turned into the woods and thus lost sight of his pursuer. when he returned he found eva hysterical and lu- cretia crying but trying to comfort her mamma. the carriers in the meantime had discovered sub¬ merged logs waist deep under water, so they crossed on this slippery and uncertain footing upon the shoulders of the men, when one of them slipped and plunged in with eva. the crocodile, which shortly before had been foiled of its prey, leaped into the water and swam toward eva. oliver jumped into the creek as soon as eva fell and holding her in his arms, dived just as the crocodile was within three feet of eva. as soon as their heads ap¬ peared above the suface they were assisted by tobey and fahn, while varnee and some of the carriers beat away the crocodile and prodded it with oliver's long sharp pointed traveler's staff. they emerged from the forest at p.m. and the bright sun upon the wide sandy plains dazzled their eyes. their feet sank into the deep sand as they passed through fields of waving guinea grass, reaching to the waist. for miles and miles they could see only a broad expanse of waving grass, dotted here and there with palms. they camped near a small wooded grove. early the next morn¬ ing, while they were busy in the camp, lucretia became attracted by a beautiful butterfly, which she endeavored to catch. in this way she wandered far from the camp. the leopard's claw suddenly she came upon a large elephant which was hav¬ ing its morning meal of rattan buds. the elephant picked up the child and placed it upon its back. when lucretia's disappearance was discovered the pa¬ rents made a search and arrived just in time to behold the spectacle of lucretia sitting upon the elephant's back and being chased by other elephants. for a moment the situation was a tense one, as they did not know that this elephant at one time was a pet and a present of a native indian prince to an african chief. eva and oliver climbed a tree, as luck would have it, and just as the elephant passed under them, oli¬ ver reached from a limb and seized lucretia from its back before the other elephants arrived. the caravan resumed its journey and arrived at a town called furca about i p.m. it was a gala day for them. three fembas or native devils, attired in grass robes and wearing wooden masks upon their heads, made the time merry for the numerous spectators enjoying the entertain¬ ment. they were celebrating the commencement of the gree-gree bush girls, who were just completing their work from a secret native school. after the femba whirled and danced the place was cleared for the snake charmers, who swayed and whirled as the serpents kept time with their heads. at one part of the dance the charmers kicked their feet into the air and the snakes leaped over them. this program fright¬ ened the party of oliver, so that they decided to leave the village immediately. chapter xiv desertion by carriers passing along the main road they found a place to camp. during the night the carriers stole most of the the leopard's claw provisions from the camp, while oliver was asleep, and ran away. the next morning oliver found, besides the three boys brought from sierra leone, only five carriers. while oliver was puzzled over his dilemma, varnee held coun¬ sel with the remaining carriers and approached oliver and said, "if the antelope escapes the leopard, the leopard goes after other meat." before oliver could understand what he meant they began gathering up ropes and dividing themselves up into couples, hid along the road behind clumps of bushes, awaiting the appearance of single pedestrians, upon whom they pounced unawares. having bound their victims, using the slave system strategy, they returned to the camp. continuing this method for several days, they had se¬ cured twenty carriers to replace those who had run away. they abandoned some of their luggage and resumed their journey. traveling in the direction e.e.n.e., they crossed the vakkah hills and came to ballallatah at noon. they were halted before the gates of the barricaded town and waited until they were inspected by the town people outside. the people wore many pieces of gold jewelry and offered to barter nuggets and rings for trade goods. oliver then became encouraged and questioned as to where the mineral was found. he was told of a river called the maaqua where gold abounds. taking a n.n.e. direction as instructed, they passed through long grass and cane brake, until they reached a large plain dotted with hillocks and covered with grazing cattle. they entered musada, a barricaded town of western soudan, containing a large market of earthen pots, soap, tobacco, corn, iron, kola, etc. oliver was very much surprised to see the progress of this mandingo town. the town contained a number the leopard's claw i of soldiers on horse back. they were preparing for a mohammedan service. the king in a long gaudy shirt of fine native manufac¬ ture, rode on horseback, holding an elephant tail in his hand. the service was held outside of a cone shaped and polished mud mosque on the eastern side. the imam, dressed in a scarlet cloak, carried a stool covered with a white cloth, while six attendants held a large white covering over his head, during the time he was reading the service, after which he blessed the head warriors and soldiers. the congregation knelt in rows upon their knees. after the religious ceremony they brought out the most fiery and vicious horses, having a knack of kicking and biting, and offered prizes for the successful mounts. oliver watched the tricks and finally volunteered to try. after a few attempts he successfully mounts, to the ad¬ miration of the villagers. he, eva and lucretia were presented suitable mounts by the king. mulley, an old priest, wearing a white gown and squat¬ ting upon a mat in the court, sent for the party. he offered to read their fate for them, and after read¬ ing from the sand spread out before them, he seized oli¬ ver's hands and said: "go back to the gold across the big waters which awaits you. leave africa's wealth and secret undisturbed. the price you will pay is too great. take heed and return whence you came." eva became nervous and would not have him read for her, but for lucretia he said as he shook his head and sighed: "it is your fate, oh, little one, whom the elephant would not harm, to finally bring happiness to this poor family, through the leopard's claw, in the valley of allah." the party remained quite a while in musadu when the leopard's claw they supplemented the carriers and started with fresh guides for the maqua river. "we are near the end of our journey, dear," oliver said as he assisted eva in the saddle upon her horse. he did not allow the gloomy forebodings of mulley to influence his feelings, for with the gold nuggets, rings and guides he felt sure that they would soon reach the maqua river, if not the mountain they first started out to find. passing through a dark forest fahn called out to oliver; "lookee, master, dem bigee flagya" (flying ser¬ pent), as he pushed the party back. oliver saw the red eyes of a large green snake upon a tree just about to spring. shouting very quickly, he saw the snake leap far into the air, twisting its tail as it flew away. the natives called it the flying snake and say that they are very poisonous. wandering through the forest, they sighted the wild serval, the hartze beasts and numerous other scampering jungle inhabitants. finally, the rainy season set in and oliver had not succeeded in locating either the mountain or river of his quest. so he decided to build a permanent camp and prepare for the heavy rains. oliver selected a high hill near a river. the site was very picturesque as well as strategic, in the event of an attack from either man or beast. it was then that both oliver and eva showed a surprising adaptability to cir¬ cumstances. oliver donned his overalls and tackled the saw and axe with the native laborers, and in a short space of time he moved his family into a comfortable log cabin. several bamboo huts were also erected for the accommodation of the servants and the carriers, while the largest of the tents was stationed in the rear of the cabin and served as the storehouse. the camp was enclosed with a double barricade of stout poles. oliver discovered a large tree which had been previously the leopard's claw cut and left to season by the natives. he immediately set to work upon it and in a little while, they had burned and modeled it into a very serviceable canoe. varnee and tobey discovered a deserted farm nearby. eva learned the first lessons in the west african culinary art. she assisted tobey in peeling the sweet cassava (manihot palmento), in the preparation of the fufu and dumb-boy. the fufu was soon an indispensable dish upon the menu. so eva learned to soak the peeled cassavas until they fermented, and took advantage of physical cul¬ ture training at the same time, while she pounded the soft cassavas in a large wooden mortar before straining and cooking them into the famous fufu. but the sauce! oliver said it was "delicious!" but cooking was not the only accomplishment that eva acquired; while oliver was supplying the table with veni¬ son, wild and river pork, fish and other game, eva was learning to make soft and beautiful mats from the heart of the bamboo, which she dyed in lovely colors from the vegetable dyes, she made under yanga's instruction. lucretia, in the meanwhile, took advantage of the fresh air and hardy country life to blossom into a beautiful young tom-boy, who looked to be at least ten years old. chapter xv oliver leaves on prospecting tour soon after the heavy rains were over, oliver said to eva: "eva, my dear, i found some iron pyrites while hunting, and i am sure that we are near the gold regions. i shall take fahn and a few of the carriers and go a little distance, prospecting. you are safe and comfort¬ able in the camp and i feel that you should remain here with lucretia, because we have had too many adventures already to take further risks." the leopard's claw while five rushed in and seized oliver before he was able to pull out his colt revolver. they tied him as the others pillaged and destroyed the camp supplies. fahn and another of the boys made their escape. they bound oliver hand and foot and strapped him to his horse's back, which they led as they continued the river trail. the next morning the party separated, one division continued the river trail while oliver was sent in care of five into the open prairie upon the forest trail. when the sun was at its zenith oliver was nearly dead with thirst, fatigue and the heat which beat down upon his upturned face. they suddenly came upon a wild buffalo which imme¬ diately charged upon the party. the horse, taking fright, galloped toward the river and arrived at the bank just as the other division was about to embark in canoes. they unbound oliver, who was unconscious, gave him water and bathed his head until he recovered. then binding his hands and feet again, they placed him in a canoe and paddled down the stream. they arrived at a large town of bamboo huts, not as clean and well made as the towns formerly visited. the warriors took oliver and the three other prisoners before the king, who sat in his grass, feathered and beaded dress in an open kitchen in the center of the town. by his side stood two rival priests, one alpha, an ara¬ bian of light complexion and white gown and sandalled feet. he was of a light figure, medium height and wore a goatee. he possessed a very crafty appearance. the other, zodopanga, was a tall, black african with a plaited beard and clean shaven head, with a gray band around. he wore only a grass petticoat, charms and fe¬ tich over his besmired body. his frowning countenance betrayed his open antagonism to the arabic priest. as soon as alpha saw oliver he thought of the gun which he naturally supposed oliver would have had, so while the party approached the king, he left and walked the leopard's claw down toward the canoes. he met one of the warriors bearing the spoils and looking hastily over them he se¬ lected the revolver, which contained only four car¬ tridges and was the only piece of ammunition saved. alpha secured the same and returned to witness the re¬ ception awarded oliver. king wango nor any of his people had ever before seen a white man nor had they heard of firearms. when oliver was brought before him he was very much surprised at his color. but zodopanga, who had disap¬ proved of the war, stepped forth and, speaking in the afri¬ can tongue, said: "oh king and fellowmen, when the war party set out upon the path, i told it would be of no use and we would only lose our men. but you people listened to alpha, who said there would be many slaves to take word to the other world for us and we would find plenty of rich spoils; but what has the party brought back? only three slaves and one white man, who must be a moon man and not much good. "i pray you hasten to send the white man on to old chief popowa and have him beg popowa to head us in our next battle." alpha stood forth and said: "oh great and wise king wango, the war has brought to you the greatest capture you have ever had. to you the god of lightning has sent his son to save you from your great enemy, the leopard, which destroys your people and keeps you from farming. "his father the lightning has given him a piece of iron that can kill the leopard and the elephant. give to me the white man and i shall keep him until he destroys your enemies." the king listened in doubtful amazement, while zodo¬ panga pressed his suit and argued that if the prisoner was really the son of the lightning, the god would send a bolt and secure him from the bofimah (or bouform) priests. they placed oliver's right leg in stocks and carried ° the leopard's claw he leaped upon the landing, took several deep breaths, then danced a weird cake walk. he then proceeded toward his victim. just as he is about to spring upon him, holding the knife to plunge it into his victim's breast, oliver pulled the trigger and the crocodile man threw up his hands and fell backwards near the edge of the embankment. twe sprang toward oliver and grasping his hand for a second, said: "mr. oliver, give me the knife and gun and let me tie you quickly before the people come." "but i must try and escape, twe. you may take the gun since it contains no more cartridges, but from the knife i shall never part," oliver stubbornly repeated. twe managed to persuade him to allow himself to be retied. slipping away with the gun twe hid behind some ba¬ nana trees near the king's kitchen and hooted three times like an owl, according to the signal agreed upon. as soon as the report of the revolver had sounded, the king and townspeople were all frightened. zodopanda volunteered to go and find the cause when alpha stepped forward and said: "oh mighty king, to-day the great light¬ ning god is defending his son, let no one interfere, or venture near until his anger has calmed, for which i will offer prayer before you." turning around and swaying himself, alpha performed mystic pantomime rites until he heard the signal hoots. bowing before the king, he invited them all to follow him. when they reached the spot they were amazed at the sight of oliver remaining still tied and unharmed, while the "crocodile" priest, for the first time visible to the layman, lay dead upon his back. all might have gone well if oliver had given up the knife. after the shock was over, even zodopanda was inclined to believe that it was a miracle, but when the king or- the leopard's claw si dered oliver to be unbound and carried to town in tri¬ umph, zodopanda stood watching the carrying out of the orders, when he noticed the knife which oliver still clasped in his hand. he at once denounced the whole as a scheme of alpha's and claimed that oliver had had assistance and had killed the priest with a knife. this caused a great commotion and divided the towns¬ people. oliver was again returned to prison. alpha was very angry at oliver and twe's blunder, but was obliged to stand by them in order to protect himself. on the next day the king heard both sides of the argu¬ ment and ended the matter by saying: "oh alpha! oh zodopanda! hear me, i pray. this matter is easily set¬ tled. if the lightning god defends his son, we will see if he can defend him from the wild bull, as we all look on. now make ready for the test." oliver was more amenable to suggestions, since he dis¬ covered his blunder, so when twe returned him his re¬ volver and three cartridges, he listened attentively when he was told to be as calm as possible, and try to kill the wild bull which he was to face with one cartridge, so as to save the other two for some future use. he realized that to attempt to escape would only mean to kill three men and eventually to be recaptured. he decided, therefore, to be guided by twe's and alpha's advice. in the meantime, zodopanda was busily overseeing the digging out of a pit arena. after a space of about ft. diameter was leveled, they built a stout fence around the edge of the same, leaving an opening with a gate, as a slanting means of descent into the pit. after this was completed, a number of stout warriors entered a small enclosure and drove a large, long horned wild steer, which they goaded with the ends of their spears until it entered the pit. they beat drums and threw missiles at the beast until it was mad and furious. the leopard's claw s mitted to walk around the town at certain hours under an escort of five. at these times he usually pointed out to twe such things as tobacco leaves, the small stems of wild cane and corn cob. when he returned and prepared himself for the luxury of a smoke, he would in this way improve his condition as he continually planned his escape. one day twe handed him a large pearl, saying: "mas¬ ter, this is what alpha is doing in this town, buying pearls with beads from these silly people." "where did you get this?" oliver asked. " "one of the men gave it to me for a small piece of your tobacco. i followed them and saw alpha let them into his house, and when they came out they were laugh¬ ing over some beads. oliver lighted his corncob and stretched out in his bamboo easy chair, manufactured by himself and twe, before the fire in the center of the hut and built upon the floor. he thought of the happy hours spent in their sierra leone home kitchen, when with an apron tied around his neck and shirt sleeves rolled back, he assisted eva as she carved and molded wax beads for lucretia's amuse¬ ment. an idea came into his mind. why not try some of the kaolin clay and the native dyes. perhaps he could bribe alpha to assist in his escape as the price of the secret, he thought. calling twe to his side, he ordered him to bring in some of the gray clay, some small cane reeds and to beg some of the colored dyes from the women, especially the red and yellow. when twe returned with the articles as directed, oli¬ ver mixed the clay with some of the bright red dyes, until he obtained the desired color. he directed twe as to the length he wished the hollow reeds, then rolling the dough the leopard's claw over the reeds, he continued doing so until they were molded into oblong, slender and other shaped beads. after this he cut the ends off with a knife and placed them in an earthen pot over the fire until they hardened and finally polished to a bright glazing appearance. his first attempt was a great success. he called twe to him, and tying them in a banana leaf, instructed twe to take them to alpha with his compliments. "oh, master, you do a bad thing for send dose beads to alpha. he go make you stay for make plenty more for him. you better make plenty more and lemme buy you plenty of pearls. if no be alpha is jealous of zodo- panda, he no for save your life." but oliver's sense of gratitude and honor prompted him to disregard such advice and to send twe on to alpha. alpha naturally was very much surprised, and his cupidity aroused his cunning. he called upon oliver im¬ mediately and was all smiles, and pretended friendship. he was also cautious because he suspected that his se¬ cret was out, and that oliver would either become a rival or betray his secret by enlightening the oyster diver whom he had taught to search for pearls. in the meantime his beads were nearly exhausted and in oliver he saw the promise of a rich harvest. oliver soon made his proposition known, i.e., to sell the process of making the beads in exchange for his free¬ dom. but this did not suit the ease-loving arabian, when so competent a worker was already in his power. he pretended to agree while he urged oliver to make a large quantity at the time of instructions. oliver soon realized that he was alpha's dupe, and several times awoke just in time to discover alpha crawling upon his knees, searching for the revolver in oliver's hut. twe took a chance in the matter and bundled up quite a number of beads that he had securely hidden. he ap¬ proached oliver and asked for a day off for hunting. the leopard's claw upon his return he brought a small grass bag full of the most lustrous and perfect pearls. oliver gasped in amazement when twe told him how he had visited the oyster beds and traded for the pearls, after obtaining a promise of secrecy. twe continued his pearl trading. one day oliver ran to the door of his hut at the cries of some women who, running and beating their heads with their hands, ran to the king's court and fell upon their faces. a leopard had entered a half town two nights succes¬ sively, and taken away a child and a grown man. the bravest huntsmen were selected and oliver was assigned the leadership. oliver was glad of the opportunity because he planned to attempt his escape. he informed twe of his inten¬ tion so that twe bundled up their small stove and they started upon the hunt, after receiving alpha's blessing. as they were walking single file through the woods, oliver had just time to raise his gun as he, twe and the huntsmen scattered in the woods. he saw the fiery eyes and extended claws, when he pulled the trigger and sent the bullet to the heart of the animal. but the great cat had been very accurate in her measurement of distance, for oliver just had time to dodge, but not before one of her great forepaws landed upon his shoulders, as she fell on top of him, sinking her claws in further. twe was the first to recover from the shock and run to oliver's assistance. the men returned and lifted the paw of the beast from oliver's shoulder, while twe tore the sleeve of his shirt and bound his arm, during the unconsciousness of the suffering man. twe then unwound a grass hammock which he had folded in the bundle, and instructed the men to cut a pole to which he tied it, and then placed oliver in the hammock, while the other party secured the man-eating the leopard's claw leopard to another pole, and proceeded to the village. thus when oliver recovered consciousness, he was very much surprised and disappointed to find himself back to his old surroundings. but it was a gala day for the town. oliver was borne in triumph to the king by the warriors. around the kitchen young men and women dressed in grass petti¬ coats, danced the gombey, a very wild but graceful cake- walk. the king presented oliver the hide and claws of the huge leopard. these being considered only the property of the king, with the teeth, owing to their rare value among all african tribes, oliver was aware of the honor, and selecting one of the claws, he bade the king accept it as a remembrance of the occasion. he also presented one to alpha. something prompted him to offer one to zodopanda, but knowing that alpha would not like such a proceeding, he did not take advantage of the opportunity of winning a true friend who might have spared him some of the sad experiences he was to suffer through alpha's treachery. after the presentation of the claws, the king whispered into the ear of one of the couriers, who left his royal side immediately. oliver was soon given an unpleasant surprise, when he was finally made to understand that the blushing black maiden attired in a grass petticoat, and numerous beads and leopard teeth around the neck and waist, bore the title of a young princess and was given to him as wife. the king watched oliver closely, and was disappointed at the lack of appreciation shown by the latter. when he finally understood that the great honor was rejected, he at once demanded the reason. oliver then related the separation from his wife and child, and begged to be permitted to return to his family. "oh," said king wanga, "that makes no difference. i have many wives. the lightning god sent you to live the leopard's claw with us, so you must forget the other wife and take wives from among us." zodopanda whispered something into his ear, his face contracted into a frown, then turning to oliver again he said, "do you, oh moon man, refuse my daughter?" oliver protested again and told him that his religion permitted only one wife. the conference finally closed, but the rejection of the royal bride had caused a perceptible coolness. it was only the hope of having permanent protection from the wild beast and the fear of the destruction of the iron which oliver possessed that saved his life. when the week had ended, and oliver had not returned as promised, eva was nearly distracted with grief. every morning and evening she could be seen at the edge of the hill overlooking the direction of oliver's departure, kneel¬ ing with lucretia as they prayed for the father's safe return. chapter xvi eva starts search for her husband six months passed, each day adding more and more to the suspense in her mind as to the fate of her husband. finally, calling yanga to her one evening, she said, "yanga, i can stand this suspense no longer. i shall take some of the boys and go searching for my husband. i know that you love lucretia as if she were your own child, so i shall leave her in the care of you and tobey. lucretia is the only person tobey really cares for and i know he would defend her with his life." "oh, miss eva, don't go away. you know i will gib my life for miss lucretia, but i want us all to be to¬ gether," yanga replied. "but you do not understand, yanga. i have no right to risk my daughter's life any more than we have al- o the leopard's claw and said, "gib me little un quick, quick, war lif for come for here." picking up lucretia, he started for the woods, while yanga, true to her precautious disposition, gathered up some articles of clothing, food, and the letter, which she tied into a large madras handkerchief and bundled it into a large blanket shawl. she then followed tobey's bush trail, just as the war party was nearing the barricade. tobey had concealed himself and waited until yanga approached when, still carrying lucretia they ran further into the woods. but yanga's delay had almost been fatal, for some of the warriors caught a glimpse of her calico wrapper as she disappeared into the woods. so that while the greater number despoiled and ravaged the camp, even to cutting up the canvas tents, a few pursued yanga. the warriors were very close upon them when tobey handed lucretia to yanga and ran into view so as to throw them off yanga's tracks. his long cloth which he stoically wore across his shoulders even in a jungle flight readily deceived the party who had only caught a glimpse of yanga's wrapper. yanga in the meantime lay down with lucretia behind a large log and remained very quiet until their pursuers had disappeared in another direction. lifting lucretia on one arm while she balanced the bundle upon her head with the other, she ran as rapidly as she could over the many roots and through the thick grass. when she reached a safe distance she stood lu¬ cretia upon a rock and opened her bundle; after giving lucretia a few biscuits, she had lucretia hold on to her shoulders and sit upon her back as she tied the large blanket around her. yanga had frequently employed this method of con¬ veyance since lucretia was quite small, and now, although she was quite a little maid she still enjoyed the ride. the leopard's claw placing the bundle upon her head yanga held her shirt as she waded the ponds and marshy swamps. when night approached she looked around until she found a large hollow tree. taking a stick in her hand she prodded up the trunk and around until she was satis¬ fied no serpents or poisonous insects were concealed within. she then gathered up a large pile of briars and thorny shrubs and placed them near the entrance. after placing lucretia inside and creeping in upon her hands, she pulled the pile before the tree. opening and snuggling in with lucretia, wrapped snug¬ ly in the blanket, while she sat and watched a large ape return to its lair. she dared not make a move, and looked in terror as the huge monkey attempted to pull away the brush. but after several of the thorns had stuck into its paws, with a cry of pain and rage, it ambled away. thus the night passed as she watched the buffalo, an¬ telope, hartbeast and other wild animals pass by seeking their respective lairs or prey. thus they wandered through the forest, eating wild figs, pineapples and other fruits and sleeping among the roots of the large cottonwood trees or caves. emerging from the forest they entered a. hot, sandy plain. as far as yanga could see was only a barren desert. holding lucretia's hand they wandered on. lu¬ cretia looked up into yanga's face and said, "oh yanga, i am so thirsty and want my mamma and papa so bad." yanga picked her up and struggled along until she was hardly able to stand upon her feet, when lucretia began crying. yange threw up her hands in despair and lay exhausted for a while. struggling to her feet she picked up her bundle and held lucretia by the hand as they walked through the burning sands. they finally reached a large tree when both lucretia the leopard's claw and yanga fell exhausted under its shade and were soon asleep. lucretia first awoke, crying for water, when yanga opened her eyes in time to see a small monkey climbing a tree with some fruit in its hand and mouth. yanga looked around and disc e ed quite a number of little brown rough skin plums which partially allayed the thirst of both. after securing quite a number they resumed their journey. the parched lips refused to be cooled by the plums and just as yanga had given up hope she recognized in a short distance the traveller's tree (wrania speciesa). with renewed hope she picked up lucretia and went as fast as her weak stat' vould permit. as soon as she reached the tree she opened a large pocket knife and cut away one of the fronds; as soon as the water flowed she satisfied lucretia's thirst and then her own. they entered a sparsely wooded forest and finally came upon a ruined native village. all of the houses except one small bamboo hut had been razed to the ground by fire. all of the vegetation and fruit trees near had also met the same fate. it was about p.m. when they reached the village, and lucretia was fatigued. yanga fixed a pallet of the blanket in the small hut and lay lucretia upon the same to rest. after lucretia had fallen asleep, yanga wandered around in search for food. lucretia awoke soon after she had gone and coming out of the hut she began crying and calling for yanga. just from behind a clump of dried banana bushes appeared a little black five-year-old baby girl, wearing only beads around her waist and hold¬ ing the hand of a large chimpanzee almost as large as herself. she looked in lucretia's direction, first in fright, but the sight of lucretia's tears overcame the first idea of flight. lucretia was so glad of human companionship and the leopard's claw having a fondness for monkey pets, she did not hesitate very long but ran to meet the queer pair. recalling some of the african words she had heard varnee and yanga frequently use she said: "yakune?" (how do you do). the little girl's face became full of smiles, showing her little white baby teeth. "uhnlakune," she replied, returning the same compli¬ ments. "wo twe?" (what are your names?), lucretia asked. "na tuhn zina, ah tuhn nogi," (my name is zina and its name is nogi), zina replied, as she indicated the chimpanzee in her last reply. zina soon made lucretia understand, with the addition of the african pantomime language, that the language they both spoke was a branch of the mande tongue, and that she and her mother had lived long ago far, far away in the mandingo country and had been caught in war and sold as slaves back farther into the interior. then the war had come upon the village a few weeks before and killed nearly all of the inhabitants, her mother among them. as she made the motion of cutting the throat, she burst into tears and was soothed by lucretia, who patted her gently upon the back. "nogi," she continued, had fled with her to safety among the woods and had fed and acted as her mother ever since. as the children conversed they wandered toward the woods, being led unconsciously by nogi, which gently pulled zina's hand as she ambled toward the forest. lucretia suddenly realized that it was becoming dark and she pulled zina and nogi back to the deserted village as she cried for yanga. but as the night shadows began to fall, nogi, very in¬ sistently, led them toward the woods until they reached a small opening closed with brushwood. nogi opened the brush and entered the aperture and coming out again she gathered fresh leaves and carried the leopard's claw them into the cave, after which she drew her charges in and pulled the brush before the opening. after the children lay in the rear upon the leaves, nogi stretched across the front in order to protect them. one day a hunting party of africans, clothed in cotton shirts and carrying spears, passed near the cave just as nogi was about to enter with food for the children. the man gave a shout as soon as they saw her. nogi made no effort to escape nor to enter the cave, but threw down her fruit before the entrance in a defensive attitude. one of the huntsmen wounded her before she could be removed from her stand. the children heard the commotion and partly witnessed the struggle. they both began crying and when the men looked into the cavern they were overcome with awe at the sight of the two children, especially lucretia, whose golden hair was in wild disorder and her blue eyes ex¬ panded in fright. the men had never before seen a white person; they therefore fell upon their faces in a worshipful attitude. when they arose they brought forth the two children and looking around saw nogi dead beside the entrance. they buried her inside the cave and left. placing each child upon the shoulders of the two men they proceeded in the same direction which they came. varnee realized the imminent danger eva was in; he therefore hastily descended from his safe perch and at¬ tracted the elephant's attention. the huge animal suddenly unloosed his snout from the tree, which bounded back so quickly that eva was nearly thrown out. varnee shouted to her to make her escape as the elephant chased him in fast pursuit. one day as eva wandered through the woods she heard voices of some natives passing on a nearby trail. she had been so long without human companionship that she preferred the risk of capture to the jungle terrors. the leopard's claw emerging from the woods, she came upon the hunting party, bearing lucretia. calling out to lucretia she ran as fast as she could, holding out her arms. lucretia recognized her mother and began kicking upon the man's breast as she screamed and called for her mamma. the men halted at this other miracle and watched the two in their wild embrace. eva was too weak to walk with the party. the men therefore cut poles and bamboo and thatch and constructed a stretcher, upon which they placed eva and lucretia and which was placed upon the shoulders of four men. they arrived at a large african town of mud huts, situated at the base of a mountain called the "yawhey mountain" or "mountain of god." the large clean town was arranged in circular streets. the king and people decided that eva and lucretia had been sent by the "moon god" whom they worshipped. he therefore delivered eva and the children to the priest from the mountain, and ordered that they should tend the fires and live upon the yawhey mountain. they were led up the steep pathway to the summit, where a large space was cleared away and enclosed in a stout fence. in the center stood a circular mosque shaped temple covered with thatch. in the center of the polished floor was a large ebony carved image of a man in a sitting posture. upon its brow was a half moon shaped golden crown. in his right hand he held a long ebony staff surmounted by a half moon and a star in the center of the same metal. its stool was of gold, while large half moon rings were hanging from its ears and nose. in the front of the idol a slow fire of sweet smelling twigs burned continually night and day. at the back of the temple several small huts were the leopard's'claw reserved for the priests and virgins, who kept the fire burning. eva and the children were given a hut to themselves. they were given white robes, crowns and belts of gold to wear when performing the sacred rites. when oliver returned to his hut, alpha called in a very bad mood. "what zee matter you no marry king daugh¬ ter?" "there is no need in discussing the subject again, alpha," oliver replied. "me makee you bigee man so me be bigee priest. you lif for spoil ebryting." "let me give you to understand now you will never add to your power by attempting to marry me to any one," oliver replied, as he emphasized the same with his fist upon a log table. alpha then left in a rage. some time afterward twe came in and said: "master alpha done make a wide goatskin belt which he put all him beg pearls and put it round him waist. i think he lif for get ready to go away." "say, i guess we had better try our skill on the leopard .hide and keep a watch upon his movements," oliver re¬ plied. the hide had been well tanned, so that they soon man¬ aged by punching holes to make a secure belt of five inches width, which they also filled with their best pearls. chapter xvii oliver's flight one day the town was assembled in the open court, and alpha announced that the king's oldest son was bewitched and lay at the point of death. that the king had demanded a sassawood trial (trial the leopard's claw by poison ordeal), but that he had managed to locate the guilty party by occult means and thus that person only should be subjected to the ordeal. the villagers were so glad to be relieved of the general test that they received this announcement with applause. alpha then named the nephew of zodopanga; this an¬ nouncement was received in silence. zodopanga stepped forth and accused alpha in turn and ended ,"if you kill my nephew, and the king's son fails to recover, you and your moon man will drink the sassawood; if you escape harm my nephew was the witch." this speech was greeted with loud cheers and met the approval of king wanga. alpha led away a tall, muscular young man of about six feet. they returned shortly afterward with fulle's (the suspected witch) head clean shaven. alpha directed the arranging of a fire upon the ground over which a large earthern pot of water was placed upon three stones enclosing the fire. he next held in his hands several pieces of sassawood bark, over which he made incantations and dropped into the boiling water. after the liquid had boiled a sufficient length of time, he dipped in a gourd dipper and tested the strength by tasting a little. "me makee you bigee man so me be bigee priest. you lif for spoil ebryting." "let me give you to understand now you will never add to your power by attempting to marry me to any one," oliver replied. the hide had been well tanned so that they soon man¬ aged by punching holes. when the tea was cooled, alpha made a speech and car- tied a quart of the liquid to fulle, who squatted upon the ground in terror. he compelled the victim to drain the gourd dipper. fulle soon began to roll and groan in misery. the ad¬ ministering of the sassawood was continued two more times the leopard's claw of the crowd and the large numbers likely to be attracted from the river by the report, he concluded to try a ven¬ triloquist's trick with which he used to amuse his com¬ panions in his school days. he gave a very accurate imitation of a leopard's growl. the brave man hunters ran away in fright from the dreaded beast. alpha and twe were also deceived and were it not that the men were in too great a haste to make their own escape, they would have seen alpha also running in fright. oliver decided not to let alpha into the secret, but explained to twe, who soon ran back to his master's side. the party continued their trail free from their pursuers. one morning they came upon a full grown bull rhino¬ ceros which immediately charged upon the party. oliver and twe were quick in their movements and were soon up in the safety of two large trees. alpha was very much hampered by his wide gown, which flared in the wind, as the rhinoceros followed close upon him. when he attempted to climb a tree, the ani¬ mal pinned the gown to the tree, and only when oliver shouted several times did he slip out of the gown and continue his ascent. the white gown soon covered the beast's head, and this infuriated the animal the more as it ran around' trying to extricate itself. when it had finally trampled the gown to pieces, it kept a long vigil around the trees. oliver stood the imprisonment for several hours, when he fired his last shot at the jailor. although the shot missed the mark, it had the desired effect, and frightened the beast away. they left the old trail and came upon a large field of guinea grass. they suffered much for water until they reached a small cluster of palm trees. twe climbed into a bamboo palm and tapped the top, from which the fresh palm wine spurted. he called to oliver, but alpha pushed oliver out of the way and hastily ascended, fought the leopard's claw with twe and satisfied his own thirst first. thus again he showed his selfishness. they camped under the trees, first having burned away a large patch of the grass. they then gathered grass and twigs and made a circle of fire around them and di¬ vided the night into watches. during alpha's watch, he fell asleep and fire caught the surrounding field and caused a general conflagration. the heat awakened oliver, who discovered upon all sides flames of fire, the heat and smoke becoming more and more unbearable. climbing hastily into the scorched palm tree, he saw numerous wild animals running in a certain direction. he decided that a stream must be the goal, so informing his terrified companions of his sur¬ mise and desperate determination, they cut palm leaves and followed the tracks of the animals over the smoulder¬ ing grass, fighting the flames which continually caught alpha's gown. they reached the stream almost overcome. but their trials were not ended, as the stream was filled with wild and terror stricken beasts of prey and elephants. they were therefore compelled to climb a tree, when they discovered stout vines reaching across the stream. twe ventured across first, then oliver ad alpha followed, swinging over to the wines with their blistered hands. one day returning to the old camp, oliver found him¬ self in familiar grounds. with a cry of joy he rushed toward the hill of his old camp. when he reached the summit and saw the ruin and devastation that greeted him, he ran toward the frame of one of their old tents and threw up his hands in despair. falling forward he was caught by twe, who seated him gently upon the grass. oliver remained sitting with his head in his hands for a whole day. finally recovering himself, he began to look around for some message from his wife. he remembered the hiding place of their strong box in which the private papers, the the leopard's claw they reached a small half town, and oliver traded a few of his leopard's claws for a canoe and food, after having discovered that the villagers could give no information about eva and lucretia. when later finding that they would be unable to reach a native village by night, they chose a desirable camping spot and soon fell asleep, within the circle of fire which alpha's tinder box always provided. oliver removed the belt of pearls from around his waist and placed them upon his box. he was so fatigued that he soon fell fast asleep with one hand on his stomach. alpha drew a sharp dagger and held it in readiness to plunge into oliver at the slightest movement as he crawled toward him on his knees. oliver's good angel guarded him and he never moved when alpha lifted his hand and secured the box and pearls. when oliver and twe awoke the next morning, they discovered that alpha had not only stolen the box and pearls, but had cleaned the camp of everything and decamped in a canoe. with only the mats upon which they slept and their knives, which were secured around their waists, they set out upon the journey through the woods. at night, discovering fire in the distance, they ap¬ proached and saw alpha asleep within the circle of fire and clasping a large white bundle to his breast. "i go kill him while he lif for sleep, master," twe whis¬ pered, as he drew forth his knife. oliver caught his hand. "put it back, twe, we are not savages. i wish we had something to carry water in, we would have some fun taking away the package he embraces so fondly." "see dem vine, master, hanging from dem tree? dey get water, when we get lost and can't find water, we get dem vine and drink dem water," twe replied. they tiptoed to the vine and when oliver tapped one, the milky water flowed freely. the leopard's claw ^ "i guess you had better locate the canoe, while i ex¬ tinguish the fire," oliver said to twe, as he turned the twater on the fire, using the vines as hose. alpha was so sound asleep that he did not hear the sizzling noise. when twe returned and indicated the location of the canoe, oliver had completed his task and twe crept to alpha and pulled away the heavy bundle. oliver and twe escaped to the canoe as alpha ran around bewil¬ dered in the darkness, striking his fists in rage. oliver decided that it was better to cross the river, than to run the risk of meeting alpha again, so they headed the canoe in a south-easterly direction. the river was over half a mile in width and they congratulated them¬ selves when the canoe grounded upon a narrow landing, before they had paddled half as long as anticipated. they scrambled to the shore and found a steep bank which they ascended with the greatest difficulty owing to the darkness and the burden of the heavy parcel. as they neared the top oliver's hand pulled down a shower of dry bones, which they thought were chips of wood. reaching the summit, they were surprised to find it barren of shrubbery. they sat upon the ground and waited for morning, and when it grew light they saw a small island covered with skulls and other dry bones. "dis be dem island dey bury dem witch people, who die from sassawood," twe remarked as he shook in terror. they proceeded toward the canoe, when they discovered that it had drifted away with the tide. they ran around the island, hunting in despair for some sign of their run¬ away craft, when several large alligators swimming close to the island warned them of the fruitlessness of attempt¬ ing to swim the long distance to either of the opposite shores. while twe watched for a canoe, oliver untied the bundle taken from alpha and gave a shirt to twe to use as a signal. he then unlocked his box and taking out the writing materials and compass, he emptied all of the the leopard's claw pearls and the diamonds into it. he scooped out the leopard claws and placed the plot of the mine in the open ends of two of them, placing them also in the box. after locking it, he dug a hole and buried it, after which he wrote an accurate description of its location on a small piece of paper, which he folded and hid within the largest of his four remaining claws. this claw he had always in¬ tended to save for lucretia, as a souvenir of the escape of her father from the man-eating beast. he placed the claws and writing material in his leopard skin belt, and took turns with twe waving the signal. after a long vigil spent during another night upon the gruesome island, they had fallen down from weakness and despair, giving up all hope. as the evening shades fell they heard the sound of approaching canoes. chapter xviii oliver's imprisonment and escape with renewed hope they arose from their prostrate positions and walking to the bank, watched the canoes land. the men were chalked and tattoed, making a frightful appearance, with their masks and grass robes. they were the "neegees," men who bury the witches. they were more surprised than oliver, and it was only after much persuasion and the sight of alpha's shirt that they consented to take back oliver and twe. they were conveyed to the shore for which they had first headed. their reception was by no means a welcome one. they were not allowed to enter the town, but were held outside as prisoners, while the king sat in council upon their case. they were condemned as witches, and ordered to a deep pit, where they were to await the morn¬ ing and be burned alive. they were placed in the pit with their hands tied behind them. the leopard's claw "twe, can you manage to get my kife out?" oliver inquired. twe managed to reach oliver's side, and turn¬ ing his back to the latter tried to extricate the knife in vain. "master, dis be tobey. i lif for let down knife for you," oliver heard a whisper from above, and soon caught a glimpse of the bright steel as it descended into the pit. after cutting loose the bindings from himself and twe, he called up to tobey and informed him. "me sendee rope, you climb one one, no fear, me holdee strong." oliver caught the rope and ascended, after which twe followed. tobey led them quietly to the river bank, where they found a canoe which he had already prepared for their flight. they had not gone very far before the alarm was given and warriors with their bows and arrows launched half a dozen canoes in pursuit. the three fugitives made their paddles fly, and their small craft fairly glided over the water, but the warriors coming within a close range showered poisonous arrows after them, but by some mir¬ acle, the arrows passed over their heads and missed them. the chase continued under a shower of arrows, flying wide of the mark. the pursuers had gained rapidly, and were just about to close in upon them, when tobey steered the canoe into the rapids which led to a steep waterfall. with victorious shouts, the party gave up the chase, and returned rejoicing over the certain death of their escaped victims. tobey understood the channel of the rapids well, and had more than once used it upon his flight from pursuers. he soon turned into a well known current, and emerged from their dangerous situation. several years had passed in an unsuccessful search for tidings of his wife and daughter. oliver, tobey and twe were walking on the bank of a narrow stream, which the leopard's claw chapter xix oliver's old enemy kidnaps lucretia when alpha found that oliver had escaped alive, he suspected that it was through trickery. he therefore started the villagers upon a search while he wandered on visiting other towns in search of his escaped victim. he finally arrived at the village of the yahwah moun¬ tain during the evening of the full moon . he found the king and courtiers robed in white and mounted upon horseback, while the villagers in white also followed in the rear on foot as they made a circle around the town three times. marching to the foot of the mountain the king and courtiers descended from their mounts, and slaves re¬ moved their sandals, after which they climbed the steep ascent in single file. alpha joined in the procession with the villagers. when the king reached the gate at the summit he was met by slaves bearing a wooden trough of water. after washing and drying his feet, the king proceeded upon mats .spread upon the ground as his followers washed their feet before entering. the king entered the moon temple and bowed before the idol as he lay his offering before its feet. after the offerings were over, eva led a procession of twelve young girls, robed in long white gowns fastened around the waist with golden belts, gold half moon crowns upon their heads and each holding a string of fragrant coffee blossoms which they held in both hands, as lucretia, now eleven years old, led the dance to the tune of "ta ra ra bum deah" which eva had taught them. alpha suspected eva and lucretia to be the lost wife and daughter of oliver and he grinned in contemplated re¬ venge. as soon as the ceremony had ended, alpha inquired of so the leopard's claw the villagers the history of the two white people. he was soon satisfied that his first guess was correct. he then set about to make plans to carry out his scheme of revenge. creeping along the barricade, he watched until he saw lucretia returning from the temple, strolling down near the gateway with zina. he opened the gate softly and leaped upon them before they were aware of his presence. stifling lucretia's cries with a piece of cloth he ran toward a back trail which he had recently cut. at the foot of the mountain he placed lucretia upon a horse which he had tied to a tree, and mounted it. holding her in one arm he rode away at a fast pace up the river bank until he reached two canoes. embarking in one with lucretia, he sent the other adrift and empty down the stream as he paddled up the river. when zina gave the alarm eva ran wildly down to the village and informed the villagers of the kidnapping. they set about immediately to scout the mountain and bush trail as another party set out in a number of canoes. eva joined the hunt and was informed by the canoe party that the search was in vain, because lucretia had been seized by the crocodile men and dispatched to the other world; and that the empty canoe had been seen drifting down the stream. the villagers ceased the hunt and tried to console eva, who, followed by zina, ran madly from the town. when yanga had returned to the deserted village and found lucretia gone, she ran about calling and searching for her charge. she finally reached a village where the young daughter of one of the king's wives was very ill, and she administered herbs which cured her. she then became a great favorite and remained, while she questioned all travelers as to news of her charge and parents. one day in the early morning she was in a fishing party standing in a creek when she saw a white robed figure the leopard's claw paddling toward them. as the canoe came nearer she caught a glimpse of the white face of a child in the bot¬ tom of the canoe. she hurriedly informed the women that the white robed man was the party who stole her charge and they should assist her to recover her. chapter xx lucretia's rescue alpha was very fatigued, as he had paddled all night, and had just felt safe to land. 'as soon as he drew near the landing and lifted lucretia in his arms, yanga and the women leaped upon him with loud screams. the women scratched and pommelled him while yanga secured lucretia and fled into the village. the fisherwomen threw their nets over his head, ducked him into the water and had the time of their lives, laughing at the half drowned figure with the mud bespattered gown clinging to his body. yanga sought the protection of the king's favorite wife whose good will she enjoyed. alpha soon decided that the town was too hot for his presence and resumed his journey on foot. eva and zina wandered in their fruitless search until eva was almost compelled to believe that lucretia had really been sacrificed, still her mother's heart held hope and she continued her search. they reached a village whose people received them kindly and she decided to rest a few days. in the mean¬ time alpha arrived at the same town on the next day. as soon as he heard of the white woman stranger in the town, he determined not to be foiled in his revenge. so approaching the king, he said: "i was sent from a far country by the spirit of great pomopora (one of the great war ancestors) to bring to you the tidings that a the leopard's claw woman of white skin, red hair, and eyes like the sky, would be sent to you to receive a message for him; that when she bears the message he will aid you in carrying war against your old enemy and fnake you victorious." "you speak the truth, oh messenger of pomopora. a woman as you described arrived at this town," was the reply. alpha left and saw that eva was secured while he caught zina and sold her to a passing caravan. in a dark forest a dozen men squatted around a fire over which was a large earthen pot. two men standing were garbed in leopard hides, with wooden shoes upon their feet made in tie shape of the leopard's claw. in the right hand they held pronged knives in claw shape. "we will have a new kind of messenger to-night. i wonder if this white skin woman can take the message to pomopora in our language," one of the men said aloud in their tongue. "oh, don't bother about that; the priest says she must be the messenger." "when the moon has gone we must be at the road to the spring," one of the leopard robed men replied. varnee happened to be passing through the woods when he saw the fire and men. he recognized he had come upon a meeting of the leopard branch of the boreform society. he was so overcome with fright that he stood hidden behind a tree afraid to move. he overheard the conversation referring to their pros¬ pective victim. he decided that it was eva to whom they referred, so he made a quick retreat and ran to secure her rescue. the leopard men paid no heed to the running foot¬ steps, because they thought it was only a frightened an¬ telope. at midnight eva was bound hand and foot and carried the leopard's claw his quick and sprightly movements were typical of his great ready resourcefulness, while his face inspired in¬ stant confidence. as soon as zina saw the white man she jerked loose from the man who was holding her hand and ran toward rev. jones. "oh, mister, please save me," she cried, in an almost perfect accent. rev. jones was very much astonished and, taking her hand, inquired where she learned to speak english. he soon obtained sufficient information from her ex¬ cited story to arouse his interest, and after offering re¬ demption money to zina's owner, he left for the mission, taking zina along, followed by her late owner. the mission station consisted of a corrugated iron story and one-half bungalow, having a veranda surrounding it. it was situated upon a small hill and had at its side and back a small iron cottage and mud huts. the stairway consisted of long wooden steps leading from the ground up to the side veranda. when rev. jones reached the mission he was greeted by a short buxom lady of about forty, whose good nature showed in her smiling and sympathetic face. rev. jones soon told her zina's story. as they both cross-questioned her he said to his wife: "i would stake my last dollar that the woman and girl she speaks of are the wife and daughter of that unfortunate family the newspapers made such a stir about when the expedition traced them as far as musadu and travelled to timbuctoo in a fruitless search. the man's name was mont some¬ thing and he was the brother of lord dubley. don't you remember? it must be nearly five years since the ex¬ pedition returned in failure. "i am going to set out to-morrow with one of the caravan party as a guide and take this child along with me." rev. jones lost no time after coming to this conclusion. the leopard's claw he persuaded one of the men to act as guide and with the madam's prompt assistance his preparations were completed and he started early the next morning. after the surprise of the gold workers was over, oliver was compelled to smile in spite of his melancholy state, when he thought of the clever trick these craftsmen had played so successfully for years upon credulous villagers. he presented the old priest, dahpella, who was the head of the establishment, with one of his remaining claws. he had the large claw containing the plot of his hidden treasure set in gold. the sharp end was enclosed in a gold tip with two narrow bars passing up to the wide ornamental cap which fitted tightly over the open end. the slender bars then clasped across the top, ending in a small loop. thus the cap was securely fastened to the claw. one of the workmen presented him with a slender platinum neck chain which was passed through the gold loop and fastened with a stout and intricate catch. the other claw he had only a gold cap attached. dahpella presented him with a wide hollow gold band bracelet, that opened with a spring and revealed a cavity used for securing small articles of value, as poison snuff and other things so prized by the african. oliver enclosed the two leopard claws and the location and plan of the mine within the cavity and placed the bracelet upon his left arm. he left the cave dwellers with valuable gifts of nuggets, and proceeded on his errand. just as he neared the entrance to a town called see- hoker, he saw a white man coming toward him. rev. jones soon decided that the bearded white man in frayed trousers was no other than oliver. they soon shook hands in greeting and began explana¬ tions as they entered seehoker. the leopard's claw alpha decided to flee from the scene. he finally reached the village where he was badly used by the fisher women. he decided to keep out of yanga's sight and to lose no time in carrying out his revenge. he entered the village at night and immediately sought a private audience with the king. old king dofella was squatting upon a mat in his private hut before a fire. he was seventy years old and very homely. alpha presented him with some kola nuts and said: "oh mighty and great king dofella! i congratulate you upon your fortunate and happy position. you have had the beautiful young white maiden sent to you for wife. blessed man to have been honored above all other kings." dofella did not understand at first what alpha meant. "where is the maiden?" he asked. "she has lived in your presence for the last two months. she with the fair skin, deep blue eyes and sandy hair. 'tis she to whom i refer" alpha replied. "but she is a child of the moon god, and cannot marry mortals," dofella said. "she is but the daughter of a man like you, only his skin is white. they came from a far country to our country to steal our wealth, so the gods have decided that we should wed them, and you are chosen to be the first and to wed the fair young maid." "but she is too young, oh priest of the great gods," dofella feebly protested. "haven't you got the devil bush for preparing young girls for wifehood? two years in it will be sufficient to make her eligible for your wife. do not find excuses, oh fortunate man lest the gods think you unworthy of their choice," alpha replied. this last argument settled the qualms of conscience which dofella had felt before. the next morning he presented himself before yanga's hut, bearing gifts of kola nuts, fowls and a slave as the first dowry to his prospective bride. a close review of lucretia incited him to act immediately. the leopard's claw as he presented the gifts to yanga, he informed her that the zoa, the head of the devil bush, would call at midnight for his bride. yanga managed to keep her feel¬ ings under control, in the hope that she might be able to rescue her charge from the horrible fate he had an¬ nounced. shortly after the king's visit, ledia, the patroness of yanga and the favorite royal wife, called upon yanga in a very bad temper. "is this the way you repay my kindness, begging me to protect you from the white gown priest and then join¬ ing him in secret, to marry your white skin girl to the king?" she addressed yanga upon entering. as soon as yanga heard of alpha's connection with the proposition, she understood the scheme at once, and soon convinced her friend of her desire to rescue lucretia from the same. "two slaves have just come from the town of my father and brought the news that two men of the same skin of your girl were entering the town as they left last night. "if you really wish to run away with her, i will make plans for your escape to-night to join the white men. but tell them not to remain at my father's town, because do- fella will send a war upon my father when he learns of your refuge," the wife pronounced in restored good spirits. alpha had now to contend with a very sharp-witted antagonist. ledia instructed her brother to engage alpha in the game of mo, a game very absorbing to people of the orient; and arranged her plans unobserved by the alert arab. after the king had paid his respects to yanga and presented another dash, yanga slipped out with lucretia, and they disappeared from the rear of the hut into the woods. they were assisted to mount a fine horse by two silent men, who then mounted two other horses, placed the leopard's claw lawn were tropical fruit and ornamental trees of every description, while orchids, cape jessamines, wild roses, ferns and flowers in a large variety bloomed in luxuriant and lovely disorder. in the branches of the trees, the loud notes of the turacos mingled with the merry whistle of the grey par¬ rots, while the beautiful plumaged birds of variegated colors chirped and hopped about, undisturbed by the recent arrivals. an antelope scampered away at first, but it soon re¬ turned with several others and walked about the lawn in restored confidence. "where do you think we are, montcrief?" rev. jones asked in real surprise. "we have been following the s.s.w. course as you di¬ rected," oliver replied. "hush! listen to the murmur behind that traveller tree. look! those are the mission boys repeating something from the koran, and here comes old sampson, who lives near the mission plantation. will wonders never cease?" "hello, sampson! where are we and whose park is this?" rev. jones remarked as he hailed old sampson. the old african was almost toothless, and bent upon a cane as he walked. "you lif be close de mission, and dis be allah valley," he replied. "the vale of allah," oliver repeated, "old mulley's prophecy has come too true." he then related the sand reading at musadu and mulley's warning. "that reminds me," he continued, as he opened the spring of his bracelet and extracted the leopard's claw and chain, "come, lucretia, i hope that the leopard claw will reunite us with your mother, as he also prophesied," he repeated as he secured the chain around her neck and cautioned her never to part from the claw. "what are the mission boys doing kneeling behind those trees, sampson?" rev. jones asked. the leopard's claw the mission carriers. yanga remained to assist in the search for her mistress. rev. jones accompanied the party on the canoe trip as far bumba. "you will soon reach axim on the gold coast. it was there that the natives sunk the famous chair of gold in the 's when they heard that some foreigners were about to visit the country. the chair was of solid gold and of fine workmanship. you have seen a sample of the african gold craftsmanship, so you can appreciate the worth of the chair." "togoland is their next neighbor; we are near oppobo, the country made historic in the early 's, when king jaja, the king of an independent kingdom, was exiled to the west indies. "i am sure that you know of sir harry johnston, he was your accredited consul at king jaja's court at the time of his exile," rev. jones remarked just before their parting. at axim oliver cabled to lord dubley: st. stephen's club, westminster. the earl of dubley. harold: am embarking for freetown with lucre- tia, and returning to search for eva, who is lost in the jungles. letter follows. love from your brother, oliver. on landing at freetown, oliver received the following cablegram: oliver montcrief, c|o p. z. & co. await my arrival. am sailing to-night by char¬ tered boat, will reach freetown in eight days. love to both. your brother, harold, dubley castle, worcestershire. the leopard's claw chapter xxiii oliver and lucretia arrive at freetown "harold will be here to-morrow," oliver repeated as he read the cablegram, "that old cargo boat of ours stopped at every port on the coast so that we have just managed to arrive a day ahead of him." he lost no time in placing lucretia and zina at the catholic convent in the care of the good sisters. he found that mr. solomon filled his former post of manager for the firm. he engaged a suite for lord dubley and himself and took up quarters at the hotel. after the happy reunion of the brothers, they sat con¬ versing upon past events. lord dubley handed oliver the letter which the old earl had penned to him just be¬ fore his death. oliver held his hands before his face, crying and shaking with emotion. "eva will prize this letter more than the news of the wealth he has bestowed upon us. she has suffered much because we left without his blessing. i do believe she blames herself as the cause of father denouncing me. "if i had only taken her advice, and written at the time she obtained my promise to do so, all of this un- happiness would have been avoided," oliver said as he arose and, excusing himself, retired to his bed room. he turned up his sleeve and cuff, and opening the spring of the bracelet, removed the leopard claw. he reread and folded the small letter carefully, and en¬ larging the cavity of the claw with his pen knife, placed the smallest end of the note in the claw and fitted the other end into the wide gold cap which now fitted firmly. he replaced the claw within his bracelet and closed the spring. he could not bear to have even his brother see the the leopard's claw bracelet and claw, because they looked so much like a fetich, when in fact that was the safest manner in which to preserve the papers and other small valuables which were liable to be ruined by rain and water accidents in¬ cidental to jungle travel. upon the eve of oliver's departure for the interior, the earl of dubley sat in oliver's room as they talked busi¬ ness arrangements. "oliver," lord dubley suddenly said, "i cannot per¬ mit you to return alone, i shall accompany you also." "why, harold, that is impossible. you have a wife and daughter to consider; they must come before your brother. "the danger would be much greater to you than to me, as you have never lived in the tropics. i am depending on you to act as a father to my lucretia during my absence. you will do me a much greater service by per¬ forming that sacred pledge, than by unnecessarily sharing my dangers," oliver replied. "i have never approved of your idea of leaving lu¬ cretia in freetown, oliver. she is nearly twelve years of age and has never seen her ancestral home. i think it is a great pity to have the child remain in africa so long. she would be such a great comfort to me also," lord dubley remarked. "georgianna must be in her eighteenth year, and of course is quite an educated and cultured young lady. i believe you informed me that lady dubley is planning to have her introduced at court some time this coming season. "she will soon be marrying, and lucretia will not suffer so much from the embarrassment she would naturally feel under the present circumstances. "to place her in a boarding school at home would be equally as embarrassing at present. the sisters are very kind and lucretia is very studious. she will be prepared in a few years' time to be removed from the convent, in the leopard's claw the event that we are still absent. if such be the case, harold, i am sure that you will take her to your heart and protect her as you would your own daughter," oliver concluded. after lord dubley retired, oliver remained up very late drawing a map of his proposed journey. the next morning, while seated in the drawing room, oliver handed his brother the two plots he had made of the situation of the gold mine, mission and station and instructed him to keep them. "i am sorry i had to postpone the drawing of this rough plot, and had no time to make a duplicate, but the mission plan which lies here upon the map," oliver said, as he traced his finger upon the drawing lying upon a table, "is very carefully drawn, also the cave of the gold diggers, which is located at this cross. te yahweh mountain and other places are guess work, although i think i am very nearly correct in my calculations," oliver ventured as he still pointed out and explained the route he intended travelling. neither noticed a clean faced brown skin figure with black silken hair parted on one side, and eyes glistening, as he heard the word gold and saw the papers which oliver was discussing. oliver would have had to look closely to recognize his jungle enemy in the metamorphosized, civilized arabian hotel guest. oliver retired to his room to pack a few things into a hand grip. he removed the map from his pocket and was just about to drop it into the bag when he was called away. he dropped it hurriedly, leaving the bag un¬ locked. as soon as the door had closed behind him, alpha, who had been peeping through the key hole of the other door opening into a private bedroom, slipped in and hurriedly snatched the map from the bag. glancing at it he the leopard's claw thought he had secured the plot to the location of the hidden wealth. just as he was folding it and about to place it in his pocket as he walked toward the door, twe entered andfc seeing the paper, gave instant pursuit. oliver had received a message from the governor. accompanied by his brother he left immediately for the mansion house. the governor informed oliver that he had received the information that eva was dead, and appealed to lord dubley to pervent oliver from making a useless trip. but when the governor named alpha as the bearer of the tidings, oliver denounced it as a fake and refused to be persuaded to abandon the expedition. chapter xxiv oliver fails on search expedition for eva he lost no time in taking his departure. even the absence of twe did not delay him, as he hoped to meet tobey, who was visiting his home at cape coast castle and was to meet him at axim. after the brothers had parted and the steamer had dis¬ appeared in the southwestern horizon, the earl of dub¬ ley, who was now the governor's guest, inquired of the governor if he were convinced of the authenticity of the sad tidings. "unfortunately it is true beyond a doubt. i could not relate the horrible circumstances because he has suf¬ fered too cruelly already. he will be safe with a mili¬ tary escort, which he will receive at the frontier. "the longing to see his daughter will soon convince him of the fruitlessness of his errand. "these arabian priests travel all over the continent either as fanatic teachers or cunning traders, who profit the leopard's claw tinued his pursuit. twe picked up the gown and searched for the map, which he found secured in an inside pocket. he then looked to see how the race had ended, when he saw the gorilla dragging alpha by one leg to the woods. shrugging his shoulders twe folded up the gown and calmly walked away. chapter xxv oliver is shipwrecked the steamer was struck amidship and oliver's cabin was near the scene of the disaster. oliver had been on sea about four days when the steamer attempted to enter a non port of entry off the grain coast in north latitude degrees minutes, and west longitude degrees minutes at night in order to smuggle contraband goods to the natives. the captain was not very familiar with the dangerous harbor, and wrecked the ship upon one of the many rocks submerged beneath the water and hardly visible except at the closest distance in low tide. the ship was sinking rapidly and the boats lowered and ordered to the open seas. all of the passengers and crew were rescued except oliver. he was asleep when the accident first occurred, but the noise and confusion soon awakened him, and he just had time to don his clothes and secure his life buoy around himself, when he saw the water rushing into his cabin. he made his way to the deck with the greatest diffi¬ culty amid the dark and watery surroundings. when he reached the deck the ship was deserted and sinking rapidly. he caught the glimpse of flames com¬ ing from the forecastle, and leaped overboard just as an explosion from the hatch hole, where the cargo of petro¬ leum oil was stored, set the whole stiip aflame. io the leopard's claw supposed to bring good luck to their patrons, everybody was anxious to contribute to oliver's comfort. of course the word was passed that the less known about the wrecked boat the better off would be the vil¬ lagers, who might be held accountable for the cargo re¬ covered by the wreckers. they were therefore much relieved when a caravan starting for the interior asked for his companionship as an omen of a lucky and successful trip, and oliver was sent into the interior with a blank memory and unable to speak, while no word of his rescue reached the civil¬ ized world. four years had passed since the wreck. lady geor- giana, the earl of dubley's daughter, had married an old but very wealthy french count and was now the countess de la feres, and lived in southern france. lord dubley had long before missed the companionship of his young daughter, who at a very early age disap¬ pointed him by her designing and too ambitious disposi¬ tion, which was but the result of her mother's training. georgiana's marriage, although a disappointment, was a relief to the earl, who often thought of and read the reports of his innocent and orphaned niece. her letters and photographs were his greatest pleasure, which he en¬ joyed in secret. this morning he sat in the old library where his father always sat and read sister theresa's report concerning lucretia. it read in part, "you will be astonished at the progress the dear girl has made. she has a talent for music which she has also greatly improved. "she has cultivated a kind of dignified reserve which makes her appear older than her age and inspires the re¬ spect and admiration of all of her acquaintances. "we hate to part with the dear child, but since you ask if we think she is sufficiently trained to leave the con¬ vent i must be frank and do justice to our charge. the leopard's claw dubley and was ushered into the boudoir on the arm of her uncle. lady dubley was reclining upon a couch and arose at their entrance. she coldly extended her hand, and turned her cheek to be kissed. after a polite inquiry as to the voyage and as to the satisfaction of lucretia's apartment, she apologized as she complained of a severe headache, and informed lucretia that she would have to take her breakfast alone or with the earl, because she always dined alone in the mornings. lucretia was very anxious to do something to relieve lady dubley, but her offers were met with a polite re¬ fusal. after lucretia had retired, lady dubley turned to her husband and remarked: "minnie informed me that lucretia brought along a heathen maid and a monkey. i wish you would give her to understand that they are undesirable, and must be dispensed with. "you would also do me a favor by placing her in a young lady's boarding school where she could be made a polished english lady." lord dubley exerted his authority in a most surpris¬ ing manner and refused to separate lucretia from her maid and pet, or to take her to a school. "lucretia will grace any drawing room in her present state, but i shall have companions for her next fall who will assist her in the modern languages and music, after which i shall have lady endicourt, her mother's widowed aunt, chaperon her upon a continental tour," lord dub¬ ley remarked as he arose to retire. lucretia felt the coldness of lady dubley very keenly, and somehow believed that it was due to some fault of hers. in her anxiety to please her aunt, she continually sought her company, offering to do little personal services, and was always reminded that maids were employed to io the leopard's claw contribute to the comfort of her ladyship, after which she would leave, feeling very much humiliated. her uncle presented her with one of his pedigreed horses, and they both took early morning rides over the beautiful green plains and through the wooded parks. these rides and their occasional chats in the library were lucretia's happiest hours. one afternoon in the early fall, lucretia was in her boudoir seated on a roman stool before the open fire, leaning her chin upon the open palm of her left hand as the elbow rested on her knee, playing with the leopard claw around her neck as she gazed into the fire in a very thoughtful mood. zina squatted turkish fashion upon an oriental rug as she petted nogi ii. lady dubley entered unannounced, and stood looking upon the scene. "how dare you perform a heathenish rite in this castle?" she demanded in a rage. before lucretia understood the question had been ad¬ dressed to her, lady dubley ordered zina and nogi from the room and forbade their return, then turning to lucretia she said, "don't you know that white people do not wear fetiches and worship idols? i thought you had left those ceremonies on the mountain in africa. throw that claw into the fire at once." lucretia was indignant at the accusation, and informed lady dubley politely that she would never part from the claw because her "dead" father had fastened it around her neck, and had instructed her never to part from it. lady dubley sought the earl in the library and accused lucretia of fetish and idol-worship, and insisted that zina and nogi leave the castle immediately, and that lucretia remove the claw from her neck. lord dubley was very "sad over his wife's decision, but made no comments until he had spoken with lucretia. he did not believe the charges, but asked his niece if the leopard's claw she would not wair a chain and locket with her initial in brilliants instead. but when lucretia explained the circumstances of her father's gift of the claw and his warning, her uncle gave her the privilege of wearing it unmolested. he then arranged with an old nurse of his who lived in a cottage in the petting hill, to lodge zina and nogi, and permitted lucretia to visit them. lord dubley had gone to london for a few days, and one sharp morning lucretia refused to allow the groom to accompany her on her ride. as they were driving through the country, nogi leaped from her arms upon the horse's neck and pulled its ear, the horse became frightened and galloped madly away beyond lucretia's control. the earl of winslow, whose estate adjoined the dubley estate, was riding a sprightly chestnut horse through a meadow when the frightened horse bounded madly over a board fence coming in his direction as lucretia clung to its neck. lord reginald winslow was a young man about twen¬ ty-two, of a dark complexion, and wore a becoming, slight mustache of a dark brown color. he was about five feet eight inches, and his erect, correct and sprightly bearing gave one the impression that he was of the military pro¬ fession. but they were only typical of his character, and represented a young aristocrat who recognized the re¬ sponsibility of his position and always tried to live up to his social demands. his sprightly energy exerted it¬ self as soon as he saw the runaway horse. after an exciting chase, his self-possession almost de¬ serted him as he caught a glimpse of lucretia's frightened but calm white face, while nogi clung to her right shoul¬ der and a braid of her hair, which it had unloosed in its fright, when he finally succeeded in checking the fright¬ ened horse. raising his riding cap of the same pattern of the plaid io the leopard's claw riding suit lie wore, "you had better take my mount," he said, after being assured that she was unharmed . "thank you so much, sir, but billy is all right now; nogi will not be naughty any more, will you, nogi?" she concluded as she patted the monkey. lord winslow held out his arm to nogi and to the surprise of its mis¬ tress it leaped from her to the earl and cuddled in his arms as if they were old friends. thus the first bond of friendship was firmly established and lord winslow bearing nogi accompanied her to the village as she innocently chatted of her pet and african maid. after nogi was restored to its keeper and lu- cretia had promised to omit him in her future rides, lord winslow took his departure. on the next morning lucretia rode along and they were both surprised when their morning rides happened to bring them together. lord winslow, of course, was nat¬ urally anxious about the result of the runaway ride, but his sense of propriety and strict conventional training prompted him to enquire if there were no mutual ac¬ quaintance who could give a formal introduction. when lucretia informed him that she lived at dubley castle and was the daughter of the late oliver montcrief, lord winslow immediately recalled the history of the unfortunate family. "i am well acquainted with the earl and lady dubley. i shall call on him to-morrow and obtain a formal introduction, until then au revoir," he concluded as he tipped his cap and rode away. lucretia had met no eligible young men; in fact, be¬ sides her father and uncle, reverend jones, governor row, the priest and mr. solomon, her acquaintance with the male sex had ended, and her father and uncle had occupied the star places in her mind. but now her hero and ideal that she had read of and sometimes in her innocent day dreams had pictured, had come in real life. her natural reserve protected her secret so that she the leopard's claw admitted and delivered his lordship's message. when lucretia entered the library the earl of dubley retired and left the couple alone. lucretia was very surprised when she saw lord winslow in her uncle's library, but half an hour afterward the spirit of her old grandfather, who had often smiled upon her baby and childhood photographs, must surely have smiled upon his happy grand-daughter, who plighted her maiden heart to the keeping of such a true and handsome knight. lord dubley returned an hour later to find the couple in such a happy mood that the first glance told its own story. lord winslow led lucretia to her uncle and received his blessings. lord dubley first objected to the early marriage lord winslow proposed, but the memory of lucretia's un¬ pleasant position at the castle and his desire to see her happy finally over-ruled his first objections and he con¬ sented. lady dubley was very much chagrined over the news of the engagement, but decided to act the part lucretia's position demanded. she, however, would not consent to the marriage until a formal luncheon was given at which lucretia's debut and engagement were made simultaneously. on the eve of the marriage, lady dubley visited lu¬ cretia's room at midnight. she kissed her niece very affectionately and, sitting beside the bed as she held her hand, she began: "my dear little girl, you have always misunderstood my motive when i suggested things for your good and future happiness. "i know that you are an innocent girl who knows noth¬ ing of the wickedness and machinations of this our world. "you precipitated this engagement without consulting me, who, after all, you will find to be your best friend. "lord winslow is the jilted suitor of georgiana, my ii the leopard's claw daughter, the countess de la feres. he still loves georgiana and is only marrying you because he has fool¬ ishly got the impression that he would be spiting me since he accuses me of being responsible for georgiana's choice. "had i believed he wanted to meet you from a sin¬ cere motive of friendship, i should not have hesitated, al¬ though you are not old enough to receive young gentle¬ man callers. but how could i believe he was sincere when he continually upbraided me for ruining his hap¬ piness? i would have spared you a loveless marriage, but there will come a time when you will recall this inter¬ view and wish you had heeded my advice." chapter xxvi marriage and honeymoon lucretia lay awake long after lady dubley had re¬ tired, thinking over the statements she had just heard. "how could it be possible for such honest eyes as reggie's, to look into my face and declare his love and devotion, when he knew he loved another?" she thought. "oh, this is too cruel. there must be some mistake, for what have i done to be deceived and treated so cruelly? reggie could not be guilty of such an unmanly act. "but suppose he proposed out of pity for me when he learned that i was to be sent away because of the accident? "i cannot think well to-night. oh, how my head throbs! "lady dubley after all meant to be kind. i am sure she would not misrepresent things to me. georgiana is already happily married, and there is nothing to gain by causing me unhappiness, and she could have warned me sooner if she wished to prevent the marriage because of personal feelings. the leopard's claw "no, i cannot believe that she would be inflicting a needless misery upon me. she only wishes to prepare me not to expect too much happiness. "oh, mother dear! would that you were here to advise your poor unhappy child! ah! sister julie often warned us at the convent of the deceit and cruelty of men. but reg—reggie, oh reginald! how can i believe that you are deceiving me?" thus the poor girl raved all night, sobbing and pray¬ ing for some way out of her unhappy state. the next morning was dark and a misty snowstorm raged outside. lord winslow and the few family guests arrived, just as the pale and trembling bride was having the finishing touches arranged to her toilet. the ceremony was performed in the castle drawing room. at the wedding breakfast lord winslow and the guests noticed the pale and pathetic look upon the face of the young bride, but thought that the excitement and natural bashfulness were responsible. they entered a limousine and drove away amid the usual rice and shoe showers. arriving at the station they were joined by zina and nogi and they took the noon express for portsmouth, where they embarked in lord winslow's yacht and crossed the solent channel for his island castle, near st. catherine's point upon the south¬ western part of the isle of wight. the large old norman castle stood with its facades and massive towers ranging one above the other and situated upon a promontory that overlooked some rugged cliffs upon which the waves of the channel constantly broke into feathery spray as the sound of their noisome break¬ ers was wafted up to the castle. lucretia was delighted with her surroundings but the seed lady dubley had sown continued to crop up no matter how hard she tried to forget. the leopard's claw lord winslow's objection to lucretia visiting among the peasants caused quite a bit of friction. one day he happened to be riding through his estate and saw lucretia holding a sick baby, outside of a small cottage, while a little ragged urchin of four held on to her skirts and seemed quite familiar with her. lord winslow was very much annoyed. as he rode near, she called out to him before he could speak. "oh, reggie, this poor baby was smothering to death inside with a fever and i brought him out for a breath of air." "fever?" lord winslow asked, what are you thinking of, exposing yourself among such unsanitary surroundings? give the child to its mother and return with me to the castle. you must have these clothes burned and never act a nurse again. i am glad you are interested in the poor people but you may send them money, food, and hire a nurse, but do not expose yourself among them." "i am very sorry i cannot obey your commands at present, because the poor mother has gone to secure some medicine and groceries and i am keeping house. send zina down, please." lord winslow was constantly provoked at lucretia's democratic habits, as he could not convince his young wife that ladies of her position should not mingle among their unfortunate sisters. she religiously performed her many social duties, at which times he prompted and tried to have her act so perfectly correct that the poor child had begun to lose her natural grace and enshroud herself in a shy reserve that was mistaken among their friends for pride and un¬ friendliness. lady dubley's words constantly recurred to lucretia, and at each misunderstanding, she became more unhappy and believed he was comparing her faults to georgiana's virtues. spring arrived, and lord and lady dubley came in x the leopard's claw he had outgrown the boyish passion and understood the selfish and heartless nature of the beautiful widow as no one except her parents could suspect. but he would not permit his personal feelings to cause him to forget the duties of host to a young widowed cousin. and he had to admit that the castle had livened up and that the countess was a rare and charming con¬ versationalist. she spared no pains to please lord winslow and know¬ ing his favorite themes she exerted herself to intelligently discuss them; sometimes lord winslow thought that the discipline of the old count had broadened her ideas and changed her for the better. but she kept him attending her constantly so much so that some of the friends who called at the castle re¬ marked about the flirtation and expressed their disap¬ proval. lucretia pined and became more reserved, always en¬ deavoring to hide the terrible secret with a smile. but lord winslow misunderstood her aloofness and thought that she preferred the companionship of her uncle and that he was doing her a favor to relieve her of the society of the countess, who was becoming rather burdensome. he often compared his innocent young wife with the worldly woman and thanked his kind fate that had di¬ rected his final choice. the earl of dubley watched the drama and understood his selfish daughter's plans. he therefore spent less time with lucretia and endeavored to make a third party to their chats. zina had also noticed the change and grieved in her helplessness to aid her silent mistress. one day lucretia wandered down to the beach and zina followed and, ap¬ proaching, said: "my lady, it breaks my heart to see you so sad. why don't you send that woman away?" "hush, zina, do not say anything against the countess. the leopard's claw when they reached the shack, lucretia refused to look upon the corpse but entered an adjoining room and donned the ill-fitting suit zina had secured. zine hesitated and tried to think of a way to avoid cutting the heavy locks of hair. lucretia decided that the sacrifice would be the only thing to do under the circumstances, so that zina braided the hair in two long thick braids and clipped them closely. when she cov¬ ered with a cap which partly hid the poorly barbered hair. lucretia placed the two locks in her bosom and zina recalled the leopard's claw. "do not forget the claw." "his lordship would look for that the first thing," zina repeated. "i cannot part with it, zina, but what you say is quite true. oh, what shall i do? mother dear, do guide your poor unhappy child," lucretia sobbingly cried. zina patted and soothed her as if she were a child. "my dear father will forgive me for trying to make dear reggie happy. unloosen it, zina, and let me go away from here," she cried almost hysterically. pulling the chain from her neck she dropped it into zina's hand and ran away from the cabin. keeping in an easterly direction she almost ran into mr. wilson, a chicago millionaire aviator, who was walk¬ ing impatiently up and down the beach a few paces from his biplane, which was out of its hangar. he was dressed in his flying outfit, and was about to make an angry remark, when lucretia meekly apologized and asked if he were about to fly to france. "yes, i should have started ten minutes ago if my companion had any idea of time" he impatiently replied. "will you take me along? i must reach france this evening," she asked. "yes, jump in; i won't wait another second for har- the leopard's claw beg you please accept my thanks for crossing me in your machine. i must be securing my ticket and therefore bid you adieu," lucretia replied as she arose. she was surprised that her secret was detected and anxious to make her escape from her inquisitive com¬ panion. "wait a minute; i will secure tickets for both of us. will you tell me your name? i am wilson, of chicago," mr. wilson stated in the hope that he would be able to communicate with her parents. "montcrief is my name," lucretia replied, as she held out her hand boyishly. when mr. wilson left for the ticket office, lucretia looked around for means of escape because she suspected that he would recognize the name and try to communicate with her uncle. chapter xxviii in the hands of the white slaver upon leaving the waiting room lucretia noticed a middle-aged gentleman who had been watching her slowly following. he wore a military mustache, was of medium height, blonde complexion. in her effort to keep on the alert for a sight of mr. wilson and elude the obnoxious stranger, she uncon¬ sciously walked towards a group of women who were awaiting their trains in a room near the ticket office. the stranger still followed and winked his eye, as lu¬ cretia thought, at her. true to her feminine instinct she crossed from her seat and sat near a well dressed and be¬ jewelled middle-aged blonde, whose face and hair bore the traces of expensive cosmetics and blondine dyes. madam maza had been smiling at lucretia and there¬ fore addressed her in french as soon as she came in: "he the leopard's claw is a detective who is following you because of your mas¬ querade, but i shall speak to him and tell him that you are under my protection. where are you going? to paris? ah, that is fortunate. have you relatives who are expecting you? no? well, you must surely come along with me. where is your ticket? wait a min¬ ute, while i speak with the detective." she crossed over to the gentleman and engaged in an animated conversation. returning with her face radiant with smiles, she said to lucretia: "come, my little friend, the gentleman will not annoy you any longer. i shall arrange for your ticket and we must take the : train for paris." just as lucretia passed from the ladies' waiting room, she caught a glimpse of mr. wilson, who was searching for her. she gripped the arm of her protectress, who hurriedly hastened her away, supposing that lucretia had recognized a relative. on entering the first class carriage of the train lucre¬ tia recognized the military gentleman, who travelled as their only companion. at the station the gentleman hailed a taxicab and politely assisted madam maza into the same. lucretia did not see him follow in another cab, but weary with her exciting experiences, she partly leaned against madame as they drove away. the taxi drove down the boulevard d'ltalian and stopped before an imposing stone front residence about p.m. madam maza ushered lucretia into a gorgeously fur¬ nished three-story residence, and conducted her person¬ ally to a very handsomely furnished bedroom upon the second floor. she spoke very kindly and administered to lucretia's comfort before leaving the room. the leopard's claw lucretia soon fell into an uneasy slumber, during which she sighed in her sleep, although unconscious of the two conspirators in another room who discussed and planned her fate. early the next morning lucretia found a beautifully embroidered japanese kimona in the place of her suit of clothes. madame soon appeared wreathed in smiles and re¬ mained chatting as she coaxed lucretia to eat the dainty breakfast a chic french maid brought upon a tray. "will you be so kind as to send out and order for me a street costume? i must not remain longer upon your kind hospitality. i want to secure a quiet and moderately priced room and send a telegram for my african maid. i thank you so much, my kind friend and hostess, but you will do me a greater kindness by assisting me in this matter," lucretia remarked. "my dear little friend, you pain me greatly when you express a desire to leave me so early. it is impossible for you to go out with your hair cut like this. did you bring the braids along? ah, how fortunate; oh, what beautiful and heavy braids. i shall have ma petite a very lovely wig made that will have you soon looking again like your own beautiful self. give me the name of the african maid and the address. i shall send the telegram immediately. "has ma chere petite any money? shall i put this away for you, ma chere? au revoir," madame maza ended as she kissed lucretia upon the cheeks before re¬ tiring. madame went into her apartments upon the first floor. after closing her boudoir door she counted the money and examined the hair again. "what wonderful hair!" she exclaimed aloud. "let me think, madame rene would pay louis for these two braids. i might get more from mous'ier jacques, perhaps louis. but le comte d'attone is very particular and says i must have the the leopard's claw best wig made to match her hair that money can buy. ah, these rich men are so unreasonable! if i should sell this hair and buy a real hair wig like he says, it will cost more than the profit i should make from this. so i must have this made up. ah, me! no one thinks of the poor. i must be satisfied with the louis in her purse. le comte must know nothing of these braids, however, and i must have jacques send a bill for louis." madame spoke aloud as she finally decided how she would dispose of the wig problem, shaking her head with an injured look. lucretia was sitting in her bedroom dressed in the kimona and looking anxiously and expectantly towards the door. this was the third day after her interview with the madame and she had had no word from zina nor had she been able to secure the outdoor clothes. the door was suddenly opened and to her surprise and fright, the military looking stranger of the train walked in unannounced. lucretia jumped up and tried to run by him and escape through the door as she called for the madame. le comte d'attone firmly but smilingly caught her, drew her within his arms and tried to kiss and caress her. lucretia showed surprising strength as she fought and screamed for help. the resistance only excited her assailant to more de¬ sire and, losing his former persuasive manner, he almost roughly pinned her arms to her sides and was about to overcome her now feeble resistance when the door was suddenly opened and a young brunette of about twenty whose enraged and angry features failed to disguise her natural beauty, walked into the room and demanded the meaning of the scene before her. her presence acted strangely upon the comte. turn¬ ing loose the almost fainting victim he fairly hissed, "elaine, what are you spying upon me for? go away! the leopard's claw you have no claim upon me. you are not my wife, do you understand?" elaine turned from lucretia, whom she had gently placed upon the bed, and turned a face full of outraged dignity as she said, "ah, monsieur le comte d'attone, we will settle that point very shortly between ourselves, but you will not succeed in your plans with this innocent child." le comte cowered before her almost too calm delib¬ eration and slipped out of the room. after locking the door she turned her attention to lucretia, and succeeded in calming the hysterical state in which she was. she obtained an account of the flight and kidnapping by the polite and generous stranger. "so that you have only the kimona that you have on, and no money or means of communicating with your friends? poor little innocent, you should never have run away from your parents to a strange and large city like paris alone. did you say that the aviator was an american? what, wilson from chicago? you did wrong to run away from him. i know of him, and i am sure that he could be trusted. "i am a chicago girl myself, and you may trust me implicitly. i will remove you from here, have no fear. give me the maid's name and address. you can bet your last cent that madame what's her name never sent that telegram. i would take you with me now, kid, if i had to fight my way through this whole outfit, but you see it would be impossible to take you out in that rig. don't worry about that man, i shall attend to him. look for me soon, au revoir, be good." elaine unlocked the door and left her little charge in a quiet and reassured state of mind. her influence upon the comte and her assuring man¬ ner of speaking inspired complete confidence in lucretia, who felt for the first time since her flight that she had found a sincere friend. the leopard's claw is a matter more serious than death," she exclaimed almost excitedly after the car started in pursuit of the taxi. "just keep them in sight, don't let them imagine we are following," she added. she then explained the errand to her companion, of whose identity she was still unaware. "did you say her hair was badly cut and she came over in an airship dressed in boy's clothes?" he asked. "yes, yes, you must know her. oh, i might have known at first that you are mr. wilson had i not been so excited," elaine replied, very much relieved at her discovery. "yes, you are correct as to my identity. do you know i have had not a moment's rest since i lost sight of that child in boulogne. i forgot the name she gave me and i have been searching boulogne and paris ever since trying to find her. i am so glad that she found such a providential friend as you. now we both will be her guardians," mr. wilson said as he gave his companion an admiring and grateful look. they drove into the aristocratic farbourg on the road to ramboleaux, when the taxi stopped before a large brick chateau in the center of beautiful grounds, of trees and flowers. the pair were within the chateaur before the auto¬ mobile was near enough to be sure of the identtity and interfere. "i shall follow them into the chateau. do you know the name of the owner," mr. wilson inquired of his com¬ panion. "this is the chateau luxemburg and belongs to le comte d'attone," she replied. "i have heard of him. he is very rich and unscru¬ pulous," mr. wilson answered as he left the machine for the chateau. he returned shortly in a temper. "that slick scoun- the leopard's claw m'sier le comte. they don't have tigers there. what do they call those african cats, leopards? ah, that is the name, she is surely a wild one. i am afraid of her. well, i must leave you with your beautiful wild cat. but you are an excellent tamer—nothing beats the jail cure, loneliness and a little quieting you will soon mold her into a little dove. au revoir, mon cher, don't forget to send her back to me when you tire of your new toy," madame maza repeated as she departed. as soon as she had gone down the front stairs, the hidden couple hurried into the hall and were met by le comte who was returning towards his victim's room. they could hear lucretia beating against the door and screeching so that mr. wilson started in the direction of the sounds, while elaine held a loaded revolver before le comte, daring him to move. mr. wilson easily located the sounds and found the key in the outside of the door. he soon entered and brought lucretia, who had fainted in his arms as soon as she recognized him. he passed the couple in the hall and carried his charge down the broad stairway. he met no resistance from the servants as they were used to seeing strange things within the chateau and the footman did not recognize the late visitor that he had refused to admit in the early even¬ ing. mr. wilson dispatched a page for his automobile and carried lucretia in his arms to the machine. elaine in the meantime awaited until she thought lu¬ cretia was out of the chateau then ordered her enraged but cowered victim into the room where lucretia was re¬ cently confined. she locked the door and kept the key as she calmly left the chateau by the front exit, also without interference and entered the waiting automobile. they drove away as she gave directions to the chauf¬ feur. they arrived at a modest brown stone residence on the rue d anger, when mr. wilson again lifted lu¬ cretia, who was now really ill and unable to walk, and carried her into the house, where she was met by zina. the leopard's claw elaine and zina soon put lucretia to tied and admin¬ istered cold applications to her fevered brow while mr. wilson summoned a doctor. chapter xxx elaine's history one day during lucretia's illness she had entered a quiet sleep for the first time since the night of the rescue. mr. wilson, who was a constant visitor, sat in the next room with elaine and remarked, "do you think that the reginald she frequently calls and begs to forgive her is her fiance with whom she quarrelled, or a husband? it sounds so pathetic to hear her repeat in her delirium that she ran away because she loves him and wants him to be happy with georgiana, and that uncle she continually calls. oh, it is too sad! can't you get any information from the african maid? i wonder if i could not bribe her to talk? i would give anything to straighten this tangle and see the poor child happy." elaine sighed, "poor little thing, i don't know when i have taken a liking for any one in my life as i have for this poor child. her parents are dead and the uncle must have treated her very kindly. but the 'reginald' is a puzzle; she looks too young to be married. if she were an american i would think it likely, but from an aristocratic english family, as she evidently is, seems incredible. in some of her rambles she spoke of the castle, lady somebody, and a countess. the african maid is like an oyster and a bribe won't work with her. sometimes i regret that we did not have her along. le comte called lucretia a tigress, he would have called the maid a lioness. she would have fought both he and madame, and, i bet, come out winner. lucretia is safe in her care, you bet. but we must persuade the the leopard's claw as soon as i became fit to travel i began a search for him. oh, the feelings of love and passion! i was nearly crazy with grief and doubt. one day i followed him to the chateau and tried to enter, but was refused admittance. i used to hide within the grounds, and watch for any opportunity to enter. one evening i saw a veiled woman go to the sundial and let herself down the secret entrance. i followed and searched until i found the spring and let myself down also. i opened the secret spring door, but could go no farther when i reached the locked door. i recalled, however, a piece of gum, the chicago habit still clings to me, that i had in my bag, so that i obtained the im¬ pression of the keyhole. when i tried to return i could not find the spring to open the other door and was obliged to remain in the dark and chilly tunnel until after midnight, when the woman returned without a light and i hid behind the door as she opened it and followed safely out. "before i could get an opportunity to use the tunnel entrance, i followed him to the house on the boulevard d'ltalian, when i rescued lucretia and met him face to face for the first time since his desertion. in his pas¬ sionate anger at the interrupted scene he informed me that i was not his wife and have no claims upon him. "i despised him then too much to feel the sting of his cruel revelation, and was too interested in the unfortunate child to think of personal revenge. "i wired zina as soon as i left madame maza's and tried to obtain police assistance but it seemed as if i were the culprit by the manner in which my information was received. so, i hastened to place my maid on watch, keeping le comte shadowed. "i was watching for an opportunity to enter the house as some other visitor was admitted when i met you," she ended. the leopard's claw to have enjoyed it. we must take her back home at once," mr. wilson said in a puzzled tone. "i think that couple in front of the hotel were respon¬ sible for the attack, because i noticed how strangely she acted when she first saw them, but i was so interested in lucretia that i paid no attention to the couple," elaine replied. "i wish i had suspected that. i am sure i have met that military looking gentleman, and perhaps the lady," mr. wilson added regretfully. when lucretia was revived, she surprised her friends by announcing that she could not follow their plans, be¬ cause it was impossible to return to her home. but if they would assist her to reach sierra leone, west africa, she would be very grateful for their kindness. "you are our daughter now, lucretia, and you will accompany us upon our honeymoon and return with us to the states if you refuse to return to your relatives. so now say no more about africa, or we will be angry," mr. wilson playfully remarked. chapter xxxi the honeymoon tour mr. wilson and elaine were quietly married at the office of the american embassy on the following after¬ noon. that evening they took a train with lucretia, zina, and elaine's russian maid and passed through and over jura and the jura mountains into switzerland and stopped at zurich, where they spent a short while enjoying the sights of the quaint mediaeval-looking prosperous city. from there they travelled by train to trieste and re¬ mained at the important austria-hungarian seaport town, with its italian-speaking population. they remained the leopard's claw out to elaine a new and rosy future and a patriotic love she had never before experienced. chapter xxxii the tidings of lucretia's death reach lord winslow after lucretia left the cabin, zina and the deaf fish¬ erman changed the drowned woman's clothing, placed the chain and claw around her neck and returned her where she was formerly. they capsized his boat in the surf and zina ran to bear the news to the castle. lord winslow and the earl of dubley reached the scene together upon horseback. zina explained that lucretia and she had tried to row out in the surf when the boat capsized, and lucretia drowned before she could be saved. lord winslow examined the body and surprised lord dubley when he calmly announced that the body was not that of lucretia. he removed the leopard's claw, how¬ ever, and seemed almost to doubt his own mind. "but the claw," he said, holding it in his hand, she would not have parted from this under any circumstances. strange, i don't understand it," he spoke aloud as he shook his head. lord dubley and several friends, who were among the cuirous crowd surrounding the body, patted him upon the shoulders pityingly and drew him away. no one else had the least doubt as to the real identity. lord winslow kept the claw continually in his pos¬ session, but showed very little interest in the preparation of the funeral. he accompanied the body to worcestershire and at¬ tended the interment in an almost dazed condition. as as he could leave england he crossed over to paris with an impression that he would find his wife alive. the leopard's claw his friends began to believe that he had lost his mind and always shook their heads pityingly whenever he would leave the club or their society. the countess was very disappointed at the turn of things, and lost no opportunity of following him upon the continent, against her parents' advice and wishes. at the meeting in rome lord winslow thought that he had recognized lucretia and was much chagrined when the countess caused him to lose sight of her. he left the countess standing in surprise while he looked around for his wife and, failing to find her, almost believed that he had seen a phantom. he sailed from rome that night for freetown, west africa, and inquired of the surprised sisters and old acquaintances for news of zina. he left the very morning that lucretia entered the freetown port, and they would have recognized each other as the ships passed by had lucretia arrived upon the deck in time. after reverend jones had parted from oliver, he was not unmindful of his promise and prepared for the expe¬ dition, which was delayed by the heavy rains. he finally started with a large number of mission boys, camping necessities and yanga. when he reached the regions of the kong mountains, where oliver was so long wandering about, he found that king dofella was still waging war and ravaging the neighboring towns. as luck would have it they came across varnee one day as he gathered wild fruit in the woods. he soon recog¬ nized yanga and told them the story of the escape from the leopard rite and the refuge in a neighboring town where eva had won the gratitude and loyalty of the king's old mother by her kindness to her favorite grand¬ daughter, who was the object of abuse by the king's favorite. that dofella's war had reached the town two days previously, and that eva had escaped with the old woman the leopard's claw my child of his name and inheritance," she repeated in a new tone of matured responsibility. "why don't you write him and lord dubley and ex¬ plain it to them first," zina replied. "no; no one will know or see little reggie until he has pleaded for me with his father." "you do not realize the enormity of the crime we have committed, zina. no letter could explain and put things right. my only hope now is my son. if lord winslow refuses to forgive me, he must receive his innocent son and give him his rights." after arriving at this decision lucretia improved in health and quickly recovered her good spirits in the joy of her new responsibility and anticipation of the reunion and forgiveness. as soon as young reginald was two months old lu¬ cretia embarked with her son and zina in the late fall for england. they parted from old sally, who stood upon the wharf shaking her short, fat, black body as she sobbed and watched the steamer heave anchor and disap¬ pear from view. one afternoon the steamer was off cape blanco and lucretia reclined in a deck chair as she lazily watched the portuguese fishermen bantering with the ship's crew and trying to sell their large red snappers. "don't stand too near the rail, zina," she called out, as zina walked near the rails in order to watch the scene, holding young reginald in her arms. after zina returned to her seat, lucretia looked around with a sigh of satisfaction and picked up an old copy of the london times one of the passengers had left upon a madeira chair near by her. she had been out of touch with the english news so long that the old paper was as eagerly read as a late edi¬ tion would have been. in reading over the society columns she read: "lord reginald winslow and his bride sailed for japan on the th inst." the leopard's claw lucretia's heartrending sigh attracted the attention of several of the passengers, who ran to her as zina screamed out as she fainted. when they reached the canaries, lu- cretia informed zina that they would get off at las palmas. "i shall return to freetown and write elaine for ad¬ vice," she remarked to zina as they were being towed to the shore. just as they landed twe ran toward them. "i was just going to take that steamer you just came from aboard, to go to england in search of you all," he remarked after lucretia had recognized him in his new european outfit. the party drove to a hotel when twe informed lucre¬ tia of her mother's safety and gave her the letter she had sent. "i lost the others in the water and just saved yours because i held it between my teeth as i swam. i was obliged to work aboard the ship as steward boy and had no chance to stop at freetown, as this was the first port it entered. i found work in a hotel and made enough to buy this suit of clothes. i was going to work my way to england and go to your uncle's place to look for you," he explained. after lucretia read her mother's letter she brightened up and announced her intention to go directly on to the mission. "but i hate to think of taking reggie into the interior with no prospects of a future," lucretia remarked aloud in soliloquy. "don't worry about money, mam, the gold-diggers gave your ma plenty of gold and when they hear of the baby, you will have more than you will need. your father buried plenty of pearls and a big diamond some¬ where. i thought it was on the paper that alpha had, but reverend jones says that it was only a map of the country," twe remarked^ as he thought she referred to the lack of money. twe suggested the necessary things that would be needed at the mission to make them comfortable, while the leopard's claw lucretia selected her mother a nice supply of clothes and toilet articles. she was determined they would enjoy as much of the luxuries of civilization in their voluntary exile as possible, because she felt somehow that it would only be temporary and that her mother or elaine would think of a way to set matters right. she intended that her son should be trained in proper etiquette although they lived in africa. mr. wilson's liberal check enabled her to secure the things which she desired and to return with a large stock of provisions, furniture and large sybaritic stores so pleasing to the fe¬ male sex. chapter xxxiii the meeting of mother and daughter when lucretia landed at axim with her large cargo, she called at the government house and asked for assis¬ tance and protection of the colonial officials. she was given an order to the district commission of the frontier, enabling her to secure a sufficient number of carriers under military escort as she left the railway terminus. arriving safely at the mission at early dusk she surprised them all as she fairly flew into the arms of her aston¬ ished mother. eva did not recognize at first the fashion¬ ably dressed young woman. "whose baby is that?" she asked, as soon as she had recovered from the first surprise. lucretia then fell upon her neck and sobbed out the sad story. mrs. jones held the baby as she listened to the revelation. "my poor ititle girl," eva cried as she joined in the weeping. "you needed your mother's care and advice. oh, you poor unfortunate child! oliver, oh oliver !" mrs. jones handed the baby to yanga and crossed over to the two sobbing women. i the leopard's claw "this won't do, eva. shame, oh shame on you! you are worse than lucretia and do you forget that you have not seen your grand-child? there now, that is better. yanga, give him to her." after she succeeded in quiet¬ ing eva and interesting her in the baby, mrs. jones took lucretia upon her lap as she would a child and stroked her hair as she obtained an accurate account of the sit¬ uation. "too bad indeed, but i think you should inform your uncle of the whole circumstance, although it is a hard thing to do since your husband has married his daughter, but you have your son to consider now and you must secure his rights. since they have gone to japan, you will have time to think it over calmly and decide what is best to do," mrs. jones advised. reverend jones approved of lucretia's plan to live at the mission and advised them to leave the matter in the hands of providence, who would settle and straighten the tangle because he understood what an embarrassing position lord winslow and the earl of dubley would be placed in if conditions were as lucretia had represented. he built a corrugated bungalow upon the hill overlooking the valley of allah for the family, and assisted lucretia in beautifying the grounds and comfortable surroundings. lord winslow was in magdeburg when he met an old schoolmate of his, baron steinhauser, in a hotel one day. "i am preparing to join a hunting party of americans who are taking moving picture machines and photographers along for big game hunting in east africa. why don't you join us, my lord?" the baron remarked. "i should be glad to do so providing you promise to cross the continent and return by the way of the west coast. i was planning to visit the district of the kong mountains the coming winter so as to travel in the dry season, but i have been thinking that an airship of the zeppelin type would be just the thing to take along so iso the leopard's claw tion. herr baer's and my collection will be contributed to our national museum. herr baer, a member of the expedition party, is a botanist and also an authority on natural history, so that his trip is purely scientific. the six americans are three moving picture men, one doctor, and two scientists, who are also keen sportsmen. we may class ourselves as explorers. there you have it. we will call it a scientific expedition. the count will appreciate the advantages to be obtained from an accu¬ rate plan of the country taken from the air. i will manage to secure it for you. you will need an expert from the works to manage the machine. we will be ready to start next month. that will land us in don- gala, the egyptian sudan on the red sea, in july, and we will cross the nubian desert in a southwesterly di¬ rection by rail to khartum. from there we can travel southward on the nile by steamboat or the airship to british east africa. "the americans have secured a permit for our party to hunt big game in that territory and we plan to hunt in the region of the victoria nyanza and the kilima- njara mountains. we also plan to spend at least four months in east africa and take a westerly course through belgian and french congo, then travel n.n.w. through kamerun, nigeria and dahomey to togoland, where we have an invitation from the governor to hunt elephants and leopards in the northern regions. that should suit your plans excellently, because togoland is near ashanti and the kong mountains are in the neighborhood of ashanti," the baron explained as he traced the course upon a map, of the proposed expedition. the party, consisting of baron steinhausen, herr baer, lord winslow, messrs. wolfe and maccormick, the two american middle-aged scientists and sportsmen, dr. ros- man, messrs. williams, hausen and billings, the three young moving picture men, and herrn. wagner and reis- nitz, the two machinists from the zeppelin works, with five the leopard's claw strength, wearing a gold band bracelet upon his left arm, knocked the black men down and rescued lord winslow. he seemed to have a strange influence upon the men, who stole away sheepishly as he glowered in speechless rage upon them. the other men of the party were in arms and outside just in time to see them steal away. a few minutes afterwards the chief sent a goat and white chicken as a peace offering to lord winslow, and the matter was explained. but the identity of the beard¬ ed white man was a puzzle they could not solve. the interpreters could only obtain from the villagers that he had come with a caravan a few weeks previously, and was considered and worshiped as a kind of fetich because of his infirmity. they tried to obtain information by signs from the stranger, but he seemed to have been like a child and remembered nothing. the next morning lord winslow added the stranger to their party and both seemed to have developed a strong attachment for each other. "after he is barbered and clothed in a decent outfit, ih bet he will hardly appear to be over thirty-five. the outdoor life certainly has developed his muscles and im¬ proved his health. poor fellow, i would give anything to know his history. some poor family in europe mourns his loss today," lord winslow remarked to dr. rosman, who was thoughtfully regarding the subject of discussion. walking over and examining the man's head, he replied, "this fellow is suffering from the effects of an accident, either a blow upon the head or a fall. an operation will restore his memory and speech. perhaps a shock may have the same result." "well, you can rest assured that he will be placed in the hands of the most skilled surgeons of europe. i will leave no stone unturned to restore him to his former state," lord winslow replied. the leopard's claw "that was indeed a great favor steinhausen has shown to us all. our moving picture films would have had to have been left behind and nearly all of our supplies, be¬ cause every one of the boys have deserted except the three you had in your party. we must hasten before they get on to the truth and cause the germans to strike or betray us," mr. maccormick remarked as they both arose. mr. wolfe, who was a short, medium-sized, clean faced man, had employed the time well and they were soon ready for flight. lord winslow hardly recognized his protege, whose clean shaven face, well cut hair and manicured nails, with a suit of lord winslow's, had so altered his appearance that his youthful appearance exceeded lord winslow's prediction. the beard had saved his face from the sun so that he was only slightly tanned about the forehead and neck and with the exception of a few gray hairs at the temples he could easily have passed for thirty-five. he expressed the delight of a child as he saw the great airship removed from its hangar and made ready for flight about one o'clock p.m. he clapped his hands delightedly as the great monster rose from the earth and ascended skyward. just about six o'clock p.m. they passed over into ashanti and were trying to locate a suitable place for landing, when they were mistaken for a hostile airship and fired upon by the british garrison. "great scott!" mr. maccormick exclaimed. "they have mistaken us for the germans. we must leave this territory and try the kong mountain district." the americans were all into the secret, but the two germans could not understand the hostile reception. mr. maccormick, who was ready for any emergency, explained to them that the natives were frightened at the apparition and were responsible for the attack. they flew at a high altitude and landed on the komeo river the leopard's claw about midnight and camped upon the river bank. they resumed their flight in a westerly direction. about two o'clock in the afternoon they were flying at a low altitude over the river, when lord winslow leaned over the side of the car and toyed with the leopard's claw. "what a dreary looking island we are approaching, no vegetation whatever upon it. say " lord winslow was suddenly interrupted in his speech by an attack from his protege. in his surprise he dropped the chain and claw outside of the car. as soon as the stranger saw what had happened he suddenly burst into tears and tried to leap overboard. lord winslow was very angry, but when he saw how strangely the poor fellow acted, he softened towards him. but he ordered the airship to be lowered into the river and taken back to the strange island where he was sure the claw had fallen. when they reached the island and the skulls and dry bones were discovered no one offered to assist lord wins¬ low but the stranger, who could not be restrained. after a long and careful search lord winslow discovered the trinket lying broken upon the ground. he picked it up with a cry of dismay at his discov¬ ery and saw a piece of paper projecting from the hollow end of the claw. he pulled it out and read it. "why, this must be the very island referred to, because we are in the same latitude and longitude," he remarked, as he went to the end of the island designated in the plot. he soon discovered without digging the box referred to, pro¬ truding from the soft earth. oliver had had no means of burying it deeply and the heavy rains had washed away the earth. but it would have been safe lying ex¬ posed any spot upon the dreaded island. lord winslow found the key attached to the box and opened and examined the contents. "here are two other claws. what is this? a plot to a diamond field! poor unfortunate family." the leopard's claw ''do you remember your father-in-law's features,lord yvinslow?" dr. roaman asked. "i do not remember him personally, but since you have spoken, i must say this young man reminds me a great deal of mr. montrief's photograph taken when he was twenty-five. that firm set of his mouth and chin parti¬ cularly recalls his features. "i really cannot understand it. the more i think of the matter the more i am convinced that he is mr. mont- crief," oliver replied. "stranger things than that have happened, and you may be correct in your surmise. one thing i am sure of and that is if he is not mr. montcrief of the wreck, your other theory is correct, he was a member of his party and is familiar with the secret," dr. roseman remarked. "there are houses upon that hill over there," mr. reisnitz called out as he looked through a small telescope and pointed southwardly. "what a beautiful park this is below us," mr. wolfe called out almost simultaneously with mr. reisnitz. the party leaned over the sides of the car and looked upon the beautiful scenery below them. "this park must belong to some rich planter who lives in the bungalow over on the hill." "it is an ideal place to land and we will risk trespassing upon his grounds because it is after five and too late to continue. let us hope we will not be received with a volley of shrapnel. in what neighborhood are we, rei¬ snitz?" mr. mac cormick asked. "we are about fifty odd miles north-west of the ash- anti frontier in the south-west part of the region of the kong moutains," mr. reisnitz replied. as they neared the ground the stranger, whom they had been discussing, jumped overboard as held the box before he could be stopped. "the poor fellow must be killed. i wonder why he jumped out?" they all repeated almost in a chorus. the leopard's claw eva's early training and oliver's great devotion had so molded her life to one of dependency and weakness, which even her great sorrow had developed the firm and determined character inherited from her father and the old earl. but as she grew more thoughtful, a softened look overspread her features which gave it a melancholy charm that reminded one of the madonna. she had converted the interior of the bungalow into a well regulated small summer home of an english aristo¬ cratic family. her small music room contained a piano, victrola and the latest records, a violin and guitar, both of which last named instruments eva was expert in playing. so that reverend and mrs. jones spent many delightful evenings at the bungalow listening to lucretia accom¬ panying eva upon the piano, and their favorite opera stars entertaining them from the hornless machine. lucretia had trained mary and nora her two maids from the mission, to dress in uniforms and act in yanga's and zina's places as ladies' maids. zina and twe were married and lived in the neigh¬ boring cottage, and they were now the proud parents of a young son and heir. yanga and varnee had also married, but refused to give up their old duties. they therefore lived at the bungalow, yanga acting in her envied position of the undisputed nurse of young reginald. varnee continued to act as butler and steward boy around the house, while old tobey was settled in the three mud houses with his three respective wives and small family. he continued to prepare appetizing meals in his stoical manner and twelve-yard piece of figured cotton cloth draped across his shoulders, just as he used to at the sierra leone home. lame, a ten-year-old young african boy, who wore the dress of a page with buttons, was the last addition to the house domestics. lucretia had to give up the idea of having yanga, the leopard's claw to decide to desert the court of the autocratic and tyrannical ruler, in the person of her royal highness miss lucretia montcrief wilson, of chicago. "bobbie will accompany your husband or the earl of dubley to wilson hill so as to be present at the reunion and bring you back to stand- godmother for your namesake. bobbie joins in love.toyou and mother (you will have to divide her with me because i have:no mother of my own). kiss mother and our godson» many times for me. bobbie and lucretia join me in sending bushels of flove.and ikisses, •your friend and sister, • elaine. 'sp.s. i-am sending you a copy *>f- the* chicago tribune. 'read the society page." '?the ' dear - child! t of course ■ i -will take 'her to my heartland love her:as -a daughter'," -eva remarked as lucretia ended the letter. "we must send "twe to axim. to-morrow,.because this ist the list and—let me see, it will > take, -say, give him eight-' days to cross-over and; attend'to > his business,-four going to worcestershire. yes, he has seen thenrby now," lucfetia repeated as she unconsciously drifted into a soliloquy. "but mother, do you know, that elaine's news 'about my- namesake has caused me! to'think of ia new probable problem. suppose that georgians hasr'a:child also. oh, mother, see-what my folly may. cause." ''hush, •; luoretia, you have no right to imagine such things-and cross bridges beforeyou reach them. here is the newspaper elaine referred to." ''is this the kind of airship you flew away with mr. wilson* in?" eva' said, trying to change the subject, as she held before her the front page of the chicago -tribune and pointed toward a cartoon of a large phantom-zeppe- the leopard's claw lin airship flying over the silhouette of a city, throwing out searchlights into the air. lucretia looked at the airship and replied, "no, mother; mr. wilson's machine was a biplane, similar to that, toy aeroplane that was on reginald's christmas tree. there are different kinds and makes. the ma¬ chine you are looking at is a kind of balloon and modern aircraft combined," lucretia replied. "well, i feel like old rip van winklej i have been in this wilderness for nearly fourteen' years. so many new things have taken place during that time that i shall feel out of place at home," eva repeated musingly. "you will find old london as you left it except for the new king's highway and a few building improvements, there has been little change. the wireless telegraphy and aeroplanes are the most important inventions since your exile. don't worry, mother, we have been keeping up with the styles and latest music, which are after all about all the ladies of your world care about," lucretia replied. "that is true, lucretia, i am afraid that we have gone to the extreme in the matter of dress. it seems comical to me sometimes when we are donning these late fashion¬ able dinner gowns and dining in state with reverend jones and the madame dressed in tiheir comfortable clothing. i really believe our sunday evenings and holi¬ day dinners are becoming more and more a nuisance to the couple, but of course i know that you want to keep up the customs of your husband's well-regulated estab¬ lishment. it seems so strange that a young couple would have had time to think of so much so soon after mar¬ riage. dear me, how old are you, lucretia?" "nineteen this september, mother." "think of it. i have been separated from oliver nearly fourteen years. say, lucretia, to-morrow is the anni¬ versary of oliver's forty-first birthday. do you know l do not believe that he is dead, something tells me that he is still alive and wandering through the interior search- the leopard's claw ing for me. that is why i have been so content to re¬ main here, and i hate to think of going away for fear he may come," eva remarked. "somehow i feel that way also, mother, and especially so in the last few days. i feel as if something startling is going to happen. you remember how strongly the impression that you were alive influenced me." "but we will turn the bungalow and things over to yanga and zina, so that with twe and varnee going about in the interior and the women always about the place, we may rest assured father would soon be in touch with us. and. don't forget dr. jones and the madame. they are so wedded to the mission work that they may be considered as permanent fixtures. i think tobey will take his family back to cape coast castle," lucretia replied. " lucretia, do you know, sometimes i believe that if lord winslow had not been too punctilious in his habits and devoted his time to winning your confidence, you two would have been as happy as oliver and myself used to be. oliver thought that everything i wore was per¬ fectly lovely. all of my actions were perfectly grand, so you see, my dear, we had no time to find out each other's faults." "excuse me, mother, but i must be going for my after¬ noon ride," lucretia repeated, as she interrupted her mother's reminiscences and walked towards the back porch entrance. "lame, go and tell twe to saddle my horse and have it ready for my ride," she instructed the page when she entered the back door. lucretia did not like to have her mother discuss her husband's exacting ways. she had often reflected upon their short married life and had thrashed out all of their mistakes. "oh, reginald, why didn't i confide to you the terrible secret that burned within my breast because of lady the leopard's claw dubley's statement made to me on the eve of our mar¬ riage? yes, i should have confessed and heard your side of the story that morning before the ceremony. if i had even tried to understand him, things might have been dif¬ ferent. how i used to hate to conform to the narrow routine of dress and customs! now, oh, now, how i love them! yes, too late. oh, if i had only married with this wisdom! i see that now as i think of it. poor reginald must have had an embarrassing and lonely time with his poor half-frightened and reserved girl-wife. no wonder the poor boy welcomed my lively cousin. why, the castle was as dull as a prison and when georgiana brought in the sunshine, we needed but to exchange dress and i would have made a model widow." "reverend jones thinks that it would be right to give reginald a divorce in order that he may re-marry geor¬ giana and avoid scandal. i am sure that is the right thing to do, but oh, when i think of the possibility of losing my little reggie also, i am almost tempted to for¬ get his future. but i must be brave and pay the penalty of my rash folly, although it breaks my heart." lucretia suddenly aroused herself from her meditative monologue and changed into a white duck riding habit. "she ran down the steps of the back porch bare-headed because it was after five p.m. and the afternoon was cool and pleasant. she kissed eva and walked over to young reginald, who was still busy with the guinea pig pets. stooping down she lifted and kissed him as he threw his arms around her neck. then after saying something to nora concerning regi¬ nald, she started towards the front of the house carrying a rattan riding whip in her hands. "don't ride too far, lucretia, it is getting late and time you should be returning," eva called out to her. "yes, mother dear, have no fear; i shall be back in time to dress for supper," she replied as she tripped away. as soon as lucretia emerged from the shades of the the: leopard's claw "happy? oh, the mockery of the word! your idea of happiness is rather' strange and peculiar* is that the reason you parted with the leopard claw that your father instructed you nfever to part with? did you know the secret of its contents?" he asked as he pulled out the claw. "i kniew that it held some secret which a letter that uncle has would reveal when i was twenty-one. but believe me, i really wanted you to be happy," she replied. "what, did you imagine that the wealth of all of africa would repay me for all i have suffered? here is your treasure of pearls and diamonds and the plot to a diamond mine. i hope they will bring' you the happiness you wished for me," lord winslow replied. and he pointed to the box and raised his cap as he started to walk away. "reginald, i-—i didn't mean the treasure—i—i meant that you might be happy with your wife," she appealingly called out to him. "my wife? what are you talking of? you are" my wife." "i meaiit georgiania; whom you married so soon after you thought i was dead," die replied. "my poor' child, who has put such silly ideas into your head," he replied as he' drew nearer. "i saw you two in paris before the hotel de ville and in' rome at the ste. maria delia pace, and " "i was standing beforfe the four sibyls of -raphael, when georgians came between us and i lost sight of you? after searching over the church for you, i gave you up and thought that i had only seen a vision. "my trip to freetown, where i tried to find zina, was equally as fruitless! so i' finally began to believe that you were really dead, since i had seen your apparition in the church," lord winslow interrupted, as he seized her hands and looked into her face. "but what about the announcement of your honey¬ moon trip to japan that i saw in the london times? chhrles pv. charles w, cljefintttt. the conjure woman. i mo, $ . . the wife of his youth. illustrated. crown o > # . . the house behind the cedars. crown vo $ . . the marrow of tradition. crown vo # . . houghton, mifflin & co. boston and new york. copyright, , by charles w. chesnutt all rights reserved i like you and your book, ingenious hone ! in whose capacious all-embracing leaves the very marrow of tradition's shown. charles lamb, to the editor of the every-day book. contents chapter page i. at break of day . ii. the christening party iii. the editor at work iv. theodore felix v. a journey southward vi. janet vii. the operation viii. the campaign drags ix. a white man's " nigger " x. delamere plays a trump xi. the baby and the bird xii. another southern product .... xiii. the cakewalk xiv. the maunderings of old mrs. ochiltree . xv. mrs. carteret seeks an explanation . . xvi. ellis takes a trick xvii. the social aspirations of captain mcbane . xviii. sandy sees his own ha'nt xix. a midnight walk xx. a shocking crime xxi. the necessity of an example .... xxii. how not to prevent a lynching . . . xxiii. belleyiew xxiv. two southern gentlemen xxv. the honor of a family xxvi. the discomfort of ellis ..... vi contents xxvii. the vagaries op the higher law . . . xxviii. in season and out xxix. mutterings of the storm xxx. the missing papers xxxi. the shadow of a dream xxxii. the storm breaks xxxiii. into the lion's jaws . . . . . . xxxiv. the valley of the shadow .... xxxv. " mine enemy, o mine enemy ! " . . . xxxvi. fiat justitia xxxvq. the sisters the marrow of tradition i at break of day " stay here beside her, major. i shall not be needed for an hour yet. meanwhile i ' go down¬ stairs and snatch a bit of sleep, or talk to old jane." the night was hot and sultry. though the win¬ dows of the chamber were wide open, and the muslin curtains looped back, not a breath of air was stirring. only the shrill chirp of the cicada and the muffled croaking of the frogs in some distant marsh broke the night silence. the heavy scent of magnolias, over¬ powering even the strong smell of drugs in the sick¬ room, suggested death and funeral wreaths, sorrow and tears, the long home, the last sleep. the major shivered with apprehension as the slender hand which he held in his own contracted nervously and in a spasm of pain clutched his fingers with a viselike grip. major carteret, though dressed in brown linen, had thrown off his coat for greater comfort. the stifling heat, in spite of the palm-leaf fan which he plied mechanically, was scarcely less oppressive than his own thoughts. long ago, while yet a mere boy in years, he had come back from appomattox to find his family, one of the oldest and proudest in the state, hopelessly impoverished by the war, — even their an- the marrow of tradition cestral home swallowed up in the common ruin. his elder brother had sacrificed his life on the bloody altar of the lost cause, and his father, broken and chagrined, died not many years later, leaving the major the last of his line. he had tried in various pursuits to gain a foothold in the new life, but with indifferent success until he won the hand of olivia merkell, whom he had seen grow from a small girl to glorious womanhood. with her money he had founded the morning chronicle, which he had made the leading organ of his party and the most influential paper in the state. the fine old house in which they lived was hers. in this very room she had first drawn the breath of life; it had been their nuptial chamber; and here, too, within a few hours, she might die, for it seemed impossible that one could long endure such frightful agony and live. one cloud alone had marred the otherwise perfect serenity of their happiness. olivia was childless. to have children to perpetuate the name of which he was so proud, to write it still higher on the roll of honor, had been his dearest hope. his disappoint¬ ment had been proportionately keen. a few months ago this dead hope had revived, and altered the whole aspect of their lives. but as time went on, his wife's age had begun to tell upon her, until even dr. price, the most cheerful and optimistic of physicians, had warned him, while hoping for the best, to be prepared for the worst. to add to the danger, mrs. carteret had only this day suffered from a nervous shock, which, it was feared, had hastened by several weeks the ex¬ pected event. dr. price went downstairs to the library, where a at break of day dim light was burning. an old black woman, dressed in a gingham frock, with a red bandana handkerchief coiled around her head by way of turban, was seated by an open window. she rose and curtsied as the doctor entered and dropped into a willow rocking- chair near her own. " how did this happen, jane ? " he asked in a sub¬ dued voice, adding, with assumed severity," you ought to have taken better care of your mistress." "now look a-hyuh, doctuh price," returned the old woman in an unctuous whisper, " you don' wanter come talkin' none er yo' foolishness 'bout my not takin' keer er mis' 'livy. she never would 'a' said sech a thing! seven er eight mont's ago, w'en she sent fer me, i says ter her, says i: — " ' lawd, lawd, honey! you don' tell me dat after all dese long w'ary years er waitin' de good lawd is done heared yo' prayer an' is gwine ter sen' you de chile you be'n wantin' so long an' so bad ? bless his holy name! will i come an' nuss yo' baby ? why, honey, i nussed you, an' nussed yo' mammy thoo her las' sickness, an' laid her out w'en she died. i would n' let nobody e'se nuss yo' baby; an' mo'over, i'm gwine ter come an' nuss you too. you 're young side er me, mis' 'livy, but you 're ove'ly ole ter be havin' yo' fus' baby, an' you ' need somebody roun', honey, w'at knows all 'bout de fam'ly, an' deir ways an' deir weaknesses, an' i don' know who dat'd be ef it wa'n't me.' "''deed, mammy jane,' says she, 'dere ain' no¬ body e'se i'd have but you. you kin 'come ez soon ez you wanter an' stay ez long ez you mineter.' " an hyuh i is, an' hyuh i'm gwine ter stay. fer mis' 'livy is my ole mist'ess's daughter, an' my ole the marrow of tradition mist'ess wuz good ter me, an' dey ain' none er her folks gwine ter suffer ef ole jane kin he'p it." " your loyalty does you credit, jane," observed the doctor; " but you have n't told me yet what happened to mrs. carteret to-day. did the horse run away, or did she see something that frightened her ? " " no, suh, de hoss did n' git skeered at nothin', but mis' 'livy did see somethin', er somebody; an' it wa'n't no fault er mine ner her'n neither, — it goes fu'ther back, suh, fu'ther dan dis day er dis year. does you 'member de time w'en my ole mist'ess, mis' 'livy upstairs's mammy, died ? no ? well, you wuz prob'ly 'way ter school den, studyin' ter be a doctuh. but i ' tell you all erbout it. " w'en my ole mist'ess, mis' 'liz'beth merkell, — an' a good mist'ess she wuz, — tuck sick fer de las' time, her sister polly — ole mis' polly ochiltree w'at is now — come ter de house ter he'p nuss her. mis' 'livy upstairs yander wuz erbout six years ole den, de sweetes' little angel you ever laid eyes on; an' on her dyin' bed mis' 'liz'beth ax' mis' polly fer ter stay hyuh an' take keer er her chile, an' mis' polly she promise'. she wuz a widder fer de secon' time, an' did n' have no child'en, an' could jes' as well come as not. " but dere wuz trouble after de fune'al, an' it hap¬ pen' right hyuh in dis lib'ary. mars sam wuz settin' by de table, w'en mis' polly come downstairs, slow an' solemn, an' stood dere in de middle er de flo', all in black, till mars sam sot a cheer fer her. " ' well, samuel,' says she, now dat we've done all we can fer po' 'liz'beth, it only 'mains fer us ter consider olivia's future.' " mars sam nodded his head, but did n' say nothin'. at break of day " don' need ter tell you,' says she,' dat i am willin' ter carry out de wishes er my dead sister, an' sac'ifice my own comfo't, an' make myse'f yo' house¬ keeper an' yo' child's nuss, fer my dear sister's sake. it wuz her dyin' wish, an' on it i will ac', ef it is also yo'n.' " mars sam did n' want mis' polly ter come, suh ; fur he did n' like mis' polly. he wuz skeered er miss polly." " i don't wonder," yawned the doctor, " if she was anything like she is now." "wuss, suh, fer she wuz younger, an' stronger. she always would have her say, no matter 'bout what, an' her own way, no matter who 'posed her. she had already be'n in de house fer a week, an' mars sam knowed ef she once come ter stay, she'd be de mist'ess of eve'ybody in it an' him too. but w'at could he do but say yas ? " ' den it is unde'stood, is it,' says mis' polly, w'en he had spoke, ' dat i am ter take cha'ge er de house ?' "' all right, polly,' says mars sam, wid a deep sigh. " mis' polly 'lowed he wuz sighin' fer my po' dead mist'ess, fer she did n' have no idee er his feelin's to'ds her, — she alluz did 'low dat all de gent'emen wuz in love wid 'er. " ' you won' fin' much ter do,' mars sam went on, 'fer julia is a good housekeeper, an' kin ten' ter mos' eve'ything, under yo' d'rections.' " mis' polly stiffen' up like a ramrod. ' it mus' be unde'stood, samuel,' says she, dat w'en i 'sumes cha'ge er yo' house, dere ain' gwine ter be no 'vided 'sponsibility; an' as fer dis julia, me an' her could n' git 'long tergether nohow. ef i stays, julia goes.' at break of day " julia stayed, suh, an' a couple er years later her chile wuz bawn, right here in dis house." " but you said," observed the doctor, " that mrs. ochiltree was in error about julia." " yas, suh, so she wuz, w'en my ole mist'ess died. but dis wuz two years after,— an' w'at has ter be has ter be. julia had a easy time; she had a black gal ter wait on her, a buggy to ride in, an' eve'ything she wanted. eve'ybody s'posed mars sam would give her a house an' lot, er leave her somethin' in his will. but he died suddenly, and did n' leave no will, an' mis' polly got herse'f 'pinted gyardeen ter young mis' 'livy, an' driv julia an' her young un out er de house, an' lived here in dis house wid mis' 'livy till mis' 'livy ma'ied majah carteret." "and what became of julia?" asked dr. price. such relations, the doctor knew very well, had been all too common in the old slavery days, and not a few of them had been projected into the new era. sins, like snakes, die hard. the habits and customs of a people were not to be changed in a day, nor by the stroke of a pen. as family physician, and father con¬ fessor by brevet, dr. price had looked upon more than one hidden skeleton; and no one in town had had better opportunities than old jane for learning the undercurrents in the lives of the old families. "well," resumed jane, "eve'ybody s'posed, after w'at had happen', dat julia'd keep on livin' easy, fer she wuz young an' good-lookin'. but she did n'. she tried ter make a livin' sewin', but mis' polly would n* let de bes' w'ite folks hire her. den she tuck up washin', but • did n' do no better at dat; an' bimeby she got so discourage' dat she ma'ied a shif'less yaller man, an' died er consumption soon after, — an' wuz the marrow of tradition 'bout ez well off, fer dis man could n' hardly feed her nohow." " and the child ? " " one er de no'the'n w'ite lady teachers at de mis¬ sion school tuck a likin' ter little janet, an' put her thoo school, an' den sent her off ter de no'th fer ter study ter be a school teacher. w'en she come back, 'stead er teachin' she ma'ied ole adam miller's son." " the rich stevedore's son, dr. miller ? " "yas, suh, dat's de man, — you knows 'im. dis yer boy wuz jes' gwine 'way fer ter study ter be a doc- tuh, an' he ma'ied dis janet, an' tuck her 'way wid 'im. dey went off ter europe, er irope, er orope, er somewhere er 'nother, 'way off yander, an' come back here las' year an' sta'ted dis yer horspital an' school fer ter train de black gals fer nusses." " he's a very good doctor, jane, and is doing a useful work. your chapter of family history is quite interesting, — i knew part of it before, in a general way; but you have n't yet told me what brought on mrs. carteret's trouble." " i'm jes' comin' ter dat dis minute, suh, — w'at i be'n tellin' you is all a part of it. dis yer janet, w'at's mis' 'livy's half-sister, is ez much like her ez ef dey wuz twins. folks sometimes takes 'em fer one ernudder, — i s'pose it tickles janet mos' ter death, but it do make mis' 'livy rippin'. an' den 'way back yander jes' after de wah, w'en de ole carteret mansion had ter be sol', adam miller bought it, an' dis yer janet an' her husban' is be'n livin' in it ever sence ole adam died, 'bout a year ago; an' dat makes de majah mad, 'ca'se he don' wanter see cullud folks livin' in de ole fam'ly mansion w'at he wuz bawn in. an' mo'over, an' dat's de wust of all, w'iles mis' 'livy ain' at break of day had no child'en befo', dis yer sister er her'n is got a fine-lookin' little yaller boy, w'at favors de fam'ly so dat ef mis' 'livy'd see de chile anywhere, it'd mos' break her heart fer ter think 'bout her not havin' no child'en herse'f. so ter-day, w'en mis' 'livy wuz out ridin' an'met dis yer janet wid her boy, an' w'en mis' 'livy got ter studyin' 'bout her own chances, an' how she mought not come thoo safe, she jes' had a fit er hysterics right dere in de buggy. she wuz mos' home, an' william got her here, an' you knows de res'." major carteret, from the head of the stairs, called the doctor anxiously. " you had better come along up now, jane," said the doctor. for two long hours they fought back the grim spec¬ tre that stood by the bedside. the child was born at dawn. both mother and child, the doctor said, would live. " bless its 'ittle hea't! " exclaimed mammy jane, as she held up the tiny mite, which bore as much resem¬ blance to mature humanity as might be expected of an infant which had for only a few minutes drawn the breath of life. " bless its 'ittle hea't! it's de ve'y spit an' image er its pappy! " the! doctor smiled. the major laughed aloud. jane's unconscious witticism, or conscious flattery, whichever it might be, was a welcome diversion from the tense strain of the last few hours. " be that as it may," said dr. price cheerfully, " and i ' not dispute it, the child is a very fine boy, — a very fine boy, indeed! take care of it, major," he added with a touch of solemnity, " for your wife can never bear another." with the child's first cry a refreshing breeze from the marrow of tradition the distant ocean cooled the hot air of the chamber; the heavy odor of the magnolias, with its mortuary suggestiveness, gave place to the scent of rose and lilac and honeysuckle. the birds in the garden were singing lustily. all these sweet and pleasant things found an echo in the major's heart. he stood by the window, and looking toward the rising sun, breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving. all nature seemed to rejoice in sym¬ pathy with his happiness at the fruition of this long- deferred hope, and to predict for this wonderful child a bright and glorious future. old mammy jane, however, was not entirely at ease concerning the child. she had discovered, under its left ear, a small mole, which led her to fear that the child was born for bad luck. had the baby been black, or yellow, or poor-white, jane would unhesitat¬ ingly have named, as his ultimate fate, a not uncom¬ mon form of taking off, usually resultant upon the infraction of certain laws, or, in these swift modern days, upon too violent a departure from established social customs. it was manifestly impossible that a child of such high quality as the grandson of her old mistress should die by judicial strangulation; but nevertheless the warning was a serious thing, and not to be lightly disregarded. not wishing to be considered as a prophet of evil omen, jane kept her own counsel in regard to this sig¬ nificant discovery. but later, after the child was several days old, she filled a small vial with water in which the infant had been washed, and took it to a cer¬ tain wise old black woman, who lived on the farther edge of the town and was well known to be versed in witchcraft and conjuration. the conjure woman added at break of day to the contents of the bottle a bit of calamus root, and one of the cervical vertebrae from the skeleton of a black cat, with several other mysterious ingredients, the nature of which she did not disclose. following in¬ structions given her, aunt jane buried the bottle in carteret's back yard, one night during the full moon, as a good-luck charm to ward off evil from the little grandson of her dear mistress, so long since dead and gone to heaven. ii the christening party they named tlie carteret baby theodore felix. theodore was a family name, and had been borne by the eldest son for several generations, the major him¬ self being a second son. having thus given the child two beautiful names, replete with religious and senti¬ mental significance, they called him — " dodie." the baby was christened some six weeks after its birth, by which time mrs. carteret was able to be out. old mammy jane, who had been brought up in the church, but who, like some better informed people in all ages, found religion not inconsistent with a strong vein of superstition, felt her fears for the baby's future much relieved when the rector had made the sign of the cross and sprinkled little dodie with the water from the carved marble font, which had come from england in the reign of king charles the martyr, as the ill-fated son of james i. was known to st. andrew's. upon this special occasion mammy jane had been provided with a seat downstairs among the white people, to her own intense satisfaction, and to the secret envy of a small colored attendance in the gallery, to whom she was ostentatiously pointed out by her grandson jerry, porter at the morning chron¬ icle office, who sat among them in the front row. on the following monday evening the major gave a christening party in honor of this important event. the christening party owing to mrs. carteret's still delicate health, only a small number of intimate friends and family connec¬ tions were invited to attend. these were the rector of st. andrew's; old mrs. polly ochiltree, the god¬ mother ; old mr. delamere, a distant relative and also one of the sponsors; and his grandson, tom delamere. the major had also invited lee ellis, his young city editor, for whom he had a great liking apart from his business value, and who was a frequent visitor at the house. these, with the family itself, which con¬ sisted of the major, his wife, and his half-sister, clara pemberton, a young woman of about eighteen, made up the eight persons for whom covers were laid. ellis was the first to arrive, a tall, loose-limbed young man, with a slightly freckled face, hair verging on auburn, a firm chin, and honest gray eyes. he had come half an hour early, and was left alone for a few minutes in the parlor, a spacious, high-ceilinged room, with large windows, and fitted up in excellent taste, with stately reminiscences of a past generation. the walls were hung with figured paper. the ceiling was whitewashed, and decorated in the middle with a plaster centre-piece, from which hung a massive chandelier sparkling with prismatic rays from a hundred crystal pendants. there was a handsome mantel, set with terra-cotta tiles, on which fauns and satyrs, nymphs and dryads, disported themselves in idyllic abandon. the furniture was old, and in keeping with the room. at seven o'clock a carriage drove up, from which alighted an elderly gentleman, with white hair and mustache, and bowed somewhat with years. short of breath and painfully weak in the legs, he was assisted from the carriage by a colored m'an, apparently about forty years old, to whom short side-whiskers and spec- the marrow of tradition tacles imparted an air of sobriety. this attendant gave his arm respectfully to the old gentleman, who leaned upon it heavily, but with as little appearance of depend¬ ence as possible. the servant, assuming a similar unconsciousness of the weight resting upon his arm, assisted the old gentleman carefully up the steps. , " i'm all right now, sandy," whispered the gentle¬ man as soon as his feet were planted firmly on the piazza. " you may come back for me at nine o'clock." having taken his hand from his servant's arm, he advanced to meet a lady who stood in the door await¬ ing him, a tall, elderly woman, gaunt and angular of frame, with a mottled face, and high cheekbones par¬ tially covered by bands of hair entirely too black and abundant for a person of her age, if one might judge from the lines of her mouth, which are rarely decep¬ tive in such matters. " perhaps you'd better not send your man away, mr. delamere," observed the lady, in a high shrill voice, which grated upon the old gentleman's ears. he was slightly hard of hearing, but, like most deaf people, resented being screamed at. " you might need him before nine o'clock. one never knows what may happen after one has had the second stroke. and moreover, our butler has fallen down the back steps — negroes are so careless ! — and sprained his ankle so that he can't stand. i'd like to have sandy stay and wait on the table in peter's place, if you don't mind." " i thank you, mrs. ochiltree, for your solicitude," replied mr. delamere, with a shade of annoyance in his voice, " but my health is very good just at pre¬ sent, and i do not anticipate any catastrophe which will require my servant's presence before i am ready to go home. but i have no doubt, madam," he con- the christening party tinued, with a courteous inclination, " that sandy will be pleased- to serve you, if you desire it, to the best of his poor knowledge." " i shill be honored, ma'am," assented sandy, with a bow even deeper than his master's, "only i'm 'feared i ain't rightly dressed fer ter wait on table. i wuz only goin' ter pra'r-meetin', an' so i did n' put on my bes' clo's. ef mis' ochiltree ain' gwine ter need me fer de nex' fifteen minutes, i kin ride back home in de ca'ige an' dress myse'f suitable fer de occasion, suh." " if you think you ' wait on the table any better," said mrs. ochiltree, " you may go along and change your clothes; but hurry back, for it is seven now, and dinner will soon be served." sandy retired with a bow. while descending the steps to the carriage, which had waited for him, he came face to face with a young man just entering the house. " am i in time for dinner, sandy ? " asked the newcomer. " yas, mistuh tom, you 're in plenty er time. din¬ ner won't be ready till i git back, which won' be fer fifteen minutes er so yit." throwing away the cigarette which he held between his fingers, the young man crossed the piazza with a light step, and after a preliminary knock, for an answer to which he did not wait, entered the house with the air of one thoroughly at home. the lights in the parlor had been lit, and ellis, who sat talking to major carteret when the newcomer entered, covered him with a jealous glance. slender and of medium height, with a small head of almost perfect contour, a symmetrical face, dark the marrow of tradition almost to swarthiness, black eyes, which moved some¬ what restlessly, curly hair of raven tint, a slight mustache, small hands and feet, and fashionable attire, tom delamere, the grandson of the old gentleman who had already arrived, was easily the handsomest young man in wellington. but no discriminating observer would have characterized his beauty as manly. it conveyed no impression of strength, but did possess a certain element, feline rather than feminine, which subtly negatived the idea of manliness. he gave his hand to the major, nodded curtly to ellis, saluted his grandfather respectfully, and in¬ quired for the ladies. " olivia is dressing for dinner," replied the major; " mrs. ochiltree is in the kitchen, struggling with the servants. clara — ah, here she comes now ! " ellis, whose senses were preternaturally acute where clara was concerned, was already looking toward the hall and was the first to see her. clad in an evening gown of simple white, to the close-fitting corsage of which she had fastened a bunch of pink roses, she was to ellis a dazzling apparition. to him her erect and well-moulded form was the embodiment of symmetry, her voice sweet music, her movements the perfection of grace; and it scarcely needed a lover's imagination to read in her fair countenance a pure heart and a high spirit, — the truthfulness that scorns a lie, the pride which is not haughtiness. there were suggestive depths of tenderness, too, in the curl of her lip, the droop of her long lashes, the glance of her blue eyes, — depths that ellis had long since divined, though he had never yet explored them. she gave ellis a friendly nod as she came in, but for the smile with which she greeted delamere, ellis would have, the christening party given all that he possessed, — not a great deal, it is true, bat what could a man do more ? " you are the last one, tom," she said reproach¬ fully. " mr. ellis has been here half an hour." delamere threw a glance at ellis which was not exactly friendly. why should this fellow always be on hand to emphasize his own shortcomings ? " the rector is not here," answered tom trium¬ phantly. " you see i am not the last." " the rector," replied clara, " was called out of town at six o'clock this evening, to visit a dying man, and so cannot be here. you are the last, tom, and mr. ellis was the first." ellis was ruefully aware that this comparison in his favor was the only visible advantage that he had gained from his early arrival. he had not seen miss pemberton a moment sooner by reason of it. there had been a certain satisfaction in being in the same house with her, but delamere had arrived in time to share or, more correctly, to monopolize, the sunshine of her presence. delamere gave a plausible excuse which won clara's pardon and another enchanting smile, which pierced ellis like a dagger. he knew very well that dela- mere's excuse was a lie. ellis himself had been ready as early as six o'clock, but judging this to be too early, had stopped in at the clarendon club for half an hour, to look over the magazines. while coming out he had glanced into the card-room, wheve he had seen his rival deep in a game of cards, from which delamere had evidently not been able to tear himself until the last moment. he had accounted for his lateness by a story quite inconsistent with these facts. the two young people walked over to a window on the marrow of tradition the opposite side of the large room, where they stood talking to one another in low tones. the major had left the room for a moment. old mr. delamere, who was watching his grandson and clara with an indul¬ gent smile, proceeded to rub salt into ellis's wounds. " they make a handsome couple," he observed. " i remember well when her mother, in her youth an ideally beautiful woman, of an excellent family, married daniel pemberton, who was not of so good a family, but had made money. the major, who was only a very young man then, disapproved of the match; he considered that his mother, although a widow and nearly forty, was marrying beneath her. but he has been a good brother to clara, and a careful guardian of her estate. ah, young gentleman, you cannot appreciate, except in imagination, what it means, to one standing on the brink of eternity, to feel sure that he will live on in his children and his children's children ! " ellis was appreciating at that moment what it meant, in cold blood, with no effort of the imagination, to see the girl whom he loved absorbed completely in another man. she had looked at him only once since tom delamere had entered the room, and then merely to use him as a spur with which to prick his favored rival. " yes, sir," he returned mechanically, "miss clara is a beautiful young lady." " and tom is a good boy — a fine boy," returned the old gentleman. " i am very well pleased with tom, and shall be entirely happy when i see them married." ellis could not echo this sentiment. the very thought of this marriage made him miserable. he the christening party had always understood that the engagement was merely tentative, a sort of family understanding, subject to confirmation after delamere should- have attained his majority, which was still a year off, and when the major should think clara old enough to marry. ellis saw delamere with the eye of a jealous rival, and judged him mercilessly, — whether correctly or not the sequel will show. he did not at all believe that tom delamere would make a fit husband for clara pemberton; but his opinion would have had no weight, — he could hardly have expressed it without showing his own interest. moreover, there was no element of the sneak in lee ellis's make-up. the very fact that he might profit by the other's discom¬ fiture left delamere secure, so far as he could be affected by anything that ellis might say. but ellis did not shrink from a fair fight, and though in this one the odds were heavily against him, yet so long as this engagement remained indefinite, so long, in¬ deed, as the object of his love was still unwed, he would not cease to hope. such a sacrifice as this marriage clearly belonged in the catalogue of im¬ possibilities. ellis had not lived long enough to learn that impossibilities are merely things of which we have not learned, or which we do not wish to happen. sandy returned at the end of a quarter of an hour, and dinner was announced. mr. delamere led the way to the dining-room with mrs. ochiltree. tom followed with clara. the major went to the head of the stairs and came down with mrs. carteret upon his arm, her beauty rendered more delicate by the pallor of her countenance and more complete by the happiness with which it glowed. ellis went in alone. in the rector's absence it was practically a family the marrow of tradition party which sat down, with the exception of ellis, who, as we have seen, would willingly have placed himself in the same category. the table was tastefully decorated with flowers, which grew about the house in lavish profusion. in warm climates nature adorns herself with true fem¬ inine vanity. " what a beautiful table! " exclaimed tom, before they were seated. " the decorations are mine," said clara proudly. " i cut the flowers and arranged them ajl myself." " which accounts for the admirable effect," re¬ joined tom with a bow, before ellis, to whom the same thought had occurred, was able to express him¬ self. he had always counted himself the least envious of men, but for this occasion he coveted tom dela- mere's readiness. " the beauty of the flowers," observed old mr. delamere, with sententious gallantry, "is reflected upon all around them. it is a handsome company." mrs. ochiltree beamed upon the table with a dry smile. " i don't perceive any effect that it has upon you or me," she said. "and as for the young people, ' handsome is as handsome does.' if tom here, for instance, were as good as he looks " — " you flatter me, aunt polly," tom broke in hastily, anticipating the crack of the whip; he was familiar with his aunt's conversational idiosyncrasies. " if you are as good as you look," continued the old lady, with a cunning but indulgent smile, " some one has been slandering you." " thanks, aunt polly ! now you don't flatter me." "there is mr. ellis," mrs. ochiltree went on, the christening party " who is not half so good-looking, but is steady as a clock, i dare say." " now, aunt polly," interposed mrs. carteret, "let the gentlemen alone." " she does n't mean half what she says," continued mrs. carteret apologetically, "and only talks that way to people whom she likes." tom threw mrs. carteret a grateful glance. he had been apprehensive, with the sensitiveness of youth, lest his old great-aunt should make a fool of him before clara's family. nor had he relished the com¬ parison with ellis, who was out of place, anyway, in this family party. he had never liked the fellow, who was too much of a plodder and a prig to make a suitable associate for a whole-souled, generous-hearted young gentleman. he tolerated him as a visitor at carteret's and as a member of the clarendon club, but that was all. " mrs. ochiltree has a characteristic way of dis¬ guising her feelings," observed old mr. delamere, with a touch of sarcasm. ellis had merely flushed and felt uncomfortable at the reference to himself. the compliment to his character hardly offset the reflection upon his looks. he knew he was not exactly handsome, but it was not pleasant to have the fact emphasized in the presence of the girl he loved; he would like at least fair play, and judgment upon the subject left to the young lady. mrs. ochiltree was quietly enjoying herself. in early life she had been accustomed to impale fools on epigrams, like flies on pins, to see them wriggle. but with advancing years she had lost in some measure the faculty of nice discrimination, — it was pleasant to see her victims squirm, whether they were fools or friends. the marrow of tradition even one's friends, she argued, were not always wise, and were sometimes the better for being told the truth. at her niece's table she felt at liberty to speak her mind, which she invariably did, with a frankness that sometimes bordered on brutality. she had long ago outgrown the period where ambition or passion, or its partners, envy and hatred, were springs of action in her life, and simply retained a mild enjoyment in the exercise of an old habit, with no active malice what¬ ever. the ruling passion merely grew stronger as the restraining faculties decreased in vigor. a diversion was created at this point by the appear¬ ance of old mammy jane, dressed in a calico frock, with clean white neckerchief and apron, carrying the wonderful baby in honor of whose naming this feast had been given. though only six weeks old, the little theodore had grown rapidly, and mammy jane declared was already quite large for his age, and dis¬ played signs of an unusually precocious intelligence. he was passed around the table and duly admired. clara thought his hair was fine. ellis inquired about his teeth. tom put his finger in the baby's fist to test his grip. old mr. delamere was unable to decide as yet whether he favored most his father or his mother. the object of these attentions endured them patiently for several minutes, and then protested with a vocal vigor which led to his being taken promptly back upstairs. whatever fate might be in store for him, he manifested no sign of weak lungs. " sandy," said mrs. carteret when the baby had retired, " pass that tray standing upon the side table, so that we may all see the presents." mr. delamere had brought a silver spoon, and tom a napkin ring. ellis had sent a silver watch ; it was the christening party a little premature, lie admitted, but the boy would grow to it, and could use it to play with in the mean time. it had a glass back, so that he might see the wheels go round. mrs. ochiltree's present was an old and yellow ivory rattle, with a handle which the child could bite while teething, and a knob screwed on at the end to prevent the handle from slipping through the baby's hand. " i saw that in your cedar chest, aunt polly," said clara, " when i was a little girl, and you used to pull the chest out from under your bed to get me a dime." " you kept the rattle in the right-hand corner of the chest," said tom, " in the box with the red silk purse, from which you took the gold piece you gave me every christmas." a smile shone on mrs. ochiltree's severe features at this appreciation, like a ray of sunlight on a snow¬ bank. "aunt polly's chest is like the widow's cruse," said mrs. carteret, " which was never empty." " or fortunatus's purse, which was always full," added old mr. delamere, who read the latin poets, and whose allusions were apt to be classical rather than scriptural. " it will last me while i live," said mrs. ochiltree, adding cautiously, " but there ' not be a great deal left. it won't take much to support an old woman for twenty years." mr. delamere's man sandy had been waiting upon the table with the decorum of a trained butler, and a gravity all his own. he had changed his suit of plain gray for a long blue coat with brass buttons, which dated back to the fashion of a former generation, with which he wore a pair of plaid trousers of strik- the marrow of tradition ingly modern cut and pattern. with his whiskers, his spectacles, and his solemn air of responsibility, he would have presented, to one unfamiliar with the negro type, an amusingly impressive appearance. but there was nothing incongruous about sandy to this company, except perhaps to tom delamere, who possessed a keen eye for contrasts and always re¬ garded sandy, in that particular rig, as a very comical darkey. " is it quite prudent, mrs. ochiltree," suggested the major at a moment when sandy, having set down the tray, had left the room for a little while, " to men¬ tion, in the presence of the servants, that you keep tnoney in the house ? " " i beg your pardon, major," observed old mr. delamere, with a touch of stiffness. " the only ser¬ vant in hearing of the conversation has been my own; and sandy is as honest as any man in wellington." " you mean, sir," replied carteret, with a smile, " as honest as any negro in wellington." "i make no exceptions, major," returned the old gentleman, with emphasis. "i would trust sandy with my life, — he saved it once at the risk of his own." " no doubt," mused the major, " the negro is capable of a certain doglike fidelity, — i make the comparison in a kindly sense, — a certain personal devotion which is admirable in itself, and fits him eminently for a servile career. i should imagine, however, that one could more safely trust his life with a negro than his portable property." "very clever, major! i read your paper, and know that your feeling is hostile toward the negro but" — the christening party the major made a gesture of dissent, but remained courteously silent until mr. delamere had finished. " for my part," the old gentleman went on, " i think they have done very well, considering what they started from, and their limited opportunities. there was adam miller, for instance, who left a comforta¬ ble estate. his son george carries on the business, and the younger boy, william, is a good doctor and stands well with his profession. his hospital is a good thing, and if my estate were clear, i should like to do something for it." " you are mistaken, sir, in imagining me hostile to the negro," explained carteret. " on the contrary, i am friendly to his best interests. i give him em¬ ployment; i pay taxes for schools to educate him, and for court-houses and jails to keep him in order. i merely object to being governed by an inferior and servile race." mrs. carteret's face wore a tired expression. this question was her husband's hobby, and. therefore her own nightmare. moreover, she had her personal grievance against the negro race, and the names men¬ tioned by old mr. delamere had brought it vividly before her mind. she had no desire to mar the har¬ mony of the occasion by the discussion of a distasteful subject. mr. delamere, glancing at his hostess, read some¬ thing of this thought, and refused the challenge to further argument. " i do not believe, major," he said, " that olivia relishes the topic. i merely wish to say that sandy is an exception to any rule which you may formulate in derogation of the negro. sandy is a gentleman in ebony!" the marrow of tradition tom could scarcely preserve his gravity at this characterization of old sandy, with his ridiculous air of importance, his long blue coat, and his loud plaid trousers. that suit would make a great costume for a masquerade. he would borrow it some time, — there was nothing in the world like it. " well, mr. delamere," returned the major good- humoredly, " no doubt sandy is an exceptionally good negro, — he might well be, for he has had the benefit of your example all his life, — and we know that he is a faithful' servant. but nevertheless, if i were mrs. ochiltree, i should put my money in the bank. not all negroes are as honest as sandy, and an elderly lady might not prove a match for a burly black burglar." " thank you, major," retorted mrs. ochiltree, with spirit, " i'm not yet too old to take care of myself. that cedar chest has been my bank for forty years, and i shall not change my habits at my age." at this moment sandy reentered the room. car¬ teret made a warning gesture, which mrs. ochiltree chose not to notice. " i've proved a match for two husbands, and am not afraid of any man that walks the earth, black or white, by day or night. i have a revolver, and know how to use it. whoever attempts to rob me will do so at his peril." after dinner clara played the piano and sang duets with tom delamere. at nine o'clock mr. delamere's carriage came for him, and he went away accompa¬ nied by sandy. under cover of the darkness the old gentleman leaned on his servant's arm with frank dependence, and sandy lifted him into the carriage with every mark of devotion. the christening party ellis had already excused himself to go to the office and look over the late proofs for the morning paper. tom remained a few minutes longer than his grandfather, and upon taking his leave went round to the clarendon club, where he spent an hour or two in the card-room with a couple of congenial friends. luck seemed to favor him, and he went home at mid¬ night with a comfortable balance of winnings. he was fond of excitement, and found a great deal of it in cards. to lose was only less exciting than to win. of late he had developed into a very successful player, — so successful, indeed, that several members of the club generally found excuses to avoid participating in a game where he made one. ill the editor at work to go back a little, for several days after his child's birth major carteret's chief interest in life had been confined to the four walls of the chamber where his pale wife lay upon her bed of pain, and those of the adjoining room where an old black woman crooned lovingly over a little white infant. a new element had been added to the major's consciousness, broadening the scope and deepening the strength of his affections. he did not love olivia the less, for maternity had crowned her wifehood with an added glory; but side by side with this old and tried attachment was a new passion, stirring up dormant hopes and kindling new desires. his regret had been more than personal at the thought that with himself an old name should be lost to the state ; and now all the old pride of race, class, and family welled up anew, and swelled and quickened the current of his life. upon the major's first appearance at the office, which took place the second day after the child's birth, he opened a box of cigars in honor of the event. the word had been passed around by ellis, and the whole office force, including reporters, com¬ positors, and pressmen, came in to congratulate the major and smoke at his expense. even jerry, the col¬ ored porter, — mammy jane's grandson and therefore aproteg£ of the family, — presented himself among the the editor at work rest, or rather, after the rest. the major shook hands with them all except jerry, though he acknowledged the porter's congratulations with a kind nod and put a good cigar into his outstretched palm, for which jerry thanked him without manifesting any conscious¬ ness of the omission. he was quite aware that under ordinary circumstances the major would not have shaken hands with white workingmen, to say nothing of negroes; and he had merely hoped that in the pleasurable distraction of the moment the major might also overlook the distinction of color. jerry's hope had been shattered, though not rudely; for the major had spoken pleasantly and the cigar was a good one. mr. ellis had once shaken hands with jerry, — but mr. ellis was a young man, whose quaker father had never owned any slaves, and he could not be expected to have as much pride as one of the best " quality," whose families had possessed land and negroes for time out of mind. on the whole, jerry preferred the careless nod of the editor-in-chief to the more familiar greeting of the subaltern. having finished this pleasant ceremony, which left him with a comfortable sense of his new dignity, the major turned to his desk. it had been much neg¬ lected during the week, and more than one matter claimed his attention; but as typical of the new trend of his thoughts, the first subject he took up was one bearing upon the future of his son. quite obviously the career of a carteret must not be left to chance, — it must be planned and worked out with a due sense of the value of good blood. there lay upon his desk a letter from a well-known promoter, offering the major an investment which promised large returns, though several years must the marrow of tradition elapse before the enterprise could be put upon a pay¬ ing basis. the element of time, however, was not imme¬ diately important. the morning chronicle provided, him an ample income. the money available for this investment was part of his wife's patrimony. it was invested in a local cotton mill, which was paying ten per cent., but this was a beggarly return compared with the immense profits promised by the offered in¬ vestment, — profits which would enable his son, upon reaching manhood, to take a place in the world com¬ mensurate with the dignity of his ancestors, one of whom, only a few generations removed, had owned an estate of ninety thousand acres of land and six thou¬ sand slaves. this letter having been disposed of by an answer accepting the offer, the major took up his pen to write an editorial. public affairs in the state were not going to his satisfaction. at the last state election his own party, after an almost unbroken rule of twenty years, had been defeated by the so-called " fusion " ticket, a combination of republicans and populists. a clean sweep had been made of the offices in the state, which were now filled by new men. many of the smaller places had gone to colored men, their people having voted almost solidly for the fusion ticket. in spite of the fact that the popula¬ tion of wellington was two thirds colored, this state of things was gall and wormwood to the defeated party, of which the morning chronicle was the acknowledged organ. major carteret shared this' feeling. only this very morning, while passing the city hall, on his way to the office, he had seen the steps of that noble building disfigured by a fringe of job-hunting negroes, for all the world — to use a local the editor at work simile — like a string of buzzards sitting on a rail, awaiting their opportunity to batten upon the helpless corpse of a moribund city. taking for his theme the unfitness of the negro to participate in government, — an unfitness due to his limited education, his lack of experience, his criminal tendencies, and more especially to his hopeless mental and physical inferiority to the white race, — the major had demonstrated, it seemed to him clearly enough, that the ballot in the hands of the negro was a menace to the commonwealth. he had argued, with entire conviction, that the white and black races could never attain social and political harmony by commingling their blood; he had proved by several historical par¬ allels that no two unassimilable races could ever live together except in the relation of superior and in¬ ferior ; and he was just dipping his gold pen into the ink to indite his conclusions from the premises thus established, when jerry, the porter, announced two visitors. " gin'l belmont an' cap'n mcbane would like ter see you, suh." " show them in, jerry." the man who entered first upon this invitation was a dapper little gentleman with light-blue eyes and a vandyke beard. he wore a frock coat, patent leather shoes, and a panama hat. there were crow's-feet about his eyes, which twinkled with a hard and, at times, humorous shrewdness. he had sloping shoul¬ ders, small hands and feet, and walked with the lei¬ surely step characteristic of those who have been reared under hot suns. carteret gave his hand cordially to the gentleman thus described. the marrow of tradition " how do you do, captain mcbane," he said, turn¬ ing to the second visitor. the individual thus addressed was strikingly differ¬ ent in appearance from his companion. his broad shoulders, burly form, square jaw, and heavy chin betokened strength, energy, and unscrupulousness. with the exception of a small, bristling mustache, his face was clean shaven, with here and there a speck of dried blood due to a carelessly or unskillfully handled razor. a single deep-set gray eye was shadowed by a beetling brow, over which a crop of coarse black hair, slightly streaked with gray, fell almost low enough to mingle with his black, bushy eyebrows. his coat had not been brushed for several days, if one might judge from the accumulation of dandruff upon the collar, and his shirt-front, in the middle of which blazed a showy diamond, was plentifully stained with tobacco juice. he wore a large slouch hat, which, upon enter¬ ing the office, he removed and held in his hand. having greeted this person with an unconscious but quite perceptible diminution of the warmth with which he had welcomed the other, the major looked around the room for seats for his visitors, and perceiving only one chair, piled with exchanges, and a broken stool propped against the wall, pushed a button, which rang a bell in the hall, summoning the colored porter to his presence. " jerry," said the editor when his servant appeared, " bring a couple of chairs for these gentlemen." while they stood waiting, the visitors congratulated the major on the birth of his child, which had been announced in the morning chronicle, and which the prominence of the family made in some degree a mat¬ ter of public interest. the marrow of tradition he had to trick that docile organ into acquiescence. this was not difficult to do in politics, for he believed in the divine right of white men and gentlemen, as his ancestors had believed in and died for the divine right of kings. general belmont was not without a gentle¬ man's distaste for meanness, but he permitted no fine scruples to stand in the way of success. he had once been minister, under a democratic administration, to a small central american state. political rivals had characterized him as a tricky demagogue, which may of course have been a libel. he had an amiable dis¬ position, possessed the gift of eloquence, and was a prime social favorite. captain george mcbane had sprung from the poor- white class, to which, even more than to the slaves, the abolition of slavery had opened the door of oppor¬ tunity. no longer overshadowed by a slaveholding caste, some of this class had rapidly pushed themselves forward. some had made honorable records. others, foremost in negro-baiting and election frauds, had done the dirty work of politics, as their fathers had done that of slavery, seeking their reward at first in minor offices, — for which men of gentler breeding did not care, — until their ambition began to reach out for higher honors. of this class mcbane — whose captaincy, by the way, was merely a polite fiction — had been one of the most successful. he had held, until recently, as the reward of questionable political services, a contract with the state for its convict labor, from which in a few years he had realized a fortune.. but the methods which made his contract profitable had not commended themselves to humane people, and charges of cruelty and worse had been preferred against him. he was the-editor at work rich enough to escape serious consequences from the investigation which followed, hut when the fusion ticket carried the state he lost his contract, and the system of convict labor was abolished. since then mcbane had devoted himself to politics: he was am¬ bitious for greater wealth, for office, and for social recognition. a man of few words and self-engrossed, he seldom spoke of his aspirations except where speech might favor them, preferring to seek his ends by secret "deals" and combinations rather than to challenge criticism and provoke rivalry by more open methods. at sight, therefore, of these two men, with whose careers and characters he was entirely familiar, car¬ teret felt sweep over his mind the conviction that now was the time and these the instruments with which to undertake the redemption of the state from the evil fate which had befallen it. jerry, the porter, who had gone downstairs to the counting-room to find two whole chairs, now entered with one in each hand. he set a chair for the general, who gave him an amiable nod, to which jerry responded with a bow and a scrape. captain mcbane made no acknowledgment, but fixed jerry so fiercely with his single eye that upon placing the chair jerry made his escape from the room as rapidly as possible. " i don' like dat cap'n mcbane," he muttered, upon reaching the hall. " dey says he got dat eye knock' out tryin' ter whip a cullud 'oman, when he wuz a boy, an' dat he ain' never had no use fer niggers sence, — 'cep'n' fer what he could make outen 'em wid his con- vic' labor contrac's. his daddy wuz a' overseer befo' 'im, an' it come nachul fer him ter be a nigger-driver. i don' want dat one eye er his'n restin' on me no longer 'n i kin he'p, an' i don' know how i'm gwine the editor at work of certain limitations which nature had placed in the way of jerry's understanding anything very difficult or abstruse. he had gathered enough, however, to realize, in a vague way, that something serious was on foot, in¬ volving his own race, when a bell sounded over his head, at which he sprang up hastily and entered the room where the gentlemen were talking. "jerry," said the major, "wait on captain mc- bane." " yas, suh," responded jerry, turning toward the captain, whose eye he carefully avoided meeting directly. " take that half a dollar, boy," ordered mcbane, " an' go 'cross the street to mr. sykes's, and tell him to send me three whiskies. bring back the change, and make has'e." the captain tossed the half dollar at jerry, who, looking to one side, of course missed it. he picked the money up, however, and backed out of the room. jerry did not like captain mcbane, to begin with, and it was clear that the captain was no gentleman, or he would not have thrown the money at him. consid¬ ering the source, jerry might have overlooked this discourtesy had it not been coupled with the remark about the change, which seemed to him in very poor taste. returning in a few minutes with three glasses on a tray, he passed them round, handed captain mcbane his change, and retired to the hall. " gentlemen," exclaimed the captain, lifting his glass, " i propose a toast: ' no nigger domination.' " " amen! " said the others, and three glasses were solemnly drained. the marrow of tradition " major," observed the general, smacking his lips, " i should like to use jerry for a moment, if you will permit me." jerry appeared promptly at the sound of the bell. he had remained conveniently near, — calls of this sort were apt to come in sequence. "jerry," said the general, handing jerry half a dollar, " go over to mr. brown's, — i get my liquor there, — and tell them to send me three glasses of my special mixture. and, jerry, — you may keep the change! " " thank y*, gin'l, thank y', marster," replied jerry, with unctuous gratitude, bending almost double as he backed out of the room. " dat's a gent'eman, a rale ole-time gent'eman," he said to himself when he had closed the door. " but dere 's somethin' gwine on in dere, — dere sho' is! * no nigger damnation ! ' dat soun's all right, — i'm sho' dere ain' no nigger i knows w'at wants dam¬ nation, do' dere's lots of 'em w'at deserves it; but ef dat one-eyed cap'n mcbane got anything ter do wid it, w'atever it is, it don' mean no good fer de niggers, — damnation'd be better fer 'em dan dat cap'n mc¬ bane ! he looks at a nigger lack he could jes' eat 'im alive." " this mixture, gentlemen," observed the general when jerry had returned with the glasses, " was ori¬ ginally compounded by no less a person than the great john c. calhoun himself, who confided the recipe to my father over the convivial board. in this nectar of the gods, gentlemen, i drink with you to ' white supremacy!'" " white supremacy everywhere! " added mcbane with fervor. the editor at work " now and forever ! " concluded carteret solemnly. when the visitors, half an hour later, had taken their departure, carteret, inspired by the theme, and in less degree by the famous mixture of the immortal calhoun, turned to his desk and finished, at a white heat, his famous editorial in which he sounded the tocsin of a new crusade. at noon, when the editor, having laid down his pen, was leaving the office, he passed jerry in the hall without a word or a nod. the major wore a rapt look, which jerry observed with a vague uneasiness. " he looks jes' lack he wuz walkin' in his sleep," muttered jerry uneasily. " dere's somethin' up, sho's you bawn! 'no nigger damnation!' anybody'd 'low dey wuz all gwine ter heaven; but i knows better! w'en a passel er w'ite folks gits ter talkin' 'bout de niggers lack dem in yander, it's mo' lackly dey 're gwine ter ketch somethin' e'se dan heaven! i got ter keep my eyes open an' keep up wid w'at's happenin'. ef dere's gwine ter be anudder flood 'roun' here, i wants ter git in de ark wid de w'ite folks, — i may haf ter be anudder ham, an' sta't de cullud race all over ag'in." iv theodoee felix the young heir of the carterets had thriven apace, and at six months old was, according to mammy jane, whose experience qualified her to speak with authority, the largest, finest, smartest, and altogether most remarkable baby that had ever lived in welling¬ ton. mammy jane had recently suffered from an attack of inflammatory rheumatism, as the result of which she had returned to her own home. . she never¬ theless came now and then to see mrs. carteret. a younger nurse had been procured to take her place, but it was understood that jane would come whenever she might be needed. " you really mean that about dodie, do you, mammy jane ? " asked the delighted mother, who never tired of hearing her own opinion confirmed concerning this wonderful child, which had come to her like an angel from heaven. " does i mean it! " exclaimed mammy jane, with a tone ancl an expression which spoke volumes of re¬ proach. " now, mis' 'livy, what is i ever uttered er said er spoke er done dat would make you s'pose i could tell you a lie 'bout yo' own chile ? " " no, mammy jane, i'm sure you would n't." " 'deed, ma'am, i'm tellin' you de lawd's truf. i don' haf ter tell no lies ner strain no p'ints 'bout my ole mist'ess's gran'chile. dis yer boy is de ve'y spit theodore felix an' image er yo' brother, young mars alick, w'at died w'en lie wuz 'bout eight mont's ole, w'iles i wuz laid off havin' a baby er my own, an' could n' be roun' ter look after 'im. an' dis chile is a rale quality chile, he is, — i never seed a baby wid sech fine hair fer his age, ner sech blue eyes, ner sech a grip, ner sech a heft. w'y, dat chile mus' weigh 'bout twenty-fo' poun's, an' he not but six mont's ole. does dat gal w'at does de nussin' w'iles i'm gone ten' ter dis chile right, mis' 'livy ? " " she does fairly well, mammy jane, but i could hardly expect her to love the baby as you do. there's no one like you, mammy jane." " 'deed dere ain't, honey; you is talkin' de gospel truf now! none er dese yer young folks ain' got de trainin' my ole mist'ess give me. dese yer new- fangle' schools don' l'arn 'em nothin' ter compare wid it. i'm jes' gwine ter give dat gal a piece er my min', befo' i go, so she ' ten' ter dis chile right." the nurse came in shortly afterwards, a neat-looking brown girl, dressed in a clean calico gown, with a nurse's cap and apron. " look a-here, gal," said mammy jane sternly, " i wants you ter understan' dat you got ter take good keer er dis chile; fer i nussed his mammy dere, an' his gran'mammy befo' 'im, an' you is got a priv'lege dat mos' lackly you don' 'preciate. i wants you to 'member, in yo' incomin's an' outgoin's, dat i got my eye on you, an' am gwine ter see dat you does yo' wo'k right." "do you need me for anything, ma'am?" asked the young nurse, who had stood before mrs. carteret, giving mammy jane a mere passing glance, and listening impassively to her harangue. the nurse theodore felix could get her breath, " ef dat ain' de beatinis' pe'fo'm- ance i ever seed er heared of ! dese yer young nig¬ gers ain' got de manners dey wuz bawned wid! i don' know w'at dey 're comin' to, w'en dey ain' got no mo' rispec' fer ole age — i don' know — i don' know! " " now what are you croaking about, jane ? " asked major carteret, who came into the room and took the child into his arms. mammy jane hobbled to her feet and bobbed a curtsy. she was never lacking in respect to white people of proper quality; but major carteret, the quintessence of aristocracy, called out all her reserves of deference. the major was always kind and con¬ siderate to these old family retainers, brought up in the feudal atmosphere now so rapidly passing away. mammy jane loved mrs. carteret; toward the major she entertained a feeling bordering upon awe. " well, jane," returned the major sadly, when the old nijrse had related her grievance, " the old times have vanished, the old ties have been ruptured. the old relations of dependence and loyal obedience on the part of the colored people, the responsibility of pro¬ tection and kindness upon that of the whites, have passed away forever. the young negroes are too self-assertive. education is spoiling them, jane; they have been badly taught. they are not content with their station in life. some time they will over¬ step the mark. the white people are patient, but there is a limit to their endurance. " dat's w'at i tells dese young niggers," groaned mammy jane, with a portentous shake of her tur- baned head, " w'en i hears 'em gwine on wid deir foolishniss; but dey don' min' me. dey 'lows dey the marrow of tradition knows mo' d'n i does, 'ca'se dey be'n l'arnt ter look in a book. but, pshuh! my ole mist'ess showed me mo' d'n dem niggers ' l'arn in a thousan' years! i's fetch' my gran'son' jerry up ter be 'umble, an' keep in 'is place. an' i tells dese other niggers dat ef dey'd do de same, an' not crowd de w'ite folks, dey'd git ernuff ter eat, an' live out deir days in peace an' comfo't. but dey don' min' me — dey don' min' me! " " if all the colored people were like you and jerry, jane," rejoined the major kindly, "there would never be any trouble. you have friends upon whom, in time of need, you can rely implicitly for protection and succor. you served your mistress faithfully before the war ; you remained by her when the other negroes were running hither and thither like sheep without a shepherd; and you have transferred your allegiance to my wife and her child. we think a great deal of you, jane." "yes, indeed, mammy jane," assented mrs. carteret, with sincere affection, glancing with moist eyes from the child in her husband's arms to the old nurse, whose dark face was glowing with happiness at these expressions of appreciation, " you shall never want so long as we have anything. we would share our last crust with you." " thank y', mis' 'livy," said jane with reciprocal emotion, " i knows who my frien's is, an' i ain' gwine ter let nothin' worry me. but fer de lawd's sake, mars philip, gimme dat chile, an' lemme pat 'im on de back, er he ' choke hisse'f ter death! " the old nurse had been the first to observe that little dodie, for some reason, was gasping for breath. catching the child from the major's arms, she patted theodore felix it on the back, and shook it gently. after a moment of this treatment, the child ceased to gasp, but still breathed heavily, with a strange, whistling noise. " oh, my child!" exclaimed the mother, in great alarm, taking the baby in her own arms, " what can be the matter with him, mammy jane?" "fer de lawd's sake, ma'am, i don' know, 'less he's swallered somethin'; an' he ain' had nothin' in his han's but de rattle mis' polly give 'im." mrs. carteret caught up the ivory rattle, which hung suspended by a ribbon from the baby's neck. " he has swallowed the little piece off the end of the handle," she cried, turning pale with fear, " and it has lodged in his throat. telephone dr. price to come immediately, philip, before my baby chokes to death! oh, my baby, my precious baby ! " an anxious half hour passed, during which the child lay quiet, except for its labored breathing. the suspense was relieved by the arrival of dr. price, who examined the child carefully. " it's a curious accident," he announced at the close of his inspection. " so far as i can discover, the piece of ivory has been drawn into the trachea, or windpipe, and has lodged in the mouth of the right bronchus. i ' try to get it out without an operation, but i can't guarantee the result." at the end of another half hour dr. price an¬ nounced his inability to remove the obstruction with¬ out resorting to more serious measures. " i do not see," he declared, " how an operation can be avoided." " will it be dangerous? " inquired the major anx¬ iously, while mrs. carteret shivered at the thought. " it will be necessary to cut into his throat from the marrow of tradition the outside. all such operations are more or less dangerous, especially on small children. if this were some other child, i might undertake the operation unassisted; but i know how you value this one, major, and i should prefer to share the responsibility with a specialist." " is there one in town ? " asked the major. " no, but we can get one from out of town." " send for the best one in the country," said the major, " who can be got here in time. spare no ex¬ pense, dr. price. we value this child above any earthly thing." "the best is the safest," replied dr. price. "i will send for dr. burns, of philadelphia, the best sur¬ geon in that line in america. if he can start at once, he can reach here in sixteen or eighteen hours, and the case can wait even longer, if inflammation does not set in." the message was dispatched forthwith. by rare good fortune the eminent specialist was able to start within an hour or two after the receipt of dr. price's telegram. meanwhile the baby remained restless and uneasy, the doctor spending most of his time by its side. mrs. carteret, who had never been quite strong since the child's birth, was a prey to the most agoniz¬ ing apprehensions. mammy jane, while not presuming to question the opinion of dr. price, and not wishing to add to her mistress's distress, was secretly oppressed by fore¬ bodings which she was unable to shake off. the child was born for bad luck. the mole under its ear, just at the point where the hangman's knot would strike, had foreshadowed dire misfortune. she had already observed several little things which had ren¬ dered her vaguely anxious. theodore felix for instance, upon one occasion, on entering the room where the baby had been left alone, asleep in his crib, she had met a strange cat hurrying from the nursery, and, upon examining closely the pillow upon which the child lay, had found a depression which had undoubtedly been due to the weight of the cat's body. the child was restless and uneasy, and jane had ever since believed that the cat had been sucking little dodie's breath, with what might have been fatal re¬ sults had she not appeared just in the nick of time. this untimely accident of the rattle, a fatality for which no one could be held responsible, had confirmed the unlucky omen. jane's duties in the nursery did not permit her to visit her friend the conjure woman ; but she did find time to go out in the back yard at dusk, and to dig up the charm which she had planted there. it had protected the child so far; but perhaps its potency had become exhausted. she picked up the bottle, shook it vigorously, and then laid it back, with the other side up. refilling the hole, she made a cross over the top with the thumb of her left hand, and walked three times around it. what this strange symbolism meant, or whence it derived its origin, aunt jane did not know. the cross was there, and the trinity, though jane was scarcely conscious of these, at this moment, as re¬ ligious emblems. but she hoped, on general princi¬ ples, that this performance would strengthen the charm and restore little dodie's luck. it certainly had its moral effect upon jane's own mind, for she was able to sleep better, and contrived to impress mrs. carteret with her own hopefulness. v a journey southward as the south-bound train was leaving the station at philadelphia, a gentleman took his seat in the single sleeping-car attached to the train, and proceeded to make himself comfortable. he hung up his hat and opened his newspaper, in which he remained absorbed for a quarter of an hour. when the train had left the city behind, he threw the paper aside, and looked around at the other occupants of the car. one of these, who had been on the car since it had left new york, rose from his seat upon perceiving the other's glance, and came down the aisle. " how do you do, dr. burns?" he said, stopping beside the seat of the philadelphia passenger. the gentleman looked up at the speaker with an air of surprise, which, after the first keen, incisive glance, gave place to an expression of cordial recog¬ nition. " why, it's miller! " he exclaimed, rising and giv¬ ing the other his hand, " william miller—dr. mil¬ ler, of course. sit down, miller, and tell me all about yourself, — what you 're doing, where you've been, and where you 're going. i'm delighted to meet you, and to see you looking so well — and so prosperous." " i deserve no credit for either, sir," returned the other, as he took the proffered seat, " for i inherited both health and prosperity. it is a fortunate chance that permits me to meet you." the marrow of tradition alvin burns was professor in the famous medical col¬ lege where miller had attended lectures. the pro¬ fessor had taken an interest in his only colored pupil, to whom he had been attracted by his earnestness of purpose, his evident talent, and his excellent manners and fine physique. it was in part due to dr. burns's friendship that miller had won a scholarship which had enabled him, without drawing too heavily upon his father's resources, to spend in europe, studying in the hospitals of paris and vienna, the two most delightful years of his life. the same influence had strengthened his natural inclination toward operative surgery, in which dr. burns was a distinguished spe¬ cialist of national reputation. miller's father, adam miller, had been a thrifty colored man, the son of a slave, who, in the olden time, had bought himself with money which he had earned and saved, over and above what he had paid his master for his time. adam miller had inherited his father's thrift, as well as his trade, which was that of a stevedore, or contractor for the loading and un¬ loading of vessels at the port of wellington. in the flush turpentine days following a few years after the civil war, he had made money. his savings, shrewdly invested, had by constant accessions become a compe¬ tence. he had brought up his eldest son to the trade; .the other he had given a professional education, in the proud hope that his children or his grandchildren might be gentlemen in the town where their ancestors had once been slaves. upon his father's death, shortly after dr. miller's return from europe, and a year or two before the date at which this story opens, he had promptly spent part of his inheritance in founding a hospital, to which was a journey southward to be added a training school for nurses, and in time perhaps a medical college and a school of pharmacy. he had been strongly tempted to leave the south, and seek a home for his family and a career for him¬ self in the freer north, where race antagonism was less keen, or at least less oppressive, or in europe, where he had never found his color work to his disad¬ vantage. but his people had needed him, and he had wished to help them, and had sought by means of this institution to contribute to their uplifting. as he now informed dr. burns, he was returning from new york, where he had been in order to purchase equipment for his new hospital, which would soon be ready for the reception of patients. " how much i can accomplish i do not know," said miller, " but i ' do what i can. there are eight or nine million of us, and it will take a great deal of learning of all kinds to leaven that lump." " it is a great problem, miller, the future of your race," returned the other, " a tremendously interesting problem. it is a serial story which we are all read¬ ing, and which grows in vital interest with each suc¬ cessive installment. it is not only your problem, but ours. your race must come up or drag ours down." "we shall come up," declared miller; " slowly and painfully, perhaps, but we shall win our way. if our race had made as much progress everywhere as they have made in wellington, the problem would be well on the way toward solution." "wellington?" exclaimed dr. burns. "that's where i'm going. a dr. price, of wellington, has sent for me to perform an operation on a child's throat. do you know dr. price ? " " quite well," replied miller, " he is a friend of mine." the marrow of tradition " so much the better. i shall want you to assist me. i read in the medical gazette, the other day, an account of a very interesting operation of yours. i felt proud to number you among my pupils. it was a remarkable case — a rare case. i must certainly have you with me in this one." " i shall be delighted, sir," returned miller, " if it is agreeable to all concerned." several hours were passed in pleasant conversation while the train sped rapidly southward. they were already far down in virginia, and had stopped at a station beyond richmond, when the conductor entered the car. " all passengers," he announced, " will please trans¬ fer to the day coaches ahead. the sleeper has a hot box, and must be switched off here." dr. burns and miller obeyed the order, the former leading the way into the coach immediately in front of the sleeping-car. " let's sit here, miller," he said, having selected a seat near the rear of the car and deposited his suit¬ case in a rack. " it's on the shady side." miller stood a moment hesitatingly, but finally took the seat indicated, and a few minutes later the journey was again resumed. when the train conductor made his round after leav¬ ing the station, he paused at the seat occupied by the two doctors, glanced interrogatively at miller, and then spoke to dr. burns, who sat in the end of the seat nearest the aisle. "this man is with you?" he asked, indicating miller with a slight side movement of his head, and a keen glance in his direction. "certainly," replied dr. burns curtly, and with some surprise. " don't you see that he is ? " a journey southward the conductor passed on. miller paid no apparent attention to this little interlude, though no syllable had escaped him. he resumed the conversation where it had been broken off, but nevertheless followed with his eyes the conductor, who stopped at a seat near the forward end of the car, and engaged in conversation with a man whom miller had not hitherto noticed. as this passenger turned his head and looked back toward miller, the latter saw a broad-shouldered, burly white man, and recognized in his square-cut jaw, his coarse, firm mouth, and the single gray eye with which he swept miller for an instant with a scornful glance, a well-known character of wellington, with whom the reader has already made acquaintance in these pages. captain mcbane wore a frock coat and a slouch hat; several buttons of his vest were unbuttoned, and his solitaire diamond blazed in his soiled shirt-front like the headlight of a locomotive. the conductor in his turn looked back at miller, and retraced his steps. miller braced himself for what he feared was coming, though he had hoped, on account of his friend's presence, that it might be avoided. ' " excuse me, sir," said the conductor, addressing dr. burns, " but did i understand you to say that this man was your servant ? " " no, indeed ! " replied dr. burns indignantly. " the gentleman is not my servant, nor anybody's ser¬ vant, but is my friend. but, by the way, since we are on the subject, may i ask what affair it is of yours ? " " it's very much my affair," returned the conduc¬ tor, somewhat nettled at this questioning of his au¬ thority. " i'm sorry to part friends, but the law of virginia does not permit colored passengers to ride in the marrow of tradition the white cars. you ' have to go forward to the next coach," he added, addressing miller this time. " i have paid my fare on the sleeping-car, where the separate-car law does not apply," remonstrated miller. "i can't help that. you can doubtless get your money back from the sleeping-car company. but this is a day coach, and is distinctly marked ' white,' as you must have seen before you sat down here. the sign is put there for that purpose." he indicated a large card neatly framed and hung at the end of the car, containing the legend, " white," in letters about a foot long, painted in white upon a dark background, typical, one might suppose, of the distinction thereby indicated. " you shall not stir a step, miller," exclaimed dr. burns wrathfully. " this is an outrage upon a citizen of a free country. you shall stay right here." " i'm sorry to discommode you," returned the con¬ ductor, "but there's no use kicking. it's the law of virginia, and i am bound by it as well as you. i have already come near losing my place because of not en¬ forcing it, and i can take no more such chances, since i have a family to support." " and my friend has his rights to maintain," re¬ turned dr. burns with determination. " there is a vital principle at stake in the matter." " really, sir," argued the conductor, who was a man of peace and not fond of controversy," there's no use talking — he absolutely cannot ride in this car." " how can you prevent it ? " asked dr. burns, laps¬ ing into the argumentative stage. "the law gives me the right to remove him by force. i can call on the train crew to assist me, or on a journey southward the other passengers. if i should choose to put him off the train entirely, in the middle of a swamp, he would have no redress — the law so provides. if i did not wish to use force, i could simply switch this car off at the next siding, transfer the white passen¬ gers to another, and leave you and your friend in possession until you were arrested and fined or im¬ prisoned." " what he says is absolutely true, doctor," inter¬ posed miller at this point. " it is the law, and we are powerless to resist it. if we made any trouble, it would merely delay your journey and imperil a life at the other end. i ' go into the other car." "you shall not go alone," said dr. burns stoutly, rising in his turn. " a place that is too good for you is not good enough for me. i will sit wherever you do." " i'm sorry again," said the conductor, who had quite recovered his equanimity, and calmly conscious of his power, could scarcely restrain an amused smile; " i dislike to interfere, but white passengers are not permitted to ride in the colored car." " this is an outrage," declared dr. burns, " a d d outrage! you are curtailing the rights, not only of colored people, but of white men as well. i shall sit where i please! " " i warn you, sir," rejoined the conductor, harden¬ ing again, " that the law will be enforced. the beauty of the system lies in its strict impartiality — it applies to both races alike." " and is equally infamous in both cases," declared dr. burns. " i shall immediately take steps " — " never mind, doctor," interrupted miller, sooth¬ ingly, " it's only for a little while. i ' reach my destination just as surely in the other car, and we the marrow of tradition can't help it, anyway. i ' see you again at welling¬ ton." dr. burns, finding resistance futile, at length acquiesced and made way for miller to pass him. the colored doctor took up his valise and crossed the platform to the car ahead. it was an old car, with faded upholstery, from which the stuffing pro¬ jected here and there through torn places. apparently the floor had not been swept for several days. the dust lay thick upon the window sills, and the water- cooler, from which he essayed to get a drink, was filled with stale water which had made no recent acquaintance with ice. there was no other passenger in the car, and miller occupied himself in making a rough calcu¬ lation of what it would cost the southern railroads to haul a whole car for every colored passenger. it was expensive, to say the least; it would be cheaper, and quite as considerate of their feelings, to make the negroes walk. the car was conspicuously labeled at either end with large cards, similar to those in the other car, except that they bore the word " colored " in black letters upon a white background. the author of this piece of legislation had contrived, with an ingenuity worthy of a better cause, that not merely should the passengers be separated by the color line, but that the reason for this division should be kept constantly in mind. lest a white man should forget that he was white, — not a very likely contingency, — these cards would keep him constantly admonished of the fact; should a colored person endeavor, for a moment, to lose sight of his disability, these staring signs would remind him continually that between him and the rest of mankind not of his own color, there was by law a great gulf fixed. a journey southward having composed himself, miller had opened a news¬ paper, and was deep in an editorial which set forth in glowing language the inestimable advantages which would follow to certain recently acquired islands by the introduction of american liberty, when the rear door of the car opened to give entrance to captain george mcbane, who took a seat near the door and lit a cigar. miller knew him quite well by sight and by reputation, and detested him as heartily. he re¬ presented the aggressive, offensive element among the white people of the new south, who made it hard for a negro to maintain his self-respect or to enjoy even the rights conceded to colored men by southern laws. mcbane had undoubtedly identified him to the conduc¬ tor in the other car. miller had no desire to thrust himself upon the society of white people, which, indeed, to one who had traveled so much and so far, was no novelty ; but he very naturally resented being at this late day — the law had been in operation only a few months — branded and tagged and set apart from the rest of mankind upon the public highways, like an unclean thing. nevertheless, he preferred even this to the exclusive society of captain george mcbane. " porter," he demanded of the colored train attache who passed through the car a moment later, " is this a smoking car for white men ? " " no, suh," replied the porter, " but they comes in here sometimes, when they ain' no' cullud ladies on the kyar." " well, i have paid first-class fare, and i object to that man's smoking in here. you tell him to go out." " i ' tell the conductor, suh," returned the porter in a low tone. " i'd jus' as soon talk ter the devil as ter that man." the marrow of tradition the white man had spread himself over two seats, and was smoking vigorously, from time to time spitting carelessly in the aisle, when the conductor entered the compartment. " captain," said miller, " this car is plainly marked colored.' i have paid first-class fare, and i object to riding in a smoking car." " all right," returned the conductor, frowning irri¬ tably. " i ' speak to him." he walked over to the white passenger, with whom he was evidently acquainted, since he adressed him by name. " captain mcbane," he said, " it's against the law for you to ride in the nigger car." "who are you talkin' to?" returned the other. " i ' ride where i damn please." " yes, sir, but the colored passenger objects. i'm afraid i ' have to ask you to go into the smoking- car." " the hell you say! " rejoined mcbane. " i ' leave this car when i get good and ready, and that won't be till i've finished this cigar. see ? " he was as good as his word. the conductor escaped from the car before miller had time for further expos¬ tulation. finally mcbane, having thrown the stump of his cigar into the aisle and added to the floor a finishing touch in the way of expectoration, rose and went back into the white car. left alone in his questionable glory, miller buried himself again in his newspaper, from which he did not look up until the engine stopped at a tank station to take water. as the train came to a standstill, a huge negro, covered thickly with dust, crawled off one of the rear a journey southward trucks unobserved, and ran round the rear end of the car to a watering-trough by a neighboring well. moved either by extreme thirst or by the fear that his time might be too short to permit him to draw a bucket of water, he threw himself down by the trough, drank long and deep, and plunging his head into the water, shook himself like a wet dog, and crept furtively back to his dangerous perch. miller, who had seen this man from the car window, had noticed a very singular thing. as the dusty tramp passed the rear coach, he cast toward it a glance of intense ferocity. up to that moment the man's face, which miller had recognized under its grimy coating, had been that of an ordinarily good-natured, somewhat reckless, pleasure-loving negro, at present rather the worse for wear. the change that now came over it suggested a concentrated hatred almost uncanny in its murderousness. with awakened curiosity miller followed the direction of the negro's glance, and saw that it rested upon a window where captain mcbane sat looking out. when miller looked back, the negro had disappeared. at the next station a chinaman, of the ordinary laundry type, boarded the train, and took his seat in the white car without objection. at another point a colored nurse found a% place with her mistress. " white people," said miller to himself, who had seen these passengers from the window, " do not object to the negro as a servant. as the traditional negro, — the servant, — he is welcomed ; as an equal, he is re¬ pudiated." miller was something of a philosopher. he had long ago had the conclusion forced upon him that an educated man of his race, in order to live comfortably the marrow of tradition in the united states, must be either a philosopher or a fool; and since he wished to he happy, and was not exactly a fool, he had cultivated philosophy. by and by he saw a white man, with a dog, enter the rear coach. miller wondered whether the dog would be allowed to ride with his master, and if not, what dis¬ position would be made of him. he was a handsome dog, and miller, who was fond of animals, would not have objected to the company of a dog, as a dog. he was nevertheless conscious of a queer sensation when he saw the porter take the dog by the collar and start in his own direction, and felt consciously relieved when the canine passenger was taken on past him into the baggage-car ahead. miller's hand was hanging over the arm of his seat, and the dog, an intelligent shep¬ herd, licked it as he passed. miller was not entirely sure that he would not have liked the porter to leave the dog there ; he was a friendly dog, and seemed in¬ clined to be sociable. toward evening the train drew up at a station where quite a party of farm laborers, fresh from their daily toil, swarmed out from the conspicuously labeled colored waiting-room, and into the car with miller. they were a jolly, good-natured crowd, and, free from the embarrassing presence of white people, proceeded to enjoy themselves after their own fashion. here an amorous fellow sat with his arm around a buxom girl's waist. a musically inclined individual — his talents did not go far beyond inclination — produced a mouth- organ and struck up a tune, to which a limber-legged boy danced in the aisle. they were noisy, loquacious, happy, dirty, and malodorous. for a while miller was amused and pleased. they were his people, and he felt a certain expansive warmth toward them in spite a journey southward of their obvious shortcomings. by and by, however, the air became too close, and he went out upon the platform. for the sake of the democratic ideal, which meant so much to his race, he might have endured the affliction. he could easily imagine that people of refinement, with the power in their hands, might be tempted to strain the democratic ideal in order to avoid such contact; but personally, and apart from the mere matter of racial sympathy, these people were just as offensive to him as to the whites in the other end of the train. surely, if a classification of passen¬ gers on trains was at all desirable, it might be made upon some more logical and considerate basis than a mere arbitrary, tactless, and, by the very nature of things, brutal drawing of a color line. it was a veri¬ table bed of procrustes, this standard which the whites had set for the negroes. those who grew above it must have their heads cut off, figuratively speaking, — must be forced back to the level assigned to their race; those who fell beneath the standard set had their necks stretched, literally enough, as the ghastly record in the daily papers gave conclusive evidence. miller breathed more freely when the lively crowd got off at the next station, after a short ride. more¬ over, he had a light heart, a conscience void of offense, and was only thirty years old. his philoso¬ phy had become somewhat jaded on this journey, but he pulled it together for a final effort. was it not, after all, a wise provision of nature that had given to a race, destined to a long servitude and a slow emer¬ gence therefrom, a cheerfulness of spirit which ena¬ bled them to catch pleasure on the wing, and endure with equanimity the ills that seemed inevitable ? the ability to live and thrive under adverse circumstances vi janet as the train drew up at the station platform, dr. price came forward from the white waiting-room, and stood expectantly by the door of the white coach. miller, having left his car, came down the platform in time to intercept burns as he left the train, and to in¬ troduce him to dr. price. " my carriage is in waiting," said dr. price. " i should have liked to have you at my own house, but my wife is out of town. we have a good hotel, how¬ ever, and you will doubtless find it more convenient." " you are very kind, dr. price. miller, won't you come up and dine with me ? " " thank you, no," said miller, " i am expected at home. my wife and child are waiting for me in the buggy yonder by the platform." " oh, very well; of course you must go; but don't forget our appointment. let's see, dr. price, i can eat and get ready in half an hour — that will make it" — " i have asked several of the local physicians to be present at eight o'clock," said dr. price. " the case can safely wait until then." "very well, miller, be on hand at eight. i shall expect you without fail. where shall he come, dr. price?" " to the residence of major philip carteret, on vine street." the marrow of tradition " i have invited dr. miller to be present and assist in the operation," dr. burns continued, as they drove toward the hotel. " he was a favorite pupil of mine, and is a credit to the profession. i presume you saw his article in the medical gazette ? " " yes, and i assisted him in the case," returned dr. price. " it was a colored lad, one of his patients, and he called me in to help him. he is a capable man, and very much liked by the white physicians." miller's wife and child were waiting for him in fluttering anticipation. he kissed them both as he climbed into the buggy. " we came at four o'clock," said mrs. miller, a handsome young woman, who might be anywhere between twenty-five and thirty, and whose complexion, in the twilight, was not distinguishable from that of a white person, " but the train was late two hours, they said. we came back at six, and have been waiting ever since." " yes, papa," piped the child, a little boy of six or seven, who sat between them, "and i am very hungry." miller felt very much elated as he drove homeward through the twilight. by his side sat the two persons whom he loved best in all the world. his affairs were prosperous. upon opening his office in the city, he had been received by the members of his own pro¬ fession with a cordiality generally frank, and in no case much reserved. the colored population of the city was large, but in the main poor, and the white physicians were not unwilling to share this unprofit¬ able practice with a colored doctor worthy of confi¬ dence. in the intervals of the work upon his hospital, he had built up a considerable practice among his own people; but except in the case of some poor un- janet fortunate whose pride had been lost in poverty or sin, no white patient had ever called upon him for treats ment. he knew very well the measure of his powers, — a liberal education had given him opportunity to compare himself with other men, — and was secretly conscious that in point of skill and knowledge he did not suffer by comparison with any other physician in the town. he liked to believe that the race antagonism which hampered his progress and that of his people was a mere temporary thing, the outcome of former conditions, and bound to disappear in time, and that when a colored man should demonstrate to the com¬ munity in which he lived that he possessed character and power, that community would find a way in which to enlist his services for the public good. he had already made himself useful, and had re¬ ceived many kind words and other marks of appre¬ ciation. he was now offered a further confirmation of his theory: having recognized his skill, the white people were now ready to take advantage of it. any lurking doubt he may have felt when first invited by dr. burns to participate in the operation, had been dispelled by dr. price's prompt acquiescence. on the way homeward miller told his wife of this appointment. she was greatly interested; she was herself a mother, with an only child. moreover, there was a stronger impulse than mere humanity to draw her toward the stricken mother. janet had a tender heart, and could have loved this white sister, her sole living relative of whom she knew. all her life long she had yearned for a kind word, a nod, a smile, the least thing that imagination might have twisted into a recognition of the tie between them. but it had never come. the marrow of tradition and yet janet was not angry. she was of a for¬ giving temper; she could never bear malice. she was educated, had read many books, and appreciated to the full the social forces arrayed against any such recognition as she had dreamed of. of the two barriers between them a man might have forgiven the one ; a woman would not be likely to overlook either the bar sinister or the difference of race, even to the slight extent of a silent recognition. blood is thicker than water, but, if it flow too far from conventional channels, may turn to gall and wormwood. never¬ theless, when the heart speaks, reason falls into the background, and janet would have worshiped this sister, even afar off, had she received even the slightest encouragement. so strong was this weakrfess that she had been angry with herself for her lack of pride, or even of a decent self-respect. it was, she some¬ times thought, the heritage of her mother's race, and she was ashamed of it as part of the taint of slavery. she had never acknowledged, even to her husband, from whom she concealed nothing else, her secret thoughts upon this lifelong sorrow. this silent grief was nature's penalty, or society's revenge, for what¬ ever heritage of beauty or intellect or personal charm had come to her with her father's blood. for she had received no other inheritance. her sister was rich by right of her birth; if janet had been fortunate, her good fortune had not been due to any provision made for her by her white father. she knew quite well how passionately, for many years, her proud sister had longed and prayed in vain for the child which had at length brought joy into her household, and she could feel, by sympathy, all the sickening suspense with which the child's parents must await the result of this dangerous operation. janet " o will," she adjured her husband anxiously, when he had told her of the engagement, "you must be very careful. think of the child's poor mother! think of our own dear child, and what it would mean to lose him i" vii the operation dr. price was not entirely at ease in his mind as the two doctors drove rapidly from the hotel to major carteret's. himself a liberal man, from his point of view, he saw no reason why a colored doctor might not operate upon a white male child, — there are fine distinctions in the application of the color line, — but several other physicians had been invited, some of whom were men of old-fashioned notions, who might not relish such an innovation. this, however, was but a small difficulty compared with what might be feared from major carteret him¬ self. for he knew carteret's unrelenting hostility to anything that savored of recognition of the negro as the equal of white men. it was traditional in well¬ ington that no colored person had ever entered the front door of the carteret residence, and that the luckless individual who once presented himself there upon alleged business and resented being ordered to the back door had been unceremoniously thrown over the piazza railing into a rather thorny clump of rose¬ bushes below. if miller were going as a servant, to hold a basin or a sponge, there would be no difficulty ; but as a surgeon — well, he would n't borrow trouble. under the circumstances the major might yield a point. but as they neared the house the major's unyield- the operation ing disposition loomed up formidably. perhaps if the matter were properly presented to dr. burns, he might consent to withdraw the invitation. it was not yet too late to send miller a note. " by the way, dr. burns," he said, " i'm very friendly to dr. miller, and should personally like to have him with us to-night. but—i ought to have told you this before, but i could n't very well do so, on such short notice, in miller's presence — we are a conservative people, and our local customs are not very flexible. we jog along in much the same old way our fathers did. i'm not at all sure that major carteret or the other gentlemen would consent to the presence of a negro doctor." " i think you misjudge your own people," returned dr. burns, " they are broader than you think. we have our prejudices against the negro at the north, but we do not let them stand in the way of anything that we want. at any rate, it is too late now, and i will accept the responsibility. if the question is raised, i will attend to it. when i am performing an operation i must be aut coesar, aut nullus." dr. price was not reassured, but he had done his duty and felt the reward of virtue. if there should be trouble, he would not be responsible. moreover, there was a large fee at stake, and dr. burns was not likely to prove too obdurate. they were soon at carteret's, where they found assembled the several physicians invited by dr. price. these were successively introduced as drs. dudley, hooper, and ashe, all of whom were gentlemen of good standing, socially and in their profession, and considered it a high privilege to witness so delicate an operation at the hands of so eminent a member of their profession. the marrow of tradition major carteret entered the room and was duly pre¬ sented to the famous specialist. carteret's anxious look lightened somewhat at sight of the array of tal¬ ent present. it suggested, of course, the gravity of the impending event, but gave assurance of all the skill and care which science could afford. dr. burns was shown to the nursery, from which he returned in five minutes. " the case is ready," he announced. " are the gentlemen all present ? " " i believe so," answered dr. price quickly. miller had not yet arrived. perhaps, thought dr. price, a happy accident, or some imperative call, had detained him. this would be fortunate indeed. dr. burns's square jaw had a very determined look. it would be a pity if any acrimonious discussion should arise on the eve of a delicate operation. if the clock on the mantel would only move faster, the question might never come up. " i don't see dr. miller," observed dr. burns, look¬ ing around the room. " i asked him to come at eight. there are ten minutes yet." major carteret looked up with a sudden frown. " may i ask to whom you refer ? " he inquired, in an ominous tone. the other gentlemen showed signs of interest, not to say emotion. dr. price smiled quizzically. " dr. miller, of your city. he was one of my favorite pupils. he is also a graduate of the vienna hospitals, and a surgeon of unusual skill. i have asked him to assist in the operation." every eye was turned toward carteret, whose crim¬ soned face had set in a look of grim determination. " the person to whom you refer is a negro, i be¬ lieve ? " he said. the operation « he is a colored man, certainly," returned dr. burns, "though one would never think of his color after knowing him well." " i do not know, sir," returned carteret, with an effort at self-control, " what the customs of philadel¬ phia or vienna may be ; but in the south we do not call negro doctors to attend white patients. i could not permit a negro to enter my house upon such an errand." " i am here, sir," replied dr. burns with spirit, " to perform a certain operation. since i assume the responsibility, the case must be under my entire control. otherwise i cannot operate." " gentlemen," interposed dr. price, smoothly, " i beg of you both — this is a matter for calm discussion, and any asperity is to be deplored. the life at stake here should not be imperiled by any consideration of minor importance." " your humanity does you credit, sir," retorted dr. burns. " but other matters, too, are important. i have invited this gentleman here. my professional honor is involved, and i merely invoke my rights to maintain it. it is a matter of principle, which ought not to give way to a mere prejudice." " that also states the case for major carteret," re¬ joined dr. price, suavely. "he has certain princi¬ ples, — call them prejudices, if you like,— certain inflexible rules of conduct by which he regulates his life. one of these, which he shares with us all in some degree, forbids the recognition of the negro as a social equal." " i do not know what miller's social value may be," replied dr. burns, stoutly, " or whether you gain or lose by your attitude toward him. i have invited the marrow of tradition him here in a strictly professional capacity, with which his color is not at all concerned." " dr. burns does not quite appreciate major car¬ teret's point of view," said dr. price. "this is not with him an unimportant matter, or a mere question of prejudice, or even of personal taste. it is a sacred principle, lying at the very root of our social order, involving the purity and prestige of our race. you northern gentlemen do not quite appreciate our situa¬ tion ; if you lived here a year or two you would act as we do. of course," he added, diplomatically, " if there were no alternative — if dr. burns were willing to put dr. miller's presence on the ground of impera¬ tive necessity " — " i do nothing of the kind, sir," retorted dr. burns with some heat. " i have not come all the way from philadelphia to undertake an operation which i cannot perform without the aid of some particular physician. i merely stand upon my professional rights." carteret was deeply agitated. the operation must not be deferred; his child's life might be endangered by delay. if the negro's presence were indispensable he would even submit to it, though in order to avoid so painful a necessity, he would rather humble him¬ self to the northern doctor. the latter course in¬ volved merely a personal sacrifice — the former a vital principle. perhaps there was another way of escape. miller's presence could not but be distaste¬ ful to mrs. carteret for other reasons. miller's wife was the living evidence of a painful episode in mrs. carteret's family, which the doctor's presence would inevitably recall. once before, mrs. carteret's life had been endangered by encountering, at a time of the operation great nervous strain, this ill-born sister and her child. she was even now upon the verge of collapse at the prospect of her child's suffering, and should be pro¬ tected from the intrusion of any idea which might add to her distress. " dr. burns," he said, with the suave courtesy which was part of his inheritance, " i beg your pardon for my heat, and throw myself upon your magnanimity, as between white men " — " i am a gentleman, sir, before i am a white man," interposed dr. burns, slightly mollified, however, by carteret's change of manner. " the terms should be synonymous," carteret could not refrain from saying. " as between white men, and gentlemen, i say to you, frankly, that there are vital, personal reasons, apart from dr. miller's color, why his presence in this house would be distasteful. with this statement, sir, i throw myself upon your mercy. my child's life is worth more to me than any earthly thing, and i must be governed by your de¬ cision." dr. burns was plainly wavering. the clock moved with provoking slowness. miller would be there in five minutes. "may i speak with you privately a moment, doctor ? " asked dr. price. they withdrew from the room and were engaged in conversation for a few moments. dr. burns finally yielded. " i shall nevertheless feel humiliated when i meet miller again," he said, " but of course if there is a personal question involved, that alters the situation. had it been merely a matter of color, i should have maintained my position. as things stand, i wash my the marrow of tradition hands of the whole affair, so far as miller is concerned, like pontius pilate — yes, indeed, sir, i feel very much like that individual." " i ' explain the matter to miller," returned dr. price, amiably, " and make it all right with him. we southern people understand the negroes better than you do, sir. why should we not ? they have been constantly under our interested observation for several hundred years. you feel this vastly more than miller will. he knows the feeling of the white peo¬ ple, and is accustomed to it. he wishes to live and do business here, and is quite too shrewd to antag¬ onize his neighbors or come where he is not wanted. he is in fact too much of a gentleman to do so." " i shall leave the explanation to you entirely," re¬ joined dr. burns, as they reentered the other room. carteret led the way to the nursery, where the oper¬ ation was to take place. dr. price lingered for a moment. miller was not likely to be behind the hour, if he came at all, and it would be well to head him off before the operation began. scarcely had the rest left the room when the door¬ bell sounded, and a servant announced dr. miller. dr. price stepped into the hall and met miller face to face. he had meant to state the situation to miller frankly, but now that the moment had come he wavered. he was a fine physician, but he shrank from strenuous responsibilities. it had been easy to theorize about the negro; it was more difficult to look this man in the eyes — whom at this moment he felt to be as essentially a gentleman as himself — and tell him the humiliating truth. as a physician his method was to ease pain — he the operation would rather take the risk of losing a patient from the use of an anaesthetic than from the shock of an opera¬ tion. he liked miller, wished him well, and would not wittingly wound his feelings. he really thought him too much of a gentleman for the town, in view of the restrictions with which he must inevitably be hampered. there was something melancholy, to a cultivated mind, about a sensitive, educated man who happened to be off color. such a person was a sort of social misfit, an odd quantity, educated out of his own class, with no possible hope of entrance into that above it. he felt quite sure that if he had been in miller's place, he would never have settled in the south — he would have moved to europe, or to the west indies, or some central or south american state where questions of color were not regarded as vitally important. dr. price did not like to lie, even to a negro. to a man of his own caste, his word was his bond. if it were painful to lie, it would be humiliating to be found out. the principle of noblesse oblige was also involved in the matter. his claim of superiority to the colored doctor rested fundamentally upon the fact that he was white and miller was not; and yet this superiority, for which he could claim no credit, since he had not made himself, was the very breath of his nostrils, — he would not have changed places with the other for wealth untold ; and as a gentleman, he would not care to have another gentleman, even a colored man, catch him in a lie. of this, however, there was scarcely any danger. a word to the other surgeons would insure their corroboration of whatever he might tell miller. no one of them would willingly wound dr. miller or embarrass dr. price; indeed, they need not know that miller had come in time for the operation. the marrow of tradition " i'm sorry, miller," he said with apparent regret, " but we were here ahead of time, and the case took a turn which would admit of no delay, so the gentlemen went in. dr. burns is with the patient now, and asked me to explain why we did not wait for you." " i'm sorry too," returned miller, regretfully, but nothing doubting. he was well aware that in such cases danger might attend upon delay. he had lost his chance, through no fault of his own or of any one else. " i hope that all is well ? " he said, hesitatingly, not sure whether he would be asked to remain. " all is well, so far. step round to my office in the morning, miller, or come in when you 're passing, and i ' tell you the details." this was tantamount to a dismissal, so miller took his leave. descending the doorsteps, he stood for a moment, undecided whether to return home or to go to the hotel and await the return of dr. burns, when he heard his name called from the house in a low tone. " oh, doctuh! " he stepped back toward the door, outside of which stood the colored servant who had just let him out. " dat's all a lie, doctuh," he whispered, " 'bout de operation bein' already pe'fo'med. dey-all had jes' gone in de minute befo' you come — doctuh price had n' even got out 'n de room. dey be'n quollin' 'bout you fer de las' ha'f hour. majah ca'te'et say he would n' have you, an' de no'then doctuh say he would n't do nothin' widout you, an' doctuh price he j'ined in on bofe sides, an' dey had it hot an' heavy, nip an' tuck, till bimeby majah ca'te'et up an' say it wa'n't altogether yo' color he objected to, an' wid dat the operation de no'then doctuh give in. he's a fine man, suh, but dey wuz too much fer 'im! " " thank you, sam, i'm much obliged," returned miller mechanically. " one likes to know the truth." truth, it has been said, is mighty, and must prevail; but it sometimes leaves a bad taste in the mouth. in the ordinary course of events miller would not have anticipated such an invitation, and for that reason had appreciated it all the more. the rebuff came with a corresponding shock. he had the heart of a man, the sensibilities of a cultivated gentleman; the one was sore, the other deeply wounded. he was not altogether sure, upon reflection, whether he blamed dr. price very much for the amiable lie, which had been meant to spare his feelings, or thanked sam a great deal for the unpalatable truth. janet met him at the door. " how is the baby? " she asked excitedly. " dr. price says he is doing well." " what is the matter, will, and why are you back so soon ? " he would have spared her the story, but she was a woman, and would have it. he was wounded, too, and wanted sympathy, of which janet was an exhaustless fountain. so he told her what had happened. she comforted him after the manner of a loving woman, and felt righteously indignant toward her sister's hus¬ band, who had thus been instrumental in the humilia¬ tion of her own. her anger did not embrace her sister, and yet she felt obscurely that their unacknowledged relationship had been the malignant force which had given her husband pain, and defeated his honorable ambition. the marrow of tradition when dr. price entered the nursery, dr. burns was leaning attentively over the operating table. the implements needed for the operation were all in readi¬ ness — the knives, the basin, the sponge, the materials for dressing the wound — all the ghastly parapherna¬ lia of vivisection. mrs. carteret had been banished to another room, where clara vainly attempted to soothe her. old mammy jane, still burdened by her fears, fervently prayed the good lord to spare the life of the sweet little grandson of her dear old mistress. dr. burns had placed his ear to the child's chest, which had been bared for the incision. dr. price stood ready to administer the anaesthetic. little dodie looked up with a faint expression of wonder, as if dimly conscious of some unusual event. the major shivered at the thought of what the child must undergo. "there's a change in his breathing," said dr. burns, lifting his head. " the whistling noise is less pronounced, and he breathes easier. the obstruction seems to have shifted." applying his ear again to the child's throat, he listened for a moment intently, and then picking the baby up from the table, gave it a couple of sharp claps between the shoulders. simultaneously a small object shot out from the child's mouth, struck dr. price in the neighborhood of his waistband, and then rattled lightly against the floor. whereupon the baby, as though conscious of his narrow escape, smiled and gurgled, and reaching upward clutched the doctor's whiskers with his little hand, which, according to old jane, had a stronger grip than any other infant's in wellington. the campaign drags of the " morning chronicle," on the next day but one after little dodie's fortunate escape from the knife. " it seems," said general belmont, opening the dis¬ cussion, " as though we had undertaken more than we can carry through. it is clear that we must reckon on opposition, both at home and abroad. if we are to hope for success, we must extend the lines of our campaign. the north, as well as our own people, must be convinced that we have right upon our side. we are conscious of the purity of our motives, but we should avoid even the appearance of evil." mcbane was tapping the floor impatiently with his foot during this harangue. " i don't see the use," he interrupted, " of so much beating about the bush. we may as well be honest about this thing. we are going to put the niggers down because we want to, and think we can ; so why waste our time in mere pretense? i'm no hypocrite myself, — if i want a thing i take it, provided i'm strong enough." "my dear captain," resumed the general, with biting suavity, " your frankness does you credit, — an honest man's the noblest work of god,' — but we cannot carry on politics in these degenerate times without a certain amount of diplomacy. in the good old days when your father was alive, and perhaps nowadays in the discipline of convicts, direct and simple methods might be safely resorted to ; but this is a modern age, and in dealing with so fundamental a right as the suffrage we must profess a decent re¬ gard for the opinions of even that misguided por¬ tion of mankind which may not agree with us. this is the age of crowds, and we must have the crowd with us." the marrow of tradition the captain flushed at the allusion to his father's calling, at which he took more offense than at the mention of his own. he knew perfectly well that these old aristocrats, while reaping the profits of slavery, had despised the instruments by which they were attained — the poor-white overseer only less than the black slave. mcbane was rich ; he lived in wellington, but he had never been invited to the home of either general belmont or major carteret, nor asked to join the club of which they were mem¬ bers. his face, therefore, wore a distinct scowl, and his single eye glowed ominously. he would help these fellows carry the state for white supremacy, and then he would have his innings, — he would have more to say than they dreamed, as to who should fill the offices under the new deal. men of no better birth or breeding than he had represented southern states in congress since the war. why should he not run for governor, representative, whatever he chose ? he had money enough to buy out half a dozen of these broken-down aristocrats, and money was all-powerful. " you see, captain," the general went on, looking mcbane smilingly and unflinchingly in the eye, " we need white immigration — we need northern capital. a good name is better than great riches,' and we must prove our cause a righteous one." "we must be armed at all points," added carteret, " and prepared for defense as well as for attack, — we must make our campaign a national one." " for instance," resumed the general, " you, car¬ teret, represent the associated press. through your hands passes all the news of the state. • what more powerful medium for the propagation of an idea? the campaign drags the man who would govern a nation by writing its songs was a blethering idiot beside the fellow who can edit its news dispatches. the negroes are play¬ ing into our hands, — every crime that one of them commits is reported by us. with the latitude they have had in this state they are growing more im¬ pudent and self-assertive every day. a yellow dema¬ gogue in new york made a speech only a few days ago, in which he deliberately, and in cold blood, ad¬ vised negroes to defend themselves to the death when attacked by white people! i remember well the time when it was death for a negro to strike a white man." " it's death now, if he strikes the right one," inter¬ jected mcbane, restored to better humor by this men¬ tion of a congenial subject. the general smiled a fine smile. he had heard the story of how mcbane had lost his other eye. " the local negro paper is quite outspoken, too," continued the general, "if not impudent. we must keep track of that; it may furnish us some good cam¬ paign material." "yes," returned carteret, "we must see to that. i threw a copy into the waste-basket this morning, without looking at it. here it is now!" ix a white man's "nigger" carteret fished from the depths of the waste- basket and handed to the general an eighteen by twenty-four sheet, poorly printed on cheap paper, with a " patent" inside, a number of advertisements of pro¬ prietary medicines, quack doctors, and fortune-tellers, and two or three columns of editorial and local news. candor compels the admission that it was not an im¬ pressive sheet in any respect, except when regarded as the first local effort of a struggling people to make public expression of their life and aspirations. from this point of view it did not speak at all badly for a class to whom, a generation before, newspapers, books, and learning had been forbidden fruit. " it's an elegant specimen of journalism, is n't it ? " laughed the general, airily. " listen to this ' ad': — " ' kinky, curly hair made straight by one applica¬ tion of our specific. our face bleach will turn the skin of a black or brown person four or five shades lighter, and of a mulatto perfectly white. when you get the color you wish, stop using the preparation.' " just look at those heads ! — ' before using ' and after using.' we'd better hurry, or there ' be no negroes to disfranchise! if they don't stop till they get the color they desire, and the stuff works accord¬ ing to contract, they ' all be white. ah! what have we here ? this looks as though it might be serious." a white man's "nigger" opening the sheet the general read aloud an edi¬ torial article, to which carteret listened intently, his indignation increasing in strength from the first word to the last, while mcbane's face grew darkly purple with anger. the article was a frank and somewhat bold discus¬ sion of lynching and its causes. it denied that most lynchings were for the offense most generally charged as their justification, and declared that, even of those seemingly traced to this cause, many were not for crimes at all, but for voluntary acts which might naturally be expected to follow from the miscegena¬ tion laws by which it was sought, in all the southern states, to destroy liberty of contract, and, for the purpose of maintaining a fanciful purity of race, to make crimes of marriages to which neither nature nor religion nor the laws of other states interposed any insurmountable barrier. such an article in a north¬ ern newspaper would have attracted no special atten¬ tion, and might merely have furnished food to an oc¬ casional reader for serious thought upon a subject not exactly agreeable; but coming from a colored man, in a southern city, it was an indictment of the laws and social system of the south that could not fail of creating a profound sensation. " infamous — infamous ! " exclaimed carteret, his voice trembling with emotion. " the paper should be suppressed immediately." " the impudent nigger ought to be horsewhipped and run out of town," growled mcbane. " gentlemen," said the general soothingly, after the first burst of indignation had subsided, " i believe we can find a more effective use for this article, which, by the way, will not bear too close analysis, — there's some truth in it, at least there's an argument." a white man's "nigger" bondservant and the socially unfit. he had wealth and energy, however, and it was necessary to make use of him; but the example of such men was a strong incentive to carteret in his campaign against the negro. it was distasteful enough to rub elbows with an illiterate and vulgar white man of no ancestry, — the risk of similar contact with negroes was to be avoided at any cost. he could hardly expect mcbane to be a gentleman, but when among men of that class he might at least try to imitate their manners. a gentleman did not order his own servants around offensively, to say nothing of another's. the general had observed carteret's annoyance, and remarked pleasantly while they waited for the servant's return: — " jerry, now, is a very good negro. he's not one of your new negroes, who think themselves as good as white men, and want to run the government. jerry knows his place, — he is respectful, humble, obedient, and content with the face and place assigned to him by nature." < " yes, he's one of the best of 'em," sneered mc¬ bane. " he ' call any man ' master ' for a quarter, or ' god' for half a dollar; for a dollar he ' grovel at your feet, and for a cast-off coat you can buy an option on his immortal soul, — if he has one! i 've handled niggers for ten years, and i know 'em from the ground up. they 're all alike, — they 're a scrub race, an affliction to the country, and the quicker we 're rid of 'em all the better." carteret had nothing to say by way of dissent. mc- bane's sentiments, in their last analysis, were much the same as his, though he would have expressed them less brutally. the marrow of tradition " the negro," observed the general, daintily flicking the ash from his cigar, " is all right in his place and very useful to the community. we lived on his labor for quite a long time, and lived very well. neverthe¬ less we are better off without slavery, for we can get more out of the free negro, and with less responsi¬ bility. i really do not see how we could get along without the negroes. if they were all like jerry, we'd have no trouble with them." having procured the drinks, jerry, the momentary subject of the race discussion which goes on eternally in the south, was making his way back across the street, somewhat disturbed in mind. " o lawd! " he groaned, " i never troubles trouble till trouble troubles me; but w'en i got dem drinks befo', gin'l belmont gimme half a dollar an' tol' me ter keep de change. dis time he did n' say nothin' 'bout de change. i s'pose he jes' fergot erbout it, but w'at is a po' nigger gwine ter do w'en he has ter conten' wid w'ite folks's fergitfulniss ? i don' see no way but ter do some fergittin' myse'f. i ' jes' stan' outside de do' here till dey gits so wrop' up in deir talk dat dey won' 'member nothin' e'se, an' den at de right minute i ' han' de glasses 'roun, an' mos' lackly de gin'l ' fergit all 'bout de change." while jerry stood outside, the conversation within was plainly audible, and some inkling of its purport filtered through his mind. " now, gentlemen," the general was saying, " here's my plan. that editorial in the negro newspaper is good campaign matter, but we should reserve it until it will be most effective. suppose we just stick it in a pigeon-hole, and let the editor, — what's his name ? " a white man's "nigger" " the nigger's name is barber," replied mcbane. " i'd like to have him under me for a month or two ; he'd write no more editorials." " let barber have all the rope he wants," resumed the general, " and he ' be sure to hang himself. in the mean time we will continue to work up public opinion, — we can use this letter privately for that purpose, — and when the state campaign opens we ' print the editorial, with suitable comment, scatter it broadcast throughout the state, fire the southern heart, organize the white people on the color line, have a little demonstration with red shirts and shot¬ guns, scare the negroes into fits, win the state for white supremacy, and teach our colored fellow citizens that we are tired of negro domination and have put an end to it forever. the afro-american banner will doubtless die about the same time." " and so will the editor!" exclaimed mcbane ferociously; " i ' see to that. but i wonder where that nigger is with them cocktails ? i'm so thirsty i could swallow blue blazes." " here's yo' drinks, gin'l," announced jerry, enter¬ ing with the glasses on a tray. the gentlemen exchanged compliments and imbibed — mcbane at a gulp, carteret with more deliberation, leaving about half the contents of his glass. the general drank slowly, with every sign of appre¬ ciation. " if the illustrious statesman," he observed, " whose name this mixture bears, had done nothing more than invent it, his fame would still deserve to go thundering down the endless ages." " it ain't bad liquor," assented mcbane, smacking his lips. jerry received the empty glasses on the tray and the marrow of tradition left the room. he had scarcely gained the hall when the general called him back. " o lawd ! " groaned jerry, " he's gwine ter ax me fer de change. yas, suh, yas, suh; comin', gin'l, comin', suh! " " you may keep the change, jerry," said the gen¬ eral. jerry's face grew radiant at this announcement. " yas, suh, gin'l; thank y', suh; much obleedzed, suh. i wuz jus' gwine ter fetch it in, suh, w'en i had put de tray down. thank y', suh, truly, suh ! " jerry backed and bowed himself out into the hall. " dat wuz a close shave," he muttered, as he swal¬ lowed the remaining contents of major carteret's glass. " i 'lowed dem twenty cents wuz gone dat time, — an' whar i wuz gwine ter git de money ter take my gal ter de chu'ch festibal ter-night, de lawd only knows! — 'less'n i borried it off'n mr. ellis, an' i owes him sixty cents a'ready. but i wonduh w'at dem w'ite folks in dere is up ter ? dere's one thing sho', — dey 're gwine ter git after de niggers some way er 'nuther, an' w'en dey does, whar is jerry gwine ter be ? dat's de mos' impo'tantes' question. i'm gwine ter look at dat newspaper dey be'n talkin' 'bout, an' 'less'n my min' changes might'ly, i'm gwine ter keep my mouf shet an' stan' in wid de angry-saxon race, — ez dey calls deyse'ves nowadays, — an' keep on de right side er my bread an' meat. wat nigger ever give me twenty cents in all my bawn days ? " " by the way, major," said the general, who lin¬ gered behind mcbane as they were leaving, " is miss clara's marriage definitely settled upon ? " "well, general, not exactly; but it's the under¬ standing that they will marry when they are- old enough." a white man's "nigger" "i was merely thinking," the general went on, " that if i were you i'd speak to tom about cards and liquor. he gives more time to both than a young man can afford. i'm speaking in his interest and in miss clara's, — we of the old families ought to stand together." " thank you, general, for the hint. i ' act upon it." this political conference was fruitful in results. acting upon the plans there laid out, mcbane trav¬ eled extensively through the state, working up senti¬ ment in favor of the new movement. he possessed a certain forceful eloquence ; and white supremacy was so obviously the divine intention that he had merely to affirm the doctrine in order to secure adherents. general belmont, whose business required him to spend much of the winter in washington and new york, lost no opportunity to get the ear of lawmakers, editors, and other leaders of national opinion, and to impress upon them, with persuasive eloquence, the impossibility of maintaining existing conditions, and the tremendous blunder which had been made in con¬ ferring the franchise upon the emancipated race. carteret conducted the press campaign, and held out to the republicans of the north the glittering hope that, with the elimination of the negro vote, and a proper deference to southern feeling, a strong white republican party might be built up in the new south. how well the bait took is a matter of history, — but the promised result is still in the future. the disfranchisement of the negro has merely changed the form of the same old problem. the negro had no vote before the rebellion, and few other rights, and yet the negro question was, for a century, the pivot x delamere plays a trump carteret did not forget what general belmont had said in regard to tom. the major himself had been young, not so very long ago, and was inclined toward indulgence for the foibles of youth. a young gentleman should have a certain knowledge of life, — but there were limits. clara's future happiness must not be imperiled. the opportunity to carry out this purpose was not long delayed. old mr. delamere wished to sell some timber which had been cut at belleview, and sent tom down to the chronicle office to leave an adver¬ tisement. the major saw him at the desk, invited him into his sanctum, and delivered him a mild lec¬ ture. the major was kind, and talked in a fatherly way about the danger of extremes, the beauty of moderation, and the value of discretion as a rule of conduct. he mentioned collaterally the unblemished honor of a fine old family, its contemplated alliance with his own, and dwelt upon the sweet simplicity of clara's character. the major was a man of feeling and of tact, and could not have put the subject in a way less calculated to wound the amour propre of a very young man. delamere had turned red with anger while the major was speaking. he was impulsive, and an effort was required to keep back the retort that sprang once delamere plays a trump but this interview with the major had so disquieted him that upon meeting ellis upon the stairs he was struck by a sudden suspicion. he knew that major carteret seldom went to the clarendon club, and that he must have got his information from some one else. ellis was a member of the club, and a frequent visitor. who more likely than he to try to poison clara's mind, or the minds of her friends, against her accepted lover ? tom did not think that the world was using him well of late; bad luck had pursued him, in cards and other things, and despite his assumption of humil¬ ity, carteret's lecture had left him in an ugly mood. he nodded curtly to ellis without relaxing the scowl that disfigured his handsome features. " that's the damned sneak who's been giving me away," he muttered. " i ' get even with him yet for this." delamere's suspicions with regard to ellis's feelings were not, as we have seen, entirely without foundation. indeed, he had underestimated the strength of this rivalry and its chances of success. ellis had been watching delamere for a year. there had been nothing surreptitious about it, but his interest in clara had led him to note things about his favored rival which might have escaped the attention of others less concerned. ellis was an excellent judge of character, and had formed a very decided opinion of tom delamere. to ellis, unbiased by ancestral traditions, biased per¬ haps by jealousy, tom delamere was a type of the degenerate aristocrat. if, as he had often heard, it took three or four generations to make a gentleman, and as many more to complete the curve and return to the base from which it started, tom delamere belonged somewhere on the downward slant, with large possibil- the marrow of tradition ities of farther decline. old mr. delamere, who might be taken as the apex of an ideal aristocratic develop¬ ment, had been distinguished, during his active life, as ellis had learned, for courage and strength of will, courtliness of bearing, deference to his superiors, of whom there had been few, courtesy to his equals, kind¬ ness and consideration for those less highly favored, and above all, a scrupulous sense of honor ; his grand¬ son tom was merely the shadow without the substance, the empty husk without the grain. of grace he had plenty. in manners he could be perfect, when he so chose. courage and strength he had none. ellis had seen this fellow, who boasted of his descent from a line of cavaliers, turn pale with fright and spring from a buggy to which was harnessed a fractious horse, which a negro stable-boy drove fearlessly. a valiant carpet-knight, skilled in all parlor exercises, great at whist or euchre, a dream of a dancer, unexcelled in cakewalk or " coon " impersonations, for which he was in large social demand, ellis had seen him kick an in¬ offensive negro out of his path and treat a poor-white man with scant courtesy. he suspected delamere of cheating at cards, and knew that others entertained the same suspicion. for while regular in his own habits, — his poverty would not have permitted him any considerable extravagance, — ellis's position as a newspaper man kept him in touch with what was going on about town. he was a member, proposed by car¬ teret, of the clarendon club, where cards were indulged in within reasonable limits, and a certain set were known to bet dollars in terms of dimes. delamere was careless, too, about money matters. he had a habit of borrowing, right and left, small sums which might be conveniently forgotten by the borrower, delamere plays a trump and for which the lender would dislike to ask. ellis had a strain of thrift, derived from a scotch ancestry, and a tenacious memory for financial details. indeed, he had never had so much money that he could lose track of it. he never saw delamere without being distinctly conscious that delamere owed him four dol¬ lars, which he had lent at a time when he could ill afford to spare it. it was a prerogative of aristocracy, ellis reflected, to live upon others, and the last privi¬ lege which aristocracy in decay would willingly relin¬ quish. neither did the aristocratic memory seem able to retain the sordid details of a small pecuniary trans¬ action. no doubt the knowledge that delamere was the favored lover of miss pemberton lent a touch of bitter¬ ness to ellis's reflections upon his rival. ellis had no grievance against the "aristocracy" of wellington. the " best people " had received him cordially, though his father had not been of their caste; but ellis hated a hypocrite, and despised a coward, and he felt sure that delamere was both. otherwise he would have struggled against his love for clara pemberton. his passion for her had grown with his appreciation of delamere's unworthiness. as a friend of the family, he knew the nature and terms of the engagement, and that if the marriage took place at all, it would not be for at least a year. this was a long time, — many things might happen in a year, especially to a man like tom delamere. if for any reason delamere lost his chance, ellis meant to be next in the field. he had not made love to clara, but he had missed no opportunity of meeting her and making himself quietly and unobtrusively agreeable. on the day after this encounter with delamere on the marrow of tradition the stairs of the chronicle office, ellis, while walking down vine street, met old mrs. ochiltree. she was seated in her own buggy, which was of ancient build and pattern, driven by her colored coachman and man of all work. " mr. ellis," she called in a shrill voice, having directed her coachman to draw up at the curb as she saw the young man approaching, " come here. i want to speak to you." ellis came up to the buggy and stood uncovered beside it. " people are saying," said mrs. ochiltree, " that tom delamere is drinking hard, and has to be carried home intoxicated, two or three times a week, by old mr. delamere's man sandy. is there any truth in the story?" " my dear mrs. ochiltree, i am not tom delamere's keeper. sandy could tell you better than i." " you are dodging my question, mr. ellis. sandy would n't tell me the truth, and i know that you would n't lie, — you don't look like a liar. they say tom is gambling scandalously. what do you know about that ? " "you must excuse me, mrs. ochiltree. a great deal of what we hear is mere idle gossip, and the truth is often grossly exaggerated. i'm a member of the same club with delamere, and gentlemen who belong to the same club are not in the habit of talking about one another. as long as a man retains his club member¬ ship, he's presumed to be a gentleman. i would n't say anything against delamere if i could." " you don't need to," replied the old lady, shaking her finger at him with a cunning smile. " you are a very open young man, mr. ellis, and i can read you delamere plays a trump like a book. you are much smarter than you look, but you can't fool me. good-morning." mrs. ochiltree drove immediately to her niece's, where she found mrs. carteret and clara at home. clara was very fond of the baby, and was holding him in her arms. he was a fine baby, and bade fair to realize the bright hopes built upon him. "you hold a baby very naturally, clara," chuckled the old lady. " i suppose you are in training. but you ought to talk to tom. i have just learned from mr. ellis that tom is carried home drunk two or three times a week, and that he is gambling in the most reckless manner imaginable." clara's eyes flashed indignantly. ere she could speak, mrs. carteret exclaimed: — " why, aunt polly ! did mr. ellis say that ? " " i got it from dinah," she replied, " who heard it from her husband, who learned it from a waiter at the club. and " — " pshaw ! " said mrs. carteret, " mere servants' gossip." " no, it is n't, olivia. i met mr. ellis on the street, and asked him point blank, and he didn't deny it. he's a member of the club, and ought to know." "well, aunt polly, it can't be true. tom is here every other night, and how could he carry on so with¬ out showing the signs of it? and where would he get the money ? you know he has only a moderate allowance." " he may win it at cards, — it's better to be born lucky than rich," returned mrs. ochiltree. " then he has expectations, and can get credit. there's no doubt that tom is going on shamefully." the marrow of tradition clara's indignation had not yet found vent in speech; olivia had said all that was necessary, but she had been thinking rapidly. even if all this had been true, why should mr. ellis have said it ? or, if he had not stated it directly, he had left the inference to be drawn. it seemed a most unfair and ungentle- manly thing. what motive could ellis have for such an act? she was not long in reaching a conclusion which was not flattering to ellis. mr. ellis came often to the house, and she had enjoyed his society in a friendly way. that he had found her pleasant com¬ pany had been very evident. she had never taken his attentions seriously, however, or regarded his visits as made especially to her, nor had the rest of the family treated them from that point of view. her en¬ gagement to tom delamere, though not yet formally ratified, was so well understood by the world of wel¬ lington that mr. ellis would scarcely have presumed to think of her as anything more than a friend. this revelation of her aunt's, however, put a dif¬ ferent face upon his conduct. certain looks and sighs and enigmatical remarks of ellis, to which she had paid but casual attention and attached no particular significance, now recurred to her memory with a new meaning. he had now evidently tried, in a round¬ about way, to besmirch tom's character and under¬ mine him in her regard. while loving tom, she had liked ellis well enough, as a friend; but he had abused the privileges of friendship, and she would teach him a needed lesson. nevertheless, mrs. ochiltree's story had given clara food for thought. she was uneasily conscious, after all, that there might be a grain of truth in what delamere plays a trump had been said, enough, at least, to justify her in warn¬ ing tom to be careful, lest his enemies should distort some amiable weakness into a serious crime. she put this view of the case to tom at their next meeting, assuring him, at the same time, of her un¬ bounded faith and confidence. she did not mention ellis's name, lest tom, in righteous indignation, might do something rash, which he might thereafter regret. if any subtler or more obscure motive kept her silent as to ellis, she was not aware of it; for clara's views of life were still in the objective stage, and she had not yet fathomed the deepest recesses of her own consciousness. delamere had the cunning of weakness. he knew, too, better than any one else could know, how much truth there was in the rumors concerning him, and whether or not they could be verified too easily for him to make an indignant denial. after a little rapid reflection, he decided upon a different course. " clara," he said with a sigh, taking the hand which she generously yielded to soften any suggestion of reproach which he may have read into her solici¬ tude, " you are my guardian angel. i do not know, of course, who has told you this pack of lies, — for i can see that you have heard more than you have told me, — but i think i could guess the man they came from. i am not perfect, clara, though i have done nothing of which a gentleman should be ashamed. there is one sure way to stop the tongue of calumny. my home life is not ideal, — grandfather is an old, weak man, and the house needs the refining and softening influence of a lady's presence. i do not love club life; its ideals are not elevating. with you by my side, dearest, i should be preserved from the marrow of tradition every influence except the purest and the best. don't you think, dearest, that the major might be induced to shorten our weary term of waiting ? " " oh, tom," she demurred blushingly, " i shall be young enough at eighteen ; and you are barely twenty- one." but tom proved an eloquent pleader, and love a still more persuasive advocate. clara spoke to the major the same evening, who looked grave at the sug¬ gestion, and said he would think about it. they were both very young; but where both parties were of good family, in good health and good circum¬ stances, an early marriage might not be undesirable. tom was perhaps a little unsettled, but blood would tell in the long run, and marriage always exercised a steadying influence. the only return, therefore, which ellis received for his well-meant effort to ward off mrs. ochiltree's em¬ barrassing inquiries was that he did not see clara upon his next visit, which was made one afternoon while he was on night duty at the office. in conver¬ sation with mrs. carteret he learned that clara's mar¬ riage had been definitely agreed upon, and the date fixed, — it was to take place in about six months. meeting miss pemberton on the street the following day, he received the slightest of nods. when he called again at the house, after a week of misery, she treated him with a sarcastic coolness which chilled his heart. "how have i offended you, miss clara?" he de¬ manded desperately, when they were left alone for a moment. " offended me ? " she replied, lifting her eyebrows with an air of puzzled surprise. " why, mr. ellis! delamere plays a trump what could have put such a notion into your head ? oh dear, i think i hear dodie, — i know you ' ex¬ cuse me, mr. ellis, won't you ? sister olivia will be back in a moment; and we 're expecting aunt polly this afternoon, — if you ' stay awhile she ' be glad to talk to you! you can tell her all the interesting news about your friends! " xi the baby and the bird when ellis, after this rebuff, had disconsolately taken his leave, clara, much elated at the righteous punishment she had inflicted upon the slanderer, ran upstairs to the nursery, and, snatching dodie from mammy jane's arms, began dancing gayly with him round the room. " look a-hyuh, honey," said mammy jane, " you better be keerful wid dat chile, an' don' drap 'im on de flo'. you might let him fall on his head an' break his neck. my, my! but you two does make a pretty pictur'! you ' be wantin' ole jane ter come an' nuss yo' child'en some er dese days," she chuckled unctuously. mammy jane had been very much disturbed by the recent dangers through which little dodie had passed; and his escape from strangulation, in the first place, and then from the knife had impressed her as little less than miraculous. she was not certain whether this result had been brought about by her manipulation of the buried charm, or by the prayers which had been offered for the child, but was inclined to believe that both had cooperated to avert the threatened calamity. the favorable outcome of this particular incident had not, however, altered the general situation. prayers and charms, after all, were merely temporary things, which must be con- the baby and the bird stantly renewed, and might be forgotten or over¬ looked ; while the mole, on the contrary, neither faded nor went away. if its malign influence might for a time seem to disappear, it was merely lying dormant, like the germs of some deadly disease, awaiting its opportunity to strike at an unguarded spot. clara and the baby were laughing in great glee, when a mockingbird, perched on the topmost bough of a small tree opposite the nursery window, burst sud¬ denly into song, with many a trill and quaver. clara, with the child in her arms, sprang to the open window. " sister olivia," she cried, turning her face toward mrs. carteret, who at that moment entered the room, " come and look at dodie." the baby was listening intently to the music, mean¬ while gurgling with delight, and reaching his chubby hands toward the source of this pleasing sound. it seemed as though the mockingbird were aware of his appreciative audience, for he ran through the songs of a dozen different birds, selecting, with the discrimi¬ nation of a connoisseur and entire confidence in his own powers, those which were most difficult and most alluring. mrs. carteret approached the window, followed by mammy jane, who waddled over to join the admiring party. so absorbed were the three women in the baby and the bird that neither one of them observed a neat top buggy, drawn by a sleek sorrel pony, pass¬ ing slowly along the street before the house. in the buggy was seated a lady, and beside her a little boy, dressed in a child's sailor suit and a straw hat. the lady, with a wistful expression, was looking toward the party grouped in the open window. mrs. carteret, chancing to lower her eyes for an the marrow of tradition instant, caught the other woman's look directed toward her and her child. with a glance of cold aversion she turned away from the window. old mammy jane had observed this movement, and had divined the reason for it. she stood beside clara, watching the retreating buggy. " uhhuh!" she said to herself, " it's huh sister janet! she ma'ied a doctuh, an' all dat, an' she lives in a big house, an' she's be'n roun' de worl' an de lawd knows where e'se; but mis' 'livy don' like de sight er her, an' never will, ez long ez de sun rises an' sets. dey ce't'nly does favor one anudder, — anybody mought 'low dey wuz twins, ef dey did n' know better. well, well! fo'ty yeahs ago who'd 'a' ever expected ter see a nigger gal ridin' in her own buggy ? my, my! but i don' know, — i don' know ! it don' look right, an' it ain' gwine ter las'!—you can't make me b'lieve! " meantime janet, stung by mrs. carteret's look, — the nearest approach she had ever made to a recog¬ nition of her sister's existence, — had turned away with hardening face. she had struck her pony sharply with the whip, much to the gentle creature's surprise, when the little boy, who was still looking back, caught his mother's sleeve and exclaimed excitedly : — " look, look, mamma! the baby, — the baby! " janet turned instantly, and with a mother's instinct gave an involuntary cry of alarm. at the moment when mrs. carteret had turned away from the window, and while mammy jane was watching janet, clara had taken a step forward, and was leaning against the window-sill. the baby, convulsed with delight, had given a spasmodic spring and slipped from clara's arms. instinctively the the baby and the bird young woman gripped the long skirt as it slipped through her hands, and held it tenaciously, though too frightened for an instant to do more. mammy jane, ashen with sudden dread, uttered an inarticulate scream, but retained self-possession enough to reach down and draw up the child, which hung dangerously suspended, head downward, over the brick pavement below. " oh, clara, clara, how could you!" exclaimed mrs. carteret reproachfully; " you might have killed my child!" she had snatched the child from jane's arms, and was holding him closely to her own breast. struck by a sudden thought, she drew near the window and looked out. twice within a few weeks her child had been in serious danger, and upon each occasion a member of the miller family had been involved, for she had heard of dr. miller's presumption in trying to force himself where he must have known he would be unwelcome. janet was just turning her head away as the buggy moved slowly off. olivia felt a violent wave of antip¬ athy sweep over her toward this baseborn sister who had thus thrust herself beneath her eyes. if she had not cast her brazen glance toward the window, she herself would not have turned away and lost sight of her child. to this shameless intrusion, linked with clara's carelessness, had been due the catastrophe, so narrowly averted, which might have darkened her own life forever. she took to her bed for several days, and for a long time was cold toward clara, and did not permit her to touch the child. mammy jane entertained a theory of her own about the accident, by which the blame was placed, in the marrow of tradition another way, exactly where mrs. carteret had laid it. julia's daughter, janet, had been looking intently toward the window just before little dodie had sprung from clara's arms. might she not have cast the evil eye upon the baby, and sought thereby to draw him out of the window ? one would not ordinarily expect so young a woman to possess such a power, but she might have acquired it, for this very purpose, from some more experienced person. by the same reason¬ ing, the mockingbird might have been a familiar of the witch, and the two might have conspired to lure the infant to destruction. whether this were so or not, the transaction at least wore a peculiar look. there was no use telling mis' 'livy about it, for she did n't believe, or pretended not to believe, in witchcraft and conjuration. but one could not be too careful. the child was certainly born to be exposed to great dangers, — the mole behind the left ear was an unfailing sign, — and no precaution should be omitted to counteract its baleful influence. while adjusting the baby's crib, a few days later, mrs. carteret found fastened under one of the slats a small bag of cotton cloth, about half an inch long and tied with a black thread, upon opening which she found a few small roots or fibres and a pinch of dried and crumpled herbs. it was a good-luck charm which mammy jane had placed there to ward off the threatened evil from the grandchild of her dear old mistress. mrs. carteret's first impulse was to throw the bag into the fire, but on second thoughts she let it remain. to remove it would give unnecessary pain to the old nurse. of course these old negro superstitions were absurd, — but if the charm did no good, it at least would do no harm. the marrow of tradition ber now ! dey tuck him ter de marine horspittle in de amberlance, 'cause his leg wuz broke, an' i reckon somethin' must 'a' accident'ly hit 'im in de jaw, fer he wuz scatt'rin' teeth all de way 'long de street. i did n' wan' ter kill de man, fer he might have somebody dependin' on 'im, an' i knows how dat'd be ter dem. but no man kin call me a damn' low-down nigger and keep on enjoyin' good health right along." " it was considerate of you to spare his life," said miller dryly, " but you ' hit the wrong man some day. these are bad times for bad negroes. you ' get into a quarrel with a white man, and at the end of it there ' be a lynching, ot a funeral. you'd better be peaceable and endure a little injustice, rather than run the risk of a sudden and violent death." " i expec's ter die a vi'lent death in a quarrel wid a w'ite man," replied josh, in a matter-of-fact tone, " an' fu'thermo', he's gwine ter die at the same time, er a little befo'. i be'n takin' my own time 'bout killin' 'im; i ain' be'n crowdin' de man, but i ' be ready after a w'ile, an' den he kin look out! " " and i suppose you 're merely keeping in practice on these other fellows who come your way. when i get your arm dressed, you'd better leave town till that fellow's boat sails ; it may save you the expense of a trial and three months in the chain-gang. but this talk about killing a man is all nonsense. what has any man in this town done to you, that you should thirst for his blood ? " " no, suh, it ain' nonsense, — it's straight, solem' fac'. i'm gwine ter kill dat man as sho' as i'm settin' in dis cheer; an' dey ain' nobody kin say i ain' got a right ter kill 'im. does you 'member de ku-klux? " another southern product " yes, but i was a child at the time, and recollect very little about them. it is a page of history which most people are glad to forget." " yas, suh; i was a chile, too, but i wuz right in it, an' so i 'members mo' erbout it 'n you does. my mammy an' daddy lived 'bout ten miles f'm here, up de river. one night a crowd er w'ite men come ter ou' house an' tuck my daddy out an' shot 'im ter death, an' skeered my mammy so she ain' be'n herse'f f'm dat day ter dis. i wa'n't mo' 'n ten years ole at de time, an' w'en my mammy seed de w'ite men comin', she tol' me ter run. i hid in de bushes an' seen de whole thing, an' it wuz branded on my mem'ry, suh, like a red-hot iron bran's de skin. de w'ite folks had masks on, but one of 'em fell off, — he wuz de boss, he wuz de head man, an' tol' de res' w'at ter do, — an' i seen his face. it wuz a easy face ter 'member; an' i swo' den, 'way down deep in my hea't, little ez i wuz, dat some day er 'nother i'd kill dat man. i ain't never had no doubt erbout it; it's jus' w'at i'm livin' fer, an' i know i ain' gwine ter die till i've done it. some lives fer one thing an' some fer another, but dat's my job. i ain' be'n in no has'e, fer i'm not ole yit, an' dat man is in good health. i'd like ter see a little er de worl' befo' i takes chances on leavin' it sudden; an', mo'over, somebody's got ter take keer er de ole 'oman. but her time ' come some er dese days, an den his time ' be come — an' prob'ly mine. but i ain' keerin' 'bout myse'f : w'en i git thoo wid him, it won' make no difpence 'bout me." josh was evidently in dead earnest. miller re¬ called, very vividly, the expression he had seen twice on his patient's face, during the journey to welling- the marrow of tradition ton. he had often seen josh's mother, old aunt milly,— " silly milly," the children called her, — wan¬ dering aimlessly about the street, muttering to herself incoherently. he had felt a certain childish awe at the sight of one of god's creatures who had lost the light of reason, and he had always vaguely understood that she was the victim of human cruelty, though he had dated it farther back into the past. this was his first knowledge of the real facts of the case. he realized, too, for a moment, the continuity of life, how inseparably the present is woven with the past, how certainly the future will be but the outcome of the present. he had supposed this old wound healed. the negroes were not a vindictive people. if, swayed by passion or emotion, they sometimes gave way to gusts of rage, these were of brief duration. absorbed in the contemplation of their doubtful pre¬ sent and their uncertain future, they gave little thought to the past, — it was a dark story, which they would willingly forget. he knew the timeworn expla¬ nation that the ku-klux movement, in the main, was merely an ebullition of boyish spirits, begun to amuse young white men by playing upon the fears and su¬ perstitions of ignorant negroes. here, however, was its tragic side, — the old wound still bleeding, the fruit of one tragedy, the seed of another. he could not approve of josh's application of the mosaic law of revenge, and yet the incident was not without sig¬ nificance. here was a negro who could remember an injury, who could shape his life to a definite purpose, if not a high or holy one. when his race reached the point where they would resent a wrong, there was hope that they might soon attain the stage where they would try, and, if need be, die, to defend a right. another southern product lia this man, too, had a purpose in life, and was willing to die that he might accomplish it. miller was willing to give up his life to a cause. would he be equally willing, he asked himself, to die for it ? miller had no prophetic instinct to tell him how soon he would have the opportunity to answer his own question. but he could not encourage josh to carry out this dark and revengeful purpose. every worthy consideration required him to dissuade his patient from such a desperate course. " you had better put away these murderous fan¬ cies, josh," he said seriously. " the bible says that we should ' forgive our enemies, bless them that curse us, and do good to them that despitefully use us.' " " yas, suh, i 've l'arnt all dat in sunday-school, an' i've heared de preachers say it time an' time ag'in. but it 'pears ter me dat dis fergitfulniss an' fergivniss is mighty one-sided. de w'ite folks don' fergive nothin' de niggers does. dey got up de ku-klux, dey said, on 'count er de kyarpit-baggers. dey be'n talkin' 'bout de kyarpit-baggers ever sence, an' dey 'pears ter fergot all 'bout de ku-klux. but i ain' fergot. de niggers is be'n train' ter fergiveniss ; an' fer fear dey might fergit how ter fergive, de w'ite folks gives 'em somethin' new ev'y now an' den, ter practice on. a w'ite man kin do w'at he wants ter a nigger, but de minute de nigger gits back at 'im, up goes de nigger, an' don' come down tell somebody cuts 'im down. if a nigger gits a' office, er de race 'pears ter be prosperin' too much, de w'ite folks up an' kills a few, so dat de res' kin keep on fergivin' an' bein' thankful dat dey're lef' alive. don' talk ter me 'bout dese w'ite folks, — i knows 'em, i does ! ef a nigger wants ter git down on his marrow-bones, an' eat the marrow of tradition dirt, an' call 'em ' marster,' he's a good nigger, dere's room fer him. but i ain' no w'ite folks' nigger, i ain'. i don' call no man ' marster.' i don' wan' no- thin' but w'at i wo'k fer, but i wants all er dat. i never moles's no w'ite man, 'less 'n he moles's me fus'. but w'en de ole 'oman dies, doctuh, an' i gits a good chance at dat w'ite man, — dere ain' no use talkin', suh! — dere's gwine ter be a mix-up, an' a fune'al, er two fune'als. — er may be mo', ef anybody is keerliss enough to git in de way." " josh," said the doctor, laying a cool hand on the other's brow, " you 're feverish, and don't know what you 're talking about. i should n't let my mind dwell on such things, and you must keep quiet until this arm is well, or you may never be able to hit any one with it again." miller determined that when josh got better he would talk to him seriously and dissuade him from this dangerous design. he had not asked the name of josh's enemy, but the look of murderous hate which the dust-begrimed tramp of the railway journey had cast at captain george mcbane rendered any such question superfluous. mcbane was probably deserv¬ ing of any evil fate which might befall him; but such a revenge would do no good, would right no wrong; while every such crime, committed by a colored man, would be imputed to the race, which was already stag¬ gering under a load of obloquy because, in the eyes of a prejudiced and undiscriminating public, it must answer as a whole for the offenses of each separate individual. to die in defense of the right was heroic. to kill another for revenge was pitifully human and weak: "vengeance is mine, i will repay," saith the lord. xiii the cakewalk old mr. delamere's servant, sandy campbell, was in deep trouble. a party of northern visitors had been staying for several days at the st. james hotel. 'the gentlemen of the party were concerned in a projected cotton mill, while the ladies were much interested in the study of social conditions, and especially in the negro problem. as soon as their desire for information became known, they were taken courteously under the wing of promi¬ nent citizens and their wives, who gave them, at elabo¬ rate luncheons, the southern white man's views of the negro, sighing sentimentally over the disappearance of the good old negro of before the war, and gravely deploring the degeneracy of his descendants. they en¬ larged upon the amount of money the southern whites had spent for the education of the negro, and shook their heads over the inadequate results accruing from this unexampled generosity. it was sad, they said, to witness this spectacle of a dying race, unable to with¬ stand the competition of a superior type. the severe reprisals taken by white people for certain crimes com¬ mitted by negroes were of course not the acts of the best people, who deplored them; but still a certain charity should be extended towards those who in the intense and righteous anger of the moment should take the law into their own hands and deal out rough but the marrow of tradition still substantial justice; for no negro was ever lynched without incontestable proof of his guilt. in order to be perfectly fair, and give their visitors an opportunity to see both sides of the question, they accompanied the northern visitors to a colored church where they might hear a colored preacher, who had won a jocular popu¬ larity throughout the whole country by an oft-repeated sermon intended to demonstrate that the earth was flat like a pancake. this celebrated divine could always draw a white audience, except on the days when his no less distinguished white rival in the field of sen¬ sationalism preached his equally famous sermon to prove that hell was exactly one half mile, linear mea¬ sure, from the city limits of wellington. whether accidentally or not, the northern visitors had no oppor¬ tunity to meet or talk alone with any colored person in the city except the servants at the hotel. when one of the party suggested a visit to the colored mission school, a southern friend kindly volunteered to accom¬ pany them. the visitors were naturally much impressed by what they learned from their courteous hosts, and felt in¬ clined to sympathize with the southern people, for the negro is not counted as a southerner, except to fix the basis of congressional representation. there might of course be things to criticise here and there, certain customs for which they did not exactly see the neces¬ sity, and which seemed in conflict with the highest ideals of liberty: but surely these courteous, soft-spoken ladies and gentlemen, entirely familiar with local con¬ ditions, who descanted so earnestly and at times pathet¬ ically upon the grave problems confronting them, must know more about it than people in the distant north, without their means of information. the negroes who the cakewalk waited on them at the hotel seemed happy enough, and the teachers whom they had met at the mission school had been well-dressed, well-mannered, and apparently content with their position in life. surely a people who made no complaints could not be very much oppressed. in order to give the visitors, ere they left welling¬ ton, a pleasing impression of southern customs, and particularly of the joyous, happy-go-lucky disposition of the southern darky and his entire contentment with existing conditions, it was decided by the hotel manage¬ ment to treat them, on the last night of their visit, to a little diversion, in the shape of a genuine negro cake- walk. on the afternoon of this same day tom delamere strolled into the hotel, and soon gravitated to the bar, where he was a frequent visitor. young men of leisure spent much of their time around the hotel, and no small part of it in the bar. delamere had been to the club, but had avoided the card-room. time hang¬ ing heavy on his hands, he had sought the hotel in the hope that some form of distraction might present itself. " have you heard the latest, mr. delamere ? " asked the bartender, as he mixed a cocktail for his customer. " no, billy; what is it ? " " there's to be a big cakewalk upstairs to-night. the no'the'n gentlemen an' ladies who are down here to see about the new cotton fact'ry want to study the nigger some more, and the boss has got up a cakewalk for 'em, 'mongst the waiters and chambermaids, with a little outside talent." " is it to be public ? " asked delamere. " oh, no, not generally, but friends of the house the marrow of tradition won't be barred out. the clerk ' fix it for you. ransom, the head waiter, will be floor manager." delamere was struck with a brilliant idea. the more he considered it, the brighter it seemed. another cocktail imparted additional brilliancy to the concep¬ tion. he had been trying, after a feeble fashion, to keep his promise to clara, and was really suffering from lack of excitement. he left the bar-room, found the head waiter, held with him a short conversation, and left in his intelli¬ gent and itching palm a piece of money. the cakewalk was a great success. the most bril¬ liant performer was a late arrival, who made his appear¬ ance just as the performance was about to commence. the newcomer was dressed strikingly, the conspicuous features of his attire being a long blue coat with brass buttons and a pair of plaid trousers. he was older, too, than the other participants, which made his agility the more remarkable. his partner was a new chamber¬ maid, who had just come to town, and whom the head waiter introduced to the newcomer upon his arrival. .the cake was awarded to this couple by a unanimous vote. the man presented it to his partner with a grandiloquent flourish, and returned thanks in a speech which sent the northern visitors into spasms of delight at the quaintness of the darky dialect and the darky wit. to cap the climax, the winner danced a buck dance with a skill and agility that brought a shower of complimentary silver, which he gathered up and passed to the head waiter. ellis was off duty for the evening. not having ven¬ tured to put in an appearance at carteret's since his last rebuff, he found himself burdened with a superflu¬ ity of leisure, from which he essayed to find relief by the cakewalk dropping into the hotel office at about nine o'clock. he was invited up to see the cakewalk, which he rather enjoyed, for there was some graceful dancing and pos¬ turing. but the grotesque contortions of one partici¬ pant had struck him as somewhat overdone, even for the comical type of negro. he recognized the fellow, after a few minutes' scrutiny, as the body-servant of old mr. delamere. the man's present occupation, or choice of diversion, seemed out of keeping with his employment as attendant upon an invalid old gentle¬ man, and strangely inconsistent with the gravity and decorum which had been so noticeable when this agile cakewalker had served as butler at major carteret's table, upon the occasion of the christening dinner. there was a vague suggestion of unreality about this performance, too, which ellis did not attempt to ana¬ lyze, but which recurred vividly to his memory upon a subsequent occasion. ellis had never pretended to that intimate knowledge of negro thought and character by which some of his acquaintances claimed the ability to fathom every motive of a negro's conduct, and predict in advance what any one of the darker race would do under a given set of circumstances. he would not have believed that a white man could possess two so widely varying phases of character; but as to negroes, they were as yet a crude and undeveloped race, and it was not safe to make predictions concerning them. no one could tell at what moment the thin veneer of civilization might peel off and reveal the underlying savage. the champion cakewalker, much to the surprise of his sable companions, who were about equally swayed by admiration and jealousy, disappeared immediately after the close of the performance. any one watching the marrow of tradition him on his way home through the quiet streets to old mr. delamere's would have seen him now and then shaking with laughter. it had been excellent fun. nevertheless, as he neared home, a certain aspect of the affair, hitherto unconsidered, occurred to him, and it was in a rather serious frame of mind that he cau¬ tiously entered the house and sought his own room. the cakewalk had results which to sandy were very serious. the following week he was summoned before the disciplinary committee of his church and charged with unchristian conduct, in the following particulars, to wit: dancing, and participating in a sinful diver¬ sion called a cakewalk, which was calculated to bring the church into disrepute and make it the mockery of sinners. sandy protested his innocence vehemently, but in vain. the proof was overwhelming. he was positively identified by sister 'manda patterson, the hotel cook, who had watched the whole performance from the hotel corridor for the sole, single, solitary, and only purpose, she averred, of seeing how far human wickedness could be carried by a professing christian. the whole thing had been shocking and offensive to her, and only a stern sense of duty had sustained her in looking on, that she might be qualified to bear witness against the offender. she had recognized his face, his clothes, his voice, his walk — there could be no shadow of doubt that it was brother sandy. this testimony was confirmed by one of the deacons, whose son, a waiter at the hotel, had also seen sandy at the cakewalk. sandy stoutly insisted that he was at home the whole evening; that he had not been near the hotel for three months; that he had never in his life taken the cakewalk part in a cakewalk, and that he did not know how to dance. it was replied that wickedness, like every¬ thing else, must have a beginning; that dancing was an art that could be acquired in secret, and came natural to some people. in the face of positive proof, sandy's protestations were of no avail; he was found guilty, and suspended from church fellowship until he should have repented and made full confession. sturdily refusing to confess a fault of which he claimed to be innocent, sandy remained in contumacy, thereby falling somewhat into disrepute among the members of his church, the largest in the city. the effect of a bad reputation being subjective as well as objective, and poor human nature arguing that one may as well have the game as the name, sandy in¬ sensibly glided into habits of which the church would not have approved, though he took care that they should not interfere with his duties to mr. delamere. the consolation thus afforded, however, followed as it was by remorse of conscience, did not compensate him for the loss of standing in the church, which to him was a social club as well as a religious temple. at times, in conversation with young delamere, he would lament his hard fate. tom laughed until he cried at the comical idea which sandy's plaint always brought up, of half-a- dozen negro preachers sitting in solemn judgment upon that cakewalk, — it had certainly been a good cakewalk! — and sending poor sandy to spiritual coventry. " cheer up, sandy, cheer up ! " he would say when sandy seemed most depressed. " go into my room and get yourself a good drink of liquor. the devil's church has a bigger congregation than theirs, and we the .marrow of tradition have the consolation of knowing that when we die, we ' meet all our friends on the other side. brace up, sandy, and be a m&n, or, if you can't be a man, be as near a man as you can! " hoping to revive his drooping spirits, sandy too often accepted the proffered remedy. xiv the maunderings of old mrs. ochiltree when mrs. carteret had fully recovered from the shock attendant upon the accident at the window, where little dodie had so narrowly escaped death or serious injury, she ordered her carriage one afternoon and directed the coachman to drive her to mrs. ochiltree's. mrs. carteret had discharged her young nurse only the day before, and had sent for mammy jane, who was now recovered from her rheumatism, to stay until she could find another girl. the nurse had been ordered not to take the child to negroes' houses. yes¬ terday, in driving past the old homestead of her husband's family, now occupied by dr. miller and his family, mrs. carteret had seen her own baby's carriage standing in the yard. when the nurse returned home, she was immedi¬ ately discharged. she offered some sort of explana¬ tion, to the effect that her sister worked for mrs. miller, and that some family matter had rendered it necessary for her to see her sister. the explanation only aggravated the offense: if mrs. carteret could have overlooked the disobedience, she would by no means have retained in her employment a servant whose sister worked for the miller woman. old mrs. ochiltree had within a few months begun to show signs of breaking up. she was over seventy the marrow of tradition years old, and had been of late, by various afflictions, confined to the house much of the time. more than once within the year, mrs. carteret had asked her aunt to come and live with her; but mrs. ochiltree, who would have regarded such a step as an acknow¬ ledgment of weakness, preferred her lonely independ¬ ence. she resided in a small, old-fashioned house, standing back in the middle of a garden on a quiet street. two old servants made up her modest house¬ hold. this refusal to live with her niece had been lightly borne, for mrs. ochiltree was a woman of strong in¬ dividuality, whose comments upon her acquaintance, present or absent, were marked by a frankness at times no less than startling. this characteristic caused her to be more or less avoided. mrs. ochiltree was aware of this sentiment on the part of her acquaint¬ ance, and rather exulted in it. she hated fools. only fools ran away from her, and that because they were afraid she would expose their folly. if most people were fools, it was no fault of hers, and she was not obliged to indulge them by pretending to believe that they knew anything. she had once owned consid¬ erable property, but was reticent about her affairs, and told no one how much she was worth, though it was supposed that she had considerable ready money, besides her house and some other real estate. mrs. carteret was her nearest living relative, though her grand-nephew tom delamere had been a great favor¬ ite with her. if she did not spare him her tongue- lashings, it was nevertheless expected in the family that she would leave him something handsome in her will. mrs. ochiltree had shared in the general rejoicing maunderings of old mrs. ochiltree upon the advent of the carteret baby. she had been one of his godmothers, and had hinted at certain in¬ tentions held by her concerning him. during mammy jane's administration she had tried the old nurse's patience more or less by her dictatorial interference. since her partial confinement to the house, she had gone, when her health and the weather would permit, to see the child, and at other times had insisted that it be sent to her in charge of the nurse at least every other day. mrs. ochiltree's faculties had shared insensibly in the decline of her health. this weakness manifested itself by fits of absent-mindedness, in which she would seemingly lose connection with the present, and live over again, in imagination, the earlier years of her life. she had buried two husbands, had tried in vain to secure a third, and had never borne any chil¬ dren. long ago she had petrified into a character which nothing under heaven could change, and which, if death is to take us as it finds us, and the future life to keep us as it takes us, promised anything but eternal felicity to those with whom she might associate after this life. tom delamere had been heard to say, profanely, that if his aunt polly went to heaven, he would let his mansion in the skies on a long lease, at a low figure. when the carriage drove up with mrs. carteret, her aunt was seated on the little front piazza, with her wrinkled hands folded in her lap, dozing the after¬ noon away in fitful slumber. "tie the horse, william," said mrs. carteret, "and then go in and wake aunt polly, and tell her i want her to come and drive with me." mrs. ochiltree had not observed her niece's ap- the marrow of tradition proach, nor did she look up when william drew near. her eyes were closed, and she would let her head sink slowly forward, recovering it now and then with a spasmodic jerk. "colonel ochiltree," she muttered, "was shot at the battle of culpepper court house, and left me a widow for the second time. but i would not have married any man on earth after him." " mis' ochiltree! " cried william, raising his voice, " oh, mis' ochiltree! " "if i had found a man, — a real man, — i might have married again. i did not care for weaklings. i could have married john delamere if i had wanted him. but pshaw! i could have wound him round "— " go round to the kitchen, william," interrupted mrs. carteret impatiently, " and tell aunt dinah to come and wake her up." william returned in a few moments with a fat, comfortable looking black woman, who curtsied to mrs. carteret at the gate, and then going up to her mistress seized her by the shoulder and shook her vigorously. " wake up "dere, mis' polly," she screamed, as harshly as her mellow voice would permit. " mis' 'livy wants you ter go drivin' wid 'er ! " " dinah," exclaimed the old lady, sitting suddenly upright with a defiant assumption of wakefulness, " why do you take so long to come when i call ? bring me my bonnet and shawl. don't you see my niece waiting for me at the gate ? " " hyuh dey is, hyuh dey is! " returned dinah, producing the bonnet and shawl, and assisting mrs. ochiltree to put them on. leaning on william's arm, the old lady went maunderings of old mrs. ochiltree slowly down the walk, and was handed to the rear seat with mrs. carteret. " how's the baby to-day, olivia, and why did n't you bring him ? " " he has a cold to-day, and is a little hoarse," re¬ plied mrs. carteret, " so i thought it best not to bring him out. drive out the weldon road, william, and back by pine street." the drive led past an eminence crowned by a hand¬ some brick building of modern construction, evidently an institution of some kind, surrounded on three sides by a grove of venerable oaks. " hugh poindexter," mrs. ochiltree exclaimed ex¬ plosively, after a considerable silence, " has been build¬ ing a new house, in place of the old family mansion burned during the war." " it is n't mr. poindexter's house, aunt polly. that is the new colored hospital built by the colored doctor." " the new colored hospital, indeed, and the colored doctor! before the war the negroes were all healthy, and when they got sick we took care of them our¬ selves ! hugh poindexter has sold the graves of his ancestors to a negro, — i should have starved first! " " he had his grandfather's grave opened, and there was nothing to remove, except a few bits of heart-pine from the coffin. all the rest had crumbled into dust." " and he sold the dust to a negro ! the world is upside down." "he had the tombstone transferred to the white cemetery, aunt polly, and he has moved away." "esau sold his birthright for a mess of pottage. when i die, if you outlive me, olivia, which is not the marrow of tradition likely, i shall leave my house and land to this child! he is a carteret, — he would never sell them to a negro. i can't trust tom delamere, i'm afraid." the carriage had skirted the hill, passing to the rear of the new building. " turn to the right, william," ordered mrs. car¬ teret, addressing the coachman, " and come back past the other side of the hospital." a turn to the right into another road soon brought them to the front of the building, which stood slightly back from the street, with no intervening fence or inclosure. a sorrel pony in a light buggy was fastened to a hitching-post near the entrance. as they drove past, a lady came out of the front door and descended the steps, holding by the hand a very pretty child about six years old. " who is that woman, olivia ? " asked mrs. ochil¬ tree abruptly, with signs of agitation. the lady coming down the steps darted at the ap¬ proaching carriage a look which lingered involun¬ tarily. mrs. carteret, perceiving this glance, turned away coldly. with a sudden hardening of her own features the other woman lifted the little boy into the buggy and drove sharply away in the direction opposite to that taken by mrs. carteret's carriage. " who is that woman, olivia ?" repeated mrs. ochiltree, with marked emotion. " i have not the honor of her acquaintance," re¬ turned mrs. carteret sharply. "drive faster, wil¬ liam." " i want to know who that woman is," persisted mrs. ochiltree querulously. " william," she cried maunderings of old mrs. ochiltree shrilly, poking the coachman in the back with the end of her cane, " who is that woman ? " " dat's mis' miller, ma'am," returned the coach¬ man, touching his hat; "doctuh miller's wife." " what was her mother's name ? " "her mother's name wuz julia brown. she's be'n dead dese twenty years er mo'. why, you knowed julia, mis' polly! — she used ter b'long ter yo' own father befo' de wah; an' after de wah she kep' house fer " — " look to your horses, william! " exclaimed mrs. carteret sharply. " it's that hussy's child," said mrs. ochiltree, turn¬ ing to her niece with great excitement. " when your father died, i turned the mother and' the child out into the street. the mother died and went to — the place provided for such as she. if i had n't been just in time, olivia, they would have turned you out. i saved the property for you and your son ! you can thank me for it all! " " hush, aunt polly, for goodness' sake ! william will hear you. tell me about it when you get home." mrs. ochiltree was silent, except for a few inco¬ herent mumblings. what she might say, what dis¬ tressing family secret she might repeat in william's hearing, should she take another talkative turn, was beyond conjecture. olivia looked anxiously around for something to distract her aunt's attention, and caught sight of a colored man, dressed in sober gray, who was coming toward the carriage. " there's mr. delamere's sandy! " exclaimed mrs. carteret, touching her aunt on the arm. " i wonder how his master is ? sandy, oh, sandy! " the marrow of tradition sandy approached the carriage, lifting his hat with a slight exaggeration of chesterfieldian elegance. sandy, no less than his master, was a survival of an interesting type. he had inherited the feudal defer¬ ence for his superiors in position, joined to a certain self-respect which saved him from sycophancy. his manners had been formed upon those of old mr. dela- mere, and were not a bad imitation; for in the man, as in the master, they were the harmonious reflection of a mental state. " how is mr. delamere, sandy ? " asked mrs. car¬ teret, acknowledging sandy's salutation with a nod and a smile. " he ain't ez peart ez he has be'n, ma'am," replied sandy, " but he's doin' tol'able well. de doctuh say he's good fer a dozen years yit, ef he ' jes' take good keer of hisse'f an' keep f'm gittin' excited; fer sence dat secon' stroke, excitement is dange'ous fer 'im." " i'm sure you take the best care of him," returned mrs. carteret kindly. "you can't do anything for him, sandy," inter¬ posed old mrs. ochiltree, shaking her head slowly to emphasize her dissent. " all the doctors in creation could n't keep him alive another year. i shall outlive him by twenty years, though we are not far from the same age." " lawd, ma'am !" exclaimed sandy, lifting his hands in affected amazement, — his study of gentle manners had been more than superficial, — " whoever would 'a' s'picion' dat you an' mars john wuz nigh de same age ? i'd 'a' 'lowed you wuz ten years younger 'n him, easy, ef you wuz a day ! " " give my compliments to the poor old gentleman," returned mrs. ochiltree, with a simper of senile van- maunderings of old mrs. ochiltree lty, though her back was weakening under the strain of the effort to sit erect that she might maintain this illusion of comparative youthfulness. " bring him to see me some day when he is able to walk." "yas'm, i will," rejoined sandy. "he's gwine out ter belleview nex' week, fer ter stay a mont' er so, but i ' fetch him 'roun' w'en he comes back. i ' tell 'im dat you ladies 'quired fer 'im." sandy made another deep bow, and held his hat in his hand until the carriage had moved away. he had not condescended to notice the coachman at all, who was one of the young negroes of the new generation; while sandy regarded himself as belonging to the quality, and seldom stooped to notice those beneath him. it would not have been becoming in him, either, while conversing with white ladies, to have noticed a colored servant. moreover, the coachman was a baptist, while sandy was a methodist, though under a cloud, and considered a methodist in poor standing as better than a baptist of any degree of sanctity. " lawd, lawd!" chuckled sandy, after the car¬ riage had departed, " i never seed nothin' lack de way dat ole lady do keep up her temper! wid one foot in de grave, an' de other hov'rin' on de edge, she talks 'bout my ole marster lack he wuz in his secon' chil'hood. but i'm jes' willin' ter bet dat he ' out- las' her! she ain't half de woman she wuz dat night i waited on de table at de christenin' pa'ty, w'en she 'lowed she wuz n' feared er no man livin'." xv mrs. carteret seeks an explanation as a stone dropped into a pool of water sets in motion a series of concentric circles which disturb the whole mass in varying degree, so mrs. ochiltree's enigmatical remark had started in her niece's mind a disturbing train of thought. had her words, mrs. carteret asked herself, any serious meaning, or were they the mere empty babblings of a clouded intellect? " william," she said to the coachman when they reached mrs. ochiltree's house, "you may tie the horse and help us out. i shall be here a little while." william helped the ladies down, assisted mrs. ochiltree into the house, and then went round to the kitchen. dinah was an excellent hand at potato-pone and other culinary delicacies dear to the southern heart, and william was a welcome visitor in her domain. " now, aunt polly," said mrs. carteret resolutely, as soon as they were alone, "i want to know what you meant by what you said about my father and julia, and this — this child of hers ? " the old woman smiled cunningly, but her expres¬ sion soon changed to one more grave. " why do you want to know ?" she asked sus¬ piciously. " you 've got the land, the houses, and the money. you've nothing to complain of. enjoy yourself, and be thankful! " mrs. carteret seeks an explanation " i'm thankful to god," returned olivia, " for all his good gifts, — and he has blessed me abundantly, — but why should i be thankful to you for the property my father left me ? " " why should you be thankful to me ? rejoined mrs. ochiltree with querulous indignation. "you'd better ask why should rit you be thankful to me. what have i not done for you? " " yes, aunt polly, i know you've done a great deal. you reared me in your own house when i had been cast out of my father's; you have been a second mother to me, and i am very grateful, — you can never say that i have not shown my gratitude. but if you have done anything else for me, i wish to know it. why should i thank you for my inheritance ? " " why should you thank me ? well, because i drove that woman and her brat away." " but she had no right to stay, aunt polly, after father died. of course she had no moral right before, but it was his house, and he could keep her there if he chose. but after his death she surely had no right." " perhaps not so surely as you think, — if she had not been a negro. had she been white, there might have been a difference. when i told her to go, she said " — " what did she say, aunt polly," demanded olivia eagerly. it seemed for a moment as though mrs. ochiltree would speak no further: but her once strong will, now weakened by her bodily infirmities, yielded to the influence of her niece's imperious demand. " i ' tell you the whole story," she said, " and then you ' know what i did for you and yours." the marrow of tradition mrs. ochiltree's eyes assumed an introspective ex¬ pression, and her story, as it advanced, became as keenly dramatic as though memory had thrown aside the veil of intervening years and carried her hack directly to the events which she now described. "your father," she said, "while living with that woman, left home one morning the picture of health. five minutes later he tottered into the house groaning with pain, stricken unto death by the hand of a just god, as a punishment for his sins." olivia gave a start of indignation, but restrained herself. " i was at once informed of what had happened, for i had means of knowing all that took place in the household. old jane — she was younger then — had come with you to my house; but her daughter remained, and through her i learned all that went on. " i hastened immediately to the house, entered without knocking, and approached mr. merkell's bed¬ room, which was on the lower floor and opened into the hall. the door was ajar, and as i stood there for a moment i heard your father's voice. " listen, julia,' he was saying. ' i shall not live until the doctor comes. but i wish you to know, dear julia!' — he called her 'dear julia!' —' before i die, that i have kept my promise. you did me one great service, julia, — you saved me from polly ochiltree!' yes, olivia, that is what he said ! ' you have served me faithfully and well, and i owe you a great deal, which i have tried to pay.' "' oh, mr. merkell, dear mr. merkell,' cried the hypocritical hussy, falling to her knees by his bedside, and shedding her crocodile tears, ' you owe me no¬ thing. you have done more for me than i could ever mrs. carteret seeks an explanation repay. you will not die and leave me,—no, no, it cannot be!' " yes, i am going to die, — i am dying now, julia. but listen, — compose yourself and listen, for this is a more important matter. take the keys from under my pillow, open the desk in the next room, look in the second drawer on the right, and you will find an en¬ velope containing three papers: one of them is yours, one is the paper i promised to make, and the third is a letter which i wrote last night. as soon as the breath has left my body, deliver the envelope to the address indorsed upon it. do not delay one moment, or you may live to regret it. say nothing until you have delivered the package, and then be guided by the advice which you receive, — it will come from a friend of mine who will not see you wronged.' " i slipped away from the door without making my presence known and entered, by a door from the hall, the room adjoining the one where mr. merkell lay. a moment later there was a loud scream. returning quickly to the hall, i entered mr. merkell's room as though just arrived. "' how is mr. merkell ?' i demanded, as i crossed the threshold. " ' he is dead,' sobbed the woman, without lifting her head, — she had fallen on her knees by the bedside. she had good cause to weep, for my time had come. " get up,' i said. ' you have no right here. you pollute mr. merkell's dead body by your touch. leave the house immediately, — your day is over!' " ' i will not!' she cried, rising to her feet and facing me with brazen-faced impudence. ' i have a right to stay, — he has given me the right!' "' ha, ha!' i laughed. ' mr. merkell is dead, and mrs. carteret seeks an explanation " pale as death she turned and faced me. " ' the papers!' she shrieked, ' the papers ! you have stolen them !' " ' papers ? ' i laughed, ' what papers ? do you take me for a thief, like yourself ? ' "' there were papers here,' she cried, ' only a minute since. they are mine, — give them back to me!' " ' listen, woman,' i said sternly, ' you are lying — or dreaming. my brother-in-law's papers are doubt¬ less in his safe at his office, where they ought to be. as for the rest, —you are a thief.' "' i am not,' she screamed ; ' i am his wife. he married me, and the papers that were in the desk will prove it.' "' listen,' i exclaimed, when she had finished, — listen carefully, and take heed to what i say. you are a liar. you have no proofs, — there never were any proofs of what you say, because it never happened, — it is absurd upon the face of it. not one person in wellington would believe it. why should he marry you ? he did not need to ! you are merely lying, — you are not even self-deceived. if he had really mar¬ ried you, you would have made it known long ago. that you did not is proof that your story is false.' " she was hit so hard that she trembled and sank into a chair. but i had no mercy — she had saved your father from me — ' dear julia,' indeed! " stand up,' i ordered. ' do not dare to sit down in my presence. i have you on the hip, my lady, and will teach you your place.' " she struggled to her feet, and stood supporting herself with one hand on the chair. i could have the marrow of tradition killed her, olivia! she had been my father's slave ; if it had been before the war, i would have had her whipped to death. " ' you are a thief,' i said, ' and of that there are proofs. i have caught you in the act. the watch in your bosom is my own, the money belongs to mr. merkell's estate, which belongs to my niece, his daugh¬ ter olivia. i saw you steal them. my word is worth yours a hundred times over, for i am a lady, and you are — what ? and now hear me : if ever you breathe to a living soul one word of this preposterous story, i will charge you with the theft, and have you sent to the penitentiary. your child will be taken from you, and you shall never see it again. i will give you now just ten minutes to take your brat and your rags out of this house forever. but before you go, put down your plunder there upon the desk!' " she laid down the money and the watch, and a few minutes later left the house with the child in her arms. " and now, olivia, you know how i saved your estate, and why you should be grateful to me." olivia had listened to her aunt's story with intense interest. having perceived the old woman's mood, and fearful lest any interruption might break the flow of her narrative, she had with an effort kept back the one question which had been hovering upon her lips, but which could now no longer be withheld. " what became of the papers, aunt polly ? " " ha, ha ! " chuckled mrs. ochiltree with a cunning look, " did i not tell you that she found no papers ? " a change had come over mrs. ochiltree's face, marking the reaction from her burst of energy. her mrs. carteret seeks an explanation eyes were half closed, and she was muttering incoher¬ ently. olivia made some slight effort to arouse her, but in vain, and realizing the futility of any further attempt to extract information from her aunt at this time, she called william and drove homeward. xvi ellis takes a trick late one afternoon a handsome trap, drawn by two spirited bays, drove up to carteret's gate. three places were taken by mrs. carteret, clara, and the major, leaving the fourth seat vacant. " i've asked ellis to drive out with us," said the major, as he took the lines from the colored man who had the trap in charge. "we' go by the office and pick him up." clara frowned, but perceiving mrs. carteret's eye fixed upon her, restrained any further expression of annoyance. the major's liking for ellis had increased within the year. the young man was not only a good journalist, but possessed sufficient cleverness and tact to make him excellent company. the major was fond of argument, but extremely tenacious of his own opinions. ellis handled the foils of discussion with just the requisite skill to draw out the major, permitting himself to be vanquished, not too easily, but, as it were, inevitably, by the major's incontrovertible arguments. olivia had long suspected ellis of feeling a more than friendly interest in clara. herself partial to tom, she had more than once thought it hardly fair to delamere, or even to clara, who was young and im¬ pressionable, to have another young man constantly about the house. true, there had seemed to be no ellis takes a trick great danger, for ellis had neither the family nor the means to make him a suitable match for the major's sister ; nor had clara made any secret of her dislike for ellis, or of her resentment for his supposed depre¬ ciation of delamere. mrs. carteret was inclined to a more just and reasonable view of ellis's conduct in this matter, but nevertheless did not deem it wise to unde¬ ceive clara. dislike was a stout barrier, which remorse might have broken down. the major, absorbed in schemes of empire and dreams of his child's future, had not become cognizant of the affair. his wife, out of friendship for tom, had refrained from mentioning it; while the major, with a delicate regard for clara's feelings, had said nothing at home in regard to his interview with her lover. at the chronicle office ellis took the front seat beside the major. after leaving the city pavements, they bowled along merrily over an excellent toll-road, built of oyster shells from the neighboring sound, stopping at intervals to pay toll to the gate-keepers, most of whom were white women with tallow complex¬ ions and snuff-stained lips, — the traditional " poor- white." for part of the way the road was bordered with a growth of scrub oak and pine, interspersed with stretches of cleared land, white with the opening cotton or yellow with ripening corn. to the right, along the distant river-bank, were visible here and there groups of turpentine pines, though most of this growth had for some years been exhausted. twenty years before, wellington had been the world's greatest shipping port for naval stores. but as the turpen¬ tine industry had moved southward, leaving a trail of devastated forests in its rear, the city had fallen to a poor fifth or sixth place in this trade, relying the marrow of tradition now almost entirely upon cotton for its export busi¬ ness. occasionally our party passed a person, or a group of persons, — mostly negroes approximating the pure type, for those of lighter color grew noticeably scarcer as the town was left behind. now and then one of these would salute the party respectfully, while others glanced at them indifferently or turned away. there would have seemed, to a stranger, a lack of spontane¬ ous friendliness between the people of these two races, as though each felt that it had no part or lot in the other's life. at one point the carriage drew near a party of colored folks who were laughing and jesting among themselves with great glee. paying no atten¬ tion to the white people, they continued to laugh and shout boisterously as tlie carriage swept by. major carteret's countenance wore an angry look. " the negroes around this town are becoming abso¬ lutely insufferable," he averred. " they are sadly in need of a lesson in manners." half an hour later they neared another group, who were also making merry. as the carriage approached, they became mute and silent as the grave until the major's party had passed. " the negroes are a sullen race," remarked the major thoughtfully. " they will learn their lesson in a rude school, and perhaps much sooner than they dream. by the way," he added, turning to the ladies, "what was the arrangement with tom? was he to come out this evening?" "he came out early in the afternoon," replied clara, " to go a-fishing. he is to join us at the hotel." after an hour's drive they reached the hotel, in ellis takes a trick front of which stretched the beach, white and invit¬ ing, along the shallow sound. mrs. carteret and clara found seats on the veranda. having turned the trap over to a hostler, the major joined a group of gentlemen, among whom was general belmont, and was soon deep in the discussion of the standing prob¬ lem of how best to keep the negroes down. ellis remained by the ladies. clara seemed rest¬ less and ill at ease. half an hour elapsed and dela- mere had not appeared. " i wonder where tom is," said mrs. carteret. " i guess he has n't come in yet from fishing," said clara. " i wish he would come. it's lonesome here. mr. ellis, would you mind looking about the hotel and seeing if there's any one here that we know ? " for ellis the party was already one too large. he had accepted this invitation eagerly, hoping to make friends with clara during the evening. he had never been able to learn definitely the reason of her cold¬ ness, but had dated it from his meeting with old mrs. ochiltree, with which he felt it was obscurely con¬ nected. he had noticed delamere's scowling look, too, at their last meeting. clara's injustice, what¬ ever its cause, he felt keenly. to delamere's scowl he had paid little attention, — he despised tom so much that, but for his engagement to clara, he would have held his opinions in utter contempt. he had even wished that clara might make some charge against him, — he would have preferred that to her attitude of studied indifference, the only re¬ deeming feature about which was that it was studied, showing that she, at least, had him in mind. the next best thing, he reasoned, to having a woman love you, is to have her dislike you violently, — the main the marrow of tradition point is that you should be kept in mind, and made the subject of strong emotions. he thought of the story of hall caine's, where the woman, after years of persecution at the hands of an unwelcome suitor, is on the point of yielding, out of sheer irresistible admiration for the man's strength and persistency, when the lover, unaware of his victory and despairing of success, seizes her in his arms and, springing into the sea, finds a watery grave for both. the analogy of this case with his own was, of course, not strong. he did not anticipate any tragedy in their relations; but he was glad to be thought of upon almost any terms. he would not have done a mean thing to make her think of him; but if she did so because of a misconception, which he was given no opportunity to clear up, while at the same time his conscience absolved him from evil and gave him the compensat¬ ing glow of martyrdom, it was at least better than nothing. he would, of course, have preferred to be upon a different footing. it had been a pleasure to have her speak to him during the drive, — they had exchanged a few trivial remarks in the general conversation. it was a greater pleasure to have her ask a favor of him, — a pleasure which, in this instance, was partly offset when he interpreted her request to mean that he was to look for tom delamere. he accepted the situa¬ tion gracefully, however, and left the ladies alone. knowing delamere's habits, he first went directly to the bar-room,—the atmosphere would be congenial, even if he were not drinking. delamere was not there. stepping next into the office, he asked the clerk if young mr, delamere had been at the hotel. " yes, sir," returned the man at the desk, " he was ellis takes a trick here at luncheon, and then went out fishing in a boat with several other gentlemen. i think they came back about three o'clock. i ' find out for you." he rang the bell, to which a colored boy responded. "front," said the clerk, "see if young mr. dela- mere's upstairs. look in or , and let me know at once." the bell-boy returned in a moment. " yas, suh," he reported, with a suppressed grin, " he's in , suh. de do' was open, an' i seed 'im from de hall, suh." " i wish you'd go up and tell him," said ellis, "that— what are you grinning about? " he asked suddenly, noticing the waiter's expression. " nothin', suh, nothin' at all, suh," responded the negro, lapsing into the stolidity of a wooden indian. " what shall i tell mr. delamere, suh ? " " tell him," resumed ellis, still watching 'the boy suspiciously, — " no, i ' tell him myself." he ascended the broad stair to the second floor. there was an upper balcony and a parlor, with a piano for the musically inclined. to reach these one had to pass along the hall upon which the room men¬ tioned by the bell-boy opened. ellis was quite familiar with the hotel. he could imagine circumstances under which he would not care to speak to delamere; he would merely pass through the hall and glance into the room casually, as any one else might do, and see what the darky downstairs might have meant by his impudence. it required but a moment to reach the room. the door was not wide open, but far enough ajar for him to see what was going on within. two young men, members of the fast set at the the marrow of tradition clarendon club, were playing cards at a small table, near which stood another, decorated with an array of empty bottles and glasses. sprawling on a- lounge, with flushed face and disheveled hair, his collar un¬ fastened, his vest buttoned awry, lay tom delamere, breathing stertorously, in what seemed a drunken sleep. lest there should be any doubt of the cause of his condition, the fingers of his right hand had re¬ mained clasped mechanically around the neck of a bottle which lay across his bosom. ellis turned away in disgust, and went slowly back to the ladies. " there seems to be no one here yet," he reported. "we came a little early for the evening crowd. the clerk says tom delamere was here to luncheon, but he has n't seen him for several hours." " he's not a very gallant cavalier," said mrs. carteret severely. " he ought to have been waiting for us." clara was clearly disappointed, and made no effort to conceal her displeasure, leaving ellis in doubt as to whether or not he were its object. perhaps she suspected him of not having made a very thorough search. her next remark might have borne such a construction. " sister olivia," she said pettishly, " let's go up to the parlor. i can play the piano anyway, if there's no one to talk to." " i find it very comfortable here, clara," replied her sister placidly. " mr. ellis will go with you. you ' probably find some one in the parlor, or they ' come when you begin to play." clara's expression was not cordial, but she rose as if to go. ellis was in a quandary. if she went ellis takes a trick through the hall, the chances were at least even that she would see delamere. he did not care a rap for delamere, — if he chose to make a public exhibition of himself, it was his own affair; but to see him would surely spoil miss pemberton's evening, and, in her frame of mind, might lead to the suspicion that ellis had prearranged the exposure. even if she should not harbor this unjust thought, she would not love the witness of her discomfiture. we had rather not meet the persons who have seen, even though they never mention, the skeletons in our closets. delamere had disposed of himself for the evening. ellis would have a fairer field with delamere out of sight and unac¬ counted for, than with delamere in evidence in his present condition. "wouldn't you rather take a stroll on the beach, miss clara?" he asked, in the hope of creating a diversion. " no, i'm going to the parlor. you need n't come, mr. ellis, if you'd rather go down to the beach. i can quite as well go alone." " i'd rather go with you," he said meekly. they were moving toward the door opening into the hall, from which the broad staircase ascended. ellis, whose thoughts did not always respond quickly to a sudden emergency, was puzzling his brain as to how he should save her from any risk of seeing dela¬ mere. through the side door leading from the hall into the office, he saw the bell-boy to whom he had spoken seated on the bench provided for the servants. " won't you wait for me just a moment, miss clara, " while i step into the office ? i ' be with you in an instant." clara hesitated. the marrow of tradition " oh, certainly," site replied nonchalantly. ellis went direct to the bell-boy. " sit right where you are," he said, " and don't move a hair. what is the lady in the hall doing ? " " she's got her back tu'ned this way, suh. i 'spec' she's lookin' at the picture on the opposite wall, suh." " all right," whispered ellis, pressing a coin into the servant's hand. " i'm going up to the parlor with the lady. you go up ahead of us, and keep in front of us along the hall. don't dare to look back. i shall keep on talking to the lady, so that you can tell by my voice where we are. when you get to room , go in and shut the door behind you: pre¬ tend that you were called, — ask the gentlemen what they want, — tell any kind of a lie you like, — but keep the door shut until you 're sure we've got by. do you hear ? " " yes, suh," replied the negro intelligently. the plan worked without a hitch. ellis talked steadily, about the hotel, the furnishings, all sorts of irrelevant subjects, to which miss pemberton paid little attention. she was angry with delamere, and took no pains to conceal her feelings. the bell-boy entered room just before they reached the door. ellis had heard loud talking as they approached, and as they were passing there was a crash of broken glass, as though some object had been thrown at the door. " what is the matter there ? " exclaimed clara, quickening her footsteps and instinctively drawing closer to ellis. " some one dropped a glass, i presume," replied ellis calmly. miss pemberton glanced at him suspiciously. she ellis takes a trick was in a decidedly perverse mood. seating herself at tlie piano, she played brilliantly for a quarter of an hour. quite a number of couples strolled up to the parlor, but delamere was not among them. " oh dear! " exclaimed miss pemberton, as she let her fingers fall upon the keys with a discordant crash, after the last note, " i don't see why we came out here to-night. let's go back downstairs." ellis felt despondent. he had done his utmost to serve and to please miss pemberton, but was not likely, he foresaw, to derive much benefit from his opportunity. delamere was evidently as much or more in her thoughts by reason of his absence than if he had been present. if the door should have been opened, and she should see him from the hall upon their return, ellis could not help it. he took the side next to the door, however, meaning to hurry past the room so that she might not recognize delamere. fortunately the door was closed and all quiet within the room. on the stairway they met the bell¬ boy, rubbing his head with one hand and holding a bottle of seltzer upon a tray in the other. the boy was well enough trained to give no sign of recogni¬ tion, though ellis guessed the destination of the bottle. ellis hardly knew whether to feel pleased or disap¬ pointed at the success of his manoeuvres. he had spared miss pemberton some mortification, but he had saved tom delamere from merited exposure. clara ought to know the truth, for her own sake. on the beach, a few rods away, fires were burning, around which several merry groups had gathered. the smoke went mostly to one side, but a slight whiff came now and then to where mrs. carteret sat await¬ ing them. the marrow of tradition " they 're roasting oysters," said mrs. carteret. " i wish you'd bring me some, mr. ellis." ellis strolled down to the beach. a large iron plate, with a turned-up rim like a great baking-pan, supported by legs which held it off the ground, was set over a fire built upon the sand. this primitive oven was heaped with small oysters in the shell, taken from the neighboring sound, and hauled up to the hotel by a negro whose pony cart stood near by. a wet coffee- sack of burlaps was spread over the oysters, which, when steamed sufficiently, were opened by a colored man and served gratis to all who cared for them. ellis secured a couple of plates of oysters, which he brought to mrs. carteret and clara; they were small, but finely flavored. meanwhile delamere, who possessed a remarkable faculty of recuperation from the effects of drink, had waked from his sleep, and remembering his engage¬ ment, had exerted himself to overcome the ravages of the afternoon's debauch. a dash of cold water braced him up somewhat. a bottle of seltzer and a big cup of strong coffee still further strengthened his nerves. when ellis returned to the veranda, after having taken away the plates, delamere had joined the ladies and was explaining the cause of his absence. he had been overcome by the heat, he said, while out fishing, and had been lying down ever since. perhaps he ought to have sent for a doctor, but the fellows had looked after him. he had n't sent word to his friends because he had n't wished to spoil their evening. " that was very considerate of you, tom," said mrs. carteret ryly> " but you ought to have let us ellis takes a trick know. we have been worrying about you very much. clara has found the evening dreadfully dull." " indeed, no, sister olivia," said the young lady cheerfully, " i've been having a lovely time. mr. ellis and i have been up in the parlor; i played the piano; and we've been eating oysters and having a most delightful time. won't you take me down there to the beach, mr. ellis ? i want to see the fires. come on." " can't i go ? " asked tom jealously. " no, indeed, you must n't stir a foot! you must not overtax yourself so soon; it might do you serious injury. stay here with sister olivia." she took ellis's arm with exaggerated cordiality. delamere glared after them angrily. ellis did not stop to question her motives, but took the goods the gods provided. with no very great apparent effort, miss pemberton became quite friendly, and they strolled along the beach, in sight of the hotel, for nearly half an hour. as they were coming up she asked him abruptly, — " mr. ellis, did you know tom was in the hotel? " ellis was looking across the sound, at the lights of a distant steamer which was making her way toward the harbor. " i wonder," he said musingly, as though he had not heard her question, "if that is the ocean belle?" " and was he really sick ? " she demanded. " she's later than usual this trip," continued ellis, pursuing his thought. " she was due about five o'clock." miss pemberton, under cover of the darkness, smiled a fine smile, which foreboded ill for some one. when they joined the party on the piazza, the major the marrow of tradition had come up and was saying that it was time to go. he had been engaged in conversation, for most of the evening, with general belmont and several other gentlemen. " here comes the general now. let me see. there are five of us. the general has offered me a seat in his buggy, and tom can go with you-all." the general came up and spoke to the ladies. tom murmured his thanks; it would enable him to make up a part of the delightful evening he had missed. when mrs. carteret had taken the rear seat, clara promptly took the place beside her. ellis and dela- mere sat in front. when delamere, who had offered to drive, took the reins, ellis saw that his hands were shaking. " give me the lines," he whispered. "your nerves are unsteady and the road is not well lighted." delamere prudently yielded the reins. he did not like ellis's tone, which seemed sneering rather than expressive of sympathy with one who had been suf¬ fering. he wondered if the beggar knew anything about his illness. clara had been acting strangely. it would have been just like ellis to have slandered him. the upstart had no business with clara any¬ way. he would cheerfully have strangled ellis, if he could have done so with safety to himself and no chance of discovery. the drive homeward through the night was almost a silent journey. mrs. carteret was anxious about her baby. clara did not speak, except now and then to ellis with reference to some object in or near the road. occasionally they passed a vehicle in the dark¬ ness, sometimes barely avoiding a collision. far to the north the sky was lit up with the glow of a forest social aspirations of captain mcbane gentlemen of the best families of the city were mem¬ bers. the clarendon club was a historic institution, and its membership a social cult, the temple of which was located just off the main street of the city, in a digni¬ fied old colonial mansion which had housed it for the nearly one hundred years during which it had main¬ tained its existence unbroken. there had grown up around it many traditions and special usages. mem¬ bership in the clarendon was the sine qua non of high social standing, and was conditional upon two of three things, — birth, wealth, and breeding. breed¬ ing was the prime essential, but, with rare exceptions, must be backed by either birth or money. having decided, therefore, to seek admission into this social arcanum, the captain, who had either not quite appreciated the standard of the clarendon's membership, or had failed to see that he fell beneath it, looked about for an intermediary through whom to approach the object of his desire. he had already thought of tom delamere in this connection, having with him such an acquaintance as one forms around a hotel, and having long ago discovered that delamere was a young man of superficially amiable disposition, vicious instincts, lax principles, and a weak will, and, which was quite as much to the purpose, a member of the clarendon club. possessing mental character¬ istics almost entirely opposite, delamere and the cap¬ tain had certain tastes in common, and had smoked, drunk, and played cards together more than once. still more to his purpose, mcbane had detected delamere trying to cheat him at cards. he had said nothing about this discovery, but had merely noted it as something which at some future time might prove the marrow of tradition useful. the captain had not suffered by delamere's deviation from the straight line of honor, for while tom was as clever with the cards as might be ex¬ pected of a young man who had devoted most of his leisure for several years to handling them, mcbane was past master in their manipulation. during a stormy career he had touched more or less pitch, and had escaped few sorts of defilement. the appearance of delamere at a late hour, unac¬ companied, and wearing upon his countenance an expression in which the captain read aright the crav¬ ing for mental and physical excitement, gave him the opportunity for which he had been looking. mcbane was not the man to lose an opportunity, nor did dela¬ mere require a second invitation. neither was it necessary, during the progress of the game, for the captain to press upon his guest the contents of the decanter which stood upon the table within convenient reach. the captain permitted delamere to win from him several small amounts, after which he gradually in¬ creased the stakes and turned the tables. delamere, with every instinct of a gamester, was no more a match for mcbane in self-control than in skill. when the young man had lost all his money, the captain expressed his entire willingness to accept notes of hand, for which he happened to have con¬ venient blanks in his apartment. when delamere, flushed with excitement and wine, rose from the gaming table at two o'clock, he was vaguely conscious that he owed mcbane a consider¬ able sum, but could not have stated how much. his opponent, who was entirely cool and collected, ran his eye carelessly over the bits of paper to which dela¬ mere had attached his signature. social aspirations of captain mcbane " just one thousand dollars even," he remarked. the announcement of this total had as sobering an effect upon delamere as though he had been suddenly deluged with a shower of cold water. for a moment he caught his breath. he had not a dollar in the world with which to pay this sum. his only source of income was an allowance from his grandfather, the monthly installment of which, drawn that very day, he had just lost to mcbane, before starting in upon the notes of hand. " i ' give you your revenge another time," said mcbane, as they rose. " luck is against you to-night, and i'm unwilling to take advantage of a clever young fellow like you. meantime," he added, tossing the notes of hand carelessly on a bureau, " don't worry about these bits of paper. such small matters should n't cut any figure between friends; but if you are around the hotel to-morrow, i should like to speak to you upon another subject." "very well, captain," returned tom somewhat un¬ graciously. delamere had been completely beaten with his own weapons. he had tried desperately to cheat mcbane. he knew perfectly well that mcbane had discovered his efforts and had cheated him in turn, for the cap¬ tain's play had clearly been gauged to meet his own. the biter had been bit, and could not complain of the outcome. the following afternoon mcbane met delamere at the hotel, and bluntly requested the latter to propose him for membership in the clarendon club. delamere was annoyed at this request. his aris¬ tocratic gorge rose at the presumption of this son of the marrow of tradition an overseer and ex-driver of convicts. mcbane was good enough to win money from, or even to lose money to, but not good enough to be recognized as a social equal. he would instinctively have blackballed mcbane had he been proposed by some one else; with what grace could he put himself forward as the sponsor for this impossible social aspirant ? more¬ over, it was clearly a vulgar, cold-blooded attempt on mcbane's part to use his power over him for a personal advantage. " well, now, captain mcbane," returned delamere diplomatically, " i've never put any one up yet, and it's not regarded as good form for so young a mem¬ ber as myself to propose candidates. i'd much rather you'd ask some older man." "oh, well," replied mcbane, "just as you say, only i thought you had cut your eye teeth." delamere was not pleased with mcbane's tone. his remark was not acquiescent, though couched in terms of assent. there was a sneering savagery about it, too, that left delamere uneasy. he was, in a measure, in mcbane's power. he could not pay the thousand dollars, unless it fell from heaven, or he could win it from some one else. he would not dare go to his grandfather for help. mr. delamere did not even know that his grandson gambled. he might not have objected, perhaps, to a gentleman's game, with moderate stakes, but he would certainly, tom knew very well, have looked upon a thousand dollars as a preposterous sum to be lost at cards by a man who had nothing with which to pay it. it was part of mr. delamere's creed that a gentleman should not make debts that he was not reasonably able to pay. there was still another difficulty. if he had lost social aspirations of captain mcbane the money to a gentleman, and it had been his first serious departure from mr. delamere's perfectly well understood standard of honor, tom might have risked a confession and thrown himself on his grandfather's mercy; but he owed other sums here and there, which, to his just now much disturbed imagination, loomed up in alarming number and amount. he had recently observed signs of coldness, too, on the part of certain members of the club. moreover, like most men with one commanding vice, he was addicted to several subsidiary forms of iniquity, which in case of a scan¬ dal were more than likely to come to light. he was clearly and most disagreeably caught in the net of his own hypocrisy. his grandfather believed him a model of integrity, a pattern of honor; he could not afford to have his grandfather undeceived. he thought of old mrs. ochiltree. if she were a liberal soul, she could give him a thousand dollars now, when he needed it, instead of making him wait until she died, which might not be for ten years or more, for a legacy which was steadily growing less and might be entirely exhausted if she lived long enough, — some old people were very tenacious of life! she was a careless old woman, too, he reflected, and very foolishly kept her money in the house. lat¬ terly she had been growing weak and childish. some day she might be robbed, and then his prospective inheritance from that source would vanish into thin air! with regard to this debt to mcbane, if he could not pay it, he could at least gain a long respite by proposing the captain at the club. true, he would undoubtedly be blackballed, but before this inevitable event his name must remain posted for several weeks, the marrow of tradition during which interval mcbane would be conciliatory. on the other hand, to propose mcbane would arouse suspicion of his own motives; it might reach his grandfather's ears, and lead to a demand for an explanation, which it would be difficult to make. clearly, the better plan would be to temporize with mcbane, with the hope that something might inter¬ vene to remove this cursed obligation. " suppose, captain," he said affably, " we leave the matter open for a few days. this is a thing that can't be rushed. i ' feel the pulse of my friends and yours, and when we get the lay of the land, the affair can be accomplished much more easily." " well, that's better," returned mcbane, somewhat mollified, — "if you ' do that." " to be sure i will," replied tom easily, too much relieved to resent, if not too preoccupied to perceive, the implied doubt of his veracity. mcbane ordered and paid for more drinks, and they parted on amicable terms. "we ' let these notes stand for the time being, tom," said mcbane, with significant emphasis, when they separated. delamere winced at the familiarity. he had reached that degree of moral deterioration where, while principles were of little moment, the externals of social intercourse possessed an exaggerated impor¬ tance. mcbane had never before been so personal. he had addressed the young aristocrat first as " mr. delamere," then, as their acquaintance advanced, as " delamere." he had now reached the abbreviated christian name stage of familiarity. there was no lower depth to which tom could sink, unless mcbane should invent a nickname by which to address him. social aspirations of captain mcbane he did not like mcbane's manner, — it was charac¬ terized by a veiled insolence which was exceedingly offensive. he would go over to the club and try his luck with some honest player, — perhaps something might turn up to relieve him from his embarrassment. he put his hand in his pocket mechanically, — and found it empty! in the present state of his credit, he could hardly play without money. a thought struck him. leaving the hotel, he hastened home, where he found sandy dusting his famous suit of clothes on the back piazza. mr. dela- mere was not at home, having departed for belleview about two o'clock, leaving sandy to follow him in the morning. " hello, sandy," exclaimed tom, with an assumed jocularity which he was very far from feeling, " what are you doing with those gorgeous garments ? " " i'm a-dustin' of 'em, mistuh tom, dat's w'at i'm a-doin'. dere's somethin' wrong 'bout dese clo's er mine — i don' never seem ter be able ter keep 'em clean no mo'. ef i b'lieved in dem ole-timey sayin's, i'd 'low dere wuz a witch come here eve'y night an' tuk 'em out an' wo' 'em, er tuk me oiit an' rid me in 'em. dere wuz somethin' wrong 'bout dat cakewalk business, too, dat i ain' never unde'stood an' don' know how ter 'count fer, 'less dere wuz some kin' er dev'lishness goin' on dat don' show on de su'- face." " sandy," asked tom irrelevantly, " have you any money in the house ? " "yas, suh, i got de money mars john give me ter git dem things ter take out ter belleview in de mawnin'." " i mean money of your own." social aspirations of captain mcbane wo'ked' fer yo' gran'daddy, lie has never called me a ' darky' ter my face, suh. co'se i knows dere's w'ite folks an' black folks, — but dere's manners, suh, dere's manners, an' gent'emen oughter be de ones ter use 'em, suh, ef dey ain't ter be fergot enti'ely ! " " there, there, sandy," returned tom in a concilia¬ tory tone," i beg your pardon ! i've been associating with some northern white folks at the hotel, and picked up the word from them. you 're a high-toned colored gentleman, sandy, — the finest one on the footstool." still muttering to himself, sandy retired to his own room, which was in the house, so that he might be always near his master. he soon returned with a time-stained leather pocket-book and a coarse-knit cotton sock, from which two receptacles he painfully extracted a number of bills and coins. "you count dat, mistuh tom, so i'll know how much i'm lettin' you have." " this is n't worth anything," said tom, pushing aside one roll of bills. " it's confederate money." " so it is, suh. it ain't wuth nothin' now; but it has be'n money, an' who kin tell but what it mought be money agin ? de rest er dem bills is greenbacks, — dey ' pass all right, i reckon." the good money amounted to about fifty dollars, which delamere thrust eagerly into his pocket. " you won't say anything to grandfather about this, will you, sandy," he said, as he turned away. " no, suh, co'se i won't! does i ever tell 'im 'bout yo' gwines-on ? ef i did," he added to himself, as the young man disappeared down the street, " i would n' have time ter do nothin' e'se ha'dly. i don' know whether i ' ever see dat money agin er no, do' the marrow of tradition i 'magine de ole gent'eman would n' lemme lose it ef he knowed. but i ain' gwine ter tell him, whether i git my money back er no, fer he is jes' so wrop' up in dat boy dat i b'lieve it'd jes' break his hea't ter fin' out how he's be'n gwine on. doctuh price has tol' me not ter let de ole gent'eman git ixcited, er e'se dere's no tellin' w'at mought happen. he's be'n good ter me, he has, an' i'm gwine ter take keer er him, — dat 's w'at i is, ez long ez i has de chance." delamere went directly to the club, and soon lounged into the card-room, where several of the members were engaged in play. he sauntered here and there, too much absorbed in his own thoughts to notice that the greetings he received were less cordial than those usually exchanged between the members of a small and select social club. finally, when augustus, com¬ monly and more appropriately called " gus," david¬ son came into the room, tom stepped toward him. " will you take a hand in a game, gus ? " " don't care if i do," said the other. " let's sit over here." davidson led the way to a table near the fireplace, near which stood a tall screen, which at times occupied various places in the room. davidson took the seat opposite the fireplace, leaving delamere with his back to the screen. delamere staked half of sandy's money, and lost. he staked the rest, and determined to win, because he could not afford to lose. he had just reached out his hand to gather in the stakes, when he was charged with cheating at cards, of which two members, who had quietly entered the room and posted themselves behind the screen, had secured specific proof. social aspirations of captain mcbane a meeting of the membership committee was hastily summoned, it being an hour at which most of them might be found at the club. to avoid a scandal, and to save the feelings of a prominent family, delamere was given an opportunity to resign quietly from the club, on condition that he paid all his gambling debts within three days, and took an oath never to play cards again for money. this latter condition was made at the suggestion of an elderly member, who apparently believed that a man who would cheat at cards would stick at perjury. delamere acquiesced very promptly. the taking of the oath was easy. the payment of some fifteen hundred dollars of debts was a different matter. he went away from the club thoughtfully, and it may be said, in full justice to a past which was far from immaculate, that in his present thoughts he touched a depth of scoundrelism far beyond anything of which he had as yet deemed himself capable. when a man of good position, of whom much is expected, takes to evil courses, his progress is apt to resemble that of a well-bred woman who has started on the downward path, — the pace is all the swifter because of the distance which must be traversed to reach the bottom. delamere had made rapid headway; having hitherto played with sin, his servant had now become his master, and held him in an iron grip. xviii sandy sees his own ha'nt haying finished cleaning his clothes, sandy went out to the kitchen for supper, after which he found himself with nothing to do. mr. delamere's absence relieved him from attendance at the house during the evening. he might have smoked his pipe tran¬ quilly in the kitchen until bedtime, had not the cook intimated, rather pointedly, that she expected other company. to a man of sandy's tact a word was sufficient, and he resigned himself to seeking com¬ panionship elsewhere. under normal circumstances, sandy would have at¬ tended prayer-meeting on this particular evening of the week ; but being still in contumacy, and cherish¬ ing what he considered the just resentment of a man falsely accused, he stifled the inclination which by long habit led him toward the church, and set out for the house of a friend with whom it occurred to him that he might spend the evening pleasantly. un¬ fortunately, his friend proved to be not at home, so sandy turned his footsteps toward the lower part of the town, where the streets were well lighted, and on pleasant evenings quite animated. on the way he met josh green, whom he had known for many years, though their paths did not often cross. in his loneli¬ ness sandy accepted an invitation to go with josh and have a drink, — a single drink. sandy sees his own ha'nt when sandy was going home about eleven o'clock, three sheets in the wind, such was the potent effect of the single drink and those which had followed it, he was scared almost into soberness by a remarkable apparition. as it seemed to sandy, he saw himself hurrying along in front of himself toward the house. possibly the muddled condition of sandy's intellect had so affected his judgment as to vitiate any con¬ clusion he might draw, but sandy was quite sober enough to perceive that the figure ahead of him wore his best clothes and looked exactly like him, but seemed to be in something more of a hurry, a dis¬ crepancy which sandy at once corrected by quickening his own pace so as to maintain as nearly as possible an equal distance between himself and his double. the situation was certainly an incomprehensible one, and savored of the supernatural. " ef dat's me gwine 'long in front," mused sandy, in vinous perplexity, " den who is dis behin' here ? dere ain' but one er me, an' my ha'nt would n' leave my body 'tel i wuz dead. ef dat's me in front, den i mus' be my own ha'nt; an' whichever one of us is de ha'nt, de yuther must be dead an' don' know it. i don' know what ter make er no sech gwines-on, i don't. maybe it ain' me after all, but it certainly do look lack me." when the apparition disappeared in the house by the side door, sandy stood in the yard for several minutes, under the shade of an elm-tree, before he could make up his mind to enter the house. he took courage, however, upon the reflection that perhaps, after all, it was only the bad liquor he had drunk. bad liquor often made people see double. he entered the house. it was dark, except for a the marrow of tradition light in tom delamere's room. sandy tapped softly at the door. " who's there ?" came delamere's voice, in a somewhat startled tone, after a momentary silence. " it's me, suh; sandy." they both spoke softly. it was the rule of the house when mr. delamere had retired, and though he was not at home, habit held its wonted sway. " just a moment, sandy." sandy waited patiently in the hall until the door was opened. if the room showed any signs of haste or disorder, sandy was too full of his own thoughts — and other things — to notice them. " what do you want, sandy," asked tom. " mistuh tom," asked sandy solemnly, " ef i wuz in yo' place, an' you wuz in my place, an' we wuz bofe in de same place, whar would i be ? " tom looked at sandy keenly, with a touch of apprehension. did sandy mean anything in par¬ ticular by this enigmatical inquiry, and if so, what ? but sandy's face clearly indicated a state of mind in which consecutive thought was improbable ; and after a brief glance delamere breathed more freely. " i give it up, sandy," he responded lightly. "that's too deep for me." " 'scuse me, mistuh tom, but is you heared er seed anybody er anything come in de house fer de las' ten minutes ? " " why, no, sandy, i have n't heard any one. i came from the club an hour ago. i had forgotten my key, and sally got up and let me in, and then went back to bed. i 've been sitting here reading ever since. i should have heard any one who came in." " mistuh tom," inquired sandy anxiously, " would you 'low dat i'd be'n drinkin' too much ? " sandy sees his own ha'nt " no, sandy, i should say you were sober enough, though of course you may have had a few drinks. perhaps you'd like another ? i've got something good here." " no, suh, mistuh tom, no, suh! no mo' liquor fer me, suh, never! when liquor kin make a man see his own ha'nt, it's 'bout time fer dat man ter quit drinkin', it sho' is ! good-night, mistuh tom." as sandy turned to go, delamere was struck by a sudden and daring thought. the creature of impulse, he acted upon it immediately. " by the way, sandy," he exclaimed carelessly, " i can pay you back that money you were good enough to lend me this afternoon. i think i ' sleep better if i have the debt off my mind, and i should n't won¬ der if you would. you don't mind having it in gold, do you ? " " no, indeed, suh," replied sandy. " i ain' seen no gol' fer so long dat de sight er it'd be good fer my eyes." tom counted out ten five-dollar gold pieces upon the table at his elbow. " and here's another, sandy," he said, adding an eleventh, " as interest for the use of it." " thank y', mistuh tom. i did n't spec' no in- trus', but i don' never 'fuse gol' w'en i kin git it." " and here," added delamere, reaching carelessly into a bureau drawer, " is a little old silk purse that i've had since i was a boy. i ' put the gold in it, sandy; it will hold it very nicely." " thank y', mistuh tom. you're a gentleman, suh, an' wo'thy er de fam'ly name. good-night, suh, an' i hope yo' dreams ' be pleasanter 'n' mine. ef it wa'n't fer dis gol' kinder takin' my min' off'n dat the marrow of tradition ha'nt, i don' s'pose i'd be able to do much sleepin' ter-night. good-night, suh." " good-night, sandy." whether or not delamere slept soundly, or was troubled by dreams, pleasant or unpleasant, it is nevertheless true that he locked his door, and sat up an hour later, looking through the drawers of his bureau, and burning several articles in the little iron stove which constituted part of the bedroom furni¬ ture. it is also true that he rose very early, before the household was stirring. the cook slept in a room off the kitchen, which was in an outhouse in the back yard. she was just stretching herself, preparatory to getting up, when tom came to her window and said that he was going off fishing, to be gone all day, and that he would not wait for breakfast. xix a midnight walk ellis left the office of the morning chronicle about eleven o'clock the same evening and set out to walk home. his boarding-house was only a short distance beyond old mr. delamere's residence, and while he might have saved time and labor by a slightly shorter route, he generally selected this one because it led also by major carteret's house. sometimes there would be a ray of light from clara's room, which was on one of the front corners ; and at any rate he would have the pleasure of gazing at the outside of the casket that enshrined the jewel of his heart. it was true that this purely sentimental pleasure was sometimes dashed with bitterness at the thought of his rival; but one in love must take the bitter with the sweet, and who would say that a spice of jealousy does not add a cer¬ tain zest to love? on this particular evening, how¬ ever, he was in a hopeful mood. at the clarendon club, where he had gone, a couple of hours before, to verify a certain news item for the morning paper, he had heard a story about tom delamere which, he imagined, would spike that gentleman's guns for all time, so far as miss pemberton was concerned. so grave an affair as cheating at cards could never be kept secret, — it was certain to reach her ears ; and ellis was morally certain that clara would never marry a man who had been proved dishonorable. in the marrow of tradition all probability there would be no great sensation about the matter. delamere was too well connected; too many prominent people would be involved, — even clara, and the editor himself, of whom delamere was a distant cousin. the reputation of the club was also to be considered. ellis was not the man to feel a malicious delight in the misfortunes of another, nor was he a pessimist who welcomed scandal and dis¬ grace with open arms, as confirming a gloomy theory of human life. but, with the best intentions in the world, it was no more than human nature that he should feel a certain elation in the thought that his rival had been practically disposed of, and the field left clear; especially since this good situation had been brought about merely by the unmasking of a hypocrite, who had held him at an unfair disadvan¬ tage in the race for clara's favor. the night was quiet, except for the faint sound of distant music now and then, or the mellow laughter of some group of revelers. ellis met but few pedestri¬ ans, but as he neared old mr. delamere's, he saw two men walking in the same direction as his own, on the opposite side of the street. he had observed that they kept at about an equal distance apart, and that the second, from the stealthy manner in which he was making his way, was anxious to keep the first in sight, without disclosing his own presence. this aroused ellis's curiosity, which was satisfied in some degree when the man in advance stopped beneath a lamp-post and stood for a moment looking across the street, with his face plainly visible in the yellow circle of light. it was a dark face, and ellis recognized it instantly as that of old mr. delamere's body servant, whose personal appearance had been very vividly impressed a midnight walk upon ellis at the christening dinner at major car¬ teret's. he had seen sandy once since, too, at the hotel cakewalk. the negro had a small bundle in his hand, the nature of which ellis could not make out. when sandy had stopped beneath the lamp-post, the man who was following him had dodged behind a tree-trunk. when sandy moved on, ellis, who had stopped in turn, saw the man in hiding come out and follow sandy. when this second man came in range of the light, ellis wondered that there should be two men so much alike. the first of the two had undoubtedly been sandy. ellis had recognized the peculiar, old-fashioned coat that sandy had worn upon the two occasions when he had noticed him. barring this difference, and the somewhat unsteady gait of the second man, the two were as much alike as twin brothers. when they had entered mr. delamere's house, one after the other, — in the stillness of the night ellis could perceive that each of them tried to make as lit¬ tle noise as possible, — ellis supposed that they were probably relatives, both employed as servants, or that some younger negro, taking sandy for a model, was trying to pattern himself after his superior. why all this mystery, of course he could not imagine, unless the younger man had been out without permis¬ sion and was trying to avoid the accusing eye of sandy. ellis was vaguely conscious that he had seen the other negro somewhere, but he could not for the moment place him, — there were so many negroes, nearly three negroes to one white man in the city of wellington! the subject, however, while curious, was not im¬ portant as compared with the thoughts of his sweet- the marrow of tradition heart which drove it from his mind. clara had been kind to him the night before, — whatever her motive, she had been kind, and could not consistently return to her attitude of coldness. with delamere hope¬ lessly discredited, ellis hoped to have at least fair play, — with fair play, he would take his chances of the outcome. xx a shocking crime on friday morning, when old mrs. ochiltree's cook dinah went to wake her mistress, she was con¬ fronted with a sight that well-nigh blanched her ebony cheek and caused her eyes almost to start from her head with horror. as soon as she could com¬ mand her trembling limbs sufficiently to make them carry her, she rushed out of the house and down the street, bareheaded, covering in an incredibly short time the few blocks that separated mrs. ochiltree's residence from that of her niece. she hastened around the house, and finding the back door open and the servants stirring, ran into the house and up the stairs with the familiarity of an old servant, not stopping until she reached the door of mrs. carteret's chamber, at which she knocked in great agitation. entering in response to mrs. carteret's invitation, she found the lady, dressed in a simple wrapper, superintending the morning toilet of little dodie, who was a wakeful child, and insisted upon rising with the birds, for whose music he still showed a great fond¬ ness, in spite of his narrow escape while listening to the mockingbird. " what is it, dinah? " asked mrs. carteret, alarmed at the frightened face of her aunt's old servitor. " o my lawd, mis' 'livy, my lawd, my lawd! the marrow of tradition my legs is trim'lin' so dat i can't ha'dly hoi' my han's stiddy 'nough ter say w'at i got ter say! o lawd have mussy on us po' sinners! w'atever is gwine ter happen in dis worl' er sin an' sorrer ! " " what in the world is the matter, dinah ?" de¬ manded mrs. carteret, whose own excitement had increased with the length of this preamble. " has anything happened to aunt polly ? " " somebody done broke in de house las' night, mis' 'livy, an' kill' mis' polly, an' lef' her layin' dead on de flo', in her own blood, wid her cedar chis' broke' open, an' eve'thing scattered roun' de flo'! o my lawd, my lawd, my lawd, my lawd! " mrs. carteret was shocked beyond expression. perhaps the spectacle of dinah's unrestrained terror aided her to retain a greater measure of self-control than she might otherwise have been capable of. giving the nurse some directions in regard to the child, she hastily descended the stairs, and seizing a hat and jacket from the rack in the hall, ran immedi¬ ately with dinah to the scene of the tragedy. before the thought of this violent death all her aunt's faults faded into insignificance, and only her good qualities were remembered. she had reared olivia; she had stood up for the memory of olivia's mother when others had seemed to forget what was due to it. to her niece she had been a second mother, and had never been lacking in affection. more than one motive, however, lent wings to mrs. carteret's feet. her aunt's incomplete disclosures on the day of the drive past the hospital had been weigh¬ ing upon mrs. carteret's mind, and she had intended to make another effort this very day, to get an answer to her question about the papers which the woman had a shocking crime claimed were in existence. suppose her aunt had really found such papers, — papers which would seem to prove the preposterous claim made by her father's mulatto mistress ? suppose that, with the fatuity which generally leads human beings to keep compro¬ mising documents, her aunt had preserved these papers ? if they should be found there in the house, there might be a scandal, if nothing worse, and this was to be avoided at all hazards. guided by some fortunate instinct, dinah had as yet informed no one but mrs. carteret of her discovery. if they could reach the house before the murder be¬ came known to any third person, she might be the first to secure access to the remaining contents of the cedar chest, which would be likely to be held as evidence in case the officers of the law forestalled her own arrival. they found the house wrapped in the silence of death. mrs. carteret entered the chamber of the dead woman. upon the floor, where it had fallen, lay the body in a pool of blood, the strongly marked countenance scarcely more grim in the rigidity of death than it had been in life. a gaping wound in the head accounted easily for the death. the cedar chest stood open, its strong fastenings having been broken by a steel bar which still lay beside it. near it were scattered pieces of old lace, antiquated jewelry, tarnished silverware, — the various mute souvenirs of the joys and sorrows of a long and active life. kneeling by the open chest, mrs. carteret glanced hurriedly through its contents. there were no papers there except a few old deeds and letters. she had risen with a sigh of relief, when she perceived the end of a paper projecting from beneath the edge of a rug which had been carelessly rumpled, probably by the marrow of tradition the burglar in his hasty search for plunder. this paper, or sealed envelope as it proved to be, which evidently contained some inclosure, she seized, and at the sound of approaching footsteps thrust hastily into her own bosom. the sight of two agitated women rushing through the quiet streets at so early an hour in the morning had attracted attention and aroused curiosity, and the story of the murder, having once become known, spread with the customary rapidity of bad news. very soon a policeman, and a little later a sheriff's officer, arrived at the house and took charge of the remains to await the arrival of the coroner. by nine o'clock a coroner's jury had been sum¬ moned, who, after brief deliberation, returned a ver¬ dict of willful murder at the hands of some person or persons unknown, while engaged in the commission of a burglary. no sooner was the verdict announced than the com¬ munity, or at least the white third of it, resolved itself spontaneously into a committee of the whole to- dis¬ cover the perpetrator of this dastardly crime, which, at this stage of the affair, seemed merely one of robbery and murder. suspicion was at once directed toward the negroes, as it always is when an unexplained crime is commit¬ ted in a southern community. the suspicion was not entirely an illogical one. having been, for genera¬ tions, trained up to thriftlessness, theft, and immor¬ ality, against which only thirty years of very limited opportunity can be offset, during which brief period they have been denied in large measure the healthful social stimulus and sympathy which holds most men in the path of rectitude, colored people might reason- a shocking crime ably be expected to commit at least a share of crime proportionate to their numbers. the population of the town was at least two thirds colored. the chances were, therefore, in the absence of evidence, at least two to one that a man of color had committed the crime. the southern tendency to charge the negroes with all the crime and immorality of that region, unjust and exaggerated as the claim may be, was therefore not without a logical basis to the extent above indicated. it must not be imagined that any logic was needed, or any reasoning consciously worked out. the mere suggestion that the crime had been committed by a negro was equivalent to proof against any negro that might be suspected and could not prove his innocence. a committee of white men was hastily formed. act¬ ing independently of the police force, which was practically ignored as likely to favor the negroes, this committee set to work to discover the murderer. the spontaneous activity of the whites was accom¬ panied by a visible shrinkage of the colored population. this could not be taken as any indication of guilt, but was merely a recognition of the palpable fact that the american habit of lynching had so whetted the thirst for black blood that a negro suspected of crime had to face at least the possibility of a short shrift and a long rope, not to mention more gruesome horrors, without the intervention of judge or jury. since to have a black face at such a time was to challenge sus¬ picion, and since there was neither the martyr's glory nor the saint's tenown in being killed for some one else's crime, and very little hope of successful resistance in case of an attempt at lynching, it was obviously the part of prudence for those thus marked to seek immun¬ ity in a temporary disappearance from public view. the necessity of an example " no, but he might as well. when the posse went to arrest him, they found him cleaning the clothes he had worn last night, and discovered in his room a part of the plunder. he denies it strenuously, but it seems a clear case." " there can be no doubt," said ellis, who had come into the room behind the reporter. " i saw the negro last night, at twelve o'clock, going into mr. delamere's yard, with a bundle in his hand." " he is the last negro i should have suspected," said carteret. " mr. delamere had implicit confi¬ dence in him." " all niggers are alike," remarked mcbane senten- tiously. " the only way to keep them from stealing is not to give them the chance. a nigger will steal a cent off a dead man's eye. he has assaulted and murdered a white woman, — an example should be made of him." carteret recalled very distinctly the presence of this negro at his own residence on the occasion of little theodore's christening dinner. he remembered hav¬ ing questioned the prudence of letting a servant know that mrs. ochiltree kept money in the house. mr. delamere had insisted strenuously upon the honesty of this particular negro. the whole race, in the major's opinion, was morally undeveloped, and only held within bounds by the restraining influence of the white people. under mr. delamere's thumb this sandy had been a model servant, — faithful, docile, respectful, and self-respecting; but mr. delamere had grown old, and had probably lost in a measure his moral influence over his servant. left to his own degraded ancestral instincts, sandy had begun to de¬ teriorate, and a rapid decline had culminated in this the marrow of tradition robbery and murder, — and who knew what other horror ? the criminal was a negro, the victim a white woman; — it was only reasonable to expect the worst. " he ' swing for it," observed the general. ellis went into another room, where his duty called him. "he should burn for it," averred mcbane. "i say, burn the nigger." " this," said carteret, " is something more than an ordinary crime, to be dealt with by the ordinary pro¬ cesses of law. it is a murderous and fatal assault upon a woman of our race, — upon our race in the person of its womanhood, its crown and flower. if such crimes are not punished with swift and terrible direct¬ ness, the whole white womanhood of the south is in danger." " burn the nigger," repeated mcbane automati¬ cally. " neither is this a mere sporadic crime," carteret went on. " it is symptomatic; it is the logical and inevitable result of the conditions which have pre¬ vailed in this town for the past year. it is the last straw." "burn the nigger," reiterated mcbane. "we seem to have the right nigger, but whether we have or not, burn a nigger. it is an assault upon the white race, in the person of old mrs. ochiltree, com¬ mitted by the black race, in the person of some nig¬ ger. it would justify the white people in burning any nigger. the example would be all the more powerful if we got the wrong one. it would serve notice on the niggers that we shall hold the whole race responsible for the misdeeds of each individual." " in ancient kome," said the general, " when a the marrow of tradition pie are very much pleased with the assistance you have given them in apprehending this scoundrel campbell. you have rendered a great public service, jerry, and we wish you to know that it is appreciated." " thank y', gin'l, thank y', suh ! i alluz tries ter do my duty, suh, an' stan' by dem dat stan's by me. dat low-down nigger oughter be lynch', suh, don't you think, er e'se bu'nt ? dere ain' nothin' too bad ter happen ter 'im." "no doubt he will be punished as he deserves, jerry," returned the general, "and we will see that you are suitably rewarded. go across the street and get me three calhoun cocktails. i seem to have nothing less than a two-dollar bill, but you may keep the change, jerry, — all the change." jerry was very happy. he had distinguished him¬ self in the public view, for to jerry, as to the white people themselves, the white people were the public. he had won the goodwill of the best people, and had already begun to reap a tangible reward. it is true that several strange white men looked at him with lowering brows as he crossed the street, which was curiously empty of colored people; but he neverthe¬ less went firmly forward, panoplied in the conscious¬ ness of his own rectitude, and serenely confident of the protection of the major and the major's friends. " jerry is about the only negro i have seen since nine o'clock," observed the general when the porter had gone. " if this were election day, where would the negro vote be ? " " in hiding, where most of the negro population is to-day," answered mcbane. " it's a pity, if old mrs. ochiltree had to go this way, that it could n't have been deferred a month or six weeks." the necessity of an example carteret frowned at this remark, which, coming from mcbane, seemed lacking in human feeling, as well as in respect to his wife's dead relative. " but," resumed the general, " if this negro is lynched, as he well deserves to be, it will not be with¬ out its effect. we still have in reserve for the elec¬ tion a weapon which this affair will only render more effective. what became of the piece in the negro paper ? " " i have it here," answered carteret. " i was just about to use it as the text for an editorial." " save it awhile longer," responded the general. "this crime itself will give you text enough for a four-volume work." when this conference ended, carteret immediately put into press an extra edition of the morning chronicle, which was soon upon the streets, giving details of the crime, which was characterized as an atrocious assault upon a defenseless old lady, whose age and sex would have protected her from harm at the hands of any one but a brute in the lowest human form. this event, the chronicle suggested, had only confirmed the opinion, which had been of late growing upon the white people, that drastic efforts were neces¬ sary to protect the white women of the south against brutal, lascivious, and murderous assaults at the hands of negro men. it was only another significant example of the results which might have been foreseen from the application of a false and pernicious political theory, by which ignorance, clothed in a little brief authority, was sought to be exalted over knowledge, vice over virtue, an inferior and degraded race above the heaven-crowned anglo-saxon. if an outraged people, justly infuriated, and impatient of the slow the marrow of tradition processes of the courts, should assert their inherent sovereignty, which the law after all was merely in¬ tended to embody, and should choose, in obedience to the higher law, to set aside, temporarily, the ordinary judicial procedure, it would serve as a warning and an example to the vicious elements of the community, of the swift and terrible punishment which would fall, like the judgment of god, upon any one who laid sacrilegious hands upon white womanhood. xxii how not to prevent a lynching dr. miller, who had sat up late the night before with a difficult case at the hospital, was roused, about eleven o'clock, from a deep and dreamless sleep. struggling back into consciousness, he was informed by his wife, who stood by his bedside, that mr. wat¬ son, the colored lawyer, wished to see him upon a matter of great importance. "nothing but a matter of life and death would make me get up just now," he said with a portentous yawn. " this is a matter of life and death," replied janet. " old mrs. polly ochiltree was robbed and murdered last night, and sandy campbell has been arrested for the crime, — and they are going to lynch him! " " tell watson to come right up," exclaimed miller, springing out of bed. "we can talk while i'm dressing." while miller made a hasty toilet watson explained the situation. campbell had been arrested on the charge of murder. he had been seen, during the night, in the neighborhood of the scene of the crime, by two different persons, a negro and a white man, and had been identified later while entering mr. dela- mere's house, where he lived, and where damning proofs of his guilt had been discovered; the most important item of which was an old-fashioned knit silk purse, the marrow of tradition robbery and murder. a special edition of the morn¬ ing chronicle, just out, suggests a further purpose, and has all the old shopworn cant about race purity and supremacy and imperative necessity, which always comes to the front whenever it is sought to justify some outrage on the colored folks. the blood of the whites is up, i tell you ! " "is there anything to that suggestion?" asked miller incredulously. " it does n't matter whether there is or not," re¬ turned watson. "merely to suggest it proves it. nothing was said about this feature until the paper came out, — and even its statement is vague and in¬ definite, — but now the claim is in every mouth. i met only black looks as i came down the street. white men with whom i have long been on friendly terms passed me without a word. a negro has been arrested on suspicion, — the entire race is condemned on general principles." " the whole thing is profoundly discouraging," said miller sadly. " try as we may to build up the race in the essentials of good citizenship and win the good opinion of the best people, some black scoundrel comes along, and by a single criminal act, committed in the twinkling of an eye, neutralizes the effect of a whole year's work." " it's mighty easy neut'alize', er whatever you call it," said josh sullenly. " de w'ite folks don' want too good an opinion er de niggers, — ef dey had a good opinion of 'em, dey would n' have no excuse fer 'busin' an' hangin' an' burnin' 'em. but ef dey can't keep from doin' it, let 'em git de right man ! dis way er pickin' up de fus' nigger dey comes across, an' stringin' 'im up rega'dliss, ought ter be stop', an' stop' right now!" how not to prevent a lynching " yes, that's the worst of lynch law," said watson; " but we are wasting valuable time, — it's hardly worth while for us to discuss a subject we are all agreed upon. one of our race, accused of certain acts, is about to be put to death without judge or jury, ostensibly because he committed a crime, — really because he is a negro, for if he were white he would not be lynched. it is thus made a race issue, on the one side as well as on the other. what can we do to protect him ? " "we kin fight, ef we haf ter," replied josh reso¬ lutely. " well, now, let us see. suppose the colored peo¬ ple armed themselves ? messages would at once be sent to every town and county in the neighborhood. white men from all over the state, armed to the teeth, would at the slightest word pour into town on every railroad train, and extras would be run for their benefit." " they're already coming in," said watson. "we might go to the sheriff," suggested miller, " and demand that he telegraph the governor to call out the militia." " i spoke to the sheriff an hour ago," replied wat¬ son. " he has a white face and a whiter liver. he does not dare call out the militia to protect a negro charged with such a brutal crime; — and if he did, the militia are white men, and who can say that their efforts would not be directed to keeping the negroes out of the way, in order that the white devils might do their worst ? the whole machinery of the state is in the hands of white men, elected partly by our votes. when the color line is drawn, if they choose to stand together with the rest of their race against us, or to the marrow of tradition remain passive and let the others work their will, we are helpless, — our cause is hopeless." "we might call on the general government," said miller. " surely the president would intervene." " such a demand would be of no avail," returned watson. " the government can only intervene under certain conditions, of which it must be informed through designated channels. it never sees anything that is not officially called to its attention. the whole negro population of the south might be slaughtered before the necessary red tape could be spun out to inform the president that a state of anarchy pre¬ vailed. there's no hope there." " den w'at we gwine ter do ? " demanded josh in¬ dignantly ; " jes' set here an' let 'em hang sandy, er bu'n 'im ? " " god knows! " exclaimed miller. " the outlook is dark, but we should at least try to do something. there must be some white men in the town who would stand for law and order, — there's no possible chance for sandy to escape hanging by due process of law, if he is guilty. we might at least try half a dozen gentlemen." "we'd better leave josh here," said watson. " he's too truculent. if he went on the street he'd make trouble, and if he accompanied us he'd do more harm than good. wait for us here, josh, until we 've seen what we can do. we'll be back in half an hour." in half an hour they had both returned. "it's no use," reported watson gloomily. "i called at the mayor's office and found it locked. he is doubtless afraid on his own account, and would not dream of asserting his authority. i then looked up how not to prevent a lynching judge everton, who has always seemed to be fair. my reception was cold. he admitted that lynching was, as a rule, unjustifiable, but maintained that there were exceptions to all rules, — that laws were made, after all, to express the will of the people in regard to the ordinary administration of justice, but that in an emergency the sovereign people might assert itself and take the law into its own hands, — the creature was not greater than the creator. he laughed at my suggestion that sandy was innocent. if he is inno¬ cent,' he said, ' then produce the real criminal. you negroes are standing in your own light when you try to protect such dastardly scoundrels as this campbell, who is an enemy of society and not fit to live. i shall not move in the matter. if a negro wants the pro¬ tection of the law, let him obey the law.' a wise judge, — a second daniel come to judgment! if this were the law, there would be no need of judges or juries." " i called on dr. price," said miller, " my good friend dr. price, who would rather lie than hurt my feelings. ' miller,' he declared, ' this is no affair of mine, or yours. i have too much respect for myself and my profession to interfere in such a matter, and you will accomplish nothing, and only lessen your own influence, by having anything to say.' ' but the man may be innocent,' i replied; ' there is every reason to believe that he is.' he shook his head pityingly. 'you are self-deceived, miller; your prejudice has warped your judgment. the proof is overwhelming that he robbed this old lady, laid violent hands upon her, and left her dead. if he did no more, he has violated the written and unwritten law of the southern states. i could not save him if i would, miller, and the marrow of tradition frankly, i would not if i could. if he is innocent, his people can console themselves with the reflection that mrs. ochiltree was also innocent, and balance one crime against the other, the white against the black. of course i shall take no part in whatever may be done, — but it is not my affair, nor yours. take my advice, miller, and keep out of it.' " that is the situation," added miller, summing up. " their friendship for us, a slender stream at the best, dries up entirely when it strikes their prejudices. there is seemingly not one white man in wellington who will speak a word for law, order, decency, or humanity. those who do not participate will stand idly by and see an untried man deliberately and brutally murdered. race prejudice is the devil un¬ chained." " well, den, suh," said josh, " where does we stan' now ? w'at is we gwine ter do ? i would n' min' fightin', fer my time ain't come yit, — i feels dat in my bones. w'at we gwine ter do, dat's w'at i wanter know." " what does old mr. delamere have to say about the matter ? " asked miller suddenly. " why have n't we thought of him before ? has he been seen ? " "no," replied watson gloomily, "and for a good reason, — he is not in town. i came by the house just now, and learned that he went out to his country place yesterday afternoon, to remain a week. sandy was to have followed him out there this morning, — it's a pity he did n't go yesterday. the old gentle¬ man has probably heard nothing about the matter." " how about young delamere ? " " he went away early this morning, down the river, to fish. he ' probably not hear of it before night, how not to prevent a lynching and he's only a boy anyway, and could very likely do nothing," said watson. miller looked at his watch. " belle view is ten miles away," he said. " it is now eleven o'clock. i can drive out there in an hour and a half at the farthest. i ' go and see mr. dela- mere, — he can do more than any living man, if he is able to do anything at all. there's never been a lynching here, and one good white man, if he choose,, may stem the flood long enough to give justice a chance. keep track of the white people while i'm gone, watson ; and you, josh, learn what the colored folks are saying, and do nothing rash until i return. in the meantime, do all that you can to find out who did commit this most atrocious murder." xxiii belleview miller did not reach his destination without in¬ terruption. at one point a considerable stretch of the road was under repair, which made it necessary for him to travel slowly. his horse cast a shoe, and threatened to go lame; but in the course of time he arrived at the entrance gate of belleview, entering which he struck into a private road, bordered by mas¬ sive oaks, whose multitudinous branches, hung with long streamers of trailing moss, formed for much of the way a thick canopy above his head. it took him only a few minutes to traverse the quarter of a mile that lay between the entrance gate and the house itself. this old colonial plantation, rich in legendary lore and replete with historic distinction, had been in the delamere family for nearly two hundred years. along the bank of the river which skirted its domain the famous pirate blackbeard had held high carnival, and was reputed to have buried much treasure, vague traditions of which still lingered among the negroes and poor-whites of the country roundabout. the beautiful residence, rising white and stately in a grove of ancient oaks, dated from , and was built of brick which had been brought from england. en¬ larged and improved from generation to generation, it stood, like a baronial castle, upon a slight eminence belleview from which could be surveyed the large demesne still belonging to the estate, which had shrunk greatly from its colonial dimensions. while still embracing several thousand acres, part forest and part cleared land, it had not of late years been profitable; in spite of which mr. delamere, with the conservatism of his age and caste, had never been able to make up his mind to part with any considerable portion of it. his grandson, he imagined, could make the estate pay and yet preserve it in its integrity. here, in pleasant weather, surrounded by the scenes which he loved, old mr. delamere spent much of the time during his declining years. dr. miller had once passed a day at belleview, upon mr. delamere's invitation. for this old-fash¬ ioned gentleman, whose ideals not even slavery had been able to spoil, regarded himself as a trustee for the great public, which ought, in his opinion, to take as much pride as he in the contemplation of this his¬ toric landmark. in earlier years mr. delamere had been a practicing lawyer, and had numbered miller's father among his clients. he had always been re¬ garded as friendly to the colored people, and, until age and ill health had driven him from active life, had taken a lively interest in their advancement since the abolition of slavery. upon the public opening of miller's new hospital, he had made an effort to be present, and had made a little speech of approval and encouragement which had manifested his kindli¬ ness and given miller much pleasure. it was with the consciousness, therefore, that he was approaching a friend, as well as sandy's master, that miller's mind was chiefly occupied as his tired horse, scenting the end of his efforts, bore him with a final the marrow of tradition burst of speed along the last few rods of the journey; for the urgency of miller's errand, involving as it did the issues of life and death, did not permit him to enjoy the charm of mossy oak or forest reaches, or even to appreciate the noble front of belleview house when it at last loomed up before him. "well, william," said mr. delamere, as he gave his hand to miller from the armchair in which he was seated under the broad and stately portico, " i did n't expect to see you out here. you ' excuse my not rising, — i'm none too firm on my legs. did you see anything of my man sandy back there on the road ? he ought to have been here by nine o'clock, and it's now one. sandy is punctuality itself, and i don't know how to account for his delay." clearly there need be no time wasted in prelimi¬ naries. mr. delamere had gone directly to the sub¬ ject in hand. " he will not be here to-day, sir," replied miller. " i have come to you on his account." in a few words miller stated the situation. " preposterous ! " exclaimed the old gentleman, with more vigor than miller had supposed him to possess. " sandy is absolutely incapable of such a crime as robbery, to say nothing of murder; and as for the rest, that is absurd upon the face of it! and so the poor old woman is dead! well, well, well! she could not have lived much longer anyway ; but sandy did not kill her, — it's simply impossible! why, i raised that boy ! he was born on my place. i'd as soon believe such a thing of my own grandson as of sandy ! no negro raised by a delamere would ever commit such a crime. i really believe, william, that sandy has the family honor of the delameres belleview quite as much at heart as i have. just tell them i say sandy is innocent, and it will be all right." "i'm afraid, sir," rejoined miller, who kept his voice up so that the old gentleman could understand without having it suggested that miller knew he was hard of hearing, " that you don't quite appreciate the situation. i believe sandy innocent; you be¬ lieve him innocent; but there are suspicious circum¬ stances which do not explain themselves, and the white people of the city believe him guilty, and are going to lynch him before he has a chance to clear himself." " why does n't he explain the suspicious circum¬ stances ? " asked mr. delamere. " sandy is truthful and can be believed. i would take sandy's word as quickly as another man's oath." " he has no chance to explain," said miller. " the case is prejudged. a crime has been committed. sandy is charged with it. he is black, and therefore he is guilty. no colored lawyer would be allowed in the jail, if one should dare to go there. no white lawyer will intervene. he ' be lynched to-night, without judge, jury, or preacher, unless we can stave the thing off for a day or two." " have you seen my grandson ? " asked the old gentleman. " is he not looking after sandy ? " " no, sir. it seems he went down the river this morning to fish, before the murder was discovered; no one knows just where he has gone, or at what hour he will return." "well, then," said mr. delamere, rising from his chair with surprising vigor, " i shall have to go my¬ self. no faithful servant of mine shall be hanged for a crime he did n't commit, so long as i have a voice xxiv two southern gentlemen the iron bolt rattled in the lock, the door of a cell swung open, and when mr. delamere had entered was quickly closed again. " "well, sandy ! " " oh, mars john! is you fell from hebben ter he'p me out er here ? i prayed de lawd ter sen' you, an' he answered my prayer, an' here you is, mars john, — here you is! oh, mars john, git me out er dis place!" " tut, tut, sandy! " answered his master; " of course i ' get you out. that's what i 've come for. how in the world did such a mistake ever happen ? you would no more commit such a crime than i would!" "no, suh, 'deed i would n', an' you know i would n'! i would n' want ter bring no disgrace on de fam'ly dat raise' me, ner ter make no trouble fer you, suh; but here i is, suh, lock' up in jail, an' folks talkin' 'bout hangin' me fer somethin' dat never entered my min', suh. i swea' ter god i never thought er sech a thing! " " of course you did n't, sandy," returned mr. delamere soothingly; " and now the next thing, and the simplest thing, is to get you out of this. ' speak to the officers, and at the preliminary hearing to-morrow i ' tell them all about you, and they will two southern gentlemen let you go. you won't mind spending one night in jail for your sins." " no, suh, ef i wuz sho' i'd be 'lowed ter spen' it here. but dey say dey 're gwine ter lynch me ter- night, — i kin hear 'em talkin' f'm de winders er de cell, suh." "well, i say, sandy, that they shall do no such thing! lynch a man brought up by a delamere, for a crime of which he is innocent ? preposterous! i ' speak to the authorities and see that you are properly protected until this mystery is unraveled. if tom had been here, he would have had you out before now, sandy. my grandson is a genuine delamere, is he not, sandy ? " " yas, suh, yas, suh," returned sandy, with a lack of enthusiasm which he tried to conceal from his mas¬ ter. " an' i s'pose ef he had n' gone fishin' so soon dis mawnin', he'd 'a' be'n lookin' after me, suh." " it has been my love for him and your care of me, sandy," said the old gentleman tremulously, " that have kept me alive so long; but now explain to me everything concerning this distressing matter, and i shall then be able to state your case to better advan¬ tage." "well, suh," returned sandy, "i mought's well tell de whole tale an' not hoi' nothin' back. i wuz kind er lonesome las' night, an' sence i be'n tu'ned outen de chu'ch on account er dat cakewalk i did n' go ter, so he'p me god ! i did n' feel like gwine ter prayer-ineetin', so i went roun' ter see solomon wil¬ liams, an' he wa'n't home, an' den i walk' down street an' met josh green, an' he ax' me inter sam tay¬ lor's place, an' i sot roun' dere wid josh till 'bout 'leven o'clock, w'en i sta'ted back home. i went the marrow of tradition straight ter de house, suh, an' went ter bed an' ter sleep widout sayin' a wo'd ter a single soul excep' mistuh tom, who wuz settin' up readin' a book w'en i come in. i wish i may drap dead in my tracks, suh, ef dat ain't de god's truf, suh, eve'y wo'd of it! " " i believe every word of it, sandy; now tell me about the clothes that you are said to have been found cleaning, and the suspicious articles that were found in your room ? " " dat's w'at beats me, mars john," replied sandy, shaking his head mournfully. " w'en i lef' home las' night after supper, my clo's wuz all put erway in de closet in my room, folded up on de she'f ter keep de moths out. dey wuz my good clo's, — de blue coat dat you wo' ter de weddin' fo'ty years ago, an' dem dere plaid pants i gun mistuh cohen fo' dollars fer three years ago; an' w'en i looked in my closet dis mawnin', suh, befo' i got ready ter sta't fer belleview, dere wuz my clo's layin' on de flo', all muddy an' crumple' up, des lack somebody had wo' 'em in a fight! somebody e'se had wo' my clo's, — er e'se dere'd be'n some witchcraf', er some sort er devil¬ ment gwine on dat i can't make out, suh, ter save my soul! " " there was no witchcraft, sandy, but that there was some deviltry might well be. now, what other negro, who might have been mistaken for you, could have taken your clothes ? surely no one about the house ? " " no, suh, no, suh. it could n't 'a' be'n jeff, fer he wuz at belleview wid you ; an' it could n't 'a' be'n billy, fer he wuz too little ter wear my clo's; an' it could n't 'a' be'n sally, fer she's a 'oman. it's a myst'ry ter me, suh! " two southern gentlemen " have you no enemies ? is there any one in wel¬ lington whom you imagine would like to do you an injury ? " " not a livin' soul dat i knows of, suh. i've be'n tu'ned out'n de chu'ch, but i don' know who my enemy is dere, er ef it wuz all a mistake, like dis yer jailin' is; but de debbil is in dis somewhar, mars john, — an' i got my reasons fer sayin' so." " what do you mean, sandy ? " sandy related his experience of the preceding even¬ ing : how he had seen the apparition preceding him to the house, and how he had questioned tom upon the subject. " there 's some mystery here, sandy," said mr. delamere reflectively. " have you told me all, now, upon your honor? i am trying to save your life, sandy, and i must be able to trust your word im¬ plicitly. you must tell me every circumstance; a very little and seemingly unimportant bit of evidence may sometimes determine the issue of a great lawsuit. there is one thing especially, sandy : where did you get the gold which was found in your trunk? " sandy's face lit up with hopefulness. " why, mars john, i kin 'splain dat part easy. dat wuz money i had lent out, an' i got back f'm — but no, suh, i promise' not ter tell." " circumstances absolve you from your promise, sandy. your life is of more value to you than any other thing. if you will explain where you got the gold, and the silk purse that contained it, which is said to be mrs. ochiltree's, you will be back home before night." old mr. delamere's faculties, which had been wan¬ ing somewhat in sympathy with his health, were two southern gentlemen be sol' away f'm his wife an' child'en, you bought him an' dem, an' kep' us all on yo' place tergether, did n't you, suh ? " " yes, sandy, and he was a faithful servant, and proved worthy of all i did for him." " and w'en he had wo'ked fer you ten years, suh, you sot 'im free ? " "yes, sandy, he had earned his freedom." " an' w'en de wah broke out, an' my folks wuz scattered, an' i did n' have nothin' ter do ner nowhar ter go, you kep' me on yo' place, and tuck me ter wait on you, suh, did n't you ? " " yes, sandy, and you have been a good servant and a good friend; but tell me now about this gold, and i ' go and get you out of this, right away, for i need you, sandy, and you ' not be of any use to me shut up here ! " " jes' hoi' on a minute befo' you go, mars john; fer ef dem people outside should git holt er me befo' you does git me out er here, i may never see you no mo', suh, in dis worl'. wen mars billy mclean shot me by mistake, w'ile we wuz out huntin' dat day, who wuz it boun' up my woun's an' kep' me from bleedin' ter def, an' kyar'ed me two miles on his own shoulders ter a doctuh ? " " yes, sandy, and when black sally ran away with your young mistress and tom, when tom was a baby, who stopped the runaway, and saved their lives at the risk of his own ? " " dat wa'n't nothin', suh; anybody could 'a' done dat, w'at wuz strong ernuff an' swif' ernuff. you is be'n good ter me, suh, all dese years, an' i've tried ter do my duty by you, suh, an' by mistuh tom, who wuz yo' own gran'son, an' de las' one er de fam'ly." the marrow of tradition " yes, you have, sandy, and when i am gone, which will not be very long, tom will take care of you, and see that you never want. but we are wasting valua¬ ble time, sandy, in these old reminiscences. let us get back to the present. tell me about the gold, now, so that i may at once look after your safety. it may not even be necessary for you to remain here all night." " jes' one wo'd mo', mars john, befo' you go! i know you 're gwine ter do de bes' you kin fer me, an' i'm sorry i can't he'p you no mo' wid it; but ef dere should be any accident, er ef you can't git me out er here, don' bother yo' min' 'bout it no mo', suh, an' don' git yo'se'f ixcited, fer you know de doctuh says, suh, dat you can't stan' ixcitement; but jes' leave me in de han's er de lawd, suh, — he ' look after me, here er hereafter. i know i've fell f'm grace mo' d'n once, but i've done made my peace wid him in dis here jail-house, suh, an' i ain't 'feared ter die — ef i haf ter. i ain' got no wife ner child'n ter mo'n fer me, an' i ' die knowin' dat i've done my duty ter dem dat hi'ed me, an' trusted me, an' had claims on me. fer i wuz raise' by a delamere, suh, an' all de ole delameres wuz gent'emen, an' deir principles spread ter de niggers 'round 'em, suh ; an' ef i has ter die fer somethin' i did n' do, — i kin die, suh, like a gent'eman! but ez fer dat gol', suh, i ain' gwine ter say one wo'd mo' 'bout it ter nobody in dis worl'! " nothing could shake sandy's determination. mr. delamere argued, expostulated, but all in vain. sandy would not speak. more and more confident of some mystery, which would come out in time, if properly investigated, mr. two southern gentlemen delamere, strangely beset by a vague sense of dis¬ comfort over and beyond that occasioned by his ser¬ vant's danger, hurried away upon his errand of mercy. he felt less confident of the outcome than when he had entered the jail, but was quite as much resolved that no effort should be spared to secure protection for sandy until there had been full opportunity for the truth to become known. " take good care of your prisoner, sheriff," he said sternly, as he was conducted to the door. " he will not be long in your custody, and i shall see that you are held strictly accountable for his safety." " i ' do what i can, sir," replied the sheriff in an even tone and seemingly not greatly impressed by this warning. " if the prisoner is taken from me, it will be because the force that comes for him is too strong for resistance." " there should be no force too strong for an honest man in your position to resist, — whether successfully or not is beyond the question. the officer who is in¬ timidated by threats, or by his own fears, is recreant to his duty, and no better than the mob which threatens him. but you will have no such test, mr. wemyss! i shall see to it myself that there is no violence!" xxv the honor of a family mr. delamere's coachman, who, in accordance with instructions left by miller, had brought the car¬ riage around to the jail and was waiting anxiously at the nearest corner, drove up with some trepidation as he saw his master emerge from the prison. the old gentleman entered the carriage and gave the order to be driven to the office of the morning chronicle. according to jerry, the porter, whom he encountered at the door, carteret was in his office, and mr. dela- mere, with the aid of his servant, climbed the stairs painfully and found the editor at his desk. " carteret," exclaimed mr. delamere, " what is all this talk about lynching my man for murder and rob¬ bery and criminal assault ? it's perfectly absurd! the man was raised by me ; he has lived in my house forty years. he has been honest, faithful, and trust¬ worthy. he would no more be capable of this crime than you would, or my grandson tom. sandy has too much respect for the family to do anything that would reflect disgrace upon it." " my dear mr. delamere," asked carteret, with an indulgent smile, " how could a negro possibly reflect discredit upon a white family ? i should really like to know." " how, sir ? a white family raised him. like all the negroes, he has been clay in the hands of the the honor of a family white people. tliey are what we have made them, or permitted them to become." "we are not god, mr. delamere! we do not claim to have created these — masterpieces." " no ; but we thought to overrule god's laws, and we enslaved these people for our greed, and sought to escape the manstealer's curse by laying to our souls the flattering unction that we were making of bar¬ barous negroes civilized and christian men. if we did not, if instead of making them christians we have made some of them brutes, we have only ourselves to blame, and if these, prey upon society, it is our just punishment! but my negroes, carteret, were well raised and well behaved. this man is innocent of this offense, i solemnly affirm, and i want your aid to secure his safety until a fair trial can be had." " on your bare word, sir ? " asked carteret, not at all moved by this outburst. old mr. delamere trembled with anger, and his withered cheek flushed darkly, but he restrained his feelings, and answered with an attempt at calm¬ ness : — " time was, sir, when the word of a delamere was held as good as his bond, and those who questioned it were forced to maintain their skepticism upon the field of honor. time was, sir, when the law was enforced in this state in a manner to command the respect of the world! our lawyers, our judges, our courts, were a credit to humanity and civilization. i fear i have outlasted my epoch, — i have lived to hear of white men, the most favored of races, the heirs of civilization, the conservators of liberty, howling like red indians around a human being slowly roasting at the stake." the marrow of tradition " my dear sir," said carteret soothingly, " you should undeceive yourself. this man is no longer your property. the negroes are no longer under our con¬ trol, and with their emancipation ceased our responsi¬ bility. their insolence and disregard for law have reached a point where they must be sternly rebuked." " the law," retorted mr. delamere, " furnishes a sufficient penalty for any crime, however heinous, and our code is by no means lenient. to my old- fashioned notions, death would seem an adequate pun¬ ishment for any crime, and torture has been abolished in civilized countries for a hundred years. it would be better to let a crime go entirely unpunished, than to use it as a pretext for turning the whole white popula¬ tion into a mob of primitive savages, dancing in hellish glee around the mangled body of a man who has never been tried for a crime. all this, however, is apart from my errand, which is to secure your assistance in heading off this mob until sandy can have a fair hear¬ ing and an opportunity to prove his innocence." " how can i do that, mr. delamere ? " "you are editor of the morning chronicle. the chronicle is the leading newspaper of the city. this morning's issue practically suggested the mob; the same means will stop it. i will pay the expense of an extra edition, calling off the mob, on the ground that newly discovered evidence has shown the prisoner's innocence." " but where is the evidence ? " asked carteret. again mr. delamere flushed and trembled. " my evidence, sir! i say the negro was morally incapable of the crime. a man of forty-five does not change his nature over-night. he is no more capable of a disgraceful deed than my grandson would be! " the honor of a family carteret smiled sadly. " i am sorry, mr. delamere," he said, " that you should permit yourself to be so exercised about a worthless scoundrel who has forfeited his right to live. the proof against him is overwhelming. as to his capability of crime, we will apply your own test. you have been kept in the dark too long, mr. delamere, — indeed, we all have, — about others as well as this negro. listen, sir: last night, at the clarendon club, tom delamere was caught cheating outrageously at cards. he had been suspected for some time; a trap was laid for him, and he fell into it. out of regard for you and for my family, he has been permitted to resign quietly, with the understanding that he first pay off his debts, which are considerable." mr. delamere's face, which had taken on some color in the excitement of the interview, had gradually paled to a chalky white while carteret was speaking. his head sunk forward; already an old man, he seemed to have aged ten years in but little more than as many seconds. " can this be true ?" he demanded in a hoarse whisper. " is it — entirely authentic ? " " true as gospel; true as it is that mrs. ochiltree has been murdered, and that this negro killed her. ellis was at the club a few minutes after the affair happened, and learned the facts from one of the participants. tom made no attempt at denial. we have kept the matter out of the other papers, and i would have spared your feelings, — i surely would not wish to wound them, — but the temptation proved too strong for me, and it seemed the only way to convince you : it was your own test. if a gentleman of a dis¬ tinguished name and an honorable ancestry, with all the marrow of tradition. the restraining forces of social position surrounding him, to hold him in check, can stoop to dishonor, what is the improbability of an illiterate negro's being at least capable of crime ? " " enough, sir," said the old gentleman. " you have proved enough. my grandson may be a scoundrel,— i can see, in the light of this revelation, how he might be; and he seems not to have denied it. i maintain, nevertheless, that my man sandy is innocent of the charge against him. he has denied it, and it has not been proved. carteret, i owe that negro my life ; he, and his father before him, have served me and mine faithfully and well. i cannot see him killed like a dog, without judge or jury, — no, not even if he were guilty, which i do not believe! " carteret felt a twinge of remorse for the pain he had inflicted upon this fine old man, this ideal gentle¬ man of the ideal past, — the past which he himself so much admired and regretted. he would like to spare his old friend any further agitation; he was in a state of health where too great excitement might prove fatal. but how could he ? the negro was guilty, and sure to die sooner or later. he had not meant to interfere, and his intervention might be fruitless. " mr. delamere," he said gently, " there is but one way to gain time. you say the negro is innocent. appearances are against him. the only way to clear him is to produce the real criminal, or prove an alibi. if you, or some other white man of equal standing, could swear that the negro was in your presence last night at any hour when this crime could have taken place, it might be barely possible to prevent the lynch¬ ing for the present; and when he is tried, which will probably be not later than next week, he will have the honor of a family every opportunity to defend himself, with you to see that he gets no less than justice. i think it can be managed, though there is still a doubt. i will do my best, for your sake, mr. delamere, — solely for your sake, be it understood, and not for that of the negro, in whom you are entirely deceived." " i shall not examine your motives, carteret," replied the other, "if you can bring about what i desire." " whatever is done," added carteret, " must be done quickly. it is now four o'clock; no one can answer for what may happen after seven. if he can prove an alibi, there may yet be time to save him. white men might lynch a negro on suspicion; they would not kill a man who was proven, by the word of white men, to be entirely innocent." " i do not know," returned mr. delamere, shaking his head sadly. " after what you have told me, it is no longer safe to assume what white men will or will not do; — what i have learned here has shaken my faith in humanity. i am going away, but shall return in a short time. shall i find you here ? " " i will await your return," said carteret. he watched mr. delamere pityingly as the old man moved away on the arm of the coachman waiting in the hall. he did not believe that mr. delamere could prove an alibi for his servant, and without some posi¬ tive proof the negro would surely die, — as he well deserved to die. xxvi the discomfort of ellis mk. ellis was vaguely uncomfortable. in the first excitement following the discovery of the crime, he had given his bit of evidence, and had shared the universal indignation against the murderer. when public feeling took definite shape in the intention to lynch the prisoner, ellis felt a sudden sense of re¬ sponsibility growing upon himself. when he learned, an hour later, that it was proposed to burn the negro, his part in the affair assumed a still graver aspect; for his had been the final word to fix the prisoner's guilt. ellis did not believe in lynch law. he had argued against it, more than once, in private conversation, and had written several editorials against the practice, while in charge of the morning chronicle during major car¬ teret's absence. a young man, however, and merely representing another, he had not set up as a reformer, taking rather the view that this summary method of punishing crime, with all its possibilities of error, to say nothing of the resulting disrespect of the law and contempt for the time-honored methods of establishing guilt, was a mere temporary symptom of the unrest caused by the unsettled relations of the two races at the south. there had never before been any special need for any vigorous opposition to lynch law, so far as the community was concerned, for there had not been the discomfort of ellis a lynching in wellington since ellis had come there, eight years before, from a smaller town, to seek a place for himself in the world of action. twenty years before, indeed, there had been wild doings, during the brief ku-klux outbreak, but that was before ellis's time, — or at least when he was but a child. he had come of a quaker family, — the modified quakers of the south,—and while sharing in a general way the southern prejudice against the negro, his prejudices had been tempered by the peace¬ ful tenets of his father's sect. his father had been a whig, and a non-slaveholder; and while he had gone with the south in the civil war so far as a man of peace could go, he had not done so for love of slavery. as the day wore on, ellis's personal responsibility for the intended auto-da-fe, bore more heavily upon him. suppose he had been wrong ? he had seen the accused negro ; he had recognized him by his clothes, his whiskers, his spectacles, and his walk; but he had also seen another man, who resembled sandy so closely that but for the difference in their clothes, he was forced to acknowledge, he could not have tpld them apart. had he not seen the first man, he would have sworn with even greater confidence that the second was sandy. there had been, he recalled, about one of the men — he had not been then nor was he now able to tell which — something vaguely familiar, and yet seemingly discordant to whichever of the two it was, or, as it seemed to him now, to any man of that race. his mind reverted to the place where he had last seen sandy, and then a sudden wave of illumination swept over him, and filled him with a thrill of horror. the cakewalk, — the dancing, — the speech, — they were not sandy's at all, nor any negro's! it was a the marrow of tradition white man who had stood in the light of the street lamp, so that the casual passer-by might see and re¬ cognize in him old mr. delamere's servant. the scheme was a dastardly one, and worthy of a heart that was something worse than weak and vicious. ellis resolved that the negro should not, if he could prevent it, die for another's crime; but what proof had he himself to offer in support of his theory? then again, if he denounced tom delamere as the murderer, it would involve, in all probability, the destruction of his own hopes with regard to clara. of course she could not marry delamere after the dis¬ closure, — the disgraceful episode at the club would have been enough to make that reasonably certain; it had put a nail in delamere's coffin, but this crime had driven it in to the head and clinched it. on the other hand, would miss pemberton ever speak again to the man who had been the instrument of bringing disgrace upon the family ? spies, detectives, police officers, may be useful citizens, but they are rarely pleasant company for other people. we fee the executioner, but we do not touch his bloody hand. we might feel a certain tragic admiration for brutus condemning his sons to death, but we would scarcely invite brutus to dinner after the event. it would harrow our feelings too much. perhaps, thought ellis, there might be a way out of the dilemma. it might be possible to save this innocent negro without, for the time being, involving delamere. he believed that murder will out, but it need not be through his initiative. he determined to go to the jail and interview the prisoner, who might give such an account of himself as would establish his innocence beyond a doubt. if so, ellis would exert the marrow of tradition would prefer for souvenirs. ellis shuddered and has¬ tened forward. whatever was to be done must be done quickly, or it would be too late. he saw that already it would require la strong case in favor of the accused to overcome the popular verdict. going up the steps of the jail, he met mr. dela- mere, who was just coming out, after a fruitless inter¬ view with sandy. " mr. ellis," said the old gentleman, who seemed greatly agitated, " this is monstrous ! " "it is indeed, sir! " returned the younger man. " i mean to stop it if i can. the negro did not kill mrs. ochiltree." mr. delamere looked at ellis keenly, and, as ellis recalled afterwards, there was death in his eyes. un¬ able to draw a syllable from sandy, he had found his servant's silence more eloquent than words. ellis felt a presentiment that this affair, however it might terminate, would be fatal to this fine old man, whom the city could ill spare, in spite of his age and in¬ firmities. " mr. ellis," asked mr. delamere, in a voice which trembled with ill-suppressed emotion, " do you know who killed her ? " ellis felt a surging pity for his old friend; but every step that he had taken toward the jail had con¬ firmed and strengthened his own resolution that this contemplated crime, which he dimly felt to be far more atrocious than that of which sandy was accused, in that it involved a whole community rather than one vicious man, should be stopped at any cost. deplor¬ able enough had the negro been guilty, it became, in view of his certain innocence, an unspeakable horror, which for all time would cover the city with infamy. the discomfort of ellis " mr. delamere," he replied, looking the elder man squarely in the eyes, " i think i do, — and i am very sorry." " and who was it, mr. ellis ? " he put the question hopelessly, as though the answer were a foregone conclusion. " i do not wish to say at present," replied ellis, with a remorseful pang, " unless it becomes absolutely necessary, to save the negro's life. accusations are dangerous, — as this case proves, — unless the proof be certain." for a moment it seemed as though mr. delamere would collapse upon the spot. rallying almost in¬ stantly, however, he took the arm which ellis involun¬ tarily offered, and said with an effort: — "mr. ellis, you are a gentleman whom it is an honor to know. if you have time, i wish you would go with me to my house, — i can hardly trust myself alone, — and thence to the chronicle office. this thing shall be stopped, and you will help me stop it." it required but a few minutes to cover the half mile that lay between the prison and mr. delamere's residence. xxvii the vagaries of the higher law mr. delamere went immediately to his grandson's room, which he entered alone, closing and locking the door behind him. he had requested ellis to wait in the carriage. the bed had been made, and the room was ap¬ parently in perfect order. there was a bureau in the room, through which mr. delamere proceeded to look thoroughly. finding one of the drawers locked, he tried it with a key of his own, and being unable to unlock it, took a poker from beside the stove and broke it ruthlessly open. the contents served to confirm what he had heard concerning his grandson's character. thrown to¬ gether in disorderly confusion were bottles of wine and whiskey; soiled packs of cards; a dice-box with dice ; a box of poker chips, several revolvers, and a number of photographs and paper-covered books at which the old gentleman merely glanced to ascertain their nature. so far, while his suspicion had been strengthened, he had found nothing to confirm it. he searched the room more carefully, and found, in the wood-box by the small heating-stove which stood in the room, a torn and crumpled bit of paper. stooping to pick this up, his eye caught a gleam of something yellow beneath the bureau, which lay directly in his line of vision. the vagaries of the higher law first he smoothed out the paper. it was appar¬ ently the lower half of a label, or part of the cover of a small box, torn diagonally from corner to corner. from the business card at the bottom, which gave the name of a firm of manufacturers of theatrical sup¬ plies in a northern city, and from the letters remain¬ ing upon the upper and narrower half, the bit of paper had plainly formed part of the wrapper of a package of burnt cork. closing his fingers spasmodically over this damning piece of evidence, mr. delamere knelt painfully, and with the aid of his cane drew out from under the bureau the yellow object which had attracted his at¬ tention. it was a five-dollar gold piece of a date back toward the beginning of the century. to make assurance doubly sure, mr. delamere summoned the cook from the kitchen in the back yard. in answer to her master's questions, sally averred that mr. tom had got up very early, had knocked at her window, — she slept in a room off the kitchen in the yard, — and had told her that she need not bother about breakfast for him, as he had had a cold bite from the pantry; that he was going hunting and fishing, and would be gone all day. according to sally, mr. tom had come in about ten o'clock the night before. he had forgotten his night-key, sandy was out, and she had admitted him with her own key. he had said that he was very tired and was going immediately to bed. mr. delamere seemed perplexed; the crime had been committed later in the evening than ten o'clock. the cook cleared up the mystery. " i reckon he must 'a' be'n dead ti'ed, suh, fer i went back ter his room fifteen er twenty minutes after the marrow of tradition he come in fer ter fin' out w'at he wanted fer break- fus'$ an' i knock' two or three times, rale ha'd, an' mistuh tom did n' wake up no mo' d'n de dead. he sho'ly had a good sleep, er he'd never 'a' got up so ea'ly." " thank you, sally," said mr. delamere, when the woman had finished, " that will do." " will you be home ter suppah, suh ? " asked the cook. "yes." it was a matter of the supremest indifference to mr. delamere whether he should ever eat again, but he would not betray his feelings to a servant. in a few minutes he was driving rapidly with ellis toward the office of the morning chronicle. ellis could see that mr. delamere had discovered something of tragic import. neither spoke. ellis gave all his attention to the horses, and mr. delamere remained wrapped in his own sombre reflections. when they reached the office, they were informed by jerry that major carteret was engaged with gen¬ eral belmont and captain mcbane. mr. delamere knocked peremptorily at the door of the inner office, which was opened by carteret in person. " oh, it is you, mr. delamere." " carteret," exclaimed mr. delamere, " i must speak to you immediately, and alone." " excuse me a moment, gentlemen," said carteret, turning to those within the room. " i ' be back in a moment — don't go away." ellis had left the room, closing the door behind him. mr. delamere and carteret were quite alone. " carteret," declared the old gentleman, this mur¬ der must not take place." the marrow of tradition this foul murder, and then tried to fasten it upon as honest and faithful a soul as ever trod the earth." carteret, though at first overwhelmed by this an¬ nouncement, perceived with quick intuition that it might easily be true. it was but a step from fraud to crime, and in delamere's need of money there lay a palpable motive for robbery, — the murder may have been an afterthought. delamere knew as much about the cedar chest as the negro could have known, and more. but a white man must not be condemned without proof positive. " what foundation is there, sir," he asked, " for this astounding charge ? " mr. delamere related all that had taken place since he had left belleview a couple of hours before, and as he proceeded, step by step, every word carried convic¬ tion to carteret. tom delamere's skill as a mimic and a negro impersonator was well known; he had himself laughed at more than one of his performances. there had been a powerful motive, and mr. dela¬ mere's discoveries had made clear the means. tom's unusual departure, before breakfast, on a fishing ex¬ pedition was a suspicious circumstance. there was a certain devilish ingenuity about the affair which he would hardly have expected of tom delamere, but for which the reason was clear enough. one might have thought that tom would have been satisfied with merely blacking his face, and leaving to chance the identification of the negro who might be apprehended. he would hardly have implicated, out of pure malig¬ nity, his grandfather's old servant, who had been his own care-taker for many years. here, however, car¬ teret could see where tom's own desperate position the marrow of tradition the success of the impending " revolution," for which he and his confreres had labored so long, depended in large measure upon the maintenance of their race prestige, which would be injured in the eyes of the world by such a fiasco. while they might yet win by sheer force, their cause would suffer in the court of morals, where they might stand convicted as pirates, instead of being applauded as patriots. even the negroes would have the laugh on them, — the people whom they hoped to make approve and justify their own despoilment. to be laughed at by the negroes was a calamity only less terrible than failure or death. such an outcome of an event which had already been heralded to the four corners of the earth would throw a cloud of suspicion upon the stories of outrage which had gone up from the south for so many years, and had done so much to win the sympathy of the north for the white south and to alienate it from the colored people. the reputation of the race was threatened. they must not lynch the negro, and yet, for the credit of the town, its aristocracy, and the race, the truth of this ghastly story must not see the light, — at least not yet. " mr. delamere," he exclaimed, " i am shocked and humiliated. the negro must be saved, of course, but — consider the family honor." " tom is no longer a member of my family. i disown him. he has covered the family name — my name, sir —with infamy. we have no longer a family honor. i wish never to hear his name spoken again! " for several minutes carteret argued with his old friend. then he went into the other room and con¬ sulted with general belmont. the vagaries of the higher law the speaker. " with jour permission, i will formu¬ late the oath, and mr. delamere may repeat it after me, if he will. i solemnly swear," — " i solemnly swear," — mr. delamere's voice might have come from the tomb, so hollow and unnatural did it sound. " so help me god," — " so help me god," — " that the negro sandy campbell, now in jail on the charge of murder, robbery, and assault, was in my presence last night between the hours of eight and two o'clock." mr. delamere repeated this statement in a firm voice; but to ellis, who was in the secret, his words fell upon the ear like clods dropping upon the coffin in an open grave. " i wish to add," said general belmont, stepping forward, " that it is not our intention to interfere, by anything which may be done at this meeting, with the orderly process of the law, or to advise the prisoner's immediate release. the prisoner will remain in cus¬ tody, mr. delamere, major carteret, and i guarantee¬ ing that he will be proved entirely innocent at the preliminary hearing to-morrow morning." several of those present looked relieved ; others were plainly disappointed ; but when the meeting ended, the news went out that the lynching had been given up. carteret immediately wrote and had struck off a handbill giving a brief statement of the proceedings, and sent out a dozen boys to distribute copies among the people in the streets. that no pre¬ caution might be omitted, a call was issued to the wellington grays, the crack independent military company of the city, who in an incredibly short time were on guard at the jail. the marrow of tradition thus a slight change in the point of view had demonstrated the entire ability of the leading citizens to maintain the dignified and orderly processes of the law whenever they saw fit to do so. the night passed without disorder, beyond the somewhat rough handling of two or three careless negroes that came in the way of small parties of the disappointed who had sought alcoholic consolation. at ten o'clock the next morning, a preliminary hear¬ ing of the charge against campbell was had before a magistrate. mr. delamere, perceptibly older and more wizened than he had seemed the day before, and leaning heavily on the arm of a servant, repeated his statement of the evening before. only one or two witnesses were called, among whom was mr. ellis, who swore positively that in his opinion the prisoner was not the man whom he had seen and at first sup¬ posed to be campbell. the most sensational piece of testimony was that of dr. price, who had examined the body, and who swore that the wound in the head was not necessarily fatal, and might have been due to a fall, — that she had more than likely died of shock attendant upon the robbery, she being of advanced age and feeble health. there was no evidence, he said, of any other personal violence. sandy was not even bound over to the grand jury, but was discharged upon the ground that there was not sufficient evidence upon which to hold him. upon his release he received the congratulations of many present, some of whom would cheerfully have done him to death a few hours before. with the childish fickleness of a mob, they now experienced a satisfaction almost as great as, though less exciting the marrow of tradition ing frustrated, received slight attention, if any, in a fine-print paragraph on an inside page. the facts of the case never came out at all. the family honor of the delameres was preserved, and the prestige of the white race in wellington was not seriously impaired. upon leaving the preliminary hearing, old mr. delamere had requested general belmont to call at his house during the day upon professional business. this the general did in the course of the afternoon. " belmont," said mr. delamere, " i wish to make my will. i should have drawn it with my own hand; but you know my motives, and can testify to my soundness of mind and memory." he thereupon dictated a will, by the terms of which he left to his servant, sandy campbell, three thousand dollars, as a mark of the testator's appre¬ ciation of services rendered and sufferings endured by sandy on behalf of his master. after some minor dispositions, the whole remainder of the estate was devised to dr. william miller, in trust for the uses of his hospital and training-school for nurses, on condi¬ tion that the institution be incorporated and placed under the management of competent trustees. tom delamere was not mentioned in the will. " there, belmont," he said, " that load is off my mind. now, if you will call in some witnesses,— most of my people can write,—i shall feel entirely at ease." the will was signed by mr. delamere, and wit¬ nessed by jeff and billy, two servants in the house, neither of whom received any information as to its contents, beyond the statement that they were wit¬ nessing their master's will. the vagaries of the higher law " i wish to leave that with you for safe keeping, belmont," said mr. delamere, after the witnesses had retired. " lock it up in your safe until i die, which will not be very long, since i have no further desire to live." an hour later mr. delamere suffered a third para¬ lytic stroke, from which he died two days afterwards, without having in the meantime recovered the power of speech. the will was never produced. the servants stated, and general belmont admitted, that mr. delamere had made a will a few days before his death; but since it was not discoverable, it seemed probable that the testator had destroyed it. this was all the more likely, the general was inclined to think, because the will had been of a most unusual character. what the contents of the will were, he of course did not state, it having been made under the seal of profes¬ sional secrecy. this suppression was justified by the usual race argument: miller's hospital was already well estab¬ lished, and, like most negro institutions, could no doubt rely upon northern philanthropy for any fur¬ ther support it might need. mr. delamere's prop¬ erty belonged of right to the white race, and by the higher law should remain in the possession of white people. loyalty to one's race was a more sacred principle than deference to a weak old man's whims. having reached this conclusion, general belmont's first impulse was to destroy the will; on second thoughts he locked it carefully away in his safe. he would hold it awhile. it might some time be ad¬ visable to talk the matter over with young delamere, who was of a fickle disposition and might wish to change his legal adviser. the marrow of tradition the ochiltree affair. the lull, however, was only tem¬ porary, and more apparent than real, for the forces adverse to the negro were merely gathering strength for a more vigorous assault. while little was said in wellington, public sentiment all over the country became every day more favorable to the views of the conspirators. the nation was rushing forward with giant strides toward colossal wealth and world-domin¬ ion, before the exigencies of which mere abstract ethical theories must not be permitted to stand. the same argument that justified the conquest of an in¬ ferior nation could not be denied to those who sought the suppression of an inferior race. in the south, an obscure jealousy of the negro's progress, an obscure fear of the very equality so contemptuously denied, furnished a rich soil for successful agitation. statis¬ tics of crime, ingeniously manipulated, were made to present a fearful showing against the negro. vital statistics were made to prove that he had degenerated from an imaginary standard of physical excellence which had existed under the benign influence of slavery. constant lynchings emphasized his impo¬ tence, and bred everywhere a growing contempt for his rights. at the north, a new pharaoh had risen, who knew not israel, — a new generation, who knew little of the fierce passions which had played around the negro in a past epoch, and derived their opinions of him from the " coon song " and the police reports. those of his old friends who survived were disappointed that he had not flown with clipped wings; that he had not in one generation of limited opportunity attained the level of the whites. the whole race question seemed to have reached a sort of impasse, a blind alley, of in season and out which no one could see the outlet. the negro had become a target at which any one might try a shot. schoolboys gravely debated the question as to whether or not the negro should exercise the franchise. the pessimist gave him up in despair; while the optimist, smilingly confident that everything would come out all right in the end, also turned aside and went his buoyant way to more pleasing themes. for a time there were white men in the state who opposed any reactionary step unless it were of general application. they were conscientious men, who had learned the ten commandments and wished to do right; but this class was a small minority, and their objections were soon silenced by the all-powerful race argument. selfishness is the most constant of human motives. patriotism, humanity, or the love of god may lead to sporadic outbursts which sweep away the heaped-up wrongs of centuries; but they languish at times, while the love of self works on ceaselessly, un- wearyingly, burrowing always at the very roots of life, and heaping up fresh wrongs for other centuries to sweep away. the state was at the mercy of venal and self-seeking politicians, bent upon regaining their ascendency at any cost, stultifying their own minds by vague sophistries and high-sounding phrases, which deceived none but those who wished to be deceived, and these but imperfectly; and dulling the public conscience by a loud clamor in which the calm voice of truth was for the moment silenced. so the cause went on. carteret, as spokesman of the campaign, and sin- cerest of all its leaders, performed prodigies of labor. the morning chronicle proclaimed, in season and out, the doctrine of " white supremacy." leaving the marrow of tradition the paper in charge of ellis, the major made a tour of the state, rousing the white people of the "better class to an appreciation of the terrible danger which con¬ fronted them in the possibility that a few negroes might hold a few offices or dictate the terms upon which white men should fill them. difficulties were explained away. the provisions of the federal con¬ stitution, it was maintained, must yield to the " higher law," and if the constitution could neither be altered nor bent to this end, means must be found to circum¬ vent it. the device finally hit upon for disfranchising the colored people in this particular state was the notori¬ ous " grandfather clause." after providing various restrictions of the suffrage, based upon education, char¬ acter, and property, which it was deemed "would in effect disfranchise the colored race, an exception was made in favor of all citizens whose fathers or grand¬ fathers had been entitled to vote prior to . since none but white men could vote prior to , this exception obviously took in the poor and ignorant whites, while the same class of negroes were excluded. it was ingenious, but it was not fair. in due time a constitutional convention was called, in which the above scheme was adopted and submitted to a vote of the people for ratification. the campaign was fought on the color line. many white republicans, deluded with the hope that by the elimination of the negro vote their party might receive accessions from the democratic ranks, went over to the white party. by fraud in one place, by terrorism in another, and everywhere by the resistless moral force of the united whites, the negroes were reduced to the apathy of despair, their few white allies demoralized, and the in season and out amendment adopted by a large majority. the negroes were taught that this is a white man's country, and that the sooner they made up their minds to this fact, the better for all concerned. the white people would be good to them so long as they behaved themselves and kept their place. as theoretical equals, — prac¬ tical equality being forever out of the question, either by nature or by law, — there could have been nothing but strife between them, in which the weaker party would invariably have suffered most. some colored men accepted the situation thus out¬ lined, if not as desirable, at least as inevitable. most of them, however, had little faith in this condescend¬ ing friendliness which was to take the place of con¬ stitutional rights. they knew they had been treated unfairly; that their enemies had prevailed against them; that their whilom friends had stood passively by and seen them undone. many of the most enter¬ prising and progressive left the state, and those who remain still labor under a sense of wrong and out¬ rage which renders them distinctly less valuable as citizens. the great steal was made, but the thieves did not turn honest, — the scheme still shows the mark of the burglar's tools. sins, like chickens, come home to o ' ' roost. the south paid a fearful price for the wrong of negro slavery; in some form or other it will doubt¬ less reap the fruits of this later iniquity. drastic as were these "reforms," the results of which we have anticipated somewhat, since the new constitution was not to take effect immediately, they moved all too slowly for the little coterie of welling¬ ton conspirators, whose ambitions and needs urged the marrow of tradition them to prompt action. under the new constitution it would be two full years before the " nigger amend¬ ment" became effective, and meanwhile the wel¬ lington district would remain hopelessly republican. the committee decided, about two months before the fall election, that an active local campaign must be carried on, with a view to discourage the negroes from attending the polls on election day. the question came up for discussion one forenoon in a meeting at the office of the morning chronicle, at which all of the " big three " were present. " something must be done," declared mcbane, " and that damn quick. too many white people are saying that it will be better to wait until the amend¬ ment goes into effect. that would mean to leave the niggers in charge of this town for two years after the state has declared for white supremacy! i'm opposed to leaving it in their hands one hour, — them's my sentiments!" this proved to be the general opinion, and the dis¬ cussion turned to the subject of ways and means. " what became of that editorial in the nigger paper ? " inquired the general in his blandest tones, cleverly directing a smoke ring toward the ceiling. " it lost some of its point back there, when we came near lynching that nigger; but now that that has blown over, why would n't it be a good thing to bring into play at the present juncture ? let's read it over again." carteret extracted the paper from the pigeon-hole where he had placed it some months before. the article was read aloud with emphasis and discussed phrase by phrase. of its wording there could be little criticism, — it was temperately and even cautiously in season and out phrased. as suggested by the general, the ochiltree affair had proved that it was not devoid of truth. its great offensiveness lay in its boldness: that a negro should publish in a newspaper what white people would scarcely acknowledge to themselves in secret was much as though a russian moujik or a german peasant should rush into print to question the divine right of the lord's anointed. the article was racial lese-majeste in the most aggravated form. a peg was needed upon which to hang a coup d'etat, and this editorial offered the requisite opportunity. it was unanimously decided to republish the obnoxious article, with comment adapted to fire the inflammable southern heart and rouse it against any further self- assertion of the negroes in politics or elsewhere. " the time is ripe! " exclaimed mcbane. " in a month we can have the niggers so scared that they won't dare stick their heads out of doors on 'lection day." " i wonder," observed the general thoughtfully, after this conclusion had been reached, " if we couldn't have jerry fetch us some liquor?" jerry appeared in response to the usual summons. the general gave him the money, and ordered three calhoun cocktails. when jerry returned with the glasses on a tray, the general observed him with pointed curiosity. "what in h— is the matter with you, jerry? your black face is splotched with brown and yellow patches, and your hair shines as though you had fallen head-foremost into a firkin of butter. what's the matter with you ? " jerry seemed much embarrassed by this inquiry. "nothin', suh, nothin'," he stammered. "it's — the marrow of tradition it's jes' somethin' i be'n puttin' on my hair, suh, ter improve de quality, suh." " jerry," returned the general, bending a solemn look upon the porter, " you have been playing with edged tools, and your days are numbered. you have been reading the afro-american banner." he shook open the paper, which he had retained in his hand, and read from one of the advertisements : — " ' kinky, curly hair made straight in two applica¬ tions. dark skins lightened two shades; mulattoes turned perfectly white.' " this stuff is rank poison, jerry," continued the general with a mock solemnity which did not impose upon jerry, who nevertheless listened with an air of great alarm. he suspected that the general was mak¬ ing fun of him; but he also knew that the general would like to think that jerry believed him in earnest; and to please the white folks was jerry's consistent aim in life. " i can see the signs of decay in your face, and your hair will all fall out in a week or two at the latest, — mark my words ! " mcbane had listened to this pleasantry with a sar¬ donic sneer. it was a waste of valuable time. to carteret it seemed in doubtful taste. these grotesque advertisements had their tragic side. they were proof that the negroes had read the handwriting on the wall. these pitiful attempts to change their physical char¬ acteristics were an acknowledgment, on their own part, that the negro was doomed, and that the white man was to inherit the earth and hold all other races under his heel. for, as the months had passed, carteret's thoughts, centring more and more upon the negro, had led him farther and farther, until now he was firmly convinced that there was no permanent place in season and out for the negro in the united states, if indeed any¬ where in the world, except under the ground. more pathetic even than jerry's efforts to escape from the universal doom of his race was his ignorance that even if he could, by some strange alchemy, bleach his skin and straighten his hair, there would still remain, underneath it all, only the unbleached darky, — the ass in the lion's skin. when the general had finished his facetious lecture, jerry backed out of the room shamefacedly, though affecting a greater confusion than he really felt. jerry had not reasoned so closely as carteret, but he had realized that it was a distinct advantage to be white,—an advantage which white people had utilized to secure all the best things in the world; and he had entertained the vague hope that by changing his com¬ plexion he might share this prerogative. while he suspected the general's sincerity, he nevertheless felt a little apprehensive lest the general's prediction about the effects of the face-bleach and other prepa¬ rations might prove true, — the general was a white gentleman and ought to know, — and decided to aban¬ don their use. this purpose was strengthened by his next inter¬ view with the major. when carteret summoned him, an hour later, after the other gentlemen had taken their leave, jerry had washed his head thoroughly and there remained no trace of the pomade. an attempt to darken the lighter spots in his cuticle by the appli¬ cation of printer's ink had not proved equally success¬ ful, — the retouching left the spots as much too dark as they had formerly been too light. " jerry," said carteret sternly, " when i hired you to work for the chronicle, you were black. the word the marrow of tradition negro' means 'black.' the best negro is a black negro, of the pure type, as it came from the hand of god. if you wish to get along well with the white people, the blacker you are the better, — white people do not like negroes who want to be white. a man should be content to remain as god made him and where god placed him. so no more of this nonsense. are you going to vote at the next election ? " " what would you 'vise me ter do, suh ? " asked jerry cautiously. " i do not advise you. you ought to have sense enough to see where your own interests lie. i put it to you whether you cannot trust yourself more safely in the hands of white gentlemen, who are your true friends, than in the hands of ignorant and purchas¬ able negroes and unscrupulous white scoundrels ? " " dere's no doubt about it, suh," assented jerry, with a vehemence proportioned to his desire to get back into favor. " i ain' gwine ter have nothin' ter do wid de 'lection, suh ! ef i don' vote, i kin keep my job, can't i, suh ? " the major eyed jerry with an air of supreme dis¬ gust. what could be expected of a race so utterly de¬ void of tact ? it seemed as though this negro thought a white gentleman might want to bribe him to remain away from the polls ; and the negro's willingness to accept the imaginary bribe demonstrated the venal nature of the colored race, — its entire lack of moral principle! " you will retain your place, jerry," he said se¬ verely, " so long as you perform your duties to my satisfaction and behave yourself properly." with this grandiloquent subterfuge carteret turned to his next article on white supremacy. jerry did in season and out not delude himself with any fine-spun sophistry. he knew perfectly well that he held his job upon the condition that he stayed away from the polls at the approaching election. jerry was a fool — " the world of fools hath such a store, that he who would not see an ass, must stay at home and shut his door and break his looking-glass." but while no one may he entirely wise, there are degrees of folly, and jerry was not all kinds of a fool. xxix mutterings of the storm events moved rapidly during the next few days. the reproduction, in the chronicle, of the article from the afro-american banner, with carteret's inflam¬ matory comment, took immediate effect. it touched the southern white man in his most sensitive spot. to him such an article was an insult to white woman¬ hood, and must be resented by some active steps, — mere words would be no answer at all. to meet words with words upon such a subject would be to acknow¬ ledge the equality of the negro and his right to discuss or criticise the conduct of the white people. the colored people became alarmed at the murmur- ings of the whites, which seemed to presage a coming storm. a number of them sought to arm themselves, but ascertained, upon inquiring at the stores, that no white merchant would sell a negro firearms. since all the dealers in this sort of merchandise were white men, the negroes had to be satisfied with oiling up the old army muskets which some of them possessed, and the few revolvers with which a small rowdy ele¬ ment generally managed to keep themselves supplied. upon an effort being made to purchase firearms from a northern city, the express company, controlled by local men, refused to accept the consignment. the white people, on the other hand, procured both arms and ammunition in large quantities, and the welling- the marrow of tradition the guns. the negroes are not expecting trouble, and are easy to manage compared with the fiery mixture that flourishes in the tropics." " i should not advocate murder," returned carteret. " we are animated by high and holy principles. we wish to right a wrong, to remedy an abuse, to save our state from anarchy and our race from humiliation. i don't object to frightening the negroes, but i am opposed to unnecessary bloodshed." " i'm not quite so particular," struck in mcbane. " they need to be taught a lesson, and a nigger more or less would n't be missed. there's too many of 'em now." " of course," continued carteret, " if we should decide upon a certain mode of procedure, and the negroes should resist, a different reasoning might apply ; but i will have no premeditated murder." "in central and south america," observed the general reflectively, " none are hurt except those who get in the way." " there ' be no niggers hurt," said mcbane con¬ temptuously, " unless they strain themselves running. one white man can chase a hundred of 'em. i've managed five hundred at a time. i ' pay for burying all the niggers that are killed." the conference resulted in a well-defined plan, to be put into operation the following day, by which the city government was to be wrested from the republi¬ cans and their negro allies. " and now," said general belmont, " while we are cleansing the augean stables, we may as well remove the cause as the effect. there are several negroes too many in this town, which will be much the better without them. there's that yellow lawyer, watson. mutter ngs of the storm he's altogether too mouthy, and has too much business. every nigger that gets into trouble sends for watson, and white lawyers, with families to sup¬ port and social positions to keep up, are deprived of their legitimate source of income." "there's that damn nigger real estate agent," blurted out mcbane. " billy kitchen used to get most of the nigger business, but this darky has almost driven him to the poorhouse. a white business man is entitled to a living in his own profession and his own home. that nigger don't belong here nohow. he came from the north a year or two ago, and is hand in glove with barber, the nigger editor, which is enough of itself to damn him. he' have to go ! " " how about the collector of the port ? " " we'd better not touch him. it would bring the government down upon us, which we want to avoid. we don't need to worry about the nigger preachers either. they want to stay here, where the loaves and the fishes are. we can make 'em write letters to the newspapers justifying our course, as a condition of their remaining." " what about billings ? " asked mcbane. billings was the white republican mayor. " is that skunk to be allowed to stay in town?" " no," returned the general, " every white re¬ publican office-holder ought to be made to go. this town is only big enough for democrats, and negroes who can be taught to keep their place." " what about the colored doctor," queried mcbane, " with the hospital, and the diamond ring, and the carriage, and the other fallals ? " " i should n't interfere with miller," replied the general decisively. " he's a very good sort of a the marrow of tradition negro, does n't meddle with politics, nor tread on any one else's toes. his father was a good citizen, which counts in his favor. he's spending money in the community too, and contributes to its prosperity." " that sort of nigger, though, sets a bad example," retorted mcbane. " they make it all the harder to keep the rest of 'em down." "' one swallow does not make a summer,' " quoted the general. " when we get things arranged, there ' be no trouble. a stream cannot rise higher than its fountain, and a smart nigger without a constituency will no longer be an object of fear. i say, let the doctor alone." " he ' have to keep mighty quiet, though," mut¬ tered mcbane discontentedly. "i don't like smart niggers. i've had to shoot several of them, in the course of my life." " personally, i dislike the man," interposed car¬ teret, " and if i consulted my own inclinations, would say expel him with the rest; but my grievance is a personal one, and to gratify it in that way would be a loss to the community. i wish to be strictly impartial in this matter, and to take no step which cannot be entirely justified by a wise regard for the public welfare." " what's the use of all this hypocrisy, gentlemen ? " sneered mcbane. " every last one of us has an axe to grind ! the major may as well put an edge on his. we' never get a better chance to have things our way. if this nigger doctor annoys the major, we ' run him out with the rest.* this is a white man's country, and a white man's city, and no nigger has any business here when a white man wants him gone! " carteret frowned darkly at this brutal characteri- mutterings of the storm zation of their motives. it robbed the enterprise of all its poetry, and put a solemn act of revolution upon the plane of a mere vulgar theft of power. even the general winced. " i would not consent," he said irritably, " to miller's being disturbed." mcbane made no further objection. there was a discreet knock at the door. " come in," said carteret. jerry entered. " mistuh ellis wants ter speak ter you a minute, suh," he said. carteret excused himself and left the room. " jerry," said the general, " you lump of ebony, the sight of you reminds me! if your master does n't want you for a minute, step across to mr. brown's and tell him to send me three cocktails." " yas, suh," responded jerry, hesitating. the general had said nothing about paying. " and tell him, jerry, to charge them. i'm short of change to-day." "yas, suh; yas, suh," replied jerry, as he backed out of the presence, adding, when he had reached the hall: " dere ain' no change fer jerry dis time, sho': i ' jes' make dat/o' cocktails, an' de gin'l won't never know de diffe'nce. i ain' gwine 'cross de road fer nothin', not ef i knows it." half an hour later, the conspirators dispersed. they had fixed the hour of the proposed revolution, the course to be pursued, the results to be obtained; but in stating their equation they had overlooked one factor,—god, or fate, or whatever one may choose to call the power that holds the destinies of man in the hollow of his hand. xxx the missing papers mrs. carteret was very much disturbed. it was supposed that the shock of her aunt's death had af¬ fected her health, for since that event she had fallen into a nervous condition which gave the major grave concern. much to the general surprise, mrs. ochil¬ tree had left no will, and no property of any consid¬ erable value except her homestead, which descended to mrs. carteret as the natural heir. whatever she may have had on hand in the way of ready money had undoubtedly been abstracted from the cedar chest by the midnight marauder, to whose visit her death was immediately due. her niece's grief was held to mark a deep-seated affection for the grim old woman who had reared her. mrs. carteret's present state of mind, of which her nervousness was a sufficiently accurate reflection, did in truth date from her aunt's death, and also in part from the time of the conversation with mrs. ochil¬ tree, one afternoon, during and after the drive past miller's new hospital. mrs. ochiltree had grown steadily more and more childish after that time, and her niece had never succeeded in making her pick up the thread of thought where it had been dropped. at any rate, mrs. ochiltree had made no further dis¬ closure upon the subject. an examination, not long after her aunt's death, the marrow of tradition "not the slightest. a jury would soon have broken down the legal claim. as for any moral obligation, there would have been nothing moral about the affair. the only possible consideration for such a gift was an immoral one. i don't wish to speak harshly of your father, my dear, but his con¬ duct was gravely reprehensible. the woman herself had no right or claim whatever; she would have been whipped and expelled from the town, if justice — blind, bleeding justice, then prostrate at the feet of slaves and aliens — could have had her way ! " " but the child " — " the child was in the same category. who was she, to have inherited the estate of your ancestors, of which, a few years before, she would herself have formed a part ? the child of shame, it was hers to pay the penalty. but the discussion is all in the air, olivia. your father never did and never would have left such a will." this conversation relieved mrs. carteret's uneasi¬ ness. going to her room shortly afterwards, she took the envelope from her bureau drawer and drew out a bulky paper. the haunting fear that it might be such a will as her aunt had suggested was now re¬ moved ; for such an instrument, in the light of what her husband had said confirming her own intuitions, would be of no valid effect. it might be just as well, she thought, to throw the paper in the fire without looking at it. she wished to think as well as might be of her father, and she felt that her re¬ spect for his memory would not be strengthened by the knowledge that he had meant to leave his estate away from her; for her aunt's words had been open to the construction that she was to have been left the missing papers destitute. curiosity strongly prompted her to read the paper. perhaps the will contained no such pro¬ vision as she had feared, and it might convey some request or direction which ought properly to be com¬ plied with. she had been standing in front of the bureau while these thoughts passed through her mind, and now, dropping the envelope back into the drawer mechani¬ cally, she unfolded the document. it was written on legal paper, in her father's own hand. mrs. carteret was not familiar with legal verbi¬ age, and there were several expressions of which she did not perhaps appreciate the full effect; but a very hasty glance enabled her to ascertain the purport of the paper. it was a will, by which, in one item, her father devised to his daughter janet, the child of the woman known as julia brown, the sum of ten thou¬ sand dollars, and a certain plantation or tract of land a short distance from the town of wellington. the rest and residue of his estate, after deducting all legal charges and expenses, was bequeathed to his beloved daughter, olivia merkell. mrs. carteret breathed a sigh of relief. her father had not preferred another to her, but had left to his lawful daughter the bulk of his estate. she felt at the same time a growing indignation at the thought that that woman should so have wrought upon her father's weakness as to induce him to think of leaving so much valuable property to her bastard, — property which by right should go, and now would go, to her own son, to whom by every rule of law and decency it ought to descend. a fire was burning in the next room, on account of the baby, — there had been a light frost the night the marrow of tradition before, and the air was somewhat chilly. for the moment the room was empty. mrs. carteret came out from her chamber and threw the offending paper into the fire, and watched it slowly burn. when it had been consumed, the carbon residue of one sheet still retained its form, and she could read the words on the charred portion. a sentence, which had escaped her eye in her rapid reading, stood out in ghostly black upon the gray background : — " all the rest and residue of my estate i devise and bequeath to my daughter olivia merkell, the child of my beloved first wife." mrs. carteret had not before observed the word "first." instinctively she stretched toward the fire the poker which she held in her hand, and at its touch the shadowy remnant fell to pieces, and nothing but ashes remained upon the hearth. not until the next morning did she think again of the envelope which had contained the paper she had burned. opening the drawer where it lay, the oblong blue envelope confronted her. the sight of it was distasteful. the indorsed side lay uppermost, and the words seemed like a mute reproach: — "the last will and testament of samuel mer¬ kell." snatching up the envelope, she glanced into it mechanically as she moved toward the next room, and perceived a thin folded paper which had heretofore escaped her notice. when opened, it proved to be a certificate of marriage, in due form, between samuel merkell and julia brown. it was dated from a county in south carolina, about two years before her father's death. for a moment mrs. carteret stood gazing blankly the marrow of tradition i need not say that i was easily persuaded to accept this sacrifice; but touched by her fidelity, i swore to provide handsomely for them both. this i have tried to do by the will of which i ask you to act as executor. had i left the child more, it might serve as a ground for attacking the will; my acknow¬ ledgment of the tie of blood is sufficient to justify a reasonable bequest. i have taken this course for the sake of my daughter olivia, who is dear to me, and whom i would not wish to make ashamed; and in deference to public opinion, which it is not easy to defy. if, after my death, julia should choose to make our se¬ cret known, i shall of course be beyond the reach of hard words ; but loyalty to my memory will probably keep her silent. a strong man would long since have acknowledged her before the world and taken the con¬ sequences ; but, alas! i am only myself, and the atmosphere i live in does not encourage moral hero¬ ism. i should like to be different, but it is god who hath made us, and not we ourselves! nevertheless, old friend, i will ask of you one favor. if in the future this child of julia's and of mine should grow to womanhood; if she should prove to have her mother's gentleness and love of virtue ; if, in the new era which is opening up for her mother's race, to which, unfortunately, she must belong, she should become, in time, an educated woman; and if the time should ever come when, by virtue of her education or the development of her people, it would be to her a source of shame or unhappiness that she was an illegitimate child, — if you are still alive, old friend, and have the means of knowing or divining this thing, go to her and tell her, for me, that she is the missing papers my lawful child, and ask her to forgive her father's weakness. when this letter comes to you, i shall have passed to — the beyond; but i am confident that you will accept this trust, for which i thank you now, in ad¬ vance, most heartily. the letter was signed with her father's name, the same signature which had been attached to the will. having firmly convinced herself of the illegality of the papers, and of her own right to destroy them, mrs. carteret ought to have felt relieved that she had thus removed all traces of her dead father's folly. true, the other daughter remained, — she had seen her on the street only the day before. the sight of this per¬ son she had always found offensive, and now, she felt, in view of what she had just learned, it must be even more so. never, while this woman lived in the town, would she be able to throw the veil of forgetfulness over this blot upon her father's memory. as the day wore on, mrs. carteret grew still less at ease. to herself, marriage was a serious thing, — to a right-thinking woman the most serious concern of life. a marriage certificate, rightfully procured, was scarcely less solemn, so far as it went, than the bible itself. her own she cherished as the apple of her eye. it was the evidence of her wifehood, the seal of her child's legitimacy, her patent of nobility, — the token of her own and her child's claim to social place and consideration. she had burned this pretended mar¬ riage certificate because it meant nothing. neverthe¬ less, she could not ignore the knowledge of another such marriage, of which every one in the town knew, — a celebrated case, indeed, where a white man, of a the marrow of tradition family quite as prominent as her father's, had mar¬ ried a colored woman during the military occupation of the state just after the civil war. the legality of the marriage had never been questioned. it had been fully consummated by twenty years of subsequent co¬ habitation. no amount of social persecution had ever shaken the position of the husband. with an iron will he had stayed on in the town, a living protest against the established customs of the south, so rudely interrupted for a few short years; and, though his children were negroes, though he had never appeared in public with his wife, no one had ever questioned the validity of his marriage or the legitimacy of his offspring. the marriage certificate which mrs. carteret had burned dated from the period of the military occupa¬ tion. hence mrs. carteret, who was a good woman, and would not have done a dishonest thing, felt decid¬ edly uncomfortable. she had destroyed the marriage certificate, but its ghost still haunted her. major carteret, having just eaten a good dinner, was in a very agreeable humor when, that same even¬ ings his wife brought up again the subject of their previous discussion. " phil," she asked, " aunt polly told me that once, long before my father died, when she went to remon¬ strate with him for keeping that woman in the house, he threatened to marry julia if aunt polly ever said another word to him about the matter. suppose he had married her, and had then left a will, — would the marriage have made any difference, so far as the will was concerned ? " major carteret laughed. " your aunt polly," he said, "was a remarkable woman, with a wonderful the missing papers imagination, which seems to have grown more vivid as her memory and judgment weakened. why should your father marry his negro housemaid ? mr. merkell was never rated as a fool, — he had one of the clearest heads in wellington. i saw him only a day or two before he died, and i could swear before any court in christendom that he was of sound mind and memory to the last. these notions of your aunt were mere delusions. your father was never capable of such a folly." " of course i am only supposing -a case," returned olivia. " imagining such a case, just for the argu¬ ment, would the marriage have been legal ? " " that would depend. if he had married her dur¬ ing the military occupation, or over in south caro¬ lina, the marriage would have been legally valid, though morally and socially outrageous." " and if he had died afterwards, leaving a will ? " " the will would have controlled the disposition of his estate, in all probability." " suppose he had left no will ? " " you are getting the matter down pretty fine, my dear ! the woman would have taken one third of the real estate for life, and could have lived in the home¬ stead until she died. she would also have had half the other property, — the money and goods and furni¬ ture, everything except the land, — and the negro child would have shared with you the balance of the estate. that, i believe, is according to the law of descent and distribution." mrs. carteret lapsed into a troubled silence. her father had married the woman. in her heart she had no doubt of the validity of the marriage, so far as the law was concerned; if one marriage of such a kind the marrow of tradition would stand, another contracted under similar condi¬ tions was equally as good. if the marriage had been valid, julia's child had been legitimate. the will she had burned gave this sister of hers — she shuddered at the word — but a small part of the estate. under the law, which intervened now that there was no will, the property should have been equally divided. if the woman had been white, — but the woman had not been white, and the same rule of moral conduct did not, could not, in the very nature of things, apply, as between white people! for, if this were not so, slavery had been, not merely an economic mistake, but a great crime against humanity. if it had been such a crime, as for a moment she dimly perceived it might have been, then through the long centuries there had been piled up a catalogue of wrong and out¬ rage which, if the law of compensation be a law of nature, must some time, somewhere, in some way, be atoned for. she herself had not escaped the penalty, of which, she realized, this burden placed upon her conscience was but another installment. if she should make known the facts she had learned, it would mean what?—a division of her father's estate, a recognition of the legality of her father's relations with julia. such a stain upon her father's memory would be infinitely worse than if he had not married her. to have lived with her without marriage was a social misdemeanor, at which society in the old days had winked, or at most had frowned. to have married her was to have committed the unpardonable social sin. such a scandal mrs. carteret could not have en¬ dured. should she seek to make restitution, it would necessarily involve the disclosure of at least some of the facts. had she not destroyed the will, she might the missing papers have compromised with her conscience by producing it and acting upon its terms, which had been so stated as not to disclose the marriage. this was now rendered impossible by her own impulsive act; she could not mention the will at all, without admitting that she had destroyed it. mrs. carteret found herself in what might be called, vulgarly, a moral " pocket." she could, of course, remain silent. mrs. carteret was a good woman, ac¬ cording to her lights, with a cultivated conscience, to which she had always looked as her mentor and infal¬ lible guide. hence mrs. carteret, after this painful discovery, remained for a long time ill at ease, — so disturbed, indeed, that her mind reacted upon her nerves, which had never been strong ; and her nervousness affected her strength, which had never been great, until car¬ teret, whose love for her had been deepened and strengthened by the advent of his son, became alarmed for her health, and spoke very seriously to dr. price concerning it. xxxi the shadow of a dream mrs. carteret awoke, with a start, from a troubled dream. she had been sailing across a sunlit sea, in a beautiful boat, her child lying on a bright-colored cushion at her feet. overhead the swelling sail served as an awning to keep off the sun's rays, which far ahead were reflected with dazzling brilliancy from the shores of a golden island. her son, she dreamed, was a fairy prince, and yonder lay his kingdom, to which he was being borne, lying there at her feet, in this beautiful boat, across the sunlit sea. suddenly and without warning the sky was over¬ cast. a squall struck the boat and tore away the sail. in the distance a huge billow — a great white wall of water — came sweeping toward their frail craft, threatening it with instant destruction. she clasped her child to her bosom, and a moment later found herself struggling in the sea, holding the child's head above the water. as she floated there, as though sus¬ tained by some unseen force, she saw in the distance a small boat approaching over the storm-tossed waves. straight toward her it came, and she had reached out her hand to grasp its side, when the rower looked back, and she saw that it was her sister. the recog¬ nition had been mutual. with a sharp movement of one oar the boat glided by, leaving her clutching at the empty air. the shadow of a dream she felt her strength begin to fail. despairingly she signaled with her disengaged hand; but the rower, after one mute, reproachful glance, rowed on. mrs. carteret's strength grew less and less. the child became heavy as lead. herself floating in the water, as though it were her native element, she could no longer support the child. lower and lower it sank, — she was powerless to save it or to accompany it, — until, gasping wildly for breath, it threw up its little hands and sank, the cruel water gurgling over its head, — when she awoke with a start and a chill, and lay there trembling for several minutes before she heard little dodie in his crib, breathing heavily. she rose softly, went to the crib, and changed the child's position to an easier one. he breathed more freely, and she went back to bed, but not to sleep. she had tried to put aside the distressing questions raised by the discovery of her father's will and the papers accompanying it. why should she be burdened with such a responsibility, at this late day, when the touch of time had well-nigh healed these old sores ? surely, god had put his curse not alone upon the slave, but upon the stealer of men ! with other good people she had thanked him that slavery was no more, and that those who once had borne its burden upon their consciences could stand erect and feel that they them¬ selves were free. the weed had been cut down, but its roots remained, deeply imbedded in the soil, to spring up and trouble a new generation. upon her weak shoulders was placed the burden of her father's weakness, her father's folly. it was left to her to acknowledge or not this shameful marriage and her sister's rights in their father's estate. balancing one consideration against another, she the shadow of a dream to half his estate. mrs. carteret's problem had sunk from the realm of sentiment to that of material things, which, curiously enough, she found much more diffi¬ cult. for, while the negro, by the traditions of her people, was barred from the world of sentiment, his rights of property were recognized. the question had become, with mrs. carteret, a question of meum and tuum. had the girl janet been poor, ignorant, or de¬ graded, as might well have been her fate, mrs. car¬ teret might have felt a vicarious remorse for her aunt's suppression of the papers ; but fate had compensated janet for the loss; she had been educated, she had married well; she had not suffered for lack of the money of which she had been defrauded, and did not need it now. she had a child, it is true, but this child's career would be so circumscribed by the acci¬ dent of color that too much wealth would only be a source of unhappiness; to her own child, on the con¬ trary, it would open every door of life. it would be too lengthy a task to follow the mind and conscience of this much-tried lady in their intri¬ cate workings upon this difficult problem; for she had a mind as logical as any woman's, and a conscience which she wished to keep void of offense. she had to confront a situation involving the element of race, upon which the moral standards of her people were hopelessly confused. mrs. carteret reached the con¬ clusion, ere daylight dawned, that she would be si¬ lent upon the subject of her father's second marriage. neither party had wished it known, — neither julia nor her father, — and she would respect her father's wishes. to act otherwise would be to defeat his will, to make known what he had carefully concealed, and to give janet a claim of title to one half her father's the marrow of tradition estate, while he had only meant her to have the ten thousand dollars named in the will. by the same reasoning, she must carry out her fa¬ ther's will in respect to this bequest. here there was another difficulty. the mining investment into which they had entered shortly after the birth of little dodie had tied up so much of her property that it would have been difficult to procure ten thousand dollars immedi¬ ately ; while a demand for half the property at once would mean bankruptcy and ruin. moreover, upon what ground could she offer her sister any sum of money whatever ? so sudden a change of heart, after so many years of silence, would raise the presump¬ tion of some right on the part of janet in her father's estate. suspicion once aroused, it might be possible to trace this hidden marriage, and establish it by legal proof. the marriage once verified, the claim for half the estate could not be denied. she could not plead her father's will to the contrary, for this would be to acknowledge the suppression of the will, in itself a criminal act. there was, however, a way of escape. this hospital which had recently been opened was the personal property of her sister's husband. some time in the future, when their investments matured, she would present to the hospital a sum of money equal to the amount her father had meant his colored daughter to have. thus indirectly both her father's will and her own conscience would be satisfied. mrs. carteret had reached this comfortable con¬ clusion, and was falling asleep, when her attention was again drawn by her child's breathing. she took it in her own arms and soon fell asleep. " by the way, olivia," said the major, when leav- the shadow of a dream mg the house next morning for the office, " if you have any business down town to-day, transact it this forenoon. under no circumstances must you or clara or the baby leave the house after midday." " why, what's the matter, phil ? " " npthing to alarm you, except that there may be a little political demonstration which may render the streets unsafe. you are not to say anything about it where the servants might hear." " will there be any danger for you, phil ?" she demanded with alarm. "not the slightest, olivia dear. no one will be harmed; but it is best for ladies and children to stay indoors." mrs. carteret's nerves were still more or less un¬ strung from her "r&eiital struggles of the night, and the memory of her dream came to her like a dim fore¬ boding of misfortune. as though in sympathy with its mother's feelings, the baby did not seem as well as usual. the new nurse was by no means an ideal nurse,'—mammy jane understood the child much better. if there should be any trouble with the negroes, toward which her husband's remark seemed to point, — she knew the general political situation, though not informed in regard to her husband's plans, — she would like to have mammy jane near her, where the old nurse might be protected from danger or alarm. with this end in view she dispatched the nurse, shortly after breakfast, to mammy jane's house in the negro settlement on the other side of the town, with a message asking the old woman to come immediately to mrs. carteret's. unfortunately, mammy jane had gone to visit a sick woman in the country, and was not expected to return for several hours. xxxii the st oem breaks the wellington riot began at three o'clock in the afternoon of a day as fair as was ever selected for a deed of darkness. the sky was clear, except for a few light clouds that floated, white and feathery, high in air, like distant islands in a sapphire sea. a salt- laden breeze from the ocean a few miles away lent a crisp sparkle to the air. at three o'clock sharp the streets were filled, as if by magic, with armed white men. the negroes, going about, had noted, with uneasy curiosity, that the stores and places of business, many of which closed at noon, were unduly late in opening for the after¬ noon, though no one suspected the reason for the delay; but at three o'clock every passing colored man was ordered, by the first white man he met, to throw up his hands. if he complied, he was searched, more or less roughly, for firearms, and then warned to get off the street. when he met another group of white men the scene was repeated. the man thus sum¬ marily held up seldom encountered more than two groups before disappearing across lots to his own home or some convenient hiding-place. if he resisted any demand of those who halted him— but the records of the day are historical; they may be found in the newspapers of the following date, but they are more firmly engraved upon the hearts and memories the storm breaks of the people of wellington. for many months there were negro families in the town whose children screamed with fear and ran to their mothers for pro¬ tection at the mere sight of a white man. dr. miller had received a call, about one o'clock, to attend a case at the house of a well-to-do colored farmer, who lived some three or four miles from the town, upon the very road, by the way, along which miller had driven so furiously a few weeks before, in the few hours that intervened before sandy campbell would probably have been burned at the stake. the drive to his patient's home, the necessary inquiries, the filling of the prescription from his own medicine- case, which he carried along with him, the little friendly conversation about the weather and the crops, and, the farmer being an intelligent and think¬ ing man, the inevitable subject of the future of their race,—these, added to the return journey, occupied at least two hours of miller's time. as he neared the town on his way back, he saw ahead of him half a dozen men and women approach¬ ing, with fear written in their faces, in every degree from apprehension to terror. women were weeping and children crying, and all were going as fast as seemingly lay in their power, looking behind now and then as if pursued by some deadly enemy. at sight of miller's buggy they made a dash for cover, dis¬ appearing, like a covey of frightened partridges, in the underbrush along the road. miller pulled up his horse and looked after them in startled wonder. " what on earth can be the matter ? " he muttered, struck with a vague feeling of alarm. a psycholo¬ gist, seeking to trace the effects of slavery upon the the marrow of tradition human mind, might find in the south many a curious illustration of this curse, abiding long after the actual physical bondage had terminated. in the olden time the white south labored under the constant fear of negro insurrections. knowing that they themselves, if in the negroes' place, would have risen in the effort to throw off the yoke, all their reiterated theories of negro subordination and inferiority could not remove that lurking fear, founded upon the obscure con¬ sciousness that the slaves ought to have risen. con¬ science, it has been said, makes cowards of us all. there was never, on the continent of america, a successful slave revolt, nor one which lasted more than a few hours, or resulted in the loss of more than a few white lives ; yet never was the planter quite free from the fear that there might be one. on the other hand, the slave had before his eyes always the fear of the master. there were good men, according to their lights, — according to their train¬ ing and environment, — among the southern slave¬ holders, who treated their slaves kindly, as slaves, from principle, because they recognized the claims of humanity, even under the dark skin of a human chattel. there was many a one who protected or pampered his negroes, as the case might be, just as a man fondles his dog, — because they were his ; they were a part of his estate, an integral part of the entity of property and person which made up the aristocrat; but with all this kindness, there was always present, in the consciousness of the lowest slave, the knowledge that he was in his master's power, and that he could make no effectual protest against the abuse of that authority. there was also the knowledge, among those who could think at all, the storm breaks that the best of masters was himself a slave to a sys¬ tem, which hampered his movements but scarcely less than those of his bondmen. when, therefore, miller saw these men and women scampering into the bushes, he divined, with this slumbering race consciousness which years of culture had not obliterated, that there was some race trouble on foot. his intuition did not long remain unsup- ported. a black head was cautiously protruded from the shrubbery, and a black voice — if such a descrip¬ tion be allowable — addressed him: — " is dat you, doctuh miller ? " " yes. who are you, and what's the trouble ? " " what's de trouble, suh ? why, all hell's broke loose in town yonduh. de w'ite folks is riz 'gins' de niggers, an' say dey 're gwine ter kill eve'y nigger dey kin lay han's on." miller's heart leaped to his throat, as he thought of his wife and child. this story was preposterous; it could not be true, and yet there must be something in it. he tried to question his informant, but the man was so overcome with excitement and fear that miller saw clearly that he must go farther for infor¬ mation. he had read in the morning chronicle, a few days before, the obnoxious editorial quoted from the afro-american banner, and had noted the com¬ ment upon it by the white editor. he had felt, as at the time of its first publication, that the editorial was ill-advised. it could do no good, and was calculated to arouse the animosity of those whose friendship, whose tolerance, at least, was necessary and almost indispensable to the colored people. they were liv¬ ing, at the best, in a sort of armed neutrality with the whites ; such a publication, however serviceable else- the marrow of tradition where, could have no other effect in wellington than to endanger this truce and defeat the hope of a pos¬ sible future friendship. the right of free speech entitled barber to publish it; a larger measure of common-sense would have made him withhold it. whether it was the republication of this article that had stirred up anew the sleeping dogs of race pre¬ judice and whetted their thirst for blood, he could not yet tell; but at any rate, there was mischief on foot. " fer god's sake, doctuh, don' go no closeter ter dat town," pleaded his informant, " er you ' be killt sho\ come on wid us, suh, an' tek keer er yo'se'f. we're gwine ter hide in de swamps till dis thing is over!" " god, man ! " exclaimed miller, urging his horse forward, " my wife and child are in the town! " fortunately, he reflected, there were no patients confined in the hospital, — if there should be anything in this preposterous story. to one unfamiliar with southern life, it might have seemed impossible that these good christian people, who thronged the churches on sunday, and wept over the sufferings of the lowly nazarene, and sent missionaries to the hea¬ then, could be hungering and thirsting for the blood of their fellow men; but miller cherished no such delusion. he knew the history of his country; he had the threatened lynching of sandy campbell viv¬ idly in mind ; and he was fully persuaded that to race prejudice, once roused, any horror was possible. that women or children would be molested of set purpose he did not believe, but that they might suffer by accident was more than likely. as he neared the town, dashing forward at the top of his horse's speed, he heard his voice called in a the storm breaks watson was climbing down from the buggy, when a small party of men were seen approaching, and big josh green, followed by several other resolute-look¬ ing colored men, came up and addressed them. " dr. miller," cried green, " mr. watson, — we 're lookin' fer a leader. de w'ite folks are killin' de niggers, an' we ain' gwine ter stan' up an' be shot down like dogs. we 're gwine ter defen' ou' lives, an' we ain' gwine ter run away f'm no place where we've got a right ter be ; an' woe be ter de w'ite man w'at lays han's on us! dere's two niggers in dis town ter eve'y w'ite man, an' ef we've got ter be killt, we ' take some w'ite folks 'long wid us, ez sho' ez dere's a god in heaven, — ez i s'pose dere is, dough he mus' be 'sleep, er busy somewhar e'se ter-day. will you-all come an' lead us ? " "gentlemen," said watson, "what is the use? the negroes will not back you up. they have n't the arms, nor the moral courage, nor the leadership." "we'll git de arms, an'we' git de courage, ef you ' come an' lead us ! we wants leaders, — dat's w'y we come ter you ! " " what's the use ? " returned watson despairingly. " the odds are too heavy. i've been ordered out of town; if i stayed, i'd be shot on sight, unless i had a body-guard around me." "we ' be yo' body-guard! " shouted half a dozen voices. " and when my body-guard was shot, what then ? i have a wife and children. it is my duty to live for them. if i died, i should get no glory and no reward, and my family would be reduced to beggary, — to which they ' soon be near enough as it is. this affair will blow over in a day or two. the white the marrow of tradition " yes." " all right, suh! ef i don' live ter do it, i ' know it'll be 'tended ter right. now we 're gwine out ter de cotton compress, an' git a lot er colored men tergether, an' ef de w'ite folks 'sturbs me, i should n't be s'prise' ef dere'd be a mix-up ; — an' ef dere is, me an one w'ite man ' stan' befo' de jedgment th'one er god dis day; an' it won't be me w'at ' be 'feared er fie jedgment. come along, boys! dese gentlemen may have somethin' ter live fer; but ez fer my pa't, i'd ruther be a dead nigger any day dan a live dog !" the marrow of tradition " because we've ordered you to come down ! this is the white people's day, and when they order, a nigger must obey. we're going to search you for weapons." " search away. you ' find nothing but a case of surgeon's tools, which i'm more than likely to need before this day is over, from all indications." " no matter; we ' make sure of it! that's what we 're here for. come down, if you don't want to be pulled down! " miller stepped down from his buggy. his inter¬ locutor, who made no effort at disguise, was a clerk in a dry-goods store where miller bought most of his family and hospital supplies. he made no sign of recognition, however, and miller claimed no acquaint¬ ance. this man, who had for several years emptied miller's pockets in the course of more or less legiti¬ mate trade, now went through them, aided by another man, more rapidly than ever before, the searchers convincing themselves that miller carried no deadly weapon upon his person. meanwhile, a third ran¬ sacked the buggy with like result. miller recognized several others of the party, who made not the slightest attempt at disguise, though no names were called by any one. " where are you going ? " demanded the leader. " i am looking for my wife and child," replied miller. " well, run along, and keep them out of the streets when you find them; and keep your hands out of this affair, if you wish to live in this town, which from now on will be a white man's town, as you niggers will be pretty firmly convinced before night." miller drove on as swiftly as might be. the marrow of tradition horse to the fence, miller sprang forward to find his wife and child. they would certainly be there, for no colored woman would be foolhardy enough to ven¬ ture on the streets after the riot had broken out. as he drew nearer, he felt a sudden apprehension. the house seemed strangely silent and deserted. the doors were closed, and the venetian blinds shut tightly. even a dog which had appeared slunk timidly back under the house, instead of barking vociferously ac¬ cording to the usual habit of his kind. the valley of the shadow dey kin ketch. dey 're gwine ter bu'n yo' new hos- pittle, ef somebody don' stop 'em." " josh — men — you are throwing your lives away. it is a fever; it will wear off to-morrow, or to-night. they ' not burn the schoolhouses, nor the hospital — they are not such fools, for they benefit the com¬ munity ; and they ' only kill the colored people who resist them. every one of you with a gun or a pistol carries his death warrant in his own hand. i'd rather see the hospital burn than have one of you lose his life. resistance only makes the matter worse, — the odds against you are too long." " things can't be any wuss, doctuti," replied one of the crowd sturdily. " a gun is mo' dange'ous ter de man in front of it dan ter de man behin' it. dey 're gwine ter kill us anyhow ; an' we 're tired, — we read de newspapers,—an' we 're tired er bein' shot down like dogs, widout jedge er jury. we'd ruther die fightin' dan be stuck like pigs in a pen! " " god help you!" said miller. " as for me, i must find my wife and child." " good-by, doctuh," cried josh, brandishing a huge knife. " 'member 'bout de ole 'oman, ef you lives thoo dis. don' fergit de headbo'd an' de footbo'd, an' a silver plate on de coffin, ef dere's money ernuff." they went their way, and miller hurried on. they might resist attack; he thought it extremely unlikely that they would begin it; but he knew perfectly well that the mere knowledge that some of the negroes contemplated resistance would only further inflame the infuriated whites. the colored men might win a momentary victory, though it was extremely doubtful; and they would as surely reap the harvest later on. the qualities which in a white man would win the xxxv " mine enemy, o mine enemy! " the proceedings of the day — planned originally as a " demonstration," dignified subsequently as a " revo¬ lution," under any name the culmination of the con¬ spiracy formed by carteret and his colleagues — had by seven o'clock in the afternoon developed into a murderous riot. crowds of white men and half-grown boys, drunk with whiskey or with license, raged through the streets, beating, chasing, or killing any negro so unfortunate as to fall into their hands. why any particular negro was assailed, no one stopped to inquire; it was merely a white mob thirst¬ ing for black blood, with no more conscience or dis¬ crimination than would be exercised by a wolf in a sheepfold. it was race against race, the whites against the negroes; and it was a one-sided affair, for until josh green got together his body of armed men, no effective resistance had been made by any colored person, and the individuals who had been killed had so far left no marks upon the enemy by which they might be remembered. " kill the niggers! " rang out now and then through the dusk, and far down the street and along the inter¬ secting thoroughfares distant voices took up the omi¬ nous refrain, — " kill the niggers! kill the damned niggers! " the marrow of tradition or any loss of property, the possibility of which had become-apparent; but those who set in motion the forces of evil cannot always control them afterwards. the baser element of the white population, recruited from the wharves and the saloons, was now pre¬ dominant. captain mcbane was the only one of the revolu¬ tionary committee who had remained with the mob, not with any purpose to restore or preserve order, but because he found the company and the occasion entirely congenial. he had had no opportunity, at least no tenable excuse, to kill or maim a negro since the termination of his contract with the state for convicts, and this occasion had awakened a dormant appetite for these diversions. we are all puppets in the hands of fate, and seldom see the strings that move us. mcbane had lived a life of violence and cruelty. as a man sows, so shall he reap. in works of fiction, such men are sometimes converted. more often, in real life, they do not change their natures until they are converted into dust. one does well to distrust a tamed tiger. on the outskirts of the crowd a few of the better class, or at least of the better clad, were looking on. the double volley described had already been fired, when the number of these was augmented by the arrival of major carteret and mr. ellis, who had just come from the chronicle office, where the next day's paper had been in hasty preparation. they pushed their way towards the front of the crowd. "this must be stopped, ellis," said carteret. " they are burning houses and killing women and children. old jane, good old mammy jane, who nursed my wife at her bosom, and has waited on her "mine enemy, o mine enemy!" and my child within a few weeks, was killed only a few rods from my house, to which she was evidently fleeing for protection. it must have been by accident, —i cannot believe that any white man in town would be dastard enough to commit such a deed intentionally ! i would have defended her with my own life! we must try to stop this thing ! " . " easier said than done," returned ellis. " it is in the fever stage, and must burn itself out. we shall be lucky if it does not burn the town out. suppose the negroes should also take a hand at the burning ? we have advised the people to put the negroes down, and they are doing the job thoroughly." " my god ! " replied the other, with a gesture of impatience, as he continued to elbow his way through the crowd; " i meant to keep them in their places, — i did not intend wholesale murder and arson." carteret, having reached the front of the mob, made an effort to gain their attention. " gentlemen! " he cried in his loudest tones. his voice, unfortunately, was neither loud nor piercing. " kill the niggers ! " clamored the mob. " gentlemen, i implore you " — the crash of a dozen windows, broken by stones and pistol shots, drowned his voice. " gentlemen! " he shouted ; " this is murder, it is madness ; it is a disgrace to our city, to our state, to our civilization! " " that's right! " replied several voices. the mob had recognized the speaker. " it is a disgrace, and we ' not put up with it a moment longer. burn 'em out! hurrah for major carteret, the champion of white supremacy'! three cheers for the morning chronicle and ' no nigger domination'! " "mine enemy, o mine enemy!" scanned the crowd without, in search of some white friend. when he saw major carteret moving dis¬ consolately away after his futile effort to stem the torrent, jerry made a dash for the window. he sprang forth, and, waving his handkerchief as a flag of truce, ran toward major carteret, shouting franti¬ cally : — " majah carteret — o majah ! it's me, suh, jerry, suh ! i did n' go in dere myse'f, suh, — i wuz drag' in dere ! i would n' do nothin' 'g'inst de w'ite folks, suh, — no, 'ndeed, i would n', suh! " jerry's cries were drowned in a roar of rage and a volley of shots from the mob. carteret, who had turned away with ellis, did not even hear his servant's voice. jerry's poor flag of truce, his explanations, his reli¬ ance upon his white friends, all failed him in the moment of supreme need. in that hour, as in any hour when the depths of race hatred are stirred, a negro was no more than a brute beast, set upon by other brute beasts whose only instinct was to kill and destroy. "let us leave this inferno, ellis," said carteret, sick with anger and disgust. he had just become aware that a negro was being killed, though he did not know whom. "we can do nothing. the negroes have themselves to blame, —they tempted us beyond endurance. i counseled firmness, and firm measures were taken, and our purpose was accomplished. i am not responsible for these subsequent horrors, — i wash my hands of them. let us go! " the flames gained headway and gradually enveloped the burning building, until it became evident to those within as well as those without that the position of the defenders was no longer tenable. would they "mine enemy, o mine enemy! these, dazed by the fate of his companions, turned instinctively to flee, but had scarcely faced around before he fell, pierced in the back by a dozen bul¬ lets. josh green, the tallest and biggest of them all, had not apparently been touched. some of the crowd paused in involuntary admiration of this black giant, famed on the wharves for his strength, sweeping down upon them, a smile upon his face, his eyes lit up with a rapt expression which seemed to take him out of mortal ken. this impression was heightened by his apparent immunity from the shower of lead which less susceptible persons had continued to pour at him. armed with a huge bowie-knife, a relic of the civil war, which he had carried on his person for many years for a definite purpose, and which he had kept sharpened to a razor edge, he reached the line of the crowd. all but the bravest shrank back. like a wedge he dashed through the mob, which parted in¬ stinctively before him, and all oblivious of the rain of lead which fell around him, reached the point where captain mcbane, the bravest man in the party, stood waiting to meet him. a pistol-flame flashed in his face, but he went on, and raising his powerful right arm, buried his knife to the hilt in the heart of his enemy. when the crowd dashed forward to wreak vengeance on his dead body, they found him with a smile still upon his face. one of the two died as the fool dieth. which was it, or was it both ? " vengeance is mine," saith the lord, and it had not been left to him. but they that do violence must expect to suffer violence. mcbane's death was merciful, compared with the nameless fiat justitia tied. he stooped over the bed, beside which the nurse had stationed herself. she was wiping the child's face, which was red and swollen and covered with moisture, the nostrils working rapidly, and the little patient vainly endeavoring at intervals to cough up the ob¬ struction to his breathing. " is it serious ? " he inquired anxiously. he had always thought of the croup as a childish ailment, that yielded readily to proper treatment; but the child's evident distress impressed him with sudden fear. " dangerous," replied the young woman laconically. "you came none too soon. if a doctor isn't got at once, the child will die, — and it must be a good doctor." " whom can i call? " he asked. " you know them all, i suppose. dr. price, our family physician, is out of town." " dr. ashe has charge of his cases when he is away," replied the nurse. " if you can't find him, try dr. hooper. the child is growing worse every minute. on your way back you'd better get some ice, if pos¬ sible." the major hastened downstairs. "don't wait for me, ellis," he said. "i shall be needed here for a while. i ' get to the office as soon as possible. make up the paper, and leave another stick out for me to the last minute, but fill it up in case i'm not on hand by twelve. we must get the paper out early in the morning." nothing but a matter of the most vital importance would have kept major carteret away from his office this night. upon the presentation to the outer world of the story of this riot would depend the attitude of fiat justitia clares that he will not consider such a call unless it come from you personally." " that is true, quite true," replied carteret. " his position is a just one. i will go at once. will — will — niy child live until i can get miller here ? " " he can live for half an hour without an opera¬ tion. beyond that i could give you little hope." seizing his hat, carteret dashed out of the yard and ran rapidly to miller's house ; ordinarily a walk of six or seven minutes, carteret covered it in three, and was almost out of breath when he rang the bell of miller's front door. the ring was answered by the doctor in person. " dr. miller, i believe ? " asked carteret. " yes, sir." " i am major carteret. my child is seriously ill, and you are the only available doctor who can perform the necessary operation." " ah! yfu have tried all the others, — and then you come to me! " " yes, i do not deny it," admitted the major, biting his lip. he had not counted on professional jealousy as an obstacle to be met. " but i have come to you, as a physician, to engage your professional services for my child, — my only child. i have confidence in your skill, or i should not have come to you. i re¬ quest — nay, i implore you to lose no more time, but come with me at once ! my child's life is hanging by a thread, and you can save it! " " ah!" replied the other, " as a father whose only child's life is in danger, you implore me, of all men in the world, to come and save it! " there was a strained intensity in the doctor's low voice that struck carteret, in spite of his own pre- fiat justitia of his own predicament, — in the horror of the situa¬ tion at miller's house, — for a moment the veil of race prejudice was rent in twain, and he saw things as they were, in their correct proportions and rela¬ tions, — saw clearly and convincingly that he had no standing here, in the presence of death, in the home of this stricken family. miller's refusal to go with him was pure, elemental justice; he could not blame the doctor for his stand. he was indeed conscious of a certain involuntary admiration for a man who held in his hands the power of life and death, and could use it, with strict justice, to avenge his own wrongs. in dr. miller's place he would have done the same thing. miller had spoken the truth, — as he had sown, so must he reap! he could not expect, could not ask, this father to leave his own household at such a moment. pressing his lips together with grim courage, and bowing mechanically, as though to fate rather than the physician, carteret turned and left the house. at a rapid pace he soon reached home. there was yet a chance for his child: perhaps some one of the other doctors had come; perhaps, after all, the disease had taken a favorable turn, — evans was but a young doctor, and might have been mistaken. surely, with doctors all around him, his child would not be per¬ mitted to die for lack of medical attention ! he found the mother, the doctor, and the nurse still grouped, as he had left them, around the suffering child. " how is he now ? " he asked, in a voice that sounded like a groan. " no better," replied the doctor; " steadily grow¬ ing worse. he can go on probably for twenty minutes longer without an operation." the marrow of tradition " where is the doctor ? " demanded mrs. carteret, looking eagerly toward the door. " you should have brought him right upstairs. there's not a minute to spare ! phil, phil, our child will die! " carteret's heart swelled almost to bursting with an intense pity. even his own great sorrow became of secondary importance beside the grief which his wife must soon feel at the inevitable loss of her only child. and it was his fault! would that he could risk his own life to spare her and to save the child! briefly, and as gently as might be, he stated the result of his errand. the doctor had refused to come, for a good reason. he could not ask him again. young evans felt the logic of the situation, which carteret had explained sufficiently. to the nurse it was even clearer. if she or any other woman had- been in the doctor's place, she would have given the same answer. mrs. carteret did not stop to reason. in such a crisis a mother's heart usurps the place of intellect. for her, at that moment, there were but two facts in all the world. her child lay dying. there was within the town, and within reach, a man who could save him. with an agonized cry she rushed wildly from the room. carteret sought to follow her, but she flew down the long stairs like a wild thing. the least misstep might have precipitated her to the bottom; but ere carteret, with a remonstrance on his lips, had scarcely reached the uppermost step, she had thrown open the front door and fled precipitately out into the night. xxxvii the sisters miller's doorbell rang loudly, insistently, as though demanding a response. absorbed in his own grief, into which he had relapsed upon carteret's departure, the sound was an unwelcome intrusion. surely the man could not be coming back! if it were some one else — what else might happen to the doomed town concerned him not. his child was dead, — his dis¬ tracted wife could not be left alone. the doorbell rang — clamorously — appealingly. through the long hall and the closed door of the room where he sat, he could hear some one knocking, and a faint voice calling. " open, for god's sake, open ! " it was a woman's voice, — the voice of a woman in distress. slowly miller rose and went to the door, which he opened mechanically. a lady stood there, so near the image of his own wife, whom he had just left, that for a moment he was well-nigh startled. a little older, perhaps, a little fairer of complexion, but with the same form, the same' features, marked by the same wild grief. she wore a loose wrapper, which clothed her like the drap¬ ery of a statue. her long dark hair, the counterpart of his wife's, had fallen down, and hung disheveled about her shoulders. there was blood upon her knuckles, where she had beaten with them upon the door. the sisters with anguish," pardon my husband's sins, and my own, and move this man's hard heart, by the blood of thy son, who died to save us all!" it was the last appeal of poor humanity. when the pride of intellect and caste is broken ; when we grovel in the dust of humiliation; when sickness and sorrow come, and the shadow of death falls upon us, and there is no hope elsewhere, — we turn to god, who sometimes swallows the insult, and answers the appeal. miller raised the lady to her feet. he had been deeply moved, — but he had been more deeply injured. this was his wife's sister, — ah, yes ! but a sister who had scorned and slighted and ignored the existence of his wife for all her life. only miller, of all the world, could have guessed what this had meant to janet, and hp had merely divined it through the clairvoyant sympathy of love. this woman could have no claim upon him because of this unacknowledged relation¬ ship. yet, after all, she was his wife's sister, his child's kinswoman. she was a fellow creature, too, and in distress. " rise, madam," he said, with a sudden inspiration, lifting her gently. " i will listen to you on one con¬ dition. my child lies dead in the adjoining room, his mother by his side. go in there, and make your request of her. i will abide by her decision." the two women stood confronting each other across the body of the dead child, mute witness of this first meeting: between two children of- the same father. standing thus face to face, each under the stress of the deepest emotions, the resemblance between them was even more striking than it had seemed to miller the marrow of tradition she had longed in secret. it had come, after many days, and in larger measure than she had dreamed ; but it had come, not with frank kindliness and sisterly love, but in a storm of blood and tears; not freely given, from an open heart, but extorted from a reluc¬ tant conscience by the agony of a mother's fears. janet had obtained her heart's desire, and now that it was at her lips, found it but apples of sodom, filled with dust and ashes! " listen ! " she cried, dashing her tears aside. " i have but one word for you, —one last word, —and then i hope never to see your face again ! my mother died of want, and i was brought up by the hand of charity. now, when i have married a man who can supply my needs, you offer me back the money which you and your friends have robbed me of! you imagined that the shame of being a negro swallowed up every other ignominy, — and in your eyes i am a negro, though i am your sister, and you are white, and people have taken me for you on the streets, — and you, therefore, left me nameless all my life ! now, when an honest man has given me a name of which i can be proud, you offer me the one of which you robbed me, and of which i can make no use. for twenty-five years i, poor, despicable fool, would have kissed your feet for a word, a nod, a smile. • now, when this tardy recog¬ nition comes, for which i have waited so long, it is tainted with fraud and crime and blood, and i^must pay for it with my child's life ! " " and i must forfeit that of mine, it seems, for with¬ holding it so long," sobbed the other, as, tottering, she turned to go. " it is but just." " stay — do not go yet! " commanded janet im¬ periously, her pride still keeping back her tears. " i the sisters have not done. i throw you back your father's name, your father's wealth, your sisterly recognition. i want none of them, — they are bought too dear ! ah, god, they are bought too dear ! but that you may know that a woman may be foully wronged, and yet may have a heart to feel, even for one who has injured her, you may have your child's life, if my husband c^n save it! will," she said, throwing open the door into the next room, " go with her ! " " god will bless you for a noble woman ! " exclaimed mrs. carteret. " you do not mean all the cruel things you have said, — ah, no! i will see you again, and make you take them back; i cannot thank you now ! oh, doctor, let us go ! i pray god we may not be too late!" together they went out into the night. mrs. car¬ teret tottered under the stress of her emotions, and would have fallen, had not miller caught and sus¬ tained her with his arm until they reached the house, where he turned over her fainting form to carteret at the door. " is the child still alive ? " asked miller. " yes, thank god," answered the father, " but nearly gone." " come on up, dr. miller," called evans from the head of the stairs. " there's time enough, but none to spare." < t&e hiiberjsibe pte& electrotyped and printed by h. o. houghton < r» co. cambridge, mass., u.s. a. from the library of phil w. petrie folks from dixie folks from dixie by paul laurence dunbar author of " lyrics of lowly life " with illustrations by e. w. kemble london james bow den io, henrietta street, w.c. to my friend h. a. tobey, m. list of illustrations page "mr. ruggles" frontispiece "a visit from uncle eben" " aunt caroline was finding solace in her pipe" " brother hezekiah sneedon " " why n't you git me somep'n' to fix my¬ self up in?" "i see 'possum grease on yo' mouf" . . "old aunt doshy" "wha' 'd you ketch?" anner 'lizer's stumblin' block i i folks from dixie anner 'lizer's stumblin' block it was winter. the gray old mansion of mr. robert selfridge, of fayette county, ky., was wrapped in its usual mantle of winter sombre- ness, and the ample plantation stretching in every direction thereabout was one level plain of unflecked whiteness. at a distance from the house the cabins of the negroes stretched away in a long, broken black line that stood out in bold relief against the extreme whiteness of their surroundings. about the centre of the line, as dark and un¬ inviting as the rest, with its wide chimney of scrap limestone turning clouds of dense smoke into the air, stood a cabin. there was nothing in its appearance to dis¬ tinguish it from the other huts clustered about. the logs that formed its sides were just as seamy, the timbers of the roof had just the same anner 'lizer about. but sam, with his smooth but fearless ways, sam, with his lightsome foot, so airy in the dance, sam, handsome sam, was the all- preferred. if there was a dance to go to, a corn-husking to attend, a social at the rude little log church, sam was always the lucky man who was alert and able to possess himself of anner 'lizer's " comp'ny." and so, naturally, people began to connect their names, and the rumour went forth, as rumours will, that the two were engaged; and, as far as engagements went among the slaves in those days, i suppose it was true. sam had never exactly prostrated himself at his sweetheart's feet and openly declared his passion; nor had she modestly snickered behind her fan, and murmured yes in the approved fashion of the present. but he had looked his feelings, and she had looked hers ; while numer¬ ous little attentions bestowed on each other, too subtle to be detailed, and the attraction which kept them constantly together, were earnests of their intentions more weighty than words could give. and so, let me say, without further ex¬ planation, that sam and anner 'lizer were engaged. but when did the course of true love ever run smooth ? folks from dixie there was never a time but there were some rocks in its channel around which the little stream had to glide or over which it had to bound and bubble; and thus it was with the loves of our young friends. but in this case the crystal stream seemed destined neither to bound over nor glide by the obstacle in its path, but rather to let its merry course be checked thereby. it may, at first, seem a strange thing to say, but it was nevertheless true, that the whole sweep and torrent of the trouble had rise in the great religious revival that was being enthusias¬ tically carried on at the little baptist meeting¬ house. interest, or, perhaps more correctly speaking, excitement ran high, and regularly as night came round all the hands on the neigh¬ bouring plantations flocked to the scene of their devotions. there was no more regular attendant at these meetings, nor more deeply interested lis¬ tener to the pastor's inflammatory exhortations, than anner 'lizer. the weirdness of the scene and the touch of mysticism in the services — though, of course, she did not analyse it thus — reached her emotional nature and stirred her anner 'lizer being to its depths. night after night found her in her pew, the third bench from the rude pulpit, her large eyes, dilated to their fullest capacity, following the minister through every motion, seeming at times in their steadfastness to look through him and beyond to the regions he was describing, — the harp-ringing heaven of bliss or the fire-filled home of the damned. now sam, on the other hand, could not be induced to attend these meetings; and when his fellow-servants were at the little church praying, singing, and shouting, he was to be found sitting in one corner of his cabin, picking his banjo, or scouring the woods, carrying axe and taper, and, with a dog trotting at his heels, hunting for that venison of the negro palate, — 'coon. of course this utter irreverence on the part of her lover shocked anner 'lizer; but she had not entered far enough into the regions of the ecstasy to be a proselyte; so she let sam go his way, albeit with reluctance, while she went to church unattended. but she thought of sam ; and many a time when she secretly prayed to get religion she added a prayer that she might retain sam. folks from dixie he, the rogue, was an unconscious but pro¬ nounced sceptic; and day by day, as anner 'lizer became more and more possessed by religious fervour, the breach between them widened ; still widening gradually until the one span that connected the two hearts was sud¬ denly snapped asunder on the night when anner 'lizer went to the mourner's bench. she had not gone to church with that intention; indeed not, although she had long been deeply moved by a consciousness of her lost estate. but that night, when the preacher had pictured the boundless joys of heaven, and then, lean¬ ing over the pulpit and stretching out his arms before him, had said in his softest tone, " now come, won't you, sinnahs ? de lawd is jes' on de othah side; jes' one step away, waitin' to receibe you. won't you come to him ? won't you tek de chance o' becomin' j'int 'ars o' dat beautiful city whar de streets is gof an' de gates is pearl ? won't you come to him, sinnah ? don't you see de pityin' look he's a-givin' you, a-sayin' come, come ?" she lost herself. some irresistible power seemed dom¬ inating her, and she arose and went forward, dropping at the altar amid a great shouting and anner 'lizer clapping of hands and cries of " bless de lawd, one mo' recruit fu' de gospel ahmy." some one started the hymn, "we'll bow around the altar," and the refrain was taken up by the congregation with a fervour that made the rafters of the little edifice ring again. the conquest of anner 'lizer, the belle of that section of kentucky, was an event of great moment; and in spite of the concentration of the worshippers' minds on their devotions, the unexpected occurrence called forth a deal of discussion among the brothers and sisters. aunt hannah remarked to aunt maria, over the back of the seat, that she " nevah knowed de gal was unner c'nviction." and aunt maria answered solemnly, "you know, sistah, de lawd wuks in a myste'ious way his wondahs to pu'fo'm." meanwhile the hymn went on, and above it rose the voice of the minister: " we want all de christuns in de house to draw up aroun' de altah, whar de fiah is bu'nin': you know in de wintah time when hit's col' you crowds up clost to de fiahplace; so now ef you wants to git spi'tually wa'm, you mus' be up whar de fiah is." there was a great scrambling and shuf- folks from dixie fling of feet as the members rose with one accord to crowd, singing, around the altar. two of the rude benches had been placed end to end before the pulpit, so that they extended nearly the full width of the little church; and at these knelt a dozen or more mourners, swaying and writhing under the bur¬ den of their sins. the song being ended, the preacher said: " brer' adams, please tek up de cross." dur¬ ing the momentary lull that intervened between the end of the song and the prayer, the wails and supplications of the mourners sounded out with weird effect. then brer' adams, a white- haired patriarch, knelt and " took up the cross." earnestly he besought the divine mercy in behalf of " de po' sinnahs, a-rollin' an' a-tossin' in de tempes' of dere sins. lawd," he prayed, " come down dis evenin' in sperit's powah to seek an' to save-ah ; let us heah de rumblin' of yo' cha'iot wheels-ah lak de thundah f'om mount sinai-ah; oh, lawd-ah, convert mou'nahs an' convict sinnahs-ah ; show 'em dat dey mus' die an' cain't lib an' atter death to judg-a- ment; tu'n 'em aroun' befo' it is evahlastin' an' eternally too late." then warming more and anner 'lizer more, and swaying his form back and forth, as he pounded the seat in emphasis, he began to wail out in a sort of indescribable monotone : " o lawd, save de mou'nah ! " u save de mou'nah ! " came the response from all over the church. " he'p 'em out of de miah an' quicksan's of dere sins ! " " he'p, lawd ! " " and place deir feet upon de evahlastin' an' eternal rock-ah ! " " do, lawd ! " " o lawd-ah, shake a dyin' sinnah ovah hell an' fo'bid his mighty fall-ah!" " o lawd, shake 'em!" came from the congregation. by this time every one was worked up to a high state of excitement, and the prayer came to an end amid great commotion. then a rich, mellow voice led out with: " sabe de mou'nah jes' now, sabe de mou'nah jes' now, sabe de mou'nah jes' now, only trust him jes' now, only trust him jes' now, he'p de sinnah jes' now } " ii folks from dixie and so to indefinite length the mournful minor melody ran along like a sad brook flowing through autumn woods, trying to laugh and ripple through tears. every now and then some mourner would spring half up, with a shriek, and then sink down again trembling and jerking spasmodi¬ cally. " he's a-doubtin', he's a-doubtin'! " the cry would fly around; " but i tell you he purt' nigh had it that time." finally, the slender form of anner 'lizer began to sway backward and forward, like a sapling in the wind, and she began to mourn and weep aloud. " praise de lawd ! " shouted aunt hannah, " de po' soul's gittin' de evidence: keep on, honey, de lawd ain't fa' off." the sudden change attracted considerable attention, and in a moment a dozen or more zealous altar- workers gathered around anner 'lizer, and began to clap and sing with all their might, keeping time to the melodious cadence of their music with heavy foot-pats on the resounding floor. " git on boa'd-ah, little childering, git on boa'd-ah, little childering, git on boa'd-ah, little childering, dere *s room fo' many mo'. anner 'lizer " de gospel ship is sailin', it's loaded down wid souls. if you want to mek heab'n yo' happy home, you mus' ketch it 'fo' it goes. git on boa'd, etc. " king jesus at de helium, fu' to guide de ship erright. we gwine fu' to put into heab'n's po't wid ouah sails all shinin' white. git on boa'd," etc. with a long dwell on the last word of the chorus, the mellow cadence of the song died away. " let us bow down fu' a season of silent praar," said the minister. " lawd, he'p us to pray," responded uncle eben adams. the silence that ensued was continually broken by the wavering wail of the mourners. suddenly one of them, a stalwart young man, near the opening of the aisle, began to writhe and twist himself into every possible contortion, crying: " o lawd, de devil's a-ridin' me; tek him off—tek him off!" " tek him off, lawd ! " shouted the congre¬ gation. folks from dixie then suddenly, without warning, the mourner rose straight up into the air, shouting, " halle¬ lujah, hallelujah, hallelujah ! " " he's got it — he's got it! " cried a dozen eager worshippers, leaping to their feet and crowding around the happy convert; "bless de lawd, he's got it." a voice was raised, and soon the church was ringing with " loose him and let him go, let him shout to glory." on went the man, shouting " hallelujah," shaking hands, and bounding over seats in the ecstasy of his bliss. his conversion kindled the flame of the meet¬ ing and set the fire going. you have seen corn in the popper when the first kernel springs up and flares open, how quickly the rest follow, keeping up the steady pop, pop, pop; well, just so it was after this first conversion. the mourners popped up quickly and steadily as the strength of the spiritual fire seemed to reach their swelling souls. one by one they left the bench on which, figuratively speaking, they may be said to have laid down their sins and proclaimed themselves possessors of religion; anner 'lizer until, finally, there was but one left, and that one — anner 'lizer. she had ceased from her violent activity, and seemed perfectly passive now. the efforts of all were soon concentrated on her, and such stamping and clapping and sing¬ ing was never heard before. such cries of "jes' look up, sistah, don't you see him at yo' side ? jes' reach out yo' han' an' tech de hem of his ga'ment. jes' listen, sistah, don't you heah de angels singin' ? don't you heah de rumblin' of de cha'iot wheels ? he's a-comin', he's a-comin', he's a-comin' ! " but anner'lizer was immovable; with her face lying against the hard bench, she moaned and prayed softly to herself. the congregation redoubled its exertions, but all to no effect, anner 'lizer would n't " come thoo." it was a strange case. aunt maria whispered to her bosom friend: " you min' me, sistah hannah, dere's surnp'n' on dat gal's min'." and aunt hannah an¬ swered : " i believe you." josephine, or more commonly phiny, a former belle whom anner 'lizer's superior charms had deposed, could not lose this opportunity to have i folks from dixie a fling at her successful rival. of course such cases of vindictiveness in women are rare, and phiny was exceptional when she whispered to her fellow-servant, lucy : " i reckon she'd git 'ligion if sam me'itt was heah to see her." lucy snickered, as in duty bound, and whispered back: " i wisht you'd heish." well, after all their singing, in spite of all their efforts, the time came for closing the meet¬ ing and anner 'lizer had not yet made a profession. she was lifted tenderly up from the mourner's bench by a couple of solicitous sisters, and after listening to the preacher's exhortation to " pray constantly, thoo de day an' thoo de night, in de highways an' de byways an' in yo' secret closet," she went home praying in her soul, leaving the rest of the congregation to loiter along the way and gossip over the night's events. all the next day anner 'lizer, erstwhile so cheerful, went about her work sad and silent; every now and then stopping in the midst of her labours and burying her face in her neat white apron to sob violently. it was true, as aunt hannah expressed, that " de sperit anner 'lizer had sholy tuk holt of dat gal wid a powahful han\" all' of her fellow-servants knew that she was a mourner, and with that characteristic rever¬ ence for religion which is common to all their race, and not lacking even in the most hardened sinner among them, they respected her feelings. phiny alone, when she met her, tossed her head and giggled openly. but phiny's actions never troubled anner 'lizer, for she felt herself so far above her. once though, in the course of the day, she had been somewhat disturbed, when she had suddenly come upon her rival, standing in the spring-house talking and laughing with sam. she noticed, too, with a pang, that phiny had tied a bow of red ribbon on her hair. she shut her lips and only prayed the harder. but an hour later, somehow, a ribbon as red as phiny's had miraculously attached itself to her thick black plaits. was the temporal creeping in with the spiritual in anner 'lizer's mind ? who can tell ? perhaps she thought that, while cultivating the one, she need not utterly neglect the other; and who says but that she was right ? uncle eben, however, did not take this view folks from dixie of the matter when he came hobbling up in the afternoon to exhort her a little. he found anner 'lizer in the kitchen washing dis-hes. engrossed in the contemplation of her spiritual state, or praying for deliverance from the same, through the whole day she had gone about without speak¬ ing to any one. but with uncle eben it was, of course, different; for he was a man held in high respect by all the negroes and, next to the minister, the greatest oracle in those parts; so anner 'lizer spoke to him. " howdy, unci' eben," she said, in a lugu¬ brious tone, as the old man hobbled in and settled down in a convenient corner. " howdy, honey, howdy," he replied, cross¬ ing one leg over the other, as he unwound his long bandana, placed it in his hat, and then deposited his heavy cane on the white floor. " i jes' thought i'd drap in to ax you how do you do to-day ? " " po' enough, unci' eben, fu' sho." " ain't foun' no res' fu' yo' soul yit ?" "no res'yit," answered anner 'lizer, again applying the apron to her already swollen eyes. " um -m," sighed the old man, meditatively tapping his foot; and then the gay flash of a visit from uncle eben. anner 'lizer anner 'lizer's ribbon caught his eye and he gasped : " bless de lawd, sis 'lizer ; you don't mean to tell me dat you's gwin 'bout heah seekin' wid yo' har tied up in ribbon ? whut! tek it off, honey, tek it off; ef yo' wants yo' soul saved, tek it off! " anner 'lizer hesitated, and raised her eyes in momentary protest; but they met the horrified gaze of the old man, and she lowered them again as her hand went reluctantly up to her head to remove the offending bit of finery. "you see, honey," uncle eben went on, " when you sta'ts out on de christian jou'ney, you's got to lay aside evry weight dat doeth so easy beset you an' keeps you f'om per- gressin'; y' ain't got to think nothin' 'bout pus- sunal 'dornment; you's jes' got to shet yo' eyes an' open yo' hea't an' say, lawd, come ; you must n't wait fu' to go to chu'ch to pray, nuther, you mus' pray anywhar an' ev'rywhar. why, when i was seekin', i ust to go 'way off up in de big woods to pray, an' dere's whar de lawd answered me, an' i'm a-rejoicin' to-day in de powah of de same salvation. honey, you's got to pray, i tell you. you's got to brek de backbone of yo' pride an' pray in earnes'; * folks from dixie an' ef you does dat, you ' git he'p, fu' de lawd is a praar-heahin' lawd an' plenteous in mussy." anner 'lizer listened attentively to the ex¬ hortation, and evidently profited by it; for soon after uncle eben's departure she changed her natty little dress for one less pretentious, and her dainty, frilled white muslin apron gave way to a broad dark calico one. if grace was to be found by self-abnegation in the matter of dress, anner 'lizer was bound to have it at any price. as afternoon waned and night came on, she grew more and more serious, and more frequent recourse was had to the corner of her apron. she even failed to see phiny when that enter¬ prising young person passed her, decked out in the whitest of white cuffs and collars setting off in pleasant contrast her neat dark dress. phiny giggled again and put up her hand, ostensibly to brush some imaginary dust from her bosom, but really to show her pretty white cuffs with their big bone buttons. but it was all lost on anner 'lizer; her gaze was downcast and her thoughts far away. if any one was ever " seekin' " in earnest, this girl was. anner 'lizer night came, and with it the usual services. anner 'lizer was one of the earliest of the congregation to arrive, and she went immedi¬ ately to the mourner's bench. in the language of the congregation, " eldah johnsing sholy did preach a powahful sermon " that night. more sinners were convicted and brought to their knees, and, as before, these recruits were con¬ verted and anner 'lizer left. what was the matter ? that was the question which every one asked, but there were none found who could answer it. the circumstance was all the more astounding from the fact that this unsuccessful mourner had not been a very wicked girl. in¬ deed, it was to have been expected that she might shake her sins from her shoulders as she would discard a mantle, and step over on the lord's side. but it was not so. but when a third night came and passed with the same result, it became the talk of three plantations. to be sure, cases were not lack¬ ing where people had " mourned " a week, two weeks, or even a month; but they were woful sinners and those were times of less spiritual interest; but under circumstances so favourable folks from dixie as were now presented, that one could long refrain from " gittin' religion " was the wonder of all. so, after the third night, everybody wondered and talked, and not a few began to lean to phiny's explanation, that " de ole snek in de grass had be'n a-goin' on doin' all her dev'ment on de sly, so's people would n't know it; but de lawd he did, an' he payin' her up fu' it now." sam merritt alone did not talk, and seemed perfectly indifferent to all that was said; when he was in phiny's company and she rallied him about the actions of his " gal," he remained silent. on the fourth night of anner 'lizer's mourning, the congregation gathered as usual at the church. for the first half-hour all went on as usual, and the fact that anner 'lizer was absent caused no remark, for every one thought she would come in later. but time passed and she did not come. " eldah johnsing's " flock became agitated. of course there were other mourners, but the one particular one was absent; hence the dissatisfaction. every head in the house was turned toward the door, whenever it was opened by some late comer; and around anner 'lizer flew the whisper, " i wunner ef she's quit mou'nin'; you ain't heerd of her gittin' 'ligion, have you ? " no one had. meanwhile the object of their solicitude was praying just the same, but in a far different place. grasping, as she was, at everything that seemed to give her promise of relief, some¬ how uncle eben's words had had a deep effect upon her. so, when night fell and her work was over, she had gone up into the woods to pray. she had prayed long without success, and now she was crying aloud from the very fulness of her heart, " o lawd, sen' de light — sen' de light! " suddenly, as if in answer to her prayer, a light appeared before her some distance away. the sudden attainment of one's desires often shocks one; so with our mourner. for a mo¬ ment her heart stood still and the thought came to her to flee; but her mind flashed back over the words of one of the hymns she had heard down at church, " let us walk in de light; " and she knew that before she walked in the light she must walk toward it. so she rose and started in the direction of the light. how it flickered and flared, disappeared and reappeared, folks from dixie rose and fell, even as her spirits, as she stumbled and groped her way over fallen logs and through briers. her limbs were bruised and her dress torn by the thorns. but she heeded it not, she had fixed her eye — physical and spiritual — on the light before her. it drew her with an irre¬ sistible fascination. suddenly she stopped. an idea had occurred to her! maybe this light was a jack-o'-lantern! for a moment she hesitated, then promptly turned her pocket wrong side out, murmuring, " de lawd ' tek keer o' me." on she started; but, lo! the light had disappeared! what! had the turning of the pocket indeed worked so potent a charm ? but no! it reappeared as she got beyond the intervention of a brush pile which had ob¬ scured it. the light grew brighter as she grew fainter; but she clasped her hands and raised her eyes in unwavering faith, .for she found that the beacon did not recede, but glowed with a steady and stationary flame. as she drew near, the sound of sharp strokes came to her ears, and she wondered. then, as she slipped into the narrow circle of light, she saw that it was made by a taper which was set on a log. the strokes came from a man who anner 'lizer was chopping down a tree in which a 'coon seemed to have taken refuge. it needed no second glance at the stalwart shoulders to tell her that the man was — sam. her step at¬ tracted his attention, and he turned. « sam ! " " anner 'lizer ! " and then they both stood still, too amazed to speak. finally she walked across to where he was standing, and said: " sam, i did n't come out heah to fin' you, but de lawd has 'p'inted it so, 'ca'se he knowed i orter speak to you." sam leaned hopelessly on his axej he thought she was going to exhort him. anner 'lizer went on : " sam, you's my stumblin' block in de highroad to salvation ; i's be'n tryin' to git 'ligion fu' fou' nights, an' i cain't do it jes' on yo' 'count; i prays an' i prays, an' jes' as i's a'mos' got it, jes' as i begin to heah de cha'iot wheels a-rollin', yo' face comes right in 'tween an' drives it all away. tell me, now, sam, so's to put me out ov my 'spense, does you want to ma'y me, er is you goin' to ma'y phiny ? i jes' wants you to tell me, not dat i keers pussonally, but so's my min' kin be at res' spi'tu'lly, an' i kin git 'ligion. folks from dixie jes' say yes er no; i wants to be settled one way er 't other." " anner 'lizer," said sam, reproachfully, " you know i wants to ma'y you jes' ez soon ez mas' rob ' let me." " dere now," said anner 'lizer, " bless de lawd! " and, somehow, sam had dropped the axe and was holding her in his arms. it boots not whether the 'coon was caught that night or not; but it is a fact that anner 'lizer set the whole place afire by getting re¬ ligion at home early the next morning. and the same night the minister announced " dat de lawd had foun' out de sistah's stumblin' block an' removed it f'om de path." the ordeal at mt. hope the ordeal at mt. hope " and this is mt. hope," said the rev. howard dokesbury to himself as he descended, bag in hand, from the smoky, dingy coach, or part of a coach, which was assigned to his people, and stepped upon the rotten planks of the station platform. the car he had just left was not a palace, nor had his reception by his fellow- passengers or his intercourse with them been of such cordial nature as to endear them to him. but he watched the choky little engine with its three black cars ^ind out of sight with a look as regretful as if he were witnessing the departure of his dearest friend. then he turned his attention again to his surroundings, and a sigh welled up from his heart. " and this is mt. hope," he repeated. a note in his voice indicated that he fully appreciated the spirit of keen irony in which the place had been named. the colour scheme of the picture that met his eyes was in dingy blacks and grays. the folks from dixie building that held the ticket, telegraph, and train despatchers' offices was a miserably old ramshackle affair, standing well in the foreground of this scene of gloom and desolation. its win¬ dows were so coated with smoke and grime that they seemed to have been painted over in order to secure secrecy within. here and there a lazy cur lay drowsily snapping at the flies, and at the end of the station, perched on boxes or leaning against the wall, making a living picture of equal laziness, stood a group of idle negroes exchang¬ ing rude badinage with their white counterparts across the street. after a while this bantering interchange would grow more keen and personal, a free-for-all friendly fight would follow, and the newspaper correspondent in that section would write it up as a " race war." but this had not happened yet that day. " this is mt. hope," repeated the new-comer; " this is the field of my labours." rev. howard dokesbury, as may already have been inferred, was a negro, — there could be no mistake about that. the deep dark brown of his skin, the rich over-fulness of his lips, and the close curl of his short black hair were evi- ° the ordeal at mt. hope dences that admitted of no argument. he was a finely proportioned, stalwart-looking man, with a general air of self-possession and self-sufficiency in his manner. there was firmness in the set of his lips. a reader of character would have said of him, " here is a man of solid judgment, careful in deliberation, prompt in execution, and decisive." it was the perception in him of these very qualities which had prompted the authorities of the little college where he had taken his degree and received his theological training, to urge him to go among his people at the south, and there to exert his powers for good where the field was broad and the labourers few. born of southern parents from whom he had learned many of the superstitions and traditions of the south, howard dokesbury himself had never before been below mason and dixon's line. but with a confidence born of youth and a con¬ sciousness of personal power, he had started south with the idea that he knew the people with whom he had to deal, and was equipped with the proper weapons to cope with their shortcomings. but as he looked around upon the scene which i folks from dixie now met his eye, a doubt arose in his mind. he picked up his bag with a sigh, and approached a man who had been standing apart from the rest of the loungers and regarding him with indolent intentness. " could you direct me to the house of stephen gray ? " asked the minister. the interrogated took time to change his position from left foot to right and to shift his quid, before he drawled forth, " reckon you's de new mefdis preachah, huh ? " "yes," replied howard, in the most concilia¬ tory tone he could command, " and i hope i find in you one of my flock." "no, suh, i's a babtist myse'f. i wa' n't raised up no place erroun' mt. hope; i'm na- chelly f om way up in adams county. dey jes' sont me down hyeah to fin' you an' to tek you up to steve's. stevey he's workin' to-day an' could n't come down." he laid particular stress upon the "to-day," as if steve's spell of activity were not an every¬ day occurrence. " is it far from here ? " asked dokesbury. " 't ain't mo' 'n a mile an' a ha'f by de shawt cut." the ordeal at mt. hope "well, then, let's take the short cut, by all means," said the preacher. they trudged along for a while in silence, and then the young man asked, " what do you men about here do mostly for a living ?" " oh, well, we does odd jobs, we saws an' splits wood an' totes bundles, an' some of 'em raises gyahden, but mos' of us, we fishes. de fish bites an' we ketches 'em. sometimes we eats 'em an' sometimes we sells 'em; a string o' fish ' bring a peck o' co'n any time." " and is that all you do ? " " 'bout." " why, i don't see how you live that way." " oh, we lives all right," answered the man; " we has plenty to eat an' drink, an' clothes to wear, an' some place to stay. i reckon folks ain't got much use fu' nuffin' mo'." dokesbury sighed. here indeed was virgin soil for his ministerial labours. his spirits were not materially raised when, some time later, he came in sight of the house which was to be his abode. to be sure, it was better than most of the houses which he had seen in the negro part of mt. hope; but even at that it was far from being good or comfortable-looking. it folks from dixie was small and mean in appearance. the weather boarding was broken, and in some places entirely fallen away, showing the great unhewn logs beneath; while off the boards that re¬ mained the whitewash had peeled in scrofulous spots. the minister's guide went up to the closed door, and rapped loudly with a heavy stick. " g' 'way f'om dah, an' quit you' foolin'," came in a large voice from within. the guide grinned, and rapped again. there was a sound of shuffling feet and the pushing back of a chair, and then the same voice saying: " i bet i ' mek you git away f'om dat do'." " dat's a'nt ca'line," the guide said, and laughed. the door was flung back as quickly as its worn hinges and sagging bottom would allow, and a large body surmounted by a face like a big round full moon presented itself in the opening. a broomstick showed itself ag¬ gressively in one fat shiny hand. " it 'syou, tom scott, is it — you trif'nin' —" and then, catching sight of the stranger, her whole manner changed, and she dropped the broomstick with an embarrassed " 'scuse me, suh." folks from dixie alone, and he was her heart and the hope of her life. "yes," he said, "i've got a little mother up there in ohio." " well, i's gwine to be yo' mothah down hyeah; dat is, ef i ain't too rough an' common fu' you." " hush ! " exclaimed the preacher, and he got up and took the old lady's hand in both of his own. "you shall be my mother down here; you shall help me, as you have done to¬ day. i feel better already." " i knowed you would; " and the old face beamed on the young one. " an' now jes' go out de do' dah an' wash yo' face. dey's a pan an' soap an' watah right dah, an' hyeah's a towel; den you kin go right into yo' room, fu' i knows you want to be erlone fu' a while. i ' fix yo' suppah while you rests." he did as he was bidden. on a rough bench outside the door, he found a basin and a bucket of water with a tin dipper in it. to one side, in a broken saucer, lay a piece of coarse soap. the facilities for copious ablutions were not abundant, but one thing the minister noted with pleasure : the towel, which was rough and hurt the ordeal at mt. hope his skin, was, nevertheless, scrupulously clean. he went to his room feeling fresher and better, and although he found the place little and dark and warm, it too was clean, and a sense of its homeness began to take possession of him. the room was off the main living-room into which he had been first ushered. it had one small window that opened out on a fairly neat yard. a table with a chair before it stood beside the window, and across the room — if the three feet of space which intervened could be called " across " — stood the little bed with its dark calico quilt and white pillows. there was no carpet on the floor, and the absence of a washstand indicated very plainly that the occu¬ pant was expected to wash outside. the young minister knelt for a few minutes beside the bed, and then rising cast himself into the chair to rest. it was possibly half an hour later when his partial nap was broken in upon by the sound of a gruff voice from without saying," he's hyeah, is he — oomph ! well, what's he ac' lak ? want us to git down on ouah knees an' crawl to him ? if he do, i reckon he ' fin' dat mt. hope ain't de place fo' him." folks from dixie the minister did not hear the answer, which was in a low voice and came, he conjectured, from aunt ca'line'; but the gruff voice sub¬ sided, and there was the sound of footsteps going out of the room. a tap came on the preacher's door, and he opened it to the old woman. she smiled reassuringly. " dat 'uz my ol' man," she said. " sont him out to git some wood, so's i'd have time to post you. don't you mind him; he's lots mo' ba'k dan bite. he's one o' dese little yaller men, an' you know dey kin be powahful contra'y when dey sets dey hai'd to it. but jes' you treat him nice an' don't let on, an' i ' be boun' you ' bring him erroun' in little er no time." the rev. mr. dokesbury received this advice with some misgiving. albeit he had assumed his pleasantest manner when, after his return to the living-room, the little " yaller" man came through the door with his bundle of wood. he responded cordially to aunt caroline's, dis is my husband, brothah dokesbury," and heartily shook his host's reluctant hand. " i hope i find you well, brother gray," he said. the ordeal at mt. hope " moder't, jes' moder't," was the answer. " come to suppah now, bofe o' you," said the old lady, and they all sat down to the even¬ ing meal, of crisp bacon, well-fried potatoes, egg-pone, and coffee. the young man did his best to be agreeable, but it was rather discouraging to receive only gruff monosyllabic rejoinders to his most in¬ teresting observations. but the cheery old wife came bravely to the rescue, and the minister was continually floated into safety on the flow of her conversation. now and then, as he talked, he could catch a stealthy upflashing of stephen gray's eye, as suddenly lowered again, that told him that the old man was listening. but, as an indication that they would get on together, the supper, taken as a whole, was not a success. the evening that followed proved hardly more fortunate. about the only remarks that could be elicited from the " little yaller man " were a reluctant " oomph " or " oomph-uh." it was just before going to bed that, after a period of reflection, aunt caroline began slowly: "we got a son" —her husband immediately bristled up and his eyes flashed, but the old woman went on; he named 'lias, an' we thinks folks from dixie a heap o' 'lias, we does; but — " the old man had subsided, but he bristled up again at the word — " he ain't jes' whut we want him to be." her husband opened his mouth as if to speak in defence of his son, but was silent in satisfaction at his wife's explanation: " 'lias ain't bad j he jes' ca'less. sometimes he stays at home, but right sma't o' de time he stays down at" — she looked at her husband and hesitated—"at de colo'ed s'loon. we don't lak dat. it ain't no fitten place fu' him. but 'lias ain't bad, he jes' ca'less, an' me an' de ol' man we 'membahs him in ouah pra'ahs, an' i jes' t'ought i'd ax you to 'membah him too, brothah dokesbury." the minister felt the old woman's pleading look and the husband's intense gaze upon his face, and suddenly there came to him an inti¬ mate sympathy in their trouble and with it an unexpected strength. " there is no better time than now," he said, " to take his case to the almighty power; let us pray." perhaps it was the same prayer he had prayed many times before; perhaps the words of sup¬ plication and the plea for light and guidance the ordeal at mt. hope were the same; but somehow to the young man kneeling there amid those humble surroundings, with the sorrow of these poor ignorant people weighing upon his heart, it seemed very differ¬ ent. it came more fervently from his lips, and the words had a deeper meaning. when he arose, there was a warmth at his heart just the like of which he had never before experienced. aunt caroline blundered up from her knees, saying, as she wiped her eyes, " blessed is dey dat mou'n, fu' dey shall be comfo'ted." the old man, as he turned to go to bed, shook the young man's hand warmly and in silence; but there was a 'moisture in the old eyes that told the minister that his plummet of prayer had sounded the depths. alone in his own room howard dokesbury sat down to study the situation in which he had been placed. had his thorough college training anticipated specifically any such circumstance as this ? after all, did he know his own people ? was it possible that they could be so different from what he had seen and known ? he had always been such a loyal negro, so proud of his honest brown; but had he been mistaken ? was he, after all, different from the majority i folks from dixie of the people with whom he was supposed to have all thoughts, feelings, and emotions in common ? these and other questions he asked himself without being able to arrive at any satisfactory conclusion. he did not go to sleep soon after retiring, and the night brought many thoughts. the next day would be saturday. the ordeal had already begun,— now there were twenty- four hours between him and the supreme trial. what would be its outcome ? there were mo¬ ments when he felt, as every man, howsoever brave, must feel at times, that he would like to shift all his responsibilities and go away from the place that seemed destined to tax his powers beyond their capability of endurance. what could he do for the inhabitants of mt. hope ? what was required of him to do ? ever through his mind ran that world-old question: " am i my brother's keeper ? " he had never asked, " are these people my brothers ?" he was up early the next morning, and as soon as breakfast was done, he sat down to add a few touches to the sermon he had prepared as his introduction. it was not the first time that he had retouched it and polished it up here and the ordeal at mt. hope there. indeed, he had taken some pride in it. but as he read it over that day, it did not sound to him as it had sounded before. it appeared flat and without substance. after a while he laid it aside, telling himself that he was nervous and it was on this account that he could not see matters as he did in his calmer moments. he told himself, too, that he must not again take up the offending discourse until time to use it, lest the discovery of more imaginary flaws should so weaken his confidence that he would not be able to deliver it with effect. in order better to keep his resolve, he put on his hat and went out for a walk through the streets of mt. hope. he did not find an en¬ couraging prospect as he went along. the negroes whom he met viewed him with ill- favour, and the whites who passed looked on him with unconcealed distrust and contempt. he began to feel lost, alone, and helpless. the squalor and shiftlessness which were plainly in evidence about the houses which he saw filled him with disgust and a dreary hopelessness. he passed vacant lots which lay open and inviting children to healthful play ; but instead of marbles or leap-frog or ball, he found little the ordeal at mt. hope her boy was not bad, how anything good could be preserved in such a place of evil. the cries and boisterous laughter mingled with the strumming of the banjo and the shuf¬ fling of feet told him that they were engaged in one of their rude hoe-down dances. he had not passed a dozen paces beyond the door when the music was suddenly stopped, the sound of a quick blow followed, then ensued a scuffle, and a young fellow half ran, half fell through the open door. he was closely followed by a heavily built ruffian who was striking him as he ran. the young fellow was very much the weaker and slighter of the two, and was suffer¬ ing great punishment. in an instant all the preacher's sense of justice was stung into sudden life. just as the brute was about to give his victim a blow that would have sent him into the gutter, he felt his arm grasped in a detain¬ ing hold and heard a commanding voice, — " stop ! " he turned with increased fury upon this meddler, but his other wrist was caught and held in a vice-like grip. for a moment the two men looked into each other's eyes. hot words rose to the young man's lips, but he choked them folks from dixie back. until this moment he had deplored the possession of a spirit so easily fired that it had been a test of his manhood to keep from u slug¬ ging " on the football field j now he was glad of it. he did not attempt to strike the man, but stood holding his arms and meeting the brute glare with manly flashing eyes. either the natural cowardice of the bully or something in his new opponent's face had quelled the big fel¬ low's spirit, and he said doggedly : w lemme go. i was n't a-go'n' to kill him nohow, but ef i ketch him dancin' with my gal any mo', i ' —" he cast a glance full of malice at his victim, who stood on the pavement a few feet away, as much amazed as the dumfounded crowd which thronged the door of "sander's place." loosing his hold, the preacher turned, and, putting his hand on the young fellow's shoulder, led him away. for a time they walked on in silence. dokes- bury had to calm the tempest in his breast before he could trust his voice. after a while he said : " that fellow was making it pretty hot for you, my young friend. what had you done to him ?" " nothin'," replied the other. " i was jes' dancin' 'long an' not thinkin' 'bout him, when folks from dixie a bad boy. the face was too open and the eyes too honest for that. 'lias was n't bad; but environment does so much, and he would be if something were not done for him. here, then, was work for a pastor's hands. "you'll walk on home with me,'lias, won't you ?" " reckon i mout ez well," replied the boy. " i don't stay erroun' home ez much ez i oughter." "you'll be around more, of course, now that i am there. it will be so much less lone¬ some for two young people than for one. then, you can be a great help to me, too;" the preacher did not look down to see how wide his listener's eyes grew as he answered: " oh, i ain't fittin' to be no he'p to you, suh. fust thing, i ain't nevah got religion, an' then i ain't well larnec^ enough." " oh, there are a thousand other ways in which you can help, and i feel sure that you will." " of co'se, i ' do de ve'y bes' i kin." " there is one thing i want you to do soon, as a favour to me." " i can't go to de mou'nah's bench," cried the boy, in consternation. the ordeal at mt. hope and i don't want you to," was the calm reply. another look of wide-eyed astonishment took in the preacher's face. these were strange words from one of his guild. but without noticing the surprise he had created, dokesbury went on: "what i want is that you will take me fishing as soon as you can. i never get tired of fishing and i am anxious to go here. tom scott says you fish a great deal about here." " why, we kin go dis ve'y afternoon," ex¬ claimed 'lias, in relief and delight j " i's mighty fond o' fishin', myse'f." " all right; i'm in your hands from now on." 'lias drew his shoulders up, with an uncon¬ scious motion. the preacher saw it, and men¬ tally rejoiced. he felt that the first thing the boy beside him needed was a consciousness of responsibility, and the lifted shoulders meant prog¬ ress in that direction, a sort of physical straight¬ ening up to correspond with the moral one. on seeing her son walk in with the minister, aunt ca'line's' delight was boundless. " la ! brothah dokesbury," she exclaimed, " wha'd you fin' dat scamp ?" folks from dixie " oh, down the street here," the young man replied lightly. " i got hold of his name and made myself acquainted, so he came home to go fishing with me." u 'lias is pow'ful fan' o' fishin', hisse'f. i 'low he kin show you some mighty good places. cain't you, 'lias ? " " i reckon." 'lias was thinking. he was distinctly grate¬ ful that the circumstances of his meeting with the minister had been so deftly passed over. but with a half idea of the superior moral reponsi- bility under which a man in dokesbury's posi¬ tion laboured, he wondered vaguely — to put it in his own thought-words — "ef de preachah had n't put' nigh lied." however, he was will¬ ing to forgive this little lapse of veracity, if such it was, out of consideration for the anxiety it spared his mother. when stephen gray came in to dinner, he was no less pleased than his wife to note the terms of friendship on which the minister re¬ ceived his son. on his face was the first smile that dokesbury had seen there, and he awakened from his taciturnity and proffered much infor¬ mation as to the fishing-places thereabout. the ° the ordeal at mt. hope young minister accounted this a distinct gain. anything more than a frowning silence from the " little yaller man" was gain. the fishing that afternoon was particularly good. catfish, chubs, and suckers were landed in numbers sufficient to please the heart of any amateur angler. 'lias was happy, and the minister was in the best of spirits, for his charge seemed promising. he looked on at the boy's jovial face, and laughed within himself; for, mused he, " it is so much harder for the devil to get into a cheerful heart than into a sullen, gloomy one." by the time they were ready to go home harold dokesbury had received a promise from 'lias to attend service the next morning and hear the sermon. there was a great jollification over the fish supper that night, and 'lias and the minister were the heroes of the occasion. the old man again broke his silence, and recounted, with in¬ finite dryness, ancient tales of his prowess with rod and line; while aunt ' ca'line' told of fa¬ mous fish suppers that in the bygone days she had cooked for " de white folks." in the midst of it all, however, 'lias disappeared. no one had noticed when he slipped out, but all seemed to i folks from dixie become conscious of his absence about the same time. the talk shifted, and finally simmered into silence. when the rev. mr. dokesbury went to bed that night, his charge had not yet returned. the young minister woke early on the sab¬ bath morning, and he may be forgiven that the prospect of the ordeal through which he had to pass drove his care for 'lias out of mind for the first few hours. but as he walked to church, flanked on one side by aunt caroline in the stiffest of ginghams and on the other by her husband stately in the magnificence of an anti¬ quated " jim-swinger," his mind went back to the boy with sorrow. where was he ? what was he doing ? had the fear of a dull church service frightened him back to his old habits and haunts ? there was a new sadness at the preacher's heart as he threaded his way down the crowded church and ascended the rude pulpit. the church was stiflingly hot, and the morn¬ ing sun still beat relentlessly in through the plain windows. the seats were rude wooden benches, in some instances without backs. to the right, filling the inner corner, sat the pillars the ordeal at mt. hope of the church, stern, grim, and critical. opposite them, and, like them, in seats at right angles to the main body, sat the older sisters, some of them dressed with good old-fashioned simplicity, while others yielding to newer tendencies were gotten up in gaudy attempts at finery. in the rear seats a dozen or so much beribboned mulatto girls tittered and giggled, and cast bold glances at the minister. the young man sighed as he placed the manu¬ script of his sermon between the leaves of the tattered bible. " and this is mt. hope," he was again saying to himself. it was after the prayer and in the midst of the second hymn that a more pronounced titter from the back seats drew his attention. he raised his head to cast a reproving glance at the irreverent, but the sight that met his eyes turned that look into one of horror. 'lias had just entered the church, and with every mark of beastly intoxication was staggering up the aisle to a seat, into which he tumbled in a drunken heap. the preacher's soul turned sick within him, and his eyes sought the face of the mother and father. the old woman was wiping her eyes, and the old man sat with his gaze bent s the ordeal at mt. hope he forgot his carefully turned sentences and perfectly rounded periods. he forgot all save that here was the well-being of a community put into his hands whose real condition he had not even suspected until now. the situation wrought him up. his words went forth like winged fire, and the emotional people were moved beyond control. they shouted, and clapped their hands, and praised the lord loudly. when the service was over, there was much gathering about the young preacher, and hand¬ shaking. through all 'lias had slept. his mother started toward him; but the minister managed to whisper to her, " leave him to me." when the congregation had passed out, dokes- bury shook 'lias. the boy woke, partially sobered, and his face fell before the preacher's eyes. " come, my boy, let's go home." arm in arm they went out into the street, where a number of scoffers had gathered to have a laugh at the abashed boy; but harold dokesbury's strong arm steadied his steps, and something in his face checked the crowd's hilarity. silently they cleared the way, and the two passed among them and went home. folks from dixie the minister saw clearly the things which he had to combat in his community, and through this one victim he determined to fight the gen¬ eral evil. the people with whom he had to deal were children who must be led by the hand. the boy lying in drunken sleep upon his bed was no worse than the rest of them. he was an epitome of the evil, as his parents were of the sorrows, of the place. he could not talk to elias. he could not lecture him. he would only be dashing his words against the accumulated evil of years of bondage as the ripples of a summer sea beat against a stone wall. it was not the wickedness of this boy he was fighting or even the wrong¬ doing of mt. hope. it was the aggregation of the evils of the fathers, the grandfathers, the masters and mistresses of these people. against this what could talk avail ? the boy slept on, and the afternoon passed heavily away. aunt caroline was finding sol¬ ace in her pipe, and stephen gray sulked in moody silence beside the hearth. neither of them joined their guest at evening service. he went, however. it was hard to face those people again after the events of the morn- aunt cai.in'k was kimunc soi.al'k in the l'ipk." the ordeal at mt. hope ing. he could feel them covertly nudging each other and grinning as he went up to the pulpit. he chided himself for the momentary annoy¬ ance it caused him. were they not like so many naughty, irresponsible children ? the service passed without unpleasantness, save that he went home with an annoyingly vivid impression of a yellow girl with red rib¬ bons on her hat, who pretended to be impressed by his sermon and made eyes at him from behind her handkerchief. on the way to his room that night, as he passed stephen gray, the old man whispered huskily, " it's de fus' time 'lias evah done dat." it was the only word he had spoken since morning. a sound sleep refreshed dokesbury, and re¬ stored the tone to his overtaxed nerves. when he came out in the morning, elias was already in the kitchen. he too had slept off his indis¬ position, but it had been succeeded by a painful embarrassment that proved an effectual barrier to all intercourse with him. the minister talked lightly and amusingly, but the boy never raised his eyes from his plate, and only spoke folks from dixie when he was compelled to answer some direct questions. harold dokesbury knew that unless he could overcome this reserve, his power over the youth was gone. he bent every effort to do it. " what do you say to a turn down the street with me ? " he asked as he rose from breakfast. 'lias shook his head. "what! you haven't deserted me already?" the older people had gone out, but young gray looked furtively about before he replied : "you know i ain't fittin' to go out with you — aftah —aftah — yestiddy." a dozen appropriate texts rose in the preacher's mind, but he knew that it was not a preaching time, so he contented himself with saying,— " oh, get out ! come along ! " " no, i cain't. i cain't. i wisht i could ! you needn't think i's ashamed, 'cause i ain't. plenty of 'em git drunk, an' i don't keer nothin' 'bout dat " — this in a defiant tone. " well, why not come along, then ?" " i tell you i cain't. don't ax me no mo'. it ain't on my account i won't go. it's you." " me ! why, i want you to go." the ordeal at mt. hope " i know you does, but i must n't. cain't you see that dey'd be glad to say dat — dat you was in cahoots wif me an' you tuk yo' dram on de sly ? " i don't care what they say so long as it is n't true. are you coming ? " " no, i ain't." he was perfectly determined, and dokesbury saw that there was no use arguing with him. so with a resigned " all right! " he strode out the gate and up the street, thinking of the problem he had to solve. there was good in elias gray, he knew. it was a shame that it should be lost. it would be lost unless he were drawn strongly away from the paths he was treading. but how could it be done ? was there no point in his mind that could be reached by what was other than evil ? that was the thing to be found out. then he paused to ask himself if, after all, he were not trying to do too much, — trying, in fact, to play providence to elias. he found himself in¬ voluntarily wanting to shift the responsibility of planning for the youth. he wished that some¬ thing entirely independent of his intentions would happen. folks from dixie just then something did happen. a piece of soft mud hurled from some unknown source caught the minister square in the chest, and spattered over his clothes. he raised his eyes and glanced about quickly, but no one was in sight. whoever the foe was, he was securely ambushed. " thrown by the hand of a man," mused dokesbury, " prompted by the malice of a child." he went on his way, finished his business, and returned to the house. " la, brothah dokesbury !" exclaimed aunt caroline, " what's de mattah 'f yo' shu't bosom ?" " oh, that's where one of our good citizens left his card." "you don' mean to say none o' dem low-life scoun'els — " " i don't know who did it. he took particu¬ lar pains to keep out of sight." " 'lias ! " the old woman cried, turning on her son, " wha' 'd you let brothah dokesbury go off by hisse'f fu' ? why n't you go 'long an' tek keer o' him ? " the old lady stopped even in the midst of the ordeal at mt. hope her tirade, as her eyes took in the expression on her son's face. " i ' kill some o' dem damn— " " 'lias ! " " 'scuse me, mistah dokesbury, but i feel lak i ' bus' ef i don't 'spress myse'f. it makes me so mad. don't you go out o' hyeah no mo' 'dout me. i ' go 'long an' i ' brek somebody's haid wif a stone." " 'lias! how you talkin' fo' de ministah ? " " well, dat's whut i ' do, 'cause i kin out- th'ow any of 'em an' i know dey hidin'- places." " i ' be glad to accept your protection," said dokesbury. he saw his advantage, and was thankful for the mud, — the one thing that without an effort restored the easy relations between himself and his protege. ostensibly these relations were reversed, and elias went out with the preacher as a guardian and protector. but the minister was laying his nets. it was on one of these rambles that he broached to 'lias a subject which he had been considering for some time. " look here, 'lias," he said, " what are folks from dixie you going to do with that big back yard of yours ? " " oh, nothin'. 't ain't no 'count to raise nothin' in." " it may not be fit for vegetables, but it will raise something." " what ?" " chickens. that's what." elias laughed sympathetically. " i'd lak to eat de chickens i raise. i would n't want to be feedin' de neighbour¬ hood." " plenty of boards, slats, wire, and a good lock and key would fix that all right." "yes, but whah'm i gwine to git all dem things ?" " why, i ' go in with you and furnish the money, and help you build the coops. then you can sell chickens and eggs, and we ' go halves on the profits." " hush, man ! " cried 'lias, in delight. so the matter was settled, and, as aunt caroline expressed it, "fu' a week er sich a mattah, you nevah did see sich ta'in' down an' buildin' up in all yo' bo'n days." 'lias went at the work with zest, and dokes- the ordeal at mt. hope bury noticed his skill with tools. he let fall the remark: " say, 'lias, there's a school near here where they teach carpentering; why don't you go and learn ?" " what i gwine to do with bein' a cyahpenter ? " " repair some of these houses around mt. hope, if nothing more," dokesbury responded, laughing; and there the matter rested. the work prospered, and as the weeks went on, 'lias' enterprise became the town's talk. one of aunt caroline's patrons who had come with some orders about work regarded the changed condition of affairs, and said, " why, aunt caroline, this does n't look like the same place. i ' have to buy some eggs from you; you keep your yard and hen-house so nice, it's an advertisement for the eggs." " don't talk to me nothin' 'bout dat ya'd, miss lucy," aunt caroline had retorted. " dat 'long to 'lias an' de preachah. hit dey doin's. dey done mos' nigh drove me out wif dey cleanness. i ain't nevah seed no sich ca'in' on in my life befo'. why, my 'lias done got right brigity an' talk about bein' somep'n'." folks from dixie dokesbury had retired from his partnership with the boy save in so far as he acted as a general supervisor. his share had been sold to a friend of 'lias, jim hughes. the two seemed to have no other thought save of raising, tending, and selling chickens. mt. hope looked on and ceased to scoff. money is a great dignifier, and jim and 'lias were making money. there had been some sniffs when the latter had hinged the front gate and whitewashed his mother's cabin, but even that had been accepted now as a matter of course. dokesbury had done his work. he, too, looked on, and in some satisfaction. " let the leaven work," he said, " and all mt. hope must rise." it was one day, nearly a year later, that " old lady hughes " dropped in on aunt caroline for a chat. "well, i do say, sis' ca'line, dem two boys o' ourn done sot dis town on fiah." " what now, sis' lizy ?" "why, evah sence 'lias tuk it into his haid to be a cyahpenter an' jim 'cided to go 'long an' lu'n to be a blacksmif, some o' dese the ordeal at mt. hope hyeah othah young people's been tryin' to do somep'n'." " all dey wanted was a staht." " well, now will you b'lieve me, dat no-'count tom johnson done opened a fish sto', an' he has de boys an' men bring him dey fish all de time. he give 'em a little somep'n' fu' dey ketch, den he go sell 'em to de white folks." " lawd, how long ! " " an' what you think he say ? " " i do' know, sis'." " he say ez soon 'z he git money enough, he gwine to dat school whah 'lias an' jim gone an' lu'n to fahm scientific." "bless de lawd! well, 'um, i don' put nothin' pas' de young folks now." mt. hope had at last awakened. something had come to her to which she might aspire,— something that she could understand and reach. she was not soaring, but she was rising above the degradation in which harold dokesbury had found her. and for her and him the ordeal had passed. s the colonel's awakening folks from dixie beat biscuits, an lize done fried you a young chicken dat ' sholy mek yo' mouf worter." " thank you, ike, thank you," was the dig¬ nified response. " lize is a likely girl, and she's improving in her cooking greatly." "yes, mas' estridge, she sho is a mighty fine ooman." " and you 're not a bad servant yourself, ike," the old man went on, with an air of youthful playfulness that ill accorded with his aged face. " i expect some day you ' be coming around asking me to let you marry lize, eh ! what have you got to say to that ? " " i reckon dat's right, mastah, i reckon dat's mighty nigh right." "well, we shall see about it when the time comes; we shall see about it." " lawd, how long ! " mumbled the old ser¬ vant to himself as he went on about his work. " ain't mas' bob nevah gwine to git his al- manec straight ? he been gwine on dis way fu' ovah twenty yeahs now. he cain't git it thoo' his haid dat time been a-passin'. hyeah i done been ma'ied to lize fu' lo dese many yeahs, an' we've got ma'ied chillum, but he still think i's a-cou'tin' huh." ° the colonel's awakening to colonel robert estridge time had not passed and conditions had not changed for a generation. he was still the gallant aristocrat he had been when the war broke out, — a little past the age to enlist himself, but able and glad to give two sons to the cause of the south. they had gone out, light-hearted and gay, and brave in their military trappings and suits of gray. the father had watched them away with moist eyes and a swelling bosom. after that the tide of war had surged on and on, had even rolled to his very gates, and the widowed man watched and waited for it to bring his boys back to him. one of them came. they brought him back from the valley of the shen¬ andoah, and laid him in the old orchard out there behind the house. then all the love of the father was concentrated upon the one re¬ maining son, and his calendar could know but one day and that the one on which his bob, his namesake and his youngest, should return to him. but one day there came to him the news that his boy had fallen in the front of a terrific fight, and in the haste of retreat he had been buried with the unknown dead. into that trench, among the unknown, colonel robert i folks from dixie estridge had laid his heart, and there it had stayed. time stopped, and his faculties wan¬ dered. he lived always in the dear past. the present and future were not. he did not even know when the fortunes of war brought an opposing host to his very doors. he was un¬ conscious of it all when they devoured his sub¬ stance like a plague of locusts. it was all a blank to him when the old manor house was fired and he was like to lose his possessions and his life. when his servants left him he did not know, but sat and gave orders to the one faithful retainer as though he were ordering the old host of blacks. and so for more than a generation he had lived. " hope you gwine to enjoy yo' christmas eve breakfus', mas' estridge," said the old servant. " christmas eve, christmas eve ? yes, yes, so it is. to-morrow is christmas day, and i'm afraid i have been rather sluggish in getting things ready for the celebration. i reckon the darkies have already begun to jubilate and to shirk in consequence, and i won't be able to get a thing done decently for a week." " don't you bother 'bout none o' de res', mas' the colonel's awakening estridge ; you kin 'pend on me — i ain't gwine to shu'k even ef't is christmus." " that's right, ike. i can depend upon you. you 're always faithful. just you get things done up right for me, and i ' give you that broadcloth suit of mine. it's most as good as new." " thanky, mas' bob, thanky." the old negro said it as fervently as if he had not worn out that old broadcloth a dozen years ago. it's late and we 've got to hurry if we want things prepared in time. tell lize that i want her to let herself out on that dinner. your mas' bob and your mas' stanton are going to be home to-morrow, and i want to show them that their father's house has n't lost any of the qualities that have made it famous in virginia for a hundred years. ike, there ain't anything in this world for making men out of boys like making them feel the debt they owe to their name and family." " yes, suh, mas' bob an' mas' stant sholy is mighty fine men." " there ain't two finer in the whole country, sir,— no, sir, not in all virginia, and that of necessity means the whole country. now, ike, i want you to get out some of that wine up in folks from dixie the second cellar, and when i say some i mean plenty. it ain't seen the light for years, but it shall gurgle into the glasses to-morrow in honour of my sons' home-coming. good wine makes good blood, and who should drink good wine if not an estridge of virginia, sir, eh, ike ? " the wine had gone to make good cheer when a federal regiment had lighted its camp- fires on the estridge lawn, but old ike had heard it too often before and knew his business too well to give any sign. " i want you to take some things up to miss clarinda randolph to-morrow, too, and i've got a silver snuffbox for thomas daniels. i can't make many presents this year. i've got to devote my money to the interest of your young masters." there was a catch in the negro's voice as he replied, "yes, mas' estridge, dey needs it mos', dey needs it mos'." the old colonel's spell of talking seldom lasted long, and now he fell to eating in silence; but his face was the face of one in a dream. ike waited on him until he had done, and then, clearing the things away, slipped out, leaving him to sit and muse in his chair by the window. the colonel's awakening " look hyeah, lize," said the old servant, as he entered his wife's cabin a little later. " pleggoned ef i did n't come purt' nigh brekin' down dis mo'nin'." " wha' 's de mattah wif you, ike ? " "jes' a-listenin' to ol' mas' a-sittin' dah a-talkin' lak it was de ol' times, — a-sendin' messages to ol' miss randolph, dat's been daid too long to talk about, an' to mas' tom daniels, dat went acrost de wateh ruther 'n tek de oaf o' 'legiance." " oomph," said the old lady, wiping her eyes on her cotton apron. " den he expectin' mas' bob an' mas' stant home to-morrer. 'clah to goodness, when he say dat i lak to hollahed right out." " den you would 'a' fixed it, would n't you ? set down an' eat yo' breakfus', ike, an' don't you nevah let on when mas' estridge talkin', you jes' go 'long 'bout yo' wuk an' keep yo' mouf shet, 'ca'se ef evah he wake up now he gwine to die right straight off." " lawd he'p him not to wake up den, 'ca'se he ol', but we needs him. i do' know whut i'd do ef i did n't have mas' bob to wuk fu'. you got ol' miss randolph's present ready fu' him ? " folks from dixie " co'se i has. i done made him somep'n' diffunt dis yeah." " made him somep'n' diffunt — whut you say, lize ? " exclaimed the old man, laying his knife and fork on his plate and looking up at his wife with wide-open eyes. you ain't gwine change afteh all dese yeahs ? " "yes. i jes' pintly had to. it's been de same thing now fu' mo' 'n twenty yeahs." " whut you done made fu' him ? " " i's made him a comfo't to go roun' his naik." " but, lize, ol' miss cla'indy alius sont him gloves knit wif huh own han'. ain't you feared mas' estridge gwine to 'spect ? " w no, he ain't gwine to 'spect. he don't tek no notice o' nuffin', an' he jes' pintly had to have dat comfo't fu' his naik, 'ca'se he boun' to go out in de col' sometime er ruther an' he got plenty gloves." " i's feared," said the old man, sententiously, " i's mighty feared. i would n't have mastah know we been doin' fu' him an' a-sendin' him dese presents all dis time fu' nuffin' in de worl'. it 'u'd hu't him mighty bad." " he ain't foun' out all dese yeahs, an' he ain't the colonel's awakening gwine fin' out now." the old man shook his head dubiously, and ate the rest of his meal in silence. it was a beautiful christmas morning as he wended his way across the lawn to his old master's room, bearing the tray of breakfast things and " ol' miss randolph's present," — a heavy home-made scarf. the air was full of frosty brightness. ike was happy, for the frost had turned the persimmons. the 'possums had gorged themselves, and he had one of the fattest of them for his christmas dinner. colonel estridge was sitting in his old place by the win¬ dow. he crumbled an old yellow envelope in his hand as ike came in and set the things down. it looked like the letter which had brought the news of young robert estridge's loss, but it could not be, for the old man sitting there had forgotten that and was expecting the son home on that day. ike took the comforter to his master, and. began in the old way: " miss cla'iny randolph mek huh comperments to you, mas' bob, an' say —" but his master had turned and was looking him square in the face, and something in the look checked his flow of words. colonel estridge folks from dixie did not extend his hand to take the gift. " cla- rinda randolph," he said, " always sends me gloves." his tone was not angry, but it was cold and sorrowful. lay it down," he went on more kindly and pointing to the comforter, " and you may go now. i will get whatever i want from the table." ike did not dare to demur. he slipped away, embarrassed and distressed. " wha' 'd i tell you ? " he asked lize, as soon as he reached the cabin. " i believe he done woke up." but the old woman could only mourn and wring her hands. "well, nevah min'," said ike, after his first moment of sad triumph was over. " i guess it was n't the comfo't nohow, 'ca'se i seed him wif a letteh when i went in, but i did n't 'spicion nuffin' tell he look at me an' talk jes' ez sensible ez me er you." it was not until dinner-time that ike found courage to go back to his master's room, and then he did not find him sitting in his accustomed place, nor was he on the porch or in the hall. growing alarmed, the old servant searched high and low for him, until he came to the door of a long-disused room. a bundle of keys hung from the keyhole. the colonel's awakening " hyeah's whah he got dat letteh," said ike. " i reckon he come to put it back." but even as he spoke, his eyes bulged with apprehension. he opened the door farther, and went in. and there at last his search was ended. colonel est- ridge was on his knees before an old oak chest. on the floor about him were scattered pair on pair of home-knit gloves. he was very still. his head had fallen forward on the edge of the chest. ike went up to him and touched his shoulder. there was no motion in response. the black man lifted his master's head. the face was pale and cold and lifeless. in the stiffening hand was clenched a pair of gloves, — the last miss randolph had ever really knit for him. the servant lifted up the lifeless form, and laid it upon the bed. when lize came she would have wept and made loud lamentations, but ike checked her. " keep still," he said. " pray if you want to, but don't hollah. we ought to be proud, lize." his shoulders were thrown back and his head was up. " mas' bob's in glory. dis is virginia's christmas gif' to gawd ! " the trial sermons on bull-skin the trial sermons on bull-skin the congregation on bull-skin creek was without a pastor. you will probably say that this was a deficiency easily remedied among a people who possess so much theological material. but you will instantly perceive how different a matter it was, when you learn that the last shepherd who had guided the flock at bull-skin had left that community under a cloud. there were, of course, those who held with the de¬ parted minister, as well as those who were against him ; and so two parties arose in the church, each contending for supremacy. each party refused to endorse any measure or support any candidate suggested by the other; and as neither was strong enough to run the church alone, they were in a state of inactive equipoise very gratifying to that individual who is sup¬ posed to take delight in the discomfort of the righteous. folks from dixie it was in this complicated state of affairs that brother hezekiah sneedon, who was the repre¬ sentative of one of the candidates for the vacant pastorate, conceived and proposed a way out of the difficulty. brother sneedon's proposition was favourably acted upon by the whole congre¬ gation, because it held out the promise of victory to each party. it was, in effect, as follows : each faction — it had come to be openly rec¬ ognised that there were two factions — should name its candidate, and then they should be in¬ vited to preach, on successive sundays, trial sermons before the whole congregation, the preacher making the better impression to be called as pastor. "and," added brother sneedon, pacifically, " in ordah dat dis little diffunce between de membahs may be settled in ha'mony, i do hope an' pray dat de pahty dat fin's itse'f outpreached will give up to de othah in christun submis¬ sion, an' th'ow in all deir might to hoi' up de han's of whatever pastor de lawd may please to sen'." sister hannah williams, the leader of the opposing faction, expressed herself as well pleased with the plan, and counselled a like brother hezekiah sneedon. trial sermons on bull-skin submission to the will of the majority. and thus the difficulty at bull-skin seemed in a fair way to settlement. but could any one have read that lady's thoughts as she wended her homeward way after the meeting, he would have had some misgivings concerning the success of the proposition which she so willingly endorsed. for she was saying to herself,— " uh huh! ol' kiah sneedon thinks he's mighty sma't, puttin' up dat plan. reckon he thinks ol' abe ma'tin kin outpreach anything near an' fur, but ef brothah 'lias smith don't fool him, i ain't talkin'." and brother sneedon himself was not entirely guiltless of some selfish thought as he hobbled away from the church door. " ann," said he to his wife, " i wunner ef hannah williams ca'culates dat 'lias smith kin beat brother abe ma'tin preachin', ki yi! but won't she be riley when she fin's out how mis¬ taken she is ? why, dey ain't nobody 'twixt hyeah an' louisville kin beat brothah abe ma'tin preachin'. i's hyeahed dat man preach 'twell de winders rattled an' it seemed lak de skies mus' come down anyhow, an' sinnahs was a-fallin' befo' de wo'd lak leaves in a novem- folks from dixie bah bias'; an' she 'lows to beat him, oomph ! " the " oomph " meant disgust, incredulity, and, above all, resistance. the first of the momentous sundays had been postponed two weeks, in order, it was said, to allow the members to get the spiritual and tem¬ poral elements of the church into order that would be pleasing to the eyes of a new pastor. in reality, brother sneedon and sister williams used the interval of time to lay their plans and to marshal their forces. and during the two weeks previous to the sunday on which, by common consent, it had been agreed to invite the reverend elias smith to preach, there was an ominous quiet on the banks of bull-skin, — the calm that precedes a great upheaval, when clouds hang heavy with portents and forebod¬ ings, but silent withal. but there were events taking place in which the student of diplomacy might have found food for research and reflection. such an event was the taffy-pulling which sister williams' daugh¬ ters, dora and caroline, gave to the younger members of the congregation on thursday evening. such were the frequent incursions of sister williams herself upon the domains of the trial sermons on bull-skin neighbours, with generous offerings of " a taste o' my ketchup" or " a sample o' my jelly.'' she did not stop with rewarding her own allies, but went farther, gift-bearing, even into the camp of the enemy himself. it was on friday morning that she called on sister sneedon. she found the door ajar and pushed it open, saying, u you see, sis' sneedon, i's jes' walkin' right in." " oh, it's you, sis' williams; dat's right, come in. i was jes' settin' hyeah sawtin' my cyahpet rags, de mof do seem to pestah 'em so. tek dis cheer" — industriously dusting one with her apron. "how you be'n sence i seen you las' ?" " oh, jes' sawt o' so." " how's do' an' ca'line ? " " oh, ca'line's peart enough, but do's feelin' kind o' peekid." " don't you reckon she grow too fas' ? " " 'spec' dat's about hit j dat gal do sutny seem to run up lak a weed." " it don't nevah do 'em no good to grow so fas', hit seem to tek away all deir strengf." " yes, 'm, it sholy do ; gals ain't whut dey used to be in yo' an' my day, nohow." trial sermons on bull-skin "well, i reely don't think you' fin'none much latah. de fros' had done teched dese, but i kin' o' kivered 'em up vvif leaves ontwell dey growed up wuf cuttin'." " well, i knows i sholy shell relish dem." mrs. sneedon beamed as she emptied the dish and insisted upon washing it for her visitor to take home with her. " fu'," she said, by way of humour, " i's a mighty po' han' to retu'n nice dishes when i gits 'em in my cu'boa'd once." sister williams rose to go. " well, you ' be out to chu'ch sunday to hyeah broth' 'lias smith; he's a powahful man, sho." " dey do tell me so. i ' be thah. you kin 'pend on me to be out whenevah thah's to be any good preachin'." "well, we kin have dat kin' o' preachin' all de time ef we gits broth' 'lias smith." "yes, 'm." " dey ain't no 'sputin' he ' be a movin' powah at bull-skin." " yes, 'm." "we sistahs'll have to ban' togethah an' try to do whut is bes' fu' de chu'ch." " yes, 'm." trial sermons on bull-skin the last mouthful when her better half entered. he saw the empty plate and the green liquor. evidently he was not pleased, for be it said that brother sneedon had himself a great tenderness for turnip greens. " wha'd you git dem greens ? " he asked. " sistah hannah williams brung 'em ovah to me." " sistah hannah — who ? " ejaculated he. " sis' williams, sis' williams, you know hannah williams." " what! dat wolf in sheep's clothin' dat's a-gwine erroun' a-seekin' who she may devowah, an' you hyeah a-projickin' wif huh, eatin' de greerts she gives you ! how you know whut's in dem greens ? " " oh, g'long, 'kiah, you so funny ! sis' wil¬ liams ain't gwine conju' nobidy." " you hyeah me, you hyeah me now. keep on foolin' wif dat ooman, she ' have you crawlin' on yo' knees an' ba'kin, lak a dog. she kin do it, she kin do it, fu' she's long-haided, i tell you." "well, ef she wants to hu't me it's done, fu' i's eat de greens now." "yes," exclaimed brother sneedon, "you folks from dixie eat 'em up lak a hongry hog an' never saved me a smudgeon." " oomph j i thought you's so afeard o' gittin' conju'ed." " heish up ! you's alius tryin' to raise some kin' er contentions in de fambly. i nevah seed a ooman lak you." and old hezekiah strode out of the cabin in high dudgeon. and so, smooth on the surface, but turbulent beneath, the stream of days flowed on until the sunday on which reverend elias smith was to preach his trial sermon. his fame as a preacher, together with the circumstances surrounding this particular sermon, had brought together such a crowd as the little church on bull-skin had never seen before even in the heat of the most successful revivals. outsiders had come from as far away as christiansburg, which was twelve, and fox run, which was fifteen miles distant, and the church was crowded to the doors. sister williams with her daughters dora and caroline were early in their seats. their rib¬ bons were fluttering to the breeze like the ban¬ ners of an aggressive host. there were smiles of anticipated triumph upon their faces. brother and sister sneedon arrived a little later. they trial sermons on bull-skin took their seat far up in the " amen corner," directly behind the williams family. sister sneedon sat very erect and looked about her, but her spouse leaned his chin upon his cane and gazed at the floor, nor did he raise his head, when, preceded by a buzz of expectancy, the reverend elias smith, accompanied by brother abner williams, who was a local preacher, en¬ tered and ascended to the pulpit, where he knelt in silent prayer. at the entrance of their candidate, the female portion of the williams family became instantly alert. they were all attention when the husband and father arose and gave out the hymn : " am i a soldier of the cross ? " they joined lustily in the singing, and at the lines, " sure i must fight if i would reign," their voices rose in a victorious swell far above the voices of the rest of the congregation. prayer followed, and then brother williams rose and said, — " brothahs an' sistahs, i teks gret pleasuah in interducin' to you eldah smith, of doke- ville, who will preach fu' us at dis howah. i want to speak fu' him yo' pra'ful attention." sister williams nodded her head in approval, folks from dixie even this much was good; but brother sneedon sighed aloud. the reverend elias smith arose and glanced over the congregation. he was young, well- appearing, and looked as though he might have been unmarried. he announced his text in a clear, resonant voice : " by deir fruits shell you know dem." the great change that gave to the blacks fairly trained ministers from the schools had not at this time succeeded their recently accomplished emancipation. and the sermon of elder smith was full of all the fervour, common-sense, and rude eloquence of the old plantation exhorter. he spoke to his hearers in the language that they understood, because he himself knew no other. he drew his symbols and illustrations from the things which he saw most commonly about him, — things which he and his congregation under¬ stood equally well. he spent no time in dallying about the edge of his subject, but plunged immedi¬ ately into the middle of things, and soon had about him a shouting, hallooing throng of frantic peo¬ ple. of course it was the williams faction who shouted. the spiritual impulse did not seem to reach those who favoured brother sneedon's can- trial sermons on bull-skin didate. they sat silent and undemonstrative. that earnest disciple himself still sat with his head bent upon his cane, and still at intervals sighed audibly. he had only raised his head once, and that was when some especially power¬ ful period in the sermon had drawn from the partner of his joys and sorrows an appreciative " oomph ! " then the look that he shot forth from his eyes, so full of injury, reproach, and menace, repressed her noble rage and settled her back into a quietude more consonant with her husband's ideas. meanwhile, sister hannah williams and her sylph-like daughters " do " and " ca'line " were in an excess of religious frenzy. whenever any of the other women in the congregation seemed to be working their way too far forward, those enthusiastic sisters shouted their way directly across the approach to the pulpit, and held place there with such impressive and menacing demonstrativeness that all comers were warned back. there had been times when, actuated by great religious fervour, women had ascended the rostrum and embraced the minister. rest as¬ sured, nothing of that kind happened in this case, though the preacher waxed more and more folks from dixie eloquent as he proceeded, — an eloquence more of tone, look, and gesture than of words. he played upon the emotions of his willing hearers, except those who had steeled themselves against his power, as a skilful musician upon the strings of his harp. at one time they were boisterously exultant, at another they were weeping and moaning, as if in the realisation of many sins. the minister himself lowered his voice to a soft rhythmical moan, almost a chant, as he said,— " you go 'long by de road an' you see an ol' shabby tree a-standin' in de o'chud. it ain't ha'dly got a apple on it. its leaves are put' nigh all gone. you look at de branches, dey's all rough an' crookid. de tree's all full of sticks an' stones an' wiah an' ole tin cans. hit's all bruised up an' hit's a ha'd thing to look at altogether. you look at de tree an' whut do you say in yo' hea't? you say de tree ain't no 'count, fu' by deir fruits shell you know dem.' but you wrong, my frien's, you wrong. dat tree did ba' good fruit, an' by hits fruit was hit knowed. john tol' gawge an' gawge tol' sam, an' evah one dat passed erlong de road had to have a shy at dat fruit. dey be'n th'owin' at dat tree evah sence hit begun to ba' fruit, an' trial sermons on bull-skin dcy's 'bused hit so dat hit could n't grow straight to save hits life. is dat whut's de mattah wif you, brothah, all bent ovah yo' staff an' a-groanin' wif yo' burdens ? is dat whut's de mattah wif you, brothah, dat yo' steps are a-weary an' you's longin' fu' yo' home ? have dey be'n th'owin' stones an' cans at you ? have dey be'n beatin' you wif sticks ? have dey tangled you up in ol' wiah twell you could n't move han' ner foot ? have de way be'n all trouble ? have de sky be'n all cloud ? have de sun refused to shine an' de day be'n all da'k- ness ? don't git werry, be consoled. whut de mattah ! why, i tell you you ba'in' good fruit, an' de debbil cain't stan' it — 'by deir fruits shell you know dem.' "you go 'long de road a little furder an' you see a tree standin' right by de fence. standin' right straight up in de air, evah limb straight out in hits place, all de leaves green an' shinin' an' lovely. not a stick ner a stone ner a can in sight. you look 'way up in de branches, an' dey hangin' full o' fruit, big an' roun' an' solid. you look at dis tree an' whut now do you say in yo' hea't ? you say dis is a good tree, fu' by deir fruits shell you know dem.' but you wrong, folks from dixie you wrong ag'in, my frien's. de apples on dat tree are so sowah dat dey'd puckah up yo' mouf wuss 'n a green pu'simmon, an' evahbidy knows hit, by hits fruit is hit knowed. dey don't want none o' dat fruit, an' dey pass hit by an' don't bothah dey haids about it. " look out, brothah, you gwine erlong thoo dis worl' sailin' on flowery beds of ease. look out, my sistah, you's a-walkin' in de sof' pafs an' a-dressin' fine. ain't nobidy a-troublin' you, nobidy ain't a-backbitin' you, nobidy ain't a-castin' yo' name out as evil. you all right an' movin' smoov. but i want you to stop an' 'zamine yo'se'ves. i want you to settle whut kin' o' fruit you ba'in,' whut kin' o' light you showin' fo'f to de worl'. an' i want you to stop an' tu'n erroun' when you fin' out dat you ba'in' bad fruit, an' de debbil ain't bothahed erbout you 'ca'se he knows you his'n anyhow. c by deir fruits shell you know dem.'" the minister ended his sermon, and the spell broke. collection was called for and taken, and the meeting dismissed. " wha' 'd you think o' dat sermon ? " asked sister williams of one of her good friends; and the good friend answered,— trial sermons on bull-skin "tsch, pshaw! dat man jes' tuk his tex' at de fust an' nevah lef' it." brother sneedon remarked to a friend : " well, he did try to use a good deal o' high langgidge, but whut we want is grace an' speritual feelin'." the williams faction went home with colours flying. they took the preacher to dinner. they were exultant. the friends of brother sneedon were silent but thoughtful. it was true, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the reverend elias smith had made a won¬ derful impression upon his hearers, — an impres¬ sion that might not entirely fade away before the night on which the new pastor was to be voted for. comments on the sermon did not end with the closing of that sabbath day. the discussion of its excellences was prolonged into the next week, and continued with a persistency dangerous to the aspirations of any rival candi¬ date. no one was more fully conscious of this menacing condition of affairs than hezekiah sneedon himself. he knew that for the minds of the people to rest long upon the exploits of elder smith would be fatal to the chances of rhis own candidate; so he set about inventing some way to turn the current of public thought into folks from dixie another channel. and nothing but a powerful agency could turn it. but in fertility of resources hezekiah sneedon was napoleonic. though his diplomacy was greatly taxed in this case, he came out victorious and with colours flying when he hit upon the happy idea of a " 'possum supper." that would give the people some¬ thing else to talk about beside the reverend elias smith and his wonderful sermon. but think not, o reader, that the intellect that con¬ ceived this new idea was so lacking in the essen¬ tial qualities of diplomacy as to rush in his substitute, have done with it, and leave the public's attention to revert to its former object. brother sneedon was too wary for this. indeed, he did send his invitations out early to the con¬ gregation ; but this only aroused discussion and created anticipation which was allowed to grow and gather strength until the very saturday evening on which the event occurred. sister hannah williams saw through the plot immediately, but she could not play coun¬ ter, so she contented herself with saying: " dat hezikiah sneedon is sholy de bigges' scamp dat evah trod shoe-leathah." but nevertheless, she did not refuse an invitation to be present at the ioo trial sermons on bull-skin supper. she would go, she said, for the pur¬ pose of seeing " how things went on." but she added, as a sort of implied apology to her conscience, " and den i's powahful fond o' 'possum, anyhow." in inviting sister williams, brother sneedon had taken advantage of the excellent example which that good woman had set him, and was carrying the war right into the enemy's country; but he had gone farther in one direction, and by the time the eventful evening arrived had prepared for his guests a coup d'etat which was unanticipated even by his own wife. he had been engaged in a secret correspond¬ ence, the result of which was seen when, just after the assembling of the guests" in the long, low room which was parlour, sitting, and dining room in the sneedon household, the wily host ushered in and introduced to the astonished people the reverend abram martin. they were not allowed to recover from their surprise before they were seated at the table, grace said by the reverend brother, and the supper commenced. and such a supper as it was, — one that could not but soften the feelings and touch the heart of any negro. it was a xoi folks from dixie supper that disarmed opposition. sister han¬ nah was seated at the left of reverend abram martin, who was a fluent and impressive talker; and what with his affability and the delight of the repast, she grew mollified and found herself laughing and chatting. the other members of her faction looked on, and, seeing her pleased with the minister, grew pleased themselves. the reverend abram martin's magnetic in¬ fluence ran round the board like an electric current. he could tell a story with a dignified humour that was irresistible,—and your real negro is a lover of stories and a teller of them. soon, next to the 'possum, he was the centre of attraction around the table, and he held forth while the diners listened respectfully to his pro¬ found observations or laughed uproariously at his genial jokes. all the while brother snee- don sat delightedly by, watchful, but silent, save for the occasional injunction to his guests to help themselves. and they did so with a gusto that argued well for their enjoyment of the food set before them. as the name by which the supper was designated would imply, 'possum was the principal feature, but, even trial sermons on bull-skin after including the sweet potatoes and brown gravy, that was not all. there was hog jole and cold cabbage, ham and kentucky oysters, more widely known as chittlings. what more there was it boots not to tell. suffice it to say that there was little enough of anything left to do credit to the people's dual powers of listen¬ ing and eating, for in all this time the reverend abram martin had not abated his conversational efforts nor they their unflagging attention. just before the supper was finished, the preacher was called upon, at the instigation of hezekiah sneedon, of course, to make a few remarks, which he proceeded to do in a very happy and taking vein. then the affair broke up, and the people went home with myriad comments on their torigues. but one idea possessed the minds of all, and that was that the reverend abram martin was a very able man, and charming withal. it was at this hour, when opportunity for sober reflection returned, that sister williams first awakened to the fact that her own conduct had compromised her cause. she did not sleep that night—she lay awake and planned, and the result of her planning was a great fumbling folks from dixie the next morning in the little bag where she kept her earnings, and the despatching of her husband on an early and mysterious errand. the day of meeting came, and the church presented a scene precisely similar to that of the previous sunday. if there was any difference, it was only apparent in the entirely alert* and cheerful attitude of brother sneedon and the reversed expressions of the two factions. but even the latter phase was not so marked, for the shrewd sister williams saw with alarm that her forces were demoralised. some of them were sitting near the pulpit with expressions of pleas¬ ant anticipation on their faces, and as she looked at them she groaned in spirit. but her lips were compressed in a way that to a close ob¬ server would have seemed ominous, and ever and anon she cast anxious and expectant glances toward the door. her husband sat upon her left, an abashed, shamefaced expression domi¬ nating his features. - he continually followed her glances toward the door with a furtive, half- frightened look; and when sneedon looked his way, he avoided his eye. that arch schemer was serene and unruffled. he had perpetrated a stroke of excellent policy folks from dixie " well, ef he do, i's a-leavin' hyeah, you hyeah me," rejoined the first speaker. the sermon had progressed about one-third its length, and the congregation had begun to show frequent signs of awakening life, when on an instant, with startling suddenness, bud lewis sprang from his seat and started on a promenade down the aisle, swinging his arms in sweeping semi-circles, and uttering a sound like the incipient bellow of a steamboat. " whough ! whough ! " he puffed, swinging from side to side down the narrow passageway. at the first demonstration from the new¬ comer, people began falling to right and left out of his way. the fame of bud lewis' " shoutin' tantrums " was widespread, and they who knew feared them. this unregenerate mulatto was without doubt the fighting man of bull-skin. while, as a general thing, he shunned the church, there were times when a perverse spirit took hold of him, and he would seek the meet¬ ing-house, and promptly, noisily, and violently " get religion." at these times he made it a point to knock people helter-skelter, trample on tender toes, and do other mischief, until in many cases the meeting broke up in confusion. the trial sermons on bull-skin saying finally grew to be proverbial among the people in the bull-skin district that they would rather see a thunderstorm than bud lewis get religion. on this occasion he made straight for the space in front of the pulpit, where his vociferous hallelujahs entirely drowned the minister's voice; while the thud, thud, thud of his feet upon the floor, as he jumped up and down, effectually filled up any gap of stillness which his halle¬ lujahs might have left. hezekiah sneedon knew that the reverend mr. martin's sermon would be ruined, and he saw all his cherished hopes destroyed in a moment. he was a man of action, and one glance at sister williams' complacent counte¬ nance decided him. he rose, touched isaac jordan, and said, " come on, let's hold him." jordan hesitated a minute; but his leader was going on, and there was nothing to do but to follow him. they approached lewis, and each seized an arm. the man began to strug¬ gle. several other men joined them and laid hold on him. " quiet, brother, quiet," said hezekiah sneedon ; " dis is de house o' de lawd." trial sermons on bull-skin power, and he preached a sermon that is re¬ membered to this day on bull-skin. before it was over, bud lewis' guards filed back into church and listened with enjoyment to the remainder of the discourse. the service closed, and under cover of the crowd that thronged about the altar to shake the minister's hand hannah wihiams escaped. as the first item of business at the church meeting on the following wednesday evening, she was formally " churched " and expelled from fellowship with the flock at bull-skin for planning to interrupt divine service. the next business was the unanimous choice of reverend abram martin for the pastorate of the church. jimsella in folks from dixie grew to look on her as the source of all his dis¬ appointments. then, as he walked sixth or seventh avenue, he saw other coloured women who dressed gayer than mandy, looked smarter, and did not wear such great shoes. these he contrasted with his wife, to her great dis¬ advantage. " mandy," he said to her one day, " why don't you fix yo'se'f up an' look like people ? you go 'roun' hyeah lookin' like i dunno what." " why n't you git me somep'n' to fix myse'f up in ? " came back the disconcerting answer. " ef you had any git up erbout you, you'd git somep'n' fu' yo'se'f an' not wait on me to do evahthing." "well, ef i waits on you, you keeps me waitin', fu' i ain' had nothin' fit to eat ner waih since i been up hyeah." " nev' min'! you's mighty free wid yo' talk now, but some o' dese days you won't be so free. you's gwine to wake up some mo'nin' an' fin' dat i's lit out; dat's what you will." "well, i 'low nobody ain't got no string to you." mandy took jim's threat as an idle one, so jimsella she could afford to be independent. but the next day had found him gone. the deserted wife wept for a time, for she had been fond of jim, and then she set to work to struggle on by herself. it was a dismal effort, and the people about her were not kind to her. she was hardly of their class. she was only a sim¬ ple, honest countrywoman, who did not go out with them to walk the avenue. when a month or two afterward the sheepish jim returned, ragged and dirty, she had forgiven him and taken him back. but immunity from punishment spoiled him, and hence of late his lapses had grown more frequent and of longer duration. he walked in one morning, after one of his absences, with a more than usually forbidding face, for he had heard the news in the neigh¬ bourhood before he got in. during his absence a baby had come to share the poverty of his home. he thought with shame at himself, which turned into anger, that the child must be three months old and he had never seen it. " back ag'in, jim ? " was all mandy said as he entered and seated himself sullenly. " yes, i's back, but i ain't back fu' long. i ijs folks from dixie jes' come to git my clothes. i's a-gwine away fu' good." " gwine away ag'in ! why, you been gone fu' nigh on to fou' months a'ready. ain't you nevah gwine to stay home no mo' ? " "i tol' you i was gwine away fu' good, did n't i ? well, dat's what i mean." " ef you did n't want me, jim, i wish to gawd dat you'd 'a' lef' me back home among my folks, whaih people knowed me an' would 'a' give me a helpin' han'. dis hyeah no'f ain't no fittin' place fu' a lone colo'ed ooman less 'n she got money." " it ain't no place fu' nobody dat's jes' lazy an' no 'count." " i ain't no' count. i ain't wuffless. i does de bes' i kin. i been wo'kin' like a dog to try an' keep up while you trapsein' 'roun', de lawd knows whaih. when i was single i could git out an' mek my own livin'. i did n't ax no¬ body no odds; but you wa'n't satisfied ontwell i ma'ied you, an' now, when i's tied down wid a baby, dat's de way you treats me." the woman sat down and began to cry, and the sight of her tears angered her husband the more. jimsella u oh, cry ! " he exclaimed. " cry all you want to. i reckon you ' cry yo' fill befo' you gits me back. what do i keer about de baby! dat's jes' de trouble. it wa' n't enough fu' me to have to feed an' clothe you a-layin' 'roun' doin' nothin', a baby had to go an' come too." " it's yo'n, an' you got a right to tek keer of it, dat's what you have. i ain't a-gwine to waih my soul-case out a-tryin' to pinch along an' sta've to def at las'. i ' kill myse'f an' de chile, too, fus." the man looked up quickly. " kill yo'- se'f," he said. then he laughed. " who evah hyeahed tell of a niggah killin' hisse'f ? " " nev' min', nev' min', you jes' go on yo' way rejoicin'. i 'spect you runnin' 'roun' aftah somebody else — dat's de reason you cain't nevah stay at home no mo'." " who tol' you dat ?" exclaimed the man, fiercely. " i ain't runnin' aftah nobody else — 't ain't none o' yo' business ef i is." the denial and implied confession all came out in one breath. " ef hit ain't my bus'ness, i'd like to know whose it gwine to be. i's yo' lawful wife an' folks from dixie hit's me dat's a-sta'vin' to tek keer of yo' chile." u doggone de chile; i's tiahed o' hyeahin' 'bout huh." "you done got tiahed mighty quick when you ain't nevah even seed huh yit. you done got tiahed quick, sho." " no, an' i do' want to see huh, neithah." "you do' know nothin' 'bout de chile, you do' know whethah you wants to see huh er not." " look hyeah, ooman, don't you fool wid me. i ain't right, nohow ! " just then, as if conscious of the hubbub she had raised, and anxious to add to it, the baby awoke and began to wail. with quick mother instinct, the black woman went to the shabby bed, and, taking the child in her arms, began to croon softly to it: " go s'eepy, baby; don' you be 'paid; mammy ain' gwine let nufkn' hu't you, even ef pappy don' wan' look at huh li'l face. bye, bye, go s'eepy, mammy's li'l gal." unconsciously she talked to the baby in a dialect that was even softer than usual. for a moment the child subsided, and the woman turned angrily on her husband : " i don' keer x jimsella whethah you'evah sees dis chile ernot. she's a blessed li'l angel, dat's what she is, an' i ' wo'k my fingahs off to raise huh, an' when she grows up, ef any nasty niggah comes erroun' mekin' eyes at huh, i ' tell huh 'bout huh pappy an' she ' stay wid me an' be my comfo't." " keep yo' comfo't. gawd knows i do' want huh." " de time ' come, though, an' i kin wait fu' it. hush-a-bye, jimsella." the man turned his head slightly. " what you call huh ? " " i calls huh jimsella, dat's what i calls huh, 'ca'se she de ve'y spittin' image of you. i gwine to jes' lun to huh dat she had a pappy, so she know she's a hones' chile an' kin hoi' up huh haid." « oomph! " they were both silent for a while, and then jim said, "huh name ought to be jamsella — don't you know jim's sho't fu' james ? " " i don't keer what it's sho't fu'." the woman was holding the baby close to her breast and sobbing now. " it was n't no james dat come a-cou'tin' me down home. it was jes' plain jim. dat's what de mattah, i reckon you done folks from dixie got to be james." jim did n't answer, and there was another space of silence, only inter¬ rupted by two or three contented gurgles from the baby. " i bet two bits she don't look like me," he said finally, in a dogged tone that was a little tinged with curiosity. " i know she do. look at huh yo'se'f." " i ain' gwine look at huh." " yes, you's 'fraid—dat's de reason." " i ain' 'fraid nuttin' de kin'. what i got to be 'fraid fu' ? i reckon a man kin look at his own darter. i will look jes' to spite you." he could n't see much but a bundle of rags, from which sparkled a pair of beady black eyes. but he put his finger down among the rags. the baby seized it and gurgled. the sweat broke out on jim's brow. " cain't you let me hold de baby a minute ? " he said angrily. "you must be 'fraid i ' run off wid huh." he took the child awkwardly in his arms. the boiling over of mandy's clothes took her to the other part of the room, where she was busy for a few minutes. when she turned to look for jim, he had slipped out, and jimsella jimsella was lying on the bed trying to kick free of the coils which swaddled her. at supper-time that evening jim came in with a piece of " shoulder-meat " and a head of cabbage. " you ' have to git my dinnah ready fu' me to ca'y to-morrer. i's wo'kin' on de street, an' i cain't come home twell night." " wha', what! " exclaimed mandy, " den you ain' gwine leave, aftah all." " don't bothah me, ooman," said jim. " is jimsella 'sleep ? " mt. pisgah's christmas 'possum no more happy expedient for raising the rev¬ enues of the church could have been found than that which was evolved by the fecund brain of the reverend isaiah johnson. mr. johnson was wise in his day and generation. he knew his people, their thoughts and their appetites, their loves and their prejudices. also he knew the way to their hearts and their pocket- books. as far ahead as the sunday two weeks before christmas, he had made the announcement that bad put the congregation of mt. pisgah church into a flurry of anticipatory excitement. " brothahs an' sistahs," he had said, " you all reckernizes, ez well ez i does, dat de revenues of dis hyeah chu'ch ain't whut dey ought to be. de chu'ch, i is so'y to say, is in debt. we has a mo'gage on ouah buildin', an' besides de int'rus' on dat, we has fuel to buy an' lightin' to do. " folks from dixie fu'thahmo', we ain't paid de sexton but twenty-five cents on his salary in de las' six months. in conserquence of de same, de dus' is so thick on de benches dat ef you'd jes' lay a clof ovah dem, dey'd be same ez upholstahed fu'niture. now, in o'dah to mitigate dis con¬ dition of affairs, yo' pastoh has fo'med a plan which he wishes to p'nounce dis mo'nin' in yo' hyeahin' an' to ax yo' 'proval. you all knows dat chris'mus is 'proachin,' an' i reckon dat you is all plannin' out yo' chris'mus dinnahs. but i been a-plannin' fu' you when you was asleep, an' my idee is dis,— all of you give up yo' chris'mus dinnahs, tek fifteen cents er a qua'tah apiece an' come hyeah ta chu'ch an' have a 'possum dinnah." " amen!" shouted one delighted old man over in the corner, and the whole congregation was all smiles and acquiescent nods. " i puceive on de pa't of de cong'egation a disposition to approve of de pastoh's plan." " yes, yes, indeed," was echoed on all sides. " well, den i will jes' tek occasion to say fu'thah dat i already has de 'possums, fo' of de fattes' animals i reckon you evah seen in all yo' bo'n days, an' i's gwine to tu'n 'em ovah to mt. pisgah's christmas 'possum brothah jabez holly to tek keer of dem an' fatten 'em wuss ag'in de happy day." the eyes of jabez holly shone with pride at the importance of the commission assigned to him. he showed his teeth in a broad smile as he whispered to his neighbour, 'lishy davis, " i 'low when i gits thoo wif dem 'possums dey won't be able to waddle; " and 'lishy slapped his knee and bent double with appreciation. it was a happy and excited congregation that filed out of mt. pisgah church that sunday morning, and how they chattered! little knots and clusters of them, with their heads together in deep converse, were gathered all about, and all the talk was of the coming dinner. this, as has already been said, was the sunday two weeks before christmas. on the sunday following, the shrewd, not to say wily, mr. johnson de¬ livered a stirring sermon from the text, " he prepareth a table before me in the presence of mine enemies," and not one of his hearers but pictured the psalmist and his brethren sitting at a 'possum feast with the congregation of a rival church looking enviously on. after the service that day, even the minister sank into insigni¬ ficance beside his steward, jabez holly, the folks from dixie custodian of the 'possums. he was the most sought man on the ground. " how dem 'possums comin' on ? " asked one. "comin' on ! " replied jabez. " comin' on ' ain't no name fu' it. why, i tell you, dem animals is jes' a-waddlin' a'ready." " o-o-mm ! " groaned a hearer," chris'mus do seem slow a-comin' dis yeah." " why, man," jabez went on, " it 'u'd mek you downright hongry to see one o' dem critters. evah time i looks at 'em i kin jes' see de grease a-drippin' in de pan, an' dat skin all brown an' crispy, an' de smell a-risin' up —" " heish up, man!" exclaimed the other; " ef you don't, i ' drap daid befo' de time comes." " huh-uh ! no, you won't; you know dat day's wuf livin' fu'. brothah jackson, how'd yo' crap o' sweet pertaters tu'n out dis yeah ? " " fine, fine ! i's got dem mos' plenteous in my cellah." " well, don't eat em too fas' in de nex' week, 'ca'se we 'spects to call on you fu' some o' yo' bes'. you know dem big sweet pertaters cut right in two and laid all erroun' de pan teks up lots of de riches' grease when ol' mistah 'possum git too wa'm in de oven an' git to sweatin' it out." mt. pisgah's christmas ''possum " have mercy ! " exclaimed the impression¬ able one. " know ef i don't git erway f'om dis chu'ch do' right now, i ' be foun' hyeah on chris'mus day wif my mouf wide open." but he did not stay there until christmas morning, though he arrived on that momentous day bright and early like most of the rest. half the women of the church had volunteered to help cook the feast, and the other half were there to see it done right; so by the time for operations to commence, nearly all of mt. pisgah's congre¬ gation was assembled within its chapel walls. and what laughing and joking there was! w o-omph! " exclaimed sister green, " i see brothah bill jones' mouf is jes' sot fu' 'possum now." " yes, indeed, sis' green ; hit jes' de same's a trap an' gwine to spring ez soon ez dey any 'possum in sight." " hyah, hyah, you ain't de on'iest one in dat fix, brothah jones ; i see some mo' people roun' hyeah lookin' mighty 'spectious." "yes, an' i's one of 'em," said some one else. " i do wish jabez holly 'ud come on, my mouf's jest p'intly worterin'." "let's sen' a c'mittee aftah him, dat' be * 'i see possum grease on you' mouf." folks from dixie grease on my mouf! i mek you prove it. i *s a honer'ble man, i is. don't you 'cuse me of nuffin'! " murmurs had begun to arise from the crowd, and they had begun to press in upon the accused. " don't crowd me ! " he cried, his eyes bulg¬ ing, for he saw in the faces about him the energy of attack which should have been directed against the 'possum all turned upon him. " i did n't eat yo' ol' 'possum, i do' lak 'possum nohow." " hang him," said some one, and the murmur rose louder as the culprit began to be hustled. but the preacher's voice rose above the storm. " ca'm yo'se'ves, my brethren," he said; " let us thank de lawd dat one 'possum remains unto us. brothah holly has been put undah a gret temptation, an' we believe dat he has fell; but it is a jedgment. i ought to knowed bettah dan to 'a' trusted any colo'ed man wif fo' 'possums. let us not be ha'd upon de sinnah. we mus' not be violent, but i tu'ns dis assembly into a chu'ch meetin' of de brothahs to set on brothah holly's case. in de mean time de sistahs will prepah de remainin' 'possum." the church-meeting promptly found brother holly guilty of having betrayed his trust, and mt. pisgah's christmas 'possum expelled him in disgrace from fellowship with mt. pisgah church. the excellence of the one 'possum which the women prepared only fed their angry feelings, as it suggested what the whole four would have been; but the hungry men, women, and children who had foregone their christmas dinners at home ate as cheerfully as possible, and when mt. pisgah's congregation went home that day, salt pork was in great demand to fill out the void left by the meagre fare of christmas 'possum. i oi.l> a i n t doshy. a family feud i wish i could tell you the story as i heard it from the lips of the old black woman as she sat bobbing her turbaned head to and fro with the motion of her creaky little rocking-chair, and droning the tale forth in the mellow voice of her race. so much of the charm of the story was in that voice, which even the cares of age had not hardened. it was a sunny afternoon in late november, one of those days that come like a backward glance from a reluctantly departing summer. i had taken advantage of the warmth and bright¬ ness to go up and sit with old aunt doshy on the little porch that fronted her cottage. the old woman had been a trusted house-ser¬ vant in one of the wealthiest of the old ken¬ tucky families, and. a visit to her never failed to elicit some reminiscence of the interesting past. aunt doshy was inordinately proud of her family, as she designated the venables, and * folks from dixie was never weary of detailing accounts of their grandeur and generosity. what if some of the harshness of reality was softened by the dis¬ tance through which she looked back upon them ; what if the glamour of memory did put a halo round the heads of some people who were never meant to be canonised? it was all plain fact to aunt doshy, and it was good to hear her talk. that day she began : — " reckon i hain't never tol' you 'bout ole mas' an' young mas' fallin' out, has i ? hit's all over now, an' things is done change so dat i reckon eben ef ole mas' was libin', he -would n't keer ef i tol', an' i knows young mas' tho'nton would n't. dey ain't nuffin' to hide 'bout it no¬ how, 'ca'se all quality families has de same kin' o' 'spectable fusses. " hit all happened 'long o' dem jariiiesons whut libed jinin' places to our people, an' whut ole mas' ain't spoke to fu' nigh onto thutty years. long while ago, when mas' tom jamie- son an' mas' jack venable was bofe young mans, dey had a qua'l 'bout de young lady dey bofe was a-cou'tin', an' by-an'-by dey had a du'l an' mas' jamieson shot mas' jack in de shouldah, but mas' jack ma'ied de lady, so dey was eben. folks from dixie ergin, tho'nton venable. why, boy, i'd raver let evah drap o' blood outen you, dan to see a venable cross his blood wif a jamieson.' " i was jes' a-bringin' in de cakes whut mas- tah was pow'ful fon' of, an' i could see bofe dey faces. but, la ! honey, dat chile did n't look a bit skeered. he jes' sot dah lookin' in his pappy's face, — he was de spittin' image of him, all 'cept his eyes, dey was his mother's, — den he say, why, nellie's nice,' an' went on eatin' a aig. his pappy laid his napkin down an' got up an' went erway f 'om de table. mas' tho'n¬ ton say, why, father did n't eat his cakes.' reckon yo' pa ain't well,' says i, fu' i knowed de chile was innercent. well, after dat day, ole mas' tuk extry pains to keep de chillun apa't — but 'twa'n't no use. 't ain't never no use in a case lak dat. dey jes' would be together, an' ez de boy got older, it seemed to grieve his pappy mighty. i reckon he did n't lak to jes' fu'bid him seein' miss nellie, fu' he know how haidstrong mas' tho'n¬ ton was, anyhow. so things kep' on dis way, an' de boy got handsomer evah day. my, but his pappy did set a lot o' sto' by him. dey was n't nufen' dat boy eben wished fu' dat his pappy a family feud did n't gin him. seemed lak he fa'ly wus- shipped him. he'd jes' watch him ez he went erroun' de house lak he was a baby yit. so hit mus' 'a' been putty ha'd wif mas' jack when hit come time to sen' mas' tho'nton off to college. but he never showed it. he seed him off wif a cheerful face, an' nobidy would 'a' ever guessed dat it hu't him; but dat afternoon he shet hisse'f up an' hit was th'ee days befo' anybody 'cept me seed him, an' nobidy 'cept me knowed how his vittels come back not teched. but after de fus' letter come, he got better. i hyeahd him a-laffin' to hisse'f ez he read it, an' dat day he et his dinner. " well, honey, dey ain't no tellin' whut mas' jack's plans was, an' hit ain't fu' me to try an' guess 'em; but ef he had sont mas' tho'nton erway to brek him off f'om miss nellie, he mout ez well 'a' let him stayed at home; fu' jamieson's sal whut nussed miss nellie tol' me dat huh mistis got a letter f'om mas' tho'nton evah day er so. an' when he was home fu' holidays, you never seed nuffin' lak it. hit was jes' walkin' er ridin' er dribin' wif dat young lady evah day of his life. an' dey did look so sweet together dat it seemed a shame to pa't 'em folks from dixie — him wif his big brown eyes an' sop curly hair an' huh all white an' gentle lak a little dove. but de ole mas' could n't see hit dat erway, an' i knowed dat hit was a-troublin' him mighty bad. ez well ez he loved his son, hit alius seemed lak he was glad when de holidays was over an' de boy was back at college. " endurin' de las' year dat de young mastah was to be erway, his pappy seemed lak he was jes' too happy an' res'less fu' anything. he was dat proud of his son, he did n't know whut to do. he was alius tellin' visitors dat come to de house erbout him, how he was a 'markable boy an' was a-gwine to be a honour to his name. an' when 'long to'ds de ve'y end of de term, a letter come sayin' dat mas' tho'nton had done tuk some big honour at de college, i jes' thought sho mas' jack 'u'd plum bus' hisse'f, he was so proud an' tickled. i hyeahd him talkin' to his ole frien' cunnel mandrey an' mekin' great plans 'bout whut he gwine to do when his son come home. he gwine tek him trav'lin' fus' in eur'p, so's to finish him lak a venable ought to be finished by seein' somep'n' of de worl' —' dem's his ve'y words. den he was a-gwine to come home an' 'model de house an' fit it up, a family feud fu'' — i never shell fu'git how he said it, — fu' i 'spec' my son to tek a high place in de society of ole kintucky an' to mo' dan surstain de repu¬ tation of de venables.' den when de las' day come an' young mastah was home fu' sho, so fine an' clever lookin' wif his new mustache — sich times ez dey was erbout dat house nobidy never seed befo'. all de frien's an' neighbours, 'scusin', o' co'se, de jamiesons, was invited to a big dinner dat lasted fu' hours. dey was speeches by de gent'men, an' evahbidy drinked de graderate's health an' wished him good luck. but all de time i could see dat mas' tho'nton was n't happy, dough he was smilin' an' mekin' merry wif evahbidy. it 'pressed me so dat i spoke erbout hit to aunt emmerline. aunt emmerline was mas' tho'nton's mammy, an' sence he'd growed up, she did n't do much but he'p erroun' de house a little. you don' mean to tell me dat you noticed dat too ?' says she when i tol' huh erbout it. yes, i did,' says i, an' i noticed hit strong.' dey's somep'n' ain't gwine right wif my po' chile,' she say, an' dey ain't no tellin' whut it is.' i folks from dixie hain't you got no idee, aunt emmerline ?' i say. " la! chile,' she say in a way dat mek me think she keepin' somep'n' back, la! chile, don' you know young mans don' come to dey mammys wif dey secuts lak dey do when dey's babies ? how i gwine to know whut's pes- terin' mas' tho'nton ? ' den i knowed she was hidin' somep'n', an' jes' to let huh know dat i'd been had my eyes open too, i say slow an' 'pressive lak, aunt emmerline, don' you reckon hit miss nellie jamieson ?' she jumped lak she was skeered, an' looked at me right ha'd ; den she say, ain' reck'nin' nuffin' 'bout de white folks' bus'- ness.' an' she pinched huh mouf up right tight, an' i could n't git another word outen huh; but i knowed dat i'd hit huh jes' erbout right. "one mo'nin' erbout a week after de big dinner, jes' ez dey was eatin', mas' tho'nton say, father, i'd lak to see you in de liberry ez soon ez you has de time. i want to speak to you 'bout somep'n' ve'y impo'tant.' de ole man look up right quick an' sha'p, but he say ve'y quiet lak, 've'y well, my son, ve'y well; i's at yo' service at once.' folks from dixie never eben lookin' back at de house. i did n't see mas' jack fu' de res' of de day, an' he did n't come in to suppah. but i seed aunt emmerline an' i knowed dat she had been somewhah an' knowed ez much ez i did erbout whut was gwine on, but i never broached a word erbout hit to huh. i seed she was oneasy, but i kep' still 'twell she say, whut you reckon keepin' mas' tho'nton out so late ?' den i jes say, ain't reck'nin' 'bout de white folks' bus'ness.' she looked a little bit cut at fus', den she jes' go on lak nuffin' had n't happened : 's mighty 'sturbed 'bout young mas'; he never stays erway f'om suppah 'dout sayin' somep'n'.' " oh, i reckon he kin fin' suppah somewhah else.' i says dis don't keer lak jes' fu' to lead huh on. " ain't so much pestered 'bout his suppah,' she say; 's feared he gwine do somep'n' he had n't ought to do after dat qua'l 'twixt him an' his pappy.' did dey have a qua'l ?' says i. g' long!' aunt emmerline say, you was n't dus'in' one place in de hall so long fu' nuffin'. you knows an' i knows eben ef we don't talk a heap. i's troubled myse'f. hit jes' in folks from dixie all night, eben in huh sleep. i tell you, honey, dem was mou'nin' times. "nex' mo'nin'when ole mas' come down to brekfus', he looked lak he done had a long spell o' sickness. but he was n't no man to 'spose his feelin's. he never let on, never eben spoke erbout mas' tho'nton bein' erway f'om de table. he did n't eat much, an' fin'ly i see him look right long an' stiddy at de place whah mas' tho'nton used to set an' den git up an' go 'way f'om de table. i knowed dat he was done filled up. i went to de liberry do' an' i could hyeah him sobbin' lak a chile. i tol' aunt emmerline 'bout it, but she jes' shuck huh haid an' didn't say nuffin' a'-tall. "well, hit went dis erway fu' 'bout a week. mas' jack was gittin' paler an' paler evah day, an' hit jes' 'menced to come to my min' how ole he was. one day aunt emmerline say she gwine erway, an' she mek jim hitch up de spring wagon an' she dribe on erway by huhse'f. co'se, now, aunt emmerline she do putty much ez she please, so i don't think nuffin' 'bout hit. when she come back, 'long to'ds ebenin', i say, aunt emmerline, whah you been all day ?' " ' nemmine, honey, you see,' she say, an' a family feud laff. well, i ain't seed nobidy laff fu' so long dat hit jes mek me feel right wa'm erroun' my hea't, an' i laff an' keep on laffin' jes' at nuffin'. " nex' mo'nin' aunt emmerline mighty on- easy, an' i don' know whut de matter ontwell i hyeah some un say, tek dat hoss, ike, an' feed him, but keep de saddle on.' aunt emmerline jes' fa'ly fall out de do' an' i lak to drap, 'ca'se hit's mas' tho'nton's voice. in a minute he come to me an' say, doshy, go tell my father i'd lak to speak to him.' " i don' skeercely know how i foun' my way to de liberry, but i did. ole mas' was a-settin' dah wif a open book in his han', but his eyes was jes' a-starin' at de wall, an' i knowed he wasn't a-readin'. i say, 'mas' jack,' an' he sta't jes' lak he rousin' up, mas' jack, mas' tho'nton want to speak to you.' he jump up quick, an' de book fall on de flo', but he grab a cheer an' stiddy hisse'f. i done tol' you mas' jack was n't no man to 'spose his feelin's. he jes' say, slow lak he hol'in' hisse'f, sen' him in hyeah.' i goes back an' 'livers de message, den i flies roun' to de po'ch whah de liberry winder opens out, 'ca'se, i ain't gwine lie erbout it, i was mighty tuk up wif all dis gwine on folks from dixie an' i wanted to see an' hyeah, — an' who you reckon 'roun' dah but aunt emmerline ! she jes' say, s-sh !' ez i come 'roun', an' clas' huh han's. in a minute er so, de liberry do' open an' mas' tho'nton come in. he shet hit behin' him, an' den stood lookin' at his pa, dat ain't never tu'ned erroun' yit. den he say sof', father.' mas' jack tu'ned erroun' raal slow an' look at his son fu' a while. den he say, do you still honour me wif dat name ?' mas' tho'nton got red in de face, but he answer, don' know no other name to call you.' will you set down ?' mas' speak jes' lak he was a-talkin' to a stranger. ef you desiah me to.' i see mas' tho'nton was a-bridlin' up too. mas' jes' th'owed back his haid an' say, fa' be it f'om any venable to fu'git cou'tesy to his gues'.' young mas' moved erway f'om de cheer whah he was a-gwine to set, an' his haid went up. he spoke up slow an' delibut, jes' lak his pa, do not come, suh, in dat cha'acter, i is hyeah ez yo' son.' well, ole mas' eyes fa'ly snapped fiah. he was white ez a sheet, but he still spoke slow an'quiet, hit made me creep, you air late in 'memberin' yo' relationship, suh.' * ° a family feud " hab never fu'got it.' den, suh, you have thought mo' of yo' rights dan of yo' duties.' mas' jack was mad an' so was mas' tho'nton; he say, did n't come hyeah to 'scuss dat.' an' he tu'ned to'ds de do'. i hyeah aunt emmerline groan jes' ez mas' say, well, whut did you come fu' ?' to be insulted in my father's house by my father, an' i's got all dat i come fu'!' mas' tho'nton was ez white ez his pa now, an' his han' was on de do'-knob. den all of a sudden i hyeah de winder go up, an' i lak to fall over gittin' outen de way to keep pom bein' seed. aunt emmerline done opened de winder an' gone in. dey bofe tu'ned an' looked at huh s'prised lak, an' mas' jack sta'ted to say somep'n', but she th'owed up huh han' an' say "wait!' lak she owned de house. mas' jack,' she say, you an' mas' tho'nton ain't gwine pa't dis way. you mus' n't. you's father an' son. you loves one another. i knows i ain't got no bus'ness meddlin' in yo' 'fairs, but i cain't see you all qua'l dis way. mastah, you 's bofe stiffnecked. you's bofe wrong. i know mas' tho'nton did n't min' you, but he did n't mean no ha'm — he could n't he'p it — it was in de * * folks from dixie venable blood, an' you mus' n't 'spise him fu' it.' " emmerline' — ole mas' tried to git in a word, but she would n't let him. yes, mastah, yes, but i nussed dat boy an' tuk keer o' him when he was a little bit of a he'pless thing; an' when his po' mammy went to glory, i 'member how she look up at me wif dem blessed eyes o' hern an' lay him in my arms an' say, emmerline, tek keer o'my baby." i's done it, mastah, i's done it de bes' i could. i's nussed him thoo sickness when hit seemed lak his little soul mus' foller his mother any¬ how, but i's seen de look in yo' eyes, an' prayed to god to gin de chile back to you. he done it, he done it, an' you sha'n't th'ow erway de gif' of god!' aunt emmerline was a-cryin' an' so was mas' tho'nton. ole mas' mighty red, but he clared his th'oat an' said wif his voice tremblin', emmerline, leave de room.' de ole ooman come out a-cryin' lak huh hea't 'u'd brek, an' jes' ez de do' shet behin' huh, ole mas' brek down an' hoi' out his arms, ciyin', my son, my son.' an' in a minute he an' mas' tho'nton was a-hol'in' one another lak dey'd never let go, an' his pa was a-pattin' de r folks from dixie "well, aunt emmerline was skeered to def. she jes' p'intly knowed dat she was gwine to git a tongue-lashin'. i don' know whether she was mos' skeered er mos' happy. mas' sont fu' huh after while, an' i listened when she went in. he was try in' to talk an' look pow'ful stern, but i seed a twinkle in his eye. he say, want you to know, emmerline, dat hit ain't yo' place to dictate to yo' mastah whut he shell do — shet up, shet up! i don' want a word outen you. you been on dis place so long, an' been bossin' de other darkies an' yo' mas' tho'nton erroun' so long, dat i 'low you think you own de place. shet up, not a word outen you! ef you an' yo' young mas' 's a-gwine to run dis place, i reckon i'd better step out. humph! you was so sma't to go to lexin'ton de other day, you kin go back dah ergin. you seem to think you's white, an' hyeah's de money to buy a new dress fu' de ole fool darky dat nussed yo' son an' made you fu'give his foo'ishness when you wanted to be a fool yo'se'f." his voice was sof' ergin, an' he put de money in aunt emmerline's han' an' pushed huh out de do', huh a-cryin' an' him put' nigh it. * a family feud " after dis, mas' jack was jes' bent an' boun' dat de young people mus' go on a weddin' trip. so dey got ready, an' miss nellie went an' tol' huh pa goo'bye. min' you, dey had n't been nuffin' said 'bout him an' mas' not bein' frien's. he done fu'give miss nellie right erway fu' runnin' off. but de mo'nin' dey went erway, we all was out in de ya'd, an' aunt emmerline settin' on de seat wif jim, lookin' ez proud ez you please. mastah was ez happy ez a boy. c emmerline,' he hollahs ez dey drib off, tek good keer o' dat venable blood.' de ca'iage stopped ez it went out de gate, an' mas' tom jamieson kissed his daugh¬ ter. he had rid up de road to see de las' of huh. mastah seed him, an' all of a sudden somep'n' seemed to tek holt o' him an' he hollahed, c come in, tom.' "' don' keer ef i do,' mas' jamieson say, a-tu'nin' his hoss in de gate. 'you venables has got de res' o' my fambly.' we all was mos' s'prised to def. " mas' jamieson jumped offen his hoss, an' mas' venable come down de steps to meet him. dey shuk han's, an' mas' jack say, dey ain't no fool lak a ole fool.' * folks from dixie " an' fu' unekaled foo'ishness,' mas' xom say, reckermen' me to two ole fools.' dey went into de house a-laffin', an' i knowed hit was all right 'twixt 'em, fu' putty soon i seed ike out in de ya'd a-getherin' mint." js aunt mandy's investment * aunt mandy's investment the coloured american investment company was organised for the encouragement and benefit of the struggling among americans of african descent; at least, so its constitution said. though truth was, mr. solomon ruggles, the efficient president and treasurer of the institu¬ tion, usually represented the struggling when there were any benefits to receive. indeed, mr. ruggles was the coloured amer¬ ican investment company. the people whom he persuaded to put their money into his concern were only accessories. though a man of slight education, he was possessed of a liberal amount of that shrewd wit which allows its possessor to feed upon the credulity of others. mr. ruggles's motto was " it is better to be plausible than right," and he lived up to his principles with a fidelity that would have been commendable in a better cause. he was seldom * folks from dixie right, but he was always plausible. no one knew better than he how to bring out the good point of a bad article. he would have sold you a blind horse and convinced you that he was doing you a favour in giving you an animal that would not be frightened by anything he saw. no one but he could have been in a city so short a time and yet gained to such an extent the confidence and cash of the people about him. when a coloured man wishes to start a stock company, he issues a call and holds a mass meet¬ ing. this is what solomon ruggles did. a good many came. some spoke for and some against the movement, but the promoter's plausible argument carried the day. " gent'men," he said, " my fellow colo'ed brotheren, i jest want to say this to you, that we af'-americans been ca'yin' a leaky bucket to the well too long. we git the stream from the ground, an' back to the ground it goes befoah we kin git any chance to make use o' what we've drawed. but, not to speak in meter- phers, this is what i mean. i mean that we work for the white folks for their money. all they keer about us is ouah work, an' all we keer aunt mandy's investment about them is their money; but what do we do with it when we git it ? i ' tell you what we do with it; we take an' give it right back to the white folks fu' somef'n' or other we want, an' so they git ouah labour, an' ouah money too. ain't that the truth ?" there were cries of " yes, indeed, that's so ; you 're right, sho! " " well, now, do you want this hyeah thing to go on ? " " no ! " from a good many voices. " then how are we going to stop it ? " mr. ruggles paused. no one answered. " why," he resumed, " by buyin' from ourselves, that's how. we all put in so much ev'ry week till we git enough to buy things of ouah own ; then we ' jest pat'onise ouahselves. don't you see it can't fail ? " the audience did. brother jeremiah buford rose and "hea'tily concuhed in what the brothah had said; " and dapper little spriggins, who was said to be study¬ ing law, and to be altogether as smart as a whip, expressed his pleasure that a man of such enter¬ prise had come among them to wake the coloured people up to a sense of their condition and to ii folks from dixie show them a way out of it. so the idea which had been formulated in the fecund brain of solomon ruggles became a living, active reality. his project once on foot, it was easy enough to get himself elected president and treasurer. this was quite little enough to do for a man whose bright idea might make them all rich, so thought the stockholders or prospective stock¬ holders who attended the meeting, and some who came to scoff remained to pay. it was thus that the famous coloured improvement company sprang into life. it was a saturday afternoon of the third week after the formation of the company that mr. ruggles sat in the " firm's " office alone. there was a cloud upon his face. it was the day when most of the stockholders brought in their money, but there had been a picnic the day before, and in consequence a distinct falling off in the receipts of the concern. this state of affairs especially annoyed the president and treasurer, because that dual official had just in¬ volved himself in some new obligations on the strength of what that day would bring him. it was annoying. was it any wonder, then, that his brow cleared and a smile lightened up his aunt mandy's investment rather pleasant features when the door opened and an old woman entered ? " ah, madam, good afternoon," said the coloured american investment company, rub¬ bing its hands; " and what kin i do fer you ? " the old lady timidly approached the table which the official used as a desk. " is you mistah ruggles?" she asked. " i have the honah to bear that name," was the bland response. "well, i got a little money dat i wants to 'vest in yo' comp'ny. i's hyeahd tell dat ef you put yo' money in dere hit jes' lays and grows." " that's the princerple we go on, to take small investments and give back big profits." " well, i's sho' dat my 'vestment 's small 'nough, but i been savin' it a mighty long while." the old woman drew a weather- beaten purse from her pocket, and solomon ruggles's eyes glistened with expectation as he saw it. his face fell, though, when he saw that it held but little. however, every little helps, and he brightened again as the old lady counted, slowly and tremblingly, the small store of only five dollars in all. folks from dixie ruggles took the money in his eager palms. " of course, mrs. — " " mandy smif's my name." " of course, we can't promise you no fortune in return fu' an investment of fi' dollahs, but we ' do the bes' we kin fu' you." " i do' want no fortune ner nothin' lak dat. what i wants is a little mo' money — 'cause — 'cause i got a boy; he alius been a good boy to me an' tuk keer o' me, but he thought he would do bettah out west, so he went out dere, an' fu' a while he got along all right an' sent me money reg'lar. den he took down sick an' got out o' work. it was ha'd fu' me to git along 'dout his he'p, 'cause i's old. but dat ain't what hu'ts me. i don' keer nuffin' 'bout myse'f. i's willin' to sta've ef i could jes' sen' fu' dat boy an' bring him home so's i could nuss him. dat's de reason i's a-'vestin' dis money." solomon ruggles fingered the bills nervously. " you know when a boy's sick dey ain't no- bidy kin nuss lak his own mothah kin, fu' she nussed him when he was a baby; he's pa't o' huh, an' she knows his natur'. yo' mothah livin', mistah ruggles ? " aunt mandy's investment " yes, 'way down south —she's ve'y ol\" " i reckon some o' us ol' folks does live too long past dey times." "no, you don't; you couldn't. i wish to god the world was full of jest sich ol' people as you an' my mothah is." " bless you, honey, i laks to hyeah you talk dat way 'bout yo' mammy. i ain' 'fred to trus' my money wif no man dat knows how to 'spect his mothah." the old woman rose to go. ruggles followed her to the door. he was trembling with some emotion. he shook the investor warmly by the hand as he bade her good-bye. " i shall do the ve'y bes' i kin fu' you," he said. " how soon kin i hyeah 'bout it ? " " i've took yo' address, an' you kin expect to hyeah from me in a week's time — that's sooner than we do anything fu' most of ouah customers." " thanky, sir, fu' the favour; thanky, an' good-bye, mistah ruggles." the head of the company went in and sat for a long time dreaming over his table. a week later an angry crowd of coloured investors stood outside the office of the coloured ^ folks from dixie improvement company. the office was closed to all business, and diligent search failed to reveal the whereabouts of mr. solomon ruggles. the investors knew themselves to be the vic¬ tims of a wily swindler, and they were furious. dire imprecations were hurled at the head of the defaulting promoter. but, as the throng was spending its breath in vain anger, an old woman with smiling face worked her way through them toward the door. "let me th'oo," she said; "i want to fin' mistah ruggles." "yes, all of us do. has he cheated you, too, auntie ? " " cheated me ? what's de matter wif you, man ? i put fi' dollahs in hyeah las' week, an' look at dat ! " the old woman waved some bills in the air and a letter with them. some one took it from her hand and read : — f dear mrs. smith, — i am glad to say that yore in- t'rust 'cumulated faster than usu'l, so i kan inklose you heerwith $ . i am sorry i shall not see you again, az i am kalled away on bizness. very respectably yores, s. ruggles. aunt mandy's investment the men looked at each other in surprise, and then they began to disperse. some one said: " i reckon he mus' be all right, aftah all. aunt mandy got huh div'den'." " i reckon h.e's comin' back all right," said another. but mr. ruggles did not come back. the intervention of peter no one knows just what statement it was of harrison randolph's that bob lee doubted. the annals of these two virginia families have not told us that. but these are the facts : — it was at the home of the fairfaxes that a few of the sons of the old dominion were giving a dinner, — not to celebrate anything in particular, but the joyousness of their own souls, — and a brave dinner it was. the courses had come and gone, and over their cigars they had waxed more than merry. in those days men drank deep, and these men were young, full of the warm blood of the south and the joy of living. what wonder then that the liquor that had been mellowing in the fairfax cellars since the boyhood of their revolutionary ancestor should have its effect upon them? it is true that it was only a slight thing which bob lee affected to disbelieve, and that his tone was jocosely bantering rather than impertinent. the intervention of peter each of the young gentlemen nodded to a friend and rose to depart. the joyous dinner¬ party bade fair to end with much more serious business. "you shall hear from me very shortly," said randolph, as he strode to the door. " i shall await your pleasure with impatience, sir, and give you such a reply as even you cannot disdain." it was all rather high-flown, but youth is dramatic and plays to the gallery of its own eyes and ears. but to one pair of ears there was no ring of anything but tragedy in the grandiloquent sentences. peter, the personal attendant of harrison randolph, stood at the door as his master passed out, and went on before him to hold his stirrup. the young master and his friend and cousin, dale, started off briskly and in silence, while pete, with wide eyes and disturbed face, followed on behind. just as they were turning into the avenue of elms that led to their own house, randolph wheeled his horse and came riding back to his servant. " pete," said he, sternly, " what do you know ? " folks from dixie on the mat, some doubtful of the sekle," it was not for long, and he unceremoniously pushed the door open and walked in. with a great show of haste, he made for his master's wardrobe and began busily searching among the articles therein. harrison randolph and his cousin were in the room, and their conversation, which had been animated, suddenly ceased when peter entered. " thought i told you i did n't want you any more to-night." " i's a-lookin' fu' dem striped pants o' yo'n. i want to tek 'em out an' bresh 'em: dey's p'intly a livin' sight." "you get out o' here." " but, mas' ha'ison, now — now—look — a — hyeah — " " get out, i tell you — " pete shuffled from the room, mumbling as he went: " dah now, dah now! driv' out lak a dog! how's i gwine to fin' out anyt'ing dis away ? it do 'pear lak mas' ha'ison do try to gi'e me all de trouble he know how. now he plannin' an' projickin' wif dat cousin dale, an' one jes' ez scattah-brained ez de othah. well, i 'low i got to beat dey time somehow er ruther." the intervention of peter he was still lingering hopeless and worried about the house when he saw young dale ran¬ dolph come out, mount his horse and ride away. after a while his young master also came out and walked up and down in the soft evening air. the rest of the family were seated about on the broad piazza. " i wonder what is the matter with harrison to-night," said the young man's father, "he seems so preoccupied." "thinking of sallie ford, i reckon," some one replied; and the remark passed with a laugh. pete was near enough to catch this, but he did not stop to set them right in their conjectures. he slipped into the house as noiselessly as possible. it was less than two hours after this when dale randolph returned and went immediately to his cousin's room, where harrison followed him. "well ? " said the latter, as soon as the door closed behind them. " it's all arranged, and he's anxious to hurry it through for fear some one may inter¬ fere. pistols, and to-morrow morning at day¬ break." i folks from dixie " are you ready, gentlemen ? " but evidently harrison randolph was not. he was paying no attention to the seconds. his eyes were fixed on an object behind his opponent's back. his attitude relaxed and his mouth began twitching. then he burst into a peal of laughter. "pete," he roared, "drop that and come out from there !" and away he went into another convulsion of mirth. the others turned just in time to see pete cease his frantic grimaces of secrecy at his master, and sheepishly lower an ancient fowling-piece which he had had levelled at bob lee. " what were you going to do with that gun levelled at me ?" asked lee, his own face twitching. " i was gwine to fiah jes' befo' dey said free. i wa'n't gwine to kill you, mas' bob. i was on'y gwine to lame you." another peal of laughter from the whole crowd followed this condescending statement. "you unconscionable scoundrel, you! if i was your master, i'd give you a hundred lashes." " pete," said his master, " don't you know that it is dishonourable to shoot a man from be- the intervention of peter hind ? you see you have n't in you the making of a gentleman." " do' know nuffin' 'bout mekin' a gent'man, but i does know how to save one dat's already made." the prime object of the meeting had been entirely forgotten. they gathered around pete and examined the weapon. " gentlemen," said randolph, " we have been saved by a miracle. this old gun, as well as i can remember and count, has been loaded for the past twenty-five years, and if pete had tried to fire it, it would have torn up all of this part of the county." then the eyes of the two combatants met. there was something irresis¬ tibly funny in the whole situation, and they found themselves roaring again. then, with one im¬ pulse, they shook hands without a word. and pete led the way home, the willing butt of a volume of good-natured abuse. nelse hatton's vengeance folks from dixie and there a belated fisherman came straggling up the street that led from the river, every now and then holding up his string of slimy, wig¬ gling catfish in answer to the query " wha' 'd you ketch ? " to one who knew the generous and unpreju¬ diced spirit of the dexterites, it was no matter of wonder that one of their soundest and most highly respected citizens was a coloured man, and that his home should nestle unrebuked among the homes of his white neighbours. nelse hatton had won the love and respect of his fellow-citizens by the straightforward honesty of his conduct and the warmth of his heart. everybody knew him. he had been doing chores about dexter,— cutting grass in summer, cleaning and laying carpets in the spring and fall, and tending furnaces in the winter, — since the time when, a newly emanci¬ pated man, he had passed over from kentucky into ohio. since then through thrift he had attained quite a competence, and, as he him¬ self expressed it, " owned some little propity." he was one among the number who had arisen to the' dignity of a porch ; and on this evening he was sitting thereon, laboriously spelling out s folks from dixie to eat ?" it was a voice that might have spoken with authority. there was none of the beggar's whine in it. it was clear and straight¬ forward ; and the man spoke the simple sentence almost as if it had been a protest against his sad condition. "jes' set down on the step an' git cool," answered nelse, " an' i ' have something put on the table." the stranger silently did as he was bidden, and his host turned into the house. eliza hatton had been quietly watching pro¬ ceedings, and as her husband entered the kitchen she said, "look a-here, nelse, you shorely ain't a-goin' to have that tramp in the kitchen a-settin' up to the table ? " "why, course," said nelse; "he's human, ain't he ? " " that don't make no difference. i bet none of these white folks round here would do it." " that ain't none of my business," answered her husband. " i believe in every person doin' their own duty. put somethin' down on the table ; the man's hungry. an' don't never git stuck up, 'lizy; you don't know what our children have got to come to." nelse hatton's vengeance nelse hatton was a man of few words; but there was a positive manner about him at times that admitted of neither argument nor resistance. his wife did as she was bidden, and then swept out in the majesty of wounded dignity, as the tramp was ushered in and seated before the table whose immaculate white cloth she had been prudent enough to change for a red one. the man ate as if he were hungry, but always as if he were a hungry gentleman. there was something in his manner that impressed nelse that he was not feeding a common tramp as he sat and looked at his visitor in polite curiosity. after a somewhat continued silence he addressed the man: " why don't you go to your own people when you 're hungry instead of coming to us coloured folks ? " there was no reproof in his tone, only inquiry. the stranger's eyes flashed suddenly. " go to them up here ? " he said; " never. they would give me my supper with their hypocritical patronage and put it down to charity. you give me something to eat as a favour. your gift proceeds from disinterested kind- folks from dixie ness; they would throw me a bone because they thought it would weigh something in the balance against fheir sins. to you i am an unfortunate man; to them i am a tramp." the stranger had spoken with much heat and no hesitation; but his ardour did not take the form of offence at nelse's question. he seemed perfectly to comprehend the motive which actu¬ ated it. nelse had listened to him with close atten¬ tion, and at the end of his harangue he said, " you had n't ought to be so hard on your own people; they mean well enough." " my own people!" the stranger flashed back. " my people are the people of the south, — the people who have in their veins the warm, generous blood of dixie! " "i don't see what you stay in the north fur ef you don't like the people." " am not staying; i'm getting away from it as fast as i can. i only came because i thought, like a lot of other poor fools, that the north had destroyed my fortunes and it might restore them; but five years of fruitless struggle in different places out of dixie have shown me that it is n't the place for a man with blood in nelse hatton's vengeance his veins. i thought that i was reconstructed; but i 'm not. my state did n't need it, but i did." "where 're you from? " " kentucky ; and there 's where i 'm bound for now. i want to get back where people have hearts and sympathies." the coloured man was silent. after a while he said, and his voice was tremulous as he thought of the past, " i'm from kintucky, myself." " i knew that you were from some place in the south. there's no mistaking our people, black or white, wherever you meet them. kentucky's a great state, sir. she did n't secede; but there were lots of her sons on the other side. i was; and i did my duty as clear as i could see it." "that's all any man kin do," said nelse; " an' i ain't a-blamin' you. i lived with as good people as ever was. i know they would n't 'a' done nothin' wrong ef they'd 'a' knowed it j an' they was on the other side." " you've been a slave, then ? " " oh, yes, i was born a slave; but the war freed me." folks from dixie " i reckon you would n't think that my folks ever owned slaves; but they did. everybody was good to them except me, and i was young and liked to show my authority. i had a little black boy that i used to cuff around a good deal, altho' he was near to me as a brother. but sometimes he would turn on me and give me the trouncing that i deserved. he would have been skinned for it if my father had found it out; but i was always too much ashamed of being thrashed to tell." the speaker laughed, and nelse joined him. " bless my soul! " he said, " ef that ain't jes' the way it was with me an' my mas' tom — " "mas' tom!" cried the stranger; "man, what's your name ? " " nelse hatton," replied the negro. "heavens, nelse! i'm your young mas' tom. i'm tom hatton; don't you know me, boy ? " "you can't be—you can't be!" exclaimed the negro. " i am, i tell you. don't you remember the scar i got on my head from falling off old baldy's back ? here it is. can't you see ? " cried the stranger, lifting the long hair away nelse hatton's vengeance from one side of his brow. " does n't this convince you ? " " it's you — it's you ; 't ain't nobody else but mas' tom ! " and the ex-slave and his former master rushed joyously into each other's arms. there was no distinction of colour or condi¬ tion there. there was no thought of superior¬ ity on the one hand, or feeling of inferiority on the other. they were simply two loving friends who had been long parted and had met again. after a while the negro said, " i'm sure the lord must 'a' sent you right here to this house, so's you would n't be eatin' off o' none o' these poor white people 'round here." " i reckon you're religious now, nelse; but i see it ain't changed your feeling toward poor white people." " i don't know about that. i used to be purty bad about 'em." " indeed you did. do you remember the time we stoned the house of old nat, the white wood-sawyer ? " "well, i reckon i do! was n't we awful, them days ? " said nelse, with forced contrition, but with something almost like a chuckle in his voice. * folks from dixie and yet there was a great struggle going on in the mind of this black man. thirty years of freedom and the advantages of a northern state made his whole soul revolt at the word " mas¬ ter." but that fine feeling, that tender sym¬ pathy, which is natural to the real negro, made him hesitate to make the poor wreck of former glory conscious of his changed estate by using a different appellation. his warm sympathies conquered. " i want you to see my wife and boys, mas' tom," he said, as he passed out of the room. eliza hatton sat in her neatly appointed little front room, swelling with impotent rage. if this story were chronicling the doings of some fanciful negro, or some really rude planta¬ tion hand, it might be said that the " front room was filled with a conglomeration of cheap but pretentious furniture, and the walls covered with gaudy prints " — this seems to be the usual phrase. but in it the chronicler too often for¬ gets how many negroes were house-servants, and from close contact with their master's families imbibed aristocratic notions and quiet but elegant tastes. this front room was very quiet in its appoint- nelse hatton's vengeance ments. everything in it was subdued except — mrs. hatton. she was rocking back and forth in a light little rocker that screeched the indig¬ nation she could not express. she did not deign to look at nelse as he came into the room; but an acceleration of speed on the ,part of the rocker showed that his presence was known/ her husband's enthusiasm suddenly died out as he looked at her; but he put on a brave face as he said, — " 'lizy, i bet a cent you can't guess who that pore man in there is." the rocker suddenly stopped its violent mo¬ tion with an equally violent jerk, as the angry woman turned upon her husband. "no, i can't guess," she cried; " an' i don't want to. it's enough to be settin' an on'ry ol' tramp down to my clean table, without havin' me spend my time guessin' who he is." " but look a-here, 'lizy, this is all different; an' you don't understand." " don't care how different it is, i do' want to understand." "you'll be mighty su'prised, i tell you." "i 'low i will; i'm su'prised already at you ! folks from dixie puttin' yourself on a level with tramps." this with fine scorn. " be careful, 'lizy, be careful; you don't know who a tramp may turn out to be." "that ol' humbug in there has been tellin' you some big tale, an' you ain't got no more sense 'an to believe it; i 'spect he's crammin' his pockets full of my things now. ef you don't care, i do." the woman rose and started toward the door, but her husband stopped her. " you must n't go out there that way," he said. " i want you to go out, you an' the childern; but i want you to go right — that man is the son of my ol' master, my young mas' tom, as i used to call him." she fell back suddenly and stared at him with wide-open eyes. " your master !" " yes, it's young mas' tom hatton." "an' you want me an' the childern to see him, do you ?" " why, yes, i thought — " " humph ! that's the slave in you yet," she interrupted. " i thought thirty years had made you free! ain't that the man you told me used to knock you 'round so ? " nelse hatton's vengeance yes, 'lizy ; but — " " ain't he the one that made you haul him in the wheelbar', an' whipped you because you could n't go fast enough ? " " yes, yes; but that — " " ain't he the one that lef' that scar there ? " she cried, with a sudden motion of her hand toward his neck. "yes," said nelse, very quietly; but he put his hand up and felt the long, cruel scar that the lash of a whip had left, and a hard light came into his eyes. his wife went on: " an' you want to take me an' the childern in to see that man ? no ! " the word came with almost a snarl. " me an' my childern are free born, an', ef i kin help it, they sha'n't never look at the man that laid the lash to their father's back! shame on you, nelse, shame on you, to want your childern, that you 're tryin' to raise independent, — to want 'em to see the man that you had to call master'! " the man's lips quivered, and his hand opened and shut with a convulsive motion; but he said nothing. " what did you tell me ?" she asked. "did n't folks from dixie you say that if you ever met him again in this world you'd — " " kill him ! " burst forth the man ; and all the old, gentle look had gone out of his face, and there was nothing but fierceness and bitterness there, as his mind went back to his many wrongs. " go on away from the house, 'lizy," he said hoarsely; " if anything happens, i do' want you an' the childern around." " i do' want you to kill him, nelse, so you ' git into trouble; but jes' give him one good whippin' for those he used to give you." " go on away from the house;" and the man's lips were tightly closed. she threw a thin shawl over her head and went out. as soon as she had gone nelse's intense feel¬ ing got the better of him, and, falling down with his face in a chair, he cried, in the language which the sunday sermons had taught him, " lord, lord, thou hast delivered mine enemy into my hands ! " but it was not a prayer; it was rather a cry of anger and anguish from an overburdened heart. he rose, with the same hard gleam in his eyes, and went back toward the kitchen. nelse hatton's vengeance one hand was tightly clinched till the muscles and veins stood out like cords, and' with the other he unconsciously fingered the lash's scar. " could n't find your folks, eh, nelse ? " said the white hatton. "no," growled nelse; and continued hur¬ riedly, " do you remember that scar ? " "well enough — well enough," answered the other, sadly; " and it must have hurt you, nelse." " hurt me ! yes," cried the negro. " ay," said tom hatton, as he rose and put his hand softly on the black scar; "and it has hurt me many a day since, though time and time again i have suffered pains that were as cruel as this must have been to you. think of it, nelse ; there have been times when i, a hatton, have asked bread of the very people whom a few years ago i scorned. since the war everything has gone against me. you do not know how i have suffered. for thirty years life has been a curse to me; but i am going back to kentucky now, and when i get there i ' lay it down without a regret." all the anger had melted from the negro's face, and there were tears in his eyes as he folks from dixie cried, "you sha'n't do it, mas' tom, — you sha'n't do it." his destructive instinct had turned to one of preservation. "but, nelse, i have no further hopes," said the dejected man. "you have, and you shall have. you're goin' back to kintucky, an' you 're goin' back a gentleman. i kin he'p you, an' i will; you 're welcome to the last i have." " god bless you, nelse — " " mas' tom, you used to be jes' about my size, but you 're slimmer now; but — but i hope you won't be mad ef i ask you to put on a suit o' mine. it's put' nigh brand-new, an' — " " nelse, i can't do it! is this the way you pay me for the blows — " " heish your mouth ; ef you don't i ' slap you down!" nelse said it with mock solem¬ nity, but there was an ominous quiver about his lips. " come in this room, suh ; " and the master obeyed. he came out arrayed in nelse's best and newest suit. the coloured man went to a drawer, over which he bent laboriously. then he turned and said : " this ' pay your passage nelse hatton's vengeance to kintucky, an' leave somethin' in your pocket besides. go home, mas' tom, — go home!" " nelse, i can't do it; this is too much ! " " doggone my cats, ef you don't go on — " the white man stood bowed for a moment; then, straightening up, he threw his head back. " i ' take it, nelse; but you shall have every cent back, even if i have to sell my body to a medical college and use a gun to deliver the goods ! good-bye, nelse, god bless you! good¬ bye." "good-bye, mas' tom, but don't talk that way; go home. the south is changed, an' you ' find somethin' to suit you. go home — go home; an' ef there's any of the folks a-livin', give 'em my love, mas' tom — give 'em my love — good-bye — good-bye!" the negro leaned over the proffered hand, and his tears dropped upon it. his master passed out, and he sat with his head bowed in his hands. after a long while eliza came creeping in. " wha' 'd you do to him, nelse—wha' 'd you do to him ? " there was no answer. " lawd, i hope you ain't killed him," she said, looking fearfully around. " i don't see no blood." i at shaft at shaft night falls early over the miners' huts that cluster at the foot of the west virginia moun¬ tains. the great hills that give the vales their shelter also force upon them their shadow. twilight lingers a short time, and then gives way to that black darkness which is possible only to regions in the vicinity of high and heavily wooded hills. through the fast-gathering gloom of a mid- spring evening, jason andrews, standing in his door, peered out into the open. it was a sight of rugged beauty that met his eyes as they swept the broken horizon. all about the. moun¬ tains raised their huge forms, — here bare, sharp, and rocky; there undulating, and covered with wood and verdure, whose various shades melted into one dull, blurred, dark green, hardly dis¬ tinguishable in the thick twilight. at the foot of the hills all was in shadow, but their summits were bathed in the golden and crimson glory of departing day. folks from dixie jason andrews, erstwhile foreman of shaft , gazed about him with an eye not wholly unap- preciative of the beauty of the scene. then, shading his eyes with one brawny hand, an act made wholly unnecessary by the absence of the sun, he projected his vision far down into the valley. his hut, set a little way up the mountain-side, commanded an extended view of the road, which, leaving the slope, ran tortuously through the lower land. evidently something that he saw down the road failed to please the miner, for he gave a low whistle and re-entered the house with a frown on his face. " i ' be goin' down the road a minute, kate," he said to his wife, throwing on his coat and pausing at the door. " there's a crowd gathered down toward the settlement. somethin' 's goin' on, an' i want to see what's up." he slammed the door and strode away. "jason, jason," his wife called after him, " don't you have nothin' to do with their goin's- on, neither one way nor the other. do you hear ? " " oh, i ' take care o' myself." the answer came back out of the darkness. folks from dixie ness of argument and elaboration of phrase, he contrived to show them that they were altogether the most ill-treated men in america. there was only one remedy for the misery of their condition, and that was to pay him two dollars and immediately organise a local branch of the miners' labour union. the men listened. he was so perfectly plausible, so smooth, and so clear. he found converts among them. some few combated the man's ideas, and none among these more forcibly than did jason andrews, the foreman of shaft . but the heresy grew, and the opposition was soon overwhelmed. there are always fifty fools for every fallacy. of course, the thing to do was to organise against oppression, and accordingly, amid great enthu¬ siasm, the union was formed. with the excep¬ tion of jason andrews, most of the men, cowed by the majority opposed to them, yielded their ground and joined. but not so he. it was sturdy, stubborn old scotch blood that coursed through his veins. he stayed out of the society even at the expense of the friendship of some of the men who had been his friends. taunt upon taunt was thrown into his face. " he's on the side of the rich. he's for capi- folks from dixie spokesman, said, "will you tell us how long since you discovered that your wages were unfair ?" the committee severally fumbled its hat and looked confused. finally grierson, who had been speaking for them, said: u well, we 've been thinkin' about it fur a good while. especially ever sence, ahem — " " yes," went on crofton, " to be plain and more definite, ever since the appearance among you of mr. tom daly, the agitator, the destroyer of confidence between employer and employed, the weasel who sucks your blood and tells you that he is doing you a service. you have dis¬ covered the unfairness of your compensation since making his acquaintance." " well, i guess he told us the truth," growled grierson. " that is a matter of opinion." " but look what you all are earn in'." " that's what we 're in the business for. we have n't left comfortable homes in the cities to come down to this hole in the mountains for our health. we have a right to earn. we brought capital, enterprise, and energy here. we give you work and pay you decent wages. it is none io at shaft of your business what we earn." the young man's voice rose a little, and a light came into his calm gray eyes. " have you not been com¬ fortable ? have you not lived well and been able to save something ? have you not been treated like men ? what more do you want ? what real grievance have you? none. a scoundrel and a sneak has come here, and for his own purposes aroused your covetousness. but it is unavailing, and," turning to his col¬ leagues, " these gentlemen will bear me out in what i say, — we will not raise your wages one- tenth of one penny above what they are. we will not be made to suffer for the laxity of other owners, and if within three hours the men are not back at work, they may consider themselves discharged." his voice was cold, clear, and ringing. surprised, disappointed, and abashed, the com¬ mittee heard the ultimatum, and then shuffled out of the office in embarrassed silence. it was all so different from what they had expected. they thought that they had only to demand and their employers would accede rather than have the work stop. labour had but to make a show of resistance and capital would yield. so folks from dixie of negroes came in and began to build their huts. with the true racial instinct of colonisa¬ tion, they all flocked to one part of the settle¬ ment. with a wisdom that was not entirely instinctive, though it may have had its origin in the negro's social inclination, they built one large eating-room a little way from their cabin and up the mountain-side. the back of the place was the bare wall of a sheer cliff. here their breakfasts and suppers were to be taken, the midday meal being eaten in the mine. the negro who held jason andrews' place as foreman of shaft n, the best yielding of all the mines, and the man who seemed to be the acknowledged leader of all the blacks, was known as big sam bowles. he was a great black fel¬ low, with a hand like a sledge-hammer, but with an open, kindly face and a voice as musical as a lute. on the first morning that they went in a body to work in the mines, they were assailed by the jeers and curses of the strikers, while now and then a rock from the hand of some ambushed foe fell among them. but they did not heed these things, for they were expected. for several days nothing more serious than folks from dixie ness that followed his question, "i do! " and andrews pushed his way through the crowd to the front. " there ain't anybody stealin' the bread out of our mouths, niggers ner nobody else. if men throw away their bread, why, a dog has the right to pick it up." there were dissenting murmurs, and cleary turned to his opponent with a sneer. " humph, i'd be bound for you, jason andrews, first on the side of the bosses and then takin' up for the niggers. boys, i ' bet he's a republican ! " a laugh greeted this sally. the red mounted into the foreman's face and made his tan seem darker. " i'm as good a democrat as any of you," he said, looking around, " and you say that again, red cleary, and i ' push the words down your throat with my fist." cleary knew his man and turned the matter off. "we don't care nothin' about what party you vote with. we intend to stand up for our rights. mebbe you've got something to say ag'in that." " i've got something to say, but not against any man's rights. there's men here that have known me and are honest, and they will say at shaft whether i've acted on the square or not since i've been among you. but there is right as well as rights. as for the niggers, i ain't any friendlier to 'em than the rest of you. but i ain't the man to throw up a job and then howl when somebody else gets it. if we don't want our hoe-cake, there's others that do." the plain sense of andrews' remarks calmed the men, and cleary, seeing that his power was gone, moved away from the centre of the crowd, " i ' settle with you later," he muttered, as he passed jason. " there ain't any better time than now," re¬ plied the latter, seizing his arm and drawing him back. " here, here, don't fight," cried some one. " go on, cleary, there may be something better than a fellow-workman to try your muscle on before long." the crowd came closer and pushed between the two men. with many signs of reluctance, but willingly withal, cleary allowed himself to be hustled away. the crowd dispersed, but jason andrews knew that he had only temporarily quieted the turmoil in the breasts of the men. it would break out very soon again, he told himself. musing thus, he folks from dixie took his homeward way. as he reached the open road on the rise that led to his cabin, he heard the report of a pistol, and a shot clipped a rock three or four paces in front of him. " with the compliments of red cleary," said jason, with a hard laugh. " the coward ! " all next day, an ominous calm brooded over the little mining settlement. the black work¬ men went to their labours unmolested, and the hope that their hardships were over sprang up in the hearts of some. but there were two men who, without being informed, knew better. these were jason andrews and big sam, and chance threw the two together. it was as the black was returning alone from the mine after the day's work was over. " the strikers did n't bother you any to-day, i noticed," said andrews. sam bowles looked at him with suspicion, and then, being reassured by the honest face and friendly manner, he replied: " no, not to-day, but there ain't no tellin' what they ' do to-night. i don't like no sich sudden change." "you think something is brewing, eh ? " " it looks mighty like it, i tell you." folks from dixie out o' yore cabins an' bring 'em up here. it won't do no harm to be careful until we find out what kind of a move they 're goin' to make." the men had stopped eating, and they stared at the speaker with open mouths. there were some incredulous eyes among the gazers, too. " i don't believe they'd dare come right out an' do anything," said one. " stay in yore cabin, then," retorted the leader angrily. there was no more demur, and as soon as night had fallen, the negroes did as they were bidden, though the rude, ill-furnished huts con¬ tained little or nothing of value. another precaution taken by the blacks was to leave short candles burning in their dwellings so as to give the impression of occupancy. if noth¬ ing occurred during the night, the lights would go out of themselves and the enemy would be none the wiser as to their vigilance. in the large assembly room the men waited in silence, some drowsing and some smoking. only one candle threw its dim circle of light in the centre of the room, throwing the remainder into denser shadow. the flame flickered and folks from dixie their leader turned on them like a tiger. "you would promise, would you, and then give them a chance to whip you out of the section! go, all of you that want toj but as for me, i ' stay here an' fight it out with the blackguards." the man who had spoken from without had evidently waited for an answer. none coming, his footsteps were heard retreating, and then, without warning, there was a rattling fusillade. some of the shots crashed through the thin pine boarding, and several men were grazed. one struck the man who stood at big sam's side at the window. the blood splashed into the black leader's face, and his companion sunk to the floor with a groan. sam bowles moved from the window a moment and wiped the blood drops from his cheek. he looked down upon the dead man as if the deed had dazed him. then, with a few sharp commands, he turned again to the window. some over-zealous fool among the strikers had fired one of the huts, and the growing flames discovered their foes to the little garrison. " put out that light," ordered big sam. " all of you that can, get to the two front windows — you, toliver, an' you, moten, here with me. at shaft the door was opened, and a moment there¬ after the glare of the lightning was followed by another flash from the doorway. groans, shrieks, and curses rang out as the assailants scampered helter-skelter back to their friendly rocks, leaving more of their dead upon the ground behind them. " that was it," said sam. " that will keep them in check for a while. if we can hold 'em off until daybreak, we are safe." the strikers were now angry and sore and wet through. some of them were wounded. " red " cleary himself had a bullet through his shoulder. but his spirits were not daunted, al¬ though six of his men lay dead upon the ground. a long consultation followed the last unsuccess¬ ful assault. at last cleary said: " well, it won't do any good to stand here talkin'. it's gettin' late, an' if we don't drive 'em out to-night, it's all up with us an' we'd jest as well be lookin' out fur other diggin's. we've got to crawl up as near as we can an' then rush 'em. it's the only way, an' what we ought to done at first. get down on your knees. never mind the mud —better have it under you than over you." the men sank down, and went creeping forward like a swarm of great ponderous vermin. they the deliberation of mr. dunkin the deliberation of mr. dunkin miltonville had just risen to the dignity of being a school town. now, to the uninitiated and unconcerned reader this may appear to be the most unimportant statement in the world; but one who knows miltonville, and realises all the facts in the case, will see that the simple remark is really fraught with mighty import. when for two years a growing village has had to crush its municipal pride and send its knowl¬ edge-seeking youth to a rival town two miles away, when that rival has boasted and vaunted its superiority, when a listless school-board has been unsuccessfully prodded, month after month, then the final decision in favour of the institution and the renting of a room in which to establish it is no small matter. and now fox run, with its most plebeian name but arrogantly aristocratic community, could no longer look down upon miltonville. folks from dixie the coloured population of this town was sufficiently large and influential to merit their having a member on the school-board. but mr. dunkin, the incumbent, had found no employ¬ ment for his energies until within the last two months, when he had suddenly entered the school fight with unwonted zest. now it was an assured thing, and on monday miss callena johnson was to start the fountain of knowledge a-going. this in itself was enough to set the community in a commotion. much had been heard of miss callena before she had been selected as the guiding genius of the new venture. she had even visited fox run, which prided itself greatly on the event. flat¬ tering rumours were afloat in regard to her beauty and brilliancy. she was from lexington. what further recommendation as to her personal charms did she need ? she was to come in on saturday evening, and as the railroad had not deigned to come nearer to miltonville than fox run station, — another thorn in the side of the miltonvillians, — mr. dunkin, as the important official in the affair, was delegated to go and bring the fair one into her kingdom. now, mr. dunkin was a man of deliberation. folks from dixie " why, of co'se, mr. dunkin," said the elegant alonzo, " i shell be happy to adminis- tah any instructions to you dat lies within my powah." mr. taft was a perfect second edition of major richardson bound in black hide. " but," he went on in a tone of dignified banter, " we shell have to keep a eye on you prosp'ous bachelors. you may be castin' sheep- eyes at miss callena." " dat 'u'd be mo' nachul an' fittener in a young man lak you," said mr. dunkin, delib¬ erately. " oh, i has been located in my affections too long to lif' anchor now." "you don' say," said the "prosp'ous bache¬ lor," casting a quick glance at the speaker. " yes, indeed, suh." so they chatted on, and in the course of time the deliberate dunkin got such information as he wished, and departed in the happy conscious¬ ness that on the morrow he should do the proper and only the proper thing. after he was gone, alonzo taft rubbed his chin and mused: " i wonder what ol' man dunkin's got in his head. dey say he's too deliberation of mr. dunkin slow an' thinks too long evah to git married. but you watch dem thinkin' people when dey do make up deir minds." on the morrow, when mr. dunkin went forth, he outshone solomon in all his glory. when he came back, the eyes of all the town saw miss callena johnson, beribboned and smiling, sitting on his right and chatting away vivaciously. as to her looks, the half had not been told. as to her manners, those smiles and head-tossings gave promise o f unheard-of graces, and the hearts of all miltonville throbbed as one. alonzo taft was lounging carelessly on the corner as the teacher and her escort passed along. he raised his hat to them with that sweeping, graceful gesture which was known to but two men in that vicinity, himself and major richardson. after some hesitation as to which hand should retain the reins, mr. dunkin re¬ turned the salute. the next day being sunday, and universal calling-day in miltonville, eli thompson's house, where miss callena had taken up her abode, was filled with guests. all the beaux in town were there, resplendent in their sunday best. many a damsel sat alone that afternoon deliberation of mr. dunkin alonzo taft had seen it. unlike the others, he said nothing to his neighbours. he questioned himself only. to him that smile meant famil¬ iarity, good-fellowship, and a thorough mutual understanding. he looked into the dark, danc¬ ing eyes of miss callena, and in spite of his statement of a few days ago that he had been located too long to " lif' anchor," he felt a pang at his heart that was like the first stab of jealousy. so he was deeply interested that evening when maria, his fellow-servant, told him that mr. dunkin was waiting to see him. he hurried through with his work, even leaving a speck of lint on the major's coat, — an un¬ precedented thing,— and hastened down to his guest. a look of great seriousness and determination was fixed upon the features of the "prosp'ous bachelor " as his host made his appearance and invited him up to his room. mr. dunkin was well seated and had his pipe going before he began: " mistah taf', i alius has 'lowed dat you was a sensible young man an' a pu'son of mo' dan o'dina'y intel'gence." "you flattah me, mistah dunkin, you flattah me, suh." folks from dixie "now i's a man, mistah taf', dat don't do nuffin' in a hu'y. i don' mek up my min' quick 'bout myse'f ner 'bout othah people. but when my min' is made up, it's made up. now i come up hyeah to cornfide in you 'bout some- p'n'. i was mighty glad to hyeah you say de othah day dat yo' 'fections was done sot an' located, because hit meks me free to talk to you 'bout a mattah, seein' dat hit's a mattah of my own 'fections." " this is ve'y int'rustin', mistah dunkin j go )) on. " i's a-cornfidin' in you because you is a young man of presentment an' knows jes' how to pu'sue a co'se of cou'tin'. i unnerstan' dat you is ingaged to miss marfy madison." mr. taft smiled with a sudden accession of modesty, either real or assumed. "now, i ain't nevah had no experunce in cou'tin' ladies, because i nevah 'spected to ma'y. but hit's nachul dat a man should change his min', mistah taf', 'specially 'bout sich a mattah as matermony." " nothin' mo' nachul in de world." " so, when i seed dat it was pos'ble to bring sich a young lady as i hyeahed miss callena deliberation of mr. dunkin johnson was, to miltonville, by jes' havin' a school, i wo'ks to have de school." " oh, dat's de reason you commence to tek sich a int'rus', huh! " the expression slipped from alonzo's lips. "don' narrow me down, mistah taf', don' narrow me down! dat was one o' de rea¬ sons. howsomevah, we has de school an' miss callena is hyeah. so fa' my wo'k is good. but i 'low dat no man dat ain't ex- perunced in cou'tin' ort to tek de 'sponsibility alone." " of co'se not! " said alonzo. " so i t'ought i'd ax you to he'p me by drappin' roun' to miss callena's 'casionally an' puttin' in a word fu' me. i unnerstan' dat women-folks laks to hyeah 'bout de man dat's cou'tin' dem, f'om de outside. now, you kin be of gret suhvice to me, an' you won't lose nothin' by it. jes' manage to let miss callena know 'bout my propity, an' 'bout my hogs an' my hosses an' my chickens, an' dat i's buyin' mo' lan'. drap it kind o' delikit iak. don' mention my name too often. will you he'p me out dat-away ? " " w'y, co'se i will, mr. dunkin. it ' gi' folks from dixie me gret pleasuah to he'p you in dis way, an' i ' be jes' as delikit as anybody kin." "dat's right; dat's right." " i won't mention yo' name too much." " dat's right." " i ' jes' hint an' hint an' hint." " dat's right. you jes' got it right ezactly, an' you sha'n't lose nothin' by it, i tell you." the " prosp'ous bachelor " rose in great ela¬ tion, and shook mr. taft's hand vigorously as he departed. " miss marfy, miss callena: miss callena, miss marfy," repeated mr. taft, as he stood musing after his visitor had gone. it may have been zeal in the cause of his good friend, or it may have been some very natural desire for appreciation of his own merits, that prompted alonzo taft to dress with such extreme care for his visit to miss callena johnson on the next night. he did explain his haste to make the call by telling him¬ self that if he was going to do anything for mr. dunkin he had better be about it. but this anxiety on his protege's account did not explain why he put on his fawn-coloured waist¬ coat, which he had never once worn when visit- deliberation of mr. dunkin martha watched him as he went down the street and faded into the darkness. then she went in and locked her door. " i don't keer," she said to herself, " i don't keer a bit. ef he wants huh, he kin go 'long an' git huh. i'low she'll be glad enough to have him. i ain't gwine to try an' hoi' him a bit." then, to fortify her resolution, she buried her face in her apron and sobbed out the fulness of her heart. mr. taft's good-humour and gallantry came back to him as he knocked at eli thompson's door and asked for the teacher. yes, she was in, and came smiling into the front room to see him. he carefully picked his phrases of greet¬ ing, shook her hand gently, and hoped that she was enjoying good health. alonzo rather prided himself on the elegance of his conversation. his mind rebelled against the idea of having to talk hogs to this divine creature, and for some one else besides. " reely, miss callena, i do' know as de gent'men ought to bothah you by callin' 'roun' in de evenin'. haid wo'k is so hahd dat aftah yo' dooties endurin' de day you mus' be mos' nigh wo' out when night comes." folks from dixie " oh, i assure you you are wrong, mr. taft. i am not very tired, and if i were there is noth¬ ing that rests the mind like agreeable company." and oh, the ravishing smile as she said this ! alonzo felt his head going. " i don't reckon even agreeable company 'u'd res' me aftah labourin' wif some o' de childern you've got in yo' school; i knows 'em." "well, it's true they're not all of them saints." " no, indeed, they 're not saints. i don't see how a slendah, delikit lady like yo'se'f kin man¬ age 'em, 'less 'n you jes' 'spire 'em wif respect." " i can see already," she answered, " that it is going to take something more than inspiration to manage the rising generation of miltonville." here was alonzo's opportunity. he cast his eyes romantically toward the ceiling. " i c'nfess," he said, " dat i am one o' dem dat believes dat yo' sex ought to be mo' fu' o'nament. you ought to have de strong ahms of a man to pertect you an' manage fu' you." if that was a twinkle which for an instant lightened the dark eyes of miss callena, mr. taft did not see it, for his own orbs were still feelingly contemplating the ceiling. folks from dixie joyed dis evenin'. it has been one of de most unctious in all my life. i shell nevah fu'git it so long as i am pu'mitted to remain on dis earth." in return, she said that the pleasure had been mutual, and it had been so kind of him to come in and take her mind off the cares of the day, and she did so hope that he would call again. would he call again ! could he stay away ? he went away walking on air. the beaver was tilted far back on his head, and the cane was more furiously twirled. the blue prince albert was thrown wide, showing the fawn-coloured waistcoat in all its glory. " miss callena, miss marfy, mr. dunkin an' me!" said mr. taft; and he chuckled softly to himself. then he added: " well, i did speak 'bout de bosses an' de hogs an' de lan', did n't i; well, what mo' could i do ? of co'se, i did n't say whose dey was; but he did n't want me to mention no names—jes' to hint, an' i did hint. nobody could n't ask no mo' dan dat." thus does that duplicity which is resident in the hearts of men seek to deceive even itself, making shining virtues of its shadiest acts. deliberation of mr. dunkin " oh, i reckon you an' mistah taf' ' soon be man an' wife, an' hit ain't no hahm fu' de wife to know what de husban' know." " i do' know huccome you say dat; mistah taf' don' have nothin' to say to me; he cou'tin' miss callena johnson." " don' have nothin' to say to you ! cou'tin' miss callena!" " dat's de reason i wants to know huccome you back out." " back out! who back out ? me back out? i ain't nevah backed out: mistah taf' foolin' you." " 't ain' me he's a-foolin'. he may be foolin' some folks, but hit ain't marfy jane madison. la, mistah dunkin, i knows colo'ed folks, i kin shet my eyes an' put my han's on 'em in de da'k. co'se hit ain't none o' my business, but i know he ain't puttin' on his bes' clothes, an' gwine to see dat teachah th'ee times a week, 'less 'n he got notions in his haid. 't ain't in human natur, leastways not colo'ed human natur as i knows it. 't ain't me he's a-foolin'." " do he put on his best clothes an' go th'ee times a week ? " folks from dixie " dat he do, an' ca'ies huh flowahs f'om ol' major richardson's pusservatory besides, an' you ain't makin' a move." "ain't mistah taf' nevah tol' you nothin'?" " tol' me nothin'! no, suhree. what he got to tell me ? " " uh huh ! " said mr. dunkin, thoughtfully. "well, good-night, miss marfy. i's glad i seed you j but i mus' be gittin' along. i got to delibe'ate ovah dis question." " oh, yes ; you go on an' delibe'ate, dat's right, an' while you delibe'atin', mistah tap he walk off wid de lady. but't ain't none o' my business, 't ain't none o' my business." mr. dunkin deliberated as he walked down the street. could there be any truth in martha madison's surmises ? he had talked with alonzo only the day before, and been assured that everything was going right. could it be that his lieutenant was playing him false ? some suspicious circumstances now occurred to his mind. when he had spoken of going himself to see miss callena, he remembered now how alonzo had insisted that he had matters in such a state that the interference of mr. dunkin just at that point would spoil everything. it looked mr james bowden's announcements. third edition. crown ?>o, cloth gilt, gilt top. price s. methodist idylls by harry lindsay. opinions of the press. " a book which in its lovely prose chapters gives an insight into the true romance, the april sunshine, of methodist life. mr harry lindsay has won our gratitude for the string of stories truthfully entitled ' methodist idylls ' which he has just given to the world. . . . we hope that the volume may find its way into every methodist home. ... it is, we conceive, in the very highest degree a useful book."—methodist recorder. " never has the life that is lived among our people been handled more tenderly than in ' methodist idylls ' by harry lindsay. ... a very helpful and right religious book. . . . the reading of it has been a real joy to us."—methodist times. " mr harry lindsay's book < methodist idylls' is a most admirable attempt to throw into permanent form some portraits of the old and vanishing methodist. nothing finer than simeon qandy have i ever met with as the portrait of a good, old-fashioned, genuine ' local,' and the other characters are all so true to life that of at least one or two of them i imagined i had known the originals, although i have never been in gloucestershire in my life."—the sun. " harry lindsay's volume of ' methodist idylls' belongs to the most enduring order of fiction. these unadorned annals of simple life will suit every season and all moods. they are for sunday as well as saturday, and, however much fashions in fiction may change, they will be found to possess a permanent interest and beauty. . . . they deal with the tenderest and holiest emotions of life, and the supreme points of human experience."—dundee advertiser. " simeon, the outspoken, tender-hearted old peasant preacher, is a splendid character."—pall mall gazette. " these ' methodist idylls' arrested our attention on the first page, and held us enthralled to the last, by the sheer force of their consum¬ mate skill and deep human interest. ... in the new fiction which the season has produced we have met nothing so convincing, so thoroughly unaffected, and so faithful to life as the stories which go to make up this book."—the independent and nonconformist. london : io henrietta street, covent garden, w.c. mr james bow den's announcements. a unique and splendid gift book. large croivn vot handsomely bound, cloth gilt, gilt top, s. pictures from the life of nelson by w. clark russell. with a photogravure from the famous " hoppner " portrait, by special permission of h.m. the queen, and eight full-page illustrations. the daily mail says—" mr clark russell catches the attention of the careless with this series of scenes from the hero's story—scenes glowing and vigorous, and so highly coloured with personal matter as to have all the vivid interest of a novel." the revieuu of revie-ws says—" a handsome gift book for any boy who is interested in the sea. . . . full of life and colour; fascinating reading." lord charles beresford says—" think it a splendid boys' book. the advantage of placing nelson's life and work before the great mass of his countrymen (to whom standard works have been forbidden ground on account of their price) cannot be over-rated." second and revised edition. croivn vo, cloth gilt, gilt top, s. d. victorian literature sixty years of books and bookmen by clement k. shorter, author of " charlotte bronte and her circle," &c. the times says—"the cleverest retrospect of the literature of the reign that we have seen." truth says—" mr shorter's ' victorian literature' is a model of the art of putting the greatest number of things in the least possible space, in the neatest possible way, and in the handiest possible manner. it will take a permanent place as the most clear, succinct, well-written, and judicial of handbooks of literary reference." london : io henrietta street, covent garden, iv. c. mr james bow den's announcements. "we put first of the books for girls 'when hearts are young' by deas cromarty."—the christian world on " the season's gift books." crown vo, cloth extra, gilt, is. d. when hearts are young by deas cromarty. with eight illustrations by will morgan. the manchester guardian says— " it is delightful to read. one has come across few recent books that leave a pleasanter impression on the reader's memory." the methodist times says— " deas cromarty . . . comes in a good second to these great writers (barrie and maclaren). there is the freshness of the mountain breezes about the book •which gives zest to the reading of it." the methodist recorder says— "one of the most charming stories of the season. . . this is as truly an ' idyll' as anything tennyson ever •wrote." second edition. small crown vo, tastefully bound, cloth gilt, bevelled boards, gilt edges, s. d. ideals for girls by rev. h. r. haweis, m.a. author of "thoughts for the times," " music and morals," &c. the guardian says— " mr haweis shows an intimate knowledge of girl-nature—of all the little faults and failings, the small aims and ideals, the temptations and besetting sins of the average girl of middle class life. moreover, he tenders his advice in such a pleasant form, and makes his lectures so amusing that most girls will listen to him gladly." the daily news says— " mr haweis is instructive without being what is called ' preachy.' a better book to put in the hands of girls just growing into woman¬ hood could hardly be found." london ; io henrietta street, covent garden, jv.c. f, * i i ' i > "ns. u %ji )! f r ■■'••, x r "-y t v r ? ri ■; s y ! u i n •' . . m-;'' s«# ' iv «i jl ^:?' by . ft.": •<<' ;■■ : '• v ,- ,*' v,; .• ' jmj *«'•. r\i • ; " £ manuscript, archives, and rare nook library cedric dover library emory university charles ® . cfjesntttt. the conjure woman. i mo, $ . . the wife of his youth. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . houghton, mifflin & co. boston and new york. "this is the woman, and i am the man" (page ) the wife of his youth and other stories of the color line by charles w. chesnutt with illustrations by clyde . de land boston and new york houghton, mifflin and company cambribge copyright, , by charles w. chesnutt all rights reserved contents the wife of his youth her virginia mammy . the sheriff's children . a matter of principle cicely's dream the passing of grandison uncle wellington's wives the bouquet. the web of circumstance list of illustrations pagb " this is the woman, and i am the man " (page ) frontispiece "we'll bu's' the do' open" .... perhaps the house had been robbed . . . "for white people only. others please keep out " . . the wife of his youth i mr. ryder was going to give a ball. there were several reasons why this was an opportune time for such an event. mr. ryder might aptly be called the dean of the blue veins. the original blue veins were a little society of colored persons organ¬ ized in a certain northern city shortly after the war. its purpose was to establish and maintain correct social standards among a people whose social condition presented almost unlimited room for improvement. by acci¬ dent, combined perhaps with some natural affinity, the society consisted of individuals who were, generally speaking, more white than black. some envious outsider made the sug¬ gestion that no one was eligible for member¬ ship who was not white enough to show blue veins. the suggestion was readily adopted by those who were not of the favored few, the wife of his youth and since that time the society, though pos¬ sessing a longer and more pretentious name, had been known far and wide as the " blue vein society," and its members as the " blue veins." the blue veins did not allow that any such requirement existed for admission to their cir¬ cle, but, on the contrary, declared that char¬ acter and culture were the only things con¬ sidered ; and that if most of their members were light-colored, it was because such persons, as a rule, had had better opportunities to qualify themselves for membership. opinions differed, too, as to the usefulness of the so¬ ciety. there were those who had been known to assail it violently as a glaring example of the very prejudice from which the colored race had suffered most; and later, when such critics had succeeded in getting on the inside, they had been heard to maintain with zeal and earnestness that the society was a life¬ boat, an anchor, a bulwark and a shield, — a pillar of cloud by day and of fire by night, to guide their people through the social wilder¬ ness. another alleged prerequisite for blue vein membership was that of free birth ; and while there was really no such requirement, it the wife of his youth is doubtless true that very few of the members would have been unable to meet it if there had been. if there were one or two of the older members who had come up from the south and from slavery, their history presented enough romantic circumstances to rob their servile origin of its grosser aspects. while there were no such tests of eligibil¬ ity, it is true that the blue veins had their notions on these subjects, and that not all of them were equally liberal in regard to the things they collectively disclaimed. mr. ryder was one of the most conservative. though he had not been among the founders of the society, but had come in some years later, his genius for social leadership was such that he had speedily become its recognized adviser and head, the custodian of its stand¬ ards, and the preserver of its traditions. he shaped its social policy, was active in provid¬ ing for its entertainment, and when the inter¬ est fell off, as it sometimes did, he fanned the embers until they burst again into a cheerful flame. there were still other reasons for his popu¬ larity. while he was not as white as some of the blue veins, his appearance was such the wife of his youth as to confer distinction upon them. his fea¬ tures were of a refined type, his hair was almost straight; he was always neatly dressed; his manners were irreproachable, and his morals above suspicion. he had come to groveland a young man, and obtaining em¬ ployment in the office of a railroad company as messenger had in time worked himself up to the position of stationery clerk, having charge of the distribution of the office supplies for the whole company. although the lack of early training had hindered the orderly development of a naturally fine mind, it had not prevented him from doing a great deal of reading or from forming decidedly literary tastes. poetry was his passion. he could repeat whole pages of the great english poets; and if his pronunciation was some¬ times faulty, his eye, his voice, his gestures, would respond to the changing sentiment with a precision that revealed a poetic soul and disarmed criticism. he was economical, and had saved money; he owned and occupied a very comfortable house on a respectable street. his residence was handsomely furnished, con¬ taining among other things a good library, especially rich in poetry, a piano, and some the wife of his youth choice engravings. he generally shared his house with some young couple, who looked after his wants and were company for him; for mr. ryder was a single man. in the early days of his connection with the blue y eins he had been regarded as quite a catch, and young ladies and their mothers had manoeuvred with much ingenuity to capture him; not, however, until mrs. molly dixon visited groveland had any woman ever made him wish to change his condition to that of a married man. mrs. dixon had come to groveland from washington in the spring, and before the summer was over she had won mr. ryder's heart. she possessed many attractive quali¬ ties. she was much younger than he; in fact, he was old enough to have been her fa¬ ther, though no one knew exactly how old he was. she was whiter than he, and better ed¬ ucated. she had moved in the best colored society of the country, at washington, and had taught in the schools of that city. such a superior person had been eagerly welcomed to the blue vein society, and had taken a leading part in its activities. mr. ryder had at first been attracted by her charms of per- the wife of his yoxjth son, for she was very good looking and not over twenty-five; then by her refined man¬ ners and the vivacity of her wit. her hus¬ band had been a government clerk, and at his death had left a considerable life insur¬ ance. she was visiting friends in groveland, and, finding the town and the people to her liking, had prolonged her stay indefinitely. she had not seemed displeased at mr. ryder's attentions, but on the contrary had given him every proper encouragement; indeed, a younger and less cautious man would long since have spoken. but he had made up his mind, and had only to determine the time when he would ask her to be his wife. he decided to give a ball in her honor, and at some time during the evening of the ball to offer her his heart and hand. he had no special fears about the outcome, but, with a little touch of romance, he wanted the sur¬ roundings to be in harmony with his own feelings when he should have received the answer he expected. mr. ryder resolved that this ball should mark an epoch in the social history of grove- land. he knew, of course, — no one could know better, — the entertainments that had the wife of his youth taken place in past years, and what must be done to surpass them. his ball must be worthy of the lady in whose honor it was to be given, and must, by the quality of its guests, set an example for the future. he had observed of late a growing liberality, almost a laxity, in social matters, even among members of his own set, and had several times been forced to meet in a social way persons whose complexions and callings in life were hardly up to the standard which he considered proper for the society to maintain. he had a theory of his own. " i have no race prejudice," he would say, " but we people of mixed blood are ground between the upper and the nether millstone. our fate lies between absorption by the white race and extinction in the black. the one does n't want us yet, but may take us in time. the other would welcome us, but it would be for us a backward step. ' with malice to¬ wards none, with charity for all,' we must do the best we can for ourselves and those who are to follow us. self-preservation is the first law of nature." his ball would serve by its exclusiveness to counteract leveling tendencies, and his mar- the wife of his youth riage with mrs. dixon would lielp to further the upward process of absorption he had been wishing and waiting for. n the ball was to take place on friday night. the house had been put in order, the carpets covered with canvas, the halls and stairs de¬ corated with palms and potted plants ; and in the afternoon mr. ryder sat on his front porch, which the shade of a vine running up over a wire netting made a cool and pleasant lounging place. he expected to respond to the toast " the ladies " at the supper, and from a volume of tennyson — his favorite poet — was fortifying himself with apt quo¬ tations. the volume was open at " a dream of fair women." his eyes fell on these lines, and he read them aloud to judge better of their effect: — " at length i saw a lady within call, stiller than chisell'd marble, standing there ; » a daughter of the gods, divinely tall, and most divinely fair." he marked the verse, and turning the page read the stanza beginning, — " o sweet pale margaret, o rare pale margaret." the wife of his youth he weighed the passage a moment, and de¬ cided that it would not do. mrs. dixon was the palest lady he expected at the ball, and she was of a rather ruddy complexion, and of lively disposition and buxom build. so he ran over the leaves until his eye rested on the description of queen guinevere: — "she seem'd a part of joyous spring : a gown of grass-green silk she wore, buckled with golden clasps before ; a light-green tuft of plumes she bore closed in a golden ring. " she look'd so lovely, as she sway'd the rein with dainty finger-tips, a man had given all other bliss, and all his worldly worth for this, to waste his whole heart in one kiss upon her perfect lips." as mr. ryder murmured these words au¬ dibly, with an appreciative thrill, he heard the latch of his gate click, and a light foot¬ fall sounding on the steps. he turned his head, and saw a woman standing before his door. she was a little woman, not five feet tall, and proportioned to her height. although she stood erect, and looked around her with very bright and restless eyes, she seemed the wife of his youth quite old; for her face was crossed and re- crossed with a hundred wrinkles, and around the edges of her bonnet could be seen pro¬ truding here and there a tuft of short gray wool. she wore a blue calico gown of ancient cut, a little red shawl fastened around her shoulders with an old-fashioned brass brooch, and a large bonnet profusely orna¬ mented with faded red and yellow artificial flowers. and she was very black, -— so black that her toothless gums, revealed when she opened her mouth to speak, were not red, but blue. she looked like a bit of the old plan¬ tation life, summoned up from the past by the wave of a magician's wand, as the poet's fancy had called into being the gracious shapes of which mr. ryder had just been reading. he rose from his chair and came over to where she stood. " good-afternoon, madam," he said. " good-evenin', suh," she answered, duck¬ ing suddenly with a quaint curtsy. her voice was shrill and piping, but softened somewhat by age. " is dis yere whar mistuh ryduh lib, suh ? " she asked, looking around her doubtfully, and glancing into the open the wife of his touth windows, through which some of the prepara¬ tions for the evening were visible. " yes," he replied, with an air of kindly patronage, unconsciously flattered by her man¬ ner, " i am mr. ryder. did you want to see me?" " yas, suh, ef i ain't 'sturbin' of you too much." "not at all. have a seat over here behind the vine, where it is cool. what can i do for you?" " 'scuse me, suh," she continued, when she had sat down on the edge of a chair, " 'scuse me, suh, i's lookin' for my husban'. i heerd you wuz a big man an' had libbed heah a long time, an' i 'lowed you would n't min' ef i'd come roun' an' ax you ef you'd ever heerd of a merlatter man by de name er sam taylor 'quirin' roun' in de chu'ches ermongs' de people fer his wife 'liza jane?" mr. ryder seemed to think for a moment. " there used to be many such cases right after the war," he said, "but it has been so long that i have forgotten them. there are very few now. but tell me your story, and it may refresh my memory." she sat back farther in her chair so as to the wife of his youth be more comfortable, and folded her withered hands in her lap. " my name's 'liza," she began, " 'liza jane. wen i wuz young i us'ter b'long ter marse bob smif, down in ole missoura. i wuz bawn down dere. wen i wuz a gal i wuz married ter a man named jim. but jim died, an' after dat i married a merlatter man named sam taylor. sam wuz free- bawn, but his mammy and daddy died, an' de w'ite folks 'prenticed him ter my marster fer ter work fer 'im 'tel he wuz growed up. sam worked in de fiel', an' i wuz de cook. one day ma'y ann, ole miss's maid, came rushin' out ter de kitchen, an' says she, ' 'liza jane, ole marse gwine sell yo' sam down de ribber.' "' go way f'm yere,' says i; ' my hus- ban' 's free !' "'don' make no diff'ence. i heerd ole marse tell ole miss he wuz gwine take yo' sam 'way wid 'im ter-morrow, fer he needed money, an' he knowed whar he could git a t'ousan' dollars fer sam an' no questions axed.' " wen sam come home f'm de fiel' dat night, i tole him 'bout ole marse gwine the wife of his youth steal 'im, an' sam run erway. his time wuz mos' up, an' he swo' dat w'en he wuz twenty- one he would come back an' he'p me run erway, er else save up de money ter buy my freedom. an' i know he'd 'a' done it, fer he thought a heap er me, sam did. but w'en he come back he did n' fin' me, fer i wuz n' dere. ole marse had heerd dat i warned sam, so he had me whip' an' sol' down de ribber. " den de wah broke out, an' w'en it wuz ober de cullud folks wuz scattered. i went back ter de ole home; but sam wuz n' dere, an* i could n' l'arn nuffin' 'bout 'im. but i knowed he'd be'n dere to look fer me an' had n' foun' me, an' had gone erway ter hunt fer me. " i's be'n lookin' fer 'im eber sence," she added simply, as though twenty-five years were but a couple of weeks, "an' i knows he's be'n lookin' fer me. fer he sot a heap er sto' by me, sam did, an' i know he's be'n huntin' fer me all dese years, — 'less'n he's be'n sick er sump'n, so he could n' work, er out'n his head, so he could n' 'member his promise. i went back down de ribber, fer i 'lowed he'd gone down dere lookin' fer me. the wife of his youth i's be'n ter noo orleens, an' atlanty, an' charleston, an' richmon'; an' w'en i 'd be'n all ober de souf i come ter de norf. fer i knows i ' fin' 'im some er dese days," sbe added softly, " er he ' fin' me, an' den we ' bofe be as happy in freedom as we wuz in de ole days befo' de wah." a smile stole over her withered countenance as she paused a mo¬ ment, and her bright eyes softened into a far¬ away look. this was the substance of the old woman's story. she had wandered a little here and there. mr. ryder was looking at her curi¬ ously when she finished. " how have you lived all these years ? " he asked. " cookin', suh. i's a good cook. does you know anybody w'at needs a good cook, suh ? i's stoppin' wid a cullud fam'ly roun' de corner yonder 'tel i kin git a place." "do you really expect to find your hus¬ band ? he may be dead long ago." she shook her head emphatically. " oh no, he ain' dead. de signs an' de tokens tells me. i dremp three nights runnin' on'y dis las' week dat i foun' him." "he may have married another woman. the wife of his youth your slave marriage would not have pre¬ vented him, for you never lived with him after the war, and without that your marriage does n't count." " would n' make no diff'ence wid sam. he would n' marry no yuther 'ooman 'tel he foun' out 'bout me. i knows it," she added. " sump'n's be'n tellin' me all dese years dat i's gwine fin' sam 'fo' i dies." " perhaps he's outgrown you, and climbed up in the world where he would n't care to have you find him." " no, indeed, suh," she replied, " sam am' dat kin' er man. he wuz good ter me, sam wuz, but he wuz n' much good ter nobody e'se, fer he wuz one er de triflin'es' han's on de plantation. i 'spec's ter haf ter suppo't im w'en i fin' 'im, fer he nebber would work 'less'n he had ter. but den he wuz free, an' he did n' git no pay fer his work, an' i don' blame 'im much. mebbe he's done better sence he run erway, but i ain' 'spectin' much." "you may have passed -him on the street a hundred times during the twenty-five years, and not have known him; time works great changes." she smiled incredulously. " i'd know 'im the wife of his youth 'mongs* a hund'ed men. fer dey wuz n' no yuther merlatter man like my man sam, an' i could n' be mistook. i's toted his picture roun' wid me twenty-five years." "may i see it?" asked mr. ryder. "it might help me to remember whether i have seen the original." as she drew a small parcel from her bosom he saw that it was fastened to a string that went around her neck. removing several wrappers, she brought to light an old- fashioned daguerreotype in a black case. he looked long and intently at the portrait. it was faded with time, but the features* were still distinct, and it was easy to see what man¬ ner of man it had represented. he closed the case, and with a slow move¬ ment handed it back to her. " i don't know of any man in town who goes by that name," he said, " nor have i heard of any one making such inquiries. but if you will leave me your address, i will give the matter some ^attention, and if i find out anything i will let you know." she gave him the number of a house in the neighborhood, and went away, after thanking him warmly. the wife of his youth he wrote the address on the fly-leaf o£ the volume of tennyson, and, when she had gone, rose to his feet and stood looking after her curiously. as she walked down the street with mincing step, he saw several persons whom she passed turn and look back at her with a smile of kindly amusement. when she had turned the corner, he went upstairs to his bedroom, and stood for a long time be¬ fore the mirror of his dressing-case, gazing thoughtfully at the reflection of his own face. ill at eight o'clock the ballroom was a blaze of light and the guests had begun to as¬ semble; for there was a literary programme and some routine business of the society to be gone through with before the dancing. a black servant in evening dress waited at the door and directed the guests to the dress¬ ing-rooms. the occasion was long memorable among the colored people of the city; not alone for the dress and display, but for the high aver¬ age of intelligence and culture that distin¬ guished the gathering as a whole. there the wife of his youth " the last toast," said the toast-master, when he reached the end of the list, " is one which must appeal to us all. there is no one of us of the sterner sex who is not at some time dependent upon woman, — in infancy for protection, in manhood for companion¬ ship, in old age for care and comforting. our good host has been trying to live alone, but the fair faces i see around me to-night prove that he too is largely dependent upon the gentler sex for most that makes life worth living, — the society and love of friends, — and rumor is at fault if he does not soon yield entire subjection to one of them. mr. ryder will now respond to the toast,— the ladies." there was a pensive look in mr. ryder's eyes as he took the floor and adjusted his eye¬ glasses. he began by speaking of woman as the gift of heaven to man, and after some general observations on the relations of the sexes he said: " but perhaps the quality which most distinguishes woman is her fidelity and devotion to those she loves. history is full of examples, but has recorded none more striking than one which only to-day came under my notice." he then related, simply but effectively, the the wife of his youth story told by his visitor of the afternoon. he gave it in the same soft dialect, which came readily to his lips, while the company listened attentively and sympathetically. for the story had awakened a responsive thrill in many hearts. there were some present who had seen, and others who had heard their fathers and grandfathers tell, the wrongs and sufferings of this past generation, and all of them still felt, in their darker moments, the shadow hanging over them. mr. ryder went on: — " such devotion and confidence are rare even among women. there are many who would have searched a year, some who would have waited five years, a few who might have hoped ten years; but for twenty-five years this woman has retained her affection for and her faith in a man she has not seen or heard of in all that time. " she came to me to-day in the hope that i might be able to help her find this long-lost husband. and when she was gone i gave my fancy rein, and imagined a case i will put to you. "suppose that this husband, soon after his escape, had learned that his wife had been the wife of his youth sold away, and that such inquiries as he could make brought no information of her where¬ abouts. suppose that he was young, and she much older than he; that he was light, and she was black; that their marriage was a slave marriage, and legally binding only if they chose to make it so after the war. sup¬ pose, too, that he made his way to the north, as some of us have done, and there, where he had larger opportunities, had improved them, and had in the course of all these years grown to be as different from the ignorant boy who ran away from fear of slavery as the day is from the night. suppose, even, that he had qualified himself, by industry, by thrift, and by study, to win the friendship and be con¬ sidered worthy the society of such people as these i see around me to-night, gracing my board and filling my heart with gladness; for i am old enough to remember the day when such a gathering would not have been possible in this land. suppose, too, that, as the years went by, this man's memory of the past grew more and more indistinct, until at last it was rarely, except in his dreams, that any image of this bygone period rose before his mind. and then suppose that accident the wife of his youth should bring to his knowledge the fact that the wife of his youth, the wife he had left behind him, — not one who had walked by his side and kept pace with him in his upward struggle, but one upon whom advancing years and a laborious life had set their mark, — was alive and seeking him, but that he was absolutely safe from recognition or dis¬ covery, unless he chose to reveal himself. my friends, what would the man do ? i will presume that he was one who loved honor, and tried to deal justly with all men. i will even carry the case further, and suppose that perhaps he had set his heart upon another, whom he had hoped to call his own. what would he do, or rather what ought he to do, in such a crisis of a lifetime ? " it seemed to me that he might hesitate, and i imagined that i was an old friend, a near friend, and that he had come to me for advice; and i argued the case with him. i tried to discuss it impartially. after we had looked upon the matter from every point of view, i said to him, in words that we all know: — i this above all: to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.' the wife of his youth then, finally, i put the question to him,c shall you acknowledge her ?' " and now, ladies and gentlemen, friends and companions, i ask you, what should he have done?" there was something in mr. ryder's voice that stirred the hearts of those who sat around him. it suggested more than mere sympathy with an imaginary situation ; it seemed rather in the nature of a personal appeal. it was observed, too, that his look rested more espe¬ cially upon mrs. dixon, with a mingled ex¬ pression of renunciation and inquiry. she had listened, with parted lips and streaming eyes. she was the first to speak: " he should have acknowledged her." "yes," they all echoed, "he should have acknowledged her." " my friends and companions," responded mr. ryder, " i thank you, one and all. it is the answer i expected, for i knew your hearts." he turned and walked toward the closed door of an adjoining room, while every eye followed him in wondering curiosity. he came back in a moment, leading by the hand his visitor of the afternoon, who stood startled her virginia mammy i the pianist had struck up a lively two-step, and soon the floor was covered with couples, each turning on its own axis, and all revolving around a common centre, in obedience per¬ haps to the same law of motion that governs the planetary systems. the dancing-hall was a long room, with a waxed floor that glistened with the reflection of the lights from the chandeliers. the walls were hung in paper of blue and white, above a varnished hard wood wainscoting; the monotony of surface being broken by numerous windows draped with curtains of dotted muslin, and by occa¬ sional engravings and colored pictures repre¬ senting the dances of various nations, judi¬ ciously selected. the rows of chairs along the two sides of the room were left unoc¬ cupied by the time the music was well under way, for the pianist, a tall colored woman with long fingers and a muscular wrist, played her virginia mammy with a verve and a swing that set the feet of the listeners involuntarily in motion. the dance was sure to occupy the class for a quarter of an hour at least, and the little dancing-mistress took the opportunity to slip away to her own sitting-room, which was on the same floor of the block, for a few minutes of rest. her day had been a hard one. there had been a matinee at two o'clock, a children's class at four, and at eight o'clock the class now on the floor had assembled. when she reached the sitting-room she gave a start of pleasure. a young man rose at her entrance, and advanced with both hands extended — a tall, broad-shouldered, fair-haired young man, with a frank and kindly countenance, now lit up with the ani¬ mation of pleasure. he seemed about twenty- six or twenty-seven years old. his face was of the type one instinctively associates with intellect and character, and it gave the im¬ pression, besides, of that intangible some¬ thing which we call race. he was neatly and carefully dressed, though his clothing was not without indications that he found it neces¬ sary or expedient to practice economy. " good-evening, clara," he said, taking her her virginia mammy hands in his ; " i 've been waiting for you five minutes. i supposed you would be in, but if you had been a moment later i was going to the hall to look you up. you seem tired to¬ night/' he added, drawing her nearer to him and scanning her features at short range. " this work is too hard; you are not fitted for it. when are you going to give it up ? " " the season is almost over," she answered, u and then i shall stop for the summer." he drew her closer still and kissed her lov¬ ingly. " tell me, clara," he said, looking down into her face, — he was at least a foot taller than she, —" when i am to have my answer." " will you take the answer you can get to¬ night ? " she asked with a wan smile. " i will take but one answer, clara. but do not make me wait too long for that. why, just think of it! i have known you for six months." " that is an extremely long time," said clara, as they sat down side by side. " it has been an age," he rejoined. "for a fortnight of it, too, which seems longer than all the rest, i have been waiting for my answer. i am turning gray under the sus- her virginia mammy pense. seriously, clara dear, what shall it be? or rather, when shall it be? for to the other question there is but one answer possible." he looked into her eyes, which slowly filled with tears. she repulsed him gently as he bent over to kiss them away. " you know i love you, john, and why i do not say what you wish. you must give me a little more time to make up my mind be¬ fore i can consent to burden you with a name¬ less wife, one who does not know who her mother was " — " she was a good woman, and beautiful, if you are at all 'like her." " or her father " — - he was a gentleman and a scholar, if you inherited from him your mind or your man¬ ners." " it is good of you to say that, and i try to believe it. but it is a serious matter; it is a dreadful thing to have no name." " you are known by a worthy one, which was freely given you, and is legally yours." " i know— and i am grateful for it. after all, though, it is not my real name; and since i have learned that it was not, it seems like a garment —something external, accessory, and her virginia mammy not a part of myself. it does not mean what one's own name would signify." <e take mine, clara, and make it yours ; i lay it at your feet. some honored men have borne it." " ah yes, and that is what makes my posi¬ tion the harder. your great-grandfather was governor of connecticut." " i have heard my mother say so." and one of your ancestors came over in the mayflower." " in some capacity — i have never been quite clear whether as ship's cook or before the mast." " now you are insincere, john ; but you cannot deceive me. you never spoke in that way about your ancestors until you learned that i had none. i know you are proud of them, and that the memory of the governor and the judge and the harvard professor and the mayflower pilgrim makes you strive to excel, in order to prove • yourself worthy of them." " it did until i met you, clara. now the one inspiration of my life is the hope to make you mine." " and your profession ? " her virginia mammy " it will furnish me the means to take you out of this; you are not fit for toil." " and your book — your treatise that is to make you famous ? " " i have worked twice as hard on it and accomplished twice as much since i have hoped that you might share my success." " oh ! if. i but knew the truth ! " she sighed, " or could find it out! i realize that i am absurd, that i ought to be happy. i love my parents — my foster-parents — dearly. i owe them everything. mother — poor, dear mother! — could not have loved me better or cared for me more faithfully had i been her own child. yet — i am ashamed to say it — i always felt that i was not like them, that there was a subtle difference between us. they were contented in prosperity, resigned in misfortune ; i was ever restless, and filled with vague ambitions. they were good, but dull. they loved me, but they never said so. i feel that there is warmer, richer blood cours¬ ing in my veins than the placid stream that crept through theirs." " there will never be any such people to me as they were," said her lover, " for they took you and brought you up for me." her virginia mammy c< sometimes," she went on dreamily, " i feel sure that i am of good family, and the blood of my ancestors seems to call to me in clear and certain tones. then again when my mood changes, i am all at sea — i feel that even if i had but simply to turn my hand to learn who i am and whence i came, i should shrink from taking the step, for fear that what i might learn would leave me for¬ ever unhappy." " dearest," he said, taking her in his arms, while from the hall and down the corridor came the softened strains of music, " put aside these unwholesome fancies. your past is shrouded in mystery. take my name, as you have taken my love, and i ' make your future so happy that you won't have time to think of the past. what are a lot of musty, mouldy old grandfathers, compared with life and love and happiness? it's hardly good form to mention one's ancestors nowadays, and what's the use of them at all if one can't boast of them ? " " it's all very well of you to talk that way," she rejoined. " but suppose you should marry me, and when you become famous and rich, and patients flock to your office, and her virginia mammy fashionable people to your home, and every one wants to know who you are and whence you came, you ' be obliged to bring out the governor, and the judge, and the rest of them. if you should refrain, in order to forestall embarrassing inquiries about my ancestry, i should have deprived you of something you are entitled to, something which has a real social value. and when people found out all about you, as they eventually would from some source, they would want to know — we americans are a curious people — who your wife was, and you could only say " — " the best and sweetest woman on earth, whom i love unspeakably." " you know that is not what i mean. you could only say — a miss nobody, from no¬ where." " a miss hohlfelder, from cincinnati, the only child of worthy german parents, who fled from their own country in ' to escape polit¬ ical persecution — an ancestry that one surely need not be ashamed of." " no ; but the consciousness that it was not true would be always with me, poisoning my mind, and darkening my life and yours/' " your views of life are entirely too tragic, her virginia mammy clara," the young man argued soothingly. "we are all worms of the dust, and if we go back far enough, each of us has had millions of ancestors; peasants and serfs, most of them; thieves, murderers, and vagabonds, many of them, no doubt; and therefore the best of us have but little to boast of. yet we are all made after god's own image, and formed by his hand, for his ends; and therefore not to be lightly despised, even the humblest of us, least of all by ourselves. for the past we can claim no credit, for those who made it died with it. our destiny lies in the future." "yes," she sighed, " i know all that. but i am not like you. a woman is not like a man ; she cannot lose herself in theories and generalizations. and there are tests that even all your philosophy could not endure. sup¬ pose you should marry me, and then some time, by the merest accident, you should learn that my origin was the worst it could be — that i not only had no name, but was not entitled to one." " i cannot believe it," he said,<e and from what we do know of your history it is hardly possible. if i learned it, i should forget it, unless, perchance, it should enhance your her virginia mammy value in my eyes, by stamping you as a rare work of nature, an exception to the law of heredity, a triumph of pure beauty and good¬ ness over the grosser limitations of matter. i cannot imagine, now that i know you, anything that could make me love you less. i would marry you just the same — even if you were one of your dancing-class to¬ night." " i must go back to them," said clara, as the music ceased. "my answer," he urged, "give me my answer!" " not to-night, john," she pleaded. " grant me a little longer time to make up my mind — for your sake." " not for my sake, clara, no." " well— for mine." she let him take her in his arms and kiss her again. " i have a patient yet to see to-night," he said as he went out. "if i am not detained too long, i may come back this way — if i see the lights in the hall still burning. do not wonder if i ask you again for my answer, for i shall be unhappy until i get it." her virginia mammy ii a stranger entering the hall with miss hohlfelder would have seen, at first glance, only a company of well-dressed people, with nothing to specially distinguish them from ordinary humanity in temperate climates. after the eye had rested for a moment and begun to separate the mass into its compo¬ nent parts, one or two dark faces would have arrested its attention ; and with the sug¬ gestion thus offered, a closer inspection would have revealed that they were nearly all a little less than white. with most of them this fact would not have been noticed, while they were alone or in company with one an¬ other, though if a fair white person had gone among them it would perhaps have been more apparent. from the few who were undis- tinguishable from pure white, the colors ran down the scale by minute gradations to the two or three brown faces at the other ex¬ tremity. it was miss hohlfelder's first colored class. she had been somewhat startled when first asked to take it. no person of color had ever applied to her for lessons; and while a woman her virginia mammy of that race had played the piano for her for several months, she had never thought of colored people as possible pupils. so when she was asked if she would take a class of twenty or thirty, she had hesitated, and begged for time to consider the application. she knew that several of the more fashion¬ able dancing-schools tabooed all pupils, singly or in classes, who labored under social disabili¬ ties — and this included the people of at least one other race who were vastly farther along in the world than the colored people of the community where miss hohlfelder lived. personally she had no such prejudice, except perhaps a little shrinking at the thought of personal contact with the dark faces of whom americans always think when " colored peo¬ ple " are spoken of. again, a class of forty pupils was not to be despised, for she taught for money, which was equally current and desirable, regardless of its color. she had consulted her foster-parents, and after them her lover. her foster-parents, who were ger¬ man-born, and had never become thoroughly americanized, saw no objection. as for her lover, he was indifferent. " do as you please," he said. " it may her virginia mammy drive away some other pupils. if it should break up the business entirely, perhaps you might be willing to give me a chance so much the sooner." she mentioned the matter to one or two other friends, who expressed conflicting opin¬ ions. she decided at length to take the class, and take the consequences. " i don't think it would be either right or kind to refuse them for any such reason, and i don't believe i shall lose anything by it." she was somewhat surprised, and pleasantly so, when her class came together for their first lesson, at not finding them darker and more uncouth. her pupils were mostly peo¬ ple whom she would have passed on the street without a second glance, and among them were several whom she had known by sight for years, but had never dreamed of as being colored people. their manners were good, they dressed quietly and as a rule with good taste, avoiding rather than choosing bright colors and striking combinations — whether from natural preference, or because of a slightly morbid shrinking from criticism, of course she could not say. among them, the dancing-mistress soon learned, there were law- her virginia mammy jers and doctors, teachers, telegraph operators, clerks, milliners and dressmakers, students of the local college and scientific school, and, somewhat to her awe at the first meeting, even a member of the legislature. they were mostly young, although a few light - hearted older people joined the class, as much for company as for the dancing. " of course, miss hohlfelder," explained mr. solomon sadler, to whom the teacher had paid a compliment on the quality of the class, " the more advanced of us are not numerous enough to make the fine distinctions that are possible among white people ; and of course as we rise in life we can't get entirely away from our brothers and our sisters and our cousins, who don't always keep abreast of us. we do, however, draw certain lines of charac¬ ter and manners and occupation. you see the sort of people we are. of course we have no prejudice against color, and we regard all labor as honorable, provided a man does the best he can. but we must have standards that will give our people something to aspire to." the class was not a difficult one, as many of the members were already fairly good her virginia mammy dancers. indeed the class had been formed as much for pleasure as for instruction. music and hall rent and a knowledge of the latest dances could be obtained cheaper in this way than in any other. the pupils had made rapid progress, displaying in fact a natural aptitude for rhythmic motion, and a keen susceptibility to musical sounds. as their race had never been criticised for these characteristics, they gave them full play, and soon developed, most of them, into graceful and indefatigable dancers. they were now almost at the end of their course, and this was the evening of the last lesson but one. miss hohlfelder had remarked to her lover more than once that it was a pleasure to teach them. " they enter into the spirit of it so thoroughly, and they seem to enjoy them¬ selves so much." " one would think," he suggested, " that the whitest of them would find their position painful and more or less pathetic ; to be so white and yet to be classed as black — so near and yet so far." " they don't accept our classification blindly. they do not acknowledge any in¬ feriority ; they think they are a great deal her virginia mammy miss hohlfelder felt a sudden yearning for sympathy. perhaps it was the gentle tones of the greeting; perhaps the kindly expression of the soft though faded eyes that were scan¬ ning miss hohlfelder's features. the woman was of the indefinite age between forty and fifty. there were lines on her face which, if due to years, might have carried her even past the half-century mark, but if caused by trouble or ill health might leave her some¬ what below it. she was quietly dressed in black, and wore her slightly wavy hair low over her ears, where it lay naturally in the ripples which some others of her sex so sedulously seek by art. a little woman, of clear olive complexion and regular features, her face was almost a perfect oval, except as time had marred its outline. she had been in the habit of coming to the class with some young women of the family she lived with, part boarder, part seamstress and friend of the family. sometimes, while waiting for her young charges, the music would jar her nerves, and she would seek the comparative quiet of the dressing-room. " oh, i'm all right, mrs. harper," replied the dancing-mistress, with a brave attempt at her vib gin i a mammy cheerfulness, — "just a little tired, after a hard day's work." she sat down on the couch by the elder woman's side. mrs. harper took her hand and stroked it gently, and clara felt soothed and quieted by her touch. " there are tears in your eyes and trouble in your face. i know it, for i have shed the one and known the other. tell me, child, what ails you? i am older than you, and perhaps i have learned some things in the hard school of life that may be of comfort or service to you." such a request, coming from a comparative stranger, might very properly have been re¬ sented or lightly parried. but clara was not what would be called self-contained. her griefs seemed lighter when they were shared with others, even in spirit. there was in her nature a childish strain that craved sympathy and comforting. she had never known — or if so it was only in a dim and dreamlike past — the tender, brooding care that was her conception of a mother's love. mrs. hohlfelder had been fond of her in a placid way, and had given her every com¬ fort and luxury her means permitted. clara's her virginia mammy ideal of maternal love had been of another and more romantic type; she had thought o£ a fond, impulsive mother, to whose bosom she could fly when in trouble or distress, and to whom she could communicate her sorrows and trials; who would dry her tears and soothe her with caresses. now, when even her kind foster-mother was gone, she felt still more the need of sympathy and companion¬ ship with her own sex; and when this little mrs. harper spoke to her so gently, she felt her heart respond instinctively. " yes, mrs. harper," replied clara with a sigh, " i am in trouble, but it is trouble that you nor any one else can heal." " you do not know, child. a simple remedy can sometimes cure a very grave complaint. tell me your trouble, if it is something you are at liberty to tell." " i have a story," said clara, " and it is a strange one, — a story i have told to but one other person, one very dear to me." " he must be dear to you indeed, from the tone in which you speak of him. your very accents breathe love." "yes, i love him, and if you saw him — perhaps you have seen him, for he has looked her virginia mammy ally my name. in fact i do not know my real name, for i am not the daughter of mr. and mrs. hohlfelder, but only an adopted child. while mrs. hohlfelder lived, i never knew that i was not her child. i knew i was very different from her and father, — i mean mr. hohlfelder. i knew they were fair and i was dark; they were stout and i was slen¬ der ; they were slow and i was quick. but of course i never dreamed of the true reason of this difference. when mother — mrs. hohlfelder — died, i found among her things one day a little packet, carefully wrapped up, containing a child's slip and some trinkets. the paper wrapper of the packet bore an in¬ scription that awakened my curiosity. i asked father hohlfelder whose the things had been, and then for the first time i learned my real story. " i was not their own daughter, he stated, but an adopted child. twenty-three years ago, when he had lived in st. louis, a steam¬ boat explosion had occurred up the river, and on a piece of wreckage floating down stream, a girl baby had been found. there was nothing on the child to give a hint of its home or parentage; and no one came to claim iier virginia mammy it, though the fact that a child had been found was advertised all along the river. it was believed that the infant's parents must have perished in the wreck, and certainly no one of those who were saved could identify the child. there had been a passenger list on board the steamer, but the list, with the officer who kept it, had been lost in the acci¬ dent. the child was turned over to an or¬ phan asylum, from which within a year it was adopted by the two kind-hearted and childless german people who brought it up as their own. i was that child." the woman seated by clara's side had listened with strained attention. " did you learn the name of the steamboat ? " she asked quietly, but quickly, when clara paused. " the pride of st. louis," answered clara. she did not look at mrs. harper, but was gazing dreamily toward the front, and there¬ fore did not see the expression that sprang into the other's face, — a look in which hope struggled with fear, and yearning love with both, — nor the strong effort with which mrs. harper controlled herself and moved not one muscle while the other went on. " i was never sought," clara continued, her virginia mammy "and the good people who brought me up gave me every care. father and mother — i can never train my tongue to call them any¬ thing else — were very good to me. when they adopted me they were poor; he was a pharmacist with a small shop. later on he moved to cincinnati, where he made and sold a popular 'patent' medicine and amassed a fortune. then i went to a fashionable school, was taught french, and deportment, and dan¬ cing. father hohlfelder made some bad investments, and lost most of his money. the patent medicine fell off in popularity. a year or two ago we came to this city to live. father bought this block and opened the little drug store below. we moved into the rooms upstairs. the business was poor, and i felt that i ought to do something to earn money and help support the family. i could dance; we had this hall, and it was not rented all the time, so i opened a dancing-school." "tell me, child," said the other woman, with restrained eagerness, "what were the things found upon you when you were taken from the river ? " "yes," answered the girl, "i will. but i have not told you all my story, for this is but her virginia mammy the prelude. about a year ago a young doc¬ tor rented an office in our block. we met each, other, at first only now and then, and afterwards oftener; and six months ago he told me that he loved me." she paused, and sat with half opened lips and dreamy eyes, looking back into the past six months. " and the things found upon you " — " yes, i will show them to you when you have heard all my story. he wanted to marry me, and has asked me every week since. i have told him that i love him, but i have not said i would marry him. i don't think it would be right for me to do so, unless i could clear up this mystery. i believe he is going to be great and rich and famous, and there might come a time when he would be ashamed of me. i don't say that i shall never marry him; for i have hoped—i have a presenti¬ ment that in some strange way i shall find out who i am, and who my parents were. it may be mere imagination on my part, but somehow i believe it is more than that." " are you sure there was no mark on the things that were found upon you ? " said the elder woman. her virginia mammy " ah yes," sighed clara, " i am sure, for i have looked at them a hundred times. they tell me nothing , and yet they suggest to me many things. come," she said, taking the other by the hand, " and i will show them to you." she led the way along the hall to her sit¬ ting-room, and to her bedchamber beyond. it was a small room hung with paper showing a pattern of morning-glories on a light ground, with dotted muslin curtains, a white iron bed¬ stead, a few prints on the wall, a rocking- chair— a very dainty room. she went to the maple dressing-case, and opened one of the drawers. as they stood for a moment, the mirror re¬ flecting and framing their image, more than one point of resemblance between them was emphasized. there was something of the same oval face, and in clara's hair a faint suggestion of the wave in the older wo¬ man's ; and though clara was fairer of com¬ plexion, and her eyes were gray and the other's black, there was visible, under the in¬ fluence of the momentary excitement, one of those indefinable likenesses which are at times encountered, — sometimes marking blood re- her virginia mammy lationship, sometimes the impress of a common training; in one case perhaps a mere earmark of temperament, and in another the index of a type. except for the difference in color, one might imagine that if the younger woman were twenty years older the resemblance would be still more apparent. clara reached her hand into the drawer and drew out a folded packet, which she un¬ wrapped, mrs. harper following her move¬ ments meanwhile with a suppressed intensity of interest which clara, had she not been absorbed in her own thoughts, could not have failed to observe. when the last fold of paper was removed there lay revealed a child's muslin slip. clara lifted it and shook it gently until it was un¬ folded before their eyes. the lower half was delicately worked in a lacelike pattern, revealing an immense amount of patient labor. the elder woman seized the slip with hands which could not disguise their trembling. scanning the garment carefully, she seemed to be noting the pattern of the needlework, and then, pointing to a certain spot, ex¬ claimed : — her virginia mammy " i thought so ! i was sure of it! do you not see the letters — m. s. ? " " oh, how wonderful!" clara seized the slip in turn and scanned the monogram. " how strange that you should see that at once and that i should not have discovered it, who have looked at it a hundred times ! and here," she added, opening a small pack¬ age which had been inclosed in the other, "is my coral necklace. perhaps your keen eyes can find something in that." it was a simple trinket, at which the older woman gave but a glance — a glance that added to her emotion. " listen, child," she said, laying her trem¬ bling hand on the other's arm. "it is all very strange and wonderful, for that slip and necklace, and, now that i have seen them, your face and your voice and your ways, all tell me who you are. your eyes are your father's eyes, your voice is your father's voice. the slip was worked by your mother's hand." " oh ! " cried clara, and for a moment the whole world swam before her eyes. " i was on the pride of st. louis, and i knew your father — and your mother." clara, pale with excitement, burst into tears, her virginia mammy and would have fallen had not the other wo¬ man caught her in her arms. mrs. harper placed her on the couch, and, seated by her side, supported her head on her shoulder. her hands seemed to caress the young woman with every touch. " tell me, oh, tell me all!" clara de¬ manded, when the first wave of emotion had subsided. " who were my father and my mother, and who ami?" the elder woman restrained her emotion with an effort, and answered as composedly as she could, — " there were several hundred passengers on the pride of st. louis when she left cincin¬ nati on that fateful day, on her regular trip to new orleans. your father and mother were on the boat — and i was on the boat. we were going down the river, to take ship at new orleans for france, a country which your father loved." " who was my father? " asked clara. the woman's words fell upon her ear like water on a thirsty soil. "your father was a virginia gentleman, and belonged to one of the first families, the staffords, of melton county." her virginia mammy clara drew herself up unconsciously, and into her face there came a frank expression of pride which became it wonderfully, setting off a beauty that needed only this to make it all but perfect of its type. "i knew it must be so," she murmured. " i have often felt it. blood will always tell. and my mother ? " "your mother — also belonged to one of the first families of virginia, and in her veins flowed some of the best blood of the old do¬ minion." " what was her maiden name ? " " mary fairfax. as i was saying, your father was a virginia gentleman. he was as handsome a man as ever lived, and proud, oh, so proud ! — and good, and kind. he was a graduate of the university and had studied abroad." " my mother — was she beautiful ? " " she was much admired, and your father loved her from the moment he first saw her. your father came back from europe, upon his father's sudden death, and entered upon his inheritance. but he had been away from virginia so long, and had read so many books, that he had outgrown his home. he did not her virginia mammy believe that slavery was right, and one of the first things he did was to free his slaves. his views were not popular, and he sold out his lands a year before the war, with the inten¬ tion of moving to europe." " in the mean time he had met and loved and married my mother ? " " in the mean time he had met and loved your mother." " my mother was a virginia belle, was she not? " " the fairfaxes," answered mrs. harper, " were the first of the first families, the bluest of the blue-bloods. the miss fairfaxes were all beautiful and all social favorites." " what did my father do then, when he had sold out in virginia?" " he went with your mother and you — you were then just a year old — to cincinnati, to settle up some business connected with his estate. when he had completed his business, he embarked on the pride of st. louis with you and your mother and a colored nurse." "and how did you know about them?" asked clara. " i was one of the party. i was " — her virginia mammy " you were the colored nurse ? — my ' mammy,' they would have called you in my old virginia home ? " " yes, child, i was — your mammy. upon my bosom you have rested ; my breasts once gave you nourishment; my hands once min¬ istered to you; my arms sheltered you, and my heart loved you and mourned you like a mother loves and mourns her firstborn." " oh, how strange, how delightful!" ex¬ claimed clara. " now i understand why you clasped me so tightly, and were so agitated when i told you my story. it is too good for me to believe. i am of good blood, of an old and aristocratic family. my presenti¬ ment has come true. i can marry my lover, and i shall owe all my happiness to you. how can i ever repay you ? " " you can kiss me, child, kiss your mammy." their lips met, and they were clasped in each other's arms. one put into the embrace all of her new-found joy, the other all the suppressed feeling of the last half hour, which in turn embodied the unsatisfied yearning of many years. the music had ceased and the pupils had her virginia mammy left the hall. mrs. harper's charges had sup¬ posed her gone, and had left for home with¬ out her. but the two women, sitting in clara's chamber, hand in hand, were oblivious to external things and noticed neither the hour nor the cessation of the music. " why, dear mammy," said the young woman musingly, " did you not find me, and restore me to my people ? " " alas, child ! i was not white, and when i was picked up from the water, after floating miles down the river, the man who found me kept me prisoner for a time, and, there being no inquiry for me, pretended not to believe that i was free, and took me down to new orleans and sold me as a slave. a few years later the war set me free. i went to st. louis but could find no trace of you. i had hardly dared to hope that a child had been saved, when so many grown men and women had lost their lives. i made such inquiries as i could, but all in vain." " did you go to the orphan asylum ? " " the orphan asylum had been burned and with it all the records. the war had scattered the people so that i could find no one who knew about a lost child saved from a river her virginia mammy wreck. there were many orphans in those days, and one more or less was not likely to dwell in the public mind." " did you tell my people in virginia ? " " they, too, were scattered by the war. your uncles lost their lives on the battlefield. the family mansion was burned to the ground. your father's remaining relatives were reduced to poverty, and moved away from virginia." " what of my mother's people ? " " they are all dead. god punished them. they did not love your father, and did not wish him to marry your mother. they helped to drive him to his death." " i am alone in the world, then, without kith or kin," murmured clara, " and yet, strange to say, i am happy. if i had known my people and lost them, i should be sad. they are gone, but they have left me their name and their blood. i would weep for my poor father and mother if i were not so glad." just then some one struck a chord upon the piano in the hall, and the sudden breaking of the stillness recalled clara's attention to the lateness of the hour. " i had forgotten about the class," she ex¬ claimed. " i must go and attend to them." her virginia mammy they walked along the corridor and entered the hall. dr. winthrop was seated at the piano, drumming idly on the keys. " i did not know where you had gone," he said. " i knew you would be around, of course, since the lights were not out, and so i came in here to wait for you." " listen, john, i have a wonderful story to tell you." then she told him mrs. harper's story. he listened attentively and sympathetically, at certain points taking his eyes from clara's face and glancing keenly at mrs. harper, who was listening intently. as he looked from one to the other he noticed the resemblance between them, and something in his expression caused mrs. harper's eyes to fall, and then glance up appealingly. " and now," said clara, " i am happy. i know my name. i am a virginia stafford. i belong to one, yes, to two of what were the first families of virginia. john, my family is as good as yours. if i remember my history correctly, the cavaliers looked down upon the roundheads." " i admit my inferiority," he replied. " if you are happy i am glad." see virginia mammy " clara stafford," mused the girl. " it is a pretty name." " you will never have to use it," her lover declared, " for now you will take mine." " then i shall have nothing left of all that i have found " — " except your husband," asserted dr. win- throp, putting his arm around her, with an air of assured possession. mrs. harper was looking at them with moistened eyes in which joy and sorrow, love and gratitude, were strangely blended. clara put out her hand to her impulsively. " and my mammy," she cried, " my dear virginia mammy." the sheriff's children branson county, north carolina, is in a sequestered district of one of the staidest and most conservative states of the union. society in branson county is almost primitive in its simplicity. most of the white people own the farms they till, and even before the war there were no very wealthy families to force their neighbors, by comparison, into the category of " poor whites." to branson county, as to most rural com¬ munities in the south, the war is the one his¬ torical event that overshadows all others. it is the era from which all local chronicles are dated, — births, deaths, marriages, storms, freshets. no description of the life of any southern community would be perfect that failed to emphasize the all pervading influ¬ ence of the great conflict. yet the fierce tide of war that had rushed through the cities and along the great highways of the country had comparatively the sheriff's children speaking but slightly disturbed the sluggish current of life in this region, remote from railroads and navigable streams. to the north in virginia, to the west in tennessee, and all along the seaboard the war had raged; but the thunder of its cannon had not disturbed the echoes of branson county, where the loudest sounds heard were the crack of some hunter's rifle, the baying of some deep-mouthed hound, or the yodel of some tuneful negro on his way through the pine forest. to the east, sherman's army had passed on its march to the sea; but no straggling band of " bummers " had pene¬ trated the confines of branson county. the war, it is true, had robbed the county of the flower of its young manhood ; but the burden of taxation, the doubt and uncertainty of the conflict, and the sting of ultimate defeat, had been borne by the people with an apathy that robbed misfortune of half its sharpness. the nearest approach to town life afforded by branson county is found in the little vil¬ lage of troy, the county seat, a hamlet with a population of four or five hundred. ten years make little difference in the appearance of these remote southern towns. the sheriff's childben if a railroad is built through one of them, it infuses some enterprise; the social corpse is galvanized by the fresh blood of civilization that pulses along the farthest ramifications of our great system of commercial highways. at the period of which i write, no railroad had come to troy. if a traveler, accustomed to the bustling life of cities, could have rid¬ den through troy on a summer day, he might easily have fancied himself in a de¬ serted village. around him he would have seen weather-beaten houses, innocent of paint, the shingled roofs in many instances covered with a rich growth of moss. here and there he would have met a razor-backed hog lazily rooting his way along the principal thorough¬ fare ; and more than once be would probably have had to disturb the slumbers of some yellow dog, dozing away the hours in the ardent sunshine, and reluctantly yielding up his place in the middle of the dusty road. on saturdays the village presented a some¬ what livelier appearance, and the shade trees around the court house square and along front street served as hitching-posts for a goodly number of horses and mules and stunted oxen, belonging to the farmer-folk the sheriff's children wlio had come in to trade at the two or three local stores. a murder was a rare event in branson county. every well-informed citizen could tell the number of homicides committed in the county for fifty years back, and whether the slayer, in any given instance, had escaped, either by flight or acquittal, or had suffered the penalty of the law. so, when it became known in troy early one friday morning in summer, about ten years after the war, that old captain walker, who had served in mex¬ ico under scott, and had left an arm on the field of gettysburg, had been foully murdered during the night, there was intense excite¬ ment in the village. business was practically suspended, and the citizens gathered in little groups to discuss the murder, and speculate upon the identity of the murderer. it tran¬ spired from testimony at the coroner's inquest, held during the morning, that a strange mu¬ latto had been seen going in the direction of captain walker's house the night before, and had been met going away from troy early friday morning, by a farmer on his way to town. other circumstances seemed to con¬ nect the stranger with the crime. the sheriff the sheriff's children organized a posse to search for him, and early in the evening, when most of the citizens of troy were at supper, the suspected man was brought in and lodged in the county jail. by the following morning the news of the capture had spread to the farthest limits of the county. a much larger number of peo¬ ple than usual came to town that saturday, — bearded men in straw hats and blue homespun shirts, and butternut trousers of great ampli¬ tude of material and vagueness of outline; women in homespun frocks and slat-bonnets, with faces as expressionless as the dreary sandhills which gave them a meagre suste¬ nance. the murder was almost the sole topic of conversation. a steady stream of curious observers visited the house of mourning, and gazed upon the rugged face of the old veteran, now stiff and cold in death; and more than one eye dropped a tear at the remembrance of the cheery smile, and the joke — sometimes superannuated, generally feeble, but always good-natured — with which the captain had been wont to greet his acquaintances. there was a growing sentiment of anger among these stern men, toward the murderer who the sheriff's children had thus cut down their friend, and a strong feeling that ordinary justice was too slight a punishment for such a crime. toward noon there was an informal gather¬ ing of citizens in dan tyson's store. "i hear it 'lowed that square kyahtah's too sick ter hoi' co'te this evenin'," said one, " an' that the purlim'nary hearin' ' haf ter go over 'tel nex' week." a look of disappointment went round the crowd. " hit's the durndes', meanes' murder ever committed in this caounty," said another, with moody emphasis. " i s'pose the nigger 'lowed the cap'n had some greenbacks," observed a third speaker. " the cap'n," said another, with an air of superior information, " has left two bairls of confedrit money, which he 'spected 'ud be good some day er nuther." this statement gave rise to a discussion of the speculative value of confederate money ; but in a little while the conversation returned to the murder. " hangin' air too good fer the murderer," said one ; " he oughter be burnt, stidier bein' hung." the sheriff's children there was an impressive pause at this point, during which a jug of moonlight whiskey went the round of the crowd. " well/' said a round-shouldered farmer, who, in spite of his peaceable expression and faded gray eye, was known to have been one of the most daring followers of a rebel guerrilla chieftain, " what air yer gwine ter do about it? ef you fellers air gwine ter set down an' let a wuthless nigger kill the bes' white man in branson, an' not say nuthin' ner do nuthin', i'll move outen the caounty." this speech gave tone and direction to the rest of the conversation. whether the fear of losing the round-shouldered farmer oper¬ ated to bring about the result or not is im¬ material to this narrative ; but, at all events, the crowd decided to lynch the negro. they agreed that this was the least that could be done to avenge the death of their murdered friend, and that it was a becoming way in which to honor his memory. they had some vague notions of the majesty of the law and the rights of the citizen, but in the passion of the moment these sunk into oblivion ; a white man had been killed by a negro. " the cap'n was an ole sodger," said one the sheriff's children of his friends solemnly. " he ' sleep better when he knows that a co'te-martial has be'n hilt an' jestice done." by agreement the lynchers were to meet at tyson's store at five o'clock in the afternoon, and proceed thence to the jail, which was situated down the lumberton dirt road (as the old turnpike antedating the plank-road was called), about half a mile south of the court-house. when the preliminaries of the lynching had been arranged, and a committee appointed to manage the affair, the crowd dispersed, some to go to their dinners, and some to secure recruits for the lynching party. it was twenty minutes to five o'clock, when an excited negro, panting and perspiring, rushed up to the back door of sheriff camp¬ bell's dwelling, which stood at a little distance from the jail and somewhat farther than the latter building from the court-house. a tur- baned colored woman came to the door in re¬ sponse to the negro's knock. " hoddy, sis' nance." " hoddy, brer sam." " is de shurff in," inquired the negro. " yas, brer sam, he's eatin' his dinner," was the answer. the sheriff's children " will yer ax 'im ter step ter de do' a min¬ ute, sis' nance ? " the woman went into the dining-room, and a moment later the sheriff came to the door. he was a tall, muscular man, of a ruddier complexion than is usual among southerners. a pair of keen, deep-set gray eyes looked out from under bushy eyebrows, and about his mouth was a masterful expression, which a full beard, once sandy in color, but now pro¬ fusely sprinkled with gray, could not entirely conceal. the day was hot; the sheriff had discarded his coat and vest, and had his white shirt open at the throat. " what do you want, sam ? " he inquired of the negro, who stood hat in hand, wiping the moisture from his face with a ragged shirt-sleeve. "shurff, dey gwine ter hang de pris'ner w'at's lock' up in de jail. dey 're comin' dis a-way now. i wuz layin' down on a sack er corn down at de sto', behine a pile er flour- bairls, w'en i hearn doc' cain en kunnel wright talkin' erbout it. i slip' outen de back do', en run here as fas' as i could. i hearn you say down ter de sto' once't dat you would n't let nobody take a pris'ner 'way the sheriff's children fum you widout walkin' over yo' dead body, en i thought i'd let you know 'fo' dey come, so yer could pertec' de pris'ner." the sheriff hstened calmly, but his face grew firmer, and a determined gleam lit up his gray eyes. his frame grew more erect, and he unconsciously assumed the attitude of a soldier who momentarily expects to meet the enemy face to face. " much obliged, sam," he answered. " i ' protect the prisoner. who's coming ? " " i dunno who-all is comin'," replied the negro. " dere's mistah mcswayne, en doc' cain, en maje' mcdonal', en kunnel wright, en a heap er yuthers. i wuz so skeered i done furgot mo' d'n half un em. i spec' dey mus' be mos' here by dis time, so i ' git outen de way, fer i don' want no¬ body fer ter think i wuz mix' up in dis busi¬ ness." the negro glanced nervously down the road toward the town, and made a move¬ ment as if to go away. "won't you have some dinner first?" asked the sheriff. the negro looked longingly in at the open door, and sniffed the appetizing odor of boiled pork and collards. the sheriff's children u i ain't got no time fer ter tarry, shurff," he said, "but sis' nance mought gin me sump'n i could kyar in my han' en eat on de way." a moment later nancy brought him a huge sandwich of split corn-pone, with a thick slice of fat bacon inserted between the halves, and a couple of baked yams. the negro hastily replaced his ragged hat on his head, dropped the yams in the pocket of his capacious trou¬ sers, and, taking the sandwich in his hand, hurried across the road and disappeared in the woods beyond. the sheriff reentered the house, and put on his coat and hat. he then took down a double-barreled shotgun and loaded it with buckshot. filling the chambers of a revolver with fresh cartridges, he slipped it into the pocket of the sack-coat which he wore. a comely young woman in a calico dress watched these proceedings with anxious sur¬ prise. " where are you going, father ?" she asked. she had not heard the conversation with the negro. "i am goin' over to the jail," responded the sheriff. " there's a mob comin' this way the sheriff's children to lynch the nigger we've got locked up. but they won't do it," he added, with em¬ phasis. " oh, father! don't go!" pleaded the girl, clinging to his arm; " they'll shoot you if you don't give him up." "you never mind me, polly," said her father reassuringly, as he gently unclasped her hands from his arm. " i ' take care of myself and the prisoner, too. there ain't a man in branson county that would shoot me. besides, i have faced fire too often to be scared away from my duty. you keep close in the house," he continued, " and if any one disturbs you just use the old horse-pistol in the top bureau drawer. it's a little old-fashioned, but it did good work a few years ago." the young girl shuddered at this sanguin¬ ary allusion, but made no further objection to her father's departure. the sheriff of branson was a man far above the average of the community in wealth, education, and social position. his had been one of the few families in the county that before the war had owned large estates and numerous slaves. he had gradu¬ ated at the state university at chapel hill, the sheriff's children and had kept up some acquaintance with cur¬ rent literature and advanced thought. he had traveled some in his youth, and was looked up to in the county as an authority on all subjects connected with the outer world. at first an ardent supporter of the union, he had opposed the secession movement in his native state as long as opposition availed to stem the tide of public opinion. yielding at last to the force of circumstances, he had en¬ tered the confederate service rather late in the war, and served with distinction through several campaigns, rising in time to the rank of colonel. after the war he had taken the oath of allegiance, and had been chosen by the people as the most available candidate for the office of sheriff, to which he had been elected without opposition. he had filled the office for several terms, and was universally popular with his constituents. colonel or sheriff campbell, as he was in¬ differently called, as the military or civil title happened to be most important in the opin¬ ion of the person addressing him, had a high sense of the responsibility attaching to his office. he had sworn to do his duty faith¬ fully, and he knew what his duty was, as the sheriff's children sheriff, perhaps more clearly than he had ap¬ prehended it in other passages of his life. it was, therefore, with no uncertainty in regard to his course that he prepared his weapons and went over to the jail. he had no fears for polly's safety. the sheriff had just locked the heavy front door of the jail behind him when a half dozen horsemen, followed by a crowd of men on foot, came round a bend in the road and drew near the jail. they halted in front of the picket fence that surrounded the build¬ ing, while several of the committee of ar¬ rangements rode on a few rods farther to the sheriff's house. one of them dismounted and rapped on the door with his riding-whip. " is the sheriff at home ? " he inquired. "no, he has just gone out," replied polly, who had come to the door. "we want the jail keys," he continued. " they are not here," said polly. " the sheriff has them himself." then she added, with assumed indifference, " he is at the jail now." the man turned away, and polly went into the front room, from which she peered anx¬ iously between the slats of the green blinds the sheriff's children of a window that looked toward the jail. meanwhile the messenger returned to his companions and announced his discovery. it looked as though the sheriff had learned of their design and was preparing to resist it. one of them stepped forward and rapped on the jail door. " well, what is it? " said the sheriff, from within. "we want to talk to you, sheriff," replied the spokesman. there was a little wicket in the door; this the sheriff opened, and answered through it. " all right, boys, talk away. you are all strangers to me, and i don't know what busi¬ ness you can have." the sheriff did not think it necessary to recognize anybody in particular on such an occasion; the question of identity sometimes comes up in the inves¬ tigation of these extra-judicial executions. "we're a committee of citizens and we want to get into the jail." " what for ? it ain't much trouble to get into jail. most people want to keep out." the mob was in no humor to appreciate a joke, and the sheriff's witticism fell dead upon an unresponsive audience. the sheriff's children "we want to have a talk with the nigger that killed cap'n walker." " you can talk to that nigger in the court¬ house, when he's brought out for trial. court will be in session here next week. i know what you fellows want, but you can't get my prisoner to-day. do you want to take the bread out of a poor man's mouth? i get seventy-five cents a day for keeping this pris¬ oner, and he's the only one in jail. i can't have my family suffer just to please you fellows." one or two young men in the crowd laughed at the idea of sheriff campbell's suffering for want of seventy-five cents a day; but they were frowned into silence by those who stood near them. " ef yer don't let us in," cried a voice, " we ' buv the do' open." " bust away," answered the sheriff, raising his voice so that all could hear. "but i give you fair warning. the first man that tries it will be filled with buckshot. i'm sheriff of this county; i know my duty, and i mean to do it." " what's the use of kicking, sheriff ?" argued one of the leaders of the mob. " the the sheriff's children nigger is sure to hang anyhow; he richly deserves it; and we 've got to do something to teach the niggers their places, or white people won't be able to live in the county." " there's no use talking, boys," responded the sheriff. " i'm a white man outside, but in this jail i'm sheriff; and if this nigger 's to be hung in this county, i propose to do the hanging. so you fellows might as well right-about-face, and march back to troy. you've had a pleasant trip, and the exercise will be good for you. you know me. i've got powder and ball, and i've faced fire before now, with nothing between me and the enemy, and i don't mean to surrender this jail while i'm able to shoot." having thus announced his determination, the sheriff closed and fastened the wicket, and looked around for the best position from which to defend the building. the crowd drew off a little, and the leaders conversed together in low tones. the branson county jail was a small, two- story brick building, strongly constructed, with no attempt at architectural ornamenta¬ tion. each story was divided into two large cells by a passage running from front to rear. "we'll bu's' the do' open" the sheriff's children a grated iron door gave entrance from the passage to each of the four cells. the jail seldom had many prisoners in it, and the lower windows had been boarded up. when the sheriff had closed the wicket, he ascended the steep wooden stairs to the upper floor. there was no window at the front of the upper passage, and the most available position from which to watch the movements of the crowd below was the front window of the cell occu¬ pied by the solitary prisoner. the sheriff unlocked the door and entered the cell. the prisoner was crouched in a cor¬ ner, his yellow face, blanched with terror, looking ghastly in the semi-darkness of the room. a cold perspiration had gathered on his forehead, and his teeth were chattering with affright. " for god's sake, sheriff," he murmured hoarsely, te don't let 'em lynch me; i did n't kill the old man." the sheriff glanced at the cowering wretch with a look of mingled contempt and loathing. " get up," he said sharply. " you will probably be hung sooner or later, but it shall not be to-day, if i can help it. i ' unlock your fetters, and if i can't hold the jail, you ' the sheriff's children have to make the best fight you can. if i'm shot, i ' consider my responsibility at an end." there were iron fetters on the prisoner's ankles, and handcuffs on his wrists. these the sheriff unlocked, and they fell clanking to the floor. " keep back from the window," said the sheriff. " they might shoot if they saw you." the sheriff drew toward the window a pine bench which formed a part of the scanty fur¬ niture of the cell, and laid his revolver upon it. then he took his gun in hand, and took his stand at the side of the window where he could with least exposure of himself watch the movements of the crowd below. the lynchers had not anticipated any deter¬ mined resistance. of course they had looked for a formal protest, and perhaps a sufficient show of opposition to excuse the sheriff in the eye of any stickler for legal formalities. they had not however come prepared to fight a battle, and no one of them seemed will¬ ing to lead an attack upon the jail. the leaders of the party conferred together with a good deal of animated gesticulation, which was visible to the sheriff from his outlook, the sheriff's children though the distance was too great for him to hear what was said. at length one of them broke away from the group, and rode back to the main body of the lynchers, who were rest¬ lessly awaiting orders. " well, boys," said the messenger, " we ' have to let it go for the present. the sheriff says he ' shoot, and he's got the drop on us this time. there ain't any of us that want to follow cap'n walker jest yet. be¬ sides, the sheriff is a good fellow, and we don't want to hurt 'im. but," he added, as if to reassure the crowd, which began to show signs of disappointment, " the nigger might as well say his prayers, for he ain't got long to live." there was a murmur of dissent from the mob, and several voices insisted that an attack be made on the jail. but pacific counsels finally prevailed, and the mob sullenly with¬ drew. the sheriff stood at the window until they had disappeared around the bend in the road. he did not relax his watchfulness when the last one was out of sight. their withdrawal might be a mere feint, to be followed by a further attempt. so closely, indeed, was his attention drawn to the outside, that he neither the sheriff's children saw nor heard the prisoner creep stealthily across the floor, reach out his hand and secure the revolver which lay on the bench behind the sheriff, and creep as noiselessly back to his place in the corner of the room. a moment after the last of the lynching party had disappeared there was a shot fired from the woods across the road; a bullet whistled by the window and buried itself in the wooden casing a few inches from where the sheriff was standing. quick as thought, with the instinct born of a semi-guerrilla army experience, he raised his gun and fired twice at the point from which a faint puff of smoke showed the hostile bullet to have been sent. he stood a moment watching, and then rested his gun against the window, and reached be¬ hind him mechanically for the other weapon. it was not on the bench. as the sheriff real¬ ized this fact, he turned his head and looked into the muzzle of the revolver. " stay where you are, sheriff," said the prisoner, his eyes glistening, his faee almost ruddy with excitement. the sheriff mentally cursed his own care¬ lessness for allowing him to be caught in such a predicament. he had not expected anything the sheriff's children life, but for how long ? when you came in, you said court would sit next week. when the crowd went away they said i had not long to live. it is merely a choice of two ropes." " while there's life there's hope," replied the sheriff. he uttered this commonplace mechanically, while his brain was busy in try¬ ing to think out some way of escape. " if you are innocent you can prove it." the mulatto kept his eye upon the sheriff. " i did n't kill the old man," he replied; "but i shall never be able to clear myself. i was at his house at nine o'clock. i stole from it the coat that was on my back when i was taken. i would be convicted, even with a fair trial, unless the real murderer were dis¬ covered beforehand." the sheriff knew this only too well. while he was thinking what argument next to use, the prisoner continued: — " throw me the keys — no, unlock the door." the sheriff stood a moment irresolute. the mulatto's eye glittered ominously. the sheriff crossed the room and unlocked the door leading into the passage. " now go down and unlock the outside door." the sheriff's children the heart of the sheriff leaped within him. perhaps he might make a dash for liberty, and gain the outside. he descended the narrow stairs, the prisoner keeping close be¬ hind him. the sheriff inserted the huge iron key into the lock. the rusty bolt yielded slowly. it still remained for him to pull the door open. " stop! " thundered the mulatto, who seemed to divine the sheriff's purpose. "move a muscle, and i ' blow your brains out." the sheriff obeyed; he realized that his chance had not yet come. "now keep on that side of the passage, and go back upstairs." keeping the sheriff under cover of the re¬ volver, the mulatto followed him up the stairs. the sheriff expected the prisoner to lock him into the cell and make his own escape. he had about come to the conclusion that the best thins: he could do under the circumstances was to submit quietly, and take his chances of recapturing the prisoner after the alarm had been given. the sheriff had faced death more than once upon the battlefield. a few minutes before, well armed, and with a brick wall between him and them he had dared a the sheriffs children hundred men to fight; but he felt instinc¬ tively that the desperate man confronting him was not to be trifled with, and he was too prudent a man to risk his life against such heavy odds. he had polly to look after, and there was a limit beyond which devotion to duty would be quixotic and even foolish. " i want to get away," said the prisoner, " and i don't want to be captured; for if i am i know i will be hung on the spot. i am afraid," he added somewhat reflectively, u that in order to save myself i shall have to kill you." " good god!" exclaimed the sheriff in involuntary terror; " you would not kill the man to whom you owe your own life." " you speak more truly than you know," replied the mulatto. " i indeed owe my life to you." the sheriff started. he was capable of surprise, even in that moment of extreme peril. " who are you?" he asked in amaze¬ ment. " tom, cicely's son," returned the other. he had closed the door and stood talking to the sheriff through the grated opening. " don't you remember cicely — cicely whom the sheriff's children you sold, with her child, to the speculator on his way to alabama ? " the sheriff did remember. he had been sorry for it many a time since. it had been the old story of debts, mortgages, and bad crops. he had quarreled with the mother. the price offered for her and her child had been unusually large, and he had yielded to the combination of anger and pecuniary stress. " good god! " he gasped, " you would not murder your own father ? " " my father ? " replied the mulatto. " it 'were well enough for me to claim the relation¬ ship, but it comes with poor grace from you to ask anything by reason of it. what father's duty have you ever performed for me? did you give me your name, or even your protection ? other white men gave their colored sons freedom and money, and sent them to the free states. you sold me to the rice swamps." " i at least gave you the life you cling to," murmured the sheriff. " life ? " said the prisoner, with a sarcastic laugh. "what kind of a life? you gave me your own blood, your own features, — no the sheriff's children man need look at us together twice to see that, — and you gave me a black mother. poor wretch ! she died under the lash, be¬ cause she had enough womanhood to call her soul her own. you gave me a white man's spirit, and you made me a slave, and crushed it out." " but you are free now," said the sheriff. he had not doubted, could not doubt, the mulatto's word. he knew whose passions coursed beneath that swarthy skin and burned in the black eyes opposite his own. he saw in this mulatto what he himself might have become hadt not the safeguards of parental restraint and public opinion been thrown around him. " free to do what ? " replied the mulatto. " free in name, but despised and scorned and set aside by the people to whose race i belong far more than to my mother's." " there are schools," said the sheriff. " you have been to school." he had noticed that the mulatto spoke more eloquently and used better language than most branson county people. " i have been to school, and dreamed when i went that it would work some marvelous the sheriff's children change in my condition. but what did i learn ? i learned to feel that no degree of learning or wisdom will change the color of my skin and that i shall always wear what in my own country is a badge of degradation. when i think about it seriously i do not care particularly for such a life. it is the animal in me, not the man, that flees the gallows. i owe you nothing," he went on, " and expect nothing of you; and it would be no more than justice if i should avenge upon you my mother's wrongs and my own. but still i hate to shoot you; i have never yet taken human life — for i did not kill the old cap¬ tain. will you promise to give no alarm and make no attempt to capture me until morn¬ ing, if i do not shoot ? " so absorbed were the two men in their col¬ loquy and their own tumultuous thoughts that neither of them had heard the door below move upon its hinges. neither of them had heard a light step come stealthily up the stairs, nor seen a slender form creep along the dark¬ ening passage toward the mulatto. the sheriff hesitated. the struggle be¬ tween his love of life and his sense of duty was a terrific one. it may seem strange that the sheriff's children woods. it would do you no good to have it known that you were shot while attempting to escape." the prisoner uttered no word of thanks or apology, but sat in sullen silence. when the wounded arm had been bandaged, polly and her father returned to the house. the sheriff was in an unusually thoughtful mood that evening. he put salt in his coffee at supper, and poured vinegar over his pan¬ cakes. to many of polly's questions he re¬ turned random answers. when he had gone to bed he lay awake for several hours. in the silent watches of the night, when he was alone with god, there came into his mind a flood of unaccustomed thoughts. an hour or two before, standing face to face with death, he had experienced a sensation similar to that which drowning men are said to feel — a kind of clarifying of the moral faculty, in which the veil of the flesh, with its obscur¬ ing passions and prejudices, is pushed aside for a moment, and all tke acts of one's life stand out, in the clear light of truth, in their correct proportions and relations, — a state of mind in which one sees himself as god may be supposed to see him. in the reaction the sheriff's children following his rescue, this feeling had given place for a time to far different emotions. but now, in the silence of midnight, some¬ thing of this clearness of spirit returned to the sheriff. he saw that he had owed some duty to this son of his,— that neither law nor custom could destroy a responsibility inherent in the nature of mankind. he could not thus, in the eyes of god at least, shake off the consequences of his sin. had he never sinned, this wayward spirit would never have come back from the vanished past to haunt him. as these thoughts came, his anger against the mulatto died away, and in its place there sprang up a great pity. the hand of paren¬ tal authority might have restrained the pas¬ sions he had seen burning in the prisoner's eyes when the desperate man spoke the words which had seemed to doom his father to death. the sheriff felt that he might have saved this fiery spirit from the slough of slavery; that he might have sent him to the free north, and given him there, or in some other land, an opportunity to turn to usefulness and honor¬ able pursuits the talents that had run to crime, perhaps to madness ; he might, still less, have given this son of his the poor simulacrum of the sheriff's children liberty which men of his caste could possess in a slave-holding community ; or least of all, but still something, he might have kept the boy on the plantation, where the burdens of slavery would have fallen lightly upon him. the sheriff recalled his own youth. he had inherited an honored name to keep un¬ tarnished ; he had had a future to make ; the picture of a fair young bride had beckoned him on to happiness. the poor wretch now stretched upon a pallet of straw between the brick walls of the jail had had none of these things, — no name, no father, no mother — in the true meaning of motherhood, — and un¬ til the past few years no possible future, and then one vague and shadowy in its outline, and dependent for form and substance upon the slow solution of a problem in which there were many unknown quantities. from what he might have done to what he might yet do was an easy transition for the awakened conscience of the sheriff. it oc¬ curred to him, purely as a hypothesis, that he might permit his prisoner to escape ; but his oath of office, his duty as sheriff, stood in the way of such a course, and the sheriff dis¬ missed the idea from his mind. he could, however, investigate the circumstances of the the sheriff's children murder, and move heaven and earth to discover the real criminal, for he no longer doubted the prisoner's innocence ; he could employ counsel for the accused, and perhaps influence public opinion in his favor. an acquittal once secured, some plan could be devised by which the sheriff might in some degree atone for his crime against this son of his — against society — against god. when the sheriff had reached this con¬ clusion he fell into an unquiet slumber, from which he awoke late the next morning. he went over to the jail before breakfast and found the prisoner lying on his pallet, his face turned to the wall; he did not move when the sheriff rattled the door. " good-morning," said the latter, in a tone intended to waken the prisoner. there was no response. the sheriff looked more keenly at the recumbent figure; there was an unnatural rigidity about its attitude. he hastily unlocked the door and, entering the cell, bent over the prostrate form. there was no sound of breathing; he turned the body over — it was cold and stiff. the pris¬ oner had torn the bandage from his wound and bled to death during the night. he had evidently been dead several hours. a matter of principle i " what our country needs most in its treat¬ ment of the race problem," observed mr. cicero clayton at one of the monthly meetings of the blue vein society, of which he was a prominent member, "is a clearer conception of the brotherhood of man." the same sentiment in much the same words had often fallen from mr. clayton's lips, — so often, in fact, that the younger members of the society sometimes spoke of him — among themselves of course — as " brotherhood clayton." the sobriquet derived its point from the application he made of the principle involved in this oft- repeated proposition. the fundamental article of mr. clayton's social creed was that he himself was not a negro. " i know," he would say, " that the white people lump us all together as negroes, and a matter of principle condemn us all to the same social ostracism. but i don't accept this classification, for my part, and i imagine that, as the chief party in interest, i have a right to my opinion. people who belong by half or more of their blood to the most virile and progressive race of modern times have as much right to call themselves white as others have to call them negroes." mr. clayton spoke warmly, for he was well informed, and had thought much upon the subject; too much, indeed, for he had not been able to escape entirely the tendency of too much concentration upon one subject to make even the clearest minds morbid. " of course we can't enforce our claims, or protect ourselves from being robbed of our birthright; but we can at least have princi¬ ples, and try to live up to them the best we can. if we are not accepted as white, we can at any rate make it clear that we object to being called black. our protest cannot fail in time to impress itself upon the better class of white people; for the anglo-saxon race loves justice, and will eventually do it, where it does not conflict with their own interests." whether or not the fact that mr. clayton a matter of principle meant no sarcasm, and was conscious of no inconsistency in this eulogy, tended to estab¬ lish the racial identity he claimed may safely be left to the discerning reader. in living up to his creed mr. clayton de¬ clined to associate to any considerable extent with black people. this was sometimes a little inconvenient, and occasionally involved a sacrifice of some pleasure for himself and his family, because they would not attend en¬ tertainments where many black people were likely to be present. but they had a social refuge in a little society of people like them¬ selves ; they attended, too, a church, of which nearly all the members were white, and they were connected with a number of the religious and benevolent associations open to all good citizens, where they came into contact with the better class of white people, and were treated, in their capacity of members, with a courtesy and consideration scarcely differ¬ ent from that accorded to other citizens. mr. clayton's racial theory was not only logical enough, but was in his own case backed up by substantial arguments. he had begun life with a small patrimony, and had invested his money in a restaurant, which by careful a matter of principle and judicious attention had grown from a cheap eating-house into the most popular and successful confectionery and catering estab¬ lishment in groveland. his business occupied a double store on oakwood avenue. he owned houses and lots, and stocks and bonds, had good credit at the banks, and lived in a style befitting his income and business stand¬ ing. in person he was of olive complexion, with slightly curly hair. his features ap¬ proached the cuban or latin-american type rather than the familiar broad characteris¬ tics of the mulatto, this suggestion of some¬ thing foreign being heightened by a vandyke beard and a carefully waxed and pointed mustache. when he walked to church on sunday mornings with his daughter alice, they were a couple of such striking appearance as surely to attract attention. miss alice clayton was queen of her social set. she was young, she was handsome. she was nearly white; she frankly confessed her sorrow that she was not entirely so. she was accomplished and amiable, dressed in good taste, and had for her father by all odds the richest colored man — the term is used with apologies to mr. clayton, explaining that it a matter of principle does not necessarily mean a negro — in grove- land. so pronounced was her superiority that really she had but one social rival worthy of the name, — miss lura watkins, whose fa¬ ther kept a prosperous livery stable and lived in almost as good style as the claytons. miss watkins, while good-looking enough, was not so young nor quite so white as miss clayton. she was popular, however, among their mu¬ tual acquaintances, and there was a good- natured race between the two as to which should make the first and best marriage. marriages among miss clayton's set were serious affairs. of course marriage is always a serious matter, whether it be a success or a failure, and there are those who believe that any marriage is better than no marriage. but among miss clayton's friends and associates matrimony took on an added seriousness be¬ cause of the very narrow limits within which it could take place. miss clayton and her friends, by reason of their assumed superiority to black people, or perhaps as much by rea¬ son of a somewhat morbid shrinking from the curiosity manifested toward married people of strongly contrasting colors, would not marry black men, and except in rare instances white a matter of principle men would not marry them. they were therefore restricted for a choice to the young men of their own complexion. but these, unfortunately for the girls, had a wider choice. in any state where the laws permit freedom of the marriage contract, a man, by virtue of his sex, can find a wife of whatever complexion he prefers; of course he must not always ask too much in other respects, for most women like to better their social position when they marry. to the number thus lost by " going on the other side," as the phrase went, add the worthless contingent whom no self-respect¬ ing woman would marry, and the choice was still further restricted; so that it had become fashionable, when the supply of eligible men ran short, for those of miss clayton's set who could afford it to go traveling, ostensibly for pleasure, but with the serious hope that they might meet their fate away from home. miss clayton had perhaps a larger option than any of her associates. among such men as there were she could have taken her choice. her beauty, her position, her accomplishments, her father's wealth, all made her eminently desirable. but, on the other hand, the same things rendered her more difficult to reach, and a matter of principle harder to please. to get access to her heart, too, it was necessary to run the gauntlet of her parents, which, until she had reached the age of twenty-three, no one had succeeded in doing safely. many had called, but none had been chosen. there was, however, one spot left un¬ guarded, and through it cupid, a veteran sharpshooter, sent a dart. mr. clayton had taken into his service and into his household a poor relation, a sort of cousin several times removed. this boy — his name was jack — had gone into mr. clayton's service at a very youthful age, — twelve or thirteen. he had helped about the housework, washed the dishes, swept the floors, taken care of the lawn and the stable for three or four years, while he attended school. his cousin had then taken him into the store, where he had swept the floor, washed the windows, and done a class of work that kept fully impressed upon him the fact that he was a poor dependent. nevertheless he was a cheerful lad, who took what he could get and was properly grateful, but always meant to get more. by sheer force of industry and affability and shrewdness, he forced his employer to promote him in time a matter of principle miss alice had considered the joke a very poor one when first made, but by occasional repetition she became somewhat familiar with it. in time it got around to jack himself, to whom it seemed no joke at all. he had long considered it a consummation devoutly to be wished, and when he became aware that the possibility of such a match had occurred to the other parties in interest, he made up his mind that the idea should in due course of time become an accomplished fact. he had even suggested as much to alice, in a casual way, to feel his ground; and while she had treated the matter lightly, he was not without hope that she had been impressed by the suggestion. before he had had time, however, to follow up this lead, miss clayton, in the spring of -, went away on a visit to washington. the occasion of her visit was a presidential inauguration. the new president owed his nomination mainly to the votes of the south¬ ern delegates in the convention, and was be¬ lieved to be correspondingly well disposed to the race from which the southern delegates were for the most part recruited. friends of rival and unsuccessful candidates for the nomination had more than hinted that the a matter of principle southern delegates were very substantially rewarded for their support at the time when it was given; whether this was true or not the parties concerned know best. at any rate the colored politicians did not see it in that light, for they were gathered from near and far to press their claims for recognition and patronage. on the evening following the white house inaugural ball, the colored peo¬ ple of washington gave an "inaugural" ball at a large public hall. it was under the man¬ agement of their leading citizens, among them several high officials holding over from the last administration, and a number of professional and business men. this ball was the most noteworthy social event that colored circles up to that time had ever known. there were many visitors from various parts of the coun¬ try. miss clayton attended the ball, the honors of which she carried away easily. she danced with several partners, and was intro¬ duced to innumerable people whom she had never seen before, and whom she hardly ex¬ pected ever to meet again. she went away from the ball, at four o'clock in the morning, in a glow of triumph, and with a confused impression of senators and representatives and a matter of principle lawyers and doctors of all shades, who had sought an introduction, led her through the dance, and overwhelmed her with compliments. she returned home the next day but one, after the most delightful week of her life. ii one afternoon, about three weeks after her return from washington, alice received a letter through the mail. the envelope bore the words " house of representatives " printed in one corner, and in the opposite corner, in a bold running hand, a con¬ gressman's frank, " hamilton m. brown, m. c. " the letter read as follows : — house of representatives, washington, d. c., march , -. miss alice clayton, grovel and. dear friend (if i may be permitted to call you so after so brief an acquaintance), — i remember with sincerest pleasure our recent meeting at the inaugural ball, and the sen¬ sation created by your beauty, your amiable manners, and your graceful dancing. time has so strengthened the impression i then received, that i should have felt inconsolable a matter of principle had i thought it impossible ever to again behold the charms which had brightened the occasion of our meeting and eclipsed by their brilliancy the leading belles of the capital. i had hoped, however, to have the pleasure of meeting you again, and circumstances have fortunately placed it in my power to do so at an early date. you have doubtless learned that the contest over the election in the sixth congressional district of south carolina has been decided in my favor, and that i now have the honor of representing my native state at the national capital. i have just been appointed a member of a special com¬ mittee to visit and inspect the sault river and the straits of mackinac, with reference to the needs of lake navigation. i have made arrangements to start a week ahead of the other members of the committee, whom i am to meet in detroit on the th. i shall leave here on the d, and will arrive in groveland on the d, by the . evening express. i shall remain in groveland several days, in the course of which i shall be pleased to call, and renew the acquaintance so auspiciously begun in washington, which it is my fondest hope may ripen into a warmer friendship. a matter of principle if you do not regard my visit as presump¬ tuous, and do not write me in the mean while forbidding it, i shall do myself the pleasure of waiting on you the morning after my arri¬ val in groveland. with renewed expressions of my sincere admiration and profound esteem, i remain, sincerely yours, hamilton m. brown, m. c. to alice, and especially to her mother, this bold and flowery letter had very nearly the force of a formal declaration. they read it over again and again, and spent most of the afternoon discussing it. there were few young men in groveland eligible as husbands for so superior a person as alice clayton, and an addition to the number would be very acceptable. but the mere fact of his being a congressman was not sufficient to qualify him; there were other considerations. "i'venever heard of this honorable hamil¬ ton m. brown," said mr. clayton. the letter had been laid before him at the supper-table. " it's strange, alice, that you have n't said anything about him before. you must have met lots of swell folks not to recollect a con¬ gressman." a matter of principle e< but he was n't a congressman then," an¬ swered alice; " he was only a claimant. i remember senator bruce, and mr. douglass; but there were so many doctors and lawyers and politicians that i could n't keep track of them all. still i have a faint impression of a mr. brown who danced with me." she went into the parlor and brought out the dancing programme she had used at the washington ball. she had decorated it with a bow of blue ribbon and preserved it as a souvenir of her visit. "yes," she said, after examining it, "i must have danced with him. here are the initials — h. m. b.' " " what color is he ? " asked mr. clayton, as he plied his knife and fork. " i have a notion that he was rather dark — darker than any one i had ever danced with before." " why did you dance with him ? " asked her father. " you were n't obliged to go back on your principles because you were away from home." " well, father, i when you 're in rome' — you know the rest. mrs. clearweather introduced me to several dark men, to him a matter of principle among others. they were her friends, and common decency required me to be courteous." " if this man is black, we don't want to encourage him. if he's the right sort, we ' invite him to the house." " and make him feel at home," added mrs. clayton, on hospitable thoughts intent. "we must ask sadler about him to-mor¬ row," said mr. clayton, when he had drunk his coffee and lighted his cigar. " if he's the right man he shall have cause to remem¬ ber his visit to groveland. we ' show him that washington is not the only town on earth." the uncertainty of the family with regard to mr. brown was soon removed. mr. solo¬ mon sadler, who was supposed to know every¬ thing worth knowing concerning the colored race, and everybody of importance connected with it, dropped in after supper to make an evening call. sadler was familiar with the history of every man of negro ancestry who had distinguished himself in any walk of life. he could give the pedigree of alexander pushkin, the titles of scores of dumas's nov¬ els (even sadler had not time to learn them all), and could recite the whole of wendell a matter of principle phillips's lecture on toussaint l'ouverture. he claimed a personal acquaintance with mr. frederick douglass, and had been often in washington, where he was well known and well received in good colored society. " let me see," he said reflectively, when asked for information about the honorable hamilton m. brown. " yes, i think i know him. he studied at oberlin just after the war. he was about leaving there when i entered. there were two h. m. browns there — a hamilton m. brown and a henry m. brown. one was stout and dark and the other was slim and quite light; you could scarcely tell him from a dark white man. they used to call them i light brown ' and dark brown.' i did n't know either of them except by sight, for they were there only a few weeks after i went in. as i remember them, hamilton was the fair one — a very good-looking, gentlemanly fellow, and, as i heard, a good student and a fine speaker." do you remember what kind of hair he had ? " asked mr. clayton. " very good indeed; straight, as i remem¬ ber it. he looked something like a spaniard or a portuguese." a matter of principle " now that you describe him/' said alice, " i remember quite well dancing with such a gentleman ; and i'm wrong about my h. m. b.' the dark man must have been some one else ; there are two others on my card that i can't remember distinctly, and he was prob¬ ably one of those." " i guess he's all right, alice," said her father when sadler had gone away. "he evidently means business, and we must treat him white. of course he must stay with us; there are no hotels in groveland while he is here. let's see—he'll be here in three days. that is n't very long, but i guess we can get ready. i ' write a letter this after¬ noon — or you write it, and invite him to the house, and say i ' meet him at the depot. and you may have carte blanche for making the preparations." "we must have some people to meet him." " certainly ; a reception is the proper thing. sit down immediately and write the letter and i ' mail it first thing in the morning, so he ' get it before he has time to make other arrangements. and you and your mother put your heads together and make out a list of guests, and i ' have the invitations a matter of principle printed to-morrow. we will show the darkeys of groveland how to entertain a congress¬ man." it will be noted that in moments of abstrac¬ tion or excitement mr. clayton sometimes relapsed into forms of speech not entirely consistent with his principles. but some allowance must be made for his atmosphere; he could no more escape from it than the leopard can change his spots, or the— in deference to mr. clayton's feelings the quo¬ tation will be left incomplete. alice wrote the letter on the spot and it was duly mailed, and sped on its winged way to washington. the preparations for the reception were made as thoroughly and elaborately as possible on so short a notice. the invitations were issued; the house was cleaned from attic to cellar; an orchestra was engaged for the evening; elaborate floral decorations were planned and the flowers ordered. even the refreshments, which ordinarily, in the house¬ hold of a caterer, would be mere matter of familiar detail, became a subject of serious consultation and study. the approaching event was a matter of a matteb of principle panied by jack, entered the livery carriage waiting at his gate and ordered the coachman to drive to the union depot. he had taken jack along, partly for company, and partly that jack might relieve the congressman o£ any trouble about his baggage, and make himself useful in case of emergency. jack was willing enough to go, for he had foreseen in the visitor a rival for alice's hand, — in¬ deed he had heard more or less of the subject for several days, — and was glad to make a reconnaissance before the enemy arrived upon the field of battle. he had made — at least he had thought so — considerable progress with alice during the three weeks since her return from washington, and once or twice alice had been perilously near the tender stage. this visit had disturbed the situation and threatened to ruin his chances; but he did not mean to give up without a struggle. arrived at the main entrance, mr. clayton directed the carriage to wait, and entered the station with jack. the union depot at groveland was an immense oblong structure, covering a dozen parallel tracks and furnishing terminal passenger facilities for half a dozen railroads. the tracks ran east and west, and a matt ee of principle the depot was entered from the south, at about the middle of the building. on either side of the entrance, the waiting-rooms, re¬ freshment rooms, baggage and express depart¬ ments, and other administrative offices, ex¬ tended in a row for the entire length of the building; and beyond them and parallel with them stretched a long open space, separated from the tracks by an iron fence or grille. there were two entrance gates in the fence, at which tickets must be shown before access could be had to trains, and two other gates, by which arriving passengers came out. mr. clayton looked at the blackboard on the wall underneath the station clock, and observed that the . train from washing¬ ton was five minutes late. accompanied by jack he walked up and down the platform until the train, with the usual accompaniment of panting steam and clanging bell and rum¬ bling trucks, pulled into the station, and drew up on the third or fourth track from the iron railing. mr. clayton stationed himself at the gate nearest the rear end of the train, reason¬ ing that the congressman would ride in a par¬ lor car, and would naturally come out by the gate nearest the point at which he left the train. a matter of principle " you'd better go and stand by the other gate, jack," he said to his companion, "and stop him if he goes out that way." the train was well filled and a stream of passengers poured through. mr. clayton scanned the crowd carefully as they ap¬ proached the gate, and scrutinized each pas¬ senger as he came through, without seeing any one that met the description of congress¬ man brown, as given by sadler, or any one that could in his opinion be the gentleman for whom he was looking. when the last one had passed through he was left to the conclusion that his expected guest had gone out by the other gate. mr. clayton hastened thither. "didn't he come out this way, jack?" he asked. " no, sir," replied the young man, " i have n't seen him." " that's strange," mused mr. clayton, somewhat anxiously. " he would hardly fail to come without giving us notice. surely we must have missed him. we'd better look around a little. you go that way and i'll go this." mr. clayton turned and walked several a matter of principle rods along the platform to the men's waiting- room, and standing near the door glanced around to see if he could find the object of his search. the only colored person in the room was a stout and very black man, wear¬ ing a broadcloth suit and a silk hat, and seated a short distance from the door. on the seat by his side stood a couple of valises. on one of them, the one nearest him, on which his arm rested, was written, in white letters, plainly legible, — " h. m. brown, m. c. "washington, d. c." mr. clayton's feelings at this discovery can better be imagined than described. he hastily left the waiting-room, before the black gentle¬ man, who was looking the other way, was even aware of his presence, and, walking rapidly up and down the platform, communed with himself upon what course of action the situation demanded. he had invited to his house, had come down to meet, had made elaborate preparations to entertain on the fol¬ lowing evening, a light-colored man,—a white man by his theory, an acceptable guest, a possible husband for his daughter, an avowed a matter of principle suitor for her hand. if the congressman had turned out to be brown, even dark brown, with fairly good hair, though he might not have desired him as a son-in-law, vet he could have welcomed him as a guest. but even this softening of the blow was denied him, for the man in the waiting-room was palpably, aggressively black, with pronounced african features and woolly hair, without apparently a single drop of redeeming white blood. could he, in the face of his well- known principles, his lifelong rule of conduct, take this negro into his home and introduce him to his friends? could he subject his wife and daughter to the rude shock of such a disappointment? it would be bad enough for them to learn of the ghastly mistake, but to have him in the house would be twisting the arrow in the wound. mr. clayton had the instincts of a gentleman, and realized the delicacy of the situation. but to get out of his difficulty without wounding the feelings of the congressman required not only diplomacy but dispatch. whatever he did must be done promptly; for if he waited many minutes the congressman would prob¬ ably take a carriage and be driven to mr. clayton's residence. a matter of principle a ray of hope came for a moment to illu¬ mine the gloom of the situation. perhaps the black man was merely sitting there, and not the owner of the valise! for there were two valises, one on each side of the supposed congressman. for obvious reasons he did not care to make the inquiry himself, so he looked around for his companion, who came up a moment later. " jack," he exclaimed excitedly, " i'm afraid we 're in the worst kind of a hole, un¬ less there's some mistake! run down to the men's waiting-room and you ' see a man and a valise, and you ' understand what i mean. ask that darkey if he is the honorable mr. brown, congressman from south carolina. if he says yes, come back right away and let me know, without giving him time to ask any questions, and put your wits to work to help me out of the scrape." " i wonder what's the matter ? " said jack to himself, but did as he was told. in a moment he came running back. "yes, sir," he announced; "he says he's the man." " jack," said mr. clayton desperately, " if you want to show your appreciation of what a matter of principle i 've done for you, you must suggest some way out of this. i'd never dare to take that negro to my house, and yet i'm obliged to treat him like a gentleman." jack's eyes had worn a somewhat reflective look since he had gone to make the inquiry. suddenly his face brightened with intelli¬ gence, and then, as a newsboy ran into the station calling his wares, hardened into deter¬ mination. " clarion, special extry 'dition ! all about de epidemic er dipt'eria ! " clamored the news¬ boy with shrill childish treble, as he made his way toward the waiting-room. jack darted after him, and saw the man to whom he had spoken buy a paper. he ran back to his em¬ ployer, and dragged him over toward the ticket-seller's window. "i have it, sir!" he exclaimed, seizing a telegraph blank and writing rapidly, and reading aloud as he wrote. " how's this for a way out? " — "dear sir, — i write you this note here in the depot to inform you of an unfortunate event which has interfered with my plans and those of my family for your entertainment a matter of principle " splendid ! " cried mr. clayton. "you've helped me out of a horrible scrape. now, go and take him to the hotel and see him com¬ fortably located, and tell them to charge the bill to me." " i suspect, sir," suggested jack, " that i 'd better not go up to the house, and you ' have to stay in yourself for a day or two, to keep up appearances. i ' sleep on the lounge at the store, and we can talk business over the telephone." " all right, jack, we ' arrange the details later. but for heaven's sake get him started, or he ' be calling a hack to drive up to the house. i ' go home on a street car." " so far so good," sighed mr. clayton to himself as he escaped from the station. "jack is a deuced clever fellow, and i ' have to do something more for him. but the tug-of- war is yet to come. i've got to bribe a doc¬ tor, shut up the house for a day or two, and have all the ill-humor of two disappointed women to endure until this negro leaves town. well, i'm sure my wife and alice will back me up at any cost. no sacrifice is too great to escape having to entertain him ; of course i have no prejudice against his color, — he a matter of principle can't help that,— but it is the principle of the thing . if we received him it would be a concession fatal to all my views and theories. and i am really doing him a kindness, for i'm sure that all the world could not make alice and her mother treat him with anything but cold politeness. it ' be a gteat mortifi¬ cation to alice, but i don't see how else i could have got out of it." he boarded the first car that left the depot, and soon reached home. the house was lighted up, and through the lace curtains of the parlor windows he could see his wife and daughter, elegantly dressed, waiting to receive their distinguished visitor. he rang the bell impatiently, and a servant opened the door. " the gentleman did n't come ? " asked the maid. " no," he said as he hung up his hat. this brought the ladies to the door. " he did n't come ?" they exclaimed. " what's the matter ? " " i ' tell you," he said. " mary," this to the servant, a white girl, who stood in open- eyed curiosity, " we shan't need you any more to-night." then he went into the parlor, and, closing a matter of principle the door, told his story. when he reached the point where he had discovered the color of the honorable mr. brown, miss clayton caught her breath, and was on the verge of collapse. " that nigger," said mrs. clayton indig¬ nantly, " can never set foot in this house. but what did you do with him ? " mr. clayton quickly unfolded his plan, and described the disposition he had made of the congressman. " it's an awful shame," said mrs. clayton. " just think of the trouble and expense we have gone to ! and poor alice ' never get over it, for everybody knows he came to see her and that he's smitten with her. but you 've done just right; we never would have been able to hold up our heads again if we had introduced a black man, even a congress¬ man, to the people that are invited here to¬ morrow night, as a sweetheart of alice. why, she wouldn't marry him if he was president of the united states and plated with gold an inch thick. the very idea ! " "well," said mr. clayton, "then we've got to act quick. alice must wrap up her throat — by the way, alice, how is your throat ? " a matter of principle "it's sore," sobbed alice, who had been in tears almost from her father's return, " and i don't care if i do have diphtheria and die, no, i don't! " and she wept on. " wrap up your throat and go to bed, and i ' go over to doctor pillsbury's and get a diphtheria card to nail up on the house. in the morning, first thing, we ' have to write notes recalling the invitations for to-morrow evening, and have them delivered by mes¬ senger boys. we were fools for not finding out all about this man from some one who knew, before we invited him here. sadler don't know more than half he thinks he does, anyway. and we ' have to do this thing thoroughly, or our motives will be miscon¬ strued, and people will say we are prejudiced and all that, when it is only a matter of prin¬ ciple with us." the programme outlined above was carried out to the letter. the invitations were re¬ called, to the great disappointment of the invited guests. the family physician called several times during the day. alice remained in bed., and the maid left without notice, in such a hurry that she forgot to take her best clothes. a matter of principle the office that for urgent business considera¬ tions the lake shipping interest wanted repre¬ sentative brown treated with marked consid¬ eration. there was more of the article, but the introductory portion left mr. clayton in such a state of bewilderment that the paper fell from his hand. what was the meaning of it ? had he been mistaken ? obviously so, or else the reporter was wrong, which was manifestly improbable. when he had recov¬ ered himself somewhat, he picked up the newspaper and began reading where he had left off. " representative brown traveled to grove- land in company with bishop jones of the african methodist jerusalem church, who is en route to attend the general conference of his denomination at detroit next week. the bishop, who came in while the writer was interviewing mr. brown, is a splendid type of the pure negro. he is said to be a man of great power among his people, which may easily be believed after one has looked upon his expressive countenance and heard him discuss the questions which affect the welfare of his church and his race." a matter of principle mr. clayton stared at the paper. "e the bishop,' " he repeated, "' is a splendid type of the pure negro.' i must have mistaken the bishop for the congressman ! but how in the world did jack get the thing balled up ? i ' call up the store and demand an explanation of him. " jack," he asked, " what kind of a looking man was the fellow you gave the note to at the depot ? " " he was a very wicked-looking fellow, sir," came back the answer. " he had a bad eye, looked like a gambler, sir. i am not sur¬ prised that you did n't want to entertain him, even if he was a congressman." " what color was he — that's what i want to know — and what kind of hair did he have ? " " why, he was about my complexion, sir, and had straight black hair." the rules of the telephone company did not permit swearing over the line. mr. clay¬ ton broke the rules. " was there any one else with him ? " he asked when he had relieved his mind. "yes, sir, bishop jones of the african methodist jerusalem church was sitting there a matter of principle he was aroused by the sound of the door-bell. he went to the door. the evening paper was lying on the porch, and the newsboy, who had not observed the diphtheria sign until after he had rung, was hurrying away as fast as his legs would carry him. mr. clayton opened the paper and looked it through to see if there was any reference to the visiting congressman. he found what he sought and more. an article on the local page contained a resume of the information given in the morning paper, with the follow¬ ing additional paragraph: — " a reporter, who called at the forest hill this morning to interview representative brown, was informed that the congressman had been invited to spend the remainder of his time in groveland as the guest of mr. william watkins, the proprietor of the popu¬ lar livery establishment on main street. mr. brown will remain in the city several days, and a reception will be tendered him at mr. wat- kins's on wednesday evening." " that ends it," sighed mr. clayton. " the dove of peace will never again rest on my roof-tree." but why dwell longer on the sufferings of a matter of principle mr. clayton, or attempt to describe the feel¬ ings or chronicle the remarks of his wife and daughter when they learned the facts in the case ? as to representative brown, he was made welcome in the hospitable home of mr. wil¬ liam watkins. there was a large and bril¬ liant assemblage at the party on wednesday evening, at which were displayed the costumes prepared for the clayton reception. mr. brown took a fancy to miss lura watkins, to whom, before the week was over, he became engaged to be married. meantime poor alice, the innocent victim of circumstances and prin¬ ciples, lay sick abed with a supposititious case of malignant diphtheria, and a real case of acute disappointment and chagrin. "oh, jack!" exclaimed alice, a few weeks later, on the way home from evening church in company with the young man, "what a dreadful thing it all was ! and to think of that hateful lura watkins marrying the congressman !" the street was shaded by trees at the point where they were passing, and there was no one in sight. jack put his arm around her waist, and, leaning over, kissed her. a matter of principle " never mind, dear," he said soothingly, " you still have your' last chance' left, and i ' prove myself a better man than the congress¬ man." occasionally, at social meetings, when the vexed question of the future of the colored race comes up, as it often does, for discussion, mr. clayton may still be heard to remark sententiously : — " what the white people of the united states need most, in dealing with this problem, is a higher conception of the brotherhood of man. for of one blood god made all the nations of the earth." cicely's dream i the old woman stood at the back door of the cabin, shading her eyes with her hand, and looking across the vegetable garden that ran up to the very door. beyond the garden she saw, bathed in the sunlight, a field of corn, just in the ear, stretching for half a mile, its yellow, pollen-laden tassels over¬ topping the dark green mass of broad glisten¬ ing blades; and in the distance, through the faint morning haze of evaporating dew, the line of the woods, of a still darker green, meeting the clear blue of the summer sky. old dinah saw, going down the path, a tall, brown girl, in a homespun frock, swinging a slat-bonnet in one hand and a splint basket in the other. " oh, cicely ! " she called. the girl turned and answered in a resonant voice, vibrating with youth and life,— " yes, granny! " cicely's dee am "be sho' and pick a good mess er peas, chile, fer yo' gran'daddy's gwine ter be home ter dinner ter-day." the old woman stood a moment longer and then turned to go into the house. what she had not seen was that the girl was not only young, but lithe and shapely as a sculptor's model; that her bare feet seemed to spurn the earth as they struck it; that though brown, she was not so brown but that her cheek was darkly red with the blood of an¬ other race than that which gave her her name and station in life ; and the old woman did not see that cicely's face was as comely as her figure was superb, and that her eyes were dreamy with vague yearnings. cicely climbed the low fence between the garden and the cornfield, and started down one of the long rows leading directly away from the house. old needham was a good ploughman, and straight as an arrow ran the furrow between the rows of corn, until it van¬ ished in the distant perspective. the peas were planted beside alternate hills of corn, the corn-stalks serving as supports for the climb¬ ing pea-vines. the vines nearest the house had been picked more or less clear of the long cicely's dream green pods, and cicely walked down the row for a quarter of a mile, to where the peas were more plentiful. and as she walked she thought of her dream of the night before. she had dreamed a beautiful dream. the fact that it was a beautiful dream, a delight¬ ful dream, her memory retained very vividly. she was troubled because she could not remember just what her dream had been about. of one other fact she was certain, that in her dream she had found something, and that her happiness had been bound up with the thing she had found. as she walked down the corn-row she ran over in her mind the various things with which she had always associated happiness. had she found a gold ring? no, it was not a gold ring—of that she felt sure. was it a soft, curly plume for her hat? she had seen town people with them, and had indulged in day-dreams on the subject; but it was not a feather. was it a bright- colored silk dress ? no ; as much as she had always wanted one, it was not a silk dress. for an instant, in a dream, she had tasted some great and novel happiness, and when she awoke it was dashed from her lips, and she could not even enjoy the memory of it, cicely's bream except in a vague, indefinite, and tantalizing way. cicely was troubled, too, because dreams were serious things. dreams had certain meanings, most of them, and some dreams went by contraries. if her dream had been a prophecy of some good thing, she had by forgetting it lost the pleasure of anticipa¬ tion. if .her dream had been one of those that go by contraries, the warning would be in vain, because she would not know against what evil to provide. so, with a sigh, cicely said to herself that it was a troubled world, more or less ; and having come to a promising point, began to pick the tenderest pea-pods and throw them into her basket. by the time she had reached the end of the line the basket was nearly full. glancing toward the pine woods beyond the rail fence, she saw a brier bush loaded with large, luscious blackberries. cicely was fond of blackberries, so she set her basket down, climbed the fence, and was soon busily en¬ gaged in gathering the fruit, delicious even in its wild state. she had soon eaten all she cared for. but the berries were still numerous, and it occurred b cicely's dream to her that her granddaddy would like a black¬ berry pudding for dinner. catching up her apron, and using it as a receptacle for the berries, she had gathered scarcely more than a handful when she heard a groan. cicely was not timid, and her curiosity being aroused by the sound, she stood erect, and remained in a listening attitude. in a moment the sound was repeated, apd, gaug¬ ing the point from which it came, she plunged resolutely into the thick underbrush of the forest. she had gone but a few yards when she stopped short with an exclamation of surprise and concern. upon the ground, under the shadow of the towering pines, a man lay at full length,— a young man, several years under thirty, ap¬ parently, so far as his age could be guessed from a face that wore a short soft beard, and was so begrimed with dust and in- crusted with blood that little could be seen of the underlying integument. what was visi¬ ble showed a skin browned by nature or by exposure. his hands were of even a darker brown, almost as dark as cicely's own. a tangled mass of very curly black hair, matted with burs, dank with dew, and clotted with cicely's dream blood, fell partly over his forehead, on the edge of which, extending back into the hair, an ugly scalp wound was gaping, and, though apparently not just inflicted, was still bleeding slowly, as though reluctant to stop, in spite of the coagulation that had almost closed it. cicely with a glance took in all this and more. but, first of all, she saw the man was wounded and bleeding, and the nurse latent in all womankind awoke in her to the require¬ ments of the situation. she knew there was a spring a few rods away, and ran swiftly to it. there was usually a gourd at the spring, but now it was gone. pouring out the blackberries in a little heap where they could be found again, she took off her apron, dipped one end of it into the spring, and ran back to the wounded man. the apron was clean, and she squeezed a little stream of water from it into the man's mouth. he swallowed it with avidity. cicely then knelt by his side, and with the wet end of her apron washed the blood from the wound lightly, and the dust from the man's face. then she looked at her apron a moment, debating whether she should tear it or not. cicely's dream ic i'm feared granny ' be mad," she said to herself. " i reckon i ' jes' use de whole apron." so she hound the apron around his head as well as she could, and then sat down a moment on a fallen tree trunk, to think what she should do next. the man already seemed more comfortable; he had ceased moaning, and lay quiet, though breathing heavily. " what shall i do with that man ?" she reflected. a i don' know whether he's a w'ite man or a black man. ef he's a w'ite man, i oughter go an' tell de w'ite folks up at de big house, an' dey 'd take keer of 'im. if he's a black man, i oughter go tell granny. he don' look lack a black man somehow er nuther, an' yet he don' look lack a w'ite man; he's too dahk, an' his hair's too curly. but i mus' do somethin' wid 'im. he can't be lef' here ter die in de woods all by hisse'f. reckon i'll go an' tell granny." she scaled the fence, caught up the basket of peas from where she had left it, and ran, lightly and swiftly as a deer, toward the house. her short skirt did not impede her progress, and in a few minutes she had cicely's dream covered the half mile and was at the cabin door, a slight heaving of her full and yet youthful breast being the only sign of any unusual exertion. her story was told in a moment. the old woman took down a black bottle from a high shelf, and set out with cicely across the corn¬ field, toward the wounded man. as they went through the corn cicely re¬ called part of her dream. she had dreamed that under some strange circumstances —what they had been was still obscure —she had met a young man — a young man whiter than she and yet not all white — and that he had loved her and courted her and married her. her dream had been all the sweeter because in it she had first tasted the sweetness of love, and she had not recalled it before because only in her dream had she known or thought of love as something supremely desirable. with the memory of her dream, how¬ ever, her fears revived. dreams were sol¬ emn things. to cicely the fabric of a vision was by no means baseless. her trouble arose from her not being able to recall, though she was well versed in dream-lore, just what, event was foreshadowed by a dream of finding a cicely's dream wounded man. if the wounded man were of her own race, her dream would thus far have been realized, and having met the young man, the other joys might be expected to follow. if he should turn out to be a white man, then her dream was clearly one of the kind that go by contraries, and she could expect only sorrow and trouble and pain as the proper sequences of this fateful discovery. ii the two women reached the fence that separated the cornfield from the pine woods. " how is i gwine ter git ovuh dat fence, chile ? " asked the old woman. " wait a minute, granny," said cicely; " i ' take it down." it was only an eight-rail fence, and it was a matter of but a few minutes for the girl to lift down and lay to either side the ends of the rails that formed one of the angles. this done, the old woman easily stepped across the remaining two or three rails. it was only a moment before they stood by the wounded man. he was lying still, breathing regularly, and seemingly asleep. cicely's dream " what is he, granny," asked the girl anxiously, "a w'ite man, or not?" old dinah pushed back the matted hair from the wounded man's brow, and looked at the skin beneath. it was fairer there, but yet of a decided brown. she raised his hand, pushed back the tattered sleeve from his wrist, and then she laid his hand down gently. " mos' lackly he's a mulatter man f'om up de country somewhar. he don' look lack dese yer niggers roun' yere, ner yet lack a w'ite man. but de po' boy's in a bad fix, w'ateber he is, an' i 'spec's we bettah do w'at we kin fer 'im, an' w'en he comes to he ' tell us w'at he is — er w'at he calls hisse'f. hoi' 'is head up, chile, an' i ' po' a drop er dis yer liquor down his th'oat; dat ' bring 'im to quicker 'n anything e'se i knows." cicely lifted the sick man's head, and dinah poured a few drops of the whiskey between his teeth. he swallowed it readily enough. in a few minutes he opened his eyes and stared blankly at the two women. cicely saw that his eyes were large and black, and glistening with fever. " how you feelin', suh ? " asked the old woman. cicely's dee am there was no answer. " is you feelin' bettah now ? " the wounded man kept on staring blankly. suddenly he essayed to put his hand to his head, gave a deep groan, and fell back again unconscious. " he 's gone ag'in," said dinah. " i reckon we ' hafter tote 'im up ter de house and take keer er 'im dere. w'ite folks would n't want ter fool wid a nigger man, an' we doan know who his folks is. he's outer his head an' will be fer some time yet, an' we can't tell nuthin' 'bout 'im tel he comes ter his senses." cicely lifted the wounded man by the arms and shoulders. she was strong, with the strength of youth and a sturdy race. the man was pitifully emaciated ; how much, the two women had not suspected until they raised him. they had no difficulty whatever, except for the awkwardness of such a burden, in lifting him over the fence and carrying him through the cornfield to the cabin. they laid him on cicely's bed in the little lean-to shed that formed a room separate from the main apartment of the cabin. the old woman sent cicely to cook the dinner, while cicely's bream closely akin to unconsciousness as to be scarcely distinguishable from it. wben old needham came home at noon, his -wife, who had been anxiously awaiting his return, told him in a few words the story of cicely's discovery and of the subsequent events. needham inspected the stranger with a pro¬ fessional eye. he had been something of a plantation doctor in his day, and was known far and wide for his knowledge of simple remedies. the negroes all around, as well as many of the poorer white people, came to him for the treatment of common ailments. " he's got a fevuh," he said, after feeling the patient's pulse and laying his hand on his brow, " an' we ' hafter gib 'im some yarb tea an' nuss 'im tel de fevuh w'ars off. i 'spec'," he added, " dat i knows whar dis boy come f'om. he's mos' lackly one er dem bright mulatters, f'om robeson county— some of 'em call deyse'ves croatan injins— w'at's been conscripted an' sent ter wu'k on de fo'tifications down at wimbleton er some- 'er's er nuther, an' done 'scaped, and got mos' killed gittin' erway, an' wuz n' none too well fed befo', an' nigh 'bout starved ter def sence. cicely's dream the ordnance and stores, and retreated across the cape fear river, burning the river bridge behind them, — two acts of war afterwards unjustly attributed to general sherman's army, which followed close upon the heels of the retreating confederates. when there was no longer any fear for the stranger's safety, no more pains were taken to conceal him. his wound had healed rapidly, and in a week he had been able with some help to climb up the ladder into the loft. in all this time, however, though appar¬ ently conscious, he had said no word to any one, nor had he seemed to comprehend a word that was spoken to him. cicely had been his constant attendant. after the first day, during which her granny had nursed him, she had sat by his bedside, had fanned his fevered brow, had held food and water and medicine to his lips. when it was safe for him to come down from the loft and sit in a chair under a spreading oak, cicely supported him until he was strong enough to walk about the yard. when his strength had increased sufficiently to permit of greater exertion, she accompanied him on long rambles in the fields and woods. cicely's dream in spite of his gain in physical strength, the newcomer changed very little in other re¬ spects. for a long time he neither spoke nor smiled. to questions put to him he simply gave no reply, but looked at his questioner with the blank unconsciousness of an infant. by and by he began to recognize cicely, and to smile at her approach. the next step in returning consciousness was but another mani¬ festation of the same sentiment. when cicely would leave him he would look his regret, and be restless and uneasy until she returned. the family were at a loss what to call him. to any inquiry as to his name he answered no more than to other questions. " he come jes' befo' sherman," said need- ham, after a few weeks, "lack john de bap- tis' befo' de lawd. i reckon we bettah call 'im john." so they called him john. he soon learned the name. as time went on cicely found that he was quick at learning things. she taught him to speak her own negro english, which he* pronounced with absolute fidelity to her intonations; so that barring the quality of his voice, his speech was an echo of cicely's own. cicely's dream the summer wore away and the autumn came. john and cicely wandered in the woods together and gathered walnuts, and chinquapins and wild grapes. when harvest time came, they worked in the fields side by side, — plucked the corn, pulled the fodder, and gathered the dried peas from the yellow pea-vines. cicely was a phenomenal cotton- picker, and john accompanied her to the fields and stayed by her hours at a time, though occasionally he would complain of his head, and sit under a tree and rest part of the day while cicely worked, the two keeping one another always in sight. they did not have a great deal of inter¬ course with other people. young men came to the cabin sometimes to see cicely, but when they found her entirely absorbed in the stranger they ceased their visits. for a time cicely kept him away, as much as possible, from others, because she did not wish them to see that there was anything wrong about him. this was her motive at first, but after a while she kept him to herself simply because she was happier so. he was hers—hers alone. she had found him, as pharaoh's daughter had found moses in the bulrushes; she had cicely's bee am taught him to speak, to think, to love. she had not taught him to remember; she would not have wished him to; she would have been jealous of any past to which he might have proved bound by other ties. her dream so far had come true. she had found him; he loved her. the rest of it would as surely fol¬ low, and that before long. for dreams were serious things, and time had proved hers to have been not a presage of misfortune, but one of the beneficent visions that are sent, that we may enjoy by anticipation the good things that are in store for us. ill but a short interval of time elapsed after the passage of the warlike host that swept through north carolina, until there appeared upon the scene the vanguard of a second army, which came to bring light and the fruits of liberty to a land which slavery and the havoc of war had brought to ruin. it is fashionable to assume that those who under¬ took the political rehabilitation of the south¬ ern states merely rounded out the ruin that the war had wrought — merely ploughed up cicely's dream the desolate land and sowed it with salt. perhaps the gentler judgments of the future may recognize that their task was a difficult one, and that wiser and honester men might have failed as egregiously. it may even, in time, be conceded that some good came out of the carpet-bag governments, as, for instance, the establishment of a system of popular edu¬ cation in the former slave states. where it had been a crime to teach people to read or write, a schoolhouse dotted every hillside, and the state provided education for rich and poor, for white and black alike. let us lay at least this token upon the grave of the car¬ pet-baggers. the evil they did lives after them, and the statute of limitations does not seem to run against it. it is but just that we should not forget the good. long, however, before the work of political reconstruction had begun, a brigade of yankee schoolmasters and schoolma'ams had invaded dixie, and one of the latter had opened a freedman's bureau school in the town of patesville, about four miles from needham green's cabin on the neighboring sandhills. it had been quite a surprise to miss chand¬ ler's boston friends when she had announced cicely's bream her intention of going south to teach the freedmen. rich, accomplished, beautiful, and a social favorite, she was giving up the com¬ forts and luxuries of northern life to go among hostile strangers, where her associates would be mostly ignorant negroes. perhaps she might meet occasionally an officer of some federal garrison, or a traveler from the north; but to all intents and purposes her friends considered her as going into voluntary exile. but heroism was not rare in those days, and martha chandler was only one of the great multitude whose hearts went out toward an oppressed race, and who freely poured out their talents, their money, their lives, — what¬ ever god had given them,—in the sublime and not unfruitful effort to transform three millions of slaves into intelligent freemen. miss chandler's friends knew, too, that she had met a great sorrow, and more than sus¬ pected that out of it had grown her determi¬ nation to go south. when cicely green heard that a school for colored people had been opened at patesville she combed her hair, put on her sunday frock and such bits of finery as she possessed, and set out for town early the next monday morn¬ ing. cicely's dream fused by nature in its own alembic, out of material despised and spurned of men, or whether some obscure ancestral strain, the teacher could not tell. the girl proved in¬ telligent and learned rapidly, indeed seemed almost feverishly anxious to learn. she was quiet, and was, though utterly untrained, in¬ stinctively polite, and profited from the first day by the example of her teacher's quiet ele¬ gance. the teacher dressed in simple black. when cicely came back to school the second day, she had left off her glass beads and her red ribbon, and had arranged her hair as nearly like the teacher's as her skill and its quality would permit. the teacher was touched by these efforts at imitation, and by the intense devotion cicely soon manifested toward her. it was not a sycophantic, troublesome devotion, that made itself a burden to its object. it found expression in little things done rather than in any words the girl said. to the degree that the attraction was mutual, martha recog¬ nized in it a sort of freemasonry of tem¬ perament that drew them together in spite of the differences between them. martha felt sometimes, in the vague way that one cicely's due am speculates about the impossible, that if she were brown, and had been brought up in north carolina, she would be like cicely; and that if cicely's ancestors had come over in the mayflower, and cicely had been reared on beacon street, in the shadow of the state house dome, cicely would have been very much like herself. miss chandler was lonely sometimes. her duties kept her occupied all day. on sun¬ days she taught a bible class in the school¬ room. correspondence with bureau officials and friends at home furnished her with addi¬ tional occupation. at times, nevertheless, she felt a longing for the company of women of her own race; but the white ladies of the town did not call, even in the most formal way, upon the yankee school-teacher. miss chandler was therefore fain to do the best she could with such companionship as was available. she took cicely to her home occa¬ sionally, and asked her once to stay all night. thinking, however, that she detected a re¬ luctance on the girl's part to remain away from home, she did not repeat her invita¬ tion. cicely, indeed, was filling a double role. cicely's dream without a child's curiosity. his love for cicely appeared the only thing for which he needed no suggestion; and even that pos¬ sessed an element of childish dependence that would have seemed, to minds trained to thoughtful observation, infinitely pathetic. the spring came and cotton-planting time. the children began to drop out of miss chandler's school one by one, as their services were required at home. cicely was among those who intended to remain in school until the term closed with the "exhibition," in which she was assigned a leading part. she had selected her recitation, or " speech," from among half a dozen poems that her teacher had suggested, and to memorizing it she devoted considerable time and study. the exhibition, as the first of its kind, was sure to be a notable event. the parents and friends of the children were invited to attend, and a colored church, recently erected, — the largest available building, — was secured as the place where the exercises should take place. on the morning of the eventful day, uncle needham, assisted by john, harnessed the mule to the two-wheeled cart, on which a cicely's dream couple of splint-bottomed chairs were fastened to accommodate dinah and cicely. john put on his best clothes, — an ill-fitting suit of blue jeans, — a round wool hat, a pair of coarse brogans, a homespun shirt, and a bright blue necktie. cicely wore her best frock, a red ribbon at her throat, another in her hair, and carried a bunch of flowers in her hand. uncle needham and aunt dinah were also in holiday array. needham and john took their seats on opposite sides of the cart-frame, with their feet dangling down, and thus the equipage set out leisurely for the town. cicely had long looked forward impatiently to this day. she was going to marry john the next week, and then her dream would have come entirely true. but even this an¬ ticipated happiness did not overshadow the importance of the present occasion, which would be an epoch in her life, a day of joy and triumph. she knew her speech per¬ fectly, and timidity was not one of her weak¬ nesses. she knew that the red ribbons set off her dark beauty effectively, and that her dress fitted neatly the curves of her shapely figure. she confidently expected to win the cicely's dream first prize, a large morocco-covered bible, offered by miss chandler for the best exer¬ cise. cicely and her companions soon arrived at patesville. their entrance into the church made quite a sensation, for cicely was not only an acknowledged belle, but a general favorite, and to john there attached a tinge of mystery which inspired a respect not be¬ stowed upon those who had grown up in the neighborhood. cicely secured a seat in the front part of the church, next to the aisle, in the place reserved for the pupils. as the house was already partly filled by townspeo¬ ple when the party from the country arrived, needham and his wife and john were forced to content themselves with places somewhat in the rear of the room, from which they could see and hear what took place on the platform, but where they were not at all conspicuously visible to those at the front of the church. the schoolmistress had not yet arrived, and order was preserved in the audience by two of the elder pupils, adorned with large rosettes of red, white, and blue, who ushered the most important visitors to the seats cicely's dream reserved for them. a national flag was gracefully draped over the platform, and under it hung a lithograph of the great emancipator, for it was thus these people thought of him. he had saved the union, but the union had never meant anything good to them. he had proclaimed liberty to the captive, which meant all to them; and to them he was and would ever be the great emancipator. the schoolmistress came in at a rear door and took her seat upon the platform. martha was dressed in white; for once she had laid aside the sombre garb in which alone she had been seen since her arrival at patesville. she wore a yellow rose at her throat, a bunch of jasmine in her belt. a sense of responsi¬ bility for the success of the exhibition had deepened the habitual seriousness of her face, yet she greeted the audience with a smile. " don' miss chan'ler look sweet," whis¬ pered the little girls to one another, devour¬ ing her beauty with sparkling eyes, their lips parted over a wealth of ivory. " de lawd will bress dat chile," said one old woman, in soliloquy. " i t'ank de good marster i's libbed ter see dis day." cicely's dream a little yellow boy, with long curls, arid a frightened air, next ascended the platform. " now, jimmie, be a man, and speak right out," whispered his teacher, tapping his arm reassuringly with her fan as he passed her. jimmie essayed to recite the lines so fa¬ miliar to a past generation of schoolchil¬ dren : — " i knew a widow very poor, who four small children had ; the eldest was but six years old, a gentle, modest lad." he ducked his head hurriedly in a futile attempt at a bow; then, following instruc¬ tions previously given him, fixed his eyes upon a large cardboard motto hanging on the rear wall of the room, which admonished him in bright red letters to " always speak the truth," and started off with assumed confidence — " i knew a widow very poor, who" — at this point, drawn by an irresistible impulse, his eyes sought the level of the audience. ah, fatal blunder ! he stammered, but with an effort raised his eyes and began again: cicely's bream " i knew a widow very poor, who four " — again his treacherous eyes fell, and his little remaining self-possession utterly forsook him. he made one more despairing effort: — " i knew a widow very poor, who four small" — and then, bursting into tears, turned and fled amid a murmur of sympathy. jimmie's inglorious retreat was covered by the singing in chorus of " the star-spangled banner," after which cicely green came for¬ ward to recite her poem. " by jove, maxwell! " whispered the young officer, who was evidently a connoisseur of female beauty, " that is n't bad for a bronze venus. i ' tell you " — " 'sh ! " said the other. " keep still." when cicely finished her recitation, the young officers began to applaud, but stopped suddenly in some confusion as they realized that they were the only ones in the audience so engaged. the colored people had either not learned how to express their approval in orthodox fashion, or else their respect for the sacred character of the edifice forbade any such demonstration. their enthusiasm found cicely's dream vent, however, in a subdued murmur, empha¬ sized by numerous nods and winks and sup¬ pressed exclamations. during the singing that followed cicely's recitation the two officers quietly withdrew, their duties calling them away at this hour. at the close of the exercises, a committee on prizes met in the vestibule, and unani¬ mously decided that cicely green was entitled to the first prize. proudly erect, with spar¬ kling eyes and cheeks flushed with victory, cicely advanced to the platform to receive the coveted reward. as she turned away, her eyes, shining with gratified vanity, sought those of her lover. john sat bent slightly forward in an attitude of strained attention; and cicely's triumph lost half its value when she saw that it was not at her, but at miss chandler, that his look was directed. though she watched him thenceforward, not one glance did he vouch¬ safe to his jealous sweetheart, and never for an instant withdrew his eyes from martha, or relaxed the unnatural intentness of his gaze. the imprisoned mind, stirred to unwonted effort, was struggling for liberty; and from martha had come the first ray of outer light that had penetrated its dungeon. cicely's dream you for which you might feel inclined, in your good nature, to thank me, you may thank not me alone, but another who came before me, and whose work i have but taken up where he laid it down. i had a friend,—a dear friend, — why should i be ashamed to say it ? — a lover, to whom i was to be married, — as i hope all you girls may some day be happily married. his country needed him, and i gave him up. he came to fight for the union and for freedom, for he believed that all men are brothers. he did not come back again — he gave up his life for you. could i do less than he ? i came to the land that he sanctified by his death, and i have tried in my weak way to tend the plant he watered with his blood, and which, in the fullness of time, will blossom forth into the perfect flower of liberty." she could say no more, and as the whole audience thrilled in sympathy with her emo¬ tion, there was a hoarse cry from the men's, side of the room, and john forced his way to the aisle and rushed forward to the platform. " martha ! martha ! " " arthur ! arthur! " pent-up love burst the flood-gates of de- cicely's dream spair and oblivion, and caught these two young hearts in its torrent. captain arthur carey, of the st massachusetts, long since reported missing, and mourned as dead, was restored to reason and to his world. it seemed to him but yesterday that he had escaped from the confederate prison at salis¬ bury ; that in an encounter with a guard he had received a wound in the head; that he had wandered on in the woods, keeping him¬ self alive by means of wild berries, with now and then a piece of bread or a potato from a friendly negro. it seemed but the night be¬ fore that he had laid himself down, tortured with fever, weak from loss of blood, and with no hope that he would ever rise again. from that moment his memory of the past was a blank until he recognized martha on the plat¬ form and took up again the thread of his for¬ mer existence where it had been broken off. and cicely ? well, there is often another woman, and cicely, all unwittingly to carey or to martha, had been the other woman. for, after all, her beautiful dream had been one of the kind that go by contraries. the passing of grandison i when it is said that it was done to please a woman, there ought perhaps to be enough said to explain anything; for what a man will not do to please a woman is yet to he discovered. nevertheless, it might he well to state a few preliminary facts to make it clear why young dick owens tried to run one of his father's negro men off to canada. in the early fifties, when the growth of anti-slavery sentiment and the constant drain of fugitive slaves into the north had so alarmed the slaveholders of the border states as to lead to the passage of the fugitive slave law, a young white man from ohio, moved by compassion for the sufferings of a certain bondman who happened to have a " hard mas¬ ter," essayed to help the slave to freedom. the attempt was discovered and frustrated; the abductor was tried and convicted for slave- stealing, and sentenced to a term of imprison- the passing of gbandison ment in the penitentiary. his death, after the expiration of only a small part of the sentence, from cholera contracted while nurs¬ ing stricken fellow prisoners, lent to the case a melancholy interest that made it famous in anti-slavery annals. dick owens had attended fhe trial. he was a youth of about twenty-two, intelligent, handsome, and amiable, but extremely indo¬ lent, in a graceful and gentlemanly way; or, as old judge fenderson put it more than once, he was lazy as the devil, — a mere figure of speech, of course, and not one that did justice to the enemy of mankind. when asked why he never did anything serious, dick would good-naturedly reply, with a well- modulated drawl, that he did n't have to. his father was rich; there was but one other child, an unmarried daughter, who because of poor health would probably never marry, and dick was therefore heir presumptive to a large estate. wealth or social position he did not need to seek, for he was born to both. char¬ ity lomax had shamed him into studying law, but notwithstanding an hour or so a day spent at old judge fenderson's office, he did not make remarkable headway in his legal studies. the passing of gran bison " what dick needs," said the judge, who was fond of tropes, as became a scholar, and of horses, as was befitting a kentuckian, " is the whip of necessity, or the spur of ambition. if he had either, he would soon need the snaffle to hold him back." but all dick required, in fact, to prompt him to the most remarkable thing he accom¬ plished before he was twenty-five, was a mere suggestion from charity lomax. the story was never really known to but two persons until after the war, when it came out because it was a good story and there was no particu¬ lar reason for its concealment. young owens had attended the trial of this slave-stealer, or martyr, — either or both, — and, when it was over, had gone to call on charity lomax, and, while they sat on the veranda after sundown, had told her all about the trial. he was a good talker, as his career in later years disclosed, and described the pro¬ ceedings very graphically. " i confess," he admitted, " that while my principles were against the prisoner, my sym¬ pathies were on his side. it appeared that he was of good family, and that he had an old father and mother, respectable people, depend- the passing of grandison ent upon him for support and comfort in their declining years. he had been led into the matter by pity for a negro whose master ought to have been run out of the county long ago for abusing his slaves. if it had been merely a question of old sam briggs's negro, nobody would have cared anything about it. but father and the rest of them stood on the prin¬ ciple of the thing, and told the judge so, and the fellow was sentenced to three years in the penitentiary." miss lomax had listened with lively in¬ terest. " i've always hated old sam briggs," she said emphatically, " ever since the time he broke a negro's leg with a piece of cordwood. when i hear of a cruel deed it makes the quaker blood that came from my grandmo¬ ther assert itself. personally i wish that all sam briggs's negroes would run away. as for the young man, i regard him as a hero. he dared something for humanity. i could love a man who would take such chances for the sake of others." " could you love me, charity, if i did something heroic ? " " you never will, dick. you 're too lazy the passing of grandison ii young owens got up about nine o'clock next morning, and while making his toilet put some questions to his personal attendant, a rather bright looking young mulatto of about his own age. " tom," said dick. " yas, mars dick," responded the servant. " i'm going on a trip north. would you like to go with me ? " now, if there was anything that tom would have liked to make, it was a trip north. it was something he had long contemplated in the abstract, but had never been able to muster up sufficient courage to attempt in the concrete. he was prudent enough, however, to dissemble his feelings. " i would n't min' it, mars dick, ez long ez you'd take keer er me an' fetch me home all right." tom's eyes belied his words, however, and his young master felt well assured that tom needed only a good opportunity to make him run away. having a comfortable home, and a dismal prospect in case of failure, tom was not likely to take any desperate chances; but the passing of grandison young owens was satisfied that in a free state but little persuasion would be required to lead tom astray. with a very logical and char¬ acteristic desire to gain his end with the least necessary expenditure of effort, he decided to take tom with him, if his father did not object. colonel owens had left the house when dick went to breakfast, so dick did not see his father till luncheon. "father," he remarked' casually to the colonel, over the fried chicken, " i'm feeling a trifle run down. i imagine my health would be improved somewhat by a little travel and change of scene." " why don't you take a trip north ?" suggested his father. the colonel added to paternal affection a considerable respect for his son as the heir of a large estate. he himself had been " raised " in comparative poverty, and had laid the foundations of his fortune by hard work; and while he despised the ladder by which he had climbed, he could not entirely forget it, and unconsciously mani¬ fested, in his intercourse with his son, some of the poor man's deference toward the wealthy and well-born. the passing of grand s n " i think i ' adopt your suggestion, sir," replied the son, "and run up to new york; and after i've been there awhile i may go on to boston for a week or so. i've never been there, you know." " there are some matters you can talk over with my factor in new york," rejoined the colonel, " and while you are up there among the yankees, i hope you ' keep your eyes and ears open to find out what the rascally abolitionists are saying and doing. they 're becoming altogether too active for our com¬ fort, and entirely too many ungrateful niggers are running away. i hope the conviction of that fellow yesterday may discourage the rest of the breed. i'd just like to catch any one trying to run off one of my darkeys. he'd get short shrift; i don't think any court would have a chance to try him." " they are a pestiferous lot," assented dick, "and dangerous to our institutions. but say, father, if i go north i shall want to take tom with me." now, the colonel, while a very indulgent father, had pronounced views on the subject of negroes, having studied them, as he often said, for a great many years, and, as he the passing of grandison meals; besides, lie's sweet on your mother's maid, betty, and i've promised to let 'em get married before long. i ' have grandison up, and we ' talk to him. here, you boy jack," called the colonel to a yellow youth in the next room who was catching flies and pulling their wings off to pass the time, " go down to the barn and tell grandison to come here." " grandison," said the colonel, when the negro stood before him, hat in hand. " yas, marster." " have n't i always treated you right ? " " yas, marster." " have n't you always got all you wanted to eat ? " " yas, marster." " and as much whiskey and tobacco as was good for you, grandison ? " " y-a-s, marster." "i should just like to know, grandison, whether you don't think yourself a great deal better off than those poor free negroes down by the plank road, with no kind master to look after them and no mistress to give them medicine when they 're sick and — and "— "well, i sh'd jes' reckon i is better off, suh, dan dem low-down free niggers, suh! the passing of grandison ef anybody ax 'em who dey b'long ter, dey has ter say nobody, er e'se lie erbout it. anybody ax me who i b'longs ter, i ain' got no 'casion ter be shame' ter tell 'em, no, suh, 'deed i ain', suh ! " the colonel was beaming. this was true gratitude, and his feudal heart thrilled at such appreciative homage. what cold-blooded, heartless monsters they were who would break up this blissful relationship of kindly protec¬ tion on the one hand, of wise subordi¬ nation and loyal dependence on the other ! the colonel always became indignant at the mere thought of such wickedness. " grandison," the colonel continued, " your young master dick is going north for a few weeks', and i am thinking of letting him take you along. i shall send you on this trip, grandison, in order that you may take care of your young master. he will need some one to wait on him, and no one can ever do it so well as one of the boys brought up with him on the old plantation. i am going to trust him in your hands, and i'm sure you ' do your duty faithfully, and bring him back home safe and sound — to old kentucky." the passing of grandison reckon they'd rather like it. begad, i be¬ lieve they would ! it would serve 'em right to be hit by a nigger ! " " er ef i did n't hit 'em, suh," continued grandison reflectively, " i'd tell mars dick, en he 'd fix 'em. he'd smash de face off'n 'em, suh, i jes' knows he would." " oh yes, grandison, your young master will protect you. you need fear no harm while he is near." " dey won't try ter steal me, will dey, mars- ter ? " asked the negro, with sudden alarm. " i don't know, grandison," replied the colonel, lighting a fresh cigar. " they 're a desperate set of lunatics, and there's no tell¬ ing what they may resort to. but if you stick close to your young master, and remem¬ ber always that he is your best friend, and understands your real needs, and has your true interests at heart, and if you will be careful to avoid strangers who try to talk to you, you ' stand a fair chance of getting back to your home and your friends. and if you please your master dick, he ' buy you a present, and a string of beads for betty to wear when you and she get married in the fall." the passing of grandison " thanky, marster, thanky, suh," replied grandison, oozing gratitude at every pore; " you is a good marster, to be sho', suh; yas, 'deed you is. you kin jes' bet me and mars dick gwine git 'long jes' lack i wuz own boy ter mars dick. en it won't be my fault ef he don' want me fer his boy all de time, w'en we come back home ag'in." " all right, grandison, you may go now. you needn't work any more to-day, and here's a piece of tobacco for you off my own plug." " thanky, marster, thanky, marster! you is de bes' marster any nigger ever had in dis worl'." and grandison bowed and scraped and disappeared round the corner, his jaws closing around a large section of the colonel's best tobacco. "you may take grandison," said the colo¬ nel to his son. " i allow he's abolitionist- proof." ill richard owens, esq., and servant, from kentucky, registered at the fashionable new york hostelry for southerners in those days, a hotel where an atmosphere congenial to the passing of geandison southern institutions "was sedulously main¬ tained. but there were negro waiters in the dining-room, and mulatto bell-boys, and dick had no doubt that grandison, with the native gregariousness and garrulousness of his race, would foregather and palaver with them sooner or later, and dick hoped that they would speedily inoculate him with the virus of freedom. for it was not dick's intention to say anything to his servant about his plan to free him, for obvious reasons. to mention one of them, if grandison should go away, and by legal process be recaptured, his young master's part in the matter would doubtless become known, which would be embarrass¬ ing to dick, to say the least. if, on the other hand, he should merely give grandison sufficient latitude, he had no doubt he would eventually lose him. for while not exactly skeptical about grandison's perfervid loyalty, dick had been a somewhat keen observer of human nature, in his own indolent way, and based his expectations upon the force of the example and argument that his servant could scarcely fail to encounter. grandison should have a fair chance to become free by his own initiative; if it should become necessary to the passing of grandison dear friend and brother: — a wicked slaveholder from kentucky, stopping at the revere house, has dared to insult the liberty-loving people of boston by bringing his slave into their midst. shall this be tolerated? or shall steps be taken in the name of liberty to rescue a fellow-man from bondage? for obvious reasons i can only sign myself, a frieistd of humanity. that his letter might have an opportunity to prove effective, dick made it a point to send grandison away from the hotel on vari¬ ous errands. on one of these occasions dick watched him for quite a distance down the street. grandison had scarcely left the hotel when a long-haired^ sharp-featured man came out behind him, followed him, soon overtook him, and kept along beside him until they turned the next corner. dick's hopes were roused by this spectacle, but sank correspond¬ ingly when grandison returned to the hotel. as grandison said nothing about the en¬ counter, dick hoped there might be some self-consciousness behind this unexpected reti¬ cence, the results of which might develop later on. the passing of grandison but grandison was on hand a^ain when his master came back to the hotel at night, and was in attendance again in the morning, with hot water, to assist at his master's toilet. dick sent him on further errands from day to day, and upon one occasion came squarely up to him — inadvertently of course — while grandison was engaged in conversation with a young white man in clerical garb. when grandison saw dick approaching, he edged away from the preacher and hastened toward his master, with a very evident expression of relief upon his countenance. " mars dick," he said, " dese yer abolition- ers is jes' pesterin' de life out er me tryin' ter git me ter run away. i don' pay no 'ten- tion ter 'em, but dey riles me so sometimes dat i'm feared i ' hit some of 'em some er dese days, an' dat mought git me inter trouble. i ain' said nuffin' ter you 'bout it, mars dick, fer i did n' wanter 'sturb yo' min'; but i don' like it, suli; no, suh, i don'! is we gwine back home 'fo' long, mars dick ? " "we'll be going back soon enough," re¬ plied dick somewhat shortly, while he in¬ wardly cursed the stupidity of a slave who could be free and would not, and registered the passing of grandison a secret vow that if he were unable to get rid of grandison without assassinating him, and were therefore compelled to take him back to kentucky, he would see that grandison got a taste of an article of slavery that would make him regret his wasted opportunities. mean¬ while he determined to tempt his servant yet more strongly. " grandison," he said next morning, " i'm going away for a day or two, but i shall leave you here. i shall lock up a hundred dollars in this drawer and give you the key. if you need any of it, use it and enjoy yourself, — spend it all if you like, — for this is probably the last chance you ' have for some time to be in a free state, and you'd better enjoy your liberty while you may." when he came back a couple of days later and found the faithful grandison at his post, and the hundred dollars intact, dick felt seri¬ ously annoyed. his vexation was increased by the fact that he could not express his feelings adequately. he did not even scold grandison; how could he, indeed, find fault with one who so sensibly recognized his true place in the economy of civilization, and kept it with such touching fidelity ? the passing of gh an bison " i can't say a thing to him," groaned dick. " he deserves a leather medal, made out of his own hide tanned. i reckon i'll write to father and let him know what a model servant he has given me." he wrote his father a letter which made the colonel swell with pride and pleasure. " i really think," the colonel observed to one of his friends, "that dick ought to have the nigger interviewed by the boston papers, so that they may see how contented and happy our darkeys really are." dick also wrote a long letter to charity lomax, in which he said, among many other things, that if she knew how hard he was working, and under what difficulties, to ac¬ complish something serious for her sake, she would no longer keep him in suspense, but overwhelm him with love and admiration. having thus exhausted without result the more obvious methods of getting rid of gran- dison, and diplomacy having also proved a failure, dick was forced to consider more radical measures. of course he might run away himself, and abandon grandison, but this would be merely to leave him in the united states, where he was still a slave, and the passing of gran bison where, with his notions of loyalty, he would speedily be reclaimed. it was necessary, in order to accomplish the purpose of his trip to the north, to leave grandison permanently in canada, where he would be legally free. " i might extend my trip to canada," he reflected, "but that would be too palpable. i have it! i ' visit niagara falls on the way home, and lose him on the canada side. when he once realizes that he is actually free, i ' warrant that he ' stay." so the next day saw them westward bound, and in due course of time, by the somewhat slow conveyances of the period, they found themselves at niagara. dick walked and drove about the falls for several days, taking grandison along with him on most occasions. one morning they stood on the canadian side, watching the wild whirl of the waters below them. " grandison," said dick, raising his voice above the roar of the cataract, " do you know where you are now ? " " i's wid you, mars dick; dat's all i keers." " you are now in canada, grandison, where your people go when they run away from the passing of grandison ordered a glass of ale and a sandwich, and took a seat at a table by a window, from which he could see grandison in the distance. for a while he hoped that the seed he had sown might have fallen on fertile ground, and that grandison, relieved from the re¬ straining power of a master's eye, and find¬ ing himself in a free country, might get up and walk away; but the hope was vain, for grandison remained faithfully at. his post, awaiting his master's return. he had seated himself on a broad flat stone, and, turning his eyes away from the grand and awe-inspiring spectacle that lay close at hand, was looking anxiously toward the inn where his master sat cursing his ill-timed fidelity. by and by a girl came into the room to serve his order, and dick very naturally glanced at her; and as she was young and pretty and remained in attendance, it was some minutes before he looked for grandison. when he did so his faithful servant had dis¬ appeared. to pay his reckoning and go away without the change was a matter quickly accom¬ plished. retracing his footsteps toward the falls, he saw, to his great disgust, as he ap- the passing of gbandison proached the spot where he had left grandi- son, the familiar form of his servant stretched out on the ground, his face to the sun, his mouth open, sleeping the time away, oblivious alike to the grandeur of the scenery, the thunderous roar of the cataract, or the insid¬ ious voice of sentiment. " grandison," soliloquized his master, as he stood gazing down at his ebony encumbrance, " i do not deserve to be an american citizen; i ought not to have the advantages i possess over you; and i certainly am not worthy of charity lomax, if i am not smart enough to get rid of you. i have an idea ! you shall yet be free, and i will be the instrument of your deliverance. sleep on, faithful and af¬ fectionate servitor, and dream of the blue grass and the bright skies of old kentucky, for it is only in your dreams that you will ever see them again ! " dick retraced his footsteps towards the inn. the young woman chanced to look out of the window and saw the handsome young gentleman she had waited on a few minutes before, standing in the road a short distance away, apparently engaged in earnest conversa¬ tion with a colored man employed as hostler the passing of gbandison for the inn. she thought she saw something pass from the "white man to the other, but at that moment her duties called her away from the window, and when she looked out again the young gentleman had disappeared, and the hostler, with two other young men of the neighborhood, one white and one colored, were walking rapidly towards the falls. iy dick made the journey homeward alone, and as rapidly as the conveyances of the day would permit. as he drew near home his conduct in going back without grandison took on a more serious aspect than it had borne at any previous time, and although he had prepared the colonel by a letter sent several days ahead, there was still the pro¬ spect of a bad quarter of an hour with him ; not, indeed, that his father would upbraid him, but he was likely to make searching in¬ quiries. and notwithstanding the vein of quiet recklessness that had carried dick through his preposterous scheme, he was a very poor liar, having rarely had occasion or inclination to tell anything* but the truth. the passing of grandison any reluctance to meet his father was more than offset, however, by a stronger force draw¬ ing him homeward, for charity lomax must long since have returned from her visit to her aunt in tennessee. dick got off easier than he had expected. he told a straight story, and a truthful one, so far as it went. the colonel raged at first, but rage soon subsided into anger, and anger moderated into annoyance, and annoyance into a sort of garrulous sense of injury. the colonel thought he had been hardly used; he had trusted this negro, and he had broken faith. yet, after all, he did not blame grandison so much as he did the abolitionists, who were undoubtedly at the bottom of it. as for charity lomax, dick told her, pri¬ vately of course, that he had run his father's man, grandison, off to canada, and left him there. " oh, dick," she had said with shuddering alarm, " what have you done ? if they knew it they'd send you to the penitentiary, like they did that yankee." " but they don't know it," he had replied seriously; adding, with an injured tone, "you the passing of grandison don't seem to appreciate my heroism like you did that of the yankee ; perhaps it's because i was n't caught and sent to the penitentiary. i thought you wanted me to do it." " why, dick owens!" she exclaimed. " you know i never dreamed of any such outrageous proceeding. " but i presume i ' have to marry you/' she concluded, after some insistence on dick's part, " if only to take care of you. you are too reckless for anything; and a man who goes chasing all over the north, being entertained by new york and boston society and having negroes to throw away, needs some one to look after him." "it's a most remarkable thing," replied dick fervently, " that your views correspond exactly with my profoundest convictions. it proves beyond question that we were made for one another." they were married three weeks later. as each of them had just returned from a jour¬ ney, they spent their honeymoon at home. a week after the wedding they were seated, one afternoon, on the piazza of the colonel's the passing of grandison house, where dick had taken his bride, when a negro from the yard ran down the lane and threw open the big gate for the colonel's bnggy to enter. the colonel was not alone. beside him, ragged and travel-stained, bowed with weariness, and upon his face a haggard look that told of hardship and privation, sat the lost grandison. the colonel alighted at the steps. " take the lines, tom," he said to the man who had opened the gate, "and drive round to the barn. help grandison down, — poor devil, he's so stiff he can hardly move ! — and get a tub of water and wash him and rub him down, and feed him, and give him a big drink of whiskey, and then let him come round and see his young master and his new mistress." the colonel's face wore an expression com¬ pounded of joy and indignation, — joy at the restoration of a valuable piece of pro¬ perty ; indignation for reasons he proceeded to state. " it's astounding, the depths of depravity the human heart is capable of! i was com¬ ing along the road three miles away, when i heard some one call me from the roadside. the passing of grandison i pulled up the mare, and who should come out of the woods but grandison. the poor nigger could hardly crawl along, with the help of a broken limb. i was never more astonished in my life. you could have knocked me down with a feather. he seemed pretty far gone, — he could hardly talk above a whisper, —and i had to give him a mouthful of whiskey to brace him up so he could tell his story. it's just as i thought from the beginning, dick ; grandison had no notion of running away; he knew when he was well off, and where his friends were. all the persuasions of abolition liars and runaway niggers did not move him. but the desper¬ ation of those fanatics knew no bounds; their guilty consciences gave them no rest. they got the notion somehow that grandison belonged to a nigger-catcher, and had been brought north as a spy to help capture un¬ grateful runaway servants. they actually kidnaped him — just think of it! — and gagged him and bound him and threw him rudely into a wagon, and carried him into the gloomy depths of a canadian forest, and locked him in a lonely hut, and fed him on bread and water for three weeks. one of the the passing of gbandison scoundrels wanted to kill him, and persuaded the others that it ought to be done ; but they got to quarreling about how they should do it, and before they had their minds made up grandison escaped, and, keeping his back steadily to the north star, made his way, after suffering incredible hardships, back to the old plantation, back to his master, his friends, and his home. why, it's as good as one of scott's novels! mr. simms or some other one of our southern authors ought to write it up." " don't you think, sir," suggested dick, who had calmly smoked his cigar throughout the colonel's animated recital, " that that kidnaping yarn sounds a little improbable ? is n't there some more likely explanation ? " " nonsense, dick; it's the gospel truth ! those infernal abqlitionists are capable of anything — everything ! just think of their locking the poor, faithful nigger up, beating him, kicking him, depriving him of his liberty, keeping him on bread and water for three long, lonesome weeks, and he all the time pining for the old plantation ! " there were almost tears in the colonel's eyes at the picture of grandison's sufferings the passing of grandison that he conjured up. dick still professed to be slightly skeptical, and met charity's severely questioning eye with bland uncon¬ sciousness. the colonel killed the fatted calf for grandison, and for two or three weeks the returned wanderer's life was a slave's dream of pleasure. his fame spread throughout the county, and the colonel gave him a per¬ manent place among the house servants, where he could always have him conveniently at hand to relate his adventures to admiring visitors. about three weeks after grandison's return the colonel's faith in sable humanity was rudely shaken, and its foundations almost broken up. he came near losing his belief in the fidelity of the negro to his master, — the servile virtue most highly prized and most sedulously cultivated by the colonel and his kind. one monday morning grandison was missing. and not only grandison, but his wife, betty the maid ; his mother, aunt eunice; his father, uncle ike; his brothers, tom and john, and his little sister elsie, were likewise absent from the plantation; the passing of grandison and a hurried search and inquiry in the neighborhood resulted in no information as to their whereabouts. so much valuable property could not be lost without an effort to recover it, and the wholesale nature o£ the transaction carried consternation to the hearts of those whose ledgers were chiefly bound in black. extremely energetic measures were taken by the colonel and his friends. the fugitives were traced, and followed from point to point, on their northward run through ohio. several times the hunters were close upon their heels, but the magnitude of the escaping party begot unusual vigilance on the part of those who sympathized with the fugitives, and strangely enough, the under¬ ground railroad seemed to have had its tracks cleared and signals set for this particular train. once, twice, the colonel thought he had them, but they slipped through his fingers. one last glimpse he caught of his vanishing property, as he stood, accompanied by a united states marshal, on a wharf at a port on the south shore of lake erie. on the stern of a small steamboat which was receding rapidly from the wharf, with her nose pointing toward the passing of gbanbison canada, there stood a group of familiar dark faces, and the look they cast backward was not one of longing for the fleshpots of egypt. the colonel saw grandison point him out to one of the crew of the vessel, who waved his hand derisively toward the colonel. the latter shook his fist impotently—and the incident was closed. uncle wellington's wives i uncle wellington braboy was so deeply absorbed in thought as he walked slowly homeward from the weekly meeting of the union league, that he let eis pipe go out, a fact of which he remained oblivious until he had reached the little frame house in the suburbs of patesville, where he lived with aunt milly, his wife. on this particular occasion the club had been addressed by a visiting brother from the north, professor patterson, a tall, well-formed mulatto, who wore a perfectly fitting suit of broadcloth, a shiny silk hat, and linen of dazzling whiteness, —in short, a gentleman of such distinguished appearance that the doors and windows of the offices and stores on front street were filled with curious observers as he passed through that thoroughfare in the early part of the day. this polished stranger was a travel¬ ing organizer of masonic lodges, but he also tjncle wellington's wives claimed to be a high officer in the union league, and had been invited to lecture be¬ fore the local chapter of that organization at patesville. the lecture had been largely attended, and uncle wellington braboy had occupied a seat just in front of the platform. the subject of the lecture was " the mental, moral, physical, political, social, and financial improvement of the negro race in america," a theme much dwelt upon, with slight variations, by colored orators. for to this struggling people, then as now, the problem of their uncertain present and their doubtful future was the chief con¬ cern of life. the period was the hopeful one. the federal government retained some vestige of authority in the south, and the newly emancipated race cherished the delusion that under the constitution, that enduring rock on which our liberties are founded, and under the equal laws it pur¬ ported to guarantee, they would enter upon the era of freedom and opportunity which their northern friends had inaugurated with such solemn sanctions. the speaker pictured in eloquent language the state of ideal equal¬ ity and happiness enjoyed by colored people uncle wellington's wives at the north : how they sent their children to school with the white children ; how they sat by white people in the churches and thea¬ tres, ate with them in the public restaurants, and buried their dead in the same cemeteries. the professor waxed eloquent with the de¬ velopment of his theme, and, as a finishing touch to an alluring picture, assured the ex¬ cited audience that the intermarriage of the races was common, and that he himself had espoused a white woman. uncle wellington braboy was a deeply in¬ terested listener. he had heard something of these facts before, but his information had always come in such vague and questionable shape that he had paid little attention to it. he knew that the yankees had freed the slaves, and that runaway negroes had always gone to the north to seek liberty; any such equality, however, as the visiting brother had depicted, was more than uncle wellington had ever conceived as actually existing any¬ where in the world. at first he felt inclined to doubt the truth of the speaker's statements ; but the cut of his clothes, the eloquence of his language, and the flowing length of his whiskers, were so far superior to anything uncle wellington's wives uncle wellington had ever met among the colored people of his native state, that he felt irresistibly impelled to the conviction that no¬ thing less than the advantages claimed for the north by the visiting brother could have pro¬ duced such an exquisite flower of civilization. any lingering doubts uncle wellington may have felt were entirely dispelled by the courtly bow and cordial grasp of the hand with which the visiting brother acknowledged the con¬ gratulations showered upon him by the audi¬ ence at the close of his address. the more uncle wellington's mind dwelt upon the professor's speech, the more attrac¬ tive seemed the picture of northern life pre¬ sented. uncle wellington possessed in large measure the imaginative faculty so freely be¬ stowed by nature upon the race from which the darker half of his blood was drawn. he had indulged in occasional day-dreams of an ideal state of social equality, but his wildest flights of fancy had never located it nearer than heaven, and he had felt some misgivings about its practical working even there. its desirability he had never doubted, and the speech of the evening before had given a local habitation and a name to the forms his uncle wellington's wives nevertheless performed his ablutions in a per¬ functory way, and resumed his seat at the breakfast-table. " ole 'oman," he asked, after the edge of his appetite had been taken off, " how would you lack ter live at de norf ? " "i dunno nuffin' 'bout de norf," replied aunt milly. " it's hard 'nuff ter git erlong heah, whar we knows all erbout it." " de brother what 'dressed de meetin' las' night say dat de wages at de norf is twicet ez big ez dey is heah." " you could make a sight mo' wages heah o o ef you'd 'ten' ter yo' wuk better," replied aunt milly. uncle wellington ignored this personality, and continued, " an' he say de cullud folks got all de privileges er de w'ite folks, — dat dey chillen goes ter school tergedder, dat dey sets on same seats in chu'ch, an' sarves on jury, 'n' rides on de kyars an' steam¬ boats wid de w'ite folks, an' eats at de fus' table." " dat 'u'd suit you," chuckled aunt milly, " an' you'd stay dere fer de seeon' table, too. how dis man know 'bout all dis yer foolis'- ness?" she asked incredulously. uncle wellington's wives good-looking black woman, of middle age, every curve of whose ample figure — and her figure was all curves — was suggestive of repose. so far from being indolent, or even deliberate in her movements, she was the most active and energetic woman in the town. she went through the physical exer¬ cises of a prayer-meeting with astonishing vigor. it was exhilarating to see her wash a shirt, and a study to watch her do it up. a quick jerk shook out the dampened garment; one pass of her ample palm spread it over the ironing-board, and a few well-directed strokes with the iron accomplished what would have occupied the ordinary laundress for half an hour. to this uncommon, and in uncle welling¬ ton's opinion unnecessary and unnatural ac¬ tivity, his own habits were a steady protest. if aunt milly had been willing to support him in idleness, he would have acquiesced without a murmur in her habits of industry. this she would not do, and, moreover, in¬ sisted on his working at least half the time. if she had invested the proceeds of her labor in rich food and fine clothing, he might have endured it better; but to her passion for uncle wellington's wives work was added a most detestable thrift. she absolutely refused to pay for wellington's clothes, and required him to furnish a certain proportion of the family supplies. her sav¬ ings were carefully put by, and with them she had bought and paid for the modest cot¬ tage which she and her husband occupied. under her careful hand it was always neat and clean; in summer the little yard was gay with bright-colored flowers, and woe to the heedless pickaninny who should stray into her yard and pluck a rose or a verbena! in a stout oaken chest under her bed she kept a capacious stocking, into which flowed a steady stream of fractional currency. she carried the key to this chest in her pocket, a pro¬ ceeding regarded by uncle wellington with no little disfavor. he was of the opinion — an opinion he would not have dared to assert in her presence — that his wife's earnings were his own property; and he looked upon this stocking as a drunkard's wife might re¬ gard the saloon which absorbed her husband's wages. uncle wellington hurried over the potato patch on the morning of the conversation above recorded, and as soon as he saw aunt uncle wellington's wives milly go away with a basket of clothes on her head, returned to the house, put on his coat, and went uptown. he directed his steps to a small frame building fronting on the main street of the village, at a point where the street was inter¬ sected by one of the several creeks mean¬ dering through the town, cooling the air, providing numerous swimming-holes for the amphibious small boy, and furnishing water- power for grist-mills and saw-mills. the rear of the building rested on long brick pillars, built up from the bottom of the steep bank of the creek, while the front was level with the street. this was the office of mr. mat¬ thew wright, the sole representative of the colored race at the bar of chinquapin county. mr. wright came of an "old issue" free colored family, in which, though the negro blood was present in an attenuated strain, a line of free ancestry could be traced beyond the revolutionary war. he had enjoyed exceptional opportunities, and enjoyed the distinction of being the first, and for a long time the only colored lawyer in north caro¬ lina. his services were frequently called into requisition by impecunious people of his own uncle wellington's wives nized as his actually, as soon as lie can secure possession of it." " dat is ter say, suh — my eddication don' quite 'low me ter understan' dat — dat is ter say " — " that is to say, it's yours when you get it. it is n't yours so that the law will help you get it; but on the other hand, when you once lay your hands on it, it is yours so that the law won't take it away from you." uncle wellington nodded to express his full comprehension of the law as expounded by mr. wright, but scratched his head in a way that expressed some disappointment. the law seemed to wobble. instead of en¬ abling him to stand up fearlessly and de¬ mand his own, it threw him back upon his own efforts; and the prospect of his being able to overpower or outwit aunt milly by any ordinary means was very poor. he did not leave the office, but hung around awhile as though there were some¬ thing further he wished to speak about. finally, after some discursive remarks about the crops and politics, he asked, in an off¬ hand, disinterested manner, as though the thought had just occurred to him : — uncle wellington's wives even if you should want to marry again. you were never legally married." " so milly ain't my lawful wife, den ? " "she may be your wife in one sense of the word, but not in such a sense as to render you liable to punishment for bigamy if you should marry another woman. but i hope you will never want to do anything of the kind, for you have a very good wife now." uncle wellington went away thoughtfully, but with a feeling of unaccustomed lightness and freedom. he had not felt so free since the memorable day when he had first heard of the emancipation proclamation. on leaving the lawyer's office, he called at the workshop of one of . his friends, peter williams, a shoe¬ maker by trade, who had a brother living in ohio. " is you hearn f'm sam lately ? " uncle wellington inquired, after the conversation had drifted through the usual generalities. u his mammy got er letter f'm 'im las' week; he's livin' in de town er groveland now." a how's he gittin' on ? " " he says he gittin' on monst'us well. he 'low ez how he make five dollars a day w'ite- washin', an' have all he kin do." uncle wellington's wives the shoemaker related various details of his brother's prosperity, and uncle welling¬ ton returned home in a very thoughtful mood, revolving in his mind a plan of future action. this plan had been vaguely assuming form ever since the professor's lecture, and the events of the morning had brought out the detail in bold relief. two days after the conversation with the shoemaker, aunt milly went, in the afternoon, to visit a sister of hers who lived several miles out in the country. during her absence, which lasted until nightfall, uncle welling¬ ton went uptown and purchased a cheap oil¬ cloth valise from a shrewd son of israel, who had- penetrated to this locality with a stock of notions and cheap clothing. uncle wellington had his purchase done up in brown paper, and took the parcel under his arm. arrived at home he unwrapped the valise, and thrust into its capacious jaws his best suit of clothes, some underwear, and a few other small articles for personal use and adornment. then he carried the valise out into the yard, and, first looking cautiously around to see if there was any one in sight, concealed it in a clump of bushes in a corner of the yard. uncle wellington's wives it may be inferred from this proceeding that uncle wellington was preparing for a step of some consequence. in fact, he had fully made up his mind to go to the north; but he still lacked the most important requi¬ site for traveling with comfort, namely, the money to pay his expenses. the idea of tramping the distance which separated him from the promised land of liberty and equality had never occurred to him. when a slave, he had several times been importuned by fel¬ low servants to join them in the attempt to escape from bondage, but he had never wanted his freedom badly enough to walk a thousand miles for it; if he could have gone to canada by stage-coach, or by rail, or on horseback, with stops for regular meals, he would probably have undertaken the trip. the funds he now needed for his journey were in aunt milly's chest. he had thought a great deal about his right to this money. it was his wife's savings, and he had never dared to dispute, openly, her right to exercise exclusive control over what she earned; but the lawyer had assured him of his right to the money, of which he was already constructively in possession, and he had therefore deter- uncle wellington's wives mined to possess himself actually of the coveted stocking. it was impracticable for him to get the key of the chest. aunt milly kept it in her pocket by day and under her pillow at night. she 'was a light sleeper, and, if not awakened by the abstraction of the key, would certainly have been disturbed by the unlocking of the chest. but one alterna¬ tive remained, and that was to break open the chest in her absence. there was a revival in progress at the col¬ ored methodist church. aunt milly was as energetic in her religion as in other respects, and had not missed a single one of the meet¬ ings. she returned at nightfall from her visit to the country and prepared a frugal supper. uncle wellington did not eat as heartily as usual. aunt milly perceived his want of appetite, and spoke of it. he ex¬ plained it by saying that he did not feel very well. " is you gwine ter chu'ch ter-night ?" inquired his wife. " i reckon i ' stay home an' go ter bed," he replied. " i ain't be'n feelin' well dis evenin', an' i 'spec' i better git a good night's res'." uncle wellington's wives " well, you kin stay ef you mineter. good preacliin' 'u'd make you feel better, but ef you ain't gwine, don' fergit ter tote in some wood an' lighterd 'fo' you go ter bed. de moon is shinin' bright, an' you can't have no 'scuse 'bout not bein' able ter see." uncle wellington followed her out to the gate, and watched her receding form until it disappeared in the distance. then he re¬ entered the house with a quick step, and tak¬ ing a hatchet from a corner of the room, drew the chest from under the bed. as he applied the hatchet to the fastenings, a thought struck him, and by the flickering light of the pine-knot blazing on the hearth, a look of hesitation might have been seen to take the place of the determined expression his face had worn up to that time. he had argued himself into the belief that his present action was lawful and justifiable. though this con¬ viction had not prevented him from trembling in every limb, as though he were committing a mere vulgar theft, it had still nerved him to the deed. now even his moral courage began to weaken. the lawyer had told him that his wife's property was his own; in taking it he was therefore only exercising his lawful right. uncle wellington's wives but at the point of breaking open the chest, it occurred to him that he was taking this money in order to get away from aunt milly, and that he justified his desertion of her by the lawyer's opinion that she was not his law¬ ful wife. if she was not his wife, then he had no right to take the money ; if she was his wife, he had no right to desert her, and would certainly have no right to marry another woman. his scheme was about to go to shipwreck on this rock, when another idea occurred to him. " de lawyer say dat in one sense er de word de ole 'oman is my wife, an' in anudder sense er de word she ain't my wife. ef i goes ter de norf an' marry a w'ite 'oman, i ain't com¬ mit no brigamy, 'caze in dat sense er de word she ain't my wife ; but ef i takes dis money, i ain't stealin' it, 'caze in dat sense er de word she is my wife. dat 'splains all de trouble away." having reached this ingenious conclusion, uncle wellington applied the hatchet vigor-' ously, soon loosened the fastenings of the chest, and with trembling hands extracted from its depths a capacious blue cotton stock' ing. he emptied the stocking on the table. uncle wellington's wives avoiding the few people who were abroad at that hour, and soon reached the railroad sta¬ tion, from which a north-bound train left at nine o'clock. he went around to the dark side of the train, and climbed into a second- class car, where he shrank into the darkest corner and turned his face away from the dim light of the single dirty lamp. there were no passengers in the car except one or two sleepy negroes, who had got on at some other station, and a white man who had gone into the car to smoke, accompanied by a gigantic bloodhound. finally the train crept out of the station. from the window uncle wellington looked out upon the familiar cabins and turpentine stills, the new barrel factory, the brickyard where he had once worked for some time; and as the train rattled through the outskirts of the town, jie saw gleaming in the moon¬ light the white headstones of the colored ceme¬ tery where his only daughter had been buried several years before. presently the conductor came around. uncle wellington had not bought a ticket, and the conductor collected a cash fare. he was not acquainted with uncle wellington, uncle wellington''s wives but had just had a drink at the saloon near the depot, and felt at peace with all man¬ kind. "where are you going, uncle?" he in¬ quired carelessly. uncle wellington's face assumed the ashen hue which does duty for pallor in dusky countenances, and his knees began to tremble. controlling his voice as well as he could, he replied that he was going up to jonesboro> the terminus of the railroad, to work for a gentleman at that place. he felt immensely relieved when the conductor pocketed the fare, picked up his lantern, and moved away. it was very unphilosophical and very absurd that a man who was only doing right should feel like a thief, shrink from the sight of other people, and lie instinctively. fine dis¬ tinctions were not in uncle wellington's line, but he was struck by the unreasonableness of his feelings, and still more by the discomfort they caused him. by and by, however, the motion of the train made him drowsy; his thoughts all ran together in confusion ; and he fell asleep with his head on his valise, and one hand in his pocket, clasped tightly around the roll of money. uncle wellington's wives ii the train from pittsburg drew into the union depot at groveland, ohio, one morn¬ ing in the spring of -, with bell ringing and engine puffing; and from a smoking-car emerged the form of uncle wellington bra- boy, a little dusty and travel-stained, and with a sleepy look about his eyes. he mingled in the crowd, and, valise in hand, moved toward the main exit from the depot. there were several tracks to be crossed, and more than once a watchman snatched him out of the way of a baggage-truck, or a train backing into the depot. he at length reached the door, beyond which, and as near as the regu¬ lations would permit, stood a number of hack- men, vociferously soliciting patronage. one of them, a colored man, soon secured several passengers. as he closed the door after the last one he turned to uncle wellington, who stood near him on the sidewalk, looking about irresolutely. " is you goin' uptown ? " asked the hack- man, as he prepared to mount the box. " yas, suh." " i ' take you up fo' a quahtah, ef you uncle wellington's wives want ter git up here an' ride on de box wid me." uncle wellington accepted the offer and mounted the box. the hackman whipped up his horses, the carriage climbed the steep hill leading up to the town, and the passengers inside were soon deposited at their hotels. " whereabouts do you want to go ? " asked the hackman of uncle wellington, when the carriage was emptied of its last passengers. " i want ter go ter brer sam williams's," said wellington. " what's his street an' number ? " uncle wellington did not know the street and number, and the hackman had to explain to him the mystery of numbered houses, to which he was a total stranger. " where is he from? " asked the hackman, " and what is his business ? " "he is f'm norf ca'lina," replied uncle wellington, " an' makes his livin' w'ite- © ' washin'." " i reckon i knows de man," said the hackman. " i 'spec' he's changed his name. de man i knows is name' johnson. he b'longs ter my chu'ch. i'm gwine out dat way ter git a passenger fer de ten o'clock train, an' i ' take you by dere." uncle wellington's wives they followed one of the least handsome streets of the city for more than a mile, turned into a cross street, and drew up before a small frame house, from the front of which a sign, painted in white upon a black back¬ ground, announced to the reading public, in letters inclined to each other at various an¬ gles, that whitewashing and kalsomining were " dun " there. a knock at the door brought out a slatternly looking colored woman. she had evidently been disturbed at her toilet, for she held a comb in one hand, and the hair on one side of her head stood out loosely, while on the other side it was braided close to her head. she called her husband, who proved to be the patesville shoemaker's brother. the hackman introduced the traveler, whose name he had' learned on the way out, collected his quarter, and drove away. mr. johnson, the shoemaker's brother, wel¬ comed uncle wellington to groveland, and listened with eager delight to the news of the old town, from which he himself had run away many years before, and followed the north star to groveland. he had changed his name from " williams " to " johnson," on account of the fugitive slave law, which, uncle wellington's wives at the time of his escape from bondage, had rendered it advisable for runaway slaves to court obscurity. after the war he had re¬ tained the adopted name. mrs. johnson pre¬ pared breakfast for her guest, who ate it with an appetite sharpened by his journey. after breakfast he went to bed, and slept until late in the afternoon. after supper mr. johnson took uncle wel¬ lington to visit some of the neighbors who had come from north carolina before the war. they all expressed much pleasure at meeting " mr. braboy," a title which at first sounded a little odd to uncle wellington. at home he had been "wellin'ton," "brer wellin'ton," or "uncle wellin'ton;" it was a novel experience to be called " mister," and he set. it down, with secret satisfaction, as one of the first fruits of northern liberty. " would you lack ter look 'roun' de town a little ?" asked mr. johnson at breakfast next morning. " i ain' got no job dis mawn- in', an' lkin show you some er de sights." uncle wellington acquiesced in this ar¬ rangement, and they walked up to the cor¬ ner to the street-car line. in a few moments a car passed. mr. johnson jumped on the uncle wellington's wives moving car, and uncle wellington followed his example, at the risk of life or limb, as it was his first experience of street cars. there was only one vacant seat in the car and that was between two white women in the forward end. mr. johnson motioned to the seat, but wellington shrank from walking between those two rows of white people, to say nothing of sitting between the two women, so he remained standing in the rear part of the car. a moment later, as the car rounded a short curve, he was pitched sidewise into the lap of a stout woman magnificently at¬ tired in a ruffled blue calico gown. the lady colored up, and uncle wellington, as he struggled to his feet amid the laughter of the passengers, was absolutely helpless with em¬ barrassment, until the conductor came up behind him and pushed him toward the vacant place. " sit down, will you," he said; and before uncle wellington could collect himself, he was seated between the two white women. everybody in the car seemed to be looking at him. but he came to the conclusion, after he had pulled himself together and reflected a few moments, that he would find this uncle wellington's wives began to lose its plumpness, and with an empty pocket staring him in the face, he felt the necessity of finding something to do. daring his residence in the city he had met several times his first acquaintance, mr. peter¬ son, the hackman, who from time to time inquired how he was getting along. on one of these occasions wellington mentioned his willingness to accept employment. as good luck would have it, mr. peterson knew of a vacant situation. he had formerly been coachman for a wealthy gentleman residing on oakwood avenue, but had resigned the situation to go into business for himself. his place had been filled by an irishman, who had just been discharged for drunkenness, and the gentleman that very day had sent word to mr. peterson, asking him if he could recom¬ mend a competent and trustworthy coachman. " does you know anything erbout hosses ? " asked mr. peterson. "yas, indeed, i does," said wellington. " i wuz raise' 'mongs' hosses." u i tol' my ole boss i'd look out fer a man, an' ef you reckon you kin fill de 'quirements er de situation, i ' take yo' roun' dere ter- morrer mornin'. you wants ter put on yo' uncle wellington's wives bes' clothes an' slick up, fer dey 're partic'lar people. ef you git de place i ' expec' you ter pay me fer de time i lose in 'ten din' ter yo' business, fer time is money in dis country, an' folks don't do much fer nuthin'." next morning wellington blacked his shoes carefully, put on a clean collar, and with the aid of mrs. johnson tied his cravat in a jaunty bow which gave him quite a sprightly air and a much younger look than his years warranted. mr. peterson called for him at eight o'clock. after traversing several cross streets they turned into oakwood avenue and walked along the finest part of it for about half a mile. the handsome houses of this famous avenue, the stately trees, the wide- spreading lawns, dotted with flower beds, fountains and statuary, made up a picture so far surpassing anything in wellington's ex¬ perience as to fill him with an almost oppres¬ sive sense of its beauty. " hit looks lack hebben," he said softly. " it's a pootty fine street," rejoined his companion, with a judicial air, "but i don't like dem big lawns. it's too much trouble ter keep de grass down. one er dem lawns is big enough to pasture a couple er cows." uncle wellington's wives they went down a street running at right angles to the avenue, and turned into the rear of the corner lot. a large building of pressed brick, trimmed with stone, loomed up before them. " do de gemman lib in dis house ? " asked wellington, gazing with awe at the front of the building. " no, dat's de barn," said mr. peterson with good-natured contempt; and leading the way past a clump of shrubbery to the dwell¬ ing-house, he went up the back steps and rang the door-bell. the ring was answered by a buxom irish¬ woman, of a natural freshness of complexion deepened to a fiery red by the heat of a kitchen range. wellington thought he had seen her before, but his mind had received so many new impressions lately that it was a minute or two before he recognized in her the lady whose lap he had involuntarily occupied for a moment on his first day in groveland. " faith," she exclaimed as she admitted them, " an' it -'s mighty glad i am to see ye ag'in, misther payterson! an' how hev ye be'n, misther payterson, sence i see ye lahst ? " uncle wellington's wives " middlin' well, mis' flannigan, middlin' well, 'ceptin' a tech er de rheumatiz. s'pose you be'n doin' well as usual ? " " oh yis, as well as a dacent woman could do wid a drunken baste about the place like the lahst coachman. misther payterson, it would make yer heart bleed to see the way the spalpeen cut up a-saturday ! but misther todd discharged 'im the same avenin', widout a characther, bad 'cess to 'im, an' we've had no coachman sence at all, at all. an' it's sorry i am " — the lady's flow of eloquence was interrupted at this point by the appearance of mr. todd himself, who had been informed of the men's arrival. he asked some questions in regard to wellington's qualifications and former ex¬ perience, and in view of his recent arrival in the city was willing to accept mr. peterson's recommendation instead of a reference. he said a few words about the nature of the work, and stated his willingness to pay wel¬ lington the wages formerly allowed mr. peter¬ son, thirty dollars a month and board and lodging. this handsome offer was eagerly accepted, and it was agreed that wellington's term of uncle wellington's wives service should begin immediately. mr. peter¬ son, being familiar with the work, and finan¬ cially interested, conducted the new coachman through the stables and showed him what he would have to do. the silver-mounted har¬ ness, the variety of carriages, the names of which he learned for the first time, the ar¬ rangements for feeding and watering the horses, — these appointments of a rich man's stable impressed wellington very much, and he wondered that so much luxury should be wasted on mere horses. the room assigned to him, in the second story of the barn, was a finer apartment than he had ever slept in; and the salary attached to the situation was greater than the combined monthly earnings of himself and aunt milly in their southern home. surely, he thought, his lines had fallen in pleasant places. under the stimulus of new surroundings wellington applied himself diligently to work, and, with the occasional advice of mr. peter¬ son, soon mastered the details of his employ¬ ment. he found the female servants, with whom he took his meals, very amiable ladies. the cook, mrs. katie flannigan, was a widow. her husband, a sailor, had been lost at sea. uncle wellington's wives he had come to the city alone, had never been heard to speak of a wife, and to personal questions bearing upon the subject of matri¬ mony had' always returned evasive answers. though he had never questioned the correct¬ ness of the lawyer's opinion in regard to his slave marriage, his conscience had never been entirely at ease since his departure from the south, and any positive denial of his married condition would have stuck in his throat. the inference naturally drawn from his reti¬ cence in regard to the past, coupled with his expressed intention of settling permanently in groveland, was that he belonged in the ranks of "the unmarried, and was therefore legitimate game for any widow or old maid who could bring him down. as such game is bagged easiest at short range, he received numerous invitations to tea-parties, where he feasted on unlimited chicken and pound cake. he used to compare these viands with the plain fare often served by aunt milly, and the result of the comparison was another item to the credit of the north upon his mental ledger. several of the colored ladies who smiled upon him were blessed with good looks, and uncle wellington, naturally of a suscep- uncle wellington's wives clean woman, 'at knowed how to cook an' wash an' iron, ter look afther ye, an' make yer life comfortable." uncle wellington sighed, and looked at her languishingly. " it 'u'd all be well ernuff, mis' flannigan, ef i had n' met you ; but i don' know whar i's ter fin' a colored lady w'at ' begin ter suit me after habbin' libbed in de same house wid you." " colored l^dy, indade ! why, misther bra- boy, ye don't nade ter demane yerself by marryin' a colored lady — not but they 're as good as anybody else, so long as they behave themselves. there's many a white woman 'u'd be glad ter git as fine a lookin' man as ye are." " now you 're flattrin' me, mis'^ flanni- gan," said wellington. but he felt a sudden and substantial increase in courage when she had spoken, and it was with astonishing ease that he found himself saying: — " dey ain' but one lady, mis' flannigan, dat could injuce me ter want ter change de lonesomeness er my singleness fer de 'sponsi- bilities er matermony, an' i'm feared she'd say no ef i'd ax her." uncle wellington's wives "ye'd better ax her, misther braboy, an* not be wastin' time a-wond'rin'. do i know the lady ? " "you knows 'er better'n anybody else, mis' flannigan. you is de only lady i'd be satisfied ter marry after knowin' you. ef you casts me off i ' spen' de rest er my days in lonesomeness an' mis'ry." mrs. flannigan affected much surprise and embarrassment at this bold declaration. " oh, misther braboy," she said, covering him with a coy glance, " an' it's rale 'shamed i am to hev b'en talkin' ter ye ez i hev. it looks as though i'd b'en doin' the coortin'. i did n't drame that i'd b'en able, ter draw yer affections to mesilf." " i's loved yoil ever sence i fell in yo' lap on de street car de fus' day i wuz *in grove- land," he said, as he moved his chair up closer to hers.. one evening in the following week they went out after supper to the residence of rev. caesar williams, pastor of the colored baptist church, and, after the usual prelimi¬ naries, were pronounced man and wife. uncle wellington's wives iii according to all his preconceived notions, this marriage ought to have been the acme of uncle wellington's felicity. but he soon found that it was not without its drawbacks. on the following morning mr. todd was in¬ formed of the marriage. he had no special objection to it, or interest in it, except that he was opposed on principle to having husband and wife in his employment at the same time. as a consequence, mrs. braboy, whose place could be more easily filled than that of her husband, received notice that her services would not be required after the end of the month. her husband was retained in his place as coachman. upon the loss of her situation, mrs. braboy decided to exercise the married woman's pre¬ rogative of letting her husband support her. she rented the upper floor of a small house in an irish neighborhood. the newly wedded pair furnished their rooms on the installment plan and began housekeeping. there was one little circumstance, however, that interfered slightly with their enjoyment of that perfect freedom from care which ought uncle wellington's wives for a while, affairs ran smoothly in the new home. the colored people seemed, at first, well enough disposed toward mrs. braboy, and she made quite a large acquaintance among them. it was difficult, however, for mrs. braboy to divest herself of the conscious¬ ness that she was white, and therefore superior to her neighbors. occasional words and acts by which she manifested this feeling were noticed and resented by her keen-eyed and sensitive colored neighbors. the result was a slight coolness between them. that her few white neighbors did not visit her, she naturally and no doubt correctly imputed to disapproval of her matrimonial relations. under these circumstances, mrs. braboy was left a good deal to her own company. owing to lack of opportunity in early life, she was not a woman of many resources, either mental or moral. it is therefore not strange that, in order to relieve her loneliness, she should occasionally have recourse to a glass of beer, and, as the habit grew upon her, to still stronger stimulants. uncle welling¬ ton himself was no teetotaler, and did not interpose any objection so long as she kept her potations within reasonable limits, and uncle wellington's wives was apparently none the worse for them; indeed, he sometimes joined her in a glass. on one of these occasions he drank a little too much, and, while driving the ladies of mr. todd's family to the opera, ran against a lamp-post and overturned the carriage, to the serious discomposure of the ladies' nerves, and at the cost of his situation. a coachman discharged under such cir¬ cumstances is not in the best position for procuring employment at his calling, and uncle wellington, under the pressure of need, was obliged to seek some other means of livelihood. at the suggestion of his friend mr. johnson, he bought a whitewash brush, a peck of lime, a couple of pails, and a hand¬ cart, and began work as a whitewasher. his first efforts were very crude, and for a while he lost a customer in every person he worked for. he nevertheless managed to pick up a living during the spring and summer months, and to support his wife and himself in com¬ parative comfort. the approach of winter put an end to the whitewashing season, and left uncle welling¬ ton dependent for support upon occasional jobs of unskilled labor. the income derived from uncle wellington's wives these was very uncertain, and mrs. braboy was at length driven, by stress of circum¬ stances, to the washtub, that last refuge of honest, able-bodied poverty, in all countries where the use of clothing is conventional. the last state of uncle wellington was now worse than the first. under the soft firm¬ ness of aunt milly's rule, he had not been required to do a great deal of work, prompt and cheerful obedience being chiefly what was expected of him. but matters were very dif¬ ferent here. he had not only to bring in the coal and water, but to rub the clothes and turn the wringer, and to humiliate himself before the public by emptying the tubs and hanging out the wash in full view of the neighbors ; and he had to deliver the clothes when laundered. at times wellington found himself won¬ dering if his second marriage had been a wise one. other circumstances combined to change in some degree his once rose-colored concep¬ tion of life at the north. he had believed that all men were equal in this favored local¬ ity, but he discovered more degrees of inequal¬ ity than he had ever perceived at the south. a colored man might be as good as a white uncle wellington's wives man in theory, but neither of them was of any special consequence without money, or talent, or position. uncle wellington found a great many privileges open to him at the north, but he had not been educated to the point where he could appreciate them or take advantage of them; and the enjoyment of many of them was expensive, and, for that reason alone, as far beyond his reach as they had ever been. when he once began to admit even the pos¬ sibility of a mistake on his part, these con¬ siderations presented themselves to his mind with increasing force. on occasions when mrs. braboy would require of him some un¬ usual physical exertion, or when too fre¬ quent applications to the bottle had loosened her tongue, uncle wellington's mind would revert, with a remorseful twinge of conscience, to the dolce far niente of his southern home; a film would come over his eyes and brain, and, instead of the red-faced irishwoman op¬ posite him, he could see the black but comely disk of aunt milly's countenance bending over the washtub ; the elegant brogue of mrs. braboy would deliquesce into the soft dialect of north carolina; and he would only be aroused from this blissful reverie by a wet uncle wellington's wives boarding a passing street car, paid one of his very few five-cent pieces to ride down to the office of the hon. mr. brown, the colored lawyer whom he had visited when he first came to the city, and who was well known to him by sight and reputation. " mr. brown," he said," i ain' gitt'n' 'long very well wid my ole 'oman." " what's the trouble ? " asked the lawyer, with business-like curtness, for he did not scent much of a fee. " well, de main trouble is she doan treat me right. an' den she gits drunk, an' wuss'n dat, she lays vi'lent han's on me. i kyars de marks er dat 'oman on my face now." he showed the lawyer a long scratch on the neck. " why don't you defend yourself ? " "you don' know mis' braboy, suh; you don' know dat 'oman," he replied, with a shake of the head. " some er dese yer w'ite women is monst'us strong in de wris'." "well, mr. braboy, it's what you might have expected when you turned your back on your own people and married a white woman. you weren't content with being a slave to the white folks once, but you must uncle wellington's wives try it again. some people never know when they've got enough. i don't see that there's any help for you ; unless," he added sugges¬ tively, " you had a good deal of money." " 'pears ter me i heared somebody say sence i be'n up heah, dat it wuz 'gin de law fer w'ite folks an' colored folks ter marry." " that was once the law, though it has always been a dead letter in groveland. in fact, it was the law when you got married, and until i introduced a bill in the legislature last fall to repeal it. but even that law did n't hit cases like yours. it was unlawful to make such a marriage, but it was a good marriage when once made." " i don' jes' git dat th'oo my head," said wellington, scratching that member as though to make a hole for the idea to enter. " it's quite plain, mr. braboy. it's un¬ lawful to kill a man, but when he's killed he's just as dead as though the law permitted it. i'm afraid you have n't much of a case, but if you ' go to work and get twenty-five dollars together? i ' see what i can do for you. we may be able to pull a case through on the ground of extreme cruelty. i might even start the case if you brought in ten dollars." uncle wellington's wives wellington went away sorrowfully. the laws of ohio were very little more satisfactory than those of north carolina. and as for the ten dollars, — the lawyer might as well have told him to bring in the moon, or a deed for the public square. he felt very, very low as he hurried back home to supper, which he would have to go without if he were not on hand at the usual supper-time. but just when his spirits were lowest, and his outlook for the future most hopeless, a measure of relief was at hand. he noticed, when he reached home, that mrs. braboy was a little preoccupied, and did not abuse him as vigorously as he expected after so long an absence. he also perceived the smell of strange tobacco in the house, of a better grade than he could afford to use. he thought perhaps some one had come in to see about the washing; but he was too glad of a respite from mrs. braboy's rhetoric to imperil it by indiscreet questions. next morning she gave him fifty cents. " braboy," she said, " ye've be'n helpin' me nicely wid the washin', an' i'm going ter give ye a holiday. ye can take yer hook an' line an' go fishin' on the breakwater. i ' fix uncle wellington's wives ye a lunch, an' ye need n't come back till night. an' there's half a dollar ; ye can buy yerself a pipe er terbacky. but be careful an' don't waste it," she added, for fear she was overdoing the thing. uncle wellington was overjoyed at this change of front on the part of mrs. braboy; if she would make it permanent he did not see why they might not live together very comfortably. the day passed pleasantly down on the breakwater. the weather was agreeable, and the fish bit freely. towards evening welling- ton started home with a bunch of fish that no angler need have been ashamed of. he looked forward to a good warm supper; for even if something should have happened during the day to alter his wife's mood for the worse, any ordinary variation would be more than balanced by the substantial ad¬ dition of food to their larder. his mouth watered at the thought of the finny beauties sputtering in the frying-pan. he noted, as he approached the house, that there was no smoke coming from the chimney. this only disturbed him in connection with the matter of supper. when he entered the uncle wellington's wives gate he observed further that the window- shades had been taken down. " 'spec' de ole 'oman's been house-cleanin'," he said to himself. " i wonder she did n' make me stay an' he'p 'er." he went round to the rear of the house and tried the kitchen door. it was locked. this was somewhat of a surprise, and dis¬ turbed still further his expectations in regard to supper. when he had found the key and opened the door, the gravity of his next discovery drove away for the time being all thoughts of eating. the kitchen was empty. stove, table, chairs, wash-tubs, pots and pans, had vanished as if into thin air. " fo' de lawd's sake !" he murmured in open-mouthed astonishment. he passed into the other room, —they had only two,—which had served as bedroom and sitting-room. it was as bare as the first, except that in the middle of the floor were piled uncle wellington's clothes. it was not a large pile, and on the top of it lay a folded piece of yellow wrapping-paper. wellington stood for a moment as if petri¬ fied. then he rubbed his eyes and looked around him. uncle wellington's wives " w'at do dis mean ? " he said. " is i er- dreamin', er does i see w'at i 'pears ter see ? " he glanced down at the bunch of fish which he still held. " heah's de fish ; heah's de house; heah i is ; but whar's de ole 'oman, an' whar's de fu'niture ? i can't figure out w'at dis yer all means." he picked up the piece of paper and un¬ folded it. it was written on one side. here was the obvious solution of the mystery, — that is, it would have been obvious if he could have read it; but he could not, and so his fancy continued to play upon the subject. perhaps the house had been robbed, or the furniture taken back by the seller, for it had not been entirely paid for. finally he went across the street and called to a boy in a neighbor's yard. " does you read writin', johnnie?" " yes, sir, i'm in the seventh grade." " read dis yer paper fuh me." the youngster took the note, and with much labor read the following: — " mr. braboy : " in lavin' ye so suddint i have ter say that my first husban' has turned up unix- uncle wellington's wives iv just fifteen months after the date when uncle wellington had left north carolina, a weather-beaten figure entered the town of patesville after nightfall, following the rail¬ road track from the north. few would have recognized in the hungry-looking old brown tramp, clad in dusty rags and limping along with bare feet, the trim-looking middle-aged mulatto who so few months before had taken the train from patesville for the distant north; so, if he had but known it, there was no necessity for him to avoid the main streets and sneak around by unfrequented paths to reach the old place on the other side of the town. he encountered nobody that he knew, and soon the familiar shape of the little cabin rose before him. it stood distinctly outlined against the sky, and the light streaming from the half-opened shutters showed it to be occu¬ pied. as he drew nearer, every familiar de¬ tail of the place appealed to his memory and to his affections, and his heart went out to the old home and the old wife. as he came nearer still, the odor of fried chicken floated out upon the air and set his mouth to water- uncle wellington's wives ing, and awakened unspeakable longings in his half-starved stomach. at this moment, however, a fearful thought struck him; suppose the old woman had taken legal advice and married again during his ab¬ sence ? turn about would have been only fair play. he opened the gate softly, and with his heart in his mouth approached the window on tiptoe and looked in. a cheerful fire was blazing on the hearth, in front of which sat the familiar form of aunt milly — and another, at the sight of whom uncle wellington's heart sank within him. he knew the other person very well; he had sat there more than once before uncle wellington went away. it was the minister of the church to which his wife belonged. the preacher's former visits, however, had signified nothing more than pastoral courtesy, or appreciation of good eating. his presence now was of serious portent; for wellington recalled, with acute alarm, that the elder's wife had died only a few weeks before his own departure for the north. what was the occasion of his presence this evening? was it merely a pastoral call? or was he courting ? or had aunt milly taken legal advice and mar¬ ried the eider ? uncle wellington's wives wellington remembered a crack in the c wall, at the back of the house, through which he could see and hear, and quietly stationed himself there. " dat chicken smells mighty good, sis' milly," the elder was saying; " i can't fer de life er me see why dat low-down husban' er yo'n could ever run away f'm a cook like you. it's one er de beatenis' things i ever heared. how he could lib wid you an' not 'preciate you i can't understan', no indeed i can't." aunt milly sighed. " de trouble wid wellin'ton wuz," she replied, "dat he did n' know when he wuz well off. he wuz alluz wishin' fer change, er studyin' 'bout some- thin' new." " ez fer me," responded the elder ear¬ nestly, " i likes things what has be'n prove' an' tried an' has stood de tes', an' i can't 'magine how anybody could spec' ter fin' a better housekeeper er cook dan you is, sis' milly. i'm a gittin' mighty lonesone sence my wife died. de good book say it is not good fer man ter lib alone, en it 'pears ter me dat you an' me mought git erlong tergether monst'us well." wellington's heart stood still, while he uncle wellington's wives wanted me, it made me so mad, i made up my min' dat ef he ever put his foot on my do'- sill ag'in, i 'd shet de do' in his face an' tell 'im ter go back whar he come f'm." to wellington, on the outside, the cabin had never seemed so comfortable, aunt milly never so desirable, chicken never so appetiz¬ ing, as at this moment when they seemed slipping away from his grasp forever. " yo' feelin's does you credit, sis' milly," said the elder, taking her hand, which for a moment she did not withdraw. u an' de way fer you ter close yo' do' tightes' ag'inst 'im is ter take me in his place. he ain' got no claim on you no mo'. he tuk his ch'ice 'cordin' ter w'at de lawyer tol' 'im, an' 'ter- mine' dat he wa'n't yo' husban'. ef he wa'n't yo' husban', he had no right ter take yo' money, an' ef he comes back here ag'in you kin hab 'im tuck up an' sent ter de peni- tenchy fer stealin' it." uncle wellington's knees, already weak from fasting, trembled violently beneath him. the worst that he had feared was now likely to happen. his only hope of safety lay in flight, and yet the scene within so fascinated him that he could not move a step. uncle wellington's wives up an armful of pieces. a moment later lie threw open the door. " ole 'oman," he exclaimed, " here's dat wood you tol' me ter fetch in ! why, elder," he said to the preacher, who had started from his seat with surprise, " w'at's yo' hurry ? won't you stay an' hab some supper wid us?" the bouquet mary mybovee's friends were somewhat surprised when she began to teach a colored school. miss myrover's friends are mentioned here, because nowhere more than in a south¬ ern town is public opinion a force which can¬ not be lightly contravened. public opinion, however, did not oppose miss myrover's teaching colored children; in fact, all the colored public schools in town — and there were several — were taught by white teachers, and had been so taught since the state had undertaken to provide free public instruction for all children within its boundaries. previ¬ ous to that time, there had been a freedman's bureau school and a presbyterian missionary school, but these had been withdrawn when the need for them became less pressing. the colored people of the town had been for some time agitating their right to teach their own schools, but as yet the claim had not been conceded. the bouquet the reason miss myrover's course created some surprise was not, therefore, the fact that a southern white woman should teach a col¬ ored school; it lay in the fact that up to this time no woman of just her quality had taken up such work. most of the teachers of col¬ ored schools were not of those who had con¬ stituted the aristocracy of the old regime; they might be said rather to represent the new order of things, in which labor was in time to become honorable, and men were, after a somewhat longer time, to depend, for their place in society, upon themselves rather than upon their ancestors. mary myrover belonged to one of the proudest of the old families. her ancestors had been people of distinction in virginia before a collateral branch of the main stock had settled in north carolina. before the war, they had been able to live up to their pedigree ; but the war brought sad changes. miss myrover's father — the colonel myrover who led a gallant but desperate charge at yicksburg — had fallen on the battlefield, and his tomb in the white cemetery was a shrine for the family. on the confederate memorial day, no other grave was so profusely decorated with flowers, and, the botjquet in the oration pronounced, the name of colo¬ nel myrover was always used to illustrate the highest type of patriotic devotion and self-sacrifice. miss myrover's brother, too, had fallen in the conflict; but his bones lay in some unknown trench, with those of a thousand others who had fallen on the same field. ay, more, her lover, who had hoped to come home in the full tide of victory and claim his bride as a reward for gallantry, had shared the fate of her father and brother. when the war was over, the remnant of the family found itself involved in the common ruin, — more deeply involved, indeed, than some others; for colonel myrover had be¬ lieved in the ultimate triumph of his cause, and had invested most of his wealth in con¬ federate bonds, which were now only so much waste paper. there had been a little left. mrs. myrover was thrifty, and had laid by a few hundred dollars, which she kept in the house to meet unforeseen contingencies. there remained, too, their home, with an ample garden and a well-stocked orchard, besides a considerable tract of country land, partly cleared, but pro¬ ductive of very little revenue. the bouquet thing. besides, it's only a business arrange¬ ment, and does n't involve any closer contact than we have with our servants." " well, i should say not! " sniffed the old lady. not one of them will ever dare to pre¬ sume on your position to take any liberties with us. /'ii see to that." miss my rover began her work as a teacher in the autumn, at the opening of the school year. it was a novel experience at first. though there had always been negro servants in the house, and though on the streets colored people were more numerous than those of her own race, and though she was so familiar with their dialect that she might almost be said to speak it, barring certain characteristic grammatical inaccuracies, she had never been brought in personal contact with so many of them at once as when she confronted the fifty or sixty faces — of colors ranging from a white almost as clear as her own to the dark¬ est livery of the sun — which were gathered in the schoolroom on the morning when she began her duties. some of the inherited prejudice of her caste, too, made itself felt, though she tried to repress any outward sign of it; and she could perceive that the chil- the bouquet dren were not altogether responsive; they, likewise, were not entirely free from antago¬ nism. the work was unfamiliar to her. she was not physically very strong, and at the close of the first day went home with a splitting headache. if she could have resigned then and there without causing comment or annoy¬ ance to others, she would have felt it a privi¬ lege to do so. but a night's rest banished her headache and improved her spirits, and the next morning she went to her work with renewed vigor, fortified by the experience of the first day. miss myrover's second day was more satis¬ factory. she had some natural talent for organization, though hitherto unaware of it, and in the course of the day she got her classes formed and lessons under way. in a week or two she began to classify her pupils in her own mind, as bright or stupid, mis¬ chievous or well behaved, lazy or industrious, as the case might be, and to regulate her dis¬ cipline accordingly. that she had come of a long line of ancestors who had exercised authority and mastership was perhaps not without its effect upon her character, and enabled her more readily to maintain good the bouquet order in the school. when she was fairly broken in, she found the work rather to her liking, and derived much pleasure from such success as she achieved as a teacher. it was natural that she should be more at¬ tracted to some of her pupils than to others. perhaps her favorite — or, rather, the one she liked best, for she was too fair and just for conscious favoritism — was sophy tucker. just the ground for the teacher's liking for sophy might not at first be apparent. the girl was far from the whitest of miss myro- ver's pupils; in fact, she was one of the darker ones. she was not the brightest in intellect, though she always tried to learn her lessons. she was not the best dressed, for her mother was a poor widow, who went out washing and scrubbing for a living. perhaps the real tie between them was sophy's intense devotion to the teacher. it had manifested itself almost from the first day of the school, in the rapt look of admiration miss myrover always saw on the little black face turned toward her. in it there was nothing of envy, no¬ thing of regret; nothing but worship for the beautiful white lady — she was not especially handsome, but to sophy her beauty was the bouquet almost divine — who had come to teach her. if miss myrover dropped a book, sophy was the first to spring and pick it up; if she wished a chair moved, sophy seemed to an¬ ticipate her wish ; and so of all the number¬ less little services that can be rendered in a schoolroom. miss myrover was fond of flowers, and liked to have them about her. the children soon learned of this taste of hers, and kept the vases on her desk filled with blossoms during their season. sophy was perhaps the most active in providing them. if she could not get garden flowers, she would make ex¬ cursions to the woods in the early morning, and bring in great dew-laden bunches of bay, or jasmine, or some other fragrant forest flower which she knew the teacher loved. " when i die, sophy," miss myrover said to the child one day, " i want to be covered with roses. and when they bury me, i'm sure i shall rest better if my grave is banked with flowers, and roses are planted at my head and at my feet." miss myrover was at first amused at sophy's devotion; but when she grew more accus¬ tomed itf) it, she found it rather to her liking. the bouquet sition or irritation of any kind brought on nervous paroxysms that made her miser¬ able, and made life a burden to the rest of the household, so that mary seldom crossed her whims. she did not bring sophy to the house again, nor did sophy again offer her services as porter. one day in spring sophy brought her teacher a bouquet of yellow roses. "deycome off'n my own bush, miss ma'y," she said proudly, " an' i did n* let nobody e'se pull 'em, but saved 'em all fer you, 'cause i know you likes roses so much. i'm gwine bring 'em all ter you as long as dey las'." " thank you, sophy," said the teacher; " you are a very good girl." for another year mary myrover taught the colored school, and did excellent service. the children made rapid progress under her tui¬ tion, and learned to love her well; for they saw and appreciated, as well as children could, her fidelity to a trust that she might have slighted, as some others did, without much fear of criticism. toward the end of her second year she sickened, and after a brief illness died. old mrs. myrover was inconsolable* she the bouquet colored people were admitted, if they cliose to come, at ordinary services; and those who wished to be present at the funeral supposed that the usual custom would prevail. they were therefore surprised, when they went to the side entrance, by which colored people gained access to the gallery stairs, to be met by an usher who barred their passage. " i'm sorry," he said, " but i have had orders to admit no one until the friends of the family have all been seated. if you wish to wait until the white people have all gone in, and there's any room left, you may be able to get into the back part of the gallery. of course i can't tell yet whether there ' be any room or not." now the statement of the usher was a very reasonable one; but, strange to say, none of the colored people chose to remain except sophy. she still hoped to use her floral offering for its destined end, in some way, though she did not know just how. she waited in the yard until the church was filled with white people, and a number who could not gain admittance were standing about the doors. then she went round to the side of the church, and, depositing her bouquet care- the bouquet uncertainty of life, and, to the believer, the certain blessedness of eternity. he spoke of miss myrover's kindly spirit, and, as an illustration of her love and self-sacrifice for others, referred to her labors as a teacher of the poor ignorant negroes who had been placed in their midst by an all-wise providence, and whom it was their duty to guide and direct in the station in which god had put them. then the organ pealed, a prayer was said, and the long cortege moved from the church o o to the cemetery, about half a mile away, where the body was to be interred. when the services were over, sophy sprang down from her perch, and, taking her flowers, followed the procession. she did not walk with the rest, but at a proper and respectful distance from the last mourner. no one no¬ ticed the little black girl with the bunch of yellow flowers, or thought o£ her as inter¬ ested in the funeral. the cortege reached the cemetery and filed slowly through the gate; but sophy stood outside, looking at a small sign in white letters on a black background: — " notice. this cemetery is for white peo¬ ple only. others please keep out." the bouquet sophy, thanks to miss myrover's pains¬ taking instruction, could read this sign very distinctly. in fact, she had often read it before. for sophy was a child who loved beauty, in a blind, groping sort of way, and had sometimes stood by the fence of the cemetery and looked through at the green mounds and shaded walks and blooming flowers within, and wished that she might walk among them. she knew, too, that the little sign on the gate, though so courteously worded, was no mere formality; for she had heard how a colored man, who had wandered into the cemetery on a hot night and fallen asleep on the flat top of a tomb, had been arrested as a vagrant and fined five dollars, which he had worked out on the streets, with a ball-and-chain attachment, at twenty-five cents a day. since that time the cemetery gate had been locked at night. so sophy stayed outside, and looked through the fence. her poor bouquet had begun to droop by this time, and the yellow ribbon had lost some of its freshness. sophy could see the rector standing by the grave, the mourners gathered round; she could faintly distinguish the solemn words with "for white people only. others please keep out" the bouquet the dog wagged his tail intelligently, took the bouquet carefully in his mouth, carried it to his mistress's grave, and laid it among the other flowers. the bunch of roses was so small that from where she stood sophy could see only a dash of yellow against the white background of the mass of flowers. when prince had performed his mission he turned his eyes toward sophy inquiringly, and when she gave him a nod of approval lay down and resumed his watch by the grave¬ side. sophy looked at him a moment with a feeling very much like envy, and then turned and moved slowly away. the web of circumstance "you kin go ter dinner, tom/' said the blacksmith. " an' stop at de gate w'en yer go by my house, and tell nancy i ' be dere in 'bout twenty minutes. i got ter finish dis yer plough p'int fus'." the young man walked away. one would have supposed, from the rapidity with which he walked, that he was very hungry. a quarter of an hour later the blacksmith dropped his hammer, pulled off his leather apron, shut the front door of the shop, and went home to dinner. he came into the house out of the fervent heat, and, throwing olf his straw hat, wiped his brow vigorously with a red cotton handkerchief. " dem collards smells good," he said, sniffing the odor that came in through the kitchen door, as his good-looking yellow wife opened it to enter the room where he was. " i've got a monst'us good appetite ter-day. i feels good, too. i paid majah eansom de intrus' on de mortgage dis mawnin' an' a hund'ed dollahs besides, an' i spec's ter hab de balance ready by de fust of nex' jiniwary; an' den we won't owe nobody a cent. i tell yer dere ain' nothin' like propputy ter make a pusson feel like a man. but w'at's de the web of circumstance " no," answered his wife, " dey've gone ter de spring." the spring was on the opposite side of the garden from that on which the snake was said to have been seen, so the blacksmith sat down and fanned himself with a palm-leaf fan until the dinner was served. u yer ain't quite on time ter-day, nancy," he said, glancing up at the clock on the mantel, after the edge of his appetite had been taken off. " got ter make time ef yer wanter make money. did n't tom tell yer i'd be heah in twenty minutes ? " " no," she said; " i seen him goin' pas'; he did n' say nothin'." dunno w'at's de matter wid dat boy," mused the blacksmith over his apple dump¬ ling. " he's gittin' mighty keerless heah lately; mus' hab sump'n' on 'is min', — some gal, i reckon." the children had come in while he was speaking, — a slender, shapely boy, yellow like his mother, a girl several years younger, dark like her father : both bright-looking children and neatly dressed. " i seen cousin tom down by de spring," said the little girl, as she lifted off the pail the web of circumstance of water that had been balanced on her head. " he come out er de woods jest ez we wuz fillin' our buckets." " yas," insisted the blacksmith, " he's got some gal on his min'." ii the case of the state of north carolina vs. ben davis was called. the accused was led into court, and took his seat in the prisoner's dock. " prisoner at the bar, stand up." the prisoner, pale and anxious, stood up. the clerk read the indictment, in which it was charged that the defendant by force and arms had entered the barn of one g. w. thornton, and feloniously taken therefrom one whip, of the value of fifteen dollars. " are you guilty or not guilty ? " asked the judge. " not guilty, yo' honah; not guilty, jedge. i never tuck de whip." the state's attorney opened the case. he was young and zealous. recently elected to the office, this was his first batch of cases, and he was anxious to make as good a record as the web of circumstance "we object, may it please your honor," said the defendant's attorney. " the pro¬ secutor should defer his argument until the testimony is in." "confine yourself to the facts, major," said the court mildly. the prisoner sat with half-open mouth, overwhelmed by this flood of eloquence. he had never heard of tom paine or voltaire. he had no conception of what a nihilist or an anarchist might be, and could not have told the difference between a propaganda and a potato. "we expect to show, may it please the court, that the prisoner had been employed by colonel thornton to shoe a horse; that the horse was taken to the prisoner's black¬ smith shop by a servant of colonel thorn¬ ton's ; that, this servant expressing a desire to go somewhere on an errand before the horse had been shod, the prisoner volun¬ teered to return the horse to colonel thorn¬ ton's stable ; that he did so, and the following morning the whip in question was missing; that, from circumstances, suspicion naturally fell upon the prisoner, and a search was made of his shop, where the whip was found se- the web of circumstance smith shop in the course of which the pris¬ oner had expressed a desire to possess a sim¬ ilar whip. the cross-examination was brief, and no attempt was made to shake the colo¬ nel's testimony. the next witness was the constable who had gone with a warrant to search ben's shop. he testified to the circumstances under which the whip was found. " he wuz brazen as a mule at fust, an' wanted ter git mad about it. but when we begun ter turn over that pile er truck in the cawner, he kinder begun ter trimble; when the whip-handle stuck out, his eyes commenced ter grow big, an' when we hauled the whip out he turned pale ez ashes, an' begun to swear he did n' take the whip an' did n' know how it got thar." " you may cross-examine," said the prose¬ cuting attorney triumphantly. the prisoner felt the weight of the testi¬ mony, and glanced furtively at the jury, and then appealingly at his lawyer. " you say that ben denied that he had stolen the whip," said the prisoner's attorney, on cross-examination. " did it not occur to you that what you took for brazen impudence the web of circumstance were no witnesses to the facts, but several were called to testify to ben's good character. the colored witnesses made him out pos¬ sessed of all the virtues. one or two white men testified that they had never known any¬ thing against his reputation for honesty. the defendant rested his case, and the state called its witnesses in rebuttal. they were entirely on the point of character. one testified that he had heard the prisoner say that, if the negroes had their rights, they would own at least half the property. an¬ other testified that he had heard the defend¬ ant say that the negroes spent too much money on churches, and that they cared a good deal more for god than god had ever seemed to care for them. ben davis listened to this testimony with half-open mouth and staring eyes. now and then he would lean forward and speak per¬ haps a word, when his attorney would shake a warning finger at him, and he would fall back helplessly, as if abandoning himself to fate ; but for a moment only, when he would resume his puzzled look. the arguments followed. the prosecuting attorney briefly summed up the evidence, and the web of ciecumstance there was a moment of relaxation in the court room. the lawyers fell into conversa¬ tion across the table. the judge beckoned to colonel thornton, who stepped forward, and they conversed together a few moments. the prisoner was all eyes and ears in this moment of waiting, and from an involuntary gesture on the part of the judge he divined that they were speaking of him. it is a pity he could not hear what was said. "how do you feel about the case, colonel?" asked the judge. "let him off easy," replied colonel thorn¬ ton. " he's the best blacksmith in the county." the business of the court seemed to have halted by tacit consent, in anticipation of a quick verdict. the suspense did not last long. scarcely ten minutes had elapsed when there was a rap on the door, the officer opened it, and the jury came out. the prisoner, his soul in his eyes, sought their faces, but met no reassuring glance; they were all looking away from him. " gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon a verdict ? " "we have," responded the foreman. the the web of circumstance some of the spectators wondered why there should be so much, ado about convicting; a negro of stealing a buggy-whip. they had forgotten their own interest of the moment before. they did not realize out of what trifles grow the tragedies of life. it was four o'clock in the afternoon, the hour for adjournment, when the verdict was returned. the judge nodded to the bailiff. " oyez, oyez! this court is now adjourned until ten o'clock to-morrow morning," cried the bailiff in a singsong voice. the judge left the bench, the jury filed out of the box, and a buzz of conversation filled the court room. " brace up, ben, brace up, my boy," said the defendant's lawyer, half apologetically. " i did what i could for you, but you can never tell what a jury will do. you won't be sentenced till to-morrow morning. in the meantime i ' speak to the judge and try to get him to be easy with you. he may let you off with a light fine." the negro pulled himself together, and by an effort listened. " thanky, majah," was all he said. he seemed to be thinking of something far away. the web of circumstance he barely spoke to his wife when she fran¬ tically threw herself on him, and clung to his neck, as he passed through the side room on his way to jail. he kissed his children me¬ chanically, and did not reply to the soothing remarks made by the jailer. ill there was a good deal of excitement in town the next morning. two white men stood by the post office talking. " did yer hear the news ? " " no, what wuz it ? " " ben davis tried ter break jail las' night." " you don't say so ! what a fool! he ain't be'n sentenced yit." " well, now," said the other, " i've knowed ben a long time, an' he wuz a right good nigger. i kinder found it hard ter b'lieve he did steal that whip. but what's a man's feel- in's ag'in* the proof ? " they spoke on awhile, using the past tense as if they were speaking of a dead man. "ef i know jedge hart, ben ' wish he had slep' las' night, 'stidder tryin' ter break out'n jail." the web of circumstance yet before you. i regret that you should have been led into evil courses by the lust for speculation, so dangerous in its tendencies, so fruitful of crime and misery. i am led to be¬ lieve that you are sincerely penitent, and that, after such punishment as the law cannot re¬ mit without bringing itself into contempt, you will see the error of your ways and follow the strict path of rectitude. your fault has entailed distress not only upon yourself, but upon your relatives, people of good name and good family, who suffer as keenly from your disgrace as you yourself. partly out of con¬ sideration for their feelings, and partly be¬ cause i feel that, under the circumstances, the law will be satisfied by the penalty i shall inflict, i sentence you to imprisonment in the county jail for six months, and a fine of one hundred dollars and the costs of this action." " the jedge talks well, don't he ? " whis¬ pered one spectator to another. " yes, and kinder likes ter hear hisse'f talk," answered the other. " ben davis, stand up," ordered the judge. he might have said " ben davis, wake up," for the jailer had to touch the prisoner on the the web of cibcumstance fearful face as the man stepped away from the window and rapped at the door. "is mis' davis home?" he asked of the woman who opened the door. " mis' davis don' live here. you er mis¬ took in de house." " whose house is dis? " " it b'longs ter my husban', mr. smith, — primus smith." " 'scuse me, but i knowed de house some years ago w'en i wuz here oncet on a visit, an' it b'longed ter a man name' ben davis." " ben davis — ben davis ? — oh yes, i 'member now. dat wuz de gen'man w'at wuz sent ter de penitenchy fer sump'n er nuther, — sheep-stealin', i b'lieve. primus," she called, " w'at wuz ben davis, w'at useter own dis yer house, sent ter de penitenchy fer?" " hoss-stealin'," came back the reply in sleepy accents, from the man seated by the fireplace. the traveler went on to the next house. a neat-looking yellow woman came to the door when he rattled the gate, and stood looking suspiciously at him. " wat you want ?'' she asked. the web of circumstance " please, ma'am, will you tell me whether a man name' ben davis useter live in dis neighborhood ? " " useter live in de nex' house; wuz sent ter de penitenchy fer killin' a man." " kin yer tell me w'at went wid mis' davis?" " umph ! i's a 'spectable 'oman, i is, en don' mix wid dem kind er people. she wuz 'n' no better 'n her husban'. she tuk up wid a man dat useter wuk fer ben, an' dey 're livin' down by de ole wagon-ya'd, where no 'spect¬ able 'oman ever puts her foot." " an' de chillen ? " " de gal's dead. wuz 'n' no better 'n she oughter be'n. she fell in de crick an' got drown'; some folks say she wuz 'n' sober w'en it happen'. de boy tuck atter his pappy. he wuz 'rested las' week fer shootin' a w'ite man, an' wuz lynch' de same night. dey wa'n't none of 'em no 'count after deir pappy went ter de penitenchy." " what went wid de proputty ? " " hit wuz sol' fer de mortgage, er de taxes, er de lawyer, er sump'n, — i don' know w'at. a w'ite man got it." the man with the bundle went on until he the web of circumstance that he was in the convict camp, and, by an easy transition, that he was in hell, consumed with hunger, burning with thirst. suddenly the grinning devil who stood over him with a barbed whip faded away, and a little white angel came and handed him a drink of water. as he raised it to his lips the glass slipped, and he struggled back to consciousness. " poo' man ! poo' man sick, an' sleepy. dolly b'ing f'owers to cover poo' man up. poo' man mus' be hungry. wen dolly get him covered up, she go b'ing poo' man some cake." a sweet little child, as beautiful as a cherub escaped from paradise, was standing over him. at first he scarcely comprehended the words the baby babbled out. but as they became clear to him, a novel feeling crept slowly over his heart. it had been so long since he had heard anything but curses and stern words of command, or the ribald songs of obscene mer¬ riment, that the clear tones of this voice from heaven cooled his calloused heart as the water of the brook had soothed his blistered feet. it was so strange, so unwonted a thing, that he lay there with half-closed eyes while the child brought leaves and flowers and laid the web of circumstance other golden age, when all men will dwell to¬ gether in love and harmony, and when peace and righteousness shall prevail for a thousand years. god speed the day, and let not the shining thread of hope become so enmeshed in the web of circumstance that we lose sight of it; but give us here and there, and now and then, some little foretaste of this golden age, that we may the more patiently and hope¬ fully await its coming! emory university light ahead for the negro by e. a johnson author of the school history of the negro race colored soldiers in the spanish american war the negro almanac the grafton press new york contents chapter page i. the lost airship—unconsciousness, . ii. to earth again—one hundred years later, ......... iii. at the public library with irene, . iv. now and then, y. a visit to public buildings, ... vi. a ride with irene, vii. dr. newell and work of the young la¬ dies' guild, ill viii. with irene again, ix. the prize essay, x. sad news for irene, the lost airship—unconsciousness was the industry—thanks to the misfortune of the poor devil who solved the problem and neglected to protect his rights thoroughly. through this fatal blunder on his part, their manufacture and their use became world-wide, almost at once, in spite of countless legal attempts to limit the pro¬ duction, in order to keep up the cost. a wealthy friend of mine had a ship of the finest parisian make, the american machines still being unfashionable, in which we had often made trips together and which he ran himself. as i was ready to go to my field of labor, he invited me to go with him to spend from saturday to sun¬ day in the city of mexico, which i had never seen, and i accepted. we started, as usual, from the new aerial pier at the foot of west fifty-ninth street, new york city, then one of the wonders of the world, about one o'clock, in the midst of a cloud of machines bound for country places in different parts of the united states and we were peacefully seated after dinner, enjoying the always exhilarating sen¬ sation of being suspended in space without sup¬ port—for my friend had drawn the covering from the floor of clear glass in the car, which was com¬ ing into use in some of the new machines—when the lost airship—unconsciousness and pitched forward, holding on by one hand. involuntarily, i closed my eyes for a moment. when i opened them again, he was gone ! my feelings were indescribable. i commenced to lose consciousness, owing to the altitude and the ship was ascending more rapidly every mo¬ ment. finally i became as one dead. chapter ii to earth again one hundred years later one day an archaic-looking flying machine, a curiosity, settled from aerial heights on to the lawn of one dr. newell, of phoenix, georgia. when found i was unconscious and even after i had revived i could tell nothing of my where¬ abouts, as to whither i was going, or whence i had come ; i was simply there, " a stranger in a strange land," without being able to account for any¬ thing. i noticed however that the people were not those i had formerly left or that i expected to see. i was bewildered—my brain was in a whirl—i lapsed again into a trance-like state. when i regained my full consciousness i found myself comfortably ensconced in a bed in an airy room apparently in the home of some well-to-do person. the furniture and decorations in the one hundred years later room were of a fashion i had never seen before, and the odd-looking books in the bookcase near the bed were written by authors whose names i did not know. i seemed to have awakened from a dream, a dream that had gone from me, but that had changed my life. looking around in the room, i found that i was the only occupant. i resolved to get up and test the matter. i might still be dreaming. i arose, dressed myself—my suit case lay on a table, just as i had packed it—and hurriedly went downstairs, wondering if i were a somnambulist and thinking i had better be careful lest i fall and injure my¬ self. i heard voices and attempted to speak and found my voice unlike any of those i heard in the house. i was just passing out of the front door, intending to walk around on the large veranda that extended on both sides of the house, when i came face to face with a very attractive young lady who i subsequently learned was the niece of my host and an expert trained nurse. she had taken charge of me ever since my unexpected arrival on her uncle's lawn. she explained that she had been nursing me and seemed very much mortified that i should have come to consciousness at a moment when one hundred years later came, finally closing my eyes as the date of the year in the corner became almost legible—just as i had done in the car of the air-ship, that awful moment. i moved a little nearer. i could read it now! i opened my eyes and glanced, then wildly tore the pads apart, to see if they were all alike—and fell to the floor once more. it was the year two thousand and six, just one hundred years from the date of my appointment to the position of a teacher in the south ! in a short time i regained complete conscious¬ ness, and under the influence of that wonderful room became almost myself again. i learned that i had not really been left alone but had been ob¬ served, through a device for that purpose, by both the doctor and his niece, and on her return i re¬ lated my whole story to her as far as i could then remember it. the strangest and most unaccountable part was that though i had been away from the earth about one hundred years, yet, here i was back again still a young man, showing no traces of age and i had lived a hundred years. this was after¬ ward accounted for by the theory that at certain aerial heights the atmosphere is of such a char- light ahead for the negro acter that no physical changes take place in bodies permitted to enter it. the physical wants of my body seemed to have been suspended, and animation arrested until the zone of atmosphere immediately surrounding the earth was reached again, when gradually life and consciousness returned. i have no recollection of anything that tran¬ spired after i lost consciousness and the most i can say of it all is that the experience was that of one going to sleep at one end of his journey and waking up at his destination. chapter iii at the public library with irene the next time i met my nurse was by chance. i saw her at the public library near dr. newell's house, where i often went to sit and think the first few days after my re¬ birth into the world. she had left the newell residence on the night of the day she had put me in the violet room, being called to some special duty elsewhere. i approached her with a kindly salutation which she reciprocated in a manner indi¬ cating that she was pleased to meet me. in the meantime i had found out her name—irene davis —and had also found out that an elective course in a training school for scientific nursing was accord¬ ing to the custom of the times, which regarded such a course as indispensable to the education of a liberally trained young woman. our conversation drifted along as to my per¬ sonal comforts until i told her that i had heard light ahead for the negro where the negro's musical talent seemed to have been miraculously developed. i further remarked, to myself, " how congenial in tastes and sympathy we seem to be, and how beautiful you are ! " she moved me strangely as she stood there with her black hair, rosy cheeks, large good-natured black eyes, her venus-like poise of neck and shoulders, and a mouth neither large nor small but full of expression, and show¬ ing a wealth of pearls when she laughed—and all this coupled with such noble aspirations, and such deep womanly sympathy. i said to her, " miss davis, i am certainly glad to learn that our sentiments on the negro question coincide so thoroughly and if any encouragement were needed, i should certainly feel like offering it, as a stimulus in your efforts." "all humanity needs encouragement," she re¬ plied, " and i am human; and so are these people around us who are of a different race. they need encouragement and in my humble way i hope to be of some service to them. their chances have not been as favorable as ours, but they have been faithful and true with the talents they have." " so i understand you are assisting in this work at the public library with irene more from a sense of duty than as a diversion? " i observed. "yes, that is true," she said, "but nevertheless i really get considerable recreation in it. i find these people worthy of assistance and competent to fill many places that they otherwise could not but for the help of our guild." " so you have found that success does not al¬ ways come to the worthy," i suggested, " if those who are worthy have no outside influence ? i can remember people who worked hard all their lives for promotion and who not only did not get it, but often witnessed others less skilled and deserv¬ ing than themselves pushed forward ahead of them. this was especially true of the negro race in my time. the negroes were told that negro ability would sell for as much in the market as white, but while this was encouraging in some respects and true in many cases, it could by no means be laid down as a rule." " i agree with you," she said, " in part; for the feeling no doubt prevails among some people that the lines of cleavage should move us naturally to do more for our own than for a different race, and that spirit occasionally crops out, but the spirit of helpfulness to negroes has now become so b light ahead for the negro popular that it permeates all classes and there is practically no opposition to them." "you are a long way removed from the south of the past," said i, " where to have done such work as you are engaged in would have disgraced you, and have branded you for social ostracism." she replied that there was no criticism at all for engaging in such work but only for doing more for one race than another. " you georgians had degenerated in my day," i remarked. " the southern colonies under such men as oglethorpe seemed to have higher ideals than had their descendants of later times. ogle¬ thorpe was opposed to slavery and refused to al¬ low it in the colony of georgia while he was governor; he was also a friend to the indians and to whitfield in his benevolent schemes, but the georgian of my day was a different character al¬ together from the oglethorpe type. he justified slavery and burned negroes at the stake, and the ' cracker class' were a long ways removed from the oglethorpe type of citizenship, both in ap¬ pearance and intelligence. i notice, too, miss davis, that you never use the words ' colored peo¬ ple ' but say ' negro,' instead." " that is because these people themselves pre- light ahead for the negro in the south were now allowed the use of the books, and that they were encouraged to read by various prizes, offered especially for those who could give the best written analyses of certain books which were suggested by the library com¬ mittee. light ahead for the negro called mister,' are, to me, conspicuous by their absence. in the old days, in referring to a negro who had made a speech of some merit he was called t professor,' but in making a reference to him as being connected with politics the same per¬ son was dubbed jim ' or i tom.' fights between three white men and two negroes were published, under glaring headlines, as ' race riots.' the usual custom of dealing out the vices of the ne¬ gro race as a morning sensation in the daily papers evidently fell into ' innocuous desuetude,' and the daily papers having dropped the custom, the week¬ lies, which were merely echoes of the dailies, also left off the habit, so that now neither the city people nor farmers have their prejudices daily and weekly inflamed by exaggerated portrayals of the negroes' shortcomings. " the character of no individual and in fact of no race can long endure in america when under the persistent fire of its newspapers. newspapers mould public opinion. your organization for the dissemination of news has it in its power to either kill or make alive in this respect. our organiza¬ tion, called the news distributing bureau, was formerly in the hands of people whose policy de¬ signedly necessitated the portrayal of the negro now and then ally employed by the colored people, while the colored professional man, by the conventional laws of society, was rarely or never employed by white people. " second—the natural disposition of the col¬ ored people to patronize white merchants and pro¬ fessional men in preference to their own was a factor to be reckoned with in looking for the causas rerum—a kind of one-sided arrangement whereby the whites got the negroes' money but the negroes could not get theirs—in the profes¬ sions. in many of the small lines of business, however, the negro was patronized by the whites. " so that—with the news bureau making capital every morning of the corruption in the race; with the efforts of southern ministers who had taken charge of northern pulpits, to strew seeds of poison by proclaiming, on the commission of every offense by a negro, 'we told you that the negro was not worth the freedom you gave him,' 'we told you he wasn't fit for citizenship and that the money you have spent for his educa¬ tion is worse than wasted ;' with the constant assertions that his only place is < behind a mule,' that education made him a greater criminal, that light ahead for the negro c the southern people are his best friends' because ' we overlook his follies' and e treat him kindly if he will stay in his place;' with the money interests clamoring for the south 'to be let alone' with the negro question, for fear of un¬ settling business and causing a slump in southern securities; with the claims that, to keep the rail¬ roads earning dividends, to keep the cotton mar¬ ket active, the negro must be handled according to the serfdom or shotgun plan, and that the best task master so far found was the southern white man, who had proven himself wonderfully adept in getting good crops from negro labor—with these and many other excuses, the question of raising the negro in the scale of civilization was left to posterity. " what is he worth to us now ?' that is the only question with which we are concerned, was the ruling thought, if not the open confession. " let it be understood that statistics (which the negro did not compile) showed that the race at that time was, as a mass, the most illiterate, the least thrifty, and the most shiftless and criminal of any class of american citizens—dividing the population into natives—irish emigrants, german emigrants, italians, jews, and poles. this was a now and then fact that hurt, regardless of who was responsible for it. " then the question of color cut no small figure in this problem. the negro's color classified him; it rang the signal bell for drawing' the color line' as soon as he was seen, and it designated and pointed him out as a marked man, belonging to that horrible criminal class whose revolting deeds were revealed every day in the newspapers. no wonder he was shunned, no wonder the children and women were afraid of him ! the great mass of the people took the newspaper reports as true. they never read between the lines and seldom read the corrections of errors * that had been made. in some cases the first report had been that a negro had committed a crime, and later it was discovered that a white man with his face blacked * " errors " like the following, for instance: " a special dispatch from charleston, s. c., to the atlanta journal, reads: 'while dy¬ ing in colleton county, former section foreman jones, of the at¬ lantic coast line road, has confessed being the murderer of his wife at ravenel, s. c., fourteen miles from charleston, in may, , for which crime three negroes were lynched. the crime which was charged to the negroes was one of the most brutal ever com¬ mitted in this state, and after the capture of the negroes quick work was made of them by the mob.' " comment is certainly superfluous. what must be the feelings of those who participated in the lynching." (raleigh, n. c., morn¬ ing post.) light ahead for the negro had been the perpetrator. some one has said, ' let me write the songs of a people and i will control their religious sentiments.' in a country like america where the newspapers are so plenti¬ ful and where people rely on them so implicitly, those who control the newspapers may be said to control the views of the people on almost any public question. with per cent of the negro population illiterate, with a criminal record double that of any of the emigrant classes above outlined, with the news distributing bureau against it, with no political or social standing—pariahs in the land—with northern capital endorsing serfdom, with their inability to lose their race identity, on account of their color—we realize how heavy the odds were against the negro race at that time. "as a negro orator once put it, ' de southern white man's on top'er de nigger and de yankee white man's on top er de southern white man and de bad nigger 's on top er dem bofe!' " i now come to some of the proposed solutions of the problem. various meetings were held all over the country to discuss the negro problem, and many a mediocre white man who thirsted for a little newspaper notoriety, or political prefer¬ ment, in both the north and the south, had his now and then appetite in this direction satisfied by writing or saying something on the negro question. one thomas dixon tried to out herod herod in taking up the exceptional cases of negro criminality and using them in an attempt to convince his readers of the negro's unfitness for citizenship. a public speaker named john temple graves # made lecture *the following were the views of mr. noah w. cooper, a nash¬ ville lawyer, on one of mr. graves' addresses: "john temple graves' address in chicago contains more errors and inconsistencies about the so-called negro problem than any recent utterance on the subject. " he says that god has established the ' metes and bounds ' of the negro's habitation, but he never pointed out a single mete nor a single bound he says, ' let us put the negro kindly and hu¬ manely out of the way;' but his vision again faded and he never told us where to put the darkey. " if mr. graves' inspiration had not been as short as a clam's ear and he had gone on and given us the particular spot on the globe to which we should ' kindly and humanely ' kick the darkey 'out of the way,' then we might have asked, who will take the darkey's place in the south? who will plow and hoe and pick out , , bales of cotton? who will sing in the rice fields? who will raise the sugar cane ? who will make our 'lasses and syrup ? who will box and dip our turpentine ? who will cut and saw the logs, and on his body bear away the planks from our thousands of sawmills ? who will get down into the mud and swamps and build railroads for rich contractors ? who will work out their lives in our phosphate mines and factories, and in iron and coal mines? who will be roustabouts on our rivers and on our wharves to be conscripted when too hot for whites to work ? who will fill the darkey's place in the southern home ? light ahead for the negro —rejecting also as unsound the theory of higher education; because that would develop in the negro a longing for equality which the wdiite man persons that are antagonistic. for instance, the dram-seller is an¬ tagonistic to all homes and boys and girls; therefore, put all dram- sellers and dram-shops on one island, and all the homes and boys and girls on another island, far, far away ! now there is your idea, mr. graves ! then, again, all horse thieves, bank breakers, train robbers, forgers, counterfeiters are antagonistic to honest men; so here, we will put them all in the district of columbia and all the honest men in ohio, and build a high wall between. all the bad boys we would put in a pen; and all us good boys, we will go to the park and have a picnic and laugh at the nincompoop bad boys whose destiny we have penned up! ah, mr. graves could no more teach us this error than could he reverse the decree of christ to let the wheat and tares grow together until harvest. the seclusion or isolation of an individual or a race is not the road that god has blazed out for the highest attainments. the levite of the great parable drew his robes close about him and 'passed by on the other side'—like mr. graves would have us do the negro, except that instead of passing him by we would ' put him behind us'—a mere difference of words. but the good samaritan got down and nursed the dirty, wounded bleeding jew; sacrificed his time and money to heal his wounds. now that levite must be mr. graves' ideal southerner! he says the negro is an unwilling, blameless, unwholesome, unwelcome element. so was the robbed and bleed¬ ing jew to the levite; but did that excuse the levite's wrong? ought the levite to have put the groaning man ' out of the way' of his ' imperial destiny' by kicking him out of the road ? " nay, verily. by the time that mr. graves gets all of the an¬ tagonistic races and all the antagonistic occupations and people of the world cornered off and fenced up in their god-prescribed 'metes and bounds,' and fences them each up, with stakes and riders to hold them in—by that time i am sure he will envy the job of sysi- now and then would not give and was never known to give an inferior race, a statement which all honest white people must regard as a base slander upon their christianity. " bishop turner, senior bishop of the african methodist-episcopal church, one of the leading organizations of the negro race, also advocated emigration to africa as the only solution of the problem, on the grounds that the white people would never treat the negro justly and that his¬ tory furnished no instance where a slave race had ever become absolutely free in the land of its for¬ mer owners, instancing that to be free the jews had to leave egypt; that william the conqueror and his followers slaughtered the native britons, rather than attempt to carry out what seemed to them an impossible task, that of teaching two races, a conquered race and a conquering one, to live side by side in peace. " one professor bassett made enemies of the southern newspapers and politicians by proposing justice and equality as a solution of the problem. the ' most unkindest cut of all' of professor bass- ett's saying was that booker washington was phus. but there is a grain of sober truth in one thing mr. graves says—that the negro is blameless." c light ahead for the negro vision of the world and its opportunities, could not bring himself to leave the south, so far as the great mass was concerned. then, too, he had been told that the yankees would not treat him like the southerner, and southern newspapers took especial pains to publish full details of all the lynchings that occurred in the north and make suggestive comments on them, in which they en¬ deavored to show that the whole country was down on the negro, and that while in the south the whites lynched only the one negro against whom they had become enraged, in the north they mobbed and sought to drive out all the ne¬ groes in the community where the crime had been committed. (the two clippings below oc¬ curred in the same issue of a southern paper and showed how, while the north was mobbing a ne¬ gro, the south was honoring one.)* * negro torn from jail by an ohio mob. shot dead on the ground, then hanged from telegraph pole yells of laughter for half an hour the swinging corpse serves as a target for the mob which pours lead into it, shrieking with delight. {by the associated press.) springfield, ohio, march , .—richard dixon, a negro, was shot to death here to-night by a mob for the killing of policeman charles collis, who died to-day from wounds received at the hands of dixon on sunday. now and then " instances of white mechanics north who were refusing to work with negroes, and instances of northern hotels refusing them shelter were also o collis had gone to dixon's room on the negro's request. dixon said his mistress had his clothes in her possession. collis accom¬ panied dixon to the room, and in a short time the man and woman engaged in a quarrel, which resulted in dixon shooting the woman, who is variously known as anna or mamie corbin, in the left breast just over the heart. she fell unconscious at the first shot and collis jumped towards the negro to prevent his escape from the room. dixon then fired four balls into collis, the last of which penetrated his abdomen. dixon went immediately to police headquarters and gave himself up. he was taken to jail. as soon as collis' death became known talk of lynching the ne¬ gro was heard and to-night a crowd began to gather about the jail. the mob forced an entrance to the jail by breaking in the east doors with a railroad iron. at : the mob melted rapidly and it was the general opinion that no more attempts would be made to force an entrance. small groups of men, however, could be seen in the shadows of the court house, two adjacent livery stables and several dwelling houses. at : o'clock the police were satisfied that there was nothing more to fear and they with other officials and newspaper men passed freely in and out of the jail. shortly before o'clock a diversion was made by a small crowd moving from the east doors around to the south entrance. the police followed and a bluff was made at jostling them off the steps leading up to the south entrance. the crowd at this point kept growing, while yells of " hold the police," " smash the doors," " lynch the nigger " were made, inter¬ spersed with revolver shots. all this time the party with the heavy railroad iron was beating at the east door, which shortly yielded to the battering ram, as did light ahead for the negro slightest offense, so that no man's life was safe if he was unfortunate enough to have had a difficulty with some individual, who had friends enough to raise a mob at night who would go with him to the house of his victim, call him out, and either shoot, or unmercifully beat him. the refusal of the officers of the law to crush out this spirit in its embryonic stage resulted in its growing to such enormous proportions that they found, too late, that they could neither manage nor control it. the officers themselves were afraid of the lynchers. "the method of lynching negroes was usually by hanging or by burning at the stake, sometimes in the presence of thousands of people, who came in on excursion trains to see the sight, and, pos¬ sibly, carry off a trophy consisting of a finger joint, a tooth or a portion of the victim's heart. if the lynching was for a crime committed against a woman, and she could be secured, she was con¬ signed to the task of starting the flames with her own hands. this was supposed to add to the nov¬ elty of the occasion.* * burning of negroes. birmingham, ala., special—the age-herald recently published the following letter from booker t. washington: " within the last fortnight three members of my race have been now and then baric races, except the indian, makes the best of circumstances. it is possibly true that the negro would be a slave among us to-day if some one else had not freed him. the sentiment, ' he who would be free must first himself strike the blow,' did not appeal to him. "another reason cited for the negro's submis¬ sion so long to oppression both before and since the american civil war of to was his inabil¬ ity to organize. the white man learned this art by thousands of years of experience and of necessary resistance for the protection of those rights which he holds most dear. the negroes were never able to make any concerted movement in their own be¬ half. they clashed too easily with one another and any individual would swamp the ship, as it were, to further his own scheme. the ' rule or ruin' policy prevailed and the necessity of the subordination of individuality for the good of the whole was lost in a storm of personal aggrandize¬ ment whenever an attempt was made at anything bordering on negro national organization. this was one of the fruits of slavery, which encouraged jealousy and bickering. several religious organi¬ zations had a successful existence for some time and quite a number of business and benevolent light ahead for the negro enterprises, but in politics all was chaos. the negroes cast their ballots one way all of the time; it was known just as well ten years before an elec¬ tion how they would vote, as it was after the bal¬ lots were counted. no people of political calibre like that could measure arms with the white man politically ; his rebelling in such a condition would have been preposterous. the negro took his cue in matters of race policy from his white friends— he did not fight until the signal was given by them. no negro gained any national reputation without first having been recognized by the white race, instead of his own. the negroes recognized their leaders after the whites picked them out—not be¬ fore. " the negro nature at this time was still a pliable one, after many years of drill training, but it was much more plastic in the days of slavery, and for the first forty years after reconstruction. the master labored to subordinate the will of the slave to his own, to make him like clay in the hands of the potter. in this he had an eye to business. the nearer the slave approached the horse, in follow¬ ing his master's guidance, the nearer perfect he was, and this lesson of putting himself absolutely at the mercy of his master was thoroughly learned, now and then and it was learned easily because there seemed to exist a natural instinctive awe on the part of the negro for the white man. he had that peculiar fondness for him that the mule has for the horse. you can mount one horse and lead a thousand mules, without bit or bridle, to the ends of the earth. " the negro sought to please his master in all things. he had a smile for his frowns and a grin for his kicks. no task was too menial, if done for a white master—he would dance if he was called upon and make sport of the other negroes, and even pray, if need be, so he could laugh at him. he was trustworthy to the letter, and while occasionally he might help himself to his master's property on the theory of a common ownership, yet woe be unto the other negro that he caught tampering with his master's goods! he was a ' tattler' to perfection, a born dissembler—a dip¬ lomat and a philosopher combined. he was past grand master in the art of carrying his point when he wanted a ' quarter' or fifty cents. he knew the route to his master's heart and pocket- book and traveled it often. he simply made him¬ self so obliging that he could not be refused ! it was this characteristic that won him favor in the light ahead for the negro country from college president down to the lowest scullion. had he been resentful and vindictive, like the indian, he would have been deported or exterminated long since. " the negro's usefulness had also bound him to the south. the affection that the master and mistress had for the slave was transmitted in the blood of their children. " as unto tlie bow the cord is, so unto the man is woman, though she bends him, she obeys him, though she draws him, yet she follows; useless each without the other," applied to the relations between the negro and his white master. in the civil war between the states, many a slave followed his master to the front. here he was often the only messenger to return home. he bore the treasured watch, or ring, or sword, of the fallen soldier, and broke the sad news to the family ; and there were black tears as well as white ones spilled on such occasions. " the white males went to the war leaving the family and farm in charge of the blacks thereon. they managed everything, plowed, sowed, reaped, and sold, and turned over all returns to the mis¬ tress. they shared her sorrows and were her pro- now and then he refused to do either, whereupon two physicians, with others who were present, tied him, laid him on a table and opened his jugular veins and bled him to death in buckets provided for the occasion. meanwhile the stamping of feet and the yelling above, where the speaking was going on, was tre¬ mendous, being prearranged to deaden any outcry that he might make. it is said that stephens's last words before he was put on the table were a re¬ quest that he might go to the window and take a final look at his home, which was only a few rods away. this was granted, and as he looked his wife passed out of the house and his children were playing in the yard. stephens's dead body was found by a negro man who suspected some¬ thing wrong and climbed to the window of the room in search for him. " such acts as these spread terror among the negro population, as well as bad feeling, and dug a wide political pit between the negro and the democratic party which organized these methods of intimidation.* the ' ku klux klan' was finally annihilated by the strong hand of president grant, who filled the south with sufficient militia to suppress it. a favorite means of evading the *tourgee relates this incident in "a fool's errand." light ahead for the negro arrests made by the militia was to have the pris¬ oners released on habeas corpus by the native judges. to stop this the writ of habeas corpus was suspended by some of the provisional gov- erners. one governor who did this was impeached by the democratic party when it returned to power and he died broken hearted, without the removal of his disabilities. you can easily see from these facts how the political differences between the negro and the democratic party arose." here my paper ended. when i had read it over to dr. newell, he rose and went over to his desk, saying, " while looking over some old papers belong¬ ing to my grandfather, i found the following arti¬ cle inside of an old book. on it is a statement that it was written in the year and republished in . i have often desired to get at the true status of this question, and when i found this my interest was doubly aroused. the so-called negro problem was truly a most crucial test of the foundation principles of our government a century ago, and i feel proud of my citizenship in so great a country when i reflect that we have come through it all with honor and that finally truth has won out and we are able at last to treat now and then the negro with justice and humanity, according to the principles of christianity! this problem tested our faith as with fire." he handed me the article, and gave his attention to other matters until i had read it:— " reconstruction and negro govern¬ ment. " in the ten years culminating with the decade ending in , the american negroes have wit¬ nessed well nigh their every civil right invaded. they commenced the struggle as freemen in ; at the close of the civil war both races in the south began life anew, under changed conditions— neither one the slave of the other, except in so far as he who toils, as carlyle says, is slave to him who thinks. under the slave system the white man had been the thinker and the negro the toiler. the idea that governed both master and slave was that the slave should have no will but that of his master. " the fruits of this system began to ripen in the first years of freedom, when the negro was forced to think for himself. for two hundred and forty years his education and training had been directed now and then resistance there would have been less friction, but the south had its own ideas of how the thing should be done and resisted any others to the point of a revolution which had to be put down by government troops. the government's plans were carried finally at the point of the bayonet, when they might have gone through smoothly, had the negro's call for southern leadership been heeded. had this been done, the 'ku-klux' would never have developed. the south came back into the union, ' overpowered,' it said, ' but not conquered.' so far as the negro ques¬ tion is concerned that is true but in other matters the south is essentially loyal. although it came back pledged never to deprive any citizen of his rights and privileges i on account of color or pre¬ vious condition of servitude,' it is now engaged in a bold and boasting attempt to do this very thing. louisiana, mississippi, alabama, south carolina, north carolina and virginia have all adopted amendments to their constitutions which prac¬ tically nullify the fourteenth and fifteenth amendments to the united states constitution, which the honor of these states was pledged not to do when they were re-admitted into the union at the close of the war of secession! in virginia light ahead for the negro pies. it will not do, however, to listen to the siren of commercialism whose songs are composed by advocates of negro disfranchisement. there is method in the spell she would bring upon you, and her story is literally nothing but a song. " the truth is that during the whole period of the ' fusion movement' north carolina never had a more economical government—taxes then were c. on a hundred dollar valuation; taxes now are $ . . north carolina six per cent, bonds then sold for $ . ; they now sell for $ . . the fusion government made the state penitentiary self-supporting ; the white supremacy government has run it into debt to the amount of $ , . under the fusion government, most of the counties paid off their debts and had a surplus in their treasuries for the first time since the war. under the fusion government more miles of rail¬ road were built than in any period of the same length before or since, more cotton factories were established ; one of them being owned and oper¬ ated by negroes. a silk mill operated entirely by negro labor, from foremen down, was also estab¬ lished. the fees of public officers were cut down about one-third. these are some of the phases of now and then the fusion government—a government based al¬ most entirely on negro votes—that the enemies of negro suffrage do not discuss. " it is useless to refer to the period of reconstruc¬ tion to disprove the theory that negro suffrage would entail an expensive government on the south, when we have the recent experiment in north carolina before us. for the sake of ar¬ gument, we might admit that the negro was unfit for suffrage forty years ago, but that by no means proves that he is unfit now. forty years of ex¬ perience under american institutions have taught him many lessons. he is no longer the child- man,' as the white supremacy advocates call him. these people are as false in their theories as were the pro-slavery advocates who maintained the ab¬ surd proposition that if the negro was emancipated he would soon perish, for want of sufficient ability to feed and clothe himself. forty years after emancipation—about as long as moses was in the wilderness—in spite of these false prophecies, we can now find some of the sons of the prophets fearing and foretelling, not that the negroes will perish, but that they will outstrip them in the race of life ! so the white man in the new con¬ stitution is to be allowed to vote on his ' grand- light ahead for the negro daddy's' * merits and the negro must vote on his own. " these politicians were afraid to base the right to vote on merit, as they feared the negro would win.f among these people a negro has to be * the grandfather clause in the north carolina constitution, as recently amended, gives illiterate whites the right to vote if their grandfathers voted prior to . the negroes were enfranchised in and their grandfathers therefore could not have voted prior to that time. so, while all negroes must be able to read and write the constitution, in order to vote, the illiterate white man may do so because his " grand-daddy " voted prior to . t as mr. a. v. dockery, who is a competent authority, so tersely said in the new york age, june , , the negro has been practically the only natural republican in the south. that a considerable number of soldiers were furnished by the south to the union army during the civil war is not contested, and proves little as to political conditions then and for several decades later. it is well known that the mountain section of north carolina, tennessee, kentucky and virginia sent many soldiers to the north¬ ern army; it may not be so well known that madison county, north carolina, the home of judge pritchard, contributed more soldiers to the union cause, in proportion to population, than any other county in the whole united states. it was not asserted that all those soldiers were then, or after¬ wards became, republicans. before the emancipation, there were some republicans in this sparsely settled section, it is true, but aggressive republicanism in the south got its impetus and had its birth in the actual emancipation, not necessarily the enfranchise¬ ment, of the negro. yet when this remnant of white republicans could no longer protect the negro in his right to vote, and successive congresses supinely consented to his disfranchisement, the south's contribu- now and then tempted to capture her slaves in the streets of anti-slavery cities like boston, by the fugitive slave law—under the very noses of the abolition¬ ists ! had the pro-slavery people been satisfied with restricted slavery, the abolitionists might have had harder work in dethroning the institu¬ tion. " if the question of lynching had been con¬ fined to negroes guilty of assaults on females some justification might exist, but it has been extended to all crimes ; and not satisfied with hanging, burn¬ ing by slow fire has been substituted, accompanied by stabbing, the cutting off of finger joints, the digging out of eyes, and other torture. " on the question of civil equality, the ' jim- crow' system has not sufficed ; like the horse leech, they continually call for more. if practiced only in the south it might stand, but an attempt has been made to cover the country, and the pres¬ ident himself must not treat a colored gentleman otherwise than as a scullion—according to the ad¬ vocates of white supremacy. in their doctrine all negroes are to be humiliated. this tendency to dictate to others and go to extremes is character¬ istic, and it means that we may always depend on this class of individuals to go too far, and by over- light ahead for the negro stepping the mark to turn the country against them. " if a fool has rope enough the end is easy to see." after reading the article, i turned to the doctor, and said, " these statements are essentially correct, according to my recollection of those times, and i will say further that there were grave doubts one hundred years ago as to the permanency of our institutions under the strain of the negro problem; and no less prominent was the labor agitation or the war between capital and labor. it is a happy realization for me to return to my country and find these questions peaceably adjusted and that the south, which was for a long time considered obdurate on this subject, has led in bringing about this happy solution, in spite of the proph¬ ecies of many writers like this one. but the problem i have been laboring with ever since my second advent, as it were, is, how was it all done ? " well, we southern people changed our leaders. we took men of noble character; men who ap¬ pealed to reason and humanity, rather than pan¬ dered to the lowest passions of the people," he said. " tell me, dr. newell, how the labor question now and then the negro down.' towards this end, they bent their best energies, under the mistaken idea of conserving their own interests, not realizing the all-important fact that as long as there was a large number of negroes in their midst who would work for only fifty cents per day as above stated, and capital was disposed to employ them, just so long would every laboring white man have to accept the same wages as the negro. " the intelligent solution of the problem was found by making the negro see what his interests were, by taking him into the labor unions, where he could be educated up to an intelligent appre¬ ciation of the value of his labor; instead of seek¬ ing further to degrade him by oppression, with the consequent result of lowering the white man's scale of wages. further it has been found that oppression does not oppress when aimed at the negro—he rather thrives under it. in those communities where he was most oppressed and the hand of every laboring white man seemed to be against him, the negro thrived and prospered to a marked degree. oppression simply drives negroes together, they concentrate their trade in their own stores and spend their wages among them¬ selves to a greater extent than otherwise—and light ahead for the negro thus it more often than otherwise happened, that negro laborers as a mass, in such communities, lived in better homes, and educated their children better than the white laborers. the eyes of the southern white laboring men began to see this point and a change of base took place, and now they are and have been for a long time, seeking to elevate the negro laborer to their own standard to keep him from pulling them down—a most in¬ telligent view of the matter ! "the south had congratulated itself on being free from the strikes and lock-outs caused by or¬ ganized labor in the north. their contention was that the negroes could not act intelligently in any organization, and that serious consequences would certainly follow. but all such predictions failed to materialize after the negroes were organized. the work of organizing did not stop with their admission into labor unions but courses of in¬ struction were mapped out and competent people were employed to drill the members in the princi¬ ples of the order; and, so far as possible, in the advanced methods of handling tools. the result was the creation of a much better class of work¬ men, better wages and better living for all. " the unions also opened their doors to women now and then in separate meetings. schools of domestic science were established and those who employed servants soon found that they could leave the household and kitchen work to a master-hand. the wives and mothers of employers were eman¬ cipated from constantly overseeing.' there was a vast difference between the professional domestic servant, who needed only orders, which would be carried out faithfully, and the ' blunderbuss,' who was continually at sea in the absence of the directing hand and mind of her mistress. the southern people began to recognize the difference, and soon became the firm champions of the new system, and welcomed the new efforts of the labor unions as a blessing rather than a curse." " but, doctor, am i to understand that there are no labor problems at all in the country at present ? " "no, not exactly that; organized labor still has its problems, but you must remember that they are not of the same character as those of a hundred years ago. the essentials of life, such as coal, iron, oil and other natural products are now handled by the national government, and the government is pledged to see to it that labor in the production of these commodities is paid a fair share of the surplus accruing from sales. no at- now and then " as i remember the past, the laboring people in coal and. iron mines earned barely enough for subsistence and their hours of toil were so long that anything like self-improvement was impos¬ sible. they were in a continual row with their employers, who revelled in luxury and rebelled against a per cent, increase in wages, and who in many instances, rather than pay it, would close down the mines until their workmen were starved into submission. i never could reconcile myself to the logic of the principle that it was lawful for capital to thus oppress labor. i think the legal maxim of sic utere tuo ut alienum non laedas (so use your own as not to injure another) applies with force in this instance. the application of it is usually made in suits for damages, where one person has injured another by negligence. but the force of the maxim is applicable to capital as well, and he who would use money (though in fact it be legally his own) to oppress others has violated both the letter and spirit of the maxim. in saying this i would not be understood as in¬ dulging in that sickly sentimentality which de¬ spises all rich people simply because they are rich, but rather to condemn the illegitimate use of riches. a rich man can be a blessing as well as light ahead for the negro two races pure and has developed both the saxon and the negro types and preserved the best traits of each." i noticed that the subdued look of the old time negro was absent and that, without any attempt at display, this man possessed " le grande air " which is a coveted attribute in the highest walks of life. i had already observed that an advance in civilization produced more individuality and more personal freedom in choosing one's associ¬ ates. it was not expected that a man was the social equal of another because he worked at the same bench with him, or rode in the same car on the railroad. that was now considered the postu¬ late of an ignoramus. individuality is a marked development of ad¬ vanced civilization—of this i have always been aware, the more so since witnessing the changes wrought during my absence. individuality gives room for thought, out of which is born invention and progress. when the individual is not al¬ lowed to separate from the crowd in thought and action, the aggregate will, the aggregate thought, is his master and he " dare not venture for fear of a fall." progress is measured only by the de¬ gree of swiftness made by the mass. some indi- light ahead for the negro is race antagonism, and that race antagonism pre¬ sents a problem more complicated and perplexing than most others, because it is apt to be unreason¬ ing. it creates violent impulses which refuse to be argued with. " the race antipathy now heating the southern mind threatens again to curtail the freedom of in¬ quiry and discussion there—perhaps not to the same extent, but sufficiently to produce infinite mischief by preventing an open-minded consid¬ eration of one of the most important interests. * * * and here is the crucial point: there will be a movement either in the direction of re¬ ducing the negroes to a permanent condition of serfdom—the condition of the mere plantation hand, ' alongside of the mulepractically without any rights of citizenship—or a movement in the direction of recognizing him as a citizen in the true sense of the term. one or the other will prevail. " that there are in the south strenuous advo¬ cates of the establishment of some sort of semi- slavery cannot be denied. governor vardaman, of mississippi, is their representative and most logical statesman. his extreme utterances are greeted by many as the bugle-blasts of a great now and then blacks should divide their votes according to their inclinations between different political parties— will promise the desired result in the same meas¬ ure as it is carried on with gentle, patient and persuasive dignity, but also with that unflinching courage which is, above all things, needed to assert that most important freedom—the freedom of inquiry and discussion against traditional and deep-rooted prejudice—a courage which can be daunted neither by the hootings of the mob nor by the supercilious jeers of fashionable society, but goes steadily on doing its work with indomit¬ able tenacity of purpose. " what the ' new york evening post ' thinks " this analysis of existing conditions and ten¬ dencies in the south is one to which the south itself and the entire nation should give heed. mr. schurz clearly perceives a dangerous drift. slavery ideas are again asserting themselves. the movement to extinguish the negro's political rights is unconcealed. by craftily devised and inequitable laws the suffrage is taken from him. with all this go naturally the desire and purpose to keep him forever 'alongside the mule.' negro education is looked upon with increasing hostility. light ahead for the negro of north carolina, and governor montague, of virginia. there is a whole group of educational leaders who represent the best of the old south and the best of the new. it is the duty of wise, patriotic men in the north to cooperate with these new leaders ; to strengthen their hands ; to recog¬ nize and aid the best sentiment in the south, and to stimulate its activity. the negro question can be settled by cooperation of the north with the south, by sympathy, by understanding; it can never be settled in any other way. " what gov. aycock, of north carolina, thinks " i am proud of my state because we have solved the negro problem, which recently seems to have given you some trouble. we have taken him out of politics, and have thereby secured good gov¬ ernment under any party, and laid foundations for the future development of both races. we have secured peace and rendered prosperity a cer¬ tainty. i am inclined to give you our solution of this problem. it is, first, as far as possible, under the fifteenth amendment, to disfranchise him; after that, let him alone; quit writing about him; quit talking about him; quit making him ' the white man's burden'; let him ' tote his own skil- now and then " you can imagine that it was getting very un¬ comfortable for the negroes in the south about that time. many of them left for the north and west. quite a number went to africa—and bishop smith of the african methodist church induced many to go to hayti. vast tracts of land in the southwestern part of the united states were opened up to the cultivation of cotton by a na¬ tional system of irrigation, and the government employed negroes on these improvements and also in the cultivation of the plant itself, after the irrigation system was perfected." " what happened to the southern white farm¬ ers ? " i inquired. " they moved to the cities in large numbers and the negro: " he is not ill-treated nor improperly discriminated against except in the courts, and for the injustice done him there, there seems to be no remedy." a close contest. (<charlotte, n. c., observer.) we always feel sorry for a north carolina jury which gets hold of a case in which a black man is the plaintiff and the southern railway company the defendant. a jury in rowan superior court last week had such a case and must have been greatly perplexed about which party to the suit to decide against. after due deli¬ beration, however, it decided—how do you suppose—why, against the railroad. but the problem was one which called for fasting and prayer. chapter v a visit to public buildings the time had now arrived for our promised visit to some of the public buildings of the city and we seated ourselves in an electric motor car which the doctor had summoned by touching a botton. to my surprise, it made the trip alone, by traversing a course made for this purpose, somewhat on the order of the cash de¬ livery systems formerly used in our large stores, being elevated some twenty feet above the sur¬ face. the coaches were arranged to come at a call from any number on certain streets. the doctor suggested that we should first visit the " administration building." i was expecting to find congress or some such body in session, but to my surprise i was told by the doctor that con¬ gress had been abolished, and that the country was run on what i had formerly understood as the corporation plan; except that the salaries were light ahead for the negro not so large. the business of the government was entrusted to bureaus or departments, and the officers in them were chosen for their fitness by an improved system of civil service. "who is president now," i inquired. "president!" replied the doctor, in surprise, " why we have none. i never saw a president. we need none. we have an executive depart¬ ment which fills his place." "what as to proposing new measures? " i asked. " who writes the annual messages suggesting them?" " all this is left to a bureau chosen for that pur¬ pose, whose duties are to keep the nation informed as to its needs, and to formulate new plans, which are carried out along the idea of the initiative and referendum system with which you are doubtless somewhat acquainted, as i notice that it was dis¬ cussed as early as ." i replied that i had a recollection of seeing the terms but i could not give an intelligent defini¬ tion of them. whereupon the doctor explained the system. « you see," he said, " that the time wasted in congressional debate is saved and the chance to block needed legislation is reduced to a minimum. light ahead for the negro they did after their emancipation ? what was the necessity for adopting a system that gave a chance for the brutal passions of bad men to vent them¬ selves ? the whole country has suffered in its moral tone because of slavery, and we are not as pure minded a nation to-day as we should have been without it." i replied that it was commercialism that fixed slavery in the nation and rooted and grounded it so deep that scarcely could it be eradicated with¬ out destroying the nation itself. i noticed that she had none of the southern woman's prejudice against " yankees," so prevalent in my day, and that she was far enough removed from the events of the civil war to look at them dispassionately. what a difference doth time make in people and nations. what is wisdom to-day may be the grossest folly to-morrow, and the popular theme of to-day maybe ridiculed later on. ye "men of the hour " beware ! the much despised yankee has taught the south many lessons in industry, in the arts, sciences and literature, but none more valuable to her than to forsake her prejudice against the evolution of the negro. we rode out to chattahoochee farm, noted for its picturesqueness and " up-to-dateness," a paying light ahead for the negro " indeed," said i, " they were horrible stumps in the road of progress." we ended our ride after a visit to the park, which was a beautiful spot. it served not only as a place of recreation, but musical, zoological, botanical and aquarian departments were open to the public, and free lectures were given on the latest inventions and improvements, thus coupling information with recreation, and elevating the thoughts and ideas of the people. i noticed the absence of the old time signs which i had heard once decorated the gates of this park, " negroes and dogs not allowed." of course irene had never seen or heard of such a thing and i therefore did not mention my thoughts to her. she was a creature of the new era and knew the past only from books and tradition. i had the misfortune, or pleasure, as the case may be, of having lived in two ages and incidents of the past would continually rise before me in comparison with the present. on reaching my room that evening i felt that my trip with miss davis had been very agreeable and very instructive, but still there was an aching void—for what i did not know. was it that we did not converse on some desired subject ? dr. newell give me because of your love—save my name and our fortune.' this she finally did. poor eva, when her second child was four years old, died, never knowing but that she was the true wife of her deceiver. her children were adopted by the guilfords as their own, grew up and entered so¬ ciety under the guilford name and no one to-day will charge them with their father's sin." light ahead for the negro she also had heard of those false prophets whom history had not forgotten, but who lived only in ridicule and as examples of error. she seemed to be ashamed of the ideas once advocated by these men, and charitably dismissed them with the re¬ mark that, "it would have been better for the cause of true christianity had they never been lis¬ tened to by so large a number of our people, as they represented brute force rather than the golden rule." i heard with rapt attention. although i had already seen much to convince me of the evolu¬ tion of sentiment in the south, these words sank deeper than all else. here was a woman of aris¬ tocratic southern blood, cradled under the hills of secession and yet vehement in denunciation of those whom i had learned to recognize as the beacon lights of southern thought and purpose! and when i reflected that her views were then the views of the whole south, i indeed began to realize the wonderful transformation i was being permitted to see. i silently prayed, " god bless the new south! " my heart was full, i felt that i had met a soul that was a counterpart of my own,—" each heart shall seek its kindred heart, and cling to it, as close as ever." light ahead for the negro groes. there may be a class that attend the courts when their 'pals ' are in jeopardy and who rejoice to see them exonerated, but the real sub¬ stantial negro man is seldom seen ' warming the benches' of court rooms. unlike the white spec¬ tators, who are men of leisure and spend their time there out of interest in what is going on, and often to earn a per diem as jurors,—the leisure class in the negro race is generally composed of those who have ' served time' in prison or of their associates. " the negro problem, as now considered, seems, so far as the discussion of it is concerned, to be entirely in the hands of white people for solution, and the negro himself is supposed to have no part in it, other than to i wait and tend' on the bid¬ ding of those engaged at the job. he is ' a looker on in venice.' i therefore offer my suggestion as to method or plan with fear of being asked to stand aside. yet, in my zeal for the work and in my anxiety to have it accomplished as speedily and correctly as possible, i venture a few sugges¬ tions, the result of twenty years' observation and experience in teaching, which appear to my mind as the best way to go at this herculean task. " in the first place i suggest that the boarding the prize essay school is the only one fitted for the final needs of the young of the race—a school where culture and civility would be taught hand in hand with labor and letters. the main object in education is training for usefulness. i leading out' is the mean¬ ing of the term education, and what the young of the race needs is to be lead out, and kept out of vice, until the danger period is passed. the pub¬ lic schools turn out the child just at that period when temptations are most alluring. from the age of puberty to twenty-one is the danger time, and the time of forming character. the kind of character then formed remains. if the child can be steered over this period, under right influences and associations, the problem of his future is com¬ paratively settled for good, otherwise for bad. too much is expected of the public schools as now constituted, if it is presumed that they can mould both the mind and the heart of the child; when they usually drop him just at the period that he begins to learn he has a heart and a mind! he is mostly an animal during the period allotted to him in the public schools. many are fortunate enough to have parents who have the leisure and ability to train them properly. some follow up the course in the public schools with a season in a light ahead for the negro boarding school—these are fortunate, but where is the great mass? they became boot-blacks, runaways, i dudes,' or temporary domestics, in which calling they earn money more to satisfy their youthful propensities than for any settled purpose for the future of their lives. " out of six hundred pupils who had left one public school in virginia i found only who had settled down with any seemingly fixed purpose. i counted who had become domestics, and, either married or single, are making orderly citi¬ zens. the rest have become mere bilge water and are unknown. among the girls fourteen are of the demirep order. the public schools are do¬ ing some work it is true—a great work, all things considered—but their ' reach' is not far enough. what the young of the negro race needs, beyond all things, is training—not only of the head, but of the heart and hand as well. the boarding school would meet the requirements, if properly conducted. the girl and boy should remain at useful employment under refined influences until the habit of doing things right and acting right is formed. how can the public schools mould char¬ acter in a child whom they have for five hours, while the street gamins have him for the rest of the prize essay crime than the other races, as is urged by some, then it is necessary to take more care in protect¬ ing him against it. if his disease is of a more malignant type than ordinary when it attacks him, then the more heroic should be the remedy. it is as illogical to apply a system of education to a child who is not prepared for it as it would be to treat a patient for appendicitis when he has the eczema. results are what the state wants, and if the schools now established are not giving them, the system should be changed to one that for thirty years has been a success. the money sent south by northern charity has not been wasted. some people think it has destroyed some farm hands—this may be true, but it has created larger producers in other lines fully as beneficial to the state as farming. " the state is suffering because of its criminal class both white and black, and it will continue to do so until this cloud is removed, and in under¬ taking the education of its citizens, the state is not working for the farmers especially (as some seem to imply by their arguments on this subject) but for a higher type of citizenship along all lines. e more intelligence in farming, mining, manufac¬ turing, and business' is the motto, a general up- i light ahead for the negro lift in which all shall be benefited. neither the farmer, the miner nor the manufacturer can hope to build up a serf class for his special benefit. the state has not established the school system for that purpose, and should the theory once ob¬ tain that it was so established, the handwriting would at once appear on the wall. the ideal school system is that in which each citizen claims his part with all the rest. no line should be drawn in the division of the funds to the schools, and as a fit corollary to this, they should not be established to foster the financial interests of any one class of citizens as against another. pro bono publico is their motto and may it ever re¬ main so !" i might add that as a substantial proof of the great success of the new system of negro educa¬ tion the southern states have joined in preparing a great negro exposition, open to negroes all over the world, in which, it is expected, a fine showing will be made by members of the race in almost every field of human endeavor. light ahead for the negro proper. her reply was that her whole soul was a complete wreck. she felt as if the world had no further charm, and that death would be wel¬ come if she knew she would be with him. but time works many changes, even in such a constant and abiding force as a true woman's love. god made them sincere, it may be said, but few there are that stand the test of time, and the as¬ saults of a persistent man's devotion. many would freeze their hearts if they could, but the manly temperature is too high in most cases and they melt sooner or later under its radiations. some¬ times in her despair, in her dilemma, in her war between the heart force and the will, she resolves to marry her beseecher " to be rid of him," too considerate of his feelings to say " no," and too true to former pledges to say " yes." what tunes in¬ deed may " mere man " play on such heart-strings ! all this was not the case with irene exactly, but it was true in some particulars, for irene was a woman, and the only important truth to gilbert was that the year saw them husband and wife and that the love that once went to the philippines was bestowed on the man she helped rescue from his trip in an air ship. poor ben: a story of real iife, by lucretia h. newman coleman. do'st thou love life, then do not squander time; for that is the stuff life is made of: plough deep, while others sleep. nashville, tenn. : publishing house of the a. m. e. sunday-school union. . entered according to act of congress, in tlie year ls'jo, by the sunday school union of the a. m. e. ckup.ch, in the office of the librarian of congress at washington. i cedieate this luot*k with sincere love for ]vly race, * 'i'lie colored y tjk' j en ^ of america, with the hope that it may contribute something to that christian knowledge, which is the v eky bkeatii of all tkue nobility. the author. preface. should these chapters succeed in conveying a true statement of the narrative attempted, the writer will rest satisfied with the re¬ sult, however severely the merits of the work may be criticised, upon purely literary grounds. if it evinces any political or denominational spirit, let me say in self-defense, that it was utterly impossible to disassociate the life of the man from the condition of his country and people, and the operations of the inhuman and merciless laws of slavery, which wrought so forcibly against the black man; or to dissever his life from that off-shoot of the christian church to which his progenitors belonged, and which he so worthily represents. if it had been otherwise, he might have been born in the lap of luxury, reared in the arms of affluence, and, with no opposing forces, would never have advanced above the mass, nor enshrined himself in the memory of the church and state. hitherto, the history of the men of the colored family, who have risen from the shadowy depths of the past, into an enlighten¬ ed and useful present, has been left unrecorded, except in diary form, or journal, and stored away as family relics. but the time has arrived when we must rescue from the stygian gulf of obliv¬ ion the records of those who have passed on, and of those who still temain on the green baized stage of the present. in writing this volume, the author has found many thorns as well as roses in her pathway; but amongst the pleasures the greatest was when she recognized peculiar merit in some trait or dee(l of her subject; and the wish would bubble up from the heart for the power to aid the development of such traits in the million of ignorant ones of color in this country. to collect, and arrange, and furnish original matter enough on¬ ly to fill the greater gaps, and adapt all to the end contemplated, has been the chief duty. the author has with a crude plough¬ share broken new ground, turned up fresh strata, in a field where poor ben. future competition in the glory of classic culture will gather rfeji harvests from the field now being sown. that the book maty prove instructive, edifying and useful, der god's blessing, especially to that most numerous, important t and rising class of people for whom it has been chiefly designed^'is the earnest and prayerful desire of the authoii, ublishers' lotice. ijsa assuming tlie publication of this volume, the gmfelishers have been chiefly guided by the design to stimulate and encourage the production of afro-amer- scan literature. that the work is not above criticism ss as apparent to us as it will be to every competent literary critic who may peruse it. as a beginning, blow-ever, in a certain line of literature, we have judged et to contain sufficient merit to warrant us in offering £fc to the public, and commending it to the favor of tbhose who are interested in the production of a litera¬ ture that will represent the ever increasing intelligence, tas well as the hopes and aspirations of afro-ameri- csans. however fondly the hope may be cherished, t^hat american society will eventually becopie truly tudsmopolitan in its character, does not relieve the ne- faessity of each factor that may enter therein from at- staining the highest excellency of thought and charac¬ ter. the strength of the whole fabric will be in pro¬ portion to the strength of each element that enters in- ito it. in the physical development of the country, ^he afro-american has contributed his full share. will he contribute to its intelligence in a proportion¬ ate degree? ill he win recognition and distinction in tihe(production of its literature? while others are using tike jpress to speak for him, will he use it to speak ( ) publishers' notice. for himself? will he turn the kaleidoscope of honest effort so as to reveal the higher qualities of his being through the medium of literary productions, and thus pour just contempt upon the work of the caricaturists who paint him only as the subject of humor and ridi¬ cule? it is the aim of the publishers of this volume to encourage, so far as in them lies? every effort pos¬ sessing reasonable merit that may be put forth by an afro-american literator. we feel a just pride in announcing that the entire mechanical work, except the binding, was done by afro-americans, with, material owned by the same, in a building belonging to them; and we are fully con¬ scious that it has numerous mechanical defects, which will be readily discerned by those who are competent to judge. remember, however, that it is our first effort, and be assured that we intend to improve. the author of the work undoubtedly possesses the* possibilities of developing a meritorious standard of authorship. give her the stimulating influences of helpful association, such as she would enjoy were sho a white person, and in a few years she would take high rank as an author. we have already been informed of her intention to prepare the manuscript of another book at no distant day. coflteflts chapter. page i.—childhood, - - - - ii.—the cow boy, r iii.—the chore boy, - - iv.—the school boy, - v.—the first fight, - - vi.—the wagon boy, - vii.—steamboat and hotel life, - viii.—a great misfortune, - ix.—in sunday-school, - - x.—the school teacher, - xi.—at the capital, - - xii.—love, courtship and marriage, xiii.—the y. m. c. a., xiv.—in business, ... xv.—political career ... xvi.—a call to the ministry, - xvii.—literary work, - xviii.-two years a representative, xix—the a. m. e. church, - - xx.—his home, - - - xxi.—practical lessons, - - poor ben. into the space "below. after finding that no one was hurt, one of the congressmen, who knew the word¬ ing of the contract, turned to henry clay, who was among the number that had been thrown down the embankment, and said, "clay! the contract is brok¬ en !" this brought forth a hearty laugh from the sage of ashland. thus the ''old iron bridge," over which have passed our ablest statesmen and most elo¬ quent orators, became historic. but the reader may say there is nothing very remarkable about this location. true, yet even in points seemingly insignficant, 'tis well at time^, to be explicit; for often one's surroundings has much to do with one's self. and again, often that which has its origin in apparent trifles, swells in mag¬ nitude, until its source is lost sight of, or, when ob¬ served, becomes a matter of surprise, as the results are seen. an instructive lesson may be learned by the student of nature, when contemplating the rain, or spring as it forms the rill and the rivulet, which glides down the hillside, and runs day and night, by mill and cottage. it is this, that is useful, rather than the swollen river, or roaring cataract. the great missis¬ sippi excites wonder, and we stand and gaze .at its power, and stand in awe of the greatness of its maker. one such stream is enough to be a repository for all the water of a continent; but there would be no such voluminous body of water, were it not for the thou¬ sands of silvery brooks and creeks, that help to make that great river. so with the human family ; one lit¬ tle babe among us is a mere trifle, and with the lack of attention, care and prayer, may run at will and its powers never be trained to follow towards the great channel of elevation. hence they are wasted. this is ch ildhood. only one! ah, it is so in famil}t, city, state and throughout the land. intellect sinking into nothing¬ ness. trifles! who can value a drop of rain, or fix the price of an immortal soul? though it be found in a negro hut, in the rice swamp of south carolina. care¬ fully prepare the ingredients, weigh with precision the simplest and there is a certainty of perfection in its compound. deal cautiously with trifles, and there is but little fear of the future issue. lead the creek to the river, and its influence will always be felt, in quenching the thirst of the cattle, furnishing powerio move the thousands of spindles and wheels in facto¬ ries, and building a highway for trade and commerce, as it moves on to feed the mighty ocean. thus, reader, may you see, ere this story is finished, how "poor ben," whose existence began, like the little 'creek, in obscurity, has surmounted barrier after bar¬ rier, until he reached the monongahela of activity; set the mill wheels of thought into action; passed on to the ohio of noble, purposes, there set barges of higher hopes afloat; rushed earnestly towards the mississippi of usefulness, and opened the flood-gates of the gospel againt sin; and is now hastening down to the honored mexico of old.age; thence on, on, until the majestic ocean of eternity is gained. this child's parents were of mixed blood. his fath¬ er seven-eighths negro, one-eighth irish; his mother six-eighths scotch, one-eighth negro and one-eighth in¬ dian. now this problem, when solved, makes bennie a compound of the following ingredients: eight parts negro, six parts scotch, one part indian, and one part irish. the characteristics of race variety exhibit themselves childhood. god has called you to preach; don't make a ship¬ wreck, my baby! you have jesus, the bible and com¬ mon sense to guide you. ' it was march the th, s , and the searching winds were shaking the leafless branches, rattling the gates and shutters, and numbing the fingers and toes of the early risers in brownsville, pa. all without was keen, icy, chattering and chill; all within was quiet, still and warm; when in a little bridgeport cottage, the first item was added to the register in the family bible under the column headed "births." thus benjamin william, the oldest of eight children, made his ap~ pearence in this sphere of mysteries, wondering, as he lay cosily cuddled in his warm flannels, why he had been banished from the fairy land of angels, and sent to stay in this world of tempest and confusion. nevertheless little bennie was here; he came to be the household pet; came to suffer the pangs of colic, and to be strangled with paregoric; came to be tossed, trotted, starved, gorged, carefully tended, or left to cry himself to sleep. this he, however, seldom did; for bennie was a fat, good natured, rollicking baby, and never made wry faces, except when they stuck pins in him. baby bennie was a dull-witted, or rather, lazy baby, who wouldn't nor didn't talk until his brother tommie, whose senior he was, by two years, taught him to talk. in infancy, when bennie was but six months old, these christian parents gave him to god and the church in hol}t baptism. it is by such early consecration and religious train¬ ing at home in the day and sunday-school, that the children and youth of this day are to be made noble- the cow boy, <?l?apter ii. the cow boy. ^ i boy who is to be the principal figure in this !f story is but little removed from the common run of poor children. of wonderful geniuses, or marvelous ^characters, the world has but few, and when you meet 'one in life's dense crowd, you, on close examination, will be woefully disappointed. happy, indeed, is the being who ends life without having his ideals shattered. if ■such a person does live, his existence and the ideal •are both questionable. it is, therefore, unlikely that you will have the' pleasure of reading in this work any record of amaz¬ ing adventures or hair-breadth escapes. here and there a surprise may occur, or an unexpected turn may be given to the incidents; but of these the writer cannot claim to be the inventor, for they are but an ■array of facts, and are the natural outcome of the " cow boy's " life. there is no need to enter the land of romance. the checker-board of most common lives presents daily new and strange variations. new, be¬ cause the actors are new; and each event, though old, forms a new combination in their being; and strange, because they spring from hithertofore neglected sources. the beggar turns the kaleidoscope and forms a design ©.o king can produce. so each existence eked out is a ( ) poor ben. new book written by the recording angel, never to be produced by another life. like all healthful babies, bennie grew rapidly, passed safely all the ills of infancy, and when eight years old was large enough to work and help father and mother. drawing wages was a very pleasing thought to the little fellow. he didn't want to be called " baby" any longer, but preferred the appellation of man; but this he sel¬ dom heard, for his parents persisted in calling him "baby" as long as they lived. a neighbor wanted a boy to drive his cow to and from pasture. ben applied, and was employed at thirty-seven and a half cents a month, which compens¬ ation was to be received in milk and articles from the store of his employer. just at the foot of the iron bridge stood this store, owned by j. t. rogers, in , and there it may be seen to-day, the property having neither changed owners, nor the store its name or outward appearance. every morning bennie and his cow could be seen trudging sloavly down the coal road, past the,old gregs* mill, and with zig-zag directness up the hill beyond—- the cow nipping the fresh blades of grass, the dewy cowslips and the dandelions that had pushed their way up to blossoming along the roadside. the cow had no other motive in view than to supply the de¬ mands'of her keen appetite, expecting the natural laavs to fill her bag with rich milk, which was to be shower¬ ed in a musical torrent into the five-gallon milk pail at night. ben, who lagged sometimes in the rear, sometimes in advance of his cow, was keeping his eyes and brain busy with the natural objects around him. as a coal cart passed him, he would at a glance pict- poor ben. it will be nice and new. and then, when i get to be- a man like mr. gregg, i'll have a better mill than his'a is now." thus ended this little careless, but not thoughtless little workman's second day dream, and he began hur¬ rying along to regain lost time, chattering merrily > staring, first up into the dense foliage of the trees, then, watching his shadow in the clear road ditch. "mama says god made everything, and made me> too, and is my father. now, if he made all these things, some that move and some that can't move, i wonder who made god?" his mind seemed bewild¬ ered for a moment, then, clear-headed, on he goes: "well, god is made, that's sure, and all the trees, and cows, and dirt, and stones, and people, and—every* thing is made, 'cause i see 'em. if god's father helped him make so many nice things, and he is my father,. i just 'spect he'll help me make my mill to-morrow; won't you, god? " he said this with child-like faith, turning his face toward the sky. "oh, my, the sun is so hot! i wonder if the sun and moon ain't god's eyes. he looks at me so hard it makes me hot. guess i'd better hurry and get back home. whew! i'm getting so warm!" these childish dreams and fancies are but the work- ings of the intellect in embryo. in them we see a nat* ural propensity in ben to question; to seek out the unknown things about him; the ability to plan and build on future prospects, and to turn to account every material within his reach, and convert all into a high¬ er purpose by his own sendeavors. these traits and aspirations also show the incapability of man to se& the cow boy. that many of his efforts and schemes are vain and im¬ possible. after his plans are well made they fail of accomplishment. they are as absurd to a higher be¬ ing as the cow boy's idea of always having a clean coal cart, drawn by fat, sleek horses, clean clothes and erect spine, or an everlasting good temper and a fine store whip; and as uncertain as his ingenuity to construct a complete mill, and set its machinery in motion with his untaught hands and baby brain. simple reasoning in the child teaches the impracti¬ cability of trying to solve, in riper years, the unrevealed mysteries of the creator, or to sound the unfathoma¬ ble depths of the great beyond. the first snow of had fallen over these two towns of western pennsylvania, on a cold sabbath morning in october. the aristocratic ladies and their children heeded their inclinations and stayed in-doors, where they were certain of a warm atmosphere and dry feet. the easy livers and laboring classes gladly hailed the day, snowy though it was, so the streets and churches of brownsville were not quite deserted. heavy snow did not dampen the ardor of these hum¬ ble worshippers. mr. nicholas smith and bennie were among those who hastened homeward through the crisp snow after morning service, where they had returned thanks for the blessing of church, health and home, without a dream of being deprived of anything they now possessed. uncle nicholas was a brother of bennie's mother, and a steamboat man; working all the week, and lay¬ ing over at brownsville on sundays, as was the cus¬ tom of all the river-men in that section. on this sab¬ bath evening just mentioned, uncle nicholas conclud- poor ben. ed not to go to church. the day had worn on slowly; the snow had fallen heavily at intervals in great, soft, white flakes, which covered the ground and lay there, blotting out the paths and making the face of the surrounding coun¬ try a pure white waste, over which it would be diffi¬ cult to find one's way after dark. "we will not go 'to church to-night," said mr. t , to his wife. " the snow is too deep for you, and it is growing colder." mr. smith however thought differently. the weath¬ er must not keep him in. he had attended morning service, to-night he would worship at another shrine, that of the amiable miss . about ten o'clock he returned home, took a lighted candle and went up to his room; his earliest and only thoughts were given to the one he had just left, instead of the locatioii of the light; so that in placing the candle on the stand, the curtain took fire, and in an instant the whole win¬ dow frame was in ablaze. igniting some bedding that was piled near, the fire rapidly spread from one piece of fufniture to another, until the whole room was a bed of flame. mr. smith rushed frantically down the stairs, calling to his sister," louise, fire upstairs! louise, fire upstairs!" the alarm was quickly given, and the citi¬ zens flocked to the scene. bennie, who was asleep with his little brothers, in their trundle bed, sprang from it> caught his little baby sister in his arms, and with great presence of mind ran from the burning house to the school building across the way. while the men were doing all they could to stay the destructive element, our little hero was trying to soothe the grief of the younger children, who did not realize the cow boy. the necessity of being snatched so suddently from their warm bed and brought qut into the cold. "don't cry, allie." "mamma is coming tom." "are you very cold?" "perhaps papa will save our clothes and bring them over here to us." and with many other loving expressions he tried to console his little brothers and sister, while- his parents were strain¬ ing every nerve to save what they could from de¬ struction. reader, imagine, if you can, the feelings of a poor man and wife, who have struggled hard for years to get and keep a little place called home, to see all the rewards of their toil reduced to ashes, and their little ones with¬ out shelter save the canopy of heaven. placed in an extremity like this, without any source the right or on the left from which to ask assistance, the being looks within at self, then above to its maker, and finds hope beyond; and soon there are spread around the things so much needed and desired; for god never forsakes his own. help oftei} comes from unexpected sources, and through misfortunes and heavy losses are generally opened the best avenues to success and bet¬ ter days. after the fire was subdued, and mr. and mrs. t had sadly given a last look at their once happy home, now a smouldering heap of cinders, they accepted the kind offer of a home with mrs. a's brother jerry. here their jieeds were generously attended to, the citizens showing that spirit of generosity and benevolence that is so justly accredited to all the native citizens of "penn's woods." j. c. auld rebuilt bennie's house, and kindly allowed his parents as much time as they needed to pay for it. poor ben. i the person who under all circumstances endeavors to help himself will always find a helping hand stretched to save him when his own attempts are futile. so with these faithful servants of god, whose faith in him was strong. when all seemed dark and hopeless he opened the way for them in their extreme need, and bestowed his aid when they were unable to rise without it. poor ben. law which, if conformed to, brings the only true hap¬ piness that providence intended to be ours. it is im¬ possible to enjoy anything in nature or art without la¬ bor. the idle girl or boy, the indolent man or wo¬ man, is the most perfect picture of unhappiness, one can portray. by giving a description of rev. cowan's parsonage, you will readily see another incentive to industry that bennie might have had, besides his love of employ¬ ment, and it may explain the reason why he seldom allowed the sun to set on unfinished work. the rectory was a medium sized house, a nest of comfort and convenience, without any of the stately grandeur of some ministerial residences of the pres¬ ent day. there was nothing about the building, its furniture or surroundings, to suggest a manor. the flower beds and grass plat in the front yard were kept in good order, and in fact, wtere laid out with an eye to the beautiful. the back yard was a wide, deep one, level, destitute of fruit trees and grass, except several a^ed apple trees that stood beyond the bam and coal house, and near to the line fence, while a few shrubs stood near the pathway of plank, that led to the out¬ buildings, and to the gate that opened into the lot be¬ yond. this back yard extended to the church grave¬ yard, which lay just in the rear of the entire parish, property. to the right of the parsonage rose the dingy walls of the christ church, with its staring window case¬ ments, and its gloomy tower. to the left lay a va¬ cant lot, without fencing, having a muddy jiond in the center, where all the neighboring ducks and geese swam. in front ran the dimly lighted street. poor ben. for lie had made many a safe trip to the coal house and pump, without light or company. he knew too well the determination of his aunt to have things done in her own way and time, so he must not return with an empty scuttle. finally with a certain amount of will power, partly natural, partly caused by two exciting nerves—aunt margaret inside, and darkness outsi.de —bennie would muster up all his courage, and fill the coal box at no slow rate. little by little his fear of the tall white grave stones, the geese floating by starlight in the pond, and the dreary church, with its dark steeple and gaping win¬ dows, was overcome, and he learned that there were fewer ghosts in the graveyard, than in the chambers of imagination. every day this little soldier of the chore boy regi¬ ment, answered aunt margaret's roll call, ate his ra¬ tions, fought his battles, though they may have been only imaginary ones, with the cemetery hob-gobblins, or cobble stone throws with which he put the geese to rout, and he made many such conquests, that perhaps are unworthy of laurels in the reader's estimation; yet they were nevertheless, battles and victories, or defeats comparatively equal to many which grown-up boys dail}r fight, win or lose. they strengthened him for the sterner conflicts, awaiting him in subsequent years. poor ben's birthplace. chapter /. the school boy. fhe summer months passed swiftly by, and bennie stopped work. not because be was tired of his situ¬ ation, nor th.it he was sick; but simply because he had learned that school was to open, his parents had promised him that he might enter school and he was almost beside himself to see what a looked like, and to hear how u sounded, when made by his own vocal organs, and to try to be^,t his uncle epbram writing with a goose quil. reader, you and i have both had our first day in school. with what extreme delight do we recall the joyous anticipations we had on entering the school room for the first time. if you have any curiosity to know hpw bennie felt, all you have to do is to take a seat in your own imag¬ ination, whether outside, or in, it matters not, the fact is the same; and there, when quietly settled in the halls of memory, you can look around you, and at no cost, upon the scenes of early school days, painted by the hand of personal experience. here you may ac¬ company ben, in his learning to skate, taking the girls to coast on saturday, and capsizing them, then beat¬ ing a hasty retreat to the steep bills where none bu.t boys dare venture to descend. iiere you see inglorious the school boy. in fact they lacked all the conveniences and comforts of the modern desks. the heaters were long iron box stoves, a few old dust covered, and smoked soiled maps adorned the walls, on the sides between the windows; and two short blackboards were nailed against the walls; one in the fore, the other in the background. some faded blue cambric curtains kept out the intrud¬ ing rays of sunlight. we cannot help noticing; though we secretly and silently leave out all comment, the numerous jack knife hieroglyphics, which may be seen on every ob¬ ject within. each has its history grave or gay. the hand that carved may be at this moment at work on a better, or may be a lifeless piece of clay. if it be a name think kindly of it. the owner may have sunk in dishonor, and may be sharing the convict's cell, or with fame and title, be enjoying the honors a noble life merits. the teacher, mr. ephram arnett, is an erect, square- built, man of two hundred pounds, with firm, massive, benevolent features, not however without a dash of will, decision and executive determination in them, tyhich adds much to the interest, that such a man elic¬ its from an observer. hi^ eyes are black, deep set, kind and lively, his eye brows are heavy and project¬ ing, and either stern or relenting as the occasion re¬ quires, but in their natural mood are very 'complacent. there is a proud military bearing about his free, easy movements, that bespeaks the consciousness of having discharged his duty in the different fields of work, in which he has labored. he is about thirty years of age, but his regular hab¬ its, cheerful and kind disposion, and robust constitu- poor ben. tion make him appear but twenty-five or less in short yon see that he is but a beau ideal of what one would call an old-fashioned school-master. on this cold frosty morning in october, , ben- nie for the first time entered this school-room as a student. the teacher just spoken of was a brother of ben- nie's father. as he came in a desk was assigned him with goin fairfax for a seat-mate. jerry cane, and /dave conyon sat behind him, leslie fairfax and sam robinson in front, sidney banks and joe. robinson, on the right. just across the isle sat harriett poin- dexter, a girl whose aptness in penmanship charmed ben, and whose graceful lines on slate or paper, acted like a whip to his unsteady nerves, and stiff awkward fingers. it was not long before such a spirit of compe¬ tition was generated that he would never allow harriett to make a nice looking letter, but what he would, by re-- peated practice on it, succeed in making it as well and rapidly as she, and no doubt would add an extra flour¬ ish as an improvement. a very noticeable trait in bennie's character was perseverance. he early learned to put into practice, the sentiment of the song he daily sang, and which is familiar to every ear: " over and over again, the broo-k through the meadow flows, and over and over and over again, the tireless mill-wheel goes. so the dews of the morning must fall, and the sun and the summer rain, must do the work and perform it all, over and over again. chapter u. the first fight. he game of fox and geese, and pull-away, through the freshly fallen snow, were this ever active boy's delight. there was no more royal fun than a day spent on the hillside, or ice, coasting or skating. acting as commander of a crowd of girls and boys, bennie would have them build, under his supervision, a snow fort, and after it was completed and a good sup¬ ply of compact, crystal cannon balls were made, he would divide his force into two armies, offensive and defensive. those who had done the least in the build¬ ing, and the furnishing of the fort, would form the of¬ fending force, and were driven from the possession, thus would open a lively contest for the disputed ter¬ ritory. the whiz of the swiftly sent balls, the stolen advances made on the rear of the fort, the shouts of the victorious boys or girls, who with long poles, succeed¬ ed in bringing down a portion of the fort, and finally the headlong rush of the ones who had for so many minutes, held their ill-gotten arsenal, chased by the victors, can be better imagined than described. by this and other methods of sport, bennie culti¬ vated his combative propensity and love of conquest. he, not differing from the other boys, did not always ( ) the first fight. play fight, but some times would find cause to go at it in real earnest, and when a falling out would occur, a round of boxing, or tug at wrestling would ensue. one day, after school had been dismissed, a number of boys went down to lanning's saw-mill, to get bark from the logs. after playing for some time in the sawdust, a dispute arose between ben and johnnie tate. "say, john, i wouldn't take that off of ben," exclaimed nute legg, and this was seconded by hattie mcvullen. "he'll take all that and more too, if he fools much more, and don't let me alone!'' said ben. " i'll lick him as quick as chain lightning." "you'd better try it," put in phin starr, "and you'll have me to lick too!" "all right, i'll whip you and all the rest if you don't go off and let me alone," said ben, who began to think that things were assuming a very war-like aspect. " i ain't going off," said johnnie tate, coming up and rubbing his fist under ben's nose. this was more than our little commander of the fort could stand, the latent ferment in him became active and bubbled over, falling heavily on johnnie's head, in his face, anywhere, for he was pummeling promis- cously every part of his opponents fair proportions. "let me go ben, i take it all back. oh, bo}ts, my nose! look how i'm bleeding! " but ben thumped away until he was not only sure of victory, but was quite out of breath, and could fight no longer. johnnie's boasting friends stepped up and led him down to the water, and washed his bloody face and blackened eyes, a't the same time whispering a new idea, or word of consolation in his ear, ben didn't know which. however, no fear of a second attack ever entered his mind. so he filled his basket with strips poor ben. of bark and went safely home. once safely housed, fee told his mother of his adventure while at the mill. she listened quietly, then when he had finished, she tried to show him how wrong it was to quarrel and fight, though inwardly thinking that he'd do it again if he had to, he promised to keep away from bad boys and not fight any more. ben was not fond of being scolded, so he listened quite patiently for awhile, but concluding that his mother was not going to stop and •get supper, he said, "mother hadn't i better bring in my wood now?" "yes, bennie, before it gets later, fibr i want you to go to the grocery for me before dark." so bennie hurriedly brought in his coal and kind¬ ling, took the basket, and after getting a list of the cr- ticles to be gotten, he counted and repeated them a number of times, and set out for roger's grocery. this he reached safely and soon had the packages stored away in the basket under his right arm, and a tin bucket of molasses in his hand, with which he started on a brisk walk toward home, fearing darkness would overtake him he had not gone far before it was a deep twilight, and he heard some voice near him say, '• there he comes boys! there he is!" and in a moment a stone ©ame whizzing through the dark, quickly followed by another, and another. bennie not only looked about mm but quickened his steps into a run, for he was about to be attacked by a dozen boys all screaming, git! git! git! bennie thought discretion the most valiant thing to practice at this point, so clinging to his basket with one hand and his bucket with the other, he beat a has¬ ty retreat. in his haste he ran against a short guard¬ ing post, it struck him in the breast suddenly check- the first fight. ing his' speed, and sending his molases all over liim, and the pavement, while the parcels flew in every di¬ rection from the basket. ben gave but little thought to the scattered articles; self-preservation was the thought uppermost in his mind, so he picked himself up and away he flew towards home, verifying the old adage, "he that fights and runs away, lives to fight an¬ other day." he soon reached home and was met at the door by his mother who was growing verj' anxious about him. bennie rushed in at the door out of breath, and with such a frightened look that his mother cried: *l why bennie! what is the matter with you? where are the things i sent you for?" this she said all in one breath. "those old boys chased me, and stoned me all the way home," gasped the poor boy, who now saw that he had lost the supposed victory he had made during the day by the inglorious defeat and retreat at night. but his mother consoled him, as best as she could, then went back with him to the place where he collided with the post, to gather up the scattered gro¬ ceries, and mourn over the battered bucket. like all childish disputes, this one between bennie and johnnie tate was amicably settled the next day, and they were firm friends. tate reached the years of manhood, joined the army and was killed in battle. but ben lived to relate with pleasure the story of the first battle in which john tate was engaged; with sorrow the last, in which he fell; for it was with heart-felt sympathy that ben followed the form of his school¬ mate to his last resting place, and recalled many scenes and sports that the now lifeless form had once shared, with him. poor ben. when bennie was quite young his mother gave him a little dog, avhose color was a dark yellow, unbroken save by a white spot in the breast and one on each foot, that had a perfect resemblance to socks. "major ringold," for this avas his name, was the embodiment of dignity, courage and fidelity. he walked as proud¬ ly as though he owned both sidewalk and street, or was- leading major of some famous army. brave as a lion he was afraid of neither men, boys nor dogs wherev¬ er bennie went he vas his constant companion* while the boys played he would guard their coats and hats; when they swam he attended them, and when tired he would return to the bank, and lie near their clothing and dry himself in the sun. the boys, however, never liked to have major with, them when they went on hunting expeditions, for he was too fat to chase and catch rabbits, and would only scare them off so that the bo}'s would have no better success than he. he was useful, however, in driving up the cows; they knew him, and as soon as he would pop over the fence,, they would start for the bars. major was faithful as well as brave. often bennie would come in contact with bad boys, on his way to and from the store, or in going to the home of his aunt henrietta robinson. if major was with him, he would walk close up to his side, and by his action say, "i am here to protect you." this would give bennie great courage, he would look proudly at his little dog, as he strutted by his side, avith head and tail erect. ben would throw his shoulders back, and inarch on with his hands full of stones to protect both himself and dog- when a stone was thrown, major the first fight. would stand and say by the expression of his face and attitude of his body, "hit me, but touch ben, if you dare." major itingold, was kind and faithful to all the -children. all the neighbors liked him, and would save and throw him a good bone. but like all things earthly he took sick, the family and neighbors did all they could to alleviate his sufferings, but human aid was vain, and major ringold died. here followed another scene, the crying of the chil¬ dren, father and mother looked very sad, while ben and tommie began to make preparations for the fun¬ eral. they went to the back of the lot, on the hill, dug a grave for him, returned, wrapped him in a cof¬ fee sack, and placed him on long poles. all the boys in the neighborhood were in attendance, some acting as pall-bearers. they carried major to his last resting place, and with tears and sad countenances they cov¬ ered him up in his little grave on the hill. this was the last of the animal, who was ben's faithful teacher in lessons of fidelity, dignity and courage. not even a wooden slab marks the spot where major ringold lies. but at the foot of the old apple tree, he bleeps the sleep of all animals. and if animals have a resurrection and the true and faithful shall come up first, then when they arise, in the foremost ranks of faithful dogs, major ringold will appear. not wholly bereft, ben had another pet—his blue lien. she layed a nest full of eggs, and ben did not have long to wait, before there were ten chickens. one was a fine rooster and he named him "nick," which he trained to stand on his shoulder and crow. he was p, fighter and defender, and no other rooster, old or poor ben, young, could stay about the yard. he protected and scratched for the little ones, and in short was the cock of the yard. there was something in that young chicken that made bennie like him. nick looked independent; he walked, fought, scratched for and protected the hens independently and bravely. this spirit of independ¬ ence and peculiar dignity became firmly rooted in bennie. as he noticed nick walking around hunting worms and bugs for the ckickens, and his care for the hens, it taught him a lesson of care for those who were depend¬ ent on him for food and clothing, and he resolved that he would be as independent and as industrious as nick. if one will but wratch the instincts of animals, in the relations of each to each, one can find lessons of duty to others, that would, followed out, increase the happi¬ ness of the' world. were mankind each to follow the teachings of christ, how blest would be the members of each family; how improved the condition of each citizen; and how far superior would be our govern¬ ment. if each being would but use the spirit of brotherly love, with family, neighbor, friend and citizen, and measure each half-bushe! of dealing, as he would have it given him—heaped up and running over—the great yawning chasms now existing between members of families, between citizens, states and branches of the race would soon be spanned by iron bridges of real friendship, and the chain of humanity would be har¬ monious and complete. this spirit does not teach one to care for one's self only, and neglect others, nor to weep over one's own misfortune, and smile at the en- the first fight. emy's downfall, nor to take the larger portion and leave the lesser to those more deserving. it does not teach one to lie, to cheat, and to steal, but to love an¬ other as one's self. and this is an easy task, if the import of the verse be kept in mind: " for with what measure you mete, it shall be measured to you again." qpapter l/l. the wagon boy. from the cradle to the grave, life is a struggle. some aspire to fame, others to wealth, a few aim to do god's will without hope of fame or wealth, while others content themselves with a life of indolence and pleasure. a few happy ones possess the faculty of combining these aims into a truly enjoyable state of existence; but in any case it is appointed for all to toil, whethei by so doing they make themselves mis¬ erable or happy. the cause of so many blank lives is due largely to a certain amount of foolish pride, or lack of ambition and will power to do earnestly whatever the hand finds to do. the average young man and young woman of to-day is too proud to do any kind of honest labor to gain a firm foothold in life. if they cannot at once be placed in good lucrative positions, they refuse hum¬ ble ones, and so eke out an existence of want, living on support earned by others, rather than step by step, mount the ladder of fame. in early youth 'tis well to know the sphere of use¬ fulness one's natural inclinations fit one for. if these agree with the mental and physical organization of the person, then he must pursue the attainment of that ( ) the wagon boy. aim or desire, though his calling be humble. thus his cultivated or acquired abilities in these lesser spheres, but strengthen and assist the whole being to reach a more exalted position in the region to which his nat¬ ural talent and ambitious aspirations beckon him. the sooner a child ascertains his fort, the sooner will lie be prepared to mount the ladder, passing up¬ ward from one field of labor to another until he meets with success in the sphere toward which he aimed. yet he must be careful that he does not try to soar too high. the noblest ambition is that which fights against gin and .ignorance, poverty and shame; fights in dark¬ ness, for light; fights when down, to rise. this kind of ambition dies hard, or never dies at all. an am¬ bitious spirit is one which must be carefully dealt with —like the powder magazine, so useful, yet so danger¬ ous—it must be well guarded. this ardent thirst for honor and glorious achievement in any vocation; this intensity of soul that is unsatisfied with all it has done, and still has an unextinguished desire for doing more, is that dreaded spark which ignited and con¬ sumed the souls of earth's greatest men, and so ter¬ minates all ambitious greatness without goodness and godliness. only that ambition is good which does good to the possessor and those who come in contact with him. there is to be seen daily, on every hand, instances of the remnants of young men and once beautiful girls, who are now total wrecks, the pictures of old age and despair, who cannot live long upon earth though but one-third of their days are past—sad wrecks—and in their faces what can be read? "my life has proven a blank." "i die young in years but old in crime!" poor ben. "the monument i leave behind will read, 'beware of the shoals and reefs that wrecked me.' " " how i might have blessed mankind!" now turn the page, and on the other side are other instances. we see persons who have learned wisdom from experience, close observa¬ tion, deep reflection, and the intense application of both their physical and mental powers. this class, no doubt, forms the most useful part of society. there is an old adage—though homely, 'tis true: "throw a man overboard, and if worth saving he will save himself." at all events, many who have had great success have attained it through force of adverse circumstances rather than by foresight and friendly as¬ sistance. in the nineteenth century life is short. the child has matured at sixteen, has reached his prime at thirty, is old—past three score and ten—at fifty, and dies^ childhood is the time to push ahead. learn what you are best fitted for, and as soon as you have gotten on the right track and fully equipped turn on steam, push ahead, though you may only be on a gravel train, freight, caboose, or a smoking car; you can travel along j ust as others have done, over the same upward grade, and as fast as they, if you only keep up steam, and the track clear, and pursue your way until you arrive at the station you covet. fine engines, palace cars, and splendid appoint¬ ments, are only the helps to success, which, without the motive power, that must be generated by the indi¬ vidual and governed by his indomitable will, will not earn dividends nor escape destruction. bennie had continued in school during the winter months, and always found employment during the re¬ mainder of the year. he not only studied and learned the wagon boy. the lessons assigned him at school and at home, but he was daily storing his mind with practical lessons of morality, industry and thrift. in everything by which he was surrounded, he found something worthy of observation, and he applied his mind closely to suck things until they were fully understood or his curi¬ osity satisfied. often personal experience taught him useful lessons, and whether pleasant or bitter, they were never to be forgotten. in the spring pf ben had grown to be a strong robust boy of twelve years of age, and quite able to d© considerable work. he was at this time employed as®, wagon-boy. his business was to scotch " the wheels of the wagons, and assist in loading and unloading. his compensation was six dollars a month, and by this in¬ crease of labor and reward ben reached the third round of his ladder. being a lover of animals, he enjoyed be¬ ing where he could drive or in any w ay attend to the horses. he spent many hours of royal fun with the men and horses, notwithstanding the fatiguing exer¬ cise such work demanded. during the campaign of , the subject of our sketch was an off-bearer of brick, and the wagons of the brick yard were engaged to carry the delegation of men from brownsville to uniontown. the first day they carried the whigs, or the scott and graham men. the drive of twelve miles was a pleasant one, and its pleasure was greatly enhanced by the many jovial and witty narrations of political stories, told as only poli¬ tical men filled with the spirit of their party can tell them, and emphasized with bursts of laughter, shouts, clapping, stamping, and indian-like cheers. the day following, the democrats, whose candidates poor ben, these streams. brownsville being situated at the head of river navigation, ben readily found employment on one of the many steamers that plied the river lead¬ ing to the mississippi. the steamer "john b. gordon" ■was a small one, or what is called a low-wajter boat, that made bi-weekly trips from brownsville to mor¬ gan town, va. on this boat ben set out in the posi¬ tion of "knife shiner." this riverman's phrase meant that he would be expected to clean knives, and tins, or attend to any odd jobs the pantryman or steward might find for him to do. the spirit of willingness, and cheerfulnees, so prominent in his early life, t\ on for him friends, and made him the favorite with the eaptain and all who were employed on board. this justly earned and deserved friendship was more to him than his paltry wages. this humble station well filled made access to other and better work easy. after running for some time on this boat he accepted an of¬ fer on the " atlantic," which ran between pittsburg and brownsville. nothing that could be of interest to our leaders occurred while ben was aboard the "atlantic." the dull monotony of every-day life was endured by the proprietor and employees, while each day all the pas¬ sengers declared everything "delightful and charming." ben was finally transferred to the "australia," a very large boat, and made several trips to st. louis. in the meantime he had been working his way up. he was ®ften found in the pilot house learning to manage things in that department, or down with the firemen or engineer, studying the wonderful mechanism of the engine ; then up in the pantry, learning the mysteries ©f bow and where the sweets were made and kept. ever trusty, apt and business like, he was often en- steamboat and hotel life. trusted with the pro tern, management of these several departments, and when left in charge of affairs never proved false to the trust placed in him. in the year , ben became pantryman on the " belle golden." in this office he prepared all cold dishes for the tables, had full chargo of the pastries, fruits, wines, preserves, weighed and sent out all the coffee, teas, flour, etc. needed in the culinary depart¬ ment. during this year the cholera raged, and ben suffered an attack, but was fortunate in that as in oth¬ er epochs, and survived while thousands perished. during the downward trip to st. louis, a slave and a mule were among the other cargo, the negro receiv¬ ing the same fare with the live-stock. they were hur¬ ried on board at louisville, ky. before they had gone very far the poor slave was seized with a severe attack of cholera. without a friend, even without a bed, he lay in intense agony. ben, hearing his piteous groans, went to him, and finding him seriously ill, had the poor fellow placed in his bed, and did all he could to relieve his sufferings. several of the working hands watched with ben at the bedside of the poor man, who prayed for death not only as a relief from bodily pain but for freedom of body and soul from that reign of terror, slavery. his cries of racking pain, his pleading request and yearning prayer, "oh, lord, how much longer? " wotild have melted the hearts of those who held the price of his departing soul. death came to his relief at four o'clock the following morning, and the carpenter of the boat, assisted by bennie,' made a coffin of rough boards and placed all that was mortal in it. bennie then secured the services of a few deck¬ hands to act as pall-bearers, th£ boat was run ashore at poor ben. slim island, and there these kind hearts hid from view the form of the slave, whose lot of toil and anguish had never been brightened by kindness and brother¬ ly love until this his dying hour. no one stood near with god's word to cheer him; none save the few hearts that bled in compassion were near to cast a farewell glance at the cold, stark, unyielding features; no eminent divine pronounced the burial rite. on deck, stood wealthy christian slave owners, jesting with heartless sneers, wearing the maker's image as a screen¬ ing mask, knowing too well that the dead slave was made in god's own likeness, too. as the rough pine box wras borne across the gang plank to the lonely island in the ohio river, the specta¬ tors on the decks of the boat knew that it held only "worthless dust, while deep in their hearts wtas a certain consciousness that a precious ransom had been paid for the soul, one that was greater than all human price. the slave's body was no longer in bondage; his spirit was as free as the white-winged messengers of god into whose glorious company it had taken flight. while the deck-hands scooped a shallow grave for one who had been doomed to be the christian's slave for years, his free soul was winging its flight to a righteous heaven where no slave chains are forged. the impression made upon ben's mind will ever be eo bright that his sensibilities will always be capable of giving form and color to the scene; it gave a keen¬ er edge to his compassion for his brethren in chains, and to his love of race, freedom and equality. the "a.g.mason" wtas the next boat on which ben was employed. this steamer made regular trips from st. louis, mo. to st. paul, minn. our young seeamboat and hotel life. boatman had a strong love of home, and when things did not run along with marble like smoothness he longed for a glimpse of dear old brownsville and a word or two with mother. his cultivated vagrancy, however, did not allow him much time to linger amidst home scenes, but would carry him" off to the tropics and try to make him feel at home with the palm and fig trees; or his mind, which he daily fed on books of travel, would cause the theater of his imagination to stretch away into the colder latitudes of the northern zones; and, in this way he had learned to like a change of climate and surroundings. he was charmed with his first trip toward the source; of the mississippi. this great, dark, rapid liver, that in its lower latitudes flowed, moaned and groaned like an unending sorrow, now seemed to warble a more cheerful song; its color was less dismal, and the sky it reflected was a clearer blue; the clouds moved with a more perfect freedom; and the leaves, the birds, the laborers at work in the fields—all seemed to move to and fro with that air of physical liberty which did not exist below. it was only this that made the contrast. spring and liberty smiled as they laid a happy-seem¬ ing spell on all the out-door world. the river banks were lighted up with a new brightness; no feeling of imprisonment prevented deep inhalations of the wild- wood fragrance; no cotton-picking slaves brought tears of pity from the heart to the eyes; no inhuman faces of the overseers were seen to arouse the accursed pas¬ sion of hatred. the only thought that carried sorrow to the heart and brought a sigh in return, was caused by the unrelenting purpose of old father time to hide the secret of the future freedom of the black man in poor ben. his slow, mighty, but regular pulsing heart. no won¬ der the less picturesque scenery of the northern banks of the mississippi had a far greater attraction for ben, than the luxurant verdure, dense foliage, great variety of tone poems as warbled forth by gay-plumed birds, of the tropics, and exquisit odors of flowers, gorge¬ ously dyed, growing in wildness, or in cultivated gar¬ dens. the former presents a picture of freedom, vir¬ tue and jiappiness; the latter, slavery, vice and misery. during the first run to st. paul, after ben had set to work on the "mason," he saw a great many indians on the right or wisconsin bank. as they neared the landing these chippewas came down to the dock to observe and see if there was a chance of getting ''fire¬ water." ben, not having seen any indians before, was greatly interested, and began talking with them. one indian suddenly asked: " you got whiskey? gimme whiskey!" the gutteral tone used by the savage some¬ what startled ben; but he said, "i have no whiskey." "you lie! you lie! you lie!"—the very woods seemed to echo it, and it so suddenly frightened ben that he hastily returned to the deck with his curiosity about chippewa indians satisfied. the following fall, the steamboat " \y. m. morrison," making regular trips between st. louis and new or¬ leans, wanted a storekeeper, and ben, whose name and integrity had become well known in steamboat circles, wtas employed. mr. wm, davis was at that time head steward and mr. wm. goff head pantryman. in those days steamboats were considered the most popular and' pleasant means of travel. it was also customary for boats to engage in racing, and the finest and most.excit- ing scenes to be witnessed on the mississippi is a steam- steemboat and hotel life. boat race. it is one, however, which timid, nervous persons enjoy most when seen from the land, and bold, reckless ones when on board the participating boats. it was ben's privilege to become deeply interested in a race that took place between the " w. h. harrison" and the "virginia." they ran along, side by side for seven or eight hours; so close were they that the deck boys could and did step over on the neighboring boat. an inch gained by either vessel was greeted with shouts and cheers from every officer, passenger and deck-hand on the leading boat—even the ladies clap¬ ped their hands and waved their handkerchiefs. fi¬ nally the morrisson steamed ahead, and in a few hours had so distanced the virginia that she was pronounced the winner. ben continued following steamboating as long as navigation was open, finishing each year in waiting at hotels. <$l?apter l/lll. a great misfortune. no human being ever had a bright, healthful and euccessful morning of life, with an unbroken line of hopes whose fruition came in turn, to cheer, bless and urge him on to greater desires, but ere the noontide or evening of life was reached, did find his body writhing and his heart ready to break beneath the weight of some sorrow or misfortune. no cloudless morn has ever dawned but what has shown some speck of shad¬ owy cloud to some mortal beneath its canopy. in all divine architecture there is nothing so entire¬ ly admirable, no monument so grand and imposing as a brave wretched man or woman—one who has had clouds of sorrow and. misfortune spread wide, heaped high and lowered deep into the soul, and yet has tri¬ umphed over all and learnd to wear these miseries as sacred fillets upon his brow. 'tis better so; could we pibut fathom the griefs of others, ours would be so shal¬ low. socrates was wise in his comment on unhappiness when he said: " if all the misfortunes of mankind were cast into a public stock, in order to be equally distributed among the whole species, those who now think themselves the most unhappy would prefer the ( ) poor ben. ing through the city; when they were about to sepa¬ rate, mossett playfully began tapping ben, as though about to open a round of boxing. "hold up, there, wash, i must get back to the boat," said ben, at the same time giving washington a slap. "good bye, wash." good bye, old boy," said wash, kicking at ben as he spoke. with this playful, boyish parting each turned at once to go his way. but washington mossett's foot, so carelessly thrown out to trip ben, struck the already sore ankle, bruising it badly. ben called a good physician, had the wound dressed, and faithfully followed the instruction given him; yet it steadily grew worse and eventually turned into osteo sat" coma, or bone cancer. this rapidly spread and grew in size, until the ankle measured eighteen inches in cir¬ cumference. notwithstanding his intense suffering as the disease daily worked its way to the extremity of the foot, and upward toward the knee, ben did not give up his t^sk. when the lake city lay up, he went on the "tele¬ graph," and from her to the " dunbar." in septem¬ ber, , he found it impossible to follow the river any longer, and went ashore and began work in the perry hotel, at pittsburg. though his leg was very sore and extremely pninful, he worked his way up from knife-shiner to head waiter. the truth was slowly dawning upon ben's mind that there was but one hope of his life, and even that ray of hope shone dimly through the clouds of doubt and despair. he saw the necessity of earning and saving all he possibly could, in order to secure the best surgical skill for the trying ordeal. reader, you cannot enter into full sympathy with the feelings of a great misfortune. suffering ben, whose mental anguish almost equaled his physical. you cannot fully appreciate the dread, hope, fear, and grief, which, mingled with bodily pain, cause an acute agony almost unbearable, unless you have undergone torture of the same character. during the winter of - he was obliged to aband¬ on work and go home. here he wras warmly greeted by a loving mother and devoted relatives and friends, and all that constant attention and careful nurs¬ ing and medical aid could do to make ben comforta¬ ble, was done. time wore tediously away until early spring, when the tumor had reached such an advanced stage that poor ben had but the choice of death, whose only alternative was amputation. though hope is called a delusion, ben did not allow despair to step in and warp his judgment, so he thrust one hand of hope forward, pushed, with a desperate effort, despair into the back ground, holding her there; then with the full assurance that his helper was omnipotent, hope grasped with her other hand the shadowy wing of death that is ever spread over the human body, and thus with his soul tilled with a perfect trust in god, and hope quickening his energy, he said, "send for the doctors, i am ready for the operation." to know the real value of life, or have a perfect idea of self, one must have stood at least once at the gate of death, been forced to the door-sill of suicide, or driven to-the brink of insanity. march, , was the time set for the amputation, and the physicians chosen were dr. g. w. mccook of pittsburg, drs. m. . jones and w. s. duncan of brownsville, all of whom were men of large and suc¬ cessful practice in medicine and surgery. dr. duncan, poor ben. who attended him after the operation, was a young graduate from the philadelphia medical college, and one who had a full and rich experience of hospital practice. he practiced the most skilled and modern methods of treatment and having had charge of simi¬ lar cases he worked with a perfect knowledge in dress¬ ing the wound and nursing poor ben back to health. ben was one of those boys who had become a gener¬ al favorite with every one in his native town and wherever he was known. all the promineat white citizens as well as his colored friends, came with flow¬ ers, delicacies, and warm and sympathizing hearts, to ask after and assist in watching over poor ben. in every house the conversation was about him. daily, some one would say: "poor ben! i wonder how he is to-day? i must run and see him." another good heart would breathe aloud "poor ben!" while her hands were busy cutting the few opening buds from the petted plants, or arranging dainty bits of "nice things" to tem^t the appetite of poor helpless ben. humanity is never so depraved and debased by wealth or poverty, education or ignorance, pride or humility, high rank or low station, but what the inherent noble¬ ness of common nature will betray itself in the pure sympathy it displays and responds to in the society by which it is surrounded. the sympathy that gave to a young being whose ekin was dark, whose circumstances were adverse, an appel¬ lation that will cling with a sweet, sad meaning to him through life, and live after he is dead, is that passion in nature whose ear is so fine and keen that it hears the heart pulsations of all " poor bens" whether they proceed from beneath a glove-fitting suit of black, a grqat misfortune, brown, yellow, red or white skin; whether the vesture which modified their voice be adverse or prosperous," whether the outward cloak be one of democratic opin¬ ion or republican, protestant or catholic sentiment. it is simply yet grandly what the irish wit has termed it—"a fellow-feeling for a fellow in the same way as he feels for himself; that is, in a way to reach him." it was in this manner that the sympathy of the en¬ tire community was given to poor ben, who for twen¬ ty-eight long weary days and nights had to lie in one position. "poor ben!" being at times the only rest or comfort that could be rendered. he accepted it as it was given—lovingly—and it often soothed, while with a prayer half uttered he would fall into a qui¬ et sleep. he knew the watchers could not relieve him, and did not grow restless or impatient under his close confinement, but bore all that was laid upon him with a strength of quiet endurance that was as signifi¬ cant of courage and christian fortitude as the most daring feats and martyr-like suffering. after the crisis had passed poor ben began mend¬ ing, slowly at first, then more rapidly; and in these convalescent days he had time for study and reflection. each day brought to mind the pleasing remembrance of the many benefits and friendly offices he had re¬ ceived. no regrets for neglected opportunities rose to lash his conscience, for poor ben had always been kind to the poor and suffering wherever he met them. now he saw the verification of that beautiful passage, "as ye sow, so shall ye reap," and after blessing oth¬ ers he found himself doubly blest. in this heavy visitation of providence in the loss of his leg, he did not find like pharoah, a punishment, but like david, <?!?apter i/. in sunday-school. the sunday-school institute of the ohio annual conference was originated by kev. w. h. coleman, then the pastor of felicity sation; july nd, . he prepared an interesting program, and the next place of meeting was new richmond, ohio, the fol¬ lowing november. poor ben was an earnest worker in the cause of sunday-schools at this time, and fig¬ ured conspicuously on the schedule as lecturer, con¬ ductor of black board and miscellaneous exercises. he was a member of the board of instructors; and was called upon to lecture during the session which convened at troy, o., oct., , . he chose for his theme of discourse " aim at the aim," of which the following is a synopsis: mr. president, and members of the institute,—we have assembled here tonight to consider a very important subject, one that has the eternal interest of the souls of men. the right way to heaven; heaven and how to get there; why rre should strive to enter into the rest prepared for the people of god. the importance of right directions when we are on a jour¬ ney on a strange way, is apparent to all; how did we get away from home? how far are we a way^from home, and how to get back, are now interesting the world of mankind. "we find in the question two ideas; the theological and ecclesi¬ astical. the one born in eden, the other in the house of abra- ( ) poor ben. ham. they embrace the history of man. st, man, as he was be¬ fore the fall; d, man, as he is in the depths of human depravity; d, man, as he may be by the grace of god. we find this more fully discussed under the scientific views. theology—discourse about god. c'hristology—discourse about christ. anthroj o'.ogy—discourse about man. solterology—dis¬ course about salvation. they were disciples under three dispensations—patriarchal, mo- saical, gosppl. st. the general idea, genesis, men found their way back to god as individuals.—the manner and effect of the fall. d. ecclesiastical idea; genesis : . the organized effort to bring men back to god and up to heaven—the sign board erect¬ ed by the command of god. the thought that man is always from god is universal. how to get back is the question, and wherever you find man he is asking, which way to god. the answering of this question is the work of the church and sunday- school. who are the recognized religions educators? tliey are: st, parents; d, sunday-school teachers; d, day-school teachers; th, professors in institutes of higher learning; th, ministers of the gospel; th, the holy ghost. these are the principal educators, and their business is to train men, women and children for useful¬ ness in this life, and to enjoy tlie presence of god forever. they aim to begin this training and education when the children are young. the philosoph) oi which is that the mind is susceptible to impression, which will be durable, and they will be more effi¬ cient in giving rightness to the character of the individual. the head must be educated to think, the heart must be taught to love god and humanity, the hands must be trained to work of benevo¬ lence and mercy, the will must be disciplined by precept, and the conscience must be influenced by living examples of piety and virtue. duty of parents to their cnildren: st, to maintain their chil¬ dren and provide food, raiment, shelter, and education; d, to govern them—a miniature state, where the authority must not be neglected—govern by love, not fear; d, physical education—the development of the physical man must not be neglected; th, moral education—religious belief, honor, usefulness, morality and eternity, reverence for god and man; the principles of right and in snnday-school. wrong must be clearly set forth; th, intellectual education—to observe objectively and subjectively, to think on mind and matter, to read good books, to converse on history, biography, philosophy, science and religion, to listen while others talk—preaching, lectur* ing, teaching. duty of children: obedience to parents, teacher and god, do¬ cility, reverence, filial affection, gratitude. the ladder to destruction: disobedience to parents, breaking tho sabbath, lying, stealing, murder. the watch house, pentientiary, gallows, and hell are stations on the way to destruction. what they must be taught; st, right views of the nature and attributes of god; d, right views as to the humanity and divini¬ ty of the lord jesus; d, right views as to the office and work of the holy ghost; , right views as to the religion of christ, and its doctrines. sin, nature and effect, repentence, justification, loyal and evangelical; sanctification, what it is and what it is not; glo¬ rification, who shall enjoy it, and the doctrines of reward and pun¬ ishment. the wages of sin and light of god. the aim of the sunday-school of to-day differs from what it was when it was first organized. mr. railtes aim was to bring the boys from the commons on the lord's day, and give them a knowl¬ edge of the letters—secular education. to have them commit some portion of the word of god—committing verses. to have them, commit and answer the questions in the catechism, learn the ten commandments, the lord's prayer and the apostles' creed. to make them smart in the answering of questions in the history of the race; and bible history. what is the object or the aim of the sunday-school of to-day ? st, to convert the children to the lord jesus christ; d, to indoctrin¬ ate them. this has been too much neglected, but ought to receive more at¬ tention from preachers and teachers. they must learn the doctrine and give them something to believe, t et the sin of unbelief be with, them and their god, and not with t,.. what is good for the par¬ ents is good for the children. if methodism is good for me, it is good for my boys and girls. tliey must have it from me. if they want to throw it away, they must do that; but they must know that the soul which sins must die, but whoever believes on the lord jesus christ shall be saved. the third aim of the sunday-school is to train the children la in sunday-school. coarse," "well, then, look at the sun setting'now; that's not the track of a man, is it? i know my god by his tracks." poor ben's audience was a large one; composed of white and colored workers in the sunday-school cause. he gave the parting words to the audience, speaking of the duties of the hour, he said there was hope for the race if it would take this advice : first. get religion; that will give you communion with god. second. get knowledge or education; that will enable you to control the forces of nature. third. get money, houses and land; that will give you power with men. fourth. get integrity; this gives yoxi power over yourselves. it will enable you to keep your religion, to use your education prop¬ erly, and give you money for good objects. now, brethren and sisters, get your heads full of knowledge^ your hearts full of love for god and man, and your pockets full o£ money, and if this does not save you, there is nothing that "will— we are lost. chapter jl. the school teacher. mohnson says: "more is learned in a public, than q/ in a private school from emulation; there is the col¬ lision of mind with mind, or the radiation of many minds pointing to one center." poor ben, during the thirty years of his life, had enjoyed but few of the privileges and advantages of public school or academy. yet he had become a thor¬ ough and devoted student in that most spacious of school rooms—the world. he daily learned, recitedand practised the most useful lessons of duty and love, at the same time making books of the common and high¬ er english branches his constant companions; so that in this way he became a good scholar. he possessed a desire of superiority, attended with the effort to at¬ tain excellency in scholarship, as well as in qualities of head and heart. his natural ardor was greatly in¬ creased by the praise worthy examples of others, with whom he came in contact, and whose chances for a liberal education were made certain by means of wealth and influence. while reading the mc.guffey series, he was at the same time learning to read the series of faces opened before him each day. while solving arithmetical, algebraic and geometric prob¬ lems, he was, in the meantime, finding the process by g the school teacher. , which the peddler, in a few years, could support a family, build a mammoth store, own a valuable bank¬ book and a fine home; he was finding the cube of a hundred dollar bill; extracting the square root of a small salary and placing it in a saving bank; finding the value ofthe unknown quantity of—i see no way plus, but have the will equals what ? harvey's grammar and clark's analysis taught him the art of speaking and writing the english lan¬ guage with correctness and propriety; to take to pieces difficult statements, name and properly locate each separate part of a thought. from the grammar of life he learned the full meaning of the verb work; he clearly understood that it was active, transitive, and though present tense, indicative mood with him, it might be found in different moods and tenses. he en¬ joyed the full sense of the action, being or state of rcst- sleep, eat,etc.; gave much attention to the best way of disposing of such nouns, as—money, life; he mas¬ tered the entire conjugation of the verb love in all its modes and tenses. he made practical his logic, rheto¬ ric, history and theology. he early recognized the fact that human science was the twiii sister of natural and revealed religion, and, when once having admitted the origin of the one, could not deny that the other emana¬ ted from the same source. the farther he became re¬ moved from ignorance and prejudice, the plainer could he see the sciences and religion blending their rays into a beautiful bow of light, binding eartli "to heaven and man to his creator. they who thus most rapidly, efficiently learn, eaq best apply, and most readily impart their knowledge to others. poor ben. by means of these adverse circumstances, attendant upon poor ben's schooling, he was doubly trained to teach and lead those under his care, into a broad at¬ mosphere of thought. he received his first certificate as teacher, decem¬ ber th, , from hon. j. v. gibbons, fayette county superintendent, in pennsylvania. poor ben opened his school .in january and continued teaching both summer and winter, in the red brick school house situated at the edge of the town of brownsville; then at bridgeport, for as soon as one school closed he would open the other. he was the first and only colored teacher belonging to the fayette county in¬ stitute. in the fall of , he received a call from. dr. henry highland garnett, to go to washington. d. c., to teach in the african civilization society school, of which rev. rufus l perry, was the general superintendent. poor ben arrived at the nation's capital on the th. of december and went to the residence of mrs. nu¬ gent on th st., where he boarded during his stay. the following day being the sabbath, and christmas, he attended church, and listened to an able sermon on the subject, "triumphs of the cross" by—williams, a colored catholic priest. the next day he entered upon the duties of a city school teacher; he as principal, misses mary a. garnet and mary e. fisher as assis¬ tants. two hundred and thirty pupils were enrolled and it monopolized the entire attention of the teachers to feed these hungry minds, who were dependent upon them for mental sustenance. poor ben found his work to be not only important, but it also required him to exercise charity and patience. he saw his poor ben. gardens of science and art, nature and nature's god; to assiduously feed young minds, as we would have ours fed. poor ben was a good and successful instructor, be¬ cause he suggested plans, and devised means of study rather than dogmatized; he taught his pupils to teach themselves, and inspired them with such a love of knowledge, that they became eager and grasping. in this field he manifested his calling, and was ever stor¬ ing his mind, that he might keep pace with the times and improved methods of imparting wisdom in its best forms to the ideas springing up about him. he was indeed an amiable, yet thorough disciplinarian. after leaving the school-room, poor ben's profession clung to him, and he still taught and is still teaching from pulpit and platform,in his home circle and around the fireside of others wherever he is thrown. his con¬ versations, so instructive are they that when listened to a lesson of usefulness is learned. it may be he has adopted the philanthropic sentiments of. elliott, the apostle of the indians, of whom it is said that on the day_'of his death, in his eightieth year, he was found teaching an indian child, at his bed-side. " why not rest from your labors now?" asked a friend, "because," replied the venerable man, "i have prayed god to ren¬ der me useful in my sphere, and he has heard my prayer: for now, that i can no longer preach, he leaves me strength enough to teach this poor child the al¬ phabet. " poor ben had done what he could toward imparting the alpha of the english language to over eight hun¬ dred of his race; and with this foundation, many re¬ ceived an incentive to push forward toward the omega <?l?apt^r j(i. at the capital. &kashingtoncity! poor ben found himself, on \|p / stepping from the train, in this so called centre of civilization. this miniature world. here within its environments he would find specimens of every form of being, every gift that poverty, luxury and power could bestow, to complete its cabinet of wondrous curiosities. in its gorgeous stores, its filthy shops, its splendid palaces, its neat cottages its unkempt huts, its univers¬ ities, -ite eharity schools, its churches, its theatres, its courts, its prisons, its parks, its baths, its forum, its white house,—its atmosphere—in the energy, yet corrupt wickedness ; in the refinement and culture,yet vice; in the poverty and wealth, humility and pride of its great variety of citizens, poor ben beheld an entire system of created things; a universe! this was wash¬ ington! and in the cycling of months, he learned that it was either a vast toyshop, or workshop, or market, or menagerie, and at times it was all these combined. each time the gods saw fit to turn the kaleidoscope, he saw it in some one of the ever varying phases of civil or barbaric existence. as all this conglomerate mass of miseries and joys were jammed into one corner of the district of columbia, so were the conceptions of them crowded into poor ben's mind. here were portrayed scenes common to all readers, and. fami- ( ) at the capital. liar to the eye of all who travel, even though to places of lesser note. and although the sights at washington may amuse and amaze those who visit it, they finally conclude "there is nothing new under the sun." as poor ben walked the wide and densely thronged avenues, his eyes became dazed with the surrounding scenes. then in a dreamy state, he would paint on the canvas of his mind, recent his¬ torical events. he would float down the broad potom¬ ac toward the chesapeake, and there watch the vessels of war, and picture them in the brilliant naval exploits of the rebellion, whose war clouds still filled the air. again he would shift the scene and see the glassy bay's surface covered with bhips of commerce and boats of pleasure for those who command the almighty dollar. as poor ben watched all without, and reviewed all the facts he had laid away in his mental storehouse, he wondered why heaven had given to his race every blessing but one. it had bestowed health, strength of mind, genius, illustrious descent, hearts of fire, minds of eloquence, wills of iron, and yet had denied the family to which he belonged, the heritage of freedom and equality. but these visionary wonderings only tended to benumb a rising 'ambition; and he felt that immediate action was the only means by which to at¬ tain to that one blessing, of which his race had been deprived. he determined to labor on; and wherever duty called he obeyed, looking forward to the time, when these many classes of people, like various streams, would some day find their way into the one grand gulf of unity and equality; when they would so mingle that it would require a miraculous process of analysis to distinguish one atom from another. poor ben. the spirit of patriotism, already a prominent feature in the character of poor ben, was fed by the exciting scenes that transpired during his life at washington. he had read carefully the history of strifes of other lands, and contrasted it with the present; and by such retrospection and contrast, had gained wisdom to cast the horoscope of the future. it is needless to plod along the course of events from the creation, or even from the deluge, to the present date, to watch the rise and fall of nations, so familiar to all readers. as science gains most truth by the study of the past, as found re¬ corded in the fossils of earth, so the student of social and political progress, must gather knowledge from the history of other nations in order to understand and benefit the cause of his own country. political devel¬ opment, progress and decline are governed by fixed and immutable laws; and poor ben living as he did, in the ver}' center of national tumult, watched every event and considered every topic pertaining to the country's weal or woe. he was present when the thirteenth amendment was brought before the house, and listened to the stir¬ ring debate, when g. h. pendleton, the democratic leader, was answered most effectively by many promi¬ nent members of the republican side, among whom were boutwell and our lamented garfield, whose deeds live after them. and, on the memorable day when the amendment passed, january , , it was impossi¬ ble to preserve order. the announcement caused the republicans to jump from their seats with screams and cheers of victory in which poor ben heartily joined. ingersoll, of illinois, arose as soon as order was restored, and said, " in honor of this sublime and immortal at the capital. event, i move that this house do now adjourn," which was carried, and soon the news spread with the rapid¬ ity of wild fire throughout the country; and slavery was indeed dead. when lincoln refused to allow grant " conference with lee unless for the capitulation of his army or for some purely military matter," and when the day fol¬ lowing this, lee surrendered to grant, poor ben, his fellow teachers and students, all threw books and rules to the winds, and made the school-room walls of old bethel hall ring with that grand old song, "john brown's body lies i louldering in the grave." it is said that every joy has its corresponding sorrow. six days after the general rejoicing, came the report of the assassin's pistol, and the nation was draped in mourning, for its liberator. he, who was the moses of the black american, had been allowed to ascend the mountain, view the promised land of freedom, and then was no more. he, who had been true to his na¬ tion's trust, had gone higher. poor ben marched with the funeral procession from the house where lincoln died, to the white house, and witnessed the general mourning for the lamented dead. he witnessed the grand review of the armies of the .republic at the close of the rebellion; and when the treaty of peace was signed, poor ben left the great hub for a more quiet life in his native town, having been present at the second inauguration of abraham lincoln and many other of the most important events in the history of this great republic. during poor ben's stay at washington, he met many eminent men at the residence of hon,he*iry highland poor ben. garnet, whose home was the central point of attraction for all the prominent colored men of the day and lead¬ ing abolitionists. he was a prominent member of the equal rights league, an organization that was the outgrowth of the national convention, which met in syracuse, new york, in . it consisted of state, county and town leagues ; formed for the purpose of advancing the political, moral and educational status of the colored people. this term league was first used in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, to designate a political alliance or coalition. the most famous of these leagues were those of cambray, schmalkald, and nurnberg, so famil¬ iar to historical readers. this word had a peculiar im¬ portance in the history of france, as applied to the opposition, organized by the duke of guise, to the granting of the free exercise of religious, and po¬ litical rights to the huguenots. this was called the "holy league;" formed for the maintenance of the roman catholic religion in its predominance. but the object of the duke was to exclude the protestant princes from succession by blood, to the throne, and for which a civil war ensued during the reign of hen¬ ry iii., in . these equal right leagues were of a widely different nature. the former meant discord; the latter con¬ cord; the former, political and religious slavery; the latter, freedom and protection in politics, religion and home. one of the best in the united states, was the league of the state of pennsylvania, which was divided into three districts, eastern, western, and middle; and contained twenty-two counties each. at the capital. poor ben was appointed solicitor for the western district by the executive board. one of the most active and efficient leagues of this district was that called "faith, hope and charity." here poor ben learned to debate. he, like every other young man, had thoughts and feelings to express. to aid in mould¬ ing into some available shape, and clothe in fitting lan¬ guage his thoughts, so they might be instructive and interesting, poor ben had but little opportunity. yet he hourly saw the imperative demand for improve¬ ment in order to make a sure road to civil and politi¬ cal preferment. his natural love of oratory, and his lamentable deficiency in it, but made him the more eager to become a good speaker. thus, he encouraged a practice of improrntu speaking, and by attention to, and association with men of fine oratorical powers, he learned the qualities of voice, rate, delivery, gesture, style, force, modulation, key, variations, articulation and passions; and soon, by constant practice, became a public speaker of no mean degree. these organiza¬ tions often called for long and earnest, logical speech¬ es; and prominent among its best debaters, poor ben was found. out of the faith, hope and charity league was organized the citizen's joint stock company, which entered into a mercantile business and did well. poor ben was the originator of this stock company. he wrote its charter, and it passed the legislature of ^ with¬ out amendments or changes of any kind. the national equal rights league met at washing¬ ton, d. c. in , john m. langston was its presi¬ dent, and poor ben, its secretary. there were present at this session one hundred and eighteen delegates, representing eighteen states of the union. /"• love, courtship and mar¬ riage. " the good wife ever is the keystone strong, that binds the arches of the social state; it is her quiet counsels that create that solid virtue and endurance long, that give the victory to those who wait. unto the husband and the son belong the harvest of her works; she maketh straight each crooked paih, and arms him for the strifej and with the sickle of religion true, cuts down the tares that choke the belief life, without her, who, unscathed can struggle through, toil-soiling labors? her affections dew keeps green the promise of our higher fate, and is that love which must be wisdom too." the important theme of love and courtship was a matter that grew with ben's growth and strengthened with his strength. in his early boy-hood days he was a general favorite with the girls, who to him were always kind and by whom he was made a pet. among the many whom poor ben had a special reason to remember lovingly, were ellen lucas, harriet poindexter, hattie king and her'sister mary; mar- geret freeman, eliza banks, jane kiger ajad many others that he was warmly attached to; but the on« who claimed all his attention, and whose very name made his heart beat with joy, was mary louise gor¬ don. she was the niece of a lady whom poor ben's uncle. nicholas smith, had marriecl he went to via- ( ) love, courtship and marriage. it hs uncle, and there, was introduced to miss gor- don^ who made her home with her aunt, mrs. smith. said ben, once, when asked about his boyish love, "it iras one of those rare cases of love at first sight. from the first day i plainly saw that she loved me and |she plainly saw my love for her. the strange sensation that came over me, i can never forget. i felt as though i was hung in mid-air by my suspen¬ ders, struggling to get free, but finding i had not the power to do so, i became content and happy in my aerial state; so i hung and still am hanging after the lapse of twenty-six years. i have found that there is life in hanging, and i have hung so long that i hope to hang as long as the lord will allow." the affection existing between louise and ben daily grew stronger, and ben visited his uncle's house very frequently; and when absent from louise, they kept up a regular correspondence. one week, ben failed to get his letter, and divers unhappy thoughts filled his mind. after three days of patient waiting, he got very angry, and wrote the dear girl a decisive, letter breaking off all ties even the kindly friend-ship that might still exist. he received no answer to this start¬ ling missive. then six of the longest and most weary months of poor ben's life vanished on leaden wings. * finding existence, under such a state of affairs, a most dreary penance, he went to uniontown and be¬ came reconciled without any very clear explanation on either side. after all the clouds were driven away> and happiness reigned in both hearts, louise said, "ben, i have been suffering from a felon on my right hand, and could not write to you; nor dare i get any poor ben. one to write, for fear it would become known, that we are lovers.' of course ben's great loving heart had long since pardoned her silence; but now his forgiveness and sympathy found utterance in such sentences as onl} true lovers can frame. soon after this poor ben concluded that according to biblical teachings, it was not good for man to be alone. he felt the force of the great historic fact which shows for six thousand years, that in the exercise of unlimited control of all affairs, man becomes a des¬ pot. the annals of kings confirm the truth of this; and the records of domestic life, proclaim it with tongues cf thunder. thcro muet be gome restraining influence, brought to bear on that most wonder¬ ful animal man, or the turbulent waves of his vicious propensities will swell higher and higher, until they sweep over the land-marks of reason, love and honor. the frail bark, thus overwhelmed, sinks into depths of endless despair. poor ben knew the comforting, magnetic influence of a mother's and sisters affections; and could easily surmise the more potent, refining power of a wife's un¬ tiring love. it was with such manly sentimemts that he at once decided to have a wife —to take to his life long keeping, the louise of his heart. the question was soon settled between the two lovers; but ben thought of the dreaded duty of asking mother for daughter. this was the most unpleasant part of his court-ship. accordingly, he went in the morning to see louise's mother; he conversed on every topic of the day; he started at least fifty times, but his courage failed, and his tongue could not utter a word on the poor ben. found only in the highest walks of life, these two may seem insipid and common-place. but love acts the same with intelligent souls, whether ot high or low estate. there is an ethereal, bird-like existence con¬ nected with every lover's history. yet often the de¬ lights and secret joys of soul, that hold spell-bound the lover's hearts, contrast most strangely with the vicissitudes of after-life. the dazzling sunlight of courtship may afterward be tempered by clouds of sorrow; yet no cloud can destroy that great sun-li^e orb—the god of love. it is this that lights the true lover's pathway through earth, pierces the blackness of the tomb, and makes eternity a city of light. the engagement, that lasted a number of years, was becoming very irksome, and poor ben, thought of his strong love for and weak means of supporting a wife- however he decided to consult mary louise; and if she was willing to share his poverty, they would no longer wait for the pleasing smile of fortune. "i wonder, louise, if i can take care of you, said ben, in a very despondent tone one day. there was such a wealth of love in louise's young heart, that she felt no fear of poverty. she knew he would be her guardian angel, and would do and bear anything for her sake. so she made him this most noble answer: "well, ben, when you cannot take care of me, i shall take care of you." such love is a religion in itself; it either wholly saves or destroys those whom it effects. its ennobling influence was their salvation as the reader will see here after. having fully determined the course they wrere to pursue, they moved on toward ;the verge of matri- love, courtship and marriage. mony, without swerving, and with a saturnine stern¬ ness that ever performs what it intends. a few months rolled by, and poor ben and mary louise were quietly married by the rev. george brown, president of madison college, at uniontown, pennsylvania, may th, . no cards were issued nor cakes cut, parlors crowded with guests with wed¬ ding souvernirs, until twenty years of care, toil and sorrow had proven their vows of love. if the reader will allow a short diversion, the writer will give a pleasing recollection of the minister who officiated at the marriage of our subject. the rev. george brown is doubtless a familiar name to the fathers and-mothers who may read this sketch of him. a pioneer preacher of pennsylvania. he was born in an indian fort, in washington county > not more than forty miles from pittsburg, on the th of january, . when a lad of six or seven years of age, he swam the ohio, at the tail of an ox that was going across. he held on with one hand and pad¬ dled with the other, something like a boy ith a sled, who steals a ride behind a sleigh. it was quite a dan¬ gerous experiment, for the river was at its june flood and was very deep. but young george was going to his mother, and safely reached the shore. he had also a thrilling adventure in a wolf den, among the hills of eastern ohio, when he was about twelve years old. while a comrade stood at the mouth of the den, with a loaded gun to attend to the old wolf if she came, george brown went down into the dark cavern, feet fore-most, to a good distance, and brought out the young wolves, one or two at a time, until he had taken them all. the boys sold the wolf scalps at poor ben. steubenville, ohio, for some pocket silver, and the record of the transaction is on the old books at the court house, in stenbenville, to this day. george brown, in later life, became a great camp- meeting preacher. he traveled over large circuits and occupied important positions and offices in the church. he was a lover of his race and believed in human rights and liberty. he was once pastor of the first metho¬ dist protestant church of pittsburg, was editor of the now methodist recorder. he compiled a hymn book for the church, was president of the general conven¬ tion^ and conferences, and of madison college. dr. brown was everywhere beloved for his genial ways and eminent worth. though a very tender-hearted man, yet his courage to do right, and his willingness to suffer for the truth's sake, \yere as great as his tenderness. he died in good peace, at springfield, ohio, october th, ; and a beautiful monument in fern cliff cemetery, marks his last resting place. his two sons, both ministers, died before their father, his wife a lovable old lady, mrs. eliza brown, sur¬ vived him about six years; and a daughter, the only remaining member of the family, now resides in mis¬ sissippi. readers, i have introduced you to the man, who launched poor ben's boat on thafr conjugal sea, wliose latitudinal and longitudinal lines no navigator has yet ever traced. but once launched and anchor weighed, the craft floated on with its inmates for twenty long years; and in peering for land they often found a treasure, or monster, a pearl, or tempest their reward. twenty years a backward glance shows a chain of love, courtship and marriage. labor, care, of battle and retreat, of victory and defeat. but there have been many joys, that shine out like so many stars; all through this chain of years they shine—diamonds in value. twenty peals! hear the bell of the st. paul a. m. e. church, at urbana, ohio . 'tis a joyful wedding peal; and each chime caused the hearts of poor ben and mary louise to thrill with a stronger emotion, a true love than they did twenty years ago! twenty years ago, their history began; they had nought to record. of money they had little, of friends they had few, of cake and rich gifts they had. none now peace and prosperity beamed upon them from every direction; friends were gathered to bestow costly presents; tables well appointed and filled to repletion, awaited the ap¬ proach of bride and groom. the announcment that the th of may, had arrived was the signal for the friends of poor ben to inaugur¬ ate a celebration. at an early hour the people began to assemble, though the exercises did not begin until nine o'clock. when the prominent guests arrived they were shown into poor ben's study, where were gathered his wife and children, rev. spahr, mayor deuel, ex-mayor, brand, mr. gribble, of the news and others. the good peo¬ ple of urbana were hurrying to and fro in haste, get¬ ting ready for the exercises. at nine they entered the auditorium. the pulpit was so arranged as to admit the organ and singers, while the speakers sat at the left, occupying the en¬ closure used by the choir. prof. chavers presided at the organ, admirably exe¬ cuting the 'wedding march at the opening. poor ben. when she returned home (referring to mr. hitt bring¬ ing her along to do the speaking.) she then extended her warmest wishes to the husband and wife, and to the people in having so good a pastor. a. c. deuel, said it might be going outside the pro¬ gram, but he should like to hear a word from poor ben. in response poor ben made a few timely and well chosen remarks. of course his thoughts carried him back twenty years. he gave a short sketch of his marriage, spoke freely when he referred to his wife; that if there was any eredit due him, three-fourths of it must be given to louise; for what he was, was lnrge- ly due to her; that while he struggled to get an edu¬ cation, she toiled at the wash tub, and kept the wol? from the door; and that he was happy to receive such warm congratulations, as had just been bestowed upon them. he spoke of his love for his wife, and that he loved her now better than he ever did; that he had done all he could to build himself up, so he could help build up his people. he contrasted the present and the past, and as a clincher of the wonderful change in things, politically and socially, said that to-morrow he would read a full account of his china wedding, in the " daily union democrat,"and send the glad news to his mother in pennsylvania. twenty years ago, said he, "this could, nor would not have been done for any member of my race! with sincere thanks to all, he took his seat. then immediately began the heartiest of hand shaking, and copgratulator}'' comments from the large assemblage of guests present; while others waiting an opportunity, had clustered around the tables that were loaded with gifts of china sets, bricabrac, and more substantial art love, courtship and marriage. tides of dress goods, linen, groceries, etc. a line of march was formed later in the evening for the lecture room, where an elegant collation of dainties was served. here every one seemed particularly happy, and we are of the opinion that every one was happy. here is to be noticed how these two natures pre¬ served through twenty long years of toil and hardship, the poetry of love's first passionate illusion. it is this alone, which makes wedlock the seal that confines true affection and prevents it from being a mocking cere¬ monial, that constitutes the grave of wedded bliss. we will swiftly and silently pass over a lapse of five years, leaving the record of their failures and successes to be mentioned in other chapters. without allowing curiosity to lead you to ask what the intervening events were, let us suddenly transport you, poor ben and his family from urbana, to his now spacious residence at wilberforce, ohio. do. i hear old mother eve within you ask, "how did he get there?" "the top is not reached by a single bound. he climbed the lad¬ der round by round." nevertheless, it is thursday evening, and a merry party of relatives and friends have gathered at the tawawa chimney corner—the home of poor ben, to celebrate the twenty-fifth return of their marriage date. on the verandas, surrounding the house, in halls, dining rooms and parlors could be heard the joyous notes of mirth and laughter. friends from far and near were there assembled, and the happy bride and groom, though their hair was tinted with silver, fit counterpart, seemed to lift the veil, and look back two and one half decades; when they launched their boat upon the sea of life, with all its hopes; with all its poor ben, fears. around them are gathered their family of six children, who bless their happy home, and season life with peace and joy. at o'clock the organ sounded the wedding march, and drs. johnson and gaines headed the marriage par¬ ty, while the family followed into the front parlor, where bishop campbell, d.d., ll.d., lead in fervent prayer, after which bishop brown performed the cere¬ mony; speaking of his personal knowledge of the fami¬ ly the benefit of holy and happy wedlock, and then pro¬ nounced his blessing upon the happy couple. thihf was followed by congratulations from over one hun¬ dred guests. to place a rough estimate upon the value of the presents received, it would be nearly five hundred dol¬ lars. among the regrets sent were the following: comp¬ troller wm. lawrence, hon. j. w. keifer, hons. w. g. deshler and f. l. sessons, dr. b. t. tanner and prof. delaney. we shall give only a short list of the distinguished guests present: father david smith in his one hun- dreth year, bishops brown, tanner, campbell, dicker- son, wayman and shorter; drs. johnson and gaines of georgia; c. s. smith, m. d. of bloomington, .; johnson and fitzhugh of baltimore, md.; turner of washington, d. c.; beckett of wilmington, del.; profs. shorter, hackley, delaney, maxwell and wife of willberforce. supper was served at ten o'clock, and the tables fair¬ ly groand beneath the weight of all the luxuries of the season. all enjoyed the occasion, amid the shower of wishes that poor ben and his amiable wife might see poor ben. othet hand, love will degrade; it will bring man down from the highest walks of moral and social distinct¬ ion to a companionship with felons, dumb brutes, or worse, a suicidal death. in the present time there is little love like that of e. allen poe; none like that of the irish lover, whose pleadings inspired moore to write, "come rest in this bosom." we find more of will carleton's betsey and caleb's, who do not make up again, scattered over the world like dead leaves of autumn. autumnal wrecks from out of whose debris, there never springs a true blossom for the perpetual spring of love. bickerings and separations; like consumption, run in the family for many generations. this signifies strongly that the essential design of courtship is to grant opportunity. knowing each oth¬ er, a congenial courtship, succeeding a mutual love, ever makes a happy marriage. many to day are aiming to many for policy, money, convenience, beauty, ability, social standing, and ev¬ ery other motive but love. it is a rare treat now, to hear a girl say, i married for love. she who marries money without the love of the man, will soon find herself moneyless and manless. she who marries the love of the man without the money, will ever know that she is both manned and moneyed. in the instance of the love, courtship and the mar¬ riage of the couple which now absorbs our attention, the little blind, winged god was at the head of their kingdom twenty-five years ago, and after the elapse of this period, his long reign had made a little despot of him, and he had crowned and enthroned himself as supreme monarch of the kindom of poor ben and ^lyapter j(lll. the y. m. c. a. £j|\oubtless many of our readers would like to xej know something more of the young men's chris¬ tian association. that such an organization ex¬ ists, this all know. but what is it? what does it do with and for young men? is it a new church? how old is it? who was its founder? is it catholic or protestant? some good motive led to the establishment of church boards of missions. when churches were weak, each denomination could not support a home nor a foreign missionary. the field of labor was a great one, and the means of supporting laborers, small. this called for a combined fund from all churches, and all worked in harmony for the common good. precisely the same causes led to the establishment of societies for the publication and distribution of tracts and of the bible, and for work among the freedmen, seamen and other qiasses of people, thirty-five years ago, it seemed to maiay thoughtful observers, in our large cities, that an organization was needed whose special work should be to labor for and among the young men. this class was becoming as distinctive as that of seamen or foreigners. some of these men go into large cities with fixed re- ( ) the y. m. c. a. * and physical condition of young men, by the support and maintenance of lectures, libraries, reading-rooms, eocial and religious meetings, and other such means as may conduce the accomplishment of those objects, not contrary to the teaching of the bible. the various departments or the services of the t. m. c. a. are as follows: committees on hospital, jail, u. s. barracks, strangers' home, city workhouse; by whom monday prayer meetings, sabbath evening ser¬ vices, bible classes etc. are held. at the rooms, fre« lectures, concerts, laymeds' institutes, thanksgiving, christmas, and new years' dinners are given. there are also committees on lyceum, music, employment, receptiod, prayer meetings, open air services, bible class, lectures, city and county jails, and on station houses. * poor ben became an active member of the y. m. c. a. while residing in toledo, ohio, in . he was sent, a year later, as a delegate to the international as¬ sociation, which convened in washington, d. c., june, . before the session closed, the entire body visit¬ ed the white house, and were received by pres. grant, and, before leaving the reception room, made its walls ring with that favorite hymn, " all hail the power of jesus' name." the delegates also visited the tomb of washington, at mt. vernon. this was the first time poor ben had viewed the sacred resting place of the ashes of our country's father. his theme of discourse at this convention was "the stand the y. m. c. a. takes in relation to the colored young men." his argument was ably put and well received. 'poor ben. he was again sent as a delegate to the state con¬ vention of .ohio, in . . in poor ben was appointed one of the speakers at the state convention of the y. m. c. a., which was held at zanesville, ohio, and delivered the address in response- to the address of welcome. during this ses¬ sion »he was deputized to bear the fraternal greetings to the -london^ england, association of the y. m. c. a. when the y. m. c. a. met at st. paris, ohio, poor ben wacj appointed to deliver the annual address. this was the first instance in which a man of color had ever filled this position on the program in the history of the association. he also conducted the meeting of the y. m. c. a. which met atjhe railroad depot of col¬ umbus, ohio. <$l?apter fl. in business. « §usiness is defined as a calling or profession. it generally relates in some way to trade; yet isjustas appropriate a term to use in designating any regular oc¬ cupation. wherever mankind exists and is capable of carry¬ ing on trade of various kinds and engaging in com¬ merce, there may be found a high state of civilization, ^he exchange of products between nations is one of earth's greatest benefits, inasmuch as it banishes na¬ tional feeling of bitterness, does away with local preju¬ dices, makes each branch of the human family feel its dependency upon the other branches, and creates ties of interest and good will. our mechanical, mercantile, and agricultural in¬ terests are studied with as much earnestness by the european and asiatic, as we study theirs. why? because we are each dependent on the other. truth and justice are the foundation of all legitimate trade and commerce, and such business showers wealth on every race variety that constitute a nation. when the day dawns, in which the black man shall belong to the throng of bankers, merchants, druggists, grocers, doctors, lawyers, hotel proprietors, tradesmen of various kinds, and be patronized by all, without ( ) poor ben. evincing any spirit of national antipathy —it will be a glorious one for our nation. at present we are denied the opportunity of enter¬ ing into many callings or trades; but there is a brighter outlook for the young men of to-day than twenty five years ago, when poor ben was young. he nevertheless formed business habits when quite young. he did all the marketing and shopping for his mother and thus learned to drive a good'bargain it also fell to his lot, to do all the steward's trading for the various boats, on which he was employed. this business tact cultivated in boyhood, had a ten¬ dency to fit him for the monetary positions of after life. at that date good and rapid penmen of color were rare, and great were the demands made upon the few to transact business, draw up notes, bills and other documents, in correct legal form. poor ben found plenty of gratis work to do in this direction, to say nothing of the numerous letters from the boys in blue, to be read and answered, for the dear ones at home. all this made him quite familiar with written matter so essential to the vocabulary of every business man. he possessed nearly all those traits needed to make an active and successful tradesman; but his future was to be a different calling. he had not, in , entered into his life work. at the above date, he entered the office of james m. abrams, a dentist, as an apprentice, and completed the course; and for some time worked at mechanical and practical dentistry he could not only pull down but could build up that which had become dilapidated he made a tooth and located it in his teacher's—dr. in business. abram's mouth. hence, as a tooth carpenter poor ben was a success. while studying in the profession, he carefully ex¬ amined the disease of the antrum. he found a case re¬ ported by a french physician. poor ben, had an uncle who lived in the country, and was suffering from a sim¬ ilar affection. after sending for his uncle and examin¬ ing it closely, poor ben thought he would try his skill on what the other dentists had given up without un¬ derstanding or even giving relief. he first extracted a tooth, bored a hole into the base of the antrum, which gave immediate relief; and took from the cavity a gill or more of prurient mat¬ ter. this was the first cessation of pain the patient had felt for months. placing a silver tube into the open¬ ing he carefully washed the cavity with arnica tincture, and the patient returned home a well and happy man, and has never felt a pain from the samse cause, up to the present date— . shortly after this poor ben received his title of dr. for the first time. he did not practise long, it not be¬ ing lucrative enough to support him. doubtless it would be well here to speak of a busi¬ ness enterprise started some years ago, of which poor ben was the originator, assisted by ludlow apjones, of ohio. africa extends from thirty-five degrees south to thirty - nine degrees north, five thousand miles; and from cape verde to cape guardafui, in distance some three thousand miles from east to west. while there are table-lands and vast lake regions, and water- eoaked plains, and other peculiar formations in given localities, we may say, in general, it is diversi- . poor ben. ged as are other continents. mountains rear their rugged heads, and conceal in their vast breasts metals and minerals, which god had fore-ordained from the ^beginningof the world for the use of man. rivers form natural high ways,and refresh the adjacent countries with their moisture. extensive forests cover whole ^countries, protect them from the heatofthe sun, and are ready to be used for buildings, ship-timber, dye-woods, and the thousand applications of the civilization which will require their use. in all africa, grains and fruits of all kinds furnish perpetual crops, and cotton and other cloth-producing trees and plants are perennial. in the infancy of the human race, africa boasted of being the most civilized of those times, and the just¬ ness of its claims is attested by monuments which are <extant in our day, and will still look down on unnum¬ bered centuries to come. the queen of sheba, in solomon's time, came from the south as the representa¬ tive of many subjects, princes and princesses, who would rank as equals in beauty and wisdom, with modern sovereigns. in africa, however, as in europe^ there came the dark ages, and for centuries progress was stayed, devastation held sway, and the darkness of ignorance settled like a pall over that glorious conti¬ nent. so it is that god punishes those who depart fro n his law, and are disobedient to his commands; for bad government is as much the result of a violation of god's moral law, as throwing one's self from a cliff £s a violation of a law of nature; the fatality of both is sure. the slave system has been the curse of afri¬ ca. it is only to-day that the continent is beginning to shake off the incubus. in business. the power of stearo is beginning to be felt in the most benighted regions. the rapid communication with the centers of thought and refinement, which steam and electricity make possible, and which com¬ merce enforces will, in the course of a few generations- bring the most barbarous of people up to the level of the most progressive, or else they will melt away as the frosts of morning before the rising sun. while tribes of other races will disappear before advancing civilizat¬ ion, it is unlikely that the negro as a race, will do so? although such a fate has been predicted for him more than once. facts are constantly refuting such a possi¬ bility. the question for them to solve is how to take advantage of their opportunities, so as to compete with other people in intellectual progress, and how to reap commercial rewards, and to save their own conti¬ nent from the spoiler, who even now is taking posses¬ sion of their best and fairest lands, and using the in¬ habitants thereof as hewers of wood and drawers of water. on the railroads of africa they should be conductors instead of track hands. on the steamers they should be captains instead of coal heavers. ancs- from their pulpits, africans should preach, as in for¬ mer times the pure word of god, and lead their peo¬ ple up to christian civilization, instead of hearing it only from foreign lips. in a word, we would say, "as, god. gave africa to the negro, so by his help they should keep it." at present, the half-caste arabs of zanzibar, the ma- homedans of egypt, the french, the italians, he portu¬ guese, english, and dutch are partitioning africa among themselves, and quarelling over it, as so many dogs over a carcass in their midst. poor ben. this they are better enabled to do by knowledge the art of war, and the modern inventions and capi* tal at their command. the africans themselves, th% negroes in america, the friends of liberty and equality •very where should cry out to stop this shameful phas% of human cruelty and avarice. africa should belong to the africans, and foreigners should benefit from it only by fair exchange. the republic of liberia^ founded by emancipated people of america, offers th% only bright spot on the dark picture. it should b% protected and encouraged by the home government an*| its influence greatly extended. in addition, the united states is bound to afford protection to americans, n§» gro or others, who may engage in trade and thecu* velopment of the country, in the most distant regions* americans are entitled to protection and redress by the government in any part of the world. it is fox that we pay taxes,'and we can claim it. there is not a& official civil, military, or naval—that does not draw his pay in part from every tax payer. that the trade of africa is valuable, it is only neces* eary to call attention to the fact that white firms baltimore, philadelphia, new york, and boston hav$ made fortunes in that trade, while it is yet undeveloped * and that english steamers pass along the west coasl^ as far as capetown, every week. no traveler, who has written of africa, has failed to draw enchanting pictures of the scenery, and the traits of nobility of the inhabitants. the accounts of bruoe of the land and people north of the equator, oa $*■% benue river, is only equaled by cameron in his recent extravagant praise of the regions of the manganjas the south. in business. it is a notorious fact that the decendants of the afri- ^in race in america are debarred from promotion in business, and are forced, by the spirit of caste, to labor *n menial employment, without any present expecta¬ tion of bettering their condition. their pay is kept at & low figure, thus preventing the respect which is \isually paid to men of wealth. surely, out of so great a nation, such as the col¬ ored people of .the united slates really are, there should be some who should have the benefit of the highest education, and of the best business facilities. of all the citizens of different races, of which this country is composed, it is wrong that they alone should be oppressed. the effect of the establishment of a great company, organized in the interest of the colored people, would toot only give them opportunities, in the employments offered by the company, such as cominanders of ships, and agents and traders at the posts; but it would be like a light house, to guide them in the way of na¬ tional greatness, by organization and industry. the influence of the company in africa would open the way for vast numbers of teachers and preachers among the natives, and the increase and direction of tfade, would furnish employment by which men could <garn wealth, and return to elevate their families and increase the resources of our own country. africa presents the aspect of super-abundant resources unde¬ veloped. "the fields are ripe for the harvest, but the laborers are few." the first steamship crossed the at¬ lantic in' , and other continents have gained the impetus created by the rapidity of transit. africa is now in the path of this wave of progression. it will poor ben. not be many years before cairo, and capetown and ^monrovia, and gondar, will be united by railway and telegraph. the interest which it has proposed to have americans take in the future development of those regions is not unreasonable. the capital $ , , , is not large in consideration of the possibilities of the fiuture, and yet it is thought that it will be sufficient to open the way fairly for innumerable enterprises, and to return good results to its stock holders. the act of incorporation of the african company -was as follows: i. know all men by these presents that ludlow ap- jjones, "w. b. arnett, solomon blackburn, andrew j. idellart, a. a. brasher, lewis schwab, joseph s. shaw, 'gustar stifer, frank v. cousins, j. b. stansberry, and ^george parker have associated themselves together, -and, by this instrument, do hereby become incorpor¬ ated, in accordance with the laws of the state of ken¬ tucky and the constition and laws of the united states, as the african company. ii. the object of the african company is to engage en trade and commercial transactions in africa, and operations connected therewith. iii. the capital stock of the company shall be five millions of dollars ($o. , ), divided into fifty thousand shares ( , ) shares of one hundred dol¬ lars ($ ) each, payable in successive monthly in¬ stalments of ten dollars ($ .) iv. the principal office of the company shall be in covington, ky., where the council meeting of the stock uolders shall be held on the second monday in janua¬ ry of each year, for the election of eleven directors, who shall direct all the business of the company du- poor ben. holds a'population which could be developed to take rank with the cultured people of any part of the globe. other nations, have long before this, acquired terri¬ tory in africa of immense extent, and year by year, are extending their sway further toward the interior. there are already one million whites in south africa, and the gold and gold fields are attracting crowds of immigrants. europeans are domesticated on all the shores of africa, and explorers crossing even the equa¬ torial regions are apparently as long-lived as if they had remained at home. the culture of cotton, rice, and sugar-cane, and the mining and forging of metals, would enable our col¬ ored people to become as rich in that continent, as the eelf-made men among us. intelligence, wealth and enterprise will soon com¬ mand respect for a people, whether they be black or white. there is now a chance for our colored men to gain the respect and admiration, not only of the whites of this country, but of all other nations. they have only to saythat slavery shall cease to exist,and it willper- ish from the face of the earth. they are strong enough to accomplish it, backed as they would be by the whole country. the whites of this country are anxious to make money, and the colored race here can take them into their pay to gain their ends, just as the japanese have done in hiring foreigners to perfect systems of im¬ provement, to drill their troops, and furnish them with chips, locomotives and machinery. the united ser vice of the two races in money making enterprise, would do more than any thing else to dissipate pred- judice on both sides. should this company be pushed to success without in business. hi their aid, it will be little to the credit of the colored men of america. it is not to their credit that slavery still exists in cuba, and africa. the english are freeing africa, not americans of either color. while they are thus carry¬ ing civilization and religion to the southern part of africa, at is no less true that they are erecting a state which, in time, will equal the mother country in popu¬ lation, wealth and resources. they are repeating their program of india, australia, and canada. many of both races white and colored, in this coun« try, are it this time out of employment, and the ave¬ nues to promotion, in business are filled to such an ex¬ tent that an abundance of the best material is only waiting for opportunity to engage in anything which promises them employment. this state of affairs ia likely to continue. among colored people in this country the few pro¬ fessions open to them are over-crowded, and even the most intelligent among them are compelled to engage occupations little suited to their tastes or abilities. the colored people of this country have developed the very highest qualifications of civilized life. they are intelligent, brave, religious in thought, domestic in habit and easily organized. opportunity only is wanting for them to become a distinguished people. they are twice as numerous as the thirteen colonies, at the time of the revolution, twice as numerous as the egyptians, and are capable of accomplishing as great results as either, if their attention is direc. ?d to the continent of africa. why should americans neglect fair prospects, such as are there offered, and especially our colored citizens, poor ben. fitted by nature and education to carry civilization and christianity over so vast a field? the missionary should go where commerce makes the way easy, and missions thus prepared to be self-sustaining. your own knowledge will give you facts for con¬ sideration in connection with this matter. the propo¬ sition is to organize a company, under the laws of ken¬ tucky and the constitution and laws of the united states, to trade in africa; to secure trading-posts and concessions, to open new avenues of trade, and to use the means of the company, so formed, to establia steam lines, or to build railroads, or to foster the civili¬ zation of profitable products, and to act in such a man¬ ner in africa as to make the company rich and strong, and to carry out the desires of the american people in that direction, and to enhance the value of the stock of the african company in every way possible. the proposed amount of capital is set at five millions of dollnrs, in shares of one hundred dollars, each share to entitle the holder to a land warrant for a hundred acres of land; the holders of shares to have the preference in the employment and nomination to offices under the company. the scheme is by no means a project of coloniza¬ tion, but bimply a business arrangement, by which money can be made, by some energetic and capable colored people, without detriment to their compa- troits, and with benefit to the natives of africa. wo would bf glad to hear from you, in regard to its feasi¬ bility and desirability at your convenience. respectfully, ludlow apjones. in business. to this circular letter, numerous favorable responses yere received, recommending the organization of th« ■"company as suggested. citizens of cincinnati and covington becoming incorporators. poor ben. "at the close of governor noyes' address, the band struck up a national air, and notwithstanding the skill with which they discoursed the music, the audi- ence shouted as with one voice for poor ben, who came forward and furnished a fitting sequel to the el¬ oquent speech of the governor. his speech was re* plete with wit, logic and stirring appeal. he gave an, illustration of the feeling manifested everywhere by the colored people in the interest of the party which, gave them their freedom, and all the franchises of citk zenship. when he finished, loud calls were made for j. madison bell, the orator and poet, who came forward and made a spirited and quickening appeal, poor ben was again called out, and for twenty minutes kept the hall in a continuous shout of laughter and ap¬ plause. thus closed the first full day in toledo, and we are justly proud of this good beginning." "toledo democrat," of july , ., in speaking of the congressional covention says: " poor ben, the colored delegate, read in a clear, bo* norious voice, enunciating and pronouncing each word distinctly, the following report of the committee on resolutions: rosolved: that the platform of principles adopted by the national republican convention, which was held in the city of philadelphia, june , , is fully and unequivocally endorsed and adopted by the republi¬ cans of the sixth congressional district of ohio. resolved: that the success of the principles of national republican party, and the incorporation of these in the very frame work of government, is essen* tial to the peace and prosperity of the great nation. resolved: that we heartily endorse the wise, jug^ lis poor ben. try gold separated husband and wife, parent and child, brother and sisters; that party that sold in the market the virtue of women to the highest bidder. that par¬ ty asks us for our votes, before we are done hunting our kindred scattered by them over this broad land!' we will never give them our votes! no, never in the toledo commercial, of september , was given the appointments made by the central republi¬ can committee of speakers. prominent among the names of the following noted men and able orators, was the name of poor ben, col. j.*r. swigart, gen. j. a. hall of maine, gen. john beatly, gen. james a' garfield, our lamented president; hon. j. a. bingham, hon. wm. kraus, hon. j. w. torney; hon. b. f. wade and others. during the campaign of the state of ohio , the question of civil rights was discussed in mass meeting at white's hall. this being the first purely colored political meeting in the history of toledo was one of more than ordinary interest. the audience was large and manifested an unflagging interest. the speakers of the evening were j. m. bell, j. h. lewis, w. r- revels and poor ben. the following is a report and an editorial as taken from the "toledo daily commercial:" " the , poor ben of cincinnati was introduced, who spoke substantially as follows: 'ladies and gentelmen, and by the grace of the rs- publican party, and fellow-citizens, i feel a diffidence in coming before you to try to say something that may enlighten you in regard to the present issue; for the great boon of freedom, it seems to me, gives a man not only life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, but al- political career. eo devolves upon him certain duties which cannot be neglected." he called attention to the vast extent, wonderful resources, and great interest involved of this country, and said in considering these, it became a voter's solemn duty to consider before exercising a right by which the fortunes of such important meas¬ ures were decided. •'there are two parties asking eve¬ ry one to support them next tuesday; the republican party on the one side, and the democratic party on the other. each had a right to ask for votes, and the speaker had a right, individually, to express the claims of his party. what had the democratic party done for the citi¬ zens of lucas county which should induce them to vote for it? what had it done for the white race? some people claim that we should not inquire into the past history of a party in discussing its claims for pub¬ lic favor. let us look at the matter in the light of a business transaction. suppose two men should apply to a merchant for a position as his cashier, one of whom refuses to give reference, and the other of whom gave them. which would be employed? just so now. we want to know the record of the democratic party in the past, in order that we may know whether to trust it in the tuture. during the long period of the war the republican party was the friend of the colored man. it demands justice for all, and equality before the law. the dem¬ ocratic, on the other hand, had possession of the gov¬ ernment for nearly a hundred years, during which time it denied the black man the right of existing, kept him ragged and ignorant, and in bondage; it was also opposed to the free action of the white man. one poor ben. of its cardinal principles was that the normal condi¬ tion of every foot of land, throughout the country, was that of slavery. in other words, that every gun in the army, every plank in the ships of the navy, was dedicated to the propagation of slavery.' [a voice.] *what do you mean by normal condition?' the speaker became euthusiastic. mean that first con¬ dition in history of every man and of every one of god's creatures in which they longed for liberty. [cheers.] when it was in power, the democratic par¬ ty opposed free speach, and a free press in favor of freedom. the party was like the irishman, it didn't want justice, but it wanted mercy. it desired that the mantle of charity be thrown over its past career." poor ben then turned to his colored hearers and in a peculiarly earnest, but eccentric way, portrayed to them their suffering while in slavery, and told them if they wanted to put the party in power which caused their sufferings, to vote next tuesday for the dem¬ ocratic party. the speaker admitted that there were scalawags in fhe republican party, men who entered in hope of power and place, and for personal gain, and the moment they were hauled out of power, that mo¬ ment they repudiated the party. he reviewed ash¬ ley's course in a scathing manner; saying that 'after he had been turned out of congress, out of an office in the west, he came baek here. he went down to the cincinnati liberal convention, and claimed that, like paul, while on the way, the spirit of the lord entered his soul. he was converted, and like the methodist, grew in grace. he stood like peter of old before the democratic party warming himself. but when the showers of tears fall at the election, he didn't know political career. in democratic days, when, should you go five hundred miles from the place of issue of a bank note, it would be nearly worthless. poor ben closed with an earnest appeal to his col¬ ored brethren not to forget the price of blood at wthich their liberty had been bought, and to vote for the par¬ ty which had so nobly and steadfastly stood by them in the hours of need, uttering a prayer that in the re¬ sults of the election, god would vouch safe to every man and all the nations, life liberty and the pursuit of happiness. he was rewarded with a hearty round, applause. the following editorial appeared in the "toledo daily," of : white's hall, last night, furnished testimony to the fitness of the colored race for citizens, which must have challenged the attention of every considerate man pres¬ ent. without undertaking to make comparisons, which under the most favorable circumstances, are apt to be odious, it is safe to say that the hall, had it a tongue, could tell of political assemblages of lighter hue, which, in neither speakers nor audience would ex- cell in character or intelligence, the one referred to. it would no doubt be revolting to democratic sensibili¬ ties, for us to compare the speech of poor ben, on this occasion, with that of the chief magistrate of the state of ohio on tuesday night, but the truth could only be stated, by saying, that in the elements of a calm," dis¬ passionate and logical presentation of public issues, the colored speaker had the advantage of his white excellency. the speech of the former was free from the bitterness of spirit, violence of language, and reck¬ lessness of statement, which marked the harangue of the latter. assuming that it was the intellect and the political career. "virtue of republican predominance here, are yet free to act, and especially to vote, according to their own .judgement and desire; a privilege not allowed to their fellows in many of the southern states, where the dem¬ ocratic party predominates. the facts given else where in regard to the recent election in georgia, show how the colored race fares where the democratic party is in power. in all the county of richmond, with a to¬ tal colored registration of three thousand voters, but ■one hundred republicans votes were cast, while the "white leagues polled within one hundred and fifty of their full vote, in the severe contest of . no ter¬ rorism, such as that which silenced the voices of •colored freemen in richmond, has yet appeared to pre¬ vent the colored citizens of ohio from appearing at the polls; but once let the power in ohio be placed in the tiands of the party that holds power in georgia, and "where would be the difference in the two cases? it "will be borne in mind, that in all the north, not a single democraticconvention has denounced the white league •conspiracy against personal rights and public liberty. the democracy of the north now stands by that dis¬ loyal and atrocious organization, as they did by the "game rebels when in arms for the overthrow of the union. how then can any colored man make up his $nind to vote for a democratic candidate, whether northern or southern? no colored man in georgia, louisiana, or any other southern state, is safe in voting •"any other than the democratic ticket, and consequent¬ ly the mass of that race refuses to vote at all. shall the colored people of the north voluntarily vote to en¬ dorse and give effect to what so sorely oppresses and threatens their friends in the south? to vote for frank poor ben. h. hurd or the democratic ticket, generally is to do this very thing." in every campaign, and wherever the state commit¬ tee assigned poor ben to address the republican par¬ ty, he would go inspired with a knowledge of the deep and general interest felt in the issue of the campaign. genuine and hearty enthusiasm always pervaded the hosts who greeted him. when he saw and heard such noble veterans as gov. noyes, and general swayne, both crippled in battle for the right, when he stood on the same platform with these men who knew what the union cost, who forever bear with them the marks of rebel malignity, and the memory of brave blood that purchased thq nation's existence, he needed no other incentive to duty. these events had sufficient power to force words from the heart, and send them to the hearts of his hearers. his speeches were replete with wit, logic and stirring appeal, abounding in illustra¬ tions of the feeling manifested everywhere by the col¬ ored race, in the interest of the party which gave theni their freedom, and all the franchises of citizenship. unfortunately, for a success in point of members at the republican meeting held september , , at the toledo opera house, the rain storm, which began at six o'clock, continued with unabated intensity all the evenings but notwithstanding this, the house was well filled by an audience that listend with the utmost attention, and appreciation, to the eloquent addresses of the two orators of the evening, gov. stewart l. woodford and poor ben of ohio. the meeting was called to order promptly by j. k. hamilton, chairman of the republican committee, who briefly introduced gov. woodford. the govern- political career. or made a lengthy and eloquent statement between labor and honest money. he argued strongly that in case the greenback was substituted fox-the national bank currency, it would abolish a portion of the taxes of the government, and be a movement directly-in the interest of the banker. he closed with a fine perora¬ tion, and was greated with great applause. though it continued to rain as though the-heavens were open, gov. woodford and poor ben had a very large audience, and those who were present were well rewarded. gov. woodford more than justified the superb reputation he had already won, while poor ben made an admirable speech. poor ben is unquestionably one of the most eloquent political colored orators that this country has ever produced. his campaign in the state of ohio was a brilliant one, as every one expected it would be. he, at that time, was a growing man and had a brilliant future before him in the coming campaigns of his state and country. at the close of the governor's most able effort, poor ben brought forth most forcibly the merits of the good old republican party. for wit, touching pathos and real common sense, he could not be surpassed. his many eloquent phrases, and hap¬ py hits brought down the house. he introduced himself in a few humorus remarks, and said that, "we should not delude ourselves with the idea that we are respected all over this union. we are in danger in many places in this land. we ask you to examine the parties claiming your vote, and af¬ ter examination, to see to which party we are the most indebted for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. the prohibition party is a sober party, but most too poor ben. eober. there is one party that never got so drunfe^, that it voted against me. to-day, not a slave is in the? land. the party accomplishing this is a sober enoughs party for me. greenback, labor, national—in whatever party it i& [a voice, "communism,"]—that mule party wants to. take from the wealthy and give to the poor. in sucl* an event there would be too many annaiases and sap*, phiras' if the leaders are honest, why don't those of" the nationals set the example and divide theirs? mr* kahlo, why does he not distribute his wealth among his followers? yours is no new party. deep down is. the red hand covered up, atheistic in principle and communistic in action. i like chickens, but not these- cemmunistic chickens. we believe in honesty. they are building a fire which you cannot quench—one of the democratic party. i don't know where to begin icj speaking of that party. it is said the bloody chasm, has been bridged over. thurman says the party i& alive, and as he is one of the doctors of it, and says it'a alive, i suppose it is, as he ought to know. horace greely gave the certificate of death of the democratic party. the democratic party is opposed to human rights. i am opposed to it on account of its course du* ring the war, and for every measure since the warv the democratic party is alone responsible for the debt of the nation. be loyal to principle, and vote the republican tick«- et. the people i represent feel the wickedness of a de* nial to them of the rights of freemen by the democratic party wherever it has power. colored men are found who are willing to vote the democratic ticket. such are a fraud on their race." political career. $ his remarks were made with, a variety of humorous anecdotes. "put the democratic party in power, and then it will rivet the chains of slavery as firmly as they ever were." he closed with a grand enlogium on that party, which set , , men, women and children free, the republican party. on the following morning, the papers were replete with the well won plaudits of the talented colored ora¬ tor. this endeavor was one of the rarest treats of the campaign of , without distinction of party or race at times he grew grandly eloquent, sublime and poet¬ ical. then again he would bring his language down to the understanding of the simplest person before him. he enthused all to the highest pitch, and accom¬ plished great good. on sept. , , the meeting held at cadiz, o., was a grand success. hundreds had gathered in front of the court house, the cadiz hook ^and ladder com¬ pany (colored) in uniform having charge of the ar¬ rangements. after several soul stirring pieces of mu¬ sic by the cadiz cornet band, mr. j. l. rivers opened the meeting in a few well timed and appreciated re- niafks; and then introduced poor ben of urbana, as- the orator of the day. poor ben came forward, and in one of the most elo¬ quent and thrilling speeches to which any one ever listened, held his audience spelbound for an hour and a half. he was then probably thirty-five years of age, well educated, of keen wit, apt, had a splendid use of language, and possessed one of the grandest voices for speaking ever heard. at the evening meeting, he spoke for an hour, in his- inimrtable manner; holding the closest attention of hist. poor ben. audience, and giving the democratic party one of the severest overhaulings it ever received at the hands of any speaker at cadiz. at a mass meeting, the week following, held at springfield, ., there were loud calls for poor ben. he came forward, and made a speech which was not re¬ portable in proper form, but was a sockdologer on the democrats and their sham professions of reform, hon¬ esty and friendship to the colored race. one mo¬ ment by his witicism and close hits, the speaker had his audience aroused to a high pitch of enthusiasm, and throwing their hats to the ceiling, and at anoth¬ er, when describing the condition of the slave, or the patriotic service of the colored people in the rebellion, his words took on such pathos and deep feeling as to draw tears. one point made was that there had been a reversal of feeling since the war in the order of things, in more ways than one. before the war the northern demo¬ crats did the shooting of them; while now the south¬ ern democrats do the shooting and killing, and their northern allies try to do the buying and selling. at another period, he drew from his satchel a form¬ idable looking document covered with seals, and told how he, a poor young man, working for fifteen dollars a month in the great state of pennsylvania, had to pay thirty dollars for that paper, to prove that a little boy was born of free parents, in a certain place, at a certain time, was, therefore, himself free; and that he, poor ben, was the boy. notwithstanding the insults, and the many rights the colored people were deprived of, poor ben occasion- political career. ally received calls of active citizenship, from which col¬ ored people less favored were debarred. "while stationed at toledo, ., he was summoned to act foreman of a jury, all of whose members, except himself were white. during the same year he again acted as foreman of a jury, all colored. these were the first instances in ohio of a jury having a colored fore¬ man. poor ben was chairman of the committee on resolu¬ tions in the city convention at toledo in . he not only fulfilled his duty as a pastor of the church, and a teacher of the school, wthile in this city, but did full duty as a citizen; setting example to his fellow brethren of afric hue, to be men, and get a chance and to do likewise. during this same year he was chair¬ man of the committee on resolutions at the convention of the "sixth congressional district," that nominated i. r. sherwood. it was composed of six counties. later we find our poor ben still a citizen of toledo, and judge of elections there, at the election of general grant. in this election, he gave the women a vote. again he was placed on jury which condemned the site of the toledo water-works. during the legislative session of , poor ben filled the position of chaplain of the house of repre¬ sentatives, at columbus, ohio. poor ben. often ; "but he is called who like the beacon light at sea, is more staunch, firm, and resolute than brilliant; who is so hardy and strong that he must turn the winds- it is said that the watchman at a light house trims his lamp alone, never allowing ^nother to do his duty; so that it pours its light to the best advantage under his skilled management. if every citizen on the land and sea were allowed to force their opinion and method of attending to the business, both light and lighter would soon be obliterated. poor ben's success is due to his independence of re¬ ligious views. there is not money enough in the church coffers, nor force enough in the outside world to dig a particular rut for him to wheel along in; he is no respecter of feelings or creeds. when the truth of the'text is in heart and brain, it bubbles forth from the tongue, and all must hear, or leave. all can testify to his honesty of purpose. he sticks closely to texts, diverging occasionally to make a con¬ trast with the precision of method. poor ben is pos¬ sessed of much personal magnetism; frank, friendly free, simple in language, often introducing the conver¬ sational and colloquial styles which hold an audience, better than other modes of address. the energy of soul, and its expression beaming from the eye, as well as being displayed in every word, tone and gesture, be¬ speak him a man of god. our subject possessed all these charasteristics of mind and soul in ; though in a lesser degree, or at least they were not cultivated, as now. it was at the above date, while teaching in brownsville, pa., that the sub¬ ject of the christian ministry presented itself most forcibly to poor ben's mind. the thought uppermost call to the ministry. with him was, how he could best use his time and tal¬ ents for the good of his race, "what must i qualify myself for? " was the question he often asked himself, lie was, at this time, studying under special instruct¬ ors, who would often inquire, " what do you intend to do?" he looked at the question from its human and di¬ vine standpoints; and while praying over the matter in the school-room, the voice of duty said, " preach and teach." he communicated his thoughts to rev, a. harwell, the pastor of his church, who gave him much encour¬ agement, and advised him further by saying, "brother bennie if i had your talent, i would make moccasin tracks in time's sand, so deep that it would take more than one century to wear them, out." this w as said with'great em¬ phasis and earnestness; and with even more solemni¬ ty, he added, " go on, my son, god has a great work for you." this good, fatherly advice was given to poor ben in an unexpected manner; nevertheless, he went out of the reverend minister's presence, feeling greatly encour¬ aged. he next spoke of the subject to brother thornton t. baker, a local preacher, and one of the best of christ¬ ian gentlemen. he said to poor ben, "if you are cer¬ tain you have the rig^t impression of your duty to save souls, you obey it. good impressions come from god. the devil never impresses men to do good, or be good." shortly after this ben, entered into conversation with his class leader, the rev. n. t. terrell, who ad¬ vised him as to what course to pursue, and gave him poor ben. sam's revival." many of those who were converted at this time are still living, and are active members of the church. in , while on a visit to uniontown, pa., poor ben received and accepted an invitation to preach from the rev. r. a. johnson, who also urgedhim to join the traveling connection. later he visited rev. j. p. underwood, who was anxious for him to join the ohio conference, which he finally con¬ sented to do. rev. w. b. lewis presented his name and he was recommended to the quarterly confer¬ ence. he was examined, and his recommendation pent to the annual conference, which met at lex¬ ington, ky.,—this state being a part of the ohio conference. on saturday, april th, , he was admitted on trial, to the ohio conference. the fol¬ lowing thursday he received his appointment to the walnut hills church, of which he took immediate charge, and preached his first sermon there on the following sabbath. he remained in charge until may, th . his next appointment placed him at toledo, ohio> where he remained until may, . on taking charge of wairen chapel, he found a good but in¬ complete building, which had been standing unfin¬ ished for over six years. poor ben, contrary to the judgement of the trustees, set to work to finish the church, and six months later it was completed and dedicated. bishop payne conducted -the dedicatory exercises. text psalm , - . rev. r. b. pope, of st. paul m. e. church, preached in the afternoon from the th psalm, th verse. in the evening rev. s. s. baxter of the lagrange st. poor ben. occupy all your time. visit your charge. work for god and humanity. pray for success." the examination, that is the annual examina¬ tions, will be held at the homes of the members, and in writing. lists of questions will be fowarded to them, and by writing the replies the committee on examinations can judge whether they have read thoughtfully the books required. but it is not inten¬ ded to prevent any one from attending the annual meeting of the t. t. s. c., and enjoying the lectures and addresses of the same. the association will be divided into eleven schools or ^divisions, with courses of study, as follows: . the sunday school normal department. . the secular teachers' department. . the school of elecution and sacred rhetoric. . the school of languages. . the school of natural sciences. . the school of art. . the school of 'theology. . the school of philosophy. . the college of music. . the "tawawa scientific, and literary lecture course." . the tawawa "chimney- corner circle." besides the successful endeavors of poor ben to establish the tawawa scientific, theological and lit¬ erary association, he has also succeeded in placing in¬ to the hands of the reading public a number of works pertaining to his church. he has the following books in manuscript form, ready for publication: "the lights along the jordan," "fifty years in the field, or the a. m. e. church, in ohio." "the life a id 'time's of solomon h. thompson," and "methodism poor ben. nature is armory of genius; wipe out the assertion that we are only imitative surface creatures; and show that like the ake, beneath our surface lies a living world of matter, millions of fathoms deep. when we have stirred the depths of our national pride, others will cease to ridicule, aad fear to come in willing contact with our ei&ms.^ts. poor ben. particular causes for producing particular effects. one, from the scenes and events that have fallen under his observation, iliay have many associations connec¬ ted with a particular object, which another may have never formed. one may go forth in the evening and gaze upon the starry heavens, and the moon strolling in her majesty, and feel emotions of sublimity. if so, we sa}' he is a man of sensibility—from the original constitution of his mind, he is susceptible of emotioup. and of taste to a high degree. his intellectual habits and. the circumstances of his life, have strengthened an<i cherished these original tendencies of his mind. as¬ tronomy has taught him the size and number of these bodies, which is another inspiring incentive to his, sublime emotions. another, returning from his daily toil, may look upon the same scene and feel no emo¬ tion of beauty or sublimity. still, originally, both may have been constituted with the same amount of sensibility but such has been the lot of the latter, that his sensibility; is lost, and he thinks only of the moon and stars as lighting him home. all emotions lose their strength if disregarded; anil if entirely neglected, soon cease to be felt. valuable thought, extensive kn owledge, the ability to reason justly, and good literary taste are essential to form a thorough and systematic scholar. the painter does not rest satisfied with a single look at a fine picture. he emphatically studies it in its design and execution. so every branch of knowledge,, must be studied in order that profit and pleasure may be desired, and imparted, and thus be rendered o£ benefit to others. poor ben's original constitution of mind was sua- literary work. ceptable of emotions to a great degree; which cultiva¬ ted produced a tine effect on the man. he saw the need of an organization in which the in¬ telligent men and women of the colored race might cultivate these faculties of mind. the subject of a summer school at wilberforce, was discussed in — by a number of the leading men of the a. m. e. church; but rested until the winter of . in , after some consultation, a committee which had been appointed, met at nash¬ ville, tenn., and a constitution was adopted, and an organization was effected, named the tawawa sunday school assembly, theological, scientific and literary cir¬ cle. the subject was studied carefully by poor ben, who was appointed general manager. in , he finally •went to work and threw the matter into shape and published a "tawawa journal," therein stating the plan of organization, its aim, and departments, which are given in this chapter the following officers were elected july th. : president, bishop j. p. campbell, d. d. lld., phil¬ adelphia, pa. vice presidents—bishop h. m- tur¬ ner, d. d. ll. d., atlanta, ga.; bishop w. f. dick- crson, d. d., columbia, s. c.; rev. w. j. gains, d. d. atlanta, ga.; mrs. sarah j. early, nashville, tenn.; 'mrs c. a. [townsend, richmond, ind.; prof. c. r. mcdowell, bowling green, ky.; rev. john t. jenifer d. d., boston mass.; rev w. j. simmons. louisville, ky.; rev. bishop t. m. d. ward, d. d., benings, d. c.; rev t. b. caldwell, louisville, ky. corresponding secretary—rev. thos. h. jackson, d. d., wilberforce, ohio, literary work. .—secular teacher's normal department—prof, f. s. delaney, b. a., dean, madison ville, ind.; prof. e. a. clark, b- a., secretary, evansville, ind. .—school of elocution and sacred rhetoric—rev. w. b. derrick, dean, new york city, n. y.; miss h. q. brown, wilberforce, ohio. .— schpol of languages—prof. w. s. scarborough, ll. d., dean, wilberforce, ohio; rev. j. c. waters, d. d., secretary, -columbia, s. c. .—school of natural science—mr. s. c. scarborough, dean, wilberforce, ohio.; miss e. r. george, secreta¬ ry, wilberforce, ohio. .—school of art—prof. c. w. bell, prin. of pen¬ manship, colored school, cincinnati, ohio; miss v* m. burks, ass't. prin. high school, louisville, ky. .—school of theology—rev. t. g. steward, d* d. dean, philadelphia, pa.; rev. richard harper, b. d., nashville, tenn. .—school of philosophy—bishop daniel a. payne, d. d., ll, d., dean; rev. a. j. kewshaw, secretary. .—college of music—miss cussie e. clark, dean, wilberforce, ohio; miss bertha b. wolfe, secretary, columbia, s. c. .—the tawawa literary and scientific lecture course—bishop j. p. campbell, d. jj., ll. d., dean, pfcladelphia, pa.; j. p* maxwell, secretary, wilber¬ force, ohio. .—the tawawa chimney corner circle—rev. b. w. arnett, d. d., dean, wilberforce, ohio; b. w. arnett, jr., secretary, wilberforce, ohio- the following persons have been invited to deliver addresses on special subjects: bishop j. m* brown, d. d., bishop r. h. cain, d. d., prof. b. k. sampson, poor ben. forces of our men and women; and by being thus uni¬ ted, they can accomplish more for their good than they otherwise can do as individuals; for it is intended to use every spare moment for the improvement of the mind—to husband our time and never to go to bed with¬ out knowing something more than when, we arose in the morning—to learn something by study every day—to ob~ serve and think—to think and observe—" to teach the mind to think, the heart to love and the hand to work for god and humanity." it proposes to encourage individual study through the organization of local circles for mutual help and en¬ couragement in study, by summer courses of lectures and "students' sessions" at tawawa, and by written reports and examinations. an average of an hour's reading each week day will enable the student in nine months to complete the books required for a year. more time than this will be spent by many persons, and for their accommoda¬ tion a special course of reading on the same subjects will be indicated. the habits of thinking steadily upon worthy themes during one's secular toil will lighten labor, brighten life and develop power. chapter ^cuiii. two years a represen¬ tative. fhe sympathetic term, " poor ben," is now illy ap¬ plicable to our subject, whose reputation is nation¬ al, and whose fame as an orator and statesman is mea¬ ger honor due him. reader, you will not find an ob¬ ject, flimsy representative—double-sided, without pluck, or ballast; but a well balanced man; of vigor¬ ous mind, resolute will, strong common sense, and buoyant spirits. his judgement is generally accurate, and his reliance upon it implicit. he is fitted rather to command than to obey; and his views of pure, sys¬ tematic government belong more to the patriarchal, than the present dispensation. the talent will reveal itself to the consciousness of the possessor; and it also teaches the one so endowed that, to have done a thing, is the proper proof that he can do it, and the doing, is the only evidence of his actual ability. this we have found true of poor ben, and leaves us at a loss whether to class him with the patriarchs 'of the hebrews, or the censors of the romans. however, this inflexible integrity, and uniform con¬ sistency of character, are self-evident through his life. there is a well known writer, who, having a great dislike for politicians, says, that the man who can ( ) poor ben. make two ears of corn, or two stalks of wheat, grow ay here only one grew before, deserves more of mankind, and renders better service to his country, than a whole race of politicians. the sentiment is an unjust one. those who think, speak, and act, must govern them that toil. any industrious, progressive farmer can, by his work alone, double his crops of grain, by his knowledge and use of the improved methods of agriculture. but it takes thousands of able minded men, scores of years to form and perpetuate a perfect state. and as a storm may devastate a farm in an hour, so may the political work of a day lay a state in ruin. it is pleasant to record a character whose resplend¬ ent qualities are not darkened by any serious defects. adventurous and heroic, brilliant and brave, has our subject proven. poor, without patrons, he began his career on the lowest step of fame's ladder; and by en¬ ergy and effort alone, reached the lofty steps so near the summit—yet never became dizzy by elevation, nor exhibited any of those weak or wicked passions pow¬ er and rank so invariably develop. poor ben was constantly before the public,—political committees sending him invitations wherever he went, to address the people on the issues of the day. all the time that he could spare from church and lodge du¬ ties was earnestly spent, by him, in leading the race into the right road toward the ballot box of their state and nation. in , poor ben was, in the following petition, placed before the county for office: greene county primary election, april , * to the republican voters of greene county: two i 'ears a representative. - the presidential contest of ' produced our candi¬ date. no man in the county contributed more to achieve that wonderful victoryof republican princi¬ ples in ohio, than . in appreciation of the as¬ sistance thus rendered,'and to have an opportunity to reward his ardent zeal and efficient service, many of the leading republicans of the county urge him to offer himself as a candidate for state representative at the next primary election, and assured him that a grateful party would not fail to return to him the full measure of their obligation. thus urged and assured, is before the voters of this county. in brief terms, we invite your attention to his claims. is a man of wide experience, of marked abil¬ ity, and of national reputation. no colored man in ohio enjoys greater preeminence. he is the peer of any candidate before you. recurring to service rendered:—in , he made thirty-two speeches for grant; stumped the state for hayes, and for gar¬ field; supported hon. john little before the spring¬ field convention, in a speech that was regarded as the most brilliant of the occasion; and in the canvas for blaine, was declared by the cincinnati commercial ga¬ zette, and other leading dailies, to be one of the most effective speakers in the state. these facts are known to you, and we ask a comparison of this record, with that of any other candidate. we ask your support on other grounds. for twen¬ ty long years the colored voters have cast a solid bal¬ lot for the candidates of the party. ten times have they made possible the election of republican candi¬ dates. estimating their strength at one fourth the entire g poor ben. republican vote, they have been entitled to represen¬ tation at least twice in twenty years. they have had none, yet they have adhered to the party will that party now, in the face of two decades of duty, refuse its support to this candidate. the hour demands equal justice. the change in administration may invite popular favor. the colored vote will be sought. it behooves republicans to deal fairly with their con¬ stituents. if in greene county, on the th of april, sim¬ ple justice be done, will be nominated by a handsome majority. voters of the county, we have stood with you and for you in many a contest. can we have your vote once in twenty years? colored voters, of you may be justly proud. never have the rights of the race found him silent. do your duty on the th of april. use your influence at the polls. work manfully; let not a vo¬ ter fail, because it is a primary election, to cast his vote. be willing to lose a half day, if need be, to nom¬ inate . hamilton and cuyahoga have deemed it justice to he represented by colored men. greene has a right to her turn. nominate , and the whole country will honor greene county in her choice. signed on behalf of the party at home, j. p. shorter, chairman, s. t. mitchell, t. h. jackson, w. s. scarborough, j. p. maxwell, p. . connell, a. r. winter, commttee." two years a representative. or will the next morning, be deluged with letters about it. i have had ray full share about this repeal of the black laws, and this intermarriage of races. a few years ago, we saw banners carried full and high, inscribed "save our daughters from negro husbands!" (laughter.) the daughters for whom these banners were borne were in no danger. neither are they who are complaining now. my observations of the colored people are, that they have tastes of their own; and that in consequence you could not with a writ of mandamus compel such marriage, as were prayed to be saved from. (applause and laughter.) but, that is not all. there is no danger from the other feature of this legislation, whereby separate schools have been done away with. to-day, i got a letter of bitter complaint. it then occur¬ red to me to put the matter to the test of practical experience. so i called in my boy, fourteen and a half years old, and my three little girls, all of whom are in attendance at the mixed schools of col¬ umbus. i asked them about the matter. the boy said that there were a number of colored boys in the class with him. ' do they disturb you in any way?' 'oh, no,' he said, 'they don't bother me any, except all of us are bothered to keep up with one of them, who seems to have a notion that he must lead the class. if that boy was only out of the class, i wouldn't have a bit of trouble with them." (great applause.) i stopped the inquiry right there. i thought if that was all the difficulty that could be seen by so ob¬ serving a boy as mine, this whole matter of mixed schools would take care of itself for the future. whatever is right will take care of itself." governor foraker, after a fine eulogy on grant, in¬ troduced hon. g. h. ely, a member of the senate, who rose amid long continued applause, and respond¬ ed in an earnest speech. he was followed by rev. j. poindexter, senator d. k. watson, poor ben and w. thomas. letters were read from senator sherman, hon. w. lawrence and dr. i. s. tuppins. at springfield the platform was enstarred with many brilliant speakers. among whom were hons. j. w. two years a representative. j. f. mcgrew paid a glowing tribute to those who so ably discussed the question of mixed schools. prof. scarborough said: "there was a great princi¬ ple at stake in the battle that has been going on—the principle of equality. the black laws have been erased, and that principle is established. hon. pringle said that he and his friend ely had made a speech on this question, that counted for more than any made that night. and it was only one word. " we voted aye, at columbus." gen. bushnell linked the longing of the american negro for civil equality to the longing glances of the israelites toward the promise land. h. c. smith, encouraged the colored people to take heart, hope, and work for the best; citing the satisfac¬ tory experience of cuyahoga county. hon. rawlins said that he had avorked long to at¬ tain this end, and was glad to be present. c. m. nichols*said: "i have the great honor in my day of being on the unpopular side of so many great questions. i thought i would sit still and let the pro¬ cession get up to me. it has gotten to me. you have your rights, and i hope to live to see the day, when ireland also shall be free." james buford simply thanked god that "this day has come." senator ely said: "i am glad to realize that the words of st. paul, uttered under the shadow of the acrobates, at athe"ns, centuries ago—'god hath made of one blood, all nations on the face of the earth,' had at last been realized. though the world has been very slow, it has at last come, and many hearts are happy to-night." poor ben, the author of the bill, was the next speak- poor ben. er, and in words of eloquence that cannot be record ed* congratulated his fellows on the triumph, at last, of justice long delayed he said: "mr. chaikman anb fellow citizens: by the favor of the republican party, i have a great deal to say,, and yet i cannot find language to express myself on this occasion. i am happy to begin with —i am more than happy, i am glad. i am more than glad, i am overjoyed. i am glad to meet you, and see so many fellow citizens come together to rejoice at th§ victory of the last battle for human liberty in the state of ohio. i am old enough to know something of the battle-? and the heroes of the past. i know something of the cost of the liberties that we now enjoy, and have some idea of their increased value. i remember, in the years of my childhood, there was a song then, sung in penn¬ sylvania, 'roll on, liberty's ball.' i was but six years old, and how could i know any thing about it? but there was something in my young soul that told me it would roll, and thank god i have lived to see ohio's brave sons 'roll on, liberty's ball.' in , when john g. burney started this ball to rolling, in the united states, there were only , - who dared to say* 'roll on, liberty's ball!' in , , said 'roll on, liberty's ball!' in , when fremont's party was born, , sang the same song. in , john p. hale and george w. julian started out shouting the same strain. then my poor mother lifted up her voice and sang 'roll on, liberty's ball!' in , when fremont was a candidate, that grand old organization, the republican party, started out and , , men voted for john c. fremont, shcait- two years a representative. ing the while, 'roll on, liberty's ball!' this ball was growing larger, and the south knew that it was com- mg. our fathers prayed, and the republicans voted* the southerners framed constitutions to keep the ball from rolling; but prayer is a mighty thiyg, for over , , ,.in g , shouted, 'roll on, liberty's ball!' then the war cloud rolled on. we kept on praying, and it brought rain. they fought and voted, then said, 'come and help us boys.' our boys said, 'give us a flag,' and they got it. the boys in the blue fought the battles and gained the victory; though it was a country in ruins. then every man and woman cried 'roll on, liberty's ball!' now, the joy of this* day is like getting married, the wedding day, and the pound-cake. [tremendous cheering.] but now we can expect no more from ely and iveifer, and no more pound-cake from the repub¬ lican party. it can no longer be said that our chil¬ dren's teeth are on edge because their parents ate sour grapes. the schools are open; the churches are open; and the penitentiary is open. [applause.] what i mean my friends, is this; if you do wrong they will punish you as other men; and if you do right, the t will honor you. but the opportunities, blessings and privileges of this day bring with them corresponding responsibilities; and to make this victory secure, our race must vindicate itself in thfe state and country. with education for your heads, religion for your hearts and money for your pockets, you can stand up in your own innate powers. ohio, third in population, now etand sfirst in human rights, with the immortal john. sherman in the lead." poor ben's was one of the most eloquent speeches poor ben. given in springfield, for it came from tlie heart of a man, who felt all he said. it was punctuated through¬ out by great applauses. good music was rendered at intervals during the speeches by the cadet band. the demonstration of both white and colored citi¬ zens at the wigwam and at the banquet at the st. james hotel, over the repeal of the black laws, was one of the most significant occurrences ever known in that city. the immense audience represented all races, and the utterance from the platform were most sensi¬ ble, practical and inspiring. both black and whito men declared that now the american citizen of african extraction was the equal of any white man, under the law; they had their own future in their own hands, qjid were expected to be the architects of their own future. the sentiments of the occasion, though earn® est and fervid, were in good taste, courteous, magnani¬ mous, and in every way befitting. the committee of arrangements of the jubilee meeting, deserve the thanks of the thousands of citizens who enjoyed the addresses, and of the fortunate few who were invited to the ban¬ quet. here toasts were responded to in rapid success¬ ion, and showed no inferior order of intellect, or lack of wit and humor. the guests were many of spring¬ field's most prominent citizens. at two o'clock a, m, the company began to disperse, dismissed with the benediction. thus befittingly closed the labors of poor ben for the repeal of the black laws. in february, , representative ben introduced the educational bill, prepared by the w. c, t, u, mrs. fannie leiter had been in columbus more than a month trying to find some man with courage enough two years a representative. to comply with the requirements of this, or shall neg¬ lect or fail to make proper provisions for the instruct¬ ion required, and in the manner specified by the first section of this act, for all pupils in each and every school under his jurisdiction, shall be removed from office, and the vacancy filled as in other cases. section iii. that no certificate shall be gran ted.to any person to teach in the public schools of the state or any of the educational institutions, receiving mon¬ ey from the state, after the first day of january, , who has not passed a satisfactory examination in phy¬ siology and hygiene with special reference to the na¬ ture and effects of alcoholic drinks and other narcotics upon the human system. poor ben had been in his seat regularly all the ses¬ sion, and had said so little; but he soon disabused any mind that deemed him mute, when these two bills,that so interested him, came up for discussion. no withstanding the many opposers of the measure in the senate, and their various objections, poor ben championed the bill nobly, and it passed. his term of office as a legislator was now drawing to a close; and he was being warmly urged by both, white and colored friends to announce himself a can¬ didate for reelection to the office of representative. ex-representative gest's paper, "the torchlight/ which had not been favorable to our greene county member, on account of the bill he fathered, waved its objections, and paid him a very modest compli¬ ment, under the circuity tan ces. w e give the editorial; "in view of hon. candidacy, we desire to say that the torchlight has not and will not be in any manner connected with any movement or scheme that poor ben. his labors, and was received with cheers and gratitude. a grand reception was tendered him at the xenia op¬ era house, by the citizens. the gathering was solely to do honor to the man who had done his whole duty as representative of greene county. the platform was occupied by hon. john little, poor ben, dr. jackson, elder graham and lawyer c. l. maxwell. short but eloquent addresses were deliv¬ ered by each gentleman. mr. maxwell then intro¬ duced poor ben to the audience, and with finely word¬ ed remarks, presented him with an elegant gold-bead¬ ed cane, on behalf of his constituents. poor ben, in response, spoke as only he can. he felt that while a member of the house of representatives, he had been treated with a courtesy, by the members, not excelled by the annual conferences of his own church and peo¬ ple. in returning the trust imposed upon him by greene count} -, he did so without the smell of corrup¬ tion, or taint of fraud thereon. his address was full of fiery republicanism. hon. poor ben was, at first, very much affected on receiving the cane. a few of the good things he said were: "republi¬ cans of greene county, i have not words to express my thanks for this precious gift from those who in their hearts feel kindly toward me for the humble part i had the honor to perform as their representative in the legislature. for reasons over which i had no control, i felt it my duty to decline a reelection. it affords me no small pleasure to know that i have not disappointed my constituents. true, i have not been able to satisfy all; neither would have any one else you might have sent." he then reviewed the work of the assembly, urged two i 'airs a representative. ms friends of color to stand up in their manhood, and use every endeavor to advance their race. in closing, he again tendered his thanks for the handsome cane presented to him; not only for himself, but on behalf of his sainted mother, whose spirit has ever been an inspiration, leading him to do right; and on behalf of his wife and children; and lastly in the name of his race. his closing remarks were very touching and beauti¬ ful. with the adjournment of this reception closed the career of poor ben as a legislator. as at the beginning, he was showered with many congratulatory telegrams and letters, so the close of his labors was showered with essages bearing compli¬ ments of the highest order from more friends than can be mentioned here. it is peculiarly noteworthy that representative poor ben was chosen to represent a county entitled to only one member, and yet he was the sole representative. his case is the only one in the united ktales of a col¬ ored maij being the only representative of a white con¬ stituency, by selection and election. during his term of office, he was chairman of the committee on temperance. he was also called upon to preside over the republican legislative caucus at columbus, a position which he filled with marksd abil¬ ity and dignity. poor ben, all though life seems to be fated to re¬ ceive the honors so justly do him, by keeping his good name unscathed and his honor out of peril, has caused his name to become a pseudonym for clubs, lodges, camps, churches and schools, ages after lie wid be gone. poor ben. during poor ben's stay at the capital, the david jenkins club gave a grand banquet in honor of the three colored representatives. never in the history of the city had there been a fairer representation of columbus people than gathered at the parlors of ruhl and corbott that -thursday evening. letters of regret were received frrm governor forak- er, hon. fredrick douglas, hon. b. k. bruce, prof. c. a. cottrill, hon. p. h. clark, t. thomas fortune, and others. at the head of the table sat riley f. williams, the president of the club, surrounded by its special guests; hon. poor ben of green county, hon. j. a. brown of cuyahoga county, and hon. robert harlan of ham¬ ilton county. among the other gentlemen entertained iby the club were secretary of state robinson, state treasurer brown, adjutant-general axline, and the representatives of the press. mr. williams, as presi¬ dent, delivered the address of welcome. mr. i. d. ross, as toast-master of the evening, called upon mr. walter s. thomas to respond to the senti¬ ment: "our honored guests." the well known young colored orator and politician made remarks which were entirely extemporaneous, but he handled the subject in an unusually happy manner. he be¬ gan with colonel robert harlan, and told his listeners •of the many acts which that gentleman had perform¬ ed in behalf of his race, beginning with the first work ■done towards obtaining an appropriation from the state for colored schools, at a time when it was an of¬ fense to teach a colored person to read and write. he followed this with a sketch of the colonel's work down to the present time, and touched upon the handsome two years a representative. indorsement given him by the people of hamilton county. poor ben's progress from the coal mine to the christian ministry, and jere a. brown's jump from the carpenter's bench to the legislator's seat, were described in that peculiarly happy style which belongs alone to mr. thomas, bringing forth round after round of applause. colonel robert harlan's life-long efforts to obtain school entrance for the colored children of the state tnade the toast "common schools" a very appropriate ■one for him to respond to, and the manner in which he handled the topic was fine and well received. he appealed to the few hundred negro schoolteachers of the state not to stand in the way of the abolition of separate schools for colored children, and pointed out to them the vast opportunities for noble work among the members of their race in other states of the union. daniel a. rudd, the young colored editor, was thought to be the fittest member of the club to tell about "our national guard," of which he was a mem¬ ber. he pointed out the glorious things the ohio national guard had done, and made an eloquent ap¬ peal for its proper treatment by the people and the legislators of the state. in conclusion he told the david jenkins club that the guard appreciated the compliment paid them in being remembered on the list of toasts. said he: "we sing of our silent sold¬ iers, 'dead, but their souls go marching on.' when i look over the list of ohio statesmen who now repose in the bosom of an uuknown eternity, and reach the name of david jenkins, your intellectual brilliancy sends back the answer, 'dead, but his soul goes march¬ ing on." poor ben. hon. poor ben was one of the best speakers of the- evening and spoke upon "the negro in politics" in the powerful and eloquent style which makes his ora" tory so effective. he said: mr. president and members of the david jenkins club: accept my hearty congratulations for the honor joa have conferred on me personally, and the thanks of my constituency, whom you honor by honoring their representative. green county is the banner republican county of the state, for in that county we hold more offices than in any other county in ohio. all honor to the noble republicans of that county. may their numbers in¬ crease, until every county in the state recognizes that the negro is in the politics of the state to stay, and work for the success of the principles of liberty and, equality, and may he be as loyal in the future as in the past. i wish i had the time to inquire as to the origin of the negro, to find his ancestry, to inquire into his social and political status, of his moral and religious habits,of his intellectual achievements and culture, and^ finally, to bring to the attention of this audience some of his ancient glory. for i am credibly informed that there was a time in the history of man that the negro was the master in the commonwealth of letters, and was sovereign of the kingdom of the civilized world* then it was that the music of his sons and the songs, of his daughters were only excelled by the orchestra of nature, and was the only true type of the harmony of earth and the symphony of heaven. alas! he be^ came subject to the laws of other men, with whom he aimed to be in harmony in devising a plan for the. poor ben. ing gardens and the cultivated fields are the evidences of his industry as an agriculturist. the many inven¬ tions which has been credited to his name, and his mas¬ ter's, where he is not mentioned, are monuments of his genius. the happy homes and cultured families are the signs of his frugality. there never was a day in the history of this country that the negro was not the most influential member of all political parties. he has been in every conven¬ tion since the days of washington. he has elected more men to places of trust and honor and emolu¬ ment than any other power in politics. he has de¬ feated the ambition of many a thousand, who have not loved him nor his children. he has been in, on or under, every platform of all the parties in the last century. he was in the whig and under the democratic, but not until the days of the free soil and the republican parties, in and on the platform, and from that day until now he has been a full participant in the body politic. the negro in politics during the reconstruction in the south was called upon to take charge of the con¬ stitutional conventions. he wtas required to make a constitution where he was formerly prohibited from reading the declaration of independence. he was called on to provide for the legislative, executive and judicial departments of state, and he had to be teacher and pupil at the same time. he was unacquainted with the duties of government, but there was one thing he did know, he knew what freedom was, and with him the best and sweetest consolation was the liberty of his race, and the supremacy of the union. he did his duty well. some persons speak of him as a fail" ure, but, when we consider the school in which he was two years a representative. educated, we think he has done nobly. in twenty-five years he has filled every position in the government, except one. we have had two united state senators, revels and bruce; one registrar of the united states treasury, who was required to sign the money of the country. he was one of the race whose unrequitted toil had en¬ riched the nation. we have had fifteen congressmen, and fourteen hun¬ dred who wanted to be congressmen. we have had one chairman of the national republican convention; we have had the chairmanship of state and county conventions; seven lieutenant governors in the south¬ ern states, and one acting governor of louisiana. the following will show what success the negro has had in the political field. if any man can show a bet¬ ter record for any people since the day nimrod became the first monarch of the earth, let him produce it, but until then we claim the first place in the temple of success. rev. john w. asbury was on the state ticket in kentucky, and was a congressional candidate in the henry clay district of kentucky. —joseph h. rainey was elected a member of congress from south carolina and served eight years; r. h. revels, united states senator from mississippi, first colored senator in the united states. in — robert c. delarge, member of congress from south corolina; r. brown elliott, member of congress from south carolina, served two terms; benjamin s. tur¬ ner, member of congress from alabama; j. milton turner, appointed minister to liberia. —e. d. bassett, appointed minister to hayti. —first two years a representative. urer; alex davis, lieut. gov. of mississippi; james lynch, sec. of state; j. c. gibbs, sec. of state, florida; john mccabe, auditor of state, kansas; w. h. brown, supt. public instruction, louisiana; j, c. corbin, supt. public instruction, kansas. department of justice, ; department of state, ; navy department, ; department of interior, men, g, ladies, ; post office department, ; treasury department, ; war department, . total, . the assistant librarian of congress; the assistant law librarian of the supreme court, j. f. wilkinson, a friend of mine. •james s. tyler and w. s. thomas were the first clerks in the state house. rev. jas. poindexter, the now silverhaired pioneer, was the first colored man to run for the legislature of this state. prof. peter h. clark was a candidate for the constitutional conven¬ tion of . william boyd was a member of the city council of urbana, and was president of that body in -' . c. l. maxwell was city clerk of xenia for six years. wm. hunter has been elected three times street commissioner of xenia. dr. lindsey is one of the police commissioners of the same city. chil- licothe elected rev. w. j. johnson, a member of the school board, and this year elected a councilman. the town of jackson elected a city clerk and clerk of township. s. g. brigham is a member of the school board at springfield. then, as to other places, the negro is in nearly every department of the state. in guernsey county they elected a colored township clerk last year, and this year he was re-elected with an increased majority. j. r. hawley was re-elected to the city council of wil- poor ben. mington. in this state, we have for the first time three members of the general assembly. they repre¬ sent the intelligence, wealth and industries of this state—the queen city of the west and forest city of the lakes—one by the hon. col. r. harlan and the other by hon. jere a. brown. what a grand change, what a grand old party, that made it possible to see and witness such unparalleled advance as has been the case with the negro in politics. the most important part of the negro in politics is the part he occupies as to the representatives in con¬ gress and in the electoral college more than one half of the nation's illiteracy is in the south, and our race, if left to his own free will in casting its ballot, would always be on the side of jus¬ tice and liberty. lieutenant rudd, the gallant young soldier, has just recounted to you the deeds of valor performed by colored men—deeds written on the page of history with the sword and bayonet. lieutenant rudd's words have left their impress on my soul. there is one thing that i desire to call the attention of the gentlemen present to. that is, we, as politi¬ cians, have neglected one duty that we owe to the men who made it possible for us to go into politics. i mean the gallant soldiers of the union, the colored men, who were told that it was a white man's war when the first gun fired; but when the war cloud hung low, and the nation was trembling from center to cir¬ cumference, when the minnie ball was whistling its song of death, then the colored men, who had been de¬ nied a place in the ranks of the nation's defenders, forgetting the insults and wrongs of the past, said, poor ben. collect money, receive designs and then have the mon¬ ument built and dedicated. then our children can come from near and far and kindle the fires of soul and body fanned with the breath of the young and rising generations, and the old vete¬ rans could once more meet at the capital they suffered " o save. what a grand time this would be to have the heroes of fort wagner and port hudson, the he¬ roes of nashville and miliken eend; march together in their front the banner of freedom redeemed to their sons and to the present and future generations. think of it, no monument to the men who were firs' to march into richmond; no monument to the men led on by capt. callieux; no monument to the gallant sergt. carny and major delaney, who enlisted in the battle's van and cried 'rally i boys, for god and gov. anderson.' they must and will, so help me god, have a monument. what shall we say of the negro in politics? he has been an eminent success. he has done much good to the race and his country. he was loyal when others were disloyal. he was true while others were false to the country. he has exhibited to the world what it is possible for men to do. the negro in politics means the negro in human government. where is his place and what is his position? why, he must secure his place by his intelligence, industry, courage and char¬ acter, wherever that puts him. the day has passed when we want a place for a colored man on account of his color, but for his worth as a man and political factor. but we do not want him thrown aside because he is a colored man, nor do we want him advanced on his race connection alone; but give us a fair show in the race of two years a representative. life and for office. let us beat them if we can, and they beat us if they can. all we ask at the hands of the polit¬ ical parties is to give us equal laws, equal opportunity, and then, if we cannot keep up let us fall to the rear, and take our place as followers and not leaders. gentlemen, i see before me the hope of the rising generation—young, intelligent men, who will not stop until every law discriminating against the race is wiped from the state and national statutes; until every man can enjoy his rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, no matter whether in ohio or mississippi. gentlemen, think of it! twenty years of freedom, and not a foot of ground purchased for a monument for the men who laid down their lives that the nation should be preserved and a race redeemed! twenty years of advancement and education, and no statute of brass or column of marble to the memory of the heroes of three wars! twenty years in the legislative halls and in the school-house, and no corner-stone of a monument by a grateful race! twenty years in the land of canaan, yet no memo¬ rial on the plain of gilgal! i entreat the members of the david jenkins club to dedicate the work of the young and rising generation to the rearing of a monument to the memory of our hero dead. let contributions come up from every state and from every county in the states, the free-will of¬ ferings of a redeemed people. let ohio lead the train of free-will offering, and every man, woman and child gend their mite, and raise a shaft of beauty and glory to the gallant soldiers of the race, and send the word two years a representative. the relation of the negro in the politics in the country may be seen by the following from the census of : total number of white persons twenty- one years and upward , , total number of white persons twenty- one years and upward unable to write.. , percentage whites twenty-one and up¬ ward unable to write . total males twenty-one years and up¬ ward, estimated , , total number males twenty-one and un- ward unable to write , percentage male twenty-one and up¬ ward unable to write . total number of females twenty-one and upward, estimated , , total number females twenty-one years and upward cannot write , , percentage females twenty-one and up¬ ward cannot write . total number colored persons twenty- one years and upward , , total twenty-one years cannot write , , percentage . total males enumerated , , total unable to write , , percentage . colored females twenty-one years and upward , , total enumerated unable to write , , percentage . thus you see, that in the government of general government we ought to have more than two congress- poor ben. men. "vve now only have the hon. j. e. o'hara, frora north carolina, and gallant capt. robert small, of south carolina. think of it! only two when we ought, at the least calculation have ten men at the seat of government to represent the cause of the laborers of the south and the interest of human liberty! one of the grandest men of the century is the illus¬ trious citizen, the prince of orators, frederick doug¬ las, the first man of our race to receive an appoint¬ ment that was one of honor, trust and emolument,, and in its very nature material, and international in its execution. he has long represented our longoppressed and suffering people. when there was no arm to save, when there was no heart to pity, when there was no eye to see our wrong, and when w© were voiceless in the councils of the nation, he was our clansman—the voice of one crying in the wilderness prepare ye the way for my people! the hour of do-, liverance has come, and we all rejoice in his light, as a. true and tried leader. gentlemen, while we rejoice to-night over the vie-* tories of the moral heroes in the past, over the rac& prejudice of a century, we must not forget what it has cost in blood and treasure, what is the price of this ban-* quet, no one can tell; who can estimate what has been paid, and what yet remains to be paid, for the hospi» tality of this david jenkins club. who can bring the labor of ,my dead mother, who,, in other days, furnished me bread, sometimes com bread, that it might be possible for me to eat at this banquet, where tl^e choice viands of the season are waiting for us? two years a representative. what care was exercised by her to impress on my mind a love of race, and my duty to man. i wish i ■could have her here to join with me. let us thank god for kind mothers, who were de¬ voted to the interest of the race, and gave us our early lessons of manhood. we should not forget the disinterested labors of the fathers of the past, men, who. without a hope of re¬ ward, were true to all the interest of the race, and went forth weeping, bearing precious seed; men who sowed in tears, that we might rejoice in the fruition of the hope of the race. we have the man who made the first run in this state for the legislature, james poin- dexter, the pioneer in all efforts to elevate man, and to secure equality for all men. he has been permitted to live to see the day of redemption, and to-night he joins with us in our rejoicing, and is now willing to pass the banner of liberty into the hands of the young men who are to assist in governing this, the greatest nation of the earth, and say to them: "young men, this old banner has never trailed in the dust, nor has i'o •ever protected a traitor to the race nor to the old flag/' gentlemen, let us be united in the great work of race elevation. let each member of this organization be a moral, intellectual and political force in his communi¬ ty. we must dedicate ourselves to the patriotic duty '■of erecting a monument to the living. we must use the powers of race elevation; we must have education for the head, love for our hearts, and money for our pockets. god bless the david jenkins club, of colum¬ bus, ohio. hon. jere a. brown, the member from cleveland, is himself a horny-handed son of toil, and knew where- poor ben. of he affirmed when he talked about "our relations to labor." while a strong defender of the right of the labor cause, and of labor organizations, he is conserva- tive and sensible, and his recommendations, delivered with a fervid eloquence, were received with enthusi¬ asm by the members and guests. mr h. c. smith, of cleveland, editor of the clever land gazette, issued in the interest of the colored race> made a strong speech about the "press," in which he showed the importance of that factor of civilization, and promised the support of his paper to everything having in view the betterment of the colored man. mr. g. a. weaver as the best looking man present, responded to the sentiment, "the ladies." had any of the fair sex been present they must have been high¬ ly pleased with the eloquent praises given them by the young orator, and even the fifty-three men who lis¬ tened to him were compelled to give noisy evidence of the coincidence of their views with his. mr. c. l. maxwell ended the toasting by respond¬ ing to a call from the master of ceremonies to tell about •'the david jenkins club." his speech was eloquent and loudly applauded. general j. s. robinson, adjutant general axline, rev. jas. poindexter and state treasurer j. c. brown were called upon, and spoke in glowing terms of the negro's past and future. between toasts splendid music was furnished bj'tho clipper quartette, composed of messrs. john brown, ben. f. payne, george redd and walter spotswood, after their first song they were encored three times, on one occasion giving a song in which mr. redd was two years a representative. given a chance to show his qualities as a warbler. it was pronounced as fine as any professional's warbling. mr. dan f. smith, of the exchange hotel clerical force, sang the bass solo. the banquet was in every respect a success, and re¬ flected great credit upon the management. the a. if. e. church. he made his first visit to this district, july, , and bince his episcopal residence in south carolina, he has done much toward building up allen university, and has increased the number of students to three hundred and ninety. through his efforts a new chapel has been built and paid for. the following statement will show the financial progress made during the first two years of poor ben's administration: increase in dollar money. columbia, in two years, has increased $ , . s. carolina, " " " $ , . florida, " " " $ , . e. " " " " $ , . total, $ , . . " dollar money table op yearly increase. . . columbia, $ , . $ , . south carolina, $ , . $ , . florida, $ , . $ , . east florida, $ , . $ , . totals, $ , , $ , . . $ , . . increase, $ , . . for tlie support of the educational department of the church, poor ben has been laboring earnestly and "with great success financially for the last two years in the district over which he presides. the following statement will show the large sums collected at the va¬ rious annual conferences of the states of south caro¬ lina and florida: the florida conference has given for education alone, the sum of $ , . , the east poor ben's home. nwi poor ben. work, and been worthy of the appellations husband and father in their fullest sense. aided by his noble wife, who possesses such a con¬ stellation of virtues, he ha^ fitted up and ruled his kingdom with seven loving children as subjects. chil¬ dren who, in after years, when father's 'and mother's eyes are to be looked into no more, when their voices may not be heard, nor their touches felt, will then be thankful that they made much of the bountiful gifts of good parents. only in coming years can they rightly "read the expressible love in their mother's eyes, construe the gentleness lavished in her touch, the unbounded good in her firmly administered punishments, and sound the unfathomable gulf of generosity, from which fath¬ er bestowed all his favors for the cultivation of their talents and virtures. when they see their dear monuments of decay, touched by the finger of their builder, crumble and fall, and the long entombed spirits rise through the immensity of space, it is then that the child drinks with a chilling sadness the real essence of human and paternal love. the residence of poor ben is a spacious and lovely one, located at wilberforce, ohio, three miles from the city of xenia. there is an air of peace and rest to be inhaled as one approaches the long and wide gravel drive leading to the entrance of this quiet country seat of poor ben's, this tawawa chimney corner. the sharp, angular character of the architecture of the building is softened and beautified by the mass of forest trees and evergreen foliage in which it seems to repose. his home. it is indeed a picturesque and home-like place, with its broad varandas, wide door-ways and substantially shuttered windows, without any of the varied and exciting colorings of our most recent villas. on entering, you find long comfortable halls and recesses, roomy parlors finely furnished, while beaming from every wall, are the many portraits of prominent men and women of our race. passing on further, you will find yourself in the cheerful and spacious dining-room, within the walls of which, tri-daily may be heard that " over powering knell, that tocsin of the soul— the dinner bell." to the rear of this is the well stocked and kept kitchen, and adjoining store and wash rooms. the rear of the lots contains the stable, cowsheds, and the hennery; animated respectively by annie and her colt, old sallie and her rollicking calf, and little alphonso's and flossie's host of pet chickens. as you return and pass up the broad stairway, and through the upper halls, you have on either side large airy chambers, familiarly known by their numbers. on this floor are the sleeping appartments of the fami¬ ly, the spare rooms for the frequent guests of poor ben, his office and his library. his library requires two rooms in which to be shelved. every side is lined with books of all de¬ scriptions; ancient and modern, historic and religious; works of art and science. nor are these works all culled from the white man's brains,now written by his pen, but hundreds of volumes of negro literature fill two large book cases, and compare favorably with poor ben. has labored faithfully, and at all times in the field, except when his church and official engagements prevented. ' few men of any nationality in his state have at¬ tained a better standing politically; although it is un¬ doubtedly true that church duties, to which he owes much, have divided his attention, and detracted from the exercise of his full powers and abilities in the strict line of politics. yet public opinion still accred¬ its him with the rank of an able politician. his oratory is of that logical, earnest and persuasive kind, mixed with anecdote, satire and keen wit, which render a speaker popular on the stump, before the macs of people, and effective in legislative halls. poor een has been a beneficial worker in the cam¬ paigns of , , , besides each ohio campaign dating from to the present. notwithstanding his statesman-like turn of mind, he is never found making his religious calling and church offices subordinate to state or national inter¬ ests, but paramount to all else. if he stumped during the week, le preached more eloquently on the sabbath. he has been, and still is an ardent laborer for com¬ mon schools, and benevolent orders; a friend of educa¬ tion in all its branches, and few men are more fully trusted and highly esteemed in such interests in the community where he resides, and by his race through¬ out the union. much more might be written in his praise, but such is his modesty that we forbear, lest we might inflict a wound where we simply aim to do justice. the duties of the high and responsible position of financial secretary of the african methodist episcopal his home. denomination of america lie eve^ discharged with the modesty and address which has characterized him in all his official and professional callings, together with his various labors for the up-building and aggrandize¬ ment of his race. to all who know poor ben personally, or have learned of his true character through these pages, it is evident that his works will be a monument of which his native state, pensylvania, as well as ohio, and the entire united states, but more especially the a. m e. church may well have cause to be proud. ave have given you, reader, all we could glean of the life work and surroundings of poor ben during the eventful epochs in which he has annually peeped over the shoulders of time, and caught sight of the back of fifty one years, as they fled in terror from the unrolled scroll of futurity. it seems but a short time since we presented you a tiny subject, thg infant little bennie, whose existence began in the humble cot, near the banks of dunlap creek, brownsville,pa. now you recognize him in the broad shouldered man, six feet in height, remarkably well proportioned, and gracefully formed. his features of boy-hood days remained but little changed, and un¬ hidden by a beard. his temperament active, his muscles of purest steel, his brain large, his forehead high, his eyes bright, cheerful and full of genial, soul¬ ful friendship, his mind full of quick apprehension, and his will strong, followed instantly by his con¬ victions. his imagination active and creative, and by a mysterious combining of all these faculties, pro¬ pensities and acquirements, with divine assistance, poor ben. poor ben has been lifted above the ordinary level of life among us as a race. in the days of genius, when poets were born, not made like caedmon, who a mere cow-boy, void of any form of education was aroused from sleep to compose verses on the creation, did so in admirable versifica¬ tion. men may possibly have been " born not made," but in this day the true, noble man must not only be bom, but he must afterward be made. made like our subject by force of adverse circumstances, and by an imperative surmounting of every barrier, be made. when in future years, family and friends mourn the absence of poor ben's sustaining and comforting pres¬ ence, may his spirit still linger over the church to which he faithfully administered, over the campaign fields and party he defended. may his name be en¬ rolled on the heart register of his race in this republic, and his illustrious deeds become a part of our race glories, to be cherished and perpetuated. in every sphere, in every transmutation, from the cradle to the grave may his character be as free from reproach as the world now knows it to be, glowing with all th£ active virtues of a noble manhood. you have learned the prelude of a life whose author is god. on earth we are permitted to hear the only concordant and discordant chords of the prelude to that wonderful master-piece, man. in heaven it shall be ours to enjoy the grand harmonic theme of each life. indulgent reader, poor ben shall hereafter be known to you by the more familiar and dignified name, which his rank and age merit: hon. and rt. rev. benj a- min w. arnett, d. d., bishop of the a. m. e. church. under these titles, thousands greet him as an honored poor ben. that the world has produced, may have passed away without being accredited with but little of their share of praise, and sleep without a slab to mark their dust. one alexander lives while thousands are forgotten. notwithstanding true honor may not receive its full share of merit, it is worth more to possess it than it costs to get it. the fear of the lord is the beginning of wisdom, and before honor is humility. along the high way of life each one must encounter that which is in the way to meet him. he is a fool who stands still, and allows life to flow past him like a panorama; he is a greater one, who, minus honor and respect for his creator, seizes life's machinery, checks its proper action, and tries to change its pictures for others better suited to his depraved, dis¬ honored propensities. he can only distort and injure; yes, ruin them. when the destruction is complete, he must only look back upon awful shadows of scen¬ ery in ruins, the work of a dishonorable, godless life. he must plod along and let remorse teach him that it is better to accept nature as it is, have confidence in god, and in his own powers as the gift of god; better to trust in work than in money. he learns that to trust in work is to trust in strength—strength of body —strength of mind—strength of soul—self existent, original strength, which is god alone. man only begins to be strong when he has learned that separated from the essential life, which is god, he is weakness itself. weakness is inability to do, to have, to be; it is incapable of action, being or state. in god alone he lives. man is strength, if he be one with his origin—god. practical lessons. the strong man—strong in honor, strong in action, strong in faith in god,—is happy and gloriously hope¬ ful as he see his sun going down behind the hill he is ascending toward the eastern sky of life; and, as lie returns through old age to the second childhood, goes to meet the rising sun, the new day, the better life, which shall not be taken awtay. honorable, god-like action, leads a man from a lower to a higher condition in life—out of its earthy, away from its animal, mineral matter, into its air. honor and faith teach him to live above the baser elements. action and hope carry him from a plane of noble ex¬ istence to a higher, while humanity and charity, per¬ suade him to reach down a helping hand and draw up the strugling ones from the lower world. to know god as the beginning and the end, to recognize him in all things and conditions of existence—is life. to do god's will in anything that reveals itself to us as duty, whether it be simple or mighty, is faith. the being who has life and faith, however adverse his circumstances may be, need not be hungry long, nor have an empty pocket all his days. willingness and earnestness in labor.—willingness and earnestness in labor is a trait which we see most vividly portrayed in the foreign element, with which our country is flooded. they are more especially characteristic of the german and scandina¬ vian, than of the french and italian. there is no class of labor in which these people will not engage. even the women and children go to work with a joy¬ ous good will, that is seldom displayed by the colored people. poor ben. i believe that it was twickenham's great poet, that said, "get place and wealth if possible with grace; if not, by any means get wealth and place." this seems to be the theory adopted by the foreigner, the moment he steps on the shores of our republic. the black american ought then to drink deep of the spirit that fills his native air, and " get wealth and place by means of grace/' as readily as the european, and asiastic* the chief reason of our despicability is not our igno* ranee nor color alone, but our poverty. every rich black man stands shoulder to shoulder with his white brother of equal wealth and ignorance. every willing, earnest and respectable black laborer, ranks as high as his white co-laborer in the same vocation, with equal bulk of capital. the one is as highly esteemed by the wealthy class as the other. whenever a colored citizen shows his equality or superiority in every feature of mind over a white citizen, then he becomes a co-laborer with or ruler over that white citizen, and the whit© man's views become coalescent with or subservient to those of the black brother. the truthfulness of this has been proven in many instances, during the past two decades. now if this be true of individuals, it must be true of us as a distinct branch of humanity. if we, by the acquirement of morality, wealth and education, ghow our heretofore, slavery-dwarfed brains to be equal, to those who, for hundreds of years, have been accum¬ ulating brain capital, then we may pull equally with them in harness, and accomplish the great work of life. if the whites continue in the advance, and we remain as we are, we must ever expect to be poor, de¬ pendent, despised; mere dust to be scraped from the heel, and discarded at the entrance of the door to 'opu- s poor ecn. memory, would now be living lives of obscurity, with¬ out name, honor or wealth. the past history of departed worth presents no more striking illustration of unlimited success in the life of a man than that of benjamin franklin's rise from small and low beginnings to such high rank and noted consideration. yet, amid all the honor, fame and riches with which his success had crowned him, he retained that christian-like humility which teaches man not to love fortune alone, for it soon palls, nor that vain glory which only unfits him for the part assigned him. franklin proved his greatest success in the acknowl¬ edgement of his gratefulness to god for all the ills and fortunes of life, and for victory over death. though nearly a century has rolled above his ashes, yet he lives to-day a monument of prosperity. the words benjamin franklin and success are synony¬ mous. this prophetic ephitaph written by him has become a revelation: "the body of benjamin franklin, printer. like the cover of an old book, its contents torn out, and stripped of its lettering and gilding, lies here, food for worms." the ultimate destiny of the subject herein presented, cannot but be just such an example of sliccess to the practical lessons. colored american as franklin was to the white amer¬ ican of former days. a deep vein of genuine piety and gratefulness to his counselor and guide, pervades the words, actions and very life of poor ben. few public speakers have had more influence in politics and religion than he. ity close study and deep reflection, he has developed an extraordinary force of intellectual power. he is concise without be¬ ing abrupt, and, though not always eloquent, never montonous, for he appeals more to the understanding and common sense than to the imagination and fancy of those whom he addresses. we have traced his eventful life from its beginning through its many vicissitudes to the present. in placing a sketch of this man's life into the hands of the intel¬ ligent classes, whether black or white, native or foreign, we place before you a bold refutation of the many misrepresentations which have been hurled against us as a race. those who so dearly love to descant on the unatural inferiority" of the negro are either ignorant of the characteristics of our race, or else too base and ignoble to acknowledge that truth which has already been proven, and which is as inevitable as the grave. the negro, like all other races, has risen from bar¬ barism. there is naught in race, blood, color or fea¬ tures that imparts susceptibility of improvement to .one class of people over another. knowledge is not innate. the mental faculties, left to themselves from infancy, remain blank. it is development that makes the mind of man. he, who thinks that the negro labors under some incurable, natural inferiority, is poor ben. more inferior in hip perceptive faculties than the brute creation that recognizes man as man regardless of his race or color. ,, m,> *v- . " v« ■ 'c ?>;v- "'v'"v, ¥- ,. • .v',; , >• y ' ■ ' ' «v ■ \v ■.■*: ;■■■■ » sv - ,:a ■ • • %%' vj ... . ' - -v; \ •' • •■'.•• -.'.''v ' . ' ' ■ .■ v w- ■ i - \ ■ : ; : ' ' ' ■ : i ' vl>i. ' . ' ' : :■ ;vvv, t- robert w. woodruff library gift of randall k. burkett emory universr special collections & archil- copyrighted by jas. h. w. howaed, . tlectrotyped by edwin k. meyers. contents. l the maxwell family, ii. another family, . iii. the bargain, iv. the wedding, v. a bad start, . vi. the escape, . vii. attacked, viii. two happy fathers, ....... ix. a novel stake. x. the wife's return, xi. the separation, ...... ill xii. another class of slaves, .... xiii. the fugitives, xiv. pupil and teacher, xv. the judge's sister, xvi. a mother's sacrifice, xvil the teacher and pupil cross the line, xviii. william's strike for freedom, . . xix. united in freedom, preface. in presenting this, my first book, to the public, i crave indulgence for whatever errors it may contain. the incidents related are true, while the adventures of the fugitives, in their escape from slavery, are ac¬ tual facts related by persons well known to me, some of them closely related, and for whose veracity i can safely vouch. many of the events of this tale will recall to the minds of not a few some of their own experiences, or the experience of relatives or friends as often rehearsed to them. i have no desire to cre¬ ate or revive any animosity on the part of those who have survived the cruelties of slavery, but as one of that race, now struggling for a position in the nation which once refused to recognize their manhood, i trust i shall not be harshly censured for depicting a few of the milder forms of treatment to which the negro was subjected while enslaved. in commenting upon the cruelties of slavery, i have endeavored to suppress all rancorous feeling which would naturally arise in the bosom of one so closely identified with the race, remembering that this preface. book is for the reading public, and not intended to offend any one. should i, therefore, at any time, ap¬ pear hypercritical, attribute it to the over-powering sympathy which might possibly have guided my pen. hoping that you may be amply compensated for the moments spent in perusing these lines, i remain, yours gratefully, the author. the jvjaxwell family. upon his only offspring. his son, jonathan, grew to be a bright, intelligent man, such a man as a father could feel justly proud of, such a son as harwood maxwell wished for, hoped for, and prayed for. at last, the impartial sickle of death came along and relentlessly removed harwood maxwell from this mundane sphere, and jonathan became sole possessor of all the maxwell estate, including men, women, and all other goods and chattels. jonathan was a man, in- many respects, similar to his father ; he had been fondly indulged, always having numerous servants to attend his every wish, and as he sat and reflected upon what he must do in the future, his fine, handsome face was lighted up with a smile of satisfaction, for he realized that he had under his entire control hundreds of acres of richly cultivated soil, a great number of human beings, whose sweat and labor, as well as their blood, had been the means of enriching the very soil which he now possessed. he was im¬ bued with all of those ideas characteristic of the true southern gentlemen, whose education taught them that labor was degrading, and who did not believe in that part of his country's law which declared "all men were born free and equal." he had married into one of those aristocratic southern families more noted for their family respectability than their wealth, and who, being the possessors of a small estate with only a few human beings as subjects, made life a veritable hell for those few, and extracted from them all the labor they were capable of performing. a bond and free. man reared as jonathan maxwell, being the worthy son of a sire noted for his peculiarities, while he pos¬ sessed some of the same traits of his father, was strong in his own individuality. he had reached an age when liberty of thought took a wide range with him, and the points in his character were clearly displayed. he believed that all men had distinctive relations; that inordinate principles decreed that white was born to rule and black to be ruled. he believed that his betters were unborn and his equals were few. having been over-indulged, he was, of course, greatly spoiled. so assertive was he in his views that he almost denied himself that contact with the world, which draws men out. he was almost absolutely wrapped up in himself, being entirely unanimous upon the infallibility of his own conceptions. he hated the world because concession was not generally given to his haughty ideas, and because he realized his inability to flog the world into agreement; he never hesitated to crack the whip of authority over the heads and upon the backs of those around him. his society was much sought for because it was ex¬ clusive, and it afforded him great pleasure when he beheld his fellow-man writhing in the throes of dis¬ tress. some people said that he was a cruel master; others said that he was very exacting, but not cruel. his wife was one of those handsome southern beau¬ ties, indolent to a fault, and whose ideas regarding our unfortunate race were strictly in accord with those of her husband, and vet, if anything, far worse. jona- the maxwell family. than had one thing in his nature that none of the long line of maxwells was ever known to possess; that was an inordinate desire to increase his posses¬ sions. he was a man with few scruples, consequently, nothing stood in the way of his acquiring more wealth. his plantations were all in good condition, his human cattle fat and sleek. the latter, though worked hard, were well quartered and well fed. this, of course, made them prolific, and, in fact, many of them were kept upon the estate on account of their breeding qualities. things worked along upon the maxwell estate with an evenness never before known; but the master became more and more exacting, and the poor subjects more and more depressed. the field hands, of course, felt none of this hard grinding, be¬ cause their lot was unchanged. bill lewis, the over¬ seer, still held his position under his new master, and, as he was evidently a reader of human nature, as¬ sisted, no doubt, by his long service with the max¬ wells, he knew that no matter how hard he drove nor how severely he whipped, his employer would be satisfied, so long as good returns were the result. over the house servants lewis had no control, but he had often compelled many of them to submit to his hellish and brutish designs, and the features of several pick- ininnies about the plantation bore a striking resem¬ blance to his low, ill-bred countenance. among jonathan maxwell's house servants was a woman who, had she not have had the traces of afri- bond and free. can blood in her veins, and had she been reared with half the care with which mrs. maxwell, her mistress, had, would have been an ornament to any society, and put to blush many so-called southern beauties. she was a woman about two or three and twenty years of age, beautiful in form, her features were as delicate and chaste as a lady bred in luxury and refinement; her long black tresses were of silken glossiness; her car¬ riage and bearing were characterized by both dignity and grace. this woman, possessed of all the attractive¬ ness which nature could bestow, was what? no more than a mere thing, a piece of goods, a mere chattel, with a price upon her head, a commodity that could be bought or sold, with no protection for her virtue, and whose beauty only made her the more valuable in the eyes of some brute whose lust urged him to bid a higher price for her possession. this woman by na¬ ture, whatever else by law, bore a marked resemblance to jonathan maxwell. he knew it; his wife did not fail to notice it, and purcey, for such was the name she bore, also recognized the likeness herself. she not only resembled her young master in countenance, but there were many things about her which showed unmistakable evidence of maxwell blood, maxwell pride, and maxwell cleverness. before the death of harwood maxwell, purcey had enjoyed many liberties denied the other servants. she was petted, cajoled, well dressed, even richly so at times, and, except addressing her master as "massa" and her mistress as " missa," she hardly realized her ig- the maxwell family. nominious position. by some means, she had hoarded up quite a little sum of money, and had been shrewd enough to pick up a smattering of learning from hear¬ ing jonathan goi ng over his lessons with his tutor. she increased her little savings of money, and improved her learning, allof which sheconcealed from everyone. purcey's mother was, and had been for years, the cook of the maxwell family. she was a woman with traces of indian blood in her veins, but how she became a slave, history does not record. history does record, however, how harwood maxwell bought a very beau¬ tiful negress at a sale while on a trip to the new orleans slave market, brought her home to his inva¬ lid wife, and how, in a short time, this beautiful slave woman gave birth to a child which was more beauti¬ ful than the mother. owing to its fair complexion and its close resemblance to mars harwood, there was no room to doubt nor was it difficult to trace the father. there was an unusual amount of human feeling evinced by harwood maxwell for this woman and child. he was unlike thousands of his kind, who ill-treated and sold their flesh and blood—a sin he did not have to answer for. he neither abused, nor allowed to be abused, the mother or the daughter. this is why purcey grew up into womanhood with all of the spirit of one born a free being. whenever jonathan's mother, for years an invalid, demanded her husband to sell or dispose in some way of this child and its mother, an eye-sore to her, she was met with such a response from him as invariably brought bond and free. oil convulsions, tier request never being complied with. before her death, she called her son to her bed¬ side and taught him to bate elva and her daughter, purcey, without revealing to him his father's perfidy. jonathan had not forgotten his mother's death-bed instructions, though he had given her no intimation that he would follow them. in fact, while he could consistently hate his half-sister, nothing could in¬ duce him to dispose of his property, except the pros¬ pect of pecuniary gain. elva was also the mother of four other children, two boys and two girls. they were of a type entirely different from purcey, their father being a full-blooded negro. consequently, their features bore all the marks of the race. elo, whom i will hereafter describe, was the youngest of the four. emeline was of a brown-skin hue, with thick lips, stubborn hair, and very coarse features. the boys were both sturdy, manly fellows, each worth fifteen hundred dollars to his master. with that feeling born of slavery, emeline cordially hated purcey ; first, because, as she termed it, " she was half white and stuck up; " second, because of the natural animosity borne by all field hands toward all house servants. jonathan maxwell did not want to sell purcey, as she was his wife's maid, and that lady, with that attachment a mistress has for a pet dog, or bird, did not want her removed. purcey's beauty never made her foolish. she had a natural pride, but never forgot her duty to her mistress. ever bond and free. mrs. maxwell was a handsome woman, and she had no cause to fear any rival, but where on earth did one woman who was handsome, and knew it, ever meet another handsomer than herself that the seeds of jealousy did not take root ? there was a wide chasm between mrs. maxwell and her servant, but purcey appearing in such a costume at such a time, was really exasperating and outrageous to her bias views of the duty of an underling, and she had determined to stop it at once. but meeting so defi¬ ant an air from her intended victim, she wisely con eluded, though still angry, to adopt a less summary mode of punishment. her hand fell to her side, and, dropping into her easy chair, she said, imperatively: " disrobe me." purcey immediately obeyed with that submissiveness characteristic of her race. mrs. max¬ well never again attempted to administer corporal punishment to her. chapter ii. another family. the adjoining plantation to jonathan maxwell's belonged to abraham biggers. mr. biggers was a characteristic southerner, the owner of a plantation of over five hundred acres, upon which lie had fifty or a hundred human beings, besides other stock. the latter received better treatment and better care than the former. among this goodly number of mr. biggers' goods and chattels, was a family of mccul- lars, consisting of father, mother, and a prolific off¬ spring of some twenty odd children. john mccul- lar was a man about sixty years of age, and was a freeman, while his wife was the alleged property of mr. biggers, as were all of the children who bore the name of mccullar. for in those halcyon days of traffic in human stock, if the husband and father was born a freeman, bought his freedom, or was set free, by marrying a woman in bondage, all of his offspring became the property of the woman's master. it will at once be seen that, as john mccullar was a freeman, and could not be bought, to secure one of his boys upon a plantation and marry him to a healthy woman, or turn him loose—if of a licentious nature—would be a profitable investment for any man possessing such ideas as those possessed by jonathan ( ) bond and free. maxwell. a marriage between one of biggers' boys of the mccullar breed to purcey would be to him a continual source of profit. well may it be said that the ways of providence are beyond under¬ standing. here was a man who had no master, who was what was called a free man, yet deprived of the full enjoyment of all the privileges belonging to other freemen because his skin was black. this man, in his ignorance, connects himself to a woman in bondage, and adds fuel to the already burning flame of slavery. poor, deluded creature! what did he know of the wrong he was doing his race? what did he know of the untold suffering which awaited every child of which he was the father? and this was only a single instance of how this blot upon a nation's honor was fed, was kept alive, and prospered. better had john mccullar died in embryo than to have been born, to be the means of bringing into the world so many human beings to become the common property of a soulless huckster in humanity. among the mccullar boys was william, a fellow of good address, who could follow a cradle in a harvest field from sunrise until sunset, walk five miles to a neighboring plantation, dance all night, and hold his own the following day without a crack from the over¬ seer's whip. he had frequently been hired by jonathan maxwell from his master, and had attracted the at¬ tention of everybody about the place by his steadi¬ ness and his pride. william had considerable pride for a slave; he was entirely oblivious of his own another family. situation, but appeared fully to realize that the most despicable thing to come in contact with was a black man. he was not white himself, being of a dark- brown complexion, with lips slightly inclined to thick¬ ness, a high intelligent forehead, and with a speech quite free from the "dis"and "dat" of the plan¬ tation hands. a distinguishable feature about wil¬ liam was the use of words of which he seldom knew the meaning, but, by some unaccountable manner, succeeded in getting them in the proper place. the fact of his using language in advance of himself made him the beau ideal of all the females for miles around. this superior recognition led him to look with contempt upon his fellow male-associates. now there were plenty of female servants upon mr. biggers' plantation, healthy, buxom women, and of a varied assortment of complexions, from the whiteness of an anglo-saxon to the deepest black; but there is an open secret which existed in the accursed days of slavery, and which exists among the race to-day. that secret is, that a real black man is generally ex¬ tremely partial to very light women. william was no exception to this rule, as will be readily perceived, and when at one of those regular plantation midnight gatherings, where an old uncle sat up in the corner of the room with his legs crossed, a banjo resting upon his knee, head thrown back, keeping time with his foot, and calling figures to the time of the music, music which seemed to inspire every living thing, music unwritten and unsung, music which to those a bond and free. untutored minds was as sweet as the music of a strauss or a yerdi to the most cultivated, every¬ body was dancing, feet were shuffling in regular order, the ladies moving with all the imaginable grace they could assume, while the gents were as gallant as the most attentive chevalier, he noticed among the throng of amusement seekers a beautiful, sylph-like form, whose grace of motion, lovely countenance, and evi¬ dent superiority over her more unfortunate sisters completely captivated him. her every movement was closely watched by him, and there were few of his associates who did not per¬ ceive a radical change in his manner. he did not enter into the enjoyment of the dance with the same zest as on other occasions. in fact, william's mind was wholly engrossed with this unknown beauty. it was known that he was of a taciturn disposition, and the fact of his not entering fully into the enjoyments of the evening did not attract the attention of those present so much as his actions, whenever this par¬ ticular female came near him. " he would gaze after her intently and longingly. he seemed to have no words for anybody, but glutted and feasted his eyes upon the beautiful form of the woman who moved so gracefully from place to place. those unfamiliar with slavery, and unaccus¬ tomed to seeing men and women so fair in their complexions as to raise doubts whether they were white or black, would have thought the woman who so attracted william's attention was out of her ele- another family. ment, it being a difficult matter to discover evidences of negro blood in her. william could no longer re¬ strain his admiration, and prevailed upon a friend for an introduction. he was presented to her, and met for the first time the woman who afterwards became his wife. william's brilliant conversational powers and gentlemanly deportment favorably impressed purcey. there are various kinds of dancing indulged in by persons who enjoy that amusing pastime, but for original, amusing, and active dancing one should see a select gathering of negro house-servants on a plantation as they glide through a regular old vir¬ ginia reel, with their aptness for copying after the style and grace of their mistresses, combined with an admixture of original jigging, not of a vulgar, but of a quiet, decent character. there is a very great difference between an old virginia break-down, as ^dulged in by the field hands, or what they com¬ monly called "common niggers," and a select dance, as indulged in by the house-servants, or " upper crust darkeys." in the latter, there is an entire absence of the coarse, vulgar, noisy break-downs and jigs which were so common in the former. when the servants who lived in the " big house" held their social gather¬ ings, the lines of social distinction were closely drawn. even among these poor unfortunates, all deprived of their liberty alike, there existed those social ties which both bind and separate the coarse and vulgar from the more refined and genteel. bond and free. purcey's beauty and lady-like bearing could not help but command considerable attention from the colored beaux. every young man in the county knew her, and every young man in the county would have sacrificed his eye teeth, or committed some other bodily infliction, to have had the pleasure of basking in the sunshine of miss purcej^'s smiles. several had made strenuous efforts to gain favor from her, but in vain. her dignified, yet lady-like, bearing proved too great a barrier for any continued advances on their part. she became commonly and mutually re¬ spected, if not almost revered, by all the young men without being bored by any of them. she was called the beauty of the county, and, whenever present at any kind of a gathering, was the queen of the hour. it need not be said that a vague suspicion existed among these sons of bondage that purcey thought herself too good for many of them, and the suspicion was well founded. among the most determined of purcej^'s suit¬ ors, was a young man who was the property of a once very wealthy widow lady, who kept about her only a few servants of her own, hiring what¬ ever other help she needed to work her plantation. james seabury was the young man in question, and he was the widow dean's favorite servant. he was given much liberty, managed the other servants, and was trusted beyond limit. he was commonly called the " widow dean's jim." jim was of a copper- colored complexion, with straight hair, clear cut fea- anothek family. tures, and a fine physique. he dressed with great taste and neatness, and sported a handsome gold watch—a gift of his mistress, who took great pride in him. jim was naturally quick withal, and possessed a splendid mind which only needed cultivation. here, however, was the level upon which he stood with the most stunted and ignorant field hand. with all his natural acquirements, without freedom, without the letter, his condition was a regretful one, and his ex¬ cellent qualities were stunted by a cruel, unjust op¬ pression. jim had vainly struggled to force his at¬ tentions upon purcey ; he spared neither money nor wit to win her affection, and while, at times, his soul was delighted by a few hours in her society, yet all of his advances were met with a dignified but posi¬ tive check. he was, of course, without those traits of winsomeness so common to men of a more intel¬ lectual mind, and had to content himself with his simple knowledge of wooing, as he had been taught by uncle oscar every plantation had some old uncle or aunty who set up business as instructor in love affairs. their stock of information was very limited, and partook much of a sameness, but to the poor, untutored minds of those who received instructions from them, they were regarded as prophetical, and great confidence was placed in them. the instruc¬ tions in love-making, as imparted by uncle oscar, were of that character of information which makes a man better off without it. he could get so far and bond and free. no farther; then the pupil was left to talk for himself. jim had called on uncle oscar for instructions as to how to make love, and had been addressed something like this: "now, chile, when yer heart is set on a young lady, and you wants ter 'splain to her de amors affecshun of yer heart, you goes in. she says, 'ilabaseat?' you says,'don't car if do.' she says, 'kest yer hat?' you says, 'don't car if i do.' den, when you'se seated, you cross yer legs, puts yer hand up in yer serspender, dis way, fro back yer head, and say : ' miss, dar has been sumpfin' on my mind dat i hab sought prebious opportunites befor the present 'cassion to give -unlimited scope to my 'spressions. should dar be no 'jections, i desire to 'splain what hab been to me de unhappy moments when i'se absent from yer presence.' after }ter hab said dis, den wait for 'feet." this is as far as uncle oscar's instructions extended. what was to be done after the effect, james was left to decide for himself. with this meager information, arrant knight never went forth to meet his lady fair with more boldness than the widow dean's jim. as he sallied forth to call upon miss purcey, over and over in his mind did he turn the words of his tutor, until he could repeat them almost verbatim. having reached the presence of his fair dulcina, being invited to a seat, jim, without any further conversation, began to recite u nele oscar's love piece. when he came to the end of his speech bond and free. entire journey, and thus shut out the possibility of any rival out-generaling him. but not attending to these details, he was doomed to a disappointment and humiliation that day which ended forever his affec¬ tions for purcey, and shook his confidence in the en¬ couraging influence of the wine when it is red, or corn - juice after it is distilled. the camp-meeting was a large one, conducted by brother uncle belden, of baptist faith. brother bel- den was a gifted man; he was blessed or gifted with a stentorian pair of lungs, a very active and original imagination, and could read the bible with the lids closed, with as much satisfaction to himself as he could wthen open, because brother belden could not read at all. he had, however, been called to preach, and with an ever-ready obedience shown by those only who have received the call, he responded. uncle belden was one of that vast army of called laborers in the vineyard of the lord, who have never stopped to measure their fitness. fitness was con¬ sidered hardly necessary as a qualification to their labor. so nearly on an equality were the preacher and the hearer, that he who announced that he had been called by the lord to labor in his moral vine¬ yard was looked upon with holy reverence. they were all equally deprived, both the called and the uncalled. the privilege of obtaining any better knowledge of the word of god was denied them, except through the medium of such men as uncle belden. another family in him they confided ; him they honored; in him they saw the messenger of the lord bearing the only consolation which was like balm to their hearts in their deepest sufferings. from this source they learned, after all the sufferings of this life, that a brighter and more peaceful one awaited them in the life to come. it was the true camp-meeting of ye olden times, when the people were inspired with the earnestness of their work, and worshiped beneath the green trees and the bright heavens, the sweet songsters of na¬ ture responding to their earnestness. the soft, green turf upon which they kneeled and poured forth prayers, such as only their simple souls could give utterance to, was quite in place, and far superior to their houses of worship. the hymns they sang were original and quaint, the music was unwritten and in¬ imitable, the pathos exciting them to high but ear¬ nest demonstration. what a contrast between ye camp-meeting of ye good old slave-days and the sabbath-breaking, speculative gatherings of to-day! it was one of these camps jim attended, and as he had expected, met purcey upon discovering her, he carried out with avidity his determination to bol¬ ster up jiis courage with the stuff that cheers. from the well-filled bottle with which he had provided himself, he took frequent potations, until his courage was up to the point of boldness sufficient to ap¬ proach her. pureejr, dressed in the riding habit which had so incensed her mistress, resting against a tree, bond and free. and deeply engrossed with brother bel den's disserta¬ tion upon the unknown future, looked the picture of beauty. jim approached her, touching her gently on the arm. purcey turned suddenly, and discovered from his dilating eyes and the unpleasant aroma which emanated from his mouth that he had been drinking. her first impulse was to reprimand him then and there, but fearing to attract attention, she said: "well, mr. seabury, you here?" jim said, " yes, miss purcey, will you walk with me? " this invitation, coming from a young man in his cups, would doubtless have been refused by most young women, but purcey, knowing jim's sticking qualities, assented. the two left the vicinity of the pulpit, which was a rude structure erected out of rough boards and set upon four logs, and proceeded a short distance toward the open road. when they had gone, as purcey thought, far enough, she stopped, and, in a very polite manner, asked her escort what he desired. by this time; jim had become pretty well confused, and had been lost in a maze of thought as to what to say to purcey; now that they were alone, after a moment's silence, having apparently col¬ lected his scattered thoughts, he said : "miss purcey, i love you, 'deed i do, and, if j-our master will let me, i want to marry you. will you have me? " at this, he fell his knees and seized her hand with both of his, covering it with kisses. chapter iii. the bargain. jonathan maxwell was anxious that purcey should marry one of the mccullar breed, which one, he did not care. so he betook himself to the biggers plantation for the purpose of bringing about the de¬ sired union. jonathan was always a welcome visitor at the biggers mansion, and, when announced, mr. biggers was just turning over in his mind the pro ject of "putting a few niggers into his pocket," as he always termed the bartering away of human flesh and blood. for some time mr. biggers had been grow¬ ing financially embarrassed; he had parted with a number of his slaves to the traders, and others had parted from him for fear of being sold south. two or three of his slaves had made successful attempts in escaping, which had only aroused the rancorous feeling in the man, and, one da}t, he called them all up and informed them that the next time a d—m nigger ran away from the plantation, he would sell all the rest and put them into his pocket, where he was sure they would be safe. mr. biggers said, " don't i clothe you ? don't i feed you? don't i give you a holiday every christmas? well, if i do this, why don't you be obedient to your master, and be contented with your lot?" after giv- ( ) the bargain. ing them this lecture, he bought two keen-scented blood-hounds, discharged his overseer, and brought up another from an alabama plantation, a man who he said could flay a nigger alive, and was up to all their tricks. notwithstanding all of these precau¬ tions, it was not long before another runaway was re¬ ported, and as mr. biggers sat counting up his losses from runaways—for every runaway slave represented the loss of so many dollars and cents, which natur¬ ally decreased mr. biggers' wealth—and, further, realizing the pressing demands for money. jona¬ than maxwell's visit, just at this time, on business of the nature upon which he came, was not only oppor¬ tune, but a great oasis in mr. biggers' financial desert. it would, perhaps, be well to contrast the two men as we have them before us. jonathan maxwell we know as a proud, unscrupulous, designing man, stop¬ ping at nothing to make a dollar, yet he was not a cruel master, unless all men who deprived their fel¬ low-man of his liberty were cruel. abraham big¬ gers was a man of an entirely different type, being short in stature, heavily built, stub-feet, stub-hands? and stub-nose. his head was round and his neck short and thick. he looked out of two very restless and small eyes, overhung with large shaggy eyebrows while all over his countenance could be discerned^ low cunning, cruelty, and utter meanness. having welcomed jonathan, he led the way into a comfortable sitting-room, inviting his visitor to a seat. opening a drawer with a key which he selected from bond and free. a large bunch he had taken from his pocket, he pro¬ duced a box of cigars, pushed them toward jonathan, who took one and lighted it. mr. biggers did like¬ wise. he waited for jonathan to open up the con¬ versation, for it was a rule with him to talk but little and listen much. jonathan was rather impatient to hurry through with his business, for he had little liking for the man he had to deal with. it is doubtful whether, under circumstances other than his pecuniary interest, he would have condescended to pay a visit to a man of mr. biggers' stamp. with¬ out much ceremony, he made known the object of his visit. he removed his cigar from his mouth, and said: " biggers, do you know my girl purcey ? " biggers looked up thoughtfully, tapped his red forehead with one of his stubby fingers, bent his little round body forward, and said : " do you mean that devilish pretty yaller gal whom you have spoiled ? " "well, if that's the way you put it, yes." " what of her? " said mr. biggers. "i should like to match her with one of your niggers—remember, she is a fine girl, and i don't care about matching her with any on my place, so i thought if i could get your consent, we would mate her with one of the mccullar niggers.'' mr. biggers sat bolt upright, removed the cigar from his mouth, which he had been chewing more than smoking, and before answering, wondered what object the bargain. other than the one stated, jonathan could have in desiring this union. he knew that whatever children they had would become maxwell's, and he (biggers) would gai» nothing by the match in that respect. lie also feared that purcey, proud as he knew she was— her blood being so mixed with that of the anglo- saxon—might put the devil in her husband's head and induce him to run away. he did not, however, give utterance to any of these thoughts, but looked steadily at maxwell, as he said slowly, "jonathan, what will you take for that gal?" "i don't want to sell her; i want to mate her." "why not sell her? let me have her, and i'll make you a present of the first born—and it won't be a nigger, either." jonathan maxwell did not know whether biggers was in earnest or in jest, for biggers kept smiling all the time and looking straight at him. so speak¬ ing rather impatiently, he said, "biggers, i mean business, and you have gone to jesting." " never was more serious in my life. you sell me the gal or buy the boy, otherwise we can't drive a bargain." jonathan knew that when biggers came to a con¬ clusion there was no moving him. he had not thought of making a purchase, but he now saw that if he wanted to mate purcey to one of the mccullars, he must buy one of them. so he said, " which one will you sell ? " " any one of them you want. a nigger's only bond and free. so much cash to me, and i would just as lief sell one as another; all i want is the price." " well," said jonathan, "the one i hire from you occasionally is a good worker, appasej^ly sound, healthy, and active. what is your price for him? " " that's a devilish good boy you have selected, and i would not part with him for a cent less than two thousand dollars," was mr. biggers' reply, as he brought his fist down upon the table. and his little eyes twinkled. "then you had better keep him ; he is worth more to you than he is to me. there isn't a nigger on my place i would ask you that much for." " will you take two thousand dollars for the gal? " " yes, give me the money, and she is yours." mr. abraham biggers was taken somewhat aback by this offer, for with all his talk about buying the girl, he had no such intention, and if he had, all his ready resources were so intricately tied up that he could not have made the purchase had his desire been ever so great. so he began to change his mode of attack. " now look here, maxwell, two 'thousand dollars ain't a big price for that 'ere boy, for he's worth every dollar of it, and if he is anvthing like that old black father of his, he will make five times the money for you in less than ten years. besides, as a hand about the place, i haven't got his equal; never growls, ain t vicious, and only needs lashing once in awhile to keep him in mind of ins plnce." this was the bargain. one of mr. biggers' customs, which he invariably carried out, no matter how faithful a slave was, how attentive to work, or true to his master. with that ingratitude of the dog that snaps at the hand which feeds him, this cruel and heartless master found some pretext to ply the lash, often remarking that niggers would forget themselves. jonathan maxwell was quick to take advantage of mr. biggers' pecuniary condition; he well knew and fully understood the close quarters his neighbor was in. he knew the man, and he at once commenced to display an air of indifference. "now, biggers, i ain't particular about bill, any of the other boys will suit me just as well. the reason i selected him is, because the girl appears to take to him, and i don't believe there would be any trouble about mating them, if i had him on the place." mr. biggers rubbed his stubby hands together, as though greatly tickled with the last remarks of jonathan. " ha! ha ! maxwell," he replied, " that's it exactly, that's it; the gal takes to him, no trouble to make the match, two thousand dollars and he is yours; cheap, sir, cheap as bull-beef at a penny a pound," and lying back iu his chair, he laughed heartily at his own cleverness, " but," said jonathan, " i protest! two thousand dollars is too much ; i can buy two niggers for that." mr. biggers formed the opinion in his own mind bond and feee. that he was very clever. so pleased was he with his own humor that he invariably laughed when, as he thought, he was about to say, or had said, a clever thing. he did not intend to lose the chance of making a sale, and his object for holding out so long before coming down to his selling-price was to see how anxious jonathan was to make the purchase. jonathan's indifference made him somewhat afraid to dally too long, and he spoke now like a man anxious to take hold, but unwilling to let go. " so you could, sir, so you could. but the two wouldn't be the one you want, ha! ha! how is that, maxwell? ha! ha!" jonathan looked at his neighbor, and a sarcastic smile overspread his face. he was growing tired of mr. biggers, for he felt satisfied that that gentleman nad not put the price he meant to sell at on the man, bill. he was as anxious to buy as biggers was to sell, but he used every effort to conceal his anxiety. " tell you what i will do. if you have any other niggers to sell, i will take one of them; i wouldn't pay two thousand dollars for any one you have on the place." " that shows you don't know the place, and what it is capable of producing, maxey, ha! ha! (jonathan's lip curled with scorn at beingthus familiarly addressed, but said nothing.) " make me an offer," said mr. big¬ gers, "butbe liberal, maxey, be liberal." '' make you a liberal offer?" said jonathan, with a the bargain. smile. shall be liberal; i will give you one thousand and five hundred cash." mr. biggers stretched out his short legs to their full length, lay back in his chair, tossing to one side his little bullet head, while his little pea-like eyes closed alternately, his stubby hands went down into his pockets, and, in the absence of any cash, rattled a bunch of keys. his thin blue lips were pursed up, and he uttered a long, low whistle which ended "by him saying, " not by a d—rn sight! " " all right," said maxwell, as he arose and took his hat and gloves from the table. " then that settles it, the boy is yours, the girl is mine, and so is the cash." mr. biggers, without changing his position, with his eyes still performing the grand change, said, " add another hundred." jonathan paused, with his hand upon the door-knob, eyed his neighbor closely, and, without a word, returned to the table, took his check¬ book from the inner pocket of his coat, and filled up a blank for sixteen hundred dollars. this he handed over to mr. biggers, who examined it closely again and again, folded it up, and in a very bad hand wrote out a receipt, transferring the same to jonathan, and with as polite a bow as his coarse manners permitted, said, " shall i send the boy with you ? " jonathan answered, "no, send him to me." by this transaction, william mccullar became the pro¬ perty of jonathan maxwell, and was to be installed bond and free. upon the very plantation where the woman he loved resided. lie was, in fact, to enjoy bondage under a new master, where his eyes would daily behold all that was dear to him iu life. was it possible for this piece of goods and chattel to have within his breast affection? could that affection spring from the same source as that of a white man? was it born of the same material, possessing the same tendency? was it, or could it be, formed into a love pure and true, a love such as poets have sung of, and mankind is subject to? could this being, deprived of everything except the five senses given him by gocl, either by instinct or reason, reach that higher attitude of affection? such, dear readers, was the case. his ardor reached the fullest, the highest, the purest, the holiest of love. this was the affection which william mccullar, a slave, who had nothing but his soul to call his own, bore purcey. and when his master summoned him and handed him an unsealed note, directing him to deliver it at the maxwell plantation, his innocent heart bounded with joy—not that he knew the con¬ tents of the note, for had it been written in letters ten times as large, they would have conveyed to his mind no greater significance than do the characters chinese tea chest to the average man. william's heart bounded because he knew that in going to the maxwell plantation he would sec purcey; because he could go to the house where she resided, in open daylight without fear of molestation, and feast his the bakgain. eyes upon her beauty. there was but one thing that puzzled him. he could not understand why his master had selected him as a bearer of a message to jonathan maxwell. house-servants were usually employed as messengers, and he was a teamster. another thought struck him. was the note he had to deliver a pass that he could use upon his return, as he realized that it would be well into the night before he could return? this gave him cause for alarm. he feared that, returning in the night, he might be captured by the patrol, and he well knew what that meant, to be caught off his master's planta¬ tion without a pass. the patrol were a dread to all slaves. they were men employed by the master to arrest all slaves found, after a certain hour at night, away from home without a permit. when they caught a slave, his back usually got nine and thirty. they consisted of a poor class of whites, who found pleasure in such employment, often indulging in it for mere sport. they frequently, out of pure cussedness, attacked the slaves when as¬ sembled together, or having such pleasures as they found to indulge in. the patrol, consisting of half a dozen ruffians, would surround a resort for slaves, and make a raid upon it; the negroes would scatter in every direction, and those unfortunate enough to be captured were whipped for the fun of it. these ruf¬ fians did not always succeed in getting away without injury, for a broken head caused by a stray missile hurled by some slave was not an unusual occurence. bond and free. william did not spend much time in considering these questions, although very important to him. he had been directed by his master to go to the max¬ well plantation, and the prospect of seeing purcey, he thought, was worth a race with the patrol. they had to catch him before they whipped him, and he consoled himself with the confidence he had in his legs. he now set out to deliver the message of his master, perfectly innocent of his purchase by jona¬ than. so eager was he to reach his destination that he arrived there in an incredibly short time. little did he think what a doom—a pleasant doom—was in store for him. how like many of his fellow-men was "william! his position, his surroundings were not given a moment's thought. now, all his thoughts were concentrated on the one object, his one hope, his one thought was of the woman he loved ; and any pretext or opportunity that carried him into the presence of her to whom he was devoted was only too eagerly sought or accepted. the note was duly delivered to jonathan maxwell, who, after glancing over its contents, said to william, "i have bought you. you are to remain upon my place." had a thunderbolt struck at his feet and buried itself in the earth without injuring him, william could not have been more amazed. he was stricken completely dumb, and stood with bowed and uncovered head in that attitude of submissiveness so characteristic of the slave, his heart struggling within his bosom as if bond and free. the house allotted to elva, except when his cook was in the most amiable mood. when william entered the kitchen, elva, though busily engaged at her work, appeared much engrossed in thought. we have said that she was an extraor¬ dinary woman, and so she was for one in her posi¬ tion. her intelligence was remarkable, and she pos¬ sessed all of those qualities peculiar to her sex. per¬ haps the admixture of indian and anglo-saxon blood in her veins answered for the possession of these quali¬ ties. but making such an admission as this strength¬ ens a theory which was quite prevalent in the days of slavery, and, perhaps, exists among a few negro- haters to-day—that a negro is incapable of any deep thought nevertheless, elva was thinking and roll¬ ing out dough at the same time. she was the mother of five children, as we know. her husband had been sold from her immediately following the birth of the fifth and last child. after he was sold, she determined never to marry again; she would never again be guilty of adding fuel to the fire of slavery. this was a vow she took and she kept it, notwithstanding the importunities of numer¬ ous suitors. she had taken another vow, and that was that her children should be free—at least those who desired freedom—and it was this subject which so deeply interested her that, when william entered the room, she failed to notice his presence. plans had already been effected for the escape of her two sons, and she was now engaged in studying out the the bargain. course she was to pursue in assisting in the contem¬ plated escape. she knew nothing of william's pres¬ ence until she heard him mention her name. turning suddenly with the rolling-pin in her hands, she be¬ held william^ his face wreathed in smiles, bowing and scraping in an excited manner. his presence at such an hour at the maxwell house, looking "unusu¬ ally tidy and acting so strangely, rather surprised her. it was not william's custom or privilege to visit pur- cey in the day-time. he usually came at night, and was always in fear of being captured by the pa¬ trol before he could return home; it was also a very unusual thing for one of mr. biggers' negroes to be off on a holiday. william would often stop at the maxwell house, when passing with his six-horse team, and had been made the recipient of many a square meal. but here he was, at an hour in the day when all able-bodied negroes were earning bread for their masters. she looked at him with those beautiful black eyes, which seemed to ask the question her lips finally propounded. william had just come from a hard and severe master, who worked his slaves hard and fed them poorly, and this change of masters gave him so much pleasure that he could hardly realize it. mr. biggers had very strict rules about his place, especially applying to his slaves. none of them were allowed off of the place; and if they went to church, or attended any of the festivities on neighboring plan¬ tations, to be found out was to receive a sure and bond and free. severe lashing. abraham diggers' negroes, as it was known for miles around, never got more than half enough to eat. for six days in the week, they worked from sunrise until sunset, upon rations is¬ sued to them daily, and on the seventh day they fared the best they eould, rations never being issued on the sabbath. his idea was, that when a nigger didn't work he didn't need to be fed. it will then be seen that all of his slaves were left to shift for them¬ selves upon this particular day. the result was, that neighboring hen-roosts, as well as smoke-houses and corn-fields, were frequently visited. many were the complaints to mr. biggers about his thieving negroes, but to them he only turned a deaf ear. the reader might, perhaps, think that the hen-roosts of mr. big¬ gers suffered with the rest, but such was not the case. there was not a slave upon his place that dared to steal from this man; they could steal from anywhere else, or steal anything they could lay hands upon, but it was worth a negro's life to steal from abra¬ ham biggers. there were many things in the character of mr. abraham biggers showing that he was a man with¬ out principle, avaricious, conniving, and not only a cruel master, but that he was in fact mean. he bore the unenviable reputation of acquiring the pro¬ perty of his neighbors without paying a proper equivalent, and througli very questionable means. it was a custom to allow to all slaves from three to four weeks during the christmas holi- bond and free. but were compelled to eat standing. in harvest, but half an hour was given for meals, and they were driven under the whip of a cruel overseer from sun¬ rise until sun set. abraham biggers had never been married; no woman had ever as yet been won by any of mr. biggers' personal charms; so far he had been left alone to enjoy his meanness and vent his spleen upon his goods and chattels, in place of upon a com¬ panion of his bosom. you must not think, dear reader, that this man, capable of doing anything mean, contemptible, or base, hesitated to satisfy his passions with the poor unfortunate creatures who were forced to call him master. it was his custom to live with those of his female slaves whom his base desires choose. by one of them, he had been known to have three children, selling mother and children to the traders. it was a very ordinary thing for .mr. biggers to engage in this sort of business. he was once known to purchase a very handsome woman called jane, to whose quarters he would go regularly at night and remain. the woman finally gave birth to a child, and was, in a few weeks, sold to the traders. as negro traders never bought women o o with nursing children at their breast, and as the child's whereabouts was never discovered, rumors flew thick and fast that only god and abraham big¬ gers knew its fate. this was the man from whom william mccullar was purchased by jonathan max¬ well, and the man had many reasons to rejoice at the change of mastership. the bargain. when elva looked at william, she said, "well, william, what brings you here?" ''oh, aunt elva, what you think? " " i don't know, honey, but i bin thinking good bit of late. what's the matter ? " "why, mars maxwell has done bought me, and i am to live here." elva was quite surprised to hear this announce¬ ment, and said: "well, one thing's sure, child, you'll have a better master and more to eat. i suppose you and purcey will both be happy. but, child, take my advice and don't marry to bring children into the world to become slaves." william hardly heard this last remark, for entering the room from a door directly before him, was purcey, with her hands full of dishes; and in her plain calico wrapper and neat apron, her hair tucked carefully away under a pretty little turban, she cut a simple but beautiful figure. she bowed to william, deposited the dishes upon the table, extended her hand, and invited him to a seat, a courtesy her mother had entirely forgotten to extend, owing to her astonishment. purcey said, " why, mr. mccullar, what brings you here this time of day ? " "i have come here to stay." "come here to stay! what do you mean?" " mars maxwell bought me to-day, and i am to stay here." it must not be supposed that purcey had no love for william, for she had; she loved him dearly, sin- bond and free. cerely, but with becoming modesty. so when she heard that "william had been bought by lier master, she could scarcely conceal her ecstasy. she could hardly realize that he whom she loved so dearly was to be her every-day companion, or, at least, be so near to her that she would see him almost constantly. in a very calm manner, she congratulated him, and hoped he would be pleased and contented with his new home. william was soon settled in his new quarters, and the course of love ran smooth be¬ tween him and purcey, for unlike other people of the world, although enjoying freedom, there was nothing to roughen the course of these two hearts. bound in love and bound in bondage, they entwined and encircled themselves around each other, and sought that happiness known only to the unsophisti¬ cated. bond ajstd free. the woods ring with her joyous laughter whenever william pleased her by saying something clever i have said that the course of love ran smooth for these two children of bondage, and so it did. their happiness was of that sort where perfect contentment existed, where the mind is oblivious to the uncertain¬ ties of life. william had none of those responsibili¬ ties before him that would cause a freeman to think and consider of the future. he lived only in the present, he thought only of the present; and enrap¬ tured with the surroundings and the change in his situation, his mind never embraced such an idea as an end to all things. he did not have upon his shoulders any of the responsibilities of life : every provision was made for him. he was before the law an irresponsible being, simply a machine built in human form, capable of thought, but restrained from action. his master filled a dual part for him, as the masters of all slaves did. it is true that william's chief wish and thought was to have purcev for his wife, for he loved her. the only thing now necessary was to obtain his master's consent the warning elva had given was entirely lost upon him; he had neither thought nor care for the future; he cared only for the present, his future was his master's. purcey lived as much in the present as her lover. she had already consented to become his wife; such a union to her would be the consummation of her highest hope. notwithstanding her mother's attempt to discourage her from any desire to wed while a the wedding. slave, the advice, wholesome as it was, had taken wmgs at the touch of cupid, and was no longer to be felt. so much in the present did she live that she thought not of a possible separation; she thought not of the hundreds of wives and husbands as devoted, as faithful, as happy as herself, whom she had seen separated, sold—one taken by one driver, and the other by another, rent ruthlessly asunder. the holy ties of wedlock were thus severed by the whim or will of a heartless man. she had seen mother torn from daughter, father from son, wife from husband. how many had she seen placed upon the block, how many had she heard of being quietly spirited away, perhaps never to be seen again by those they loved most dear! so entirely was she enraptured, so de¬ voted was she to this bondman-lover, that if she had a thought of these things, it was brushed aside to give place to that sweeter thought, her present happi¬ ness. it was not an unusual custom for some masters to give their slaves an elegant wedding when they married, especially among the better class of southern¬ ers, and as jonathan maxwell belonged to one of the best of southern families, he followed the custom closely, allowing the widest freedom of the house to purcey and her friends. preparations on a grand scale were made. a select coterie of house-servants were invited from neighboring plantations, many of the females being attired in their mistresses' silks and satins. here and there a favorite servant could be bond and free. seen, resplendent in the jewelry of lier mistress, while a few of the males were arrayed in their masters' dress suits, in some instances worn with the know¬ ledge of the master, bat in most without it. the ceremony was performed with great eclat by rev. meredith, pastor of the church to which jonathan maxwell belonged (for it must not pass unnoticed that jonathan was a member in high standing in the church). the bride was richly attired, as mrs. max¬ well took great pains, at the solicitation of her husband, in preparing purcey for the great event. she stood there with the blushes of virtue upon her handsome face, her hand resting gently upon william's arm, while the long black eye-lashes drooped over her beautiful black eyes, which were cast upon the floor. the words of the minister sounded distinctly as he said, "what god has joined together let no man put asunder." what a hollow mockery were those words, uttered by a man of the gospel, in the presence of hun¬ dreds who did not realize their meaning, and many who had no regard for their sacredness! many of the whites were present at the ceremony, and took great pride in pointing out their servants, comment¬ ing on their value and appearance. for two days the maxwell house was kept open, the servants came and went, danced and ate to their hearts' content. nothing was spared to make the event a pleasant one. there was many a one who danced at purcey's wedding who lived to see the words of the minister chapter y. a bad start. the two sons of elva, henry and joseph, had for some time contemplated making their escape from slavery. their mother earnestly seconded them, and gave them every encouragement in carrying out their design. they had long since concluded that they were as much value to themselves as to their master, and they saw no reason why they should not be free men. they longed for freedom, and had now deter¬ mined to obtain it. they had seen their father sold from them and their mother, and they had seen chil¬ dren sold from their parents. the horrors of slavery had deeply impressed them, and they grew to detest it in all of its forms. joseph was a brave, manly, intelligent boy, who brought his master three or four hundred dollars yearly by his hire. henry was his senior by a few years, and about equally as valuable to his master. freedom to them was a boon much wished for, but, as yet, their idea as to what hard¬ ships they must suffer before obtaining it had not developed into any definite form. they knew that many had made successful escapes, while others, who had attempted escape, had been returned and sold"to the traders, taken south, there to end their existence upon some cotton plantation, or in some georgia rice swamp, with a cruel overseer to scourge them, and [ ] a bad start. where the constant baying of the blood hound froze the very blood in their veins from fear. with all of the dangers imminent from an attempt to escape, they remained undaunted and determined. freedom was what they craved for, and in order to obtain it, everything must be surmounted that stood between thern and that for which they so earnestly longed. implicit confidence was placed in elva's sagacity and foresight, her advice frequently sought, and closely adhered to. besides henry and joseph, there were five others to accompany them. the arrangements were all completed, and, by agreement, they all assembled at one of the slave cabins on the maxwell place, pre¬ paratory to starting. a fixed resolution to meet death, rather than be recaptured, was in the mind of every man. ' elva pointed out to them the north star, telling them this was the guide to all runaways, and that by following it they would eventually reach the north, and a free land. she instructed them to keep to¬ gether, and if molested, to fight to the death. it was certainly a picture to see these seven human beings, a throbbing heart within the bosom of each one, that beat and longed for freedom. they were fleeing from a servitude which robbed them of man¬ hood, and deprived them of liberty. had it not been for their natural endowments, they would have been reckoned on a level with the brute creation. standing there, with uncovered heads, listening to a bad start. leader, said, " boys, daylight's coming and we had better lay by." the entire party left the road and concealed themselves in a corn-field. dick cramp was detailed to make a reconnoisance. he made the circuit of the field in which they were concealed. reaching a little hill, he looked out over the broad expanse of corn, and saw at some distance a white bull grazing. he looked again, and shaded his eyes with his hand, thinking he was mistaken; but there grazed the white bull, oblivious to the fact that be was an object of great interest. dick did not stop to look again, but rushed back to the hiding-place of the others, and called joe. the noise he made run¬ ning through the corn brought every man to his feet, club in hand, and the excited man was plied with questions as to what was the matter. dick was one of mr. biggers' slaves, and had joined the band of heroes determined upon seek¬ ing freedom. he was as finely built a specimen of humanity as the eye ever rested upon, black as a coal, with close-cropped hair, and well developed muscles. just why a white bull should so startle him would not be strange when we consider how superstitious negroes were; but there was a great deal more of reality than superstition about this par¬ ticular bull. mr. biggers owned a white bull of very fine breed, and it was the only one of the kind known for miles, in that neighborhood. when dick saw this white bull, he knew that it was lus master's, and when he bond and free. had recovered himself sufficiently to answer the many questions with which he was plied, he said: " fore de lord, boys ! i saw mars biggers' white bull grazen over yonder on de hill. joe replied: u dick, you'se a fool; what's biggers' bull doin' grazen round here, when we'se miles from home? ain't we been travelin' all night? " " can't help it, child, dat's mars biggers' bull. go look for voursels." biggers' white bull was as familiar to joe and all the rest of them as it was to dick. to allay dick's fears, joe went to the fence, mounted it, and looking in the direction indicated by dick, beheld the identi¬ cal white bull. joe discovered more, upon a careful investigation ; he discovered that they were in mr. biggers' corn-field, and quickly concluded that they had lost their way, having simply been circling around their starting-point. returning to the others, he said: "boys, we'se in a pretty fix; here we been trablin' all night, and ain't out of sight of de old plantation." " what we gwine to do," some one asked. " why, we'll all go home and go to work, meet here to-night, and start agin," said joe. as it was hardly daylight, it was not probable that any of them had been missed from their homes, few of their fellow-slaves knowing of their intention to escape. this secrecy was always necessarv, for so many of the slaves were untrustworthy about any¬ thing concerning affairs about the plantation, deem¬ ing it their duty to tell their masters anything about a bad start. one another they knew. in view of the fact of the contemplated escape not being generally known, joe's suggestion was a wise one. all their things were hid in the corn-field ; each one betook himself to his respective abode, and went about his work as though nothing unusual had happened. joe did not make his home with the maxwells, being hired out by his master. he had some distance to travel to reach the place where he was hired. being much fatigued, upon reaching his home, he proceeded to his room in the loft of the house, and had just thrown himself upon his apology for a bed, which occupied a very narrow space in the corner of the room, when his master's voice summoned him to perform his daily chores. joe arose with aching head and throbbing heart, wondering whether the news of his attempted escape had reached his master's ears. the escape had been attempted saturday night, so that they would have the whole of sunday for a start, all the boys, except¬ ing joe, having sought permission from their masters to be absent on sunday. it will be perceived by this that they would have had a full night and a day's start before being missed. it being sunday, joe soon performed his chores, and put out for the maxwell homestead to see his mother. when he entered the kitchen, elva was engaged at her usual occupation. upon seeing him, she at once dropped everything, and stood there gazing at her son as though he were an apparition. elva had spent nearly bond and free. all of the night, upon her knees, praying for the suc¬ cessful escape of her sons. she had believed them to be, at that time, a safe distance from the old planta¬ tion. she did not utter a word, but her eyes con¬ veyed her astonishment. joe broke the silence by asking if she had seen henry. "seen henry!" elva replied, "no, honey, what does this mean ? " he, thereupon, told her of their traveling all night, to find themselves, the next morning, in biggers' corn-field. elva bent her head in silence, and, look¬ ing up after a few seconds' meditation, rested her large black eyes upon joe, saying, "son, this must be all for the best. god had something to do with this. the next time you'll get away. go home now, keep this to yourself, and start again next saturday night." " why," said joe, " we was goin' to start agin to- night." "no," said elva, "you would be missed in the morning, and they would soon be upon your track, and, perhaps, take you before you crossed the river. wait until next saturday." whether it was fanaticism or superstition, elva was possessed with great confidence in the efficacy of prayer. she had also reached a point in religious fervor which, was termed among her friends, sanctifi- cation; she felt that she was sanctified, and that god revealed to her many things to which the unholy were entirely blind. this religious fervor, or fanati- a bad start. cism, brought her into prominence among her people. when sister, or aunt, elva bowed down in prayer, everything was hushed in silence. she prayed con¬ stantly and persistently for the abolition of slavery. she knew not how it would come, or when it would come, but she contended that just as sure as the children of israel were led out of bondage, just so sure would her people be free—a prediction which poor elva lived not to see fulfilled. yet it has come. it seems almost incredible that this woman of bond¬ age should have had so intelligent an understanding, so appreciative a sense of the over-ruling power of providence, of the faithfulness with which his divine predictions are carried out. but faith in god, con¬ fidence in his mercy, and trust in his power, are all that kept up these poor creatures under the terrible sufferings through which they passed. ignorant as they were of all other things, deprived of ail light to lead their simple minds to a more complete knowledge of the creation of all men free and equal, robbed of all their manhood and womanhood, they yet hoped, trusted, and prayed. elva was one of those creatures, as we have said, possessed of splendid natural endowments, in which predominated the holy spirit. such prayers as she uttered were simply marvelous; the language with which she expressed herself, and the easy manner in which it flowed from her lips, would have done credit to many of our divines of to-day. often she would be found upon her knees in the midst of her bond and free. work, sending up one of her fervent petitions to heaven, nor was joe surprised when his mother seized his hand and bade him kneel by her side. she clasped her hands together, and her lips moved for some moments. at last she arose, joe saying, " amen! " and hastening away. he went to the village of m , and there met several of the party of the previous night. he com¬ municated to them that the start would not be made until later in the week, and that they were, in the meantime, to arm themselves better and keep their counsel. chapter vi. the escape. the point from which joe and his companions had made their unsuccessful attempt at escape was situ¬ ated some fifteen miles from the potomac river, and seven miles from the town of d . the inten¬ tion was to reach the river before daylight, and, by the aid of a guide, who, they understood, would be at the river, they would be assisted across into the state of maryland through which they would have but a short distance to travel to get into pennsyl¬ vania, when they would be in a free state at least. runaway slaves had been assisted across the poto¬ mac at various points, and directed by agents of what was known as the underground railroad to freedom- numbers of them had also been betrayed by members of their own race on both the virginia and mary¬ land sides of the potomac. at the point where joe and his companions were to cross, they had engaged the services of a man by the name of charles john¬ son. johnson belonged to a mr. kerwin, who owned the only ferry-boat that crossed the river within twenty miles of the place which they wanted to reach. mr. kerwin possessed but a very small quota of the large number of human beings held in bond¬ age. charles and a girl about sixteen years of age were all he owned. he drove, however, a thriving ( ) bond and free. business in catching runaway negroes and returning them to their masters. he had a very shrewd, but paying, way of con¬ ducting this nefarious business—capturing run¬ aways and concealing them until a large reward was offered, when he would produce them and de¬ mand the reward. by this means, he had laid aside quite a competency, -but being of a very miserly dis¬ position, carried on his negro-catching and ferrying, taking passengers over at two cents a head. instead of investing his money in -negroes, whom he feared might run away from him, he hoarded up all the wealth he could secure without making any invest¬ ments. he had owned charles for some time, and had trained him in betraying and catching negroes much as a shepherd trains his dog to catch runaway sheep. charles, whenever opportunity presented, got into the secrets of all the slaves he could; and, under pretense of assisting and guiding them safely over the river, would betray them into the hands of " niger-catchers " this is the man with whom arrangements had been made to conduct joe and his party across the river on the niglit of their unsuccessful attempt to escape. johnson had informed his master that several run¬ aways were to cross the river under his direction, and mr. kerwin, with his usual readiness, had secured the services of several men who loaned or hired them- selves'out as " nigger-catchers." but, by the guidance of some power unknown to themselves even, joe'and the escape. his companions, as we know, were kept from walking into the lion's jaws. after traveling all night, in place of being in the hands of " nigger catchers," they found themselves standing in biggers' corn-field gaz¬ ing at a white bull. when sam lowrie, who formed one of the party, related this to joe, he was, with his friends, quite over¬ come with joy. then he thought of the narrow es¬ cape from capture they had made and of his mother's words. perhaps elva's prayers for protection had been answered, perhaps not; but the result speaks for itself. the 'personnel of the little band of heroes, since a week ago, when they attempted to escape, is consider¬ ably changed. some had refused to make another effort, thinking they would be captured; while others thought their lucky escape from johnson, thebetrayer, and mr. kerwin, the ferryman, was ominous, and, being naturally superstitious, declined all overtures to make another attempt. the only ones of the original band were joe and his brother, henry. the number had been reduced to five. the change of men was also decidedly in their favor, as every man was a fighting man, and one in particular, ben myers, was noted throughout the neighborhood forhis wonder¬ ful strength. myers was quite a character, being in stature a modern goliah, with exceedingly large feet, large hands, and very large lips, the latter so much so that they interfered greatly with his articulation. his speech was thick, his language bad, and, being bond and free. fond of whisky, he was a bad customer to come in contact with at this particular time. the time hav¬ ing arrived for the start, joe bade farewell to his mother and sisters. accompanied by his friends, he set out upon his perilous journey. they traveled along the road for several miles unmolested, and when within about five miles of the ferry, they saw at a distance, approaching them, a single horseman. as mr. johnson had come near betraying them be¬ fore, the services of that worthy had not been en¬ gaged ; indeed, every precaution had been taken to conceal all knowledge of their departure. the in¬ tention was to capture the ferry-boat and ferry them¬ selves across, knowing that no one but johnson and his master, who resided some half-mile from the ferry, would be likely to interfere with them. in case of such interference, either one or both of those gentle¬ men would be easily disposed of. when this lone horseman was discovered, joe gave the order, " over the fence, boys ! " they all obeyed, leaving joe in the road. as the horseman approached, joe dis¬ covered that it was no less a person than the identi¬ cal charles johnson, the negro betrayer. he quietly awaited johnson's approach. when johnson had reached him, he stepped out in front of the horse, and commanded the rider to halt. mr. johnson did not know who joe was, and was thus at a disadvantage; as he had no idea of any violence being meant him, he drew up his horse in obedience to the command. joe ordered him to dis- the escape. mount, which command he was somewhat slow in obeying. joe, seeing that he hesitated, drew from his pocket one of those long-barrelled pistols, which he presented at johnson's head, and again commanded him to dismount. johnson looked down the barrel o£ the pistol, then looked at joe, and seeing nothing but a very wicked and determined look in his eye, concluded he had better dismount, or this determined- looking man might make a target of him, a thing he had no desire for, as he was on his way to see his best girl. arriving speedily at this conclusion, he quickly dismounted. having alighted from his horse, he began to wonder whether the man who stood be¬ fore him meant to steal his master's horse, or whether he was playing him a joke. his mind was soon re¬ lieved. joe gave a low whistle. over the fence leaped four as stalwart and burly negroes as ever his eye beheld, and whose combined value would have made the heart of any "nigger-catcher" bound with joy. joe said, as the men made their appearance: " boys, this is kerwin's johnson, and he will take us across the river." johnson looked somewhat amazed at this remark, as well he might, so positively and coolly was it made. he began, however, to set his wits to work at once. suspecting these men to be runaway slaves, he knew that if he could but devise some plan to get away from them and secure assistance, they could all be captured. bond ajstd free. assuming the guise of a friend, tie said : "boys, you lay by in de field until i go on to town on dis errand mars kerwin has sent me, and when i come back, i'll take you across all safe." johnson's intention was too evident to joe, who quickly said, "no, no, my boy, you can't mount dis hoss again, and you can't go to town until you take us across de river. i'se going to ride dis boss myself, and you will move right down to de river." at this, he jumped into the saddle, and turned the horse around. johnson was placed in front of the party, and in this order the procession moved in the direction of the river. having reached the river, johnson was asked how he was going to get them across. they agreed to give him a half dollar for each man. he saw he was entrapped, but he again resorted to strategy. he said that there was no boat that could be secured, unless they would go down to where the ferry was. whereupon, joe asked how far away was the ferry. "'bout half-mile," said johnson. "now look here, johnson," said joe, shaking his finger at the man in a warning manner, "you have got to git us across dis river, and we want to cross right here, so you just go git a boat and bring it here." johnson was again frustrated, so he said : " i doesn't know but one place to git a boat, and dat's just above the escape. here; but de man lias two dogs and i'se afraid we might git caught. ilowsomever, if you say so, i'll try and git the boat." "all right," said joe, "i'll trust you to go forde boat, but mind you, no fooling." johnson started for the boat the men stared at joe, much surprised that johnson was allowed to go alone. they were directed to conceal themselves among the rocks. nothing had been said to john¬ son to lead him to suspect that they knew he was a betrayer, and this seeming confidence partially dis¬ armed him. while he would have liked to have been instrumental in their capture, he unhesitatingly went and secured a boat, breaking it from its moor¬ ings. in a short time, the men heard the barking of the dogs, and joe said: "boys, he's there." one of them suggested that, perhaps, he was re¬ turning with the dogs to capture them. joe replied that neither him nor the dogs would return alive if that was the case. soon there was heard the splash of oars in the water; they looked out from their place of concealment, and discovered johnson in the boat alone. he whistled, and they picked their way down the bank and entered the boat. there was but one man in the whole party who had ever seen a boat, and he was the widow dean's jim. jim, having traveled considerably with his mistress, had seen many things which none of the rest had. some of my readers might just here want bond and free. to know why a man, having the privileges of jim, should want to leave a mistress so kind and indul¬ gent as the widow dean, and go out into the world to assume responsibilities of which, by remaining in slavery, he need never have known. he left a good home, a generous-hearted mistress. he knew no care; every day to him was the same. he had never been whipped, it is true, and so far as his life had gone, it had been a pleasant one; but jim, nevertheless, real¬ ized that, with all these advantages so superior to hundreds whom he knew, he was but a slave and could be sold at any time, and doubtless would be sold as a part of the estate when his good mistress should die. so he thought he would risk all the perils of running away to be a free man. oh, free¬ dom, what a boon! under jim's direction, they were safely conveyed over the river. as they stepped upon the maryland shore, they breathed more easily, although they were far from being in a free land. johnson was paid the promised fee of fifty cents a man, which he greedily pocketed. he had ascer¬ tained, while crossing the river, that the runaways did not know what direction to take. this he suspected from the start. upon arriving on the maryland side, he conceived the brilliant idea in his woolly head that he would have ample chance of carrying out his evil design of betraying his unfortunate brethern. he had done the same thing before, and he was con¬ fident that he could do it again. this is what made the escape. him go so submissively and get the boat, without arousing the owner; it was that which made him so civil and so talkative while crossing the river. the brilliant, but not new, idea which struck mr. johnson was, to land his party safely on the maryland shore, and send them in the direction of a tavern kept by a mr. nagle, who attached to his business of caring for travelers, both man and beast, the prolific business of capturing runaway slaves. many a runaway slave had been captured by mr. nagle (and his coterie of loafers who always hung about his place), and re¬ turned to their masters, then sold south. johnson felt perfectly secure in the belief that his civility had thrown joe and his party off their guard, and thought it would be an easy matter to direct them in the course which he desired. the party hav¬ ing landed, joe said : "now, boys, what road shall we take?" without waiting for any one else to answer, john¬ son said, " why, i can tell you just what way to go. see dat road dat leads up yonder? well, just foller it until you'se come to de cross-keys tavern, den you'se take de road dat turns to de left, and you'll reach de mountain." now, this was literally true, as it was the most di¬ rect course to the mountain. but there was as little show for these men to pass the cross keys tavern without being molested as it is possible for the per¬ formance of miracles by mortal man. johnson knew bond and free. this very well, and repeated his instructions over again, evidently fearing tliev might not be heeded. joe assured him that they were very grateful for his advice, and, in rather a persuasive manner, suggested that he had better take his boat and start for home. the latter said that he did not intend to return the boat to its owner, but, upon reaching his home, would set it adrift. the men began to grow impatient at the delay caused by joe and johnson's conversation, and insist¬ ed upon moving on. joe did not comply with their request, for he was determined to see johnson well out in the river before he made any attempt to leave the bank. he had already decided to take a differ¬ ent direction from the one indicated by johnson, but he desired to leave that worthy under the impression that implicit confidence was placed in his word. ben myers, to whom we have had occasion to refer before, was impatiently walking up and down the river bank growling like a caged beast. that portion of mr. myers' body which rested on the ground was encased in a very dilapidated pair of brogans, which were un¬ fastened, while on his arm he carried a very large and heavy pair of new boots. his inseparable whisky bottle was beginning to grow empty, and he was much afraid that he would be taken with a dry spell before they reached the tavern. he took off the dilapidated straw hat which covered his head, raised his bottle to his lips, and drained the last drop of its contents down his throat. smacking his lips with evident sat- the escape. isfaction and drawing the back of his hand across his mouth, he was then in an excellent disposition to growl. so he said, in his thick speech: " look har, joe, if you gwine to trabel any fudder, why don't you come on ? you'se worse den a fly 'round lasses." "myers," said joe, "dem old shoes and dat whisky bottle will git you into trouble yet. ' myers gazed at joe in a stupid kind of way, and replied: u dat's all right, i'se gwine to git dat bottle filled soon's i git to dat tabern, and i wants to git dar soon." johnson had not yet gotten into his boat, and joe was somewhat at a loss what to do. seeing that their guide was loath to part with them, he said: "johnson, i think, as we are done with you, you had better cross de river. if you dont start soon, day light will catch you, and somebody will see you with dat stolen boat" johnson knew this was true. he had no desire to be caught with a stolen boat, for if he failed to entrap these runaways, he might have difficulty in explain¬ ing his absence and the use he had been making of the boat so telling joe that he guessed he was right, mr. johnson very loathfully parted company with the party, and began to row himself back into slavery, where he would be useful in betraying those of his race, whom he would be fortunate enough to meet while running for freedom. joe watched the boat until it was well out into the bond and free. river, and turning to his companions, he said, "boj's, we will not pass dat tabern, for if we do, we may all be captured. i heard of dat place before." these remarks brought about a disagreement; henry, joe's brother, insisted on going the direction pointed out by johnson. in this he was ably second ed by myers, whose desire to reach the tavern and fill his bottle over-reached the little discretion he po- sessed. joe finally covninced them of the foolhardi- ness of such a thing, and consequently carried his point chapter vii. attacked. the reader cannot help but discover by this time that, as a leader, joe was quite a success, using a vast amount of tact and forethought for which the casual observer would never have given him credit he was probably the most determined one in the whole party upon securing freedom. his brother, henry, was, on the other hand, timid and shy, lacking the resolution which joe possessed; but, when awakened to a full realization of what was expected of him, never hesitated to perform his duty. mr. nagle, the keeper of the cross keys tavern, kept upon his place, to assist him in tracking and catching runaway slaves, besides a number of loafers ever ready to engage in this nefarious business, two keen-scented and ferocious bloodhounds, and had joe given way to the importunities of henry and myers, every one of the party would have been captured by mr. jstagle, his loafers, and his bloodhounds. as it was, they took a different direction, and traveled through the state of maryland without a single excit¬ ing incident. having crossed the pennsylvania line and after having traveled, perhaps, some thirty-odd miles, they left the road for consultation. retiring into a woods, they discussed the question of traveling by daylight; they had hitherto been traveling only at (. ) bond and free. night, and during the day had concealed themselves. it was finally decided to travel by day, as they were in pennsylvania, which, they understood, was a free state, and the likelihood of being molested did not give them any apprehension. now, could these men have had recourse to those great resources of information, the newspapers, or if they could have kept track of the political events of the day, they would have been more apprehensive of their safety in this presumably free state. this is not a record of political events, and we shall not undertake to give any detailed account of the steps which led to the enactment of a law, making every white man of the north a blood hound and negro- hunter for the white men of the south. the consti¬ tution of the country was prostituted for more than a century by the men who favored, supported, and encouraged slavery. those high in authority, who submitted to the demands of the south, in her vigor¬ ous efforts to extend and protect slavery, have long since met with the just condemnation of all honest men. the effort to make the people of the north servants to the people of the south, in aiding them to secure their runaway slaves, was only too success¬ ful ; and, when the free people of this great country found that the man holding the highest position in the gift of the nation was an abettor and sympa¬ thizer in the extension and protection of slavery, they shed many bitter tears. the fugitive slave act, which permitted a man to prove his property in any attacked. part of the united states and take it, also making the man who refused to aid in this nefarious business a criminal before the law, was now in existence. when the old world learned of the birth of a new nation, there was great rejoicing. its still, small voice was heard to proclaim that " every man was born free and equal," yet it took neaily a century and a bloody civil contest to establish firmly its first pro- nunciamento. we say, had these fugitives been acquainted with the political events of the country, they would not have been surprised at experiencing their first repulse in free pennsylvania. having already gotten some distance within the borders of the state without molestation, they traveled along in gay spirits, their minds fixed upon gaining liberty. at a considerable distance ahead of them, they saw several men engaged in building a barn. joe at once directed them to answer any question put to them as to their destination by saying, that they were bound for the springs as waiters. they ap¬ proached the barn-builders fearlessly, and, upon reach¬ ing them, were asked by one of the workmen where they were going. joe, in reply, answered, " to de springs to wait table, sar." there were, perhaps, some twenty men engaged at work upon the barn. it was what is called a build¬ ing-bee—an economical plan farmers had of expedi¬ ting work. working bees of all kinds were numer¬ ous. moving-bees, corn-husking, fruit-parings, etc., bond and free. were done by a farmer inviting his neighbors to assist him. when the work was finished, a big din¬ ner was served, and the country lass and lad would help digestion by a good old-fashioned dance. joe's answer to the question of the workmen appeared to satisfy them. among the few privileges enjoyed by some slaves was that of hiring their own time from their masters; in such cases, they were permitted to seek employ¬ ment at whatever they saw fit to engage. many of them were employed at the various summer resorts as waiters, and would travel on foot in search of em¬ ployment to their masters they paid so much of their earnings as was demanded of them, and the rest was spent, generally, in riotous living, but in a few instances was used to purchase their freedom. having passed the barn-builders unmolested, they had proceeded but a short distance when they were overtaken by a man seated upon a gray horse. the individual accosted them with a salutation. he was tall and lank, with a dark complexion, a nose much resembling the beak of a bird, a pair of exceedingly long limbs, which dangled below the body of the horse. his eyes were perfectly gray, while his lip appeared as though drawn up to meet his nose, ex¬ posing two very large teeth, and giving him the ap¬ pearance of a hungry jackal, while his dress was that of a sheep drover. drawing in the lines which hung on the pommel of his saddle, he inquired where they were going. joe gave him the same reply he had attacked. given the barn-builders, but did not get rid of him quite so easily. the rider eyed them closely, as he said: "ain't you rather early for the springs ? " joe answered: " yes, sar, a little early, but we want to be in good time." "where are jou from?" asked the stranger. "philadelphia," replied joe. now, where joe got his knowledge of philadel¬ phia, it is hard to say ; unless from the fact that he was told that they were on the philadelphia pike. the geographical knowledge of the entire party could not have located any such place. henry, who had been standing to one side of the road eyeing the rider's horse, and noticing it to be somewhat lame, came forward, and said : ' "your horse's got a ringbone." "yes," said the rider, "and i would give a hun¬ dred dollars to have it cured." "i can cure it," said henry. " then you are the man i am looking for. i will pay your expenses at the next inn, and give you twenty-five dollars in the bargain if you cure him." henry had a fair knowledge of horses, and was not making a vain boast when he told the stranger that he could cure the horse. joe was a listener to the conversation, and was afraid his brother would stop to accept the offer. he was not altogether pleased with the man's manner, as he had, generally, but little confidence in white men. bond and free. he held liis peace, however, but concluded not to allow his brother to accept the man's proposition. joe finally said, after having walked some distance, the rider keeping his horse at a walking pace: " ain't you a sheep drover? " " yes," said the man. " why? " " oh, nothing, only i thought so from de clothes you wear." this was not what joe really thought, for after having closely inspected the man, it came to him like a dream that he had seen him before. he had seen this very man purchasing sheep from a man with whom he once lived, and he knew that in addition to driving sheep he also drove slaves, that he had caught a number of runaway slaves, for which he had been well rewarded. the man on horse back then said: " don't you men want to make a little money? you are a little early for the springs, and i want about a half-dozen men to help me to gather some sheep through the country and drive them to market if you want the job, i will pay each of you fifty cents a day." joe knew that the man was only talking to pass the time, as they were fast nearing a little village where, he surmised, it was the intention of the stran¬ ger to obtain assistance and endeavor to capture them. answering for the party, he said: "no, sar, we want to keep on trabelin', and don't want to stop." whereupon, the stranger said: " well, good day," and galloped off at a rapid pace, his legs dangling on attacked. either side of his horse. they saw him stop at some distance ahead of them and engage in conversation with a woman standing at a gate. when the party got within hearing distance of the rider and woman, they heard the stranger say, u tell them to come on as fast as they can, and meet me at the lion's head." joe said: "boys, dar's trouble ahead. we can't leave de road ; dar's a town ahead, and we must pass through it, so git ready to fight." the irascible mr. myers, the gentleman of large feet, large hands, and large mouth, with a large love for the ardent, had been discontented and greatly out of humor ever since joe's refusal to pass mr. nagle's hostelrie. his bottle had been emptied for some time, and the desire for something more ardent than water had put him in very bad humor, making him very ugly. he still carried his new boots thrown carelessly over his shoulder, while his stringless, tongueless, and thoroughly dilapidated shoes partly covered his enormous feet. when joe said they would have to fight, myers growled out, " ise gwine to hab dis bottle filled at dat tabrn, if i has to walk ober de body ob some white man to git it." joe again repeated his warning that mvers' bottle and shoes would yet get him in trouble. " never mind me, honey," was his reply. " no white man's gwine to weary dese bones widout liearin' dem crack." as myers said this he took a hitch at his pantaloons, rolled an enormous quid of tobacco to attacked. mr. myers' face was wreathed in smiles, as he tossed off several good stiff drinks of old corn-juice. whis¬ ky was cheap then. a man could get three drinks of better liquor for the same amount that he has to pay now for one. myers did not neglect to fill his bottle, which he stowed away in a pocket of his dilapidated coat after drinking, they all stood upon the little balcony which surrounded the inn. the stranger who had shown such kindness stepped out upon the balcony and said to henry: "now, my young man, show me how to cure that ringbone." henry walked out to the horse, and began to display his knowledge of curing the ills of dumb animals. joe walked out into the road, and, as he looked toward the black¬ smith's shop, he saw the smith and his assistant armed with stout pieces of iron, while up the road came about a dozen men provided with sticks, clubs, stones, and whatever other implements they could procure. he shouted, "boys, look behind you!" henry glanced over his shoulder, at once dropped the horse's foot, and made a break for the road. joe took to a field, and the rest of the runaways scattered in differ¬ ent directions. liquor had so far overcome the senses of myers that he was grabbed by the affable stranger, the rider of the ringbone horse, who in¬ formed him that he was a runaway and he was going to return him to his master. myers partly opened his eyes, and was rather slow in taking in the situa- bond and free. tion. he had, however, retained liis hold upon his club, which he grasped more firmly, and said: " look, heah, white man, let me go." the rider of the ringbone horse said: ''yes, i'll let you go, you d—d nigger," and, as if to assure myers of his attention, tightened his grip on his collar. myers raised his club and brought it down on the arm of his captor. the rider of the ringbone horse relinquished his hold without being pld the second time, and that member of his anatomy dropped limp and lifeless at his side, while he gave utterance to a howl which would have done justice to a cayote. myers put off at a rapid rate, with stones flying after him, and all the dogs and men in the place close upon his heels. his slipshod shoes and the whisky he had imbibed greatly retarded his progress. he ran very swiftly, however, and, reach¬ ing a hill, he attempted to ascend it, but lost his foot¬ ing and fell. in a moment a half-dozen men were upon him; they quickly secured and bound him with a rope, and marched him back to the inn trium¬ phantly. he was placed upon a bench at the door, while his captors withdrew to decide how to dispose of him. they knew that a large reward would be offered for him, for he was worth fully fifteen or eighteen hun¬ dred of any man's money. sam blythe, a big-boned, double-jointed fellow, had been left to do guard duty over myers. blythe walked up and down in front of him, thinking he was so securely bound that he would attacked. not attempt to escape, and depended upon his own ability to prevent him should he make any such at¬ tempt. seeing the captive move about rather uneasily, he walked up to myers, and said : " see here, nigger, none of yer shines around here. if you don't keep quiet, i will thump your head. do ye hear? " myers said nothing, but jumped to his feet, with a superhuman effort freed his hands, and dealt blythe a blow that sent that worthy sprawling into the road, and made him swallow a quid of tobacco that came near choking him to death. with a bound like a deer, myers made for the nearest field and cleared the fence, having left his much-worn shoes on the hotel porch as a memento for the disappointed "nigger- catchers."' leaving our band of runaways to proceed on their journey to freedom, after this escapade, separated and divided as they now were, let us return to the maxwell plantation, and see what changes the fickle goddess of fortune has wrought. chapter viii. two iiappy fathers. events on the maxwell plantation now begin to change, as events will in life. jonathan continued prosperous and successful, the loss of joe and henry soured his disposition and aroused a spirit of hatred toward his half-sister, purcey, whom he believed had aided and abetted in the escape of her brothers. at one time, he had partly made up his mind to sell purcey, but the prospect of her giving birth to a child at an early period deterred him in his intention. had he not married her to william mccullar for this very purpose? it was not likely, then, that jona¬ than maxwell would allow his hatred of the girl to exceed his love of increased wealth. large rewards had been offered for both joe and henry, but in vain, as they had both made good their escape into freedom. notwithstanding the great value they were to their master, jonathan never con¬ descended to mention to purcey or elva his feelings, but had put them through a most searching investi¬ gation as to their knowledge of the runaways. both so successfully pleaded ignorance as to their where¬ abouts or any knowledge of the intention of the boys to escape, that he soon gave up the idea of learning anything from them. he, however, as we have said, ( ) the happy fathers. offered a handsome reward for their capture, and, in company with mr. biggers and the others who were the losers of so many dollars and cents, by the sudden and unceremonious departure of their alleged prop¬ erty, organized a "nigger" hunting party. accom¬ panied by several blood hounds, they set out in speedy but useless pursuit. the runaways had such a start that they were far out of reach of their pur¬ suers, even before they got under way. the party returned home in a few days, after the unsuccessful effort to capture the runaways, and jonathan max¬ well settled down to make up for the loss of joe and henry as best he could. mr. biggers cursed louder and drove his slaves harder, while their meager rations reached almost ad infinitum. william and purcey enjoyed life, happy in each other's society, indeed, forgetting all about the hard¬ ness of their lot, and utterly oblivious of the fact that nothing of them was free except their souls. their time, their bodies, it seemed their very happi¬ ness, belonged to jonathan maxwell; and they must act in obedience to his commands whenever he saw fit now to exercise his prerogative as master. he believed within his heart that purcey, or her mother, had been instrumental in the escape of the two boys, and he concluded that to leave william upon the place subject to such influence would ultimately re¬ sult in his escape also. not wishing to sell him just at this time, he resorted to the next most profitable bond and free. thing, and hired him out some distance from lome to a severe master. jake withers, to whom william was hired, was the rival of abraham biggers in meanness and cruelty. he was known to be so conniving and penurious as to have picked up a few grains of wheat found in the field after cutting, and put them into his pocket until he reached the granary. he was known to have kicked a little negro child over a four rail fence, because of its plucking a few flowers out of his garden. he had not as much feeling for a negro as he had for a mule. he allowed those about him no holidays. over those whom he hired from other masters he had complete control, and those whom he owned belonged to him, in his estimation, body and soul. william was now made to feel, for the first time, what it was to be mar¬ ried and yet have no wife. he was several miles from purcey, and could only visit her after finishing his work at night, and was compelled to be back at his post before day-break. the first bitter dregs of his cup of woe he began to taste. his wife, night after night, lay awake watching the hours, while he obtained a short rest preparatory to his return to his labors. more than a year had now passed since their marriage, and providence saw fit to bless, or, in a sense, curse them with a son. william, entirely un¬ mindful of his situation, felt that natural pride ex¬ perienced by most fathers over their first-born. about the same time, jonathan maxwell also be¬ came the father of a son ; but his happiness, having the happy fathers. wealth and freedom, did not exceed that of william mccullar in poverty and bondage. purcey became the nurse of jonathan's offspring, as custom decreed. no lady of southern blood ever condescended to raise her own child. on the con¬ trary, it was invariably entrusted to the care of a negro nurse, who suckled it from her breast with all the tenderness of a mother; and she was expected to rear and mature with care the very child that would, perhaps, some day raise its hands to stripe her back, or set a price upon her head, and sell her as it would any other chattel. it might have been among the many providential things for this child of jonathan maxwell to have suckled some of the milk of human kindness from the bosom of this black nurse. it seems that nature itself would have engrafted some of the seeds of human love for her who so tenderly nour¬ ished it, watched over it, and relieved its mother of all the cares of its early childhood. but this was custom, this was duty: what purcey did for jona¬ than's child elva had done for jonathan; and thou¬ sands of the most cruel slave-holders have been reared at the breast of those whom they afterward made suffer the tortures of slavery. there have been those in this world who have been called in- grates, but what shall we call those who fed upon the bosom of a human being, suckled themselves into existence, were nursed with tenderness and care, then striped the back which bent so often over them in anxiety? bond and free. william mccullar, the slave-father, gave to his child the promise of an inheritance of servitude, of serving a living master, deprived of manhood, de¬ prived of knowledge, with no hope for the present, and in future life, perhaps, to curse bittterly the mother that gave him birth; while jonathan max¬ well, the free father, gave to his child the inheritance of a rich estate, knowledge, bright hopes for the future, with possibly no care for the past such are the circumstances under which these two children enter the world. but an over-ruling providence guided the footsteps of the one, while an over-ruling passion directed those of the other; and their lives were as entirely diversified as was their birth. it will be re¬ membered that elva had interposed but a single ob¬ jection to the marriage of purcey, and when you re¬ member the excellent judgment of the woman, her objection will not be looked upon as unreasonable. objections are often raised by parents against their daughters' entering into the bonds of matrimony, and often are they well founded; but in few instances are they respected. with elva it was no vain thought. it was not because she feared an unequal match, but, as she told william when he informed her of his purchase by jonathan maxwell, that she detested the idea of such a marriage, because his children would be born slaves. this is why she objected; and from the day it took place, she constantly kept before purcey the horrifying idea of master jona¬ than's changing disposition, which might lead to his the happy fathers. separating the mother and child by selling.one or the other. and well she might, for it was not long before a most unusual change took place in the max¬ well household. mrs. maxwell's health began to fail her after the birth of her son, and the family physician directed that she travel. purcey was selected to accompany her, and attend young master archie. this was the command, and nothing was left her but to obey. her child, her husband, and her mother—all had to be left that her mistress might find restored health in another clime. all preparations were made for the journey, and bidding farewell to all that was dear to her, purccy set out upon the journey with her mis¬ tress. mrs. maxwell's failing health did not improve her disposition, which was none of the sweetest at best, and the many annoyances she gave purcey caused the girl to shed many a bitter tear. while upon this journey, she determined, upon her return, to make her escape with her husband and child into freedom. master archie grew into a bright-eyed, yellow- haired, spiteful little fellow, developing much of his father's haughtiness and pride, and all of his mother's hatefulness. to his nurse he was impudent, and often, in a passion, struck her with his little list, an offense for which purcey dared not correct him, and at which his mother only laughed. they were absent for many months, which seemed to purcey years, and when mrs. maxwell, feeling that her health was bond and free. greatly.improved, set her face toward home, purcey's heart leaped for joy. her long separation from her husband and child made her feel keenly what misery would be hers should either be sold. consolation came to her, however, under the present circum¬ stances, as a sweetened draught, from the fact that she would soon see them. during her long absence, she had no communica¬ tion whatever, from her child or husband. no letters had come to assure her of their health and love, not even a word. for while purcey could manage to write intelligibly herself, she knew that there was no one at home to read her letters to william. who can imagine what this feeling must be, separated from those we love most dear, knowing that the means of communication are accessible, but from the want of the knowledge to interpret one's thoughts and feel¬ ings, to be comparatively consumed in the fire of de¬ sire for a message, but a word, to receive or give, but a single sign of the inward passion ! confine a person in prison where the custom deprives him of intercourse with the outside world, he gradually submits to such restriction; but when left to enjoy the open air, to gaze upon the brightness and the beauty of nature, free to breathe the balmy air of heaven, yet unable to communicate with those he loves, there is a suffering which words cannot depict this was one of the few sufferings through which purcey passed. strong and proud as she was, it weakened her and brought her to a keener realiza- bond and free. desire, a partition had been erected in the gallery of his church, through which holes had been made, and the black servants of his own, as well as those of many of the members of his church, assembled, and listened to the glowing words of the great divine. when the audience behind the partition was very large, rev. dr. joseph partington always addressed a word to them concerning their obedience to their masters. this great moral duty he never failed to impress upon their hearing, and there was no passage of the scripture that he ever quoted so expressly for their benefit. the owner himself of some ten or fifteen human creatures, whom he took great pains to deprive of the least opportunity to learn a letter or see a book, he held them down to a rigid observance of his orthodox views of religion and slavery. eev. joseph believed that the institution of slavery was of and by divine consent. whether he believed it or not, he preached it and taught it. believing this, whether honestly or not, he was compelled to put in practice the most stringent rules for its support and advancement. he was not unlike ministers who are never at loss to find a passage of scripture in support of the most radical of views. he believed that when a servant disobeyed, that servant should be punished, the punishment to be in¬ flicted according to the judgment of the master. consequently, whenever rev. joseph partington's servants disobeyed him, or parted from his extremely orthodox views, he never punished them himself. the happy fathers. that would be lowering his ministerial dignity; it would probably discompose his mind in the composi¬ tion of a sermon on the sufferings of christ for man¬ kind, or, "letgodly love fill thy bosom." no! rev. joseph never punished any of his servants. the nearest approach to summary punishment he had ever been known to administer, was to hit one of his female servants so hard a blow in the mouth as to cause her teeth, to cut "through her lip in such a manner as to disfigure her for life; but this was done in a moment of passion, and was a pardonable offense. no! rev. joseph never punished that is, he never performed any such laborious task himself. he, however, approved of it. he believed in the appli¬ cation of the lash to the back of a negro as sincerely as he believed in no "justification without faith," or the spirit moving from within. so when any of his servants were to be punished, he always sent the recalcitrant to the town jail with a note couched somewhat in these terms: " strike bearer on naked back nine and thirty blows." db. pabtington. n. b. well laid on. this was the manner by which rev. dr. partington eased his conscience and enforced discipline among his servants. his tender and humane heart could never have suffered to see a human being writhing under the sting of the lash. it would have reminded him too much of him of whom he preached so much, whose untold sufferings for all mankind the reverend : bond and free. portrayed with such earnestness and sincerity. such was the father of mrs. maxwell. the woman was raised from childhood to think, to act, to understand, that a negro possessed none of the higher attributes of mankind. then, let us make whatever allowance we can for her utter disregard of any feeling of anxiety displayed by purcey. it seems to be a woman's province to bear up under the greatest sufferings, particularly in the presence of those whom she knows have no sympa¬ thy for her. purcey had been with mrs. maxwell long enough to know that there was no sympathy, or a touch of kindness for her in the bosom of her mistress. during the many months they had been absent from home, not once had she ever given the slightest intimation that she knew purcey had a husband and child, nor would purcey make any in¬ quiry of her, thinking, perhaps, it was useless, as she did *not suppose anything would be said about her loved ones by jonathan. she controlled herself as best she could, praying constantly that the nights and days might be shortened, and the time speedily come for her to return home. it did come at last, and it seemed that each fleeting hour bade her hasten. chapter ix. a novel stake. when jonathan's wife left home to benefit her health, he, as a true southern gentleman would do, gave himself up to such pleasures as men find in one another's society. he attended several card parties, in¬ dulged in a little of that great american game of draw poker, and passed the time partly with rod and gun, just as it suited his fancy. jonathan was an excellent horseman, and had taken the brush at many a fox hunt. he had accepted several invitations to stag parties, and had entertained several gentlemen at his own residence. his social circle was confined to a select few, for we know that jonathan maxwell was a man who did not condescend to take everybody upon a level with him, or seek social prominence. one of his most particular friends was judge jere. coleman. judge coleman was what might be called a man of the world; he was, it is true, of aristocratic birth, and had been possessed of immense wealth. he had traveled extensively through europe, had represented one of the virginia districts in congress, where he made for himself an enviable reputation as a warm defender of the extension of slavery into the territories. being a large slave-holder himself, and an able lawyer, his advocacy of spreading the evil of slavery won for him such laurels that, when he re- [ ] bond and free. turned home to his constituents, there was no posi¬ tion within their gift to which they would not have elevated hirn. he however, contented, himself with an appoint¬ ment to the highest judicial position in the state, which position he filled with credit, until a disposi¬ tion to travel possessed him, when he resigned his position and set out on an extensive tour through the old countries. while away from home, he spent much of his time and much of his money at the card- table. there was not a place in europe noted for its gaming attractions that judge coleman had not visited and tried his fortune against the uncertainty of cards. monte carlo, brighton, baden baden, and all of the famous gaming places of foreign countries were visit¬ ed by him. he returned home, after a long absence, broken in health and in fortune; but despite this, he had lost none of his southern chivalry, and his name was still judge coleman. so, from his former aristo¬ cratic position, and the desire of his friends to respect him for what he had been, he still had access to those exclusive southern circles in which only gentlemen of honor were recognized. jonathan had always ad¬ mired the judge and thought that judge coleman ad¬ mired him. he saw nothing objectionable in selecting a man of this type for a close companion, who had onlv run through a fortune which his father had made, and was given to those vices so common to men of judge coleman's calibre. judge coleman still had the name which, at one time, to mention was to make men un- a novel stake. cover with respect. he was honorable and chivalrous, and, all in all, was a "deuced good fellow," as jona¬ than would often remark. judge coleman, jonathan maxwell, and a party of friends had withdrawn from the dining-room of the maxwell homestead to the drawing-room, after a sumptuous dinner, for the purpose of enjoying a smoke and indulging in a social game of draw poker. southern gentlemen have ever been, and, perhaps, will be ( until that particular class of americans known by this distinctive appellation become extinct) pas¬ sionately fond of poker. in the flourishing days of slavery, the steamboats, the railroads, the summer resorts, the winter resorts, all furnished retreats for these gentlemen to engage in this favorite pastime. many black men and women, oftentimes children, have changed masters over the card-table. there was nothing strange about this, a negro being just as good collateral as a government bond, a horse, or a gold watch. he had his value, was transferable, and was always a ready sale, easily converted into cash. so when a southern gentleman ran short of cash at the card-table, it was no unusual custom for him to put up his servant as collateral. a person can go and receive money on an old coat, or a watch, or any other thing of value. why, then, should a man refuse to accept as a bonus a human being that was actually so many dollars and cents ? it must not be supposed that a man who had paid so dearly for his experience as judge coleman had bond and fkee. was not very clever with the cards. such a supposi¬ tion would not only be unjust to the man, but would make false the assertion, " experience is the best teacher.'' he was indeed very clever, and before that social game ended, he had won a large amount of money, besides the husband of purcey, william mc- cullar, and it happened in this way : the entire party had indulged very freely in wine, both at and after dinner, and when they seated themselves at the table to play a social game, they grew rather reckless as to the stakes. after jonathan had lost what money he had about his person, he said : "judge, i'll play you for any nigger i have on the place, against your winnings." "it's a go," replied judge coleman. the game was played amidst much merriment, and the judge, of course, won. jonathan told him to se¬ lect whatever servant he wanted, and the judge, not. to be too particular, selected the negro man who had performed the service of waiting upon them. this man was william, who, having finished his service with the master to whom he had been hired, had been installed waiter in his proper master's house. judge coleman had really no use for a servant, nor had he any intention of keeping one. he had possessed a large number of them at one time, but then he was a large land-owner, and made good use of them. there was but one use he could make of william, and that was to convert him into cash. so he said to jonathan: " maxwell, i don't want that nig- a novel stake. ger, give me a thousand dollars and keep him." if jonathan maxwell had not been under the influence of liquor, knowing the man as we do, we should naturally have thought that he would have accepted this offer; but it must also be remembered that a word passed by a southern gentleman, whether at the card-table or the counting-table, was considered as binding and irrevocable as the word of man could be. jonathan maxwell, under the excitement of a game of cards, had chanced off, in round cash, two thousand dollars. to be sure it was only a poor black slave, a husband and a father, a man with a heart and soul, a being that could feel, could see, could taste, that felt the same cold and the same heat his master did. but what cared this master, what thought had he of a slave possessing such sensibilities! he only knew that he had bought him ; the law of the land protected him in his ownership, and made his title as clear to the possession of this human being as it did to his acres of land. and when judge coleman offered to return the man, not out of sympathy for him, but be¬ cause the cash would be more advantageous, not be¬ cause he did not know that he could obtain that amount in any slave market, or from any negro tra¬ der, but because lie thought his host would accept back, after a second consideration, the impulsive wa¬ ger. jonathan was obdurate, and insisted, as the judge had fairly won, he should take the man. william had no knowledge that he had been bar- bond and free. tered away to a new master, and perhaps it was all the better he did not, for, having been separated from his wife for months and months, the probability of never seeing her again would have, perhaps, driven the poor fellow frantic. judge coleman remained as a guest at the maxwell house, consequently noth¬ ing was said to william about the change which would take place when the judge's visit terminated- a fear that he might attempt to run away was one reason, and as the judge had not bought him in a very business-like manner, he did not like to confine him in the town jail, as was the custom when buy¬ ing up slaves. since the departure of mrs. maxwell, elva had the entire oversight of the house. she was allowed, or took, many privileges that were denied to the other servants, which gave her an opportunity to know much of her master's doings. she presided over the culinary department, where she permitted no intru¬ sion, for some reason, jonathan had for her a pe¬ culiar respect or awe. and why did jonathan maxwell have this peculiar feeling? had not his mother, upon her dyingbed, taught him to hate her? did he not own her as absolutely as any slave upon his place? was he not fully aware that this woman had given birth to a child of which his father was also the father? then why should he have this pe¬ culiar feeling? was it because he had nursed at her breast? was it because,in his-childhood days, this slave-woman had humored his whims, nursed him a novel stake. tenderly, and, when almost at death's door with a dan¬ gerous fever he had contracted, she, by tenderness and care, had brought back the flickering flame of life which had at one time almost left him, or was it be¬ cause he had inherited this awe or respect from his father? there are certain innate qualities which men inherit; whatever other qualities they cultivate, traces of the hereditary are evident. jonathan's father was one of a numerous class of southern slave-holding gentlemen who carried on a criminal and illicit intimacy with his slaves. this brutish desire might lave been the incarnation of satan, or the outcome of a curse, put upon them by an overruling power, that they should bruise and maltreat their own flesh and blood. whatever it was, we shall give jonathan's father credit for desist¬ ing, as we have said before, from abusing the woman who was both his slave and his mistress. elva had always held a wonderful influence over the father of jonathan. he could never withstand the awful gaze of those lustrous black eyes. the secret of the influence which she held over the father died with him; but the son inherited its effect without fully realizing the cause. elva made it her business to watch' everything that occured about the maxwell house, not for her master's benefit, nor to be a tale-bearer to her mistress, but for her own satisfaction. she slept in the house, but had made it a rule for years never to retire un¬ til every person in the house had done so. often, bond and free. with her stealthy step, had she stolen through the house and listened at her master's door. more than once had young master jonathan come home late at night, partly intoxicated, and found her crouched in a corner upon the steps close to his father's door. when questioned as to what she was doing there, she would invariably answer, "waiting for you, massa johnnie." the woman seemed scarcely ever to sleep. come in or go out whatever hour you would, those large, black, speaking eyes could be seen, open, undimmed, and unwearied. what were the temptations that entered the woman's mind, when the man who owned her body and had dishonored her slept in apparent calm repose ? often was she tempt¬ ed to redden her hands in his blood and attempt to free herself and all of her children from bondage. but when she thought how useless such a thing would be, that although she might kill her master and no suspicion rest upon her, she decided to use greater discretion; though had jonathan's father been the hydra-headed monster of slavery, this woman, in her fanaticism, her religious fervor, would have easily been worked up to believe herself the saviour of her race, and would have strangled the mon¬ ster without a thought of the consequence. elva never resigned her watchfulness after the death of her old master, but continued it; and had jonathan maxwell taken a second thought when he lost wil¬ liam mccullar, his slave, at a game of cards, he might have known that the transaction was seen and heard a novel stake. by this astute woman. elva evidently felt it her busi¬ ness to know everything that occurred in that house, and she did. when the gentlemen retired to the draw¬ ing-room, elva knew what it was for. hurrying through her work, she reached the door in the midst of their merriment, and heard the words which trans¬ ferred her daughter's husband to another master. she also heard jonathan refuse to buy him back. stag¬ gering to her feet, almost overcome by what she heard, she returned to the kitchen, fell upon her knees, and prayed for purcev's return. chapter x. the wife's return. elva poured out her soul to the almighty that her daughter might return before william was taken away. rising from her knees, she bethought herself as to what was the best to do in the premises. she had no idea when william would be taken away by his new master, or had she the remotest idea when her mistress would return; she knew, however, that something must be done and that at once. she could do but one thing, and that was to urge william to seek freedom. then she thought that such a course would be next to impossible, as she could never per¬ suade the man to leave without seeing his wife. their child, under such care as elva could bestow upon it, had grown into a handsome little mulatto fel¬ low, with straight black hair and eyes that fairly re¬ flected those of his mother. he was kept cleaner and neater in his dress than the other children, and his play-ground was the kitchen, where he was constantly under elva's eye. she knew that should william leave for a free land without seeing his wife, his chances to see them again would be better than if he remained to be removed away, and, perhaps, sold to a trader and then be taken to the south. here were two evils facing her, and she was puz- rin] the wife's return". zled as to which one to avoid. she had not as yet mentioned a word to william of his dangerous po¬ sition, but time was flying; and she was still unde¬ cided as to which course to pursue. once more she fell upon her knees and appealed to the almighty for guidance, and she had scarcely finished her prayer when the bell rang summoning her to the drawing- room. she arose and answered the call. she had just time to wonder what her master wanted, when she reached the drawing-room door. pushing it open softly, she discovered jonathan and judge coleman engaged in conversation. standing, almost transfixed, with her hand touching the door, she heard the judge say: "maxwell, i think i shall leave you to-morrow." jonathan said: " i am sorry to part with you, old fellow, but if you will go, all right. i shall expect you down during hunting season, when you won't have to be entertained by the host without the hostess." "yes," said the judge, "i shall come. i want, however, to leave this bov here a few days." jonathan replied,—t; no, that won't do. you must take him along. his mistress comes home with his wife, in a few days, and the devil would be to play should they have to be separated," this touch of feeling was the first evidence given by jonathan that he felt any reproach over what he had done. " well, as you like it, maxwell. these creatures bond and free. do go on terribly, sometimes, about being separated, just as though they could not take up another and be just as well satisfied." elva waited to hear no more. she pushed open the door, entered the room, and stood before her mas¬ ter and his guest. " massa, did you ring ?" she said. "yes, elva, your mistress and master archie will be home day after to-morrow. see that everything is in readiness for them." she made a bow, and left the room. she went directly and sought william, quickly in¬ forming him of everything, and telling him that he must fly, he must run away that night, or, perhaps, he would never have another chance. when wil¬ liam heard the startling news of his transfer, of the intention to remove him the next day, he knew not where, certain that it would be, if anything, to sla¬ very more absolute and binding than that he was now in, his first thought was of his wife whom, perhaps, he was destined never to see again. this was indeed sad to contemplate ; but he also thought, sad as it was, that by taking this step, securing freedom, purcey would be induced to watch her opportunity to break her shackies and one day join him in a free land. strong and stout-hearted as he was, he quailed before the inevitable separation, and in a choking voice he said : "aunt elva, must i go wiaout seeing purcey? must i leave the child ?" the wife's return. "yes," said elva, "you must go to-night, and you must travel fast and cover every track until you reach de river. don't stop night or day until you are safe in de land of freedom." william mccullar, though a slave, was a noble- hearted man. he was brave and courageous. had he have thought that there was the least possible chance of remaining and successfully resisting being taken away by his new master, without seeing his wife he would have fought to the last. he was possessed of sufficient intelligence to know that any attempt at resistance would be utterly useless, when every slave upon the place would be called upon to assist in subduing him, and the law of the land would con¬ done his death should they see fit to administer such a penalty. with all these odds against him, he turned to elva and said: " massa maxwell has sold me ; but i'll remain here until purcey comes back, or be tooken away dead." " now, honey, there's no use talking that way. you must either run away at once, or be taken to god knows where." "but," said william, "'sposing i am captured; wouldn't i be sold to the traders anyhow ? " " but you won't be captured," said elva william shook his head doubtfully. they stood in silence for a few moments, when the door opened and william's bright-eyed little son came running in, and, as if by instinct, wrapped his tiny little arms around his father's legs and looked up into his face. the bond and free. father bent down, lifted the child up, held it at arm's length, drew it to his bosom, and kissed it. the child threw its tiny arms around its father's neck and laid its head against his face. " poor chile," said william, " your poor father must leave you, maybe never to see you agin. ' the child hardly realized what its father said, but tightened its arms around his neck. here was sim¬ ple, pure affection—this slave-father, pressing to his heart and bestowing what might be a last farewell and blessing upon his own flesh and blood, which by law was the common property of another man. should we wonder that william questioned the right of an¬ other man to separate him from the wife and child of his bosom ? he put the child down and the tears almost blinded his eyes. " no, aunt elva," he said, " i can't go. i won't go until purcey comes. i'll go to mars jonathan and ask him to let me stay just one day, and then i'll go ; but i won't stay, elva. dey can take me as far south as dey please, but i'll run away the first chance i git." "you can go to mars jonathan, honey, if you want, but it ain't no use; he says you must go before mis¬ sus and purcey comes home." this discouraging piece of intelligence did not alter william's resolve to appeal to his master. when the dinner hour arrived, he waited on the table, as was his duty, and during the meal jonathan said to him : " bill, after dinner you get your things together and the wife's return. prepare to go with judge coleman. i have sold you to him." william did not show any evidence of surprise at this announcement, but, standing before his master with a server in his hand, he said: " massa, can't i wait until missus comes home with purcey ? please don't send me away widout seeing her." and while he spoke, every limb trembled and the dishes on the server shook until there was imminent danger of his letting them fall. jonathan maxwell looked at the man without a change in his cold, hard features, and without a thought of what his own feelings would be were he told then that he must leave his own dear wife and son, and go he knew not where after being separated from them for months, and yet within but a few hours of the time that he could fold them to his bosom. this he did not give a thought, and, of course, had no sympathy for the slave's appeal. when william had finished speaking, jonathan waved his hand and pointed toward the door. william knew what this meant, and, with tears in his eyes nearly blinding him and a great lump in his throat nearly choking him, he passed from the room, entered the kitchen, and fell at elva's feet exclaiming, it's use! it's no use ! " before elva could utter a word, the wheels of a carriage were heard upon the gravel driveway. elva ran to the window and saw, seated by the side of the driver, purcey, while young master archie's haughty face was pressed against the window. the carriage chapter xl the separation. purcey was, as might be supposed, highly elated upon her return home. she laughed, she cried, by turns. her heart was filled with unutterable joy; everything seemed lost to her, for the time being, except her excessive happiness at her return and the sight of those she loved so dearly. there had not been a single circumstance which had conveyed to her a message, a word, as to their existence, during her absence from them. had she have received one word, one little message, from them, perhaps she might not have been quite so demonstrative now upon meeting them. let us not think, because she fell upon her husband's bosom and wept like a child, that it was the overflow of passion in which women, as a rule, are apt to indulge. this heart, filled only with the purest of love, inexpressible joy, must soon be rent with the cruelest and bitterest grief. purcey did not know, as she stood there encircled by her husband's arms, that a cruel and relentless man, her master by the law of the land, had already taken that husband from her by a mere word. she did not know that that embrace would be, perhaps, the last she would ever receive from lier husband. william did not know how to break the sad news [in] bond and free. to her. illiterate though he was, his heart was filled with true, manly love and real, human feeling. the husband and wife thus stood clasped in each other's arms, and it seemed as though no power could sepa¬ rate them. when purcej recovered herself, she looked into his face with her beautiful black ejes; she saw that that face, black though it was, wore a troubled, anxious look. she said : " my husband, ain't you glad to see me? " "glad?" said william, "glad? more, chile; i can't spress how i feel." " what makes you look so sad ? " " 'tain't 'cause you'se come home, for that's what i been praying to de lord for. no, 'tain't that, but you'se come, and—and—" poor fellow! he could say no more. something rose in his throat and al¬ most choked him. he reached his hands toward his wife, exclaiming, " it's no use, it's no use, purcey! i must go." " go where ? what is it ? " said purcey. she grew greatly excited, but could not divine her hus¬ band's meaning. "speak, william, tell me what you mean." the black eyes looked at him in an im¬ ploring manner, but william saw them not, nor did he appear to hear her words. he was now pacing the floor still exclaiming, " its no use! its no use! " purcey could bear this no longer. she threw her¬ self upon his neck, exclaiming: "tell me all, william. what has happened? what have you done ? why must you go ? where must the separation. you go ? tell me ! tell me!'' this seemed to call the man's senses back, and when he saw how excited his wife was, he tried to pacify her by telling her that he would come to her again as he had to get judge cole¬ man's horse ready for him. purcey would not listen to this. she insisted upon knowing the cause of his strange actions, and clung to him all the more. wil¬ liam saw that there was no use concealing the truth longer, as it made her almost frantic with excitement. the man's actions were certainly strange. purcey did not expect to find her husband anything but happy upon her return ; she had not given a thought to such a thing as his being separated from her far¬ ther than a few miles. neither had she expected to find him at the maxwell house, as he was always hired out since the escape of her brothers, and she little knew that had her arrival been a day later, she would never have beheld him again. no wonder, then, she insisted upon knowing the meaning of william's strange words. could she have guessed their meaning, could she have realized what pain their explanation would cause her, she might not have per¬ sisted so. but she must, she would know. william passed his arm gently around her as he said : " chile, ain't nobody told j ou 'i'' "told me what? i have had no talk with any one but you, and you talk so strange. what has happened ? " he stood with his arm encircling her shapely form while her head rested against his bosom. she could bond and fkee. feel the quick throbbing of his heart, his bosom rising and falling with agitation. for a moment, all was silence, then he raised his disengaged hand and ca¬ ressed her tenderly, while a tear stole down his dusky cheek. he spoke with great effort as he said, u poor chile! oh, how i have prayed for your return! now that you'se come, it seems so hard, so hard!" and with these words, this strong, horny-handed slave broke completely down, and wept like a child. his head fell forward upon his bosom, and the tears fell thick and fast. yes; he upon whose back the whip of a cruel master had fallen with relentless force ; he who had suffered all the cruelty and privations known to slavery and had never winced, but remained as stolid and as indifferent as a sphinx, now suc¬ cumbed to the feelings which had overcome him in view of the separation from the companion of his heart cruel, cruel man, made in the image of his maker, yet so unlike him in love, by what right do you cause your fellow-men to suffer thus? is there any miti¬ gation for the wrongs done your brother? is there any forgiveness for jour disobedience of that divine principle, " do unto others as you would have them do unto you ? " the woman now stood almost motionless ; she had not yet been able to conceive the cause of her hus¬ band's agitation. never before had she seen him so agitated, and respect for his poignant grief compelled her, for a moment, to weep with him in silence. at last, unable to bear the terrible suspense longer, she the separation. broke out in words of burning intensity : " my loving husband, my own william, pray tell me the cause of this great grief. would you break my heart with this terrible silence? let me know the worst. speak to me, my husband, speak!" the man controlled his feelings as best he could, and, in a trembling voice, said: "break your heart? no, chile, de good lord forbid that. but—" and he drew her near to his bosom, " i must, i must leave you, leave you to-day. i hab another master." " why, what of that? you can come and see me as you have always done.'' "no, .chile, i'm going away off: i don't know where. mars jonathan has—has sold me." "what? sold you! sold you!" exclaimed the woman as she staggered back. " sold you ! my god, it cannot be! " and with this exclamation she fell to the floor. william quickly had her in his arms. the loud exclamation and the dull thud of her body as it struck the floor were heard by elva, who came rushing into the room just as william raised the limp form from the floor. without asking any questions, she set about restoring her daughter to consciousness. pur- cey slowly regained her senses, but only to swoon away again. william was now summoned to bring the horses. he bent over her prostrate form, and brushed back her raven tresses, which had fallen in a mass over her brow, kissing her again and again. it was the last kiss he implanted upon that brow for bond and feee. many a day. he told elva to say to her that he was going to ran away ; he was going to flee to freedom the first chance he got, and he wanted purcey to take the child and make her escape. with this parting injunction, without another word, he left his uncon¬ scious wife and his only child to follow his new mas¬ ter wherever necessary, perhaps to be sold again, but, at all events, with little hope of ever seeing that wife whom he loved so dearly and the child for whom his heart yearned. william took the horses to the door; judge cole¬ man bade jonathan maxwell farewell, promising to return during the hunting season, and, with the re¬ sult of his last successful gambling bet, rode away. jonathan watched them until well out of sight, when he entered the house and fondly embraced his wife. seating himself in an easy chair, he took his darling son upon his knee, and asked his wife to tell him all about their long sojourn from home. can there be any adequate expression given to the depth of human feeling? or, is there no depth or breadth to the feeling of the human heart? are we to suppose that jonathan maxwell, as he sat there with his son upon his knee and his wife gazing af¬ fectionately upon him, had any thought of the man whom he had just separated from a wife whose prov¬ ince it was to love her husband as dearly as any other woman ? can it be supposed that, surrounded as he was by love, by every comfort heart could wish, a single pang of remorse entered his bosom to re- bond and free. if any manifestation of grief was displayed more than he thought was necessary, to put a check upon it in any manner that suggested itself to him. mrs. maxwell, reclining in a comfortable chair, de¬ scribed in an interesting manner all the events of her visit, and concluded by referring to her greatly im¬ proved health. she then requested jonathan to ring for purcey to give master archie his bath. jonathan rang the maid's bell, which was answered by purcey's sister, • eloise. "where is purcey," said mrs. maxwell, "that she did not answer the bell ? " eloise was very fat, very round, and very ugly, with a face like a butter ball, and eyes that sat in her head like two holes burnt into a blanket. her hair stood out straight from her head like the quills upon a porcupine. in addition to this, she was black, sly, and considerably younger than her sister, purcey. one garment covered her person, and her feet were always ready for a jig. she was, however, clever and quite useful; she could do most any work about the house that she could be entrusted with, and could work in the harvest field equal to a man. she had an insatiable desire for mischief, and was as near being uncivilized as a human being can be without being actually so. when elva, with eloise's assistance, had got purcey to her bed, she sent eloise into the kitchen to attend to the work until she could safely leave her daughter's bedside. she dared not leave eloise with her sister, for, unless she fully realized the separation. tlie serious condition purcey was in, she would likely have committed some indiscretion, which, perhaps, might have ended seriously. elva instructed her that in case the bell rang to answer it, and see what was wanted. this is why eloise had answered the bell, and, as she entered the room, she stood balancing herself first on one foot, then on the other, until her mistress repeated the question the second time. now there was one thing about eloise which was very remarkable. she feared neither mistress nor master, nor had she any fear of the lash. her hide was as tough as the hide of a rhinoceros, and she ap¬ parently cared for nothing. there was .but one person on earth that she seemed to care for, and that was purcey. she loved purcey with a devotion that her nature in no way betrayed, and, when asked why she loved her so, she would say, " cause she's white and ain't like us common niggers.'' purcey was the only one who could control her. she would do what¬ ever purcey bade her, and would cry like a child when reprimanded by her sister. what it was that drew this almost uncivilized child toward her sister, it would be hard to tell, un¬ less it was the music of purcey's voice. whenever purcey would sing (she had a sweet voice), eloise would stand and grin and clap her hands. as soon as she had finished singing, eloise would rush upon her and almost hug the breath out of her. this was singular, in view of the fact of her far different actions when any one else would sing. it did not matter bond and free. whether it was a tune of slow or fast measure, a hymn, or a song, eloise would attempt to dance it. but just let purcey raise her voice, and the feet of the little savage were stilled in silence, and her mouth would drop wide open, a broad grin overspread her face, and her little, round, mischievous eyes, glitter like lire-balls. this was the attachment which this untutored child of bondage bore for her sister, and when she saw purcey lying insensible upon the floor, she could not realize what it meant. she asked her mother, however, what ailed her, and, when told that she had been made sick by the fact that mars jona¬ than had sold her husband, she said: " mars jona¬ than make purcey sick? what he do dat for?" iler mother gave her some evasive reply, and sent her down into the kitchen. so when eloise answered the bell, and her mistress asked why purcey did not respond, elo, as she was called, replied,—" 'cause she can't." "because she can't? what does that mean, elo?" "she ded, dats why." " dead !" said jonathan, rising to his feet. " dead !" said mrs. maxwell, placing her bottle of smelling- salts to her nose. "yes, ded," said elo. " she's white as you is, mis¬ ses, and me and mamma toted her up-stairs." elo knew ven^ well that purcey was not dead, but so incontrollable was her desire for mischief, that she would pass a joke, or tell a lie, just as quickly over a dead person as a live one. the separation. jonathan, knowing well elo's disposition and weak¬ ness for prevaricating, while moved by the serious air she assumed at first, upon recovering himself, said: "bio, tell me the truth, or i'll whip you." " truf, truf," said elo, "dat's de truf. what i care if you whip me? ain't i a nigger? and aint nig¬ gers made to be whipped ?" mrs. maxwell said : " jonathan, don't stop to argue with that imp, but go and see if there is anything the matter.'' now this is just the very thing that jonathan was trying to avoid. he suspected there was something wrong with purcey, as he had every reason to sus¬ pect; but he had no intention of facing elva in the kitchen, and have those dreadful eyes of hers look¬ ing reproachfully at him. turning to elo, who had got herself pretty well balanced on one foot, the other being hid out of sight by the long, gown-like garment she wore, he said: "go and tell aunt elva to come here." elo made a bound for the door, turning master archie, whom his father had placed upon the floor, head over heels, and left the room. jonathan then said to his wife, " expect that wench is going on because of william." " william !" said his wife. " who is that?" " her husband." " well, what's the matter with him?" "i sold him to coleman." bond and free. " why should she go on so about him, dear?" said mrs. maxwell. "oh, she always had a great fancy for him, and now i expect the devil will be to play." " i don't see why that should be, she will soon get over that. you have plenty as good niggers upon the place as william. she will soon be in love with some of them." and mrs. maxwell laughed. this is the view mrs. maxwell took of it. she could not understand how purcey, a slave, could have any lasting affection for a husband. she could not understand why such affection could not be as easily transferred from one slave to another, as it never en¬ tered that lady's mind that such a thing as affection existed within the bosom of a black person. they might form attachments, or have a preference for one another, but affection was a thing which only white people were capable of displaying. mrs. maxwell knew but very little of her husband's affairs, or, in¬ deed. did she care much about them, being one of those indolent ladies who occupied her time between dress and french novels. she had no household cares, nor did she seek any. a servant was always at her hand, to attend her wants, and whenever her husband mentioned anything to her about the affairs of the house, she at once showed signs of being bored. she believed that all persons born black were in their proper place when in bondage, and it was the invi¬ olable right of the master to dispose of the slave as he saw fit. the separation. so, as a matter of course, jonathan met with no reproof from the companion of his life for doing a thing which, were it not that he had steeled himself to, might have pricked his conscience. chapter xii. another class of slaves. it was some time before elva obeyed her master's summons. a desperate straggle passed within the- woman's bosom, as she stood there over her daughter, feeling certain that purcey's illness would be a pro¬ longed one. purcey's mind was flighty, and con¬ stantly wandering, her husband being the subject of her incessant mutterings. it was a blessing that elva was so good a nurse, for medical experience was hard to obtain, and, besides, that was not often employed to attend slaves. when she had calmed purcey, and got her into a slight slumber, she went to the draw¬ ing-room, where mr. and mrs. maxwell awaited her. elva entered, addressed her mistress, and said: "did you send for me, miss jinnie?" this was the name by which she had always addressed her mistress be¬ fore her marriage to jonathan, and she had never dropped the miss, since jennie partington became mrs. maxwell. "yes, elva," said mrs. maxwell, "what is the matter with purcey? ' " why, de poor chile's taken very sick, and i had to put her to bed.'' " what caused her sickness?" "don't know zackly, miss jinnie. she complained [ ] another class of slaves. soon as she got home, and i seed she was not well, and after william bid her good-bye, poor chile, she give right up." elva knew that both her mistress and master were anxious to know how purcey took the separation from her husband, and she was trying to avoid giving them the information they sought. she had told the truth when she said purcey was unwell, when she returned home, for so she was. the long separation from her husband and child, and the dreadful suspense she en¬ dured from day to day, never hearing anything of them, and having no knowledge as to whether they were dead or alive, was a strain upon mind and body that took almost a superhuman effort to stand. her excessive joy consequent upon her return to them, and then to be told that her husband was to be sep¬ arated from her, that he had been sold, was indeed enough to have completely unseated her reason. jon¬ athan then questioned elva closely, to ascertain the real cause of her illness, but elicited only the infor¬ mation that she had a raging fever, and that it would, perhaps, be many weeks before she would be able to attend to her duties. he finally dismissed her, with instructions to give her such attention as she required and to send one of the other servants to perform the duty of maid for her mistress. elva returned to the sick-room of her daughter. falling upon her knees by the bedside, she prayed fcr purcey's safe restoration to health. it was many days after that prayer before pureev was restored to bond and free. health, but, thanks to the skillful nursing of her mother, she was brought back almost from death's door. when she had sufficiently recovered, elva told her all that had happened, for it was all like a dream to her, and implored her to give no outward sign of her feelings. she also gave her the message william had left for her. purcey was greatly changed; she was no longer the bright, vivacious, and sprightly woman as before; she looked years older than she really was. sickness and sorrow had ploughed wrin¬ kles upon her brow, and her beautiful black hair had all come out. her step was no longer light and elastic, while the lustre of her handsome black eyes was dimmed. she was at all times thoughtful. she kept close to her own room, so as to be ready to carry out the resolve she had long since made. upon her child she bestowed great care and atten¬ tion. she would sit with him in her arms for hours, and tell him how he had been robbed of his father, and then burst out in a fit of tears exclaiming, " oh, if they were to take mamma's darling from her, it would kill her!" how she would watch over him, constantly fearing the possibility of his being torn from her in the night! she thought of all the chan¬ ces she would ever have of seeing her husband again. she wondered, should she flee to canada or the free states, how he would ever find her. then she was anxious as to whether he would ever return to her again. oh, if she only dared approach her master, another class of slaves. and plead for his return! but such a thought was useless, hopeless! she could but follow his parting advice, and make her escape with her child. purcey's idea of the world, as we may know, was not extensive. it was, in fact, rather simple. the distance from north to south, from bondage to free¬ dom, while apparently great, did not seem to her simple mind so far as to discourage her in making an attempt to reach the north, and thus, at least, obtain freedom for herself and child. she believed that william would be' true to his word, and would, at the very first opportunity, make his escape. but what if judge coleman should sell him to the traders and he be taken to the far south? she knew that in this event his- chances of escape would be very poor. when she would think of his being thus sold, a thrill of horror would pass over her, and her very heart would sink within her. if she could only have advised him to escape before he was taken out of the state of virginia, if she had only made him leave when he told her he had been sold! but, perhaps, had he attempted to escape then he would only have been captured, and then certainly sold south. all these thoughts, and many others, passed through the woman's mind, until she became so depressed in spirits that life seemed hardly worth a struggle. elva. however, kept constantly advising her to keep up and trust in the good lord, that he was suf¬ ficient for all things. purcey, while she followed her mother's advice, was inclined often to think that bond and free. the lord had forsaken the poor slaves. when she would thinlc of their sufferings, of their trials and tribulations, she would often find her faith and con¬ fidence in the lord wavering, but when her mother would cite to her instances of the lord's goodness and mercy, doubt and fear would vanish, and new life, new hope, would spring up in her bosom. she felt for her child's sake that she must obtain free¬ dom. why should her child be a child of bondage? why should he be reared and taught to acknowledge another man as his master? why should he be brought up in ignorance and servitude? perhaps it was the anglo-saxon blood in her veins that lent vigor to these thoughts, or it may have been the promptings of a mind which was only stinted in in¬ telligence from its surroundings, but which, if given an opportunity for development, would have shone as brightly as human minds are wont to shine. she determined, however, to follow her husband's advice, which would be carrying out the resolve she had made while away with her mistress. she set about making every preparation for her escape. she had amassed quite a little sum of money, which she had made by attention to visitors at the maxwell house. iler mistress was also very careless at times with her pin-money, and, though it might not have been strictly honest, yet purcey had often abstracted a quarter and a half-dollar which she added to her little store of wealth. having but little use for money, her savings amounted to a considerable another class of slaves. sum. she had for a long time entertained the inten¬ tion of purchasing her freedom previous to her mar¬ riage, and this is why she worked so assiduously to obtain the means to carry out her intention. there were many strange features connected with ' slavery, and not the least strange or magnanimous of its features was the privilege given by many of the slaveholders to their servants to purchase their free¬ dom. there were many instances where advantage was taken of this magnanimity. men would pur¬ chase their own liberty, and then hiring themselves out, would purchase their wives and children by their earnings. it took years, often, to accomplish this end, but so great was the desire for freedom that time was reckoned only by the cost of liberty. there are many living to-day who, having purchased their own freedom, sold themselves into bondage again, and, with the money thus realized, purchased wife and child. again and again, have men and women sold themselves to purchase the liberty of some loved one. what a traffic, what a business for man to en¬ gage in against man! but this was one of the bless¬ ings of slavery. the master who gave such a priv¬ ilege to his slaves was an angel compared with those who denied it. there were many of this class of ne¬ groes in the south, and they were proscribed by master and slave. notwithstanding this, they were thrifty and ambitious. in many sections, where the preju¬ dice was not too strong, they accumulated comfort¬ able fortunes and engaged in profitable business, o bond and free. "free niggers" is what they were termed, and great care was taken to keep as wide a gulf between them and the slave class as possible. there was also another class of people peculiar to the south, who were far more despicable than a free negro or a slave. they were the poor unfortunate whites, unfortunate from the fact that they did not own any of their fellow-men. they were despised by the master, mistrusted by the slave, and treated with contempt by the free negro. despised as they were by all classes, they still had many great advan¬ tages over the poor slave. they were white; hence, their backs were spared from the lash. they were men before the law, and no cruel master could sever their family ties. yet they found life a burden, and their circumstances seldom changed. they were left to eke out a miserable existence by stealing, begging, or any other means they might employ. the feeling of hatred which existed between them and the slaves, was both universal and mutual. there was no wtork that they could not be employed to perform, espec¬ ially such pleasing employment as negro-catching. they were the human blood hounds of the south, the bacalli of the country. they were to be found in the valleys and mountains, and tradition says that they were frequently known to subsist on herbs, barks, and wild roots. there was but one time in the year when they found honest and remunerative, though hard, labor. this was in the harvest season. many slave-holders would employ them to assist in harvest- another class of slaves. ing, and no slave was worked harder or longer than, were these " poor white trash," as the slaves called them. a slave might have a holy reverence for a man who owned a hundred of his brethren, but for a white man who owned none he had not the least regard. living in a rude little hut in the mountain, within a few miles of the maxwell estate, was a family of three, consisting of father, mother, and daughter. they were living and true representatives of the poorer class of whites. william silvers was a man who had seen some forty h^rd winters, was of long, lank stature, with thin hair hanging about his head like wax-ends. he was known throughout the neigh¬ borhood as "skinny." his wife was also of tall stature, with a wiry frame, and worked in a harvest field with as much activity as a man. their daugh¬ ter was a maid of some seventeen years, who kept the family from starving because she made friends with the slaves about the neighboring plantations, and would receive from them many an apron of corn- meal and pieces of bacon. the silvers, like nearly all of the poor whites, were very ignorant. reading and writing were lost arts to them, and the school- house and church were places they never frequented. sallie silvers and purcev had long been friends. this was in itself something very unusual, but when it is considered that purcey represented one of the more intelligent class of slaves, the ordinary prejudice that existed between the poor whites and the slaves did not enter into her disposition. bond and free. sallie had often been kindly treated by purcey, and the girl's devotion to her was really remarkable. she had often declared that she longed for the time to prove her friendship for purcey. during purcey's illness she frequently called at the house to inquire about her, and evinced much solicitude about her re¬ covery. when purcey became convalescent, she was often at her bedside, and would sit for hours convers¬ ing and sympathizing with her. sallie silvers, though seventeen years of age, white and free, could not, as we have said, read or write ; and as she sat by purcey's bedside one day, purcey said to her: "sallie, can you read ?" ''no," answered sallie, "wish i could." " why don't you learn ?" "whose gwine to learn me? ma and pa can't" " why," said purcey, "i will teach you what lit¬ tle i know, then you can teach yourself; but you mustn't tell anybody." "no, indeed!" said sallie, "i wish i could read, den i might be a lady some day." then purcey told her what she had seen while traveling with her mistress; how, in big cities, she could get along so nicely, because she was white, and promised, that if she would hurry and learn to read and write, she would tell her how to become a lady. purcey then gave her some money, and told her to go to the village and purchase a book. sallie fol¬ lowed her instructions, and, until purcey was per¬ fectly well, she and sallie silvers were close com- another class of slaves. panions, and no one except elva and themselves knew why they were so often closeted. purcey's object in showing so much anxiety about sal lie's acquirement of knowledge was known only to herself. chapter xiii. the fugitives. when joe berry and his companions were at¬ tacked near the village of , they all separated and ran in different directions. the direction which they were to go was mutually understood, and, al¬ though it was several days before they got together again, they at last met near c , in pennsylvania, on the banks of the susquehanna river. our heroes had all met with various adventures upon the road, but every man had successfully eluded his pursuers, notwithstanding the many difficulties they had to en- encounter. even ben myers, with his large feet and dilapidated shoes, made his escape and joined his friends. the adventures of some of them are worth relating. joe, after making his escape from the rider of the ringbone horse, went directly to the mountain; he traveled during the greater por¬ tion of the day, and well into the night. fearing that he might get lost in the mountain, he attempted, in the night, to find a road, and, if possible, get some one to direct him to the town of h . he came to what he supposed was a path, and which he thought would lead him out of the mountain. after follow¬ ing it for some distance, he felt his feet gradually sinking under him, and began to struggle and clutch violently at the surrounding shrubbery and tufts of [ ] the fugitives. grass, but these afforded him no support, and he kept sinking until his body sank partly below the earth. he then clutched at the soft earth about him, which only crumbled in his hands. down, down he went, until several feet below the surface, when the earth seemed to cave in and wedge his body in so tight that only his arms were free, which he had been thought¬ ful enough to keep above his head. vainly did he struggle to extricate himself. he clutched, he grabbed, he struggled until he became perfectly ex¬ hausted. during the night, a terrific rain-storm set in, and the water rushed in upon him until he thought he was doomed to a living grave. for two days and nights did joseph berry remain almost entombed in that ditch. he had given up all hope of ever extricating himself, and had resigned himself to suf¬ fer a slow, painful death. the hours seemed like days, and the days months. he had struggled until his strength had become ex¬ hausted several times, but, being a resolute as well as a powerful man, on the third night of his imprison¬ ment, after regaining strength, he made an effort to free his feet. by terrific straining, he succeeded. pressing his elbows against the side of the ditch, he raised his body; the mud and water flowed under his feet, giv¬ ing him a slight but treacherous foot-hold. he worked his body up this way until his head was above the surface, and, at last, by summoning all of his remaining strength, he threw himself upon the earth. there he lay for several hours, being too the fugitives. upon his mission, advertising in every town and village, giving a thorough description of the man of whom he was in search. several times he was close upon jim's track, but did not succeed in cap¬ turing him. jim became separated from the rest of the party when they were attacked, and made as di¬ rectly for the point at which they had agreed to meet as he could. he went very cautiously, however, avoiding all towns or main roads. he struck the course of the susquehanna river, and coming in sight of a small town, thought he would risk getting some¬ thing to eat jim had changed his rich broadcloth for virginia home-spun; his hair was clipped close; his usual swinging gait was changed to a steady, firm tread, making it difficult to recognize him in his disguise. he walked up to the only inn in the town and asked for something to eat. the landlord of the place said to him : " where are you bound for, young man ? " this question put jim to thinking, so in order to avoid any suspicion, he said: " i am on the hunt for work, sir." "where are you from?" " york, sir," was the prompt reply. " well, i want a stable-boy, and i think you will suit me. what's your name? " "dick davis, sir," replied jim. "all right, dick, go into the kitchen and get some¬ thing to eat, and then come out to the stable. shall show you what to do." bond and free. jim had ho intention, at first, of stopping at this place to work; but be bad been caught so neatly that be concluded to work a few days, then quietly slip away and proceed his journey, intending, in the meantime, to secure whatever information he could relative to the country he had to travel through. the idea of changing his name occurred to him as soon as the question was put to hirn by the landlord, for jim intuitively realized that there was more safety in traveling under an assumed name than un¬ der his real name. he knew, also, that he would be advertised, and in the advertisement, a description of him as well as his name would appear. the fugitives had been informed that they would strike the underground railroad in pennsylvania, and it was understood that a section of it was to be found in the town of ii . this is why they all made for this point, or, it is probable, they might never have met again. this wonderful institution, which proved the safe conductor of many a child of bondage to free¬ dom, must ever remain dear to the hearts of many a one of the present generation. the prayers that have been sent up to heaven by the delivered,- for the protection and blessing of the noble-hearted men and women who directed it, have been answered more than one occasion. many of these noble souls have long since been gathered home to their re¬ ward, but, through the intelligence of one of them, a representative of our race, the record of their glorious the fugitives. work has been preserved, and it will be perused in future years with increased interest. dick davis, or the widow dean's jim, soon be¬ came a favorite about the tavern, and picked up many an odd penny by his attention to the quadrupeds and the boots of travelers. he had about made up his mind to leave his new employer, when one morning, shortly after this decision, a stranger rode up to the tav¬ ern all bespattered with mud, and his horse covered with foam. he dismounted, threw the bridle rein to dick, and directed him to take his horse to the stable, feed him, and rub him down well, toss¬ ing dick, at the same time, a silver quarter. dick walked off to the stable leading the horse, and his heart worked its way up into his very mouth, for he recognized in this stranger no less a person than mr. si blackson. there is a common saying among white people that they cannot tell one negro from another. never place any confidence in this statement, for when you take a real southerner, he may have a hundred negroes upon his plantation, yet he will pick anyone of them out from among a million every time. human nature is human nature, whether it be adorned in white or black. there are numerous things which men do instinct¬ ively, and often by so doing either attract attention unintentionally to or from themselves. it may have been from instinct, or it may have been prompted by a suspicion of mutual recognition that si blackson, upon entering the tavern door, turned around, either the fugitives. blackson also watched him some time in silence, when he said: "boy, have you got a box and hammer?" "yes, sir," replied dick, and he procured those arti¬ cles for blackson. that worthy directed him to carry them out into the road, and while dick held the box, he nailed up against a high fence the fol¬ lowing advertisement: runaway !—a mulatto boy, age eighteen, about five feet six inches in height, good features, hair rather long and black, speaks very quick, dressed in a full black suit of clothes, and very dandy in ap¬ pearance. twelve hundred dollars will be paid for his return to mrs. w. dean, p b county, virginia. five hundred dollars for any information leading to his capture. n. b.—said runaway an¬ swers to the name of jim. no harm must be done him. fifteen hundred dollars was the real reward offered by the widow dean, but mr. blackson withheld three hundred for himself. this is the card which was tacked up, and james seabury, alias dick davis, stood there and innocently held the box for blackson to advertise a price upon his head. dick did not know what the card read, but he suspected what it was, and while blackson was at breakfast, dick got one of the kitchen maids to read it for him. he now found himself in a predicament. flight was next to impossible, for that would only invite immediate pursuit and certain capture. there was no one to bond and free. whom he could appeal for advice, as he feared to trust anybody about the tavern, notwithstanding they had been so kind to him. he finally determined to watch mr. blackson closely, and, immediately upon that gentleman's departure, to take his own to a more healthful retreat. mr. blackson, having finished his breakfast, paid his bill, then ordered his horse. after a few hurried words with the landlord, he proceeded his journey. dick's mind was greatly relieved when he saw him depart. but what had he said to the landlord? was he the subject of their conversation? he had no means of ascertaining this, but in order not to attract attention, he kept at his work apparently as disinter¬ ested in the arrival and departure of the astute mr. blackson, as he had been in the hundreds of other travelers who frequented the tavern. the advertise¬ ment attracted a great deal of attention, and was the subject of much comment by the loiterers about the tavern. it was not an unusual thing, however, in that locality, or perhaps he might have been apprehended at once. nearly all runaways were published in this or some other way, and their pursuers would often carry them into the courts of a state, if necessary to prove their property. in all the vast territory of this great country, the poor, hunted, fugitive slave had protection. "prove your property and take it'' was the decree of the government, and he who aided or abetted the escape of lis fellow-man from bondage to the fugitives. freedom was a criminal before the law. no part of this great country was held sacred from the tread of the negro-hunter, and none of the statutes of its law threw around the fugitive a single mantle of protec¬ tion. the deepest-dyed villain, committing a crime in one state, could flee to another, necessitating the carrying out of important forms of law before his re¬ turn. but these creatures, guilty of no greater crime than trying to obtain that for which hundreds of noble men have suffered death, were hunted like beasts of the forest, and, when found, returned to abject servi¬ tude. whatatravesty on justice! there is a land, how¬ ever, which proved an asylum for them, and no man who sought to deprive another of his liberty dared set foot upon its soil for that purpose. it was to this asylum that thousands fled, and found refuge and pro¬ tection. dick worked in a state of agony and suspense all day. often was he tempted to tear down that pla¬ card, but dared not. he concluded that, under the cover of night, and before the sun rose the next day, he must put as many miles as possible between him and that place; and when the shadows of night closed in upon that little wayside inn, when the inmates were wrapped in sweet slumber, this being, not yet a man by the law of the land, stole softly from the place where he had sought refuge for several days. tie went directly to the river. finding a boat moored there, lie rowed himself across and set the boat adrift, never stopping for rest or refreshment the fugitives. ductor of the underground railroad, who conducted them, under cover of night, to the residence of a friend in the town. although they were not entirely out of danger, the air seemed lighter, the heavens looked brighter, their step was more elastic, and their spirits more buoyant. they were quartered in the house of this friend until the train was made up, when they were dispatched through to canada, by the way of e , pennsylvania, across the lake into freedom. when the canadian shore heaved in sight, this band of fugitives bowed their heads in prayer. and such a prayer as went up from those untutored hearts! they stepped upon the shores of canada, happy that they were at last free. free! ah, what a word! they had never realized its meaning before. free to roam all over those shores, free to go, free to come, free from the cruel sting of the lash, free from the hot scorching sun of the corn-field and the tobacco plan¬ tation, free from massa, free from missa! no wonder they sang with soul-inspired strains: sing praises to jehovah we are free, safe on the shores of canada. let us unite in heart and hand, and shout for joy in the freedmen's land. lo chapter xiv. pupil and teacher. the anxiety on the part of sallie silvers to learn to read and write, as the necessary accomplishments to become a lady, was so very great that she soon mastered these obstacles in her way. she improved the little opportunity she had, and, assisted by the little knowledge of purcey, became, in a short time, quite conversant with general topics from whatever papers she could secure. there being no restrictions against her purchasing books and papers, she procured many of these useful articles with the money supplied her by purcey. together they learned rapidly, and purcey took every advantage of the pre-arranged plans agreed upon between her and her mother. all the rich and costly dresses given her by her mistress were cut and fitted to sallie. purcey's inability to attend her mistress had been stretched to the fullest limit, and both she and her mother feared that, unless she soon took her departure, something might inter¬ vene to prevent it. her mother contributed quite a little sum of money to that which purcey had, and she was now ready to start. all arrangements being completed, she and her mother took sallie into their confidence. the scheme proposed for purcey's contemplated escape was care- [ ] pupil and teacher. fully and skillfully arranged by elva. they had the utmost confidence m sallie, whose desire to travel and become a lady was so great that she hesitated not a moment to enter into the suggestions presented to her by purcey her mountain home, with its pov¬ erty and hardships, grew inferior and distasteful to her, as rare pictures of a life of ease and comfort were displayed to her. she had now learned something of the world, and urged by that ambition so prevalent in youth, she yearned for an opportunity to better her condition in life. she never realized what slavery was, as she had seen it only from a point where its terrors had not impressed her with any objection to the evil, and never until purcey related to her her cruel separa tion from her husband did she realize its horrors. she became, then, an earnest sympathizer with the people who were made to suffer in bondage, as well as a fit subject to aid in carrying out the projected plans of purcey and her mother. sallie was now informed that she was to travel as the mistress of purcey, and under this guise was to go north into a free country. she must go and inform her parents that she had found employment which would keep her from home for some time. this would prevent them from mak ing any inquiries as to her whereabouts, or suspecting her connection with purcey's escape. so enthusiastic was sallie when she thought of the elegant dresses she was to w$ar, and how, for the first time in her life, she was to assume the role of a pupil and teacher. uncle josh was lifted to the seventh heaven of hope when he saw that smile. he replied, with an air of confidence and bravado: u 'scovered, chile ? trouble? don't yon weep for me, for by de help of de good lord, i'll be back and hab dat critter in de field 'fore mars biggers turn ober for de secon' nap." this having been satisfactorily arranged, uncle josh arrived on time with the wagon. the things were stowed away, and purcey bade farewell to her mother, and with her child and sallie silvers, dressed in one of mrs. maxwell's fine silks, set her face toward freedom. there was not a soul upon the maxwell place, excepting elva, who knew of pur- cey's flight, and the parting between mother and daughter was very affecting. they remained for a moment embraced in each other's arms, while tears flowed down from their eyes, and prayers poured forth from their hearts. the parting was, indeed, a sad one, as it was the last embrace the mother ever received from the daughter, or the daughter from the mother. the one was leaving her who had given her birth, to find liberty; while the other consigned herself to hopeless servitude to protect the life and make se¬ cure the flight of her child. elva had all of that love and affection which abounds in the heart of a loving mother, but over this particular child, she displayed greater solicitude than for emiline or elo. if there be any such thing as being fated, such was the case, bond and free. elva thought, of these two. they were, in common with many other slaves, satisfied with their lot. nor did they ever express a desire for liberty, or display any disposition to be other than contented under every and all circumstances. but how often had her heart been caused to bleed for purcey when she looked upon her beauty, her natural endowments, her tastes, though uncultivated, yet so refined ! she asked herself the question, ' why should this, her child, apparently endowed with all the higher attri¬ butes of womanhood—why should she remain a slave? as fair as her mistress, as beautiful as any woman could be, why should she not be free? ' then she knew that as long as purcey was held in bondage, she would be a victim to the lust of those who might be disposed to possess themselves of her. like all slaves, in her master s eye, a price was upon her head, and who could tell the day, the hour, when she might be transferred from jonathan maxwell to a master with less regard for virtue? at last they parted, and when uncle josh drove away, elva entered the house a changed woman. she determined that, at the risk of her own life, jonathan maxwell should never pursue her child. life had no more charms for her; she felt that she had nothing more to live for, but to make secure the escape to free¬ dom of her child. she was, doubtless, actuated in this belief by a sense that god had spared her to be a me¬ dium which must stand between purcey's escape and the possibility of her recapture. she would not hesi- pupil and teacher. tate now to dye her hands in her master's blood, if needs be, to save her child. when she entered the house, she fell upon her knees and asked for guid ance, for strength, for intelligence, that she might be able to act. when she arose, elva berry was a changed woman. her beautiful black eyes glowed with a new, but dangerous, light; her lips were bloodless, her teeth were tightly clenched, while her hands worked convulsively. she felt as though she possessed the strength of a lion, and she was now ready to throw herself between the fleeing daughter and any power that dared obstruct her in her flight. uncle josh plied the whip to his master's horse, and, without a single stop during that long ride, sue ceeded in landing the whole party safely at the ferry they had taken the precaution to unload their bag gage and send uncle josh off before they aroused the ferryman. that worthy came forth rubbing his eyes, and, after being induced by a liberal reward, took them safely across the river to a point where tickets were purchased by sallie. these tickets sufficed to carry them some distance, but they left the road many miles from the place intended, and ob¬ tained tickets in an entirely different direction. when uncle josh turned his master's horse to¬ ward home, he chuckled to himself as he felt the four silver half-dollars in his pocket, which purcey had given him. the horse was pretty tired, and he al¬ lowed him to jog quietly along, while he gave him¬ self up to thoughts about sister elva and the silver bond and free. half-dollars. he had been thus ruminating for some time, when his horse came to a full stop. uncle josh was of a very superstitious nature, like the most of slaves; he had all kinds of beliefs. he was looked upon as possessing certain mysterious powers himself. he had voodooed, or conjured, it was said, quite a number of enemies, having been known to boil nails in a pot over a slow fire while he went through a peculiar incantation, his victim, in the meantime, writhing in pain and crawling upon all fours. he was never found without a rabbit's foot in his pocket, or a piece of opossum skin tied around his left wrist. in addition to this, he possessed a bag of lizard dust. he was held in awe and reverence by all the negroes who knew him. for to incur uncle josh's displeasure was to meet some day with some terrible misfortune. like many others of his race, who laid claim to the possession of these mysterious powers, he was very cunning. it was not the deep, designing cunning, or craftiness, of a more intelligent mind, but that low cunning born of instinct, such as a fox is noted for, or such as is unaccompanied by perfect reason. he succeeded, however, in keeping those around him in perfect fear of his hidden powers, while at the same time he did not possess enough to keep his back from being well scarred by mr. biggers' overseer. he was not unlike all others of his class in league with unseen powers, or the imps of darkness. they all failed to practice any of their arts upon their mas¬ ters, and this is why so many doubt the efficacy of pupil and teacher. their work. it may be that a white man was not susceptible to their charms, or it may be they feared to practice upon that race. nevertheless, it is a fact that no voodoo doctor, conjurer, or enchanter was ever known to make his master pine awav, imitate a quadruped, or endure any of the other various suffer¬ ings which these sons of the hidden arts were said to cause. when uncle josh's horse stopped, he backed in the shafts, staggered, and fell, snapping one in twain. uncle josh sprang to the ground with the agility of a youth; he looked up and down the road, for he be¬ lieved something had appeared before the horse, caus¬ ing him to stumble and fall. uncle josh always claimed that if a horse stopped still in the road, pricked up his ears, and refused to go, all one had to do was to look between his ears, and he could see the cause of the horse's fright. the horse was now in such a position that he could not well see between his ears, for the animal was lying upon the ground quite still, and his body beginning to assume the pro¬ portions of a bloated herring. the old man did all in his power to coax the horse upon his feet-, he pleaded to him, he raised his head, he unfastened the harness and pushed the wagon away from his heels. walking around his body, he set up one of his pe¬ culiar incantations, but all to no avail. he took from his pocket a bag made of rabbit skin, which contained some kind of pulverized roots. the contents he scat¬ tered around—this being to keep away anything evil- bond and free. disposed. after spending much time in a useless at¬ tempt to get his horse upon his feet, the old man looked up at the heavens, and discovered the gray dawn of morning stealing from over the eastern hills. he knew well what his back would have to take should he be missed by the overseer, and to be caught with his master's horse and wagon would be worse yet. then they might, perhaps, force him to tell what he was doing out all night with the horse and wagon. this he determined never to reveal, let come what would. when uncle josh saw morning approaching so closely, his efforts to get the horse upon his feet be¬ came more and more frantic and ludicrous. he tugged at his tail, he raised his head and tried to get that part of the horse's anatomy upon his back, murmuring to himself, "you'se got to go home before daylight, if i has to tote you." looking up the road, he saw a man approaching him. who was just about to turn off of the main road and enter a lane. uncle josh dis¬ covered that he was a slave just returning from a night's revel. he hailed the man: "see har, come har, honey, and help me git dis hoss on my back, he's got to go home, for it's dead nigger or dead hoss, anyways." the man came forward, and when he looked at the ludicrous situation, he laughed loudly and said ; '"what's de matter, uncle?'' "lors, honey, i'se got to git dis hoss home 'fore pupil and teacher. daylight, and he's done gone laid down on me and won't move." the man happened to have some knowledge of horse-flesh, and after a careful examination, said: "you've drove him hard, uncle, but guess we can bring him about." he went to work, and in a short time had the ani¬ mal upon his feet. the horse was hitched to the wagon, and uncle josh, profuse with thanks, mounted his seat and soon reached home. he had just time to turn the horse into the field, when the overseer's horn blew for all hands to turn out. mr. biggers was minus, from this escapade, the use of one of his best horses, for the one uncle josh drove so hard that night was hopelessly foundered, and the slaves accounted for it by declaring that the witches had ridden the animal to death. the superstition, which was so prevalent among the slaves, was not confined to them alone, for it af¬ fected the masters as well. there was not a south¬ ern slaveholder, cruel to his slaves, who was not as abject a prey to superstitious fears as the most ignor ant of his negroes. our knowledge of the character of abraham biggers would place him among this class. when he heard of one of his best horses being hope¬ lessly foundered over night, instead of seeking the true cause, sought solace in brandy and water, and attributed his loss to unknown ill luck. purcey and sallie were speeding along, placing as great a distance between them and the old home bond and free. as the great iron monster could make with each rev¬ olution of the great driving-wheels. the two women did not occupy the same car, for that was not custom. the alleged mistress and her servant were separated during the entire distance they traveled on the rail¬ road. each was left alone to meditate and allow her thoughts to indulge in whatever caprice she saw fit. the thoughts of purcey were freighted with fear; al¬ though there was much noise in the car, made by a number of rough, coarse men, who made the air dense with smoke from their pipes and cigars and almost blue with their curses, yet she seemingly saw not nor heard a thing that was said or done. she was the object of many insulting and brutal remarks, for it was in the men's car she rode. many comments were passed upon her appearance and value. the girl had employed every art she knew to make herself look simple and plain, but her efforts in this di¬ rection seemed to have made her, on the contrary, all the more beautiful and attractive. she'had con¬ cealed her luxurious black hair, now grown again since her recovery, under a neat little cap, which nicely displayed the beautiful outlines of her face. her child, asleep upon her lap, caused her much anx¬ iety ; she knew that a heavy reward would be offered by her master for her capture, and she feared that she would be detected through the child. its hair was long and black like the mother's. it had been purcey s delight and pride to do it up in curls, which hung gracefully about its shapely head. as she sat bond and free. and count the seconds; they seemed to her like min¬ utes. her hand was kept upon her sleeping child, as though she feared that some of the coarse, brutal men who occupied the car would wrest it from her. while sitting with her hand clasping the little hands of her child, with her eyes closed, and her mind wandering back to her mother and her husband, who had been so ruthlessly taken from her, she felt a rough hand grasp her shoulder. in a second she was upon her feet, her hand sought her pocket, and she stared, without a quiver of the lip or the twinkle of an eye, into the face of the man who had so roughly accosted her. the man who stood before her was one of that type of southern gentlemen, from whose appearance it was easy to detect that he was a "nigger trader." he looked at purcey with his bleared eyes, and said : "gal, where you travel in' to ? " "i am traveling with my mistress," said purcey. " that ain't what i asked you. whar you going? " purcey, divining the man's object in asking the question, as well as discovering that he had no sus¬ picion about her, replied : " i don't know where my mistress is going, as she never tells me her business." " well, whar you from? " "richmond," said purcey. " air you and your mistress travelin' alone? " "we are." " how would you like me for a master? " and, as pupil and teacher. he said this, he puffed a volume of tobacco smoke from his corn-cob pipe full in her face. "i don't know," said the girl, turning her head to avoid the smoke. "wal, i think i'll see your mistress; by g—d, i would like to own a gal like you; i'll give a thou¬ sand down." as he said this, the child, which had been lying upon the seat, awoke, and began to cry. purcey turned toward it and sat it up, giving it a large glass ball to play with. "wal," said the trader, "that's a likely-looking brat. so you and your mistress are travelin', and she 'lows you to take that brat along ? d—m good mistress. i'll go and see if i can strike a bargain with her." when he had turned his back, purcey smiled, and settled down into her seat. the trader retired to one end of the car, where a group of his compan¬ ions had a board placed upon their knees, and were deeply engaged in a game of draw-poker. " say. jamison," said the trader, as he approached the party, " i am going to buy that wench over thar with the brat." " well, go buy her, then," said mr. jamison. " don't bother me about it; she ain't mine." " wal," said mr. sledger, " i know she ain't, but i want you to drive the bargain for me." " who does she belong to? two cards ! " said mr. bond and free. jamison, as lie threw a five dollar gold piece on the board, and laid down two cards. " to a young woman in the other car. i can't talk to women, and i want you to go and talk the busi¬ ness." mr. jamison was, in appearance, as well as in speech, far more genteel than mr. sledger. jamison was a man of gentlemanly deportment, but fond of sport; and he gained a rather precarious existence as a pettifog lawyer. his garments were of the shabby- genteel order, and his silk tile, though of rather an ancient pattern, was brushed to a glossiness that told of much labor having been spent upon it. he was smooth of speech, and an instrument in the hands of men of unsavory character in their dealings with the business world. in fact, he earned a living, in find¬ ing loop-holes in the law for the escape of criminals, and fixing doubtful papers to catch and hold runaway slaves. he appeared not to like the interruption of his sport. being in luck, he raked in the contents of the pot on a king full, and jumped up from the game several dollars ahead, remarking that he must attend to some business for his friend. mr. sledger was very unlike the rather slick-look¬ ing jamison, being a heavily built man, with coarse, vulgar features. a frowsy beard of terra cotta hue, made so by frequent expectorations of tobacco juice, covered his chin. his shirt front was far from beinsr immaculate, having upon it the traces of tobacco juice and evidence of long wear. his large, unshapely head pupil and teacher. was adorned with a wide-brimmed slouch hat, under which was a matted mass of shaggy hair. to say the least, he was rather repulsive, and was, as he ad¬ mitted, not calculated to approach any woman, espe¬ cially a southern lady, on a subject of purchasing a likely-looking slave woman. jamison was given to understand that he was to seek the mistress of pur¬ cey, and ascertain whether she was for sale. in case she was not, he was to offer some inducement to ef¬ fect a purchase. " how am i to find the mistress ? " said jamison. " go ask the gal which car she's in." mr. jamison pulled himself together, looked down at his boots, the toes of which were turned up much like the little pug nose that adorned his weazen little face. he approached purcey unnoticed by her, as she was intently gazing out of the window. having reached the seat where the girl was, mr. jamison re¬ moved from his narrow, little mouth the remnants of a cigar, which he had held between his teeth since the commencement of that little game of poker. lift¬ ing his hat with mock civility; he said: " ah, young woman, in which car would i likely find your mistress? " purcey, turning her head in the direction of the speaker, said : " in the other car, sir, ' without indicat¬ ing which of the other cars she meant " ah, ah, the other car! first car rear or second ? " " i don't know, sir," she quietly replied, ii bond and free. " don't know ? ah, well, how should i be likely to know her? " u by making her acquaintance through an intro¬ duction, sir/' mr. jamison stepped back as though he had been struck. he had never heard such clever language used by a slave. he looked at the girl, who had again turned her face toward the window, with a puzzled air, and remarked, as he shuffled off: " clever, ah, very clever. i will seek an introduction through some one else, if i can—myself, if i cannot." mr. jamison determined to trust to his luck and his astute powers in discovering the mistress, if she was on the train. entering the ladies' car, he saun¬ tered through it, having deposited the unlighted stump of his cigar in his coat pocket. when he got nearly to the end of the car, he observed a lady sit¬ ting alone rather richly attired, and reclining at ease, using a very heavy shawl as a pillow. in her lap lay a newspaper and a novel. she was young, not at all unprepossessing, and apparently asleep, or in a deep study. jamison scrutinized her as closely as he could in walking by. he walked to the end of the car, re¬ traced his steps, and, as he reached the seat, raised his hat very high, bowed very low, and said: " ah, ah, miss, do the negro woman and child in the other car belong to you ?" "they do;" and sallie silvers, for it was she, pupil ani) teacher. grew somewhat excited as she asked eagerly: " why, sir, has anything happened them ?" "ah ! ah! no. they are all right only i have been much attracted by them, and if they are for sale, i should like to purchase them. i am a planter, and assure you she would be well cared for and be in good hands." sallie, to be sure, did not have a very extensive knowledge of men ; her little education and experi¬ ence had not advanced her quite that far, but she had that natural cleverness of a woman which led her to the conclusion that mr. jamison was rather a poor specimen of a southern planter. having reached this conclusion, she thought that she had better give him to understand at once that he could not make a purchase. assuming all the dig¬ nity she could, she said : " the woman and child are not for sale, sir, and i do not see what right you have to approach me upon any such subject." mr. jamison was a very cunning man, or we might say, villain. this reply, under any other circum¬ stances, would never have daunted him ; but he had approached a lone lady, a complete stranger to him, in a railway car, and had asked an impertinent ques¬ tion. should he insist upon further conversation, he feared she might appeal to some gentleman for protec¬ tion, or, perhaps, she might have friends in the car who would not hesitate to handle him roughly. he bowed politely, stepping back as he said: bond and free. "ah ! beg pardon. no offense meant, none what¬ ever, i assure you." he, thereupon, quickly left the car. joining mr. sledger in the smoking-car, he informed that gentle¬ man that it was no use, for money would not buy the woman. mr. sledger was much incensed, and replied : "then by g i will steal her." " what!" said jamison, springing up as though he had sat upon the business end of a tack. " steal her! what in the devil will you do with the brat?" "yes, steal her and the brat, too. no trouble about the young one." this novel idea had struck mr. sledger the mo¬ ment he learned that the girl could not be bought he intended to learn their destination, follow them, and, at the first opportunity, kidnap the girl and carry her off. circumstances alter cases sometimes, and mr. sledger was brought to a full realization of this fact in a manner he had not anticipated. through tickets had been purchased by sallie for a certain point under purcey's instructions, but after having traveled a considerable distance from home, purcey concluded that, in order to elude her pursuers, they had better get off at some small station, and cross the country to some other point. it was now growing dark, and, under the cover of darkness, they could leave the train at the next station without attracting attention. arriving at this conclusion, she took her child, en- pupil and teacher. tered the car where sallie was, and communicated her plan, which was, of course, agreed to by sallie. as purcey left the seat which she had occupied in the smoking-car, mr. sledger went in search of the conductor to ascertain the destination of the lady who had the negro nurse and child. the conductor in¬ formed him that they had through tickets for one of the large northern cities, and they would have to change cars at b to take another road. sledger thought this his chance; he would wait until they reached b , then he would try his hand at kid¬ napping the girl. darkness had now enveloped within its folds the surrounding country. the night was not only dark, but dismal. the clang of the bell of the locomotive, and the shrill whistle which denotes the approach to a station, sounded upon the night air. the speed of the train was slackened as the trainman shouted the name of a small station. purcey and sallie gathered up their packages, and quietly, almost unnoticed, stole from the train. they did not alight upon the side on which was the building used as a station, but upon the opposite side. the wind now began to howl frightfully, while rain poured down in torrents. the women and child stood closely huddled together. shortly, the bell of the locomotive rang again, the whistle tooted, the attendant shouted " all aboard ! " and the train slowly pulled away, leaving them stand¬ ing in front of the lonely little building. a dilapi¬ dated stage-coach could be dimly discerned through pupil and teacher. sequently, not in a very good humor by being dis¬ turbed, and had to give up the solid comfort he had intended to enjoy. he felt annoyed when the women entered the coach, nor did the fact that his traveling companions were to be females appear to smooth his temper. purcey and sallie were also dis¬ appointed when they found that they would have to ride in company with a stranger. they dared not exchange a word or look for fear of being discovered. how to get rid of this unwelcome and unsolicited companion was a puzzle. women are remarkable creatures in any emer¬ gency ; they always have recourse to something. it must be a very tight place where a woman of ordi¬ nary tact and ability cannot squeeze through. pur¬ cey had conveyed to sallie, without uttering a word, that the little man must be gotten upon the outside of the coach, and that she must do it. sallie under¬ stood that unless this was done, they would be un¬ able to mature their plans before reaching the village. the little man with the rim of gray hair, having been forced to withdraw his feet from their comfort¬ able position, sat with his knees drawn nearly up to his chin ; and, from the occasional grunt which came from the corner of the coach he occupied, the women judged that he was either very much out of humor with himself or with them. purcey had made a pallet for her child in a corner of the very seat upon which the little old man sat. the child, entirely un¬ conscious of its rudeness, was stretching and kicking bond and free. out its feet so violently that the little man would have gotten off the seat had there been any other to oc¬ cupy. he kept crowding closer to the corner, while with each gentle pinch given the child's leg by pur- cey, the old man was made more uncomfortable. sallie, seeing that it was now time for her to speak, said, addressing purcev: " perhaps you annoy the gentleman. you had bet¬ ter take the child and sit outside." there are but few men of southern birth who are not chivalrous and gallant. a genuine southern gentleman is ever ready to display his gallantry; but such gallantry was displayed for those of their own color only. a black person was never entitled to any recognition in this direction. consequently, to find a man in a southern country who had any re¬ gard or feeling for a black woman, under any circum¬ stances, was to find a most uncommon man. such did the occupant of the coach, who was now well wedged up in the corner of the stage, prove to be. . he may have been actuated b}^ a sense of the un¬ pleasantness of the situation, or, possibly, by a desire to display his gallantry to sallie. whatever the cause, the women were none the less successful in their little piece of strategy, for without speaking a word to them, he pushed open the door, commanded the driver to stop, alighted from the coach, and took a seat outside with the driver, leaving them to make whatever arrangements they saw fit. the train which left sallie and purcey at the little chapter xv. the judge's sister. judge coleman had gone a number of miles, fol¬ lowed by bis recent acquisition to bis fortune, when he turned the head of his horse into one of those long and beautiful lanes common in the southern country. upon either side of this lane were planted many tall poplar trees, which stood stately and erect like silent sentinels. up this beautiful avenue they rode until the end was reached, when they,came in sight of one of those old but substantial stone houses, partly concealed by-the thick foliage of creeping vines that grew around it. the judge rode around the house to the rear, where numerous out-houses and stables built of the same substantial material were located. having reached the gate which separated.the stable- yard from a garden laid out in beautiful flower plots, where the poppy and chrysanthemum grew in pro¬ fusion, he dismounted from his horse, bade william follow his example, and directed him to remain there with the horses. he then walked up to the rear door of the mansion, and, without so much as lifting the large brass knocker which hung upon the panel of the door, entered. he was met, upon entering the house, by a matronly-looking lady dressed in cap and gown, and who addressed him as j ere. [ ] bond and free. the reception accorded him was not a warm one. the lady bowed somewhat stiffly, as she inquired, in rather a surprised air: " why, jere, what brings you here? '" the judge did not appear to like the inquisitive- ness of the lady, and, without answering her ques¬ tion, said: " send a servant to show my man where to put the horses." " your man, jere! what man ? " my black man. you don't suppose i am such a beggar that i cannot afford a servant, do you ? " to this rather discourteous remark, the ]ady made no reply, but rang the bell, summoning a servant, and directed him to attend to the judge's orders. the lady who had just received the judge, in a man¬ ner evincing that she had no great affection for him, was the widow dean, whose acquaintance the reader will now have an opportunity to form more closely. the widow dean was judge coleman's only surviv¬ ing relative, his sister. she was the relict of colonel woodson dean, who won distinction and shoulder- straps in the mexican war. returning home, he ap¬ plied himself to the cultivation of tobacco and the enthrallment of his fellow-man. after spending a life in extravagance and debauchery, he died, leaving a widow almost penniless, but who remained faithful to his memory. the widow dean had never admired her brother's reckless manner of living; besides, he had so imposed upon her generosity as almost to im¬ poverish her. he had obtained a considerable amount the judges sister. of money, which he never returned her. while judge coleman's sister always extended the hospitality of her home to her vagabond brother, she never could meet him without reproving him, or lecturing him upon his extravagant ways. the judge, in view of this fact, was not a frequent visitor at his sister's house, but being now burdened with a kind of white elephant, in the form of a slave, for whom he had no use, except to convert into money, he determined, upon hearing of the runaway of the widow's jim, to present her with another trusty servant, providing a few hundred dollars were paid in cash, a balance of a few hundred more forthcoming when needed. the widow dean entered the large and comfort¬ able parlor, closely followed by her brother. she seated herself before one of those old-fashioned fire¬ places in which a bright fire was burning. the room and the furniture were in keeping with the exterior appearance of the house; every piece of furniture was arranged with the utmost care, the pictures, the ornaments, everything about the room showed evi¬ dence of the taste and refinement of its owner. there was a striking contrast between the brother and sister as they sat in their respective positions. the widow dean was a very independent woman; having been left almost penniless by her late husband, she grasped the management of her affairs like a woman of mettle, and out of a much encumbered estate, after clearing off mortgages, she improved, repaired, and generally increased the value of everything left her. it is true bond and free. she had enjoyed a small income from the estate of her father, but her brother, who had been executor, being her senior by several years, had not taken the pains or care to protect either his sister's or his own interest, but yielding to his political ambition, he had sacrificed that which was his own, as well as that which he held in trust, to satiate a desire of which, after experiencing, he soon grew weary. the widow dean's countenance bore the traces of beauty and refinement. her early days had been spent in luxury. her beauty had brought to her feet many admirers who worshipped her as a god¬ dess. she was naturally haughty, but her quick and intelligent mind saved her from being termed austere. unlike most southern women, she had a heart over¬ flowing with sympathy and kindness. she owned but very few slaves, and these few were indulged to an extent that made their lot not an unpleasant one. she never allowed any of her servants to be whip¬ ped, and when they were recalcitrant, she would call them in to her, and gently reprimand them. she was never known to sell or buy a servant. jim, who so unceremoniously left her for greater freedom, had been left to her by her late husband, and she had raised him almost from the cradle. this is why she parted with him with such reluctance, and offered so heavy a reward for his return. had jim been cap¬ tured and returned to her, she would simply have reprimanded hirn, and trusted him as implicitly as she had formerly. the judge's sister. her views upon the right of one human being to own another possessed the peculiarly strange like¬ ness to certain charitable christains, "whose cloak of charity stretches so far that it becomes rather thin." she may not have believed that slavery was right and just; she may have thought it cruel and wicked to treat humanity like dumb brutes, but then this humanity was black, and the law of the land, as well as precedent, decreed that white should rule and black be ruled. so, with the same kindly feeling that a good master has for his dog, did the widow dean care for her servants. they were well fed, well dressed, and generally well treated. when jim left her, she thought him very ungrateful, and felt cer¬ tain that he would never be able to get along. she gave but little thought as to his motive for leaving a home so good and a mistress so kind, and attributed his running away to the influence of evil companions. when her brother came to her at this time, she had not thought of adding to her household by the pur¬ chase of another servant, for she was too much cha¬ grined at jim's running away. the judge had often prevailed upon her to increase the number of ser¬ vants about the place, but she had persistently refused to listen to, or heed, his advice, which seemed to her to be followed at all times by misfortune. she had never taken her brother's advice that it did not prove abortive; consequently, she had schooled herself so in business that she managed her own affairs quite ably. bond and free. the judge, as we have said, was not a frequent visitor at his sister s house and his business here at this time was to leave the man whom he had won from his friend, and take his value in cash, this being far more serviceable and less troublesome to him than having a slave traveling around the country with him. he always avoided a controversy with his sis¬ ter when he could, for he disliked her to discourse upon the evil of his ways, for which ways he con¬ sidered himself alone responsible. he did not like any interference with the manner in which he saw fit to pass his life. he knew well the disposition of his sister; he knew her weaknesses and the bent of her sympathy; and he knew that, if he wanted to win his object, he must play the penitent, whether in earnest or not—not that this would be anything new for him to play. he had often resorted to the same expedient, to obtain loan after loan and favor upon favor from his sister. far be it from my intention, dear reader, to lead you to the impression that judge jere coleman was a dependent upon his sisters bounty. he was too proud a man for that; his noble and proud spirit would not permit him to do anything so unmanly and base. but it must be remembered that the judge was a politician, and could view matters in a light far different from other men. favors bestowed were often considered'in the light of honors. while the judge scorned the idea of being a dependent, he found bond and free. point: i want to leave with you the man that i have. he is a good servant, and useful at anything you may see fit to put him." " where do you intend to go, jere, and why do you suppose i shall be pleased at your departure? is not my door always open to you? are you not always welcome here—yes, welcome to remain here with your servant as long as you will ? oh ! if you would but stop this roving about from place to place," and the tears began to steal down her cheeks. "at it again," thought the judge, but he did not lose patience; he continued to speak kindly,—" ma¬ tilda, i could not be so dependent upon you; i could never permit myself to accept such kindness as you offer, without making you some adequate return. no; i should rather you would accept from your brother the gift of this boy, as a slight return for the many favors you have done me." i do not want the man ; i do not want any more servants about the place, especially any strange ones. he might put all sorts of mischief into the others heads, and give me much trouble i do not care to have. if you will remain and take the responsibility of him yourself, i shall be ever so happy to have vou; but, jere, my dear brother, where did you get this man ? " judge coleman looked at his sister with an inquir- ing glance. he had expected this question, yet he was not prepared with an answer; nor did he deem it either prudent or advisable to tell her just where the man the judge's sistek. came from, jet he knew that if he did not, there was a possibility of the man's enlightening her himself. " what does it matter, sis (this appellation was used by the judge when falling on familiar terms with his sister), whence he came ? he is mine. i bought him, and paid for him, and if you won't accept him, then let me leave him with you. until i make arrangements elsewhere." mrs. dean was determined not to have any strange servants mingled with hers. she did not doubt that her brother was truthful in his statements, but she could not understand how he came in possession of the means to spend upon such a luxury as a servant. she knew that his small income did not admit of it, nor did his former inclinations. she was puzzled to know his real object in being so very desirous to leave the man with her, so she remained obdurate; and her un¬ yielding disposition caused her brother to lose patience and temper. " then you will not accept him as a gift, nor permit him to remain here on the place unless i consent to remain ? that i do not see fit to do, and to-morrow, my dear, kind sister," said the judge sarcastically, "i shall bid you farewell." "as you will, jere. you know you always did have your own way," and mrs. dean arose from her seat, and walked toward the window which opened into the garden ; she stopped, and, turning, faced her brother, who saw tears standing in her eyes. she exclaimed,— " oh, jere, why do you give me so much pain ! why the judge's sister and forgetful of, those left behind, we could very readily form the same conclusion that jonathan max¬ well and his wife formed. but can this be supposed? is the human heart, whether within the bosom of a bondman or a freeman, senseless to those pulsations of nature, susceptible to love or hatred, misery or happiness? has nature provided humanity with such control over its forces that we can dismiss at will, regardless of all our surroundings, the things upon which our hopes, our very existence seems to depend? can we, because of a forced change in circumstances and surroundings, put aside and consign to oblivion the cherished hopes of life? more likely is the human heart to dwell, to linger, to cling with perti¬ nacity and obstinacy to that which it is compelled to relinquish. the more painful the separation, the harder is it to forget. the very heart-strings of wil¬ liam had been torn asunder by this separation from his wife and child. we have spoken of his devotion to them, of the pride he took in his only child; and when he fol¬ lowed his new master, as he believed, into a deeper and more relentless servitude, the bitterest and most acute pains shot through his bosom. there was no change, no treatment, however good, that could miti¬ gate the cruelty of this separation; and as he told those around him, with tears streaming from his eyes, of the beautiful wife and the loving child he had been taken from, perhaps for ever, he was indeed an ob¬ ject of commiseration. the motley group of hearers bond and free. lie knew, that to tell her he had been ruthlessly and cruelly separated from his wife and child would but tend to place him under close surveillance, thereby preventing his intended escape. in ninety cases out of a hundred, this would have been the result had he dared to present such a pro¬ position to his mistress or master; but could william have understood that the mistress to whom he now owed obedience differed materially from the average southern woman, he would have made his appeal. he would have thrown into it all of the eloquence possible for him to summon; he would have en¬ deavored to touch some chord of sympathy, thus se¬ curing a kind word or a promise. but no; he re¬ frained from giving expression to his thoughts, and mrs. dean, who would have commanded her brother to return the man to his master, was left to think that william was taciturn and sullen, and, consequently, not a fit one to be about her good-natured servants. immediately upon her brother's return, she approached him concerning william, insisting that he should be taken away from the place. the judge had some reluctance about selling wil¬ liam to the traders, and yet he realized that some dis¬ position must be made of him, profitable, of course, to himself. finding that his sister not onlv objected to advancing him any money on the man, but posi¬ tively insisted on his removal, he decided to sell him to the first " nigger-trader " that came along. this species of genus homo was very numerous, as the judge's sister. a matter of course, throughout the south, negro- trading being far more profitable than dealing in horses and cattle. the two were, however, closely allied in many cases, for a trader would often come from the far south with a herd of cattle, and return with a goodly supply of negroes, consisting of men, women, and children. these traders were adepts at the business, and knew just what kind of negroes the market required. they attended all the slave-mar¬ kets and private sales, and bought wherever they could get a bargain, realizing on their investments just as a man does in any ordinary business transac¬ tion. in addition to their business of buying and selling these slaves, they indulged in stealing and kidnapping free negroes. this was a little risky, but very remunerative, and, consequently, popular. the negro-trader was not looked upon as the best type of a citizen; he was not quite so highly regarded as a wealthy planter, who owned several hundred slaves, and who bought, traded, or sold at will. he was viewed rather with suspicion and mistrust, and thought capable of doing many things that a respect¬ able man would scorn. usually, he commanded large sums of money, had a great fondness for whisky, tobacco, and poker. he could be seen upon steamboats, at hotels, around jails, and at slave-pens, being easily distinguished from other men by his broad-rimmed hat, soiled shirt, scrubby beard, swag¬ gering gait, and the bull-whip invariably under his arm. his keen eye took in at a glance every defect bond and free. about the man or the woman he wished to purchase. in order to test the abilities and qualities of an in¬ tended purchase, a male was compelled to bend his body, jump, show his teeth, and bring his muscles generally into play. a female was subjected to much the same, undergoing many cruel indignities, utterly regardless of her sex. being a class apparently created without a grain of human feeling, they (the traders) would take a mother from her babe, a husband from a wife, or vice versa. tears never appealed to their sympathies, for they were devoid of any. all appeals were an¬ swered by the crack of the whip. they would go through the country and purchase as many slaves as their funds would permit, and after depositing them safely in jail, would collect them and start them in droves for the far south, where good prices were given by the owners of large rice and cotton planta¬ tions for good, able-bodied men and women. while making these long excursions, women and children were placed in wagons and the men were shackled together and driven from sunrise to sunset. from three to four white men generally drove herds of a hundred or more, and, at night, when they encamped, one or two watched while the others slept. these poor creatures, over whom they watched, were as completely cowed by the presence of one or two men as they would have been by an army. they might have rebelled, it is true, but such an uprising would have amounted comparatively to nothing; for the judge's sister. there was the strong arm of the law, a sure and ready protection for all whites and a constant menace to these abused people, making them powerless, no matter what their number, to ameliorate their forlorn condition. a better representative of the southern "nigger- trader " than jasson lillie could not be found. he made periodical visits through the section of country in which the widow dean resided. he had grown up from youth in the business, and as he entered in¬ to manhood, had divested himself of conscience, honor, and respectability; so jass lillie was minus none of the qualities or knowledge requisite for a most successful "nigger-trader." he had probably reached his fortieth year, but looked much older, his hair being grizzly. his low forehead, broad mouth, and bull-like neck bespoke the man. he could round off an oath and deal cards with an avidity that gave him an enviable reputation among his compan¬ ions, while his judgment as to the value, soundness, and salable qualities of a negro was unerring. he never took any risks when once lie put his money in a man or woman, and from the time he bought until he sold, security and vigilance were his watch words. merciless and brutal in the extreme, he thought no more of throwing his big bull-whip upon the back of a negro man or woman, than upon the back of a steer. when he made his periodical trip, he spent but little time on a bargain, for time was money to mr. bond and fbee. lillie. he was sure at all times to get the best of a bargain. jass lillie's time for passing through certain sections of the country was as well known to the slaves as to the masters, and every slave in that particular vicinity would grow restless and frightened when the time approached for his appearance. many of them would conceal themselves, fearing that lillie would see them and offer to purchase them from their masters. to the slaves he was a dreaded and unwel¬ come visitor; while to many of the masters he was ever welcome. it had been some six months since jass lillie had visited the section of country where the widow dean lived, and it had been more than that many years since he had stopped within her domains, at which time he was given to understand by the widow dean that there was no opening for his business upon her premises. mr. lillie rounded off a few selected oaths at the time lost, and never lost any more by stopping there. he was now daily expected, and the only slaves for miles that were not disturbed by this piece of in¬ telligence were the widow dean's. her brother shared in the general expectation proceeding lillie's arrival; for he had decided to dispose of william, and jass lillie was the man to whom he would sell him. the judge and jass were not strangers to each other, as they had met before on similar business—the former having disposed of much of his own property to this speculator in human beings, and he knew just how to drive a bargain with him. the judge's sister. the sun crept up from over the eastern hills, and bathed the rich verdure in its softest rajs. the dew upon the grass and the flowers seemed to sparkle and laugh with joy as it was kissed with the golden flood of light. the hyacinths and pinks looked particu¬ larly bright this morning, as they hung in profusion about the widow dean's manor-house. the ivy and creeping smilax glistened in the sunshine, creep¬ ing up and entwining themselves in and out of the crevices of the old stone walls. it was one of those beautiful spring mornings when all nature seemed happy, bright, and smiling. the water in the little brooklet dashed along as though keeping time to the music of the birds that flitted from tree to tree with their merry chirping; and it moved on in its course, only intercepted by some huge, moss-covered rock, which would break it into a thousand little sparkling jets, glistening and shining in the sunlight like bright crystal gems. the horn of the overseer, as he sum¬ moned the field-hands to work, sounded upon the still, clear air, then died away and lost itself in the thick foliage of the mountain. every living thing seemed to catch new life and inspiration from the sweet morning air. the old slave, turning out from his quarters, walked with unusual suppleness and agil- itv, while the little pickaninnies, with nappy hair and rolling eyes, sprang out from the little whitewashed cabins and gamboled about in the dewy grass in lieu of a bath. judge coleman arose long before his accustomed bond and free. hour, stalked oat into the stable, and ordered a horse saddled. the order being obeyed, he mounted his spirited animal and wound his way through the long line of stately poplars, whose boughs and leaves bent and bowed to the gentle breeze, as if in salute to the early rider. lie rode directly to the town of e , stopped his horse in front of the inn, and inquired if jass lillie had arrived. he was informed that that individual was a guest at the hostel rie, and if the gentleman would dismount, his horse would be at¬ tended to and mr. lillie informed of his presence. so important a southern gentleman as judge cole¬ man was, of course, widely known, and as mr. kurtz- man, the landlord of the black horse tavern, made the remark, he hailed a negro servant girl, address¬ ing her by the euphonious cognomen of alanthe. " tell the gentleman in the room, first floor front, that judge coleman, ex-member of congress, wishes to see him." the servant girl, who might have been taken for a boy from the scarcity of hair on her head, and the coat-like garment she wore reaching down to her knees, exposing a pair of very black and very thin legs, very large feet whose toes stood apart with per¬ fect individuality, disappeared from the bar-room and office, and in an incredibly short time, returned, say¬ ing: "glass bitters. gemmen says gemmen come up." the glass of bitters was ordered by mr. lillie, who had not yet arisen, as an eye-opener. the order was bond and free. lady, give me devil once. never stop now. no use, only time lost." lillie continued to jerk out his sentences in this way until his toilet was finished. starting toward the door, he said to the judge: " been to breakfast? late this morning; join me." the judge thanked him, but declined the invitation, re¬ marking that he would accompany him to the break¬ fast table, which he did. lillie, to save time, had ordered his breakfast, which was set before him in a very short time after he was seated at the table. judge coleman seated himself at his side, and while lillie shoveled the food into his mouth, employing both hands and knife and fork, the judge informed him that he had a negro man he wanted to sell, and asked lillie whether he wanted to buy him. with his mouth full of food, lillie replied : " buy him, buy him, course. sound? healthy? under forty? ten hundred, sight unseen. any defects, no sale." "but ten hundred ain't enough, lillie ; i paid fif¬ teen for him." " can't help it. market slow, demand poor, ex¬ pense clear to georgia. bring him up, may do bet¬ ter. be back in ten days. nigger, git my horse." the last remark was addressed to the servant of all work, alanthe, who was now lazily engaged, with a large paper brush, in keeping the flies off the table. "yes, sah!" was the reply, as she bounded from bond and free. and farther away from his reach. the hope of again seeing his beloved wife was not lost entirely, but it appeared like a delusion, though he still prayed, trusted, and believed a way would open up to him that would lead him out of bondage. his religious zeal made him too reliant. he waited upon some manifestation of the power of providence, and be¬ came entirely passive as to what was required of him. he lost sight of that great truth, "god helps those who help themselves,'' and continued to wait for an evidence of godly help. he was courageous and manly, and never abandoned his intention to es¬ cape, but his lack of resolution and confidence in himself proved a fatal blunder, and resulted in his being taken still farther from a free land. lie had no knowledge, or, in fact, did he think for a moment, that the wife he loved so dearly was bravely strug¬ gling on toward freedom. had william mccullar been in possession of this information, he would have risked his life to reach her; the fetters of slavery would have been burst asunder, and he would have made a desperate effort for freedom. as it was, be¬ ing entirely in ignorance of their escape, and partly in doubt of the advisability of attempting to escape, himself, he hesitated too long, and, as i have said, was borne farther away from wife and child and lib¬ erty. william had finished serving the breakfast for his new mistress and master, and had seated himself at a table in the kitchen to eat his own. the break- bond and free. driver. there were not many negroes upon the place, as we have said, and the few who were there were, as far as their mistress was concerned, well treated, and it was a most fortunate thing for them, with such a driver as uncle dick, that they had so kind a mis¬ tress. the average southern overseer was specially and carefully selected for his cruelty and brutality. he required the reputation of a hard driver as a re¬ commendation to entitle him to employment by a large planter ; he had to have combined the instincts of a blood hound and a perfect knowledge of " nig¬ gers " ; it was necessary for him to know how to ob¬ tain plenty of work from half-fed mortals, and to look upon a slave, not as a human creature, but as a thing to be driven by the crack of the whip, and worked until quite exhausted. they were selected from among the poorest of poor whites ; and the exalted position of overseer and their hatred and prejudice of a black man, made them fit subjects for such positions. an exception was made by some slave-holders, who were far-sighted, by selecting from among their negroes an overseer. "wherever this was the case, the slaves were made to suffer, if possible, greater persecution than under a white man. the authority given them over their brethren, and their great anxiety to retain it by pleas¬ ing their masters, led them to extremes in their treat¬ ment. they had better opportunities to know the habits of those under them ; they knew whenever a man or woman was off on a frolic, and if one lagged the judge's sister. behind while working in the field next day, no mercy was shown, nor was the lash spared. white men were hard drivers and cruel overseers, but black men ex¬ ceeded them, besides being very deceptive and treach¬ erous. they would pry into the secrets of the poor slaves, and then expose them to their masters. uncle dick was one of this class, but could not ex¬ ercise his punishing powers, as the widow dean drew the line at this point. but he made his fellow-slaves suffer every hardship he could inflict, and took great pleasure in watching them and conveying news to his mistress. he had been instructed to conduct wil¬ liam safely to the black horse, and not inform him of the object. the commission could not have been dele¬ gated to one more faithful. he drove the horses and kept a close eye on william, while a broad smile occasionally overspread his face. he knew the ob¬ ject of taking william to the tavern, as the time for jass lillie's return had arrived. when the tavern was reached, several men, women, and children were seen in various attitudes of ease, within a kind of inclosure similar to a cattle stockade, while two men of rather unprepossessing appearance performed guard duty over them. on the front porch of the tavern, lillie stood with his hands hid away in the pockets of his trousers, roll¬ ing a large quid of tobacco from one side of his some¬ what capacious mouth to the other, watching william as he sprang lightly from the carriage. upon alight¬ ing, william walked up to his master who was stand- bond and free. ing by lillie's side, politely touched his hat, aiid awaited orders. " well-er, that's the nigger?" said lillie, nodding his head toward william. " that's he," replied the judge, " and a better one never broke bread." this was said in a very low voice, as if not intended for william's ears. "boy, boy, come here. open yer mouth," said lillie. ' william obeyed, and lillie poked his dirty fingers into the man's mouth, feeling his upper and lower jaw teeth. " bend over. touch the ground. jump," and as he said this, he dexterously swung his bull- whip over his head, and made it crack like a pistol shot. william sprang some two feet into the air, and came down lightly upon his toes. lillie walked to him, roughly felt his limbs, and watched the develop¬ ment of his muscles as he worked them. then turn¬ ing to the judge said: " twelve hundred. aint worth d cent more." " no, sir," said the judge; "fifteen, or home he goes." "fifteen!" said lillie, eyeing the judge closely, "can't stand it; great risk; market slow; demand poor; expense great; no time to dicker; thirteen and half—no more. mitchell, git them ar niggers ready. move on." the last remark was addressed to one of the drivers, who at once proceeded to arouse the group of slaves by kicking and thumping them, and afterwards telling them to get up. the judge's sister. "he is jours," said the judge, turning and enter¬ ing the tavern. lillie called up one of his men, and said: " put that ar nigger in the drove ; buckle him good ; don't take any foolishness off him." he then followed judge coleman into the tavern, counted out thirteen hundred and fifty dollars, handed it to the judge, taking a receipt something like the following: e- , may — —. jasson lillie to judge j. coleman, br. to one negro man, called william, five feet two inches; dark- brown color; good features; compactly built. sound health guaranteed. $ , received payment, • j. coleman. lillie spelled the receipt over, placed it in his wal¬ let, and said: " any more like him, coleman, bring 'em along. market slow ; demand poor; but buy anyhow." the drivers now busied themselves in getting the women and children into the wagons and hand-cuff¬ ing the men together in pairs, running a chain along between them. william was hand-cuffed to a burly, black fellow. the front part of the chain was at¬ tached to the wagon, the drivers mounted their horses, the whips cracked, and the cavalcade started south¬ ward. william mccullar's heart throbbed with pain as he now realized that each step bore him farther from his wife and child and liberty. chapter xvi. a mother's sacrifice. it was well into the night when uncle joshua drove away from the maxwell estate with purcey and sallie silvers in mr. biggers' wagon. after watching them until the darkness hid them from view, the mother re¬ turned to the house. elva had no superstitious fears, notwithstanding her great confidence in the power to which she invariably appealed for assistance. her belief that providence had selected her to aid in the escape of her fellow-creatures from bondage to free¬ dom was as honest as any belief ever entertained in human bosom. this idea was strengthened from the fact that none whom she had assisted to escape had ever been captured or returned. now that her own child had gone—she whom she loved with the tender- est affection of a mother—she felt that no sacrifice, however great, would be too much to make for her protection. she was now to act a part which must, eventually, end in detection ; and would, in all proba¬ bility, lead to a terrible punishment—she alone to be the sufferer. her mistress and master must be kept in ignorance of purcey's departure for several days, or, at least, until she had a fair opportunity to escape into a free land. everything now rested with her; she summoned all of her determination and courage [ ] a mother's sacrifice. and put in operation her full powers of deception. usually thoughtful and collected, in her changed manner she seemed somewhat inclined to impulsive¬ ness. entering the house, she carefully fastened the door, and crept softly through the rooms and halls, until the door of her master's room was reached. every¬ thing was clothed in inky darkness ; not a sound dis¬ turbed the death-like stillness, except the regular breathing of the sleepers within their rooms. through all of that great house, from kitchen to the bed-room of her master, situated in the extreme east wing of the house, she had crept, without com¬ ing in contact with a single piece of furniture or mak¬ ing a misstep. she listened at the door for a moment, her breath coming thick and fast. within her bosom a fearful conflict was passing. she placed her hand upon the door-knob, and withdrew it suddenly, as if something had stung her; she thrust her hand into her bosom and drew forth a leather sheath, and drawing out the shining blade of a knife, she again approached the door, but hesitated. should she en¬ ter? could she not, with one stroke of that weapon, rid herself of the man that held her and her children in bondage? yet this would not release the fetters from their limbs. but then purcey would be safe, and what would it then matter though the law hold her? she did not fear death, she did not fear the cruelest ■ounishment. if she plunged that dagger to the hilt a mother's sacrifice. ways entertained a fear. he had good reasons at that time to be frightened. while elva was greatly changed in mind, she was even more so in appearance, due to the excitement of the last hour or so. her hair now hung in a dishev¬ eled mass about her shoulders; her face was pale and haggard, while her eyes wore a wild and restless expression. her lips were thin and bloodless, and a nervous twitching appeared about the corners of her mouth. the child did not know whether this was an apparition or not, so unseasonable was the hour for elva to be there. she hurriedly and noiselessly left the room, went down to the kitchen, crossed the yard, and entered one of the many cabins. approaching a heap of straw huddled in one corner of the room, she gently shook the sleeping form of a girl, and bending her head close to the girl's ear she whispered, in "sepul¬ chral tones: "em, em, get up." the girl, upon recognizing the voice, arose hastily, donned the one garment that composed her wearing apparel, and, obeying a sign from elva, followed her into the yard. she instructed emeline to go to the nursery and re¬ main. em had stolen away from the nursery to en¬ joy a night's rest, free from master archie's annoy¬ ance. she reluctantly obeyed her mother, who now returned to her own room, threw herself upon the bed, and tried to find solace in sleep. but no sleep came to her eyes. she tossed uneasily upon the bed for several hours, until the morning came and the a mother's sacrifice. reading for awhile, then sleeping, and at times com¬ plaining. the question of purcey's continued ab¬ sence from her duties became the subject of mrs. maxwell's complaints. during purcey's illness, it had been the custom of jonathan maxwell and his wife to make inquiries daily regarding her health. these inquiries were made invariably of elva, who permitted no one but herself to enter the sick room or answer these inqui¬ ries. this precaution had been adopted by her in order to assume all responsibility of the escape, and to allow as much time as possible to elapse before purcey's escape could be discovered. the irrepressible elo had been very inquisitive, and her mother found great difficulty in keeping her from purcey's room. had the room been located in any other part of the house, it would undoubtedly have been invaded by elo; but it was directly over the kitchen, being reached by a flight of stairs from the kitchen only. the approach was, consequently, ever under watch of the mother, who had to cajole elo in every imaginable manner. never had the child eaten so many good things in her life, as in the brief time pending the discovery of purcey's escape. she came bounding into the house one day when elva was absent from the kitchen. she looked around, and not seeing any one, stole softly to the steps. lis¬ tening, she could hear nothing. then creeping softly up the steps, she reached the door of the room where purcey had been sick, and peered through the key- a mother's sacrifice. unless i send for you. now go," and she pushed her out of the door. elo looked at her black arm, where the prints of her mothers fingers still remained, and, rubbing that member, she exclaimed: " gollv ! didn't mamma look wild, and didn't she hurt dis darkey's arm ! " the ordeal now came at last. emeline had sum¬ moned elva to her mistress, and she fully realized that she must now face the inevitable. the leniency of her mistress, of late, surprised her. for several days mrs. maxwell had, contrary to her custom, sub¬ mitted to many inconveniences on account of the alleged illness of one of her servants. had she made a peremptory demand for pureey's presence, she would have been less surprised, though disheartened; for then purcey would not have had the long start she now enjoyed. mrs. maxwell was reclining in an easy chair, her feet resting upon a velvet-covered divan. a book lay in her lap, the pages of which she had been care¬ lessly perusing. a rich robe of pink silk hung in graceful folds about her, and a simple knot of white lace encircled her beautiful throat. she was a hand¬ some woman, and, as she sat in her morning-gown, free from all adornments, displaying only that beauty which nature had so lavishly bestowed upon her, her husband could not help but yield to her every re¬ quest. her long, rich, brown hair hung in profusion about her shoulders, her skin was as delicate and bond and free. transparent as pearl, her lips were of a rosy hue, dis¬ closing teeth as white as snow. she looked more like a goddess of love and beauty than the unfeeling woman that she was. jonathan had for some time been endeavoring to straighten some accounts, but, owing to the frequent interruptions of his wife, had not completed his task. mrs. maxwell tapped her shapely foot upon the divan upon which it rested. inclining her head lazily to one side, she said, with a half petulant air: "jonathan, i do wish you would put up those books. i have been talking to you all this time, and you have not paid me any attention whatever." he ceased writing, pushed his chair back from the desk, and looked admiringly at his wife. "now, pet," said he, coaxingly, "don't say that. i have heard every word you uttered, in. fact, i have written some of them in the ledger." "it's nothing but books and accounts," she con¬ tinued, " whenever i want to talk with you. i wish all the books and all the accounts were at the bottom of the sea." mrs. maxwell, being naturally indolent and ac¬ customed to being petted, was like the average southern lady. she did not know what it was to help herself. a servant was always at her com¬ mand, and work of any sort was absolutely abhorred by her. she had been greatly worried, since purcey's illness, by the other servants, who were either too stu¬ pid to understand her ways, or too impudent for her; bond and free. your service now, and await patiently your com¬ mands." mrs. maxwell changed her position, so as to bring herself directly facing her husband. "jonathan, dear," she began, "i cannot get along without pur- cey. i have so much trouble and worry with these other stupid servants, and archie, dear little fellow, is constantly complaining. em left him the other night, and the child says something came into the room and frightened him nearly to death. of course, that was only imagination, but to think of the an¬ noyance by having to listen to the child's nonsense. besides, it is wrong to so indulge that girl in this way—the very idea of a nigger acting like a lady! " jonathan laughed at his wife's petulance, replying: " pet, you shall not be annoyed any longer, you shall have your maid. but, to tell the truth, i had intended to hire her out since her husband has gone. i am afraid she will grow devilish." ■'afraid! " exclaimed mrs. maxwell, affecting indig- ' o o nation. "don't you own her? can't you cut the devil out of her? i am not afraid of her; i want her to attend me, and she shall do it. send for her at once. i would not be surprised if she has not grown lazy; for you know what a little indulgence does for these creatures." "elva informed me this morning that she would be able to attend her duties to-morrow, and, perhaps, we had belter wait. nevertheless, if you insist, why, i shall send for her," said jonathan, rising and walk- a mother's sacrifice. ing toward the bell, which was in easy reach of mrs. maxwell. for her to tap it, though, would require too much exertion. " i do insist," she said, lying back upon the cushions of the soft chair; " i want her at once, and will not accept of any of blva's excuses. i don't believe a word she says, as she only tells us of her relapses to shield her in her indolence. if she is able to attend to her duties to-morrow, she is able now." jonathan had already rung the bell and returned to his seat. he was not pleased with the idea of hav¬ ing purcey about again, but being an indulgent hus¬ band, he yielded to his wife's desires. had he known how close elva was when he laid his hand upon the bell, he could have saved himself the trouble, for when he rang, she was right at the door, having been standing there during the entire conversation between her mistress and master. we cannot commend elva for being an eaves¬ dropper, neither can we condemn her, when we con¬ sider the character of the teachings she received. whatever there was despicable in the nature of a slave could be attributed to the master. the first instinct was to conceal everything from the white folks. candor was crushed out, honesty beaten out, and truth strangled. in view of this, elva cannot be judged too harshly. she had overheard the con¬ versation between her mistress and master, and she knew that, when she would enter that room, the truth must be told. summoning all of her courage; bond and free. and controlling herself as best she could, she gently pushed open the door and entered. her head was erect and her step unfaltering, as she advanced to the center of the room, making her accustomed obeisance. the rich damask curtains permitted a soft ray of sunlight to creep between their folds, and it fell with warm radiance upon the velvet carpet. mrs. max¬ well had changed her position, so that she saw the form of elva through the large mirror which stood at one end of the room. she turned her head care¬ lessly, saying: " elva, i want you to send purcey to me at once." the woman hung her head and her eyes sought the floor, but she said not a word in response to her mistress's command, nor did she move. mrs. max¬ well's voice rose to a higher key as she repeated her command. the woman still remained motionless. turning in her chair, the mistress looked upon elva and encountered those large black eyes resting fully upon her; their burning intensity caused her to shrink. but it was woman to woman, and she fairly screamed: " elva, what do you mean ? did }rou not hear me? how dare you stand there and not obey ? leave the room, and do as i bid you." a sardonic smile played around elva's mouth. raising her eyes and looking full at her mistress, she said slowly: "miss jinnie, don't i always 'bey you? ain't i yours for you to do what you please with ? yes; dat's a mother's sacrifice. true," she said, as though talking to herself. "but when you tell me bring puree here, i can't. no; can't flo dat, miss jinnie." "woman, are you crazy!" exclaimed mrs. max¬ well, rising. " leave the room at once, and send purcey here. if she can't walk, let her crawl. i won't indulge niggers in their laziness any longer." elva walked toward the door, her first intention being to go, and say no more, but at once make her escape. but she quickly reconsidered, for she must stand between her child and her master. if she at¬ tempted escape, she would only be captured and pun¬ ished. if she remained and faced the punishment consequent upon her deception, she would at least feel that she was but the sacrifice for her child's liberty. death had no terrors for her; she had ac¬ complished all she could, and was ready now to suf¬ fer. upon reaching the door, she turned to her mis¬ tress, and said: " miss jinnie, i'm not crazy, but purcey is beyond your reach, praise god ! she is gone; and i hope, by this time, she's safe on de other side." jonathan, who had been busily engaged writing letters, had not paid much attention to what had trans¬ pired between his wife and elva, but now that his attention was attracted by the excited manner of his wife, he arose from his seat in time to catch elva's last remark. "what is that you say?" he demanded, as he ap¬ proached the woman. "where has she gone? you a mother's sacrifice. ing upon this suggestion, be instructed lewis, the overseer, to punish elva in whatever manner he saw fit, in order to make her divulge what she knew. the commission could not have been delegated to one more faithful and willing. it was seldom that any of the house-servants were handed over to be castigated by him, and for the many years tie had been upon the maxwell place, he had never had the opportunity of punishing elva or any of her chil¬ dren, and when he assured jonathan that he would bring her about, he meant to do it, or kill her in the attempt. jonathan was chagrined and greatly put out at the idea of being so cleverly outwitted by elva. that she must be sold was a settled thing, but something must be learned from her as to the length of time purcey had been gone. pursuit would be foolish¬ ness until this could be ascertained. all the negroes about the place were closely questioned, but not one knew of her disappearance, thus forcing him to the conclusion that elva alone could furnish the desired information. one of the most important things that slaves were impressed with was that they were subordinate to the will of the master, and any infraction of that will would be visited with terrible consequences. they were taught that the white man was supposed to do their thinking; his word was law, and his will theira an example must be made of elva in order that the other slaves would profit by it jonathan would a mother's sacrifice. other rope, and summoning one of the other men to assist him, raised the prostrate form of the woman and lashed it to an upright post. he then bared her back, and with the end of a heavy leather trace, beat her until his arm became so tired that he could not raise it. dissolving a quantity of salt in water, he dashed it upon her now lacerated and bleeding back. after releasing her, she sank to the floor, an almost lifeless mass of humanity. there she was left to "wallow in her own blood, and to die the death of a dog. lewis recognized now that he had gone too far. but what had he to fear? the law would not prosecute him, even in event of her death. he had but to declare that she had raised her hand against him, and he would be vindicated ; for it was death by the law for a negro to raise his hand against a white man. the punishment inflicted by lewis upon elva was cruel, so much so that we wonder that a human heart could be so brutal as to instigate such suffering. but there was no cruelty, no brutality, that the human mind could conceive, that the negroes were not made to suffer. the very- devil himself must have been the orginator of some of their cruelties. elva was unable to move from the spot where she sank down, and as she lay there writhing and groan¬ ing from pain, not a person dared go near her. elo had been working in the field all day, and did not learn that her mother had been beaten until her re¬ turn at night. nobody ever noticed her, and she bond and free. only gained the information by hearing others speak of it. when she finally learned where her mother was, she determined upon going to her. favored by the darkness, she gained an entrance to the carriage- house, and guided by the groans of her mother, she groped her way to her. placing her hands upon the body, she whispered: '' mamma, mamma, is dis you ? " elva's only answer was a groan. elo's eyes soon became accustomed to the darkness, and when she discovered the pitiable condition of her mother, un¬ couth, untutored as she was, she broke out in a par¬ oxysm of grief. leaving her mother, she clambered into the loft and obtained some straw. she then pro¬ cured bedding and made a rude couch, and after con¬ siderable exertion, at the expense of a great deal of pain to her mother, she succeeded in getting her body in a more comfortable position. having done this, she went and obtained food and water, and, with her mother's head upon her lap, insisted upon her partak¬ ing of it. when elva recognized who it was that was treating her so kindly, she endeavored to place her arm around the child's neck, whispering: " god bless you, honey, grod bless you !" the child was overcome with joy upon hearing her mother's voice, and, regardless of the pain she caused, she wildly threw her arms about her neck, exclaim¬ ing : " oh, mamma, you is all right; isn't you ? " " yes, honey," replied the mother. " i'se all right, bond and free. something unusual had happened her mother, she set up such a terrible screaming that, in a short time, nearly everybody upon the place was alarmed. when they rushed into the carriage-house, they beheld a sight that almost froze the marrow in their bones. the body was removed and laid away with the cere¬ mony which the other slaves were permitted to be¬ stow, and brother beldin discussed her virtues to a weeping and sympathetic audience. the mother-earth closed over elva's remains, but no stone or other em¬ blem marks her resting-place; and she lives only in the memory of those for whom she sacrificed so much; and in that of jonathan, who never forgot the last look she gave him. uncle joshua wore crape upon his battered white hat for many long days, and elo, who never became reconciled to her mother's punishment and death, grew so vicious that whipping had no effect upon her, and she was sold to the traders and taken south. bond and free. a servant, and a child. the widow thorm informed her that she would accommodate them the best she could, and invited her in. purcey and the child fol¬ lowed. they were ushered into a small, but neat, parlor, where a cheerful fire was burning in an open lire place. it was still raining, and our travelers were tired and hungry. the widow busied herself in making them comfortable, paying all attention to sallie, as a matter of course. when she had assisted her in removing her wraps, she said : "now, miss, the servant can take the child and go into the kitchen, where she will find a comfortable fire." "no," said sallie, " i prefer her to remain here with me." the widow raised her eyes in surprise, but said nothing. when the meal which sallie had ordered was prepared, it was announced by a rather diminu¬ tive, hungry-looking servant girl, who ambled into the parlor and stared first at sallie, then at purcey, finally stating that "missa said de white lady was to come to supper." they both, however, followed her into the dining- room, which was small like the parlor, but equally as neat. sallie ]ooked at the table, and saw that pre¬ parations had been made for herself only. she asked for an additional chair for purcey, which was placed at the table. the widow again looked surprised. while they ate, she carefully scanned the child, con¬ cluding that purcey was the mother. she was some- bond and free. in fact, i much prefer it, as i never like to be sepa¬ rated from my servant." "youdon't mean, miss, that you will sleep in the same room with your servant!" said the widow, plainly displaying her astonishment. " that is just what i mean. my health is not good? and i never sleep without having her in the room with me." the widow was a lady who believed that there was no level upon which black and white could meet. she had entertained, under her hospitable roof, all classes of people, but never before had she come in contact with a white lady who desired her negro ser¬ vant to sleep in the same room with her. it was not that she was prejudiced, but it was so contrary to all custom. she was astonished when they ate at the same table; but now, they were to sleep in the same room, and, as she had made no other arrangements, probably in the same bed. she was outdone. who could this strange couple be? purcey was fair and handsome, but it was evident that she was of negro descent, for the child clearly betrayed that fact. sal- lie was comely, but, to all appearance, a mistress, yet she did not understand their relations. like all women, the widow was curious, but she said to sallie: ''well, miss, i shall arrange the room, and you can retire whenever }^ou see fit. of course, if you have no objection to your servant occupying the same bond and free. mind engaged with thoughts of her guest, when the outer door opened, and the footsteps of a man were heard in the hallway. the widow did not appear anyway alarmed, but waited until the man made his appearance. as he entered the room, she arose, ap¬ proached him ,and relieved him of his hat and cane, her face wearing a most benign smile, and her green¬ ish eyes twinkling with delight. the person who had just entered the widow's domicile in such a familiar manner was doctor par¬ loe, the village apothecary and medical adviser, and the widow thorm's legal and medical adviser. he was a very frequent, as well as a welcome, visitor. it may have been a late hour for a lone lady to receive a visitor, but then the doctor could not come until after business hours, and if there were any impropri¬ ety in the lateness of the hour, the circumstances un¬ der which he called made him feel privileged. doc¬ tor parloe was a man who had seen some fifty odd years. his experience in life had been such as to make him a very practical man, yet there are things in the life of some men, although of fifty years' ex¬ perience, that are criticised by the world. but the world is cynical at any rate, and if doctor parloe had schooled himself to have opinions m which other men refused to concur, why, he simply pronounced all those who differed with him as fools. he was not a misanthropist—that is, in the strict sense—yet he had little regard for mankind, and no respect for their opinions when they differed from his. he was bond and free. open the conversation, her part being to give quiet acquiescence. in fact, the doctor assumed the right to speak before being spoken to, and one of his chief reasons for visiting the widow so often was because she was so good a listener. but to-night she was burning up with curiosity, and she overleaped the bounds of all precedent, and shocked the doctor so severely that it took him sometime to recover. the widow broke out almost as soon as he was seated: "doctor parloe, something very remarkable has happened in the house. pray, what do you think ? " now, the first remark, notwithstanding the fact that the widow had committed a breach, was all right; but when she asked the doctor what he thought, the arm with which he was conveying the cup of tea to his lips stopped half way, his eye opened wide, his lips parted, and he stared at the woman in such a manner as to forcibly remind her of what she had done. she was about to apologize, when he set the cup down and said, in a slow, deliber¬ ate manner: "i think, i think, thorm, that you are a fool," and, raising his cup of tea, he drank it at a draught. thorm did not stop for this, but broke in by say¬ ing: " but, doctor, this is really important, and i want your opinion." ''that," said he, "you shall have, but i hope you will not forget yourself again. always remember the distance between the philosophic and the unphil- osophic mind; always have a due regard for those bond and free. the slip. oh, if sledger was only here!" but sled- ger was not there, he having returned south with some slaves whom he had claimed as his own, proving them by fictitious papers prepared by jamison, who was now traveling about, earning a penny anywhere and any way he could. lie had no thought of ever seeing purcey again, and was now greatly surprised. he did not know where sallie was, not having seen her take her departure, but he could find out something about them by inquiring at the tavern. entering the tavern, he sought the landlord and learned from him.of sallie's departure and her inten tion to return in a couple of days, which, of course, left purcey alone. now, mr. jamison was not a brave man, but he was a shrewd one, and he quickly concluded that if he could gain possession of purcey and spirit her away before sallie's return, he could make a profit¬ able speculation on his own hook. he decided to watch her movements and to take advantage of the first opportunity to kidnap her. he could find ready hands to assist him in this business, and he lost no time in securing them. purcey knew the man had recognized her, and she became greatly alarmed; she did not leave her room, but waited patiently for darkness, intending to start for the place to which she had been directed, where she would find assistance in crossing the lake. she thought of employing the negro boy to escort her; then she feared compromising him. the directions bond and free. over briers and bushes. she had struck the right path, and she followed it without deviation. the bashes would catch her skirts, but she tarried not for this, nor did she stop to look around; for she knew that she was being pursued, and she mast elude her pursuers. on she rushed, her heart set upon gaining liberty for her¬ self and child. she did not for a moment stop to think of husbanding her strength in case of being overtaken, but kept madly on. her limbs soon be¬ gan to weaken, her gait slacken, and she heard the voices of men. looking around, she beheld two men approaching her; one of them was jamison. she saw now it was useless to fly, so she determined to make a fight. liberty was a precious boon, and if she could not enjoy that, then she preferred death. placing her child upon the ground, and standing be¬ tween it and the two men, who were now within a few yards of her, she raised her eyes to heaven and exclaimed : " oh god, almighty father, protect me with thy strong arm! " the child clung to her dress, and looked innocently into her face. she stooped and kissed it, and it smiled. the smile gave her courage, for she realized that two lives must be protected, the one even dearer than her own. from her pocket she drew forth her master's silver-mounted pistol, and awaited the approach of the men. mr. jamison got within a few feet of her, when she leveled the weapon at him, and commanded him to halt, which he did, falling in the rear of his across the line. she pressed it to her bosom and covered its brow with kisses. then she prayed for her mother and husband. the one was beyond the reach of her prayers, and the other was almost, at that moment, plunging into a deeper slavery than he had ever yet known. sallie was found, and when the two women met, there was a joyful time. purcey felt under many obligations to her friend, and was profuse in her thanks. together they set about to perfect arrange¬ ments to communicate with purcey's husband, and, if possible, secure his freedom. it was found a diffi¬ cult matter to decide what steps to take to obtain this end, as letters would avail nothing, and a visit by sallie to the old home would probably be attended with great danger. purcey believed that william would follow her bv escaping at the first opportunity, and concluded to trust in providence and await his coming. securing for herself and child a home, she settled down in the expectation of seeing him soon. sallie obtained a profitable situation, and the com¬ panionship between them remained fast and firm. william's strike for freedom. while in the arms of morpheus, no matter how fan¬ ciful, that was not generally subject to interpretation among the slaves. they had no dream-books, but they had wonderful memories and suggestive imag¬ inations; and every dream, whether induced by an overloaded stomach or restlessness from a severe castigation, had its meaning. people who believe in these unaccountable wanderings of the mind say that dreams are contrary, but it was not so with william. he believed the dream he had was true; he believed his wife and child were either in a free land or were making an effort to reach one. that the dream was ■ a revelation to him from an unseen power, was con¬ vincing to his untutored and superstitious mind. it caused him to reflect, and reflection caused him to act. every step he now took bore him farther and far¬ ther away. the hope of keeping the promise made his wife began to grow more and more faint. • there was no time to lose, for if he ever expected to escape, now was his time. he did not know the exact des¬ tination of lillie, but he knew that they were bound for the south, and at the first good slave-market reached, outside the boundaries of virginia, he was as liable to be sold as any of the rest. that they were in the extreme southern portion of his native state he was aware; he could not, however, correctly judge the exact time when the line would be crossed, but felt that it was near. in this conclusion, he was correct. william's strike for freedom. traveled several miles at rather a rapid pace, the horses on a keen jump and the manacled and chained men dragged along behind the wagon with the same speed. the horses were finally allowed to proceed slowly in order that lillie, who had been left behind, might overtake them. the sun continued to creep higher and higher, until the full effulgence of its rays beat down upon the earth. the hours passed, but still lillie did not come. when it came time to feed, a halt was made, and while some of the negro men were released to attend the horses, the drivers regaled themselves from the well-filled bottle with which they were provided. having waited a considerable length of time, they were now in a quandary what to do, not having re¬ ceived orders before leaving. they concluded that, as they were enjoying their whisky and the shade of some friendly trees, they could wait. the wagons were turned out of the road, a field was taken pos¬ session of, and every preparation made to camp for the night. one of the drivers approached william and said: " bill, i want you to stand guard to-night and see that none of these niggers git away; i guess i can trust you.'' william saw from the man's actions that he had been imbibing pretty freely, and lie quickly guessed the reason why he was selected to do guard duty over his fellow-slaves, for not one of the drivers was william's strike for freedom. what direction to go. food and drink were the first things to be obtained, but where was he to find them? in a strange country, not familiar with an inch of the ground, foot-sore and wearied, what should he do? crawling upon his hands and knees for some distance, he heard voices, which appeared to come from a piece of woods directly in front of him. ele¬ vating his body, he discerned a dim light shining through the trees; the strains of music struck his ear; the merry laugh of a party of night revelers was heard, and he judged that they were slaves en¬ joying themselves in one of the many cabins in which the country abounded. creeping nearer, he could hear them singing and dancing to the time of the music; the clapping of hands and shuffling of feet left no doubt in his mind as to the character of the people. a song with the following lines was being loudly sung, while the dancers appeared to be trying their utmost to break through the floor: " hannah, walk out in de flor ; wake up, miss liza. dance it like you did befor; wake up. miss liza. u watch her cut de pigeon-wing; wake up, miss liza. all you darkeys shout and sing; wake up. miss liza. " gents to de right and ladies to de left; wake up, miss liza. everybody do thar best; wake up, miss liza." william's strike for freedom. before asking liim from where he was, first apparently satisfying herself as to her conjecture. when she in¬ quired of him, he hardly knew how to answer, for, to tell the truth, he did not really know where he was from. notwithstanding the woman was of his own race, he feared to let her know that he was a runaway, so, evading the question, he said: " i hab lost my way, and am awful hungry. would you gib mesomethin' to eat, and tell me whar to find the turnpike? " the woman did not press her question, but invited him into the house. having seated him at the table, she gave him a bountiful supply of food, to which he did ample justice. while he was engaged at eating, the woman said: u you'se a runaway, ain't you? " william pretended not to hear her. " if you is," she continued, " my husband kin show you just whar to go to strike de road for canada." lie looked up at the woman, and inquired: whar's your husband ? " ''ile'll be here presently," she replied. ujust make yoself at home, chile, cause i know from vo' looks you'se tired, and mighty nigh worn out." the-woman's apparent kindness disarmed him of all suspicion, and he confidingly told her of his es¬ cape, and the privations he had suffered in reaching the present point; he also told her of his desire to reach canada to find his wife and child, whom, he believed, had gone before hi in. the woman was at- williams stlilke fok freedom. you to get to canada; it's only a few miles from here to the turnpike, and to-night i'll put you on the road. you stay here until i return, and then we'll start. miama," he said, addressing lis wife, "give this poor man a pair of old shoes ; he is almost bare¬ footed." with this instruction, he left the house before william could return thanks for his apparent kind¬ ness. the woman procured a pair of shoes, which were, indeed, acceptable to him, although they fitted him rather loosely. having been frequently informed that there were a great many betrayers of fugitives among his own race, william did not trust hawkins implicitly. why had he gone away—why did he want him to await his return ? if the man was in¬ terested in his escape, surely he would not have left him without giving some reason. had he gone to procure assistance to capture him, or had he gone for a team to drive to the turnpike? perhaps his wife could throw some light upon this. the hearty meal he had eaten gave him renewed vigor, and he felt like a new man. knowing that he was now in a free state, he determined never to return south as a bondman. the woman was busily engaged preparing the chil¬ dren for bed. he said, addressing her rather abruptly: '• whar's yo' husband gone? " "i don't know, chile, but he'll be back soon." " many folks lib 'bout here ? " asked william. " not many har in de mountain, but dar's a village bond and free. " see liar, my friend, can't we git round this town ?" " we can," said hawkins, " but it's too far." " oh, neber mind that. i don't car for the distance. you needn't go ; just tell me. i don't car 'bout goin' fru that town, sumthin' tells me thar's trouble ahead, and trouble ain't what i'se on the sarch fur." "we'll get through all right; don't be afraid. come on," and hawkins started off. " hold on thar," said william. '• stranger, you'se been mighty accommodatin', but i won't trouble you fudder. s'pose you return home and let me git round the town alone." "oh, no. that won't .do," said hawkins, shaking his head, and beginning to fear that william sus¬ pected him. "you don't think i'd fool you, do you?" "wall, to tell the truf, that's just what i think," was the laconic reply. " you do, hey ? then i arrest you as a runaway," and as hawkins said this, he attempted to draw his pistol, but william was too quick for him. draw¬ ing his quickly, he said : " no foolin' wid that thing, stranger. don't draw it, or this will go off." hawkins laughed loudly, and replied: "why, you fool, that thing ain't loaded." they were now standing face to face, and wil¬ liam began to back away. hawkins called upon him to halt, but he only laughed contemptuously. "stand, i tell you," said hawkins. william con- bond and free. ing whatever; "but, upon entering into manhood, he showed no disposition to improve upon the few ad¬ vantages he had. he migrated from place to place, earning a livelihood at whatever employment he could find to do, until we find him located in the city of ii , where he had resided some five or eight vears, long enough to be well known as a ne'er-do- well, and to gain a reputation for engaging in ques¬ tionable transactions. coleman had reached a point when the conscience becomes so hardened as to make one a fitting tool for the carrying out of the deepest villainy that man can engage in. being a dissolute and reckless person, he fell a ready victim to the de¬ signs of the "nigger-catchers." after having en¬ gaged in the business as a tool for other men, he be¬ came far more dangerous when he took up the dual part of betrayer and kidnapper. many were the poor souls whose freedom was sac¬ rificed by this man. it was an easy matter for him to obtain the confidence of persons engaged in the under¬ ground railroad, and, by this means, instigate the capture of whole families. he was a man of rather pleasing address, his complexion a bright mulatto, hair as black as a raven, slightly inclined to curl. ilis mouth was rather large, while his lips were more like those of the anglo-saxon than the african. he had been made to swallow two of his front teeth by a fugitive slave, whom he had attacked and unsuc¬ cessfully attempted to capture. this loss of teeth disfigured his mouth, and, when he smiled, rather united in freedom. to peer over deriy's shoulder into the darkness of the inner room. strange, but true," said derry, not moving an inch. " will he be back soon, do you think?" " i don't think and i don't know when he will be back. look here, jeff coleman, what is your busi¬ ness with that man ?" inquired derry. and he tried to push him toward the door. "are you up to some of your dirty tricks ?" coleman did not answer the last remark, but turn ing to go, he said : " i believe you are lying, derrv, but i'll see him, for he promised to meet me, and i believe he is in this house, too." ''you can believe whatever you please, you con¬ temptible cur. if you call me a liar in my house i'll break your neck," and as he said this, he as¬ sisted coleman off the door-step with the toe of his boot. coleman did not say a word, but hastily disap¬ peared. derry returned to his companions and asked william if he had made an appointment with the man. he told them that he had, informing them of the promised situation, and that he was to go with coleman to see a gentleman that night. uwhy didn't you tell me of that before?" said derry. "we shall have trouble now; they will come here and search the house, and we must leave at once." preparations were hastily made, and the men left united in freedom. in slavery. many were the sleepless nights and weary hours he spent before finding them. purcey had now become pretty well acquainted with the customs of the people. she had obtained employment, and herself and child were comfortably provided for. she sent communications throughout the dominion, which were read in the churches of her people, making inquiries for william and stating where she could be found. she never lost faith in her'belief that he would make his escape and come to her. aided by this confidence, she redoubled her efforts to learn of him. william sat one evening before a fire in a little log hut, which he had selected as his abode, on the out¬ skirts of a thriving little town. he had been meditat¬ ing for some moments upon the advisability of chang¬ ing his quarters. no place presented any attractions to him as he traveled here and there in hope of find¬ ing those whom he sought. so short a time did he remain at a place that it was almost impossible for him to learn anything of importance. entering a town, he would make inquiry for his dear ones, and, receiving no information, sick at heart, and almost discouraged, he would proceed to the next town. he had always been a constant attendant at church, and he possessed much of that reverence and piety com¬ mon to his race. lie had great confidence in the gos¬ pel, and much veneration for the ministry. the next day was sunday, and he concluded that, per¬ haps, his sad and heavy heart might be lightened by bond and fkee. hearing a good sermon. the following day he at¬ tended divine services in the little village, and after the preacher had preached a fervid sermon, during which there were many cries of " amen !" and " halle¬ lujah !" and in which william joined heartily, he made an announcement from the pulpit which caused wil¬ liam to leap up from his seat with joy. this was the notice: any person who can give any information regarding wil¬ liam mccullar, of co., ya., owned by jonathan max¬ well, will confer a blessing and everlasting favor upon his wife and child, now residing in h . address, purcey mccullak. to attempt a description of the man's actions when this was read, would end in simple failure. leaping over the seats, he rushed up to the minister, crying; " read that again ! read that agin ! " when he had finished reading the second time, william rushed upon him, clasped his arms about him, shouting and crying out: "that's me! that's my wife! glory! glory be to the lord!" it was not many hours before he had his wife and child clasped within his embrace, and without attempt¬ ing to describe the heart-touching scene that followed such a reunion of the long separated pair, let us draw the curtain upon the happiness of those once bond but now free. the end. the conquest the story of a negro pioneer by the pioneer the woodruff prb lincoln, nebr. entered according to the act of congress in the year , by the woodruff bank note co., in the officeof the librarian of congress, at washington, d. c. first edition, may , second ejdjtion, may , to the honorable booker t. washington introductory this is a true story of a negro who was dis¬ contented and the circumstances that were ;the outcome of that discontent. -i- list of chapters page i discontent—spirit of the pioneer .... ii leaving home—a maiden iii chicago, chasing a will-o-the-wisp ... iv the p n company v "go west young man" vi "and where is oristown?" vii oristown, the "little crow" reservation . viii far down the pacific—the proposal ... ix the return—ernest nicholson x the oklahoma grafter xi dealin' in mules xii the homesteaders xiii imaginations run amuck xiv the surveyors xv "which town will the r. r. strike?" . . xvi megory's day xvii ernest nicholson's return xviii comes stanley, the chief engineer . . . xix in the valley of the keya paha xx the outlaw's last stand xxi the boom xxii the president's proclamation xxiii where the negro fails xxiv and the crowds did come—the prairie fire xxv the scotch girl xxvi the battle xxvii the sacrifice—race loyalty xxviii the breeds xxix in the valley of the dog ear xxx ernest nicholson takes a hand .... xxxi the mccralines xxxii a long night xxxiii the survival of the fittest xxxiv east of state street xxxv an uncrowned king xxxvi a snake in the grass xxxvii the progressives and the reactionaries . . xxxviii sanctimonious hypocrisy xxxix beginning of the end xl the mennonites xli the drouth xlii a year of coincidences xliii "and satan came also" the conquest chapter i discontent—spirit of the pioneer ood gracious, has it been that long? it does not seem possible; but it was this very day nine years ago when a fellow handed me this little what- would-you-call-it, ingalls called it "opportunity." i've a notion to burn it, but i won't—not this time, instead, i'll put it down here and you may call it what you like. master of human destinies am i. fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait. cities and fields i walk. i penetrate deserts and seas remote, and passing by hovel, and mart, and palace—soon or late i knock unbidden once at every gate. if sleeping, wake—if feasting, rise before i turn away. it is the hour of fate, and they who follow me reach every state mortals desire, and conquer every foe save death; but those who doubt or hesitate, condemned to failure, penury, and woe seek me in vain and uselessly implore, i answer not, and i return no more. yes, it was that little poem that led me to this land and sometimes i wonder well, i just wonder, the conquest that's all. again, i think it would be somewhat different if it wasn't for the wind. it blows and blows until it makes me feel lonesome and so far away from that little place and the country in southern illinois. i was born twenty-nine years ago near the ohio river, about forty miles above cairo, the fourth son and fifth child of a family of thirteen, by the name of devereaux—which, of course, is not my name but we will call it that for this sketch. it is a peculiar name that ends with an "eaux," however, and is considered an odd name for a colored man to have, unless he is from louisiana where the french crossed with the indians and slaves, causing many louisiana negroes to have the french names and many speak the french language also. my father, however, came from kentucky and inherited the name from his father who was sold off into texas during the slavery period and is said to be living there today. he was a farmer and owned eighty acres of land and was, therefore, considered fairly "well-to-do," that is, for a colored man. the county in which we lived bordered on the river some twenty miles, and took its name from an old fort that used to do a little cannonading for the federal forces back in the civil war. the farming in this section was hindered by vari¬ ous disadvantages and at best was slow, hard work. along the valleys of the numerous creeks and bay¬ ous that empty their waters into the ohio, the soil was of a rich alluvium, where in the early spring the back waters from the ohio covered thousands the conquest of acres of farm and timber lands, and in receding left the land plastered with a coat of river sand and clay which greatly added to the soil's productivity. one who owned a farm on these bottoms was con¬ sidered quite fortunate. here the corn stalks grew like saplings, with ears dangling one and two to a stalk, and as sound and heavy as green blocks of wood. the heavy rains washed the loam from the hills and deposited it on these bottoms. years ago, when the rolling lands were cleared, and before the excessive rainfall had washed away the loose sur¬ face, the highlands were considered most valuable for agricultural purposes, equally as valuable as the bottoms now are. farther back from the river the more rolling the land became, until some sixteen miles away it was known as the hills, and here, long before i was born, the land had been very valuable. large barns and fine stately houses —now gone to wreck and deserted—stood behind beautiful groves of chestnut, locust and stately old oaks, where rabbits, quail and wood-peckers made their homes, and sometimes a raccoon or opposum founded its den during the cold, bleak winter days. the orchards, formerly the pride of their owners, now dropped their neglected fruit which rotted and mulched with the leaves. the fields, where formerly had grown great crops of wheat, corn, oats, timothy and clover, were now grown over and enmeshed in a tangled mass of weeds and dew-berry vines; while along the branches and where the old rail fences had stood, black-berry vines had grown up, twisting their thorny stems and forming a veritable the conquest hedge fence. these places i promised mother to avoid as i begged her to allow me to follow the big boys and carry their game when they went hunting. in the neighborhood and throughout the country there had at one time been many colored farmers, or ex-slaves, who had settled there after the war. many of them having built up nice homes and cleared the valley of tough-rooted hickory, gum, pecan and water-oak trees, and the highlands of the .black, white, red or post oak, sassafras and dog¬ wood. they later grubbed the stumps and hauled the rocks into the roads, or dammed treacherous little streams that were continually breaking out and threatening the land with more ditches. but as time wore on and the older generation died, the younger were attracted to the towns and cities in quest of occupations that were more suitable to their increasing desires for society and good times. leaving the farms to care for themselves until the inevitable german immigrant came along and bought them up at his own price, tilled the land, improved the farm and roads, straightened out the streams by digging canals, and grew prosperous. as for me, i was called the lazy member of the family; a shirker who complained that it was too cold to work in the winter, and too warm in the summer. about the only thing for which i was given credit was in learning readily. i always received good grades in my studies, but was con¬ tinually criticised for talking too much and being too inquisitive. we finally moved into the nearby town of m—pis. not so much to get off the farm, or to be near more colored people (as most of the the conquest younger negro farmers did) as to give the children better educational facilities. the local colored school was held in an old build¬ ing made of plain boards standing straight up and down with batten on the cracks. it was inadequate in many respects; the teachers very often ineffi¬ cient, and besides, it was far from home. after my oldest sister graduated she went away to teach, and about the same time my oldest brother quit school and went to a near-by town and became a table waiter, much to the dissatisfaction of my mother, who always declared emphatically that she wanted none of her sons to become lackeys. when the spanish-american war broke out the two brothers above me enlisted with a company of other patriotic young fellows and were taken to springfield to go into camp. at springfield their company was disbanded and those of the company that wished to go on were accepted into other companies, and those that desired to go home were permitted to do so. the younger of the two broth¬ ers returned home by freight; the other joined a chicago company and was sent to santiago and later to san luis decuba, where he died with typhoid pneumonia. m—pis was an old town with a few factories, two flour mills, two or three saw mills, box factories and another concern where veneering was peeled from wood blocks softened with steam. the timber came from up the tennessee river, which emptied into the ohio a few miles up the river. there was also the market house, such as are to be seen in towns of the southern states—and parts of the the conquest northern. this market house, or place, as it is often called, was an open building, except one end enclosed by a meat-market, and was about forty by one hundred feet with benches on either side and one through the center for the convenience of those who walked, carrying their produce in a home-made basket. those in vehicles backed to a line guarded by the city marshall, forming an alleyway the width of the market house for perhaps half a block, depending on how many farmers were on hand. there was always a rush to get nearest the market house; a case of the early bird getting the worm. the towns people who came to buy, women mostly with baskets, would file leisurely between the rows of vehicles, hacks and spring wagons of various descriptions, looking here and there at the vegetables displayed. we moved back to the country after a time where my father complained of my poor service in the field and in disgust i was sent off to do the market¬ ing—which pleased me, for it was not only easy but gave me a chance to meet and talk with many people—and i always sold the goods and engaged more for the afternoon delivery. this was my first experience in real business and from that time ever afterward i could always.do better business for myself than for anyone else. i was not given much credit for my ability to sell, however, until my brother, who complained that i was given all the easy work while he had to labor and do all the heav¬ ier farm work, was sent to do the marketing. he was not a salesman and lacked the aggressiveness to approach people with a basket, and never talked the conquest much; was timid and when spoken to or approached plainly showed it. on the other hand, i met and became acquainted with people quite readily. i soon noticed that many people enjoy being flattered, and how pleased even the prosperous men's wives would seem if bowed to with a pleasant "good morning, mrs. quante, nice morning and would you care to look at some fresh roasting ears—ten cents a dozen; or some nice ripe strawberries, two boxes for fifteen cents?" "yes maam, thank you! and o, mrs. quante, would you care for some radishes, cucumbers or lettuce for tomorrow? i could de¬ liver late this afternoon, you see, for maybe you haven't the time to come to market every day." from this association i soon learned to give to each and every prospective customer a different greeting or suggestion, which usually brought a smile and a nod of appreciation as well as a purchase. before the debts swamped my father, and while my brothers were still at home, our truck gardening, the small herd of milkers and the chickens paid as well as the farm itself. about this time father fell heir to a part of the estate of a brother which came as a great relief to his ever increasing burden of debt. while this seeming relief to father was on i be¬ came very anxious to get away. in fact i didn't like m—pis nor its surroundings. it was a river town and gradually losing its usefulness by the invasion of railroads up and down the river; besides, the colored people were in the most part wretchedly poor, ignorant and envious. they were the conquest set in the ways of their localisms, and it was quite useless to talk to them of anything that would better oneself. the social life centered in the two churches where praying, singing and shouting on sundays, to back-biting, stealing, fighting and get¬ ting drunk during the week was common among the men. they remained members in good stand¬ ing at the churches, however, as long as they paid their dues, contributed to the numerous rallies, or helped along in camp meetings and festivals. others were regularly turned out, mostly for not paying their dues, only to warm up at the next revival on the mourners bench and come through converted and be again accepted into the church and, for awhile at least, live a near-righteous life. there were many good christians in the church, however, who were patient with all this conduct, while there were and still are those who will not sanction such carrying-on by staying in a church that permits of such shamming and hypocrisy. these latter often left the church and were then branded either as infidels or human devils who had forsaken the house of god and were condemned to eternal damnation. my mother was a shouting methodist and many times we children would slip quietly out of the church when she began to get happy. the old and less religious men hauled slop to feed a few pigs, cut cord-wood at fifty cents per cord, and did any odd jobs, or kept steady ones when such could be found. the women took in washing, cooked for the white folks, and fed the preachers. when we lived in the country we fed so many of the conquest the elders, with their long tailed coats and assuming and authoritative airs, that i grew to almost dislike the sight of a colored man in a prince albert coat and clerical vest. at sixteen i was fairly disgusted with it all and took no pains to keep my disgust concealed. this didn't have the effect of burdening me with many friends in m—pis and i was regarded by many of the boys and girls, who led in the whirlpool of the local colored society, as being of the "too-slow- to-catch-eold" variety, and by some of the elders as being worldly, a free thinker, and a dangerous associate for young christian folks. another thing that added to my unpopularity, perhaps, was my persistent declarations that there were not enough competent colored people to grasp the many op¬ portunities that presented themselves, and that if white people could possess such nice homes, wealth and luxuries, so in time, could the colored people. "you're a fool", i would be told, and then would follow a lecture describing the time-worn long and cruel slavery, and after the emancipation, the prejudice and hatred of the white race, whose chief object was to prevent the progress and better¬ ment of the negro. this excuse for the negro's lack of ambition was constantly dinned into my ears from the kagle corner loafer to the minister in the pulpit, and i became so tired of it all that i declared that if i could ever leave m—pis i would never return. more, i would disprove such a theory and in the following chapters i hope to show that what i believed fourteen years ago was true, the conquest chapter ii leaving home—a maiden was seventeen when i at last left m—pis. i accepted a rough job at a dollar and a quarter a day in a car manufacturing concern in a town of eight thousand population, about eight hundred being colored. i was unable to save very much, for work was dull that summer, and i was only averaging about four days' work a week. besides, i had an attack of malaria at intervals for a period of two months, but by going to work at five o'clock a. m. when i was well i could get in two extra hours, making a dollar-fifty. the concern employed about twelve hundred men and paid their wages every two weeks, holding back one week's pay. i came there in june and it was some time in september that i drew my fullest pay envelope which contained six¬ teen dollars and fifty cents. about this time a "fire eating" colored evangelist, who apparently possessed great converting powers and unusual eloquence, came to town. these qualities, however, usually became very uninterest¬ ing toward the end of a stay. he had been to m—pis the year before i left and at that place his popularity greatly diminished before he left. the greater part of the colored people in this town were of the emotional kind and to these he was as at¬ tractive as he had been at m—pis in the beginning, coincident with the commencement of rev, mclntyre's soul stirring sermons a big revival the conquest was inaugurated, and although the little church was filled nightly to its capacity, the aisles were kept clear in order to give those that were "steeping in hell's fire" (as the evangelist characterized those who were not members of some church) an open road to enter into the field of the righteous; also to give the mourners sufficient room in which to exhaust their emotions when the spirit struck them—and it is needless to say that they were used. at times they virtually converted the entire floor into an active gymnasium, regardless of the rights of other persons or of the chairs they occupied. i had seen and heard people shout at long intervals in church, but here, after a few soul stirring sermons, they began to run outside where there was more room to give vent to the hallucination and this wandering of the mind. it could be called nothing else, for after the first few sermons the evangelist would hardly be started before some mourner would begin to "come through." this revival warmed up to such proportions that preaching and shouting began in the afternoon instead of evening. men working in the yards of the foundry two block away could hear the shouting above the roaring furnaces and the deafening noise of machinery of a great car manufacturing concern. the church stood on a corner where two streets, or avenues, intersected and for a block in either direction the influence of fanaticism became so intense that the converts began running about like wild creatures, tearing their hair and uttering prayers and supplications in discordant tones. at the evening services the sisters would gather the conquest around a mourner that showed signs of weakening and sing and babble until he or she became so be¬ fuddled they would jump up, throw their arms wildly into the air, kick, strike, then cry out like a dying soul, fall limp and exhausted into the many arms outstretched to catch them. this was always conclusive evidence of a contrite heart and a thor¬ oughly penitent soul. far into the night this per¬ formance would continue, and when the mourners' bench became empty the audience would be searched for sinners. i would sit through it all quite un¬ emotional, and nightly i would be approached with "aren't you ready?" to which i would make no answer. i noticed that several boys, who were not in good standing with the parents of girls they wished to court, found the mourners' bench a convenient vehicle to the homes of these girls—all of whom belonged to church. girls over eighteen who did not belong were subjects of much gossip and abuse. a report, in some inconceivable manner, soon became spread that oscar devereaux had said that he wanted to die and go to hell. such a sensation! i was approached on all sides by men and women, regardless of the time of day or night, by the young men who gloried in their conversion and who urged me to "get right" with jesus before it was too late. i do not remember how long these meetings lasted but they suddenly came to an end when notice was served on the church trustees by the city council, which irreverently declared that so many converts every afternoon and night was disturbing the white neighborhood's rest as the conquest well as their nerves. it ordered windows and doors to be kept closed during services, and as the church was small it was impossible to house the congre¬ gation and all the converts, so the revival ended and the community was restored to normal and calm once more prevailed. that was in september. one sunday afternoon in october, as i was walking along the railroad track, i chanced to overhear voices coming from under a water tank, where a space of some eight or ten feet enclosed by four huge timbers made a small, secluded place. i stopped, listened and was sure i recognized the voices of douglas brock, his brother melvin, and two other well known colored boys. douglas was betting a quarter with one of the other boys that he couldn't pass. (you who know the dice and its vagaries will know what he meant.) this was mingled with words and com¬ mands from melvin to the dice in trying to make some point. it must have been four. he would let out a sort of yowl; "little joe, can't you do it?" i went my way. i didn't shoot craps nor drink neither did i belong to church but was called a dreadful sinner while three of the boys under the tank had, not less than six weeks before, joined church and were now full-fledged members in good standing. of course i did not consider that all people who belonged to church were not christians, but was quite sure that many were not. the following january a relative of mine got a job for me bailing water in a coal mine in a little town inhabited entirely by negroes. i worked from six o'clock p. m. to six a. m., and received two the conquest dollars and twenty-five cents therefor. the work was rough and hard and the mine very dark. the smoke hung like a cloud near the top of the tunnel¬ like room during all the night. this was because the fans were all but shut off at night, and just enough air was pumped in to prevent the forma¬ tion of black damp. the smoke made my head ache until i felt stupid and the dampness made me ill, but the two dollars and twenty-five cents per day looked good to me. after six weeks, however, i was forced to quit, and with sixty-five dollars— more money than i had ever had—i went to see my older sister who was teaching in a nearby town. i had grown into a strong, husky youth of eighteen and my sister was surprised to see that i was work¬ ing and taking care of myself so well. she shared the thought of nearly all of my acquaintances that i was too lazy to leave home and do hard work, especially in the winter time. after awhile she suddenly looked at me and spoke as though afraid she would forget it, " ,oscar! i've got a girl for you; what do you think of that?" smiling so pleasantly, i was afraid she was joking. you see, i had never been very successful with the girls and when she mentioned having a girl for me my heart was all a flutter and when she hesitated i put in eagerly. "aw go on—quit your kidding. on the level now, or are you just chiding me?" but she took on a serious expression and speaking thoughtfully, she went on. "yes, she lives next door and is a nice little girl, and pretty. the prettiest colored girl in town." here i lost interest for i remembered my sister the conquest was foolish about beauty and i said that i didn't care to meet her. i was suspicious when it came to the pretty type of girls, and had observed that the prettiest girl in town was oft times petted and spoiled and a mere butterfly. " why?" she spoke like one hurt. then i confessed my suspicions. " , you're foolish," she exclaimed softly, appearing relieved. "be¬ sides," she went on brightly "jessie isn't a spoiled girl, you wait until you meet her." and in spite of my protests she sent the landlady's little girl off for miss rooks. she came over in about an hour and i found her to be demure and thoughtful, as well as pretty. she was small of stature, had dark eyes and beautiful wavy, black hair, and an olive complexion. she wouldn't allow me to look into her eyes but continued to cast them downward, sitting with folded hands and answering when spoken to in a tiny voice quite in keeping with her small person. during the afternoon i mentioned that i was going to chicago, "now oscar, you've got no business in chicago," my sister spoke up with a touch of authority. "you're too young, and besides," she asked "do you know whether w. . wants you?" w. . was our oldest brother and was then making chicago his home. "huh!" i snorted "i'm going on my own hook," and drawing up to my full six feet i tried to look brave, which seemed to have the desired effect on my sister. "well" she said resignedly, "you must be careful and not get into bad company—be good and try to make a man of yourself." the conquest chapter iii chicago, chasing a will-o-the-wisp hat was on sunday morning three hun¬ dred miles south of chicago, and at nine-forty that night i stepped off the new orleans and chicago fast mail into a different world. it was, i believe, the coldest night that i had ever experienced. the city was new and strange to me and i wandered here and there for hours before i finally found my brother's address on armour avenue. but the wandering and anxiety mattered little, for i was in the great city where i intended beginning my career, and felt that bigger things were in store for me. the next day my brother's landlady appeared to take a good deal of interest in me and encouraged me so that i became quite confidential, and told her of my ambitions for the future and that it was my intention to work, save my money and even¬ tually become a property owner. i was rather chagrined later, however, to find that she had repeated all this to my brother and he gave me a good round scolding, accompanied by the un¬ solicited advice that if i would keep my mouth shut people wouldn't know i was so green. he had been traveling as a waiter on an eastern railroad dining car, but in a fit of independence—which had always been characteristic of him—had quit, and now in mid-winter, was out of a job. he was not en¬ thusiastic concerning my presence in the city and the conquest i had found him broke, but with a lot of fine clothes and a diamond or two. most folks from the country don't value good clothes and diamonds in the way city folks do and i, for one, didn't think much of his finery. i was greatly disappointed, for i had anticipated that my big brother would have accumulated some property or become master of a bank account during these five or six years he had been away from home. he seemed to sense this disappoint¬ ment and became more irritated at my presence and finally wrote home to my parents—who had recently moved to kansas—charging me with the crime of being a big, awkward, ignorant kid, un¬ sophisticated in the ways of the world, and especially of the city; that i was likely to end my "career" by running over a street car and permitting the city to irretrievably lose me, or something equally as bad. when i heard from my mother she was worried and begged me to come home. i knew the folks at home shared my brother's opinion of me and believed all he had told them, so i had a good laugh all to myself in spite of the depressing effect it had on me. however, there was the reaction, and when it set in i became heartsick and dis¬ couraged and then and there became personally acquainted with the "blues", who gave me their undivided attention for some time after that. the following sunday i expected him to take me to church with him, but he didn't. he went alone, wearing his five dollar hat, fifteen dollar made-to-measure shoes, forty-five dollar coat and vest, eleven dollar trousers, fifty dollar tweed the conquest overcoat and his diamonds. i found my way to church alone and when i saw him sitting reservedly in an opposite pew, i felt snubbed and my heart sank. however, only momentarily, for a new light dawned upon me and i saw the snobbery and folly of it all and resolved that some day i would rise head and shoulders above that foolish, four-flushing brother of mine in real and material success. i finally secured irregular employment at the union stock yards. the wages at that time were not the best. common labor a dollar-fifty per day and the hours very irregular. some days i was called for duty at five in the morning and laid off at three in the afternoon or called again at eight in the evening to work until nine the same evening. i soon found the mere getting of jobs to be quite easy. it was getting a desirable one that gave me trouble. however, when i first went to the yards and looked at the crowds waiting before the office in quest of employment, i must confess i felt rather discouraged, but my new surroundings and that indefinable interesting feature about these crowds with their diversity of nationalities and ambitions, made me forget my own. little disap¬ pointments. most all new arrivals, whether skilled or unskilled workmen, seeking "jobs" in the city find their way to the yards. thousands of unskilled laborers are employed here and it seems to be the mecca for the down-and-out who wander thither in a last effort to obtain employment. the people with whom i stopped belonged to the servant class and lived neatly in their armour avenue flat. the different classes of people who the conquest make up the population of a great city are segre¬ gated more by their occupations than anything else. the laborers usually live in a laborer's neigh¬ borhood. tradesmen find it more agreeable among their fellow workmen and the same is true of the servants and others. i found that employment which soiled the clothes and face and hands was out of keeping among the people with whom i lived, so after trying first one job, then another, i went to joliet, illinois, to work out my fortune in the steel mills of that town. i was told that at that place was an excellent opportunity to learn a trade, but after getting only the very roughest kind of work to do around the mills, such as wrecking and carrying all kinds of broken iron and digging in a canal along with a lot of jabbering foreigners whose english vocabulary consisted of but one word—their laborer's number. it is needless to say that i saw little chance of learning a trade at any very early date. pay day "happened" every two weeks with two weeks held back. if i quit it would be three weeks before i could get my wages, but was informed of a scheme by which i could get my money, by telling the foreman that i was going to leave the state. accordingly, i approached the renowned imbecile and told him that i was going to california and would have to quit and would like to get my pay. "pay day is every two weeks, so be sure to get back in time," he answered in that officious manner so peculiar to foremen. i had only four dollars coming, so i quit anyway. that evening i became the recipient of the the conquest illuminating information that if i would apply at the coal chutes i would find better employment as well as receive better wages. i sought out the fellow in charge, a big colored man weighing about two hundred pounds, who gave me work cracking and heaving coal into the chute at a dollar-fifty per twenty-five tons. "gracious", i expostulated. "a man can't do all of that in a day". "pooh", and he waved his big hands depreciat¬ ingly, "i have heaved forty tons with small effort". i decided to go to work that day, but with many misgivings as to cracking and shoveling twenty-five tons of coal. the first day - managed, by dint of hard labor, to crack and heave eighteen tons out of a box car, for which i received the munificent sum of one dollar, and the next day i fell to sixteen tons and likewise to eighty-nine cents. the con¬ tractor who superintended the coal business bought me a drink in a nearby saloon, and as i drank it with a gulp he patted me on the shoulder, saying, "now, after the third day, son, you begin to improve and at the end of a week you can heave thirty tons a day as easily as a clock ticking the time". i thought he was going to add that i would be shovel¬ ing forty tons like big jim, the fellow who gave me the job, but i cut him off by telling him that i'd resign before i became so proficient. i had to send for more money to pay my board. my brother, being my banker, sent a statement of my account, showing that i had to date just twenty- five dollars, and the statement seemed to read coldly between the lines that i would soon be the conquest broke, out of a job, and what then? i felt very- serious about the matter and when i returned to chicago i had lost some of my confidence regarding my future. mrs. nelson, the landlady, boasted that her husband made twenty dollars per week; showed me her diamonds and spoke so very highly of my brother, that i suspicioned that she admired him a great deal, and that he was in no immediate danger of losing his room even when he was out of work and unable to meet his obligations. my next step was to let an employment agency- swindle me out of two dollars. their system was quite unique, and, i presume, legitimate. they persuaded the applicant to deposit three dollars as a guarantee of good faith, after which they were to find a position for him. a given percentage was also to be taken from the wages for a certain length of time. some of these agencies may have been all right, but my old friend, the hoodoo, led me to one that was an open fraud. after the person seeking employment has been sent to several places for imaginary positions that prove to be only myths, the agency offers to give back a dollar and the dis¬ gusted applicant is usually glad to get it. i, my¬ self, being one of many of these unfortunates. i then tried the newspaper ads. there is usually some particular paper in any large city that makes a specialty of want advertisements. i was told, as was necessary, to stand at the door when the paper came from the press, grab a copy, choose an ad that seemed promising and run like wild for the address given. i had no trade, so turned to the miscellaneous column, and as i had no references the conquest i looked for a place where none were required. if the address was near i would run as fast as the crowded street and the speed laws would permit, but always found upon arrival that someone had just either been accepted ahead of me, or had been there a week. i having run down an old ad that had been permitted to run for that time. about the only difference i found between the newspapers and the employment agencies was that i didn't have to pay three dollars for the experience. i now realized the disadvantages of beings an un¬ skilled laborer, and had grown weary of chasing a "will-o-the-wisp" and one day while talking to a small indian-looking negro i remarked that i wished i could find a job in some suburb shining shoes in a barber shop or something that would take me away from chicago and its dilly-dally jobs for awhile. "i know where you can get a job like that", he answered, thoughtfully. "where?" i asked eagerly. "why, out at eaton", he went on, "a suburb about twenty-five miles west. a fellow wanted me to go but i don't want to leave chicago". i found that most of the colored people with whom i had become acquainted who lived in chicago very long were similarly reluctant about leaving, but i was ready to go anywhere. so my new friend took me over to a barber supply house on clark street, where a man gave me the name of the barber at eaton and told me to come by in the morning and he'd give me a ticket to the place. when i got on the street again i felt so happy and grateful to my friend for the information, that i gave the little mulatto a half dollar, all the money i had with the conquest me, and had to walk the forty blocks to my room. here i filled my old grip and the next morning "beat it" for eaton, arriving there on the first of may, and a cold, bleak, spring morning it was. i found the shop without any trouble—a dingy little place with two chairs. the proprietor, a drawn, unhappy looking creature, and a hawkish looking german assistant welcomed me cordially. they seemed to need company. the proprietor led me upstairs to a room that i could have free with an oil stove and table where i could cook—so i made arrangements to "bach". i received no wages, but was allowed to retain all i made "shining". i had acquired some ex¬ perience shining shoes on the streets of m—pis with a home-made box—getting on my knees when¬ ever i got a customer. "shining shoes" is not usually considered an advanced or technical occupa¬ tion requiring skill. however, if properly conducted it can be the making of a good solicitor. while eaton was a suburb it was also a country town and this shop was never patronized by any of the metropolitan class who made their homes there, but principally by the country class who do not evidence their city pride by the polish of their shoes. few city people allow their shoes to go unpolished and i wasn't long in finding it out, and when i did i had something to say to the men who went by, well dressed but with dirty shoes. if i could argue them into stopping, if only for a moment, i could nearly always succeed in getting them into the chair. business, however, was dull and i began taking jobs in the country from the farmers, working the conquest through the day and getting back to the shop for the evening. this, however, was short lived, for i was unaccustomed to farm work since leaving home and found it extremely difficult. my first work in the country was pitching timothy hay side-by-side with a girl of sixteen, who knew how to pitch hay. i thought it would be quite romantic before i started, but before night came i had changed my mind. the man on the wagon would drive along¬ side a big cock of sweet smelling hay and the girl would stick her fork partly to one side of the hay cock and show me how to put my fork into the other. i was left-handed while she was right, and with our backs to the wagon we could make a heavy lift and when the hay was directly overhead we'd turn and face each other and over the load would go onto the wagon. toward evening the loads thus balanced seemed to me as heavy as the load of atlas bearing the earth. i am sure my face dis¬ closed the fatigue and strain under which i labored, for it was clearly reflected in the knowing grin of my companion. i drew my pay that night on the excuse of having to get an overall suit, promising to be back at a quarter to "seven the next morning. then i tried shocking oats along with a boy of about twelve, a girl of fourteen and the farmer's wife. the way those two children did work,— whew! i was so glad when a shower came up about noon that i refrained from shouting with difficulty. i drew my pay this time to get some gloves, and promised to be back as soon as it dried. the next morning i felt so sore and stiff as the result of my two days' experience in the harvest the conquest fields, that i forgot all about my promise to return and decided to stay in eaton. it was in eaton that i started my first bank account. the little twenty-dollar certificate of deposit opened my mind to different things entirely. i would look at it until i had day dreams. during the three months i spent in eaton i laid the foun¬ dation of a future. simple as it was, it led me into channels which carried me away from my race and into a life fraught with excitement; a life that gave experiences and other things i had never dreamed of. i had started a bank account of twenty dollars and i found myself wanting one of thirty, and to my surprise the desire seemed to increase. this desire fathered my plans to become a porter on a p n car. a position i diligently sought and applied for between such odd jobs about town as mowing lawns, washing windows, scrubbing floors and a variety of others that kept me quite busy. taking the work, if i could, by contract, thus permitting me to use my own time and to work as hard as i desired to finish. i found that by this plan i could make money faster and easier than by working in the country. i was finally rewarded by being given a run on a parlor car by a road that reached many summer resorts in southern wisconsin. here i skimped along on a run that went out every friday and satur¬ day, returning on monday morning. the regular salary was forty dollars per month, but as i never put in more than half the time i barely made twenty dollars, and altho' i made a little "on the side" in the way of tips i had to draw on the money i had saved in eaton. the conquest chapter iv the p n company he p n company is a big palace, dining and sleeping car company that most american people know a great deal about. i had long desired to have a run on one of the magnificent sleepers that oper¬ ated out of chicago to every part of north america, that i might have an opportunity to see the country and make money at the same time, and from monday to friday i had nothing to do but report at one of the three p n offices in my effort to get such a position. one office where i was particularly at¬ tentive, operated cars on four roads, so i called on this office about twice a week, but a long, slim chief clerk whose chair guarded the entrance to the superintendent's office would drawl out lazily: "we don't need any men today." i had been to the office a number of times before i left eaton and had heard his drawl so often that i grew nervous whenever he looked at me. that district employed over a thousand porters and there was no doubt that they hired them every day. one day i was telling my troubles to a friendly porter whom i later learned to be george cole (former husband of the present wife of bert williams, the comedian). he advised me to see mr. miltzow,the superinten¬ dent. "but i can never see him" i said despairingly, "for that long imbecile of a clerk." "jump him some day when he is on the way from the conquest luncheon, talk fast, tell him how you have been trying all summer to 'get on', the old man", he said, referring to the superintendent, "likes big, stout youngsters like you, so try it." the next day i watched him from the street and when he started to descend the long stairway to his office, i gathered my courage and stepped to his side. i told him how i had fairly haunted his office, only to be turned away regularly by the same words; that i would like a position if he would at any time need any men. he went into his office, leaving me standing at the railing, where i held my grounds in defiance of the chief clerk's insolent stare. after a few minutes he looked up and called out "come in here, you." as i stood before him he looked me over searchingly and inquired as to whether i had any references. "no sir," i answered quickly, "but i can get them." i was beside myself with nervous excite¬ ment and watched him eagerly for fear he might turn me away at the physicological moment, and that i would fail to get what i had wanted so long. "well," he said in a decisive tone, "get good references, showing what you have been doing for the last five years, bring them around and i'll talk to you." "thank you sir," i blurted out and with hopes soaring i hurried out and down the steps. going to my room, i wrote for references to people in m—pis who had known me all my life. of course they sent me the best of letters, which i took immediately to mr. miltzow's office. after looking them over carelessly he handed them to his secretary asking the conquest me whether i was able to buy a uniform. when i answered in the affirmative he gave me a letter to the "company's tailor, and one to the instructor, who the next day gave me my first lessons in a car called the "school" in a nearby railroad yard placed there for that purpose. i learned all that was required in a day, although he had some pupils who had been with him five days before i started and who graduated with me. i now thought i was a full- fledged porter and was given an order for equipment, combs, brushes, etc., a letter from the instructor to the man that signed out the runs, a very apt appearing young man with a gift for remembering names and faces, who instructed me to report on the morrow. the thought of my first trip the next day, perhaps to some distant city i had never seen, caused me to lie awake the greater part of the night. when i went into the porter's room the next day, or "down in the hole," as the basement was called, and looked into the place, i found it crowded with men, and mostly old men at that and i felt sure it would be a long time before i was sent out. how¬ ever, i soon learned that the most of them were "emergency men" or emergies, men who had been discharged and who appeared regularly in hopes of getting a car that could not be supplied with a regular man. there was one by the name of knight, a pitiable and forlorn character in whose breast "hope sprang eternal," who came to the "hole" every day, and in an entire year he had made one lone trip. he lived by "mooching" a dime, quarter or fifty cents the conquest from first one porter then another and by helping some porters make down beds in cars that went out on midnight trains. it was said that he had been discharged on account of too strict adherence to duty. every member of a train crew, whether porter, brakeman or conductor, must carry a book of rules; more as a matter of form than to show to passengers as knight had done. a trainman should, and does, depend more on his judgment than on any set of rules, and permits the rule to be stretched now and then to fit circumstances. knight, however, courted his rule book and when a passenger requested some service that the rules prohibited, such for instance as an extra pillow to a berth, and if the passenger insisted or showed dissatisfaction knight would get his book of rules, turn to the chapter which dwelt on the subject and read it aloud to the already disgruntled passenger, thereby making more or less of a nuisance to the traveling public. but i am disgressing. fred, the "sign-out-clerk " came along and the many voices indulging in loud and raucous conversation so characteristic of porters off duty, gave way to respectful silence. he looked favorably on the regular men but seemed to pass up the emergies as he entered. the poor fellows didn't expect to be sent out but it seemed to fascinate them to hear the clerk assign the regular men their cars to some distant cities in his cheerful language such as: "hello! brooks, where did you come from? —from san antonio? well take the car 'litch¬ field' to oakland; leaves on number three at eleven o'clock to-night over the b. & r. n.; have the conquest the car all ready, eight lowers made down." and from one to the other he would go, signing one to go east and another west. respectfully silent and attentive the men's eyes would follow him as he moved on, each and every man eager to know where he would be sent. finally he got to me. he had an excellent mem¬ ory and seemed to know all men by name. "well devereaux," he said, "do you think that you can run a car?" "yes sir!" i answered quickly. he fumbled his pencil thoughtfully while i waited nervously then went on: "and you feel quite capable of running a car, do you?" "yes sir" i replied with emphasis, "i learned thoroughly yesterday." "well," he spoke as one who has weighed the matter and is not quite certain but willing to risk, and taking his pad and pencil he wrote, speaking at the same time, "you go out to the ft. wayne yards and get on the car 'altata', goes extra to washington d. c. at three o'clock; put away the linen, put out combs, brushes and have the car in order when the train backs down." "yes sir," and i hurried out of the room, up the steps and onto the street where i could give vent to my elation. to washington, first of all places. o glory! and i fairly flew out to sixteenth street where the p. f. & w. passenger yards were located. here not less than seven hundred passenger and and p n cars are cleaned and put in readiness for each trip daily, and standing among them i the conquest found the altata. o wonderful name! she was a brand new observation car just out of the shops. i dared not believe my eyes, and felt that there must be some mistake; surely the company didn't expect to send me out with such a fine car on my first trip. but i should have known better, for among the many thousands of p n cars with their picturesque names, there was not another "altata." i looked around the yards and finally inquired of a cleaner as to where the altata was. " right there," he said, pointing to the car i had been looking at and i boarded her nervously; found the linen and lockers but was at a loss to know how and where to start getting the car in order. i was more than confused and what i had learned so quickly the day before had vanished like smoke. i was afraid too, that if i didn't have the car in order i'd be taken off when the train backed down and become an "emergie" myself. this shocked me so it brought me to my senses and i got busy putting the linen somewhere and when the train stopped in the shed the car, as well as myself, was fairly presentable and ready to receive. then came the rush of passengers with all their attending requests for attention. "ah poiter, put my grip in thoiteen," and "ah poiter, will you raise my window and put in a deflector? " holy smither- ines! i rushed back and forth like a lost calf, trying to recall what a deflector was, and i couldn't dis¬ tinguish thoiteen from three. then—"ah, poiter, will you tell me when we get to valparaiso?" called a little blonde lady, "you see, i have a son who is attending the univoisity theah—now poiter don't don't forget please" she asked winsomely. t h*e conquest "oh! no, maam," i assured her confidently that i never forgot anything. my confusion became so intense had i gotten off the car i'd probably not have known which way to get on again. the clerk seemed to sense my embarrassment and helped me seat the passengers in their proper places, as well as to answer the numerous questions directed at me. the g. a. r. encampment was on in washington and the rush was greater than usual on that account. by the time the train reached valparaiso i had gotten somewhat ac¬ customed to the situation and recalled my promise to the little blonde lady and filled it. she had been asleep and it was raining to beat-the-band. with a sigh she looked out of the window and then turned on her side and fell asleep again. at pittsburg i was chagrined to be turned back and sent over the p. h. & d. to chicago. at columbus, ohio, we took on a colored preacher who had a ticket for an upper berth over a souther¬ ner who had the lower. the southern gentleman in that "holier than thou" attitude made a vigorous kick to the conductor to have the colored "sky- pilot," as he termed him, removed. i heard the conductor tell him gently but firmly, that he couldn't do it. then after a few characteristic haughty remarks the southerner went forward to the chair car and sat up all night. when i got the shoes shined and lavatory ready for the morning rush i slipped into the southerner's berth and had a good snooze. however, longer than it should have been, for the conductor found me the next morning as the train was pulling into chicago. he threatened the conquest to report me but when i told him that it was my first trip out, that i hadn't had any sleep the night before and none the night before that on account of my restlessnes in anticipation of the trip, he re¬ lented and helped me to make up the beds. i barely got to my room before i was called to go out again. this time going through to washing¬ ton. the p. f. & w. tracks pass right through washington's "black belt" and it might be interest¬ ing to the reader to know that washington has more colored people than any other american city. i had never seen so many colored people. in fact, the entire population seemed to be negroes. there was an old lady from south dakota on my car who seemed surprised at the many colored people and after looking quite intently for some time she touched me on the sleeve, whispering, "porter, aren't there anything but colored people here?" i replied that it seemed so. at the station a near-mob of colored boys huddled before the steps and i thought they would fairly take the passengers off their feet by the way they crowded around them. however, they were harm¬ less and only wanted to earn a dime by carrying grips. two of them got a jui jitsu grip on that of the old lady from south dakota, and to say that she became frightened would be putting it mildly. just then a policeman came along and the boys scattered like flies and the old lady seemed much relieved. having since taken up my abode in that state myself, and knowing that there were but few negroes inhabiting it, i have often wondered since how she must have felt on that memorable trip of hers, as well as mine. the conquest after working some four months on various and irregular runs that took me to all the important cities of the united states east of the mississippi river, i was put on a regular run to portland, oregon. this was along in february and about the same time that i banked my first one hundred dollars. if my former bank account had stirred my ambition and become an incentive to economy and a life of modest habits, the larger one put everything foolish and impractical entirely out of my mind, and economy, modesty and frugality became fixed habits of my life. at a point in wyoming on my run to portland my car left the main line and went over another through idaho and oregon. from there no berth tickets were sold by the station agents and the con¬ ductors collected the cash fares, and had for many years mixed the company's money with their own. i soon found myself in the mire along with the con¬ ductors. "getting in" was easy and tips were good for a hundred dollars a month and sometimes more. "good conductors," a name applied to "color blind" cons, were worth seventy-five, and with the twenty-five dollar salary from the com¬ pany, i averaged two hundred dollars a month for eighteen months. there is something fascinating about railroading, and few men really tire of it. in fact, most men, like myself, rather enjoy it. i never tired of hearing the t-clack of the trucks and the general roar of the train as it thundered over streams and crossings throughout the days and nights across the con¬ tinent to the pacific coast. the scenery never grew the conquest old, as it was quite varied between chicago and north platte. during the summer it is one large garden farm, dotted with numerous cities, thriving hamlets and towns, fine country homes so char¬ acteristic of the great middle west, and is always pleasing to the eye. between north platte and julesburg, colorado, is the heart of the semi-arid region, where the yearly rainfall is insufficient to mature crops, but where the short buffalo grass feeds the rancher's herds winter and summer. as the car continues west¬ ward, climbing higher and higher as it approaches the rockies, the air becomes quite rare. at chey¬ enne the air is so light it blows a gale almost steadily, and the eye can discern objects for miles away while the ear cannot hear sounds over twenty rods. i shall not soon forget how i was wont to gaze at the herds of cattle ten to thirty miles away grazing peacefully on the great laramie plains to the south, while beyond that lay the great american rockies, their ragged peaks towering above in great sep¬ ulchral forms, filling me alternately with a feeling of romance or adventure, depending somewhat on whether it was a story of the "roundup," or some other article typical of the west, i was reading. nearing the continental divide the car pulls into rawlins, which is about the highest, driest and most uninviting place on the line. from here the stage lines radiate for a hundred miles to the north and south. near here is medicine bow, where owen wister lays the beginning scenes of the "virginian"; and beyond lies rock springs, the home of the famous coal that bears its name and which com- the conquest mands the highest price of any bituminous coal. the coal lies in wide veins, the shafts run hori¬ zontally and there are no deep shafts as there are in the coal fields of illinois and other central states. from here the train descends a gentle slope to green river, wyoming, a division point in the u. p. south on the d. & r. g.is green river, utah. arriving at granger one feels as though he had arrived at the jumping off place of creation. like most all desert stations it contains nothing of in¬ terest and time becomes a bore. here the traffic is divided and the . s. l. takes the portland and butte section into idaho where the scenery suddenly begins to get brighter. indeed, the country seems to take on a beautiful and cheerful appearance; civilization and beautiful farms take the place of the wilderness, sage brush and skulking coyotes. thanks to the irrigation ditch. after crossing the picturesque american falls of snake river, the train soon arrives at minidoka. this is the seat of the great minidoka project, in which the united states government has taken such an active interest and constructed a canal over seventy miles in length. this has converted about a quarter of a million acres of idaho's volcanic ash soil into productive lands that bloom as the rose. it was the beautiful valley of the snake river, with its indescribable scenery and its many beautiful little cities, that attracted my attention and looked as though it had/a promising future. i had contemplated investing in some of its lands and locating, if i should happen to be compelled by stress of circumstances to change my occupation. this came to pass shortly thereafter. the conquest the end came after a trip between granger and portland, in company with a shrewd irish conductor by the name of. wright, who not only "knocked down" the company's money, but drank a good deal more whiskey than was good for him. on this last trip, when wright took charge of the car at granger, he began telling about his newly acquired "dear little wifey." also confiding to me that he had quit drinking and was going to quit "knocking down"—after that trip. oh, yes! wright was always going to dispense with all things dishonest and dishonorable—at some future date. another bad thing about wright was that he would steal, not only from the company, but from the porter as well, by virtue of the rule that required the porter to take a duplicate receipt from the conductor for each and every passenger riding on his car, whether the passenger has a ticket or pays cash fare. these receipts are forwarded to the auditor of the com¬ pany at the end of each run. wright's method of stealing from the porter was not to turn over any duplicates or receipts until arriving at the terminus. then he would choose a time when the porter was very busy brushing the passengers' clothes and getting the tips, and would then have no time to count up or tell just how many people had ridden. i had received in¬ formation from others concerning him and was cautioned to watch. so on our first trip i quietly checked up all the passengers as they got on and where they got off, as well as the berth or seat they occupied. arriving at granger going east he gave me the wink and taking me into the smoking room he proceeded to give me the duplicates and divide the co n q u e s t the spoils. he gave me six dollars, saying he had cut such and such a passenger's fare and that was my part. i summed up and the amount "knocked down" was thirty-one dollars. i showed him my figures and at the same time told him to hand over nine-fifty more. how he did rage and swear about the responsibilities being all on him, that he did all the collecting and the "dirty work" in con¬ nection therewith, that the company didn't fire the porter. he said before he would concede to my demands he would turn all" the money in to the company and report me for insolence. i sat calmly through it all and when he had exhausted his vitu¬ perations i calmly said "nine-fifty, please." i had no fear of his doing any of the things threatened for i had dealt with grafting conductors long enough to know that when they determined on keeping a fare they weren't likely to turn in their portion to spite the porter, and wright was no exception. but getting back to the last trip. an old lady had given me a quart of old crow whiskey bottled in bond. there had been perhaps a half pint taken out. i thanked her profusely and put it in the locker, and since wright found that he could not keep any of my share of the "knocked down" fares he was running straight—that is with me, and we were quite friendly, so i told him of the gift and where to find it if he wanted a "smile." in one end of the p n where the drawing room cuts off the main portion of the car, and at the beginning of the curved aisle and opposite to the drawing room, is the locker. when its door is open it completely closes the aisle, thus hiding a person from the conquest view behind it. before long i saw wright open the door and a little later could hear him ease the bottle down after taking a drink. when we got to portland, wright was feeling "about right" and the bottle was empty. as he divided the money with me he cried: "let her run on three wheels." it was the last time he divided any of the company's money with a porter. when he stepped into the office at the end of that trip he was told that they "had a message from ager" the assistant general superintendent, concerning him. every employee knew that a message from this in¬ dividual meant "off goes the bean." i never saw wright afterwards, for they "got" me too that trip. the little irish conductor, who was considered the shrewdest of the shrewd, had run a long time and "knocked down" a great amount of the com¬ pany's money but the system of "spotting" event¬ ually got him as it does the best of them. i now had two thousand, three hundred and forty dollars in the bank. the odd forty i drew out, and left the remainder on deposit, packed my trunk and bid farewell to armour avenue and chicago's black belt with its beer cans, drunken men and women, and turned my face westward with the spirit of horace greely before and his words "go west, young man, and grow up with the coun¬ try" ringing in my ears. so westward i journeyed to the land of raw material, which my dreams had pictured to me as the land of real beginning, and where i was soon to learn more than a mere ob¬ server ever could by living in the realm of a great city. the conquest chapter v "go west young man and grow up with the country" n justice to the many thousands of p— — n porters, as well as many conductors, who were in the habit of retaining the company's money, let it be said that not the hungry thieves and dishonest rogues the general public might think them to be, dishonest as their conduct may seem to be. they were victims of a vicious system built up and winked at by the company itself. before the day of the inter-state commerce commission and anti-pass and two-cent-per-mile legislation, and when passengers paid cash fares, it was a matter of tradition with the conductors to knockdown, and nothing was said, although the conductors, as now, were fairly well paid and the company fully expected to lose some of the cash fares. in the case of the porters, however, the circum¬ stances are far more mitigating. at the time i was with the company there were, in round numbers, eight thousandfporters in the service on tourist and standard sleepers who were receiving from a minimum of twenty-five dollars to not to exceed forty dollars per month, depending on length and desirability of service. out of this he must furnish, for the first ten years, his own uniforms and cap, consisting of summer and winter suits at twenty and twenty-two dollars respectively. after ten they are the conquest years of continuous service these things are furnished by the company. then there is the board, lodging and laundry expense. trainmen are allowed from fifty to sixty per cent off of the regular bill of fare, and at this price most any kind of a meal in an a- la-carte diner comes to forty and fifty cents. be¬ sides, the waiters expect tips from the crew as well as from the passengers and make it more un¬ comfortable for them if they do not receive it than they usually do for the passenger. i kept an accurate itemized account of my living expenses, including six dollars per month for a room in chicago, and economize as i would, making one uniform and cap last a whole year, i could not get the monthly expense below forty dollars—fifteen dollars more than my salary, and surely the com¬ pany must have known it and condoned any reason¬ able amount of "knock down" on the side to make up the deficiency in salary. the porter's "knock down" usually coming through the sympathy, good will and unwritten law of "knocking down"—that the conductor divide equally with the porter. all of which, however, is now fast becoming a thing of the past, owing to recent legislation, investigations and strict regulation of common carriers by congress and the various laws of the states of the union, with the added result that conductors' wages have increased accordingly. few conductors today are foolish enough to jeopardize their positions by in¬ dulging in the old practice, and it leaves the porters in a sorry plight indeed. all in all, the system, while deceptive and dis¬ honest on its face, was for a time a tolerated evil, the conquest apparently sanctioned by the company and became a veritable disease among the colored employees who, without exception, received and kept the com¬ pany's money without a single qualm of conscience. it was a part of their duty to make the job pay something more than a part of their living expenses. ignorant as many of the porters were, most of them knew that from the enormous profits made that the company could and should have paid them better wages, and i am sure that if they received living wages for their services it would have a great moral¬ izing effect on that feature of the service, and greatly add to the comfort of the traveling public. however, the greedy and inhuman attitude of this monoply toward its colored employees has just the opposite effect, and is demoralizing indeed. thousands of black porters continue to give their services in return for starvation wages and are compelled to graft the company and the people for a living. shortly before my cessation of activities in con¬ nection with the p n company it had a capi¬ talization of ninety-five million dollars, paying eight per cent dividend annually, and about two years after i was compelled to quit, it paid its stock¬ holders a thirty-five million dollar surplus which had accumulated in five years. just recently a "melon was cut" of about a like amount and over eight thousand colored porters helped to accumulate it, at from twenty-five to forty dollars per month. a wonder it is that their condition does not breed such actual dishonesty and deception thatjsociety would be forced to take notice of it, and the traveling the conquest public should be thankful for the attentive services given under these near-slave conditions. as for myself, the reader has seen how i made it "pay" and i have no apologies or regrets to offer. when that final reckoning comes, i am sure the angel clerk will pass all porters against whom nothing more serious appears than what i have heretofore related. while i was considered very fortunate by my fellow employees, the whole thing filled me with disgust. i suffered from a nervous worry and fear of losing my position all the time, and really felt relieved when the end came and i was free to pursue a more commendable occupation. in going out of the superintendent's office on my farewell leave, the several opportunities i had seen during my experience with the p n company loomed up and marched in dress parade before me; the conditions of the snake river valley and the constructiveness of the people who had turned the alkali desert into valuable farms worth from fifty to five hundred dollars an acre, thrilled me so that i had no misgivings for the future. but destiny had other fields in view for me and did not send me to that land of eden of which i had become so fond, in quest of fortune. such a variety of scenes was surely an incentive to serious thought. what was termed inquisitiveness at home brought me a world of information abroad. this inquisitive¬ ness, combined with the observation afforded by such runs as those to portland and around the circle and, perhaps, coming back by washington d. c., gave practical knowledge. often western sheep- the conquest men, who were ready talkers, returning on my car from taking a shipment to chicago, gave me some idea of farming and sheepraising. i remember thinking that iowa would be a fine place to own a farm, but quickly gave up any further thought of owning one there myself. a farmer from tama, that state, gave me the information. he was a beautiful decoration for a p n berth and a neatly made bed with three sheets, and i do not know what possessed him to ever take a sleeper, for he slept little that night—i am sure. the next morning about five o'clock, while gathering and shining shoes, i could not find his, and being curious, i peeped into his berth. what i saw made me laugh, indeed. there he lay, all bundled into his bed in his big fur overcoat and shoes on, just as he came into the car the evening before. he was awake and looked so uncomfortable that i suggested that he get up if he wasn't sleepy. "what say?" he an¬ swered, leaning over and sticking his head out of the berth as though afraid someone would grab him. as this class of farmers like to talk, and usually in loud tones, i led him into the smoking room as soon as he jumped out of his berth, to keep him from annoying other passengers. here he washed his face, still keeping his coat on. "remove your coat," i suggested,"and you will be more comfortable." "you bet," he said taking his coat off and sitting on it. lighting his pipe, he began talking and i immediately inquired of him how much land he owned. the conquest he answered that he owned a section. "gee! but that is a lot of land," i exclaimed, getting in¬ terested, "and what is it worth an acre?" "the last quarter i bought i paid eighty dollars an acre" he returned. that is over thirteen thou¬ sand and i could plainly see that my little two thou¬ sand dollar bank account wouldn't go very far in iowa when it came to buying land. that was nine years ago and the same land today will sell around one hundred and fifty dollars an acre, and the "end is not yet." i concluded on one thing, and that was, if one whose capital was under eight or ten thousand dol¬ lars, desired to own a good farm in the great central west he must go where the land was new or raw and undeveloped. he must begin with the beginning and develop with the development of the country. by the proper and accepted methods of conserva¬ tion of the natural resources and close application to his work, his chances for success are good. when i finally reached this conclusion i began searching for a suitable location in which to try my fortune in the harrowing of the soil. the conquest chapter vi "and where is oristown?" the town on the missouri t came a few days later in a restaurant in council bluffs, iowa, when i heard the waiters, one white man and the other colored, saying, "i'm going to oris- and where is oristown?" i inquired, taking a stool and scrutinizing the bill of fare. "oristown," the white man spoke up, drawing away at a pipe which gave him the appearance of being anything from a rover to a freight brakeman, "is about two hundred and fifty miles northwest of here in southern south dakota, on the edge of the little crow reservation, to be opened this summer." this is not the right name, but the name of an indian chief living near where this is written. "oristown is the present terminus of the c. & r. w. ry. and he went on to tell me that the land in part was valuable, while some portions were no better than western nebraska. a part of the reservation was to be opened to settlement by lottery that summer and the registration was to take place in july. it was now april. "and the registration is to come off at oristown?" i finished for him with a question. "yes," he assented. at omaha the following day i chanced to meet two surveyors who had been sent out to the reserva¬ tion from washington, d. c. and who told me to write to the department of the interior for infor- town.' the conquest mation regarding the opening, the lay of the land, quality of the soil, rainfall, etc. i did as they sug¬ gested and the pamphlets received stated that the land to be opened was a deep black loam, with clay subsoil, and the rainfall in this section averaged twenty-eight inches the last five years. i knew that iowa had about thirty inches and most of the time was too wet, so concluded here at last was the place to go. this suited me better than any of the states or projects i had previously looked into, besides, i knew more about the mode of farming employed in that section of the country, it being somewhat similar to that in southern illinois. on the morning of july fifth, at u. p. transfer, iowa, i took a train over the c. p. & st. l., which carried me to a certain town on the missouri in south dakota. i did not go to oristown to register as i had intended but went to the town referred to, which had been designated as a registration point also. i was told by people who were "hitting" in the same direction and for the same purpose, that oristown was crowded and lawless, with no place to sleep, and was overrun with tin-horn gamblers. it would be much better to go to the larger town on the missouri, where better hotel accommodation and other conveniences could be had. so i bought a ticket to johnstown, where i arrived late in the afternoon of the same day. there was a large crowd, which soon found its way to the main street, where numerous booths and offices were set up, with a notary in each to accept applications for the draw¬ ing. this consisted of taking oath that one was a citizen of the united states, twenty-one years of the conquest of age or over. the head of a family," a widow, or any woman upon whom fell the support of a family, was also accepted. no person, however, owning over one hundred and sixty acres of land, or who had ever had a homestead before, could apply. the application was then enclosed in an envelope and directed to the superintendent of the opening. after all the applications had been taken, they were thoroughly mixed and shuffled together. then a blindfolded child was directed to draw one from the pile, which became number one in the opening. the lucky person whose oath was contained in such envelope was given the choice of all the land thrown open for settlement. then another en¬ velope was drawn and that person was given the second choice, and so on until they were all drawn. this system was an out and out lottery, but gave each and every applicant an equal chance to draw a claim, but guaranteed none. years before, land openings were conducted in a different manner. the applicants were held back of a line until a signal was given and then a general rush was made for the locations and settlement rights on the land. this worked fairly well at first but there grew to be more applicants than land, and two or more persons often located on the same piece of land and this brought about expensive litigation and annoying disputes and sometimes even murder, over the settlement. this was finally abolished in favor of the lottery system, which was at least safer and more profitable to the railroads that were fortunate enough to have a line to one or more of the registra¬ tion points. (page ) the conquest at johnstown, people from every part of the united states, of all ages and descriptions, gathered in crowded masses, the greater part of them being from illinois, iowa, missouri, minnesota, north dakota, kansas and nebraska. when i started for the registration i was under the impression that only a few people would register, probably four or five thousand, and as there were twenty-four hundred homesteads i had no other thought than i would draw and later file on a quarter section. imagine my consternation when at the end of the first day the registration numbered ten thousand. a colored farmer in kansas had asked me to keep him posted' in regard to the opening. he also thought of coming up and registering when he had completed his harvest. when the throngs of people began pouring in from the three railroads into johnstown (and there were two other points of registration besides) i saw my chances of drawing a claim dwindling, from one to two, to one to ten, fifteen and twenty and malybe more. after three days in johnstown i wrote my friend and told him i believed there would be fully thirty thousand people apply for the twenty-four hundred claims. the fifth day i wrote there would be fifty thousand. after a week i wrote there would be seventy-five thousand register, that it was useless to expect to draw and i was leaving for kansas to visit my par¬ ents. when the registration was over i read in a kansas city paper that one hundred and seven thousand persons had registered, making the chance of drawing one to forty-four. received a card soon after from the superinten- the conquest dent of the opening, which read that my number was , and as the number of claims was approxi¬ mately twenty-four hundred, my number was too high to be reached before the land should all be taken. i think it was the same day i lost fifty- five dollars out of my pocket. this, combined with my disappointment in not drawing a piece of land, gave me a grouch and i lit out for the louisiana purchase exposition at st. louis with the intention of again getting into the p n service for a time. ofttimes porters who had been discharged went to another city, changed their names, furnished a different set of references and got back to work for the same company. now if they happened to be on a car that took them into the district from which they were discharged, and before the same officials, who of course recognized them, they were promptly reported and again discharged. i pon¬ dered over the situation and came to the conclusion that i would not attempt such deception, but avoid being sent back to the chicago western district. i was at a greater disadvantage than johnson, smith, jackson, or a number of other common names, by having the odd french name that had always to be spelled slowly to a conductor, or any one else who had occasion to know me. out of curiosity i had once looked in a chicago directory. of some two million names there were just two others with the same name. but on the other hand it was much easier to avoid the chicago western district, or at least mr. miltzow's office and by keeping my own name, assume that i had never been the conquest discharged, than it was to go into a half a dozen other districts with a new name and avoid being recognized. arriving at this decision, i approached the st. louis office, presented my references which had been furnished by other m—pis business men, and was accepted. after i had been sent out with a porter, who had been running three months, to show me how to run a car, i was immediately put to work. i learned in two trips, according to the report my tutor handed to the chief clerk, and by chance fell into one of the best runs to new york on one of the limited trains during the fair. there was not much knocking down on this run, but the tips, including the salary were good for three hundred dollars per month. i ran on this from september first to october fourth and saved three hundred dollars. i had not given up getting a dakota home¬ stead, for while i was there during the summer i learned if i did not draw a number i could buy a relinquishment. this relates to the purchasing of a relinquish¬ ment: an entryman has the right at any time to re¬ linquish back to the united states all his right, title, and interest to and in the land covered by his filing. the land is then open to entry. a claimholder who has filed on a quarter of land will have plenty of opportunity to relinquish his claim, for a cash consideration, so that another party may get a filing on it. this is called buying or selling a relinquishment. the amount of the consideration varies with quality of the land, and the eagerness of the buyer or seller, as the case may be. the conquest relinquishments are the largest stock in trade of all the real estate dealers, in a new country. besides, everybody from the bank president down to the humble dish washer in the hotel, or the chore boy in the livery, the ministers not omitted, would, with guarded secrecy, confide in you of some choice relinquishment that could be had at a very low figure compared with what it was really worth. the conquest chapter vii oristown, the "little crow" reservation hen i left st. louis on the night of october fourth i headed for oristown to buy someone's relinquishment. i had two thousand, five hundred dollars. from omaha the journey was made on the c. & r. w.'s one train a day that during these times was loaded from end to end, with everybody discussing the little crow and the buying of relinquishments. i was the only negro on the train and an object of many inquiries as to where i was going. some of those whom i told that i was going to buy a re¬ linquishment seemingly regarded it as a joke, judg¬ ing from the meaning glances cast at those nearest them. an incident occurred when i arrived at oristown which is yet considered a good joke on a real estate man then located there, by the name of keeler, who was also the united states commissioner. he could not only sell me a relinquishment, but could also take my filing. i had a talk with keeler, but as he did not encourage me in my plan to make a purchase i went to another firm, a young lawyer and a fellow by the name of slater, who ran a livery barn, around the corner. watkins, the lawyer, impressed me as having more ambition than prac¬ tical business qualities. however, slater took the matter up and agreed to take me over the reserva¬ tion and show me some good claims. if i bought, the drive was gratis, if not four dollars per day, and i accepted his proposition. the conquest after we had driven a few miles he told me keeler had said to him that he was a fool to waste his time hauling a d— nigger around over the reserva¬ tion; that i didn't have any money and was just "stalling." i flushed angrily, and said "show me what i want and i will produce the money. what i want is something near the west end of the county. you say the relinquishments are cheaper there and the soil is richer. i don't want big hills or rocks nor anything i can't farm, but i want a nice level or gently rolling quarter section of prairie near some town to be, that has prospects of getting the railroad when it is extended west from oristown." by this time we had covered the three miles be¬ tween oristown and the reservation line, and had entered the newly opened section which stretched for thirty miles to the west. as we drove on i became attracted by the long grass, now dead, which was of a brownish hue and as i gazed over the miles of it lying like a mighty carpet i could seem to feel the magnitude of the development and industry that would some day replace this state of wildness. to the northeast the missouri river wound its way, into which empties the whetstone creek, the breaks of which resembled miniature mountains, falling abruptly, then rising to a point where the dark shale sides glistened in the sunlight. it was my longest drive in a buggy. we could go for perhaps three or four miles on a table-like plateau, then drop suddenly into small canyon-like ditches and rise abruptly to the other side. after driving about fifteen miles we came to the town, as they called it, but i would have said village of hedrick the conquest —a collection of frame shacks with one or two houses, many roughly constructed sod buildings, the long brown grass hanging from between the sod, giving it a frizzled appearance. here we listened to a few boosters and mountebanks whose rustic elo¬ quence was no doubt intended to give the unwary the impression that they were on the site of the com¬ ing metropolis of the west. a county-seat battle was to be fought the next month and the few citizens of the sixty days declared they would wrest it from fairview, the present county seat situated in the extreme east end of the county, if it cost them a million dollars, or one-half of all they were worth. they boasted of hedrick's prospects, sweeping their arms around in eloquent gestures in alluding to the territory tributary to the town, as though half the universe were hedrick territory. nine miles northwest, where the land was very sandy and full of pits, into which the buggy wheels dropped with a grinding sound, and where magnesia rock cropped out of the soil, was another budding town by the name of kirk. the few prospective citizens of this burg were not so enthusiastic as those in hedrick and when i asked one why they located the town in such a sandy country he opened up with a snort about some pinheaded engineer for the "guvment" who didn't know enough to jump straight up "a locating the town in such an all fired sandy place"; but he concluded with a com¬ pliment, that plenty of good water could be found at from fifteen to fifty feet. this sandy land continued some three miles west and we often found springs along the streams. the conquest after ascending an unusually steep hill, we came upon a plateau where the grass, the soil, and the lay of the land, were entirely different from any we had as yet seen. i was struck by the beauty of the scenery and it seemed to charm and bring me out of the spirit of depression the sandy stretch brought upon me. stretching for miles to the northwest and to the south, the land would rise in a gentle slope to a hog back, and as gently slope away to a draw, which drained to the south. here the small streams emptied into a larger one, winding along like a snake's track, and thickly wooded with a growth of small hardwood timber. it was beautiful. from each side the land rose gently like huge wings, and spread away as far as the eye could reach. the driver brought me back to earth, after a mile of such fascinating observations, and pointing to the north, said: "there lays one of the claims." i was carried away by the first sight of it. the land appeared to slope from a point, or table, and to the north of that was a. small draw, with water. we rode along the south side and on coming upon a slight raise, which he informed me was the highest part of the place, we found a square white stone set equally distant from four small holes, four or five feet apart. on one side of the stone was in¬ scribed a row of letters which ran like this, swc, swq, sec. - - w. th p. m., and on the other sides were some other letters similar to these. "what does all that mean?" i asked. he said the letters were initials describing the land and reading from the side next to the place we had come to see it, read: "the southwest corner of the south- the conquest west quarter of section twenty-nine, township ninety-seven, and range seventy-two, west of the fifth principal meridian." when we got back to oristown i concluded i wanted the place and dreamed of it that night. it had been drawn by a girl who lived with her parents across the missouri. to see her, we had to drive to their home, and here a disagreement arose, which for a time threatened to cause a split. i had been so enthusiastic over the place, that slater figured on a handsome commission, but i had been making inquiries in oristown, and found i could buy re¬ linquishments much cheaper than i had anticipated. i had expected the price to be about one thousand, eight hundred dollars and came prepared to pay that much, but was advised to pay not over five hundred dollars for land as far west as the town of megory, which was only four miles northwest of, the place i was now dickering to buy. we had agreed to give the girl three hundred and seventy-five dollars, and i had partly agreed to give slater two hundred dollars commission. however, i decided this was too much, and told him i would give him only seventy-five dollars. he was in for going right back to oristown and calling the deal off, but when he figured up that two and a half day's driving would amount to only ten dollars, he offered to take one hundred dollars. but i was obstinate and held out for seventy-five dollars, finally giving him eighty dollars, and in due time became the proud owner of a little crow homestead. all this time i had been writing to jessie. i had written first while i was in eaton, and she had the conquest answered in the same demure manner in which she had received me at our first meeting, and had con¬ tinued answering the letters i had written from all parts of the continent, in much the same way. for a time i had quit writing, for i felt that she was really too young and not taking hie seriously enough, but after a month, my sister wrote me, asking why i did not write to jessie; that she asked about me every day. this inspired me with a new interest and i began writing again. i wrote her in glowing terms all about my advent in dakota, and as she was of a reserved disposition, i always asked her opinion as to whether she thought it a sensible move. i wanted to hear her say some¬ thing more than: "i was at a cantata last evening and had a nice time", and so on. furthermore, i was skeptical. i knew that a great many colored people considered farming a deprivation of all things essential to a good time. in fact, to have a good time, was the first thing to be considered, and every¬ thing else was secondary. jessie, however, was not of this kind. she wrote me a letter that surprised me, stating, among other things, that she was seven¬ teen and in her senior year high school. that she thought i was grand and noble, as well as practical, and was sorry she couldn't find words to tell me all she felt, but that which satisfied me suited her also. i was delighted with her answer and wrote a cheerful letter in return, saying i would come to see her, christmas. the conquest chapter viii far down the pacific—the proposal jfter the presidential election of that year i went to south america with a special party, consisting mostly of new york capitalists and millionaires. we traveled through the southwest, crossing the rio grand at eagle pass, and on south by the way of toreon, zacatecas, aguas calientes, guadalajara, puebla, tehauntepec and to the southwest coast, sailing from salina cruz down the pacific to val¬ paraiso, chile, going inland to santiago, thence over the trans-andean railway across the andes, and onward to the western plateau of argentina. arriving at the new city of mendoza, we visited the ruins of the ancient city of the same name. here, in the early part of the fifteenth century, on a sunday morning, when a large part of the people were at church, an earthquake shook the city. when it passed, it left bitter ruin in its wake, the only part that stood intact being one wall of the church. of a population of thirteen thousand, only sixteen hundred persons escaped alive. the city was rebuilt later, and at the time we were there it was a beautiful place of about twenty-five thou¬ sand population. at this place a report of bubonic plague, in brazil, reached us. the party became frightened and beat it in post haste back to valpa¬ raiso, setting sail immediately for salina cruz, and spent the time that was scheduled for a tour of argentina, in snoopin' around the land of the the conquest montezumas. this is the american center of catholic churches; the home of many gaudy- spanish women and begging peons; where the people, the laws, and the customs, are two hundred years behind those of the united states. still, i thought mexico very beautiful, as well as of historical in¬ terest. one day we journeyed far into the highlands, where lay the ancient mexican city of cuernavaca, the one time summer home of america's only em- perior, maximilian. from there we went to puebla, where we saw the old cathedral which was begun in , and which at that time was said to be the second largest in the world. we saw san louis potosi, and monterey, and returned by the way of loredo, texas. i became well enough acquainted with the liberal millionaires and so useful in serving their families that i made five hundred and seventy- five dollars on the trip, besides bringing back so many gifts and curiosities of all kinds that i had enough to divide up with a good many of my friends. flushed with prosperity and success in my under¬ takings since leaving southern illinois less than three years before, i went to m—boro to see my sister and to see whether miss rooks had grown any. i was received as a personage of much importance among the colored people of the town, who were about the same kind that lived in m—pis; not very progressive, excepting with their tongues when it came to curiosity and gossip. i arrived in the evening too late to call on miss rooks and having become quite anxious to see her again, the night dragged slowly away, and i thought the con- the conquest ventional afternoon would never come again. her father, who was an important figure among the colored people, was a mail carrier and brought the mail to the house that morning where i stopped. he looked me over searchingly, and i tried to ap¬ pear unaffected by his scrutinizing glances. by and by two o'clock finally arrived, and with my sister i went to make my first call in three years. i had grown quite tall and rugged, and i was anxious to see how she looked. we were received by her mother who said: "jessie saw you coming and will be out shortly." after a while she entered and how she had changed. she, too, had grown much taller and was a little stooped in the shoulders. she was neatly dressed and wore her hair done up in a small knot, in keeping with the style of that time. she came straight to me, extended her hand and seemed delighted to see me after the years of separation. after awhile her mother and my sister accom¬ modatingly found an excuse to go up town, and a few minutes later with her on the settee beside me, i was telling of my big plans and the air castles i was building on the great plains of the west. finally, drawing her hand into mine and finding that she offered no resistance, i put my arm around her waist, drew her close and declared i loved her. then i caught myself and dared not go farther with so serious a subject when i recalled the wild, rough, and lonely place out on the plains that i had selected as a home, and finally asked that we defer anything further until the claim on the little crow should develop into something more like an illinois home. the conquest " , we don't know what will happen before that time" she spoke for the first time, with a blush as i squeezed her hand. "but nothing can happen," i defended, non¬ plused, "can there?" "well, no," she answered hesitatingly, leaning away. "then we will, won't we?" i urged. "well, yes", she answered, looking down and appearing a trifle doubtful. i admired her the more. love is something i had longed for more than any¬ thing else, but my ambition to overcome the vagaries of my race by accomplishing something worthy of note, hadn't given me much time to seek love. i went to my old occupation of the road for awhile and spent most of the winter on a run to florida, where the tipping was as good as it had been on the run from st. louis to new york. however, about a month before i quit i was assigned to a run to boston. by this time i had seen nearly all the important cities in the united states and of them all none interested me so much as boston. what always appeared odd to me, however, was the fact that the passenger yards were right at the door of the fashionable back bay district on hunt¬ ington avenue, near the hotel nottingham, not three blocks from where the intersection of hunting¬ ton avenue and boylton street form an acute angle in which stands the public library, and in the op¬ posite angle stands trinity church, so thickly purpled with aristocracy and the memory big with the tradition of philip brooks, the last of that group of mighty american pulpit orators, of whom i had the conquest read so much. a little farther on stands the massachusetts institute of technology. the mornings i spent wandering around the city, visiting faneuil hall, the old state house, boston commons, bunker hill, and a thousand other re¬ minders of the early heroism, rugged courage, and far seeing greatness of boston's early citizens. afternoons generally found me on tremont or washington street attending a matinee or hearing music. there once i heard caruso, melba, and two or three other grand opera stars in the popular rigeletto quartette, and another time i witnessed "siberia" and the gorgeous and blood-curdling reproduction of the kishneff massacre, with two hundred people on the stage. on my last trip to boston i saw chauncy olcott in "terrence the coach boy", a romance of old ireland with the scene laid in valley bay, which seemed to correspond to the back bay a few blocks away. dear old boston, when will i see you again, was my thought as the train pulled out through the most fashionable part of america, so stately and so grand. even now i recall the last trip with a sigh. if the little crow, with oristown as its gateway, was a land of hope; through massachu¬ setts; worcester, with the polytechnic institute arising in the back ground; springfield, and smith school for girls, pittsfield, brookfield, and on to albany on the hudson, is a memory never to be forgotten, which evolved in my mind many long years afterward, in my shack on the homestead. the conquest chapter ix the return—ernest nicholson left st. louis about april first with about three thousand dollars in the bank and started again for oristown, this time to stay. i had just paid jessie a visit and i felt a little lonely. with the grim reality of the situation facing me, i now began to steel my nerves for a lot of new experience which soon came thick and fast. slater met the train at oristown, and as soon as he spied me he informed me that i was a lucky man. that a town had been started a joining my land and was being promoted by his brother and the sons of a former iowa governor, and gave every promise of making a good town, also, if i cared to sell, he had a buyer who was willing to pay me a neat advance over what i had paid. however, i had no idea of parting with the land, but i was delighted over the news, and the next morning found me among dad durpee's through stage coach pas¬ sengers, for calias, the new town joining my home¬ stead, via hedrick and kirk. as we passed through hedrick i noticed that several frame shacks had been put up and some better buildings were under way. the ground had been frozen for five months, so sod-house building had been temporarily aban¬ doned. it was a long ride, but i was beside myself with enthusiasm- calias finally loomed up, conspicu¬ ously perched on a hill, and could be seen long before the conquest the stage arrived, and was the scene of much activity- it had been reported that a colored man had a claim adjoining the town on the north, so when i stepped from the stage before the postoffice, the many- knowing glances informed me that i was being looked for. a fellow who had a claim near and whom i met in oristown, introduced me to the postmaster whose name was billinger, an individual with dry complexion and thin, light hair. then to the presi¬ dent of the townsite company, second of three sons of the iowa governor. my long experience with all classes of humanity had made me somewhat of a student of human nature, and i could see at a glance that here was a person of unusual agressiveness and great capacity for doing things. as he looked at me his eyes seemed to bore clear through, and as he asked a few questions his searching look would make a person tell the truth whether he would or no. this was ernest nicholson, and in the following years he had much to do with the development of the little crow. the conquest chapter x the oklahoma grafter hat evening at the hotel he asked me whether i wished to double my money by selling my relinquishment. "no," i answered, "but i tell you what i do want to do," i replied firmly. "i am not here to sell; i am here to make good or die trying; i am here to grow up with this country and prosper with the growth, if possible. i have a little coin back in old "chi." (my money was still in the chicago bank) "and when these people begin to commute and want to sell, i am ready to buy another place." i admired the fellow. he reminded me of "the richest man in the world" in "the lion and the mouse," otis skinner as colonel phillippi bridau, an officer on the staff of napoleon's army in "the honor of the family", and other characters in plays that i greatly admired, where great courage, strength of character, and firm decision were displayed. he seemed to have a commanding way that one found himself feeling honored and willing to obey. but getting back to the homestead. i looked over my claim and found it just as i had left it the fall before, excepting that a prairie fire during the winter had burned the grass. the next morning i returned to oristown and announced my intentions of buying a team. the same day i drew a draft for five hundred dollars with which to start. now if there is anywhere an inexperienced man is sure to go wrong in starting up on a homestead, it is the conquest in buying horses. most prospective homesteaders make the same mistake i did in buying horses, unless they are experienced. the inefficient man reasons thus: "well, i will start off economically by buy¬ ing a cheap team"—and he usually gets what he thought he wanted, "a cheap team." if i had gone into the country and bought a team of young mares for say three hundred dollars, which would have been a very high price at that time, i would have them yet, and the increase would have kept me fairly well supplied with young horses, instead of scouting around town looking for some¬ thing cheaper, in the "skate" line, as i did. i looked at so many teams around oristown that all of them began to look alike. i am sure i must have looked at five hundred different horses, more in an effort to appear as a conservative buyer than to buy the best team. finally i ran onto an "okla¬ homa" grafter by the name of numemaker. he was a deceiving and unscrupulous rascal, but nevertheless possessed a pleasing personality, which stood him in good in his schemes of deception, and we became quite chummy. he professed to know all about horses—no doubt he did, but he didn't put; his knowledge at my disposal in the way i thought he should, being a friend, as he claimed. he finally persuaded me to buy a team of big plugs, one of which was so awkward he looked as though he would fall down if he tried to trot. the other was a powerful four-year-old gelding, that would have never been for sale around oristown if it hadn't been that he had two feet badly wire cut. one was so very large that it must have been quite the conquest burdensome for the horse to pick it up, swing it forward and put it down, as i look back and see him now in my mind. when i was paying the man for them i wondered why nunemaker led him into the private office of the bank, but i was not left long in doubt. when i crossed the street one of the men who had tried to sell me a team jumped me with: "well, they got you, did they?" his voice mingled with sarcasm and a sneer. "got who?" i returned questionly. "does a man have to knock you down to take a hint?" he went on in a tone of disappointment and anger. don't you know that man nunemaker is the biggest grafter in oristown? i would have sold you that team of mine for twenty-five dollars less'n i offered 'em, if the gol-darn grafter hadn't of come to me'n said, 'give me twenty-five dollars and i will see that the coon buys the team.' i would have knocked him down with a club if i'd had one, the low life bum." he finished with a snort and off he went. "stung, by cracky," was all i could say, and feel¬ ing rather blue i went to the barn where the team was, stroked them and hoped for the best. i then bought lumber to build a small house and barn, an old wagon for twenty dollars, one wheel of which the blacksmith had forgotten to grease, worked hard all day getting loaded, and wearied, sick and discouraged, i started at five o'clock p. m. to drive the thirty miles to calias. when i was out two miles the big old horse was wobbling along like a broken-legged cow, hobbling, stumbling, and the conquest making such a burdensome job of walking, that i felt like doing something desperate. when i looked back the wheel that had not been greased was smoking like a hot box on the twentieth century limited. the sun was nearly down and a cold east wind was whooping it up at about sixty miles an hour, chilling me to the marrow. the fact that i was a stranger in a strange land, inhabited wholly by people not my own race, did not tend to cheer my gloomy spirits. i decided it might be all right in july but never in april. i pulled my wagon to the side of the road, got down and unhitched and jumped on the young horse, and such a commotion as he did make. i am quite sure he would have bucked me off, had it not for his big foot being so heavy, he couldn't raise it quick enough to leap. evidently he had never been ridden. when i got back to oristown and put the team in the barn and warmed up, i resolved to do one thing and do it that night. i would sell the old horse, and i did, for twenty-two-fifty. i considered myself lucky, too. i had paid one hundred and ninety dollars for the team and harness the day before. ^ i sat down and wrote jessie a long letter, telling her of my troubles and that i was awfully, awfully, lonesome. there was only one other colored person in the town, a barber who was married to a white woman, and i didn't like him. the next day i hired a horse, started early and arrived at calias in good time. at hedrick i hired a sod mason, who was also a carpenter, at three dollars a day and we soon put up a frame barn the conquest large enough for three horses; a sod house sixteen by fourteen with a hip roof made of two by fours for rafters, and plain boards with tar paper and sod with the grass turned downward and laid side by side, the cracks being filled with sand. the house had two small windows and one door, that was a little short on account of my getting tired carrying sod. i ordered the "contractor" to put the roof on as soon as i felt it was high enough to be comfortable inside. the fifth day i moved in. there was no floor, but the thick, short buffalo grass made a neat carpet. in one corner i put the bed, while in another i set the table, the one next the door i placed the stove, a little two-hole burner gasoline, and in the other corner i made a bin for the horses grain. the conquest chapter xi dealin' in mules t must have been about the twentieth of april when i finished building. i started to "batch" and prepared to break out my claim. having only one horse, it became necessary to buy another team. i decided to buy mules this time. i remembered that back on our farm in southern illinois, mules were thought to be capable of doing more work than horses and eat less grain. so when some boys living west of me came one sunday afternoon, and said they could sell me a team of mules, i agreed to go and see them the next day. i thought i was getting wise. as proof of such wisdom i determined to view the mules in the field. i followed them around the field a few times and, although they were not fine looking, they seemed to work very well. an¬ other great advantage was, they were cheap, only one hundred and thirty-five dollars for the team and a fourteen-inch-rod breaking plow. this looked to me like a bargain. i wrote him a check and took the mules home with me. jack and jenny were their names, and i hadn't owned jack two days before i began to hate him. he was lazy, and when he went down hill, instead of holding his head up and stepping his front feet out, he would lower the bean and perform a sort of crow-hop. it was too exasperating for words and i used to strike him viciously for it, but that didn't seem to help matters any. the conquest draws to strike, and out would come the plow with a skip, skip, skip; the big horse nearly trotting and dragging the two little mules, that looked like two goats beside an elephant. well, i sat down and gave up to a fit of the blues; for it looked bad, mighty bad for me. i had left st. louis with two hundred dollars in cash, and had drawn a draft for five hundred dollars more on the chicago bank, where my money was on deposit, and what did i have for it? one big horse, tall as a giraffe; two little mules, one of which was a torment to me; a sod house; and old wagon. as i faced the situation there seemed nothing to do but to fight it out, and i turned wearily to another attempt, this time with more success. before i had started breaking i had invited criticism. now i was getting it on all sides. i was the only colored homesteader on the reservation, and as an agricul¬ turist it began to look mighty bad for the colored race on the little crow. finally, with the assistance of dry weather, i got the plow so i could go two or three rods without stopping, throw it out of the ground and clear the share of roots and grass. sometimes i managed to go farther, but never over forty rods, the entire summer. i took another course in horse trading or mule trading, which almost came to be my undoing. i determined to get rid of jack. i decided that i would not be aggravated with his laziness and crow- hopping any longer than it took me to find a trade. so on a sunday, about two weeks after i bought the team, a horse trader pulled into calias, drew the conquest his prairie schooner to a level spot, hobbled his horses —mostly old plugs of diverse descriptions, and made preparation to stay awhile. he had only one animal, according to my horse-sense (?), that was any good, and that was a mule that he kept blanketed. his camp was so situated that i could watch the mule, from my east window, and the more i looked at the mule, the better he looked to me. it was wednesday noon the following week and old jack had become almost unbearable. my con¬ tinuing to watch a good mule do nothing, while i continued to fret my life away trying to be patient with a lazy brute, only added to my restlessness and eagerness to trade. at noon i entered the barn and told old jack i would get rid of him. i would swap him to that horse trader for his good mule as soon as i watered him. he was looking pretty thin and i thought it would be to my advantage to fill him up. during the three days the trader camped near my house he never approached me with an offer to sell or trade, and it was with many misgivings that i called out in a loud, breezy voice and david harum manner; "hello, governor, how will you trade mules?" "how'll i trade mules? did you say how'll i trade mules? huh, do you suppose i want your old mule?" drawing up one side of his face and twisting his big red nose until he resembled a german clown. "o, my mule's fair", i defended weakly. "nothing but an old dead mule," he spit out, grabbing old jack's tail and giving him a yank that all but pulled him over. "look at him, look at him," the conquest he rattled away like an auctioneer. "go on, mr. colored man, you can't work me that way." he continued stepping around old jack, making pre¬ tentions to hit him on the head. jack may have been slow in the field, but he was swift in dodging, and he didn't look where he dodged either. i was standing at his side holding the reins, when the fellow made one of his wild motions, and jack nearly knocked my head off as he dodged. "nawsir, if i considered a trade, that is if i considered a trade at all, i would have to have a lot of boot" he said with an important air. "how much?" i asked nervously. "well, sir", he spoke with slow decision; "i would have to have twenty-five dollars." "what!" i exclaimed, at which he seemed to weaken; but he didn't understand that my excla¬ mation was of surprise that he only wanted twenty- five dollars, when i had expceted to give him seventy- five dollars. i grasped the situation, however, and leaning forward, said hardly above a whisper, my heart was so near my throat: "i will give you twenty," as i pulled out my roll and held a twen y before his eyes, which he took as though afraid i would jerk it away; muttering something about it not being enough, and that he had ought to have had twenty-five. however, he got old jack and the twenty, gathered his plugs and left town immed¬ iately. i felt rather proud of my new possession, but before i got through the field that afternoon i became suspicious. although i looked my new mule over and over often during the afternoon while plowing, i could find nothing wrong. still i had the conquest a chilly premonition, fostered, no doubt, by past experience, that something would show up soon, and in a few days it did show up. i learned afterward the trader had come thirty-five miles to trade me that mule. the mule i had traded was only lazy, while the one i had received in the trade was not only lazy, but "ornery" and full of tricks that she took a fiendish delight in exercising on me. one of her favorites was to watch me out of her left eye, shirking the while, and crowding the furrow at the same time, which would pull the plow out of the ground. i tried to coax and cajole her into doing a decent mule's work, but it availed me nothing. i bore up under the aggravation with patience and fortitude, then determined to subdue the mule or become subdued myself. i would lunge forward with my whip, and away she would rush out from under it, brush the other horse and mule out of their places and throw things into general confusion. then as soon as i was again straightened out, she would be back at her old tricks, and i am almost positive that she used to wink at me impudently from her vantage point. added to this, the coloring matter with which the trader doped her head, faded, and she turned grey headed in two weeks, leaving me with a mule of uncertain and doubtful age, in¬ stead of one of seven going on eight as the trader represented her to be. i soon had the enviable reputation of being a horse trader. whenever anybody with horses to trade came to town, they were advised to go over to the sod house north of town and see the colored man. the conquest chapter xii the homesteaders neighbors, i had many. there was miss carter from old missouri whose claim joined mine on the west, and an¬ other missourian to the north of her; a loud talking german north of him, and an english preacher to the east of the german. a traveling man's family lived north of me; and a big, fat, lazy barber who seemed to be taking the "rest cure," joined me on the east. his name was starks and he had drawn number . he had a nice, level claim with only a few buffalo wallows to detract from its value, and he held the distinction of being the most uncompromisingly lazy man on the little crow. this, coupled with the unpardonable fault of complaining about everything, made him nigh unbearable and he was known as the "beefer." he came from a small town, usually the home of his ilk, in iowa, where he had a small shop and owned three and a half acres of garden and orchard ground on the outskirts of the town. he would take a fiendish delight in relating and re-relating how the folks in his house back in iowa were having straw¬ berries, new peas, green beans, spring onions, and enjoying all the fruits of a tropical climate, while he was holding down an "infernal no-account claim" on the little crow, and eating out of a can. a merchant was holding down a claim south of him, and a banker lived south of the merchant. thus it was a varied class of homesteaders around the conquest calias and megory, the first summer on the little crow. only about one in every eight or ten was a farmer. they were of all vocations in life and all nationalities, excepting negroes, and i controlled the colored vote. this was one place where being a colored man was an honorary distinction. i remember how i once requested the stage driver to bring me some meat from megory, there being no meat shop in calias, and it was to be left at the post office. apparently i had failed to give the stage driver my name, for when i called for it, it was handed out to me, done up in a neat package, and addressed " colored man, calias." my neighbors soon learned, however, that my given name was "oscar," but it was some time before they could all spell or pronounce the odd surname. during the month of june it rained twenty-three days, but i- was so determined to break out one hundred and twenty acres, that after a few days of the rainy weather i went out and worked in the rain. starks used to go up town about four o'clock for the mail, wearing a long, yellow slicker, and when he saw me going around the half-mile land he re¬ marked to the bystanders: "just look at that fool nigger a working in the rain." being the first year of settlement in a new country, there naturally was no hay to buy, so the settlers turned their stock out to graze, and many valuable horses strayed away and were lost. when it rained so much and the weather turned so warm, the mos¬ quitoes filled the air and covered the earth and attacked everything in their path. when i turned the conquest my horses out after the day's work was done, they soon found their way to town, where they stood in the shelter of some buildings and fought mos¬ quitoes. their favorite place for this pastime was the post office, where billinger had a shed awning over the board walk, the framework consisting of two-by-fours joined together and nailed lightly to the building, and on top of this he had laid a few rough boards. under this crude shelter the home¬ steaders found relief from the broiling afternoon sun, and swapped news concerning the latest offer for their claims. the mosquitoes did not bother so much in even so slight an inclosure as this, so every night jenny mule would walk on to the board walk, prick up her ears and look in at the window. about this time the big horse would come along and begin to scratch his neck on one of the two-by- fours, and suddenly down would go billinger's port¬ able awning with a loud crash which was augmented by jenny mule getting out from under the falling boards. as the sound echoed through the slumber¬ ing village the big horse would rush away to the middle of the street, with a prolonged snort, and won¬ der what it was all about. this was the story billinger told when i came around the next morning to drive them home from the storekeeper's oat bin where they had indulged in a midnight lunch. the performance was repeated nightly and got brother billinger out of bed at all hours. he swore by all the gods of buddha and the people of south dakota, that he would put the beasts up and charge me a dollar to get them. early one morning i came over and found that billinger had remained true to his oath, and the the conquest horse and mule were tied to a wagon belonging to the storekeeper. nearby on a pile of rock sat billinger, nodding away, sound asleep. i quietly untied the rope from the wagon and peaceably led them home. then billinger was in a rage. he had a small, screechy tremulo voice and it fairly sputtered as he tiraded: " if it don't beat all; i never saw the like. i was up all last night chasing those darned horses, caught them and tied them up; and along comes devereaux while i am asleep and takes horses, rope and all." the crowd roared and billinger decided the joke was on him. miss carter, my neighbor on the west, had her trouble too. one day she came by, distressed and almost on the verge of tears, and burst out: "oh, oh, oh, i hardly know what to do." i could never bear seeing any one in such distress and i became touched by her grief. upon becoming more calm, she told me: "the banker says that the man who is breaking prairie on my claim is ruining the ground." she was simply heart-broken about it, and off she went into another spasm of distress. i saw the fellow wasn't laying the sod over smoothly because he had a sixteen-inch plow, and had it set to cut only about eight inches, which caused the sod to push away and pile up on edges, instead of turning and dropping into the furrow. i went with her and explained to the fellow where the fault lay. the next day he was doing a much better job. those who have always lived in the older settled parts of the country sometimes have exagge ated ideas of life on the homestead, and the following the conquest chapter xiii imaginations run amuck decided to utilize some of my spare time by doing a little freighting from oristown to calias. accordingly, one fair morning i started for the former town. it began raining that evening, finally turn¬ ing into a fine snow, and by morning a genuine south dakota blizzard was raging. how the wind did screech across the prairie! i was driving the big horse and jenny mule to a wagon loaded with two tons of coal. they were not shod, and the hillsides had become slick and treacherous with ice. at the foot of very hill jenny mule would lay her ears back, draw herself up like a toad, when teased, and look up with a groan, while the big horse trotted on up the next slope, pulling her share of the load. when the wind finally went down the mercury fell to ° below zero and my wrists, face, feet, and ears were frost bitten when i arrived at calias. . as is always the case during such severe weather, the hotel was filled, and laughing, story telling, and good cheer prevailed. the nicholson boys asked "how i made it" and i answered disgustedly that i'd have made it all right if that jennie mule hadn't got faint hearted. the re¬ mark was received as a good joke and my suffering and annoyances of the trip slipped away into the past. that remark also had the further effect of giving jennie mule immortality. she became the the conquest topic of conversation and jest in hotel and postoffice lobbies, and even to this day the story of the "faint hearted mule" often affords splendid entertainment at festive boards and banquet halls of the little crow, when told by a nicholson. while working in the rain, the perspiration and the rain water had caused my body to become so badly galled, that i found considerable difficulty in getting around. to add to this discomfiture jenny mule was affected with a touch of "maudism" at times, especially while engaged in eating grain. one night when i had wandered thoughtlessly into the barn, she gave me such a wallop on the right shin as to impair that member until i could hardly walk without something to hold to. as it had taken a fourteen-hundred-mile walk to follow the plow in breaking the one hundred and twenty acres, i was about "all in" physically when it was done. as a means of recuperation i took a trip to chi¬ cago. while there, the "call of the road" affected me; i got reinstated and ran a couple of months to the coast. four months of free life on the plains, however, had changed me. after one trip i came in and found a letter from jessie, saying she was sick, and although she never said "come and see me" i took it as an excuse and quit that p—n company for good—and here it passes out of the story—went down state to m—boro, and spent the happiest week of my life. after i had returned to dakota, however, i con¬ tracted an imagination that worked me into a state of jealously, concerning an individual who made the conquest his home in m—boro, and with whom i suspicioned the object of my heart to be unduly friendly. i say, this is what i suspicioned. there was no particular proof, and i have been inclined to think, in after years, that it was more a case of an over-energetic imagination run amuck. i contended in my mind and in my letters to her as well, that i should not have thought anything of it, if the "man in the case" had a little more promising future, but since his proficiency only earned him the munificent sum of three dollars per week, i continued to fret and fume, until i at last resolved to suspend all communica¬ tion with her. now what i should have done when i reached this stage of imaginary insanity, was to have sent miss rooks a ticket, some money, and she would have come to dakota and married me, and together we would have "lived happy ever after." as i see it now, i was affected with an "idealism." of course i was not aware of it at the time—no young soul is—until they have learned by bitter experience the folly of "they should not do thus and so", and, of course, there is the old excuse, "good intentions." somewhere i read that the road to—not st. peter— is paved with good intentions. the result of my prolific imagination was that i carried out my reso¬ lutions, quit writing, and emotionally lived rather unhappily thereafter, for some time at least. the conquest chapter xiv the surveyors he entire little crow reservation con¬ sisted of about two million acres of land, four-fifths of which was unopened and lay west of megory county. of the two million acres, perhaps one million, five hundred thousand ranged from fair to the richest of loam soil, underlaid with clay. the climatic condition is such that all kinds of crops grown in the central west, can be grown here. two hundred miles north, corn will not mature; two hundred miles south, spring wheat is not grown; two hundred west, the altitude is too high to insure sufficient rainfall to produce a crop; but the reservation lands are in such a position that winter wheat, spring wheat, oats, rye, corn, flax, and barley do well. ever since the drouth of ' , all crops had thrived, the rainfall being abundant, and continuing so during the first year of settlement. oristown and other towns on the route of the railroad had waited twenty years for the extension, and now the citizens of oristown estimated it would be at least ten years before it extended its line through the reservation; while the settlers, to the number of some eight thou¬ sand, hoped they would get the road in five years. however, no sleep was lost in anticipation. the nearest the reservation came to getting a railroad that summer was by the way of a newspaper in megory, whose editor spent most of his time building roads into megory from the north, south, and the the conquest east. in reality, the c. & r. w. was the only road likely to run to the reservation, and all the towns depended on its extension to overcome the long, burdensome freighting with teams. with all the country's local advantages, its geographical location was such as to exclude roads from all directions except the one taken by the c. & r. w. to the south lay nine million acres of worthless sand hills, through which it would require an enormous sum of money to build a road. even then there would be miles of track which would practically pay no interest on the investment. at that time there was no railroad extending the full length of the state from east to west, most lines stopping at or near the missouri river. since then two or three lines have been built into the western part of the state; but they experienced much difficulty in crossing the river, owing to the soft bottom, which in many places would not support a modern steel bridge. for from one to two months in the spring, floating ice gives a great deal of trouble and wreaks disaster to the pontoon. a bird's eye view of the little crow shows it to look something like a bottle, the neck being the missouri river, with the c. & r. w. tracks creeping along its west bank. this is the only feasible route to the reservation and the directors of this road were fully aware of their advantageous position. the freight rates from omaha to oristown (a distance of two hundred and fifty miles) being as high as from omaha to chicago, a distance of five hundred miles. but getting back to the settlers around and in the conquest the little towns on the little crow. the first thing to be considered in the extension was, that the route it took would naturally determine the future of the towns. hedrick, kirk, and megory were government townsites, strung in a northwesterly direction across the country, ranging from eight to fifteen miles apart, the last being about five miles and a half east of the west line of the county. now the county on the west was expected to be thrown open to settlement soon, would likely be opened under the lottery system, as was megory county. after matters had settled this began to be discussed, particularly by the citizens of megory, five and one- half miles from the tipp county line. this placed megory in the same position to handle the crowds coming into the next county, as oristown had for megory county, excepting megory would have an advantage, for tipp county was twice as large as megory. when this was all considered, the people of megory began to boost the town on the prospects of a future boom. the only uncertain feature of the matter then to be considered was which way the road would extend. that was where the rub came in, which way would the road go? this became a source of continual worry and specu¬ lation on the part of the towns, and the men who felt inclined to put money into the towns in the way of larger, better, and more commodious buildings; but when they were encouraged to do so, there was always the bogy "if." if the railroad should miss us, well, the man owning the big buildings was "stung," that was all, while the man with the shack could load it on two or four wagons, and with a the conquest few good horses, land his building in the town the railroad struck or started. this was, and is yet, one of the big reasons shacks are so numerous in a town in a new country, which expects a road but knows not which way it will come; and the officials of the c. & r. w. were no different from the di¬ rectors of any other road. they were "mum" as dummies. they wouldn't tell whether the road would ever extend or not. the oristown citizens claimed it was at one time in the same uncertainty as the towns to the west, and for some fifteen or twenty years it had waited for the road. with the road stopping at oristown, they argued, it would be fully ten years before it left, and during this time it could be seen, oristown whould grow into an important prairie city, as it should. everything must be hauled into oris¬ town, as well as out. so it can be seen that oristown would naturally boom. while nothing had been raised to the west to ship out, as yet, still there was a growing population on the reservation and thou¬ sands of carloads of freight and express were being hauled into and from oristown monthly, for the settlers on the reservation; which filled the town with railroad men and freighters. crops had been good, and every thing was going along smoothly for the citizens and property owners of oristown. not a cloud on her sky of prosperity, and as the trite saying goes: "everything was lovely, and the goose hung high," during the first year of settlement on the little crow. and now lest we forget calias. calias was lo¬ cated one and one-half miles east, and three miles the c o n ques t south of megory, and five miles straight west of kirk. if the c. & r. w. extending its line west, should strike all the government townsites, as was claimed by people in these towns, who knew nothing about it, and calias, it would have run from kirk to megory in a very unusual direction. indeed, it would have been following the section lines and it is common knowledge even to the most ignorant, that railroads do not follow section lines unless the section lines are directly in its path. if the rail¬ road struck kirk and megory, it was a cinch it would miss calias. if it struck calias, perched on the banks of the monca creek, the route the nicholsons, as promotors of the town, claimed it would take; the road would miss all the towns but calias. this would have meant glory and a fortune for the promotors and lot holders of the town. it would also have meant that my farm, or at least a part of it, would in time be sold for town lots. after i got so badly overreached in dealing in horses, for a time the opinion was general that the solitary negro from the plush cushions of a p—n would soon see that growing up with a new country was not to his liking, and would be glad to sell at any old figure and "beat it" back to more ease and comfort. this is largely the opinion of most of the white people, regarding the negro, and they are not entirely wrong in their opinion. i was quite well aware that such an opinion existed, but con¬ trary to expectations, i rather appreciated it. when i broke out one hundred and twenty acres with such an outfit as i had, as against many other real farmers who had not broken over forty acres, with the conquest good horses and their knowledge of breaking prairie, acquired in states they had come from, i began to be regarded in a different light. at first i was regarded as an object of curiosity, which changed to appreciation, and later admiration. i was not called a free-go-easy coon, but a genuine booster for calias and the little crow. i never spent a lonesome day after that. the nicholson brothers, however, gave the set¬ tlers no rest, and created another sensation of rail¬ road building by their new contention that the railroad would not be extended from oristown, but that it would be built from a place on the monca bottom two stations below oristown, where the track climbed a four per cent grade to fairview, then on to oristown. they offered as proof of their contention that the c. & r. w. maintained considerable yardage there, and it does yet. why it did, people did not know, and this kept everybody guessing. some claimed it would go up the monca valley, as nicholson claimed. this much can be said in favor of the nicholsons, they were good boosters, or "big liars," as their rivals called them, and if one listened long and diligently enough they would have him imagine he could hear the exhaust of a big locomotive coming up the monca valley. while the people in the government townsites per¬ sisted loudly that the c. & r. w. had contracted with the government before the towns were located, to strike these three towns, and that the government had helped to locate them; that furthermore, the railroad would never have left the monca valley, which it followed for some twenty miles after leaving the conquest the banks of the missouri. all of which sounded reasonable enough, but the government and the railroad had entered into no agreement whatever, and the people in the government towns knew it, and were uneasy. i had been on my claim just about a year, when one day rattlesnake jack's father came from his home on the jim river and sold me her home¬ stead for three thousand dollars. my dreams were at last realized, and i had become the owner of three hundred and twenty acres of land; but my money was now gone, when i had paid the one thousand, five hundred dollars down on the rattle snake jack place, giving her back a mortgage for the remaining one thousand, five hundred at seven per cent interest, and it was a good thing i did, too. i bought the place early in april and in june the interior department rejected the proof she had offered the november before, on account of lack of sufficient residence and cultivation. the proof had been accepted by the local land office, and a final receipt for the remaining installments of the purchase price, amounting to four hundred and eighty dollars, was issued. a final receipt is considered to be equivalent to a patent or deed, but when rattlesnake jack's proof of residence got to the general land office in washington, in quest of a patent, the commissioner looked it over, figured up the time she actually put in on the place, and re¬ jected the proof, with the statement that it only showed about six month's actual residence. at that time eight month's residence was required, with six months within which to establish residence; the conquest but no proof could be accepted until after the claim¬ ant had shown eight month's actual and continu¬ ous residence. from the time the settlers began to commute or prove up on the little crow, all proofs which did not show fully eight month's residence, were rejected. this was done mostly by the register and receiver of the local land office, and many were sent back on their claims to stay longer. many proofs were also taken by local u. s. commis¬ sioners, county judges, and clerks of courts, but these officers rarely rejected them, for by so doing they also rejected a four dollar and twenty-five cent fee. about one-third of the persons who offered proof at that time had them turned down at the local land office. this gave the local com¬ missioners, county judges, and clerks of courts, a chance to collect twice for the same work. it may be interesting to know that a greater percentage of proofs rejected were those offered by women. this was perhaps not due to the fact that the ladies did not stay on their claims, so much as it was con¬ scientiousness. they could not make a forcible showing by saying that they had been there every night, like the men would claim, but would say in¬ stead that they had stayed all night with miss so- and-so this time and with another that time, and by including a few weeks' visit at home or somewhere else, they would bungle their proofs, so they were compelled to try again. a short time after this and evidently because so many proofs had been sent back, the interior department made it compulsory for the claimant the conquest to put in fourteen months' actual residence on the claim, before he could offer proof. with fourteen months, they were sure to stay a full eight months at least. this system has been very successful. when rattlesnake jack was ordered back, after selling me the place, she wanted me to sign a quit claim deed to her and accept notes for the money i had paid, which might have been satisfactory had it not been that she thought i had stopped to look back and failed to see the rush of progress the little crow was making; that the long anticipated news had been spread, and was now raging like a veritable prairie fire, and stirred the people of the little crow as much as an active stock market stirs the bulls on the stock exchange. the report spread and stirred the everyday routine of the settlers and the finality of humdrum and inactivity was abrupt. it came one day in early april. the rain had kept the farmers from the fields a week. it had been raining for nearly a month, and we only got a clear day once in a while. this day it was sloppy with¬ out, and many farmers were in from the country. we were all listening to a funny story fcrnest nich- olsin was telling, and "good fellows" were listening attentively. dr. salter, a physician, had just been laid on a couch in the back room of the saloon, "soused to the gills," when in the door john m. keely, a sort of ne'er do well popular drummer, whose proof had been rejected some time before, and who had come back to stay "a while longer", stumbled into the door of the local groggery. he was greeted with sallies and calls of welcome, and like many of the others, he was "feeling good." the conquest he sort of leaned over, and hiccoughing during the intervals, started "i've," the words were spoken chockingly/'got news for you." he had by now got inside and was hanging and swinging at the same time, to the bar. then before finishing what he started, called "tom," to the bar tender, "give me a whiskey before i", and here he leaned over and sang the words "tell the boys the news." "for the love of jesus keel" exclaimed the crowd in chorus "tell us what you know." he drainedj;he glass at a gulp and finally spit it out. "the sur¬ veyors are in oristown." the conquest chapter xv "which town will the r. r. strike?" he drummer's information soon received corroboration from other sources, and although it seemed almost unbelievable, it was discussed incessantly and excite¬ ment ran high. these pioneers, who had braved the hardships of homestead life had felt that with¬ out the railroad they were indeed cut off from civili¬ zation. to them the advent of the surveyors in oristown could mean only one thing—that their dreams of enjoying the many advantages of the railroad train, would soon materialize. they fell to enumerating these advantages—the mail daily, instead of only once or twice a week; the ease with which they could make necessary trips to the neighboring towns; and most of all— the increase in the value of the land. with this last subject they became so wrought up with excite¬ ment and anxiety as to the truth of the report, that they could stay away from the scene of action no longer. accordingly, buggies and vehicles of all descriptions began coming into oristown from all directions. i hitched doc and my new horse, boliver, for which i had paid one hundred and forty dollars, to an old ramshackle buggy i had bought for ten dollars, and joined the procession. three miles west of oristown we came upon a crowd of circus-day proportion, and in their midst were the surveyors. in their lead rode the chief engineer—a slender, the conquest wiry man with a black mustache and piercing eyes, that seemed to observe every feature of surrounding prairie. behind came a wagon loaded with stakes, accompanied by several men, the leader of whom was setting these stakes according to the signal of the engineer from behind the transit. others, on either side, were also driving stakes. they were not only running a straight survey, but were cross- sectioning as they went. even though the presence of these surveyors was now an established fact, these were days of grave uncertainties as to just what route the road would take. the suspense was almost equal to that of the criminal, as he awaits the verdict of the jury. the valleys and divides lay in such a man¬ ner that it was possible the survey would extend along the monca, thus passing through calias. on the other hand, it was probable that it would continue to the northwest through kirk and me- gory, thus missing calias altogether. when the surveyors reached a point five miles west of hedrick, they swerved to the northwest and advanced direcly toward kirk. this looked bad for calias. when ernest nicholson had learned that the surveyors were in oristown, he had left immediately for parts unknown and had not returned. he was in reality the founder of calias and many of the inhabitants looked to him as their leader, and de¬ pended upon him for advice. although he had many enemies who heaped abuse and epithets upon him—calling him a liar, braggard and "wind jammer" when boasting of their own independence the conquest and self respect—now that a calamity was about to befall them, and their fond hopes for this price¬ less mistress of prairie were about to be wrecked upon the shoals of an imaginary railroad survey, they turned toward him for comfort, as moths turn to a flame. it was ernest here and ernest there. as the inevitable progress of the surveyors pro¬ ceeded in a direct line for hedrick, kirk and me- gory, the consternation of the caliasites became more intense as time went on, and the anxiety for ernest to return almost resolved itself into mutiny. it became so significant, that at one time it ap¬ peared that if ernest had only appeared, the rail¬ road company would have voluntarily run its survey directly to calias, in order to avoid the humiliation of ernest's seizing them by the nape of the neck and marching them, survey, cars and all, right into the little hamlet. now there was one thing everybody seemed to forget or to overlook, but which occurred to me at the time, and caused me to become skeptical as to the possibilities of the road striking calias, and that was, if the railroad was to be built up the monca valley, then why had the surveyors come to oristown, and why had they not gotten off at anona, the last station in the monca valley, where the tracks climb the grade to fairview. many of the megory and kirk boosters had taken advantage of ernest's absence, and through enthu¬ siasm attending the advent of the railroad survey, persuaded several of calias' business men to go into fusion in their respective towns. the remain¬ ing handful consoled each other by prophecies of what ernest would do when he returned, and plied the conquest each other for expressions of theories, and ways and means of injecting enthusiasm into the local situa¬ tion. thousands of theories were given expression, consideration, and rejection, and the old one that all railroads follow valleys and streams was finally adhered to. i was singled out to give corroborative proof of this last, by reason of my railroad experience. i was suddenly seized with a short memory, much to my embarrassment, as i felt all eyes turned upon me. however, the crowd were looking for encour¬ agement and spoke up in chorus: "don't the rail¬ roads always follow valleys?" it suddenly oc¬ curred to me, that with all the thousands of miles of travel to my credit and the many different states i had traveled through, with all their rough and smooth territory, i had not observed whether the tracks followed the valleys or otherwise. how¬ ever, i intimated that i thought they did. "of course they do", my remark was answered in chorus. since then i have noticed that a railway does in¬ variably follow a valley, if it is a large one; and small rivers make excellent routes, but never crooked little streams like the monca. when it comes to such creeks, and there is a table land above, as soon as the road can get out, it usually stays out. this was the situation of the c. & r. w. it came some twenty-five or thirty miles up the monca, from where it empties into the missouri. there are four¬ teen bridges across in that many miles, which were and still are, always going out during high water. it came this route because there was no other way to come, but when it got to anona, as has been said, it climbed a four per cent grade to get out and it stayed out, the conquest chapter xvi megory's day he first day of may was a local holiday in megory, held in honor of the first anniversary of the day when all settlers had to be on their claims; and it was raining. during the first years on the little crow we were deluged with rainfall, but this day the in¬ clement weather was disregarded. it was settler's day and everybody for miles around had journeyed thither to celebrate—not only settler's day, but also the advent of the railroad. only the day before, the surveyors had pitched their tents on the outskirts of the town, and on this day they could be seen calmly sighting their way across the south side of the embryo city. megory was the scene of a continous round of revelry. five saloons were crowded to overflowing, and a score of bartenders served thousands of thirsty throats; while on the side opposite from the bar, and in the rear, gambling was in full blast. professionals, "tin horns," and "pikers", in their shirt sleeves worked away feverishly drawing in and paying money to the crowd that surged around the roulette, the chuck- luck, and the faro-bank. it seemed as though everybody drank and gambled. "this is megory's day", they called between drinks, and it would echo with "have another," "watch megory grow." written in big letters and hung all along the streets were huge signs which read "megory, the gateway to a million acres of the richest land in the the conquest world." "megory, the future metropolis of the little crow, watch her grow! watch her grow!" the board walk four feet wide could not hold the crowd. it was a day of frenzied celebration—a day when no one dared mention nicholson's name unless they wanted to hear them called liars, wind jammers, and all a bluff. ernest was still in the east and no one seemed to know where he was, or what he was doing. the surveyors had passed through megory and extended the survey to the county line, five miles west of the town. the right-of-way man was following and had just arrived from hedrick and kirk, where he had made the same offer he was now making megory. "if" he said, addressing the "town dads" and he seemed to want it clearly understood, "the c. & r. w. builds to megory, we want you to buy the right-of-way three miles east and four miles west of the town." then governor reulback, known as the "squat¬ ter governor," acting as spokesman for the citizens, arose from his seat on the rude platform, and before accepting the proposition—needless to say it was accepted—called on different individuals for short talks. among others he called on ernest nichol¬ son; but frank, the junior member of the firm, arose and answered that ernest was away engaged in purchasing the c. & r. w. railroad and that he, answering for ernest, had nothing to say. a hush fell on the crowd, but governor reulbach, who possessed a well defined sense of humor, responded with a joke, saying, "mr. nicholson's being away purchasing the c. & r. w. railroad reminds me of the conquest the irishman who played poker all night, and the next morning, yawning and stretching himself, said, "oi lost nine hundred dollars last night and seven and one-half of it was cash." the backbone of the town was beginning to weaken, while there were many who continued to insist that there was hope. others contracted rheumatism from vigils at the surveyor's camp, in vain hope of gaining some information as to the proposed direction of the right-of-way. the pur¬ chasing of the right-of-way and the unloading of carload after carload of contracting material at oristown did little to encourage the belief that there was a ghost of a show for calias. in a few days corral tents were decorating the right-of-way at intervals of two miles, all the way from oristown to megory. in the early morning, as the sound of distant thunder, could be heard the dull thud of clods and dirt dropping into the wagon from the elevator of the excavator; also the famil¬ iar "jup" and the thud of the "skinner's" lines as they struck the mules, in calias one and one-half miles away. a very much discouraged and weary crowd met ernest when he returned, but even in defeat this young man's personality was pleasing. he was frank in telling the people that he had done all that he could. he had gone to omaha where his father in-law joined him, thence to des moines, where his father maintained his office as president of an insurance company, that made loans on little crow land. together with two capitalists, friends of his father, they had gone into chicago and held tlh e c o"n quest cut in two so as to facilitate moving, and the rains caught it half way on the road to megory. after many days of sticking and floundering around in the mud, at a cost of over fourteen hundred dollars for the moving alone, not counting the goods spoiled, it arrived at its new home. the building in the beginning had cost only twenty-three hundred dollars, out of which thirty cents per hundred had been paid for local freighting from oristown. the merchant paid one thousand dollars for his lot in megory, and received ten dollars for the one he left in calias. this was the reason why rattlesnake jack's father and i could not get together when he came out and showed me rattlesnake jack's papers. it was bad and i readily agreed with him. i also agreed to sign a quit claim deed, thereby clearing the place, so she could complete her proof. every¬ thing went along all right, until it came to signing up. then i suggested that as i had broken eighty acres of prairie, the railroad was in course of con¬ struction, and land had materially increased in valuation—having sold as high as five thousand dollars a quarter section—i should have a guarantee that he would sell the place back to me when the matter had been cleared up. "i will see that you get the place back"—he pretended to reassure me—when she proves up again. "then we will draw up an agreement to that effect and make it one thousand dollars over what i paid", i suggested. "i will do nothing of the kind," he roared, brandishing his arms as though he wanted to fight, everybody for miles around had journeyed thither to celebrate. (page .) the conquest "and if you will not sign a quit claim without such an agreement, i will have jack blow the whole thing, that is what i will do, do you hear?" he fairly yelled, leaning forward and pointing his finger at me in a threatening manner. "then we will call it off for today," i replied with decision, and we did. i confess however, i was rather frightened. in the beginning i had not worried, as he held a first mortgage of one thousand, five hundred dollars, i had felt safe and thought that they had to make good to me in order to pro¬ tect their own interests. but now as i thought the matter over it began to look different. if he should have her relinquish, then where would i be, and the one thousand, five hundred dollars i had paid them? i was very much disturbed and called on ernest nicholson and informed him how the matter stood. he listened carefully and when i was through he said: "they gave you a warranty deed, did they not?" "yes, i replied, it is over at the bank of calias." "then let it stay there. tell him, or the old man rather, to have the girl complete sufficient resi¬ dence, then secure you for all the place is worth at the time; then, and not before, sign a quit claim, and if they want to sell you the place, well and good; if not, you will have enough to buy another." and i followed his advice. it was fourteen months, however, before the scotch-irish blood in him would submit to it. but there was nothing he could do, for the girl had given me a deed to something she did not have title to herself, and had accepted one thousand, the conquest five hundred dollars in cash from me in return. as the matter stood, i was an innocent party. about this time i became imbued with a feeling that i would like "most awfully well" to have a little help-mate to love and cheer me. how often i longed for company to break the awful and monot¬ onous lonesomeness that occasionally enveloped me. at that time, as now, i thought a darling little colored girl, to share all my trouble and grief, would be interesting indeed. often my thoughts had reverted to the little town in illinois, and i had pic¬ tured jessie caring for the little sod house and cheer¬ ing me when i came from the fields. for a time, such blissful thoughts sufficed the longing in my heart, but were soon banished when i recalled her seeming preference for the three dollar a week menial, another attack of the blues would follow, and my day dreams became as mist before the sun. about this time i began what developed into a flirtatious correspondence with a st. louis octo¬ roon. she was a trained nurse; very attractive, and wrote such charming and interesting letters, that for a time they afforded me quite as much entertainment, perhaps more, than actual company would have done. in fact i became so enamored with her that i nearly lost my emotional mind, and almost succumbed to her encouragement toward a marriage proposal. the death of three of my best horses that fall diverted my interest; she ceased the epistolary courtship, and i continued to batch. doc, my big horse, got stuck in the creek and was drowned. the loss of doc was hardest for me to bear, for he was a young horse, full of life, and i had the conquest grown fond of him. jenny mule would stand for hours every night and whinny for him. in november, bolivar, his mate—the horse i had paid one hundred and forty dollars for not nine months before—got into the wheat, became foundered, and died. while freighting from oristown, in december, one of a team of dapple grays fell and killed himself. so in three months i lost three horses that had cost over four hundred dollars, and the last had not even been paid for. i had only three left, the other dapple gray, jenny mule, and "old grayhead," the relic of my horse-trading days. i had put in a large crop of wheat the spring before and had threshed only a small part of it before the cold winter set in, and the snow made it quite impossible to complete threshing before spring. that was one of the cold winters which usually follow a wet summer, and i nearly froze in my little old soddy, before the warm spring days set in. sod houses are warm as long as the mice, rats, and gophers do not bore them full of holes, but as they had made a good job tunneling mine, i was left to welcome the breezy atmosphere, and i did not think the charming nurse would be very happy in such a mess "nohow." the thought that i was not mean enough to ask her to marry me and bring her into it, was consoling indeed. since i shall have much to relate farther along concerning the curious and many sided relations that existed between calias, megory, and other con¬ tending and jealous communities, let me drop this and return to the removal of calias to megory. the nicholson brothers had already installed an the conquest office in the successful town, and offered to move their interests to that place and combine with meg- ory in making the town a metropolis. but the town dads, feeling they were entirely responsible for the road striking the town, with the flush of victory and the sensation of empire builders, disdained the offer. in this megory had made the most stupid mistake of her life, and which later became almost monu¬ mental in its proportions. it will be seen how in the flush of apparent victory she lost her head, and looked back to stare and reflect at the retreating and temporary triumph of her youth; and in that in¬ stant the banner of victory was snatched from her fingers by those who offered to make her apparent victory real, and who ran swiftly, skillfully, and successfully to a new and impregnable retreat of their own. the megory town dads were fairly bursting with rustic pride, and were being wined and dined like kings, by the citizens of the town—who had contributed the wherewith to pay for the seven miles of right-of-way. besides, the dads were puffed young roosters just beginning to crow, and were boastful as well. so nicholson brothers got the horse laugh, which implied that megory did not need them. "we have made megory and now watch her grow. haw! haw! haw! watch her grow," came the cry, when the report spread that the town dads had turned nicholson's offer down. megory was the big i am of the little crow. then ernest went away on another long trip. it was cold weather, with the ground frozen, when he returned. the conquest side, swerved off to the west. about six that evening, when the sun went down, the bank of calias was sitting on the side of a hill that sloped to the north, near the end of the survey. now what did it mean? that was the question that everybody began asking everybody else. what was up? why was ernest nicholson moving the bank of calias five miles west of megory and setting it down on or near the end of the survey? theie were so many questions being asked with no one to answer, that it amused me. then some¬ one suggested that it might be the same old game, and here would come a pause, then the question, "what old game?" "why, another calias?"— some bait to make money. then, "oh, i see," said the wise town dads, just a hoax. that answered the question, just a snare to catch the unwary. tell them that the railroad would build to the tipp county line. sell them some lots, for that is what the "bluff" meant. get their good money and then, oh, ha! ha! ha! it was too funny when one saw the joke, and megoryites continued to laugh. had not nicholson brothers said a whole lot about getting the railroad; and that it was sure coming up the monca. it had come, had it not. haw! haw! haw! ho! ho! ho! just another nicholson stall, haw! haw! haw! and nicholsons got the laugh again. the railroad is in megory, and here it will stop for ten years. one hundred thousand people will come to megory to register for tipp county lands, and "watch megory grow" was all that could be heard. ernest would come to megory, have a pleasant the conquest chat, treat the boys, tell a funny story, and be off. nobody was mean enough or bold enough to tell him to his face any of the things they told to his back. ernest was never known to say anything about it. his scheme simply kept john nogden moving buildings. he wrote checks in payment, that the bank of calias cashed, for it was open for business the next day after it had been moved out on the prairie, five miles west of megory. the court record showed six quarter sections of land west of town had recently been transferred; the name of the receiver was unknown to anyone in megory, but such prices, forty to fifty dollars per acre. the people who had sold, brought the money to the megory banks, and deposited it. all they seemed to know was that someone drove up to their house and asked if they wanted to sell. some did not, while others said they were only five miles from megory, and if they sold they would have to have a big price, because megory was the "town of the little crow"^andfthefgateway to acres of the finest land in the world, to be opened soon. "what is your price?" he would ask, and whether it was forty, forty-five or fifty per acre, he bought it. this must have gone on for sixty days with every¬ body wondering "what it was all about", until it got on the nerves of the megoryites; and even the town dads began to get a little fearful. when ernest was approached he would wink wisely, hand out a cigar or buy a drink, but he never made anybody the wiser. the co n q u e s t a lady came out from des moines, bought a lot, and let a contract for a hotel building x , and work was begun on it immediately. this was getting ahead of megory, where a hotel had just been completed x feet, said by the megoryites to be the "best" west of a town of six thousand population, one hundred fifty miles down the road. whenever anything like a real building goes up in a little town on the prairie, with their collection of shacks, it is always called "the best building" between there and somewhere else. i shall not soon forget the anxiety with which the people watched the building which continued to go up west of megory, and still no one there seemed willing to admit that nicholson brothers were "live," but spent their argument in trying to con¬ vince someone that they were only wind jammers and manipulators of knavish plots, to immesh the credu¬ lous. what actually happened was this, and ernest told me about it afterwards in about the following words: "well, oscar, after megory turned our offer down, i knew there were just two things to do, and that was, to either make good or leave the country. megory is full of a lot of fellows that have never known anything but keya paha county, and when the road missed calias, and struck megory, they took the credit for displaying a super¬ ior knowledge. i knew we were going to be the big laughing stock of the reservation, and since i did not intend to leave the country, i got to think¬ ing. the more i pondered the matter, the more the conquest determined i became that something had to be done, and i finally made up my mind to do it." ernest nicholson was not the kind of a man to nlake idle declarations. "i went down to omaha and saw some business friends of mine and suggested to them just what i intended to do, thence to des moines and got father, and again we went into chicago and secured an appointment with hewitt, who listened attentively to all that we had to say, and the import of this was that megory, being over five miles east of the tipp county line, it was diffi¬ cult to drive range cattle that distance through a settled country. they are so unused to anything that resembles civilization, that ranchers hate to drive even five miles through a settled country, besides the annoyance it would habitually cause contrary farmers, when it comes to accommodating the ranchers. but that is not all. with sixty-six feet open between the wire fences, the range cattle at any time are liable to start a stampede, go right through, and a lot of damage follows. i showed him that most of the cattle men were still driving their stock north and shipping over the c. p. & st. l. now knowing that the directors had or¬ dered the extension of the line to get the cattle business, hewitt looked serious, finally arose from his chair, and 'went over to a map that entirely covered the side of the wall and showed all the lines of the c. & r. w. he meditated a few minutes and then turned around and said: "go back and buy the land that has been described." it all seemed simple enough when it was done. by the time that the extension had been com- the conquest pleted to megory, the building that had been moved west of town had company in the way of many new ones, and by this time comprised quite a burg, and claimed the name of new calias. the new was to distinguish between its old site and its present one. after megory turned them down, ernest had made a declaration or defiance that he would build a town on the little crow and its name would be calias. the conquest chapter xviii comes stanely, the chief engineer egory was still on the boom, not quite as much as the summer before, but more than it was some time later, for as yet new calias was still regarded as a joke, until one day stanley, the same wiry- looking individual with the black mustache and the piercing eyes, got off the stage at megory and began to do the same work he had started west of oristown the year before. oh, it was a shame to thus wreck the selfish dreams of these megoryites upon the rocks of their own shortsightedness. stanley was followed a few days later by a grade contractor, who had been to me¬ gory the summer before and who had became popu¬ lar around town, and was known to be a good spender. they had bidden him good-bye along in december, and although nothing was said about it, the truth was, megory did not wish to see any more railroad contractors, for a while, not for five or ten years anyway. it is a peculiar thing that when a railroad stops at some little western burg, that it is always going to stay ten or twenty years. this has always been the case before, according to the towns at the end of the line, and at this time megory was of the same opinion as regarded the extension to new calias. so oristown had been in regard to the extension to megory. but trelway built the road to new calias, and built it the quickest i ever saw a road the conquest built. the first train came to megory on a sunday in june—(schedules always commence on sunday) and september found the same train in calias, the "new" having been dropped. megoryites admitted very grudgingly, a short time before, that the train would go on to calias but would return to megory to stay ovei««night, where it left at six o'clock the following morning. now at megory the road had a "y" that ran onto a pasture on a two years lease, while at calias coal chutes, a "y", a turning table, a round house, and a large freight depot were erected. and then began one of the most bitter fights between towns that i ever saw or even read about. five miles apart, with calias perched on another hill, and like the old site, could be seen from miles around. now the terminus, it loomed conspicu¬ ously. it was a foregone conclusion that when the reservation to the west opened, calias was in the right position to handle the crowds that came to the territory to the west, instead of megory. me¬ gory contended, however, that calias, located on such a hill, could never hope for an abundance of good water and therefore could not compete with megory, with her natural advantages, such as an abundance of good soft water, which was obtainable anywhere in town. there are certain things concrete in the future growth of a prairie town; the first is, has it a rail¬ road; the next is, is the agricultural territory suffi¬ cient to support a good live town (a fair sized town in either one of the dakotas has from one thousand to three thousand inhabitants); and last, are the the conquest business men of the town modern, progressive, and up to date. in this respect calias had the ad¬ vantage over megory, as will be seen later. megory became my postoffice address after calias had moved to its new location, and about that time the first rural mail route was established on the reservation. megory boasted of this. the other things it boasted of, was its great farming territory. for miles in every direction tributary to the town, the land was ideal for farming purposes, and at the beginning of the bitter rivalry between the two towns, megory had the big end of the farm trade. they could see nothing else but megory, which helped the town's business consider¬ ably. the conquest chapter xix in the valley op the key a paha. the rivals. the vig lants se^ | thing is more essential to the up- n building of the small western town, than a good agricultural territory, and pip this was where calias found its first handicap. when it had moved to its new loca¬ tion, scores of investors had flocked to the town, paying the highest prices that had ever been paid for lots in a new country town, of its kind, in the central west. twenty-five miles south of the two towns, where a sand stream known as the keya paha wends its way, is a fertile valley. it had been settled thirty years before by eastern people, who hauled their hogs and drove their cattle and sheep fifty miles in a southerly direction, to a railroad. although the valley could not be surpassed in the production of corn, wheat, oats, and alfalfa, the highlands on either side are great mountains of sand, which pro¬ duce nothing but a long reddish grass, that stock will not eat after it reaches maturity, and which stands in bunches, with the sand blown from around its roots, to such an extent that riding or driving over it is very difficult. these hills rise to heights until they resemble the sierras, and near the top, on the northwest slope of each, are cave-like holes where the strong winds have blown a squeegee. the wagon road to the railway on the south was sandy and made traveling over it slow and hazard- the conquest ous by the many pits and dunes. therefore, it is to be seen, when the c. & r. w. pushed its line through megory county, everything that had been going to the road on the south began immediately to come to the road on the north—where good hard roads made the traveling much easier, and further¬ more, it was only half the distance. keya paha county was about as lonely a place as i had ever seen. after the sun went down, the coyotes from the adjacent sand hills, in a series of mournful howls, filled the air with a noise which echoed and re-echoed throughout the valley, like the music of so many far-away steam calliopes and filled me with a cold, creepy feeling. for thirty years these people had heard no other sound save the same monotonous howls and saw only each other. the men went to omaha occasionally with cattle, but the women and children knew little else but keya paha county. during a trip into this valley the first winter i spent on the homestead, in quest of seed wheat, i met and talked with families who had children, in some instances twenty years of age, who had never seen a colored man. sometimes the little tads would run from me, screaming as though they had met a lion or some other wild beast of the forest. at one place where i stopped over night, a little girl about nine years of age, looked at me with so much curiosity that i became amused, finally coaxing her onto my knee. she continued to look hard at me, then meekly reached up and touched my chin, looked into my eyes, and said:"why don't you wash your face?" when supper was ready the conquest went to the sink and washed my face and hands; she watched me closely in the meanwhile, and when i was through, appeared to be vexed and with an expression as if to say: "he has cleaned it thor¬ oughly, but it is dirty still." about twenty years previous to this time, or about ten years after settlement in this valley, the pioneers were continually robbed of much of their young stock. thieving outlaws kept up a continuous raid on the young cattle and colts, driving them onto the reservation, where they disappeared. this continued for years, and it was said many of the county officials encouraged it, in a way, by delaying a trial, and inasmuch as the law and its procedure was very inadequate, on account of the county's remote location, the criminals were rarely punished. after submitting to such until all reasonable pa¬ tience had been exhausted, the settlers formed "a vigilant committee,"and meeted out punishment to the evil doers, who had become over-bold and were well known. after hanging a few, as well as whip¬ ping many, the vigilanters ridded the county of rustlers, and lived in peace thereafter. at the time the railroad was built to megory there was little activity other than the common routine attending their existence. but with megory twenty-five miles to the north, and many of her former active and prosperous citizens living there; and while board walks and "shack" buildings still represented the main street, megory was considered by the people of the valley very much of a city, and a great place to pay a visit. many had never seen or ridden on a railroad train, so megory sounded in made a declaration that he would build a town, (page ) the conquest keya paha county as chicago does to the down state people of ulionis. the people of keya paha county had grown prosperous, however, and the stock shipments com¬ prised many train loads, during an active market. practically all this was coming to megory when calias began to loom prominent as a model little city. i could see two distinct classes, or personages, in the leaders of the two towns. beginning with ernest nicholson, the head of the firm of nicholson brothers and called by megoryites "chief" "high mogul," the "big it" and "i am," in absolute control of calias affairs; and the former keya paha county sand rats—as they are sometimes called—running megory. the two contesting parties presented a contrast which interested me. the nicholson brothers were all college-bred boys, with a higher conception of things in general; were modern, free and up-to-date. while megory's leaders were as modern as could be expected, but were simply outclassed in the style and perfection that the calias bunch presented. besides, the merchants and business men—in the "stock yards west of megory," as calias was cartooned by a megory editor, were much of the same ilk. and referring to the cartoon, it pictured the editor of the calias news as a braying jackass in a stock pen, which brought a great laugh from megoryites, but who got it back, however, the next week by being pictured as a stagnant pond, with two megory editors as a couple of big bull-frogs. this had the effect of causing the town to begin grading the streets, the conquest putting in cement walks and gutters, for megory had located in the beginning in an extremely bad place. the town was located in a low place, full of alkali spots, buffalo wallows underlaid with hardpan, which caused the surface to hold water to such an extent, that, when rain continued to fall any length of time, the cellars and streets stood in water. but megory had the start, with the largest and best territory, which had by this time been developed into improved farms; the real farmer was fast replac¬ ing the homesteader. it had the biggest and best banks. regardless of all the efficiency of calias, it appeared weak in its banking. now a farmer could go to nicholson brothers, and get the largest farm loan because the boys' father was president of an insurance company that made the loan, but the banks there were short in the supply of time loans on stock security, but calias' greatest disadvantage was, that directly west in tipp county the indians had taken their allotments within seven or eight miles of the town, and there was hardly a quarter section to be homesteaded. now there was no doubt but that in the course of time the indian allotments would be bought, whenever the government felt disposed to grant the indian a patent; which under the laws is not supposed to be issued until the expiration of twenty-five years. people, however, would prob¬ ably lease the land, break it up and farm"it; but that would not occur until some future date, and calias needed it at the present time. a western town, in most instances, gets its boom in the beginning, for later a dry rot seems an inevi- the conquest table condition, and is likely to overtake it after the first excitement wears away. resurrection is rare. these were the conditions that faced the town on the little crow, at the beginning of the third year of settlement. the conquest chapter xx the out law's last stand fter the vigilants had frightened the outlaws into abandoning their opera¬ tions in the valley, the thieves skulked across the reservation to a strip of coun¬ try some twenty-five miles northeast of where me- gory now stands. here, on the east, the murky waters of the missouri seek their level; to the north the white river runs like a cow-path through the foot hills—twisting and turning into innumerable bends, with its lime-like waters lapping the sides, bringing tons of shale from the gorgeous, dark banks, into its current; while on the south runs the whet¬ stone, inclosed by many rough, ragged brown hills, and to the west are the breaks of landing creek. in an angle between these creeks and rivers, lies a perfect table land known as yully flats, which is the most perfectly laying land and has the richest soil of any spot on the little crow. it took its name from a famous outlaw and squaw-man, by the name of jack yully. with him the thieves from the keya paha valley found co-operation, and together had, a few years previously operated as the most notorious band of cattle rustlers the state had known. for a hundred miles in every direction this band plundered, stole, and ran the cattle and horses onto the flats, where they were protected by the breaks of the creeks and rivers, referred to. mixed with half, quarter, eighth and sixteenth breeds, they knew every nook and crook of the although the valley could not be surpassed in the production of grain and alfalfa, the highlands on either side were great mountains of sand. (page .) the conquest country. these operations had lasted until the year of the little crow opening, and it was there that jack yully made his last stand. he had for many years defied the laws of the county and state, and had built a magnificent residence near a spring that pours its sparkling waters into a small lake, where now stands a sani¬ tarium. yully had been chief overseer, dictator, and arbitrator of the combined forces of little crow and keya paha county outlaws and mixed bloods. the end came when, on a bright day in june, a posse led by the united states marshal sneaked across the whetstone and secrected themselves in a cache between yully's corral and the house. yully was seen to enter the corral and having laid a trap, a part of the men, came in from another direction and made as if to advance when yully made a run for his house, which took him alongside the men hidden. before he could change his course he was halted and asked to surrender. he answered by dropping to the opposite side of the horse and began firing. in the skirmish that followed the horse was shot and fell on yully, but in the shot's exchange two of the posse and yully were killed. the conquest impressed the farmers of the valley, as well as the settlers on the little crow, that calias wanted a share of their business, and was willing to sacrifice profit for two years in order to have the farmers come to the town and get acquainted, to see what the merchants, bankers and real estate dealers had to offer. in making this offer the people of calias had the advantage over megory, in that it derived profits from other sources, chiefly from great numbers of transients who were beginning to fill the hotels, restaurants, saloons, and boarding houses of the town. being the end of the road and the place where practically every settler coming to tipp county must stay at least one night, it stood to reason they could make such an inducement and stick to it. however, this was countered immediately by megoryites who promptly organized a commercial club and began the same kind of bid for trade. thus the small ranchmen of the valley found them¬ selves an object of much importance and began to awaken a little. now the land of the reservation had taken on a boom such as had never been realized, or dreamed of. land in the states of iowa, minnesota, illinois, and nebraska had doubled in valuation in the pre¬ vious ten years, and was still on the increase in value. crops had been good and money was plentiful; with a number of years of unbroken prosperity, the farmers had paid off mortgages and had a good surplus in the bank. their sons and daughters were looking for newer fields. retired farmers with their land to rent now, instead of the customary one-third delivered, demanded and received from two- the conquest fifths to one-half, or cash, from three to five and six dollars per acre. and with the prices in these states ranging from ninety to one hundred and fifty dollars per acre, which meant from fifteen to twenty-five thousand dollars to buy a quarter section, which the renters felt was too high to ever be paid for by farming it. therefore, western lands held an at¬ traction, where with a few thousand dollars, some stock, and machinery a man could establish a good home. as this land in southern south dakota is in the corn belt, the erstwhile investor and home- seeker found a haven. there is always more or less gossip as regards in¬ sufficient moisture in a new country. the only thing to kill this bogy is to have plenty of rain, and plenty of rain had fallen on the little crow, too much at times. large crops of everything had been harvested, but if the first three years had been wet, this fourth was one of almost continual rainfall. in the eastern states the corn crop had been badly drowned out on the low lands, and rust had cut the yield of small grain considerably, while on the rolling land of the little crow the season was just right and everything grew so rank, thick and green that it gave the country, a raw prairie until less than four years before, the appearance of an old settled coun¬ try. it looked good to the buyers and they bought. farms were sold as soon as they were listed. the price at the beginning of the year had been from twenty-five to forty dollars per acre, some places more, but after the first six months of the year it began to climb to forty-five and then to fifty dol-. lars per acre. those who owned little crow farms the conquest became objects of much importance. if they de¬ sired to sell they had only to let it be known, and a buyer was soon on hand. the atmosphere seemed charged with drunken enthusiasm. everybody had it. there was noth¬ ing to fear. little crow land was the best property to be had, better, they would declare, than govern¬ ment bonds, for its value was increasing in leaps and bounds. choice farms close to town, if bought at fifty dollars per acre, could be sold at a good profit in a short time. this was done, and good old eastern capital continued to be paid for the land. the spirit of unrest that seem to pervade the at¬ mosphere of the community was not altogether the desire to have and to hold, but more, to buy and to sell. homesteads were sold in megory county and the proceeds were immediately reinvested in tipp, where considerable dead indian land could be pur¬ chased at half the price. at about that time the auto fever began to infect the restless and over-prosperous settlers, and busi¬ ness men alike. that was the day of the many two-cylinder cars. they made a dreadful noise but they moved and moved faster than horses. they sailed over the country, the exhaust of the engine making a cracking noise. the motion, added to the speed, seemed to thrill and enthuse the investor until he bought whether he cared to or not. in previous years, when capital was not so plenti¬ ful, and when land was much cheaper and slower to sell, the agent drove the buyer over the land from corner to corner, cross-wise and angling, and the the conquest in my case, however, this was quite different. i was known as "a booster", and since my land was located between the monca and megory—this was considered the cream of the county as to location soil, and other advantages—instead of being nervous over meeting me, the dealers would drive into the yard or into the fields,and as i liked to talk, introduce the prospective buyers to me and we would engage in a long conversation at times. i might add that exaggerated tales were current, which related how i had run as p n porter, saved my money, come to the little crow, bought a half section, and was getting rich. the most of the buyers from illinois, iowa, minnesota and nebraska were un¬ used to seeing colored farmers, and my presence all alone on the former reserve added to their in¬ terest. in my favor was the fact that my service in the employ of the p n company had taken me through nearly every county in the central states and therefore, always given to observation, i could talk with them concerning the counties they had come from. land prices continued to soar. higher and higher they went and to boost them still higher, as well as to substantiate the values, the bogy concerning insufficient moisture was drowned in the excessive rainfall. from april until august it poured, and the effect on the growing crops in the east became greater still in the way of drowned out corn-fields and over-rank stems of small grain that grew to ab¬ normal heights and with the least winds lodged and then fell to the ground. the crops on the reserva¬ tion could not have been better and prices were high. the conquest chapter xxii the president's proclamation oincident with the expectation came the president's proclamation throwing four thousand claims in tipp county- open to settlement under the lottery- system at six dollars per acre. among the towns designated in the proclamation where the people could make application for a claim, megory and calias were nearest to the land. these were the places where the largest crowds were expected. therefore, the citizens of these two vigorous munic¬ ipalities began extensive preparations to "entertain the crowds." megory, being more on the country order, made more homelike preparations. among the many "conveniences" prepared were a ladies' rest room and information bureau, which were lo¬ cated in a large barn previously used for storing hay. calias, under the criticism that as soon as the road extended farther west it would be as dead as oristowri—now all but forgotten—prepared to "get theirs" while the crowds were in town. and they did, but that is ahead of the story. the time for the opening approached. people seemingly from every part of the universe, and from every vocation in life, drifted into the towns. among these were included the investors, who stated that in the event of a failure to draw they would buy deeded land. next in order were the gamblers, from the "tin horn" and "piker" class to the "fat" on the east the murky waters of the missouri seek their level, (page ) the conquest professionals. although every precaution was taken to keep out the characters of the city's underworld, who had characterized former openings, both towns were fully represented with a large share of pick¬ pockets, con-men, lewd women and their consorts. the many vacant lots on main street of both the towns were decorated with the typical scene at land openings. there were little tents with no¬ taries assisted by many beautiful girls to "prepare your application." there were many hotels with three and four beds to a room, as well as "rooms to let" over all the places of business containing two stories or more. there were tents with five hundred cots, and "lest we forget", there were the numerous "drinking fountains," with bars the length of the building, behind which were scores of bartenders to serve the "how dry i am", on one side. on the other, in tents, back rooms and over¬ head could be heard the b-r-r-r-r of the little ivory marble as it spun a circuit over the roulette wheel, and the luck cages, where the idle sports turned them over for their own amusement, to pass away the time. the faro-bank and numerous wheels of fortune also had a place. from the rear came the strains of ragtime music. these were some of the many at¬ tractions that met the trains carrying the first ar¬ rivals on the night of october fifth. the conquest chapter xxiii where the negro fails ong before i came west and during the years i had spent on the homestead, my closest companion was the magazines. from the time thomas w. lawson's finance" had run as a serial article in a leading periodical, to idam. tarbell's "the history of the standard oil company," i fairly devoured special articles on subjects of timely interest. i enjoyed reading anything that would give me a more complete knowledge of what made up this great country in which we live and which all ameri¬ cans are given to boasting of as the "greatest coun¬ try in the world." and this brings to my mind certain conditions which exist concerning the ten odd millions of the black race in america; and more, this, in itself had a tendency to open wider the gap between a cer¬ tain class of the race and myself. there are two very distinct types or classes, among the american negroes. i am inclined to feel that this is more prominent than most people are aware. i have met and known those who are quick to think, practical, conservative as well as progres¬ sive, while there are those who are narrow in their sympathies and short-sighted in their views. now as a matter of argument, my experience has taught me there are more of this class than most colored people have any idea. the worst feature of this situation, however, is the conquest that a large number of the latter class have com¬ mingled with the former in such a way as to easily assume all the worthy proportions. they are a sort of dog in the manger, and are not in accord with any principle that is practical and essential to the elimination of friction and strife between the races. among the many faults of this class is, that they do not realize what it takes to succeed, nor do they care, but spend their efforts loudly claiming credit for the success of those who are honest in their con¬ victions and try to prove themselves indispen¬ sable citizens. nothing is more obvious and proves -this more conclusively than to take notice, as i have, of their own selection of reading matter. now, for instance, a few years ago a series of ar¬ ticles under the title of "following the color line" appeared in a certain periodical, the work of a very well known writer whose specialty is writing on social conditions, strikes, etc. in justice to all concerned, the writer described the conditions which his articles covered, just as he found them and in this, in my opinion, he differed largely from many of the southern authors whose articles are still inclined to treat the ethiopians as a whole, as the old "time worn" aunt and uncle. not intending to digress, i want to put down here, that negroes as a whole are changing to some extent, the same as the whites and no liberty-loving colored man appreciates being regarded as "aunt,' or "uncle" even though some of these people were as honorable as could be. this is a modern age. now getting back to the discussion that i seem to the cvn quest have for the moment forgotten and as regards the article, while worthy in every respect, it was no dif¬ ferent in its way from any number of other articles published at that time, as well as now, that deal on great and complex questions of the day. yet, this article caused thousands of colored people, who never before bought a magazine or book, to subscribe for that magazine. it was later published in book form and is conspicuous in the libraries of many thousands of colored families. what i have intended to put down in this lengthy discourse regarding my race is, if they see or hear of an article concerning the race, they will buy that magazine, to read the article spoken of and nothing more. since living in the state, as a recreation i was in the habit of taking trips to chicago once or twice a year, and as might be expected i would talk of south dakota. in the course of a conversation i have related a story of some one's success there and would be listened to with unusual attention. as i had found in them many who were poor listeners, at these times when i found myself the object of so much undivided attention i would warm up to the subject until it had evolved into a sort of lecture, and remarks of, "my," "you don't say so," and "just think of it" would interrupt me—"and a colored man." no, i would correct, the least bit hesitant, a white man. then, just like the sun disappearing behind a cloud, all interest would vanish, further¬ more, i have on occasions of this kind had attention of a few minutes before turned to remarks of criticism for taking up the time relating the success of a white the real farmer was fast replacing the homesteader. (page .) the conquest man. the idea is prevalent among this class that all white people should be rich, and regardless of how ideal the success has been, i learned that no white person could be accepted as an example for this class to follow. by reading nothing but discussions concerning the race, by all but refusing to accept the success of the white race as an example and by welcoming any racial disturbance as a conclusion that the entire white race is bent in one great effort to hold him— the negro, down, he can not very well feel the thrill of modern progress and is ignorant as to public opinion. therefore he is unable to cope with the trend of conditions and has become so condensed in the idea that he has no opportunity, that he is disinteresting to the public. one of the greatest tasks of my life has been to convince a certain class of my racial acquaintances that a colored man can be anything. now on the entire little crow reservation, less than eight hundred miles from chicago, i was the only colored man engaged in agriculture, and moreover, from megory to omaha, a distance of three hundred miles. there was only one other negro family en¬ gaged in the same industry. having lived in the cities, i therefore, was not a greenhorn, as some of them would try to have me feel, when they referred to their clubs and social affairs. among the many facts that confronted me as i meditated the situation, one dated back to the time i had run on the road. the trains i ran on carried thousands monthly into the interior of the north- the conquest west. among these were a great number of emigrants fresh from the old countries, but there was seldom a colored person among them, and those few that i had seen, with few exceptions, went on through to the pacific coast cities and engaged in the same occupation they had followed in the east. during these trips i learned the greatest of all the failings were not only among the ignorant class, but among the educated as well. although more more agreeable to talk to, they lacked that great and mighty principle which characterizes americans, called "the initiative." colored people are pos¬ sible in every way that is akin to becoming good citizens, which has been thoroughly proven and is an existing fact. yet they seem to lack the "guts" to get into the northwest and "do things." in seven or eight of the great agricultural states there were not enough colored farmers to fill a township of thirty-six sections. another predominating inconsistency is that there is that "love of luxury." they want street cars, cement walks, and electric lights to greet them when they arrive. i well remember it was something near two years before i saw a colored man on the reservation, until the road had been extended. they had never come west of oristown, but as the time for the opening arrived, the kitchens and hotel dining- rooms of megory and calias were filled with waiters and cooks. during the preparation for the opening the com¬ mercial club of megory had lengthy circulars printed, with photographs of the surrounding country, farms, homes, and the like, to accompany. these the conquest circulars described briefly the progress the country- had made in the four years it had been opened to settlement, and the opportunities waiting. by giving the name and address the club would send these to any address or person, with the statement, "by the request" of whoever gave the name. i gave the name of not less than one hundred persons, and sent them personally to many as well. i wrote articles and sent them to different news¬ papers edited by colored people, in the east and other places. i was successful in getting one colored per¬ son to come and register—my oldest brother. the co n^q u e s t chapter xxiv "and the crowds did come." the prairie fire he registration opened at twelve o'clock monday morning. seven trains during the night before had brought something like seven thousand people. of this number about two thousand got off at megory, and the remainder went on through to calias. the big opening was on, and the bid for patronage made the relations between the towns more bitter than ever. after the first few days, however, the crowds, with the exception of a few hundred, daily went on through to calias and did not heed the cat calls and uncomplimentary remarks from the railway platform at megory. among these remarks flung at thecrowded trains were: " go on to calias and buy a drink of water", "go on to calias and pay a dime for the water to wash your face"—water was one of calias's scarcities, as will be seen later. however, this failed to detract the crowd. the c. & r. w. put on fifteen regular trains daily, and the little single track, unballasted and squirmy, was very unsafe to ride over and the crowded trains had to run very slowly on this account. because of the fact that it was difficult to find adequate side tracking, it took two full days to make the trip from omaha to calias and return. all the day and night the "toot, toot" of the locomotives could be heard and the sound seemed to make the country seem very old indeed. megory's the conquest brass band—organized for the purpose—undaunted, continued to play frantically at the depot to try to induce the crowded trains to unload a greater share, but to no avail, although the cars were stuffed like sandwiches. those times in calias were long to be remembered. as the trains disgorged the thousands daily it seemed impossible that the little city could care for such crowds. the sidewalks were crowded from morn till night. the registration booths and the saloons never closed and more automobiles than i had ever seen in a country town up to that time, roared, and with their clattering noise, took the people hurriedly across the reservation to the west. along toward the close of the opening a prairie fire driven by a strong west wind raced across tipp county in a straight line for calias. although fire guards sixty feet wide had been burned along the west side of the town, it soon became apparent that the fire would leap them and enter the town, unless some unusual effort on the part of the citizens was made to stop it. it was late in the afternoon and as seems always the case, a fire will cause the wind to rise, and it rose until the blaze shut out the western horizon. it seemed the entire world to the west was afire. ten thousand people, lost in sight-seeing, gambling and revelry, all of a sudden became aware of the approaching danger, and began a rush for safety. to the north, south, and east of the town the lands were under cultivation, therefore, a safe place from the fire that now threatened the town. all business was suspended, registration ceased, and the huge the conquest cans containing more than one hundred thousand applications for lands, were loaded on drays and taken into the country and deposited in the center of a large plowed field, for safety. the gamblers put their gains into sacks and joined the surging masses, and with grips got from the numerous check rooms, all the people fled like stampeding cattle to a position to the north of town which was protected by a corn field on the west. ernest nicholson, leading the business men and property owners, bravely fought the oncoming disaster. the chemical engine and water hose were rushed forward but were as pins under the drivers of a locomotive. the water from the hose ran weakly for a few minutes and then with a blow¬ ing as of an empty faucet, petered out from, lack of water. the strong wind blew the chemical into the air and it proved as useless. the fire entered the city. one house, a magnificent residence, was soon enveloped in flames, which spread to another, and still to another. the thousands of people huddled on a bare spot, but safe, watched the minature city of one year and the gate-way to the homesteads of the next county, disappear in flames. megoryites, seeing the danger threatening her hated rival five miles away, called for volunteers who readily responded and formed bucket brigades, loaded barrels into wagons, filled them with water and burned the roads in the hurry-up call to the ap¬ parently doomed city. i could see the fire from where i was harvesting flax ten miles away, and the cloud of smoke, with the the conquest little city lying silent before, it reminded me of a picture of pompeii before vesuvius. it looked as if calias were lost. then, like a miracle, the wind quieted down, changed, and in less than twenty minutes was blowing a gale from the east, starting the fire back over the ground over which it had burned. there it sputtered, flickered, and with a few sparks went out, just as l. a. bell pulled onto the scene with lathered and bloody eyed mules draw¬ ing a tank of megory's water, and was told by the nicholson ' brothers—who were said to resemble mississippi steamboat roustabouts on a hot day— that calias didn't need their water. following the day of the high wind which brought the prairie fire that so badly frightened the people of the town, the change of the wind to the east brought rain, and about two hundred auto¬ mobiles that had been carrying people over tipp county into the town. i remember the crowds but have no idea now many people there were, but that it looked more like the crowds on broadway or state street on a busy day than main street in a burg of the prairie. this was the afternoon of the drawing and a woman drew number one, while here and there in the crowd that filled the street before the registration, exclamations of surprise and delight went up from different fortunates hearing their names called, drawing a lucky number. i felt rather be¬ wildered by so much excitement and metropolitan- ism where hardly two years before i had hauled one of the first loads of lumber on the ground to start the town. i could not help but feel that the world moved swiftly, and that i was living, not in a wilder- the conquest ness—as stated in some of the letters i had received from colored friends in reply to my letter that in¬ formed them of the opening—but in the midst of advancement and action. when the drawing was over and the crowds had gone, it was found that the greatest crowds had registered—not at calias—but at a town just south, in nebraksa, which received forty-five thousand while calias came second with forty-three thousand and megory only received seven thousand, something like one hundred fifteen thousand in all having ap- applied. the hotels in calias had charged one dollar the person and some of the large ones had made small fortunes, while the saloons were said to have aver¬ aged over one thousand dollars a day. after the opening, land sold like hot hamburger sandwiches had a few weeks before. the conquest them, had never submitted them to a publisher. i secured the name of a company that accepted some of her writings and paid her fifty dollars for them. she was so anxious to improve her mind that i took an interest in her and as i received much literature in the way of newspapers and magazines and read lots of copy-right books, i gave them to her. she seemed delighted and appreciated thegifts. before long, however, and without any intention of being other than kind, i found myself being drawn to her in a way that threatened to become serious. while custom frowns on even the discussion of the amalgamation of races, it is only human to be kind, and it was only my intention to encourage the desire to improve, which i could see in her, but i found myself on the verge of falling in love with her. to make matters more awkward, that love was being returned by the object of my kindness. she, how¬ ever, like myself, had no thought of being other than kind and grateful. it placed me as well as her in an awkward position— for before we realized it, we had learned to understand each other to such an extent, that it became visible in every look and action. it reached a stage of embarrassment one day when we were reading a volume of shakespeare. she was sitting at the table and i was standing over her. the volume was "othello" and when we came to the climax where othello has murdered his wife, driven to it by the evil machinations of iago, as if by instinct she looked up and caught my eyes and when i came to myself i had kissed her twice on the lips she held up. the conquest after that, being near her caused me to feel awkwardly uncomfortable. we could not even look into each other's eyes, without showing the feeling that existed in the heart. now during the time i had lived among the white people, i had kept my place as regards custom, and had been treated with every courtesy and respect; had been referred to in the local papers in the most complimentary terms, and was regarded as one of the little crow's best citizens. but when the reality of the situation dawned upon me, i became in a way frightened, for i did not by any means want to fall in love with a white girl. i had always disapproved of intermarriage, considering it as being above all things, the very thing that a colored man could not even think of. that we would become desperately in love, however, seemed inevitable. lived a man—the history of the american negro shows—who had been the foremost member of his race. he had acquitted himself of many hon¬ orable deeds for more than a score of years, in the interest of his race. he had filled a federal office but at the zenith of his career had brought dis¬ appointment to his race and criticism from the white people who had honored him, by marrying a white woman, a stenographer in his office. they were no doubt in love with each other, which in all likelihood overcame the fear of social ostracism, they must have known would follow the marriage. i speak of love and presume that she loved him for in my opinion a white woman, intelligent and the conquest respectable and knowing what it means, who would marry a colored man, must love" him and love him dearly. to make that love stronger is the feeling that haunts the mind; the knowledge that custom, tradition, and the dignity of both races are against it. like anything forbidden, however, it arouses the spirit of opposition, causing the mind to battle with what is felt to be oppression. the sole claim is the right to love. these thoughts fell upon me like a clap of thunder and frightened me the more. it was then too, that i realized how pleasant the summer just passed had been, and that i had not been in the least lone¬ some, but perfectly contented, aye, happy. and that was the reason. during the summer when i had read a good story or had on mind to discuss my hopes, she had listened attentively and i had found companionship. if i was melancholy, i had been cheered in the same demure manner. yet, on the whole, i had been un¬ aware of the affection growing silently; drawing two lonesome hearts together. with the reality of it upon us, we were unable to extricate ourselves from our own weak predicament. we tried avoid¬ ing each other; tried everything to crush the weak¬ ness. god has thus endowed. we found it hard. i have felt, if a person could only order his mind as he does his limbs and have it respond or submit to the will, how much easier life would be. for it is that relentless thinking all the time until one's mind becomes a slave to its own imaginations, that brings eternal misery, where happiness might be had. the conquest years before and moved to another county, and had run a hotel since in the town of pencer, where they now live. unlike his younger brother, frank, the eldest son, could easily have passed for a white, that is, so long as no one looked for the streak. but when the fellow whose timely information had kept me from embarrassing myself, and perhaps from insulting the young man, a few minutes later called out, "hello, frank!" to a tall man, one look disclosed to my scrutiny the negro in his features. i was not mistaken. it was frank woodring. in view of the fact, that in some chapters of this story i dwell on the negro, and on account of the insistence of many of them who declare they are deprived of opportunities on account of their color, i take the privilege of putting down here a sketch of this frank woodring's life. and although these people deny a relation to the negro race, it was well known by the public in that part of the coun¬ try, that they were mixed, for it had been told to me by every one who knew them, therefore the instance cannot be regarded altogether as an ex¬ ception. shortly after coming to pencer, he went to work for an iowa man on a ranch near by, and later a prosperous squaw-man, who owned a bank, took him in, where in time he became book-keeper and all round handy man, later assistant cashier. the ranchman whom woodring had worked for previous to entering the bank, bought the squaw-man out, made woodring cashier, and sold to him a block of stock and took his note for the amount. in the conquest time woodring proved a good banker and his effi¬ cient management of the institution, which had been a state bank with a capital stock of twenty- five thousand dollars, had been incorporated into a national bank and the capital increased to fifty thousand dollars, and later on to one hundred thousand dollars. he dealt in buying and selling land as well as feeding cattle, on the side, and had prospered until he was soon well-to-do. coincident with this prosperity he had been made president of not only that bank—whose footing was near a half-million dollars—but of some other three or four local banks in nebraska, also a megory county bank at fairview—which is the county depository— and a large bank and trust company at the town of megory, with a capital stock of sixty thousand dol¬ lars. today frank woodring is one of the wealth¬ iest men in northwest nebraska. the local ball team of their town was playing megory that day, and a few hours later out at the ball park, i was shouting for the home team with all my breath, the batter struck a foul, and when i turned to look where the ball went, there, standing on the bench above me, between two white girls, and looking down at me with a look that betrayed his mind, was len woodring. our eyes met for only the fraction of a minute but i read his thoughts. he looked away quickly, but i shall not soon forget that moment of racial recognition. and now when i found my affections in jeopardy regarding the love of the scotch girl, i thought long and seriously over the matter, and pictured myself in the place of the woodring family, successful, the conquest respected, and efficient business men, but still membersj of the down-trodden race. i pondered as to whether i could make the sacrifice. maybe they were happy, the boys had never known or associated with the race they denied, and maybe were not so conscientious as myself, although the look of len's had betrayed what was on his mind. i had learned that throughout these dakotas and nebraska, that other lone colored men who had drifted from the haunts and homes of the race, as i had—maybe discontented, as i had been—and had with time and natural development, through the increase in the valuation of their homesteads or other lands they had acquired, grown prosperous and had finally, with hardly an exception, married into the white race. even the daughter of the only colored farmer between the little crow and omaha was only prevented from marrying a white man, at the altar, when it was found the law of the state forbids it. i could diagnose their condition by my own. life in a new country is always rough in the begin¬ ning. in the past it had taken ten and fifteen years for a newly opened country to develop into a state of cultivation and prosperity, that the little crow had in the four years. at the time it had been opened to settlement, the reaction from the effects of the dry years and hard times of - and had set in and at that time, with plenty of available capital, the early ex¬ tension of the railroad, and other advantages too numerous to mention, life had been quite different for the settlers. such advantages had not been ii the conquest the lot of the homesteader twenty and thirty years before. these people had no doubt been honorable and had intended to remain loyal to their race, but long, hard years, lean crops, and the long, lonesome days had changed them. it is easier to control the thoughts than the emotions. the craving for love and understanding pervades the very core of a human, and makes the mind reckless to even such a grave matter as race loyalty. in most cases it had been years before these people had the means and time to get away for a visit to their old homes, while around them were the neighbors and friends of pioneer days, and maybe, too, some girl had come into their lives—like this one had into mine—who understood them and was kind and sympathetic. what worried me most, however, even frightened me, was, that after marriage and when their children had grown to manhood and womanhood, they, like the woodring family, had a terror of their race; disowning and denying the blood that coursed through their veins; claiming to be of some foreign descent; in fact, anything to hide or conceal the mixture of ethopian. they looked on me with fear, sometimes contempt. even the mixed-blood indians and negroes seemed to crave a marriage with the whites. the question uppermost in my mind became, "'would not i become like that, would i too,deny my race?" the thought was a desperate one. i did not feel that i could become that way, but what about those to come after me, would they have to submit to the indignities i had seen some the conquest of these referred to, do, in order that they may marry whites and try to banish from memory the relation of a race that is hated, in many instances, for no other reason than the coloring matter in their pig¬ ment. would my life, and the thought involved and occupied my mind daily, innocent as my life now appeared, lead into such straits if i married the scotch girl. it became harder for me, for at that time, i had not even a correspondence with a girl of my race. as i look back upon it the con¬ dition was a complicated affair. i confess at the time, however, that i was on the verge of making the sacrifice. this was due to the sights that had met my gaze when i would go on trips to chicago, and such times i would return home feeling dis¬ gusted. the conquest chapter xxvi the battle ome time after the opening it was an¬ nounced from washington that the land office, which was located in one of the larger towns of the state, about one hundred and fifty miles from the little crow, would be moved to one of the towns in the new territory. the land office is something like a county* seat in bringing business to a town, and immediately every town in megory county began a contest for the office. however, it was soon seen that it was the intention of the interior de¬ partment to locate it in either megory or calias. so the two familiar rivals engaged in another battle. but in this megory held the high card. that was about the time the insurgents and stal¬ warts were in a struggle to get control of the state's political machinery. it had waxed bitter in the june primaries of that year and the insurgents had won. calias had supported the losing candidate, who had been overwhelmingly defeated, and both senator and one representative in congress from the state were red-hot insurgents. the nicholson brothers, bowing to tradition, were stand pats. their father had been a stalwart before them in iowa, where cummins had created so much com¬ motion with his insurgency. ernest, with his wife, had left for the orient to spend the winter. after leaving, the announcement came that the land office would be moved. even had the conquest he been in calias the result would likely have been the same, but i had a creepy feeling that had he been on the ground megory would have had to worked considerably harder at least. after sending many men from each town down to the national capital, the towns fought it out. with, as i have stated, and which was to be expected, with both senators recommending megory as having advantages over calias in the way of an abundant supply of water and a national bank with a capital stock of fifty thousand dollars, the interior depart¬ ment decided in favor of megory, and calias lost. ernest, on hearing of the fight, hurriedly returned, went in to washington, secured an appointment with the secretary and is said to have made a worthy plea for calias; but to no avail and the megoryites returned home the heroes of the day. i was away at the time, but was told a good share of the men of megory were drunk the greater part of the week. some evidence of the rejoicing was visible on my return, in the loss of an eye, by a little gambler who became too enthusiastic and run up against a "snag." what amused me most however, was an article written especially for one of the megory papers by a keeper of a racket store and a known shouter for the town. the article represented the contest as being a big prize fight on the little crow and read something like this." the conquest big prize fight on the little crow principals megory, the metropolis of the little crow reputation, the square deal calias boaster reputation grafting scene.—little crow reservation. time.—a. d. —referee—washington, d. c. seconds for megory.—flackler, of the me- gory national. fred crofton, postmaster. for calias, mayor rosie and a has-been, formerly of washington. round one. september. principals enter the ring and refuse to shake hands, referee washington, d. c. announces fight to be straight marquis of queensbury. no hitting in the clinches, and a clean break; a fight to the finish. they are off. calias leads with a left to the face, megory counter¬ ing with a right to the ribs, they clinch. referee breaks them, then they spar and as the gong sounded appeared evenly matched. round two. october. they rush to the center of the ring and clinch, referee tells them to break. just as this is done calias lands a terrific left to megory's jaw following with a right to the body, and megory goes down for the count of nine, getting up with much confusion, only to be floored again with a right to the temple. megory rises very groggy, when calias lands a vicious left to the mouth, a right to the ear just as the gong sound- the conquest ed, saving her from a knock-out. they go to their corners with betting three to one on calias and no takers. during the one minute's rest the crowd whooped it up for calias, thousands coming her way. megory looked serious, sitting in the corner thinking how she had fallen down on some well- laid plans. round three. november. they rush to a clinch and spar. referee cautions calias for but¬ ting. they do some more sparring, and both seem cautious, with honors even at the end of the third round. round four. december. they rush to the center of the ring and begin to spar, then like a flash, megory lands a terrific swing on calias' jaw, following it up with a right to the heart. calias cries foul, but referee orders her to proceed, while megory, with eyes flashing and distended nostrils, feints and then like the kick of a mule, lands a hard left to the mouth, following in quick succession with jolts, swings, jabs and upper cuts. mayor rosie wants to throw up the sponge, but the referee says fight. megory, with a left to the face and right to the stomach, then rushing both hands in a blow to the solar plexus, calias falls and is counted out with megory winning the prize,—great land office. the conquest chapter xxvii the sacrifice—race loyalty etting back to the affair of the scotch girl, i hated to give up her kindness and friendship. i would have given half my life to have had her possess just a least bit of negro blood in her veins, but since she did not and could not help it any more than i could help being a negro, i tried to forget it, straightened out my business and took a trip east, bent on finding a wife among my own. as the early morning train carried me down the road from megory, i hoped with all the hope of early manhood, i would find a sensible girl and not like many i knew in chicago, who talked nothing but clothes, jewelry, and a good time. i had no doubt there were many good colored girls in the east, who, if they understood my life, ambition and morality, would make a good wife and assist me in building a little empire on the dakota plains, not only as a profit to ourselves, but a credit to the negro race as well. i wanted to succeed, but hold the respect and good will of the community, and there are few communities that will sanction a marriage with a white girl, hence, the sacrifice. i spent about six weeks visiting in chicago and new york, finally returning west to southern illinois to visit a family in c—dale, near m—boro, who were the most prosperous colored people in the town. they owned a farm near town, nine houses and lots in the city, and were practical the conquest people who understood business and what it took to succeed. they had a daughter whom i had known as a child back in the home town m—plis, where she had cousins that she used to visit. she had by this time grown into a woman of five and twenty. her name was daisy hinshaw. now miss hinshaw was not very good-looking but had spent years in school and in many ways was unlike the average colored girl. she was attentive and did not have her mind full of cheap, showy ideals. i had written to her at times from south dakota and she had answered with many inviting letters. therefore, when i wrote her from new york that i intended paying her a yisit, she answered in a very inviting letter, but boldly told me not to forget to bring her a nice present, that she would like a large purse. i did not like such boldness. i should have preferred a little more modesty, but i found the purse, how¬ ever, a large seal one in a fifth avenue shop, for six dollars, which miss hinshaw displayed with much show when i came to town. the town had a colored population of about one thousand and the many girls who led in the local society looked enviously upon miss hinshaw's catch—and the large seal purse—and i became the "man of the hour" in c—dale. the only marriageable man in the town who did not gamble, get drunk and carouse in a way that made him ineligible to decent society, was the pro¬ fessor of the colored school. he was a college graduate and received sixty dollars a month. he had been spoiled by too much attention, however, and was not an agreeable person. the conquest quietly and come back on the train to c—dale at five o'clock that afternoon. i jumped aboard and as m—boro was only eight miles, i was soon in the town, and inquiring where she lived. i found their house presently—they were always moving—and just a trifle nervously rang the bell. the door was opened in a few minutes and before me stood jessie. she had changed quite a bit in the three years and now with long skirts and the eyes looked so tired and dream-like. she was quite fascinating, this i took in at a glance. she stam¬ mered out, "oh! oscar dereveaux", extending her hand timidly and looking into my eyes as though afraid. she looked so lonely, and i had thought a great deal of her a few years ago—and perhaps it was not all dead—and the next moment she was in my arms and i was kissing her. i did not go back to c—dale on the five nor on the eight o'clock— and i did not want to on the last train that night. i was having the most care¬ free time of my life. they were hours of sweetest bliss. with jessie snugly held in the angle of my left arm, we poured out the pent-up feelings of the past years. i had a proposition to make, and had reasons to feel it would be accepted. the family had a hard time making ends meet. her father had lost the mail carrier's job and had run a restaurant later and then a saloon. failing in both he had gone to another town, starting another restaurant and had there been assaulted by a former admirer of jessie's, who had struck him with a heavy stick, fracturing the skull and injuring him so that for weeks he had not been able to the conquest remember anything. although he was then con¬ valescing, he was unable to earn anything. her mother had always been helpless, and the support fell on her and a younger brother, who acted as special delivery letter carrier and received twenty dollars a month, while jessie taught a country school a mile from town, receiving twenty-five dol¬ lars per month. this she turned over to the sup¬ port of the household, and made what she earned sewing after school hours, supply her own needs. it was a long and pitiful tale she related as we walked together along a dark street, with her cling¬ ing to my arm and speaking at times in a half sob. my heart went out to her, and i wanted to help and said: "why did you not write to me, didn't you know that i would have done something?" "well," she answered slowly, "i started to several times, but was so afraid that you would not understand." she seemed so weak and forlorn in her distress. she had never been that way when i knew her before, and i felt sure she had suffered, and i was a brute, not to have realized it. twelve o'clock found me as reluctant to go as five o'clock had, but as we kissed lingeringly at the door, i promised when i left c—dale two evenings later i would stop off at m—boro and we would discuss the matter pro and con. this was saturday night. the next morning i called to see daisy. i was unusually cheerful, and taking her face in my hands, blew a kiss. she looked up at me with her grey eyes alert and with an air of suspicion, said: "you've been kissing somebody else since you left here." then leading me into the parlor in her commanding the conquest way, ordered me to sit down and to wait there until she returned. she had just completed cleaning and dusting the parlor and it was in perfect order. she seemed to me to be more forward than ever that morning, and i felt a suspicion that i was going to get a curtain lecture. however, i escaped the lecture but got stunned instead. daisy returned in about an hour, dressed in a rustling black silk dress, with powdered face and her hair done up elegantly and without ceremony or hesitation planted herself on the settee and requested, or rather ordered me to take a seat beside her. she opened the conversation by inquiring of south dakota, and took my hand and pretended to pare my finger nails. i answered in nonchalant tones but after a little she turned her head a little slant¬ ingly, looked down, began just the least hesitant, but firmly: "now what arrangements do you wish me to make in regard to my coming to south dakota next fall?" for the love of jesus, i said to myself, if she hasn't proposed. now one advantage of a dark skin is that one does not show his inner feeling as noticeably as those of the lighter shade, and i do not know whether miss hinshaw noticed the look of embarrassment that overspread my coun¬ tenance. i finally found words to break the deadly suspense following her bold action. "oh!" i stammered more than spoke, "i would really rather not make any arrangements, daisy." "well," she said, not in the least taken back, "a person likes to know just how they stand." "yes", of course, i added hastily." "you see," the conquest i was just starting in on a lengthy discourse trying to avoid the issue, when the door bell rang and a relative of mine by the name of menloe robinson, who had attended the university the same time miss hinshaw had, but had been expelled for gambling and other bad habits, came in. he was a bore most of the time with so much of his college talk, but i could have hugged him then, i felt so relieved, but miss hinshaw put in before he got started to talking, wickedly, that of course if i did not want her she could not force it. the next day at noon i left for st. louis but did not mention that i was scheduled to stop off at m—boro. miss hinshaw had grown sad in ap¬ pearance and looked so lonely i felt sorry for her and kissed her good-bye at the station, which seemed to cheer her a little. she was married to a classmate about a year later and i have not seen her since. jessie was glad to see me when i called that even¬ ing in m—boro, and we went walking again and had another long talk. when we got back, i sang the old story to which she answered with, "do you really want me?" "sure, jessie, why not." i looked into her eyes that seemed just about to shed tears but she closed them and snuggled up closely, and whispered, " i just wanted to hear you say you wanted me." the conquest chapter xxviii the breeds |ere the story may have ended, that is, had i taken her to the minister, but as everybody had gone land crazy in dakota and i had determined to own more land myself, i told her how i could buy a relinquishment and she could file on it and then we would marry at once. now when a young man and a girl are in love and feel each other to be the world and all that's in it, it is quite easy to plan, and miss rooks and i were no exception. had we been in south dakota instead of southern illinois, and had it been the month of october instead of january, nine months before, we would have carried out our plans, but since it was january we mutually agreed to wait until the nine months had elapsed, but something happened during that time which will be told in due time. i enjoyed feeling that i was at last engaged. it was positively delightful, and when i left the next morning to visit my parents in kansas, i was a very happy person. while visiting there, shooting jack-rabbits by day and boosting dakota to the jayhawkers half the night, i'd write to miss rooks sometime during each twenty-four hours, and for a time received a letter as often. two sisters were to be graduated from the high school the following june, and wanted to come to dakota in the fall and take up claims, but had no money to purchase relinquishments. i agreed to mortgage my land the conquest and loan the money, but when all was arranged it was found one of them would not be old enough in time, so my grandmother, who had always possessed a roving spirit, wanted to come and so it was settled. when i got back to dakota and jumped into my spring work it was with unusual vigor and con¬ templation, and all went well for a while. soon, however, i failed to hear from jessie and began to feel a bit uneasy. when three weeks had passed and still no letter, i wrote again asking why she did not answer my letters. in due time i heard from her stating that she had been afraid i didn't love her and that she had been told i was engaged to daisy, and as daisy would be the heir to the money and property of her parents she felt sure my mar¬ riage to miss hinshaw would be more agreeable to me than would a marriage with her, who had only a kind heart and willing mind to offer, so she had on the first day of april married one whom she felt was better suited to her impoverished condition. now, what she had done was, in her effort to break off the prolonged courtship of the little fellow referred to in the early part of this story (and who was still working for three dollars a week), she had commenced going with another—a cook forty-two years of age, and had thought herself desparately in love with him at the time. i had not even written to miss hinshaw and knew nothing what¬ ever of any engagement. i was much downcast for a time, and like some others who have been jilted, i grew the least bit wicked in my thoughts, and felt she would not find life all sunshine and roses with her forty-two-year-old groom. lots had put acres under cultivation. (page .) the conquest of excitement was on around megory and calias, and as i liked excitement, i soon forgot the matter. with the location of the land office in megory and its subsequent removal from east of the mis¬ souri, it was found there was only one building in the town, outside of the banks, that contained a vault, and a vault being necessary, it became ex¬ pedient for the commercial club to provide an office that contained one. two prosperous real- estate dealers, whose office contained a vault, readily turned over their building to the register and receiver until the land office building, then under construction, should be completed. a build¬ ing twenty-five by sixty feet was built in the street just in front of the office, to be used as a temporary map room, and to be moved away as soon as the filing was over. the holders of lucky numbers had been requested to appear at a given hour on a certain day to offer filings on tipp county claims. by the time the filing had commenced, the. hotels of both towns were filled, and tents covered all the vacant lots, while one hundred and fifty or more autos, to be hired at twenty-five dollars per day, did a rushing business. the settlers seemed to be possessed of abundant capital, and deposits in the local banks increased out of all proportion to those of previous times. besides the holders of numbers, hundreds of other settlers, who had purchased land in megory county, were moving in at the same time, bringing stock, machinery, household goods and plenty of money. the conquest all the land just south of old calias, in fact the site where calias had stood, was formerly the allot¬ ment of a deceased son. the father, known as old tom cutschall, was for years a landmark on the creek. now and then nicholson brothers had invited the cutschalls to some of their social doings, which made the cutschalls feel exalted, and higher still, when ernest suggested he could get them a patent for their land and then would buy it. this suited cutschalls dandy. ernest offered seven thousand dollars for the section, and they accepted. at that time, by recommending the indian to be a competent citizen and able to care for himself, a patent would be granted on proper recommendation, and nichol¬ son brothers attended to that and got mrs. cutschall the patent. tom, her husband, being a white man, could not be allotted, and she had been given the section as the head of the family. it is said they spent the seven thousand dollars in one year. the company of which the father of the nicholson brothers was president made a loan of eight thou¬ sand dollars on the land, and shortly afterward they sold it for twenty-three thousand dollars. the lots had brought more than one hundred thousand dollars in calias and were still selling, so this placed the "windy nicholsons," as they had been called by jealous megoryites, in a position of much importance, and they were by this time recog¬ nized as men of no small ability. years before megory county was opened to settle¬ ment, many white men had drifted onto the reser¬ vation and had engaged in ranching, and had in the conquest the meantime married squaws. this appears to have been done more by the french than any other nationality, judging by the many french names among the mixed-bloods. among these were a family by the name of amoureaux, consisting of four boys and several girls. the girls had all married white men, and the little while old calias was in existence, two of the boys, william and george, used to go there often and were entertained by the nicholson brothers with as much splendor as calias could afford. the amoureaux were high moguls in little crow society during the first two years and everybody took off their hats to them. they were called the "rich mixed-bloods," and were engaged in ranching and owned great herds in tipp county. when they shipped it was by the train- loads. the amoureaux and the colones, another family of wealthy breeds, were married to white women, and the husbands, as heads of families, held a section of land and the children each held one hundred and sixty acres. before the nicholson brothers had left old calias and before they had reached the position they now occupied, as i stated, they had shown the amoureaux a "good time." they did not have much indian blood in their veins, being what are called quarter-breeds, having a french father and a half-blood indian mother, and were all fine look¬ ing. george had seven children and the family altogether had eleven quarter sections of land and two thousand head of cattle, so there was no reason why he should not have bgen the "big chief," but so much society and paid-for notoriety had brought the conquest about a change to him and his brother. william, who had always been a money-maker and a still bigger spender, with the fine looks thrown in, had shown like a skyrocket before bursting. a rich indian is something worth associating with, but a poor one is of small note. the amour- eaux spent so freely that in a few years they were all in, down and out—had nothing but their allot¬ ments left, and these the government would not give patents to, the colones had done likewise, and together they had all moved into tipp county. now there was another amoureaux, the oldest one of the boys, who like the others had "blowed his roll," but happened to have an allotment in the very picturesque valley of the dog ear, in tipp county, near the center of the county, and when a bunch of promoters decided to lay out a town they made a deal with oliver, taking him into the com¬ pany, he furnishing the land and they the brains. they laid out the site and began the town, naming it "amoureaux" in honor of the breed, which made oliver feel very big, indeed. the conquest chapter xxix in the valley of the dog ear he boom in megory and calias took such proportions that it made every investor prosperous, a goodly number of whom sold out, settled in amoureaux, beautiful townsite soon became one of the most popular trade centers in the new county. it was the only townsite where trees stood, and the investors thought it a great thing that they would not have to wait a score of years to grow them. among the money investors in the town was old dad durpee, the former oristown and megory stage driver. when talking with him one day he told me he had saved three thousand dollars while run¬ ning the stage line and had several good horses besides. "dad," as he was familiarly called, had invested a part of his bank account in a corner lot and put up a two-story building, and soon became an amoureaux booster. old " dad " opened up a stage line between calias and the new town, but this line did not pay as well as the old one, for no one rode with him except when the weather was bad, as the people were all riding now in automo¬ biles. in a short time every line of business was represented in amoureaux and when the settlers began to arrive, amoureaux did a flourishing business. in coming from calias, the trail led over a mon¬ strous hill, and from the top "amro," the name having been shortened, nestling in the valley below, reminding me of mexico city as it appeared from the conquest the highlands near cuernavaca. a party from hedrick, by the name of van neter, built a hotel fifty by one hundred feet, with forty rooms, and during the opening and filing made a small fortune. the house was always full and high prices were charged, and thus amro prospered. during the month of april the promoters suc¬ ceeded in having the governor call an election to organize the county, the election to be held in june following. the filing had been made in april and may, and as conditions were, no one could vote except cowboys, indians and mixed-bloods. in the election amro won the county seat, and settlers moving into the county were exceedingly mortified over the fact, having to be governed eighteen months by an outlaw set who had deprived them of a voice in the organization of the county. as amro had won, it soon became the central city and grew, as calias had grown, and in a short time had a half-dozen general stores, two garages, four hotels, four banks, and every other line of business that goes to make up a western town. its four livery barns did all the business their capacity would permit, while the saloons and gamblers feasted on the easy eastern cash that fell into their pockets. in july the lot sales of the government towns were held, but only one amounted to much, that town being farthest west and miles from the eastern line of the county. this was ritten, and under a ruling of the interior department, a deposit of twenty-five dollars was accepted on an option of sixty days, after which a payment of one-half the price of the lot was required. here it must be said the conquest that almost every dollar invested on the little crow had been doubled in a short time, and in many instances a hundred dollars soon grew to a thousand or more. practically all the lowest number holders had filed around ritten, including numbers one and two. ever since the opening of oklahoma in , when number one took a claim adjoining the city of lawton, and the owner is said to have received thirty thousand dollars for it, the holder of number one in every opening of western land since has been a very conspicuous figure, and this was not lost on the holder of number one in tipp county—who was a divorced woman. she took her claim adjoining the town of ritten, which fact brought the town considerable attention. the lots in the town brought the highest price of any which had been sold in any town on the little crow, up to that time, several having sold for from one thousand, two hun¬ dred to one thousand, four hundred dollars and one as high as two thousand and fifty dollars. the town of amro, being surrounded by indian allotments, had few settlers in its immediate vicinity. the indians, profiting by their experience in me- gory county, where they learned that good location meant increase in the value of their lands, had, in selecting allotments, taken nearly all the land just west of amro, as they had taken practically all of the good land just west of calias in the eastern part of tipp county. the good land all over the county had been picked over and the indians had selected much of the best, but tipp county is a large one, and several hundred thousand acres of good land the conquest were available for homesteading, though much scattered as to location. when july arrived and still no surveyors for the railroad company had put in their appearance, it was feared that no extension work would be com¬ menced that year, but shortly after the lot sale at ritten, the surveyors arrived in the county and ran a survey west from calias eleven miles to a town named after the colones, referred to, striking the town, then proceeding northwest, missing amro and crossing the dog ear about two miles north of the town, then following a divide almost due west to the county line on the west, running just south of a conspicuous range of hills known as the "red hills," missing every town in the county except colone. this caused a temporary check in the excitement around amro, but as it had the county seat it felt secure, as a county seat means much to a western village, and felt the railroad would event¬ ually go there. in fact the citizens of the town boast¬ ed that the road could not afford to miss it, pointing with pride to the many teams to be seen in her streets daily and the bee-like activity of the town in general. i visited the town many times, but from the first time i saw the place i felt sure the railroad would never go there as two miles to the north was the natural divide, that the survey had followed all the way from colone to the dog ear and on to the west side of the county, which is a natural right-of-way. when i argued with the people in the town, that amro would not get the railroad, i brought out a storm of protest. the conquest chapter xxx ernest nicholson takes a hand fter completing the first survey, how¬ ever, the surveyors returned, and made another that struck amro. this survey swerved off from the first survey to the southwest between colone and amro and struck the valley of a little stream known as mud creek, which empties into the dog ear at amro. but being a most illogical route, i felt confident the c. & r. w. had no intention of following it, perhaps only making the survey out of courtesy to the people in amro, or possibly to show to the state railroad commissioners, if they became insistent, why they could not strike the town. about this time ernest nicholson appeared on the scene, and purchased a forty acre tract of land north of the town, for which he paid fifty-five dollars an acre, later paying ten thousand dollars for a quarter, joining the forty. still later he purchased the entire section of heirship land, belonging to a man named jim riggins, an oristown city justice, and a former squaw-man, whose deceased wife had owned the land. for this section of land the nicholsons paid thirty-five thousand dollars. the price staggered the people of amro, who declared nicholson had certainly gone crazy. they set up a terrible "howl." "what were the d— nichol¬ sons sticking their noses into tipp county towns for? were they not satisfied with calias, where they had grafted everybody out of their money?" the conquest no, the trouble, they all agreed, was that ernest wanted to run the country and wanted to be the "big stick." but they consoled themselves for awhile with the fact that amro had the county seat and was growing. the settlers were trading in amro, for amro had what they needed. an in¬ dignation meeting was held, where with much feel¬ ing they denounced the actions of ernest nicholson in buying land north of the town and announcing that he would build a town such as the little crow had never dreamed of, and that amro should at once begin to move over to the new townsite and save money; but they were hot. old dad durpee, in his shirt sleeves, corduroy and boots, his shaggy beard flowing, declared that the low-down, stinking, lying cuss would not dare to ask him to move to the town he had as yet not even named; but ernest, at the wheel of a big new sixty-horse power packard, continued to buy land along the railroad survey all the way to the west line of the county. in fact he bought every piece of land that was purchasable. i watched this fight from the beginning, with interest, for i had become well enough acquainted with ernest to feel that he knew what he was about. when the surveyors had arrived in calias, ernest had gone to chicago. in declaring the road could not miss amro the people were much like inhabi¬ tants of megory had been a few years before. while they prattled and allowed their ego to rule, they should have been busy, and when it was seen that the town might not get the railroad, they should have gone to chicago and seen marvin hewitt, putting the proposition squarely before him, and the conquest requested that if he could not give them the road, to give them a depot, if they moved to the line of the survey. by that time it was a town with two solid blocks of business houses and many good merchants and bankers. i often wondered how such men could be so pinheaded, sitting back, declaring the great c. & r. w. railway could not afford to miss a little burg like amro, but from previous observa¬ tions and experience i felt sure they would wait until the last dog was dead, before trying to see what they could do. and they did. in the meantime the promoters, who were nearly all from megory or somewhere in megory county, had learned that ernest nicholson was nobody's fool. they hooted the nicholsons, along with the rest of the town, declaring ernest to be anything but what he really was, until they had roused enough excitement to make amro seem like a "good thing." then they quietly sold their interest to the amoureaux brothers, who raked up about all that was left of the fortune of a few years previous, and paid six thousand, six hundred dollars for the interest of the promoters which made the amoureaux the sole owners of the townsite and placed them in obvious control of the town's affairs, and again in the white society they liked so well. all the calias lumber yards owned branch yards at amro and everybody continued to do a flourish¬ ing business. the amroites paid little attention to the platting of the townsite to the north, nor made a single effort to ascertain which survey the railroad would follow, but continued to boast that amro would get the road. about this time ernest the conquest nicholson called a meeting in amro, inviting all the business men to be present and hear a proposi¬ tion that he had to make, stating he hoped the citizens of the town and himself could get together without friction or ill-feeling. the meeting was held in durpee's hall and everybody attended; some out of curiosity, some out of fear, and but few with any expectation or intention of agreeing to move to the north townsite. ernest addressed the meeting, first thanking them for their presence, then plunged headlong into the purpose of the meeting. he explained that it was quite impos¬ sible for the road to go to amro, this he had feared before a survey was made, but that he had ascer¬ tained while in chicago that the road would not strike amro. he then read a letter from marvin hewitt, the "man of destiny," so far as the location of the railroad was concerned, which stated that the road would be extended and the depot would be located on section twenty, which was the section ernest had purchased. then he brought up the matter of the distribution of lots which was, that to every person who moved or began to move to the new townsite within thirty days, one-half of the purchase price of the lot would be refunded. the price of the business lots ranged from eight hundred to two thousand dollars, while residence lots were from fifty to three hundred. "think it over," he said, in closing, and was gone. needless to say they paid little attention to the proposition. the amro journal "roasted" and cartooned the nicholson brothers in the same way megory papers had done, on account of the town of calias. the conquest after thirty days had elapsed, the nicholsons warned the people of amro that it was the last opportunity they would have to accept his proposi¬ tion, and when they paid no attention to his warning, he named the new town. i shall not soon forget how the people outside of the town of amro laughed over the name applied to the new town, as its appli¬ cation to the situation was so accurate and descrip¬ tive of later events, that i regret i must substitute a name for the purposes of this story, but which is the best i am able to find, "victor." instead of moving to victor, taking advantage of choice of location and the purchase of a lot at half price, the amroites began making improve¬ ments in their town, putting down cement walks ten feet wide the length of the two business blocks and walks on side streets as well. a school election was called and as a result an eleven-thousand-dollar school house was erected, a modern two-story build¬ ing, with basement and gymnasium. the building was large enough to hold all the population of amro if all the men, women and children were of school age, and still have room for many more. this act brought a storm of criticism from the settlers, and even many of the people of the town thought it quite a needless extravagance; but van neter, who was strong for education and for amro, had put it through and figured he had won a point. he was the county superintendent. most of the people claimed the town would soon grow large enough to require the building, and let it go at that. people began drifting into victor, buying lots and putting up good buildings. nicholsons an- the conquest nounced a lot sale and preparations began for much active boosting for the new town. in the election to be held a year later, they hoped to wrest the county seat from amro. when ernest nicholson saw the improvements being made in amro and no sign of moving the town, he began to scheme, and i could see that if amro wasn't going to move peacefully he would help it along in some other way. however, nothing was done before the lot sale, which was advertised to take place in the lobby of the nicholson brothers' new office building in calias. on the date advertised for the lot sale, crowds "gathered and many who had no intentions of in¬ vesting, attended the sale out of curiosity. i took a crowd to calias from megory, among whom was joy flackler, cashier of the megory national bank, who stated that frank woodring had loaned the nicholsons fifty thousand dollars to buy the town- site. megoryites still held a grudge against the nicholsons, and flackler seemed to wish they had asked the loan of him so he might have had the pleasure of turning them down. the second day of the lot sale, a bunch of bar¬ tenders, gamblers and amro's rougher class ap¬ peared on the scene and distributed handbills which announced that amro had contracted for a half section on the survey north of the town and would move in a body if moving was necessary. the crowd styled themselves "amro knockers," whose purpose it was to show prospective lot buyers that in purchasing victor lots they were buying "a pig in a poke." the knocking was done mostly in the conquest saloons, where the knockers got drunk and were promptly arrested before the sale started. the sale went along unhindered. the aiictioneer, stand¬ ing above the crowds, waxed eloquent in pointing out the advantages, describing sioux city on the east and deadwood and lead on the west, and explaining that eventually a city must spring up in that section of the country, that would grow into a prairie metropolis of probably ten thousand people, and whether the crowd before him took his eloquence seriously or not, they at least had the chance at the choice of the lots and locations, and eighty-four thousand dollars worth of lots were sold. the conquest chapter xxxi the m'cralines sp^ls before mentioned, i was given largely g% [ to observation and to reading and was fairly well posted on current events. i was always a lover of success and nothing interested me more after a day's work in the field than spending my evening hours in reading. what i liked best was some good story with a moral. i enjoyed reading stories by maude radford war¬ ren, largely because her stories were so very practical and true to life. having traveled and seen much of the country, while running as a porter for the p n company, i could follow much of her writings, having been over the ground covered by the scenes of many of her stories. another feature of her writings which pleased me was the fact that many of the characters, unlike the central figures in many stories, who all become fabulously wealthy, were often only fairly successful and gained only a measure of wealth and happiness, that did not reach prohibitive proportions. perhaps i should not have become so set against stories whose heroes invariably became multi¬ millionaires, had it not been for the fact that many of the younger members of my race, with whom i had made acquaintance in my trips to chicago and other parts of the country, always appeared to intimate in their conversation, that a person should have riches thrust upon them if they sacrificed all their "good times," as they termed it, to go out tgh e conquest west. of course the easterner, in most stories, conquers and becomes rich, that is, after so much sacrifice. the truth is, in real life only about one in ten of the eastern people make good at ranching or homesteading, and that one is usually well supplied with capital in the beginning, though of course there are exceptions. colored people are much unlike the people of other races. for in¬ stance, all around me in my home in dakota were foreigners of practically all nations, except italians and jews, among them being swedes, norwegians, danes, assyrians from jerusalem, many austrians, some hungarians, and lots of germans and irish, these last being mostly american born, and also many russians. the greater part of these people are good farmers and were growing prosperous on the little crow, and seeing this, i worked the harder to keep abreast of them, if not a little ahead. this was my fifth year and still there had not been a colored person on my land. many more settlers had some and tipp county was filling up, but still no colored people. my white neighbors had many visitors from their old homes and but few but had visitors at some time to see them and see what they were doing. during my visit to kansas the spring previous, i had found many prosperous colored families, most of whom had settled in kansas in the seventies and eighties and were mostly ex-slaves, but were not like the people of southern illinois, contented and happy to eke a living from the farm they pretended to cultivate, but made their farms pay by careful methods. the farms they owned had from a the conquest hundred and sixty acres to six hundred and forty- acres, and one colored man there at that time owned eleven hundred acres with twelve thousand dollars in the bank. wherever i had been, however, i had always found a certain class in large and small towns alike whose object in life was obviously nothing, but who dressed up and aped the white people. after miss rooks had married i was again in the condition of the previous year, but during the sum¬ mer i had written to a young lady who had been teaching in m—boro and whom i had met while visiting miss rooks. her name was orlean mc- craline, and her father was a minister and had been the pastor of our church in m—pis when i was a baby, but for the past seventeen years had been acting as presiding elder over the southern illinois district. miss mccraline had answered my letters and during the summer we had been very agreeable correspondents, and when in sep¬ tember i contracted for three relinquishments of homestead filings, i decided to ask her to marry me but to come and file on a tipp county claim first. to get the money for the purchase of the relin¬ quishments, i had mortgaged my three hundred and twenty acres for seven thousand, six hundred dollars, the relinquishments costing in the neigh¬ borhood of six thousand, four hundred dollars. october was the time when the land would be open to homestead filing, and miss mccraline had written that she would like to homestead. after sending my sister and grandmother the money to the conquest come to dakota, i went to chicago, where i arrived one saturday morning. i had, since being in the west, stopped at the home of a maiden lady about thirty-five years of age, and in talking with her i had occasion to speak of the family. evidently she did not know i had come to see orlean, or that i was even acquainted with the family. i spoke of the rev. mccraline and asked her if she knew him. "who, old n. j. mccraline?" she asked. "humph," she went on with a contemptuous snort. "yes, i know him and know him to be the biggest old rascal in the methodist church. he's lower than a dog," she continued, "and if it wasn't for his family they would have thrown him out of the conference long ago, but he has a good family and for that reason they let him stay on, but he has no principle and is mean to his wife, never goes out with her nor does anything for her, but courts every woman on his circuit who will notice him and has been doing it for years. when he is in chicago he spends his time visiting a woman on the west side. her name is mrs. ewis." this recalled to my mind that during the spring i had come to chicago i had become acquainted with mrs. ewis' son and had been entertained at their home on vernon avenue where at that time the two families, mccraline and ewis, rented a flat together, and although i had seen the girls i had not become acquainted with any of the mccraline family then. orlean was the older of the two girls. what miss ankin had said about her father did not sound very good for a minister, still i had known the conquest in southern illinois that the colored ministers didn't always bear the best reputations, and some of the colored papers i received in dakota were con¬ tinually making war on the immoral ministers, but since i had come to see the girl it didn't discourage me when i learned her father had a bad name al¬ though i would have preferred an opposite condition. i went to the phone a few minutes after the con¬ versation with miss ankin and called up miss mccraline, and when she learned i was in the city she expressed her delight with many exclamations, saying she did not know i would arrive in the city until the next day and inquired as to when i would call. "as nothing is so important as seeing you," i answered. "i will call at two o'clock, if that is agreeable to you." she assured me that it was and at the appointed hour i called at the mccraline home and was pleasantly received. miss mccraline called in her mother, whom i thought a very pleasant lady. we passed a very agreeable evening together, going over on state street to supper and then out to jackson park. i found miss mccraline a kind, simple, and sympathetic person; in fact, agreeable in every way. i had grown to feel that if i ever married i would simply have to propose to some girl and if accepted, marry her and have it over with. i was tired of living alone on the claim and wanted a wife and love, even if she was a city girl. i felt that i hadn't the time to visit all over the country to find a farmer's daughter. i had lived in the city and thought if the conquest i married a city girl i would understand her, any¬ way. i could not claim to be in love with this girl, nor with anyone else, but had always had a feeling that if a man and woman met and found each other pleasant and entertaining, there was no need of a long courtship, and when we came in from a walk i stated the object of my trip. miss mccraline was acquainted with a part of the story for, as stated, she had been teaching in m—boro at the time i went there to see miss rooks, and had seen her take up with the cook and marry foolishly. she had stated in her letters that she had been glad that i wrote to her and that she thought miss rooks had acted foolishly, and when i explained my circumstances and stated the pro¬ position she seemed favorable to it. i told her to think it over and i would return the next day and explain it to her mother. when i called the next morning and talked with her and her mother, they both thought it all right that orlean should go to dakota and file on the homestead, then we would marry and live together on the claim, but her mother added somewhat nervously and apparently ill at ease, that i had better talk with her husband. as the reverend was then some three hundred and seventy-five miles south of chicago attending conference, i couldn't see how we could get together, but we put in the sunday attending church and sunday school, and that even¬ ing went to a downtown theatre where we saw lew dokstader's ministrels with neil o'brien as captain of the fire department, which was very funny and i laughed until my head ached. the conquest the next day was spent in trying to communicate with the reverend over the long distance but we did not succeed. fortunately, at about five o'clock mrs. ewis came over from the west side. i had known mrs. ewis to be a smart woman with a deeper conviction than had mrs. mccraline, whom she did not like, but as mrs. mccraline was in trouble and did not know which way to turn, mrs. ewis was approached with the subject. orlean was an obedient girl and although she wanted to go with me, it was evident that i must get the con¬ sent of her parents. she was nearly twenty-seven years old and girls of that age usually wish to get married. her younger sister had just been married, which added to her feeling of loneliness. the result of the consultation with mrs. ewis, as she afterward explained to me, was that it was decided that it would not be proper for orlean to go alone with me but if i cared to pay her way she would accom¬ pany us as chaperon. i was getting somewhat un¬ easy as i had paid twelve hundred dollars into the bank at megory for the relinquishment, which i would lose if someone didn't file on the claim by the second of october. it was then about september twenty-fifth and i readily consented to incur the expense of her trip to megory, where we soon landed. while i had been absent my sister and grandmother had arrived. on october first, all three were ready to file on their claims, and dakota's colored population would be increased by three, and four hundred and eighty acres of land would be added to the wealth of the colored race in the state. hundreds of others had purchased relinquishments the conquest and were waiting to file also. a ruling of the de¬ partment had made it impossible to file before oc¬ tober first, and when it was seen that only a small number would be able to file on that day, the register and receiver inaugurated a plan whereby all de¬ siring to file on tipp county claims should form a line in front of the land office door, and when the office opened, the line should file through the office in the order in which they stood, and numbers would be issued to them which would permit them to return to the land office and make their filings in turn, thereby avoiding a rush and the necessity of remaining in line until admitted to the land office^ the conquest chapter xxxii a long night eople began forming into line immed¬ iately after luncheon, on the afternoon of the last day of september and con¬ tinued throughout the afternoon. when i a crowd gathering, i got my folks into when it is taken into consideration that the land office would not open until nine o'clock the next morning, this seemed like a foolish proceed¬ ing. it was then four o'clock and the crowd would have to remain in line all night to hold their places (to be exact, just seventeen hours). remaining in line all night was not pleasantly anticipated, and nights in october in south dakota are apt to get pretty chilly, but the line continued to increase and by ten o'clock the street in front of the land office was a surging mass of humanity, mostly purchasers of relinquishments, waiting for the open¬ ing of the land office the next morning and to be in readiness to protect the claim they had contracted for. hot coffee and sandwiches were sold and kept appetites supplied, and drunks mixed here and there in the line kept the crowd wakeful, many singing and telling stories to enliven the occasion. i held the place for my fiancee through the night, and al¬ though i had become used to all kinds of roughness, sitting up in the street all the long night was far from pleasant. about two o'clock in the morning, squatters, who had spent the early part of the night on the prairie i saw sue] the line. the conquest in order to be on their claims after midnight, began to arrive and took their places at the foot of the .line. all land not filed on by the original number holders was to be open for filing as soon as the land office opened, and squatters had from midnight until the opening of the land office in which to beat the man who waited to file, before locating on the land, a squatters right holding first in such cases. many- had hired autos to bring them in from the reserva¬ tion immediately after midnight, or as soon after midnight as they had made some crude improve¬ ments on the land. many auto loads arrived with a shout and claimants leaped from the tonneaus, falling into line almost before the vehicles had stopped. the line wound back and forth along the street like a snake and formed into a compact mass. until after sunrise the noisy autos kept a steady rush, dumping their weary passengers into the street. by the time the land office opened in the morning, the line filled the street for half a block, and fully seventeen hundred persons were waiting for a chance to enter the land office. an army of tired, swollen- eyed and dusty creatures they appeared, some of whom commenced dealing their positions in the line to late comers, having gotten into line for specula¬ tion purposes only, and offered their places for from ten to twenty-five dollars, and in a few instances places near the door sold for as high as fifty dollars. under a ruling of the land officials, no filings were to be accepted except from holders of original numbers until october first, and this ruling made it expedient for holders of relinquishments of early numbers to get into line early, as the six months the conquest allowed for establishing residence expired for the first hundred original numbers on that day, and in cases where residence had not been properly es¬ tablished, the land would be open to contest as soon as this period had expired. many hundreds had purchased relinquishments, hence the value placed on the positions nearest the land-office door. it was three o'clock by the time the line had passed through the land office and received their numbers. the land office closed at four o'clock for the day, which left but one hour for the protection of those who must offer their filings that day or face the chances of a contest. some had protected their claims by going into the land office before the ruling was made and filing contests on the claims for which they held relin¬ quishments, but most of the buyers had not thought of such a thing, and land grafters had complicated matters by filing contests on various claims for which they knew relinquishments would be offered and then withdrawing the contest, for a consideration. this practice met with strong disapproval as most of the people had invested for the purpose of mak¬ ing homes, and the laws made it impossible to change the circumstances. these transactions had to be completed before the line formed, however, as after the line formed no one could enter the land office to offer either filing, relinquishment or contest, without a number issued by the officials. the line was full of such grafters, and as not more than one hundred filings could be taken in a day, it can readily be seen that some of the relinquishment holders were in danger of losing out through, a contest offered before they had an^opportunity to file. the conquest the crowds that flock to land openings, like other games of chance, are made up in a measure of speculators, people who journey to one of the registration points and make application for land, figuring that if they should draw an early number (that is, in the first five hundred) they would file, no thought of making a home, but simply to sell the relinquishment for the largest possible price. when the filings were made, about sixty had dropped out of the first five hundred and even more out of the second five hundred, evidently thinking they were not likely to get enough for the relin¬ quishment to pay them for their trouble and original investment, since it cost them a first payment of two hundred and six dollars on the purchase price of six dollars per acre and a locating fee of twenty- five dollars, and in some cases the first expense reached three hundred dollars. if the relinquish¬ ment was not sold before the six months allowed for establishing residence expired, it was necessary to establish residence making sufficient improve¬ ment for that purpose, or lose the money invested. out of the first four thousand numbers some two thousand had filed, and practically half of this number had contracted to sell their relinquishments. the buyers had deposited the amount to be paid in some bank to the credit of the claimant, to be turned over when the purchaser had secured filing on the land, the bank acting as agent between the parties to the transaction. i shall long remember october , — in me- gory—called the "magic city," and claiming a population of three thousand, but probably not the conquest exceeding one thousand, five hundred actual in¬ habitants, though filled with transients from the beginning of the rush a year before, and had at no time during this period less than two thousand, five hundred persons in the town. my bride-to-be and my grandmother had re¬ ceived numbers and which would likely be called to file the second day, while my sister received . on the afternoon of the sec¬ ond, orlean, and my grandmother, who had raised a family in the days of slavery, and was then about seventy-seven years of age, were called, and came out of the land office a few minutes later with their blue papers, receipts for the two hundred six dollars, first payment and fees, which i had given the agent before they entered the land office. their agent went into the land office with them to see that they got a straight filing, which they received. my sister, however, was not called that day and the next day being sunday, she would not be called until the following monday. the place my grandmother had filed on had been bought by a megory school teacher, who had paid one thousand, four hundred dollars to a real estate dealer for the relinquishment of the same place. the claimant had issued two relinquishments, which was easy enough to do, though the relinquishment accompanied by his land office receipt was the only bona fide one and we had the receipt. the teacher had stood in line the long night through, behind my sister and then lost the place. the dealer who sold her the relinquishment was very angry, as he was to get six hundred dollars in the deal, giving the conquest the claimant only eight hundred. when i learned this and that the teacher had lost out i was very sorry for her, but it was a case of "first come first served," and many other mix-ups between buyers and dealers had occurred. i went to the teacher and apologized as best i could. she looked very pitiful as she told me how she had taught so many years to save the money and her dreams had been of nothing but securing a claim. her eyes filled with tears and she bent her head and began crying, and thus i left her. the next morning i sent miss mccraline and mrs. ewis back to chicago and proceeded to the claims of my sister and grandmother, which i found to be good ones. i had whirled around them in an auto before i bought them, and though being satisfied that they laid well i had not examined the soil or walked across them. in a week i had two frame houses, ten by ten, built on them and within another week they had com¬ menced living on them. shortly after they moved onto the claims came one of the biggest snowstorms i had ever seen. it snowed for days and then came warm weather, thawing the snow, then more snow. the corn in the fields had not been gathered nor was it all gathered before the following april. most of the settlers in the new county were from twenty to fifty miles from calias and winter caught many of them without fuel, and the suffering from cold was intense. the snow continued to fall until it was about four feet deep on the level. fortunately i had hauled enough coal to last my folks through the winter, and they had only to the conquest get to ritten, a distance of eight miles, to get food. i had just gathered two loads out of a ninety-acre field. being snowbound, with nothing to do, i watched the fight between amro and victor, with interest. the conquest chapter xxxiii the survival of the fittest fter the lot sale amro still refused to move. it was then ernest nicholson said the town had to be overcome some¬ how and he had to do it. the business men of the town continued to hold meetings and pass resolutions to stick together. they argued that all they had to do to save the town was to stick together. this was the slogan of each meeting. the county seat no doubt held them more than the meetings, but it was not long before signs of weakening began to appear here and there along the ranks. victor to the north, in the opinion of the people abroad, would get the road; lots were being bought up and business people from elsewhere were con¬ tinuing to locate and erect substantial buildings in the new town, and then it was reported that geo. roane, who had recently sold his livery barn in amro where he had made a bunch of money, had bought five lots in victor, paying fancy prices for them but getting a refund of fifty per cent if he moved or started his residence hotel by january first. this report could not be confirmed as roane could not be found, but soon conflicting reports filled the air and old dad durpee, who loved his corner lot in amro like a hog loves corn, made daily trips up and down main street, railing the boys. the more he talked the more excited he became. "my good men!" he would shout, with his arms stretched above his head like billy sunday after preaching were engaged in ranching and owned great herds in tipp county. (page .) the conquest the building of more, they induced the governor to organize the county when few but illiterate indians and thieving mixed-bloods could vote, fairly stealing the county seat before the bona-fide settlers had any chance to express themselves on the matter. they had doggedly invested more money in cement walks and other improvements, when disinterested persons had criticized their actions, loading the township with eleven thousand dollars, seven per cent interest bearing bonds, that sold at a big discount, to build a school house large enough for a town three times the size of amro. this angered the settlers and being dissatisfied be¬ cause they were disfranchised by the rascals who en¬ gineered the plan, amro began rapidly to lose outside sympathy. ernest nicholson had a pleasing personality and iorceful as well. he was a king at reasoning and whenever a weak amorite was in calias he was in¬ vited into the townsite company's office which was luxuriously furnished, the walls profusely decorated with the pictures of prominent capitalists and financiers of the middle west, some of whom were financing the schemes of the fine looking young men who were trying to show these struggling waifs of the prairie the inevitable result. all that was needed was to break into the town in some way or other, for it was essential that amro be absorbed by victor before the election, ten months away. the town should be entirely broken up. if it still existed, with or without the road, it had a good chance of holding the county seat. a county seat is a very hard thing to move. in fact, accord- the conquest ing to the records of western states, few county seats have ever been moved. megory's county seat was located forty miles from megory, in the extreme east end of the county, where the county ran to a point and the river on the north and the south boundary of the county formed an acute angle; yet the county seat remains at fairview and the voters keep it there, where no one but a handful of farmers and the few hundred inhabitants of the town, reside. when trying to remove the county seat every town in the county jumps into the race, persisting in the contention that their town is the proper place for the county seat and when election comes, the farmers who represent from sixty-five to ninety per cent of the vote in states like dakota, vote for the town nearest their farm, thinking only of their own selfish in¬ terests and forgetting the county's welfare, as the victor must have a majority of all votes cast. another example of this condition is near where this story is written, on the east bank of the missouri. it is a place called keeler, the most god-forsaken place in the world, with only three or four ramshackle buildings and a post office, with little or no country trade, yet this is a county seat, the capital of one of the leading counties of the state; while half a dozen good towns along the line of the c. m. & st. l. road, cart their records and hold court in keeler, twenty miles from the railroad. every four years for thirty years the county seat has been elected to stay at keeler; as no town can get a majority of all votes cast against keeler, which doesn't even enter the race. the conquest old machalacy finn, a one-armed, hatchet-faced irishman, with a long sandy mustache and pop- eyes, who had moved brick buildings in the windy city, was sent to amro and declared in joe cook's saloon that he'd put that damned crackerbox in victor in fifteen days, and armed with a force of carpenters and laborers, the plaster was soon knocked off the walls of the largest and best building in amro and thrown into the streets; while the new cement walks, only fifty feet in front and one hun¬ dred by eight at the side, were broken into slabs and piled roughly aside, then huge timbers twenty-four by thirty-two inches and sixty feet long, from the redwood forests of washington, followed the jack- screws and blocks under the building. two sixty-horse power mounted tractors, with double boilers and horse power locomotive construction, low wheels and high cabs, where the engineer perched like a bird, steamed into the town and prepared to pull the structure from its foundations. the crowd gathered to watch as the powerful engines began to cough and roar, with an occasional short puff, like fast passenger engines on the new york central, the power being sufficient to tear the building to splinters. creaking in every joint, the hotel building began slowly moving out into the street. the telephone wires, which belonged to the nicholsons, had been cut and thrown aside and the town was temporarily without telephonic communi¬ cation. the powerful engines easily pulled the hotel between banks of snow, which had been shoveled aside to make room for the passing of the the conquest building across the grades and ditches and on toward victor. a block and tackle was used whenever the building became stuck fast and in a few days the hotel was serving the public on a corner lot in victor, where it added materially to the appearance of the town. following in the footsteps of old calias, the town, now being broken by the removal of the hotel, the dark cellar over which it stood gaping like an open grave, to be gazed into at every turn, became of small consequence, and in victor the price of corner lots had advanced from one thousand, five hundred to two thousand and three thousand dollars, while inside lots were being offered at from one thousand, two hundred to one thousand, eight hundred dollars which had formerly priced from eight hundred to one thousand, two hundred dollars. this did not discourage those who wanted to move to the new town. all that was desired by former rock-ribbed amroites was to get to victor. they talked nothing but victor. the name of amro was almost forgotten. before the hotel building had fairly left the town, other traction engines were brought to the town. the snow was a great hindrance and to get coal hauled from calias cost seventy-five cents a hundred. labor and board was high, and in fact all prices for everything were very high. it was in the middle of one of the cold winters of the plains, but money had been made in amro and was offered freely in payment for moving to the new town. it was bitter cold and the snow was light and drifting, the ground frozen under the snow two feet deep, the conquest but the frozen ground would hold up the buildings better than it would when the warm weather -came and started a thaw. the soil being underlaid with sand it would be impossible to move buildings over it, if rain should come, as it would be likely to do in the spring, and with the melted snow to hinder, it would then be very difficult to move the buildings. it was small wonder that they were anxious to get away from the disrupted town at this time, and the road between amro and victor became a much used thoroughfare. the traction engines pounding from early morn¬ ing until late at night filled the air with a noise as of railroad yards, while the happy faces of the owners of the buildings arriving in victor, and the anxious ones waiting to be moved, gave material for interest¬ ing study of human nature. george roane had built a new barn in victor and was much pleased over having sold the old one in amro before the town went to pieces, thereby saving the expense of removal and getting a refund of fifty per cent of the purchase price of the lots he purchased in victor. many buildings continued to arrive from amro, and new ones being erected did credit to the name of the new town by growing faster than any of the towns on the reservation, including calias or megory. the conquest chapter xxxiv east of state street had in due time heard from orlean say¬ ing she and mrs. ewis had arrived safely home. she wrote: "when i came into the house mama grabbed me and held me for a long time as though she was afraid i was not real. she had been so worried while i was away an^ was so glad i had returned before father came." they had received a telegram from her father saying that he had again been appointed presiding elder of the cairo district and would be home within a few days. i judged from what mrs. ewis had told me that the reverend was not much of a business man and a hard one to make understand a business proposi¬ tion or to reason with. he had only two children, and orlean, as mrs. ewis informed me, was his favorite. she had always been an obedient girl, was graduated from the chicago high school and spent two years at a colored boarding school in ohio that was kept up by the african m. e. church, had taught two years, but had not secured a school that year. she had saved a hundred dollars out of the money she had earned teaching school. the young man who married her sister worked for a trading-stamp corporation and received thirteen dollars a week, while the reverend was supposed to receive about a thousand dollars a year as presiding elder. there were some twelve or fifteen churches on his circuit, the conquest where quarterly conference was held every three months, and each church was expected to contribute a certain amount at that time. each member was supposed to give twenty-five cents, which they did not always do. in a town like m—boro, for instance, where the church had one hundred members, not over twenty- five are considered live members; that is, only twenty-five could be depended upon to pay their quarterly dues regularly, the others being spas¬ modic, contributing freely at times or nothing at all for a long time. orlean often laughed as she told me some of the many ways her father had of making the "dead ones" contribute, but with all the tricks and turns the position was not a lucrative one, there being no certainty as to the amount of the compensation. mrs. ewis told me the family had always been poor and got along only by saving in every direction. i could see this as orlean seemed to have few clothes and had worn her sister's hat to dakota. her sister was said to be very mean and dis¬ agreeable, and if anyone in the family had to do without anything it was never the sister. she was quarrelsome and much disliked while orlean was the opposite and would cheerfully deprive herself of anything necessary. her mother, mrs. ewis went on to tell me, was a "devil, spiteful and mean and as helpless as a baby." i believed a part of this but not all. i had listened to mrs. mccraline, and while i felt she was somewhat on the helpless order, i did not believe she was mean, nor a "devil." meanness and deviltry are usually discernible in the conquest the eyes and i had seen none of it in the eyes of either mrs. mccraline or orlean, but i did not like ethel, and from what little miss ankin told me about the reverend i was inclined to believe that he was likely to be the " devil," and mrs. ewis' information regarding mrs. mccraline was probably inspired by jealousy. i remembered that back in m—pis the preachers' wives were timid creatures, submissive to any order or condition their "elder" husbands put upon them, submitting too much in order to keep peace, never raising a row over the gossip that came to then- ears from malicious "sisters" and church workers. as long as i could remember the colored ministers were accused of many ugly things concerning them and the "sisters," mostly women who worked in the church, but i had forgotten it until i now began hearing the gossip concerning rev. mccraline. orlean, her father and her brother-in-law had begun buying a home on vernon avenue for which they were to pay four thousand, five hundred dollars. of this amount three hundred dollars had been paid, one hundred by each of them. it was a nice little place, with eight rooms and with a stone front. ethel had not paid anything, using her money in preparation for her wedding, which had taken place in september. claves and her father had spent two hundred on it, which seemed very foolish, and were pinched to the last cent when it was done. claves had borrowed five dollars from his brother when they went on the wedding trip, to pay for a taxi to the depot. the wedding tour and honey¬ moon lasted two weeks and was spent in racine, the conquest wisconsin, sixty miles north of chicago. they had just returned when i went to chicago. when i first called, mrs. claves did not come down but when we returned to the house she condescended to come down and shake hands. she put on enough airs to have been a king's daughter. with the three hundred dollars already paid on the home, they figured they should be able to pay for it in seven years in monthly installments of thirty-five dollars, paying the interest upon the principal at the same time, excepting two thousand which was in a first mortgage and drew five per cent and payable semi-annually. the house was in a quiet neighborhood much unlike the south end of dearborn street and armour avenue where none but colored people live. the better class of chicago's colored population was making a strenuous effort to get away from the rougher set, as well as to get out of the black belt which is centered around armour, dearborn, state and thirty-first. here the saloons, barbershops, restaurants and vaudeville shows are run by colored people, also the clubs and dance houses. east from state street to the lake, which is referred to by the colored people of the city as "east of state," there is another and altogether different class. here for a long while colored people could hardly rent or buy a place, then as the white population drifted farther south, to greenwood avenue, hyde park, kenwood and other parts now fashionable districts, some of the avenues including wabash, rhodes, calumet, vernon and indiana began renting to colored people and a few began buying. the conquest that it is only a question of time until it will be a part of the black belt. orlean's brother-in-law had come to chicago several years previous from a stumpy farm in the backwoods of tennessee. he was the son of a jack-legged preacher and was very ignorant, but had been going with the girl he married some six years and she had trained him out of much of it and when he finally figured in the two hundred dollar wedding referred to, he felt himself admitted into society and highly exalted. he thought the reverend a great man, mrs. ewis had told me, re¬ ferring to him as a simian-headed negro who tried to walk and act like the reverend. the mccralines, especially ethel, referred to themselves as the "best people/' i thought they were. they were not wicked, and i also guessed that ethel felt very "aristocratic," and i wondered whether i would like the reverend. he seemed to be regarded as a sort of monarch judging from the way he was spoken of by the family, but i had a "hunch" that he and i were not going to fall in love with each other. still i hoped not to be the one to start any unpleasantness and would at least wait until i met him before forming an opinion. i received a letter from him when he returned from the conference. he did not write a very brilliant letter but was very reasonable, and tried to appear a little serious when he referred to my having his daughter come to south dakota and file on land. he concluded by saying he thought it a good thing for colored people to go west and take land. i received another letter from orlean about the the conquest build and move onto my wife's homestead in tipp county. when christmas came grandma and sister came down from ritten and stayed while i went to chicago. i could scarcely afford it but it had be¬ come a custom for me to spend christmas in chicago and i wanted to know orlean better and i wanted to meet her father. i had written her that i wasn't coming and when i arrived in the city and called at the house her mother was surprised, but pleas¬ antly. i thought she was such a kind little soul. she promised not to tell orlean i was in the city, (orlean had secured a position in a downtown store— ladies' furnishings—and received five-fifty per week) but couldn't keep it and when i was gone she called up orlean and told her i was in the city. when i called in the evening, instead of surprising orlean, i was surprised myself. the reverend hadn't arrived from southern illinois but was expected soon. orlean had worked long enough to buy herself a new waist and coat, and mrs. ewis, who was a milliner, had given her a hat, and she was dressed somewhat better than formerly. the family had wanted to give her a nice wedding, like ethel's, but found themselves unable to do so. the semi¬ annual interest on their two-thousand-dollar loan would be due in january and a payment also, about one hundred and fifty dollars in all. the high cost of living in chicago did not leave much out of eighteen dollars and fifty cents per week, and colored people in southern illinois are not very prompt in paying their church dues, especially in mid¬ winter; in fact, many of them have a hard time as the people were now all riding in autos. (page .) the conquest keeping away from the poorhouse or off the county, and when the reverend came home he was very short of money. i remember how he appeared the evening i called. he had arrived in town that morning. he was a large man standing well over six feet and weighed about two hundred pounds, small-boned and fleshy, which gave him a round, plump appear¬ ance, and although he was then near sixty not a wrinkle was visible in his face. he was very dark, with a medium forehead and high-bridged nose, making it possible for him to wear nose-glasses, the nose being very unlike the flat-nosed negro. the large square upper-lip was partly hidden by a mustache sprinkled with gray, and his nearly white hair, worn in a massive pompadour, contrasted sharply with the dark skin and rounded features. his great height gave him an unusually attractive appearance of which he, i later learned, was well aware and made the most. in fact, his personal appearance was his pride, but his eye was not the eye of an intelligent or deep thinking man. they reminded me more of the eyes of a pig, full but expressionless, and he could put on airs, such a drawing-up and spreading-out, seeming to give the impression of being hard to approach. when introduced to him i had another "hunch" we were not going to like each other. i was always frank, forward and unafraid, and his ceremonious manner did not affect me in the least. i went straight to him, taking his hand in response to the introduction and saying a few common-place things. they were very home-like for city people, inviting the conquest me to supper and treating me with much respect. the head of the table was occupied by the reverend when he was at home and by claves when the reverend was away. i could readily see where ethel got her airs. it took him about thirty minutes to get over his ceremonious manner, after which we talked freely, or rather, i talked. he was a poor listener and, although he never cut off my discourse in any way, he didn't listen as i had been used to having people listen, apparently with en¬ couragement in their eyes, which makes talking a pleasure, so i soon ceased to talk. this, however, seemed still more awkward and i grew to feel a trifle displeased in his company. on the following sunday we went to morning service on wabash avenue at a big stone structure. it appeared to be a rule of the household that the girls should go out together. this displeased me very much, as i had grown to dislike ethel and claves did not interest me. both talked of society and "swell people" they wanted me to meet, putting it in such a way as to have me feel i was meeting my betters, while the truth of the matter was that i did not desire to meet any of their friends nor to have them with us anywhere we went. when church services were over we went to spend the time before sunday school opened, with some friends of theirs named latimer, who lived on wabash avenue near the church, and who were so nearly white that they could easily have passed for white people. the family consisted of mr. and mrs. latimer and mr. latimer's sister, and were the most in- the conquest teresting people i had ever met on any of my trips to chicago. they inquired all about dakota and whether there were many colored settlers in the state, listening to every word with careful attention and approving or disapproving with nods and smiles. while. they were so deeply interested, claves, who had a reputation for "butting in" and talking too much, interrupted the conversation, blurting out his opinion, stopping me and embar¬ rassing them, by stating that colored people had been held in slavery for two hundred years and since they were free they did not want to go out into the wilderness and sit on a farm, but wanted to be where they could have freedom and convenience, and this was sanctioned by a friend of claves's who was still more ignorant than he. this angered orlean and when we were outside even ethel ex¬ pressed her disgust at claves' ignorance. they told me that the latimers were very well- to-do, owning considerable property besides the three-story building where they lived. to me this accounted for their careful attention, for it is my opinion that when you find a colored man or woman who has succeeded in actually doing something, and not merely pretending to, you will find an in¬ teresting and reasonable person to converse with, and one who will listen to a description of conditions and opportunities with marked intelligence. orlean and i attended a few shows at the down¬ town theatres during the week, the first being a pathetic drama which our friends advised us to see entitled "madam x". i did not like it at all. the leading character is the wife of a business man who the conquest has left her husband and remains away from him two years, presumably discouraged over his lack of affection; is very young and wants to be loved, as the "old story" goes, and the husband is too busy to know that she is unhappy. she returns after two years and asks forgiveness and love, but is turned away by the husband. ■ twenty years later, in the closing act, a court scene decorates the stage; a woman is on trial for killing the man she has lived with unlawfully. she had been a woman of the street and lived with many others before living with the one murdered. the young lawyer who has her case, is her son, although he is not aware of this fact. he has just been admitted to the bar and this is his first case, having been appointed to the defense by the court. he takes the stand and delivers an eloquent address on behalf of the woman, who appears to be so saturated with liquor and cocaine as to be quite oblivious of her surroundings. she expires from the effect of her dissipations, but just before death she looks up and recognizes her son, she having been the young wife who left her home twenty-two years before. the unhappy father, who had suffered as only a deserted husband can and who had prayed for many years for the return of the wife, is present in the court room and together with the son, are at her side in death. as the climax of the play is reached, suppressed sobs became audible in the balcony, where we had seats. the scene was pathetic, indeed, and i had hard work keeping back the tears while my betrothed was using her handkerchief freely. what i did not like about the play was the fact t he conquest daughter and while brand holds a high place in miss barteling's regard, he is made to feel that to retain it he must stop the fight on her father. brand pleads with her to see the moral of it but is unable to change her views. one evening brand secures a flashlight photo and telephone witnesses of an interview with the judge, the photo showing the judge in the act of handing him a ten-thousand-dollar bribe. late that night brand has the article exposing this transaction in type and ready for the press when the proprietor, who has heretofore been so pleased with brand's perfor¬ mance, but whose wife has gained an entrance into society through the influence of judge barteling, enters the office with the order to "kill the story." this was a hard blow to the coming newspaper man. the judge calls and jokes him about being a smart boy but crazed with ideals, but is shocked when he turns to find his daughter has entered the office and has heard the conversation. he tells her to come along home with papa, but she decides to remain with brand. she has thought her father in the right all along, but now that she has heard her father condone dishonesty she can no longer think so. wheeler disobeys orders and sends the paper to press without "killing the story," and "all's well that ends well." in a week or so i was-back in dakota where the thermometer registered twenty-five below with plenty of snow for company. i received a letter from the reverend shortly after returning home saying they hoped to see me in chicago again soon. i did not know what that meant unless it was that the conquest i had not taken a cent out of the crop i had raised, the corn still standing in the field, with a heavy snow on the ground and my small grain still unthreshed. however, my letters were in vain. miss mc- craline could see no other way than that if i cared for her i'd come and marry her at home, which she contended was no more than right and would look much better. i sighed wearily over it all and began to suspect i was "in the right church, but in the wrong pew." the conquest chapter xxxv an uncrowned king oward spring the snow melted and with gum boots i plunged into the cold, wet corn field and began gathering the corn. it was nasty, cold work. the damp earth sent cold chills up through my limbs and as a result i was ill, and could do nothing for a week or more. in desperation i wrote the rever¬ end and being a man, i hoped he'd understand. i told him of my sickness and the circumstances, of orlean's claim and of my crops to be put in. it was then april and soon the oats, wheat and barley should be seeded. it was a business letter al¬ together, but i never heard from him, and later learned that he had read only a part of the letter. while in chicago, one evening i had called at the house and found the household in a ferment of excitement, with everyone saying nothing and apparently trying to look as small and scarced as possible, while in their midst, standing like a jungle king and in a plaided bathrobe, the reverend was pouring a storm of abuse upon his wife and shouting orders while the wife was trotting to and fro like a frightened lamb, protesting weakly. the way he was storming at her made me feel ashamed but after listening to his tirade for some fifteen minutes i was angry enough to knock him down then and there. he reminded me more of a brute than a pious min¬ ister. when he had finally exhausted himself he turned without speaking to me and strode up the the conquest stairs, head reared back and carrying himself like a brave soldier returning from war. i wondered then how long it would be before i would be com¬ manded as she had been. shortly afterward i could hardly control the impulse to take her in my arms and comfoit her. she was crying quietly and looked so pitiful. i was told she had been treated in a like manner off and on for thirty years. as stated, i did not hear from the reverend and when i wrote to orlean i implied that i did not think her father much of a business man. perhaps this was wrong, at least when i received another letter from her it contained the receipt for the pay¬ ment on the claim, and the single sheet of paper comprising the letter conveyed the intelligence that since she thought it best not to marry me she was forwarding the receipt with thanks for my kind¬ ness and hopes for future success. i received the letter on friday. saturday night i went into megory and took the early sunday morning train bound for chicago and to marry her, and while i did not think she had treated me just right i would not allow a matter of a trip to chicago to stand in the way of our marriage. i had an idea her father was indirectly responsible. he and i were much unlike and disagreed in our discussions concerning the so-called negro problem, and in almost every other discussion in which we had engaged. arriving in omaha i sent a telegram to orlean asking her not to go to work that day, as i would be in chicago in the morning. at the depot i called up the house and claves answered the phone and was very impertinent, but before he said much the conquest "don't you scold mama," she finished. "now, do you hear?" "yes, dear," i answered, meekly, with my arm around her waist and my face hidden behind her shoulder. "anything more?" "well, well." she appeared at a loss to know what further to say or how to proceed. ethel remarked afterward to her mother that orlean had not been near me a half hour until she was listening to everything i said. she finally succeeded in getting off to work after commanding me to free her as she wanted to get away to think, her mother bristled up with an, "i'll talk to you." this was entirely to my liking. i loved her mother as well as my own and had no fear that we would not soon agree, and we did. she couldn't be serious with me very long. she persisted in saying, however: "i want my husband to know you are here and to know all about this. you must not expect to run in and get his daughter just like something wild, nor you just must not!" "all right, mother," i assented. "but i must hurry back to dakota, you know, for i can't lose so much time this time of year." "you're the worst man i ever saw for always being in a hurry. i—i'll—well, i do declare!' and she bustled off to the kitchen with me following and talking. "oh, can't i get away from you? this is just awful, mr. devereaux." "don't you like the name?" i put in winningly and cutting off her discourse, and in spite of her at¬ tempt at seriousness she smiled. the conquest is a king, his majesty newton jasper." the idea kept revolving in my mind as i realized the reason i had not made good with him. i was too plain and sincere. i must flatter him, make him think he was what he was not, and my failure to do that was the reason for his listening to me in such an expressionless manner. somewhere i had read that to be a king was to look wise and say nothing. this' is what he had done. evidently he liked to feel great. i recalled the name he was known by, "the reverend n. j.," and i had heard him spoken of jokingly as the " great n. j." the n. j. was for newton jasper. ha! ha! the more i thought of his greatness the more amused i became. i might have settled the matter easily if i had no objection to flattering him. he arrived home the next morning and was sitting in the parlor when i called, trying to look serious, and surveying me as i entered, just as a king might have done a disobedient subject. i had been so free and without fear for so long that it was beyond my ability to shrivel up and drop as he continued to look me over. i proceeded to tell him all that i had written in my letter to him, the one he had not read, but did not intimate that i knew he had not read it. in the dining room where we gathered a few minutes later, with the family assembled in mute attention, he asked orlean whether she wanted to marry me and live in dakota and she admitted that she did. then turning to me he began a lengthy discourse with many ifs and if nots and kept it up until i cut in with: the conquest which belonged to claves and were too small and tight, making me uncomfortable. i was not long in getting out of them after undergoing the ordeal of being kissed by all the ladies present. mrs. ewis invited us to spend the evening at her home and the next day we left for south dakota. a beautiful townsite where trees stood, (page ) the conquest megory county to look after the crops. our first trouble occurred in about a month. i was still rather angry over the reverend's obliging me to spend the money to go to chicago. this had cost me a hundred dollars which i needed badly to pay the interest on my loan. letters began coming from the company holding the mortgages, besides i had other obligations pending. i had only fifty dollars in the bank when i started to chicago and while there drew checks on it for fifty more, making an overdraft of fifty dollars which it took me a month to get paid after returning home. the furniture required for housekeeping and improvements in connection with the homesteads took more money, and my sister went home to attend the graduation of another sister and i was required to pay the bills. my corn was gathered and i now shelled it. as the price in megory was only forty cents at the elevators i hauled it to victor, where i received seventy and sometimes seventy-five cents for it, but as it was thirty-five miles, that took time and the long drive was hard on the horses. orlean's folks kept writing lett ers telling her she must send money to buy some¬ thing they thought nice for her to have, and while no doubt not intending to cause any trouble, they made it very hard for me. money matters are usually a source of trouble to the lives of newly-weds and business is so cold-blooded that it contrasts severely with love's young dream. my position was a trying one for the reason that all the relatives on both sides seemed to take it for granted that i should have plenty of money, and nothing i could say or do seemed to change matters the conquest from his circuit the reverend wrote glowing letters to his "daughter and son," of what all the people were saying. everybody thought she had married so well; mr. deveraux, or oscar, as they put it, was of good family, a successful young man, and was rich. i hadn't written to him and called him "dear father." perhaps this is what i should have done. in a way it would have been easy enough to write, and since my marriage i had no letters to spend hours in writing. perhaps i should have written to him, but when a man is in the position i faced, debts on one side and relatives on the other, i thought it would not do to write as i felt, and i could not write otherwise and play the hypocrite, as i had not liked him from the beginning, and now dis¬ liked him still more because i could find no way of letting him know how i felt. this was no doubt foolish, but it was the way i felt about it at the time. my father-in-law evidently thought me ungrateful, and wrote orlean that i should write him or the folks at home occasionally, but i remained obdurate. i felt sure he expected me to feel flattered over the opinions of which he had written in regard to my being considered rich, but i did not want to be considered rich, for i was not. i had never been vain, and hating flattery, i wanted to tell her people the truth. i wanted them to understand, if they did not, what it took to make good in this western country, and that i had a load and wanted their encouragement and invited criticism, not empty praise and flattery. before i had any colored people to discourage me with their ignorance of business or what is required t|h e c o n"q u e s t for success, i was stimulated to effort by the example of my white neighbors and friends who were doing what i admired, building an empire; and to me that was the big idea. their parents before them knew something of business and this knowledge was a goodly heritage. if they could not help then- children with money they at least gave their moral support and visited them and encouraged them with kind words of hope and cheer. the people in a new country live mostly on hopes for the first five or ten years. my parents and grandparents had been slaves, honest, but ignorant. my father could neither read nor write, had not succeeded in a large way, and had nothing to give me as a start, not even practical knowledge. my wife's parents were a little different, but it would have been better for me had her father been other than "the big preacher" as he was referred to, who in order to be at peace with, it was necessary to praise. what i wanted in the circumstances i now faced was to be allowed to mould my wife into a practical woman who would be a help in the work we had before us, and some day, i assured her, we would be well to do, and then we could have the better things of life. "how long?" she would ask, weeping. she was always crying and so many tears got on my nerves, especially when my creditors were pestering me with duns, and it is hades to be dunned, es¬ pecially when you have not been used to it. "oh!" i'd say. "five or ten years." and then she'd have another cry, and i would have to do a lot of petting and persuading to keep the conquest firm in declaring there was no law or management preventing the colored girls' teaching in chicago if they were competent. "in the first place," she carefully continued, "the school we attended in ohio does not admit to teach in the city." in order to teach in the city schools it is either necessary to be a graduate of the normal, or have had a certain number of years' experience elsewhere. i do not remember all the whys, but she was em¬ phatic and continued to insist that it was to some extent the fault of the girls, who were not all as attentive to books as they should be; spending too much time in society or with something else that kept them from their studies, which impaired their chances when they attempted to enter the city schools. she held up instances where colored girls were teaching in chicago schools and had been for years, which knocked the foundation from his argument. there are very few colored people in a city or state which has mixed schools, who desire to have them separated. the mixed schools give the col¬ ored children a more equal opportunity and all the advantage of efficient management. separate schools lack this. even in the large cities, where separate schools are in force, the advantage is in¬ variably with the white schools. another advantage of mixed schools is, it helps to eliminate so much prejudice. many ignorant colored people, as well as many ignorant white people, fill their children's minds with undue prej¬ udice against each race. if they are kept in sepa- the conquest rate schools this line becomes more distinct, with one colored child filling the mind of other colored children with bad ideas, and the white child doing likewise, which is never helpful to the community. by nature, in the past at least, the colored children were more ferocious and aggressive; too much so, which is because they have not been out of heathen¬ ism many years. the mixed school helps to elim¬ inate this tendency. with the reverend it was a self-evident fact, that the only thing he cared about was that it would be easier for the colored girls to teach, if the schools were separate. i was becoming more and more convinced that he belonged to the class of the negro race that desires ease, privilege, freedom, position, and luxury without any great material effort on their part to acquire it, and still held to the time- worn cry of "no opportunity." following this disagreement came another. i had always approved of booker t. washington, his life and his work in the uplift of the negro. before his name was mentioned i had decided just about how he would take it, and i was not mis¬ taken. he was bitterly opposed to the educator. the conquest chapter xxxvii the progressives and the reactionaries t is not commonly known by the white people at large that a great number of colored people are against mr. washing¬ ton. being an educator and philan¬ thropist, it is hard to conceive any reason why they should be opposed to him, but the fact remains that they are. there are two distinct factions of the negro race, who might be classed as progressives and re¬ actionaries, somewhat like' the politicians. the progressives, led by booker t. washington and with industrial education as the material idea, are good, active citizens; while the other class distinctly reactionary in every way, contend for more equal rights, privileges, and protection, which is all very logical, indeed, but they do not substantiate their demands with any concrete policies; depending largely on loud demands, and are too much given to the condemnation of the entire white race for the depredations of a few. it is true, very true indeed, that the american negro does not receive all he is entitled to under the constitution. volumes could be filled with the many injustices he has to suffer, and which are not right before god and man; yet, when it is considered that other races in other countries, are persecuted even more than the negro is in parts of the united states, there should be no reason why the american negro allow obvious prejudice to prevent his taking advantage of opportunities that surround him. the conquest trouble with the elder was, that he was not an in¬ telligent man, never read anything but negro papers, and was interested only in negro questions. he was born in arkansas, but maintained false ideas about himself. he never admitted to having been born a slave, but he was nearly sixty years of age, and sixty years ago a negro born in arkansas would have been born in slavery, unless his parents had pur¬ chased themselves. if this had been the case, as vain as he was, i felt sure he would have had much to say about it. he must have been born a slave, but of course had been young when freed. he had lived in springfield, missouri, after leaving ar¬ kansas, and later moving to iowa, where, at the age of twenty-seven years, he was ordained a min¬ ister and started to preach, which he had continued for thirty years or more. he never had any theo¬ logical training. this was told me by my wife, and she added despairingly: "poor papa! he is just ignorant and hard- headed, and all his life has been associated with hard-headed negro preachers. he reads nothing but radical negro papers and wants everybody to regard him as being a brilliant man, and you might as well try to reason with two trees, or a brick wall, as to try to reason with him or ethel. i'm so sorry papa is so ignorant. mama has always tried to get him to study, but he would never do it. that's all." we went up to the claims, taking the elder along. my sister had married and her husband was making hay on the claims. i might have been more patient with the rever- the conquest end, if he had not been so full of pretense, when being plain and truthful would have been so much better and easier. i had quit talking to him about anything serious or anything that interested me, but would sit and listen to him talk of the big preachers, and the bishops, and the great negroes who had died years before. he seemed fond of talking of what they had done in the past and what more could be done in the future, if the white people were not so strongly banded against them. after this, his conversation would turn to pure gossip, such as women might indulge in. he talked about the women belonging to the churches of his district, whether they were living right or wrong, and could tell very funny stories about them. in dakota, like most parts of the west, people who have any money at all, carry no cash in the pocket, but bank their money and use checks. the people of the east and south, that is, the com¬ mon people, seldom have a checking account, and, with the masses of the negroes, no account at all. during the summer orlean had sent her father my checks with which to make purchases. the rever¬ end told me he checked altogether, but my wife had told me her father's ambition had always been to have a checking account, but had not been able to do so. i had to laugh over this, for it was no distinction, whatever. we discussed the banking business and the elder tried to tell me that if a national bank went broke, the government paid all the depositors, while if it was a state bank, the depositors lost. as this was so far from correct, i explained the laws that governed national banks ernest nicholson takes a hand. (page .) the conquest after this conversation i foreed myself to remain quiet and listen to common gossip. instead of being pleased to see us happy and orlean contented, he would, whenever alone with her, discourage her in every way he could, sighing for sympathy, prais¬ ing claves and telling her how much he was doing for ethel, and how much she, orlean, was sacrificing for me. the contest trial occurred while he was with us, and cost, to start with, an attorney's fee of fifty dollars, in addition to witnesses' expenses. i had bought a house in megory and we moved it onto orlean's claim. the reverend helped with the moving, but he was so discouraging to have around. he dug up all the skeletons i left buried in m—pis and bared them to view, in deceitful ways. we had decided not to visit chicago that winter. the crop was fair, but prices were low on oats and corn, and my crops consisted mostly of those cereals. i tried to explain this to the reverend when he talked of what we would have, christmas, in chicago. "now, don't let that worry you, my boy," he would say breezily. "i'll attend to that! i'll attend to that!" "attend to what?" i asked. "why, i'll send both of you a ticket." " , really, reverend, i thank you ever so much, but i could not think of accepting it, and you must not urge it. we are not coming to chicago, and i wish you would not talk of it so much with orlean," i would almost plead with him. "she is a good girl and we are happy together. she wants to help the conquest i felt so mortified that i swore i would never again have anything to do with her family. they never regarded my feelings nor our relations in the least, but wrote a letter every few days about who was com¬ ing to the house to see orlean christmas, of who was going to have her at their homes for dinner when she came home, until the poor girl, with a child on the way, was as helpless as a baby, trying to be honest with all concerned. it had never been her lot to take the defensive. my sister came down from her claim and took orlean home with her. while she was in tipp county a letter came fom her father for her, and thinking it might be a matter needing immediate attention, i opened it and found a money order for eighteen dollars, sent from cairo, with instructions when to start, and he would be home to meet her when she arrived, suggesting that i could come later. i was about the maddest man in megory when i was through reading the letter, fairly flying to the post office, enclosing the money order and all, with a curt little note telling what i had done; that orlean was out on her claim and would be home in a few days, but that we were not coming to chicago. i would have liked to tell him that i was running my own house, but did not do so. i was hauling shelled corn to a feeder in town, when orlean came. she was driving a black horse, hitched to a little buggy i had purchased for her, and i met her on the road. i got out and kissed her fondly, then told what i had done. my love for her had been growing. she had been gone a week and i was so glad to see the conquest when i got to the claim i was weak in every way. my wife seemed none the worse, but my emotions were intense when i saw the little dead boy. poor little fellow! as he lay stiff and cold i could see the image of myself in his features. my wife noticed my look and said: "it is just like you, dear!" that night we buried the baby on the west side of the draw. it should have been on the east, where the only trees in the township, four spreading willows, cast their shadows. "well, dear, we have each other," i comforted her as she cried. between sobs she tried to tell me how she had prayed for it to live, and since it had looked so much like me, she thought her heart would break. when the child was born they had sent a telegram to her father which read: "baby born dead. am well." this was his first knowledge of it. we received a telegram that night that he was on the way and the next day he arrived, bringing ethel with him. when he got out of the livery rig that brought them i could see satan in his face. a chance had come to him at last. it seemed to say: " oh, now i'll fix you. away when the child was born, eh?" his very expression seemed jubilant. he had longed for some chance to get me and now it had arrived. he did not speak to me, but bounded into the room where my wife was, and she must have read the same thing in his expression, for, as he talked about it later, i learned the first thing she said was: the conquest thundered in a terrible voice, "you have been up to some low-lived trick and if i thought you were trying to alienate my wife's affections, or had done so, i would stop this thing right here and sue you, if you were worth anything." at this he flushed up and answered angrily: "i'm worth as much as you." he was a poor hand at anything but quarreling, but knowing we'd make a scene, i said no more. it was a long night, orlean was restless, and wheezed and coughed all through the night. i have wondered since why i did not take the bull by the horns and settle the matter then, but guess it was for the sake of peace, that i've accepted the situation and remained quiet. i decided it would be best to let her go home without a big row, and when she had recovered, she could come home, and all would be well. my wife had informed me that claves kept up the house, paid for the groceries and half of the install¬ ments, while her father paid for the other half, but never bought anything to eat, nor sent any money home, only bringing eggs, butter, and chickens when he came into the city three or four times a year. but claves' name was not on the contract for the home, only her father's name appearing. her father was extremely vain and i had not pleased him because i was independent, and he did not like independent people. she also told me that her father always kept up a row when he was at home, but always charged it to everybody else. the next morning, just before we started for the depot, i said: the conquest "i'll step into the bank and get a check cashed and give orlean some money. i haven't much, but i want her to have her own money." "never mind, my son, just never mind. i can get along," said the reverend, keeping his head turned and appearing ill at ease, though i thought nothing of that at the time. "i wouldn't think of such a thing!" i answered, protesting that he was not able to pay her way. "i wouldn't think of allowing her to accept it." "now! now! why do you go on so? haven't i told you i have enough?" he answered in a tenor voice, trying to appear winsome. feeling that i knew his disposition, i said no more, but as we were passing the bank, i started to enter, saying to my wife: "i am going to get you some money." she caught me by the sleeve and cried excitedly: "no! no! no! don't, because i have money." hesitating a moment and repeating, "i have money." "you have money?" i repeated, appearing to misunderstand her statement. "how did you get money?" "had a check cashed," she answered nervously. " , see!" i said. "how much?" . "fifty dollars," she answered, clinging to my arm. "good gracious, orlean!" i exclaimed, near to fright. "we haven't got that much in the bank." "oh! oh! i didn't want to," and then called to her father, who was just coming with the baggage: "papa! papa! you give oscar back that money. the conquest had abused this woman for thirty years, and here and now, out of spite and personal malice, because i had criticized the action of certain members of the race, and eulogized the work of booker t. washing¬ ton, whom the elder, along with many of the older members of the ministry, hated and would not allow his name mentioned in his home, i was to lose my wife, to pay the penalty. he had disliked me from the beginning, but there had been no way he could get even. he was "get¬ ting even," spiting me, securing my wife by coercion, and now spreading a report thaf: i was mistreating her, in order to justify his action. "mrs. mccraline," i said, sneaking in a firm tone, "do you believe this?" evading the direct question, she answered: "you should never have placed yourself or orlean in such a position." and then i understood. when orlean had written her mother of the coming of the child, mrs. mccraline had not written or told the reverend about it. i now understood, further, that she never told him anything, and never gave him any information if she could avoid it. what my wife had told me was proving itself, that is, that they got along with her father by avoiding any friction. he could not be reasoned with, but i could not believe any man would be mean enough to deliberately break up a home, and that the home of his daughter, for so petty a reason. it became clear to me that he ruled by making himself so disagreeable, that everyone near gave in to him, to have peace. he had only that morning gone to his work. the conquest on hearing me, ethel came downstairs and called up claves. a few minutes later her mother called me, saying claves wanted to talk to me. when i took the receiver and called "hello," he answered like a crazy man. i said: "what is the matter? i do not understand what you are talking about." "what are you doing in my house, after what you said about me? " he shouted excitedly. "said about you?" i asked. "yes," he replied, "i hear you treated my wife like a dog, after i sent her out there to attend to your wife, called me all kinds of bad names, and said i was only a fifteen-cent jockey." "treated your wife ugly, and called you a jockey," here i came to and said to myself that here was some more of the elder's work, but i answered claves: "i haven't the faintest idea of what you are talking about. i treated your wife with the utmost courtesy while she was in dakota, i never mentioned your name in any such terms as you refer to, and i am wholly at a loss to understand the condition of affairs i find here. i am confused over it all." "well," he answered, "suppose you come down to where i work and we will talk it over." "i'll do that," i answered, and went down town where he worked on wabash avenue. one thing i had noticed about him was, that while he was ignorant, he was at least an honest, hard-working fellow, but was kept in fear by his wife and the elder. i saw after talking to him, that he, like mrs. mccraline, did not believe a word of the conquest what the reverend had told about my mistreating his daughter, and that he submitted to the elder, as the rest of the family did, for the sake of peace. but they were all trained and avoided saying any¬ thing about the elder. during the conversation with claves he told me he kept up the house, paid all the grocery bills, and half the payments. he had been advanced to a salary of eighteen dollars a week and seemed to be well liked by the management. i went to a hotel run by colored people, and at about seven-thirty that evening, called up the house to see if orlean had returned. she came to the phone but before we had said much, were accident¬ ally cut off.. hearing her voice excited me, and i wanted to see her, so hung up the receiver and hurried to the house, some ten or twelve blocks away. when i rang the bell, claves came to the door. before he could let me enter, ethel came running down the stairs, screaming as loudly as she could: "don't let him in! don't let him in! you know what papa said! don't you let him in," and continued screaming as loud as possible. i heard my wife crying in the back room. claves had his hat on and came outside, saying: "for god's sake, ethel, hush up! you'll have all the neighborhood out." she continued to scream, and to stop her, he closed the door. we went together on state street and i took a few scotch highballs and cocktails to try to forget it. the next day being sunday, claves said he would the conquest try to get ethel off to church and then i could slip in and see orlean, but she refused to go and when i called up, about the time i thought she would be gone, she was on guard. my wife was at the phone and told me to come over and she would try to slip out, but when i called, ethel had made her go to bed. it seemed that she ran the house and all in it, when the elder was away. mrs. mccraline came outside, took me by the arm and led me over to groveland park, near the lake. here she unfolded a plan whereby i should find a room nearby, and she would slip orlean over to it, but this proved as unsuccessful as the other attempt, to steal a march on ethel. she held the fort and i did not get to see my wife but one hour during the four days i was in chicago. that was on tuesday following, after claves had tried every trick and failed to get ethel away. this time he succeeded by telling her i had left town, but when i had been in the house an hour, ethel came and started screaming. i had to get out before she would stop. the next day i called up and suggested to orlean that i bring a doctor and leave her in his charge for i must return to dakota. she consented and i went to a young negro doctor on state street and took him to the house, but when we arrived, ethel would not admit us. the doctor and i had roomed together before i left chicago, while he was attending the northwestern medical school, and we had always been good friends. he had been enthusiastic over my success in the west and it made me feel dread¬ fully embarrassed when we were refused admittance. when i called up the house later ethel came to the phone, and said: the conquest chapter xl the mennonites uring the first half of the sixteenth century, menno simons founded a de¬ nomination of christians in friesland, a province of the netherlands. many of these mennonites settled in northern germany. this religious belief was opposed to military service and about the close of the american revolution the mennonites began emigrating, until more than fifty thousand of their number had found homes west of the dneiper, near the black sea, in southern russia, around odessa. these people were fa¬ natical in their belief, rejected infant baptism and original sin, believing in baptism only on profession of faith, and were opposed to theological training. in russia, as in germany, they led lives of great simplicity, both secularly and religiously and lived in separate communities. the gently rolling lands, with a rich soil, responded readily to cultivation, and history proves the ger¬ mans always to have been good farmers. the mennonites found peace and prosperity in southern russia, until the crimean war. being opposed to military service, when russia began levying heavy taxes on their lands and heavier toll from their families, by taking the strong young men to carry on the war, the mennonites became dissatisfied under the russian government, and left the country in great numbers, removing to america, and settling along the jim river in south dakota. the conquest among these settlers was a family by the name of wesinberger, who had grown prosperous, their forefathers having gone to russia among the first, although they were not mennonites. christopher the youngest son, was among those drawn to go to the war, but the wesinbergers were properous, and paid the examining physician twelve hundred and fifty rubles (about one thousand dollars) to have christopher "made sick" and pronounced unfit for service. with the approach of the russian- japanese war, when it was seen that russia would be forced into war with japan, the boys having married, and with sons of their own, who would have to "draw," the wesinberger brothers sold their land and set sail for america. at the time the war broke out, john and jacob were living on home¬ steads, in the county adjoining tipp county on the north, christopher having settled in western canada. it was while they were breaking prairie near my sister's homestead, that i became acquainted with the former, who, at that time owned a hundred and fifty head of cattle, seventy-five head of horses, hogs, and all kinds of farm machinery, besides a steam prairie breaking outfit and fifteen hundred acres of land between them. during rainy days along in april, to pass the time away, i would visit them, and while sitting by the camp fire was told of what i have written above, but where they interested me most was when they dis¬ cussed astronomy and meteorology. they could give the most complete description of the zodiacal heavens and the different constellations. it seems that astronomy had interested their ancestors the conquest before leaving germany nearly one hundred and thirty years before, and it had been taught to each succeeding generation. they seemed to know the position of each planet, and on several occasions when the nights were clear, with a powerful tele¬ scope, they would try to show them to me, but as i knew little or nothing^of astronomy, i understood but little of their discussions concerning the helio¬ centric longitude of all the planets, or the points at which they would appear if seen from the sun. before many months rolled around i had good reason to believe at least a part of what they tried to explain to me, and that was, that according to the planets we were nearing a certain jupiter dis¬ turbance. "and what does that mean?" i asked. "that means," they explained, "it will be dry." "jupiter" said john, as he leisurely rolled a cigarette, "circumnavigates the sun once while the earth goes around it twelve times. in russia jupiter's position got between the sun and the con¬ stellation pisces, aries, taurus and gemini, it was invariably wet and cool and small grain crops were good, but as it passed on and got between the sun and the constellations libra and scorpio it was always followed by a minimum of rainfall and a maximum heat, which caused a severe drouth." they had hoped it would be different in america, but explained further that when they had lived in russia it commenced to get dry around st. peters¬ burg, warsaw and all northern russia a year or so before it did in southern russia. they had relatives living around menno, in the conquest chapter xli the drouth cloudy and threatening day in may, there came an inch of rainfall. i had completed sowing two hundred and fifty acres of flax a few days before, and soon everything looked beautiful and green. i felt extremely hopeful. during the six years i had been farming in dakota, i had raised from fair to good crops every year. the seasons had been favorable, and if a good crop had not been raised, it was not the fault of the soil or from lack of rainfall. the previous year had not been as wet as others, but i had raised a fair crop, and at this time had four hundred and ten acres in crop and one hundred and ten acres rented out, from which i was to receive one third of the crop. i had come west with hopes of better¬ ing my financial condition and had succeeded fairly well. around me at this time others had grown pros¬ perous, land had advanced until some land adjoining megory had brought one hundred dollars per acre, and land a few miles from town sold for fifty to eighty dollars per acre. before settling in the west i had read in real estate advertisements all about the wheat land that could be bought from ten to twenty-five dollars per acre, that would raise from twenty-five to forty bushels of wheat to the acre. while all this was quite possible i had never raised over twenty-five the conquest and for her to draw a draft on the bank of calias, and come home. the telegram was not answered. next morning my sister left for kansas, and that afternoon a heavy downpour of rain fell all over megory county and as far west as victor, but north of ritten, where i had my flax crop, there was scarcely sufficient rain to lay the dust. on that day the hot winds set in and lasted for seven weeks, the wind blowing steadily from the south all the while. i had never before, during the seven years, suffered to any extent from the heat, but during that time i could not find a cool place. the wind never ceased during the night, but sounded its mournful tune without a pause. then came a day when the small grain in tipp county was beyond redemption, and rattled as leaves in november. the atmosphere became stifling, and the scent of burning plants sickening. my flax on the sod, which was too small to be hurt at the beginning of the drouth, began to need rain, and reports in all daily papers told that the great heat wave and the drouth in many places were worse than in tipp county. all over the western and northern part of the state, were localities where it had not rained that season. potatoes, wheat, oats, flax, and corn, in the western part of the state, had not sprouted, and, it was said, in a part of butte county, where seed had been sown four inches deep the year before, there had not been enough rain since to make it sprout. the government had spent several million dollars damming the belle fourche river for the purpose of irrigation, and the previous autumn, when it had the conquest been completed, the water in it had been run onto the land, to see how it would work, and since had been dry. no snow had fallen in the mountains during the winter, and all the rivers were as dry as the roads; while all the way from the gulf, to canada, the now protracted drouth was burning everything in its wake. at kansas city, where the treacherous kaw empties its waters into the missouri, and had for years wrought disaster with its notorious floods, drowning out two and sometimes three crops in a single spring, was nearly dry, and the crops were drying up throughout its valley. i spent the fourth of july in victor, where the people shook their heads gravely and said, "tipp county will never raise a crop." the crops had dried up in tipp county the year before. i read that the railroad men who run from kansas city to dodge city reported that the pastures through kansas were so dry along the route, that a louse could be seen crawling a half mile away. in parts of iowa the farmers commenced to put their stock in pens and fed them hay from about the middle of june, there being no feed in the pastures. through eastern nebraska, western iowa and south¬ ern minnesota, the grasshoppers began to appear by the millions, and proceeded to head the small grain. to save it, the farmers cut and fed it to stock, in pens. the markets were being over-run with thin cattle from the western ranges, where the grass had never started on account of lack of moisture. i watched my flax crop and early in july noticed it beginning usui ■mi the crops began to wither, (page ) the conquest one day i crossed the white river and went to. visit the wisenbergers, who lived seventeen miles to the north. on the way, out of forty-seven houses i passed, only one had an occupant. the land in that county is underlaid with a hardpan about four inches from the surface, and had not raised a crop for two years. the settlers had left the country to keep from starving. as i drove along the dusty road and gazed into the empty houses through the front doors that banged to and fro with a monotonous tone, from the force of the hot south winds, i felt lonely and faraway; the only living thing in sight being an occasional dog that had not left with his master, or had returned, but on seeing me, ran, with tucked tail, like a frightened coyote. merchants were being pressed by the wholesale houses. the recent years had been prosperous, and it is said prosperity breeds contempt and reck¬ lessness. the townspeople and many farmers had indulged lavishly in chug-chug cars. bankers and wholesale houses, who had always criticised so much automobilism, were now making some wish they had never heard the exhaust of a motor. in addition to this the speculators were loaded to the guards, with lands carrying as heavy mortgage as could be had—which was large—for prosperity had caused loan companies to increase the amount of their loans. no one wanted to buy. every one wanted to sell. the echo of the drouth seventeen years before and the disaster which followed, rang through the country and had the effect of causing prices to slump from five to fifteen dollars per acre less than a year before. the conquest now what made it worse for tipp county was, that it had been opened when prosperity was at its zenith. the people were money mad. reckless from the prosperity which had caused them to dis¬ pense with caution and good judgment, they were brought suddenly to a realization of a changed condition. the new settlers, all from eastern points, came into tipp county, seeing tipp county claims worth, not six dollars per acre, the price charged by the government, but finding ready sales at prices ranging from twenty-five to forty-five dollars, and even fifty dollars per acre. they had spent money accordingly. and now, when the parched fields frowned, and old jupiter pluvius refused to speak, the community faced a genuine panic. came a day, sultry and stifling with excessive heat, when i drove back to the claims. everywhere along the way were visible the effects of the drouth. vegetation had withered, and the trails gave forth clouds of dust. late in the afternoon clouds appeared in the north¬ west and the earth trembled with the resounding peals of thunder. the lightning played danger¬ ously near, and then, like the artillery of a mighty battle, the storm broke loose and the rain fell in torrents, filling the draws and ravines, and over¬ flowing the creeks, which ran for days after. all over the north country the drouth was broken and plant life began anew. my wheat threshed about eight hundred bushels, and when marketed, the money received was not sufficient to pay current expenses. therefore, i the conquest i was so wrought up over it all, yet saw no place where i could get justice. in order to show the reverend that he was being criticized by friends of the family, i gathered up some half dozen or more letters, including the last one from claves and one from mrs. ewis, and sent them to him. the one from mrs. ewis related how he had written to her, just before he took my wife away, saying that she was in dire need, and wanted to borrow twenty- five dollars to bring her home. needless to say, she had not sent it, nor assisted him in any other way, in helping to break up the home. as a result, she said, he had not spoken to her since. i learned later that the letters i had sent had made him terribly angry. i received a letter from him, the contents of which were about the same as his conversation had been, excepting, that he did not profess any love for me, which at least was a relief; but, from the contents, i derived that he had expected his act to give him immortality, and expressed surprise that he should be criticized for coming to dakota and saving the life of his child— as he put it—from the heartless man, that was killing her in his efforts to get rich. he seemed to forget to mention any of the facts which had occurred during his last trip, namely; his many declarations of undying love for us; of how glad he was that we were doing so much toward the development of the great west; and his remarks that if he was twenty-five years younger it was where he would be. he also suggested that he would try to be transferred to the omaha district, so that he might be nearer us. the conquest chapter xlii a year of coincidences ilthough the drouth had been broken all over the north, it lingered on, to the south. my parents wrote me from kansas, that thousands of acres of wheat, sown early in the fall, had failed to sprout. it had been so dry. the ground was as dry as powder, and the winds were blowing the grain out of the sandy soil, which was drifting in great piles along the fences and in the road. the government's final estimated yield of all crops was the smallest it had been for ten years. as a result, loan companies who had allowed in¬ terest to accumulate for one and two years, in the hope that the farmers and other investors would be able to sell, such having been the conditions of the past, now began to threaten foreclosure and money became hard to get. from the south came reports that many coun¬ ties in oklahoma, that were loaded with debt, had defaulted for two years on the interest, and county warrants, that had always brought a premium, sold at a discount. the rain that had followed the drouth, in the north, as the winter months set in, began to move south, and about christmas came the heaviest snows the south had known for years. with the snows came low temperatures that lasted for weeks. as far south as oklahoma city, zero weather gripped the country, and] to the west the cattle left on the ranges froze to death by the thousands. a the conquest chapter xliii "and satan came also." ame a day when the snow had disappeared; my threshing was done; i had money again, and to chicago i journeyed. during the winter i had planned a way to get to see my wife, and took the first step toward carrying it out, immediately following my arrival in the city. i went to a telephone and called up mrs. ewis. she recognized my voice and knew what i had come for. she said: "i am so glad i was near the phone when you called up, because your father-in-law is in the house this very minute." on hearing this i was taken aback, for it had not occurred to me that he might be in the city. as the realization that he was, became clear to me, i felt ill at ease, and asked how he came to be in the city at that time. "well," and from her tone i could see that she was also disturbed—"you see tomorrow is election and yesterday was easter, so he came home to vote, and be here easter, at the same time. now, let me think a moment," she said nervously. finally she called: "oscar, i tell you what i will do, p. h. is sick and the reverend has been here every day to see him." here she paused again, then went on*. " i will try to get him to go home, but he stays late. however, you call up in about an hour, and if he is still here, i'll say 'this is the wrong number, see?'" "yes," i said gratefully, and hung up the receiver. the conquest i had by this time become so nervous that i trembled, and then went down into custom house place—i had talked from the polk street station— and took a couple of drinks to try to get steady. in an hour and a half i called up again and it was the "wrong number," so i went out south and called on a young railroad man and his wife, by the name of lilis, who were friends of (mean's and mine. after expressing themselves as being puzzled as to why the reverend should want to separate us, mrs. lilis told me of her. during the conversation mrs. lilis said: "after you left last year, i went over to see orlean, and spoke at length of you, of how broken hearted you appeared to be, and that she should be in dakota. mrs. mccraline looked uncom¬ fortable and tried to change the subject, but i said my mind, and watched orlean. in the meantime i thought she would faint right there, she looked so miserable and unhappy. she has grown so fat, you know she was always so peaked before you married her. everybody is wondering how her father can be so mean, and continue to keep her from returning home to you, but mrs. ewis can and will help you get her because she can do more with that family than anyone else. she and the elder have been such close friends for the last fifteen years, and she should be able to manage him. then her mother said: "oscar, i have known you all your life; i was raised up with your parents; knew all of your uncles; and know your family to have always been highly respected; but i can¬ not for my life see, why, if orlean loves you, she lets her father keep her away from you. now here the conquest is my millie," she went on, turning her eyes to her daughter, "and belle too, why, i could no more separate them from their husbands than i could fly—even if i was mean enough to want to." "but why does he do it, mama? the reverend wants to break up the home of or lean and oscar," mrs. lilis put in, anxiously. "bless me, my child," her mother replied, "i have known n. j. mccraline for thirty years and he has been a rascal all the while. i am not surprised at anything that he would do." "well," said mrs. lilis, with a sigh of resignation, "it puzzles me." i then told them about calling up mrs. ewis and what i had planned on doing. it was then about nine-thirty. as they had a phone, i called mrs. ewis again. while talking, i had forgotten the signal, and remembered it only when i heard mrs. ewis calling frantically, from the other end of the wire, "this is the wrong number, mister, this is the wrong number." with an exclamation, i hung up the receiver with a jerk. mrs. ankin lived about two blocks east, so i went to her house from mrs. lilis'. on the street, the effect of what had passed, began to weaken me. i was almost overcome, but finally arrived at mrs. ankins'. just before retiring, at eleven o'clock, i again called up mrs. ewis, and it was still the "wrong number." i went to bed and spent a restless night. i awakened about five-thirty from a troubled sleep, jumped up, dressed, then went out and caught the conquest a car for the west side. i felt sure the elder would go home during the night. it is always very slow getting from the south to the west side in chicago, on a surface car, and it was after seven o'clock when i arrived at the ad¬ dress, an apartment building, where mrs. ewis' husband held the position as janitor, and where they made their home, in the basement. she was just coming from the grocery and greeted me with a cheerful "good morning," and "do you know that rascal stayed here until twelve o'clock last night," she laughed. she called him "rascal" as a nickname. she took me into their quarters, invited me to a chair, sat down, and began to talk in a serious tone. "now oscar, i understand your circumstances thoroughly, and am going to help you and orlean in every way i can. you under¬ stand rev. mccraline has always been hard-headed, and the class of ministers he associates with, are more hard-headed still. the elder has never liked you because of your independence, and from the fact that you would not let him rule your house and submit to his ruling, as claves does. now oscar, let me give you some advice. maybe you are not acquainted with the circumstances, for if you had been, in the beginning, you might have avoided this trouble. what i am telling you is from experience, and i know it to be true. don't ever criticize the preachers, to their faces, especially the older ones. they know their views and practices, in many in¬ stances, to be out of keeping with good morals, but they are not going to welcome any criticism of their acts. in fact, they will crucify criticism, and per- the conquest secute those who have criticized them. further¬ more, you are fond of booker t. washington, and his ideas, and rev. mccraline, like many other negro preachers, especially the older ones, hates him and everybody that openly approves of his ideas. his family admire the educator, and so do i, but we don't let on to him. now i have a plan in mind, which i feel a most plausible one, and which i believe will work out best for you, orlean, and and myself. before i mention it, i want to speak concerning the incident of last fall. when you sent him that bunch of letters, with mine in it, he fairly raised cain; as a result, the family quit speaking to me, and orlean has not been over here for six months, until she and ethel came a few days before easter, to get the hats i have always given them. now, she went on, seeming to become excited, if i should invite orlean over, the elder would come along," which i knew to be true. "when you wrote me last summer in regard to taking her to a summer resort, so you could come and get her, i told mary arling about it. now to be candid, mrs. arling and i are not the best of friends. you know she drinks a little too much, and i don't like that, but mary arling is a friend of yours, and a smart woman." "is that so?" i asked, showing interest, for i admired mrs. arling and her husband. "yes," mrs. ewis reassured me, "she is a friend of yours and you know all the mccraline family admire the arlings, and orlean goes there often." "well, as i was saying", she went on, "last summer out at a picnic, mrs. arling got tipsy enough to speak her mind and she simply laid the family out about the conquest an elaborate flat at an address in the thirty-seventh block on wabash avenue. i rang the bell, which was answered by a young lady unknown to me, but who, i surmised, roomed at the house. she inquired the name, and when i had told her she let out an " !" and invited me into the parlor. she hurried away to tell mrs. arling, who came immediately, and holding both hands out to me, said, "i am so glad you came at last, oscar, i am so glad." after we had said a few words concerning the weather, etc., i said in a serious tone, "mrs. arling, i am being persecuted on account of my ideas." "i know it, oscar, i know it," she repeated, nod¬ ding her head vigorously, and appeared eager. i then related briefly the events of the past year, including the reverend's trip to dakota. raising her arms in a gesture, she said: "if you remember the day after you were married, when we had the family and you over to dinner, and you and richard (her husband), talked on race matters, that the elder never joined. well, when you had gone richard said: "oscar and the elder are not going to be friends long, for their views are too far apart." when he brought orlean home last year i said to richard, 'rev. mccraline is up to some trick." continuing, she went on to tell me, "you are aware how bitter most of the colored preachers are in regard to booker t. washington." "yes," i assented. "mrs. ewis and i talked the matter over and she said the reverend had it in for you from the begin¬ ning, that is, he wanted to crush your theories, and have you submissive, like ethel's husband. he was more anxious to have you look up to him because the conquest you had something; but after he found out you were not going to, well, this is the result." "now, oscar," whatever you suggest, if it is in my power to do so, i will carry it out, because i am sure orlean loves you. she always seems so glad when i talk with her about you. she comes over often," she went on, "and we get to talking of you." now before i tell you more, you must not feel that she does not care for you, because she allows her father to keep her away from you. orlean is just simple, babylike and is easy to rule. she gets that from her mother, for you know mary ann is helpless." i nodded, and she continued. "as for the reverend, he has raised them to obey him, and they do, to the letter; the family, with claves thrown in, fear him, but as i was going to say: orlean told me when i asked her why she did not go on back to you, 'well,' i don't know.' you know how she drags her speech. 'oscar loves me, and we never had a quarrel. in fact, there is nothing wrong between us and oscar would do anything to please me. the only thing i did not like, was, that oscar thought more of his land and money than he did of me, and i wanted to be first.'" " isn't that deplorable," i put in, shaking my head sadly. "of course it is," she replied with a shrug, "why, that could be settled in fifteen minutes, if it were not for that old preacher. she always likes to talk of you and it seems to do her good." "now, my plan is," i started, with a determined expression, "to have you call her up, see?" "yes, yes," she answered anxiously. the cold days and long nights passed slowly by, and i cared for the stock. (page .) the conquest i was uneasy and wanted her to wait awhile was, that i felt her father would go to call on mrs. ewis about eight o'clock and it was now only seven. but she seemed restless and ill at ease, and persisted that she should call up mother, and let her know, so i consented, reluctantly. then as she was on the way to the phone i called her and said: "now,- orlean there are two things a woman cannot be at the same time, and that is, a wife to her husband and a daughter to her father. she must sacrifice one or the other." "i know it," she replied, and appeared to be con¬ fused and hesitant, but knowing she would never be at ease until she had called up, i said "go ahead," and she did. i shall not soon forget the expression on her face, then the look of weak appeal that she turned on me, when her father's deep voice rang through the phone in answer to her "hello." the next instant she appeared to sway and then leaned against the wall trembling as she answered, "oh! pa-pa, ah," and seeming to have no control of her voice. she now appeared frightened, while mrs. arling and mrs. hite stood near, holding their breath and looked discouraged. she finally managed to get it out, but hardly above a whisper, "oscar is here." "well," he answered, and his voice could be heard distinctly by those standing near. "well," he seemed to roar in a commanding way, "why don't you bring him to the house?" what passed after that i do not clearly remember, but i have read lots of instances of where people lost their heads, where, if they would have had the conquest she looked into his face and said: "he insulted you." "yes yes, dear," he-answered. "he has done that right along, but you step outside and papa will tend to him," she still clung to him and said: "he has made you suffer." he bowed his head, and feigned to suffer. i stood looking on mechanically. he repeated, "run outside, dear," and he stood holding, the door open, then, realization seemed to come to her, she turned and threw herself into mrs. arling's arms, weakly, and broke into mournful sobs. her father drew her gently from the embrace and with her face in her hands, and still sobbing, she passed out. he followed and through the open door i caught a glimpse of clavis on the sidewalk below, the man who had written—not a year before, "i am going to be a brother, and help you." the next moment the door closed softly behind them. that was the last time i saw my wife. the end emory university "xov.e will barter the immediate jewel of his soul.' the immediate jewel of his soul a romance by herman meeh auth of "out of the night" &t. mil. the st. louis argus publishing company copyright, by herman dreer .all rights reserved to my wife to ths pioneer new thot club to all of those who have passed and will pass thru virginia theological seminary and college that monument of negro achievement i dedicate this work preface in tlie wide sense there are three points of view from which novelists may write: the bizarre, the real and the ideal. he may portray life in caricature to produce laughter; he may depict it as it is or is likely to occur; and he may exhibit it as it should be. this romance abandons caricature; it adheres strictly to the problems that actually face us now. as its philosophy is realistic idealism, it sets forth some of our immediate aspirations and ideals. it is a story of the earnest negro, trying to rise unto great place. to those of the inner circle, i hope these pages will be edifica- t 'on; to thos-e without, i fondly pray that they will be food for thot and a stimulus to unselfishness and fair play. herman dreer saint louis, missouri november , the immediate jewel of his soul the immediate jewel of his soul chapter i be gone, my son, and greet thy way, i cannot lead another day, i've led thee to the heights i know; take now thy life and make it grow. "smith, you'll be leaving- soon, won't you?" asked henry lee, a lad of eighteen and a classmate of william smith, whom he addressed with an air of non chalance. ''yes," was the melancholy reply, "and i feel lonely now. think of the teachers i have learned to love, think of my class¬ mates and friends. it is not easy to give them up. aiter taking many precious years to form these ties, at length they must all be broken. i go out into the night. and for what?" "for the greatness that is yours, for the striving. you are young and if, as reverend mccall says, our last days are often our best days, much that is good is merely waiting for you to claim it. cheer tip; the best is yet to come " said henry, trying to radiate some of his own sunshiine. "that sounds fine, yet i deeply grieve that this time at last has come." "now, smith, old boy, be serious- but not too serious get some ginger into you. you know the pagan philosophy: eat, drink, and be merry today, for tomorrow we die?" ( ) the immediate jewel of his soul "yes> i know it well. our sunday school teacher has mentioned it often." "well live it—to some extent any way. this much at least we may accept from the ancients. there must be joy as well as sorrow. " tou a c doing no more than many a mail has done, who was ei;ger lo rise. to advance in any way, we must give up some¬ thing ave love. it may be home, treasures, friends, or even life itself." so history has taught us. if we risk nothing, we gain .codling.'' remembering the event planned for smith for that evening, henry did not give u ilham a chance to reply ; but took the whole situation in hand, saying, "well, old boy, i must be going. you know why. but understand my young man, tho this occasion is planned for you, if you do nor walcn sharply, i'll have more real nm than you. you're putting on; trying to be serious. just wait till the girls get you tonight. you'll be serious all right. i know you." henry hurried off, excusing" himself with perfect tact and de- coftim. william smith, who has just formed our acqu^ni.mce, even in this tilt with henry lee, behaved in no unaccustomed way. a proud son of africa, whose blood had not been adulterated by the vicious, stock of any land, he towered six feet, with a massive aphysique> a genuine black prince, a king of his bread shoulders were capable of a;:v human lask, a "id h s hands, tho calloused by much gruesome toil, were equal¬ ly ready to answer the call of ciscumstance. a glance at his ft owing, crimpy hair, his sparkling honest eyes, and his pearly teeth, at once commanded grave respect and lingering admira¬ tion as he moved a"ong randall street of a cosmopolitan eastern town during the latter part of august, after his high school graduation, he thot of the deep mystery of human existence. the immediate jewel of his soul in the midst of this particular meditation, he met henry lee. what he said we already know. smith, like a happy connoisseur, surveyed the situation grandly. how well he knew that preparations would be e- laborate! did pilgrim tabernacle ever indulge in anything in: /icninean- r lie could not recall an in"tance of such. at last those willing members were making ready for him. was he worthy of this care? call to mind what he had seen. all were eagerly bent cn ;; me; ry occasion. members, old and gray, had long fin¬ ished appetizing cakes embellished with scrupulous care with many comely designs. women of middle age so well prepar¬ ed the choice m,eats> that even the most fastidious could uter no com pin nt. .\or were the younger set w:tbout their special tasks. they prepared the salads, decorated the dining hall, and scattered prophetic greetings of great joy. smith knew that i-e busfiings of these cheerful souls was a wish; he won¬ dered if he deserved it. then came another question provoked by the friendly in¬ tercourse with henry lee, "how can i repay them?" these question^ zivl ethers crowding william, at some time face us all. upon the sea of life we all must sail, and whether we would have it so or not, our own pilots we must be. friends and relatives will cheer us, near and from afar; but glory is- before us, happiness within us, and victory continually at our side. and iho we founder, we will not fail: worthy of the strife, the gift' and hope, we cruise along successful ever more. chapter ii tlie guopis ra-e met, th feast is set, may'.st hear tlie merry din.—coleridge the dining hall of pilgrim tabernacle was sufficiently spacious to accommodate at its tables three hundred persons. on occasions of great significance, however, these did not suf¬ fice. whether this particular evening could be_so construed, few would categorically declare. still as it was to be an affair of great moment with the young, who always patronized their social functions in great numbers, the committtee on arrange¬ ments wondered whether the hall was large enough. william, who was to be feted by his church, was well be¬ loved by all the members. who did not know his interest in the old and young, especially his honored devotion to the little folk? what important event occurred there in which he had not taken part ? brought to sunday school as soon as he could talk, under its spiritual guidance he had flourished and worked in a way that was highly gratifying. for four years he had been president of the young people's circle; from the age of twelve he had aided the choir, first as tenor and after his voice changed as leading baritone: and when the older mem¬ bers desired an impressive home missionary- he ended their predicament by offering his services—in short all the activities of pilgrim tabernacle had been touched and bettered by his personality. now that this excellent young man had graduated from madison high school and was about to make preparation for his life work, the church was honoring him with a reception, ( ) the immediate jewel of his soul as an expression of their appreciation of his manly conduct and their hope for his constant achievement. the church also had said it would come. confronted thus, the committe was considerably embarrassed as to how to meet the situation. here was a throng of honest, sturdy young folk, equally ready to give and to receive. remember it is more blessed to give than to receive. is that true? at least the ministers have preached it. yet when we think of the barriers of life, we say, "let the rich give and the po$r receive." if this were logically followed, where would the churches be ? among our people, commonly the well-to-do withhold, but the poor give their all. shall we condemn their depths of zeal? "judge not that ye be not judged." how excellently did they dignify this occasion with a sim¬ plicity much in contrast with the elaborately decorated hall! the ceiling was wrought with an intricate yet delicate bas-re¬ lief, from the center of which was hung a chandelier with a jbrazen circle of sixty lights. the walls were frescoed with pea green as a border above and below for many carefully de¬ picted' biblical scenes. for this occasion, however, there were added bunting, and runners of crepe paper in twirls and undu¬ lations. this unostentatious adorning gave prominence to the six tables extending almost the center length of the room. yet no less attracive was the virgin, white cloths and the vases of roses and carnations equi-distantly placed, which rested beau¬ tifully upon them. at slight intervals from the flowers thera were fancy dishes of after-dinner mints, salted peanuts, olives, and dill pickles. along the edge of these tables were dainty, blue plates on the top of which were paper napkins containing views of scenes presented in the poems of paul lawrence dun¬ bar. finally on each napkin rested an embellished cardboard, a star of triumph. in the center of the star was a tiny photo- the immediate jewel of his soul graph of william smith. here was being enacted no unim¬ portant drama, but one of much consequence and great joy. if you want to see our humble people, where they express themselves most freely, where they are determined to try and achieve, see them in their reiic'ious endeavors giving out unsel¬ fish love. see them testify in public to the abundance of god s grace. see them minister to the sick and dying. see them clmp," to the faith of their fathers, iho ethers in like circumstan¬ ces "would take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them." see them after they had been cheated and robbed, dej&prived of justice, lynched, scourged, or violated—at such a time as this, seeing them bearing no man a grudge, asking god's benediction upon all people, black and white, saint and culprit, rich and poor^jeach race has some distinctive virtue. ours is to rejoice at the pleasure of our fellowman, to enjoy ourselves and not envy someone else's enjoymentj just before the ceremonies began, the chairlady of the committee onarrangments and mistress of ceremonies' mrs. lulu castle, accosted mr. grant stevens, the chairman of the deacon board, "mr. stevens* have we not reason to rejoice? our church lays just claim to having fostered the most unusu¬ al youth williamsburg has ever seen. just think how he has climbed with the growth of the church, year after year taking the iea<lug pans in one sunday scnooi programs, and when he became too old for that, producing concerts of the highest orderi" after a few moments of reflection, mr. stevens asked, "but is'nt that the very reason why we should feel sad? don't you see that thru him we have gained such a reputation, as we may lose with his departure ? who is going to take his place ?" "no one, of course," was the prompt reply. he alone can take his place. none can fill it for him. you can't fill the immediate jewel of his soul even your brother's place* nor can your brother fill yours. tho many don't know it, we are all personalities; and we can con¬ tribute our greatest blessings by wearing our own shoes, not those of others. if each member will be true to himself as william has and not play the hypocrite' pilgrim's reputation for attainment will not suffer in the least." "i'm sure you're right, mrs. castle, as you always are," he said, jokingly. "my feelings, however, are mixed. you un¬ derstand me, don't you?" "yes look," she agreed, pointing towards the entrance. a sort of urbane hilarity and bustle were plainly apparent in that quarter. at this moment, the boys and girls of the young people's circle formed a double line extending from the main door to the seat of the distinguished individual. the rows, in which each member seemed supremely happy, faced each other and formed as iho our young man was to run a gauntlet. as william entered, escorting susan lee, who of the young ladies of this thrifty town had impressed him most, the occupants of these lines clapped hands and cheered as homage to this un¬ crowned king. when he had reached his seat, he casually glanced at the wall before him. seeing a curtain gradually be¬ ing lowered, he gave more than scant attention. displayed on this choice fabric was the following character appraisement: a man in whom there is no guile!! william smith—a knight without fear and .with¬ out reproach. at a sign from the mistress of ceremonies, all sat- do^yn to a sumptuous repast, made more gracious and appetizing by superb orchestral music. as the courses were being relished, sparkling humor gave the spice to life. during these glad mo¬ ments, it was difficult to discern whether smith was the special the immediate jewel of his soul company of susan, for all of those within speaking distance had their distinctive claims to make. this evidently was not her day. when the dessert was eventually laid» mrs. castle called first upon the visiting ministers to speak. we have often heard that our ministers can always speak effectively after an excel¬ lent meal. whether this is true or false, let others prove. every speech on this occasion, however, was eloquenf. the fieast certainly might have been a stimulus, yet not so potent as, the grand theme—the departure of a black (youth of great ability for a far country. each commended william's untiring church work, his enthu¬ siasm to advertise and give strength to the business league. then, because of his many community interests, they hailed him the long expected moses, a universal man. finally, the pastor was presented, reverend andrew ross. his speech was a survey of william's entire life. when he at length announced that this young giant of energy had decided to prepare for the ministry* the satisfaction of the church was shown by long and loud applause. during this outburst, whis¬ perings among the older members seemed to say, "i told you so. god's cause needs our best." in closing, the venerable divine said, "friends, we all have our 'ups' and 'downs,' but god who reigns on high is ever with us. this negro race has suffered for weary centuries. but shall this always be? i think not. the night must end, then comes day. "when i saw our brothers lynched in the south, circum¬ scribed, rebuffed and scorned in the east, north and west- in¬ deed i did despair. i believed that progress was only degen¬ eracy, that civilization was barbarism, that love was hate. and just when i was about to vow eternal vengeance toward the the immediate jewel of his soul white man, as hannibal, the great carthaginian, did to the ro¬ mans, i saw the light, i saw a man. booker t. washington sprang up almost in the night and entered securely the affect¬ ions of black and white. he emphasizd economic freedom. some wanted him to bring all things, but he was a specialist. hie did one thing well. yet since the economic by its very nature ramifies into the social, he raised his voice in immortal tones at the atlantic exposition and said that black and white could be together in all matters purely economic and separate in affairs purely social as the fingers on his hand. for me the problem was solved' for hope had returned. then du eois kept hammering away with constantly increasing force for us to seek the paramount force in a nation, political freedom. thank heaven, we are at last paying attention. following in the train of these comes our promising youth. none but god can say that he will be as great as washington or du bois. yet the world can say that he will be our leader, our prophet, a man in whom there is no guile, a knight without fear and without reproach— william smith." cheers at once filled the hall. how well reverend ross expressed their sentiments! had not william penetrated their souls, as deeply as human beings could? his sacrifices had been unusual. resuming his remarks, the pastor declared, "friends, we can not do too much for this lad. i have never seen his like. besides the church in some impressive way should encourage each of its members that completes a school course. it should do something tangible for that person on each such occasion. we remember those who are kind to us. if the church always receives and never gives, it is not doing god's bidding. these young people, we must remember* will be in our places tomor¬ row. in the case of smith, you may te helping to prepare the immediate jewel of his soul your future pastor, for you see i am withered and gray with the frost of many winters. if this lad's face were not black i should say without the least hesitation, "some day he will be president of these united states. he is equal to it, he has in him all the possibilities: but, friends, his face is black." turning so that he could face the young man squarely, he said with full affection, "smith, my gallant friend, the hope of our church, as an expression of our appreciation, different members will make special presentations in behalf of pilgrim tabernacle. in the name of the lord, these gifts we tender you together with the continued support of the church for your schooling. keep close to the cross and bear in mind his solace, 'lo i am with you always, even to the end of the world.' since you have unstintedly given given your life to these your friends and to this your community, god speed you on! may endless years never cease to sing your joyous march to hard earned victory! go with our prayers of triumph, go with our tears of love, go with our hope of blessing." when this was done, william made his response. "dear christian friends, you graciously send me on, and i go. i have put my hand to the plow and will not turn back, for god is with me." there were many "amens". "darkness is indeed before me. but is there no such a thing- as endless night? no. 'the morning light is breaking. i know this, i know i have been bowed, i know i have at least touched the skies, if not in big accomplishments certainly in my dreams of race distinction. yet i am not most happy. i wonder how i shall do without you, your hand shakes, your prayers, and your devotion.- i am trying to imagine how my unknown friends will be. will they grapple me or will they leave me? the immediate jewel of his soul "•i must take the chance. for humanity i will hazadrd all. 'man am i grown, a man's work must i do, follow the deer? follow the christ, the king, live pure, speak true, right wrong, follow the king,— else, wherefore born?' "with reverent thanks i accept your proffers of love, your gifts, and your devotion. they overwhelmingly humble me. x/ou have given mc a great responsibility, to prove to you dur¬ ing' the coming years that my life will be what you expect. as i strive to learn the old and new of god, appropriately to enter his great service, happy recollections of this occasion will be a lamp to my pathway. i leave i must. god calls me there; but i will return to you, my loving irienj/-, and with you die, bringing in the sheaves." chapter iii america, i love thy name, tliou land of liberty. does he too love who brings thee shame by hell's hot savagery? these sons who hang or burn are thine, and they have served tliee best; guarded our president benign, when doubtful were the rest. america, when we have died, to keep our country free, will hate for blacks fore'er abide? what will thir portion be? the day following the reception at pilgrim tabernacle, found william speeding south. this trip brought him many novel experiences, the first of which he had on the train. of course he had heard of some behavior which was peculiar to the south, but he did not begin to comprehend its full significance until this day. when he .entered a coach at washington d. c., he found himself facing this sign displayed in yellow and black: colored. at once he knew he was in a jim crow car in the very capital of the nation. why was there this distinct¬ ion ? did it mean that he was criminal, vulgar, or immoral ? it was simply because he was black. what a difference a color makes in america at once william began to ponder. he thot of negro scholars who would be teaching in the best universities of the country; their hair was sufficiently straight, but their skin was not white. thereupon william questioned himself as to ( ) the immediate jewel of his soul whether the white people of the south were essentially differ¬ ent from those of the north. an expression of tennyson quickly flashed itself before him—"man is man.'' he conclud¬ ed then that the difference was only superficial, due probably to custom and education* or to lack of education. he knew that great men had come out of the south; washington, jeffer¬ son and lincoln. were no more to come? he could not be¬ lieve it. these reflections called to mind an important circumstance he had noticed in many cities of the east, particular at the nat¬ ional capital when the marine band gave its concerts. the national anthem which is "the star spangled banner" never brought forth as vigorous applause as did the sectional song, "i wish i was in dixie". "surely" surmised smith, "that must be a delightful place." now he was going to dixie. with such musings, chiefly on the status of the colored people in america, he arrived at cassida, a typical southern town, teeming with the life of earnest people and wilful peo¬ ple alike. sturdy negroes were the laboring folk and they were masters of their toil, speedily carrying their merry bur¬ dens with many a merry tune. here and there a straggler with jaunty pride casually looked on. but the good work nev¬ er ceased. porters, truckmen with ease, courtesy and grace» and smiles that only colored men can give, busily made charm¬ ing history, strenuously made a happy land. while william stood outside the station observing this jol¬ ly atmosphere, he noticed two modes of address. while he was thus occupied, his uncle, abbot heywood, came up and said, "william, i was just about to go home under the impres¬ sion that you had missed your train. give me your suit case. come, we must hurry home." "i'm ready» uncle abbot," said the. youth, turning from the immediate jewel of his soul child born at the same hour; and by the time the white child is twenty-five, the colored child is forty." "there's much truth in what you say." here his uncle took his suit case and started off. as they drove along, william askt, "uncle abbot, please ex¬ plain to me this circumstance. the colored people call the white mister and missis, the whites call the colored uncle and aunt. is this a mark of ignorance on the part of our people or of the white? is it fear on the part of our people and arrogance of the white? if the relationship is so close as to admit of 'uncle' and 'aunt' under any circumstance, certainly the relationship is not one-sided. our people ought to return the compliment." "william, it's this way. you up north don't quite under¬ stand. slavery has never been gotten out of the south. before the war, there were the mistress and master; now the mistress has become missis and the master mister; but the colored man has remained where he was. if we started calling the white folks uncle and aunt, the rebellion would have to be fought over again." "uncle," was smith's interruption, "we shouldn't like for that to be; but this distinction must end. we must be ad¬ dressed as we are." "in the south," continued mr. heywood, "there are a few colored people called mister and missis by black and white alike. this few however are wealthy. "don't bother yourself about these matters at this time. prepare for the happy moments you are to have with us." then turning the conversation as much as possible, he askt, "has your journey been pleasant?" "yes, uncle, just as pleasant as it could be under existing circumstances," recalling those character forming events which had veritably engulfed him at pilgrim tabernacle. the immediate jewel of his soul "but why do you say 'under the existing circumstances ?' " inquired the devoted uncle. "has some recent occurrence sad¬ dened you?" thereupon william related the details of the church re¬ ception. he was very fervid and enthusiastic. "we all are glad when there is even the slightest indica¬ tion of approval," put in the uncle. "that was the greatest experience of my life," remarked william, who as he related the story, lived again through the entire festivities. "the devotion of those generous souls ir¬ resistibly wove my career with the hopes of williamsburg. they are my friends. they believe in me; and i in them. this tie i know can not be severed by time. i was happy there. "such thots as these kept rising, as i journeyed here. i'm well aware when, absent from a friend. that's why i say 'as happy as circumstances permit.'" "well, here we are at last!" exclaimed the southerner, as he stopt his brown roadster in front of his resplendent cot¬ tage, suggestive of the colonial style. stepping from the buggy, he called, "andy, andy." a stalwart farm helper scortched by many suns hurried around the house. approaching the vehicle, he said, "yes, sar; yes, sa-a-r; right heah." "give prince some water, and then hitch up the carryall. i want you to get william's trunk. you haven't met my nephew, have you?" the planter said. "no, sa-a-r." "william, this is mr. jones, my most reliable worker. mr. jones, this is my nephew, william smith." "boy, i'se sure am proud to see yo\ mr. hey wood talkt so much about yo\ we'd been terribly disappinted if yo' had¬ n't came," said andy bubbling over with joy. the immediate jewel of his soul "mr. jones, i'm really glad to meet you," said the youth shaking the gentleman's hand vigorously. turning toward the planter," andy declared, "mr hey- wood, dat ain't no boy a-tall, dat's a man. i tell yo' he sho did hurt my hand. put him on my plantation and he'll work the socks off all my folks." he paused a moment and then said, "well, i must be gone, be good to yo'self, and nothing can't harm'yo'." with these remarks mr. jones hurried away. that afternoon as william sat on the porch indulging in many delightful reveries, he noticed a green bungalow trimmed in white, in front of which extended an incomparable lawn bordered with a stocky growth of hedge. the summer chairs and benches scattered here and there and the tail oak tree standing guardian over all made a scene both unassuming and picturesque. from the «ak was suspended a swing, which was afford¬ ing great joy to a girl of six. on the porch sat the mother and two of her boys, one eight, the other ten. happy was this industr'ous family, whose members by sacrifice and toil had become the foremost negroes of that town such as the<e america desires—energetic folk; and these were surely energetx. the father, christopher loving, was president of the union banking institution, which did a prosperous business with both black and white. he had risen to this distinction thru h:s plantation and his construction company. the farm was handled by tenant farmers, the construction company by his eldest son. having met all his relatives and gone over the farm to get an idea of^ the manner in which our people workt, william turned to the house and sat on the porch. he came there to read the life of alexander hamilton of african descent, a great the immediate jewel of his soul american statesman. the scene across the street had been somewhat distractive. this did not last long, however, for he was soon absorbed with that grand career. when he had been thus occupied for a half hour, his at¬ tention was once more diverted. he scrutinized mr. loving's home again. then he began to meditate, comparing what was before him with other residences he had seen, or imaged from his reading. since this abode far surpassed the rest, he asked himself if he were not beholding the eighth wonder of the world. it was superb; indeed a masterpiece of architecture and landscape gardening. what loveliness! the mother and children made the scene complete. how happy they were! as the young man now mused on and on, a rising noise caused him to look down the street. there he saw a crowd of turbulent individuals; men, women, boys and girls. many of the children had just sprung from infancy. the men, how¬ ever were in the majority. with cursing and profanation they advanced in his direction, down staten street, one of the main thorofares of the town. he beheld that a few were masked. these alone had pistols. approximately a score who followed them had rifles. others had pieces of pipe or bars of iron: the remainder carried staves, sticks, or ropes. william d:- vined at once that this was a mob. as these blood thirsty people approached, their defama¬ tions continued. they were not intelligible to william, how¬ ever, at his distance. he learned later their nature, which was like this. colored people who lived along the way were his busy informers. "damn these niggers," said one of the reprobates! "when they gits a little property, theys better'n white folks." "think of a nigger refusing to lend a white man money," thundered another. the immediate jewel of his soul "keep the nigger down, he never was nothin', he ain't no- thin', and he never will be nothin'." how paradoxical their behavior was! "we, po' devils, have seen a nigger get rich while we stay po', even after we saw to it dat dey didn't hab no schools," remarked the first speaker. "if we let dese niggers go on dis way, dey' soon be run¬ ning de gov'mint," came from another. "whiles we're at it, let's do a turnkey job. clean up the neighborhood, run all these niggers out of town dat's got prope'ty. dey's not de ones dat wuk fo' yo' no way." many a remark of this kind was uttered by many an ignoble throat. when william informed the household of the disturb¬ ance, there was general consternation. they wondered what to do, where to go. they bustled about a few moments in great anxiety but returned to the place where they wtere be¬ fore. "have mercy, lord, have mercy," said one. then fol¬ lowed groans, mutterings, and sighs. seeing nothing done to alleviate the matter, the visitor askt, "is there no way to stop this, but who are they after? they must be very close now; and they are headed this "way." this utterance only increased the alarm. "can't we stop this?'' he repeated. "not at all," said his aunt resignedly. "there's nothing to do but take it. oh, it's so dreadful to have to live thus!" "it's a disgrace to us and to the nation, particularly to us to tolerate such outrages," he spoke in great anger. "you're from the north, william, you don't understand the south," affirmed the aunt, apparently trying to palliate the matter. "if to suffer thus is necessary to understand it, god give me ignorance! no, i don't understand. i never will. let me have a pistol or a rifle, and let me take several men and the immediate jewel of his soul break lip that mob. you told me scoundrels don't live this street. they are after some one who deserves to live. even if it is a negro criminal, they have no right to break the law. they're just a bunch of cowards. a fewt brave men can end this. give me a gun or a rifle," he demanded. "william, we haven't any. andy was saying we ought to have them in self-defense," she remarked. "well, aunt julia, i didn't think you'd try to live down here, where the lives and property of our people are not pro¬ tected by the law, without a good supply of fire arms and ample ammunition. the honor of our women are not even safe here. the constitution of the united states allows a man to defend himself in his home. a man's home is his castle," he pro¬ tested. "sam halloway had arms, but the policemen went into his house and took them," she said. "auntie, if anybody respects the law, it is the colored qian. and this talk of the proportions of negro crime is all bosh, as long as white men make these criminals. read some of the studies in the race question made by even white men and if you read between the lines as well as the lines, you'll see that many planters want negro crinrnals. many of them get their wealth from negro convict labor. such a system is profitable for them. "the colored man respects the law, but the law does not respect him. he must now demand respect of the law. how can he do this? by being a man, by stopping this business of turning the other cheek. if the law will not protect him, he must protect himself. "he must grasp the situation. no policeman is allowed even by the law to cross your treshhold and search for any¬ thing without a warrant. besides that warrant should «tate the immediate jewel of his soul exactly what he is searching for. if you have been living re¬ spectably, he has business with a warrant to search for the means by which you defend your home. you shouldn't take them out into the streets but you should use them anywhere on your premises in self-defense. and i shouldn't let any policeman have them. "i've been interested in reading what has been done when authorities surmised that the colored people were going to defend themselves. the policemen rush at once to disarm the blacks, and let the whites keep their weapons. as i know this they'll not get a weapon in my house unless i'm dead or dy¬ ing." "william, calm yourself," the aunt interrupted. "auntie, i mean it. if i have lived as a man should live and a policeman came to my house, i'd greet him courteously and seek his business there. if he said he came to search for arms, i'd ask for his warrant and read it carefully. then i'd return him the paper and tell him i forbade the search, for i must defend my home. if he would rush in anyhow, he would go out a dead man. this is how i would act as a respectable citizen. respectable negroes do not keep arsenals. if i were a culprit, i'd act differently, i'm merely saying how the honest, law abiding citizen of any race should act. when the law fails to protect, a man must protect himself." "i hope somebody will do something," said the aunt piti¬ ably. "well, i see this is work for all our people, to stop this humiliation," he remarked now, becoming calmer. he thot of following the course of the mob and started for the front. "william, my boy," pleaded the aunt, "don't go out there. aren't you afraid?" "satan himself couldn't frighten me now," he said and the immediate jewel of his soul "we'd rather put him quietly to sleep,'" someone answered. "oh, god," prayed the devoted wife, "save my husband, save him. we have served thee always. if ever i need thee, my savior 'tis now." "if you don't stop that damned hollering, we'll get you first," said one of the miscreants. "take me," she cried. "do, but spare him.'' "here, john, gag her and leave her until vvre finish this job," commanded the mob leader. that day the children saw their father lynched in their own yard, from their cherisht oak tree. they saw his body suspended and riddled with bullets, all because he would not make a loan to a white man of ill repute. they saw women and children enjoying this debauchery, as if it had been a theatrical show. the family was not even allowed the body. dimpled boys and lithesome girls took parts of clothing as souvenirs and danced with ghoulish glee. then excelsior was placed about the body, and many staves were lit. the flames quickly did their work and the spectacle was soon at an end. where were the officers when one of their foremost citi¬ zens was suffering this disgrace? they were calmly looking on, not attempting or daring not to oppose. they even beheld photographers taking views of the scene, views to be sold the next day as additional souvenirs. there was abundant evi¬ dence for prosecutions, but none were made. the next day, matters went on as if nothing disgraceful had occurred. what happens to people who lose their sense of shame? they hasten to degeneracy. america beware! william stood upon the porch thru the entire catastrophe. several members of the mob lookt at him, but that was all. when they had finisht, they straggled back, whence they had the immediate jewel of his soul come. the stranger watched them until they faded out of view. looking across the street he saw the wife gagged and tied, stretched upon the porch. the little girl and boy were try¬ ing to relieve her. william went at once to her assistance and freed her from her bonds. she thanked him, while she wept. then suddenly she became stolid and wiped her eyes. "this isn't the end of the sport. true, i'm a woman, but a woman can die bravely as well as a man. the devil must pay for this." then recalling that she had never met her sym¬ pathizer, she said, "pardon any untowardness on my part, you'll make due allowance for all unseemliness. i'm the wife —i was the wife—i'm the widow of the man you saw lynched —christopher loving.'' "william smith is my name i'm the nephew of mr. hey wood." "he told me you were coming. i'm more than glad to meet you. edward, my oldest son, will be delighted to see you. i'll see that he meets you. i thank you again for aid¬ ing me." "madame, i haven't done anything. the kind of assist¬ ance i wanted to render i could not. just think there wasn't a rifle or pistol on the place! i wbnder if they don't even have a shot gun. well i hope our folks will get busy' and break this up. but where is your son?"'* "he's directing a job about five or six miles from here, but he'll be in soon." "madame,.you seem rather calm in view of this disturb¬ ance." "my determination for vengeance makes me so. the law of this state punishes murder by death. i'm going to permit the state ample time to do its duty. now that my husband is gone, life means nothing to me. if the state fails, i will per- the immediate jewel of his soul form the execution. i'd recognize the scoundrels even at night." "but what of your children?" "benjamin, lily," she called, for they had been standing in the hall. "this gentleman is our friend, he is mr. hey- wood's nephew." they bashfully came forward and greeted him. then the mother said, "have no fear, they shall be pro¬ vided for the main thing now is this. i must not bear the in¬ sult alone. those people who went from here do not feel that they have done wrong. they're rejoicing as if they had won a great battle. some of them must feel as i have felt. they're going to be sorry for this." several hours after this, william sat down to supper. the signs of anxiety had not completely worn off; yet they were doing rather well at readjustment. during the course of the evening, william askt, "uncle abbot are our people doing no¬ thing at all to end this or to prevent its recurrence? it used to be that our men were lynched for rape, but now they are lynched because they steal a hog or because they have acquired a little wealth. i'm not satisfied with auntie's answer." "william," began mr. heywood, "we thot that if we lived right, respected ourselves and the white people, that lynching would pass away. but we seem to have been wrong. loving has been called by black and white alike the town's 'most honest man.' yet you see how honesty has been rewarded. god in his own good time will make the matter right." "but, uncle abbot, what are we going to do in our own time?" "just wait on the lord." "heaven helps those who help themselves. furthermore, does the white man wait? isn't the machinery even too slow for him?" inquired the nephew. "well, they do at times seem impatient. things must the immediate jewel of his soul happen for them rather quickly. for intsance, just the other day, uncle parker, as faithful a man as ever lived, went to jenkins' store to get some odds and ends. while he was there young jenkins appeared—now a lad of twenty-three. " 'hello! jack,' said uncle parker, 'ise sho am proud to see yo\ "the father took a block of wlood and struck our poor brother such a hard blow on the head that he became uncon¬ scious. 'i'll teach you,' he said, 'to address a white man prop¬ erly. that's not jack ; that's mr. jack, mr. jenkins.' "the next day with head bound, uncle parker came back to the same store and said, 'mr. jenkins, you know i nursed yo' boy, till he went off to skule. an' ise always called him jack. i didn't realize that time done made a difference. i " 'well,' said jenkins, 'thats all right. just see that it doesn't happen again'." "do these crimes continually occur without being pun¬ ished?" askt william. "yes, they do. and up in the country, sometimes called 'the back woods,' many of the atrocities never reach the press. i don't know what's to become of us" said mr. heywood very deeply moved. "uncle abbot," affirmed william with unusual bitterness. "this day i consecrate my life to my people. i have decided to enter the ministry, but i shall not merely preach, i shall work among all sorts of people, only to bring protection and freedom to my race. what i saw today will last me a life time. for your sake i kept quiet today. hereafter i respect nobody's feelings unless it is for the good of the race and humanity. "one such loving is worth more than all the members of any mob. yet the worthless live and the worthy die. and 'pologize. i'm sorry it happened. it won't happen no more' this is dixie. chapter iv. doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt thou the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt i love.—shakespeare now smith was gone! williamsburg knew it. the sun¬ day school mist him, the church mist him, and so did the community at large. of those who had become fondly at¬ tached to this interesting personality, none treasured him more than susan lee. her father was one of the most accom¬ plished men of the town, whose efficiency was well known -by virtue of his being president of the eureka shirt factory. his daughter's advancement was his great concern. in order that she might impressively begin the battle of the sexes, he spared no pain that her debut into elite society might be unexcelled. nor did he in this prove a failure. susan, now eighteen, accomplished and attractive, resem¬ bled an hawaiian beauty. she was somewhat more than five and a half feet tall, of excellent proportions, firm and robust. as she moved with stately grace, one would particularly notice her wealth of black, straight hair, and her delicately brown complexion. nature had endowed her well, for even women who beheld her were entranced. many were her suitors, but many she did not desire. for her there was only one—the valorous william smith. often she plaintively askt herself: "how is he to know this ?" "wait until he speaks," came the answer. will men thus always be favored in such artificial socie¬ ties as our- own—have numerous, excellent and superior ( ) the immediate jewel of his soul chances of marrying, while the women have but a few ? the woman wonders how long it will be before someone asks. why should she wonder or wait for that which often never comes? within the brief few months that had passed since susan became a debutante, many undesirables had long since askt; but the hope of her anxious nights, the pride of her noblest thot had not touched the exalted theme of love. this was not a pleasant recolection. to prevent that mood, lest she should be sad at any mo¬ ment, nature was doing its utmost to keep her well pleased. rains not desired were kept in steady abeyance; sultry, stifling days somehow, had dropped out of sight. the leaves seem¬ ingly nourished with an extraordinary refreshment, preserved their former hue, untinged with crimson or autumnal brown. hitherto at this season of the year, many had already danced their dance of death and vanisht with a sigh. but now they all made merry with the magic breeze, whistling melodious symphonies. towards twilight, the day following william's departure for the south, as easily as a nymph, susan stept upon the porch of her gothic home, expecting company. her cheeks were promptly kissed by a welcome breeze which seemed to say, "be composed, my goddess, somewhere a lover's true." she started to arrange the chairs, then suddenly stopt to reflect. "here i am," she mused, "with great social opportun¬ ities, excellent home conditions, luxury and coveted preroga¬ tives ; yet what i desire most, i fail to have. my soud craves william. will the longing of my aching heart be satisfied? "he and i have been casual friends at a distance for several years, but our intimacy is just about two months old. his occupation and my hesitancy have prevented a declaration he did say that he admired me. he promist also to write but as we haven't plighted troth, i'm a prey to much uncert- the immediate jewel of his soul high school principal, "you were so dramatic!" "hereafter i must be sure, that i am alone within my room, when i give full vent to my feelings," protested susan, now somewhat flushed. "don't you do it, don't you do it," urged letitia naughtily, shaking her finger at her schoolmate, "don't you dare do it for the world. it would be a shame to deprive us of the show." "do be serious, girls," pleaded susan, "let's think of other things." yet she knew she would return to thots of him. "tell me how you enjoyed the banquet." "i know you enjoyed it," was the prompt thrust of thelma. "you were afraid we'd take him from you, but we had to talk to him a little. we couldn't help it, could we girls?" "no," was the quick response. it was somewhat annoy¬ ing to susan. "you know he is so tantalizing, isn't he?" ventured thelma playfully. her friend was now completely disarmed. "don't blame us," thelma continued. "w'e all have our am¬ bitions for the noblest. there is no sensible girl in this town who does not acknowledge him our best. it's a game to win. be sure you play it well. if he wants you, why, you're his; if he wants me, then i am his. at present, however, we're giving you the right of way. the honor is all yours." aroused by this unusual demeanor of her friend, susan said, "thelma i appreciate your frankness. many girls never would have said that; yet under cover they would have been doing their utmost to outdo me. still i didn't think kate was more than passingly interested in william. girls, i am going to give you a little bit of information. some time ago, brother and i used to go together to socials. that's impossible now the immediate jewel of his soul because of a perpetual, previous engagement with kate, kate, kate." "now, susan," smiled catherine, "henry knows where he stands in my affections. yet i may be interested in others and others interested in me. do you think henry's admiration for me would go far, if i couldn't arouse the commendation of' his associates? furthermore, if no other girl desired him, i shouldn't either. i—i couldn't be jealous. and what's the use of loving, if you can't be jealous?" "a-a-ah, kate, aren't you ashamed of yourself. i'm going to find henry and tell him what you said!" ejaculated letitia, rushing from the porch. she hadn't gone far before she was overtaken. "no, you won't gasped catherine, holding her friend firmly. "you're going right back on the porch, like a good, little girl." there were many outbursts of laughter.. "you know i shouldn't be so bold," said letitia, taking her seat". "but 'i had to make sure," remarked catherine, now at ease. "should you have told, how could i meet him after that?" "it would be difficult, i know," declared susan, glad that the joke had fallen on someone else. then turning the conversation, she said, "now, girls, let's be serious. we're all interested in particular young men, whom we hope to marry. i'm interested in william." "interested!" they said with surprise, "you're wild about him!" "i was going to say crazy about him," letitia declared . as if nothing had occurred other than a common in¬ terruption, susan smiled and went on. "kate dotes on henry, letitia claims sinclair young; and thelma—thelma worships the immediate jewel of his soul beckett king." thelma stared at susan, as if in amazement, laughed heartily and then said, "girls, doesn't she put the case well?" she began to mimic her chum. "kate dotes on henry, letitia claims sinclair, i worship beckett, and she is interested in william. the bantering now ran high. all were quite happy. after surviving the storm she had raised by her careful de¬ lineation of the les affaires d' amours, susan resumed what she had planned to say. "often girls are so very much afraid that one will-take their beaux, that they manage their own heart's troubles even without the advice of their parents. and when the dear old people become aware of the situa¬ tion, the girl is either engaged or ready to announce her marriage. on the other hand, frequently for lack of advice, they lose or choose improperly. because of this, since ours is an age of co-operation—so says reverend ross—i was thinking that we of the twentieth century should not be above advice, even the advice of one another." "i believe you're right, susan," said letitia. "conse¬ quently i'm willing to teach or learn." "what do you think of the idea, thelma?" inquired susan. "you know i'm strictly modern," was her terse reply. "and you, kate, are you with us ?" inquired letitia. "yes," she said, and paused, "for better and for worse." then susan spoke again, "of course we always have the counsel of our parents, but it'll be excellent for us oc¬ casionally to have our own experience meetings. what i'd like to know is this. what should a girl do to keep first palce in the affections of a young man while he is away at school?" the immediate jewel of his soul merriment arose afresh. "isn't she interested?" said le- titia. at this point, a young woman and her escort passed by. the lady's dress at once attracted their attention. it was a pink georgette, elaborately trimmed and draped. "what do you think of that?'' askt catherine. "for once let us* not discuss dress," thelma entreated. the girls agreed. then catherine, very eager to get her friends' ideas on the question proposed by susan, urged them to return to business. "i have a thot you might consider. in many cases i do believe it helps. if the young man in ques¬ tion is fondly attached to his mother, tactfully c urt her as well as the son. to win her is to gain half the battle. and whether the relationship between mother and son is unusual or not, to enter the mother's affection certainly makes the task easier. "at last i understand you/' came from susan. "you sly fox, kate, you're not satisfied to win the mother. you're courting the whole family. i see now why you call frequently." catherine blushed. "you mustn't embarrass her, susan," letitia interrupted. "i just have to be naughty sometimes. if i had to be good all the time i suppose i'd soon die from congested emo¬ tion," susan responded. "well, my suggestion," spoke letitia with a somewhat staccato effect, "may be astounding, but you're under no com¬ pulsion to follow it. i'm perfectly willing to use kate's ster¬ ling counsel; but i couldn't make a supreme sacrifice and lose. i think it would kill me. "knowing myself to have this temperament, i have de¬ termined during sinclair's absence to enjoy myself with all the boys equally—that is, the desirable ones. this is my way the immediate jewel op his soul of getting out of the dilemma. having thus a great effection for sinclair and a slight interest in many boys, i could lose sinclair and yet live." "i see nothing shocking in that," said thelma with great firmness. "i have known many girls who have staked all on one and lost. then they became overwhelmed with a grief that caused poor health or death. isn't my sister julia just such an example? all absorbing and disappointing love! this love all for one and one only may be romantic, but it's dangerous." "besides," said catherine, "your choice must be between many, a few, and none. who of us would say /refrain from the company of all young men during the absence of the lover ?' if we're to marry them, we should first know them; not just one, but many. to do this, contact is necessary. now is the time to learn thoroly." "kate, i think i'm forced to agree with you; for if you have an exclusive few, one will very likely be preferred," said susan, "and probably develop the strong possibilities of a rival. whether this is true or not, the public will soon single out a specially favored one and conclude that the absent friend has been superseded. before long, some officious per¬ son will be writing your beau that he hasn't a 'ghost' of a chance." "yes," remarked letitia, "some people are very meddle¬ some. i, too, think it better to be about equally interested in all here, with a supreme affection for the one absent." "one circumstance, however, we should not forget, for it is the staff of parted lovers—it's correspondence," thelma declared. "of course, all lovers write to each other; yet, judging by what i've read, i can not believe that they're aware of its significance. we can not make too much of this. the immediate jewel of his soul a few years can make a mountain of difference between us. during that time we should not let the boys get ahead of us. as they grow, we should grow. they go away boys, but come back men. "do you remember wright's 'the shepherd of the hills'?" "of course we do!" they replied, and began at once to discuss different parts of it that they liked best. as soon as she got the chance, thelma continued where she left off. "you recall then that ollie stewart, who had been early betrothed to sammy lane, changed so much in the few years he was absent, that she could not marry him. the qualities that led her to love him were no longer there. this is human nature. "what we must do is to discover thru frequent cor¬ respondence our lover's new outlook on life as it comes. then we must go to the library, get some books and read along that line. we must do more. we must think along that line with thinking people. at length, when our young man comes from school with his new ideas, to us at least they will be old, familiar friends." "bravo!" exclaimed susan. "has socrates come back again ?" "i hope you understand what i mean," she continued, not at all flattered. "so long as the natures of the young man and young woman blend in ideals, the marriage is likely to be a possibility. if it does occur it will very likely be a happy one. it is because girls have neglected this fact that very few early sweethearts marry; that men as a rule marry not the home girls, but girls where they pursue their life work —at least where they begin it." "but if we write frequently," inquired susan, "may we not be too forward? mamma says we should write occasion- the immediate jewel of his soul, ally, and be patient and wait." here she recalled the ideas that ran thru her mind, just before her friends appeared. "my answer is this," was thelma's impatient utterance: "if the mother is to marry the man, let her do what she wishes. when the time comes for me to marry, however, and i see the man i want, i do not promise to wait. wait? wait for him to choose someone else? i'll make the fight of my life to get him; there'll be no escape. if i lose, i shall certainly have the satisfaction of having made a good fight." "how will you fight?" susan inquired. "don't you know?" said thelma. "i'll use all the arts of woman, and my own distinct accomplishments. i'll make a study of winning men's hearts and proceed accordingly." thus the girls went on until it was quite late. when susan retired to her boudoir that evening, she brot before her all that had been said. how could she win? she had seen the man and certainly she loved him. should she follow her mother's advice or thelma's? unquestionably she would write; but should she risk all by making a disclosure and then launching the 'fight of her life?' or should she wait, striving in the meanwhile by tact to force a declaration from him? "susan, susan," her mother called. then the tender maiden askt herself, "what did milton say ? 'they also serve who only stand and wait.'" chapter v. we are in a world of changes; and to be perfect is to change. and that person is most perfect who changes most often.—newman. as very few of the members of my race have had a chance to attend a first class college or university,they can not understand how those who come from such institutions do not take the same attitude towards the church and religion, as they did before they went away. these brave boys and girls have fought strenuously day after day in sadness, trying to keep the old beliefs. the trouble is this: almost every professor in these schools put such ideas aside long ago. even the ministers who come to them do not hold such. these facts our people should know, for our present re¬ ligious views may be making our economic freedom impos¬ sible. for once we come to know the difference between our religion and that of our white brother and the significance of each, we shall become more united in our struggle in this country to get all that becomes a man. sometimes an historian presents facts that we dislike. it is not his business to tickle his fancy nor our own. he should tell the truth. in this spirit i relate the events which worked signal changes in the religious views of william smith. this chapter is not mere fiction. every incident related herein actually did occur. do not think william's experience exceptional. it is typical. i am relating the ex¬ perience of the college man and the college woman. reader, perhaps you will find it shocking; but these experiences have been none the less shocking to those who had them. the immediate jewel of his soul three years at henderson college, the pride of the north, had produced the college seer—as he was called the lad who in glory had left williamsburg to find a broader glory in the exalted affections of the best sons america had produced. this school which could claim as its graduates some of our best poets and novelists, at least one of the presidents of our great land, could not help rejoicing at the career of wil¬ liam smith, who excelled in all his endeavors. peerless on the gridiron, in class, and in debate, who was this powerful son of africa? was he the promist emancipator of his race or should we look for another? one thing was certain. he was black. about this there could be no mistake. was his complexion a handicap? color is almost invariably the curse of the colored man. his un¬ pardonable sin is being black. if colored and white show equal fitness for a task, who is taken, who is left? even at times when the negro has arrived at eligibility for the cap¬ taincy of an athletic team, even tho he was the honor man, who has been given the distinction? ask some of our all american men. there are, however, many noble white people and there will be some as long as the world endures. these are in¬ telligent people—staunch and generous, lovers of humanity. with them a man is a man. they have no time for prejudice, for prejudice is characteristic of ignorant folk. their lives reveal this lofty ambition: fair play, and may the best man win! this motto, fundamentally democratic, the favored utterance of general joshua chamberlain, had wajnejlut spirit of this institution. here was a place where merit, and not color, courage and not color, perseverance and not color, decided the fates of men. the negro who wanted as his summon bonum, a jug the immediate jewel. of his soul of molasses, forty acres, and a mule, was not the one who came to that great institution of learning. besides, that negro with such ambition is not typical of this stalwart race, which has suffered most to make america. regardless of innumer¬ able closed doors, despite forbidden opportunity, notwith¬ standing peonage and gross humiliation, the typical negro today is not a prodigal pampered by the indulgence of a doting father, not a profligate dedicated to saturnalias, but a man, an exploited man, a lily in a pool of slime. he asks no favors; he seeks only an open field and a fair fight. with this spirit, william entered henderson college. in this enlightened environment, while his alma mater shaped him to her will, he brot her proud distinction. as he came to his senior year, he realized that he had a new attitude towards life. how different things must be from what he had supposed! who was right: the theologian, the poet, the scientist, or the philosopher? or did each have but a glimpse of the truth? for quite a while william perused several passages from tennyson and a sonnet from rossetti. the passages follow: flower in the crannied wall, i pluck you out of the crannies, i hold you here, root and all, in my hand, little flower—but if i could understand what you are, root and all, and all in all, i should know what god and man is.—tennyson we have but faith: we cannot know, for knowledge is of things we see.—ibid. think thou and act; tomorrow thou shalt die. outstretched in the sun's warmth upon the shore, thou say'st: "man's measured path is all gone o'er: up all his years, steeply with strain and sigh, man clomb until he touched the truth; and i, even i, am he whom it was destined for." how should this be? art thou then so much more than they who sowed, that thou shouldst reap there the immediate jewel of his soul. nay, come up hither. from this wave-washed mound ttnto the furthest, flood-brim look with me; then reach on with thy thought till it be^ drown d. miles and miles distant though the last line be, and though thy soul sail leagues and leagues be¬ yond,— still, leagues beyond those leagues, there is more sea.—rossetti these passages and many like them william studied care¬ fully, trying to arrive at the truth. william reasoned somewhat thus. are these passages false or true? is the preacher right and everyone else wrong? does each profession but get its portion of the truth? the preacher says the world is six thousand years old, the scientist gives the age of the world as being millions of years. the preacher says the world was made in six days, the scientist says it was millions of years in the making, and that creation has never ceased. the preacher says adam was the first man, but science says that even egypt had men before adam; that adam is a creation of babylonian mythology. to get these ideas in his sociology was very disconcerting, for william had been reared in an orthodox church. accord¬ ingly his religious views were strictly conservative and dog¬ matic. he had been taught for years that the bible was a perfect book, a flawless revelation of god. the bible was the whole truth—telling all that had been and was to be. persons disbelieving the infallibility of the bible or rejecting christ as the son of god, he was convinced could not be saved. now that he found himself instructed by individuals who did not hold these dogmas, but believed in god and the bible in a different way, what was to become of them? where was he to find an anchorage? these people were not scoundrels; the immediate jewel op his soul but some of the noblest people he had ever met. not satisfied with contact in class to thresh out these soul problems at close range, he called upon his professors in physics, biology, so¬ ciology and philosophy for conferences. they encouraged his inquiry, and suggested to him many books for further read¬ ing. as these were assuredly, admirable men, ready to in¬ struct or advise, strenuous workers to uplift humanity, he could not persuade himself that these men would be forever lost. one day while he was in the class in ethics, a question arose concerning punishment. soon the discussion turned on an. appraisement of everlasting punishment. almost as soon as it began, one student askt if punishment by hell fire was just. "let's work it out," the professor said. "is it lawful for a mother, for any offense her child might commit, to throw it into fire even for a moment?" "it's certainly wrong," the student replied. "is it just then, for god to burn his children not for a day, a week, or a year, but forever?" the professor askt. "the two acts are identical. yet i thot god could do as he pleased," said the student. ^ '• "^so he can," the professor admitted, "but is it just? 'which is the superior being? which would you expect to be the nobler, god or man? if man burns his child, he is a criminal? is god different, if he burns his? if man will refrain from such punishment and try to reform his child, iujiot god do the same?" ■-* "ts~£itere"such a thing as hell fire any way," another pupil inquired. "i don't see how it can be possible," the professor calmly responded. "if there is such it can not burn souls, for these are spiritual." the immediate jewel of his soul. "professor young," remarked the student who began the discussion, "i think the trouble is this: our ministers, by trying to carry us back to the middle ages when the church burned and tortured, because god, so some said, would tor¬ ture. in medieval history i learned that the bible was written centuries ago with no thot of us in mind at all, and now we have outgrown much of its morality. we must write our own bibles and construct our own morality, and so must every age. no previous age can do it for us." "then what are we going to do with this bible?" askt smith. "reinterpret it in light of present day thot, as it is ex- prest in all branches of knowledge," the professor replied. "there is enough good in the bible to inspire the noblest in any man. accept the good, reject the bad.'l "but we have been taught that all rs good," william de¬ clared, "that nothing is to be added and nothing to be taken away: that god is the same today, yesterday, and forever." "to reinterpret is not to take away, nor to add. you merely re-evaluate what is there. besides, the bible does con¬ tain such statements as you mentioned," remarked the vener¬ able instructor. "as to whether god changes or not, that is a point we might reconsider. if you conceive of god as being the universe, you are immediately aware of many changes. various species come and go. creation really has never ceased. even if you conceive of god as personality, you must admit changes; for sometimes god is calm, sometimes angry, and sometimes jealous. these are changes of moods. if you think of god as a spirit, he changes with the spirit of the people who worship him. with the warlike jews, he was terrible in his acts, one who never lost a battle, a mighty god of war. with civilized people, he is not a god of war, but love—the prince of peace." the immediate jewel of his soul "but professor," inquired william, "i'm planning to pre¬ pare for the ministry. can i preach what we have discust to the people? would i not be called an infidel and my career as a minister finisht with its beginning?" "smith, i'm glad you askt that question," the professor replied. "i hope my answer will help you." "it is the duty of every minister to preach the truth, not only the truth in the bible, but the truth in nature, in man— in brief, anywhere it is to be found. only the truth makes a man free. ministers have too long condemned such men as voltaire, rousseau, paine, and ingersoll. these intellectuals have not contended that they were right and everyone else wrong; they have merely called the attention of the ministers and of the world in general to the fact that there was some truth that some persons had neglected. and they have rend¬ ered a valuable service to our age and all subsequent ones by reminding us that this other side of the truth should get a hearing. "no one has a monopoly of truth. let the ministers in their sunday schools consider the bible and also what these men have to say about it. the church will always be behind the schools if it will not permit both sides of the truth to be aired at its meetings, especially in the sabbath schools. under no circumstances should it shirk this responsibility. "the minister necessarily mut proceed with tact; but the minister must tell the truth, even if it costs him his pulpit. you can minister to the needs of man even out of the pulpit. a man of your resourcefulness need have no fear of making a living. the world doesn't need men absorbed with the idea of making a living; it wants men absorbed with a determina¬ tion to tell the truth. no matter what the outcome, do your duty." the immediate jewel of his soul day afternoon in chapel and an address he heard under the auspices of the college y. m. c. a. it was the custom to have at henderson college the foremost ministers of the nation to stimulate the religious life of the youth. to hear these men would force one to conclude, "the old order changeth, giving place to new, and god fulfils h'imself in many ways." on a bright sunday afternoon, a distinguished minister from milwaukee, in addressing the students in college chapel, made the following statement: "i don't care whether you have ever gone to church or not; i don't care whether you will ever go to church or not. that is a matter of slight im¬ portance. i do care, however, as to what you resolve to do with all your being. if you have been a liar, a murderer or a thief, if you have been the meanest man that ever lived, but have formed unshakable determination henceforth to help up¬ lift your fellowman, to give him a drink of water when he is thirsty, a crust of bread when he is hungry, to give him shelter when he is houseless, you are bound to become good in the process. if you neglect doing this, but go to church, you can not see the kingdom of god. "on the other hand, if you pursue this course with all your soul, though you never go to church, you will live daily with god. "yet i would have you to go to church and become active members. the church represents organized religion. and you know that organization accomplishes more than spasmodic efforts. i want you to join the church not because of fear of god, but because you love him, because you love your fellow- man. you can do good out. of the church, but the largest amount of spiritual renewal can be accomplisht thru the church, which is a specialist in this activity. and this is an age of specialization." william reflected long on the entire discourse. did every the immediate jewel of his soul minister talk like that? what of being justified by faith? was it a noble life like christ's that would save men from them¬ selves ? another minister of liberal disposition, a preacher and scholar of great repute, was requested by the president of henderson to address the students in the y. m. c. a. audi¬ torium on "the ministry as a life work." this was one of a series of talks. business, law, medicine, and music had already been discussed as vocations. now came the christian ministry. that evening an enthusiastic group of budding leaders was thrilled by the eloquence of this eminent divine. during the course of his remarks, he made a significant utter¬ ance which caused smith to be rapt with wonder. the speaker said, "young men, ministers frequently mystify and terrify men with declamations of heaven and hell. we get caught up in the spirit and say these things. when we come to reflect, we feel that probably we do wrong to make such an appeal. for after all, we do not know whether there is a hell of tor¬ ture and a heaven of golden streets. in our saner moods we regard them as being figures of speech to describe the ex¬ tremes of joy and bitterness that we experience here. within you is the kingdom of heaven or of hell. "i avoid making appeals from hell fire, as also do my colleagues. inspired by christ's personality, i anchor upon this statement of his, t go to prepare a place for you, that where i am there you may be also.' i do not know its nature, hence i dare not try to describe it. this is a matter about which the minister needs to be very particular. i'll tell you why. when the members speak of hell, they mean one thing; when the minister speaks of hell, he means something else— wasted opportunity, unsatisfied desire, lack of comfort, ex¬ treme poverty, or the like. "another difficulty you will experience in the ministry the immediate jewel op his soul will be with reference to your conception of god. if you speak of god as actually having eyes, hands, and feet, you deprive him of one of his chief attributes—omnipresence.. the conception of god as spirit is the more logical. we bow and kneel to this existence, as if he were far away, yet the attribute of omnipresence has him always with all men. our problem is to make the people conscious of his uninterrupted presence." after hearing this talk, william askt himself what he should do. should he enter the theological school or choose some other calling? he had promist pilgrim tabernacle that he would enter the ministry. at least he had said he would. and his word was a promise. the church of his youth, those devoted friends, whose means were constantly coming to hen¬ derson to help him continue to be a man—these people had kept their promise. should he not keep his? it was difficult not to do so. his friends expected him to return home as the same wil¬ liam smith that had gone away. how impossible!. h'ow could he be unaltered? could a man see a fellow being who was innocent lynched in his own yard before wife and chil¬ dren, and be unchanged? could he hear that wife pray and see her petition unanswered without questioning his faith? could a man be impervious to the teachings of such men as professor young and the great divines that visited henderson college ? could he be unimprest by these individuals of inter¬ national repute? impossible. william was born again and he knew it; at this cosmopolitan institution, he had had many rebirths. "will the people understand?" he askt himself. "will they regard me as an impostor? i have been sincere in all that i did there and i am just as sincere now. moreover, i shall be sincere in all i do when i return. but i can't pro- chapter vi. the night with lingring shadows is all the day i've known, the greatest treasures others wait, and scorned am i alone america, my mother, i've not failed thee in the least, and yet what other son of thine's unbidden to thy feast? no other native land thou want'st to flourish on this spot, yet in the south, east, west and north some maketh this thy lot. thy dusky prince unto himself must build a seperate race, united with his for en folk, to rise unto his place? america, in making worlds safe for democracy, thou'lt not forget thine own fair house where color flat¬ ters thee. our wrestling with the scorning, to do each fond behest will win at least not frowns, but joy and loving at thy breast? with great distinction and impressionableness, as one of the most scholarly and forceful characters that ever finisht at excelsior theological seminary, the reverend william smith was called to pastor sinai shrine at seaton, a little town eighty-five miles from williamsburg. thus he was not entirely disassociated from his pilgrim friends. he would meet them in conventions; he could preach for them occa¬ sionally ; and often make a flying trip to attend, social events or make more secure expectant ties of love. the beginning was fascinating. should it not rather be so? should hurricanes with ruin rampant, give us battle at the start? sometimes it is thus. sometimes the turmoil arises with our birth to be our constant companion in life and in death. we prefer, however, the calm and serene. if this we may have, we are willing to accept all else; if such a gift the immediate jewel of his soul. is too costly a boon, we will get it some day anyhow. how william rejoiced that he was again useful! he was shaping for the better many who had never seen the light. in commencing his great effort, he knew that he had to hold himself in leash, for his congregation, tho ambitious, to be called progressive, was not quite ready to accept all the "prog¬ ress" at their young pastor's disposal. there remained with him, however, this decision: "since, no matter where i go, i shall find the hosts of my people conservative in religion, no larger peril awaits me here than elsewhere. therefore i am resolved, i will not sacrifice my personality. tho the whole universe condemn me, i will not temporize, i will not truckle, i will be myself and speak my thots. the world has nothing to give me commensurate with my manhood. i will suffer or grieve, i will laugh or rejoice, and i will be a man. altho the reverend mr. smith entered upon his pastorate just after leaving excelsior theological seminary, he had been granted as a special token of esteem six weeks for a vacation. what better use could he make of this boon than to supplement his agricultural knowledge with a course at cornell university? he had had years of practical farming. if, during the sum¬ mers, by attending school and by study thru correspondence at leisure moments, he could equal his rich experience with the best theory the world could afford, he would make of seaton—a rather unpromising rural community—a great com¬ mercial center. accustomed to see all things thru, he did not relax until he had become master of the art. the former pastor of sinai shrine to a great extent had lived away from his flock. the esprit de corps had been that the minister was to be fine appearing, to call on the members occasionally for a social chat, to marry the lovelorn, pray for the sick and dead, and preach rousing sermons. such had the immediate jewel op his soul been reverend mccauley's ministry. his successor, however, did not follow the predestined course; he strove to promote a kindlier fellowship and touch all lives for greater useful¬ ness. accordingly, on monday—always—and often during the week, he was clad in overalls, busy among the farmers, show¬ ing them improved methods, whereby they might obtain larger and better yields. seaton was peculiarly blest by his pres¬ ence. one year past happily. william had won a permanent place in the hearts of many of the fellow townsmen. he at¬ tended to his own business, he was always launching some¬ thing new, which strengthened the community life. because of these endeavors and of the great commenda¬ tion which spread abroad, the state lookt toward seaton and then set its pace. the adjoining states were also followers. on account of this recognition, who but reverend william smith should make the address on "church extension" at pilgrim tabernacle, his home church, in behalf of the tri- state convention? he was chosen without a dissenting vote. when the fall came on with its glory, emphasizing the approach and departure of all things, the convention assembled on the appointed day three hundred strong and set a record by its rapid, yet thoro dispatch of its business. the delegates were highly satisfied with what had been done, when they came to the last day of the session. that morning the reverend mr. smith arose to speak. glad were the faces, anxious the hearts. on this great occa¬ sion, a product of pilgrim, the pride of pilgrim, was to have on the program the place of honor. most of the members, old and young, who had half willingly and half reluctantly permitted their fond associates to leave them, were again the immediate jewel op his soul cheering and welcoming him to othes victories. the oppor¬ tunity had come! "dear christian friends and fellow citizens," he began easily but firmly, "i am fully aware of the distinction you be¬ stow upon me. this is a great occasion demanding great ut¬ terances. whether i am equal to your expectations, i leave you to judge. but i thank you for your favor, accept the task, and render an account of my stewardship. "the european nations are engaged in a great struggle, striving thru blood and brains to make it impossible for any group of people to be goverened without their consent and participation in the government. this is a basic law of all democracy! consequently i wonder why almighty god per¬ mits america, a land dedicated to the principle that all men are created equal, to look silently on. can she permit the great issue to be solved without taking part? if i correctly read the signs of the times, america will decide the day." there was great applause. "these people are fighting for liberty. can this priceless boon be gained in other ways? probably. but how has it been gained? how did the english gain it? tho they were not so passionate as other powers, someone had to shed comely blood. i am thinking particularly of the rise of the protector¬ ate under oliver cromwell. what caused the passing of the old regime and the establishment of the french republic? was it not the shedding of blood? how awful is this truth! someone had sinned and atonement was long due. at last the purging came. countless lives were laid upon the altar of freedom. woful day! yet this has been the history of all nations. without the shedding of blood there could be no remission of sin." there followed a grave silence. "god has spoken. who will combat his word? is the the immediate jewel of his soul shedding of blood for the remission of sins an eternal law ? is this the only way? will man never cease to oppress his fellow man, till he has poured out his precious blood? must there always be civil wars, rebellions, riots, strikes, and barbarous conquests? why have throbbing intellects, if we will not think; why have hearts, if we will not love? why should rigth be establisht only by the arbitriment of arms, o father, when thou hast advised us to attain all grandeur not by might, nor by power, but by thy spirit? "i am thinking of my people, the climbing black folk of america, opprest for centuries and throttled even now. in the south we may accumulate but not enjoy, in the north we may enjoy but not accumulate. who are responsible for this calamity? friends, both black and white. since the white people, however, are in the majority and have had more cen¬ turies of favorable environment, theirs is the greater sin. they have sinned in not requiring the education of the south. we know the south has some excellent universities, but the masses of the people remain unlearned. "the summer i went south to visit my uncle and stopt at other points, i met hundreds of young white men unable to read and write. moreover, there seems to be a desire on the part of some to encourage this condition; for tho there are illiteracy tests for voters, the whites are not required to pass them. since the south, furthermore, is agricultural and the masses of the people live on the farms where schools oper¬ ate only for a few months, what else can exist other than bitter prejudices expressing itself to the disgrace of our glorious nation in jim crowism and lawlessness? if, as we believe, prejudice is a gift of little minds, whenever you meet an edu¬ cated man, you meet a man without prejudice. "our sin has been, not to demand our rights; even if to demand were to die. can the exalted utterance of patrick the immediate jewel of his soul, henry, 'give me liberty or give me death/ if lived by us as it was by our forefathers, bring other than one of these two: liberty or death? even for us there probably may be no re¬ mission of sin without the shedding of blood. "the utterance of eloquent miss nannie burroughs,, the sage of washington, d. c.—'we've fought every race's battles but our own' must cease to be true. greeks, romans, jews, germans, spaniards, english, and others, have fought their own battles. shall we of all peoples, forgetting the spirit of our ancestors, wait for others to fight ours? god permit no such shame to come upon us! let us struggle ever, and cry out with might, tho we may be the dying voice of an immortal cause, a voice crying in a wilderness. "there is too much to do to remain silent and inactive. why have we delayed? is it not because we have been waiting on god and god has been waiting on us? we have been ad¬ monished since the dawn of slavery on these shores, 'first seek the kingdom of god and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.' here is the thot preacht thru the centuries which, with other conditions, has made us a con¬ tented people. it has caused the masses of us to say with religious fervor, 'you may have all this world, but give me jesus.' true, we have jesus and the white people have the world. who is the happier? "friends, i want you only to face facts. have we not first sought the kingdom of god and his righteousness? i believe we have. a few observations, which you can parallel in almost any city, will suffice to prove this. many districts in washington, d. c., have five and six churches within a radius of ten blocks. within an area of half a square mile in saint louis, i counted eighteen churches. this congestion is characteristic of our people. we have more churches than the immediate jewel op his soul the white people, tho they are more numerous than we. are our schools and business institutions thus multitudinous? if our people had been directed to put about one-third of their energy into business, our nation would be quite different. this is our departure for church extension, not to expand by numbers of edifices, but by influencing many activities. far better would it be to have a few first class churches than swarms of second class ones. "the attitude of some pastors prevent this. i heard one in a neighboring state say that the members of a colored church must always have something to do. who would con¬ tradict him ? all christians, white and black, must have some¬ thing to do. why should the church ever stop, while the world moves on? what was this pastor to have his members do anyway? he said, 'our church is paid for. if i don't put these folks to work, they'll soon be fighting me. so i'm going to have them build a new church.' in this instance the mem¬ bers did not fill the existing substantial edifice; yet they must have a larger and newer church. this man assumed that the only thing christians could do was to build churches. with mortgages out of the way, with an inspiring group following him, tho a large opportunity had come to remould the lives of his people thru careful and regular pastoral endeavors, to lead them into new enterprises of moment, he did not see the kingdom of heaven was at hand and that he was to lead his people in. "let us not err in this direction. we can have too many church edifices; but we can not have too many ministers. not every minister need pastor a church; let him pastor the people. a minister does not exert his greatest force in the pulpit. he is most influential in making his word flesh, to dwell among the people. "our numerous and excessive churches, and our un- the immediate jewel of his soul paralleled devotion to them certainly show that we have first sought the kingdom of god and its righteousness. does not the world call us a distinctly religious people? what other race offers the other side of his face when slapt? the meek shall inherit'the earth? do the meek inherit it? have they ever inherited it? will they now? god knows we are meek. w'e have first sought the kingdom of god, now have these other things been added unto us? what things? joy! pro¬ tection ! equal opportunity! life! there have been added discrimination, segregation, jim crowism and lynching! "is the god of those who oppress us our god? pray to re¬ move these abominations. do you get an answer. they tell us god will answer in his own good time. why not in ours, that we may enjoy the good fortune? "the attitude of two great men may help us take a proper stand. the lamented gregory willis hayes, president emer¬ itus of virginia theological seminary and college, used to say, 'first go into your secret closet and pray. pray as if it all depended on god. then come out and work. work as tho it all depended on you.' the other celebrity, sir rabin- dranath tagore, says, 'when gods fail to help their sons, men must come to their assistance.' "has the time come when we should consider the sugges¬ tions of these men or must we wait longer? must the negro not look more and more to himself for the activities and com¬ forts he deserves and desires? what else did cicero mean, when he said, 'every period of life is burdensome to those who have not within themselves the resources for a virtuous and happy life. on the other hand, nothing that the necessity of nature brings to pass can be a hardship to those who seek all good things from their own ability?' if the kingdom of the immediate jewel of his soul. might have death, .political or otherwise, but that we might have life and have it more abundantly. it must promulgate that religion is not a one day affair, but a matter of every day of the week; that religion is not separable from business, poli¬ tics, law, medicine or any pursuit; that religion is life. hence i contend that no person is a christian who fails to live the life of christ. it is not so much a believing as a living. "we are to live the life of mutual helpfulness, of being our brother's keeper. we must not sin nor must we permit our white brothers to sin. a glance at our condition arouses amazement. if our white brothers are religious, then we are not. if we are religious, they are not. we must become like them or they like us. the difference must pass away. "the problem of church extension, therefore, is upon us. since he world says that we live the exemplary life, we have much to teach our white neighbor. how can we do this while we meet him so seldom? we must meet him more, that he may learn of us and we of him. what shall we say? de¬ clare that god is no respector of persons, that christianity is not segregation of races in any way, but the universal brother¬ hood of man. "this idea of interdependence of all races and all nations must pervade the world, the united states included. since we are by choice or otherwise an asylum for weary peoples, tendering them the torch of liberty, no one group has made this nation what it is. all have had a share. is this a matter to be spurned? now when the world is in a death grapple, agonizing to bring men together, shall we by supineness, quiescence, and cowardly submission retard the victory by clannishness, by living unto ourselves, by developing within the land a distinct civilization? not unless the white people make us do so. we shall be only so mean as they force us to be. desperadoes here and there, unscrupulous profiteers, myopic the immediate jewel of his soul and biased schoolmen would lay this weight upon us. they have establisht ghettoes for little chinas, little italies, little africas and the like. and we, unprotesting, silent and docile, accept the slander. god forbid! "the honorable mr. roosevelt, seeing that this attitude is developing a national disunity, has, with his accustomed far-sightedness, begun to call for a manifestation of pure americanism. he believes that the german-american alli¬ ance is establishing a little germany, creating a propaganda which will make the burden of the united states extraordinar¬ ily heavy, should we be drawn into the war. accordingly he is the apostle of one hundred per cent americanism—'no hyphen, no this or that, no qualification whatever, but simply ameri¬ cans.' "if any group of people deserve to be called one hundred per cent americans, it is our colored men." the applause was vigorous. the delegates carefully followed every utterance. "some have called us negroes, but we are not," he continued. "so much white blood was mixt with ours during the two hundred fifty years of slavery and continues to be illegally mingling in the south, that the negro among us is to be found only after years of patient search. so few there are. some have called us afro-americans, reminding us of our african descent. this, however, is not the only source of our exist¬ ence. many of my brethren have in their veins some of the proudest blood of anglo-saxons, french, and germans. this is a matter of triviality. i grant that some other land was the abode of our fathers; but we were born in america. thus we are americans, nothing else. "since the federal constitution vouchsafes to those born upon these shores the full rights of citizenship, our due is all that this land affords during our sojourn. and here we shall abide forever. the immediate jewel of his soul "some say, however, that we must have patience, that we must be long-suffering. great heavens, what do men expect? all tolerance from the colored, but none whatever from the white! who have been more patient than we, who upon this continent have suffered longer? those advocating long suffer¬ ing say, 'wait, a crisis will come and we shall reap its joys.' in every crisis of american history, they urge, we have been benefited. yes, we always get the crumbs which fall from the table. why not like other folks, for instance, the suffragists, produce a crisis and receive the first fruits of them that slept? "some are afraid, others are indifferent, and still others are ignorant. if our people were alert to their opportunities, why would they permit an organization like the national asso¬ ciation for the advancement of colored people to struggle for existence. why is not every adult black man a contributor to its weal? this society, as it stands for upholding the con¬ stitution of the united states without equivocation, contend¬ ing for a democracy not on paper, but in the lives of men, is the most patriotic society in america. a friend tells another friend his faults and tries to help him amend them. such is the busi¬ ness of this group of individuals. it is the one organization in which all americans should enroll, black and white alike. it is not a theory, but the greatest example of this concretion of thot ever witnessed by the eyes of man. as we might ex¬ pect, it appeals for a democracy which begins at home and spreads abroad. the idea is tangibly demonstrated. here black and white love and think together. here there is no color line. "when i recall the accomplishment of this society, when i think of the sacrifice of christ, when i see that europe is fighting for our ideals, i wonder why we say no more than we do about the brutish malice, the degenerate littleness which is doing its utmost to foster here a separate civilization, sepa- the immediate jewel of his soul rate ideals, separate ambitions, but mutual hates. has lincoln labored and died in vain? must there be another war of the rebellion? we hope not. we cry, 'union and liberty now and forever, one and inseparable. one language, one coun¬ try, one flag.' at the same time the hosts of the nation, by oppression * quiescence, are doing all they can to split the country. pray god that this shall never be! "our ancestors came to this country accompanied by white men. we have gone with them shoulder to shoulder, from bunker hill to the north pole. after all these years of comradeship, shall they leave us now? shall we leave them? we shall ever march together; for our language is their language, our country their country, our flag their flag." at this moment william had his audience thoroly within his grasp. he had taken the convention by storm. "since our white brother has retarded the progress of the nation," he continued, "by finding time to be prejudiced, god almighty calls us by the good in our hearts and in those that scorn us, by the thunder and by the lightning, to demand universal brotherhood. tho white favors white, we must favor only merit, truth, and right. we must preach the end of seg¬ regating movements. when wars are upon us, black and white die together. when peace comes, why can they not live to¬ gether ? "think of separate schools for a group of people in a democracy! what a paradox! democracy nv-ans mixed schools with mixed faculties. why are we blind to the fruits of this: the stratification of society, schools for the rich, and schools for the poor, but not american schools? it has been the hope of our greatest men that the college and university would be purely democratic. somehow, these institutions in unmistakable numbers, have either been unaware of these hopes or as a matter of course ignored them. what college the immediate jewel of his soul or university in addresses and leadership has made it positively clear to the students that such was expected? the matter is left entirely with the students. these promising young men and women are not interferred with in their racial antipathies. they bring them to the schools and carry them away as they came, or accentuated by biased professors. these are scholars who set out to prove a contention and prove it. of course some men can prove anything. thus the hope of democracy is crusht. "since this is so; let us never ask for separate schools. let us enter these strongholds and by character and scholar¬ ship show our selves the equal of all people. if the cleft school must come, let it be forced upon us, for it tends to in¬ crease racial separateness and thus undermine our govern¬ ment. how can there be a democracy based on color rather than upon the inequality of merit? the ideal is the mixt school. why run from a goal we have reacht with hope of returning to it some day? why not use the ideal while we have it. we can not deny that the masses of our educated people, if they had been dependent upon mixt schools, would still be illiterate. the fact still remains, however, that a demo¬ cratic government should have democratic schools, if it is to continue as such. aristocratic schools perpetuate aristocratic government, with a hope that democracy will never rise. so the church should contend. "a further activity needing church help is politics. the scriptures say that the powers that be are ordained of god. the corruption which exists with many of them, however, almost persuades us that they were ordained of hell. as soon as they find the colored man about to get an important office they arrange a gerrymander or get a new charter and thereby shut him out. if proportional representation were in vogue —the form which is certainly democratic—we should have the immediate jewel. of his soul in the united states senate at least four members and thirty- six in the house of representatives. this is just an inkling of the injustice we bear. what hosts we should have in the state and city assemblies! "this condition is a concomitant of any policy of racial separateness. i shall mention but one example. in several states i have visited around election time, i have observed signs to this effect: the republican club, the demo¬ cratic club, the negro republican club, the negro democratic club. only white people attend the republican club and the demo¬ cratic club. the colored people attend something else. may these jim crow organizations die forever! the fatlings of plutocracy! the corrupters of the public weal. if white and black worked together in politics in all their meetings, cor¬ ruption would pass with the night. god open the eyes of the whites to this some day! "another work the church may well perform is to spread good tidings, intelligence to all people. consider how one¬ sided has been our life. i touch upon the press. newspapers edited by colored men circulate freely only among colored people. newspapers edited by white men circulate freely among both black and white. the consequence is easily dis¬ cerned. we know the whites much better than they know us, with the additional advantage of knowing ourselves. we know how mean they are and how good they are! we are aware of their basest and their noblest thots. most white people take the colored man for a joke. they believe us all min¬ strels, ready always for a jig, a slice of watermelon, or to bow and scrape. the black man who never laughs, the one who is always serious, this type they do not know. equally ignorant are they of what we think of them, what we think of ourselves, and what we think of life. our points of view the immediate jewel op his soul, as exprest in newspapers, magazines and books of our men commonly do not reach them. "papers of all groups should have a wide reciprocity, es¬ pecially those of a group that is circumscribed. a democracy can not afford to be ignorant of the ideals of any of its groups. for ignorance keeps people apart, intelligence brings them together. "preach the gospel to all people, 'but go rather to the lost sheep of the house of israel.' begin with those about us, our white brothers. if they will not hear, if they will keep up the bars, if they reject the brotherhood of man—to live in a realm of equal opportunity for all—like other nations that rose on the enslavement of man, political and otherwise, amer¬ ica, too, will fall. keep off this doom, preach that out of one blood god made all peoples that (dwell upon the face of the earth, that we are not enemies, but brothers in sacrifice, love, and honor. "bring to their minds incidents like this which i am about to relate. an east indian, who might have been regarded as the twin brother of a boy in the sumner high school of saint louis, matriculated at a university located in this town. yet the sumner boy of the same build, with the same complexion and bewitching hair, whose fathers suffered and died that this nation might be free, must keep without. he would not even be accepted as one of its janitors. those who gave their lives that their country might be free surely have died in vain, since they who have not suffered and bled for the union, are more highly honored than those who did. shall the undeserv¬ ing continue receiving blessing, while the worthy are crusht under foot? no! these things shall pass away! "to hasten the process, let us remember that god is no respecter of persons. we must be just like him. if a black man commit a crime, see that he is punisht. if a white the immediate jewel of his soul man commits a crime see that he is punisht. if a black man performs a noble deed praise him; if a white man performs a noble deed praise him. if a white man marries a colored woman or a white woman marries a colored man, let us re¬ member that before god there is no difference. both black and white are his. persons so matched have braved much,, have assumed greater responsibilities than others who marry. they dared unite with the one they loved. "i know; that i am walking on fragile ground, but let us keep stepping until we reach more solid soil. commonly when these marriages occur, we look down upon them with scorn or dismay. the white person is ostracized and the colored nearly so. this condition, too, must change. is it not the democratic ideal? if we are to have one country, must we not also have one morality. can we have a united country with one morality for whites and another morality for blacks ? would human beings be little valued if white men who im¬ pregnate colored girls under age were prosecuted; if other white men who cohabit with colored women could marry them if they chose? too long this practice has been characteristic of our land. when will man learn that justice is even-handed? "if two persons of good health love and wish to marry, who should gainsay them, be they white or black, or white and black ? i have met in my travels happy marriages of both sorts: the white woman and the colored man, and the white man and the colored woman. seeing a mutual attachment being fondly exprest in the careful toil and sacrifice on the part of both for their children, whenever this democratic couple proves itself in a community, the neighbors should endeavor to break down all barriers and make these stalwart people their own. "let our reproach for the. marriage between white and black vanish like a mist. rather reproach the union of un- the immediate jewel of his soul equals, be they white, black, or black and white. on the other hand, when persons of relatively the same spheres and ac¬ complishments choose to marry, our part is to make the union last. some say these people quarrel. not all do so. yet how few marriages of any sort are without some differences? how many marriages of our peoples are absolutely without quarrels? having seen many of these nuptials followed by unparalleled devotion, i can believe that before i taste of death that america will have one morality. "do not mistake that i am advocating intermarriage as a group ideal. nothing is further from my purpose. i am merely saying that, if it happens, that is the affair of those two. i am simply indicating the evils which arise by forbidding by law intermarriage. the base miscegenation of slavery and another sort has not ruined us. can a noble miscegenation do worse. at least it has not where it has been practised. what the nation needs to become conscious of is that the government is an aristocracy, and no democracy at all. and as long as societies are aristocratic, morality is impossible. "our heavenly father, may we know that a man's a man; may we treat a man as a man; may we love a man as a man; and may we marry a man as a man! ' "this is the test of our religion: our thots must be thots of love for all; our lives must be lives of love for all. "a final consideration, a very important consideration, i now present. this, i hope, will set aright all particularities out of joint. despite the pleasantness of romance, the basis of happiness seems to be economic. poverty, we know, is the mother of vice, crime, and most uncleanness. yet the adage says, 'money is the root of all evil.' not so. rather the lack of money has been the root of most evil. i call this to mind because of what the scripture tells of 'filthy lucre/ we must realize that not all lucre is filthy! we must lay up the immediate jewel of his soul treasure not only in an imagined realm, but even on earth, where moth doth corrupt and thieves break thru and steal. how otherwise can we prepare for our children's comfort in case we die prematurely, or prepare for old age? "w'e must accumulate. to do this we must more and more enter those branches where money grows. let us go extensively into the trades and business. if we want to get together, let us put our money together. this is what the jews have done. if we have not the experience of financiers, let us get it as we got our churches and schools. just tread the wine press. we shall not tread alone. here and there our people are ready for a big enterprise. if these people having the desires of our hearts will not come close to us, let us come close to them. all need to march together. " 'no man liveth unto himself, and no man dieth unto himself.' if this thot we carry with us, our religion will ex¬ tend iself into all phases of our community life. "the white man has been deluding himself by thinking he does not need us. similarly we have resolved to let him alone. but how can we do this? we need his business expe¬ rience. he needs us at least to fight his battles. besides, each will always have something to teach the other. "zangwill well portrays the spirit of america, to assimil¬ ate all people, in his play, 'the melting pot.' however, it lacks one element: america's most loyal folk, the colored people. the broth will not be right, unless these colored masses also simmer in that crucible. "when then is the ultimate goal? the answer is simple. if we can live the life of christ, the church will extend its influence to every man. our battle will be won over night. when we become like god, no respecter of persons, we have life, we give life, we save life. thus our building can never fade away." chapter vii. society is in a conspiracy to keep persons from being individuals.—emerson. the reverend mr.' william smith had made a good speech. good? so some said, but others thot it heretical. what could have happened to the 'prophet of sinai shrine?' who expected anything like this? despite the consternation he had caused, no one left the auditorium during the course of the address. no one even dared interfere; for just when ire was aroused by a statement "seemingly irreligious, the holy spirit seized the speaker and his hearers, thrilling them with sacred emotion. no one called the speech ineffective; all felt that the racial issues in the main were sound. the greatest difference of opinion bore upon the apparent atheism of the clergyman. "what could have possest rev. smith? we lookt for one of the good old sermons to take us out of self and lift us upon the rock of eternal ages," said reverend caldwell, the president of the convention. "yes," agreed reverend williams, secretary of foren mis¬ sions, "i lookt for something different myself. i admit tho, that we have been edified, baffled, and mystified, and have considerably lost our bearings. mr. president, for this reason, while i'm on my feet i want to offer a suggestion. suppose we depart a little from our usual way of closing the conven¬ tion. let us dispose of some of our afternoon work, as the committees are ready to report and close the afternoon session with a discussion of reverend smith's address. you know ( ) the immediate jewel of his soul tenets of his address which conflict with our articles of faith.' the motion was seconded and at the call for unreadiness the discussion began. t^ie radicals had hoped to get in a resolution first, but the conservatives had been the more alert. now each group tried to get recognized. eight or nine speakers arose simultaneous¬ ly, appealing, "mr. president." as recognition under these circumstances was utterly impossible, rev. caldwell said, "gen¬ tlemen, you are about to be disorderly. please be seated. re¬ member that order is heaven's first law. i know that we are assembled in extraordinary session. i am aware that all are eager to handle the order of the day; but let us proceed aright. rise one at a time, proportion your speech so that every one may have a chance, and move on with dispatch. i'm ready to go on." again a conservative won the floor. it was rev. stone, pastor of shiloh, who remarked, "mr. president, in this mat¬ ter we want to be fair. in requesting a withdrawal of the hand of fellowship, we need to state the charges, and have the accused brother make his defense. for that purpose, i rise." he stroked his grizzled beard, nodded his head several times, and then cleared his throat. "we feel," he continued, "that the dear brother has for¬ feited his place among us, because he has not respected our traditions—doctrines which we have cherisht and reverenced for many decades. some of his utterances hark back to in¬ fidelity. the notorious robert ingersoll could not have said worse. for instance, the young man said, 'god is waiting on us and we are waiting on him.' thus he tries to impute to the holy father idleness—he who started light to dazzle in the sun, to sparkle in the stars, to flash in capricious light¬ ning, he who poured the waters forth from his radiant throne to make the fertile earth—my god began his work the immediate jewel of his soul in eternity and has never stopt." he spoke with great en&- phasis. "amen, amen," was an uproarious response coming from various parts of the assembly. "hallelujah, hallelujah, praise his name!" "mr. president," rev. hillard, a radical, appealed. "rev. hillard." "mr. president, i rise to ask the speaker a question." "rev. stone," askt the president, "do you permit a ques¬ tion?" "i do," was the reply. "my dear sir," sought rev. hillard, "have you not your¬ self by your utterance just now overstept the margin of these same traditions for which you seek to withdraw the hand of fellowship from rev. smith? you yourself just said that god has never stopt his work. did not brother smith say the same. the bible has us to understand that god rested on the seventh day. this, you even deny, tho christ himself said, "tis finisht.' "furthermore, when we are trying to have sinners to de¬ cide to follow christ, don't we say that god, that the spirit is waiting for you to repent; that god, that christ stands at the door patiently waiting?" "mr. president," remarkt rev. stone, the learned gentle¬ man knows that tho i may err in some of my remarks, our conception of god is as one prompt to act, industrious, good and just. rev. smith has implied that god neglects his chil¬ dren, that god is unjust. did he not say in quoting tagore, 'when gods fail to help their children, men must come to their assistance?' what does this argue but the negligence of god, what but his injustice? thus i lay before you the charge that rev. smith is wholly unorthodox. if i am wrong, the immediate jewel of his soul let my reverend chatechizer or 'the prophet of sinai shrine' himself prove it." "mr. president," began rev. mcvicar, another conserva¬ tive of the most uncompromising type, "we must sustain our co-worker in his charges." he almost roared with his heavy bass. "amen, amen," came back many responses. the distinguisht pastor continued, "rev. smith today has been as heterodox as a turk reeking with christian blood, and as ingratiating as a hog in a lady's chamber. he chal¬ lenges god's answering in his own good time. if a human being can not wait for the all-wise, for the everlasting father, the prince of peace, to answer his prayer, not only is he unfit to preach, for the salvation of men, unfit to be a doorkeeper in the house of my lord, but is unfit to claim allegiance to the christ." "verily, verily i say unto you, rev. smith, you must be born again." "hallejujah, praise the lord," the delegates shouted in various parts of the assembly. the enthusiasm flowed profusely with violent inunda¬ tions, as is the custom, when tense religious fervor is pro¬ voked. nearly every representative wanted to speak at once. many arose, but like a meteor flashing unawares to vanish and give way to orbs of more lasting grandeur, they spoke and were admired for their brilliancy, but the gaze of all was fixt upon the men of great renown with hope as for a coveted light. the meeting surged with cheers for each respective group, but how could one doubt the leaning of men untouched, un¬ seasoned by the lives of diversified thinkers, trameled by the radiation of one clime, and, therefore, hostile to new truth? then came forth the rev. stamford, a man of somewhat progressive views, "mr. president, the dissention evoked this the immediate jewel of his soul tnorning may have some just basis i do believe. the clamor <j|f metallic tongues, however, and hearts brazened with duplicity, and coated with envy for a man who has turned his l>ack upon the night, needs scant consideration. yet those who love the truth, who believe that even the church must step ahead, value the many contributions of our distinguisht young man. who can deny that we must reshape our ideas to adjust ourselves to this complex life? must we not rethink our attitude towards the great issues mentioned by reverend smith: social equality, intermarriage, mixed schools, news¬ papers, and business? consider, for instance, the prevailing conception and denial of any desire for social equality, hark¬ ing back to our ancestors of recent generations, suffering in indecent slavery. they desired not to live in the cabin, but in the big house, they desired not to have corn meal all the time but an occasional taste of magic flour. life was not merely the fiddle and the dance, but labor and rest, leisure and travel, and schooling. all these our forefathers desired. what was this to them other than social equality? "since we, however, have had advantages of school, have lived in other years, and other climes, our conception of social equality can not be theirs. we include the right to vote and hold office. we go even further thctn that. if we shall have democracy here, we must not be many nations, but one with liberty and justice for all. "to this extent i agree with rev. smith; and with him i contend that the laws of the south preventing intermarriage of individuals of different races, is autocratic and therefore subversive of democracy, that it prostitutes not only our women but the women of our white brother, increases crime and moral degeneracy. so far am i with my noble and able friend. "when he says, however, of my redeemer, of him who has cast countless worlds into space, that we do not know the will of our father who is in heaven, and that it is not the immediate jewel of his soul worth while trying to find it out, we meet at the parting of the ways," he spoke with great fervor. "amen, amen," the responses arose and continued for quite a while. rev. smith sat still, almost stolidly thruout ill these remarks. he did cast, nevertheless, a casual glance at the various speakers. "do we know the will of god?" rev. stamford seemingly askt his entire audience. "yes, we do. praise his name. yes, we do." "do we not know that out of chaos god formed the universe, that by making plants and beasts and man he willed us life? do we not know that before he created man, accord¬ ing to his holy and everlasting will he determined that christ should come, that the word should be made flesh and dwell among us? was it not his will, that christ should teach 'love thy neighbor as thy self?' is it not god's desire that we should love one another, that we should love our enemies? is it not worth while to try to learn more of this, that our light may shine?" "amen, amen." "rev. smith," concluded rev. stamford, "i love you. i want you to succeed. and tho some of your utterances seem untimely and apostatic, i know that you are sincere. i am fully aware that not a w<)rd was spoken to disrupt this con¬ vention, but to spur it to larger usefulness. i look upon you almost as a lone star on a gruesome night, almost as a beauti¬ ful flower in a tractless desert. we must admire you because you are rare. i will not vote against you. it takes a brave man to do what you have. you have said these things be¬ cause you believed them. now if the hand of fellowship should be withdrawn, do not be dismayed, god is ever with you. true we have a covenant, but if we were to question every minister here and each would be as frank as you, we the immediate jewel of his soul, should find, i am afraid, as many different interpretations of that covenant as there are ministers present. let anyone deny that we do not differ as to our fundamental doctrines!" the conservatives squirmed. they wanted to speak, but rev. stamford would not yield. "the matter, however, which you need to rethink is your categorical, that we do not know the will of god and that it is not worth while trying to find it out. in your defense, i should like for you to touch upon this." thereupon, the speaker sat down. now for the first time a radical gained the floor. he had been sitting nervously trying to get recognition. when the chance eventually came, he arose and said with the air of a braggadocio, "mr. president." "rev. gaston." "dear christian friends, members of the convention, you know what i am going to say. for several years you have called me an extremist and said that my folks have no re¬ ligion at mount horeb. well, if we don't have much religion, we do have something. we have the largest and most beauti¬ ful structure in the state as well as the biggest congregation. besides, my people are doing the most missionary work at home and abroad. friends, my folks have religion; i have a little religion myself. i certainly burn with love for christ.'* the delegates smiled. "i have no speech to make, i merely rise to commend sinai shrine. i will answer, however, the preceding speaker. rev. stamford, is not god unknowable? the history of the world has assuredly been a search for god. each generation learns more of him. and in that great day, or thru the ages, when it is our pleasure to see h'im not thru a glass darkly, but as he is, shall we know him?" he almost shouted. "friends, we shall not, but we shall become better and better the immediate jewel op his soul acquainted. if we were to find out all about god, i am afraid we should become tired of heaven and leave it in order that we might go to some place where there would always be something new to learn. if we can not know god, we can not know his will, we can approximate, but we can not know." "mr. president," exclaimed rev. monroe excitedly, "i appeal for the vote, if rev. smith has nothing to say. there has been enough discussion. let us vote." "mr. president," said rev. ross as the preceding speaker sat down, "permit me a word." the request was granted. "i rise as the father of this young giant. for many years i nurtured him with teachings of the christ and you know his phenomenal youth as well as his ministerial career. how strange life is! from this very church with loving pathos, we heralded reverend smith into prosperity and success. here he was ordained to preach the word and here he is accused. gentlemen, it is strange. "let us be careful how we judge. the ideas of this young man to many of us may be new. we were always told that we could not have too many churches, but did we think that out for ourselves? no! we just accepted it. if now we are honest, we must admit that our religious growth is not de¬ termined by the number of churches, that it is better to have a few first-class churches thoroly up-to-date than a host of second-class churches behind the times. "if this is followed, however, then what? not every min¬ ister has a pulpit literally. some are evangelists, others are college presidents, some are teachers in seminaries, others are publishers. "the question 'where do i exert my greatest influence?' had never occurred to me. unquestionably it is not in the sermon i utter, but it is in the sermon of my- daily life—in the immediate jewel of his soul laying hands on people, in fully sharing life not from afar but at close range. "i do not agree with all our youth has said, but we need such a speech as his: frank, and earnest. we need the truth." "rev. smith," remarkt the president, when a consensus of opinion had been exprest that the pastor of sinai shrine make his statement, "what do you have to say?" with his wonted composure and equipose, rev smith addrest the chair, surveyed his audience and spoke thus: "friends, now there is little need for words. as men your minds are fixt, you know how you will vote and so do i. then do not think that i hope to change you. not at all. i have en¬ joyed working with you, it has been a pleasure to preach in your churches; but i have not desired to be an unwelcome guest. i weighed my words before i spoke and i said them because i believed them. whether you think my presence pernicious to the faith or wholesome, vote according to your conscience. i can afford to sever our fond relations, i can afford to resign my pastorate, but i can not afford to leave this community. i can not afford to be less than a man. i have no defense to make. i have done my duty. now may you do yours!" the president having commended rev. smith, exprest his regret that the convention had to close thus, but he hoped that, whatever the decision, they would act with the spirit of christ. they had prayer. anxious were the hearts devoted to rev. smith while the ballots were being collected, and more anxious during the counting of the same. whispers of tender¬ ness, sighs of love strongly imprest this upon the assembly. when all the votes had been tolled and checked, by a slight majority, the hand of fellowship was withdrawn. chapter viii. here how we bathe in sweetened rest, or spring to joys the lovers make! we think man but a passing -jest, yet warm friends seek, and friends forsake! condemned by the church! scorned by upstart time- servers ! abused and misunderstood! persons who yester¬ day hailed him an uncrowned king, today keep anxious space between. fond only of those whom all the world admires, worshippers of those who court the crowd, considered him stricken with a contagious malady. "poor young man! you know that i am sorry, but i must keep away. the church demands it." thus the manners of those who dwelt apart forcefully spoke to rev. smith. when we have long been nurtured by the attention and counsel of many acquaintances and these at last suddenly slink away, our souls still hunger and thirst for the accustomed care, ignorant, mayhap, where to find it. we ponder, mind¬ ful of what has been, and wonder should we covet its return or something like it. then promptly we are flooded with a vision proudly dear, and tho we stand alone, we should ex¬ change it never for the old—for what had long outlived its time and should have passed away. we ourselves have died with these old glories; but now we live again. how we hate to die, either in the flesh or in the spirit! yet we all must die. we who live must give the life, that they who die may live. such were the thots crowding smith for recognition, as he sat with his mother one pleasant evening enjoying the old home place. it was several days after he had returned from ( ) the immediate jewel op his soul a flying trip to xenia. he had left immediately after the con¬ vention and had accordingly given very little time to his friends. at last his vacation had begun. this was the one day of the year, when his mind might follow any fancy. whether he would go back to his pastorate, he was uncertain. probably the members would not have him. at this time, however, being in seaton was not a matter of importance. he should lay all thot of former activity aside and be thrilled by the rap¬ ture of vacation. his friends and those of his mother, par¬ ticularly the younger set wanted to see him. now he was at their shrine. hosts of charming memories, of good well done kept him facinated with the spot. now he realized why his mother would not leave williamsburg to be with him at seaton. he himself was so entranced, he began to wonder if he could leave. he had come and gone often, but could he now? after a while, william left the porch and went within, to obtain a pencil, in order that he might make a sketch of the sunset. so variegated were the hues with unusual tints, that the artist in him could not resist the alluring scene. then he thot of his sketch book, which would be more convenient than a mere piece of paper. a brief search brot him upon it. thus prepared for a feast of beauty, he started to work. he had made only a few bold lines, when he felt that black and white would not do justice. he decided therefore to get his crayons. he desired most his paints, but these he had left at seaton. he had hardly more than gone upstairs, when two fair guests arrived, susan attired in alice blue and thelma in russet. at the request of mrs. smith a saintly old matron who had never lost her winsomeness, the girls nimbly tript into a medium-sized room, the modest but commodious par¬ lor. they askt the mother not to announce their presence. she consented. the callers then closed the door and made the immediate jewel, of his soul cellent as some of your landscapes we were just admiring." "i may be able to get the same results with crayon; but i'm not sure." "i know you will," remarkt susan with emphasis. "you can do anything." "i appreciate the compliment," he assured her. he rapidly workt on. upon pausing for a time and seeing them standing over him, he requested them to sit, but they preferred to stand. "girls, you so quickly overwhelmed me with surprise that i so far lost my bearings, as to be inconvenienced in spontaneous hospitality. of course set words conventionalized are not always necessary to express a cordial greeting. yet i need indulge in no lengthy harrangue to have you feel wel¬ come." h'e left off sketching for a while and then said, "i seem almost in fairyland; so delicately sweet and cheery is the air because of your presence." "we are indeed glad to come at any time," said thelma with a smile. "thelma," he resumed, his face flusht with the tint of the setting sun, a face which showed the calm of a conqueror, "i was confident that you would act your own thots unsolicited by anyone; for such as you we masculines call the assertive type, the feminist." "well, you do understand me in part," came from thelma, smiling with her accustomed good-naturedness. at once there was exhibited a set of teeth, charming and perfectly designed. "susan, i was not so sure, however, as to what your at¬ titude toward me would t)e after the convention. i am fully aware," he said as his hand moved the crayons almost auto¬ matically, "that my remarks to some were very startling; but what i spoke should have been uttered long ago.' the church as constituted is suited to the older generation. these will soon be dead. what will happen then. will a new church the immediate jewel of his soul suddenly spring forth to satisfy the new people? not at all. the changes should be gradual. it is these i am trying to start, to encourage directed evolution instead of a violent revo¬ lution, or the extinction of the church." "true, i was shockt, but i believed in you, william; hence i never once feared," she declared. "i did not once think that you would consider me a renegrade," he affirmed. "the hope that has arisen in you from my avowal of endeavor was not yesterday betrayed. it was merely set on with unusual momentum. feeling, how¬ ever, that because you are a 'mother' child, willing oftimes to sacrifice your own idea and act upon hers, even tho your bet¬ ter judgment desired another course, i wasn't sure what you would do." "william, you've spoken discerningly," came from susan, striving to adjust herself to this sudden expression of what was one of her fundamental characteristics. "you understand me well; but you know the first commandment of promise, 'honor thy father and thy mother,' with the reverence of that ancient holy people, almost with adoration, i have es¬ teemed my mother. i could defy my father; but as yet, i fear that i might yield to any wish of hers." thelma followed the completion of the sketch, at the same time listening to the conversation, ready at the proper suggestion to make her contribution. turning the talk a little, for the purpose of trying to convert her to a different manner of procedure, he askt, "has not your judgment frequently proved superior to your mother's, i'm aware that mrs. lee is a lovable woman with a valuable experience gained by contact with the hard, hard world. grant her all this, yet can she equal you in view of your havino- largely shared that experience, read more widely than she and traveled more extensively?" the immediate jewel of his soul "occasionally i do devise better plans/' she admitted, "yet i can't say that in matters of great importance, i have ever excelled. up to this time, no circumstance of honor has been able to draw me from a friend, no matter what has been said. still our relations might be in a measure altered by some sug¬ gestion of my mother." "you see then that i was right," remarkt rev. smith. "pardon me," put in thelma at this point, "but may i interrupt you a wee bit?" she had been about to invade the kitchen to call upon the mother, for once it seemed that the conversation between susan and smith was about to become extretpely confidential. "why certainly," susan replied and william added his assent. "thank you," she remarkt. "i have often told susan that she must solve her own problems, she must see her chances and not leave such immediately personal affairs to the dictation of others. her parents have lived their lives; susan must live hers. since life was less complex for them than it has been for her, they can merely suggest. they are just as powerless as we to portray a detailed future. when mr. and mrs. lee married they thot they knew each other well, but, if you just question them for a moment, they will assure you that many modes of behavior not at all glimpsed during courtship, gained expression later on. they will tell you that even now, tho well acquainted, they don't know each other thoroly they believed their love to be genuine and even themselves to be so; and life has been according to their faith." "thelma," said susan, somewhat abasht that she had become the topic for discussion, "there is much truth in what you've said. as evidence of my appreciation, let me assure you that i will reflect upon it tonight. i will try to be more self-propelled. the immediate jewel, of his soul "but have we not neglected the chief purpose of our visit, in going thus astray ?" came an utterance more atune with her eager nature. "reverend smith," she pronounced it with firmness, "we have come to offer you congratulations on that extraordinary address, extraordinary in its bold heroism and in its heralding the dawn of a new era." "yes, reverend smith," said thelma with the firmness of susan, "accept our hearty congratulations. we treasured every word you spoke. i think you know that the zeal of the young people of the church is not so great as that of the old. it is due to preaching to a new generation— as you said —wisdom suited for the past. you come with a frank state¬ ment of the matter, bringing to your command the philosophy of the east and the west. and we enjoyed it, tho susan was at times shockt. we can't merely live in the past, we must have a part of the present and the future. besides, provin¬ cialism must pass, to let cosmopolitanism have the day. the learning of our fathers or of all america is insufficient, we must learn of all people of all the earth." "this is well said, but what are the utterances of the people generally?" askt the divine. "tho i dared to face the convention, i have not visited a home. that may be quite a different experience." "the older people," susan affirmed, "are almost a unit against you. still some of them believe that such thots as yours must have a hearing. these merely wonder whether the time is quite ripe for such. they do say, however, that the untrained and the narrowly trained ministers have too long swayed our people, that now, since the great issues of our great national life require unusual thinkers for their solution, the educated minister must be heard." "it is needless to say," interrupted thelma, "that the younger set is with you fully." the immediate jewel, of his soul "many:, of the younger set, however, are not jn the church," rev.' smith said, "consequently i don't have their support or i may say that their good wishes amount to little right now." "if you were here," remarkt susan, lowering her eyes tenderly, "don't you know we should crowd your church? your appeal was for life and we need life." "probably you're right, for should i keep hammering away, i'd get them eventually any way." he changed the con¬ versation a little, holding up the completed sketch. "well, what do you think of it. it is yours to condemn." "i think it truly exquisite. then to think how quickly you have done this! you're more than a dilettante," said susan. "yes, it is a remarkable sketch," was thelma's remark. "let's start an art gallery," susan said in jest. "yes," responded thelma, "my collection will be at your disposal." "and mine." "and mine." "but let's return to the point," requested thelma, "smith, i'd like to* know if you preach at seaton as you did at the con¬ vention." "yes, i do. however, i don't touch so many issues in one discourse, as i did at the convention. with one issue before me calling for advancement, i speak with vigor; and as i do so i point to the new, i point forward," was smith's reply. "i so much wish that you could be in williamsburg regu¬ larly," declared susan with a melody of tone that generally compelled conviction. "how we should appreciate all your work." "i may come," said smith laughingly, resigning himself for any happening. "i may be forced to some other field." the immediate jewel of his soul friends. we thot your friends should come to you. so we are following our philosophy." william walkt with the girls to their homes that evening, throbbing in his every vein with new life. he had the fresh¬ ness of a first spring morning after a weary winter, and the gladness of a soul set free. what a blessing, he thot, that we have women! what a joy to be a part of them! trials might arise with the morning, but women force them soon to take wing. "god bless them," said william as he strolled homeward, "there is just one course for me to pursue.^ chapter ix. be still sad heart and cease repining, behind the dark cloud is the sun still shining; thy fate is the common fate of all. into each life some rain must fall; some days must be dark and dreary.—longfellow "must i be carried to the skies on flowery beds of ease, whilst others fought to win the prize and sailed thru bloody seas? "since i must fight if i would reign, increase my courage lord. i'll bear the toil endure the pain, supported by thy word." news of the ouster of rev. smith by the recent state con¬ vention came to seaton as an astonishment. it was difficult at first to make the people understand why their idol had fallen; but when some of william's utterances had been communicated to them, apart from their setting and with bias, the people concluded that the convention should be sustained. since the markt gentleman was popular and magnetic, they knew that spasmodic and scattered efforts to remove him, however indig¬ nant they themselves might be, would avail nothing. accord¬ ingly the foremost among them fomented designs to force the prodigal to depart or return as he went out. apparently the pastor of sinai shrine was resolved to let them have their way, for he did not return to his pulpit until the second sunday after the convention. thus he took all the time allowed for his vacation. when he reacht the thrifty, little town, his sermon was already prepared. in order to avoid contact with many of the people, he arrived on the midnight train. thus he was able the immediate jewel of his soul quietly to go home and obtain a good rest before the ordeal of the next day. shortly before time for the service, he started for church. he became interested on the way in surveying the passersby. what were their thots? what did they think of him? there was certainly no change in the words of greeting, no lessen¬ ing of the vigorous handshake. how could they be christian and act otherwise? if these same people could lay loving hands upon the wicked, those who had not pledged themselves to follow christ, how could they withhold this consideration from one truly born of god and specially set apart to do h'is work ? there was, however, a difference in their countenances. true rev. smith was to be chastized but it was to be the chastisement of god. preparations had been made for his home coming. each minister of the convention pastoring at seaton, being almost ultra-conservative and therefore unanimously opposed to wil¬ liam's views, to let the town know in a formal way that they were a unit, had decided to preach on a designated sunday from the same text, "beware of false prophets." this was to be one week before rev. smith's return. the following sun¬ day they preacht the text, "dust shall be the serpent's meat." they argued that god the same yesterday, today, and forever never deserted his own. he had been their dwelling place thru all generations and lo, he would be with them always even to the end of the world. thru the darkest days of slavery, thru the perilous reconstruction, they had walkt with (god and god with them. how could he desert them now, when they believed in him. furthermore, the ministers urged that, since rev. smith had departed from the old doctrines, he had forfeited his right to leadership. thus they were resolved to wrest it from him. at each congregation the majority of the members voiced the approval of the united effort. the immediate jewel op his soul tho unaware that this sermon was being preacht from the pulpit of his colleagues, yet somehow divining such, rev. smith uttered the final one. pervaded with the opposition of the stale; ministry and *vith the cooling inspiration of susan and thelma, he sensed what was going on elsewhere. he chose, therefore, the familiar text, "he shall be like a tree planted by the river, of water, that bringeth forth its fruit in its season." he told his members what had occurred at wil- liani.jbiii"r; and that prob: bly while he was giving his remarks, he was b;iug denoim-::d n, the neighboring churches. he had always had a good -v.t'.iijanci, but on this particular morning, large numbers were standing*. the surplus had come not to worship, but merely to observe what would happen. notwithstanding the fact that they had come out of curi¬ osity, william was happy to see them. since they had very likely heard only one side, he thot he owed it to seaton to present the other, for they were all followers of christ; and tho they might go in different directions, they would finally assemble at the same place. the gist of the sermon was this. "trees are of various sorts; and even trees of the same species differ. of even the commonest trees abut us, the maple and the oak, you can find no two alike. they differ because the environments of these are not the same. a tree near a stream is bound to be richer than one away from such. "the tree near the rivers of water is likely also to be long-lived. "it gives fruit not prematurely, nor when it is too late; it bringeth forth its fruit in due season. "finally, drought will sometimes reach other trees, but the leaves of this tree shall not wither. god has said it and it must be so. the immediate jewel op his soul. "in applying the text, i have in mind all people, but be¬ cause of recent momentous events particularly all ministers. i do not even exclude myself. "the tree is man. the water is thot. the river is im¬ mensity. like trees we differ because of different parents and different associations. if we are planted: that is, established so as not to be moved, if we are grounded in the immensities of thot not only of the few men who wrote the bible, but the thot of men of india, of egypt, persia and other lands; in the thot that not only of the past and of the present, we are richer than they who have only the thot of one land and that of the past. we communicate the thot we have thus received in¬ spired by god. those having little give little, those having much give much. "remember the rivers move on and no one can bathe in the same stream twice. thus the tree by the water ever has fresh food and gives luxurious fruit. so it is with man; a life fed on stale food naturally stagnates." in closing, rev. smith became very personal. his hearers had been deeply swayed, for tho they had harkened to some machinations of the throng, they had to commend a personality. "on tuesday night," he said, "the church will meet and decide as to whether i am to be re-elected or not. may your judg¬ ment not fail you! nothing will change my attitude toward you. i have served you faithfully in the greatest and i will serve you equally in the least. "because i have ever lookt for better things even before i was called to the ministry, and before i came here, i can not now use the other thing. i may not have brot forth fruit recently in its season, but the fruit hitherto was always strictly on time. i am, have been, and ever shall be a tree planted by the rivers of water. i stand for progress; i will move abreast of the times. i will always bring forth the new that chapter x. it is not prosperity, but adversity that proves the man— 'bacon several months after william had resigned the pastorate of sinai shrine, the ministerial conference assembled in ex¬ traordinary session. the divines thot they had played a trump when they swayed the members to vote not to re-elect the young pastor. the battle, however, was far from being won. smith had taken a more strategic position, as it were. he had found employment in the public schools. to discuss this was the business of their meeting. they had approacht the prin¬ cipal and superintendent in vain, now they desired to find a way to reach the members of the school board. at the appointed hour the conference opened and pro¬ ceeded with dispatch. having finisht the preliminaries with unusual expedition, the president called for the new business, all faces were resolute, radiant with an understanding of what they were to do. tho devotionals had been greatly curtailed, the more energetic ministers seemed restive. they were happy, however, in their responsibility, happy in their confidence. acknowledged leaders of the community, they were very eager to keep and get all possible distinction. with this in mind, rev. canty, pastor of christ's church, arose and said, "mr. president, you know our business. we are here to de¬ cide upon ways and means of removing a great annoyance. we succeeded in effecting rev. smith's resignation, but that is all. he is yet in town and worse than that he is teaching in the public schools. there he will get the children of all our churches and with his heresay lead them to destruction." rev. matthews, pastor of hebron here interrupted, say¬ ing, "pardon me, rev. canty, i'm just as desirous as you to re- the immediate jewel of his soul move any nuisance; but i'm not here to throw mud. if we speak the truth, we must admit that rev. smith is at least a gentleman. a man like him is not going to lead anyone to destruction; he will undoubtedly teach doctrines incompatible with our faith, but he will not ruin a life." as this wsa a round table argument, the president al¬ lowed them almost absolute sway in determining who should speak and what should be the time permitted. this was a fortunate circumstance for those of the opposition, when doc¬ tor matthews made his startling remark. thus there followed considerable heated discussion, for the prevailing feeling was that smith should not be in the schools. true the schools were undenominational, yet the pastors strongly believed that the man of their condemnation was too good a preacher, too thotful and inspiring, not to win a following among the youth. "didn't he make of the poorest young peoples' meeting in town the largest and most interesting?" inquired rev. young, impressive of voice and bearing, and long pastor of saint johns. "we must concede that he understands youth, being much nearer to them than any of us," remarkt rev. canty, pained by the truth of it. "hence we are compelled to remove the menace. as a plan of carrying our point, i suggest that we preach a special sermon to our people in order to have them, in continuous streams, voice their disapproval to the princi¬ pal, who i am sure, would then suggest that rev. smith would go elsewhere. if we get him out of the public schools, that would be enough. we should have accomplisht our aim and should be willing to stop there." "would you stop there?" said rev. lester, the venerable pastor of seaton, a man loved almost equally by all the groups; radicals, progressives, and conservatives. "i should like to know anyhow why you are bringing up this action against the the immediate jewel of his soul young man. for he has acted like a prince. i defy anyone to mention an instance of his reproaching or rebuking us. men¬ tion his utterance against us." all were silent. "why preach a sermon against him?" he resumed. "to act as we did some months ago would be shameful and in¬ famous. think of all the ministers preaching from one text! what a disgrace! how bitterly i have regretted it ever since! we all say that we are inspired by god. then tell me, pray, how often has he inspired any two of us to preach the same text on the same sunday. as we are different, we are inspired to different thots, altho by the same god. if we should re¬ peat that act, where would be the inspiration ? god would not be in it. it would come from satan, from malice and not from love. but what is the basis of your complaint?" "this is our grievance and a sore one," said rev. young, who like rev. canty felt that something should quickly be done. "rev. smith approved a dance in school." "what can we charge concerning that?" inquired rev, lester. "what you have just said would be a just reason for unfrocking a minister, but you've already done that for a less sufficient cause. rev. smith is no pastor. you know that; he's simply a teacher. besides, if you are going to take from the public schools all those teachers who either dance or ap¬ prove of dancing, you wouldn't have anybody to carry on the work. in many of the high schools of the country, boys and girls dance together without offense. i remember having seen such in washington, d. c., chicago, and new york. "gentlemen, you are well aware that i'm ready to attack vice without delay; but i do believe in meeting it properly. in the case of dancing that is vicious, i'm ready to attack it now; but is the dancing which is conducted in public schools vicious ? if it is, we have been asleep for many years. we have al¬ lowed it to become a part of the curriculum of all first-class the immediate jewel of his soul come back with another almost irresistable onslaught. so the chief accuser was placed. rev. canty hoped that just for an instant rev. young or someone else would take the initiative. he could not recall when he had been so-much disturbed as he was then. why did not some proper utterance or event de¬ tract his thots from himself? why could he not continue to think out a resistance ? had he been basically wrong, had he been unjust? what spell was this? why could he not speak? why was the moderator tongueless? why did rev. smith just await the ministers' bidding? the young man whose career had been challenged stood a master diplomatist, silent to the dismay of all. calmly and patiently he surveyed his accusers, as if thru telepathy striving to divine their purposes. not a face wore a welcome, and dis¬ tant were the smiles. since he was flayed an incongruity and labeled a malefactor, let those with just complaints lodge them in his presence. rev. canty wondered how william learned of the meet¬ ing. he soon dismist the thot tho. it was not a question of how the young man came there, but how ought they dispose of him. the arch-aggressor, because the others failed to act, knew they were waiting on him. any dereliction on his part, he felt might-be positively - detrimental to his designs: after a few moments of unnerving silence, rev. canty, to get his bearings wpnt-to a window near by and raised it as far as "it would go. ■ the place was not in need of ventilation, as any one present would have testified. not the body but the mind was ill at ease. just as the sash went up, a woman, jubilant and robust, passed by with a basket of clothes upon her head. and as she walkt along, with a voice of overwhelming sweet¬ ness, she sang this old familiar tune: the immediate jewel. of his soul. "must i be carried to the skies on flowery beds of ease, whilst others fought to win the prize and sailed thru bloody seas? "since i must fight if i would reign, increase my courage lord. i'll bear tiic ioa endure the pain, supported by thy word." the ministers listened rapt on every word. rev, canty beckoned for the ministers to observe the singer. thus the spell was broken.' "how remarkably god consoles even the worst of us " he said. "we never have greater burdens than we can bear. but let us return to business." the pastors soon returned to the conference, eager to bring it speedily to a. close. when all were seated, rev. canty said with much spleen, "mr. president, this young man, a markt individual, has overstept many proprieties by coming here. brother moderator, i demand an explanation." the president, having no desire to delay the crisis, with¬ out ado askt rev. smith to make a statement. "gentlemen, since you desire it, i will make a statement," said the former pastor of sinai shrine with a smile that be¬ spoke an unconcern as to what had been planned against him. "i have come to be at your service." then he sat down. this was another surprise, for very few were satisfied. rev. canty, now himself again, became persistent. "doctor," he contended, "the distinguish gentleman conducts himself rather obscurely. what does he mean? he has convinced us that his sphere is different from ours; and yet he comes among tis. what effrontery some men will have! when will they learn that some conventionalities are sacred? gentlemen, it is almost impossible for me to understand it." as he spoke, rev. smith iookt at almost everyone pres- the immediate jewel of his soul ent, trying to grasp unspoken thot. he was certain that the ministers were not neutral, that either they were for him or against him. when rev. canty paused, william arose with his accustomed grace, positive and assertive. with his clarion voice that easily filled the assembly room, he said, "i was not aware that you held secret meetings. hitherto, not only min¬ isters but laymen of any denomination have been permitted to come. then why should i be unwelcome?" the situation was fully comprehended by him. "rev. smith, our meetings are not secret," put in the president determined at all hazards to lay the matter bare, "yet when we go into extraordinary session, until our plans have been well formed, we prefer not to clash with opposing forces out side of our group." "yet, often the clash might be indefinitely posponed, if the individual likely to confront you contrarily would be with you at least awhile," interrupted rev. smith. "we have assembled to organize plans to have you modify your teaching. you have disturbed us, annoyed us, bored us. not satisfied with making many of our members disgruntled, you seek to make fickle all our young, or lead astray the con¬ scientious." rev. canty was angry and made the young de- vine feel it. "something of this nature had come to my ears, as i visited some of my former members. i learned that some par¬ ents were told by their children that i had discussed love af¬ fairs in school. some probably thot that i was urging their children to marry prematurely, when nothing was farther from my purpose. they evidently did not understand me. you do not understand, yet ignorant of the situation, you seize upon this as a basis for having me removed from my position. "do not for a moment be deceived. if ybu can get me out of a position, i hope you will enjoy the accomplishment. the immediate jewel of his soul / am not here to ask you play hands off. as i said at first, x came to help. gentlemen, do not forget that you are god's chosen. do not debase yourselves. do only what is right. my business in the world is to make people happy by being good and helping them to be the same. since even ministers are sometimes mischievous and you may be so now, i have come not to make you uncomfortable, but to serve vou." "well, let us have the service," thundered rev. canty very impatiently. "and don't be long about it. our time is valuable." "i'<f at least be courteous," replied william with his ac¬ customed grace. "rev. canty, be silent," said the president. "i think i have charge of this meeting. let rev. smith proceed." when the president, gained control once more, william resumed his remarks. "i was teaching tennyson's 'idylls of the king.' have you read them, gentlemen?" of twenty pastors present only four knew of the book. here the young divine related the story and proceeded to discuss it as he had presented it in class save for the literary merit. "the idyl which has occasioned the present altercation is called 'lancelot and elaine.' lancelot, the favorite knight of a noble king, by several remarks incited elaine, a beautiful, simple maiden to love him—a man of fifty-four, a girl ~ of eighteen. she askt him do her a favor—to wear a pledge as he fought at a tournament. this request was equivalent to asking him to wear an engagement ring. after he was wounded, she nursed him back to health. to reward her, he instructed her to speak the wish nearest to her heart. since he told her that in wearing the pledge, tho to disguise himself, he had never before done so much for any woman, she natur¬ ally thot she was preferred above all. she spoke her dearest the immediate jewel of his soul wish, which was to become his wife. when he rejected her love, she askt to follow him around the world. he said 'that could not be.' "then he offered her land. this she would not accept. at length he left her without saying goodbye. "whether this classic should be taught to high school pu¬ pils, i am not prepared to judge. superiors in making the course of study have deemed it a proper work. as a member of the teaching staff, i am pledged to teach it." "but what was your interpretation," inquired rev. canty with a jerk, for he wanted the good or ill done quickly. "i said that if a young man had made overtures of the same kind as those of lancelot to one of our young women, she would have spoken the wish nearest her heart. very likely. if this request to be the wife had been rejected, however, our young lady would not have askt anything else. why then did elaine entreat it? why did she have to die? this was my answer." the ministers were intensely interested. "elaine lived not in a great city nor one of middle size. society was rural, thus the houses were far apart. she lackt a mother and all that such possession implies—motherly counsel and else. reared apart from girls and deprived of association with many young men, she clove to the first she saw, with affection for no one else. if she had had the privilege of our girls of today as in public schools, to be in class with boys, to see them in the halls and talk with many, she would have been forced to make a choice and her love would not have been of the dangerous sort that cannot survive a refusal. elaine's was purely a case of unguided love. such was my interpretation to try to pre¬ vent the occurance of elaines." "doctor, you have a silvery tongue," said rev. canty with sthe immediate jewel op his soul a slur, "i'm glad you've come. we shall consider your ex¬ planation for its worth." "gentlemen, as i have already said," responded william, apparently unaffected by the sneer of rev. canty, i live not to injure but to help. is your life purpose the same? are you trying to help or to injure me? if my being at douglass high school, retards the progress of the community or if it must prevent my aiding the people as i deem i should, i can leave. but do not think i will leave the state. my career has been determined by this vicinity and until i have spent an equal number of years in service as payment for my debt to those at hand, my ear is deaf to other fields." his attitude was a challenge. he arose once more and lookt about the assembly. then he concluded thus, "i hope i have been of service. may god bless you!" he departed almost as unexpectedly as he had come. the latter part of the next month found rev. william smith practicing law at seaton, yet not unharrassed by many pastors. since few of the members of the churches brot their legal problems to his office, tho he had been well recommended by the state bar association, he thot that the ministerial alli¬ ance had not acted exactly right. they opposed him as minister, teacher, and lawyer. could they not distinguish between the man and the office? must personality enter in? regardless of all ill feeling, he would continue his practice at least until spring, when he would decide upon a permanent work. then it would be a plunge into a weltering flood, to sink or swim, survive or perish. one day in january—several months after the conference —when the blinding snow was reminding the improvident of their follies, reverends smith and canty met in front of sinai shrine. tho it was rather cold, william removed his glove. the immediate jewel of his soul rev. canty did the same. they shook hands vigorously. many happy recollections and bitter memories forced themselves to view. "rev. canty," said william calmly, but with a pleasing defiance, "you have now exhausted your devices—at least against me. i have decided to return to the ministry. tho at first a great portion of my time will be devoted to pastoral work, i shall preach regularly. i will rise among you and you shall hear from me." the lawyer would not stay for a reply. chapter xi. all that is wrong concerning him is paraded before the world in such a way as to involve the whole race, irrespective of merit or demerit, while his worthier acts go unnoticed—the heroic efforts of thousands of them to render aid and benevolent assistance to yet other thousands on the inferior planes of life; the daily industry of millions in domestic service, on the fields, in the varied vocations of business, in the schools, churches, and on the fields of missionary en¬ deavor; the negros* ambition shown in the purchase of lands from earnings eked from the most exacting econo¬ my, in the establishment and maintenance of libraries, in the founding of publishing houses, and in the estab¬ lishing of good homes—who knows of these things? —riley. the issue will be settled in the spring. the birds will come again in the spring. smith will attain a grandeur he can not see, in the spring, the jubulant spring. the months that lay before william were passing slowly, weary months of anxiety. he had before him ambitions which could not crystalize, until the long nights had past away. this by no means meant that he was not working; for he well pro¬ portioned his time for systematic endeavor, interspersed with timely recreation. like a general amassing a wealth of mu¬ nitions and supplies, numbers of men, and bounteous informa¬ tion for many days before launching a campaign, wilham zealously planned his preliminaries not only for an effective organization, but for sure success. during these days he wondered how he might spend the bulk of his leisure moments. should he break other customs or should he for the interim permit the right of way to any who sought to enter it? was there now or had there been a demand for strict conformity? did the wavering of the masses or the bigotry of the clergymen taking advantage of his seeming indifference expect a departure of any sort that would prove them right and him wrong? the ministers, rigid - the immediate jewel of his soul as they were, were in a state of flux. the people mobile and fickle, awaited the dominant will which would sway them to pleasure or to ruin. was he the posessor of that dominant will? such were william's thots one wintry morning as he lookt from his abode upon the hurry of busy folk, enroute to the factory a few miles off, to get the fruits of honest toil. the day was cold but not offensive," for tho worn counte¬ nances exhibited many cares, each face was bright with the gleam of morning. the younger folk, smiling and buoyant, were as free as the bare trees bidding the skies good day. yet coats were buttoned snugly; scarfs tho wantonly flying in the ■sportive air kept themselves about the necks of the willing workers. i can not say that there was a cadence, but there was a regularity of movement indicative of resolute people. here were comedy and melodrama galore. was there also tragedy? turning towards the table our lawyer noticed "the wil¬ liamsburg post," which had come in the night before. he scanned the news of the previous day until he came to the society columns, for he was eager to know not only of those in places of potency, but even of the plainer folk. the events were riot out of the ordinary. there had been the accustomed number of births, deaths and marriages. in brief, all was "going well.' yet one announcement engaged him especially, that of a party to be given at the'home of mrs. anrielle in be¬ half of her goddaughter, letitia strauss. ' it was the linen shower, the' happy precursor of letitia's marriage. william wondered why he should be so obtuse as to have forgotten it, the opportunity to see and greet many old friends anew. the welcome of many now might be cold, rigid, or rebukingly artificialyet they would be'glad to see him. he belonged to them, they belonged to him—each had contributed freely to make the other what he was. at this party he would find them, the immediate jewel of his soul some with antipathies born of his religious breach and others with adoration for his courage. should he go? there was his place, there was'his treasure, and there was his heart. since susan, thelma, and letitia were upon the most intimate terms, he became promptly aware that he would be expected. "if i'm going," he said to himself, having reflected a while, "i must obtain a worthy gift. to make a proper selection i should start now rather than wait until i arrive at williamsburg. i have so much business to adjust today, that i can leave only on the late train. this would not allow suf¬ ficient time for a choice in williamsburg. i must, therefore, make the purchase before going to my office." laying the paper aside, he turned again towards the window. the workers steadily moved on. this time he noticed particularly groups of men and women conversing with evident hilarity. besides, girls and boys were following in their train. were they equally happy ? the frequent, zealous glance at each other, the hearty laughs, and the equipoise with which they passed assuredly reflected a satisfaction, which is one of the joys of life. here certainly were comedy and melo¬ drama. was there also tragedy? wrapping himself securely, with an air of calm defiance, william stept into the street and joined the happy throng. before him was the work of the day, together with thots of the following evening. however, he had not gone far from his home when he noticed in the street a little urchin of three years, a child of poverty. hatless and almost shoeless, for several toes had burst their prisons to get an icy freedom, without a coat, with ropes for suspenders, with jacket and trousers tattered and unkempt, this lad was running directly down the street to obtain a rubber ball that seemingly would not stop. rapidly approaching not far away, swerving from the immediate jewel of his soul side to side with reckless speed, came an automobile. two young men, easily recognized as the reprobate sons of the chief manufacturer of seaton, wantons who put no premium on human life, occupied the front seat. neither said anything to the other, yet with the same momentum, the car came on. they evidently failed to see the child. if they saw, they did not care, for no signal was given by horn, bell, or voice to warn the joyful, little lad. several persons saw the danger, among this number was william smith. he shouted at once to the driver to avoid the boy. did he hear? evidently not, for the automobile now was speeding faster than ever. suddenly the child stopt, waved a good bye to his mother, who was on her way to earn his daily bread. it reminded our lawyer of the gladiatorial greeting. "we who are about to die salute you." upon hear¬ ing her name called the mother turned. at once she saw the danger and shriekt. what should be done? would not some one with great courage risk his life for the child? for attempt or rescue meant death or just bare escape. quick must be the decision and quick the effort. the mother started for the merry lad but was restrained by several women at her side. she strug¬ gled to go, but fortunately they held on. they knew that at her home there were two daughters who needed a mother living, and not dead. which did the community need the more, the mother or the child? with these gallant women there was but one answer. faster and faster came the vehicle. now the young fel¬ low stoopt to pick up his ball; then he sat down to toss it shouts and cries from many troubled breasts sought to warn both child and driver. yet neither seemed to heed it in the least. how in a crisis we may be entranced to defiance or indifference! the immediate jewel of his soul when william observed *this combat between reckless¬ ness and innocence, convinced that action must be speedy, he wondered whether he was sufficiently quick of foot to make the rescue and escape. then came the thot that this was a white child. should he be willing to die even for it? well trained as he was to lead a slighted race, should he give his life for this one child of the race that scorned him or save it for the millions of his race who loved him? if this had been his child, and if a white man, filled with the hope of millions, hap¬ pened to pass that way, would he sacrifice his life for a little black lad of poverty? he quickly reacht his conclusion. he was living his life for man. it was not a question of white or black, but where could he serve humanity. here was a chance. he remembered that he had been a sprinter in college, having won many a hundred yard dash. he had always run as if it were a matter of life or death, in order that his alma mater might have the- glory of splendid achievement. once he had fallen at the finish, exhausted; but he had won. now, however, he was out of practice. still this could be no de¬ termining factor. before him at last was his first actual race for life or death. the others had been races with human beings; this was a race for a human being—the greatest prize that all the world could give. because it was an unusual race, many of his college tactics were of little avail. upright he was to dash with his greatest rapidity until within a few yards of the little lad: when he must stoop and run low without lessening speed, seize the child and carry him to safety. as the automobile had not been heard, the same should be true of him; lest the child frightened by a sudden and un¬ expected approach should run towards the vehicle to certain death. like a flying meteor, this stalwart, black prince dashed ahead. faster and faster he speeded on, faster and faster the immediate jewel of his soul came the demon. how could a human being outstrip a miracle of mechanical ingenuity? nearer and nearer they came to each other. finally william reacht the lad and seized him, without the little fellow's having been aware of his approach. the automobile was just a little more than a yard away when he graspt the tender boy. he made one step to escape with his prize. then the vehicle struck his hindmost leg and whirled him round. he fell and the car hurled by. shrieks and curses rose from the anxious and horrified onlookers. they grieved to see their champion fall. when the dust had settled, there could be seen death's challenger, lying on the ground—unconscious and bleeding. the tattered child, how¬ ever, stood calmly at his side wondering what had occurred. the mother took her child and fondled him. speedily she sought to thank william, but he was motionless. she put her babe aside, then lifted the head of the gallant, young man and began to apply her handkerchief to staunch his blood. by this time many workers were about her. "take him to my house," she urged. most of those present wanted him car¬ ried to the drug store, but she insisted that he be given a soft place to lie and that a physician be called. her request pre¬ vailed. thereupon she dispatched this message to her em¬ ployer, "tell mr. davenport that i shall be late today. let him know of this accident. i'm sure it will be all right." it was not long before a physician came. a few minutes were sufficient to revive william and dress his wounds. his injuries were a wrencht ankle and several severe bruises, almost cuts, along the side of his head. as soon as this had been done, the mother thankt him because he had braved so much. she took him in her arms to help him sit, ministered tc him in various ways, and enlisted the willing service of those about her. here the barriers of centuries were broken the immediate jewel of his soul down. true, he who had dared was black; but he was a man for all that. slowly he regained his strength. about a half hour after he had been brot to the house he felt that he wtas himself once more. then he askt if anyone had seen his overcoat. it was handed him, neatly brusht. the lady of the house tried to have him stay longer; but he informed her that he had much to do that day. she wisht he might rest. now about to go, he askt for an old cane or a stick, with which to sup¬ port himself. a stick was quickly put into his hand. a few minutes later, he donned his overcoat, thankt those who had attended him, and limpt away. tho the mother entreated his name and address, he would not tell. however, when he pulled out his muffler a tiny case fell on the floor. when he had gone, the gentle lady picked it up. she could not tell how it came there, nor could she guess what it was. upon opening it, she saw several cards. she took one and read it. it ran thus, "rev. william smith, attorney at law, room booker t. washington building." she rejoiced to know who had rescued her child. chapter xii. the fountains mingle with the river and the rivers with the ocean, the winds of heaven mix forever with a sweet emotion; nothing in the world is single, all things by a law divine in one another's being mingle— why not i with thine? see the mountains kiss high heaven, and the waves clasp one another; no sister-flower would be forgiven if it disdained its brother: and the sunlight clasps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea— what are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me?—shelley. the guests assembled promptly at the home of mrs. annelle, to inspire and make happy one of the most genteel girls of williamsburg. as they stept into the spacious hall, specially designed for social functions, their smiling coun¬ tenances bespoke the praise of this stately maiden, letitia strauss, who had determined to know the best of life. her rhythmic gait enhanced by a silk of old rose commanded the attention of all. the people there were truly joyous. magic ditties which seemed to come out of fairyland, dances old and new, alluring games, and intermittent feats elicited praise for the jollity of life. how excellent it was to live! ill the immediate jewel of his soul there was not intermittent comment. when they had finisht, they first lookt at each other. then thelma said, "it is just like him." "i, too, am not at all surprised," came from susan. "i hope he isn't seriously injured." "the paper informs us that he finally went to his office. if this is true, i'm confident that he is much better now," put in letitia. "since the incident occurred yesterday morning," said henry, "and as william has a vigorous constitution, within a few days he will be perfectly well anyway." "we were hoping that he would be here this evening," quickly spoke letitia, slyly glancing at susan. "he has never missed anything like this." "yet," said susan coyly, "we did hope that he would come." henry then displayed a yellow journal, "the seatoii gazette." at least it was "yellow" on the negro question. "girls," he remarkt with much vivacity, "here is an editorial in another paper on the same incident. you will be interested in following this, i know, for this periodical generally heralds our faults and keeps silent concerning our virtues." they read, in this instance, with more fascination, but interspersed their perusal with spirited comment. before they could come to the end, a familiar voice said, "good evening, girls! h'ow are you?" they turned and greeted william smith. "i'm glad to be with you, once i thot i couldn't come why, hello! henry, i didn't see you when i came in." each shook the other's hand vigorously. "im so sorry you have to use a cane," said susan, deeply moved by william's limping. "it's bad enough to have to wear head bandages. doesn't your ankle pain you more thaw your head?" there were many smiles. the immediate jewel of his soul your achievement now is certain. had any one else attempted that rescue, death would have claimed him. but you were spared, spared for us. and we are spared for you. this is the blessing of providence." "why had thelma said this?" thot susan. "this con¬ gratulation was quite different from all the rest. it con¬ tained an appeal that went to the soul. she had noticed that thelma was no longer deeply interested in beckett king, and tho she would go out with him occasionally, her utterances of him no longer told of a hero-worship which was constant the summer william went south. was that speech a chal¬ lenge? the words were such as any acquaintance might have spoken, but the air with which she pronounced them was very portentous. susan recalled the conversation on her porch the evening after that spectacular feast at pilgrim. thelma had said with great frankness, speaking of girls and of william, "we all have our ambition for the noblest. and there is no sensible girl in this town who doesn't acknowl¬ edge him our best. it is a game. be sure you play it well. if he wants you; why, you are his. if he wants me, then i am his. but at present the honor is all yours; and i am giving you the right- of way." then flashed before her an¬ other potent utterance of thelma spoken that same evening, when she informed the girls that her mother had said, "be patient and wait." thelma had affirmed as a reply, "if the mother is to marry the man, let her do as she wishes. but when the time comes for me to marry and i see the man i want, i do not promise to wait. wait? wait for him to choose someone else, i suppose? i'll make the fight of my life to get him; there will be no escape. we'll fight it out if it takes all summer. if i lose, i will have made a good fight." the whole scene came before her like a panorama. evidently thelma had come to the decision that now was the time for the immediate jewel of his soul her to marry.' probably at last she had seen the man she wanted and had resolved to fulfill her prophecy of several years past. if susan understood any woman other than herself, it was thelma. she knew that the belligerency characteristic of miss haskell in her childhood was even with her now. the words spoken on that momentous evening were even at this time very important and prognostic. thelma by her utterance made as she arrived at the door of the reception hall had apparently, so far as her friend was concerned, cast a bold defiance. susan was quite aware that she must pick up the gauntlet and enter the lists. accordingly she thot, "william must speak tonight susan tried to analyze the feelings of the man she loved, but he was not one to wear them on his face. then she re¬ membered that while thelma was speaking, she herself had not lookt at him; she had been regarding her friend, thelma. when all the- others had gone, and at last she and wil¬ liam were alone, susan led him to the divan. she desired not to be disturbed. when they were seated, she said taunting¬ ly, "pardon me, please, but i brot you here, taking for granted that you didn't plan to dance. had you made any arrange¬ ment for such?" "susan, do not mock me. you know i'm a minister," he pleaded. "but how liberal you are, william!" she pronounced his name with great affection. "most ministers would do away with all laughter and enjoyment." "people do call me liberal. i am probably, however, more practical than liberal. i see that it is instinctive for people at times to give vent to their feelings in rhythmic motion. they do this even in their religious services. those not possessed of a strong religious fervor will dance. such at least is my the immediate jewel of his soul susan paused, questioning whether she should ask what crost her mind. would the boldness be a sacrifice of modesty ? her mother had said wait, let the man take the initiative. she had waited long and so had thelma. susan delayed no longer. "pardon me for being bold, but do you have any idea who the lady will be?" tho she smiled a^gain, william began to feel the sure charms of a noble woman enmeshed by many conventionalities. "i have not decided that as yet. i do have an idea as to whom i should like for it to be. that's my principal reason for coming here tonight. i'm old enough i think at least to begin to settle the question of marriage." william had never been so confidential. whom could he have in mind but her? but hadn't she led him on? still if he did not mean to con¬ sider her, why did he not tactfully turn the question, to dis¬ cuss some other subject? he continued confidentially. "do you think you could dance with a minister ?" susan somewhat bowd her head. "if you were to leave the ministry, i'd dance with you at any time upon any occasion. scruples would go to the winds. if you were to ask me to dance with you tonight, i think i could not. i'd beg you not to insist, and you would yield. wouldn't you? however, if the minister, two years from tonight, should ask me to dance with him in public, i could do so. i should have pre¬ pared myself for it." "would you require that much time?" he askt sportively. "i'm not sure, but i certainly could not bring myself to do so tonight, even if you were ready." "is there present any young woman who would do so?" now he was teasing. "thelma would be so defiant, i believe." why did she say "defiant?" "now tell me why you would not." the immediate jewel of his soul happier or not less happy. i'm trying to decide whether we'd he good companions. i think the dispositions of the man and wife should be such as to make capable the blending of ideals. none will injure the object of his affections. "my ambition is to lift my race, regardless of all opposi¬ tion. i am ready to defy any organization which obstructs my way. i'm practically a reformer, as such i must from time to time change. and i will change too rapidly for those about me; consequently i may occasionally be ostracised. could you bear this, could you share in this work, or have you been educated to stay aloof from society? my work will frequently be hazardous, indeed, at time perilous. if forced to protect your home, could you do so? of course, i should supply you with abundant arms and ammunition. "i mention all this, for i would not have a woman marry me for one thing and get something else. i believe in letting her see the worst of it as well as the best. you know i'm able to give you a living not in the least inferior to that you now enjoy. there will be romance, but also stern realities. i do this because i believe in marriage as a contract. as such the terms should be fully known to both, and a breach of faith should make divorce speedily obtainable." ''william, i have thot, and i believed we could be truly happy. you are indeed more radical than i, but wouldn't my love offset that?" "susan, i'm ready to give my life to make you happy, but i will not give it to bring you sorrow. thus i love." at this point, he was interrupted by someone who had just come. the stranger did not tarry long, but went promptly ■to the dancing hall. he had not gone many steps, before the orchestra stopt. fearing another disturbance, he withdrew to the parlor. as soon as he reacht the place he said, "come to the piano, susan, and i will tell you how i feel." as he "before he could finish the parlor was being invaded" the immediate jewel of his soul could not move freely among the guests, he decided upon the parlor as the place where he might be most free. he felt like singing and entered into it with zest. he lookt at her loving¬ ly and then requested, "play your favorite, my favorite." it was "the rosary." upon hearing the delicate strains, most music lovers would have felt certain that a professional was singing. so full and clear were the tones. his closing was truly a climax. before he could finish the parlor was once more being invaded. mr. and mrs. lee had now arrived and proceeded at once to find william to congratulate him. they were gla;d to find him singing for susan. conversations flowed along variously, but ever, now and then came hints o£ another an¬ nouncement—that of william and susan. when the orches¬ tra began a minuet, however, the disturbers were gone once more. "susan," said william, "i have told you my feelings in speech and song. i will sing you another lyric which will tell the same. you see i love you. you see i will marry you, if our temperaments are not so diverse as to prevent genuine companionship. if you think we can, let's decide now." why did he not positively ask her to marry him, and .take the responsibility of making her happy? she would have assumed it for him, if he had only spoken as she had desired. why did she not say anyhow, "william, we can be perfect companions; our rearing and education are not so widely diversed as to make ideal companionship impossible? you will be the best husband in the world. i will be the best wife. isn't that enough? let's seal it with a kiss." society said the man should take the initiative. "probably it is better to wait awhile," she thot. she waited. when the music in the dance hall ceased again, william offered to sing another song—"then you'll remember me." it thrilled the souls of both. the immediate jewel of his soul at the close of the linen shower, william walkt home with susan, but he made no more formal proposal than that already spoken. at the door, he took her hand to bid her good night, but he did not kiss her. she wondered if he would. she hoped strongly, for she was well aware that had he kissed her, he would have proposed according to her most exact desire. this he did not do, but with a solemn expression and head somewhat downcast, he went home in deep reflection. as for susan, she feared that she would lose him, if she did not act quickly. within three days he would return. she would claim him then. in her chamber, almost thru the entire night, she mused upon thelma's momentous words: "if he wants me, then i am his. but at present the honor is all yours; and i am giving you the right of way. * * * but when the time comes for me to marry and i see the man i want, i do not promise to wait. wait? wait for him to choose some one else, i sup¬ pose. i'll make the fight of my life to get him; there will be -no escape. 'we'll fight it out if it takes all summer.' if i lose, i will have made a good fight." had susan made a good jight ? chapter xiii. love, now a universal birth, from heart to heart is stealing, from earth to man, from man to earth: —it is >the hour of feeling. some silent laws our hearts will make, which they shall long obey: we for the years to come may take our temper from today.—wordsworth sixteen months had past since william attended the linen shower. during these days many signal events had occurred to make more potent the life of seaton and williamsburg. letitia had married sinclair, catherine had married henry, but susan had not been able to obtain the kind of proposal she desired. she was waiting. probably he would come some day. william had not called regularly as previously. susan had not inquired into his reasons, but lookt to herself to dis¬ cover the reason for the failure. was her temperament against her? the handicaps of nature were the hardest to offset; but she would make the attempt. she lost no time. she estbalisht the coleridge- taylor conservatory of music for instruction in piano, organ, violin, violoncello, mandolin, and guitar, with five assistants. as she desired to test her initiative, she kept her plans secret until she was ready to mail her dedication announcements. the conservatory had from the time of its inception been carefully advertised, but the prime mover was unknown. because of the location mentioned, many persons wondered who was the promoter. the affair, however, was so tactfully managed, that the public was completely sur- the immediate jewel of his soul prised. because the enterprise was carefully planned, the institution was a success from its very opening. william and susan were both satisfied. since even her mother had not been consulted in this endeavor, she had an argument for her efficiency. thelma was yet teaching in the l'ouverture college, but she was devoting most of her spare time to community wel¬ fare work. she had reclaimed a number of girls from houses of ill resort, and having taught them the arts of the home, had them become industrial factors and makers of citizens. in this activity she had been aided by the y. w. c. a., which rejoiced that she had started a work long neglected, but very necessary in our multifarious lives. that institution had vainly tried to reach the abandoned girls. the coming of thelma was thus a providential favor. since she had suc¬ ceeded in an unparalled way, the workers of the young womens' christian association were glad to co-operate both in initial and follow-up work. the mistake had been made in the manner in which these persons had been approacht. be¬ fore the administration of the present secretary, the young womens' christian association was an exclusive club for the wives and daughters of the best women in the town. the masses were approacht but only with an extreemly long handled spoon. fortunately the last secretary was a woman of the people. when she explained her plans to thelma, she found a willing missionary. thelma had gone to those fallen human beings, not as their superior, but as their equal one prone to err. her attitude was veritably that of a friend. so well had she conducted her work that she was hailed by the ministers as a palpable apostle of practical christianity. she was deemed the making of the young women's christian association. the immediate jewel of his soul the spring following the party at mrs. annelle's william purchased a farm of six hundred acres, situated about eight miles from seaton. on this tract of land he placed six five- room cottages for his croppers, whom he expected to work fifty-acre tracts. near these houses he placed the necessary barns and stables, that his helpers might concentrate upon their special work, being able to start with the best advantages. this was a great advance because on the surrounding farms the people lived in cabins. about a half a mile from the rail¬ road he built a brick house and furnisht it like a house in the city among the well-to-do. for the home site he used five acres, which he had de¬ signed by a landscape gardener, that it might have the appear¬ ance of a suburban estate. across the entire front of the house he extended a porch in steel gray, colonaded with gothic pillars. various plants which would bloom thruout the season arose before the porch; roses, rooster cones, hyacinthes, lilacs, snow-balls, crysthanthemums and others. about fifty yards from the house in every direction extended a neatly trimmed hedge, which appropriately set off the evenly cut grass. here and there wras placed shrubbery to add to the charm of sym¬ metry. leading to the house were graveled walks which con¬ nected with the main road and that to the garage. about a quarter mile from this site he had built a church with a seating capacity of three hundred. tho a frame struc¬ ture. it was beautiful, both within and without. about a quarter mile from the home site in the opposite direction, could be found the farm buildings which would come under william's immediate supervision. directly to the rear of his house was a fifty acre tract given over equally to an orchard and an experimental farm. the rest of his land was for staple crops. the immediate jewel of his soul that evening when thelma came in, after having super¬ vised a club meeting at the y. m. c. a., contrary to her wont mrs. anderson with whom she lodged was not on the porch; but was in the parlor with her mother—mrs. haskell—and rev. ross. thelma knew that her pastor admired the sum¬ mer breeze with an appreciation more uproarious than her own. altho the day had been unusually hot—it was the first week in july—there he was within doors. as soon as she had removed her hat and gloves, she re¬ turned to the parlor and shook hands with rev. ross once more. when she had seated herself in an arm chair, he spoke of her community work which had received practically all her time during the vacation. he commended her for it, hoping she would draw even more women about her as aids. thelma had the highest admiration for her pastor, be¬ cause his every activity was guided by a conscious purpose. thus she discerned at once that he had not come to discuss her service as a social worker. she decided therefore, to make him state his business. mrs. anderson, however, prevented this by interrupting thus, "pardon me, but what do you think of the work of rev. smith ?" she was about to answer her own question, but hesi¬ tated, when she saw that rev. ross was going to speak. "i think it really phenomenal," put in rev. ross. "each time i think of it i regret the fiasco which occurred at the convention. if ever there wras an apostle of christianity, william is the man. like christ, he has been misunderstood, but he is in spite of it reaping a harvest of souls." "i'm glad he has risen regardless of the opposition from those who should have helped him up. in their hearts, i know they are sorry, for they see that seme day they must bring him back and apologize. don't fight against god/' said l (the immediate jewel of his soul mrs. haskel, deeply moved. she was a christian of the old school. "somehow it has seemed queer to me," remarkt rev. ross looking pointedly at thelma, "that there isn't a mrs. william smith on that estate. what's the trouble, thelma?" all who had grown up in his church from infancy he con¬ tinued to call by their first names. "i hope the girls of this town won't let him escape, to be seized by a lady of seaton." "i think we'll take care of that," said thelma smiling and did not blush at all. "i suppose some of the girls will be wanting to see that splendid estate. we'll have to get up a party that they may go, won't we?" he said to mrs. anderson. thelma now knew that mrs. anderson had spoken to the minister of the conversation of the previous night. "what a delight that would be !" she exclaimed, "but i have decided to go tomorrow." "i'll try then to arrange for a party to go with you," was the minister's tactful remark. "rev. ross, i am going business and will make the trip alone." she spoke with firmness, her tone distinctly in¬ dicating that she desired no company. she was almost angry, but was doing her utmost to keep composed the minister was somewhat unprepared for such a direct thrust. accordingly he had to pause for thot. while he re¬ flected for a reply, not a word was spoken. thelma was wait¬ ing for his next remark. the others felt themselves unquali¬ fied to take the initiative. at length, after a few moments, he said pleadingly, "are you aware of the risk you take?" "i am aware of everything," was her interruption. "you must remember tho you are a woman. if you do this, your name will become common gossip. when this hap- the immediate jewel of his soul pens to a school teacher in this town, it is not long before she is compelled to do something else," the minister argued. "rev. ross, if the board of trustees wants my position, it is welcome to it. i lived before they employed me, and i'll live when i have left them. you say i am a woman." she emphasized the word. "because i'm full grown, i feel that i can look after myself. if i should tarnish my character by making this call, i have womanhood enough to offer my resig¬ nation without any outside request; if i thot i could not make it without being sullied, i never should have accepted the po¬ sition. such is my confidence in the board of trustees, that i believe they would never have employed me, if they thot i could not make a trip like this, and end it as i'd begin it. you are impugning not only me, but those discreet gentlemen who placed me here. "you don't know what you're saying. i went into ill resorts to save abandoned women and came out as i went in. you know how long i have been doing this. you and your entire brotherhood have praised me for my courage and moral strength. now when i go to call on a man—the noblest character in these parts, the most lovable individual you've ever met, and you know it—you infer that my character will be besmirched." "don't you see i'm trying to guard your good name?" rev. ross replied. "i believe in you fully, but it is not so with my associates. if you go unchaperoned, of course i will de¬ fend you. but i do not want to see you out of the schools, your influence over the girls has been most wholesome. so well do you know how to guide." "the irony of it! yet i can not guide myself. if i go, i suppose i shall be treated as was william. well, i'll give the hoiy church a chance." she paused to observe the effect the immediate jewel of his soul of her bitter utterance. as no one spoke, she continued, "since i have reacht the age of discretion, i can manage my own af¬ fairs.- i never let others attend to my business. it is proper for william to board a train to come to see me, yet it's im¬ proper for me to board a train to go to see him. men can do as they please, but women must not suit their fancies. fie upon your double standard of morality that requires good girls to marry trashy men, fie upon conventionalities which permit men to sow wild oats, but deny the same to girls; fie upon your society women who will kick out one of their own sex, but will hurriedly embrace the scoundrel who ruined the girl they scorn. such is the church, such is the home, such is society." rev. ross wanted to speak, but she stopped him. "i defy you all. if i hadn't thot of going alone, i'd certainly go now. i've made up my mind. it would take all the powers of heaven to stay me, so it is useless for hell to try." she al¬ most screamed. mrs. haskell was much embarrassed, the others were greatly surprised. "thelma," said the mother, "it seems as tho you have no respect for your pastor." "mother, i honor him in the highest. i appreciate his counsel, but i can not follow it now. i have there in seaton a work of my own to do and nobody can do it for me. i will leave tomorrow at eight-thirty. even at this time all is defi¬ nitely arranged. i will remain here, however, only on one condition; that is, if nature opposes: if tomorrow the plains become mountains and touch the skies; if the streams i must cross become shoreless seas; if the lights of heaven and all artincial light fade into mist." "thelma, i must admire you," said the pastor. "your strong will moves me irresistibly. let me shake your hand. you have done too much for the church for it to forsake you the immediate jewel oit his soul now. i can not speak for my brethren, but i can speak for myself. may the peace of god be with you always! god speed you on!" turning to the other ladies, he remarkt. "thelma is true blue. i'd trust her with anything, even my life. have no fear. she is able to take care of her self/' thelma started towards the door, then turned and said, "thank you, rev. ross. but will you excuse me now? i must be making ready for my journey." "certainly," he said. thereupon, she left the room. chapter xiv. he is the living light-fountain, which it is goo'd and pleasant to be near,. the light which enlight¬ ens, which has enlightened the darkness of the world; and this not as a kindled lamp only, but rather as a natural luminary shining by the gift of heaven; a flowing light-fountain, as i say, of native original insight;—in whose radiance all souls feel that it is well with them.—carlyle tho william had been on his estate just a little more than a year, he had greatly changed the life of his environs. can a man be born again? who could doubt it now? had not the cabins for ten miles around given place to cottages and weatherboard houses? had not many who had left for the cities returned to the farms ? were there not more independent farmers just out from seaton than anywhere in the state? and what had made possible the building of the new station but the new impetus give to farming? william had attracted considerable attention by experi¬ ments of various sorts at his demonstration farm. for in¬ stance, he showed the effect of different feeds on hogs, hav¬ ing been able to market the heaviest hogs on an extremely economical, concentrated food. since his stock always topped the market, other farmers began to seek his methods. furth¬ ermore, from the most uncompromising land, he had by care¬ ful treatment of the soil obtained the greatest yields of corn. wherever his land was simply as good as that of a neighbor, he produced almost twice as much as his fellow farmer. he had exhibited also unusual skill in intensive truck gardening. william's specialties were hogs and small grains, but since he was more than well versed in the many aspects of agricul- the immediate jewel of his soul ture, his experimental station became a frequent rendez-vous. here flockt both white and black to learn of this wizard of the soil. the morning following thelma's conversation with rev. ross, william began the day's work in his orchard. as it was likely that the threshing machine would not arrive until late in the afternoon, or the next morning, he would discuss with his croppers there some essentials of spraying and tillage, also to contrast certain features of his orchard with those of several unprofitable fruit farms nearby. one of these was on a well drained spot, an excellent site for a lucrative orchard. its failure to bear had been due to the fact that it was planted in sod. the owner of that plot went with william to be in¬ formed along this line and observe the effect of cultivation on the delicacy of pulp and texture, and the vigor of the new wood. while in the midst of his discussion one of his helpers handed him a special. a glance at the familiar handwriting told him at once that it came from susan lee. he was eager now for noon to come when the demonstration would have been concluded, the visitors gone, and leisure present. since he had to wait he resigned himself without more ado. from this point, the farmers promptly noticed, however, that there was a change in their instructor. his speech was rapid with a quivering tone. yet the demonstration went on. how the time lingered! how perplexing the weariness of waiting! once he colored with the flush of vehement emo¬ tion. almost as frequently as he put thots of susan aside, they returned with greater vividness. thus he was stirred till noon when he could have sweet moments of undisturbed re¬ flection, when, he could think of all she had been and all he hoped her to be. fearing interruption by casual visitors, william did not the immediate jewel of his soul return to his house but went to his forest reserve at the farthest extremity of his farm. as he stretched on the ground, he no¬ ticed flitting and playing two humming birds. so happy they seemed that he envied them. he drew the letter from his pocket, opened it, then said to himself, ''j wonder what she has to say now. what does she think of me? she trusted during these years in my sincerity. have i been false? i can not feel that i have. but she has waited alone for me. sometimes i think i should go at once to williamsburg and ask her point blank to marry me. then i wonder if i can be the type of husband she desires. she wants me to find my comfort in sat¬ isfying her desire for a home life created and sustained with equal enthusiasm by us both. she loves the home, i love a public career, with a radicalism that may take me so frequently from her that i should almost have the status of a boarder. if i can not be indeed a husband, to furnish the companion¬ ship a mother and children should have, if i lead a life which would soon make my wife a widow and my children orphans, should i marry? is not this the very thing she would oppose? and would i not pursue my present way of life, which is the result of years of thinking in spite of her opposition? this would create between us a gulf which might become well nigh impassable. "i love the girl i know better than my dreams of heaven. but when the question arises of spending days, weeks, months, and probably years with another, i should have in mind her good fortune rather than mine. if i can not make her happy i will not rrfake her miserable, even for her own sake." then he paused in his revery and wiped his face, for it was quite warm. at length the decision came, "let me see what she has to say. it may be possible yet." he read carefully and with deep feeling. the immediate jewel of his soul have made a conquest, but i have not, tho yet i have hope. tho still i think you love me best even now, during these sixteen months your admiration for my friend, thelma, may at this time border on the beginnings of passionate love. all this while you have been wondering whether to marry me. have you not had sufficient time? i am ready to hear the best or the worst; but please end the suspense. "it may happen that you will not marry me, but you will not find a woman who'll love you more than i. nor will there come the man that i shall love more than you. yet we may not marry; that is a matter for you alone to decide. i say this because our artificial society makes it possible for individuals not to get their choices. even during my brief existence. i have met women who say they did not marry the man they loved best, because these men did not propose. moreover, father tells me that my mother was not his best love, but that his choice jilted him and married someone else. "when i think of these conditions, i drift at once to milton, who expresses in the lines i shall quote a great truth, if we consider them as applying not only to the man but also to the woman baffled in love. he says: 'for either -he never shall find out fit mate, hut such as some misfortune brings him, or mistake: or, whom he wishes most shall seldom gain, thru her perverseness; but shall see her gaind by a far worse; or if she love, withheld by parents; or his happiest choice too late shall meet, already linkt and wedlock-bound to a fell adversary, his hate or shame; which infinite calamity shall cause to human life, and househould peace confound." "william, light of my life, the barriers to your realization vanisht long years ago. and i thot that mine had vanisht, but here they are. the immediate jewel of his soul "during those days you were in college how i cried and prayed that you would finish and come back to me. at last you did return and i claimed you for my own, then you were mine and i was yours. "love, think of the nights of anguish, think of the days of weary waiting. your soul has so mingled with my own, that i am yours and you are mine for ever. you may wed someone else, but as for me, never. do as you think best for me and for you, but our spirits cannot dwell apart. "i am that type of woman that loves one and once- to be disappointed in love will cause me unutterable langour; but, william, i will not die. i shall suffer, but i will not die. if i should go, you would soon follow; but i must live, my love, that you may live; your work has just begun and you need womanly counsel; for the good of your work, for the good of the community, for your own good. decide this matter without delay; i will make any sacrifice for you. you need my advice, come, let me give it; or i shall come to you. "sixteen months ago you' intimated that two years from that eventful night you wrould be married. that same night thelma began an intimacy with you which since has forced you to take notice. i am extremely frank now, because i feel that we should understand each other thoroly. if ill must come of this, may it be speedy! if good, i can wait forever. "william, i have tried to be frank and specific. surely you understand me. i do not know what your answer will be, but as you love me truly, you will act for the greater happiness of us both. true, eight months' life before you, and as you have always kept your work, i know you cannot do less now. "hearts everywhere are beating for their lovers; yours is beating and so is mine. nights and days of anxious waiting, for you my heart beats every hour. my hope of ages rests the immediate jewel of his soul upon you, my childhood dreams i longed to come true. do you not hear me faintly calling, calling to you, heart atuned to love; in the distance, can you not hear the call of love? dearest, oh dear! i am seeking, seeking the one man for me. love, my soul is calmly pleading. love, you will come to me? "do not deceive yourself. you are my friend, you are my all in all; and i am "yours in the past, the present, and the future, susan." when william had finisht, he started homeward full of the emotion susan had aroused. the curtain seemed to have been lifted and he saw what he was and what he hoped to be. "i see the way. i will answer," he thot, "today. then as soon as the wheat harvest is over, i.will go to her. she shall wait no longer." chapter xv. o saw ye bonnie lesley as she gaed o'er the border? she's gane, like alexander, to spread her conquests farther.—burns william, bent on making himself wholly subservient to the gladness he had just found hurried onward suffused with the glow of the coming achievement. the wild flowers now took on a grander aspect, the trees were now brighter than ever. the squirrels frolickt with great glee, peculiarly thrilled with glee. the birds made soothing harmonies. would you be¬ lieve all this was a part of him? the sun of splendid happi¬ ness had given him a new birth, for he became aware that with this awakening his soul could sleep no more. no more was it good for him to be alone. he knew that before the close of summer he would marry. there was no other way. as. he came towards the rear of his garage, he was met by one of his helpers who had been seeking him for some time. "rev. smith," he said, rejoicing that his effort was now suc¬ cessful, "a lady wants to see you at the house. she wouldn't give her name. she's been there now more than an hour. be¬ sides, my madame says she fears she must scold you; for din¬ ner has been ready almost as long." william wondered who could it be. was it possible that susan had come anyhow ? she had said if he did not come to her she would come to him. how would he receive her? he would receive her as she deserved. "mr. brown," he said, then paused a moment for reflec¬ tion, "tell your wife put on an extra plate; we shall have com- the immediate jewel of his soul pany for dinner this afternoon. just as soon as i brush up and wash, i'll be in. i'm glad i didn't come from the front/' mr. brown, proceeded to deliver his message and wil¬ liam prepared to meet his guest. when he had finisht, he came to his parlor in his khaki trousers, and khaki shirt, from the neck of which suspended a knitted black tie. this habit to¬ gether with his tan shoes and leather puttees gave him the appearance of an american soldier of , sometimes vis¬ itors upon seeing him thus attired, askt if he was in the serv¬ ice of his country, meaning of course if he were a soldier. he would reply, "yes. i've been in the service of the coun¬ try all my life; however, i'm not a soldier, tho if necessary, im fight. i'm not a member of the standing army, but i do oelong to the working army, which is to help, according to our president's phrase to make the world safe for democracy." his dress was always impressive. william lost no time in his preparations. as he neared the arch..leading from the dining room to the parlor, his soul felt a yearning. it was trying to burst the bonds of present experience to grasp at others more profound. he sought to fathom the impassable, to know and yet be not known. mr. brown had been unable to describe the visitor with the dis¬ tinctness with which he had pictured others; in such a way as to cause william to be fully aware who the person was; that is, if the two had ever met. why had the gentleman failed in this instance? was it because he did not look fastidiously, due to the lady's being of the common place or to his being face to face with such an extraordinary presence as overawed him before he could become self-com'posed ? how for once he wisht the impossible; that intervening doors might vanish without ruin, that supernatural sight transcending all clair¬ voyants might serve him at this hour! then he realized the wish was vain, that happiness arises from the natural; that it the immediate jewel of his soul is not good always to know what is hid, to know what each tomorrow will bring. it would take away all the surprises, most of the laughs, and much of the joy of life. he was satisfied at last not to know, until he would see her face. he took a step forward and paused; in his heart there was great rejoicing. the new day had come at last. each thing he toucht seemed spirited with the benevolence of an aladdin genius, so that it would ever now be different with a splendor intrinsic and ideal. the brush he used was lighter, for with each movement to make himself suited for the tete-a-tete, visions arose of home enchanted, of williams and susans yet to be. he walkt now with better grace, for the call of youths unborn was lingering with him; and as he moved on, the old world had past away, and he saw a new heaven and a new earth. as garments which have long kept us company till other fashions seem more worth the while eventually pass for the more novel to bring a long awaited joy, william left old thots behind, to cling to those which susan had conjured up. his dream of dearness now was tan¬ gible. one goal at least he had reacht at last. on other occasions, when visitors had been announced, william had had no trepidation; the coming of strangers was entirely a matter of course. they were welcomed, feasted, and entertained with the characteristic southern hospitality. but he had felt no depth of passion, no unusual desire to see his guest. in this instance he had already delayed too long. if it were only susan! h'e hoped that it was only she. he rusht into the parlor to greet her who had called. he was face to face with a woman almost peerless, with a queen of beauty and of love, heiress of great princes of egypt, of a people' great in every land. he came forward astonisht, he bowed as a plumed knight, and with a cheery smile shook hands with thelma. the immediate jewel op his soul she was the first to speak, for william was too firmly be¬ sieged with amazement and consternation. thelma under¬ stood in advance that her coming would be a surprise. how great this would be of course she did not comprehend. "i'm glad to see you, william. how have you been? how are you? you have indeed a wonderful establishment here; i hope to view it more minutely. as the train flew over the trestle just out from happy forge, a stranger to me, but a friend to you—a mr. trundle hope—askt me if i had seen your estate. when i told him i had not, he said that i was just where i could obtain a fine view of it, if i only had a field glass. when i produced one, he took great pride in indicating and explaining the various parts of your land of heart's de¬ sire. would you believe me if i told you i saw a group of white and colored men in the north western section of your farm, but their features were not plainly distinguishable." william was glad that she had some idea of the place, be¬ cause he could pass over many details and dwell upon the as¬ pects of chief interest. he continued silent. as a conse¬ quence, thelma went on, "that view of course since it was largely panoramic, was seen from too great a distance to re¬ veal some features which should leave with me a kaleidoscopic impression. in this i need have no doubt, you will place every¬ thing at my disposal. you will want me to speak to your friends in williamsburg with authority; for they are desirous of all they can learn of you." "yes, my whole farm shall be at your disposal," said william, now gaining his equipoise. "i'm glad you've come and hope you will not regret having called upon the humblest worker of these parts. but," he gave great emphasis to the word, "you have come alone. why didn't some of the others come also. the more the merrier our party would be. it seems that susan would have been good company." he hesi- the immediate jewel op his soul tated before pronouncing susan's name, then uttered it with noticeable feeling. thelma was not daunted by this outburst; she had planned well and was consequently ready for all sur¬ prises. with wonted frankness she said, "susan, i'm sure, didn't know i was coming." he thot of susan's statements con¬ cerning his fair caller, of the letter which had given him a new birth. at once he discerned that another battle was on. "to those who were eager to come i said nothing. i wanted to see 'ou alone/' she admitted. william now saw that susan divined aright. was not thelma's last utterance an avowal of love? when a woman tells a man she wants to see him alone, or if the man has so told the woman, is it not because of something admired, is it not because of love? thelma con¬ tinued by saying, "rev. ross, mother and mrs. anderson suggested getting up a party; but that would have required probably several days. as i was in the spirit of coming, i would not wait. i might have told susan, but thinking i should not, i have comie alone." william found himself at once in a quandary as to what could be the purport of her excursion. he listened almost breathlessly, for as she spoke, his thots went back to williams¬ burg, where clustered in romantic musing and temporarily re¬ signed satisfaction was one who had come out of dreamland, fairyland, or eldorado to make a conquest of his heart. could there yet come another? as he wanted thelma to relish her visit, he checkt that flow of thots and askt if she had brought baggage and whether it had been properly cared for. "i brought simply a bag with me," was her response, "which i left with mrs. johnson, in town. she says that you have helped her much by sending to her visitors to spend the night or to remain several days. i was referred to her by the secretary of the y. w. c. a., as the immediate jewel of his soul the rooms there had all been taken. as she is both winsome and congenial, i have no doubt that we become bosom friends. besides, she commends you highly." "mrs. johnson is one of my dearest friends. i'm glad you're well situated. now i can be composed. come have some dinner," he said incoherently, extending towards her his hand with a gentle bow. "i'm sure you must be hungry, since you arrived this morning at ten o'clock. your subse¬ quent time must have been given to adjusting your affairs. but how long do you plan to be here?" "i don't know," was her quick response. they started lor the dining room absorbed in several big ideas. "i may go back tonight or tomorrow, or i may remain several days. all depends upon how much i can accomplish." william found himself once more wondering what she could have in mind. they sat down to a well spread table, as only one is spread where there is loving and rural abundance. both were thrilled with the opportunity to enjoy a good repast and showed such by hearty application. while thus engaged she thot she would make an excellent first impression by showing a deep interest in the work he dearly loved. she was testing this philosophy—to be sure it was some of her own—for a woman to win the affection of man she would profit by being deeply interested in those activities which interested hinx she might have in some instances different views, but his interests needed to become her interests. thus she knew definitely where to begin. "william," she said, commencing the conversation, "the very fact that i have come this distance alone, despite thunders of criticism, indicates that we have at least something- o in common, namely, the success of your experiment here. i have frequently heard from afar that you are engaged in a great work. well, that's nothing new to me; for thru all the immediate jewel of his soul these years i've known you, so far as my intelligence permits me to observe, a great work has alone been able to attract you." somewhat abasht, he thankt her for her compliment. "true i've heard something from others, but should like to know at first hand from you, what is the nature and scope of your endeavor. you know that during vacation i devote prac¬ tically all my time to community work. my specialty is to reach the girl who has fallen; yet i give some time to other girls and even to boys. since you yourself are naturally mag¬ netic and radiate inspiration, i am here to catch even the faintest gleams of incentive and carry them to persons almost devoid of hope. tell me, therefore, what you are doing and what is the ultimate attainment you have in mind." "i am engaged in an experiment, thelma, which i feel should succeed; yet i can not be too certain, tho i may realize many great accomplishments. ordinarily, when men engage in experimentation, they have their equipment so well under control, that a large amount of success is rather sure. i am speaking of course of the best scientists. mine, however, is an experiment in democracy; i am trying to convert the pre¬ judice against races into an hostility against particular indi¬ viduals, who wilfully neglect to make the best of oppor¬ tunities and who expect to reap tho they have not sown; to see to it that he who sows shall reap; to place in public office the man who is most efficient and unselfish; to give every man an equal chance to rise, no matter whence he comes or what he has been." at this point mrs. brown seated herself as would a proud hostess, to eat with them until all were ready for dessert. william introduced thelma to mrs. brown, in order that all might participate in informing not only his guest, but, as he said, their guest. mrs. brown sometimes would join in, also the immediate jewel of his soul her husband; on this occasion, however she preferred to listen and not to speak. "william, you have indeed a great task before you, one which may require many generations for its completion. it is more than a life work." "that's true. still we may be able to speed it on its way." "but you have located here in the south amidst a people, committed not to democracy but aristocracy, an ideal which has been with this section since the importation of the first slaves, probably even earlier. here prejudice goes rampant; true a few of our people vote, but the many are shamefully disfranchised, while white men more ignorant than they go to the polls. here you are faced with the so called jim crow- cars on railroads and street car lines; partial courts; and fre¬ quent manifest humiliation." she wanted him to feel the big¬ ness of his undertaking. "thelma," he said with assurance, "i feel the weight of all you spoke. but do you think i can find democracy any¬ where in these united states?" she shook her head. "you're a graduate of one of our best northern universities. tell, me if you found democracy there." "tho i went shoulder to shoulder with the first in my class, not for once during my entire stay did i feel that i was not colored. "of course my effort here is more strenuous than it would be in pennsylvania or new york; but if the proper relations can be realized in the south between black and white, the bat¬ tle, practically speaking, will have been won." "you're not doing this alone tho, are you?" thelma in-' quired with a dainty smile. "no, not now. i have five croppers to aid me, aside from the co-operation of three white farmers who specialize in to¬ bacco. then there are others who have aided mte by mention- the immediate jewel of his soul ing my endeavor in their addresses before white audiences. especially has this been true of editors and ministers.'" "give me some idea of an instance wherein you have done something to break down prejudice," she implored wanting to be satisfied. "in this country," he began firmly, "for about five years farmers believed it unprofitable to grow white potatoes and onions for the market. they never ceast to grow them for their tables, but had left off producing them for sale. "seeing that the soil in this country was particularly adapted to the growing of these two vegetables, i thot the failure to hit was due to the preparation of the soil. accord¬ ingly i askt mr. brown, who had planned to grow only toma¬ toes, to plant onions and potatoes instead. he was reluctant because he is a specialist in tomatoes, but i gave him a guaran¬ tee of four thousand dollars, the amount he expected to real¬ ize from his tomiatoes. in addition to this i had him put in an acre for each of these crops at the demonstration farm. i told some farmers what we were doing and askt them to visit us, when we could show the plants, the cultivation, and results. we invited both white and black. when the season closed, we had attained signal success. "in the same way, i suggested to my other croppers what they should make their staple crops. since our products be¬ came preferred because of lusciousness, texture, marketing and storing qualities, demands have arisen thruout the state for the privilege of attending our demonstrations and obtaining suggestions as to the most economical way of producing a quality, maximum yield." thelma wanted to see him thru, but as she was speedily brot to an appreciation of the magnitude of his work, she felt compelled to interrupt. "you know, william,'' she said with interest, "achievement is not unaccompanied by other things. the immediate jewel of his soul we must pay the price of success. some, i doubt not, envy you, and by your own words, many already seek to learn of you. true you are young and vigorous; but are youth and health everything. i fear you may work too hard. i do not mean to be inquisitorial, but are you doing all this without advice, without well qualified helpers?" smith was somewhat disconcerted, for he had not been greeted hitherto by thots of his own welfare. now that they had been spoken, they brot reflection. this did not last long, so he replied, "my croppers are my helpers, particularly mr. brown, and mr. wilson, my specialist in orchard gardening. when we decide to launch. a movement in the interest of a particular crop, we meet in conference, arrange plans and detail the work. thus no one needs to do too much." "but you are the prime mover; besides you are a minister, are you not exhausting your strength to the extent that you need a counsellor to restrain you?" "nothing worth while, thelma, is accomplisht without much work. as for my being a preacher, you know you and susan both opposed my forsaking my chief calling. i am merely keeping my promise. my preaching now is more ef¬ fective than ever, for not only in trying to spur others to get a thoro education and achieve, can i point to the success of others, but i can indicate very forcibly the attainment of those about me. they understand what i mean, when i preach, 'the word was made flesh and dwelt among us.' " "i was wondering tho if your sacrifice were not too great. your work instead of obtaining the good-will of the ordinary white farmer may merely aggravate the evil you are trying to stamp out? haven't you really excelled him? pray tell me what white man wants to see a colored man outdo him?" inquired the fair guest. "they may not desire it but in many ways they ignore the immediate jewel of his soul it. they ignore it. they allowed booker t. washington to outdo them. they allow our boys in college in many instances to forge ahead. they just can't help themselves. if i haven't said enough, this i know will suffice; the white man every¬ where allows his dark brother to excell him in unselfishness, religion and loyalty." william protested with firm assurance. thelma responded with her usual complacence. "in this you are right, but won't the southern demagogs, the products of color prejudice, or rather to some extent, the makers of color prejudice, do you great wrong? your intentions are strictly logical; but are you not trying to alter conditions which in themselves are so mighty, that they may ultimately engulf you?" "that is true," he admitted, "but wrong must be righted. truth and right must prevail. as the apostle of truth and right i'm ever ready to pay the price—even to die. kelley mil¬ ler, our great chieftain, a calm thinker, reminds us when we would be rash that the pen is mightier than the sword. he says that almost invariably it has required shot and shell to knock wrong doctrine out of the heads of some white men, as is instanced by most of the wars of history. at last has ap¬ peared a lover of peace, the colored man in america, a man who can fight, but a lover of peace, devoted to peace after 'principles purely pacific.' the speech of edmund burke on 'conciliation' with the american colonies, with very slight modification is our plea today. the principles therein em¬ bodied are applicable to all backward and opprest peoples. right never changes. the english colonists stood oppression for a hundred and fifty years and gained their political free¬ dom by the sword, and not by the pen. we hope that what kelley miller informs us has been true thru the ages, will not be true in our realizing liberty. we've already shed blood for the liberty of others. may that also suffice for our own! the immediate jewel op his sot l two groups do come together, we can look for a new order of things." "at first," put in william, "we seemed to differ. but aren't we on the same vantage ground ? i admit that the work is strenuous, and at times perilous. yet it is a work that must be done. the barrier must be removed, for it prevents our national life. it has made our justices, our morality, and even our education one-sided. everything is out of joint. when i think of it, i lose patience. this game of politicians and fanatics must cease." at this point william felt that he had been thinking too much of his own problems, having done hers scant courtesy, consequently he turned to her and began, "thelma, now that you know the plan of my work, let us turn to williamsburg. to be sure i obtain the newspapers of that grand, old town; yet there is much they fail to men¬ tion of a strictly, personal nature, that you can disclose. tell me all the news, tell me about all my friends, about yourself —anything and everything." thelma was not surprised at this turn the conversation took; the fact is she had expected it. she congratulated her¬ self tho on having been able to restrain the outburst until this time. her purpose was to have him' make a complete revelation of what he aimed to do, in order that the activity which absorbed his life might also absorb hers, thus they would have much in common. this realized, her task could no longer be desperate, for she would have made a way to his heart. yet another device offered some gladness, strongly prophetic of success. she might win him thru his mother. this was her chance for another mutual interest. since he was indeednfond of mrs. smith, by far more devoted to her than most men are to their mothers, thelma was happy to say most of this venerable lady while discussing williams¬ burg. "nothing unusual has occurred, william; you know the immediate jewel of his soul it is too hot for receptions. pilgrim, however is planning an excursion to seaton for the express purpose of allowing the members to see just what they have inspired. they have never forsaken you. you are theirs now even as you were years ago. when the convention closed its pulpits to you, pilgrim continued to say, 'come,' as you will recall. they did not understand all you said; but they trusted in your sincerity. they love you, because you always loved them.'' "if they had forsaken me, i should not have disliked them; for i knew some of my utterances shockt them. now. that they have been so liberal, as not to allow the old love to cease, i cherish thenn all the more. i shall be happy to place my farm at their disposal. "but how is my mother? i wish she would come here, yet i appreciate her reasons for remaining where she is. well do i remember after that eventful convention. i myself was so enrapt with the past that i preferred to linger there. how i wisht to stay! yet i had to leave, an important work awaited me. i had to rise unto my place." by this time they had finisht their dessert; so william escorted her to the parlor. she was well imprest with her experiences and was confident that her trip was not in vain. once she started to mention william's mother, but be¬ lieving that her end would be better served if he suggested the theme, she waited until he had given her the cue. then she said, "your mother is quite well. i suppose you're unaware that i go to see her almost as to a shrine. i go so frequently. i went just before coming here, as i wanted to come fresh with news of her. she had thot for some time of visiting you, but learning of the plans at pilgrim, she thot she'd wait for mrs. green. isn't it remarkable how your mother seems to take no account of time? she might easily pass the immediate jewel op his soul for an elder sister, yet her life has been strenuous to aid you in realizing your chief aims." "i have much to prize in her, for tho she would have pre¬ ferred my settling in williamsburg, she was broad enough to see that like a prophet of old, i had to seek honor in a dis¬ tant country. i have been unable to bring her here; yet if my success depended upon her presence in seaton, she would have been here long ago." thelma had not erred in her judg¬ ment ; for the tie between mother and son was unusually strong. to make a master stroke and prepare for subsequent ef¬ fort, she would become personal. she had to gain time, or as some would put it, she had to make up for lost time. no let¬ ters had passed between her and william. never had they met alone except to pass the conventional greeting. this was their first tete-a-tete. thelma planned that this should not be their last. furthermore, she intended to write. whether he would answer was not the question, but she must somehow thrill his soul. since she knew william had commended her with an admiration which might involve great promise, she was always optimistic. she could not, however, construe it as the love that makes man and woman one. there was susan, whom she knew william loved. she also knew that his calls had recently been markt by long intervals, a sign of the estoppage of love. but as she had ceased regularly to call on susan, she felt sure that susan suspected her. or¬ dinarily susan would wait. it was her temperament. would she wait now? thelma was afraid to take any risk. she said therefore, "certainly you miss your mother and probably others who have cheered you much." "yes," he replied, "i do miss them, so much, that i re¬ joice when anyone comes from those parts." "for sometime that has been my belief," she affirmed, looking at him bashfully and then lowering her head. "it the immediate jewel of his soul seems your work, tho well organized, needs one other helper." "and, pray what is he to do?" "to give you constant counsel, to keep you from work¬ ing too hard. a great man needs a wife. i've wondered why you've waited so long. i can say this because when we were quite young, we said whatever we pleased to each other; but when you stept into manhood and i into womanhood, susan came between. since then we have kept apart. i have said this reluctantly, but i am speaking only for your good." she knew she was playing with fire. "thelma, i have been thinking of it and have about reacht a decision. i have not, i fear, dealt fairly with susan; but i will do so now. by the way, let me show you the farm, brown is coming with the auto. i will tell you more of what you suggested as we go over the farm." william had spoken before he was fully aware of the significance of his words. the idea came to him that thelma might be interpreting his ^remarks for her own contentment. should he speak freely? ^certainly it was best for her to know. susan had hinted that thelma was her rival. william held both women in high esteem and he would have both happy; but he made up his mind that rivalry would have to cease. at present thelma was his guest and as such she would receive hearty welcome. he helped her into his chandler £nd started over the estate. "how beautiful it is to have puch pleasure! i think i must make seaton my home," she remarkt. he replied, "thelma, seaton would be glad to have you." chapter xvi. my boy stept over the hills, a master of the night; he seized the morning in his hand, and darkness changed to light. he met a star that rose out of his brother's brest, it fell upon his rainbow soul and hailed him to a quest. he lookt where giants claimed the mastery of the world, advancement o'er all other folk; with glories e'er unfurled. they marched to conquer love, and sink it with the night, but tumbling with this hate they died, eclipsed by light. my boy stept o'er the hills, awakened by the cry, "the veil is lifting with the star. who scorns but waits .to die." thelma and william were kindred spirits. born anew this day with visions bright, they sailed on and on. for a time they said nothing to each other, because there were elfish voices skipping thru the air that had a language lovingly their own. the breezes, pure and serene, told of journeys over seas to distant lands, where god's folk, just rising unto place, wisht civilization would embrace the world. the laughing birds scouting on wing suggested the nobility of companionship. yet they had their foes. many perisht each winter. some hastening on the return of spring, were stopt by the bullet of the immediate jewed of his soul civilized barbarism. for all this, they could not help singing" the gladness of the time. to fashion a dvorakain symphony like unto that of "the new world," the trees joined in with measured bows, gracefully gesticulating to the strains re¬ sounding full and free. what need of speech, when all else was talking; the whis¬ pering birds, the lowing cows, the bleating lambs, the capri¬ cious calf, the prancing horse? for quite a long while thelma and william could only be silent. but their souls were not quiet at all. great idealists like them could not be near and at the same time distant. the glance of an energetic eye, a dynamic expression of profound interest and astonishment, and the understanding of a purposive personality conjured up avenues of communications inexpressible in song or speech. each thus soared in imiagination, surmising the beautiful in the other, dreaming of the grandeur of being together, making noble the common place. they stopt at all buildings, for this was the courtesy shown all visitors. tho there was the temptation to be personal and use the time for intercourse touching the crystalline experi¬ ences of childhood and youth. william thot of the reason why thelma had come. her trip should realize that end. with this in mind, he showed her the cosy homes of his croppers. when he had completed the tour, promptly with the world before her in panoramic view, she wondered how he could af¬ ford this. his answer was "capitalism of today is wrong. it does not eliminate classes, rather it fixes them. a wage earner gets hardly a tenth of the wealth he produces. the bulk goes to the enterpreneur. i might within fifteen or twenty years easily accumulate a million. but a millionaire is an anachronism in a democracy. i am striving to give the worker all he produces, at the same time to keep a minimum for my counsel and guidance. thus i never have any trou- the immediate jewel of his soul ble getting workers. furthermore, i run my farm on the eight-hour plan except during seed time and harvest, when we go far beyond this. during these seasons the laborers are given double pay for all extra time." "i've been thinking that you're making trouble for your¬ self. how do neighboring farmers take this?" thelma ques¬ tioned, rejoicing that she had come alone. "they are rather complaisant. they've come to regard my estate as a university of these parts, a sort of rendez-vous for the inspiration of progressive methods in farming. my ambition is primarily not to make money, but to show others how. consequently i am no competitor to arouse their envy. my position is that we must not pull apart, but strive together. as an example, i go as readily to aid a white farmer as i do to aid a black one. besides both black and white frequent my place, probably the whites more than my own people. the im¬ mortal words of mrs. dickinson in her "assault on .fort wag¬ ner" are my inspiration. she says, "black and white were buried together, black and white in a common grave. let liberty see to it then that black and white are raised together in a life better than the old." thelma, thru whom spoke generations crying to be born, stood like a stature, firm and still. she was thinking of what she could do to help bring together two peoples equally mis¬ understood. she took a dainty memorandum, and jotted down a gem. looking away from a cottage to the west, she discovered a beautiful knoli. she moved in its direction and william followed almost automatically. "come," she said with her voice as magic as the chimes of christmas morning, "come i want to recite a poem which i recently composed." he listened attentively while she read the following idyl: the immediate jewel of his soul o cabin dear, dost thou not hear her faltering voice? thy gloried choic« 'twas once. dost not remember well how sweetly to her songs we fell? a mother fair, o'erwhelmed with care, tript to the field a hoe to wield, the buried treasure there to reap, her babe forsaken, fast asleep. the fleeting wind oft too unkind, takes holiday to sport and play. refreshing greetings, sweet and long, it fashions in a cradle song. while baby sleeps, the mother keeps beside her mate early or late. to bid their poverty goodbye, the two must slave, or fall and die. when the weary sun, blushing for fun, shoots from the view and bids adieu, that evening shades might fall and sport in the slumbering hall; the mother stands with welcome hands at the cabin door, love's shower to pour on him who unseen trophies brings, ller lord, her saint, her king of kings. the tattered shirt with honorable dirt and sweat, ne'er stains the soul that rains a flood of twilight, mirth and joy, that hearts unchain and griefs destroy. the immediate jewel of his soul "come, come, my boy, naught can annoy: the white man's hate or a curse of fate," she said, with loving arms entwined, to bring a star to his troubled mind. "our souls run true, our lives renew; god makes the strife; god crowns the life. tho riches' gulf we may not span, our babe shall pass, for he's a man. "come to your meat, my noble sweet, the day is done and joy begun. as heaven and earth are blithe and true. you live in me and i in you." "i'll work for a song, i'll suffer wrong, but where'er i be, my spirit's free; the darkest hours are filled with light, the stars e'er shine tho out of sight. "with you as bliss, i naught can miss. our rising race, has set the pace. love, flowers are gay and skies are blue, you live in me and i in you.'* "thelma," william began just as soon as she had finisht, "i like your poem. yet in a way it comes as a surprise; for i've been under the impression that you're so fully occupied with public service, that you had no time for the muses." she smiled and whispered sweetly, to be the more en¬ trancing, "i have to continue scribbling to finish my appren¬ ticeship. ' i hope some day to sing the deeds of the sage of seaton. would you like that?" "to be sure, it would be par excellence," he jested merrily. the immediate jewel of his soul thelma moved somewhat closer to him, lookt away a moment, then lookt toward him and smiled. to be mis¬ chievous, she artfully took his hand and speedily let it go. that was long enough, too long; for in the instant seaton had vanisht for the land of pure delight, for the joyous trembling of mate for mate, for the rapid heart-beat that hurries us to love, for the thrills that herald the approach of heaven. wil¬ liam wanted to retain her hand, to hold her against his heav¬ ing bosom to assuage the tempest there. his hands moved in¬ voluntarily towards her, and as he glanced, her lips quivered with soft emotion, her eyes spoke depths of love. then smiling with the radiance of happy sunlight, she called in plead¬ ing tones of dainty melody, "william, william," and as if he had been naughty sprang from the knoll and answered back, "my william." he followed, replying, "thelma,'"—his voice was all en¬ treaty—"thelma, don't." turning towards him, she said, "what do you wish wil¬ liam ?" the prophet stood, silent and dismayed. he recalled his days of romping with the thelma of the past, he recalled her passing into womanhood, he saw a loving personality. how his soul cried out within him! how he longed to break the silence! why could he not clasp her hand and be himself again? he moved nearer to her and she towards him, then leapt before him susan's words, "william, you love me; and tho you may not take me for your wife, there is not born the woman who will love you more than i." "of what are you thinking, william?" laught thelma to end his meditation, but would not wait for an answer. "this is a beautiful retreat. who could not be happy here? the birds of paradise have never ceased their di'tty since here we paused. they sang, 'be dear, my friends.' and the the immedlaia jjuwisl, of his soul breeze whispered a pleasing lay, 'young people soon grow old!' besides, yon gay stream purled along saying, 'i hope to see you when i return.' at the same time the trees which form an admirable screen, lisp, til see that none disturb you.' even my home companions, the flowers speak; they promise, 'we shall be your garland against a very welcome day.' " with arms outstretched, he rapidly goes to take her when a whistle hoarse with sounding, announces the approach of the community threshing machine and the laborers on sur¬ rounding farms. this was followed.by a sharp outburst of vig¬ orous singing, faintly first,, then loud and louder: pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, smile; while you're a lucifer to light your fag, smile, boys, that's the style. what's the use of worrying? it never was worrthwhile; bo pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, smile. finally appeared the man and the voice, a young, white planter from a neighboring farm. finding rev. smith vis-a¬ vis with a young woman of great charms, he was much em¬ barrassed. to make, however, the best of the untoward cir¬ cumstances, he brusquely began to perform his duty. "my name's fred," he spoke. "what's yours?" "mine's william. is there someone you're trying to find?" "yes/' responded the new arrival. "i'm looking for mr. smith, the elder who owns this farm. i've just lately moved into this section and have not learned all the folks." "i'm your man," said rev. smith, "and i think i know why you've come. how soon will mr. davis begin thresh¬ ing?" the immediate jewel of his soul "within half an hour." "tell him we'll be on time." in an instant the planter had gone. thelma, because of the dignity he showed, a dignity somewhat unusual among rustic people, inquired whether his attitude was typical. "he showed no hesitancy in properly addressing you. where we are, white people dislike to call a colored person mister or miss. that's social equality, you know. furthermore, you must not call them by their first names. the gentleman who just left considered us human beings like himself." "his attitude is typical, thelma/' was the response. there may be the traditional southerner on outlying farms; but on this and neighboring plantations and even in the towns, my co-workers and i are addrest as we should be by anyone in new york city." he paused a moment, reflected, and then continued, "thelma, come witness a novel sight. i believe you have not seen a wheat threshing?" he spoke inquiringly, yet in a mood which was almost care-free. "no, i have not. i have so much longed to see one. how fortunate i am in having come in time for this great occasion! i am almost overjoyed." thelma thot of the excellent tete-a- tete ended, but decided not to resume it at this time. a few moments later they stept into his car and soon were on their way to his palatial home. after the croppers and their helpers had been notified of the appointment, william and thelma started for mr. davis' farm. as they rode along, greeted by fields of swaying corn on either side of tar oiled roads, they noticed men going in the same direction with pitch forks on their sturdy shoulders. the white workers were talking merrily, the colored were either whistling or singing. then came occasional pranks ac¬ companied with vivacious outbursts of "oh, boy!" next, a the immediate jewel of his soul caper followed a strut accompanied by this merry tune, "go¬ ing to halloway with my amanda jane/' at once hearty peals of laughter all about the salubrious performer rang hap¬ pily. lord and lady soon reacht the designated place and parkt at a point from which there was a full view of the coveted activity. whereupon thelma and william left the car to meet a group of women about whom tots were frolicking. after being introduced, thelma made herself a friend of all the little folk; and they were trailing behind her to share an en¬ vied caress. the women were happy too, for they noticed at once that this urban personality had none of "your city airs." having placed the visitor in good company, william pro¬ ceeded to organize the workers so as to expedite time. he himself chose to feed the bundles of wheat to the harvester. daniel martin, a white farmer, was to take the stand with him, cut the bands and hand him the bundles. andy clark- ston was to receive the grains in the bushel baskets and empt^ them into barrels nearby. mr. davis' laborers were to haul the bundles of wheat from the stacks to the harvester. henry and james mitchell, both white, were to hand the bundles to daniel martin. all other laborers, white and black, were to handle the straw. here was a joyous scene. about sixty people, as many black as white, were about to perform a miracle for humanity. the field, where once countless blades of wheat stood, now showed everywhere a stubborn stubble. this however, was no barrier to the urchins who ran wherever they desired, in their bare feet. they lookt at the seven large stacks of wheat faintly visible in the distance, products of arduous life. then they lookt at the large oil engine panting, ready to make the harvester go. particularly did they eye the long pipe, which j g iil lj immediate jewel of his soul they thot would make some melodious sound. one little fel¬ low bolder than the rest moved near to examine this magic worker, whereupon air. davis shouted, "boy!' the lad speed¬ ily took to his heels. the colored laborers, who were to dispatch the straw, took their places and, as if beginning a ceremony, started to sing "the hoeing of the corn." this was followed by "thresh dat wheat and pile dat straw, folks git tired of corn bread." such robust strains of matchless harmony filled the air and thrilled all hearts, that all were at once exalted. the whistle sounded for the task to begin. all were in place. the work was on. the harvester was fast, but rev. smith was faster, also were the other busy folk. each tried to outdo the other, to show himself a man among men. this master man, however, could not be found. to get a greater inspiration, from time to time, individuals sang to the accom¬ paniment of their own rhythmic souls, such songs as, "i'm going back to east colorado" and "one more time, eh, lord." at sunset, the toilers ceased and went to the "big house" for the evening meal. having washt, white and black sat down to the same tables and all were served at once. heartily did they eat. joke followed joke, hilarity ran high; most were highly pleased. a few of the white, thelma noticed appeared at rare intervals somewhat choleric or disgruntled. whatever their inner thots were, spleen never once was uttered. when all had finisht, the guests left for their homes. it was not long before a wonderful harmony again arose. the men were singing on their way home the following air: the immediate jewel of his soul great earnestness. he had by the time he finisht come to his automobile. when they were seated, thelma said, "indeed this is truly wonderful. i came here liking this vicinity, but now i adore it. how long do you think the bliss can last?" the prompt response was, "forever." the immediate jewel of his soul william smith. what will susan say? i see why you have not been close friends recently. until a few weeks ago one could hardly turn for the other." she spoke pointedly, as she was disillusioned. "you have been friends from infancy, but now—" "mother, i'm so hungry." mrs. haskell laught. "how has it come so suddenly as this?" "i didn't feel thus a while ago; i do really crave some¬ thing now,'' thelma pleaded. "is it bread or is it william ?" her mother taunted. - "mother, mother, mother!" she laught. "please let me have some supper." after a few exertions, thelma sat down to an appetizing meal and attackt it vigorously. how vehemently she tried to dispel all thots of seaton! yet they 'would not down.' mrs. haskell permitted her to eat without interruption. then when thelma had finisht, she brot a letter which had been there for several days. "a letter from president harper at this time—what an unusual circumstance! he has never written me during vaca¬ tion until the early part of september. why this letter now ?" she mused. without more ado, she opened it and read thus: my dear miss haskell: the members of our trustee board waited upon me several days ago and discussed your visit to seaton. they feel that, tho in all matters pertaining to sojourner truth college and the community you have acted with tact and great discretion, in this instance you have been most unwise and rashly im¬ petuous. when i was importuned by our worthy officials, you had already been in seaton ten days, during which time your name had become a synonym of evil suggestion. not only have the trustees opposed you, but petitions con¬ taining the names of fifteen hundred patrons have askt for the immediate jewel of his soul your removal, stating that your continuing on the faculty would lead them to send their children elsewhere. the public is one in saying that your attitude is the expression of ideals that they wish their children not to acquire. it is quite a calamity that our dean of girls has brot this odium upon her. for parents and girls both loved you well. yet i am constrained to ask that you tender your resigna¬ tion. i know that many girls will not return, because your great affection made you a part of them. since my con¬ stituency, however, demands this, i act. yours sincerely, thomas harper. "mother," began thelma, as soon as she had finisht, ""president harper has written me a very entertaining letter. read it." mrs. haskell eagerly began to peruse it, but when she had come to the end of the first paragraph, she frowned and said, "thelma.'' "read it thru first and then put me on the wrack," the daughter spoke as if in jest. when mrs. haskell had concluded, she remained silent for a while and then said, "you've just made a perfect mess of it. my premonitions pointed to something disastrous. now the catastrophe is at hand. thelma, why have you done this ?" she sat down in anguish, then tears began to flow. "i cau¬ tioned you concerning this, yet you would go. i know you've done no wrong; but i dislike the ill feeling and unpopularity you have brot upon yourself." the daughter lovingly embraced the mother and attempted to console her with these words, " 'as a man thinketh in his heart, so is he.' it is not what people think of me that is of prime importance, but what i think of myself, what i am, what i know i am. many who walk and flaunt themselves angels of mercy are veritable devils infernal. i try to let my life the immediate jewel of his soul contrary to my former arrangements—do call up president harper and ask if i may have an interview within half an hour." mrs. haskell proceeded at once to the telephone. a few minutes later she returned. to her surprise thelma was writing. "thelma, president harper will be expecting you. what are you doing now, my child ?" she remarkt. "i'm writing my resignation, i'm trying to glorify you. this night you will be proud of me." when she had com¬ pleted this, she went upstairs to get her hat and scarf. as she stept upon the porch, she said, "i've had a vision. i've found my place. have no fear. goodbye, just for a while.' chapter xviii. all our friends, perhaps, desire our happiness; but, then it must invariably be in their own way. what a pity that they do not employ the same zeal in making us happy in ours! —lytton president harper, a man of forty-five, a giant in bronze, with a bearing which at once commanded attention and re¬ spect, was seated this luxurious evening in his simple but allur¬ ing study. it was a room of about ten square feet with two modestly curtained windows that afforded ample light. resting irresistibly in the center on a rug of beautiful but plain design was a mahogany table supporting a vase of red roses. in one corner was a couch loaded with historical pillows, a veritable summons to sit, inquire, and love. in the opposite corner was a case of books, to transport one to many storied lands. in the corner which would last be seen upon entering, was a rolling-top desk. before this, making an excellent ap¬ pearance, was a commodious, revolving chair. here and there, yet well placed, were several chairs for visitors. this study with all its suggestiveness did not suit mrs. harper, until it furnisht the biography of the spirit that staid there longest, by athletic pictures and pennants of the schools that had in¬ spired. so carefully had the furnishings been selected that to enter was to become a prey to the temptation to scrutinize every detail, to stand captivated. how attractive, how be¬ witching it all was! at seven-thirty, the bell rang. the distinguish educator who had been in his study for an hour, put aside his book and went to the head of the steps to greet thelma. to his surprise, he did not meet the lady, but shook hands with mr. the immediate jewel of his soul charles tucker, president of the board of trustees. "mr. tucker," he said, "i'm happy to see you. how have you been since last we met?" "first rate, dr. harper, first rate. your pleasing coun¬ tenance tells me at once that all has gone well with you." "not quite all, but i've been feeling fine." he moved a chair near the table and askt his guest to be seated. then he himself sat in the revolving chair, with his back towards his desk, but his face towards his visitor. mr. tucker, to whom long years in heading a construc¬ tion company had made abstemious about the use of every minute, lost no time in stating his business, once greetings had been exchange. "dr. harper," he began pleasantly but serious¬ ly, "have you as yet decided upon your new dean of girls?" "no, not yet. a matter of such moment as this needs much reflection; and not even one week has past since you took action." "i was thinking that miss kelley at the nathaniel turner industrial school would be most satisfactory." "since i do not know her very intimately and since it is my duty to recommend, have her present her credentials and call to see me. i was hoping that we might do something to reinstate miss haskell. you are well aware that she is the best teacher that has ever entered the walls of sojourner truth college. her spirit strongly reflects that of the great leader, after whom our school is named. i believe if- our people were educated to this conception, they would make of our staunch citizen not a reproach but a providential satisfac¬ tion. i meant to leave within a few days for buenos a^res. if, however, you and your colleagues, will at least reconsider your action, i will forego my vacation and conduct the cam¬ paign for miss haskell's continuing with us," "dr. harper, that is unthinkable. once i've put my hands to the plow, i never turn back." the immediate jewel of his soul "doctor harper spoke for time, and before the conversa¬ tion could end, thelma greeted the gentlemen good evening. recognizing mr. tucker, she sat between him and the door, then said to him very affably, "surely you're not going to let a woman run you away." he frowned and twitcht, "no, i can spare a few minutes. i suppose you want to ask me to keep you on the faculty," he sneered. "well, say your say—'' "mr. tucker, don't insult me," she uttered with calm defiance. "i've always respected you. don't take me for a child, for you will be grievously mistaken. let the lion within me remain asleep. before i'd ask you to use your influence in my behalf for any position, i'd curse god and die." she was very positive. her voice rang like a silver bell. turning to president harper that she might change the conversation and thereby not lose her temper, she said with her accustomed dignity, "pardon me, dr. harper. when i entered your house i had no intention of making a scene; but having been trained to defend myself, i had to answer the distinguisht gentleman." "miss haskell, no apology is necessary. you were en¬ tirely within your right," was the educator's terse remark. "do you still wish me to remain, miss haskell?" inquired the trustee, partially wishing to remain and partially to leave. "yes, mr. tucker, since what i have to say is concerning my relation to truth college, as one of its chief executives you should hear me thru," came forth almost spontaneously. turning more directly to her adversary, she requested good- naturedly, "tell me please why you didn't dismiss me, but preferred to ask me to resign? there was no need for cere¬ mony. whether i wrote the resignation or not,-i could not teach at truth college." "true the request is a formality. yet we did not want to injure your career. years hence some one desiring to em- the immediate jewel of his sou'l ploy you would not consider you, if our records read 'dis¬ missed,' " mr. tucker affirmed, mopping his face with his favorite blue, bordered handkerchief. "what oddities occur in life!" thelma ejaculated, pro¬ ducing her resignation from her bag. "you'd cast the unde¬ sirable on others no less desiring her." "not that at all," the trustee said, with a grimace, squirm¬ ing almost at every word, "there might be others who'd accept you regardless of anything we might say. we'd have to acknowledge your efficiency. still we can not condone your recent impudence." "pardon me, but what was my impudence?" thelma requested. "you went to seaton alone and spent most of your time on the estate of rev. smith, a man who has not the good graces of the minister of williamsburg, nor of many of the people—a visionary, a radical, a fanatic. hence we believe that you are of the same type," mr. tucker resumed now with more vivacity. president harper decided not to inter¬ rupt. "a person with original ideas has no place in society?" "those ideas are not to be incompatible with the welfare of the majority of the group." "mr. tucker, have you ever visited dr. smith and sur¬ veyed the work he's doing ? do you realize that he is bringing white and colored together upon terms of increasing familiarity. aren't you aware that such must be done, if we continue here? can't you see that to serve god, you must help your fellow- man?" thelma broached him fervently, for she now had no need of diplomacy, but only for straight forward thrusts. "no, i haven't been there and do not wish to go. i've heard enough o{ it to keep me away." the trustee was very impatient and unreasonable. the immediate jewel of his soul n "you let your prejudice get the better of you, and con¬ demn a cause of which you are ignorant. you are just like most white people in this country. they see the negro only from a great distance, most of them never meeting our best; yet they assume most intimate knowledge." "that's neither here nor there. to be brief, rev. smith's ideas, which unfortunately have seized you too, are not wel¬ come here. furthermore, you went contrary to the advice of your pastor. as dean of our girls, you were to them a model. your life we regarded as the tangible ideal which our girls should achieve. since you've ceased to be that, your place is naturally elsewhere. aren't you quite different from most of our women?" mr. tucker spoke rapidly, desiring the matter soon to end. yet in doing so he was somewhat brusque. "yes, i'm different from many of the women of this town. i've tried all my life so to be. if i'm regarded as being of another variety, my labor has not been in vain," she admitted with meek sedateness. "mr. tucker, i'm always changing. if you meet me tomorrow, you will not meet the woman of today. thus i've taught these girls to be; not fos¬ sils, not models for such are merely samples; not ornaments for ages the same, but plastic creatures ever fresh and new with a grandeur unique, that will not only attract men, but make even women pay them adoration. i should have them so moulded that their spirits would never grow old, that even after they marry they might always show their husbands new charms, something in them for further conquest. once a hus¬ band knows his wife thoroly, he is likely to seek another woman who can entertain him. a wife needs to be very re¬ sourceful. she should always have a surprise." the trustee became exceedingly interested in her train of thot. however, as he did not wish her to know to what extent, he turned his face somewhat, lest she would observe the emo¬ tion. the immediate jewel of his soul at this gesture, which thelma interpreted as an effort for reflection, she renewed her remarks with dr. harper. "when i finisht reading your letter," she said, turning toward the educator, "i thot of ignoring it. certainly i could only construe it as a dismissal. but having workt with you for two years and shared your joys and sorrows, sure that tho you penned the letter, the request was not your own; out of great respect for you, i have written the resignation. here it is." she handed him the letter and went back to her seat. at this point the other personality broke in. his tones were rather sonorous. "miss haskell, i'm hoping that the trustee board will reconsider its action and not accept your resignation. you've been an invaluable co-worker and i dis¬ like much to lose you. of course, a faculty should be mobile, otherwise it can have no life. we can not always keep our workers; but when they do go, we want to lose them for im¬ portant considerations, not mere caprices." "doctor harper, do you think we have acted merely upon impulse and not for the interests of the community?'' mr. tucker interrupted impatiently. "i can regard the action as being only the result of a public storm, not of quiet deliberation. as one who for twenty years has been selecting teachers and passing upon their usefulness to the school under my charge, i was the one to dismiss miss haskell. i determine the policies of the institution; i see that they are carried out." the president was very impressive. here thelma interrupted. "dr. harper, i couldn't re¬ main now, since the majority of the people do not want me." "miss haskell, you'll do, i know, what is best for the community," the president affirmed. thelma nodded assent. "all this is the work of a few irascible citizens. there were several mass meetings, stirred by explosive oratory. my the immediate jewel op his soul "dr. harper, i object,'' mr. tucker put forth impatiently. "that letter should be placed before the board. this is no time for its consideration." "i see no grounds for your objection. the lady knows its contents, for she wrote it. moreover, it is addrest to me, i may hear it. finally, since resignations are filed in my office and are never read at board meetings except upon request, and as no such request has been made up to this time, the reading is entirely apropos," he uttered with great passion. "well, i don't like it," protested the trustee. "read on, miss haskell," said the educator. president harper, dear sir: i resign. i resign the girls to your wise counsel and to her who comes to be your dean. i resign the board of trus¬ tees to their proper sphere, champions of better days to be. i resign you and your loyal teachers to a work much better than the old, instructing adults as well as children, for ail have much to learn. i resign myself to my own world of hope, love and youthful endeavor. i resign the shackles of woman, forged by superstitious conventionality, and hurl them to their destined place a thousand years behind time. what care i for the scorn of thousands ? this world has its millions. i am living not for today, but for all the tomor¬ rows. i go. goodbye. i resign. yours respectfully, (miss) thelma haskell. when she had finisht, dr. harper said, "do you still feel the same towards our dean? haven't you really made a mis¬ take? don't you feel that you should see your co-workers and arrange for a reconsideration?" mr. tucker was convinced of his error and the very fact that he was wrong irritated him immensely. unwilling to ad¬ mit that he had made a mistake, he spoke vehemently, "miss the immediate jewel of his soul haskell is an imposter, a regular snake in the grass. she per¬ forms acts, which we vigorously condemn, then puts herself before us as a martyr. she's a devil incarnate.'' suddenly inflamed with an almost unconquerable hate, he lost complete control of himself. "be carieful as to what you say," came passionately from thelma. "i have this evening given you my greatest respect, not because you deserve it, but because you're in the home of one whose character is faultless." "mr. tucker," dr. harper interrupted, to have his guest resume his equipoise, "temper is powerless where reason fails. miss haskell has done you no wrong. as she has treated you most kindly, your vituperation is entirely out of place. if i were as sure of the honor of the majority of the women of williamsburg, as i am of that of this young lady, i should know that the future of my race is secure. "women can deceive some men, but i know them well. this woman is a vampire. get out of my sight!" he shriekt. "you forget that this is my house, mr. tucker." "well, i can leave it." responded the trustee, as he started to go. thelma stept to one side to let him pass. "woman, don't look at me. i'll crush the life out of you," he said, rush¬ ing to her with hands outstretcht to grasp her by the throat. "stand back, you demon, you reprobate, you scoundrel. put your hands on me and you're a dead man. shame on you," she shouted, flashing a revolver in his face, before the president could place himself between them. "thank you, dr. harper, but i can take care of him myself. i bought this companion for the white and black toughs who assault colored women. i'd expect to find them occasionally in the slums, but least of all here. this place should be sacred; only those with the highest sense of honor should enter it." the trustee cowered. "mr. tucker," she continued, after scrutinizing him the immediate jewel op his soul a while, "if i thot you were ready for heaven, i'd send you there. you are not fit to die, and yet not fit to live. sir, re¬ member i am a woman." then. dr. harper interrupted to make the master stroke, "don't you in your heart admire miss haskell ?" before the trustee could answer, sounds of children's joyous singing came beneath the windows: miss haskell is a lady she's always sweet and shady. we'll take her to the bowling green to be our fairy queen. when these sweet sounds could no longer be heard, the trustee proceeded to leave. as the guest past out of the door, dr. harper said, "mr. tucker, i am going to recommend that miss haskell continue to be our dean." in a moment the trustee had gone. when the door downstairs closed, he added with great satisfaction, "gallant lady, i believe we've won a victory." the immediate jewel- of his soul cake, ice cream, punch and various soft drinks. everyone was enraptured that he had come and regretted the absence of his friends. while the gayety ran high, william tried to find a se¬ cluded place where he might talk intimately with susan; but as all had apparently laid claim to him, up to this time he had not succeeded. he might have gone off in his car; but as this was a party, he felt that he should always keep within reach. at last, as the best he could do, he went quite a distance from the others but never out of view. susan was as fine and dainty as ever, sweet and good, like a robust girl ready for tennis. her dress of white and her canvas oxfords bewitcht the gazer at once. add to this a glance at her russet face, demure and fair, and her wav¬ ing, dark hair, the spectator would not be charmed, trans¬ ported, or allured, but completely overawed. they sat upon a wicker seat facing the other guests, hop¬ ing not to be disturbed. "susan, i'm glad that you have come. i've been hoping that you would have appeared earlier ; since i could not leave because of the wheat harvest in. the neigh¬ borhood. within a few days we shall have finisht, then i'll have considerable time to myself," said smith. "i wanted to come, william, so much; but i thot it best to wait until today. when i learned that thelma was here, however, i became almost furious." her face showed it. "i wonder should i tell you this," she continued. "well, it's all right. i had started, had really reacht the station, when mother overtook me. she pleaded and cried so bitterly that i de¬ cided to go back. she was sadly happy to tell william of the fullness of her heart, dedicated wholly to him. "yet i do wish you had come alone. we should have the immediate jewel of his soul found time to thresh out all uncertainties. as it is we may be disturbed at any moment." "suppose i had come. what would have occurred in wil¬ liamsburg ? do you know what the community did for thelma ? they held indignation meetings against her. that wasn't all. i met her, as she was coming from president harper's. "just think of it. mr. tucker was so rude as to make a scene in the president's office. i'm glad he found his match tho." for a while susan's jealousy was gone. her face showed a smile delicately sweet and captivating. "what did she do ?" inquired william, very eager to know all the details. "ask me rather what she did not do. i have to admire her even tho she is my rival." at this juncture, lewis brown appeard accompanied by another gentleman, of rustic mien but simple grace, a loyal citizen of the land. "rev. smith," said brown a bit embar¬ rassed, "pardon this intrusion, please. but mr. houston—" he pointed to the gentleman—"wants to see you on some very im¬ portant business. if it hadn't been urgent; i'd forced him to wait until tomorrow." "is-the business private?" "i can say what i've got to say right heah. dis all 'tis. mr. martin wants to rent me his farm dis fall for four hun¬ dred eighty dollars. what mus' i do. ef you says, 'tek it,' it's a bargain. ef you says, 'let 'er go,' i don' want it," he spoke with great directness, fearless and unshamed. "it'll-be all right, mr. houston," responded william very courteously. "you must draw up no papers tho; don't sign anything until i go with you to mr. martin." "you bet yo' boots. one oder thing rev. smith. dan'el martin told me ef i sed 'yis' today, i could buy rations dere and pay after i'd made a crop. should i do dis?" the visitor the immediate jewel of his soul inquired with a simple faith that showed almost worship for our young man. "pay cash for your rations. you have enough in bank to do this. if you start working a crop to pay a grocery bill, you may never get out of martin's debt." "i'd git out, but ise gwine a foller your advice. i'll be heah early tomorrow mornin'. thank you, good bye." he bowed and turned to go. william detained him for a while. "mr. houston," he said, "you haven't met my guest, i'm sure. this is a dear friend of mine, miss lee of williamsburg. miss lee, meet mr. houston." "my spec's, my complernints." he did not tarry long. he soon said, "be good to yo' self. good bye." within a few minutes brown and mr. houston were soon out of sight. almost immediately loud outbursts of laughter now came forth near the house, as a result of the fall of mrs. castle. as it was merely an incident of merri- :ment, the party was not disturbed in the least. susan had started in that direction, but since order was very quickly restored, she returned to her seat. "william, how i wish i could remain here several days! i've had a good time, a good time. i've been almost in a continuous state of ecstacy. i'm going to ask mother, if she won't stay longer. papa can spare us. he'll do anything for me." "do ask her." "i'll do so at once." she hurried off. w'hen she had gone quite a few yards, she was accosted by a white farmer of middle age in working attire. "madame/' he began, "can you tell me where i can find mr. smith? i want his advice on a very serious matter." the immediate jewel of his soul "there he sits. he'll be glad to see you." susan found her mother with practically no difficulty, took her aside, and made her request. her effort, however, was rather arduous because there were many interruptions. there were inquiries of "how are you enjoying yourself? isn't the punch delight¬ ful? this is truly a wonderful estate, isn't it?" they rarely expected an answer, for before the person questioned could make reply, the inquisitor was gone. by persisting and con¬ stantly renewing the broken threads of speech, she was able to get a definite answer. when she reacht william again, she saw that his visitor was about to go. he turned to him and said, "this is the young lady who pointed you out. i haven't seen her before: is she a stranger in these parts?" "yes, she comes from my home town, williamsburg. mr. nailor, this is miss lee, daughter of one of the largest manu-- facturers in that town." "miss lee, i'm glad to meet you. i hope you'll have a pleasant time here." "so i am. i find this country almost a paradise." susan was perfectly natural. "well, i must be going. we'll see davis monday. good day, mr. smith. good bye. miss lee." susan lookt at him in amazement. for the first time she had met a southern white man who did not place himself above colored people. she stood entranced, almost as if hypnotized, watching mr. nailor move slowly over the stately hillocks of william's farm. she herself eventually started in that direction, sighed, and peered. then she returned to her seat. "william, i want some information; and you must give it. since i've been in your company today at least twelve persons have sought your counsel. i have counted five white the immediate jewel of his soul farmers among the number. what has come over this place? it -was not thus before you came." susan tossed her head bewitchingly and awaited an answer. "a better day is dawning. that's all. the south, you know, is aristocratic. once you grasp the significance of that, progress becomes rapid. the typical southern gentle¬ man wants someone perpetually to do the laborious tasks of life, particularly his farming. regarding the black man as his inferior, he seizes upon him to do this work perpetually." "i know the colored share little in common with the whites. we do come together in a few stores, but not as equals. william, why is this?" she pleaded, breathing deeply the breeze which then passed gently by. "it is simply the white man's ignorance. booker t. wash¬ ington has well said, 'to keep a man in the gutter you must stay down there with him yourself.' the south has been stay¬ ing in the gutter, while the north, east, and west have gone on high. "i came here accepting two callenges: first that of my fel¬ low minister, according to which i should not preach. the mother defiance was the white man's; namely, that my place is .down south on the farm. my people can not all become rfarmers, for many of us have the genius of merchants, or of ^mechanics, or of the professional men. all these we need and shall have. to dignify farming, however, and cause even many of the whites to consider it honorable toil, i launcht this j^ig experiment." "i've seen your building and several of your demonstra¬ tions given by use of equipment stored in them; but i'd like for you to tell me of some of the influences which do not lie fit the surface." "well, this was my inspiration. seeing that the colored the immediate jewel op his soul outnumbered the whites and that i was in the midst of a tra¬ ditional aristocracy, i at once became aware that we were be¬ ing even forced to work, while a few enjoyed idle ease. not only were my people hardly making expenses* but even large numbers of the whites. we've been held back by the endless grocery bill. that's why i told mr. houston to obtain noth¬ ing on credit." "i remember the incident." "another important fact you yourself mentioned. the two groups rarely meet. i do believe, however, they meet more frequently in the country than in the town. it's no un¬ common sight for white and black farmers to help each other, both during planting and harvest. both groups have been and are oppressed, and need each other's help to throw off their economic slavery. of course the groups are closer to¬ gether now than they were, when i came to establish here." "anyone can vouch for that whose life can touch both extremities. tell me tho, what you did to help on the change." susan's eyes were riveted upon him. the occasional laughter did not disturb her in the least. william paused merely to look at'her and be made anew by the magic of her sparkling eyes. would the day might never end! "i put in a small crop," he began," and askt different members of my own race to let me help them produce theirs. many were at first reluctant, but after a mass meeting in the school house, i had them all. there i askt how many owned farms, how many rented, how many meant to buy soon, and how many were not going to buy at all. i advised them if they had not bought, to see me before discussing the matter with any one who wanted to sell. the following day i lookt at the deeds of those who had bought. most of theme were deeds fee entail and not fee simple; which means that those the immediate jewel of his soul persons holding such were owners until death, after which time the property reverted to the man who sold or to his heirs. the possessors were furious. several of the deeds were made out properly, but most of them were not. it was this incident that gave me my people." susan was not satisfied. she knew that he must have angered many of the whites, even tho he had merely done his duty. to learn the other phase of the issue, she askt, "how did you win the white farmer?" "i pursued the same policy and found that many of them who thot they owned their land were merely renting for life. all their deeds, however, were rewritten, so that those who had been beguiled would have such a title as would permit the property to go to their own descendents. in addition to this, i showed many of them how to prepare their own fertil¬ izer and how to test their soil. i have given myself equally to both groups as far as they would permit." "you surely have done wonders. yours is the work that counts." at this, she lookt away and within four feet of her, there skipt and played two squirrels. she called them. at once they stopt, turned in her direction and capered to a tree near by. she called again and they turned merely to notice; then gracefully scampered away. susan stood enraptured, forced for a time to be speechless. seeing her thus absorbed, william askt, "what is vour meditation? permit me to share with you." susan had gone to the tree where the sinuous creatures had sought refuge. she lookt up, in order to follow their movements; but she lost sight of them, as soon as they leapt to another tree. "they are indeed happy. would i were so! i wonder if they are mates." for the first time that day her brow was clouded. she was thinking of her own situation. the immediate jewel of his soul ing which he had seen, the summer he went far south. bru¬ tality! barbarism! savagery! now susan became somewhat nervous, for she was about to ask a question which had long been lingering on her mind. she wanted to hear what he had to say concerning it. "wil¬ liam," she askt, "do you like thelma?" as soon as she had spoken, she moved a step or two away, for she partly believed that she had acted improperly. yet she was bent on standing her ground, because she wanted to remove all uncertainty. "yes, i do," he admitted. "i like her very much. you know how we used to romp together in early childhood." "i remember," she said plaintively. "i wish i could tell you how i feel at times especially at night as i lie in bed just before going to sleep, i have tried to send you a thot. i think of all i should like to have. indeed strange presentiments come before me. i fear, i fear—" "what do you fear ?" he broke in to retard her rapid emo¬ tion. realizing the burden of her soul, he wanted to help her to dispel it. the guests in the distance now became rather uproarious. the cessation of the music gave occasion for many peals of laughter; for at this time george brown, the son of the chief cropper, passed by on a goat that was trying its best to throw him. susan thus found time to become more composed; for the attention of all had to some extent been disconcerted. wthen the hilarity abated, they saw rev. ross coming towards them leisurely. "susan, you failed to tell me your fears," he persisted. "sometimes i fear some great harm will befall you, and i'll not be by to aid you. i fear also—william, i can't tell you." chapter xx. fiiy years ago you doubtless would have rankt japan among the benighted nations. *** but since the happenings at mukden and port arthur, i suppose you are ready to change your mind upon the subject. *** in the proud days of aristotle, the ancestors of newton and shakespeare could not count beyond the ten fingers. —miller while the party from williamsburg was taking a full measure of happiness, while william was entertaining susan under difficulties, twelve white men assembled at the home of robert white, a hard worker strongly obsest with the idea of white supremacy. tho biased, he was liberal enough to call in men of different occupations. in the modest front room of the weatherboard dwelling, illuminated with a simple kerosene lamp, the gentlemen dis¬ cussed miscellaneous topics till all those expected had arrived. when the last was seated, robert white promptly began, "gentlemen, we're here to decide what's to be done witn nig¬ gers round here—especially this smart darkey, parson smith." mr. davis, whose wheat was thresht the first day of thelma's visit, rose promptly and interfered thus, "mr. white, pardon my interruption but let us not speak of niggers and darkies. when we talk in that way we lose our presence of mind. call them colored people. if we are to act justly, we must be calm." "davis, i'm just talking as i feel. to me they're just downright niggers, if to you they're different all right. gen¬ tlemen the meeting is open." he spoke in utter scorn of a lova! race. the immediate jewel of his soul, fred dean then arose. he had not been long in the vicin¬ ity and, therefore, was somewhat unwilling to lead the way. having developed a keen appreciation for smith he was ready for a defense, but thot he should first have a thoro knowledge of the facts in the case. "gentlemen, as i'm a newcomer, just tell me what all the noise is about. what harm is mr. smith doing?" tom howell, reporter for the "seaton gazette," robust and boisterous, was on his feet in a twinkling, "there's the trouble," he shouted, brandishing his first in the air and looking quickly from one to the other. "mr. smith," he sneered. "mr. smith. before that coon came here nobody called a nigger mister. now all those darkies on his farm have to stay in their place." mr. nailor, who had gone there directly from william's estate, broke in at this point, "tom howell, i know you. what have you done for this town? you've only gotten drunk off crabtree's liquor, with that political bunch, and stolen the labor of ignorant colored men. if our courts weren't crooked, you'd been on the chain gang long ago. that's where you belong." this was too much for the biased men. luke crabtree and tom howell began simultaneously to abuse nailor. pandemonium almost followed. the alertness of those not involved in the altercation alone prevented blows. when quiet again prevailed, nailor resumed his remarks as if no turbulence had occurred. "i call the reverend 'mis- ster' and properly address all members on his estate. because they are gentlemen, i treat them as such. besides he and his helpers have made this community thrive more than any one i've seen here in the last fifteen years. i'll take off my hat to him and as many more as will do as much." "they'll be wanting to marry your daughter, too," inter- the immediate jewel op his soul rupted newton young, one of the brokers of seaton. "newton, i call you 'mister.' yet if i thot any one of my daughters was bent on marrying you, i'd kill her before she'd have the chance. i'd rather marry her to any of those col¬ ored men on that estate, for they are honest." "gentlemen," came from silas jones, who had kept si¬ lence only with great constraint, "i believe bob made a mis¬ take in calling some of these folks here this night." "no, silas, it's better to have all sorts of folks in this meeting; for tho i feel that the niggers have taken some of our rights, i want to hear what some of our best men think of the matter," he put in, desiring to have all be tolerant to¬ wards each other. "probably we can't never agree with 'em, but it aint goin' to hurt us to listen." "as soon as a white man starts doing his duty towards his colored brother, men who want something for nothing begin to throw up the question of amalgamation. want to marry my daughters," said nailor with a jeer. "that's their business. the women will take care of that. if my daughter loves a black man, and he loves her; if they decide to unite, after having considered all the consequences—all i have to say is this. what god has joined together, let no man put asunder." "you talk like that," said sandy james, a pettyfogging lawyer, "because you've got your property, but these men who see the nigger going ahead, see that something must be done to keep the darkey down. if they don't wake up, the nig¬ gers will be running the country." turning"to mr. davis, he continued. "davis, you're a fair-minded man, you're the big¬ gest of us all. answer one question for me. do you think it safe for us to follow this high sounding talk of nailor?" mr. davis did not care to answer at this time, for he the immediate jewel of his soul felt that some of those present might purposely distort his words. however, as he was not a man to stand on the fence, he very soon made reply. "i may not agree with all nailor says, but i do agree with him in this: treat a man as you find him. if he's honest, industrious and keeps his word, treat him on the square. there are some colored folks i don't want around me; but any time i can get one of rev. smith's force, i hold him tight." he struck one hand in the other, to be the more impressive. "i have to pay those men more than i do other folks, but they stick to the job, they do their work better and even show me how to make more money." that's what we're complaining about," said silas jones, stamping his feet. "that nigger's running our folks out of work." "on the contrary," went on mr. davis, "he's making work for them. he's showed them how to keep fruit upon the tree until it ripens. he's showed them how to treat their hogs for cholera. he's shown them how to raise other staples than cotton. and silas, you know he came to show you how to handle vour bottom lands, that would have meant work for many of our people. what's been the result? the land's idle —no good to you nor anybody else." "i ran him away. i don't want a nigger to show me nothing," came from silas with a scorn even for those who brook such consideration. "why don't you go to the university then and have some white man teach you something about improved farming?" re- markt fred dean, who was moving with the spirit of his age. he chewed vigorously his quid of home cured and offered some of the same brand to all present. "we folks have be¬ lieved the professors were just dreamers, but these days, if a man means to go ahead in farming, he must keep in touch the immediate jewel of his soul with the agricultural department of the united states and with the agricultural schools. smith wouldn't be able to do these wonders, if he hadn't gone to one of those schools. he's done this community a whole lot of good. we're going to be glad to go. having seen what this one man has done in spite of the prejudice against him, more of our people are going to stay on the farms and not run to the cities." the tide had drifted too favorably in smith's direction for several present, who had ambitions which they deemed it unwise to disclose at this particular time. these put their heads together, as it were, to make their case strong. of this group, luke crabtree, the saloon keeper, who had listened at¬ tentively to all that had been said, arose to put in his conten¬ tion. "friends, this nigger's almost running me out of busi¬ ness. the darkies used to drink almost their entire week's earnings with me, now they're becoming scarcer and scarcer than ever. instead of spending with me, they're carrying it to the bank. even old rufus childs, that trifling nigger, al¬ most never comes now. if this keeps up, there won't be any¬ body on the chain gang to work the county roads and some, of the big plantations. something's got to be done mighty quick." "you ought to be glad the darkies are behaving them¬ selves," spoke daniel martin for the first time that evening. "when they're good, you get more work out of 'em. then you can depend upon them, for they work every day." "that may be all right," came from sandy janes, "but when niggers get a little money, they begin to think they're just as good as white folks. i don't fear the nigger who hasn't any sense. you're not going to have any trouble keep¬ ing him in his place. it's the educated nigger i fear." "you gave me the impression awhile ago," said henry the immediate -jewel op kis soul mitchell, the harness repairer who had been trying to edge in a word but somehow had been prevented, "that the negro is inferior to you, that he is inferior to the white race." "yes, he's inferior," was the lawyer's quick retort. "he never was anything, he's nothing now, and he'll never amount to anything." "if that's so," replied mitchell, "the white man needs have no fear. if there's nothing in the negro, then our dis¬ cussion is out of place. give him time and he'll die out. noth¬ ing you do for him can save him, if he's inferior. besides if you're superior, you have no cause whatever for worry. every¬ thing is in your favor; success was yours before the world began." "well, they say there's nothing in him," rejoined the law¬ yer, not to be outdone by the good sense of a non-professional man. "yet when we see one do the work of that smart darkey and his helpers, there may be a mistake. hence we must be on the safe side. i miq-ht probably be speaking differently but for the 'birth of a nation/ the moving picture which was shown here six weeks ago. did you see it, gentlemen?" all had seen it. "what do you think of it?" all agreed that reflection was necessary. the attempted rape by the lustful, blood-thirsty scoundrel stirred the passion¬ ate natures of them all. the suggestion was enough to move to action and produce the effect that several had all the while desired. they seized upon it as the crux of their whole de¬ sign. vituperation poured upon vituperation, then many ebul¬ litions of pusilanimity. the lawyer spoke now as if in a poli¬ tical campaign, and used all the tricks of the experienced "fire eater." he recalled the scene in the southern senate, which griffith and dixon have made disgusting and nauseating in the extreme. he followed this with a vivid sketch of the the immediate jewel of his soul <lying out fast. if all the niggers were like those, we'd not have no complaint. they always staid in their place." "i see the trouble. you want a new south but an old negro. the combination is impossible. old things have passed away. if you have a new south, you must have a new negro. and i don't bite my tongue to say that rev. smith is the kind the south wants/' mr. nailor again took up the gauntlet as the contestant for the new order of the day. he wanted these men to do nothing rash, so he held them in abeyance. "we'll see about that," interrupted tom howell, fully re¬ covered from the rebuff given him at the early part of the meeting. "tom dixon has as much blue blood as you, mr. nailor, and we believe he knows his business." before there could come a reply, mrs. white and her two daughters brot in a service of cake and wine. as their ener¬ gies had been well consumed by the day's work and the even¬ ing's discussion, they welcomed the refreshments with unusual zest. their minds relaxed, the tension lessened, then followed an animated jollity that seemingly dispelled all differences. each had to be served several times. when each was ashamed to ask for more, bob .white again called the meeting to order. "gentlemen, let's return to business. i think we've had enough discussion; now let's decide on some sort of action. the question, is 'what's to be done with parson smith and his niggers, and others who're taking on his ways."' the question was certainly perplexing, for white's man¬ ner of putting it included not only the colored people, but the white who had profited by william's friendly counsel. those who had been swept away by sandy james' invective, tho ready to take any course against the negro, were not inclined at all the immediate jewel of kis soul to act against the whites. "gentlemen, what are you going to do to these folks ?" he repeated. "i say, 'let them alone,' " spoke mr. davis, representing the progressive element of the south, who tired of the turmoil produced by the lawless and the impetuous, were eager for the economic life of that section to take its proper place. "gentlemen, we've been thinking too much about ourselves. we must stop it. we must look to the interests of the na¬ tion. she has a proud name that should not be tarnisht. to do this we have always been aided by the loyal blood of our colored brother. if you knew the honorable place he has held in american history, you would aid him, and not throw obsta¬ cles in his path. free negroes and slaves were with washing¬ ton at valley forge and endured all the hardships of the revo¬ lution. they were with perry at lake erie, and with old hick¬ ory at new orleans. not a war have we fought on this grand continent which has not been made successful by the help of negro slain. for the sake of our country, for the sake of dear old dixie, let us be law abiding." the passionate plea made an appeal to reason and to the pride which has been the great force in solidifying the sentiment of that section. davis loved the south, they knew. when the tears wrere trickling down his troubled face, they were enthralled in silence,, they were captivated by his personality. for a moment all wanted to do right. it was only for a moment. the tricksters' hearts could not relent long. they were too admantine. "gentlemen, i have all respect for mr. davis," came from lawyer james. "i honor him as the great son of general davis who fell in the cause of'the union—an unpopular cause in these parts—a man so courageous as to bear the odium of his neighbors, to follow what appeard to him to be right. i the immediate jewel of his soul honor mr. davis because of his whole-hearted support of every activity launcht for the welfare of this town. yet for. the life of me, something must be done to save the south. we can't afford to let these niggers get such a hold on our people as has this one. already he has most of the well-to-do folks on his side, and we .poor devils grovel in the dust." "i've listened to you attentively. i took you all to be men. you don't want to do right. if the plea of mr. davis didn't move you, why should any of us try," remarkt mr. nailor, trying to force a decision. he stood with a hickory in his right hand. "gentlemen, nothing should be done to terrify our colored population. you know we need their labor. thou¬ sands of them keep going north because of just such men as you. when they've piled up dollars by honest toil, you find all sorts of ways to steal them. when they have laid by luxurious crops, you take them as your own. you give them poor schools, you insult their women. now you're asking what are we going to do to them. haven't we already done enough? he raised his cane aloft, as if ready to strike any¬ one who would disturb him. "i think i've heard enough," he said impatiently, taking his hat and starting for the door. "i lost enough by this kind of efforts of you scalawags. crops which should have been harvested long ago, have rotted be¬ cause of iust such foolishness. i've heard enough," he screamed. "if anyone bothers any of my hands, hell is going to overtake him. and that before judgment day. good night." he slammed the door. "just leave him to me," said tom howell, "i'll bring him round. i've more power than you think." "others also rose to leave, who stood only for fair play. there were many entreaties that all would remain until a definite decision had been reacht. the lawyer, however, know- the immediate jewel- of his soul ing that there were others present whom he could not trust with his plan, had no apology to offer, no entreaty to make. he desired only their speedy departure. "bob, i must go," insisted fred dean, shaking hands warmly, "i promised the old lady i'd be back long before midnight. so i'd better be on my way. bob, i aint' goin' to do anything wrong, but because i love old dixie, you can count on me to do anything that's right. good night." "good night, old pal," was the exchange. the discussion waxed warm to bitterness; not against any there, but against a rising race. seeing that villany was up¬ permost, one by one those for justice left; for they regarded a longer sojourn there as merely wasteful. mr. davis lingered until they formally dismissed and all were supposed to go home. when he was starting away, he observed that young, james, crabtree, howell, and jones lingered behind. evi¬ dently there was to be an extra session. feeling that he was not wanted, he mounted his spirited bay and galloped home¬ ward. when he had gone a mile, he decided to turn from his way and go to nailor's, in the bright moonlight. when he reacht the main house, every place was dark. he called for quite a while without getting a response. finally jefferson nailor, the eldest son, appeared at the door and said that his father had not as yet returned, that probably he had gone from the meeting to the station, to meet number sixty-five. the engineer was to bring him a message from dallas. in an instant he was on his way. when he arrived at the station, he found mr. nailor placidly walking up and down. after tying his horse to a tree, he went to greet his friend. "well, this is a surprise," the immediate jewel op his soul said nailor, divining, however, what had caused his neighbor to seek him. "nailor," said davis, "i couldn't go to bed tonight until i congratulated you on the spirit you showed against those rascals. we can stop these outbreaks that disgrace our coun¬ try, if we only act soon enough. are you willing to stop them ?" "you bet your boots. when will you make the start?" "this very night." "i'm with you in life and death. by the god who made us, who brot us to this land not to debase, but to exalt man¬ kind, i dedicate myself to this holy work, to free my country." the immediate jewel op his soul came to him hurriedly and left the "seaton gazette" and the mail. as the work on the farm was very well systematised, clarkston had no time to tarry. he proceeded at once to put the material in order for those expected at the experimental plant. automatically, william scanned the first page of the news¬ paper. tho he had planned to let his letters take precedence, eagerness for news forced a glance at the daily. his most im¬ mediate observation was the following headline: the daughter of ted nailor, our great towns¬ man, may marry rev. smith', the smart nig¬ ger, the father says he has no objection, men, rise for*the south. william was determined, now that the letters should wait. thereupon he directed himself to a care¬ ful study of the article and, as far as possible, all its rami¬ fications. unaware of the meeting at whites, he could not fathom it. he read it several times, then ceased to puzzle himself further. tom howell had prepared a biased, sensational article, distorted in the extreme, to put the public against nailor, one of the foremost business men, and prepare for instant action against william. the aim was to throw a match into a bar¬ rel of gasoline. the reaction was of such nature. the white people were about as dumfounded as william. for they had thot that the reputation of the editor of "the seaton gazette" was such as to prevent any yellow journalism. there was no reflection about the non-appearance of an editorial based upon the news item. the important consideration was the fact that the statement was in the newspaper. as a natural se¬ quence a rapid discussion of the matter occurred in various groups. william hurried to the house, only to find no one there. the immediate jewel of his soul promptly he went to the garage, obtained his motorcycle and rode with greatest possible speed to the experimental farm. generally these demonstrations were attended by both white and black; but on this occasion only colored farmers were present. when william dismounted, jim turner, a young man of twenty-six, said, "dr. smiith, you're late this morning. this is the first time i've know it to be so. we were all discussing it when we heard your 'bike.'" "gentlemen, i had something to make me late," he spoke with emphasis. "a scurrilous, a damnable article appeared in this morning's 'gazette' concerning me." he read the item, then handed them the paper to survey. smiles now gave way to melancholy, scorn and anger. they were as greatly dis¬ turbed as if they knew an unavoidable avalanche was sweeping upon them to utter ruin with no chance of their escape. to remove their distraction, to bring them to a common end to assuage the horrors which brooded upon them, lewis brown broke the suspense. "you stand here like frightened sheep. you say you're men, now show it. what are you going to do about this? you see what the white folks have done already. they've read this article. don't you see there's not a one here, where¬ as generally we have as many white as colored? the white folks have acted, they're together. where are you?" "gentlemen," interrupted william, who showed entire ab¬ sence of fright or purturbation. "andy, put away the experi¬ mental material and come by the house as speedily as possible. as for the rest of you, come by the house too, and i'll suggest what you're to do. i'll ride on ahead and by the time you get there i will have read my mail. i ask for this brief interval the immediate jewel op his soul in order that you may be properly guided. as this is a crisis, every precaution is necessary." "but what about yourself?" inquired moses lampkins, a middle-aged farmer, whose skin showed the weathering of many storms, whose shoulders were broad enough for any burden. "have no fear for me," was the prompt reply. "i can take care of myself, rest assured. however, should any mis¬ fortune come to me, i'll see that there'll be someone to guide you. gentlemten, i'll see you at the house." the motor re¬ sponded promptly, as if aware of the importance of every sec¬ ond. with equal readiness, william started on his way, smiled and waved adieu. all were astonisht, the men older than forty were dum- founded. previously when a colored man was about to be as¬ saulted in their neighborhood all were cowed. the man as¬ sailed did not show signs of courage until placed at bay. to see one of their number calm before a brewing storm, which „ they thot would have a momentum greater than that of a cy¬ clone or hurricane, to see him smile in the midst of grave danger, and act almost as if nothing untoward had occurred to disturb the even tenor of his way, was sufficient announce¬ ment that grim night had rolled away. another circumstance heralded the dawn. formerly when a member of the race was being attackt, or if persons thot him liable, they shunned him, as if he were a contagious disease with power to create a fatal epidemic. on this occasion, it was not so. every man was bound for an interview with the markt individual. no one thot of doing anything else. a few minutes brot william home, where he would await his sturdy folk. leaving his cycle before the door, he went at once to his desk in a very alluring study. there with expedi- the immediate jewel of his soul tion he proceeded to examine his mail. he had received four letters. according to his custom, he noticed the post marks and the chirographics before perusing the contents. the sur¬ vey revealed two letters from williamsburg, one from seaton, and the fourth from washington, d. c. his attention was particularly attracted to the letter from seaton, which had in the upper left corner the letters "k. k. k." and beneath them a skull and two crossed bones. with almost prophetic insight, he divined the contents. uncere¬ moniously he tore it open and read the curt missive. it ran thus: parson bill smith, nigger, your days round here are num¬ bered, if you don't leave this town within twenty-four hours. be sure you make your git away quick. signed in blood, the klan. william smiled as he read it, and when he had finisht, he laught almost uproariously. it was not the laugh of merriment, but the laugh of fierce resolve. "i wonder what they think i am," he mused. without more ado he read the letters from susan and thelma. as he expected, they contained an inspi¬ ration. he read them twice, then said to himself, "before god, in the name of these two, i resolve to do at this decisive moment only what is right. i hope to survive the awful trial, but i hope to have miy honor unstained." finally he read the letter from washington. for the first time that day he seemed troubled. the contents of the com¬ munication follow: the immediate jewel of his soul dr. william smith, denmark vesey estate, seaton, dear sir: the fame of your endeavor has spread thruout the coun¬ try. we have studied the work for some time. as proof, you recall probably the visit of dr. francis keats, whom we sent there to make a survey of the community in which you live as it is related to your spirited undertaking. his voluminous report shows that you are engaged in the proper work to make america safe for democracy. you have succeeded in produc¬ ing greater harmony between the races, where their members exist side by side in large numbers, than any one in the last fifty years. we have been particularly interested in the news items and editorials inspired by your enterprise, articles which have ap¬ peared in the dailies and the magazines. you are a national character, whose name is on the lips of all our people, not as the moses, but as the joshua to take us into the promised land. finally, as you are a minister, with a tongue, veritably able to set worlds on fire, we feel that you should reach larger groups of people thruout the nation. we learned that you were ousted at williamsburg because of an address delivered several years ago at your convention. we have studied your discourse painstakingly and found ourselves in hearty accord with it. if you become one of us, you will have a clientele of fifty thousand willing listeners. the new times need a new gospel; and we behold in you its chief apostle. we, the members of the american democracy league, an organization formed to preach the new gospel of freedom, work, responsibility, and aggresiveness, see in you our logical leader, the chieftain able to carry out our great dreams. there- the immediate jewel of his soul fore, we offer you the position of national organizer with head¬ quarters in washington at a salary of five thousand dollars for the first year, after which time you will receive an increase of a thousand a year until you reach the maximum of twelve thousand. we are depending upon you. answer, please, without delay. yours respectfully, henry slater, pres. edgar young, sec. for a while william was in a quandary. should he go to washington for the larger work and at; a later date re¬ turn to seaton or should he offer the malefactors of race a firm resistance? "i'll reply at once," he decided. whereupon he typewrote the letter in duplicate, as was his wont in busi¬ ness transactions, placed one copy in an envelope and dis¬ patched it at once. then he placed the letters from thelma and susan in separate pigeon holes, and lowered the top of his desk. he had now in hand the letter from the klan, the call from washington, and his own reply. he placed his hands behind his head and leaned back in the big revolving chair in quiet meditation. he was plan¬ ning the activity of the approaching moments with great delib¬ erations. he had not been thus occupied long, when mr. wil¬ son knockt and informed him that all had arrived from the experimental plant. "have them come up," william requested. soon the room was full. "i have three letters i want you to hear. read them for me, wilson. take them in the order in which they occur," he urged. he was interested in studying the countenances of the men, hence he askt wilson as a favor to read for him. the immediate jewel of his soul when the orchard specialist had finisht reading the epistle of threat and warning, moses lampkins askt, "what have you decided to do? what do you want us to do?" "hear the other letters, then i'll make somie remarks." as the letters were being read, william glanced from listener to listener. the expressions on their faces were most satis¬ factory. he rejoiced in silence. "gentlemen, you've heard my doom," said our great char¬ acter with a smile and a laugh, that his hearers were baffled to interpret. "that letter from the so-called klan is no sur¬ prise. the south is rather peculiar, it's perfectly willing to have trifling colored people to do the drudgery and all sorts of dirty work. of course someone has to do it; but it could be so much more willingly and thoroly done, if the workers were specially trained for it. the south has yet to learn that not the ignorant, but the intelligent worker produces efficiency. because of this very sentiment, as soon a colored man acquires a good, substantial bank account in many parts of this sec¬ tion, it is time for him to find new quarters. "you see already what i've determined to do. now i want you to make your decisions. i'm glad there's present at least one man from each of the farm? owned by colored people; for we can save much time. gentlemen, have you rifles and revolvers?" everyone was well supplied. "we bought them shortly after you came here. don't you remember?" said turner, ready for any worthy enterprise. his willingness to follow the great chieftain was characteristic of them all. "you said we might need them some day." "how's your ammunition? do you need any? if so, let me supply you now,'-' spoke william to be doubly sure. since during his presence among them, he had made constant inquiry along this line, they had taken pains to have ample quantities the immediate jewel of his soul had in his heart longed for that spontaneous remark. he knew now that his experiment had been a success. "tho the persons who sent me my notice are dirty scoundrels, they will grant me a respite. i've twenty-four hours in which to leave town. within that time, if i had to, i believe i could conquer the world. my men about me will look, after the estate. meanwhile i'll transact some other business. i can take care of myself." they disliked the idea of his going about by himself, but as they believed he would do nothing rash, they made them¬ selves contented and went straightway to their homes. when all had left the study, william came to himself after a pleasing reverie which closed with thots of susan and thel- ma. suppose he had married, what a trial this day would have been for the young wife! the more he reflected upon it, the more he became convinced that he had made no mistake by waiting. of course he meant to keep his word, to marry within eight months. yet he rejoiced that he was single now. a wife might object to some of the things he meant to do at this time, but as the matter stood, in all events he was sover¬ eign lord. the will of the wife he would have chosen would have been strong, one which would require great persuasive¬ ness to bring his way, if once she thot the best solution to his problem lay in a different course. other wills now would have little power over him. he could go directly to his mark. a married man will tolerate more offenses than the single one. it is not that marriage makes him a coward, but he feels that the demands of his family require him to keep alive at almost any price. in this case to die is easy, but to live is hard. yet if the honor of the home is attackt, tho married, the man promptly defends it. if he dies in the effort, he rests in peace. tht question was not to live, but how to live. th£ immediate jewel of his soul such was william's reflection. as he was single and his- mother well provided for, his life was in his own hands. if he wanted to go to washington, objections were unimportant. if he preferred to stay and risk his life, it was his privilege. at this point he thot of writing his mother, but almost as speedily as the idea came, there followed the decision not to do so. to communicate with her would only cause worry. besides she might come there and be a hindrance or expose herself to injury. what should be done would be done quickly. within two days, all would be over. he would be in williamsburg, seaton or eternity. "well, i've been here long enough. 'i must be about my father's business,'" he remarkt and went to the kitchen, to see mrs. brown. he instructed her to tell clarkston as soon as he arrived to see mr. wilson, who would tell him what to do until it would be time for him to go to post office for the next mail. plans had to be changed to meet the crisis. he then folded the three letters, placed them securely in his pocket. then he took from a corner his automatic rifle. he went directly to his range, set lip a target and prac¬ ticed. as he made fifty hits out of fifty attempts at the moving objects he thot it unnecessary to try the fixt ones even at dif¬ ferent angles. thereupon he lockt the targets and went back to the house. his cycle ready, he set the motor going and darted away. his business was to interview white farmers, who were indebted to him for- instruction and advice. he approacht one after another and had them read his letters. their atten¬ tion, however, was first drawn to the rifle he carried in his hand. "what would you suggest that i do?"' askt william in each instance, not for advice, but merely to get the farmers' the immediate jewel of his soul point of view. the suggestions varied. all regretted the pre¬ dicament, but only a few deplored it. accordingly some were non-committal, saying that he must decide for himself, others urged him to take the offer at washington, trying to per¬ suade him that it was the only thing to do. a "few, however, like dean and martin, insisted that he stay and fight the matter out. then they told him of the meet¬ ing at robert white's and requested that he see mr. davis, who remained after many of the others had left. william hur¬ riedly departed from them to find this influential citizen. when he had gone two miles he had a blow out. this did not delay him long, for being prepared for all except ex¬ traordinary emergencies, he adjusted the difficulty quickly, and was on his way once more. within a few minutes he was at mr. nailor's. when he inquired he learned that mr. nailor came in late the previous night and left early that fol¬ lowing morning. "this is rev. smith, isn't it?" inquired mrs. nailor. "yes, this is he. i understand your husband came to my defense last evening in a meeting designed to work me harm," he replied very graciously. "sometimes i become so very much ashamed of my peo¬ ple," remarkt the grand matron. "some of them do such foolish, mean things. to think of tom howell's reporting that you were going to marry one of my daughters, and you've never even met them! they've seen you only from a distance, not that they would be discomforted in meeting you." "some people will do anything," he answered. then with the courtesy and grace of a prince, he bowed and askt to be excused. "you can depend upon ted, she replied, as he bade her the immediate jewel of his soul letter. let me shake your hand. that's the kind of stuff we want in this country." william turned to see the speaker. it was mr. davis and with him was mr. nailor. when he had finisht an interview with them, he started off. "which way are you going now?" inquired mr. nailor. william replied, "i'm going to see the mayor." he left without delay. chapter xxii. "those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel. "since my dear soul was mistress of her choice and could of men distinguish, her election la th sealed thee for herself; for thou hast been as one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing, a man that fortunes buffets and rewards hath ta'en with equal thanks." —shakespeare. when he had reacht the edge of the town, william de¬ cided that he would walk to the mayor's office; he determined upon this as a precaution, which would permit more freedom for self-defense, should it be necessary for him to use his rifle. thoroly familiar with the conditions of seaton and the environs, he knew that white people in the country were al¬ most entirely for him or were neutral. either they were going to aid him, or they were not going to oppose him. ac¬ cordingly his enemies were chiefly in the town. the machina¬ tions of the council of six included the bringing of a mob from the urban throngs, he thot, to be composed chiefly of persons who did not know him. how otherwise could he account for the scurrilous article in the "seaton gazette?" tho cognizant of these conditions, he would go thus' far into the camp of the enemy. for the satisfaction of his own heart, for the edification of his race, for the arousal of admiration and respect among the reputable people of the town, william concluded that this was necessary. he must see the mayor. reaching the garage and repair shop of his friend, har¬ vey allen, he left the motorcycle there. the entrepreneur ques¬ tioned him concerning the newspaper attack and his attitude the immediate jewel of his soul towards it. the planter replied, "when the enemy comes, he'll receive a warm reception." "i'll be there to help you entertain him," remarked allen. "i'll be delighted to have your service." at this william started upon his important mission. per¬ sons who had not come much into his presence, casual passers- by, would have paid him scant attention; however, those who had observed him closely on other occasions, in this instance would have noticed a departure from the accustomed stride, the erect bearing, and the direct, quick pace. our hero moved circumspectly with an occasional glance to the left and to the right. when he reached the union station, whom should he meet, full of smiles and captivating graces but thelma has¬ kell? after a brief exchange of greetings and other conven¬ tionalities, there were expressions of surprises at seeing each other. of course thelma had hoped to see him shortly aitei her arrival; but she was not expecting the good fortune which presented itself immediately. "why have you come at this particular time?" inquired william, as thots of his predicament thrust themselves crowd- ingly upon him. "i wish you had waited a while; i fear i can not entertain you, as i should like." "i did not come to be entertained at all. i'll look after that was her assurance; i am going to return the compliment. you see i enjoyed myself so grandly last week, that i had to come again, i'm going to show you the time of your life." such were the joyous outbursts which fell upon our great character like hail in a summer cornfield. "but where are you going?" she remarkt with a sudden turn of thot. "you ap¬ pear to be on your way to a hunt." "i am en route to the mayor concerning a little business. this morning the 'seaton gazette' published a scurrilous ar- the immediate jewel of his soul tide concerning me, i cannot show it to you, as my paper is at the house. furthermore, in the same mail which brot your letter—by the way since i think of it, you said nothing at all in your letter about your coming. why don't you let a fellow know your intention? i should have had some one to meet you and see that you were properly cared for." william spoke thus because he felt, especially at this time, that some harm might befall her. "don't you know by now, william, that a woman can't tell a man everything? she must to some extent keep him guessing. society says that the men must seek the women; if the man understood everything, you know he'd never run after her. we have to do something to keep" them coming," she remarkt with unusual affability. then realizing that there was yet to be obtained the information she desired, she pressed a question to bring him back to what certainly was of immed¬ iate interest to him. "you haven't told me why you have that gun." as he was not afraid to tell thelma anything, he explained the matter in detail, likewise all that he had done that day as preparation for any outbreak. "here's the letter demanding that i leave within twenty-four hours," he said with great emotion. thelma quickly scanned its contents and then spoke with some degree of alarm and dismay, "what's the matter with these white folks? the president has said that we are to help make the world safe for democracy. how can we even havr in americn, with ?uch disrespect for the law on the part of the so-called superior race. what are you go¬ ing to do? you're not going to leave, are you? i don't see vet what you're aiming at?" she had in her zeal for justice and respect for property rights become bold and defiant. "i know what they want and i m ready to let them have it. i don't see what you want down here tho. why aren't you on the immediate jewel of his soul your farm organizing your friends to resist these insults? you've organized them for peace and they are with you. i saw that during the few days i was among them." "i can protect myself, thelma, i have no fear/' he affirmed in his effort to assure her that all would be well. she lookt at him a while and then became -silent, charmed with his princely aspect. soon the spell was broken and she was re¬ turned to the foreboding of her soul dreams. "you can pro¬ tect yourself, i agree. you can protect yourself against in¬ dividuals, man for man, and even at great odds. but you know the seething south as thoroly as i; you know," she spoke louder and more defiantly as she proceeded, "the cow¬ ards; you know the black-hearted scoundrels come against one colored man by hundreds and thousands. so superior are we to that common refuse that one of us strikes such fear into tens of them and even fifties, that they must needs op¬ pose us in hundreds and thousands. they pay us a great compliment. yet when they come, a hundred or a thousand against one, the chances for defeating them do not exist. under these circumstances your attitude is follhardy." thelma, my ambition is to be strictly law-abiding. the nation is engaged in war for world democracy." "for all the world except the negro. when american statesmen, politicians, and scholars engage in argument con¬ cerning demrocracy, if you think they mean a democracy m which we are included upon equal terms with other races, you're sadly mistaken; we're on the outside." "probably they don't include us, but their statements are so far sweeping that they can not exclude us. we must be reckoned with. we shall enter this democracy whether they want us or not. the only government that will offer ages of peace is a democracy; it's right, and he who seeks to stop the the immediate jewel of kis soul in danger even to be in the town really you don't know what you are contemplating." "i do not know?" she uttered slowly. "i do not know your danger? i do not know the peril of your neighbors? i don't know? yes, i do. consequently my business is not in the town but in the country. i go to help save a loyal peo¬ ple. i go to save those who suffer most and yet serve most. good bye, william, i'll see you this evening. i shall expect you. remember. good bye." she hurried on to the home of the gentle lady, with whom she lodged during the previous week, with an air of great importance. william watcht her for a moment and then reflected, "how i do admire her. she is true gold." he went directly to the mayor's office. while william was engaged in an interview with the chief city official, thelma was busy ascertaining the preparations for resistance on smith's estate. with despatch, she saw both brown and wilson, and learned what had been done. men were already on guard, with proper in¬ structions. satisfied with this arrangement, she began at once what she regarded as equally essential for maintaining the peace of the entire community. "mr. wilson, i think that you are rather well protected on this estate, but what about your good neighbors? here you have several natural ambuscades and redoubts, but what have our other kind friends? i was thinking that i can help them, if i can get just a little assist¬ ance from you. since you know them all, can't you bring them together at one place for me to speak to them?" "miss haskell, what would reverend smith say, if harm befell you in your effort? if i were even indirectly the cause of bringing you woe, i fear he would not forgive me,' was the sturdy affirmation. tke jimmediate jewel of his soul "i've talked with him in town already, and he knows i am determined to do something. i ask your aid merely to expe¬ dite time. if you refuse me, i'll find these people myself and see that they come together. i'm resolute. if you desire sin¬ cerely to keep me unexposed to affront and injury, you will at least do this little." thus thelma put her case tersely, for this was no occasion for parleying. with her it was a matter of life or death. and she was leaning we know towards life. "give me a moment to reflect," he said, trying to avoid too hasty a decision. "how much time do you wish,'' she inquired. "rive rn mites," was the prompt answer. "take them," she rejoined with a glance that cautioned celerity. "as you use them remember that five minutes tardi¬ ness may be the ruin of hundreds of human lives."' he withdrew from the sitting-room and sought brown who had just gone to look at the outposts. after having gone a hundred yards, he called. promptly brown appeared. when they had had a brief conference, wilson speedily returned and found thelma patiently waiting. "i have been following the seconds and the minutes, thru fear and anxiety,"' she spoke showing the watch fastened about her wrist. "but you are on time with a few seconds to spare." "miss haskell, that is a circumstance concerning which dr. smith is extremely abstemious. thru him we have learned to be prompt in all our engagements," was the proud assevera¬ tion. then he went on, "i return to your business. mr. brown and i have decided to help you carry out any plan you have in mind for aiding our neighbors." "i appreciate that so much," she remarkt with a full flush of happiness. "you can not imagine how my spirit rejoices. thank you, mr. wilson, thank you." the" immediate jewel of his soul "i'm happy to be at your service. now what are your plans ? "could the people come to this estate for about a half hour?" "that cannot be. dr. smith's instructions interfere with that. for special reasons, which i do not care to divulge, he prefers that they do not come here." "i know his reasons, now that you call his wish to my mind. but may they not meet at the school house ? i want to speak to them assembled." "that's possible," he replied. "that is the way out. since there is no work in operation on the plantation, i'll notify sev¬ eral who will see that the rest are there. when are they to assemble ?" "immediatly." "come let's be off." he obtained his rifle and went to the garage to get his car. when all was ready, they sped away to the home nearest the school house. there he left thelma in congenial company and hastened to notify the others. he found all the farmers on guard. when he had explained to them the purpose of the meeting, they set their sons or wives or both to the task and started for the school house. within less than a half hour all expected were there, ready for the great undertaking. "gentlemen," said mr. wilson, opening the meeting, "you will recall that the lady before you was present during the wheat harvest. she needs no introduc¬ tion. i present to you miss haskell, who will give you all details. i ask you to excuse me now, as i must return to the house; but i'll be back as soon as dr. smith returns. i know you will want to hear what he's been doing. well, i'll tell you then. miss haskell is an able young woman, strong and brave, a hard worker. she can give you good advice. hear her. good bye. i'll be back shortly." hereupon he departed. the immediate jewel of his soul ''gentlemen, american citizens/' thelma began, with her voice full of melodious sweetness. "for years many of you toiled and toiled, yet never forged ahead. each planting season found you deeper in debt than the one which had past. still you workt on, merely existing, hoping that some day the yoke you could not remove would be smashed by your children." "yes, you're telling the truth. i never could get out of old halloway's debt until about two years ago," remarkt one of the farmers, who was strongly corroborated by many others. "it did not, however, happen that way," she continued. "it was not your children who showed you how to buy tools, implements and groceries, how to buy land, how to improve your land by its cultivation. it was not your children who brought you this freedom, who caused you to win the respect of your white neighbors. it was not at all whom you expected; and it came sooner than you thot. this happiness was brot to you by a minister, a farmer, a man of business, a gentleman— rev. william smith." there followed great applause and approbation. happy in the response she received, she resumed. "this friend of yours has been notified to leave this country within twenty- four hours. tomorrow at ten o'clock he is due to be far away. you know, i suppose, he has decided to remain. this means that a mob is coming against him, as soon as knowledge spreads that he is here. "dr. smith has been a friend to every one of you, will you be a friend to him? will you love him with the greatest love that can stir the human heart? 'no greater love hath a man than this that he lay down his life for a friend.' even at this moment he is in the midst of his enemies exposing his life for yours, for your glory and that of your children. the immediate jewel op his soul "he has done no more than you, yet he has been ordered to leave these accumulations of his young manhood. if inno¬ cence would not exempt him from reproach and violence, do not believe it will exempt you. when your leader has been overthrown, the m'ob will come in force against you. if rev. smith survives, you shall live; if he perish, with him you fall. where then is your place in this great hour; scattered like dandelions in a lawn, or united like the streams of the mighty river?" she pointed to the familiar waterway in the distance. "your place is on your friend's estate under one leadership. you did not acquire your lovely homes until he came; will you be able to hold them, if he falls and dies? let there not be thirty different guards, but one. i mean that all the farm¬ ers should keep in communication with one another. in this way, if any farm is attackt all can quickly go to its defense. this is how the battles are being won in europe, this is how you mirt win yours." "we'll do what rev. smith suggests," interrupted jim turner. ''tie has already rested,'' the'nia broke in, "but he is just neither to himself nor to you. human life must be pro¬ tected, hence i appeal to you. dr. smith has not askt me to do this, he's entirely unaware of my plans. he said he would have done this, however, had the country not been at war. he feels that such united resistance as i have outlined would be misunderstood and interpreted as a rebellion or an act of war." at this point some were disconcerted, and began to won¬ der whether they should combine against the prospective foe. to prevent such thots having much force, the gentle visitor soon turned to utterances that always sway the hearer. "you think of hesitating? men, you must act, for your friends, for your own lives. during slavery, the supreme court of the the immediate jewel of his soul united states gave out this decision, 'the negro has no rights which the white man is bound to respect.' the masses of the "vhite people act in accordance with that statement todav. here in this district you do have much respect. why? it is be¬ cause you have wealth. if the white man does not respect he admire's you. "if you desire even greater respect from them, earn your rights and be willing to die to defend them. liberty has been gained by bloodshed. do not fear to pay the price, you, he does respect your dollars. you are thrifty, that's why white and black alike will honor you, and sing your praises always. who fears to die, preferring to be enslaved, is not fit to live." there followed shouts and acclamations. those, who wavered a while ago, were now bent on pursuing a common aim. let's do something at once," cried one. "let's go at once to the estate," said others. '"'gentlemen," continued thtlma happily, "i thot you would be noble. i was sure you stood for right. it may hap¬ pen that we shall not even be approacht, but i regard such a prospect extremely doubtful. rev. smith has gone to see the mayor. we may get the news at any moment, but we cannot wait, we must be prepared. human life, i repeat, must be protected. if the government will not, human life must be protected.' "how may we organize?" put in moses lampkins, who believed in expedition. "what man here can all follow, and obey at the slightest suggestion ?" she inquired to help remove the delay. "i can follow jim turner, like a chick following a hen," said lampkins. "i know i can," said many others. the immediate jewel op his soul "mr. turner," said thelma smiling, i appoint you leader of these noble men. their lives and all their possessions are in your hands. be a matchless leader." then turning to the throng she continued, "gentlemen, excuse mr. turner a few minutes, i should like to talk with him individually." the honored farmer promptly went to the front of the room and heard the fair lady. he thot of his overalls, but as a crisis was at hand, he had no time to stand on conventionalities. during their conversation thelma and turner planned the resistance: they were not to attack. they decided upon scouts, outposts, sentinels, and guards, also upon a line of com¬ munication. when all had been assigned they started for their posts. hereupon they heard the report from the combustion of a motor; they knew it was rev. smith. he had seen the mayor and had returned to them. such cheers and plaudits as are given kings and queens, advancing in the midst of holi¬ day throngs were showered upon the prophet of sinai shrine, the man of business. he lifted his hat in grateful acknowl¬ edgment and dismounted in front of the school house. "thelma, miss haskell," he remarkt upon seeing her, "what are you doing here?" he was uneasy about her. "it will soon be dark and you will have a dangerous trip to town, i fear." "rev. smith," she said. she was conventional because of the crowd. "i am preparing to protect you, to save you; if not for yourself, or persons in williamsburg, at least for these people.'' she lifted her hand to stay interuption and continued, "i don't know when i shall go to town." "thelma, this must not be." "william , must not? i shall lodge at mr. turner's. isn't he, and his wife all right?" the immediate jewel of his soul "yes, but—" "i belong to myself, don't i, william?" she smiled "yes, you do." chapter xxiii. ah for mo give me liberty of give me death. —patrick henry the waiting room of the mayor's office was very much crowded when william arrived to have his interview. accord¬ ing to the custom, he trailed the line and waited his turn. the other visitors who were all white first noticed the rifle, then the khaki, and finally his complexion. here they lingered long, for they wondered why a colored man would come thus accountered into the office of the chief magistrate of that town, only to change their appraisement, when they beheld his portly bearing and pleasant demeanor. william took out a note book and began to write, while they continued to steal occasional glances. he appeared wholly absorbed in his work, but he never failed for a minute to take circumspect glimpses of his enforced companions. the visitors gradually were successful in their business and speedily left for the next tasks. william soon began to feel that the office would close, before he could discharge his mission. he kept noticing the clock and comparing it with his watch, apprehensive lest one chronometer would deceive him. the whistle sounded for the close of civic work and brot him to his feet. all had seen the mayor except two who were ahead of him, two elderly gentlemen, and himself. tho somewhat disturbed, he waited with his accustomted patience. then the idea flasht upon him that he was not making the most of his time. many details of his venture or of his con¬ templated resistance could be workt out. to this meditation, with stolen glances at the other persons in the waiting room, the immediate jewel of his soul our brave character proceeded at once to apply himself. sure that his prospective assailants meant business and that there could be no sparring for time, he thrust book and pencil into his pocket, and began to think of devices for getting an inter¬ view before sundown. while william was thus anxious, the messenger came into the sitting room and said, "the office is closed. only those in the sitting room 'will be heard." william sat down and "resumed his writing. how calm a man may become when he knows a'life strug¬ gle is before him! how undisturbed is an intelligent soul when brot to bay! we sometimes feel too proud to fight, thinking that in so doing we stoop to baseness. we believe at times that it is wrong for individual or state to force a man to exchange time for eternity. we decry war, violence, and rapine, and look for the ages of peace. and to be consistent, we censure the taking of human life for any crime. yet when a fray is forced upon us, when we regard it ignoble to flee, we fight and kill. is this right? shall it become the universal law? as long as it is sweet and noble to die for one's country, it is stately to die for one's honor. such was william's reflection just before facing the mayor, a rather chubby man of forty-seven, slightly grizzled, and adorned with horned spectacles. he placed himself back in his chair, scrutinized the dignified visitor, and then offered him a seat near his desk. "this is rev. smith, i'm sure. make yourself at home." did the speaker mean that? was he not after all an exalted instrument in the hands of unscrupulous people? william sat down. "what can i do for you?" came a customary question. "i don't know, mayor goodrich. you can better answer that question yourself, after i have explained my business," the immediate jewel op his soul replied william smiling. he placed his gun across his knee and handed the magistrate the letter from the klan. "read that, please," he requested. the mayor read. when he had finisht william presented the letter from washington, which he followed with his reply. mr. goodrich ruminated, after having perused the epistles, and waived for william to break the silence. he did not wait long. "i came to you, mayor goodrich, because i love this town, the nation, and my peo¬ ple. as this is a very serious consideration, one which may not only disgrace your administration and the town, but even humiliate the nation, i came to you with all possible facts, that you may act wisely and quickly. what are you going to do, mr. goodrich? what do you suggest that i do?" the mayor aswered hesitatingly, "dr. smith, i don't see much that i can do. i can have the governor call the militia, but what good wtould that do? instead of firing upon the mob, they'd aid it, either by joining it or by depriving your colored brothers of their weapons and then leave them to the mob. you recall what the papers stated concerning east st. louis. that militia is typical of the south." "mayor, i know," said william, agreeing with the magis¬ trate, "that the black man has practically no protection in the south, and very little in many other parts of this great na¬ tion. that is why i have this rifle. tho the constitution grants me paper protection, i cannot trust my life to it. be¬ fore almighty god, i wish i could! but i must protect my¬ self. the colored man who does not protect himself is dead already. you see i do not ask for protection, because i knowr in advance i can't get it." "however, let nothing rash be done," put in the mayor, trying to use diplomacy. "your people are loyal, i know you the immediate jewel of his soul are loyal. i've watched your coming here, your influence among white and black, and your development of industry here. i've gone so far as to suggest that a group of the best citizens give you the same token of appreciation. now that this trouble has risen, i thot out a possible solution. why not accept the offer coming from washington ? furthermore, i have a large estate in tennessee, which i'd like for you to develop. i'll offer you ten thousand dollars cash as the gift of the townsmen, of course it's not as yet subscribed. i'll give you a large farm from my tennessee estate and pay you two thousand a year to do there the work you've done here. it would be well for you to leave now and return later on. after several years, all would be adjusted. here are two offers. surely for the sake of the nation, you'll go." "mr. goodrich, permit me to relate two incidents," came the calm response," and then i'll give you my decision. have i leave?" "yes, go on." "at ebbit seminary, in kelston was a very learned, col¬ ored man, dr. kemper, its president. the school he admin¬ istered was located in the far south, where our people live in great numbers. some misfortune caused a mob to come against the school and fire thru the windows. as this gentle¬ man was a minister, his first thot was to seek divine aid. he despatched a messenger to the governor, asking for troops, and had the chapel bell rung for the gathering of the students in extraordinary assembly. as they came together in the chapel, the pistols without—in the language of the president— continued to bark like dogs. so well do i recall this, for i heard him relate it in a church in saint louis. not to> di¬ gress, i conclude. this great educator had those seven hun¬ dred students kneel in prayer. h'e himself led the petition. the immediate jewel of his soul while still engaged in that service, a message came from the governor that troops would soon be upon the scene, with ammunition and a gatling gun. the troops came in time and the mob did not storm the buildings. president kemper men¬ tioned this in a very important speech to prove that when in danger we should pray. he offered it as proof that prayers are answered on time." "that is a rare incident," remarkt the governor. "it is very interesting; now mention the other." "as you say," william went on, "a rare incident. such happens in this country only in one case out of ten thousand. "the other incident," he continued, "is like the first in many respects, but yet it has fundamental differences. ken- dell seminary at harmony had at its head dr. wade, who was also a christian minister. his school has the unique dis¬ tinction of rejecting the offer of $ , for the building of a school for colored youth, because the donor, the home mis¬ sionary society, wanted to control its policy. it returned the money with interest. today president wade operates that seminary which is controlled and supported solely by colored people. it is indeed our greatest monument of negro self- help. "let's return, however, to the incident. one class in preparing to produce the 'h, m. s. pinafore,' found it neces¬ sary to have special rehearsals for the principals. to expedite the opera, the professor in charge had the leading characters to rehearse in town at the home of the professor of music. the seminary was located just outside the city limits. "one evening, when the boys and girls were returning from such a rehearsal, three white ruffians accosted and con¬ fronted them. one of them pulled at one of our girls and in¬ sinuated, 'you're a fine lookin' nigger gal. you'll do me.' as he tried to kiss her, the captain of the football team, a strong, the immediate jewel op his soul be kept in the dormitories. yet the president askt if there were pistols or rifles about. he received an affirmative an¬ swer. whereupon, he askt them to bring arms and ample am¬ munition to the chapel. never before had i seen such an array of fire arms among my people. there were automatic colts, smith and wesson 's, many shot guns and win¬ chesters. when it appeared that all had returned, dr. wade him'self came in with seven winchesters, which he distributed among the male members of the faculty. then he sent a stu¬ dent to his home for his own rifle, saying, 'take this note to mrs. wade and tell her i'll not return until late, probably till morning.' thereupon addressing himself to those ambitous young men, he continued, 'i'm going to instruct the professors as to how to repulse any manuever. you are to obey them without questioning. most of you are to remain without arms; these are the only ones to leave the school grounds. they will watch the movements of the evening and form our first line of communication. boys, this is dangerous work, yet our effort is valueless without it. i cannot, therefore assign it, i must call for volunteers.' "every youth volunteered boisterously, i want to be a scout." "i'm glad of this unanimous response. i know now we shall succeed. promptly, scouts were selected and dispatched to perform their work. then the teachers were posted as captains. they posted their groups about the campus, so as to cover every approach, and awaited the attack of those who threatened. "the night this occurred, the stars were faintly shining in the refulgent glow of a luxurious moonlight. shadows of trees and houses—in short, all objects in the landscape were strongly visible. the immediate jewel op his soul "an hour after the school force had been on watch, the scouts sent back word that a hoard of about three hundred men were coming from cotton town." cotton town was the seat of a cotton factory, surrounded by the frame dwell¬ ings of the workers. it lay about half a mile from the school limits. "when a hundred and fifty yards from the campus, one of the gang shouted, 'we're coming, niggers, say your last prayers.'" " 'come on,' went a robust answer, 'we can take all you can give, and pay you back with interest.' our scouts were called in and armed. thus we awaited them. '' 'remember,' came as the president's final advice, 'since we have a good number and most of you are in ambush, let the enemy fire the first shot. if they unload a weapon, fol¬ low your professor's commands quickly,' and there muzzles flasht outrageously in the quiet moonlight. the leaders came within twenty-five yards and started at the glare of those rifles, ready for blood. the one, who apparently was chief, called ten together for a conference, then messages were sent thru the ranks. this was followed by a retreat to their homes, with yeihng and cursing. "mayor goodrich, this happened eight years ago. the school still stands as a monument to negro self-help, negro courage, and negro manhood." "that is interesting, i suppose i had to listen as the wed¬ ding guest to the voyage of the ancient mariner. but what is the point of the incidents?" he parried, fully aware of the purport of it all. "i promised, when i had related those stories to tell you my decision concerning your offer." william spoke rapidly now, tho not so rapidly as passed the currents of his emo- the immediate jewel of his soul tion. "i mention the deeds of those men to point out the attitudes of my people. dr. kemper represents the manner of the new negro. in the new south which is at hand the old negro is a misfit. you cannot have a democratic south until this new negro represents the majority of his race. 'the old order changeth, giving place to new, and god fulfills himself in many ways, lest one good custom should corrupt the world.' "mayor, i had thot of marrying sometime ago. i was sure that i would have been married by this time. i should have been married by this time. now i don't know if i'll ever marry. i'll give my life for democracy here. i'll give my life for my race. i've scented blood, my fighting spirit is on fire. mayor goodrich, mayor goodrich, down in your heart do you really think i ought to go?" "'certainly, because it will save trouble." "who made this trouble?" "in a way you did, rev. smith, by taking hold of the affairs of the farmers." "the man who stops robbers, who sees that workers are not only worthy of their hire, but actually gets it causes trouble?" "you know those stock jobbers are envious of a colored man's rising to wealth and power. probably after the educa¬ tion of a few years, this violence will cease."' "more and more, mr. goodrich, i believe that this is not solely a white man's problem. if every colored community would take the stand of kendall seminary, the problem would be solved over night. those ruffians who vaunt and prowl like fiends infernal do so only because they are sure that their lives are secure. i do not believe in insurrections. as evi¬ dence of this, i call to witness my neighbors whom i sent to chapter xxiv. ask and it shall be given you; seek and ye sliall find; knock and it shall be opened unto you. mat. : behold he prayeth. — : . men ought always pray. —luke : we shall not fight our battles alone. there is a just god who presides over the destinies of nations; and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. —patrick henry. the morning following william's call upon the mayor, just before sunrise, the colored people who lived upon farms bordering on our hero's estate or who had been directly in¬ fluenced by his operations, started for the home of wendell hill, to hold a prayer meeting. men, women, children—all assembled. the work of the previous evening was almost un¬ done, for there was not aman at his post. believing every detail would be well carried out, thelma finally went to sleep at a very late hour. she deemd it proper to seize a few hours rest, as she might have to stay on her feet forty-eight hours or more, after the dawning of the next day. she wanted to have a maximum of energy, for she knew she had much work to do. tho the watch was faithfully kept during the night, yet every man had been able to get about three hours' rest. this happened because of the careful arrangement and alternation of the guard. long after our lady had gone to sleep, how¬ ever, the idea occurred to hill, a man of unusual religious persuasion, that before entering upon any serious undertak- the immediate jewel op his soul synagoguges and the brother shall deliver up the brother to death, and the father the child: and the chil¬ dren shall rise up against their parents, and cause them to be put to death. and ye shall be hated of all men for my name's sake; but he that endureth to the end shall be saved and fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul; but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell think not that i am come to send peace on earth: i came not to send peace, but a sword. for i am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. and a man's foes shall be those of his very household he that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it." as hill read, the faces showed various states of emotion— anxiety, doubt, consternation. it was difficult for some to be¬ lieve the passages were genuine. the doubt, however, was very evanescent, for when each recalled that hill was their greatest bible student, that he was most fervent in his reli¬ gious zeal, and of unquestioned integrity, they speedily changed their minds. when the enthusiast began to utter the opening prayer and gave his fertile imagination free play, all doubts subsided. jesus was christ, and god was lord of all. turner then began to sing, "i want to be ready to walk in jerusalem just like john." then followed rhytmic hand clapping, cadenced to the time of the sound. there was like¬ wise a patting of feet to reinforce the joyful emotion, slight at first but later more vigorous as the leader became more en¬ thusiastic. prayer followed prayer with hopes that god would intervene to prevent the spilling of blood. then came the son^r, "come on. let's ,sro to the camp me'eting." this was followed by a number of songs, "i'm going to live and never the immediate jewel of his soul die," "little david, play on your harp,'' "honor, honor, my lord." when these were sung the people marcht and shouted, the leader of the song performing many antics, waving his right hand as if a choir master, stooping low, and at times leaning back with his hands to his mouth, as if making a speak¬ ing trumpet. he would walk from group to group, waving his hand as if trying to draw forth more powerful sounds from those who seemed to let up from the exahustion of marching or shouting. then he would place his left hand on his jaw, bend his head to one side and holler or shriek. these gesticulations kept the spirit alive. in the thralldom of this deep religious emotion, with cares all dispelled, who thot of thelma? 'the kingdom of heaven was at hand.' sorrow and sighing had past away. in the zephyrs of the morning thelma peaceably slept on, unaware of any plan miscarried. that night somehow, she could not understand, she had had an unusual dream. she saw a hare dart out of a copse and run toward a pack of hounds, which turned from pursuit of a fox to chase this bold little creature. soon appeared the hunters in fine breeches on fiery horses at great speed. seeing that hunt had changed, they checked their pace and hallowed to the hounds to retake the scent. the dogs quickly responded, bounding once more for their original prey; but both hare and fox escaped. when our fair lady awoke, she found herself very much fatigued, she seemed sleepier than ever, and pondered on re¬ maining there longer for another doze. this, however, was only a first thot. she sat up in bed, musing; then she lookt about the room. the sun was well up, as she discovered from the heat and light forcing their way thru the windows. her attention was now attracted to sweet, harmonious strains joy¬ fully rising in the distance. what could it be? ,she listened more closely. where could it be? the~words were entirely ✓ so the immediate! jewel of his soul inaudible, tho the tones were rather distinct. at last came one conviction; the singing was from the colored farmers; for white people did not sing that way. she was eventually re¬ minded, by the minor strains, of the fisk jubilee singers: for she recognized some of the songs those minstrels were wont to sing: "i'm gwine to jine de great 'sociation," "i couldn't hear nebdy pray," "go down, moses." she sprang from the bed, happy as a lark, fresh as the dew at early morning. she quickly proceeded to arrange her toilet. while engaged in this, she heard a vigorous knock¬ ing. thinking that it was only the morning call, she shouted, ''mrs. turner, i'm up." as the knocking did not ce?.?e, livel- ma observed with greater interest. the sounds did not come from the bedroom door, as she first surmised, but from that room next the kitchen. upon opening her window and looking down she saw andy clarkston and at a little distance from him a motorcycle. "do you know where mr. turner is? or do you know where i can find his wife, to learn where he is. i have a let¬ ter for him from rev. smith which i must give him in per¬ son."' such was the inquiry of andy, who showed signs of eagnerness to execute his business and return to the estate without delay. "what, are the folks out?" remarkt thelma with great surprise. "where can they be? what are they doing? what do they mean by leaving me alone? how long have you been there?" were her incoherent utterances. andy paused awhile wondering which questions to answer, but eventually solved the dilemma by responding to her last. "i suppose i've been here about three minutes. we both seem to be in the same situation. you, as well as i, wonder where are the folks. i had expected to see somebody on guard. of the immediate jewel of his soul course the estate is well cared for; but if the other people are defending their farms, it is being done by the old grand¬ mothers. that means that there is practically no protection at all." thelma immediately showed signs of anger. for a while she was silent, for the thots that thrust themselves upon her at the very instant would have been uttered but ineffectually due to the absence of those who should hear them. "mr. clarkston, can you wait for me a few minutes without arous¬ ing the ill feeling of rev. smith." "miss haskell, i could wait a life time," he replied bash¬ fully. "to stop for others would displease him, but to re¬ main for your sake i'm sure will give him hours of ecstacy." thelma blusht and said, "excuse me then, i'll be back within five minutes." she hurried to the task. as soon as she reacht the lanriine; she heard strains of "camp meeting in the wilderness." "the people must be there," she thot. she returned at once to the window and said, "those people i vow, are holding a prayer meeting during these perilous moments. mr. clarkston, do you hear that singing?" "yes," he said, "it seems as tho it's in the direction of wendell hill's. you know he is-strong for his religion in sea¬ son and out of season. the truth is, it should always be in season. yet there's more ways to serve god than one, one need not pray all the time." "t dislike to detain you from your errand," she inter¬ rupted, "but those people must come back on guard." she wondered why she returned to the window. she had become greatly disturbed. "by the way," broke in andy, "rev. smith told me to say to you, not to worry the neighbors about him, that he's well protected. and so he is." the immediate jewel of his soul "tell him, i understand. i appreciate your kindness ex¬ tremely," she smiled. and clarkson felt happy in her sunshine. "i want you to direct me to mr. hill's just the same. i'll be with you presently," she spoke and left the window. on this occasion there was no chance for finesse. within three minutes she returned ready for the day's work, even tho she had not dined. andy wondered what to do with the cycle. seeing the difficulty, thelma said, "you may go on; i'll find the place. just give me the directions." "i'll take you to the place where you will have a straight road to the house. then i'll go rapidly on. so quickly will i attend to this business, that i shall seem not to have lost any time." "you're quite obliging, mr. clarkston," thelma smiled again. andy was almost frantic with joy. "don't mention it, miss haskell, don't mention it," he said with great embarrass¬ ment. "the honor is all yours." he took her to the main road. so thelma found the place easily. as soon as he had left the tender visitor, andy hastened to his motorcycle which contrary to his apprehensions was in front of turner's door unharmed. almost in a twinkling, he had started the motor and sped away. he reacht hill's house at least ten minutes before thelma. calling turner aside he delivered the letter: "wait a moment for an answer," said mr. turner. "rev. smith said, 'you need not wait for a reply.'" he mounted the cycle and in an instant was out of sight. turner read the letter at once. it expressed disapproval of any combining of all the people, urging again that each go to his own home and defend it. what was he to do? what were the others to do ? they had given their word to a great the immediate jewel of his soul lady that they would unite to oppose a common foe. could they not be mistaken? was there a common foe? nobocly had come against them yet. turner went back to the meeting and, as soon as possible:, prayed emphasizing this utterance, "they that use the sword, shall perish by the sword." several other prayers followed to the same effect. the sentiment was prevailing that god would fight their battles for them. at the door now stood thelma, listening to it all, at the same time trying to devise a means of addressing the people. unwilling to disturb the solemnity of their worship—for she respected with great reverence the sacred heritage of her peo¬ ple—she determined not to lose her temper. for she knew that once her impetuosity held sway, she would violently disperse the throng. such an act would only teem with evil conse¬ quences ; it would destroy at once all her popularity and make her organization of the people absolutely of non-effect. she thot of gett-ing word to turner or hill. this strate- gem would have been easy, if singing had been on; but the people were engaged in a chain of prayers. as soon as one finish!", another began. in this way much enthusiasm was kept sustained. there was only one way—it was to be a link in the chain. after there had been uttered several other prayers damaging to her plans, thelma was able to intervene. she might have interrupted earlier; but she wanted it to be donr smoothly, with reverence and perfect accord. there was no delay in grasping this sort of opportunity. thelma had not prayed in public for some time. this was one of the first thots to come before her. she knew that, even in praying, practice makes perfect; if one wants to be coherent, fervent, and sincere without vain repetitions. it was useless to engage in extended hesitations. william's safety— the immediate jewel op his soul the safety of the man she loved—was in jeopardy, the safety of all those people attending that meeting, whom she now con¬ sidered warring against themselves, was at stake. above all, the honor of a loyal race and a grand republic was endangered. most important now, a courageous stand by these very people would save everything. "our rather," vhe began, .somewhat bashfully, but yet firmly, "who has been our dwelling place thru all genera¬ tions, help us in this dreadful hour." heads began to take an ereqt position and look for the tender voice—somewhat fa¬ miliar and yet rather strange. this did not last long, for with the remaining thot that they were worshipping their maker, the accustomed reverence again prevailed. "father, i pray for these people here assembled, i pray for the young man who has greatly helped this community, i pray for the good white people of these parts, i pray for the scoundrels who despite- fullv use us, asking thee to give us sufficient sense, not to let them despitefully use us any more. "father, i pray for this nation—indeed a great land, a land which will be greater if we use thy word and fight thy battles." "amen, amen," came from many hearts, "pray on, sis¬ ter!" one brother said, "father, those who use the sword shall die by the sword." "but, father, father, father, oh father," she pleaded, "haven't some used the sword, and lived? did not thy aveng¬ ing angel use the sword on sennachrib's host of a hundred and eisrhty-five thousand men? didn't abraham use the sword to drive away the enemy that captured lot. didn't david use the sword on goliath? how did joshua take the chil¬ dren of israel into canaan except by the sword. didn't george the immediate jewel of his soul washington use the sword and become the first president of this great nation?'' "yes, he did, he did, pray on, sister," were the loud acclaims. "father, almighty father, did your son not say, 'who¬ soever shall save his life shall lose his life; and whosoever shall lose his life shall find it?" the people at once thot of the scripture that opened the meeting. they especially remembered this passage because wendell hill had given it emphasis. "amen, she is telling truth," came a response. "now, father, just, hear me this time," she continued. "for if you deny me now, i'll find death tomorrow. a prince has come to this community like unto christ; he has given not his worst, but his best. and as the culprits did unto christ, so would some do to this kind man—kill him for his goodness. father, io this to be/ ue'd h;s life for them, for any one of them! will they not do as much for him? father, i know they will. they are going back on guard right now. father, i thank thee for answering my prayer. amen." before anyone could utter a word, thelma said, "men return to your posts, maintain the same line of communica¬ tion even unto the home of rev. smith. let the women and children go on at once accompanied by the advanced guard." all were surprised. thots of the approaching danger seized them. the meeting had served one good purpose anyhow; rf the p"i'ticpnnts cr(j t . 'jev.t v,tcre to tarry now. all must act with initiative and speed. the men designated aware of this took up their weapons at once and went to the defense. thelma spoke with the authority of a general; her suggestions carried. "mothers," she said as they stp.vted away, "remember your children. you experienced the the immediate jewel of his soul you going. what you're doing down here so early anyhow?' "mr. clarkston had started his motor and was enroute speedily for rev. smith's estate. they called several times. 'if you don't stop, you're a goner.' our gallant young man paid no heed. they fired several shots at him, but none hit the mark. he was soon out of range." mr. turner then began, "all the men should know this. well, we'll see that they get it. they will be ready then for anything." "how you feel about it, men," he inquired of those pres¬ ent. "just fine," remarkt one, "i see now why dr. smith had those shooting matches. men, let's not stay here, let's do our duty." "do your duty, don't let all the democracy be in europe. let's bring some to america," thelma smiled. chapter xxv. "there comes a time when the souls of human beings, women more even than men, begin to faint for the atmos¬ phere of the affections they are made to breathe. —holmes with all determined to resist the enemy if they were op¬ posed, the majority were stationed near william's estate. that thy might aid him and not be killed thru avoidable mishap, turner seized the opportunity of intense enthusiasm and went to the estate, leaving miss haskell as a sort of generalissimo. he was somewhat uncertain as to finding william readily, for he was confident that his friend would not keep in prison. this fear, however, was soon dispelled. he found the dis¬ tinguish gentleman, at his desk, busy with papers as if noth¬ ing extraordinary had occurred. observing who had come, william laid aside the papers and heartily greeted his dear neighbor. so suddenly had he turned from his task that he was somewhat uncertain where to begin. he wanted to know first of all of the security of the people. were they on guard or were they trusting to chance? where was thelma? what could she be doing? yet his concern for her was less than that for his neighbors, as he was sure of her being sufficiently spirited and equipoised to conquer any situation. the thots of her, therefore, can¬ not be construed as solicitude, but a curiosity born of a deep admiration for her supreme adaptability to the crisis. a tew minutes past in attention to a plan to operate a community store; then they returned to the matter of most importance the immediate jewel of his soul "mr. turner," at length began' rev. smith after many moments of reflection, "what are the people doing? are they aware of what is going on or do they, since no one has come against them, regard it as a joke?" turner felt somewhat abasht, when he recalled all the cir¬ cumstances of the morning. more was he ashamed because he regarded himself as having failed in the trust committed to him. seeing that his neighbor made no reply, william began to laugh. "you make me think that something's gone wrong. am i right?" inquired william. turner shook his head, yet unable to speak because of his consciousness of guilt. "no?" remarked rev. smith. "then tell me what's going on." making a superlative effort to suppress his deep emotion^ turner said slowly with hesitation, "everything's all right now—thanks to miss haskell." "miss haskell? what did she do?" his curiosity inter¬ rupted. "she has done everything. the people did well last night, but hill influenced them to have a prayer meeting. i even listened. when they once started, they forgot the purpose of the assembly and turned it almost into a protracted meeting. had any one come then, we all would have been lost." "that was serious. i told them by no means to leave their homes. i wonder if they'll be capable of holding out?" he spoke and then paused, after which reflection he askt tur¬ ner to proceed. "well, we just listened to wendell hill. but thank the lord, miss haskell came among us, prayed a prayer that brot us to our senses. now we're on guard to stay till the war is over. "rev. smith, we're not going to pay any attention to your the immediate jewel of his soul shot. it may mean the death or the wounding of one of our race, but be willing to make that sacrifice. are you well sup¬ plied with arms?" "yes, sir. we can handle the situation." "all right. success." when mr.* turner had gone, wil¬ liam returned to his papers. he lookt at them for a while, then went to an opposite window and watched turner slowly crossing a field of corn. he followed him as if in a revery, until the beloved gentleman was out of view. then he moved along the side of the room toward the next window. after having gone a few steps, he stopt and gazed at a picture in a frame of ebony. it was the sphinx. as he lingered behold¬ ing it, for the first time he noticed its negro features ? "cer¬ tainly 'tis because that was the dominating race of that land," he thot. it was indeed an inspiration. if that structure which has been a mystery to all subsequent ages, could be the work of his ancestors, he himself would be also a mystery. his foes would not fathom his whereabouts more than they could solve the riddle of the sphinx. he pondered long on africa and allowed his mind to drift with sweet orientation to his forebears. he saw it as a land of gloom and then of pure delight—with the end of exploitation on the part of other folk. nations were not greedy for gold, nations were not there to mutilate. the savage had become cultured; the jungle was only a dream. stately schools and buildings, churches in the grand style, resplendent avenues and vistas had made a para¬ dise. then how sad he was that his ancestors could not enjoy it! while thus his thots moved on like the song of a bird at the return of spring, his attention was distracted by the call of "rev. smith, rev. smith." as it was a sudden awakening and since he was not at first composed, he ran quickly to the the immediate jewel of his soul "now you have it. i suppose you're satisfied. open con¬ fession is good for the soul. at least they say so," was her taunting remark. she lookt at william mischieviously and started to move towards him. he waved his hand for repression and said, "no, remain where you are. i'm glad to see you anyhow but you ought to be in williamsburg." "i was going, but you called me back." "you know you must not go now. besides your going was only pretense?" "do i pretend, william?" "certainly, everybody pretends sometimes. that was one of your instances." "i better go back to—no, i won't." "i thot you wouldn't." "but, william!" "thelma, you must tell me what you have done to my neighbors. they have actually refused to do my bidding. they have rebelled against me," he affirmed. he took a rose from the vase and offered it to her with a bow. "i have no rose¬ mary for remembrance. i wish i did. we have been friends so long and may have to part. something is going to happen before the sun goes down, i feel; hence i speak. a'ccept this rose for remembrance. my foes will spare you; but i may have to go." thelma held her head as if abasht, then lookt at him ap- pealingly. turning to one side she noticed a pillow covered with a design after the seal of his alma mater. she put it from her and moved to the other end of the sofa. "now there is room, william. come, sit down." he accepted the seat. then she took a pin, and gave it to him with this remark, "take this; pin it here." she pointed to her left breast. "not for the immediate jewel of hi's soul ing home and asking susan to be—my—wife. several times before, i had thot of going only to say, i have plenty of time yet." then when i was threatened, i rejoiced that i was single. thus i put it entirely out of my mind. now you come and force my thots in that direction again. "i had refrained from asking, because of the life i lead— ostracised by the ministers of the state and now attacked by gangsters and felons. when i began this work, i lookt for¬ ward to this. i believed that some day my life would be in danger. i'd marry, if i thot i'd have some days of pleasure; but why marry to make a widow and probably an orphan? it is not my wish to make my wife miserable, but happy.'' "i am afraid, my dear, you don't understand a woman's heart. we must take life as it is. many things are done for us anyway and we must be resigned," she affirmed. "but susan is a home girl. her child would need a father. if i were to be killed as her husband, i fear she would die also. true, i have called upon her more than any young woman i've met; but i have made no overtures. for us to part single would not be so calamitous as for us to part married," he said, sitting down by the table which sup¬ ported the vase of roses. "have you allowed her to answer you on this point?"' she inquired, made hopeful by his last remarks. "no, i haven't askt her point blank, but our conversa¬ tions on varied matters have sufficiently convinced me as to this," he said. "william, i'll tell you what to do. let me help you out of the difficulty. sometimes i become very unconventional," she said with a smile that had its effect. "if many women had come here, as i have, they would have been seeking you and leading you to a proposal. they would have shown they wanted to marry you by smiling as i have"—here she smiled the immediate jewel op his soul. again—"by coming ostensibly to visit the farm and see the town, by making you thousands of little advances. they would have done all the proposing. and a year after you were married, your wife would have said you wouldn't let her rest until she had married you." "but, thelma." "don't interrupt me at this moment, please. please wait until i finish." he nodded assent. "occasionally i am retir¬ ing and conventional par excellence, at other times i am frank and unconventional. this is one of the unconventional moments. william, i can help you solve this problem." she proceeded to move toward him. "stay where you are," he cried. she went on to his side and put her arms about him. he did not repulse her. then she said with penetrating sweet¬ ness, "william, you love me, too—no, you're not going to run away, i'll be your widow and to the child i'll be both father and mother. i pleaded for susan as long as i could, but i'm a woman. i love you for myself. i came here to tell you this." william arose, drew her to himself and said, "thelma, i'd like to kiss you. you have made me so happy; but kisses mean so much. when i receive another, it will be from her i must wed." "and who will that be?" she pleaded. at this moment the bell rang. as it was not an alarm, he did not respond at once. "can you.suffer the worries and anxieties of my situa¬ tion? can you bear the disquiet of my being subject to at¬ tack at any time?" he askt. "haven't i already done so?" "yes, you have." the immediate jewel of his soul the recent years have seen even white men victims of this modern barbarism. can persons maltreat the negro and not abuse their own people? a man is a man. the court house was the rendezvous for the reprobates bent on this devilish pastime. there were the paved street and granitoid sidewalks before the municipal building with its artistic statuary. there were the many business houses, groceries, notion and department stores, confectioneries, res¬ taurants, hotels, furniture shops, drug stores, hardware stores. there were the pedestrians going in and out; men, women, boys and girls. there were the sheriff and his assistants. while some plied their trades and others pursued the even tenor of their way, the mob assembled with hilarity and pro¬ fanity ; for this was to be a gala day. no colored people were on the streets, except for business; only here and there a few could be seen in the shops, shining shoes, washing cuspidors, hauling trunks, or moving furniture. it seemed well under¬ stood mutually that this was an occasion when fiends would dance in triumph. tad temple, jr., a boy of twelve, evidently the son of a wealthy or well-to-do citizen, passed by the mob. ben cald¬ well, a lad of ten, stepped on his foot. so many had crowded before the court, that jostling seemed unavoidable. this young fellow did not seek into causes, he yelled, "damn you, what you doing stepping on my foot. i'll knock your damn block off; i'm no nigger. if you do it again, i'll make dad lynch you." the other replied, "i didn't go to step on your foot. you curse me because i ain't your size. if i was your equal, i'd treat you worse than a nigger. your old man can't do nothing to me." tad temple's boy slapped the little fellow, began to choke him. took some twine from his pocket, and put it the immediate jewel op his soul around ben caldwell's neck. "i'll hang you myself," he said. before more could be done, attracted by the cries, several men parted the youngsters. when tad temple recognized his boy and understood the situation, he said to robert white, "did you see what my youngster tried to do, strangle that little fellow and hang him? when our children start doing this, i think it time we should have stopt. we shouldn't be so public anyway." "mr. temple," said bob, "you've always been against this fellow's upstart ways. now that you've got a chance to get him, surely you ain't a going to back out? you know we want an orderly mob, we want some decent folks with us," he pleaded. "all that's well and good, bob," put in mr. temple, "but when a man sees his child treating another white child as mine did, you know its enough to make a man shiver. if it had been a nigger, i'd enjoyed it; but he was on a white kid." "what the h— , what you waiting for? this is a h— of a mob," said newton young. "are you ever going to get started. that nigger ought to be in h— by this time." "d—n it, you're right," remarkt luke crabtree. "we don't take all day for just one. let us have our fun and get back to work." on the other side of the street stood the president of the national bank, mr. pitts, beside him was the sheriff. "mr. simpson, can't you do anything to stop this?" he called. "not a thing. you know they will have their way," said the sheriff, with perfect contentment. "have you tried?" inquired the banker. "no, what's the use?" "this thing is a disgrace to the nation. it can be stopt. why don't you order troops of the governor?" persisted the banker. the immediate jewel op his soul "he wouldn't take time to send them to save the life of a darkey. if he did, instead of stopping the mob, they'd only join it." "well, i suppose you can prosecute them when this is over, can't you?" "we never can g^et all the names." of course, they never tried. "mr. simpson, you and i know at least seventy-five of those men. if you want other names, i'll supply them," said this brave citizen. "i couldn't get a jury that would convict them; so it's not worth bothering your head one way or the other," de¬ clared the sheriff with nonchalance. "let the darkey die. we won't miss him. we have enough of them anyway." "mr. simpson, you don't deserve your position; you dis¬ grace it." the banker spoke vehemently, for he was both irri¬ tated and disgusted. "this is no common negro these scoundrels are after, it's one of our best citizens, rev. smith. the only crime that he lias committed is that he has honestly acquired a bank account and helped others to do the same. you know that there have been fewer criminals since he came than ever in our history. if you can get ten men who'll join me, i'll break up that mob. they have well nigh a thousand going to take one man. the cowards! ten good men can bring them to their senses. go quickly and see what you can do; if we start in time we can get ahead of them. we don't want it to go all over the country as a big headline of the news¬ papers, seaton, a place of lawlessness, mob lynches an up¬ right negro for acquiring a bank account. see what you can do." "mr. pitts, it won't do any good. i'm sorry," he said. "you won't help to put this down?" he inquired sternly, and paused. "then i will. good bye." he went into the the immediate jewel of his soul, business. we're going" to get the nigger, d—n it. ain't that enough ?" the solace, tho crudely put, accomplisht its aims. the mob was soon quiet again. continuing his remarks, the banker said, "lynching should never have occurred. even tho it ha§ been tolerated, we can not afford to have it now. have you forgotten that our country is at war? can you not recall that on april , , that the president gave us a mo¬ tive for entering the war by saying, 'let us make the world safe for democracy.' gentlemen, that is an awful respon¬ sibility. democracy means that you are as good as i am; that other people are as good as you; that those who govern shall have the consent of those they govern. this is what the president aims to accomplish. "we have undertaken to make the world safe for democ¬ racy while there is very little democracy within our own gates. the germans oppressed the belgians and we cry, 'horror!' the russians have a pogrom of the jews and we cry, 'horror!' the turks massacre the armenians and we cry, 'horror!' our own citizens murder our most loyal citizens in cold blood and what do we do? nothing. what do we say? nothing. "american citizens, i plead with you to do no wrong. attorney general gregory puts this better than i can. hear what he says in his recent speech before the american bar association. he says, 'we must set our faces against law¬ lessness within our own borders. whatever we may say about the causes for our entering the war, we know that one of the principal reasons was the lawlessness of the german nation— what they have done in belgium and in northern france, and what we have reason to know they would do elsewhere. for us to tolerate lynching is to do the same thing that we are condemning in the germans. lynch law is the most coward¬ ly of crime. invariably the victim is unarmed, while the the immediate jewel of his soul men who lynch are armed and in large numbers. it is a de¬ plorable thing' under any circumstances, but at this time above all others it creates an extremely dangerous condition. i in¬ vite your help in meeting it.' those are his very words, as i read them from this clipping. say what you wish; but lynch¬ ing a man in america is not different from lynching one in belgium or france. for—" "ah, h— , that's enough of that bosh," shouted several, interrupting the speaker. "let's move where we're going, if we're going." "yes, d—n it," shouted another. "i've stood it just a minute too long. i'm so d—n mad; if he don't stop i'm likely to put a ball thru him. stop your d—n gab or i'll—." a shrill whistle arose, which was reinforced by similar calls from various parts of the mob. with rifles, pistols, cudgels, irons, ropes and others things, the throng moved at a rapid pace amidst turbulence, shrieking, oaths and vitupera¬ tion, to seize the great pioneer of race adjustment whose crime was that he served his people and his nation faithfully. the banker, in great dismay, lookt on the mobile throng as it hurried away. to him it was a calamity, a man was to be lynched, a soul sent to heaven or hell. he thot of the slaves who defended his mother during the rebellion, he thot of those that bled under the lash toiling in the wilderness to make it blossom like a rose. he mused how the toil of these humble people had created the wealth of the south, af¬ forded him and others opportunity for leisure, study and en¬ joyment. these people had become poor making their land¬ lords and employers millionaires. then he recalled rev. smith, who had associated with him on many occasions in im¬ proving the lot of the farmer; and had stimulated more friendly relations between the races. <jwhy is the laborer unworthy of his hire? why should honest and persistent the immediate jewel of his soul getic employee responded, "bring the gentleman to my office, please." "yes, sir," he bowed out. within a few minutes, mr. pitts greeted the visitor. "davis," he said cheerfully, shaking his hand vigorously, "if i had known you were here, i should have been here long ago. say, you never told me how much wheat you thresht on your place the other week." "five hundred thirty bushels," he remarkt with obvious pride. "have a seat," davis began, "i could say much, but i have only one thing to talk about this morning. as i came down the road i met a mob. trailing behind them were many women and children going evidently to witness a gruesome sight. and these were dressed in their finest and carried lunch baskets, as if going a picnic. this thing must stop. we call nero cruel, but what about our own people?" "i just left the court house steps. that was their as¬ sembly place. i might have been here before, but i watched them out of sight and reflected upon the terrible times in which we live. think what those scoundreds are hoping to do, while our president is trying to bring peace to europe," the banker declared with great feeling. "pitts, we must stop this." "that's what i say, davis. i was just coming here to reach some men over the phone to help me. i believe ten or eleven brave men can turn the trick. i spoke to the repro¬ bates from the steps and they listened; but i alone couldn't do much. if ten or eleven determined men meet them they'll listen, i do believe," spoke the banker optimistically. "but when you go into a mob like that, to be sure of suc¬ cess talk alone won't do. you must show guns. i shouldn't stop at ten or eleven. i'd get a whole army, pitts." the immediate jewel of his soul "it certainly is," he replied. "if we can just stop this at once; then prosecute the offenders, we will have made a long advance in ridding the nation of the lawless. if other towns learn that we have put it down, they will follow suit." "i found tho that nailor has been working. he's or¬ ganizing the farmers who are not with bob white. he has helping him henry and james mitchell, daniel martin and fred dean. how did he miss you?" the banker askt. "well, i have been quite ubiquitous of late—everywhere you know," was the jovial response. "but i'm glad the out¬ look is hopeful. did you tell them to bring their guns?" "no, i did not. it was unnecessary," remarkt the banker. "what fool would come without one in an affair like this?" "how are we to get there? you know we'll have to use automobiles," said davis asking and answering his ques¬ tion. "there will be cars enough," the banker assured him and at once called for all available automobiles to be held in re¬ serve for him. "how many can you get?" asked davis. "more than we need," replied the friend. the respectable white men of seaton soon began to pour into the bank, weapons in hand. as most of them owned cars, few had to be ordered. when all who were expected were there, they numbered about seventy-five. no delay was lost in exchanging greetings. the question on every lip was, "who'll lead? who'll address them?" "since nailor is best as fighter and organizer, let him lead," said the banker. all agreed. "i spoke to the men this morning, so i think it would be better to have a different per¬ son." he feared selection. "probably you're right," said davis. "then i suggest that lawyer jones will address them." chapter xxvii. gather ye rose-buds while ye may, old time is still a-flying: and this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow may be dying. then be not coy, but use your time; and while ye may, go marry: for having lost but once your prime, you may for ever tarry. — herrick after william had promised thelma that he would decide his fate before sunset, he became silent for a while and only lookt at her. then he began to ponder concerning the wisdom of his utterance; but when the thot came that since he could support a wife, today was as excellent time for a decision as any other, he made himself satisfied. at once he turned to« her and askt childishly, "are you satisfied now? are yoii happy ?" she answered with all pleasantness. "william, i'm just as happy as a lark, just as happy as i can be. how are you?" "well, i suppose i am happy, too. i certainly have been thrilled by your courage.—but someone rang. i wonder who it can be?" said smith, becoming practical once more. clarkston came in and bowed. "pardon me," he said, "but there is a lady who wishes to see you, mr. smith." "a lady? who can she be?" william questioned him¬ self. "well, i know it's time for me to get back to duty," said thelma, starting to go. the immediate jewel of his soul "you know as well as i, thelma, that you can't go right now. meet the lady and then go. i always insist upon my guests becoming acquainted. yet, i wonder what my visitor wants here at this time, when blood is likely to be shed. i shouldn't be surprised at all at your doing such—but for a stranger! probably it's one of the neighbors. well, no use wondering about her. let us look her over," he remarkt flip¬ pantly. "show her in, mr. clarkston." william stood by the table; thelma sat on the sofa. each lookt at the other inquiringly but kept silent. while they were in these attitudes, the lady walked into the drawing room. it was susan. william and thelma were overwhelmed. thelma sighed, william was speechless; for a while both had lost their equipoise. susan placed her bag on a chair near by and was on the point of extending her hand to william, when she saw thel¬ ma. "you here?" she said. "well, i expected it." she was rather nervous. "i wanted—i wanted"—here she broke off and sat down. "oh, it's so hard, so hard!" "what, susan?" inquired william, eager for an answer. "oh, some day, i'll tell. some day i'll tell it from the house tops. i'll shout it to all the world," she screamed. "yes, all the world shall know." william took her hand and said, "susan, you're either ill or very nervous. your hand seems to be feverishly hot and _you are breathing very rapidly. thelma, he entreated, his face showing great anxiety, "go back to the kitchen—you'll iind it there—the smelling salts." he indicated the direction. •"ask mrs. brown to come here. we can't get a physician at this time, because"— "william, all that is unnecessary, and if i did need a phy¬ sician right now, i believe i'd rather die than to have thelma go seek one. no, you needn't go. it's not necessary. ha! ha! the immediate jewel op his soul of her heart with its womanly instincts that a few minutes since had gained the mastery, had forced her to reveal her soul to the man she loved without affectation or arrogance. she loved susan, but she loved william, too. she could act a part even in real life, but not that of a hypocrite. therefore to say she was a friend and at the same time a rival seemed to thelma a little inconsistent. as every woman desires the man she loves, so thelma longed for william. there was to be no concealing it. yet if he chose her friend, she would suffer, but she would live. interpreting susan's plea as a bid for calmness, she could consent. "we're all childhood friends. we played and grew to¬ gether; but now we live apart. in view of the fact that fate or providence has thru the heart brot us once more together, let us be joyful," she said, and laught wholesomely. the others reflected her sunshine with broad smiles. "sit down, thelma." thelma went to the sofa. "sit down, .william," she resumed. she lookt about mirthfully and said, "are all seated?" she sat abruptly and remarkt with equal brusque- ness, "yes, we are." "susan, i can hardly understand you today," spoke wil¬ liam. the various moods, rapidly shifting, were a new sight to him. the calm, equipoised susan lee, quiet and patient, had given place to an aggressive personality not easily labeled. "sometimes, i can hardly understand myself," she re¬ markt as one confessing sins to a priest. "i'm nervous wil¬ liam ,and you thelma. have i made you nervous?" taking for granted that she had been the cause of all the trouble, she exclaimed. "i wish i hadn't come. i started not to." "why did you come, susan?" inquired william, think¬ ing of the crisis that would have to reach a head that day, if the blackmailers kept their word. the immediate jewel of his soul "why did i come? why would a woman steal from parents and friends, and risk abuse and calamity to see a man? why did thelma? has she told you? i came for the same purpose," was the outpouring of her troubled soul. thelma's heart throbbed violently as susan spoke. child¬ hood memories flasht across her mind, and even days of youth and early womanhood. each had been the life of the other. was each now to be the death of each? "your parents don't know you are here, susan?" pleaded william. "i suppose they know now. i left a note within easy reach, but i could not let them know i was coming. mother would have come along whether i wanted her or not. and i knew she would be entirely out of place. this is a matter for us three. do you blame me for coming? if you do, i know what that means," declared susan. "no, i do not condemn you," he remarkt. he was con¬ demning himself. in all other matters he had acted with tact and expedition. this matter alone of all the interests that had absorbed his mind he had bungled, he thot. "can you praise me?" she askt, not satisfied with what seemed a subterfuge. her question was the prompting of her womanly instincts. "i must admire you, susan. you have come thru timid¬ ity, i'm sure."' thelma squirmed. what did he mean? had he not used the wrong word? was it not supreme courage in the supreme hour of a woman's life that brot her there. neither thelma nor william had deemed her capable of it. when crises arise in human affairs, we all may change. susan observed and was glad. "i wondered just how i could get away; i found it so difficult. the chance came at last, when mother went shopping. it was my long-sought op¬ portunity. so i am here." the immediate jewel of his soul "you little thief!" exclaimed william affectionately. thelma heaved a sigh. should she go or remain? she would remain. should she speak or keep silent? she would speak in her turn, but in the main she would say nothing. these were incruciating moments tho. how she had prided herself on having been unusually blest, possessing the best of the womanly virtues with a strong admixture of the masculine. many hard situations, for some women, sad predicaments, many of which would have had no solution at their hands, were for her, but as ordinary difficulties and embarrassments. this dilemma, however, was entirely new and in handling it, she found herself only a woman. for the first time in eight years she sobbed. then tears began to flow. when she took her handkerchief and wiped her eyes, william and susan noticed her. "you're crying," he said, "shame on you." "i can't help it," she sobbed. "go on and talk. don't bother about me. i'll be all right soon." this was another of the surprises. thelma had care¬ fully planned what she was to do, but as she had not at all expected susan; she was disconcerted. affection for both susan and william made her distress more intense. "i'm sorry i came and made you nervous, thelma. i had it, and you had it. watch out, william, you'll be next," she said with a taunt.—"by the way, i haven't moved my hat. i mustn't be formal. i'm at home, am i not, william? at least i may pretend so, may i not?" already she had re¬ moved her hat and placed it on the table, near which william sat. "now, i feel all right." now thelma became more composed. to help the sit¬ uation she took up a magazine and examined the illustrations. she was trying to remain out of the conversation. "i'm glad you're feeling fine now. i hope you won't be- the immediate jewel of his soul come excited again, for as you said, you may make me lose my equilibrium," affirmed william. "of course, i'm a little fidgety at times. and occasion¬ ally i'm impulsive, but don't blame me for it william, please don't. my nervousness today has been due to several circum¬ stances. you know when i was here two days ago, i wanted to talk to you alone. you wanted to do so, too. but we were never to ourselves. you could not run away from your guests. so there i was. your intimation, however, gave me hope that i was not waiting in vain, that soon you would come to me and at least end suspense one way or the other," she spoke rather energetically. "i meant to come right after the wheat harvest," he put in by way of corroboration. "william," said susan tenderly, "i meant to wait; tut you remember my letter stating that i might come. i was going to wait; but thehna came to see you—i'm not blaming you or abusing you, thelma. rather, i rejoice that you highly value what i also admire. you have paid me a com¬ pliment in loving william." thelma was rather uneasy, only with quite a struggle in this instance could she refrain from speech. "returning to the point, thelma told different people about the farm. she did not come to see me. i divined that she was not visiting the farm, but you. "then the other day, i came home from the excursion here without having accomplisht my purpose, which was to have a talk with you that would reveal our very souls. when i learned the following morning that thelma had left town again, i thought she would be only around seaton. i'm not angry now, but i was almost mad then. i veritably raved. mother couldn't understand me. she had dr. holmes to come, who said i was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. so he recommended a week's rest there, then" several weeks in the immediate jewel of his soul kill you. you have men scattered all around the place, they'll protect you." "i know they will, susan; but i'd be a coward to remain behind. i must inspire my men. i'm not going off my estate. i'm going to wage the battle entirely in self-defense. if the enemy doesn't fire, i'll not fire. if the enemy does fire," he declared, "heaven only knows when i'll stop." "good bye," he said, starting out again, but susan clung to him. "oh! william, ah!—ah! william, i could stand your re¬ fusing me, but not to see you any more," she wept bitterly. "oh! william, ah—ah," she sighed. then she began to laugh hysterically. "thelma, thelma, you're not going to let him go, are you? stay, william, stay!" "i must go, susan! the men are waiting for me. try to be calm; see, your nervousness has returned. they're not going to kill me," he said firmly. "kill you, kill you," she spoke somewhat wildly. "no, no, no, no—ah." she gave a long sigh. "don't kill him, don't kill him, don't kill him." then she fainted in his arms. "mrs. brown, look after her please," he said, and placed susan on the settee. "thelma, you'll help, too, i know." "certainly," she replied. "if she soon becomes composed, however, i don't promise to remain here." understanding william thoroly, she knew he would stay upon his estate. besides, she believed that his neighbors needed the soft im¬ port of her spirit. she might fail in an amorous interview, but not in a public activity. she was resolute. "but you must, thelma," he spoke with alarm. "you must not go out." "i heard you say you were going to remain on the estate; but what's to be done concerning the other people?" she in¬ quired. chapter xxviii. germany has outlawed herself among the nations because she has disregarded the sacred obligations of law and has made lynchers of her armies. every mob contributes to german lies about the united states, what her most gifted liars cannot improve "upon by the way of calumny. they can at least say that such things can not happen in germany except in times of revolution, when law is swept away. *** it can not live where the community does not countenance it. —woodrow wilson. what tho the field be lost? all is not lost; th'inconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and courage never to submit or yield. —milton. when the mob left the courthouse grounds, it proceeded very much as would a parade, except for the boisterousness, the profanity, and general disorder. there were the spec¬ tators, who stopt their work to look from the doors and win¬ dows of the shops and homes. cheering of women and children, however, was absent, for these were not along the line of march, but trailing the column of the chief actors. thus they proceeded until they were quite near to the out¬ skirts of william's estate. as they walkt out of town into the country, they also spoke of various things; but chiefly of being an "orderly mob," of doing a "good job" and getting back to work. some, how¬ ever, were condemning mr. pitts and the entire moneyed class. tom howell, on the other hand, reporter of the "seaton gazette," as soon as he could maneuver his way to newton young, began to discuss lynching as a means of keeping the the immediate jewel of his soul negro in "his place." "well, what do you think of the mob?" askt howell, looking here and there with profound admira¬ tion. "quite a lively bunch, i should say," newton young re¬ plied with evident satisfaction, "very decent and genteel." "well, they certainly are orderly," remarkt howell. "i'll have to congratulate these men and prepare a fine write-up for the paper. by the way, i saw a lynching at hollow plains the other day. it was one of the finest things i ever saw in my life. a darkey named sam addams was given six months for shooting a rabbit on forbidden land. he broke from prison and went into some woods." "i wonder how they could be so lax as to let a nigger es¬ cape. it wouldn't happen down this way," declared young with great sectional pride. "well, i must go on," interrupted h'owell. "this nigger shot the constable and a deputy in his 'break' for freedom. they succeeded, tho, in wounding the coon. finally he was captured by a posse. "when the town learned it they stormed the jail, even tho there had been a quick trial and the nigger sentenced to hang." "what satisfaction does hanging give, when it comes to a nigger," young sneered. "well, i'll tell you, those people knew what to do. a crowd of something like two thousand saw it. of course, many of these were women and children. addams was so badly wounded that he couldn't wal£, but not too heavy to be carried," he laught. young was enjoying it immensely. "so they carried him gently almost to the very spot where he shot those fellows and prepared for him a funeral pyre. when this was ready, they chained him to a hickory tree. a the immediate jewel op his soul no more, he didn't even groan. he writhed and soon he was dead." "well, i'd like to have seen that," said young. thus they talkt until they came within two hundred yards of the most outlying farm on william's estate. here they halted to decide on the leaders and the direction of their at¬ tack. some wanted to rush ahead, but luke crabtree said that they should wait; that every man should know his busi¬ ness and nobody be in anyone's way. after a brief considera¬ tion, they decided upon bob white, who had always been the chief promoter, silas jones, and hugh granville—all farmers. others of the conference were to help where it was necessary. all the remaining members of the mob were to obey these. young, howell, sandy james, and luke crabtree slunk to the rear to keep the women and children back. they planned to join the fray later. it was at the time the conference began that an outpost reported the approach of the mob to turner, who quickly got word to those on william's farm. he had, in accordance with thelma's plan, prepared to keep the mob even from setting foot on william's estate. it might mean death to all of them, but thelma had steeled them to do it and they were not going to turn back. as soon as turner had sent word to william, he rallied those who were to resist the mob. "do you think we should rush out?" inquired moses lampkins. "not until i give the signal, fool," turner affirmed. "but they must know we are here and understand that we mean business." "when must i shoot," askt another. "wait for the signal," replied turner impatiently. "and when i give it don't stop." then looking about to see if all were there, he askt, "is there anyone here who doesn't know the immediate jewel of his soul what he is to do?" he paused a while for an answer. "all understand? all right. what's the slogan?" "rev. smith shall live, our lives for it!" was the ac¬ claim. "add this to the other! the negro stands at bay!" he remarkt. "let's hear you say it." "the negro stands at bay!" they shouted. "say this and then the other as loud as you can, say them thus," he commanded, and gave the order of the slogans. the men responded with vigor, "the negro stands at bay. reverend smith shall live, our lives for it." "once more," commanded turner, "and once again." he called for it several times. "they haven't heard us," he said, for there had come no response of shot or voice. "let's move on towards them," said wendell hill, who now was ready for any venture. "there seem to be about a thousand of them," jim lane declared with some degree of fear. "what, are you afraid?" said hill, absolutely disgusted with lane. "take god with you. what does he say? he tells us if we take him along, one man can chase a thousand and two can put ten thousand to flight. do you believe the scriptures ?" "every word of it," replied lane, now consoled. "if god says 'go,' - kill myself trying. i'm ready; let's go ahead." "some folks say never give the first lick, but roosevelt says, 'if you see a man going to hit you, strike him first in self-defense and when you hit, don't play with him; put him to sleep,'" said turner. "there they stand arguing, making up their minds, i suppose. let's go nearer," he continued, "and keep up the slogan till they take notice." the mob did soon notice the sounds. all were inquisi- the immediate jewel op his soul and in ambush. how many were there, they did not know. yet they were well aware of the numbers that workt his farms and the hosts he had brot to theirs. they began to wonder whether all the people were in arms. when a coward knows his life is not in danger, he can fight like a devil in¬ carnate. when, however, he thinks that he may be killed, likewise his friends, relatives and children, he is less ready to take human life. while the mob was thus unsettled, automobiles began to sound on the crossroad, the clicking of the motors sug¬ gested they were coming at a very rapid rate. then the horns gave a blare which was, being so discordant, instinctively construed as an important warning. heads were turned in various directions, to localize the noise and be prepared to avoid any calamity. it was not long before the vehicles were upon them and the faces of the occupants clearly discernible. these were their own friends and associates, even members of their own race. what did this mean? why were they there ? the manner of approach had been carefully workt out. nailor, who had been chosen as leader, was in the first car. as he was a man of much initiative and great adaptability, he modified his plan somewhat. his party was armed to stop the mob from carrying out the attack. however, when he saw the mob disconcerted, he was convinced that it had al- ieady met resistance. he inferred this from the conference of the group that comprised the chief promoters. the first part of his plan was therefore not necessary. accordingly he instructed his men to keep their rifles out of sight, tho near them, where they would be readily accessible in case of need. nailor then turned to one of the men and said, "drive that car"—the one in which he came—"right into the crowd." the immediate jewel op his soul seat."' he offered her the one he had occupied in the morn¬ ing, then seated himself in the one she chose at that time. his action was purposed; he wanted not to suggest those strenu¬ ous emotional moments. "would you like to go outside?" he requested, thinking that thus the affair would take a new as¬ pect. already the guests were going out and grouping them¬ selves on the lawn. seeing this, susan said, "no, i think i prefer to be in here right now." she wanted to talk to him alone and this was her opportunity. in a few moments they were left alone, save for the lively suggestion of a presence behind the lively conversation in progress outside. susan now thot of the task she had to perform and wondered how to begin. at length she commenced, not with perfect calmness, nor yet with an uneasiness that might cause alarm. she thot why she had come, then she mused upon the recent events that gave everything a new coloring. "i was just wrondering what to say first, william," she uttered in a very mellow tone, which attracted one by its very loveli¬ ness. "but i suppose i might as well start at one place as another." "certainly." "then here i start," she remarkt playfully. "tell me, sir," she pointed her finger at him as if reproaching, "tell me, sir, all that has occurred since you left me this morning. and don't you dare to omit anything." "may i not omit just one insignificant incident?" he askt merrily. "no, not one." "well, this is how it was, to be brief. i had organized my helpers to defend this farm; but never had a chance." "why was that?" "knowing that i was in a delicate situation and that i the immediate jewel of his soul be cautious. tho confident that a permanent adjustment has been made between my people and those who came this morn¬ ing- to work us ruin, we can not afford to be off our guard. we're not looking for trouble, but if it comes, it must not find us unprepared. but of course if you insist upon going, we'll see you off. you know, however, that you should avoid ex¬ citement at this time or anything which might give it birth." "stay here with me," requested thelma, "we'll have a jolly good time." "don't you see it's impossible?" susan said firmly. "i believe i must go home tonight, tonight "i shouldn't have had you come during this crisis. but as you're here, i wish you wouldn't hurry away. at least you should stay until—we know this storm is over," urged william. "write a letter or better still, send a telegram. i'll get it off for you at once. besides, the country is generally recommended for persons suffering from nervous strain." "well, that depends upon the particular country," she re¬ plied. she arose and started to ask for a pencil. "let me have a—no, i believe i should go." "susan, i can't understand you," thelma interrupted. "you don't understand? well, now you shall understand," she said, with sad affection. for a moment she was silent. then she took thelma by the hand and called, "william, come, let us be confidential. come, join us." he approacht sus¬ piciously. as he was at her side, she said, "here we all are, whose souls throb for one answer. when, william, will you decide ?" "would that i had said nothing," he replied with bitter anguish. "before—the sun—goes—down." "it is far on its decline now," susan remarkt, "don't you see already the streaks of red and purple?" "don't, susan, don't," he cried. al . , . . verde harvard college library rind the conjure woman by charles w. chesnutt ghe kiucrsiue press boston and new york houghton, mifflin and company @be riverside prosø, cambridge است ود ali . . al . tv harvard college liikaty gift of .l. albert bushnell hart . nov van but contents so wie w pagr he goophered grapevine · copyright, , by charles w. chesnutt all rights reserved *** · !! po' sandy .. ... .. ... ... ? mars jeems's nightmare ....... , the conjurer's revenge ... sis' becky's pickaninny. ....... (the gray wolf's ha'nt . ...... rs hot-foot hannibal ......... harvard university library sun, nov " the conjurer's revenge" is reprinted from the over- land monthly by permission of the publishers. the conjure woman . the goophered grapevine some years ago my wife was in poor health, and our family doctor, in whose skill and honesty i had implicit confidence, advised a change of climate. i shared, from an unprofessional stand- point, his opinion that the raw winds, the chill rains, and the violent changes of temperature that characterized the win- ters in the region of the great lakes tended to aggravate my wife's difficulty, and would undoubtedly shorten her life if she remained exposed to them. the doc- tor's advice was that we seek, not a tem- porary place of sojourn, but a permanent residence, in a warmer and more equable climate. i was engaged at the time in tr some the conjure woman the goophered grapevine grape-culture in northern ohio, and, as i liked the business and had given it much study, i decided to look for some other locality suitable for carrying it on. i thought of sunny france, of sleepy spain, of southern california, but there were objections to them all. it occurred to me that i might find what i wanted in some one of our own southern states. it was a sufficient time after the war for, conditions in the south to have become somewhat settled ; and i was enough of a pioneer to start a new industry, if i could vi not find a place where grape-culture had been tried.] i wrote to a cousin who had gone into the turpentine business in cen- tral north carolina. he assured me, in response to my inquiries, that no better place could be found in the south than the state and neighborhood where he lived; the climate was perfect for health, and, in conjunction with the soil, ideal for grape-culture; labor was cheap, and land could be bought for a mere song. he gave us a cordial invitation to come and visit him while we looked into the mat- ter. we accepted the invitation, and after several days of leisurely travel, the last hundred miles of which were up a river on a sidewheel steamer, we reached our destinationt, a quaint old town, which i shall call patesville, because, for one reason, that is not its name. there was a red brick market-house in the public square, with a tall tower, which held a four-faced clock that struck the hours, and from which there pealed out a curfew at nine o'clock. there were two or three hotels, a court-house, a jail, stores, offices, and all the appurte- nances of a county seat and a com. mercial emporium ; for while patesville numbered only four or five thousand inhabitants, of all shades of complexion, v it was one of the principal towns in north carolina, and had a considerable the conjure woman the goophered grapevinc trade in cotton and naval stores. this business activity was not immediately apparent to my unaccustomed eyes. in- deed, when i first saw the town, there brooded over it a calm that seemed al- most sabbatic in its restfulness, though i learned later on that underneath its somnolent exterior the deeper currents of life — love and hatred, joy and de- spair, ambition and avarice, faith and friendship — flowed not less steadily than in livelier latitudes. . we found the weather delightful at that season, the end of summer, and were hospitably entertained. our host was a man of means and evidently re- garded our visit as a pleasure, and we were therefore correspondingly at our ease, and in a position to act with the coolness of judgment desirable in mak- ing so radical a change in our lives. my cousin placed a horse and buggy at our disposal, and himself acted as our guide until i became somewhat familiar with the country. i found that grape-culture, while it had never been carried on to any great extent, was not entirely unknown in the neighborhood. several planters there- abouts had attempted it on a commer- cial scale, in former years, with greater or less success; but like most southern industries, it had felt the blight of war, and had fallen into desuetude. i went several times to look at a place that i thought might suit me. it was a plantation of considerable extent, that had formerly belonged to a wealthy man by the name of mcadoo. the estate had been for years involved in litigation between disputing heirs, during which period shiftless cultivation had well-nigh exhausted the soil. there had been a vineyard of some extent on the place, but it had not been attended to since the war, and had lapsed into utter neg- the conjure woman the goophered grapcvine we drove between a pair of decayed gateposts — the gate itself had long since disappeared — and up a straight sandy lane, between two lines of rotting rail fence, partly concealed by jimson- weeds and briers, to the open space where a dwelling-house had once stood, evidently a spacious mansion, if we might judge from the ruined chimneys that were still standing, and the brick pillars on which the sills rested. the house itself, we had been informed, had, fallen a victim to the fortunes of war. we alighted from the buggy, walked about the yard for a while, and then wandered off into the adjoining vine- yard. upon annie's complaining of weariness i led the way back to the yard, where a pine log, lying under a spreading elm, afforded a shady though somewhat hard seat. one end of the log was already occupied by a venerable- looking colored man. he held on his knees a hat full of grapes, over which he was smacking his lips with great gusto, and a pile of grapeskins near him indicated that the performance was no new thing. we approached him at an angle from the rear, and were close to him before he perceived us. he re- spectfully rose as we drew near, and was moving away, when i begged him to keep his seat "don't let us disturb you," i said. "there is plenty of room for us all." he resumed his seat with somewhat of embarrassment. while he had been standing, i had observed that he was a tall man, and, though slightly bowed by the weight of years, apparently quite vigorous. he was not entirely black, and this fact, together with the quality of his hair, which was about six inches long and very bushy, except on the top of his head, where he was quite bald, suggested, a slight strain of other than ii the conjure woman the goophered grapevine gemman w'at's gwine ter buy de ole vimya'd ?” "i am looking at it," i replied; "but i don't know that i shall care to buy unless i can be reasonably sure of mak. ing something out of it.” “well, suh, you is a stranger ter me, en i is a stranger ter you, en we is bofc strangers ter one anudder, but 'f i 'uz in yo' place, i would n'buy dis vim- ya'd.” negro blood. there was a shrewdness in his eyes, too, which was not altogether jafrican, and which, as we afterwards learned from experience, was indicative of a corresponding shrewdness in his. character.) he went on eating the grapes, but did not seem to enjoy him. self quite so well as he had apparently done before he became aware of our presence. "do you live around here?" i asked, anxious to put him at his ease. " yas, suh. i lives des ober yander, behine de nex' san'-hill, on de lumber. ton plank-road." "do you know anything about the time when this vineyard was culti- vated ?" "lawd bless you, suh, i knows all about it. dey ain' na'er a man in dis settlement w'at won' tell you ole julius mcadoo 'uz bawn en raise' on dis yer same plantation. is you de norv'n “why not?” i asked. "well, i dunno whe'r you b'lieves in cunj'in'er not, — some er de w'ite folks don't, er says dey don't, — but de truf er de matter is dat dis yer ole vimya'd, | is goophered." "is what?" i asked, not grasping the meaning of this unfamiliar word. “is goophered, — cunju'd, bewitch'." he imparted this information with such solemn earnestness, and with such an air of confidential mystery, that i the conjure woman the goophered grapevine " dey wuz a sight er niggers in de naberhood er de vimya'd. dere wuz ole mars henry, brayboy's niggers, en ole mars jeems mclean's niggers, en mars dugal's own niggers ; den dey wuz a settlement er free niggers en po' buck- rahs down by de wim'l'ton road, en mars dugal' had de only vimya'd in de naberhood. i reckon it ain' so much so nowadays, but befo' de wah, in slab'ry times, a nigger did n' mine goin' f' er ten mile in a night, w'en dey wuz sump'n good ter eat at de yuther een'. "so atter a w'ile mars dugal' begin ter miss his scuppernon's. co'se he 'cuse' de niggers er it, but dey all 'nied it ter de las'. mars dugal' sot spring guns en steel traps, en he en de oberseah sot up nights once't er twice't, tel one night mars dugal' — he 'uz a monst'us keerless man — got his leg shot full er cow-peas. but somehow er nudder dey could n' nebber ketch none er de niggers. i dunner how it happen, but it happen des like i tell you, en de grapes kep' on a-goin' des de same. "but bimeby ole mars dugal' fix' up a plan ter stop it. dey wuz a cunjuh 'oman livin' down 'mongs' de free nig- gers on de wim'l'ton road, en all de darkies fum rockfish ter beaver crick v wuz feared er her. she could wuk de mos' powerfulles' kin' er goopher, - could make people hab fits, er rheumatiz, er make 'em des dwinel away en die; en dey say she went out ridin' de niggers at night, fer she wuz a witch 'sides bein' , a cunjuh 'oman.) mars dugal hearn h'bout aun' peggy's doin's, en begun ter 'flect whe'r er no he could n'git her ter he'p him keep de niggers off'n de grape- vimes. one day in de spring er de year, ole miss pack' up a basket er chick'n en poun'-cake, en a bottle er scuppernon' wine, en mars dugal tuk it in his buggy en driv ober ter aun' peggy's cabin. the conjure woman the goophered grapevine he tuk de basket in, en had a long talk wid aun' peggy. "de nex' day aun' peggy come up ter de vimya'd. de niggers seed her slippin' 'roun', en dey soon foun' out what she 'uz doin' dere. mars dugal had hi'ed her ter goopher de grape- vimes. she sa'ntered 'roun' 'mongs' de vimes, en tuk a leaf fum dis one, en a grape-hull fum dat one, en a grape-seed fum anudder one ; en den a little twig fum here, en a little pinch er dirt fum dere, - en put it all in a big black bottle, wid a snake's toof en a speckle' hen's gall en some ha'rs fum a black, cat's tail, en den fill' de bottle wid scup- pernon' wine. w'en she got de goopher all ready en fix', she tuk 'n went out in de woods en buried it under de root uv a red oak tree, en den come back en tole one er de niggers she done goopher de grapevimes, en a'er a nigger w'at eat dem grapes 'ud be sho ter die inside'n twel mont's.! "atter dat de niggers let de scupper- non's 'lone, en mars dugal' did n' hab no 'casion ter fine no mo' fault ; en de season wuz mos' gone, w'en a strange gemman stop at de plantation one night ter see mars dugal on some business ; en his coachman, seein' de scuppernon's growin' so nice en sweet, slip 'roun' be- hine de smoke-house, en et all de scup- pernon's he could hole. nobody did n' notice it at de time, but dat night, on de way home, de gemman's hoss runned away en kill' de coachman. w'en we hearn de noos, aun' lucy, de cook, she | up'n say she seed de strange nigger eat'n' er de scuppernon's behine de smoke- house; en den we knowed de goopher had b'en er wukkin'. den one er de nigger chilluns runned away fum de quarters one day, en got in de scupper- non's, en died de nex' week. w'ite folks say he die' er de fevuh, but de niggers knowed it wuz de goopher. so you k'n the conjure woman the goophered grapevine be sho de darkies did n'hab much ter do wid dem scuppernon' vimes. "w'en de scuppernon' season 'uz ober fer dat year, mars dugal foun' he had made fifteen hund'ed gallon er wine; en one er de niggers hearn him laffin' wid de oberseah fit ter kill, en sayin' (dem fifteen hund'ed gallon er wine wuz. monst'us good intrus' on de ten dollars he laid out on de vimya'd. so i 'low er he paid aun' peggy ten dollars fer to goopher de grapevimes. " de goopher did n' wuk no mo' tel de nex' summer, w'en 'long to'ds de middle er de season one er de ficl'han's died; en ez dat lef' mars dugal' sho't er han's, he went off ter town fer ter buy anudder. he foteh de noo nigger home wid 'im. he wuz er ole nigger, er de color er a gingy-cake, en ball ez a hoss- apple on de top er his head. he wuz a peart ole nigger, do', en could do a big day's wuk. "now it happen dat one er de nig- gers on de nex' plantation, one er ole mars henry brayboy's niggers, had runned away de day befo', en tuk ter de swamp, en ole mars dugal' en some er de yuther nabor w'ite folks had gone out wid dere guns en dere dogs fer ter he'p 'em hunt fer de nigger; en de han's on our own plantation wuz all so flusterated dat we fuhgot ter tell de noo han' bout de goopher on de scuppernon' vimes. co'se he smell de grapes en see de vimes, an atter dahk de fus' thing he done wuz ter slip off ter de grapevimes 'dout sayin' nuffin ter nobody. nex' mawnin' he tole some er de niggers 'bout de fine bait er scuppernon'he et de night befo'. "w'en dey tole 'im 'bout de goopher on de grapevimes, he 'uz dat tarrified dat he turn pale, en look des like he gwine ter die right in his tracks. de oberseah come up en axed w'at 'uz de the conjure woman the goophered grapevine matter; en w'en dey tole 'im henry be'n eatin' er de scuppernon's, en got de goopher on 'im, he gin henry a big drink er w'iskey, en 'low dat de nex' rainy day he take 'im ober ter aun' peggy's, en see ef she would n' take de goopher off'n him, seein' ez he did n' know nuffin erbout it tel he done et de grapes. "sho nuff, it rain de nex' day, en de oberseah went ober ter aun' peggy's wid henry. en aun'peggy say dat bein' ez henry did n' know 'bout de goopher, en et de grapes in ign'ance er de conseq'enccs, she reckon she mought be able fer ter take de goopher off'n him. so she fotch out er bottle wid some cunjuh medicine in it, en po'd some out in a go'd fer henry ter drink. he manage ter git it down; he say it tas'e like whiskey wid sump'n bitter in it. she 'lowed dat 'ud keep de goopher off'n him tel de spring ; but w'en de sap begin ter rise in de grapevimes he ha' ter come en see her ag'in, en she tell him w'at e's ter do. "nex' spring, w'en de sap commence' ter rise in de scuppernon' vime, henry tuk a ham one night. whar 'd he git de ham? i doan know; dey wa'n't no hams on de plantation 'cep'n' w'at 'uz in de smoke-house, but i never see henry 'bout de smoke-house. but ez i wuz a-sayin', he tuk de ham ober ter aun' peggy's ; en aun' peggy tole 'im dat w'en mars dugal' begin ter prune de grapevimes, he mus' go en take 'n scrape off de sap whar it ooze out'n de cut een's er de vimes, en 'n'int his ball head wid it ; en ef he do dat once't a year de goopher would n' wuk agin 'im long ez he done it. en bein' ez he fotch her de ham, she fix' it so he kin eat all de scuppernon' he want. "so henry 'n'int his head wid de sap out'n de big grapevime des ha'f way the conjure woman the goophered grapevine 'twix' de quarters en de big house, en de goopher nebber wuk agin him dat summer. but de beatenes' thing you eber see happen ter henry. up ter dat time he wuz ez ball ez a sweeten''tater, but des ez soon ez de young leaves begun ter come out on de grapevimes, de ha'r. begun ter grow out on henry's head, en by de middle er de summer he had de bigges' head er ha'r on de plantation. befo' dat, henry had tol'able good ha'r 'roun' de aidges, but soon ez de young grapes begun ter come, henry's ha'r begun to quirl all up in little balls, des like dis yer reg'lar grapy ha'r, en by de time de grapes got ripe his head look des like a bunch er grapes. combin' it did n' do no good; he wuk at it ha'f de night wid er jim crow, en think he git it straighten' out, but in de mawnin' ia small card, resembling a currycomb in con. struction, and used by negroes in the rural districts instead of a comb. de grapes 'ud be dere des de same. so he gin it up, en tried ter keep de grapes down by havin' his ha'r cut sho't. "but dat wa'n't de quares' thing 'bout de goopher. when henry come ter de plantation, he wuz gittin' a little ole an stiff in de j'ints. but dat summer he got des ez spry en libely ez any young nigger on de plantation ; fac', he got so biggity dat mars jackson, de oberseah, ha' ter th'eaten ter whip 'im, ef he did n' stop cuttin' up his didos en behave his- se'f. but de mos' cur'ouses' thing hap- pen' in de fall, when de sap begin ter go down in de grapevimes. fus', when de grapes 'uz gethered, de knots begun ter straighten out'n henry's ha'r; en w'en de leaves begin ter fall, henry's (ha'r 'mence' ter drap out; en when de vimes 'uz bar', henry's head wuz baller 'n it wuz in de spring, en he begin ter git ole en stiff in de j'ints ag'in, en paid no mo'tention ter de gals dyoin' er de t the conjure woman the goophcrcd grapevinc whole winter. en nex' spring, w'en he rub de sap on ag'in, he got young ag'in, en so soopl en libely dat none er de young niggers on de plantation could n' jump, ner dance, ner hoe ez much cotton ez henry. but in de fall er de year his grapes 'mence' ter straighten out, en his j'ints ter git stiff, en his ha'r drap off, en de rheumatiz begin ter wrastle wid 'im. / “now, ef you 'd 'a' knowed ole mars dugal mcadoo, you'd'a' knowed dat it ha' ter be a mighty rainy day when he could n' fine sump'n fer his niggers ter do, en it ha' ter be a mighty little hole he could n' crawl thoo, en ha' ter be a monst'us cloudy night when a dollar git by him in de darkness; en w'en he see how henry git young in de spring en ole in de fall, he 'lowed ter hisse'f ez how he could make mo' money out'n henry dan by wukkin' him in de cot- ton-fiel'. 'long de nex' spring, atter de sap 'mence' ter rise, en henry 'n'int 'is head en sta'ted fer ter git young en soopl, mars dugal' up 'n tuk henry ter town, en sole 'im fer fifteen hunder' dollars. co'se do man w'at bought henry did n' know nuffin 'bout de goo- pher, en mars dugal' did n' see no 'ca- sion fer ter tell 'im. long to'ds de fall, w'en de sap went down, henry begin ter git ole ag'in same ez yuzhal, en his noo marster begin ter git skeered les'n he gwine ter lose his fifteen-hunder'-dol. lar nigger. he sent fer a mighty fine doctor, but de med'cine did n' 'pear ter do no good ; de goopher had a good holt. henry tole de doctor 'bout de goopher, but de doctor des laff at 'im. "one day in de winter mars dugal went ter town, en wuz santerin' 'long de main street, when who should he meet but henry's noo marster. dey said • hoddy,' en mars dugalax 'im ter hab a seegyar ; en atter dey run on awhile 'bout de craps en de weather, mars the conjure woman the goophered grapevine dugal' ax 'im, sorter keerless, like ez ef he des thought of it, ""how you like de nigger i sole you las' spring ?' "henry's marster shuck his head en knock de ashes off'n his seegyar. "spec' i made a bad bahgin when i bought dat nigger. henry done good wuk all de summer, but sence de fall set · in he 'pears ter be sorter pinin' away. dey ain' nuffin pertickler de matter wid 'im — leastways de doctor say so — 'cep'n' a tech er de rheumatiz; but his ha'r is all fell out, en ef he don't pick up his strenk mighty soon, i spec' i'm gwine ter lose 'im.' "dey smoked on awhile, en bimeby ole mars say, 'well, a bahgin 's a bah- gin, but you en me is good fren's, en i doan wan' ter see you lose all de money you paid fer dat nigger; en ef w'at you say is so, en i ain't 'sputin' it, he ain't · wuf much now, i 'spec's you wukked him too ha'd dis summer, er c'se de swamps down here don't agree wid de san'-hill nigger. so you des lemme know, en ef he gits any wusser i'll be willin' ter gib yer five hund'ed dollars fer 'im, en take my chances on his livin'.' "sho 'nuff, when henry begun ter draw up wid de rheumatiz en it look like he gwine ter die fer sho, his noo marster sen' fer mars dugal', en mars dugal gin him what he promus, en brung henry home ag'in. he tuk good keer uv 'im dyoin' er de winter, — give 'im w'iskey ter rub his rheumatiz, en terbacker ter smoke, en all he want ter eat, — 'caze a nigger w'at he could make a thousan' dollars a year off'n did n' grow on eve'y huckleberry bush. "nex' spring, w'en de sap ris en henry's ha'r commence' ter sprout, mars dugal' sole 'im ag'in, down in robeson county dis time; en he kep' dat sellin' business up fer five year er mo'. henry the conjure woman the goophered grapevine nebber say nuffin 'bout de goopher ter his noo marsters, 'caze he know he gwine ter be tuk good keer uv de nex' winter, w'en mars dugal' buy him back. en mars dugal' made 'nuff money off'n henry ter buy anudder plantation ober on beaver crick. "but 'long 'bout de een' er dat five year dey come a stranger ter stop at de plantation. de fus' day he 'uz dere he went out wid mars dugal en spent all de mawnin' lookin' ober de vimya'd, en atter dinner dey spent all de evenin' play- in' kya'ds. de niggers soon 'skiver' dat) he wuz a yankee, en dat he come down ter norf c'lina fer ter l'arn de w'ite folks/ how to raise grapes en make wine. he promus mars dugal' he c'd make de grapevimes b'ar twice't ez many grapes, en dat de noo winepress he wuz a-sell- in' would make mo' d'n twice't ez many gallons er wine. en ole mars dugal des drunk it all in, des 'peared ter be bewitch' wid dat yankee. w'cn de darkies see dat yankee runnin' 'roun' de vimya'd en diggin' under de grape- vimes, dey shuk dere heads, en 'lowed dat dey feared mars dugal losin' his min'. mars dugal' had all de dirt dug away fum under de roots er all de scupper. non' vimes, an' let 'em stan' dat away fer a week er mo'. den dat yankee made de niggers fix up a mixtry er lime en ashes en manyo, en po' it 'roun' de roots er de grapevimes. den he 'vise mars dugal fer ter trim de vimes close't, en mars dugal tuck 'n done eve'ything de yankee tole him ter do dyoin' all er dis time( mind yer, dis yer yankee wuz libbin' off'n de fat er de lan', at de big house, en playin' kya'ds wid mars dugal eve'y night; en dey say mars dugal' los' mo'n a thousan' dollars dyoin' er de week dat yankee wuz a-ruinin' de grapevimes.) "w'en de sap ris nex' spring, ole the conjure woman the goophered grapevine sorter like a cannel. dey did n't 'pear ter be nuffin de matter wid 'im, 'cep'n' de rheumatiz, but his strenk des dwinel' away 'tel he did n'hab ernuff lef' ter draw his bref. de goopher had got de under holt, en th'owed henry dat time fer good en all. "mars dugal' tuk on might'ly 'bout losin' his vimes en his nigger in de same lyear; en he swo' dat ef he could git holt er dat yankee he'd wear 'im ter a fraz- zle, en den chaw up de frazzle ; en he'd done it, too, for mars dugal' 'uz a mon- st'us brash man w'en he once git started. he sot de vimya'd out ober ag'in, but it wuz th'ee er fo' year befo' de vimes got ter b'arin' any scuppernon's. "w'en de wah broke out, mars du. gal' raise' a comp'ny. en went off ter fight de yankees. į he say he wuz mighty glad dat wah come, en he des want ter kill a yankee fer eve'y dollar he los' 'long er dat grape-raisin' yankee en i 'spec' he would 'a' done it, too, cf de yankees had n' s'picioned sump'n, en killed him fus'. atter de s'render ole miss move' ter town, de niggers all scattered 'way fum de plantation, en de vimya'd ain'be'n cultervated sence." "is that story true?" asked annie doubtfully, but seriously, as the old man concluded his narrative. "it's des ez true ez i'm a-settin' here, miss. dey's a easy way ter prove it : i kin lead de way right ter henry's grave ober yander in de plantation bury- in'-groun'. en i tell yer w'at, marster, i would n' 'vise you to buy dis yer ole vimya'd, 'caze de goopher's on it yit, en dey ain' no tellin' w'en it's gwine ter crap out." "but i thought you said all the old vines died." "dey did 'pear ter die, but a few un 'em come out ag'in, en is mixed in 'mongs' de yuthers. i ain' skeered ter eat de the conjure woman the goophercd grapevine grapes, 'caze i knows de old vimes fum de noo ones; but wid strangers dey ain' no tellin' w'at mought happen. i would n' 'vise yer ter buy dis vimya'd." i bought the vineyard, nevertheless, and it has been for a long time in a / thriving condition, and is often referred to by the local press as a striking illus- tration of the opportunities open to northern capital in the development of southern industries. the luscious scup- ✓ pernong holds first rank among our grapes, though we cultivate a great many other varieties, and our income from grapes packed and shipped to the north- ern markets is quite considerable. i have not noticed any developments of the goopher in the vineyard, although i have a mild suspicion that our colored assist. ants do not suffer from want of grapes during the season. i found, when i bought the vineyard, that uncle julius had occupied a cabin on the place for many years, and derived a respectable revenue from the product of the neglected grapevines. this, doubtless, accounted for his advice to me not to buy the vineyard, though whether it inspired the goopher story i am unable to state. i believe, however, that the wages i paid him for his ser- vices as coachman, for i gave him em. ployment in that capacity, were more than an equivalent for anything he lost by the sale of the vineyard. a any card, alth ored ass po sandy po' sandy on the northeast corner of my vine- yard in central north carolina, and fronting on the lumberton plank-road, there stood a small frame house, of the simplest construction. it was built of pine lumber, and contained but one room, to which one window gave light and one door admission. its weather- beaten sides revealed a virgin innocence of paint. against one end of the house, and occupying half its width, there stood a huge brick chimney : the crumbling mortar had left large cracks between the bricks; the bricks themselves had be- gun to scale off in large flakes, leaving the chimney sprinkled with unsightly blotches. these evidences of decay were but partially concealed by a creep- ing vine, which extended its slender branches hither and thither in an am. bitious but futile attempt to cover the whole chimney. the wooden shutter, which had once protected the unglazed window, had fallen from its hinges, and lay rotting in the rank grass and jimson- weeds beneath. this building, i learned when i bought the place, had been used jas a schoolhouse for several years prior to the breaking out of the war, since which time it had remained unoccupied, save when some stray cow or vagrant hog had sought shelter within its walls from the chill rains and nipping winds of winter. one day my wife requested me to build her a new kitchen. the house erected by us, when we first came to live upon the vineyard, contained a very con- veniently arranged kitchen ; but for some occult reason my wife wanted a kitchen in the back yard, apart from the the conjure woman po sandy dwelling-house, after the usual southern fashion. of course i had to build it. to save expense, i decided to tear down the old schoolhouse, and use the lumber, which was in a good state of preservation, in the construction of the new kitchen. before demolishing the old house, however, i made an estimate of the amount of material contained in it, and found that i would have to buy several hundred feet of lumber addi. tional, in order to build the new kitchen according to my wife's plan. one morning old julius mcadoo, our colored coachman, harnessed the gray mare to the rockaway, and drove my wife and me over to the sawmill from which i meant to order the new lumber. we drove down the long lane which led from our house to the plank-road; follow- ing the plank-road for about a mile, we turned into a road running through the forest and across the swamp to the saw. mill beyond. our carriage jolted over the half-rotted corduroy road which trav- ersed the swamp, and then climbed the long hill leading to the sawmill. when we reached the mill, the foreman had gone over to a neighboring farmhouse, probably to smoke or gossip, and we were compelled to await his return be- fore we could transact our business. we remained seated in the carriage, a few rods from the mill, and watched the leisurely movements of the mill-hands. we had not waited long before a huge pine log was placed in position, the machinery of the mill was set in mo- tion, and the circular saw began to eat' its way through the log, with a loud whir which resounded throughout the vicinity of the mill. the sound rose and fell in a sort of rhythmic cadence, which, heard from where we sat, was not unpleasing, and not loud enough to prevent conversation. when the saw . po sandy the conjure woman started on its second journey through the log, julius observed, in a lugubrious tone, and with a perceptible shudder :- “ugh! but dat des do cuddle my blood !" "what's the matter, uncle julius ?" inquired my wife, who is of a very sym- pathetic turn of mind. "does the noise affect your nerves ?" "no, mis' annie," replied the old man, with emotion, "i ain' narvous; but dat saw, a-cuttin' en grindin' thoo dat stick er timber, en moanin', en groanin,' en sweekin', kyars my 'memb'ance back ter ole times, en 'min's me er po' sandy." the pathetic intonation with which he lengthened out the “po' sandy" touched ✓ a responsive chord in our own hearts. "and who was poor sandy ?" asked my wife, who takes a deep interest in the stories of plantation life which she hears from the lips of the older colored people. some of these stories are quaintly humorous; others wildly ex- travagant, revealing the oriental cast of .', the negro's imagination; while others, poured freely into the sympathetic ear, of a northern-bred woman, disclose many a tragic incident of the darker, side of slavery. "sandy," said julius, in reply to my wife's question, "was a nigger w'at use- ter b'long ter ole mars marrabo mc- swayne. mars marrabo's place wuz on de yuther side'n de swamp, right nex' ter yo' place. sandy wuz a monst'us good nigger, en could do so many things erbout a plantation, en alluz 'ten' ter his wuk so well, dat w'en mars marrabo's chilluns growed up en married off, dey all un 'em wanted dey daddy fer ter gin 'em sandy fer a weddin' present. but mars marrabo knowed de res' would n' be satisfied ef he gin sandy ter a'er one un 'em ; so w'en dey wuz all done mar- ried, he fix it by 'lowin' one er his chil. the conjure woman po sandy luns ter take sandy fer a mont' er so, en den ernudder for a mont' er so, en so on dat erway tel dey had all had 'im de same lenk er time; en den dey would all take him roun' ag'in, 'cep'n' oncet in a w'ile w'en mars marrabo would len' 'im ter some er his yuther kinfolks 'roun' de country, w'en dey wuz short er han's; tel bimeby it go so sandy did n' hardly knowed whar he wuz gwine ter stay fum one week's een' ter de yuther. "one time w'en sandy wuz lent out ez yushal, a spekilater come erlong wid a lot er niggers, en mars marrabo swap' sandy's wife off fer a noo 'oman. w'en sandy come back, mars marrabo gin 'im a dollar, en 'lowed he wuz monst'us sorry fer ter break up de fambly, but de spekilater had gin 'im big boot, en times wuz hard en money skase, en so he wuz bleedst ter make de trade. sandy tuk on some 'bout losin' his wife, but he soon seed dey want no use cryin' ober spilt merlasses ; en bein' ez he lacked de looks er de noo 'oman, he tuk up wid her atter she'd be'n on de plantation a mont' er so. "sandy en his noo wife got on mighty well tergedder, en de niggers all 'mence' ter talk about how lovin' dey wuz. w'en tenie wuz tuk sick oncet, sandy useter set up all night wid 'er, en den go ter wuk in de mawnin' des lack he had his reg'lar sleep; en tenie would 'a' done anythin' in de worl' for her sandy. "sandy en tenie had n' be'n libbin' tergedder fer mo' d'n two mont's befo' mars marrabo's old uncle, w'at libbed down in robeson county, sent up ter fin' out ef mars marrabo could n' len' 'im er hire 'im a good han' fer a mont' er so. sandy's marster wuz one er dese yer easy-gwine folks w'at wanter please eve'ybody, en he says yas, he could len' 'im sandy. en mars marrabo tol' sandy fer ter git ready ter go down ter the conjure woman po sandy robeson nex' day, fer ter stay a mont' er so. "it wuz monst'us hard on sandy fer ter take 'im 'way fum tenie. it wuz so fur down ter robeson dat he did n' hab no chance er comin' back ter see her tel de time wuz up; he would n' 'a' mine comin' ten er fifteen mile at night ter see tenie, but mars marrabo's uncle's plantation wuz mo' d'n forty mile off. sandy wuz mighty sad en cas' down atter w'at mars marrabo tol' 'im, en he says ter tenie, sezee :- "i'm gittin' monst'us ti'ed er dish yer gwine roun' so much. here i is lent ter mars jeems dis mont', en i got ter do so-en-so; en ter mars archie de nex' mont', en i got ter do so-en-so; den i got ter go ter miss jinnie's: en hit 's sandy dis en sandy dat, en sandy yer en sandy dere, tel it 'pears ter me i ain' got no home, ner no marster, ner no v mistiss, ner no nuffin. i can't eben keep a wife: my yuther ole 'oman wuz sol' away widout my gittin' a chance fer ter tell her good-by; en now i got ter go off en leab you, tenie, en i dunno whe'r i'm eber gwine ter see you ag'in er no. i wisht i wuz a tree, er a stump, er a rock, er sump'n w'at could stay on de plantation fer a w'ile.' "atter sandy got thoo talkin', tenie did n' say naer word, but des sot dere by de fier, studyin' en studyin'. bimeby she up'n' says :- "sandy, is i eber tol you i wuz a cunjuh 'oman?' "co'se sandy had n' nebber dremp' er nuffin lack dat, en he made a great 'miration w'en he hear w'at tenie say. bimeby tenie went on :- "i ain' goophered nobody, ner done no cunjuh wuk, fer fifteen year er mo'; en w'en i got religion i made up my. mine i would n' wuk no mo' goopher. but dey is some things i doan b'lieve the conjure woman po sandy pawed at de tree, en tried ter climb up on it; en w'en dey wuz tuk roun' thoo de swamp ter look fer de scent, dey broke loose en made fer dat tree ag'in. it wuz de beatenis' thing de w'ite folks eber hearn of, en mars marrabo 'lowed dat sandy must 'a' clim' up on de tree en jump off on a mule er sump'n, en rid fur ernuff fer ter spile de seent. mars marrabo wanted ter 'cuse some er de yuther niggers er heppin' sandy off, but dey all 'nied it ter de las'; en eve'ybody knowed tenie sot too much sto' by sandy fer ter he'p 'im run away whar she could n' nebber see 'im no mo'. "w'en sandy had be'n gone long ernuff fer folks ter think he done got clean away, tenie useter go down ter de woods at night en turn 'im back, en den dey 'd slip up ter de cabin en set by de fire en talk. but dey ha' ter be mon- st'us keerful, er e'se somebody would 'a' seed 'em, en dat would 'a' spike' de whole thing ; so tenie alluz turnt sandy back in de mawnin' early, befo' anybody wuz a-stirrin'. "but sandy did n' git erlong widout his trials en tribberlations. one day a woodpecker come erlong en 'mence' ter peck at de tree; en de nex' time sandy wuz turnt back he had a little roun' hole in his arm, des lack a sharp stick be'n stuck in it. atter dat tenie sot a spar- rer-hawk fer ter watch de tree; en w'en de woodpecker come erlong nex' mawnin' fer ter finish his nes', he got gobble' up mos”'fo' he stuck his bill in de bark. "nudder time, mars marrabo sent a nigger out in de woods fer ter chop tup- pentime boxes. de man chop a box in dish yer tree, en hack' de bark up two er th'ee feet, fer ter let de tuppentime run. de nex' time sandy wuz turnt back he had a big skyar on his lef' leg, des lack it be'n skunt; en it tuk tenie nigh 'bout all night fer ter fix a mixtry pó sandy the conjure woman ter kyo it up. atter dat, tenie sot a hawnet fer ter watch de tree; en w'en de nigger come back ag'in fer ter cut ernudder box on de yuther side'n de tree, de hawnet stung 'im so hard dat de ax slip en cut his foot nigh 'bout off. “ w'en tenie see so many things hap- penin' ter de tree, she 'cluded she'd ha' ter turn sandy ter sump'n e'se; en atter studyin' de matter ober, en talkin' wid sandy one ebenin', she made up her mine fer ter fix up a goopher mixtry wat would turn herse'f en sandy ter foxes, er sump'n, so dey could run away i en go some'rs whar dey could be free en lib lack w'ite folks. "but dey ain' no tellin' w'at's gwine ter happen in dis worl'. tenie had got de night sot fer her en sandy ter run away, w'en dat ve'y day one er mars marrabo's sons rid up ter de big house in his buggy, en say his wife wuz mon- st'us sick, en he want his mammy ter len' 'im a 'oman fer ter nuss his wife. tenie's mistiss say sen' tenie; she wuz a good nuss. young mars wuz in a tar- rible hurry fer ter git back home. tenie wuz washin' at de big house dat day, en her mistiss say she should go right 'long wid her young marster. tenie tried ter make some 'scuse fer ter git away en hide 'tel night, w'en she would have eve'ything fix' up fer her en sandy; she say she wanter go ter her cabin fer ter git her bonnet. her mistiss say it doan matter 'bout de bonnet ; her head-hank- cher wuz good ernuff. den tenie say she wanter git her bes' frock; her mis. tiss say no, she doan need no mo' frock, en w'en dat one got dirty she could git a clean one whar she wuz gwine. so tenie had ter git in de buggy en go 'long wid young mars dunkin ter his plantation, w'ich wuz mo' d'n twenty mile away ; en dey wa'n't no chance er po sandy the conjure woman her seein' sandy no mo''tel she come back home. de po' gal felt monst'us bad 'bout de way things wuz gwine on, en she knowed sandy mus' be a 'won- d'rin' why she did n' come en turn 'im back no mo'. "w'iles tenie wuz away nussin' young mars dunkin's wife, mars mar. rabo tuk a notion fer ter buil' 'im a noo kitchen; en bein' ez he had lots er timber on his place, he begun ter look 'roun' fer a tree ter hab de lumber sawed out'n. en i dunno how it come to be so, but he happen fer ter hit on de ve'y tree wat sandy wuz turnt inter. tenie wuz gone, en dey wa'n't nobody ner nuffin fer ter watch de tree. "de two men w'at cut de tree down say dey nebber had sech a time wid a tree befo': dey axes would glansh off, en did n' 'pear ter make no prōgress thoo de wood; en of all de creakin', en shakin', en wobblin' you eber see, dat tree done it w'en it commence' ter fall. it wuz de beatenis' thing! "w'en dey got de tree all trim' up, dey chain it up ter a timber waggin, en start fer de sawmill. but dey had a hard time gittin' de log dere: fus' dey got stuck in de mud w'en dey wuz gwine crosst de swamp, en it wuz two er th'ee hours befo' dey could git out. w'en dey start' on ag'in, de chain kep' a-comin' loose, en dey had ter keep a-stoppin' en a-stoppin' fer ter hitch de log up ag'in. w'en dey commence' ter climb de hill ter de sawmill, de log broke loose, en roll down de hill en in 'mongs' de trees, en hit tuk nigh 'bout half a day mo' ter git it haul' up ter de sawmill. "de nex' mawnin' atter de day de tree wuz haul' ter de sawmill, tenie come home. w'en she got back ter her cabin, de fus' thing she done wuz ter run down ter de woods en see how sandy the conjure woman po sandy wuz gittin' on. w'en she seed de stump standin' dere, wid de sap runnin' out'n it, en de limbs layin' scattered roun', she nigh 'bout went out'n her min'. she run ter her cabin, en got her goopher mixtry, en den follered de track er de timber waggin ter de sawmill. she knowed sandy could n'lib mo' d'n a min. ute er so ef she turnt him back, fer he wuz all chop' up so he 'd 'a' be'n bleedst ter die. but she wanted ter turn 'im back long ernuff fer ter 'splain ter 'im dat she had n' went off a-purpose, en lef' 'im ter be chop' down en sawed up. she did n' want sandy ter die wid no v hard feelin's to'ds her. "de han's at de sawmill had des got de big log on de kerridge, en wuz start. in' up de saw, w'en dey seed a 'oman runnin' up de hill, all out er bref, cryin' en gwine on des lack she wuz plumb 'stracted. it wuz tenie; she come right inter de mill, en th'owed herse'f on de log, right in front er de saw, a-hollerin' en cryin' ter her sandy ter fergib her, en not ter think hard er her, fer it wa'n't no fault er hern. den tenie 'membered de tree did n' hab no years, en she wuz gittin' ready fer ter wuk her goopher mixtry so ez ter turn sandy back, w'en de mill-hands ketch holt er her en tied her arms wid a rope, en fasten' her to one er de posts in de sawmill ; en den dey started de saw up ag'in, en cut de log up inter bo'ds en scantlin's right befo' her eyes. but it wuz mighty hard wuk ; fer of all de sweekin', en moanin', en groanin', dat log done it w'iles de saw wuz a-cuttin' thoo it. de saw wuz one er dese yer ole-timey, up-en-down saws, en hit tuk longer dem days ter saw a log 'en it do now. dey greased de saw, but dat did n' stop de fuss; hit kep' right on, tel fin'ly dey got de log all sawed up. "w'en de oberseah w'at run de saw. - - -- - - - ---- the conjure woman po' sandy mill come fum breakfas', de han's up en tell him 'bout de crazy 'oman — ez dey s'posed she wuz — w'at had come run- nin' in de sawmill, a-hollerin' en gwine on, en tried ter th'ow herse'f befo' de saw. en de oberseah sent two er th'ee er de han's fer ter take tenie back ter her marster's plantation. "tenie 'peared ter be out'n her min' fer a long time, en her marster ha' ter lock her up in de smoke-'ouse 'tel she got ober her spells. mars marrabo wuz monst'us mad, en hit would 'a' made yo' flesh crawl fer ter hear him cuss, 'caze he say de spekilater w'at he got tenie fum had fooled 'im by wukkin' a crazy 'oman off on him. w’iles tenie wuz lock up in de smoke-'ouse, mars marrabo tuk 'n' haul de lumber fum de sawmill, en put up his noo kitchen. "w'en tenie got quiet' down, so she could be 'lowed ter go 'roun' de planta- tion, she up'n' tole her marster all erbout sandy en de pine-tree; en w'en mars marrabo hearn it, he 'lowed she wuz de wuss 'stracted nigger he eber hearn of. he did n' know w'at ter do wid tenie: fus' he thought he'd put her in de po'. house; but fin'ly, seein' ez she did n' do no harm ter nobody ner nuffin, but des went 'roun' moanin', en groanin', en shakin' her head, he 'cluded ter let her stay on de plantation en nuss de little nigger chilluns w'en dey mammies wuz ter wuk in de cotton-fiel. "de noo kitchen mars marrabo buil' wuz n' much use, fer it had n' be'n put up long befo' de niggers 'mence' ter no- tice quare things erbout it. dey could hear sump'n moanin' en groanin' 'bout de kitchen in de night-time, en w'en de win' would blow dey could hear sump'n a-hollerin'en sweekin' lack it wuz in great pain en sufferin'. en it got so atter a w'ile dat it wuz all mars mar- rabo's wife could do ter git a 'oman ter the conjure woman po sandy stay in de kitchen in de daytime long ernuff ter do de cookin'; en dey wa'n't naer nigger on de plantation w'at would n' rudder take forty dan ter go 'bout dat kitchen atter dark, — dat is, 'cep'n' te- nie; she did n''pear ter min' de ha'nts. she useter slip 'roun' at night, en set on de kitchen steps, en lean up agin de do'-jamb, en run on ter herse'f wid some kine er foolishness w'at nobody could n' make out; fer mars marrabo had th'eat- en' ter sen' her off'n de plantation ef she say anything ter any er de yuther niggers 'bout de pine-tree. but some- how er 'nudder de niggers foun' out all erbout it, en dey all knowed de kitchen wuz ha'nted by sandy's sperrit. en bimeby hit got so mars marrabo's wife herse'f wuz skeered ter go out in de yard atter dark. "w'en it come ter dat, mars marrabo tuk en to' de kitchen down, en use' de lumber fer ter buil' dat ole school'ouse w'at you er talkin' 'bout pullin' down. de sehool'ouse wuz n' use' 'cep'n' in de daytime, en on dark nights folks gwine 'long de road would hear quare soun's en see quare things. poole tenie use- ter go down dere at night, en wander 'roun' de school'ouse; en de niggers all 'lowed she went fer ter talk wid sandy's sperrit. en one winter mawnin', w'en one er de boys went ter school early fer ter start de fire, w'at should he fin' but po' ole tenie, layin' on de flo', stiff, en col', en dead. dere did n' 'pear ter be nuffin pertickler de matter wid her, - she had des grieve' herse'f ter def fer her sandy. mars marrabo did n'shed no tears. he thought tenie wuz crazy, en dey wa'n't no tellin' w'at she mought do nex'; en dey ain' much room in dis worl' fer crazy w'ite folks, let 'lone a crazy nigger. "hit wa'n't long atter dat befo' mars marrabo sol' a piece er his track er lan' бг the conjure woman po sandy ter mars dugal mcadoo, — my ole marster, — en dat's how de ole school- 'ouse happen to be on yo' place. w'en de wah broke out, de school stop', en de ole school'ouse be'n stannin' empty ever sence, — dat is, 'cep'n' fer de ha'nts. en folks sez dat de ole school'ouse, er any yuther house w'at got any er dat lumber in it w'at wuz sawed out'n de tree w'at sandy wuz turnt inter, is gwine ter be ha'nted tel de las' piece er plank is rotted en crumble' inter dus'.". annie had listened to this gruesome narrative, with strained attention. - “what a system it was," she ex- claimed, when julius had finished, "under which such things were pos- sible !" "what things?" i asked, in amaze. ment. "are you seriously considering the possibility of a man's being turned into a tree?" "oh, no," she replied quickly, "not that;" and then she murmured absently, / and with a dim look in her fine eyes, “ poor tenie!" we ordered the lumber, and returned home. that night, after we had gone to bed, and my wife had to all appear- ances been sound asleep for half an hour, she startled me out of an incipient doze by exclaiming suddenly, — " john, i don't believe i want my new kitchen built out of the lumber in that old schoolhouse." "you would n't for a moment allow yourself," i replied, with some asperity, "to be influenced by that absurdly im. possible yarn which julius was spinning to-day?" "i know the story is absurd," she replied dreamily, "and i am not so silly as to believe it. but i don't think i should ever be able to take any plea- sure in that kitchen if it were built out of that lumber. besides, i think the the conjure woman po sandy kitchen would look better and last longer if the lumber were all new." of course she had her way. i bought the new lumber, though not without grumbling. a week or two later i was called away from home on business. on my return, after an absence of sev. eral days, my wife remarked to me, — "john, there has been a split in the sandy run colored baptist church, on the temperance question. about half the members have come out from the main body, and set up for themselves. uncle julius is one of the seceders, and he came to me yesterday and asked if they might not hold their meetings in the old schoolhouse for the present." "i hope you did n't let the old rascal have it," i returned, with some warmth. i had just received a bill for the new lumber i had bought. "well," she replied, "i could n't re- fuse him the use of the house for so good a purpose." "and i'll venture to say," i contin- ued, "that you subscribed something toward the support of the new church?”. she did not attempt to deny it. "what are they going to do about the ghost ?" i asked, somewhat curious to know how julius would get around this obstacle. "oh," replied annie, "uncle julius says that ghosts never disturb religious worship, but that if sandy's spirit should happen to stray into meeting by mistake, no doubt the preaching would do it good." mars jeems's nightmare mars jeems's nightmare we found old julius very useful when we moved to our new residence. he had a thorough knowledge of the neigh- borhood, was familiar with the roads and the watercourses, knew the qualities of the various soils and what they would produce, and where the best hunting and fishing were to be had. he was a marvelous hand in the management of horses and dogs, with whose mental processes he manifested a greater famil- iarity than mere use would seem to ac- count for, though it was doubtless due to the simplicity of a life that had kept him close to nature. toward my tract of land and the things that were on it — the creeks, the swamps, the hills, the meadows, the stones, the trees — he maintained a peculiar personal attitude, that might be called predial rather than proprietary. he had been accustomedy, until long after middle life, to look upon himself as the property of another. when this relation was no longer possi- ble, owing to the war, and to his mas- ter's death and the dispersion of the family, he had been unable to break off entirely the mental habits of a lifetime, but had attached himself to the old plantation, of which he seemed to con- sider himself an appurtenance. we found him useful in many ways and entertaining in others, and my wife and i took quite a fancy to him. shortly after we became established in our home on the sand-hills, julius brought up to the house one day a colored boy of about seventeen, whom he introduced as his grandson, and for whom he solicited employment. i was not favorably impressed by the youth's the conjure woman mars jeemis's nightmare appearance,- quite the contrary, in fact; but mainly to please the old man i hired tom — his name was tom — to help about the stables, weed the garden, cut wood and bring water, and in gen- eral to make himself useful about the outdoor work of the household. my first impression of tom proved to be correct. he turned out to be very trifing, and i was much annoyed by his laziness, his carelessness, and his ap- parent lack of any sense of responsibility. i kept him longer than i should, on julius's account, hoping that he might improve; but he seemed to grow worse instead of better, and when i finally reached the limit of my patience, i dis- charged him. "i am sorry, julius," i said to the old man; “i should have liked to oblige you by keeping him ; but i can't stand tom any longer. he is absolutely untrust- worthy." "yas, suh," replied julius, with a deep sigh and a long shake of the head, “ i knows he ain' much account, en dey ain' much 'pen'encc ter be put on 'im. but i wuz hopin' dat you mought make some 'lowance fuh a' ign'ant young nig- ger, sub, en gib 'im one mo' chance." but i had hardened my heart. i had always been too easily imposed upon, and had suffered too much from this weakness, i determined to be firm as a rock in this instance. "no, julius," i rejoined decidedly, "it is impossible. i gave him more than a fair trial, and he simply won't do." when my wife and i set out for our drive in the cool of the evening, — after. noon is “evening" in southern parlance, — one of the servants put into the rock- away two large earthenware jugs. our drive was to be down through the swamp to the mineral spring at the foot of the sand-hills beyond. the water of this the conjure woman mars jeems's nightmare i quite agree with you," i assented. "a man wat 'buses his hoss is gwine ter be ha'd on de folks wat wuks fer 'im," remarkedjulius. "ef young mis- tah mclean doan min', he'll hab a bad dream one er dese days, des lack 'is grandaddy had way back yander, long yeahs befo' de wah." "what was it about mr. mclean's dream, julius?" i asked. the man had not yet finished cleaning the spring, and we might as well put in time listening to julius as in any other way. we had found some of his plantation tales quite interesting. “ mars jeems mclean," said julius, “ wuz de grandaddy er dis yer gent'e- man wat is des gone by us beatin' his hoss. he had a big plantation en a heap er niggers. mars jeems wuz a ha'd man, en monst'us stric' wid his han's. eber sence he growed up he nebber 'peared ter hab no feelin' fer no. lo body. w'en his daddy, ole mars john mclean, died, de plantation en all de niggers fell ter young mars jeems. he had be'n bad 'nuff befo', but it wa'n't long atterwa'ds 'tel he got so dey wuz no use in libbin' at all ef you ha' ter lib roun' mars jeems. (his niggers wuz bleedzd ter slabe fum daylight ter da'k, w'iles yuther folks's did n' hafter wuk 'cep'n' fum sun ter sun; en dey did n' git no mo' ter eat dan dey oughter, en dat de coa'ses' kin' dey wa'n't 'lowed · ter sing, ner dance, ner play de banjo w'en mars jeems wuz roun' de place; fer mars jeems say he would n'hab no sech gwines-on, — said he bought his han's ter wuk, en not ter play, en w'en night come dey mus' sleep en res', so dey 'd be ready ter git up soon in de mawnin' en go ter dey wuk fresh en strong. "mars jeems did n' 'low no co'tin' er juneseyin'roun' his plantation, — said the conjure woman mars jecmis's nightmare he wanted his niggers ter put dey min's on dey wuk, en not be wastin' dey time wid no sech foolis'ncss. (en he would n' let his han's git married, — said he wuz n' raisin' niggers, but wuz raisin' cot- ton. en w'eneber any er de boys en gals 'ud 'mence ter git sweet on one ernudder, he'd sell one er de yuther un 'em, er sen' 'em way down in robeson county ter his yuther plantation, whar dey could n' nebber see one ernudder. "ef any er de niggers eber com- plained, dey got fo'ty; so co'se dey did n' many un 'em complain. but dey did n' lack it, des de same, en nobody could n' blame 'em, fer dey had a ha'd time. mars jeems did n' make no 'low- ance fer nachul bawn laz'ness, ner sick- ness, ner trouble in de min', ner nuffin ; he wuz des gwine ter git so much wuk outer eve'y han', er know de reason w'y. "dey wuz one time de niggers 'lowed, fer a spell, dat mars jeems mought git bettah. he tuk a lackin' ter mars mar- rabo mcswayne's oldes' gal, miss lib. bic, en useter go ober dere eve'y day er eve'y ebenin', en folks said dey wuz gwine ter git married sho'. but it 'pears dat miss libbie heared 'bout de gwines- on on mars jeems's plantation, en she des 'lowed she could n'trus' herse'f wid no sech a man; dat he mought git so useter 'busin' his niggers dat he'd 'mence ter 'buse his wife atter he got useter habbin' her roun' de house. so she 'clared she? wuz n' gwine ter hab nuffin mo' ter do wid young mars jeems. "de niggers wuz all monst'us sorry w'en de match wuz bust' up, fer now mars jeems got wusser 'n he wuz befo' he sta'ted sweethea'tin'. de time he useter spen'co'tin' miss libbie he put in findin' fault wid de niggers, en all his bad feelin's 'ca'se miss libbie th'owed" 'im ober he 'peared ter try ter wuk off on de po' niggers. -- - the conjure woman mars jeems's nighimare “w'iles mars jeems wuz co'tin' miss libbie, two er de han's on de plantation had got ter settin' a heap er sto' by one ernudder. one un 'em wuz name' solo- mon, en de yuther wuz a 'oman w'at wukked in de fiel' 'long er 'im — i fe'git dat; 'oman's name, but it doan 'mount ter much in de tale nohow. now, whu- ther 'ca'se mars jeems wuz so tuk up wid his own junesey dat he did n' paid no'tention fer a w'ile ter w'at wuz gwine on 'twix' solomon en his junesey, er whuther his own co'tin' made 'im kin' er easy on de co'tin' in de qua'ters, dey ain' no tellin'. but dey's one thing sho', dat w'en miss libbie th'owed 'im ober, he foun' out 'bout solomon en de gal monst'us quick, en gun solomon fo'ty, en sont de gal down ter de robeson county plantation, en tol' all de niggers ef he ketch 'em at any mo' sech foolish. ness, he wuz gwine ter skin 'em alibe en tan dey hides befo' dey very eyes. co'se he would n' 'a' done it, but he mought 'a' made things wusser 'n dey wuz. so you kin 'magine dey wa'n't much lub-makin' in de qua'ters fer a long time. "mars jeems useter go down ter de yuther plantation sometimes fer a week er mo', en so he had ter hab a oberseah ter look atter his wuk w'iles he 'uz gone. mars jeems's oberseah wuz a po' w'iter man name' nick johnson, — de niggers called 'im mars johnson ter his face, but behin' his back dey useter call 'im ole nick, en de name suited 'im ter a t. he wuz wusser 'n mars jeems ever da'ed ter be. co'se de darkies did n' lack de way mars jeems used 'em, but he wuz de marster, en had a right ter do ez he please'; but dis yer ole nick wa'n't nuffin but a po' buckrah, en all de nig. gers 'spised 'im ez much ez dey hated ? 'im, fer he did n' own nobody, en wa'n't no bettah 'n a nigger, fer in dem days any "spectable pusson would ruther be a nigger dan a po' w'ite man. --- - - - - -- - the conjure woman mars jccms's nightmarc “so solomon say all right, en tuk de goopher mixtry up ter de big house en gun it ter de cook, en tol' her fer ter put it in mars jeems's soup de fus' cloudy day she hab okra soup fer din. nah. it happen' dat de ve'y nex' day wuz a cloudy day, en so de cook made okra soup fer mars jeems's dinnah, en put de powder solomon gun her inter de soup, en made de soup rale good, so mars jeems eat a whole lot of it en 'peared ter enjoy it. "de nex' mawnin' mars jeems tol' de oberseah he wuz gwine 'way on some bizness, en den he wuz gwine ter his yuther plantation, down in robeson county, en he did n' 'spec' he'd be back fer a mont' er so. " but,' sezee, 'i wants you ter run dis yer plantation fer all it's wuth. dese yer niggers is gittin' monst'us triflin' en lazy en keerless, en dey ain' no 'pen'ence ter be put in 'em. i wants dat stop', en w'iles i'm gone erway i wants de 'spenses cut 'way down en a heap mo' wuk done. fac', i wants dis yer plantation ter make a reco'd dat 'll show w'at kinder oberseah you is.' "ole nick did n' said nuffin but yas, suh,' but de way he kinder grin' ter hisse'f en show' his big yaller teef, en snap' de rawhide he useter kyar roun' wid 'im, made col chills run up and down de backbone er dem niggers wat heared mars jeems a-talkin'. en dat night dey wuz mo'nin' en groanin' down in de qua'ters, fer de niggers all knowed w'at wuz comin'. "so, sho' 'nuff, mars jeems went erway nex' mawnin', en de trouble be- gun. mars johnson sta'ted off de ve'y fus' day fer ter see w'at he could hab ter show mars jeems w'en he come back. he made de tasks bigger en de rashuns littler, en w'en de niggers had wukked all day, he'd fin' sump'n fer 'em ter do the conjure woman mars jeems's nightmare w'at is yo' name, en whar did you come fum ?' "i dunno my name,' sez de nigger, 'en i doan 'member whar i come fum. my head is all kin' er mix' up.' "yas,' sez mars johnson, 'i reckon i'll ha' ter gib you sump'n fer ter cl'ar yo' head. at de same time, it 'll l'arn you some manners, en atter dis mebbe you'll say "suh" w'en you speaks ter me.' "well, mars johnson haul off wid his rawhide en hit de noo nigger once. de noo man look' at mars johnson fer a minute ez ef he did n' know w'at ter make er dis yer kin' er l'arnin'. but w'en de oberseah raise' his w'ip ter hit him ag'in, de noo nigger des haul off en made fer mars johnson, en ef some er de yuther niggers had n'stop' 'im, it 'peared ez ef he mought 'a' made it wa'm fer ole nick dere fer a w'ile. but de oberseah made · de yuther niggers he'p tie de noo nigger up, en den gun 'im fo'ty, wid a dozen er so th'owed in fer good measure, fer ole nick wuz nebber stingy wid dem kin' er rashuns. de nigger went on at a tar- rable rate, des lack a wil' man, but co'se he wuz bleedzd ter take his med'cine, fer he wuz tied up en could n' he'p his. se'f. "mars johnson lock' de noo nigger up in de ba'n, en did n' gib 'im nuffin ter eat fer a day er so, 'tel he got 'im kin'er quiet' down, en den he tu'nt 'im loose en put 'im ter wuk. de nigger 'lowed he wa'n't useter wukkin', en would n' wuk, en mars johnson gun 'im anudder fo'ty fer laziness en impidence, en let 'im fas' a day er so mo', en den put 'im ter wuk ag'in. de nigger went ter wuk, but did n' 'pear ter know how ter han'le a hoe. it tuk des 'bout half de ober. seah's time lookin' atter 'im, en dat po' nigger got mo'lashin's en cussin's en cuffin's dan any fo' yuthers on de planta- mars jccus's nightmare - the conjure woman tion. he did n' mix' wid ner talk much ter de res' er de niggers, en could n' 'pear ter git it th'oo his min' dat he wuz a slabe en had ter wuk en min' de w'ite folks, spite er de fac' dat ole nick gun 'im a lesson eve'y day.) en fin'lly mars johnson 'lowed dat he could n' do nuffin wid 'im ; dat ef he wuz his nigger, he'd break his sperrit er break 'is neck, one er de yuther. but co'se he wuz only sont ober on trial, en ez he did n' gib sat'sfaction, en he had n'heared fum mars jeems 'bout w'en he wuz comin' back; en ez he wuz feared he'd git mad some time er 'nuther en kill de nigger befo' he knowed it, he 'lowed he'd bet- ter sen' 'im back whar he come fum. so he tied 'im up en sont 'im back ter mars dunkin. "now, mars dunkin mcswayne wuz one er dese yer easy-gwine gent'emen • wat did n' lack ter hab no trouble wid niggers er nobody e'se, en he knowed ef mars ole nick could n'git 'long wid dis nigger, nobody could. so he tuk de nigger ter town dat same day, en sol' 'im ter a trader w'at wuz gittin' up a gang er lackly niggers fer ter ship off on de steamboat ter go clown de ribber terv wim'l'ton en fum dere ter noo orleens. "de nex' day atter de noo man had be'n sont away, solomon wuz wukkin' in de cotton-fiel', en w'en he got ter de fence nex' ter de woods, at de een' er de row, who sh'd he see on de yuther side but ole aun' peggy.' she beckon' ter 'im, — de oberseah wuz down on de yuther side er de fiel', — en sez she:- "w'y ain' you done come en 'po'ted ter me lack i tol you?'. "w'y, law! aun' peggy,' sez solo- mon, 'dey ain' nuffin ter 'po't. mars jeems went away de day atter we gun 'im de goopher mixtry, en we ain' seed hide ner hair un 'im sence, en co'se we doan know nuffin 'bout w'at 'fec' it had on 'im.' the conjure woman mars jeems's nightmare "" i doan keer nuffin 'bout yo' mars jeems now; w'at i wants ter know is w'at is be'n gwine on 'mongs' de nig. gers. has you be'n gittin' 'long any v better on de plantation ? "no, aun' peggy, we be'n gittin' 'long wusser. mars johnson is stric'er 'n he eber wuz befo', en de po' niggers doan ha'dly git time ter draw dey bref, en dey 'lows dey mought des ez well be dead ez alibe.' "uh huh !’sez aun' peggy, sez she, 'i tol you dat 'uz monst'us pow'ful goopher, en its wuk doan 'pear all at once. " long ez we had dat noo nigger heah,' solomon went on, he kep' mars johnson busy pa't er de time; but now he's gone erway, i s'pose de res' un us 'll ketch it wusser 'n eber.' "'at's gone wid de noo nigger?' sez aun' peggy, rale quick, battin' her eyes en straight'nin' up. “ole nick done sont 'im back ter mars dunkin, who had fotch 'im heah fer ter pay a gamblin' debt ter mars jeems,' sez solomon, 'en i heahs mars dunkin has sol' 'im ter a nigger-trader up in patesville, w'at's gwine ter ship 'im off wid a gang ter-morrer.' "ole aun' peggy 'peared ter git rale stirred up w'en solomon tol' 'er dat, en sez she, shakin' her stick at 'im :- “w'y did n' you come en tell me 'bout dis noo nigger bein' sol erway? did n' you promus me, ef i'd gib you dat goppher, you 'd come en 'po't ter me 'bout all w'at wuz gwine on on dis plan. tation? co'se i could 'a' foun' out fer myse'f, but i 'pended on yo' tellin' me, en now by not doin' it i's feared you gwine spile my cunj'in'. you come down ter my house ter-night en do w'at i tells you, er i'll put a spell on you dat 'll make yo' ha'r fall out so you 'll be bal', en yo' eyes drap out so you can't the conjure woman mars jecms's vightmare see, en yo teef fall out so you can't eat, en yo' years grow up so you can't heah. w'en you is foolin' wid a cunjuh 'oman lack me, you got ter min' yo' p's en q's er dey 'll be trouble sho' 'nuff.' "so co'se solomon went down ter aun' peggy's dat night, en she gun 'im a roasted sweet'n' 'tater. "you take dis yer sweet'n' 'tater,' sez she, - 'i done goophered it 'speshly fer dat noo nigger, so you better not eat it yo'se'f er you 'll wush you had n', — en slip off ter town, en fin' dat strange man, en gib 'im dis yer sweet'n''tater. he mus' eat it befo' mawnin', sho', ef he doan wanter be sol erway ter noo orleens.' "' but s'posen de patteroles ketch me, aun' peggy, w'at i gwine ter do ?' sez solomon. "de patteroles ain' gwine tech you, but ef you doan fin' dat nigger, i'm gwine git you, en you 'll fin' me wusser 'n de patteroles. des hol' on a minute, en i'll sprinkle you wid some er dis mixtry out'n dis yer bottle, so de patteroles can't see you, en you kin rub yo' feet wid some er dis yer grease out'n dis go'd, so you kin run fas', en rub some un it on yo' eyes so you kin see in de da'k; en den you mus' fin' dat noo nig- ger en gib 'im dis yer 'tater, er you gwine ter hab mo' trouble on yo' han's 'n you eber had befo' in yo' life er eber will hab sence. "so solomon tuk de sweet'n' 'tater en sta'ted up de road fas' ez he could go, en befo' long he retch' town. he went right 'long by de patteroles, en dey did n' 'pear ter notice 'im, en bimeby he foun' whar de strange nigger was kep', en he walked right pas' de gyard at de do' en foun' 'im. de nigger could n' see 'im, ob co'se, en he could n' 'a' seed de nig- ger in de da'k, ef it had n' be'n fer de stuff aun' peggy gun 'im ter rub on 'is mars jeems's nightmare the conjure woman are eyes. de nigger wuz layin' in a co'nder, 'sleep, en solomon des slip' up ter 'im, en hilt dat sweet'n' 'tater 'fo' de nigger's nose, en he des nach'ly retch' up wid his han', en tuk de 'tater en eat it in his sleep, widout knowin' it. w'en solo- mon seed he'd done eat de 'tater, he went back en tol' aun' peggy, en den went home ter his cabin ter sleep, 'way 'long 'bout two o'clock in de mawnin'. "de nex' day wuz sunday, en so de niggers had a little time ter deyse'ves. solomon wuz kinder 'sturb' in his min' thinkin' 'bout his junesey w'at 'uz gone away, en wond'rin' why, aun' peggy had ter do wid dat noo nigger ; en he had sa'ntered up in de woods so 's ter be by hisse'f a little, en at de same time ter look atter a rabbit-trap he'd sot down in de aidge er de swamp, w'en who sh'd he see stan'in' unner a tree but a w'ite man. "solomon did n' knowed de w'ite man at fus', 'tel de w'ite man spoke up ter 'im. "' is dat you, solomon ?' sezee. "den solomon reco'nized de voice. « • per de lawd's sake, mars jeems ! is dat you ?' "yas, solomon,' sez his marster, dis is me, er w'at's let' er me.' " it wa'n't no wonder solomon had n' knowed mars jeems at fus', fer he wuz dress' lack a po' w'ite man, en wuz bare- footed, en look' monst'us pale en peaked, ez ef he'd des come th'oo a ha'd spell er sickness. "you er lookin' kinder po'ly, mars jeems,' sez solomon is you be'n sick, suh?' "no, solomon,' sez mars jeems, shakin' his head, en speakin' sorter slow en sad, 'i ain'be'n sick, but i's had a monst'us bad dream, — fac', a reg'lar, nach'ul nightmare. but tell me how things has be'n gwine on up ter de plan- tation sence i be'n gone, solomon.' “ so solomon up en tol' 'im 'bout de the conjure woinan mlars jecms's nightmare craps, en 'bout de hosses en de mules, en 'bout de cows en de hawgs. en w'en he 'mence' ter tell 'bout de noo nigger, mars jeems prick' up 'is yeahs en listen', en eve'y now en den he'd say, • uh huh! uh huh!'cn nod 'is head. en bimeby, w'en he'd ax' solomon some mo' queshtuns, he sez, sezee :- «• now, solomon, i doan want you ter say a wo'd ter nobody 'bout meetin' me heah, but i wants you ter slip up ter de house, en fetch me some clo's en some shoes, — i fergot ter tell you dat a man rob' me back yander on de road en swap' clo's wid me widout axin' me whuther er no, — but you neenter say nuffin 'bout dat, nuther. you go en fetch me some clo's heah, so nobody won't see you, en keep yo' mouf shet, en i 'll gib you a dollah.' " solomon wuz so 'stonish' he lack ter fell ober in his tracks, w'en mars jeems promus' ter gib 'im a dollah. dey su'. t'nly wuz a change come ober mars jeems, w'en he offer' one er his niggers dat much money. solomon 'mence' ter 'spec' dat aun' peggy's cunj'ation had be'n wukkin' monst'us strong. "solomon fotch mars jeems some clo's en shoes, en dat same eb'nin' mars jeems 'peared at de house, en let on lack he des dat minute got home fum robe- son county. mars johnson was all ready ter talk ter 'im, but mars jeems sont 'im wo'd he wa'n't feelin' ve'y well dat night, en he'd see 'im ter-morrer. "so nex' mawnin' atter breakfus' mars jeems sont fer de oberseah, en ax' 'im fer ter gib 'count er his styoa'd. ship. ole nick tol' mars jeems how much wuk be'n done, en got de books en showed 'im how much money be'n save'. den mars jeems ax' 'im how de darkies be'n behabin', en mars johnson say dey be'n behabin' good, most un 'em, en dem w'at did n'behabe good at - the conjure woman the conjurer's revenge - the balmy spring of north carolina, when the air is in that ideal balance between heat and cold where one wishes it could always remain, — my wife and i were seated on the front piazza, she wearily but conscientiously ploughing ✓ through a missionary report, while i fol- lowed the impossible career of the blonde heroine of a rudimentary novel. i had thrown the book aside in disgust, when i saw julius coming through the yard, under the spreading elms, which were already in full leaf. he wore his sunday clothes, and advanced with a dignity of movement quite different from his week-day slouch. "have a seat, julius," i said, pointing to an empty rocking-chair. "no, thanky, boss, i'll des set here on de top step." "oh, no, uncle julius," exclaimed annie, "take this chair. you will find it much more comfortable." the old man grinned in appreciation of her solicitude, and seated himself somewhat awkwardly. "julius," i remarked, "i am thinking of setting out scuppernong vines on that sand-hill where the three persimmon- trees are ; and while i'm working there, i think i'll plant watermelons between the vines, and get a little something to pay for my first year's work. the new railroad will be finished by the middle of summer, and i can ship the melons north, and get a good price for them." "ef you er gwine ter hab any mo' ploughin' ter do," replied julius, "i'spec' you 'll ha' ter buy ernudder creetur, 'ca'se hit's much ez dem hosses kin do ter 'ten' ter de wuk dey got now." "yes, i had thought of that. i think i'll get a mule; a mule can do more work, and does n't require as much at. tention as a horse." "i would n''vise you ter buy no mule," the conjure woman the conjurer's revenge remarked julius, with a shake of his head. "why not?" "well, you may 'low hit 's all foolis'. ness, but ef i wuz in yo' place, i would n' buy no mule." "but that is n't a reason; what objec- tion have you to a mule ?". "fac' is," continued the old man, in a serious tone, "i doan lack ter dribe a mule. i's alluz afeared i mought be imposin' on some human creetur ; eve'y time i cuts a mule wid a hick'ry, 'pears v ter me mos' lackly i's cuttin' some er my own relations, er somebody e'se w'at can't he'p deyse'ves." "what put such an absurd idea into your head ?" i asked. my question was followed by a short silence, during which julius seemed en- · gaged in a mental struggle. "i dunno ez hit 's wuf w'ile ter tell you dis," he said, at length. "i doan ha'dly 'spec'fer you ter b'lieve it. does you 'member dat club-footed man wat hilt de hoss fer you de yuther day. w'en you was gittin' out'n de rockaway down ter mars archie mcmillan's sto'?" "yes, i believe i do remember seeing a club-footed man there." "did you eber see a club-footed nig- ger befo' er sence?" "no, i can't remember that i ever saw a club-footed colored man," i re- plied, after a moment's reflection. "you en mis' annie would n' wanter b'lieve me, ef i wuz ter 'low dat dat man was oncet a mule?". "no," i replied, "i don't think it very likely that you could make us be- lieve it." "why, uncle julius !" said annie severely, "what ridiculous nonsense !" this reception of the old man's state- ment reduced him to silence, and it required some diplomacy on my part to -- - - -- -- - -- the conjure woman the conjurer's revenge induce him to vouchsafe an explanation. the prospect of a long, dull afternoon was not alluring, and i was glad to have the monotony of sabbath quiet relieved by a plantation legend. "w'en i wuz a young man," began julius, when i had finally prevailed upon him to tell us the story,“ dat club-footed nigger — his name is primus — use' ter b'long ter ole mars jim mcgee ober on de lumbe'ton plank-road. i use' ter go ober dere ter see a 'oman w'at libbed on de plantation; dat 's how i come ter know all erbout it. dis yer primus wuz de livelies' han' on de place, alluz a-dan- cin', en drinkin', en runnin' roun', en singin', en pickin' de banjo ; 'cep'n' once in a w'ile, w'en he'd 'low he wa'n't treated right 'bout sump'n ernudder, he'd git so sulky en stubborn dat de w'ite folks could n' ha'dly do nuffin wid han's ter go 'way fum de plantation at night; but primus did n' min' de rules, en went w'en he felt lack it ; en de w'ite folks purten' lack dey did n' know it, fer primus was dange'ous w'en he got in dem stubborn spells, en dey'd ruther not fool wid 'im. "one night in de spring er de year, primus slip off fum de plantation, en went down on de wim'l'ton road ter a dance gun by some er de free niggers down dere. dey wuz a fiddle, en a banjo, en a jug gwine roun' on de out- side, en primus sung en dance' 'tel 'long 'bout two o'clock in de mawnin', w'en he start' fer home. ez he come erlong back, he tuk a nigh-cut 'cross de cotton- fiel's en 'long by de aidge er de min'al spring swamp, so ez ter git shet er de patteroles w'at rid up en down de big road fer ter keep de darkies fum runnin' roun' nights. primus was sa'nt'rin' 'long, studyin' 'bout de good time he 'd had 'im. “ it wuz 'gin' de rules fer any er de iii the conjure woman the conjurer's revenge wid de gals, w'en, ez he wuz gwine by a fence co'nder, w'at sh'd he heah but sump'n grunt. he stopped a minute ter listen, en he heared sump'n grunt ag'in. den he went ober ter de fence whar he heard de fuss, en dere, layin'in de fence co'nder, on a pile er pine straw, he seed a fine, fat shote. "primus look' ha'd at de shote, en den sta'ted home. but somehow, er 'nudder he could n'git away fum dat shote ; w'en he tuk one step for'ards wid one foot, de yuther foot 'peared ter take two steps backwards, en so he kep' nachly gittin' closeter en closeter ter de shote. it was de beatin'es' thing! de shote des 'peared ter cha'm primus, en fus' thing you know primus foun' his- se'f 'way up de road wid de shote on his back. "ef primus had 'a' knowed whose shote dat wuz, he'd 'a' manage' ter git · pas' it somehow er 'nudder. ez it hap- pen', de shote b'long ter a cunjuh man w'at libbed down in de free-nigger sett'e- ment. co'se de cunjuh man did n' hab ter wuk his roots but a little w'ile 'fo' he foun' out who tuk his shots; en den de trouble begun. one mawnin', a day er so later, en befo' he got de shote eat up, primus did n' go ter wuk w'en de hawn blow, en w'en de oberseah wen' ter. look fer him, dey wa' no trace er primus ter be 'skivered nowhar. w'en he did n' come back in a day er so mo', eve'ybody on de plantation 'lowed he had runned erway. his marster a'ver- tise' him in de papers, en offered a big reward fer 'im. de nigger - ketchers fotch out dey dogs, en track' 'im down ter de aidge er de swamp, en den de scent gun out; en dat was de las' any- body seed er primus fer a long, long time. "two er th'ee weeks atter primus disappear', his marster went ter town the conjurer's reveng the conjure woman one sad'day. mars jim was stan'in'in front er sandy campbell's bar-room, up by de ole wagon-ya'd, w'en a po' w'ite man fum down on de wim'l'ton road come up ter 'im en ax' 'im, kinder keer. less lack, ef he did n' wanter buy a mule. "i dunno,' says mars jim ; 'it 'pen's on de mule, en on de price. whar is de mule ?' «des 'roun' heah back er ole tom mcallister's sto',' says de po' w'ite man. "i reckon i 'll hab a look at de mule,' says mars jim, 'en ef he suit me, i dunno but w'at i mought buy 'im.' .. " so de po' w'ite man tuk mars jim 'roun' back er de sto', en dere stood a monst'us fine mule. w'en de mule see mars jim, he gun a whinny, des lack he knowed him befo'. mars jim look' at de mule, en de mule 'peared ter be soun' en strong. mars jim 'lowed dey 'peared ter be sump'n fermilyus 'bout de mule's face, 'spesh'ly his eyes ; but he had n' los' naer mule, en did n'hab no. memb'ance er habin' seed de mule bero he ax' de po' buckrah whar he got de mule, en de po' buckrah say his brer raise' de mule down on rockfish creek. mars jim was a little s'picious er seein' a po' w'ite man wid sech a fine creetur, but he fin'lly 'greed ter gib de man fifty dollars fer de mule, — 'bout ha'f w'at a good mule was wuf dem days. "he tied de mule behin'de buggy w'en he went home, en put 'im ter ploughin' cotton de nex' day. de mule done mighty well fer th'ee er fo' days, en den de niggers 'mence' ter notice some quare things erbout him. dey wuz a medder on de plantation whar dey use' ter put de hosses en mules ter pastur'. hit was fence' off fum de corn. fiel' on one side, but on de yuther side'n de pastur' was a terbacker-patch w'at wa'n't fence' off, 'ca'se de beastisses doan none un 'em eat terbacker. dey the conjure woman the conjurer's revenge doan know w'at's good! terbacker is lack religion, de good lawd made it fer people, en dey ain' no yuther creetur iw'at kin 'preciate it. de darkies notice' dat de fus' thing de new mule done, w'en he was turnt inter de pastur', wuz ter make fer de terbacker-patch. co'se dey did n' think nuffin un it, but nex' mawnin', w'en dey went ter ketch 'im, dey 'skivered dat he had eat up two whole rows er terbacker plants. atter dat dey had ter put a halter on 'im, en tie 'im ter a stake, er e'se dey would n' 'a' been naer leaf er terbacker lef' in de patch. "ernudder day one er de nan's, name' 'dolphus, hitch' de mule up, en dribe up here ter dis yer vimya'd, — dat wuz w'en ole mars dugal' own' dis place. mars dugal' had kilt a yearlin', en de naber w'ite folks all sont ober fer ter git some fraish beef, en mars jim had sont 'dol- phus fer some too. dey wuz a wine- press in de ya'd whar 'dolphus lef de mule a-stan'in', en right in front er de press dey wuz a tub er grape-juice, des pressed out, en a little ter one side a bairl erbout half full er wine w'at had be'n stan'in' two er th'ee days, en had begun ter git sorter sha'p ter de tas'e. dey wuz a couple er bo'ds on top er dis yer bairl, wid a rock laid on 'em ter hol 'em down. ez i wuz a-sayin', 'dolphus lef' de mule stan'in' in de ya'd, en went inter de smoke-house fer ter git de beef. bimeby, w'en he come out, he seed de mule a-stagg'rin' 'bout de ya'd; en 'fo' 'dolphus could git dere ter fin' out w'at wuz de matter, de mule fell right ober on his side, en laid dere des' lack he was dead. "all de niggers 'bout de house run out dere fer ter see w'at wuz de matter. some say de mule had de colic; some say one thing en some ernudder ; 'tel bimeby one er de han's seed de top wuz offn de bairl, en run en looked in. the conjure woman the conjurer's revenge "• fo' de lawd i' he say, 'dat mule drunk! he be'n drinkin' de wine.' en sho' 'nuff, de mule had pas' right by de tub er fraish grape-juice en push' de kiver off'n de bairl, en drunk two er th'ee gallon er de wine w'at had been stan'in' long ernough fer ter begin ter git sha'p. "de darkies all made a great 'miration 'bout de mule gittin' drunk. dey never had n' seed nuffin lack it in dey bawn days. dey po'd water ober de mule, en tried ter sober 'im up; but it wa'n't no use, en 'dolphus had ter take de beef home on his back, en leabe de mule dere, 'tel he slep' off 'is spree. "i doan 'member whe'r i tol you er no, but w'en primus disappear' fum de plantation, he lef' a wife behin' 'im, -a monst'us good-lookin' yaller gal, 'name' sally. w'en primus had be'n gone a mont' er so, sally 'mence' fer ter git lone- some, en tuk up wid ernudder young man name' dan, w'at b'long'on de same plantation. one day dis yer dan tuk de noo mule out in de cotton-fiel' fer ter plough, en w'en dey wuz gwine 'long • de tu'n-row, who sh'd he meet but dis yer sally, dan look' 'roun' en he did n' see de oberseah nowhar, so he stop' a minute fer ter run on wid sally. "hoddy, honey,' sezee. how you feelin' dis mawnin'?' ". fus' rate,''spon' sally. "dey wuz lookin' at one ernudder, en dey did n' naer one un 'em pay no 'tention ter de mule, who had turnt 'is head 'roun' en wuz lookin' at sally ez ha'd ez he could, en stretchin' 'is neck en raisin' 'is years, en whinnyin' kinder sof' ter hisse'f. “yes, honey,' 'lows dan, 'en you gwine ter feel fus' rate long ez you sticks ter me. fer i's a better man dan dat low-down runaway nigger primus dat you be'n wastin' yo' time wid.' the conjure woman the conjurer's revenge “dan had let go de plough-handle, en had put his arm 'roun' sally, en wuz des gwine ter kiss her, w'en sump'n ketch' 'im by de scruff er de neck en flung 'im 'way ober in de cotton-patch. w'en he pick' 'isse'f up, sally had gone kitin' down de tu'n-row, en de mule wuz stan'in' dere lookin' ez ca'm en peaceful ez a sunday mawnin'. "fus' dan had 'lowed it wuz de ober. seah w'at had cotch' 'im wastin' 'is time. but dey wa'n't no oberseah in sight, so he 'cluded it must 'a' be'n de mule. so he pitch' inter de mule en lammed 'im ez ha'd ez he could. de mule tuk it all, en 'peared ter be ez 'umble ez a mule could be; but w'en dey wuz makin' de turn at de een' er de row, one er de plough-lines got under de mule's hin' leg. dan retch' down ter git de line out, sorter keerless like, w'en de mule haul' off en kick him clean ober de fence inter a brier-patch on de yuther side. "dan wuz mighty so' fum 'is woun's en scratches, en wuz laid up fer two er th'ee days. one night de noo mule got out'n de pastur', en went down to de quarters. dan wuz layin' dere on his pallet, w'en he heard sump'n bangin' erway at de side er his cabin. he raise' up on one shoulder en look' roun', w'en w'at should he see but de noo mule's head stickin' in de winder, wid his lips drawed back over his toofs, grin- nin' en snappin' at dan des' lack he wanter eat 'im up. den de mule went roun’ter de do', en kick' erway lack he wanter break de do' down, 'tel bimeby somebody come 'long en driv him back ter de pastur'. w'en sally come in a little later fum de big house, whar she'd be'n waitin' on de w'ite folks, she foun' po' dan nigh 'bout dead, he wuz so v skeered. she 'lowed dan had had de nightmare ; but w'en dey look' at de do', dey seed de marks er de mule's huffs, ter de parfum de big folks, she the conjure woman the conjurer's revenge so dey could n' be no mistake 'bout w'at had happen'. " co'se de niggers tol dey marster 'bout de mule's gwines-on. fust he did n' pay no 'tention ter it, but atter a w'ile he tol''em ef dey did n' stop dey foolis'ness, he gwine tie some un 'em up. so atter dat dey did n' say nuffin mo' ter dey marster, but dey kep' on noticin' de mule's quare ways des de same. "'long 'bout de middle er de summer dey wuz a big camp-meetin' broke out down on de wim'l'ton road, en nigh 'bout all de po' w'ite folks en free nig- gers in de settlement got 'ligion, en lo en behol' ! 'mongs' 'em wuz de cunjuh man wat own' de shote w'at cha'med primus. "dis cunjuh man wuz a guinea nig ger, en befo' he wuz sot free had use' ter b'long ter a gent'eman down in sampson county. de cunjuh man say his daddy wuz a king, er a guv'ner, er tome sorter w'at-you-may-call-'em 'way ober yander in affiky whar de niggers come fum, befo' he was stoled erway en sol' ter de spekilaters. de cunjuh man had he'ped his marster out'n some trou- ble ernudder wid his goopher, en his marster had sot him free, en bought him a trac' er land down on de wim'l'. ton road. he purten' ter be a cow-doc- tor, but eve'ybody knowed w'at he r'al'y wuz. "de cunjuh man had n' mo' d'n come th'oo good, befo' he wuz tuk sick wid a col' w'at he kotch kneelin' on de groun' so long at de mou'ners' bench. he kep' gittin' wusser en wusser, en bimeby de rheumatiz tuk holt er 'im, en drawed him all up, 'tel one day he sont word up ter mars jim mcgee's plantation, en ax' pete, de nigger w'at tuk keer er de mules, fer ter come down dere dat night en fetch dat mule w'at his marster had bought fum de po' w'ite man dyoin' er de summer. the conjure woman the conjurer's revenge “ pete did n' know w'at de cunjuh man wuz dribin' at, but he did n' daster stay way; en so dat night, w'en he'd done eat his bacon en his hoe-cake, en drunk his 'lasses-en-water, he put a bridle on de mule, en rid 'im down ter de cunjuh man's cabin. w'en he got ter de do', he lit en hitch' de mule, en den knock'at de do'. he felt mighty jubous 'bout gwine in, but he was bleedst ter do it; he knowed he could n' he'p 'isse'f. "pull de string,' sez a weak voice, en w'en pete lif' de latch en went in, de cunjuh man was layin' on de bed, lookin' pale en weak, lack he did n'hab much longer fer ter lib. "' is you fotch' de mule?' sezee. “ pete say yas, en de cunjuh man kep' on. " brer pete,' sezee, 'i's be'n a monst'us sinner man, en i's done a power er wickedness endyoin' er my days; but de good lawd is wash' my sins erway, en i feels now dat i's boun' fer de kingdom. en i feels, too, dat i ain' gwine ter git up fum dis bed no mo' in dis worl', en i wants ter ondo some er de harm i done. en dat 's de reason, brer pete, i sont fer you ter fetch dat mule down here. you 'mem- ber dat shote i was up ter yo' planta- tion inquirin' 'bout las' june?' ««yas,' says brer pete, 'i 'member yo' axin' 'bout a shote you had los'.' "i dunno whe'r you eber l'arnt it er no,' says de cunjuh man, but i done knowed yo'marster's primus had tuk de shote, en i wuz boun' ter git eben wid 'im. so one night i cotch' 'im down by de swamp on his way ter a candy- pullin', en i th'owed a goopher mixtry on 'im, en turnt 'im ter a mule, en got a po' w'ite man ter sell de mule, en we 'vided de money. but i doan want ter die 'tel i turn brer primus back ag'in.' "den de cunjuh man ax' pete ter . the conjure woman the conjurer's revenge take down one er two go'ds off'n a shelf in de corner, en one er two bottles wid some kin' er mixtry in 'em, en set 'em on a stool by de bed; en den he ax' 'im ter fetch de mule in. "w'en de mule come in de do', he gin a snort, en started fer de bed, des lack he was gwine ter jump on it. "hol' on dere, brer primus!' de cun- juh man hollered. 'i's monst'us weak, en ef you 'mence on me, you won't neb- ber hab no chance fer ter git turn' back "• brer pete,' sezee, bimeby, 'gimme a drink er dem bitters out'n dat green bottle on de she'f yander. i's gwine fas', en it 'll gimme strenk fer ter finish dis wuk.' "brer pete look' up on de mantel. piece, en he seed a bottle in de corner. it was so da'k in de cabin he could n' tell whe'r it wuz a green bottle er no. but he hilt de bottle ter de cunjuh man's mouf, en he tuk a big mouff'l. he had n' mo' d'n swallowed it befo' he 'mence' ter holler. "•you gimme de wrong bottle, brer pete; dis yer bottle 's got pizen in it, en i's done fer dis time, sho'. hol' me up, fer de lawd's sake! 'tel i git th'oo turnin' brer primus back.' "so pete hilt him up, en he kep' on wukkin' de roots, 'tel he got de goopher all tuk off'n brer primus 'cep'n' one foot. he had n' got dis foot mo' d'n half turnt back befo' his strenk gun out no mo'' “de mule seed de sense er dat, en stood still. den de cunjuh man tuk de go'ds en bottles, en 'mence' ter wuk de roots en yarbs, en de mule 'mence' ter turn back ter a man, — fust his years, den de res' er his head, den his shoul. ders en arms. all de time de cunjuh man kep' on wukkin' his roots; en pete en primus could see he wuz gittin' weaker en weaker all de time. the conjure woman the conjurer's revenge enti'ely, en he drap' de roots en fell back on de bed. "i can't do no mo'fer you, brer primus,' sezee, but i hopes you will fergib me fer what harm i done you. i knows de good lawd done fergib me, en i hope ter meet you bofe in glory. i sees de good angels waitin' fer me up yander, wid a long w'ite robe en a starry crown, en i'm on my way ter jine 'em.' en so de cunjuh man died, en pete en primus went back ter de plantation. "de darkies all made a great 'mira. tion w'en primus come back. mars jim let on lack he did n' b'lieve de tale de two niggers tol'; he sez primus had runned erway, en stay' 'tel he got ti'ed er de swamps, en den come back on him ter be fed. he tried ter 'count fer de shape er primus' foot by sayin' primus got his foot smash', er snake-bit, er sump'n, w'iles he wuz erway, en den stayed out in de woods whar he could n' git it kyoed up straight, 'stidder comin' long home whar a doctor could 'a' 'tended ter it. but de niggers all notice' dey marster did n'tie primus up, ner take on much 'ca'se de mule wuz gone. so dey 'lowed dey marster must 'a' had his s'picions 'bout dat cunjuh man." my wife had listened to julius's recital with only a mild interest. when the old man had finished it she remarked :- “that story does not appeal to me, uncle julius, and is not up to your usual mark. it is n't pathetic, it has no moral that i can discover, and i can't see why you should tell it. in fact, it seems to me like nonsense." the old man looked puzzled as well as pained. he had not pleased the lady, and he did not seem to understand why. "i'm sorry, ma'm," he said reproach. fully, “ ef you doan lack dat tale. i can't make out w'at you means by some er dem wo'ds you uses, but i'm tellin' the conjure woman the conjurer's revenge nuffin but de truf. co'se i did n' see de cunjuh man tu'n 'im back, fer i wuz n' dere; but i be'n hearin'de tale fer twenty-five years, en i ain' got no 'casion fer ter 'spute it. dey's so many things a body knows is lies, dat dey ain' no use gwine roun' findin' fault wid tales dat mought des ez well be so ez. not. f' instance, dey 's a young nigger gwine ter school in town, en he come out heah de yuther day en 'lowed dat de sun stood still en de yeath turnt roun' eve'y day on a kinder axletree. i tol dat young nigger ef he did n' take hisse'f 'way wid dem lies, i'd take a buggy-trace ter 'im; fer i sees de yeath stan'in' still all de time, en i sees de sun gwine roun' it, en ef a man can't b'lieve w'at 'e sees, i can't see no use in libbin' — mought's well die en be whar we can't see nuffin. en ernudder thing w'at proves de tale 'bout dis ole primus is de way he goes on ef anybody ax' him how he come by dat club-foot. i axed 'im one day, mighty perlite en civil, en he call' me a' ole fool, en got so mad he ain' spoke ter me sence. hit's monst'us quare. but dis is a quare worl', anyway yer kin fix it," concluded the old man, with a weary sigh. "ef you makes up yo' min' not ter buy dat mule, suh," he added, as he rose to go, "i knows a man w'at's got a / good hoss he wants ter sell, — leas’ways dat's w'at i heared. i'm gwine ter pra'rmeetin' ter-night, en i'm gwine right by de man's house, en ef you'd lack ter look at de hoss, i'll ax 'im ter fetch him roun'." "oh, yes," i said, "you can ask him to stop in, if he is passing. there will be no harm in looking at the horse, though i rather think i shall buy a mule." early next morning the man brought the horse up to the vineyard. at that the conjure woman thc conjurer's revenge time i was not a very good judge of horse- flesh. the horse appeared sound and gentle, and, as the owner assured me, had no bad habits. the man wanted a large price for the horse, but finally agreed to accept a much smaller sum, upon payment of which i became pos- sessed of a very fine-looking animal. but alas for the deceitfulness of appear- ances! i soon ascertained that the horse was blind in one eye, and that the sight of the other was very defective; and not a month elapsed before my pur- chase developed most of the diseases that horse-flesh is heir to, and a more worthless, broken-winded, spavined quad- ruped never disgraced the noble name of horse. after worrying through two or three months of life, he expired one night in a fit of the colic. i replaced him with a mule, and julius henceforth had to take his chances of driving some metamorphosed unfortunate. circumstances that afterwards came to my knowledge created in my mind a strong suspicion that julius may have played a more than unconscious part in this transaction. among other signifi- cant facts was his appearance, the sun. day following the purchase of the horse, ✓ in a new suit of store clothes, which i had seen displayed in the window of mr. solomon cohen's store on my last visit to town, and had remarked on ac- count of their striking originality of cut and pattern. as i had not recently paid julius any money, and as he had no property to mortgage, i was driven to conjecture to account for his posses- sion of the means to buy the clothes. of course i would not charge him with duplicity unless i could prove it, at least to a moral certainty, but for a long time afterwards i took his advice only in small doses and with great discriminal tion. sis' becky's pickaninny sis' becky's pickaninny we had not lived in north carolina very long before i was able to note a marked improvement in my wife's health. the ozone-laden air of the surrounding piney woods, the mild and equable cli- mate, the peaceful leisure of country life, had brought about in hopeful mea- sure the cure we had anticipated. toward the end of our second year, however, her ailment took an unex- pected turn for the worse. she became the victim of a settled melancholy, at- tended with vague forebodings of im- pending misfortune. "you must keep up her spirits," said our physician, the best in the neigh- boring town. "this melancholy lowers her tone too much, tends to lessen her strength, and, if it continue too long, may be fraught with grave conse- quences." i tried various expedients to cheer her up. i read novels to her. i had the hands on the place come up in the · evening and serenade her with planta- tion songs. friends came in sometimes and talked, and frequent letters from the north kept her in touch with her former home. but nothing seemed to rouse her from the depression into which she had fallen. one pleasant afternoon in spring, i placed an armchair in a shaded portion of the front piazza, and filling it with pillows led my wife out of the house and seated her where she would have the pleasantest view of a somewhat monoto- nous scenery. she was scarcely placed when old julius came through the yard, and, taking off his tattered straw hat, inquired, somewhat anxiously :- - -- - the conjure woman sis' becky's pickaninny aninny fer ter comfo't her. dis yer lit- tle mose wuz de cutes', blackes', shiny. eyedes' little nigger you eber laid eyes on, en he wuz ez fon' er his mammy ez his mammy wuz er him. co'se becky had ter wuk en did n' hab much time ter was'e wid her baby. ole aun' nancy, de plantation nuss down at de qua'ters, useter take keer er little mose in de daytime, en atter de niggers come in fum de cotton-fiel' becky 'ud git her chile en kiss 'im en nuss 'im, en keep 'im 'tel mawnin'; en on sundays she'd hab 'im in her cabin wid her all day long. "sis' becky had got sorter useter gittin' 'long widout her husban', w'en one day kunnel pen'leton went ter de races. co'se w'en he went ter de races, he tuk his hosses, en co'se he bet on 'is own hosses, en co'se he los' his money; fer kunnel pen'leton did n' nebber hab no luck wid his hosses, ef he did keep hisse'f po' projeckin' wid 'em. but dis time dey wuz a hoss name' lightnin' bug, w'at b'longed ter ernudder man, en dis hoss won de sweep-stakes; en kunnel pen'leton tuk a lackin' ter dat hoss, en ax' his owner w'at he wuz willin' ter take fer 'im. "i'll take a thousan' dollahs fer dat hoss,' sez dis yer man, who had a big plantation down to'ds wim'l'ton, whar he raise' hosses fer ter race en ter sell. "well, kunnel pen'leton scratch' 'is head, en wonder whar he wuz gwine ter raise a thousan' dollars; en he did n' see des how he could do it, fer he owed ez much ez he could borry a'ready on de skyo'ity he could gib. but he wuz des boun' ter hab dat hoss, so sezee :- "i'll gib you my note fer 'leven hund'ed dollahs fer dat hoss.' "de yuther man shuck 'is head, en sezee :- "yo' note, suh, is better 'n gol', i the conjure woman sis' becky's pickaninny meer oman 'll annoncen doan doubt; but i is made it a rule in my bizness not ter take no notes fum nobody. howsomeber, suh, cf you is kinder sho't er fun's, mos' lackly we kin make some kin' er bahg'in. en w'iles we is talkin', i mought 's well say dat i needs ernudder good nigger down on my place. ef you is got a good one ter spar', i mought trade wid you.' "now, kunnel pen'leton did n' r'ally hab no niggers fer ter spar', but he 'lowed ter hisse'f he wuz des bleedzd ter hab dat hoss, en so he sez, sezee :- "well, i doan lack ter, but i reckon i'll haf ter. you come out ter my plantation ter-morrer en look ober my niggers, en pick out de one you wants.' "so sho''nuff nex' day dis yer man come out ter kunnel pen'leton's place en rid roun' de plantation en glanshed at de niggers, en who sh'd he pick out fum 'em all but sis' becky. "i needs a noo nigger 'oman down ter my place,' sezee, 'fer ter cook en wash, en so on; en dat young 'oman 'll des fill de bill. you gimme her, en youjin kin hab lightnin' bug.'" "now, kunnel pen'leton did n' lack ter trade sis' becky, 'ca'se she wuz nigh 'bout de bes' fiel'-han' he had; en 'sides, mars dugal' did n' keer ter take de mammies 'way fum dey chillun w'iles de chillun wuz little. but dis man say he want becky, er e'se kunnel pen'leton could n' hab de race hoss. "well,' sez de kunnel, you kin hab de 'oman. but i doan lack ter sen' her 'way fum her baby. w'at 'll you gimme : fer dat nigger baby?'. "i doan want de baby,' sez de yuthcr man. 'i ain' got no use fer de baby.' "i tell yer w'at i'll do,' 'lows kunnel pen'leton, 'i'll th'ow dat pickaninny in fer good measure.' "but de yuther man shuck his head. 'no,' sezee, 'i's much erbleedzd, but i the conjure woman sis' becky's pickaninny doan raise niggers; i raises hosses, en i doan wanter be both'rin' wid no nig. ger babies. nemmine de baby. i'll keep dat 'oman so busy she 'll fergit de baby ; fer niggers is made ter wuk, en dey ain' got no time fer no sich foolis'. ness ez babies.' "kunnel pen'leton did n' wanter hu't becky's feelin's, — fer kunnel pen'leton wuz a kin'-hea'ted man, en nebber lack' ter make no trouble fer nobody, — en so he tol' becky he wuz gwine sen' her down ter robeson county fer a day er so, ter he'p out his son-in-law in his wuk; en bein' ez dis yuther man wuz gwine dat way, he had ax' 'im ter take her 'long in his buggy. "• kin i kyar little mose wid me, mars- ter?' ax' sis' becky. "no,' sez de kunnel, ez ef he wuz studyin' whuther ter let her take 'im er no;'i reckon you better let aun' nancy look atter yo' baby fer de day er two you 'll be gone, en she 'll see dat he gits ernuff ter eat 'tel you gits back.' "so sis' becky hug' en kiss' little mose, en tol' 'im ter be a good little pickaninny, en take keer er hisse'f, en not fergit his mammy w'iles she wuz gone. en little mose put his arms roun' his mammy en lafft en crowed des lack it wuz monst'us fine fun fer his mammy ter go 'way en leabe 'im. "well, dis yer hoss trader sta'ted out wid becky, en bimeby, atter dey'd gone down de lumbe'ton road fer a few miles er so, dis man tu'nt roun' in a diffe'nt d'rection, en kep' goin' dat er. way, 'tel bimeby sis' becky up 'n ax' 'im ef he wuz gwine ter robeson county by a noo road. "no, nigger,' sezee, 'i ain' gwine ter robeson county at all, i's gwine ter bladen county, whar my plantation is, en whar i raises all my hosses.' "' but how is i gwine ter git ter mis' 一一一一一一一一一 ​ the conjure woman sis' becky's pickaninny - things fer ter pay de cunjuh 'oman, use' up a lot er aun' nancy's time, en she begun ter git kinder ti'ed. 'sides dat, w'en sis' becky had be'n on de planta- tion, she had useter he'p aun' nancy wid de young uns ebenin's en sundays ; en aun' nancy 'mence' ter miss 'er monst'us, 'speshly sence she got a tech er de rheumatiz herse'f, en so she 'lows ter ole aun' peggy one day :- “aun' peggy, ain' dey no way you kin fetch sis' becky back home?'. "huh!' sez aun' peggy, 'i dunno 'bout dat. i'll hafter wuk my roots en fin' out whether i kin er no. but it 'll take a monst'us heap er wuk, en i can't was'e my time fer nuffin. ef you 'll fetch me sump'n ter pay me fer my trouble, i reckon we kin fix it.' “ so nex' day aun' nancy went down ter see aun' peggy ag'in. «• aun' peggy,' sez she, 'i is fotch' you my bes' sunday head-hankercher. will dat do?' "aun' peggy look' at de head-hanker- cher, en run her ban' ober it, en sez she :- "yas, dat 'll do fus'-rate. i's be'n wukkin' my roots sence you been gone, en i 'lows mos' lackly i kin git sis' becky back, but it's gwine take fig'rin' en studyin' ez well ez cunj'in'. de fus' thing ter do'll be ter stop fetchin' dat pickaninny down heah, en not sen' 'im ter see his mammy no mo'. ef he gits too po'ly, you lemme know, en i 'll gib you some kin' er mixtry fer ter make 'im fergit sis' becky fer a week er so. so 'less'n you comes fer dat, you ncenter come back ter see me no mo''tel i sen's fer you.' "so aun' peggy sont aun' nancy erway, en de fus' thing she done wuz ter call a hawnet fum a nes' unner her eaves. "you go up ter kunnel pen'leton's stable, hawnet,' sez she, 'en sting de the conjure woman sis' becky's pickaninny knees er de race hoss name' lightnin' bug. be sho' en git de right one.' "so de hawnet flewed up ter kunnel pen'leton's stable en stung lightnin' bug roun' de laigs, en de nex' mawnin' lightnin' bug's knees wuz all swoll' up, twice't ez big ez dey oughter be. w'en kunnel pen'leton went out ter de stable en see de hoss's laigs, hit would 'a' des made you trimble lack a leaf fer ter heah him cuss dat hoss trader. how- someber, he cool off bimeby en tol' de stable boy fer ter rub lightnin' bug's . laigs wid some linimum. de boy done ez his marster tol' 'im, en by de nex' day de swellin' had gone down consid'able. aun' peggy had sont a sparrer, w'at had a nes' in one er de trees close ter her cabin, fer ter watch w'at wuz gwine on 'roun'de big house, en w'en dis yer sparrer tol' 'er de hoss wuz gittin' ober de swellin', she sont de hawnet back fer ter sting 'is knees some mo', en de nex' mawnin' lightnin' bug's laigs wuz swoll' up wuss 'n befo'. "well, dis time kunnel pen'leton wuz mad th'oo en th'oo, en all de way 'roun', en he cusst dat hoss trader up en down, fum a ter izzard. he cusst so ha'd dat de stable boy got mos' skeered ter def, en went off en hid hisse'f in de hay. "ez fer kunnel pen'leton, he went right up ter de house en got out his pen en ink, en tuk off his coat en roll' up his sleeves, en writ a letter ter dis yer hoss trader, en sezee:- "you is sol' me a hoss wat is got a ringbone er a spavin er sump'n, en w'at i paid you fer wuz a soun' hoss. i wants you ter sen' my nigger 'oman back en take yo' ole hoss, er e'se i 'll sue you, sho's you bawn. "but dis yer man wa'n't skeered a bit, en he writ back ter kunnel pen'le- ton dat a bahg'in wuz a bahg'in; dat sis' becky's pickaninny the conjure woman gittin' wusser en wusser, 'tel fin'lly dis yer man 'lowed sis' becky wuz gwine ter die, sho' 'nuff. en ez he knowed dey had n'be'n nuffin de matter wid lightnin' bug w'en he traded 'im, he 'lowed mebbe he could kyo' 'im en fetch 'im roun' all right, leas'ways good 'nuff ter sell ag'in. en anyhow, a lame hoss wuz better 'n a dead nigger. so he sot down en writ kunnel pen'leton a letter. "my conscience,' sezee, has be'n troublin' me 'bout dat ringbone' hoss i sol' you. some folks 'lows a hoss trader ain' got no conscience, but dey doan know me, fer dat is my weak spot, en de reason i ain' made no mo' money hoss tradin'. fac' is,' sezee, 'i is got so i can't sleep nights fum studyin' 'bout dat spavin' hoss; en i is made up my min' dat, w'iles a bahg'in is a bahg'in, en you seed lightnin' bug befo' you traded fer 'im, principle is wuth mo' d'n money er hosses er niggers. so ef you 'll sen' lightnin' bug down heah, i'll sen' yo' nigger 'oman back, en we 'll call de trade off, en be ez good frien's ez we eber wuz, en no ha'd feelin's.' "so sho' 'nuff, kunnel pen'leton sont de hoss back. en w'en de man w'at come ter bring lightnin' bug tol sis' becky her pickaninny wa'n't dead, sis' becky wuz so glad dat she 'lowed she wuz gwine ter try ter lib 'tel she got back whar she could see little mose once mo'. en w'en she retch'de ole plantation en seed her baby kickin' en crowin' en holdin' out his little arms to'ds her, she wush' she wuz n' cunju'd en did n'hafter die. en w'en aun' nancy tol' 'er all 'bout aun' peggy, sis' becky went down ter see de cunjuh 'oman, en aun' peggy tol' her she had cunju'd her. en den aun' peggy tuk de goopher off'n her, en she got well, en stayed on de plantation, en raise' her, pickaninny. en w'en little mose growed reason fac' is som studyin" the conjure woman sis' becky's pickaninny serta j? up, he could sing en whistle des lack a mawkin'-bird, so dat de w'ite folks use. ter hab 'im come up ter de big house at night, en whistle en sing fer 'em, en dey useter gib 'im money en vittles en one thing er ernudder, w'ich he alluz tuk home ter his mammy; fer he knowed all 'bout w'at she had gone th'oo. he tu'nt out ter be a sma't man, en l'arnt de blacksmif trade ; en kunnel pen'le- ton let 'im hire his time. en bimeby he bought his mammy en set her free, en den he bought hisse'f, en tuk keer er sis' becky ez long ez dey bofe libbed." my wife had listened to this story with greater interest than she had mani- fested in any subject for several days. i had watched her furtively from time to time during the recital, and had ob- served the play of her countenance. it had expressed in turn sympathy, indig. nation, pity, and at the end lively satis- faction. "that is a very ingenious fairy tale, julius," i said, "and we are much obliged to you." "why, john!" said my wife severely, "the story bears the stamp of truth, if ever a story did." "yes," i replied, "especially the hum- ming-bird episode, and the mocking-bird digression, to say nothing of the doings of the hornet and the sparrow." "oh, well, i don't care," she rejoined, with delightful animation; "those are mere ornamental details and not at all us essential. the story is true to nature, it and might have happened half a hun. dred times, and no doubt did happen, in . those horrid days before the war." "by the way, julius," i remarked, "your story does n't establish what you started out to prove, — that a rabbit's foot brings good luck." "hit's plain 'nuff ter me, suh," replied julius. "i bet young missis dere kin 'splain it herse'f." gluteenit the conjure woman sis' becky's pickaninn, you will find it in the pocket of my blue dress.” i went to execute the commission. when i pulled the handkerchief out of her pocket, something else came with it and fell on the floor. i picked up the object and looked at it. it was julius's rabbit's foot. "i rather suspect," replied my wife promptly, "that sis' becky had no rab- bit's foot." "you is hit de bull's-eye de fus' fire, ma'm," assented julius. "ef sis' becky had had a rabbit foot, she nebber would 'a' went th'oo all dis trouble." i went into the house for some pur- pose, and left julius talking to my wife. when i came back a moment later, he was gone. my wife's condition took a turn for the better from this very day, and she was soon on the way to ultimate recov. ery. several weeks later, after she had resumed her afternoon drives, which had been interrupted by her illness, julius brought the rockaway round to the front door one day, and i assisted my wife into the carriage. "john," she said, before i had taken my seat, "i wish you would look in my room, and bring me my handkerchief. the gray wolf's ha'nt the gray wolf's ha'nt house, and composed myself for a quict smoke. i had lit my cigar and opened the volume i was reading at that time, when my wife, whom i had left dozing on a lounge, came wit and took a rock- ing-chair near me. "i wish you would talk to me, or read to me — or something," she exclaimed petulantly. “it's awfully dull here to- day." it was a rainy day at the vineyard. the morning had dawned bright and clear. but the sky had soon clouded, and by nine o'clock there was a light shower, followed by others at brief inter- vals. by noon the rain had settled into a dull, steady downpour. the clouds hung low, and seemed to grow denser instead of lighter as they discharged their watery burden, and there was now and then a muttering of distant thunder. outdoor work was suspended, and i spent most of the day at the house, looking over my accounts and bringing up some arrears of correspondence. towards four o'clock i went out on the piazza, which was broad and dry, and less gloomy than the interior of the "i'll read to you with pleasure," i replied, and began at the point where i had found my bookmark :- "' the difficulty of dealing with trans- formations so many-sided as those which all existences have undergone, or are undergoing, is such as to make a com- plete and deductive interpretation al- most hopeless. so to grasp the total process of redistribution of matter and motion as to see simultaneously its several necessary results in their actual interdependence is scarcely possible. there is, however, a mode of rendering the gray wolf's ha'nt the conjure woman the process as a whole tolerably compre- hensible. though the genesis of the rearrangement of every evolving aggre- gate is in itself one, it presents to our intelligence'"- "john," interrupted my wife, “ i wish you would stop reading that nonsense and see who that is coming up the rt lane" i closed my nie to inte “why in the world, julius," i asked, “ did n't you keep the umbrella up until you got under cover ?”. “it's bad luck, suh, ter raise a' um- brella in de house, en w'iles i dunno whuther it's bad luck ter kyar one inter de piazzer er no, i 'lows it's alluz bes' ter be on de safe side. i did n' s'pose you en young missis 'u'd be gwine on yo' dribe ter-day, but bein' ez it's my pa't ter take you ef you does, i 'lowed i'd repo't fer dooty, en let you say whuther er no you wants ter go." “i'm glad you came, julius," i re- sponded. “we don't want to go driv. ing, of course, in the rain, but i should like to consult you about another mat- ter. i'm thinking of taking in a picce of new ground. what do you imagine it would cost to have that neck of woods down by the swamp cleared up ?”. the old man's countenance assumed an expression of unwonted seriousness, and he shook his head doubtfully. i herkes i closed my book with a sigh. i had never been able to interest my wife in the study of philosophy, even when pre- sented in the simplest and most lucid form. some one was coming up the lane; at least, a huge faded cotton umbrella was making progress toward the house, and beneath it a pair of nether extremi- ties in trousers was discernible. any doubt in my mind as to whose they were was soon resolved when julius reached the steps and, putting the umbrella down, got a good dash of the rain as he stepped up on the porch. wistni the conjure woman the gray wolf's ha'nt ✓ “i dunno 'bout dat, suh. it mought cos' mo', en it mought cos' less, ez fuh ez money is consarned. i ain' denyin' you could cl'ar up dat trac' er lan' fer a hund'ed er a couple er hund'ed dollahs, — ef you wants ter clar it up. but ef dat 'uz my trac' er lan', i would n' 'sturb it, no, suh, i would n'; sho's you bawn, i would n'." "but why not?" i asked. "it ain' fittin' fer grapes, fer noo groun' nebber is." "i know it, but” — “ it ain' no yeathly good fer cotton, 'ca'se it's too low." "perhaps so; but it will raise splen- did corn." "i dunno," rejoined julius depreca- torily. "it's so nigh de swamp dat de 'coons 'll eat up all de cawn." "i think i'll risk it," i answered. "well, suh," said julius, "i wushes you much joy er yo' job. ef you has bad luck er sickness er trouble er any kin', doan blame me. you can't say ole julius did n' wa'n you." "warn him of what, uncle julius ? 'p asked my wife. "er de bad luck w'at follers folks w'at 'sturbs dat trac' er lan'. dey is snakes en sco'pions in dem woods. en ef you manages ter 'scape de p'isen ani- mals, you is des boun' ter hab a ha'nt v ter settle wid, — ef you doan hab two." "whose haunt ?" my wife demanded, with growing interest. "de gray wolf's ha'nt, some folks calls it, — but i knows better." "tell us about it, uncle julius," said my wife. "a story will be a godsend to-day." it was not difficult to induce the old man to tell a story, if he were in a remi- niscent mood. of tales of the old sla- very days he seemed indeed to possess an exhaustless store, — some weirdly the conjure woman the gray wolf's ha'nt grotesque, some broadly humorous; some bearing the stamp of truth, faint, per- haps, but still discernible ; others palpa- ble inventions, whether his own or not we never knew, though his fancy doubt- less embellished them. but even the wildest was not without an element of pathos, — the tragedy, it might be, of the story itself; the shadow, never ab- sent, of slavery and of ignorance, the sadness, always, of life as seen by the fading light of an old man's memory. "way back yander befo' de wah," began julius, "ole mars dugal' mcadoo useter own a nigger name' dan. dan wuz big en strong en hearty en peace- able en good-nachu'd most er de time, but dange'ous ter aggervate. he alluz done his task, en nebber had no trouble wid de w'ite folks, but woe be unter de nigger wat 'lowed he c'd fool wid dan, fer he wuz mos' sho' ter git a good lammin'. soon ez eve'ybody foun' dan out, dey did n' many un 'em 'temp' ter 'sturb 'im. de one dat did would 'a' wush' he had n', ef he could 'a' libbed long ernuff ter do any wushin'. "it all happen' dis erway. dey wuz a cunjuh man w'at libbed ober t' other side er de lumbe'ton road. he had be'n de only cunjuh doctor in de saber- hood fer lol dese many years, 'tel ole aun' peggy sot up in de bizness down by de wim'l'ton road. dis cunjuh man had a son w'at libbed wid 'im, en it wuz dis yer son w'at got mix' up wid dan, — en all 'bout a 'oman. "dey wuz a galon de plantation name' mahaly. she wuz a monst'us lackly gal, — tall en soopl', wid big eyes, en a small foot, en a lively tongue, en w'en dan tuk ter gwinc wid 'er eve'y- body 'lowed dey wuz well match', en none er de yuther nigger men on de plantation das' ter go nigh her, fer dey wuz all feared er dan. the conjure woman the gray wolf's ha’nt “now, it happen' dat dis yer cunjuh man's son wuz gwine 'long de road one day, w'en who sh'd come pas' but ma. haly. en de minute dis man sot eyes on mahaly, he 'lowed he wuz gwine ter hab her fer hisse'f. he come up side er her en 'mence' ter talk ter her; but she did n' paid no 'tention ter 'im, fer she wuz studyin' 'bout dan, en she did n' lack dis nigger's looks nohow. so w'en she got ter whar she wuz gwine, dis yer man wa'n't no fu'ther 'long dan he wuz w'en he sta'ted. "co'se, atter he had made up his min' fer ter git mahaly, he 'mence' ter 'quire 'roun', en soon foun' out all 'bout dan, en w'at a dange'ous nigger he wuz. but dis man 'lowed his daddy wuz a cunjuh man, en so he'd come out all right in de een'; en he kep' right on atter mahaly. meanw'iles dan's marster had said dey could git married ef dey wanter, en so dan en mahaly had tuk up wid one er- nudder, en wuz libbin' in a cabin by dey- se'ves, en wuz des wrop' up in one er- nudder. " but dis yer cunjuh man's son did n' 'pear ter min' dan's takin' up wid ma. haly, en he kep' on hangin' 'roun' des de same, 'tel fin'lly one day mahaly sez ter dan, sez she:- "i wush you 'd do sump'n ter stop dat free nigger man fum follerin' me 'roun'. i doan lack him nohow, en i ain' got no time fer ter was'e wid no man but you.' "co'se dan got mad w'en he beared 'bout dis man pest'rin' mahaly, en de nex' night, w'en he seed dis nigger comin' 'long de road, he up en ax' 'im wat he mean by hangin' 'roun' his 'oman. de man did n''spon' ter suit dan, en one wo'd led ter ernudder, 'tel bimeby dis cunjuh man's son pull out a knife en sta'ted ter stick it in dan; but befo' he could git it drawed good, dan haul' the conjure woman the gray wolf's ha'nt off en hit 'im in de head so ha'd dat he nebber got up. dan 'lowed he'd come to atter a w'ile en go 'long 'bout his biz- ness, so he went off en lef' 'im layin' dere on de groun'. "de nex' mawnin' de man wuz foun' dead. dey wuz a great 'miration made 'bout it, but dan did n' say nuffin, en none er de yuther niggers had n' seed de fight, so dey wa'n't no way ter tell who done de killin'. en bein' ez it wuz a free nigger, en dey wa'n't no w'ite folks 'speshly int'rusted, dey wa'n't nuf- fin done 'bout it, en de cunjuh man come en tuk his son en kyared 'im 'way en buried 'im. "now, dan had n' meant ter kill dis nigger, en w'iles he knowed de man had n' got no mo' d'n he deserved, dan 'mence' ter worry mo' er less. fer he knowed dis man's daddy world wuk his v roots en prob'ly fin' out ho had killt 'is son, en make all de trouble fer 'im he could. en dan kep' on studyin' 'bout dis 'tel he got so he did n' ha'dly das' ter eat er drink fer fear dis cunjuh man had p'isen' de vittles er de water. fin'lly he 'lowed he'd go ter see aun' peggy, de noo cunjuh 'oman w'at had moved down by de wim'l'ton road, en ax her fer ter do sump'n ter pertec' 'im fum dis cunjuh man. so he tuk a peck er 'taters en went down ter her cabin one night. "aun' peggy heared his tale, en den sez she: — "dat cunjuh man is mo' d'n twice't ez ole ez i is, en he kin make monst'us powe'ful goopher. w'at you needs is a life-cha'm, en i'll make you one ter-mor- rer; it's de on'y thing w'at 'll do you any good. you leabe me a couple er ha'rs fum yo' head, en fetch me a pig ter-morrer right fer ter roas', en w'en you come ihab de cha'm all ready fer you.' . c the conjure woman the gray wolf's ha'nt “so dan went down ter aim' peggy de nex' night, — wid a young shote, — en aun' peggy gun'im de cha'm. she had tuk de ha'rs dan had lef' wid 'er, en a piece er red flannin, en some roots en yarbs, en had put 'em in a little bag made out'n 'coon-skin. "you take dis cha'm.' sez she, en put it in a bottle er a tin box, en bury it deep unner de root er a live-oak tree, en ez long ez it stays dere safe en soun', dey ain' no p'isen kin p'isen you, dey ain' no rattlesnake kin bite you, dey ain' no sco'pion kin sting you. dis yere cunjuh man mought do one thing er 'nudder ter you, but he can't kill you. so you neenter be at all skeered, but go 'long 'bout yo' bizness en doan bother yo' min'.' "so dan went down by de ribber, en 'way up on de bank he buried de cha'm deep unner de root er a live-oak tree, en kivered it up en stomp' de dirt down en scattered leaves ober de spot, en den went home wid his min' easy. "sho''nuff, dis yer cunjuh man wukked his roots, des ez dan had 'spected he would, en soon l'arn' who killt his son. en co'se he made up his min' fer ter git eben wid dan. so he sont a rattle- snake fer ter sting 'im, but de rattle- snake say de nigger's heel wuz so ha'd he could n' git his sting in. den he sont his jay-bird fer ter put p'isen in dan's vittles, but de p'isen did n' wuk. den de cunjuh man 'low' he'd double dan all up wid de rheumatiz, so he could n' git 'is nan' ter his mouf ter eat, en would hafter sta've ter def; but dan went ter aun' peggy, en she gun 'im a' 'intment ter kyo de rheumatiz. den de cunjuh man 'lowed he'd bu'n dan up wid a fever, but aun' peggy tol' 'im how ter make some yarb tea fer dat. nuffin dis man tried would kill dan, so fin'lly de cunjuh man 'lowed dan mus' hab a life-cha'm. - --- ----- - the conjure woman the gray wolf's ha'nt soun' unner de live-oak tree, en so he hilt up 'is head en walk' 'long, des lack he did n' keer nuffin 'bout dis man no mo' d'n any yuther nigger. w'en he got close ter de cunjuh man, dis cunjuh man sez, sezee :- “ hoddy, brer dan? i hopes you er well ?' "w'en dan seed de cunjuh man wuz in a good humor en did n' 'pear ter bear no malice, dan 'lowed mebbe de cunjuh man had n' foun' out who killt his son, en so he 'termine' fer ter let on lack he did n' know nuffin, en so sezee:- « hoddy, unk' jube?'- dis ole cun. juh man's name wuz jube. 'i's p'utty well, i thank you. how is you feelin' dis mawnin'?' "i's feelin' ez well ez a' ole nigger could feel w'at had los' his only son, en his main 'pen'ence in 'is ole age. “but den my son wuz a bad boy,' sezee, 'en i could n' 'spec' nuffin e'se. i tried ter l'arn him de arrer er his ways en make him go ter chu'ch en pra'r- meetin'; but it wa'n't no use. i dunno who killt 'im, en i doan wanter know, fer i'd be mos' sho' ter fin' out dat my boy had sta'ted de fuss. ef i'd 'a' had a son lack you, brer dan, i'd 'a' be'n a proud nigger; oh, yas, i would, sho's you bawn. but you ain' lookin' ez well ez you oughter, brer dan. dey 's sump'n de matter wid you, en w'at's mo', i 'spec' you dunno w'at it is.' "now, dis yer kin' er talk nach'ly th'owed dan off'n his gya'd, en fus' thing he knowed he wuz talkin' ter dis ole cunjuh man des lack he wuz one er his bes' frien's. he tol' 'im all 'bout not feelin' well in de mawnin', en ax' 'im ef he could tell w'at wuz de matter wid 'im. "yas,' sez de cunjuh man. dey is a witch be'n ridin' you right 'long. i kin see de marks er de bridle on yo' the conjure woman the gray wolf's ha'nt mouf. en i'll des bet yo' back is raw whar she's be'n beatin' you.' "yas,' 'spon' dan, 'so it is. he had n' notice it befo', but now he felt des lack de hide had be'n tuk off'n 'im. "en yo' thighs is des raw whar de spurrers has be'n driv' in you,' sez de cunjuh man. you can't see de raw spots, but you kin feel 'em.' "oh, yas,' 'lows dan, 'dey does hu't pow'ful bad.' ""en w'at's mo', sez de cunjuh man, comin' up close ter dan en whusp'in' in his yeah, 'i knows who it is be'n ridin' “no,' sez dan, she can't kill me, sho'.' "i dunno how dat is,' said de cun- juh man, but she kin make yo' life mighty mis'able. ef i wuz in yo' place, i'd stop her right off.' "' but how is i gwine ter stop her?' ax' dan. 'i dunno nuffin 'bout stoppin' witches.' "look a heah, dan,' sez de yuther ; 'you is a good young man. i lacks you monst'us well. fac', i feels lack some er dese days i mought buy you fum yo' marster, ef i could eber make money ernuff at my bizness dese hard times, en 'dop' you fer my son. i lacks you so well dat i'm gwine tor he'p you git rid er dis yer witch fer good en all; fer des ez long ez she libs, you is sho' ter hab trou- ble, en trouble, en mo' trouble.' "you is de bes' frien' i got, unk' cube,' sez dan, 'en i'll 'member yo' kin'ness ter my dyin' day. tell me how you.' "who is it?' ax' dan. "tell me who it is.' " it's a' ole nigger 'oman down by rockfish crick. she had a pet rabbit, en you cotch' 'im one day, en she's been squarin' up wid you cber sence. but you better stop her, cr o'&c you 'll be rid ter def in a mont' er so.' the conjure woman the gray wolf's ha'nt i kin git rid er dis yer ole witch w'at's be'n ridin' me so ha'd.' “in de fus' place,' sez de cunjuh man, 'dis ole witch nebber comes in her own shape, but eve'y night, at ten o'clock, she tu'ns herse'f inter a black cat, en runs down ter yo'cabin en bridles you, en mounts you, en dribes you out th'oo de chimbly, en rides you ober de roughes' places she kin fin'. all you got ter do is ter set fer her in de bushes 'side er yo' cabin, en hit her in de head wid a rock er a lighterd-knot w'en she goes pas'.' "but,' sez dan, 'how kin i see her in de da'k? en s'posen i hits at her en misses her? er s'posen i des woun's her, en she gits erway, — w'at she gwine do ter me den?' "i is done studied 'bout all dem things,' sez de cunjuh man, 'en it 'pears ter me de bes' plan fer you ter foller is ter lemme tu'n you ter some creetur w'at kin see in de da'k, en w'at kin run des ez fas' ez a cat, en w'at kin bite, en bite fer ter kill; en den you won't hafter hab no trouble atter de job is done. i dunno whuther you'd lack dat er no, but dat is de sho'es' way.' "i doan keer,' 'spon' dan. 'i'd des ez lief be anything fer a' hour er so, ef i kin kill dat ole witch. you kin do des w'at you er mineter.' ". all right, den,' sez de cunjuh man, 'you come down ter my cabin at half- past nine o'clock ter-night, en i'll fix you up.' "now, dis cunjuh man, w'en he had got th'oo talkin' wid dan, kep' on down de road 'long de side er de plantation, 'tel he met mahaly comin' home fum wuk des atter sundown. “hoddy do, ma'm,' sezee; is yo' name sis' mahaly, w'at b'longs ter mars dugal mcadoo ?' "' yas,' 'spon' mahaly, 'dat's my name, en i b'longs ter mars dugal'.' the conjure woman the gray wolf's ha'nt ««well,' sezee, 'yo' husban' dan wuz down by my cabin dis ebenin', en he got bit by a spider er sump'n, en his foot is swell' up so he can't walk. en he ax' me fer ter fin' you en fetch you down dere ter he'p 'im home.' "co'se mahaly wanter see w'at had happen' ter dan, en so she sta'ted down de road wid de cunjuh man. ez soon ez he got her inter his cabin, he shet de . do', en sprinkle' some goopher mixtry on her, en tu'nt her ter a black cat. den he tuk 'n put her in a bairl, en put a bo'd on de bairl, en a rock on de bo'd, en lef' her dere 'tel he got good en ready fer ter use her. "'long 'bout half - pas' nine o'clock dan come down ter de cunjuh man's cabin. it wuz a wa'm night, en de do' wuz stan'in' open. de cunjuh man 'vited dan ter come in, en pass' de time er day wid 'im. ez soon ez dan 'mence' talkin', he heared a cat miauin' en scratchin' en gwine on at a tarrable rate. ««w'at 's all dat fuss 'bout?' ax' dan. “oh, dat ain' nuffin but my ole gray tomcat,' sez de cunjuh man. 'i has ter shot 'im up sometimes fer ter keep 'im in nights, en co'se he doan lack it. "now,' 'lows de cunjuh man, 'lemme tell you des w'at you is got ter do. w'en you ketches dis witch, you mus' take her right by de th'oat en bite her right th'oo de neck. be sho' yo' teef goes th'oo at de fus' bite, en den you won't nebber be bothe'd no mo' by dat witch. en w'en you git done, come back heah en i'll tu'n you ter yo'se'f ag'in, so you kin go home en git yo' night's res'.' "den de cunjuh man gun dan sump'n nice en sweet ter drink out'n a new go'd, en in 'bout a minute dan foun' hisse'f tu'nt ter a gray wolf; en soon ez he felt all fo' er his noo feet on de ーーーーーーーーーーーーーーー ​ the conjure woman the gray wolf's ha'nt groun', he sta'ted off fas' ez he could fer his own cabin, so he could be sho' en be dere time ernuff ter ketch de witch, en put a' een' ter her kyarin's-on. "ez soon ez dan wuz gone good, de cunjuh man tuk de rock off'n de bo'd, en de bo'd off'n de bairl, en out le'p' mahaly en sta'ted fer ter go home, des lack a cat er a 'oman er anybody e'se would w'at wuz in trouble ; en it wa'n't many minutes befo' she wuz gwine up de path ter her own do'. "meanw'iles, w'en dan had retch'de cabin, he had hid hisse'f in a bunch er jimson weeds in de ya'd. he had n' wait' long befo' he seed a black cat run up de path to'ds de do'. des ez soon ez she got close ter 'im, he le'p' out en ketch' her by de th'oat, en got a grip on her, des lack de cunjuh man had tol' 'im ter do. en lo en behol' ! no sooner had de blood 'mence' ter flow dan de black cat tu'nt back ter mahaly, en dan seed dat he had killt his own wife. en w'iles her bref wuz gwine she call' out: "o dan! o my husban'l come en he'p me! come en sabe me fum dis wolf wat 's killin' me!' "w'en po' dan sta'ted to'ds her, ez any man nach'ly would, it des made her holler wussen wuss; fer she did n' knowed dis yer wolf wuz her dan. en dan des had ter hide in de weeds, en grit his teef en hol hisse'f in, 'tel she passed out'n her mis'ry, callin' fer dan ter de las', en wond'rin' w'y he did n' come en he'p her. en dan 'lowed ter hisse'f he'd ruther 'a' be'n killt a dozen times 'n ter 'a' done w'at he had ter mahaly. "dan wuz mighty nigh 'stracted, but w'en mahaly wuz dead en he got his min' straighten' out a little, it did n' take 'im mo' d'n a minute er so fer ter see th'oo all de cunjuh man's lies, en how de cunjuh man had fooled 'im en made 'im kill mahaly, fer ter git eben the conjure woman the gray wolf's ha'nt wid 'im fer killin' er his son. he kep' gittin' madder en madder, en mahaly had n' much mo' d'n drawed her' las bref befo' he sta'ted back ter de cunjuh man's cabin ha'd ez he could run. "w'en he got dere, de do' wuz stan'in' open; a lighterd-knot wuz flick'rin' on de h'a'th, en de ole cunjuh man wuz settin' dere noddin' in de corner. dan le'p' in de do' en jump' fer dis man's th'oat, en got de same grip on 'im w'at de cunjuh man had tol' 'im 'bout half a' (hour befo'. it wuz ha'd wuk dis time, fer de ole man's neck wuz monst'us tough en stringy, but dan hilt on long ernuff ter be sho' his job wuz done right. en eben den he did n' hol' on long ernuff ; fer w'en he tu'nt de cun- juh man loose en he fell ober on de flo', de cunjuh man rollt his eyes at dan, en sezee :- «•i's eben wid you, brer dan, en you er eben wid me; you killt my son en i killt yo' 'oman. en ez i doan want no mo' d'n w'at's fair 'bout dis thing, ef you 'll fetch up wid yo' paw en take down dat go'd hangin' on dat peg ober de chimbly, en take a sip er dat mixtry, it 'll tu'n you back ter a nigger ag'in, en i kin die mo' sad'sfied 'n ef i lef' you lack you is.' "dan nebber 'lowed fer a minute dat a man would lie wid his las' bref, en co'se he seed de sense er gittin' tu'nt back befo' de cunjuh man died; so he clumb on a chair en retch' fer de go'd, en tuk a sip er de mixtry. en ez soon ez he'd done dat de cunjuh man lafft his las' laf, en gapsed out wid 'is las' gaps :- "uh huh! i reckon i's square wid you now fer killin' me, too; fer dat goopher on you is done fix' en sot now fer good, en all de cunj'in' in de worl' won't nebber take it off. wolf you ls en wolf you stays, all de rest er yo' bawn days.' the conjure woman the gray wolf's ha'nt "coʻse brer dan could n'do nuffin. he knowed it wa'n't no use, but he clumb up on de chimbly en got down de go'ds en bottles en yuther cunjuh fixin's, en tried 'em all on hisse'f, but dey did n' do no good. den he run down ter ole aun' peggy, but she did n' know de wolf langwidge, en could n't 'a' tuk off dis yuther goopher nohow, eben ef she'd'a' unnerstood w'at dan wuz sayin'. so po' dan wuz bleedgd ter be a wolf all de rest er his bawn days. "dey foun' mahaly down by her own cabin nex' mawnin', en eve'ybody made a great 'miration 'bout how she'd be'n killt. de niggers 'lowed a wolf had bit her. de wite folks say no, dey ain' be'n no wolves 'roun' dere fer ten yeahs er mo'; en dey did n' know w'at ter make out'n it. en w'en dey could n' fin' dan nowhar, dey 'lowed he'd quo'lled wid mahaly en killt her, en run erway; en dey did n' know w'at ter make er dat, fer dan en mahaly wuz de mos' lovin' couple on de plantation. dey put de dawgs on dan's scent, en track' 'im down ter ole unk' jube's cabin, en foun'de ole man dead, en dey did n' know w'at ter make er dat ; en den dan's scent gun out, en dey did n' know w'at ter make er dat. mars dugal tuk on a heap 'bout losin' two er his bes' han's in one day, en ole missis 'lowed it wuz a jedgment on 'im fer sump'n he'd done. but dat fall de craps wuz monst'us big, so mars dugal' say de lawd had temper' de win' ter de sho'n ram, en make up ter 'im fer w'at he had los'. "dey buried mahaly down in dat piece er low groun' you er talkin' 'bout clarin' up. ez fer po' dan, he did n' hab nowhar e'se ter go, so he des stayed 'roun' mahaly's grabe, w'en he wa'n't out in de yuther woods gittin' sump'n .ter eat. en sometimes, w'en night こーーーーーーーーーーー​. the conjure woman the gray wolf's ha'ut would come, de niggers useter heah him howlin' en howlin' down dere, des fittin' ter break his hea't. en den some mo' un 'em said dey seed mahaly's ha'nt dere 'bun'ance er times, colloguin' wid dis gray wolf. en eben now, fifty yeahs sence, long atter ole dan has died en dried up in de woods, his ha'nt en ma- haly's hangs 'roun' dat piece er low groun', en eve'body w'at goes 'bout dere has some bad luck er 'nuther; fer ha'nts doan lack ter be 'sturb' on dey own stompin'-groun'." the air had darkened while the old man related this harrowing tale. the rising wind whistled around the eaves, slammed the loose window-shutters, and, still increasing, drove the rain in fiercer gusts into the piazza. as julius finished his story and we rose to seek shelter within doors, the blast caught the angle of some chimney or gable in the rear of the house, and bore to our ears a long, wailing note, an epitome, as it were, of remorse and hopelessness. “ dat's des lack po' ole dan useter howl," observed julius, as he reached for his umbrella, "en w'at i be'n tellin' you is de reason i doan lack ter see dat neck er woods cl'ared up. co'se it b'longs ter you, en a man kin do ez he choose' wid 'is own. but ef you gits rheumatiz er fever en agur, er ef you er snake-bit er p'isen' wid some yarb er 'nuther, er ef a tree falls on you, er a ha'nt runs you en makes you git 'stracted in yo' min', lack some folks i knows w'at went foolin' 'roun' dat piece er lan', you can't say i neber wa'ned you, suh, en tol' you w'at you mought look fer en be sho' ter fin'." when i cleared up the land in ques. tion, which was not until the following year, i recalled the story julius had told us, and looked in vain for a sunken - - - - the conjure woman hot-foot hannibal - -- i hoped that time might heal the breach and bring the two young people together again. i told my wife what i had overheard. in return she gave me mabel's version of the affair. "i do not see how it can ever be set. tled," my wife said. "it is something more than a mere lovers' quarrel. it began, it is true, because she found fault with him for going to church with that hateful branson girl. but before it ended there were things said that no woman of any spirit could stand. i am afraid it is all over between them.” . i was sorry to hear this. in spite of the very firm attitude taken by my wife and her sister, i still hoped that the quarrel would be made up within a day or two. nevertheless, when a week had passed with no word from young mur. chison, and with no sign of relenting on mabel's part, i began to think myself mistaken. one pleasant afternoon, about ten days after the rupture, old julius drove the rockaway up to the piazza, and my wife, mabel, and i took our seats for a drive to a neighbor's vineyard, over on the lumberton plank-road. "which way shall we go," i asked, -"the short road or the long one?" "i guess we had better take the short road," answered my wife. "we will get there sooner." "it's a mighty fine dribe roun' by de big road, mis' annie," observed julius, "en it doan take much longer to git dere." "no," said my wife, "i think we will go by the short road. there is a bay- tree in blossom near the mineral spring, and i wish to get some of the flowers." "i'spec's you 'd fin' some bay-trees 'long de big road, ma'm," suggested julius. “ but i know about the flowers on the the conjure woman hot-foot hannibal short road, and they are the ones i want." we drove down the lane to the high. way, and soon struck into the short road leading past the mineral spring. our route lay partly through a swamp, and on each side the dark, umbrageous foli- age, unbroken by any clearing, lent to the road solemnity, and to the air a re- freshing coolness. about half a mile from the house, and about half-way to the mineral spring, we stopped at the tree of which my wife had spoken, and reaching up to the low-hanging boughs, i gathered a dozen of the fragrant white flowers. when i resumed my seat in the rockaway, julius started the mare. she went on for a few rods, until we had reached the edge of a branch cross- ing the road, when she stopped short. " why did you stop, julius ?" i asked. "i did n', suh," he replied. "'t wuz de mare stop'. g' 'long derc, lucy! w'at you mean by dis foolis'ness ?" julius jerked the reins and applied the whip lightly, but the mare did not stir. "perhaps you had better get down and lead her," i suggested. "if you get her started, you can cross on the log and keep your feet dry.". julius alighted, took hold of the bri. dle, and vainly essayed to make the mare move. she planted her feet with even more evident obstinacy. "i don't know what to make of this," i said. "i have never known her to balk before. have you, julius ?”. "no, suh," replied the old man, "i neber has. it's a cu'ous thing ter me, suh." "what's the best way to make her go?" "i 'spec's, suh, dat ef i'd tu'n her 'roun', she'd go de udder way." "but we want her to go this way." ; -- - --- - hot-foot hannibal the conjure woman “de noo house boy kotch'on monst'us fas', en it wa'n't no time ha'dly befo' mars' dugal' en ole mis' bofe 'mence' ter 'low hannibal wuz de bes' house boy dey eber had. he wuz peart en soopl', quick ez lightnin', en sha'p ez a razor. but chloe did n' lack his ways. he wuz so sho' he wuz gwine ter git 'er in de spring, dat he did n' 'pear ter 'low he had ter do any co'tin', en w'en he'd run 'cross chloe 'bout de house, he'd swell roun' 'er in a biggity way en say :- "come heah en kiss me, honey. you gwine ter be mine in de spring. you doan 'pear ter be ez fon' er me ez you oughter be. "chloe did n' keer nuffin fer hanni- bal, en had n' keered nuffin fer 'im, en she sot des ez much sto' by jeff ez she did de day she fus' laid eyes on 'im. en de mo' fermilyus dis yer hannibal got, de mo' chloe let her min' run on jeff, en one ebenin' she went down ter de qua'ters en watch', 'tel she got a chance fer ter talk wid 'im by hisse'f. en she tol' jeff fer ter go down en see ole aun' peggy, de cunjuh 'oman down by de wim'l'ton road, en ax her ter gib 'im sump'n ter he'p git hannibal out'n de big house, so de w'ite folks 'u'd sen' fer jeff ag'in. en bein' ez jeff did n' hab nuffin ter gib aun' peggy, chloe gun 'im a silber dollah en a silk han'. kercher fer ter pay her wid, fer aun' peggy neber lack ter wuk fer nobody - fer nuffin. "so jeff slip' off down ter aun' pego gy's one night, en gun 'er de present he brung, en tol' 'er all 'bout 'im en chloe en hannibal, en ax''er ter he'p 'im out. aun' peggy tol' 'im she'd wuk 'er roots, en fer 'im ter come back de nex' night, en she'd tell 'im w'at she c'd do fer 'im. "so de nex' night jeff went back, en aun' peggy gun 'im a baby doll, wid a body made out'n a piece er co'n-stalk, the conjure woman hot-foot hannibal de res' er de fambly so well dat dey all got ter lackin' 'im fus'rate; en dey 'd 'a' fergot all 'bout hannibal, ef it had n' be'n fer de bad repo'ts w'at come up fum de qua'ters 'bout 'im fer a monter so. fac' is, dat chloe en jeff wuz so int'rusted in one ernudder sence jeff be'n up ter de house, dat dey fergot all 'bout takin' de baby doll back ter aun' peggy, en it kep' wukkin' fer a w'ile, en makin' hannibal's feet bu'n mo' er less, 'tel all de folks on de plantation got ter callin' 'im hot-foot hannibal. he kep' gittin' mo' en mo' trifiin', 'tel he got de name er bein' de mos' no 'counter' nig. ger on de plantation, en mars' dugal' had ter th'eaten ter sell 'im in de spring, w'en bimeby de goopher quit wukkin', en hannibal 'mence' ter pick up some en make folks set a little mo' sto' by 'im. "now, dis yer hannibal was a mon- st'us sma't nigger, en w'en he got rid er dem so' feet, his min' kep' runnin' on 'is udder troubles. heah th'ee er fo' weeks befo' he'd had a' easy job, waitin' on de w'ite folks, libbin' off'n de fat er de lan', en promus' de fines' gal on de plan- tation fer a wife in de spring, en now heah he wuz back in de co'n-fiel', wid de oberseah a-cussin'en a-r'arin' ef he did n' get a ha'd tas' done; wid nuffin but co'n bread en bacon en merlasses ter eat; en all de fiel'-han's makin' rema'ks, en pokin' fun at 'im 'ca'se he'd be'n sont back fum de big house ter de fiel. en de mo' hannibal studied 'bout it de mo' madder he got, 'tel he fin'lly swo' he wuz gwine ter git eben wid jeff en chloe, ef it wuz de las' ac'. "so hannibal slipped 'way fum de qua'ters one sunday en hid in de co'n up close ter de big house, 'tel he see chloe gwine down de road. he way- laid her, en sezee:- “hoddy, chloe?' "i ain' got no time fer ter fool wid land . the conjure woman hot-foot hannibal fiel'-han's,' sez chloe, tossin' her head; 'w'at you want wid me, hot-foot ?' " i wants ter know how you en jeff is gittin' 'long.' “ i 'lows dat 's none er yo' bizness, nigger. i doan see w'at 'casion any com- mon fiel'-han' has got ter mix in wid de 'fairs er folks wat libs in de big house. but ef it 'll do you any good ter know, i mought say dat me en jeff is gittin' 'long mighty well, en we gwine ter git married in de spring, en you ain' gwine ter be 'vited ter de weddin' nuther.' "no, no !' sezee, 'i would n' 'spec' ter be 'vited ter de weddin', — a com- mon, low-down fiel'-han' lack i is. but i's glad ter heah you en jeff is gittin' 'long so well. i did n'knowed but w'at he had 'mence' ter be a little ti'ed.' "ti'ed er me? dat's rediklus !' sez chloe. 'w'y, dat nigger lubs me so i b'liebe he'd go th'oo fire en water fer me. dat nigger is des wrop' up in me.' "uh huh,' sez hannibal, den i reckon it mus' be sonie udder nigger wat meets a 'oman down by de crick in de swamp eve'y sunday ebenin', ter say nuffin 'bout two er th'ee times a week.' “yas, hit is ernudder nigger, en you is a liah w'en you say it wuz jeff.' "mebbe i is a liah, en incbbe i ain' got good eyes. but 'less'n i is a liah, en 'less'n i ain' got good eyes, jeff is gwine ter meet dat 'oman dis ebenin' 'long 'bout eight o'clock right down dere by de crick in de swamp 'bout half-way betwix' dis plantation en mars' marrabo utley's.' "well, chloe tol' hannibal she did n' b'liebe a wo'd he said, en call' 'im a low- down nigger, who wuz tryin' ter slander jeff 'ca'se he wuz mo' luckier 'n he wuz. but all de same, she could n' keep her min' fum runnin' on w'at hannibal had said. she 'membered she'd heared one er de niggers say dey wuz a gal ober at the conjure woman hot-foot hannibal mars' marrabo utley's plantation w'at jeff use' ter go wid some befo' he got 'quainted wid chloe. den she 'mencc' ter figger back, en sho' 'nuff, dey wuz two er th'ee times in de las' week w'en she'd be'n he'pin' de ladies wid dey dressin' en udder fixin's in de cbenin', en jeff mought 'a' gone down ter de swamp widout her knowin' 'bout it at all. en den she'mence' ter 'member little things w'at she had n' tuk no notice of befo', en wat 'u'd make it 'pear lack jeff had sump'n on his min'. "chloe set a monst'us heap er sto' by jeff, en would 'a' done mos' anythin' fer 'im, so long ez he stuck ter her. but chloe wuz a mighty jealous 'oman, en w'iles she did n' b'liebe w'at hannibal said, she seed how it could 'a' be'n so, en she 'termine' fer ter fin' out fer her- se'f whuther it wuz so er no. "now, chloe had n' seed jeff all day, fer mars' dugal' had sont jeff ober ter his daughter's house, young mis' ma'- g'ret's, w'at libbed 'bout fo' miles fum mars' dugal's, en jeff wuz n' 'spected home 'tel ebenin'. but des atter supper wuz ober, en w'iles de ladies wuz settin' out on de piazzer, chloe slip off fum de house en run down de road, -dis yer same road we come; en w'en she got mos' ter de crick — dis yer same crick right befo' us — she kin' er kep' in de bushes at de side er de road, 'tel fin'lly she seed jeff settin' on de bank on de udder side er de crick, — right unner dat ole willer-tree droopin' ober de water yander. en eve'y now en den he'd git up en look up de road to'ds mars' mar. rabo's on de udder side er de swamp. "fus' chloe felt lack she'd go right ober de crick en gib jeff a piece er her min'. den she 'lowed she better be sho' befo' she done anythin'. so she helt herse'f in de bes' she could, gittin' mad. der en madder eve'y minute, 'tel bimeby he did n jealous" her. but the conjure woman hot-foot hannibal she seed a 'oman comin' down de road on de udder side fum to'ds mars' marrabo utley's plantation. en w'en she seed jeff jump up en run to'ds dat 'oman, en th'ow his a'ms roun' her neck, po' chloe did n' stop ter see no mo', but des tu'nt roun' en run up ter de house, en rush' up on de piazzer, en up en tol mars' dugal en ole mis' all 'bout de baby doll, en all 'bout jeff gittin' de goopher fum aun' peggy, en 'bout w'at de goopher had done ter hannibal. “ mars' dugal' wuz monst'us mad. he did n' let on at fus' lack he b'liebed chloe, but w'en she tuk en showed 'im whar ter fin' de baby doll, mars' dugal tu'nt w'ite ez chalk. "'w'at debil's wuk is dis ?' sezee. no wonder de po' nigger's feet eetched. sump'n got ter be done ter l'arn dat ole witch ter keep her han's off'n my nig- ✓ gers. en ez fer dis yer jeff, i'm gwine ter do des w'at i promus', so de darkies on dis plantation 'll know i means w'at i sez.' "fer mars' dugal had warned de han's befo' 'bout foolin' wid cunju'ation; ✓ fac', he had los' one er two niggers his- se'f fum dey bein' goophered, en he would 'a' had ole aun' peggy whip' long ago, on'y aun' peggy wuz a free 'oman, en he wuz 'feard she'd cunjuh him. en w'iles mars' dugal' say he did n' b'liebe in cunj'in' en sich, he 'peared ter 'low it wuz bes' ter be on de safe side, en let aun' peggy alone. "so mars' dugal' done des ez he say. ef ole mis' had ple'd fer jeff, he mought 'a' kep' 'im. but ole mis' had n' got ober losin' dem bulbs yit, en she neber said a wo'd. mars' dugal' tuk jeff ter town nex' day en' sol' 'im ter a spekila- ter, who sta'ted down de ribber wid 'im nex' mawnin' on a steamboat, fer ter take 'im ter alabama. "now, w'en chloe tol' ole mars' du- the conjure woman hot-foot hannibal - gal' 'bout dis yer baby doll en dis udder goopher, she had n' ha'dly 'lowed mars' dugal' would sell jeff down souf. how- someber, she wuz so mad wid jeff dat she 'suaded herse'f she did n' keer; en so she hilt her head up en went roun' lookin' lack she wuz rale glad 'bout it. but one day she wuz walkin' down de road, w'en who sh'd come 'long but dis yer hannibal. "w'en hannibal seed 'er, he bus' out laffin' fittin' fer ter kill : yah, yah, yah! ho, ho, hol ha, ha, ha! oh, hol me, honey, hol' me, er i'll laf myse'f ter def. i ain' nebber laf' so much sence i be'n bawn.' '"w'at you laffin' at, hot-foot?' "yah, yah, yah! w'at i laffin' at? w'y, i's laffin' at myse'f, tooby sho', — laffin'ter think w'at a fine 'oman i made.' "chloe tu'nt pale, en her hea't come up in her mouf. " w'at you mean, nigger ?' sez she, ketchin' holt er a bush by de road fer ter stiddy herse'f. 'w'at you mean by de kin' er 'oman you made?' "'w'at do i mean? i means dat i got squared up wid you fer treatin' me de way you done, en i got eben wid dat yaller nigger jeff fer cuttin' me out. now, he's gwine ter know w'at it is ter eat co'n bread en merlasses once mo', en wuk fum daylight ter da'k, en ter hab a oberseah dribin' 'im fum one day's een' ter de udder. i means dat i sont wo'd ter jeff dat sunday dat you wuz gwine ter be ober ter mars' marrabo's visitin' dat ebenin', en you want 'im ter meet you down by de crick on de way home en go de rest er de road wid you. en den i put on a frock en a sun. bonnet, en fix' myse'f up ter look lack a 'oman; en w'en jeff seed me comin', he run ter meet me, en you seed 'im, - fer i'd be'n watchin' in de bushes befo' en - - -- - --- - - the conjure woman hot-foot hannibal l'ton, en got drownded, en co'se he could n' sell 'im back, much ez he'd lack ter 'bleedge mars' dugal'. "well, atter chloe heared dis, she wa'n't much mo' use ter nobody. she pu'tended ter do her wuk, en ole mis' put up wid her, en had de doctor gib her medicine, en let 'er go terde circus, en all so'ts er things fer ter take her min' off'n her troubles. but dey did n' none un 'em do no good. chloe got ter slippin' down here in de ebenin' des lack she 'uz comin' ter meet. jeff, en she'd set dere unner dat willer-tree on de udder side, en wait fer 'im, night atter night. bimeby she got so bad de w'ite folks sont her ober ter young mis' ma'. g'ret's fer ter gib her a change ; but she runned erway de fus' night, en w'en dey looked fer 'er nex' mawnin', dey foun' her co'pse layin' in de branch yander, right 'cross fum whar we're settin' now. "eber sence den," said julius in con. clusion, “chloe's ha'nt comes eve'y eben. in'en sets down unner dat willer-tree en waits fer jeff, er e'se walks up en down de road yander, lookin' en lookin', en waitin' en waitin', fer her sweethea't w'at ain' neber, neber come back ter her no mo'." there was silence when the old man had finished, and i am sure i saw a tear in my wife's eye, and more than one in mabel's. "i think, julius," said my wife, after a moment, "that you may turn the mare around and go by the long road.". . the old man obeyed with alacrity, and i noticed no reluctance on the mare's part. "you are not afraid of chloe's haunt, are you?" i asked jocularly. my mood was not responded to, and neither of the ladies smiled. "oh, no," said annie,“ but i've the conjure woman hot-foot hannibal changed my mind. i prefer the other route." when we had reached the main road and had proceeded along it for a short distance, we met a cart driven by a young negro, and on the cart were a trunk and a valise. we recognized the man as malcolm murchison's servant, and drew up a moment to speak to him. "who's going away, marshall ?" i inquired. "young mistah ma'colm gwine 'way on de boat ter noo yo'k dis ebenin', suh, en i'm takin' his things down ter de wharf, suh." this was news to me, and i heard it with regret. my wife looked sorry, too, and i could see that mabel was trying hard to hide her concern. "he's comin' 'long behin', suh, en i 'spec's you 'll meet 'im up de road a piece. he's gwine ter walk down ez fur ez mistah jim williams's, en take de buggy fum dere ter town. he 'spec's ter be gone a long time, suh, en say prob'ly he ain' neber comin' back." the man drove on. there were a few words exchanged in an undertone between my wife and mabel, which i did not catch. then annie said : “ julius, you may stop the rockaway a moment. there are some trumpet-flowers by the road there that i want. will you get them for me, john?" i sprang into the underbrush, and soon returned with a great bunch of scarlet blossoms. "where is mabel ?" i asked, noting her absence. "she has walked on ahead. we shall overtake her in a few minutes." the carriage had gone only a short distance when my wife discovered that she had dropped her fan. "i had it where we were stopping. julius, will you go back and get it for me?" acme bookbinding co., inc. cambridge st. charlestown, ma i ^> " j * harvard college library \ bought with the income of a fund established in memory of florence kelley % out of the darkness w. grant published on demand by university microfilms university microfilms limited, high wycomb, england yi xerox company, ann arbor,michigan, us.a. his is an authorized facsimile of the original book, and as produced in by microfilm-xerography by university icrofilms, a xerox company, ann arbor, michigan, u.s.a. out of the darkness or diabolism and destiny. j; wi'grant. a. m., ll. b. nashville, tenn.: natiokal baptist publibuimo board. . /-'. \-u r^f^ z& v harvard ynivkrsityl library i, ft' -- — c o * a copyrtohtro bt j. w. okamt, kahhvillr, t«hw. ltkw. llbrary of congress two coolrt ritcived jun iboa rm dedication. to my father, who gave his life for the cause of freedom of mind and body; to my mother, who watched, encouraged and prayed through the long and dreary night of bondage for the dawning of the joyous days of liberty; and to my darling little ones, the last one of which was at my knee when i began these lines, looking to his future destiny in the world. but alas! ho took his anuel (unlit. while we watched in the dim, dim light; my mind was heavy, and my heart (trow faint, so i panned iv while in my mini's complaint! ( ) preface. the little rivulet springing out of the mountain- side goes leaping, laughing among the hills, fed by the living springs, till it reaches the valley and the plain, a rushing, roaring river, and empties its life-giving streams into the great ocean, com- mingling its waters with that mighty highway of commerce and enlightenment. so ideas set in mo- tion by an impulse spring forth from the fountain of thought, gathering power as they move, flow on to mingle their waves of truth with the vast volume of the accumulated knowledge of the ages. rocks and ruins may whip its flow into a mael- strom or the deep inlets of approbation may turn its genial current into quiet eddies, but it must flow, whether its waters bear the messages from fields elysian or a doom to the regions of woe! how small, how small is the amount of good one soul can accomplish, even when all his energies are bent in the direction of adding something to the sum total of human help and happiness! then how necessary is it that each should thrust his sickle into the harvest or field where his labors seem called! although his work may make others glad, sad or mad, he must nevertheless labor on ( ) preface. for the good he intends to do. he cannot stop to consider who will praise or who despise, since the end of his labor is hid beyond the skies. such is the spirit in which i set my naked feet in this thorny path, believing that i have a duty to perform for my people and humanity. the truth untold is like a treasure of hiddeu gold. i have not come to win applause, but to strike one blow in justice's cause. for many years i have been urged by friends and constrained by my own feelings to say some- thing in exculpation and commendation of my peo- ple. it may appear temeritous in me to approach a field where so many have fallen. but the story of our thralldom has weighed a burden upon my heart for so many years that i am forced to lift my feeble voice in admonition and defense. while confined to my room and suffering from a severe illness, it was upon my mind stronger than ever, so that as soon as i became convales- cent, with fear and trembling i launched my frail little barque upon the treacherous sea of public opinion. nothing but the wails of a long-suffer- ing people could have lured me from the quiet moorings of desuetude. ix>ng on my heart this burden lay, and now i hope to find the way. if i may cause one heart to beat more sympa- thetically for a weak, struggling and courageous though often erring people, i shall feel that i have not toiled in vain. if i shall be able to inspire preface. one despairing soul with faith in the future of the race i shall feel that my labor is not without re- ward. it seems that we have been abused, accused and misused so long and so much that we are in- clined to accept much of what our traducers say of us as true, and to hang our heads in shame. we do not wish to be regarded as a race of saints or as a race of demons! our only desire is that with what mete others are measured, under like con- ditions we shall be estimated. we wish credit for what in others is meritorious and condemnation for what is unworthy. i have not attempted to give the reader a mere romance, but a fiction based on historical facts, written and unwritten. we hope there is enough of the romantic to flavor it to the appetite of the reader. there are persons living who, if called to do so, could bear testimony to the truthfulness of many statements herein. author. contents. dedication faob. preface introduction. chapter i. meeting and the minister chapter ii. sermon and sequel chapter iii. school at bon aqua-livingstone university. chapter iv. politics and persecution.. chapter v. commencement and circumstances chapter vi. progress at brownsville and croton. chapter vii. muskegon and harvard chapter vih. julian and harold chapter ix. physician and practice chapter x. the school and the lesson. chapter xi. brownsville and croton.. (») si s contents. page. chapter xii. the trial and the penalty chapter xiii. close op school and wedding chapter xiv. prisoner and promises chapter xv. physician and people chapter xvi. pakdub, marie and brownsville chapter xvii. storms and torms chapter xviii. congressman and constituents chapter xix. beaca haven and new orleans chapter xx. physician and patient chapter xxi. sunshine and shadow chapter xxii. barter of birthright chapter xxiii, loving and lynching chapter xxiv. what of the night and the flight?.' chapter xxv. memorial and marriage introduction. injustice swift, erect and unconflned, sweeps the wide earth, and tramples o'er mankind. —homer. the prevailing sentiments in this country, and especially in the south, are intensified in a large measure by much that is sent out from the public press of the land on the race question. although much has been said on the platform and in public print about the negro, very little has been spoken or written in his favor. few have been the words uttered in commendation of his achievements, save by the negro himself. even historians, when they have mentioned the negro at all, have done so usually in terms of deroga- tion; a spirit of malevolence breathes through nearly all they say concerning him. the historical and literary libels, the minstrel shows, the "rag time" music and advertising de- signs have all, at all times, held the negro up to contemptuous gaze, and pictured him as a fawning fool! it is, indeed, puzzling to understand why our national and world historians have so studi- ously and flagrantly failed and refused to accord ( ) introduction. the negroes their merited place in the annals of the nation and the world. why have they per- sisted in dealing with the negro as an execrable outcast? at the same time as came the pilgrim fathers came also the negro; the former to freedom, honor and glory, and the latter to slavery, degradation, persecution, ignorance and vice! but side by side with the free white american, the enslaved black american has labored, fought, bled and died for the glories of american institutions, and yet little notice, small praise, and no honor have been given him for what he has done! massachusetts alone, of the members of the union, has paid some tribute of respect to the memory of her black heroes. to the negro, she stands out like a bright star in the black night of the oblivion which envelops his path of glory. this mother of freemen has not wholly neglected her dark defenders! she at least is not one of the cabal whose purpose seems to be to keep the negro down. three hundred years of neglect is, we think, quite enough to convince the negro that his story, if told at all, must be related by himself. of course, being shut up in the dark prison-house of bondage for two hundred and fifty years, the ar- ray of facts he has been able to' gather is meagre indeed. still he is in possession of many points concerning his life, both as a slave and freeman, which form a part of the unwritten history of the introduction. business of the courts to supply peons for fields and mines. down the path of the centuries have come stories of the character and achievements of the negro, but so distorted and black- ened by prejudice and hate that the authors themselves cannot credit their garbled fabri- cations!southern writers, especially, have laid on their deadliest strokes in painting the negro a beast. while they have done all in their power for three hundred years to crush out of him all the manly instincts, the negro is still a human and loves hu- manity and humane treatment. these defamers have so seared their consciences that they have ceased to regard truth or honor when speaking of the negro. the press load their columns from day to day with police news and the crimes of the negro; they herald with heat and haste any re- port of an outrage by him, and seem to take a sort of fiendish delight in promulgating any of his wrongful acts, but they rarely, if ever, utter a word in holding up to the world the millions of honest, god-fearing, industrious, frugal, respect- able and self-respecting negroes, who are toiling on for the salvation of their race! why do they not sometimes rest their consciences by telling of the thousands and thousands of negroes who, through oppression, long-suffering and repression, are struggling on up to a higher and more exalted plane of living? introduction. . am aware that the apologist and the time-servers condemn such a course and condone these wrongs. the man with an ax to grind at the enemy's place, says, "sh! sh!" their song is: "laugh and the world laughs with you; weep and you weep alone." but a race or nation is never helped by the apolo- gist. christ was no apologist. patrick henry, samuel adams and toussaint l'ouverture were not time-servers—neither were phillips, garrison, sumner, john brown, lovejoy, stowe and fred- erick douglass. such spirits are the bulwark of liberty and the savers of the nation. the enemy and the calumniator do not allow one opportunity of vilification or misrepresentation of the negro to pass. still, "truth is immutable and imperishable." the true apostle of truth says, "when i keep silent it is fire in my bones." woe is me if i lift not up my voice and warn both my people and the enemy of what the signs of the times portend! they thrust her from her watch- tower, but her voice will still be heard in that land! like proud rome, this nation built upon corrup- tion and misrule shall yet lie dethroned amid the ashes of her desolation! the battle of right against might is on, but the weapon is the pen, which is mightier than the sword! of course the negro is a pigmy against giants, but he must deal his sledge-hammer blows, introduction. striking for his altars and his fires, for the bloody graves of his sires! it is commonly reported that most of the pub- lishers are quite anxious to help the defamers of the negro, so much so that they grasp greedily and publish any diatribe or fabrication that traduces him; but anything which seeks to give the negro's side of the case is refused by them flatly. they will sometimes publish something which purports to give the negro side, providing it is of a toady- ing nature. if the negro would have the world to know his dreams, hopes, and the story of his thralldom, he himself must tell it, whether it be the burden of a sigh, or the thrilling, rallying war-cry. the time must come when he shall be willing to die otherwise than by the hand of the lyncher. will he learn to do and die— to place his draggled name on high? most of the writers and public speakers of the day talk of the destiny of the negro as though the getting of money, a smattering of education, and houses and lands were the principal thing in his national or racial development. these are, all of them, necessary and important, but what are they worth to a race that accepts a state of servil- ity as its fixed destiny? patrick henry uttered the slogan of aspiring manhood. what are houses, land and money to men who are women? author. out of the darkness.- or diabolism and destiny. chapter i. meeting and the minister. a voice of greeting from the wind was sent; the mists enfolded me with soft white arms; the birds did sing to lap me in content, the rivers wove their charms. and every little daisy in the grass did look up in my face and smile to see me pass! —stoddard. he ruler of the day shedding his feeble rays upon a glimmering landscape, bathed his weary body in the placid wa- ters of the western sea, and having opened the portal of the night, sank to rest upon a bed of clouds trimmed with gold. the little stars, just peeping out from the windows of the heavens, heard the last sigh of the dying day. hesperia hung out her lamp, which threw a ruddy glow ( ) out of the darkness. upon the kingly couch. lady moon just peeping over the eastern hills, gilding their tops in silvery sheen, was smiling her lovelic-t adieus to her re- tiring lord. the nightingale, calling far and wide through the forest glades, was seeking her belated love among the little shadows which were chasing each other in a game of hide and seek among the giant trees. the evening zephyrs, as they fanned the flushed cheeks of the wild roses, filled the air with their sweet fragrance. the little cricket had crawled from beneath the stone wall, and was sitting by the wayside, chirping his plaintive story of days long gone by!upon this twilight scene appeared a woman and a little boy. they came from a little cottage near by. she looked much like an indian woman, and the boy was her image. they took the path lead- ing through the forest. as they walked slowly on, the boy said to his mother: "mamma, is not this a lovely evening? the woods seem so full of life, love and song! how lovely, how lovely is nature!" , "yes," said the mother, "it is no wonder that man's home was first in the deep forest, where he could see and learn of all the beauties and mys- teries of nature, and commune with nature's god! man first learned to bow the knee in worship in the beautiful groves!" the widow scott and her little son harold lived in the suburbs of the village of croton. the town was a place of considerable commercial impor- or diabolism and destiny. tance. being the center of a large cotton grow- ing district, it was the buying and shipping point for much of that staple. the face of the boy lighted up with joy as he looked upon the en- trancing scene about him. "why should man not delight more in creation, than in cruelty?" said the boy as he looked into his mother's face, who was talking to him of the stormy days ten years before when the soldiers came. she told him of the time when the villages and forests were full of the armed hosts; when the village and the country were laid waste by contending foes. said the boy: "mother, my teacher says the world is a battle- field and a graveyard!" harold was born just three months before james scott, his father, enlisted as a soldier in the fourteenth regiment u. s. v. i. sergeant scott was wounded at port hudson, and thereby rendered useless for further service. after he had recovered sufficiently he was discharged; and after his wife interceded for him with the whites he was allowed to return to his home, to die with his family. although mr. scott never recovered, he lived to be pensioned for his wounds, and with that money managed to purchase the ground and build the neat little cottage, from which the widow and son came out. one year after his death the widow and son were pensioned, and with the sixteen dollars per month thus arising and what they could earn, they were able to live bet- out of the darkness, ter than most of the freedmen about them; and harold was enabled to attend the village school during the entire session. that was unusual for colored children in and around croton, for they had to nurse the baby, while the mother and older children worked in families or the fields. professor norris, the teacher, often found his school reduced from one hundred to ten pupils in a single day. especially was this true in the picking time. the school term was usually five months, but school was often suspended till the children got time to attend. and that was usual- ly in dead of winter, when roads were muddy, often impassable, and the children poorly clad. lucius storms was another boy five years older than harold scott, who, like harold, was able to attend school during the entire session. the fa- ther of lucius was a rich planter and banker by the name of leonidas l. storms. leonora storms, the mother of lucius, had been purchased by mr. storms at a slave sale in new orleans, while he was on a business trip to the city. mr. storms was looking around the city, when he happened to come to the slave market. he saw a likely girl sitting on a box crying. when he came near her she looked up into his face, and, as he drew near- er, she said:"please, master, buy me! you look like a kind- hearted man. please, master, for pity'u sake, buy me! god pity me if that big rough looking man over there buys me! they say that his name or diabolism and destiny. is legree, and that his place on the red river is a hell on earth!" mr. storms knew that if she was put upon the block, a girl of her comely face and figure would bring a fabulous price. he asked the girl if her owner was around. she pointed him out—a jew, who had taken the girl as a pound of flesh, for a loan made to a fast son of a sugar-grower. mr. storms approached the jew, and began a dicker for the girl, and at last convinced the jew that if he put the girl up, he might not get the price he (storms) offered for her. so that at last his cupidity induced him to accept the prico offered, and to sign the bill of sale. leonora's face lighted up with joy when mr. storms and the jew approached. the jew came and told leonora that mr. storms was her new master. mr. storms bade the girl follow him, and he brought her home, and his wife made her the house-girl. harry, the coachman, was like leonora, of mixed blood, and they became attached to each other. they finally decided to become man and wife, after slave custom. so, one night harry went to his master's study, and knocked timidly. the master called out, "who's there?" "harry, mastah," answered he. "well, open the door," said the master. harry opened the door and stood with hat in hand. "well, boy, what is it?" out of the darkness, "mastah, i wants to ax you a serious question." "well, what is it?" "i wants nora for my wife. i loves her and she loves me, and we wants to live togeder as man and wife." "now, look here, my 'nigger,' don't you ever mention that girl to me again! nora is the house- girl, and what sort of a house-girl will she soon be if she takes you for a husband. why should you, 'nigger,' wish to have a wife and form family ties any way? you are here this year and who knows where you will be next? you are num- bered with our cattle and mules; then why not live as the beasts of the field?" poor harry soon found himself in the slave traders' gang, on his way to the southward, and was never heard of again. leonora grieved much for her lost farry. she would go out at night under the moonlit heavens and try to look the way she thought harry might be, and falling on her knees, under the shadows of the trees, she would exclaim: "my poor lost harry! my love! the cruel hand of the slave driver has taken you away, and i shall never see my darling any more! god! would that i had gone with legree to the earth- ly hell! i would have been dead long ere this, and nil my trials and sufferings would be over!" she grew more despondent as the days rolled slowly by. one evening she was out, thus be- moaning her fate and harry's, when her master or diabolism and destiny. came upon her. he did not abuse and find fault with her, but spoke kindly to her. as time rolled on her grief grew less poignant, as sorrows usually do. on one occasion he asked if she would continue thus if harry were dead. he talked to her as though she were his child instead of his slave. he continued to speak kindly to leo- nora, and to praise her work. he often spoke to her of her good looks and said she was far too likely a girl to have a negro man. on sev- eral occasions he brought her nice little presents, and gave them to her secretly. once while the mistress was away, he came into the pantry and put his hand on her shoulder, and as she turned to see who it was, he grabbed her and kissed her. persuasion and force were plied upon her con stantly, and having grown indifferent to her fate she at last yielded to her master's embraces. that was then and is now the fate of many negro house-girls in the south. they were considered the legitimate prey of either the fathers or sons in the families where they served. lucius was the offspring of the relation be- tween master and slave. but strange to say, a southern white man who cohabitated with a negro woman lost no caste in the best society. although a passionate man, unlike most white fathers of negro children, mr. storms cared for his offspring and its mother. he was not only educating the boy, but after they were free, he gave leonora and the child a home in croton. t out of the darkness, but leanora's old grief for harry returned when she was alone and she soon dropped and died. then mr. storms took lucius to his own home, sent him to school, and gave him light work to do when he was not in school. he treated him as well or better than a natural child is usually treated by the putative father. as they walked leisurely along the moonlit forest path, enjoying the beauties and fragrance of the dreamy night, harold and his mother were conversing about his father's service in the cause of freedom and his untimely death. mrs. scott was explaining the difference between the life of the slave and the freedman. harry said: "mother, you have told me that my father was a soldier, and that he was induced to enlist in the cause of freedom and salvation of the union because he was promised by the government all the rights of a freeman and an american citi- zen. he fought, bled and died in defence of this nation. yet he was not treated as well as those i see around here, who fought to destroy this government, and who even now have no love for it, and would be only too glad to see it over- thrown. "i was reading only to-day in my history of those patriots who rushed from their fields and shops to lexington and bunker hill to de- fend this country from a foreign foe, and how their names are honored in song and story, and how monuments were erected to commemorate or diabolism and destiny. their heroic deeds. my father fell at port hud- son, defending this country from the internal foe, yet i see nothing in my history of his heroic deeds, or of the fifty-fourth massachusetts and the daring deeds of sergeant carney and others. i see nothing in the history of attucks, salem, and the host of black heroes who fought for this country, from the revolution on down to the war of the rebellion, in which my father received his death wound and sacrificed his life. i saw in one of my books where it said that all nations delight to do honor to those brave men who volun- teer to lay down their lives for their country. still, i see old soldiers about here kicked and cuffed around just as the other negroes are. "is it true that through these two centuries the negro has fought for a liberty which he him- self has never known, that to-day he is a poli- tical outcast and a nondescript in the body politic? "why, i was over at mr. brown's house the other night, and he told his wife to hurry and give him his supper; that he had to lie out that night as he had heard that the kuklux were to ride, and that they seemed to have a spite against the colored men who had been in the army, al- though he had done no man an injury. "why was uncle ben jones whipped so badly by those men who ride at night, with the long faces on, and who look so scary? why, he was laid up in bed for over a month and nearly died from out of the darkness, it. they say it was because he refused to work for old jim barnes for forty cents a day and feed himself. the men look so frightful with those long gowns and faces on that i don't wonder that the poor colored people are afraid of them. they nearly scared me to death that night they came to our house hunting will scott. the people say that they called for water at uncle tom jones's, and just poured it down by the bucket full at a time. has the united states government no power to protect its citizens from such cruel treatment?" "my child," said the mother, "you are thinking and talking about things beyond your years. you will learn, my son, when you have lived as long as i have, that the white man is great in promises and inducements. he will promise you the world, and actually give it to you in order to get to beat you out of it when opportunity offers. how like a god in wisdom, but how like a demon in exe- cution! he has robbed my forefathers, on one side, out of this country, and compelled my fathers and mothers, on the other side, to till it for two centuries, and both have made it fertile with their blood and tears. my child, the story of the american indian's fate and the negro's unre- quited toil, is the tale of the white man's treach- ery and tyranny. "you will learn much from books and experi- ence as you grow older, and will see the clutches of the white man tighten more and more around or diabolism and destiny. the black man's throat, as fate moves them nearer to the crisis. i weep bitter tears, my darling, when i think of what your father endured, what i have passed through and what must be experi- enced by you in the years to come. my race is nearly run; yours has just begun. you think we are living in troublous times; but the black stormy night of our desolation has not set in about us yet. "yes, it is said that they were after will scott, because he was talking to the negroes, and tell- ing them that they ought to organize and demand better wages; that they can't live honestly on the pay they get for their labor; that before the war, if a man hired an able bodied slave, he had to pay the master one hundred and fifty dollars per year—a little over twelve dollars per month, —furnish his clothes, a physician and medicine when he was sick, and lose all bad and sick days; but now they will not pay an able-bodied man more than eight or ten dollars per month, and he must lose all bad and sick days, pay for his medicine and physician, if he has any, and feed his family and himself out of that; that a man who attempts such a thing, must of necessity beg or steal! he said that the state authorities were in league with the landlords, that they, by means of these starvation wages, were filling the jails and penitentiaries so that the farmers can come and lease the convicts from the state, and thus get cheap labor. yes, that is the offense for which out of the darkness, they were hunting your cousin will with blood- hounds to whip him to death. they said, 'he is the kind of 'nigger' that we have got to get rid of. he will ruin the other 'niggers' and soon have them believing that they are folks.' i thank god that they have not found him! i hope he will escape to the north, where he can breathe free air, and not be afraid of the pestilence that wasteth at noonday. if they should catch him, his young and manly body will furnish food for the worms! "yes, the kuklux are sworn to keep the 'nig- ger' in his place, which means, poor, ignorant and degraded, and on a level with the brutes. and do you know that many of these people who do these fiendish things to the negroes belongto the church, pretend to worship god and feign a sort of christianity? yes, they pretend to follow him who was ever the friend of the low- ly despised! why, the southern whites say they are doing wonders toward the educa- tion of the negro children. but in the country districts the schooling of negro children is little better than no schooling .at all. the class of teachers they give them and the two or three months term make it a waste of time and money. and, again, they say they tax themselves so much to educate the negro children, when, in fact, every dollar paid out for the negro schools is blood money, collected off the negroes by im- posts, starvation wages, high rents and over- or diabolism and destiny. charges for inferior goods. while it comes in- directly, and through the hands of the whites, it nevertheless comes from the negro's unpaid labor. at first they would not allow the colored people to have schools. they broke up the schools, drove the teachers away or killed them, and burned the schoolhouses. i hap- pened to be at bon aqua when they broke up the school there; it was a dastardly, fiendish deed. yea, you will learn more about that cowardly act hereafter. you say you have read uncle tom's cabin. well, the pictures therein are not overdrawn, as some would have you believe. i know there are those who are now ashamed of its bloody record, and who try to show that it is not a picture of slavery, and that no such character as legree ever existed; but i have seen their acts of cruelty, and know men who were even worse than legree is painted. no, they may deny its truth, and rule it out of libraries at the north, but its truth is written in characters of blood, in cotton fields, rice swamps and cane-brakes all over this southland! there are too many scarred bodies of living slaves to bear testimony to its truthfulness. i pray god that you, my son, may never see what i have seen or feel what i have felt. "you ask why the raiders whipped poor uncle ben so—those kuklux? why, he had been work- ing for tom tucker for fifty cents a day and mr. storms offered him better pay; so he quit cut of the darkness, tucker and went to work for mr. storms. that same week the "klan" came after him and pre- tended that he had stolen jones's plow, but with- out a trial or even putting him in prison they whipped him nearly to death. you could not make any one in this community, white or black, believe that uncle ben ever stole anything. but there he lies, the victim of the white man's greed and hate." "mr. storms has his faults, but he and some others around here don't hate the negro simply because be is a negro. they would like to see him have a man's chance. "well, here we are, nearly to the church. now i wish you to stay awake, like a little man, and listen to what is said by the preacher." although one of the "befo de wah preachers," and uneducated, elder brutus e. buchanan was intelligent, well posted, and had good old common- sense about many things. above all, he loved his race and wished to help them. ebenezer baptist church, near croton, was known far and wide, and people'came for miles around to hear mr. buchanan preach. they came to the big basket meetings especially, in great crowds. at these times there was much soul-stirring preaching, shouting, and more good things when the baskets were brought out and the cloths spread beneath the shady trees. the white people often came to see the black folks shout or diabolism and destiny. and enjoy themselves. for the white man likes to see the negro religious, as he thinks the more religion the negro has, the easier he can be con- trolled. many were the young and old, who could say that they had been turned from the broad road of destruction to the narrow path of life by this "elijah." the log church had a puncheon floor and slab seats without backs, with pegs driven for legs. at one end of the building was the door and at the other the pulpit. there were two windows in each side, with board shutters. the cracks were open now, but in winter they daubed these with mud, to make the house more comfortable. there was a stick and mud chimney, with a great fireplace large enough to hold a wagon load of wood. when mrs. scott and son arrived at the church the four or five dim oil lamps were casting their flaring, flickering gleams over a dark and dingy scene. you could scarcely see the persons in the room. many people had already arrived and were sitting around in groups talking in low, sub- dued tones. the young girls were talking in more lively voices, or sitting and gazing about the room to see or to be seen. the boys were casting love glances from their side of the house over to where the girls were doing all they could to at- tract attention. contrary to custom for boys, harold sat beside his mother, for they were in- out of the darkness, separable companions. to occupy the time while the .congregation was gathering, some of the "amen" brethren were leading a few songs and prayers for strength and guidance through dan- gers, seen and unseen! the hour had reached about nine o'clock, when the minister came into the pulpit. he took the book and gave out the hymn: "dark was the night." at the close of the singing deacon blair was called upon, and offered a fervent prayer for help in time of trouble, and deliverance from the enemy. several of the late comers whispered to those near them that they had noticed an unusual num- ber of white men among the trees near the church and that it boded evil. this uneasiness spread through the congregation and caused even the sleepy heads to keep wide awake. so the pas- tor had their eyes, while the men in the bushes had their ears. especially was this true as the sermon grew warmer and louder. but there was less shouting than was custom- ary at the night meetings. two things made this so. the wrought up state of mind of the people on account of the night riders, and the kind of sermon delivered, which was more in the nature of a lecture. many would have called it a dry sermon, and gone to sleep on it, had it not been for the excitement aroused by the daring utterances of the preacher, and the whispered in- formation that there was trouble, and lots of it, or diabolism and destiny. on the outside. some of the old mothers in the church declared: "de debble is suah let loose fer a season, and he is about to take the elect." but like true christians, they prayed the more ear- nestly. chapter ii. sermon and sequel. he strove among god's suffering poor one gleam of brotherhood to send; the dungeon op'ed its hungry door to give the world one martyr more, then shut—and there behold the end! —lowell. |lder buchanan appeared to be be- tween fifty-five and sixty years of age. he was tall, well built and of commanding presence. although very dark he had good features and a pleasing countenance. as the minister rose in the pulpit all noise in the church ceased and the cricket singing on the hearth could be heard all over the house. from the drawn mouth, com- pressed lips, and sober look on his face, all seemed to realize that the pastor had an important mes- sage to deliver. he gave out the hymn: "am i a soldier of the cross," etc., and it was sung by the congregation with great feeling. brother rickman offered a soul-stirring prayer for light in the hour of dark- ness and desolation, saying: ( ) or diabolism and destiny. "laud, ef we is soldiers, we mus' fight; but ef we is sheep fer de slaughteh, make us 'umble, an' as inercent as lambs." there were numerous "amens," and cries of "laud, hep! laud hep!" after singing, "alas! and did my savior bleed," the pastor rose and began his sermon by saying:"my sistahs and bruthren, my tex, will be foun, in numbers, th chaptah : vuses, chroni- cles, th chaptah st vus, an' kings, th chap- tah an st vus. "de fus part uv my tex' speaks uv de great sin cermitted by aaron an' miriam, by speaking agin mosus fer marryin' a black 'omen. dat wuz race ur culor prejisty. de anger uv de laud wus so kindled agin dem dat he smoted miriam wid de lepusy. dat wus a type uv sin whut can't be furgivin. "de secon' part 'fers ter de great man naaman, who wus a lepeh becase uv his mean prejisty. "de third part tells how de laud dwells in clouds an' thick dahkness, an' in anothyer scrip- tur' he said: 'my pawillion roun an' about me, shall be clouds an' thick dahkness. "so you see, my friens, we cannot see ur know de plans uv de laud who duz all things fer de bes'. ouah fathers an' mothers wah back yonder in afica, in dahr wile, happy freedom, but dese lepurs led on by dahr greed, stole um an' brung um ter dis country, an' huh we is, bein' driv frum day ter day, through dis dahk wildiniss uv sin an' saten. out of the darkness, "some bay dat we is betteh off huh whah we is; god pity us when de wuss cums! do you call hit betteh ter be compelled ter wuk frum mont' ter mont' fer little ur no pay, kukluxed by night an' mobbed an' lynched by day? dah we wus in ouah own ian' uv sunshine an' flowers, free as de birds an' wile anumals. any way, we did not cum huh seekin' dese good things yuthers can see an' feel but we can't. well, gaud knows bes', fer he wuks in clouds an' thick dahkness! he wuks in de dahk, an' so do de kuklux. in de dahkness uv dis wery night i feels dat dey is layin' a demon plan ter punish sum poah black man fer nothin' but ter satisfy dahr thust fer nigga blood. an' why all dis? hit is becase dey is so full uv de lepusy uv sin, an' saten. hit is dat lepusy dat driv miriam out frum 'er people, an' kep' naaman frum goin' ter one uv de des- pised ter be heald uv his filthy disease." "amen, amen! laud hep us," was heard among the congregation. "chrise de son uv de livin' -gaud, de white man's gaud, have said dat he is no respectah uv pusons, fer he have made uv one blud all na- tions uv men ter dwell on all de face uv de yurth. why, how is hit dat dis mighty white man is so superiur ter de yuther branches uv de human famly, when dey is all uv one blud? why duz dey hate us so much more now dan dey did in de days uv slavery? as i looks over dis 'semly i sees many faces dat bear testimony uv de embra- or diabolism and destiny. ces an' carresess uv black wimmen by white men. 'deed dey is about all de faces i can see, as de lites is so dim. dahr is over two million uv sich witnesses all over dis ian.' nigga 'oman mighty sweet ter de white man after dark. de wile beastis uv de fores' love dahr young uns, an' will fight fer dem. is de white man lowah an' wuser dan de yuther wile beastis?" "yes, yes," came from many voices. "why, my gaud, looki dah at ole man shikes- taker; he raised a famly uv five gals, by mahtha, his slave 'oman, an' when de gals growd up he had chillun by all uv um except lotta, de youngis one; an' he beat, dogged an' bused her so much, ter make 'er submit to his lust, dat at las', she jumped outen de windah up stahs, wha he had 'er locked in, an' kilt 'erself! the old repehbate actually sold his own chilun an' his gran' chillun by his daghters ter de slave traders. an dahr is thousands uv 'shikestakers' all over dis coun- try, roun' about. "why, dey say we is immohal. yes, an' i wun- ders dat we has any mohals at all, fer de black cuss uv slavery tried ter make a beast uv evehy black man an' oman. an' ouah treatment now is little bettah, an' in many ways hit is wuser dan hit wus in 'paul's time.' yes, dah wus ole le- gree, who not only driv, beat an' shot his slaves ter death unhindered, but he made de drivers cuh- lect de wimmen an' men toguther on sundays an' put dem inter a huge log pen (naked), fer out of the darkness, breeding puposes, like so many beastis, an' ef any 'fused ter do hia biddin', dey wus whupped neahly ter death." " laud, my gaud, hep us laud," was the cry, which came from the "amen corners," with many groans from those who had seen and felt those things. "yes, my sistahs an' bruthren, dey has done all in dahr power ter make us brutes, an' now dey 'buse us an' call us low an' immohal when we has not only been brutalized by dem fer cen- turies, but we has been teached by dem all kinds uv immohality an' wrong doin's. dah is some good upright white people aroun' here, but dey is too few. dey wants ter see us prospur an' git propity, becume 'telligent an' upright christians, but dey is in de minohity. dey wants us let alone, but is ferd ter say ur do any thing ter hep us." "laud, hep us," was the response. "de jails an' penitrntiaries is full, an' hit are ter dahr intrus' ter keep 'em so, fer dey gins you only barely unuf ter keep body an' soul toguthr 'twell dey gits you in prison; den'de gates uv hell opens, an' de doah uv mucy closes! each prison doah oughtah haf wrote ovah hit: 'ht who entehs heah leaves hope behime.' bruthren an' sistahs, you knows dat de term uv de nigga pris- oner usually ends in death; dat dey is stahved, beat an' shot ter death; dat de lenuous hate uv de southern white man condemns a nigga befo' he is heahd; dat whensomever a nigga is or diabolism amd destiny. brought befo' de coat he are zumed ter be gilty, an' dat he can only scape by proof uv his iner- cence beyond any doubt. de laud have said he would hide his zines in de blackness uv dahkness an' dey is shoah hid frum us. but he have sed dat dey dat trus' in him he will deliveh." cries of " laud, deliveh us," were heard all over the church. "so, my friens, we mus' trus' on an' lif up our voices an' cry out in de night uv ouah troubles." just then a voice was heard from the outside, saying:"yes, some 'niggers' will lift up their voices very loud to-night." the old people groaned and the younger ones looked frightened and wild-eyed. but the preacher did not hear the voice of warning, and so continued. "i tell you, my friens, we is shoah in de black- ness uv de dahkness uv our night wid no rif in de clouds. an' dah is rivers uv trubles befo' us. but dey dat trus' in de laud shall showly be de- livehed." "amen" and "thank gaud" came up from the audience. "when isrul was turned loose dey borid gold, silver an' all things whut dey needed frum dahr mastahs; but we wus turned out, widout shelter ur a moufful uv food, an' among dose who hate us, becase we has been dahr slaves. dey hates us becase dey wus forced ter turn us loose. not out of the darkness, becase we is black, fer dah is foah black ur dahk people in de wold ter one white puson. an' in dis state, an' in all dis country roun' about dah is three ur foah niggas ter one white puson. still, dey proud naaman-like, duz not want us ter have any say so 'bout our own affahs, ter say whut we oughtah do, an' whut not. how dey does git up on de foath uv july, an' talk 'bout libity, jes- tice, ar.' equality, but dey say, dey means dah- selves, an' not us niggas. dey say dah is no jestice nur libity fer us. all we is ter git is de judgment, an' we has shoah had dat hot an' heavy. "agin, my friens, we wus turned outen de slave pen, widout food, clothes, ur anything, an' bein' anxious to earn a livin' fer ouah famlies, we went ter work fer whut we could git. but de rail pens an' holes we haf tah live in tell de story uv how we has been paid an' 'prived uv de fruits uv our labor. befo' de wah we made our mastahs rich by our toil, but now we can't feed ouhselves an' families on whut we earn. bruther brown, can you feed yoah famly uv ten offen fifty cents ah day fer your wuk, specially, when one-third uv de days is bad days? no, hit is starve an' steal, an' go ter de chain-gang an' ter death. "we wus told by de good friens whut cum down frum de norf ter hep us, incoiihage an' in- struct us in propah ways uv livin' an' actin', dat we wus freed by mr. lincum's proclumation, an' dat de congress uv dese united states made us or diabolism and destiny. citerzena, an' clothed us wid manhood rites, an' dnt we oughtah try ter dischahge dese high prlv- eleges in a propah manneh. but no sooneh dan we goes out ter listen ter de speakin' ur ter tend de 'lection, an' try ter vote fer whut we thinks is good fer us poah black folks, de kuklux an' night ridahs bugins ter ride, ter whup, ter kill an' run ouah people off, so dat now we is in daily dread fer ouah lives. you knows dat many uv you had to move inter kind white folks' yahds ter be pertected frum de night ridahs. an' some uv you is wukin now fer people fer nothin' ter git dahr pertecshun. cries of "yes, my gaud!" came from the lis- teners. "whut wus de kuklux klan an' night ridahs eriginated fer? it wus ter keep de nigga ignunt, poah an' degraded; ter crush outen dem all 'spira- tion an' desire ter be men; ter 'spire in dem a deadly fear uv de white man, so dat de white man can beat, rob an' cheat, rape, kill, burn an' lynch dem, widout fear uv 'zistance frum de niggas. dey wush ter so cowah us, dat we will be as de sheeps uv de pastur. my friens, de aim uv de southern white man is ter keep de black man cowed, so dat he can use him as he wants ter, an' 'buse him as he likes." "tell hit! tell hit!" came from many parts of the house. "but i wants ter say here, 'specially, ter yoh young thoughtless fellers, dat you can nevah be out.of the darkness, truly brave or manly twell you learns ter 'spect yohselves, an' ter 'spect an' defend yoah wimmen. our wimmen has a hahd road ter travel, i tell yoh. dey is de prey uv de white man an' many uv our own men. we do not guard an' 'spect de virtue uv our wimmen as we should. dese things we has got ter learn ter practice an' teach ter ouah chillun. we is poah, an' ouah wimmen an' gals is compelled ter wurk wha dey is constantly beset by bad white men, who look 'pon dem as dahr lawful prey. no race can be great ur gran', whut does not honah its wimmen an' is not willin' ter die fer dahr pertecshun. why, ouah gals can't go inter a stoah ur any place wha dey comes in contac' wid white men but dey is insulted, mis- treated ur is 'ticed ter sin an' degradation. "an' sum uv ouah own men: ef dey does not set traps ter ketch ouah gals fer white men, dey do all dey can ter lead em ustray. anothyur thing, my friens, twell we learns ter treat ouah good wim- men wid dat 'spect dat is due ter 'onerable wim- men, we can't 'spect others ter 'spect dem, ur ter rcgahd us as a race uv true men. why, sence we has been compelled to ride in de cattle cahs, i has seen nigga men come in, set down an' begin ter smoke an ole stinkin' pipe ur a wuser segar, right in de face uv de wimmen. right heah in dis church, when we has 'tainments, i sees yoh come in, stan' roun' wid yoah hats on, an' a pen- ny segar in yoh mouf, in de presence uv de ladies. what a shame on yoh! my young frien's, yoh out of the darkness, made for the door, windows, and the chimney. in the scramble the lamps were thrown down and went out; but not before the preacher and deacon brown had been seized by the pale faces. the victims uttered not a word of protest, as they were pushed through and over the crowd, which was kept back somewhat by clubs wielded freely by the raiders stationed at the doors and win- dows. mrs. scott and harold waited in a corner till the crowd was out, then came quietly out and followed the raiders at a distance. they stopped in the bushes near where the mob had carried the pastor. the scotts and lucius storms, alone of all that congregation, stayed to learn the fate of the preacher and deacon brown. one part of the pale faces took deacon brown in charge and carried him down the hill into a flat. soon his piteous cries and groans were heard coming up from the depths of the forest in the valley of humiliation. another crowd took elder buchanan in charge and went a little way aside from the path that led through the forest. it was not long before loud talking was heard, which seemed to be a dispute. the majority of the crowd was in favor of hang- ing the old preacher. some of them contended that he was a dangerous "nigger"; that he would ruin the other "niggers" in the community, and that he had got them yankee notions in his "nig- or diabolism and destiny. ger' head." the others were for giving him a sound thrashing and running him out of the coun- try; but the majority would have its way. so they came forward and put a rope around the preacher's neck. then the mob asked him if he wanted to pray. he said, "yes, sah." "well, pray then, and be quick about it; for we have fooled away too much time with a worth- less old 'nigger' like you. come! hurry up and make it d—d short!" the old man fell on his knees and said: " laud, yoh has always heahd me, heah me now, my fathah. o laud, yoh has promised to deliveh yoah people. laud, i is yoah chile; deliveh me frum dese vile men dese chillun uv de debble. o laud, yoh knows dey is full uv de lepusy uv sin, an' is on de road to hell. laud, dey is bline, an' know not whut dey is doin'. —" just then two or three of the most brutal of the crowd, grabbed the rope which was already over a limb of a tree, jerked the victim to his feet, and began to hoist him. as the rope tightened the old preacher cried out, with a gurgle in his throat: " laud, my gaud, is dar no help fer de widcr's son?" immediately a man sprang from the out- skirts of the crowd, with a large knife in his hand, and running up to the hanging man, cut the rope and the old prisoner fell to the ground un out of the darkness, conscious and half dead. with the same knife he waved the crowd back from the prostrate form. he wore no mask and was easily recog- nized as mr. storms. at this two or three came up and said with a growl: "by g—d, that d—n nigger shall die." mr. storms then spoke up and said: "why, gentlemen, what has he done to merit death? i heard all that he said; if he uttered any thing that is not true, prove it to me and i will join you in saying that he ought to be dis- posed of. gentlemen, you all know me, and know that i will do what i say. now, the first one of you that attempts to hang this man shall die. if you hang this old 'nigger' who has done nothing worse than speak the truth a little too plainly, you will do so after my dead body lies there where he now lies. but on the other hand, if you will turn him over to me, i promise you to rid this community of his presence for good." the leaders withdrew, held a whispered consul- tation, then returned to mr. storms and said: "see here, mr. storms, we all respect you and look up to you as one of the most substantial men in our community, and on that account we have decided to turn the old 'nigger' over to you to dispose of; but if he is ever seen in these parts again, we will see the job finished next time be- fore we leave." "i will answer for it that he does not trouble you again." said the rescuer. or diabolism and destiny. mr. storms took the preacher to his home, called his coachman, had him hitch up a carriage and took the preacher to the railroad station, ten miles away. after promising to see that his family should get to him, mr. storms then put the preacher on the three o'clock train, gave him twen- ty-five dollars and bade him farewell, saying: "this is the length of my 'cable tow.'"deacon brown finally got over his lashing. but he was so disabled, by reason of his wounds and crippled condition that he was unable to earn a support. he was finally pensioned by the united states government. lucius was near his father when he rescued the old preacher, and the iron entered his soul. he remained with his father, though, till the preacher was bidden farewell on board the train which was to carry him to life and liberty. then said lucius to his father: "sir, you are a noble man, not alone because you have done a heroic deed in saving the old preacher, but because you saved the old negro from a gang of cowardly ruffians. they always take to their heels as soon as a truly brave man appears, and says 'halt!' it was in putting down your own race feeling and siding with that poor old negro, one of the trampled-down and despised, that showed your greatness. yes, your act places you among the true chivalry of earth. you not only discharged a solemn obligation, a thing which so many dis- out of the darkness. regard, but you did the act of a true christian. i shall treasure in my heart the memory of this act of yours among life's grandest achievements." mrs. scott and harold, concealed near by, where the sacrifice to southern chivalry and valor was about to be offered up, observed all that was said and done. the widow was on her knees praying for the deliverance of her old pastor. be- ing a devout christian, she had great faith in prayer and the power of the lord. harold was close beside her with his hand in hers, weeping sympathetic tears. after the terrible ordeal was over they went quietly and solemnly home, and when in they closed the door. the mother and son kneeled in prayer. she thanked the lord because he had seemingly saved the pastor, and also that her own dear husband was not there in those times of per- secution- and slaughter. when she was through with the prayer, harold said:"mother, is it not well that father is not living in these times? he would be right in the midst of this turmoil and trouble. there are no means of defense now like there were at the time he came from the war. he brought his gun home with him. colored men are not allowed to have guns now. at that time the federal soldiers were a sort-of protection. after the soldiers had been withdrawn the mili- tia was organized for the enforcement of the law and our protection, but to see colored men with or diabolism and destiny. guns and uniforms on so fired the southern heart and brain, that they rose up in mass, dispersed them and took their guns for themselves. since then the colored people have been as sheep for the slaughter; as lambs among wolves." chapter iii. school at bon aqua—livingstone university. neither to change, nor falter, nor repent; this life thy glory, tltanl is to be good, great and joyous, beautiful and free: this is alone life, joy, empire and victory. —shelley. ld army wagons standing here and there on open lots, old worn-out army mules grazing on the commons, the presence of a small body of federal soldiers at the old fort on the hill, ex-rebel sol- diers, with their old time worn and dirty uniforms on, and the dilapidated appearance of the town and its inhabitants, all gave evidence of the recent struggle between the north and south, and the more recent peace. this little town, in spite of the scourge of war, still gave evidence of its ante bellum beauty. its wide streets shaded with sugar maples, broad lawns surrounding what were once lovely man- sions and palatial homes, and the pure, gushing, limpid springs, still called the .mind back to the days before the dogs of war were turned loose upon the monster slavery. on a hill overlooking a beautiful vale, ( ) diabolism and destiny. through which ran a rippling, singing little stream, the outlet of a great boiling, bubbling spring which gushed from the foot of the hill, was born a boy ten years before the tide of battle swept over the land deluging it with the blood of sacrifice for the sin of oppressive servitude. julian jarnigan was the sixth one of nine chil- dren, seven girls and two boys. his father, nor- val jarnigan, was the great grandson of an afri- can king. his mother was the daughter of a frenchman, degrands, and.one of his most come- ly, black damsels. when seven years of age, ju- lian sat with his father on the front porch of the mansion house, and saw him count out to his mas- ter, five hundred dollars in gold, the balance of the purchase price of his freedom. the father of julian, being a carpenter, had earned this money by hiring his time and doing extra work nights. norval was also a methodist minister and spent much of his time in going to and fro, preaching and doing religious work among the people on sundays and nights. he was such an earnest, christian worker that he built a little church by working on it nights. but alas! when it was finished, some bad white men with black souls burned it, and that, too, on the sunday night after the dedication service was held. mr. jarnigan, the master of norval, was a village merchant, and though a kind-hearted man, was close-fisted. but his wife was a godly worn- out of the darkness, an and a philanthropist. through her influence several of their slaves were set free during her lifetime. she saw to it that all her grown slaves attended church on sundays, and that the younger ones were sent to the sunday-school carried on by a free man by the name of abbott. the sun- day-school was conducted much as our country schools are to-day. there were two sessions each sunday, one in the forenoon, and another in the afternoon. the blue-back speller, reader and bible, along with the catechisms, were used. it was in this school that julian caught his first inspiration to an aspiration for the higher things of life. mr. abbott was a bright example of the free negroes' devotion to the cause of uplifting their brethren in bonds. the persecution of the free negroes in the south became so bitter that the rev. jarnigan, to escape these persecutions, resolved to go to his fatherland, africa, to seek true freedom and to do missionary work. it was his purpose to found a home and return in two years for his family, but within eighteen months he succumbed to the african fever, while holding protracted meetings among the natives. in a few years freedom came to the widow and her children and found them without any means of support, except a large supply of fortitude and determination. the widow, being strong in courage and full of faith, began the struggle for subsistence. or diabolism and destiny. leaning on the promises of him who heareth the young ravens when they cry, trusting in the promises of him who heareth the widow's sigh, she remained at the old home on the hill. the widow and the children worked and saved, looking forward to the purchase of a home, some- thing the widow had dreamed and hoped for through the long weary years of slavery. yes, she had pictured in her imagination a nice cosy little home in which she could gather her children, who were somewhat scattered. after several years of struggle, privation and suffering, they realized their fond hopes in a beautiful two-story, eight-room residence. as the children gathered into that home from their quest of the fruits of industry the fond mother's heart filled to over- flowing with joy. the soldiers were still at the fort when the rev. h. w. delaney came to bon aqua from the north, having been sent by general . . howard to teach and preach for the freedmen at that place. mr. delaney went around for a few days and saw a great many of the heads of fami- lies, and everywhere he found parents and chil- dren most anxious for the opportunity to learn and to hear the word of god explained. on the following sabbath, mr. delaney met the freedmen in an old, dilapidated, deserted church, which had in it neither door nor windows—only the openings where these had been. when the hour arrived for the services to begin the old out of the darkness, house was packed with people. first he sang several songs, then he read the scriptures and prayed, after which he spoke to them on the re- sponsibilities of life and the hope of future re- ward. that through, he called on several of the heads of families to say a word as to the needs of the people. at the close of the service mr. delaney announced that he would open school in that house next morning at eight o'clock, under the auspices of the freedman's bureau, and that all who wished were welcome to come. all went away with joy in their hearts, for they felt that light had come to illuminate their dark pathway; that the cloud which had enveloped them for over two hundred years was about to lift. many of them went home, got on their knees, and thanked god for the "light that lighteth every man that cometh into the world." on monday morning by seven o'clock they be- gan to assemble, children and gray-haired moth- ers, the halt and lame—they all came. the old mothers said: "thank gaud, we has found a way to learn to read de word uv de laud!" they were there seeking the light, and anxious for the way that is right. julian jarnigan was there, and in the class he often found himself between two gray-haired mothers. four days of this great school passed off smoothly, but on the fifth, suddenly and without warning, a great noise and commotion was heard in the street in front of the school. soon a crowd ob diabolism and destiny. of the most ruffianly and drunken white men in the town rushed into the old building and with loud voices declared, with oaths and curses, that the "nigger" school must stop. they declared that "niggers" had no business with schools and books and that any white man who would try to teach "niggers" to read was only fit for tar and feathers or to weight the loose end of a rope. the soldiers at the fort were sent for, but before they reached the school it had been dispersed. that was the end of that school. the rev. de- laney left, saying: "why do the heathen rage and evil people imagine a vain thing?" the school was closed, but in the four days it existed julian caught the inspiration which caused him to aspire to the ideals set up in his mind by the good man, rev. delaney. so he studied hard; when at work in the fields he carried his books with him. at noon, while the other hands slept, he was studying; and at night he studied by the light of a pine knot till a late hour. about a year after the breaking up of mr. de- laney's school the freedman's bureau sent an- other teacher, who began in a log cabin at the east end of the town, and julian was in attend- ance. he was now able to enter the fourth grade class, while in the first school he had been in the first grade. he continued in this school, working at night and going to school in the day, and working in the day and going to school at night till it rose to be the easton academy, am out of the darkness, he had reached the grade of primary teacher. he taught and went to school till he was far enough advanced and able financially to enter livingstone university. julian soon became acquainted with the mem- bers of his class and formed a close attachment for a young man from georgia by the name of harold scott. there was another young man in the class from the same state, lucius storms by name. julian and harold did not like lucius very well, because of his haughty disposition, his continual boast of his white blood and his father's wealth. among the young ladies of the university was one of unusual aptness and amiability, ernestine deshon, from new orleans. with her large black eyes and long raven hair, she might have easily been mistaken for a spanish senorita. she, too, was the daughter of a rich sugar planter. mr. deshon had loved his gold and the black venus who made his bed and brought his slippers and chocolate. he never married, but lived among his slaves. he cared for portia, the mother of ernestine, as a wife till her death, and treated and regarded ernestine in all respects as his daughter and heiress. ernestine with her dark, dreamy eyes, wavy hair, sylph-like form and queenly air, was the pet of her class and the idol of the boys. though many of them sought her favor, she seemed to have no preference, and treated all as brothers. or diabolism and destiny. julian and harold strolling down a cool, shady avenue of the college grounds one afternoon were talking of the match football game to be played on thanksgiving day between their team and the centenary college team. "what would i not give to be the winner of the prize offered by our senior normal class to the winning team. it would give me more joy to know that her hand had touched it than to wear the crown of victory," said julian. harold's dark, curly locks hung over his indian colored face and julian could not see the troubled look that clouded his brow. both knew whose hand would place the laurel wreath upon the brow of the victor. julian was the captain of the livingstone eleven. this fact and the peculiar feeling in his heart whenever he came near ernestine, caused him to exclaim: "i will win; i must win that game or perish!" harold was right guard, lucius left tackle, and julian quarter back. thanksgiving day dawned clear, cool and beautiful; it was an ideal day for sport. the team and students of living- stone were full of excitement, exultation, exu- berance and student frolic. from two o'clock in the afternoon till the game was called, gay equipages came pouring into the field, decked with streamers of mingled scarlet and black, or orange and green, which were the respective colors worn by the gay occupants of out of the darkness, the vehicles. flags and streamers made the field a flutter of gay colors and gay young people. the yells of the different colleges made the crisp air ring with their merriment. the game had progressed to the second half, when after a scrimmage, there was a cry, "a man has been killed." several physicians who were on the grounds rushed to the gridiron and after an examination had the man carried to a near-by building and telephoned for an ambulance. the injured man was found to be captain julian jarnigan, and he was taken to the hospital. he was not dead, but badly injured. the game was stopped, as it was asserted that julian's injury resulted from a bad case of slugging. harold called often at the hospital to see julian, but lucius never called or made inquiry as to his condition. on the second day after the acci- dent, ernestine, in company with one of the teachers, called to see julian, who had been un- conscious since he was hurt. as she sat by his cot, the tears streaming from her beautiful eyes, she took hold of julian's hand, which was lying from under the coverlet. as she held it the pa- tient heaved a deep sigh, as if relieved of some great burden or strain, his lips moved and he soon began to utter low whispered words which gradually grew more distinct. the first words uttered were: "yes, i must win this game. i must wear the laurel, because her hand will place or diabolism and destiny. it on the victor's brow. to have her hands touch my brow, to have those angel eyes look into mine is life; to fail in all this is death, death! what if she knew that it is all because of her!" he again lapsed into silence. ernestine, the teacher and the nurses heard these words and noted with joy the signs of re- turning consciousness and life; yet none but ernestine knew the meaning of the words he had uttered. she sat there motionless, with tears in her eyes and a prayer on her lips. after a few moments julian exclaimed: "i must win, i will win," and opening his eyes, he looked around and said, "where am i? what has happened? where are the boys? where is the ball? must go or i shall not win!" the nurses rushed to the bed, but he did not move, for when he essayed to do so he uttered a groan, and said: "what is the matter with me?" he looked up then and knew who it was who sat holding his hand. he looked up again, and said: "thank god, i win. it is she and i shall wear the crown. i win the prize." when lucius learned that she had been to the hospital he was very angry, and at the evening social, although ernestine avoided him as much as she could, he at last got an opportunity to speak to her, and attempted to take her to task for the visit to the hospital. "yes, i was only trying to build up where you had torn down; to mend where you out of the darkness, have broken. do you know that it is asserted by many that you know more about julian's acci- dent than you care to tell?" remarked ernestine. "i- care not for what is asserted, and will say to you now, that i hope he will die, and by the eternal, if he at- tempts to come between me and my one desire, he shall die," said lucius, with fire in his eyes. "since your one desire does not concern me, i care not for it, but advise you to dismiss all such vengeful notions. they are the heat and passion of a school boy," said ernestine. "but it does concern you very much, ernestine, and for what i care for you i would do any thing. you are my life's ambition and ideal. without you i am nothing. nothing shall put us asun- der, neither life nor death," said lucius. ernestine said: "i beg of you to feel not so and talk not of such whims and emula- tions. life is everything, and death is noth- ingness. ambition is a dangerous thing if not directed by high and holy thoughts, and leads on to destruction. i perceive that your control- ling thought is to be a great man, to shine out in the world, and make a great name. you desire a companion or wife who will, as you think, grace the position which you expect .to hold in society and the world; but, remember, that neither your mind nor your plans are mature. we are only boys and girls in school, and it does not appear what we shall be. your ambition is to be great, or diabolism and destiny. while mine is to do all the good i can for the poor and downtrodden. when a little girl at my mother's knee i made the resolve to do all i could for my darling mother's people; to do whatever i could to correct that public opinion which doomed me and my poor mother to obscurity and dis- grace. but for that public opinion my father would have lifted the cloud from over us, and left us in the clear, beautiful sunlight of respect- ability by giving us the legal right to bear his name. we must not be selfish, for that is the curse of the country to-day. each man thinks himself better than his fellow. the scrip- tures tell us to esteem others better than our- selves. shakespeare tells us to 'fling away ambition, for by that sin fell the angels, and love ourselves last.' " lucius, your mother's people need your abil- ities so much more than any others. think of them, not of yourself. our master, of whom it is said: "never man spake like this man," thought not of himself, but rather of the lost sheep. and he devoted his life and labor to helping the poor and outcast, and at last gave himself up to death, because of the ignorance and sin of the world. "and you, lucius, who are so intelligent, am- bitious and proud, may be called upon to give your life for the sake of your people, or rather your mother's. not your people perhaps by choice, but, nevertheless, by your blood, and before a distorted public opinion, a pride like yours out of the darkness. consigns you to the degradation of your mother's people. hatred for your mother's people says that you shall be a negro, whether you will or not." "i can never stoop to the level of the herd have seen about my father's plantations," said lucius. "i may labor among them,but, likea white man who does the same, i shall not be of them. i only feel for them as the white man does who sympathizes with them and tries to help them. i feel a good deal as my father does towards them, only a little closer. i am sure that if you scorn my suit i shall never again seek alliance with one who belongs to my mother's race. i have seen and felt enough of what it is to be of that race, and as i am not compelled to, i shall be among them, as a missionary, but not of them. why should i consign myself to ostracism, degradation and misery when i can walk away from it all. why should i, as white as any man in this coun- try, far above the average in education and wealth, and with just a taint of negro blood in my blue veins, be classed as a negro? to be so classed, and to accept the classification, is to ac- cept oblivion and damnation. for the sake of my foreparents on my mother's side i will work for and do all i can to lift up the despised negro, but because i have my father's feelings and ambitions i shall aspire to be like him, of a different race." chapter iv. politics and persecution. on the summit see the seal of office glitter in his eyes; he climbs, he pants, he grasps tbem; at hit heel, close at his heels, a demagogue ascends, and with a dextrous jerk soon twists him down and wins them, but to lose them in his turn. —cowper. elations between the white man and colored people, never as cordial as they might have been, were now strained and distant. the midnight council of the pale faces had become the midday assembly, where the overthrow of the republican, otherwise designated carpetbag and negro rule, was dis- cussed and plans laid. before the withdrawal of the federal troops from that section, the whites had held their meet- ings secretly and at night, but now they were held openly and publicly. at these meetings names were brought in and discussed, and proscribed lists made out of those negroes who were con- es?; out of the darkness, sidered too obstreperous or self-assertive; at the close of the meetings these lists were turned over to the raiders, and the condemned were dealt with according to the order of the klan. the usual penalties were whipping, lynching or being run out of the country. many disappeared, no one but the raiders knew where. now that there was no power to check their fiendish course, they took off the mask and did openly that which they had done before covertly. the state and county election was near at hand, and they were holding meetings and speakings weekly. at those meetings the demo- cratic candidates and other leaders made fiery speeches. the hon. gooch tarlton, who was the candidate from coweater county for the legislature, in ad- dressing these meetings said: "fellow citizens, the day of our triumph is at hand. no more shall these black heathen and carpetbaggers rule over us, or even have a voice in this government. it never was intended that 'niggers' should be anything but slaves and scul- lions. for two hundred and fifty years they were our beasts of burden, and we reckoned them among our herds and flocks. they would be there to-day had it not been for these yankees who have come down into this country andtaught them that they are folks, that they are men, and ought to send their children to school, and wear clean clothes and try to live like white folks. and these same yankees who came to prey upon us, with or diabolism and destiny. those who remained here after we gave up, bought our lands for nothing and are growing rich off our property and the offices, have made these 'niggers' believe that they can be citizens and vote and hold office like white men. no, this is a white man's country. our fathers wrested it from the indians, and they will rule it and allow no black participation in it. god almighty made this country especially for the white man. what if the 'niggers' are five to one of us? they were made to work for and serve the white man while he sits in the shade and makes laws to keep them at work, either as free laborers or as convicts in our prisons. yes, we, like attila, 'the scourge of god,' are to drive and keep this black race in the place god intended for them—at the bottom. "these carpetbaggers have opened schools, and have got the 'nigger' believing that he can get an education. but, after this election we will start them another school: the hard school of experi- ence wherein they will learn that submission is the best valor for a black man. "they can't learn anything from books, and if they did, what could they do with it in the place we have fixed for them? now, we are going to carry this election. it may be necessary to use force and even violence to win—but we will win. when we win this battle, we have won for good. for after this election we will fix the laws so that 'niggers' can't vote and we white men will decide who of us shall hold the offices. out of the darkness, "by the shades of jefferson davis and robert e. lee, we will put the 'niggers' under our feet or wipe them from the face of the earth and run the carpetbaggers from the land. although we were overpowered by the yankees and our slaves taken from us, they cannot set 'niggers' over us, or make them our equals. we will rule peaceably if they will let us, but forcibly if we must. they failed to awe us with the federal bayonets, and at last gave up, leaving the 'nigger' to his fate, and his doom is sealed. he shall be tenfold more our slave than before his liberation. already our jails, penitentiaries, and chain-gangs are full and we can get convicts by the scores to work our farms. what was the 'nigger' made for but to be our beast of burden, like the mule? we will subsidize crime among the 'niggers,' and thus reap a rich harvest thereby. fellow-citizens, this bat- tle must be won before the election day. are you going to allow five 'nigger' votes to one white vote to go into the ballot-box?" cries of "no! no! no!" were heard from all over the court-house. "then in the night and daylight do your work, do your duty. we must have the offices, for we need them in our business, and we must make and administer the laws. this is not a party fight; it is a race fight, with the fighting all on our side. we do not stop to ask whether our cause is just, but whether it is expedient. did or diabolism and destiny. our fathers stop to ask whether it was just to take this country from the indians?" cries of "no! no!" sounded from all quarters. "then be up and doing. think not of justice, but of the power of the white race—how it has subdued the whole earth and put the dark races under its feet." "yes! yes! we will do it," was heard on all sides. "my fellow-citizens, we have made some mis- takes in dealing with the'niggers,' and one of them was in selling them land. we ought never to have allowed them to own land. but when we are in control we can pass tax laws by which we shall soon have all their lands again. some of them have been in 'cahoot' with these carpetbaggers in steal- ing, and have got hold of our money and bought land, built houses, and are taking on high airs. "this 'nigger' norris, who has been trying to represent this county in the legislature, is one of them. he has the audacity to be trying to run now, but we will fix all that. if he don't get out of the race, we will run him out, and maybe out of this county and state. we will not have 'nig- gers' holding office." "right, you are!" and great applause greeted the speaker as he closed. arthur grimpky, a nephew of mr. storms, and a rising young lawyer at croton, was the next speaker. mr. grimpky, after graduating with high honors at the state university, had taken his law course at harvard. attending such a school out of the darkness, and living in such an atmosphere had raised his ideals and conduct. he came back to his native state and his old home with purposes inspired by contact and association with people who lived on a higher plane than he had known before. not that he loved his rugged fields and tangled wild- woods less, but because he loved right more, was he for justice for all men, especially the weak. indeed, if it were possible, he loved the south more than ever, because of her degradation, back- wardness and wickedness, and because she had gotten into control of ignorant, bad men without foresight, men who regarded not the future. he loved her as the philanthropist loves justice. mr. grimpky rose not so much to answer hon. tarlton as to say some things which he deemed it necessary to be said at that time and place. "my countrymen, "said he, "that people or na- tion which disregards the rights and interest of its toilers is sowing thistles upon its own grave! proud rome undertook to trample her plebeians and freedmen under foot, and thereby pulled down the monument of her grandeur about her own head. a wise man or nation husbands the forces which tend to greatness, and these are justice and righteousness. no truly brave man or nation will bully the weak and helpless or oppress the poor and ignorant. "these unfortunate black people of whom you have heard so much in these turbulent days are or diabolism and destiny. not amongst us by their own choice; our fathers brought them here. they were freed not by an uprise and revolution of their own, but freedom was brought to them by white men, while they were toiling for us and while we were fighting to perpetuate their degradation and chains. "while i am a southerner to the core and a democrat by reason of conditions, i look into the future and see the changed condition of things that must come to our southland in the coming years. old conditions must pass. if we would have it indeed the land of sunshine and song, we must husband the forces which tend to peace and prosperity, and they are justice and sobriety. while the negroes are ignorant and perhaps venal to-day, will they always be so? "why, i have heard many of you remark that the negro norris, who represented this county for two years, made a good member of the legisla- ture and that he is honest and upright. he is also a taxpayer. do not think that these people will continue as they are to-day. if they continue to have schools, we shall have many worthy, intelli- gent negroes who will become producers, tax- payers, and real forces in building up our state and southland, for education must elevate any people. education has brought the world up to its present state of civilization, and it will elevate the negro and make him a better laborer, member of society or citizen, if you please. "i said these people are going to remain here; out of the darkness, yes, they are going to stay and you can't kill them out or keep them servile and poor. every other race of savages has perished under the giant tread of the white man's march of progress, except the negro. from a few thousands they have grown to many millions, and their increase is phenomenal. in africa where the white man has planted civili- zation the natives, instead of decreasing or dying out, have increased more rapidly than in their savage state. for they are protected from the slave-catcher and predatory warfare among them- selves. "they are our laborers. what would our be- loved south be without our laborers? do you not know that if you continue to mistreat these people, to deprive them of the few privileges they claim as citizens, after a while they will become restless, dissatisfied and begin to emigrate to other places where they think they can get better treat- ment? as humble as a dog is, if you continue to cuff and kick him around he will leave home and take up with some one who offers him kind treat- ment. we can treat the negro as a human being without taking him into social contact. society is a thing no law or force can fix. i don't believe that the negroes wish to commingle with us any more than we with them. you can treat your horse kindly without taking him into your parlor. "who will till our fertile fields if you drive five million laborers from our country? you say chinamen or some other foreigners. yes, when or diabolism and destiny. you fill this country with seven or eight million chinamen or any other class of foreigners you have assumed a problem tenfold more difficult to solve than what to do with the negro or how to treat him. "rome filled her borders with aliens and there- by sowed the seed of death within her body. for the alien element brought her to destruction. from mistress of the world she came to sit in the ashes of her destroyed greatness and to lament her folly. "has not the negro tilled your lands, nursed you in your infancy, and guarded your homes and families while you were away fighting to more securely weld his chains of slavery about him? not that i love the negro, but because i love you and my darling southland would i have you medi- tate before you take any rash step. the negro is your friend; why not treat him as such? know you that an injustice is a two-edged sword and cuts both ways; that there is only one way to set- tle any question or case, and that is in the right way. 'truth crushed to earth will rise again,' while false ideas must perish with those who teach them. "in my four years at the north i have learned many things, and much of the sentiment of the people there. they class us all alike—as oppress- ors of the negro, because of the rash acts and utterances of some intemperates. "there are many of the men who owned slaves and who know the worth of the negro, who feel out of the darkness, as i do. but they are too few and have not the courage to stand up for right against might. "my eloquent friend, tarlton, has told you only of what you in your might can do, because of your superior intelligence and experience in gov- ernment; but i tell you of what you should do. yes, because of your untramelled freedom through the centuries, as you say, ten of us are equal to a hundred ignorant ex-slaves who have been cowered by centuries of servitude and submission. the wily, timid jew was once a brave warklike race, but persecution has made them deceitful and cow- ardly. but might does not make right. "a grout statesman has said, 'i would rather be right than president of the united states.' why cannot we be actuated by the same ennobling sentiment? my countrymen, i would not have you stain your hands with blood, or soil your names with force and fraud; if you do, your chil- dren will reap the bitter fruits of retribution. i would not have my beloved southland, like the red rose, brazen with blood of the slain upon her cheeks, but like the lily, pure'and white, in the virtue of her innocency." when mr. grimpky closed there was dead si- lence and no applause, but there began to arise a murmur of grumbling. some said out, loud enough to be heard over the room: "yes, that is some of his d—n yankee notions. he got that up thar whar he went to skule at, an frum his uncle, who is a d—n 'nigger' lover. or diabolism and destiny. well, ef he stays in these diggins we will cure him of all such d—n yankee notions. talk about 'nig- gers' as if they wus folks. "why, i would not think any more of killing a d—n 'nigger' than i would of killin a sheep- killin dog. i just hate a 'nigger', because he is a 'nigger', an' is black, an' they is in the way of us poor white men, too. "look at that d—n 'nigger', norris. he has the impudence to have him a horse and buggy, and ride around over the county with store clothes on, and us white men a walking in the mud and dust, an his wife an chillun a-setting aroun' with clean clothes on, an' my wife at home with her homespun on. it makes me want to go out now and hunt 'em down, an' kill all of 'm. no, he need not talk that way; we is goin to put the 'niggers' down for good." the next week was all astir with excitement and confusion. the colored people were excited and somewhat timid, for the red shirt riders had just paraded through the streets of the town, fir- ing their pistols and cannon, which they carried with them on their raids, otherwise called parades. they had taken special pains to ride through the negro settlements and terrorize them as much as possible. as they made their way through the country, when they came to a cotton field where there were a great many men, women and chil- dren at work, they would shoot at them, and fire the cannon, often wounding two or three. out of the darkness, there were in the county five colored people to one white, and in the whole state there were three colored to one white person. this was only a few days before the election, and these red shirt parades were being made to terrorize the negroes so that they would not attempt to vote. prof. norris had purchased a nice little farm near croton, and had become a prosperous farmer. he had served his county well as a member of the legislature for two terms, and both the white and colored citizens had praised him for his excellent work in that body. he had secured the passage of several very beneficial measures for the county. although there were five times as many negro voters in the county as whites, mr. norris could not have been elected save for the presence of federal soldiers. the presence of this arm of the federal government was the only means by which they could ever hold an honest election in that state or in the south, for the midnight raid- ers who had now become the midday red shirt riders, had long ago decided that this is a white man's country and "niggers" should have no part or voice in it; that if there were only ten white men in a county where there were thousands of blacks, those ten white men should rule. the red shirt banners had written on them, "down with negro rule! white men will rule peaceably if they can, but forcibly if they must." they had forced mr. norris to withdraw from the race for the legislature. a white republican, or diabolism and destiny. mr. lippincott, was now sheriff, and he was a can- didate for re-election, but they forced him to re- sign and withdraw from the race. in fact, all the republican candidates had been made to with- draw and some had to flee for their lives. the raiders had broken up all gathering of republi- - cans. at cottonwood they came to break up a repub- lican speaking one saturday. they were expected, and the republicans showed fight. several per- sons were killed and some of the "red shirters" among them. the "red shirters" were whipped and driven off, but they telegraphed to surround- ing towns for reinforcements. reinforcements came in blood-thirsty hordes, and although the next day was the lord's day, they made it a hell. they scoured the country for miles and miles, killing colored women, children and old men. they went to cabins and shot people in their beds, who had worked in the cotton fields all day saturday, and had not even known that there was a repub- lican gathering at cottonwood on that day. on the night before the election, one hundred armed men rode into croton from an adjoining state. no sooner had their horses been put up, and they filled with food and liquor, than they started out to terrorize the colored people. some of them set an old stable on fire, and started the rumor that the negroes were trying to burn the town. the mob, taking this as a pretext, went to the houses of all the leading negroes and shot out of the darkness, to death all they found. the rioters then went to the home of the wealthiest negro in the place, who was a merchant and also a candidate for state senator, and as he had fled they beat his wife and daughters. they even ravished the daughters, without protest from southern chivalry, and the outraged women were just able to drag them- selves from their burning home which the das- tards had set on fire. being one of the finest residences in the city, it was the envy any way, of many of the whites. the rioters went from there to the parsonage of the first colored baptist church. the pastor had also fled, so they seized the deacons whom they found at the church, they having come to warn and help to get their pastor out of the way of the mob. they took the dea- cons out into an open space, and told them to run for their lives, and as they ran the mob shot them down like so many rabbits.' on the next day which was election day, the negro settlements looked like a desert waste. no negroes came to vote, for they were either dead or hid in the swamps. harold and lucius were at home from school at the time. harold was considerably excited and wrought up over the out- rages upon the colored people, and thanked god that his father was not living to see the outrages committed upon the people. lucius was not much concerned about what had occurred, as he did not consider that he belonged to the persecuted class. chapter v. commencement and circumstances. our dearest hopes in pangs are born, the klngllest are crown'd with thorn. —master. ivingstone university was all astir with the excitement and bustle inci- dent to commencement. after confine- ment for two months in the hospital with two broken ribs, a wrenched back and other internal injuries, julian returned to the univer- sity to resume class work, and other duties. while he was still weak in body his mind seemed as acute as ever. being anxious to finish with his class, the senior college, he had kept up his studies while at the hospital as best he could. on his return he was able to resume his place in the class, number two. lucius, being number one, became valedictorian; julian, salutatorian, and harold, class orator. a prize was of- fered to the one composing and delivering the best oration. julian, being convalescent, was given special privileges in and about the university, so that he saw ernestine often in ( ) out of the darkness, the ladies' parlor. this fact incensed lucius very much. he had only been allowed to see her at the weekly socials. and at those times when he could get to speak to her at all he urged his claim upon her regard with great vehemence. he dis- cussed with her his hopes, plans and ambitions for the future. that he would be a physician and surgeon and would take his course at harvard was a settled plan; his father wished it so and would pay his bills. he felt elated along that line, but was very much depressed by the cold comfort he got from ernestine. as to his future field of operations he was undecided but it would be somewhere in the south. the prejudice, dis- crimination, persecution and oppression made work for him there very undesirable, but like the rest of his race, he must do the undesirable things. his feelings too were such that work among the negroes was not to his taste any way. he thought sometimes of locating somewhere in the north- west, where the small strain of negro blood in his veins would not consign him to degradation. and, too, said he, "why should i choose to take the place assigned me by white prejudice? why should i be a ne- gro when i am seven-eighths white and only one- eighth negro? the lowly life of these people is distasteful to me, and by casting my lot with them i choose to undergo all the suffering, degra- dation and persecution that are consequent upon negro life in the south. why should i choose to or diabolism and destiny. become a brute rather than a man? why should i choose death rather than life? in fact, if i cut loose entirely from this accursed people, a life of the highest social, intellectual and financial stand- ing opens up to me. but if i choose to be a negro, all is the blackness of desolation with no friendly voice calling to me out of that darkness the words of hope and cheer so much needed by a young man entering life's conflict. we know not what it portends, but the clouds of oppression grow blacker and more threatening as the years roll by." ernestine heard his words with seeming indif- ference, but she thought on many of his utter- ances, and exclaimed once or twice under her breath. "unworthy, unworthy coward, coward." said she: "well, mr. storms, i see by your ideas and lan- guage that our paths will lie far apart; that your feelings are such that you could never wed one who, like yourself, is accursed with negro blood. you will, of course, mingle yours with that of the race which lives on this high plane you de- scribe. you will enter upon the higher life. for my part, i shall work and suffer with my mother's people! while i love and honor. my father for all that he has done for my mother and me, i cannot if i would, and i would not if i could, dis- card my own dear mother's race for that of my father. why, it was the accursed prejudice of his race that consigned my mother and me to or diabolism and destiny. " no; you will not be the first to do that . thousands have done so all over this southland. my mother told me that many free negroes even owned slaves before the war. "why, did not ben tillman, in opposing the clause in the new constitution of his state, say: 'if you forbid intermarriage between whites and negroes to the fourth generation, you will touch some of the best families in this state?' many thousand negroes with one-eighth, and more with one-sixteenth of negro blood, have intermarried with whites all over this land. you can't walk along the streets without meeting persons who have a strain of negro blood. they don't know it, or if they do they hold it as a deadly secret. but all this is doing the negro no good. what the race needs and wants is, to be a negro race. well, we can't be white folks and negroes at the same time. and if we all become white then there will be no negro race. what we need and desire is, not to change the negro to a white man, but to so change public sentiment that intelli- gence, honesty and virtue, and not the color of his skin, will be the measure of a man. when god's kingdom is fully established in the heart of this nation, all men will hail each other as broth- ers, and god as their common father!" "then," said lucius, "must i regard this as my dismissal?" "my friend, adieu; we must part; but let us hope that it shall not be forever," replied ernes- tine. out of the darkness, lucius went out crestfallen and morose, say- ing that he had unwittingly played into the hands of his rival, and compromised himself in the esti- mation of ernestine. while at heart he did not really love ernestine, he had an ambition at first to make her his wife, because she was brilliant and would shine in the palatial home which he had pictured in his contemplation. and, too, he wished to prevent julian, whom he hated with a perfect hatred, from securing the coveted prize, now that he had failed in his diabolic act. he feared that julian might be the elected one. lucius would have preferred to murder ernes- tine rather than see her the wife of julian. not that julian had ever harmed or attempted to in- jure him in any way, but because he was of darker hue than himself. he had talked often with harold and given him to understand his feelings as to julian and ernestine. harold, who had long since buried his budding hopes with regard to ernestine, kept julian posted as to the state of war, for he was a fast friend and ally of julian. the class orators had been so busy with their theses and examinations in the' last days of the term that they had not seen much of each other or the queen of hearts. but commencement week was upon them almost before they realized it. harold's mother came to witness his graduation and stopped at the university. ernestine's fa- ther was at a hotel in the city. mr. storms, lucius' father, came to the city and being de- oe diabolism and destiny. talned for a few days on business would be pres- ent at the commencement. commencement day dawned clear and bright, beautiful and balmy. songs of birds and breath of flowers attuned the whole atmosphere to a unison with the flutter of bright ribbons, white dresses, blithesome laughter and joyous greet- ings. streams of people had been pouring into the auditorium since nine-thirty. and as the deep-toned bell sounded the hour of nine-forty, the girls and boys came in troops to the assembly. the vibrations of the bell had barely ceased when a march was struck up on the piano, and the classes came pouring in, with beaming faces and sparkling eyes. representatives only of the col- lege classes were to appear as speakers. there were many whites in the audience, and among them mr. storms and mr. deshon. to-day ernestine was to receive, not only her diploma, but a valuable prize for having attained the highest mark of scholarship in her class. just prior to going into the exercises, lucius tendered a reception to his class in one of the low- er rooms. only soft drinks and light refresh- ments were served. after this reception all marched in feeling jubilant and happy. lucius had a sinister smile upon his lips, but there was a scowl upon his brow! the devotions over, the salutatorian took his place, and, after the usual greetings to the uni- versity and audience, began his oration. his sub- out of the darkness, ject was, "the majesty of the law." he said, among other things:"in its highest sense law is the edict of heaven, which law controls the actions of bodies, worlds and the creatures therein. in its legal sense it is a custom or command enforcible by the state or nation. the making and enforcing of laws is the highest element in our civilization. it is the handmaid of progress, the which secures the king upon his throne." "the measure of the progress of a nation or a people is shown by the character of its laws, and the manner of their enforcement." "law is a cherishing mother whose care is felt by the least, and the greatest are not exempt from her power!" "a great jurist has said that the law is the mode of regulating the social life of the people. another says that justice and its administration are among the prime needs of society." "whenever liberty or the rights of the people were imperiled, or justice and righteousness in need of vindication, there has been the arm of the law, more powerful than glittering bayonet or belching cannon. she stays the hand of the trai- tor, despoiler, and turns back the hosts of the invader of honor, home, church or state." "her disciple it was who, 'with numa, wooed egeria in her cavern and brought down justice from heaven to dwell with men.'""law is the strong subduer and civilizer of na- or diabolism and destiny. tions. she sends forth armies to battle for her dicta and crowns the victor with the laurels of place and power." "when the colonists declared that under the law all men are free and equal and endowed with inalienable rights, the army of washington marched forth to enforce that declaration." "a great churchman has said: 'there can be no less acknowledgment than that the seat of law is the bosom of god, and her voice is the har- mony of the world. all things in heaven and earth do her homage: the very least, as feeling her care; and the greatest, as not exempt from her power.'""it is well for a young man who looks forward to a career highly honorable in the world, an op- portunity for intellectual distinction and political fame, a worthy place in society, where all his gifts, social, mental and histronic will have full play, to become a priest in the temple of justice." "but the young negro who hangs his shield in this temple that he may watch through the dark and doubtful hours of our night, hard by the shrine of trust and truth, needs a double portion of forti- tude. for in the administration of the laws in this land of the free and home of the oppressed, it appears that many laws are made to hinder, not to help the negro." "in our part of the country, legislative bodies occupy much more time in making laws to hinder and humiliate the negro than in trying to elevate out of the darkness, and help him on up to higher ideals and better things. the nation that would endure must rule in righteousness, for such is destiny. 'when the wicked rule, the people mourn.'""for two hundred and fifty years, the people have groaned under the galling yoke of the op- pressor. being enured to hardship, they will en- dure for two hundred and fifty years longer! are not these persecutions and oppressions the burden of our songs and sighs?" "our laws are the evidences of our state of civilization. a state or nation that enacts iniqui- tous and bad laws, or that fails to so enforce them that the weakest and most helpless can enjoy its full protection, is in a low state of civilization. in a perfect state of government both the noble and the ignoble enjoy alike its beneficences and are visited alike with its penalties. if law and order do not grow in the body politic, then progress will cease, and the achievements of the people will be unworthy of the genius of our institutions, and liberty and equality will perish." "is not the south kept out of the line of prog- ress by reason of bad laws and partial administra- tion? still out of the blackness of our night comes ever and anon a voice for justice to the negro." "our night is not without a star. now and then a voice is raised in defense of the weak and oppressed. we want light, air, water and—"the speaker was seen to throw his hand to his or diabolism and destiny. forehead; he began to stagger and would have fal- len had not the president and professors caught him. julian was carried down to the room where the refreshments had been served, and at- tended by two physicians from the audience, who said it was only a case of dizziness, and that he would be all right in a little while. julian was taken to his room and antidotes administered. here he was walked up and down to prevent his falling into the sleep consequent upon being doped. the class cast knowing looks at each other and side glances at lucius, but he mani- fested no concern and looked as stolid and sedate as a judge. harold, as class orator, was the next speaker. his subject was "industrialism." he said in part: "the world has ever been more active than thoughtful. it has usually done the thing and thought about it afterwards. the watchword is, 'do something, make something, and then con- template your achievements.' when you have made something, you have created a demand and supply, and at the same time started the wheels of commerce in motion, which are the wheels of fortune. still, only action based on thought can produce enduring accomplishments which are to lift men up and move the world on to the best. "galileo saw the vibrating chandelier, and he thought and thought. then he created something which put the world on time. the thousands of out of the darkness, new inventions are the great engines that carry us up to higher planes of civilization. each new invention creates new plans and styles of living, new demands and new means of supplying them. "this idustrialism is a great promoter of our upward course, if not carried to the extreme. if a thing is to be done, the first query is, will it pay? will it yield good returns by way of divi- dends? "it is asserted that we americans try to do something of every thing, and do most things in- differently. if this be not true, why is it that nearly every manufactured article that is con- sidered most excellent and valuable comes from afar? when an article is very fine and costly, the cry is, ' it is imported, you know!' "industrialism controls our ideas of education; and we ask, 'will it pay? time was when learn- ing was sought for its power and worth. now it is so commercialized that it is measured by its dollar-earning power. must all we do and think yield money? must man live by bread alone? the wise teacher said that knowledge is more valua- ble than rubies, and that wisdom is more to be de- sired than much fine gold! industrialism, or the question of labor, has, like the race problem, caused much friction. it was the prime cause of the late war of the rebellion. the question of slave against free labor was the instigator of that war. free labor rose up and demanded the abo- lition of slave labor, and behold our whole indus- out of the darkness, have field hands conducting our schools and col- leges. 'by their works ye shall know them!'" lucius, valedictorian, whose subject was: "the social fabric," uttered these among other senti- ments,— "man is a social being and it is as natural for him to seek the association of his fellows as for the different species of animals to flock together. 'it is not good for man to be alone!' 'no man liveth unto himself.' "just as food, air and water are necessary for the physical man, so social contact is requisite for the spiritual being. no individual or class of in- dividuals can reach their highest destiny if re- strained in the privilege of social contact. as steel sharpeneth steel, so man by coming into con- tact with his fellow has his intellect sharpened and brightened. since god made of one blood all races of men, that dwell on all the face of the earth, whence came the right of any man to say, 'sit thou down there while i sit up here;' or 'thus far shalt thou come?' if it is true now he is foolish who decides that it will always be so. "proud athens and powerful greece, where are thy art, learning and laws! great rome, who sat upon thy seven hills and ruled the world, that spoke from thy mighty forum and all the earth trembled, where, where are. thy armies, thy senators and statesmen! alas, they are even as the dust beneath our feet. so has it ever been, so shall it be on to the end of the universe! or diabolism and destiny. "when men or a nation think they are some- thing, let them take heed lest they fall! only that nation is blessed whose god is the lord! only that people is truly happy who eschew evil and do righteousness! "social caste is the child of ignorance and the devil! the greatest man who ever lived upon the earth had no prejudice or pride of race. he saw divinity in all men. he said: 'i, if i be lifted up, will draw all men unto me.' the great teach- er is the social pattern for good people, in all na- tions, and for all times. "since all men are weak, blind and erring, who among them is able to fix the correct standard of living? no one. god alone is competent to set the bounds to expanding, aspiring souls! what manner of man is he who arrogates to himself the right to set barriers in the way of my highest development, spiritually, intellectually, politically and socially. is a man so foolish as to assume that by binding or setting bounds for my body he can fetter my soul? did they check or turn aside the living stream of salvation which flowed from the soul of john bunyan, by casting him into prison? did daniel reproach wickedness and cor- ruption in rulers less because he was cast as food to the wild beasts? not so. "they who wrong their fellowmen are only beating their brains out against the ramparts which they build around themselves to keep them- selves to themselves. god pity us who suffer and out of the darkness, more those who cause us thus to suffer i they only set the measure of their own condemnation. "look at me and see that there was a time when some people were not so squeamish about contact with the despised negro. even now this min- gling of white and black blood is going on, but not so openly, as in the days of slavery. "there are those who agree that all the negro wants is civil and political equality. while i ad- mit that a majority of the race are not capable of properly exercising political equality still i contend, as our enemies do, that with the full en- joyment of civil and political rights must come the enjoyment of social equality. there can be no such thing as political equality, without social equality. that is, the full enjoyment of the former two leads inevitably to the latter. full freedom to vote, hold office and be a full man and citizen, means the right to choose your associates and companions, and to allow them to choose you without let or hinderance. not the privilege to thrust one's self socially upon some one, but the natural right to associate with those who may de- sire your association, without your being subject . to abuse or maybe lynching, and the other party to ostracism. "the southern white man knows this, and knows also that there can be no equality, without the full right to choose your laws, officers and asso- ciates without other lets or hinderances than those imposed by just and equitable laws. or diabolism and destiny. "a great philosopher says it is an incontroverti- ble fact that men, particularly little, narrow- minded men, are unduly prone to associate opin- ions with character and, as a result, they think meanly of the character of those whose opinions are not in accord with theirs, and this is especially true of society. the proud and arrogant white man has not always lorded it over the earth and the inhabitants thereof. for while the white man was living in caves and hollow trees, and subsist- ing upon roots, bark and herbs, dressing in leaves and skins, the black or dark races were living in houses, building cities, cooking their food, writing books, and teaching the world letters, science, art and philosophy. all their boasted learning is the gift of the dark or black race to them and the world. "the negro doesn't seek social intercourse with any one. all he asks is to be let alone; to be per- mitted to enjoy the society of those who may choose his companionship. he does not desire in- termarriage, for that means the obliteration of the negro race. intermarriage is what the white man desires most to prevent. that feeling is at the bottom of his legislation against the negro. it is claimed that a union between white and black is so abhorrent to the white man that he re- coils from it as from a deadly cobra! but, at the same time, he finds it necessary to make the most stringent laws in a large number of our states to keep whites and blacks from intermarrying. if or diabolism and destiny. scholarship in her class and there was great ap- plause. after the presentation of diplomas to the college class, the president, said in very solemn words: "had not the misfortune befallen one of the speakers, perhaps results might be different. the judges decide that mr. harold scott, of georgia, is entitled to the prize." julian looked as though he would faint again. ernestine started from her seat, but caught her- self, and sat with her handkerchief to her face. harold's countenance lightened up with pleasure, and his mother looked as though she wished to take him in her arms. lucius had a smile of triumph upon his face. he said to himself: "i have lost; so has he. i am happy since he is sad. he may win her; but he goes from the university with a little less wind in his sails. i might have killed him, but my time has not fully come. wait till he is nearer the game, and when he reaches forth to grasp the beautiful fawn i shall be near. when he stretches out his hand to pluck the blushing rose which now droops with sorrow and anguish for his defeat i may snuff out his light; then the light of love that now shines from her beautiful eyes will vanish and all will be the darkness of desolation for her!" mr. storms saw lucius on the outside and con- gratulated him on his oratory, and gave him a check. he remarked to lucius that he did not out of the darkness, approve of the sentiments expressed in his speech. he warned him that he had better abandon such ideas if he expected to make his home in the south. "you know my regard for you, and my kindly feelings towards your race. but i cannot en- dorse such views as you expressed in your ad- dress. they will lead you and your people on to certain destruction." lucius not wishing to appear disrespectful to his father suppressed the bitter words welling up in his heart. he thanked his father for his kind- ness and bade him farewell! lucius left that evening for the north, where he was to find em- ployment during the summer, and to enter har- vard medical school in the fall. harold accompanied his mother home, where he was to spend his vacation. in the fall he was to enter the theological school at altamaha. ernestine and julian spent most of the after- noon together talking over his narrow escapes and their plans for the future. ernestine was going home with her father. she was to take up teach- ing in the normal school at muskegon in the fall. julian was to leave on the morning train for chicago, illinois, where he would work during the summer. in the fall he was to enter the law de- partment of the university of michigan. that evening at seven-thirty o'clock mr. deshon and ernestine entered the train to begin their journey homeward. when the conductor came or diabolism and destiny. round to collect the fares, he came to ernestine and she directed him to her father, who was in the seat behind her. the conductor said to mr. deshon,— "is this your nurse?" mr. deshon informed him that the young lady was a member of his family, who had just grad- uated from school and was on her way home with him. "well, sir, she will have to go into the 'nigger' car," said the conductor. "no, she won't; she will ride where i do," said mr. deshon. "well, she will have to get out of here," said the conductor. "well, wait a minute," said mr. deshon. lie went back towards the rear of the train, and soon returned and took ernestine and went to the pullman coach, and thus they journeyed to their destination. mr. deshon told his daughter that he had always favored the separate car system be- fore that humiliating episode; that the iniquity of it all had been brought home to his own heart now, and he had felt the iron, prejudice, enter his own soul. he believed that he felt something of what every educated and refined negro must feel when forced with his wife and daughter to ride in a car, little better than those provided for cat- tle, with dirty laborers, convicts, and drunken, ruffianly white men, who are often more indecent and obscene than the convicts. chapter vi. progress at brownsville and croton. till o'er the wreck, emerging from the storm, immortal nature lifts her changeful form; mounts from her funeral pyre on wings of flame, and soars and shines another and the same. —darwin. fter his rescue from the lynchers at croton by mr. storms, the rev. brutus e. buchanan made his way to chicago, illinois. through the instrumentality of brother masons, odd fellows, baptists and other good people, he was so well cared for that he almost regretted something had not oc- curred sooner to start him out from the bondage and darkness of the egypt he had just escaped to the land of liberty and light. he was sought after to make talks at public meetings on the condition of his people in the south. as he narrated the tribulations and sufferings of the oppressed ne- gro, the audiences, composed of both white and colored people, were moved to tears. his story of woe was told plainly and without embellish- ment. (ioj) diabolism and destiny. he spoke of his own marvellous escape, only when called upon to do so, for he regarded it as a sacred event. he thought that it must have been the lord who directed the good man who de- livered him and spoke of it with trembling voice as in the very presence of the lord. he said that the lord had saved his unprofitable life, and for what?—that he might devote it to trying to help his poor, ignorant and oppressed people out of their night of desolation. he was often in consultation with judge tourgee and other hu- manitarians discussing plans for the betterment of the condition of his race in the south. he made trips to boston, new york, philadelphia and washington and spoke to the people in all these cities. he addressed a large concourse of people in faneuil hall. such great men as hoar, boutwell, butler and lowell, and mrs. howe and mrs. stowe were glad to do him honor. while not an educated man in books he was educated in the great book of nature and experience and con- vinced all who came in contact with him that first of all he was sincere and unassuming. he talked to the people both colored and white in many cities. while in washington he was honored by an interview with president hayes and discussed with him the question of the withdrawal of the federal troops and the abandonment of the ne- gro in the south to his enemies. the president thought that if the southern people were left unmolested in the control of af- out of the darkness, fairs of their section the time would soon come when the negro would be guaranteed all his citi- zen rights. senator wade hampton had prom- ised this for the south. but the elder did not take to that view. he said that his sixty years' experience with the southern whites had taught him that, as a whole, they will never of themselves concede any but the most servile place to the negro; that he had learned one thing, and that was, that no strong race of itself ever grants equal rights to a weaker, subject race; that if they do it, they are driven to it by outside influences or force; that no man ever surrendered a right to another man and had him return it of his own free will; that he will only yield it when compelled to do so, either by the man himself or others; that the south, being poor, ignorant and far behind in the march of progress and civilization, is like all ig- norant people, jealous and brutal, and will do all in its power to reduce the negro to a lower state than when a slave. "but," said the president, "the south is edu- cating your people and paying out thousands an- nually for their elevation. "well," said rev. buchanan, "that is true; they are learning that it is cheaper to maintain schools than prisons and the thousands they are spending for schools is largely money wrung from the negroes by high rents, low wages, fines and penalties imposed and over-charges for inferior or diabolism and destiny. goods. just now many of my people are desirous of leaving the south for the west, where they are better protected, and can be men. land there is cheap and fertile. i wish to ask the government to help us, either by giving transportation or sup- plies for a short time. the people would prefer any aid to come as a loan to be paid back by them in two or three years. sir, you will bestow a great blessing upon a poor, but deserving people, if you will present this matter to congress and secure its enactment." "well, rev. buchanan, i am glad to have seen and conversed with you, and i shall look into these matters and anything i can do for your people i shall be glad to do. good-bye," said the presi- dent, "and may success attend you." when elder buchanan returned to chicago a reception was tendered him at the zion baptist church. most of the race leaders were present, and as the sumptuous repast was being partaken of, toasts were given on all the questions affect- ing the welfare of the race. the majority were of the opinion that it would be better for the negro to scatter out from the black districts or con- gested settlements where the pressure was strong- est, and go to the new land of the west; for the march of empire is westward. let them go while land is cheap, and rise with the country. the state of kansas, where the immortal john brown planted the tree of liberty and watered it with the blood of slave-hunters, was considered out op the darkness, a desirable field. and kansas was inviting them to find refuge within her bosom from the kuklux and mob. the next morning elder buchanan boarded the train for kansas and the west. he was to meet messrs. rickman, brown and some other former members of his church at st. louis. they had been sent as a lookout committee to see if the conditions in the west were favorable to the re- moving of the ebenezer church members there. the committee was to join their refugee pastor and fix matters so that if the pastor could not go to his church they might come to him. they met in st. louis and after happy greetings talked of how brother buchanan and brother brown last parted, expecting to meet next in the new jerusa- lem. the company was happy because they did not go just then, as the work given them to do had not been finished. at wyandotte and topeka they were met by committees of the citizens, both white and colored, and welcomed to the land of freedom. the visitors were assured that their people would be welcome and gladly received. the railroad companies carried them free of charge to and fro through the state, show- ing them the desirable sites for settlements. the committee finally selected a site for the settle- ment on the santa fe railroad and named it brownsville in honor of the sainted john brown and deacon brown. the elder and deacons re- mained to make preparations for the coming of or diabolism and destiny. the emigrants, as they did not care, by returning south, to run the risk of getting to heaven by the short line. the other members of the committee returned to report and to work up the persons to come to brownsville. after a month the first three carloads were on board the train for the new home. there were many tears and much shouting and rejoicing at the parting—weeping by those left behind and re- joicing by those on board the cars leaving the land of egypt. the whites stood around the station and looked on saying very little as they had reaped a rich harvest in buying for one-fourth of their value the mules, cows, pigs, chickens and what- ever. the negroes had to sell. some had nice little homes which they had managed through long years of toil and great economy to purchase and build. but they sold all to the whites and the few colored people who expected to remain there for what they could get. they were glad to make the sacrifice for life and liberty. of course when the first company got out to the new country they sent word back of the new conditions. others be- gan to get ready to go, and so the movement de- veloped into the great exodus which became gene- ral all over the south. the colored people left the south by thousands and the movement became so great that the very men who had been kukluxing, killing and lynch- ing the negroes organized a movement to stop them from leaving. the whites published all out op the darkness, kinds of tales about the suffering of the emi- grants. but as the negroes continued to go they took more drastic methods to prevent them. they passed ordinances against the agents and persons who induced the people to leave. the officers put several in jail, the whites lynched several and forbade the railroad agents to sell tickets to ne- groes desiring to go west. they said, "our farms will grow into a wilderness." the settlement at brownsville had in the mean- time grown from a camp into a village. the first tent set up was ebenezer baptist church with elder brutus buchanan as pastor. many emigrants slept in this ebenezer till they could make a dugout or get a tent. before many months the tent or tabernacle gave way to a nice frame church built by funds sent from all over the country. mr. storms contributed the first twenty-five dollars as a "shibboleth." the town was laid out in nice wide streets. soon little plank houses of two and three rooms began to spring up. next, stores, carpenter shops, blacksmith shops and other business places were opened up. in a short time brownsville was a thriving municipality. some of those who could barely earn a support in dixie soon grew quite prosperous. after the church was fully established, and it was seen that since there were no cotton patches for the children, they must be engaged and not grow up in idleness and ignorance, a school was or diabolism and destiny. opened with a graduate from livingstone univer- sity as principal teacher. when he came and learned that most of the people were from croton, ga., he said he almost knew them, because of having been a classmate of lucius storms and harold scott, and having !^ard them talk so often of croton and its people. the school grew in numbers and influence till it required ten teachers to instruct its pupils. masonic and odd fellow lodges were established as were also many other benevolent organizations of a mutual nature. coal was discovered within a few miles of the town, and a company organized to operate the mines. the company was soon doing a very profitable business. as they were not excluded, whites began to buy and settle, and set up business places in the town. the white man knows there is always profit in setting up a trading business where there are negroes. some even came from the south, but they either left or pretended to leave all their prejudices behind. they were more friendly and obliging than many of the foreigners. here they mingled with the negroes and treated them with as much consideration as they did the other whites. they did so much to ingratiate themselves into favor with the negroes that el- der buchanan said, in speaking to a club of busi- ness men one evening: "he will kill negroes and maltreat them, and at the same time cohabit with negro women. out of the darkness, he will rant and rage about the purity of the anglo-saxon blood, and at the same time mingle it with any other race that will allow it. he will pass jim-crow laws of separation and foam at the mouth while talking about social equality, and when he gets north or to the old world he takes to conditions like a duck to the pond. there is never a kick unless it be by some greenhorn from the backwoods who has never been from home before." mrs. scott remained at croton because her husband's ashes lay there, and as she did not wish to sacrifice the little home that represented the life blood of him whose memory was so dear to her. she continued her quiet life unmolested by anyone. all respected mother scott's sterling character, for she was an example for all who chose to tread the path of honesty and virtue. prof. norris, having been forced out of poli- tics, devoted himself solely to farming and busi- ness. he prospered in spite of the many disad- vantages which negroes had to labor under. he was the owner of three very fertile farms, be- sides several houses and lots in croton. mr. nor- ris was a leader of his people in everything that went to better their condition. he had married the daughter of mr. forrester, who was another of the prosperous negroes of coweater county. lucile attended the school at croton while prof. norris was the teacher, and through his influence her father sent her to altamaha university, in or diabolism and destiny. ill which school she spent four years. she and the professor became engaged while she was at school and were married at the close of the exercises on the evening of her graduation. they returned to the family residence, where they were given a grand reception and had all the neighbors in, and among them several of the white farmers who were friends to mr. forrester. after two days spent under the paternal roof they came to cro- ton and took up their residence in the beautiful home prepared by the groom. their home life was very happy. they were blessed with two beautiful children, a boy and girl, theodore and marie, who were the delight of their lives. all their hopes and aims centered in these children. the children were attending the school once taught by their father, which was now in better condition than in those days. there were not so many pupils, but they were more intelligent, and the terms were longer. the school was taught by miss m. e. dehart, a graduate from the school that mrs. norris had attended. she was a most excellent teacher and a great worker among the people. she taught in the sunday-school, helped with the music at the church services, and col- lected the girls on saturdays in a sewing school, and thus taught them to be useful, as well as ornamental in the home. once a week she had the mothers meet, and talked to them about the home and the rearing of children. by her labor she raised the whole of croton and the country out of the darkness, around it to a higher tone of living. there were no more kuklux raids. the colored people had been excluded from politics and hence were not in daily dread, and could work to better pur- pose. since so many had gone to the west, those who remained seemed to be in better condition, financially if not politically. mr. norris, as he was now known, like the most ignorant and poorest negroes, was a political out- cast. he and ten other colored men, who were not allowed to vote, paid more taxes to run the state and county governments than a hundred white men who were allowed to vote and even hold office. the tax collector of the county owned not a foot of land, yet he was collecting from those who did, and much of it from citizens who were not allowed to participate in the government. mr. norris and those other substantial colored men might have sold out their possessions, and realized several thousand dollars in cash, and have gone north where they could vote and be free; they might have gone west, where they would have been more prosperous, but they said:"the great bulk of the negro race in this coun- try is in the south, and here it is going to remain till the problem is worked out either in his being treated as a man and brother or wiped from the face of the earth. he didn't come here, and he is not going away! if every negro, as soon as he gets an education and some money, jumps up and seeks an easier place, what is to become of our or diabolism and destiny. poor, ignorant and weak brothers and sisters? like moses, we choose to suffer with our people, till like him we must flee for our lives. of course, we don't blame those who are forced to flee, like elder buchanan, will scott and many others— they did right to go, because to stay would be suicide. we, who can get along with the white people, are going to stay and endure hardness for our race's sake. still others may have to flee for their lives, as we know not what a day may bring forth." "when my children are educated," said mr. nor- ris, "i nm going to send them north to see and learn conditions there; then if they choose to live north, i shall say, 'amen,' and do what i can to help them get started in the world; but if they choose to suffer with me and their mother, who have to endure all kinds of insults and brutalities, why, i shall rejoice and be happy. "of course, while wages are better than they were some years ago, they are not so good as they might be, and many of our people leave to find better pay for their labor. i do not blame them. why, just the other day mrs. bloomfield said to me:"'norris, why is it i can't get a servant to stay with me? i am not a hard mistress, and they used to stay; but now i can only get very indifferent servants, and they don't stay. why is that?' "why, i will tell you, mrs. bloomfield: it is be out of the darkness, cause you do not pay enough to induce servants to stay with you. you white people here in the south seem not to be able to realize that the cost of living has gone up—house rent, clothes, food and everything; but you expect to get servants for the same wages you did under cleveland's administration, when the whole country was on a tramp and the people were glad to work for bread. that has all changed. everything has advanced but the negro's interest.'"'i have to pay my laborers more than the farmers about me. i can't got good hands unless i do. colored people do not like to work for their own people anyway. if i were to treat my hands as mr. bloomstine'does his, they would not stay with me a day. why, my hands would not eat in my kitchen. i have to have a dining-room for them, and they must have rooms and good beds. while mr. bloomstine's men eat at the kitchen window and sleep in the barn. my hired girl must be allowed to receive her company, at least, in my back parlor, while yours are glad to be allowed to receive in the kitchen. but all these things come from ignorance and envy or jealousy, because we were servants of you white people so long. the ignorant are prone to look up to the white man as a superior, and he is superior in education, achievement and wealth. he has not always been superior though, as he claims, for he once wore the slave's collar. neither is he lord of the universe, as he assumes to be. nor is the or diabolism and destiny. earth his, and the fullness thereof, as he assumes. the negro trusts in god, the white man's god, who has said: 'vengeance is mine, i will repay.'"'a nation or government is not stable which welcomes every kind of people who come within its borders and treats them better than it does a class of its people who have labored and fought for the upholding of the government for centuries. in so doing she is sowing to the wind; by and by she will reap the whirlwind. by that sin fell great rome; then how can this nation escape?'" mrs. bloomfield said perhaps he was right; that she did not know much about history and govern- ment. mrs. scott, now known as mother scott, mrs. norris and miss dellart, the teacher, had joined hands with several young ladies, daughters of the prosperous negroes in and around croton in eleemosynary work among their people. they enlarged the work of the sewing circle, and had mother's meetings weekly, in which all the house- wives for miles around were gathered. there they were taught the best methods of housekeep- ing, how to properly rear children, and many other useful things for the uplift of the home-life of the colored people. these women also held meetings once a month at the methodist church. there were now two churches; a new baptist church and a methodist church. these churches were strong sources of help to the community. at these meet- ings of the people the ladies lectured on many out of the darkness. things for the advancement of the race. especially were the men admonished to try to conduct their affairs so that the wives and mothers might stay at home to care for and rear the children, because a wife and mother is worth more at home than in the field or washtub, and if they must wash for others, let them take it home and do it there, where they can look after their children, teach them to work and instruct them in neatness and proper manners. they often visited the homes even of the lowliest to see how they were living and to encourage them to put forth efforts toward better things. the circle would have little dinners and social gatherings, which tended to elevate the so- cial life. at these entertainments you never saw a young man in the presence of ladies with his hat on, or a cigar or cigarette in his mouth. the young ladies were taught how to dress with sim- plicity and taste, so that now they did not come out with a lot of cheap jewelry or gewgaws on and dressed in the colors of the rainbow. indeed there was such a change wrought in ten years, that when harold and lucius returned they could hardly realize that it was the same croton. as for the people, they were perfect strangers to the two young men and an entirely different class of people from those they had known in the days of the kukluk. they 'said, "truly this is coming out of the darkness." chapter vii. muskegon and harvard. those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; but do not dull thy palm with entertainment of each new hatched unfledg'd comrade. —shakespeare. he muskegon normal school at mus- kegon, alabama, was established for the education of the colored youth, in —. it was supported by a north- ern missionary association. while engaged in giving primary, intermediate and academic training to the colored youth, its main object was to educate teachers. it aimed to give its students the very best instruction that could be given un- der the conditions such a school had to labor, in order that they might go out well equipped to in- struct others. for that reason they sought the very best instructors. while they were not dogmatic on industrial education, they had in the last few years added some industrial features, such as would enable their graduates to give in( ) out of the darkness, struction in the most necessary knowledge of do- mestic science. for a people who are debarred from all the shops of industry, except in the most menial places, it is necessary for schools to teach many things which the whites learn in the shops and avenues of trade and business. they recognized the fact that the negro, by means of the education and training of these schools, is entering and is going to enter more largely the trade, business and mechanical world; that if he doesn't find a shop open to him he is go- ing to make one; that if he doesn't find a bank open to him he will organize and operate one of his own; that if the mercantile houses will not admit him as a clerk or bookkeeper, he will establish and con- duct his own mercantile establishments. in or- der to prepare a people who for centuries have been at the very bottom of industrial life, this school took high ground. it put forth strenuous efforts to do the very best for its students, that they might go out and do that which was best for a needy people. at the opening of the fall term in the year —, there was more than the usual animation of anticipation, for it was known that there were to be several new teachers in the facul- ty, and that among them was a graduate from livingstone university. at the opening exercises the new teachers were introduced to the students and friends. when the teacher from new orleans, miss ernestine de- shon was introduced there were such whispered or diabolism and destiny. exclamations as, "how beautiful!" "what lovely eyes!" "hasn't she nice hair?" "she looks like a spaniard." the record ernestine had made at livingstone for high scholarship and deportment placed her in the very front rank of the teaching force, and she became a model for all the girls. they noted closely her every word, movement and manner, that they might copy them. every girl and boy in school was in love with miss deshon. the girls, because they found in her that which re- sponds to what is highest and most angelic in the human heart; and the boys, because she became their ideal of what the highest grade of woman is or ought to be. the young men dreamed of the time when the home they intended to make would have as its presiding goddess, if not miss deshon, with name changed, at least some one as near like her as it is possible for one person to be like another. ernestine's keen perception soon showed her the state of feeling of the students as to herself, and like a wise, good woman, she felt only more humble. she was grateful to him who shapes our destiny for this power over those young peo- ple. she often knelt and thanked god that he had given her this power over the hearts and minds of her sisters and brothers, and she resolved to use it to the glory of god and the good of her peo- ple. "for" said she, "these people, have been downtrodden and abused so long, that they need out of the darkness, some loving heart and gentle hand to guide and help them." she knew, as every one does, that the negro is of a loving, trustful nature; that he is slow to hate or to strike back; and that this amiable nature can be used to great advantage by those who would lead him for his good as well as for their glory; that he always looks for that which is best in his friends. she resolved to use her power over the students to lead them on up as near to their ideal as it is possible to reach. she not only used this power in the classroom, in so- cial gatherings, where teachers and students met on a social plane, and in her walks and talks with the students, but she often had at her room the dull students, who had troubles and embarrass- ments with their studies, to give them help, en- couragement and advice. she was ever a source of solace in sorrow; of courage in times of doubt and fear; and strength in weakness. the very mention of the name, miss de- shon, caused the face of the student or person who heard it to light up with joy- ous anticipation of something pleasant. she was not offish, as some of the other teachers were, but mingled freely with the students. although she often put herself on a social level with them, none ever thought of undue familiarity, or of un- becoming conduct toward her as ateacher. while some of those who preserved their dignity by holding themselves aloof from the students, were continually having trouble with them, miss de- or diabolism and destiny. shon had none, because she ruled with the scepter love. her influence was felt not only in the school, but it went out into the city and the country around about. it was like the sweet incense wafted by gentle breezes from the valley of cash- mere. a good deed, how like the precious oint- ment poured on jesus' head, whose sweet odor spread till it filled all the world and rose to heaven. ernestine visited the churches and sunday- schools as often as she could and talked to the children and people of the higher and better things of life. she went into the homes of the people that she might learn something of their hopes, aspirations and plans. although ernes- tine was an heiress, and had been reared in the lap of luxury, she not only went into the homes of the well-to-do, for there were many in the com- munity, but into the homes of the lowly poor and spoke words of cheer to the young, aged, sick and cheerless. many were the souls who could say that her gentle voice came to them as a whisper out of their night and caused them to look up and see the light. it was impossible that a young, beautiful and talented lady like miss deshon should not be the object of many loves. but she was so quiet and reserved that when it came to the question of ten- der emotions, many who had heartburnings feared to make a declaration. but there are always those who feel that "faint heart never won fair lady." so mr. norman s. wilford, a rising out of the darkness, young merchant and business man of muske- gon, made it a point to be present at all social functions at the school. he was often there on business, as he furnished a large part of the school supplies, and had a good opportunity to see and hear much of miss deshon. young wilford became a very devout worshipper at the shrine of venus. of course she was anx- ious to avoid the impression that mr. wilford was paying court to her, hence whenever she possibly could, without prudishness, she avoided personal converse with him. she would not encourage any- one to form an attachment that could never ac- complish its purpose. but mr. wilford stuck to his text, never heeding the signal for retreat and rushed on to the destruction of his own hopes. so assiduous was he that it was remarked that something more than the physical needs of the teachers and students carried him so often to the buildings. he had, too, within the school a good coadjutor in the person of a sister who was a student, and was as close as a student could be to miss deshon. she often spoke of her brother's noble qualities and success in business in the pres- ence of her teacher. but miss deshon was so undemonstrative and reticent in regard to these tender relations that neither the sister nor the brother could find out on what footing he stood. no one knew whether miss deshon held any one in that tender relation. she received letters, it was true, but they were few for one so popular or diabolism and destiny. as she. it could not be learned from what source the letters came, whether there was a lover on the sea, or in some distant land. of course she received a letter once a week from new orleans with the deshon return card on it. she got a few others from different parts of the country that might have been from fellow students. once a month a letter came written in a bold, manly hand, postmarked "ann arbor, mich." that was the most suspicious one of the lot, but no one could find out if that one was from any friend closer than a brother. occasionally she received a letter, postmarked "cambridge, mass.," but her plans and intentions were past finding out. a student with the temperament and tastes of lucius could hardly live in the atmosphere of boston and cambridge, without imbibing some- thing of the spirit of liberty and independence which impregnate the air and all the people enjoy. in that cradle of liberty, the home of heroes and statesmen, he felt that freedom was not a mis- nomer. although it was known that he was classed as a negro down south, he did not think of the fact till some question came up touching the race issue. he never took part in discussions of the race problem, as he was there for another purpose. he devoted his time and attention to his professional studies and was among the fore- most students in his class. mr. storms took several valuable prizes for excellency in his out of the darkness, studies and work. his practical, obstetrical work was among white families in cambridge and boston. they did not know he was colored, and he did not take time to tell them. if they had known it at the time, it would have made no difference with them, as he was most efficient, polite and obliging, and efficiency was what they cared for and not his race. although there were four other colored stu- dents in his class, lucius did not give them any special attention, or chum with them, because of that fact. he treated them as he did the other members of his class. lucius did have two or three chums, but they were all white. one of these was a southerner, s. p. tilton, by name, from south carolina. although born, reared and educated in the south, young tilton treated lucius as well or better than his other class- mates did. he played games, ate and slept with him. on all occasions and everywhere he treated lucius as a friend and equal. when some one asked him how he, a southerner, could treat a negro as a social equal, he remarked that he was just like many other southerners, who, if in an atmosphere where it was not unpopular, would treat some of the colored people as social equals; that they ostracise all negroes because of caste prejudice, which will stigmatize any white person who treats a negro as a social equal. lucius grew more and more dissatisfied with the place assigned him in southern society by prejudice, out of the darkness. the hell-born prejudice which consigned her to shame, oblivion and an untimely grave, and blighted her young love and faith in goodness, and the other to make myself the equal of any man above the ground. my life must atone for what she suffered from the curse causeless which made her an outcast and me a nameless waif. the pleasures and joys which real men know are not for me or my race. the negro of the south knows nothing of real freedom or the swellings of the heart which well up in the breast of the free-born white american when he beholds the stars and stripes adorned by the bird of liber- ty. does the negro feel that the fourth of july is the day of salvation for him?" with these feelings in his heart and those words on his lips he arrived at croton in the cattle car that negroes were forced to ride in, and was met by a carriage sent by mr. storms. a few of the old friends of his boyhood were at the station, but they looked and felt shy of the fine young man, so he bowed to them and passed into the carriage. he did not go to his old home, but to rooms prepared for him at the residence of his old teacher, mr. norris. chapter viii. julian and harold. even children followed with endearing wile and plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile. —goldsmith. ulian having no one to assist him while pursuing his professional stud- ies, made a part of his expenses by working in the university, and the balance was made by working at summer re- sorts during vacation. he got much valuable experience in his struggle to make his way in school, which prepared him, in a measure, to face and fight the battles of life. he felt that for any young man intending to enter the profession of law, strong combative qualities were necessary, and that this is more especially true of the young negro. having been reared in the south, he was ever mindful of the conditions under which he must labor. he was determined to give his life to the causes of justice and equity for his people. he saw and felt the great necessity for devoted, well-equipped, conscientious young colored men to plead and fight the legal battles of the negro, ( ) out op the darkness, a people, who in the south seem to be made for the law, rather than the law for them. he had many tempting offers, to do other kinds of work. he was advised to go west where conditions were more favorable for making money, and to enjoy a greater degree of freedom. some said: "to the west, young man, to the west! where the future holds out all that is best for the young man desiring to rise in the world. go to a young and growing country where land is cheap and men are dear. dixie is old, moss-grown and anti- quated in ideas and practices. she is so blinded by prejudice and caste that she can see only one way. she continually looks back to ante-bellum times and says that the former days were better than these, and boasts of her departed glory. the south lives in the past; the west in the present and future. you can be a man there. the curse of slavery is the pall of the south. go west!" but julian steadfastly kept his face toward the place where his fathers died, and were still dying, but not always by natural means. he looked to the land along whose hillsides bleach the bones of his fathers and brothers, and through whose valleys flow the rivers of the tears of his mothers and sisters who weep for the slain of their people. although he knew that he was engaged in the most difficult profession of any for a negro in the south, he faltered not. he knew that he would not only have to fight the or diabolism and destiny. legal battles of his clients, but the ostracism of the bar and the prejudice of the court; and also the incredulity and lack of confidence of his own people in his ability to fight their legal battles or contend for their rights under the law. in these times of mental conflict he was greatly strength- ened by letters which he received from harold, who had attended a theological school in the south, and was constantly in touch with his peo- ple. harold admonished julian to hasten his coming, and told him that his presence and labor among his people were much needed. he was constantly under the advice of his saintly mother, who in her letters encouraged him in his hopes and plans. his teachers had often tried to in- duce him to enter the ministry. one philan- thropist offered to pay his expenses if he would take the theological course. his mother, being a most devout christian, and cherishing the memory of his father who gave his life for the cause of christ and his people, thought his son ought to follow in his footsteps and become a minister of the gospel. but since julian was fixed in his purpose, she gave him a mother's en- couragement and advice. she looked forward to his home-coming with all a mother's joy and pride. often in his day visions and night dreams julian saw a face and form standing amid blush- ing roses beckoning him to the land of sunshine and flowers. it was the memory of those happy out op the darkness, days spent at the university and the sad, sweet time when a patient at the hospital he had been recalled to life and consciousness by the touch of a hand gently clasping his, that called him on. that vision which first met his awakening gaze was beckoning and calling him back to dixie, to the land where the mocking bird sings his lullaby under the moonlit skies, while lovers stroll amid the wild flowers whispering words of eternal de- votion. having completed his course with honor and received his diploma. julian bade his classmates and friends adieu, and started for his southern home. his first unpleasant experience on en- tering the borders of dixie was the change in treatment. a man before, he now became a jim- crow—jim-crow cars, jim-crow stations, and jim-crow street cars. having been treated as a man for three years, it came hard for him to submit to these jim-crow rules and the brutal manner in which he was forced to submit to them. the men in charge of the cars, and especially the street cars, seemed to take a fiendish sort of pleasure in mistreating the negroes, especially the women. he was thrust into cars that were really not fit to ride in. they forced him to ride with railroad hands who were dirty, uncouth, often drunk and very rough. julian found him- self in a car with convicts who were being carried to prison. through many dangers, embarrass- ments and noisome things, he reached home and or diabolism and destiny. was greeted by his mother, sisters, brother and many friends at the station. three of the sis- ters and the brother had just come in from their country schools; the others were heads of fami- lies. they, with others, made his home-coming quite a fete—receptions, parties, teas and din- ings followed each other in rapid, though joyous, succession. many of the damsels took more than a sisterly interest in the young lawyer, with a view to becoming his legal partner. after spend- ing several weeks with the family and friends at home, julian departed for a state further south, with a view, among other things, of lo- cating, and, too, his friend harold was down there. harold had finished his course in theology a month before, and had been located as a pastor at oakland, ala. this was a new manufacturing town and its growth was quite rapid and the colored population was quite large. there were six churches: two methodist, two baptist, a con- gregational and a christian church. all during his course harold had done pastoral work in methodist churches and attended several confer- ences, so that at his graduation he was assigned to oakland. although he had been educated in a congregational school, and once thought of entering work in that church, at the last he con- cluded that it was his duty to work where the demand was great and the field of opportunity large. he believed that in the african methodist out of the darkness, episcopal church he could do the most good. said he, in discussing it with julian, who was a congregationalist:"while i know the congregational, presby- terian and episcopal churches appeal to the intel- ligence and higher ideals of the educated negro, i believe that the great religious development of this race is to be wrought out through the methodist and baptist churches. the congregational, pres- byterian and episcopal churches reach a class, the intelligent, but these others reach the classes and the masses. i went into the methodist church be- cause the field is wider and so much can be done to elevate our people. in it there is room for expan- sion and elevation—that is, a worthy man may rise in his church. while a man may reach emi- nence in these other churches, there are few places of honorable distinction. there is no room for what we call a laudable ambition. in the methodist and baptist churches the negro learns how to govern and manage large, educa- tional, religious and financial interests. i hope to do good and to rise in my church." julian's visit to harold like all pleasant things came to an end. he pushed on to beech haven to begin his legal work. he found a large popu- lation of colored people, and among them were several quite well-to-do. he encountered some difficulty in getting admitted to the bar, as there was opposition to a thoroughly equipped negro lawyer entering the courts. there were four or diabolism and destiny. or ave pettifoggers and curbstone lawyers in that city, and they were as ignorant and dirty as those they attempted to assist. there was no opposi- tion to that class of lawyers, for they were not in the way of the white attorneys. when julian was at last admitted to the bar, he encountered more boorishness and rough treat- ment from the officers of the court than from the court and bar. as a general rule the court and bar treated him as a lawyer, but the other fel- lows treated him as a "nigger" all the time. they tried to prevent him from hanging his coat and hat on the lawyer's rack; from drinking at the cooler and ordered him to drink where the pris- oners drank. he was shocked to see how colored people were treated. they were driven about the court-house and yelled at like so many cattle. when any white culprit was being tried, the officers would not allow negroes in the court- room. julian noted the treatment of negro of- fenders and that they were nearly always con- victed. a negro stole a dollar, was tried in ten minutes, and sent up for two years. right after him a white man was on trial for ten days, for stealing a thousand dollars, and he was acquitted. it was a rule of the court for the officers to see that the lawyers had seats; but they would not prepare seats for the colored lawyers. julian went out to the state prison to see one of the convicts with regard to his case. when he approached an officer and asked him if he could out of the darkness, \ see the prisoner, the officer said in a very rough manner, "no". the lawyer started away, when i the boorish fellow said, "see here, when you come \ here and wish to see any one, take off your hat hike the other 'niggers' do, and you can see them." \the lawyer's mission there was to try to arrange w get the prisoner, charles long, pardoned. his crime was that of knocking a man in the head with a stone after the white man had shot -fit him six times, wounding him in the leg and arm. harold was succeeding nicely with his work at oakland, and was held in high esteem by his bishop, presiding elder and the church. his fame as a pastor was spread abroad by the press and people. but his success and fame did not satisfy a void in his heart. he had seen an object in his own native town, that he desired to possess, above all else earthly. he had been struck by the work and disinterested life of miss martiel dehart. she and his mother were co-workers together in all things for the uplift of the peo- ple at croton. he had often discussed their work with her and their ideas seemed to run along the same channel. he made frequent visits to croton now, ostensibly to see his mother, but, of course, he always saw some one else who, it seemed to him, had become a very necessary fac- tor in his life. one friday afternoon he visited miss dehart's school and talked to the children and parents or diabolism and destiny. present of the beauties and utilities of education. when the school was closed, of course he must, as a matter of gallantry, go home with the teacher, especially since she was going his way. they talked on school, education and church work for some time as they walked very leisurely on. fi- nally harold said: "yes, i shall wish for my wife a woman who is devoted to the cause of humanity and of christ: not a frivolous, shallow-brained woman who cares more for dress and society than for home and homely things. no minister can succeed with such a wife as a millstone about his neck. i have seen many worthy women, but in all my travels i have met no one who comes up to my ideal but you, miss dehart. you are my ideal, the one woman necessary to fill the vacuum of my life, the void in my heart. will you come and share with me the cross and crown of labor? through you i can do all things; without you i can do nothing." they had reached her home, and she invited him into the parlor. he needed no second invi- tation. after seating him she excused herself, retired to her room to divest herself of her hat, and to brush her hair a little and bathe her burn- ing face. her hands trembled so that she could hardly perform those light tasks; her heart was in a flutter; she could hardly realize that life was just the same as it was an hour ago. she had been offered the heart and hand of a noble, godly out of the darkness. man; a man that she now knew she loved. she fell on her knees by her bed and thanked god that he had brought to her the desire of her heart, and asked him to direct her in answering him. when miss dehart returned to the parlor there was a faint smile upon her lips, and her eyes told harold that his pleading had not been in vain. when she came in, he said:"well, martiel, oh—well, may i call you that? say that i may, and forever, my love, my all, and all." as he uttered these words, he arose and walked to where martiel stood with downcast eyes, and clasped her in his arms, saying: "light of my morning, i will seal your answer with this," as he kissed her lips and weeping eyes. when harold reached home he took his mother in his arms and, after kissing her, told her of his heaven-sent blessing. the next day her future mother went over to thank martiel and plan with her for the future. the wedding was arranged to take place when martiel's school was closed. harold was very desirous to have his classmates, julian and lucius, at his marriage. chapter ix. physician and practice. who o'er the herd would wish to reign, frantic, fickle, fierce and vain? vain the leaf upon the stream, and fickle as a changeful dream; fantastic as a woman's mood, and fierce as frenzy's fevered blood— thou many-headed monster thing, o, who would wish to be thy king? —seott hile resting and recuperating at his native town, lucius was corresponding , with various persons as to a suitable ...m< place of location for work in his pro- fession. he made a trip to muskegon, visited miss deshon and sought her advice. he also met norman wilford, another rival for the hand of miss deshon, and he seemed to take to him from the first. wilford gave him some valuable information about the coming towns and cities of the south where he could build up a good prac- tice and do well in his profession. u ) out op the darkness, mr. wilford tendered dr. storms the use of his office as a place to rest and attend to his corre- spondence. he also gave him the use of one of his rubber tired buggies to ride over the city and about the country. on the friday evening after the arrival of lucius, mr. wilford tendered a re- ception in honor of the presence of dr. l. storms in the city. the city physicians, some of the leading citizens and some of the teachers from the muskegon normal were present. miss de- shon came in the company of dr. storms. nor- man had yielded this coveted pleasure to the guest of honor. the elite of colored society in muskegon was there. lucius had an opportunity, as he never had be- fore in the south, to see what education and wealth were doing for the negro race. he met there quite as much grace, refinement and taste in dress, as he had ever seen among the most swell colored society in the north. the physi- cians came in fine rubber tired stanhopes and vic- torias—nearly all the guests came in carriages or surreys and some in automobiles. when lucius saw all this display of wealth and property, he exclaimed, "how can a people, hounded and oppressed as the negroes are in this country, show such signs of well doing?" "the more the nations oppressed and abused the jew the wealthier he got," said wilford, "and out of the darkness, cause his cowardly conduct toward julian in school had burned itself into her heart . she said under her breath, "thou whited sepulcher." lucius did not see ernestine again before his de- parture on the tuesday following. he was accom- panied to the station by mr. wilford and drs. long and shorter in an automobile. while bidding dr. storms farewell they requested him to return there and take up the practice. on his return to his native town lucius was tendered a reception in the country at the home of mr. forrester, fath- er of mrs. norris, where many of the best class of young country people greeted him. he saw a vast contrast in the class of people whom he met now and those he had known fifteen years before. most of the young men and young women had been away to school. all of them had some school- ing, and quite a number had a fair education. but the greatest contrast was in their dress. in- stead of being decked out in many colors and loaded with cheap jewelry, they were dressed neatly and with taste. there was very little of the attempt to overdo. and the old folks seemed very proud of their smart children and the im- pression they were making on the rich young doc- tor who had been so long and far up north. lu- cius, instead of being bored, as he supposed he would be when he received the invitation, was on the contrary very highly entertained. he found himself enjoying conversation with the farmers or diabolism and destiny. about their crops, stock and other agricultural matters. there were, of course several town people present also. he drove out with the nor- ris family in their carriage, and enjoyed his ride by the side of miss marie, who was buddng into fair young womanhood. miss dehart, the teacher, was present, but she did not indulge in the light fantastic. she gave her time and talents to sweet converse with the mothers, fathers, and such young people as could refrain from dancing long enough for conversa- tion. she spent some time with dr. storms, making inquiries as to conditions north, his pros- pects in his profession, education, and many other matters pertaining to the welfare of the race. she impressed the doctor very favorably. miss dehart asked why he was going to discard his home town and take his store of knowledge and abilities elsewhere? dr. storms quoted the pro- verb, " 'a prophet is not without honor, save in his own country.' there are many reasons why i can't remain here, but the chiefest is, the sadness i feel when near the grave of my darling mother, who was so wronged, and whose life was blasted and cut off by the cruelties of those who despise us; and, too, my brother and sister are here. they hate me with a perfect hatred, because i, a negro, as they say, am their relation by blood. why, i believe gatewood would murder me if he could do it on the sly, or help to do so in a mob. out of the darkness, alma has a kind heart, but is weak and easily in- fluenced by others. she would do me a kindness if she thought that no white person would know it. she has her father's heart ready to do a great deal of good and some evil." after spending a delightful evening at the farm, dr. storms and the norrises bade adieu to the company and started for the city. the moon had risen and her silvery rays threw a glint upon the landscape that made the fields and forest a fairyland. the level sandy road seemed strewn with diamonds and sapphires. the drive and the scene threw lucius into deep fancy and poetic vision. "this lovely scene, the lovely moonbeams awa- kening a thousand elves from cavern and glen, all fill my soul with a rapture that words can but feebly express," said lucius to marie. "i feel that i should like to dwell amid such enchanting scenes forever; to linger evermore amid these elysian beauties. if i could always be as happy as i feel this moment, i should then know that life is indeed worth living. what is it that causes these feelings to come over me; can it be any influence in this beautiful dream? this—, round and about me, even in this carriage, is it the magnetism of a presence or presentment!" "i am sure i don't know," said marie. "it may be that the moonbeams have affected your brain, or that you tarried too long at the wine. they say people sometimes get moonstruck." or diabolism and destiny. "yes, but it does not affect the heart, does it?" said he. "i never had the misfortune to be so struck, and hence cannot enlighten your mind along that line," said marie. "my felicitious mood," said lucius, "may cause you to regard my expressions as due to a supera- bundance of the delectable supplies of the table. i may seem a little too exuberant for your sober thoughts, but i do really wish you could give me some information on the subject of the most ten- der emotion of the human heart. i really need the information to prevent my falling into errors which have embarrassed me here and heretofore. i think i am not presuming too much on our short acquaintance and your youthful experience to ask your assistance* in these mystic meshes. while it is true that the entertainment and the evidences of the transition from the old to the new life among these people have somewhat daz- zled me, i think i have my bearings and am not vaporing, although in my waking dreams i may have wandered among the flowers and fragrance of a forbidden paradise. "how could mind of mortal man resist the in- toxicating influences of the social gathering, the glories of the night and the sweetness of such companionship? while there may be no re- sponse in your soul to the loveliness without and the ecstacy within, let us hope that the sleeping out of the darkness. goddess will awake to the peans of her devotees. the mystical maze thrown over me by the mad- ding moon may have caused strange ideas to creep upon my brain, but i am sure that a feeling sweet and entrancing, was springing up within my soul. "why do we grow nervous when in or near a graveyard in the night time? may not our sen- suous nature also be cheered and elated by en- livening scenes and congenial associations." "yes, i hope that as i grow older i may attain to a knowledge which will enable me to give in- formation on the subject you mention," said ma- rie. they were now at home. two days later lu- cius left for eastberg, where he contemplated taking up his practice. chapter x. the school and the lesson. o friends, be men; so act that none may feel ashamed to meet the eyes of other men. think each one of his children and his wife, his home, bis parents, living yet or dead, for them, the absent ones, i supplicate, and bid you rally here, and scorn to fly. —homer. r. norris had prospered steadily. he also grew in favor with his own people and with the whites. he was kind and considerate with his employ- es and prompt in his payment of wages. he said: "the poor laboring class of people need the small wages they contract for;" and he paid his laborers promptly. he took an interest in their families and encouraged them in carrying out the advice and instructions of the women's club. mr. norris paid better wages and treated his tenants better than most of the landlords about him, for he felt that in helping these people on he was ad- vancing his own interests and also that of the race. (ms) out of the darkness, while mr. norris was amply able to have in- dulged his children in idleness, he taught them the value of labor and perseverance. he not only had them taught in the very best schools possible, but saw to it that they followed some industrial pur- suits. during the vacation, when they were at home, theodore performed certain tasks about the home and farm, and was of considerable assist- ance to his father. marie engaged in household duties with her mamma and the servants. she put into operation in the kitchen, dining-room and the sewingrroom many of the things which she had learned in the industrial department of the university. like their parents, they were bright students, and had high marks at school. theo- dore had tastes like his father for the farm and field. he read all the agricultural journals his father took, looked up others and induced his fa- ther to subscribe for them. in his studies in the industrial department of the school he had learned much about fertilizers, farm implements and pay- ing crops. theodore induced his father to adopt the plan of raising on his farm all products necessary for home consumption and to drop the practice of neglecting all other crops for cotton. he induced his father to produce all the meat, garden stuff, and the feed for his stock, and thereby saved him thousands of dollars. he produced a less acreage of cotton, but by better attention and fertilizing, a better grade and greater yield to the acre. or diabolism and destiny. mr. norrls' check was good at the bank for as large a sum of money as any farmer in the county. his farm, truck-fields and stock became the envy of many of the white farmers, and more es- pecially of those poor whites who could not own a cabin and a truck-patch. they did not relish the idea of a "nigger" living in such style and comfort as mr. norris did. but there were lib- eral men about him, like mr. storms and mr. grimpky, who encouraged him in doing the very best he could. when he drove out with his fam- ily, in his five hundred-dollar carriage, many were the envious eyes cast upon them and the high steppers which were drawing them. when marie played on the thousand-dollar piano whites would often stop and listen, entranced by the mu- sic and the fine tone of the instrument, but with envy in their hearts and anger on their brows. prof. z. w. laprade, who had succeeded miss dehart in the school, was frequently present on the evenings when the piano was mingling its sweet tones with the melodies of the night. he had been down to the commencement to witness the graduation of miss norris, and was from that time a slave to her maidenly graces. the profes- sor was a frequent visitor at the home and often attended her in her walks. at these times he discoursed on the beauty of the woods and flowers and of how he would like always to live amid these pleasant surroundings. "well, professor," said miss norris, "you have out of the darkness, a pleasant school, and it is said the patrons and children are very much attached to you: then why do you not stay with them?" "i would be glad to remain in this city, whether at the school or not, provided all—, everybody—, i mean, some one i know felt as the parents and children do." "i think you are universally liked, and if that is true you can well afford to abide with those who esteem you so highly," said marie. "but how about yourself, miss norris; you say the people esteem me very highly—are you not one of the people? if you do not hold me in that high estimation of the people, may i not hope that at some time i shall so rise in your esteem as to be regarded in even a nearer relation than that of the people?" said he. "sir, how can i judge of or know at this time how you will be regarded by the p.eople, or myself, ten days hence? as i know nothing to cause me to feel otherwise, i regard you in common with your patrons. the time i have known you is too short for me to know your real worth as a friend, or to what extent you are able to grasp and hold valuable friendships. we would certainly be proud to have such an addition as yourself to our permanent citizenships. one who can do as much as i think you are capable of doing for the uplift and advancement of our people is indeed a very desirable accession to the sum total of the happi- ness of this community." or diabolism and destiny. "yes, that is all very well," said the professor; "but i was trying to convey to you the idea that it is not the esteem of the people which would in- duce me to abide within the enchanted precincts of these forests and groves where the one blithe- some maiden holds my fortune within the grasp of her shapely hand, but her smile and approba- tion." tnrlton after serving two terms in the legislature was succeeded by another. he held the office of county superintendent of schools for two years, and his record as such, so far as the colored people were concerned, was one of tyranny and corruption. but under the demoralized condition of politics and the illegal and corrupt methods by which office was secured, it was not required that the in- cumbent should be very circumspect in the discharge of official duties. if he lorded it over and abused and misused the "nigger," he was consid- ered by his constituents to be a very good officer. could he while in office lead a mob in lynching a "nigger," his re-election was assured. sheriff blackburn prevented the lynching of sam stout by hiding him away till the mob dispersed, and at the next election that act was urged against his re-election and he was overwhelmingly defeated by a man who had been a leader of all the mobs. tarlton was known to be receiving pay from the teachers for positions and indulging in other im- moral practices, but he was continued in office. out of the darkness, when mr. norris knew that he was disliked by tarlton he cultivated him so as to prevent this enmity from breaking loose upon him. meeting mr. norris one day in the bank, tarlton said:"norris, i hear your gal has finished her school- ing, and is very smart; now, if she would like to teach, i will give her the school at beech grove. the salary is twenty-five dollars per month. you let me know about it by saturday so that i can arrange to examine her. the school is to take in monday week. she is a likely gal i hear, and ought to get on well with them people down there." while mr. norris did not like the man nor the leer in his eye when he said: "she is a likely gal," still he decided that it was her duty to undergo some risks and to make some sacrifices for the people. so he told marie of the school and the offer of the superintendent. young and guileless, marie had no dream of danger. she thought only for the school, her abil- ity to teach, and the opportunity for doing good, so she decided to accept it. when she told pro- fessor laprade of her prospective good fortune, he suggested that it would be well for him to come over on saturday morning and accompany her to the superintendent's office, which was on the second floor of a storehouse. after kissing her mamma, papa and theodore good morning, marie departed with the father's warning to look well to the superintendent. or diabolism and destiny. when they reached the office, the superintendent looked up and scowled when he saw professor laprade. he bustled around and got some pa- pers, told laprade, who was a teacher under him, that he could not have him there during the examination, as he might give information to the applicant. the superintendent informed la- prade that he could be excused and come back, if he desired, in two or three hours. after the professor was out, the superintend- ent told marie to bring her paper and come into a back room, where she would not be disturbed. she felt uneasy and hesitated, but when she thought of the school and the little children who would be under her direction, she decided to risk it, and went in. her fears increased when she saw that it was a sleeping room, with a single bed in the corner and a table in the middle of the room. tarlton told her to take her place at the table and begin, as she had the list of questions. as she proceeded he went out and in several times. after she had been there about an hour she heard tarlton close and lock the door of the outer of- fice. in a few minutes he entered the back office where marie was, closed the door leading into the front one and turned the key very quietly, to keep her from hearing it. he then came up to the ta- ble, pretended to be examining her work and while talking to her of the school, laid his hand upon her shoulder. when he did that she jumped up. tarlton asked her what was the matter, and or diabolism and destiny. ever cross my path again i will shoot you down as i would a doe," said tarlton. "sir; if i, a negro, had attempted such a fiend- ish deed as you have this morning, you, with your black heart, would have been one of the foremost to swing me to a limb or torture me to death with fire. i need not have been caught in the diabol- ical act, as you were, but if only suspected, it would have been the same. you tell me to go, and if i cross your path again you will shoot me. well, if in dying by the hands of the white rav- isher i save the honor of this poor girl, i shall be happy to give my life for her honor. you shall hear from this demoniac deed." "humph!" said tarlton, "if any 'nigger' at- tempts to call me in question for what i have done, he will meet the fate of all 'niggers' who resist a white man, or attempt to resent any in- jury done by him." the professor did not go away from the build- ing when he was turned out by the superin- tendent at the beginning of the examination, for tarlton's conduct aroused his suspicions. he lingered near and was fortunate in breaking in and saving marie. when he reached home and told the parents and brother of tarlton's dastardly act, they were prostrated with grief and anger. the father and son vowed over the fainting girl and weeping mother that that outrage should have a blood atonement. "i know that it is death to call a white man in out of the darkness, question for any wrong or outrage upon the ne- gro, but i shall freely give up my life in defense of the virtue of my wife and daughter. how can our women ever be pure when they feel that their men will not defend them when they are assaulted and outraged? i weep for the future of any people whose men are so base and cowardly that they will not die in defense of their homes. the white man's law says that a man's home is his castle," said mr. norris. when prof. laprade had gone, and mrs. nor- ris and theodore were in the room again trying to console marie, mr. norris took down his breech-loading gun, charged it with buckshot and went out the back way. it was just getting dark when he came near the office of mr. tarlton, and as he got within fifty yards of it tarlton came out in company with another man. he drew back as he saw mr. norris with a gun. with husky voice, mr. norris spoke and said:"mr. tarlton, you have attempted an outrage upon my daughter, and according to your south- ern code nothing but blood can atone for such an act. i am here to kill you. i am conscious of all that will follow your death by my hands. i know that i shall be lynched or burned or tortured to death for trying to protect the honor of my home. i have lived in this community for thirty year , and have never had so much as a dispute with a white man; but now that the viper has crossed my path he must die, for his deadly fangs have or diabolism and destiny. pierced my heart. i might go to the law with you, but what redress has a negro for a wrong done him by a white man? although my daughter is as pure as an angel, your juries would laugh at the idea that a negro woman is virtuous. they would infer that she was there in your office for immoral purposes. so that i must, like you, take the law into my hands. defend yourself." as he threw his gun to his shoulder the man by tarlton ran to one side and tarlton turned to run, but had not gone three steps before there was a flash, a report, and he lay a lifeless corpse in the street. the man ran crying: "murder! murder! a 'nigger' has killed mr. tarlton." mr. norris rushed home, told what he had done, and exclaimed: "i shall die happy." the family were in the gulf of the deepest despair. a mob, otherwise called a posse, was soon in search of the negro. they scoured the country, went to the norris home and beat the wife and daughter. theodore had to flee for his life. they shot and whipped several negroes because they did not know where norris was. prof. laprade was forced to fly, as it was known that tarlton had a difficulty with him that day. they caught him about ten miles out, and after shooting and wounding him, brought him more dead than alive and put him in jail. theodore fled to one of the farms, where uncle tom tatum threw a box into an old unused well, and letting him down into out of the darkness. it hid him thus for several days till the excitement subsided. they hunted for two weeks for mr. norris. at the end of that time the sheriff re- ceived by express a long box, sent from a neigh- boring town, and on the end of the box were written these words. "the 'nigger' wanted at croton for killing hon. g. tarlton." when they opened it there was a nude corpse of a negro packed in salt; but lo it was not nor- ris! chapter xi. brownsville and croton. how calm, how beautiful comes on the stilly hour, when storms are gone! when warring winds have died away, and clouds, breathe the glancing ray, . melt off, and leave the land and sea sleeping in bright tranquility! —moore. ohn brown, the martyr to liberty, never dreamed even in the highest ex- ulation of his imagination that to bleeding kansas these oppressed peo- ple for whom he gave his life as a noble sacrifice would one day come in droves to find refuge and asylum. the exodus grew in volume till it be- came almost a stampede from the south. many of the emigrants came to the village named in honor of the man who died for the slave, so that it increased greatly in population. but most of those who came were poor, and many were desti- tute and objects of charity, but they were willing to endure hardships and starvation that they might learn something of freedom. ( ) out of the darkness, the governor organized relief commissions, and the legislature voted large sums in aid of the destitute. friends and philanthropists at the north sent money, food and clothing. the min- isters and churches in st. louis, kansas city and topeka made their churches and homes places of relief and shelter. friends of the negro were induced by other friends to come and take up their abode at brownsville that they might be guides and helpers of the weak and needy. prospects of business and gain brought many others, for the white man will always come and set up business, especially a grocery or store, where there are negroes, for he knows it will pay. the rapid increase in population and wealth soon brought the city up to ten thousand or more inhabitants. the people were happy and pros- perous. there was little or no race discrimina- tion. all children attended the same schools, which schools had both white and colored teachers. there were two colored churches in the city, new ebenezer and st. luke, an a. m. e. church. a great many of the colored people attended the churches where whites and colored worshipped together. elder buchanan was now too feeble for active service, and the congregation had so grown in in- telligence that he resigned. he owned a comforta- ble home and had some income, but the church pensioned him at three hundred dollars per an- or diabolism and destiny. num, and held him as a sort of fatherly ad- viser. the congregation called a young min- ister, a graduate of a line theological school, by the name of r. h. sangster, and was forging its way well up to the front. two of elder buchanan's (laughters were teachers in the public schools, one son was a clerk in the court-house, another was a postal clerk in the rail- way mail service and two daughters were at the heads of happy prosperous homes. the elder was held in high esteem by every one. it was expected that at his death the city would erect a monument in his honor, as the founder of brownsville. elder buchanan had read in the papers, with a great deal of interest and sorrow, the killing of the hon. g. tarlton by the hon. l. c. norris, and of the mob, the lynch- ing, and the capture and imprisonment of the teacher, prof. laprade, who was thought to be an accomplice of norris, as he was with the daughter when she left the superintendent's office. but he had read, also, the whole story of the kill- ing, and what caused it, written by miss marie norris, and published in most of the colored pa- pers and many of the northern dailies. he read the stinging editorials in the southern papers on the published story of miss norris. since a negro thought to be norris had been lynched and southern chivalry was satisfied, no further effort was made to find him. no one but out of the darkness, the sheriff and two or three others knew of the miscarriage of southern wrath, in the murder of an innocent man. the sheriff said nothing and cautioned the others to keep quiet on the matter, as that was enough to re-elect him. no inquest was held, as the lynchers had held an inquest after the lynching was over, and had placed the report of the jury in the coffin. it read as fol- lows: "this 'nigger', norris, came to his death by the hands of parties unknown to the jury." the corpse was buried by the county under- taker. the family even was not allowed to see it. the wife, son and daughter mourned their dear one as dead. the mother and daughter moved about their darkened home as though in a trance. they seemed to care little or nothing for any- thing now, and sat for hours with folded arms gazing into vacancy, with sighs on their lips and tears in their eyes. now and then their faces would brighten up as they spoke of the possibil- ity of escape of the husband and father. their hopes that he was not dead increased when they were refused permission to see the body of the dead man. it was really dangerous for marie to go out, as there had been talk of dealing with her in some way, either by whipping, lynching or running her out of the community. the norrises tried to communicate with or get some clothes to prof. laprade, but all was in vain. it was a source of agony to them to know that he, as innocent of any wrong as an infant, or diabolism and destiny. must lie there in prison, wounded as he was, without any medical attention, food or clothes. it was enough to run a man of his culture and breeding crazy, if it did not kill him. since the imprisonment of the teacher the colored school had been closed and there was talk of not allowing the negroes to have school at croton any more. the whites said, "there was norris, one teach- er, who got so big that he tried to be a white man by living like white folks, raising his children like white folks and running for office," and that laprade had assisted norris in killing one of their most prominent citizens. mr. tarlton was a pillar of the church and a moulder of southern character. they argued that education ruined the negro and that he could not be kept down if educated. the excitement had subsided, since it had been asserted by some honest-hearted white men like mr. storms, that norris had done no more than right; that he had only done what the white man has always done—slain the de- spoiler of his home and honor; that had norris been a white man he would have been lauded to the sky and not slain like a beast. theodore went about seeing after the business of the estate. he had quietly seen lawyer grimpky and employed him to defend prof. laprade, whose trial was to come up on the tenth of the next month. mr. grimpky told theodore that he would do what he could for the prisoner, but showed that it was a case in which the chances out of the darkness, for rendering him any aid were desperate. senti- ment will pass in judgment on this case, regard- less of the law and evidence. said he: "as a lawyer, i believe every man ought to have a fair and impartial trial and be protected by the officers of the court while in their custo- dy." the norrises decided to wind up their business as quietly and advantageously as possible, and leave the land of blood and lawlessness. about three months after the killing in croton, as elder buchanan was driving down to the city hall in brownsville, he saw a man sitting in the rotunda of one of the hotels. he stopped his horse and took a closer look. "before the lord! i believe that is norris. if it ain't him, it is his brother," said the elder. he drove up, got out of his buggy and went into the hotel. he was cautious, and did not go right up and accost the man, as he wished to get a closer view and see if the man would recognize him. he surmised that if it were norris, he was incognito, and would not wish to be known as norris. the elder saw the man looking at him in a peculiar way when the stranger thought he was not looking. at last he turned squarely around toward the newcomer and stood thus till he caught his eye. the stranger looked away quickly but in a few minutes he caught his eye again and held it somewhat longer. in this time he gave him a sign, and having approached him, whispered: "follow me to room ." or diabolism and destiny. the elder had special privileges at all the ho- tels and everywhere in the city. he had not been in the room long before the man came in, and turned the key as he entered. then the stranger rushed into the arms of the venerable father and brother in sorrow and companion in outrage. it was fully a minute before a word was uttered. nor- ris was the first to speak, for it was he. said he:"elder, to see you and be yet alive opens all the fountains of my soul. i saw and knew you when you stopped your buggy in the street to look at me, and saw that you knew me, but dreaded to be recognized by you for i feared that you would rush in and call my name and others would hear it; but thank god your suffering like mine has made you cautious. i would have come to you when i entered the city, but fearing that some of your family might see me before i could post you and have you in turn post them, kept me away. "now elder, remember that l. c. norris died by the hands of a georgia mob for avenging an outrage upon his daughter by a burly white man. the man you recognize and who stands before you is mr. c. l. norwood from ohio. only you and my family must know the inner facts. as soon as i can arrange it, i am to send a white friend of mine in ohio down there to communi- cate with my family. he with theodore will wind up my affairs. this friend will take my family to ohio first, and after they have been there for a out of the darkness, few months, will come on to me, one at a time. we will also send parties to see what can be done for poor laprade. i shall make this city of refuge, which father elijah has built, my future home, for i have learned that it is not only pro- gressive but a place where law, order and jus- tice prevail. here all men are free and equal be- fore the law. no, i can't accept your hospitality, just now at least. a friend has arranged for my employment with an agricultural firm. after i have been here for a while you will get acquainted with the newcomer and invite him to visit you. you having posted your family and any of the members of ebenezer who may have known prof. norris, and i shall be safe." "god bless you, my son. may the lord ever take care of his own, as he has done thus far," said father buchanan. mr. r. o. dupree went down to croton as agent of an agricultural house in cleveland, ohio. after spending some time among the business men of croton, and with the farmers thereabout, he made himself known to theodore and mrs. norris. mr. dupree told them of the escape of mr. norris, his whereabouts and his anxiety con- cerning them. he and theodore went about dis- posing of the estate in the most judicious and advantageous manner possible. mrs. norris and marie were sent to cleveland, ohio, and the household effects were sold out at private sale. the town property was disposed of chapter xii. the trial and the penalty. with silence only as their benediction, god's angels come where in the shadows of a great affliction. the soul sus dumb. —whlttler. lthough wounded and half dead, prof. laprade was not allowed medical attention or to be seen by his friends. he was not permitted to have a change of clothes, although those he had on were muddy and bloody. lawyer grimpky, who had taken his defense in hand, more out of sympathy than for expected fee, braved the popular current of hate and disapproval and visited the prisoner in his cell. he prepared as best he could to conduct his defense, but he told laprade that he must not hope for much, as he would come before the court presumed to be guilty, because he was a negro. "will people who kill a man, hold an inquest over his corpse and then salt it down like a slaughtered hog, be likely to treat one supposed to be an accomplice of the dead man with impartial ( ) diabolism and destiny. justice? however have faith and courage," said he. after the prisoner had lain in jail for two months he so far recovered as to be able to hobble around with a stick; but he was allowed the stick only when outside of his cell. the term of the court at last opened at croton. after the civil docket was disposed of they took up the criminal docket. professor laprade's was the fifth case on the call. a large crowd of whites was present, and it was thought best to have an extra force of deputies to protect the prisoner in case violence was attempted. but the excite- ment had so far subsided that there was little or no demonstration; only a few hot heads made show of passion. the trial began by arraignment of the prisoner. he pleaded not guilty, and the selection of the jury began. one hour was con- sumed in impaneling the trial jury. the indict- ment charged the accused with murder, as acces- sory before and after the fact, to the killing of gooch tarlton. the commonwealth began by introducing its testimony. no one saw the accused near the place at the time of the killing. it was shown that he was at tarlton's office with the daughter of norris in the morning; and for some reason or other broke into the office, and there was loud talking up there and a scramble. the accused was seen to leave there in company with the girl and go towards the norris home. out of the darkness, professor laprade had no witnesses; he was not put upon the witness stand, as his lawyer feared that it might prejudice the case if he were com- pelled on cross examination to tell certain things which he knew about the cause which led up to the killing of tarlton. the lawyer did not wish to stir up the hotheads in and about the court to at- tempt mob violence again. the prisoner was a sheep before his slaughterers, and opened not his mouth. both he and his lawyer believed that con- viction would be the only means of saving the prisoner's life. they felt that if acquitted, or if he even sought a delay of the trial the crowd would mob the prisoner on the spot. the mob al- ways wants from two to ten negro lives for one white man's life. so the judge charged the jury for conviction. norris was dead, and they wished this other "nigger" convicted of the murder of the so-called best citizen, tarlton, to get him out of the way. the jury retired and were out ten minutes when they came in and announced that they had reached a verdict of guilty of murder in the second degree. they fixed his punishment at the maximum, twenty years in the penitentiary. there was applause around the court-room when the verdict was announced. the prisoner looked resigned. the court asked the attorney for the defendant if he wished to make any motion. after a hurried consultation with the prisoner, the at- torney rose and told the court that he had noth- ing to offer. thereupon the court proceeded to or diabolism and destiny. pronounce the sentence upon the prisoner of hard labor in the penitentiary for twenty years. the prisoner was taken back to the jail. the next day his attorney called to see him and explained the reason for his having taken the course he did of nonresistance to the will of the court and the people. "i feared that if we entered a motion for a new trial or took an appeal, that might cause an- other outbreak of lawlessness, said lawyer grimpky. "you know they charge that the courts and bar are to blame for lawless- ness because of delays in the judgment of cases. my plan was to offer no objection to the will of the court and the people, and try to get you pardoned after the people hereabout have had time to cool off and see and feel the injustice of your punishment. i think i can get many of them to sign a petition for your release. and, too, if there were to be another outbreak here, and you in jail, they would lynch you the first thing they did. i wished to save your life. "no, laprade, i don't charge you a cent for what i have done nor will i charge for what i in- tend to do for you in the future. i expect to do all in my power to get you pardoned. yes, i know that you will suffer greatly in the state prison. as a matter of humanity i wish i could prevent your going there, for i know what it will be in its mildest form to a man of your education and sen- sibilities. do all in your power to make friends out of the darkness, of the prison officials, especially the guards, though they are a brutal set of fellows, and hard to get along with. on the slightest pretext they would shoot you down, and report that you were resisting or trying to escape. many of the guards and officers are felons and deserve to be serving as convicts themselves instead of serving as guards." "i feel the injustice of my punishment very keen- ly and that i shall be called on to suffer much more than i have yet suffered," said laprade. "these brutal men will know that i have been convicted of helping to murder a prominent white man; that i was connected in the crime with a man who has already been lynched, salted down and sent in as food for southern wrath, and they will be es- pecially severe with me. while the punishment of all negroes in the south is retributive, mine will be more than that—it will be the punishment of revenge. i feel sure that their wrath will be vented upon me. but do you know that in my darkest hour and greatest suffering i have felt a joy in my heart, a kind of elation. i believe now that i shall find satisfaction in undergoing all that is to be put upon me, even slow, torturous death, since it is all, that she might live. i have gladly undergone all the pain and suffering and will undergo death if it comes to that, that she might be saved from the blighting touch of that vampire, tarlton! i think i should not regret to suffer thus for any worthy woman. but for or diabolism and destiny. marie, dearer to me than life itself, why, i be- lieve i could sing my own funeral dirge while burning at the stake for trying to protect that in her which in any woman is worth more than life! to die to save our poor, abused and misused wom- anhood from the blight of villainous outrage ought always to be sweet to true manhood! yes, i shall glory in my suffering for her sake! while i know i am as innocent of any wrong as an angel, yet i glory in my punishment. had a white man done what i did, he would be held up as a hero, worthy of the highest encomiums that tongue can utter. "i am glad, mr. grtmpky, thnt you took the course you did. i trust you and shall try to do what is best. when you write mrs. norris tell her what i say, and she will talk it over with marie. they have done what they could to save me from this, my last doom. they will con- tinue to do what they can for my release, but release i do not hope for, except in death. but if die i must, it will be a happiness to me to offer up a thing so worthless as my life for a cause so noble and a girl so worthy. tell them not to fret and pine over my seeming misfortune, but to look forward to better things. may the son and brother be spared the agony and death that the father and i have suffered for our defense of womanly virtue. you are a hero, mr. grimpky, among cowards and bullies, for that is what mobs are made up of. no brave man is ever cruel or out of the darkness, abusive to the weak and helpless. the loving are the daring, and the brave are the true. you have always stood for the right and urged justice and fair treatment for all people. you have braved popular ill-feeling against me, and at the risk of injury to your practice stood up in my de- fense while i was being tried by the men who mobbed me. you may lose caste and custom in this god-forsaken place, but you can and must win your way upward in the world. such vir- tues as yours cannot go unrewarded. if i should ever escape from the hell to which they have con- signed me with life and breath, i shall use them in speaking your praises. i go gladly, since it is a sacrifice for.love and honor. let them do their worst. "they cannot bend the lofty soul. though friends and fame depart: the car of fate may o'er him roll, nor crush his hero heart."'for there is something will not die, where life hath once been, fair; some towering thought still rears on high; some manhood lingers thorn.'" the prisoner was not allowed to see any one at croton except his lawyer, or to attend to any of his affairs. he left all in the hands of mr. grimpky. his relatives at south bend were afraid to come, and hence did not see him. on the third day after his sentence the prisoner ob diabolism and destiny. was taken to the penitentiary. when he had been put in prison garb and instructed somewhat as to rules and penalties, he was put to work in the quarry. the work was very heavy, and the prisoner had not fully recovered from his wounds. he had never done heavy work; it almost pros- trated him. the prisoner came in with the gang at dark the first day so nearly dead that he could scarcely drag himself along. his chainmate car- ried the chain to relieve him as much as possible. while the roll was being called he fell in a faint. after the roll was called the prisoner was un- chained from his mate and laid in a corner till the prison doctor could attend to him. when the doc- tor came he rolled him over with his foot, felt his pulse with his walking cane, gave him a jab in the ribs, and said, "there is nothing the matter with that 'nigger.'" laprade was dragged up by a guard and two "trustys," carried to his cell, dumped upon a pile of straw and left without food or medical attention. the pris- oner had a high fever that night, but the next morning was able to get up, though very weak and dizzy. at four o'clock the prisoners were roused, but remained in their cells till half past four. they were then chained together two and two, marched out to a water trough, where they washed their faces and hands, without soap, or anything on which to wipe. after this, the prisoners were marched to a long shed, where they stood before a shelf on the wall. on the out of the darkness, shelf were placed for each prisoner a hunk of cold corn bread, a small slice of fat bacon and a cup of water called coffee. they were allowed fifteen minutes in which to dispose of this sump- tuous meal, then were marched out into the yard, the roll called again and the squads formed and marched off to their various places of labor. although weak and sick, laprade swallowed the swill called coffee, and the stuff called bread. he knew he must get strength from something for the work before him. although sick and weak, he struggled hard to do his task. but the weather was so cold and damp that his fever began to rise again in the afternoon, so that he grew dizzy and fell with his burden. the boss began to lash him with his whip, but he lay there as one dead. after lashing his hands, face and body for some time, the boss ordered two of the squad to take and dump him on a pile of brush. the air being chill and damp, his fever grew worse and he became delirious. at last one of the bosses came out and had the prisoner carried to the doctor, who this time gave him some quinine. he took the medicine during the night and the next morning was in better shape. la- prade was given lighter work for a few days, and soon gained strength. after the prisoner had been there six months it was decided to send him with others to work in the coal mines. this work was harder and more dangerous. each man was tasked at so many or diabolism and destiny. bushels of coal per day. if he failed in his task he was whipped with a big leather strap. the strap was made with several thicknesses of raw- hide nailed together at the loose end to make it heavy. laprade had failed several times and thereby fallen under the lash. he was often sick and unable to perform his task, but if he failed he was punished just the same. on several oc- casions he was lashed into insensibility. the fare at the mines was worse then than at the main prison. the convicts came out of the mines about dark, were marched off to the stockades, given corn bread, often frozen, a tin cup of water sweet- ened with sugar-house molasses, and then turned into holes in log walls with their wet mining clothes on. in winter they shivered all night, and in summer they sweated and steamed. there was no place for the sick—sick and well were crowded together. indeed the managers seemed to desire to hasten the death of the sick as much as possi- ble. bad treatment and exposure were the means used to get rid of them. they said: "the dead tell no tales." laprade's mate took sick, but was forced to his task and died under the lash of the boss, who was trying to force him to his work. he was un- chained, taken by two convicts under guard, car- ried out to the burying place, a hole dug and the body tumbled in just as picked up from the pit. laprade said to himself, "is this hell, and are these men devils incarnate!" the prisoners out of the darkness. goaded to desperation, often insane from torture and hunger, made the dash of death for liberty. most times there would be two or three gun re- ports, and the victim was picked up and tumbled into the hole always kept ready. if one got be- yond the range of the guns, the hounds were turned loose and in a few hours his mangled body would be found in the woods or brush. then brush, leaves and sticks would be piled upon it and the body burned. the records said, "killed while attempting to escape." now and then one would escape. but for every one that escaped, ten were killed or recaptured. those recaptured might well have wished they had met the fate of those killed in the chase, for their groans and yells could be heard for many days and nights after they were recaptured. laprade saw and heard all this, squirmed un- der the lash and groaned under the kicks and cuffs, but hoped and trusted in deliverance. death would have been welcome, but he seemed fated to live, labor ami suffer chapter xiii. close of school and wedding. their tables were stored full, to glad the sight, and not so much to feed on as delight; all poverty was scorn'd and pride so great , the name of help grew odious to repeat. —pericles. t was the balmy month of may when earth, air and sky seemed joined in conclave to make an occasion of beauty, love and song. woods, fields and air re- sounded with the songs of joyous birds, and were redolent with the breath of leaves and flowers. all, everything, seemed to conspire to make the closing scene of the school a gladsome time; to make the launching of a new barque upon the placid sea of matrimony one of joy mingled with fond regret. since harold went home from school with the teacher on that afternoon, and there at her home they vowed to unite their destinies, miss de- hart had gone to and from her school on the hill as one who walks upon the air. the children wondered what had come over her. all kindness before, now she was the perfection of love and » ( ) or diabolism and destiny. to the bridal party. two receptions were to be held; one at the home of the groom immediately after the marriage and another following that at the residence of mr. newton, a cousin of miss dehart. at two o'clock a. m., accompanied by their mother, they were to start on their bridal tour, visiting washington, baltimore, philadel- phia, new york and boston. they would return to oakland. julian came a day or two ahead, as he was to look into some legal matters for harold. lucius came on the morning of the wedding day. at ten o'clock, the groom and his two classmates called upon the bride. the lawyer was in- troduced. after they had spent an hour at her residence they left for a stroll. the classmates talked over old times at school, their successes and failures since leaving the university, but studiously avoided any expression that would bring up the accident at the football game, or the fainting spell on commencement day. -'i like your fiancee very much," said julian; "she seems an accomplished lady. from what i hear of her and the esteem in which she is held by the people here, i think she is just the woman for a man in the ministry." "well, as an accomplished lady, i think she is worthy of the high estimate which you and julian place upon her," said lucius. but to be frank with you, harold, i am sorry to see you link your destiny with a woman as dark as she. i could out of the darkness, never bring myself to marry a woman of her color; her complexion would always overshadow her other qualities. i do not believe that i could love my offspring born of such a union! you should at least unite with a woman no darker than yourself. before i would make such an al- liance, i should remain a bachelor, as i am, for- ever." "why, lucius, not even our friendship as class- mates warrants your indulgence in such free ex- pression of opinion to me of my future wife. many a man has been challenged to mortal com- bat for words less derogatory. but since i am pre-eminently a man of peace, i shall pass your disparaging remarks by, because you mention no fault worthy of condemnation. nor do you point out one defect which she or i by any power we possess could correct. you admit that she is all that any cultured christian lady could be. but you fall back and offer the same objection to her that the white people, especially the southern whites, offer to you or any one with negro blood. my friend, i always knew you to be full of color- phobia, but did not think you would flaunt it in the face of your host, friend and classmate on the most joyous day of his life. that you could thus challenge my respect and friendship in speak- ing of the woman who, next to my mother, is the dearest person on earth to me, surprises me. but i opine that your zeal is not according to knowledge, and dismiss it as the vaporings of a disordered brain." ob diabolism and destiny. "well said, well said," was the approval which julian gave to the defense of the noble woman. said he, "we who suffer so much as a people from the blighting curse of color prejudice, ought never allow our partiality as to color, if we have any, to show itself in words or acts. this mental defect, like that of concupiscence and drunken- ness, should be crucified in our bodies. we should try to be like our master, always seeing that in our fellows which is best, overlooking the weak- nesses and faults." on tuesday, may th, —, the children, par- ents and friends gathered at ten o'clock a. m., to hear oral examinations, speeches and songs, to hear the results of their examinations, and to see the work of the pupils. after the exercises were over a basket dinner was served in the shady grove. all then went home to prepare for the event of the evening. at half past seven o'clock the people be- gan to gather at the church to witness the school exhibition. by eight the house was full, and the exercises began. after an hour and a half of very excellent entertainment by the pupils, the exercises closed with speeches of regret by some of the patrons for the loss of their very ex- cellent teacher. the speakers said they were glad, since they could not retain the teacher, to turn her over to the care of one of their most excellent sons. she was still theirs, as she was going to one whose family had been one of them for several genera- out of the dakkness, tions, and that the couple would be loved and cherished by them all. the exercises over the people went to their homes to rest and prepare for the grand event of the next evening. on wednesday, early in the day, presents began to arrive at the scott residence and continued to come in till a late hour that evening. there were many valuable compliments from a distance as well as at home. . among those most prized was a painting presented by the g. a. r. post of oakland. it represented a colored soldier ly- ing wounded on the battle-field. the scene was night, but by the light of the camp fire a red spot could be seen on the ground and leaves where the soldier lay. . all who saw the face recognized it as that of sergeant scott, the groom's father. promptly at seven thirty o'clock in the even- ing the bridal party arrived at the church door, and made their way down the aisle to the slow music of the wedding march. julian and miss forrester came first, next lucius and miss newton, after them harold with his mother on his arm, and then came the bride on the arm of mr. newton, preceded by four little girls with baskets of flowers which they scattered in the path of the bride. remarks were heard: "she is the black swan," "how beautiful," "how sweet she looks," "isn't she lovely," "he is getting a noble woman!" "yes, and he is a noble man." the bishop went through the ceremony with eclat. the bridal party re-entered their carriages or diabolism and destiny. and the audience was dismissed. the invited guests repaired to the newton and scott resi- dences, where feasting and congratulations were the order till the time to say farewell to the bride and groom. at two o'clock a. m., the members of the bridal party accompanied the newly mar- ried people and the mother to the train, and saw them on a pullman sleeper, and after wishing them smooth sailing o'er life's stormy sea bade them a final adieu! as julian was so near muskegon, he must needs go to that city. lucius not wishing to linger in an atmosphere so pregnant with unhappy mem- ories left the next day for his field of action. the attorney was treated quite as well as the doctor had been at muskegon. the lawyers, doctors and business men vied with each other in making his visit pleasurable. some said that he must have enjoyed his visit more than the doctor did for he stayed longer, and was with miss deshon oftener. the look upon her face was different when he was around from what it had been when the doctor was near. norman was not quite so cordial with the lawyer as he had been with the doctor, for he looked and acted as though he were jealous. chapter xiy. prisoner and promises. in adamantine chains shall death be bound. and hell's grim tyrant (eel th' eternal wound. —pope. is it for this we all have felt the flame, this newer bondage and deeper shame? nay, not for this, a nation's heroes bled, and north and south with tears beheld their dead! —dunbar. j|he norrises had never given up hope of securing the release of professor la- prade. they were kept posted by mr. grimpky as to the status of his efforts to secure a pardon for the prisoner. lawyer grimpky had secured a large list of names to a petition to the governor for the pardon of la- prade. mr. storms headed the list. the judge, prosecuting attorney and some of the trial jury signed the petition. but the croton bee, a newspaper published at croton, bitterly opposed the pardon, and said, "let the 'nigger' rot in chains. it was a mercy ( s ) or diabolism and destiny. to send him to the penitentiary. he should have met the fate of norris, or at least, have been condemned to death! any 'nigger' who kills a white man should be killed, hung or lynched. this is a white man's country. the 'nigger' is only here by sufferance, and can only stay by obedience to the whites. whenever he raises his black hand against a white man he should perish like the other beasts." the paper had several editorials along this line. the governor turned the petition down as against the public good. that failing, the nor- rises and buchanans decided to give five thou- sand dollars to some trusty person who would un- dertake the escape of laprade. an ohio man, who had been a detective, undertook the perilous task. he had to have a confederate, of course. one of them must commit a small offense, and be convicted and sent to the penitentiary in order to get into communication with laprade and perfect the plans—and that might fail, for the confeder- ate might not be sent to the mines where laprade was, and then all would fail except the punish- ment of the rescuer. the men came to croton at different times, put up at different hotels and were perfect strangers, so far as any one except themselves knew. the name of the principal one was v. b. strong, and the confederate's name was m. b. devine. strong made complaint one morning that divine had forged his name to a check which he had given his out of the darkness, landlord. when arraigned, devine agreed to plead guilty, provided he could get off at one year, in the penitentiary. that was arranged, and he was sent to prison for a term of one year. devine was a blacksmith, so they put him in the shop. after he had been there about two months a call was made for a blacksmith at the east mines. one of the blacksmiths there had just been re- leased, and devine was sent to take his place. at roll call he noticed the answers to names, to see if laprade was called and to see and note who answered. he soon found that laprade was there, and that he was a miner. when devine had learned this he managed to communicate with strong, who had come and opened a photo- graph gallery in the village, a mile from the pris- on. devine was allowed to write but his letters had to be looked over by the prison authorities. he was a chemist, and understood how to make a fluid to write with, the letters of which could only be seen after the sheet was heated. he wrote to a lady at stillwater, and left about half the sheet blank, but in reality it had the invisible writing upon it. the lady was v. b. strong. strong got the letter on an order signed by the lady. the blacksmith, devine, proved to be one of the best they ever had. he could not only repair, but make many of the tools they used. devine was also a man of fine education, played on several in- struments, sang, and was one of the finest come- dians the officers had ever heard. they had him or diabolism and destiny. over at the mess hall of the officers as often as they could. they declared that devine was the same as a circus or a minstrel show. in addition to being a chemist, he had studied medicine and pharmacy. this prisoner was so entertaining that the officers came to feel that they could not do without him, and regretted that his term was so short, but thought it a pity for so smart a man to be in prison. they made him a "trusty." as a "trusty" he was often sent to the village of stillwater on errands for the prison authorities. on these visits he always saw strong. at those times they formed plans to secure the escape of laprade, who was having a hard time of it. his work and his punishment grew harder and hard- er. devine had managed to have a conversation or two with laprade while they were in the ex- ercise pen on sundays. laprade was told of what had been done towards his escape, that there was hope beyond, and to do his best to keep going. the prison burying ground was about a quarter of a mile from the stockade. most of the bury- ing was done at the close of the day's work. in winter it was quite dark at quitting time. two guards and four prisoners were sent out to where graves about two feet deep were kept open. one or two "trustys" worked at grave-digging most of the time. there was a burial nearly every night, and sometimes two or three. laprade was such a delicate man that he had rarely ever been able to do his work, and hence ok diabolism and destiny. he saw the marked grave, and began the work of disinterment . in about thirty minutes, he pulled the body from the hole, and carried it to the buggy, put it in and drove rapidly away. strong had a room over the gallery, which no one but himself and devine were permitted to enter. to this room he carried *the body. once within, he laid it on a long table, stripped it of the prison rags and threw them into a red hot stove. he first gave the body a thorough scrubbing, alter- nating cold and hot water, and then rubbed the body till it began to glow and show signs of cir- culation. from many bottles he took fluids, ad- ministered them by pouring a little into the mouth of the subject and rubbing others on the body. now and then, he held vaporous substances to the nose and chafed the body. thus he worked for two hours, when there was a slight vibration of the chest, and in about ten minutes another and so on, till there was a deep sigh, and the dead was alive—living and breathing. "z. w. laprade sent up from coweater county, died on dec. th, —," was entered in the prison records. there would be no excitement or search, as the prisoner was dead. so strong kept la- prade in the room, fed and administered medicine to him till he was convalescent. in about a month from the time he was rescued, laprade had grown a beard and was recovered sufficiently to travel. strong destroyed all traces of the prisoner la- prade. his name was now l. a. pardue. out of the darkness, as devine's time expired in two months after the rescue of the prisoner, strong made prepara- tions to start north with pardue. they would go as far as oakland and there await the coming of devine. on a dark night they drove by buggy twenty-five miles to lookout station, and took the four o'clock train for oakland. of course par- due had to ride in the jim-crow car, but he and strong kept in touch with each other. at oak- land pardue stopped with a colored family and strong put up at a hotel, but they met at night and discussed plans. as laprade had never been at the place no one knew him; and he could not have been recognized now, because he looked more like some. foreigner than a negro. the rev. harold scott was not at oakland at this time. he had gone to another charge, and his wife and child were at mrs. scott's at croton. after strong and pardue had been at oakland about two weeks, devine came to them. that night they took the train for cincinnati. strong rode in the sleeper, devine in the day coach and pardue in the jim-crow car. they reached cin- cinnati without mishap. as they had passed from the land of egypt, they now traveled together in the same coach, put up at the same hotels and traveled as companions and associates. when they reached cleveland, ohio, devine went on to his home at oberlin, and strong took pardue to his residence in cleveland, and sent a telegram or diabolism and destiny. to mr. norwood stating that they were at home, and all was well. mr. norwood understood, and answered that he would expect them on at the earliest date possible. chapter xy. physician and people. sprinkled along the waste of years full many a soft green isle appears; pause where we may upon the desert road, some shelter is in sight, some sacred, safe abode. —keble. t ive year's practice in eastberg had made dr. storms quite popular as a physician and surgeon. he was making reputation and money quite rapidly. having successfully performed several difficult operations, caused his fame to spread to other cities and towns. as the custom is when a new physician comes to a place, many of the chronic cases were brought to him. of these several had been declared incurable by other physicians. yet dr. storms cured some of them. the doctor was kept busy day and night. it was largely through the influence of his class- mate and chum, dr. s. p. tilton, that dr. storms took up the practice in eastberg, the home of the tiltons. ( a) diabolism and destiny. dr. tilton's family was quite wealthy and prominent. sebastian and his sister cordelia were the only children. the father, dr. b. s. tilton, had been so successful as a physician that he retired from active practice and turned it over to his son. the elder tilton devoted his time to politics and speculation. dr. s. p. tilton was succeeding nicely in his practice. dr. tilton often visited the office of dr. storms, where they held consultations. dr. tilton preferred always to seek advice from dr. storms, as he knew his ability to give reliable information. often at night when they had leisure they sat and dis- cussed medical and other matters till a late hour. when not discoursing on medical subjects they often discussed civil, political and religious mat- ters. dr. storms could speak freely with dr. tilton, for they were fast friends. "it is unfortunate, i think for both the whites and blacks that the better class of both races do not come together and try to combine their efforts to build up his wasted land," said dr. tilton. "this is the land of my people as it is the land of your people. why should conditions be such in this day of advanced thought and action that i should feel more patriotic than you or your people?" "don't say my people, if you please! my coun- try is the world, and my people are humanity," said dr. storms. "i belong to no race and no clime. am i without race or nation? how ' out of the darkness, can i, an outcast, disowned by my father and my country, have other feelings than those of a wanderer and a pariah. though i am a black man and of the black race, i am white. who has done me this injustice?" "unhappy thought! this is what i referred to," said dr. tilton. "conditions are such that you have almost no love of country. you almost hate the south for what it has been to your moth- er, to you and your people. you feel that you have no race. you do not claim the negro race, because you feel that you are more a white man than a negro. your education and tastes put you far above the average of that people. but do you know that that comes of the degradation in which the negro is held by proscription and race antagonism. in view of the rapid pace with which the negro has made strides up the steeps of progress in these years of quasi freedom, what would he not do in the next hundred years if helped and not hindered by the white man? i know it is asserted that if the negro were left to himself, or put off into a country to himself, he would soon lapse into savagery. but that is no proof that he may not attain to a high state of civilization! there are no self-made men, races or nations! no man can lift himself out of the miro. lie must be helped out. no man can en- lighten himself. he must be enlightened by oth- ers. you and i are called learned physicians. are we not using information received from others? out of the darkness, once the signs of the blighting hand of slavery, and the bloody traces of kukluxing, lynching and whitecapping. no country on earth can prosper that harbors such sins within its bosom. no state or states can achieve their highest good that send men to their law-making bodies who boast of killing the people or depriving them of their legal rights. how much better than nero is a man who stands up in our legislative and other halls and declares that in the south a part of the citizens will never be allowed to exercise their rights? nero acted blindly, but these act with full knowledge of the injustice they do. strange, i know it sounds to you, lucius, to hear a south- ern man talk thus; but you know that in my heart i love all men, and especially the weak and op- pressed. you are aware of my treatment of you and the other colored students at the university. but going north did not change my heart or opinions; they were ever thus from my boy- hood days. when i was a child i used to play with saul, and thought it so strange that he was not allowed to come in, eat with me, and stay all night. when they said to me: 'why, he is a 'nigger!' you can't eat and sleep with 'niggers!' that did not satisfy my young heart or the ques- tioning in my mind. "you must remember that many of the north- ern men at the university upbraided me for treat- ing negroes as equals. i know many southern people, especially of the younger element, who out of the darkness, by their follies they are only hastening their own doom. because they have not ruled in righteous- ness the lord will pluck the kingdom out of their hands and give it to another. the south will yet read, written on its wall of prejudice, 'mene, mene, tekel, upharsin!' "do you know, lucius, that many of your friends feel that the negro is too tractable and conciliatory—if he had more of the combative in his make up he would be treated with more defer- ence; that he trusts in god to fight the battle which he must fight! many who used to stand up and contend for the rights of the negro have lost faith in him because of his non-resistance to insults, oppressions and repressions heaped upon him from year to year! 'he who would be free must first strike the blow.' it is useless for a man to pray when he ought to fight. 'god helps those who help themselves.' do you think that the millions of any other race on earth would submit as tamely as does the negro to these out- rages and injustices?" "at first i thought your position would seem to be the correct one," said lucius. "it does seem cowardly for ten million people to allow them- selves to be trodden under foot as the negro is; and that, too, in many sections where there are twenty-five negroes to one white person. to persons who do not understand the situation it is astounding that these ten million people, goaded and exasperated as they are, insulted and misused or diabolism and destiny. in every way, do not break forth in their despera- tion and become a death-dealing mob. since they have become so accustomed to death it is thought that they might rise in their might, and with the sword of vengeance and the torch of destruction go forth to avenge their three hundred years of wrong and suffering. but they who say such things do not know the negro. he loves peace and his brother man. he prefers to serve god and his fellow, rather than to become a murderer. "his record as a soldier in two hundred years of war on a thousand battle-fields will attest the fact that he is no coward. no man who has an ounce of brains or one trait of honesty will call him coward. the negro soldier was never known to turn his back to approaching foe. but the bravest soldier is one who can stand in the face of a gall- ing fire without firing in return. he who can stand still and wait his time to shoot, in the face of a shower of lead, is the bravest of the brave. it would be easy for the negro to strike back, kill and slaughter, and himself be slaughtered, to- gether with his helpless ones, but he is only biding his time. he who thinks the negro is not chafing under these outrages and oppressions reck- ons without his host. the negroes are keenly alive to every ill they suffer. thousands and thousands lay awake nights pondering over the wrongs heaped upon the race. of course the great majority of the negroes are ignorant, and like the lower strata of any race or people, they pay little atten- out of the darkness, tion to the things which trammel us. but at least half of the ten million negroes in this country are galled almost to desperation by the insults and injustices heaped upon a docile, affectionate and trustful people. the negro is a part of the citizenship of this republic. he has ever been patriotic and has poured out streams of his best blood in defense of a liberty enjoyed by everybody but the negro. no; they judge wrong who think or say that the negro is cowardly or indifferent to the wrongs done him." these two young physicians often had such dis- cussions. they felt almost like brothers when thus together. they would do anything they could for each other. they often consulted each other over the diagnosis of difficult cases. in most instances when dr. storms visited the patients of dr. tilton they thought dr. storms was a white man also. wherever dr. storms went he made a favorable impression as a physician. many said he was the best physician in the city, white or black. dr. storms spent little time outside of his professional work. he mingled little with the people except in a professional way. his tastes and prejudices had not changed, except to become more intensified. his close attachment to dr. tilton inclined him more towards his father's people. on one occasion when calling at the office of dr. tilton, he saw a beautiful young lady sitting in the reception room. at a glance he knew by ob diabolism and destiny. the resemblance that she was the sister of dr. tilton. he asked, with hat in hand, if the doc- tor was in, and she called the doctor. when he came in, as no other persons were present, he said: "cordelia, this is dr. lucius storms, of whom you have heard me speak so often." cordelia blushed and recognized the introduc- tion with a nod of the head. lucius blushed also and bowed and said: "miss tilton, your brother, always kind, is more than obliging in thus honoring in this man- ner one who is not entitled to -expect it. he has ever been one of my best friends. i have been helped so much by his kindnesses. we contem- plate taking a journey sometime to the old world. we wish to visit the lands of history and achieve- ment. there we shall be companions and broth- ers." cordelia blushed and bit her lip. she had never been brought thus near to a social level with one of the despised race. dr. storms bade them good afternoon and left. when dr. storms was gone cordelia said to her brother, "is he really a negro? he doesn't look, talk or act like one; at least, not like those i see. is it really true, sebastian, that you associated with and treated, and now treat this negro as a social equal?" "yes, and no. i did when i could; i would now, if i dared, treat him as my bosom friend. i out of the darkness. know no man on earth, except my father, whom i esteem higher. i don't treat him as a social equal now, because you and the rest will not per- mit it." chapter xvi. pardue, marie and brownsville. domestic happiness, thou only bliss, of paradise that has survived the tall! —cowper |t waa necessary for strong and pardue to remain in cleveland for a few days to attend to some business affairs. mr. strong wished to consult a physician as to the proper treatment for mr. pardue. he wished to rid him of the ill effects of the exposure and brutal treatment undergone while in prison. and too, mr. pardue had to purchase suitable clothing. for all necessary expenses they had been instructed to draw on mr. norwood's bank in cleveland, and they spent ten days in that city attending to business and seeing the points of interest. when on board the train steaming westward, pardue became livelier than he had been since his resurrection. he seemed filled with happy anticipations of something that might pos- sibly happen at the place to which he was going. he discoursed felicitously of the future, and the new life opening up to him. (ao ) out of the darkness, of your tortuous imprisonment. i am quite sure from the look in her eyes and the faltering voice in which she spoke of you that there is a very ten- der feeling in her heart for you. i believe you will realize your fondest hopes. the family has spared no expense that might make your pardon or escape secure." on arriving in brownsville they were met at the station by mr. norwood and theodore with their private carriage. they took the newcomers to the sumner house, where sumptuous rooms and accommodations had been prepared for them. after they had changed their dress and taken re- freshments mr. norwood and theodore took them to the norwood. residence. the mother and daughter met them in the drawing-room. mrs. norwood embraced pardue as though he had been her own son, rescued and returned to her from the battle slain! marie came forward with out- stretched hands and tearful eyes and clasped both pardue's hands in hers and said: "professor, i am so glad to see you! it is as though you had returned from the vale of shadows. indeed you are returned from death, as i am in- formed. well it is said, 'we live to die, and die to live.'""yes," said the professor, "that is just what i did, miss marie. i chose to die that i might live. i am alive, and wish to live now that life's beau- ties and loveliness are opening to me. i once desired to die, because i thought it necessary to or diabolism and destiny. save those i cared for more than life! now that i have passed from death unto life, i want to live and enjoy the loveliness and liberties of life. it opens all the fountains of my soul to be thus alive and enjoying life's hopes and realizations among the redeemed. for have not nearly all of us been redeemed—miss marie, from the demon de- spoiler; mr. norwood, from the fury of the mob, but alas! some poor innocent being was sacrificed to save him; and me from the death-dealing hell- hole of the south called a prison?" the norwoods thanked mr. strong for his de- votion to their cause. all financial matters re- lating to pardue's rescue had been settled. af- ter a pleasant chat of an hour, mr. strong bade them good afternoon and accompanied by theo- dore, was driven to his hotel. here he retired for much needed rest. theodore returned to his of- fice. mr. and mrs. norwood excused themselves and left marie and the professor in the drawing- room. the professor was the first to break the silence:"it seems to me that life never was so sweet as at this moment. can it be that i am about to realize the fulfillment of the hopes and dreams of my nights of torture and desolation! how often, o how often in those hours of delirium and exhaustion out of the darkness has my soul wandered with a sylph-like spirit in verdant groves filled with sweet odors and singing birds! in my visions i sat beside the limpid streams anrt or diabolism and destiny. "you have suffered much for me and mine; poor is the reward which i can give. but, as you ask, it is yours. my poor heart impels me to render so far as i can some recompense for such service and devotion as yours has been," said she. they talked for quite a while of the dark and gloomy past with its rifts of sunshine, and then of the bright and golden future. hand in hand the lovers now went to where the parents were and asked for their approval and blessing upon their betrothal. the father and mother were not surprised at their coming, as they had long surmised that there was an attachment between the young people deeper than friendship. the norwoods had invested in property and traded till they were now much wealthier than when in georgia. mr. norwood owned two very valuable farms, which he was cultivating, besides several valuable pieces of city property. he also owned and conducted a large agricultural and hardware store. theodore was state commis- sioner of agriculture. marie was one of his clerks; but she was now relieved by mr. love- joy a. pardue, who took her place in the office. the time of the marriage was to be thanks- giving day. messrs. strong and devine were among those invited. on thanksgiving evening the new ebenezer church was full to overflowing with the elite of brownsville. the audience was as neatly attired as was ever seen in any audito- » out of the darkness, rium on like occasion. at the norwood mansion presents were being brought in at a rapid rate. presents and congratulations had been coming in for three days, and among them was one, a dia- mond ring, from mr. strong. it had been en- graved on the inside, "risen." there was a gold locket with a picture in it, of a body being taken from a grave. it was presented by devine. elder buchanan, in feeble, faltering voice, united the pair in holy wedlock and remarked at the close of the service that he thought this would be his last ministerial act, as he was near the end of his journey. the guests repaired to the residence, of the bride, where feasting and merriment continued to a late hour. the next day, the newly-married folks began housekeep- ing in their own cosy little nest, next door to the paternal domicile. as they came in to the first meal in their own dining-room, arm in arm. love- joy remarked that: "this is a love-feast;" and as they sat side by side, he said: "once i was dead, but now i am alive forevermore." in the month of december, as it began to draw near to the anniversary of the nativity of him who came to bind up the broken-hearted and preach deliverance to the captives, while the streets of brownsville were thronged with merry shoppers who were making their purchases of things to gladden the hearts of their kindred and friends, elder buchanan, the founder of the beautiful, prosperous city, was stricken with par- or diabolism and destiny. alysis. when it was known about the streets and in the places of business, the questions were upon every lip: "do you know that elder buchanan is very ill?" "how is elder buchanan?" many hundreds called at the residence to ex- press their sympathy and offer their services; not a few passed to ask after the condition of the venerable father. four of the best physicians were in attendance upon the patient. but on christmas eve, as the flickering rays of the win- try sun fell faintly upon the leafless branches of the trees upon the western slopes, he breathed his last, full of years and good works. full of faith he took his flight, out of darkness into light. his funeral occurred on the day after christmas, and was attended by all the city officials in a body, the board of trade, the business men and a vast concourse of people. the services were held at ebenezer church, where a sermon was preached and eulogies and resolutions- were offered. a double line of carriages and vehicles nearly a mile in length followed the remains to oak hill, the finest cemetery in the city. the body was deposited in a private vault, to remain till the sarcophagus which was to be erected by the city was ready. in it the casket would rest permanently. his death was mourned as a public loss. the will of the deceased patriarch buchanan was found out of the darkness. to contain among other bequests one of a thou- sand dollars to ebenezer church and one of ave hundred dollars to mr. leonidas storms, the man who out of the darkness of desolation came to deliver him from the hands of the destroyer. chapter xvii. storma and storms. thou ugliest fiend of hell! thy deadly venom preys on my vitals, turns the healthful hue on my fresh cheeks to haggard sallowness, and drinks my spirits up i —hannah more. n returning one night about half past twelve o'clock from the bedside of a very sick patient, dr. storms found a telegram awaiting him. with trem- bling hand he opened it and read: "mr. leonidas storms lies at the point of death. come at once! "a. grimpky." he had only time while the office boy packed his suit case to telephone dr. tilton to look after his patients while he was away. he informed the doctor that he had been called to croton on account of the severe illness of mr. storms, of whom he had often told him. the boy drove the doctor to the station and he caught the two-thirty o'clock train for croton. as dr. storms was well known by the train men he had to go into the jim-crow car, because he could not get a sleeper on such short notice. it was very distasteful to the doctor to ( ) out of the darkness, ride in that filthy, dingy, stinking car, among a lot of dirty railroad hands. they were smoking old, filthy, offensive pipes and acting in a very boisterous manner. it so stung the doctor that he tried to ride on the platform, but the brake- man ordered him in from there. at last he set his face to endure it, and went in. "i do not suffer one-thousandth part of what mr. norris and prof. laprade were made to un- dergo for manhood's sake," said the doctor. i must learn to endure this for a while that i may rise to better things." after he got settled down and somewhat overcame his repugnance to his surroundings he fell into a musing mood. he thought upon his father's illness and of his pos- sible death; of all that his death meant to him; the memory of his angel mother, and of the wrongs to them both. said he to himself:"the only difference between the blackest, dirt- iest negro on this train and me is my ability to suffer. they feel no inconvenience on account of these insults and injustices. my education and refined feelings are the measure of my sufferings, not my color. for my white skin avails me noth- ing when it is known that there is negro blood in my body." dr. storms mused upon the chances of trouble with his brother, who hated him be- cause he was not only a natural child but a negro. he felt sure that his sister would not of herself give him trouble, but she was married now and out of the darkness, to her, he allowed his mind and heart to contem- plate the possibility of attainment to an object higher in the society scale and more to his liking. if the young lady now in contemplation was not higher in reality, she was at least so by the place assigned to the races, by those who assume lord- ship over all races, kindreds, nations, tongues, principalities and powers. "i have always desired to cut my relations with my mother's unfortunate race. to be one of them only brings misfortune, insult and degrada- tion. to be in this dirt trap, called a car; to see this dirty, motley crowd; to contemplate what they represent and what they stand for in this country, fills my soul with disgust and an unutter- able longing for something higher and better— something that will carry me up into the atmos- phere where men get a full draught of pure, free air and life. this life for me is deep misery and unendurable! i will aspire if i have to pay the penalty with my life! i will live as a man or die as a dog!" before lucius realized where he was the porter cried out: "all off for croton. lucius sprang up, grabbed his suit case and got off. no car- riage was there to carry him to a stopping place. he desired to go at once to his father's bedside, but since the father was either dying or dead, he must be cautious. so he gave his suit case to a boy to carry and walked down town. lucius went to the office of mr. greer, mr. storm's law- or diabolism and destiny. yer, and learned that his father was very low, and not expected to live for many hours. lucius paid the boy, and asked mr. greer to allow him to leave his luggage there till he returned. lucius then went to the office of mr. grimpky and learned further of the condition of mr. storms. mr. grimpky told him that gatewood had just gone up town. so lucius hurried on to see his father while gatewood was out. when he reached mr. storm's room he found him speechless. soon after lucius arrived there alma came in. having given him her hand in greeting she left the room, leaving lucius and mr. storms together. mr. storms looked at lucius and seemed to recognize him, but could not utter a word or move. lucius stood by the bed and wiped the bitter tears from his eyes. he felt that he was recognized by his father, but his utter loneliness and desolation overcame him, and he sank to the floor by the bed. when he had lain thus for some time gate- wood came in; and when he saw lucius he grew very red in the face and said, with much passion in his voice:"'nigger,' how dare you enter my father's room unbidden? i am in charge here! you can- not take privileges or hang around here as you have done heretofore. when he who lies there passes away, you pass from here forever." the father heard what was said, but could only look distressed. he could utter no word of pro- test, though he looked worried. out of the darkness, lucius said, "i am sorry conditions are such that my presence is required or has been requested here! i pray you to have some regard for your suffering parent, who lies there almost in the arms of death! i shall rid you of my presence, if that will prevent your brawling over your dy- ing father. you are his lawful son and legal heir. i am his son of misfortune. he is a high-toned man. all his life he tried, as far as he could, to repair and atone for the wrong he had done my mother and me by bringing me into the world under untoward conditions. yes, he is a noble man! would that his son and heir had some of his traits! you know your power and i know it, too; therefore i go from this house, but shall con- tend for my rights whatever they are under his last testament." "yes, 'nigger', i know my rights and power, and i shall use them on you if you don't get out. only the fact that you are one of our former 'niggers', keeps me from having you dealt with by the 'klan.' but even that will not restrain me should you come around here again claiming any rights or recognition as anything but the ex-slave of my father. do you understand? if you do not govern yourself according to what i say, you will be quieted." "i go, sir. do not think you can frighten or deter me! i am not of that blood that cringes or cowers," said lucius. lucius returned to the city slowly, pondering or diabolism and destiny. over the events of the last hour. he secured lodging at the home of mr. warren, one of the prosperous colored business men of the city. the next day word was brought to lucius that mr. storms had died at three o'clock that morning. the funeral took place the second day after his death, at two o'clock in the afternoon, at the presbyterian church. a large concourse of peo- ple was present to do honor to the memory of one of their foremost citizens. among the floral de- signs was one, a "keystone," sent by the family of elder buchanan. gatewood objected to its be- ing placed by the bier, but alma insisted that it would be pleasing to her father to be thus re- membered if he were living, so gatewood yielded to her. of course lucius was not among the mourners; but he sat in the place in the church set apart for colored people. the next day lucius went to see his lawyer and arranged for him to be present at the reading of the will and to attend to his affairs. at eleven o'clock that night he returned to his home. when the will was read it was found that all the real property had been left to gatewood and alma. lucius was to receive ten thousand dollars in cash and bonds as his share of the estate. that amount was considered to be about one-fourth of the estate. the executor was to turn that amount over to lucius, providing, no contests or lawsuits were instituted. but if there were law- suits all were to take equal shares under the will, out of the darkness, according to the decree of the court. gatewood fussed, fumed and talked a good deal about what was left to the "nigger." he threatened to con- test as to the bequest to lucius, but alma andher husband were disposed to let things stand as the parent had willed. gatewood asserted that if lucius had remained in croton, he could have had the whole business soon settled out of court by the klan. the executor after waiting one year to see if any contests would be made, turned lucius' share of the estate over to him. lucius invested the money in a beautiful resi- dence in eastberg. he had through his practice and trading secured considerable estate be- fore he purchased the lovely home in an aristo- cratic section of the city. there was considerable stir and complaint when it was known that the negro doctor had secured a residence in that sec- tion. several threatened to sell out and leave if they could not freeze the negro out. a commit- tee of the residents waited on the doctor and said to him: "we know you are as white, as intelligent and refined as we are; we presume that when you marry, your wife will be no darker than yourself, and that most of your associates will be people of your color, but you are known as a negro; therefore your presence in this section not only injures us socially, but injures our property. you know that the coming of a jew, negro or any one of the dark races into any high-class section of a or diabolism and destiny. city causes those living there to change their resi- dence even at great sacrifice. we do not stop to argue the justice or injustice of the feeling of aversion to the jew, negro, or dark races, but we know it is a fact. you also injure yourself, be- cause you are now held in high esteem by the best element of the white people of the city. but when you undertake to ruin them financially and socially, then you make them your enemies and force them to drastic measures. you also injure your race's interests by making friction be- tween the whites and blacks." "gentlemen," said dr. storms, "i have no race; i am an outcast. i am more a white than a black man. i am what i am by no fault of mine. in fact, all the misery and misfortune that i suf- fer is due to your race. but one thing i know. i am a man, and i will sacrifice my manhood to humor no one. in purchasing this property the white blood in me asserted itself in seeking that which it deemed good for itself. i and the race to which your prejudice has assigned me have sacrificed life, liberty and property, to your greed and hate; but this time i propose to stand upon my constitutional rights. the enjoyment of life, liberty and property you have guaranteed to every man. no, i shall not sell; i did not buy to sell! i have no ties on earth now, and if i am killed, the property shall go to the education of the race accursed, for the love i bear for my mother's memory." out of the darkness. the committee went away with frowns of dis- pleasure upon their faces and vengeance in their minds. "there will come a time, mr. 'nigger,' when your pride will wilt; when you will sing an- other tune." gatewood storms came to eastberg about this time ostensibly on business, but in reality to stir up feeling against dr. storms. he did all he could to encourage the excitement about the "nig- ger" doctor. he ranted about his impudence in trying to be white folks by purchasing a home among them. gatewood did all in his power to fan the fire of indignation against dr. l. storms into a conflagration. .he talked with many of the leading citizens about the trouble lucius had given him and his sister on account of some claim he pretended to have on his father. he told them that that "nigger" had always longed to be con- sidered a white man, and that was the reason he had stuck himself up among the best whites. "i understand that dr. tilton treats this 'nig- ger' almost as an equal, and that he went so far as to introduce him to his sister. well, that is some- thing no true southern man will do or allow others to do. the southern gentleman will asso- ciate with no man who treats a 'nigger' as his equal, no matter what the 'nigger' knows or has. "well, i warn you that you are going to have trouble with that 'nigger.' dr. tilton had better beware of how he associates with him. 'play with a dog and he will lick your face.'" chapter xviii. congressman and constituents. thou hast prevaricated with thy friend, by underhand contrivances undone me; and while my open nature trusted in thee; thou hast stept between me and my hopes. and ravished from me all my soul held dear. thou hast betrayed me. —rowe. eech haven was an important legal as well as business center. there were found nearly all the courts. besides the state courts, all federal courts, ex- cept the supreme court, were held there. it was on that account a city full of lawyers. the courts were in session most of the year, hence nearly all the attorneys were busy. on the bulletin board of a fine office building owned by a wealthy negro, on one of the busiest of the city's thoroughfares, was this sign: "julian jarnigan, lawyer and councillor- th- ." taking the elevator and reaching no. on the fifth floor, one found a nicely furnished suite of three rooms, with all the modern outlit for such an office. the front office was a recep- or diabolism and destiny. "what do we care for their morals so we get cotton and make money?" the hon. roscoe dewitt introduced a bill in congress to cut down the representation of those states which had debarred from voting any of their citizens of votable age. hon. westmore- land was among those who strenuously opposed the measures. "the 'nigger' is little above the brute." "all he is fit for is to work and do the white man's drudgery," said mr. westmoreland. the bill was laid over till the next session of congress. when congress adjourned hon. westmoreland invited hon. dewitt and five other members who favored the bill and two who op- posed it to visit his plantations. hon. dewitt and the other republicans had never been in the south, so they gladly accepted. the day appointed for them to start was a month away. westmoreland made a trip home and instructed the bosses and foremen to get all the negroes, nearly a thousand, together on the saturday after the gentlemen ar- rived ; to give them the biggest day and night they ever had; to make preparations for two thousand, and invite the "niggers" from all the surrounding plantations. they made ready as directed. on the day appointed the negroes came by hundreds and ran up into thousands. two string bands were on hand to furnish music. barbecue for two thousand was prepared and twenty loads of water- melons were brought. a blind tiger was run with out of the darkness, the knowledge of the landlord, so that the negroes might be at their worst. rag-time dancing and cake-walking were in their glory. at two o'clock hon. westmoreland drove the congressmen out and carried them all through the crowds in the midst of their wild drunken debauch. the scene was really obscene. westmoreland carried the visitors to a building where a sumptuous country dinner had been prepared. they were served in grand old southern hospitable style. the visitors were then taken out to a grand stand and given seats where they could observe all that went on at the worse than neroan revel. the visitors were shocked by what they saw and heard. "is it possible, westmoreland, said mr. dewitt, "that you allow your people to conduct themselves in this manner? do you offer no objection to these bestial sports?" "why, this is 'nigger' life and character," said westmoreland. "this is 'nigger' civilization. why, do you see that fellow lying yonder by that large oak? he is beastly drunk. that 'nigger' is one of the leading preachers at the church here. that one you see staggering over that woman is an- other. both of them have at least a dozen women here on my plantations. these are some of your citizens. these are the people whom you wish to place beside me and the chivalry of the south." at night he drove out again with the visitors. by the bright moonlight and a few flickering lamps they saw sights that made them shiver with disgust. chapter xix. beech haven and new orleans. up comes the gale, and the mist-wrought veil gives way to the lightning's glaro and the cloud drifts fall a somber pall, o'er water, earth and air. —(dunbar. alas! by some degree of woe we every bliss must gain; the heart can ne'er a transport know, that never feels a pain.— —lord lyttleton. large mass meeting was held at re- former hall. speeches were made pro- testing against the manner in which hon* westmoreland was trying to bias sentiment against the negro by exhibiting the worst element and qualities of the race. "we do not deny that we have bad people in the race and many of them. where is a race or nation which has not? but we demand to be measured like others, not by our worst, but by our best," said they. out of the darkness, drove about the plantation for some time, admir- ing the crops and talking over the past, present and future. their minds were so full of the things about them that they failed to note the rapid flight of time. when julian and ernestine returned to the house the weather was still hot and sultry, although it was late in the after- noon. when mr. simpkins, the man of the house, came in the couple drove up and said they must start for the city right away, as they would be late getting in any way. mr. simpkins told them they had better stay all night, as he feared there would be a. storm before many hours. ju- lian said he hoped not. ernestine remarked that they must go, as they were compelled to be in the city that evening to attend a reception given by the "langston legal club" in honor of mr. jarnigan. they had driven only a few miles when julian noticed a dark cloud rising in the southwest. soon after, they saw a flash of lightning. "it looks as though what mr. simpkins pre- dicted will occur," remarked julian. "i hope not," said ernestine. in less than thirty minutes it began to grow dark. the clouds were covering the skies, the lightning flashing and fierce winds blowing. the storm had not yet burst upon them, though it was coming fearfully fast. julian wished to take shelter in some of the cabins or diabolism and destiny. not far from the road, but ernestine preferred that he drive on. "we are in a top buggy, and have a storm curtain. we can keep dry, i think," said she. "well, the storm has no terrors for me. it is only for your sake that i wish to take refuge. the wind might blow a tree or limb upon us. i would not have anything happen to you for my own life." said julian. just then the storm burst upon them in all its fury. as they were driving in the face of the storm the rain beat in upon them and soon had their ardor somewhat dampened, but they strug- gled on as best they could. it was now pitch dark! only by the flashes of the lightning could julian see the road. the horse became fretful, jumped and reared, and tried to run, as several limbs fell near. at last the horse began to surge and run, and before julian could check him plunged forward in the dark, and ere they knew it all were in what had been the dry bed of a stream, which they had noticed on the way out, but now it was a raging torrent. ernestine screamed when the water rushed in upon her! she clung to julian and julian clung to the reins. the horse struggled, kicked and finally got loose from the buggy. julian clung to the reins with one hand and with the other tried to hold to ernes- tine, who had fainted; but the horse dragged him loose from ernestine. she was held in the bug- gy by the storm curtain. julian was dragged to the out of the darkness, shore by the horse, while ernestine and the buggy were whirled down with the torrent tide. as soon as julian reached firm ground he rushed down the side of the stream calling loudly to ernestine. but no response came. he ran up and down the bank calling wildly, stumbling over stumps, logs and gullies, but he rushed on blindly. julian fell into the flood two or three times and had a hard struggle to keep from drowning. at last he made a wild rush going further down the stream. the clouds had begun to break a little and he could see better. after he had run down the side of the stream about a mile he came suddenly upon the buggy, turned bottom up- wards in an eddy. he rushed on as fast as he could, falling over logs, stumps and into gullies. finally he thought he heard a scream. now he tried to fly and even prayed for wings! at last he made a long leap and fell into the flood, but managed to keep on top of the water and to retain his presence of mind. several times he was hit by floating logs and limbs of trees and knocked under the seething waters, but he had resolved to rescue ernestine alive or dead, or perish. after julian had been in the tor- rent for what seemed to him an age, he was hurled around a bend in the stream, and saw what appeared to be a white garment. the al- most drowned man struggled towards the object, often knocked back by objects floating on the bosom of the flood, but struggled on, or diabolism and destiny. fighting a death struggle, and at last got close enough to see one fair hand sticking above the waters. " god, it is she! help me to save her," prayed julian. just then a huge wave lifted and threw him right to the object. he grasped the cold, life- less hand, made another prayer for help, and with one arm bore the apparently lifeless body, and with the other fought for the shore. having reached an eddy he picked up the body and carried it to smooth ground, laid it down and began to do all he knew about restoring drowned persons to life. he worked thus for some minutes. during the time he was trying to resuscitate the drowned, the storm had subsided, the clouds rolled away and the moon shone out in all her beauty. low mutter- ing thunders were heard now and then in the dis- tance, as though saying: "well, keep out of our path next time!" at the end of half an hour ernes- tine began to show signs of returning life. julian now took her in his arms and began to walk as rapidly as he could back up the stream. when he had gone about half a mile he saw a light, which seemed not far away, and towards that light he bore his burden, but it was further away than he supposed. when he reached the cabin the peo- ple had not retired for the night. he carried the rescued in and laid her on a cloth spread on the floor. after julian had in a few words explained what was the matter a bed was made ready by out of the darkness, the women and dry clothes, such as they had, were put on ernestine. an old lady in the house who knew well what to do in such cases took charge of her, and after chafing and bathing with restor- atives for sometime, ernestine opened her eyes and said. "where am i? what has happened? yes, i remember it all now. there was a storm; the horse ran into the stream. where is julian—i mean mr. jarnigan? my god! what has hap- pened? where is julian?" julian hearing her call came into the room to soothe her. when ernestine saw him she ex- claimed: "saved! saved! thank god! thank god!" for the first time julian asked what o'clock it was, and when told that it was just p. m. it seemed to him incredible. why, said he: "it seems to me that it has been years since we left the plantation. can i get one of the men to go to the road and see if anything can be seen of the horse? the buggy is on the bank of the stream between this place and the road." the man sent to see about the horse, returned in an hour, but instead of the horse he had with him two young lawyers from the city. "well, my friend, we did not expect this eve- ning's meeting to be thus," said the lawyers. "how came you here, my friends?" said julian. "well, it is like this: the horse you drove came to the stable with his harness all torn and bespat- out op the darkness, then she would shiyer, heave a sigh and whisper- ingly thank god! they reached the city and retired to their respective homes. the recep- tion went off without the guest of honor, but it was repeated two evenings later. on the morning after the storm julian calling at the deshon mansion was informed by the maid that miss erestine was in the summer house, so he turned down the flower-lined walk to that place of sweet odors and reveries. he found ernestine looking pale and languid. instead of the conventional black, she was dressed in white with a blue ribbon at her throat. julian thought her angelic. she looked up with a sweet smile, when she saw julian coming to her. "good morning, miss deshon." "good morning, mr. jarnigan," said ernestine, with a seeming ironical break in her tone. "the maid wished to call you, but i would not have it so, and took the liberty to approach the throne of the goddess of beauty. though the maid seems to have orders not to permit the devo- tees to offer homage on this morning, yet to me it is the one of all others in which i am feeling de- vout," said julian. she looked at him for a while, then blushed and let her eyes fall to the gravel floor. julian came up to where she sat; she started to rise and offer him a seat, but he demurred. he requested her to remain sitting, as she must be weak at least from the experiences of the night. but beyond a or diabolism and destiny. little stiffness and a few bruises, she said she felt quite herself. "no, i could not be a faithful subject if i sat while my queen is on her throne," said he. "i come to worship at your feet. ernestine, never till last night did i know how necessary your life is to mine. not till i thought i must lose you did i realize that life is nothing without you. dearer to me than all else in the world, what could i be without you. when i jumped into the flood it was to find you alive or my grave amid the angry waves. if you were dead what would there be for me to live for? since we were schoolmates, and you know that all through these years you have been my guiding, reigning sovereign, i have looked forward steadfastly to the time when i might tell you of the hope and desire of my heart, of the bar- ren and desolate waste in my life where your sweet image does not appear. now that you are alone in the world, neither father nor mother to dwell in your mind or occupy your heart; now that you need some friend who will be closer than a brother, may i not be that friend? may i not serve you? i shall not ask if you love me. i know that in your heart there is no guile; that in your mind there is no deceit; that like my darling mother you are one of earth's noble women; that you would neither by word nor deed mislead any- one. just say i may live in the paradise of your love! "'if you say mo nay, then gloom and death must end my sway.'" out of the darkness. "julian, and remember i have never so called you before," said ernestine, "you say too many nice things of me. i shall feel happy if i can be the good woman and live the beautiful life you have often pictured to me of your mother. my life is not worth much. last night in that fearful torrent, it was worth nothing till you snatched it back from the gaping jaws of death. though worth little or much, it belongs to you, and the cause of which you speak, not because you saved it, for worthy men have sought the place you occupy in my heart and mind; but there was no room for any of them, and my conscience acquits me of having ever encouraged them. for in the hospital, when you had been sent there by one who hated you, my spirit went out and called yours back from the realms of shades and the grasp of death as yours called me back last night." as she rose from her seat and stood beside him he clasped her to his heart, saying: "idol of my heart, it is for this hour i have prayed, pined and waited. once before, ernes- tine, my queen, when returning to life and con- sciousness you called me julian. now that you have lifted me out of the darkness of doubt and disaster i am julian forever." after attending the reception on the following evening in company with miss deshon, julian left for beech haven to take up the battle of life with renewed vim and determination. out of the darkness, i • times they are ruled out altogether in times of great distress or disaster, and so it was at east- berg. none knew but he or she would be the next to succumb to the dread disease. for that reason all were on their good behavior. it is re- lated that during the earthquake at charleston, s. c, white women rushed from their tottering, falling mansions and begged any one they hap- pened to see, whether white or black, to save them, and it is told to their honor that not once did the colored man offer any indignity to defenseless women, white or black. would that the same could be said of the white men! dr. tilton and.dr. storms worked side by side among the stricken, in the hospital and in the homes. both expected to be attacked by the di- sease at any moment. drs. long and peterson had already fallen victims to the epidemic. sev- eral of the nurses had also succumbed to the dreaded leveler! but what dr. tilton most dread- ed was that his sister might be attacked. the fa- ther and mother had been sent out of the city at the outbreak of the malady, but the mother had died while away of another ailment. the sister refused to leave her brother in time of such peril. dr. storms in anticipation of an attack had telegraphed lawyer grimpky to meet him at wil- liamsburg, and there they put dr. storms' busi- ness in proper legal shape, so that if he did fall his estate would go as he desired it should. on his re- turn in the evening the first news which reached or diabolism and destiny. tion of the visits, miss moultrie told her that al- ready the gossiping tongues of prejudice were wagging. "of course, i feel somewhat ashamed and humil- iated at being treated by a physician known to be a negro: but since he is my brother's friend and has saved my life, i try to overcome my prejudice on account of his race with my feelings of grati- tude. while i am aware that the doctor is not reckoned to be as good as a white man, i know that he has few equals in his profession, even among white men. much as i love and honor my father and brother, i am forced to confess that this colored physician is far above them in ability. i am sure that i owe my life to his knowledge and skill! why, he is no more like the negroes i see and know than the great eagle is like the titmouse," said cordelia. "my child, you must not say such things. sup- pose the ears of envious prejudice heard those words," said miss moultrie! after the patient had so far recovered her strength as to be able to walk about the grounds miss moultrie took her departure. the first time she met dr. storms miss moultrie told him of the grateful feelings of miss tilton, but said she hoped that he would take a platonic view of those things!dr. storms was considerably moved by what was told him, pondered much over it, and as he paced the floor, exclaimed: out of the darkness, " what am i? what destiny awaits me? the thing to which i would aspire is in me a con- suming fire. the things which i have learned only make the fire within me seethe and burn the more! i know that my ambition must consume and turn to ashes within my own heart! when i know my own feelings i am in a torture, because i know full well the chasm of hate—deep as hell and black as damnation! yes, yes; i know all too well, the wall of prejudice and pride, as impassa- ble as the 'gulf of despair!' hence i must cruci- fy my heart on the cross of caste! again, she is the sister of my best friend. alas! for that friend to know that one of the despised has ten- der thoughts of his sister would be to turn him into a deadly enemy; it would be as a dagger's thrust! strange, how strange! it makes no dif- ference how much they may respect and honor you, when it comes to a union even by honorable marriage of a man with one drop of the blood ac- cursed in his veins with their sister or daughter, all the demoniac hate of race pride is aroused. i know that my friend, dr. tilton, has as little of this senseless pride as any southern man living; but even he would take sides against me. god knows i am blameless in this matter! for his sake, yes, for him, i would stifle my hopes and sac- rifice my heart's idol on the partition wall of prejudice! for this i shall do all things! for his name's sake i shall be nothing, nothing, do nothing and know nothing but to suffer!" or diabolism and destiny. the fever having nearly abated, the doctors had much more leisure and were often together. one evening at the office of dr. storms, dr. til- ton said to him:"lucius, my sister is dearer to me than any being on earth. it seems to me that if it were possible i love her more since her miraculous es- cape from death; and you wrought the miracle. you also imparted the priceless secret of her sal- vation to me." "don't, don't mention those things. they prick like needles," said lucius. "lucius, have just sent miss moultrie a check for five hundred dollars, and now i wish to reward you for what you have done for us. please accept this as a small token of the high appreciation i and my people feel for you, and your invaluable services," said dr. tilton. "what is it?" said lucius. "look and see," said dr. tilton. dr. storms took the slip of paper and looked at it, but dropped it as though it had stung him. it was a check for one thousand dollars. dr. storms drew himself up as though some great indignity had been offered him and said: "dr. tilton, i cannot believe that you intend to insult me, or to wound my feelings. how could a' friend so far forget a friendly act as to attempt to reward it in this manner. all the gold of ophir could not have induced me to render the service i have given you and your sister or to impart to you out of the darkness, the priceless secret of saving human life—only devoted deathless friendship could lead me to do what i have done. don't humiliate me by of- fering to reward me with gold for that which i hold above price. heart coin is the only medium of exchange for those labors." "pardon me, my friend," said sebastian, giving him his hand. "it was thoughtlessness or overthankfulness that prompted the act. the money shall go to relieve the distress and want of those poor who have lost loved ones in this dreadful epidemic—the widow and orphan. lu- cius, you know that you have the most profound gratitude of my heart. my sis- ter also appreciates your services very much. she often speaks of your wonderful power over disease and has requested me to thank you for what you have done for her, but i have been criticised so much because of my relations with you that i have refrained from saying so. gate- wood storms seems to be trying every means he can command to win the esteem of my sister. he never fails to speak disparagingly of you when occasion offers, and he appears to follow your foot- steps like a detective, but what his purpose is i do not know. i believe he would be glad to do you some deadly injury. young storms talks con- stantly of the bequest you received from his fath- er's estate. it seems that he wishes to recover it for himself. he points to that fourth-avenue house of yours, and says that it is his by right." chapter xxi. sunshine and shadow. far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife. their sober wishes never learned to stray; along the cool, sequestered vole of life, they kept the noiseless tenor of their way. —grey. jpshsejlime, the great leveler, has wrought hot ||ft many changes among the people and ko lh$ plnces that we have known. croton, pgjly?fl| once a struggling, straggling village, has become a thriving, bustling city. mr. forrester sleeps beside his faithful wife in the old family burying-ground at beechgrove. the children have married and gone to other cities and countries. the storms's plantations are owned by yankees and jews. the norris's lands are owned by thrifty colored farmers. the hon. a. grimpky is one of the presiding judges of coweater county, and is spoken of as an upright judge. harold with his wife and two children are at croton now on a sad mission. mrs. scott, quite (* ) out of the darkness, indulge them in whims and harmful allow- ances. refrain from that which tends to vanity or undue self-esteem! love them with sublime love! love your neighbor and god supremely. love your enemies. love those also who abuse you and despitefully use you! "the lord has permitted me to live many years in this country. i have seen the wicked in power and heard the people groan. but i remembered that god is just, and that his righteousness must prevail. i have seen and felt most of the troubles that beset our people in this place, but i have never lost faith in the justice and mercy of god. i have seen many of those who have abused and maltreated my people die miserable deaths; and their very memory is a hiss and a byword. i have tried always to live a pure, devoted, christian life. both of you are apostles of him who is the avenger of every wrong. 'wait thou on the lord.'"laying her hands upon the heads of the chil- dren, she blessed them, saying: "little paul, your grandfather was a soldier who fought for free- dom of our bodies, and your father is a soldier in the army of those who are fighting for the free- dom of the mind. may the lord combine in thee both of these virtues. paul, fight a good fight; keep the faith. my little virginia, may you re- semble somewhat your grandmother, but more your mother, whose life has been one season of well-doing. the lord spare you to take up her noble work when she must lay it down; may or diabolism and destiny. our master seal you all for his kingdom; let your life, like the virgin mother's, be given for the salvation of men." as fades the daylight from the landscape, while the shadows of evening softly glide through for- est and fen, as the voices of the night whisper a gentle farewell to passing day, so passed the spirit of the tender, loving mother, mrs. scott. the neighbors and friends had visited "mother scott," as she was called, all during her illness. many called to pay their respects and offer sym- pathy and service, among them not a few whites. lawyer jarnigan and dr. storms were both noti- fied of the death and were asked to be present at the obsequies. julian came. lucius telegraphed his sympathy and regret, as he could not be present. the funeral was very largely attended. it was necessary for harold to spend some time in winding up his mother's affairs. he requested julian to remain for a few days to assist him some- what with the business. they spent several days in winding up the estate. harold and julian learned several things while there, and among them, that gatewood storms was very much en- amored with a miss tilton, whom he had met at eastberg. also that gatewood was quite angry with dr. storms on account of the share he had received out of the estate of his father. further, he was very indignant and greatly incensed by a rumor which had reached croton, to the effect that dr. storms had attended this samo miss ' out of the darkness, tilton while she was suffering with yellow fever. julian resolved to write lucius and put him on his guard, and informed harold of his intention. harold commended his purpose, saying: "it shows a christian spirit in you thus to treat one who has always been your deadly enemy, and that too without cause, except that you seemed to be his rival for the affections of miss deshon. now that you are the crowned victor in the contest, you can, i think, well afford to be magnanimous." julian wrote thus: "croton, ga., july , — "dear lucius: "i will not say. dr. storms, for that is too cold and formal. i know you will be surprised to re- ceive a letter from one whom you have always chosen to regard and treat as an enemy. though i am happy to say i know that i have never felt or acted in such manner as to merit that kind of treatment from you. i am only nerved to write you now because from what i have learned since i came here danger seems to threaten you! you are my classmate and brother whether you will or not. i should feel mean all my life, did i not do all in my power to avert a danger which threat- ens you or any one else, and especially one who does not like me. "it is asserted here that you and a dr. tilton are very intimate friends; that you were chums at harvard; that you two are often together; that you, at dr. tilton's solicitation, treated and at- tended his sister during an attack of yellow fever; that before that, you had greatly incensed the best citizens of your city by purchasing a home or diabolism and destiny. in a very aristocratic section of the city. but to make bad matters worse, it is whispered that you care more for the young lady than is allow- able in the south for one of your blood to care for one of her blood. now you know it is death for one in the south of negro blood to think about a woman of the dominant race. if she cared for you that would only make the vengeance surer and more terrible which will certainly come upon you if those matters are not cut short. your brother gatewood is furious, and is doing all in his power to foment trouble for you. he is lay- ing plans; i dont know what they are, but i can only say, 'be warned!' i have sent a copy of this letter to my fiancee, miss ernestine deshon, that she may know you are in danger. i shall not expect a reply. harold knows all and he and wife join me in expressions of anxiety and sym- pathy. they understand fully why you did not wish to come to this place to attend mrs. scott's funeral. "hoping that all may end well, i am yours, as ever, "julian." lawyer jarnigan wrote miss deshon that he would come on to new orleans and spend a few days. he also wrote mr. wilford, as wilford had written him sometime before that he expected to be in new orleans about that time. julian in- vited him to stop at his hotel as his guest. harold sold out all the personal property which he could not ship home, and put the house in the custody of a real estate agent. he and his wife spent several days visiting old friends. the people or diabolism and destiny. c and business affairs, and of her schoolmates, dr. storms, elder scott, and that other one near- er to her than all, hon. julian jarnigan, wilford broached the subject nearest his heart. "i am forced through courtesy to congratulate you on your affiance," said wilford. "while i do so with vain regret, i must say that i think you have chosen both a worthy and eminent man. i know you will excuse me if i ask if your mind is unalterably fixed." miss deshon looked at him fixedly for a sec- ond, and then said: "ordinarily i would take your question as an affront, but knowing your in- terest in, and esteem for me, i excuse the ques- tion. yes, my mind has been fixed since i was a school girl—fixed till death changes it! whatever other faults i may have, i thank god that none of them is fickleness. but you and i can be very dear friends. you know that i have never en- couraged your seeming preference for me, or given you cause to hope that we might be any- thing but friends." "true, true," said he, "and i honor you the more for it." wilford took his leave, wishing that she might live long to enjoy the happy lot she had chosen. the death of julian's mother came as a blight- ing shadow over his path. he had visited her only two months before and found her in so much better health than she had been for many years, that he had reason to expect she would be spared chapter xxii. barter of birthright. tie liberty alone that elves the flower of fleeting life its luster and perfume; and we are weeds without it —cowper. he visit of the members of congress to the westmoreland plantations ac- complished more than the colonel in- tended. as aimed at, the visit caused the delay or death of the bill then before congress to cut down representation in that body in such states as refused the right to vote under the con- stitution of theunitedstates to any of the qualified voters thereof. the death of the bill emboldened other southern states to adopt constitutions which eliminated the negro as a voter. the whole south arose and demanded that the negro not only be not allowed to vote, but prohibited from holding any official position. said they: "his mission in the world is to serve the dominant race in the most menial capacity." but in addition to the foregoing this discussion put in motion two distinct ideas as to the destiny of the colored <»« > out of the darkness, american. each class was supported by strong men. . one proposition was the "utilitarian edu- cational field and industrialism" for the negro, and the other, "universal educational and politi- cal opportunities" for his highest development. harold scott, being a minister, became a devout apostle of the gospel of salvation through indus- trial and political acquiescence. he preferred to work along the line of least resistance. julian jarnigan, being a lawyer, a combative calling, took up the cudgel in defense of the prop- aganda, "universal educational and political opportunity" for all men, whether black, white, red, brown or yellow—for "all men up, and not some men dowih" harold spoke through his church paper, the "messenger." julian was heard in the "tocsin" of his town. said the messenger: "first of all let the ne- groes make friends of the southern white peo- ple. we are here and here to stay (if the white people will permit us). the south is our home by all the ties of blood and tears—tears shed amid our toils and sufferings, in making this country what it is. it is ours by struggles on many gory battle-fields. negroes have en- riched this soil with their blood and bodies that the tree of liberty, planted at bunker hill and grafted at appomattox, might grow and flourish. but are there not peaceful victories not less far reaching than those of bloody conflict? then the negro should bide his time. 'wait thou on the or diabolism and destiny. lord!' he has said, 'my plans are not your plans, my thoughts are not your thoughts. i will avenge mine own. though there be deep wa- ters they shall not overflow thee.' though they may be grievous is it not better to suffer our pres- ent ills than by opposing them incur others far more disastrous? while it is true that our people are largely ignorant, it is not so wholly by their fault. for amid oppression and repression they have, through sweat and blood, reduced their ig- norance nearly sixty per cent up to the present "although just out of the slave pen, where im- morality was encouraged and even enforced, our people are fast coming to regard the family re- lation and the home as sacred institutions. still they are forced to battle against ignorance and superstition among themselves and the traps and pitfalls set for them by bad white men. but is it not better to fight these forces of evil with the weapons of the master than by a resistance which can only end in defeat? "ours is a moral fight—a battle of intellect with infamy. both races must be educated up to the philanthropic standard. there is far too much acrimony. the evils from which we suf- fer because of our weakness are not chargeable wholly to either side. one of our great publicists has said, 'to the negro the ballot has been neither a sword of offense nor a shield of defense.' it is urged by others that the very fact that he could not maintain his citizen rights is proof that the out of the darkness, "we should be encouraged by the fact that many colored people enjoy privileges and bless- ings which thousands of whites do not possess. many colored people can draw on the banks for thousands of dollars, give orders which will be honored by the best business houses, secure com- forts in their luxurious homes, and enjoy many other privileges and attentions which thousands of white people do not have. and too, he is making the white man's wrath to praise him in that he is turning it into money, through his own enterprises. "in a final reckoning and righting of all things the strong religious zeal and firm faith of the negro will be his great support and sustaining grace amid his turmoils, troubles and failures. 'trust thou in the lord and thou shalt dwell in the land and verily shalt thou be fed.'"in the tocsin, julian was heard to say: "we certainly do wish the friendship of all people and especially of the white people of the south. col- ored people should court their favor and do every decent thing to secure their approbation. we need their sympathy and help because we are here in their midst and wish to remain. within these precincts repose the ashes of our be- loved dead of the centuries of our thralldom. the spirits of the martyrs to the demon slavery are here. their spirits hover over our devious pathway. their memory is instinct with every hill and valley. here by her smoothly flowing out of the darkness, dren that he nursed and fed in those dark days are to-day his lynchers, jim crowers and oppress- ors! the negro has been the friend of the white man and has made proof of that friendship, and this the white man has admitted in words, if not in deeds, on many occasions. it seems now to be about time a more friendly spirit was mani- fested on the part of the whites. we are not forgetful of the fact that we have many good friends among the better class of southern whites, who, as individuals, do acts of kindness, but the masses have not so proven, especially in these later times. "on a thousand battle-fields of this nation, which fosters a liberty which the negro has never en- joyed, he has given his life and blood freely to prove his friendship for the white man. the tree of liberty which he helped to plant shelters every race but the negro. our struggle is not one of force and arms, but is a contest of intelligence against intolerance! it is sometimes better to fight and lose than not to fight at all! some- times defeat is more glorious than victory. while the lord helps those who strive, he intends that all his intelligent creatures shall struggle to attain that which is highest and best, not only in this life, but in the life to come. he implanted this aspiration in the breast of the negro; there- fore he will not be content with anything less than what other men enjoy. the negro aspires to the best in religion, education, morals, liberty both or diabolism and destiny. civil and political, and industry. yea, he may be thrust back with kicks and curses; he may be advised that it is his to live on the lower plane of human existence; he may he advised that what others aspire to and enjoy is not for such as he; but he will never listen to the voice of the defamer or the compromiser. he will struggle on to victory or annihilation! for what shall it profit him if he gain the skill of a tubal cain or the wealth of a croesus and lose the elements of true manhood and the desire for the very best to which human life invites." "the tocsin believes and teaches that the negro is a man, not a quasi man, and that being a man he needs that which is necessary to man- hood, and needs it badly. that living as he does, in this busy, hustling twentieth century civiliza- tion, he desires whatever it offers that is best, and needs it now. that if admittedly a backward race, he is in need of the best and strongest helps to bring him up to the demands of the times. if he needs goodness and knowledge, which is power, why wait till next year or the next century? i say, why wait while we perish? it doth not yet appear what he shall be, but he feels and knows that when he has reached his journey's end he will be in all essentials like his ideal, the mighty white man. "let no man delude himself with the thought that any man can remain in chains and ignorance under the blaze of the twentieth century. the or diabolism and destiny. sions and proscriptions are blessings. it is all like the practice once in vogue in europe of dis- figuring the human face and form for the pur- pose of making money by them. they are like those africans, who think distorted features lend beauty to the face. such persons thank god for the existence of the devil and evil. although they cry from the housetops that the negroes will stay where they are grossly mistreated, they are leaving by thousands annually, and few if any ever return. they hear the complaint of the south as to the scarcity of labor, and charge that it is due to the indolence of the negro, but will not admit that it is largely due to mis- treatment, starvation wages and the consequent migration of the negro. they make much of the prejudice and proscription at the north, but for all that, the negro stays when he goes and he don't starve either. he loses that scared, cowed look that ever haunts his face while here. the ne- gro realizes that he is more humanely treated and better paid and is willing to suffer and pay the other penalties for the greater freedom and se- curity of life and limb. yes, they prefer the north, though colder, more exacting and active to the warm, lax, lynching south. these traits show, him a man like other men, and that what is good for others is good for him. again we say his highest destiny lies along the path trav- ersed by other men and races." diabolism and destiny. university. but as to the occurrences to which julian referred there could be no mistake. he also realized that gatewood hated him with a ter- rible hatred, and would do anything in his power to bring disaster to him. he had heard dr. tilton speak of gatewood's attentions to his sis- ter cordelia. at last he concluded that julian was, as he represented in the letter, a friend who steps out of the darkness to warn him of hid- den danger! dr. storms decided once to carry the letter to dr. tilton and ask his advice and assistance, but changed his mind. "for," said he, "this letter may prove to be a false alarm, or the things spoken of in it may be only myths. then, too, dr. tilton might be insulted and high- ly indignant at such bandying the name of his sister. although i know that sebastian is my true friend, and that he is very grateful to me for the recovery of his sister, he might turn to be my deadly foe on hearing my name men- tioned in connection with that of his sister. rather than bring one pang to his heart i would willingly go to death! his sister, too, is an an- gelic woman, and though she has a queenly air and pride, she has an humble heart, full of kind- ness and sympathy for every thing that is good. to save this illustrious family any humiliation i shall be prudent, as i am warned to be; to save my best friend, i shall be cautious; to cheat my most deadly enemy, my brother, i shall be on my guard, not to save myself from the penalty sure out of the darkness, and swift, which in the south is always visited upon any of my blood for even looking upon a woman of the superior race, but for her and hers! for myself i do not fear, but because i honor the family and love sebastian, i will not cause him pain, or bring to that family of families one pang or stain. yea, i will stifle my own feelings and crucify my idol in my own heart, not to save myself, but sebastian and his." gatewood storms was a frequent visitor to east- burg, and was often at the tilton home, and al- though he pressed his suit most assiduously, it was rumored that he was not making any head- way with the young lady. he could not chain her heart or command her thoughts. young storms was considerably chagrined over the poor progress he was making with the pet of the til- ton home. so seeking some one upon whom to vent his wrath gatewood redoubled his efforts to entrap dr. storms in some way so as to ruin him. lucius sometimes felt that gatewood's persecutions were a sort of retribution laid upon him in double measure for the manner in which he had used his classmate julian while in school. gatewood, serpent-like, not only crossed his path often, but seemed to have others employed to hound his steps. dr. storms had not spoken to miss tilton since his last call to her during her illness. he studi- ously avoided meeting her if she happened to be at her brother's office when he called there, even or diabolism and destiny. though the brother had often told him that his sister was desirous of thanking him personally for his .great service in saving her life. but dr. storms felt that he could not see her, as he had already aroused deadly hatred by attending and saving her life when all others had failed and fled, and also because he desired to live as a man and breathe the pure sweet air of possibility and respectability. dr. storms felt that if he were seen talking to the young lady it would prove to be the last straw upon the camel's back. since cordelia's recovery she was accustomed to drive in the afternoons, and she sometimes car- ried her maid with her; often she went alone—out along the country roads that she might catch the breath of the woods and fields and inhale the bracing autumn air. one afternoon dr. storms was called out into the country several miles to treat a patient suffer- ing with fever, and as the day was quite warm he did not start on his return trip till late in the aft- ernoon. the doctor drove leisurely along, think- ing over the vicissitudes of his eventful life and of possibilities yet ahead. he was pondering over the trials of his career and his triumphs in his profession; he was also thinking of the wonderful recovery of miss tilton and of what had been told him of her gratitude to those who had aided in that recovery. he was suddenly roused from his dream-like revery by a great noise and commo- tion; and as he looked up the road ahead of him out of the darkness, saw a cloud of dust and heard a woman's piercing screams. the doctor saw at once that it was a runaway, and that the horse was coming in his direction. in an instant he turned his horse to one side, jumped to the ground and prepared to stop the maddened animal. as the terrified horse came dashing by dr. storms leaped to catch him, but the brute sprang to one side, overturned the vehicle and threw the lady out; and the beast dashed on in his wild flight! the doctor hurried to the prostrate form, and when he reached the lady and saw that it was miss tilton he grew weak from fear and anxiety. blood was streaming from a wound on her head. the doctor rushed to the buggy, got bandages and restoratives, and soon stanched the wound. while endeavoring to revive the lady he forgot all else save the restora- tion of the sister of his friend to consciousness and life. thus engaged and absorbed, he did not observe the lowering cloud of death which had settled about him in that brief space to change that scene of love and mercy to hell and demons! a vehicle with four men with guns drove up. they had been out hunting. three of the men sprang out and ran up to the prostrate forms. in- stantly they knew the lady and the doctor, for one of them was gatewood storms and another was the son of the chairman of the committee which waited on dr. storms when he purchased the fourth-avenue house. gatewood was the first to speak, saying: out of the darkness, an outrage upon miss tilton; thus the lie that dr. storms had attempted rape upon a white woman flew like the wind. men, boys and the riff-raff from saloons, dens of infamy, places of business and the homes, many of them without coat or hat, but with guns, pistols and knives in hand, crying, "death to the 'nig- ger,'" by ten o'clock there was a howling, yell- ing mob of several thousand at the jail demand- ing that they be given the 'nigger.' "we are going to have that 'nigger' or blow up the jail." when cordelia was carried home apparently dead dr. levy was called at once, and after a time she was restored to consciousness. when the anx- iety for her life was passed her father and brother told her what was being reported through the city. through her groans and tears she told her father and brother of the runaway. she said that she was certain the doctor had offered her no in- dignities and that they ought to go at once and do all in their power to rescue the accused; that he had done too much for them to sit there and let an innocent man be put to death! then the father and brother hurried out to try to disperse the mob; but their words of admonition and re- monstrance seemed only to add fuel to the flame of wrath and hate! some one in the mob yelled: "git out! we ought to lynch you two. you had that 'nigger' treat your daughter and sister when she was sick. you brought on this crime or diabolism and destiny. gatewood with bloody hands persisted in trying to gain in the estimation of miss tilton. he even wrote her several letters, but she threw them into the fire with a shudder as they always seemed to have blood upon them and to smell of perdition. miss tilton said to all who talked to her on the question of matrimony, that she would never marry, as she had undergone enough. she would devote herself to helping, as far as she could, the helpless, unfortunate and outcast. so she joined several eleemosynary women's societies and was a constant contributor to the "storms school and hospital." "out of the darkness of night comes the dawn of a new light! out of death comes forth life!" out of the darkness, the white blood in them makes them assertive and they are more clamorous for their supposed rights than the blacks. they chafe and complain more at the barriers raised against them than do the full bloods. they do not like to be classed with the blacks or to be treated as the ordinary negro is treated. the real negro has little or no ambition to be anything above what the white man has assigned to him. if he can be around, wait on, and grin at and fawn upon the white man, he is as happy as the days are long. the real negro is a sort of happy-go-lucky fellow. if he has his banjo and jug of whiskey, he cares not who is president, or whether cotton is a dollar a pound or a dime a bale. "the white man will never consent to be put on any kind of level, political, civil or social, with negroes of any grade, whether they be educated or uneducated, rich or poor, fair, yellow or black. the negro can stay here and do our work and at- tend upon us if he is obedient to our mandates; otherwise he must go! go! the white man does not stop to ask what is just in dealing with infe- riors, but what is expedient—what is best for him- self. he did this when he drove the indians from this garden spot of earth. he did the same when he sent to africa and brought a million black people here to fell the forests and till the fields. now that they are by accident free, we will allow them to remain in our midst if they stay in their places. their accidental freedom and subsequent out of the darkness, ured by any rule of justice, save the 'klan's' code of death, we have done no wrong. we have ut- tered no word but in defense of justice and right! we urge also obedience to the laws. we have not equivocated, neither will we retract! our tongue will only be silenced in death. the cow- ardly, cutthroat 'klan' can silence the voice of the watchman, but they cannot blind the 'all-seeing eye of justice!' the white man knows and feels deep down in his heart that the negro is a man. he has met the negro too often on battle plain. when cannon thundered and bullets fell like autumn rain. "he has both fought with and against the black soldier on many a battle-field. and the negro has always proved himself a knight worthy of the white man's steel! let them do their worst! the diabolical ruler of darkness can only be appeased by blood. the negro question will not down till the ghost is laid by atonement for the hundred thousand negroes murdered since their freedom, and the fifty millions destroyed in fastening slavery upon this nation!" the other papers took the matter up and pushed it, saying many bitter things. some of their edi- torials were more bitter than the utterances of the record. the "klan" was called together and they decided that the watchman was a dangerous organ and must be suppressed. so a committee waited on the editor and gave him the choice of discanting or leaving the city. a committee of or diabolism and destiny. the leading negroes met a committee of the white business men of the city and tried to adjust mat- ters, but the rabble and the "klan" had decreed that the paper must be suppressed, and the editor run out of the country or killed. editor monroe was warned and advised to leave, but he was ob- stinate. so on the morning of nov. th, —, about half past o'clock, the mob came to the "watchman building." they came with torches flaming and guns and pistols firing. the mob de- manded entrance and when the door was not opened broke it down, rushed in and up stairs to the printing office. they threw the presses out of the windows, broke them to pieces, scattered the files, type and everything to the four winds. some hotheads set the building on fire; and they shot, danced and howled around the fire like comanche indians. many of the mob went in search of the editor, but he had been taken by a friend and carried away to save his life. not find- ing him the mob vented their spite on several de- fenseless negroes, killing two and wounding oth- ers. many negroes fled for their lives, leaving all of their possessions behind. thus was the watchman torn from the wall, and diabolism, darkness and desolation were enthroned. many negroes sold out their possessions at great sacri- fice and left, saying: "if they persecute you in one city, flee ye to another." it was many months before the negroes who remained became easy and reconciled to conditions. or diabou m and destiny. "'if you do not accept me i am sure i shall never again seek an alliance with one of my mother's race!' "—fate and destiny! "i urged him then to fling away such an ambi- tion as unworthy. it is a two-edged sword and often wounds to death those who by it would carve a path to honor, distinction and power. how like a caged lion lucius chafed and tugged at the bars of his prison (prejudice). race hatred caused his death his only crime was to labor and love where love is the bride of death. fate over- shadowed his fancy! but for his black blood he would have been lauded to the sky for thus saving the life of a woman at the risk of his own. alas, alas! his heroic deed was his death!" julian felt lucius's death as a great loss to the race. said he: "we have so few really strong men that we can ill afford to lose one so eminent as was dr. storms. he was the peer in education and his profession of any man in the city and far above most of them. it is said that he was one of the most skilled physicians and surgeons in the state. i am thankful of one thing—he had com- mitted no wrong. he only broke that hell-born law of caste; he left no stain upon his useful life. al- though the beasts which slew him attempted to besmirch his illustrious record, they failed utterly, for the young lady, one of the brightest gems of southern higher life, swept that black falsehood away by declaring openly and fearlessly to every one that dr. storms had only done that which in a out of the darkness, white man would have been praised and heralded abroad as a heroic deed. the only thing he did was to save her life on two different occasions. dr. storms offered her nothing but the most gentlemanly respect and the tenderest attention in her afflictions. it was deplorable that he should have to pay with his life for saving hers. had he not at the first saved her life he might be living to-day. we are indeed proud of the fact that miss tilton, her father and brother did all in their power to avert the sad disaster and save poor lucius. when they failed and the foul deed was done, she did what she could to atone for her part in it by giving of her means and money to help establish and fos- ter the school and hospital which was founded through the death of dr. storms. this last act of that angelic girl sanctified the death of dr. storms, and she still gives towards the support of this philanthropic enterprise, a monument to the life and character of the man of destiny. dr. storms's life and death are still going out in bless- ings to the negro race. that institution is afford- ing shelter and medical aid to hundreds of the poor and is lessening the enormous death-rate among our people. the storms nurse training school is sending out well-trained nurses who care for the sick in white as well as black homes, hence it is a blessing to all the people. dr. storms is dead by the hand of cruel murderers, yet his life is going on down the path of time shedding the gold- s out of the darkness,' elder harold scott was present and spoke next with words full of truth and pathos, he recited the incidents in the career of the deceased. he related the story of their boyhood days in the vil- lage and at school; their presence at the mobbing of elder buchanan and deacon brown; of their course at livingston university, and of the ambi- tions and foibles of his companion in tribulation. the speaker told of their witnessing the acts of the revolution and the deeds of blood in the overthrow of republican rule in their state, and the speaker paid a glowing tribute to the ability and learning of the martyr. "the deceased had been full of zeal for all that is best in a human career. his nature and intellect were so elevated that he felt more keenly than most men the injustices heaped upon us because of our race. he was ever chafing un- der the repressions, proscriptions and oppressions heaped upon the negro people. "my friends, though the deceased is gone from us, he left us not without a comforter. his strenu- ous life of activity for the uplift of all people he bequeathed to us a blessed inheritance. we are his witnesses that he contended nobly and well, al- though in the struggle he fell! there stands his monument—storms school and hospital—to en- lighten and save the lives of unnumbered genera- tions to come! to such as he there can be no death! dr. storms lives on in those who carry forward his work. they have, it is true, slain his or diabolism and destiny. body, but they only freed his immortal soul that it may go marching down the ways of eternity, calling us out the darkness of the devious ways of this changeful and uncertain life to that truer, surer and more perfect life above! may we so live that whether snatched away at midnight or at noonday we shall be found ready. "but the man who stirred up all this excitement, and for rancor and hate caused the death of this noble man—what of him? the hand of retribution has followed fast and followed faster every day since he concocted and carried into execution his diabolical plot of murder! stung by the relent- less worm of remorse, not for killing his brother, but because of his defeat in gaining his object, the hand of miss tilton, he took to drink, and its con- sequent debauchery. i saw in the croton bee, a few days ago, that gatewood storms had been on a great spree, and carousing among very low negro women; that he, in company with some others as wild as he, had concluded to 'whitecap' some ne- groes and on that raid he and two of his compan- ions in crime were killed! 'vengeance is mine, i will repay,' are the words of him who rightens every wrong! in behalf of my wife and self, i give one hundred dollars toward the memorial fund. we wish further to give fifty dollars an- nually to the storms school and hospital. you see that his death, like his life, has been a bless- ing." one thousand dollars was raised and a suitable out of the darkness, - monolith set up over the last resting place of dr. storms. things were quite lively at the offices of law- yer jarnigan in november, —. many impor- tant papers were being prepared by the clerks. the stenographers and typewriters were very busy. men were coming in with bills and going out with checks. a clerk was busy addressing what seemed to be invitations. one of the most reliable contractors and builders of the city was often in close consultation with lawyer jarni- gan. plumbers, furnishers and all classes of fitters and suppliers of household effects were coming and going. it was quite apparent that the law- yer was preparing to take a partner. he was building and fitting up a fine new house in the latest and most approved style. it was currently remarked that mr. jarnigan was going to have one of the prettiest and best appointed homes in the city, not excepting mr. lasalle's, the banker. he was having his new house fitted to the taste of the intended mistress. the invitations had gone out to all quarters, even members of con- gress were among those who were expected. mr. wilford ordered a painting from a new york artist and messrs. sinclair and laroche ordered another; they were presents to the bride- elect. the one by mr. wilford was a beautiful landscape scene, an afternoon on a farm. men were in the fields. cows were grazing on the meadow. at the farmhouse door stood a horse out of the darkness, no more and whose destinies are to flow on and on forever in one common channel. after the usual felicitous greetings of lovers long absent they held sweet converse upon past events, pres- ent happiness and anticipations of wedded bliss. they did not fail to express regrets for the sad ending of the brilliant career of their schoolfel- low, lucius! ernestine asked many questions about beech haven and their future residence there. together they planned for the manage- ment of her estates and financial interests in new orleans. lawyer laroche was to continue as their attorney and agent to look after those af- fairs. as julian bade ernestine good afternoon, he asked her if she thought there was going to be a storm! she replied laughingly: "i hope not. the storms have done their work." "what we wish now is a gentle, calm and smooth sea," remarked julian! on the afternoon of the wedding day, at four o'clock, the people began to assemble at the church. several presents and people came from a distance. the president of livingstone university was in attendance, as well as teachers and guests from muskegon and beech haven. julian's brother and sisters from bon aqua were present. promptly at five o'clock the bridal party arrived at the church and to the solemn tones of the wedding march, proceeded with slow step to the altar. with impressive ceremony the pas- tor united the lives and destinies of julian jarni- out of the darkness. southern whites, who will do much for individual negroes whom they like. the great pressure and friction comes from the lower middle class, or laboring element. the friendship of such men as the elder storms, grimpky and the tiltons is the bright star in our more than egyptian darkness! we must labor on, hoping and trusting that somewhere, at some time during our long and weary night the star of hope and of empire will burst upon our anxious eyes from out the darkness, and that diabolism will yield to destiny, seeing and hearing which, we shall take courage and press on to our higher destiny." x jc, icmt bor' sind--r-g c° ;nc. ^u !*uitiiiiw fih'ftd i.. , m-, v kc shelf · accessions. ,. the boston-library society. organized . incorporated . boylston place.- added feb.. ., to be returned in five weeks. a fine of one cent. will be incurred for each day this volume is detained beyond that time. bandelled the goodness of st. rocque and other stories da rc taon havard undersity library oct copyright, by dodd, mead and company university press joan wilson and son, cambridge, u.s. a. to my best comrade my husband contents page the goodness of saint rocque ... tony's wife ...... ... the fisherman of pass christian . . m'sieu fortier's violin ... ... by the bayou st. john ..... when the bayou overflows .... mr. baptiste ......... a carnival jangle ......... little miss sophie . . sister josepha . . . . the praline woman. . . ... odalie ........... la juanita . . . . . . . . . . titee . . . . . . . . . . . . iii ہوا م یں سیاسی بلا سے اسے اس the goodness of saint rocque manuela was tall and slender and graceful, and once you knew her the lithe form could never be mistaken. she walked with the easy spring that comes from a perfectly arched foot. to-day she swept swiftly down marais street, casting a quick glance here and there from under her heavy veil as if she feared she was being followed. if you had peered under the veil, you would have seen that manuela's dark eyes were swollen and discoloured about the lids, as though they had known a sleepless, tearful night. there had been a picnic the day be- fore, and as merry a crowd of giddy, chattering creole girls and boys as the goodness of saint rocque ever you could see boarded the ram- shackle dummy-train that puffed its way wheezily out wide elysian fields street, around the lily-covered bayous, to milneburg-on-the-lake. now, a picnic at milneburg is a thing to be remembered for ever. one charters a rickety-looking, weather-beaten danc- ing-pavilion, built over the water, and after storing the children — for your true creole never leaves the small folks at home - and the baskets and mothers downstairs, the young folks go up- stairs and dance to the tune of the best band you ever heard. for what can equal the music of a violin, a guitar, a cornet, and a bass viol to trip the quad- rille to at a picnic? then one can fish in the lake and go bathing under the prim bath-houses, so severely separated sexually, and go rowing on the lake in a trim boat, fol- lowed by the shrill warnings of anx- the goodness of saint rocque ful and beautiful for that. there had been more than enough for her. but manuela loved theophilé, you see, and no one could take his place. still, she had tossed her head and let her silvery laughter ring out in the dance, as though she were the happiest of mor- tals, and had tripped home with henri, leaning on his arm, and looking up into his eyes as though she adored him. this morning she showed the traces of a sleepless night and an aching heart as she walked down marais street. across wide st. rocque avenue she hastened. “two blocks to the river and one below —” she repeated to her- self breathlessly. then she stood on the corner gazing about her, until with a final summoning of a desperate cour- age she dived through a small wicket gate into a garden of weed-choked flowers. the goodness of saint rocque was there was a hoarse, rusty little bell on the gate that gave querulous tongue as she pushed it open. the house that sat back in the yard was little and old and weather-beaten. its one-story frame had once been painted, but that was a memory remote and traditional. a straggling morning-glory strove to conceal its time-ravaged face. the little walk of broken bits of brick was reddened carefully, and the one little step was scrupulously yellow-washed, which denoted that the occupants were cleanly as well as religious. manuela's timid knock was answered by a harsh “entrez.” it was a small sombre room within, with a bare yellow-washed floor and ragged curtains at the little window. in a corner was a diminutive altar draped with threadbare lace. the red glow of the taper lighted a cheap print of st. joseph and a brazen crucifix. the the goodness of saint rocque the cemetery, for this was friday, when all those who wish good luck pray to the saint, and wash their steps promptly at twelve o'clock with a wondrous mixture to guard the house. manuela bought a candle from the keeper of the little lodge at the en- trance, and pausing one instant by the great sun-dial to see if the heavens and the hour were propitious, glided into the tiny chapel, dim and stifling with heavy air from myriad wish-candles blazing on the wide table before the altar-rail. she said her prayer and lighting her candle placed it with the others. mon dieu ! how brightly the sun seemed to shine now, she thought, pausing at the door on her way out. her small finger-tips, still bedewed with holy water, rested caressingly on a gamin's head. the ivy which enfolds the quaint chapel never seemed so the goodness of saint rocque il nes serve green; the shrines which serve as the way of the cross never seemed so artistic; the baby graves, even, seemed cheerful. theophilé called sunday. manuela's heart leaped. he had been spending his sundays with claralie. his stay was short and he was plainly bored. but manuela knelt to thank the good st. rocque that night, and fondled the charm about her slim waist. there came a box of bonbons during the week, with a decorative card all roses and fringe, from theophilé; but being a creole, and therefore superstitiously careful, and having been reared by a wise and experienced maman to mistrust the gifts of a recreant lover, manuela quietly thrust bonbons, box, and card into the kitchen fire, and the friday following placed the second candle of her nouvena in st. rocque. those of manuela's friends who had the goodness of saint rocque watched with indignation theophilé gallantly leading claralie home from high mass on sundays, gasped with astonishment when the next sunday, with his usual bow, the young man offered manuela his arm as the wor- shippers filed out in step to the organ's march. claralie tossed her head as she crossed herself with holy water, and the pink in her cheeks was brighter than usual. manuela smiled a bright good-morn- ing when she met claralie in st. rocque the next friday. the little blonde blushed furiously, and manuela rushed post-haste to the wizened one to confer upon this new issue. “h’it ees good,” said the dame, shak- ing her turbaned head. “ she ees 'fraid, she will work, mais you' charm, h'it weel beat her.” and manuela departed with radiant eyes. the goodness of saint rocque wa a theophilé shrugged his shoulders and changed the conversation. the next week there was a birthday fête in honour of louise, theophile's young sister. everyone was bidden, and no one thought of refusing, for louise was young, and this would be her first party. so, though the night was hot, the dancing went on as merrily as light young feet could make it go. claralie fluffed her dainty white skirts, and cast mischievous sparkles in the direction of theophilé, who with the maman and louise was bravely trying not to look self-conscious. manuela, tall and calm and proud-looking, in a cool, pale yellow gown was apparently enjoying herself without paying the slightest attention to her young host. “have i the pleasure of this dance?” he asked her finally, in a lull of the music. she bowed assent, and as if moved the goodness of saint rocque an by a common impulse they strolled out of the dancing-room into the cool, quaint garden, where jessamines gave out an overpowering perfume, and a caged mocking-bird complained melo- diously to the full moon in the sky. it must have been an engrossing tête-a-tête, for the call to supper had sounded twice before they heard and hurried into the house. the march had formed with louise radiantly leading on the arm of papa. claralie tripped by with leon. of course, nothing remained for theophilé and manuela to do but to bring up the rear, for which they received much good-natured chaffing. but when the party reached the dining-room, theophilé proudly led his partner to the head of the table, at the right hand of maman, and smiled benignly about at the delighted assem- blage. now you know, when a creole pc tony's wife tony's wife “gimme fi'cents worth ó candy, please.” it was the little jew girl who spoke, and tony's wife roused herself from her knitting to rise and count out the multi-hued candy which should go in exchange for the dingy nickel grasped in warm, damp fingers. three long sticks, carefully wrapped in crispest brown paper, and a half dozen or more of pink candy fish for lagniappe, and the little jew girl sped away in blissful contentment. tony's wife re- sumed her knitting with a stifled sigh until the next customer should come. a low growl caused her to look up apprehensively. tony himself stood beetle-browed and huge in the small doorway. su tony's wife “get up from there,” he muttered, “ and open two dozen oysters right away; the eliots want 'em.” his english was unaccented. it was long since he had seen italy. she moved meekly behind the counter, and began work on the thick shells. tony stretched his long neck up the street. “ mr. tony, mama wants some charcoal.” the very small voice at his feet must have pleased him, for his black brows relaxed into a smile, and he poked the little one's chin with a hard, dirty finger, as he emptied the ridiculously small bucket of charcoal into the child's bucket, and gave a banana for lagniappe. the crackling of shells went on behind, and a stified sob arose as a bit of sharp edge cut into the thin, worn fingers that clasped the knife. “hurry up there, will you ?” tony's wife growled the black brows; “the eliots are sending for the oysters.” she deftly strained and counted them, and, after wiping her fingers, resumed her seat, and took up the end- less crochet work, with her usual stifled sigh. tony and his wife had always been in this same little queer old shop on prytania street, at least to the memory of the oldest inhabitant in the neigh- bourhood. when or how they came, or how they stayed, no one knew ; it was enough that they were there, like a sort of ancestral fixture to the street. the neighbourhood was fine enough to look down upon these two tumble-down shops at the corner, kept by tony and mrs. murphy, the grocer. it was a semi-fashionable locality, far up-town, away from the old-time french quarter. it was the sort of neighbourhood where millionaires live before their fortunes are tony's wife made and fashionable, high-priced pri- vate schools flourish, where the small cottages are occupied by aspiring school- teachers and choir-singers. such was this locality, and you must admit that it was indeed a condescension to tole- rate tony and mrs. murphy. he was a great, black-bearded, hoarse-voiced, six-foot specimen of italian humanity, who looked in his little shop and on the prosaic pave- ment of prytania street somewhat as hercules might seem in a modern draw- ing-room. you instinctively thought of wild mountain-passes, and the gleam- ing dirks of bandit contadini in look- ing at him. what his last name was, no one knew. someone had maintained once that he had been christened an- tonio malatesta, but that was unauthen- tic, and as little to be believed as that other wild theory that her name was mary, tony's wife miri use she was meek, pale, little, ugly, and german. altogether part of his arms and legs would have very decently made another larger than she. her hair was pale and drawn in sleek, thin tightness away from a pinched, piti- ful face, whose dull cold eyes hurt you, because you knew they were trying to mirror sorrow, and could not because of their expressionless quality. no matter what the weather or what her other toilet, she always wore a thin little shawl of dingy brick-dust hue about her shoulders. no matter what the occasion or what the day, she always carried her knitting with her, and seldom ceased the incessant twist, · twist of the shining steel among the white cotton meshes. she might put down the needles and lace into the spool-box long enough to open oysters, or wrap up fruit and candy, or count out wood and coal into infinitesimal tony's wife portions, or do her housework; but the knitting was snatched with avidity at the first spare moment, and the worn, white, blue-marked fingers, half en- closed in kid-glove stalls for protection, would writhe and twist in and out again. little girls just learning to cro- chet borrowed their patterns from tony's wife, and it was considered quite a mark of advancement to have her inspect a bit of lace done by eager, chubby fingers. the ladies in larger houses, whose husbands would be mil- lionaires some day, bought her lace, and gave it to their servants for christmas presents. as for tony, when she was slow in opening his oysters or in cooking his red beans and spaghetti, he roared at her, and prefixed picturesque adjectives to her lace, which made her hide it under her apron with a fearsome look in her dull eyes. tony's wife he hated her in a lusty, roaring fashion, as a healthy beefy boy hates a sick cat and torments it to madness. when she displeased him, he beat her, and knocked her frail form on the floor. the children could tell when this had happened. her eyes would be red, and there would be blue marks on her face and neck. “poor mrs. tony,” they would say, and nestle close to her. tony did not roar at her for petting them, perhaps, because they spent money on the multi-hued candy in glass jars on the shelves. her mother appeared upon the scene once, and stayed a short time; but tony got drunk one day and beat her because she ate too much, and she dis- appeared soon after. whence she came and where she departed, no one could tell, not even mrs. murphy, the pauline pry and gazette of the block. tony had gout, and suffered for tony's wife ma ncrea many days in roaring helplessness, the while his foot, bound and swathed in many folds of red flannel, lay on the chair before him. in proportion as his gout increased and he bawled from pure physical discomfort, she became light-hearted, and moved about the shop with real, brisk cheeriness. he could not hit her then without such pain that after one or two trials he gave up in disgust. so the dull years had passed, and life had gone on pretty much the same for tony and the german wife and the shop. the children came on sunday evenings to buy the stick candy, and on week-days for coal and wood. the servants came to buy oysters for the larger houses, and to gossip over the counter about their employers. the little dry woman knitted, and the big man moved lazily in and out in his red flannel shirt, exchanged politics with tony's wife the tailor next door through the win- dow, or lounged into mrs. murphy's bar and drank fiercely. some of the children grew up and moved away, and other little girls came to buy candy and eat pink lagniappe fishes, and the shop still thrived. one day tony was ill, more than the mummied foot of gout, or the wheeze of asthma ; he must keep his bed and send for the doctor. she clutched his arm when he came, and pulled him into the tiny room. “is it — is it anything much, doc- tor?” she gasped. Æsculapius shook his head as wisely as the occasion would permit. she followed him out of the room into the n room shop. “do you— will he get well, doctor?” Æsculapius buttoned up his frock coat, smoothed his shining hat, cleared his throat, then replied oracularly, tony's wife “madam, he is completely burned out inside. empty as a shell, madam, empty as a shell. he cannot live, for he has nothing to live on.” as the cobblestones rattled under the doctor's equipage rolling leisurely up prytania street, tony's wife sat in her chair and laughed, - laughed with a hearty joyousness that lifted the film from the dull eyes and disclosed a sparkle beneath. the drear days went by, and tony lay like a veritable samson shorn of his strength, for his voice was sunken to a hoarse, sibilant whisper, and his black eyes gazed fiercely from the shock of hair and beard about a white face. life went on pretty much as before in the shop; the children paused to ask how mr. tony was, and even hushed the jingles on their bell hoops as they passed the door. red-headed jimmie, mrs. murphy's nephew, did the hard tony's wife jobs, such as splitting wood and lifting coal from the bin; and in the intervals between tending the fallen giant and waiting on the customers, tony's wife sat in her accustomed chair, knitting fiercely, with an inscrutable smile about her purple compressed mouth. then john came, introducing him- self, serpent-wise, into the eden of her bosom. john was tony's brother, huge and bluff too, but fair and blond, with the beauty of northern italy. with the same lack of race pride which tony had displayed in selecting his german spouse, john had taken unto himself betty, a daughter of erin, aggressive, powerful, and cross-eyed. he turned up now, having heard of this illness, and assumed an air of remarkable authority at once. a hunted look stole into the dull eyes, and after john had departed with tony's wife blustering directions as to tony's wel- fare, she crept to his bedside timidly. “tony,” she said,—“tony, you are very sick.” an inarticulate growl was the only response. “tony, you ought to see the priest; you must n't go any longer without taking the sacrament.” the growl deepened into words. “don't want any priest; you 're al- ways after some snivelling old woman's fuss. you and mrs. murphy go on with your church; it won't make you any better.” she shivered under this parting shot, and crept back into the shop. still the priest came next day. she followed him in to the bedside and knelt timidly. “tony,” she whispered, “here's father leblanc.” tony was too languid to curse out tony's wife slowly, “and you sha'n't have it, not a cent; john shall have it." father leblanc shrank away like a fading spectre. he came next day and next day, only to see re-enacted the same piteous scene,--the woman plead- ing to be made a wife ere death hushed tony's blasphemies, the man chuck- ling in pain-racked glee at the prospect of her bereaved misery. not all the prayers of father leblanc nor the wailings of mrs. murphy could alter the determination of the will beneath the shock of hair; he gloated in his physical weakness at the tenacious grasp on his mentality. “tony,” she wailed on the last day, her voice rising to a shriek in its eager- ness, “tell them i'm your wife; it'll be the same. only say it, tony, before you die ! ” he raised his head, and turned stiff eyes and gibbering mouth on her ; then, the fisherman of pass christian fisherman of pass christian with one end of the huge seine between his teeth, and the cord in his left hand, the taller fisherman of the two paused a half instant, his right arm extended, grasping the folds of the net. there was a swishing rush through the air, and it settled with a sort of sob as it cut the waters and struck a million sparkles of fire from the waves. then, with backs bending under the strain, the two men swung on the cord, draw- ing in the net, laden with glittering restless fish, which were unceremoni- ously dumped on the boards to be put into the fish-car awaiting them. philip laughingly picked up a soft, gleaming jelly-fish, and threatened to put it on annette's neck. she screamed, ran, slipped on the wet boards, and in another instant would have fallen over into the water below. the tall fisher- man caught her in his arms and set her on her feet. fisherman of pass christian “no; he spoke correctly, and with the accent that goes only with an ex- cellent education.” philip shrugged his shoulders. “ that's nothing remarkable. if you stay about pass christian for any length of time, you'll find more things than perfect french and courtly grace among fishermen to surprise you. these are a wonderful people who live across the lake.” annette was lolling in the hammock under the big catalpa-tree some days later, when the gate opened, and natalie's big sun-bonnet appeared. natalie herself was discovered blush- ing in its dainty depths. she was only a little creole seaside girl, you must know, and very shy of the city demoi- selles. natalie's patois was quite as different from annette's french as it was from the postmaster's english. “ mees annette,” she began, peony- fisherman of pass christian hued all over at her own boldness, “ we will have one lil hay-ride this night, and a fish-fry at the end. will you come?” annette sprang to her feet in delight. “ will i come? certainly. how de- lightful! you are so good to ask me. what shall — what time” but nata- lie's pink bonnet had fled precipitately down the shaded walk. annette laughed joyously as philip lounged down the gallery. “i frightened the child away,” she told him. you've never been for a hay-ride and fish-fry on the shores of the mis- sissippi sound, have you? when the summer boarders and the northern visitors undertake to give one, it is a comparatively staid affair, where due regard is had for one's wearing apparel, and where there are servants to do the hardest work. then it is n't enjoyable fisherman of pass christian at all. but when the natives, the boys and girls who live there, make up their minds to have fun, you may depend upon its being just the best kind. this time there were twenty boys and girls, a mamma or so, several papas, and a grizzled fisherman to restrain the ardor of the amateurs. the cart was vast and solid, and two comfortable, sleepy-looking mules constituted the drawing power. there were also tin horns, some guitars, an accordeon, and a quartet of much praised voices. the hay in the bottom of the wagon was freely mixed with pine needles, whose prickiness through your hose was amply compensated for by its delicious fragrance. after a triumphantly noisy passage down the beach one comes to the stretch of heavy sand that lies between pass christian proper and henderson's as fisherman of pass christian point. this is a hard pull for the mules, and the more ambitious riders get out and walk. then, after a final strain through the shifting'sands, bravo! the shell road is reached, and one goes cheering through the pine-trees to henderson's point. if ever you go to pass christian, you must have a fish-fry at henderson's point. it is the pine-thicketed, white- beached peninsula jutting out from the land, with one side caressed by the waters of the sound and the other purred over by the blue waves of the bay of st. louis. here is the begin- ning of the great three-mile trestle bridge to the town of bay st. louis, and to-night from the beach could be seen the lights of the villas glittering across the bay like myriads of unsleep- ing eyes. here upon a firm stretch of white sand camped the merry-makers. soon acro fisherman of pass christian a great fire of driftwood and pine cones tossed its flames defiantly at a radiant moon in the sky, and the fishers were casting their nets in the sea. the more daring of the girls waded bare- legged in the water, holding pine- torches, spearing flounders and peering for soft-shell crabs. annette had wandered farther in the shallow water than the rest. suddenly she stumbled against a stone, the torch dropped and spluttered at her feet. with a little helpless cry she looked at the stretch of unfamiliar beach and water to find herself all alone. “pardon me, mademoiselle,” said a voice at her elbow; “ you are in dis- tress ? ” it was her fisherman, and with a scarce conscious sigh of relief, annette put her hand into the outstretched one at her side. “i was looking for soft shells,” she was fisherman of pass christian one's bare feet, and they are more numerous than sand fleas down at henderson's point. « true,” assented the fisherman ; « then we shall have to wade back.” the fishing was over when they rounded the point and came in sight of the cheery bonfire with its rembrandt- like group, and the air was savoury with the smell of frying fish and crabs. the fisherman was not to be tempted by appeals to stay, but smilingly disap- peared down the sands, the red glare of his torch making a glowing track in the water. “ah, mees annette,” whispered nat- alie, between mouthfuls of a rich croaker, “ you have found a beau in the water.” “and the fisherman of the pass, too,” laughed her cousin ida. annette tossed her head, for philip had growled audibly. “do you know, philip,” cried fisherman of pass christian are s annette a few days after, rudely shak- ing him from his siesta on the gallery, - “ do you know that i have found my fisherman's hut?” “hum,” was the only response. “yes, and it's the quaintest, most delightful spot imaginable. philip, do come with me and see it.” “hum.” “oh, philip, you are so lazy; do come with me.” “yes, but, my dear annette," pro- tested philip, “this is a warm day, and i am tired.” still, his curiosity being aroused, he went grumbling. it was not a very long drive, back from the beach across the railroad and through the pine forest to the bank of a dark, slow-flow- ing bayou. the fisherman's hut was small, two-roomed, whitewashed, pine- boarded, with the traditional mud chimney acting as a sort of support to fisherman of pass christian one of its uneven sides. within was a weird assortment of curios from every uncivilized part of the globe. also were there fishing-tackle and guns in reckless profusion. the fisherman, in the kitchen of the mud-chimney, was sardonically waging war with a basket of little bayou crabs. . “entrez, mademoiselle et monsieur,” he said pleasantly, grabbing a vicious crab by its flippers, and smiling at its wild attempts to bite. “you see i am busy, but make yourself at home.” “well, how on earth — ” began philip. “sh — sh — ” whispered annette. “i was driving out in the woods this morning, and stumbled on the hut. he asked me in, but i came right over after you.” the fisherman, having succeeded in getting the last crab in the kettle of fisherman of pass christian boiling water, came forward smiling and began to explain the curios. “ then you have not always lived at pass christian,” said philip. “ mais non, monsieur, i am spend- ing a summer here." “and he spends his winters, doubt- less, selling fish in the french market,” spitefully soliloquised philip. the fisherman was looking unutter- able things into annette's eyes, and, it seemed to philip, taking an uncon- scionably long time explaining the use of an east indian stiletto. “oh, would n't it be delightful!” came from annette at last. “what?” asked philip. “why, monsieur leconte says he'll take six of us out in his catboat to- morrow for a fishing-trip on the gulf.” “ hum,” drily. “and i'll get natalie and her cousins.” fisherman of pass christian “yes,” still more drily. annette chattered on, entirely ob- livious of the strainedness of the men's adieux, and still chattered as they drove through the pines. "i did not know that you were going to take fishermen and marchands into the bosom of your social set when you came here,” growled philip, at last. “ but, cousin phil, can't you see he is a gentleman ? the fact that he makes no excuses or protestations is a proof.” “you are a fool,” was the polite re- sponse. still, at six o'clock next morning, there was a little crowd of seven upon the pier, laughing and chatting at the little “virginie” dipping her bows in the water and flapping her sails in the brisk wind. natalie's pink bonnet blushed in the early sunshine, and natalie's fisherman of pass christian ma mamma, comely and portly, did chaper- onage duty. it was not long before the sails gave swell into the breeze and the little boat scurried to the sound. past the lighthouse on its gawky iron stalls, she flew, and now rounded the white sands of cat island. “ bravo, the gulf !” sang a voice on the lookout. the little boat dipped, halted an instant, then rushed fast into the blue gulf waters. “we will anchor here,” said the host, “ have luncheon, and fish.” philip could not exactly understand why the fisherman should sit so close to annette and whisper so much into her ears. he chafed at her acting the part of hostess, and was possessed of a murderous desire to throw the pink sun-bonnet and its owner into the sea, when natalie whispered audibly to one of her cousins that “ mees annette act nice wiť her lovare.” fisherman of pass christian sun was the sun was banking up alaming pillars of rose and gold in the west when the little“ virginie ” rounded cat island on her way home, and the quick southern twilight was fast dying into darkness when she was tied up to the pier and the merry-makers sprang off with baskets of fish. annette had dis- tinguished herself by catching one small shark, and had immediately ceased to fish and devoted her attention to her fisherman and his line. philip had angled fiercely, landing trout, croakers, sheepshead, snappers in bewildering luck. he had broken each hopeless captive's neck savagely, as though they were personal enemies. he did not look happy as they landed, though pæans of praise were being sung in his honour. as the days passed on, “ the fisher- man of the pass” began to dance attendance on annette. what had fisherman of pass christian amma un- seemed a joke became serious. aunt nina, urged by philip, temonstrated, and even the mamma of the pink sun- bonnet began to look grave. it was all very well for a city demoiselle to talk with a fisherman and accept favours at his hands, provided that the city demoiselle understood that a vast and bridgeless gulf stretched between her and the fisherman. but when the demoiselle forgot the gulf and the fisherman refused to recognise it, why, it was time to take matters in hand. to all of aunt nina's remonstran- ces, philip's growlings, and the averted glances of her companions, annette was deaf. “you are narrow-minded,” she said laughingly. “i am interested in monsieur leconte simply as a study. he is entertaining; he talks well of his travels, and as for refusing to recognise the difference between us, why, he never dreamed of such a thing." eve fisherman of pass christian suddenly a peremptory summons home from annette's father put an end to the fears of philip. annette pouted, but papa must be obeyed. she blamed philip and aunt nina for telling tales, but aunt nina was uncommunicative, and philip too obviously cheerful to derive much satisfaction from that night she walked with the fisherman hand in hand on the sands. the wind from the pines bore the scarcely recognisable, subtle freshness of early autumn, and the waters had a hint of dying summer in their sob on the beach. “you will remember," said the fisher- man, “ that i have told you nothing about myself.” “ yes,” murmured annette. “ and you will keep your promises to me?” « yes.” “let me hear you repeat them again.” fisherman of pass christian nev col vas ron “ i promise you that i will not for- get you. i promise you that i will never speak of you to anyone until i see you again. i promise that i will then clasp your hand wherever you may be.” “and mademoiselle will not be dis- couraged, but will continue her studies?” “ yes.” it was all very romantic, by the waves of the sound, under a harvest moon, that seemed all sympathy for these two, despite the fact that it was probably looking down upon hundreds of other equally romantic couples. annette went to bed with glowing cheeks, and a heart whose pulsations would have caused a physician to pre- scribe unlimited digitalis. it was still hot in new orleans when she returned home, and it seemed hard to go immediately to work but if one is going to be an opera-singer some fisherman of pass christian day and capture the world with one's voice, there is nothing to do but to study, study, sing, practise, even though one's throat be parched, one's head a great ache, and one's heart a nest of discouragement and sadness at what seems the uselessness of it all. annette had now a new incentive to work; the fisherman had once praised her voice when she hummed a barcarole on the sands, and he had insisted that there was power in its rich notes. though the fisherman had showed no cause why he should be accepted as a musical critic, annette had somehow respected his judgment and been accordingly elated. it was the night of the opening of the opera. there was the usual crush, the glitter and confusing radiance of the brilliant audience. annette, with papa, aunt nina, and philip, was late reaching her box. the curtain was fisherman of pass christian - cone. was not well, you see. it has been of great benefit to me.” “i kept my promise,” she said in a lower tone. “ thank you ; that also has helped me.” annette's teacher began to note a wonderful improvement in his pupil's voice. never did a girl study so hard or practise so faithfully. it was truly wonderful. now and then annette would say to papa as if to reassure herself, — “and when monsieur cherbart says i am ready to go to paris, i may go, papa ? ” and papa would say a “certainly ” that would send her back to the piano with renewed ardour. as for monsieur leconte, he was the idol of new orleans. seldom had there been a tenor who had sung him- self so completely into the very hearts fisherman of pass christian than the fisherman madame dubeau was la juive to his eleazar, leonore to his manfred, elsa to his lohengrin, aida to his rhadames, marguerite to his faust; in brief, madame dubeau was his opposite. she caressed him as mignon, pleaded with him as michaela, died for him in" les huguenots,” broke her heart for love of him in “ la favo- rite.” how could he help but love her, annette asked herself, how could he? madame dubeau was beautiful and gifted and charming. once she whispered her fears to him when there was the meagreșt bit of an opportunity. he laughed. “you don't understand, little one,” he said ten- derly; “the relations of professional people to each other are peculiar. after you go to paris, you will know.” still, new orleans had built up its romance, and gossiped accordingly. “ have you heard the news ? ” whis- fisherman of pass christian little tired voice that was almost too faint to be heard in the carriage on the way home, said — “papa, i don't think i care to go to paris, after all.” mʼsieu fortier's violin m'sieu fortier's violin re slowly, one by one, the lights in the french opera go out, until there is but a single glimmer of pale yellow flickering in the great dark space, a few. moments ago all a-glitter with jewels and the radiance of womanhood and a-clash with music. darkness now, and silence, and a great haunted hush over all, save for the distant cheery voice of a stage hand humming a bar of the opera. the glimmer of gas makes a halo about the bowed white head of a little old man putting his violin carefully away in its case with aged, trembling, nervous fingers. old m'sieu fortier was the last one out every night. outside the air was murky, foggy. gas and electricity were but faint m'sieu fortier's violin splotches of light on the thick curtain of fog and mist. around the opera was a mighty bustle of carriages and drivers and footmen, with a car gaining headway in the street now and then, a howling of names and numbers, the laughter and small talk of cloaked soci- ety stepping slowly to its carriages, and the more bourgeoisie vocalisation of the foot passengers who streamed along and hummed little bits of music. the fog's denseness was confusing, too, and at one moment it seemed that the little narrow street would become inextricably choked and remain so until some mighty engine would blow the crowd into atoms. it had been a crowded night. from around toulouse street, where led the entrance to the troisièmes, from the grand stairway, from the entrance to the quatrièmes, the human stream poured into the street, nearly all with a song on their lips. m'sieu fortier's violin ca. m'sieu fortier stood at the corner, blinking at the beautiful ladies in their carriages. he exchanged a hearty salu- tation with the saloon-keeper at the corner, then, tenderly carrying his violin case, he trudged down bourbon street, a little old, bent, withered figure, with shoulders shrugged up to keep warm, as though the faded brown overcoat were not thick enough. down on bayou road, not so far from claiborne street, was a house, little and old and queer, but quite large enough to hold m'sieu fortier, a wrinkled dame, and a white cat. he was home but little, for on nearly every day there were rehearsals; then on tues- day, thursday, and saturday nights, and twice sundays there were perform- ances, so ma'am jeanne and the white cat kept house almost always alone. then, when m'sieu fortier was at home, why, it was practice, practice all was m'sieu fortier's violin the day, and smoke, snore, sleep at night. altogether it was not very exhilarating. m'sieu fortier had played first violin in the orchestra ever since — well, no one remembered his not playing there. sometimes there would come breaks in the seasons, and for a year the great building would be dark and silent. then m'sieu fortier would do jobs of playing here and there, one night for this ball, another night for that soirée dan- sante, and in the day, work at his trade, - that of a cigar-maker. but now for seven years there had been no break in the season, and the little old violinist was happy. there is nothing sweeter than a regular job and good music to play, music into which one can put some soul, some expression, and which one must study to understand. dance music, of the frivolous, frothy kind deemed essential to soirées, is trivial, easy, uninteresting. m'sieu fortier's violin so m'sieu fortier, ma'am jeanne, and the white cat lived a peaceful, un- eventful existence out on bayou road. when the opera season was over in february, m'sieu went back to cigar- making, and the white cat purred none the less contentedly. it had been a benefit to-night for the leading tenor, and he had chosen “roland à ronceveaux,” a favourite this season, for his farewell. and, mon dieu, mused the little m'sieu, but how his voice had rung out bell-like, piercing above the chorus of the first act! en- core after encore was given, and the bravos of the troisièmes were enough to stir the most sluggish of pulses. “superbes pyrenées qui dressez dans le ciel, vos cimes couronnées d'un hiver éternelle, pour nous livrer passage ouvrez vos larges flancs, faîtes taire l'orage, voici, venir les francs !” m'sieu fortier's violin m'sieu quickened his pace down bourbon street as he sang the chorus to himself in a thin old voice, and then, before he could see in the thick fog, he had run into two young men. “ - — beg your pardon, -mes- sieurs,” he stammered. “most certainly,” was the careless response; then the speaker, taking a second glance at the object of the ren- contre, cried joyfully: “oh, m'sieu fortier, is it you? why, you are so happy, singing your love sonnet to your lady's eyebrow, that you did n't see a thing but the moon, did you? and who is the fair one who should clog your senses so?” there was a deprecating shrug from the little man. “ ma foi, but monsieur must know fo' sho', dat i am too old for love songs !” “i know nothing save that i want m'sieu fortier's violin ov the rest of these nineteenth-century vandals, you can see nothing pictur- esque that you do not wish to deface for a souvenir; you cannot even let simple happiness alone, but must needs destroy it in a vain attempt to make it your own or parade it as an advertisement." as for m'sieu fortier, he went right on with his song and turned into bayou road, his shoulders still shrugged high as though he were cold, and into the quaint little house, where ma'am jeanne and the white cat, who always waited up for him at nights, were both nodding over the fire. it was not long after this that the opera closed, and m'sieu went back to his old out-of-season job. but some- how he did not do as well this spring and summer as always. there is a cer- tain amount of cunning and finesse required to roll a cigar just so, that m'sieu fortier's violin m'sieu seemed to be losing, whether from age or deterioration it was hard to tell. nevertheless, there was just about half as much money coming in as formerly, and the quaint little pucker between m'sieu's eyebrows which served for a frown came oftener and stayed longer than ever before. “minesse,” he said one day to the white cat, — he told all his troubles to her; it was of no use to talk to ma'am jeanne, she was too deaf to understand, —“minesse, we are get- tin' po'. you' père git h’old, an' hees han's dey go no mo' rapidement, an' dere be no mo' soirées dese day. minesse, eef la saison don' hurry up, we shall eat ver' lil' meat." and minesse curled her tail and purred. before the summer had fairly begun, strange rumours began to float about in musical circles. m. maugé would no m'sieu fortier's violin longer manage the opera, but it would be turned into the hands of americans, a syndicate. bah! these english- speaking people could do nothing un- less there was a trust, a syndicate, a company immense and dishonest. it was going to be a guarantee business, with a strictly financial basis. but worse than all this, the new manager, who was now in france, would not only procure the artists, but a new orchestra, a new leader. m'sieu for- tier grew apprehensive at this, for he knew what the loss of his place would mean to him. september and october came, and the papers were filled with accounts of the new artists from france and of the new orchestra leader too. he was described as a most talented, progres- sive, energetic young man. m'sieu fortier's heart sank at the word “ pro- gressive.” he was anything but that. m'sieu fortier's violin taunts the good boys within. m'sieu fortier was no exception. night after night of the performances he climbed the stairs of the opera and sat, an atten- tive listener to the orchestra, with one ear inclined to the stage, and a quizzi- cal expression on his wrinkled face, then he would go home, and pat minesse, and fondle the violin. “ah, minesse, dose new player! not one bit can dey play. such tones, minesse, such tones! all the time portemento, oh, so ver' bad! ah, mon chere violon, we can play." and he would play and sing a romance, and smile tenderly to himself. at first it used to be into the deux- ièmes that m'sieu fortier went, into the front seats. but soon they were too expensive, and after all, one could hear just as well in the fourth row as in the first. after a while even the rear row of the deuxièmes was too costly, m'sieu fortier's violin and the little musician wended his way with the plebeians around on toulouse street, and climbed the long, tedious flight of stairs into the troisièmes. it makes no difference to be one row higher. it was more to the liking, after all. one felt more at home up here among the people. if one was thirsty, one could drink a glass of wine or beer being passed about by the libretto boys, and the music sounded just as well. but it happened one night that m'sieu could not even afford to climb the toulouse street stairs. to be sure, there was yet another gallery, the quatri- èmes, where the peanut boys went for a dime, but m'sieu could not get down to that yet. so he stayed outside until all the beautiful women in their warm wraps, a bright-hued chattering throng, came down the grand staircase to their carriages. it was on one of these nights that m'sieu fortier's violin courcey and martel found him shiver- ing at the corner. i “hello, m'sieu fortier,” cried courcey, “are you ready to let me have that violin yet?” “for shame!” interrupted martel. “fifty dollars, you know,” con- tinued courcey, taking no heed of his friend's interpolation. m'sieu fortier made a courtly bow. “eef monsieur will call at my 'ouse on de morrow, he may have mon vio- lon,” he said huskily; then turned abruptly on his heel, and went down bourbon street, his shoulders drawn high as though he were cold. when courcey and martel entered the gate of the little house on bayou road the next day, there floated out to their ears a wordless song thrilling from the violin, a song that told more than speech or tears or gestures could have done of the utter sorrow and m'sieu fortier's violin desolation of the little old man. they - walked softly up the short red brick walk and tapped at the door. within, m'sieu fortier was caressing the vio- lin, with silent tears streaming down his wrinkled gray face. there was not much said on either side. courcey came away with the instrument, leaving the money behind, while martel grumbled at the essentially sordid, mercenary spirit of the world. m'sieu fortier turned back into the room, after bowing his visitors out with old- time french courtliness, and turning to the sleepy white cat, said with a dry sob: "minesse, dere's only me an' you now.” about six days later, courcey's morning dreams were disturbed by the announcement of a visitor. hastily doing a toilet, he descended the stairs to find m'sieu fortier nervously pac- ing the hall floor. m'sieu fortier's violin “i come fo’ bring back you' money, yaas. i cannot sleep, i cannot eat, i only cry, and t'ink, and weesh fo'mon violon; and minesse, an' de ol woman too, dey mope an’ look bad too, all for mon violon. i try fo’ to use dat money, but eet burn an' sting lak blood money. i feel lak' i done soľ my child. i cannot go at l'opera no mo', i t’ink of mon violon. i starve befo' i live widout. my heart, he is broke, i die for mon violon.” courcey left the room and returned with the instrument. “ m'sieu fortier,” he said, bowing low, as he handed the case to the little man, “take your violin; it was a whim with me, a passion with you. and as for the money, why, keep that too ; it was worth a hundred dollars to have possessed such an instrument even for six days.” by the bayou st. john by the bayou st. john the bayou st. john slowly makes its dark-hued way through reeds and rushes, high banks and flat slopes, until it casts itself into the turbulent bosom of lake pontchartrain. it is dark, like the passionate women of egypt; placid, like their broad brows; deep, silent, like their souls. within its bosom are hidden romances and stories, such as were sung by minstrels of old. from the source to the mouth is not far distant, visibly speaking, but in the life of the bayou a hundred heart-miles could scarce measure it. just where it winds about the northwest of the city are some of its most beautiful bits, orange groves on one side, and quaint old spanish gardens on the other. by the bayou st. john ses who cares that the bridges are modern, and that here and there pert boat-houses rear their prim heads ? it is the bayou, even though it be invaded with the ruthless vandalism of the improving idea, and can a boat-house kill the beauty of a moss-grown centurion of an oak with a history as old as the city ? can an iron bridge with tarantula piers detract from the song of a mocking- bird in a fragrant orange grove? we know that farther out, past the con- federate soldiers' home, – that rose- embowered, rambling place of gray- coated, white-haired old men with broken hearts for a lost cause, - it flows, unimpeded by the faintest con- ception of man, and we love it all the more that, like the priestess of isis, it is calm-browed, even in indignity. to its banks at the end of moss street, one day there came a man and a maiden. they were both tall and by the bayou st. john lithe and slender, with the agility of youth and fire. he was the final con- centration of the essence of spanish passion filtered into an american frame; she, a repressed southern exotic, trying to fit itself into the niches of a modern civilisation. truly, a fitting couple to seek the bayou banks. they climbed the levee that stretched a feeble check to waters that seldom rise, and on the other side of the embankment, at the brink of the river, she sat on a log, and impatiently pulled off the little cap she wore. the skies were gray, heavy, overcast, with an occasional wind-rift in the clouds that only revealed new depths of grayness behind; the tideless waters murmured a faint ripple against the logs and jut- ting beams of the breakwater, and were answered by the crescendo wail of the dried reeds on the other bank, - reeds that rustled and moaned among them- by the bayou st. john selves for the golden days of summer sunshine. he stood up, his dark form a slender silhouette against the sky; she looked upward from her log, and their eyes met with an exquisite shock of recog- nising understanding ; dark eyes into dark eyes, iberian fire into iberian fire, soul unto soul : it was enough. he sat down and took her into his arms, and in the eerie murmur of the storm coming they talked of the future. “and then i hope to go to italy or france. it is only there, beneath those far southern skies, that i could ever hope to attain to anything that the soul within me says i can. i have wasted so much time in the mere struggle for bread, while the powers of a higher calling have clamoured for recognition and expression. i will go some day and redeem myself.” she was silent a moment, watching by the bayou st. john with half-closed lids a dejected-looking hunter on the other bank, and a lean dog who trailed through the reeds behind him with drooping tail. then she asked: “and i — what will become of me?” “you, athanasia ? there is a great future before you, little woman, and i and my love can only mar it. try to forget me and go your way. i am only the epitome of unhappiness and ill- success.” but she laughed and would have none of it. will you ever forget that day, atha- nasia ? how the little gamins, creole throughout, came half shyly near the log, fishing, and exchanging furtive whispers and half-concealed glances at the silent couple. their angling was rewarded only by a little black water- moccasin that wriggled and forked its venomous red tongue in an attempt to rew venoi nou by the bayou st. john ness a night years after, the moon was shin- ing upon it with a silvery tenderness that seemed brighter, more caressingly lingering than anywhere within the old city. behind, there rose the spires and towers; before, only the reeds, green now, and soft in their rustlings and whisperings for the future. false reeds! they tell themselves of their happiness to be, and it all ends in dry stalks and drizzling skies. the mocking-bird in the fragrant orange grove sends out his night song, and blends it with the cricket's chirp, as the blossoms of orange and magnolia mingle their per- fume with the earthy smell of a summer rain just blown over. perfect in its stillness, absolute in its beauty, tenderly healing in its suggestion of peace, the night in its clear-lighted, cloudless sweet- ness enfolds athanasia, as she stands on the levee and gazes down at the old log, now almost hidden in the luxuriant grass. ra by the bayou st. john “ it was the eternal feminine that spoiled our dream that day as it spoiled the after life, was it not?” but the bayou st. john did not answer. it merely gathered into its silent bosom another broken-hearted romance, and flowed dispassionately on its way. when the bayou overflows when the bayou overflows when the sun goes down behind the great oaks along the bayou teche near franklin, it throws red needles of light into the dark woods, and leaves a great glow on the still bayou. ma'am mouton paused at her gate and cast a contemplative look at the red sky. “hit will rain to-morrow, sho'. i mus' git in my t’ings.” ma'am mouton's remark must have been addressed to herself or to the lean dog, for no one else was visible. she moved briskly about the yard, taking things from the line, when louisette's voice called cheerily : “ah, ma'am mouton, can i help?” louisette was petite and plump and when the bayou overflows black-haired. louisette's eyes danced, and her lips were red and tempting. ma'am mouton's face relaxed as the small brown hands relieved hers of their burden. “sylves', has he come yet?” asked the red mouth. “mais non, ma chère,” said ma'am mouton, sadly, “i can'tell fo' w’y he no come home soon dese day. ah me, i feel lak' somet'ing goin' happen. he so strange.” even as she spoke a quick nervous step was heard crunching up the brick walk. sylves' paused an instant with- out the kitchen door, his face turned to the setting sun. he was tall and slim and agile; a true 'cajan. “bon jour, louisette,” he laughed. “eh, maman !” “ah, my son, you are ver' late.” sylves frowned, but said nothing. it was a silent supper that followed. when the bayou overflows was louisette was sad, ma'am mouton sighed now and then, sylves' was constrained. “maman,” he said at length, “i am goin' away.” ma'am mouton dropped her fork and stared at him with unseeing eyes; then, as she comprehended his remark, she put her hand out to him with a pitiful gesture. “sylves’ !” cried louisette, spring- ing to her feet. “maman, don't, don't!” he said weakly; then gathering strength from the silence, he burst forth : “yaas, i'm goin' away to work. i'm tired of dis, jus' dig, dig, work in de fieľ, nothin' to see but de cloud, de tree, de bayou. i don't lak' new orleans; it too near here, dere no mo' money dere. i go up fo' mardi gras, an' de same people, de same striť. i 'm goin' to chicago ! ” when the bayou overflows “sylves' !” screamed both women at once. chicago ! that vast, far-off city that seemed in another world. chicago ! a name to conjure with for wickedness. “w'y, yaas,” continued sylves', “lots of boys i know dere. henri an' joseph lascaud an' arthur, dey write me what money dey mek'in cigar. i can mek' a livin' too. i can mek' fine cigar. see how i do in new orleans in de winter." “oh, sylves'," wailed louisette, “den you ’ll forget me!” “non, non, ma chère,” he answered tenderly. “i will come back when the bayou overflows again, an'maman an' louisette will have fine present.” ma'am mouton had bowed her head on her hands, and was rocking to and fro in an agony of dry-eyed misery. sylves' went to her side and knelt. “ maman,” he said softly, “maman, when the bayou overflows you mus' not cry. all de boys go 'way, an' i will come back reech, an' you won't have fo' to work no mo'.” but ma'am mouton was incon- solable. it was even as sylves' had said. in the summer-time the boys of the bayou teche would work in the field or in the town of franklin, hack-driv- ing and doing odd jobs. when winter came, there was a general exodus to new orleans, a hundred miles away, where work was to be had as cigar- makers. there is money, plenty of it, in cigar-making, if one can get in the right place. of late, however, there had been a general slackness of the trade. last winter oftentimes sylves' had walked the streets out of work. many were the creole boys who had gone to chicago to earn a living, for the cigar-making trade flourishes there wonderfully. friends of sylves' had when the bayou overflows gone, and written home glowing accounts of the money to be had almost for the asking. when one's blood leaps for new scenes, new adventures, and one needs money, what is the use of fritter- ing away time alternately between the bayou teche and new orleans? sylves' had brooded all summer, and now that september had come, he was determined to go. louisette, the orphan, the girl-lover, whom everyone in franklin knew would some day be ma'am mouton's daughter-in-law, wept and pleaded in vain. sylves' kissed her quivering lips. “ma chère,” he would say, “ tink, i will bring you one fine diamon' ring, nex' spring, when de bayou overflows again.” louisette would fain be content with this promise. as for ma'am mouton, she seemed to have grown ages older. when the bayou overflows i her sylves' was going from her; sylves', whose trips to new orleans had been a yearly source of heart-break, was going far away for months to that mistily wicked city, a thousand miles away. october came, and sylves' had gone. ma'am mouton had kept up bravely until the last, when with one final cry she extended her arms to the pitiless train bearing him northward. then she and louisette went home drearily, the one leaning upon the other. ah, that was a great day when the first letter came from chicago! lou- isette came running in breathlessly from the post-office, and together they read it again and again. chicago was such a wonderful city, said sylves'. why, it was always like new orleans at mardi gras with the people. he had seen joseph lascaud, and he had a place to work promised him. he was when the bayou overflows well, but he wanted, oh, so much, to see maman and louisette. but then, he could wait. was ever such a wonderful letter? louisette sat for an hour afterwards building gorgeous air-castles, while ma'am mouton fingered the paper and murmured prayers to the virgin for sylves'. when the bayou over- flowed again? that would be in april. then louisette caught herself looking critically at her slender brown fingers, and blushed furiously, though ma'am mouton could not see her in the gathering twilight. next week there was another letter, even more wonderful than the first. sylves' had found work. he was mak- ing cigars, and was earning two dollars a day. such wages ! ma'am mouton and louisette began to plan pretty things for the brown cottage on the teche. when the bayou overflows as n that was a pleasant winter, after all. true, there was no sylves', but then he was always in new orleans for a few months any way. there were his let- ters, full of wondrous tales of the great queer city, where cars went by ropes underground, and where there was no mardi gras and the people did not mind lent. now and then there would be a present, a keepsake for louisette, and some money for maman. they would plan improvements for the cottage, and louisette began to do sew- ing and dainty crochet, which she would hide with a blush if anyone hinted at a trousseau. it was march now, and spring-time. the bayou began to sweep down be- tween its banks less sluggishly than before; it was rising, and soon would spread over its tiny levees. the doors could be left open now, though the trees were not yet green; but then when the bayou overflows down here the trees do not swell and bud slowly and tease you for weeks with promises of greenness. dear no, they simply look mysterious, and their twigs shake against each other and tell secrets of the leaves that will soon be born. then one morning you awake, and lo, it is a green world! the boughs have suddenly clothed them- selves all in a wondrous garment, and you feel the blood run riot in your veins out of pure sympathy. one day in march, it was warm and sweet. underfoot were violets; and wee white star flowers peering through the baby-grass. the sky was blue, with flecks of white clouds reflecting themselves in the brown bayou. louisette tripped up the red brick walk with the chicago letter in her hand, and paused a minute at the door to look upon the leaping waters, her eyes dancing mr. baptiste ter mr. baptiste man, he had nowhere to lay his head, save when some kindly family made room for him in a garret or a barn. he subsisted by doing odd jobs, white- washing, cleaning yards, doing errands, and the like. the little old man was a frequenter of the levee. never a day passed that his quaint little figure was not seen moving up and down about the ships. chiefly did he haunt the texas and pacific warehouses and the landing-place of the morgan-line steamships. this seemed like madness, for these spots are almost the busiest on the levee, and the rough seamen and 'longshoremen have least time to be bothered with small weak folks. still there was method in the madness of mr. baptiste. the morgan steamships, as everyone knows, ply between new orleans and central and south american ports, doing the major part of the fruit trade; and many were mr. baptiste tempting dish, with a bit of madame's bread and meat and coffee thrown in for lagniappe; and mr. baptiste would depart, filled and contented, leaving the load of fruit behind as madame's pay. thus did he eat, and his clients were many, and never too tired or too cross to cook his meals and get their pay in baskets of fruit. one day he slipped in at madame garcia's kitchen door with such a woe- begone air, and slid a small sack of nearly ripe plantains on the table with such a misery-laden sigh, that madame, who was fat and excitable, threw up both hands and cried out: “mon dieu, mistare baptiste, fo' w'y you look lak dat? what ees de mattare?” for answer, mr. baptiste shook his head gloomily and sighed again. madame garcia moved heavily about the kitchen, putting the plantains in was w . mr. baptiste a cool spot and punctuating her foot- steps with sundry “mon dieux” and “ misères.” “dose cotton!” ejaculated mr. bap- tiste, at last. “ah, mon dieu !” groaned madame garcia, rolling her eyes heavenwards. “hit will drive de fruit away !” he continued. “ misère!” said madame garcia. “ hit will.” « oui, oui,” said madame garcia. she had carefully inspected the plan- tains, and seeing that they were good and wholesome, was inclined to agree with anything mr. baptiste said. he grew excited. “yaas, dose cotton- yardmans, dose 'longsho'mans, dey go out on one strik'. dey t'row down dey tool an' say dey work no mo' wid niggers. les veseaux, dey lay in de river, no work, no cargo, yaas. den de fruit ship, dey can mak' lan', de mr. baptiste from its yellow bosom. great vessels lay against the wharf, silent and un- populated. excited groups of men clustered here and there among bales of uncompressed cotton, lying about in disorderly profusion. cargoes of mo- lasses and sugar gave out a sticky sweet smell, and now and then the fierce rays of the sun would kindle tiny blazes in the cotton and splinter-mixed dust underfoot. mr. baptiste wandered in and out among the groups of men, exchanging a friendly salutation here and there. he looked the picture of woe-begone misery. “hello, mr. baptiste,” cried a big, brawny irishman, “sure an' you look, as if you was about to be hanged.” “ah, mon dieu,” said mr. baptiste, “ dose fruit ship be ruined fo’ dees strik”.” “damn the fruit!” cheerily replied mr. baptiste the irishman, artistically disposing of a mouthful of tobacco juice. “ it ain't the fruit we care about, it 's the cotton.” “hear! hear!” cried a dozen lusty comrades. mr. baptiste shook his head and moved sorrowfully away. “hey, by howly st. patrick, here's that little fruit-eater ! ” called the cen- tre of another group of strikers perched on cotton-bales. “hello! where —” began a sec- ond; but the leader suddenly held up his hand for silence, and the men listened eagerly. it might not have been a sound, for the levee lay quiet and the mules on the cotton-drays dozed languidly, their ears pitched at varying acute angles. but the pract:sed ears of the men heard a familiar sound stealing up over the heated stillness. “oh-ho-ho-humph— humph mr. baptiste – humph — ho-ho-ho-oh- - — humph!” then the faint rattle of chains, and the steady thump of a machine pounding. if ever you go on the levee you'll know that sound, the rhythmic song of the stevedores heaving cotton-bales, and the steady thump, thump, of the machine compressing them within the hold of the ship. finnegan, the leader, who had held up his hand for silence, uttered an oath. “scabs! men, come on!” there was no need for a further in- vitation. the men rose in sullen wrath and went down the levee, the crowd gathering in numbers as it passed along. mr. baptiste followed in its wake, now and then sighing a mournful protest which was lost in the roar of the men. mr. baptiste “scabs!” finnegan had said; and the word was passed along, until it seemed that the half of the second dis- trict knew and had risen to investigate. “oh-ho-ho-humph — humph - humph — oh — ho-ho -oh-o - -humph !” the rhythmic chorus sounded nearer, and the cause manifested itself when the curve of the levee above the french market was passed. there rose a white star steamer, insolently settling itself to the water as each consignment of cotton bales was compressed into her hold. “niggers!” roared finnegan wrathily. “niggers! niggers! kill’em, scabs !” chorused the crowd. with muscles standing out like cables through their blue cotton shirts, and sweat rolling from glossy black skins, the negro stevedores were at work steadily labouring at the cotton, with the mr. baptiste rhythmic song swinging its cadence in the hot air. the roar of the crowd caused the men to look up with mo- mentary apprehension, but at the over- seer's reassuring word they bent back to work. finnegan was a titan. with livid face and bursting veins he ran into the street facing the french market, and uprooted a huge block of paving stone. staggering under its weight, he rushed back to the ship, and with one mighty effort hurled it into the hold. the delicate poles of the costly machine tottered in the air, then fell forward with a crash as the whole iron framework in the hold collapsed. “damn ye,” shouted finnegan, “now yez can pack yer cotton!”. the crowd's cheers at this changed to howls, as the negroes, infuriated at their loss, for those costly machines belong to the labourers and not to the . mr. baptiste ship-owners, turned upon the mob and began to throw brickbats, pieces of iron, chunks of wood, anything that came to hand. it was pandemonium turned loose over a turgid stream, with a malarial sun to heat the passions to fever point. mr. baptiste had taken refuge behind a bread-stall on the outside of the mar- ket. he had taken off his cap, and was weakly cheering the negroes on. “bravo! cheered mr. baptiste. “will yez look at that damned fruit- eatin' frinchman!” howled mcmahon. “ cheerin' the niggers, are you?” and he let fly a brickbat in the direction of the bread-stall. “oh, mon dieu, mon dieu !” wailed the bread-woman. mr. baptiste lay very still, with a great ugly gash in his wrinkled brown temple. fishmen and vegetable mar- chands gathered around him in a quick, mr. baptiste ar wa ars sympathetic mass. the individual, the concrete bit of helpless humanity, had more interest for them than the vast, vague fighting mob beyond. the noon-hour pealed from the brazen throats of many bells, and the numerous hoarse whistles of the steam- boats called the unheeded luncheon- time to the levee workers. the war waged furiously, and groans of the wounded mingled with curses and roars from the combatants. “killed instantly,” said the surgeon, carefully lifting mr. baptiste into the ambulance. tramp, tramp, tramp, sounded the militia steadily marching down decatur street. “whist! do yez hear !” shouted finnegan; and the conflict had ceased ere the yellow river could reflect the sun from the polished bayonets. you remember, of course, how long mr. baptiste the strike lasted, and how many battles were fought and lives lost before the final adjustment of affairs. it was a fearsome war, and many forgot after- wards whose was the first life lost in the struggle,-poor little mr. baptiste's, whose body lay at the morgue un- claimed for days before it was finally dropped unnamed into potter's field. a carnival jangle a carnival jangle there is a merry jangle of bells in the air, an all-pervading sense of jester's noise, and the flaunting vividness of royal colours. the streets swarm with humanity, — humanity in all shapes, manners, forms, laughing, pushing, jostling, crowding, a mass of men and women and children, as varied and as- sorted in their several individual pecu- liarities as ever a crowd that gathered in one locality since the days of babel. it is carnival in new orleans; a brilliant tuesday in february, when the very air gives forth an ozone in- tensely exhilarating, making one long to cut capers. the buildings are a blazing mass of royal purple and golden yellow, national flags, bunting, and deco- a carnival jangle from each other's paths. but in the confusion a tall prince of darkness had whispered to one of the girls in the un- masked crowd: “you'd better come with us, flo; you're wasting time in that tame gang. slip off, they 'll never miss you; we'll get you a rig, and show you what life is.” and so it happened, when a half- hour passed, and the bright-eyed bevy missed flo and could n't find her, wisely giving up the search at last, she, the quietest and most bashful of the lot, was being initiated into the mysteries of “what life is.” down bourbon street and on tou- louse and st. peter streets there are quaint little old-world places where one may be disguised effectually for a tiny consideration. thither, guided by the shapely mephisto and guarded by the team of jockeys and ballet girls, tripped flo. into one of the lowest-ceiled, a carnival jangle dingiest, and most ancient-looking of these shops they stepped. “a disguise for the demoiselle," an- nounced mephisto to the woman who met them. she was small and wizened and old, with yellow, flabby jaws, a neck like the throat of an alligator, and straight, white hair that stood from her head uncannily stiff. “ but the demoiselle wishes to ap- pear a boy, un petit garçon?” she in- quired, gazing eagerly at flo's long, slender frame. her voice was old and thin, like the high quavering of an imperfect tuning-fork, and her eyes were sharp as talons in their grasping glance. “mademoiselle does not wish such a costume,” gruffly responded mephisto. “ma foi, there is no other,” said the ancient, shrugging her shoulders. “but one is left now; mademoiselle would make a fine troubadour.” a carnival jangle masked. it was amusing to watch these mimic red-men, they seemed so fierce and earnest. suddenly one chief touched another on the elbow. “ see that mephisto and troubadour over there?” he whis- pered huskily. “yes; who are they?” “i don't know the devil,” responded the other, quietly,“ but i'd know that other form anywhere. it's leon, see? i know those white hands like a woman's and that restless head. ha!” “but there may be a mistake.” “no. i'd know that one anywhere; i feel it is he. i'll pay him now. ah, sweetheart, you've waited long, but you shall feast now!” he was caress- ing something long and lithe and glit- tering beneath his blanket. in a masked dance it is easy to give a death-blow between the shoulders. two crowds meet and laugh and shout een little miss sophie little miss sophie when miss sophie knew conscious- ness again, the long, faint, swelling notes of the organ were dying away in distant echoes through the great arches of the silent church, and she was alone, crouching in a little, forsaken black heap at the altar of the virgin. the twinkling tapers shone pityingly upon her, the beneficent smile of the white- robed madonna seemed to whisper comfort. a long gust of chill air swept up the aisles, and miss sophie shivered not from cold, but from nervousness. but darkness was falling, and soon the lights would be lowered, and the great massive doors would be closed; so, gathering her thin little cape about her frail shoulders, miss sophie hurried little miss sophie out, and along the brilliant noisy streets home. it was a wretched, lonely little room, where the cracks let the boisterous wind whistle through, and the smoky, grimy walls looked cheerless and un- homelike. a miserable little room in a miserable little cottage in one of the squalid streets of the third district that nature and the city fathers seemed to have forgotten. as bare and comfortless as the room was miss sophie's life. she rented these four walls from an un- kempt little creole woman, whose progeny seemed like the promised offspring of abraham. she scarcely kept the flickering life in her pale little body by the unceasing toil of a pair of bony hands, stitching, stitching, ceaselessly, wearingly, on the bands and pockets of trousers. it was her bread, this monotonous, unending work; and little miss sophie though whole days and nights constant labour brought but the most meagre rec- ompense, it was her only hope of life. she sat before the little charcoal bra- zier and warmed her transparent, needle-pricked fingers, thinking mean- while of the strange events of the day. she had been up town to carry the great, black bundle of coarse pants and vests to the factory and to receive her small pittance, and on the way home stopped in at the jesuit church to say her little prayer at the altar of the calm white virgin. there had been a wondrous burst of music from the great organ as she knelt there, an overpowering per- fume of many flowers, the glittering dazzle of many lights, and the dainty frou-frou made by the silken skirts of wedding guests. so miss sophie stayed to the wedding; for what feminine heart, be it ever so old and seared, does not delight in one? and why little miss sophie should not a poor little creole old maid be interested too? then the wedding party had filed in solemnly, to the rolling, swelling tones of the organ. important-look- ing groomsmen ; dainty, fluffy, white- robed maids ; stately, satin-robed, illu- sion-veiled bride, and happy groom. she leaned forward to catch a better glimpse of their faces. “ah!”- those near the virgin's altar who heard a faint sigh and rustle on the steps glanced curiously as they saw a slight black-robed figure clutch the railing and lean her head against it. miss sophie had fainted. “i must have been hungry,” she mused over the charcoal fire in her little room,“i must have been hungry;" and she smiled a wan smile, and busied herself getting her evening meal of coffee and bread and ham. if one were given to pity, the first little miss sophie thought that would rush to one's lips at sight of miss sophie would have been, “poor little woman!” she had come among the bareness and sordid- ness of this neighbourhood five years ago, robed in crape, and crying with great sobs that seemed to shake the vitality out of her. perfectly silent, too, she was about her former life; but for all that, michel, the quartee grocer at the corner, and madame laurent, who kept the rabbé shop opposite, had fixed it all up between them, of her sad history and past glories. not that they knew; but then michel must invent something when the neighbours came to him as their fountain-head of wisdom. one morning little miss sophie opened wide her dingy windows to catch the early freshness of the autumn wind as it whistled through the yellow- leafed trees. it was one of those calm, blue-misted, balmy, november days little miss sophie all of the endless number of jeans belts. her fingers trembled with nervous haste as she pinned up the unwieldy black bundle of finished work, and her feet fairly tripped over each other in their eagerness to get to claiborne street, where she could board the up-town car. there was a feverish desire to go some- where, a sense of elation, a foolish happiness that brought a faint echo of colour into her pinched cheeks. she wondered why. no one noticed her in the car. pas- sengers on the claiborne line are too much accustomed to frail little black- robed women with big, black bundles; it is one of the city's most pitiful sights. she leaned her head out of the win- dow to catch a glimpse of the oleanders on bayou road, when her attention was caught by a conversation in the car. “yes, it's too bad for neale, and little miss sophie has given the ring away, and that settles it.” “well, you're all chumps. why does n't he get the ring from the owner?” “easily said; but it seems that neale had some little creole love-affair some years ago, and gave this ring to his dusky-eyed fiancée. you know how neale is with his love-affairs, went off and forgot the girl in a month. it seems, however, she took it to heart, - so much so that he's ashamed to try to find her or the ring.” miss sophie heard no more as she gazed out into the dusty grass. there were tears in her eyes, hot blinding ones that would n't drop for pride, but stayed and scalded. she knew the story, with all its embellishment of heartaches. she knew the ring, too. she remembered the day she had kissed and wept and fondled it, until it seemed io little miss sophie titiche, the busybody of the house, noticed that miss sophie's bundle was larger than usual that afternoon. “ah, poor woman!” sighed titiche's mother, “she would be rich for christmas." the bundle grew larger each day, and miss sophie grew smaller. the damp, cold rain and mist closed the white- curtained window, but always there behind the sewing-machine drooped and bobbed the little black-robed figure. whirr, whirr went the wheels, and the coarse jeans pants piled in great heaps at her side. the claiborne street car saw her oftener than before, and the sweet white virgin in the flowered niche above the gold-domed altar smiled at the little supplicant almost every day. “ma foi,” said the slatternly land- lady to madame laurent and michel one day, “ i no see how she live! eat? nothin', nothin', almos', and las' night when it was so cold and foggy, eh? i little miss sophie hav' to mek him build fire. she mos' freeze.” whereupon the rumour spread that miss sophie was starving herself to death to get some luckless relative out of jail for christmas; a rumour which enveloped her scraggy little figure with a kind of halo to the neighbours when she appeared on the streets. november had merged into decem- ber, and the little pile of coins was yet far from the sum needed. dear god ! how the money did have to go! the rent and the groceries and the coal, though, to be sure, she used a precious bit of that. would all the work and saving and skimping do good? may- be, yes, maybe by christmas. christmas eve on royal street is no place for a weakling, for the shouts and carousals of the roisterers will strike fear into the bravest ones. yet amid the cries and yells, the deafening blow little miss sophie of horns and tin whistles, and the really dangerous fusillade of fireworks, a little figure hurried along, one hand clutching tightly the battered hat that the rude merry-makers had torn off, the other grasping under the thin black cape a worn little pocketbook. into the mont de piété she ran breathless, eager. the ticket? here, worn, crumpled. the ring? it was not gone? no, thank heaven! it was a joy well worth her toil, she thought, to have it again. had titiche not been shooting crack- ers on the banquette instead of peering into the crack, as was his wont, his big, round black eyes would have grown saucer-wide to see little miss sophie kiss and fondle a ring, an ugly clumsy band of gold. “ah, dear ring,” she murmured, “once you were his, and you shall be his again. you shall be on his finger, little miss sophie s “miss sophie, well, po' soul, not ver' much chris’mas for her. mais, i'll jus call him in fo' to spen' the day with me. eet 'll cheer her a bit.” it was so clean and orderly within the poor little room. not a speck of dust or a litter of any kind on the quaint little old-time high bureau, un- less you might except a sheet of paper lying loose with something written on it. titiche had evidently inherited his prying propensities, for the landlady turned it over and read, - louis, — here is the ring. i return it to you. i heard you needed it. i hope it comes not too late. sophie. “the ring, where?” muttered the landlady. there it was, clasped be- tween her fingers on her bosom, — a bosom white and cold, under a cold happy face. christmas had indeed dawned for miss sophie. sister josepha sister josepha told her beads me- chanically, her fingers numb with the accustomed exercise. the little organ creaked a dismal “o salutaris,” and she still knelt on the floor, her white- bonneted head nodding suspiciously. the mother superior gave a sharp glance at the tired figure; then, as a sudden lurch forward brought the little sister back to consciousness, mother's eyes relaxed into a genuine smile. the bell tolled the end of vespers, and the sombre-robed nuns filed out of the chapel to go about their evening duties. little sister josepha's work was to attend to the household lamps, but there must have been as much oil spilled upon the table to-night as was sister josepha called from her couch to know if sister josepha were ill. “no," was the somewhat short re- sponse; then a muttered, “ why can't they let me alone for a minute? that pale-eyed sister dominica never sleeps ; that's why she is so ugly.” about fifteen years before this night some one had brought to the orphan asylum connected with this convent, du sacré coeur, a round, dimpled bit of three-year-old humanity, who regarded the world from a pair of gravely twink- ling black eyes, and only took a chubby thumb out of a rosy mouth long enough to answer in monosyllabic french. it was a child without an identity; there was but one name that any one seemed to know, and that, too, was vague,- camille. she grew up with the rest of the waifs ; scraps of french and american civilization thrown together to develop sister josepha tomed to its various inflections, detected a steely ring behind its softness, like the proverbial iron hand in the velvet glove. “ you must understand, madame,” continued mother, in stilted english, “ that we never force children from us. we are ever glad to place them in com- fortable - how you say that? - quar- ters maisons — homes — bien ! but we will not make them go if they do not wish.” camille stole a glance at her would- be guardians, and decided instantly, im- pulsively, finally. the woman suited her; but the man! it was doubtless intuition of the quick, vivacious sort which belonged to her blood that served her. untutored in worldly knowledge, she could not divine the meaning of the pronounced leers and admiration of her physical charms which gleamed in the man's face, but she knew it made her feel creepy, and stoutly refused to go. sister josepha ma why did you not wish to go with monsieur and madame lafayé yester- day?” the girl uncrossed her hands from her bosom, and spread them out in a deprecating gesture. “mais, ma mère, i was afraid.” mother's face grew stern. “no fool- ishness now,” she exclaimed. “it is not foolishness, ma mère; i could not help it, but that man looked at me so funny, i felt all cold chills down my back. oh, dear mother, i love the convent and the sisters so, i just want to stay and be a sister too, may i?” and thus it was that camille took the white veil at sixteen years. now that the period of novitiate was over, it was just beginning to dawn upon her that she had made a mistake. “maybe it would have been better had i gone with the funny-looking lady ii sister josepha s and gentleman,” she mused bitterly one night. “oh, seigneur, i'm so tired and impatient; it's so dull here, and, dear god, i'm so young.” there was no help for it. one must arise in the morning, and help in the refectory with the stupid sister fran- cesca, and go about one's duties with a prayerful mien, and not even let a sigh escape when one's head ached with the eternal telling of beads. a great fête day was coming, and an atmosphere of preparation and mild excitement pervaded the brown walls of the convent like a delicate aroma. the old cathedral around the corner had stood a hundred years, and all the city was rising to do honour to its age and time-softened beauty. there would be a service, oh, but such a one! with two cardinals, and archbishops and bishops, and all the accompanying glitter of soldiers and orchestras. the sister josepha little sisters of the convent du sacré caur clasped their hands in anticipa- tion of the holy joy. sister josepha curled her lip, she was so tired of churchly pleasures. the day came, a gold and blue spring day, when the air hung heavy with the scent of roses and magnolias, and the sunbeams fairly laughed as they kissed the houses. the old cathedral stood gray and solemn, and the flowers in jackson square smiled cheery birth- day greetings across the way. the crowd around the door surged and pressed and pushed in its eagerness to get within. ribbons stretched across the banquette were of no avail to re- press it, and important ushers with cardinal colours could do little more. the sacred heart sisters filed slowly in at the side door, creating a momen- tary flutter as they paced reverently to their seats, guarding the blue-bonneted sister josepha so orphans. sister josepha, determined to see as much of the world as she could, kept her big black eyes opened wide, as the church rapidly filled with the fashionably dressed, perfumed, rustling, and self-conscious throng. her heart beat quickly. the rebel- lious thoughts that will arise in the most philosophical of us surged in her small heavily gowned bosom. for her were the gray things, the neutral tinted skies, the ugly garb, the coarse meats; for them the rainbow, the ethereal airiness of earthly joys, the bonbons and glacés of the world. sister josepha did not know that the rainbow is elusive, and its colours but the illumination of tears; she had never been told that earthly ethereality is necessarily ephem- eral, nor that bonbons and glacés, whether of the palate or of the soul, nauseate and pall upon the taste. dear god, forgive her, for she bent with sister josepha contrite tears over her worn rosary, and glanced no more at the worldly glitter of femininity. the sunbeams streamed through the high windows in purple and crimson lights upon a veritable fugue of colour. within the seats, crush upon crush of spring millinery; within the aisles erect lines of gold-braided, gold-buttoned military. upon the altar, broad sweeps of golden robes, great dashes of crimson skirts, mitres and gleaming crosses, the soft neutral hue of rich lace vestments; the tender heads of childhood in pic- turesque attire; the proud, golden mag- nificence of the domed altar with its weighting mass of lilies and wide- eyed roses, and the long candles that sparkled their yellow star points above the reverent throng within the altar rails. the soft baritone of the cardinal intoned a single phrase in the suspended eve sister josepha before, save for the one little heart that beat rebelliously now and then, though it tried so hard to be submissive. there was the morning work in the refectory, the stupid little girls to teach sewing, and the insatiable lamps that were so greedy for oil. and always the tender, boyish brown eyes, that looked so sor- rowfully at the fragile, beautiful little sister, haunting, following, pleading. perchance, had sister josepha been in the world, the eyes would have been an incident. but in this home of self- repression and retrospection, it was a life-story. the eyes had gone their way, doubtless forgetting the little sis- ter they pitied; but the little sister ? the days glided into weeks, the weeks into months. thoughts of es- cape had come to sister josepha, to flee into the world, to merge in the great city where recognition was impos- sible, and, working her way like the rest sister josepha of humanity, perchance encounter the eyes again. it was all planned and ready. she would wait until some morning when the little band of black-robed sisters wended their way to mass at the cathe- dral. when it was time to file out the side-door into the courtway, she would linger at prayers, then slip out another door, and unseen glide up chartres street to canal, and once there, mingle in the throng that filled the wide thoroughfare. beyond this first plan she could think no further. penniless, garbed, and shaven though she would be, other difficulties never presented themselves to her. she would rely on the mercies of the world to help her escape from this torturing life of inertia. it seemed easy now that the first step of decision had been taken. the saturday night before the final day had come, and she lay feverishly sister josepha could never tell from whom or whence she came; no friends, and a beauty that not even an ungainly bonnet and shaven head could hide. in a flash she realised the deception of the life she would lead, and the cruel self-torture of wonder at her own identity. already, as if in anticipation of the world's ques- tionings, she was asking herself, “who am i? what am i?” the next morning the sisters du sacré cour filed into the cathedral at high mass, and bent devout knees at the general confession. “confiteor deo omnipotenti,” murmured the priest; and tremblingly one little sister followed the words, “je confesse à dieu, tout puissant - que j'ai beaucoup péché par pensées — c'est ma faute — c'est ma faute — c'est ma très grande faute.” the organ pealed forth as mass ended, the throng slowly filed out, and the sisters paced through the courtway the praline woman the praline woman “mais oui, madame, i know you étranger. you don' look lak dese new orleans peop'. you lak' dose yankee dat come down 'fo' de war.” ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, chimes the cathedral bell across jack- son square, and the praline woman crosses herself. “ hail, mary, full of grace “pralines, madame? you buy lak' dat? dix sous, madame, an' one lil piece fo' lagniappe fo' madame's liľ bébé. ah, c'est bon! “pralines, pralines, so fresh, so fine! m'sieu would lak' some fo’ he's lil' gal? at home? mais non, what's dat you say? she's daid! ah, m'sieu, 't is my lil gal what died long year ago. misère, misère ! “here come dat lazy indien squaw. what she good fo', anyhow? she jes' sit lak dat in de french market an' sell her filé, an’ sleep, sleep, sleep, lak' the praline woman po' tante marie get too ol. didele? she's one lil' gal i ”dopt. i see her one day in de strit. he walk so; hit col' she shiver, an' i say, 'where you gone, lil' gal?' and he can' tell. he jes' crip close to me, an' cry so! den i tak’ her home wid me, and she say he's name didele. you see dey wa’nt no- body dere. my lil gal, she's daid of de yellow fever; my lil boy, he's daid, po' tante marie all alone. didele, she grow fine, she keep house an' mek’ pralines. den, when night come, she sit wid he's guitar an' sing, «« tu l'aime ces trois jours, tu l'aime ces trois jours, ma cæur à toi, ma cæur à toi, : tu l'aime ces trois jours !' “ah, he's fine gal, is didele ! “ pralines, pralines ! dat lil cloud, h'it look lak' rain, i hope no. “here come dat lazy l'ishman down the praline woman de strit. i don't lak’ l'ishman, me, non, dey so funny. one day one l'ishman, he say to me, ‘auntie, what fo' you talk so?' and i jes’ say back, “what fo' you say “faith an' be jabers”?'. non, i don' lak i'ishman, me! “here come de rain! now i got fo' to go. didele, she be wait fo' me. down h'it come! h'it fall in de meesseesip, an'fill up — up — so, clean to de levee, den we have big cri- vasse, an' po' tante marie float away. bon jour, madame, you come again? pralines ! pralines !” odalie odalie on mardi gras day, as you know, it is a town gone mad with folly. a huge masked ball emptied into the streets at daylight; a meeting of all nations on common ground, a pot-pourri of every conceivable human ingredient, but faintly describes it all. there are music and flowers, cries and laughter and song and joyousness, and never an aching heart to show its sorrow or dim the happiness of the streets. a wondrous thing, this carnival ! but the old cronies down in french- town, who know everything, and can recite you many a story, tell of one sad heart on mardi gras years ago. it was a woman's, of course ; for “il est toujours les femmes qui sont malheu- reuses,” says an old proverb, and per- haps it is right. this woman — a child, she would be called elsewhere, save in this land of tropical growth and pre- cocity — lost her heart to one who odalie and blushes, and mayhap, at some especially remembered time, the touch of finger-tips at the holy-water font, while la tante dropped her last genu- flexion. then came the carnival time, and one little heart beat faster, as the gray house on royal street hung out its many-hued flags, and draped its grim front with glowing colours. it was to be a time of joy and relaxation, when every one could go abroad, and in the crowds one could speak to whom one chose. unconscious plans formulated, and the petite odalie was quite happy as the time drew near. “only think, tante louise,” she would cry, “what a happy time it is to be!” but tante louise only grumbled, as was her wont. it was mardi gras day at last, and early through her window odalie could odalie mardi gras was a tiresome day, after all, she sighed, and tante louise agreed with her for once. six o'clock had come, the hour when all masks must be removed. the long red rays of the setting sun glinted athwart the many-hued costumes of the revellers trooping unmasked home- ward to rest for the night's last mad frolic. down toulouse street there came the merriest throng of all. young men and women in dainty, fairy-like garb, dancers, and dresses of the pic- turesque empire, a butterfly or two and a dame here and there with powdered hair and graces of olden time. sing- ing with unmasked faces, they danced toward tante louise and odalie. she stood with eyes lustrous and tear-heavy, for there in the front was pierre, pierre the faithless, his arms about the slen- door waist of a butterfly, whose tinselled la juanita wilful head, and said she would go to the pier this evening to meet her mer- cer. all mandeville knew this, and cast its furtive glances alternately at la juanita with two big pink spots in her cheeks, and at the entrance to the pier, expecting grandpère colomés and a scene. the sun cast red glows and violet shadows over the pier, and the pines murmured a soft little vesper hymn among themselves up on the beach, as the “new camelia” swung herself in, crabby, sidewise, like a fat old gentle- man going into a small door. there was the clang of an important bell, the scream of a hoarse little whistle, and mandeville rushed to the gang-plank to welcome the outside world. juanita put her hand through a waiting arm, and tripped away with her mercer, big and blond and brawny. “un améri- cain, pah!” said the little mother la juanita knew its every mood, its petulances and passions; he knew this glassy warmth and what it meant. chuckling again and again, he stepped to the gallery and looked out over the lake, and at the pier, where lay the boats rocking and idly tugging at their moorings. la juanita in her rose-scented room tied the pink ribbons on her dainty frock, and fastened cloth of gold roses at her lithe waist. it was said that just before the crack of the pistol la juanita's tiny hand lay in mercer's, and that he bent his head, and whispered softly, so that the sur- rounding crowd could not hear, — “ juanita mine, if i win, you will ?” “oui, mon mercere, eef you win.” in another instant the white wings were off scudding before the rising breeze, dipping their glossy boat-sides into the clear water, straining their cordage in their tense efforts to reach la juanita breakwaters and piers, dashing their brackish spray upon the strained watch- ers; then with a shriek and a howl the storm burst full, with blinding sheets of rain, and a great hurricane of gulf wind that threatened to blow the little town away. la juanita was proud. when grand- père and madame led her away in the storm, though her face was white, and the rose mouth pressed close, not a word did she say, and her eyes were as bright as ever before. it was foolish to hope that the frail boats could sur- vive such a storm. there was not even the merest excuse for shelter out in the waters, and when lake pontchartrain grows angry, it devours without pity. your tropical storm is soon over, however, and in an hour the sun strug- gled through a gray and misty sky, over which the wind was sweeping great clouds. the rain-drops hung ov as la juanita well, they came into the pier at last, “ la juanita” in the lead; and as cap- tain mercer landed, he was surrounded by a voluble, chattering, anxious throng that loaded him with questions in patois, in broken english, and in french. he was no longer “un américain” now, he was a hero. . when the other eight boats came in, and mandeville saw that no one was lost, there was another ringing bravo, and more chattering of questions. we heard the truth finally. when the storm burst, captain mercer sud- denly promoted himself to an admiral- ship and assumed command of his little fleet. he had led them through the teeth of the gale to a small inlet on the coast between bayou lacombe and nott's point, and there they had waited until the storm passed. loud were the praises of the other captains for admiral mercer, profuse were the thanks of the titee titee it was cold that day. the great sharp north-wind swept out elysian fields street in blasts that made men shiver, and bent everything in their track. the skies hung lowering and gloomy; the usually quiet street was more than deserted, it was dismal. titee leaned against one of the brown freight cars for protection against the shrill norther, and warmed his little chapped hands at a blaze of chips and dry grass. “maybe it'll snow,'. he muttered, casting a glance at the sky that would have done credit to a prac- tised seaman. “then won't i have fun! ugh, but the wind blows !” it was saturday, or titee would have been in school, the big yellow titee one of the boys found him standing by a post, disconsolately watching a ham sandwich as it rapidly disappeared down the throat of a sturdy, square-headed little fellow. “hello, edgar," he said, “what you got fer lunch ?” “nothin',” was the mournful reply. “ah, why don't you stop eatin'in school, fer a change? you don't ever have nothin' to eat.” “i did n't eat to-day,” said titee, blazing up. “you did !” “i tell you i did n't !” and titee's hard little fist planted a punctuation mark on his comrade's eye. a fight in the schoolyard ! poor titee was in disgrace again. still, in spite of his battered appearance, a severe scolding from the principal, lines to write, and a further punishment from his mother, titee scarcely remained for titee his dinner, but was off down the rail- road track with his pockets partly stuffed with the remnants of the scanty meal. and the next day titee was tardy again, and lunchless too, and the next, until the teacher, in despair, sent a nicely printed note to his mother about him, which might have done some good, had not titee taken great pains to tear it up on the way home. one day it rained, whole bucketsful of water, that poured in torrents from a miserable, angry sky. too wet a day for bits of boys to be trudging to school, so titee's mother thought; so she kept him at home to watch the weather through the window, fretting and fum- ing like a regular storm in miniature. as the day wore on, and the rain did not abate, his mother kept a strong watch upon him, for he tried many times to slip away. titee corner was an corner was an equally dilapidated cow. “it's my old man!” cried titee, joy- fully. “oh, please, grandpa, i couldn't get here to-day, it rained all mornin' an’ when i ran away, i fell down an' broke something, an', oh, grandpa, i'm all tired an' hurty, an' i'm so 'fraid you 're hungry.” so the secret of titee's jaunts down the railroad was out. in one of his trips around the swamp-land, he had discovered the old man exhausted from cold and hunger in the fields. to- gether they had found this cave, and titee had gathered the straw and paper that made the bed. then a tramp cow, old and turned adrift, too, had crept in and shared the damp dwel- ling. and thither titee had trudged twice a day, carrying his luncheon in the morning and his dinner in the afternoon. this book should be returned to the library on or before the last date stamped below. a fine is incurred by retaining it beyond the specified time. please return promptly. wipener sep . a book due wtdener feb f helg emo widener cabogded stall-study charge ncelled kd ethiopia the land of promise a book with a purpose by clayton adams ethiopia shall soon stretch out her hands.—psalms lxviii: so let it be. in god's own might we gird us for the coming fight. and, strong in him whose cause is oors in conflict with unholy powers, we grasp the weapons he has given- the light, and truth, and love of heaven.' -whittibr. the cosmopolitan press fourth ave. new york hdaisy harvard university library copyright, , by the cosmopolitan press preface social equality. and in this belief he is, unfortu- nately, fortified by some of the blacks themselves, who refrain from asserting their rights of citizenship be- cause of a certain fear of a violation of their sense of independence, manhood, and self-respect. to the contrary, these blacks should be taught that such as- sertion of their rights would tend the more firmly to establish their claim to these very qualities. however all this may be, one can only speculate on the growing policy of segregation. and whether or not the “ decemvirate” may furnish the key to the situation, the fact remains that no intelligent, awak- ened people may long be deprived of the fullest and most complete title to the enjoyment of life, liberty, and unalloyed happiness. clayton adams. chapter i the mystic gathering ephraim johnston was a colored barber, who, in addition to his tonsorial activities, conducted a room- ing house directly above his parlors,- a modest es- tablishment at lasalle street, cargo city, a large and thriving metropolis of unionland. it was saturday, the fifth of may. as the cus- tomers came into the parlors they would greet the barber; but the accustomed jovial response was not forthcoming. ephraim was troubled. he had had a dream. of course ephraim had had dreams before; but this one stuck to him; and although he was not a believer in visions and hoodoos and bad luck signs, this dream fretted him for the reason that he could not throw off the spell that it had cast over him. every now and then he would surprise himself furtively watching the clock. suddenly four o'clock pealed out from a nearby church tower; and as it did so ephraim's three assist- ants, who, with no little concern, had marked his pre- occupation for the past five days, noticed that his face lit up with all the animation of expectancy. turning away from his recent profitless occupation of cleaning his fingernails and gazing into space, he donned a white jacket, preparatary to resuming his labors.. for days the boys in the shop had been expending ii ethiopia their fund of witticisms on ephraim's peculiar attitude, - for he had been morose, gloomy, and uncommunica- tive, a condition they had supposed impossible for him, - and by this time their store of humor was almost exhausted. with relief they now watched him whet his razor with all his old-time celerity, and they leaned forward eagerly as he volunteered the remark: “well, boys; we'll know in an hour.” the voicing of this meager explanation was accom- panied by a look that showed that the speaker was laboring under great excitement. breathing a sigh of relief, though he still thought it wise to approach ephraim cautiously, his first assistant asked deprecat- ingly: “will know what?” “ will know — er - er — whether there's anything to this business that's been ailing me," returned the barber, still unwilling to confess his dream. “what's the matter, eph?” queried a customer. “ been trying to buck the oil trust, or have you got spondulitis ? ' “if you'd have seen him the last five days, you'd have thought he was sherlock holmes working on some fine-spun theory," laughed one of the assistants. “by the way, jack, where is number ?” asked eph, addressing his shop boy. his query referred to a roomer occupying that number. “oh, he's in his room, reading, just as he's been doing for the past five days. funny way to hunt a job!” was the boy's comment as he closed his remarks; which comment was met by a stern glance from the boss. eph was touchy on the subject of this one of his lodgers, for it seemed to him that in some way num- ethiopia ber was connected with his dream. the young man had presented himself to eph a few days before this saturday, giving his name as allan dune and telling the proprietor of the lodging house that he was in search of employment. as eph, in order to accommo- date him, had given him the best room in the house, - from which for the purpose he had displaced an old and reliable occupant, - and to the neglect of his busi- ness had gone about the city with this new lodger, the boys in the shop had dubbed him “ the mystic.” however, there was nothing remarkable in the appear- ance of the stranger, who was a man of medium height, of athletic build, black in color, and possessing a very intelligent face. all at once the attention of the occupants of the shop was concentrated on the patron who now entered. he was a tall, portly mulatto, of commanding presence, dressed in clerical garb. an expression of uncertainty was visible on his well-bred face; but, seemingly reas- sured by the character of the establishment, his com- posure returned, and with a “good-evening," ad- dressed to no one in particular, he took his seat in the line of waiting customers. “ that's bishop adolph g. mangus,— you know,- the one that's just had an interview with the presi- dent," whispered someone. and so it proved to be. eph's chest swelled with visible pride when he be- came aware of how notable a personage had sought his humble parlors, and he deftly turned his conver- sation into political channels, displaying in his talk considerable insight into passing events. he had just reached an interesting point in his discourse on the motives of one of the national party leaders and had at length succeeded in attracting the attention of the ethiopia bishop, when he was rudely interrupted by the remark: “what do you know about roseburg ? ' and eph turned to see jacob whiteside, a railway porter in uniform, – a broad-shouldered, good-natured son of africa, who traveled from coast to coast. at first eph was nettled; but his vexation quickly van- ished, and with a hearty hand-shake he greeted the newcomer, for he was really pleased to see this old- time friend. he was just on the point of taking up again the thread of his talk when chester a. grant,- one of the most noted lawyers of his race,---- entered the shop. though eph had often seen pictures of this man, he had never yet met so prominent a personage. in his excitement he completely forgot the customer whose hair at the moment he had been shingling, and only one side of which he had finished. he had, how- ever, only time to mark the forceful, self-satisfied air of his eminent patron, and to respond to his calm “good-evening, gentlemen,” when from the church- tower the clock again began to toll. one! two! three! four! five! simultaneously with the last stroke of the clock the door that hid the stairway leading from the shop to the rooms above swung open, and the athletic figure of allan dune, the mystic, stood in the opening. in- stantly the hum and buzz of conversation that filled the busy shop was hushed as if by some preconcerted sig- nal, and, without any apparent cause, — for the open- ing of the door was a matter usually of no significance, - all eyes seemed to be focussed on the figure stand- ing there in the doorway. in the calmest tones imag- inable, — tones, however, that seemed pregnant with hidden meaning,— allan dune asked: “gentlemen, are you ready?" ethiopia in the breathless silence that greeted the question bishop adolph g. mangus the churchman, jacob whiteside the porter, chester a. grant the eminent jurist, and ephraim johnston the barber solemnly and, as it were, mechanically placed themselves in single file behind the figure of allan dune, who had turned and was leading the way to the story above. when eph, who was the last man in the line, reached the door, al- though he had forgotten his half-finished customer, he recalled the promise of enlightening his friends, which he had given an hour before. with his form silhouetted in the doorway and beads of sweat pouring from his brow, with bated breath, with dazed air, and with awed voice, he said fervently: “my god, boys; it's true! — boys, it's true!” but this cryptic remark, far from explaining, only added to the mystification of those whose eyes followed eph's form as it disappeared up the stairway. chapter ii the dreamers it was indeed a strange sight to see these intelligent, sober men solemnly mounting the stairs in this un- usual rendezvous, bent on an unknown mission,- men, too, who had made their way in the world by their ability to present the profoundest reasons for each act and the keenest logic for its expression. something of this feeling seemed to possess each of the group as he entered the well-appointed room; seemed, too, to tinge his manner with a certain embarrassment, with the exception of allan dune. perfectly at ease, he invited his guests to be seated. there was no uncertainty in his tone; his manner was that of a man sure of his ground. a moment's awkward silence ensued, during which each member of the gathering was wondering what the next development would be. the momentary sus- pense was presently relieved by the even tones of allan dune, who was evidently a born leader of men. “when a number of men of our race is gathered to- gether," he began, “it seems wholly unnecessary to ask what subject shall be discussed.” and as he paused before continuing, a smile broke over the countenance of each of his audience, while whiteside the porter murmured mechanically: “ the race question, of course." “now, gentlemen," continued dune, “ we have been ethiopia emblems i have never before seen. and upon this banner was inscribed something in letters of gold. of this inscription i could see the first and last letters; but the form of a man, who bears a marked resem- blance to one i have since seen, prevented my discern- ing the intervening ones.” here the speaker paused and gazed intently at the figure of allan dune, then resuming: “i would on each occasion wake myself by reaching for this elusive form, in an effort to push him aside. on one occa- sion i shoved my better half out of bed upon her nose, and she brought me to my senses by a rap on the cranium; and at another time, while out on my run, i pulled a pitcher of ice water over on myself. the way i yelled, everybody thought that robbers had boarded the train. three days ago, while bowling westward across the plains of arvada, we were within a mile of a siding where we were to meet an east-bound train, when the full force of my dream seemed to be accentu- ated. without any previous thought or arrangement, i yielded to an irresistible impulse. i felt that i must be in cargo city by the night of the fifth. i had to catch this east-bound train. without considering the absurdity of the request, i asked my conductor's per- mission to return. i told him that i was forced to get back, but gave him no reason. he promptly informed me that i was crazy, and i was willing to agree with him; but i had no time to parley, as the train was at hand. leaving a large list of wealthy and open- handed passengers in my car, i grabbed my bag and swung on the train going in the opposite direc- tion. i arrived in the city this afternoon, and here i am.” “and the letters?” queried grant. ethiopia . . “well, eph, have you been dreaming, too?” “yes," responded eph; “but my experience will throw but little light upon this strange affair. my dream was largely a combination of the others,— the cheering crowds, the waving banners,— but there was this distinction: this day and hour were constantly im- pressed upon me, and i have grown actually nervous with apprehension as to its arrival.”. “well, we don't seem to be arriving very near to a solution of the problem," commented whiteside hope- lessly. “oh, for a daniel or a joseph!" laughed the lawyer facetiously. “what have you to say?" asked the bishop, turning to allan dune. “i believe i have a solution,” he returned quietly. “ you have!” chorused all the others, rising excit- edly to their feet. “let us take the letters visible to our friend white- side, then let us add the letters 'th' that followed the on the bishop's list, and fill in the rest with the mys- terious o.p.i., which so puzzled our legal friend, and what have we?” “ ethiopia !” came in one voice from the four before him, followed by a lusty cheer. just then a band in a nearby street struck up the familiar notes of “dixie,” which increased the en- thusiasm of the meeting to such a degree that the irish guardian of the law, who stood idly on the corner, ejaculated : “ sure, an' the naygurs must be havin' a wake.” the smile of the paralytic chapter iv the smile of the paralytic in a humble cabin in the province of illicia, allan dune first saw the light of day. his mother having died shortly after his birth, he had known only the dis- ciplining care of a stern and unrelenting father. this father had himself been a slave, but at the age of fif- teen he had thrown off his yoke, — or rather, had aban- doned it by becoming a passenger on the" underground route." allan dune's father had thus grown up with an un- quenchable spirit of independence, and had transmitted this quality to his son, who had also by heredity ac- quired a sort of philosophic strain. at the age of sixteen allan had been deprived of all parental support by his father's demise, and, equipped with a fairly good education, had since that time made his own way in the world. he had an insatiable love of study and a great fondness for research, and pored over every authority that delved into the mystery that held the source of all things. he had early perceived the abnormal conditions and difficulties that confronted his people, and had devoted his life to the striving to alleviate these difficulties. besides being an omniverous reader, allan had traveled extensively and was a good judge of men,– indeed, his perspicacity in this regard amounted almost to divina- ethiopia tion. indomitable of will and impervious to fatigue, he would, when he knew himself to be in the right, per- sist in his course in the face of almost certain defeat; nor was this attitude the result of personal bias but of adherence to principle. generous and unselfish to an absurd degree, he had never devoted himself to the building up of his own fortunes. as to his connection with the union: he had in reality come to cargo city in search of employment, though at the same time he felt that he was being drawn there in the interest of what he considered his great life purpose. for allan dune believed himself to have been selected by destiny for the carrying out of some noble and exact end; and often, to his own astonishment, he had found himself expressing in word and deed things that were in direct propriety to the situation at hand, but these words and acts seemed rather the result of some prophetic power than the result of volition. it was this inspirational gift that accounted for the part he played in the inception of the union of ethiopia. never had there been an embar- rassing dénouement to any situation in which he had participated, if in such cases he had trusted to the promptings of this inward monitor, to whose unseen power he had learned to let all mere personal feelings be subservient. until after the close of the convention allan dune made no active effort to secure employment. the day following the last meeting eph sent for him as he was seated in his apartment. one of the barber's patrons, a banker named morris bleecker, was seeking a man to care for his invalid son. eph recommended his new-found friend. after a short interview with allan dune, the banker ethiopia sent him to have a talk with mrs. bleecker, who was the one to be pleased, and said that he would advise her of allan's coming. allan lost no time in making his way to the address indicated, which was in a fashionable quarter of cargo city. he mounted the steps of the palatial house with timidity. simultaneously with his summons the door was opened, and a man of about thirty, dressed for the street, came out of the house. seeing his ebony caller, his lip curled contemptuously. “hello! what do you want?” the tone was in- sulting. “pardon me, sir; i have an appointment with the mistress,' answered allan. “' pardon '-' appointment,'” interrupted the young man almost savagely, muttering half to himself, by way of comment: “i hate these educated niggers. here, kate,” turning to a maid who had answered the bell; “ you attend to this.” and he strode airily away. with a feeling of discomfort and uncertainty, allan looked after the retreating figure; and for a moment he was tempted to abandon his quest. but, seeing the waiting maid, he made inquiries as to whether her mis- tress were in or not. he was informed that mrs. bleecker was waiting for him, and was soon ushered into a cozy reception room. mrs. bleecker,- a tall, well-formed brunette, with handsome features, though pale and slightly worn, as if from worry,— greeted allan with a friendly nod, a salutation in marked contrast to the one he had re- ceived on his arrival. " are you the man mr. bleecker sent?" she inquired pleasantly. he answered in the affirmative. ethiopia would be very closely confined. you are unmarried, i presume.” allan bowed affirmatively, then ventured: “i hope you will pardon me, but i met a gentleman as i came in —” “yes?” her voice had a questioning inflection. she had overheard the conversation in the doorway and was amused at her companion's embarrassed at- tempt to broach the subject. “is he — does he — er — have any authority here?" “no”; - smiling “he is a distant relative of my husband and is cashier of the cargo national bank, of which my husband is the president. you will not have to come in contact with him," she added mean- ingly, “especially if we come to terms; for in that case we shall leave the day after to-morrow. but come; i will show you your patient.” and mrs. bleecker led allan to a vine-covered porch upon which the warm rays of the sun were beginning to make themselves felt. seated in an invalid's chair, in a sheltered nook, was allan's prospective charge at- tended by a trained nurse. allan and his guide ap- proached quietly and stood in silence, looking down at the patient. all the mother-love beamed from the woman's face; and her spirit of devotion was a sharp rebuke to the modern mother, whose tendency is to re- linquish all parental care into the hands of paid at- tendants. allan's look, too, as it was fixed on the youthful invalid was one of absorption, he seemed to be deeply thinking. “harold,” said mrs. bleecker at length, addressing her son, “this is your new attendant, allan.” the eyes of the distrait occupant of the chair met ethiopia those of allan dune, and a smile broke over his wan features as he weakly lifted his pale, thin hand, which was immediately clasped with warmth in the energetic grasp of the black one. at this act a surge of color swept over the fond mother's face, and stooping, she clasped the boy in her arms. for the first time in many months her child had shown a sign of comprehension, - a ray of intelligence, - and she was nearly overcome with joy. she kissed his thin lips, crying out beseechingly: “harold, — harold, speak to me!” but the boy had immediately lapsed into his former state of listlessness. then the mother asked allan to speak to her son again. allan, as before, extended his hand, and the hand of the paralytic rested in it with all the trustfulness of a child. at the sight, mrs. bleecker turned an appeal- ing face toward allan. “ah,” she cried, almost beseechingly, “you must remain with us now!” ethiopia prescribed remedies at stated intervals; which was the only thing in connection with allan's duties that seemed to irritate the patient in the least. mrs. bleecker had retired early, resigning her son completely to his at- tendant's care, the two occupying their own section in the sleeper. the night on wheels passed without event, and the party arose in the morning and partook of a hearty breakfast; allan feeding his charge, who ate with great relish. in pursuance of his duties, allan was passing through another car when he noticed a familiar face, and soon he found himself clasping the hand of bishop mangus. the bishop was unaffectedly pleased at the meeting with his fellow-organizer. sitting opposite the bishop was a young lady bear- ing a strong resemblance to the divine,- a girl of de- cided beauty and superb in build. “meet my daughter elsa, mr. dune." allan gracefully acknowledged the introduction, whereupon the girl ventured, in a musical voice: “we have just been talking about you, mr. dune.” he murmured something about feeling highly hon- ored. “yes,” the bishop assented. “she knows all; but you can trust her," he added confidently. in the course of their little chat allan learned that miss mangus was returning with her father to their home in savna, after having completed a course in vocal and instrumental music at elias college. he also learned that she had won her diploma at another well- known university. but even without the imparting of this information her manner would have betrayed her culture. allan informed his friends that he and they were ethiopia is acquiescent, while the press is vigorously active in endeavoring to brand us all as being ever ready to com- mit the unmentionable crime. “now the result of this universal denunciation is at once apparent. it is the deepest disgrace to engage in the holy bonds of matrimony by these opposite races, and nearly every province in unionland prohibits it by statute; and yet, unlawful cohabitation, provided the male is white,- is winked at. the result is public dis- crimination in every line of activity,– industrial, civic, social, religious. now, to conclude: suppose you es- tablish your own municipality. in doing so you would build up a prestige which would create that respect which is so sadly lacking. you would create a spirit of patriotism, a love for that central power that repre- sents us and that is working for our undivided uplift. a people that is respected nationally, regardless of its color, will be respected individually. i speak advisedly and can cite you plenty of proof in support of this fact. when men shall gain the respect of others there will be no contention as to their fitness for amalgamation.” elsa, who appeared to be deeply interested in the subject, was visibly impressed by allan's reply. but there was no change in the immobile features of the bishop, as he proceeded to discourage further argu- ment by saying: “ really, mr. dune, i like to be honest about every- thing. we will have to admit to ourselves that we are to blame for much of the discrimination and abuse to which we are subjected. personally i encounter but little, though i am a native of magnolia. there is a certain amount of discretion that each individual should exercise. when certain privileges are granted us, fre- quently we abuse them. hence arises the question as ethiopia to our fitness for possessing these advantages. there are but few cases of oppression in which a proper dis- play of intelligent action would not prevent dire conse- quences.” “much depends, bishop,” replied allan, “ upon the standpoint from which one views his own individual standing. sometimes by not resenting a brutal kick it will prevent you from receiving another. should you knock a man down, you could not repeat it if he re- mained in a prostrate position. from one standpoint i heartily agree as to our capability; for where there is a general submission to unjust conditions, who is to be the judge as to what will be the extent to which this obsequious servility may properly be carried? if a race is not forced to restrain its domineering tactics over another, and if this inferior race shall have no representatives, either in courts or law-making bodies, they become wholly subject to the various whims and prejudices which animate the controlling power. thus, if we are accorded certain privileges, and some ignorant and vicious member of our race abuses them, it becomes the whim of this controlling race to brand all of these inferior units with the same degrading cognomen as the guilty one; this becomes the verdict, and many of our own people are weak enough to be- come a party to their own condemnation.” so the argument went on, with reasons pro and con; miss mangus proving herself to be a good listener; and allan was frequently rewarded by noticing a flash,- sometimes of admiration, sometimes of ap- proval,— in her eyes; although he was speaking only from his heart and not with the desire of winning anyone's commendation. it was plain that she did not share her father's sentiments; but she refrained from ethiopia ductor, leaning toward her, chucked her playfully un- der the chin, with the remark: “hurry up, my little beauty; get a wiggle on you.” flaming with indignation, she struck the man's hand away, as she hissed : “ brute!” allan had drawn back his arm to strike the girl's assailant, when the bishop restrained him forcibly, whispering as he did so: “ don't, my boy. they'll kill you down here." the conductor, becoming angrily impatient, grabbed their baggage and tossed it into the adjoining car. elsa, in order to save her father from further ig- nominy, with a queenly air that marked her superiority to this type of man, swept past the enraged official. he, feeling that he must find some victim on whom to vent his rage, implanted a kick upon the retreating form of the bishop, who was following his daughter. allan, wild with rage, controlled himself with the utmost difficulty; when the conductor, with a sullen glare, said: “i let you stay in here, young feller, because you are a servant in charge; but no nigger passengers can ride in here. you better believe that this is a white man's country.” ethiopia it was mrs. bleecker. a gentleman near her, with an effort of consolation, said: "don't cry, madam. it was only a nigger." “of course, – of course; it was only a nigger," echoed allan, with a sinister expression, looking at no · one in particular. at this moment the train, which had stopped to coal, resumed its journey, and the incident was soon forgot- ten, while the humming voices soon resumed their ac- customed light tone. it was nearly three o'clock in the afternoon. the train was approaching savna, which was a terminal. already the passengers had commenced to collect their belongings preparatory to departing. allan had placed his charge in his chair and had deposited the hand luggage in a convenient corner. at length the station was reached, and the scurrying passengers, amid the salutations of waiting friends, went their several ways. the bleecker automobile, - ordered out by uncle abe from the garage, where it had been reposing for more than a year,— was stand- ing with its driver near the curbing; and a wagon and team, with an aged negro in charge, was also in at- tendance. at the sight of mrs. bleecker and the rest of her party, this old retainer shuffled forward eagerly, hat in hand, and greeted them effusively: “ law me!” he said feelingly, with a doleful shake of his head;" an' dis am po' lil harold? he sho was a lively boy w’en yo was las' down heah, nearly two year ago." mrs. bleecker could hardly restrain her tears at the allusion to that happy time; and allan, in order to pre- vent a prolongation of the painful scene, hastened to ethiopia ask uncle abe if he had made arrangements to take the baggage. the old man pointed to the wagon, say- ing that he would load it at once, whereupon allan offered to assist him; first lifting into the waiting car harold, who was followed by his mother. on taking her seat, mrs. bleecker ordered the chauffeur to wait allan's return before starting for the bleecker home- stead, which was located about two miles from the city, out on the shell road. a beautifully appointed home it was, situated in a veritable bower of flowers, sur- rounded by orange trees, and abounding in shady nooks and perfumed walks. : the baggage was quickly loaded on uncle abe's wagon, and allan was returning to the car when he saw a carriage leaving the depot, in which he recog- nized the passengers as bishop mangus and his daugh- ter elsa. the recognition was mutual, and as the eyes of the man and the girl met, allan lifted his hat. then suddenly, his attention was called elsewhere. several little negro boys were playing around the depot platform. a horse that had slipped its blanket was tied to a hitch-ring, toward which was coming a large white man, whip in hand. in childish glee the boys were chasing one another when one of them chanced to get his foot entangled in the blanket and fell sprawling. rushing forward angrily, the man dealt the little fellow a stinging blow before he could rise and scamper out of reach. not being content with this, he reached out and collared the lad who was chasing his fallen comrade, and raising the butt of his heavy, loaded whip, he was about to deliver a blow that might have despatched the urchin, when a firm hand grasped his uplifted arm, and a voice in a tone of entreaty said: with this scamper low a stintorward ' ethiopia allan, but ilan had tuine weapot “ please do not strike him.” it was allan dune, who felt that he could not stand by and witness two murders in one day. on turning and seeing who had arrested his hand, the man, with an oath, struggled to free his arm; then his left hand sought his hip pocket from which it drew a revolver. immediately some of the bystanders, who had remarked the occurrence, rushed to the res- cue,- not of allan, but of his antagonist. however, with a deft movement - allan had turned his assailant's wrist in such a manner as to cause the weapon to fall harmlessly to the ground. though no sooner had he executed this movement than a dozen hands grabbed him, and in an instant his arms were pinioned behind his back. a man wearing a red bandanna and high top boots,- presumably a mountaineer,— had drawn a long hunting-knife, which he was about to draw across the black man's throat, when a woman's voice broke in entreatingly: “don't hurt him, gentlemen, please. he is my servant.” it was mrs. bleecker, who until this instant had sat. spellbound in the face of these rapid developments, undecided what course to pursue; for she had the natural shrinking of a woman of refinement from be- coming the central figure of a public affair. as she had about decided to turn her head away so as not to witness the climax of this street brawl, the hand of harold, who had taken a noticeable interest in the occurrence,– touched her with more force than had marked its movements since the beginning of his ill- ness. it was at this prompting touch that she sprang from the car and made her plea for allan. chapter vii a traitor if this record were nothing more than a book of fic- tion, the author would make an effort to introduce the conventional deep-dyed villain and the silly hero, or heroine, who do sensational and foolhardy things in order to create a situation. but being a simple re- porter of facts, the author must present conditions exactly as they exist. it would be only reasonable to assume that in any civilized country when a man lifts his hand in the defense of the weak and helpless he would receive the moral support of his fellows; but here, indeed, was an anomaly. such an act of chivalry, when performed by a black man, was regarded as the work of a desperado. and perhaps there was a grain of truth in this, if one takes into consideration the inference to be drawn from the threat anent the applying of “the hand of the law.” it seemed to mean that that law was the law of the mob, against whose dictum it would be sui- cidal to combat; and for an ebon character to deport himself as a man was sufficient violation of the mob's legal code. to speak quite frankly, there is no necessity for the author to draw on his imagination in order to call up unusual occurrences, nor is it necessary for him to invent predicaments in order to present his reader with some sensational development. two weeks went by. the little party had settled ethiopia down to life amid the new surroundings. allan would take his patient on long daily excursions in the wheel chair. these outings seemed to be harold's only pleasure in life, and he would become fretful and dis- agreeable should anything prevent his little daily ex- cursion. nor would he permit attention from anyone other than allan. these rambles of allan and his charge, while not governed by any particular direction, always managed to terminate at a somewhat pretentious cottage in the suburbs of savna, embowered in vines, boasting, too, an arbor, and surrounded by leafy walks. it was the home of bishop mangus. now, it happened that on the morning after the ar- rival of the bleecker party the telephone had rung, and allan had answered the call. a girl's voice, tremulous with emotion, came over the wire. “does a man named allan dune work there?” was its question. allan was surprised that anyone should know so soon of his arrival, but he simply answered: “yes; this is he on the 'phone." “oh, i am so glad! i thought they might have killed you." “ this is miss mangus; is it not?” asked allan, recognizing the voice. a chat had followed, in the course of which the young girl had invited him to call, giving her ad- dress. and since that morning not a day had failed to find allan and his charge at the mangus home. a warm friendship had grown between the young black man and elsa, who, though her father spent little time at home, was carefully looked after by an aged woman of the ante-bellum type, aunt jane. ethiopia at their first interview elsa had told allan that she had seen the mob attack him and that she had been greatly troubled as to the outcome. what she did not tell him, however, was that she had made an effort to leave her carriage and go to his assist- ance, but that her father had forcibly restrained her and had urged the driver forward, away from the scene. allan had been introduced into the highest social circle of his people and, because of the prestige at- tached to him by intimacy with the bishop's family, had been heartily received. he had kept in close touch with ephraim johnston in cargo city, and was pleased to learn from eph's reports of the progress being made by the union of ethiopia. with elsa, who had thrown herself heart and soul into the work, he discussed its different phases and the furtherance of its purpose. they had estab- lished a branch of the organization in savna, to which their people gave enthusiastic support. · however, they were forced to surround the movement with secrecy, for the maintenance of which they depended rather upon the patriotism of their race than upon any pledge or oath. long and frequent were the conversations that allan and elsa would hold on the vine-covered veranda of the bishop's cozy dwelling, with aunt jane just within sight through the open window, busy with her knit- ting, and harold sitting not far away in his invalid's chair. sometimes harold would show unmistakable interest in the affairs of his black companions, and both allan and elsa felt that he would be a sincere and powerful ally but for his infirmity. for the improve- ment of this condition of his patient allan had sug- ethiopia conversation became general, until someone suggested a little singing. music led to dancing, and in the course of the terpsichorean movement aunt jane swooped down on the merrymakers with the words, leveled at elsa: “ never mind, missy; i'm goin' to tell your pappy." at which dire words all present ran up to aunt jane and hugged and coddled her until she was forced to recall her threat. it was nearly dusk when allan and his charge started for home. on the way to the shell-road his way led through a busy section of the city. on a cor- ner, under a street lamp, he saw three men talking. on his approach they ceased talking and seemed to regard him curiously. one of the men he recognized as babe ellis, the man with whom he had had his encounter and who, he had since learned, was a con- stable. instinctively allan felt that there was some- thing up. one of the men hailed him sneeringly with, “ hello, shine!” to which he replied neither by word nor look. and before he had got out of sight he no- ticed that the trio had separated and disappeared. allan continued his way, wheeling harold before him down the beautiful shell-road, with its flowered fragrance and trailing jasmine. occasionally a whir- ring auto would dash up and away, or a motorcycle, with its popping reports, would go madly by. the two, allan and harold, — had gone on to within a half- mile of the bleecker homestead and were in a specially secluded part of the road. allan had begun to be amused at his apprehension of danger, when suddenly three shots rang out, - not simultaneously, but in one-two-three order. allan sank to his knees, and a stinging sensation chapter viii a ministerial call morris bleecker was a very busy man and paid lit- tle heed to social affairs. his wife frequently took him to task for his remissness in this regard, but he would always put her off with a laughing excuse. reared in the northern section of unionland, and pop- ular with all who knew him, he was not only a suc- cessful business man, who had amassed an immense fortune, but was also endowed with an intense love for his family, whose every whim he was eager to gratify. thus, when his son harold, who was an exceedingly brilliant student and had nearly completed his school course, expressed a wish to travel in the orient, mr. bleecker packed the boy and his mother off in a private yacht, with its full crew and a retinue of servants. the disastrous termination of this cruise had filled morris bleecker with the deepest sorrow, for he had planned harold's business career. whenever the hor- ror of his son's affliction would come before him his only refuge from the thought was to plunge himself the more deeply into business. just now he had torn himself away from his affairs in cargo city, and was making a visit to his family at the shell-road retreat. his coming brought de- light to all, and harold, who had recently shown won- derful improvement, wore a beaming look of pleasure ethiopia . who was slowly but surely gaining control of his facul- ties, and the boy's natural bent for excitement was kindled. “what are you going to do?” he queried. “stay until i get ready to leave," answered allan nonchalantly. harold pressed his hand, and again assured him of his fidelity. mrs. bleecker had been troubled during several days previous to her husband's arrival; and while she was immensely pleased at the prospect of his coming, she was not sure that he could mend her trouble, because she did not believe that he would respect the customs of her beloved magnolia land. luke dean, her ebon-hued chauffeur, who had long been seeking the opportunity, at length told her of allan's various activities among his people, and repre- sented to her that harold's attendant had so inflamed the minds of the colored folk that they were on the verge of riot. luke had, however, not confined his confidence to mrs. bleecker's ears alone; he had also told babe ellis, who he knew hated allan. it had been a great source of mortification to ellis that he did not “get his man” that night on the shell-road; and the letter that allan had received was by no means a bluff. shortly after her husband's coming, mrs. bleecker told him what she had heard concerning allan; telling him also of the incident that had taken place on their arrival in the city and of the attempt to kill him only a few days ago, which she had only learned from some of the other servants, allan not having mentioned it. while this conversation was being held, harold was present. ethiopia when his wife had finished, mr. bleecker laughed, and his only comment at the moment was that allan was “a pretty nervy guy." “yes," she replied, " i admit that. but this for- mation of societies among them. you know the au- thorities have always opposed it, particularly here in magnolia land.” "i don't blame him," said mr. bleecker. “if i were he, i might form a gatling-gun brigade." mrs. bleecker had no desire to discharge allan; she merely wanted to discipline him,- in other words, she wished him to conform to the prevailing idea of that community as to the proper way of deporting himself. she knew one chord she could yet touch to make her husband act. “ but, morris, you have never thought of the dan- ger to harold in all this promiscuous shooting.” “true," he returned gravely. “i will speak to the fellow." mrs. bleecker now left the room to make one of her many calls. but she went away with no sense of satisfaction, for she did not feel that she had won a victory, since she had not succeeded in making her husband accept her viewpoint. "i know what i'll do," she soliloquized; “ i'll make my pastor talk to him.” mr. bleecker was about to leave the room, too, when a voice called : “father!” the man turned, standing transfixed, as if he had seen a ghost. “don't be afraid, father. i can talk now." mr. bleecker took his son in his arms in a paroxysm of joy, while tears streamed down his cheeks. when ethiopia on as to his khey deserved. ated with the he had regained command of himself, he listened eagerly while harold recounted to him some of the incidents attending the return of his speech. then he wheeled the boy, at his request, into a room known as “harold's den,"— a room that he would allow no one but allan to enter. to this room even his mother had not the entrée. here the couch, the chairs, even the floor was littered with books and magazines,- all works of a metaphysical character. harold told his father to take down from a shelf a small, leather-bound volume, and then asked him to examine it. it contained teachings that mr. bleecker had often heard of, but which he had treated with the derision that he thought they deserved. closely he questioned his son as to his knowledge of it. harold's answers were so consistent, and were given with so great fervor of expression that his father was greatly impressed; he was amazed, too, at the knowledge of the scriptures displayed by harold as well as by his practical and logical application of them. “ how did you learn of this ? ” mr. bleecker in- quired. "oh, allan is a student; and he has helped me greatly," answered harold. “ so that's it?" was his father's comment. mr. bleecker was forced to leave on the following night, but before going he called allan in, and together with harold they discussed the subject. it was plain that he was profoundly impressed; for he could see the honesty that shone from allan's clear eyes and swarthy face, and there was a smouldering devoutness in his manner, though outwardly calm and convincingly in- telligent. indeed, so impressed was mr. bleecker that he regretted that he was forced to leave so soon after ethiopia “i have dealt with such cases before,” he declared; adding the request: “ send him in, — send him in." mrs. bleecker, putting her arm about the preacher's daughter to lead her from the room, turned as she reached the door and said: “i want to tell you beforehand that he is fairly well educated.” “ yes,” laughed the minister; “i know all about their capacity for knowledge.” presently allan entered, pushing harold, who had insisted upon being present at the interview. the black man bowed to the reverend mr. stickley and then stood waiting for the clergyman to speak. he had not been told what was wanted of him. for some moments the reverend gentleman sat look- ing straight at allan, with the palpable intent to intimi- date him. he had always believed that the natural superiority of his color would have the effect of squelching any pretentions on the part of any member of the dusky race; but to his surprise he found that his combination did not seem to work in this case; for the man before him calmly returned the ministerial gaze, without any sign of resentment. “ sit down,” came the command presently, in a pompous tone. allan obeyed. “i am apprised of the fact that you are something of a trouble-maker," the minister pursued, — his voice rising as if in question. allan essayed to reply, but the effort was vain; for though the reverend mr. stickley had a habit of paus- ing impressively after each remark long enough for one to expect that he was waiting for a reply, he would check it at its birth with some interruption. chapter ix legitimate prey a boat drifted lazily, lapping the peaceful waters just outside the entrance to the harbor of savna. its occupants were conversing earnestly as they slowly approached the landing. the hour was nearly dusk; and one of the occupants, gazing out toward the re- ceding orb of day, said: “well, we must hurry; it's later than i thought. how quickly the hours fly!” he added. “ yes; on wings of love," replied his fair compan- ion; then she quoted coquettishly: “ thou laggard, far too long hast thou delayed the wistful pleadings of a silent maid.'' the man bestowed an affectionate glance upon the girl, while a faraway look came into his eyes. she looked so pretty in her simple costume of white; she reminded him of a grown-up child. allan,- for it was he,- was taking a day off pre- paratory to his return shortly to cargo city, where the second convention of the union of ethiopia was soon to be held. he had never thought that he would suc- cumb to the charms of any woman, - he had ever felt that he was wedded to his great life purpose; but in elsa he had found not only a helpmeet but a spur to greater and more persistent effort. in many respects ethiopia he regarded her gifts for organization superior to his own, and her keenness of perception was unerring. then, too, she was confiding and lovable. these two did not often speak of their love, for each understood how the other felt, and that their feeling was a flame fed by their unity of purpose. they had just been discussing the french commune, with its cry of “liberty, fraternity, equality, or death," and elsa had remarked that the same senti- ments when expressed in russia constituted nihilism, adding: “but what would you call it when breathed in mag- nolia land by one of our race?” "perhaps the rev. thomas stickley could find a more choice phrase than ,” laughed allan. by this time they had reached the landing, and soon they were making their way homeward in the autumn twilight. no one, from a mere description, can imag- ine the beauty of an autumn sunset in magnolia land, with its accompaniment of soft odors, the soughing of gentle zephyrs, and the waving of the tall trees. allan and elsa were enjoying to the full all these delights of nature when he suddenly remembered that he was expected to return to his duties rather earlier than usual to-night, as the bleeckers were expecting guests. his charge, harold, did not now require so much attention as formerly, for he was able to move all parts of his body, though not yet able to walk. harold was as urgent that allan should return to cargo city as was the black himself. mr. bleecker was here on one of his periodic visits, and the guests invited this evening were the governor of magnolia, the reverend mr. stickley, who was related to his excellency, and the usual bevy of ethiopia ladies that serve as a sort of garnishment to every feast in this peculiar land. but, to return to allan and elsa: he had escorted the young girl to within a few blocks of her home, when he bade her adieu, with a promise of seeing her on the morrow. for a little time he stood and watched her retreating form, a great feeling of tenderness filling his being; then he turned and strode away. his mind was full of the thought of the girl of his heart,- of her high ideals, her great beauty, her pure and angelic character, her sweet sympathy for those in distress, and her freedom from egotism because of the accom- plishments with which she was endowed. then sud- denly a great brooding care seemed to settle down upon him, even as the eagle hovers over her nestlings. im- pelled by some strange prompting, he looked back once again. in the distance he could see her vaguely through the murky light. he strained his eyes. yes; she was running. behind her, at a few paces' distance, strode two men. “she is only frightened,” allan mused. “ they will turn off presently and go their way. no,”— his heart gave a bound, -" they are running, too!” with the swiftness of a deer he turned and dashed along the way he had just come. he was straining every nerve to overtake elsa's pursuers, for he could see that they were following her with dogged determi- nation. meanwhile, elsa had reached her father's gate and was entering. there was, however, no one in the house but aunt jane, and she was very deaf. the men were following her closely. once inside the door, elsa slammed it quickly, but she was not quick enough ethiopia “ yes." “mr. harold sent me out to tell you not to come in, and to take this purse and beat it.” “but why?” he questioned uneasily. “he says they have been telephoning about you and are trying to lay some murder upon you. now, if i know anything at all about this country, i'm telling you you had better go." allan hesitated. he did not care to be branded either as a murderer or a fugitive from justice. “ hark! do you hear that?” asked the maid. “what? ” questioned allan. they stopped and listened. “ it's babe ellis's bloodhounds," was the maid's horrified whisper. then to allan's mind came the thought of the sort of justice he might receive in magnolia land, and then the thought of elsa, and last the thought of his great life purpose. the last two surely made the preserva- tion of his life a thing worth while. and allan turned and fled into the night. chapter x the governor's opinion it would require a much larger volume than the reader would care to peruse, if this were to be a full record of the many phases of this strange problem of the races. the universal attempt at oppression, based upon the determination that the black shall not progress nor be enlightened; the tendency to hold him in con- stant subjection because of a belief in his inferiority as the result of a divine decree; the peonage system; the jim crow law; disfranchisement; the creation of hordes of criminals through a prejudicial application of the law; the silly effort of some physicists to sub- stantiate their claim to color superiority by the presen- tation of some structural or material phenomenon; the environment of the youth, into whom are injected by his adult instructors all sorts of insidious poisons; the bias of historical text-books, with their glaring omis- sion of all record of negro achievement; the impene- trable wall of social ostracism; the insinuations of cur- rent literature; the song and poetry of the mounte- bank, who pictures the negro as either a buffoon or a coward; the passions of the inhuman mob, and the natural inhumanity of man to man, — these are but a few of the many waves in the sea of troubles against which the higher call to perfect liberty and brother- hood is sounding out to us to battle. another and powerful bar to equal consideration is - ethiopia - - - - - - -- -- - --- - eyes passed quickly over the words before him; then he read out loud: “a delegation of negroes to see the governor. it is a case of life and death.'” at this juncture it is necessary to return to elsa, who had been left by allan at the house of the minis- ter, brother stevens. she and the minister's wife had been quietly talk- ing, while the divine was in the adjoining study; and they were beginning to think of retiring, when the door- bell sounded. mrs. stevens, who answered the call, was greatly shocked by the unceremonious entrance of a half-dozen officers, a few of whom were in uniform. babe ellis was in the lead and acted as spokesman. “we want this yaller wench heah. and where's the buck gone?” he inquired in typically southern ac- cents. hearing the commotion, the reverend mr. stevens quickly entered and asked what might be the matter. “ matter enough, echoed babe ellis. “some of your gang of niggahs have killed a white man. where's that fellah allan?” he asked, with a search- ing glance about the room. the minister informed the man that he did not know; then, catching sight of elsa in charge of an officer, he nervously enquired what they were going to do with her. “ put her in jail,” was the unfeeling answer. “ could you not leave her in our care? we will be responsible for her appearance at any proceedings, or we will give whatever bond you may require,” pleaded the minister. in an official tone babe answered: -- - -- -- -- --- - - ethiopia tion was not dead, but that he had an even chance to recover. “as we left the city, a large mob was gathering with the express purpose of storming the jail; and as they have refused to accept bond for our bishop's daughter, we dread to think what might happen,” con- cluded the minister in a hopeless tone. “but cannot the sheriff handle the situation ?” queried the governor. “the sheriff has joined the chase for allan, and there are only two minor officers on guard,” was the reply. “one moment," said the governor; and he left the room to go to the telephone in a nearby apartment. there he remained closeted for a short while, during which he was in communication with the sheriff's wife. she was fully informed as to the whole affair and confirmed the report that a mob was forming, that the guard at the jail was inadequate, and added the information that there was only one negro prisoner besides the bishop's daughter. on the governor's asking her if she feared for her own safety, she as- sured him that she felt herself to be in no danger, but thought that the negro prisoners might suffer. the governor returned to the delegation and told them that he would take the matter under advisement, an announcement that filled them with a depression they could not conceal. feeling it useless to continue the interview longer, they were preparing to depart, and the governor was about to return to the festal board, when the 'phone again rang. “is that the governor?” came the voice of the sheriff's wife. then she went on to tell him that large groups of ethiopia armed negroes were congregating at a certain point in the city, with the evident purpose of opposing the mob. the governor, at the information, hurriedly called up an adjutant and told him of the situation. “how soon can you have a detachment of the savna guards on the scene?” he asked. “in twenty minutes," was the reply. “ very well,” returned the governor; “ you can take care of the situation. remember, the blacks are armed,” he cautioned. “ trust me, governor; i'll attend to that "— with equal significance. returning to the delegation in the next room, the governor informed them that the troops had been or- dered out, whereupon, thanking him for the step he had taken to prevent trouble, the black callers passed from the gubernatorial presence. ethiopia the officer, white with rage, turned and gave the command: “ready! load! aim!” but simultaneously henry had given the same com- mand to his little corps, and when the officer turned to face his enemy before giving the command to fire, he found himself looking into the barrels of eighteen rifles. the sight brought him to his senses, for in the swarthy faces before him he could see a deadly deter- mination to back up their leader. a lieutenant stepped forward now and whispered something in his captain's ear. that officer nodded, then in a surly tone asked: “well, what do you want to say ?” “ that's better,” remarked henry. then, going on: “it was at the request of my people that troops were ordered out. we had hoped that you would disperse a mob that is approaching the jail, in which an estimable lady of our race has been placed. you may imag- ine our surprise when your command came here, as we are in no sense in a condition of riot. we have con- gregated our little band so that in the event of failure to secure troops we would protect her at all hazards. now, sir, we are willing to obey the laws of the state, but even while we are conversing a bloodthirsty mob is battering at the jail-door for admission. under these conditions, do you think it a reasonable thing that we should question your motives?" the officer winced at the clear-cut language and the sincere tone in which the words were uttered; he could not meet the other's honest gaze fairly, and his answer was an evasion. “these are matters for the state to take care of," he said, concluding with the words: “you said you ethiopia the sheriff's wife any doubt as to the security of her female prisoner, for whom she had formed a genuine liking during their short time of association. she was particularly attracted by the girl's polished manner, by her obvious culture and refinement. suddenly the telephone rang in an adjoining room, and the sheriff's wife went to answer the call, leaving elsa and mrs. stevens alone conversing. through elsa's mind was passing the thought that perhaps they had taken allan prisoner; but her perturbation of mind on his account did not show itself in her manner. mrs. stevens, who had persistently refused to leave elsa, despite the girl's protest at her sacrifice, had just said : “your father will be here by noon. it is now three o'clock in the morning. but perhaps the brothers will have us out by the time he comes." and elsa, who was not thinking of herself, had re- plied: “we can't ever say that we've never been in jail.” and at that very moment a heavy knock sounded on the door, which was immediately opened, and a head covered with a sombrero was thrust in, while a thick tongue enquired: “whah's the gal? oh, here she is!” and a man opened wide the door and strode into the room, saying: “come on, fellahs!” the sound of many feet was heard in the corridor, and soon a number of his companions entered the room. at the sight of them mrs. stevens screamed and fell fainting on the floor. elsa had risen to her feet; calmly she folded her hediata.avy . been ethiopia recorded the barbarse limp of in awkward. and concerned. but let is a higher and steps to its betterment assume an awkward, un- gainly stride, marked with the limp of insincerity, when contrasted with the barbarous performance, such as herein recorded,– in which her sister of the darker hue is the victim, and concerning the truth of which an oppressive silence is maintained. but let us leave the question of national retributive justice to a higher power and content ourselves with the simple inscription here of these events. the morning dawned bright and clear. it was the sabbath. there seemed, however, to be no thought of worship in the being of the denizens of savna. the mob of the early morning had increased to an im- mense concourse, and this mass had divided itself into four or five separate bodies, all obsessed with the one idea, — to kill. it had grown into an army of homi- cidal monomaniacs unloosed upon a defenseless people. occasionally the sabbath air would be filled with the sound of cheering and ghastly laughter when some particularly brutal act was perpetrated against some unoffending and unprotected ethiop. as the morning grew, the mobs covered all portions of the city, burning and pillaging the residences of the helpless defenders. inconceivable acts were commit- ted. an aged, tottering ethiop had just alighted from a street car; they pounced upon him with clubs and stones and left him lifeless beside the curbing. a num- ber of ethiops had gathered in a church, secure in the protection of its sanctity, they thought. they were engaged in singing hymns and making prayers when the place that should have given them sanctuary was invaded by the demoniacs; the singing was changed to the moans of the injured, the prayers, to the groans of the dying. near the wharf a cabin had been set i act was ethiop. all po ethiopia of brother stevens, whom he had appointed to his pastorate in this, his home town, the bishop paused. all that was left of the once attractive cottage were a few charred and smoking remains. curiously the bishop stepped among the ruins, and as he did so, his foot struck something round and hard. it was a hu- man skull, — all that remained of poor aunt jane. but the bishop did not know. resuming his way, he passed by the armory where the colored troops had held their meetings. another dead body lay in his path, face downward. the bishop stooped and turned the face of the dead man toward him. he found himself looking upon the fea- tures of henry sage, whose body had been pierced in a dozen places. a tear fell from the eye of the living as he looked on the dead. he had known and loved this brave young man. continuing his painful progress, the bishop soon ar- rived at his own premises. he was more than half prepared for the scene that met his eyes. as he had anticipated, it, too, was in ashes. leaning his arms on the gate-post, with his head buried in his hands, he gave himself up to sad reverie. he wondered what his little girl would say when she learned of the de- struction of their home. no doubt she was safe among some of his people. while he stood thus lost to the present, an ominous noise of distant shouting and curs- ing became audible,– a noise that seemed to grow ever nearer; but the bishop heeded it not. a white neighbor passing by laid a kindly hand on the black man's shoulder and said: “i know it's hard to lose our family; but come with me. see,— the mob is approaching! and you may lose your own life as well.” se of distant si ever nearme, audible, ethiopia with great enthusiasm and with the eye of a true sportsman. the dog, finding itself baffled, with almost human emotion, growled angrily at the retreat- ing train. “ lonesome bill here and i jist bet a can on ye, an’ i win me bet,” continued paddy. “but if ye hadn't give him a lift ye'd a lost," com- mented lonesome bill dryly. “come, cheer up, me bye, we're not so particular because yer front is a lit- tle pillaged. iverybody can't sport the glad rags like muh.” and he plumed himself airily in his grotesque habiliments, as he gazed kindly at allan, whose clothes were torn and hung in shreds, and who was hatless as well. “oh, i'm not concerned about my clothes,” returned allan. “my only regret is that i haven't my card with me." “pretty good !” exclaimed paddy, his eyes a-twin- kle. “but, you see, we are slumming and we're trying to fergit our sassiety manners. but may i enquire what was the cause of your abrupt entrée?" allan explained as much as he wished them to know and thanked paddy heartily for his assistance. “arrah, me bye, don't mintion it. i've got a string of hero medals, an’ loife-savin' is an everyday occur- rence with me. but have ye got a bit o' terbaccy about yez?” he and lonesome bill were smoking the snipes of cigars, which were very short. “oh, throw those things away,” said allan, putting his hand to his vest pocket as if he were going to pull forth some fresh ones. instantly the men tossed the butts away. “ that's right,” approved allan, retreating to the ethiopia of the road were, they leveled their weapons at them, and bale ordered: “ all hands out!” allan and his fellow-travelers alighted. “i'm justice of the peace here," announced bale; “and you may consider yourselves under arrest.” “ an fer what?" asked paddy. “for bumming," was the response. “ shure, an' there must be some mistake. me friend and oi have been travelin' in me private car here, an' the naygur is me valet.” “it's a swell car,” said bale, amused in spite of him- self. “i’spose your friend is president of the road?” “shure, an' yure wrong again,” said the loquacious paddy. “we're both retired capitalists, an' we have an appointment to dine at the commercial club at louisburg this very noight.” “well, we don't want you two anyway," returned bale, with a leer that took the place of a laugh. “it's your valet we want.” “raley, we can't spare him, yer hanner. he's a very valuable man, an' takes all the worry an' details of trav'lin' off our moinds." paddy waxed eloquent in his effort to gain allan's release, but all his wit and pleading availed nothing. it was the busy season of the year, bale needed hands badly, and it was by this method that he secured them. allan, knowing that it was useless to parley with him, accompanied the trio to the big house nearby, in one corner of which the magistrate had his office. as soon as they had entered the office, bale sat down in his chair and took from the top of the desk a statute book, from which he read aloud a pargraph; then, look- ing at allan, he said: ethiopia personal apparel, and yet each year would find him in debt to the store. there was a little more explanation, and then, as bill was going he turned and asked once more: “how much did yo' say dat was?” “fifteen thousand four hundred dollars." “fifteen thousand dollars," repeated bill as he closed the door and secured it before departing to his own abode. these figures kept recurring to bill throughout the night, disturbing his customed peaceful slumbers. toward morning he fell into a troubled sleep, and when he awoke, the sun was shining into his cabin window. he looked at his watch. it was nearly eight o'clock. during his entire twenty years' service this had never occurred before, except on the occasion of one of his annual sprees. he dressed hurriedly and congregated his laborers in the mess shanty, where breakfast had long been pre- pared. allan, watching the old man narrowly, saw that he was remote and distrait. bill did not partake of his breakfast, but instead made his way to the big house, where he never went except on such occasions as have been mentioned. bale had already breakfasted and was on his porch, preparatory to making his daily rounds, when up strode bill. bale, though surprised at this visit, spoke calmly, asking: “hullo, bill. what's the matter." “nuffin'.” bill answered glumly. it was evident to bale that he was not drunk, and his manner was different from the air of petulant inso- lence displayed on former occasions. “everybody working ?” ventured bale. ethiopia “nobody's wukin',” came the answer. “what?” cried bale, his wrath rising. “ this cot- ton ready to go to waste, and nobody working!” “i tells yuh jist whut, mr. bale,”—and he looked bale squarely in the eye for the first time in his life - “i wants mah money." “oh, that's it,” said bale, who was beginning to feel a little uneasy. “well, come into the office." and he led the way. bill followed silently. bale took down his demijohn and glass and shoved them toward the old colored man. then he got down a large account book from another shelf and began to busy himself with it, though all the time he was furtively watching his companion. bill had refused to touch the liquor. “how much do i owe you?” he queried, as a pre- liminary step. “ fifteen thousand dollars.” bale looked at the man in amazement. “you must be crazy!” he ejaculated, dropping his book. “no, sah; dem figgers am right. i cal-lated ise spent a few hundred dollars for close, an' de balance you owe me.” bale wondered who could have been talking to bill; and then he remembered having seen allan gesticulat- ing to him earnestly on the previous evening. he checked himself as he was on the point of asking about this newcomer, then said reassuringly: " come around this evening, bill, and i'll have every- thing all fixed up." "oh, youse allus puttin' ut off like dat, mr. bale; but i wants mah money." he had always addressed bale as “boss,” and this new cognomen irritated his employer. ethiopia “do you mean to say you doubt my word?” he blustered. “i dunno nuttin' 'bout dat, but i wants mah money now.” bale had been watching him, expecting the usual subsidence in his manner. but bill was obdurate. bale now began to wheedle, trying to coax the darkey with flattering promises, but to no avail. at length, in a paroxysm of rage, he cried out: “you black nigger, if you think i'm going to waste my time talking to you, you're mistaken! you're try- ing to place yourself on a level with white men.” bill raised himself to his full height. for a moment he gazed calmly and unflinchingly at the man before him, and then, with a ring of pride in his voice, he said: “maybe i ain't as good at w’ite folks, but one t’ing i know, and dat is dat ise a man.” this speech snapped the last thread of bale's for- bearance. seizing a revolver that lay on his desk, he lifted it and fired it pointblank at bill. the aged ser- vitor fell, mortally wounded. a domestic, who had witnessed the scene, ran down to the mess-room of the waiting prison-laborers, telling them excitedly what had taken place. confusion at once followed the announcement, and in the midst of it allan dune made his escape. by one of the freaks of fortune he secured passage on the same train that jacob whiteside was piloting, and on which was, too, the bishop. cale bale had the body of bill removed and buried; but no thought of the killer's arrest and punishment even so much as entered the head of any of the author- ities. the very suggestion of such action would have been derided by any resident of magnolia. chapter xiii the decemvirate of ethiopia ephraim johnston was a very busy man. he would have had no time to dream now, even had he so desired. his duties in connection with the union furnished ample occupation. the results of the initial convention of the union of ethiopia had far exceeded the wildest flights of imag- ination of the organizers. their call for funds, sent out in accordance with their plans, had brought in so generous response that, to quote eph, “the money rolled in by the cartload.” eph, after having tried in vain to get in communica- tion with the other members of the union, was forced to use his own judgment in the conduct of affairs. in accordance with this, he had secured headquarters in a large office building up-town, and the click of type- writers, under the skillful manipulation of a half-dozen sets of nimble, dusky fingers of the female variety, could be heard all day long. eph had used the cargo city national bank as a depository for the funds of his society, and as his receipts had nearly reached the million-dollar mark, the recapitalization of the institution had been necessitated. eph could not help smiling at the changed attitude of many of his former customers,-- bankers, brokers, and men of that order,— who now treated him with studied respect; and he felt that perhaps he had fixed upon the ethiopia solution of the race problem. then he recalled the great masses of his people that were legislated against, and he knew that he must inevitably be classified among those thus publicly and legally ostracised. the day for the second meeting of the union of ethiopia, which had been set for the fifth of october, had arrived, and eph and his crew of assistants were filled with eager expectancy. allan, bishop mangus, and whiteside, had, without further mishap, arrived on time. whiteside had imparted to allan the news of elsa's fate; and the only evidence of emotion that was per- ceptible was a firmer look of determination on his immobile face. going over to the bishop, whose hair had now turned white, he gently pressed the father's hand; and the bishop knew that allan knew and he burst into uncontrolled tears,— tears that allan made no attempt to stay by words of consolation. he felt there was something holy about such grief. a bond of mutual sympathy had been established between these two, to which was added on the part of the younger man a sense of responsibility for his older associate. in due time chester a. grant, the attorney, arrived, and after the most hearty greetings the four made their way to the new quarters, where eph was awaiting them. allan assumed the gavel, and the bishop, who acted as chaplain, delivered a most impressive and remark- able prayer, - one that revealed a marked freedom from his former conservative attitude. reviewing at length certain unreconcilable distinctions of race and color, he prayed that the father might remove the ham- pering cords of prejudice that bound the footsteps of his people at every turn and that excluded them from iio ethiopia and prayed earnestly,— yea, fervently,— for the light, for guidance; and now i can sum up my life experience in a few words. i have done some good, i have cheered some travelers; but if the church is to accom- plish any substantial benefit to humanity, it must be by means of a higher form of christianity than that now extant. i tell you plainly, gentlemen, that it is this very division of sects and creeds that perpetuates the feeling of prejudice and hatred between the races. it was the church that supported unpaid servitude in ante- bellum days, and to-day, as it now stands, it is a mute champion of racial distinctions. but to reply more pointedly to the good brother's remarks: if our afflic- tions are from god and for a wise purpose, then these various denominations that are trying to aid us are evidently working against god's will. but, of a truth, my friends, when some religious truth is posited, by which men shall receive some present, positive, and actual reward in return to their obedience to the divine demands, to the laws of equity, justice, and love for our fellow-men, instead of the hazy and obscure prom- ise of future world salvation; when the actual works of the master christian shall be here accomplished by adherence to these pure motives and can only be achieved by such purity, then the brotherhood of man may become a reality among the possessors of such religious truths; because there is a standard of ethics,- of moral and spiritual rectitude, — to be attained that completely annihilates the question of race or color." the views of the bishop were received with profound respect, though with no little astonishment. but allan smiled in happy accord with the sentiments expressed. the sessions of the decemvirate were now held five achierence to thesistian shall be when the ethiopia iii days each week, and the bank of ethiopia was doing a thriving business. thus a year went by, during which time the institu- tion had established itself firmly in the commercial world. contributions still kept coming in, and of the sixteen million ethiopians in unionland ten million were sending in at least one dollar annually. meanwhile the officers of the organization were negotiating for a strip of land lying south of the ilo and east of the isis rivers,— a tract that bordered on the sea coast. the governors of unionland were kindly disposed toward the decemvirate, although there was some opposition on the part of the residents of the section in which this strip of land was located; however, these residents were to be fully reimbursed for their holdings in the territory in question. as to this question of reimbursement, a discussion was pre- cipitated in which jacob whiteside thus protested against such payment: “my old father and mother, and their ancestors before them,- paid for this land with their sweat and blood, their toil and privations, when, for centuries, they answered to the master's lash, reclaiming this ter- ritory from its primitive state and making it to blossom like the rose. to demand from us money for this land is practising usury with a vengeance. if individuals are to be held responsible for their misdeeds, why not nations? it is only an act of retributive justice that the territory should be ceded to the decemvirate." however, the cession could not be obtained, and allan was appointed the envoy to conclude the pur- chase. chapter xiv something about radium donald bleecker, — nephew of the president of the cargo city national bank, cashier of the same insti- tution, and, too, the gentleman with whom allan had had an unpleasant encounter, as related in one of the opening chapters of this book, — was pacing up and down his narrow enclosure in the bank. he was troubled and appeared to be in the depths of thought. and so he was; for he had done a foolish thing and was fearful of the outcome of his mistake. donald was intensely interested in radium, and he had purchased a number of properties in a western province of unionland that were reputed to be radium- bearing. a young friend of his,- a chemist who was studying at the cargo city university,— was his most intimate associate, and together they had conducted experiments in donald's quarters at the bleecker man- sion, a laboratory having been fitted up for the pur- pose. a month previous to this day donald had received a shipment of ores from his mines, and upon these ores he and the young chemist had been working assidu- ously. the scientist had found them rich in uranium and carnotite deposits, and the two men were jubilant. having a perfectly appointed laboratory, they bent every effort toward the discovery of the perfect product. so far as they had gone they had been emi- ethiopia blendes. then all at once he came across a drawing that would not have attracted his notice but for the fact that he saw the word “gold,” enclosed in a ring and indicating small objects, which was also followed by arrows that pointed to a strange-looking device. he soon came across the papers he wanted, and he was turning to leave the room when some strange prompt- ing urged him to again examine the drawing that had aroused his interest. allan took the paper in his hand, and turning it over, found written transversely on it: “it works, bill! it works!” he had known of donald's companionship with the chemist, and he had no doubt but that the communica- tion was meant for him. the words, however, for a moment puzzled him; then they seemed suddenly fraught with full meaning; and to his mind there came the thought of the millions of the decemvirate that lay in the vaults of the cargo city bank. it all came to him with startling force. he felt that here was a matter that it would be worth while to investigate. without further reflection, he telephoned to mr. bleecker, requesting him to come home at once. donald, as soon as he had learned that allan had gone to the bleecker house in search of his papers, began to wonder if he had left anything of a suspicious nature on his desk at home; and as a consequence he was very uneasy. so, when the telephone rang, he picked up his own receiver, though the call was not for him, and he overheard allan's request that his uncle should come home at once. as soon as mr. bleecker had left the office, donald donned his overcoat and hat, and hailing a taxicab, he ethiopia followed his uncle's car at a distance and entered the house through a rear door at the very moment that morris bleecker went in at the front. allan, who had been eagerly awaiting mr. bleecker's coming drew the banker into the laboratory and hur- riedly informed him of his fears and suspicions. at first mr. bleecker scoffed at the absurd idea that had entered allan's head, but on being confronted with the drawing and all the other evidences of the alleged activ- ity of this mineral, he began to regard the subject with rather more seriousness. on allan's suggesting that they return to the bank and find out if there were any foundation for the fancy that had taken possession of him, mr. bleecker assented, and they prepared to depart. as they were going down the stairway the acute ears of the ethiop heard the sound of footsteps retreating and then the slamming of the door of an unused exit. bidding mr. bleecker wait a moment, allan hurried to the front door and saw the retreating form of don- ald, who was just about to enter a taxi in waiting. in breathless haste allan rushed back to the hall and urged mr. bleecker to hurry, at the same time acqaint- ing him with what had occurred. in an instant they were in the banker's powerful car and were speeding on in a determined race for the bank, in violation of all the speed ordinances of the city, while a procession of motorcycle “cops” brought up the rear. in the taxi ahead donald was urging on his driver with curses and promises, while the big bleecker car was swiftly and surely overhauling them. allan, who was sure that the rascally cashier intended to destroy the incriminating mechanism, was determined that the true facts should be known. being at the wheel of the chapter xv a pyramid of fire harold bleecker, whom allan had apprised of his intention to return to savna, was in a state of pleased anticipation at the thought of the arrival of the friend of his invalid days. harold, though able to walk now, was still a somewhat weak young man,- tall and pale and thin. to-day he was waiting in his runabout for the com- ing of the southbound train, which was to bring allan dune back to magnolia. soon the train pulled in at the savna depot, and the scurrying passengers alighted, among them allan, whose sharp eyes soon spied harold. with hurried steps he sped to greet his former charge, his always friend. soon harold was driving his car over the boule- vards, and together the two chatted of old times. it had been two years since allan had first touched his feet to savna soil, and naturally their talk turned to the events that marked his former stay in magnolia. they spoke of allan's encounter with babe ellis, who, har- old told his friend, had died suddenly. allan also learned that the brawler whom he had thrown out of the bishop's house had recovered ; learned, too, with sadness that the sheriff's wife had become insane because of the execution of elsa, whom, as the listener knew, she would have saved if she could. as they drove slowly along allan could see no appre- ethiopia a week of the time had already passed, yet allan had seen nothing of donald bleecker, though he was quite sure that the former cashier was aware of his presence in savna. it was a saturday morning. allan had an appoint- ment to keep, after which he and harold had planned to go fishing together. after finishing his business in the city, he took his way down the shell-road, walking leisurely. harold, who had started from home with the fishing tackle, caught sight of his black friend approaching slowly in the distance and concealed him- self by the roadside in order to surprise allan. taking a book out of his pocket, he sat down in his leafy retreat to await his comrade's coming. he had, however, no soner ensconced himself than he heard someone coming toward him from the opposite direc- tion. peering out, he saw gertie stickley pacing back and forth, apparently waiting for someone. the place was near the secluded spot where allan had been fired upon,- a depression somewhat resembling an arroya, and screened in by giant trees. harold wondered if donald could be coming to join gertie, wondered, too, why she should wish to meet his cousin so clandestinely. by this time allan had reached the crest of the hill and was now slowly descending into the arroya. it was ten o'clock in the morning, and the sun was shin- ing in an unclouded sky. as he came along his way, he noticed the young lady ahead of him. she was in the act of ascending the opposite rise of the little dale, her back being toward him, when a wagon filled with farmers came rapidly in their direction, evidently bound for the city. without warning, without any apparent cause, miss stickly suddenly appeared to be overcome with fright. putting her hands to her head, ethiopia she loosened her hair so that it fell about her shoulders and ran screaming toward the advancing team. “help! help!” she cried in terrified accents. allan was dumbfounded. he made no effort to either advance or retreat. then through his senses sounded the words: “ i'll git you yet, mr. nigger," and he knew that this was the work of donald bleecker. in an instant the men were upon him. they sur- rounded him; they bound him securely. but no sooner was this accomplished than harold came upon the scene. he expostulated with the men, told them that he had been a witness of the whole proceeding, and that allan was innocent of any wrong. he showed them where he had been sitting, explained exactly what had transpired. he talked earnestly with them, pointed out allan's high standing, vouched for his honor and uprightness, and begged them to release him and not stir up public strife. silently the men listened to harold's fervent plea. at length the silence was broken by one of the men, who said: “wall, ef he's innercent, mebbe he kin prove it. but thet's the pastor's dawtah, en’ you kin see fer yer- self how she wuz actin'.”. and after this all harold's charges of its being a plot and all his pleadings in allan's behalf were of no avail. they forced their victim to go with them to the city. miss stickley had disappeared as soon as the men had seized allan, going through the thick woods in the direction of her home. the news of the alleged assault spread like wildfire. the people began to flock to the city in holiday attire. one would have thought that they were celebrating ethiopia some festal day. the mayor had ordered the closing of all saloons and had also requested that all places of business suspend operation for that day. in the pub- lic square was surging a sea of humanity, brought there in carts, surreys, motorcycles, automobiles, and every other form of conveyance. the lynching had been set for six o'clock, and no reputable citizen of magnolia would willingly absent himself from the scene. the savna times had issued a special edition, bear- ing a spreadhead on the first page in big, flaming let- ters, to introduce the thrilling report of the outrage. jack carter had “ done himself proud " in the accuracy and detail of the description of “the brutal assault.” he had flown to dizzy heights in his write-up of his interview with the “poor wounded linnet," – as he designated the minister's daughter, as well as in his account of the stolid indifference of her black brute of an assailant. no excitement marked the temper of the immense throng in the square; nor was there any cursing heard, nor the manifestation of any rowdyism. this was to be a “legal lynching," as one of the denizens of mag- nolia was heard to declare. here and there were boys peddling hokey-pokey ice cream and other confections, while the ladies,- of whom there was an enormous representation,- were munching bon-bons and saying silly nothings to their attendant cavaliers. harold had managed to have an interview with allan, wherein he learned of the radium episode in cargo city, which had furnished the animus for don- ald's betrayal, and he was determined to save his friend's life at all hazards. with this purpose in view, he talked to all the influential men of the city that he could reach, but they all assured him that they were ethiopia thoughts swept over him. we have read somewhere of a hindu who requested a visitor to place his head in a tub of water and then withdraw it. on acceding to the request, the visitor in fancy became a child again, lived the long intervening years till he had attained manhood, saw himself married, and watched his chil- dren grow to manhood, all within the space of a few moments. so it was now with allan. as his bonds were being made fast, he dwelt on the ancient glory of his race,- the people of hamitic type in the land where history had its bithplace; in memory he traced the con- quest of those primitive peoples, their national life, their development, their art, their sculpture, their mili- tary achievements, their mighty structures that have endured the ravages of the ages and which are yet unequalled by any modern architecture. he thought of how this glory had departed under the tarnish of time, and he dwelt, too, on the slough of barbarism into which his race had sunk because they had failed to keep pace with civilization. again, allan saw in fancy the inauguration of the slave trade, the transplanting of his people in a new and unfriendly land. he thought of their harsh and brutal masters, of their toil, their privations, their agony, their patience, their being classed with animals both by law and custom, the separation of families on the auction block, and their simple fidelity to their ungrateful abusers. then allan thought of their freedom and the sanguinary struggle preceding it. he thought that it was a great step in the progress of civilization to admit, in theory at least, their rights as men; but a great feel- ing of resentment arose within his heart when he remembered their continued oppression. he thought of the establishment of the decemvirate, of its steady ethiopia growth in money and power, and he uttered a silent prayer for its success. like all men of great nature, he did not think of himself, except to utter a hope that his martyrdom might help his people to become immune from the torment of this modern barbarism. and then allan's thoughts turned to elsa,- pure, gentle, harmless little elsa, — elsa, with her culture, her refinement that showed in every feature, her viva- cious yet angelic nature that was always striving to help someone; and all at once a wild, tempestuous rage seized him, and he raised his arms and tore himself loose from his tormentors, throwing a dozen men from their feet. numerous others rushed upon him and continued the process of binding him. allan smiled. harold, who had just reached the scene after his unsuccessful efforts, mounted the pile of inflammable material and placed himself at allan's side, from which point he essayed to address the multitude. in an impassioned voice he pleaded that they release allan, offering to furnish proof of his innocence. donald bleecker, who had kept well out of sight, but had mingled freely with the mob, was an interested listener to harold's remarks. he feared that this earnest champion of his victim might succeed in creating a wave of sentiment in favor of the condemned man, and he hastened toward a small group some distance away that consisted of the reverend mr. stickley, his daughter and mrs. bleecker. again harold reiterated his certainty of allan's innocence and pleaded with the mob to relase him. “ wall," at length a husky young giant cried, " i tell yuh, boys, we'll bu'n him fust an' investigate this young fellah's tale afterwards.” the district attorney, who had heard harold's plea, andre of seof his arks. b, wa in again and mrs of the hall a ethiopia funeral pytlighted to "bleecker inted now stepped forward. he had been touched by the young man's earnest eloquence. " gentlemen,” he began, “i think there is something reasonable in what this young man says; and i see no reason why we should not investigate it." he had gotten this far when donald bleecker was seen to whisper to gertie, his betrothed, and a murmur at once ran through the crowd, which drowned the voice of the district attorney. “the lady is coming! the lady is coming!” went the word from mouth to mouth. gertie stickley advanced leaning on donald bleecker's arm. as the two reached the base of the funeral pyre, the giant who had recently spoken handed the girl a lighted torch. at the same instant several hands tore harold bleecker from the side of allan dune. mrs. bleecker had fainted. allan, standing there bound above her, looked down unemotionally at the young lady, but she dared not meet his gaze. with averted head, she extended her hand, and guided by donald bleecker, the torch met a responsive spot in the inflammable pile. soon a pyramid of fire was rising — rising heaven- ward. on it burned; but not a groan, not a sound, came from the tortured victim; whereat the crowd felt that it had been cheated of half the performance. only when the fire was so burnt out that the wit- nesses could denude the place of every scrap that might serve as a memento,— even to the very ashes,— did the mob slowly disperse. her looked this book should be returned to the library on or before the last date stamped below. a fine is incurred by retaining it beyond the specified time. please return promptly. may - musep 디 ​(ilsanriermedias w pener book que no maasssband hd widener hw qs m hope's highway sarah lee brown flemino hope's highway a novel foreword i have gained much information regarding the achievements and political status of the black man in america, and beyond the seas, from "the african abroad,” by william h. ferris, a. m. s. l. b. f. hope's highway chapter i santa maria beautiful santa maria, land of the gods that nestles beneath wondrously blue skies, lies upon a luxurious carpet of green, on a prominence overlooking,—as did psyche of the myths in her liquid mirror of old,—the limpid bay of joan. in the seventeenth century wealthy spaniards had come over here in large numbers from the old world and, because of its seclusion, had chosen this heavenly spot for a home. across the bay was to be seen another ideal place, santa barbara, where to-day only the ruins of a once most extensive cotton plantation remain to show the existence of former grandeur. negro men and women may be seen working in the fields, which show a few patches of cultiva- tion. rickety cabins, scattered thickly here and there, tell the tale of the passing of the masters of this once thriving island and of the reign of the blacks; for investigation will show that no white man lives there now. hope's highway in santa maria may also be seen ruins of an old monastery, built by the spaniards in the seventeenth century. after the state became a part of the union, and the spaniards gradu- ally dispersed, other settlers came to this se- cluded spot, which, until the emancipation, was one of the most aristocratic plantation settle- ments of the whole south. and in those days cabin life of the better sort was a conspicuous feature of beautiful santa maria and of its neighbor, santa barbara. it seemed the pur- pose of the owners of the blacks to have this the one place where slavery was of a higher order,-if degrees of serfdom be possible. the approach to santa maria was very beau- tiful. imagine a shell-road of great length and width, lined on either side with drooping wil- lows, moss-laden, some interlocking, form- ing spacious arches, and others opening suffi- ciently at the top to let in the southern sun- light in all its regal splendor. the effect was almost fairylike. and to add enchantment to the scene, one could for an instant imagine these drooping willows bowing, as it were, most hospitably to the traveler, as if ushering him on and on to the resplendent glories of santa maria. in the days of its glory,-after the traveler had left the willows behind,-imposing resi- santa maria dences might be seen as far as the eye could reach. from the quarters, on summer nights, planta- tion melodies were wafted on balmy breezes, and, as one drew nearer, crooning lullabies, sung by dusky mothers, could be heard,-lulla- bies so full of rest and hope. honey, take yo’res, on yo' mamme's breas', see dat light,-a-fadin’’mong de pine trees in de wes', yes; de day is gone, night is comin' on, darksome night mus' come to us befo' another dawn. whippo'will is callin', -callin' to his mate; mockin'-bird is callin', too; pine trees is a-sighin', babies is a-cryin', as de darksome night is passin' through. go to sleep, ma little baby, go to sleep; shut yo’ weary eyelids, an' don' you weep; sleep an' take yo’ res', on yo' mamme's breas', night can never harm you here. honey, don' you see, dat it's got to be: day an' night, yes, day an' night, till yo' spirit's free; den you'll quit ma breas' fur to go an' res' wid another who can keep you safe from harm de bes'. masters here were more or less kind to their slaves, and, consequently, their reputation for gentleness spread far and wide. at the slave market one might observe a striking evidence of this; for whenever a buyer from santa maria or santa barbara came along, every slave showed up at his best upon the auction block. when the deathknell to slavery was sounded and lincoln signed the great emancipation hope's highway proclamation,—which spelled liberty for mil- lions of slaves,—a great many of the blacks in santa maria and santa barbara remained with their owners. of these slaveholders, john vance,-re- garded as one of the wealthiest in this realm,- freed and educated one of his loyal servitors, with the idea that, should the freedom that the bondmen craved come to them, he could impart to his people some of the essentials necessary for a recently emancipated race to understand. thus, enoch vance, taking his master's name, attracted much attention by his application and brilliancy at a western university and returned to his former owner at the announcement of freedom. fortunately, he arrived in santa maria a few months before his benefactor's death. john vance, because of the manumission of the negroes, had lost some of his vast fortune, but in his great generosity, he left nearly half of what was left for the education of the blacks, whom slavery had kept so long in igno- rance. upon his deathbed he sent for his former slave. “go,” said he to enoch, "and upon the land i shall give you, at the entrance of this beauti- ful santa maria,-land that i love so well, facing the drooping willows and the shell-road, chapter ii john vance john vance's name was held in reverence by every negro in and around santa maria. how many black men and women in slavery had heard of this good man and prayed that some day they might become his property! often, on moonlight nights, he would listen to the singing of his slaves, as they sat in their cabin doors, voicing the familiar plantation melodies, the effect of which was marvelous,—as it passed from door to door on the balmy breezes. one song that particularly pleased their master was: lord, i'd rather go to glory, lord, i'd rather go to glory, lord, i'd rather go to glory, than to leave this master kind. john vance was in the habit of visiting his slaves in their cabins, he would talk with them, and thus he became a part of their lives. he never had occasion to whip a slave, never kept an overseer, neither did he ever have a run- away. when a slave became in any way ob- stinate or unruly, the master would only have john vance to suggest in a kindly way, that perhaps the bondman would like another master; and, al- most invariably, he would get the result he desired. he could count upon the fingers of one hand,-out of a thousand or more slaves that he owned,—the few cases he could not handle. being of a very sympathetic nature, he often wanted to help many a one who yearned for an education; for if there was any aristocrat in the south who desired to change the existing laws regarding educating slaves, john vance truly was one. as soon as freedom came, he secured teachers for those of the adults that desired to learn, while the children were com- pelled to spend a certain number of hours each day in the schoolroom. indeed, his was the first institute for blacks in the south, being the fore- runner of the many organizations that were established for this race by loyal northern sup- porters. the young negro lad, enoch, whom john vance specially favored, was born upon the vance plantation, as was his mother. his father had been bought by vance from a neigh- boring slaveholder,—who had lost heavily in speculation. the father of enoch had courted and married enoch's mother; and when the son was born his mother felt that the boy was des- tined to be a moses to his people. knowing how enoch's mother yearned for an hope's highway education, and seeing the same desire mani- fested by the lad, john vance hoped that he might be able to start him on the road of knowl- edge. he was fortunately able to do this, by giving the lad his freedom and sending him to that greatest of western colleges, which has ever held and which still holds open the “door of hope" to all who would enter therein. thus enoch developed into a true leader of his peo- ple, for he was the first negro qualified to teach the blacks in the south after emancipation. when john vance lay dead in the big house, negroes came from far and near to view the abode of this true lover of humanity. many, too poor to buy flowers, wrought wreaths out of wild flowers and lay them at the entrance of the big house. children could be seen strew- ing flowers in the familiar spots and along the roads he frequented. men and women wept like babies, as from their cabins they saw the body of their dearest friend borne to its final resting-place. after the closing up of the big house, the late owner's widowed sister, who had made her home with him, returned north to her hus- band's people. the division of his lands was made according to john vance's dying wish, which gave his belongings to the ex-slaves that had served him faithfully. and these same . john vance people, by their frugality, became the hope of the south, while by their efforts great business enterprises were launched,,enterprises that to-day, together with the institute, are the pride of the black south. this institute was a haven for the negro. located picturesquely at the entrance of santa maria and overlooking the bay of joan, it seemed almost a temple in a land of promise, and, flocking to its doors, came from all parts of the world, those eager to learn. enoch first made the curriculum cover those things that his people most needed,-agricul- ture and manual training; for he was aware that a people just emerging from slavery could need nothing more than the rudiments of edu- cation. as time advanced, however, other de- partments were added, and finally from the leader's school emerged men and women fitted for every vocation in life. the leader was heralded far and wide for his great achievements. even abroad he was talked of, and educators of distant lands visited his institute, for the purpose of studying his methods of instruction. great men from differ- ent parts of the country either gave their sup- port financially or otherwise to the vance in- stitute, and from its example other schools sprang up, heralding, as did their alma mater, “higher education for the black man." hope's highway this system of enlightenment in the course of time became unpopular with a certain element in the south, an element that crowded in after slavery from the mountainous districts to the west of santa maria, or that came in by immi- gration. and, as the slaveholding aristocracy passed out by death or migration, these people became leading figures, soon wielding the politi- cal ax that chopped down all things that were unfavorable to them,-among them, the political status of the negro, whom they considered to be growing too powerful. throughout the south, state after state disfranchised the blacks and decreed against higher education for them. thus, because of legislative inter- ference, the great ambition of the leader's life was blighted. joe vardam, an enemy to the cause of the blacks, worked his way forward politically, fighting with tooth and nail to have the whole educational curriculum changed, so far as higher education for blacks was concerned. realizing that he was utterly powerless to contend with this powerful demagogue, the leader was compelled to bend to his will and strike out from his course of study psychology, sociology, comparative literature, law, theology, mathematics, and the classics. “we don't want any niggers reading latin and greek,” joe vardam would say. “soon chapter iii grace ennery phillip ennery, a boyhood chum of john vance's, was one of the great plantation own- ers in the prosperous days of santa maria. phillip had two sons, one of whom, francis, at his mother's death, left the south, when still a young man, with his share of the ennery for- tune, and entered the brokerage business in new york city. in the course of time he met a beautiful young woman, of boston's most ex- clusive circle, and married her. she did not live long after the birth of her daughter grace, and francis ennery was left a widower in new york with a little daughter of five years to look after. grace's maternal grandmother, who lived in boston, was an invalid, and her uncle john ennery had never married; thus the dear little girl, for a time after her mother's death, was dependent upon strangers. this fact was a source of some worry to her grandmother, who realized that, unless she could arrange to have the child under her guidance,-even though she were disabled, that the little girl would be hope's highway much enthused was she when she was told of the battle of bunker hill, and how her great- great-grandfather had died in defense of the rights of the colonists and how her grandfather defended the rights of the slaves, taking an ac- tive part in the working of the famous “under- ground railroad.” the story of how he helped them escape from their cruel masters in the south greatly interested her young mind. grace never grew weary of listening to the sorrows of the blacks, and ofttimes she would say to charlotte, her governess: "take me where i may see these people that grandpa helped to get away from their bad masters. and, charlotte, show me a man like uncle tom who was so good to little eva." as grace grew to womanhood, she never for- got these pictures that her grandmother painted for her in such glowing colors. the negro, wherever she met him, felt the sympathetic spirit for his sufferings that animated the girl. the years flew rapidly by, and with them grace grew, of course. francis ennery often came to see his daughter, who began to look more and more like her dead mother each day. at the suggestion of her grandmother, who was gradually declining, the father decided to send the child to a select boarding-school, as she was now twelve years of age. the day grace bade her dear grandmother good-by was Ως : hoppς htαΙΙΧΙΛν one, too; but he never filled that void, or satis- fied an instinct that lay hidden within her soul. and because of her warmth of feeling and her passionate yearnings, it was a wonder that the suppression of her longing did not make her sad and pensive, and thus embitter her youth- ful existence. grace, however, possessed an in- domitable will, coupled with a courageous heart, which kept her from ever wincing. hence there bloomed into womanhood, under the faithful guidance of the teachers of saint agnes school at lynhurst, a girl who developed the most beautiful character,—noble, strong, and modest. after her graduation, grace was sent abroad to study art,--for which she had formed a de- cided talent,-chaperoned by one of her instruc- tors, who also desired to make further studies in the same field. miss arnold, who was very much attached to grace, made a pleasant trav- eling companion, and two delightful years were spent studying the old masters in the different countries of europe. one morning a most unexpected thing hap- pened,-grace received a cablegram announcing that her father had been advised by his physi- cian to drop his business cares and responsibili- ties for the present and take a trip around the world, and that he wished to see her before sailing for the orient, by way of the mediter- ranean. grace ennery on grace's receiving this news, miss arnold comforted her and assisted her in every possi- ble way so that nothing might delay her depar- ture. and grace, after being placed in the care of good friends, was on her way to america. she reached home just before her father sailed for greece and egypt. in one of his last talks with her he said: “as i look upon your face, you so remind me of your dead mother, with your fluffy golden hair and large blue eyes. i pray that you may develop into the noble woman she was. remem- ber always, grace, that you were her idol. i dislike to leave you at this time, when i know you should have me with you; but i must bow to my physician's command. you have an uncle in the south, in beautiful santa maria, where i was born. i hope upon my return from the east to gaze once more upon those moss-laden willows, under which i had my first boyish dreams. “all alone in a great house he lives, upon a plantation where once your grandfather held numerous slaves. he writes that you must pay him a visit soon, when you will see one of na- ture's enchanting spots. “i have made my home with the grants for a number of years, and they have been very kind to me. if you do not return to your studies, make your home with them: i am sure chapter iv the leader's funeral frousessions as his place is will suck on him the leader of his people lay dead, and as the funeral cortège wound its way into the peaceful graveyard, to lay at rest all that re- mained of a once powerful man, one could hear from the scattered groups of spectators such expressions as these: "who'll take his place?" "we'll now go to de dogs, for de white folks will surely do us bad." “dey done peck on him an' peck on him till dey done kill him.” one of the old women began to sing, and others took up the strain: de lord done take our moses, de lord done take our moses, de lord done take our moses,- who we gwine to follow now deep into the heart of tom brinley sank these expressions; and, although but a boy of fifteen years, he was much disturbed. he sud- denly felt the weight of a people upon his shoulders, and an irresistible impulse seized him to answer these poor dependent people. the leader's funeral some kind-hearted men picked him up and carried him to his home, which was not very far off. “what of his assailants?" you ask. this class compose the criminal element of the south. many of the lynchings in that region are occasioned by the misdeeds of some one of this idle class of negroes, who care little or nothing about leaders or rights. then, too, the laws of the south had become so lax in the matter of offenses perpetrated by blacks against blacks that it was useless to complain. grace ennery, who was a witness to all that had happened, followed the limp body of little tom to his mother's cabin of two rooms. tom's mother was a quiet, sympathetic wom- an of about forty, with large, glowing eyes, and a slightly bent frame, which told of much drudgery. “tom truly has her eyes,” thought grace, as she looked upon the mother. when the men who carried tom told of what had happened, her reply was: “tom's always bein' pecked on. folks don' seem to understan' him.” upon a clean but humble bed they placed the little lad. grace ennery assisted in bringing him to. “i shall never forget his deep, soul-stirring eyes,—so full of purpose,” she remarked to hope's highway friends afterward. “as he came out of his swoon his first words were: "all right, hollow gang, you shall yet call me “leader.” mother, didn't you hear our leader say that when he was a little slave boy he would call the other slave children around him and tell them that he would some day be a great man and the leader of his people, and even they would not believe him?'" “yes," replied his mother, softly stroking his forehead. “and, mother,” he continued, “see what a great man he became.” grace ennery listened to the little fellow with much interest, and when the crowd had somewhat disappeared, she asked the mother if she could be of any further service. “lor' bless you, dear lady,” she replied. “tom is given to dem fallin' out spells, when- ever any one hits his head. when he use to work wid' mister joe, he would ofttimes send for me to ris' tom out of dem spells, when he done hit him fur somethin'." “will you have those boys punished who willfully meddled with tom?'' asked grace. “oh, miss, you mus' be a stranger here?” “yes; i'm from the north.”. “i thought so, ma'am. de white folks don' bother 'bout our troubles lessen they can't help it." the leader's funeral “my! that is a very discouraging condi- tion of affairs." "well, ma'am, we are gettin' so used to trou- ble, dat we don' look for justice till we die, an' then come judgment day," was the resigned re- ply. grace bade tom good-by, and slipping a bill into his mother's hand, said: “i expect to leave for the north in a few days, but will see you before i go.” tom's mother bowed her visitor out gra- ciously. it was somewhat new to her to have a sympathetic caller from the opposite race. the blacks at this time, owing to the injustice of vardam, were so crushed that any white per- son having any relations with them other than those of employer and employed was considered an enemy to the cause of white supremacy. “down with the blacks!” was the slogan of vardam and his allies. grace, of course, did not know of the senti- ment regarding the blacks, and even though she was the only white woman present, in her girlish optimism she had not observed it. hers was a divine sympathy, impartial and uncol- ored. but, after all, a man's ideals, aspirations, hopes, and longings are not controlled by the color of his skin. does not a brown horse that chapter v the lynching the next day was sunday, and after attend- ing church, grace had a strong desire to glance at the grave of the dead leader. this desire had been interfered with on the previous day because of the accident to little tom. she had never seen the leader, yet, even in the north, his fame had reached her ear and she had learned to respect him for his achieve- ments among his people. his success was greatly appreciated by the north, and his ad- vice had been sought by men of high as well as low degree. knowing all this, grace was desirous of see- ing the mound of dirt under which the body of this famed negro rested. so she sauntered slowly to that spot on the grounds of the great school that he had established. she was not known, therefore was not interfered with. but one cross-looking white man, who, to grace's mind, had the look of a man who might have been a cruel slaveholder (such as she had read about in “uncle tom's cabin”), stopped her as she entered the grounds. hope's highway turning around, grace saw a picturesque but not a very prepossessing-looking individual, -a tall, raw-boned, and sinewy individual of about fifty, with a wide-brimmed slouch hat, tilted on one side; a long coat, and trousers tucked in leather boots, who walked with a long, swinging stride and spoke with a slow south- ern drawl. but if his figure and attire were striking, his face was not attractive. grace found herself looking into a pair of fierce devil- ish black eyes that gleamed beneath shaggy eyebrows. besides these eyes she saw a decid- edly hooked nose, which surmounted a thin, cruel mouth, and a long jaw, which was covered with a beard of medium growth. but if the face was evil and sinister in re- pose, it took on added malignity as the man smiled sardonically. plainly, here was a man with executive and administrative ability, with power to dominate the ignorant masses; a man possessed of a selfish, cruel naturė. “say, miss,” he said, “ain't you 'fraid to be travelin'in these nigger haunts ?”. “no," answered grace, somewhat indignant. “so far you have been my only annoyance.” “is that so?” was his surly query. “i guess you don't know who i am." “perhaps i don't, and neither do i care to know who you are, even if you were the gov- ernor." hope's highway grace continued: “did you go to his school?” “yessum,” he replied again, still not taking his eyes away from the grave. “he must have been a very wonderful man to impress you so strongly. i hope some day you will be as great and influential a man as he was." “i will, ma'am, if joe vardam don't turn de hose on me as he did the leader." “who is joe vardam?” “didn't you pass a man when you come in de school?' “yes, i remember that i did." “well, dat's de one, ma'am, who would kill us all up if he could. he's powerfully strong, missus." “so he interfered with the progress of the school?” “yessum. folks call him ‘goliath' here, and they is all 'fraid of him." “i hope he may some day meet his david, tom,' retorted grace with earnestness. the chapel bell tolled two, and grace arose to go, bidding tom, who still was looking ad- miringly at the flowers, good-by. she told him that she would be leaving for her northern home soon, but would see both him and his mother before she left. hope's highway upturned faces it seemed as if the spirit of humanity had fled from that mob and that in its stead a living devil was implanted. “oh!' thought i, 'i cannot dwell another night among these people.' so, in my excitement, i packed my grip and went to the office to settle my bill. after having done so, and while waiting for transportation to the depot, i encountered the same man whom i had met on the previous day. he quickly recognized me and said with a laugh: "'i am sure glad you are going, miss; for we will certainly have to string up another nigger to-morrow.' then he gave a fiendish chuckle and passed on.” grace never bore any hatred in her heart for any one, but this man, joe vardam, had created within her a most uncomfortable feeling. a few moments after her encounter with him she was whirled off to the depot. reaching there, she found that she had leisure on her hands before her train was due. she wondered just how to pass away the time. she wanted to talk with a real sympathizer, or with one, who, even if he were not a sympathizer, pos- sessed a tinge of respect for his community and had ideals. looking around the partly filled depot, she saw no promise in the faces of those around her. her eye was attracted toward the door, and there she saw an immaculately the lynching dressed man of middle age,-tall and symmetri- cal of frame,—with the air of a born aristocrat. he was ushered in by a black lad who seemed to be showing him every attention. after he had arranged for his baggage, the lad left him, courteously bowing. “surely,” thought grace, “this is a man i can talk to,-one from whom i may gain infor- mation regarding these parts that no one whom i have yet seen would willingly give me.” before he had espied her, she arose, and as the bench upon which he sat had only one other occupant, she quickly sat there, waiting for an opportunity to speak. the aristocrat, as soon as his eyes rested upon grace, regarded her with deep interest. “pardon me,” he said; "are you an en- nery?” “yes,” she quietly replied, fearful lest he might discern her eagerness to talk. “you came here, i suppose, to visit your - "he paused. “uncle," grace quickly replied. “oh, yes,” said he; “then francis was your father? we were boys together, and our par- ents were good friends." grace found herself drawing very near to the opportunity for which she longed,—to be able to glean the information she desired. chapter vi santa mari past and present “i am so glad to hear you talk thus,” re- marked grace. “if it would not seem inquisi- tive, i wish you would tell me why the blacks have so little protection in a country so unique in its republican form of government. i have always loved my country, and even though i knew conditions were not so very good in the south, i did not understand it to be a condi- tion that resulted from gross injustice on the part of my people towards a people powerless to protect themselves.” “my dear miss ennery, you are too con- scientious in this matter, i fear. we all would like to see the millennium if we could but the world is not ready for it yet." “we may not be ready for the millennium,” interrupted grace, “but we should at all times use our consciences. right is right, sir. oh, pardon me if i have been too bold. of course you know that i am a northerner, and while, for so young a woman, i may express myself in too frank terms regarding my attitude hope's highway toward your treatment of the blacks here, yet i feel that i am justified because they are hu- man beings and our brothers; and we are our brothers' keepers.” mr. garrett assured grace that she was jus- tified in all she had said, and that her view was no different from that of the average northerner. yet even the northerner, he went on, after residing in the south for a time, often became more bitter in his attitude toward the blacks than were those that had always lived there. along came the train, and emerging from some inconspicuous corner, the black boy, who assisted mr. garrett some time before, came forward to be of further service to his em- ployer. mr. garrett, speaking very kindly, bade him take grace's luggage to the car and arrange her comfortably. at parting with her recent acquaintance, grace said: “i thank you so much, sir, for your patience in answering my questions. i shall go away with a different impression than i would have had had i not met you." “you flatter me, miss ennery. i am the one who has been benefited. i would like to, at this moment,-if i had the power,—make such laws as would give every black man, woman, and child better protection. since we have had this ' past and present daught.t. garrettherself pleasant little chat, and also since your father and i are good friends,-also your uncle,-i trust you may give me the privilege of hunting you up on the train, and continuing this con- versation, if it is agreeable to you." “i shall be delighted,” replied grace. so, giving her one of his cards, the old aris- tocrat handed her over to his body-servant, who courteously escorted her to her seat. the car was well on its way to the north, and grace had settled herself quite comfortably, when mr. garrett found his childhood chum's daughter. grace was much impressed with her new-found friend, and waited, with profound anticipation, to hear what of interest he had to tell her. before delving into the all-important ques- tion, he told her that he was on his way to the governor of the state to report on the recent lynching, which was a great source of grief to the committee of which he was a member. this committee, he further stated, consisted of a group of men, selected by the governor, who met after such disturbances as lynchings and riots, passed judgment upon them, and reported their findings to the governor. “why can you not stop such riots before they go as far as they did this afternoon?” “a lynching-bee is often gotten up so sud- denly that frequently in one hour it is both hope's highway planned and executed. when we are able to jail the victim, we are more likely to protect his body." “please tell me,” grace asked, “how things ever developed to this state of affairs, in this beautiful settlement, where nature's artist has painted so lavishly, the skies, the bay, and the trees, and where everything is bathed in an atmosphere of serenity.” settling himself comfortably and clearing his throat so that he might be distinctly heard above the rumbling of the train, seward gar- rett began: “in the negro was given the ballot in this state. about that time a negro was made secretary of the state. a number of colored men also went to congress. negro legislators held regal sway in the capitol, with their ma- hogany tables, brussels carpets, and dresden china cuspidors. at the change of administra- tion, in , the federal troops that protected the rights of the negro were withdrawn from this state, and when other complications came up between republicans and democrats, the southern confederates took possession of the state capitol by force. then came the ku- klux klans. they were oath-bound societies, the members disguised with masks and armed to the teeth. they rode at night, committed depredations, and did their bloody work. they hope's highway cruel, man must at all times, to develop the highest within him, be a free agent. oh,'tis all wrong, all wrong!”. “it may be, but time will tell. and remem- ber, miss ennery, the worst enemies of the blacks are not the descendants of their former owners, but a class of poor whites who have pushed in from the mountains, and who never knew of them, other than that they crowded them out of a livelihood, by having the monop- oly of service. this condition, of course, kept them very poor, barely above starvation; hence this is the cause of their intense prejudice. these people prospered after emancipation, and to-day are the life, politically and commer- cially, of the south. the negro, it is true, was caught in a mesh that he is still untangling. it is evident that the only satisfactory solution will be for him to find his own way out." “but how can he do this, without the pro- tection that his country should offer?" “i don't know, but he must do it some way, miss ennery. we anglo-saxons surely must have found an opportunity to wedge our way out of the conditions that we first faced gen- erations ago." “yes, i know, mr. garrett; but these people have a far greater fight than our anglo-saxon ancestors had. saddest of all are the distinct physical characteristics, so unlike ours, that grace ennery's return maid announced the fact that the same nigger who called the other evening was at the door. "tell him i don't care to see him, and i don't want him to be ringing my front-door bell again or i'll have him arrested. wanting me to offer a bill to introduce niggers into the state militia! absurd! niggers with firearms! i'd sooner trust these emigrants that are pour- ing in upon our shores.” the maid left the room while mr. grant was expostulating, and soon grace heard the front door close with a bang. mr. grant had entered the political arena, while the great war was on, to protect certain of his wall street interests. the war in eur- ope being over, this country was facing some complicated issues. emigration seemed to have reached a serious stage. after the european war, this country, in its generosity, opened its gates without any reservation. to this land came various classes of foreigners to avoid the responsibility that would devolve upon them of building new homes in europe. upon this country's investigating a number of plots to blow up various buildings, it was found that anarchists had come over in large numbers. so, in order to avoid the dan- ger that might arise by permitting more of these anarchistic spirits to infest the country, a ban was placed upon emigration. this, of course, hope's highway upon a super-stately figure, crowned with a madonna-like face. whereupon grace would betake herself to her own apartment, unless re- quested by mrs. grant to stay and meet her distinguished guests. then she would be agree- able, because she felt that she must. hope's highway i don't know what your attitude is toward the negro, but you may be interested in knowing that the french army has enlisted many of these black men in the ranks, and the report is that they make brave soldiers, going into the hottest of the fray, without reserve or fear. one herculean black was given a medal of honor a couple of weeks ago, for his bravery in battle. his physique was magnifi- cent,--tall, erect of stature, and well proportioned. he im- pressed one as he stood to receive his degree. the french peo- ple could not do enough for him. imagine my attending a ban- quet in his honor! the french seemed to have forgotten his color, and spoke only of his valor and bravery. after all, grace, i feel that we americans are too narrow in our feelings. what difference does it make whether bravery is garbed in black or white? it is deeper than the skin. it reaches the soul, and the soul of the good is always white. i know you have come in touch with these black people of the south. tell me your opinion as gained by your trip. grace, after reading this interesting letter from fred trower, unconsciously wiped her eyes, and held the missive to her lips. “i have decided,” she said half aloud. “i have decided to act upon my convictions. the light that i have desired has been given to me." immediately she sat down and wrote a letter to tom brinley's mother, in care of the insti- tute, as she had failed to get tom's address in her excitement in leaving. now, in santa maria politics had control of everything. even the mails of colored people were continually being tampered with. it happened that the day grace's letter reached santa maria, joe vardam was loung- ing around the post office as he usually did. as his money was made more or less from political hope's highway type. there was nothing too degrading for him to do in order to gain his ends. it was whispered that he had beaten his poor wife to death, and that he drove his son from home, when the latter would not coöperate with him in political wrongs. where the younger vardam went no one knew. it was also whispered that joe vardam's father, a very cruel slaveholder, was killed by one of his slaves, because he thrashed a woman slave until she became unconscious. the slave in turn thrashed him, and when vardam's father drew his pistol to shoot him, the slave wrested it from his hand and shot the master. then the homicide gave himself up to the au- thorities to be dealt with as they saw fit. joe vardam, whether because of the manner of his father's death was seeking vengeance or because of the natural cruelty that possessed him, was relentless wherever a negro was con- cerned. for some reason he held a bitter hatred for the race. after thinking over the letter during the night, joe vardam determined to place tom brinley where he would never attract atten- tion. day after day he walked the streets of santa maria in search of his prey, wishing to catch him away from his home and surround- ings. not many days had passed by when he found his opportunity. noticing that the chapter ix the proposal days and weeks passed and still grace re- ceived no reply to the letter she had sent. she could not determine what she was to do next. in the meantime she still worked at her art, ex- pending her greatest efforts in the painting of a likeness of tom brinley (as nearly as was possible), a painting that she named “pur- pose.” a member of the f. n. p. (federation for negro protection,-a group of influential whites and blacks, formed for the protection of the rights of the black man in the north and the south), seeing the picture, asked that it be loaned for an exhibition that they were about to give. grace gladly consented to this, and the picture was placed in the gallery of fine arts. nanna, the old cook at the de forests' house, by way of making it pleasant for mandy brin- ley, asked her to attend the exhibit with her. this nanna was a woman who stood for the highest aims of the blacks,—with which race she was identified. often she would say, hope's highway “i'm a cook, an' i'm not ashamed of my daily occupation, for a good cook must take pride in her work; yet i would not see all my people laboring in this field. they must scatter themselves in all avenues of work, in order to become a well-rounded, well-developed people. i am always anxious to know what all my peo- ple are doing.” hence her interest in the exhibit, which marked an anniversary of progress for her peo- ple. the great armory where the exhibition was held was crowded,—the f. n. p. having also invited a number of speakers, both white and black, to talk in behalf of the negro. the ab- sorbing themes were, “the negro in office,” “the negro in politics," and "the negro in the army." how mandy brinley wished for her tom; and in walking about after the great addresses, she, as if her prayer was answered, came face to face with a painted reproduction of her tom. “o my jesus!” she cried, “nanna, here's my boy,—here's my tom !” “go on, mandy; you've got your boy on your mind so you imagine everything is him.” grace ennery and fred trower were also present. they almost passed tom brinley's mother as she turned from the picture in great grief. grace in her absorption in other exhib- the proposal its did not see mandy. but fred trower saw her, and he remarked to himself that the won- derful eyes of the lad must have made her sad. nanna and mandy returned quietly home,- mandy laden with sorrow. grace and fred, after the interesting meeting, sauntered lei- surely home. they talked of the speakers, espe- cially the negro speakers, who knew what their people needed. “i am sure tom brinley would do equally as well as any of those speakers, were he given the opportunity to develop himself,” said grace. “it is so strange that i never received any reply to my first letter to his mother, and my second was returned to me." fred replied: “grace, i am afraid you are taking matters too seriously. sometimes those whom we would wish to be worthy are altogether un- worthy." “not so with tom; he has a strong will, and i am quite sure that he, although young, has determined to develop in the direction of his natural taste and aptitude." “now, grace, i begin to think that you never intend to devote any of your time to me. since i have returned home, you have had this and that to interfere with our pleasant little chats, —such as we use to have.” “forgive me, fred, if i have appeared sel- hope's highway fish since you have returned. it is not selfish- ness; it is really that my life is broader. un. expected problems have come before me, and i am anxious to grapple with them.” whether grace knew it or not, fred trower was in love with her, and had been so even before she went abroad to study art. when- ever the desire urged him to say something of his tenderness to her, her mind seemed always centered on something else, which made any declaration of love at that time quite inoppor- tune. when they had reached home, fred asked grace. to give him an evening and to promise him for once not to speak of any of her pet hob- bies, but to give up the entire time to him. “it is a small favor, fred," answered grace. “you may have your wish, of course.” “all right, i shall see you to-morrow eve- ning. and if mrs. grant has company, be pre- pared for a walk, as these evenings are very enticing in the open.” “very well. good-night,” said grace, as she endeavored to disengage her arm. instead of freeing the arm immediately, how- ever, fred trower pressed it gently and looked into her large blue eyes, which, with upturned gaze, met his. the look was like the meeting of two souls,—each read the heart of the other. quickly grace, as if she had committed a mis- the proposal deed, went into the vestibule, remaining there until the maid admitted her. the maid noticed a flushed look upon grace's face, as she thanked the girl and ran swiftly to her own apartment. fred trower stood for a moment as if glued to the spot. then, collecting himself, he turned and hastened away. grace, when she reached her luxuriously ap- pointed apartment, consisting of bed-room, private sitting-room, and bath,-yielded to an irresistible impulse to run to the bay-window of her sitting-room, which permitted her to see a distance up the street. there she sat, hat and coat on, watching pass on under the bright electric lights the manly, erect form of the man about whom was now the glamour of a young girl's love. when he had passed out of sight she slowly disrobed, and went to bed, thinking of many things that before this night had never seriously entered her mind. to-night tom brinley had no place in her young mind. hers was a dream of love, with fred trower crowned king. the next day seemed to two persons the long- est day upon the calendar; and when the sun was slowly sinking in the west, two hearts were beating with gladness. grace was ready long before the maid an- nounced mr. trower. fred was prepared long before he came. his father noticed the new hope's highway light in fred's eye, as he closed the lid of his desk and hurried off, calling back: “good-night, dad.” his father's look followed him to the door, and he questioned: “something on to-night, fred?” but his son was gone. when the maid did announce the presence of fred trower in the parlors below, the fact had already been known to grace some time. she was seated behind her curtain, on her win- dow-seat, waiting,-in accordance with the de- mands of society,—to be told what she already knew. softly she stole downstairs,—so much more softly than was her custom-and, with an air of coquettishness, sat opposite her lover. no word had yet been broken, when fred, full of ardor, and not knowing how to free his pent-up feeling, rose and bent over her, saying: “grace, you know it all, do you not? need i tell you how tenderly i love you? you do care for me some, do you not?”. grace held her head back, and looking into fred's eyes, replied softly: “yes, fred; i think i do." then his head bent lower, and their lips met, after which fred sat beside grace, her hand in his and their heads together. fred told her of his great love for her, how he hoped that it the proposal would be reciprocated; he also told her of his splendid prospects, and asked if she would con- sent to become his wife. grace answered: “not yet, fred. i must do something of worth before i accept the very tender care that i know you are capable of giving me. let me devote more time to my art before anything definite is decided.” “why, grace, you have done something! what more commendation can you wish than has been given to your pictures,-"love" and “purpose''? “but that is just a beginning, fred. then there is tom brinley. must i leave him? should i not try to find him and help him?" “then, may i hope that you may tell me something definite as to our final plans when this little colored boy is found? as to your art, grace, you can do even better work after you marry. a woman is better able to express herself, whatever her sphere in life, after she marries, because her life includes a broader scope. about the lad: my father wants me to look into some cotton interests in the south soon, and i can extend my trip, visit the in- stitute, and inquire about the boy." “dear fred, you are so considerate, and i am so thankful that you will do this. i have hope's highway a peculiar feeling concerning this boy, some inner prompting that urges me on." "well, don't worry any more, grace. every- thing will come out satisfactorily. so you have really decided to educate this colored lad?” “yes, fred; my desire is to give him an op- portunity to serve his people." “i trust that he will prove himself worthy of your interest.” “i am sure he will. by the way, fred, i re- ceived a letter from my father, who is in egypt now. he spoke very highly of you, and much of his friendship with your father. he says that his stay will be an extended one, as the egyptian climate agrees with him better than any other that he has been in. he speaks in glowing terms of the scenery of the nile, and has been captivated by the grandeur of egypt's monuments. he has seen the pyramids, the memnonion colossi, the temple of the kings at luxor, and the vast hypostile hall at kar- nak. he also writes that my uncle has joined him, having attended to his business affairs in europe. how glad i shall be when he re- turns!” “when i write and tell him of our plans, i shall insist upon his returning for our wedding, which i trust will be in the near future." they finished the evening with happy talk hope's highway her promise, that a date of marriage would be set as soon as tom brinley's future had been arranged for. a few weeks later fred trower left for the south. chapter x fred trower in the south after reaching richmond and arranging business matters, in accordance with his father's suggestions, fred took the train for further south. the south was not new to him. he had been there a number of times, as his father had various financial interests in different sec- tions of the country; yet he had never been there bent on the mission he had now under- taken,—the search of a poor little brown lad. all along the road he studied the people, -especially at the depots, which seemed a ver- itable “hang-out." “i wonder," thought he,"if these people will ever carve out their own destiny? judging from these laggards, who seem utterly depend- ent, one would say not." these were merely passing thoughts, and fred did not allow them to worry him se- riously. he felt that grace had enough philan- thropy for them both. after an extremely hot and dusty trip, he reached santa maria. he took a carriage, and hope's highway having reached the hotel, went directly to his apartments, as he felt very dusty and tired. in the morning, which was an extremely warm one, he awoke early. after breakfast he walked around town and was attracted by the beauty of the place. roses were in bloom and nature had everywhere a glad, smiling look. quite an inquisitive gaze was bestowed upon fred when he asked at the hotel: “what is the best time to visit the vance institute?” the clerk quickly replied: “we don't know much about them niggers; they stay over on that side, and we stay on this. nobody much bothers about them. they tell me that the school is going to the dogs. you came down to look 'em over, i suppose.” “yes," said fred, not wishing to prolong the conversation with this somewhat contrary individual. he passed out of the hotel door and went down the steps, walking off somewhat slowly down the street. he had not gone very far when a somewhat repulsive looking man, tall, middle-aged, and carelessly attired, overtook him. “lookin' us folks behind the sun over, i suppose??? he ventured. “well, somewhat,” replied fred. “you have a pretty nice town here." fred trower in the south “yes, but things have gone somewhat to the dogs, on account of these lazy darkies down this way. can't make 'em work unless you beat 'em. there's that fine school that fool vance put up for 'em, an' they don't even have enough attendin' to keep the doors open.” “are you acquainted around these parts?” asked fred,—for he thought that he might get the information he desired from this man. “yes i know everybody in and aroun’ santa maria,—white an' black.” “then you probably know something of a tom brinley?” “that little black thief an'idler? of course i do. what do you want with him?” “i am trying to find him for a friend of mine." "well, you won't come across him 'round these parts. he was sent to the chain-gang in the backwoods for idlin' and stealin'.” fred did not seem as shocked as one might think at hearing this, for all along the road, he had seen the negro's idleness. and since theft follows such a weakness, it seemed just natural. "what did your friend wish with this little black devil ?” asked vardam, for it was he. “she thought that she saw some good traits in him and wished to develop them.” “what nigger has any but bad traits? a hope's highway woman too! good lord! my good man, keep her away from niggers, or she and you will regret it some day.” fred never found the institute, in fact he had no desire to hunt for it, after talking with this man. he lit a cigar, and puffing it complac- ently, slowly returned to his hotel. on the veranda he stopped to watch the southern sunset. slowly and slowly old sol sank to the western horizon, and when almost all had disappeared, the rest dropped suddenly out of sight. as fred trower witnessed this sudden dropping, he thought of how grace's fond hopes had vanished like a dream. he said to himself: “it's all tomfoolery her coming down here and getting interested in a trifling black lad, who was not worth a rap. anyhow, i have done my part. i wish grace would not get so wrapped up in these good-for-nothing people.” after staying around another day, fred started for home. he ran into a college chum, who was traveling in the interest of an agricul- tural society, and he persuaded fred to attend this farmers' conference with him. jerry dill did not mention the fact that this conference concerned the blacks as well as the whites; for if he did, i do not think fred trower would have troubled to go. fred trower in the south he was not a narrow man, he tried to view a subject from all sides before arriving at a conclusion; yet he failed to see anything other than absurdity in his errand to santa maria. when his friend, jerry dill, found that fred had some time to spare, he persuaded him to attend the farmers' conference,—not that fred trower was one bit interested in farms or farmers nor did he have any special desire to hang around the south; but the air was somewhat balmy and his love for nature met its response in everything in bloom. so fred told jerry that if it were not for the tugging at his heartstrings that drew him home, he would like to remain in the sunny south for an indefinite time. the friends alighted at a little town, about seventy miles from richmond, called hollis, and found a pleasant little boarding-place. after jerry had made all necessary arrange- ments for the following day he and fred roamed around the village for a little fresh air. as they wandered off the main road, they came to a settlement of cabins, behind which were richly cultivated tracts of land. at the doors of the cabins groups of blacks were con- gregated. “this settlement,” said jerry, “is one of the most progressive in the south. the negroes are very energetic, and this section produces hope's highway larger crops for its size than any other known settlement." “how do you account for this unusual prog- ress here?” asked fred. “well, i suppose the main thing is that these people get better treatment,—that is, there are fairer laws and a better spirit on the part of the authorities here than elsewhere. it's only a matter of human treatment after all, fred, the better you treat a horse, the more he will love you and the more devotedly he will serve you." even with what jerry had said, fred was still reticent in talking of his prime mission in the south. he did not state his own opinions but simply allowed jerry to air his ideas, and now and then he would inject a question or two of his own. “who attends these conferences, and what good is derived from them?” asked fred. jerry replied: “well, as i said, a mutual feeling exists be- tween the races down here on matters of mu- tual concern. all attend the conferences and one gleans information from the other's expe- riences. that is why this agricultural society sent me down here. they selected this place because they feel that where race hatred is least bitter more good will be developed. as you know, hatred, be it of races or individuals, re- the farmers' conference in autos and others came on horseback. oc- casionally, the father, mother, and child were carried on one poor horse. then others came in wagons, in shays, on mules, and in ox-carts. the colored women were dressed in every bright color one could think of. some wore hats, with style and without style. red ban- dannas seemed to have the day among them. the styles effected by the men were various. vests were in as many colors as were the women's dresses. and prince alberts were al- most in as great evidence among the men as red bandannas were among the women. fred did not know whether he was attending a farmers' conference or a baptist convention. when he entered the hall, he saw a goodly number, both white and colored, seated. many seemed to be conferring, one with the other, and, to his surprise, the atmosphere was most genial. jerry dill had seen his friend enter and take his place amid the crowd of farmers, and knowing that fred would enjoy the sight bet- ter from the platform, he sent down for him. “some style!” said fred to jerry as he was escorted to a seat. “yes, old pal; but just you wait and see what they know. just listen and hear what dame nature has taught them. what they know from that sincere teacher would surprise some of our fair lads and lassies in high school.” hope's highway the meeting was called to order by the mod- erator. as fred looked around him, he was surprised to see the class of men that had come to listen to the farming experiences of these illiterate country folk. the meeting lagged somewhat at first, as one would naturally expect. the innocent country folk had to be aroused, just as the little seeds and plants need to be drawn out of the earth by the sun. at length one large colored woman arose and told how she was supporting her five chil- dren by growing cotton. .“ 'tis de swelles' cotton dat grows any- wheres aroun’!" she cried enthusiastically. she told of how the land had been at first a hollow pond, of how her boys had filled it in and fertilized it, and of her great success. black speakers and white were interspersed, but fred found the negroes far more interest- ing, because of their ingenious ways of doing things. he listened with enthusiasm to a colored farmer whose clothes were less gaudy than any of the rest. the moderator introduced him as the richest negro for one hundred miles around. the speaker arose, and in an unassuming manner spoke of his rise from poverty. he told of his father's and mother's being slaves, and of his being taken away from them when the farmers' conference he was quite young, and of their being sold and going away, and of his never seeing them again. he told of how he would watch the soil and study the growth of things, and of his great success in raising cotton, and how to-day he shipped more cotton of the finer grade than any other farmer in the south. fred whispered to jerry: “it's wonderful, jerry, i must admit." another burly black man told of the plant- ing of the legumes and of the plowing of the roots under the soil, enriching it with nitrogen, which produced the element necessary for the growth of a number of plants and vegetables that he called by name. he also spoke of the rotation of the crops, thus preventing taking from the soil the same mineral matter year after year. he said that planting different crops every year kept the soil rich for the next crop. after a few more talks all present filed out to the grounds for dinner. "a picnic in the biggest sense!” thought fred. jerry took fred around among the farmers, showing him the cooked materials, all of which had been raised by them. fred remarked afterward to his northern friends, “everything looked too good to be true, as chapter xii tom brinley in chains tom brinley, grieved to his soul, lay upon a hay bed, in a broken-down little hut,-a fig- ure to move any one to pity. chained to him was an old man,-uncle abbott,--seventy years of age, whom the cruel overseer always used to break in young prisoners. uncle abbott took mightily to the boy and urged him not to show much strength, as it would go hard with him. thus, tom reserved his energy as directed by his adviser, and well it was that he did, for he was to stand in great need of it later on. vardam and tilton were in league with other political leaders to keep down those negroes who manifested any degree of independence. these, they branded as “dangerous char- acters.” it was their usual plan to trump up some charge of misdemeanor and then send them to the chain-gang in order to keep the others in the community in submission. tilton incarcerated uncle abbott because he pastored a set of his people who were always in fear of their employers. uncle abbott tom brinley in chains thus uncle abbott was sent to the chain- gang, and had been there two years when tom brinley came. two favors he asked of his in- carcerators,—to be able to take his worn and torn bible, and a little grip that held a few pieces of worn clothing. his wish was granted. when uncle abbott went to holding to preach, he had taken with him money, which was hidden between the worn covers of his bible, for he did not know when he might be forced to leave. thus he could depend upon this money which he had saved to get away with, should the opportunity be offered to him. when he found that he did not have the chance to escape, as he had anticipated, he resignedly faced the situation. he had almost forgotten that he had this money, when tom came upon the scene. after he had heard tom's sad story from the boy's own lips, and had discerned his aptitude and indomitable spirit,—which would mean much to his people,-he determined to help the lad make his escape. uncle abbott was not a man of much learn- ing, but he was possessed of tact and a native shrewdness which mastered any emergency. he truly would have made a leader, had he been given the chance. in tom he saw true worth and appreciated it, and all his mental en- chapter xiii tom brinley's escape to the north uncle abbott awoke tom one night, and told him what he intended doing. tom pleaded with the old man not to jeopardize his own life by trying to assist him. uncle abbott told him not to fear, that he knew the road well and that he felt that divine guidance would clear the way of any obstacles that might arise. as their hut was located right on the road of es- cape, he told tom to follow the road, until he came to toddsville, where he knew a good christian family, that would shield him from harm. “go to them,” he said, "and tell them that i sent you, and they will drive you over to cherry, where you can board a train for mary- land. after reaching there, buy some decent clothes, and go directly to new york,—where you can pass under another name,mand seek work.” tom listened attentively to uncle abbott; he knew that the guards were situated at the other end of the cabins, for they did not consider it hope's highway necessary to be very watchful of uncle abbott, as he never attempted to escape. and even if tom did, they knew he could not get very far with uncle abbott chained to him. no one ever suspected that the old man had in his pos- session means by which he could undo his chains if he so desired. in the moonlight uncle abbott released tom's chains, and put into the lad's pocket all the dry bread he could gather. after he had given him the money from between the covers of the bible and had wished him god-speed, he bade him to go quickly and quietly. this was too much for tom. he appreciated his friend's great kindness, but he felt that to take the money, which uncle abbott might some day need, would be an imposition. he told the old man that he would rather take his chance at finding something to do, and working his way on to new york, than to take that which he might some day need. but the old man replied: “no, i will not consider you out of danger until you have crossed the mason and dixon line. prejudice to-day, my boy, is very rank down here, and if you are caught anywhere in the south, i know that they will place you where there will never be any hope. so take this money, and travel as fast as you can to your destination. you will for quite some time be hope's highway draggled and dusty, about nine o'clock the fol- lowing morning. seeing some men on their way to the fields, he asked them to direct him to uncle abbott's friends. this they did with- out questioning the poor boy, who presented a veritable picture of distress. when tom found the people and had told them his sad story and the story of uncle ab- bott, their grief knew no bounds. tom had just finished his tale of woe when the folks were startled by loud voices outside. their suspicion was immediately aroused, so they hid tom in a load of hay. then aunt fanny and uncle joe went on with their work, planning that as soon as they had got rid of these trailers they would get tom to cherry as quickly as possible. sure enough the voices belonged to those that were hunting for tom. they yelled to aunt fanny, asking her if she had seen a little nig- ger come along that way. “yes," returned aunt fanny "a long time ago, an' he look so queer, i knowed he wus up tu mischief. he asked me where rootville was, an’i showed him, an' off he trotted." now, rootville was in the opposite direction to cherry, and after looking through her cabin the men hurried in the direction aunt fanny had indicated. when the trailers were out of tom brinley’s escape at this time a young colored woman attracted his attention. tom was now in his seventeenth year. unassuming and manly, he impressed this modest young colored girl, who, like him- self, was taking advantage of an opportunity that the north offered. one evening as they passed out together, mary abbott,—that was her name,—said: “i have been so interested in this article about this tom brinley, whom they are seeking, that i want you to read it." tom took the paper calmly and read this headline: one thousand dollars reward for the re- turn of a black boy who is an escaped con- vict. and then the text went on to give his de- scription as to color, height, looks, and so on. whether mary was suspicious or not, tom did not know. she told him that the paper had been sent to her from the south by friends, who sympathized with the boy, because they knew that he was innocent. they had also told her that in that section if any colored person chanced to attract attention by being ambitious, he would be put out of the way by political renegades. much to his dismay, tom found that he was not even safe in new york. what should he hope's highway do? what resort had he? upon handing the paper back to mary, he made no comment upon it other than that the victim must either be dangerous or valuable. tom found himself occasionally at the side of this fine-looking young girl. he often saw a resemblance to his benefactor, uncle abbott, and when she told him of a dear uncle, who was imprisoned by the same wicked people that hunted the boy, he longed to tell her his secret, and how his present opportunity was due to the big-heartedness of this grand old man. “not yet,” he thought; “i must first know how much she cares for me before i do this. i wish i could tell her of my feeling for her; but i cannot, without telling my secret; so i must keep this, too, within my breast.” one day, while delivering packages for the bracy firm, for which he worked, tom came near running into the arms of joe vardam. he had one package marked, “mrs. silas grant, east st street.” after the maid had taken the package and he was turning to go, he saw joe vardam enter the house. the politician did not recognize the lad in uniform, and ever afterward tom "kept scarce" (in joe var- dam's terminology) in that vicinity. in the meantime tom and mary often met and in time they came to know each other well. mary discovered admirable traits in tom, and tom brinley’s escape tom discerned excellent qualities in mary. aside from going back to and from school, tom rarely went out, for he did not know when he might run into joe vardam. tom was always neatly attired, and presented a pleasing appearance. wherever he deliv- ered goods for his firm, the people were always satisfied with his service. some commented upon this, and many an extra dollar he had at the end of the month. he had rented a small room in order to save his money. to mary abbott he spoke but slightly of his past, however great was his yearning to do so. oftimes he felt that he could trust her with his secret. upon fred trower's return to the north, he told grace that he had met a man who informed him that tom brinley had been sent to the chain-gang, because he was a thief, an idler, and a dangerous character. but since his de- scription of the man tallied with the appear- ance of joe vardam, grace would not believe the charges against tom. she said little to fred about the matter, however. joe vardam had visited the grants in the course of his search for tom. this grace did not know until after a planned absence, ar- ranged for the purpose of avoiding this man. after she returned, however, she learned that he was in search of tom brinley. then, as if hope's highway in a vision, she remembered about the woman crying for her lost son,—the black woman of whom the little grant children had spoken. over to the de forests she went and after speaking to fanny about the matter, she saw mandy brinley and talked with her. after this talk grace was more than ever convinced of tom's innocence. for between fanny and grace, the conclusion had been established that joe vardam was a scheming rascal. so the grants were kept in ignorance of the where- abouts of tom's mother. after this visit grace called frequently to see fanny, and the friend- ship between the two grew strong and deep. chapter xiv tom in love time went on and with it tom had changed, -having grown taller and stouter. now he had a certain assurance that he could get by better than at first. he was preparing to graduate from hooper's institute in his twen- tieth year, and because of his brilliancy and oratorical ability, he was given the valedictory, which he felt even now unsafe to accept. so, because he begged to be excused, it passed on to the next. meanwhile, he had kept up his friendship with mary abbott, and though his tender feel- ing toward her was manifest, he did not dare to speak to her of his love. "mary is so hard to read,” he would say to himself. “she always seems so sympathetic in her manner, which somewhat puzzles me. she looks at me so tenderly, when she asks me ques- tions regarding my past, and which i try so hard to evade answering. it has been a great task for me to avoid telling her all in the few years in which i have known her. she has been tom in love man whom she had met at the institute and how much he reminded her of mandy the laun- dress. “the eyes are so much alike,” mary would say. nanna told her that mandy was in great dis- tress, as they were seeking the lad who had es- caped from the chain-gang and she knew that if they caught him they would lynch him. "i do feel so sorry for both,” said mary, “for i know they both suffer. it is so sad that those wicked people in the south are not brought to justice.” “some day them white trash' down there will get all they are lookin' for bless the lord!” returned nanna. it was then that mary began to suspect that frank hope was really tom brinley,—mandy's son. and she resolved that at the first oppor- tunity, she would reveal her suspicions to tom. one day tom felt that he must give vent to the pent-up feelings that were getting the better of him. he felt that he must tell some one. in his association at the institute he came in touch with a number of catholics. ofttimes he heard them speak of confession. then, too, he re- membered that one of the boys had committed a theft in a thoughtless moment, and when he thought over what he had done it worried him so much that he confessed to his priest, whose hope's highway influence went far towards making his punish- ment a slight one. then, too, he was rid of the dreadful remorse that attends a hidden crime. tom thought over all this very seriously, and determined to go to a priest and tell him his sad story. “i must unbosom my secret self,” he would often say to himself, “for i cannot stand this torture much longer.” mary abbott noticed that tom was greatly worried,—that recently he even evaded her presence. “if i could only help him, i would be so happy. i am almost sure that he is mandy's boy. i must tell him that i know it and that i want to help him. his mother would mean so much to him. if i could only bring them to- gether without even nanna knowing it! how i want to help him! can he not see that i care enough for him not to expose him?" she rea- soned. that mary might not consider him rude in his great distress tom dropped her these lines : dear mary: such a spell of melancholy has come over me, because of a great sorrow in my life, that i would not care to burden you with it. when i feel brighter i shall see you. yours, etc., frank hope. two weeks passed, during which time tom was making up his mind just what course to hope's highway “suppose i do say that i am tom brinley; what would you do?” “what should i do other than sympathize with you,-as i have been doing for the past three years? now i have a great surprise for you,-one that i wish you to hear of.” tom looked anxiously into mary's face. mary continued: “it is your mother that i desire to tell you of. she is laundress in the family with my aunt nanna, whom i have only recently found. now your life i have heard of, as she told nanna and nanna in turn told me. you must be very cau- tious, for the people your mother works for, the de forests, are great friends of the people whom joe vardam stopped with when he was up here searching for you.” tom's eagerness to see his dear mother knew no bounds. he wanted to go directly to her, no matter what might accrue to him from it, but at the look on mary's beautiful face when he expressed his rash desire, he yielded to the appeal of her worried countenance and said resignedly: “all right, mary. i shall let you arrange a meeting with your own tactfulness. only let me see my mother as soon as you can." mary wondered just how things could be ar- ranged, as tom's mother seldom went out, and tom brinley rescues grace he reached the door a neighbor called to him to bring her into the house where the two girls were being cared for. as soon as tom reached the air with the woman, she opened her eyes, and looking into the face of her rescuer, cried, “why, tom,-is this tom brinley?” he recognized the woman as one whom he had seen in his santa maria home,-grace en- nery. “yes, ma'am,'' he replied, “but don't expose me, please." by this time fred trower had reached grace's side with jack grant, whom grace had insisted upon fred's rescuing, with the rest of the children, before she permitted him to pay any attention to her. “fred,” she whispered, “this is the boy whom i sent you in search of. he is the one who prevented us from being overcome by the smoke.” tom put his finger to his lip in order to quiet her, fearing exposure. “give your address to mr. trower, and we shall arrange to talk with you, tom. do not fear anything, as we shall now,-since you have so bravely rescued us,-guard you with our lives." "good-by," whispered tom, as he handed his address to mr. trower and hurried out, not tom brinley rescues grace the upper part of the house only, and that part by smoke and water rather than by flames. when mr. and mrs. grant returned home from a social function, greatly frightened, - as they had been sent for,—the children told them excitedly how a colored man had come to the rescue when mr. trower had been almost overcome. “who was he, and what was his name?” in- quired mr. and mrs. grant, in a breath. “he wouldn't tell us his name. did he tell you, aunt grace? i saw him talking to you and mr. trower,” said jack with much con- cern. grace remained quiet, but fred trower broke in : "he did, but in our excitement we forgot it." “i thought that i saw him write something down,” margaret put in. “if he did, i don't really recall it,” was fred's reply. this conversation was interrupted by the maid, who came in to ask for help in removing some beds to the library. both mr. grant and fred went out to assist her. after everything had been arranged, fred left, promising to see grace on the morrow. going directly to the club, fred remained there talking of the fire and other things until hope's highway quite a late hour, when he returned home. while undressing for bed, he thought of the exciting events of the evening and of the bravery of tom brinley. “brave chap!” said fred aloud, as was his custom in the quiet of his apartment. “i won- der if such a fellow could be a dangerous char- acter. nevertheless, i'll size him up to-mor- row, and will let grace know what i think of him. let me see where he lives.” fred arose, took up his vest and to his great dismay found that the paper was not where he was sure he had placed it. he looked in the other pockets of the clothes that he wore; still he could not find it. his first impulse, of course, was to call up grace and ask her if she had found the slip of paper that tom brinley had given her. immediately he went to the 'phone and called up the grant house. of course, at this hour of the night, mr. grant was the one to answer the call, as all the servants were asleep in another part of the house. a night call always annoyed silas grant, as he never cared to be aroused from his sleep. and when both he and his wife were wakened by the ring just outside their door, he remarked: “who the devil is calling up at this hour of the night,-after all the excitement, too?”. “i can't imagine,” replied his wife. “prob- tom brinley rescues grace ably some one who has just heard of the fire and is calling up to see if we are all right. get up, silas, and see who it is.” mr. grant arose reluctantly, and after in- quiring who it was and finding out that it was fred trower, said: “what in the thunder do you want to wake us up at this hour of the night for?”. "awful sorry to bother you, grant, but i must speak to miss ennery upon a matter of very great importance.” “very great importance, hey? and can't wait until a decent hour to talk to her," snarled silas grant. and as he walked through the hall to miss ennery's door he muttered: “wakin' up everybody for a little nonsense." grace awoke when mr. grant called to her, and impatiently slipping on her boudoir slip- pers and gown, went to the 'phone. “fred, why could you not wait? mr. grant does not like this intrusion on his sleep." "sorry, grace, but i could not wait until morning to tell you that i lost the paper with tom's address on it. did you find it after i left you?” “o fred, how careless of you! what will you do? something must be done immediately." “what can i do? i don't know where to find him. i didn't notice what was on the card.”. hope's highway "o fred, this is dreadful! i'll look around and call you up if i find it. if you don't hear from me, come up to the house before you go to your office and we can determine upon some step to take under these unfortunate circum- stances. good-by for the present." grace, depressed, went on a search for the paper which would, however, mean much if found before it fell into another's hand. joe vardam had made the name of tom brinley well known in the grant home, as he had stayed with them when he was searching for tom. as has been said when grace heard of his coming, she purposely,—without letting the grants into the secret,—made a visit to a school chum, to avoid identification. and now the only thing to do was to find the card for should any of the grants get hold of the paper, it would surely mean a return to the chain-gang for the boy. poor grace searched everywhere for the missing slip of paper, but it failed to material- ize. she refrained from inquiring whether or not it had been seen, as she knew that she would surely incur suspicion. tired and fagged out from the hunt, she returned to her room a most unhappy woman. fred called early the next day and they talked seriously of some possible way to save hope's highway she called up fred trower, arranging for him to meet her immediately. this fred did in a remarkably short time, and away they went to find the address that grace bore in mind, for jack had read it in a very audible manner. they found the place, but the youth was not at home. gaining the desired information as to his place of employment, and finding out his assumed name, they called for him at the bracy establishment. when tom heard the news that he was wanted he thought that his hour had come, and as he went into the presence of fred and grace, he prepared himself for the inevitable. they took tom aside and told him what had happened. “you must leave immediately, as you are in danger, for these grants are friends of var- dam's,” remarked grace excitedly. as if he had been struck with a bolt, tom recalled the fact that he had delivered a pack- age at this very house, and had come almost face to face with the man who had done him so much wrong. grace looked up into her lover's face, saying: “suppose, fred, we send him out of the country? what boats are going out this morn- ing?" “let me see—the lusanne sails at twelve o'clock to-day. do you think he can make it?” immediatel. dam ", for these hope's highway to wait for him, as his stay is still indefinite. for a time we can rent an apartment; it's easy enough to make a change when we have found a suitable location. i have a notion that vardam will be up here in a few days, and i want you to be out of his way. to-day is wednesday. let us be married saturday in the little church around the corner.” “all right, fred; perhaps it is the proper thing now. and the coming true of my wish has made me so happy. yet we never have what we really want, after all, in this life. things happen so differently from what we desire. i wanted to talk with tom about his trouble. i firmly believe he met with foul play. some one wished to do him harm." “yes, grace, i, too, believe in the lad now, since i have seen him and know of his unselfish- ness. he seems utterly incapable of wrong-do- ing. his eyes are so wonderfully sympathetic. poor boy! if he is truly innocent,-as i believe him to be, his persecutors should be brought to justice." "fred, you had better leave me now and re- turn to the office while i go home and rest." “you need rest surely, for you look so care- worn. go home, and do not worry any more, but get yourself together for the event of our lives,-our wedding." grace smiled complacently as they parted, spirited away “i'm marrying on saturday morning, fanny, in the little church around the corner, and i want you present as a witness." “sure thing, kid, and i wish you piles of luck. you're getting the real stuff, grace. lots of girls have been crazy over him,-got the dough, you know (that is, his dad has, and he the only child). he's some catch, i tell you! why didn't you have a decent wedding? what's it so quick for? did the fire drive you to it?”. "no, not exactly," drawled grace, “and in a way it did. then, since we were really going to cross the rubicon, and neither of us cared about a large wedding, we thought we might as well cross now as at any time.” “well, perhaps you're right. after all, grace, what's in a wedding? it's the living afterwards that counts in the long run. by the way, they've found mandy's poor son, haven't they?” grace, reddening a bit, replied: “yes.” “mrs. grant said that they found his card after the fire, and some think he was the lad who rescued you." “that may be so," said grace. “if you could hear his poor mother talk, you would think he was an angel instead of the devil vardam pictures him to be. well, i hope's highway don't know; it's all very mysterious,—that he should be so good and at the same time so bad.". grace went after fanny had lavished all sorts of good wishes upon her. fanny de forest was a typical society girl, yet she had a sympathy which grace thought appealing, and even though fanny loved to go into society, at every chance she sought grace and took great delight in her company and in her art. she had a freedom of speech that was attractive in her, though at times she gave it rein until it trampled over the proprieties. despite this she never, because of her intuitive sympathy, gave offense. her wholesomeness, combined with this sympathy, had won grace's friendship. the wedding hope, and that he had been in the community several years. he had worked for the bracy firm, and since he had been north had entered and graduated from hooper's institute. they also discovered that, the morning he disap- peared, a man and woman, answering to the description of fred trower and miss ennery had been with him. the three had been traced to the wharf of the lusanne, upon which boat, they learned, the boy had taken passage under the name of lester trower. grace ennery and fred trower stood speech- less during this rehearsal. both failed to show any emotion, while mrs. trower sobbed and mrs. grant, between outbursts, stated how ter- rible it was to bring upon them such disgrace because of a worthless “nigger.". “why don't you talk, fred?” inquired his father. “i will, dad, when the time comes. come on in and let the ceremony go on.” a sadder group never entered a church for a wedding. mr. grant remained with the de- tectives, while the others went forward, where the few witnesses sat. after the ceremony the grant children and mrs. grant left immediately for their home, while mr. grant, the two detectives, grace, her husband, and mr. and mrs. trower were driven over to the station, where fred's father ar- . hope's highway ranged matters so that he and his bride could have an unmolested honeymoon. fanny de forest dismissed her own chaf- feur, at mrs. grant's request, and rode in the car with her and the children, so that they might have an opportunity to talk over the event that had just transpired. "well, even if fred and grace did spirit the boy away, i don't believe that he was the devil old vardam said he was,” fanny replied, after a short silence, having learned the facts of the case. then she went on: "did they admit doing what they were charged with?” “no, not one word did either of them utter regarding the affair," returned mrs. grant. “fred trower said that he would talk when the time came. i don't understand it one bit, fanny." “do you think, since they cannot get the boy, that they will ever take fred into custody?" asked fanny, with a serious look. “never! jail fred trower for a nigger? the only inconvenience he would experience would be a long-drawn-out trial perhaps, as it would be interstate. and about all they could do would be to fine fred for interference with the law." “poor fred, i believe he is doing it all for her! she is so unprejudiced in her feelings, so loyal! she has a strong flow of anti-slavery the trial their opponents were uttering in behalf of a member of a race that they hated with all their hearts. vardam was then called upon, and he arose to his feet. clearing his throat, he told of every conceivable guilt he could name that the blacks were associated with. he spoke of black men's assaulting white women, of the negro's neglect, idleness, and laziness, of their feigning good behavior when the northern whites were around and of the latter's interference with the southern laws, making the negro contemptuous, and hard to manage by his southern employers. “may i ask,” interrupted the judge, “what this tom brinley was sent to the chain-gang for?" vardam cleared his throat and replied: “he was surly, rude, idle, and a dangerous character.” “did i not hear that he stole?” “oh, yes," vardam quickly responded. “what did he steal?” “a number of things." “name some of them.” “i object," interposed vardam's lawyer. “if i can have one concrete example to place him in the criminal class, i can see where fred- erick trower and his wife protected a criminal. but up to this point, i cannot see where he has been a dangerous character in the community.” hope's highway “well, i tell you they are all dangerous, every confounded one of them.” “that is sufficient," said the judge. then tilton was called to the witness chair. “what do you know of tom brinley," asked the judge. “everything bad," answered tilton, rather glumly. "what connection did he have with you?" “he worked for me.” at this remark mandy brinley sobbed aloud, for she knew that tom had never laid eyes upon this man that stood there, lying. “what work did he do?” “worked in my rice-fields, and while there he created disturbances among the other work- ers." “then,” remarked the judge, “do i under- stand that you sent him, for no particular of- fense, to the chain-gang, where after being driven and lashed and starved, he loosens his chains, steals tools from the drunken guard, beats him into unconsciousness, and escapes ? that is what any of us would have done under the circumstances.” at this moment the court-room door opened and tom brinley walked slowly down the aisle. those who knew him could not have been more startled. tom's mother screamed out, and joe hope's highway relieved from harshness by the twinkle in his eye. and those slightly curved lips could break into a beautiful smile. not exactly a handsome face, yet it was a decidedly noble one. suffering and sorrow showed there; but it was suffering and sorrow that had been con- quered and mastered that was expressed in that countenance. and the form they saw was in keeping with the head and face; a form slightly above the medium height, erect, broad-shouldered and deep-chested, with that ease of movement that betokens great strength and agility. it was easily seen that tom had made a favorable impression upon his audience before he began to speak in calm, measured tones, with a well-modulated voice. amid breathless silence tom began his story. he told a most touching tale of his life with his mother at santa maria, stating that he did all that he could to help her. he told the court how vardam laid in wait for him, as was his habit with other ambitious individuals of his race. he told a pitiful tale of the chain- gang, having sufficient presence of mind not to mention uncle abbott; yet he did say that he found others there as innocent of crime as he was. he said, in reference to the overseer whom he incapacitated, that he had hoped in his escape to meet no obstacle and that when tom brinley at oxford were his constant correspondents. as for grace trower, she was enthusiastic over tom's letters, and the zeal with which the boy took up his work. westminster abbey, wherein are buried all the english celebrities, was the place in which tom loved to wander. for hours he would sit and study this last resting-place of england's famed sons, awed and impressed by its silent grandeur. mary abbott kept tom in touch with his coun- try's activities. after he was away two years, great excitement was being manifested over the country's threatened war with japan. then, too, the question that his people were pressing was “the admittance of the negro into the state militia." "no," cried many; “yes,” cried a few. “what are we,” ex- claimed tom, on reading of the issue, “that even to die for one's country is too great an honor?!! tom, on account of his excellent record, was admitted into some of the most exclusive so- cieties of the university. he was even priv- ileged to attend social functions. the social attitude of the english people puzzled him, for he thought that socially his color would be a barrier as long as he lived, so far as mingling with white man was concerned. though en- joying every privilege, tom never took ad- hope's highway mood, “will vardam and tilton hold their cruel sway because of politics ?”. not many days after one of his periods of thinking of santa maria he received a letter from mary, who was then teaching in a south- ern school. in it she sent a newspaper clipping, which read as follows: the vance institute has closed its doors. so indifferent were its students to what the great john vance saw fit to leave for an unworthy people that it could not continue to open its doors to emptiness. in the letter mary stated that politics had grown so rotten in and around santa maria that the appropriation left in trust had been misused, and that there were no funds left to keep this greatest of southern institutes open to the people that it was intended to help. then she added: if some one could have followed the leader, who, like him, had the love of his people at heart, things would not have taken the course that they did. "following the leader," breathed tom. “could i but do this, mary, it would be the realization of my dearest wish. but i cannot follow the leader in santa maria. if i follow him, it must be elsewhere." time passed and tom made many good friends. he applied himself arduously to his studies, never feeling that he could spend any hope's highway there to follow that grand and noble leader and once more place upon a solid footing this institute, the pride of the south tom closed the paper, laid it down, and, with his face buried in his palms, he pondered. at this moment there came a knock at the door. he occupied a suite in one of the finest french hotels. the garçon, speaking in french,- which tom understood well,—told him that he was wanted below. rising, he descended a magnificent stairway and entered a luxuriously appointed salon, where a representative of the president of france awaited him. tom's visitor informed him that he was authorized to offer him an important consulate. when tom had expressed his appreciation of the conference of this great honor upon him, -he said quietly: “duty calls me across the seas to my op- pressed and forsaken people. i must go and serve them; i must spend my days in lifting them out of their igorance, so that their condi- tion may be altered. i thank you for the great opportunity you have given me to prove my manhood. to england i owe much, because of the advantages she gave me of an education without restrictions. i shall go to my people, taking those european ideals, which i trust shall ever be a part of me, and my prayer to the almighty shall be for strength to bear un- the call of his people complainingly the scourge of prejudice, which, because of unfair laws, has been allowed to run wild in my own, my native land.” in a few days tom was en route to america. as he leaned over the rail to bid good-by to england and france,-secure in the strength of the glories of centuries, and afterwards turning his face toward his own land, he said: “i come back to you, my country, which i love and revere. you have unjust laws; you are unfair to my people; but i believe in your fu- ture. i have faith in you, though you mete out partial justice to me and mine, and i shall be- lieve in you as long as i hear christ's name among you. for through supreme love only may i and my people hope for a greater free- dom.” tom's coming was a surprise to all. and the joy of the trowers, especially grace, could not be imagined. they, with the grants, had hoped that he would find some worthy occupation in europe; but when they were told of what had occurred in santa maria, and of how he was on his way to offer his services to the vance in- stitute, with the aim of devoting the rest of his life to the carrying out of the glorious work that the great leader had started, they could not understand how he could turn his back upon a career rich in honors, in order to serve a hopeless institution. . Зі - см cane jean toomer pomer : with a foreword by waldo frank oracular. redolent of fermenting syrup, purple of the dusk, deep-rooted cane. liveright new york acergraduate library ps copyright © by boni & liveright ® by jean toomer . ca, standard book number: - - [ library of congress catalog card number: - manufactured in the united states of america - to my grandmother ... foreword r eading this book, i had the vision of a i land, heretofore sunk in the mists of mute- ness,suddenly rising up into the eminence of song, innumerable books have been written about the south; some good books have been written in the south. this book is the south. i do not mean that cane covers the south or is the south's full voice. merely this: a poet has arisen among our american youth who has known how to turn the essences and materials of his southland into the essences and materials of literature. a poet has arisen in that land who writes, not as a south- erner, not as a rebel against southerners, not as a negro, not as apologist or priest or critic: who writes as a poet. the fashioning of beauty is ever foremost in his inspiration: not forcedly but simply, and because these ultimate aspects of his world are to him more real than all its specific problems. he has made songs and lovely sto- ries of his land ... not of its yesterday, but of its immediate life. and that has been enough. how rare this is will be clear to those who [vii] foreword have followed with concern the struggle of the south toward literary expression, and the par- ticular trial of that portion of its folk whose skin is dark. the gifted negro has been too often thwarted from becoming a poet because his world was forever forcing him to recollect that he was a negro. the artist must lose such lesser identities in the great well of life. the english poet is not forever protesting and recall- ing that he is english. it is so natural and easy for him to be english that he can sing as a man. the french novelist is not forever noting: “this is french.” it is so atmospheric for him to be french, that he can devote himself to saying: “this is human.” this is an imperative con- dition for the creating of deep art. the whole will and mind of the creator must go below the surfaces of race. and this has been an almost impossible condition for the american negro to achieve, forced every moment of his life into a specific and superficial plane of consciousness. the first negative significance of cane is that this so natural and restrictive state of mind is completely lacking. for toomer, the southland is not a problem to be solved; it is a field of love- (viii] foreword liness to be sung: the georgia negro is not a downtrodden soul to be uplifted; he is material for gorgeous painting: the segregated self- conscious brown belt of washington is not a topic to be discussed and exposed; it is a subject of beauty and of drama, worthy of creation in literary form. it seems to me, therefore, that this is a first book in more ways than one. it is a harbinger of the south's literary maturity: of its emergence from the obsession put upon its minds by the unending racial crisis—an obsession from which writers have made their indirect escape through sentimentalism, exoticism, polemic, “problem” fiction, and moral melodrama. it marks the dawn of direct and unafraid creation. and, as the initial work of a man of twenty-seven, it is the harbinger of a literary force of whose incal- culable future i believe no reader of this book will be in doubt. how typical is cane of the south's still virgin soil and of its pressing seeds! and the book's chaos of verse, tale, drama, its rhythmic rolling shift from lyrism to narrative, from mystery to intimate. pathos! but read the book through [ix] foreword and you will see a complex and significant form take substance from its chaos. part one is the primitive and evanescent black world of georgia. part two is the threshing and suffering brown world of washington, lifted by opportunity and contact into the anguish of self-conscious strug- gle. part three is georgia again . . . the in- vasion into this black womb of the ferment seed: the neurotic, educated, spiritually stirring negro. as a broad form this is superb, and the very looseness and unexpected waves of the book's parts make cane still more south, still more of an æsthetic equivalent of the land, what a land it is! what an Æschylean beauty to its fateful problem! those of you who love our south will find here some of your love. those of you who know it not will per- haps begin to understand what a warm splendor is at last at dawn. a feast of moon and men and barking hounds, an orgy for some genius of the south with bloodshot eyes and cane-lipped scented mouth surprised in making folk-songs .... so, in his still sometimes clumsy stride (for foreword toomer is finally a poet in prose) the author gives you an inkling of his revelation. an indi- vidual force, wise enough to drink humbly at this great spring of his land . . . such is the first impression of jean toomer. but beyond this wisdom and this power (which shows itself perhaps most splendidly in his complete free- dom from the sense of persecution), there rises a figure more significant: the artist, hard, self- immolating, the artist who is not interested in races, whose domain is life. the book's final part is no longer "promise"; it is achievement. it is no mere dawn: it is a bit of the full morn- ing. these materials ... the ancient black man, mute, inaccessible, and yet so mystically close to the new tumultuous members of his race, the simple slave past, the shredding negro present, the iridescent passionate dream of the to-morrow . . . are made and measured by a craftsman into an unforgettable music. the notes of his counterpoint are particular, the themes are of intimate connection with us amer- icans. but the result is that abstract and abso- lute thing called art. waldo frank. (xi) karintha her skin is like dusk on the eastern horizon, o cant you see it, О cant you see it, her skin is like dusk on the eastern horizon ... when the sun goes down. en had always wanted her, this karintha, i even as a child, karintha carrying beauty, perfect as dusk when the sun goes down. old men rode her hobby-horse upon their knees. young men danced with her at frolics when they should have been dancing with their grown- up girls. god grant us youth, secretly prayed the old men. the young fellows counted the time to pass before she would be old enough to mate with them. this interest of the male, who wishes to ripen a growing thing too soon, could mean no good to her. manage karintha, at twelve, was a wild flash that told the other folks just what it was to live. at sunset, when there was no wind, and the pine- [ ] cane smoke from over by the sawmill hugged the earth, and you couldnt see more than a few feet in front, her sudden darting past you was a bit of vivid color, like a black bird that flashes in light. with the other children one could hear, some distance off, their feet flopping in the two- inch dust. karintha's running was a whir. it had the sound of the red dust that sometimes makes a spiral in the road. at dusk, during the hush just after the sawmill had closed down, and before any of the women had started their supper-getting-ready songs, her voice, high- pitched, shrill, would put one's ears to itching. but no one ever thought to make her stop be- cause of it. she stoned the cows, and beat her dog, and fought the other children. . . even the preacher, who caught her at mischief, told himself that she was as innocently lovely as a november cotton flower. already, rumors were out about her. homes in georgia are most often built on the two-room plan. in one, you cook and eat, in the other you sleep, and there love goes on. karintha had seen or heard, perhaps she had felt her parents loving. one could but imitate one's parents, for to follow them was the [ ] karintha way of god. she played "home" with a small boy who was not afraid to do her bidding. that started the whole thing. old men could no longer ride her hobby-horse upon their knees. but young men counted faster. her skin is like dusk, o cant you see it, her skin is like dusk, when the sun goes down. karintha is a woman. she who carries beauty, perfect as dusk when the sun goes down. she has been married many times. old men remind her that a few years back they rode her hobby- horse upon their knees. karintha smiles, and indulges them when she is in the mood for it. she has contempt for them. karintha is a woman. young men run stills to make her money. young men go to the big cities and run on the road. young men go away to college. they all want to bring her money. these are the young men who thought that all they had to [ ] cane do was to count time. but karintha is a woman, and she has had a child. a child fell out of her womb onto a bed of pine-needles in the for- est. pine-needles are smooth and sweet. they are elastic to the feet of rabbits. . . a sawmill was nearby. its pyramidal sawdust pile smouldered. it is a year before one completely burns. meanwhile, the smoke curls up and hangs in odd wraiths about the trees, curls up, and spreads itself out over the valley. . . weeks after karintha returned home the smoke was so heavy you tasted it in water. some one made a song: smoke is on the hills. rise up. smoke is on the hills, o rise and take my soul to jesus. karintha is a woman. men do not know that the soul of her was a growing thing ripened too soon. they will bring their money; they will die not having found it out. . . karintha at [ ] reapers black reapers with the sound of steel on stones are sharpening scythes. i see them place the hones in their hip-pockets as a thing that's done, and start their silent swinging, one by one. black horses drive a mower through the weeds, and there, a field rat, startled, squealing bleeds, his belly close to ground. i see the blade, blood-stained, continue cutting weeds and shade. november cotton flower boll-weevil's coming, and the winter's cold, made cotton-stalks look rusty, seasons old, and cotton, scarce as any southern snow, was vanishing; the branch, so pinched and slow, failed in its function as the autumn rake; drouth fighting soil had caused the soil to take all water from the streams; dead birds were found in wells a hundred feet below the ground- such was the season when the flower bloomed. old folks were startled, and it soon assumed significance. superstition saw something it had never seen before: brown eyes that loved without a trace of fear, beauty so sudden for that time of year. becky becky was the white woman who had two negro sons. she's dead; they've gone away. the pines whisper to jesus. the bible flaps its leaves with an aimless rustle on her mound. recky had one negro son. who gave it to her? damn buck nigger, said the white folks' mouths. she wouldnt tell. common, god-forsaken, insane white shameless wench, said the white folks' mouths. her eyes were sunken, her neck stringy, her breasts fallen, till then. taking their words, they filled her, like a bubble rising—then she broke. mouth setting in a twist that held her eyes, harsh, vacant, staring. . . who gave it to her? low-down nigger with no self-respect, said the black folks' mouths. she wouldnt tell. poor catholic poor- white crazy woman, said the black folks' mouths. white folks and black folks built her cabin, fed her and her growing baby, prayed secretly to god who'd put his cross upon her and cast her out. [ ] becky when the first was born, the white folks said they'd have no more to do with her. and black folks, they too joined hands to cast her out. . . the pines whispered to jesus. . the railroad boss said not to say he said it, but she could live, if she wanted to, on the narrow strip of land between the railroad and the road. john stone, who owned the lumber and the bricks, would have shot the man who told he gave the stuff to lonnie deacon, who stole out there at night and built the cabin. a single room held down to earth. . . o fly away to jesus ... by a leaning chimney. . . six trains each day rumbled past and shook the ground under her cabin. fords, and horse- and mule-drawn buggies went back and forth along the road. no one ever saw her. train- men, and passengers who'd heard about her, threw out papers and food. threw out little - crumpled slips of paper scribbled with prayers, as they passed her eye-shaped piece of sandy ground. ground islandized between the road and railroad track. pushed up where a blue- sheen god with listless eyes could look at it. [ ] becky no one knew, and least of all themselves. they drifted around from job to job. we, who had cast out their mother because of them, could we take them in? they answered black and white folks by shooting up two men and leaving town. "godam the white folks; godam the niggers," they shouted as they left town. becky? smoke curled up from her chimney; she must be there. trains passing shook the ground. the ground shook the leaning chimney. nobody noticed it. a creepy feeling came over all who saw that thin wraith of smoke and felt the trembling of the ground. folks began to take her food again. they quit it soon because they had a fear. becky if dead might be a hant, and if alive-it took some nerve even to mention it. . . o pines, whisper to jesus. . . it was sunday. our congregation had been visiting at pulverton, and were coming home. there was no wind. the autumn sun, the bell from ebenezer church, listless and heavy. even the pines were stale, sticky, like the smell of food that makes you sick. before we turned the bend of the road that would show us the becky cabin, [ ] cane the horses stopped stock-still, pushed back their ears, and nervously whinnied. we urged, then whipped them on. quarter of a mile away thin smoke curled up from the leaning chimney. . . opines, whisper to jesus. . . goose-flesh came on my skin though there still was neither chill nor wind. eyes left their sockets for the cabin. ears burned and throbbed. uncanny eclipse! fear closed my mind. we were just about to pass. .. pines shout to jesus! .. the ground trembled as a ghost train rumbled by. the chimney fell into the cabin. its thud was like a hollow report, ages having passed since it went off. barlo and i were pulled out of our seats. dragged to the door that had swung open. through the dust we saw the bricks in a mound upon the floor. becky, if she was there, lay under them. i thought i heard a groan. barlo, mumbling something, threw his bible on the pile. (no one has ever touched it.) some- how we got away. my buggy was still on the road. the last thing that i remember was whip- ping old dan like fury; i remember nothing after that—that is, until i reached town and [ ] becky folks crowded round to get the true word of it. becky was the white woman who had two negro sons. she's dead; they've gone away. the pines whisper to jesus. the bible flaps its leaves with an aimless rustle on her mound. [ ] face hair- silver-gray, like streams of stars, brows- recurved canoes quivered by the ripples blown by pain, her eyes— mist of tears condensing on the flesh below and her channeled muscles are cluster grapes of sorrow purple in the evening sun nearly ripe for worms. ( ) cotton song come, brother, come. lets lift it; come now, hewit! roll away! shackles fall upon the judgment day but lets not wait for it. god's body's got a soul, bodies like to roll the soul, cant blame god if we dont roll, come, brother, roll, roll! cotton bales are the fleecy way weary sinner's bare feet trod, softly, softly to the throne of god, “we aint agwine t wait until th judgment day! nassur; nassur, hump. eoho, eoho, roll away! we aint agwine t wait until th judgment day!" god's body's got a soul, bodies like to roll the soul, cant blame god if we dont roll, come, brother, roll, roll! [ ] carma wind is in the cane. come along. cane leaves swaying, rusty with talk,, scratching choruses above the guinea's squawk, wind is in the cane. come along. carma, in overalls, and strong as any man, stands behind the old brown mule, driving the wagon home. it bumps, and groans, and shakes as it crosses the railroad track. she, rid- ing it easy. i leave the men around the stove to follow her with my eyes down the red dust road. nigger woman driving a georgia chariot down an old dust road. dixie pike is what they call it. maybe she feels my gaze, perhaps she ex- pects it. anyway, she turns. the sun, which has been slanting over her shoulder, shoots prim- itive rockets into her mangrove-gloomed, yellow flower face. hi! yip! god has left the moses- people for the nigger. "gedap.” using reins to slap the mule, she disappears in a cloudy rumble at some indefinite point along the road. [ ] carma (the sun is hammered to a band of gold. pine-needles, like mazda, are brilliantly aglow. no rain has come to take the rustle from the falling sweet-gum leaves. over in the forest, across the swamp, a sawmill blows its closing whistle. smoke curls up. marvelous web spun by the spider sawdust pile. curls up and spreads itself pine-high above the branch, a single silver band along the eastern valley. a black boy . . . you are the most sleepiest man i ever seed, sleeping beauty . . . cradled on a gray mule, guided by the hollow sound of cow- bells, heads for them through a rusty cotton field. from down the railroad track, the chug- chug of a gas engine announces that the repair gang is coming home. a girl in the yard of a whitewashed shack not much larger than the stack of worn ties piled before it, sings. her voice is loud. echoes, like rain, sweep the valley. dusk takes the polish from the rails. lights twinkle in scattered houses. from far away, a sad strong song. pungent and com, posite, the smell of farmyards is the fragrance of the woman. she does not sing; her body is a song. she is in the forest, dancing. torches [ ] cane flare . . juju men, greegree, witch-doctors . . torches go out. . . the dixie pike has grown from a goat path in africa. night. foxie, the bitch, slicks back her ears and barks at the rising moon.) wind is in the corn. come along. corn leaves swaying, rusty with talk, scratching choruses above the guinea's squawk, wind is in the corn. come along. carma's tale is the crudest melodrama. her husband's in the gang. and its her fault he got there. working with a contractor, he was away most of the time. she had others. no one blames her for that. he returned one day and hung around the town where he picked up week- old boasts and rumors. . . bane accused her. she denied. he couldnt see that she was be- coming hysterical. he would have liked to take his fists and beat her. who was strong as a man. stronger. words, like corkscrews, wormed to her strength. it fizzled out. grabbing a gun, she rushed from the house and plunged across [ ] cane who'd stumbled over her. now he's in the gang. who was her husband. should she not take others, this carma, strong as a man, whose tale as i have told it is the crudest melodrama? wind is in the cane. come along. cane leaves swaying, rusty with talk, scratching choruses above the guinea's squawk, wind is in the cane. come along. [ ] be aware of song of the son who you i were. pour pour that parting soul in song, o pour it in the sawdust glow of night, into the velvet pine-smoke air to-night, and let the valley carry it along. and let the valley carry it along. o land and soil, red soil and sweet-gum tree, so scant of grass, so profligate of pines, now just before an epoch's sun declines thy son, in time, i have returned to thee, thy son, i have in time returned to thee. in time, for though the sun is setting on a song-lit race of slaves, it has not set; though late, o soil, it is not too late yet to catch thy plaintive soul, leaving, soon gone, leaving, to catch thy plaintive soul soon gone. o negro slaves, dark purple ripened plums, squeezed, and bursting in the pine-wood air, passing, before they stripped the old tree bare one plum was saved for me, one seed becomes an everlasting song, a singing tree, caroling softly souls of slavery, what they were, and what they are to me, caroling softly souls of slavery. [ ] georgia dusk the sky, lazily disdaining to pursue the setting sun, too indolent to hold a lengthened tournament for flashing gold, passively darkens for night's barbecue, a feast of moon and men, and barking hounds, an orgy for some genius of the south with blood-hot eyes and cane-lipped scented mouth, surprised in making folk-songs from soul sounds. the sawmill blows its whistle, buzz-saws stop, and silence breaks the bud of knoll and hill, soft settling pollen where plowed lands fulfill their early promise of a bumper crop. smoke from the pyramidal sawdust pile curls up, blue ghosts of trees, tarrying low where only chips and stumps are left to show the solid proof of former domicile. remains meanwhile, the men, with vestiges of pomp, race memories of king and caravan, high-priests, an ostrich, and a juju-man, go singing through the footpaths of the swamp. pindo lo [ ] their voices rise . . the pine trees are guitars, strumming, pine-needles fall like sheets of rain . . their voices rise : . the chorus of the cane is caroling a vesper to the stars. . stresor o singers, resinous and soft your songs above the sacred whisper of the pines, give virgin lips to cornfield concubines, bring dreams of christ to dusky cane-lipped throngs. ents a gaublique singing [ ] fern face flowed into her eyes. flowed in soft cream foam and plaintive ripples, in such a way that wherever your glance may mo- mentarily have rested, it immediately thereafter wavered in the direction of her eyes. the soft suggestion of down slightly darkened, like the shadow of a bird's wing might, the creamy brown color of her upper lip. why, after notic- ing it, you sought her eyes, i cannot tell you. her nose was aquiline, semitic. if you have heard a jewish cantor sing, if he has touched you and made your own sorrow seem trivial when compared with his, you will know my feel- ing when i follow the curves of her profile, like mobile rivers, to their common delta. they were strange eyes. in this, that they sought noth- ing—that is, nothing that was obvious and tan- gible and that one could see, and they gave the impression that nothing was to be denied. when a woman seeks, you will have observed, her eyes deny. fern's eyes desired nothing that you [ ] fern could give her; there was no reason why they should withhold. men saw her eyes and fooled themselves. fern's eyes said to them that she was easy. when she was young, a few men took her, but got no joy from it. and then, once done, they felt bound to her (quite unlike their hit and run with other girls), felt as though it would take them a lifetime to fulfill an obliga- tion which they could find no name for. they became attached to her, and hungered after find- ing the barest trace of what she might desire. as she grew up, new men who came to town felt as almost everyone did who ever saw her: that they would not be denied. men were everlast- ingly bringing her their bodies. something in- side of her got tired of them, i guess, for i am certain that for the life of her she could not tell why or how she began to turn them off. a man in fever is no trifling thing to send away. they began to leave her, baffled and ashamed, yet vowing to themselves that some day they would do some fine thing for her: send her candy every week and not let her know whom it came from, watch out for her wedding-day and give her a magnificent something with no name on it, buy [ ] cane a house and deed it to her, rescue her from some unworthy fellow who had tricked her into marry- ing him. as you know, men are apt to idolize or fear that which they cannot understand, es- pecially if it be a woman. she did not deny them, yet the fact was that they were denied. a sort of superstition crept into their consciousness of her being somehow above them. being above them meant that she was not to be approached by anyone. she became a virgin. now a virgin in a small southern town is by no means the usual thing, if you will believe me. that the sexes were made to mate is the practice of the south. particularly, black folks were made to mate. and it is black folks whom i have been talking about thus far. what white men thought of fern i can arrive at only by analogy. they let her alone. anyone, of course, could see her, could see her eyes. if you walked up the dixie pike most any time of day, you'd be most like to see her resting listless-like on the railing of her porch, back propped against a post, head tilted a little forward because there was a nail in the porch [ ] fern post just where her head came which for some reason or other she never took the trouble to pull out. her eyes, if it were sunset, rested idly where the sun, molten and glorious, was pouring down between the fringe of pines. or maybe they gazed at the gray cabin on the knoll from which an evening folk-song was coming. per- haps they followed a cow that had been turned loose to roam and feed on cotton-stalks and corn leaves. like as not they'd settle on some vague spot above the horizon, though hardly a trace of wistfulness would come to them. if it were dusk, then they'd wait for the search-light of the evening train which you could see miles up the track before it flared across the dixie pike, close to her home. wherever they looked, you'd follow them and then waver back. like her face, the whole countryside seemed to flow into her eyes. flowed into them with the soft listless cadence of georgia's south a young negro, once, was looking at her, spellbound, from the road. a white man passing in a buggy had to flick him with his whip if he was to get by without run- ning him over. i first saw her on her porch. i was passing with a fellow whose crusty numb- [ ] cane ness (i was from the north and suspected of be- ing prejudiced and stuck-up) was melting as he found me warm. i asked him who she was. “that's fern,” was all that i could get from him. some folks already thought that i was given to nosing around; i let it go at that, so far as questions were concerned. but at first sight of her i felt as if i heard a jewish cantor sing. as if his singing rose above the unheard chorus of a folk-song. and i felt bound to her. i too had my dreams: something i would do for her. i have knocked about from town to town too much not to know the futility of mere change of place. besides, picture if you can, this cream- colored solitary girl sitting at a tenement window looking down on the indifferent throngs of har- lem. better that she listen to folk-songs at dusk in georgia, you would say, and so would i. or, suppose she came up north and married. even a doctor or a lawyer, say, one who would be sure to get along—that is, make money. you and i know, who have had experience in such things, that love is not a thing like prejudice which can be bettered by changes of town. could men in washington, chicago, or new york, [ ] fern more than the men of georgia, bring her some- thing left vacant by the bestowal of their bodies? you and i who know men in these cities will have to say, they could not. see her out and out a prostitute along state street in chicago. see her move into a southern town where white men are more aggressive. see her become a white man's concubine... something i must do for her. there was myself. what could i do for her? talk, of course. push back the fringe of pines upon new horizons. to what purpose? and what for? her? myself? men in her case seem to lose their selfishness. i lost mine before i touched her. i ask you, friend (it makes no difference if you sit in the pullman or the jim crow as the train crosses her road), what thoughts would come to you—that is, after you'd finished with the thoughts that leap into men's minds at the sight of a pretty woman who will not deny them; what thoughts would come to you, had you seen her in a quick flash, keen and intuitively, as she sat there on her porch when your train thundered by? would you have got off at the next station and come back for her to take her where? would you have [ ] fern before me had said just that as a prelude to the offering of their bodies. i tried to tell her with my eyes. i think she understood. the thing from her that made my throat catch, vanished. its passing left her visible in a way i'd thought, but never seen. we walked down the pike with people on all the porches gaping at us. “doesnt it make you mad?” she meant the row of petty gossiping people. she meant the world. through a canebrake that was ripe for cutting, the branch was reached. under a sweet-gum tree, and where reddish leaves had dammed the creek a little, we sat down. dusk, suggesting the almost imperceptible procession of giant trees, settled with a purple haze about the cane. i felt strange, as i always do in georgia, par- ticularly at dusk. i felt that things unseen to, men were tangibly immediate. it would not have surprised me had i had vision. people have them in georgia more often than you would suppose. a black woman once saw the mother of christ and drew her in charcoal on the court- house wall. . . when one is on the soil of one's ancestors, most anything can come to one... from force of habit, i suppose, i held fern in [ ] cane my arms—that is, without at first noticing it. then my mind came back to her. her eyes, unusually weird and open, held me. held god. he flowed in as i've seen the countryside flow in. seen men. i must have done something- what, i dont know, in the confusion of my emotion. she sprang up. rushed some distance from me. fell to her knees, and began swaying, swaying. her body was tortured with some- thing it could not let out. like boiling sap it flooded arms and fingers till she shook them as if they burned her. it found her throat, and spattered inarticulately in plaintive, convulsive sounds, mingled with calls to christ jesus. and then she sang, brokenly. a jewish cantor sing- ing with a broken voice. a child's voice, un- certain, or an old man's. dusk hid her; i could hear only her song. it seemed to me as though she were pounding her head in anguish upon the ground. i rushed to her. she fainted in my arms. there was talk about her fainting with me in the canefield. and i got one or two ugly looks from town men who'd set themselves up to pro- [ ] fern tect her. in fact, there was talk of making me leave town. but they never did. they kept a watch-out for me, though. shortly after, i came back north. from the train window i saw her as i crossed her road. saw her on her porch, head tilted a little forward where the nail was, eyes vaguely focused on the sunset. saw her face flow into them, the countryside and something that i call god, flowing into them. . . nothing ever really happened. nothing ever came to fern, not even i. something i would do for her. some fine unnamed thing. . . and, friend, you? she is still living, i have reason to know. her name, against the chance that you might happen down that way, is fernie may rosen. [ ] nullo a spray of pine-needles, dipped in western horizon gold, fell onto a path. dry moulds of cow-hoofs. in the forest. rabbits knew not of their falling, nor did the forest catch aflame. [ ] esther nine. esther's hair falls in soft curls about l her high-cheek-boned chalk-white face. esther's hair would be beautiful if there were more gloss to it. and if her face were not pre- maturely serious, one would call it pretty. her cheeks are too flat and dead for a girl of nine. esther looks like a little white child, starched, frilled, as she walks slowly from her home towards her father's grocery store. she is about to turn in broad from maple street. white and black men loafing on the corner hold no inter- est for her. then a strange thing happens. a clean-muscled, magnificent, black-skinned negro, whom she had heard her father mention as king barlo, suddenly drops to his knees on a spot called the spittoon. white men, unaware of him, continue squirting tobacco juice in his direction. the saffron fluid splashes on his [ ] esther coast wasnt free, he left the old-coast brothers, t give birth t you an me. o lord, great god almighty, t give birth t you an me.”. barlo pauses. old gray mothers are in tears. fragments of melodies are being hummed. white folks are touched and curiously awed. off to themselves, white and black preachers confer as to how best to rid themselves of the vagrant, usurping fellow. barlo looks as though he is struggling to continue. people are hushed. one can hear weevils work. dusk is falling rapidly, and the customary store lights fail to throw their feeble glow across the gray dust and flagging of the georgia town. barlo rises to his full height. he is immense. to the people he assumes the outlines of his visioned african. in a mighty voice he bellows: "brothers an sisters, turn your faces t th sweet face of the lord, an fill your hearts with glory. open your eyes an see th dawnin of th mornin light. open your ears—". years afterwards esther was told that at that very moment a great, heavy, rumbling voice ac- tually was heard. that hosts of angels and of demons paraded up and down the streets all [ ] cane night. that king barlo rode out of town astride a pitch-black bull that had a glowing gold ring in its nose. and that old limp underwood, who hated niggers, woke up next morning to find that he held a black man in his arms. this much is certain: an inspired negress, of wide reputation for being sanctified, drew a portrait of a black madonna on the court-house wall. and king barlo left town. he left his image indelibly upon the mind of esther. he became the starting point of the only living patterns that her mind was to know. i . sixteen. esther begins to dream. the low evening sun sets the windows of mcgregor's notion shop aflame. esther makes believe that they really are aflame. the town fire department rushes madly down the road. it ruthlessly shoves black and white idlers to one side. it whoops. it clangs. it rescues from the second-story win- dow a dimpled infant which she claims for her own. how had she come by it? she thinks of [ ] esther m it immaculately. it is a sin to think of it im- maculately. she must dream no more. she must repent her sin. another dream comes. there is no fire department. there are no heroic men. the fire starts. the loafers on the corner form a circle, chew their tobacco faster, and squirt juice just as fast as they can chew. gallons on top of gallons they squirt upon the flames. the air reeks with the stench of scorched tobacco juice. women, fat chunky negro women, lean scrawny white women, pull their skirts up above their heads and display the most ludicrous underclothes. the women scoot in all directions from the danger zone. she alone is left to take the baby in her arms. but what a baby! black, singed, woolly, tobacco-juice baby-ugly as sin. once held to her breast, miraculous thing: its breath is sweet and its lips can nibble. she loves it frantically. her joy in it changes the town folks' jeers to harmless jealousy, and she is left alone. twenty-two. esther's schooling is over. she works behind [ ] cane the counter of her father's grocery store. “to keep the money in the family,” so he said. she is learning to make distinctions between the busi- ness and the social worlds. “good business comes from remembering that the white folks dont divide the niggers, esther. be just as black as any man who has a silver dollar." esther listlessly forgets that she is near white, and that her father is the richest colored man in town. black folk who drift in to buy lard and snuff and flour of her, call her a sweet-natured, accommodating girl. she learns their names. she forgets them. she thinks about men. "i dont appeal to them. i wonder why." she re- calls an affair she had with a little fair boy while still in school. it had ended in her shame when he as much as told her that for sweetness he pre- ferred a lollipop. she remembers the salesman from the north who wanted to take her to the movies that first night he was in town. she refused, of course. and he never came back, having found out who she was. she thinks of barlo. barlo's image gives her a slightly stale thrill. she spices it by telling herself his glories. black. magnetically so. best cotton picker in [ ] esther the county, in the state, in the whole world for that matter. best man with his fists, best man with dice, with a razor. promoter of church benefits. of colored fairs. vagrant preacher. lover of all the women for miles and miles around. esther decides that she loves him. and with a vague sense of life slipping by, she re- solves that she will tell him so, whatever people say, the next time he comes to town. after the making of this resolution which becomes a sort of wedding cake for her to tuck beneath her pil- low and go to sleep upon, she sees nothing of barlo for five years. her hair thins. it looks like the dull silk on puny corn ears. her face pales until it is the color of the gray dust that dances with dead cotton leaves. . esther is twenty-seven. esther sells lard and snuff and flour to vague black faces that drift in her store to ask for them. her eyes hardly see the people to whom she gives change. her body is lean and [ ] cane beaten. she rests listlessly against the counter, too weary to sit down. from the street some one shouts, "king barlo has come back to town.” he passes her window, driving a large new car. cut-out open. he veers to the curb, and steps out. barlo has made money on cotton during the war. he is as rich as anyone. esther sud- denly is animate. she goes to her door. she sees him at a distance, the center of a group of credulous men. she hears the deep-bass rumble of his talk. the sun swings low. mcgregor's windows are aflame again. pale flame. a sharply dressed white girl passes by. for a moment esther wishes that she might be like her. not white; she has no need for being that. but sharp, sporty, with get-up about her. barlo is connected with that wish. she mustnt wish. wishes only make you restless. emptiness is a thing that grows by being moved. "i'll not think. not wish. just set my mind against it.” then the thought comes to her that those pur- poseless, easy-going men will possess him, if she doesnt. purpose is not dead in her, now that she comes to think of it. that loose women will have their arms around him at nat bowle's [ ] esther place to-night. as if her veins are full of fired sun-bleached southern shanties, a swift heat sweeps them. dead dreams, and a forgotten resolution are carried upward by the flames. pale flames. “they shant have him. oh, they shall not. not if it kills me they shant have him.” jerky, aflutter, she closes the store and starts home. folks lazing on store window- sills wonder what on earth can be the matter with jim crane's gal, as she passes them. “come to remember, she always was a little off, a little crazy, i reckon." esther seeks her own room, and locks the door. her mind is a pink mesh- bag filled with baby toes. using the noise of the town clock striking twelve to cover the creaks of her departure, esther slips into the quiet road. the town, her parents, most everyone is sound asleep. this fact is a stable thing that comforts her. after sundown a chill wind came up from the west. it is still blowing, but to her it is a steady, settled thing like the cold. she wants her mind to be like that. solid, contained, and blank as a sheet of darkened ice. she will not permit herself to [ ] cane m- notice the peculiar phosphorescent glitter of the sweet-gum leaves. their movement would ex- cite her. exciting too, the recession of the dull familiar homes she knows so well. she doesnt know them at all. she closes her eyes, and holds them tightly. wont do. her being aware that they are closed recalls her purpose. she does not want to think of it. she opens them. she turns now into the deserted business street. the cor- rugated iron canopies and mule- and horse- gnawed hitching posts bring her a strange com- posure. ghosts of the commonplaces of her daily life take stride with her and become her companions. and the echoes of her heels upon the flagging are rhythmically monotonous and soothing. crossing the street at the corner of mcgregor's notion shop, she thinks that the windows are a dull flame. only a fancy. she walks faster. then runs. a turn into a side street brings her abruptly to nat bowle's place. the house is squat and dark. it is always dark. barlo is within. quietly she opens the outside door and steps in. she passes through a small room. pauses before a flight of stairs down which people's voices, muffled, come. the air [ ] esther is heavy with fresh tobacco smoke. it makes her sick. she wants to turn back. she goes up the steps. as if she were mounting to some great height, her head spins. she is violently dizzy. blackness rushes to her eyes. and then she finds that she is in a large room. barlo is be- fore her. “well, i'm sholy damned—skuse me, but what, what brought you here, lil milk-white gal?" “you.” her voice sounds like a frightened child's that calls homeward from some point miles away. "me?" “yes, you barlo." “this aint th place fer y. this aint th place fer y." “i know. i know. but i've come for you.” "for me for what?” she manages to look deep and straight into his eyes. he is slow at understanding. guf- faws and giggles break out from all around the room. a coarse woman's voice remarks, “so thats how th dictie niggers does it.” laughs. “mus give em credit fo their gall." [ ] cane esther doesnt hear. barlo does. his fac- ulties are jogged. she sees a smile, ugly and repulsive to her, working upward through thick licker fumes. barlo seems hideous. the thought comes suddenly, that conception with a drunken man must be a mighty sin. she draws away, frozen. like a somnambulist she wheels around and walks stitily to the stairs. down them. jeers and hoots pelter bluntly upon her back. she steps out. there is no air, no street, and the town has completely disappeared. vs are [ ] portrait in georgia hair-braided chestnut, coiled like a lyncher's rope, eyes-fagots, worrien stres lips-old scars, or the first red blisters, breath—the last sweet scent of cane, and her slim body, white as the ash of black flesh after flame. [ ] blood-burning moon i jp from the skeleton stone walls, up from u the rotting floor boards and the solid hand- hewn beams of oak of the pre-war cotton factory, dusk came. up from the dusk the full moon came. glowing like a fired pine-knot, it illu- mined the great door and soft showered the negro shanties aligned along the single street of factory town. the full moon in the great door was an omen. negro women improvised songs against its spell. louisa sang as she came over the crest of the hill from the white folks' kitchen. her skin was the color of oak leaves on young trees in fall. her breasts, firm and up-pointed like ripe acorns. and her singing had the low murmur of winds in fig trees. bob stone, younger son of the people she worked for, loved her. by the way the world reckons things, he had won her. by measure of that warm glow which came into her mind at thought of him, he had won her. [ ] blood-burning moon ne in her. her lips trembled. the slow rhythm of her song grew agitant and restless. rusty black and tan spotted hounds, lying in the dark cor- ners of porches or prowling around back yards, put their noses in the air and caught its tremor. they began plaintively to yelp and howl. chick- ens woke up and cackled. intermittently, all over the countryside dogs barked and roosters crowed as if heralding a weird dawn or some ungodly awakening. the women sang lustily. their songs were cotton-wads to stop their ears. louisa came down into factory town and sank wearily upon the step before her home. the moon was rising towards a thick cloud-bank which soon would hide it. red nigger moon. sinner! blood-burning moon. sinner! come out that fact'ry door. up from the deep dusk of a cleared spot on the edge of the forest a mellow glow arose and spread fan-wise into the low-hanging heavens. and all around the air was heavy with the scent [ ] blood-burning moon stove to listen to him. tom burwell chewed cane-stalk and laughed with the others till some- one mentioned louisa. till some one said some- thing about louisa and bob stone, about the silk stockings she must have gotten from him. blood ran up tom's neck hotter than the glow that flooded from the stove. he sprang up. glared at the men and said, "she's my gal.” will manning laughed. tom strode over to him. yanked him up and knocked him to the ground. several of manning's friends got up to fight for him. tom whipped out a long knife and would have cut them to shreds if they hadnt ducked into the woods. tom had had enough. he nodded to old david georgia and swung down the path to factory town. just then, the dogs started barking and the roosters began to crow. tom felt funny. away from the fight, away from the stove, chill got to him. he shiv- ered. he shuddered when he saw the full moon rising towards the cloud-bank. he who didnt give a godam for the fears of old women. he forced his mind to fasten on louisa. bob stone. better pot be. he turned into the street and saw louisa sitting before her home. he went [ ] cane towards her, ambling, touched the brim of a marvelously shaped, spotted, felt hat, said he wanted to say something to her, and then found that he didnt know what he had to say, or if he did, that he couldnt say it. he shoved his big fists in his overalls, grinned, and started to move off. “youall want me, tom?”. “thats what us wants, sho, louisa." "well, here i am,” “an here i is, but that aint ahelpin none, all th same.” “you wanted to say something? . ." "i did that, sho. but words is like th spots on dice: no matter how y fumbles em, there's times when they jes wont come. i dunno why. seems like th love i feels fo yo done stole m tongue. i got it now. whee! louisa, honey, i oughtnt tell y, i feel i oughtnt cause yo is young an goes t church an i has had other gals, but louisa i sho do love y. lil gal, ise watched y from them first days when youall sat right here befo yo door befo th well an sang sometimes in a way that like t broke m heart. ise carried y with me into th fields, day after day, an after that, an i [ ] blood-burning moon sho can plow when yo is there, an i can pick cotton. yassur! come near beatin barlo yes. terday. i sho did. yassur! an next year if ole stone'll trust me, i'll have a farm. my own. my bales will buy yo what y gets from white folks now. silk stockings an purple dresses- course i dont believe what some folks been whisperin as t how y gets them things now. white folks always did do for niggers what they likes. an they jes cant help alikin yo, louisa. bob stone likes y. course he does. but not th way folks is awhisperin. does he, hon?" "i dont know what you mean, tom.” “course y dont. ise already cut two niggers. had t hon, t tell em so. niggers always tryin t make somethin out a nothin. an then besides, white folks aint up t them tricks so much nowa- days. godam better not be. leastawise not with yo. cause i wouldnt stand f it. nassur.” “what would you do, tom?” "cut him jes like i cut a nigger.” “no, tom ” “i said i would an there aint no mo to it. but that aint th talk f now. sing, honey louisa, [ ] cane an while i'm listenint y i'll be makin love." tom took her hand in his. against the tough thickness of his own, hers felt soft and small. his huge body slipped down to the step beside her. the full moon sank upward into the deep purple of the cloud-bank. an old woman brought a lighted lamp and hung it on the com- mon well whose bulky shadow squatted in the middle of the road, opposite tom and louisa. the old woman lifted the well-lid, took hold the chain, and began drawing up the heavy bucket. as she did so, she sang. figures shifted, restless- like, between lamp and window in the front rooms of the shanties. shadows of the figures fought each other on the gray dust of the road. figures raised the windows and joined the old woman in song. louisa and tom, the whole street, singing: red nigger moon. sinner! blood-burning moon. sinner! come out that fact'ry door. bob stone sauntered from his veranda out into [ ] blood-burning moon the gloom of fir trees and magnolias. the clear white of his skin paled, and the flush of his cheeks turned purple. as if to balance this outer change, his mind became consciously a white man's. he passed the house with its huge open hearth which, in the days of slavery, was the plantation cookery. he saw louisa bent over that hearth. he went in as a master should and took her. direct, honest, bold. none of this sneaking that he had to go through now. the contrast was repulsive to him. his family had lost ground. hell no, his family still owned the niggers, practically. damned if they did, or he wouldnt have to duck around so. what would they think if they knew? his mother? his sister? he shouldnt mention them, shouldnt think of them in this connection. there in the dusk he blushed at doing so. fellows about town were all right, but how about his friends up north? he could see them incredible, repulsed. they didnt know. the thought first made him laugh. then, with their eyes still upon him, he began to feel embarrassed. he felt the need of explaining things to them. explain hell. they wouldnt understand, and moreover, who ever [ ] cane heard of a southerner getting on his knees to any yankee, or anyone. no sir. he was going to see louisa to-night, and love her. she was lovely—in her way. nigger way. what way was that? damned if he knew. must know. he'd known her long enough to know. was there something about niggers that you couldnt know? listening to them at church didnt tell you anything. looking at them didnt tell you - anything. talking to them didnt tell you any- thing—unless it was gossip, unless they wanted to talk. of course, about farming, and licker, and craps—but those werent nigger. nigger was something more. how much more? some- thing to be afraid of, more? hell no. who ever heard of being afraid of a nigger? tom burwell. cartwell had told him that tom went with louisa after she reached home. no sir. no nigger had ever been with his girl. he'd like to see one try. some position for him to be in. him, bob stone, of the old stone family, in a scrap with a nigger over a nigger girl. in the good old days. . . ha! those were the days. his family had lost ground. not so much, though. enough for him to have to cut through [ ] blood-burning moon old lemon's canefield by way of the woods, that he might meet her. she was worth it. beautiful nigger gal. why nigger? why not, just gal? no, it was because she was nigger that he went to her. sweet. . . the scent of boiling cane came to him. then he saw the rich glow of the stove. he heard the voices of the men circled around it. he was about to skirt the clearing when he heard his own name mentioned. he stopped. quiver- ing. leaning against a tree, he listened. "bad nigger. yassur, he sho is one bad nigger when he gets started.” "tom burwell's been on th gang three times fo cuttin men." “what y think he's agwine t do t bob stone?” "dunno yet. he aint found out. when he does— baby!” “aint no tellin.” “young stone aint no quitter an i ken tell y that. blood of th old uns in his veins." “thats right. he'll scrap, sho.” "be gettin too hot f niggers round this away." "shut up, nigger. y dont know what y talkin bout." bob stone's ears burned as though he had [ ] cane been holding them over the stove. sizzling heat welled up within him. his feet felt as if they rested on red-hot coals. they stung him to quick movement. he circled the fringe of the glowing. not a twig cracked beneath his feet. he reached the path that led to factory town. plunged furiously down it. halfway along, a blindness within him veered him aside. he crashed into the bordering canebrake. cane leaves cut his face and lips. he tasted blood. he threw himself down and dug his fingers in the ground. the earth was cool. cane-roots took the fever from his hands. after a long while, or so it seemed to him, the thought came to him that it must be time to see louisa. he got to his feet and walked calmly to their meet- ing place. no louisa. tom burwell had her. veins in his forehead bulged and distended. saliva moistened the dried blood on his lips. he bit down on his lips. he tasted blood. not his own blood; tom burwell's blood. bob drove through the cane and out again upon the road. a hound swung down the path before him towards factory town. bob couldnt see it. the dog loped aside to let him pass. bob's blind [ ] cane again he lunged. tom side-stepped and flung him to the ground. straddled him. “get off me, you godam nigger you.” "yo sho has started somethin now. get up.” tom yanked him up and began hammering at him. each blow sounded as if it smashed into a precious, irreplaceable soft something. be- neath them, bob staggered back. he reached in his pocket and whipped out a knife. “thats my game, sho." blue flash, a steel blade slashed across bob stone's throat. he had a sweetish sick feel- ing. blood began to flow. then he felt a sharp twitch of pain. he let his knife drop. he slapped one hand against his neck. he pressed the other on top of his head as if to hold it down. he groaned. he turned, and staggered towards the crest of the hill in the direction of white town. negroes who had seen the fight slunk into their homes and blew the lamps out. louisa, dazed, hysterical, refused to go indoors. she slipped, crumbled, her body loosely propped against the woodwork of the well. tom burwell leaned against it. he seemed rooted there. [ ] cane tom's wrist were bound. the big man shoved him to the well. burn him over it, and when the woodwork caved in, his body would drop to the bottom. two deaths for a godam nigger. louisa was driven back. the mob pushed in. its pressure, its momentum was too great. drag him to the factory. wood and stakes already there. tom moved in the direction indicated. but they had to drag him. they reached the great door. too many to get in there. the mob divided and flowed around the walls to either side. the big man shoved him through the door. the mob pressed in from the sides. taut hum- ming. no words. a stake was sunk into the ground. rotting floor boards piled around it. kerosene poured on the rotting floor boards. tom bound to the stake. his breast was bare. nails scratches let little lines of blood trickle down and mat into the hair. his face, his eyes were set and stony. except for irregular breath- ing, one would have thought him already dead. torches were flung onto the pile. a great flare muffled in black smoke shot upward. the mob yelled. the mob was silent. now tom could be seen within the flames. only his head, erect, [ ] blood-burning moon lean, like a blackened stone. stench of burning flesh soaked the air. tom's eyes popped. his head settled downward. the mob yelled. its yell echoed against the skeleton stone walls and sounded like a hundred yells. like a hundred mobs yelling. its yell thudded against the thick front wall and fell back. ghost of a yell slipped through the flames and out the great door of the factory. it fluttered like a dying thing down the single street of factory town. louisa, upon the step before her home, did not hear it, but her eyes opened slowly. they saw the full moon glowing in the great door. the full moon, an evil thing, an omen, soft showering the homes of folks she knew. where were they, these people? she'd sing, and perhaps they'd come out and join her. perhaps tom burwell would come. at any rate, the full moon in the great door was an omen which she must sing to: red nigger moon. sinner! blood-burning moon. sinner! come out that fact'ry door. [ ] seventh street money burns the pocket, pocket hurts, bootleggers in silken shirts, ballooned, zooming cadillacs, whizzing, whizzing down the street-car tracks. seventh street is a bastard of prohibi- tion and the war. a crude-boned, soft- skinned wedge of nigger life breathing its loafer air, jazz songs and love, thrusting unconscious rhythms, black reddish blood into the white and whitewashed wood of washington. stale soggy wood of washington.) wedges rust in soggy wood. . . split it! 'in two! again! shred it! . . the sun. wedges are brilliant in the sun; ribbons of wet wood dry and blow away. black reddish blood. pouring for crude-boned soft- skinned life, who set you flowing? blood suck- ers of the war would spin in a frenzy of dizzi- ness if they drank your blood. prohibition would put a stop to it. who set you flowing? white and whitewash disappear in blood. who set you flowing? flowing down the smooth asphalt of seventh street, in shanties, brick [ cane office buildings, theaters, drug stores, restaurants, and cabarets ? eddying on the corners ? swirl- ing like a blood-red smoke up where the buz- zards fly in heaven god would not dare to suck black red blood. a nigger god! he would duck his head in shame and call for the judgment day. who set you flowing? money burns the pocket, pocket hurts, bootleggers in silken shirts, ballooned, zooming cadillacs, whizzing, whizzing down the street-car tracks. [ ] rhobert dhobert wears a house, like a monstrous " diver's helmet, on his head. his legs are banty-bowed and shaky because as a child he had rickets. he is way down. rods of the house like antennæ of a dead thing, stuffed, prop up in the air. he is way down. he is sinking. his house is a dead thing that weights him down. he is sinking as a diver would sink in mud should the water be drawn off. life is a murky, wiggling, microscopic water that compresses him. compresses his helmet and would crush it the minute that he pulled his head out. he has to keep it in. life is water that is being drawn off. brother, life is water that is being drawn off. brother, life is water that is being drawn off. the dead house is stuffed. the stuffing is alive. it is sinful to draw one's head out of live stuffing in a dead house. the propped-up antennæ would cave in and the stuffing be strewn . . shredded life-pulp . . in the water. sinful to have one's own head crushed. [ ] cane rhobert is an upright man whose legs are banty- .. bowed and shaky because as a child he had rickets. the earth is round. heaven is a sphere that surrounds it. sink where you will. god is a red cross man with a dredge and a respiration-pump who's waiting for you at the opposite periphery. god built the house. he blew his breath into its stuffing. it is good to to die obeying him who can do these things. a futile something like the dead house wraps the live stuffing of the question: how long before the water will be drawn off? rhobert does not care. like most men who wear monstrous hel- mets, the pressure it exerts is enough to con- vince him of its practical infinity. and he cares not two straws as to whether or not he will ever see his wife and children again. many a time he's seen them drown in his dreams and has kicked about joyously in the mud for days after. one thing about him goes straight to the heart. he has an adam's-apple which strains some- times as if he were painfully gulping great globules of air . . air floating shredded life- pulp. it is a sad thing to see a banty-bowed, shaky, ricket-legged man straining the raw in- sides of his throat against smooth air. holding furtive thoughts about-the glory of pulp-heads [ ] rhobert strewn in water. . he is way down. down. mud, coming to his banty knees, almost hides them. soon people will be looking at him and calling him a strong man. no doubt he is for one who has had rickets. lets give it to him. lets call him great when the water shall have been all drawn off. lets build a monument and set it in the ooze where he goes down. a monu- ment of hewn oak, carved in nigger-heads. lets open our throats, brother, and sing "deep river" when he goes down. brother, rhobert is sinking. lets open our throats, brother, lets sing deep river when he goes down. [ ] avey for a long while she was nothing more to me than one of those skirted beings whom boys at a certain age disdain to play with. just how i came to love her, timidly, and with secret blushes, i do not know. but that i did was brought home to me one night, the first night that ned wore his long pants. us fellers were seated on the curb before an apartment house where she had gone in. the young trees had not outgrown their boxes then. v street was lined with them. when our legs grew cramped and stiff from the cold of the stone, we'd stand around a box and whittle it. i like to think now that there was a hidden purpose in the way we hacked them with our knives. i like to feel that something deep in me responded to the trees, the young trees that whinnied like colts impatient to be let free. . . on the particular night i have in mind, we were waiting for the top-floor light to go out. we wanted to see avey leave the flat. this night she stayed longer than usual and gave [ ] avey in the way she said hello. she never took the trouble to call me by my name. on the days for drill, i'd let my voice down a tone and call for a complicated maneuver when i saw her coming. she'd smile appreciation, but it was an imper- sonal smile, never for me. it was on a summer excursion down to riverview that she first seemed to take me into account. the day had been spent riding merry-go-rounds, scenic-rail- ways, and shoot-the-chutes. we had been in swimming and we had danced. i was a crack swimmer then. she didnt know how. i held her up and showed her how to kick her legs and draw her arms. of course she didnt learn in one day, but she thanked me for bothering with her. i was also somewhat of a dancer. and i had already noticed that love can start on a dance floor. we danced. but though i held her tightly in my arms, she was way away. that college feller who lived on the top floor was somewhere making money for the next year. i imagined that she was thinking, wishing for him. ned was along. he treated her until his money gave out. she went with another feller. ned got sore. one by one the boys' money gave [ ] cane rom out. she left them. and they got sore. every one of them but me got sore. this is the reason, i guess, why i had her to myself on the top deck of the jane mosely that night as we puffed up the potomac, coming home. the moon was brilliant. the air was sweet like clover. and every now and then, a salt tang, a stale drift of sea-weed. it was not my mind's fault if it went romancing. i should have taken her in my arms the minute we were stowed in that old lifeboat. i dallied, dreaming. she took me in hers. and i could feel by the touch of it that it wasnt a man-to-woman love. it made me rest- less. i felt chagrined. i didnt know what it was, but i did know that i couldnt handle it. she ran her fingers through my hair and kissed my forehead. i itched to break through her tenderness to passion. i wanted her to take me in her arms as i knew she had that college feller. i wanted her to love me passionately as she did him. i gave her one burning kiss. then she laid me in her lap as if i were a child. help- less. i got sore when she started to hum a lull- aby. she wouldnt let me go. i talked. i knew damned well that i could beat her at that. her [ ] avey eyes were soft and misty, the curves of her lips were wistful, and her smile seemed indulgent of the irrelevance of my remarks. i gave up at last and let her love me, silently, in her own way. the moon was brilliant. the air was sweet like clover, and every now and then, a salt tang, a stale drift of sea-weed. .. the next time i came close to her was the following summer at harpers ferry. we were sitting on a flat projecting rock they give the name of lover's leap. some one is supposed to have jumped off it. the river is about six hun- dred feet beneath. a railroad track runs up the valley and curves out of sight where part of the mountain rock had to be blasted away to make room for it. the engines of this valley have a whistle, the echoes of which sound like iterated gasps and sobs. i always think of them as crude music from the soul of avey. we sat there holding hands. our palms were soft and warm against each other. our fingers were not tight. she would not let them be. she would not let me twist them. i wanted to talk. to explain what i meant to her. avey was as silent as those great trees whose tops we looked down [ ] cane upon. she has always been like that. at least, to me. i had the notion that if i really wanted to, i could do with her just what i pleased. like one can strip a tree. i did kiss her. i even let my hands cup her breasts. when i was through, she'd seek my hand and hold it till my pulse cooled down. evening after evening we sat there. i tried to get her to talk about that college feller. she never would. there was no set time to go home. none of my family had come down. and as for hers, she didnt give a hang about them. the general gossips could hardly say more than they had. the boarding-house porch was always deserted when we returned. no one saw us enter, so the time was set con- veniently for scandal. this worried me a little, for i thought it might keep avey from getting an appointment in the schools. she didnt care. she had finished normal school. they could give her a job if they wanted to. as time went on, her indifference to things began to pique me; i was ambitious. i left the ferry earlier than she did. i was going off to college. the more i thought of it, the more i resented, yes, hell, thats what it was, her downright laziness. sloppy [ ] cane her. she was no better than a whore. i saw her mother on the street. the same old pinch- beck, jerky-gaited creature that i'd always known. perhaps five years passed. the business of hunting a job or something or other had bruised my vanity so that i could recognize it. i felt old. avey and my real relation to her, i thought i came to know. i wanted to see her. i had been told that she was in new york. as i had no money, i hiked and bummed my way there. i got work in a ship-yard and walked the streets at night, hoping to meet her. failing in this, i saved enough to pay my fare back home. one evening in early june, just at the time when dusk is most lovely on the eastern horizon, i saw avey, indolent as ever, leaning on the arm of a man, strolling under the recently lit arc-lights of u street. she had almost passed before she recognized me. she showed no surprise. the puff over her eyes had grown heavier. the eyes themselves were still sleepy-large, and beautiful. i had almost concluded-indifferent. “you look older," was what she said. i wanted to con- [ ] avey vince her that i was, so i asked her to walk with me. the man whom she was with, and whom she never took the trouble to introduce, at a nod from her, hailed a taxi, and drove away. that gave me a notion of what she had been used to. her dress was of some fine, costly stuff. i sug- gested the park, and then added that the grass might stain her skirt. let it get stained, she said, for where it came from there are others. i have a spot in soldier's home to which i always go when i want the simple beauty of another's soul. robins spring about the lawn all day. they leave their footprints in the grass. i imagine that the grass at night smells sweet and fresh because of them. the ground is high. washington lies below. its light spreads like a blush against the darkened sky. against the soft dusk sky of washington. and when the wind is from the south, soil of my homeland falls like a fertile shower upon the lean streets of the city. upon my hill in soldier's home. i know the policeman who watches the place of nights. when i go there alone, i talk to him. i tell him i come there to find the truth that people [ ] cane bury in their hearts. i tell him that i do not come there with a girl to do the thing he's paid to watch out for. i look deep in his eyes when i say these things, and he believes me. he comes over to see who it is on the grass. i say hello to him. he greets me in the same way and goes off searching for other black splotches upon the lawn. avey and i went there. a band in one of the buildings a fair distance off was playing a march. i wished they would stop. their playing was like a tin spoon in one's mouth. i wanted the howard glee club to sing "deep river," from the road. to sing "deep river, deep river," from the road. . . other than the first comments, avey had been silent. i started to hum a folk-tune. she slipped her hand in mine. pillowed her head as best she could upon my arm. kissed the hand that she was holding and listened, or so i thought, to what i had to say. i traced my development from the early days up to the present time, the phase in which i could understand her. i de- scribed her own nature and temperament. told how they needed a larger life for their expres- sion. how incapable washington was of un- [ ] avey derstanding that need. how it could not meet it. i pointed out that in lieu of proper channels, her emotions had overflowed into paths that dis- sipated them. i talked, beautifully i thought, about an art that would be born, an art that would open the way for women the likes of her. i asked her to hope, and build up an inner life against the coming of that day. i recited some of my own things to her. i sang, with a strange quiver in my voice, a promise-song. and then i began to wonder why her hand had not once returned a single pressure. my old-time feeling about her laziness came back. i spoke sharply. my policeman friend passed by. i said hello to him. as he went away, i began to visualize certain possibilities. an immediate and urgent passion swept over me. then i looked at avey. her heavy eyes were closed. her breathing was as faint and regular as a child's in slumber. my passion died. i was afraid to move lest i disturb her. hours and hours, i guess it was, she lay there. my body grew numb. i shiv- ered. i coughed. i wanted to get up and whittle at the boxes of young trees. i withdrew my hand. i raised her head to waken her. she [ ] cane did not stir. i got up and walked around. i found my policeman friend and talked to him. we both came up, and bent over her. he said it would be all right for her to stay there just so long as she got away before the workmen came at dawn. a blanket was borrowed from a neigh- bor house. i sat beside her through the night. i saw the dawn steal over washington. the capitol dome looked like a gray ghost ship drifting in from sea. avey's face was pale, and her eyes were heavy. she did not have the gray crimson-splashed beauty of the dawn. i hated to wake her. orphan-woman. . . [ ] beehive within this black hive to-night there swarm a million bees; bees passing in and out the moon, bees escaping out the moon, bees returning through the moon, silver bees intently buzzing, silver honey dripping from the swarm of bees earth is a waxen cell of the world comb, and i, a drone, lying on my back, lipping honey, getting drunk with silver honey, wish that i might fly out past the moon and curl forever in some far-off farmyard flower. maypuhh iver honeve [ ] storm ending thunder blossoms gorgeously above our heads, great, hollow, bell-like flowers, rumbling in the wind, stretching clappers to strike our ears . . full-lipped flowers bitten by the sun bleeding rain dripping rain like golden honey- and the sweet earth flying from the thunder. [ ] theater | ife of nigger alleys, of pool rooms and l restaurants and near-beer saloons soaks into the walls of howard theater and sets them throbbing jazz songs. black-skinned, they dance and shout above the tick and trill of white- walled buildings. at night, they open doors to people who come in to stamp their feet and shout. at night, road-shows volley songs into the mass-heart of black people. songs soak the walls and seep out to the nigger life of alleys and near-beer saloons, of the poodle dog and black bear cabarets. afternoons, the house is dark, and the walls are sleeping singers until rehearsal begins. or until john comes within them. then they start throbbing to a subtle syncopation. and the space-dark air grows softly luminous. john is the manager's brother. he is seated at the center of the theater, just before rehearsal. light streaks down upon him from a window high above. one half his face is orange in it. one half his face is in shadow. the soft glow ( ) cane golg-asi) of the house rushes to, and compacts about, the shaft of light. tohn's mind coincides with the shaft of light. thoughts rush to, and compact about it. life of the house and of the slowly awakening stage swirls to the body of john, and thrills it. john's body is separate from the thoughts that pack his mind. stage-lights, soft, as if they shine through clear pink fingers. beneath them, hid by the shadow of a set, dorris. other chorus girls drift in. john feels them in the mass. and as if his own body were the mass-heart of a black audi- ence listening to them singing, he wants to stamp his feet and shout. his mind, contained above desires of his body, singles the girls out, and tries to trace origins and plot destinies. a pianist slips into the pit and improvises jazz. the walls awake. arms of the girls, and their limbs, which . . jazz, jazz . . by lifting up their tight street skirts they set free, jab the air and clog the floor in rhythm to the music. (lift your skirts, baby, and talk t papa!) crude, individualized, and yet . . monoto- nous. . . john: soon the director will herd you, my [ ] theater let her feel the slimness of his diluted passion. “who's that?” she asks her dancing part- ner. "th manager's brother. dictię. nothin doin, hon.” dorris tosses her head and dances for him until she feels she has him. then, withdrawing disdainfully, she flirts with the director. dorris: nothin doin? how come? aint i as good as him? couldnt i have got an educa- tion if i'd wanted one? dont i know respect- able folks, lots of em, in philadelphia and new york and chicago? aint i had men as good as him? better. doctors an lawyers. whats a manager's brother, anyhow? two steps back, and two steps front. “say, mame, where do you get that stuff?” “whatshmean, dorris?" "if you two girls cant listen to what i'm tell- ing you, i know where i can get some who can. now listen." mame: go to hell, you black bastard. dorris: whats eatin at him, anyway? “now follow me in this, you girls. its three [ ] cane counts to the right, three counts to the left, and then you shimmy". john: —and then you shimmy. i'll bet she can. some good cabaret, with rooms upstairs. and what in hell do you think you'd get from it? youre going wrong. here's right: get her to herself—(christ, but how she'd bore you after the first five minutes)—not if you get her right she wouldnt. touch her, i mean. to herself- in some room perhaps. some cheap, dingy bed- room. hell no. cant be done. but the point is, brother john, it can be done. get her to her- self somewhere, anywhere. go down in your- self—and she'd be calling you all sorts of asses while you were in the process of going down. hold em, bud. cant be done. let her go. (dance and i'll love you!) and keep her loveliness. “all right now, chicken chaser. dorris and girls. where's dorris? i told you to stay on the stage, didnt i? well? now thats enough. all right. all right there, professor? all right. one, two, three" dorris swings to the front. the line of girls, four deep, blurs within the shadow of sus- [ ] theater pended scenes. dorris wants to dance. the director feels that and steps to one side. he smiles, and picks her for a leading lady, one of these days. odd ends of stage-men emerge from the wings, and stare and clap. a crap game in the alley suddenly ends. black faces crowd the rear stage doors. the girls, catching joy from dorris, whip up within the footlights' glow. they forget set steps; they find their own. the director forgets to bawl them out. dorris dances. john: her head bobs to broadway. dance from yourself. dance! o just a little more. dorris' eyes burn across the space of seats to him. dorris: i bet he can love. hell, he cant love. he's too skinny. his lips are too skinny. he wouldnt love me anyway, only for that. but i'd get a pair of silk stockings out of it. red silk. i got purple. cut it, kid. you cant win him to respect you that away. he wouldnt any- way. maybe he would. maybe he'd love. i've heard em say that men who look like him (what does he look like?) will marry if they love. o will you love me? and give me kids, and a [ ] cane home, and everything? (i'd like to make your nest, and honest, hon, i wouldnt run out on you.). you will if i make you. just watch me. dorris dances. she forgets her tricks. she dances. glorious songs are the muscles of her limbs. and her singing is of canebrake loves and mangrove feastings. the walls press in, singing. flesh of a throb- bing body, they press close to john and dorris. they close them in. john's heart beats tensely against her dancing body. walls press his mind within his heart. and then, the shaft of light goes out the window high above him. john's mind sweeps up to follow it. mind pulls him upward into dream. dorris dances. . . john dreams: dorris is dressed in a loose black gown splashed with lemon ribbons. her feet taper long and slim from trim ankles. she waits for him just inside the stage door. john, collar and tie colorful and flaring, walks towards the stage door. there are no trees in the alley. but his feet feel as though they step on autumn leaves whose rustle has been pressed out of them by the passing of a million satin slippers. the air is sweet with roasting [ ] cane the stage. falls down the steps into her dress- ing-room. pulls her hair. her eyes, over a floor of tears, stare at the whitewashed ceiling. (smell of dry paste, and paint, and soiled cloth- ing.) her pal comes in. dorris flings herself into the old safe arms, and cries bitterly. “i told you nothin doin,” is what mame says to comfort her. [ ] her lips are copper wire whisper of yellow globes . gleaming on lamp-posts that sway like bootleg licker drinkers in the fog and let your breath be moist against me like bright beads on yellow globes telephone the power-house that the main wires are insulate (her words play softly up and down dewy corridors of billboards) then with your tongue remove the tape and press your lips to mine till they are incandescent [ ] calling jesus her soul is like a little thrust-tailed dog that " follows her, whimpering. she is large enough, i know, to find a warm spot for it. but each night when she comes home and closes the big outside storm door, the little dog is left in the vestibule, filled with chills till morning. some one . . . eoho jesus ... soft as a cotton boll brushed against the milk-pod cheek of christ, will steal in and cover it that it need not shiver, and carry it to her where she sleeps upon clean hay cut in her dreams. when you meet her in the daytime on the streets, the little dog keeps coming. nothing happens at first, and then, when she has forgot- ten the streets and alleys, and the large house where she goes to bed of nights, a soft thing like fur begins to rub your limbs, and you hear a low, scared voice, lonely, calling, and you know that a cool something nozzles moisture in your palms. sensitive things like nostrils, quiver. her breath comes sweet as honeysuckle whose pistils bear the life of coming song. and her eyes carry [ ] calling jesus to where builders find no need for vestibules, for swinging on iron hinges, storm doors. her soul is like a little thrust-tailed dog, that follows her, whimpering. i've seen it tagging on behind her, up streets where chestnut trees flow- ered, where dusty asphalt had been freshly sprinkled with clean water. up alleys where niggers sat on low door-steps before tumbled shanties and sang and loved. at night, when she comes home, the little dog is left in the vesti- bule, nosing the crack beneath the big storm door, filled with chills till morning. some one . . . eoho jesus . . . soft as the bare feet of christ moving across bales of southern cotton, will steal in and cover it that it need not shiver, and carry it to her where she sleeps: cradled in dream-fluted cane. [ ] box seat houses are shy girls whose eyes shine reticently upon the dusk body of the street. upon the gleaming limbs and asphalt torso of a dreaming nigger. shake your curled wool- blossoms, nigger. open your liver lips to the lean, white spring. stir the root-life of a with- ered people. call them from their houses, and teach them to dream. dark swaying forms of negroes are street songs that woo virginal houses. dan moore walks southward on thirteenth street. the low limbs of budding chestnut trees recede above his head. chestnut buds and blos- soms are wool he walks upon. the eyes of houses faintly touch him as he passes them. soft girl-eyes, they set him singing. girl-eyes within him widen upward to promised faces. floating away, they dally wistfully over the dusk body of the street. come on, dan moore, come on. dan sings. his voice is a little hoarse. [ ] box seat it cracks. he strains to produce tones in keep- ing with the houses' loveliness. cant be done. he whistles. his notes are shrill. they hurt him. negroes open gates, and go indoors, per- fectly. dan thinks of the house he's going to. of the girl. lips, flesh-notes of a forgotten song, plead with him. .. dan turns into a side-street, opens an iron gate, bangs it to. mounts the steps, and searches for the bell. funny, he cant find it. he fumbles around. the thought comes to him that some one passing by might see him, and not understand. might think that he is trying to sneak, to break in. dan: break in. get an ax and smash in. smash in their faces. i'll show em. break into an engine-house, steal a thousand horse-power fire truck. smash in with the truck. i'll show em. grab an ax and brain em. cut em up. jack the ripper. baboon from the zoo. and then the cops come. “no, i aint a baboon. i aint jack the ripper. i'm a poor man out of work. take your hands off me, you bull-necked bears. look into my eyes. i am dan moore. i was born in a canefield. the hands of jesus [ ] cane touched me. i am come to a sick world to heal it. only the other day, a dope fiend brushed against me dont laugh, you mighty, juicy, meat-hook men. give me your fingers and i will peel them as if they were ripe bananas." some one might think he is trying to break in. he'd better knock. his knuckles are raw bone against the thick glass door. he waits. no one comes. perhaps they havent heard him. he raps again. this time, harder. he waits. no one comes. some one is surely in. he fancies that he sees their shadows on the glass. shadows of gorillas. perhaps they saw him coming and dont want to let him in. he knocks. the tension of his arms makes the glass rattle. hur- ried steps come towards him. the door opens. "please, you might break the glass—the bell- oh, mr. moore! i thought it must be some stranger. how do you do? come in, wont you? muriel? yes. i'll call her. take your things off, wont you? and have a seat in the parlor. muriel will be right down. muriel! oh muriel! mr. moore to see you. she'll be right down. you'll pardon me, wont you? so glad to see you." [ ] box seat her eyes are weak. they are bluish and watery from reading newspapers. the blue is steel. it gimlets dan while her mouth flaps amiably to him. dan: nothing for you to see, old mussel- head. dare i show you? if i did, delirium would furnish you headlines for a month. now look here. thats enough. go long, woman. say some nasty thing and i'll kill you. huh. better damned sight not. ta-ta, mrs. pribby. mrs. pribby retreats to the rear of the house. she takes up a newspaper. there is a sharp click as she fits into her chair and draws it to the table. the click is metallic like the sound of a bolt being shot into place. dan's eyes sting. sinking into a soft couch, he closes them. the house contracts about him. it is a sharp-edged, massed, metallic house. bolted. about mrs. pribby. bolted to the endless rows of metal houses. mrs. pribby's house. the rows of houses belong to other mrs. pribbys. no won- der he couldn't sing to them. dan: what's muriel doing here? god, what a place for her. whats she doing? put- ting her stockings on? in the bathroom. come [ ] cane out of there, dan moore. people must have their privacy. peeping-toms. i'll never peep. i'll listen. i like to listen. dan goes to the wall and places his ear against it. a passing street car and something vibrant from the earth sends a rumble to him. that rumble comes from the earth's deep core. it is the mutter of powerful underground races. dan has a picture of all the people rushing to put their ears against walls, to listen to it. the next world-savior is coming up that way. coming up. a continent sinks down. the new-world christ will need consummate skill to walk upon the waters where huge bubbles burst... thuds of muriel coming down. dan turns to the piano and glances through a stack of jazz music sheets. ji-ji-bo, ji-ji-bo!”.. "hello, dan, stranger, what brought you here?” muriel comes in, shakes hands, and then clicks into a high-armed seat under the orange glow of a floor-lamp. her face is fleshy. it would tend to coarseness but for the fresh fra- grant something which is the life of it. her hair like an indian's. but more curly and bushed [ ] box seat and vagrant. her nostrils flare. the flushed ginger of her cheeks is touched orange by the shower of color from the lamp. “well, you havent told me, you havent an- swered my question, stranger. what brought you here?” dan feels the pressure of the house, of the rear room, of the rows of houses, shift to muriel. he is light. he loves her. he is doubly heavy. "dont know, muriel-wanted to see you- wanted to talk to you—to see you and tell you that i know what you've been through-what pain the last few months must have been—" "lets dont mention that.” "but why not, muriel? " “please.” “but muriel, life is full of things like that. one grows strong and beautiful in facing them. what else is life?”. "i dont know, dan. and i dont believe i care. whats the use? lets talk about some- thing else. i hear there's a good show at the lincoln this week.” “yes, so harry was telling me. going?” “to-night." [ ] cane dan starts to rise. "i didnt know. i dont want to keep you." “its all right. you dont have to go till ber- nice comes. and she wont be here till eight. i'm all dressed. i'll let you know.” “thanks.” silence. the rustle of a newspaper being turned comes from the rear room. muriel: shame about dan. something awfully good and fine about him. but he don't fit in. in where? me? dan, i could love you if i tried. i dont have to try. i do. o dan, dont you know i do? timid lover, brave talker that you are. whats the good of all you know if you dont know that? i wont let myself. i? mrs. pribby who reads newspapers all night wont. what has she got to do with me? she is me, somehow. no she's not. yes she is. she is the town, and the town wont let me love you, dan. dont you know? you could make it let me if you would. why wont you? youre selfish. i'm not strong enough to buck it. youre too selfish to buck it, for me. i wish you'd go. you irritate me. dan, please go. “what are you doing now, dan?” [ ] - box seat "same old thing, muriel. nothing, as the world would have it. living, as i look at things. living as much as i can without" "but you cant live without money, dan. why dont you get a good job and settle down?” dan: same old line. shoot it at me, sister. hell of a note, this loving business. for ten minutes of it youve got to stand the torture of an intolerable heaviness and a hundred platitudes. well, damit, shoot on. “to what? my dear. rustling newspapers?” “you mustnt say that, dan. it isnt right. mrs. pribby has been awfully good to me." "dare say she has. whats that got to do with it?” “oh, dan, youre so unconsiderate and selfish. all you think of is yourself.” “i think of you." “too much-i mean, you ought to work more and think less. thats the best way to get along." “mussel-heads get along, muriel. there is more to you than that" "sometimes i think there is, dan. but i dont know. i've tried. i've tried to do some- [ ] cane thing with myself. something real and beau- tiful, i mean. but whats the good of trying? i've tried to make people, every one i come in contact with, happy—" dan looks at her, directly. her animalism, still unconquered by zoo-restrictions and keeper- taboos, stirs him. passion tilts upward, bring- ing with it the elements of an old desire. muriel's lips become the flesh-notes of a futile, plaintive longing. dan's impulse to direct her is its fresh life. "happy, muriel? no, not happy. your aim is wrong. there is no such thing as happiness. life bends joy and pain, beauty and ugliness, in such a way that no one may isolate them. no one should want to. perfect joy, or perfect pain, with no contrasting element to define them, would mean a monotony of consciousness, would mean death. not happy, muriel. say that you have tried to make them create. say that you have used your own capacity for life to cradle them. to start them upward-flowing. or if you cant say that you have, then say that you will. my talking to you will make you aware of your [ ] box seat power to do so. say that you will love, that you will give yourself in love" “to you, dan?" dan's consciousness crudely swerves into his passions. they flare up in his eyes. they set up quivers in his abdomen. he is suddenly over-tense and nervous. "muriel" the newspaper rustles in the rear room. "muriel" dan rises. his arms stretch towards her. his fingers and his palms, pink in the lamp- light, are glowing irons. muriel's chair is close and stiff about her. the house, the rows of houses locked about her chair. dan's fingers and arms are fire to melt and bars to wrench and force and pry. her arms hang loose. her hands are hot and moist. dan takes them. he slips to his knees before her. “dan, you mustnt." "muriel" “dan, really you mustnt. no, dan. no." “oh, come, muriel. must ". "shhh. dan, please get up. please. mrs. pribby is right in the next room. she'll hear [ ] cane you. she may come in. dont, dan. she'll see you." “well then, lets go out.” “i cant. let go, dan. oh, wont you please let go." muriel tries to pull her hands away. dan tightens his grip. he feels the strength of his fingers. his muscles are tight and strong. he stands up. thrusts out his chest. muriel shrinks from him. dan becomes aware of his crude absurdity. his lips curl. his passion chills. he has an obstinate desire to possess her. "muriel, i love you. i want you, whatever the world of pribby says. damn your pribby. who is she to dictate my love? i've stood enough of her. enough of you. come here.” muriel's mouth works in and out. her eyes flash and waggle. she wrenches her hands loose and forces them against his breast to keep him off. dan grabs her wrists. wedges in be- tween her arms. her face is close to him. it is hot and blue and moist. ugly. “come here now." . “dont, dan. oh, dont. what are you killing?" [ ] cane chair scraping as mrs. pribby rises from it, ratchets down the hall. dan stops. he makes a wry face, wheels round, goes out, and slams the door. people come in slowly . . . mutter, laughs, flutter, whishadwash, “i've changed my work- clothes—"... and fill vacant seats of lincoln theater. muriel, leading bernice who is a cross between a washerwoman and a blue-blood lady, a washer-blue, a washer-lady, wanders down the right aisle to the lower front box. muriel has , on an orange dress. its color would clash with · the crimson box-draperies, its color would con- tradict the sweet rose smile her face is bathed in, should she take her coat off. she'll keep it on. pale purple shadows rest on the planes of her cheeks. deep purple comes from her thick- shocked hair. orange of the dress goes well with these. muriel presses her coat down from around her shoulders. teachers are not sup- posed to have bobbed hair. she'll keep her hat on. she takes the first chair, and indicates that [ ] box seat bernice is to take the one directly behind her. seated thus, her eyes are level with, and near to, the face of an imaginary man upon the stage. to speak to berny she must turn. when she does, the audience is square upon her. people come in slowly ..."_for my sun- day-go-to-meeting dress. o glory god! o shout amen!" ... and fill vacant seats of lincoln theater. each one is a bolt that shoots into a slot, and is locked there. suppose the lord should ask, where was moses when the light went out? suppose gabriel should blow his trumpet! the seats are slots. the seats are bolted houses. the mass grows denser. its weight at first is impalpable upon the box. then muriel begins to feel it. she props her arm against the brass box-rail, to ward it off. silly. these people are friends of hers: a parent of a child she teaches, an old school friend. she smiles at them. they return her courtesy, and she is free to chat with berny. berny's tongue, started, runs on, and on. o washer-blue! o washer-lady! muriel: never see dan again. he makes me feel queer. starts things he doesnt finish. [ ] cane upsets me. i am not upset. i am perfectly calm. i am going to enjoy the show. good show. i've had some show! this damn tame thing. o dan. wont see dan again. not alone. have mrs. pribby come in. she was in. keep dan out. if i love him, can i keep him out? well then, i dont love him. now he's out. who is that coming in? blind as a bat. ding-bat. looks like dan. he mustnt see me. silly. he cant reach me. he wont dare come in here. he'd put his head down like a goring bull and charge me. he'd trample them. he'd gore. he'd rape! berny! he won't dare come in here. "berny, who was that who just came in? i havent my glasses." “a friend of yours, a good friend so i hear. mr. daniel moore, lord.” “oh. he's no friend of mine.” “no? i hear he is." "well, he isnt." dan is ushered down the aisle. he has to squeeze past the knees of seated people to reach his own seat. he treads on a man's corns. the man grumbles, and shoves him off. he shrivels [ ] box seat close beside a portly negress whose huge rolls of flesh meet about the bones of seat-arms. a soil-soaked fragrance comes from her. through the cement floor her strong roots sink down. they spread under the asphalt streets. dream- ing, the streets roll over on their bellies, and suck their glossy health from them. her strong roots sink down and spread under the river and dis- appear in blood-lines that waver south. her roots shoot down. dan's hands follow them. roots throb. dan's heart beats violently. he places his palms upon the earth to cool them. earth throbs. dan's heart beats violently. he sees all the people in the house rush to the walls to listen to the rumble. a new-world christ is coming up. dan comes up. he is startled. the eyes of the woman dont belong to her. they look at him unpleasantly. from either aisle, bolted masses press in. he doesnt fit. the mass grows agitant. for an instant, dan's and muriel's eyes meet. his weight there slides the weight on her. she braces an arm against the brass rail, and turns her head away. muriel: damn fool; dear dan, what did you want to follow me here for? oh cant you [ ] cane ever do anything right? must you always pain me, and make me hate you? i do hate you. i wish some one would come in with a horse-whip and lash you out. i wish some one would drag you up a back alley and brain you with the whip-butt. muriel glances at her wrist-watch. “quarter of nine. berny, what time have you?” "eight-forty. time to begin. oh, look muriel, that woman with the plume; doesnt she look good! they say she's going with, oh, whats his name. you know. too much powder. i can see it from here. here's the orchestra now. o fine! jim clem at the piano!” the men fill the pit. instruments run the scale and tune. the saxophone moans and throws a fit. jim clem, poised over the piano, is ready to begin. his head nods forward. opening crash. the house snaps dark. the curtain recedes upward from the blush of the footlights. jazz overture is over. the first act is on. dan: old stuff. muriel-bored. must be. but she'll smile and she'll clap. do what youre [ ] box seat bid, you she-slave. look at her. sweet, tame woman in a brass box seat. clap, smile, fawn, clap. do what youre bid. drag me in with you. dirty me. prop me in your brass box seat. i'm there, am i not? because of you. he-slave. slave of a woman who is a slave. i'm a damned sight worse than you are. i sing your praises, beauty! i exalt thee, o muriel! a slave, thou art greater than all freedom because i love thee. dan fidgets, and disturbs his neighbors. his neighbors glare at him. he glares back with- out seeing them. the man whose corns have been trod upon speaks to him. "keep quiet, cant you, mister. other people have paid their money besides yourself to see the show." the man's face is a blur about two sullen liquid things that are his eyes. the eyes dis- solve in the surrounding vagueness. dan sud- denly feels that the man is an enemy whom he has long been looking for. dan bristles. glares furiously at the man. “all right. all right then. look at the show. i'm not stopping you.” [ ] cane “shhh," from some one in the rear. dan turns around. "its that man there who started everything. i didnt say a thing to him until he tried to start something. what have i got to do with whether he has paid his money or not? thats the man- ager's business. do i look like the manager?" “shhhh. youre right. shhhh." "dont tell me to shhh. tell him. that man there. he started everything. if what he wanted was to start a fight, why didnt he say so?" the man leans forward. “better be quiet, sonny. i aint said a thing about fight, yet." "its a good thing you havent.” “shhhh." dan grips himself. another act is on. dwarfs, dressed like prize-fighters, foreheads bulging like boxing gloves, are led upon the stage. they are going to fight for the heavy- weight championship. gruesome. dan glances at muriel. he imagines that she shudders. his mind curves back into himself, and picks up tail-ends of experiences. his eyes are open, [ ] cane should be clear to you women, that the propo- sition must be stated thus: me, horizontally above her. action: perfect strokes downward oblique. hence, man dominates because of limitation. or, so it shall be until women learn their stuff. so framed, the proposition is a mental-filler, dentist, i want gold teeth. it should become cherished of the technical intellect. i hereby offer it to posterity as one of the important machine-age designs. p.s. it should be noted, that because it is an achievement of this age, its growth and hence its causes, up to the point of maturity, antedate machinery. ery ..." the gong rings. no fooling this time. the dwarfs set to. they clinch. the referee parts them. one swings a cruel upper-cut and knocks the other down. a huge head hits the floor. pop! the house roars. the fighter, groggy, scrambles up. the referee whispers to the con- tenders not to fight so hard. they ignore him. they charge. their heads jab like boxing- gloves. they kick and spit and bite. they pound each other furiously. muriel pounds. [ ] cane what a stroke that was. and the jabbering idiots crowding around. and the crossing-cop leaving his job to come over and wheel him away ... the house applauds. the house wants more. the dwarfs are led back. but no encore. must give the house something. the attendant comes out and announces that mr. barry, the cham- pion, will sing one of his own songs, "for your approval.” mr. barry grins at muriel as he wabbles from the wing. he holds a fresh white rose, and a small mirror. he wipes blood from his nose. he signals jim clem. the orchestra starts. a sentimental love song, mr. barry sings, first to one girl, and then another in the audience. he holds the mirror in such a way that it flashes in the face of each one he sings to. the light swings around. dan: i am going to reach up and grab the girders of this building and pull them down. the crash will be a signal. hid by the smoke and dust dan moore will arise. in his right hand will be a dynamo. in his left, a god's face that will flash white light from ebony. i'll grab a girder and swing it like a walking-stick. [ ] cane threatening. hate pops from his eyes and crackles like a brittle heat about the box. the thick hide of his face is drawn in tortured wrinkles. above his eyes, the bulging, tight- skinned brow. dan looks at it. it grows calm and massive. it grows profound. it is a thing of wisdom and tenderness, of suffering and beauty. dan looks down. the eyes are calm and luminous. words come from them... arms of the audience reach out, grab muriel, and hold her there. claps are steel fingers that manacle her wrists and move them forward to acceptance. berny leans forward and whispers: "its all right. go on-take it.” words form in the eyes of the dwarf: m do not shrink. do not be afraid of me. jesus see how my eyes look at you. the son of god i too was made in his image. was once- i give you the rose. muriel, tight in her revulsion, sees black, and daintily reaches for the offering. as her hand [ ] box seat touches it, dan springs up in his seat and shouts: “jesus was once a leper!” dan steps down. he is as cool as a green stem that has just shed its flower. rows of gaping faces strain towards him. they are distant, beneath him, impalpable. squeezing out, dan again treads upon the corn- foot man. the man shoves him. "watch where youre going, mister. crazy or no, you aint going to walk over me. watch where youre going there.” dan turns, and serenely tweaks the fellow's nose. the man jumps up. dan is jammed against a seat-back. a slight swift anger flicks him. his fist hooks the other's jaw. "now you have started something. aint no man living can hit me and get away with it. come on on the outside.” the house, tumultuously stirring, grabs its wraps and follows the men. the man leads dan up a black alley. the alley-air is thick and moist with smells of gar- [ ] cane bage and wet trash. in the morning, singing niggers will drive by and ring their gongs. . . heavy with the scent of rancid flowers and with the scent of fight. the crowd, pressing forward, is a hollow roar. eyes of houses, soft girl-eyes, glow reticently upon the hubbub and blink out. the man stops. takes off his hat and coat. dan, having forgotten him, keeps going on. ( ) prayer my body is opaque to the soul. driven of the spirit, long have i sought to temper it unto the spirit's longing, but my mind, too, is opaque to the soul. a closed lid is my soul's flesh-eye. o spirits of whom my soul is but a little finger, direct it to the lid of its flesh-eye. i am weak with much giving. i am weak with the desire to give more. (how strong a thing is the little finger!) so weak that i have confused the body with the soul, and the body with its little finger. (how frail is the little finger.) my voice could not carry to you did you dwell in stars, o spirits of whom my soul is but a little finger .. [ ] harvest song i am a reaper whose muscles set at sundown. all my oats are cradled. but i am too chilled, and too fatigued to bind them. and i hunger. i crack a grain between my teeth. i do not taste it. i have been in the fields all day. my throat is dry. i hunger. my eyes are caked with dust of oatfields at harvest- time. i am a blind man who stares across the hills, seeking stack'd fields of other harvesters. it would be good to see them . . crook'd, split, and iron-ring'd handles of the scythes. it would be good to see them, dust-caked and blind. i hunger. (dusk is a strange fear'd sheath their blades are dull'd in.) my throat is dry. and should i call, a cracked grain like the oats . . . eoho- i fear to call. what should they hear me, and offer me their grain, oats, or wheat, or corn? i have been in the fields all day. i fear i could not taste it. i fear knowledge of my hunger. [ ] bona and paul n the school gymnasium floor, young men and women are drilling. they are going to be teachers, and go out into the world .. thud, thud .. and give precision to the movements of sick people who all their lives have been drilling. one man is out of step. in step. the teacher glares at him. a girl in bloomers, seated on a mat in the corner because she has told the di- rector that she is sick, sees that the footfalls of the men are rhythmical and syncopated. the dance of his blue-trousered limbs thrills her. bona: he is a candle that dances in a grove swung with pale balloons. columns of the drillers thud towards her. he is in the front row. he is in no row at all. bona can look close at him. his red-brown face bona: he is a harvest moon. he is an autumn leaf. he is a nigger. bona! but dont all the dorm girls say so? and dont you, when [ ] bona and paul l ben c ondon you are sane, say so? thats why i love- oh, nonsense. you have never loved a man who didnt first love you. besides columns thud away from her. come to a halt in line formation. rigid. the period bell rings, and the teacher dismisses them. a group collects around paul. they are choosing sides for basket-ball. girls against boys. paul has his. he is limbering up be- neath the basket. bona runs to the girl captain and asks to be chosen. the girls fuss. the director comes to quiet them. he hears what bona wants. "but, miss hale, you were excused". “so i was, mr. boynton, but—" "—you can play basket-ball, but you are too sick to drill." “if you wish to put it that way.” she swings away from him to the girl captain. “helen, i want to play, and you must let me. this is the first time i've asked and i dont see why—" “thats just it, bona. we have our team." “well, team or no team, i want to play and thats all there is to it." [ ] cane she snatches the ball from helen's hands, and charges down the floor. helen shrugs. one of the weaker girls says that she'll drop out. helen accepts this. the team is formed. the whistle blows. the game starts. bona, in center, is jumping against paul. he plays with her. out-jumps her, makes a quick pass, gets a quick return, and shoots a goal from the middle of the floor. bona burns crim- son. she fights, and tries to guard him. one of her team-mates advises her not to play so hard. paul shoots his second goal. bona begins to feel a little dizzy and all in. she drives on. almost hugs paul to guard him. near the basket, he attempts to shoot, and bona lunges into his body and tries to beat his arms. his elbow, going up, gives her a sharp crack on the jaw. she whirls. he catches her. her body stiffens. then becomes strangely vibrant, and bursts to a swift life within her anger. he is about to give way before her hatred when a new passion flares at him and makes his stomach fall. bona squeezes him. he suddenly feels stifled, and wonders why in hell the ring of silly gaping faces that's caked about him doesnt make way [ ] bona and paul and give him air. he has a swift illusion that it is himself who has been struck. he looks at bona. whir. whir. they seem to be human distortions spinning tensely in a fog. spin- ning . . dizzy . . spinning. . . bona jerks herself free, flushes a startling crimson, breaks through the bewildered teams, and rushes from the hall. paul is in his room of two windows. outside, the south-side l track cuts them in two. bona is one window. one window, paul. hurtling loop-jammed l trains throw them in swift shadow. paul goes to his. gray slanting roofs of houses are tinted lavender in the setting sun. paul follows the sun, over the stock-yards where a fresh stench is just arising, across wheat lands that are still waving above their stubble, into the sun. paul follows the sun to a pine-matted hillock in georgia. he sees the slanting roofs of gray unpainted cabins tinted lavender. a [ ] ... cane deal with a negress chants a lullaby beneath the mate-eyes of a southern planter. her breasts are ample for the suckling of a song. she weans it, and sends it, curiously weaving, among lush melo- dies of cane and corn. paul follows the sun into himself in chicago. he is at bona's window. with his own glow he looks through a dark pane. paul's room-mate comes in. “say, paul, i've got a date for you. come on. shake a leg, will you?” his blonde hair is combed slick. his vest is snug about him. he is like the electric light which he snaps on. “whatdoysay, paul? get a wiggle on. come on. we havent got much time by the time we eat and dress and everything." his bustling concentrates on the brushing of his hair. art: what in hell's getting into paul of late, anyway? christ, but he's getting moony. its his blood. dark blood: moony. doesnt get [ ] bona and paul doctor em carreiro anywhere unless you boost it. you've got to keep it going- “say, paul!” -or it'll go to sleep on you. dark blood; nigger? thats what those jealous shë-hens say. not bona though, or she . . from the south .. a . ftum for wouldnt want me to fix a date for him and her. hell of a thing, that paul's dark: you've got to always be answering questions. sir say, paul, for christ's sake leave that win- dow, cant you?” “whats it, art?" “hell, i've told you about fifty times. got a date for you. come on." "with who?" art: he didnt use to ask; now he does. get- ting up in the air. getting funny. "heres your hat. want a smoke? paul! here. i've got a match. now come on and i'll tell you all about it on the way to supper." paul: he's going to life this time. no doubt of that. quit your kidding. some day, dear art, i'm going to kick the living slats out of you, and you wont know what i've done it for. and your slats will bring forth life.. beautiful woman. .. [ ] cane pure food restaurant. “bring me some soup with a lot of crackers, understand? and then a roast-beef dinner. same for you, eh, paul? now as i was saying, you've got a swell chance with her. and she's game. best proof: she dont give a damn what the dorm girls say about you and her in the gym, or about the funny looks that boynton gives her, or about what they say about, well, hell, you know, paul. and say, paul, she's a sweetheart. tall, not puffy and pretty, more serious and deep—the kind you like these days. and they say she's got a car. and say, she's on fire. but you know all about that. she got helen to fix it up with me. the four of us-remember the last party? crimson gardens! boy!” paul's eyes take on a light that art can settle ren in. art has on his patent-leather pumps and fancy vest. a loose fall coat is swung across his arm. his face has been massaged, and over a close shave, powdered. it is a healthy pink the blue [ ] bona and paul aeon rum frank of evening, tints a purple pallor. art is happy and confident in the good looks that his mirror gave him. bubbling over with a joy he must spend now if the night is to contain it all. his bubbles, too, are curiously tinted purple as paul watches them. paul, contrary to what he had thought he would be like, is cool like the dusk, and like the dusk, detached. his dark face is a floating shade in evening's shadow. he sees art, curiously. art is a purple fluid, carbon- charged, that effervesces besides him. he loves art. but is it not queer, this pale purple fac- simile of a red-blooded norwegian friend of his? perhaps for some reason, white skins are not supposed to live at night. surely, enough nights would transform them fantastically, or kill them. and their red passion? night paled that too, and made it moony. moony. thats what art thought of him. bona didnt, even in the day- time. bona, would she be pale? impossible. not that red glow. but the conviction did not set his emotion flowing. “come right in, wont you? the young ladies will be right down. oh, mr. carlstrom, do play something for us while you are waiting. we just [ ] cane the sea casts up its jewel into his hands, and burns them furiously. to tuck her arm under his and hold her hand will ease the burn. “what can i say to you, brave dear woman- i cant talk love. love is a dry grain in my mouth unless it is wet with kisses. * “you would dare? right here on the boule- vard? before arthur and helen?” “before myself? i dare." “here then.” bona, in the slim shadow of a tree trunk, pulls paul to her. suddenly she stiffens. stops. “but you have not said you love me.” "i cant-yet-bona." "ach, you never will. youre cald. cold.” bona: colored; cold. wrong somewhere. she hurries and catches up with art and helen. crimson gardens. hurrah! so one feels. people . . . university of chicago students, members of the stock exchange, a large negro in crimson uniform who guards the door . . had ( ) bona and paul watched them enter. had leaned towards each other over ash-smeared tablecloths and high- balls and whispered: what is he, a spaniard, an indian, an italian, a mexican, a hindu, or a japanese? art had at first fidgeted under their stares . . what are you looking at, you godam pack of owl-eyed hyenas? . . but soon settled into his fuss with helen, and forgot them. a strange thing happened to paul. suddenly he knew that he was apart from the people around him. apart from the pain which they had un- accent consciously caused. suddenly he knew that people saw, not attractiveness in his dark skin, but difference. their stares, giving him to him- self, filled something long empty within him, and were like green blades sprouting in his con- sciousness. there was fullness, and strength and peace about it all. he saw himself, cloudy, but real. he saw the faces of the people at the tables round him. white lights, or as now, the pink lights of the crimson gardens gave a glow and immediacy to white faces. the pleasure of it, equal to that of love or dream, of seeing this. art and bona and helen? he'd look. they were wonderfully flushed and beautiful. not [ ] cane for himself; because they were. distantly. who were they, anyway? god, if he knew them. he'd come in with them. of that he was sure. come where? into life? yes. no. into the crimson gardens. a part of life. a carbon bubble. would it look purple if he went out into the night and looked at it? his sudden starting to rise almost upset the table. “what in hell- pardon—whats the matter, paul?” “i forgot my cigarettes—" “youre smoking one.” “so i am. pardon me.' the waiter straightens them out. takes their order. art: what in hell's eating paul? moony aint the word for it. from bad to worse. and those godam people staring so. paul's a queer fish. doesnt seem to mind. . . he's my pal, let me tell you, you horn-rimmed owl-eyed hyena at that table, and a lot better than you whoever you are. . . queer about him. i could stick up for him if he'd only come out, one way or the other, and tell a feller. besides, a room-mate has a right to know. thinks i wont under- ( ] bona and paul stand. said so. he's got a swell head when it comes to brains, all right. god, he's a good straight feller, though. only, moony. nut. nuttish. nuttery. nutmeg. . . “what'd you say, helen ?" "i was talking to bona, thank you." “well, its nothing to get spiffy about.” “what? oh, of course not. please lets dont start some silly argument all over again.” "well.” "well.” “now thats enough. say, waiter, whats the matter with our order? make it snappy, will you?" crimson gardens. hurrah! so one feels. the drinks come. four highballs. art passes cigarettes. a girl dressed like a bare-back rider in flaming pink, makes her way through tables to the dance floor. all lights are dimmed till they seem a lush afterglow of crimson. spot- lights the girl. she sings. "liza, little liza jane." paul is rosy before his window. he moves, slightly, towards bona. with his own glow, he seeks to penetrate a dark pane. [ ] cane to bona paul: from the south. what does that mean, precisely, except that you'll love or hate a nigger? thats a lot. what does it mean except that in chicago you'll have the courage to neither love or hate. a priori. but it would seem that you have. queer words, arent these, for a man who wears blue pants on a gym floor in the day- time. well, never matter. you matter. i'd like to know you whom i look at. know, not love. not that knowing is a greater pleasure; but that i have just found the joy of it. you came just a month too late. even this after- noon i dreamed. to-night, along the boule- vard, you found me cold. paul johnson, cold! thats a good one, eh, art, you fine old stupid fellow, you! but i feel good! the color and the music and the song. . . a negress chants a lullaby beneath the mate-eyes of a southern planter. o song! . . and those flushed faces. eager brilliant eyes. hard to imagine them as unawakened. your own. oh, they're awake all right. “and you know it too, dont you bona?" “what, paul?" “the truth of what i was thinking." [ ] bona and paul “i'd like to know i know-something of you." “you will—before the evening's over. i promise it.” : crimson gardens. hurrah! so one feels. the bare-back rider balances agilely on the ap- plause which is the tail of her song. orchestral instruments warm up for jazz. the flute is a cat that ripples its fur against the deep-purring saxophone. the drum throws sticks. the cat jumps on the piano keyboard. hi diddle, hi diddle, the cat and the fiddle. crimson gar- dens . . hurrah! . . jumps over the moon. crimson gardens! helen .. eliza .. rabbit-eyes sparkling, plays up to, and tries to placate what she considers to be paul's contempt. she always does that . . little liza jane. . . once home, she burns with the thought of what she's done. she says all manner of snidy things about him, and swears that she'll never go out again when he is along. she tries to get art to break with him, saying, that if paul, whom the whole dormitory calls a nigger, is more to him than she is, well, she's through. she does not break with art. she goes out as often as she can with art and paul. she explains this to herself [ ] cane by a piece of information which a friend of hers had given her: men like him (paul) can fasci- nate. one is not responsible for fascination. not one girl had really loved paul; he fascinated them. bona didnt; only thought she did. time would tell. and of course, she didnt. liza. . . she plays up to, and tries to placate, paul. "paul is so deep these days, and i'm so glad he's found some one to interest him.” “i dont believe i do.” the thought escapes from bona just a moment before her anger at having said it. bona: you little puffy cat, i do. i do! dont i, paul? her eyes ask. her answer is a crash of jazz from the palm- hidden orchestra. crimson gardens is a body whose blood flows to a clot upon the dance floor. art and helen clot. soon, bona and paul. paul finds her a little stiff, and his mind, wan- dering to helen (silly little kid who wants every highball spoon her hands touch, for a souve- nir), supple, perfect little dancer, wishes for the next dance when he and art will exchange. bona knows that she must win him to herself. “since when have men like you grown cold?” weakness stee.ee [ ] bona and paul “the first philosopher." “i thought you were a poet—or a gym di- rector.” ..."hence, your failure to make love." bona's eyes flare. water. grow red about the rims. she would like to tear away from him and dash across the clotted floor. “what do you mean?” “mental concepts rule you. if they were flush with mine-good. i dont believe they are.” “how do you know, mr. philosopher?” “mostly a priori.” “you talk well for a gym director.” “and you—" “i hate you. ou!” she presses away. paul, conscious of the convention in it, pulls her to him. her body close. her head still strains away. he nearly crushes her. she tries to pinch him. then sees people staring, and lets her arms fall. their eyes meet. both, contemptuous. the dance takes blood from their minds and packs it, tin- gling, in the torsos of their swaying bodies. passionate blood leaps back into their eyes. they are a dizzy blood clot on a gyrating floor. [ ] cane they know that the pink-faced people have no part in what they feel. their instinct leads them away from art and helen, and towards the big uniformed black man who opens and closes the gilded exit door. the cloak-room girl is tolerant of their impatience over such trivial things as wraps. and slightly superior. as the black man swings the door for them, his eyes are knowing. too many couples have passed out, flushed and fidgety, for him not to know. the chill air is a shock to paul. a strange thing happens. he sees the gardens purple, as if he were way off. and a spot is in the purple. the spot comes furiously towards him. face of the black man. it leers. it smiles sweetly like a child's. paul leaves bona and darts back so quickly that he doesnt give the door-man a chance to open. he swings in. stops. before the huge bulk of the negro. “youre wrong." “yassur.” “brother, youre wrong. “i came back to tell you, to shake your hand, and tell you that you are wrong. that some- thing beautiful is going to happen. that the [ ] bona and paul gardens are purple like a bed of roses would be at dusk. that i came into the gardens, into life in the gardens with one whom i did not know. that i danced with her, and did not know her. that i felt passion, contempt and passion for her whom i did not know. that i thought of her. that my thoughts were matches thrown into a dark window. and all the while the gardens were purple like a bed of roses would be at dusk. i came back to tell you, brother, that white faces are petals of roses. that dark faces are petals of dusk. that i am going out and gather petals. that i am going out and know her whom i brought here with me to these gardens which are purple like a bed of roses would be at dusk.” paul and the black man shook hands. when he reached the spot where they had been standing, bona was gone. they lear [ ] kabnis d alph kabnis, propped in his bed, tries n to read. to read himself to sleep. an oil lamp on a chair near his elbow burns unsteadily. the cabin room is spaced fantastically about it. whitewashed hearth and chimney, black with sooty saw-teeth. ceiling, patterned by the fringed globe of the lamp. the walls, un- painted, are seasoned a rosin yellow. and cracks between the boards are black. these cracks are the lips the night winds use for whis- pering. night winds in georgia are vagrant poets, whispering kabnis, against his will, lets his book slip down, and listens to them. the warm whiteness of his bed, the lamp-light, do not protect him from the weird chill of their song: white-man's land. niggers, sing burn, bear black children till poor rivers bring rest, and sweet glory in camp ground. [ ] cane kabnis' thin hair is streaked on the pillow. his hand strokes the slim silk of his mustache. his thumb, pressed under his chin, seems to be trying to give squareness and projection to it. brown eyes stare from a lemon face. moisture gathers beneath his arm-pits. he slides down beneath the cover, seeking release. kabnis: near me. now. whoever you are, my warm glowing sweetheart, do not think that the face that rests beside you is the real kabnis. ralph kabnis is a dream. and dreams are faces with large eyes and weak chins and broad brows that get smashed by the fists of square faces. the body of the world is bull-necked. a dream is a soft face that fits uncertainly upon it. . . god, if i could develop that in words. give what i know a bull-neck and a heaving body, all would go well with me, wouldnt it, sweetheart? if i could feel that i came to the south to face it. if i, the dream (not what is weak and afraid in me) could become the face of the south. how my lips would sing for it, my songs being the lips of its soul. soul. soul hell. there aint no such thing. what in hell was that? [ ] kabnis a rat had run across the thin boards of the ceiling. kabnis thrusts his head out from the covers. through the cracks, a powdery faded red dust sprays down on him. dust of slave- fields, dried, scattered. . . no use to read. christ, if he only could drink himself to sleep. something as sure as fate was going to happen. he couldnt stand this thing much longer. a hen, perched on a shelf in the adjoining room begins to tread. her nails scrape the soft wood. her feathers ruffle. “get out of that, you egg-laying bitch.” kabnis hurls a slipper against the wall. the hen flies from her perch and cackles as if a skunk were after her. "now cut out that racket or i'll wring your neck for you." answering cackles arise in the chicken yard. “why in christ's hell cant you leave me alone? damn it, i wish your cackle would choke you. choke every mother's son of them in this god-forsaken hole. go away. by god i'll wring your neck for you if you dont. hell of a mess i've got in: even the poultry is hostile. go way. go way. by god, i'll ..." [ ] kabnis body, warm, sticky, and hides it in a clump of bushes. he wipes blood from his hands onto the coarse scant grass. kabnis: thats done. old chromo in the big house there will wonder whats become of her pet hen. well, it'll teach her a lesson: not to make a hen-coop of my quarters. quarters. hell of a fine quarters, i've got. five years ago; look at me now. earth's child. the earth my mother. god is a profligate red-nosed man about town. bastardy; me. a bastard son has got a right to curse his maker. god. ... kabnis is about to shake his fists heaven- ward. he looks up, and the night's beauty strikes him dumb. he falls to his knees. sharp stones cut through his thin pajamas. the shock sends a shiver over him. he quivers. tears mist his eyes. he writhes. "god almighty, dear god, dear jesus, do not torture me with beauty. take it away. give me an ugly world. ha, ugly. stinking like un- washed niggers. dear jesus, do not chain me to myself and set these hills and valleys, heaving with folk-songs, so close to me that i cannot reach them. there is a radiant beauty in the uu [ ] kabnis the night wind, and of how it chills him. he rises. he totters as a man would who for the first time uses artificial limbs. as a completely artificial man would. the large frame house, squatting on brick pillars, where the principal of the school, his wife, and the boarding girls sleep, seems a curious shadow of his mind. he tries, but cannot convince himself of its reality. his gaze drifts down into the vale, across the swamp, up over the solid dusk bank of pines, and rests, bewildered-like, on the court-house tower. it is dull silver in the moonlight. white child that sleeps upon the top of pines. kabnis' mind clears. he sees himself yanked beneath that tower. he sees white minds, with indolent as- sumption, juggle justice and a nigger. . . some- where, far off in the straight line of his sight, is augusta. christ, how cut off from everything he is. and hours, hours north, why not say a life- time north? washington sleeps. its still, peaceful streets, how desirable they are. its people whom he had always halfway despised. new york? impossible. it was a fiction. he had dreamed it. an impotent nostalgia grips him. it becomes intolerable. he forces him- [ ] kabnis w t things moving in silence. they come here to touch me. i swear i feel their fingers. . . come, ralph, pull yourself together. what in hell was that? only the rustle of leaves, i guess. you know, ralph, old man, it wouldnt surprise me at all to see a ghost. people dont think there are such things. they rationalize their fear, and call their cowardice science. fine bunch, they are. damit, that was a noise. and not the wind either. a chicken maybe. hell, chickens dont wander around this time of night. what in hell is it? a scraping sound, like a piece of wood drag- ging over the ground, is coming near. "ha, ha. the ghosts down this way havent got any chains to rattle, so they drag trees along with them. thats a good one. but no joke, something is outside this house, as sure as hell. whatever it is, it can get a good look at me and i cant see it. jesus christ!” kabnis pours water on the flames and blows his lamp out. he picks up a poker and stealthily approaches the outside door. swings it open, and lurches into the night. a calf, carrying a yoke of wood, bolts away from him and scampers down the road. [ ] kabnis white-man's land. niggers, sing. burn, bear black children till poor rivers bring rest, and sweet glory in camp ground. the parlor of fred halsey's home. there is a seediness about it. it seems as though the fit- tings have given a frugal service to at least seven generations of middle-class shop-owners. an open grate burns cheerily in contrast to the gray cold changed autumn weather. an old- fashioned mantelpiece supports a family clock (not running), a figure or two in imitation bronze, and two small group pictures. directly above it, in a heavy oak frame, the portrait of a bearded man. black hair, thick and curly, in- tensifies the pallor of the high forehead. the eyes are daring. the nose, sharp and regular. the poise suggests a tendency to adventure checked by the necessities of absolute command. the portrait is that of an english gentleman who has retained much of his culture, in that [ ] kabnis on a forlorn, box-like, whitewashed frame church. negroes are gathering, on foot, driv- ing questionable gray and brown mules, and in an occasional ford, for afternoon service. be- yond, georgia hills roll off into the distance, their dreary aspect heightened by the gray spots of unpainted one- and two-room shanties. clumps of pine trees here and there are the dark points the whole landscape is approaching. the church bell tolls. above its squat tower, a great spiral of buzzards reaches far into the heavens. an ironic comment upon the path that leads into the christian land, . . three rocking chairs are grouped around the grate. sunday papers scattered on the floor indicate a recent usage. halsey, a well-built, stocky fellow, hair cropped close, enters the room. his sunday clothes smell of wood and glue, for it is his habit to potter around his wagon-shop even on the lord's day. he is followed by professor lay- man, tall, heavy, loose-jointed georgia negro, by turns teacher and preacher, who has traveled in almost every nook and corner of the state and hence knows more than would be good for any- one other than a silent man. kabnis, trying to [ ] kabnis just the opposite, in fact. theres more hospi- tality and everything. its diff—that is, theres lots of northern exaggeration about the south. its not half the terror they picture it. things are not half bad, as one could easily figure out for himself without ever crossing the mason and dixie line: all these people wouldnt stay down here, especially the rich, the ones that could eas- ily leave, if conditions were so mighty bad. and then too, sometime back, my family were south- erners y'know. from georgia, in fact, layman: nothin t feel proud about, pro- fessor. neither your folks nor mine. halsey (in a mock religious tone): amen t that, brother layman. amen (turning to kab- nis, half playful, yet somehow dead in earnest). an mr. kabnis, kindly remember youre in th land of cotton-hell of a land. th white folks get th boll; th niggers get th stalk. an dont you dare touch th boll, or even look at it. they'll swing y sho. (laughs.) kabnis: but they wouldnt touch a gentle- man—fellows, men like us three here - layman: nigger's a nigger down this away, professor. an only two dividins: good an bad. [ ] cane course not. this preacher-ridden race. pray and shout. theyre in the preacher's hands. thats what it is. and the preacher's hands are in the white man's pockets. halsey: present company always excepted. kabnis: the professor knows i wasnt refer- ring to him. layman: preacher's a preacher anywheres you turn. no use exceptin. kabnis: well, of course, if you look at it that way. i didnt mean, but cant something be done? layman: sho. yassur. an done first rate an well. jes like sam raymon done it. kabnis: hows that? what did he do? layman: th white folks (reckon i oughtnt tell it) had jes knocked two others like you kill a cow-brained um with an ax, when they caught sam raymon by a stream. they was about t do fer him when he up an says, “white folks, i gotter die, i knows that. but wont y let me die in my own way?” some was fer get- tin after him, but th boss held um back an says, “jes so longs th nigger dies—" an sam fell down ont his knees an prayed, “o lord, ise [ ] kabnis comin to y,” an he up an jumps int th stream. singing from the church becomes audible. above it, rising and falling in a plaintive moan, a woman's voice swells to shouting. kabnis hears it. his face gives way to an expression of mingled fear, contempt, and pity. layman takes po notice of it. halsey grins at kabnis. he feels like having a little sport with him. halsey: lets go t church, eh, kabnis? kabnis (seeking control): all right-no sir, not by a damn sight. once a days enough for me. christ, but that stuff gets to me. mean- ing no reflection on you, professor. halsey: course not. say, kabnis, noticed y this morning. what'd y get up for an go out? kabnis: couldnt stand the shouting, and thats a fact. we dont have that sort of thing up north. we do, but, that is, some one should see to it that they are stopped or put out when they get so bad the preacher has to stop his sermon for them. halsey: is that th way youall sit on sisters up north? kabnis: in the church i used to go to no one ever shouted- [ ] cane tervals it rises to a crescendo note. the sister begins to shout. her voice, high-pitched and hysterical, is almost perfectly attuned to the nerv- ous key of kabnis. halsey notices his distress, and is amused by it. layman's face is expres- sionless. kabnis wants to hear the story of mame lamkins. he does not want to hear it. it can be no worse than the shouting. kabnis (his chair rocking faster): what about mame lamkins? halsey: tell him, layman. the preacher momentarily stops. the choir, together with the entire congregation, sings an old spiritual. the music seems to quiet the shouter. her heavy breathing has the sound of evening winds that blow through pinecones. layman's voice is uniformly low and soothing, a canebrake, murmuring the tale to its neighbor- road would be more passionate. layman: white folks know that niggers talk, an they dont mind jes so long as nothing comes of it, so here goes. she was in th family-way, mame lamkins was. they killed her in th street, an some white man seein th risin in her stomach as she lay there soppy in her blood like [ ] kabnis any cow, took an ripped her belly open, an th kid fell out. it was living; but a nigger baby aint supposed t live. so he jabbed his knife in it an stuck it t a tree. an then they all went away. kabnis: christ no! what had she done? layman: tried t hide her husband when they was after him. a shriek pierces the room. the bronze pieces on the mantel hum. the sister cries frantically: "jesus, jesus, i've found jesus. o lord, glory t god, one mo sinner is acomin home.' at the height of this, a stone, wrapped round with paper, crashes through the window. kabnis springs to his feet, terror-stricken. layman is worried. halsey picks up the stone. takes off the wrapper, smooths it out, and reads: "you northern nigger, its time fer y t leave. git along now.” kabnis knows that the command is meant for him. fear squeezes him. caves him in. as a violent external pressure would. fear flows inside him. it fills him up. he bloats. he saves himself from bursting by dash- ing wildly from the room. halsey and layman stare stupidly at each other. the stone, the [ ] kabnis dont light that light. for godsake get away from there. halsey: nobody's after y, kabnis, i'm tellin y. put that thing down an get yourself together. kabnis: i tell you they are. i saw them. i heard the hounds. halsey: these aint th days of hounds an uncle tom's cabin, feller. white folks aint in fer all them theatrics these days. theys more direct than that. if what they wanted was t get y, theyd have just marched right in an took y where y sat. somebodys down by th branch chasin rabbits an atreein possums a shot is heard. halsey: got him, i reckon. saw tom goin out with his gun. tom's pretty lucky most times. he goes to the bureau and lights the lamp. the circular fringe is patterned on the ceiling. the moving shadows of the men are huge against the bare wall boards. halsey walks up to kabnis, takes the poker from his grip, and without more ado pushes him into a chair before the dark hearth. [ ] cane halsey: youre a mess. here, layman. get some trash an start a fire. layman fumbles around, finds some news- papers and old bags, puts them in the hearth, arranges the wood, and kindles the fire. halsey sets a black iron kettle where it soon will be boil- ing. then takes from his hip-pocket a bottle of corn licker which he passes to kabnis. halsey: here. this'll straighten y out a bit. kabnis nervously draws the cork and gulps the licker down. kabnis: ha. good stuff. thanks. thank y, halsey halsey: good stuff! youre damn right. hanby there dont think so. wonder he doesnt come over t find out whos burnin his oil. miserly bastard, him. th boys what made this stuff-are y listenin t me, kabnis? th boys what made this stuff have got th art down like i heard you say youd like t be with words. eh? have some, layman? layman: dont think i care for none, thank y jes th same, mr. halsey. halsey: care hell. course y care. every- body cares around these parts. preachers an [ ] cane steps towards the others, he seems to be issuing sharply from a vivid dream. lewis shakes hands with halsey. nods perfunctorily to han- by, who has stiffened to meet him. smiles rapidly at layman, and settles with real interest on kabnis. lewis: kabnis passed me on the road. had a piece of business of my own, and couldnt get here any sooner. thought i might be able to help in some way or other. halsey: a good baths bout all he needs now. an somethin t put his mind t rest. lewis: i think i can give him that. that note was meant for me. some negroes have grown uncomfortable at my being here kabnis: you mean, mr. lewis, some col- ored folks threw it? christ amighty! halsey: thats what he means. an just as i told y. white folks more direct than that. kabnis: what are they after you for? lewis: its a long story, kabnis. too long for now. and it might involve present company. (he laughs pleasantly and gestures vaguely in the direction of hanby.) tell you about it later on perhaps. [ ] cane “brother.” and then a savage, cynical twist- about within him mocks his impulse and strengthens him to repulse lewis. his lips curl cruelly. his eyes laugh. they are glitter- ing needles, stitching. with a throbbing ache they draw lewis to. lewis brusquely wheels on hanby. lewis: i'd like to see you, sir, a moment, if you dont mind. hanby's tight collar and vest effectively pre- serve him. hanby: yes, erer, mr. lewis. right away. lewis: see you later, halsey. halsey: so long-thanks-sho hope so, lewis. as he opens the door and hanby passes out, a woman, miles down the valley, begins to sing. her song is a spark that travels swiftly to the near-by cabins. like purple tallow flames, songs jet up. they spread a ruddy haze over the heavens. the haze swings low. now the whole countryside is a soft chorus. lord. o lord. . . lewis closes the door behind him. a flame jets out. . . the kettle is boiling. halsey notices it. he [ ] cane were a child. kabnis submits, wearily. he has no will to resist him. layman (his voice is like a deep hollow echo): thats right. thats true, sho. every- body's been expectin that th bust up was comin. surprised um all y held on as long as y did. teachin in th south aint th thing fer y. nassur. you ought t be way back up north where some- times i wish i was. but i've hung on down this away so long- halsey: an there'll never be no leavin time fer y. a month has passed. halsey's workshop. it is an old building just off the main street of sempter. the walls to within a few feet of the ground are of an age- worn cement mixture. on the outside they are considerably crumbled and peppered with what looks like musket-shot. inside, the plaster has fallen away in great chunks, leaving the laths, grayed and cobwebbed, exposed. a sort of loft above the shop proper serves as a break-water [ ] kabnis several fresh ones. fidgets. the town bell strikes twelve. kabnis: fix it up f tnight? halsey: leave it t me. kabnis: get lewis in? halsey: tryin t. the air is heavy with the smell of pine and resin. green logs spurt and sizzle. sap trickles from an old pine-knot into the flames. layman enters. he carries a lunch-pail. kabnis, for the moment, thinks that he is a day laborer. layman: evenin, gen'lemun. both: whats say, layman. layman squares a chair to the fire and droops into it. several town fellows, silent unfathom- able men for the most part, saunter in. overalls. thick tan shoes. felt hats marvelously shaped and twisted. one asks halsey for a cigarette. he gets it. the blacksmith, a tremendous black man, comes in from the forge. not even a nod from him. he picks up an axle and goes out. lewis enters. the town men look curiously at him. suspicion and an open liking contest for possession of their faces. they are uncomfort- able. one by one they drift into the street. [ ] cane kabnis: what about me? halsey: tell him, lewis, for godsake tell him. i've told him. but its somethin else he wants so bad i've heard him downstairs mum- blin with th old man. lewis: the old man? kabnis: what about me? come on now, you know so much. halsey: tell him, lewis. tell it t him. lewis: life has already told him more than he is capable of knowing. it has given him in excess of what he can receive. i have been of- fered. stuff in his stomach curdled, and he vomited me. kabnis' face twitches. his body writhes. kabnis: you know a lot, you do. how about halsey? lewis: yes. . . halsey? fits here. be- longs here. an artist in your way, arent you, halsey? halsey: reckon i am, lewis. give me th work and fair pay an i aint askin nothin better. went over-seas an saw france; an i come back. been up north; an i come back. went t school; but there aint no books whats got th feel t them [ ] cane others, and leaves. kabnis goes to the door. his eyes, sullen, gaze up the street. kabnis: carrie k.'s comin with th lunch. bout time. she passes the window. her red girl's-cap, catching the sun, flashes vividly. with a stiff, awkward little movement she crosses the door sill and gives kabnis one of the two baskets which she is carrying. there is a slight stoop to her shoulders. the curves of her body blend with this to a soft rounded charm. her gestures are stiffly variant. black bangs curl over the forehead of her oval-olive face. her expression is dazed, but on provocation it can melt into a wistful smile. adolescent. she is easily the sister of fred halsey. carrie k.: mother says excuse her, brother fred an ralph, fer bein late. kabnis: everythings all right an o.k., carrie kate. o.k. an all right. the two men settle on their lunch. carrie, with hardly a glance in the direction of the hearth, as is her habit, is about to take the second basket down to the old man, when lewis rises. in doing so he draws her unwitting attention. [ ] kabnis their meeting is a swift sun-burst. lewis im. pulsively moves towards her. his mind flashes images of her life in the southern town. he sees the nascent woman, her flesh already stiffening to cartilage, drying to bone. her spirit-bloom, even now touched sullen, bitter. her rich beauty fading. . . he wants to- he stretches forth his hands to hers. he takes them. they feel like warm cheeks against his palms. the sun-burst from her eyes floods up and haloes him. christ-eyes, his eyes look to her. fear- lessly she loves into them. and then something happens. her face blanches. awkwardly she draws away. the sin-bogies of respectable southern colored folks clamor at her: "look out! be a good girl. a good girl. look out!” she gropes for her basket that has fallen to the floor. finds it, and marches with a rigid gravity to her task of feeding the old man. like the glowing white ash of burned paper, lewis' eyelids, wa- vering, settle down. he stirs in the direction of the rear window. from the back yard, mules tethered to odd trees and posts blink dumbly at him. they too seem burdened with an impotent pain. kabnis and halsey are still busy with [ ] cane awnings which form a sort of corridor that im- perfectly echoes and jumbles what they say. a fifth form joins them. they turn into the road that leads to halsey's workshop. the old build- ing is phosphorescent above deep shade. the figures pass through the double door. night winds whisper in the eaves. sing weirdly in the ceiling cracks. stir curls of shavings on the floor. halsey lights a candle. a good-sized lumber wagon, wheels off, rests upon the blocks. kabnis makes a face at it. an unearthly hush is upon the place. no one seems to want to talk. to move, lest the scraping of their feet . . halsey: come on down this way, folks. he leads the way. stella follows. and close after her, cora, lewis, and kabnis. they de- scend into the hole. it seems huge, limitless in the candle light. the walls are of stone, won- derfully fitted. they have no openings save a small iron-barred window toward the top of each. they are dry and warm. the ground slopes away to the rear of the building and thus leaves the south wall exposed to the sun. the blacksmith's shop is plumb against the right wall. the floor is clay. shavings have at odd [ ] kabnis times been matted into it. in the right-hand corner, under the stairs, two good-sized pine mat- tresses, resting on cardboard, are on either side of a wooden table. on this are several half- burned candles and an oil lamp. behind the table, an irregular piece of mirror hangs on the wall. a loose something that looks to be a gaudy ball costume dangles from a near-by hook. to the front, a second table holds a lamp and sev- eral whiskey glasses. six rickety chairs are near this table. two old wagon wheels rest on the floor. to the left, sitting in a high-backed chair which stands upon a low platform, the old man. he is like a bust in black walnut. gray- bearded. gray-haired. prophetic. immobile. lewis' eyes are sunk in him. the others, un- concerned, are about to pass on to the front table when lewis grips halsey and so turns him that the candle flame shines obliquely on the old man's features. lewis: and he rules over- kabnis: th smoke an fire of th forge. lewis: black vulcan? i wouldnt say so. that forehead. great woolly beard. those eyes. a mute john the baptist of a new religion-or a tongue-tied shadow of an old. [ ] cane then glares at him with a furtive hatred. halsey, bringing out a bottle of corn licker, pours drinks. halsey: come on, lewis. come on, you fellers. heres lookin at y. then, as if suddenly recalling something, he jerks away from the table and starts towards the steps. kabnis: where y goin, halsey? halsey: where? where y think? that oak beam in th wagon- kabnis: come ere. come ere. sit down. what in hell's wrong with you fellers? you with your wagon. lewis with his father john. this aint th time fer foolin with wagons. day- time's bad enough f that. ere, sit down. ere, lewis, you too sit down. have a drink. thats right. drink corn licker, love th girls, an listen t th old man mumblin sin. there seems to be no good-time spirit to the party. something in the air is too tense and deep for that. lewis, seated now so that his eyes rest upon the old man, merges with his source and lets the pain and beauty of the south meet him there. white faces, pain-pollen, settle down- ward through a cane-sweet mist and touch the [ ] kabnis an aleadin every song. a white man took m mother an it broke th old man's heart. he died; an then i didnt care what become of me, an i dont now. i dont care now. dont get it in y head i'm some sentimental susie askin for yo sop. nassur. but theres somethin t yo th others aint got. boars an kids an fools-thats all i've known. boars when their fever's up. when their fever's up they come t me. halsey asks me over when he's off th job. kabnis-it ud be a sin t play with him. he takes it out in talk. halsey knows that he has trifled with her. at odd things he has been inwardly penitent be- fore her tasking him. but now he wants to hurt her. he turns to lewis. halsey: lewis, i got a little licker in me, an thats true. true's what i said. true. but th stuff just seems t wake me up an make my mind a man of me. listen. you know a lot, queer as hell as y are, an i want t ask y some questions. theyre too high fer them, stella an cora an kabnis, so we'll just excuse em. a chat between ourselves. (turns to the others.) you- all cant listen in on this. twont interest y. so [ ] cane befo i got this job that beam ought t be but tmorrow mornin early's time enough f that. as i was sayin, i gets t thinkin. play dumb naturally t white folks. i gets t thinkin. i used to subscribe t th literary digest an that helped along a bit. but there werent nothing i could sink m teeth int. theres lots i want t ask y, lewis. been askin y t come around. couldnt get y. cant get in much tnight. (he glances at the others. his mind fastens on kabnis.) say, tell me this, whats on your mind t say on that feller there? kabnis' name. one queer bird ought t know another, seems like t me. licker has released conflicts in kabnis and set them flowing. he pricks his ears, intuitively feels that the talk is about him, leaves cora, and approaches the table. his eyes are watery, heavy with passion. he stoops. he is a ridiculous pathetic figure in his showy robe. kabnis: talkin bout me. i know. i'm th topic of conversation everywhere theres talk about this town. girls an fellers. white folks as well. an if its me youre talkin bout, guess i got a right t listen in. whats sayin? whats sayin bout his royal guts, the duke? whats sayin, eh? [ ] cane stella and cora come up to the table. halsey: give him a shove there, will y, stel? stella jams kabnis in a chair. kabnis springs up. kabnis: cant keep a good man down. those words i was tellin y about, they wont fit int th mold thats branded on m soul. rhyme, y see? poet, too. bad rhyme. bad poet. somethin else youve learned tnight. lewis dont know it all, an i'm atellin y. ugh. th form thats burned int my soul is some twisted awful thing that crept in from a dream, a godam nightmare, an wont stay still unless i feed it. an it lives on words. not beautiful words. god almighty no. misshapen, split-gut, tortured, twisted words. layman was feedin it back there that day you thought i ran out fearin things. white folks feed it cause their looks are words. nig- gers, black niggers feed it cause theyre evil an their looks are words. yallar niggers feed it. this whole damn bloated purple country feeds it cause its goin down t hell in a holy avalanche of words. i want t feed th soul—i know what that is; th preachers dont-but i've got t feed it. i wish t god some lynchin white man ud [ ] cane somebody'll see th girls leavin? some sport, you are. i hand it t y. halsey: up you get, all th same. kabnis: oh, th hell you say. halsey: well, son, seeing that i'm th kind- hearted father, i'll give y chance t open your eyes. but up y get when i come down. he mounts the steps to the work-shop and starts a fire in the hearth. in the yard he finds some chunks of coal which he brings in and throws on the fire. he puts a kettle on to boil. the wagon draws him. he lifts an oak-beam, fingers it, and becomes abstracted. then comes to himself and places the beam upon the work- bench. he looks over some newly cut wooden spokes. he goes to the fire and pokes it. the coals are red-hot. with a pair of long prongs he picks them up and places them in a thick iron bucket. this he carries downstairs. outside, darkness has given way to the impalpable gray- ness of dawn. this early morning light, seep- ing through the four barred cellar windows, is the color of the stony walls. it seems to be an emanation from them. halsey's coals throw out [ ] cane kabnis: brother doesnt know what he's talkin bout. carrie k.: yes he does, ralph. he needs you on th wagon. kabnis: he wants me on th wagon, eh? does he think some wooden thing can lift me up? ask him that. carrie k.: he told me t help y. kabnis: an how would you help me, child, dear sweet little sister? she moves forward as if to aid him. carrie k.: i'm not a child, as i've more than once told you, brother ralph, an as i'll show you now. kabnis: wait, carrie. no, thats right. youre not a child. but twont do t lift me bodily. you dont understand. but its th soul of me that needs th risin. carrie k: youre a bad brother an just wont listen t me when i'm tellin y t go t church. kabnis doesnt hear her. he breaks down and talks to himself. kabnis: great god almighty, a soul like mine cant pin itself onto a wagon wheel an sat- isfy itself in spinnin round. iron prongs an [ ] kabnis help him. dont look shocked, little sweetheart, you hurt me. father john: sin. kabnis: aw, shut up, old man. carrie k.: leave him be. he wants t say somethin. (she turns to the old man.) what is it, father? kabnis: whatsha talkin t that old deaf man for? come away from him. carrie k.: what is it, father? the old man's lips begin to work. words are formed incoherently. finally, he manages to articulate father john: th sin whats fixed . . . (hesi- tates.) carrie k. (restraining a comment from kab- nis): go on, father. father john: ... upon th white folks- kabnis: suppose youre talkin about that bastard race thats roamin round th country. it looks like sin, if thats what y mean. give us somethin new an up t date. father john:—f tellin jesus—lies. oth sin th white folks 'mitted when they made th bible lie. ( ) kabnis the steps. carrie notices his robe. she catches up to hiin, points to it, and helps him take it off. he hangs it, with an exaggerated ceremony, on its nail in the corner. he looks down on the tousled beds. his lips curl bitterly. turning, he stumbles over the bucket of dead coals. he savagely jerks it from the floor. and then, see- ing carrie's eyes upon him, he swings the pail carelessly and with eyes downcast and swollen, trudges upstairs to the work-shop. carrie's gaze follows him till he is gone. then she goes to the old man and slips to her knees before him. her lips murmur, "jesus, come.” light streaks through the iron-barred cellar window. within its soft circle, the figures of carrie and father john. outside, the sun arises from its cradle in the tree-tops of the forest. shadows of pines are dreams the sun shakes from its eyes. the sun arises. gold-glowing child, it steps into the sky and sends a birth-song slanting down gray dust streets and sleepy windows of the southern town. the end [ ] aal ' bn > -r fifty years after the author firry years after by john h\ paynter, a.m. margent press new york copyricht, , by john h. paynter published by marcent press east th street, new york, n. y. all rightt reserved. no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission of the publisher feinted im the united states of ahiiica »v j. i. little tt ives company. new yore contents part i letters dedication to wilson cary then and now > bonny england j more london sights paris fifty years after % paris vignettes evenings in paris versailles and malmaison homeward bound part ii memories and musings in prose and poetry old georgetown io david copperfield my dog friends v vi contents brother jarrett sees new york and finds good spirits are appreciated reminiscing rambles "skins may differ, but affections. ..." grandma 'melia's advice the new york boarding house executive meeting, far east citizens associa- tion l back to denver, a little journey to the west i the district liners lincoln university a christmas retrospect uncle jake's christmas to emperor selassie as to mr. stoddard's "rising tide of color" the black hundred lincoln heights training school the parasite l how do you do portrait of a lady each can do a little meditation come clean ode to illustrations the author frontispiece facing page wilson cary hon. john r. archer prof. louis t. achile verden t. paynter, brent paynter, william cary paynter ioo the author and wags in the den i fifty years after when your letter arrived, they, under the influence of great anxiety and suspense, lost all fear of my indig- nation (if i should feel any, for having my letter opened) and opened the letter, which afforded them great relief, and not a little amusement—relief, because from what you had stated, and the fact that you had written from palermo they felt convinced that i was safe and on my way homeward—and amusement caused by your happy and graphic description of a rough night at sea and the ludicrous appearance of the captain as described by you. i must confess that you are robbing the literary world of a great treasure in going to sea. i don't know what you think about. well old fellow, after i parted from you that last night at gibraltar i went to bed and slept soundly till half after four the next morning when i got up, washed and dressed, and prepared for two or three day's (as i knew it to be) hard work. well, after partaking of what little food i had, i started from the hotel and boldly walked out of the town, through the gates, across the english and spanish lines into "elina." when i arrived in spanish town i felt and breathed a little easier; although not perfectly safe, i knew i was on the right road to getting safely away. after passing through "elina" i followed the road to "san roque" where i rested some little time and from thence across some great hills, and a sandy plain, and found myself about noon on the margin of a forest of "cork yielding trees" which i was compelled to traverse to get to a place called "pablo." i at once plunged into fifty years after the forest, not knowing whether i was going the right way or the wrong one, but all the same, going straight ahead; when i had been walking about a couple of hours i came to a little hut on a clear space surrounded by trees and there i rested myself and partook of some refresh- ment provided for me by the lady of the house. while resting at the hut a party of mulateers and their guide were going by, and on being asked by the lady of the house whither they were going answered, "to malaga." when i heard "to malaga" my heart gave a great bound and i felt overcome with joy; it seemed to me a special act of providence, the sending of these men in my way, and i fervently thanked god for my deliverance from i knew not what; but i knew that about eighty miles of mountainous country lay between me and my destination and i knew not a foot of the way, and here were guides (it seemed to me specially sent) ready and willing, for the sake of my company, to conduct me to the place i wanted to go so i hastily finished and paid for my repast, and started on the road with my newly found friends and guides, and after about six hours hard travel- ling up hill and down hill, rough road and smooth road, but with an astonishingly small percentage of smooth road we at last reached "pablo" where we rested for the night. to make a long story short i must tell you we had four days hard travelling, making about twenty miles a day over mountains and hills with a river here and there, which i found to be very hard work, and which i should not like to go through again. well we arrived, at last, safely at "malaga" where i at once went in search of an fifty years after english ship and was fortunate enough to find one, bound to "london" the day after my arrival. i found the cap- tain aboard and made terms with him in which transac- tion it was agreed between us that i should hand over my watch and chain to the ship's steward for safe keeping, and as pledge of my good intention to pay him (the cap- tain) a certain sum of money claimed, by him, for my keep while aboard his ship, and which i was to redeem on my arrival in brighton, so i got aboard the ship the next day and joyfully started (en route) for england, which we reached after fifteen days sail. the reason we were so long on the journey was the boat was a freighter and we had to call at "cadiz," "lisbon" and "vigo" for freight; but i did not care so long as i was on board a ship for england and safe away from gibraltar. my people, i need not tell you, were overjoyed to see me once more, and i have had to relate every incident of my life while aboard the "ossipee" to them, and many friends besides, so i assure you your name has been men- tioned more than once. i am glad to hear "phil rourke" is going on allright, but sorry to hear he is put back to coal-heaving, although i suppose it won't be for long. i am very sorry "phil" took it so much to heart about those clothes i promised him. i myself, thought them worthless, and when i promised them to him, i intended to keep my promise, but (as doubtless you remember) it seemed doubtful for several days before i left the ship whether i should get liberty or not; so in consequence i gave nothing away but what i could spare and when at last the morning came, on fifty years after which i went on liberty, i was too deeply engaged with my own thoughts to think about my clothes, and it was only when changing myself to go ashore that i thought anything at all about them. then, there was but one man in the engine room where my locker was, and where i changed and kept my clothes; to him, then, i gave my two keys, one the key of my locker, the other the key of my small box on the berth deck. prior to the time i changed my clothes i assure you i had no idea of giving any of my things to the man i gave my keys to but there was no one else about there and i thought in a hurry i might as well give them to him as anyone else, so hoping our dear old friend phil will forgive me and that you will please try to explain to him how this unpleasant thing came, and trusting this will find you both and our old friend cary in the enjoyment of excellent health and spirits i remain your sincere friend (signed) j. h. (p.s.) dear john please excuse me writing my initials in lieu of name—i think you will see the force of this discretion. i will send you a photo as soon as possible. you know my address. ditchling rise preston, brighton july th, dear sir: your letter of may th arrived here on the roth of this month, and i took the liberty of opening, for the fifty years after l st., n. w. washington, d. c. dec. , . mr. john h. paynter, washington, d. c. my dear sir: permit me to most sincerely thank you for your great kindness and courtesy in sending me a copy of your most interesting work, "joining the navy," which was for- warded to me at this place from richmond, va. i would have acknowledged its receipt ere this had it not been for the wretched condition of my health; in fact so greatly pleased am i with your kind remembrance of me that i would have hunted you up so as to thank you personally had i not been such an invalid. i have read the book with the greatest interest and i am glad to be able to most sincerely and heartily con- gratulate you upon having written a most interesting work. you have told the history of the cruise in a most entertaining manner; but what strikes me as most ad- mirable is that although during your service many dis- agreeable things must have occurred yet you do not dwell upon them or in any way bring them into prominence. i had a hearty laugh over your description of the rough and tumble time we had in the cabin on our passage from palermo to messina, and think your account of my appearance quiet accurate. it had been my intention to include in this a check for another copy as i want to send it to the west indies, but as i do not know the price i must wait until i hear from you. besides my wife has lost your address, and i am not fifty years after quite certain whether it is internal revenue or not, but will risk it. i shall be very glad if you can find time to come and see me, if not will you be kind enough to tell me the price of the book so that i can obtain another copy. again most sincerely thanking you for a very great pleasure and wishing you every success and happiness, i remain yours very sincerely (signed) john f. mcglensey. [ wilson cary dedication memorial tribute to wilson cary when my shipmate, wilson cary and i returned in from a cruise around the world on uncle sam's battleship, the u.s.s. ossipee, we promised ourselves that one day we would make another trip abroad under free and more comfortable circumstances. fate interfered and sent wils on a longer trip, so i dedicate to his memory this volume which describes the trip i made alone, fifty years after. the first voyage was undertaken directly after my graduation from lincoln university in pennsylvania, in . we had been taught much of "what to do" and "how to do," but the "where to do" was as ever uncer- tain. after my shipboard experience i was impressed that i should probably have made as good a cabin boy without a college degree. yet, with the lack of such preparation, could there have been any widening vista of work or usefulness? would not the cabin boy have been content to serve his captain well; to nose about among the bazaars of africa and the orient; to view with cold indifference the essential oneness of our wide, far-flung humanity, to lift the hammock and the foc'sle to a place of perma- nence on the horizon of his aspirations—idealizing the one and democratizing the other? fifty years after the experience of fifty years has about convinced me that "how to do" is the most important question in life, and just here is where the tribute to my friend and ship- mate, wilson cary, comes in. wils, as he was affectionately called, came nearer to being able to do everything well than any man i ever knew. i doubt that he had ever before set foot on a ship's deck, and yet when he had learned his way around, he was as much at home in the duties and emergencies of ship life as the veriest old salt alive. i was a stranger to even the most ordinary kinds of toil and it was he who pointed the way, often assuming the tasks himself, and lifting the veil of frequent despondency by wise counsel and watchful care. in this way he succeeded in making a perfectly competent cabin boy out of an only tolerable college man, and infused a spirit of optimism in situa- tions strange and often discouraging. his belief and faith in this cabin boy never faltered. at denver, colorado, some years later, when he was headwaiter at the brown palace, the intimate friendship was renewed, and in the interval of twenty years which followed he sent me from alamo gordo, n. m., a wall plaque in four sections, reminding me of gibraltar and recalling vividly a day in june at the bullfight across the bay at algeciras. the plaque, beautifully done in the best style of mexi- can featherwork, shows, first, "ensemble for parade" and below that panel is inscribed in a well-remembered hand, "friendship begins in sunshine." the second pic- tures "picadors in tilt with the plunging bull" and below that is inscribed the query, "shall we conquer our foes?" fifty years after in the third we have "the death thrust of the mata- dor," and the motto, "we depend upon our skill, (thy best)." the fourth, "the matador and the prostrate bull" affirms "we conquer, i show you the last." some years after this i passed a ten day vacation with him and his dear wife at springfield, ohio; ten cheerful, happy days in the month of september, but so different, so very different from those many happy earlier days of long ago. he was now a devoted disciple of pastor russell, and lived as nearly the life of the man of nazareth as was humanly possible. his home was the weekly meeting place of the sect, where high and low, black and white, met on a common level, all content to do the master's will that his name might be glorified. those wonderful ten days, so strange, so beautiful and uplifting, are my last precious memories of wilson cary. for the next september i again journeyed to springfield sadly, for "the last which comes to all" and had at last come to him. "peace to his ashes." chapter i then and now this month of december marks the fiftieth anniversary, the "golden anniversary," of my re- turn to america from a cruise around the world. the story of the adventures and experiences of that first jour- ney and the many moons of my youth it took, is told in a little volume, joining the navy, or abroad with uncle sam. it is a rare and golden opportunity not only to be able to remember back to that voyage of fifty years ago but to have celebrated the anniversary with another trip abroad, the story of which i shall now undertake to tell. it is hard to believe that so many years have passed since, as a youngster just graduated from lincoln uni- versity, i was signed on as cabin boy by the ship's clerk of the u.s.s. ossifee for the cruise of that vessel on the asiatic station. but—it's true, as the ineffaceable marks of the knocks, buffets, boosts and bruises of the intervening years have registered in permanent record—unimpeach- able witnesses whose testimony may neither be disputed nor erased. but as i christened my youth with an ocean voyage, so, too, was i fated to begin the last quarter of a possible century of living with another ocean crossing. as i pen fifty years after these lines the vibration of mighty engines, the roaring swirl of waters and the sonorous, braying blasts of the fog-horn piercing the darkness with an appeal for watch- fulness and care, bring assurance that we are once more at the mercy of wind and wave—though not so perilously as before, and on our wallowing way to unknown lands and unaccustomed scenes. what a contrast does this modern, palatial giant, the he de france, present to the ossipee, an old-line battle- ship of the civil war. the ossipee was as staunch and valorous as any of that day, and no word of scorn or detraction is aimed at the old stand-by, for it was the only home we knew for more than two years; and its rough human associations, its wind-filled sails, its swaying hammocks and crowded berth-deck odors seem now as insistently present in memory as in that other day of actual hard experience. this later voyage is certainly a contrast in every respect. for the uniform and the discomforts of the cabin boy have been laid aside and not only the habiliments of a gentleman but all the freedom and amenities of civil life and retired leisure have taken their place. without care or exertion, we are free to enjoy the trip instead of having to make it. one of the major factors in the transformation, per- haps, is this lavishly equipped ocean liner, the lie de france of the french line, on which we find ourselves speeding eastward bound for old england at more knots an hour than the ossipee often did in a whole day, and with , souls aboard, counting crew and passengers. and what different company! among them are some then and now fifty or more of our old home folks. the largest single group of these are the members of the adolph hodge travel party. mr. and mrs. hodge have gained much experience in their nine successive years of conducting tours. in this year's group are a dean and another pro- fessor of howard university, a lady delegate from washington to the international congress of social work to be held in london, a widely known new york minister and his poet son, a number of public school teachers and professional folks from as far west as chicago, and others who have achieved respect in their various fields. with them are a mother and her son of five years, who is already something of a globe-trotter. it is the second trip abroad for the manly little fellow. added to these are several painfully dignified middle-aged ladies from away down home, scrupulously neat and observant of all the formalities. it was most heartening to realize that for once we were enjoying an unrestricted equality; that our women folks, whether or not they were easy on the eyes, were being accorded the most scrupulous deference. thus it was demonstrated, in a most welcome way, that the french shibboleth, "liberty, fraternity and equality" really embraces all the children of men, of whatever creed, race or color. there was another travel party aboard, conducted by a vivacious little lady from chicago. in this group there were several of the other race. they were on their way to moscow for a study of the labor and social conditions in the land of the soviets. another party attracting general attention was com- posed of some twenty-five young men and women, chapter ii bonny england there is much in the plymouth harbor scene that reminds us of our own hampton roads. a sugges- tion of a dismantled riprap on a base of rugged, de- flowered and mossy stone rises from the water in the fore- ground, while across the bay looms a verdant hillside with a wealth of wild and richly colored vegetation abruptly lifting from a grey and rock-bound coast. but look closer, and the softer lines, greener grass and balmier air tell us that it is bonny england. the transfer, identification and examination of baggage consumed less than an hour, so expert were the customs and railway men in this art of shepherding tourists. cables and telegrams were filed notifying relatives and friends of safe arrivals; and we were all ready for the new sights. yet a few details—exchange of money, purchase of stamps for the inevitable post-cards and the thousand and one inquiries so unavoidable in foreign travel. but all elicit the most courteous attention in this land of good manners, and soon, with bags and parcels safely stowed away by the porters, we are comfortably seated in the compartments of the train, reserved in advance to save confusion, and are on our way to famous london town. fifty years after how beautiful is this countryside through which we are passing—a veritable green and velvety arcadia. the eye sees no discoverable barren spots and notes the curious absence of broken-down fences, so characteristic of our own countryside. indeed, there are no fences; the separate holdings being marked by well-cropped hedges. thus the boundary lines enhance the beauty of the rolling vales and hillsides with their browsing herds, and frame a beautiful picture as the landscape leads up to the higher levels of the tree clustered homes and cottages. a four hour run, with a welcome lunch in the diner, brings us to paddington station, not at all ornate, as the palatial stations of our large american cities, nor as pretentious as the more central victoria station of london itself. still, paddington is commodious in its own rambling way, admirably designed for the handling of great crowds. here have been enacted scenes both sad and gay that are an imperishable part of the fame and glory that are england's. here they have welcomed with shouts and rejoicing the heroes of their great wars; and here, too, have come the solemn and mournful throngs accompanying the remains of well-loved sovereigns— victoria, edward vii, and lately king george v—as they entrained to fill their niche in the vaults reserved for royalty in the palace and fort at windsor. here i took my leave of the hodge party, who after a brief two days in london were to resume an itinerary embracing many of the cities of central europe and lead- ing eventually to the land of the midnight sun. starting off on my own, my first experience developed the fact, as true abroad as at home, that if one does not bonny england keep a keen eye open and a mind alert as well, he is bound to experience some embarrassing disillusionment and perhaps also some discomfort. a much travelled but total stranger in this neck of the woods, i could, of course, not know either the direction or the distance to go to reach my friends in battersea. as i inquired of a taxi- driver, i was told it was a terrible long way, and that he couldn't think of doing it for less than six shillings, nine pence; not a small sum in either pounds or dollars. but i began to suspect that both the distance and the fare were being boosted, so i took up with another driver, for whom the journey was only a little way over albert bridge for three and six, about half the former charge. needless to say, as maurice chevalier would put it, i closed with him right away. in about ten minutes he brought me to no. reform street, and there i met the hearty greeting of friends, the relatives of the late mayor of battersea, whom i had known only through corre- spondence, but whose friendship i had enjoyed for years. in this i was fortunate far beyond the average traveller whose lot is cast among strangers as well as strange sights. the gardiner family, to whom i have referred, father, mother and daughter, were most solicitous for my com- fort and welfare, and during the five weeks i was in london guided my tours so that i saw the city from end to end. it was not unusual for our party of four to start out just after mid-day and board a tram or clamber up to the sight-seeing deck of a bus, pass along the thames embankment to the active marts of trade and big business or to the restful parks and gardens with their impressive memorials and monuments. it is remarkable how these fifty years after park retreats are designed in london. a brief walk places us in the heart and flow of city traffic making its never ending way through the strand, bond and fleet streets, piccadilly or the kingsway, while a turn in the other direction puts one either in the heart of a quiet, restful garden or the shadowy seclusion of some ancient pile. the world of today on one side; the old world atmos- phere of drab and quaint and solemn buildings, such as the almost medieval inner and middle temple courts and temple bar, close by, on the other. another day a different route would be taken; we would go in the opposite direction by way of the batter- sea, lambeth or westminster bridge, and reach the impressive site where the ornate houses of parliament rise and spread out over nine hundred feet of the thames embankment to remind us of the fact that london is the heart and seat of the great empire. mute witnesses of this hoary past are the statues of all the english monarchs since william the conqueror, and dominating all, rises the three hundred foot bell tower, housing the best known clock in the world, big ben, also reputed to be the most accurate, powerful, and largest striking clock in the world. in the immediate vicinity are the ancient westminster abbey, the hall of westminster, and the westminster cathedral, with mosaic covered walls and its richly deco- rated chapels of st. gregory, st. andrew and the holy souls. here again is a three hundred foot tower, com- manding a superb view of west london. yet this historic location is only a stone's throw from the busy, modern, victoria station; and in convenient nearness, one may wander into the department stores of barkers or portings, bonny england invade the grosvenor gardens section, where at no. we found the american embassy, or take a peep at the fifteenth century church of st. margaret, with its impressive memorial window to sir walter raleigh, pre- sented, by the way, by american citizens. it is this st. margaret's that is the celebrated marriage church of high society in london, and its altar recalls many an inter- national romance that has culminated there. the reader should not find it hard to imagine the thrills of contemplating the evidences of human genius, culture and energy, much of it centuries old. london is full of such things. outstanding among them, certainly, is that masterpiece of christopher wren's, built to com- memorate the restoration of the city after the great fire of , st. paul's cathedral. it was erected in on the site of a church of st. paul that had stood there for years. it is also the military pantheon of england, housing the remains of nelson, wellington, admirals jellicoe and beatty, and many other british heroes. not far from the cathedral a marble column, known simply as the "monument" rises to the height of feet. its winding staircase leads to a balcony from which one can view all of london, with the great teeming east side directly at one's feet. to us, one of the most impres- sive sights of all was not the city itself, but the winding thames whose serpentine course can be seen, on a clear day, far out as it reaches beyond the city to the open countryside. fifty years after london town england has not only suitably remembered her rulers, her heroes, her statesmen and her poets with imposing memorials in age-defying bronze and stone, but also, by her grandly ornate temples lifting to the skies in homage to the ever-living god, she has graciously perpetuated the life-work of her churchmen. these men, defying scorn and persecution, even courting death, have sought, with brain and consecrated energy, to see to it that the true light of christian faith might penetrate the gloom and ignorance of a wicked world. such a remembrance is that of william tyndale, trans- lator of the english bible and protestant martyr, who was tried, condemned and burned at the stake in at the age of . his memorial, a massive bronze replica, is placed prominently in the embankment gardens on the thames, and bears this inscription, "his last words were: 'lord open the king of england's eyes.' " following this is the statement, "a bible was placed in every parish church within the year." the church of st. martin in the fields made a special appeal to me through the agency of a radio sermon by its rector, the reverend pat maccormack. this sermon was broadcast the second sunday evening of each month. on this particular evening, at the close of his sermon, the reverend gentleman spoke feelingly and with great praise of the late richard b. harrison and the play the green pastures. "to him," he said, "the play was the most moving and forceful portrayal of faith and whole-hearted devotion to the religion of our lord on fifty years after "negro" and "darky." i have before me the clipping from an issue of a leading london daily newspaper, tell- ing of an outing of colored boys and girls at epsom downs, sponsored by "the league of colored peoples; the colored men's institute and the society of friends." the article is headlined: darky boys and girls have a joy-day, while the picture of five little boys and girls with laughing, jolly faces is shown as they lean from the coach windows, presumably on their way to epsom downs. the opening sentence of the article fol- lows with these words: "ten dozen little darky boys, to say nothing of little darky girls, spent today on epsom downs." another excerpt says: "happiest of all were the colored stewards assisting dr. harold moody of jamaica, who was the coal-black daddy of the day." and further on: "in ordinary life these young men are university graduates, but today they ate the cherries and drank the milk with the others." if you can imagine the reaction to such an article appearing in any of our dailies, at least above the mason and dixon line, it will not be difficult to realize the indignation and protesting horror of its reception by american citizens of color. being one myself, and rather thin-skinned, that was precisely my reaction. however, i sought light on the subject from one of the associate editors of the london daily telegraph, presenting to him the generally accepted american view of such racial designations. he was greatly surprised and quite earnest in his defense of the english view. "the term negro," he said, "was quite unthinkable as a designation for colored people; not only does it fail to disclose the ethnic bonny england origin, but attaches to them by suggestion the savage and barbarous garb of tribal africa and the jungle. darky to our mind and as used by the english people carries no degrading stigma or scornful thrust. indeed, it is with us more of a pet name by which a small group of alien people, differing in complexion, has been incorporated with the great body of english people." i am not sure our home folks can take this explanation and like it too; but at least we must admit that it is ingenious. but on to less contestable matters. among the great sights of london, hampton court palace stands out in my memories, not only because of its intrinsic significance, but because seeing it caused me to miss seeing someone else. it had been one of the treasured anticipations of my trip to meet mr. turner layton, the celebrated musician who has made london his home for so long. he is the son of the late john t. layton of washington, our old home-town friend. fate was perverse on this occa- sion, for after receiving a card from paris that he was out of town but would arrange a rendezvous on his return, that appointment came by telegram the very day we were at hampton court. and when i called the next day, it was only to be informed, to my great disappoint- ment, by mrs. layton that he had had to leave that morning for another out of town engagement. and so i doubly remember hampton court. hampton palace is for a number of reasons the most celebrated of all the english royal houses. it was the private dwelling of the great cardinal wolsey, whose power and influence in state as well as in church affairs rivalled that of his king, henry viii. his eminence lived there in great fifty years after luxury for a number of years, and tradition has it that on one occasion he entertained, right royally, the ambas- sador of france and a retinue of four hundred who had come on a mission to conclude a treaty with england. but, as we all know, the king's flair for new wives was the rock upon which the cardinal's power crashed, for he opposed the marriage to anne boleyn after henry's divorce from catherine of aragon. the cardinal's des- perate gesture for the retention of royal favor by present- ing hampton court palace to his majesty was not effective in saving him from final disgrace and dismissal in . we paid a visit of more than seven hours to this palace, and viewed well its broad courts and colonnades, its miles of lofty, richly paneled hallways and suite after suite of gorgeously tapestried chambers, their vaulted ceilings presenting legend, history and allegory in the marvelous artistry of the great masters. such sights daze the senses and conjure up a deep appreciation of the manifold gifts with which man has been endowed by the great creator. we realize that this massive pile has stood for more than four hundred years, and while kings and queens and their royal retinues have made their entrances and their exits, the palace—with its splendid paintings (as brilliantly fresh today as when originally done), noble sculptures of finely wrought figures in bronze and stone —still remains for the edification and delight of genera- tions yet to come. the entrance is called the trophy gate, so named from the leaden cannon. this gate is set off by four pillars, two representing conquests of war, and the others bonny england supporting shields on which are emblazoned the lion and the unicorn—the royal arms of george ii. an extensive brick-paved court leads to the anne boleyn gate, the arched center of which bears the monograms of henry and anne, entwined as a lover's knot beneath which is inscribed the kingly motto "dieu et mon droit." in the center at the top of the broad, three-storied facade is set a great astronomical clock made in , which, it is claimed, still keeps accurate time. it takes thirty minutes to wind each week, and on its seven foot square dial are depicted the twelve signs of the zodiac, the hour of the day, the day, the month, the position of the sun in the ecliptic and other astronomical phenomena. the king?s kitchen, with its great open fire-place, its roasting rods and mammoth iron cooking vessels, is also to be seen, and the huge bricked ovens for bread baking. the floor is roughly brick-paved, while the walls, also of brick, are now white-washed. the wide windows have hinged drop leaves, presumably for the transfer of food to the banquet board. the wine cellar and buttery, with a brick elevated platform along the side to take care of the casks of wine and brew which supplied the huge flagons from all parts of the palace, give some idea of the extent and profligate cost of royal bounty and enter- tainment. hampton court was indeed the center of the sump- tuous entertainments for which queen elizabeth's reign was noted. in the great hall is pointed out the spot where shakespeare and his fellow actors of the king's company acted before james i, at christmas, . it was here, too, that this king presided as moderator over fifty years after the hampton court conference between the episcopalians and the puritans of the church, which ordered that authorized versions of the bible for which william tyn- dale never ceased to pray and for which he gave his life. it may be realized with what a feeling of awe we followed our guide through cloistered vestibules to the gallery from which visitors may view the chapel royal. the vaulted roof of the chapel is strikingly beautiful, with three rows of gilded pendants each surrounded by four gracefully poised figures representing the angelic choir, either playing pipes or singing from hymn scrolls or bearing scepters. above, in the vault, is a rich blue sky with stars of gold. a miniature chapel called the holy day closet or king's oratory overlooks the chapel royal. here it is said the king was hearing mass when the document revealing the misconduct of katharine howard, then his queen, was handed him by archbishop cranmer. whereupon the queen was instantly confined under guard until she could be removed to the tower. a few days later, learning that the king was about to leave the palace, she slipped through her guards in the hope of making a personal appeal, but was overtaken and forced back while henry continued his devotions regard- less of her piercing screams. apropos of this incident, we are told of the legend of the haunted gallery, where it is said on various nights a white-clad spectral figure with jewelled hood may be seen rushing to the oratory, whence she turns back utttering the most unearthly shrieks. the palace's thousand rooms are now partly laid out in apartments for the use of persons of noble lineage in bonny england reduced circumstances who are the guest tenants by the grace and at the pleasure of the sovereign. the chapel royal, as in those long gone days when royalty was in residence, is still open for divine service on sundays and saint's days; and doubtless this means of convenient worship is highly prized by those who in the twilight of their lives have the privilege of quiet retreat in an environment so unusual and inspiring. cer- tainly those last days of inevitable decline which is the lot of all who live long, could not be passed in surround- ings more appealing, where the senses may delight in numberless acres beautified by the perfection of landscape art, with spreading lawns, brilliant flower-beds, trim terraces of gravel and great avenues of yew and lime stretching for far vistas on every side. the great foun- tain and the long water, as the canal reaching out to the thames is called, add to all this their sparkle and shim- mering beauty. the visitor is attracted to the vinery, where is to be found one of the largest vines in the world. our inspec- tion disclosed a mammoth principal stem said to be inches around at ground level; its longest branches more than ioo feet, trained over the roof and sides of glassed-in hot houses and weighted at this time of year with clusters of fast-purpling grapes, the bunches weigh- ing from one to two and a half pounds. these vines were planted in and the fruit, formerly kept for the king's table at windsor, is now sold in baskets made by blind soldiers for their self-support at the st. dunstan's home. before invading the wilderness, which was the old fifty years after orchard of henry viii, and passing out through the lion gate we wandered into the celebrated hampton court maze. it is an intricate puzzle of paths of triangular shape, with walks leading here and there and back, with mystifying insistence. the enclosing hedges are six feet high and we found it impossible, as many others do, to get out until the keeper came to our assistance. next to hampton court, in my view, comes that other treasure house of england's traditions, and the scene of the coronation of all the british sovereigns from william the conqueror to george vi, the sanctuary of westmin- ster abbey. we enter at the door which faces the statue of the great emancipator, abraham lincoln—and cer- tainly no more fitting location could have been chosen. standing as the lanky figure does in that familiar, full- length pose with the careworn, rugged face and kindly look, it brings to this old world repository of a nation's glory, the one stupendous act that symbolizes the glorious fact of human freedom in the new republic. just within the entrance of the abbey rests the en- tombed remains of england's unknown soldier. the bronze slab that covers the spot bears this inscription: "they buried him among the kings, for he had done good toward god and his house." among the many statues and memorial tablets which for one reason or another might appeal to the visitor are those representing all types of human service, churchmen, toilers in the field of letters, statesmen and reformers, enemies of the slave power and other forms of human oppression, stars of the stage, jurists, teachers, indeed every category of the great. a statue of the wesley bonny england brothers, charles and john, bears the impressive inscrip- tion: "god buries his workmen but carries on his work." the statue of william wilberforce is thus inscribed: "his name will ever be with those whose exertions by the blessing of god removed from england the guilt of the african slave trade." mr. wilberforce, as we remember, was a member of parliament from to , and was the one to intro- duce the bill in commons for the abolition of slavery, which he tirelessly pressed and lived to see written into the statutes. this deathblow to slavery in the british empire was dealt at the instance of thomas clarkson, president of the london anti-slavery convention held in . clarkson spent his later years as a resident of battersea, and a medal in his honor was struck by his native town. one of these, the prized possession of mr. archer, the late mayor of battersea, was presented to me upon my departure from london. but let us return to the abbey. here we find ourselves intrigued, as all visitors are, by the poets' corner, where are the memorials of all the great masters of english literature since chaucer. that of bulwer-lytton acclaims him as "laborious and distinguished in all fields of literary activity—indefatigable and ardent in the cultivation and the love of letters." to the long line of these great writers honored here have recently been added, at the time of my visit, those two literary giants of our day, rudyard kipling and thomas hardy. a quotation from thomas hardy's first novel, the poor man and the lady, reads: "the world and its ways have a certain worth and to press a point while these oppose were a fifty years after simple policy; best wait, and we lose no friends and gain no foes." the slab under which lie the remains of the world's master delineator of human passions, foibles and ambition, charles dickens, simply bears his name and birth and death dates, - . a seemingly curious twist of fate was brought to our attention by the guide, who pointed out the sarchopagus in which it is said reposes all that is mortal of queen elizabeth and mary stuart—rivals and adversaries in life, but ironically united in death. in an adjoining glass case is shown the ring given the earl of essex by elizabeth, a small green, unpretentious cameo, which, however, carried the promise to win him favor in whatever circumstance it should be brought to her. confined in the tower and sentenced to death, he dispatched the ring as a last resort. the legend continues that it fell into the hands of the countess of nottingham, allied with the enemies of essex, and was never delivered. the queen, it is said, apprized of this, in a furious rage, shook the dying countess in her bed. but the historic reminders are legion; we pause a moment as we pass in review the illustrious ranks of the masters of the histrionic art, in full stature and dramatic pose, the great siddons, irving, terry and others, and then pass on to the spacious vaults of westminster hall. westminster hall is devoid of all the fittings and adornments which crowd the abbey. in strange contrast, its lofty interior and extraordinary size are impressive, as are also its obvious age and severe norman architecture dating from the ith century. various tablets in brass and stone, however, apprize one of its historic incidents, rang- bonny england ing from the earliest times to the historic events of our own generation. here, for instance, is a tablet recalling the trial of charles i; and nearby, tablets commemorating the lying in state of edward vii and george v. a brief walk brings us to the houses of parliament. we pass through a hallway lined with volumes telling the story of empire building, and reach a more spacious passage leading directly to the house of lords. this noble gothic hall we find hung with the richly framed paintings of the kings and queens of england and other celebrities portraying the crucial events in the progress of the british nation. here is henry viii, delineated in the gorgeous finery of his kingly estate and side by side in the order of their succession, the portraits of his numerous wives. noteworthy among many is the great historical canvas portraying king john, facing the barons at runnymede and assenting to the magna charta; elizabeth commissioning sir walter raleigh in ; richard coeur de lion setting out for the crusades; the trial of wallace in ; the trial of cromwell in . on the dais, under the gorgeously decorated vaults of the chamber stands the royal throne, where sit the king and queen with the woolsack or seat of the lord chancellor directly in front of it. at the time of our visit there was but one seat for the occupancy of his majesty, king edward viii. since those days, great events, then little foreseen but tremendously affecting the empire, have occurred. the house of commons, much less pretentious and rather somber in general appearance, is entered by way of another lobby crowded with historical paintings. but fifty years after here the real drama of english history has been played, as all know who remember that it is commons that con- trols the government, and by whose vote governments rise and fall. here is the real heart of the great world- encompassing empire upon which the sun never sets. but one must not forget that london is full of more than historic monuments of state and state affairs. one of the major objectives of my visit, in fact, was to view the relics and souvenirs that in one way or another were associated with the work of charles dickens, and to make a leisurely inspection of the neighborhoods and environs about which his genius has woven so much that is fasci- nating and memorable. and to no one feature of my travels can i look back with a more genuine joy and satisfaction. the old curiosity shop, no. portsmouth street, is a diminutive, low-ceilinged structure, particularly sug- gestive, through its quaint exterior, of the original shop from which it takes its name. but it is a rather commer- cialized venture where are to be found plaques, cards and booklets dealing with the multitudinous episodes and characters which have made the name of dickens a house- hold word in all parts of the world. certainly one finds in it nothing suggestive of the freakish decorations and curious instruments of fight and frolic, the frightful death's-head door knocker, with grinning mouth, bulging eyes and gleaming fangs, so graphically pictured by dickens. nor, indeed, could one transform it by the most exhaustive feat of imagination into the depot of motley curiosities gathered by the grandfather of little nell and bonny england bartered for the means of gaming to that cruel and in- human vulture known in the story as mr. quilp. the general vicinity of the old curiosity shop is full of genuine survivals of the old locale; of places and incidents made familiar to us all in the works of dickens. lincolns inn fields is especially fruitful in this respect; for we recall that little miss flite, tireless in attendance on the chancery case of jarndyce and jarndyce, fondly referred to the fields as "her garden." not far away is the golden cross hotel, from which pickwick and jingle started on their coach ride to rochester; and here, also, copperfield and steerforth put up for the night. and from the strand nearby, the adelphi arches may be easily reached, those cavernous hidings where the idle and the vicious made their criminal rendezvous in many of his novels. they may be followed their dim length down to the thames embankment. we ventured about fifty feet to a bend whence its continuing gloom stretched out before us, and then returned to the rushing crowds of the strand, glad to be back in the daylight of even a frowning london sky. next on our calendar was a visit to the dickens museum at no. doughty street. this proved a veri- table treasure house of dickens relics and associations. its three stories and basement are crowded with all imaginable souvenirs of the great writer; even a number of the kitchen utensils that formed a part of the simple housekeeping arrangements of the dickens family. promi- nently one finds the desk presented by c. d. himself to mrs. dickens; and later, in , presented by her sister, miss georgina hogarth to an american friend, miss fifty years after grace norton. the action through which it became incor- porated with the other priceless relics of the museum is beautifully emphasized in the lines inscribed upon it now: a little relic of the past kind fate has sent me, offer one i know will love the thing it sent me; a gift from bride-groom to his bride your interest thickens, her name was kate or catharine, his name was dickens. hundreds of autograph letters, including the famous one defining the policy to be pursued upon assuming the editor's chair of the daily news, are here preserved for posterity; and there is the old grandfather's clock that stood in the coach office of the white hart inn at bath, of which moses pickwick was proprietor; presented by the pickwick club in . here is the original drawing of the peggotty boat home at yarmouth, so suggestive of david copperfield's visit and the hours of delightful, happy play with little emily along the sea-shore; and of the tragic aftermath of grief and sadness. then, too, a model of the maypole inn at birmingham, so familiar to readers of barnaby rudge, and, most interesting to american visitors, the square, plush-covered reading desk used in the famous reading tour of america. also we find the window of the attic at no. bayham street, camden town, which was occupied by the dickens family when they came to london from chatham. row upon row of pewter tankards assembled from the old pick- wickian inns; and innumerable prints and engravings, bonny england original illustrations of dickens' works—all bearing some association linked with the work of this prodigious genius. happening to look from the window on the rear of the second floor of no. , i saw in the next yard several young colored men engaged in the pleasurable game of table-tennis and, curiously enough, upon leaving the museum, i met another young colored man. upon in- quiring of him the direction of gower street, the address of mr. rosamond johnson, who with mr. tim moore and mr. george smith, was playing with the "blackbirds of " at the gaiety theatre, i was interested to dis- cover him to be mr. louis a. h. mcshine, from trini- dad, a last year student of medicine at the st. bartholo- mew hospital. later i learned that there were more than a score of colored young men from the west indies tak- ing professional courses at the polytechnic and other scientific and professional schools in london. he invited me to accompany him to an afternoon gathering of these men, who met frequently for social cheer and tea. to my surprise he conducted me back to the house next door to the dickens museum, and there a very interesting hour was passed. among the dozen or so present was a former washingtonian, mr. john payne, now of no. regent park road, a long-time resident of london and promi- nent figure in the world of music. chapter hi more london sights we are again in the east side of london town, but this time not in the swirling human tides of ludgate circus and st. paul's cathedral hill, but on the thames side, by the great drawbridge that faces what is generally appraised as the most historic building in the world. certainly all will agree that london tower is unparalleled in national historic annals. the most memorable mental picture one carries away from the tower is not that impression of a single squat medieval tower standing out across a drawbridge moat, by which london tower is known pictorially throughout the world. i was hardly prepared for the reality, which instead of one tower is a whole series of towers ringing round a well-worn uneven stone paved courtyard. one tower does, indeed, dominate all others. london tower actually is an old medieval fortress, on the thames side, with busy commercial east side london at its feet. and as one literally climbs up the sloping courtyard one realizes that its proper appellation, tower hill, is really correct. the tower owes its inception to william the con- queror and was begun in . within its confines is still to be seen, however, a remnant of the wall built during more london sights the roman occupation. it combines the triple functions of palace, fortress and prison. it is the last capacity that incorporates the many tragic associations that stand out in its history. a brass tablet inserted in the flagstones of the mid-portion of the "open" marks the place of execu- tion of henry viii's short-lived queen, anne boleyn. a few of the other distinguished involuntary residents of the tower, we remember, were lady jane grey, sir walter raleigh and the earl of essex; all were led to execution on tower hill. the tower is truly medieval and the original old- world atmosphere is noticeably observed in both dress and ceremony. the yeoman of the guard and warders, with battle-axe and pike, wearing the somber, rufhe-necked blouse and broad, flat tam-o-shanter headgear all are as insistently medieval today as they were hundreds of years ago. these are the famous "beefeaters" of history. but apart from its grewsome horrors, the tower is additionally attractive in an aesthetic way. it is also the treasure house of the crown jewels, those insignia, deco- rations and royal equipment which from time immemorial have made of royal progress and pageant a gorgeous and unforgettable spectacle that has never failed to inspire and stimulate the traditional zeal and loyalty of the nation. in the center of the jewel room of wakefield tower is an immense glass-enclosed case in which are displayed a dazzling array of crown jewels, the king's state crown and sceptre, in the handle of which is set the largest known diamond in the world. the white tower, housing the extensive armor, also is a storehouse of skill and art. more london sights iron cylinder, it was abandoned during a storm in the bay of biscay, but finally recovered and landed safely, to add in a friendly foreign land, more centuries to its hoary age." an eloquent reminder of a visit of the german bombing fleet during the world war of our day is to be seen in the shrapnel scars on this ancient monument, which however scarred, still stands flaunting its original hieroglyphics and later inscriptions in the solemn grandeur of its plain pedestal on the embank- ment. the other, and larger obelisk, has stood in central park, new york city, since . and now to another type of grand monument in this town of great monuments—the british museum, which, in the words of ruskin, is the "grandest concentration of human knowledge in the world." one might spend weeks, even months, adequately viewing its treasures, as a tour of several days merely glancing here and there at the highlights of its exhibits quite convinced me. it is espe- cially rich in the relics of ancient civilization, egypt, assyria, babylon, greece and rome—their famous sculp- tures, specimens of delicate workmanship in carvings, bronzes, metals, jewels, enamels and potteries. in pottery alone, one can trace human art and culture from its crude and earliest beginnings down through the centuries to its peaks of artistic achievement. it is easy to concede the claim that this is the most comprehensive collection of this type in the world. one piece, of special interest to me, was a specimen of mojolica pottery depicting the building of solomon's temple. the wooden scaffolding, distinctly outlined, is painted on an opaque white ground formed by a tin glaze. it is accredited to the year . fifty years after another priceless majolica, of the early th century, vividly portrays the departure of the prodigal son. a chelsea porcelain after a famous painting by rubens, depicts cimon, an athenian general of the fifth century b.c. in exile after serious reverses of war, and in such a desperately famished state, he is receiving sustenance from the breast of his daughter, pero. numerous other cases display the elegance of early book craftsmanship and binding. a bible, with crimson velvet centerpieces, and cor- ners and clasps of enameled gold, bears the significant crest of a double red rose and the royal initials, "e. r." a purple velvet bible embroidered with the arms of henry and katharine parr, was originally printed and bound in venice in . another, embroidered with roses of colored silk, gold threads and seed pearls, also bears the royal arms of henry and is dated . still another, of orange velvet binding and gold cord, is initialed, "h. r., ." closely associated with these gorgeous presentations of the holy word, we find the gold communion cup used by queen elizabeth on such occasions when even she "drew near with faith and took the holy sacrament to her comfort, making her humble confession to almighty god, devoutly kneeling." this royal cup, the inscription informs us, has been held at various times by france and spain, and is appraised in value second only to the english royal crown. considerable space in other cabinets is appropriated for the display of the various editions of the works of eras- mus, the dutch scholar-theologian of the early th century. acclaimed as the most gifted and industrious more london sights pioneer of modern scholarship, he aligned himself on the side of the reformation, but disagreed sharply with luther, deploring the dogmatic character of the lutherans; arguing that the open vices of the monks and clergy should be the chief point of attack. another rare old book, his adagio, is a collection of classical proverbs, containing gems of wisdom and striking commentary on human nature, especially the greed and covetousness of the nations. on the opened page, we read: "what nation is there that has not been driven from some part of its territory and which has not in turn driven others? i will only say that if every claim or disputed title be a sufficient cause for undertaking a war, that it is likely in the multi- tudinous changes and chances of human affairs, a claim or disputable title will never be wanting." this wisdom was first published in . my visit to london recorded no greater thrill than was felt on the two occasions i enjoyed a leisurely inspection of the new masonic temple in great queen street. this splendid edifice is the home of the mother grand lodge of england from whence issued a warrant of constitution to prince hall and his brethren for afri- can lodge no. . it is built of immaculate white marble, covers a half acre of ground and cost a million pounds. it is richly furnished and elaborately decorated. the two bronze doors to its grand lodge room each weigh a ton and in their casting have been portrayed historic scenes from the building of the great temple of solomon. the grand lodge room rises three stories in amphi- theatre form and is ceilinged with a gloriously painted more london sights windsor castle another rare experience of a london visit is that of seeing windsor castle. here, also, the romantic history of traditions, going back eight hundred years, grips the imagination of the stranger and the national pride of the native britisher. it, too, covers all the dynasties from william the conqueror to george vi, and thus has its permanent place in the foreground of the pageant that depicts the continuity of england's greatness and glory. approached by the great western railway after a little less than an hour's ride from london, windsor is first glimpsed as a great stone rampart, lifting up from a heavily wooded park and nearby playing field to the north, its grey stone towers rising brusquely to dominate the scene. one enters from the adjacent town of windsor through the great henry viii gate, and traverses what is known as the lower ward. here one views at close range the curfew tower, from which tradition says the poet gray heard "the tolling knell of parting day" re- ferred to in his famous elegy. following a gentle ascent, we pass the ancient timbered structures that house the chapel choristers, and then a broad gothic window where legend has it that henry viii first saw anne boleyn as she was visiting her uncle, canon sansom of windsor chapel. in this lower ward is also the chapel of the order of the garter, founded by edward iii, to which men are elected not by virtue of inherited nobility but because their personal service and private character merits the honor. why the garter was chosen as the symbol of the order is lost in legend. a traditional account, not fifty years after entirely accredited, tells the tale of a royal ball at windsor during the progress of which the garter of the countess of salisbury dropped at the feet of the king. whereupon he is reputed to have recovered the dainty appendage and placed it about his knee, uttering for the first time the phrase now known the world over as the motto of high-mindedness and honor: "honi soit qui mal y pense." proceeding along the lower ward, we next approach the dean's cloisters. here the yeoman guide lingers be- fore the deanery whose stained and weather-beaten walls spread out on two sides of the cloisters up to the northern wall of the castle. we have his word for it that the deanery has been the scene of notable pomp and cere- mony as well as of grief and mourning. it was here, in a small room of the deanery, that henry vii received the king of spain (it was then used as the chapter house by the knights of the garter) and placed upon the knee of the royal visitor the insignia of the order. it was here, too, that the spanish king later returned the compliment by presenting henry viii with the order of the golden fleece. but in contrast, in another room of the same deanery, we were shown the table upon which the body of king charles rested, awaiting burial in the chapel of st. george. the same room was the scene of a ball held in celebration of the return to sanity of the demented george iii. further on one is even more impressed by the mag- nificent and classic beauty of the chapel of st. george itself. its exterior carries at intervals niches in which the statues of english kings have been placed. the interior more london sights is even richer because of a marvelous stone ceiling with elaborately carved tracery and dazzlingly gilded devices emblazoned upon it. all this, with graceful gothic arches, frames beautiful stained glass windows, each of their sections six feet high, depicting also the kings and dig- nitaries of england. in fact, st. georges is a series of chapels, crammed with wealth and artistry in metal, glass and stone. notable among the later decorations is a painting de- picting the ministry, passion and atonement of our lord. also the filigree altar cross given by queen victoria in honor of her jubilee, and a pair of brass candlesticks, the gift of king george and queen mary, inscribed: "to the glory of god and in memory of our parents." in the middle, before the altar, is the beautiful brass lectern, of marvelous craftsmanship and dating back to . then come the state apartments, a magnificent suite, as one might well imagine, sumptuously furnished and richly decorated. the paintings, armor, ceramics, tapes- tries and furniture impress one with the masterful genius of those great craftsmen in the world of art, who, as far back as the th century, were making with patient labor of hand, their priceless contributions to the aesthetic enrichment of our modern world. from the terrace one is rewarded with the most pleas- ing and symmetrically beautiful view of the castle that is anywhere to be had. this is the east front view, and we had the pleasure of enjoying it on our last visit to windsor on a sunday in mid-august. the sun was out in full splendor (it had been overcast during our previous fifty years after visits), and with the whole scene and the forest burnished in sunlight, it was one of those great, unforgettable experiences. that sunday, after a rest and tea at the nell gwynne tea room, we climbed up castle hill and entered the quadrangle, through the st. george gateway. this is the route by which the sovereigns and their guests arrive and depart. the spacious east front, terraced, balanced and beautiful in a perfection of landscaping, presents a colorful picture. that afternoon a guards' band fur- nished an additional thrill in their picturesque uniforms, and provided a concert of martial music while the throngs of visitors and townspeople sauntered leisurely along the flower-bordered pathways. many lingered around the fountain, or paused to gaze at the many statues of the historic great which adorn the spreading lawns and ter- race walks. the guards, red-coated and shako-crowned, trod their posts with measured, unvarying step, seemingly oblivious to the gaily chatting crowds about them. that they were alert to their duty, however, was only too convincingly demonstrated when, with reasonable inquisi- tiveness, i stepped across the lawn better to identify a particularly striking statue. the guard at once approached and politely but firmly requested me to "keep off the grass." the shades of evening and the last notes of the band concert were on us, as we were getting our last close-up of the great equestrian statue of george iii, located on snow hill at the further end of the long walk. and so, glancing from tower to turret and along the vast facade, to review the composite picture of the wonders that have more london sights and the throne passed on to the next in succession. edward the king, through the alchemy of a romantic love affair, had become just the citizen david windsor. in retrospect this greatest of all the recent dramas of the crown gives added depth and emotion to one of the most vivid last memories of our visit to london town. chapter iv paris fifty years after the kindness of my hosts at no. reform street in battersea was the last and the best souvenir i carried away from london. it was difficult to realize when leaving, that just five weeks before, when i arrived in london, we had been strangers to sight; although friends by associations and letters. on the morning of august th, when i entrained at victoria station for plymouth, en route to paris, it was necessary to take leave of the gardiner family and their tireless and hearty hospitality. the channel crossing brought me a glimpse of the sun, which, except at rare intervals since leaving new york, had been successful in an almost perfect record for a hide-a-way performance. but now, with a gently rolling sea under a fine sky, the coast line of brittany looms up before our curious eyes; and then, a little later, as brit- tany dips below the horizon the more rugged coast of normandy appears. at last the port of havre, no longer the mystery of our sea-faring youth, but now a great city of docks and world commerce—and a familiar sight even fifty years after. by one thirty we had arrived in paris by the speedy professor louis t. achile paris fifty years after reserve their highest appreciation for water, not as a beverage, but as a means of cleanliness. within a few yards of the vaults, one may enter the subway station of jussieu, and through its network of underground facilities, range over the whole of paris. provided, of course, one learns how to follow the crowd up innumerable steps and turns at the proper transfer points. eventually one emerges into the welcome daylight either at one's chosen center of business or of pleasure— the place de l'opera, the tuilleries, the louvre, the arc de triomphe, or where you will. the morning after my arrival introduced me to that great institution, the bedside continental breakfast—a cup of coffee of delicious aroma and the crisp knob of a crusty french loaf and pat of churned fresh butter. after that, with m. pinci's good company, i passed the morning, rambling here and there in the shaded paths, under the grateful shelter of age-old trees of the jardin and glimpsing a seemingly interminable stretch of landscaped flower beds in a prodigal array of bloom. and so we meet enticing mid-summer paris, until the internal urge of appetite forces us to ignore the contrary urge to stroll further along the banks of the seine. we return by way of the zoo, along a circular path through boulders and ancient trees, ideal restful retreats for decrepit oldsters and mothers who, over their needlework, carefully watch the romping play of their little ones. as we make our exit from this arcadia and its restful, bewitching charm, we pause before a bronze statue of bernardin st. pierre, reposing in a luxuriant tropical setting, with the figures of those two innocent childhood lovers whom he has fifty years after idealized for the ages in his story of paul and virginia. the statue bears the simple inscription: "bernardin st. pierre— ." later, through the entree to this kindly family, i had the pleasure of an afternoon and evening with mlle. paulette nardal as my charming guide. it was not strange, perhaps, that—with her unusual parisian charm, yet with a richly dark complexion, so decidedly strange in contrast with the native parisienne—she, and even her escort, who was decidedly not native though less attractive, should win some unusual attention from the passers-by. but it was an attention of polite and restrained curiosity, french to the core. however, mlle. nardal was, or seemed, oblivious; concerned with only where to go and how to get there. under her competent guidance we first viewed the hotel des invalides, the palatial retreat established in as an asylum for soldiers, and that now, also, gives asylum for eternity to the ashes of napoleon i. this historic pile is especially magnetic, here in the domed silence of the church of st. louis, where rests under a massive cupola the great porphyry sarcophagus with his remains. then, after a jaunt across paris, came the palais royale and its extensive courts and gardens, its colonnades of shops and fashion depots; the old mid-town seat of the bourbon court, and for that very reason, the site of many a dramatic and tragic scene of the french revolution. nor shall we soon forget the grandeur of the more modern marble palaces and apartments that, with a wealth of harmonious architectural genius, spread out to ravish the senses on either side of the place de la concorde, fifty years after varied insignia of war and victory. in the very center, under the main arch, rests the tomb of the unknown soldier, sunk in the ground, and lighted constantly with the burning torch that is poetically called "the light of remembrance." the interior face of this imposing memorial, whose central arch rises ninety feet over a span wider than an ordinary american street, records the names of napoleon's generals whose service and devotion made possible the military triumphs the arch commemorates. the whole area of the place de l'etoile combines both utility and beauty in the layout of modern paris, for it is a busy traffic center, the hub of a wheel, whose spokes represent the broad arteries of traffic and trade. yet the spaces so artistically designed, reveal an unsurpassed vista of famous temples and buildings, each making its distinctive offer- ing to that unrivalled ensemble of charm and design, that is paris—paris the unique. one of the main avenues radiating from the arc is the famous bois de boulogne, commonly referred to as just the bois. this opens into still another enchanting playground of pleasure and fashion. finally its shady walks lead, after miles, to the great pare of the bois, with the well-known racetrack of longchamps. from this distance one looks back at a city of spires, towers and symmetrical roof-tops, but domi- nating it all, soars that highest of all human-made structures, the eiffel tower; gaunt, commanding—the familiar symbol of paris. chapter v paris vignettes paris in its physical aspect greatly resembles london, for each metropolis boasts a rather uniform terrain through which flows a stream that lends itself to the practical needs of commerce as well as to the insistent demands of the populace for diverting pleasures and recre- ations. but in atmosphere, of course, they are as different as the diverse temperaments of the two nations. the river seine winds in serpentine fashion about the environs of paris. numerous bridges, spanning it at intervals, are in many instances artistic or picturesque, according to their age and the character of the section of the city through which they pass. few are such triumps of engineering as the great bridges of the thames, but they have no need to be. however, the bridges of paris are definitely more ornamental. along the protect- ing wall of either bank numerous small industries and commercial ventures are to be found; small stalls pre- sided over for the most part by decrepit old ladies, and offering all sorts of wares from books, pictures and engravings to household wares and utensils. the most popular and best patronized are the stalls selling old prints of early parisian days, which, together with old fifty years after books and engravings, give one a bird's eye view of all the stages and epochs of the long parisian history. many, too, have another parisian specialty, cellophane wrapped paper novels of decidedly inflammable temperature; a business evidently of very sizeable revenue and jealously supervised by numerous concessionaires. the public buildings and monuments of the french capital also flank the riverside as they do in london. most notable of all in paris is the peerless cathedral of notre dame, on the old city island, a narrow strip be- tween two branches of the great river. from whatever direction one approaches, it is impressive—the noble old norman front with its balanced lofty towers, or the more graceful elegance of the gothic rear with its flying but- tresses so familiar in illustrations. its tranquil outlines show the spirit of the place and the age that built it; it is a prayer in stone lifted up to that great benevolence which is the hope and the inspiration of all races of men. what a contrast we have, however, in that other famous church of paris, the madeleine. relatively mod- ern and devoid of spires, it stands in pure grecian beauty with its surrounding colonnade of lofty pillars, with niches displaying colossal statues of the saints, and sur- mounted by a massive pediment depicting, in sculptured frieze, incidents in the lives of the eminent defenders of the faith. even in a city noted for its sacred shrines, the madeleine stands out uniquely grand. then, in the latin quarter stands what is now known as the pantheon, really the church of st. genevieve, patron-saint of paris. its crypts contain the ashes and bones of some of the great of france—voltaire, rousseau, zola paris vignettes and many another illustrious son so honored since its dedi- cation in . the aisles along the four walls (the pattern of the building is that of a greek cross) carry a remarkable series of paintings; and the shrine chapel of st. genevieve herself, just within the entrance, portrays her in heroic pose in the tradition of her faith and courage when, it is said, she saved paris in the time of atilla's invasion. another rare architectural gem is the sainte chapelle, surrounded by the law courts, but within it is a rare gothic jewel box of stone and glass tracery. sainte chapelle was built as a votive church by the devout louis. it has an upper and lower chapel, one reserved for the king and the other for his suite. the upper one, more lofty and ornate, has great windows of gorgeous coloring. it is dedicated to the sacred relics for which the chapel was the repository; the holy crown and holy cross, reputedly inherited from emperor constantine and sent to france during the crusades, and housed here since the church was built in . from the street, so close are the law buildings around it, one would scarcely sus- pect the presence of this medieval gem, but for the delicate lofty spire, projecting up over the incongruous later architecture of the palais de justice. paris is endless in finds like this. whichever way we turn we are confronted with beauty and historical asso- ciations. here, too, not far away down the boulevard st. michel is the museum and palace of the luxem- bourg; associated with the late medicis, but now the seat of the french senate and the site of the modern art gallery of this city of art treasures. most famous of all fifty years after are its beautiful gardens, fine alleys of trees, and outdoor statuary. it is the playground of the latin quarter, and is the much sought rendezvous for the fun and love- making of the motley student population of this great old university of paris, which is but a stone's throw away. one of my grandest surprises was on an early morning walk in the neighborhood of my domicile, for here with- out warning i stumbled on a great open circular structure built apart from a hillside of trees and houses, by which it was surrounded. what was it but a relic of pre-christian days, a vast stadium that had been the scene of the trans- planted roman holidays of the garrison citizenry of the "town of huts" that caesar founded on the banks of the seine in b.c. here, still intact, is the shell of a dismantled amphitheatre, with conclusive evidence in the time-stained, moss-covered walls and even in the iron- barred dungeon-like cages, from which ferocious beasts may have been unleashed for the gory spectacles of roman days. though crumbling with age and disuse, nothing more eloquently symbolizes the evolution of paris than this relic of barbarism, an evolution which embraces that saving of the embryonic city from atilla's invasion by the inspiring intervention of st. genevieve, to which we have already referred. surviving through several genera- tions of the romans, and then the early pagan tribes, the normans, the bloody insurrections and turmoils of the crusades, the medieval quarrels and feuds of kings and the lordly great, paris has come down through the ages, with some surviving relics of each. paris vignettes but it was the revolution of which was the birth- date of the paris of today, the metropolis of a people's republic, democratic, liberal and enlightened. though but short-lived, it laid the basis for the traditions of modern france, the liberty, equality and fraternity, that today is her special character among the civilized nations. this is characteristic of european towns; one can step from one century back or forward, depending on one turning right or left. the walk in the other direction from the achile home leads across the jardin des plantes to the boulevard st. germain. here are such celebrated institutions as the odeon theatre, the luxembourg palace, the school of medicine and most of the publishing houses and great book stores, which border on the latin quarter. on the way one passes the theater made famous by sarah bern- hardt. the house was closed, but an attendant permitted me a peep in at the great shadows enveloping the dusty stage, and at the pit and dome of the large auditorium where once her spell reigned supreme. heart of the latin quarter, naturally enough, is the sorbonne, the oldest section of the university of paris. its chapel contains the remains of cardinal richelieu who built it, as the inscription reminds us: "armandos joannes, cardinal richelieu, built this house and erected this temple anno domino, ." it was this same richelieu who was the dominant figure of the reign of louis xiii who could rightly say, as bulwer makes him, "i have re-created france." for it was he, who in addition to founding the sorbonne, founded the french academy, the jardin des plantes with its geological museum and fifty years after menagerie, the palais royal, and the gardens of the luxembourg. indeed, all paris of that time was reno- vated by the replacement and refurbishing of the older buildings; and paris started to become outwardly beautiful. before that, as the old prints of the city will tell, the streets of paris were dark, narrow and crooked and many of the houses projected their upper stories and gables till they almost met over the street. some few remnants are left, just to show what old paris really was like; the rest from the good cardinal's time, with the exception of the historic palaces and monuments, has been entirely remodeled. the revolution, however, took over all the universities from the church, and since then the chapel of the sor- bonne, formerly used for masses, has become an empty monument of the art of the renaissance for the admira- tion of tourists. the strong anti-clericalism of the french republic precluded its being used for religious services. at present, the tension between church and state being relaxed, the archbishop of paris has permission to say holy mass in the sorbonne chapel once a year, on the anniversary of cardinal richelieu's death. the first mass was said in , with the catholic members of the faculty and student body in attendance, and the catholic members of the french academy; among them george goyan and francois mauriac. in the close vicinity we find the curious little gothic church of st. julien le pauvre, not only one of the oldest but one of the most legendary of the paris churches. it seems that st. julien, a nobleman and great hunter, on paris vignettes one occasion having killed a number of deer, was con- fronted by a huge stag, who, indignant at the outrage, pronounced a curse that one day he, st. julien, should kill his own father and mother. terrified by the prophecy, julien fled to a distant country, trying to purge his soul by deeds of charity to the poor and distressed. he fore- swore hunting, but one night on hearing the howling of a fox near the castle, his old passion for hunting overcame him. his parents, unable to account for his disappearance had set out in search of him; and according to the legend, had reached his new abode this very night. his wife put them up, thinking to surprise him in the morning; but on his late return, stealing in to surprise his wife, he failed to recognize his parents and stabbed the two strangers to death. in his remorse, for penance he took his station at the ford of a river, dangerous for travellers, and ferried them across to the comforts of his home. a few nights later he heard a voice calling from the dis- tance in evident distress: "julien, julien." on crossing in his little boat, he found a stranger clad in rags and evidently a leper. but nothing daunted, he carried him across, gave him to eat and drink and placed him in his bed. in the silence of the night the leper appeared to him and told him that his sin was forgiven and his soul saved. by the dazzling halo around the head of the stranger, st. julien realized he was in the presence of the christ. in such wise, they relate, st. julien became the patron-saint of travellers. extending along one side of the rue st. jacques, be- hind the old, is the new sorbonne, its facade richly adorned with statues and sculptured figures. in the court- fifty years after yard is a vast fresco representing a sacred grove and allegorical figures of the muses, the arts and sciences and many of the great scholars of europe's long history. it is in this same rue st. jacques, no. , that the famous negro painter, henry ossawa tanner, used to have his studio. his "disciples at emmaus" was pur- chased by the city and hangs in the museum of the luxembourg. another of his celebrated paintings, "the three mary's," was acquired by the art institute of chicago. the son of a bishop, benjamin tanner of philadelphia, henry ossawa tanner took up his work in paris in early manhood. he was a pupil of benjamin constant, and finally won such fame as to be made a chevalier of the legion of honor. everywhere, the atmosphere of study and art pre- dominates. the students of the latin quarter, these many years, have been noted for their extra-curricular activities, almost as much as for their achievements in the arts and sciences. the routine of the students in the earlier days began at five a.m., with the sounding of the chimes of notre dame. shortly after, they took their seats on the floor, on straw which had been scattered. the taking of notes seems to have been the main classroom business, even as it is today; discussion thereof being confined to the masters, who once each week held a forum in the presence of the students. even as now, the spirit of youth was effervescent, and frequent rivalry of brawn and skill characterized their jovial relaxation in some favorite wine shop, which often led to many a more serious clash of factional strife, or student riots. up the main artery of the student quarter, boulevard paris vignettes st. michel, one comes to the pont notre dame, connect- ing with the isle of the old city. with a park at either end, the cathedral dominates the island; but there is room for both the palace of justice on one side, and the huge hotel dieu or city hospital on the other. the foundation of the latter goes back to louis ix, who was its patron. it was he who set the tradition that the poor and sick were to have every care, and were to come first in the consideration of all, even before the friars and sisters. looking more like a combination palace-fortress, it is still a hospital today, and to all appearances, from its quiet smoothness of routine, a safe haven for the sick and suffering. the visit gives one another final glimpse at the glories of notre dame, as one crosses the square of the hotel dieu, past the colossal statue of charlemagne on horse- back, to a close-up view of the front of the old building. here, tower the three arched entrances, elaborately carved in high relief with hundreds of human and saintly figures. the center panel represents the last judgment, the apostles and the major saints filling out the company. from a position just within the portal, one gains an unforgettable glimpse of the mammoth interior, and the sombre, quiet peace of the richly decorated sanctuary. in the nave is a subdued radiance, so soft and mellow as to leave even the most casual with a sense of mystic exaltation. one regrets to leave and turn away from those beautiful rose windows, whose tempered reflections along the lofty interior bathe the edifice in light over the gloom of the lower aisles. in this presence one senses keenly the paris vignettes time and again as i ran across the paris trails of napoleon, i was forced to call to mind the familiar features of his nephew, jerome bonaparte, who in the early 's resided in exile in washington, d. c, in the block of k street. on many occasions he might be seen, upturned moustachios and military stride, making his way across mcpherson square to the metropolitan club, or driving out connecticut avenue with madame bonaparte in state, with booted and cockaded coachman and footmen on the box. in the reserved section just off the dome of the hotel des invalides, where the first napoleon lies in marble and granite state, there are hung numerous portraits of the whole napoleon family, or clan, one might say from their great number. i sought out particularly the oil portrait of jerome, and imme- diately recognized the already familiar features. but no reminders of that temple of military memories are as eloquent as the thousands of war-torn flags, weather-worn, discolored and tattered, but fluttering in profusion from the ceilings, with their inscribed streamers reminiscent of battle and siege, victory, retreat and defeat. napoleon's career has been variously appraised, but none can doubt his greatness or miss the impress he made on paris, the city of his hopes and dreams, achievements and disappointments. perhaps the most eloquent appraisal comes from one of his denouncers, the american orator who thus recorded his emotions as he stood at napoleon's tomb: "i thought of the orphans and the widows he had made, of the tears that had been shed for his glory, and of the only woman who ever loved him, pushed fifty years after from his heart by the cold hand of ambition. and i said i would rather have been a french peasant and worn wooden shoes. i would rather have lived in a hut with a vine growing over the door, and the grapes growing purple in the kisses of the autumn sun. i would rather have been that poor peasant, with my loving wife by my side knitting, as the day died out of the sky—with my children upon my knees and their arms about me—i would rather have been that man and gone down to the tongueless silence of the dreamless dust, than to have been that imperial impersonation of force and murder, known as napoleon the great." and yet, even with this vigorous and true indictment, one cannot overlook the glamorous audacity with which this man, superman if you will, set out to conquer the world; or the brilliant strategy of his campaigns and the determined optimism with which he yielded to so fatalistic an obsession. despite cruelties and untold sacrifices im- posed, he achieved a place in world history. to think of france is to visualize napoleon the masterful. caesar and alexander traveled far along the road to world control, but the ambitious endeavors of either are fate- fully obscured in the dazzling brilliance of the napoleonic conquests. he was the most indomitable challenger of fate and the most daring aspirant for olympian honors the centuries have known. but in this game of history, we must remember, it is the common people who pay dearly for the fruits of change and progress. at no spot in paris is this clearer than in the world famous place de la bastille, upon whose broad plaza is erected the bronze column, rising to a height of feet, with a gilded figure atop; the torch ** paris vignettes of freedom in one hand and broken chains in the other. this is the column of july, dedicated to the victim- heroes of the revolution of . standing there, one cannot avoid thoughts of those terrible days of death and suffering, the end of which this shining shaft so eloquently commemorates. i well remember dickens' description of the grewsome proceedings of the guillotine in the place de la revolution manipulated by sanson, the state executioner. i recall his picture in a tale of two cities, of madame lafarge, portly and unemotional, indus- triously knitting in the forefront of the holiday crowd, counting the heads as they fell into the basket, seemingly more intent on her stitches as the rumbling tumbrils rolled along. among the more than twelve hundred victims of this bloody inquisition, several were the shining marks of revolutionary reprisal for most unusual reasons. there was danton, heroic and masterful to the end, announcing with unruffled calm: "i am danton, not unknown to the revolution; you will find my name in valhalla." then charlotte corday, also courageous and unafraid in death as in life, executed for her conscientious swift vengeance on the arch-conspirator, marat. the house where danton lived, and a memorial statue in his honor stand in the neighborhood. in the midst of all this sightseeing and history review- ing, i recalled the remark of my old shipmate, philip rourke, while on the good ship ossipee many years ago, "paynter," said he, "when you have seen paris, you have seen the world." chapter yi evenings in paris our stay in paris thus far had been entirely devoted to sightseeing; as yet there had been no experience of the witchery of dazzling lights, the charm and gaiety of the boulevards at play, or of the fascinating ensembles of beauty and fashion that are envisioned in the phrase "an evening in paris." we could have experienced an evening or two of this sort from the start, but residing a considerable distance from such scenes, it seemed prudent "to hie me home at evening's close to sweet repast and calm repose." one never can tell, however, what is just around the corner, and so to our surprise, and pleasure too, as may be imagined, at the midday meal one friday monsieur achile announced that a box had been put at his disposal for that evening's performance at the folies bergere. evening clothes, of course, were in order. fortunately an old friend who had supervised my packing, had in- sisted that such sartorial equipment should go along. so all was set. it was a gala party of five ladies—dear little madame, tante sarah, and the three daughters—and of three men —messrs. louis achile, mario pinci and i. we set out fifty years after the performance elicited frequent and prolonged ap- plause. the actresses, each and all presenting an amazonian pulchritude, were elegantly decorated, but in the period costume of those first early days when the world was young and not so giddy, and when fashions were set on the theory (seemingly now enjoying a re- birth ) that beauteous nature needs no outward adornment. the highlight of the evening's performance was a jungle scene, in which the gently rolling turf of the wooded dell had been abandoned to the lone occupancy of a recumbent exotic venus. suddenly there appeared, descending cautiously from the hills, a brown-skinned native of giant stature, who espied the slumbering nymph on coming into the clearing. (oh, said i, what's going to happen now?) the great, loosely jointed figure advanced warily, with an exciting weaving motion of body and arms to within a few feet of the beauty. and then, intently gazing for a second or two, turned abruptly, his long arms cleaving the air and fled back into the hills. a typical french moment of suspense was the climax! the enjoyable evening was brought to a close with some light refreshments at a buffet, where the mirrored walls reflected the dress and manners of many nations, all mingling in the gaiety of their "evening in paris." another event of social charm and zest was a dinner tendered dr. edward p. davis, dean of the college of liberal arts of the howard university. dr. davis, a member of the hodge party of tourists, was again in paris previous to sailing on the normandie, homeward bound. the dinner was a family affair, at which professor achile carried the dual role of host and interpreter. mlle. evenings in paris nardal and i were the other guests on this occasion, so that, as it were, an impromptu english speaking alliance was able to present quite a respectable front in the inter- change of wit, story and travel comment during the progress of the dinner. an after-dinner session of instru- mental and vocal numbers followed in the salon, with monsieur and madame pinci the star performers. after a grand repast, this convivial amusement over the demi- tasse and thimble of rare old cordial is one of the features of entertainment in a country where entertaining is a tradition and a fine art. before adieus were said madame achile invited the group to the balcony. there, far below us, lay the jardin des plantes, an unforgettable etching in light and shadow, its gravelled walks and flower-beds gleaming in the twinkling lights of the park and of the moonlight. escorting mlle. nardal back to her home in the rue du dr. roux, i was cautioned to mark well the route, against confusion on my return. with the notable land- marks and the familiarity of one previous trip, that, to my mind was not necessary. but after the affable "bon nuits" and "bon voyages" had been said, i proceeded in exactly the opposite direction; so instead of passing the familiar sorbonne, pantheon, etc., i passed the luxem- bourg and the rue soufflot. and before the smoke got out of my eyes, i found myself in front of the beautiful church du val de grace, staring at its strange dome piercing the moonlit sky. yes, it was an imposing sight, all right, but a good long way from no. geoffroy st. hilaire. a little maneuvering, however, made the error into a fifty years after fession in the vibrant, pleasant tones with which he drew our attention to the residences of famous frenchmen or particularly attractive stretches of scenery along the route. at one point the road lay between seemingly impenetrable woodlands, where fitful gleams of sunlight could rarely be observed. if one could hark back in imagination to a period several centuries ago, when "might made right," when these roads were infested with roving bands of marauders, intent on theft and hesitating not at murder, when travel between paris and versailles was undertaken by the royal court, only under the protection of numer- ous outriders, one may realize the dangers the less opulent travellers might have been called upon to face. not wholly irrelevant to this thought came the booming com- ment of the guide: "these woods have seen some mighty queer goings-on; and it is said that it was in this gloomy stretch of road that d'artagnan and the three mus- keteers, athos, porthos and aramis, members of the guard of louis xiv, fought and defeated a detachment of cardinal richelieu's guards which had been dispatched to arrest them on the charge of duelling." because of the great throng of tourists incident to a fine sunday, we were advised to delay going to the palace, and first take in the park, and look through malmaison, the home of josephine, which was nearby. we wandered for an hour or so along its broken paths, leaf and branch strewn from the old trees that still lifted skyward about the old house, a verdant crown that the storms of cen- turies had been impotent to destroy. in this half sad wilderness, which had been described as once "a restful paradise of charm and beauty," we found three remnants versailles and malmaison of a glorious past, protesting eloquently against the rape that time and circumstance have imposed. one, the once gilded statue of neptune, towering above a fountain, from which no water flowed into the basin of fast crumbling stone. another was the temple de l'amour, the historic love rendezvous of josephine and napoleon, lifting its grecian front above a struggling waterfall, the disordered limbs of ancient trees and a tangled growth of hardy plants and weedy vines. then there was the rustic summer cabin of napoleon, now sad and gloomy in its avenue of linden trees. three stone steps led to the glass-enclosed entrance to this royal workshop, where even now the shades of that great pervasive presence may claim its awesome homage. malmaison had been a beauty spot of gardening, and here and there its flower beds and hedges have kept some of their accustomed beauty; but for the most part, a sad chaos of neglect and decay hovers over the place, in keeping with the tragic life of its illustrious master and mistress. quite in contrast was the mein and appearance of the residence we were about to visit. malmaison itself is in the pink of condition, as was evident from the moment we entered the vestibule d'honneur, with its chaste marble columns, gleaming black and white tiles, and groups of statuary interspersed with busts of bronze. ascending to the main floor, we view the regal setting, which framed even the domestic life of that same napoleon and jose- phine, as well as the elaborate social setting that eddied about the court of the first consul. these and the ambi- tions they aroused eventually broke the domestic bond and romance, as history only too sadly records. fifty years after the rooms are all barred to a near approach, but can be readily viewed from their open doorways. we pass in review the library, severely rich in massive mahogany cases and the elaborately carved desk and chairs of period design; then the heavily draped council chamber of the emperor, with a great oval table and center lamp, the table draped in fringed red velvet matching the paneled walls and richly upholstered chairs. after that the salle a manger, presenting in no sense the usual setting of a dining room, but more like a museum, with its costly gold and silver serving vessels and decorations. its walls are adorned with full-length portraits of mythical divinities, prominently displaying the ripened sheaf and horn of plenty. a harp of gold stands alone in the center of a rug of heavily flowered pile, while here and there are a richly embroidered screen and chairs of graceful design, all forming an alluring scene upon which, from their gilded frames, napoleon and josephine still seem to gaze with pleasurable content. then the bedroom of napoleon, with a single medal- lion portrait of the emperor, reproduced here as it origi- nally was at the palais des tuilleries. the room seems extremely plain, except that its canopied bed is of a beautifully inlaid mahogany. a lounge and chair are the only other furniture. leaving the palace malmaison, our attention was directed to the carriage of josephine, with its high-rigged and paneled body, decorated in gold and displaying the insignia of the empress. we were told that this regal equipage was last used by the empress on the day of her divorce, december , . after this stage of our versailles and malmaison sightseeing, the throng of hungry tourists now besieged the hotels and cafes. the hotel de france was the choice of our party, and to my great pleasure, i found myself at a table with two young colored ladies, who had been travelling leisurely through europe since early summer, and were on their way to london before their return sailing. both were school teachers; one from philadel- phia, the other from a prominent institution in west virginia. while enjoying an after-dinner smoke, i fell into con- versation with several gentlemen tourists from canada. the inevitable hawker, spying prey, engaged our atten- tion, but finding no business in that line, he then quite surreptitiously produced a gallery of cards of another sort, which, through his effort at concealment, we realized were here as much a violation of the law as in the states. there being no business in this line either, he finally drifted away, and left us to develop an interesting con- versation. one of the canadians had noticed an emblem in my lapel. he recognized it, and having heard that colored masons were a separate fraternal body in the states, was curious to know how such a situation came about, since persons otherwise competent, were eligible for member- ship in the dominions regardless of race. answering his query, i told the story of prince hall. how he, an emi- grant from the island of barbadoes, had been initiated, passed and raised in an english lodge in , a lodge attached to the army of general gage, and from which a dispensation was issued naming prince hall a wor- shipful master. under this title, a group of fourteen fifty years after companions petitioned for a warrant from the mother grand lodge of england, which arrived in , setting them apart as african lodge no. . under this war- rant other prince hall lodges were established and in representatives from these lodges met at boston and formed the prince hall grand lodge, electing prince hall, the founder, as first grand master. as my canadian friends were to return home by way of london, i sug- gested that they by all means visit the splendid new masonic temple in great queen street; after which we parted, to join our respective buses for the drive over to the palace of versailles itself. our guide had already warned us that it would take all of two hours to get even a cursory view of the palace and its gardens. so we could well realize how its splendor is indifferently challenged by famous royal residences in other parts of europe. we entered by the majestic place d'armes, an extensive parade reviewing ground. noticing on one side the cavalry barracks, we were told that when the court was in residence hundreds of horses were stabled there for use during the royal hunting season. beyond, on the garden front of the palace, a vast extent of mam- moth buildings loomed up before our astonished gaze. we were not surprised to be told that this facade is more than a quarter mile in length. what otherwise would be a tiresome uniformity, however, is avoided by a central projection of several hundred feet which stands out, harmoniously adorned with open spaces filled in with marble columns and busts and groups of statuary. the view from this central vantage point discloses a veritable paradise of architectural and landscape beauty. versailles and malmaison here, in striking contrast with the gardens of malmaison, the gardens are trim and well tended, brilliantly bordered by parterres of blooming plants, sheets of shimmering water and long stretches of close-cropped velvet green. moreover, the wide terrace is adorned by two fountains placed in symmetrical balance to the great central en- trance. one, the crowns, has its jets of water spouting from crowns of laurel; the other, the pyramids, flows from basin to basin through pyramidal forms. all is in finely sculptured marble. indeed, the number of foun- tains on the descending slopes and terraces is amazing. in several instances they form a complement to broad basins of gleaming water, in the centers of which are sculptured figure groups in graceful poses representing legendary lore. the group representing the nymphs of diana at bath is especially engaging. we regretted missing the festival display of the great fountains—"les grandes eaux" as the french put it. these, the fountains of neptune and the dragon, are said to have cost several hundred thousand dollars; they play only on state occa- sions, when each event entails an expense of $ , . the large fountains play every other sunday, but it happened that on the day of our visit the fountains were not scheduled to play. by far the most impressive of the many ingenious water-jets is the one placed near the great basin d'apollon. it represents the god of day in his chariot, regally drawn by four prancing steeds, the whole encircled by monstrous denizens of the deep. then came the tour of the palace interior. it partakes of an endurance test, because of the endless corridors versailles and malmaison crusades, comes in for his share of glory. after that—for versailles is almost endless, come the salons of war and peace, through which we pass to the majestic height of the grand gallery of louis xiv. this is of awesome proportions, more than feet in length. it is resplen- dent with colorful paintings, fluted grecian columns ornately capitaled, and allegorical figures in the niches between, offering an unrivalled vista of beauty and stately grandeur. the grand gallery of battles is devoted to murals of the many battles in which the forces of france have been joined from the earliest days down to the time of its construction. finally, for the especial interest of the american visitor, are to be noted, in a gallery devoted to modern history and france's diplomatic relations, the portraits of benjamin franklin, andrew jackson, james polk, daniel webster, henry clay and others. these memen- toes remind us of the close relationship of the two republics since the foundation of the united states and the bonds of common principles which unite these two democracies. versailles and its environs had been a fitting climax; and we arrived back in paris crammed with sights and memories to be cherished as long as memory lasts. chapter viii homeward bound arriving back in the city, no suggestion might be l discovered of that restful morning calm we had left but a few hours before. fast gathering twilight, with a welcome evening breeze, made its gradual but sure ap- proach to a night freed from the discomforts of a mid- august sun. there was the bustle of the french in their sunday night holiday mood. cafes and theaters were donning their electric evening dress of colorful, flashing signs. strolling throngs of women, decorously gowned in summery stuffs, accompanied or not, in pairs or groups, moved with merry jest and chatter along the boulevards. music filled the air, rolling from cafe doors with caress- ing rhythm to stimulate the gaiety of their jovial side- walk guests. even the display windows of the great shops in the rue de la paix and other shopping centers were brilliantly lighted and exhibited their wares of art, ex- pensive jewelry, dainty creations of gowns and furs; all of which were major attractions to the ever shifting and admiring crowd. indeed, yielding to these alluring scenes entailed a belated arrival at geoffroy st. hilaire, and with that the penalty of dining alone. but m. achile had provided pleasant diversion for the homeward bound later evening—a projection showing, for the young men and women friends of the "companions of st. francis of assisi," of the films he had taken on the hiking pilgrim- age he had conducted. the scenic and social happenings of the trip had been recorded, so that the entire adventure lived again. there followed, to the delight of our ameri- can hearts, pictures of the buildings, monuments and other interesting features of the capitol city of america, including photographs of the buildings and grounds of the world-famous howard university, all of which evoked enthusiasm and applause. whereas other incidents of the hiking tour, depicting some of the fun and pranks of the journey, elicited much merriment and friendly banter. the show finished, the dining room, which had been used for the picture show, was then made ready for a light buffet lunch, and there were music and chorus singing, in which one alien tongue endeavored to carry the tunes with rhythmic sounds, which savored neither of english nor of french and this brought to a close a happy get- together of the most cordial and unforgettable sort. and with that, an au revoir to the adopted family of these charming french friends; and a bon voyage to the ameri- can traveler, whose time was nearly up. on the morrow, august th, i joined the hodge party at the railway station and journeyed to havre for the return voyage on the "normandie." we found our original group somewhat depleted through earlier departures on the "he de france," and others lingering for a later sailing. good health and buoyant spirits prevailed. the more elderly ladies from fifty years after down home gave unmistakable evidence of both physical and spiritual rejuvenation. the cause should not be far to seek, for there had been freely placed to their lips during these past two months, the nectar of a real free- dom which america considers too rich a vintage for the palates of the dark minority. our little sailor-lad, darwin turner, was the same ubiquitous sprite, with newly ac- quired information on tap, about sights and facts of the dykes of holland or the fortress of st. peter and paul at leningrad. settling down to ship routine entailed the usual round of pleasant activities—scanning the noonday bulletin of weather and progress, reading, writing letters, library lounging, a turn on the deck, a restful doze in the deck- chair, scrutiny of sea and sky, the mealtime rush to soothe an aching void, the official inspection tour of the engine- room, the sight of the sliding scale of splendor and service in the cabins of the various ship classes, and then the evening gathering for music and the dance. special amusement and entertainment were featured by a film show of anthony adverse and of course a pari mutuel opportunity to win or lose on the shipboard races \ dummy horses advanced by the attendants as far as the dice and the colors might indicate. a ticket on the horse making the least speed in one of the races found itself in the money—and it was discovered that i had the ticket. the ever popular bridge held the interest of some devotees in the hodge party morning, noon and evening just as on our voyage over. but here the coterie was augmented by three most amiable persons, two ladies and a gentleman—mrs. emma chambliss of louisville, miss homeward bound ruth cann of albany, and mr. joseph matthews, long a resident of the island of java, but who was to visit new york in furtherance of a literary venture. these, with mr. countee cullen, made a necessary foursome always available. it should be added that occasionally "the sinking flame of hilarity was fanned by the wing of friend- ship" and the ruddy wine or energizing highball was passed. miss cann was an accomplished musician as well as a charming singer, and frequently delighted an admir- ing audience. as usual, the highlight of sociability was reached the evening before landing, when the gala dinner with souve- nirs is tendered the passengers. it wound up in the early hours with dancing, bon-bons and confetti and with the salon lavishly decorated to signalize the end of a most delightful crossing. and now at the end, the return of fifty years ago looms so clearly in contrast. then, we were at sea more than five months, leaving nagasaki, japan, july ist, sailing and steaming down the east african coast across to madagascar, round the cape, northward with a view of st. helena, on to the barbados to coal and at length into new york on december ioth. now, in less than six days, we pick up the jersey and new york coast line, and sight the towering piles of stone and iron along the sky line of greater new york. on we pass, swiftly saluting governors island and the statue of liberty, gracious gift of freedom-loving france. then, too, the personal contrast—then in vigorous hopeful youth, we looked forward across the threshold of manhood, confidently, "with a heart for any fate." fifty years after now, approaching the exit of life, i hope that the scars and bruises of three-quarters of a century of living, the tears and laughter, may be so synthesized by the master chemist, that from the crucible of time there may exhale the breath and aroma of a perfect calm and sweet content. one thought is uppermost as we reach our journey's end, and that is this: the hope and prayer that freedom may truly come to this our native land, a freedom so broad that it includes every native son, as well as the sojourner in her land. it was this sort of freedom which danton, the french patriot, hero and martyr, thus apostrophised: "we proclaimed universal freedom yes- terday when the president gave the fraternal kiss to the colored deputies." soon, we trust, the statue of liberty, gracious symbol of real fraternity, may be known to reflect the ideals and practice of our own beloved america, as indeed has been so pleasurably exemplified through our own happy expe- rience and observation, with the government and the people of france. verden t. paynter, brent paynter, william cary payn- ter—signposts along the roadway of a life. brent died at seven ._ _ i old georgetown part i as the years have come and gone, with their spring- l. times and harvests, summers and winters—each succeeding the other, with a bewildering insistence that is nature's sure reminder that she neither sleeps nor slumbers—an altogether strange phenomena has seemed to be developing within me. but i am assured that i am not alone in this experience, for acquaintances of similar fossilized antiquity report a like affliction. this is indeed consoling. i find that, with little or no effort, the most trivial details associated with happenings and persons of a remote period may be summoned to the cinema of the mind, while those of a comparatively recent date, encompassing time, places and names of persons, are recalled with difficulty and frequently not at all. in illustration, a wealth of reminiscence takes shape as i look back to the georgetown of sixty or seventy years ago. how carefully and completely do i restore, in form and color, buildings and homes whose tenants, even as they have long since been numbered with the things that were. asphalted streets now carry an almost noiseless trade fifty years after on cushioned wheels that, in that long ago, rumbled over wooden blocks and cobblestones. the neighborhood pump, with its iron handle and dipper (that never would hold enough for me) securely attached by chain, yielding its cool and inviting flow for the general refreshment, was frequently overworked and taxed the energy of relays of youth to bring forth even a hesitant, trickling stream. the dear old pump, seared and chipped and bearing on its rugged sides many cut-in initials, with its tired mono- tone of creaking noises and, so often in the dog-days, called on to suppy cooling comfort to barefoot urchins, has long since been retired to the limbo of out-moded but unforgettable things. there was also a house of curious build, occupied by a gentleman who was not exactly curious, but decidedly of an unusual type, that i would give a pretty penny to look upon once more. it was located somewhere on the heights, but many rambles have failed to discover it to me. perhaps, and it is more than probable, it too, has gone the way of other old-timers; but i cannot forget its peculiar shape and coloring. it had a roof shaped like an inverted cone and this part was at least a third of its entire height. it was built of boards a foot wide, perpen- dicularly placed, the joining of which was concealed by paneled strips, three inches wide. the wide boards were painted white, and the narrow ones red, while the cone- like roof was a dazzling blue. in all my getting about over the world, i have never seen anything so grippingly curious, so unusually bizarre in its appeal. the whole was inclosed by a six-foot paling, painted a battleship gray, with a gate equally high that could only be opened old georgetown from inside. the grounds were beautifully landscaped. graveled paths, where no sprig of grass was permitted to obtrude, wound in and out between flower beds of various shapes and sizes, in which grew plants both strange and beautiful. captain chandler, the owner and occupant of this place, was tall and thin and gray, with deep-set luminous eyes which flashed a continuous restless glow from out their hazel depths. overhanging brows, entirely white, like his close-cropped beard, intensified an ensemble that im- pressed one as anything but natural. as a lad of seven or eight, i first beheld this ghostly looking gentleman, and with a shrinking and trembling that would not be controlled, i took refuge behind mother cover's ample skirts. i had myself alone to blame for the shock of this meeting, for i had insisted on accompanying her, in the cool of an early autumn saturday evening, to help (?) pull the wagon of laundered clothes she was returning to her patrons. captain was as much amused as i was frightened, but when he had drawn me to him, and placed one of those early minted three-cent silver pieces in my hand, all was forthwith forgiven. some years later, details of the personal history of captain chandler were told me by my foster mother. an early product of the american navy, he was with com- modore decatur in the campaign against the tripolitan states and was an officer on the ship on which her son, henson, served. on his return from that duty, the cap- tain brought her news of the drowning of her boy who fifty years after had been knocked overboard by a swinging spar, during a violent storm while en route to the tripolitan coast. the laundry of the captain was a matter of much concern to mother cover, for each piece must be pressed and folded just so, and his shirts, with collars and cuffs attached, must be starched, not too little, and not too much—but just enough. there were never less than six, and if they were not done to his liking, they had to be done over. mother cover had the family wash of several maiden ladies, and as was then the vogue, many of the pieces were abundantly ruffled and fluted. these were the innocent cause of much weariness and headaches. in order to com- plete her work for saturday delivery she frequently ironed until far into the night. i would beg to be allowed to stay up and, bravely battling encroaching drowsiness, would finally succumb with head on folded arms, resting on the ironing board. and then the periodical thump of the iron would bring the headache with which eventually i would stagger off to bed. in maturer years, recalling these and other labors of this remarkable woman, performed week after week, and month after month, throughout many years, i have been led to wonder how she could so well have sustained the physical drain, the loneliness of her situation and ever recurrent thoughts of the dear ones she had loved and lost. it must, indeed, have been that she drew strength and sustenance from that fountain, whose helpful spirit is "not given by measure," but is ever ample and ready to restore and sustain the flagging spirits of man. her abounding faith pointed the way, and even now i seem to old georgetown hear the trembling, passionate whisper of prayer in the silent midnight, that the heavenly father would grant "his grace more and more abundantly each day until at last she should be brought into his kingdom." part ii it was not for the reason that i was anxious to solve the mystery of mortality that i wandered into the old mount zion graveyard a short while back. it is true, however, that every one does, now and then, think about that "last that comes to all at last," and if you happen to find yourself in a special or appropriate environment, such thoughts are all the more likely. so it was, after descending from the heights of old georgetown, with its wealth of last century homes, some tenanted, others dismal and silent, within the shadow of age-old trees and shrubbery, i passed through an un- latched palinged gate and stood within what seemed not only a silent city, but a forgotten city of the dead. it had been many years since i had sought out in this awesome silence a spot enclosed by an iron fence, in one corner of which was a marble slab bearing the inscription, "erected to the memory of henry cover, born died . his widow, mary cover." henson cover, an only son, a sailor in the u. s. navy died in the service and was buried at sea. his memory is perpetuated on the same tablet. the location, as i remembered it, was at the western part of the cemetery. but now, making my way through tripping vines and wildly growing shrubbery, closely fifty years after scrutinizing such markers as were not totally hidden be- neath the tangled foilage, i failed to discover that iron fence. "surely," i mused, "i did not only dream of such a spot, with its marble slab, so eloquent of the duty, love and reverence of one who had filled the place of mother to an orphaned boy. oh no, it must be here somewhere! for just across this wide ravine at the base of which there flows a noisy little stream, i see again the tidy, winding and mounting paths of far-famed old oak hill and view the stately shafts and solid tombs which mark the resting place of many distinguished dead." somewhat bewildered, i was about to abandon the quest, when the caretaker discovering the intruder and being assured that his sacred trust would not in any way be violated, joined in the search. in a very short time he called out, "here's an iron fence and there's a marble slab in one corner." sure enough. there it was, and in the center of the plot, defiant of throttling weeds and tangling vines, there proudly bloomed a sturdy bush of roses, as if to save the spot from utter desolation. reaching between the iron pickets, the enshrouding vines were torn away, and on the weather-beaten, scarred and discolored face of the slab, now almost obliterated, the inscription was deciphered. the soil of the old mount zion graveyard is enriched with the bodies of many of its substantial colored citizens who in their day and generation, and in their varying humble capacities, achieved much for the growth and progress of the city, and laid an enduring foundation for old georgetown the material and cultural development of the generations which were to follow. with little, and in many instances no, acquaintance whatever with letters, they possessed a nobility of soul, an undiscouraged urge to ignore the cruel injustices and hardships of the social state in which they were placed and, with a spiritual optimism, they plodded on in their destined path content, never doubting that just a little way ahead lay larger opportunity and greater freedom. the legacy left by these humble folks is rich in its inspirational value, and should be accorded a generous meed of praise in any estimate of the character and mate- rial worth her colored citizens have since achieved. the deplorable condition of this "god's acre," where the bones of a so worthy dead are deposited, is sad indeed; and it would seem that a serious charge of the most callous unconcern should be placed at the door of their descendants, the beneficiaries of their early service and sacrifice. a determined effort on several occasions, to conquer an almost impenetrable growth of tangled weeds and thorny vines, by which means alone a path might be made to the headstones, enabled me to obtain the names of a number of old residents of this forlorn city of the dead. in many instances the inscriptions were partially or wholly undecipherable. in others, the slabs of marble lay flat on the ground, or had relinquished their original upright posture and were reclining at an angle which made an inspection quite impossible. here and there, a few shafts, more respectable and of rather recent placement, were from four to six feet in height, and lifted themselves in fifty years after contrasting dignity, as if in solemn rebuke of the desola- tion which they were forced to observe. among a number of names which were readable were: daniel ferguson, margaret b. ferguson, eliza tinney and edward tinney, mary and henry walker, sarah pryor, margaret m. grisby, mary and clement beckett, henry logan and mary j. logan, dr. collins crusor, rev. mr. hicks, lucy bowles, isaac williams, mrs. nancy simms, thomas c. page, francis martin, james l. turner and mary turner, george c. smith, rev. daniel wheeler, john n. and esther simms, elizabeth alexander, charles vessells, george w. gibson and josephine gibson, mildred jones, almira smith, elzy curtis, clement morgan and elizabeth morgan, moses r. thompson and lewis bolden. the surging flood of memory carried me adrift to that long-gone year, when as a toddling chap i was adopted into the home of her, whose memorial i had sought, and uncovered. the old mount zion church, adjacent to the ceme- tery, was abandoned many years ago, and now houses the descendants of its early worshippers in an attractive, modern temple, more accessibly and conveniently placed on nearby twenty-eighth street. the old site, upon which stood the row of squalid tenements known as the nine buildings, is now occupied by an apartment house, accom- modating white tenants and overlooking the cemetery from the rear; while directly across, that aggressive and ubiquitous herald of modern travel convenience, a gasoline service station, has been given an artistic setting. the great rambling kew gardens, curving and bulging old georgetown its lengthening surface in a westerly direction, occupies a full half block across the street, of what in that long ago seemed reserved and unapproachable, the rittenhouse estate. and now, as i stand at th and p streets, i rebuild in fancy the modest though comfortable cover home. how distinctly present with me is its whole ensemble of house, shop, and garden of fruit trees, gooseberry and currant bushes, fragrant shrubs and flowering plants. but now the site is bare, and only through memory may we glimpse the panorama of persons and incidents, which made the cover home a center of influence for civic and cultural interest, in those long past days in old george- town. part iii a day of soft breezes in which sunshine and cloud seemed forever contending for mastery, was one in mid- july. after a busy morning with lawn mower and hedge shears, i decided to make use of the pass, which the capital transit co. had so generously placed at the dis- posal of citizens—for one dollar per week it was good for all cars, at any, and all times—for a ramble in the vicinity of rock creek. the latest release of a popular feature writer in the magazine section of a local sunday paper, had described most interestingly some of the old georgetown homes and referred to that of the widow of robert todd lincoln, son of the president. this name lincoln, so redolent of might events in the history of the nation, so suggestive of civil strife and fifty years after tragic fate, and so indeliby written in the enfranchisement of a race of native-born americans, loses not with the years its unique charm, and seems destined, and rightly so, to spread an everlasting glow along the pathway of future progress. i felt i'd like to look upon that house, and so, in a very few moments, after leaving the car at th and p streets, i stood before it. i saw nothing grand or ornamental in its broad facade; just a large, plain, three-storied, roomy dwelling of brick, with a central entrance. as i looked upon this house, i thought, "here, in the person of the widow of the emancipator's son, it holds all that may claim title to the lincoln name; but that name, whether borne by any human or not, will stand through the ages like some dimless star to beckon and to cheer. the great soul who made the name immortal needs no earthly aid to preserve its endless glory. he wished that the country he loved so well and for which he gave his life might be one where every man has a right to be the equal of every other man. god grant that this may one day be so." proceeding northward toward oak hill, i accosted a young man who was cleaning about the front of a large apartment house, and inquired of him the location of the old governor cooke mansion. conversing for a while i discovered he was the son of an associate in the old chamberlin school days, by the name of booth. his father had been many years in government service and was now retired and living just a short distance away in valley street. the name he had just mentioned affected me strangely, my mind clicked to the sound as though it were old georgetown an echoed strain from a once familiar tune. i realized i had stumbled into the locality in which had stood the oddly interesting residence of captain chandler, that had so impressed me in those childhood days. storing this information for future action i walked to the vicinity of th and q; and there, sure enough, stood the once familiar governor's house, camouflaged through modernistic treatment of the exterior, and extending at the sides and at the rear into a three-storied apartment house, the form and shape of the front, cupola and all unchanged. in those old days the original dwelling, occupying the northwest corner of the square, seemed superbly grand in its isolated beauty and dignity. at that time trees and shrubbery, garden and stable yard, were spread over the other part of the entire square. through a family connection with an old servitor of the cooke menage, mason coxen by name, my cousins will, joe and ellie, their ages running from nine to fourteen, would stop by when they came over on a visit to mr. coxen, and if i had been a good boy i was per- mitted to accompany them. there were the cutest little shetland ponies to groom and ride, and with whoop and yell in the very best aborigine fashion we would charge upon the soldiers entrenched in the stable fort, or stage a hectic race from the barn and back between rival steeds. then a dinner of succulent ham with fresh vegetables from the garden patch, and a washer of real rich buttermilk, would bring to an end a perfect day. up th and westward along the front of oak hill and its pretty little adjacent park, shelving down in shade fifty years after and sunshine to rock creek's lazy flow, make my leisurely way. inquiring of an old man, just then mopping his brow and giving his lawnmower a rest, i was in- formed, "there ain't no valley street no more. it uste be, but now it's nd street, and it's two blocks over there." so it was, but it only extended a short half block to the north, where it right-angled with s street and from this point resumed its westward trend. retracing my steps, valley, now nd, became more and more familiar and, viewing it as i now did, i at once realized that the old name of valley was by far the more appropriate. in the first place it was narrow just as a valley should be. and just as in a valley, too, there was abundant evidence of another quite natural function; that of having and hold- ing, always and forever, all the leaves that had long since served nature's original purpose on the rising slopes. it is now built up closely with tenements of brick and frame on the west side, and on the other apartment dwellings, from behind and over which branches of trees may be discerned on the higher adjacent ground. i had asked the postman making his delivery as to the owner, or occupant, of the great house and walled-in estate at the corner i had just left, with its massive wooden driveway gates; but he had yelled to me, "i can't tell you. it's against the regulations." this at first struck me as peculiar, but then i remembered that the suspicion and circumspection which were the components of the world war period probably made such a rule necessary. i was not long without the information, however, for a little further along a boy and two girls of high-school age, comely, clean and well-spoken, let me know that it old georgetown iis was occupied by the owner, hon. robt. woods bliss, a retired diplomat, who had been american minister to the argentine. a bit further along valley street i am brought up with a shock, for there before me is the captain chandler house. there in outline only, with no semblance of its former odd but cleanly beauty. the timbers were there in good state of preservation, the broad perpendicular outer boards with the narrow joining panels just as i last saw them sixty years ago. the striking colors with which they had been adorned were now weather-beaten to a dull and mottled gray. each sash showed only broken panes or none at all, while the floors, as i peered through the shutterless windows, disclosed only damp and dirt and mouldy filthiness. no sign of the pretty graveled paths, for weeds and thorny vines were so thick as to obscure even the ground itself. it was a ghastly, ghostly wreck, all that remained of the pictured place my memory held. with what pointed truth some one has asked, "what's not destroyed by time's devouring hand? where's troy and where's the maypole in the strand?" as i turned away a matronly colored woman appeared from the next house. "yes that was the captain chan- dler's house," she said, "but it hasn't been occupied for a number of years. the captain died before i was born, but i've heard my mother tell, how at the last it was his custom to suddenly rush out of the gate, and frighten the children of the neighborhood; and then with a laugh disappear into the house." she further informed me that the house was for several fifty years after years tenanted by white folks, but was then vacant for a long time, until disuse and weather erosions brought such a state of disrepair as seemed to justify a colored occupancy. finally abandoned, even by these, it was taken over exclusively by a promiscuous assortment of reptiles, birds and rodents. the day was still young, as summer days go, and as there was ample time in which to reach my district liner for the homeward trip, before the after-office rush, i decided to extend my ramble to rock creek via the bury- ing ground. on my previous visit i had engaged the caretaker to clean up the cover plot, and had given him a small deposit for the work, with a promise of more when i came again. as nearly a month had passed i was not inclined to keep him waiting longer. i expected to find the iron railing standing out in bold relief, but did i? positively nothing had been done. weeds and rankly odorous vines were flourishing more defiantly than be- fore, while the wild rose and berry bushes had now both flowered and fruited. evidently the deposit and promise meant nothing whatever to that gentleman caretaker. one of these mornings i shall get an early start, don my overalls, pack my grubbing tools and go out there and do the job myself. the little path between the oak hill and the mount zion cemetery, shelving sharply down to the creek, in that long ago, was a roadway for wagons of flour and feed, going to and from the mill. over this road too, mother cover and i hauled many a bag of leaves, in winter, for the comfort of her pigs. now it is a mere old georgetown pathway due to the closing of the mill. at the end of the path is a five-foot bridge, spanning the creek, but never a vestige of the mill, with the moss of many years cling- ing to its ancient wheelhouse, may be seen. a fine, hard- surfaced road, bounded by well kept lawns, rambles away in a curve and ascends to form a scenic paradise of unequalled beauty. a marker conspicuously placed, just opposite the little bridge, reads, "site of the ruins of lyons mill, erected . general grain mill until . later used for barn dances and social affairs of the young folks of georgetown." part iv there was a time, now long since gone, when the native colored citizens of old georgetown were looked upon as a group apart and distinctly different from their sisters and brothers on the other side of rock creek. if the case may be diagnosed, the feeling was much akin to that which city relatives were wont to bestow on their country cousins. be that as it may, the fact remains that personal or group contacts, whether intimate or casual, disclosed a reserve on the one hand and a better-than-thou demeanor on the other, which was not at all surprising, if we consider the wide difference in municipal influence and benefits apportioned by the authorities. this condition of affairs, however, not only did not discourage the citizens of georgetown, but aided mate- rially in the cultivation of a prideful independence, and a closely knit spirit of emulation for all that made for fifty years after civic excellence and progress. young and old alike seemed to imbibe a challenging ardor, a sort of "i'll show you spirit" that became increasingly manifest, especially in the field of education. in support of this trend there was at hand a rich vein of character, gentility and an economic stability that was articulate in homes of modest comfort and liberally sup- ported places of worship. the barkers, popes, cornells, crusors, saunders, beasons, turners, morgans, williams, cartwrights, coakleys and the beckets (of whom the late attorney thos. beckett was one) might easily qualify for leading roles in any pageant of "early georgetown settlers." they were a bulwark for defense of civic privilege and opportunity, while the churches, mount zion, ebenezer and rev. sandy alexander's spiritual fount, served the community with a food highly vitaminized with gospel truth, upon which generations of descendants have con- tinued to thrive. the attitude of these founding fathers found ready response and support through the action of the school trustees—the colored schools at this time being equally autonomous with the whites—who brought into the sys- tem a number of teachers from the north and east whose background of culture and racial pride was largely to stimulate and satisfy the passionate longing for lifted standards of both living and learning. the superintendent, mr. george f. t. cook, scholarly, courtly and indefatigable in effort to place the system on the highest plane of excellence, was ably assisted by the associated colored tustees, some of whom were messrs. old georgetown the snow (also made by the prof.) came down thick and fast, covering everything, as well as the little girl and boy who were enjoying the ride, snuggled together, in great coat and furs. and how that invisible chorus made the rafters ring with "jingle bells." the little girl, who seemed quite comfortable during this drive in zero weather, was nellie west (mrs. simon burnett) of the chamberlain school and her companion was a gentleman with a good memory for the old georgetown of fifty and sixty years ago. david copperfield a favorite fiction child of charles dickens childhood, which is the sign-post to the diver- gent pathway of maturer human life, is nowhere more beautifully illustrated than in the many-sided forms and characters of those little folks, who were brought upon the stage of fiction, through the patient labor and unrivalled genius of charles dickens. there is, perhaps, no more genuine or certain test of the quality of human sympathy than that afforded in the many and baffling problems of childhood. childhood, innocent and dependent, facing a grown-up world with all its cruel strength and egotism. childhood, around which the fairy godmothers are wont to hover and whisper into eager, listening, quivering ears the wistful tracings and golden dreams which may symbolize their later, adult lives. the children whom dickens has given to the world of literature, bring to us an appeal that grips the heart and may not be denied. we feel this whether we accompany them in some joyful mood and share with them their play and happiness; or whether roused and indignant through contemplation of the wrong and outrage which shadow their tender lives. we follow tearfully when their david copperfield creator, with saddened heart, rings down the curtain on their brief life's journey; and there is felt a spiritual exaltation that one is impotent to suppress. through con- templation of these lives so early merged with the shadows, which for all are but lifted for awhile, one's sympathies and duty as to love and helpfulness to our humankind are more than ever realized and acknowledged. the childhood of david copperfield, which is said to embody much of the personal experiences of the author himself, brings to us an appeal that is somewhat different from that of his other youthful characters. this, perhaps, may be due to the intensely human and natural scenes which are contrived, and the unique assembling and asso- ciation of unusual characters which are at times humorous, grotesque, repulsively hypocritical, or engagingly suave and dangerous and so quaintly typical that they lift them- selves at once to the highest shelf of our lasting remem- brance. at the very first we learn what a terrible disappoint- ment to his paternal great aunt, miss betsey trotwood, was little david's birth; for she had decreed, most posi- tively, that the newcomer must be a girl, and that her name should be betsey trotwood copperfield. when informed by the attendant that a boy had arrived, she took her bonnet by the strings and aimed a blow at the head of the purveyor of the bad news and immediately left the house never to return. of the book, david copperfield, the author says, in one of his prefaces, "of all my books i like this the best. it will easily be believed that i am a fond parent to every child of my fancy and that no one can ever love that fifty years after family as dearly as i love them. but like many fond parents i have in my heart of hearts a favorite child and his name is david copperfield." little david's childhood, embracing so much of the author's experience, is more than justification for such parental fondness. he engages our entire sympathy and affection as we find him involved in the atmosphere of an unfriendly step-parent, and growing day by day into realization of the selfish cruelties inflicted upon him and his mother by mr. murdstone. we are touched by the homely virtues and loyalty of his nurse, peggoty, and have a keen sense of personal pleasure in making a trip with her and master david to the seaside home of the peggoty family at yarmouth. at once we feel a nearness to these sturdy fisher folk. how wholesome is the rugged naturalness of old mr. peggoty and his nephew ham, and how is it possible to escape appreciation for the feeling of utter desolation and lonesomeness, which, like an enveloping cloak, the widow, missis gummidge, persists in drawing about her. david finds the boathouse home, with its bow and stern and porthole windows, wonderfully stimulating to adventure and romance; and what a charming playmate he finds in little coy and winsome emily, as hand in hand, they race along the sands, or follow a receding wave with joyous cry to increase their store of odd and beautiful shells. through the unusually hard and unhappy childhood of dickens, there was developed an overmastering sym- pathy, and an insistent urge to correct those civic and social abuses which operate to the hurt of children and david copperfield to lift the whole realm of childhood into the helpful consideration which its dependent condition demands. his observant mind absorbed the details of each sordid en- vironment and these were to appear in the gripping scenes and pictures which were to make the name of dickens a household word. john dickens, the father of charles, was good-natured but wholly impractical and woefully improvident. though greatly attached to his family, in which there were eight children, he seemed never seriously to grasp the idea of responsibility for their welfare, or to address himself industriously to the management of whatever means he might possess. he was particularly fond of charles and was a good story-teller; which talent he freely exercised during their long walks about the countryside. doubtless, he had a gleam of the native genius of the boy; for he was never happier than when on some special occasion (and he could always make an occasion) at home or at the pub he would have charles say his "piece" for a circle of admiring friends. of a light and volatile temperament, jolly and carefree, even as the micawber of david coffer field, a crisis, which had but been delayed, brought him to the debtor's prison at the marehalsea. the scenes incident to this residence, and the characters encountered, furnish the nucleus about which the maturer dickens was to build a comedy, romance and tragedy that was to charm and absorb the readers, young and old. a little later on, however, the troubles of the family were relieved through an unexpected legacy, and they were reunited in a modest though comfortable home, fifty years after where the youthful charles hoped to get a start along the road to that cultural development he so much desired. the elder dickens did not long survive this prosperity, and in his passing another rung in the ladder of destiny was formed for david through the widowed mother, who after a brief courtship became the wife of mr. murdstone, a partner in the blacking warehouse firm of murdstone and grinby. we cannot but feel that the mother whom david dearly loved, though childish in manner and tem- perament, hoped to secure, thereby, the love and protec- tion so much needed by her self and her orphaned boy. but, alas, the realization was so different, so cruelly different and disappointing. the household became a rack of torture. the love and sympathy that had flowed freely between heart and heart in a natural family devotion was no longer possible. a domestic inquisition which proceeded to banish every natural impulse of motherhood and childhood, to ridicule, decry and forbid any manifestation of the same, was set up by murdstone, where tears and love and laughter had been esteemed the symbol of earth's highest virtue and privilege. the love and devotion of good old peggoty and its reciprocal manifestation were denounced as a vulgar exhibition that could not be tolerated; while the free and frequent visits of david to the kitchen precincts were wholly forbidden. the dreary monotony of the time passed, through compulsion, in the presence of jane murdstone and her brother, may scarcely be realized. the boy listens with head bowed over a book, seeing no word of the text; david copperfield dences, sobbings and kisses conveyed by way of the keyhole. it was not long before the calm and hopeful outlook which is the normal attitude of healthy boyhood assumed its rightful sway and we find david turning the gloom of his prison into joyous sunshine, by means of the books which filled a shelf in the room and which formed the library of his father. there were the romances and adven- tures that defoe and smollett and fielding move around their several heroes; and, although already acquainted with those jolly spirits, we may well imagine the pleasure the author of copperfield now found in these treasure houses of fun and intrigue. indeed it is highly probable that this wealth of fancy and storied experience, absorbed with no diverting circumstance, was the magic wand touching to life a genius that was to flower forth in many a priceless gem of literature and become a treasured legacy to the dickens lovers of every age and clime. humor, pathos and tragedy was each to make its valuable contribution to the work of the master and the youth of copperfield shows much of each. the boarding school experiences of copperfield were acquired at salem house where the creagles held forth, much to the discomfort and unhappiness of the boys. it was to this dismal seat of learning that he was banished as a direct result of the biting episode. the first stage of the journey was made in charge of mr. barkis, whose cryptic message to peggoty, certifying to his willingness to do something or other not exactly specified, was later on to have the most happy result. while waiting for the coach which was to carry him on, david copperfield some wanted to know if he was to be paid for at school as two brothers or three or whether he was to be boarded by contract. the upshot of it all was that he was ashamed to eat anything when a stop was made for supper and so was doomed to the miseries of hunger for the rest of the journey. his first acquaintance with the schoolroom at salem house was to bring him humiliation, for it was mr. mell, head master, who had been sent to meet him at the coach office—poor, kindly and honorable, though brow- beaten mr. mell—who was the instrument of its infliction. the venomous sting of the serpent murdstone had reached david even here. alone in the schoolroom he had discovered a placard on the desk which read, "take care of him, he bites." he had scrambled to the top of the desk in a panic of fright at the moment mr. mell appeared. "i beg your pardon, sir," said david, "i'm looking for the dog." mr. mell assured him sorrowfully and gravely that there was no dog, but that the placard had been ordered for the young master's back. such was his introduction to salem house and it may be taken as an indication of the almost continuous night- mare of punishment and discomfort under which the boys were compelled to live. creakle appeared in the doorway on the first day of the term with a scowling countenance and delivered him- self as follows: "now boys, this is a new half. take care what you are about in this new half. come fresh up to the lessons, i advise you; for i will come fresh up to the punishment, i won't flinch." stalking over to where fifty years after copperfield sat, he announced that he was famous for biting too. he showed him the cane and asked what he thought of it for a tooth, repeating the question with an emphasizing cut that made the little fellow squirm. in this way he made the round of the room, scowling and cutting right and left, leaving tears and hurts and vengeful thoughts to nurse through the hateful windings of their student day. it is a curious though merciful truth that in most sad and painful situations of life, there is usually found some pleasurable circumstance. some being or thing, or indeed it may be a sensible and well-trained dog, whose presence, contact or association may furnish the one agreeable reac- tion to a period of dreariness. how readily, how freely and how insistently do we yield ourselves to such an influence, and as we clutch it jealously to our bosom, we place our feet again on the ladder of hope, and climb beyond the reach of our sordid misery. such a panacea, all satisfying and absorbing, david found at salem house in the one outstanding and domi- nant character in the whole student body, james steer- forth, a youth several years his senior, who became his champion and protector. the spoiled child of a widowed mother of independent means was as much out of place in creakle's school as was our copperfield. the establishment had been delib- erately selected by his mother, for knowing the boy's imperious temperament, she had been at some pains to place him where a liberal allowance for expenses might be considered an offset against a too close adherence to rules or reason. david copperfield another likable, honest and honorable chap, who was at once and completely won to his side, answered to the highly euphonious name of tommy traddles. his fun- loving bent and humorous view of delicate or trouble- brewing situations frequently saved the day for that good fellowship among the boys which on numerous occasions approached dangerously near the rocks. he helped cop- perfield over the embarrassment of the placard incident, treating it as a joke, patting him and smoothing him down, laughing merrily all the while. others called him towser and bade him come to them. this complacent attitude did not appeal to steerforth who had just returned for the last half of the school year, and, at once becoming copperfield's champion, denounced it as a "jolly shame." creakle's selfish greed and steerforth's genial though dominating spirit combined to produce an autocrat whose word was law to the other boys. under the magic spell of his protection, the hardships and discomforts were largely discounted, so that little treats and evasions of rules were frequently enjoyed. through peggoty's generosity, david had arrived with quite a little fund of pocket money, and in ratification of the new friendly alliance between him and steerforth, this was turned over to the latter. it was proposed that there should be a little spread in the dormitory some night after "lights out," to all of which david most willingly agreed; proud of the opportunity to show his regard for his newly found friend. he considered it a piece of good fortune that he was able to do this, for steerforth already filled a very large space on the horizon fifty years after of his expectations. daisy, was the chum name bestowed on him and thus wise was set up an intimacy that was to loom large in the years which lay ahead. innocence and confidence, not endowed with the gift of phophecy were to become the unconscious tributaries to suffering and heart ache—to grave deceit and cruel wrong. little david's experience and actual contact with the world had been restricted thus far to the immediate environment of an unhappy fireside, and his brief but most agreeable excursion to the yarmouth coast and the boathouse home of the peggotys. to be taken into such high favor by one so superior in every way, whose word was disputed but rarely if ever, even by old creakle him- self, seemed to him almost too good to be true. the menu for the feast which was scheduled for satur- day night was left entirely to steerforth. he decreed that a bottle of currant wine, almond cakes and biscuits were the proper order, and these he agreed to smuggle in, as he enjoyed a more generous liberty than the others. what a picture we glimpse of this undercover spread, the dormitory in darkness, save where the moon threw a soft shadow of the casements, here and there on the floor. the favored boys in their night togs gathered about steerforth, master of ceremonies, and copperfield the obliging host. how their young tongues wagged in whispered tone with quip and jest, holding this or that one up to scorn or ridicule and venting their just and righteous rancor on the ogre of the institution, even old creakle himself. tommy traddles with irrepressible humor, risking dis- covery by causing laughter scarce suppressed, through david copperfield pretending to shiver with fright at what he solemnly declared was mighty like a ghost at the other end of the room. then cavorting about the beds in his stockinged feet, he drew the laugh to steerforth, as he described how happy miss creakle seemed, when that gentleman in white trousers carried her parasol and walked arm in arm with her to church. but this, as every other oasis of fun or pastime in the course of life, must be left behind, and so regretfully one by one they sneak off to bed. after his "good-night copperfield," david says, as he raised himself to look on steerforth's handsome face as he lay in the moonlight, "there was no shadowy picture of his footsteps in the garden he dreamed of—the garden where in his dreams that night, he again wan- dered hand in hand and picked up shells and pebbles with little emily." the term at salem house was abruptly ended for david, by the death of his mother and that of his infant brother. of her death he says, "she winged her way back to her calm untroubled youth and again she was the mother who used to wind her bright curls round and round her finger, and to dance with me at twilight in the parlor. the mother who lay in the grave was the mother of my infancy, the little creature in her arms was myself as i had once been, hushed forever on her bosom." quite in keeping with the cruelly unnatural im- pulses of the murdstones, it was now decreed that david should be put to work; and so was begun a period of toil and soul-torture at the blacking-box factory, pasting labels on blacking boxes in a dingy basement workroom. david copperfield bers, the head of the house being represented as a sort of agent of the bottling warehouse; and in this manner is brought into the story that ridiculous bundle of good humor and pompous conceit, wilkins micawber. aside from this little agency, which paid practically nothing, micawber, waiting for something to turn up, was almost wholly dependent upon the pitiful sum that david was able to pay for his lodging. on one occasion mrs. micawber confided to david, in strictest confidence, that there was only the heel of a cheese in the larder (explaining that when she lived with her dear papa and mama they always spoke of the "larder") but as a matter of fact she added, "there is not a thing to eat in the house." david was very much distressed at this intelligence and immediately relieved the situation with the remnant of his week's pay. mrs. micawber was profuse in thanks and assured david that it would not be long now before mr. micawber's great talents would reap their just re- ward and lift them out of their distress. the family was already large and still growing, and in that connection david remarks that there was a pair of twins and that he scarcely remembers ever having seen them both detached from her person at the same time, as one or the other was always taking refreshment. david's weekly pay being frequently commandeered, as we have seen, there was little left for himself, so that he was often forced to patronize the left-over pastries and puddings of the neighborhood shops to satisfy his hunger. one of the puddings he described as "fat and flabby with great fat raisins in it." david copperfield contrived ingeniously, without exciting suspicion as to his intentions, to inquire the address of his aunt. the guinea arrived punctually and with it the information that miss trotwood lived somewhere at or about dover. acting upon this and to forestall inquiry for him when paytime came he told mealy potatoes that he was going to his lodgings to look after a box. the label, "david copperfield, hold till called for," was all ready to affix but he thought it better to get started on his journey before doing this and so when safely out of sight, he asked the carrier to stop for a minute and this was the beginning of his misfortune. the wily rascal pretended to believe that david had stolen something and was running away. the boy had taken the guinea in his mouth to leave his hands free to adjust the label and before he could realize it he was taken with a sharp thump on the back of the neck and the money shot out into the carrier's hand. the fellow at once jumped into his cart, yelling, "police, police," at the top of his voice, and rattled off down the road. poor david, he followed as fast as his little feet would carry him, halloaing to the rascal to give him his money, narrowly escaping serious hurt or worse, a score of times and at last sank to the ground on the side of the road thoroughly worn out and crying as though his heart would break. he couldn't think of turning back and though entirely destitute, money and small belongings all gone, after a short rest he set out bravely to accomplish the distance afoot. trudging along until late evening, he reached the neighborhood of salem house, so recently the scene of david copperfield nodding to him with a little sympathy and much con- descension she bade him follow her. anxious and wondering what kind of reception was in store for him he stood a pitiful picture, coatless and almost shoeless, his remnant of clothes torn and soiled with damp and dirt, darkly tanned and dusty as a miller from head to foot. expectantly gazing at the door through which the maid had disappeared his vision is lifted to an upper window where a curious face is seen to peer intently at him, blink- ing and winking and smiling which encourages him not a little and then, mittened and hooded for work among her plants, comes miss betsey trotwood. he waits for her to turn towards him and then encouraged by the winks and blinks and smiles of that inscrutable philosopher, mr. dick, for he it is at the upper window, he hesitatingly reaches her side. "eh, eh, what's this?" says she rising rigidly to her full height. "if you please, ma'am, i want to speak to you." "no boys, no boys," says she and then desperately, "if you please, aunt," says david, "i'm your nephew david copperfield, i've run away, i have no home and i've come to you." "good lord," shrieks miss trotwood and straightway plumps herself down on the graveled walk. in another moment she had regained her feet and grabbing him by the collar almost lifted him bodily into the house. mr. dick was summoned in conference and when asked what should be done with david copperfield's boy he very sagely replied, "i should wash him." this suggestion, so obviously fitting, was of a kind that + fifty years after permitted no debate and forthwith janet was ordered to prepare the bath. so, with this bodily cleansing, the struggles, cruelties and discomforts which had shadowed the pathway of david's youth were packed away on memory's shelves. in their stead were enthroned the freshness, the beauty and the hopefulness of a new-dawning day and before him, stretching forward through the magic of aunt betsey's love, he glimpsed a vista of lengthening, pur- poseful years, which should make dickens and copper- field, one and inseparable, a composite figure among the world's immortals, to whom the generations yet to come will bring unceasing tributes of love and grateful praise. fifty years after quarter, started him on a run in the wrong direction, and we haven't seen him since. we next adopted jack, then less than a year old. he was a silky-haired collie, of a shiny, tortoise-shell-and- black variety, and had a mild hazel eye. he and ted, our little youngster, struck up a chummy friendship from the start. he'd watch his chance to steal up stairs in the morning while the mother was getting breakfast, scratch discreetly on the door, which was immediately opened, and, at a foot-fall on the stairs, was tucked away beneath the covers. jack was not socially demonstrative like some of his fellows and generally contented himself with a gentle wag of the tail. the street on which we live is a much traveled thoroughfare and frequently recklessly traveled at that. it is the same for both man and beast. get out of the way or get hit, seems to be the idea. the fact that the dog's license gives him some highway privileges has no weight at all. jack got his when about ten years old, which is about the beginning of old age for dogs. an old ford, which by every rule of pride or reason, should long before have found its last resting place with those of its honored family who had gone before, side- swiped him on the left hip and knocked him in to the bushes on the side of the road. the result was a virtual paralysis of the hind quarters, called corhoea, from which it is seldom that the animal can recover. the veterinarian who was called in advised chloro- my dog friends form, giving it as his opinion that the dog could not get well and that it would be a mercy to give him thus a pain- less exit. but who could look into the dear old fellow's beseeching and trusting eyes and pass him on in that way? oh no, as good old brother johns used to say in the student prayer-meeting, when invoking the parable of the camel and the eye of the needle "it just couldn't be did." the head of the house said "no indeedy, he's got to get a good deal worse than he is now." and so we prepared a place for him in a corner of the dining room by placing the sofa across, and there for two months he was doctored with home remedies, alco-rubbed twice a day, with a sherry and egg occasionally, and plenty of fresh milk forming his principal diet. at the end of this time he was able to get about the house and yard. the effects of age were beginning, however, to be quite apparent and soon he had become partially blind. the little excursions which he had been accustomed to take about the neighborhood were no longer possible. he did take his daily walk in the block just as might be expected of any dignified and portly old gentleman whose long and happy residence had made him loved and respected by old and young alike. his habits were now staid and regular like all old persons. he liked nothing better than a dash across the snoot in the morning with the lathered brush and a wipe off with a dampened cloth and then he was ready for breakfast. this he would speak for, with a bark that grew fainter and fainter until it seemed but an echo of its earlier resonant ring. did you ever notice how much alike is the old age fifty years after of dogs and humans? (not strange, however, for they have more in common with us than any other animal.) there is the gradual slowing down; the increasing sense of detachment and the diminishing power and keenness of the senses, are all apparent, painfully so sometimes in each. jack lingered with us a few years longer in the enjoy- ment of a serene and comfortable old age, rarely going out of the yard or beyond the front porch. his diet of milk-soaked bread was fed him one evening toward the end of march, but he took only a little and that lying down. he wagged his tail feebly when i stroked his head and said good-night. it was the last good-night, for when i looked in on him after midnight he had vanished into the shadows which mark the close of life's fitful day for man and dog alike. jack ii was also a large, beautiful collie, with a growth of luxuriant gray and white hair. that on his breast was long and silvery white. he came to us when about a year old, but even then fully grown. with care and attention a slight distemper was soon dissipated and dur- ing the seven years of his residence a more loyal friend and companion was never had. he had a cordial dislike for the bath and the spouting hose and splash in the tub sent him scurrying to a hide-a-away; but when the opera- tion was over and he, shaking and showering the spray, rubbed and dried and cavorting in a perfect abandon of healthful reaction and happiness, was a pleasure to behold. my old touring car was his special care and delight. it just couldn't be moved without him. he would park my dog friends himself by its side, and on the run alternately between the front and back seat would bark a challenge to every moving thing. this jack ii was a valiant fighter, too, but on an occa- sion when i was spending the week-end in town, the gate having been left open, he was attacked by five other dogs, among them a vicious bull. a neighbor who was a witness to the unequal combat brought the news and my boy cary brought him home in his arms. there were no lacerations and so it would seem that the heart had given way under the terrible strain. jack was known and loved by old and young alike and many will recall a jolly picture of piled-in youngsters as we rode about the country-side after a junior league game of baseball. this brings us to wags, the most self assertive of all the canine bunch. he was a wire-haired terrier and wiry to the nth degree. there was a reason, too, for this assertiveness, for he was born on the place and, as he grew, seemed to develop and exhibit an uncanny sense of authority and responsibility. the circumstances of his birth were at least romantic and unusual. his mother, fat, mild-mannered and silky- haired and his father of excellent wire-haired lineage had shown considerable fondness in their playful gambols and food-hunting excursions. the former, widowed through the death of jack, was daily about the place and so being obliged to have a dog, a kidnapping was arranged, the two of them made comfortable in the barn, and wags was the sequel. somehow, after a rather extensive contact with humans fifty years after of all sorts and conditions, there has been developed in me a very high appreciation for dogs. to be sure, they do not speak our language, but a restricted comprehension may not be denied them. how instantly the master's emotions are reflected in the droop or wag of the tail or the resonant bark and joyous leaping in a very ecstasy of excited good feeling. wags shows extraordinary precocity in many ways. his playful moods are a riot of fun and frolic. with an air of teasing he will reach to the table or machine and drag off a pair of hose or other article and prance up to you and back away with a sort of "get it if you can" expression. again it may be a perfectly good rubber shoe or a letter given him by the postman, and if you give chase, such make-believe anger and terrible growling you've seldom heard. then, too, i've been interested to note what an acute sense of an invisible presence dogs have. there are two windows in the den—at one the typewriter and stand and' at the other a settee. wags may be sleeping peacefully in one of the big chairs and all at once will rush to one or the other viewpoint with an ominous growl. sure enough, there is a dog in sight, and then what vigorous barking and skipping from window to window while the dog is in view. the contacts of dogs, too, are much like those of humans. they have friends and mere acquaintances and any number of those whom they see quite often but whose friendship they never encourage. there's a very pretty little poodle that comes by every morning with the school children of his home. for a week or more wags ran along brother jarrett sees new york fashion and apparent prosperity he had heard so much, he concluded to look around a day or two before seeking employment. looking around in little old new york is not so safe a recreation as its many agencies for moral uplift could wish, and when strangers are extra good-natured and relax a protecting scrutiny of acts of seeming friendliness, there's no telling what may happen. at this time the great tide of negro civics, culture and commerce had not yet set out toward the upper harlem stretches. negro activities, in the main, radiated about sixth avenue and th street. nowhere within the reach of this center was the question of morals ever allowed on any pretext to inure to the detriment of money. social and political clubs galore, each exclusive yet all inclusive, offering a menu of entertainment in rhyme, rhythm or reason for the purely aesthetic, and under the same roof an attractive equipment for those inclined to speculation was conveniently housed, up one flight and to the right. brother jarrett passed here and there in leisurely won- der and amazement, his hands clasped behind him and tropical innocence beaming from every feature. the lights, the ladies, the mingled noises of organ grinder and chil- dren at play; the belated huckster crying his wares and a lusty insistence on "oh promise me" by some strong- lunged entertainer, induced a condition of strange bewil- derment. at this moment he was courteously approached by a prosperous looking brown-skinned individual who induced him to temporarily exchange his eighty-five bucks for an fifty years after envelope in which he could have sworn he saw placed an even hundred. the envelope was then sealed and he was told to wait five minutes and not move from the spot. brother jarrett figured he had made fifteen dollars the easiest ever. the five minutes lengthened to thirty and the thirty to sixty, but the friend had not returned. at the club where he was to be taken, he was told they knew no such person. the man in charge opened the envelope and immediately burst out laughing. "nigger," he said, "they's certeny done you dis time, you am' got nuthin but er dirty piece er paper." it was only too true. brother jarrett's eyes, now bigger than ever with the realization that he was almost penni- less and in a strange city, went to his lodging for which he had fortunately paid a week in advance. the next day he started on a hunt for a job. he naturally thought of his particular line of car- pentering and seeing several openings on an agency's bulletin with wages stated at $ per day, a broad smile spread over his features. "i see you've got a carpenter's place and i'd like to get it if you please." the man looked at him for a full minute. "where're you from, nigger? don't you know you can't get that kind of place in new york?" brother jarrett was too desperately concerned to think of resenting the brutal scorn and insult, so he answered meekly, "i'm from jamaica and as i'm a carpenter, i naturally turned to that." fifty years after compelled the two ladies to champion the cause of the ill-used helper. retiring to their boudoir, they put on their paint and feathers, and emerging therefrom, commanded the re- luctant jarrett to get his hat and come with them. the poor fellow dared not refuse, although he felt he had already seen quite enough of the bright lights of new york. besides, the ladies were now giving unmistakable evidence of a jovial and reckless hilarity that filled his big eyes with wonder, and convinced him of the danger that might attend him in the character of such escort. brother jarrett was shocked as never before, as the ladies proceeded once more to ruminate with jamaica. but he yielded to his fate with tolerable grace, as once outside, they each took him by an arm and piloted him through the evening crowds. they drifted along with the throngs with brother jarrett saying never a word, but attracting general atten- tion by reason of his great height and country appearance, in distinct contrast to his fashionably clad companions. jus as they turned the corner of th street he stopped, and although the ladies endeavored to urge him forward, he stood, seemingly rooted to the spot, while the crowds drifted about them. "what the matter with you, man?" asked mandy, "is you seen er ghost?" brother jarrett, with his big eyes stretched to the utmost, and mouth wide open, seemed fascinated by the vision of something far away. "that man got my money," he faintly whispered with brother jarrett sees new york the sweat bursting from his forehead, and pointing with trembling fingers across the street. "which man?" asked mandy. "show him to me!" demanded miss sadie. dragging him along, they crossed over to the front of a shoeshine stand where several customers were being polished up. "that's him!" accused jarrett, pointing out a dapper little fellow in the end chair. both ladies were on him in a minute. "you thief. you dirty little rascal." mandy had him by the collar and out of the chair. "i'll teach you to roll a nice young innercent feller," shaking him back and forth. sadie yelled, "ger er perlice!" but one was already coming on the run, attracted by the crowd. brother jarrett, still bewildered by these unexpected developments, was sufficiently composed when they reached the station, to describe the swindle that had been worked on him, and identify the culprit. "yes, dat's him. i give him me good $ and he tell me to hold dis enverlope wid er hundred dollars in it, but dere's nothing in it but er dirty piece er paper." on being ordered by the desk sergeant to "dig," the swindling sport produced a goodly roll and was held for an interview with his honor in the morning. a few days later brother jarrett was on his way to montreal, and as he sat back in the n. y. central coach, a comfortable smile broke all over his innocent ebony face as he said to himself, "it sure is a good thing i brought that jamaica rum along." reminiscing rambles i had been seated next to a little lady of finely chiseled features, a dark, velvety complexion, large lustrous black eyes, and hair the color and gloss of a raven's wing. something in the face and features stirred my recollec- tions, and when the director assembled the mourners and friends to make up the cortege, the name of miss ella williams touched to life the fading picture of old familiar georgetown faces. i stepped to her side and whispered, "aren't you one of the p street williamses?" "yes," said she, "and that's my sister who was sitting with me, and ain't you the johnny cover our folks talk so much about?" so memory completes the picture, for within the space of three city blocks, there mingled and intermingled, "toiling and rejoicing" in that intimate friendliness of the old-school citizens many worthy families among whom were the waymans. in fancy, even now, i bring again my well-worn shoes to the wayman shop for repairs, and i see the elder wayman at his cobbler's bench, with his great arms bared to the elbow, his mouth full of pegs or tacks as he sticks them on and drives them in with the hammer. an eye singularly clear and radiant of good nature lighted his jolly round face, and the smile, which the years had grown into a permanent feature, flashed a cheery welcome to all who passed that way. in many ways, dennis was the prototype of his father; only there was no permanent smile, but rather a calm thoughtfulness, as of one pondering over the vexing prob- lems of life and seeking to penetrate the mysteries which lie beyond. this seems to have grown on him as the years fifty years after advanced and will be remembered of him as a boy at play, or in the classroom at the old chamberlain building, when, gazing wide-eyed and wistfully at little miss daffin, he gravely solved a problem in mental arithmetic, or caused her curly head to bob with satisfaction as he explained the difference between simple, compound and complex sentences. working with his father, after school and during vaca- tion time, he acquired the trade and chose to follow it as his life's work. for a long time he carried on in the old shop, but for many years past, he had been at the corner of th and u. it may be truly said of him that he dignified an humble trade, and by conscientious, painstaking labor, which per- mitted no detail to be slighted, lifted it to the level of an art. such modest, earnest, lovable characters as dennis wayman are the salt of the earth. the world is the poorer in his passing. "skins may differ, but affections" oh, gommy! my poor vincent is so sick, and they've taken him to the hospital. please go up there and see about him." such was the greeting of little snooki, to grandma boulet, as she returned from the office on a winter's day, not so long ago. the child's distress was so great, that grandma took her on her lap and hushed her sobs, until she was able to tell her more about her precious invalid. vincent was the twelve-month old baby of the colored janitor and his wife, who occupied a small apartment on the ground floor of the "gridley." from the very coming of the little lump of ebony, the child had seemed to feel that he had been sent into the world for her special care and affection. she was the presiding genius of the morning bath, and hovered about his little cradle until the glow of twilight had deepened into night. later, on sunny days, she proudly wheeled the carefully wrapped bundle around the block, supremely careless of the giggles, and dis- dainful of the scornful thrusts of the other children. the older folks were not at all disturbed over the unusual situation, and through the sympathy engendered by traditional family associations of a century of life in fifty years after the old new orleans parish of st. bernard, quite naturally indulged the whim of their little darling, but it was a strange phenomenon in these parts to see a beau- tiful white child playing the tender and attentive nurse to a little pickaninny, with every evidence of pleasure and careful devotion. "i just don't care, gommy," the child had said. "they can just 'tend to their own business, 'cause you know, gommy, you had your little colored playmates, and you know how much you love to get a letter from dear old mamma lize. and—and—gommy, that's the way i love vincent. it don't make a bit of difference 'cause he's black, and when i get him all to myself, gommy, i just kiss him and hug him as much as i please. but, oh, gommy, he must be awful sick, and i know he wants me. won't you ask the hospital people to let me come up there?" when daddy came the story was poured into his ears, and as a result the hospital was called and the inevitable "doing as well as can be expected" was received, but that he could not be seen. snooki was more than ever disconsolate, so much so that daddy took her in his arms and promised that he would either see vincent in the morning or something terrible would happen to that hospital. the days dragged slowly. lessons were neglected. the child seemed so changed and sad, and the teachers at the convent were much concerned. good sister catharine, seeking to know the trouble, was urged to go into the chapel and pray with her for little vincent. at the end of a fortnight, the simple, childish faith grandma 'melia's advice here, in a cozy corner of "the swifts," his varied expe- riences on the road were frequently retailed to a group who might find themselves with an hour or two of leisure. "the swifts" was one of the oldest of several semi- political organizations which have borne an important part in the municipal contests of the great metropolis. it was well named, in more than one respect, for the majority of its members traveled for a livelihood, and during hours between trips they were still on the go, having exchanged the object of their travel from legiti- mate getting to indiscriminate spending. any time after nine o'clock, on any of the seven eve- nings of the week, a very decided quorum of swifts made their presence felt, in a spirituous or other social sense, within its cheerful rooms. the large bay window at the front was made beautiful by the foliage of tropical plants; each room displayed paintings, artistic bric-a-brac, and homely, comfort-giving furnishings; and from an alcove at the rear, one's ears were ravished with a delicious tinkle, tinkle, and teasing siss and jingle of the mixer. darrell looked in at the club on a sunday evening towards the close of december. the one item of news he picked up, and of which he most seriously thought, was that a stranger had inquired for him several times. wondering whom it could be, he ran over his mail and found a letter, in an unlooked for, but familiar hand. hastily breaking the seal, he read: "dear darr, you will be surprised to know that i am in new york. have been looking for you since wednesday. will be at your club punc- tually at nine o'clock sunday night. don't fail me. _ grandma 'melia's advice darrell, as he now reviewed the far-flung contacts of his cousin both at home and abroad, his successful adven- ture in publishing his naval experiences, and his appoint- ment to a government position, all seeming to indicate a prosperous future, was at a loss to pleasurably construe the last three words of gerald's note, "don't fail me." he couldn't escape the conviction that the terseness of the message was intended to impress him with the serious, if not desperate, situation in which his cousin found him- self, but try as he would he could think of nothing that in the remotest way suggested an explanation. always there was encountered the knowledge of gerald's dutiful, methodical habits and his almost fanatical devotion to the principles of justice, truth and fair dealing. the rambling character of his reverie encompassed, too, the more pleasant features of their intimate contact. he was again at the altar, dividing the honors with his soul's first and only love. here, too, gerald was at his side. it was his hand that passed the ring in that hour of greatest joy and supreme content. he felt again the consolations of a happy home, and seemed to hear the clear, sweet tones of mirth and play. and then this happy interval, brief and dreamlike, passed all too swiftly and was gone, leaving him stranded, broken, wrecked beside a new-filled grave. a grip on the shoulder and a voice saying, "hello, darr, old man," brought him abruptly to himself. dar- rell's face as he welcomed his cousin was a battleground of conflicting emotions. the feeling that the visit in some way portended trouble possessed him completely. his greeting was all the more cordial on this account, for he grandma 'melia's advice remember how she used to clap her hands and shout, 'praise the lord and bless his holy name'?" "do i remember? well i guess i do; for during one of those happy spells the good soul walked all over me, and soundly punched my head with her elbows. but what a picture she was, bouncing here and there, her fat face all aglow and her short skirts making circles like a girl jumping rope." the interlude was brief, for then darrell, placing a hand on the other's shoulder, asked: "what is all this about, gerald? there's something wrong; what is it, lad?" "oh, i don't know that there's anything that can be helped." "when are you going back?" "i can't tell; i don't know." "don't know? now look here, lad, this is too late a day for lack of confidence between you and me. are you in financial trouble, what is it?" "money has to do with it only indirectly. i should say rather clashing temperaments and opposing ideals are more largely responsible. heredity, too, must bear its share; for what's in the blood will find expression in the life of a person. through no fault of her own, zita carries the dominating instincts and the ruthless unyielding will of that old master class who brooked no opposition, and would not be diverted from a determined course. this disposition was early made apparent in our married life. there was only one way a thing could be done, and that was her way. it mattered not if another way was obviously the better, there could be no concession. childish petu- fifty years after lance, nagging and abuse were the usual follow-up. con- sistency, fairness and truth were just words with no relevance that would devalue a stand once announced. "i have often thought, too, that if acquaintance might have been had with the late col. theodore roosevelt, a most valuable associate for his cousin maria might have been recruited for his ananias club. "regrettable as such tendencies and quirks of character are, they were but as the annoying buzz of a persistent insect in comparison with an attitude of virulent opposi- tion to a hobby that has been with me since the old college days. i mean that of trying to write. "this opposition proceeded to a climax with the con- templated publication of a second book, the flight that failed, through which a very devil's broth of intolerant opposition in which the ingredients of selfishness, greed, jealousy and downright meanness were discovered. "the cost of this later effort though defrayed by a legacy derivable from the estate of our uncle will, was considered only as diminishing, by just so much, what of value might remain after my demise. "consideration of the effort as a stimulant to negro pride of race, as an addition to the rapidly expanding volume of negro achievement in the field of letters, or as a gesture in the direction of increased family prestige, either, it would seem, might have been counted upon to assure the support of one so closely associated. "was such support given? it was not. rather the most vitriolic opposition and denunciation. disparaging and sarcastic references on any occasion of 'gerald's old book,' grandma 'melia's advice 'literary gentleman,' 'you think you are something what you ain't,' 'you'd like to be along with kerly piller, welborn jansen and curtis woodin, but you never will be.' 'nobody wants the old book. your own people don't care anything about it.' "abuse and insult, darrell, were my daily ration, and i think you must realize what this sort of thing has done to me. "i had looked forward to a more happy closing of what some one has referred to as 'that inquiet day which we call life' but the counsels of the infinite seem to have decreed otherwise." gerald was visibly affected during the recital. his cousin took a turn or two about the room and after a moment or two said: "i think i understand just how you feel, my boy, and while i doubt whether you are taking the proper course, i can also realize how impossible it is for you to condone the indefensible attitude you have described. life in general," he continued, "and especially married life, calls for mutual concessions along every line. i regret, more than i can say, the development of such a situation. my own marital experience, short and miser- ably managed on my part, was in every way the opposite of what you describe. i was headstrong, pleasure-loving, neglectful and devoid of all ambition. there is nothing similar in our cases and it would be presumptuous for me to advise. it is deplorable that this unhappy condition should have developed in the face of much that should make life a thing of joy for you and yours." "that is true, darr, and i assure you i am deeply fifty years after pained; but there is no way to condone the terrible wrong and injustice of the thing. its horror seems to have gripped my very soul. one is sensible of the fact that not everyone may respect or appreciate the strength of a hobby that has grown and grown throughout the years, but at least, when such is worthy and entails no sacrifice or impingement on the rights of another, it does not merit scorn, abuse and insult. it should not be a surprise that through these differences a gulf of resentment has been opened that seems to forbid a crossing from either side." with a good-natured twinkle in his eye darrell placed a hand on his cousin's shoulder. "gerald," he said, "do you remember how grandma 'melia used to tell us to 'bottle it up, bottle it up' when in a childish angry moment we felt we had a grievance? well, my boy, the words of that dear old soul are just as good advice today, in our manhood, and so i say to you, 'bottle it up, bottle it up.'" gerald took passage on the midnight train. its occa- sional screech of stop and go; its shrill warning whistle of scheduled right of way and its constant rush and roar as it plowed into a continuing darkness, formed a fitting companion to his varied emotions. the homely though suggestive injunction, "bottle it up, bottle it up," formed the dominant thread in the pattern of life his soul was weaving. it seemed to point the way of reason to a possible contentment. toward the end of the journey some lines he ran across on a poet's calendar while at shanghai many years ago fifty years after have rendered childhood days so golden and happy. there was a cash register, too, just on the inside of a little window, and through this the proprietor reached, ringing up his cash and making change, for it was utterly impos- sible for him to enter by way of the door. proprietor johnson, who very much resembles his more famous namesake, mr. jack, has learned a great deal during the years he has been baking and stewing, and he knows that to do business you've got to put yourself on a "show me" basis. hence the cash register and the telephone. the walls upon which the lingering vapors from the cookings of many days have left their telltale shadows, are appropriately decorated with sundry toothsome an- nouncements, happily conceived to whet the appetite and facilitate the selection of a meal. mr. johnson, large of form, ebony-hued, with bright eyes and close-cropped shiny head, and mrs. johnson, brown and comely, with lots of wavy hair, mixed gray and black, swift of foot as well as at making change, fill completely and with easy grace the positions of chef and second cook, head and second waiter. there are no strikes in the kitchen, no running over each other, no dropping of trays, no disputes about orders, or kicks about working over-time. everything's as smooth and easy as a piece of machinery with the latest automatic oiling attachments. the regulars of the new york boarding house are none of your fad or fashion artists, and a boiled shirt or a stiff hat on a week day would appear completely out of place. indeed, the furtive glances of scorn and suspicion fifty years after weeping willow kind of tremolo in his voice, "won't you please sir, let me have that ten fork chops, i ain' got but five minutes ter eat an' git ter work." "deed, son," comes a voice from the kitchen, "i ain' got nuthin' ter do wid dat, yer'l have ter eat it runnin' fer all i knows. i'se had breakfast ready sence six o'clock an' ef yer'd started in time yer'd er ben in time." "dere now, didn't i told yer so?" says someone at the late- comer's table. the going on monday mornings is usually rather rough for mr. johnson. everything seems to go wrong and everyone's out of patience. at such times he ex- presses the opinion to every one in general "that sunday meetings don' seem to do some people no good no how." on one of these wash-day mornings not long ago, in the very flush of the breakfast hour, a wizened little old man entered, having a well filled pillow case hanging from his shoulder. mr. johnson, bending over the range in the act of dishing up an order, threw his optics to the front and was horrified at sight of the bundle. "oh, son," he cried, vigorously waving a large iron spoon, "don' bring dat thing in here, please don'. leave it outside an' den come in. dat san'tary man's li'ble ter pop in here any minute, an' he's done gim me warnin' 'bout habbin dem 'spicious bundles 'round whar der' eatins goin' on. oh yes, go on, son, lebe it on de outside." mr. johnson had been advancing and talking at the same time and was now near the unwelcome guest, ready to assist him out if necessary. but poor old "son" had no stomach for compromise and mumbled as he shufhed out, "i won't lebe it on de outside none. i'll jest go furder." fifty years after "now take the training school next door, that miss furroughs certeny is some business woman; she saw the thing right off the bat. she says, 'yes, i'll dedicate and glad to do it.' she knowed that what she'd give away would make the rest of the place ten times more valuable. she didn't hesitate a minute but wrote the commissioners to use whatever land was necessary to establish the street." this piece of news pleased the members immensely and the dignity of "de bode" was completly suspended during a season of hilarious applause and hand shaking. but what's the matter with our worthy chairman? he looks from one to the other, but smiles only faintly and when order is partially restored he rises all in a tremble and, shifting his attention from one to another until he has fixed the attention of all with impressive deliberation, addresses them as follows: "i'm glad to know that the training school has dedicated, but it's no new thing for me 'cause i've been doin' an' doin' and givin' an' givin' ever since i've been on this hill. i've been out here now nigh on to twenty years an' nobody's give me nothin' yet. i let the railroad people have the strip down there in the bottom so de cars could come through an' i won't stan' in de way of the road neither; if the city won't pay for the land i'll have to dedicate an' that's all there is to it an' the secretary is authorized to make that report to the 'sociation." more applause followed this announcement and a motion put by the secretary (for the modesty of the president would not allow him to handle so delicate a matter) that the thanks of the association be tendered miss furroughs and mr. rollins clapman for their fifty years after "now, mr. president, you all knows i ain' got no children to sen' to school, but at the same time i think this school matter is one of the most important before this 'bode' an' we oughter do sumpin erbout it right erway an' i'm goin' ter move yer, mr. president, that we au- thorize the secretary to take what steps he considers necessary ter head off the 'propriation fer de beanwood school an' git us a new building in billville." a half dozen seconds were offered to the motion in just that length of time and after the motion was carried mr. willett w. johns expressed himself as of the opinion that the matter could not have been left in better hands. now it happened that the worthy principal of the beanwood school was present as the guest of the president of "de bode" and as may be imagined was highly inter- ested in these proceedings, and at this point was introduced by his host. "my position, gentlemen," says he rising as he swal- lowed a hot dog and alternately smiled and frowned as was his custom on all important occasions, "is rather an embarrassing one, for as your guest, i should be in accord with your desires and ambitions, while in fact from an instinct of self-preservation, i cannot find it in my heart to wish you success in all that you propose." prof. darcozo here bent his eagle eye here and there about the board and paused impressively. resuming, he said, "the question is between a new school for you and an addition to the old one for me and since i've got so much the start on you, i can honestly say that you at least have my sympathy and i am sure your energetic secretary will make such good use of the authority placed executive meeting in his hands, that although he may not succeed in switch- ing the appropriation from beanwood, the necessity for a new building at billville will be made so apparent as to make its realization only a question of a short while. on all other points i am thoroughly in accord and i congratulate the association on having so competent and wide-awake an executive board." at this stage of the proceedings mr. prixly hixson of "membership" claimed the floor. prixly had the distinc- tion of standing to willett w. johns, the president, in that close-fitting relation that is frequently alluded to as one's own right hand and since for some reason, not always apparent, that gentleman, presumably from exces- sive modesty, seldom spoke for himself, it was usually understood and so taken by the members of "de bode" that "old prixly" as he was affectionately referred to by that worthy, had a standing commission to do the talking. "now, mr. churman," says prixly, his little black eyes sparkling and his large white teeth showing bril- liantly in their coral setting, "dere ain't no use of us wasting er lot er time now on dis school matter; if the trustees has recermended an addition to beanwood and the commissioners has sent it to congress, dat settles it, an' we mout as well set down an' take our medicine. we jest woke up too late, dat's all, an' all we can do now is to be sure we gits our recermendations in fer er new building nex' year. "le's try ter git some lights an' some streets an' git dese devilish baltimore cars ter blow dere whistles an' slow down er little when dey come through here. dey come through here now like er roarin' lion an' ef yer fifty years after don' scoot out er de way dey sure will eat yer up. now dis is suppin we ken do; let de secretary put dat in his recermendations an' le's try an' git some cinders an' fill up some er de mud holes roun' erbout here an' git some wagon bridges throwed across watts branch an' den we would be doin' suppin'." prixly was here interrupted by loud and prolonged applause. resuming, he said, "now, mr. churman, befo' i set down i wants ter invite 'de bode' an' 'stend er invertation fer dem ter meet at my house at de nex' regular meeting. taint my turn ter entertain 'de bode,' but mrs. hixon won't be here when my turn comes, cos she's goin' erway wid de senator's family ter do de cooking, so ef dere's no objection i'll have de ole woman fix up fer 'de bode' de fust sadday night in febrary." the chairman said he thought there would be no objection to accommodating mr. hixon, and with such understanding the board adjourned. the secretary took up the matter of a new school build- ing for billville with the district sub-committee of the house, proving the greater need of billville, resulting in a switch of $ , intended for a beanwood addition to a new building for billville which forms the initial unit of its present $ , school building. fifty years after an old washington boy who but a few years ago had the courage to take horace greeley's advice and by continuous industry has succeeded in turning it into prestige and cash, our facilities for observation and intimate contact with the men who are keeping the negro in the picture of the progress and development of a greater chicago could not be improved. we are led to wonder what would have been the thought of our poor disfranchised brothers and sisters of the southland could they have seen these two stalwart defenders of the suffrage rights and privileges of their constituents, as they battled during several days before the election commissioner to lift the ban of "suspect" from many of the voters of the district. it is significant of the righteousness of their cause when we say that more than six hundred arbitrarily suspected men and women who made the long journey to the city hall through snow and rain were triumphantly vindi- cated and their votes on november nd swelled the large majority by which chicago citizens registered their ap- proval of the splendidly constructive work of mayor thompson. we wonder again what would be the thought of those folks, our folks "away down home," if they might have a vision of other occurrences and other modes of life among these other men of their group; see them in their homes surrounded by elegant conveniences of culture and refinement; see them prompt, regular and efficient in the performance of duty and honored, respected and consulted with no reserve or condescension by those of place and power, who deem it no derogation of their back to denver ably impelled him to say with a visible sheepishness, "ahem, er yes, this is the colored people's car." after a lay-over of five hours at geary we arrive about midnight at wewoka. col. j. coody johnson, our old college mate, was not expecting us until saturday, but upon inquiry we found a couple of fellow passengers who would pass his home and who kindly permitted us to accompany them. the home is both ornate and substantial, of the rambling, bungalow type; thoroughly modern from lawn to lavatory and carrying its own electric lighting, water power system and heating plant. the logs in the great fire place of the living room still shoot forth an occa- sional spark in evidence of an earlier evening flame. on either side are well filled book cases and all about, floor coverings, hangings and bric-a-brac and cushioned ma- hogany, appraise in eloquent terms the substance as well as culture of the johnson home. as we sit here in his home, we think of the stripling who with his father appeared at lincoln in the fall of ' with gold hoops in his ears. this was in the old in- dian territory days and his father, a descendant of the creeks and an interpreter at the fort smith agency, was even then considered well off as an owner of lands and cattle. the son, with education and enterprise and in- heriting his father's talent for interpreting the indian dialects, made frequent trips to washington with one or another of the five civilized tribes and is respon- sible for much of the legislation enacted to procure a satisfactory status for those people. general porter and halputta micou, former chiefs of the district liners line and hauls all sorts and conditions of men, women and children, and the usual accepted classes of fowls and domestic animals. travel is regulated by the exigencies of occupation or pursuit, so that the regular in-going :io and the coming out : district line cars, carrying office and school people, are usually made up of the same old regular liners, and one experiences a certain number of awkward moments, when, as occasionally occurs, the railway schedule is smashed and he finds it necessary to join an unfamiliar contingent of earlier or later liners. it is not intended to be invidious in our comparison of liners, for there are excellent brands in all classes; just as it is also true that there are brands in all classes who are not so excellent. probably nowhere else is the one touch of nature so conspicuously in evidence, in so many ways, as one finds in daily contact with the various classes of district liners. there seems to be no hard and fast rule of segregation either, by white or black liners, yet it is seen that they have fallen apart as clear and clean as a whistle, the whites—and those so taken—on one side and the various shades of brown and black on the other. the : is very popular with the school going con- tingent, who have graduated out of the grades into one or another of the high schools in the city; and if one is lucky enough to get hold of a strap about midships, he may find, opened up for his edification, much interesting information, little of which is to be found in any textbook. on this car, the staid and sober-minded old liner, whether male or female, is very imperfectly seen and a christmas retrospect once more we approach the yuletide.with its sug- gestions of joys and sorrows; its pleasures and disappointments. we turn the mind backward and there passes before us a procession of persons and events, in- timately or remotely associated, and all woven into the expanding pattern of our personal lives. at such times the pattern is spread before us without our slightest effort. we see in the woven fabric patches of golden deeds which delight our hearts, and then there are somber spots of mistaken effort which make us sad and penitent. thus the plan of the ages unfolds, holding to the view of each a faithful mirror and in its wondrous depths we glimpse a compassionate saviour, admonishing, restrain- ing, encouraging, and drawing us nearer and ever nearer toward that fatherhood in god which the cross made sacred as the hope and symbol of our human brotherhood. fifty years after "'co'se i didn't feel so desprit bad myse'f coz i knowed where de little foot square box wuz, an' i knowed it wuz mighty near full, en any ways nuf ter keep us goin' till i got anoder job; but po' mary, she wuz certeny de mos' cut up woman i ever see. "when christmas mornin' come, we called de chilern togeder fer fam'ly prayers an' when i hear mary's voice all er trimble like, i knowed she were uncommon worked up an' sech er prayer as i's nebber heered before ner sence. de words jes sputtered out like er sizzlin' cracker an' when she slowed up an' got down off her high horse de sweat wuz a stan'in' out on her nose an' for'ed like de bead on er glass er good likker. "well we set down ter breakfus' an' after helpin' de chilern, i see mary push de plate fum her an' look kin'er sot an' stern erbout de mouf, an' when little tommy sez 'why don't you eat mama?' it wuz too much fer her an' de tears jes bust out her eyes in a study stream. "i had jes took er bite er corn pone, an' when i see mary in dat fix i got sort er choked in de throat mese'f an' i jumped up an' run fer dat foot square box an' un- screwed de top an' fetched it back an' sot it in her lap. "well chillern, i nebber seen sech a transferation 'fore ner sence, laffin' wid de tears chasin' down her cheeks an' lookin' jes lak de sun brekin' thu de clouds on er rainy day." the black hundred an indictment and protest against the measure of "freedom" the american negro has been permitted to achieve during seventy years of toil, devotion and loyalty to flag and country.—with apologies to lord tennyson. the black hundred seventy years! seventy years! how stands the verdict? still in the shadow of doubt gropes the black hundred. forward the black brigade, stand firm, be brave was said, all manhood's rights to gain strive hard with brawn and brain onward! black hundred. upward the black brigade there's not a soul dismayed though the black race well knows great ones have blundered. there's not to make resolve—, there's not to question "why?" ours is to struggle on cursed and oppressed by wrong forward! black hundred! jim crow at mount vernon's gate jim crow in church and state jim crow by boat and car points ever the way; frowned on with hate of hell, bravely they strove, and well upward from slavery's death seeking freedom's pure breath onward! black hundred! how do you do how do you do "how do you do" precisely said from early mora 'till time for bed takes meaning both from tone and look as can't be found in any book. with careless nod and furtive glance betokening a sort of trance the "how do you do" with curling lip most plainly says "who cares a rip." but a "how do you do" that one can feel means real concern for a fellow's weal is the one worth while when all is said and helps us along on the road ahead. fifty years after meditation myriads of men have passed this way in sunshine, shadow, joy and pain chasing the "rainbow" that some day fortune's smiles they might attain. child and youth with care-free trend recks not of life that lies ahead for youth and manhood form a blend that brings content whate'er be said. then comes ripe age with retrospect of happenings strange, scarce realized so, taken all in all, if we reflect what life well lived may be despised? come clean come clean a worthy phrase, but homely is "come clean" it means to act with kindness and be just, that the rays of truth may ever beam and bare to scorn each jealous thrust. it matters not who is the guy whether newly met or old time friend; "come clean" to all men should apply to each be fair—his rights defend. the rule is hard and some it seems prefer the small and meaner way; "come clean" may haunt them in their dreams but means nothing to them in the day. fifty years after ode to " " all hail the new year, fresh and clean, just arrived from the mists of what has been; it comes with the promise that each may make some gift of service that will partake of that age-old mandate "do unto others." in the spirit of love that makes all brothers. the concept of life 'twin man and man and woman too, she is not under ban sees justice, truth—keystone of life's arch; puts lying, greed, hypocrisy on the march and outlaws the grin, the smirk and "ha! -ha!" that many assume will keep them at par. کے کی . . lady into fox some new borzoi novels fall, a lost lady willa cather janet march floyd dell the cimbrians johannes v. jensen heart's blood ethel m. kelley the back seat g. b. stern the bachelor girl victor margueritte the blind bow-boy carl van vechten jane-our stranger mary borden the three impostors arthur machen the voice on the mountain mario, queen of roumania mr. and mrs. tebrick at home. otetorosodoterono lady into fox david garnett illustrated with wood engravings by : r. a. garnett new york alfred a. knopf - e-?.. onderful or supernatural events are not so uncommon, rather they are irregular in their incidence. thus there may be not one marvel to speak of in a century, and then often enough comes a plentiful crop of them; monsters of all sorts swarm suddenly upon the earth, comets blaze in the sky, eclipses frighten nature, meteors fall in rain, while mermaids and sirens beguile, and sea-serpents engulf every passing ship, and terrible cataclysms beset humanity. but the strange event which i shall here relate came alone, unsupported, without companions into a hostile world, and for that very reason claimed little of the general attention of mankind. for the sudden chang- ing of mrs. tebrick into a vixen is an established fact which we may attempt to account for as we will. cer- tainly it is in the explanation of the fact, and the recon- ciling of it with our general notions that we shall find most difficulty, and not in accepting for true a story which is so fully proved, and that not by one witness but by a dozen, all respectable, and with no possibility of collusion between them. but here i will confine myself to an exact narrative of the event and all that followed on it. yet i would not dissuade any of my readers from attempting an lady into fox or less romantic but more probable, by mr. tebrick becoming acquainted with her uncle, a minor canon at oxford, and thence being invited by him to visit tangley hall, it is impossible to say. but however they became acquainted the marriage was a very happy one. the bride was in her twenty-third year. she was small, with remarkably small hands and feet. it is perhaps worth noting that there was nothing at all foxy or vixenish in her appearance. on the contrary, she was a more than ordinarily beautiful and agreeable woman. her eyes were of a clear hazel but excep- tionally brilliant, her hair dark, with a shade of red in it, her skin brownish, with a few dark freckles and little moles. in manner she was reserved almost to shyness, but perfectly self-possessed, and perfectly well-bred. she had been strictly brought up by a woman of excellent principles and considerable attainments, who died a year or so before the marriage. and owing to the circumstance that her mother had been dead many years, and her father bedridden, and not altogether rational for a little while before his death, they had few visitors but her uncle. he often stopped with them a month or two at a stretch, particularly in winter, as he was fond of shooting snipe, which are plentiful in the valley there. that she did not grow up a country hoyden is to be explained by the strictness of her governess and the influence of her uncle. but lady into fox in that shape, so they did nothing for nearly half-an- hour but stare at each other, he bewildered, she asking him with her eyes as if indeed she spoke to him: “what am i now become? have pity on me, hus- band, have pity on me for i am your wife.” so that with his gazing on her and knowing her well, even in such a shape, yet asking himself at every moment: “ can it be she? am i not dreaming? ” and her beseeching and lastly fawning on him and seeming to tell him that it was she indeed, they came at last together and he took her in his arms. she lay very close to him, nestling under his coat and fell to licking his face, but never taking her eyes from his. the husband all this while kept turning the thing in his head and gazing on her, but he could make no sense of what had happened, but only comforted him- self with the hope that this was but a momentary change, and that presently she would turn back again into the wife that was one flesh with him. one fancy that came to him, because he was so much more like a lover than a husband, was that it was his fault, and this because if anything dreadful happened he could never blame her but himself for it. so they passed a good while, till at last the tears welled up in the poor fox's eyes and she began weep- ing (but quite in silence), and she trembled too as if she were in a fever. at this he could not contain his own tears, but sat down on the ground and sobbed lady into fox for a great while, but between his sobs kissing her quite as if she had been a woman, and not caring in his grief that he was kissing a fox on the muzzle. they sat thus till it was getting near dusk, when he recollected himself, and the next thing was that he must somehow hide her, and then bring her home. he waited till it was quite dark that he might the better bring her into her own house without being seen, and buttoned her inside his topcoat, nay, even in his passion tearing open his waistcoat and his shirt that she might lie the closer to his heart. for when we are overcome with the greatest sorrow we act not like men or women but like children whose comfort in all their troubles is to press themselves against their mother's breast, or if she be not there to hold each other tight in one another's arms. when it was dark he brought her in with infinite precautions, yet not without the dogs scenting her, after which nothing could moderate their clamour. having got her into the house, the next thing he thought of was to hide her from the servants. he carried her to the bedroom in his arms and then went downstairs again. mr. tebrick had three servants living in the house, the cook, the parlourmaid, and an old woman who had been his wife's nurse. besides these women there was a groom or a gardener (whichever you choose to call him), who was a single man and so lived out, lodging with a labouring family about half a mile away. arms n went lady into fox in the morning when he woke up they had the place to themselves, for on his instructions the servants had all left first thing: janet and the cook to oxford, where they would try and find new places, and nanny going back to the cottage near tangley, where her son lived, who was the pigman there. so with that morning there began what was now to be their ordinary life together. he would get up when it was broad day, and first thing light the fire downstairs and cook the breakfast, then brush his wife, sponge her with a damp sponge, then brush her again, in all this using scent very freely to hide somewhat her rank odour. when she was dressed he carried her downstairs and they had their breakfast together, she sitting up to table with him, drinking her saucer of tea, and taking her food from his fingers, or at any rate being fed by him. she was still fond of the same food that she had been used to before her transformation, a lightly boiled egg or slice of ham, a piece of buttered toast or two, with a little quince and apple jam. while i am on the subject of her food, i should say that reading in the encyclopedia he found that foxes on the continent are inordinately fond of grapes, and that during the autumn season they abandon their ordinary diet for them, and then grow exceedingly fat and lose their offensive odour. this appetite for grapes is so well confirmed by Æsop, and by passages in the scriptures, that it is lady into fox catching her grave look, he would say: “do you think i jest on these things, my dear? i do not. i swear to you, my darling, that all my life i will be true to you, will be faithful, will respect and reverence you who are my wife. and i will do that not because of any hope that god in his mercy will see fit to restore your shape, but solely because i love you. however you may be changed, my love is not.” then anyone seeing them would have sworn that they were lovers, so passionately did each look on the other. often he would swear to her that the devil might have power to work some miracles, but that he would find it beyond him to change his love for her. these passionate speeches, however they might have struck his wife in an ordinary way, now seemed to be her chief comfort. she would come to him, put her paw in his hand and look at him with sparkling eyes shining with joy and gratitude, would pant with eager- ness, jump at him and lick his face. now he had many little things which busied him in the house - getting his meals, setting the room straight, making the bed and so forth. when he was doing this housework it was comical to watch his vixen. often she was as it were beside herself with vexation and distress to see him in his clumsy way doing what she could have done so much better had she been able. then, forgetful of the decency and the decorum which lady into fox the weather, which had been damp and misty, with frequent downpours of rain, improved very much in the following week, and, as often happens in january, there were several days with the sun shining, no wind and light frosts at night, these frosts becoming more intense as the days went on till bye and bye they began to think of snow. with this spell of fine weather it was but natural that mr. tebrick should think of taking his vixen out of doors. this was something he had not yet done, both because of the damp rainy weather up till then and because the mere notion of taking her out filled him with alarm. indeed he had so many apprehensions beforehand that at one time he resolved totally against it. for his mind was filled not only with the fear that she might escape from him and run away, which he knew was groundless, but with more rational visions, such as wandering curs, traps, gins, spring guns, besides a dread of being seen with her by the neighbourhood. at last however he resolved on it, and all the more as his vixen kept asking him in the gentlest way: “ might she not go into the garden? ” yet she always listened very submissively when he told her that he was afraid if they were seen together it would excite the curiosity of their neighbours; besides this, he often told her of his fears for her on account of dogs. but one day she answered this by leading him into the hall and pointing boldly to his gun. after lady into fox this he resolved to take her, though with full precau- tions. that is he left the house door open so that in case of need she could beat a swift retreat, then he took his gun under his arm, and lastly he had her well wrapped up in a little fur jacket lest she should take cold. he would have carried her too, but that she delicately disengaged herself from his arms and looked at him very expressively to say that she would go by herself. for already her first horror of being seen to go upon all fours was worn off; reasoning no doubt upon it, that either she must resign herself to go that way or else stay bed-ridden all the rest of her life. her joy at going into the garden was inexpressible. first she ran this way, then that, though keeping always close to him, looking very sharply with ears cocked forward first at one thing, then another and then up to catch his eye. for some time indeed she was almost dancing with delight, running round him, then forward a yard or two, then back to him and gambolling beside him as they went round the garden. but in spite of her joy she was full of fear. at every noise, a cow lowing, a cock crowing, or a ploughman in the distance hulloa- ing to scare the rooks, she started, her ears pricked to catch the sound, her muzzle wrinkled up and her nose twitched, and she would then press herself against his legs. they walked round the garden and down to lady into fox has done you a world of good, but we must not linger any more." she appeared then to agree with him, though she threw half a glance over her shoulder at the ducks, and they both walked soberly enough towards the house. when they had gone about halfway she suddenly slipped round and was off. he turned quickly and saw the ducks had been following them. so she drove them before her back into the pond, the ducks running in terror from her with their wings spread, and she not pressing them, for he saw that had she been so minded she could have caught two or three of the nearest. then, with her brush waving above her, she came gambolling back to him so playfully that he stroked her indulgently, though he was first vexed, and then rather puzzled that his wife should amuse herself with such pranks. but when they got within doors he picked her up in his arms, kissed her and spoke to her. “silvia, what a light-hearted childish creature you are. your courage under misfortune shall be a lesson to me, but i cannot, i cannot bear to see it." here the tears stood suddenly in his eyes, and he lay down upon the ottoman and wept, paying no heed to her until presently he was aroused by her licking his cheek and his ear. after tea she led him to the drawing room and scratched at the door till he opened it, for this was lady into fox understand their masters unless they converse on the most trifling household topics. thus she understood excellently well the importance and duties of religion. she would listen with approval in the evening when he said the lord's prayer, and was rigid in her observance of the sabbath. indeed, the next day being sunday he, thinking no harm, proposed their usual game of piquet, but no, she would not play. mr. tebrick, not understanding at first what she meant, though he was usually very quick with her, he proposed it to her again, which she again refused, and this time, to show her meaning, made the sign of the cross with her paw. this exceedingly rejoiced and comforted him in his distress. he begged her pardon, and fervently thanked god for having so good a wife, who, in spite of all, knew more of her duty to god than he did. but here i must warn the reader from inferring that she was a papist because she then made the sign of the cross. she made that sign to my think- ing only on compulsion because she could not express herself except in that way. for she had been brought up as a true protestant, and that she still was one is confirmed by her objection to cards, which would have been less than nothing to her had she been a papist. yet that evening, taking her into the drawing room so that he might play her some sacred music, he found her after some time cowering away from him in the farthest corner of the room, her ears flattened back lady into fox though he spoke to her, calling her by her name, she would pay no heed to him, or else only for the moment. at last he gave her up and said to her plainly: “ the fit is on you now silvia to be a fox, but i shall keep you close and in the morning you will recollect yourself and thank me for having kept you now." so he lay down again, but not to sleep, only to listen to his wife running about the room and trying to get out of it. thus he spent what was perhaps the most miserable night of his existence. in the morning she was still restless, and was reluctant to let him wash and brush her, and appeared to dislike being scented but as it were to bear with it for his sake. ordinarily she had taken the greatest pleasure imaginable in her toilet, so that on this account, added to his sleepless night, mr. tebrick was utterly dejected, and it was then that he resolved to put a project into execution that would show him, so he thought, whether he had a wife or only a wild vixen in his house. but yet he was comforted that she bore at all with him, though so restlessly that he did not spare her, calling her a “ bad wild fox.” and then speaking to her in this manner: “are you not ashamed, silvia, to be such a madcap, such a wicked hoyden? you who were particular in dress. i see it was all vanity — now you have not your former advantages you think nothing of decency.” his words had some effect with her too, and with himself, so that by the time he had finished dressing lady into fox to giving her blows and kicks, she still came back to him, crawling on her belly and imploring his forgive- ness with wide-open sorrowful eyes. before he had made this rash experiment of the rabbit and the flowers, he had promised himself that if she failed in it he would have no more feeling or compassion for her than if she were in truth a wild vixen out of the woods. this resolution, though the reasons for it had seemed to him so very plain before, he now found more diffi- cult to carry out than to decide on. at length after cursing her and beating her off for upwards of half- an-hour, he admitted to himself that he still did care for her, and even loved her dearly in spite of all, what- ever pretence he affected towards her. when he had acknowledged this he looked up at her and met her eyes fixed upon him, and held out his arms to her and said: “oh silvia, silvia, would you had never done this! would i had never tempted you in a fatal hour! does not this butchery and eating of raw meat and rabbit's fur disgust you? are you a monster in your soul as well as in your body? have you forgotten what it is to be a woman?” meanwhile, with every word of his, she crawled a step nearer on her belly and at last climbed sorrowfully into his arms. his words then seemed to take effect on her and her eyes filled with tears and she wept most penitently in his arms, and her body shook with her lady into fox sobs as if her heart were breaking. this sorrow of hers gave him the strangest mixture of pain and joy that he had ever known, for his love for her returning with a rush, he could not bear to witness her pain and yet must take pleasure in it as it fed his hopes of her one day returning to be a woman. so the more anguish of shame his vixen underwent, the greater his hopes rose, till his love and pity for her increasing equally, he was almost wishing her to be nothing more than a mere fox than to suffer so much by being half- human. at last he looked about him somewhat dazed with so much weeping, then set his vixen down on the otto- man, and began to clean up the room with a heavy heart. he fetched a pail of water and washed out all the stains of blood, gathered up the two antimacas- sars and fetched clean ones from the other rooms. while he went about this work his vixen sat and watched him very contritely with her nose between her two front paws, and when he had done he brought in some luncheon for himself, though it was already late, but none for her, she having lately so infamously feasted. but water he gave her and a bunch of grapes. afterwards she led him to the small tortoiseshell cabinet and would have him open it. when he had done so she motioned to the portable stereoscope which lay inside. mr. tebrick instantly fell in with her wish and after a few trials adjusted it to her vision. thus lady into fox snowdrops or the view from the terrace. no — there was only one thing for her now — the ducks, and she was off to them before he could stop her. luckily they were all swimming when she got there (for a stream running into the pond on the far side it was not frozen there). when he had got down to the pond, she ran out on to the ice, which would not bear his weight, and though he called her and begged her to come back she would not heed him but stayed frisking about, getting as near the ducks as she dared, but being circumspect in ven- turing on to the thin ice. presently she turned on herself and began tearing off her clothes, and at last by biting got off her little jacket and taking it in her mouth stuffed it into a hole in the ice where he could not get it. then she ran hither and thither a stark naked vixen, and without giving a glance to her poor husband who stood silently now upon the bank, with despair and terror settled in his mind. she let him stay there most of the after- noon till he was chilled through and through and worn out with watching her. at last he reflected how she had just stripped herself and how in the morning she struggled against being dressed, and he thought per- haps he was too strict with her and if he let her have her own way they could manage to be happy somehow together even if she did eat off the floor. so he called out to her then: lady into fox offered to go near the ducks, but running before him led him on to take her a longer walk. this he con- sented to do very much to her joy and delight. he took her through the fields by the most unfrequented ways, being much alarmed lest they should be seen by anyone. but by good luck they walked above four miles across country and saw nobody. all the way his wife kept running on ahead of him, and then back to him to lick his hand and so on, and appeared delighted at taking exercise. and though they started two or three rabbits and a hare in the course of their walk she never attempted to go after them, only giving them a look and then looking back to him, laughing at him as it were for his warning cry of “ puss! come in, no nonsense now!” just when they got home and were going into the porch they came face to face with an old woman. mr. tebrick stopped short in consternation and looked about for his vixen, but she had run forward without any shyness to greet her. then he recognized the intruder, it was his wife's old nurse. “what are you doing here, mrs. cork?” he asked her. mrs. cork answered him in these words: “poor thing. poor miss silvia! it is a shame to let her run about like a dog. it is a shame, and your own wife too. but whatever she looks like, you should trust her the same as ever. if you do she'll do her lady into fox made up by his neighbours not because they were fanci- ful or wanted to deceive, but like most tittle-tattle to fill a gap, as few like to confess ignorance, and if people are asked about such or such a man they must have something to say, or they suffer in everybody's opinion, are set down as dull or “out of the swim.” in this way i met not long ago with someone who, after talking some little while and not knowing me or who i was, told me that david garnett was dead, and died of being bitten by a cat after he had tormented it. he had long grown a nuisance to his friends as an exorbitant sponge upon them, and the world was well rid of him. hearing this story of myself diverted me at the time, but i fully believe it has served me in good stead since. for it set me on my guard as perhaps nothing else would have done, against accepting for true all floating rumour and village gossip, so that now i am by second nature a true sceptic and scarcely believe anything unless the evidence for it is conclusive. in- deed i could never have got to the bottom of this history if i had believed one tenth part of what i was told, there was so much of it that was either manifestly false or absurd, or else contradictory to the ascertained facts. it is therefore only the bare bones of the story which you will find written here, for i have rejected all the flowery embroideries which would be entertain- ing reading enough, i daresay, for some, but if there lady into fox curiosity had ever brought her back to rylands, since so far she had got much work and little credit by it. when it was settled, mr. tebrick disposed of the remaining business he had at rylands in the afternoon, and that was chiefly putting out his wife's riding horse into the keeping of a farmer near by, for he thought he would drive over with his own horse, and the other spare horse tandem in the dog-cart. the next morning they locked up the house and they departed, having first secured mrs. tebrick in a large wicker hamper where she would be tolerably comfortable. this was for safety, for in the agita- tion of driving she might jump out, and on the other hand, if a dog scented her and she were loose, she might be in danger of her life. mr. tebrick drove with the hamper beside him on the front seat, and spoke to her gently very often. she was overcome by the excitement of the journey and kept poking her nose first through one crevice, then through another, turning and twisting the whole time and peeping out to see what they were passing. it was a bitterly cold day, and when they had gone about fifteen miles they drew up by the roadside to rest the horses and have their own luncheon, for he dared not stop at an inn. he knew that any living creature in a hamper, even if it be only an old fowl, always draws attention; there would be several loafers most likely who would notice that he had a fox with him, lady into fox well as he, and they slept together, he in the bed and she under it, very contentedly. the next morning he looked about him at the place and found the thing there that he most wanted, and that was a little walled-in garden where his wife could run in freedom and yet be in safety. after they had had breakfast she was wild to go out into the snow. so they went out together, and he had never seen such a mad creature in all his life as his wife was then. for she ran to and fro as if she were crazy, biting at the snow and rolling in it, and round and round in circles and rushed back at him fiercely as if she meant to bite him. he joined her in the frolic, and began snowballing her till she was so wild that it was all he could do to quiet her again and bring her indoors for luncheon. indeed with her gambollings she tracked the whole garden over with her feet; he could see where she had rolled in the snow and where she had danced in it, and looking at those prints of her feet as they went in, made his heart ache, he knew not why. they passed the first day at old nanny's cottage happily enough, without their usual bickerings, and this because of the novelty of the snow which had diverted them. in the afternoon he first showed his wife to little polly, who eyed her very curiously but hung back shyly and seemed a good deal afraid of the fox. but mr. tebrick took up a book and let them get lady into fox why do you do this? are you trying to escape from me? i am your husband, and if i keep you confined it is to protect you, not to let you run into danger. show me how i can make you happy and i will do it, but do not try to escape from me. i love you, silvia; is it because of that that you want to fly from me to go into the world where you will be in danger of your life always? there are dogs everywhere and they all would kill you if it were not for me. come out, silvia, come out.” but silvia would not listen to him, so he waited there silent. then he spoke to her in a different way, asking her had she forgot the bargain she made with him that she would not go out alone, but now when she had all the liberty of a garden to herself would she wantonly break her word? and he asked her, were they not married? and had she not always found him a good husband to her? but she heeded this neither until presently his temper getting some- what out of hand he cursed her obstinacy and told her if she would be a damned fox she was welcome to it, for his part he could get his own way. she had not escaped yet. he would dig her out for he still had time, and if she struggled put her in a bag. these words brought her forth instantly and she looked at him with as much astonishment as if she knew not what could have made him angry. yes, she even fawned on him, but in a good-natured kind lady into fox of way, as if she were a very good wife putting up wonderfully with her husband's temper. these airs of hers made the poor gentleman (so simple was he) repent his outburst and feel most ashamed. but for all that when she was out of the hole he filled it up with great stones and beat them in with a crowbar so she should find her work at that point harder than before if she was tempted to begin it again. in the afternoon he let her go again into the garden but sent little polly with her to keep her company. but presently on looking out he saw his vixen had climbed up into the limbs of an old pear tree and was looking over the wall, and was not so far from it but she might jump over it if she could get a little further. mr. tebrick ran out into the garden as quick as he could, and when his wife saw him it seemed she was startled and made a false spring at the wall, so that she missed reaching it and fell back heavily to the ground and lay there insensible. when mr. tebrick got up to her he found her head was twisted under her by her fall and the neck seemed to be broken. the shock was so great to him that for some time he could not do anything, but knelt beside her turning her limp body stupidly in his hands. at length he recognised that she was indeed dead, and beginning to consider what dreadful afflictions god had visited lady into fox was a mere chance, she had got her liberty by that trick. and that this was only a trick of hers to sham dead was plain when he had thought it over. indeed it is an old and time-honoured trick of the fox. it is in Æsop and a hundred other writers have confirmed it since. but so thoroughly had he been deceived by her, that at first he was as much overcome with joy at his wife still being alive, as he had been with grief · a little while before, thinking her dead. he took her in his arms, hugging her to him and thanking god a dozen times for her preservation. but his kissing and fondling her had very little effect now, for she did not answer him by licking or soft looks, but stayed huddled up and sullen, with her hair bristling on her neck and her ears laid back every time he touched her. at first he thought this might be because he had touched some broken bone or tender place where she had been hurt, but at last the truth came to him. thus he was again to suffer, and though the pain of knowing her treachery to him was nothing to the grief of losing her, yet it was more insidious and last- ing. at first, from a mere nothing, this pain grew gradually until it was a torture to him. if he had been one of your stock ordinary husbands, such a one who by experience has learnt never to enquire too closely into his wife's doings, her comings or goings, and never to ask her, “ how she has spent the day? ” lady into fox by the house. mr. tebrick jumped up and ran to the window and then looked out, and the first thing that he saw was a gentleman in a pink coat riding at a walk down the lane. at this sight mr. tebrick waited no longer, but pulling on his boots in mad haste, ran out instantly, meaning to say that they must not hunt, and how his wife was escaped and they might kill her. but when he found himself outside the cottage words failed him and fury took possession of him, so that he could only cry out: “how dare you, you damned blackguard?” and so, with a stick in his hand, he threw himself on the gentleman in the pink coat and seized his horse's rein, and catching the gentleman by the leg was trying to throw him. but really it is impossible to say what mr. tebrick intended by his behaviour or what he would have done, for the gentleman, finding himself suddenly assaulted in so unexpected a fashion by so strange a touzled and dishevelled figure, clubbed his hunting crop and dealt him a blow on the temple so that he fell insensible. another gentleman rode up at this moment and they were civil enough to dismount and carry mr. tebrick into the cottage, where they were met by old nanny who kept wringing her hands and told them mr. tebrick's wife had run away and she was a vixen, and that was the cause that mr. tebrick had run out and assaulted them. lady into fox wood and began calling his wife, but was overcome with faintness, and lay down and so passed the night in the open, from mere weakness. in the morning he got back again to the cottage but he had taken a chill, and so had to keep his bed for three or four days after. all this time he had food put out for her every night, but though rats came to it and ate of it, there were never any prints of a fox. at last his anxiety began working another way, that is he came to think it possible that his vixen would have gone back to stokoe, so he had his horses harnessed in the dog cart and brought to the door and then drove over to rylands, though he was still in a fever, and with a heavy cold upon him. after that he lived always solitary, keeping away from his fellows and only seeing one man, called askew, who had been brought up a jockey at wantage, but was grown too big for his profession. he mounted this loafing fellow on one of his horses three days a week and had him follow the hunt and report to him whenever they killed, and if he could view the fox so much the better, and then he made him describe it minutely, so he should know if it were his silvia. but he dared not trust himself to go himself, lest his pas- sion should master him and he might commit a murder. every time there was a hunt in the neighbourhood he set the gates wide open at rylands and the house ladyinto fox been his wife, and that he ought to welcome the prodigal. thus he was torn between these two thoughts, neither of which did he completely believe. he stayed thus tormented with doubts and fears all night. the next morning he woke suddenly with a start and on the instant heard a fox bark once more. at that he pulled on his clothes and ran out as fast as he could to the garden gate. the sun was not yet high, the dew thick everywhere, and for a minute or two everything was very silent. he looked about him eagerly but could see no fox, yet there was already joy in his heart. . then while he looked up and down the road, he saw his vixen step out of the copse about thirty yards away. he called to her at once. “my dearest wife! oh, silvia! you are come back!” and at the sound of his voice he saw her wag her tail, which set his last doubts at rest. but then though he called her again, she stepped into the copse once more though she looked back at him over her shoulder as she went. at this he ran after her, but softly and not too fast lest he should frighten her away, and then looked about for her again and called to her when he saw her among the trees still keeping her distance from him. he followed her then, and as he approached so she retreated from him, yet always looking back at him several times. he followed after her through the underwood up lady into fox mr. tebrick looked at his wife again and spoke to her, calling her a good creature. already he was resigned and now, indeed, for the first time he thor- oughly understood what had happened to her, and how far apart they were now. but looking first at one cub, then at another, and having them sprawling over his lap, he forgot himself, only watching the pretty scene, and taking pleasure in it. now and then he would stroke his vixen and kiss her, liberties which she freely allowed him. he marvelled more than ever now at her beauty; for her gentleness with the cubs and the extreme delight she took in them seemed to him then to make her more lovely than before. thus lying amongst them at the mouth of the earth he idled away the whole of the morning. first he would play with one, then with another, rolling them over and tickling them, but they were too young yet to lend themselves to any other more active sport than this. every now and then he would stroke his vixen, or look at her, and thus the time slipped away quite fast and he was surprised when lady into fox she gathered her cubs together and pushed them before her into the earth, then coming back to him once or twice very humanly bid him “good-bye and that she hoped she would see him soon again, now he had found out the way.” so admirably did she express her meaning that it would have been superfluous for her to have spoken had she been able, and mr. tebrick, who was used to her, got up at once and went home. but now that he was alone, all the feelings which he had not troubled himself with when he was with her, but had, as it were, put aside till after his innocent pleasures were over, all these came swarming back to assail him in a hundred tormenting ways. firstly he asked himself: was not his wife unfaith- ful to him, had she not prostituted herself to a beast? could he still love her after that? but this did not trouble him so much as it might have done. for now he was convinced inwardly that she could no longer in fairness be judged as a woman, but as a fox only. and as a fox she had done no more than other foxes, indeed in having cubs and tending them with love, she had done well. whether in this conclusion mr. tebrick was in the right or not, is not for us here to consider. but i would only say to those who would censure him for a too lenient view of the religious side of the matter, that we have not seen the thing as he did, and perhaps lady into fox if it were displayed before our eyes we might be led to the same conclusions. • this was, however, not a tenth part of the trouble in which mr. tebrick found himself. for he asked himself also: “was he not jealous? ” and looking into his heart he found that he was indeed jealous, yes, and angry too, that now he must share his vixen with wild foxes. then he questioned himself if it were not dishonourable to do so, and whether he should not utterly forget her and follow his original intention of retiring from the world, and see her no more. thus he tormented himself for the rest of that day, and by evening he had resolved never to see her again. but in the middle of the night he woke up with his head very clear, and said to himself in wonder, “am i not a madman? i torment myself foolishly with fantastic notions. can a man have his honour sullied by a beast? i am a man, i am immeasurably superior to the animals. can my dignity allow of my being jealous of a beast? a thousand times no. were i to lust after a vixen, i were a criminal indeed. i can be happy in seeing my vixen, for i love her, but she does right to be happy according to the laws of her being.” lastly, he said to himself what was, he felt, the truth of this whole matter: “when i am with her i am happy. but now i lady into fox an ace or not. so it was evident that she had forgotten the nature of cards too. thereafter he only brought them things which she could better enjoy, that is sugar, grapes, raisins, and butcher's meat. bye-and-bye, as the summer wore on, the cubs came translate to know him, and he them, so that he was able to tell them easily apart, and then he christened them. for this purpose he brought a little bowl of water, sprinkled them as if in baptism and told them he was their godfather and gave each of them a name, calling them sorel, kasper, selwyn, esther, and angelica. lady, Înto fox found in bestowing love; there is no such happiness as that of the mother for her babe, unless i have attained it in mine for my vixen and her children.” with these feelings he waited impatiently for the hour on the morrow when he might hasten to them pnce more. when, however, he had toiled up the hillside, to the earth, taking infinite precaution not to tread down the bracken, or make a beaten path which might lead others to that secret spot, he found to his surprise that silvia was not there and that there were no cubs to be seen either. he called to them, but it was in vain, and at last he laid himself on the mossy bank beside the earth and waited. for a long while, as it seemed to him, he lay very still, with closed eyes, straining his ears to hear every rustle among the leaves, or any sound that might be the cubs stirring in the earth. at last he must have dropped asleep, for he woke suddenly with all his senses alert, and opening his eyes found a full-grown fox within six feet of him sitting on its haunches like a dog and watching his face with curiosity. mr. tebrick saw instantly that it was not silvia. when he moved the fox got up and shifted his eyes, but still stood his ground, and mr. tebrick recognised him then for the dog-fox he had seen once before carrying a hare. it was the same dark beast with a large white tag to his brush. now the secret lady into fox at last they sat down, and he spoke, saying: “i know they are not my children, but i shall not use them barbarously because of that. you are still my wife. i swear to you they shall never be neglected. i will pay for their education.” then he began turning over the names of schools in his mind. eton would not do, nor harrow, nor winchester, nor rugby. . . . but he could not tell why these schools would not do for these children of hers, he only knew that every school he thought of was impossible, but surely one could be found. so turning over the names of schools he sat for a long while holding his dear wife's hand, till at length, still weeping, she got up and went away and then slowly he awoke. but even when he had opened his eyes and looked about him he was thinking of schools, saying to him- self that he must send them to a private academy or even at the worst engage a tutor. “why, yes," he said to himself, putting one foot out of bed, “that is what it must be, a tutor, though even then there will be a difficulty at first.” at those words he wondered what difficulty there would be and recollected that they were not ordinary children. no, they were foxes — mere foxes. when poor mr. tebrick had remembered this he was, as it were, dazed or stunned by the fact, and for a long time he could understand nothing, but at last burst lady into fox mr. tebrick shook her and gave her a smart little cuff, after which, though shc sulked, she stopped her biting. .. they went thus above a mile, circling his house and crossing the highway until they gained a small covert that lay with some waste fields adjacent to it. and by this time it was so dark that it was all mr. tebrick could do to pick his way, for it was not always easy for him to follow where his vixen found a big enough road for herself. but at length they came to another earth, and by the starlight mr. tebrick could just make out the other cubs skylarking in the shadows. now he was tired, but he was happy and laughed softly for joy, and presently his vixen, coming to him, put her feet upon his shoulders as he sat on the ground, and licked him, and he kissed her back on the muzzle and gathered her in his arms and rolled her in his jacket and then laughed and wept by turns in the excess of his joy. all his jealousies of the night before were forgotten now. all his desperate sorrow of the morning and the horror of his dream were gone. what if they were foxes? mr. tebrick found that he could be happy with them. as the weather was hot he lay out there all the night, first playing hide and seek with them in the dark till, missing his vixen and the cubs proving obstreperous, he lay down and was soon asleep. lady into fox mr. tebrick now could follow after them anywhere and keep up with them too, and could go through a wood as silently as a deer. he learnt to conceal him- self if ever a labourer passed by so that he was rarely seen, and never but once in their company. but what was most strange of all, he had got a way of going doubled up, often almost on all fours with his hands touching the ground every now and then, particularly when he went uphill. he hunted with them too sometimes, chiefly by com- ing up and scaring rabbits towards where the cubs lay ambushed, so that the bunnies ran straight into their jaws. he was useful to them in other ways, climbing up and robbing pigeon's nests for the eggs which they relished exceedingly, or by occasionally dispatching a hedgehog for them so they did not get the prickles in their mouths. but while on his part he thus altered his conduct, they on their side were not behindhand, but learnt a dozen human tricks from him that are ordinarily wanting in reynard's education. one evening he went to a cottager who had a row of skeps, and bought one of them, just as it was after the man had smothered the bees. this he carried to the foxes that they might taste the honey, for he had seen them dig out wild bees' nests often enough. the skep full was indeed a wonderful feast for them, they bit greedily into the heavy scented comb, their jaws lady into fox lust for her came at odd moments to frighten him all his life. now he should have run back, though it was already late, but instead he cried out to her, and she ran straight through the open gate to him. what followed was all over in a flash, but it was seen by many witnesses. the side of mr. tebrick's garden there is bounded by a wall, about six feet high and curving round, so that the huntsmen could see over this wall inside. one of them indeed put his horse at it very boldly, which was risking his neck, and although he got over safe was too late to be of much assistance. his vixen had at once sprung into mr. tebrick's arms, and before he could turn back the hounds were upon them and had pulled them down. then at that moment there was a scream of despair heard by all the field that had come up, which they declared after- wards was more like a woman's voice than a man's. but yet there was no clear proof whether it was mr. tebrick or his wife who had suddenly regained her voice. when the huntsman who had leapt the wall got to them and had whipped off the hounds mr. tebrick had been terribly mauled and was bleeding from twenty wounds. as for his vixen she was dead, though he was still clasping her dead body in his arms. mr. tebrick was carried into the house at once and assistance sent for, but there was no doubt now about ce . . . - -- -- - w sa ty of wversiti g. unil icago hl ibrarie award books a a n ¢ mac one of the greatest black writers of all time. one of the most notable gifts in u.s. writing" -time magazine a novel of sudden violence savage holiday by richard wright award books new york tandem books london w war first award printing second award printing dedication Το clinton brewer copyright © mcmliv by richard wright all rights reserved award books are publishod by universal publishing and distributing corporation east forty-fifth street, new york, n. y. tandem books are published by universal-tandem publishing company limited gloucester road, london sw , england manufactured in the united states of america - savage holiday part one: anxiety part two: ambush part three: attack for he who sins a second time, wakes a dead soul to pain, and draws it from its spotted shroud, and makes it bleed again, and makes it bleed great gouts of blood, and makes it bleed in vain! oscar wilde's the ballad of reading gaol and, behold, there came a great wind from the wilder- ness, and smote the four corners of the house ... -job, : - cascade of shimmering yellow light show- ered down from crystal chandeliers and drenched the faces of more than five hundred men and women din- ing at the long, resplendent banquet tables in the jefferson banquet salon of one of new york's largest and most luxurious mid-town hotels. like a fabu- lously gaudy canopy, red, black, and gold streamers of twisted paper crisscrossed the ceiling, festooned the walls, evoking an atmosphere that was rich, dense, and colorful. on a wall to the right, spanning the length of the room, high up near the ceiling, was strung a huge, white, eye-catching banner whose modernistically blocked characters of red and blue proclaimed: the longevity life insurance company, inc. girds the world and brings security to you and your survivors tonight we tender a fond hail and farewell to erskine fowler for thirty years of exemplary service and devotion richard wright near the center windows in the left wall and at a table decorated with a giant, spraying bouquet of long-stemmed roses sat a quiet, reserved group of men whose fleshy faces, massive bodies, gray and bald heads marked them as wealthy executives. one of them, a white-haired man whose forceful, ruddy face, china blue eyes, and squared chin gave him the demeanor of a tamed pirate, was speaking: "and now, this doughty warrior, after thirty long years of care and toil, lays down his burden of respon- sibility and can honestly look any man in the eye and say, 'i've earned this rest of mine with the sweat of my brow—this is the end of a perfect day!" the speaker's hearers were visibly moved and the handclapping was as soft, as shy, as the rustling of tree leaves in a spring wind. “brothers and sisters, just think-erskine fowler looked upon longevity life as his family! ah, i re- member him years ago-though it seems to my mind's eye that it was but yesterdayl-running errands, learning the ropes, figuring the angles, growing up with a growing company, becoming a mason, a rotarian, a sunday school superintendent, a man of parts . . . what a miracle life is! what a tremendous boon we have been to this man, and what a godsend he has been to us! what a collaboration! what a partnership! what a fulfillment of promise ...!" applause, strident, deafening... "brothers and sisters, thirty years is a long, long span of time:-time enough to cap the hair of a head like mine with silver frost. ... time enough for count- less souls to be chastened in the valley of suffering.... time enough for almighty god to lay his final hand upon some of us. ... time enough for millions of new faces to make their god-given appearance here on earth in our midst. ... time enough for war savage holiday ... time enough for peace ... time enough for sor- row ... time enough for a little happiness ... but, never forget, time enough for devotion, for service, for character building, for brotherly love ..." the speaker's voice quavered under the stress of emotion. a few scattered handclaps began, timid and hesitant; then, gathering courage, the crowd lifted their applause to a crescendo that went on and on until the white-haired man finally stemmed the flood with his uplifted palms. "brothers and sisters of the longevity family, i'm not here to make a speech tonight. i want simply as president, or head of this family, to make manifest to the world that if erskine fowler has served us well, we want him and the world to know it. "last month our board of directors voted unani- mously to have a special medal of gold struck in his honor. "long and earnestly we debated in choosing the words to be inscribed upon that medal.” amid silence, the speaker paused, took from an inside coat pocket a flat, black box and, opening it, gazed for a moment at something which his audience could not see. “one side of this medal of gold bears the profile of erskine fowler, and the opposite side-" he paused again, turned the medal in the flat box, and continued: "... bears these simple, heartfelt words which i'll read if erskine fowler will be so kind as to stand up..." a six-foot, hulking, heavy, muscular man with a lincoln-like, quiet, stolid face, deep-set brown eyes, a jutting lower lip, a shock of jet-black, bushy hair, rose nervously, ran his left hand tensely inside of his coat (as though touching something), brushed his right hand across his chin, then let his fingers, which trembled slightly, rest upon the table in front of him. tlc iniversity of michigan libraries ton richard wright una his facial features seemed hewn firm and whole from some endurable substance; his eyes were steady; he was the kind of man to whom one intuitively and readily rendered a certain degree of instant defer- ence, not because there was anything challenging, threatening, or even strikingly intelligent in those carelessly molded and somewhat blunted features; but because one immediately felt that he was superb- ly alive, real, just there, with no hint in his attitude of apology for himself or his existence, confident of his inalienable right to confront you and demand his modest due of respect. .. . he looked confound- ingly younger than his forty-three years; indeed, one would easily have taken him to be thirty-five or -six. ... he stood with a fixed, embarrassed smile and his brown eyes shone with the moisture of emos tion. the speaker cleared his throat and declaimed: "erskine fowler, the board of directors, the presi- dent, and the officials, and more than five thousand employees of the longevity life insurance com- pany declare unto you: 'well done, thou faithful steward of our trusti spontaneously, as one man, the crowd gained its feet and gave vent to prolonged cheering. the speaker extended to erskine fowler's left hand the flat, black box containing the gold medal; next he seized erskine fowler's right hand and shook it with vigor, then clapped him in a fatherly way on the back, pronouncing: “god bless and keep you, erskinel” "thank you, mr. warren,” the recipient said, in a half-whisper. "show it! let's see it!” sundry voices rang out. there were yells, whistles, stomping of feet. a maudlin mood seized the crowd. erskine fowler, savage holiday ce with pride, timidity, and even an element of fear gleaming in his face, tiptoed and lifted the flat box high above his head and turned it to left and right, allowing the soft sheen of the golden disc to shed its lustrous benediction upon all eyes. his move- ments were stiff and constrained, as though he were acting against his will. "higher, higher ...!" erskine fowler forced a smile. a lusty singing broke out and, a moment later, the orchestra under- scored the full-bodied strains: for he's a jolly good fellow for he's a jolly good fellow for he's a jolly good fellow which nobody can deny ... erskine fowler's fingers shook; he fumbled clum- sily with the flat black box and laid it on the table before him. his lips quivered; then he could no longer check the turbulence of his emotions. as the clapping rose louder and higher, profuse tears seeped from his eyes and etched their way slowly down his cheeks. erskine fowler drew forth his handkerchief, balled it, and dabbed fumblingly, trying to dry his eyes. some of the young, dewey-eyed stenographers crooned: "aw look...! that's so cute! he's crying ...! there were masculine shouts: "speechl speech!" erskine fowler brought himself under control; he hunched his huge shoulders a bit forward, made a slight, nervous, upward-shrugging motion with his arms and elbows close to his body, as though hitch- ing up his trousers before going into combat, and set his face resolutely toward the crowd. he lifted his the university of michigan ibraries : savage holiday el ing hand in building up this our common monu- ment of business. but what we achieved was not merely all business. as our great president has so often pointed out, and i heartily agree with him, millions of people depend upon us for their welfare, come to us in their bereavement, and seek us out in their hope ... that's not business; that's faith!” ** a ripple of handclapping ... a sharp, tense struggle seemed to reflect itself in erskine fowler's face; he mastered himself quickly, suddenly laughed, tossed his head roguishly, shot a shy, darting glance at mr. warren, and then recommenced in a lilting, jocular manner: "i'm retiring at what is a rather unusually early age, but don't kid yourselfl sure; i'm forty-three; but, by golly, i feel that i'm twenty-threel there's a hell of a lot of kick left in this old mule yet!" laughter, shouts, even some whistling ... “tell 'em, erskinel" "yeah!” "don't give up, boy!" "sure; i'm retiring, but not out of action! i'm smil. ing and moving into the reserve ranks ...!” "atta boy!” “we're with you, erskinel” "now, don't you think that because i'm retiring, that i'm going to stop living,” erskine fowler warned them, shaking a threatening forefinger. “why, i haven't even begun living yet!” he banged the table with his fist. more handclapping ... "i'm deeply loath to sever my ties with this splen- did organization.” he switched to a sober note, speaking in a husky whisper. “but, when one has served his time, he must go. yet the sun's not setting for me... i beg leave, with all due respect, to cor- rect a statement of our beloved president. he spoke l. richard wright of this being, for me, the end of a perfect day! no; no ... no; my friends! it's high noon! not only for me, but for longevity life!” erskine fowler saw mr. warren lean forward, break into a smile, and nod his approval as more handclapping beat through the air. erskine fowler's face flushed and became darkly pugnacious as he argued: “the board of directors has voted to retain me in the capacity of a consulting advisor." he turned and faced mr. warren. "mr. president, sir, let me cau- tion you that i'm going to be a mighty disappointed man if my phone doesn't ring one of these mornings soon and i don't hear you telling me: 'erskine, i want you to get right down here at once; there's something terribly important i want you to do!” amid something akin to pandemonium, mr. war- ren rose hastily and rushed to erskine fowler's side, took hold of his shoulder and spun him round with affectionate rudeness. with cheers deafening their ears, the two men confronted each other, immobile, silent; then mr. warren flung wide his arms in a gesture of receiving to his heart a brother whom he would never deny. elaborately he embraced erskine fowler and patted him tenderly on the back with both of his palms. when the cheering had sub- sided, mr. warren informed erskine fowler in tones that carried throughout the room: "you bet your sweet life i'll call you, erskine; and by god, when i do, you'd better come!” staring solemnly into each other's eyes, they shook hands. erskine fowler was moving his lips, trying to say something, but he could not get his words past the constriction in his throat. in the end he simply nodded his head and his eyes were dripping wet.... a tall, gray-haired man sprang to his feet, his right savage holiday hand raised, and called out above the tumult: "mr. president! mr. president!” the noise abated a bit. "yes, mr. edwards,” mr. warren answered. "mr. president," the gray-naired man began as the room quieted, “i hope that i'm not out of order. and, assuming that i'm not, i hereby move that an account of these honorable proceedings be published in the next issue, along with suitable photographs, of our official journal, longevity life...!" a stout, red-faced man rose and boomed: “i second that motion!” with his arm still draped about erskine fowler's shoulders, mr. warren proclaimed: "it has been moved and seconded that a full account of the honor- able proceedings of this august ceremony be com- memorated with proper dignity in the pages of our official journal, longevity life. is there any discus- : sion on this motion?” “question! question!” rose from several throats. "if there's no discussion, i ask all who are in favor of this motion to signify their assent by saying, 'yes'!" “yyyeeesssss!” a growl of approval thundered from the crowd. “those opposedl” mr. warren called. silence. “the motion is carried unanimously!" mr. warren shouted, both of his palms stretching upwards with fingers spread. a young woman dressed in a white suit came briskly forward with camera and flashbulb and, stoop- ing and sighting, sent three flashes of blue lightning into erskine fowler's and mr. warren's face. erskine fowler stood uncertainly, blinking; then, overcome, he sat abruptly. a storm of whistling, stomping, and yelling rang in his ears and there was richard wright an abortive attempt to sing for he's a jolly good , fellow again; but the orchestra, at a signal from one of the executives, filled the room with a popular waltz tune and the waiters hurriedly began remov- ing the tables and chairs. erskine fowler watched dazedly as dancing couples, smiling and looking at him, began to swing undulatingly past his eyes that swam in tears ... he felt lost, abandoned; he was alone amidst it all. time was flowing pitilessly on; longevity life would keep màrching, and he was on the outside of it all, standing on the sidelines, rejected, refused; he swal- lowed and dried his eyes again. suddenly he felt that he could endure no more of it; he rose and mumbled hoarsely: i "excuse me, please. i'll be back in a moment..." he headed toward the men's room, his eyes on the floor, walking slowly. several men clapped him heart- ily on the back and called out their congratulations. erskine fowler forced himself to smile at them ... yes; erskine had filed. he had taken himself out of their sight, had broken his promise to remain until the end of the banquet. a sudden sense of outrage had made him decide that he would no longer be a party to his own defeat. ).. as he made his way down the corridor toward the stairway, anger burned in him so hot and hard that his vision blurred. when he had declared to that array of upturned faces that "leave-taking is always such a melancholy business," he had not been speaking at random or rhetorically. indeed, he had had to rein himself in, while facing that crowd, to keep from bursting out with the true facts, to keep from screaming to the public that the whole thing was a farce, a put-up job! and what was now making him so angry and disgusted with himself savage holiday was that, at the last moment, instead of hurling a monkey wrench into warren's smoothly organized machinery of falsehood, he had had a failure of nerve, had collaborated in the game of make-believe. the urge to expose to his co-workers the hidden reasons for his leaving longevity life had clashed with his pledged word to hold his tongue, and the resulting tension had so tautened his muscles that he could not have endured any more of that cere- mony without actually collapsing temporarily. his sitting there at his table so quietly and knowing that within an hour a thirty-years' relationship would, against his will and in spite of his protest, irrevocably terminate had been like watching a knife whose sharp edge of blade was nearing a bared nerve. ... to avoid meeting his erstwhile associates, he sought to leave the hotel by a side entrance. he came to the head of a rear stairway and paused, gazing broodingly down at the descending sweep of wide, carpeted steps. he was alone. slowly his left hand reached inside his coat and his fingers touched the tip ends of a row of four automatic pencils- black, red, blue, and green-clipped to an inner pocket. whenever he was distraught or filled with anxiety, he invariably made this very same compul- sive gesture which he had developed in some ob- scure and forgotten crisis in his past; his touching those pencils always somehow reassured him, for they seemed to symbolize an inexplicable need to keep contact with some emotional resolution whose meaning and content he did not know.... yes; his leaving that banquet had been indefensible and irrational. he had not only broken his promise to warren to stick it out, but he had revealed himself as a man who could not keep a grip upon himself. yet he knew that his running out had another and deeper to com .. savage holiday even though that bylaw, which had enabled the board of directors, at its own discretion, to compel the retirement of any employee who had thirty years or more of service, had been enacted more than two years ago, his obsessive conviction of having been unfairly dealt with, unfeelingly lopped off, made him now suspect that they had had him especially in mind when they had voted it. but what had stung his ego most of all was that miss cramer, his loyal ex-secretary, had told him this morning at the office-making him swear on his honor that he'd never breathe a word of it to a living soul-that robert warren, president albert warren's youngest son-just turned twenty-three years of agel- (young enough to be my son! erskine had exclaimed to himselfl) was taking over his work as the district manager for manhattan. ... so it was not only because they thought him inefficient, not be- cause he wasn't liked and respected by everybody, that he was being dumped; it was to make a place for his son that warren was giving him the air! robert warren was going to be married and old man warren was making robert the district man- ager of manhattan as a wedding present! erskine remembered having seen the kid, robert, a few times, sometimes on the street and sometimes around the office; and had not seen, on those oc- casions, anything distinctive or exceptional about him. just a good-looking, jolly youngster flashing up and down the avenues in his sport model, convertible buick with a tall, blonde girl... once or twice he'd read in the gossip columns about young warren's being at this or that nightclub. but never would erskine have thought that such a harmless, money- spending brat would have been selected to replace him ... and that hare-brained girl he was marrying richard wright ... a fumigated tart, no doubt ... the injustice of it made him want to vomit. all afternoon before the banquet he had sat in his apartment by his telephone, fuming, trying to sum- mon up enough courage to phone warren and have it out with him. but, despite his raw anger, he hadn't been able to act. he had thought of sending warren a wire and calling off the banquet, but he hadn't been inventive enough to think of iron-clad reasons for such an action-reasons that could be made pub- lic... night had found him still seething and unde- cided. but when he'd reached the hotel, knowing that within an hour his last chance to protest would be gone, he'd taken the bit into his teeth and had de manded a short conference with warren and the crusty, acid-tongued vice president, ricky. the show- down had taken place in a tiny room off the banquet hall behind closed doors, and no sooner had erskine looked into their grim and determined faces than he had become swamped with doubts and had regretted his rashness. "well, erskine, what's on your mind?” warren had broken the ice, speaking through a lying smile. erskine had swallowed and wished to god that he'd not asked for such an audience. but what had he to lose? by the living god, he'd let them know what he thought of such cowardly deception. he had to protest their abandonment of him... “why didn't you tell me that you wanted me out to make a place for your son?" he had demanded of warren with more bluntness than he had intended. warren had paled, his lips parted, and he looked at ricky and turned away, shaking his head. it had been ricky who had taken up the fight. "fowler, aren't you stepping just a bit outside of savage holiday your little track?" ricky had asked with cool in- solence. “look, don't play games with me," erskine had said. “i know what the score is. and this is a cheap, sickening way to treat a man who's given his life to this company ..." “we're not interested in your opinions, fowler," warren had said. "i think you are interested,” erskine had put in. "or else you'd have been man enough to have told me what was up. no; you wanted to ease me out" "fowler, are you mad, man?” ricky had bawled at him. “we've settled this! you promised you'd go! the hell with the reasons ... now, why do you bring up this matter half an hour before the banquet ...? "because i found out the trick you're playing on me,” erskine argued. “you didn't dare tell me-" "so what?" warren had demanded. “fowler, you're off balance, boy! don't overestimate yourself!” “look here, fowler.” ricky had let his voice drop to a neutral, almost kindly tone. "you've got sever- ance pay. you own some stock in the company. to all intents, so far as the public is concerned, you're being retired with your consent. you're being kept on as an advisor. you're drawing a pension ... we're giving you a public banquet. what in hell more do you want?” "honesty!” erskine had shouted. “i just want you to be straight with me, just as i've been with you!" "fowler, the banquet room's filling up... people are waiting ... you can't back out now ... be honor- able_” warren had argued gently. "where's your honor?” erskine had asked in a . frenzy. “look, i'll help you get another position," warren ensity of michigah-libraries t richard wright s had said. “be reasonable, man. nobody's disputing your loyalty," "who told you about robert warren's taking your place?" ricky had asked pointedly. "never mind,” erskine had said. “so, this is how you felt all along, hunh "all right,” ricky had snarled. “you're asking for it, by god, and i'm going to give it to you. you're through, fowler; hear? you're out of date, behind the times; get it? we want live wires with gray mat- ter upstairs; see? maybe we ought to have put you iwise long ago. ... all right; you're good, fowler. but, goddammit, you're not good enough! you just don't have what we want! do you want me to spell it out any clearer? now, go out there and do what you -promised! if you back out now" well fire you!” warren had shouted in a brutal rage. “we'll kick you out! embarrass us to- night, after we treat you like a right guy, and we'll..." warren's face had turned a deep red. "don't you cross me, fowler. we've been damned good to you. now, you play straight.” humiliation had choked erskine and he'd known that he'd been licked. he'd burned his bridges; the gulf that had yawned so nakedly between them would never have been so glaring had he kept his mouth shut. ricky's thin lips had been shut tight, like a trap; and warren's china-blue eyes had gleamed as cold and blue as twin icebergs. and at that mo- ment the nervous, discordant sounds of the musi- cians' instruments being tuned up in the banquet room had come to him. erskine's legs had trembled. ricky had reached out suddenly and had clutched hold of erskine's arm and had pushed him roughly against a wall. "if you don't go through with this, you're out dss savage holiday without even a recommendation,” ricky had said. "do you want to fight longevity life?" "no," erskine had breathed, wilting. “that's just what you're doing, and i warn you!" warren had told him. "but ... but..." erskine's voice had stuck in his throat. he'd longed to send his right fist smashing into warren's face; instead, as though performing a cere- monial gesture of penance, his left hand had nervous- ly reached inside his coat and felt the tips of the four pencils clipped there... for almost five minutes the three of them had stood wordlessly in the tiny, closed room, fronting one another but avoiding one another's eyes, and in the background there was that faint, discordant plunking of a violin, the insistent sounding of the keys of a, b flat, and c on the piano... “well, dammit, what're you going to do?” ricky had demanded. impulsively, erskine had moved toward the door; he'd not known just where he was going; he'd just wanted to get out of their presence. tall, strong ricky had grabbed his shoulder and had spun him round. “don't strike me, ricky,” erskine had muttered, his eyes narrowing. "you're not walking out of here without giving us an answer,” ricky had said, taking his hand from erskine's shoulder. erskine had hung his head. for twenty years he had worshipped these men, and now they were hat- ing him. “okay; i'm through," he had mumbled, swallow- ing. ini wwthis suremees savage holiday been maimed for life in an automobile accident, and you wouldn't, couldn't believe her or take her word for it, or take her doctor's word for it, and you'd smiled at her and led her to believe that you believed her and you easily beat her at her crooked game by just looking into her eyes and letting her fool herself into thinking that maybe you were falling for her, and, in the end, you'd trapped her into ad- mitting that she was lying and you settled her claim for one-tenth of what her itchy palms had been wanting ... yes; insurance was a small-time, stupid, greasy- faced italian grocery-store keeper who had amateur- ishly set his dingy, garlic-reeking place ablaze hoping that he'd collect enough insurance money to start all over again under another name and in another state, and you'd talked to the dope for fifteen minutes and had caught him in such a tangle of contradictions that he'd gotten frightened and had confessed and was eventually sent to prison for five years eve apa yes; insurance was an old, sweet-looking woman of seventy-odd who'd insured her new daughter in- law for a huge amount of money and then had, with a stout hatchet, killed her one night in her bed and had told a seemingly plausible tale of having awakened from her sleep and having seen a tall, dark man (erskine was convinced that all “tall, dark men” were but the figments of guilty women's imaginationl) fleeing down the dark hallway of their frame house and of immediately afterwards hearing groans in her daughter-in-law's bedroom and of find- ing her daughter-in-law in bed hacked to pieces and soaking in blood, and you had from the first doubted the sweet-looking old woman's sobbing story and a few days later, while rummaging about the house with an inspector from the company, had found the savage holiday people leave natural things alone? why were they forever tinkering and changing things? yeah; they'd always regarded him as a little queer in the office because he wouldn't exclaim and wax slobberingly enthusiastic over every new gadget. well, at least i'm free of their taunting me behind my back. ... and they'd miss him; of that, he was sure. why, things'd get so snarled up in the office that in a week they'd phone him and beg him to come back and straighten them out. ah, and just wait until the next quarterly dividends were declared! he'd bet a cool, even hundred bucks that they'd be some- what lower. they couldn't help but be lower with his not being there to spot the phonies and cut corners . . . bad business! erskine pronounced his judgment as he plodded through the saturday-night crowd. he knew, however, that his bitter tirades against his former colleagues were but a crude camouflage covering his real dilemma. what was fundamentally fretting him was that-now that he'd retired and was free-he didn't know what to do with himself. his hated freedom was simply suspending him in a void of anxious ignorance that was riveting his con- sciousness with self-protective nostalgia upon the familiar atmosphere of the longevity life insurance company. what, for example, did he want to do at this mo- ment? go to a movie? no. a movie would only dis- tract him and he didn't want to be distracted. read a book? no; no; god, no! he would have resented some novelist's trying to project him upon some foolish flight of fantasy. he could, of course, visit his favorite bowling alley; but he was not inclined to sweat out the poisons of his tired body tonight... the alien thorns that were nestling in him went far re at bowling all he could of upon som richard wright deeper than the flesh... then, what was he to do...? a subtle sense of terror, potent but vague, seeped into his soul and the night's damp heat made sweat beads on his upper lip. yes, god; this was that un- welcome, uncanny, haunting sensation against which he had to employ all his emotional energies now; the dodging, the eluding of this nameless and invis- ible enemy had gripped and preoccupied him more and more since his life had turned from a settled routine into a nagging problem. he was plagued by a jittery premonition that some monstrous and hoary recollection, teasing him and putting his teeth on edge because it was strange and yet somehow familiar, was about to break disastrously into his consciousness. he blinked his eyes, shook his head, touched the tips of his four pencils in his inner coat pocket to free himself of these filmy cobwebs dust- ing at his mind ... a red traffic light made him halt and he felt the hot pavement vibrating beneath his feet as a subway train sped through the underground. nervously he slipped the flat, black box holding his gold medal into his outer coat pocket and swabbed his face with his handkerchief. he sighed, angry and repelled by this haunting sense of not quite being his own master. work osve work had not only given erskine his livelihood and conferred upon him the approval of his fellow- a men; but, above all, it made him a stranger to a part of himself that he feared and wanted never to know. at some point in his childhood he had as- sumed toward himself the role of a policeman, had accused himself, had hauled himself brutally into the court of his conscience, had arraigned himself before the bar of his fears, and had found himself guilty and had, finally and willingly, dragged himself off to savage holiday serve a sentence of self-imposed labor for life, had locked himself up in a prison-cage of toil ... now, involuntarily reprieved, each week six full new sun- days suddenly loomed terrifyingly before him and he had to find a way to outwit that rejected part of him that longevity life had helped to incarcerate so long and successfully. he was trapped in free- dom. how could he again make a foolproof prison of himself for all of his remaining days? what invis- ible walls could he now erect about his threatening feelings, desires? how could he suppress or throttle those slow and turgid stirrings of buried impulses now trying to come to resurrected life in the deep dark of him? how could he become his own absolute jailer and keep the peace within the warring pre- cincts of his heart? the majority of men, timid and unthinking, obey the laws and mandates of society because they yearn to merit the esteem and respect of their law-abiding neighbors. still others, reflective and conscious, obey because they are intelligently afraid of the reprisals meted out by society upon the breakers of the law. there are still other men of a deeper and more sensi- tive nature who, in their growing up, introject the laws and mandates of society into their hearts and come in time to feel and accept these acquired no- tions of right and wrong as native impulses spring- ing out of the depths of their beings and, if they are ever tempted to violate these absorbed codes, act as though the sky itself were about to crash upon their heads, as though the very earth were about to swing catastrophically out of its orbit... such a man was erskine fowler, but the laws and mandates which he had introjected into his heart were of a special sort, and were unknown to him richard wright until, one day, time accidentally exposed what they were ... but, now, to avoid the commission of what crime- or had the crime already been committed and was he trying to escape its memory?-was erskine han- kering so anxiously to imprison himself? what had he ever done-or what did he fear doing?-that made him feel so positively that he had to encircle him- self, his heart, and his actions with bars, to hold himself in leash? the air was close and humid. it was nearing mid- night; the traffic and the passers-by had lessened. he walked, brooding. reaching hòme, he rode up in the automatic ele- vator to the tenth floor of the elmira apartment building which was located in the upper seventies of manhattan; he entered a bedroom that had never. been dishonored by the presence of a stray woman of pleasure. undressing, he assured himself that he'd soon solve the problem of his enforced leisure; that his general state of mind was all right; that he was a good man, honest, kind, clean, straight-the kind of man who loved children. why, take that little five-year-old tony blake who lived next door ... he'd given that child so much ice cream and so many toys that his mother, mrs. blake, à shapely, plump, brunette war-widow, was astonished and blushed when trying to stammer her gratitude. on occasion mrs. blake herself, with her easy, flashing smile, had caught his timid fancy. she was comely, as alone as he was and, at odd moments, he'd found himself wondering about her. once, on a summer sunday morning-he'd been brewing coffee in the kitchen-he'd caught a glimpse of her clad only in panties and brassiere and the image had lingered savage holiday in hiç consciousness for days, confounding him with its drastic persistency. another time, one summer evening, just before getting into bed, he'd seen her completely nude through the open window of his bedroom. that time he'd nipped in the bud the pos- sibility of any such image haunting his mind by promptly becoming angry. “she doesn't have to be so blasted careless, does she?" for a week after that he'd not treated little tony to any dishes of ice cream at the corner drugstore. it was not until tony's puzzled, accusing eyes had reproached him that he'd resumed his role of the big father scat- tering gifts. i he showered, climbed into bed, and sighed; he had to rise early in the morning and do his duty at sunday school. but he couldn't sleep; he tossed restlessly on the hot mattress, wondering what he would do with himself on monday. minnie, his colored maid, would be in the apartment and he'd hate her to see him at loose ends, pacing to and fro. through his open window he heard mrs. blake's phone ring once, twice, three times ... she's not in, he thought. she sure received a lot of telephone calls. he'd heard vaguely (was it from mrs. wester- man, the wife of the building superintendent?) that she worked nights; but what kind of work ... ? and little tony remained alone all night. what a mother! no wonder so many people in this world got into trouble; they didn't get the proper kind of guidance in their childhood. women who couldn't give the right kind of attention to children oughtn't to be allowed to have them. well, mrs. blake was a war- widow; that excused her some. but, nevertheless, a child of five oughtn't to be left alone all night ... the night air was warm, heavy, motionless; he sighed and tossed on the hot sheet. mrs. blake's the university of michigan libraries savage holiday trees and he peered cautiously and saw a tall man swinging a huge ax chopping furiously into a v-shaped hollow of a giant tree and the chips were flying and the man's face was hard and brutish and criminal-looking and he was now resolved upon sur- prising the man and demanding that he get out of the forest and stop stealing his trees and he crept closer and saw that the man was about to cut straight through the tree and all at once the man stopped and whirled and saw him and yelled run go quickly the tree's about to fall and he looked up and saw the tall tree bending slowly and falling towards him and he heard the man yelling for him to run but he couldn't move his feet and when he looked up this time the tree was crashing down upon him and he man- aged to move at last trying to keep his eyes on the falling tree and he tripped on something and fell headlong and when he looked back to see where the falling tree was it was too late for the tree was upon him and he could feel the leaves and branches swishing and stinging his face and eyes and ears and then the crushing weight of the tree trunk smashed against his head ... bang bang bang came into erskine's ears. he opened puffy eyes and blinked at the bright sunlight. morning already? he was still sleepy. he turned his head and saw the towering tops of manhattan's skyscrapers drenched in golden sunlight, but he was still staring at the strange dream images which were now fleeing from his consciousness. again he heard that loud banging and he knew that tony was-beat- ing his drum. "that child," he muttered. his watch told him that it was seven-thirty; sun- day school did not commence until nearly ten; he wwwwwwwwww richard wright ros had time to doze again. he rolled over, closed his eyes ... tony's yell came strident and piercing: "awhool awhool awhoo! the indians are com- ing!” she's sleeping and she lets that child bang and yell at this hour of the morning... the child's noise ceased and he tucked his head deeper into his pillow and drifted into semi-dream state, thinking of tony who, in turn, made him recall dimly his own, faraway childhood. yes; be too had once romped and played alone, yelling war whoops, and there'd been no mother to look after him either. wasn't that maybe why he was so fond of tony? and, too, wasn't it maybe because mrs. blake-alone, sensual, impulsive -was so much as he remembered his own mother that he found himself scolding her and brooding over her in his mind? emoting daemtm nas he had no memory of his father who had died when he was three years old; it was his mother whom he remembered or, rather, the images of the many men who always surrounded her laughing face-men i who came and went, some indulgent toward him, some indifferent. gradually, as he'd come to under- stand what was happening, he'd grown afraid, ashamed. they'd lived down in atlanta then and the boys in the vacant lots and on the school grounds had flung cold, scornful words at him, and he'd been furious with his mother. even now he winced with 'a dull, inner 'pain as he recalled his dreadful di- lemma in trying to decide who deserved more to be killed for having behaved so that the boys on the playground could taunt him: ought the men be killed, or ought his mother be killed ...? erskine shook his head, trying to stave off emo- tional scenes stemming from his childhood ... what was it that made him afraid to remember? he savage holiday forced himself to lie still and there came to him a recollection of a tormented night: he'd been ill in bed and his mother had told him to go to sleep, that: she was going out ... he'd begged, wept, his teary eyes intent upon the fat, bald man who stood at his mother's side. he'd hated that man. his mother had been powdered, rouged, wearing a wide hat... whom had he hated more? his mother or the man? they'd gone out and he, burning with fever, had gotten out of bed and had gone to the window and had yelled and yelled ... his mother had told him that she'd found him the next morning lying huddled under the window, dopey with fever. he'd had pneumonia and his mother had nursed him and he'd wanted to remain ill all of his life to keep her with him. but after he'd gotten well she'd gone off again, as always, and he'd been left alone in the house all day and night, hating her, trying to think of the many things he wanted to do to her to make her feel it... full of sullen, impotent rage, he had let his heated imagination range wild and had choked back his yen to act. he'd developed into a too-quiet child who kept to himself, ignoring a world that offended him and wounded his sense of pride in what he loved most; his mother... he'd sought refuge in dreams of growing up and getting a job and taking his mother into some far-off land where there'd be no one to remember what had happened. .. then one cold winter day-he was eight years old-his mother had been hauled off to jail as a pub- lic nuisance and aunt tillie had come down from new york and fetched him. he'd never learned the name of his mother's offense; when he'd asked aunt tillie about it, she'd shaken her head and turned him off with: “it's the men who ruin women, erskine.” the university of michigah libraries savage holiday pious or christian. he pulled on his robe and lum- bered into the kitchen and filled the coffee pot, lit the flame of the gas stove, listening to tony's shout- ing: "bang! bang! bang! you're dead!” he sighed. if only he could take that child to sun- day schooll as twigs are bent, so grow the trees ... twice he'd shyly asked mrs. blake's permission to take tony to sunday school and she'd consented, but each sunday morning when he'd been ready to go, she'd been sleeping and tony had not been prop- erly dressed. too much nightclubbing, too much whiskey, and god knows what else ... his nose wrinkled in disgust as he doffed his robe and en- tered the bathroom. he adjusted the hot and cold water faucets until the twin streams ran tepid. he was about to take off bis wrist watch preparatory to stepping under the shower when his doorbell shrilled. “who is it?” he called, turning and standing in the bathroom door, his right hand lifted to reach for his robe. “paper boy!” an adolescent voice called. “wanna collect this morning, please!” "oh, yes. just a moment,” he answered. he'd promised to pay that boy this morning but, gosh, he'd forgot to get change. still nude, he crossed the room and put his mouth to the door panel and called out: "say, will next week be all right? really, i've no change; i'm sorry ... or do you want to take down a twenty-dollar bill and get some-?" "see you next week, mister!” the boy called to him. “you owe me two-twenty; that right?" “that's right,” he told the boy. he heard the thud of his thick sunday paper hit the carpeted floor of the hallway outside and then the university of michigah libraries richard wright the muffled sound of swift feet rushing toward the elevator; he caught the clank of the elevator door opening and closing ... yes; he'd have to remember and pay that paper boy next sunday; it wasn't right to keep a kid like that waiting for his money ... he might have need of it... then he heard his coffee pot boil over in the kitchen. golly! he'd made that flame too highl-still nude, he sprinted into the kitchen and lowered the gas fire. the redolence of coffee roused his hunger; he opened the refrigerator and hauled out the eggs, the butter, the bacon, a jar of strawberry jam, and a tin of chilled fruit juice. padding on bare feet, he visualized the plate of succulent food he'd have. about to reenter the bathroom, he paused. better get my paper ... two weeks ago his sunday paper had been stolen. secreting his naked body, he cracked the door and peered to left and right in the sunlit hallway. nobody's there ... half of the bulk of his sunday paper lay near his toes, but the other half, evidently having slid, was scattered at the foot of the stairway. feeling a draft of air on the skin of his unclothed body, he stooped and gathered the wad of papers at his feet, his left hand holding open the door behind him. why did that boy fling his paper about like this? mad maybe because i didn't pay 'im ... he pushed the door back into his room and waited to see if it would remain open. he saw it swinging to, towards him, slowly. he'd have to open the door wide, all the way back to the wall; and, in that way, he'd have time enough to grab the other section of the paper and get back to his door before it closed. pushing his door all the way back until it collided with the wall of the room, he watched it; it was still. he sprang nudely forward in the brightly-lighted savage holiday hallway and, with a sweep of his right hand, scooped up the second half of his paper, pivoted on his bare heels, and was about to rush forward to reenter his apartment when the door began to veer slowly to, to- wards him. with his left hand outstretched, he dashed toward the door and reached the sill just as the door, pushed by a strong current of air, slammed shut with a thunderous metallic bang in his face. he blinked, quickly seized hold of the doorknob with his right hand and rattled it firmly. the door did not budge; it was locked! he frowned, staring, a look of mute protest in his eyes. he became dismayingly conscious of his nudity; a sense of hot panic flooded him; he felt as though a huge x-ray eye was glaring into his very soul; and in the same instant he felt that he had shrunk in size, had become something small, shameful... with flexed lips he rattled the knob of the door brutally; the door still held. he knew that his door was locked, but he felt, irrationally, that it would just have to open and admit him before anyone saw him here nude in the hallway ... then his lips parted in com- prehension as he remembered that only last month he had had the lock on the door changed, had in- stalled a new system of steel bolts. there had been a series of robberies in the building and he had taken that precaution to protect himself. now, even if he hurled his whole weight of two hundred pounds against it, that door would stand fast... "oh, god,” he breathed. again he clutched the knob of his door and shook it with fury, looking with dread over his shoulder as he did so, fearing that someone might come into the hallway. the door remained secure, solid, bur- glarproof. he glanced down at his hairy legs, his frizzled chest; save for the clumsy hunk of the sun- richard wright day edition of the new york times, he was nude, frightfully nude. erskine's moral conditioning leaped to the fore, lava-like; there flashed into his mind an image of mrs. blake who lived in the apartment next to his, the door that was but six inches from his right hand; also there rose up before his shocked eyes the prim face of miss brownell, a faded, graying spinster of forty-odd, who lived just across the hall from him; and he saw, as though staring up into the stern face of a judge in a courtroom, the gray, respectable faces of mr. and mrs. fenley-fenley of the chase nation- al bankl—who lived in the apartment which was just to the left of the elevator. good god! he was super- intendent of the mount ararat sunday school; he was a consulting advisor to the longevity life in- surance company; he had a bank balance of over forty thousand dollars in cash; he had more than one hundred thousand dollars in solid securities, in- cluding government bonds; he was a member of rotary; a thirty-second degree mason; and here he was standing nude, with a foolish expression on his face, before the locked door of his apartment on a sunday morning... of the montor. good goat which was jus a fine film of sweat broke out over the skin of his face. again he grasped the doorknob and strained at it, hoping that his sheer passion for modesty would somehow twist those cold bolts of steel; but the door held and he knew that steel was steel and would not bend. there was no doubt about it; he was locked out, locked out naked in the hallway and at any second one of his neighbors' doors would open and someone would walk out and find him ... they'd scream, maybe, if they were women. good god, what could he do? his face was wet with sweat now. savage holiday he tensed as the faint sound of the elevator door opening downstairs came to him, echoing hollowly up the elevator shaft. somebody was coming up! maybe to this floor! he glared about in the sun- flooded hallway, searching for nooks and crannies in which to hide, clutching awkwardly his bundle of sunday papers. his hairy body, as he glanced down at it, seemed huge and repulsive, like that of a giant; but, when he looked off his body felt puny, shriveled, like that of a dwarf. and the hallway in which he stood was white, smooth, modern; it held no gothic recesses, no victorian curves, no byzantine incrusta- the elevator hind which, he coulzantine incrus the elevator was coming up... he felt that he was in the spell of a dream; he wanted to shake his head, blink his eyes and rid kimself of this nightmare. but he remained hairy, nude, trembling in the morning sun. if that was miss brownell coming up, she might scream; she'd surely complain, maybe to the police... he felt dizzy and his vision blurred. the muted hum of the rising elevator came nearer. where could he hide himself? he prayed that whoever was coming up in the elevator was not getting off at this floor. flattening his back against the cold, wooden panels of his door, pressing the bunch of newspapers tight- ly against his middle, he closed his eyes, reverting for a moment to the primitive feelings that children have-reasoning that if he shut his eyes he would not be seen. the muscles of his legs quivered and sweat broke out in the matted hair of his chest. he heard the elevator pass his floor and keep on rising... thank god! he relaxed, swallowed; then, gritting his teeth till they ached, he whirled and rattled his doorknob again, knowing that the door would not open, but rattling the knob because he had to do something ... the university of michigan libraries his back apne bunch of his eyes, tevhildren ly against .. pressing the bunthe cold, wooden richard wright whom could he call for help? but if he called out, somebody was sure to open a door and he could not control who it would be ... god ... he felt like vomiting and, on top of it all, through the locked and bolted door, he heard his coffee pot boiling over again. he stiffened, hearing the telephone ring in miss brownell's apartment. what could he do? the sound of a distant door opening and closing came to him, then he heard the far-off music of a radio. it was getting late; the morning was passing; each second brought discovery closer. despair made him feel weak as he heard the elevator descending and a min- ute later he heard the elevator door opening and closing downstairs. then the soft, low whine of the elevator wafted up; it was climbing towards him once more ... lord ... once more he stood with his back glued to the panels of the door, shielding him- self with the newspapers, his body as still as a tree, sweat dripping from his chin. the drone of the ele- vator came nearer; it reached the tenth floor and passed, going upward again. he sighed. he had to do something, but what? he wanted to run, but fought off the urge, fearing that any move he made would worsen his predicament. hell, he breathed, giving vent to a curse for the first time in many long years. oh, he had an ideal yes; that's what he'd do... if he got into the elevator and rode down to the first floor, he could conceal himself in the elevator and call to westerman, the building superintendent. yes, that was his only chance ... what a foolish, wild, idiotic thing to do-trapping one's self naked in a building in broad daylight! get hold of that super- intendent; that was the thing ... the superintendent had a passkey for every apartment in the building. richard wright ging the newspapers with his left elbow, reached with his left hand, not daring to breathe, and pushed the button for the tenth floor. at once the elevator started up again and he let his breath expire through parted lips. yes; he'd have to get out of this elevator; it was too dangerous ... but how could he get back into his apartment? the elevator buzzer rang in his ears and he shivered; somebody was ringing for the elevator ...! he kept his teeth clamped and something seemed to be jump- ing in his stomach, like a nerve cut loose from his ganglion, writhing. he brushed rivulets of water from his forehead, bit his lips, waited, counting the floors: seventh, eighth, ninth, tenth ... the elevator halted; he reached forward to open the door, but paused and stared through the murky block of glass to see if the hallway was empty. then, just as he was about to open the door, the elevator started again, going downward! he searched frantically for the red emergency button, found it, jammed it fumblingly with the forefinger of his right hand; the elevator stopped. he wanted to scream and bring this spell of unreality to an end; but this unreality was real; he was expe- riencing this ... now, the button for the tenth floor. he reached out to push it, but, before his finger touched it, the elevator was climbing upward! a chorus of buzzings was now sounding in his ears; many people were calling for the elevator ... for a moment he stood paralyzed, realizing that now a backlog of tenants was waiting on several floors, all trying to get possession of the elevator. he had to stop the elevator, but his overanxious- ness warped his judgment and made him lose time. it seemed that he had to look longer than ordinarily to find the right button to push. again he leaped up- richard wright in his breath. through the dingy plate of glass he saw miss brownell standing there, her hand stretched out to enter the elevator. a growl rose in his throat and he flung himself against the door. what could he do? yes; he had to get to the eleventh floor where the hallway was empty, and leave the elevator! and he'd hide on the stairway until miss brownell had gone. he pushed the button for the eleventh floor and the elevator lifted upward and he knew that it was he who commanded the elevator to move this time. there was now a loud banging on the elevator doors ... "what's the matter?" "send that elevator downl” a man's voice boomed. “wait, will you?” erskine screamed, his body shak- ing with rage, shame, despair, and a sickness which he could not name. the elevator came to a standstill at the eleventh floor and, through the cloudy square of glass, he saw his way clear. he opened the door and stepped out, feeling that he was escaping an enormous throng of encircling, hostile people armed with long, sharp knives, intent upon chopping off his arms, his legs, his genitals, his head ... squeezing the wet wad of newspapers close to his drenched skin, he crept down the stairway, leaving dark tracks of water each time his naked feet touched the purplish carpet. his body was so hot that the warm air of the hallway seemed, by contrast, cold. the sunlit hall was quiet save for muffled sounds of radios coming from sur- rounding apartments. he heard the elevator going down. hugging the cold, marble wall, he descended. there ... he could see a tip of miss brownell's wide hat and a stretch of her white dress as she waited for the elevator. richard wright straight into the full morning sun and he was blinded for a moment. his momentum now carried him out upon the balcony and he was turning his naked body in the direction of the window of his bath- room even before he saw where he was going. his right leg encountered some strange object and .. he went tumbling forward on his face, his long, hairy arms flaying the air rapaciously, like the paws of a huge beast clutching for something to devour, to rend to pieces ... he steadied himself partially by clawing at the brick wall and then he saw, in one swift, sweeping glance, little tony's tricycle over which he had tripped and fallen and also there flashed before his stunned eyes a quick image of manhattan's far-flung skyline in a white burst of vision and also, like a crashing blow against his skull, tony, his little white face registering shock, staring at him, clad in a cowboy's outfit, standing atop his electric hobbyhorse near the edge of the balcony, his slight, frail body outlined, like an image cut from a colored cardboard, against a blue immensity of hori- zon... the physical force that had carried him through the doorway now propelled him towards little tony who was holding a toy pistol gripped in his right hand ... erskine checked himself in his blind rush; his naked foot slipped on the concrete and he fell against the top railing encircling the balcony, feeling it shake, sway, and wobble as his two hundred pounds struck it. he was lying now with one of his shoulders resting against the railing ... tony, poised atop the electric hobby-horse, opened his mouth to scream and then, slowly-it seemed to erskine's imagination when he thought of it afterwards that the child had been floating in air-little tony fell backwards and uttered one word: yay now propoy pistol op in his blindhe fell richard wright he forgot that he was naked and stood staring at the loosened iron railing, his hands lifted in midair, the fingers curved and turned inward toward his hirsute body that gleamed wetly in the brilliant sun- light. then he moved slowly and hesitantly toward the iron railing which now dangled loose and pro- truded over the side of the balcony. he wanted to look down there, but the mere thought made him dizzy ... mechanically, he glanced at his bathroom window. he was straining his ears, waiting to hear some sound-a sound that he thought would surely stop the beating of his heart. then he heard it; there came a distant, definite, soft, crushing yet pulpy: plopi slow tima powita a spasm went through his body; he covered his face with his hands; he knew that tony's body had at last hit the black pavement far below; it seemed that he had been standing here naked on this bal- cony in the hot morning's sun waiting for an eternity to hear that awful sound, a sound that would re- verberate down all the long corridors of his years in this world, a sound that would follow him, like a taunting echo, even unto his grave... erskine groped for the support of the wall behind him, feeling that some invisible power had numbed his body. he suppressed an impulse to weep and tried to understand what had happened. but the event he had witnessed, the horror in which he had somehow participated contained so many shad- owy elements that he was baffled. had tony fallen because he had been afraid of him, or had that bal- cony railing simply given way, or what? he stared at the iron railing, then looked about, as though seeking another presence. finally the reality of it came to him clearly: tony had been so frightened of savage holiday his wet, hairy body, of his distorted, sweating face, of his brutal rushing to the balcony that he had lost his balance, had tilted on the railing, and had plum- meted ... his skull tightened as he pictured, in spite of himself, tony's little smashed and bloody body lying on the concrete pavement below, perhaps quivering still... he'd scared that poor child ... he hadn't intended to; but they would say that he had done it on purpose ...? god! no! he'd tell 'em what had happened ... no one could possibly blame him, could they? but, if no one had seen him on that balcony, then why tell...? what good could telling do now? tony was no doubt dead and it was too late to help him ... and, if he did tell, what could he tell...? that he'd been trapped naked and had run upon the balcony to climb into the win- dow of his bathroom and had so terrified the child that he had fallen? who'd believe that? he was still nude; he had to hide ... the yellow sun rekindled his terror. his bathroom window was some three feet above him ... tiptoeing, he found that his fingers were inches short of the ledge. yes; regardless of what had happened to tony, he had to seek shelter for his nakedness. that infernal elec- tric hobbyhorsel that fool contraption from which tony had fallen ... maybe, if he stood upon it, he could reach the ledge of his window? he'd try. he placed the hobbyhorse beneath the window, stepped upon it, feeling it swaying a bit, and grabbed hold of the ledge of his bathroom window. he felt dizzy as his naked body dangled perilously in air; the hobby- horse slid from beneath his feet and clattered metal- lically over on its side. he clung to the ledge with both hands, flexed his muscles, hoisted himself up- ward with a lunge and pushed the resisting window up a little, feeling something hot and sharp biting the university of michigah libraries - richard wright into the flesh of his left palm. suspending his weight on his right hand, he took his left hand from the ledge and glanced at it out of the corner of his eye: a deep, bloody gash extended from his thumb across the top of his hand ... already blood was seeping in a red line down his arm ...he had to work fast; shoving strainingly with his wounded hand against the window, he slid it up ... yes; now he could make it. skinning his knees and elbows, pant- ing, he struggled his slippery body up and went head first through the window and fell upon the com- mode, rolled over and lay still, gasping for breath, re- laxing ... he was saved ... his rioting impulses slowly grew somewhat quiet. his damp nude body lay huddled on the tiled bath- room floor, his head inclining weakly against the porcelain side of the tub. the soft, pelting drone of water against the shower curtain made him recall that he'd been about to bathe-it was like summoning - up something out of the remote past. he became aware of his smarting, bleeding knees which were now doubled under him, and then a wild pain made him suck in his breath; his left palm was throbbing in agony. he inspected the livid gash from which blood was oozing with each beat of his heart. his eyes blinked slowly. what had happened? for a sec- ond he yearned to perform a mental act and annul it all; but no, he couldn't; it had happened; it was real, as real as that red blood running out of his left hand... he pulled himself up and went to the sink and let cold water flow over the wound. pinching the flesh together, he held the wound closed with the firm but soft pressure of the tips of his fingers. he looked around, dazed. god, there was blood on the window sill ... he grabbed a towel with his right hand, dampened it under the faucet and swabbed the savage holiday bloody spots away from the sill and the floor. he rinsed the towel clear of stains and left it balled in · the sink. tony's dead! he began to tremble and he leaned weakly upon the edge of the bathtub. good god! what could he do? tentatively, he lifted the pres- sure of his fingers from his left palm and at once the blood began to flow again. he'd have to hold the wound shut until the blood had coagulated ... automatically, his mind sought for someone else upon whom to shunt the blame for what had hap- pened; but, remembering the undeniably acciden- tal nature of the episode, he realized that he didn't need a scapegoat upon which to dump the responsi- bility. it had all transpired so quickly, so ineyitably, so utterly shorn of any intention on his part that he could have sworn that it had happened to some- body else. the incident had thrust him entirely on his own, and nothing he had ever heard of could offer him any guidance now. clinging to the whole balcony tableau of horror was a hopeless nebulosity, some- thing irresistibly unreal; one moment he felt that he knew exactly what had happened, and yet the next moment he was not so sure. his jaws trembled as he heard again that distant, unmistakably cushy: plopi dread rammed a hot fist down his throat as he wondered if anyone had seen him naked on that balcony... christ ... maybe somebody was now phoning the police that a naked man had been seen chasing a child! under the sweat of his face his skin turned gray. what could he do?. tell his story now, at once? he bowed his head in indecision. but maybe nobody had seen him and if he started bab- bling now he would only put a frightful idea in other people's minds. perhaps he should say nothing...? he stood and stared again at the opened bathroom richard wright window. yes; he ought to have steeled himself and looked down into the street to see where tony had fallen. a new idea made him feel that he too was burtling through space. suppose, in falling, tony had managed to catch hold of an iron railing jutting out, had checked the velocity of his descent, had cushioned his fall so that he was now hurt, but alive—? then tony would tell how he had come rushing, naked and wild-eyed, out upon that bal- cony ... a lightning wish seized him; it was a wish that tony was dead, that tony had fallen all the way to the street without touching anything, that tony had died instantly upon his impact with the pavement. guilt and shame filled him, yet that wish persisted. he wanted to look through the half-opened win- dow and see if people were looking in his direction, but he had the sensation that some invisible pres- ence was watching him; he felt that looking out of that window supplied proof of a guilt of some kind ... his mind was now working rapidly. the window of mrs. blake's kitchen looked out toward his bal- cony! good lord ... maybe she'd seen it all, and was too stunned, too stricken to weep or scream ...? he shook his head. the truth was that mrs. blake was probably sleeping off a night of high-powered drinking and carousing ... he hoped that she was. he moved to the window, placed his bare feet astride the commode and squinted at an array of shut windows; all was quiet, still. quickly he shut the window and walked like a drunken man into the kitchen where a cloud of vapor was spouting from the coffee pot and fogging the windowpanes. he turned out the gas; then, mechanically, using his right hand, he replaced the eggs, bacon, butter, jam, and the tin of fruit juice back into the refrigera- savage holiday tor and softly closed the door. his appetite was gone... still nude, he wandered back into his bedroom and saw his bathrobe lying crumpled on a chair; he snatched it up and struggled into it. his neglecting to put on that robe was the cause of it all... tears formed in his eyes; he nursed his bruises, feeling that there was something urgent he had to do. the faint wail of a police siren sounded through the sun- day morning calm and his body jerked. had someone seen tony's little body falling, or had someone come across it in the street and phoned the police? erskine wilted. maybe he'd be arrested in a matter of minutes ... he'd been urgently wanting to go to his bedroom window and peer down into the street to see where tony had fallen, but sheer terror had kept the desire out of his consciousness. he took a step toward the window, then paused. wouldn't somebody see him staring down into that street and couldn't it be said later that that was proof that he already knew what had happened? he shook his head. no; he would look out of the window because he'd heard the sirens howling; and that howling was now rising to a scream that was coming nearer and nearer. he stanched the flow of sweat on his brow by wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his bathrobe. the sun's heat was now spreading in the room, filling the air. if anyone questioned him about tony, he must not let himself be caught off guard and blurt out something that would entangle him in a bog of contradictions. in his insurance work he had dealt with criminals enough to know that to be caught in even a trivial lie might lead to complications. for example, if he'd known that tony had fallen and had made no out- cry, would that not imply that he possessed a guilty that hower and nearer. henis forehead wit richard wright hing; bized and to distinct felt th knowledge of a deeper nature than what had actu- ally happened? just what, then, would his story be? but wasn't this question idle, premature as long as he didn't know if tony was dead or alive? he had first to determine what the facts were. yes; everything hinged upon a dead tony that would leave him free to invent any story he liked, or remain silent, whichever course suited him more. in his tortured cogitations, erskine felt that it was imperative to separate two distinct sets of facts: his running half-crazed and naked upon that balcony was one thing; his seeing tony fall and his inability to save him was another thing. and his consciousness protested violently the putting of the two of them in any way together for, when associated in his feel- ings, these compounded events swamped him with a sense of guilt that was deeper than that contained in the accident which his panic had brought about. at last he went to the window and tried to see down into the street, but he was much too far away to make out anything, save a patch of pavement on the opposite side. he leaned out cautiously now and stared down and at once he saw a small black knot of people gathered directly below him on the side- walk near the curb, forming a circle about something which he could not see. yes, that must be the body of tony they were gaping at... more sirens were screeching now; a moment later a police car tore around the corner and pulled to a stop athwart the throng of people. without knowing it, erskine covered his mouth with his right palm. his fate was down there where those people stood; he stifled an impulse to rush down and join the crowd. what if tony was still alive? he'd read in newspapers about how relaxed children were when they fell, that children had been savage holiday known to fall six floors and still live ... and if tony was alive, what would he say? he leaned weakly against the window casing, hearing tony's piping voice telling the police that he'd been playing alone upon the balcony and then mr. fowler had come running, panting, wild-eyed, naked, and angry upon him and he had been so frightened that he'd fallen ... and what would be his rebuttal to tony's story? could he tell the police that he'd tried to get his paper and that his door had slammed shut and he'd been trapped in the hallway and had been dodging naked and terrorized through the building and had finally rushed to the balcony like that...? erskine knew instinctively how others would regard that story and his knowing made even him protest against believing it. and if he didn't believe it, would others? yet it was an objectively true story; it had happened just like that... such a story would be the ruin of him. what would the daily news or the mirror think of it? what would his friends and relatives think? they'd think that he was "queer”... as the word queer came to his mind, he felt again a tight cap of some- thing like steel pressing down upon his skull and he all but collapsed. yes; these days everybody was talking about “complexes” and the "unconscious”; and a man called freud (which always reminded him of fraud!) was making people believe that the most fantastic things could happen to people's feel- ings. why, they'd say that he'd gone deliberately on- to that balcony like that, nude... he saw westerman, the building superintendent whom he had sought so futilely and frantically half an hour ago, running toward the crowd, pulling on his coat. another police car arrived, its siren scream- richard wright ing and its brakes whining as it came to a halt be- side the crowd. policemen poured out of it. an am- bulance came. erskine lifted his eyes and scanned the other windows of the apartment building; no one had as yet looked out. again his vision plunged down and he saw the policemen driving the crowd back. ah, there was little tony ... a tiny, dark, oblong object, like a broken doll, sprawled in the midst of a vast pool of blood ... the body lay half on the curb and half on the sidewalk, about five feet from a fire hydrant. "he's dead," he whispered with relief, then whirled guiltily, expecting to find that someone had over- heard him. suddenly he was aware of white blobs of faces in the crowd turning upward and he shrank quickly back into his room; he glanced at the other windows. yes; other people were looking down now, but no face had turned to look at his window. he sank upon his unmade bed; tears of remorse and relief clogged his eyes. he whimpered: "oh, god, why did this have to happen to me... erskine was undone and, had there been anyone at that moment to hear his confession, he would have spilled out more than he knew. his life had gone deadly wrong and, in his extremity, he was trying to give up and find repose in some higher wisdom that he felt vaguely was in his heart. the dim shrill of mrs. blake's phone brought him to his feet; his eyes stared as though trying to see through the far wall of his room. he listened as the phone pealed again and he pictured her rising sleep- ily from bed, rubbing her eyes, struggling to over- come last nights drinking, and reaching for the savage holiday phone ... no; the phone was ringing again. in the midst of its sixth ring, it stopped abruptly. he tiptoed into the living room whose left wall formed a com- mon partition with her bedroom, put his ear to the cool white plaster and tried to listen, but could hear nothing. then he flinched as a scream came to his ears. yes; she knew now ... the scream came again, then again. he heard the elevator door open- ing and closing in the hallway and then there came the sound of mrs. blake's doorbell ringing insist- ently, repeatedly. ought he to look into the hallway? he had the right to find out who was doing all that screaming, hadn't he? composing himself, still clamping the tips of his fingers over the wound of his left palm, he went to the door, opened it and saw westerman, the building superintendent, standing in the open door- way of mrs. blake's apartment, with his back to him. he could not see mrs. blake, but he could hear her voice: “no; no; no ... what are you saying up mrs. blake pushed westerman aside, ran out of her apartment in her nylon nightgown, and stopped in the middle of the hallway; she looked around blindly, her eyes wild and her face white with shock. she rushed on bare feet toward the bal- cony.. “mrs. blake,” westerman called helplessly to her, "he's not there. i tell you he fell..." mrs. blake paused and, without turning around, she screamed. then she whirled and clapped her hands to her face. , “tony,” she moaned. westerman was staring at the crazed, half-nude woman. "somebody find tony!” mrs. blake wailed... way of mrs. blaindent, standinga w westerman,' the richard wright "but mrs. blake ..." westerman began again. the elevator door opened and mrs. westerman came running out. “oh, god, you poor woman!" she cried. erskine noticed that westerman was staring about with a dull, stupid expression. "what's happeningperskine asked in a whisper. westerman lifted his hands in a gesture of hope lessness. "it's tony... poor little tony,” the man said. “what about him? is there anything wrong?” er- skine asked. westerman turned away, blinking, unable to speak. mrs. westerman now glanced toward erskine and shook her head sadly. mrs. blake was struggling to break free from mrs. westerman, straining toward the elevator. "take me to tony," she whimpered. "mrs. blake,” westerman was pleading, trying to help his wife hold the woman. erskine could see that westerman was a little shy about handling mrs. blake, for the blurred out- lines of her plump, curving body were distinctly visible through her sheer nylon nightgown. "poor little tony's dead!” mrs. westerman wailed, gulping. "he fell ... dear god in heaven ... the little thing's all crushed and bloody ... angels of god, help us all..." “no!” erskine found himself saying, shaking his head. he wondered if he were acting naturally enough... “mary!” westerman called to his wife in a tone of protest. “get her back into her apartment... she's got to put on some clothes ... she can't go down there like that." mrs. westerman stared, finally comprehending richard wright “when did this happen?" mr. fenley asked erskine. “this morning, i think ..." “this morning?” mr. fenley echoed. “presumably so," erskine said. mrs. fenley, frail, tall, clad also in her bathrobe, came to the door, her mouth open, her eyes staring, at erskine. “good morning," she greeted erskine tensely. “what's all this about little tony?" “good morning, mrs. fenley," erskine answered her. “i don't know, really. westerman says that tony fell from the balcony and was killed..." “good god! from the balcony...pas “seems so. that's what they say. westerman and his wife are now inside with mrs. blake-" he ges- tured toward the open apartment door. westerman came out of mrs. blake's apartment in time to overhear mrs. fenley's request for informa- tion.' "little tony fell from the balcony; he was crushed," he told them. “he must have been killed as soon as he hit the pavement..." “the balcony on this floor?” mrs. fenley asked. “yes, i think so," westerman said. "oh, dear! that poor little child,” mrs. fenley moaned, clutching her throat and turning to her hus- band. she swung around, as though suddenly re- membering her duty. “that poor woman ... how she must be suffering-” she ran to the open door of mrs. blake's apartment and entered. erskine saw fenley stoop and gather up the bulk of his sunday paper and at once erskine did the same. surreptitiously, he tried to smooth out his crumpled wad ... the elevator door had been left open and from it came the insistent sound of buzzing. savage holiday westerman stepped to the elevator and closed the.com door. "is there anything we can do?” mr. fenley asked westerman. "i'm afraid not, sir,” westerman replied. he looked worried, stunned. “i want to see that balcony," he said at last, frowning. "then it was from this floor?” mr. fenley asked. "i guess so,” westerman mumbled. “it was where he played most of the time. ..." "goodness,” erskine breathed. erskine's legs were trembling. he had a hot im- pulse to tell westerman right then and there what had happened for, maybe, they'd find it out sooner or later and blame him ... for what? what could they blame him for? and if he had anything to tell, should he not have told it already? to try to tell now was awkward ... and yet the longer he waited, the more impossible it would be to tell. and it all had too much the air of a wild dream to make sense. yes; he'd follow westerman and see how he reacted when he saw that loose iron railing jut- ting off the balcony into space ... he pushed the lever on his lock and, as he did so, he cursed himself for having forgotten to do so earlier this morning. if he'd done that, all of this would not have hap- pened; tony would be alive, yelling, beating his drum ... he walked behind westerman, still wear- ing his bathrobe, holding his sunday newspaper ... “but what happened?" erskine asked westerman. "we don't know, sir,” westerman replied vaguely. "i always was kinda scared of that balcony. too small for kids to play on.” "but is the child really dead?” erskine asked. "maybe they could still help him, save him..." erskine swallowed; he could feel that his voice car- the university of michigah libraries richard wright ried a note of a man not wanting to believe what he had heard. "he's dead,” westerman told him flatly. “the cop said he was doa-dead on arrival.” westerman came to the open door giving onto the balcony and stood staring for a moment. erskine, standing directly behind westerman, had to tiptoe and peer over the man's shoulder to see the tumbled tricycle and the overturned electric hobbyhorse which now lay near the iron railing, having been pushed there by erskine's naked feet when he had hoisted himself upward into the bathroom window. the iron railing was conspicuously loose; one end had been torn from the brick wall and was now extending out into space... erskine lifted his head and his eyes anxiously searched the window ledge for blood spots. there were none. thank god...] only a miracle had kept that window ledge free of blood stains, and he had forgotten to inspect it until this very moment... “jeeeesus,” westerman breathed. “that railing came smack out of that wall... how on earth could that happen?” westerman advanced upon the balcony now. "could he have fallen against it?” erskine asked him in a low, charged tone. westerman did not reply; he bent forward, got to his knees and examined the gaping hole from which the railing had come. "god, the cement's loose; that's why the railing came out,” westerman spoke as though to himself. he then looked up to erskine. “see?” he asked, pointing. erskine shuddered but kept his face straight. true, the cement had been somewhat loose, but he knew in his heart that tony's weight and the blow dealt that savage holiday - railing by the hobbyhorse would not have torn that railing from that brick wall; it had been his added weight of two hundred pounds-accidentally thrown against the railing-that had made that railing sag and give way... “yes,” erskine murmured. westerman got to his feet and stared about. "he must've been playing on that horse and fell, maybe ... he went against that railing. that damned horse is heavy. i've lifted it many a time to bring it out here for tony." westerman lifted the horse. "feel this, mr. fowler,” westerman said to erskine. erskine hesitated, then took hold of the horse and lifted it; it weighed nearly sixty pounds. "it's kind of heavy," erskine allowed himself to admit. "you're telling me?" westerman said scornfully. "why in god's name they want to make toys as big and heavy as that, i don't know." westerman scowled in disgust. "if he had fallen against that railing alone, it wouldn't have pulled loose; but when he and that damned horse, the two of them, hit that railing, it gave ... don't you think sopa “looks like it,” erskine said with a dry throat. he felt that he was speaking the truth. cautiously, westerman peered over the edge of the balcony, then drew back, his eyes full of pity, horror, and wonder. "makes me dizzy just to look down there," he mumbled, sweat standing on his brow. erskine heard dull footsteps behind him; he glanced round and saw mr. fenley, pale, concen- trated, tense, advancing toward the balcony, his thin lips hanging open and the sparse, blond and gray hair on top of his head tossing in the wind. “no child should be allowed to play on a balcony the university of michigan libraries richard wright as tiny as that,” mr. fenley snapped with indigna- tion. he turned and was about to leave when he al- most collided with a uniformed policeman. "which of you is mr. westermanpy the policeman asked. "i am, sir,” westerman said. “this is awful_" "is this where he fell from?" the policeman asked. "i guess so," westerman mumbled. “these are his playthings. and this was where he played all the time" "hmmnn," the policeman grunted, staring about. "that iron railing ... was it always loose, like that...po “no, sir,” westerman replied stoutly. “that's the first time in my life i've seen it like that." the man's voice rang with conviction; he was frowning and staring at the loose cement. “that railing was cer- tainly not like that yesterday, sir. i washed windows on this floor and i'd have seen it, if it had been.” “who else comes out on this balconypa the police- man asked. "nobody but tony; he played here a lot," wester- man said. "whose window's that the policeman asked, pointing to erskine's bathroom window. “that's my window," erskine told him. "did you hear anything out here this morning? the policeman asked him. "i heard the child beating his drum," erskine said. "was there anybody with ’im?" "not that i know of.” "did the child make any strange outcries pas "i heard him shouting, playing," "but no sounds as though he was hurt or any- thing?" "nothing like that." richard wright and had frightened the child, wouldn't the idea leap into everybody's mind that he had been up to something “perverse”? did telling the truth mean that one had to expose one's self uselessly to slander of that sort? but why was he so certain that others would think him “perverse”? erskine's experience as an insurance man had taught him that man was a sneaking, guilty animal, always prone to excesses, to outlandish attitudes. common sense urged him to hold his tongue, and he was positive that no motive other than that of prudence was prompting him to silence. "i was in my apartment," mr. fenley explained. “i saw nothing. i heard a commotion and looked out of my door and saw mrs. blake crying and yell- ing..." "i was taking in my paper when i heard mrs. blake scream," erskine found words at last. “god, it's a pity" "you folks mustn't touch anything here,” the policeman said. he went to the balcony and peered down, then to left and right. mr. fenley went back into the hallway and ers- kine followed him. . "it's awful,” erskine said to mr. fenley. "it's that mother of his, if you ask me,” mr. fenley said sotto voce. “she was sleeping, she said... im- agine! she ought to be whipped to let a child play out there." "guess you're right,” erskine found himself eagerly clutching at a scapegoat. "and she's weeping," mr. fenley said in disgust. "she ought to." mrs. fenley came out of mrs. blake's apartment, followed by mrs. westerman who was leading the weeping mrs. blake by the arm. mrs. blake had savage holiday . dressed, but her tumbling black hair spread wildly over her shoulders, half hiding her face and spilling down to her waist. the door of mrs. blake's apart- ment slammed shut and erskine stared at it as though hypnotized, recalling how, just less than an hour ago, he had been standing naked and terrified before his own door that had slammed shut. "will she be able to get back in?" the policeman asked, coming forward. "don't bother,” mrs. westerman said. “i've got passkeys to all the apartments in the building. i'll let her in when she comes back.” mrs. blake walked with difficulty, her knees sag- ging. she paused as she passed erskine and stared blankly before her. erskine imagined that, for half a second, her large, limpid, brown eyes were rest- ing upon him. or had they? he grew tense. he had to be careful and keep a tight hold on himself. ... mrs. fenley went to her husband's side and clutched his arm nervously, staring at mrs. wester- man and mrs. blake. the two women, westerman, and the policeman entered the elevator; the door closed and the elevator sank. "poor, poor woman,” mrs. fenley murmured in awe. "i wonder if there's anything we can do?” erskine spoke uncertainly. "well, the police are taking care of everything now," mr. fenley said. “it's too bad ... come, dear." he took his wife's arm and led her into their apart- ment. erskine stood alone in the hallway, hugging his bundle of sunday papers. suddenly he was afraid to enter his apartment. he dreaded being alone now. when supported by the presence of the others, everything had seemed natural, his not telling had university richard wright had a normal aspect. but the moment he was alone and face to face with himself, he felt that he ought to tell. but how could he? he stood brooding, biting his lips. the elevator door opened and miss brownell, her arms full of groceries, came out with wide eyes and a pale face. “oh, mr. fowler, do you know what has hap- pened?" she demanded, running up to him. "about little tony? it's awful, awful... i can't be- lieve it,” he told her. "what a ghastly, horrible thing!” miss brownell sang out as she closed her eyes. “i had to walk ten blocks to buy something for lunch, and when i passed down there i thought i'd faint when they told me that that was little tony lying there all smashed ... the poor little thing was all covered with a sheet or something. i couldn't even bear to look in his direction. they're taking him to the hospital now_" “the hospital?" erskine repeated her words. "but i thought the child was dead ..." had he spoken too abruptly, in too surprised a manner? "he is,” miss brownell assured him quickly. “but it seems that they take 'em to the hospital anyway. mr. westerman says that the medical examiner has to decide if the death was accidental or not. but, of course, it was . . . just a formality, you know? oh, things like this unnerve me no end ... and that mrs. blake lost her husband in the war, you know? how did poor tony fall?” "nobody seems to know," erskine said uneasily. "that mrs. blake,” miss brownell pronounced the woman's name in a sudden, sober manner, biting her lips and shooting a meaningful glance at erskine. “yes,” erskine said quietly, agreeing. they had both passed a moral judgment upon the savage holiday mother of tony. her arms loaded, miss brownell was now trying to open her door, fumbling awk- wardly with her key. "here; let me help you there,” erskine said, ad- vancing. “oh, thank you,” miss brownell said, surrender- ing her key. erskine unlocked her door and handed her her key. “you're so kind,” miss brownell murmured, smil- ing at him. “not at all,” erskine mumbled. "i just can't seem to get that poor child out of my mind,” miss brownell wailed. “i know what you mean,” erskine said, nodding sympathetically. he felt sweat breaking out again over the skin of his body. "well, good-bye,” miss brownell called, smiling sadly. "good morning, miss brownell,” erskine said. miss brownell's door closed and erskine turned and headed for his door. he stopped. he was staring at a copy of mrs. blake's new york times that lay in a neat, folded heap at her door sill. and his copy of the new york times was crushed under his arms, damp, crumpled ... yes; he'd exchange the news- papers ... mrs. blake would be too upset to notice that her copy was not fresh, was damp and wadded. ... she'd surely not read the paper today; and even if she did notice that her papers were soiled, wouldn't she think that tony had been playing with them ...? stooping quickly, he let his paper fall softly to the carpet and then picked up her paper; he glanced round; no one was in sight. he sighed, still trem- bling slightly, then went back into his apartment, shut the door, and leaned weakly against it. he stifled the university of michigan libraries richard wright a groan. he was feeling a terror that he had felt a long, long time ago, feeling it but not understanding it. he felt alone, abandoned in the world abandoned and guilty. why? "god, it wasn't my fault.” he spoke aloud in a stern, resentful, and insistent voice. i v umbed, shaky, erskine went to his bedroom window and stared down into the street, feeling that something grossly unfair had happened to him. the crowd had dispersed and the sun lit to distinctness the dark, irregular smudge where tony's body had lain in its pool of blood. how utterly stupid it all was! with a violent re- flex action he spun round, his face contorted with rage; he smote his right fist into his left palm; then his knees sagged from pain. he'd forgotten that he had cut his hand. blood began to flow again from the wound; he went to the bathroom, washed it, and sealed it with adhesive tape. he sank into a chair, brooding. his mind strenu- ously protested the potency of that accident. if only he hadn't foolishly failed to flick the lever on his lock; if only that lazy, good-for-nothing mrs. blake had been looking after her child properly; if only he hadn't left his bedroom window open, a draft of air would not have pushed his door shut; if only he'd taken time and looked on that balcony before rushing out; if only, when he'd gone down nude in the elevator, those two young girls hadn't been waiting there; if only that cursed newsboy hadn't come at that time; if only he'd gotten out of bed the moment he'd opened his eyes, instead of lolling richard wright and day-dreaming-none of this would have hap- penedl but who, in the name of god, would have foreseen such a concatenation of events? one aspect of the accident bothered him above all: why had little tony been so frightened of him as to lose his balance when he'd come running nude onto the balcony? tony knew him, admired him; then, why had he gone into such a panic... ? it's true that he'd been naked, and, when naked, erskine knew that he was not a pleasant or poetic sight... erskine realized that a child's mind was a strange shadowland, and what seemed ordinary to adults would loom as something monstrous or fearful to tony who had lived in a world of indians, horses, bombing planes, soldiers, whales, and perhaps things never seen on land or sea. what, then, had tony associated him with that seemed so fantastic, fright- ful? why had the sudden sight of him-huge, hairy, sweating, panting-sent tony reeling? and where, in the medley of these unrehearsed episodes, did the element of his guilt lie? was it because he'd denied any knowledge of how the child had died that he felt guilty? no. he knew that even now, if he told mrs. blake or the police how utterly blameless he'd been, he'd still feel guilty? why? never in erskine's life had his emotions been à problem to him; indeed, he had lived with the as- sumption that he had no emotions. from puberty on- wards he had firmly clamped his emotions under the steel lid of work and had fastened and tightened that lid with the inviolate bolts of religious devotion. now he felt ambushed, anchored in a sea of anxiety, be- cause he was tremblingly conscious of all of his buried demons stirring and striving for the light of day. what did one do in situations like this? he then felt guilty of feeling guilty.... ought he to seek ad- felt quilty & . savage holiday of rebellionen when ughted ato vice? but from whom? and about what? his strong- est impulse at this moment was not to talk about this, to deny its existence; he felt that his telling others about it would make him feel even more guilty, that he was no longer master of himself, and he was far too proud for that.... erskine could deal swiftly and competently with the externalities of life. if something went wrong, he called in a lawyer, an accountant, or a policeman, and matters were righted at once. but who could one summon when one's emotions went into a state of rebellion? vainly he groped for an explanation that would enable him to deal with this. he felt tricked; things shouldn't be like this! things were not like this. things had become temporarily snarled; soon, however, he'd straighten them out again. what had occurred was simple and, being an executive, he ought to be able to arrive at a quick solution. all right: the thing to do was to tell what had happened. ... then why all this perturbation, hesitation? intuitively, he felt that some dark visitor, long banished from his life, was knocking at the door of his heart; and he didn't want to open that door and see the strange but familiar features of that visitor's face. but, if he didn't open that door, what was he to do? just listen endlessly to that hollow, re- sounding knocking? the honorable, christian thing to do was to tell the police; he had connections; he had money; he could hire a lawyer. but, no; that was not the way out; not at all. considerations of personal safety were not constraining him; he could, if worse came to worst, bribe his way out. but, out of what would he bribe his way? he wasn't guilty... he had a foggy hunch that there was as yet some nameless act that he could perform that would right richard wright the wrong, redress the evil he had inadvertently done. but whenever he was on the verge of thinking of that act, of forming a clear image of it, he sweated, trembled, and all but sank under the weight of morti- fication and guilt. what, then, was that act? what dark nature did it possess to evoke such distress in him? he sat upon his bed and stared unseeingly. he checked his watch; good god ... he'd only twenty minutes to get to sunday school ... he show- ered, dressed, fumbling with his clothes, still nurs- ing his wounded hand. if any investigation got under way, he didn't want it said that he'd, perhaps from nervousness, remained away from church for the first time in ten years. and he needed the sus- taining solace of his fellow-christians at this mo- ment. he was convinced that in the end his faith in god would lead him to a solution. . he got his bible, his book of sunday school les- sons and stood undecided before that fateful door that had slammed shut in his face. his stomach felt queasy; he drank a glass of water and let himself out. he crossed the bright, empty hallway, summoned the elevator, and rode down and went out into the street. a policeman stood a few feet from the fire hy- drant, near the spot where little tony's body had lain. the streets were filled with sunday quietness. he wanted to talk to the policeman, ask him what had been the opinions of his colleagues about tony's accidental fall; but he recalled that most of the crooks that he had caught, when he'd sleuthed in the insurance business, had betrayed themselves by talking too much. he forced himself to turn and walk down the block. it was too late to get his car from the garage, and he felt much too nervous to drive anyway. he hailed savage holiday a taxi, gave the driver the address of his church, and settled back in the seat, mopping his wet face with a balled handkerchief. now, what was his future con- duct to be? yes; as soon as church was over this morning, he'd visit mrs. blake and pay her his re- spects. but what would he say to her? and what, if anything, had been the meaning of that fixed, brief stare she had, while being supported by mrs. fenley and mrs. westerman, given him in the hallway? or had he imagined that? had anyone else noticed it? he chided himself for letting his overstrained nerves get the better of him. no one suspected anything; if they had, they'd have voiced it long before now. he'd better concentrate on his sunday school les-, son, which tony's death had robbed him of time to study, so as to be able to perform his religious duties without betraying the turbulent state of his emo- tions. well, he'd improvise; with god's help, he'd spread his word... "here you are, sir," the driver said, pulling to the curb in front of a huge white sandstone church topped by a white cross. as he paid the driver, he heard the church bell tolling with melancholy softness through the sunny air. compulsively touching the tips of the pencils clipped to his inner coat pocket, he strode with brisk, confident steps through loitering groups of young men and women and entered the church. a plaintive wave of hymn filled his ears: just as i am, without one plea but that thy blood was shed for me, and that thou bidd'st me come to thee o lamb of god, i come. just as i am, though toss'd about with many a conflict, many a doubt, richard wright fightings and fears within, without, lamb of god, i come. church rehmed long lances of soft light falling from stained glass windows made delicate crisscrosses in the dim, vaulted interior of the church, and the serried rows of faces in the circular pews, arrayed one behind the bther and stretching away into the shadows, closed around him like a sweet benediction. the nostalgia of the singing voices soothed his taut nerves and at once he felt better. the world seemed to be gaining in safety, solidity this was his world, a world he be- lieved in, trusted a world he had supported all his life and which, in turn, buoyed him up with its sunlit faith from which all confusions had been forever banished by the boon of god's great grace. at a long walnut table, placed before and below the pulpit, sat mrs. ira claxton, smiling and nodding at him as always, her head crowned magically by a halo of snow-white hair; she was, bless her, filling in for him. the memory of tony's death-plunge and his sense of guilt fled as he walked down the middle aisle, bowing from left to right, recognizing faces of friends, and he knew that they were all noticing him intently because, for the first time in ten years, he was fifteen minutes late. these were his people; they needed him and he needed them; theirs was a world in which little children did not, for wildly mysterious reasons, tumble from balconies to their deaths; in this world there were no dark, faceless strangers knocking at the doors of one's soul.com he shook hands with mrs. claxton, his assistant; with deacon bradley, the treasurer; and with forty- year-old, shy miss white, the sunday school sec- retary. mrs. claxton leaned toward him and whispered: savage holiday yu . "i was beginning to wonder..." "a terrible accident happened in my building this morning," he whispered to her. "i'll tell you about it later." mrs. claxton's gray eyes widened in sympathetic concern as she nodded, not skipping a beat of the music or a word of the hymn. the deep-throated, sonorous tones of the organ made him join in the hymn; he lifted his baritone voice to swell the volume of song. he was contented. he was home ... the opening remarks had already been made by mrs. claxton and the next items were a prayer by deacon bradley; the reading of the minutes by miss white; and the treasurer's report, also by deacon bradley. following that, erskine would introduce the morning's topic which, according to the sunday school book he held in his moist fingers, read: god's eternal family a murky illustration depicted jesus speaking to a vast crowd at the edge of which stood mary, jesus' mother, and her sons. below the picture ran these verses: st. matthew, : , , , , while he yet talked to the people, behold, his mother and his brethren stood without, desiring to speak with him. then one said unto him, behold, thy mother and thy brethren stand without, desiring to speak with thee. but he answered and said unto him that told him, who is my mother? and who are my brethren? richard wright god's mighty parable, a parable in which he has couched our lives from childhood onward! man- made families lurch and wreck themselves on the rocks of circumstance, but one has only to lift his eyes, tear himself away from selfishness, and he sees, with the help of god, another family, god's eternal family—a family whose foundations are built of god's will and love." patting his damp brow with his folded handker- chief, erskine concluded in simple but stern tones: “who is my mother? who is my brother? what terrible words! but what saving words! with one master-stroke of his sword of righteousness, god cut the chains of human slavery and made us all free, free to see mothers and sisters everywhere, free to recognize brothers in our neighbors, free to extend our claim of kinship! christ challenges you to do as he did: take the hand of even your loved ones and bring them into that higher, greater family which is of god! christ likewise enjoins you to clasp hands with your neighbor, even your enemy-those who hate us and whom we hate and lead them into that family where hate is no more, where enemies are transformed into brothers, neighbors! christ denied his mother and his brothers, but only to make all women his mother and all men · his brothers and neighbors!" he sat, compulsively assuring himself that his colored pencils were intact. there was discreet hand- clapping, which was unusual for the decorous, middle-class members of the mount ararat bap- tist church. mrs. claxton leaned and whispered with admiration in her eyes: "it was wonderfull" · “mrs. claxton,” erskine spoke on the spur of the moment, "would you be kind enough to take charge . richard wright of mrs. blake's nude, voluptuously sinful body which he had glimpsed twice through his open window ... after sunday school had let out, erskine took mrs. claxton's hand in his own and implored her: "please, tell reverend barlow that i shan't be at the afternoon or evening services." "you don't feel well, do you?" she asked compas- sionately. "really, i don't." "we'll miss you,” she told him. though the distance was more than fourteen blocks, he decided to walk home. but the moment he was on the hot sidewalk, under the noonday sun, amid the passers-by, his mood of confident righteous- ness began to ebb. had anyone seen him on that bal- cony? had the medical examiner or the police found any clues that would make them suspect that some- one had been with tony on that balcony? maybe the police were waiting to question him now ... god! he suddenly didn't want to go home. and mrs. blake, what could he tell her? he'd offer her his con- dolences; but after that, what? where was that neat solution that he'd been hugging to his heart back there in that dim, song-filled church? he must talk to somebody about this ... no; he couldn't! his steps slowedthere was but one way out for his con- science; he had to see mrs. blake and settle this thing r.. but something in him warned him off from her. he entered central park. sunday couples loitered. the sun blazed. children skipped and ran. a little girl blew bubble gum. a black boy sat on a bench reading a comic magazine. a cloud of pigeons whirled in wild freedom in the sky and he could see their taut, almost transparent wings. he found an savage holiday empty bench and sat. he was hungry, but the idea of food nauseated him. nervously he rubbed his damp palm across his eyes. blast it all, what was he to do? he fell into a tense brooding, trying to reorder his situation into a meaningful design. yes; that foolish mrs. blake was the cause of all his-trouble... had she been the kind of mother she should have been, none of this would have happened. his eyes nar- rowed as recollection brought to his mind the kind of images that proved his thesis. he recalled that one sunday morning he had gone down in the elevator and mrs. blake had been wait- ing on the first floor; she'd been so tipsy that he'd caught her arm to keep her from stumbling as she'd entered the elevator. at the time he'd been dis- gusted and amused, but now his memory of that incident made him seethe with moral rage. he should have complained about her then, should have pro- tested the right of a morally depraved woman like her to live in the building. suddenly his condemnation of mrs. blake was buttressed by still another and stronger memory. about a year ago he'd been awakened around five o'clock one morning by a strange noise-a dim, regu- lar and rhythmic creaking—which had soon stopped. he'd lain in bed puzzled, wondering what could have been happening. a week later-it had been around four o'clock in the morning this time-he'd heard that same vague, rhythmic noise, and this time he'd known with a dismaying flash of intuition what was happening.... he'd gotten up and changed rooms, converting his living room into his bedroom to escape overhearing mrs. blake's carnal activities ... yes; that was the kind of woman she was, and he was · richard wright more than ever certain that the true guilt for the death of tony lay not on his, but her shoulders. he licked his lips and stared unseeingly through the yellow sunshine. there was trying to break into his mind yet another recollection, but he was fight- ing it off... why? he bent forward and squinted at the green grass and his mind drifted. he recalled one evening last month when the summer sky was still light and he'd come home early from the office and had found little tony alone upon the sidewalk. the child had smiled and run skippingly toward him, grabbing his hand. "hi, mr. fowler!" tony had greeted him. "hello, tony. how are you?" he'd asked him. "fine." "what are you doing?" "playing." “how's your mother?" "dunno. i ain't seen her today yet. she's sleep ing." "oh." "are you tired, mr. fowler?" "no, tony. why? "are you very busy now?? "not at all. whypy "talk to me some, hunh? a little," tony had begged. he had looked into those round, large, black eyes--helpless eyes, lonely eyes. "why, sure, tony. but haven't you got anybody to talk top tony's lips had quivered and he had not answered. "where are your little playmates? don't you talk to them? “naw. i never talk to nobody. no friends around here wanna play with me. ..." savage holiday “whypo again tony had refused to answer; he'd looked off and frowned. "all right, tony. i'll talk to you. let's go to the drugstore and get a malted milk, hunh? you don't think that your mother would mind, do you?" “naw. i won't tell her." "but you should tell her everything you do," he told tony. “don't you?" “naw. why should i? “good boys do, you know.” "i'm bad ..." a stab of pity had gone through erskine's heart as he'd stared at the child. "oh, no! why do you say that?" “mama says so." "don't you tell your mother what you do during the days “she never asks me what i do." "but suppose you lose your appetite from drink- ing a malted milk,“ erskine had posed a problem for him; "wouldn't your mother want to know why you won't eat?" "naw. she just fixes the supper and leaves it for me to eat when i wanna.” “but don't you talk to your mother at all?" he'd asked the child, leading him by the hand. "she tells me to wash my face and not to make so. much noise," tony had said resentfully. "look, sometimes you must try telling her what you do during the day,” erskine had said. “try it ..." "she won't listen" “but, tony, your mother must talk to you some times-> "but she won't tell me what she does," tony had complained bitterly. richard wright "don't you love your mother?” tony had not answered. "you should love your mother, you know, tony." “maybe she doesn't want me to love her-" “why do you say that?” "i dunno. "does she beat you often?" "naw. sometimes ... but i don't care." “then, what does she do to you to make you say that she doesn't want you to love her, tony?" "she never does anything. mama's not like other ladies," tony had said in confusion. “oh, tony! you mustn't say that," "but that's what mike who lives down the street says." erskine had been shocked. he'd patted tony's head and had squeezed his hand in pity. there had been anger in his eyes as they'd entered the drug- store and seated themselves in a booth. “tony, you must not listen to what this mike says-" ""but all the boys say that," tony had informed him. erskine's understanding had been a remember- ing ... if only he could help this abandoned child! somebody ought to report that mrs. blake to the authorities ... they were silent until their malted milks came and they sat sipping them through long straws, “why don't you ever come to see my mama?" tony had asked him suddenly. “she's never invited me,” erskine said, staring at the boy. “then why don't you call up and ask her to let you come over, like the others do?" tony had de manded hopefully. savage holiday "i guess i'm pretty busy, tony,” erskine had an- swered uneasily. "i like you better than i like the other men who come to see her," tony had said, looking erskine full in the face. “they won't talk to me. they take mama in the bedroom and lock the door." "i like you, tony. you're a good boy," erskine had mumbled, avoiding tony's eyes. offense nestled deep in erskine's heart. tony had so upset him that he wanted to leave. he hadn't known how to act or what to say. his pity for the child had made him remain. “when you were a boy, did you sleep in bed with your mother?" tony had asked in a far-away voice. "i guess so. i really don't remember, tony. do you?" ta "yes; when there isn't a man in bed with her." erskine had wanted to tell tony not to talk like that, but he felt that he hadn't the right to. he'd felt more intimidated with tony at that moment than with any adult he could have named. "do you sleep with your mother oftenps he'd found himself asking tony. "i used to. but there are so many men coming to see her at night now...i go to sleep in her bed when she's away at work at night, but when i wake up in the morning, i find that she's taken me out of her bed and put me in my bed, and there's a man in the bed with her," tony had said, staring off into space. “tony, you must not talk like that!” "but it's true," tony had said. "you really must love your mother, you know," erskine had said in confusion. "i do," tony had said, quietly, sincerely. “but she loves so many other people.” savage holiday the child's eyes had filled with tears and he'd stared down into his empty glass. "you're fooling me," he whimpered. “no; i'm telling you the truth. why don't you believe me? "dunno." tony had mastered himself and was drying the tears. "tony, god made all people in the world" "yes. but..." tony had stammered diplomatical- ly. “but what? “mama didn't say that we are made like that." "what did she say?" "she said that men and women make babies" "oh, sure; sure, tony. they do. but god lets them make them "whyps "for his glory. so little boys like you can have a chance to live,” erskine had explained, forcing a smile as he talked; but he knew that he'd not an- swered tony and he wondered if it was his duty to do so. "but whyps tony had asked wailingly. "don't you think you ought to ask your mama about that, tony? it's better for her to tell you—" "but she won't tell me everything... now, you tell me why god makes the babies_ "it's his will, god's will" “will? what's will, mr. fowlerp "er-it's desire, tony. when you desire some thing, you want it, you will it. understand?" “then god wants them to be angry?" tony had asked, frowning. erskine had blinked. what was the child getting at? savage holiday erskine had known that he had to be careful. he could not give this child an explanation that would make him repeat his words to his mother, for his mother might well come to him and bawl him out for it. "maybe she does,” erskine had sighed in defeat. "but you are a man," tony had argued. “you can find out. people will tell you anything" "i guess i don't want to ask them, tony," he had said wearily. tony had stared off again, then his lips quivered. “i don't want to grow up,” he had said at last. "i don't wanna be a man- "why" “ 'cause i don't wanna fight,” he said. "i don't wanna fight ladies like my mother ..." erskine had not answered that. he had been determined to stop the conversation. yes; he'd take tony to the toy shop down the street and buy him something to distract him. that was as good a way as any of getting out of this horrible atmosphere of panic and degradation that tony evoked around him. **** “say, tony, wouldn't you like some toys from the store down the street?" tony's eyes had grown round. “for real?" "sure." "i wanna long-range bomber," tony had said with excitement. “the kind that carries the atom bomb." "all right. but do you think they've got them there "sure. i've seen 'em in the windows." erskine had paid and had sauntered out, thought- fully leading tony by the hand. the child chatted about a film he'd seen in which fighter planes had savage holiday make-believe game of “fighting," and erskine felt ill. "lookl" tony was screaming now with a mixture of compulsive terror and fascination in his face. “the little baby fighters are falling down...! sweat had stood on tony's face and his body trembled. he looked wildly about, as though seeing something that erskine could not see. suddenly he dropped the planes; then, in an effort to find shelter from his self-created nightmare, he grabbed er- skine's legs, shut his eyes, and clung to him fran- tically. "what's the matter, tonyß" erskine had asked him, holding him. "oh! oh! i'm so scared," tony had whimpered. “now, now,” erskine had said. “it's nothing. don't cryl i'm here with you..." in the end erskine too had grown frightened, for he could feel what was frightening the child. what could he do for tony? he's all mixed up... he ought to talk to mrs. blake about tony... but had he the right to interfere? he had stooped and gath- ered up the bombing planes from the sidewalk and handed them to tony. but tony would not take them; he backed off, shaking his head, turning his face away. "i don't want 'em; i don't want 'em," tony had sobbed, flinging out his hands. "but they're yours, tony,” he'd tried to persuade the child. “take 'em and keep 'em.” "they scare me; they scare mel” he'd sobbed. tony had started running towards the entrance of the building. erskine had been of a mind to run after him, to try to comfort him, but he checked himself. the bombing planes suddenly felt loath- some in his hands and he had an impulse to toss richard wright them into the street. but, no ... he'd be acting like tony if he did that ... he sighed, picturing tony hiding and sobbing somewhere, trembling and brood- ing over images of life much too big and compli- cated for him. he took the abandoned bombing planes and gave them to mrs. westerman. “just keep these for tony, won't you?” he'd asked her. “he forgot them and left them on the sidewalk.” "he, he-” mrs. westerman had chuckled. “that child's a case. he's always doing that. he's a queer child, he is ... he plays alone, then gets scared and runs off and leaves his toys." “does he do that all the time pas "all the time,” mrs. westerman had said, shaking her head. “he's scared of something..." erskine had been so angry and depressed that he had not wanted to eat his dinner that night. he still sat hunched on the bench in central park, staring at the green grass long after the images of tony's tortured fare and his bombing planes had vanished from his mind. good god... now, he understood it. yes, poor little tony had thought that he, naked, frantic, wild-eyed, had been about to fight him and fear had made him lose his balance and topple ... christ, were there happenings like that in this world? were there shadows of that density lurking behind these bright, straight streets? he longed to discuss this with somebody, but he felt that at the very moment of uttering his words to describe it, its reality would somehow vanish. strangely, the accident had happened more than four hours ago, and it was not until this moment that he had realized the truth. .. brooding, the memory of his own long dead moth- er returned to him. yes; he understood tony. he savage holiday too recalled watching strange men tramping in and out of the house in his childhood, and he felt a surging sense of terror, old, buried, trying to re- capture him. he cut the distasteful recollection short by doubling his fists, rising and glaring about, ob- livious of his surroundings. he muttered out loud: "women oughtn't to do things like that..." , nu de votom again his emotions became religious. the cer- tainty he had felt in church returned. he must some- how redeem what had happened to tony! that was it! conviction hardened in him. in redeeming tony, he'd be redeeming himself. how neatly the double motives fitted! he'd help to purge the world of such darkness ... how right he'd been in refusing to ac- cept blame for tony's death; it hadn't been his fault at all. only an ignorantly lustful woman could spin such spider webs of evil to snare men and innocent children! as he walked he told himself with the staunchest conviction of his life: “that mrs. blake's the guilty one..." he entered a cafeteria and toyed absently with a plate of food. on the sidewalk again, he headed slowly toward home. in the lower hallway of the building he met mrs. westerman. "what about tony?” he asked her. mrs. westerman shook her head and closed her eyes. "ah, that poor thing... god bless his soul ... he died still holding that toy pistol of his,” she said. “i think it was one you gave him." ; “did they find out how he fell?" “he was just playing and fell,” mrs. westerman told him. “that's what the medical examiner said. and, of course, the child never regained conscious- ness." richard wright "is there anything i can do for mrs. blake?" he asked her. mrs. westerman let her deep, gray eyes rest melt- ingly on erskine's face. "you're so kind, mr. fowler," she sighed. “tony was so fond of you. he spoke of you all the time. told me many times that he wished you were his daddy ... he was so alone, that child.” mrs. wester- man shook her head and closed her eyes again. “lord, i don't know ..." her voice trailed off. “what do you mean, mrs. westerman?" erskine asked, sensing that she was about to say something about mrs. blake. "i just don't know," mrs. westerman repeated significantly. "what are you talking about?" erskine demanded, hugging his bible and sunday-school-book tightly, feeling tension entering him. "i'm not one to judge others, mr. fowler," mrs. westerman said, looking erskine full in the face. "you can speak frankly to me,” he told her. mrs. westerman drew a deep breath, waved her hand in front of her eyes as though to brush aside a repellant image, and then lifted her hands in a gesture of disgust. "that woman ... and she calls herself a mother," mrs. westerman sighed again. plainly she wanted to be coaxed to talk. "yes,” erskine said, feeling relieved, “i under- stand.” "she's upstairs now. just got back from the un- dertaker, she did. she's just shattered. but she blames everybody but herself for what happened. she says she wants to sue the building for letting that railing be loose like that... says she's sure somebody must've been on that balcony_" richard wright ее "oh! but i thought she said that she was sleep ing when tony fell” "she was; she claims—" "then how could she see somebody on my bal- conyps "she says she got up once to signal to tony not to make so much noise,” mrs. westerman explained. “then she says that she went back to bed ... for a long while, she says, she didn't hear anything ... she got worried, thinking that tony had gone down into the street ... she then went to her window again and couldn't see tony. now, here's the funny part of it... she says that she saw feet... somebody's feet dangling in the air ... she says that she thought that it was some other child playing with tony, you understand? i'll tell you her very words ... 'naked feet dangling in the air'... can you imagine that? maybe she was drunk; she admits she'd been drink- ing a little ... mr. fowler, i could still smell liquor on her breath when she went down with me in the elevator to see tony's little body lying there ..." mrs. westerman shrugged. "or maybe she's all mixed up, in a kind of fog or something; you know? maybe she's remembering the man who was with her, hunh? could be, couldn't it, mr. fowler? she feels guilty now and she's trying to think up some- thing out of thin air to take the blame off of her..." “but i don't understand,” erskine protested, blink- ing. "why, that's my balcony... i heard nobody out there but tony; he was beating his drum ... and how could she talk of seeing someone naked out there ...po he choked, but managed to continue. "and what's all that got to do with tony's falling?? "nothing, if you ask me, mr. fowler,” mrs. west- erman said stoutly. "and my husband'll say the same thing. he's not here now; he's down at the police savage holiday station trying to answer all their damn-fool ques- tions. listen, i think she was drunk, drunk as a coot. i think she was confused and i'd say so in court under oath, so help me god.” “but how could she see onto my balcony?" er- skine asked. he knew well that she could see his balcony, but he thought it best to establish his ig- norance of that; he wanted to be totally innocent of everything connected with tony's falling. "from her kitchen window, if she leaned out a little-" “oh," he breathed, pretending surprise, “i didn't know that.” "she can get a tiny glimpse of your balcony... but, mr. fowler, she didn't see anything; take my word for it,” mrs. westerman swore. “i told her to her face that i doubted if she saw anything or any- body on the balcony but tony ... listen, mr. fowl- er, she's just like all these loose women; they're a dime a dozen ... when somebody catches 'em with a man, they start yelling: “rapel it's a wonder she didn't say it was a nigger she saw. you understand?" "i understand,” erskine said, nodding. “ 'naked feet dangling in the air' on the balcony," mrs. westerman repeated mrs. blake's words in a tone of derision. “and, would you believe it, she said that those feet were going up, mind you; those naked feet were going up in the air! when i told her that that was impossible, she switched back to that damned iron railing..." “say, just how drunk was she when she went down this morning to see tony?” erskine asked her shrewdly. "hal” mrs. westerman exclaimed dramatically, rolling her eyes at him. she sucked her lungs full of air and launched out: “listen, mr. fowler, you richard wright punk waving at her from the car before he drove off ... of course, sometimes they went up with her, but don't ask me what they did! now, she's alone... what kind of friends did she have, i ask you?" "god only knows,” erkine sighed. “yes, god only knows,” mrs. westerman readily relished the phrase and rolled it on her tongue. she shook her head. "it's a pity that a fine, christian man like you has to be bothered with the likes of her, mr. fowler. oh, that mrs. blake ... she sure upset us all today. my poor husband came tearing in here, white as flour, asking me to phone upstairs and tell mrs. blake that her son was hurt. would you believe it? i had to wait on that phone till she was sober enough to understand what i was saying ... that phone rang six times before it could wake her out of a drunken sleep..." . "tsk, tsk, tsk,” erskine clucked his tongue and shook his head; his legs were trembling. "well, let's all hope for the best,” mrs. wester- man sang, throwing a bright, ironic smile at erskine. “yes. well, see you later,” erskine said. he rode up in the elevator, thinking: she saw someone on the balcony... but she isn't sure ... good god! she was close ... would she tell the police what she had seen, or had mrs. westerman's scornful rejection of her confused perceptions made her hesitate? he entered his apartment and stared at the bulk of the unread sunday paper. how like a dream it all was! no; it was real. tony's death was real; tony's timid questions about where babies came from were real... he lay on his unmade bed and the afternoon wore on. the sky grew gradually dark and deep shadows entered the room. he rose and stared moodily out of his open window at the window of mrs. blake's living room and was sur- savage holiday prised to see a light burning there. her window was up too. go and see her now ... no; wait... wait for what? he didn't know. he gave a start as his phone rang. he picked up the receiver and heard a dim hum, and back of that hum he caught the faint sounds of street traffic, honking of auto horns, a policeman's whistle ... “hello,” he called into the phone. silence. “hello, hello," he repeated. still silence, but the sounds of street traffic were still audible. “hello!” he raised his voice, his eyes worried. the line clicked. hmnnn.i. had someone waited just long enough to hear his voice, and then hung up? he cradled the phone and stared. had someone, besides mrs. blake, seen him naked on that balcony? but, if they had, wouldn't they have spoken to the police about it before now? oh, maybe that had been mrs. blake? he rushed to his open window and heard the sound of her television set: music was playing. the sound he'd heard on the phone was that of street traffic... he shook his head; he was too wrought up; he was imagining things. who- ever had called would call again no doubt... he sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers though his damp hair. it was almost night. restless, he rose and stood at his window and stared at the lights of the city. he spun round as his phone rang again. he snatched it up and spoke: "hello!” there was no answer. this time there was a ca- cophony of faint voices, as though the transmitter on the other end was picking up sounds in a bar or restaurant. he darted to his open window and peered into mrs. blake's living room. the clear richard wright strains of music were still coming over ... definitely, it was not mrs. blake who was phoning him. "hello, hello," he spoke frantically into the phone. "mr. fowler ...?” it was a distant, strained voice of a woman. "yes; this is mr. fowler speaking. what is it?" no answer ... “yes? who's speaking?" “i saw what happened," a thin, tinny voice wailed in his ear. the line clicked. erskine felt that some giant hand had snatched him from contact with the living world and had lifted him high up into a cold region where there was no air to breathe. he jiggled the hook. "hello, hello," he whispered into the phone. the line was dead. there was now no doubt about it; he'd been seen by somebody other than mrs. blake ... but what was the motive? blackmail? god, he ought to go to the police this moment, right now; he was a fool to blunder around like this in a stupid funk. it'd be said that his staying away from the police was proof of guilt. and the longer he waited, the more difficult it would be for him to justify his not having told the police right off. indeed, if he went now, they'd certainly want to know why he'd waited so long... and that was why he didn't go ... cause was becoming effect, and effect cause. he cradled the phone and a look of defiance came into his face. all right, suppose someone had seen him? so what? what had he done wrong? nothing ... he'd wait and see what that woman who'd called him would do. he'd wait... why, he was acting as if he'd really killed tony. if anyone had killed tony, it was that confounded mrs. blake ... savage holiday he was alert, hearing sounds coming from his balcony, just outside of his bathroom window. were the police examining that iron railing? no; not at this time of night ... maybe it was the superin- tendent? he'd go and see. and what was that bal- cony door doing open at this time of night, anyway? it was usually locked ... well, it was his balcony, wasn't it? he'd look. he went into the brightly lighted hallway and quickly opened the door to the balcony and a shaft of light from the hall ceiling fell upon the somber face of mrs. blake who had turned and was staring at him with parted lips and a look of fright in her large, dark eyes. "oh, lord," she sighed, "you scared me." "i'm sorry," he mumbled. “i heard someone here ... it's you, mrs. blake ..." she turned from him and hung her head. did she suspect him of anything? "i feel simply dreadful about tony," he told her. she wept softly with her head turned away, her body making a sharp silhouette against the blue- black density of the night sky. he saw that she'd been trying to drag the heavy electric hobbyhorse into the hallway. the superintendent had, no doubt, given her the key to the balcony door ... she was dressed in a rose-colored nylon robe and a slight, rain-scented wind was making her tumbling black locks tremble about her face and eyes. his nostrils caught a whiff of an intriguing perfume. erskine was seized by a state of numbed anxiousness. "oh, let me help you with that,” he said, going to her. "don't bother,” she muttered. what did that sullen tone of voice mean? "ill help you.” he spoke with an undertone of re- sentment. richard wright she stared at him for a moment, then began weeping afresh, covering her face with her hands, leaning against the sagging iron railing which wob- bled perilously as her weight impinged upon it. "be carefull he told her, taking her arm and pull- ing her roughly from the edge of the balcony. "it's dangerous there..." "i don't care," she whimpered... "you don't know what you're saying," he told her. "poor tony," she sobbed. "i feel like dying..." "you must take care of yourself," he said. she continued weeping as though she had not heard; she leaned now against the brick wall of the building. the thought shot through erskine's mind that if she'd fallen accidentally over that iron rail- ing, there'd be one person less to say that they'd seen him or "naked feet" on the balcony this morn- ing... the idea created such instant horror in his mind-it was as though the idea had been pushed upon his attention by some force that he was seized - with pity for her and he sought at once for some- thing to banish the notion, to cover it up. touch- 'ing the tips of the pencils in his inner coat pocket, he stared at her shuddering body and his fear and moral condemnation of her filed and he yearned to soothe her. timidly, he patted her shoulder. "there, now ... you must brace up... ll take these things inside for you. where do you want them? in your apartment? "yes,” she gulped. then she whispered: “tony was so deeply fond of you.” she coughed. “next to me, he loved you most in this world ..." "and i loved him too,” he said quickly. as she leaned against the wall, she sobbed. he picked up the tricycle, a baseball bat, a toy rifle, and savage holiday a drum and placed them in the hallway in front of her door. was that image of those “naked feet dangling” in her mind still? he lifted the heavy electric hobbyhorse and put it in front of her apart- ment door; when he returned to the balcony, she'd gathered up the remaining toys. gently he took the things from her and, with his left arm full, he guided her with his right down the hallway. she unlocked the door of her apartment and went in and stood, dabbing at her eyes and trying to con- trol her twisting lips. "where do you keep this pas he asked. “just leave 'em," she managed to say. "i'll put 'em away for you “there, in the hall closet," she whimpered. he stored away all the toys except the electric hobbyhorse which was too big for the closet. "where do you keep this?” he asked. "i'll have to take it apart,” she mumbled, sinking into a chair and weeping again, her bosom heaving. her wet cheeks and her trembling body chas- tened him; her grief was so genuine, so simple, that his conception of her as an evil, giant, entangling spider-mother seemed remote. she was a poor woman who needed counselling and understanding and her stricken humanity appealed to him powerfully. he did not take his eyes off her until she looked at him. he saw that the hobbyhorse was attached by bolts to a metal base containing an electric motor. "have you a screwdriver?” he asked her. "no. but there's a knife in the kitchen. it's what i use," she gasped, trying to stem her weeping. but the tears continued to stream down her face. he flicked on the light in the kitchen and searched in a table drawer and found a big, sharp, butcher knife. five minutes later he had the hobbyhorse richard wright taken apart and stored away in the closet. holding the knife, he stood over her. she still wept, her face hidden in her arms. "is there something else you want me to dopus he asked her, his eyes searching over her slumped form. she straightened and, seeing the knife, leaped from her chair and backed off with terror in her face. "what's the matter pºs he asked, feeling terror too. "that knife ... don't point it at me like that...i can't stand knives!” she cried. he looked down in surprise at the knife in his hand; he had forgotten that he was holding it. "i'm sorry," he mumbled. was she afraid of him? did she think that he'd killed tony and was now trying to kill her? he put the knife in the kitchen; when he returned, she forced a smile. “i'm sorry... i act so silly," she apologized. "you are a little unstrung," he commented. they were silent. he recalled that awful thought that he'd had about her falling off the balcony, as , tony had fallen, and now he was wondering what she'd seen in his face to make her leap up in terror when he'd stood over her with that knife in his hand ... he had to struggle to overcome thoughts of death about her and it made him almost hysterically anxious to help her. it was only when he was react- ing to her distress that he felt right about her. "you've been so kind," she murmured. “god, i must look a sight...” she cocked her head and her right hand fussed nervously with her disordered hair. "i wish i could be of some help to you," he mumbled humbly. “after all, tony was a little friend of mine. i used to talk with him a lot, you know ..." her eyes rested full on him with that same blank, savage holiday - - bleak stare that he'd seen that morning; or was he imagining it...? "he babbled about you always,” she said, closing her eyes. "he hadn't had much of a father in his little life, and he was always talking of your being his father..." she flashed a twisted, shy smile that begged forgiveness. “just a child's notion,” she ex- plained, turning her head away quickly to hide her trembling lips. "he was a lonely child, wasn't hep” he ventured to ask, remembering tony's fear that early skylit evening when he'd been frightened by his "fighting bombing planes. she stared and lowered her head guiltily, like a scolded child. “i'm afraid he was," she said, sighing. “next year he would have been in the country. now, he's gone ... i can't believe it." she looked at him, then her eyes fell; a wistful smile flitted across her lips as she murmured: “he was always asking for a father ..." she stood ab- ruptly, turned, her eyes blinded with tears. her hand groped for the jamb of the door and she stumbled. he seized her arm and guided her to a sofa in her living room and helped her down on it. a floor lamp with a deep tan shade shed a bright cone of yellow light upon her cascading black hair, the creamy, satiny skin of her naked arms, the throbbing aliveness of her throat, the ripe fullness of her breasts, and the helpless wetness of her face; her right leg, tapering and slanting, almost lost in shadow, extended at an angle across the rug and terminated in a tiny foot jammed tightly into a black pump shoe and it made a lump rise in his throat... suddenly she slid down upon the sofa until her nylon, rose-colored robe fell away and her right richard wright leg, nude to her thigh, sprawled with a dimpled knee. with shut eyes she keened a low, tense moan: "tony... tony ... tony..." she twisted her body round and buried her face in the back of the sofa, as though yearning to es- cape the presence of an implacably monstrous world. erskine felt pinioned in space. a fleeting glimmer of intuition made him suspect her of play- ing the role of an emotional agent provocateur to lure him into disclosing what he knew, but the no- tion was too far-fetched and he dismissed it from his mind. blending in one wild wave, shame, anger, and guilt rose in him. his feelings were trying fum- blingly to resolve themselves into something defi- nite about the woman; but she hovered before him elusive, now threatening, now appealing ... as she continued to weep, a part of her left breast showed and he could see a dark reddish tint circling the nipple, glowing like a shy shadow through her nylon brassiere. he was transfixed, swamped by a hot desire to protest her nudity, yet he could not take his eyes off her. and her nudity was so clearly, un- intentionally the product of a, pounding grief shat- tering her that all her blatant sensuality seemed redeemed, annihilated. so ransomed was her sexuality by her suffering that he wanted to get to his knees and beg her to forgive him, to absolve him for hav- ing accidentally scared poor tony to death .... as he watched her lithe body writhe on the sofa, he recalled mrs. westerman's having said that she had seen "naked feet dangling on his balcony ... fear slowed the beat of his heart. was she acting? how did one take a woman like this? he strove to simplify his emotions about her, and he couldn't. he wanted to reach out and cover her nakedness, richard wright this not his chahis arms so that moved him as much yet, she was so broken, abandoned ... but was this not his chance to save this woman, to own her, to hold her in his arms so that no one could, would want to claim her? the idea moved him as much toward revulsion as toward compassion, as much toward wanting to slap her as toward wanting to caress her-to fling her from his sight or take her and tell her what life could mean, ought to mean... he mopped clumsily at the sweat on his face. in him something was teetering, reeling as tony had when he had lost his footing and tumbled from the balcony .... “you know, you must take hold of yourself." he made himself speak, amazed at how compassionate his tone was. she grew still and glared stonily before her. "nobody knows anything of my life.” she spoke in a bitter tone. "that's right,” he urged her softly, "go ahead and talk. it'll help you.. "they're saying all kinds of things about me" “who?" "that awful mrs. westerman, and the others too," she said. she stared at him sulkily and mumbled. “and maybe you too, for all i know_" “oh, no!” he protested, blushing. she was like a mistreated child now and he felt more confident as his mind encompassed the narrow range of her re- actions. the simpler she was, the safer he felt. “now, now ... you mustn't let things like that bother you,” he told her soothingly, remembering that, just a few hours ago, he'd agreed heartily with mrs. westerman. "that mrs. westerman's saying it's all my fault,» she whimpered. “and god knows what else she's saying about me... but how could i help what hap- pened? i work nights ..." : savage holiday he wanted to ask her if she'd been drunk, as mrs. westerman had said, but he decided not to. "you work?” he asked gently, leading her to talk. “of course i do," she said, showing astonishment that he should ask. "how do you think i live? i'm not rich_” “what kind of work do you dope he asked. "i have the hat-check concession in the red moon." she spoke with a certain defiance. . “the red moon? what's that?" "a nightclub," she said flatly. “and it's hard to make ends meet, really. i've got five other girls em- ployed with me on a percentage basis. after rent, expenses, and the kickback i have to give to the nightclub owner, what have i left? just enough to get by on ... i wanted so much to hire a colored woman to look after tony, but i'd have to pay fifty dollars a week. i can't afford it. and i work such long, long hours . . . that's why i always come home so late. and god knows what people think i'm do- ing... how could i look after tony and earn my living at the same time?" her voice died in her throat. more sinned against than sinning, he told himself with satisfaction, relishing the advantage that his money and social status gave him over her. "i've never been in a nightclub," he told her mus- ingly. “reallyp" she stared at him. “well, working in a nightclub's just like working any other place ... the people who have fun in such places are not those who work in them.” "i guess you're right,” he said. “there's no guessing about it.” she spoke bitterly. "try it once." richard wright "naked feetp erskine tried to make his voice sound disbelieving; he felt sweat on his face. “that's what i thought i saw,” she mumbled, blink- ing, begging him with her eyes to believe her. "but what do you meanphe demanded. "it sounds odd, i know," she agreed. “the super and his wife, that mrs. westerman, won't believe me. they don't like me, anyway... but that's what i saw..." "you think you saw that?” he asked her pointedly. "i saw feet ... real f-feet; they w-were going u- up_” she broke off in confusion and her face red- dened. "you think that somebody was on that balcony with tonypa "i don't know. but-" "maybe tony fell from some other floor," he sug- gested. "he did play on other floors, didn't he?" “yes,” she breathed, her eyes cast down. “that's true ... oh, god, i don't know!” she looked at him hopefully. “maybe that was a workman i saw ...po "on a sunday morning" there was a trace of scorn in his voice. "and what would he be doing barefootedpas "i don't know," she answered in a singsong voice. “maybe tony pulled off his shoes and was climb ing," he suggested. “boys do things like that, you know, in the summertime" “no; no ... these were big feet i saw," she as- serted stoutly. "could you be certain of how big they were from that distance?" he asked in a district attorney's tone. “maybe you were looking at another balcony," "i don't know, i don't know..." “are you sure that you didn't see a reflection or savage holiday something?" he pressed her gently, sympatheti- cally. "i know it sounds wild ... you didn't hear any- thing on the balcony, did you?” she asked suddenly. “tony woke me up with his drum," he said easily. "then i went back to sleep" "i'm sorry," she apologized; yet it was evident that she was not at all satisfied. “were you alone?" he questioned her, wanting to see if she'd lie about the man who had spent the night with her. resentment flickered in her eyes and two red spots bloomed in her cheeks and spread till her en- tire face burned. yes; she knows that mrs. wester- man has talked to me... “yes,” she said uneasily, "at that time i was.” she looked off, biting her lips. she had evaded telling him the truth. a little whore ... he felt more and more justified in not tell- ing her that it was his feet dangling in the air that she had seen just before he had fallen through his window into the bathroom. yet, clashing with his feeling of justification was a sense of anger and jealousy for her living so loosely, sloppily, for her giving herself so easily. he felt that she had no moral claim upon him, yet he wanted to save her, rescue her, and find out something about the strange man who'd spent the night with her ... and, under it all, his heart was sullen and guilty because he realized that his emotions were hopelessly contradictory. "if you'd seen 'naked feet' like that,” he advised her with sudden coldness, "you should have called someone" "everybody's telling me what i should have donel” she lamented, bursting into a wild sob. “i didn't know ... maybe i only thought i saw something richard wright ..." she was almost ready to give up her story. in despair she flung back her head and covered her eyes with her hands; her knees spread and the folds of her robe fell away and he was looking at the quick thickening of her thighs as they curved up- ward. now, since his fear was abating, she was begin- ning to excite him all the more. she sat up at last and stared at him with full eyes clouded with tears and he could not meet her gaze. "for tony's sake, i'd like to help you in this,” he told her haltingly. "you're very kind ..." she smiled at him suddenly, smiled with tears in her eyes. “it helps a lot when you can talk to somebody. i don't know why you bother with me. you know, i've always been a little scared of you." "whypa. "well, i don't know really. you always seem so friendly, yet so faraway, in another world_" "i'm not faraway at all, my dear," he told her, his confidence waxing, feeling that he had no need to be uneasy with her now. "i'm no intellectual,” she said, concerned with the impression that she was making. “i'm just a straight- from-the-shoulder, down-to-earth woman who says what she thinks. if i don't do or say the right thing, it's just because i don't always know what the right thing to say or do is ..." she smiled a smile that in- dicated that, though she was humble, she knew her intrinsic worth. "don't let that bother you," he coaxed her. her face showed sudden consternation. she stood abruptly and placed the index finger of her right hand to her temple and shook her head. “lord, i've forgotten to get little tony's clothes to gether," she wailed. “the undertaker wanted them savage holiday as soon as possible... i'm so worried that i don't know if i'm going or coming..." "is there anything i can do?" "i'm going to lay his little things out," she said, going into the next room. erskine sat and brooded. he'd help her; it was his duty to ... but what a woman! she had no more morals than a cat... at last he now understood how she was able to live in the elmira apartments; she had a bat-check concession in a nightclub. well... he'd lend a helping hand to this woman who'd killed her child's spirit even before the child's body had been accidentally killed .... mrs. blake returned to the room with an armful of tony's clothes which she placed gently on a chair. slowly she lifted up one of the child's garments and stared at it with troubled eyes. “my little baby," she began weeping again. "god, tell me what happened to him! tony, you're not gone... it can't, it can't be truel” erskine choked back a wild and hot impulse to tell her what had happened. no; she'd never believe the simple truth, would she? and she'd wonder why he hadn't told before. her tears unhinged him and he sat numbed and helpless. "you mustn't give way, you know," he implored her. gradually she quieted a bit, then looked around with eyes swimming in tears. she rose and went to the sofa and picked up the crumpled copy of the new york times and proceeded to spread it out and place the clothes on it. she was unfolding the second section when she paused and stared down intently at something that erskine could not see. "look!” she called in a low, breathless voice. "what?” he answered. richard wright "it's blood!" she almost screamed, dropping the papers from her hands. “look!" erskine ran to her side. the sheet of newspaper lay at her feet and he saw on it a huge, irregular blotch of what was undoubtedly blood; it had soaked through several layers of the newspaper and glared guiltily at him ... “that's blood; isn't it?" she asked in a whisper. erskine froze and did not answer; as he stared he recalled what had happened. while in the hallway, he'd been holding his newspaper in his right hand; but, after he'd returned from the balcony, he, without knowing it, had switched the papers into his wounded left hand. and, upon leaving miss brown- ell's door, he had had the idea of exchanging her paper for his! and he hadn't realized that his bleeding left palm had left this telltale blotch of blood... now, how could be explain that stain of blood? each moment seemed to bring forth some incident to enforce his silence about the truth. slowly, furtively, he secreted his taped left palm ... "that’s blood,” she said, talking more to herself than to him. "looks like it,” he mumbled, not knowing what else to say. "but..." turning, she looked full at him. “do you think tony was hurt before he fell?” "i don't know," he said. "what happened to my child?" she wailed again, gritting her teeth in anguish. he lifted the wad of newspaper, took it to the light, and made a pretense of examining it closely. what could he tell her? she'd take this bloody wad of newspaper to the police, unless he stalled her off somehow. savage holiday “do you think someone bothered tonyps she asked. "it's hard to tell," he said. "he might have hurt himself, maybe" "but he'd bave called me if he had," she insisted, her eyes blinking in bewilderment. he had to think of something; yes; he had it ... "oh,” he pretended surprise. “i heard him crying this morning," “crying? "yes; i heard his drum; it woke me up ... then i heard him crying in the hallway,” he explained, actu- ally visualizing what he was recounting. “i remember now; i went back to sleep, listening to his crying_" “then he was hurt," she said. "might've fallen off the hobbyhorse," he said with a hot and dry throat. "but my paper was in front of my door," she said. "then he must have come into the hallway and tried to stop the blood with the newspaper,” erskine told her. "but he ought to have called me," she protested, standing, her eyes wide with wonder. "maybe he thought you'd punish him," he argued. his words had a tremendous effect upon her; she turned her face from him, sank upon the heap of clothes in the chair, and sobbed. "don't say that,” she begged. “mrs. westerman tells everybody that tony was scared of me... no; no; no... tony, tony, what did mummy do to you? i wasn't mean, tony; tony, my poor little helpless baaaby..." she gulped. “i whipped him when he was bad, when he wouldn't obey ... but what else could i do?" erskine watched her like a hawk. her sense of guilt and her grief were making her accept what he'd sug- savage holiday "i mean somebody with whom you can discuss all this?" "i wouldn't dare tell the people i know how ] live" "but don't you think we ought to show these bloody papers to the police?” he asked her again, boldly. "what good would that do?" she asked despair. ingly. “it must've happened like you said; he hurt himself and was scared, scared of me... and i don't want people to talk and talk about me!” "look, you must brace up..." she sat upright and stared stonily at the floor. "i'm more alone than you can imagine,” she con- fessed. then, fearing that she was becoming too quickly intimate, she asked him: “say, don't you want something?” she glanced down at herself. “oh, god, i look a mess tonight... look, how about a drink?s "no. thank you." "a cup of coffee, thens "well, ll take one with you." "good." as she went into the kitchen, he watched the flowing movements of her body under the rose colored robe. her sheer animality gripped him with wonder. listening to her bustling in the kitchen, he knew that he'd made, in spite of himself, an emo- tional commitment. but what was he to do with the woman? he didn't know her; he had to be careful. maybe she was trying to trap him, preparing black- mail? yet he sat, impatiently waiting for her return ... why was he so glad to welcome her gestures of modesty, even though he thought her a whore? why had her plea of ignorance put him so quickly at ease? she knew exactly, instinctively, how to put confi- savage holiday at it now; he'd wait a little ... ahl his waiting would be predicated upon his helping her arrange tony's funeral; that would keep him near her. how won- derfully it all coincided! not a single strand would dangle loose! at last she came in with a tray filled with ham sandwiches, a pot of coffee, sugar, and cream. "oh, mrs. blake, you shouldn't've bothered, really" "but i haven't had a bite to eat today," she told him. "i'm hungry too,” he admitted. "i'm mabel,” she murmured coyly, placing his cup of coffee on an end table next to his easy chair. "and i'm erskine,” he said, smiling. they ate in silence. now that he'd decided to go all the way, he studied her. she was of medium height; her deep-set eyes were dark brown and held a remote, shy, impulsive look; her mouth was a little large without being in any way loose, with shapely, strong lips; but what excited him most were strong white teeth which, through her almost always slightly parted lips, could be seen hovering in her mouth, as though waiting to bite... "you know, mabel,” he began quietly, "i'm an in- surance man. only yesterday i retired after thirty years. i'm quite free and i'd be only too glad to handle the arrangements for tony." she paused with a mouthful of food, swallowed, and tears flooded her eyes. .. "oh, god," she sighed, "would you do that? i'm so lost.. “there, there," he consoled her, patting her arm, secretly glad of the firm but yielding flesh beneath the tips of his fingers. her face reflected humble admiration. o and i'm quite freents for tony: food, swallowed, richard wright "you're retired?" she asked incredulously. "but you're so young "i'm forty-three.” he struggled to keep pride out of his voice. “and i'm twenty-nine," she said absently. “but how could you retire so early?" "i started work when i was thirteen." she shook her head; she couldn't understand it. "i began working when i was twelve, and i'm getting nowhere,” she confessed. he basked in the glory of the praise in her eyes. “tell me, what plans have you for tony?" "i hate to be such a bother." "you're not. and i want to help. really, i do." "i'm not used to someone taking worries off my mind,” she said wistfully. “it makes me a little scared.” "why?" “you're spoiling me,” she smiled at him. "financially, are you able— "i've a little money ..." her lips pouted sadly. "since mark, my husband, died-he was killed in the war-i've had to do everything alone. but it's hard ... i was saving mark's government insurance money to put tony through college. now, he's gone... and they're whispering that i neglected him. i'm just the butt of everybody's gossip. i didn't want tony to grow up in new york, but my parents weren't able to help me with 'im " "where do your parents live?” "in pennsylvania; a place called altoona. i was born in pittsburgh. my father's dead, but my mother's living. she's remarried. she and my step- father work,” "do you ever see your mother? hear from her?” "not often,” she admitted, blushing. “you see, savage holiday my life's so upside down, what with my working nights ... after twelve hours in that hot, smoky nightclub, all i'm fit for is to tumble into bed." she gazed off somberly, her breasts hanging full under her robe. watching her, his heart beat faster; then a counter-movement of his consciousness began as there rose before his eyes an image of what tony called "fighting. anger inhibited hts swelling sense of desire. this woman bothered him: one moment she seemed so intimately close; the next moment she was in flight, captured by alien realities ... who was this man who'd stayed with her last night? - “do you ever think of changing your life, mabel? he asked her out of a mood of his brooding. "what do you meanp” she asked; she was self-con- scious, wary. do you want to go on like this? "but what in the world can i do?" she wailed. she sulked. “i'm so tired of drifting." she sighed. “when i was married, things were simple." her helplessness lifted erskine out of his fog of doubt. yes; he could handle her... she was begging for guidance. "do you ever go to church?" "i used to, but i've no time now," she said. "one learns to live by following moral laws," he said. “yes; i know," she said lamely she'd never had a chance and she'd be a willing pupil, and he'd cure her of her moral lapses. they talked in muted tones and she entrusted to him the full details of tony's funeral and made out a check to cover the expenses. "ill take this burden off your poor shoulders, mabel," he promised her. "oh, thank god for you, erskinel" richard wright "i'd better let you rest now," he said, rising. “i'm close by, you know. if you want or need anything, just holler." "you're so kind," "it's nothing.” a thought struck him. “say, you didn't phone me today, did you?” she seemed startled; her lips moved silently before she answered. "mepp “yes." "why, no. why?" "it's nothing. forget it." he squeezed her hand gently; in the doorway she told him good night as though she'd known him for a long time, and her face held an expression of inno- cent waiting. but, when alone in his apartment, he was troubled. did she still believe that she'd seen "naked feet dan- gling”? what did she really think of that stain of blood on the newspapers? and who was that woman who'd called and said that she'd seen what had hap- pened? yes; wouldn't being close to mabel put that woman at a disadvantage? later, he'd tell mabel everything, he'd make her understand how it had happened ... but his doubts persisted. he yearned to believe that she was as innocent, as good as a boy believes his mother to be, but her manner told him that that was impossible. his desire for her was so close to his rejection of her that he couldn't separate the two. his mind was far too literal in its functioning to per- mit him to disentangle such conflicting emotions. whenever he sought a compromise of his love-hate struggle, he grew distressed. he lay on his warm bed with wide eyes, staring until dawn; just before sunrise he fell into a fitful doze. savage holiday he awakened in a mood of calm soberness. how could he have felt such a headlong predilection for mabel? he was so astonished at what he'd felt that it was like being told of the meandering emotions of someone vaguely known to him. was it possible that he'd felt like that last night? hadn't he explained that spot of blood on the newspapers sufficiently for mabel to forget it? and who'd believe her tale of “naked' feet dangling"? wasn't his fear of her unnecessary? but that phone call ...? mabel hadn't mentioned phoning him and he believed in her; she'd been distracting herself with her television set when he'd received that call. who, then, was that woman? mrs. westerman? why should she do that? she'd been in her basement apartment when tony had fallen. well, he'd wait and see if whoever it was that called would repeat their call. if they did, he'd go straight to the police. as an insurance expert, he had some experience with the criminal mind. now, if mabel had seen "naked feet dangling," wouldn't she behave exactly as she was now behaving? she was a hatcheck girl in a nightclub and maybe she'd confided her story to some of her boy or girl friends? wouldn't that ac- count for the fact that his mysterious caller had not asked for a confirmation, had not waited for a reac- tion? he'd simply been warned that someone knew ... someone had seen him nude on the balcony... but, if mabel was in on this, wouldn't she be more concerned about avenging tony's death? certainly. she'd not call and say that she'd seen what had happened, and then do nothing about it. no; mabel's reactions last night were genuine. some outsider made that phone call, but for what purpose? then, after all was said and done, there was but one solution: his being close to mabel would enable savage holiday ful for her level-headed sanity as she asked him shyly: “mr. fowler, don't you think i could make some breakfast for that mrs. blake? poor soul, she has no one to look after her.” “i'll ask her,” erskine said, avidly appropriating her suggestion. he found mabel's number in the phone book and dialed. “mabel? this is erskine ... good morning?” "oh, good morning,” mabel said in a sleepy, throaty voice. “did you sleep well?” he asked her; he was try- ing to picture how she looked in bed and his skin tingled. "i didn't sleep at all,” she complained in a grum- bling tone. “oh, dear! you've got to rest,” he told her. “you mustn't break down, you know. look, my maid's here. do you want her to bring you some coffee?" "i'd just love some,” mabel drawled in a thankful voice. “you're sure it's no trouble?” “none at all. and i'd like to talk to you for about half an hour regarding arrangements for tony, hunh?” "sure. come on over. god, you're wonderful to me. i don't know what to say,” she stammered. “don't say anything. listen, i'm going to bring you some sleeping pills. you've got to rest.” “thanks, erskine.” "see you." “ 'bye.” he hung up. "take her over something, minnie,” he said. "i sure will,” minnie agreed heartily. erskine smiled and relaxed on his pillow. but a moment later he was frowning. why hadn't he richard wright caught an echo of grief in her voice? she'd spoken as if she'd not lost her son! he wondered if perhaps she was not glad that tony was dead... the idea made him flinch; he grew angry with himself for having such notions. the more he thought of mabel the more he found himself unable to control the images that popped into his mind. he drained his coffee cup, rolled out of bed, shaved, showered, dressed, and went out and rang mabels doorbell. he was surprised at the mabel who opened the door. she was pert, brisk; she held a detached smile on her heavily rouged lips. her body was sheathed in a tight-fitting, dark silk frock and a cigarette dangled from her lips. he entered her apart- ment feeling that her new mood was subtly shutting him out of her life. he fought down an attitude of resentment. "erskine, dear, how on earth will i ever be able to repay you for all your trouble?” her voice indi- cated that she regretted having accepted his aid, that she'd reflected and thought better of the whole thing. “but i've done nothing for you yet,” he told her ar- dently. maybe someone else had offered to help her? he felt that she was in flight, evading him. he handed her a tiny bottle. “here are some sleeping pills. if you take two of them, you'll relax and sleep some.” "i don't know why you think of me,” she said, taking the bottle reluctantly. “i'm so much trouble ..." as she led him down the hallway to the living room, he felt that it was her sense of inferiority that was making her so different. her helplessness and gratitude rekindled his faith in her. yes; he could handle her ... savage holiday too soon?” he asked her bluntly. "you'll have to notify your relatives, your husband's relatives, won't you?” "no. i have no relatives here in the city, erskine," she said. “and tony's father's people are in califor- nia. i want the ceremony simple- “yes,” erskine agreed, fighting down his revul- sion. doesn't she understand anything? this is no way to bury anybody ... “but haven't you notified tony's father's people yet?” "not yet. i will ... later. when i have time" "but, look here, mabel,” he said, wanting to slap her. “you're inviting some friends, aren't you? what about invitations? “i'm inviting no one,” mabel said, her face white and her eyes staring. “just you, if you'll be so kind as to come, erskine.” tears glistened on her long, dark eye-lashes. “you see, erskine, i'm all alone in the world. i've no friends, really. i've no one i can really count on, that i can trust. i've nobody ..." her voice choked. erskine was stricken. his distrust and irritation fled. oh, god, what had he done to her? he'd judged her harshly a moment ago and now he hated himself. once more mabel was redeemed in his feelings; once more she was the abandoned, tragic queen of his heart, a queen whom he'd serve loyally, without reserye. she didn't even think enough of the other men she knew to invite them to the funeral ... only he was being invited. he rose, took her hand and patted it. "you can depend on me, mabel," he said in a husky voice. . "you shouldn't bother about me,” she whispered as she wept. "now, there" "i'm not worth it." richard wright "yes; you are worth it,” he scolded her gently, ten- derly. "and i don't want you to let me hear you talking like that again. brace up. ill attend to every- thing. why don't you take a sleeping pill and get some rest?” "ill try." "and íll see you right after lunch, hunhas “yes,” she sniffed. he picked up the suitcase and, after he'd let him- self quietly into the hallway, he heard her phone ringing again. he paused, waiting, frowning, listen- ing to mabel's muffled voice through the door panels. “hello." “oh, jack!" "it's so good to hear your voice too." “oh, i'm all right. just a little tired.” "no! i'm not working tonight.” » u » you did? how nice" "no; i won't be at the club this week. i'm really a little ill..." "darling... no; some other time, hunh? “ 'bye. thanks for calling, dear." erskine was so angry that he wanted to fling the suitcase out of his hand. how had he gotten himself into this? he rode down in the elevator, asking him- self: now, who's jack...? and again he'd noticed that she'd said not one word about tony's being dead. didn't she care? "she's unnatural,” he mut. savage holiday "just make it a simple, nondenominational, pro- testant service.” "very good, sir. with music, sir?" "yes. organ music..." "and a choir, sir?" "no. no choir." "have you any special selections of sacred music in mind, sir?” "no." "would half an hour of music be enough, sir?" "i guess so." "are there any special effects you wish to have registered, sir?" "special effects?" erskine asked, baffled. “the mother wouldn't mind if we put the toy pistol in the child's hand, would she, sir?” jenkins asked with a shadow of a smile. "he had his pistol in his right hand when they found him, they tell me. it makes him look so lifelike; don't you think, sir?” "no; no ... no special effects.” . “just as you say, sir.” erskine stifled his anger. mabel should have been “ with him; she should have told him what she wanted. why had she dumped all of this upon him? he had half a mind to cancel the funeral, set it for another date, make new arrangements, etc.; but he cast the thought aside. “how many guests are you inviting, sir? “not many,” erskine hedged. “will fifty seats be enough, sir?" “you'd better make it fifteen seats_-" “will fifteen seats be enough, sir?" "oh, most certainly,” he answered, unable to speak further. the truth was that even fifteen seats were too many ... he was edging toward the door in disgust. he savage holiday minnie came bustling in from the kitchen, wiping her wet hands on her apron. "mr. fowler!” she called. "yes, minnie?” “mrs. blake told me to tell you that she's gone down to get her hair done,” minnie told him, her eyebrows arched. "oh, yes,” he said, trying to hide his disgust. "she said she'd be back soon.' “thanks, minnie.” “your lunch'll be ready in a jiffy, mr. fowler,” min- nie informed him. erskine grimaced. "i'm not hungry, minnie. i don't want anything" “but you'll starve, mr. fowler!” "i can't eat now, minnie,” he said irritably. "i know," minnie said softly, shaking her head. “you're grieving over tony. but you oughta eat, mr. fowler..." "i'll eat out later, maybe.” "yes, sir." he sat in his living room, near the open window, sunk in thought. what's wrong with me? he asked himself. why was he letting himself get into such a state? yet, he had to admit that he was frantic to know if mabel had really gone to the beauty parlor ... how could she think of her hair and nails when her son lay dead on a metal table under a blue neon light? or had she gone to meet some man and had lied to minnie? he didn't know which of these two possibilities he could have hated more... a moment later he stiffened, hearing the low but distinct sound of mabel laughing! she had come in and was talking on the phonel he went to his open window and tried to steal a glimpse, by leaning dis- creetly out and peering into her living room. yes; richard wright he could catch a slither of an image of her nyloned leg and a tan pump shoe swinging to and fro beyond the jamb of the living room door as she talked on the phone. he couldn't overhear the conversation but, occasionally, a low, contented chuckle wafted to him. hell! he doubled his right fist, whirled back in- to the room, and smote the arm of his sofa. "she's a whorel” he swore out loud. "sir?” minnie's voice came from the kitchen. "nothing, minnie,” he muttered, looking about. minnie came to the door, her eyes round with sub- servience. “you want something, sir? "no; no ... i was talking to myself, i guess." minnie vanished, looking puzzled. he'd ditch mabel first thing tomorrow afternoon. damn her! how could she laugh like that the day after her child was dead? and she'd never laughed like that with him ... he ran his fingers through his tousled hair. she was not thinking of him or tony ... she was claimed elsewhere .. that cheap, cold monster! he could not hear her laughter now. ought he not to report his arrangements for tony's funeral and tell her off? then his mouth dropped open as he caught the metallic whir of a phone being dialed. ah, she's calling me now ... he leaped up and stood before his phone and waited. but his phone did not ring. he glanced toward her window, trying to vis- ualize what she was doing. then there came to him again the sound of her throaty, laughing voice float- ing on the hot, humid air of the sweltering afternoon, -laughter that was like gurgling water tumbling over rocks in a meadow. she's phoning somebody else ... that bitch! he threw himself full length upon his bed and closed his eyes, jamming his fist against his mouth, savage holiday "but he's just a boy,” she protested, frowning at him, containing herself. could he ever believe anything she told him? he got to his feet and his lips formed a line of resolve. by god, he'd let her know right now what he thought of such loose, vile conduct! "you mean that you didn't tell him about tony?” "no. why should i?" she countered stoutly. erskine blinked. maybe she knew a lot of things that she wasn't telling him ... at times this damned woman seemed so simple, so transparent; yet at other times she was so complicated, so full of shadows where no shadows had a right to be. “that seems odd—” "what's so odd about it?" she asked. “he's noth- ing to me. i don't want him in my life. he's a nice boy; he's a customer at the club, and—”. “look, mabel,” erskine confronted her. “of course, i've absolutely no right to say anything to you about what you do. but don't you think you're acting kind of hard ...? you just lost your son ... don't you think it's more fitting, more seemly, to remain at home, and not see so many men?” “but he's the only man who's come here, besides you," she said, her cheeks blazing. “and i had to get my hair done. i couldn't go to that funeral tomorrow looking like i was—" “you could have told this boy who was here that you didn't feel well, that your son was dead, that you couldn't receive him today!" he shot at her. “but he's nice!” she argued. “he comes to the red moon to drink" “but that doesn't give him the run of your house, does it?” she stood and her face flamed scarlet. “this is my house!” she screeched. “i receive whom richard wright i please\” she sucked in her breath. “you too? haven't i got enough trouble? my god, what do i do? what on earth do you think i'm doing with that boy? making lovepo erskine shuddered under the impact of her out- spoken attack. it was precisely because he'd thought that maybe she'd been making love with charles that he had accused her, but he had winced when she had put his thoughts into such hard, direct words. “why don't you leave me alone, if you think that i'm not good enough for you?" she cried. “why do you and that mrs. westerman keep riding me? i didn't ask you to come here! you said that you wanted to help mel now, i'm too low to be helped by you ... i told you i'm a hatcheck girl. didn't i? did i lie to you? god-dammit, i've got to livel what in god's name do you think i'm doing...pa should he believe her or not? her shame and anger told him to believe her, but to whom could she be talking on the phone all the time? "who are these men who are calling you on the phone all the time?” he asked her; he was trembling with fear for trespassing into her life, but he had to know. “how many men are you in touch with right now.pl he had all but branded her a prostitute. she was still as stone, her eyes unblinkingly upon his face. then she ran to the sofa and fell upon it, buried her face in her elbows and sobbed. "no; nol” she screamed, turning and glaring at him. "don't you talk to me like that! you can't! i can't stand it! what are you trying to do to me? i didn't ask you to come herel i didn't ask for your help! i didn't think you'd act like this ... what do you take me for? a whore?” as though the word “whore” had savage holiday slipped out of her mouth unintentionally, against her will, she clapped her hands over her lips and moaned. “leave me alone, leave me alone, i say,” she sobbed, her shoulders hunched and heaving. “god, i want to die... oh, mark, why did you die ... oh, mark, why did you die and leave me like this? i've no husband and every man wants to slap me ... am. i a criminal because i've no husband?” she bared her teeth in rage and knocked her fists against her head in a hysterical frenzy that shook her whole body.. erskine was dumbfounded. contrition gripped him. he went to her and stood over her. had he reduced her to this? she was his again, nobody else's ... pity welled in him so strong that he felt a weakness in his knees. “mabel...” he said in a begging voice, almost a boy's voice. “go 'way,” she cried. “go 'way from me, you rich bastard! if you keep bothering me, i'll kill you, you hear?” “oh, mabel, no!” he pleaded. “let me explain—" “get out of my apartment!” she screamed. "mabel ... listen ..." he reached out his hand to pat her shoulder. "don't you touch me!” she panted with fury. he did touch her and she sprang to her feet, her eyes wild and bloodshot. “leave me alone!" she was suddenly still, her eyes narrowing. “all right,” she spat at him. “so what? suppose i sleep with every man in this block! what'sit to you, hunh? what's it to anybody on this damned earth? it's my body, isn't it?” “no, mabell god, no!” erskine whispered, shaking his head. “suppose i'm selling myself, hunh? do you want to richard wright buy me? then why don't you ask? is that what's worrying you?” she sank to the floor, her hands clasped before her, unable, it seemed, to catch her breath. she appeared about to choke. then she whim- pered: “tony, tony, come back to mummy... oh, god, tell me what happened ... i'm so alone... tony, you've gone and i don't want to live any more ..." she tossed back her head, shut her eyes, and clutched with both hands at her hair and pulled as though trying to rip out the strands by their roots. she gasped and went into a spasm, her limbs trem- bling involuntarily; she seemed to have taken leave of her senses. erskine stood spellbound, appalled. hot gratifi- cation suffused his body with so keen a sensation that he felt pain; he could scarcely breathe. she was his now, completely; like this, she belonged to him. he had conquered her, humbled her. he could now afford to be kind, to maintain his trust in her. because she had been receding beyond his grasp, he had treated her abominably, had hurled at her his complaints and abuses and had checked her in her flight; but now he could be compassionate, loving towards her, for she was prostrate and at his feet... “mabel, dear, i'm sorry ..." she seemed not to hear him; her hands opened and shut with spasmodic rhythms and her eyes rolled so far back into her head that only the whites showed. "oh, god, she's fainting!” he lifted her and carried her into her bedroom. gently, he placed her upon her bed. “mabell” he called in panic. her lips hung open and loose and she began to breathe a little easier. ought he to call a doctor? minnie? what had he done to her? undecided, he watched her. at last her eyes rested unseeingly upon savage holiday - his face and the violent heaving of her bosom grew less. she turned away from him and stared dully off into a corner of the room, sighing in despair. “go 'way,” she breathed. “mabel, forgive me ...". "what are you doing to me?" she asked in a whimper. “i'm sorry; i'm so sorry...” he mumbled. what a fool he'd been to hurt her like this! she was, despite all her paint and sophistication, but a child and needed a child's loving care. he took her in his arms and held her tenderly close, whispering: “forgive me, mabel ... i didn't know ..." "i thought you wanted to help me," she said; she was on the verge of tears again. "i do; i do,” he assured her. her body lay limp in his arms and he watched the tears drying on her long, dark eyelashes. how could there be any desire to deceive in anyone with a face so helpless and innocent as hers? yes; he'd make it up to her. she was staring at him with a look compounded of accusation, entreaty, and despair. “erskine, why are you treating me like this?" she asked in a quiet, intimate voice. "what have i done to you?” he hung his head. his right leg began to tremble. he felt something like a wave of heat flash through him and he tightened his arms about her. he wanted to hold this lovely woman who tortured him so and never let her go, wanted to hold onto her forever... he bent to her and whispered: “mabel, i love you..." he felt pleasantly dizzy, as though he were standing up high somewhere and looking down from a great height. she turned swiftly in his arms, half lifting herself richard wright on her elbow, and stared at him in utter disbelief. then she sighed. “erskine ..." her voice had a note of mild protest. "i love you; i love you," he repeated. “i want to marry you." "no!” "i mean it; i do_" “my god," she said. "i mean it honorably," he hastened to assure her. "i don't know what's happening to me,” mabel said, looking about vaguely, holding her head between the palms of her hands. "i love you; that's why i spoke to you as i did. i couldn't help it..." "but you don't know me." "i know i love you. you're haunting me. i can't get you out of my mind, mabel ..." slowly she pulled free of him and sank into a chair at the side of the bed, her lips hanging open in shock. for a moment erskine was afraid that she'd spring up and run from him, accuse him of taking wanton ad- vantage of her helplessness and grief, and he was ready to let loose a net of pleas to stay her departure, to beg her to forgive him. he felt his face burning and he waited. she stared at the floor, then lifted her large, dark eyes to his face. he saw a thousand questions in them. “i don't want to upset you, mabel,” he told her, taking hold of her left hand with his right. “perhaps i shouldn't have spoken to you about my feelings at a time like this. you're numb with sorrow. but you were wondering why i dared criticize you, question you ... you must realize that i'm in love with you and you seem to belong to me... try to understand that. i'm not much good at expressing myself, mabel. i'm a business man. i guess i'm just jealous. i can't savage holiday help it. please, you mustn't think badly of me. tell me, you don't, do you?" her eyes looked off and she did not answer. "please, i beg of you, mabel,” he pleaded, “don't be angry with me. tell me that you are not angry..." she still did not look at him or give any sign that she had heard. what was she thinking about? “mabel,” he begged. “don't talk to me like that," “i must! mabel- "i'm going crazy," she wailed. "mabel,” he implored her. “yes,” she whispered. "look at me..." "no." "yes. look at me, darling ... you must look at me... i can't stand thinking that i've hurt you..." he felt the slow, heavy thump of her heart under the silk dress, and again her eyes were wet, her lips trembling. "mabel, look at me..." slowly she turned her head and her eyes rested nakedly on his face; they were defenseless, those eyes, as they stared directly into his own. "i love you," he said.. "yes,” she whispered and sighed. "you're not angry ...?" "no." they were silent. he still held her hand, it was limp, warm, pliant ... she sat in an attitude that made her seem bent forward, as under the weight of too much emotion. her eyes, wet like a bird's wing caught in a rainstorm, went from his face and then to the floor several times. then her body shook slowly with a slight motion that was scarely perceptible, shook each time her heart beat; she seemed to be, savage holiday “ 'bye.” he unlocked his door and went inside. he was trembling. it seemed that he was walking on air. he stood in the middle of the room and folt wrapped in the fulfillment of long-sought dream. he smiled and, at the same time, a sense of dread made him bite his lips. slowly he sank upon the side of his bed and gazed unseeingly about him; he was en- thralled, elated, yet full of wonder and fear... he was glad that minnie had finished her cleaning and had gone; if she saw him now, she'd think that he had gone out of his mind ... mabel's phone rang, tinkling faintly through the afternoon's hot air. he rose and hurried to his open window, inclined his head, straining to listen, a deep frown dividing his eyes. he heard her voice, but could not make out her words. there came to his ears a low, rich, satisfied peal of laughter that ended abruptly, as though she were afraid that he'd hear her. who was she talking to now? she's playing with me ...! that bitch... she didn't really care a fig about what he had said to her. damn her! he: grabbed hold of the pillow of the bed and, in a hot fury, balled it tightly in his long, strong hands, his fingers squeezing at the soft batch of feathers until the fingers of his left hand touched the fingers of his right, penetrating the fluffy bunch. then his face flushed almost a black red and he ripped the pillow in two, tearing the cloth, and the white feathers scattered wildly in a dense, thick cloud about the room, floating and hovering slowly in the still, hot air. his rage was so deep that he could scarcely see. gradually he became aware that his left palm was throbbing with pain and when he looked at it he richard wright saw that he had torn off the patch of adhesive tape and drops of blood were pulsing and falling from the raw gash and forming a small pool on the highly polished hardwood floor. a large white feather floated slowly down to the puddle of blood, hovered above it for a second, then settled lightly upon its sur- face, its edges fluttering futilely, as though trying in vain to escape the clinging viscousness of the bright red liquid ... part j. attack we must obey the gods, whatever those gods are. -euripides' orestes ... this cup is the new testament in my blood; this do ye, as oft ye drink it, in remembrance of me. -st. paul, i cor. : see, see where christ's blood streams in the firmamenti one drop would save my soul- -christopher marlowe’s dr. faustus richard wright pecting one kind of reaction from her and she kept bewildering him with actions that were completely contrary. he was willing to forget whatever she had done in the past, but her past could not, must not follow her into his life. hadn't she sense enough to know that? didn't she know a good man when she saw one? at dinner tonight he'd be strict with her. she's just a little spoilt fool... and her prettiness has turned her silly ... fatigued, he stretched upon this bed and fell into a sleep that was troubled by dreams. he thought that he was a child again and was in a huge and empty church which had row upon row of pews ex- tending towards a tall pulpit and he was walking down the center aisle with slow and measured steps and to the sound of low, sad organ music and he was wondering why he was alone and walking like this and then suddenly he saw ahead of him a coffin beautifully wrought in shining silver and surrounded by heaping banks of flowers and as he neared the gleaming coffin something urgent compelled him to look down and he saw a dead woman who was lovely and young and lying in a flowing white muslin dress and it seemed that she was not really dead but just sleeping and then a strange man whom he felt that he had seen somewhere before but could not remember where came up to him from his left and the man's face was beginning to blur and he felt that the man was asking his permission to open the coffin so that he could see the entire body of the woman and the man reached forward with a hand clad in a white glove and slid down the lower half of the lid of the coffin and there lay revealed the lower half of the woman's body which was nude and he could see that her legs were moving slightly richard wright dear erskine: i'm sorry that i'm not in. please for- give me. i'm with some very dear friends of mine. won't you phone me at: atwater - ? just ask for mabel... we can fix a time for dinner and maybe you could pick me up, perhaps? my best- mabel why was she acting like this? was she grieving over tony at all? how could she so lightly accept another invitation? and only four hours ago he'd told her that he loved her? he oughtn't phone her; he'd teach her a lesson. he had some pride, hadn't he? of course, she was with some tom, dick, or harry, as always ... and, in the end, it was the necessity to know who that man was that made him decide to phone her. he'd swallow his pride for once. but she'd better not go too far; by heaven, she'd better not ... he dialed the number and a man answered: "mike's tavernl mike speaking!” he heard a din of babbling voices in the back- ground. he tightened with jealousy. she's in a bar! my god! his hand shook. he wanted to hang up... "hello! who's on the phone?" the man's voice was rough. "is mrs. mabel blake there?” he asked finally, "mabel blake?" “yes.” "hold on a second ..." there was a pause. then: "mabell mabell somebody tell mabel she's wanted on the phone...!" evidently she was well-known there. "hold on; she's coming.” he heard the receiver being laid down gently. he still wanted to hang up and, when he did hear mabel's voice, he could not speak for a moment. savage holiday "erskine, is that you, dear?" he bit his lip and did not answer. "hello... is that you, erskine?” “yes, mabel,” he dragged the words out of him. “oh, darlingl. i'm sorry ... listen, do you want to come by here and pick me up? and i want you to meet some friends of mine." "where are you?” "in mike's tavern. th and sixth avenue. won't you come, honey?" “but i thought we were having dinner together tonight?" “we are, darling! i didn't forget. oh, do come... and forgive me for not being home when you came. but some friends asked me over for a drink; i was feeling so low, so lonely, so blue ... aren't you com- friends of pick me up? ten do you ing?" "all right, mabel. i'll be there in quarter of an hour." "lovely." "good-bye.” he heard a smacking sound of lips over the wires and he knew that she was giving him a kiss ... was she drunk? he hung up and felt like vomiting. to- night he'd decide one way or the other. he hailed a taxi and slumped down in his seat to brood. was it because he was old that her behavior seemed so odd? no; for thirty years he'd met and dealt with people of her age, but they'd been far more reasonable, honorable. well, if she was really the kind of woman he was beginning to think she was, he'd tell her off. he felt beginning to the was really th erskine stepped with misgivings through the door of mike's tavern and moved forward through fumes of beer and clouds of blue smoke, searching for mabel. there she was, sitting at a rear table sur- richard wright rounded by people ... she was wearing a semi-eve- ning dress and her face was sullen, heavy, her eyes slightly glazed. "mabell” he called to her, unable to get any closer because of the crowd. she looked about for him; when she saw him she let her mouth gape in a glad sign of welcome. "erskine, darling!” she crooned. “come over here. oh, darling, i thought you were angry with me and weren't coming ... say, you folks, move over and let erskine in. let him pass, won't you, fred?" "sure thing," fred agreed affably, rising and mov- ing aside. erskine stepped beside her; he felt out of place, embarrassed. “share my chair,. darling; won't you?" mabel asked. “there's no other place to sit.” he sat next to her on one half of her chair and he smelt the alcohol on her breath. god, she's drunk... "erskine, meet fred," mabel said, waving her hand airily. she presented the others. “there's will, eva, martin, gloria, and butch.” erskine nodded to each of them and forced a smile. “what'll you have to drink?" fred asked erskine. “just anything,” erskine mumbled, afraid to say that he didn't drink. “scotch and soda?" fred asked. “sure,” erskine said impulsively. he felt that had he refused, it would have made him conspicuous, and he yearned to pass unnoticed among them ... mabel caught hold of his chin and, holding it between her two palms, turned his face to her. "i'm bad, hunh?” savage holiday “you're worried. is that why you're drinking?” he asked her in a whisper. “i'm bad; i know it,” she said with exaggerated melancholy. “you left me alone and i didn't know what to do. my friends called me and i came ..." “that's all right,” erskine lied; his face burned be- cause she was demonstrating her intimacy too pub- licly by holding his cheeks like that. but he was determined not to lose his temper in the presence of her friends. he'd have it out with her later. "you're angry with me!” mabel wailed and began a drunken kind of weeping. “nobody likes me-" "we do like you, mabel,” will said, winking at erskine. "she's upset about something," martin told gloria. “what can we do for her?” eva asked of the table in general. “now, now," erskine whispered chidingly to her. "don't cry like that.” "i c-c-can't b-help it,” mabel sobbed. “give her another drink,” gloria said. "yeah; i want another drink,” mabel said, lifting her head suddenly and staring in front of her with tear-drenched eyes. “give mabel another drink!” gloria called to the waiter. “don't you think you've had enough?” erskine asked her in a timid whisper. “now, don't you scold me, erskine,” mabel said. “be nice to me tonight, hunh? i need somebody to be nice to me..." she was mumbling sentimentally. "erskine, you're good..." the waiter brought erskine's drink and erskine took hold of the chilled glass, hoping that no one would notice that he did not know how to drink. with a quick gesture he lifted the glass to his lips savage holiday "no." “yes; you are,” mabel insisted. "i can feel it.” she hung her head. “i'm not good enough for you" “no; don't say that." "i know it,” mabel raged. she glared at him. “say, what do you want with me, anyhow?” "aren't you hungry?" erskine tried to evade her. "what do you want with me, i asked you?” mabel asked, her eyes sleepy and swimming. "aren't we having dinner together?" erskine coun- tered, seeking now to hurry the time of departure. “sure; sure ... but we've got all night to eat in," mabel said. the waiter brought her her drink. “we'll go after your drink, won't we?" erskine asked with a note of pleading. “yes; i know ... you wanna go ..." mabel waved her hand aimlessly, floating it limply through the air. "awright, go ... just leave me here, like that..." she snapped her fingers. “go then; i'll go to the dogs quietly... you don't wanna run? why? you're free; go... no? well, wait... wait, little man ... if you don't wanna wait, then go ... "you're drunk, mabel,” fred said, winking at er- skine. "did i say i wasn't?” mabel demanded. “and whose business is it if i'm drunk? i'm drunk because i'm blue-" "all right,” gloria said, "be blue, then” "i gotta right to be blue,” mabel said proudly. erskine was tensely squeezing the fingers of his hands together, then he reached inside of his coat and touched the tips of the four pencils clipped to his pocket. christ! his undershirt felt wet. the dense smoke was stinging his eyes and cutting his lungs. disgust rolled through his veins. he longed to run savage holiday "i shouldn't let you do that,” erskine said. erskine noticed that they all seemed fond of ma- bel, but in a detached, impersonal sort of way. before he came he had had the idea that he'd find some man hellbent for her body, but this loose, al- most neutral atmosphere soothed him as much as it puzzled him. mabel stood, swaying drunkenly, her lips set in lines of sullen anger. fred rose and mabel squeezed past him and erskine followed. "good night, everybody," he called self-con- sciously. **they smiled, waved, and said good night. mabel now came toward him, her eyes directly on his face, her body veering uncertainly. he caught her arm and led her toward the door. a spot on his back seemed to burn red hot as he imagined many eyes staring at him; he yearned to turn and look, but dared not. on the sidewalk, he searched for a taxi, feeling mabel's arm unsteady under the pressure of his hand. "you didn't like my friends," she said. he did not answer. “did you?" she insisted. "i don't know, mabel,” he said. "how can i tell? i hardly know them " “you don't like 'em,” she said with flat, drunken obstinacy. "i could feel it.” “i doubt if i've any feelings about them one way or the other,” he lied cautiously. “so, you're a snob, hunh?" she cut at him. “taxi!” he yelled. . "all right. you didn't like 'em ... but they're damn good friends of mine, seep” she said. "i understand,” he said. “you don't understand," she contradicted him. richard wright a taxi swerved to the curb and they stepped in. "chinatown, mott street,” erskine told the driver. "they don't know tony's dead," she said. “they don't even know i've got a son... had a son... poor tony! he's gone..." erskine was stunned. "you never told them you had a son?" "no." "why?" “why should i? it's none of their damned busi- ness, is it?" erskine could not answer that. somehow it pleased him; it meant that she was really kind of pure. she kept the sacred part of her free from the profane, he tried to tell himself. “then, they're really not friends of yours, are theypa "sure they are,” she said stoutly. “they'd do any- thing for me." “but they don't know anything about you and you don't tell them anything-” “i keep my life to myself,” she said. "they don't - tell me their personal lives. “oh, then they're just pals,” he said. again he felt that she belonged to him. but she should not drink so... "is a chinese restaurant all right with you?” he asked her. “i don't care,” she said, closing her eyes and lean- ing back in the taxi, her wan face an image of bleak- ness. then, suddenly, she leaned forward and opened her eyes, staring downward at her feet. "i'm no good, erskine," she said. "what do you mean?" "we won't get along," she said. tears began to savage holiday well in her eyes. “let's be honest. of course, i want to marry, but i'm no fool. i'm not for you- “why do you say that?” "you won't like me. you're lonely. you're retired. i just excite you; that's all.” she sighed. “it pass ..." “but don't you want somebody to be excited about you?” he asked. "yes. but not in the way you are" “what's wrong with me?" "i don't know.” she shot him a glance. "i didn't say anything was wrong with you.” “no; no," he insisted in a sudden frenzy, “tell me, what's wrong!" she stared at him. he saw a wisdom in her eyes that frightened him. "do you really want me?" she asked him slowly. he winced when she put it in words like that; it offended him, made him feel that she was weighing him and finding him wanting. "yes,” he said simply, but in the moment of his saying it, he felt that she had begun to recede from him again. "then why didn't you take me?" she asked him di- rectly. he was aghast. his projected emotions drained suddenly from her and she was a strange woman, a hostile one. so, that was why she had had that mona lisa smile on her face when he had left her at her door this afternoon ... “why didn't you?" she kept after him. “i don't know,” he mumbled. she was beginning to seem like an enemy. hate for her was coming to the surface again. "you don't want me,” she said. "that depends—" “on what?” savage holiday wanted him to remain, but he went resolutely out. this was the end. he knew exactly what to do to terminate this farce. in his living room, he placed a sheet of his personal stationery on his desk, took out his fountain pen, and wrote in a clear, flowing hand: dear mabel: you must realize now, as surely as i do, that what has happened between us is a sad mistake. this entire thing is a foolish case of mistaken identity and, if we let it continue, it will only mean misery for the both of us. upon myself i willingly take the full blame, and i only beg, with all my heart, your indulgence and forgiveness. i freely confess that i was wrong in my hot-headed scold- ing of you; i had no right to do it. it was indefen- sible on my part. but i ask you to understand under what stress of emotion i was when i did it. mabel, it might just be that you see and know all of this much more clearly than i do. in fact, from what you said to me tonight, i think you do. so, please try to forget and forgive what i was impulsive enough to say to you this afternoon. believe me when i say that i do want, for the sake of our common memory of dear little tony, to help you and be your staunch friend. but, beyond that, i now realize that there is no place for me in your life. and you are far, far from understand- ing the kind of man i am. i shall see you tomorrow afternoon at two-thirty for the service. don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything. i shall be hurt if you want my help and do not ask for it. with all my best, sincerely, erskine richard wright he folded it, stepped into the hallway and slipped it under the sill of her door. a vast weight seemed to lift itself from his tensed muscles, yet, as it did so, he was conscious of a sense of looseness, of deso- lation, a feeling of having been abandoned upon some rocky ledge of some cold, bleak mountain. he undressed and got into bed, assuring himself that he had done the wisest thing, that he would have gone crazy if he had kept running after that wild girl ... she's just a plain tart... but he couldn't sleep. what had he done? what had be solved? mabel, if she was determined, could still make trouble for him with her story of the "naked feet dangling” ... and there were those bloody newspapers ... and who was that woman who'd called him? and didn't he have a duty to let mabel know somehow just what harm she'd done to little tony? his mind wrestled with the question of why he was constantly changing his attitude toward her. why did he love her one moment and hate her the next? slowly he began to realize that he hadn't been honest with himself, that his motive in writing that letter was to hurt mabel, to jolt her loose from whatever men she knew. would it? suppose she agreed to what he had said in the letter? the thought distressed him. he tossed restlessly on his bed in the dark, his lips moving soundlessly as they followed his thoughts. ah, hell, why had he ever dared to talk to her in the first place? if he had kept to him- self after tony had fallen, why everything would have been all right... the silence of the night hours weighed on him. had she found the letter? she'd gone to bed, no doubt. the hell with it! he'd go to the police in the morning and tell his story and then he'd leave new york tomorrow night ... a good vacation was what savage holiday he needed; it'd get all of this churning rot out of his system ... yes; a good sea trip... his phone rang. ah, she was phoning him ... he'd known that she would ... he'd bet that she was feel- ing properly chastened ... a tight smile hovered on his lips as he picked up the receiver. "hello," he said. the line hummed softly and there was no response. “hello, hello, hello..." he heard the receiver click and the line went dead. erskine stood, sweat coming again on his face. had that been mabel or had it been the other woman who'd called him twice before? then he heard his doorbell ring. he hesitated, debating. he had the sensation that some huge, invisible trap was closing slowly over him. perhaps it was mabel ... he opened the door and it was mabel, silent, solemn, her fea- tures washed clean of rouge and powder; she was wearing her rose-colored nylon robe. "i want to talk to you, erskine.” she snapped out her words. “come in,” he said, tying his own robe tighter about his waist. she entered and he closed the door. she walked slowly down the hallway, looking around. finally she entered his bedroom. he followed her, sat on the edge of his bed, watched her, waited for her to speak. "erskine, what in hell's the matter with you?" she asked abruptly and in a tone of voice that he'd never heard her use before. "i think i expressed myself pretty clearly in my letter," he said. in vain he tried to stifle a sense of dread that was now seizing hold of him. mabel took her cigarettes from the pocket of her robe and popped one of them into her mouth and savage holiday what? i'm all upset about tony and you come to me talking about love, love, love ... it was tony i was responsible for, not you ... i don't know what happened to tony. i've been pounding my brains to find out what to do about it, and you start press- ing me about loving me... do you call that responsi- bility? her attack was so frontal that his feelings shriveled. my god, what a hell cat! if his emotions could have been represented by an image of reality, that image would have been of a pile of hunched muscles crouched in self-defense, ready to spring and attack that which was seeking to destroy it. mabel's words made leap to life in him two opposing sets of bars, as it were: bars that had kept him propped to a stance of religious rectitude, and bars that had shut out all the past that his love and need of religion had been designed to deny. "mabel, i'm jealous,” he confessed in a confused, weak voice. "but you don't know me, so how can you be jeal- ous?” she asked him. “you don't know my friends, and when you meet them, you don't like them. to- night you sat like a lump on a log, itching to get away "i wasn't so much jealous of them," he muttered. “then what are you jealous of?” "you!” “but what have i doneº" she cried. “ask me any- thing you want to ... i'll tell you. i'm no angel, but i'm not what you seem to be thinking. oh, helll i don't understand you." "it's you," he told her again, his eyes fastened upon her face. “you don't want me to speak to my friends over the phone? you want me to remain in your sight every savage holiday he dared not look at her and his nerves were taut as he waited for her to answer. "it's in everything you say and do ... when you're with me, you're not thinking of me... what are you thinking of?” panic rose in him. how much did she know or suspect? did she have someone waiting outside the door? or was she alone in this attack? the more she tried to get at his heart, the more he hated and feared her. "mabel, what are you getting at?" he tried to fence her off. she rose and stood looking down at him. "erskine, do you want to confess something to me?" she asked gently, quietly. his head jerked up and he stared at her, his lips moving soundlessly. "confess? what?” he asked finally. "if you want to confess, then only you would know what=”. "what do you think i want to say, mabel?” he asked her in a breathless sort of way. he knew that there was but one thing that she could be thinking of, and that was tony. really, he was wanting her to bring it up; he was hungry for her to ask him. her asking him would release him from this nightmare . . * she sighed; her face was concentrated; she sat on the bed beside him. he could detect no anger in her and it baffled him. she caught hold of his shoulder and turned him round. "is it about tony? it's about tony, isn't it?" she asked, nodding her head affirmatively. he did not, could not answer; he could scarcely breathe. savage holiday i knew that something was happening, but i didn't think it was serious ... and i didn't think you were involved in it... i went back to sleep. i didn't see tony fall... i thought he was still on the balcony. i was standing and looking out of my kitchen win- dow. i was afraid that tony's drum would keep people awake. i waved at him to keep quiet; he nodded to let me know that he'd obey... he kept so quiet that a little later i went out into the hall- way to see about 'im; he was all right... but the next time i looked, i didn't see him; i was about to leave the window when i saw two feet, naked feet, dangling in air and they went up, up and out of sight... i'd swear that it was your balcony. erskine, what on earth was that? do you know? erskine buried his face in his hands. yes; he should have told his story before now. but, yes... only one person had seen him, only one person had phoned him, only one person had known about that bloody newspaper ... and that person was mabel, and she sat six inches from him... "why do you think i had anything to do with it?” he asked her, lifting his head and speaking in a whisper. he had hoped that his question would be defiant but, as he spoke, he realized that it was al- most a confession. "because nobody else wants to speak to me about it,” she said promptly. “they accepted the police story; they think that tony just fell, that i neglected him ... only you kept hanging around me, accusing me..." she frowned. “did that person whose feet i saw ...? did he go into your apartment, erskine? what was happening?" “are you trying to say that i killed tonyp” he asked with rough anger. "i'm asking you to tell me what happened, if richard wright tony! how? like this ... you had let tony see you naked many times, naked and making love to men, many men... tony told me sol i swear it! that poor child couldn't understand what he saw. you were so careless, so stupid, so inhuman, so brutal that you thought that a child could look right at such as that without its influencing him! how could you do that? tony didn't understand what was happening when you let him see you making love to men ... maybe you were too drunk to care i don't know. but-tony thought the men were fighting you ... and you'll never understand how scared he was of that ... he thought of it night and day; he dreamed about it; he tried to find out what it meant; he lived in terror of it... he couldn't interpret it in terms that made sense to him. it was just a picture of violence, vio- lence for no reason that he could accept or under- stand ... i swear to you that this is true, mabel. your son was terrified of naked people, naked men in particular ... you made him feel that if he ever saw a naked man, he had to run for his life ... for he didn't want that violence, that fighting to happen to him ... tony told me that he didn't even want to grow up to be a man, because he felt that he'd have to fight-he called it fightingl-women like his mother ... mabel, you crushed that child; you killed him even before he fell from that balcony... aw, you sneer at me, huh? "but, listen ... that morning i tried to get my sunday paper from the hallway, see? i was naked. i was about to take a shower. i opened my door to pick up the paper and the door slammed shut in my face and i was locked out. i didn't know what to do. i was terrified, embarrassed ... naked, i rode down in the elevator to try to get hold of wester- man and ask him to unlock my door ... but there richard wright "sit down; sit down, mabel,” he begged her. “i won't hurt you..." she edged toward a chair and sat. he backed off till his legs touched his bed; then he sank upon it, closed his eyes and rocked his head. "good god, mabel," he groaned. “we're both at fault in this ... be calm and try to understand. please ... there's no sense in being wild. what's hap- pened has happened... that's all. but we can try to understand what happened." he lifted his eyes plead- ingly to her. “the first thing to try to understand is that i'm telling you the truth about what happened to tony ... all right; i'm a damn fool for not telling what had happened in the first place... i was fool- ish! but it was such a freakish accident, such a silly accident that i was in a funk... i didn't want to tell anybody about it. i-i thought t-they wouldn't believe m-me... the last thing on earth i expected was for my door to slam shut in my face and lock me out, naked in that hallway..." they both stared unseeingly toward each other in silence. "your door slammed ...pshe asked at last in a timid voice; she looked at him, then off, frowning. “yes; i was locked out, naked ... i couldn't even break the door down—" "did your door slam very loud when it shut?" she asked. “like a rifle shot-" “what time was that?" "a little after seven-thirty; nearly eight, i think_" “then that's what i heard,” she said wonderingly. "i thought that was tony... it woke me up." the muscles of erskine's face relaxed a little. "oh, thank god, you can understand maybe ... try to understand something ... be honest with savage holiday yourself, mabel. look at this for what it simply is, he begged her. “what killed poor tony is what both of us did to him ... which of us is really re- sponsible, who knows? all right; i am upon the bal- cony... but how could i know that tony would react so?” “why didn't you knock at my door?" she asked, her eyes round with the effort to comprehend. his eyes grew sullen and he frowned. he bent for- ward and rested his elbows on his knees and cupped his chin in his hands. "i didn't dare, mabel,” he confessed. “i didn't know you ... and i didn't think about it. i was try- ing to dodge everybody ... and i was wild, crazy, scared ... what does one do in situations like that?” “yes; you wouldn't think of doing a little simple thing like that,” she said and even managed a slow, rueful smile. "you're very moral..." she shook her head. “you and tony ... you say you talked to tony about this...pa "he talked to me" "oh, god, it's all so sad and true it makes me sick," she moaned. “be honest and try to understand..." she lifted her head with a quick jerk. “but why on earth didn't you call tony and tell him to get westerman-? a tremor went through erskine. he doubled his fists and jammed them against his eyes. “christ, i forgot that the child was on that bal- cony!” he exclaimed in horror. “i heard 'im earlier, then he got quiet and i forgot ’im.” "good god,” mabel breathed. “could such a thing happen?" “it happened!” he swore fervently. “i pray for you to believe me; i beg you with all my heart ... what richard wright do you want me to do to prove it? look, mabel, i'm so glad that all of this is out in the open at last. keeping my mouth shut about this was like having a hot poker rammed in my heart! listen, mabel, let's you and i go right now to the police station and tell them what happened ... let's go and tell them everything. right now!" mabel moaned and closed her eyes. "god, erskine, what good on earth would that do now?” she asked in a hopeless whisper. "i'd die on the spot if you told the police what you told me tonight ... i'd die of shame.” she choked. "but what ought we to do?” erskine asked. "tony's gone,” she wailed. “what did i do to my baby ...?” she caught hold of the hem of her robe and pressed it against her mouth in a gesture of convul- sive grief, then she leaned forward in her chair. her dark eyes were pits of fear as she lifted them slowly to erskine's face. “d-do you t-think that he w-was scared of... scared of that, erskine?” she asked in a broken voice. “yes, mabel,” he told her. “tony was alone, alone in a world he didn't understand. he saw danger everywhere, even where there was no danger ... did you know that he was even afraid to play with his toys?” “afraid of his toys?” she gulped. “oh, god, mrs. westerman told me something about that once, but i didn't believe her... i thought she was trying to insult me. jesus, i shouldn't have had a child ... i'm no mother..." she keened: "he was scared of his little toys..." "he could hardly play with them, mabel,” er- skine explained sadly and gently. “he'd get scared savage holiday and run off... oh, i can't explain it all, mabel. tony was obsessed with fear about everything. he didn't understand what he saw you do, and he got it mixed up with things that didn't have anything to do with it... even his little airplanes were men and women fighting to make babies ... at times he was so frightened of them that he couldn't touch them." they were silent. mabel sat, crushed. beyond the window it was black night and a slight wind made the curtains tremble. the small clock on er- skine's night table ticked loudly in the still room. "mabel,” erskine called plaintively to her. she opened her eyes and stared at him; there was only wonder, fear, pity, humility and a kind of dread in her now. he felt that she was his, only his now ... he rose and went slowly to her and touched her shoulder. he thought that his breath would stop when her hand lifted itself and, hesitantly and ten- derly, covered his own. he took her in his arms; he found himself weeping. “i don't understand anything any more,” she whis- pered through a dry throat. “what did i do to my child?" "may god help you," he told her. “little tony's gone... i'll do anything on this earth to try to make it up to you." they clung together, weeping. "mabel?” "yes?” "i still love you," he said. “make any condition you want. i'll accept it and abide by it. i'm in your hands. we both must go to the police and tell them about tony ..." “no; no; no," she cried, shutting her eyes. "but i want to marry you, mabel,” he said. “i need you..." res richard wright he felt her body shudder slightly in his arms. “but i'm not for you, erskine," she whispered compassionately. “let me decide that,” he begged her. "are you sure you want me, erskine?? "i'm sure,” he said, looking into her eyes with tears in his own. “are you engaged to anyone?" "no." “then you'll marry me? there can be no question of my hiding or covering up something now," he ar- gued. "we both know what happened and now we're free from that ... you'll marry me?” “but, erskine, we're so different," she protested weakly, shaking her head. “look, i'll change some and you'll change some," he said, figuring it all out neatly. “tell me: will you marry me? tell me now..." "you really want it?” "i do, with all my heart. now, tell me ... will youps she began weeping afresh. “tell me; tell me," he implored her, squeezing her shoulders. "yes; yes, erskine,” she sighed. he crushed her to him. “we'll make up for little tony, won't we? we may have a son, hunh? we'll have something around which to build a joyful and solemn relationship, hunh? you understand?" “yes," she whispered. “and i need somebody).." she threw her arms about him and clung to him. "erskine, teach me how to live, won't you?" she asked him. “i'm through; i'm licked ... you'll teach me, tell me what's right?” . "yes, yes,” he assured her. she lowered her eyes and then started violently. “what's the matter?” he asked. richard wright her eyes deepened with pity as she gazed at him. a ghost of a sad smile fitted across her wan lips. "you and tony,” she said with a sigh. “come here; let me wash that blood off your hand..." she caught his arm and led him to the bathroom and washed his hand and bound it securely with tape. “i said that i needed somebody," she said. “but, by god, i think you need somebody, too." he caught her and kissed her for the first time. "mabel,” he murmured. "erskine,” she whispered. “you're really so silly, like a boy..." "we'll redeem everything, won't we, honey?" “yes.” "our love will be a monument to tony ..." "yes.” she grew thoughtful. “erskine, what about your family and friends? would you acknowledge me before them?" “i want you in spite of them," he said. "if they don't accept you, they reject me. i'm with you; un- derstand?" "yes." the phone in mabel's apartment began to ring, the sound coming clear and sharp through the night air, through erskine's opened window. mabel cocked her head. . "that's my phone,” she said in a voice that was suddenly matter-of-fact, practical. he hugged her closer, frantically. "mabel,” he whispered. "my phone's ringing,” she said, trying to disengage herself. “let it ring..." “but that's harry," she protested. “i must answer that..." savage holiday his face went white. she pulled herself out of his arms; his hand clutched involuntarily at the sleeve of her robe and, as she went from him, the robe slid from her body and she stood naked before him. “give me my robe," she said with tense im- patience. “i must answer the phone.” the phone was still ringing. "no; no ... let it ring,” he insisted. he still held her robe. “what do we care about who's calling?" "but, erskine?” he seized her nude body and held her close to him. the phone rang once more, then fell silent. she turned and stared at him with a strange expression on her face jealous," shtonefacedly..mages she asked ws “you are jealous," she said in amazement. “yes," he admitted shamefacedly. "but how could we ever live together?" she asked in open wonder. “we'd be together,” he muttered. "not all the time," she said. "there are things that you must do, and there are things that i must do. we couldn't be together every minute ..." “but you'd be faithful to me, wouldn't you?" he asked her. she stared, smiled a ghost of a smile, and looked off. "if i were married to you, yes,” she said cryptically. "why 'if,' mabel?" his frown was dividing his fore- head now. "listen, erskine, if two people are married and are satisfied with each other, they are faithful," she explained. erskine was tortured. a moment ago he had felt that he had her forever, and now he was not so sure. she was fleeing from him again. he was feelin abandoned, naked, lost... savage holiday he felt sick; he bent over the commode and vomited. he leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. fi- nally he washed the blood from his hands and dried them. he paused in the bathroom door, staring into the kitchen with a kind of sullen, stolid pride at the nude, bloody body stretched on the table. huge, gleaming pools of red blood had now formed on the tiled floor. he dressed and stood glowering into space. he went to the open window and looked out at new york stretching glitteringly in the bright tuesday morning sunshine. he turned with sudden purpose and went out of his door, rode down in the elevator, and walked four blocks west and entered a police station. he saw a policeman reading a newspaper behind a tall black desk. he walked slowly up to him and placed both of his hands on top of the wooden railing. "i want to see the officer in charge,” he said in a clear, distinct voice. “that's me. what can i do for youp" the police. man asked, lowering his newspaper. "i want to surrender,” erskine said quietly. “what? what's that?” "i want to surrender," erskine repeated. "what's the matter, mister?" the policeman asked, leaning forward. “i just killed a woman, her body's in my apart- ment.” "all right, now. just take it easy," the policeman said, coming from behind the tall desk. “you're sure that you're not drunk?” “i'm not drunk.” "do you realize what you just said to me?" "yes. i do." the policeman frowned and stared at erskine. richard wright memory-of_that battered doll was but the memory of a dream he'd hadd he'd never "killed" the doll, really! that memory was but the recalling of a shameful daydream of re- venge which he had pushed out of his mind! it was what he had angrily daydreamed one day when he'd been playing games with gladys and her dolls; they'd been coloring paper with colored pencils and he'd drawn the image of a dead, broken doll and he had imagined gladys telling on him and his mother branding him as bad ... he'd pictured vividly to him- self what he'd wanted to do to his mother for having gone off and left that night when he'd been ill... he now understood the four pencils! his lips parted in horror as his memory spanned the void of time and revealed the reality of what he had done. he stared about as though drugged, un- aware of the policeman and the barred windows ... “don't you hear me talking to you the police- man asked. "hunh?” erskine grunted, struggling to orient himself. "tell me what happened!" the policeman shouted at him. how could he ever explain that a daydream buried under the rigorous fiats of duty had been called forth from its thirty-six-year-old grave by a woman called mabel blake, and that that taunting dream had so overwhelmed him with a sense of guilt com- pounded of a reality which was strange and alien and which he loathed, but which, at the same time, was astonishingly familiar to him: a guilty dream which he had wanted to disown and forget, but which he had had to reenact in order to make its memory and reality clear to him! he closed his eyes in despair... still touching the four colored pencils!. other award books you'll enjoy the bombs started falling at ten to two. the nightmare the world had lived with for so long suddenly exploded into reality ... the inevitable hour martyn boggon not since fail-safe has a novel cut so terrifyingly close to reality. an electrifying novel of today! a — hunza hralth secrets renee taylor the secrets of lasting youth discovered in an amazing land where -year-old women and men live in vigorous physical and mental health. a the easy, step-by-step guide to graphology, how handwriting analysis can improve your life - robert holder use it to reveal personality, intellect, creativity, hidden illness, emotional stability, sexual prow- ess, and much, much more! illustrated with page after page of actual handwriting samples. a — only richard wright renowned bestselling author of native son and black boy could have written a novel that so vividly reveals the nameless torments and quiet hungers of a man's soul ... a soul suddenly beset by a confluence of humiliations in a hostile world and pushed past the breaking point into a nightmare ... savage holiday "wright's landscape was not merely that of the deep south, or of chicago, but that of the world, of the human heart." – james, baldwin usuperb! - yale review printed in u.s.a. of mice y niverse the un parte chigan l.libre aries.p the blacker the berry a novel of negro life by wallace thurman attention patron: this volume is too fragile for any future repair. please handle with great care. university of michigan library-conservation & book repair the blacker the berry a novel of negro life by wallace thurman the macaulay company new york mcmxxix copyright, , by the macaulay company printed in the united states of america . t bor jei v lever usern. to ma jack the blacker the berry the sweeter the juice ... -negro folk saying my color shrouds me in .... -countee cullen the blacker the berry ... ii but of course she couldn't have worn blue or black when the call was for the wearing of white, even if white was not complementary to her complexion. she would have been odd-looking anyway no matter what she wore and she would also have been con- spicuous, for not only was she the only dark-skinned person on the platform, she was also the only negro pupil in the entire school, and had been for the past four years. well, thank goodness, the principal would soon be through with his monotonous farewell ad- dress, and she and the other members of her class would advance to the platform center as their names were called and receive the documents which would signify their unconditional release from public school. as she thought of these things, emma lou glanced at those who sat to the right and to the left of her. she envied them their obvious elation, yet felt a strange sense of superiority because of her immunity for the moment from an ephemeral mob emotion. get a diploma?-what did it mean to her? college? -perhaps. a job?—perhaps again. she was going to have a high school diploma, but it would mean nothing to her whatsoever. the tragedy of her life was that she was too black. her face and not a slender roll of ribbon-bound parchment was to be her future identification tag in society. high school dip- loma indeed! what she needed was an efficient the blacker the berry .. bleaching agent, a magic cream that would remove this unwelcome black mask from her face and make v her more like her fellow men. “emma lou morgan." she came to with a start. the principal had called her name and stood smiling down at her benevolently. some one-she knew it was her cousin buddie, stupid imp—applauded, very faintly, very provokingly. some one else snickered. "emma lou morgan.” • the principal had called her name again, more sharply than before and his smile was less bene- volent. the girl who sat to the left of her nudged her. there was nothing else for her to do but to get out of that anchoring chair and march forward to receive her diploma. but why did the people in the audience have to stare so? didn't they all know that emma lou morgan was boise high school's only nigger student? didn't they all know—but what was the use. she had to go get that diploma, so summon- ing her most insouciant manner, she advanced to the platform center, brought every muscle of her lithe limbs into play, haughtily extended her shiny black arm to receive the proffered diploma, bowed a chilly thanks, then holding her arms stiffly at her sides, insolently returned to her seat in that forboding white line, insolently returned once more to splotch its pale nce i the blacker the berry ... purity and to mock it with her dark, outlandish difference. emma lou had been born in a semi-white world, totally surrounded by an all-white one, and those few dark elements that had forced their way in had either been shooed away or else greeted with derisive laughter. it was the custom always of those with whom she came into most frequent contact to ridicule or revile any black person or object. a black cat was a harbinger of bad luck, black crape was the insignia of mourning, and black people were either evil niggers with poisonous blue gums or else typical vaudeville darkies. it seemed as if the people in her world never went half-way in their recognition or reception of things black, for these things seemed always to call forth only the most extreme emotional reactions. they never provoked mere smiles or mere melancholy, rather they were the signal either for boisterous guffaws or pain-induced and tear-attended grief. emma lou had been becoming increasingly aware of this for a long time, but her immature mind had never completely grasped its full, and to her, tragic significance. first there had been the case of her father, old black jim morgan they called him, and emma lou had often wondered why it was that he the blacker the berry ... of all the people she heard discussed by her family should always be referred to as if his very blackness condemned him to receive no respect from his fellow men. she had also began to wonder if it was because of his blackness that he had never been in evidence as far as she knew. inquiries netted very unsatisfac- tory answers. “your father is no good." "he left your mother, deserted her shortly after you were born." and these statements were always prefixed or fol- lowed by some epithet such as "dirty black no- gooder” or “durn his onery black hide.” there was in fact only one member of the family who did not speak of her father in this manner, and that was her uncle joe, who was also the only person in the family to whom she really felt akin, because he alone never seemed to regret, to bemoan, or to ridi- cule her blackness of skin. it was her grandmother who did all the regretting, her mother who did the bemoaning, her cousin buddie and her playmates, | both white and colored, who did the ridiculing. emma lou's maternal grandparents, samuel and va maria lightfoot, were both mulatto products of slave-day promiscuity between male masters and fe- male chattel. neither had been slaves, their own parents having been granted their freedom because of their rather close connections with the white branch mold! the blacker the berry ... another while dealing faro, and became allies in their attempts to outfigure the roulette wheel. white and black men amicably frequented the saloons and dancehalls together. white and black women leaned out of the doorways and windows of the jerry-built frame houses and log cabins of "whore row.” white and black housewives gossiped over back fences and lent one another needed household commodities. but there was little social intercourse on a higher scale. slue-foot sal, the most popular high_yaller on “whore row," might be a buddy to irish peg and blond liz, but mrs. amos james, whose husband owned the town's only drygoods store, could cer- tainly not become too familiar with mrs. samuel lightfoot, colored, whose husband owned a saloon. and it was not a matter of the difference in their respective husbands' businesses. mrs. amos james did associate with mrs. arthur emory, white, whose hus- band also owned a saloon. it was purely a matter of color. emma lou's grandmother then, holding herself aloof from the inmates of “whore row," and not wishing to associate with such as old mammy lewis' daughters, who did most of the town wash, and others of their ilk, was forced to choose her social equals slowly and carefully. this was hard, for there were so few negroes in boise anyway that there wasn't the blacker the berry ... anon like th ci much cream to skim off. but as the years passed, others, who, like maria and her husband, were mulatto offsprings of mulatto freedmen seeking a freer land, moved in, and were soon initiated into what was later to be known as the blue vein circle, so named because all of its members were fair- skinned enough for their blood to be seen pulsing purple through the veins of their wrists. emma lou's grandmother was the founder and the acknowledged leader of boise's blue veins, and she guarded its exclusiveness passionately and jeal- ously. were they not a superior class? were they not a very high type of negro, comparable to the per- sons of color group in the west indies? and were they not entitled, ipso facto, to more respect and opportunity and social acceptance than the more pure blooded negroes? in their veins was some of the best blood of the south. they were closely akin ✓ to the only true aristocrats in the united states. even the slave masters had been aware of and acknowledged in some measure their superiority. having some of marse george's blood in their veins set them apart from ordinary negroes at birth. these mulattoes as a rule were not ordered to work in the fields beneath the broiling sun at the urge of a simon legree lash. they were saved and trained for the more gentle jobs, saved and trained to be the blacker the berry ... ladies' maids and butlers. therefore, let them con- tinue this natural division of negro society. let them also guard against unwelcome and degenerating en- croachments. their motto must be “whiter and whiter every generation,” until the grandchildren of the blue veins could easily go over into the white race and become assimilated so that problems of race would plague them no more. maria had preached this doctrine to her two chil- dren, jane and joe, throughout their apprentice years, and can therefore be forgiven for having a physical collapse when they both, first joe, then emma lou's mother, married not mulattoes, but a copper brown and a blue black. this had been some- v what of a necessity, for, when the mating call had made itself heard to them, there had been no eligible blue veins around. most of their youthful compan- ions had been sent away to school or else to seek careers in eastern cities, and those few who had remained had already found their chosen life's com- panions. maria had sensed that something of the kind might happen and had urged samuel to send jane and joe away to some eastern boarding school, but samuel had very stubbornly refused. he had his own notions of the sort of things one's children learned in boarding school, and of the greater oppor- tunities they had to apply that learning. true, they the blacker the berry ... v emma lou had been born. she had first met jim at a church picnic, given in a woodlawn meadow on the outskirts of the city, and almost before she had realized what was happening she had found her- self slipping away from home, night after night, to stroll down a well shaded street, known as lover's lane, with the man her mother had forbidden her to see. and it hadn't been long before they had decided that an elopement would be the only thing to assure themselves the pleasure of being together without worrying about mama lightfoot's wrath, talkative neighbors, prying town marshals, and grass stains. despite the rancor of her mother and the whisper- ing of her mother's friends, jane hadn't really found anything to regret in her choice of a husband until emma lou had been born. then all the fears her mother had instilled in her about the penalties in- flicted by society upon black negroes, especially upon black negro girls, came to the fore. she was abys- mally stunned by the color of her child, for she had been certain that since she herself was so fair that her child could not possibly be as dark as its father. she had been certain that it would be a luscious admixture, a golden brown with all its mother's desirable facial features and its mother's hair. but she hadn't reckoned with nature's perversity, nor had she taken under consideration the inescapable fact the blacker the berry ... * g that some of her ancestors too had been black, and that some of their color chromosomes were still im- bedded within her. emma lou had been fortunate enough to have hair like her mother's, a thick, curly black mass of hair, rich and easily controlled, but she had also been unfortunate enough to have a face as black as her father's, and a nose which, while not exactly flat, was as distinctly negroid as her too thick lips. her birth had served no good purpose. it had driven her mother back to seek the confidence and aid of maria, and it had given maria the chance she had been seeking to break up the undesirable union of her daughter with what she termed an ordinary black nigger. but jim's departure hadn't solved mat- ters at all, rather it had complicated them, for al- though he was gone, his child remained, a tragic mistake which could not be stamped out or eradi- cated even after jane, by getting a divorce from jim and marrying a red-haired irish negro, had been accepted back into blue vein grace. emma lou had always been the alien member of the family and of the family's social circle. her grandmother, now a widow, made her feel it. her mother made her feel it. and her cousin buddie the blacker the berry ... made her feel it, to say nothing of the way she was regarded by outsiders. as early as she could remem- ber, people had been saying to her mother, "what an extraordinarily black child! where did you adopt it?” or else, "such lovely unniggerish hair on such a niggerish-looking child.” some had even been face- tious and made suggestions like, “try some lye, jane, it may eat it out. she can't look any worse." then her mother's re-marriage had brought an- other person into her life, a person destined to give her, while still a young child, much pain and unhap- piness. aloysius mcnamara was his name. he was ✓ the bastard son of an irish politician and a negro washerwoman, and until he had been sent east to a parochial school, aloysius, so named because that was his father's middle name, had always been known as aloysius washington, and the identity of his own father had never been revealed to him by his proud and humble mother. but since his father had been prevailed upon to pay for his education, aloy- sius' mother thought it the proper time to tell her son his true origin and to let him assume his real name. she had hopes that away from his home town he might be able to pass for white and march unhin- dered by bars of color to fame and fortune. but such was not to be the case, for emma lou's prospective stepfather was so conscious of the negro vas the blacker the berry ... . srn she wasn't going to have people point to her and say, “that's boss mcnamara's wife. wonder if that nigger son is his'n or hers. they do say. ...” so aloysius had found himself shunted back into the black world he so despised. he couldn't be made to realize that being a negro did not necessarily indi- cate that one must also be a ne'er-do-well. had he been white, or so he said, he would have been a suc- cessful criminal lawyer, but being considered black it was impossible for him ever to be anything more advanced than a pullman car porter or a dining car waiter, and acting upon this premise, he hadn't tried to be anything else... his only satisfaction in life was the pleasure he derived from insulting and ignoring the real blacks. persons of color, mulattoes, were all right, but he couldn't stand detestable black negroes. unfortun- ately, emma lou fell into this latter class, and suf- fered at his hands accordingly, until he finally ran away from his wife, emma lou, boise, negroes, and all, ran away to canada with diamond lil of "whore row." summer vacation was nearly over and it had not yet been decided what to do with emma lou now that she had graduated from high school. she herself gave no help nor offered any suggestions. as it was, the blacker the berry ... l wcation she really did not care what became of her. after all it didn't seem to matter. there was no place in the world for a girl as black as she anyway. her grand- mother had assured her that she would never find a husband worth a dime, and her mother had said again and again, "oh, if you had only been a boy!” until emma lou had often wondered why it was that people were not able to effect a change of sex or at least a change of complexion. it was her uncle joe who finally prevailed upon her mother to send her to the university of southern i california in los angeles. there, he reasoned, she would find a larger and more intelligent social circle. in a city the size of los angeles there were negroes of every class, color, and social position. let emma lou go there where she would not be as far away from home as if she were to go to some eastern college. jane and maria, while not agreeing entirely with what joe said, were nevertheless glad that at last something which seemed adequate and sensible could be done for emma lou. she was to take the four year college course, receive a bachelor degree in edu- cation, then go south to teach. that, they thought, was a promising future, and for once in the eighteen years of emma lou's life every one was satisfied in some measure. even emma lou grew elated over the ic wer some the blacker the berry ... prospects of the trip. her uncle joe's insistance upon the differences of social contacts in larger cities in- trigued her. perhaps he was right after all in con- tinually reasserting to them that as long as one was a negro, one's specific color had little to do with one's life. salvation depended upon the individual. and he also told emma lou, during one of their usual private talks, that it was only in small cities one encountered stupid color prejudice such as she had encountered among the blue vein circle in her home town. "people in large cities," he had said, “are broad. they do not have time to think of petty things. the people in boise are fifty years behind the times, but you will find that los angeles is one of the world's greatest and most modern cities, and you will be happy there." on arriving in los angeles, emma lou was so busy observing the colored inhabitants that she had little time to pay attention to other things. palm trees and wild geraniums were pleasant to behold, and such strange phenomena as pepper trees and century plants had to be admired. they were very obvious and they were also strange and beautiful, but they impinged upon only a small corner of emma lou's consciousness. she was minutely aware of them, necessarily took them in while passing, the blacker the berry ... vad theat viewing the totality without pondering over or linger- ing to praise their stylistic details. they were, in this instance, exquisite theatrical props, rendered in- significant by a more strange and a more beautiful human pageant. for to emma lou, who, in all her life, had never seen over five hundred negroes, the spectacle presented by a community containing over fifty thousand, was sufficient to make relatively com- monplace many more important and charming things than the far famed natural scenery of southern california. she had arrived in los angeles a week before registration day at the university, and had spent her time in being shown and seeing the city. but when- ever these sightseeing excursions took her away from the sections where negroes lived, she immediately lost all interest in what she was being shown. the pacific ocean in itself did not cause her heart beat to quicken, nor did the roaring of its waves find an emotional echo within her. but on coming upon bruce's beach for: colored people near redondo, or the little strip of sandied shore they had appro- priated for themselves at santa monica, the pacific ocean became an intriguing something to contem- plate as a background for their activities. every- thing was interesting as it was patronized, reflected through, or acquired by negroes. the blacker the berry ..: her uncle joe had been right. here, in the com- social circles of los angeles, emma lou was certam- that she would find many suitable companions, in- telligent, broad-minded people of all complexions, intermixing and being too occupied otherwise to worry about either their own skin color or the skin color of those around them. her uncle joe had said that negroes were negroes whether they happened to be yellow, brown, or black, and a conscious effort to eliminate the darker elements, would neither prove or solve anything. there was nothing quite so silly as the creed of the blue veins: “whiter and whiter, every generation. the nearer white you are the more white people will respect you. therefore all light negroes marry light negroes. continue to do so gen- eration after generation, and eventually white people will accept this racially, bastard aristocracy, thus enabling those negroes who really matter to escape the social and economic inferiority of the american negro.” such had been the credo of her grandmother and of her mother and of their small circle of friends in boise. but boise was a provincial town, given to the molding of provincial people with provincial minds. boise was a backwoods town out of the main stream of modern thought and progress. its people were cramped and narrow, their intellectual concepts the blacker the berry ... again. emma lou had wanted to rush after them- to introduce herself, but of course it had been im- possible under the circumstances. she had immedi- ately taken a liking to all three, each of whom was what is known in the parlance of the black belt as high brown, with modishly-shingled bobbed hair and well formed bodies, fashionably attired in flashy sport garments. from then on emma lou paid little attention to the business of choosing subjects and class hours, so little attention in fact that the advisor thought her exceptionally tractable and somewhat dumb. but she liked students to come that way. it made the task of being advisor easy. one just made out the program to suit oneself, and had no tedious explanations to make as to why the student could not have such and such a subject at such and such an hour, and why such and such a professor's class was already full. after her program had been made out, emma lou was directed to the bursar's office to pay her fees. while going down the stairs she almost bumped into two dark-brown-skinned boys, obviously brothers if not twins, arguing as to where they should go next. one insisted that they should go back to the regis- trar's office. the other was being equally insistent that they should go to the gymnasium and make an appointment for their required physical examination. the blacker the berry ... emma lou boldly stopped when she saw them, hop- ing they would speak, but they merely glanced up at her and continued their argument, bringing cards and pamphlets out of their pockets for reference and guidance. emma lou wanted to introduce herself to them, but she was too bashful to do so. she wasn't yet used to going to school with other negro students, and she wasn't exactly certain how one went about becoming acquainted. but she finally decided that she had better let the advances come from the others, especially if they were men. there was nothing for- ward about her, and since she was a stranger it was no more than right that the old-timers should make her welcome. still, if these had been girls ..., but they weren't, so she continued her way down the stairs. in the bursar's office, she was somewhat overjoyed at first to find that she had fallen into line behind another colored girl who turned around immediately, and, after saying hello, announced in a loud, harsh voice: “my feet are sure some tired!” emma lou was so taken aback that she couldn't answer. people in college didn't talk that way. but meanwhile the girl was continuing: "ain't this registration a mess?” two white girls who had fallen into line behind grammar languane as an elem raciali the blacker the berry ... emma lou snickered. emma lou answered by shak- ing her head. the girl continued: “i've been standin' in line and climbin' stairs and talkin' and a-signin' till i'm just 'bout done for." "it is tiresome,” emma lou returned softly, hop- ing the girl would take a hint and lower her own strident voice. but she didn't. "tiresome ain't no name for it,” she declared more loudly than ever before, then, “is you a new student?” “i am," answered emma lou, putting much em- phasis on the “i am.” she wanted the white people who were listening to know that she knew her grammar if this other person didn't. “is you,” indeed! if this girl was a specimen of the negro students with whom she was to asso- ciate, she most certainly did not want to meet another one. but it couldn't be possible that all of them- those three girls and those two boys for instance- were like this girl. emma lou was unable to imagine how such a person had ever gotten out of high school. where on earth could she have gone to high school? surely not in the north. then she must be a south- erner. that's what she was, a southerner-emma ✓ lou curled her lips a little—no wonder the colored people in boise spoke as they did about southern negroes and wished that they would stay south. im- the blacker the berry ... when shown this, the girl merely grinned, examined the list closely, and said: "i'm gonna' pay it, but i still think you're wrong." finally she moved away from the window, but not before she had turned to emma lou and said, "you're next,” and then proceeded to wait until emma lou had finished. emma lou vainly sought some way to escape, but was unable to do so, and had no choice but to walk with the girl to the registrar's office where they had their cards stamped in return for the bursar's receipt. this done, they went onto the campus together. hazel mason was the girl's name. emma lou had fully expected it to be either hyacinth or geranium. hazel was from texas, prairie valley, texas, and she v told emma lou that her father, having become quite wealthy when oil had been found on his farm lands, had been enabled to realize two life ambitions- obtain a packard touring car and send his only daughter to a “fust-class” white school. emma lou had planned to loiter around the campus. she was still eager to become acquainted with the colored members of the student body, and this encounter with the crass and vulgar hazel mason had only made her the more eager. she resented be- ing approached by any one so flagrantly inferior, any one so noticeably a typical southern darky, who had six the blacker the berry ... rough and pimply, nor was her hair kinky, nor were her nostrils completely flattened out until they seemed to spread all over her face. no wonder people were prejudiced against dark skinned people when they were so ugly, so haphazard in their dress, and so boisterously mannered as was this present speci- men. she herself was black, but nevertheless she had come from a good family, and she could easily take her place in a society of the right sort of people. the two strolled along the lawn-bordered gravel path which led to a vine-covered building at the end of the campus. hazel never ceased talking. she kept shouting at emma lou, shouting all sorts of personal intimacies as if she were desirous of the whole world hearing them. there was no necessity for her to talk so loudly, no necessity for her to afford every one on the crowded campus the chance to stare and laugh at them as they passed. emma lou had never before been so humiliated and so embarrassed. she felt that she must get away from her offensive compan- ion. what did she care if she had to hurt her feelings to do so. the more insulting she could be now, the less friendly she would have to be in the future. “good-by,” she said abruptly, “i must go home.” with which she turned away and walked rapidly in the opposite direction. she had only gone a few steps when she was aware of the fact that the girl was the blacker the berry ... v il ridiculously unbecoming colors and ornaments. it seemed to be a part of their primitive heritage which they did not seem to have sense nough to forget and deny. black girl—white hatred and white striped sport suit—white shoes and stockings-red roadster. the picture was complete. all hazel needed to complete her circus-like appearance, thought emma lou, was to have some purple feathers stuck in her hat. still talking, the girl unlocked and proceeded to start the car. as she was backing it out of the narrow parking space, emma lou heard a chorus of semi- suppressed giggles from a neighboring automobile. in her anger she had failed to notice that there were people in the car parked next to the stutz. but as hazel expertly swung her machine around, emma lou caught a glimpse of them. they were all colored and they were all staring at her and at hazel. she thought she recognized one of the girls as being one of the group she had seen earlier that morning, and she did recognize the two brothers she had passed on the stairs. and as the roadster sped away, their laughter echoed in her ears, although she hadn't actu- ally heard it. but she had seen the strain in their faces, and she knew that as soon as she and hazel were out of sight, they would give free rein to their suppressed mirth. the blacker the berry ... although emma lou had finished registering, she returned to the university campus on the following morning in order to continue her quest for collegiate companions without the alarming and unwelcome presence of hazel mason. she didn't know whether to be sorry for the girl and try to help her or to be disgusted and avoid her. she didn't want to be inti- mately associated with any such vulgar person. it would damage her own position, cause her to be classified with some one who was in a class by herself, for emma lou was certain that there was not, and could not be, any one else in the university just like hazel. but despite her vulgarity, the girl was not all bad. her good nature was infectious, and emma lou had surmised from her monologue on the day before how utterly unselfish a person she could be and was. all of her store of the world's goods were at hand to be used and enjoyed by her friends. there was not, as she had said, “a selfish bone in her body.” but even that did not alter the disgusting fact that she was not one who would be welcome by the “right sort of people.” her flamboyant style of dress, her loud voice, her raucous laughter, and her flagrant disregard or ignorance of english grammar seemed inexcusable to emma lou, who was unable to understand how such a person could stray so far from the environment in which she rightfully be- the blacker the berry ... gen longed to enter a first class university. now hazel, according to emma lou, was the type of negro who should go to a negro college. there were plenty of them in the south whose standard of scholarship was not beyond her ability. and then, in one of those schools, her darky-like clownishness would not have to be paraded in front of white people, thereby caus- ing discomfort and embarrassment to others of her race, more civilized and circumspect than she. the problem irritated emma lou. she didn't see why it had to be. she had looked forward so anxi- ously, and so happily to her introductory days on the campus, and now her first experience with one of her fellow colored students had been an unpleasant one. but she didn't intend to let that make her unhappy. she was determined to return to the campus alone, seek out other companions, see whether they accepted or ignored the offending hazel, and govern herself accordingly. it was early and there were few people on the campus. the grass was still wet from a heavy over- night dew, and the sun had not yet dispelled the coolness of the early morning. emma lou's dress was of thin material and she shivered as she walked or stood in the shade. she had no school business to attend to; there was nothing for her to do but to walk aimlessly about the campus. shirley graves graduate club the blacker the berry ... in another hour, emma lou was pleased to see that the campus walks were becoming crowded, and that the side streets surrounding the campus were now heavy with student traffic. things were begin- ning to awaken. emma lou became jubilant and walked with jaunty step from path to path, from building to building. it then occurred to her that she had been told that there were more negro students enrolled in the school of pharmacy than in any other department of the university, so finding the phar- macy building she began to wander through its crowded hallways. almost immediately, she saw a group of five negro students, three boys and two girls, standing near a water fountain. she was both excited and perplexed, excited over the fact that she was so close to those she wished to find, and perplexed because she did not know how to approach them. had there been only one person standing there, the matter would have been comparatively easy. she could have ap- proached with a smile and said, “good morning.” the person would have returned her greeting, and it would then have been a simple matter to get acquainted. but five people in one bunch, all known to one another and all chatting intimately together!-it would seem too much like an intrusion to go burst- the blacker the berry ... ing into their gathering—too forward and too vulgar. then, there was nothing she could say after having said “good morning.” one just didn't break into a group of five and say, “i'm emma lou morgan, a new student, and i want to make friends with you.” no, she couldn't do that. she would just smile as she passed, smile graciously and friendly. they would know that she was a stranger, and her smile would assure them that she was anxious to make friends, anxious to become a welcome addition to their group. one of the group of five had sighted emma lou as soon as she had sighted them: "who's this?” queried helen wheaton, a senior in the college of law. "some new 'pick,' i guess," answered bob arm- strong, who was helen's fiance and a senior in the school of architecture. “i bet she's going to take pharmacy,” whispered amos blaine. "she's hottentot enough to take something," mum- bled tommy brown. “thank god, she won't be in any of our classes, eh amos?” emma lou was almost abreast of them now. they lowered their voices, and made a pretense of mum- bled conversation among themselves. only verne davis looked directly at her and it was she alone who returned emma lou's smile. the blacker the berry .. "whatcha grinnin' at?” bob chided verne as emma lou passed out of earshot. “at the little frosh, of course. she grinned at me. i couldn't stare at her without returning it.” “i don't see how anybody could even look at her without grinning." "oh, she's not so bad,” said verne. "well, she's bad enough.” "that makes two of them.” “two of what, amos?”. "hottentots, bob.” "good grief,” exclaimed tommy, "why don't you recruit some good-loking co-eds out here?” "we don't choose them,” helen returned. . “i'm going out to the southern branch where the sight of my fellow female students won't give me dyspepsia.” "ta-ta, amos," said verne, “and you needn't bother to sit in my car any more if you think us so terrible.” she and helen walked away, leaving the boys to discuss the sad days which had fallen upon the campus. emma lou, of course, knew nothing of all this. she had gone her way rejoicing. one of the students had noticed her, had returned her smile. this getting acquainted was going to be an easy matter after all. it was just necessary that she exercise a little pa- the blacker the berry ... tience. one couldn't expect people to fall all over one without some preliminary advances. true, she was a stranger, but she would show them in good time that she was worthy of their attention, that she was a good fellow and a well-bred individual quite pre- pared to be accepted by the best people. she strolled out on to the campus again trying to find more prospective acquaintances. the sun was warm now, the grass dry, and the campus over- crowded. there was an infectious germ of youth and gladness abroad to which emma lou could not re- main immune. already she was certain that she felt the presence of that vague something known as “col- lege spirit.” it seemed to enter into her, to make her jubilant and set her every nerve tingling. this was no time for sobriety. it was the time for youth's blood to run hot, the time for love and sport and whole- some fun. then emma lou saw a solitary negro girl seated on a stone bench. it did not take her a second to decide what to do. here was her chance. she would make friends with this girl and should she happen to be a new student, they could become friends and together find their way into the inner circle of those colored students who really mattered. emma lou was essentially a snob. she had ab- sorbed this trait from the very people who had sought the blacker the berry ... to exclude her from their presence. all of her life she had heard talk of “right sort of people," and of “the people who really mattered,” and from these phrases she had formed a mental image of those to whom they applied. hazel mason most certainly could not be included in either of these categories. hazel was just a vulgar little nigger from down south. it was her kind, who, when they came north, made it hard for the colored people already resident there. it was her kind who knew nothing of the social niceties or the polite conventions. in their own home they had been used only to coarse work and coarser manners. and they had been forbidden the chance to have intimate contact in schools and in public with white people from whom they might absorb some semblance of culture. when they did come north and get a chance to go to white schools, white theaters, and white libraries, they were too unused to them to appreciate what they were getting, and could be expected to continue their old way of life in an environment where such a way was decidedly out of place. emma lou was determined to become associated only with those people who really mattered, north- erners like herself or superior southerners, if there were any, who were different from whites only in so far as skin color was concerned. this girl, to whom she as the blacker the berry ... was now about to introduce herself, was the type she had in mind, genteel, well and tastily dressed, and not ugly. "good morning.” alma martin looked up from the book she was reading, gulped in surprise, then answered, “good morning." emma lou sat down on the bench. she was con- geniality itself. “are you a new student?” she in- quired of the astonished alma, who wasn't used to this sort of thing. "no, i'm a 'soph”,” then realizing she was expected to say more, "you're new, aren't you?” “oh yes," replied emma lou, her voice buoyant and glad. “this will be my first year." “do you think you will like it?" "i'm just crazy about it already. you know," she advanced confidentially, “i've never gone to school with any colored people before.” “no?" "no, and i am just dying to get acquainted with the colored students. oh, my name's emma lou morgan.” "and mine is alma martin.” they both laughed. there was a moment of silence. alma looked at her wrist watch, then got up from the bench. the blacker the berry ... s “i'm glad to have met you. i've got to see my advisor at ten-thirty. good-by.” and she moved away gracefully. emma lou was having difficulty in keeping from clapping her hands. at last she had made some head- way. she had met a second-year student, one who from all appearances, was in the know, and, who, as they met from time to time, would see that she met others. in a short time emma lou felt that she would be in the whirl of things collegiate. she must write to her uncle joe immediately and let him know how well things were going. he had been right. this was the place for her to be. there had been no one in boise worth considering. here she was coming into contact with really superior people, intelligent, gen- teel, college-bred, all trying to advance themselves and their race, unconscious of intra-racial schisms, caused by differences in skin color. she mustn't stop upon meeting one person. she must find others, so once more she began her quest and almost immediately met verne and helen stroll- ing down one of the campus paths. she remembered verne as the girl who had smiled at her. she observed her more closely, and admired her pleasant dark brown face, made doubly attractive by two evenly placed dimples and a pair of large, heavily-lidded, pitch black eyes. emma lou thought her to be much nave the blacker the berry ... more attractive than the anemic-looking yellow girl with whom she was strolling. there was something about this second girl which made emma lou feel that she was not easy to approach. "good morning.” emma lou had evolved a formula. “good morning,” the two girls spoke in unison. helen was about to walk on but verne stopped. "new student?” she asked. “yes, i am.” "so am i. i'm verne davis.” "i'm emma lou morgan.” "and this is helen wheaton.” “pleased to meet you, miss morgan." “and i'm pleased to meet you, too, both of you,” gushed emma lou. “you see, i'm from boise, idaho, and all through high school i was the only colored student." “is that so?” helen inquired listlessly. then turn- ing to verne said, “better come on verne if you are going to drive us out to the ‘branch'.” "all right. we've got to run along now. we'll see you again, miss morgan. good-by.” “good-by,” said emma lou and stood watching them as they went on their way. yes, college life was going to be the thing to bring her out, the turning point in her life. she would show the people back in the blacker the berry .... boise that she did not have to be a "no-gooder" as they claimed her father had been, just because she was black. she would show all of them that a dark skin girl could go as far in life as a fair skin one, and that she could have as much opportunity and as much happiness. what did the color of one's skin have to do with one's mentality or native ability? nothing whatsoever. if a black boy could get along in the world, so could a black girl, and it would take her, emma lou morgan, to prove it. with which she set out to make still more acquaintances. tg two weeks of school had left emma lou's mind in a chaotic state. she was unable to draw any coherent conclusions from the jumble of new things she had experienced. in addition to her own social strivings, there had been the academic routine to which she had had to adapt herself. she had found it all bewildering and overpowering. the university was a huge business proposition and every one in it had jobs to perform. its bigness awed her. its blatant reality shocked her. there was nothing romantic about going to college. it was, indeed, a serious busi- ness. one went there with a purpose and had several other purposes inculcated into one after school began. this getting an education was stern and serious, the blacker the berry ... regulated and systematized, dull and unemotional. besides being disappointed at the drabness and lack of romance in college routine, emma lou was also depressed by her inability to make much head- way in the matter of becoming intimately associated with her colored campus mates. they were all polite enough. they all acknowledged their introductions to her and would speak whenever they passed her, but seldom did any of them stop for a chat, and when she joined the various groups which gathered on the campus lawn between classes, she always felt excluded and out of things because she found herself unable to participate in the general conversation. they talked of things about which she knew nothing, of parties and dances, and of people she did not know. they seemed to live a life off the campus to which she was not privy, and into which they did not seem particularly anxious to introduce her. she wondered why she never knew of the parties they talked about, and why she never received in- vitations to any of their affairs. perhaps it was be- cause she was still new and comparatively unknown to them. she felt that she must not forget that most of them had known one another for a long period of time and that it was necessary for people who “be- longed” to be wary of strangers. that was it. she was still a stranger, had only been among them for about the blacker the berry ... wa two weeks. what did she expect? why was she so impatient? the thought of the color question presented itself to her time and time again, but she would always dismiss it from her mind. verne davis was dark and she was not excluded from the sacred inner circle. in fact, she was one of the most popular colored girls on the campus. the only thing that perplexed emma lou was that although verne too was new to the group, had just recently moved into the city, and was also just beginning her first year at the uni- versity, she had not been kept at a distance or ex- cluded from any of the major extra-collegiate activ- ities. emma lou could not understand why there should be this difference in their social acceptance. she was certainly as good as verne. in time emma lou became certain that it was because of her intimacy with hazel that the people on the campus she really wished to be friendly with paid her so little attention. hazel was a veritable clown. she went scooting about the campus, cutting capers, playing the darky for the amused white students. any time hazel asked or answered a question in any of the lecture halls, there was certain to be laughter. she had a way of phrasing what she wished to say in a manner which was invariably laugh pro- voking. the very tone and quality of her voice desig- the blacker the berry ... lun nated her as a minstrel type. in the gymnasium she would do buck and wing dances and play low-down blues on the piano. she was a pariah among her own people because she did not seem to know, as they knew, that negroes could not afford to be funny in front of white people even if that was their natural inclination. negroes must always be sober and seri- ous in order to impress white people with their adapt- ability and non-difference in all salient character- istics save skin color. all of the negro students on the campus, except emma lou, laughed at her openly and called her topsy. emma lou felt sorry for her although she, too, regretted her comic propensities and wished that she would be less the vaudevillian and more the college student. besides hazel, there was only one other person on the campus who was friendly with emma lou. this was grace giles, also a black girl, who was registered in the school of music. the building in which she had her classes was located some distance away, and grace did not get over to the main campus grounds very often, but when she did, she always looked for emma lou and made welcome overtures of friend- ship. it was her second year in the university, and yet, she too seemed to be on the outside of things. she didn't seem to be invited to the parties and dances, nor was she a member of the greek letter the blacker the berry ... sorority which the colored girls had organized. emma lou asked her why. "have they pledged you?" was grace giles' answer. "why no.” “and they won't either.” "why?" emma lou asked surprised. "because you are not a high brown or half-white.” emma lou had thought this too, but she had been loathe to believe it. “you're silly, grace. why—verne belongs.” "yeah," grace had sneered, “verne, a bishop's daughter with plenty of coin and a big buick. why shouldn't they ask her?” emma lou did not know what to make of this. she did not want to believe that the same color prejudice which existed among the blue veins in boise also existed among the colored college students. grace giles was just hypersensitive. she wasn't tak- ing into consideration the fact that she was not on the campus regularly and thus could not expect to be treated as if she were. emma lou fully believed that had grace been a regularly enrolled student like her- self, she would have found things different, and she was also certain that both she and grace would be asked to join the sorority in due time. but they weren't. nor did an entire term in the the blacker the berry ... school change things one whit. the christmas holi- days had come and gone and emma lou had not been invited to one of the many parties. she and grace and hazel bound themselves together and sought their extra-collegiate pleasures among people not on the campus. hazel began to associate with a group of housemaids and mature youths who worked only when they had to, and played the pool rooms and the housemaids as long as they proved profitable. hazel was a welcome addition to this particular group what with her car and her full pocketbook. she had never been proficient in her studies, had always found it impossible to keep pace with the other students, and, finally realizing that she did not belong and perhaps never would, had decided to "go to the devil,” and be done with it. it was not long before hazel was absent from the campus more often than she was present. going to cabarets and parties, and taking long drunken mid- night drives made her more and more unwilling and unable to undertake the scholastic grind on the next morning. just before the mid-term examinations, she was advised by the faculty to drop out of school until the next year, and to put herself in the hands of a tutor during the intervening period. it was evident that her background was not all that it should be; her preparatory work had not been sufficiently com- the blacker the berry ... plete to enable her to continue in college. as it was, they told her, she was wasting her time. so hazel disappeared from the campus and was said to have gone back to texas. “serves her right, glad she's gone,” was the verdict of her colored campus fellows. the christmas holidays for emma lou were dull and uneventful. the people she lived with were rheu- matic and not much given to yuletide festivities. it didn't seem like christmas to emma lou anyway. there was no snow on the ground, and the sun was shining as brightly and as warmly as it had shone during the late summer and early autumn months. the wild geraniums still flourished, the orange trees were blossoming, and the whole southland seemed to be preparing for the annual new year's day tourna- ment of roses parade in pasadena. emma lou received a few presents from home, and a christmas greeting card from grace giles. that was all. on christmas day she and grace attended church in the morning, and spent the afternoon at the home of one of grace's friends. emma lou never liked the people to whom grace introduced her. they were a dull, commonplace lot for the most part, peo- ple from georgia, grace's former home, untutored people who didn't really matter. emma lou bor- rowed a word from her grandmother and classified them as "fuddlers,” because they seemed to fuddle the blacker the berry ... everything—their language, their clothes, their at- tempts at politeness, and their efforts to appear more intelligent than they really were. the holidays over, emma lou returned to school a little reluctantly. she wasn't particularly interested in her studies, but having nothing else to do kept up in them and made high grades. meanwhile she had been introduced to a number of young men and gone out with them occasionally. they too were friends of grace's and of the same caliber as grace's other friends. there were no college boys among them ex- cept joe lane who was flunking out in the school of dentistry. he did not interest emma lou. as it was with joe, so it was with all the other boys. she invari- ably picked them to pieces when they took her out, and remained so impassive to their emotional ad- vances that they were soon glad to be on their way and let her be. emma lou was determined not to go out of her class, determined either to associate with the “right sort of people” or else to remain to her- self. had any one asked emma lou what she meant by the “right sort of people” she would have found her- self at a loss for a comprehensive answer. she really didn't know. she had a vague idea that those people on the campus who practically ignored her were the only people with whom she should associate. these the blacker the berry ... people, for the most part, were children of fairly well-to-do families from louisiana, texas and georgia, who, having made nest eggs, had journeyed to the west for the same reasons that her grand- parents at an earlier date had also journeyed west. they wanted to live where they would have greater freedom and greater opportunity for both their chil- dren and themselves. then, too, the world war had given impetus to this westward movement. there was more industry in the west and thus more chances for money to be made, and more opportunities to invest this money profitably in property and pro- geny. the greater number of them were either mulattoes or light brown in color. in their southern homes they had segregated themselves from their darker skinned brethren and they continued this practice in the north. they went to the episcopal, presbyterian, or catholic churches, and though they were not as frankly organized into a blue vein society as were the negroes of boise, they nevertheless kept more or less to themselves. they were not insistent that their children get "whiter and whiter every generation”, but they did want to keep their children and grand- children from having dark complexions. a light brown was the favored color; it was therefore found expedient to exercise caution when it came to mating. the blacker the berry ... was the people who, in emma lou's phrase, really mattered, the business men, the doctors, the lawyers, the dentists, the more moneyed pullman porters, hotel waiters, bank janitors, and majordomos, in fact all of the negro leaders and members of the negro upper class, were either light skinned themselves or else had light skinned wives. a wife of dark complexion was considered a handicap unless she was particu- larly charming, wealthy, or beautiful. an ordinary looking dark woman was no suitable mate for a negro man of prominence. the college youths on whom the future of the race depended practiced this precept of their elders religiously. it was not the girls in the school who were prejudiced—they had no reason to be, but they knew full well that the boys with whom they wished to associate, their future hus- bands, would not tolerate a dark girl unless she had, like verne, many things to compensate for her dark skin. thus they did not encourage a friendship with some one whom they knew didn't belong. thus they did not even pledge girls like grace, emma lou, and hazel into their sorority, for they knew that it would make them the more miserable to attain the thres- hold only to have the door shut in their faces. summer vacation time came and emma lou went back to boise. she was thoroughly discouraged and the blacker the berry ... depressed. she had been led to expect so much pleas- ure from her first year in college and in los angeles; but she had found that the people in large cities were after all no different from people in small cities. her uncle joe had been wrong—her mother and grand- mother had been right. there was no place in the world for a dark girl. being at home depressed her all the more. there was absolutely nothing for her to do nor any place for her to go. for a month or more she just lingered around the house, bored by her mother's constant and difficult attempts to be maternal, and irritated by her cousin buddy's freshness. adolescent boys were such a nuisance. the only bright spot on the horizon was the sunday school union picnic scheduled to be held during the latter part of july. it was always the crowning social event of the summer season among the colored citizens of boise. both the methodists and baptists missions cooperated in this affair and had their numbers augmented by all the denomina- tionally unattached members of the community. it was always a gala, democratic affair designed to provide a pleasant day in the out-of-doors. it was, besides the annual dance fostered by the local chap- ters of the masons and the elks, the only big com- munity gathering to which the entire colored popu- lation of boise looked forward. the blacker the berry ... picnic day came, and emma lou accompanied her mother, her uncle, and her cousin to bedney's mea- dow, a green, heavily forested acre of park land, which lay on the outskirts of the city, surrounded on three sides by verdant foothills. the day went by pleasantly enough. there were the usually heavily laden wooden tables, to which all adjourned in the late afternoon, and there were foot races, games, and canoeing. emma lou took part in all these activities and was surprised to find that she was having a good time. the company was congenial, and she found that since she had gone away to college she had be- come somewhat of a personage. every one seemed to be going out of his way to be congenial to her. the blue veins did not rule this affair. they were, in fact, only a minority element, and, for one of the few times of the year, mingled freely and unostenta- tiously with their lower caste brethren. all during the day, emma lou found herself paired off with a chap by the name of weldon taylor. in the evening they went for a stroll up the precipi- tous footpaths in the hills which grew up from the meadow. weldon taylor was a newcomer in the west trying to earn sufficient money to re-enter an eastern school and finish his medical education. emma lou rather liked him. she admired his tall, slender body, habar the blacker the berry .. the deep burnish of his bronze colored skin, and his mass of black curly hair. here, thought emma lou, is the type of man i like. only she did wish that his skin had been colored light brown instead of dark brown. it was better if she was to marry that she did not get a dark skin mate. her children must not suf- fer as she had and would suffer. the two talked of commonplace things as they walked along, comparing notes on their school experi- ences, and talking of their professors and their courses of study. it was dusk now and the sun had disappeared behind the snow capped mountains. the sky was a colorful haze, a master artist's canvas on which the colors of day were slowly being dominated by the colors of night. weldon drew emma lou off the little path they had been following, and led her to a huge bowlder which jutted out, elbow like, from the side of a hill, and which was hidden from the meadow below by clumps of bushes. they sat down, his arm slipped around her waist, and, as the dark- ness of night more and more conquered the evanes- cent light of day, their lips met, and emma lou grew lax in weldon's arms. ...? when they finally returned to the picnic grounds all had left save a few stragglers like themselves who had sauntered away from the main party. these made up a laughing, half-embarrassed group, who the blacker the berry ... collected their baskets and reluctantly withdrew from the meadow to begin the long walk back to their homes. emma lou and weldon soon managed to fall at the end of the procession, walking along slowly, his arm around her waist. emma lou felt an ecstasy surging through her at this moment greater than she had ever known before. this had been her first intimate sexual contact, her first awareness of the physical and emotional pleasures able to be en- joyed by two human beings, a woman and a man. she felt some magnetic force drawing her to this man walking by her side, which made her long to feel the pleasure of his body against hers, made her want to know once more the pleasure which had attended the union of their lips, the touching of their tongues. it was with a great effort that she walked along appar- ently calm, for inside she was seething. her body had become a kennel for clashing, screaming compelling urges and desires. she loved this man. she had sub- mitted herself to him, had gladly suffered momentary physical pain in order to be introduced into a new and incomparably satisfying paradise. not for one moment did emma lou consider re- gretting the loss of her virtue, not once did any of her mother's and grandmother's warnings and solici- tations revive themselves and cause her conscience to plague her. she had finally found herself a mate; the blacker the berry ... been the anti-social creature they had caused her to feel she was and, since she was made to feel that she was a misfit, she had encroached upon their family life and sociabilities only to the extent that being in the house made necessary. but now she was changed-she had become a vibrant, joyful being. there was always a smile on her face, always a note of joy in her voice as she spoke or sang. she even made herself agreeable to her cousin buddy, who in the past she had either ignored or else barely toler- ated. “she must be in love, joe,” her mother half whined. “that's good,” he answered laconically. “it prob- ably won't last long. it will serve to take her mind off herself.” “but suppose she gets foolish?" jane had insisted, remembering no doubt her own foolishness, during a like period of her own life, with emma lou's father. "she'll take care of herself,” joe had returned with an assurance he did not feel. he, too, was worried, but he was also pleased at the change in emma lou. his only fear was that perhaps in the end she would make herself more miserable than she had ever been before. he did not know much about this weldon fellow, who seemed to be a reliable enough chap, but - - - - the blacker the berry ... no one had any way of discerning whether or no his intentions were entirely honorable. it was best, thought joe, not to worry about such things. if, for the present, emma lou was more happy than she had ever been before, there would be time enough to worry about the future when its problems material- ized. “don't you worry about emma lou. she's got sense.” “but, joe, suppose she does forget herself with this man? he is studying to be a doctor and he may not want a wife, especially when. ..." "damn it, jane!” her brother snapped at her. "do you think every one is like you? the boy seems to like her.” “men like any one they can use, but you know as well as i that no professional man is going to marry a woman dark as emma lou.” “men marry any one they love, just as you and i did.” "but i was foolish.” "well?” “that's right-be unconcerned. that's right-let her go to the devil. there's no hope for her anyway. oh—why—why did i marry jim morgan?” and she had gone into the usual crying fit which inevitably followed this self-put question. the blacker the berry ... then, without any warning, as if to put an end to all problems, weldon decided to become a pull- man porter. he explained to emma lou that he could make more money on the railroad than he could as a hotel waiter in boise. it was necessary for his future that he make as much money as possible in as short a time as possible. emma lou saw the logic of this and agreed that it was the best possible scheme, until she realized that it meant his going away from boise, perhaps forever. oakland, cali- fornia, was to be his headquarters, and he, being a new man, would not have a regular run. it was pos- sible that he might be sent to different sections of the country each and every time he made a trip. there was no way of his knowing before he reported for duty just where he might be sent. it might be boise or palm beach or albany or new orleans. one never knew. that was the life of the road, and one had to accept it in order to make money. it made emma lou shiver to hear him talk so dispassionately about the matter. there didn't seem to be the least note of regret in his voice, the least suggestion that he hated to leave her or that he would miss her, and, for the first time since the night of their physical union, emma lou began to realize that perhaps after all he did not feel toward her as she did toward him. he couldn't possibly love her the blacker the berry ... was as much as she loved him, and, at the same time, remain so unconcerned about having to part from her. there was something radically wrong here, something conclusive and unexpected which was go- ing to hurt her, going to plunge her back into un- happiness once more. then she realized that not once had he ever spoken of marriage or even hinted that their relationship would continue indefinitely. he had said that he loved her, he had treated her kindly, and had seemed as thrilled as she over their physical contacts. but now it seemed that since he was no longer going to be near her, no longer going to need her body, he had forgotten that he loved her. it was then that all the old preachments of her mother and grandmother were resurrected and began to swirl through her mind. hadn't she been warned that men didn't marry black girls? hadn't she been told that they would only use her for their sexua convenience? that was the case with weldon! he hadn't cared about her in the first place. he had taken up with her only because he was a stranger in the town and lonesome for a companion, and she, like a damn fool, had submitted herself to him! and now that he was about to better his condition, about to go some place where he would have a wider circle of acquaintances, she was to be discarded and for- gotten. the blacker the berry ... thus emma lou reasoned to herself and grew bitter. it never occurred to her that the matter of her color had never once entered the mind of weldon. | not once did she consider that he was acting toward her as he would have acted toward any girl under similar circumstances, whether her face had been white, yellow, brown, or black. emma lou did not understand that weldon was just a selfish normal man and not a color prejudiced one, at least not while he was resident in a community where the girls were few, and there were none of his college friends about to tease him for liking “dark meat.” she did not know that for over a year he had been traveling about from town to town, always seeking a place where money was more plentiful and more easily saved, and that in every town he had managed to find a girl, or girls, who made it possible for him to continue his grind without being totally deprived of pleasurable moments. to emma lou there could only be one reason for his not having loved her as she had loved him. she was a black girl and no pro- fessional man could afford to present such a wife in the best society. it was the tragic feature of her life once more asserting itself. there could be no happi- ness in life for any woman whose face was as black as hers. believing this more intensely than ever before the blacker the berry ... emma lou yet felt that she must manage in some way to escape both home and school. that she must find happiness somewhere else. the idea her uncle joe had given her about the provinciality of people in small towns re-entered her mind. after all los angeles, too, was a small town mentally, peopled by mentally small southern negroes. it was no better than boise. she was now determined to go east where life was more cosmopolitan and people were more civilized. to this end she begged her mother and uncle to send her east to school. "can't you ever be satisfied?” "now jane,” joe as usual was trying to keep the peace "now jane, nothing! i never saw such an ungrate- ful child.” "i'm not ungrateful. i'm just unhappy. i don't like that school. i don't want to go there any more.” "well, you'll either go there or else stay home.” thus jane ended the discussion and could not be persuaded to reopen it. and rather than remain home emma lou returned to los angeles and spent another long miserable, uneventful year in the university of southern cali- fornia, drawing more and more within herself and becoming more and more bitter. when vacation time came again she got herself a job as maid in a theater, the blacker the berry ... rather than return home, and studied stenography during her spare hours. school began again and emma lou re-entered with more determination than ever to escape should the chance present itself. it did, and once more emma lou fled into an unknown town to escape the haunting chimera of intra-racial color prejudice. part ii harlem ii harlem n lou turned her face away from the wall, e and quizzically squinted her dark, pea-like eyes at the recently closed door. then, sitting upright, she strained her ears, trying to hear the familiar squeak of the impudent floor boards, as john tiptoed down the narrow hallway toward the outside door. finally, after she had heard the closing click of the double- barrelled police lock, she climbed out of the bed, picked up a brush from the bureau and attempted to smooth the sensuous disorder of her hair. she had just recently had it bobbed, boyishly bobbed, be- cause she thought this style narrowed and enhanced the fulsome lines of her facial features. she was always trying to emphasize those things about her that seemed, somehow, to atone for her despised darkness, and she never faced the mirror without speculating upon how good-looking she might have been had she not been so black. mechanically, she continued the brushing of her hair, stopping every once in a while to give it an the blacker the berry . affectionate caress. she was intensely in love with her hair, in love with its electric vibrancy and its unruly buoyance. yet, this morning, she was irri- tated because it seemed so determined to remain dis- ordered, so determined to remain a stubborn and unnecessary reminder of the night before. why, she wondered, should one's physical properties always insist upon appearing awry after a night of stolen or forbidden pleasure? but not being anxious to find an answer, she dismissed the question from her mind, put on a stocking-cap, and jumped back into the bed. she began to think about john, poor john who felt so hurt because she had told him that he could not spend any more days or nights with her. she wondered if she should pity him, for she was certain that he would miss the nights more than he would the days. yet, she must not be too harsh in her con- clusions, for, after all, there had only been two nights, which, she smiled to herself, was a pretty good record for a newcomer to harlem. she had been in new york now for five weeks, and it seemed like, well, just a few days. five weeks——thirty-five days and thirty-five nights, and of these nights john had had two. and now he sulked because she would not promise him another; because she had, in fact, boldly told him that there could be no more between them. the blacker the berry ... nie? s mischievously, she wished now that she could have seen the expression on his face, when, after seeming moments of mutual ecstasy, she had made this cold, manifesto-like announcement. but the room had been dark, and so was john. ugh! she had only written home twice. this, of course, seemed quite all right to her. she was not concerned about any one there except her uncle joe, and she reasoned that since he was preparing to marry again, he would be far too busy to think much about her, all that worried her was the pitiful spectacle of her mother, her uncle, and her cousin trying to make up lies to tell inquiring friends. well, she would write today, that is, if she did not start to work, and she must get up at eight o'clock—was the alarm set? —and hie herself to an employment agency. she had only thirty-five dollars left in the bank, and, unless it was replenished, she might have to rescind her avowals to john in order to get her room rent paid. she must go to sleep for another hour, for she wished to look "pert” when she applied for a job, especially the kind of job she wanted, and she must get the kind of job she wanted in order to show those people in boise and los angeles that she had been perfectly justified in leaving school, home, and all, to come to new york. they all wondered why she had come. so did she, now that she was here. the blacker the berry ... maid in order to get to new york. they had never seemed interested in her before. now she wondered why had she been so painfully anxious to come to new york. she had given as a consoling reason to inquisitive friends and relatives, school. but she knew too well that she had no inten- tions of ever re-entering school. she had had enough of that school in los angeles, and her experiences there, more than anything else, had caused this fool- hardy hegira to harlem. she had been desperately driven to escape, and had she not escaped in this manner she might have done something else much more mad. emma lou closed her eyes once more, and tried to sublimate her mental reverie into a sleep-inducing lullaby. most of all, she wanted to sleep. one had to look “pert” when one sought a job, and she won- dered if eight o'clock would find her looking any more "pert” than she did at this present moment. what had caused her to urge john to spend what she knew would be his last night with her when she was so determined to be at her best the following morn- ing! o, what the hell was the use? she was going to sleep. the alarm had not yet rung, but emma lou was awakened gradually by the sizzling and smell of the blacker the berry .. fried and warmed-over breakfast, by the raucous early morning wranglings and window to window greetings, and by the almost constant squeak of those impudent hall floor boards as the various people in her apart- ment raced one another to the kitchen or to the bath- room or to the front door. how could harlem be so happily busy, so alive and merry at eight o'clock. eight o'clock? the alarm rang. emma lou scuttled out of the bed and put on her clothes. an hour later, looking as “pert” as possible, she entered the first employment agency she came to on th street, between lenox and seventh avenues. it was her first visit to such an establishment and she was particularly eager to experience this phase of a working girl's life. her first four weeks in har- lem had convinced her that jobs were easy to find, for she had noticed that there were three or four employment agencies to every block in business har- lem. assuring herself in this way that she would experience little difficulty in obtaining a permanent and tasty position, emma lou had abruptly in- formed mazelle lindsay that she was leaving her employ. “but, child,” her employer had objected, “i feel responsible for you. your—your mother! don't be preposterous. how can you remain in new york alone?” the blacker the berry... emma lou had smiled, asked for her money once more, closed her ears to all protest, bid the chagrined woman good-bye, and joyously loafed for a week. now, with only thirty-five dollars left in the bank, she thought that she had best find a job-find a job and then finish seeing new york. of course she had seen much already. she had seen john—and he- oh, damn john, she wanted a job. "what can i do for you?" the harassed woman at the desk was trying to be polite. "i–i want a job.” r-r-ring. the telephone insist- ently petitioned for attention, giving emma lou a moment of respite, while the machine-like woman wearily shouted monosyllabic answers into the in- strument, and, at the same time, tried to hush the many loud-mouthed men and women in the room, all, it seemed, trying to out-talk one another. while waiting, emma lou surveyed her fellow job-seekers. seedy lot, was her verdict. perhaps i should have gone to a more high-toned place. well, this will do for the moment. “what kinda job d'ye want?” "i prefer," emma lou had rehearsed these lines for a week, "a stenographic position in some colored business or professional office.” “ 'ny experience?” "no, but i took two courses in business college, the blacker the berry ... "what can i do for you, young man?" emma lou was dismissed. she looked for a place to sit down, and, finding none, walked across the narrow room to the window, hoping to get a breath of fresh air, and at the same time an advantageous position from which to watch the drama of some one else playing the role of a job- seeker. “r-r-ring." "whadda want? wait a minute. oh, sadie.” a heavy set, dark-brown-skinned woman, with full, flopping breasts, and extra wide buttocks, squirmed off a too narrow chair, and bashfully wobbled up to the desk. "wanta' go to a place on west end avenue? part- time cleaning, fifty cents an hour, nine rooms, yeah? all right? hello, gotta girl on the way. 'bye. two and a half, sadie. here's the address. run along now, don't idle.” r-r-ring. “ 'lo, yes. what? come down to the office. i can't sell jobs over the wire.” emma lou began to see the humor in this sordid situation, began to see something extremely comic in all these plaintive, pitiful-appearing colored folk, some greasy, some neat, some fat, some slim, some brown, some black (why was there only one mulatto in this crowd?), boys and men, girls and women, all the blacker the berry . single-filing up to the desk, laconically answering la- conic questions, impertinently put, showing thanks or sorrow or indifference, as their cases warranted, | paying off promptly, or else seeking credit, the while the jewish overseer of the dirty, dingy office asserted and reasserted her superiority. some one on the outside pushed hard on the warped door. protestingly it came open, and the small stuffy room was filled with the odor and presence of a stout, black lady dressed in a greasy gingham housedress, still damp in the front from splashing dishwater. on her head was a tight turban, too round for the rather long outlines of her head. beneath this turban could be seen short and wiry strands of recently straight- ened hair. and her face! emma lou sought to ob- serve it more closely, sought to fathom how so much grease could gather on one woman's face. but her head reeled. the room was vile with noise and heat and body-smells, and this woman "hy, rosie, yer late. got a job for ya.” the greasy-faced black woman grinned broadly, licked her pork chop lips and, with a flourish, sat down in an empty chair beside the desk. emma lou stumbled over three pairs of number ten shoes, pulled open the door and fled into the street. she walked hurriedly for about twenty-five yards, then slowed down and tried to collect her wits. tele- the blacker the berry ... phone bells echoed in her ears. sour smells infested her nostrils. she looked up and discovered that she had paused in front of two garbage cans, waiting on the curbstone for the scavenger's truck. irritated, she urned around and retraced her steps. there were few people on the street. the early morn- ing work crowds had already been swallowed by the subway kiosks on lenox avenue, and it was too early for the afternoon idlers. yet there was much activity, much passing to and fro. one hundred and thirty-fifth street, emma lou mumbled to herself as she strolled along. how she had longed to see it, and what a different thoroughfare she had imagined it to be! her eyes sought the opposite side of the street and blinked at a line of monotonously regular fire-escape decorated tenement buildings. she thanked whoever might be responsible for the architectural difference of the y. m. c. a., for the streaming bit of seventh avenue near by, and for the arresting cor- ner of the newly constructed teachers' college build- ing, which dominated the hill three blocks away, and cast its shadows on the verdure of the terraced park beneath. but she was looking for a job. sour smells assailed her nostrils once more. rasping voices. pleading voices. tired voices. domineering voices. and the insistent ring of the telephone bell all re-echoed in the blacker the berry ... her head and beat against her eard: ums. she must have staggered, for a passing youth eyed her curi- ously, and shouted to no one in par icular, “oh, no, now.” some one else laughed. they hought she was drunk. tears blurred her eyes. she wanted to run, but resolutely she kept her steady, slow pace, lifted her head a little higher, and, seeing another employ- ment agency, faltered for a moment, then went in. this agency, like the first, occupied the ground floor front of a tenement house, three-quarters of the way between lenox and seventh avenue. it was cagey and crowded, and there was a great conversa- tional hubbub as emma lou entered. in the rear of the room was a door marked "private,” to the left of this door was a desk, littered with papers and index cards, before which was a swivel chair. the rest of the room was lined with a miscellaneous assortment of chairs, three rows of them, tied together and trying to be precise despite their varying sizes and shapes. a single window looked out upon the street, and the y. m. c. a. building opposite. all of the chairs were occupied and three people stood lined up by the desk. emma lou fell in at the end of this line. there was nothing else to do. in fact, it was all she could do after entering. not an- other person could have been squeezed into that room from the outside. this office too was noisy and the blacker the berry ... hot and pregnant with clashing body smells. the buzzing electric fan, in a corner over the desk, with all its whirring, could not stir up a breeze. the rear door opened. a slender, light-brown- skinned boy, his high cheekbones decorated with blackheads, his slender form accentuated by a tight fitting jazz suit of the high-waistline, one-button coat, bell-bottom trouser variety, emerged smiling broadly, cap in one hand, a slip of pink paper in the other. he elbowed his way to the outside door and was gone. "musta got a job,” somebody commented. “it's about time,” came from some one else, “he said he'd been sittin' here a week.” the rear door opened again and a lady with a · youthful brown face and iron-gray hair sauntered in and sat down in the swivel chair before the desk. immediately all talk in the outer office ceased. an air of anticipation seemed to pervade the room. all eyes were turned toward her. for a moment she fingered a pack of red index cards, then, as if remembering something, turned around in her chair and called out: "mrs. blake says for all elevator men to stick around.” there was a shuffling of feet and a settling back into chairs. noticing this, emma lou counted six the blacker the berry ... elevator men and wondered if she was right. again the brown aristocrat with the tired voice spoke up: "day workers come back at one-thirty. won't be nothing doin' 'til then.” four women, all carrying newspaper packages, got out of their chairs, and edged their way toward the door, murmuring to one another as they went, “i ain't fixin' to come back.” "ah, she keeps you hyar." they were gone. two of the people standing in line sat down, the third approached the desk, emma lou close behind. “i wantsa—" "what kind of job do you want?” couldn't people ever finish what they had to say? “porter or dishwashing, lady.” “are you registered with us?” “no'm.” "have a seat. i'll call you in a moment.” the boy looked frightened, but he found a seat and slid into it gratefully. emma lou approached the desk. the woman's cold eyes appraised her. she must have been pleased with what she saw for her eyes softened and her smile reappeared. emma lou smiled, too. maybe she was “pert” after all. the tailored blue suit- "what can i do for you?” the blacker the berry ... the voice with the smile wins. emma lou was encouraged. “i would like stenographic work.” “experienced?" “yes.” it was so much easier to say than “no." “good.” emma lou held tightly to her under-arm bag. "we have something that would just about suit you. just a minute, and i'll let you see mrs. blake.” the chair squeaked and was eased of its burden. emma lou thought she heard a telephone ringing somewhere in the distance, or perhaps it was the clang of the street car that had just passed, heading for seventh avenue. the people in the room began talking again. "dat last job.” “boy, she was dressed right down to the bricks." “and i told him. ..." "yeah, we went to see 'flesh and the devil'.” “some parteee.” “i just been here a week.” emma lou's mind became jumbled with inco- herent wisps of thought. her left foot beat a nervous tattoo upon a sagging floor board. the door opened. the gray-haired lady with the smile in her voice beckoned, and emma lou walked into the private office of mrs. blake. four people in the room. the only window facing the blacker the berry ... a brick wall on the outside. two telephones, both busy. a good-looking young man, fingering papers in a filing cabinet, while he talked over one of the telephones. the lady from the outer office. another lady, short and brown, like butterscotch, talking over a desk telephone and motioning for emma lou to sit down. blur of high powered electric lights, brighter than daylight. the butterscotch lady hang- ing up the receiver. "i'm through with you young man.” crisp tones. metal, warm in spite of itself. "well, i ain't through with you.” the fourth per- son was speaking. emma lou had hardly noticed him before. sullen face. dull black eyes in watery sockets. the nose flat, the lips thick and pouting. one hand clutching a derby, the other clenched, bearing down on the corner of the desk. "i have no intention of arguing with you. i've said my say. go on outside. when a cook's job comes in, you can have it. that's all i can do." “no, it ain't all you can do." . "well, i'm not going to give you your fee back.” the lady from the outside office returns to her post. the good-looking young man is at the tele- phone again. "why not, i'm entitled to it.” “no, you're not. i send you on a job, the man man the blacker the berry ... stared at her coldly. now he did resemble a y. m. c. a. secretary. the lady from the outer office came in again. there was a triple criss-cross conver- sation carried on. it ended. the short bob-haired butterscotch boss gave emma lou instructions and information about her prospective position. she was half heard. sixteen dollars a week. is that all? work from nine to five. address on card. corner of th street, left side of the avenue. dismissal. smiles and good luck. pay the lady outside five dollars: awk- ward, flustered moments. then the entrance door and th street once more. emma lou was on her way to get a job. ss she walked briskly to the corner, crossed the street and turned north on seventh avenue. her hopes were high, her mind a medley of pleasing mental images. she visualized herself trim and pert in her blue tailored suit being secretary to some well- groomed negro business man. there had not been many such in the west, and she was eager to know and admire one. there would be other girls in the office, too, girls who, like herself, were college trained and reared in cultured homes, and through these fel- low workers she would meet still other girls and men, get in with the right sort of people. she continued day-dreaming as she went her way, the blacker the berry ... the negro population had begun to need more and better homes, angus and brown had led the way in buying real estate in what was to be negro harlem. they had been fighters, unscrupulous and canny. they had revealed a perverse delight in seeing white people rush pell-mell from the neighborhood in which they obtained homes for their colored clients. they had bought three six-story tenement buildings on th street, and, when the white tenants had been slow in moving, had personally dispossessed them, and, in addition, had helped their incoming negro tenants fight fistic battles in the streets and hallways, and legal battles in the court. now they were a substantial firm, grown fat and satisfied. junior real estate men got their business for them. they held the whip. their activities were many and varied. politics and fraternal activities oc- cupied more of their time than did real estate. they had had their hectic days. now they sat back and took it easy. emma lou opened the door to their office, consist- ing of one medium-sized outer room overlooking th street and two cubby holes overlooking seventh avenue. there were two girls in the outer office. one was busy at a typewriter; the other was gazing over her desk through a window into the aristocratic tree-lined city lane of th street. both the blacker the berry ... early yet, i know, but i generally go about this time. come along, won't you, i'd like to talk to you. i'll be ready in about thirty minutes if you don't mind the wait.” emma lou warmed to the idea. at that moment, she would have warmed toward any suggestion of friendliness. here, perhaps, was a chance to make a welcome contact. she was lonesome and disappointed, so she readily assented and felt elated and superior as she walked out of the office with the “boss.” they went to eddie's for luncheon. eddie's was an elbow-shaped combination lunch-counter and dining room that embraced a united cigar store on the northeast corner of th street and seventh avenue. following mrs. blake's lead, emma lou ordered a full noontime dinner, and, flattered by mrs. blake's interest and congeniality, began to talk about herself. she told of her birthplace and her home life. she told of her high school days, spoke proudly of the fact that she had been the only negro student and how she had graduated cum laude. asked about her college years, she talked less freely. mrs. blake sensed a cue. “didn't you like college?”. "for a little while, yes.” “what made you dislike it? surely not the studies?!" the blacker the berry ... "no." she didn't care to discuss this. “i was lone- some, i guess.” "weren't there any other colored boys and girls? i thought...." emma lou spoke curtly. "oh, yes, quite a number, but i suppose i didn't mix well.” the waiter came to take the order for dessert, and emma lou seized upon the fact that mrs. blake ordered sliced oranges to talk about california's orange groves, california's sunshine—anything but the california college she had attended and from which she had fled. in vain did mrs. blake try to maneuver the conversation back to emma lou's college experiences. she would have none of it and mrs. blake was finally forced to give it up. when they were finished, mrs. blake insisted upon taking the check. this done, she began to talk about jobs. "you know, miss morgan, good jobs are rare. it is seldom i have anything to offer outside of the domestic field. most negro business offices are family affairs. they either get their help from within their own family group or from among their friends. then, too,” emma lou noticed that mrs. blake did not look directly at her, "lots of our negro business men have a definite type of girl in mind and will not hire any other.” the blacker the berry ... emma lou wondered what it was mrs. blake seemed to be holding back. she began again: “my advice to you is that you enter teachers' college and if you will stay in new york, get a job in the public school system. you can easily take a light job of some kind to support you through your course. maybe with three years' college you won't need to go to training school. why don't you find out about that? now, if i were you. ...” mrs. blake talked on, putting much emphasis on every "if i were you." emma lou grew listless and antagonistic. she didn't like this little sawed-off woman as she was now, being business like and giving advice. she was glad when they finally left eddie's, and more than glad to escape after having been admonished not to oversleep, “but be in my office, and i'll see what i can do for you, dearie, early in the morning. there's sure to be something." left to herself, emma lou strolled south on the west side of seventh avenue to th street, then crossed over to the east side and turned north. she didn't know what to do. it was too late to consider visiting another employment agency, and, further- more, she didn't have enough money left to pay another fee. let jobs go until tomorrow, then she would return to mrs. blake's, ask for a return of her the blacker the berry ... fee, and find some other employment agency, a more imposing one, if possible. she had had enough of those on th street. she didn't want to go home, either. her room had no outside vista. if she sat in the solitary chair by the solitary window, all she could see were other windows and brick walls and people either mysteri- ously or brazenly moving about in the apartments across the court. there was no privacy there, little fresh air, and no natural light after the sun began its downward course. then the apartment always smelled of frying fish or of boiling cabbage. her landlady seemed to alternate daily between these two foods. fish smells and cabbage smells pervaded the long, dark hallway, swirled into the room when the door was opened and perfumed one's clothes disagree- ably. moreover, urinal and foecal smells surged up- ward from the garbage-littered bottom of the court which her window faced. if she went home, the landlady would eye her suspiciously and ask, “ain't you got a job yet?” then move away, shaking her head and dipping into her snuff box. occasionally, in moments of excitement, she spat on the floor. and the little fat man who had the room next to emma lou's could be heard cough- ing suggestively—tapping on the wall, and talking to himself in terms of her. he had seen her slip john the blacker the berry .... in last night. he might be more bold now. he might even try—oh no he wouldn't. she was crossing th street. she remembered this corner. john had told her that he could always be found there after work any spring or summer evening. emma lou had met john on her first day in new york. he was employed as a porter in the theatre where mazelle lindsay was scheduled to perform, and, seeing a new maid on the premises, had decided to "make" her. he had. emma lou had not liked him particularly, but he had seemed new yorkish and genial. it was john who had found her her room. it was john who had taught her how to find her way up and down town on the subway and on the ele- vated. he had also conducted her on a cook's tour of harlem, had strolled up and down seventh avenue with her evenings after they had come up- town from the theater. he had pointed out for her the y. w. c. a. with its imposing annex, the emma ranson house, and suggested that she get a room there later on. he had taken her on a sunday to several of the harlem motion picture and vaudeville theaters, and he had been as painstaking in pointing out the churches as he had been lax in pointing out the cabarets. moreover, as they strolled seventh avenue, he had attempted to give her all the “inside shirley gia v formie graduate club the blacker the berry ... dope" on harlem, had told her of the “rent parties," of the "numbers," of "hot" men, of "sweetbacks," and other local phenomena. emma lou was now passing a barber shop near th street. a group of men were standing there beneath a huge white and black sign announcing, “bobbing's, fifty cents; haircuts, twenty-five cents.” they were whistling at three school girls, about four- teen or fifteen years of age, who were passing, doing much switching and giggling. emma lou curled her lips. harlem streets presented many such scenes. she looked at the men significantly, forgetting for the moment that it was none of her business what they or the girls did. but they didn't notice her. they were too busy having fun with those fresh little chippies. emma lou experienced a feeling of resentment, then, realizing how ridiculous it all was, smiled it away and began to think of john once more. she wondered why she had submitted herself to him. was it cold blooded payment for his kind chap- eroning? something like that. john wasn't her type. he was too pudgy and dark, too obviously an ex- cotton-picker from georgia. he was unlettered and she couldn't stand for that, for she liked intelligent- looking, slender, light-brown-skinned men, like, well ... like the one who was just passing. she admired the blacker the berry ... him boldly. he looked at her, then over her, and passed on. seventh avenue was becoming more crowded now. school children were out for their lunch hour, corner loafers and pool-hall loiterers were beginning to col- lect on their chosen spots. knots of people, of no particular designation, also stood around talking, or just looking, and there were many pedestrians, either impressing one as being in a great hurry, or else seeming to have no place at all to go. emma lou was in this latter class. by now she had reached nd street and had decided to cross over to the opposite side and walk south once more. seventh avenue was a wide, well-paved, busy thoroughfare, with a long, narrow, iron fenced-in parkway divid- ing the east side from the west. emma lou liked seventh avenue. it was so active and alive, so differ- ent from central avenue, the dingy main street of the black belt of los angeles. at night it was glorious! where else could one see so many different types of negroes? where else would one view such a heterogeneous ensemble of mellow colors, glorified by the night? people passing by. children playing. dogs on leashes. stray cats crouching by the sides of build- ings. men standing in groups or alone. black men. yellow men. brown men. emma lou eyed them. as the blacker the berry ... they eyed her. there were a few remarks passed. she thought she got their import even though she could not hear what they were saying. she quick- ened her step and held her head higher. be your- self, emma lou. do you want to start picking men. up off of the street? the heat became more intense. brisk walking made her perspire. her underclothes grew sticky. harlem heat was so muggy. she could feel the shine on her nose and it made her self-conscious. she remembered how the “grace" in the office of angus and brown had so carefully powdered her skin before confront- ing her employer, and, as she remembered this, she looked up, and sure enough, here she was in front of the building she had sought so eagerly earlier that morning. emma lou drew closer to the building. she must get that shine off of her nose. it was bad enough to be black, too black, without having a shiny face to boot. she stopped in front of the tailor shop directly beneath the office of angus and brown, and, turning her back to the street, proceeded to powder her shiny member. three noisy lads passed by. they saw emma lou and her reflection in the sunlit show window. the one closest to her cleared his throat and crooned out, loud enough for her to hear, “there's a girl for you, ‘fats.'” “fats” was the one in the middle. he had a rotund form and a coffee- the blacker the berry... colored face. he was in his shirt sleeves and carried his coat on his arm. bell bottom trousers hid all save the tips of his shiny tan shoes. “fats” was looking at emma lou, too, but as he passed, he turned his eyes from her and broadcast a withering look at the lad who had spoken: “man, you know i don't haul no coal.” there was loud laughter and the trio merrily clicked their metal-cornered heels on the sun-baked pavement as they moved away. part iii alva iii alva as tt was nine o'clock. the alarm rang. alva's room- i mate awoke cursing. "why the hell don't you turn off that alarm?" there was no response. the alarm continued to ring. "alva!” braxton yelled into his sleeping room- mate's ear, “turn off that clock. wake up,” he began shaking him, “wake up, damn you ... ya dead?” alva slowly emerged from his stupor. almost mechanically he reached for the clock, dancing merrily on a chair close to the bed, and, finding it, pushed the guilty lever back into the silent zone. braxton watched him disgustedly: "watcha gettin' up so early for? don'tcha know this is monday?” "shure, i know it's monday, but i gotta go to uncle's. the landlord'll be here before eleven o'clock.” “watcha gonna pawn?” iii the blacker the berry ... "my brown suit. i won't need it 'til next sunday. you got your rent?” "i got four dollars," braxton advanced slowly. "cantcha get the other two?”. braxton grew apologetic and explanatory, "not today ... ya ... see. ..." “aw, man, you make me sick.” disgust overcoming his languor, alva got out of the bed. this was getting to be a regular monday morning occurrence. braxton was always one, two or three dollars short of having his required half of the rent, and alva, who had rented the room, always had to make it up. luckily for alva, both he and the landlord were elks. fraternal brothers must stick together. thus it was an easy matter to pay the rent in installments. the only difficulty being that it was happening rather frequently. there is liable to be a limit even to a brother elk's patience, espe- cially where money is concerned. alva put on his dressing gown, and his house shoes, then went into the little alcove which was cur- tained off in the rear from the rest of the room. jumbled together on the marble topped stationary washstand were a half dozen empty gin bottles bear- ing a pre-prohibition gordon label, a similar number of empty ginger ale bottles, a cocktail shaker, and a medley of assorted cocktail, water, jelly and whiskey the blacker the berry ... glasses, filled and surrounded by squeezed orange and lemon rinds. the little two-burner gas plate atop a wooden dry goods box was covered with dirty dishes, frying pan, egg shells, bacon rinds, and a dominating though lopsided tea kettle. even alva's trunk, which occupied half the entrance space be- tween the alcove and the room, littered as it was with paper bags, cracker boxes and greasy paper plates, bore evidence of the orgy which the occu- pants of the room staged over every weekend. alva surveyed this rather intimate and familiar disorder, faltered a moment, started to call braxton, then remembering previous monday mornings set about his task alone. it was braxton's custom never to arise before noon. alva who worked as a presser in a costume house was forced to get up at seven o'clock on every week day save monday when he. was not required to report for work until twelve o'clock. his employers thus managed to accumulate several baskets of clothes from the sewing room before their pressers arrived. it was better to have them remain at home until this was done. then you didn't have to pay them so much, and having let the sewing room get head start, there was never any chance for the pressing room to slow down. alva's mother had been an american mulatto, his ✓ father a filipino. alva himself was small in stature the blacker the berry ... as his father had been, small and well developed with broad shoulders, narrow hips and firm well modeled limbs. his face was oval shaped and his ✓ features more oriental than negroid. his skin was neither yellow nor brown but something in between, something warm, arresting and mellow with the faintest suggestion of a parchment tinge beneath, lending it individuality. his eyes were small, deep and slanting. his forehead high, hair sparse and finely textured. the alcove finally straightened up, alva dressed rather hurriedly, and, taking a brown suit from the closet, made his regular monday morning trip to the pawn shop. emma lou finished rinsing out some silk stock- ings and sat down in a chair to reread a letter she had received from home that morning. it was about the third time she had gone over it. her mother wanted her to come home. evidently the home-town gossips were busy. no doubt they were saying, "strange mother to let that gal stay in new york alone. she ain't goin' to school, either. wonder what she's doin'?” emma lou read all this between the lines of what her mother had written. jane morgan was being tearful as usual. she loved to suffer, and being tearful seemed the easiest way to let the world the blacker the berry ... know that one was suffering. sob stuff, thought emma lou, and, tearing the letter up, threw it into the waste paper basket. emma lou was now maid to arline strange, who was playing for the moment the part of a mulatto carmen in an alleged melodrama of negro life in harlem. having tried, for two weeks to locate what she termed “congenial work,” emma lou had given up the idea and meekly returned to mazelle lindsay. she had found her old job satisfactorily filled, but mazelle had been sympathetic and had arranged to place her with arline strange. now her mother wanted her to come home. let her want. she was of age, and supporting herself. moreover, she felt that if it had not been for gossip her mother would never have thought of asking her to come home. "stop your mooning, dearie.” arline strange had returned to her dressing room. act one was over. the negro carmen had become the mistress of a wealthy european. she would now shed her gingham dress for an evening gown. mechanically, emma lou assisted arline in mak- ing the change. she was unusually silent. it was noticed. “ 'smatter, louie. in love or something?" emma lou smiled, “only with myself.” the blacker the berry ... “then snap out of it. remember, you're going cabareting with us tonight. this brother of mine from chicago insists upon going to harlem to check up on my performance. he'll enjoy himself more if you act as guide. ever been to small's?” emma lou shook her head. “i haven't been to any of the cabarets." “what?” arline was genuinely surprised. “you in harlem and never been to a cabaret? why i thought all colored people went.” emma lou bristled. white people were so stupid. “no” she said firmly. “all colored people don't go. fact is, i've heard that most of the places are patron- jized almost solely by whites.” "oh, yes, i knew that, i've been to small's and barron's and the cotton club, but i thought there were other places.” she stopped talking, and spent the next few moments deepening the artificial duski- ness of her skin. the gingham dress was now on its hanger. the evening gown clung glamorously to her voluptuous figure. “for god's sake, don't let on to my brother you ain't been to small's before. act like you know all about it. i'll see that he gives you a big tip.” the call bell rang. arline said “damn," gave one last look into the mirror, then hurried back to the stage so that the curtain could go up on the cabaret scene in act two. the blacker the berry ... emma lou laid out the negligee outfit arline would be killed in at the end of act three, and went downstairs to stand in the stage wings, a makeup box beneath her arm. she never tired of watching the so-called dramatic antics on the stage. she wonderedt if there were any negroes of the type portrayed by arline and her fellow performers. perhaps there were, since there were any number of minor parts being played by real negroes who acted much different from any negroes she had ever known or seen. it all seemed to her like a mad caricature. she watched for about the thirtieth time arline acting the part of a negro cabaret entertainer, and also for about the thirtieth time, came to the con- clusion that arline was being herself rather than the character she was supposed to be playing. from where she was standing in the wings she could see a small portion of the audience, and she watched their reaction. their interest seemed genuine. arline did have pep and personality, and the alleged negro background was strident and kaleidoscopic, all of which no doubt made up for the inane plot and vulgar dialogue. they entered small's paradise, emma lou, arline and arline's brother from chicago. all the way up- town he had plied emma lou with questions con- cerning new york's black belt. he had recipro- the blacker the berry ... cated by relating how well he knew the negro section of chicago. quite a personage around the black and tan cabarets there, it seemed. “but i never," he concluded as the taxi drew up to the curb in front of small's, “have seen any black gal in chicago act like arline acts. she claims she is presenting a har- lem specie. so i am going to see for myself.” and he chuckled all the time he was helping them out of the taxi and paying the fare. while they were checking their wraps in the foyer, the orchestra be- gan playing. through the open entrance way emma lou could see a hazy, dim-lighted room, walls and ceiling colorfully decorated, floor space jammed with tables and chairs and people. a heavy set mulatto in tuxedo, after asking how many were in their party, led them through a lane of tables around the squared off dance platform to a ringside seat on the far side of the cabaret. immediately they were seated, a waiter came to take their order. “three bottles of white rock.” the waiter nodded, twirled his tray on the tip of his fingers and skated away. emma lou watched the dancers, and noticed im- mediately that in all that insensate crowd of danc- ing couples there were only a few negroes. “my god, such music. let's dance, arline," and ich mu the blacker the berry ... didn't want to drink. she hadn't drunk before, but.... “here come the entertainers!" emma lou followed arline's turn of the head to see two women, one light brown skin and slim, the other chocolate colored and fat, walking to the center of the dance floor. the orchestra played the introduction and vamp to “muddy waters.” the two entertainers swung their legs and arms in rhythmic unison, smiling broadly and rolling their eyes, first to the left and then to the right. then they began to sing. their voices were husky and strident, neither alto nor soprano. they muddled their words and seemed to inpregnate the syncopated melody with physical content. as they sang the chorus, they glided out among the 'tables, stopping at one, then at another, and another, singing all the time, their bodies undulating and provocative, occasionally giving just a promise of an obscene hip movement, while their arms waved and their fingers held tight to the dollar bills and silver coins placed in their palms by enthusiastic onlookers. emma lou, all of her, watched and listened. as they approached her table, she sat as one mes- merized. something in her seemed to be trying to give way. her insides were stirred, and tingled. the the blacker the berry ... sa if the fat one could achieve it without seriously en- u dangering those ever tightening stepins. “dam' good, i'll say," a slender white youth at the next table asseverated, as he lifted an amber filled glass to his lips. arline sighed. her brother had begun to razz her. emma lou blinked guiltily as the lights were turned up. she had been immersed in something disturbingly pleasant. idiot, she berated herself, just because you've had one drink and seen your first cabaret entertainer, must your mind and body feel all aflame? arline's brother was mixing another highball. all around, people were laughing. there was much more. laughter than there was talk, much more gesticulat- ing and ogling than the usual means of expression called for. everything seemed unrestrained, aban- doned. yet, emma lou was conscious of a note of artificiality, the same as she felt when she watched arline and her fellow performers cavorting on the stage in “cabaret gal.” this entire scene seemed staged, they were in a theater, only the proscenium arch had been obliterated. at last the audience and the actors were as one. a call to order on the snare drum. a brutal sliding trumpet call on the trombone, a running minor scale by the clarinet and piano, an umpah, umpah by the r - watching م علمات the blacker the berry ... bass horn, a combination four measure moan and strum by the saxophone and banjo, then a melodic ensemble, and the orchestra was playing another dance tune. masses of people jumbled up the three entrances to the dance square and with difficulty, singled out their mates and became closely allied partners. inadvertently, emma lou looked at arline's brother. he blushed, and appeared uncom- fortable. she realized immediately what was on his mind. he didn't know whether or not to ask her to dance with him. the ethics of the case were com- plex. she was a negro and hired maid. but was she a hired maid after hours, and in this environment? emma lou had difficulty in suppressing a smile, then she decided to end the suspense. “why don't you two dance. no need of letting the music go to waste.” both arline and her brother were obviously re- lieved, but as they got up arline said, “ain't much fun cuddling up to your own brother when there's music like this.” but off they went, leaving emma lou alone and disturbed. john ought to be here, slipped out before she remembered that she didn't want john any more. then she began to wish that john had introduced her to some more men. but he didn't know the kind of men she was interested in knowing. he only knew men and boys like himself, the blacker the berry ... porters and janitors and chauffeurs and bootblacks. imagine her, a college trained person, even if she hadn't finished her senior year, being satisfied with the company of such unintelligent servitors. how had she stood john so long with his constant of defense, “i ain't got much education, but i got mother wit.” mother wit! creation of the unlettered, satisfying illusion to the dumb, ludicrous prop to the mentally unfit. yes, he had mother wit all right. emma lou looked around and noticed at a near-by table three young colored men, all in tuxedos, gazing at her and talking. she averted her glance and turned to watch the dancers. she thought she heard a burst of ribald laughter from the young men at the table. then some one touched her on the shoulder, and she looked up into a smiling oriental-like face, neither brown nor yellow in color, but warm and pleasing beneath the soft lights, and, because of the smile, showing a gleaming row of small, even teeth, set off by a solitary gold incisor. the voice was persuasive and apologetic, “would you care to dance with me?" the music had stopped, but there was promise of an encore. emma lou was confused, her mind blankly chaotic. she was expected to push back her chair and get up. she did. and, without saying a word, allowed herself to be maneuvered to the dance floor. in a moment they were swallowed up in the jazz the blacker the berry ... ne whirlpool. long strides were impossible. there were too many other legs striding for free motion in that over populated area. he held her close to him; the contours of her body fitting his. the two highballs had made her giddy. she seemed to be glowing in- side. the soft lights and the music suggested aban- don and intrigue. they said nothing to one another. she noticed that her partner's face seemed alive with some inner ecstasy. it must be the music, thought emma lou. then she got a whiff of his liquor-laden breath. after three encores, the clarinet shrilled out a combination of notes that seemed to say regretfully, “that's all.” brighter lights were switched on, and the milling couples merged into a struggling mass of individuals, laughing, talking, over-animated in- dividuals, all trying to go in different directions, and getting a great deal of fun out of the resulting con- fusion. emma lou's partner held tightly to her arm, and pushed her through the insensate crowd to her table. then he muttered a polite “thank you” and turned away. emma lou sat down. arline and her brother looked at her and laughed. “got a dance, eh louie?” emma lou wondered if arline was being malicious, and for an answer she only nodded her head and smiled, hoping all the while that her smile was properly enigmatic. w the blacker the berry ... arline's brother spoke up. “whadda say we go. i've seen enough of this to know that arline and her stage director are all wet.” their waiter was called, the check was paid, and they were on their way out. in spite of herself, emma lou glanced back to the table where her dancing partner was sitting. to her confusion, she noticed that he and his two friends were staring at her. one of them said something and made a wry face. then they all laughed, uproariously and cruelly. alva had overslept. braxton, who had stayed out the entire night, came in about eight o'clock, and excitedly interrupted his drunken slumber. "ain't you goin' to work?” “work?” alva was alarmed. “what time is it?" “'bout eight. didn't you set the clock?" "sure, i did.” alva picked up the clock from the floor and examined the alarm dial. it had been set for ten o'clock instead of for six. he sulked for a moment, then attempted to shake off the impend- ing mood of regretfulness and disgust for self. “aw, hell, what's the dif'. call 'em up and tell 'em i'm sick. there's a nickel somewhere in that change on the dresser.” braxton had taken off his tuxedo coat and vest. the blacker the berry ... "she did, but i jived her along, so she ditched him, and gave me her address. i met her there later.”. braxton was now ready to get into the bed. all this time he had been preparing himself in his usual bedtime manner. his face had been cold-creamed, his hair greased and tightly covered by a silken stocking cap. this done, he climbed over alva and lay on top of the covers. they were silent for a moment, then braxton laughed softly to himself. "where'd you go last night?" "where'd i go?” alva seemed surprised. “why i came home, where'd ya think i went?” braxton laughed again. “oh, i thought maybe you'd really made a date with that coal scuttle blond you danced with.” "ya musta thought it." "well, ya seemed pretty sweet on her.” "whaddaya mean, sweet? just because i danced with her once. i took pity on her, cause she looked so lonesome with those ofays. wonder who they was?” “oh, she probably works for them. it's good you danced with her. nobody else would.” "i didn't see nothing wrong with her. she might have been a little dark.” "little dark is right, and you know when they comes blacker'n me, they ain't got no go.” braxton v was a reddish brown aristocrat, with clear-cut features the blacker the berry ... and curly hair. his paternal grandfather had been an iroquois indian. emma lou was very lonesome. she still knew no one save john, two or three of the negro actors who worked on the stage with arline, and a west indian woman who lived in the same apartment with her. occasionally john met her when she left the theater at night and escorted her to her apartment door. he repeatedly importuned her to be nice to him once more. her only answer was a sigh or a smile. the west indian woman was employed as a sten- ; ographer in the office of a harlem political sheet. she was shy and retiring, and not much given to making friends with american negroes. so many of them had snubbed and pained her when she was newly emigrant from her home in barbadoes, that she lumped them all together, just as they seemed to do her people. she would not take under considera- tion that emma lou was new to harlem, and not even aware of the prejudice american-born har- v lemites nursed for foreign-born ones. she remem- bered too vividly how, on ringing the bell of a house where there had been a vacancy sign in the window, a little girl had come to the door, and, in answer to a voice in the back asking, "who is it, cora?" had replied, “monkey chaser wants to see the room you the blacker the berry ... got to rent.” jasmine griffith was wary of all contact with american negroes, for that had been only one of the many embittering incidents she had exper- ienced. emma lou liked jasmine, but was conscious of the fact that she could never penetrate her stolid reserve. they often talked to one another when they met in the hallway, and sometimes they stopped in one another's rooms, but there was never any talk of going places together, never any informal revela- tions or intimacies. the negro actors in “cabaret gal,” all felt them- selves superior to emma lou, and she in turn felt superior to them. she was just a maid. they were just common stage folk. once she had had an in- spiration. she had heard that “cabaret gal” was liable to run for two years or more on broadway before road shows were sent out. without saying anything to arline she had approached the stage director and asked him, in all secrecy, what her chances were of getting into the cabaret ensemble. she knew they paid well, and she speculated that two or three years in “cabaret gal” might lay the foun- dations for a future stage career. “what the hell would arline do,” he laughed, “if she didn't have you to change her complexion before every performance?" the blacker the berry ... emma lou had smiled away this bit of persiflage and had reiterated her request in such a way that there was no mistaking her seriousness. sensing this, the director changed his mood, and admitted that even then two of the girls were drop- ping out of "cabaret gal” to sail for europe with another show, booked for a season on the continent. but he hastened to tell her, as he saw her eyes brighten with anticipation: "well, you see, we worked out a color scheme that would be a complement to arline's makeup. you've noticed, no doubt, that all of the girls are about one color, and. ..." unable to stammer any more, he had hastened away, embarrassed. emma lou hadn't noticed that all the girls were one color. in fact, she was certain they were not. she hastened to stand in the stage wings among them between scenes and observe their skin coloring. despite many layers of liquid powder she could see that they were not all one color, but that they were either mulatto or light-brown skin. their makeup and the lights gave them an appearance of sameness. she noticed that there were several black men in the ensemble, but that none of the women were dark. then the breach between emma lou and the show people widened. the blacker the berry ... had said that all the “dictys" lived between seventh and edgecombe avenues on th, th, th and th streets, decided to check off the places in these streets. john had also told her that “dictys” lived in the imposing apartment houses on edgecombe, brad- hurst and st. nicholas avenues. “dictys” were har- lem's high-toned people, folk listed in the local social register, as it were. but emma lou did not care to live in another apartment building. she preferred, or thought she would prefer, living in a private house where there would be fewer people and more privacy. the first place emma lou approached had a dou- ble room for two girls, two men, or a couple. they thought their advertisement had said as much. it hadn't, but emma lou apologized, and left. the next three places were nice but exorbitant. front rooms with two windows and a kitchenette, renting for twelve, fourteen and sixteen dollars a week. emma lou had planned to spend not more than eight or nine dollars at the most. the next place smelled far worse than her present home. the room was smaller and the rent higher. emma lou began to lose hope, then rallying, had gone to the last place on her list from the amsterdam news. the landlady was the spinster type, garrulous and friendly. she had a high forehead, keen intellectual eyes, and a sharp profile. the room she showed to emma lou was both spa- the blacker the berry ... cious and clean, and she only asked eight dollars and fifty cents per week for it. after showing her the room, the landlady had in- vited emma lou downstairs to her parlor. emma lou found a place to sit down on a damask covered divan. there were many other seats in the room, but the landlady, miss carrington, as she had introduced herself, insisted upon sitting down beside her. they talked for about a half an hour, and in that time, being a successful "pumper," miss carrington had learned the history of emma lou's experiences in harlem. satisfied of her ground, she grew more fa- miliar, placed her hand on emma lou's knee, then finally put her arm around her waist. emma lou felt uncomfortable. this sudden and unexpected inti- macy disturbed her. the room was close and hot. damask coverings seemed to be everywhere. damask coverings and dull red draperies and mauve walls. "don't worry any more, dearie, i'll take care of you from now on," and she had tightened her arm around emma lou's waist, who, feeling more un- comfortable than ever, looked at her wrist watch. “i must be going.” “do you want the room?” there was a note of anxiety in her voice. “there are lots of nice girls living here. we call this the 'old maid's home. we have parties among ourselves, and just have a grand the blacker the berry ... time. talk about fun! i know you'd be happy here.” emma lou knew she would too, and said as much. then hastily, she gave miss carrington a three dol- lar deposit on the room, and left ... to continue her search for a new place to live. there were no more places on her amsterdam news list, so noticing “vacancy" signs in windows along the various streets, emma lou decided to walk along and blindly choose a house. none of the houses in th street impressed her, they were all too cold looking, and she was through with th street. miss carrington lived there. she sauntered down the “l” trestled eighth avenue to th street. then she turned toward seventh avenue and strolled along slowly on the south side of the street. she chose the south side because she preferred the appearance of the red brick houses there to the green brick ones on the north side. after she had passed by three "va- cancy” signs, she decided to enter the very next house where such a sign was displayed. seeing one, she climbed the terraced stone stairs, rang the doorbell and waited expectantly. there was a long pause. she rang the bell again, and just as she relieved her pressure, the door was opened by a bedizened yellow woman with sand colored hair and deep set corn colored eyes. emma lou noted the in- congruous thickness of her lips. the blacker the berry ... "how do you do. ... ... would like to see one of your rooms.” the woman eyed emma lou curiously and looked as if she were about to snort. then slowly she began : to close the door in the astonished girl's face. emma lou opened her mouth and tried to speak, but the woman forestalled her, saying testily in broken english: "we have nothing here." persons of color didn't associate with blacks in the caribbean island she had come from. from then on emma lou intensified her suffering, mulling over and magnifying each malignant experi- ence. they grew within her and were nourished by constant introspection and livid reminiscences. again, she stood upon the platform in the auditorium of the boise high school. again that first moment of realiza- tion and its attendant strictures were disinterred and revivified. she was black, too black, there was no get- ting around it. her mother had thought so, and had often wished that she had been a boy. black boys can make a go of it, but black girls. ... no one liked black anyway..... wanted: light colored girl to work as waitress in tearoom.. .. wanted: nurse girl, light colored preferred (chil- dren are afraid of black folks). ... the blacker the berry ... "i don'haul no coal. ..." "it's like this, emma lou, they don't want no dark girls in their sorority. they ain't pledged us, and we're the only two they ain't, and we're both black.” the ineluctability of raw experience! the muddy mirroring of life's perplexities. . . . seeing every- thing in terms of self. ... the spreading sensitive- ness of an adder's sting. “mr. brown has some one else in mind. ..." “we have nothing here. ...". she should have been a boy. a black boy could get along, but a black girl. ... arline was leaving the cast of "cabaret gal” for two weeks. her mother had died in chicago. the negro carmen must be played by an understudy, a real mulatto this time, who, lacking arline's poise and personality, nevertheless brought down the house because of the crude vividity of her perform- ance. emma lou was asked to act as her maid while arline was away. indignantly, she had taken the alternative of a two weeks' vacation. imagine her being maid for a negro woman! it was unthinkable. left entirely to herself, she proceeded to make her- self more miserable. lying in bed late every morn- ing, semi-conscious, body burning, mind disturbed the blacker the berry ... by thoughts of sex. never before had she experienced such physical longing. she often thought of john and at times was almost driven to slip him into her room once more. but john couldn't satisfy her. she felt that she wanted something more than just the mere physical relationship with some one whose body and body coloring were distasteful to her. when she did decide to get up, she would spend an hour before her dresser mirror, playing with her hair, parting it on the right side, then on the left, then in the middle, brushing it straight back, or else teasing it with the comb, inducing it to crackle with electric energy. then she would cover it with a cap, pin a towel around her shoulders, and begin to ex- periment with her complexion. she had decided to bleach her skin as much as pos- sible. she had bought many creams and skin prepara- tions, and had tried to remember the various bleach- ing aids she had heard of throughout her life. she remembered having heard her grandmother speak of that “old fool, carrie campbell,” who, already a fair mulatto, had wished to pass for white. to accomplish this she had taken arsenic wafers, which were guar- anteed to increase the pallor of one's skin. emma lou had obtained some of these arsenic wafers and eaten them, but they had only served to give her pains in the pit of her stomach. next she the blacker the berry ... determined upon a peroxide solution in addition to something which was known as black and white ointment. after she had been using these for about a month she thought that she could notice some change. but in reality the only effects were an in- crease in blackheads, irritating rashes, and a burning skin. meanwhile she found her thoughts straying often to the chap she had danced with in the cabaret. she was certain he lived in harlem, and she was deter- mined to find him. she took it for granted that he would remember her. so day after day, she strolled up and down seventh avenue from th to th street, then crossed to lenox avenue and traversed the same distance. he was her ideal. he looked like a college person. he dressed well. his skin was such a warm and different color, and she had been tanta- lized by the mysterious slant and deepness of his oriental-like eyes. after walking the streets like this the first few days of her vacation, she became aware of the fu- tility of her task. she saw many men on the street, many well dressed, seemingly cultured, pleasingly colored men and boys. they seemed to congregate in certain places, and stand there all the day. she found herself wondering when and where they worked, and how they could afford to dress so well. she began to the blacker the berry ... admire their well formed bodies and gloried in the way their trousers fit their shapely limbs, and in the way they walked, bringing their heels down so firmly and so noisily on the pavement. rubber heels were out of fashion. hard heels, with metal heel plates were the mode of the day. these corner loafers were so care-free, always smiling, eyes always bright. she loved to hear them laugh, and loved to watch them, when, without any seeming provocation, they would cut a few dance steps or do a jig. it seemed as if they either did this from sheer exuberance or else simply to relieve the monotony of standing still. of course, they noticed her as she passed and re- passed day after day. she eyed them boldly enough, but she was still too self-conscious to broadcast an inviting look. she was too afraid of public ridicule or a mass mocking. ofttimes men spoke to her, and tried to make advances, but they were never the kind she preferred. she didn't like black men, and the others seemed to keep their distance. one day, tired of walking, she went into a motion picture theater on the avenue. she had seen the fea- ture picture before, but was too lethargic and too uninterested in other things to go some place else. in truth, there was no place else for her to go. so she sat in the darkened theater, squirmed around in her seat, and began to wonder just how many thousands of the blacker the berry .. negroes there were in harlem. this theater was prac- tically full, even in mid-afternoon. the streets were crowded, other theaters were crowded, and then there must be many more at home and at work. emma lou wondered what the population of negro harlem was. she should have read that harlem number of the survey graphic issued two or three years ago. but harlem hadn't interested her then for she had had no idea at the time that she would ever come to harlem. some one sat down beside her. she was too occupied with herself to notice who the person was. the fea- ture picture was over and a comedy was being flashed on the screen. emma lou found herself laughing, and, finding something on the screen to interest her, squared herself in her seat. then she felt a pressure on one of her legs, the warm fleshy pressure of an- other leg. her first impulse was to change her posi- tion. perhaps she had touched the person next to her. perhaps it was an accident. she moved her leg a little, but she still felt the pressure. maybe it wasn't an accident. her heart beat fast, her limbs began to quiver. the leg which was pressed against hers had such a pleasant, warm, fleshy feeling. she stole a glance at the person who had sat down next to her. he smiled ... an impudent boyish smile and pressed her leg the harder. “funny cuss, that guy,” he was speaking to her. the blacker the berry ... slap him in the face. change your seat. don't be an idiot. he has a nice smile. look at him again. "did you see him in ‘long pants'?” he was leaning closer now, and emma lou took note of a teakwood tan hand resting on her knee. she took another look at him, and saw that he had curly hair. he leaned toward her, and she leaned toward him. their shoulders touched, his hand reached for hers and stole it from her lap. she wished that the theater wasn't so dark. but if it hadn't been so dark this couldn't have happened. she wondered if his hair and eyes were brown or jet black. the feature picture was being reeled off again. they were too busy talking to notice that. when it was half over, they left their seats together. before they reached the street, emma lou handed him three dollars, and, leaving the theater, they went to an apartment house on th street, off lenox avenue. emma lou waited downstairs in the dirty marble hallway where she was stifled by urinal smells and stared at by passing people, waited for about ten minutes, then, in answer to his call, climbed one flight of stairs, and was led into a well furnished, though dark, apartment. his name was jasper crane. he was from virginia. living in harlem with his brother, so he said. he had only been in new york a month. didn't have a the blacker the berry ... job yet. his brother wasn't very nice to him. .. wanted to kick him out because he was jealous of him, thought his wife was more attentive than a sis- ter-in-law should be. he asked emma lou to lend him five dollars. he said he wanted to buy a job. she did. and when he left her, he kissed her passionately and promised to meet her on the next day and to tele- phone her within an hour. but he didn't telephone nor did emma lou ever see him again. the following day she waited for an hour and a half in the vicinity of that hallway where they were supposed to meet again. then she went to the motion picture theater where they had met, and sat in the same seat in the same row so that he could find her. she sat there through two shows, then came | back on the next day, and on the next. meanwhile several other men approached her, a panting fat jew, whom she reported to the usher, a hunchback, whom she pitied and then admired as he “made” the girl sitting on the other side of him; and there were sev- eral not very clean, trampy-looking men, but no jasper. he had asked her if she ever went to the renais- sance casino, a public hall, where dances were held every night, so emma lou decided to go there on a saturday, hoping to see him. she drew twenty-five dollars from the bank in order to buy a new dress, the blacker the berry ... a very fine elaborate dress, which she got from a “hot” man, who had been recommended to her by jasmine. "hot" men sold supposedly stolen goods, thus enabling harlem folk to dress well but cheaply. then she spent the entire afternoon and evening pre- paring herself for the night, had her hair washed and marcelled, and her fingernails manicured. before putting on her dress she stood in front of her mirror for over an hour, fixing her face, drench- ing it with a peroxide solution, plastering it with a mudpack, massaging it with a bleaching ointment, and then, as a final touch, using much vanishing cream and powder. she even ate an arsenic wafer. the only visible effect of all this on her complexion was to give it an ugly purple tinge, but emma lou was certain that it made her skin less dark. she hailed a taxi and went to the renaissance casino. she did feel foolish, going there without an escort, but the doorman didn't seem to notice. perhaps it was all right. perhaps it was customary for harlem girls to go about unaccompanied. she checked her wraps and wandered along the prom- enade that bordered the dance floor. it was early yet, just ten-thirty, and only a few couples were dancing. she found a chair, and tried to look as if she were waiting for some one. the orchestra stopped playing, people crowded past her. she liked the dance hall, the blacker the berry ... s, liked its draped walls and ceilings, its harmonic color design and soft lights. the music began again. she didn't see jasper. a spindly legged yellow boy, awkward and bashful, asked her to dance with him. she did. the bov danced badly, but dancing with him was better than sitting there alone, looking foolish. she did wish that he would assume a more upright position and stop scrunching his shoulders. it seemed as if he were try- ing to bend both their backs to the breaking point. as they danced they talked about the music. he asked her did she have an escort. she said yes, and hurried to the ladies' room when the dance was over. she didn't particularly like the looks of the crowd. it was well-behaved enough, but ... well . . . one could see that they didn't belong to the cultured classes. they weren't the right sort of people. maybe nice people didn't come here. jasper hadn't been so nice. she wished she could see him, wouldn't she give him a piece of her mind?—and for the first time she really sensed the baseness of the trick he had played on her. she walked out of the ladies' room and found her- self again on the promenade. for a moment she stood there, watching the dancers. the floor was more crowded now, the dancers more numerous and gay. she watched them swirl and glide around the dance the blacker the berry ... floor, and an intense longing for jasper or john or any one welled up within her. it was terrible to be so alone, terrible to stand here and see other girls con- tentedly curled up in men's arms. she had been fool- ish to come, jasper probably never came here. in truth he was no doubt far away from new york by now. what sense was there in her being here. she wasn't going to stay. she was going home, but before starting toward the check room, she took one more glance at the dancers and saw her cabaret dancing partner. he was dancing with a slender brown-skin girl, his smile as ecstatic and intense as before. emma lou noted the pleasing lines of his body encased in a form-fitting blue suit. why didn't he look her way? “may i have this dance?” a well modulated deep voice. a slender stripling, arrayed in brown, with a dark brown face. he had dimples. they danced. emma lou was having difficulty in keeping track of alva. he seemed to be consciously striving to elude her. he seemed to be deliberately darting in among clusters of couples, where he would remain hidden for some time, only to reappear far ahead or behind her. her partner was congenial. he introduced himself, but she did not hear his name, for at that moment, alva and his partner glided close by. emma lou the blacker the berry ... actually shoved the supple, slender boy she was danc- ing with in alva's direction. she mustn't lose him this time. she must speak. they veered close to one another. they almost collided. alva looked into her face. she smiled and spoke. he acknowledged her salute, but stared at her, frankly perplexed, and there was no recognition in his face as he moved away, bending his head close to that of his partner, the better to hear something she was asking him. the slender brown boy clung to emma lou's arm, treated her to a soda, and, at her request, piloted her around the promenade. she saw alva sitting in a box in the balcony, and suggested to her companion that they parade around the balcony for a while. he as- sented. he was lonesome too. first summer in new york. just graduated from virginia union univer- sity. going to columbia school of law next year. nice boy, but no appeal. too—supple. they passed by alva's box. he wasn't there. two other couples and the girl he had been dancing with were. emma lou and her companion walked the length of the balcony, then retraced their steps just in time to see alva coming around the corner carry- ing a cup of water. she watched the rhythmic swing of his legs, like symmetrical pendulums, perfectly shaped; and she admired once more the intriguing lines of his body and pleasing foreignness of his face. the blacker the berry ... said to her before. plunge in boy, plunge! the blacker the berry—he chuckled to himself. · orchestra playing "blue skies,” as an especial favor to her. alva telling her his name and giving her his card, and asking her to 'phone him some day. alva close to her and being nice, his arms tightening about her. she would call him tomorrow. ecstasy ended too soon. the music stopped. he thanked her for the dance and left her standing on the promenade by the side of the waiting slender stripling. she danced with him twice more, then let him take her home. at ten the next morning emma lou called alva. braxton came to the telephone. “alva's gone to work; who is it?" people should have more sense than to call that early in the morn- ing. he never got up until noon. emma lou was being apologetic. "could you tell me what time he will be in?” “ 'bout six-thirty. who shall i say called? this is his roommate." “just ... oh... i'll call him later. thank you." braxton swore. “why in the hell does alva give so many damn women his 'phone number?” six-thirty-five. his roommate had said about six- thirty. she called again. he came to the 'phone. she thought his voice was more harsh than usual. the blacker the berry ... “oh, i'm all right, only tired.” "did you work hard?” “i always work hard.” "i... ... just thought i'd call.” “glad you did, call me again some time. good- bye”—said too quickly. no chance to say "when will i see you again?”. she went home, got into the bed and cried herself to sleep. arline returned two days ahead of schedule. things settled back into routine. the brown stripling had taken emma lou out twice, but upon her refusal to submit herself to him, had gone away in a huff, and had not returned. she surmised that it was the first time he had made such a request of any one. he did it so ineptly. work. home. walks. theaters down- town during the afternoon, and thoughts of alva. finally, she just had to call him again. he came to the 'phone: “hello. who? emma lou? where have you been? i've been wondering where you were?" she was shy, afraid she might be too bold. but alva had had his usual three glasses of before-dinner gin. he helped her out. "when can i see you, sugar?” sugar! he had called her "sugar.” she told him the blacker the berry ... where she worked. he was to meet her after the theater that very night. “how many nights a week you gonna have that little inkspitter up here?” “listen here, brax, you have who you want up here, don't you?” “that ain't it. i just don't like to see you tied up with a broad like that." "why not? she's just as good as the rest, and you know what they say, 'the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice.'” “the only thing a black woman is good for is to make money for a brown-skin papa.” "i guess i don't know that.” "well,” braxton was satisfied now, "if that's the case. ..." he had faith in alva's wisdom. part iv rent party iv rent party aturday evening. alva had urged her to hurry d uptown from work. he was going to take her on a party with some friends of his. this was the first time he had ever asked her to go to any sort of social affair with him. she had never met any of his friends save braxton, who scarcely spoke to her, and never before had alva suggested taking her to any sort of social gathering either public or semi- public. he often took her to various motion picture theaters, both downtown and in harlem, and at least three nights a week he would call for her at the theater and escort her to harlem. on these occasions they often went to chinese restaurants or to ice cream parlors before going home. but usually they would go to city college park, find an empty bench in a dark corner where they could sit and spoon be- fore retiring either to her room or to alva's. emma lou had, long before this, suggested going to a dance or to a party, but alva had always countered that he never attended such affairs during the sum- the blacker the berry ... quite accidentally, as things of the sort happen in harlem with its complex but interdependable social structure, he had become acquainted with a young negro writer, who had asked him to escort a group of young writers and artists to a house-rent party. though they had heard much of this phenomenon, none had been on the inside of one, and because of their rather polished manners and exteriors, were afraid that they might not be admitted. proletarian negroes are as suspicious of their more sophisticated brethren as they are of white men, and resent as keenly their intrusions into their social world. alva had consented to act as cicerone, and, realizing that these people would be more or less free from the color prejudice exhibited by his other friends, had decided to take emma lou along too. he was also aware of her intellectual pretensions, and felt that she would be especially pleased to meet recognized talents and outstanding personalities. she did not have to know that these were not his regular com- panions, and from then on she would have no reason to feel that he was ashamed to have her meet his friends. emma lou could hardly attend to arline's change of complexion and clothes between acts and scenes, so anxious was she to get to alva's house and to the promised party. her happiness was complete. she tius, the blacker the berry ... was was certain now that alva loved her, certain that he was not ashamed or even aware of her dusky com- plexion. she had felt from the first that he was su- perior to such inane truck, now she knew it. alva loved her for herself alone, and loved her so much that he didn't mind her being a coal scuttle blond. sensing something unusual, arline told emma lou that she would remove her own make-up after the performance, and let her have time to get dressed for the party. this she proceeded to do all through the evening, spending much time in front of the mirror at arline's dressing table, manicuring her nails, mar- celling her hair, and applying various creams and cosmetics to her face in order to make her despised darkness less obvious. finally, she put on one of arline's less pretentious afternoon frocks, and set out for alva's house. as she approached his room door, she heard much talk and laughter, moving her to halt and speculate whether or not she should go in. even her unusual and high-tensioned jubilance was not powerful enough to overcome immediately her shyness and fears. suppose these friends of alva's would not take kindly to her? suppose they were like braxton, who invariably curled his lip when he saw her, and seldom spoke even as much as a word of greeting? suppose they were like the people who used to attend her the blacker the berry ... mother's and grandmother's teas, club meetings and receptions, dismissing her with—“it beats me how this child of yours looks so unlike the rest of you . . . are you sure it isn't adopted.” or suppose they were like the college youth she had known in southern california? no, that couldn't be. alva would never invite her where she would not be welcome. these were his friends. and so was braxton, but alva said he was peculiar. there was no danger. alva had invited her. she was here. anyway she wasn't so black. hadn't she artificially lightened her skin about four or five shades until she was almost brown? cer- tainly it was all right. she needn't be a foolish ninny all her life. thus, reassured, she knocked on the door, and felt herself trembling with excitement and inter- nal uncertainty as alva let her in, took her hat and coat, and proceeded to introduce her to the people in the room.* “miss morgan, meet mr. tony crews. you've probably seen his book of poems. he's the little jazz boy, you know.” emma lou bashfully touched the extended hand of the curly-headed poet. she had not seen or read his book, but she had often noticed his name in the newspapers and magazines. he was all that she had expected him to be except that he had pimples on his face. these didn't fit in with her mental picture. the blacker the berry ... "neither,” said paul. “they're just damning our 'pink niggers'.”. emma lou was aghast. such extraordinary people -saying "nigger" in front of a white man! didn't they have any race pride or proper bringing up? didn't they have any common sense? "what've they done now?” ray asked, reaching out to accept the glass alva was handing him. "no more than they've always done,” tony crews answered. “cora here just felt like being indignant, because she heard of a forthcoming wedding in brooklyn to which the prospective bride and groom have announced they with not invite any dark people.” “seriously now," truman began. ray interrupted him. "who in the hell wants to be serious?" “as i was saying,” truman continued, "you can't blame light negroes for being prejudiced against dark ones. all of you know that white is the symbol of everything pure and good, whether that everything be concrete or abstract. ivory soap is advertised as being ninety-nine and some fraction per cent pure, and ivory soap is white. moreover, virtue and vir- ginity are always represented as being clothed in white garments. then, too, the god we, or rather most negroes worship is a patriarchal white man, seated on a white throne, in a spotless white heaven, semrotym thurman's philosophy the blacker the berry ... radiant with white streets and white-apparelled angels eating white honey and drinking white milk.” "listen to the boy rave. give him another drink,” ray shouted, but truman ignored him and went on, becoming more and more animated. "we are all living in a totally white world, where all standards are the standards of the white man, and where almost invariably what the white man does is right, and what the black man does is wrong, unless it is precedented by something a white man has done.” "which," cora added scornfully, “makes it all right for light negroes to discriminate against dark ones?” “not at all,” truman objected. “it merely explains, not justifies, the evil-or rather, the fact of intra- racial segregation. mulattoes have always been ac- corded more consideration by white people than their darker brethren. they were made to feel superior even during slave days ... made to feel proud, as bud fisher would say, that they were bastards. it was for the mulatto offspring of white masters and negro slaves that the first schools for negroes were organized, and say what you will, it is generally the negro with a quantity of mixed blood in his veins who finds adaptation to a nordic environment more easy than one of pure blood, which, of course, you w the blacker the berry ... v will admit, is, to an american negro, convenient if not virtuous.” “does that justify their snobbishness and self- evaluated superiority?” "no, cora, it doesn't,” returned truman. “i'm not trying to excuse them. i'm merely trying to give what i believe to be an explanation of this thing. i have never been to washington and only know what paul and you have told me about conditions there, but they seem to be just about the same as conditions in los angeles, omaha, chicago, and other cities in which i have lived or visited. you see, people have to feel superior to something, and there is scant satis- faction in feeling superior to domestic animals or steel machines that one can train or utilize. it is much more pleasing to pick out some individual or some group of individuals on the same plane to feel su- perior to. this is almost necessary when one is a member of a supposedly despised, mistreated minor- ity group. then consider that the mulatto is much nearer white than he is black, and is therefore more liable to act like a white man than like a black one, although i cannot say that i see a great deal of dif- ference in any of their actions. they are human beings first and only white or black incidentally." ray pursed up his lips and whistled. “but you seem to forget," tony crews insisted, the blacker the berry ... . "that because a man is dark, it doesn't necessarily mean he is not of mixed blood. now look at. ...". "yeah, let him look at you or at himself or at cora,” paul interrupted. “there ain't no unmixed negroes.” “but i haven't forgotten that, truman said, ig- noring the note of finality in paul's voice. “i merely took it for granted that we were talking only about those negroes who were light-skinned.” "but all light-skinned negroes aren't color struck or color prejudiced,” interjected alva, who, up to this time, like emma lou, had remained silent. this was, he thought, a strategic moment for him to say something. he hoped emma lou would get the full significance of this statement. "true enough,” truman began again. “but i also took it for granted that we were only talking about those who were. as i said before, negroes are, after all, human beings, and they are subject to be influ- enced and controlled by the same forces and factors that influence and control other human beings. in an environment where there are so many color-prej- udiced whites, there are bound to be a number of color-prejudiced blacks. color prejudice and religion are akin in one respect. some folks have it and some don't, and the kernel that is responsible for it is pres- ent in us all, which is to say, that potentially we are the blacker the berry ... all color-prejudiced as long as we remain in this en- vironment. for, as you know, prejudices are always caused by differences, and the majority group sets the standard. then, too, since black is the favorite color of vaudeville comedians and jokesters, and, conversely, as intimately associated with tragedy, it is no wonder that even the blackest individual will seek out some one more black than himself to laugh at." “so saith the lord,” tony answered soberly. “and the holy ghost saith, let's have another drink.” "happy thought, ray," returned cora. “give us some more ice cream and gin, alva.” alva went into the alcove to prepare another con- coction. tony started the victrola. truman turned to emma lou, who, all this while, had been sitting there with alva's arm around her, every muscle in her body feeling as if it wanted to twitch, not know- ing whether to be sad or to be angry. she couldn't comprehend all of this talk. she couldn't see how these people could sit down and so dispassionately discuss something that seemed particularly tragic to her. this fellow truman, whom she was certain she knew, with all his hi-faluting talk, disgusted her im- measurably. she wasn't sure that they weren't all poking fun at her. truman was speaking: the blacker the berry ... bulb. “oh, play it you dirty no-gooder." ... a room full of dancing couples, scarcely moving their feet, arms completely encircling one another's bodies ... cheeks being warmed by one another's breath ... eyes closed . . . animal ecstasy agitating their per- spiring faces. there was much panting, much hip movement, much shaking of the buttocks. . . . "do it twice in the same place." ... "git off that dime.” now somebody was singing, “i ask you very confiden- tially. ...” “sing it man, sing it.” . . . piano treble moaning, bass rumbling like thunder. a swarm of people, motivating their bodies to express in sug- gestive movements the ultimate consummation of desire. the music stopped, the room was suffocatingly hot, and emma lou was disturbingly dizzy. she clung fast to alva, and let the room and its occupants whirl around her. bodies and faces glided by. leering faces and lewd bodies. anxious faces and angular bodies. sad faces and obese bodies. all mixed up to- gether. she began to wonder how such a small room could hold so many people. “oh, play it again ..." she saw the pianist now, silhouetted against the dark mahogany piano, saw him bend his long, slick-haired head, until it hung low on his chest, then lift his hands high in the air, and as quickly let them descend upon the keyboard. there was one moment of caco- the blacker the berry ... in when the music finally stopped, alva led emma lou to a settee by the window which his crowd had appropriated. every one was exceedingly animated, but they all talked in hushed, almost reverential tones. “isn't this marvelous?” truman's eyes were ablaze with interest and excitement. even tony crews seemed unusually alert. “it's the greatest i've seen yet,” he exclaimed. alva seemed the most unemotional one in the crowd. paul the most detached. “look at 'em all watching ray." “remember, bo,” truman counselled him. “to- night you're 'passing.' here's a new wrinkle, white man ‘passes' for negro.” "why not? enough of you pass for white.” they all laughed, then transferred their interest back to the party. cora was speaking: "didya see that little girl in pink—the one with the scar on her face-dancing with that tall, lanky, one-armed man? wasn't she throwing it up to him?" "yeah," tony admitted, “but she didn't have any- thing on that little mexican-looking girl. she musta been born in cairo.” "saay, but isn't that one bad looking darkey over there, two chairs to the left; is he gonna smother that woman?” truman asked excitedly. v the blacker the berry ... "i'd say she kinda liked it,” paul answered, then lit another cigarette. “do you know they have corn liquor in the kit- chen? they serve it from a coffee pot.” aaron seemed proud of his discovery. “yes,” said alva, “and they got hoppin'-john out there too." “what the hell is hoppin’-john?” “ray, i'm ashamed of you. here you are passing for colored and don't know what hoppin'-john is !” “tell him, cora, i don't know either.” “another one of these foreigners.” cora looked at truman disdainfully. “hoppin’-john is black-eyed peas and rice. didn't they ever have any out in salt lake city?” "have they any chitterlings?" alta asked eagerly. "no, alta,” alva replied, dryly. “this isn't kan- sas. they have got pig's feet though.” "lead me to 'em," aaron and alta shouted in uni- son, and led the way to the kitchen. emma lou clung to alva's arm and tried to remain behind. "alva, i'm afraid.” “afraid of what? come on, snap out of it! you need another drink.” he pulled her up from the set- tee and led her through the crowded room down the long narrow dark hallway to the more crowded kitchen. the blacker the berry ... his right punished the piano's loud-pedal. beads of perspiration gathered grease from his slicked-down hair, and rolled oleagenously down his face and neck, spotting the already damp baby-blue shirt, and streaking his already greasy black face with more shiny lanes. a sailor lad suddenly ceased his impassioned hip movement and strode out of the room, pulling his partner behind him, pushing people out of the way as he went. the spontaneous moans and slangy ejaculations of the piano player and of the more articulate dancers became more regular, more like a chanted obligato to the music. this lasted for a couple of hours interrupted only by hectic intermis- sions. then the dancers grew less violent in their movements, and though the piano player seemed never to tire there were fewer couples on the floor, and those left seemed less loathe to move their legs. eventually, the music stopped for a long interval, and there was a more concerted drive on the kitchen's corn liquor supply. most of the private flasks and bottles were empty. there were more calls for food, too, and the crap game in the side room annexed more players and more kibitzers. various men and women had disappeared altogether. those who remained seemed worn and tired. there was much petty per- son to person badinage and many whispered consulta- the blacker the berry ... tions in corners. there was an argument in the hall- way between the landlord and two couples, who wished to share one room without paying him more than the regulation three dollars required of one couple. finally, alva suggested that they leave. emma lou had drifted off into a state of semi-con- sciousness and was too near asleep or drunk to dis- tinguish people or voices. all she knew was that she was being led out of that dreadful place, that the perturbing “pilgrimage to the proletariat's parlor social,” as truman had called it, was ended, and that she was in a taxicab, cuddled up in alva's arms. emma lou awoke with a headache. some one was knocking at her door, but when she first awakened it had seemed as if the knocking was inside of her head. she pressed her fingers to her throbbing tem- ples, and tried to become more conscious. the knock persisted and she finally realized that it was at her door rather than in her head. she called out, “who is it?" "it's me.” emma lou was not far enough out of the fog to recognize who “me” was. it didn't seem important anyway, so without any more thought or action, she allowed herself to doze off again. who- ever was on the outside of the door banged the louder, and finally emma lou distinguished the voice the blacker the berry ... of her landlady, calling, “let me in, miss morgan, let me in.” the voice grew more sharp . . . “let me in," and then in an undertone, “must have some one in there.” this last served to awaken emma lou more fully, and though every muscle in her body protested, she finally got out of the bed and went to the door. the lady entered precipitously, and push- ing emma lou aside sniffed the air and looked around as if she expected to surprise some one, either squeez- ing under the bed or leaping through the window. after she had satisfied herself that there was no one else in the room, she turned on emma lou furiously: “miss morgan, i wish to talk to you.” emma lou closed the door and wearily sat down upon the bed. the wrinkled faced old woman glared at her and shifted the position of her snuff so she could talk more easily. “i won't have it, i tell you, i won't have it.” emma lou tried hard to realize what it was she wouldn't have, and failing, she said nothing, just screwed up her eyes and tried to look sober. “do you hear me?" emma lou nodded. “i won't have it. when you moved in here i thought i made it clear that i was a respectable woman and that i kept a respectable house. do you understand that now?” emma lou nodded again. there didn't seem to be anything else to do. “i'm glad you do. then it won't be necessary for me to explain why i want my room." the blacker the berry ... • e emma lou unscrewed her eyes and opened her mouth. what was this woman talking about? “i don't think i understand.” the old lady was quick with her answer. “there ain't nothin' for you to understand, but that i want you to get out of my house. i don't have no such carryings-on around here. a drunken woman in my house at all hours in the morning, being carried in by a man! well, you coulda knocked me over with a feather." at last emma lou began to understand. evidently the landlady had seen her when she had come in, no doubt had seen alva carry her to her room, and per- haps had listened outside the door. she was talking again: “you must get out. your week is up wednesday. that gives you three days to find another room, and i want you to act like a lady the rest of that time, too. the idea!” she sputtered, and stalked out of the room. this is a pretty mess, thought emma lou. yet she found herself unable to think or do anything about it. her lethargic state worried her. here she was about to be dispossessed by an irate landlady, and all she could do about it was sit on the side of her bed and think—maybe i ought to take a dose of salts. momentarily, she had forgotten it was sunday, the blacker the berry ... and began to wonder how near time it was for her to go to work. she was surprised to discover that it was still early in the forenoon. she couldn't possibly have gone to bed before four-thirty or five, yet it seemed as if she had slept for hours. she felt like some one who had been under the influence of some sinister potion for a long period of time. had she been drugged? her head still throbbed, her insides burned, her tongue was swollen, her lips chapped and feverish. she began to deplore her physical condition, and even to berate herself and alva for last night's de- bauchery. funny people, his friends. come to think of it they were all very much different from any one else she had ever known. they were all so, so—she sought for a descriptive word, but could think of nothing save that revolting, “oh, sock it,” she had heard on first entering the apartment where the house-rent party had been held. then she began to wonder about her landlady's charges. there was no need arguing about the matter. she had wanted to move anyway. maybe now she could go ahead and find a decent place in which to live. she had never had the nerve to begin another room hunting expedition after the last one. she shud- dered as she thought about it, then climbed back into the bed. she could see no need in staying up so long shirley gratis the blacker thb berryate gbul uil. to hear her and change the conversation. the only visible physical reaction would be a slight narrowing of the eyes, as if he were trying not to wince from the pain of some inner hurt. once she had suggested marriage, and had been shocked when alva told her that to him the marriage ceremony seemed a waste of time. he had already been married twice, and he hadn't even bothered to obtain a divorce from his first wife before acquiring number two. on hearing this, emma lou had urged him to tell her more about these marital experiments, and after a little coaxing, he had done so, very im- passively and very sketchily, as if he were relating the experiences of another. he told her that he had really loved his first wife, but that she was such an essential polygamous female that he had been forced to abdicate and hand her over to the multitudes. according to alva, she had been as vain as braxton, and as fundamentally dependent upon flattery. she could do without three square meals a day, but she couldn't do without her contingent of mealy-mouthed admirers, all eager to outdo one another in the matter of compliments. one man could never have satisfied her, not that she was a nymphomaniac with abnormal physical appetites, but because she wanted attention, and the more men she had around her, the more at- tention she could receive. she hadn't been able to the blacker the berry ... convince alva, though, that her battalion of admirers were all of the platonic variety. “i know niggers too well,” alva had summed it up to emma lou, “so i told her she just must go, and she went.” “but," emma lou had queried when he had started to talk about something else, "what about your second wife?” “oh,” he laughed, "well, i married her when i was drunk. she was an old woman about fifty. she kept me drunk from sunday to sunday. when i finally got sober she showed me the marriage license and i well nigh passed out again.” "but where is she?” emma lou had asked, "and how did they let you get married while you were drunk and already had a wife?". alva had shrugged his shoulders. “i don't know where she is. i ain't seen her since i left her room that day. i sent braxton up there to talk to her. seems like she'd been drunk too. so, it really didn't matter. and as for a divorce, i know plenty spades right here in harlem get married any time they want to. who in the hell's gonna take the trouble getting a divorce, when, if you must marry and already have a wife, you can get another without going through all that red tape?” emma lou had had to admit that this sounded logical, if illegal. yet she hadn't been convinced. the blacker the berry ... “but,” she had insisted, “don't they look you up and convict you of bigamy?” “hell, no. the only thing the law bothers niggers about is for stealing, murdering, or chasing white women, and as long as they don't steal from or mur- der ofays, the law ain't none too particular about bothering them. the only time they act about bigamy is when one of the wives squawk, and they hardly ever do that. they're only too glad to see the old man get married again—then they can do likewise, with- out spending lots of time on lawyers and courthouse red tape.” this, and other things which emma lou had eli- cited from alva, had convinced her that he was un- doubtedly the most interesting person she had ever met. what added to this was the strange fact that he seemed somewhat cultured despite his admitted unorganized and haphazard early training. on being questioned, he advanced the theory that perhaps this was due to his long period of service as waiter and valet to socially prominent white people. many negroes, he had explained, even of the “dicty" variety, had obtained their savoir faire and knowl- edge of the social niceties in this manner. emma lou lay abed, remembering the many dif- ferent conversations they had had together, most of which had taken place on a bench in city college the blacker the berry ... park, or in alva's room. with enough gin for stimu- lation, alva could tell many tales of his life and hold her spellbound with vivid descriptions of the various situations he had found himself in. he loved to reminisce, when he found a good listener, and emma lou loved to listen when she found a good talker. alva often said that he wished some one would write a story of his life. maybe that was why he cul- tivated an acquaintance with these writer people. ... then it seemed as if this one-sided conversa- tional communion strengthened their physical bond. it made emma lou more palatable to alva, and it made alva a more glamorous figure to emma lou. but here she was day dreaming, when she should be wondering where she was going to move. she couldn't possibly remain in this place, even if the old lady relented and decided to give her another chance to be respectable. somehow or other she felt that she had been insulted, and for the first time, began to feel angry with the old snuff-chewing terma- gant. her head ached no longer, but her body was still lethargic. alva, alva, alva. could she think of noth- ing else? supposing she sat upright in the bed—sup- posing she and alva were to live together. they might get a small apartment and be with one another entirely. immediately she was all activity. the head- the blacker the berry ... ache was forgotten. out of bed, into her bathrobe, and down the hall to the bathroom. even the quick shower seemed to be a slow, tedious process, and she was in such a hurry to hasten into the street and telephone alva, in order to tell him of her new plans, that she almost forgot to make the very necessary and very customary application of bleaching cream to her face. as it was, she forgot to rinse her face and hands in lemon juice. alva had lost all patience with braxton, and pro- fanely told him so. no matter what his condition, braxton would not work. he seemed to believe that because he was handsome, and because he was brax- ton, he shouldn't have to work. he graced the world with his presence. therefore, it should pay him. “a thing of beauty is joy forever," and should be sus- tained by a communal larder. alva tried to show him that such a larder didn't exist, that one either worked or hustled. but as alva had explained to emma lou, braxton wouldn't work, and as a hustler he was a distinct failure. he couldn't gamble successfully, he never had a chance to steal, and he always allowed his egotism to defeat his own ends when he tried to get money from women. he assumed that at a word from him, ! the blacker the berry ... anybody's pocketbook should be at his disposal, and that his handsomeness and personality were a com- bination none could withstand. it is a platitude among sundry sects and individuals that as a person thinketh, so he is, but it was not within the power of braxton's mortal body to become the being his /imagination sought to create. he insisted, for instance, that he was a golden brown replica of rudolph val- entino. every picture he could find of the late la- . mented cinema sheik he pasted either on the wall or on some of his belongings. the only reason that likenesses of his idol did not decorate all the wall space was because alva objected to this flapperish ritual. braxton emulated his silver screen mentor in every way, watched his every gesture on the screen, then would stand in front of his mirror at home and practice rudy's poses and facial expressions. strange as it may seem, there was a certain likeness between the two, especially at such moments when braxton would suddenly stand in the center of the floor and give a spontaneous impersonation of his rudy mak- ing love or conquering enemies. then, at all times, braxton held his head as rudy held his, and had even learned how to smile and how to use his eyes in the same captivating manner. but his charms were too obviously cultivated, and his technique too clumsy. he would attract almost any one to him, but the blacker the berry ... they were sure to bolt away as suddenly as they had come. he could have, but he could not hold. now, as alva told emma lou, this was a distinct handicap to one who wished to be a hustler, and live by one's wits off the bounty of others. and the com- petition was too keen in a place like harlem, where the adaptability to city ways sometimes took strange and devious turns, for a bungler to have much suc- cess. alva realized this, if braxton didn't, and tried to tell him so, but braxton wouldn't listen. he felt that alva was merely being envious—the fact that alva had more suits than he, and that alva always had clean shirts, liquor money and room rent, and that alva could continue to have these things, des- pite the fact that he had decided to quit work during the hot weather, meant nothing to braxton at all. he had facial and physical perfection, a magnetic body and much sex appeal. ergo, he was a master. however, lean days were upon him. his mother and aunt had unexpectedly come to new york to help him celebrate the closing day of his freshman year at columbia. his surprise at seeing them was nothing in comparison to their surprise in finding that their darling had not even started his freshman year. the aunt was stoic—“what could you expect of a child v with all that wild indian blood in him? now, our people. ..." she hadn't liked braxton's father. his the blacker the berry ... os mother simply could not comprehend his duplicity. such an unnecessarily cruel and deceptive perform- ance was beyond her understanding. had she been told that he was guilty of thievery, murder, or rape, she could have borne up and smiled through her tears in true maternal fashion, but that he could so com- pletely fool her for nine months—incredible; pre- posterous! it just couldn't be! she and her sister returned to boston, telling every one there what a successful year their darling had had at columbia, and telling braxton before they left that he could not have another cent of their money that summer, that if he didn't enter columbia in the fall . . . well, he was not yet of age. they made many vague threats; none so alarming, how- ever, as the threat of a temporary, if not permanent, suspension of his allowance. by pawning some of his suits, his watch, and dia- mond ring, he amassed a small stake and took to gambling. unlucky at love, he should, so alva said, have been lucky at cards, and was. but even a lucky man will suffer from lack of skill and foolhardiness. braxton would gamble only with mature men who gathered in the police-protected clubs, rather than with young chaps like himself, who gathered in pri- vate places. he couldn't classify himself with the cheap or the lowly. if he was to gamble, he must the blacker the berry ... lars a month at the most, and making it necessary for him to work nights one week from six to eight, and days the next week, vice versa. being an elevator operator in a loft building required too much skill, patience, and muscular activity. the same could be said of the shipping clerk positions, open in the vari- ous wholesale houses. he couldn't, of course, be ex- pected to be a porter, and swing a mop. bootblacking was not even to be considered. there was nothing left. he was unskilled, save as a presser. once he had been apprenticed to a journeyman tailor, but he pre- ferred to forget that. no, there was nothing he could do, and there was no sense in working in the summer. he never had done it; at least, not since he had been living in new york—so he didn't see why he should do it now. furthermore, his salary hardly paid his saloon bill, and since his board and room and laundry and clothes came from other sources, why not quit work alto- gether and develop these sources to their capacity output? things looked much brighter this year than ever before. he had more clothes, he had "hit" the numbers more than ever, he had won a baseball pool of no mean value, and, in addition to emma lou, he had made many other profitable contacts during the spring and winter months. it was safe for him to loaf, but he couldn't carry braxton, or rather, he the blacker the berry ... wouldn't. yet he liked him well enough not to kick him into the streets. something, he told emma lou, should be done for him first, so alva started doing things. first, he got him a girl, or rather steered him in the direction of one who seemed to be a good bet. she was. and as usual, braxton had little trouble in attracting her to him. she was a simple-minded over- sexed little being from a small town in central vir- ginia, new to harlem, and had hitherto always lived in her home town where she had been employed since her twelfth year as maid-of-all-work to a wealthy white family. for four years, she had been her mas- ter's concubine, and probably would have continued in that capacity for an unspecified length of time, had not the mistress of the house decided that after all it might not be good for her two adolescent sons to become aware of their father's philandering. she had had to accept it. most of the women of her gene- ration and in her circle had done likewise. but these were the post world war days of modernity ... and, well, it just wasn't being done, what with the grow- ing intelligence of the “darkies," and the increased sophistication of the children. so anise hamilton had been surreptitiously shipped away to new york, and a new maid-of-all- work had mysteriously appeared in her place. the the blacker the berry ... just the right size to create a smart uniform for, and shapely enough to allow the creator of the uniform ample latitude for bizarre experimentation. most important of all, her skin, the color of beaten brass with copper overtones, synchronized with the gray plaster walls, dark hardwood furniture and pow- der blue rugs on the maison quantrelle. anise soon had any number of “boy friends," with whom she had varying relations. but she willingly dropped them all for braxton, and, simple village girl that she was, expected him to do likewise with his "girl friends.” she had heard much about the "two- timing sugar daddies” in harlem, and while she was well versed in the art herself, having never been par- ticularly true to her male employer, she did think that this sort of thing was different, and that any time she was willing to play fair, her consort should do likewise. alva was proud of himself when he noticed how rapidly things progressed between anise and braxton. they were together constantly, and anise, not un- used to giving her home town “boy friends” some of "mister bossman's bounty," was soon slipping brax- ton spare change to live on. then she undertook to pay his half of the room rent, and finally, within three weeks, was, as alva phrased it, "treating brax- ton royally.” the blacker the berry ... but as ever, he was insistent upon being perverse. his old swank and swagger was much in evidence. with most of his clothing out of the pawnshop, he attempted to dazzle the avenue when he paraded its length, the alluring anise, attired in clothes bor- rowed from her employer's stockroom, beside him. the bronze replica of rudolph valentino was, in the argot of harlem's pool hall johnnies, “out the barrel.” the world was his. he had in it a bottle, and he need only make it secure by corking. but braxton was never the person to make anything secure. he might manage to capture the entire uni- verse, but he could never keep it pent up, for he would soon let it alone to look for two more like it. it was to be expected, then, that braxton would lose his head. he did, deliberately and diabolically. be- cause anise was so madly in love with him, he im- agined that all other women should do as she had done, and how much more delightful and profitable it would be to have two or three anises instead of one. so he began a crusade, spending much of anise's money for campaign funds. alva quarrelled, and anise threatened, but braxton continued to explore and expend. anise finally revolted when braxton took another girl to a dance on her money. he had done this many times before, but she hadn't known about it. she the blacker the berry ... wouldn't have known about it this time if he hadn't told her. he often did things like that. thought it made him more desirable. despite her simple-minded- ness, anise had spunk. she didn't like to quarrel, but she wasn't going to let any one make a fool out of her, so, the next week after the heartbreaking inci- dent, she had moved and left no forwarding address. it was presumed that she had gone downtown to live in the apartment of the woman for whom she worked. braxton seemed unconcerned about her disappear- ance, and continued his peacock-like march for some time, with feathers unruffled, even by frequent trips to the pawnshop. but a peacock can hardly preen an unplumaged body, and, though braxton continued to strut, in a few weeks after the break, he was only a sad semblance of his former self. alva nagged at him continually. “damned if i'm going to carry you." braxton would remain silent. "you're the most no-count nigger i know. if you can't do anything else, why in the hell don't you get a job?” “i don't see you working,” braxton would answer. “and you don't see me starving, either,” would be the come-back. "oh, jost 'cause you got that little black wench ..." “that's all right about the little black wench. the blacker the berry ... they made their way to the lafayette, the jew's gift of entertainment to harlem colored folk. each week the management of this theater presents a new musical revue of the three a day variety with motion pictures—all guaranteed to be from three to ten years old-sandwiched in between. on friday nights there is a special midnight performance lasting from twelve o'clock until four or four-thirty the next morning, according to the stamina of the actors. the audience does not matter. it would as soon sit until noon the next day if the “high yaller” chorus girls would continue to undress, and the black face comedians would continue to tell stale jokes, just so long as there was a raucous blues singer thrown in every once in a while for vulgar variety. before emma lou and alva could reach the en- trance door, they had to struggle through a crowd of well dressed young men and boys, congregated on the sidewalk in front of the theater. the midnight show at the lafayette on friday is quite a social event among certain classes of harlem folk, and, if one is a sweetback or a man about town, one must be seen standing in front of the theater, if not inside. it costs nothing to obstruct the entrance way, and it adds much to one's prestige. why, no one knows. without untoward incident emma lou and alva found the seats he had reserved. there was much the blacker the berry ... noise in the theater, much passing to and fro, much stumbling down dark aisles. people were always leaving their seats, admonishing their companions to hold them, and some one else was always taking them despite the curt and sometimes belligerent, “this seat is taken.” then, when the original occu- pant would return there would be still another argu- ment. this happened so frequently that there seemed to be a continual wrangling automatically staged in different parts of the auditorium. then people were always looking for some one or for something, always peering into the darkness, emitting code whistles, and calling to jane or jim or pete or bill. at the head of each aisle, both upstairs and down, people were packed in a solid mass, a grumbling, garrulous mass, elbowing their neighbors, cursing the management, and standing on tiptoe trying to find an empty, intact seat—intact because every other seat in the theater seemed to be broken. hawkers went up and down the aisle shouting, “ice cream, peanuts, chewing gum or candy.” people hissed at them and ordered what they wanted. a sadly inadequate crew of ushers inefficiently led people up one aisle and down an- other trying to find their supposedly reserved seats; a lone fireman strove valiantly to keep the aisles clear as the fire laws stipulated. it was a most chaotic and confusing scene. the blacker the berry ... first, a movie was shown while the organ played mournful jazz. about one o'clock the midnight revue went on. the curtain went up on the customary chorus ensemble singing the customary, “hello, we're glad to be here, we're going to please you” opening song. this was followed by the usual song and dance team, a blues singer, a lady charleston dancer, and two black faced comedians. each would have his turn, then begin all over again, aided frequently by the energetic and noisy chorus, which somehow man- aged to appear upon the stage almost naked in the first scene, and keep getting more and more naked as the evening progressed. emma lou had been to the lafayette before with john and had been shocked by the scantily clad women and obscene skits. the only difference that she could see in this particular revue was that the performers were more bawdy and more boisterous. and she had never been in or seen such an audience. there was as much, if not more, activity in the orchestra and box seats than there was on the stage. it was hard to tell whether the cast was before or behind the proscenium arch. there seemed to be a veritable contest going on between the paid per- formers and their paying audience, and emma lou found the spontaneous monkey shines and utterances of those around her much more amusing than the was the blacker the berry ... stereotyped antics of the hired performers on the stage. she was surprised to find that she was actually enjoying herself, yet she supposed that after the house-rent party she could stand anything. imagine people opening their flats to the public and charging any one who had the price to pay twenty-five cents to enter? imagine people going to such bedlam bacchanals? a new scene on the stage attracted her attention. a very colorfully dressed group of people had gath- ered for a party. emma lou immediately noticed that all the men were dark, and that all the women were either a very light brown or “high yaller.” she turned to alva: "don't they ever have anything else but fair chorus girls?” alva made a pretense of being very occupied with the business on the stage. happily, at that moment, one of a pair of black faced comedians had set the audience in an uproar with a suggestive joke. after a moment emma lou found herself laughing too. the two comedians were funny, no matter how prej- udiced one might be against unoriginality. there must be other potent elements to humor besides sur- prise. then a very topsy-like girl skated onto the stage to the tune of "ireland must be heaven be- cause my mother came from there.” besides being the blacker the berry ... corked until her skin was jet black, the girl had on a wig of kinky hair. her lips were painted red—their thickness exaggerated by the paint. her coming created a stir. every one concerned was indignant that something like her should crash their party. she attempted to attach herself to certain men in the crowd. the straight men spurned her merely by turn- ing away. the comedians made a great fuss about it, pushing her from one to the other, and finally getting into a riotous argument because each accused the other of having invited her. it ended by them agree- ing to toss her bodily off the stage to the orchestral accompaniment of “bye, bye, blackbird,” while the entire party loudly proclaimed that “black cats must go.” then followed the usual rigamarole carried on weekly at the lafayette concerning the undesirabil- ity of black girls. every one, that is, all the males, let it be known that high browns and "high yallers” were “forty” with them, but that. . . . they were interrupted by the re-entry of the little black girl riding a mule and singing mournfully as she was be- ing thus transported across the stage: a yellow gal rides in a limousine, a brown-skin rides a ford, a black gal rides an old jackass but she gets there, yes my lord. the blacker the berry ... emma lou was burning up with indignation. so color-conscious had she become that any time some one mentioned or joked about skin color, she imme- diately imagined that they were referring to her. now she even felt that all the people near by were looking at her and that their laughs were at her expense. she remained silent throughout the rest of the performance, averting her eyes from the stage and trying hard not to say anything to alva before they left the theater. after what seemed an eternity, the finale screamed its good-bye at the audience, and alva escorted her out into seventh avenue. alva was tired and thirsty. he had been up all night the night before at a party to which he had taken geraldine, and he had had to get up unusually early on friday morning in order to go after his laundry. of course when he had arrived at bobby's apartment where his laundry was being done, he found that his shirts were not yet ironed, so he had gone to bed there, with the result that he hadn't been able to go to sleep, nor had the shirts been ironed, but that was another matter. “first time i ever went to a midnight show with- out something on my hip,” he complained to emma lou as they crossed the taxi-infested street in order to escape the crowds leaving the theater and idling in front of it, even at four a. m. in the morning. the blacker the berry ... was "well,” emma lou returned vehemently, “it's the last time i'll ever go to that place any kind of way.” alva hadn't expected this. "what's the matter with you?” "you're always taking me some place, or placing me in some position where i'll be insulted.” "insulted?” this was far beyond alva. who on earth had insulted her and when. “but,” he paused, then advanced cautiously, “sugar, i don't know what you mean.” emma lou was ready for a quarrel. in fact she had been trying to pick one with him ever since the night she had gone to that house-rent party, and the land- lady had asked her to move on the following day. alva's curt refusal of her proposal that they live together had hurt her far more than he had imagined. somehow or other he didn't think she could be so serious about the matter, especially upon such short notice. but emma lou had been so certain that he would be as excited over the suggestion as she had been that she hadn't considered meeting a definite refusal. then the finding of a room had been irritat- ing to contemplate. she couldn't have called it irri- tating of accomplishment because alva had done that for her. she had told him on sunday morning that she had to move and by sunday night he had found a place for her. she had to admit that he had the blacker the berry ... found an exceptionally nice place too. it was just two blocks from him, on th street between eighth avenue and edgecombe. it was near the elevated station, near the park, and cost only ten dollars and fifty cents per week for the room, kitchenette and private bath. on top of his refusal to live with her, alva had broken two dates with emma lou, claiming that he was playing poker. on one of these nights, after leaving work, emma lou had decided to walk past his house. even at a distance she could see that there was a light in his room, and when she finally passed the house, she recognized geraldine, the girl with whom she had seen alva dancing at the renaissance casino, seated in the window. angrily, she had gone home, determined to break with alva on the morrow, and on reaching home had found a letter from her mother which had disturbed her even more. for a long time now her mother had been urging her to come home, and her uncle joe had even sent her word that he meant to forward a ticket at an early date. but emma lou had no intentions of going home. she was so obsessed with the idea that her mother didn't want her, and she was so incensed at the people with whom she knew she would be forced to associate, that she could consider her mother's hysterically-put request only as an insult. thus, presuming, she had the blacker the berry ... have my feelings hurt.” she stopped for breath. alva filled in the gap. "if you ask me," he said wearily, “i think you're full of stuff. let's take a taxi. i'm too tired to walk.” he hailed a taxi, pushed her into it, and gave the driver the address. then he turned to emma lou, saying something which he regretted having said a moment later. "how did my friends insult you?" "you know how they insulted me, sitting up there making fun of me 'cause i'm black.” alva laughed, something he also regretted later. "that's right, laugh, and i suppose you laughed with them then, behind my back, and planned all that talk before i arrived.” alva didn't answer and emma lou cried all the rest of the way home. once there he tried to soothe her. "come on, sugar, let alva put you to bed.” but emma lou was not to be sugared so easily. she continued to cry. alva sat down on the bed be- side her. "snap out of it, won't you, honey? you're just tired. go to bed and get some sleep. you'll be all right tomorrow.” emma lou stopped her crying. "i may be all right, but i'll never forget the way the blacker the berry ... late, and, turning on the light, found geraldine asleep in his bed. he was so surprised that he could do nothing for a moment but stand in the center of the room and look-first at geraldine and then at her toilet articles spread over his dresser. he twisted his lips in a wry smile, muttered something to himself, then walked over to the bed and shook her. “geraldine, geraldine,” he called. she awoke quickly and smiled at him. "hello. what time is it?” “oh,” he returned guardedly, "somewhere after three.” "where've you been?" "playing poker.” "with whom?” "oh, the same gang. but what's the idea?” geraldine wrinkled her brow. "the idea of what?” “of sorta taking possession?" “oh,” she seemed enlightened, “i've moved to new york." it was alva's cue to register surprise. "what's the matter? you and the old lady fall out?” “not at all.” “does she know where you are?” "she knows i'm in new york.” the blacker the berry ... she had had it called to her attention by her mother or some of her mother's friends, who had all seemed to take delight in marvelling, “what an extraordi- narily black child!” or “such beautiful hair on such a black baby!” her mother had even hidden her away on occa- sions when she was to have company, and her grand- mother had been cruel in always assailing emma lou's father, whose only crime seemed to be that he had had a blue black skin. then there had been her childhood days when she had ventured forth into the streets to play. all of her colored pl..ymates had been mulattoes, and her white playmates had never ceased calling public attention to her crow-like complexion. consequently, she had grown sensitive and had soon been driven to play by herself, avoiding contact with other children as much as possible. her mother en- couraged her in this, had even suggested that she not attend certain parties because she might not have a good time. then there had been the searing psychological effect of that dreadful graduation night, and the lonely embittering three years at college, all of which had tended to make her color more and more a para- mount issue and ill. it was neither fashionable nor good for a girl to be as dark as she, and to be, at the same time, as untalented and undistinguished. the blacker the berry ... dark girls could get along if they were exceptionally talented or handsome or wealthy, but she had noth- ing to recommend her, save a beautiful head of hair. despite the fact that she had managed to lead her classes in school, she had to admit that mentally she was merely mediocre and average. now, had she been as intelligent as mamie olds bates, head of a negro school in florida, and president of a huge national association of colored women's clubs, her darkness would not have mattered. or had she been as wealthy as lillian saunders, who had inherited the millions her mother had made producing hair straightening commodities, things might have been different; but here she was, commonplace and poor, ugly and undis- tinguished. emma lou recalled all these things, while trying to fasten the blame for her extreme color-conscious- ness on herself as alva had done, but she was unable to make a good case of it. surely, it had not been her color-consciousness which had excluded her from the only negro sorority in her college, nor had it been her color-consciousness that had caused her to spend such an isolated three years in southern california. the people she naturally felt at home with had, somehow or other, managed to keep her at a distance. it was no fun going to social affairs and being neglected throughout the entire evening. there was no sne the blacker the berry ... need in forcing one's self into a certain milieu only to be frozen out. hence, she had stayed to herself, had had very few friends, and had become more and more resentful of her blackness of skin. she had thought harlem would be different, but things had seemed against her from the beginning, and she had continued to go down, down, down, until she had little respect left for herself." she had been glad when the road show of “cabaret gal” had gone into the provinces. maybe a year of travel would set her aright. she would return to harlem with considerable money saved, move into the y. w. c. a., try to obtain a more congenial posi- tion, and set about becoming respectable once more, set about coming into contact with the “right sort of people.” she was certain that there were many colored boys and girls in harlem with whom she could asso- ciate and become content. she didn't wish to chance herself again with a jasper crane or an alva. yet, she still loved alva, no matter how much she regretted it, loved him enough to keep trying to win him back, even after his disgust had driven him away from her. she sadly recalled how she had telephoned him repeatedly, and how he had hung up the receiver with the brief, cruel “i don't care to talk to you," and she recalled how, swallowing her pride, she had gone to his house the day before she had left the blacker the berry . . new york. alva had greeted her coolly, then politely informed her that he couldn't let her in, as he had other company. this had made her ill, and for three days after "cabaret gal” opened in philadelphia, she had con- fined herself to her hotel room and cried hysterically. when it was all over, she had felt much better. the outlet of tears had been good for her, but she had never ceased to long for alva. he had been the only completely satisfying thing in her life, and it didn't seem possible for one who had pretended to love her as much as he, suddenly to become so completely in- different. she measured everything by her own moods and reactions, translated everything into the language of emma lou, and variations bewildered her to the extent that she could not believe in their reality. so, when the company had passed through new york on its way from philadelphia to boston, she had approached alva's door once more. it had never occurred to her that any one save alva would answer her knock, and the sight of geraldine in a negligee had stunned her. she had hastened to apologize for knocking on the wrong door, and had turned com- pletely away without asking for alva, only to halt as if thunderstruck when she heard his voice, as geraldine was closing the door, asking, "who was it, sugar?” the blacker the berry ... for a while, alva had been content. he really loved geraldine, or so he thought. to him she seemed eminently desirable in every respect, and now that she was about to bear him a child, well . . . he didn't yet know what they would do with it, but every- thing would work out as it should. he didn't even mind having to return to work, nor, for the moment, mind having to give less attention to the rest of his harem. of course, geraldine's attachment of herself to him ruled emma lou out more definitely than it did any of his other "paying off” people. he had been thor- oughly disgusted with her and had intended to relent only after she had been forced to chase him for a considerable length of time. but geraldine's coming had changed things altogether. alva knew when not to attempt something, and he knew very well that he could not toy with emma lou and live with geraldine at the same time. some of the others were different. he could explain geraldine to them, and they would help him keep themselves secreted from her. but emma lou, never! she would be certain to take it all wrong. the months passed; the baby was born. both of the parents were bitterly disappointed by this sickly, little “ball of tainted suet," as alva called it. it had a shrunken left arm and a deformed left foot. the m the blacker the berry ... doctor ordered oil massages. there was a chance that the infant's limbs could be shaped into some sem- blance of normality. alva declared that it looked like an idiot. geraldine had a struggle with herself, try- ing to keep from smothering it. she couldn't see why such a monstrosity should live. perhaps as the years passed it would change. at any rate, she had lost her respect for alva. there was no denying to her that had she mated with some one else, she might have given birth to a normal child. the pain she had ex- perienced had shaken her. one sight of the baby and continual living with it and alva in that one, now frowsy and odoriferous room, had completed her dis- illusionment. for one of the very few times in her life, she felt like doing something drastic. alva hardly ever came home. he had quit work once more and started running around as before, only he didn't tell her about it. he lied to her or else ignored her altogether. the baby now a year old was assuredly an idiot. it neither talked nor walked. its head had grown out of all proportion to its body, and geraldine felt that she could have stood its shrivelled arm and deformed foot, had it not been for its insanely large and vacant eyes which seemed never to close, and for the thick grinning lips, which always remained half open and through which came no trans- latable sounds. the blacker the berry ... found herself moving in a different world altogether. she even had a pal, gwendolyn johnson, a likable, light-brown-skinned girl, who had the room next to hers. gwendolyn had been in new york only a few months. she had just recently graduated from howard university, and was also planning to teach school in new york city. she and emma lou be- came fast friends and went everywhere together. it was with gwendolyn that emma lou shared the tickets campbell kitchen gave her. then on sundays they would attend church. at first they attended a different church every sunday, but finally took to attending st. marks a. m. e. church on st. nicholas avenue regularly. this was one of the largest and most high-toned churches in harlem. emma lou liked to go there, and both she and gwendolyn enjoyed sitting in the congregation, observing the fine clothes and trium- phal entries of its members. then, too, they soon be- came interested in the various organizations which the church sponsored for young people. they at- tended the meetings of a literary society every thurs- day evening, and joined the young people's bible class which met every tuesday evening. in this way, they came into contact with many young folk, and were often invited to parties and dances. gwendolyn helped emma lou with her courses in the blacker the berry ... education and the two obtained and studied copies of questions which had been asked in previous exam- inations. gwendolyn sympathized with emma lou's color hyper-sensitivity and tried hard to make her forget it. in order to gain her point, she thought it necessary to down light people, and with this in mind, ofttimes told emma lou many derogatory tales about the mulattoes in the social and scholastic life at howard university in washington, d. c. the color question had never been of much moment to gwendolyn. being the color she was, she had never suffered. in charleston, the mulattoes had their own churches and their own social life and mingled with darker negroes only when the jim crow law or racial discrimination left them no other alternative. gwen- dolyn's mother had belonged to one of these “persons of color” families, but she hadn't seen much in it all. what if she was better than the little black girl who lived around the corner? didn't they both have to attend the same colored school, and didn't they both have to ride in the same section of the street car, and were not they both subject to be called nigger by the poor white trash who lived in the adjacent block? she had thought her relatives and associates all a little silly, especially when they had objected to her marrying a man just two or three shades darker than herself. she felt that this was carrying things too far the blacker the berry ... v cs to the extent of giving lectures on race purity and the superiority of unmixed racial types. emma lou would listen attentively, but all the while she was observing gwendolyn's light-brown skin, and wish- ing to herself that it were possible for her and gwendolyn to effect a change in complexions, since gwendolyn considered a black skin so desirable. they both had beaux, young men whom they had met at the various church meetings and socials. gwendolyn insisted that they snub the “high yallers” and continually was going into ecstasies over the browns and blacks they conquested. emma lou couldn't get excited over any of them. they all seemed so young and so pallid. their air of being all-wise amused her, their affected church purity and wholesomeness, largely a verbal matter, tired her. their world was so small-church, school, home, mother, father, parties, future. she invariably com- pared them to alva and made herself laugh by classi- fying them as a litter of sick puppies. alva was a bulldog and a healthy one at that. yet these sick puppies, as she called them, were the next genera- tion of negro leaders, the next generation of respect- able society folk. they had a future; alva merely lived for no purpose whatsoever except for the pleas- ure he could squeeze out of each living moment. he didn't construct anything; the litter of pups the blacker the berry ... hard, finished her courses at teachers college, took and passed the school board examination, and me- chanically followed gwendolyn about, pretending to share her enthusiasms and hatreds. all would soon come to the desired end. her doctrine of pessimism was weakened by the optimism the future seemed to promise. she had even become somewhat interested in one of the young men she had met at st. mark's. gwendolyn discouraged this interest. “why, emma lou, he's one of them yaller niggers; you don't want to get mixed up with him." though meaning well, she did not know that it was precisely because he was one of those "yaller niggers”. that emma lou liked him. as emma lou and her new "yaller nigger," benson brown, were returning from church on a tuesday evening where they had attended a young people's bible class. it was a beautiful early fall night, warm and moonlit, and they had left the church early, intent upon slipping away from gwendolyn, and tak- ing a walk before they parted for the night. emma lou had no reason for liking benson save that she was flattered that a man as light as he should find himself attracted to her. it always gave her a thrill to stroll into church or down seventh avenue with the blacker the berry ... reached out her arm and touched him on the sleeve. he stopped, looked down at her and frowned. “braxton,” she spoke quickly, “pardon me for stopping you, but i thought you might tell me where alva is.” "i guess he's at the same place,” he answered curtly, then moved away. emma lou bowed her head shamefacedly as benson turned toward her long enough to ask who it was she had spoken to. she mumbled something about an old friend, then sug- gested that they go home. she was tired. benson agreed reluctantly and they turned toward the y. w. c. a. a taxi driver had brought alva home from a saloon where he had collapsed from cramps in the stomach. that had been on a monday. the doctor had come and diagnosed his case. he was in a serious condition, his stomach lining was practically eaten away and his entire body wrecked from physical ex- cess. unless he took a complete rest and abstained from drinking liquor and all other forms of dissipa- tion, there could be no hope of recovery. this hadn't worried alva very much. he chafed at having to re- main in bed, but possibility of death didn't worry him. life owed him very little, he told geraldine. he was content to let the devil take his due. but the blacker the berry ... emma lou's room in the y. w. c. a. at three o'clock that same morning. emma lou busy packing her clothes. geraldine in negligee, hair disarrayed, eyes sleepy, yet angry: "you mean you're going over there to live with that man?” "why not? i love him." geraldine stared hard at emma lou. “but don't í you understand he's just tryin' to find some one to take care of that brat of his? don't be silly, emma lou. he doesn't really care for you. if he did, he never would have deserted you as you once told me he did, or have subjected you to all those insults. and :. . he isn't your type of man. why, he's noth- ing but a ..." “will you mind tending to your own business, gwendolyn,” her purple powdered skin was streaked with tears. “but what about your appointment?” "i shall take it.” "what!” she forgot her weariness. “you mean to say you're going to teach school and live with that man, too? ain't you got no regard for your reputa- tion? i wouldn't ruin myself for no yaller nigger. here you're doing just what folks say a black gal always does. where is your intelligence and pride? i'm through with you, emma lou. there's probably the blacker the berry ... raucous ensemble of street noises served to bring her out of her daze. gwendolyn and benson married. “what do you want to waste your time with that yaller nigger for? i wouldn't marry a yaller nigger." "blacker'n me" ... "why don't you take a hint and stop plastering your face with so much rouge and powder." emma lou stumbled down seventh avenue, not knowing where she was going. she noted that she was at th street. it was easy to tell this particular corner. it was called the campus. all the college boys hung out there when the weather permitted, obstruct ing the traffic and eyeing the passersby professionally she turned west on th street. she wanted quiet. seventh avenue was too noisy and too alive and too happy. how could the world be happy when she felt like she did? there was no place for her in the world. she was too black, black is a portent of evil, black is ila sign of bad luck." i ; “a yaller gal rides in a limousine a brown-skin does the same; a black gal rides in a rickety ford, but she gets there, yes, my lord.” “alva jr's black mammy.” “low down common nigger.” “jes' crazy 'bout that little yaller brat.” the blacker the berry ... nigger for rouge an venue, no at she way particula obstruct ssionally! to bring di she looked up and saw a western union office sign shining above a lighted doorway. for a moment she hat do ya stood still, repeating over and over to herself west- ern union, western union, as if to understand its meaning. people turned to stare at her as they passed. take a liv they even stopped and looked up into the air trying to see what was attracting her attention, and, seeing nothing, would shrug their shoulders and continue on their way. the western union sign suggested only one thing to emma lou and that was home. for the moment she was ready to rush into the office and send lege boxy a wire to her uncle joe, asking for a ticket, and thus lege boys be able to escape the whole damn mess. but she im- mediately saw that going home would mean begin- id quield ning her life all over again, mean flying from one and too degree of unhappiness into another probably much more intense and tragic than the present one. she had once fled to los angeles to escape boise, then fled to harlem to escape los angeles, but these mere geographical flights had not solved her problems in the past, and a further flight back to where her life had begun, although facile of accomplishment, was too futile to merit consideration. rationalizing thus, she moved away from in front of the western union office and started toward the park two blocks away. she felt that it was necessary that she do something about herself and her life and she felt : world. black is imon the blacker the berry ... first attracted her to him, the alva she had always loved. she suddenly felt an immense compassion for him and had difficulty in stifling an unwelcome urge to take him into her arms. tears came into her eyes, and for a moment it seemed as if all her rationaliza- tion would go for naught. then once more she saw alva, not as he had been, but as he was now, a drunken, drooling libertine, struggling to keep the embarrassed bobbie in a vile embrace. something snapped within her. the tears in her eyes receded, her features grew set, and she felt herself hardening inside. then, without saying a word, she resolutely turned away, went into the alcove, pulled her suit- cases down from the shelf in the clothes-closet, and, to the blasphemous accompaniment of alva berating bobbie for wishing to leave, finished packing her clothes, not stopping even when alva junior's cries deafened her, and caused the people in the next room to stir uneasily. * -ºwni” . t-rººm.a." t avty n > *** aus." ~ilaxv-- .*** rr. t h e w a it e r s the waiters by william fisher if i am not for myself, who will be for me? yet if i am for myself only, what am i? and if not now, when? from the talmud the world publishing company cleveland new york --- library of congress catalog card number: : & f s as a f i r s t e d it i on no person or place described in this novel is based on any living person or place known to the author. any resemblance to actual persons or places is entirely coincidental. - hc copyright by william fisher all rights reserved. no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher, except for brief passages included in a review appearing in a newspaper or magazine. manufactured in the united states of america. note of thanks: i would like to thank robert smith and eric swenson for the aid and encouragement given me in the writing of this novel. for my wife r u th with love as ever t h e w a it e r s l e was about to enter the colonial white entrance to the fishbowl on city island road when he slowed down, mumbling to himself this sure won't get me off to a good start. so he rounded the corner of rochelle street and entered the restaurant through the delivery court. it was a steaming hot decoration day—his first day to report for work—and the heat in the delivery court was almost tangible, hang- ing in the air like spots dancing before one's eyes. a long, narrow alley divided the restaurant into two wings. on the left, near the neck of this alley, a door led into the butcher shop where, besides the quartering of steaks and chops, fish and lobsters were cleaned. the alley was littered—garbage cans filled with fish innards, cases of empty beer bottles, baskets of crabs crawling in seaweed. as he paused momentarily in the gateway of the delivery court, his eyes darted about, and he twisted his mouth wryly. his nostrils flared as the stench of decay shut out the salt air of the island. the same ol' crap everywhere you work, he said to himself. he spit contemptu- ously on the sidewalk. any ol' thing is suppose to be good enough for us. then, picking a path carefully through the stinking gutter and making certain not to rub against the refuse cans, asher brown made his way into the butcher shop and down a flight of stairs into the waiters' quarters, his nose screwed up as if he were breathing chloroform. * * * a rambling colonial cottage, the fishbowl catered to some -- twelve thousand of the upper middle class and assorted hangers-on— chiefly over weekends and on holidays, although it had a comfortable following during the week. serving a fine bill of fare at a moderate charge, the eatery had a good reputation. it was city island's finest restaurant. the help's food was poor and the boss was known to be mean, but the tips were not bad. the place, however, was always in need of waiters. they constantly came and just as constantly left. few sur- vived long enough to acquire the nickname “old ace.” it was, indeed, a down-and-out waiter's last resort—a job that could be got over the telephone. asher, too, had received his job in this manner when, the day before, he had been told to report for work decoration day on the morning shift. nothing could have been more misleading than the morning shift, which opened the doors of the restaurant at eleven and quit at eleven, only two hours before the place closed for the night. thus a new waiter was always as welcome as a “mr. good,” the waiters’ name for a free spender with a party of twelve. asher brown hesitated on the bottom step of the stairwell leading into the dressing-room and mopped his face and neck with a handker- chief. the headwaiter, known only as chief, looked up from the desk in his tiny, storage-bin-like office to the left of the waiters' room and seemingly read the newcomer's mind. “just as i say! just as i say! you'll make a fistful of dollars today. we'll do a land-office business this day.” “it sure is hot,” asher retorted. “pay it no mind,” chief said as he winked at another waiter. “you won’t know it's hot when you get to making money. here's your locker.” he pointed to the one at the end of a row of six which flanked a rickety old settee. asher grabbed a camp chair and plopped down on it, leaning backward until the back of the chair rested on the grimy, slate-gray, rough stone wall near the entrance to the headwaiter's office. he watched the other waiters changing their clothes. . º did the inmates of the waiters' dressing-room in the fish- bowl reflect the passing mood of the boss, but so did that most primi- tive of all winged insects, the cockroach, which had as much freedom to roam the walls of these basement quarters as cattle on a range. like everything about this seafood eatery, the fishbowl's stable of roaches was the finest to be found anywhere. a day-old roach was easily the size of a horsefly and, without exaggeration, in a week he had become an adult—a big, strapping, healthy fellow the size of a half dollar. the thousands who preferred to eat their chowder at the famous fishbowl on city island might be inclined to doubt that the king of the island kept such a blue-ribbon kennel of roaches. why, they would say, the dining-room was always so spotless, with its white table linen. well trained, like everyone and everything bought by the king- fish's money, the cockroaches never ventured across the threshold of the stairwell that led from the basement. down here, however, they had complete freedom, with the sanction of the kingfish, who always said a waiter represented the lowest form of restaurant life. “i can always get another waiter,” was the way he put it, turning up his nose as if he had caught a whiff of a full garbage can soured by a week's standing. yes, these cockroaches were a well-trained lot. on a bright, sun- shiny day—that decoration day—when the crowds had gone else- where, when the cash register played the pianissimo, rather than the crescendo, of the symphony of mounting profit, the kingfish cracked his “whip” at a waiter over any minute infraction of any one of his million rules. the roaches scurried wildly in the tense air of the waiters' quarters. their huge, brown, flat bodies darted in fast, short spurts over the dirty walls. long, paired, lateral feelers jutting out of their heads fended furiously and blindly before them as though they instinctively knew a hundred waiters, goaded by the boss's hell- raising, waited to flay them to death with folded newspapers. in this atmosphere, charged with the zip of the kingfish's cracking whip, the cockroaches made for a thousand hideouts—cracks and crevices which they knew well in this large, low-ceilinged room. some darted under the rusty, red lockers which lined the walls in spaces just large enough to hold a waiter's shoes. some climbed over the tops of the upper tier of lockers where, here and there, a waiter's hat had been shoved. others made for timeworn cracks in the cement floor. they scampered over suits or workshirts left on hangers to dry. a crack of the whip meant, simply, that ten, twenty or thirty- five waiters would not receive the fifteen-dollar “bonus” which the boss so graciously added to their fifteen-dollar weekly salary when he was in high spirits. and, in his slave-house, the kingfish never felt good when the jingle of the cash register was on a low beat. no mat- ter if the day before the fishbowl had outdone a twenty-year record. “the dining-room sure is empty and the boss sure has her rag on,” said a waiter seated on a camp chair with his work clothes draped over the open door of his locker. another waiter, with his foot propped on the rim of a rusty gar- bage can sagging against a post near the door, answered: “you better walk the chalk line or you'll come up on no bonus this week.” a waiter seated on the battered, sweat-stained wicker settee, looked up as he tied his shoes and said: “you ain't no lying man.” then one waiter took to swatting roaches. then another. and yet another. soon every waiter in the room was at work killing the king- fish's blue-ribbon roaches. and with each wallop cries of “you dirty son-of-a-bitch!” grew louder. for, on the shiny, brown backs of these fat roaches, each waiter saw the smile of the kingfish, a smile like that of a young female turning into womanhood—stolen, secretive, elusive—learning to crack a whip to have her way. asher had not joined in the roach killing, but he looked upon the festival meditatively. he thought of other places he had worked—in greenwich willage, at saratoga springs, in atlantic city—under the same filthy conditions. wherever you find us, we're wallowing in dirt, he told himself. partly in idleness, partly in search of a notch to hook his jacket to, he had been running the index finger of his right hand along the had put on, said to asher in the unctuous manner he usually reserved for customers: “yessir, what can i do for you?” asher started as he noticed a faint trace of a grin flicker across the waiter's face. but he contained himself. “nothing, pal.” “don’t let it get you down, jackson,” said the waiter. “the name's asher, asher brown.” “well, well, well! bet you won't tell the guests that when they call you george or sam,” the waiter said. “jackson is just a expression with me. was gonna tip you off to chief's jive, big boy.” just then the roly-poly waiter shoved his head outside the head- waiter's cubbyhole and beckoned asher in. the headwaiter sat, im- pressive in an upright position, at an over-sized mahogany desk. the little slips of paper asher had seen before were gone. the edges of the desk were scalloped with countless burns from cigarette butts. the fat waiter stationed himself just inside the room, his broad back facing the waiters' room, screening the headwaiter from prying eyes. asher stood between the fat waiter and the headwaiter's desk. chief let the seconds tick into minutes while he looked asher up and down. “look here, young man, i ain't running no waiter's school here.” then, as if asher were not there, he said to the fat waiter, “cap'n logan, think he'll do?” “i don't know, chief,” the captain replied. “looks sort of weaklike to me.” chief seemed to ponder that a few minutes. then he turned his at- tention to asher again. “what's your game, drinking or the girlies?” “sure, chief, i’m regular. what the hell!” believing he'd made a good impression, asher began to relax a little. but the headwaiter soon straightened him up again as he drummed the seconds away, beating his fingers on the arm of his swivel chair. “you know a bright young man like you should take out some in- surance,” chief said. then he shot right over asher's shoulder to his captain, “shouldn't he, cap'n?” “that sure would be a smart thing,” said the captain. “what—what's insurance?” “come, now,” chief exclaimed, “how do you expect to make a dollar in there in the dining-room? don't be so slow, 'cause a dollar in there will get you five hundred here.” “the numbers?” asher inquired. “sure, i play 'em. i'm as regular as the next guy.” “atta boy. he's hipped,” the captain put in. “you can just see me every morning. same time, same place.” the headwaiter lit a fresh cigarette from a half-finished one and smiled up at asher as the smoke curled out of the corners of his mouth. “just as i say, let everybody have a piece of the pie. you do right by old chief and old chief will look out for you. tell you what! i'm gonna put you on a good station. yessir, you go tell jordon i said for you to work next to him. chief's orders.” it was an unusually large kitchen that asher entered. he had made his way down a short ramp connecting the butcher shop with the kitchen. the rough, exposed beams, stretching across the room, were encrusted with a thick layer of greasy, brown dust. at the side, where the beams joined the top of the frame walls, they were heavy with cobwebs. along the right wall of the kitchen there were a number of fry sta- tions and opposite them on the other side of a broad corridor was the pantry with its wide, high counters running nearly the entire length of the kitchen. as asher walked along the cement-paved cor- ridor the chicken-broiler yelled to the lobster-broiler, “new blood.” the latter replied by asking the chicken cook if he thought the new- comer knew “what made the wheels of a wagon go 'round.” “do you, buddy?” the chicken cook asked asher. “the horse, of course.” “horse your aunt minnie,” needled the lobster-broiler. “grease, my boy. same kind those people in the dinin’-room will give you for rushin' 'em out.” asher smiled knowingly at the cook and asked him to point out jordon. “there he is,” the cook said. “that great big black boy up there drinking that white water.” he pointed toward the water-cooler at the far end of the kitchen. “tell him i called him black boy and your mother's a liar.” asher, eying jordon as he approached the water-cooler, said to himself, he's a reeal nervous waiter, a ol’-timer. jordon's round head with its closely cropped gray hair reminded asher of a bowling ball; yet the man's chin, which vanished in rolls of rubbery fat, told asher instantly that he “had been carryin' the pan a many a year.” jordon, in a sense, was one of the thirty-five or forty old aces at the fishbowl. in a sense, because when the cold air from long island sound began to stir toward the end of each october, jordon would say, “jesus, this ain't no fit place for me.” then he would disappear, only to return with the may flowers. for the last twenty years he had been working at the fishbowl when “the weather's warm enough to beat on my backsides.” a veteran of the first world war, jordon put to good use the rumor that he had been gassed. he was a hardened waiter who stood for no foolishness from the guests or the headwaiter, the boss or the cooks. his constant explanation after flying off the handle was, “it’s my complaint.” even then, jordon would work more or less when he felt like it. three or maybe four days a week, but never the full six days. that would have interfered with his drinking. of late, his record had gone from bad to worse. he had taken to work- ing only two days a week. neither the headwaiter, the boss, nor any- body in the place could get him to work any more, and they were too short of waiters to fire him. so they had put him to work in a section of the restaurant the boys called the “farm.” it was so called because most of the tables in this section were reserved for couples and, at the boss's orders, these tables were served by the waiters who had grown old and feeble making money for him. not that jordon was in that class. no, he still had a small but tidy for- tune left in his body to contribute to the boss. but he wouldn’t work, and the boss had a million and one ways to get even with him. “what the hell!” jordon said when asher introduced himself. “chief put you in the farm.” “that’s all right by me,” asher replied. “where do you get some- tin’ to eat?” “listen, man, they pay you to work in this place, not to eat. but if they got anythin’, hughie's got it.” he pointed to the steam-table. “the boss is too hot, i’m cuttin’ outa here.” asher looked over at the steam-table in back of the pantry. in front of him was a row of shiny, silvery coffee urns. he could see the dark brown liquid coursing through the slender glass tubes that extended up both sides of the huge pots. the rich aroma of the steam wafting from the urns made the juices bubble in his mouth. he walked over to hughie. “i ain't got nothin’ left,” hughie growled before asher could say anything. asher just stood his ground. finally hughie threw a plate of food on the high counter that separated him from asher. asher walked back to the coffee urns, reached beneath and got a cup and saucer from a shelf under the row of urns and drew himself a cup of coffee. he made a seat and table for himself out of several orange crates beside the water-cooler and looked at the stuff on his plate. there was a lump of cold, stewed fish-ends and a dab of grayish- looking mashed potatoes which he speared into gobbets with his fork. he managed to get down only one or two swallows. a waiter passed the pantry counter and swooped up a freshly prepared plate of cold shrimp, putting them into his mouth, one shrimp at a time. the stale fish rose in asher's throat. he swallowed hard. then he stuck to coffee and stale bread. he had two extra cups of coffee while he got his first glimpse of the kingfish. the kingfish stood in front of the service bar near the checker's desk, waving his arms like a man taking his morning exercises. he was waving so violently, in fact, that the checker had had to close the swinging door to the left of him and route the waiters through the door on his right. “just because i stand here in the kitchen,” the kingfish purred ii at the bartender, “don’t think i'm nobody.” his voice rising to a shout, he informed the red-faced unfortunate, “i’ll have you to un- derstand i’m mr. maddox.” the bartender growled a threat to quit. “i dare you,” whispered the kingfish. “why, you'll never work in the bronx again. that's how big i am.” that was about the best exhibition of himself the kingfish could give a newcomer. he preferred to be called simply boss. although, to those of his employees that that little four-letter word all but choked, he would smile slyly and demurely when they addressed him as kingfish. patrons who had eaten their chowder at the fishbowl for twenty years had never in all those years seen mr. maddox perambulating furtively about the joint as he did when its doors were closed for the night. for when the dining-room was open, the kingfish was in his kitchen like a queen in her boudoir. in his kitchen the kingfish was always present, always an irritant. whether silent or unendingly talkative, he was there. sometimes he could be seen switching along the kitchen's broad corridors with his hands neatly folded behind him. more often he was lolling near the checker's desk just inside the swinging doors through which the waiters either entered the dining-room or exited from it with trays laden with fish or fishtails. an ordinary-looking man, of ordinary build and ordinary height, he was never seen without a hat on his head. beneath its narrow brim, his small, black eyes pierced every- one and everything before they momentarily and daintily closed. although the kitchen itself was four times the size of the average restaurant, at times it was none too large. what with an army of clam-openers, bartenders, dishwashers, fry cooks, fish-fryers, vege- table cooks, fish-broilers, chowder-dispensers, pantrymen, pie men, lobster-broilers, chicken-broilers, steak cooks, potato-fryers and sundry others, plus several hundred waiters—tray-carrying steve- dores—it was like an army dispersing on a parade ground, each company going its own way. when asher went into the dining-room he found jordon in ani- mated conversation with a waiter who was folding napkins at a service buffet near the swinging door he had entered. the waiter was a large-boned, jolly fellow with a sallow complexion. named dave, he was more familiarly known to the waiters as pardner be- cause he called everybody pardner. as he talked, he continually cocked his head to one side. - “i sure need one, pardner,” asher heard dave say. “it ain't you, man,” jordon said, “it’s me.” he turned to asher. “how's about gettin' us a drink?” asher looked at jordon, then at dave. “i jus’ got here.” “that's why the boss won't know what it's all about, pardner,” ex- plained dave. “all right, i’ll chance it,” asher said. “i can stand one myself after that slop they're dishin’ out in the kitchen.” “atta boy, pardner,” dave said. “suppose we make 'em whisky sours like the white folks drink, then they won’t know. be sure to git that frog-eyed bartender. tell him no garbage. he'll know they're for the boys. fix us up fine.” jordon's eyes danced in anticipation of the drink as he reached for the large checkbook sticking out of asher's pocket, but asher pulled himself beyond his reach. “we’ve both cut checks already,” jordon explained. “i’ll show you how to palm it off on some snake.” asher handed jordon the checkbook reluctantly. “here, man, they’ll never read that writin’ when it gits cold,” jordon said. dave pointed to the swinging door to the right of the one through which asher had entered the dining-room. “shoot out that one, pard- ner,” he said, “and mr. jerry—he's the checker—he'll think they're for some fish-eaters.” then he waved in the opposite direction. “we'll be up there behind the piano.” asher took a quick look about the place as he moved toward the kitchen. it certainly is one large joint, he said to himself. no won- der they called it the track. he could see that there were really three dining-rooms connected by frame portals. from one end of the place to the other a shoulder-high copper screen ran down the center aisle, decorated here and there with large, potted ferns. long banquet tables, which could be pulled apart for separate parties, stood at right angles to the partition. the log-cabin walls of the place were painted white; its beamed ceilings a flaming red. as he came out of the kitchen with the drinks on a small tray, asher looked first to the right, then to the left. then he shot up the narrow aisle on the right-hand side of the screen which would shield him had he been followed. a waiter was talking across the screen to another waiter near where the frame portal led into the back room. “looka here! jack, he just threw his hat in the door a few min- utes ago.” asher looked back over his shoulder as he passed through the tiny arcade, and almost walked into the massive concert grand that stood in the center of the back room. “no you don’t, man,” jordon said as he reached across the rounded end of the piano and took one of the whisky sours off asher's tray. dave took one of the two remaining glasses and he and jor- don tossed off their drinks. asher looked about for a service stand on which to set the tray. “well, this is it,” jordon said, waving his hand about. “the big house. go on, knock your drink off, man. i’ll git you some snake with a pocketful o' money to pay for 'em. a snake ain't gonna give you anythin’ nohow.” “the big house!” asher chuckled. “the boss was sure blowin’ his top in the kitchen a few minutes ago. that was him, wasn't it—the girlish-looking thing with the brown hat pulled down to his eyes?” “that was him all right,” dave chimed in. “mr. maddox—the one an' only kingfish. but don't get no notion in your head that his top is gone.” jordon said: “it’s a wonder his wig don't snap, though. the man's got too much on his mind—running this great big place. trouble is ain't no one man can do it all. but he acts like the joint would fold up if he wasn't here to see to everything.” “ain’t there no manager here?” asher said, as he fingered his drink. “sure!” jordon replied. “mr. dunkel's the manager. but that don’t mean a thing. you oughta see that dutchman when the boss gets on the warpath. man, the king chases him around like he was a messenger boy or somethin'.” asher took a sip of his drink. dave turned to jordon. “but you can’t get around it, pardner—the kingfish is a smart man. made a million dollars peddlin' fish. built it up from nothin’. remember when it was jus’ a beat-up clam bar 'cross the road. now it's the biggest seafood house in the world.” “you brings nothin’ in this world an' you takes nothin’ with you,” jordon said, sardonically. “an’ if he don't watch out he's gonna drop dead right in the kitchen. then what?” “his brothers and sisters will keep on livin' offa the gravy,” dave said, “jus’ like they're doin' now, pardner.” “a bunch of liquor heads an’ freaks,” jordon snorted. “all messed up, huh?” asher said. “that's all right, pardner,” dave replied. “jus' you remember when the kingfish rubs all up close to you pretendin’ to inspect your tray and says”—he lowered his voice to a girlish whisper—“‘now doesn’t that look nice,' you better watch out—'cause first thing you know he'll be pattin' you.” “jesus!” asher said. “a fairy!” dave smiled broadly. “now don't tell me you'd mind? 'specially if nobody sees you, pardner—all the money he's got . . .” “i don't go that way,” asher cut him off. “look out, here comes chief,” jordon shouted. asher had not finished his drink. he tried to hide it on a service stand behind the post that the headwaiter was approaching. “what goes on here?” chief asked as he walked up to the three waiters. he turned around and saw the drink. “nobody knows a thing about this?” then he walked over to the service buffet, picked the drink up and smelled it. “can't fool me! been in this business too long,” he said. then he drained the glass. “that'll teach you a lesson.” jordon's peanut-eyes snapped but he did not answer. dave"and asher stood motionless. then the headwaiter walked off, laughing to himself. “wonder what dog told him?” jordon said when he finally got himself together. “huh?” asher said. “there ain't nothin’ happens in this place that hound don't know 'bout,” dave said. “better luck next time, pardner. but you gotta be faster than that.” asher did not like to work on a holiday. a veteran in the business of “carrying roast beef,” he knew that the people who came day in and week out, month in and year out—the “steadies,” as the wait- ers called them—did not go to the fishbowl or to any of their other favorite eating-places on a holiday. they were the shopkeepers, the small manufacturers, the furriers, the small middlemen, who on a holiday joined the vast pleasure-seeking throngs at some other place, turning the fishbowl over to a rip-rahing crowd—searchers after something different. look at 'em, asher said to himself, as he leaned against one of the posts which supported the small arcade between the second and third dining-rooms. poor white hungry trash. nothin' but a whole lot of work an’ no money. i’ll sho’ be glad when this day is over and done. a bunch of fish-eaters. smirking scornfully, he looked about the dining-room. for a holiday, especially a summertime day of rest, brought all manner of people to city island, just like every other place he'd ever worked. and, of course, nobody thought of coming out to the island without eating at the fishbowl. asher knew that even if the prices allowed them only a plate of clams or pie and coffee at the fishbowl, and then dinner at any one of the several greasy forks that lined city island road, they would still be rated among the multitudes who could boast of having dined in the world-renowned fishbowl. rolling his icy eyes about the eatery he watched the smiths with their next-door neighbors, the joneses, from long island; the genteel old ladies, on their annual out-for-the-day expedition, having a glass of sherry with their dinner to warm their half-dead carcasses; the mean-eyed who “oh-myed” the colored waiters; the out-of-towners, green-arrowed to the place by the billboards; the scrub-faced young women who patterned themselves after the models in the slick maga- zines; the shopgirls enthralled with the place, and their sleek-haired young dappers in open-necked, yellow shirts and two-toned slack coats that looked liked sawed-off bathrobes; the schemers who after whispering among themselves cut their tips a third or even half be- cause the colored boys didn't need as much to live on as white waiters; the fat and frowzy in bursting halters, their midriffs billowing out like accordions; the white-haired with the twinkle of the old rascal in their paunchy eyes, gay-ninety-ing their sweethearts; salty city islanders who boasted of living in the country within the city; and a host of others a little surprised at themselves in their new sur- roundings, but nevertheless there. he gave an involuntary start. for the dream he'd had the night before now came back to him. he had come half-awake, yelling aloud, almost in the middle of the dream, and the people about him now seemed like the faces, without bodies, which had been after him. they had been spurred on by a medium-sized dark-complexioned stranger, perfect in shape and form, who was brandishing over their heads what seemed to asher to be a policeman's nightstick studded with the prongs of a rake. “jesus, no!” he muttered aloud, as he peered sheepishly about to see whether or not anyone had noticed him unwittingly jump away from the post. a rush of business was just then flooding the fishbowl, and al- though the second dining-room was by no means filled, chief had, with a wave of his hand, chased the newcomers through the front rooms and back to the farm. that was another way, as jordon ex- plained it, the chief had of getting back at the waiters for drinking on the job without inviting him to have one. asher's four tables for four, their narrow ends flush with the back wall of the room, were on the inside of the dining-room at the man was asked what he had selected and everyone decided to have the same—a broiled filet of sole dinner. humph! asher snorted under his breath. i knew it all the time. you turkeys can't fool me. the cheapest thing on the menu. i'll betcha you ain't got as much cash in your pocket as i got. he went out to the kitchen for their first course, the chowder and the bread and butter and water, for the fishbowl did not believe in the institution of bus boys. they were not needed with negro waiters. the kingfish had quieted down by then and was at his usual resting place—the counter of the clam bar just inside the kitchen's swinging doors. a girlish little pantryman was placing a cup of coffee before him. as asher passed the kingfish and made for the opposite cor- ner of the kitchen to place his order with the fish-broiler, he felt the boss's eyes sweep him from head to foot. “don’t you go trying to cut in, ronald,” asher heard the king- fish stage-whisper to the pantryman. “‘cause he belongs to me. i saw him first.” jesus! asher said to himself, the place is a fairy's nest. no sooner had asher placed the water and bread on the table before the guests, and walked a few steps back to the serving stand at the end of the copper screen to get the steaming cups of soup, than the biscuits had disappeared from the bread plate. “my gracious, the little cookies are so delicious,” said the pleas- ant-faced lady when asher returned with the soup. “could we have more?” asher made the three-block-long journey back to the kitchen for the biscuits and returned. then he went for their plates of fish. on one plate was to be mashed potatoes and green peas; on another french fries and corn-on-the-cob; on the third, julienne potatoes and cauliflower; and on the fourth, a boiled potato and string beans. god damn, asher swore to himself as the vegetable cook swore at him, do they all have different vegetables with each meal at home? when he had finally placed their dinners before them, one wanted tomato catsup, another worcestershire sauce. he had to hunt all over the dining-room, not daring to take the condiments from other diners. then they wanted more water. after that, they wanted more “little cookies.” jordon had been looking asher's party over, “casing them,” as he put it. when he had found whatever it was he had been looking for in the man's face he called asher to the service buffet. “he’ll do, man,” he said. “hand him the drink check 'long wid his own, face down, and tell him what his bill is at the same time. but don't take your hand off it.” “jesus, but they ain't even had anything to drink,” asher said. “don’t matter, man. that dope wouldn't open his mouth if you took the money outa his pocket. i’ll be right here standing like the cap'n, should he holler. i’ll fix it like it was a mistake. you're new, man, ain't you?” “sure hope you know what you talkin' 'bout,” asher said nervously as he looked at the frightened-faced man. finally the family finished their long-to-be-remembered dinner. the man thanked asher for being such a “nice waiter” and asked for his check. asher poked the two checks toward him, and the frightened-looking man reached his hand out, and, very suddenly, he grabbed the checks out of asher's hand. but he did not look at them. he began to fumble in his pockets with his other hand. “can't see without my glasses,” he said. the girl reached for the checks. “let me read them, dad,” she said. asher's body became as erect as a telegraph pole. “your bill's nine dollars,” he finally managed to say. “that's fine,” smiled the man as he handed the checks back to asher. he pulled a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to asher. “keep the change, waiter.” by now people were standing everywhere in the restaurant: in the aisles, between tables. suddenly, every head in the dining-room swiveled around like the crowd at a football game. chief was snake- dancing a group, single file, through the restaurant. from the front of the dining-room straight through to the farm, chief elbowed and shouldered this high-toned party with mr. jack right behind him. yes, this was mr. jack's party and nobody in the fishbowl could wait on him but jordon. had he been another and less imposing per- sonage, chief would, perhaps, have persuaded him that he had a better waiter to serve him. but mr. jack was mr. jack, and chief would all but have given him mr. maddox's restaurant had he asked for it. “yessir, mr. jack,” beamed jordon when he saw the florid six- footer. “how you, boy,” mr. jack puffed. chief and jordon went into a hurried conference over how to ar- range the tables for mr. jack's party. it was just loud enough for the people sitting at the nearby tables to learn they were trespassing on the big man's personal property. mr. jack marched nervously back and forth, stopping every so often to whisper a word to his haughty party. there were thirty-two in the party—about five more than jordon could wait on by himself. so asher was assigned to help him, that is, to be something akin to his bus boy. their tables would be strung lengthwise across the room. chief surveyed the people who had been standing about before the party had arrived, waiting for tables, and chased them back to the crowded front room. finally, after jordon and the headwaiter had all but taken the diners bodily from eight tables, cleared the dirty dishes, and spread fresh linen—all in the space of ten minutes—the party ranged them- selves at the long, picnic-like board, the women on one side of mr. jack, the men on the other side. the women were mostly in the out-of-shape bloom of middle age, gaudily dressed, some in black chi-chi, others in giddy flowered dresses—with blatant little things on their heads. and the men were loud and prosperous in their silk gabardines and flowing, surrealist- patterned ties. “yessir, mr. jack,” said chief as he spread a napkin in the big man's lap. “i was just saying to myself, ‘i haven't seen mr. jack in a month.’” mr. jack smiled all over himself. a buxom lady sitting next to him appeared slightly, ever so slightly interested, as she toyed with her mink dog-collar. - asher stood an appropriate distance from the table while jordon hovered over the guests, straightening the folds in the table linen and moving salt-and-pepper shakers about. chief took down the drink order himself as mr. jack called out an assortment of mixed drinks, two for everyone, to save time. then the big man handed the head- waiter a crumpled bill in such a way that everyone at the table knew it was a five-spot. “what do you want?” mr. jack asked as asher took a good look. before asher could think up an answer, the big man said to jor- don, “you boys get what you want and bring chief his. or do i have to tell you?” mr. jack was what you would call a good-natured, free-spending wolf. many of the old aces, including jordon, remembered him as a gangling boy who came regularly to the fishbowl with his parents who, they said, had made a barrel of money running a small grocery on lenox avenue, in harlem. it was whispered about that mr. jack had a large wholesale business somewhere downtown. he came regu- larly to the fishbowl, once or twice a month, always bringing a large party with him. now there was nothing that mr. jack liked so much as push- button service. so the drinks were left to asher to serve while jor- don took the food order. starting with the women first, he went from one to the other. they ordered seafood and chops and steak and all the trimmings that go to make a feast—as if it were their last supper. mountains of steamed clams. lobsters and steak for all. huge platters of vegetables and salads. and they ordered wine—sixteen bottles of champagne—for the party. asher's eyes bulged as jordon filled up four large-sized order checks. that's enough stuff for a hundred people, he calculated to himself as he placed the drinks on the table. jordon went to the kitchen for part of the carload while asher remained at mr. jack's elbow. the party drank and laughed and talked among themselves. but mr. jack was impatient and asher was anxious. it seemed to them both that jordon would never return. it was one of those unavoidable things that detained jordon in the kitchen. the boss's gaiety. such was even the kingfish's reaction when mr. jack was in the restaurant. forgetting he was angry with jordon, he held him up for a long conversation, promising to pick the lobsters for the party himself. he even inquired if jordon thought the good-looking lad working with him was a good waiter. jordon had a little trick that he delighted his best customers with. holding the tray in the palm of his hand, he would walk rapidly until he was within a few feet of the table, then break into a run, the tray sailing through the air high above his head. mr. jack grinned contentedly when he saw the tray laden with the platters of food piled one on top of the other like rough-dry clothes. this way, hopping and jumping, jordon rushed tray after tray of food to mr. jack's party. and asher picked up dish after dirty dish from the table, setting down clean ones and pouring the wine. after each course, the men would rise and stretch their legs. the women fidgeted in their seats, pulling at their dresses and easing their girdles down an inch or two. once, during the feast, a bald-headed man yelled to the other end of the table, “elsie, george is eating clams, you better look out tonight.” elsie, her full mouth open, smiled hopefully, expectantly. a cutie seated near elsie wanted to know if they helped. “works like magic,” elsie replied. the cutie called to the boys to make harold eat clams and everyone at the table had a good laugh at the expense of the red- faced man. asher said, “i’ll be damned,” to himself, and smiled, too. on every trip from the kitchen jordon brought himself a drink, one for asher, and one for the headwaiter. but jordon made it his business to be out of sight every time the headwaiter uncle tommed “come on, man,” jordon commanded asher. “let’s git away from these here wolves.” they started for the kitchen. jordon walked ahead, trying care- fully to steer a straight course, for he was by then in a rosy haze. asher followed at a respectful distance, carrying the trimmings on his tray. jordon lunged into the kitchen door and held it for asher. mr. jerry, the checker, rose from his high stool, leaned over the counter-desk and looked into asher's tray. “you boys sure are gonna dine in style tonight,” he said. chief was standing in front of the steam-table talking with mr. dunkel, the manager. he watched jordon sway down the broad kitchen corridor toward the dishwashing machine. when jordon came abreast of the headwaiter, chief stepped out and planted him- self squarely in jordon's path. “just as i say! you're not worth a damn,” chief said, shaking his finger in jordon's face. “you would forget your old chief.” jordon's lips were parted and his red-rimmed eyes looked off into space. he stared hard at nothing in particular. slowly, it seemed to make sense to him. “you got somethin’ there. you ain’t worth a damn. you got me in the farm, what more you want.” jordon's body lurched forward, and he grasped chief's left arm as he sought to brace himself. the headwaiter brought a wallop up from the floor that missed its mark and brushed the side of jordon's neck. his hand went around the waiter's neck and in the next minute they were locked in an embrace, rolling over and over on the cement floor. mr. dunkel, the manager, rushed in to pull jordon off the head- waiter. then asher jumped on mr. dunkel's back. heavy trays rattled and dishes shattered as they bounced on the hard floor. waiters rushed from every point in the kitchen to get a better view of the fight. what had started as just one of chief's rou- tine “shows” for the benefit of mr. jerry, the checker, who would, of course, report it to the boss in chief-was-on-the-job fashion, had turned into a free-for-all. it wasn't much of a fight as fights go. mr. dunkel tripped and was kicked in the shoulder and small of his back twice, before he could get to his feet again. a heavy steel table near the coffee urns went over with a bang, and with it two large cartons of cut sugar. gradu- ally, chief and mr. dunkel were subdued. the fight had whirled around and over jordon's stretched-out body. he lay where he had fallen, his arms folded about his head for pro- tection. the sleeve of asher's jacket was torn and his slight, strong forearm dripped blood. into this mad scene the kingfish rushed. he had been summoned from his upstairs office by mr. jerry over the house phone. the girlish little pantryman had picked up his apron and rushed to the kitchen ramp to escort the boss into this mess of sugar, broken dishes and bashed-in heads. “oh! oh! my poor business,” the kingfish shrieked. “what shall i do?” turning to asher, who was dusting himself off, the kingfish said: “look what you've done to me. and just to think, when i first saw you this morning i said to myself, ‘i know we're going to be’”— he arched his eyebrows—“‘special friends.’ you! you young fool, why have you done this to me?” “he started it,” asher blurted out, nodding in mr. dunkel's direc- tion. “lousy white . . .” “there are no white or colored in my place,” the kingfish shrilled. “we all work together here like one big, happy family. i only want men who are on my side. i should fire . . .” with a sudden jerk of his head, he looked contemptuously at jordon. “you’re going to pay for this,” he cried. “and i don't care if you don't have another pay check until this time next year.” then he turned and walked away. asher's eyes bulged with amazement as he watched the kingfish go, swishing and switching, along the broad corridor toward the check- er's desk. they're all the same, he told himself, the minute you stand up to 'em and let 'em know you ain’t gonna stand to see no white guy sopping up one of your kind. then they come tellin' you you're the same as them. well, anyway, i didn't get the gate. and then he recalled the odd look of excitement which had come into the king. fish's eyes as he had spoken to him. jesus! he's really on the make. i hope he ain't around all the time 'cause it'll be rough trying to keep out of his way. it rained off and on the second day that asher worked at the fish- bowl. it rained as it does only in june, sprinkling now, clearing for an hour or so, the sun coming out blazing hot, followed by a torren- tial downpour. the air hung in the restaurant as it does in a barn filled with ma- nure—dank, musty, mildewed. asher felt itchy all over, as if there were cobwebs on him. rain had begun to fall long before he reported for work that day. and by the time he was “on the floor,” as chief said, the rain had cut out for him little chores about the restaurant. irksome and laborious, they made him feel more like a porter. whenever it rained, as it did that day, the clam yard, the fish- bowl's sidewalk café, had to be dismantled, packed and stored away. the heavy iron lattice-worked tables and chairs that the more arty customers ohed and ahed over and the kingfish cherished as he did the softer moments of his childhood had to be carted to the basement. and, of course, this back-buster fell to the newer waiters. besides this, there was a seeming lull in business. at first, asher attributed the slowness to the rain and the holiday's aftermath. but then, he decided, neither the rain nor the slow-motioning of the day- after had anything to do with the change. the restaurant was crowded, but with a different kind of patron. jesus! he said to himself, they're cheaper than the bunch that was in here yesterday. i ain't served a shore dinner all day. and steak—they act like they ain't never heard of it. this is strictly a fried fish and potato and beer day. no wonder my pocket's so empty. asher wished he could have this day off—his only one in seven— every week. but he remembered chief had said “only forty-year men could take off fridays.” thus his dislike for working this day be- set up. suddenly he screwed up his face in a deep frown, as he real- ized he did not know where the menus were kept. everybody's got the jump on me, he told himself. even the chairs on this old crummy station are so jammed up, i can't turn 'em up. turning about, he walked rapidly toward a corner of the room where three service stands stood end to end, forming a long low buffet. hope, i hope, i hope this is my lucky night, he thought, as he started to fold a stack of napkins. within a few minutes the crowd had begun drifting into the farm. ignoring the improvised reservation signs, they seized upon tables on a first-come-first-served basis. and by five o'clock the room was nearly full of diners, mostly middle-aged men and women—managers of chain groceries, office-workers, department store junior executives, cashiers from the gas company, schoolteachers—drumming impa- tiently on unattended tables or stretching their necks as they looked demandingly about them. in the corner of the room, asher went purposely about putting the folded napkins away. with great care he spread out several of the napkins which, although freshly laundered, still bore faded grease stains, on the bottom ledge of the service stands. then, taking no more than half a dozen of the long, narrowly folded napkins in his hand at a time, he slowly and neatly arranged them in the storage space. working in a crouch, he glanced up every now and then to learn whether or not his tables had been taken. once he looked di- rectly into the face of a mean-eyed man who, seated with four male companions, was pounding on a nearby banquet table. jesus! asher said to himself, as he bent down again, his head going closer to the floor, i’m sure glad he ain't for me. you can see the spitefulness jump- ing out all over him. the sharp rap of heels behind him made asher glance up over his shoulder again. three parties of four, all headed for his tables, were moving so fast they appeared to be running. they seemed to asher to sit down at the several tables in a photo-finish. immediately asher became even more engrossed in his work, as he pondered which party to go to first. he fumbled with forks and knives in the upper draw- ers of the service stand and deliberately smoothed out the ends of a bundle of already smoothed-out linen table cloths. then asher heard a man's voice, loud, insistent. “boy—ain’t there no waiter here?” asher, hunching his shoulders as if he'd suddenly felt a sharp pain in the middle of his back, came slowly out of his crouch and looked from one to the other of his parties. at the table nearest where he stood he saw a bright, merry-faced young man in clerical garb sitting with three elderly people, two women and a man; at the second table sat a hard-faced man with a genteel old lady who was speaking softly to two squirming children, a boy and girl, neither of whom appeared to be more than ten years old; while at the table furthest away sat a red-lidded, hollow-eyed man with three women wearing large frumpy straw hats that reminded asher of stuffed birds. the man fixed asher with a vacant stare, while the three women looked on with sullen expressions. oh hell! asher muttered to himself. a bunch of drunks. then he said aloud, “yessir! i'll be with you in a few minutes.” the red-lidded man's face took on a disgruntled look. “whatta you mean a few minutes?” he said loudly. “we ain't got all night.” asher, who was now walking toward the man with a water pitcher, did not answer. the people at his other two tables turned their heads in the direction of the loud voice. just then, jordon rushed up to asher. “go on, take care of him,' he whispered. “‘fore that joker makes trouble for you. i'll take the other orders an’ start 'em for you.” asher moved over to the red-lidded man's side and stood fidgeting at his table. but the patrons’ blank faces indicated a complete lack of interest in asher. suddenly they struck up an animated conversation, laughing and gesturing at one another. finally asher asked, his voice very quiet, “would you like to order, sir?” the red-lidded man, who sat with both elbows spread out on the table, looked up at asher. slowly he straightened up on his chair and reared back, forcing his trouser-belt to gather itself tightly about his paunchy waist. then he gave asher a contemplative stare. “now, that’s better,” he said. “yessir,” asher smiled. “yessir?” “bring us some lobsters,” the man snapped. “how'd you like them, sir?” asher ventured timidly. “fat and—” the man flashed a broad grin at his companions who scowled at asher. “listen, boy! are you on the ball or not?” asher tried again. “would you like them boiled or broiled, sir?” “bring us four large broiled lobsters,” the man commanded, in a morose growl. “and bring us some bread an’ butter right away, some of them biscuits.” asher had moved only a few feet away from the table, preparing to go to the kitchen, when the man called him back. “hey, george,” he said importantly. asher turned to face him with a tight-lipped ex- pression. george, he repeated to himself. he oughta drop dead right here. the man smiled victoriously and turned to his companions. “you girls want anything first?” the three women shook their heads. “bring me a cup of coffee so i’ll have something to keep me going while we're waiting.” you gonna have a long wait, asher said to himself as he walked back through the second dining-room and headed for the kitchen. these donkeys is just like them peckerwoods down south. irishmen an’ poor-ass southern crackers is all alike. mean an' hateful as all get-out. just hate to see you makin' a buck. out in the kitchen, asher learned from jordon that his two other parties had selected identical dinners. each party had ordered a plate of broiled scallops, a dish of fried filet of sole, two french fries, a side order of cauliflower, and one broiled bluefish to be divided among each of the groups of four along with two draught beers apiece for each of the adults. “everything's ordered,” jordon told asher. “all you gotta do is pick up. cut your checks an’ leave 'em with mr. jerry an' i'll run the beers in. what'd them bad folks order—lunch-time stuff?” “lobsters,” asher said, spitting out the word. “an' that's all.” “whatta you expect?” jordon queried. “there ain't a shore dinner in the joint. man, these people don't make as much as you an’ me. that's what makes 'em so hard to get along with. for my part, i'll take the kind of people we had las’ night. business folks. 'course, they make a man carry a lotta chowder. but they is the only ones who can afford to pay a man after takin' up his time. not these bastards. they're damn near starvin' to death.” it took asher all of seven or eight minutes, going first from the potato cook to the fish-frier then to the broiler, to load his tray. but to get even, he drew the red-lidded man's coffee from the urn before he went for his orders. and he placed the cup of steaming black liquid under the large urn close to where a gas jet gave off a bright flame until he was ready to leave the kitchen. this’ll fix you, asher said to himself. i’ll let this cup burn your goddam mouth off. back in the dining-room, asher made a great flourish, bending low at the waist, as he placed the cup of coffee in front of the man be- fore he served his other customers. as he did so, the man merely grunted, looking asher up and down. but as soon as asher had re- traced his footsteps to his service stand and picked up a handful of dishes, the man called asher back to his table. asher looked the man squarely in the eye. then he glanced down at the dishes he held, and, finally, looked up again, smiling into the man's face. go screw your- self, he thought. that is how it went with asher all that night. every time he was in the midst of serving one of his other parties, the red-lidded man would call him for something—more drawn butter, more salad, more coffee. long after asher had served a second setting of people at his other tables, the trouble-makers were still there. in fact, they were the last party to leave the room, departing just before ten o'clock, allow- ing asher to draw his first breath of gladness since the dinner hour had begun. yes, asher was glad when that day was over. and he sang a song of lamentation in the locker-room that night—as only a waiter who has been bitten by a lot of cheap snakes can. the waiters welcomed standing, as the singer of this unhappy moodiness repeated each second line of the song with only a slight variation: “i never seen a real tough town befo' “things are tough, an’ money is tight “soon’s i ketch the tough town number “i’ll be long gone from here” at the bar were the waiters: a homesick stray from chicago; an actor down on his luck waiting tables between shows; an older man whom the waiters had named ole man mose because every diner was for him cap'n or madam; a waiter who, because he had served on an african-bound transport during the war, called everyone he liked a “casablanca boy”; a youngish-looking fellow who nightly fed the juke-box a two-dollar stack of nickels, rocking and swaying to hi- hi-ho; a georgian with bright tan shoes, a yellow tie, a swarthy face, forever sullen before the guests he served, whose constant hope was “that his day would come”; an effeminate young man from one of the city's conservatories who forever dreamed of becoming another paul robeson; a “broken-down,” middle-aged waiter who limped through the dining-room beseeching life to let him “get off these burning dogs”; a jaded, bedraggled fellow who always needed one drink to chase the last one; the waiter to whom everybody—gentile, jew, italian, frenchman, irishman, greek—was a southern cracker; the preacher so called because whatever the occasion he had an ever-ready bible quotation; a tall, childless, gray-haired man who by dint of half a century's saved tips was buying a five-story tenement on seventh avenue, harlem's great black way; the recently-married man from mississippi, hostile, and bewildered by an inflated mort- gage on a seventeen-year-old “bungaloo” in jamaica, long island; two west indians, brown as coffee beans, with high cheekbones; a dark, greasy, and flabby-looking but jolly waiter to whom the num- bers were what the church is to the devout; the flashy, zoot-suited new york-born boy; the would-be card shark, sly-looking and hard- eyed; a young virginian, his mouth forever going like a bell-clapper, dreaming of his unborn child, an undertaking business; the smartly- dressed “sportsman,” doping the horses for the next day's races. they were all manner of men: college-trained, with bright, alert faces, from the southern schools, burning with the spirit of the new negro; the middle-aged victims of a lack of educational opportunity, rejoicing in their offspring and the bright, alert faces; the “beat,” the defiled, those besmeared by a life that had taught them “all ne- groes are alike,” distrustful and suspicious of the bright, alert faces; the rum pots; the muckworms; the gamblers; the part-time whore- masters—america's black neglects and america's black hopefuls— all sprung from southern infancy “over in nigger town” or door- keyed through the harlems of big, industrial, northern cities. one of them, walters, walked from the head of the bar where he had been perched on a stool to where asher was sitting in front of the beer-cooler. he was a dried-up little fellow with red eyes; several of his upper molars missing. an old-timer, he had been a steamship and dining-car waiter for some fifteen years. “no, pal, it can't be like that,” he said to asher, waving a high- ball glass with a scant half-inch of whisky in it. “hey, mike, give him a shot. a man can't drink that beer all night. just ain't right. set us both up.” “sure bet,” said mike as he set down two whisky tumblers and fingered the bottles on the shelf behind him. he found walters’ brand and poured the drinks. asher mixed the rye and soda-water and touched the rim of his glass with that of walters. “here's to you, old man,” he said, and turned his glass up to his mouth. throwing his head back, he let the liquid funnel into his throat. then he ordered another round for him. self and walters. soon, the two waiters were exchanging common experiences they had had in other houses and in other cities. one drink led to another and eventually they fell to discussing girls. “say, pal,” walters said jubilantly, “i know where there's some fine chicks. wanna come with me?” “not tonight. got to get my things outa pawn 'fore i start out.” walters traced little circles on the bar in the puddle from his sweat- ing glass. “stop foolin' yourself, kid,” he said. “you was born in hock and you gonna be in hock all your natural life.” “in or out, i’m gonna get my clothes first,” asher said. “this here is the only suit i’ve got to wear.” “ain’t nothin’ wrong with it,” walters said as he looked asher over in his neat, double-breasted blue suit. “‘cause i can under- stand. when i was a young fellow i didn't wanna go chasing no chicks with my workin' pants on, either. might get caught short.” up and down the bar, in little groups of threes and fours, the waiters were treating one another, crying about the cheap snakes they had served that day, cursing the kingfish, telling stories about what had happened to them on other jobs or making dates to go girl- hunting. some were waiting for their girls or even wives to pick them up at the bar. - yet, perhaps from long association with this and other shanties, the waiters were indifferent to their surroundings. it was not a place they came to admire. it was a place they came to treat one another. a drink in that place with their waiter-companion of the moment might spell the difference between unemployment or employment the next month or the next year in some other house or city. for in such terms was security measured for these men. nor did it matter to them that the kingfish netted a pretty penny from their treating; that mike had had it written into his contract when he had rented the old house from the kingfish that the welcome mat would not be thrown out to the waiters at the other bars along city island road. but such was the way of things along that road, with the kingfish owning almost every parcel of property of any value on the island. while walters was talking to asher, dave, the waiter who called everybody pardner, walked into the bar jauntily. he waved an in- fectious hello to everyone. behind him came the two girls who worked in the ladies' room in the fishbowl. they were hattie, a moon-faced girl, snapping on a wad of chewing gum, and a black-eyed girl whose name asher did not know. mike joined the waiters in a chorus of hello's such as are ordinarily reserved for someone just returned from a trip. dave and the girls looked about for a place at the bar, but it was crowded so they moved toward the booths. asher watched the black- eyed girl's image in the mirror as she walked, her shoulders high, the skirt of her dress swaying gently as her hips undulated like those of a dancer. jesus, asher said to himself. she's hot stuff. walters kept up a rapid-fire chatter about the time he was in a bar in rio de janeiro with the crew of the santa clair and a fight started. as he talked, he gesticulated with his hands and arms, but asher was not listening to him. he kept looking at the girl in the mirror. suddenly, walters gave him a wallop on his shoulder that made asher jump. the girl looked up and her eyes met asher's in the mirror. she narrowed her eyes very suddenly, giving him a faintly cynical look. asher felt sick all over, as if the last drink had been one too many. but it was not an unpleasant sensation at all—pain- ful but strongly agreeable; and then he felt quite weak. the girl dropped her eyes quickly. “who’s that baby?” asher said, almost as if he were talking to himself. then he reached for his drink. walters turned his body halfway round on the stool to have a good look at dave and the girls. the black-eyed girl sat on one side of the narrow table across from dave and hattie. then walters turned back to asher. “that's dave's old lady chewing the gum,” he said, giving asher a measured look. “not her, the other dame, i mean.” “listen, pal,” cautioned walters, “that empty seat over there will put you further in hock. that's miss ester. she's high-powered. but she's a real woman. everybody falls for her, but she never loses her head over it.” walters sipped his drink and took another look at asher eying the girl in the mirror. “right now, monroe's shooting after her. don't know why he ain't over there right now, unlessen his wife came out here for him tonight. an’, pal, you gotta have the long foldin’ green to go after what he likes.” “who in the hell is monroe?” asher said, his eyes still on the mir- ror. it seemed to him that dave and the girls were discussing the men standing at the bar. “who’s monroe?” he repeated. “are you jokin’? you worked over 'cross the way two whole days now and don't know monroe. he's the boss's right-hand man. acts like he's the kingfish himself, dippin' up those steam clams.” just then dave stood up, and stretched himself languidly. he studied the backs at the bar and their faces in the dingy mirror. then he walked over, and put his arm on asher's shoulder. “how'd you like to come over, pardner, and meet the folks,” dave said. “now don't get no idea in your head that anybody sent for you. i just thought maybe you'd rather pass the time with us than with these turkeys.” asher turned completely around on the high stool and looked at the black-eyed girl. she reminded him of the picture he saw every time he heard duke ellington’s “sophisticated lady”—a tall, tan, terrific dame. “okay by me,” he said. he turned to walters. “be seein' you, pal.” “what the hell you puttin’ down,” walters said good-naturedly to dave. “framin’ my boy?” “not on your life, pardner,” dave replied. “i’m just gonna fix him up right. he don't have to be 'round ninety years like you, pardner. before he's got nerve to put one over on the kingfish.” the boys walked over to the booth and dave made the introduc- tions. ester nodded and smiled as asher slid onto the bench beside her. “how's the joint usin' you?” hattie said in a pleasant, rehearsed imanner. “me?” parried asher. “i’m as green behind the ears as a new- born babe.” ester turned her head sharply to one side and fixed asher with a steady, opaque look. becoming instantly restive, asher looked off in space, wondering if he was making a good impression. “he’s all right,” double-talked dave, looking from asher to ester. joe, a red-faced old man with a toothpick stuck in his mouth, the combination waiter and porter about the place, hobbled over and whipped at the table with a damp rag. dave gave the order: “four scotches with soda.” he looked from one to the other of his com- panions. asher wondered if the scotch on top of the rye he had had would throw him. not this night, he said to himself. the old man returned and placed the whisky glasses on the table. then he placed the soda tumblers before each of them on a round cardboard mat. hundreds of tiny air bubbles pushed one another to the surface, bursting on the rim of the glasses. mike, that super-salesman, yelled from his side of the bar, “all right, folks, this one's on me.” he raised his glass with an inch or two of straight whisky in it. the party saluted him back before they drank. “do you stop in here every night?” asher asked ester. ester looked into asher's face for a split second. her full red mouth was open and it quivered at the edges angrily as she coun- tered, “what do you think i am?” then she picked up a cigarette, rolled it between her fingers, thumped both of its ends on the table slowly. “all you men are the same. like a bunch of children. just 'cause you live in these bars you think every woman you meet is a bar-fly.” “just a minute,” asher said. “i didn't mean no harm.” ester smiled, very suddenly. “i’m sorry,” she said. “i didn't have any right soundin’ off like that.” asher studied her face. it was difficult to guess her age, but figur- ing—as best he could—he took her to be thirty-five. and that much, only because of the way she carried herself. yet she did not look as old as that. her face was unlined and her skin was as smooth as a child's. she did not have very good features. they certainly would not put her up among the winners of a beauty contest, asher thought. they were too blunt. her short nose was a little thick; but her eyes had a deep blackness and they smiled with her lips, red and sensual. and her smile was the most friendly he had ever seen. nature had given her a heavy, sad look—the kind so many of life's dispossessed have—but when she smiled her sadness became sud- denly attractive, like the warmth of a child. her face was a very pale brown like chocolate mocha, which gave to her black hair a brownish cast in the dim light. she carried her head thrown back in a way that accentuated the brown beauty of her neck. she was slender, but her shapely breasts stood out firmly and her hips were well defined. asher's face smarted as he watched her light her cigarette. his throat was dry but his lips were wet. the corners of his mouth twitched. the long-headed waiter who nightly fed the juke-box, solo-dancing to its rapturous tunes but never missing what went on in the bar, apparently saw the rapt expression on asher's face. he put his nickel on “if i had you,” shaking his head in time with the music. the hard-luck actor left the bar and walked over to the juke-box, stand- ing near the party's booth, and called off another of its tunes, “it ain't gonna be like that.” such was the spirit of goodfellowship in the bar, so deeply rooted for the moment was that transient quality of cameraderie, that another waiter yelled from the bar, “five minutes more.” another joined in with “baby you can count on me.” the effeminate waiter billie hollidayed, “my sugar is re- fined.” even mike, that irishman turned inside out—that is, turned colored by his trade—joined in the sport with, “g man got the t man.” the whole bar was, by then, in love with love or impassioned with passion. more drinks were ordered and there was a general clinking of glasses. dave and hattie showed signs of becoming enamoured with one another all over again. ester looked dreamily at the men standing at the bar. then she turned her sad, heavy face to asher. and asher looked into her face, then hid his hot blood and his flushed face behind his drink, emulating the dried-up indifference of an old rounder as best he could. the little party talked on, as the waiters at the bar again became interested in their drinks and conversation. at the table, dave and hattie were doing most of the talking, mostly wisecracking at ester and asher. they took it good-naturedly. more and more rounds of drinks were ordered. soon, everyone was mellow; glowing in a dif- ferent world untouched by the fishbowl realities of their lives. hattie began to feel sick. ester noticed it first and suggested that they go out in the air. they walked along city island road to where dave's car was parked. ester stayed with hattie to let the cool night air blow on her friend while the boys crossed the street and went into the fishbowl's parking lot. “looks like you made a hit, pardner,” dave said. “but i just wanna warn you, she ain't no push-over. she got a rough deal once. so you'll have to play her slow and easy and be nice to her. inside a month's time, you'll have things your way.” “jesus, that's like next year,” asher said as he slammed the door of the black sedan. dave wheeled the car onto the roadway. “yeah, pardner! come next year and she'll be jus’ another gal to you,” he said. by the time they had pulled up in front of the house where the girls lived, hattie was feeling herself again. she wisecracked to asher, hoping he would be able to get to work on time in the morn- ing. then she and dave went into the vestibule of the apartment house, leaving asher and ester standing on the squat stoop two short steps up from the pavement. it was an ordinary-looking, red brick tenement in th street just east of amsterdam avenue. a cat jumped out of an ashcan which stood near the stoop as a taxi came to a noisy halt at the corner. the cat knocked over an empty milk bottle. asher pointed to it and started to say something when ester laughed. “so what,” she said. she took the lapel of asher's blue suit, pulled his face to hers and kissed him. she kissed him as one would kiss a relative. it was neither quick nor hot. but long enough for asher to feel her very full lips, warm and soft against his. gently and slowly she withdrew them, looking into his eyes. then she pressed the vestibule door open with the back of her heel, turned, and ran up the long, narrow stairway. asher stood there, limp, for the next few minutes. then he turned and walked off like an old man hurrying along when small children have laughed at him. when asher trudged through the butcher shop, the kingfish stood at his usual early-morning haunt by the stairwell which led to the waiters’ locker-room. he had been watching mr. dunkel check the day's incoming supplies. asher opened his squinty eyes and looked at the kingfish for a moment. “just look at him,” taunted the kingfish. “why, he's got all day.” “good morning, boss.” the frown on the kingfish's face faded when he heard the title boss bestowed upon him. “never mind the good morning. just you remember i pay a good bonus. but i have a million ways to take it from you.” it was already five minutes to eleven and asher was due on the floor at eleven, dressed and smiling. but he did not walk with the sprightliness of a waiter intent upon catering to a customer's whims. instead, he lumbered down the flight of stairs like a person descend- ing from one boat dock to another. propelled by the pitch of the stairs, he swayed from side to side, clutching the banister. his eyelids were heavy from lack of sleep and his face was fixed in a masklike expression that not even the penetrating, fishy smell of the dressing-room could alter. it was a good thing, he thought, that he wasn’t railroading and had to get back to the yards in some strange town to find his diner at six-thirty in the morning. but the thought of having been out with ester sent a warm shudder through his body. that gal made it worth being beat for his sleep. the rain of the day before had left the cement-plastered stone walls of the locker-room sweaty. even the rusty steel lockers were clammy. little pools of water had formed on the floor from the drip- ping pipes. dead roaches, bloated with eggs, floated on the surface of the scummy water. soiled newspapers, used by the waiters as dressing-rugs, carpeted the dry spots. in front of asher's locker there was a small lake. the water covered the soles of his shoes as he set about removing his shirt. “kid, you sho’ play it hard,” said walters from his camp chair where he was busy clasping the band of his ready-made black bow tie around his neck. “that's the way it is with you lovers. can't get your eyes open fo’ nothin' in the mornin'. looka me, fresh as a . . .” “lover?” the casablanca boy cut in. “that's daddy. man, he comes on with the girls.” asher's waxen face relaxed. “hi, fellows,” he said. the waiter who nightly played the juke-box rocked and swayed his shoulders to an imaginary hi-hi-ho. “what you mean, daddy! man, that gal was jus’ drinkin' herself up some free scotch. i’ll bet a man. if she looks at him again he'll know he's daddy-o.” asher continued to smile as he occupied the center of this little stage. again the thought of ester sent a warm surge through his body. his chest puffed out as if he had taken a deep breath and he arched his shoulders, for he had been associated with someone the fishbowl waiters felt was a big-timer. and it gave him a lift. but for the most part, the waiters were preoccupied with getting their numbers in for the day, and they soon forgot asher. “sure dunno what i done,” moaned a waiter, one foot propped on a garbage can, counting a handful of coins. “after that ol' bastard, jones, the cook who use to be here, died last month, i laid on the dead man number up 'til last week. soon's i git of'n it here she comes buck-jumping.” “you dunno what's wrong wid you?” queried a waiter standing behind him. “you jus’ got a bad break outa life. that’s all. the white folks didn't take no hand in raisin' you.” “mind your mouth now.” “goldarn, mon, youse always cuttin' she fool ’nd i’m here tryin' to get me business straight. dant say i didn't tell it to you. mon, the nappy hair number is it for today. i’m tellin' you-all.” cap'n logan, the number-writer, strode to the center of the room from the headwaiter's office and looked about him. “off and on,” he commanded in an authoritative voice. “off your ass and on your feet. ain't no time for prayin'. put up or shut up.” he moved from one waiter to another, taking a dollar from one, two from another. some he marked in a little brown notebook—they paid their number bills by the week. soon he had collected a stack of little slips of paper—about the thickness of a pack of cigarettes— with each waiter's play for the day. chief stood in the doorway to his office, watching the money roll in. the waiter who did not feed his kitty would not last long at the fishbowl. “what you like today?” cap'n logan said when he reached asher. but asher did not answer fast enough to satisfy him. “i know you need some fresh money.” asher finally got his wits together. the dream which had awakened him that morning now came back to him. an incoherent series of apparitions—the marble-walled public hallway of a six-story walkup; his seeming inability to climb the stairs, as if he were being pinned down by mountainous sea waves; the figure of a dark-complexioned stranger, perfect in shape and form, rushing down the stairs to meet him, swinging a spike-studded policeman's nightstick. the fantasy vanished the instant asher awakened, and somehow he'd gained the impression he was in the house where ester lived. so he put seventy- five cents straight on , her house number, and “combinated” twenty-five cents on each of the other five ways the number could play. cap'n logan raised his eyebrows as he pocketed the coins. “boy, you sure like them high numbers.” asher was still jittery when the luncheon crowd streamed in. the entire dining-room was never opened for the noonday meal, and those waiters who worked in the farm for dinner took up stations in the second dining-room. asher had only three small tables, but he found it difficult to keep the courses moving to each party with his usual assembly-line precision. there was either too much delay, on his part, between the soup and the entree—or he brought the des- sert before his customers were through their main course. in short, he was up a tree, as the waiters said, and there he stayed for the en- tire noonday meal. even the noises in the kitchen played on his nerves. for at the height of the lunch hour, the kitchen hummed with the frantic cry of waiters demanding, insistently and excitedly, to pick up their orders. “order three fried soles”. ... “i’ll take mine” ... “a porgy, a bass, a snapper”... “let me go” ... “pickin' up a halibut”... “double that order of broiled scallops, hold the french fries, give me a side of boiled.” cooks yelled at waiters. “three boiled soles”. . . “you want 'em raw?” ... “drop your draws if you wanta pick up” . . . “take it easy” . . . “how many bass you pickin' up?” ... “rock bass your ass, it ain't left the icebox yet.” waiters struggled in front of the cook's counter like a crowd in the restaurant trying to get a glimpse of a bride cutting her recep- tion cake. some elbowed their way backwards, pulling trays laden with fish from the shoulder-high counter; others sought to wedge their way up to the counter. still others were after luncheon plates which were kept on the shelves beneath the counter—for the king- fish had not bothered to equip his kitchen with steam cabinets which in most restaurants are standard equipment for keeping crockery warm. it was a small matter, he said, for a waiter to walk with a stack of plates up the kitchen's broad corridor to the coffee urns where the water was boiling-hot at all times. how else would they make use of all the hot water he provided? a short, pot-bellied waiter stood on his toes, trying to yell his order to the cooks over the shoulders of the others. he spied asher, in a crouch, pushing his way through the crowd of milling waiters. “look out, men,” he yelled. “here's tree-top brown plowing on through.” when asher sought to straighten up with his load of dishes, they slithered out of his hands—echoing throughout the kitchen long after the last fragment had come to its final resting spot on the ce- ment floor. instantly the little knot of waiters in front of the counter scattered in all directions as if hot water had unexpectedly geysered out of the coffee urns, spattering on them. some ran down to the potato cook's stand; some darted across the broad kitchen corridor and engaged the pantryman in conversation; others busied them- selves wiping trays with their side towels. only asher was left in front of the counter, shaken and crestfallen over his mishap. waiters in other parts of the kitchen muttered curses to themselves, their lips barely moving, while the eyes of others flashed hot with resent- ment. mr. jerry, the checker, left his desk between the swinging doors which led to the dining-room, and hobbled halfway across the kitchen. with one foot he moved the broken pieces around, like a kitten pawing little chunks of meat, until each piece had been joined to its mate. as mr. jerry started back to his desk, walters walked over to asher and whispered: “take it easy man. that's comin’ outa your pay.” “like hell you say!” “you can take it or leave it. but if you work at the fishbowl long 'nough, you’ll pay for the bowl, too. they’ll charge you accordin’ to what mood the boss is in. and they'll throw in whatever the dish- washers break up besides.” “you’re kiddin’?” asher said suspiciously. “yeah, you must be. tellin' me i’m gonna pay for the dishes them tramps break up. well how d'you like that.” “they may be bums but they're white just the same. what started it, is the boss can’t get no regular dishwashers. these lushes just wanna work three or four days to get a few dollars to go on another binge. an’ if he was to take the breakage outa their pay the em- ployment agency wouldn't send him any more help. so one day, so many dishes got smashed up the boss just up and said, we'll pay and like it.” “humph! i ain't chained to this place. there's too many jobs around.” “but look at the money you knock out here.” “yeah!” asher replied. “you got somethin’ there.” on asher's next trip to the kitchen to load up with a luncheon order, he dumped a freshly broiled sea bass into a garbage can when nobody was looking, to get even for what he'd have to pay for the broken dishes. later, when he returned to the kitchen with a plate of unused bread, he threw that in the garbage can, too. jesus, he said to himself, it sure is a crime to throw this away. to hell with it. it ain't no worser to throw it away than for that bastard to charge me for them dishes. a week passed before asher took ester out again. every time he ran into her in the restaurant she had a date or was otherwise busy. finally, dave tipped him off that ester would be free that saturday night. he suggested to asher that he meet her up at the other end of the island. they met in the nickel palace, a hot-dog stand at the corner of sutherland street and city island road, just across from the honor roll—a war memorial—in front of the suspension bridge that led to the bronx mainland. at ester's request, they lingered along the bank of pelham bay near the bridge, until long after the last fishbowl employee who might have been going home about that time had ridden by on the bus. then they went to sugar hill, a region of the newer harlem, so named when negroes had first begun moving up on washington heights which overlooked the old harlem settlement down in the “valley.” but, as they say, the hill is still there but the white folks took the sugar with them when they left, for the buldings in this neighborhood now show evidence of decay. all the high stoops of the old-fashioned brownstone, three-story, private houses have been hacked away to make room for store fronts. when they came up out of the subway kiosk on st. nicholas ave. nue near th street, the hill was astir with a stream of people going in all directions. slowly, asher became aware of muted sounds in the hot summer night air. it had, he thought, a tone like a musical interval that comes over the radio at times. softly and steadily it came—tramp, tramp, tramp. then off in the distance he heard the wail of a police patrol-car siren, and the strange sounds came to an abrupt and cruel halt. - ester walked silently at asher's side, holding firmly to his arm as they headed toward th street. the two blocks that stretched ahead of them formed an electric-lit line of brilliance: bars, store-front churches, chop suey parlors, pool halls, food markets and barber shops. the weird sounds took form again in asher's ears. tramp, tramp, tramp. it came from the marching crowd, it seemed to him. as he listened to the slow, plodding, yet rhythmical tramp, tramp, tramp of the crowd, it became challenging. the more he listened to its rhythm the louder, the angrier, the more determined its beat became —only to be met at its crescendo and subdued for a time by the shrill of the siren. then the tramp, tramp, tramp again. there was laughter in the air like the alternating sharps and flats of a jazz tune. yet the muted undertone of the tramp, tramp, tramp persisted: pedestrians seeking the subway or the bus; idlers prowl- ing in front of pool halls and store-front number dives; men and women from the monotonous and overcrowded cross streets, living in dark, mephitic tenements, brownstone fronts, dingy elevator flats and modern but rundown apartment houses; people going and com- ing from gin mills; boisterous groups of men and boys congregated on corners and in the middle of blocks, making passes at unescorted women; adolescent boys and girls flaunting their youth. tramp, tramp, tramp. then the intermittent and recurring cry of the siren. jesus, it's like this everywhere, asher said to himself—in phila- delphia, chicago, cleveland, st. louis. crowds of negroes walking. just walking around in circles—always something to stop them. some day, things will be better, maybe. he felt ester tugging at his arm and it made him warm and secure. there were in that crowd the sleek, the modish; the sad, the nasty- looking; women who seemed to be drudges or drunkards; men, pug- nacious and loud—petty thieves and vicious parasites; children of ugliness and dirt; evil faces and scowlers; brutish men elbowing the passersby out of their way; the dreary-looking and the prosperous. all of them tramping, tramping, tramping—only to be halted at in- tervals by the commanding wail of the siren. ester wanted to go to paradise, one of the newer bars on sugar hill. the place had only recently celebrated the grand opening to which several thousand harlemites had been invited by printed in- vitation (although it took only cash-in-hand to partake of its de- lights). the place “jumped like a revival meeting,” to quote the bar- flies. paradise was an imposing gin mill at the corner of st. nicholas avenue and th street where the crosstown streetcar rattled through on its way to the bronx. from the outside the saloon was a huge expanse of glass brick, bordered with wide strips of shiny, black plate glass held together with bronze molding. so brilliant were the neon lighting effects that they snared passersby on the avenue three or four blocks away. this was harry schmell's gift to harlem, where he had raised scotch whisky to a kingdom and was charging seventy-five cents a shot for it. as asher and ester were about to cross the threshold, a conked- haired zoot-suiter lounging in the doorway winked at her and stage- whispered to his crony, “that's my baby.” ester threw her head back involuntarily and tightened her grasp on asher's arm. “they ought to send this riffraff back to georgia. these bastards just keep us back.” before asher could answer, harry schmell bounced in front of the couple and chased the hangers-on from the doorway, threaten- ing to call the cops. he was a short, stocky, florid little man with a tailor-made smile which he snapped on and off like a flashing electric light. “ar, miss ester, i thought you was never coming to my place.” turning to his wife who sat in the cashier's desk just to the left of the entrance he announced: “here is miss ester and her friend from the fishbowl.” the schmells, who lived on pelham parkway—the highway over which all traffic passed to and from city island—usually ate once or twice a week at the fishbowl. however, what with the opening of their new bar and the rush of business, they had not been out to the island for several weeks. naturally they had much to talk about and gush over with ester. they tried to outdo each other in asking about the “boys”—each of them called no less than twenty of the older waiters by name, and inquired about their health. then the little manager ushered ester and asher to the corner booth farthest from the door. his brown eyes flashed. “the best in the house for you, miss ester.” ester looked around with satisfaction. the red shade of the small lamp on the black, glossy table, the sea-green leatherette upholstery of the booth, the oak-paneled walls, the indirect-lighting fixtures sunk in long, narrow grooves around the room at the edge of the ceiling, gave a warm glow to the mural of negro greats on the walls just below. there were joe louis, marion anderson, duke ell- ington, george carver, paul robeson peering out from an army of black workers. “this place is ready,” asher said. ester gave him a smile. she had taken off her jacket, and he saw that she wore a pale blue summer print, cut low in the front. he ordered twelve-year-old scotch, and when it came her eyes sparkled. “oh my, you're so good to me.” “because of this?” he asked carelessly, as though he never drank anything else. “i was so surprised when you asked me to come out with you. i didn't think you'd ever want to see me again, the way i ran off the last time.” conversation flowed easily. the drinks seemed to have put her in a vivacious mood, and she talked with a quick, witty intelligence. asher made one or two mild jokes, and ester laughed heartily over them. for the most part, however, he had only to listen and, of course, order drinks, while ester rattled on. “well, looka there,” she said with a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. “here's old sister wrong with a beat-up straw katie setting on the back of her neck, almost. it looks like the last turkey running from old uncle jake's shotgun. she musta got two of them for the same price.” “where?” asked asher, looking around. “over there at the other end of the bar—up by the door. that the juke-box played continuously. it gave songs the “sharpies” se- lected to put their sweater-girls in a mellow mood, the songs that loosened up the proud-acting woman, the songs that brought misti- ness to the eyes of the middle-aged—songs of tenderness, of longing, of heartbreak and of humor. songs that were played over and over, night after night, in every harlem bar. “ain’t got nobody to love” took on the rich overtones of that spiritual of lonesome wanderings, “sometimes i feel like a motherless child.” the jazzed-up tune, “it ain't gonna be like that,” took on the hard trials of “i been rebuked and i been scorned.” the moanful love song, “if i had you,” sounded like the great tribulations of “if i had my way.” but the most popular song, the one that was played over and over, was “that chippy's not ready for pluckin’.” each time a husky- voiced “black troubadour” told of his confused reactions to life and love in this industrial society, the crowd chorused: “send her back down home to her mother—let her season her up some more —then she'll be ready for pluckin’.” this was saturday night, work was done, they were free at the bar. to earn a living they had to uncle tom “mr. charley” by day, but by night they were free. if they worked in a factory, they took orders from a white boss; if they worked as domestics or public servants they had to bow and scrape. but not at paradise. asher felt good. ester seemed to have a knack for making a man believe he was the most important person on earth, the only one who mattered to her. she would make witty little remarks, behind which there were slightly veiled questions, intended to draw from her com. panion just what she seemed to want to know about him. not the sort of questions that would call for a recital of his life's history, but ones that would tell her, if she was of a mind to play, whether or not it would prove a matter of playing with fire. “i’ll bet your chick's not too young to fry?” she asked. “are you?” asher asked in return. ester studied asher's face for a moment. then a twinkle came into her large black eyes and they smiled with her lips. “you don't have any business being out on a limb alone. not you,” she said. “you betta get yours while the gettin' is good and get all you can get. 'cause if you don't they'll get you and when they do they'll get you good and plenty.” “is that the way you believe in treatin' your boy friend?” asher asked. “boy friend? what's all this about?” she said, stopping short as if she were thinking. “you’re not the jealous kind, are you?” again she looked into asher's face, long and pensively. asher felt a warm sensation churn inside him, and little beads of perspiration popped out around the edges of his hair. when they left the bar, asher wanted to ride, for he was itching to get ester into a cab and into his arms. but ester wanted to walk. their way led north along st. nicholas avenue. so intently had asher mapped out his little campaign to get ester into his arms that he felt dismayed. as often happens when two people are new to each other, he did not allow his frustration to flare into open anger, but smoth- ered his bewilderment like a person choking a yawn. and, for the first block or two, he walked along in silence. ester, for her part, seemed even gayer and more vivacious. perhaps it was the drinks. it could have been her intuition that led her to suggest a walk so early in the morning—it was then almost three. on other occasions with an older man she might have demanded a taxi to go around the corner. an early-morning breeze wafted gently in their faces as they walked. ester strode along buoyantly, almost playfully pulling asher by the arm. the hill was still agog with people on the move. but at that hour they did not march with a loud, angry, determined beat. some strolled along the street. others prowled about stealthily, as if in search of prey or plunder. people in little groups issued from the innumerable gin mills and eateries along the avenue—gay in their boisterousness, lingering for a minute over good-bys before separating. traffic moved at a fast clip, coming to a screeching halt for red lights. loud “good nights” punctuated the clamor of slam- ming car doors. near the corner of th street where st. nicholas place forks “well?” she said. “you know i could go for you in a big way.” “but you scarcely know me.” asher took hold of her and drew her towards him. she did not resist, but bent forward a little, and he kissed her lips again. a tender look came into her eyes, and she began to stroke his head. “don’t be silly. can't we be just good friends?” “not the way you're pattin' my cheek.” ester laughed softly, but did not stop. asher looked into her eyes, and as he looked he saw them soften and grow liquid. then he pulled her toward him and they stretched across the bed. he kissed her again and her body folded into his. his hand caressed the flank of her leg. then he began to fumble with the zipper of her dress. she sat up on the edge of the bed and slapped his hand. “you’re so clumsy,” she said as she stood up and set about un- fastening her dress. she slipped her dress over her head and threw it across a chair. then, putting her hands behind her, she unhooked her brassiere and stood before asher in her panties. he caught her in his arms and kissed her, long and violently. “put the light out, daddy.” looka me, asher said to himself. wish they could see me now. bet they'd call me daddy-o now. i'm a big-timer. that's me . . . all me. that's what i am. a big shot. just like they do it in the movies. make 'em go wild. like them there movie stars. treat 'em cold . . . indifferent to 'em . . . mean. that makes 'em make you. jesus, bet they do it in satin sheets ... sho' would like to try it that way ... i'll bet a man i'm daddy-o now. they won't tell me 'bout no monroe . . . nobody else. it was a long time before they stirred. the grayness of dawn came upon the window shade—a speck in the center, then an outer rim of light framed the window shade, forcing out the dark areas. ester awakened asher by kissing him on the mouth. her hair fall. ing over his face tickled him. “i better get out of here,” she said. “i don't wanta meet your landlady this morning.” “pay her no mind,” he answered sleepily. “she's no trouble.” ester sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her clothes lying in the chair by the window. her waist was small but her hips were broad. as she bent forward her large, brown breasts lay heavily upon her thighs. as she began to dress herself hurriedly she yanked the bed sheet back from asher. “wake up, lazy-bones,” she said. “and i'll tell you something.” “what?” ester looked at him with her heavy, sad expression. slowly, asher pulled himself up and sat in the center of the bed with his knees hunched up before him. “what?” “you really interested?” “what is this, some sort of a game?” “i’ve got a little boy,” she said slowly. “and i haven't time to waste on any man who's out to just play around.” asher was speechless for several minutes. ester looked intently into his face. “where?” he said, when words did come. “livin' with you and hattie?” “nope,” she said with a low chuckle. “he’s down south with my brother.” “oh!” a twinkle came into ester's eyes as she watched asher slowly turning over in his mind what she had told him. “you know its loads of fun goin’ out with you,” she said after a while. “let’s keep it like that. we can't afford to get serious.” she paused, then continued: “you know everybody says i’m out husband- hunting.” “where's your old man?” “that bastard? running around somewhere in harlem.” asher pushed the sheet to one side and one leg slid over the edge of the bed. ah, ester. she had polish, a chic that was new to asher. and when he compared her to the women who frequented the fishbowl—and he did quite often—he could only mutter, wonderingly, “jesus, she sends every inch of my brown body.” they were new to each other and it was good—achingly good to them. yet sex was not the only link in their friendship. ester had a way about her. asher felt it in the spirited way she carried herself, the enticing way she looked into his face, searching and pensive, the way she talked. ester was interested in the life asher led. she laughed at his stories of how he had lost a job by “adding a little weight” to a cus- tomer's check at one resort, how he had lost another job by “going south” with the cash for a diner's check in some strange town. she even made him tell her—without seeming to probe—why he had never settled down to a “steady job in the post office, or something.” for he had no relatives in new york and what few friends he did have were as broke and shiftless as himself. “post office,” he laughed, sarcastically. “a man's gotta have fresh foldin’ money every day. those asses who get theirs once or twice a month are broke two hours after they get it. i wanta live. ain't no chance to get a break locked up in no job like that.” asher dimly realized he was somebody for ester to pet, and scold, and make a fuss over. beneath her sophistication, he decided, she was domestic in temperament. on several occasions, she even seemed to enjoy cooking a light supper for “daddy”—as she called him— in the communal kitchen that asher's landlady had set aside on the top floor for the twenty-eight lodgers jammed into her ten-room house. ester was young, strong and healthy; and it seemed quite natural to give herself to asher. he guessed she liked him because he let her have her way, and he laughed with her over all the things in life that amused and interested her. at times, however, asher would grow troubled and restless. for ester allowed him to see her only a couple of nights a week. on the nights he was “free to spend with the boys,” as she put it, he would drown his lonesomeness by joining them in the futile pastime of trying to drink the shanty dry. occasionally, he thought of ester's little boy. well, that's no skin off my ass, he would say. and his thoughts would turn to what ester might be doing. bedeviled by visions of ester laughing and talking with monroe, of ester in the man's arms, asher would decide monroe was his most hated enemy. an enemy who joined an army of ghosts that had marched with asher since early childhood. they were like the dark- complexioned stranger who was always rushing toward asher twirl- ing a spike-studded night stick—vague and illusive, disunited and disassociated—who constantly appeared and disappeared in asher's troubled sleep. asher would become afraid, during these moments. his hands turned cold and clammy. he breathed rapidly, his heart pounding. then he had to have a drink and then another and another, and wasn’t really relaxed until he was fuzzy-headed and bleary-eyed. before they had become lovers, asher had asked himself if there was “anything between ester and monroe,” and afterwards he asked her. she kissed him. “don’t be foolish,” she answered. “can't i have friends? he just likes to show me off to his friends—it makes him feel good. we’re just drinking partners.” although her answer did not satisfy asher, he did not probe deeper. he feared that to do so would make her angry. he was young, only twenty-seven, and monroe seemed an old man to him; yet it did not seem quite natural to him that ester and monroe were only drinking partners. when he would look at her in the restaurant, standing in the doorway to the ladies' room, talking to a waiter, he glowed with self-satisfaction. he thought of the nights they passed together and would laugh to himself over the waiters’ promising to call him daddy- . but sometimes he thought that monroe looked at him as if he understood. he wondered if ester had told monroe that she was go- ing out with him. he wondered, too, if there was anything in his manner that made monroe know. the expression “big fish”—the waiters’ nickname for monroe—had stuck in his mind. and when- ever it came back to him, as it usually did on those nights when he was not with ester, he became afraid the waiters were laughing at him. when he told ester this she looked at him sadly. “it’s none of their business,” she said. “they've all got nasty minds anyhow. you're not jealous? why, i don't snoop around to find out about your other girl friends, do i?” ester was an inveterate moviegoer, and very often she and asher made the late show at the neighborhood movie house. on one such occasion, they saw “the dark flower,” a beef-witted hollywood drama that was billed as the “greatest love story of all times.” ester had been very much excited by the film, and as they returned from the theater she walked enraptured, clutching asher's arm. the way led through th street along a quiet, tree-lined walk beside a churchyard that occupied an entire city block. as they crossed am- sterdam avenue, asher suggested that they stop for a drink at hart- mann's—one of the waiters' harlem haunts. instantly, ester's can- tering stride slackened to a stroll. “don’t you ever get tired of seeing those buzzards?” she asked. “you’ve been cooped up with them all day. here's the ritz —let's go there.” nimbly she pushed asher into the entrance of the bar. the ritz was an old-fashioned hole-in-the-wall. it had been, in its heyday, a fashionable drinkery—family entrance and all—that catered to the lace-curtain irish who once inhabited sugar hill. but its new owner felt he didn't have to modernize the place for these people, since he knew this famous and elegant old landmark of the gas-lamp era—known then as the fox head inn—had been allowed to deteriorate like almost everything else on the hill. thus, from the era of fancy stone beer-mugs, the place had come to specialize in trick “double” whisky glasses, the insides of which deceptively tapered into a thick bottom, holding not two, but about one and a half drinks. in this way the ritz attracted a large crowd of transients—the broke, the near-broke and the bargain hunters. ester walked to the corner of the long, narrow bar and headed in the direction of the dimly lit back room. “let's sit at the bar,” asher said sulkily. “just as you say, darling.” a fat, squinty-eyed italian bartender stationed himself in front of them. he grinned and said “yessir” to asher as he swished the dark- stained bar with a rag that resembled the soiled end of a bath towel. “ain’t you got no scotch?” asher barked petulantly. the bartender turned, and pointed to the lone bottle of scotch nearly three-quarters filled, but half-hidden behind several rows of whisky bottles on a shelf in back of the bar. asher frowned as he tried to recollect whether he had ever heard of the brand before. “okay,” he said as he hunched his shoulders. asher would have liked nothing better than to have swaggered into hartmann's with ester on his arm. even if none of the waiters had been on hand, word of their having been there together would have soon spread in his little circle, for he knew that ester was a well-known glamour girl among hartmann's employees. now he could find nothing to talk about. he sat at the bar in stony silence, downing his drinks morosely. but ester kept up a rapid-fire conversation about the movie they had seen, seeming almost desperate to make herself even more en- gaging than usual. “didn't you think that was one gorgeous farm ray chalmers had? it had everything—even down to ducks in the swimming pool. i can't understand for the life of me why that sappy dame couldn't go for him. know one thing, darling? i could spend the rest of my life in a place like that if you owned it—right in the middle of all those beautiful deep-tangled woods.” at last she realized she could not make asher snap out of his surly mood, and she said: “what's bitin' you?” “nothin”.” “don’t be like that, darling,” she pleaded. “nothin', i said; you're doin’ the talkin’.” ester glanced at asher sidewise. he did not meet her eyes. but he could feel her questioning gaze that he knew so well. she said nothing more, and after another round of drinks they left the bar. outside, asher started to walk rapidly, keeping three or four paces ahead of her. finally, when she caught up with him, she said: “don’t you want me to stop by your place?” “if you wanta.” they had only to go around the corner, and in a moment they were in asher's room. “what's makin' you act like this?” ester asked as she sidled up to asher, who was standing in front of the dresser. for a minute he stood there silently, looking away. then he said: “you wouldn't go to hartmann's with me 'cause you were afraid monroe would find out about it.” “don’t be silly. monroe doesn't own me.” “no?” “just because we’re friends must you have such evil thoughts?” asher felt the warmth of her body as her firm breasts pressed against his chest. but he kept his arms hanging loosely at his sides. “you know, sweets, you men are all alike. if i didn't know any other man, i’d never be able to find you when i wanted you.” then she pulled his face down to hers and kissed him. when she released the pressure on his rigidly held neck, she said: “but i love you for being the way you are.” slowly, asher put his hands about her waist. “don’t get yourself so worked up about nothing,” she said. “i’m savin’ it all for you.” “yeah?” “of course, silly.” he smiled and she kissed him again. “but remember, you promised to take me as i am.” “okay,” he said half-heartedly. at the moment, he had not known what else to say, but he won- dered how he could get ester the way he wanted her—all to himself. am i playing you or you playing me? there ain't gonna be no part- nership with you, baby. no sir! then he remembered she had said she was saving it all for him and he felt exalted. during the afternoon, the waiters who were not on watch in the main dining-room usually relaxed in the rear of the farm. in little groups, they gathered about the tables and exchanged dirty stories or swapped experiences. some debated the day's crop of newspaper stories while others cat-napped or lounged about. the sun that cut an ever narrowing swath along city island road cast its tired, afternoon reflection through the windows into the snow white room. from where asher sat, he could see an occasional sail easing along lazily, and, beyond, the hilly shoreline on the oppo- site side of long island sound. gradually, he became drowsy and stretched his arms out on the table and rested his head on them. but suddenly every inch of his body was thoroughly awake, as he felt the wooden table echo the arrival of someone plopping down onto a chair at the other end of the long banquet table. he heard the new- comer, imitating an englishman, say to a waiter: “jawge, 'ow you?” “i got your george swinging in my pants.” asher raised his head and joined in the laughter that rippled through the room. the waiter known as the preacher reared back in his chair and, as though he were talking to the ceiling, said sonorously: “he who is not there when supper is served will know not of the supper.” “it ain’t like that,” another waiter chimed in. “man, i remember one year me an’ another boy was bummin’ around, goin' from town to town, an’ we got broker than hell. an' when you get broke you sho’ do get hungry. well, we was making our way to chi from down in the southern part of illinois—min' you not down south but up in illinois—when we come to the town of fulton. man, it was jus’ around a bend in the road when we seen it first, glistenin’ like a full dinner pail. boy oh boy, it sho’ did look good. jus’ like a well- turned roast, sizzling in its own juices. you know them crackers wouldn’t let us get nothin’ to eat nowhere in that town. but we knowed it was there aplenty.” preacher stroked his chin sagely. “i know what you mean.” “hey, man, better watch yourself,” warned a small-eyed man with his glasses resting on the tip of his bulbous nose. “here comes one of them black stockho’ers.” the dark-skinned waiter to whom he had spoken faced him with his head and shoulders hunched over the table. in his hand he held a cigarette which had burned to a long, tapering column of ashes. “he betta min’ his own goddam business. i ain't fixin' to take no tea for the fever this afternoon,” he snorted angrily, without moving. one waiter laughed, a low snickering laugh. the small-eyed waiter folded his newspaper and rested it on the table, removed his glasses and placed them in a leather eye-glass case. “boy, it sure is funnier than hell,” he mused sarcastically. “how well the kingfish knows us. man, all he gotta do is put a broom in a man's hands, give him a couple dollars extra, call him cap'n an' he sure will puff up like a cloud-storm fixin' to bust.” a barrel-chested waiter seated at a two-seat table in front of a window smiled. “once a ass-bucket always a ass-bucket.” the small-eyed waiter looked again at the man with his head rest- ing on the table. “come on, jackson. get up, man. charlie's halfway up the second dinin’-room. i don't feel like hearin’ him run off at the mouth.” charlie came into the farm and strode up to the little group of waiters. he looked about him with an officious air as if he were taking inventory. then he cleared his throat. “when you men finish smokin', be sure you take your cigarette butts and newspapers with you,” he said pompously. “don’t leave the table linen all mussed up, either. mus' think you're at home. the ol’ man's raisin’ hell as it is 'bout the linen bill bein’so high these days, an' i don't blame him, the way you-all mess it up.” charlie looked about the room for a moment, importantly. he pointed a finger toward asher. “that goes for you, too, mr. prize- fighter.” then he walked off. “wonder how much he paid for his stock in the corporation?” said the small-eyed waiter. “man, he's not only a stockholder, he's a da also,” put in an- other waiter. “da?” asher asked inquiringly. “what the hell is that—a dog-ass?” the waiters looked at asher and laughed. “he’s that and the district attorney,” the small-eyed waiter giggled. “if n he catch you doin’ somethin’ he’ll snitch on you to the boss and plead your case jus’ like a lawyer.” the dark-skinned waiter gave a grunt. “lousiest bunch of rats i ever worked 'round,” he said. “i’ve worked in many a dining-room but never in all my born days have i seen such a dirty bunch of scrub captains.” “how many they got out here?” asher asked. “how many. man, there's over two hundred men workin’ here an’ over fifty of 'em is some kinda half-ass cap'n.” “i know i jus’ got here,” asher said, “but don't kid me, pal.” “he ain't kiddin’,” the small-eyed waiter cut in. “they got a cap'n to receive the linen, one to put it in the linen closet, one to put it out in the dinin’-room, one to move it from the servin' stands to the tables. an’ after we lay it, there's one to inspect the tables.” the barrel-chested waiter chuckled. “an’ that ain't all. there's cap'ns in this joint to check on the other cap'ns. you seen walker come 'round this mornin’ complainin’ that harrison musta been crazy the way he ordered the tables lined up for lunch in the second room. man, ain't nothin’ like it in no other dining-room in the world.” “what'd they do to become cap'n?” asher asked. “be here ninety years?” “you interested, buddy?” “who me?” asher said. “no, siree! i ain’t made like that. you’ll never catch me kow-towin’ to no boss for a few extra bucks.” “yeah! that's what they all say,” the dark-skinned waiter replied. “but by an’ by you see 'em as thick with the kingfish as two peas in a pod. whisperin’ to him 'bout what so-and-so's gettin’ away with in the dining-room. how this one was whoopin' 'em up in harlem. an’ as soon as the boss finds out they're his tried an' trusted men, right away they're cap'ns.” “he sure must relish it, too,” the small-eyed waiter said. “‘cause he goes 'bout it jus’ like they go 'bout the layin' on of hands in church. tellin' you to see cap'n jones for this an' cap'n williams “all right now, pardners, i'm payin' eight bucks to one on the last figure. you can get yours now.” the waiters made all sorts of combinations beginning with eighty- six. they made them out of hunches and dreams, out of children's names and other so-called lucky sources, out of the number of the check lying face-up in their sales books, and out of thin air. dave was a good number-writer and he did not bat an eye. when dave had completed his collection, he took asher with him to help count the money at a small table in one of the arched cubby- holes that lined the wall on the far side of the room. asher still played –ester's house number—in every conceivable combination. he had put his dollar on a five. asher had been working at the fishbowl a little over a month. and he had his troubles over how to make ends meet. perhaps it was the money dave spread on the table before them that prompted him to speak of his woes. however, with the exception of the weekend when the last station in the farm was good for ten dollars a day, he averaged three or four dollars a day. now and again, he managed to “luck up on a pound”—five dollars. but he was hard pressed, what with taking ester out, meeting his living expenses and paying his number bill which had become fairly heavy. “this farm is sure gettin' me down,” he said. “i gotta do some. thin’.” dave placed a wad of one-dollar bills on the table and nodded his head understandingly. “no, pardner! it ain't no place for a regular like you. ain't nothin' but some ol' fart that don’t need much to keep life together in his bones can make it back here.” he toyed with the money for a moment in deep study. then he said: “we gotta get you in the front room, pardner.” “how you gonna do it? i jus’ got here—my feet ain't even dry yet. but i sure gotta do somethin’ or go back to railroadin’. an’ that's no picnic.” “listen, pardner,” dave said. “lay a couple bucks on chief each week an’ you can jus’ about name your station.” “you mean i gotta pay that no-good bastard to make money?” asher asked angrily. “i ain't buyin' no stations for him to get fat offa me.” “that's the way it is around here, pardner. he ain't no good but he's sure got this place sewed up tighter than dick's hatband. ain't but a mighty few of us that don't have to pay him off. those that was here before he came and them scrub captains.” “i can't see it! but i sure gotta git holda some money somehow. man, i can't even catch myself a figure.” “it’s jus’ the same as givin' some greedy customer a extra piece of butter, pardner, hopin' you'll get a big tip. the boss don't want you to go givin’ his butter away free, but you do every time.” “maybe you're right, after all,” asher smiled. dave folded the wad of bills and put them in his pocket slowly. then he asked: “how you and ester doin’ these days? you oughter hang on to her. she's okay.” “that's the trouble. i spend up all my change on the nights when i don’t see her, when she's with monroe or somebody.” “pardner, he's jus’ a helpin’ hand for her. he's no trouble. but she's gotta get along an’ take care of her child, too. you got no squawk coming—you're gettin’ all the gravy. the boss don't pay her nothin’ for that stinkin’ washroom job. calls it his ‘concession’— an’ she sure can't make it offa tips alone.” “what?” “that's a fact, pardner,” dave replied. “you betta think about what i told you. you'll have to raise the ante for chief. but don't go spoilin’ it; two bucks's enough.” dinner got under way with a bustle of activity. everywhere wait- ers scurried about putting their stations in order. they hauled tables that were slightly out of line back into the room's diagonal checker- board pattern. they dusted chairs, and rubbed silverware and glasses to a gleaming luster. waiters streamed from the kitchen with earthen- ware water pitchers and freshly filled condiment containers while others—the headwaiter’s “pets”—carried tray loads of steaming place plates to be set at tables with “reserved” signs on them. asher, with nothing better to do for the moment, was standing just inside the frame portal that separated the first dining-room from the second. as he took in this scene—feverish with the waiters' an- ticipation of a tip-laden dinner—his eyes wandered over to the res- taurant's parking-lot entrance. in a recessed bay just above the door lay a huge stuffed lobster—a greenish brown, spiny lobster with large, pincer-like claws. asher had seen it many times before, but now it was as if the lobster were alive. for it seemed to him to be wriggling contentedly, even lazily, on its ten feet—as if it had just finished feasting off some thin-skinned fish in its imitatively natural surroundings. then his thoughts drifted back to what ester had said about chief: “he’s just like a hard-shelled crawfish reaching and grasping for everything in sight—the livin', the dead, and the half- dead.” sure thing, he thought, if chief had spent the better part of his life “gettin' his from every livin' ass,” as the waiters said of their headwaiter (and, at times, there was a note of admiration in their voices), he was not to be judged by ordinary standards. andy, the waiter to whom the numbers were what the church is to the devout, stood at asher's side as the room filled to capacity, bid- ding him “look at ol' chief wid those white folks eatin’ outa his hand an’ makin' 'em pay off.” asher had thought of it, time and again. every day, sometimes twice a day, some waiter said: “there's only one chief an’ he gets the fat from the duck.” chief had long ago acquired that rare trick of making diners—fussy fish-eaters—laugh at themselves and pay him for the privilege. what he was doing that night was more or less repetition. “there aren't many of us who can handle them white folks an’git away wid it,” andy said. suddenly, as if the approving nod of andy's head had prompted the thought, asher compared the waiter with chief. his perception made him glow inwardly with pride. andy was beat; he was satisfied with such a little. a part of asher made him say (he addressed andy silently) i wish i could be like you—nothing seems to bother you so long as you can get your number money and somethin’ to drink; you'll be around when chief's dead and gone; you ain't burnin' yourself out strivin' and strainin’; you ain't suckin' nobody's life blood. but simultaneously, asher remembered how andy had once brought a new dream book to work and, when cap'n logan limited his play on a “hot number,” had cried for hours about the crookedness of the number game until chief had said only a thief thinks everybody else is a thief. how, then, did you figure it out? how did you judge a man? what made you feel friendly toward one man, indifferent to another? what was it all about? as he stood, apparently glued to the frame portal, impressions of the two men flowed within asher like a quiet voice whispering to him. it was then six-thirty and every table in the main dining-room was occupied. chief had begun to usher parties to the tables in the second room. “you’ll get a break tonight, kid; the farm will be jumpin' in a few minutes,” he called at asher once as he passed him. . the quiet voice continued to whisper to asher. it was his own voice, saying undeniably contradictory things with such force that even the grained and knotted lines in the portals were stamped in his mind forever. andy's just drifting along with the tide, but chief's a big shot, he's bending the tide his way. he's conceited, knows he's smart . . . a real slave-driver but he'll drive you and make you like it. he has what you (again he addressed andy silently) haven't got, a knack of gettin’ what he wants. all of this surged through asher, rising and falling with the hum of activity in the restaurant. then, without warning, a few drops of rain about the size of half- dollar pieces spattered upon the fishbowl's windows. it reminded asher of a wire-brush drumstick being played against a snare-drum. then the rain began to fall in a great downpour. asher turned and looked down the long aisle of the second dining- room into the farm. it looked hollow and vacant to him with its row after row of long tables topped with freshly starched linen. he could see the glassware turned upside-down on the tables, with tiny, liquid patches of highlights glistening in the gloomy atmosphere before the skeleton-backed chairs. he felt depressed. he thought of the two dol- lars he had made for lunch. can't make it like this, he thought. all of this danced up and down in his mind like the great sheets of rain that he saw dancing across city island road when he looked out of the windows—dancing like a well-trained chorus line in elfin hoods. up and down it danced, in and out of the reach of the clutch- ing lobster, until a voice calling to him shattered his thoughts. “hey, asher!” said chief. “stay where you are 'til i call you. you gotta get a check before you go home, an’ the next carload of fish-eaters that rolls up here is yours. i’ll give you part of some- body's station. you know me. do right by ol' chief and ol' chief will look out for you.” asher nodded to the headwaiter as he walked off. he listened to the rain falling hard outside. his eyes wandered in the direction of the ladies' room near the entrance to the parking-lot and he felt warm inside. chief ain't so bad, asher said to himself. maybe if i do right by him i can make it. it was late the next day when asher approached chief. he found him at his favorite spot—leaning against the arm of an overstuffed chair near the parking-lot entrance—watching the tiny particles of dust that hopped about like mexican jumping beans in the sun streamers that poured down onto the dark, linoleum-covered floor of the lounge. chief seemed to be lost in thought and, for several minutes, took no notice of asher standing at his side. then he looked up. “believe me when i say it, i don't know how some of you-all call yourselves waiters, as sloppy as you are.” asher fidgeted uncomfortably but made no reply to the words he had heard time and again. one hand fumbled at his side as if it itched and he did not want to scratch it. “thanks for the party last night,” he said finally, handing the headwaiter a folded dollar bill. chief smiled at asher as his fingers flipped the corners of the bill. he pocketed the money without taking his eyes off asher. “i knew all the time you know what it's all about. you'll make money around here. sure thing.” “i sure would if i could work in the hole regular,” asher replied. at other times, while strolling about the restaurant or out in the kitchen, there was a noticeable change in his attitude. it was not so much that he now walked slower but there was about him a greater poise—his shoulders held erect, his head thrown back, his stride lengthened in a more measured cadence—which gave him the leisurely yet purposeful step of a self-assured man. even in the exchange of small talk with his fellow-workers the change was apparent. for in the wake of his promotion to the main dining-room many eyes had momentarily widened, many mouths had fleetingly curled in cynical and knowing grimaces. and the half- concealed inquiries (always put jokingly) by the curious, the idle speculators, the wisecracking know-it-alls, the envious, he met with evasive answers. once a waiter had smilingly said, “i sure would like to know who you know 'round here.” and asher had replied, “think it'd do you any good, bud?” thinking to himself, ain’t nothin’ to you. just another broke-ass waiter. like the bear—no- where. bet a fat man, i’m gonna make me some money in this place. 'cause i know this business. asher had been at his new station for a week when ester asked him to meet her after work. it was saturday night, and she had her shopping to do. they met at the corner of rochelle street near the restaurant's delivery court just as the bronx-bound bus screeched to a halt across the wide avenue in front of the shanty. ester climbed in breathlessly and made her way to an empty seat in the middle of the bus. asher trudged along behind her. he no- ticed that she nodded to someone sitting a couple of seats further back. but it was not until he was about to slide into the seat beside her that he recognized monroe. the man sat beside his wife, a dark, bird-faced little woman, as if they were total strangers to each other. “how you doing?” ester asked indifferently. then she smiled at asher, her large black eyes dancing mischievously. “never mind me,” asher replied. “isn't that your ol’ man back there?” “my ol’ man, as you call him, is dead, big boy.” ester's rejoinder caught asher unprepared and he swallowed hard. a hard, steely look edged into her eyes and a clearly discernible bitterness about the corners of her full mouth erased the smile on her face. “he’s safe now.” then in a low, harsh voice she added, “if his wife didn't come and fetch him the poor woman wouldn't have anything to eat. you men!” the bus rolled on, bouncing through the moonlit night. involuntarily, asher's eyes were drawn to the window of the bus and out of the corner of one eye he could see monroe, fat and gross- looking, his thick, loose lips puckered in anger as he stared at him with a contemptuous sidelong glare that bristled with hatred. monroe had worked at the fishbowl for a little over ten years. although he had been a cook almost all his forty-seven years, he had begun in the kingfish's service as a pot washer. and having washed pots to the gleeful satisfaction of this most exacting taskmaster he had, in time, climbed the ladder of success. advancing to the fish- broiler's helper, then to the job of potato cook, he had finally be- come the clam-steamer. in this capacity he was also the kingfish's main “seeing-eye” about the kitchen whenever the boss was not about. indeed, monroe never missed a trick. all day long his large, pro- truding eyes roamed the kitchen spying on the waiters. if he saw as much as a wedge of pie or a dish of ice cream under a counter, he would wait for the errant waiter to return for it, and report it to the kingfish. moreover, if he and the boss both saw a waiter break some petty rule, monroe would be sure to have seen even more than the kingfish. into his ears, monroe would whisper detail after detail, chuckling as he talked. and one could see in the agitated eyes of the kingfish, a sort of mental stock-taking of his unlimited store of penalties as he sought one to fit the crime. monroe had an ever-ready explanation for his success in the boss's kitchen: “not for nothin' was i born in guwgeia. i know what white folks like. an’ i’m hard on these negroes.” for services rendered, monroe was allowed to operate as the fish- bowl loan shark. lending money on the waiters’ weekly pay envelope, he collected five dollars for every four he put out. if a waiter was still “short” when payday arrived, monroe took his interest and the waiter owed him five come the next payday. in return, of course, he turned a blind eye upon the antics of his loan customers in the kitchen. asher chuckled to himself in the bus seat. well, i suppose you know who's boss now, papa, he mused, as though he were addressing monroe. me . . . asher brown ... i'm in the saddle. huh! always braggin' out in the kitchen about what a killer he is with the chicks. a first-class chump ... that's what you are. boastin’ about how that ol’ hotel owner you use to cook for down south taught you, you can buy any woman you want ... go ahead ... see if you can get my ol’ lady. goddam plow-hand . . . you sure shoulda stayed down home . . . been up here ten years an’ look like you just came outa the cotton fields ... ain't even got that georgia mud offa your shoes yet . . . well, that's all right . . . 'cause you're no trouble now, big fish . . . your ol' lady'll take care of you this night ... betcha you won't have a penny in the mornin'... all that dough you're robbin' everybody outa . . . boy! she sure looks like one of them shoutin’ sisters, like they say ... go to church an’ pray up a breeze . . . come right out an’ go to fightin' ... beat the livin’ daylights outa her 'ol man if he just bats an eye at some other woman. it made asher feel good that ester was with him. a self-satisfied grin spread over his face as he watched monroe hunched behind him scowling, his wife beside him with an other-worldly expression upon her beak-nosed face. just then, the bus bounded around a sweeping curve and he lunged against ester. the bus sped along the tree-lined parkway lit every twenty feet or so by a sentry-like lamp post. “get up off my dress,” ester said, pulling her skirt from beneath asher's leg. “and here it is the first time i’ve worn it. like it?” he looked at her dress as though he were noticing it for the first time that night. it was a crisp two-piece dress of faded blue cham- bray, striped in black and tan. she wore its notched peter pan collar open at the neck, which gave it a young and gay casualness. the jacket buttoned snugly about her small waist, and out whirled a wonderful, hip-paring peplum. “it's a sender,” asher said admiringly. “where did you get it?” “a friend of mine got it for me from a man who sells “hot” dresses.” ester smoothed out a few wrinkles that had gathered in the skirt; she was as happy with it as if it were her wedding dress. “what d'you think it would cost in the store?” “i dunno.” “not a penny under thirty-five dollars. i’d never in this world be able to get my hands on anything like this if it wasn't for those hot- dress men. wonder where they stole this one from?” “who’s the friend?” “you really wanta know?” she asked with a chuckle. she nestled closer to asher, her eyes shining. “promise you won't blow your top? monroe got it for me the other day; now he won't take the money.” asher turned stiff and a hot shiver shot through his body. he became gloomy and angry. “now you're not sore 'cause i didn't let you get it for me, are you?” ester said jokingly. “it sure seems awfully funny, you an’ monroe jus’ friends and he gettin' you a dress like that,” asher said, trying to keep his voice casual. - ester's eyes danced. “you know he's a show-off.” she rubbed her fingers along one of the folds of the peplum. “it’s so soft, and any- one can see it's the very latest thing.” asher tried to choke his anger. he did his best to keep the con- versation going. ester did not seem to mind what he said. she could only think of her new dress. “you must think you're the queen of sheba,” asher snapped. ester smiled. “that's just how i feel.” she slipped her hand through asher's arm. “he’s a real good thing. you know, darling, if i didn't have you i might be tempted . . . he can afford it. he's robbin' everything on two legs.” asher did not answer. the bus, by then, had turned off the park- way into fordham road. sputtering and fuming, it stopped and started at almost every corner in the heavy traffic. asher's eyes wandered from the dazzling neon signs in the shop windows to the advertising posters in the bus. it seemed to him that they had been riding for hours, and for the remainder of the ride to the grand concourse—where they lost monroe and his wife in the subway crowd—he remained silent. he could not speak; he was filled with jealousy. the fancy grocer sign suspended over jenks' amsterdam avenue store was a positive misnomer. canned goods stood in pyramidal junk mounds in the show window, giving the place the appearance of a wholesale warehouse. inside, cardboard cartons of packaged staples and crates of vegetables were strewn about the floor. the tiled floor in front of the counter was partially obliterated by dirty saw- dust. despite its uninviting interior, the place did a tremendous volume of late business, catching all and sundry with its jacked. up prices after the chain store super-markets had closed for the night. a large, raw-boned clerk looked over the heads of the seven or eight people at the counter as ester entered the store and beamed, “good evening, mrs. faulks. you sure are a killer-diller this eve- ning.” then, seeing asher behind her, he added, “this is the first time i’ve seen your husband.” ester nodded diffidently. but the clerk's comment touched off a current, sending a warm surge through asher. he grinned. ester's vivaciousness turned to seriousness. and as she ordered her supplies, asher watched her face grow thoughtful. shall i get this? can i do without it? do i have to have this or can it wait an- other week? finally, she said, “that will be all.” as the clerk totaled the items, she whispered to asher that the prices were exorbitant in the neighborhood; that her excessively long working hours prohibited her from taking advantage of downtown's cheaper prices and better quality. this touch of domestic intimacy plumbed the heart of asher's loneliness. “she’s just like mama,” he thought, “wise at penny-pinch- ing.” almost before he knew what he was about, he offered to pay for the groceries. but ester, having been cast in the role of a poor man's wife, elected to pay for them herself. however, she did allow him to pay for the beer he had suggested. they had only to go around the corner to ester's house, and as she slipped her key into the lock in the vestibule door, she sighed heavily. to asher it seemed as if she were saying to herself, “thank goodness, another day is over and done.” he followed behind her, car- rying two huge, brown bags of groceries, one in each arm, as she slowly climbed the stairs to her fourth-floor apartment. although it was an ordinary six-floor walkup he could see that it had seen better days. the ceilings in the hallway were dingy. here and there the mar- ble walls were heavily coated with the grime of time. the red paint on the doorways was streaked with soot. yet the locked front door served to keep out the vice-peddlers and the roving hoards of door-key children. for it was a house—one of the few in that section of the city—where the landlord consented to so nebulous a cut into his profits as to provide front-door lock and key. it was tenanted by the plain people of harlem—redcaps, porters, longshoremen, civil servants, truck drivers. the sort of people white new yorkers seldom saw after their hours of work spent in the white world were over. they were the solid, down-to-earth harlemites from various parts of their own country, with a sprinkling of proud and suspicious west indians. the foyer of the three-room kitchenette apartment that ester and hattie shared was no bigger than a clothes closet. and, with one step, asher found himself in the living-room. hattie and dave were there, waiting to take them to a party. hattie smiled hello to asher from where she sat on the sofa near a door that led to the two bedrooms. then she winked across the room to dave. “look’s like daddy's movin' in for the weekend, bag- gage and all,” she said. “yeah, he's in there solid,” dave replied. “pardner's doing all right by himself.” asher grinned sheepishly. ester crossed the room, folding back the curtained, glass-paneled doors to the kitchenette that occupied two-thirds of the wall across from the foyer entrance. she took the bags from asher and put them on a white-enameled laundry-tub top. “all right,” she said. “give us a break; the grocery-store man's got me married to him already.” dave ogled her from head to foot—his eyes sparkling as they swept her hips. “i bet my pardner wouldn't mind a bit, good as you look, babes.” “say, handsome, how’s about fixin' your ol' lady a drink,” hattie commanded, waving her hand towards a bottle of whisky standing on an end table at her elbow. “so she can get herself ready to go to the party.” “it’ll never happen tonight,” ester cut in. “the drink part's all right. but no party.” for the next hour they lounged about, drinking, talking, and laughing over various little fishbowl incidents. they had nearly emptied the quart bottle and were so mellow that not even the most affluent among the fishbowlers could have outshined them. as asher put it, “we’re somebody tonight!” then hattie and dave left for the party. but not before hattie got a wisecrack off her chest about the “little fish” swimming in deep waters while the “big fish” was at home with his wife. ester smiled demurely while asher boasted, “man, i'm a shark!” now that they were alone, asher noticed a change in ester, al- though for a time he could not put his finger on it. he thought of the night they had met. he recalled with what difficulty he had guessed her age. and now it puzzled him even more. she did not carry her head thrown back in that sophisticated manner he had come to know so well. her breasts no longer stood out so provocatively. while her hips filled the ample brunch coat she had put on, there were no curves indicating a slender waistline. yet her house dress puckered in a wrinkled fullness just above her broad hips. that was it. she did not look like a glamour gal. she had taken her hair down. and with the hairpins were discarded the sophistica- tion, the hardened and brittle brilliance that sparkled so when they were together outside. but there was that about her then that was as comforting as the restfulness he felt go through him when he slipped his shoes from his tired feet. it seemed to asher that ester looked like the young, simple, whole- some country girls he had known at home in the south years ago. she had removed her makeup and this, too, served to emphasize the blunt-nosed, scrub-faced hominess that appealed to something deep within him. she was busy, puttering about in the modern, drawstring kitchen, preparing a late supper. it was a compact little kitchen unit over which she worked—a boxlike affair that housed a stove, refrigerator, storage space and oven. going about her job with a practiced hand, she slammed the door of the refrigerator, adjusted the knobs that regulated the three-burner stove, jumped to reach a long-handled wooden spoon in the sink to stir the pots. she appeared oblivious of asher’s presence. it was as if she were hovering happily above the very center of her universe, that which gave substance and meaning to her existence. she hummed to herself. yet her lips gave life to no particular tune, just a flutter of jumbled melody. - presently, she had the supper ready. they ate at a drop-leaf table which stood before an areaway window framed in summery flowered drapes. ester pronounced it a simple meal hurriedly put together: the ends of a chicken which she had creamed and poured over toast, string beans, candied sweet potatoes dripping in a thick, deep brown syrup, lettuce and tomato salad, all of which they washed down with beer. asher ate with a relish that he could not recall having displayed in years. when dinner was over, asher stretched out on the couch con- tentedly. his eyes wandered about the cozy, cream-colored room. he had not been prepared for the way ester lived. for his life was hardly more than a flophouse existence in a rear room. ester's living-room was a castle by comparison. the ceiling was brownish and flaky in spots and the darkly stained floor was scraped white in places where the traffic was heaviest. otherwise, it was clean and neat. console radio, upholstered three-piece suite covered in green slip-covers that matched the window drapes. with something akin to devotion as he wiggled closer to the back of the divan, making room for her. “it's sorta good, you and me being here together,” she said. “like married people spendin’ a night at home.” then in a surprised tone of voice she said, as though she were talking to herself, “humph, even i've gone to talking about marriage.” the look asher gave her at this remark brought a flush to her cheeks and a tightening of her full mouth. “don’t you go taking me serious, and let the comforts of home get good to you. that would never do.” “you’re taking care of that. but we can't make it much longer like this.” ester looked at him: “you gettin’ ready to take a walk out on me already?” “not if we could be like dave and hattie.” she raised startled eyes to his with flickers of something that could have been amusement or pleasure. for a moment she said nothing, examining his face as if she were searching for the answer to an unasked question. “hattie's a lucky girl. you don't find men like dave every day. would you know what to do,” she hesitated warily, looking into his eyes, “if you had things your way?” “if you think i wouldn't, why don't you try me, baby?” for a moment asher thought she was almost ready to say, “i’ll take you at your word.” instead, she said: “you know, it's awful hard for a girl struggling along by herself, and when you got a child look- ing to you, you have to do a lot of things. whether you wanta or not don’t matter.” “i won't let you down. look, i'm workin’ in the front room now, and i’ll soon be on my feet. we can make it.” for a moment she searched his face. he reached up and took hold of her shoulders. then he kissed her tenderly. when he released her, she rested her head on his shoulder. her body lay crumpled over his for a long time, shaking gently. when she was calm again, she said: “damn it, i didn't mean for this to happen.” he kissed her again, long and ardently. then she shook her head and blew the air violently, and her breasts rose and fell. “well, we'll see what happens. i hope you know, life isn't all a jug of whisky and good times. if you ever mess up, don't come around tryin' to beg back; just keep on going.” “no chance of my doin’ that,” he beamed. he felt a wild, almost insane desire to let out a loud, delirious whoop. . the threat of rain in the warm, soft haze had cleared. now a breeze was blowing, curling the edge of the waves. the water had lost its gray, misty look and reflected the clear blue of the sky. the ad- vance guard of the sunday crowd had collected at the end of city island road, watching the small single-sail boats that moved in the sound. for the most part, the crowd leaned against the top bar of a waist-high white fence that stretched across the broad street where the asphalt pavement came to an abrupt end. before them, the road- way sloped gently down to where a wartime coast guard patrol boat, white and shining in the sunlight, was berthed in an old ferry- boat slip. they had not spoken after leaving the bus terminal, a block from where they were standing. but then, asher thought, conversation was hardly necessary. he watched the wide-winged gulls as they wheeled in the sky, swooping down now and then into the spray of the white- caps, and wondered if the water was as cool as it looked. ester, standing upright with one arm linked in asher's, inhaled deeply of the tangy saltiness in the air. she watched the sparrows skipping through the small trees—like marionettes dancing to a viennese waltz—before a row of unoccupied coast guard barracks at right angles to the fence. “well,” she said, “isn't this better than staying in bed until the last minute and rushing like mad?” there was a smile on her face, possessive pride in her voice. asher smiled too, but not very enthusiastically as he studied ester for a moment. had she been on the boardwalk at atlantic city or some place where the rich played, he could have understood her enjoyment. but this was just the uninviting end of city island. what was there about the place that seemed to excite ester? there was an enchanted look in her large black eyes. her voice was gentle, clear and low. and her dark hair, streaked with brown highlights which the gleaming sun had turned almost auburn, fluttered in the breeze. with a natural grace she led him away from the crowd, along a narrow footpath which marked the boundary line of a private club's grounds, to a little knoll where tall grasses grew, overlooking the mossy rock-strewn shoreline. this tiny hump of ground just to the left of the white fence was what ester called her wishing-well. often, she came in the early morning before work to this spot to watch the boats move in the sound. it was so quiet and restful, she said she could almost hear herself think. asher watched a small cabin-launch riding at anchor offshore. what a life, he thought, to own one of those things, the way they can cut through the water like a bat outa hell. a thin young man in a tan sport shirt had climbed onto the top bar of the fence near the footpath. he strummed a guitar and sang “carry me back to the lone prairie” to a group of youngsters clustered around him. at the other end of the fence a gnarled shoeshine man, one foot propped on his box before him, eyed the weather anxiously as he leaned his back against the fence. blankly, he croaked to no one in particular, “shi! shi!” then he hobbled off in the direction of the terminal. “poor old man,” ester said. “wonder how he makes it?” “he’s free, white, and over twenty-one,” asher mused aloud. “he’s had all the chance in this man's world.” ester laughed light-heartedly. “don’t let it get you down, sweets— jus’ because you've got to work today. you've got plenty company.” the night before had been the happiest that asher had spent with ester. he had become completely and overwhelmingly enamoured of her. and the way she had described her favérite spot at the end of the island had made him visualize it as a perfect trysting-place. now that he had seen her wishing-well, he felt cheated. apparently ester read his thoughts, for she said: “what did you expect—a love nest? can't you ever think of any- thing else?” asher winked at her sheepishly. “what could be finer, babes?” he looked at her inquiringly. “how's about going back today?” it was an irrational and inexplicable impulse that had taken hold of him, for he had not thought of taking the day off. but now the idea took root in asher's mind; it seemed to him like the most natu- ral thing for them to do. ester was saying that a drink on a morning like this would make her as sick as a yardbird. her voice was so low he scarcely caught her words. the desire to take her in his arms burned hot within him. ester sighed faintly and asher watched her firm breasts rise and fall beneath her clinging dress. “not today,” she chided him, as she playfully patted one of his trouser pockets. “it doesn't feel like you could stand it.” then, taking him by the arm, ester led him uphill toward the fishbowl, half running and half walking. as they approached the bus depot—a frame shed that provided standing room for not more than ten people—a long, squat bus circled through the narrow lane that ran around the shack and came to a halt. a stream of passengers poured out of the bus. a thick-set, brown-skinned man waved at asher and ester in an offhand fashion as he rushed toward the restaurant. the amused expression on his face seemed to say, i'm sorry i haven't time to see this. another pas- senger stepped down nimbly, turned and lifted an unsteady toddler onto the ground. then mr. jerry lowered himself out of the bus, placing one foot on the small step, and turning sidewise to get his other foot down. monroe came out next. completely ignoring asher, he greeted ester, and the four of them walked to the corner of ro- chelle street in silence. when they reached the delivery entrance, monroe asked ester if he might have a word with her. she looked at asher hesitantly. he shrugged his shoulders. then she walked down the street toward the parking lot and monroe waddled along at her side, waving his fat arms violently. asher turned into the courtyard as mr. jerry said: “you sho’ know how to treat 'em, daddy-o! in the short time asher had worked at the fishbowl, he had come to know mr. jerry quite well. while it was true their relationship began on a note of hostility, it went on to a state of harmonious at- tachment, then to a sort of calm congeniality. not that mr. jerry did not do his job. he was always instantly ready to count one broken saucer or a trayload, but he was so full of understanding, so unfailingly sympathetic, so unflaggingly hope- ful that it would not happen again, so at home with the boys, that no one could possibly have gone on forever being cool toward him. perhaps what saved the situation was the lumbering playfulness which had suggested to the waiters the nickname they called him behind his back—“the big brown bear.” he was a swarthy italian, nearly seven feet tall, with short but powerful arms, clumsy and mas- sive in his build. asher's broad-shouldered, slight, athletic body and fleetness of foot seemed to inspire his friendly overtures from the beginning. the first time they met—decoration day—asher had come running up to the food checker's desk with a tray of food to be tallied. mr. jerry began to giggle as asher slid the tray onto the counter. flashing a great expanse of yellow teeth he wagged a play- ful finger at asher and asked: - “you one of us?” whenever asher passed mr. jerry in the kitchen during his first week at the fishbowl, the man would ask the same question. asher thought it very mysterious, and at first could not fathom its mean- ing or understand why it occasioned an onset of mr. jerry's shriek- ing laughter. and yet, when he asked, the man would wag a finger at him roguishly, slap his enormous paunch gleefully with his huge hands, and guffaw. asher inferred that this mysterious reference to “one of us” had something to do with the double-talk that the waiters indulged in when, in the presence of white people, they did not want to use the word “colored.” however, just when asher had arrived at this con- clusion, mr. jerry sidetracked him by taking another approach. he would point him out to another waiter, and ask: “is he one of us?” the waiter would put on a serious expression, sweep asher studi. ously from head to foot, shake his head doubtfully, and reply: “don’t know if he is or not. betta be careful.” “he is—like us! yeah?” “like us an’ one of us ain’t the same. betta be careful.” time and again asher would come into the kitchen to find mr. jerry sweating as he counted endless platters piled on waiters’ trays, all the while tugging at the wide belt he wore around his trousers. yet, no matter how busy the man was, he always found time to in- quire with an elaborate, strained, and beseeching courtesy: “is he one of us?” then came the day that asher let the stack of luncheon plates slither out of his hands, and mr. jerry had been right on the job counting every last chip. that had been followed by an itemized bill which served to explain the three-dollar-and-forty-cent deduction asher found in his pay envelope. and for several days after that, whenever asher saw mr. jerry he glowered at him with hostility. but mr. jerry took care that their eyes did not meet, for he seemed so completely wrapped up in thought that he appeared not to notice asher. even the irises in his round eyes slurred off furtively to the corners of the dull, speckled whites as he checked asher's tray in a routine, preoccupied manner. mr. jerry had an infinite capacity for making a person feel what he himself felt. if the kitchen was almost unbearably hot—and it was twice as hot and humid as any spot on the island—this ponderous man would heave a sigh, gasp for breath, and his auditor would immediately be almost overcome with the heat, too. with this great capacity, he soon wormed his way back into asher's good graces. mr. jerry, however, was discreet enough to wait until the glare in asher's eyes had softened. then his friskiness got the better of him, and as asher passed him one day he said, in a low voice: “tough! tough! tough!” for several days after that, whenever asher passed, mr. jerry would repeat this outcry in a low, throaty voice. at first, asher won- dered if the man were making fun of him. slowly, however, he became aware that there was about the man's expression a sad, wailing under- tone such as he had caught in many a blues song. and in a short time asher came to feel, even to throb, with the slow, steady beat of mr. jerry's question as he once had to the moody utterances of people “down home.” then, one day, mr. jerry asked asher again: “you one of us?” and asher said: “sure.” this reduced mr. jerry to such a paroxysm of mirth that, for a moment, he rocked back and forth. then he leaned forward over the desk, holding the sides of his paunch as if he had a stomach-ache, and chuckled faintly. “i knew all the time—you in the boat club with us!” there was no mystery for asher about the boat club. for mem- bership in this club required only that a waiter hold and hide the silverware during rush hours. he knew the practice had started on river boats where, because of cramped kitchen facilities, waiters after washing the silverware themselves carried it about on their trays. but there at the fishbowl—unlike any other landlocked place he'd worked—the more enterprising waiters hid the silverware by the tray- load. so frugal was the kingfish that he replaced each two dozen teaspoons with six new, gleaming ones. what's more, the waiters car- ried their allotment of cocktail forks in their pockets lest they dis- appear with the souvenir-hunters among the restaurant's patrons. not that cocktail forks were scarce. but this way the waiters did not tilt the scales of supply and demand. the headwaiter extracted a dollar for each of the kingfish's cocktail forks, lost either to some depart- ing guest or in the soiled linen. of course, the waiters searched everywhere for lost cocktail forks, in the soiled-linen hampers, in the service buffets, on the floors, under the tables, in the huge silverware boxes that were kept in the kitchen. and whenever mr. jerry saw asher searching frantically for a cocktail fork he would heave a sigh and say: “it’s a tough way to make a living.” asher would sigh and nod his head in complete agreement. yet the chant went deeper, encompassing a whole way of life. a way of life that mr. jerry knew, perhaps, as well, if not as intimately, as asher. in time asher gathered that mr. jerry was no stranger to the ways of harlem and its inmates. after an apprenticeship as an assistant cashier in the dining-room of a hudson river pleasure boat he had come to the fishbowl as the head cashier. during those years, while he literally rolled in wealth, he had lived with a harlem night- club singer, that is, until he got caught with his hand in the king- fish's till. after a short stay in jail, and a longer stay on the streets hustling numbers and supper money from the waiters, the king- fish had taken him into his kitchen. after that, mr. jerry could be found nightly roaming the streets of harlem in search of the leg- endary bordello where lulu belle took care of the members of the boat club. all that sunday, like the waves that rolled in on the rock-strewn beach, diners poured into the fishbowl. in huge family gatherings of a dozen or more, they swelled and bellowed into the eatery. in smaller parties of fives and sixes, they came like the whitecaps that danced shoreward in the wake of the breath-taking rollers. in little groups of twos and threes, they came in like the tiny ripples of spray washed high up on the muddy beach. up and down the aisles waiters picked their way, carrying heavy trays, weaving and bobbing through the excited crowds pushing and shoving one another in the clamor for tables. perspiring waiters yelled: “let me pass if you wanta eat,” “get outa the way,” “didn't you ever eat before?” in frantic haste, waiters passed steaming platters over the heads and shoulders of customers—barely missing them—as they sought to set them before patrons on the opposite side of the tables. waiters removed dirty dishes from tables, dumping crumbs into the laps of new diners who, having skillfully moved themselves about like pawns on a chessboard, had outmaneuvered others in the waiting crowds. in this atmosphere, the fishbowlers cried for many things. they cried for water as though they had been thirsty for days. they cried for more “little cookies” as if some dark urge out of their subcon- scious compelled them to make a meal by itself of the kingfish's freshly prepared bread. they cried for ketchup as if it were the blood of human kindness. they cried for more butter as if it were as com- mon as the salt of the earth. they cried for their orders. and they cried in general—for they had a handy whipping boy, the waiter! if the patrons thought the food inferior, they directed their dis- pleasure to their waiter, not to the steward. if they thought the food improperly prepared, they complained not to the chef, but to their waiter. if they thought they waited too long for a table, they directed their irritableness not to the headwaiter, but to their waiter when they were finally seated. if for one reason or another they were an- noyed, they vented it upon their waiter. he was expected to—and sometimes did—turn the other cheek, smiling, courteous and pleas- ant. asher was leaning against the service buffet which he shared with another waiter, trying to catch a moment's respite. he had experi- enced the full share of a waiter's plight that day. his four tables had kept him hopping and skipping at a fast clip. at three of the tables, his customers were busy devouring their main courses. at the other table, four people smoked cigarettes over their after-dinner coffee, trying to look sophisticated. a waiter ain't from nothing, asher thought. less than a dog. these bastards think they own you just 'cause they got the price of a meal. humph! don't know where they come from . . . eat like pigs . . bread crumbs all over the table . . . wonder if they eat that way at home. sure wish i could get a break. the last party had been a particularly trying one for asher, de- manding no end of service. they were two solemn-faced and self- important men approaching middle age, with a pair of youngish- looking, powdered-up women, self-consciously overdressed. they had wanted “the best.” nothing was too good for them. but they had had a difficult time deciding what that was. after chang. ing their order twice, and eying the food of people at nearby tables, they had finally ordered shore dinners. even there they had had difficulty making a choice. the junior shore dinners were too cheap. the senior shore dinner couldn't be fresh. ah, the victory shore din- ner. that was it! it's the best buy, they said. when asher had served the dessert, one of the women sent him back to the kitchen to exchange hers for another kind of pie. she had cooed, “you don't mind, do you?” asher sighed with relief when he finished serving the party. he had fresh silverware and glasses in the buffet and nothing to do, for the moment, but wait for another party. he stood, with one hand stuck deep in his pocket, juggling several coins as he rested against the service stand. suddenly, one of the men called, pompously, “waiter.” asher snapped to attention and bounced to the table with the check in his outstretched hand. “what's the matter?” the man asked asher querulously. “in a hurry?” he seemed to speak mostly for the benefit of his companions. this brought forth a giggle from the two women. then he said: “i think i’ll have another cup of coffee. be sure it's good and hot this time.” asher came through the kitchen swinging-door with the steaming cup of coffee in a small hand tray resting in his outstretched hand. when he had walked to within five or six tables of his station he saw that the table was empty. he looked about the dining-room but the party was nowhere in sight. gone, too, was the jacket that one of the women had thrown over the back of the chair she had occupied. he could see people in the huddle before the parking-lot entrance gesturing to chief that there was an empty table. asher rushed over to where chief was standing and gave him the party's check for $ . . chief's face flashed into a scowl. “i told you, you weren't smart enough for my front room,” he exploded. “whatta you think, i’m running a waiter's school, here?” “the bastards ordered more coffee. what was i supposed to do?” asher asked angrily. “all right! all right! i'll see what we can do for you tonight. you know ol' chief won't let his boy down. but you gotta watch your- self. they couldn't pull that on me.” bitterness showed on asher's face. he cleared the soiled dishes from the table, muttering to himself. “humph!” he said out loud. “if they don't get it up i’ll be a week payin' for that.” the headwaiter ushered five people, four women and a man, to the table, and asher went off to find a spare chair. when he returned to the table he placed the chair under the man and as the man folded his legs under the table asher felt someone tugging at his jacket-sleeve. he turned and saw a sallow-faced man with protruding eyes seated with a stoutish, mean-eyed woman at the table behind him. “too bad, boy,” the man said ingratiatingly. “they're all alike.” then the man looked disgustedly about him, and brought the palm of his hand down onto the table as if he were crushing vermin. his companion grimaced in agreement. then the man said: “they own every blessed thing in this country now, these goddam hebes, and they’re still stealing.” asher shook his head, unable to clear his throat quickly enough to speak. “hey, waiter,” called the man in the new party. “bring us a round of manhattans. betta make 'em double manhattans.” he smiled at asher. “save time.” asher's understanding of what the sallow-faced man had said grew very gradually, for at first it did not seem to make sense to him. he began to repeat parts of the man's remarks over to himself. “they own everything’. . . ‘they own everything’. . . ‘hebes' . . . what the hell does that... oh, jews. he's got something there. yeah! they own everything—grocery stores, drug stores, pawnshops, gin mills. harlem’s full of 'em. he stood, with a small bar tray tucked under his arm as if it were a newspaper, at the end of a long line of per- spiring waiters lined up before the service bar just inside the kitchen, waiting for the overworked bartender to take his order. he frowned. down south it's the dagoes or the greeks, he said to himself. what's the difference? negroes ain't got nothin' nowhere. we oughta have our own banks and businesses and stores. yeah! then we'd be some- body . . . wouldn't need the white folks then. the kitchen stayed in one continuous uproar all that day, with waiters constantly coming and going. it resembled a huge public playing field where over a hundred players were engaged simultane- ously in six or seven soccer games in different corners of the park. up and down the broad corridors of the kitchen was a great throng of tray-laden waiters locked and wedged together in a heaving mass, pushing and kicking each other, as each man sought an opening. and it was inconsequential if, in kicking for an opening, one waiter got kicked in the shins or lost a trayful of food. from this accidental pushing and kicking, it was a natural step to intentional kicking, or hacking, as the waiters called it. for a waiter who could not give and take—that is, to get in or out of the kitchen—was not consid- ered a “good” waiter. asher watched this scene absent-mindedly. he stood, in a crowd of waiters three deep in front of a huge dishwashing machine, wait- ing to unload his tray of soiled dishes into a broad dishpan that rimmed the machine. already it was piled high with crockery and swill. over his shoulders he could see monroe ladling steamed clams into a wire basket. now's the time, he said to himself. if i don't do it soon, i’ll fall out. when he had unloaded his tray, he walked toward a huge pot rest. ing on a table in full view of monroe. the corners of his mouth curled in disgust as he spied several chunks of fat meat and chicken bones floating around in a watery gravy. this was the waiters' sun- day bill of fare. it was put out at three o'clock for the waiters to help themselves. but at that hour most of them were usually too busy to stop work long enough to eat. in this way, the kingfish saved a dollar here, too, for the “pot” was rewarmed for the waiters' dinner. humph! asher snorted. can't eat slop. monroe had been watching asher as he poured clam broth into . several cups on a counter before him. “don’t suit your fancy?” he queried, his voice cracking with sarcasm. “mind your own goddam business,” asher replied, a steady, con- trolled note of anger coming into his voice. monroe laughed softly as he mopped the counter with a wet towel. asher moved quickly away from him, and crossed the kitchen to the meat-broiler's station near the short ramp between the butcher shop and the kitchen. he placed an order for six steaks, and as the broiler turned his back slipped a duplicate check for five steaks be- neath a pile of greasy slips on the counter. at that time of day the restaurant's food supply usually began to give out. almost as fast as one item was listed on the bulletin board as being “out” another had to be posted. just then, there were only about a dozen cuts of watermelon left in the house. waiters were ganged up in front of the pantry—on the other side of the corridor across from the meat-broiler's station—fighting for the last few orders of melon when asher went for his steak order. what a break, he thought, as he headed up the broad corridor with his eyes focus- ing between the waiters’ bobbing heads, watching monroe out of the corner of his eye. he pushed his way into another crowd of waiters and sat his tray down at a counter near the fish-frier. he cut one of the steaks into little chunks about the size of a shrimp, cramming several pieces of it into his mouth. then he threw a side towel over the remainder, lifted it from his tray and buried it under the counter among the luncheon plates. he looked again at monroe's back, and a triumphant smile flooded his face. that evening, when all but a few stragglers had left the restaurant, asher was seated on an orange crate near the water-cooler drinking a cup of coffee when the kingfish walked up to him. “have a good day?” he smiled at asher. asher shot him a surprised glance, and stumbled to his feet. “fair,” he replied, shifting the cup and saucer from one hand to the other uneasily. “that's nice,” the kingfish replied slowly in a soft voice. his body swished slightly. “you like my place, don't you?” he watched a smile of agreement flood asher's face. then the kingfish dropped his eyes furtively. what happened came so suddenly that it took asher off guard. like a spring released, the kingfish jabbed his forefinger into asher's ribs, peering ruthlessly into his eyes. “i know you do—the way you enjoy my steaks. was it tender enough for you?” asher did not answer. he felt his stomach tighten. and he heard a voice inside him speaking fast but distinctly, telling him: he would catch you ... well, brown, the gate again . . . oh, hell! ... just an- other hash-slinging job . . . you're so clever . . . “i saw you this afternoon when you hid it under the counter,” the kingfish said, again poking his finger into asher's side. asher wet his lips with his tongue. “i do so hope it was good enough for you. 'cause i'll have to take it out of your salary. now, if you were on my side, perhaps you could eat steak once in a while. i wouldn't mind! but you want to wreck my place.” asher heard the voice again: so, what does he think, somebody's gonna take a lotta crap for the half-ass job . . . he's got another thought coming . . . the kingfish allowed his finger to rest against asher's side for a moment longer, then he withdrew it hesitantly. “i’m not such a bad boss. you might want a favor some day! you're a bright young man—you could keep me posted about what goes on in my dining. room.” asher felt himself begin to relax. oh! he wants a stooge? well, brown, you're as smart as him . . . he can't pull a con act on you. the voice shut off and asher gave zealous attention to the kingfish once more, his eyes bulging. “i wouldn't want you to tell me anything that wasn't true. but my friends look out for me. besides, i see to it they don't have to pay to work in the front.” slowly a feeling of pride borne aloft by the kingfish's own evalu. ation of him filled asher. he says it like ester says it, he thought. i can go places 'round here. then he broke into a wide grin. “good!” said the kingfish. “we’ll forget the steak.” he locked his hands behind him and sidled off toward the clam bar. asher gulped the remainder of the cold coffee while ronald, the pantryman, who stood nearby at the coffee urn, eyed him daintily. “the boss likes you,” he laughed. asher looked at him blankly. “yeah?” “just thought you might like to know.” he walked rapidly across the kitchen, carrying a cup of steaming coffee to the kingfish; and asher sat down again on the orange crate, wondering how he had let the kingfish back him so neatly into a corner. goddam, he told himself, no wonder he's got such a place here; he's smarter than a steel rat trap. gradually, his thoughts turned to a folk-saying he had heard in his boyhood: “black boy find yourself a white friend before sun- down.” he became even more elated than when he had thought of ester. he had been telling himself over and over again that the kingfish was a millionaire. he looked up at the electric lights glint- ing feebly through the greasy, smoke-filled haze that hung just below the rough, exposed beams in the ceiling. then his eyes wandered to the narrow casement windows that lined the wall above the fry stations like lookouts in a fort. darkness was rapidly pushing out the late summer twilight. the glass panes in the oblong windows glistened before asher like sheets of purple plastic. suddenly a vision took shape before his eyes—a dream of a new day, bright and shining, in the dark splendor of the twilight. it was a ray of good times, good money, good food and good clothes. he began to hum softly to himself. a simple jingle, it picked up a drum- like rhythm through his sheer chanting repetition of it—i hope, i hope, i hope. as he sat dreaming, asher punctuated his thoughts with the chant —hope-er-hope-er-hope—as the preachers he had heard in his childhood accentuated the lilt of their words when they talked of the great city beyond. and hope-er-hope-er-hope swelled within him until it was like a chorus of many surging voices. yes, in this chorus there were many voices. voices that welled up from deep within asher; voices that at times would not be stilled. one such voice shrilled maybe, maybe, maybe-encouraging him to lean more and more on his vision of a brighter day. then another voice thundered never, never, never. yet he did not give himself over entirely to these minor cadences of despair. for each time this obbligato of doom had carried its part he saw the small, black eyes in the kingfish's pale face holding out promises of better things to come. and asher changed the tune triumphantly—hope-er-hope-er- hope. ordinarily, when the time came to go off duty, asher would have been among the first to change his clothes. but that night he did not make a grand rush for the locker-room. his thoughts had turned again to the walkout he'd had that afternoon. but it did not then loom so importantly in his mind. it was just one of those things, he told himself, the ups and downs of this racket . . . the same old thing every sunday night . . . with chief calling upon “his” men to lend a helping hand. what disturbed him more, was that for a few minutes—a half-hour at most—he would be the target for his fellow- workers' scorn, the disdain which the waiters heaped upon “one of us” who had “played the racket” and lost. - chief barricaded himself in the locker-room long before the waiters came in to change their clothes. he did this ostensibly to “fix the station board” so that the waiters on the “night watch” would know where they were to work after the “morning watch” went off duty. but not until the clamor from the tired, street-thirsty waiters crowded around the stairwell in the butcher shop was almost uncontrollable did chief unlock the door for them to enter. asher lingered in the back of the butcher shop as long as he could, talking to several of the chore boys who were preparing potatoes for the next day's menu. it was a shallow, recessed bay which contained a huge mechanical potato-peeler that resembled an agitator-type clothes washer. into its conically-mounted top, one kitchen boy fed the potatoes while the other held a large dishpan under its broad round belly resting on high legs to catch the potatoes as they emerged cut for frying. then he dropped them into two aluminum cans about the size of garbage cans to soak overnight. water from the hose which he played into the cans had completely covered the floor of the bay, and the chore boys were jokingly offering asher their rub- bers. but he did not seem to hear them. for, through the open door and up the flight of stairs that led from the locker-room, asher heard the thuds of an occasional shoe hitting the cement floor and the banging of a locker door, and now and then the sound of voices raised in approval or derision. he found chief standing in the center of the windowless room with a foot propped on one arm of the wicker settee. the room was dank and smelled of stale steam. waiters slouched everywhere on rickety camp stools, resting their tired bodies. some were in their under- wear; others were completely dressed except for their shoes. chief stopped talking as asher entered the room. waiters looked up at him, snickering and laughing in a disgruntled fashion. “’spects to play all night and keep his mind on this slave all day,” a middle-aged man barked in asher's direction. “gotta get some rest to keep up with these thieves.” “lay offa my boy,” said casablanca, chortling to himself. “you didn't hear no belly-achin' outa him when you hada walkout coupla weeks ago. chipped in like a man.” a faint smile came into asher's face, pushing out the expression of guilt that hung in his eyes. chief eyed him intently over his glasses. “well, kid!” he said. “every man's expected to chip in somethin' to his own headache. how much you got to go in?” asher took a warped black wallet out of his hip pocket. he put four singles in chief's hand and the headwaiter's eyes began to dance merrily as he flashed a broad grin. “see?” said chief, turning so that every waiter in the room could look at the money. “he’s as regular as clockwork. that's a real waiter for you—my boy.” every waiter in the room nodded his head in approval over this sporting gesture. chief jumped into action, moving from one waiter to another, taking fifty cents from one, a dollar from another. the waiters proudly put their name on the sheet of paper chief handed them, and beside their name the amount they gave. when chief had made the rounds, he dumped the money out on a sheet of newspaper which he had smoothed out in the center of the settee, and started to count it. “ah! ah! this is fine,” he said. “we got twenty-two bucks. jus' enough to cover the walkout and that there breakage ol' reid had last week. you know ol' chief—don't want the boss to think chief's boys are too poor to pay their debts.” asher had begun to dress. his eyes felt hot and squinty but he was not tired. but he was suddenly in a hurry to get out into the fresh air. that means seven bucks for his pocket. but the day'll come when i won't be feedin' his kitty, asher told himself, without know- ing just how. at least he felt better. ever since asher had worked at the fishbowl, he had always been on the verge of being late for work. morning after morning, he had to run all the way from the bus depot to the restaurant, barely cross- ing the threshold before the hands of “the man's clock” fingered the eleven o'clock deadline. arriving in the locker-room in a creepy sweat, he'd swear to himself, i ain't gonna do this no more. but come the next morning he'd repeat this same routine, as though some deep- seated resentment against going to work paralyzed his will to arrive before the shadow of the deadline fell upon him. but this monday morning it was a quarter to twelve when asher climbed out of the bus at the depot. he was as tired and exhausted as he had been the night before when he left the restaurant. and all that morning he had found the sultriness of the july day almost unbearable. now as he walked slowly and stiff-legged toward the restaurant he saw the steam oozing from the cracks in the narrow paving blocks, curling upwards as it does from a covered pot of boiling water. but a gentle breeze of warm air coming from the eatery's parking lot greeted him as he reached the corner of rochelle street, and he idled just outside the delivery court taking the last couple of draws on a cigarette. i sure don't wanna be sent back for the day, he told himself. that's for the dummies he can boot around. huh! i oughta phone in sick. i ain’t taken me no time off since i’ve been here. an' i sure got it coming to me. yeah, i could tell 'em my leg's gone back on me . . . get a half a day, anyhow . . . ain't gonna be nothin' here before night-time. nevertheless, he could not bring himself to move. what the hell would i do with myself? he thought. he pulled out all the money he had in his pocket and counted it. in his hand lay two crumpled dollar bills, three quarters, a dime and three pennies. grunt- ing, he thrust the money back into his pocket. ain't hardly enough to get a bottle with, he reminded himself. instantly the image of a tom collins, complete with a red cherry and a slice of orange in a tall, frothy glass, took possession of him. and he stood there smack- ing his lips, his mouth watery as if from the lemony drink, until he saw himself and ester lounging together in his room sipping tall drinks. . . . then, from somewhere up the street, a screen door banged shut, making a loud rattling noise. snapped out of his reverie, asher looked about cautiously. how can i sneak in without getting caught? abruptly he turned into the delivery court and ran the short distance to the butcher shop. a clock struck twelve as asher approached the parking-lot entry of the eatery. he had had no well-laid plan as to how he'd slip in, other than the notion of using a side door which led from the butcher shop to the parking lot. to have come through the kitchen and pass the checker's desk, he reasoned, would have been a dead giveaway. but if only he could find “his boy,” dave, before he ran into the headwaiter, the manager, the checker, the kingfish or any of the scrub captains, then perhaps they could cook up a way. now as he stood in the gravel patio just outside the main dining- room, with the midday sun shining through the open door, he could see it was dark and gloomy inside. he heard the scrapes and occa- sional taps of waiters shuffling back and forth, and now and then the sound of voices rising and falling in sibilant tones. peering furtively about him, he suddenly felt every nerve in his body atingle. his breath came in short gasps. and he was seized with the apprehension of one who is not perfectly sure he is going to find the person he wants to find. but, bracing his shoulders, he stepped into the doorway, lingering there long enough to make an elaborate gesture of flinging a freshly lighted cigarette behind him, as he exhaled a long stream of smoke. then he turned and darted into the dimness of the alcove, as if to inspect his station in the “hole.” from this vantage point, asher saw that there were no guests in the dining-room. except for the center section—called “broad- way” by the waiters, with its rows of banquet tables arranged paral- lel to two shoulder-high copper screens that stretched from the park- ing-lot entry to the colonial doorway opening onto the street—he saw that the room was in semi-darkness. although he could make out the white-coated forms of waiters huddled together in small groups on either side of the screens, he could not recognize any of them. satisfied that they had not noticed him, he moved out of the al- cove and headed in the direction of the kitchen swinging-doors up at the other end of the room, keeping close to the wall. watching the waiters talking in such low tones, he was overcome with curiosity. even then he heard a voice rise above the others, sarcastic and bois- terous as waiters' voices so often are over a headwaiter's misfor- tune, whether small or large, that takes them for a little while away from their daily routine. “serves him right. oughta run him outa here,” a waiter said. “so high an’ mighty!” yet, preoccupied as asher was in his search for dave, the remarks went in one ear and out the other. and he walked nearly the whole length of the dining-room, looking for a glimpse of his friend. al- though he was supposed to be on the floor, asher wasn't sure that dave would be there. maybe he'd decided to take the morning off. after all, it was monday. and as the idea grew on asher that perhaps dave had not shown up for work, he began to feel helpless and tired and to consider himself a fool for trying to slip into work late with- out being caught. anxiously he went on until he came to the frame portal which separated the front room from the second dining-room; and suddenly, sure enough, there was dave, with his head cocked in its familiar pose. seated at the end of a long table near a window just the other side of the frame portal, dave was staring off in space, with his lips moving as though he were talking aloud to himself, and evidently did not see asher. “man, i sure thought i wasn't gonna find you,” asher said, with obvious relief. “yeah!” dave replied noncommittally. “come on, man. don't go playin' 'round now. you gotta get me outa this jam. . . .” dave's eyes twinkled as he cut asher off with: “you’re in a jam, pardner? well, how d'you like that.” “i jus’ ducked in. a whole hour late. ... say, what's wrong, any- way? why's everybody actin’so darned strange?” “huh! all hell broke loose 'round here this morning. for your information, the dicks picked up logan with a batch of number slips big enough to choke a cow.” “go on, you’re kiddin’?” “kiddin'! huh! well, the kingfish ain't kiddin’ about puttin' a end to the figures 'round here. an’ that goes for my single-action racket, too.” asher's eyes widened in surprise. “now let's go over this from the beginnin’,” he said. “how'd it happen?” “they just walked in from the street and went behind that screen, pardner,” dave said, pointing to a dark-stained mahogany partition that stood in the main dining-room across from the cashier's desk. “an’ nabbed him phoning in the stuff to papa slick. jus' like that. they had it timed to the minute . . . they sho' musta had him well spotted.” “well, i'll be john brown. he's dumber than i thought he was.” “you can say that again,” dave shot back. then he smiled, his old familiar smile. “anyway, you get a break outa it. 'cause all the pan- demonium it caused ain't nobody had time to check up on whose here an’ who ain’t.” the situation looked ominous to asher. nothing like that had ever happened in any restaurant that he knew of. in harlem—yes. many times in the past, the police had turned the heat on harlem in what they promised was to be an all-out effort to put an end to the num- bers game. on such occasions, five or six number-writers—the small fry—would be arrested and immediately bailed out by a bondsman acting for some behind-the-scene number banker. when brought to trial, the number-writers would be let off with a light fine and a straight-faced admonition to get themselves an honest job. mean- while, the newspapers would have tabloided the news that the police had smashed the harlem numbers racket. but this time, the law had even reached out to city island. were the police really out to smash the numbers game? that day lunch was a near “bust”—just as asher had foreseen. yet he did not mind that by one o'clock he had not “cut the first check.” he’d experienced such a flood of relief over the apparent success of his hastily planned dodge, that nothing else seemed to matter—the lack of parties or the lack of quarters jingling in his pocket. in fact, after he had got one of the old aces who worked beside him in the hole to watch his station, he had gone back into the farm and barricaded himself behind a row of chairs stacked on top of a ban- quet table. but when asher did stop to think about how slow it was, he told himself there would be enough customers eventually for “one sit- ting.” for he'd come to say, like the other waiters, the fishbowl was “a poor-ass businessmen's luncheon clubhouse, where they can eat at half-price.” almost any hour of the afternoon one could find its - members and their friends sitting, brooding, hopeful or elated over the prospects of a twenty-five-thousand-dollar deal, as they noisily spooned up a clam stew or sucked on the shell of a baby lobster. yeah, they'll be here, asher said to himself. right at home. building themselves up . . . trying to make some waiter think he's got a couple of big shots until he sees that fifteen cents a head they leave. ... i don't give a happy damn if i get anybody or . . . suddenly, a hoarse voice called out from the rear of the second dining-room: “brown—hey, asher, you in there?” but asher, purposely sparring for time, did not answer; and the man muttered aloud: “i ain't got time to run all over the joint to find that lucky bum.” then, as though he'd been half-asleep, asher rose from his seat. “huh?” he said, stretching himself. “i got somebody?” “you’re damn tootin’. you got papa slick.” with galloping strides, asher headed toward the main dining- room. but he had a sneaking suspicion the waiters were playing a joke on him. what the hell would papa slick be doing out here this time of day? for dinner—yes. but not now. not the big-time number banker . . . even if it ain't a joke, he wouldn't be on my station. asher knew all about chief's relationship with the banker. in fact, it was an open secret at the fishbowl. chief and the banker were bosom friends. for, with the money coming in hand over fist, chief could find fast-spending pals only among the racketeers. because of this, and the weekly twelve- or fourteen-hundred-dollar take the head- waiter brought in, chief was one of the banker's controllers—a unit head who usually collected from ten to twenty runners. thus, chief received a twenty-five per cent cut, out of which he gave cap'n logan ten per cent. by the time asher reached the main room he had completely con- vinced himself that it was all a joke. and then he saw papa slick seated at the best table in the hole—a round ten-seater—with five big, broad-shouldered companions, grouped around the banker as plainclothesmen might place themselves about a person of note. asher º had no difficulty in picking out the banker, because he had seen him before in various harlem night spots. extremely good-looking, he was a lean-faced mulatto with restless eyes and sharp, strong features. chief, with pencil and pad poised in his hands, hovered over papa slick with all the pomp and ceremony at his command. at a respect- ful distance, the two waiters who had been assigned to the party stood at attention. beaming jovially, chief looked up as asher ap- proached the table and said: “hey! wine boy, get the wine card for mr. jackson. an’ make it snappy.” returning with the card a few minutes later, asher listened as the banker discoursed politely and suavely with chief over the placing of the order. solicitous of his companions, he inquired of their prefer- ences. they would eat what he ate. chief suggested pompano. no, it was a most delicious fish but too hearty. lobster thermidor? that was too filling. ah! lobster creole with hash browned potatoes. and a shrimp cocktail first. that would be just right. sauterne had its merits. but a chablis—bourgoyne blanc, —would go better. then, while the meal was prepared, the banker and chief held a whispered conversation. it wasn't as much a whispered talk as it was a parley which asher, loitering as close to the banker's table as he could, did not fail to grasp while, out the corner of one eye, he watched astonished patrons seated at nearby tables looking on with gaping mouths. chief bent over the man almost in a crouch, rolling his large brown eyes as the banker stage-whispered into his ear. “everything sewed up tight . . . bond on the hop . . . double-quick . . . logan back on the street with the afternoon papers . . . pay all hits . . . tomorrow ... rearin’ to go like a newborn babe . . . the law? that's a joke ... forget ’em . . . nothin’ to worry about.” before the banker stopped talking, asher saw chief give the man a knowing wink. and the thought struck him that this scheme—the banker's coming to the fishbowl for lunch—was chief's idea. ol' chief's as smart as they come, asher thought. might know he'd cook up something. as cool a hustler as he is, he wouldn't let a sweet racket like his slip through his fingers. then asher recalled what dave had told him earlier. that ain't nothin' but a lot of nonsense, he reassured himself. inside a week, chief'll be collecting up every livin’ again ... sure wish i had somebody like papa slick behind me. asher knew all about the banker. everyone did. and it was the same old story—for papa slick was no dummy. after graduating from a small southern college, he had railroaded for a few years. out of his meager savings he had opened a cigar store. the cut-rate and cutthroat competition from the white-owned cigar store across the street from his place was about to force him out of business when he started taking the numbers. now, look at him! asher thought. a real big shot. two cadillacs . real gone fishtails . . . a wardrobe big enough to clothe a whole army . . . and money galore. if only i could get a break and make me some real money like him. man, i'd have me number joints all over town, too. in back of shoeshine parlors, candy stores and in every other old dump i could put 'em. then he frowned. why the hell does one man have to have all the luck in this man's world, he asked himself. he ain't no better than me. but even then, as he stood in the grip of envy, asher looked upon this man with thudding heart and trembling limbs. for in papa slick he had suddenly seen the image of his heart's desire. one of these days i'll get a break, he told himself. that afternoon asher stood drinking a cup of coffee at the fish- broiler's station, with a newspaper spread out before him on the cook's waist-high work counter. with a crisp, new five-dollar bill in his pocket—his tip from the number banker—he was feeling quite pleased with himself, until he glanced over his shoulder and saw the kingfish on the opposite side of the kitchen walking toward the cashier's desk. his stomach dropped with a powerful shock, as he realized he had not seen the kingfish all day. he swept the cup and saucer out of the way, and returned his gaze to the newspaper. but he could not read, for he was suddenly seized with a feeling of panic. what if some jerk told him i was late this morning, he thought. then he heard the kingfish calling him softly, but he did not turn around. the kingfish raised his voice, and called out again com- mandingly. asher turned and, using his will power to control his trembling, hustled across the kitchen. “mornin', boss,” he said defer- entially. “i was beginning to think you weren't here today,” the kingfish said in his girlish way. asher suffered again. “they kept me pretty busy inside for lunch,” he replied. “i bet they did . . .” the kingfish said, his voice trailing off as though his mind was on something else, “looking after that number banker.” asher's mouth flew open, but he made no reply. the kingfish smiled demurely over the surprise he'd scored. “i told you i have friends around here,” he said. “anyway, from now on there'll be no more number playing in my restaurant. and that cap'n logan—he can't work for me when he does get out of jail. i just can't afford to have my good reputation spoiled. it's cost me too much to keep the restaurant's name out of the papers already. the time has come when chief has to choose between being my headwaiter and a common number runner—and he knows i butter his bread.” “i don't blame you, boss,” asher blurted out. “it’s a cryin' shame what happened here this mornin’.” “were you in the front room when they picked logan up?” “no! i was in the . . .” “oh! that's too bad,” the kingfish said, “because i was just won- dering if i could get you to do something for me?” “yeah?” “i don’t gamble myself,” the kingfish said. “but there's nothing wrong if a man does like to gamble. is there, brown?” “well, i—i chance twenty-five or thirty cents on 'em once an' awhile. but i always put 'em in before i get out here.” “that's what i wanted to see you about, brown. i knew you could help me.” “how, boss? what can i. . .” - “oh, you won't have to put yourself out any to do this for me. but i wouldn't want to do it myself. i’d hate to act like a detective with my own waiters. why, they're just like my own family. just the same, the time has come—this has to stop.” asher knew before the kingfish went any further that he was being asked to snoop around to find out whether the waiters would con- tinue to play their numbers with chief on the quiet. he looked at the kingfish, and for a moment he could not take his eyes away, as the kingfish looked him steadily in the face. what a conniver you are, asher thought. finally, he said: “i don't think they'd do business out here, if they knew you didn't want it.” the kingfish glanced sidewise, tracing an imaginary circle on the gray metal top of the clam bar. “let’s be realistic, brown. the chances are ten to one that headwaiter of mine will try every trick he knows to keep his little racket going.” his voice went on while asher struggled with shock again. he came to to hear the kingfish saying: “he isn't a young man, any more. look at it this way. he should be fired. but he's been here so long, i’d hate to put him out in the street. he'd just go to pieces. so we do everybody a favor, chief, i mean—the waiters, too—we'll keep them from throwing their money away, and in time chief'll come to realize he doesn't need so much money. he'll be glad we didn't let him break his neck.” asher got a grip on himself. “why me?” he said tersely. the kingfish yawned and closed his open mouth with a slender finger. “up late last night,” he apologized. “let me see. chief once said something about you being a bright young man—when he put you in the front room.” gradually a feeling of superiority grew in asher, caressing him gently until he was convinced it was the right thing to do. a faint smile, beginning at the corners of his mouth, puffed up to a wide grin. if i don’t, he told himself, some would-be slickster will. it came to him spontaneously without thought of the difficulties en- tailed, even if somebody in chief's clique, upon seeing him huddled with the kingfish, should mark him one of the boss's “seeing-eye dogs.” then he said: “i’ll keep my eyes open.” “i thought you'd see it my way,” the kingfish said, giving asher a pat on the shoulder. “but be sure to keep your ears open, too.” and, when asher went from this bright cook-shop of intrigue to the farm, where the shuttered coolness seemed different to him, un- sophisticated, naïve, simple, he turned upon the waiters a smile of welcome which was really an expression of cunning, of a trickster who was certain he could trap the unsuspecting. for at that moment, flushed with kitchen victories and the con- sciousness of having “conned” the kingfish into believing he was “in his corner,” asher was all the more eager to offer the right bait at the mourners' bench—that which would lead some waiter to spill his guts. he was more than usually sympathetic with the old-time fish- bowl waiter who continually asked, “what we gonna do?”; with the melancholy man who said, “they sure is hard on us”; the gray- haired waiter who, dwelling at length on how difficult it is to pick the winning number, said, “hittin' 'em is like gettin' a break from the white folks”; the waiter with the expression of tolerant scorn who cried, “if it takes numbers to keep some of us eatin’ regular, well, that's all it is to it”; and to dave, who, about this time of the after- noon, was thoroughly angry and ready to curse everybody. dave was really hot and bothered over the loss of his single-action hustle, and cursed the headwaiter and his number-writer for what he called their “stupid way of handling things,” the detectives and the kingfish whom he swore were working in cahoots. he was very quarrelsome. he insulted the melancholy waiter, and looking at the old-time fishbowl waiter, who, like many a long-winded talker, was a keen wit, he cried: “i ain't for no crap outa nobody; askin’ ‘what we gonna do?’ like he ain't in the same boat.” the old-time waiter, lifting a hand in the air and letting it fall on the table, and affecting an attitude of growing excitement, his eyes dancing, began to explain the question. “have patience,” he said, “they tell us. rome wasn't built in a day. ain't nothin' we can do ’til he gets outa jail. betcha that'll teach him not to keep them slips on him. less he can learn to eat 'em—without salt an’ pepper. 'cause when he gets in trouble, we's all in trouble. you know, it takes three things to be a success in this waitin’ racket: you gotta be a whore- master, a liquor head an' a gambler. an’ if'n you ain't any one of them three things, man, they'll call you a communist. ... what they expect outa us?” “for christ sake!” dave exploded. “shut up. that's what you can do, pardner.” and asher, smiling still, murmured, “take it easy, men. don't get so excited. the king’ll hear you-all all the way in the kitchen. it's just a question of-" he exchanged the smile for a very serious expression, such as he always used when dave was giving him advice. this thing sure has knocked his racket in a cocked hat, he said to himself. gotta go easy with my boy. everywhere asher turned he heard the waiters talking about the numbers game, about “how hard the white folks are on us.” and they were united in variations of a single song—how we gonna get a break? waiters gathered in worried discussion in the dining-room during the busy hours, in the kitchen as they sought their orders, in the locker-room before and after work. but what he noticed mostly was the look on their faces—the nervous, depressed dullness in their eyes. and, gradually, their sadness gave way to a moroseness which made them weary and listless, and which, it seemed to him, would never wear off, plunging them instead into new depths of anxiety. you'd think the boss had dropped dead, he explained to himself, and they were gonna close up the joint. asher was suspicious, coming into the main dining-room one afternoon, when he saw chief, leaving a telephone booth, stop and whisper to dave. going over to dave, asher said: “what's hap- penin', pal?” “nothin’ bad, pardner,” dave replied. “that's for sure—for dead sure!” iii filled with the laughter and chatter of the fish-eaters, where formerly expert negroes bent and scraped and chuckled over the fishbowlers with prayerful grace. sullen-faced waiters served fish without lemon or tartar sauce. indifferently, they set lobsters before diners, forget- ting cocktail forks, nutcrackers and fingerbowls. cold steaks and chops arrived in cold platters. desserts were placed on tables without coffee, and sometimes it was the other way round—coffee without sugar and cream before dessert. but asher soon realized the kingfish was working day and night to find a solution to this problem. for, as the kingfish pointed out to him, “i serve my waiters the best of meals.” and, indeed, since the letter campaign had started, asher had noticed that the watery stews had turned into tasty corned beef and cabbage one day, fol- lowed by a nourishing meat loaf the next, with desserts thrown in, too. more silverware, more glassware, and more of everything to make it easier for the waiters had been put into use. “but still they butcher my customers,” the kingfish sobbed. “they sure do, boss,” asher replied, shaking his head sadly. then the kingfish said: “how do you think it'll work out if they serve the steaks and chops separately? and come back for the fish.” even though asher knew that making two trips to serve the main course would, from the waiters' point of view, slow them down, he said: “that oughta do it, boss.” yet the kingfish continued to worry about his business going to pot. and asher continued to worry over his boss. he watched the kingfish's face become drawn, his thin lips purse more tightly, and a haunting look of fear edge into his sunken eyes. there was some- thing so tenuous about the kingfish that, as their relationship grew, he aroused in asher a desire to look out for him much as a man might want to shield a woman from the rigors of life. while asher did not then think of his compulsion to find a “white friend before sundown” it hung, nevertheless, in the back of his mind. perhaps this, too, had something to do with his new-found sympathy for the kingfish, for whenever he looked at the harried man, asher would say to himself, he ain't the worst boss in the world ... i don't know why in the world they treat him like this . . . man, they don't care 'bout nothing or nobody but themselves. then, too, asher soon learned there was another problem that had the kingfish perplexed: whether or not his waiters would quit on him in the middle of his busy season. an experienced employer of marginal labor, the kingfish even offered an extra bonus of ten per cent of the summer's net—from the first of june until labor day— with the drawstring “if you stay with me until november” attached. but he knew from past experience that, for many among the waiters, this added inducement became meaningless whenever they heard the jingle of bigger tips and a better gamble elsewhere. and when he asked what the boys were talking about, asher looked into his shy and haunting eyes a long time before answering, searching the deli- cate features of his face lest he give the wrong answer. then asher said: “a few of 'em's thinkin’ of tryin' saratoga. think they might get a break offa the races.” then a broad, comforting grin spread over his face: “but they ain't such good waiters, boss! we wouldn't even miss 'em.” by friday the kingfish seemed to asher more harried than ever. “he’ll snap for sure,” asher said to himself. for every time he came through the kitchen, he found the kingfish standing near the checker's desk, nervously biting his fingernails, seeming utterly helpless. but asher did not have time to go into conference with the king- fish that day. for the business was one constant stream of mad-house activity. yet everything he put his hand to that day, from the moment the doors of the restaurant opened until he left the fishbowl that night, turned instantly to gold. couples left him no less than a dollar, some of them two dollars. parties of three and four gave him as much as he ordinarily received from groups of six. it was a day that al- lowed him to sing “i’m a waiter” with a deep feeling of pride, with a feeling of joy in his craft, with the soul-satisfying feeling of doing a good job. in the kitchen, his performance was so nearly perfect that several times during the day the kingfish stage-whispered to mr. jerry, in asher's presence, of course, “he’s my best waiter”—in such a way that it made asher feel indispensable. in a way, this was no empty compliment. for it is not every waiter who could call out long and complicated orders to the overworked cooks without repeating him- self. but asher's voice had just the right pitch, causing other waiters to stop in the middle of their fumbling bellowing; his thinking showed the right amount of organization for the cooks to catch his orders, no matter how long, how detailed, or how involved they were. furthermore, he got out of the kitchen with the speed of a cham- pion sprinter, never wasting needless steps collecting countless items that he piled on his tray. then, too, on each trip he loaded his tray with such sureness that the mountain-like loads were balanced ex- pertly when hoisted onto his shoulder, removing all chances of “losing a tray.” no wonder the kingfish was so happy that day at the sight of asher, his helpmate. it was late that night before asher left the fishbowl. and, as he mounted the stairs from the locker-room, he became aware for the first time that he was tired. the muscles in his legs ached as if they had been whipped, and a heaviness had settled about his shoulders that seemed to weigh him down. but he had a late date with ester. she had had an appointment with the hairdresser and he had prom- ised to meet her afterward. he climbed the stairs slowly and heard the kingfish's voice. “i want to see you,” the kingfish called out. “don’t hurry away.” “sure,” asher replied, turning from the landing to see the kingfish standing with jake, the night watchman, at the other end of the butcher shop where the iron guard rail encircled the stairwell and fastened onto the wall. the kingfish turned and faced jake again. “i’ll tell you later how we're planning to do it next year,” he said in a way that indicated his audience with the old man was over. asher heard the man say “humph” as if in deep thought as he passed him. the kingfish beckoned asher to him with a slight and delicate movement of his head. “how'd it go today?” he said. “don’t you think it improved the service, having the waiters get the steaks out first and come back for the rest of their orders?” “it sure did, boss, one hundred per cent.” “but now and then i saw some steaks that didn't look too good,” the kingfish said wistfully. “yeah, that's right, boss,” asher replied, as though he felt guilty over the kingfish's displeasure. “well,” the kingfish sighed, “we’ll just have to keep after some of those would-be waiters.” asher wanted to say something about jack-the-broiler's attitude. but he thought he had better not. this cook had the reputation of being the best in the business. he could manage a hundred broil- ing steaks with the greatest of ease, remembering who had ordered them and how many went to each waiter. he was completely the master of this station—one that on any sunday would have knocked out the average cook after he had stood behind the range five hours, like one of joe louis’ haymakers. but not jack-the-broiler. the waiters would line up in front of his station, yelling, “let me go jack, 'fore my people walk out,” or “can i get ’em now?” standing sidewise between the range and the counter, jack-the-broiler would take a steak as a waiter placed his order from a tray on the shelf above the counter, put it with a pile on the counter waiting for the fire, and, with his other hand, flip the steaks already under the fire. “ah, god damn,” he would say. “this heat's whippin’ me an’ i’m gonna make you black bastards wait for 'em until i’m good and ready.” that day, every time asher had gone to pick up a steak, jack-the- broiler would say: “here's the boss's boy.” and asher would be the last waiter to get his order. if the kingfish was within earshot, he simply turned his back and walked off, hurriedly. apparently the kingfish read asher's thoughts, for he said: “jack's having his day. but my time's coming. i’ll find someone to replace him yet.” asher smiled at this good news. ester was only partly aware that the areaway had been quiet— sullenly quiet—during the shower. she had rushed from room to room automatically slamming the windows shut when no more than a few drops had spattered the cream-colored window sills. then, just as quickly as it had started, the rain had stopped. and instantly the rebellious mutterings and moody ejaculations issuing from the apartments facing the areaway electrified the air. now, as she sat before the dressing-table that stood near a window in her bedroom, the tumult from the courtyard pressed in upon her again like a head- ache. she watched, intently, the opposite grayish brick wall on which the shadows from the slats of the open blind and the fire escape criss- crossed to form a menacing, jail-window pattern. it was a hot, sweltering night—a night on which few grownups could sleep, and children only fitfully. outside ester's window, the buzzing noises—charged with the weary and despairing protest of the dejected—mounted until they blared out in ear-splitting dissonance. they were the harsh, the hostile, the raucous, the morose, the churl- ish, the brusque noises of the ghetto, punctuated every now and then by the distant pistol-like crack of a backfiring automobile. somewhere out in the darkness of the courtyard, ester heard the screech of a clothesline as a heavy wash was hauled out the length of the line. and a woman's tired voice sang “nearer my god to thee.” suddenly, through the open window, came the pleading whim- per of a frightened woman: “i didn't mean to!” then a man whooped: “who am i for you to tell. i don't give a god damn, a good god damn.” there followed the muted thud of a body falling against some piece of padded furniture. a watchdog's bark from the basement stabbed the air. further up the areaway, an adolescent cried in mocking sympathy: “a woman's two-faced, a worrisome thing; she'll lead you to sing the blues in the night.” she heard, as from a great distance, the faint shouts of children playing in the * copyright —remick music corp.–reprinted by special permission. streets, and, near at hand, the loud voices of people in the nearby houses. no wonder, she thought, white folks don't want us around. as ester listened a nameless bitterness welled within her, and she was suddenly overcome with a longing to escape. yet a part of her was singed by guilt. they aren't all loud and uncouth, she thought, remembering the quiet, pleasant-faced, dignified people who lived in the old red brick house that she liked so well. no, it was those nappy-headed buzzards that wouldn't stay where they belonged! “my people,” she sighed. “my people....” pensively, her eyes slanted up to the image of her head in the mirror of the dressing-table as she went mechanically about brushing and combing her hair. and as her thoughts crowded in upon her she suddenly looked at her face in the mirror. she stared at the look of settled despair in her eyes, at the downcast expression about the corners of her mouth. my god! miss ester, she exclaimed, look at the lines in your forehead. you'll be a hag before you're forty. fuss- ing and pushing stray wisps of hair, she expertly flattened her curls, pinning them into place with tiny bobby-pins. then, as she watched a faint smirk spread into the inviting smile with which she faced the world, she said aloud, “that's more like it . . . 'cause there isn't anything you can do about them.” yet the constant uproar and the malodorous smells from the area- way—the air was fetid with the dank humid night, the moldiness of the rotting buildings, the foulness of stale refuse piled up in the backyards, the stench of collard greens and cabbage boiling—made ester feel sordid and unclean. if only she could get away. yet she loved this old house that provided her with an address on the hill, with its locked front door; its narrow air-shafts which set it apart from the others on the street, giving her a sense of protection from the neighborhood's petty thieves who, coming over the rooftops, looted people's homes when they were at work. she loved its spacious hallway, its hardwood floors that creaked, its modern conveniences— the shower, the clothes drier attached to the bathroom ceiling, the deep closet space. and above all, she loved the tenants in the house, for in their solitary, human dignity these plain people seemed to her to have been dropped from another world into the center of this sur- rounding bedlam. sighing unhappily, she turned her back to the pediment-topped mirror and sat bolt upright on the vanity bench. she looked about the room—at the chairs, the bed, the dresser, the night table, the blue-and-brown-checked straw rug—as if she were looking for some tangible evidence that would establish her status with people on an- other plane of life: a social sphere removed from the riffraff who cursed one another, loudly and violently; who talked so casually and indecently of one another's mothers in the darkened areaway. this looking about at her material possessions was an old trick of ester's. for with a characteristic habit of thought she sought, on such occasions, to understand this swirl of life in the ghetto in per- sonal terms. “law-w-wd! law-w-wd!” she said aloud, shaking her head. “these people!” but then she thought of her job at the fishbowl. of the times when, for the sake of a dime or a quarter tip, she had smiled and bowed before elegant fishbowlers when in reality she could have spat in their faces, joyously, triumphantly. she saw in that beautifully tiled toilet the sweat and toil, the sacrifices and privations that had gone into the making of her home. the sickness that she felt in her stomach disappeared as the fruits of her labor took on an animate vitality of their own—the colonial-styled bed, warm and gentle in amber, with its pineapple posts and roll panels head and foot; the six-drawer chest on a full platform base, with reeded posts and metal pulls. and, for the moment, the cool, clean lines of the bedroom suite seemed to reach out and envelop her. but only for a moment. for the tumultuous noises in the areaway —the outcry of those who had been fenced in from the privileges of first-class citizenship and, yes, the responsibilities—still crashed about her. and again she was filled with an insatiable longing to es- cape this wild confusion. this urge to escape was not new to ester. somehow, it seemed to go hand in hand with a visit to the mellow-flow beauty shoppe. for the conversation of the hairdressers was one continual round of prospecting in the pockets of men. how much has he got? how much can he get a-hold of? how much will he go for? how much . . . oh, lord, how much? there was one in particular—miss clara, they called her—who did ester's hair. everyone in the shop was exercised about her. where had she been last night? what had happened to her? who had bought that for her? did she have two or a half-dozen “daddies”? how could she manage so swank an apartment? such interesting weekend trips? miss clara was exceedingly attractive. her short curly hair, her boyish manner, and her style of dressing—in tailored fashion—did not in the least disguise the fact that she was, at heart, a very femi- nine person. she liked to talk, and ester would listen. coming at seventeen from one of the carolinas to live with her new york cous- ins, miss clara had married at eighteen. but the strain of her double- duty job as breadwinner for a husband who would work only for short spells had proved too much. and at twenty she had become a grass widow. she spoke of herself as being “available,” and, in- deed, she was as free as she seemed to be and prepared to fly off with this man and that provided, of course, he had a pocketful of dollars. yet ester knew that this woman, whose only allegiance seemed to be toward her hardened and independent love life, often dreamed of the ideal husband. the man with a steady job, who brought his money home, who would make it possible for her to live a holly- wood version of a life of ease and comfort. but she often said to ester: “there ain't no such animal. they ain't no good, runnin’ with every whore who'll go to bed with 'em. then turn around and beat on you all the time, expectin' you to satisfy 'em when they're ready for it.” but then when she and ester would talk about their problems— about the fate which had tossed them in the welter of the ghetto, of their own lost, so utterly lost, way of life—miss clara would always wind up saying to ester: “darling, you oughta dig yourself one of those fine oftys, always flirtin’ with you in that old restaurant over the shoulders of their fat, sloppy wives. they'd put you right on easy street if you played it right.” as ester sat in her bedroom, thinking of the advice miss clara had given her, she heard a radio broadcast announce midnight. and, at that hour of dying thought, her face was a mask of wordless pity. the sash of her thin, summer housecoat which had been tied loosely about her waist had come untied. it was a cream-colored gown sprinkled with red poppies, the front panels of which had fallen to her sides, draping the front corners of the bench. reaching out to draw the housecoat about her body, she crammed her head down- ward, and examined the full outline of her breasts and the smooth brown contours of her stomach and thighs. and the expression that came into her face when she thought of the pale, pasty-faced fish- bowlers was one that a person might make after a dose of unpleasant medicine. at that very moment, asher, smartly, even loudly, dressed in a brown suit and a long, rolling-collared blue sport shirt, a bright yellow tie, and a beige-colored pork pie tilted over his right brow, came bounding round the corner and raised his eyes to ester's house. suddenly he stopped and thrust one hand into his trousers pocket while, with his other hand, he mopped his face with a large handker- chief. for he had just come out of the high hat bar and grill, and the three doubles he'd downed in rapid succession now had him in a feverish sweat. man, i’m leapin', he said to himself, looking again at ester's house. but wait ’til you get the lowdown, babes, on what's happened; you'll be leapin’ right along with me. asher turned about to look at what he could see of amsterdam avenue. his eyes took in a gang of ten or twelve teen-age boys jump- ing about in noisy horseplay on the opposite corner, their voices raised in raucous yet merry outcry, as if each were striving to outyell the others. in the rest of the block there were half a dozen old brick railroad tenements jammed together; small store fronts flanked both sides of their dark, narrow, cavelike entrances. around each of these stoops asher watched little clusters of people laughing and talking. the avenue had a holiday spell about it. the blue and red neon lights, issuing from the saloon's overhead electric sign, cast long, shimmering, zigzag patterns on the sidewalk. an endless procession of people, young and old, drifted by in both directions. and in the mistiness of the sultry night the lights made the people's faces glisten as in the rain, shine brightly for a second and then fade into nothing- ness. the avenue, as asher stood there, was murmurous with the half-suppressed utterances of affection and pity, the groans of com- plaint and resentment. and, swaying slightly back and forth on his heels, asher felt himself being caught up in the eternal excitement of the avenue, and he began to sing aloud, “i got the world in a bag an’ the string 'round my finger. . . .” then, with rapid strides, he walked to ester's house. he could not bring himself to give the downstairs bell his customary three short jabs; instead, he laid on the button until he heard the buzzing click in the lock. then, triggering the door open, he leaped up the stairs to ester's apartment, and pounded on the door. “hi-you, babes,” asher said, boldly and elatedly, as the door opened. ester's lips tightened, but asher felt her relief at the sight of him. “hello,” she said tartly. stepping into the living-room, he sprawled over the sofa. despite the stifling temperature, the forest-green drapes which framed the double window across from the sofa gave the room a cool, inviting look. asher watched ester as she moved silently across the room and sat down in a chair near the curtained kitchenette doors. a bridge lamp standing near her cast a small spotlight on the side of her face, and he could see the annoyed expression in her eyes. “well, look who's jumped salty,” he said, jokingly. “what's eatin' you, baby?” then he answered his own question. “i’m jus’ plain evil . . shoulda been by the shop like you promised, to pick me up.” ester's mouth twisted, but she did not answer. perhaps she had counted on showing him off to the girls at the beauty shop. then she said: “you didn't have to come in at this hour like one of those rough- necks tryin' to break the door down, did you?” “break the door down? humph! i’m ready to break the joint up tonight, babes. get a load of this. the boss has put the numbers busi- ness in my hands. he's gonna back me . . . sky’s the limit, he says. told you i'd get a break!” for several minutes ester sat stupefied. asher grinned broadly as he watched her sitting on the edge of the chair as if she had been walloped into breathlessness. “huh?” she said, panting, when she was able to speak. “well, whatta you know.” “yeah, babes. me! asher brown . . . all of me.” asher watched the perplexed look in ester's eyes slowly give way to acceptance and, finally, to an expression of belief. “come on and kiss me, baby,” he said. ester moved slowly across the room as if she were walking in a trance. “oh, asher, i’m so glad,” she cried excitedly. he grabbed her | wrist and pulled her down on his lap. then she tossed her pert little head toward him and kissed him several times. when she straight- ened up on his lap there was a misty look in her eyes, and tears began to stream down her cheeks. “well, blow me down,” she said, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand. “whatta you goin’ do with all the money you'll be makin’?” “you said that right. i’m gonna make money's mammy.” he stopped talking, like a person impressed by himself. then he slapped her thigh with the palm of his hand and repeated the expression: “money's mammy.” he was soaking in the clamminess of the torrid night although his shirt was open at the neck. frenzied excitement churned inside him, rising and falling in his chest. he looked at her, fingers laced behind his tilted head. “i’m gonna buy the world,” he said. “all the sharp togs i’ve ever wanted, and one of them fine cars and everythin’ else. i won't have to need it. if i don't like it i can throw it away jus’ like the white folks—jus’ see it and buy it. boy! oh, boy!” ester arched her eyebrows slightly. “don’t worry, baby, i ain't gonna forget you.” a faint smile came into ester's face. “you sure?” she said. then her sad expression returned and her forehead wrinkled. “look,” she said. “suppose you start off gettin' four or five hits a day, or later on they begin to hit you heavy?” “whatta you drivin' at?” “do you think the kingfish will keep you goin’?” “sure, why not?” ester smiled satirically. “think he's in love with you?” he was aware of her studying his face as he turned her question over in his mind. “why bring that up on a night like this?” he asked impatiently. “the point i wanta make is,” ester spoke rapidly, “if you do get a lucky break and make all the money you wanta make . . . salt some of it away ’til you get on your feet. if anything happens you'll be able to branch out for yourself ... go into some kind of business. you know how he is? he'll turn on you like he's turned on that no- good headwaiter of yours.” “sure,” he told her, smiling. a woman always worried like that, he thought. at the fishbowl the news leaked out over the weekend that the kingfish had given asher the numbers concession. not that the wait- ers were told, but by way of the grapevine the knowledge of it just grew up in them. not that the waiters could prove it, but every waiter knew it to be a fact. not for nothing, it was whispered, was asher forever “in the kingfish's face.” but when the waiters asked asher, he neither denied nor confirmed the rumor. even the kingfish, when he was approached by several of the more daring waiters, coyly left them with the impression that he had something good up his sleeve for his waiters. beyond that, however, he would not go. the buzz of argument began. the fishbowl seethed with rumors and charges. had asher, scheming to get chief's job, succeeded in cutting the rope which held the headwaiter chained to the kingfish? no, that could not be the case—asher had only come to the res- taurant a little while ago. what, then, could the rumor mean? for it was an ancient and honorable practice at the fishbowl that dele- gated to the headwaiter the right to operate a racket for his boys. on all sides there was talk. yet nowhere in the little groups of excited waiters that gathered throughout the restaurant to swap rumors, avidly and hopefully, was there noticeable even the faintest trace of sympathy for their headwaiter. perhaps andy, the dedicated number player, summed up most eloquently the waiters’ indifference to chief. serves him right, he said. bet he ain't got a dime—so busy matchin' every dollar he can steal with papa slick's thousands. while the talk-fests were going on asher was, of course, busy making preparations to set up shop on monday. there were endless conferences with the kingfish. then, too, he leaned heavily upon dave's advice. “get some washed-out geezer,” dave said. “with half his life squeezed out he won’t be aimin’ to steal too much.” walters, the dried-up little fellow with the red eyes and several of his upper molars missing, became the fishbowl's new number-writer. even with all his plans set, asher was nervous and tense monday morning when he arrived at the restaurant shortly before ten o'clock. he and walters came into the darkened locker-room together. wal- ters reached up, yanked a shoestring cord, and turned on an un- shaded electric bulb in front of the wicker settee. instantly the rest of the room became darker than before. walters sat down on the battered sofa while asher stood at one end of it, staring before him. asher did not seem to mind the heavy dampness in the room. neither did he notice the cockroaches crawling over the sweaty walls. absently he realized that the sight of the cockroaches, considered by him so ill an omen, should have had a restraining effect upon him. but today he didn't really see the cockroaches; he did not even look about the room, for he was intent on looking beyond the door frame and into chief's office. “told you so,” walters said. “i woulda bet my bottom dollar ol’ chief wouldn't show up this morning. no need to worry about him.” asher said: “jus’ the same i wouldn't put it beyond him to try some trick. ain't no man wanta see his racket slip outa his hands like this.” “pay him no mind,” walters said. “man, all headwaiters is the same. give 'em a black coat an’ some poor waiters to boss around an’, man, they's as happy as four-star generals. i know 'em. they's the same way on the boats an everywhere. he ain't fixin' to do nothin’ for the kingfish to kick him outa here. he'd rather die first.” asher spoke proudly: “well, it's my racket now. if he didn't know how to protect himself, that's his fault.” then he lapsed into silence. walters didn't say anything. he just sat back quietly waiting. “you know his boys gonna be 'round stickin’ their necks out,” asher said at last. “they already whisperin’ i’m out to get his job.” asher squinted, making a grimace. “i don't want no goddam crap out of 'em this morning.” “now look,” walters cautioned. “you can't run this racket if you gonna blow your top over nothin'. you'll mess up, sho’ as hell.” “suppose you got somethin' there,” asher said a little dubiously. “ain’t nothin’ for you to worry 'bout,” walters said. then he lowered his voice, becoming confidential. “you gotta bankroll big enough to choke a mule. all you do is flash it, an’ that’ll shut them dummies up. you want me to collect this jive, don't you? well, i'm gonna do jus’ as you say—won't be no number-writin' nowhere but down here or in the kitchen. an' i'm keepin’ a record of what every last one of these waiters plays like i usta do on the boats. cut down all arguments that way. now jus' you take it easy 'cause it's gonna be like takin’ candy from a baby.” by half-past ten the locker-room was a seething, restless boiler- room with waiters yawning and grousing as they dressed. even the sunniest of personalities became grouchy in passing from the salt- laden air through the stench of the cluttered delivery court into the ninety-five-degree temperature of the waiters' dressing-quarters. they groused because their bodies, tired and sore from the weekend grind, told them it was too early to be coming back, and they yawned for the same reason. “mornin', men,” muttered a waiter. “don’t good mornin’ me,” replied a slim waiter. “save it for them white folks up there.” from across the room: “lord, it sure must be a easier way than this.” asher, seated on a camp stool before his locker, drew his breath softly lest the sound might betray him. a pulse of excitement beat fast in his throat, for every second of those few minutes he had ex- pected to be asked how he had managed to make such early time. a few of the waiters upon seeing him when they arrived had nodded half-surprised greetings. other than that, no one had much to say to him. walters strode to the center of the room. he looked over at asher and winked at him. “dig the jive we're puttin’ down,” he said. there was a deep rumble in his voice and a twinkle in his eyes. “new system oper- atin'. you can git your figures down this mornin’. taking 'em from six bits to a fin. ten-thousand-dollar bankroll—lots more where that come from.” “who you writin' for?” asked a short, rotund man standing just inside the locker-room doorway. “mr. asher brown,” walters replied. “what's he payin' off wid—toilet paper?” several of the waiters chuckled. “toilet paper!” walters jeered. “well, if you gotta know, the kingfish's backin’ him. suppose that'll hol' you.” then he turned a smiling face to a small group of waiters who had begun edging up close to him. “you can’t lose wid the stuff we’re usin’. stick wid it an' you bound to hit 'em bye an’ bye.” a short, bow-legged man standing in the group looked over at asher and said: “i knowed it all the time. 'cause i done seen his bank.” asher's face wore a sedate smile; he looked smug and complacent, like the kingfish responding with a superior nod to a compliment from some brash new waiter. instantly there was a wild upsurge in the locker-room. a spirit of drunken joy was apparent in the waiters, such as is found in the faces of a crowd drifting in and out of the dazzling attractions at a carnival. there was a glitter in every waiter's eyes as they dwelt in an anticipatory paradise, eager to get their money on the numbers. one waiter, old man tom, said prayerfully: “god bless the kingfish. he sure is a good man. gives us some- tin’ to eat, a coupla bucks, an’ the numbers too. my! my!” walters didn’t move about the locker-room as cap'n logan had done, going from waiter to waiter for his collection. he could not, had he intended to. for that morning the waiters crowded in upon him, pushing coins and bills into his outstretched hands as children scramble on a hot day to get beneath the cooling spray of a water- sprinkler. then, too, where logan's daily collection of number slips had equaled a pack of cigarettes in thickness, walters' was nearly as fat as a cigar box. as asher sat watching this scene there began in his breast an emotional turmoil such as he had never before experienced. and he said to himself: “i’m a livin' bitch.” a waiter, who had until then stood quietly in the doorway off chief's office almost directly behind asher, cleared his throat with a dry, hacking cough such as a cigarette-smoker sometimes inadver- tently releases. asher turned about on his stool and saw that it was whitie, a massively built man, so called by the waiters because he was black as tar. in the dining-room he constantly made himself a doting listener for chief's recital of his experiences. “you gonna pay off the new way or the old way?” he asked asher. asher sat still. his eyes, flashing anger, measured the man from head to foot. “i’m payin' off jus’ like its always been paid off 'round here— the ol' way,” asher said sharply. the man squirmed. “well—hum! i been playin' the new way in harlem all las’ week. them new-way writers was all i could find, workin’ late. he lifted his face and looked about the room at the waiters. “ain’t such a bad way, that there new way . . .” asher cut the man's droning words off deliberately. “well, i'm payin' off the ol' way. you can take it or lump it far's i'm concerned.” “you know the new way keeps down a lotta stuff,” whitie said, addressing no one in particular. walters said: “that funny system's too messed up.” “sure is,” put in the waiter who a few minutes before had sworn he'd seen asher's bankroll. “never did know how they doped it out that way.” “boy, it's as simple as that,” whitie said, snapping his fingers. “all they do is take the front figure from the first, second and seven races; the center figure from the third, fourth and seven; and the back one they git from the fifth, six an’ seven.” “we got the real jive here, man,” walters said. “ain’t nobody got time to wait ’til the las’ race to know how their insurance's runnin’.” whitie found his tongue again. “that's jus' it. if you don't get the number 'til the las’ race's in your money gits more protection that way. long's you can call up an’git each number soons its out they can juggle 'em to suit themselfs. that's why the negro bankers started it—to stop them ol' white racketeers from musclin' in on us. ain't no stealin’ in the new way.” his voice rose to a high pitch as he finished talking. he looked about the room at the waiters as though he were searching for agreement in their faces. slowly, deliberately, asher stood up, walked toward the man, and his fist suddenly flashed out in a savage blow. whitie threw up his arms, reeled back, and fell. the feat made a great impression on the waiters. while they were staring wordlessly at the fallen man, they were startled by asher's voice, which had grown almost unbelievably a deep: “ain’t no man gonna 'cuse me of bein’ tied up with no thieves.” . then he walked to the stairwell and started up the stairs to the butcher shop. walters followed behind him. despite the piffling attempts of the hecklers—chief's cronies— asher was lucky from the start. during the first three weeks that he banked the numbers, no waiter at the fishbowl had the winning num- ber. yes, luck was on asher's side or, perhaps, it was the other way, with asher riding high on the side of luck. with the kingfish's money behind him and the staggering odds of the numbers game— one chance in a thousand to win—in those three weeks asher reaped the harvest. there ain't no way in the world i can lose, asher re- peatedly told himself. not with three thousand cool simoleons in my pocket. after the first week of his new and enchanting career—a week dur- ing which he was constantly drunk with the frenzy of making fast money—asher began to settle down. he felt an odd contentment in the way he strolled about the restaurant. it was almost as though-he could see himself. he knew his walk was the gait of a businessman who had just concluded a successful deal—a little cocky but not overbearing, with nothing about his carriage to suggest his connec- tion with anything shady. banking the numbers was to asher a steady, reliable business all his own. like a small shopowner, he carried a huge bankroll now and the money bulged in his pants pocket. he did not believe in banks. “somethin’ might happen to 'em overnight,” he reasoned. yet he was constantly patting his pocket as if he half-expected to find his money gone. in chief's office, which asher had taken over, when he and walters added up each day's receipts he constantly changed the money from pocket to pocket. each time he did this, he would fondle the money as though it were warm and alive. then he would ] peel off the bills and count them over like an anxiety-ridden store- keeper. it pleased him, too, that he could solo in business. chief had operated in the grip of big bankers and had had to talk and work his way into the organization, finally winning the right to set up shop. even then he had to pay out the lion's share of the take to the big shot, papa slick. but asher was an independent businessman. even if the syndicate was supposed to keep the law off your back, he reasoned, there was other petty graft that had to be handed out. some of the local police whom the kingfish wined and dined (in the city-wise spirit that you've got to take care of the boys or they will not be so willing to come to your aid when needed) had col- lected ten or twenty dollars a week from chief. sometimes it was a cash handout; occasionally, one would tell chief he'd like to play a number just for the fun of it. chief would not have dreamed of asking for money if the cop had failed to play the winning num- ber. but, safe within the kingfish's roach-infested cellar, there was nobody to bother asher. he was free. nevertheless, as an independent banker asher had his problems. many a small banker had had a run of bad luck and had been knocked out overnight. and, although he smiled gaily in front of the waiters in the locker-room whenever a big-money client laid a bet with walters, it was an empty smile, frozen on his face by the tra. dition of his sporting business. moreover, cold chills ran up and down his back whenever the results of the early races, yielding the “lead,” then the “middle figure,” indicated that some heavy bettor might have a chance. then it was not until the last of the three win- ning digits for the day was out—the number that dashed the big- money client's hopes—that asher could breathe normally again. yet he was never rude or indifferent to his nickel-and-dime cus- tomers. for, as he said, “every little bite counts.” but the “penny- dribblers” got a quick nod and a fast smile unless, of course, they could be humored out of a few extra pennies. often, in a jovial frame of mind, he would assist walters by needling some frugal number player. & “here's a man that don't want none of this foldin’ money i got for him. he must be doin’ all right in the dining-room.” this remark invariably produced a big laugh from asher's audi- ence. but if his good-willed humor did not yield the desired results then, it sometimes paid an extra dividend on other occasions when, after a harvest of the big payers in the dining-room, the careful gam- bler would chance a few extra shekels on the numbers. but it was mostly the big bettors upon whom asher lavished the small shop- keeper's overweening pleasantry. frequently, one of them would have three or four dollars riding on, say, , when “jumped out.” “that sure was a tough one,” asher would say, commiserating with the loser. then, shaking his head, he would add: “better change your way of livin', an’ take another day for it.” but he considered himself lucky that he could list among his clients so many heavy number players. these were mostly the semi-profes- sional gamblers who, although they had been working for years to get a break, still entertained a vision of becoming big-time gamblers. it was, they said, the only way to get ahead in this man's world. be that as it may, they always seemed to have plenty of cash and asher could count on them “to get down with the fast action.” as a businessman, asher displayed a rare combination of the shopkeeper's shrewdness, the reporter's nose-for-news and the states- man's vision. he almost always knew more about what was happen- ing in the world of the numbers game than his clients did. once, during the early days of his new career, he heard of a numbers game called the gold mine. this was a comparatively new version of policy which had been started by an enterprising group of new jersey racketeers. more like a chinese lottery than the old-style har- lem game, it was an elaborately printed weekly ticket, costing fifty cents, which came packaged with its sides artistically hand-stitched like the lapel of a man's fancy-priced suit. this ticket to riches offered a five-digit “playing number” and an “office number” which, undoubtedly, was intended to lend it an air of authenticity. offering a wide variety of prizes that ranged from several fifty-cent consolation gifts to a grand prize of eleven hundred dollars, it paid off on twenty-five possible winning combinations secured from the last five digits of the united states treasury daily cash balances—published in the newspapers—on any day of the week stamped on the ticket. although the gold mine had not made much headway as a serious competitor with the old-style numbers game, the fact that asher saw several of the waiters about the restaurant with the small white and blue tickets on which the words “bonded-insured” were conspicu- ously printed was enough to make him as nervous as any other small shopowner would be at the mere possibility that another busi- ness similar to his was about to be launched in his neighborhood. and, almost instantly, an idea clicked in his mind: a receipt for his customers, a duplicate copy of the numbers they “bought” from him. this had been the custom back in the days when the number bankers paid off on the published federal reserve clearing house figures. but after a crusading district attorney had “put an end to the numbers racket” by jailing one or two bankers and politicians, the new bankers who sprang up overnight merely switched from the clearing house to the races and dispensed with issuing receipts. the disappearance of the clearing house version of the game had paved the way for the “fixes” by which one digit was sometimes “switched” by the ruling hierarchy of harlem bankers when there was too much “hot” money riding on a possible winning combina- tion. for instance, one day the newspapers might headline, say, the death of some celebrity and it would appear from the first two of the three digits that the number for death as given in the dream books might “hop out” and the bankers’ losses be especially heavy. then, by a series of chain telephone calls from a banker's office to men stationed near the track, big bets would be rushed to the mutuel windows and laid on some horse that didn’t stand a chance to run in the money; manipulating the prices paid on the winners and thereby changing the winning number for the day. asher wanted no part of the crooked deals that were “put down” in the policy racket. “can't afford to have my customers lose faith in me,” he constantly told himself. and indeed, as time went on and he became more and more confident of making money on the up and up, he came to set great store upon this receipt-giving scheme of his as if it were a symbol of his honesty. even the waiters looked upon it as a token of the first-rate service he offered them. but behind this seemingly adroit move on his part, there was an- other and equally important reason why he was eager to give his customers receipts. for a large part of his business was done on credit. with the waiters he knew and trusted, he arranged a weekly settlement. and a receipt signed by himself and the player provided him with a ready check for his credit accounts. in his “office,” each day when he and walters added up the day's business, he would take these credit slips from his ledger—a discarded cigar-box which when not in use he kept fastened with a small padlock—and finger them as if they carried the same guarantee as bank-issued letters of credit. there were, of course, those waiters not in such good standing from whom he required daily payments. it was a sort of “drop off and pickup service,” as he called it. that is, they were allowed to put their numbers “in” when they reported for work and pay for them before going off duty. among them were the usual run of tight- wads whom he or walters had to chase all over the dining-room for payment, but asher looked upon this chore as just one of the petty annoyances of his business. even then, he knew no waiter could work at the fishbowl if he “put the evil mouth” on him to the kingfish. it was, however, the constant flow of profits—the wrong guessers' money—into his pockets which permitted asher's thoughts to rise from the nightmarish depths of going broke. then he soared into a sort of seventh heaven where so many small businessmen commune with the titans of industry. his philosophy, at such times, was that whatever was good for his business was good for the waiters. no, they should not merely play numbers with him up to the hilt. they should play them up to the armpit, even go overboard playing them. yes, it was the very essence of his dream that the more numbers the waiters played the more he would make. the thought that he might be taking money from those who could not afford to lose was of little concern to him. certainly it was of no more importance to him than it is to the operator of a credit house as to whether creditors can actually afford his merchandise. business is business, he rea- soned simply. as a number banker, he lived in a world with a code all its own, where the values of law and ethics, honesty and dishonesty were blurred. the only moral reasoning he indulged in, he summed up this way: “a man's gotta get his bet down. an’ that's what i’m here for. so why shouldn't they bring it to me? a man would go ravin’ mad 'round this joint if he couldn't get some action for his money.” there were times, too, when he thought of the people he'd known in the south. they were the kindly and the god-fearing who, upon learning that he was bent on leaving home, had warned him no good would come to him if he joined in with the “midnight ramblers (and) 'fore day prowlers” up north. but he would merely shrug this off, muttering to himself: “they wouldn't understand. gotta git it one way or the other. this jive's too deep for 'em. i ain't fixin' to wind up bein’ broke all my life.” in asher's own mind his function at the fishbowl was a simple one. he was there to operate the numbers business—to give the boys a gamble for their money. the suggestion that he had perhaps been set up in business by the kingfish to act as a safety valve to draw off the steam of the waiters' dissatisfaction—a position which put him in a fair way to being the most influential waiter in the restaurant —he would have laughed off as a huge joke. yet his personality helped him, and he experienced little trouble establishing or maintaining a steady clientele among the waiters. they trusted him, which was about the most complimentary thing anyone could say about him. then, too, being at heart a good mixer he remained “one of the boys,” and not once did the waiters find an occasion to question whether he was “one of us.” undoubtedly, casa- blanca paid him the greatest tribute when he said: “he ain't at all stuck up; ain't nothin' hincty 'bout my boy—he's as regular as clockwork.” despite the shadiness of his status he was by no means regarded as a criminal by the waiters except, of course, by the overly churched. he had, so the waiters said, an “in” in the kitchen. and perhaps that was true. for, however long the line might have been at the lobster-broiler's station, whenever asher happened by and yelled, “can you turn four?” the cook would reply: “pick up your lob- sters, man.” then he'd wink at the other waiters and say: “in the hole gettin' cold for mr. brown.” laughter would tinkle through the line of waiters like ice in a cool drink. and if perchance a new waiter started to grumble over this fast trick, some waiter would whisper to him almost ec- statically: “take it easy, man; he's the number banker 'round these parts.” asher did not abuse his kitchen privileges, however. most times he would wait patiently for several waiters to place their orders and then he'd give his in a measured tone of voice. each time he did so, he would cock his head to one side and, adding just a faint sugges- tion of superiority—you had to catch it instantly lest it fade in the kitchen-clatter—he would end by saying, “that's for a waiter.” but that was not often. for, as the banker, whenever he waited table now, except over the weekends, it was in the fisherman's bar. some- times, during the week, when the spirit moved him, he worked through from mid-afternoon until the dinner hour was over. but more often, he “cut” only one or two checks a day—the barest mini- mum the kingfish demanded of his chosen few to remain on the payroll. this obligation discharged, asher would then give some waiter “suffering from the shorts” a dollar to work two stations, his and asher's. this was, of course, the result of the kingfish's careful planning. he and asher had been discussing this the day asher opened shop when chief came into the kitchen. “i’m putting him in the bar,” the kingfish told chief. “i need a good man in there to take charge and keep an eye on them waiters and clam-openers.” “huh?” chief answered as though stunned. his mouth hung open in the locker-room in the morning, asher was even more serious than usual. he was then, he felt, the brisk, young executive who, having revealed a pronounced ability to get things done—an ability due to the ease with which he delegated authority to his number- writer, walters—was able to rear back on the hind legs of a folding camp stool and advise the waiters not only in the interpretation of their dreams, but also in the translation of their personal experiences into numbers they could play. - for this purpose he had committed to memory the entire contents of a dream book called the old witches' cauldron. he could recite at great length the “thing to play” for all the common as well as the important symbols of life which revealed themselves in the waiters' dreams. one morning andy, to whom the numbers were what the church is to the devout, rushed into the locker-room. impatiently, he began to rummage through his locker in search of his dream book. but, in the rubble of his possessions, he could not find the dog-eared paper- bound book fast enough. asher sat calmly watching the man as he probed among several soiled shirts in the bottom of the locker. faintly, a knowing smile curled around the corners of his mouth. “stop knockin' yourself out, andy,” asher said. “bring your dream to papa. i won't lead you wrong.” - “yeah, i know,” andy replied, looking over his shoulder. “but jus’ the same, i want my own book. don't know what coulda hap- pened to it.” “all right! let's have it.” andy gave up looking for the dream book and turned about, con- fronting asher with dismay written over his pudgy face. “man, all i could see was scads an’ scads of smashed-up cars. they was layin' there by the side of the road all twisted an’ torn up so you couldn't hardly tell they was automobiles...” - “hum! thought you had a problem,” asher cut in. “that's as simple as one, two, three. you dreamed 'bouta accident.” several of the waiters present turned rapt faces in asher's direction. “man, there was so many of 'em,” andy went on. “it looked packet of papers. there were four sheets of blue- and red-lined papers, the kind an accountant uses for his daily journal entries, on which were written every number and the exact date on which it had played in the last two years. walters had secured this record for him through a friend. with a practiced eye, asher glanced over his rec- ords, then he said, as if he were refereeing a debate: “yeah, comes out every year the week before thanksgivin'. but year 'fore las' came out this same week an’ a coupla days after that it jumped right back— .” “i knowed it,” said the waiter who'd been right. “but if you ever wanta know anythin' 'bout these figures you sho' can ask ol’ asher. what he don't know offhand, he's got right here for you in black an’ white.” the waiters turned approving eyes upon asher. they watched him as he got up from the table and leisurely headed toward the main dining-room with his head cocked proudly to one side. at such times asher knew beyond a doubt that he was it—a big shot. the desire for the homage of men took violent possession of him one night in a dream. he saw himself in a huge medieval castle rest- ing comfortably upon an immense golden throne which was mounted on a high marble dais. the floor of this vast room was of smooth black stone. the walls, in contrast to the floor, were of white marble —pure, dazzling white. on all sides of his dais there stood statuesque nubian slaves, fanning him with large palm leaves. then, suddenly, he saw a great throng of people converging upon his dais from out of the very vastness of the beautiful room. as this multitude drew nearer to him, straining with dignity to reach his throne, he saw in their outstretched hands huge stacks of dollar bills with the little wrappers around them that banks use. but, oddly enough, he recog- nized no one in this crowd, for they were all white. smiling politely nevertheless, they pressed on and on toward him. then, without warning, the dream changed and he saw himself sitting at the checker's desk in the fishbowl kitchen. yet the throng of strange whites still surged toward him along the kitchen's broad corridors. now he saw that although they were white they, too, were waiters converging on him as though they wanted to pay din- ner checks with the packages of money in their hands. then he rec- ognized one man among the crowd. he was hans, the big german who served the fishbowl waiters pie and ice cream. several times this man had laughed in asher's face when, before he'd become the number banker, he’d asked for a dessert for himself. now, hans came forward grinning like a donkey, but his hands were empty. “well,” asher said irritably. “how'd you come up short?” hans scratched himself and grimaced. “i couldn't help it,” he said. “i been sick.” asher raised his head and fixed bleary eyes on the man. “sick?” he said slowly, as though struggling to fathom the meaning of the word. his voice was louder this time, and the muscles of his face began to twitch. “sick?” now it was a roar— a roar of rage, the roar of pent-up feelings breaking bounds. he sprang to his feet and lunged at hans. a huge hand closed about the back of the man's neck, and he swung up into the air and shook before the terrible, fury-distorted face of asher. “what the hell you doing sick?” then, abusing him foully, asher carried him to the swinging door which led from the kitchen into the dining-room (but to asher it then looked like the window of a balcony overlooking a moonlit body of water far below) and flung him out. he watched the hurtling body hit the still waters, making a great splash; and almost immediately from the dark, rocky bank came another splash, smaller, but charged with menace. from a glistening, moving point, silvery ripples divided away, as water divides from the prow of a fast-moving boat. then he heard a wild and gleeful cheer issue from the waiters as they continued to file past his desk, respectfully placing the money before him. at the outset of his banking enterprise, ester proved herself to be a kind, considerate helpmeet. not once during those first weeks, when he was practically forced to live at the restaurant from the moment it opened until it closed, did she complain of not having him to her- self after work. she went, quite often, to the movies. once she spent the night over in brooklyn with a childhood chum. the friend was married and the mother of three children, so they seldom found the time to spend together. and the excursion amounted to what was their annual get-together. but each morning she was eager to learn from asher how his busi- ness was getting along. standing with him in the doorway of the ladies’ room, she would demand a full recital of the numerous de- tails of the previous day's activity. often, after listening to him boast of his success, she would look into his face and say: “dear me! hope i don't wake up some mornin’ and find that some hepped chick's walked off with my old man just 'cause i’m not hangin' onto his neck every minute of the time.” “no chance, baby,” he would reply. “i’m too busy makin' this gilt.” then he'd pat the bulging bankroll in his pocket, tenderly and caressingly. on the nights that ester went to the movies they would first have dinner and a few drinks at the shanty. after that, he would hail a taxi and ride with her as far as the suspension bridge which con- nected the island with the bronx at sutherland street. then he would press a five- or ten-dollar bill into her hand for cab and movie fare. and contentedly he'd watch her throw kisses at him through the back window of the cab as it sped over the bridge. then he'd hail another cab and return to the fishbowl. late one afternoon of the third week, however, asher became aware of a change in ester's manner. they stood talking in the doorway of the parking-lot entry. it was the day on which she was due to leave the restaurant early. she and hattie divided their work hours. suddenly ester sighed wearily. “what's the matter, baby?” asher asked. “bored?” “nope,” she answered flirtatiously. “but, you know, this could be jus’ the night for me to get myself in trouble, with so much time on my hands an’ nothin’ to do with it.” asher shot her a swift, questioning glance. “babes, i sho' could stand some of your fine cookin'. but i'm laying the law down now. i gotta be back here 'round eleven. walters is off today.” although he did want a home-cooked meal, asher knew it was doubtful whether, with walters away for the day, he would have chosen that particular night. but as ester had spoken, it had flashed in his mind that monroe was also off that day. dinner hit the spot. they had both eaten heartily and neither showed any desire to get up from the little card table which ester had spread before the double window in her living-room. neverthe- less, it was clear to asher that ester realized he had something on his mind. he scarcely knew how to say it or where to begin. he sat across from her, erect on a straight-backed chair, his long legs stretched out under the table. “we gotta do somethin’ about us,” he said finally. “us!” ester inquired innocently. “what about us?” “it’s been almost three weeks since we been together,” he said. “we can’t make it like this.” ester smiled seductively. “it won't kill you to do without me for a few days. you'll like it better.” asher shoved a cup and saucer toward the center of the table and began to drum steadily on the yellow tablecloth with his fingers. he was fumbling with his thoughts, while she watched him. her mouth opened and quivered as if by her silence she were trying to force him to speak. he sat there staring at her, struggling with his feelings. for with the coming of prosperity into his life, he had felt a strange urge, one that made him feel awkward and ill at ease. finally he said: “you know, baby, it's getting me down lookin' at them four walls in that ol' room of mine.” “that so,” ester said tensely. she stretched the lids of her eyes wide but said nothing further. asher wet his lips and continued: “all this money i'm makin' ain't gonna mean much, baby, unless i can have somebody like you to look after me.” then he stopped, for he did not know how to continue. ester looked at him with sadness mirrored in her large black eyes. after several minutes, he asked her: “well, what we gonna do?” “what can we do?” she said loudly, as if she might have been addressing her question to a large gathering. she hesitated and then, in a low voice, she said: “are you proposing to me?” “sure, baby,” he said, reaching across the table and taking her hand in his. “why not?” the words had tumbled out almost before he realized what he had said. but in the back of his mind, he remembered that in the cotton country the legalized marriage ceremony was not always the route traversed by men and women who wanted to build a life together at “layin'-back time.” that was the time of year—the festive season after the crop had been harvested—which had always been asso- ciated with romance. and it was an old saying which asher now recalled: “after pickin' time, good luck comes to those who make love at layin'-back time.” and he said quickly: “babes, you could give me a key to this place.” ester looked at him, fighting her panic. she jumped up, walked across the room, sat on the sofa. “no!” she cried. “no! no! no!” she was almost choking. her eyes flashed angrily. “that's all you wanted in the first place, and me—damn fool enough to think maybe you was different.” “well, what's wrong wid me havin' a key?” he waited several minutes, then he added cunningly: “you know i gotta close up that joint out there every night.” ester was calm again but she did not answer, she did not have the strength to speak, and he asked her again: “how 'bout it, babes?” “no, i can't,” she said with a sigh. suddenly he was angry, furiously angry. “ain’t i good enough for you?” he blurted out. “how could you say such a thing?” she said, looking him straight in the face. “but i can't do that. anyway, if you really want me off the suspension bridge onto the island. if the driver hadn't stopped he would certainly have run over the curb and into the tiny square straight ahead, for there was a slight bend in the roadway which connected the bridge and the island's main thoroughfare. the driver, a stranger in the neighborhood, had approached it unaware of the stop sign. turning slightly, he apologized to asher, who sat tense, grim. asher merely waved the man on. it had been a long and disturbing ride for him. taxi-drivers on the prowl for either short-haul fares or midtown-bound passengers had refused to make the trip. and he'd had to walk from ester's house on th street—cursing and snarling aloud to himself—all the way back to th street and over to the macombs dam bridge before he found a cab-driver who, headed for his garage in the bronx, would make the long run out to the island. the driver very carefully wheeled the cab onto city island road. and, as he did so, asher's attention was drawn by joyous screaming and laughter to a crowd of teen-agers swarming over the sidewalk in front of the nickel palace, the hot-dog stand, where he and ester had met for their first real date. who the hell does she think she is? asher said to himself. miss jesus. can't give me a key! as good as i been to her. what was that supposed to be—some kind of act? why, god damn it, i bet a man i was giving her the best break she ever had. he was still swearing to himself when the cab zoomed past the first methodist church halfway across the island. it was a white frame, colonial building—one of the historic landmarks on the island—and something about the simple, austere architecture of the meeting-house reminded him that he had even talked about getting married. smiling at the thought, he tried to create in his mind a picture of himself married. but the only image he could manage, seemingly, was one of himself giving ester, as he had in the past couple of weeks, forty dollars or so at different times. “slipping it to her,” he called it, for taxi fare and a show. then, too, he thought of the occasion when ester had mentioned something about going shopping for clothes for her little boy and he had given her an extra twenty. jesus, he thought, what a chump. i sure was acting like i was mar- ried to her. sho’ thought she woulda played it smarter than that. balking at giving me a key. shame on her! suddenly he shuddered and his anger seemed to leave him. he felt lonesome for the first time since he had walked out of her apart- ment. perhaps it was because he'd just realized that in thinking about her he had spoken of their affair in the past tense. then an image of ester appeared before his eyes, sharp and vivid. it sent a warm current surging through his body. and for several seconds he was frightened. i don't give a good god damn, he swore to him- self. she can come to me. i’m gonna be boss of this stall—or else! the cabbie braked to a halt at the corner of rochelle street. asher sprang out of the taxi like a prizefighter coming out of his corner, snorting impatiently. he wondered whether he would find the iron gate at the entrance to the delivery court open. the gate was locked after the men who bought the restaurant's waste fat picked it up each night. if he found it locked he'd have to walk all the way back to the main entrance and go through the dining-room. now, as he made his way toward the court, all he could see in the dim moonlight were several rows of beer crates piled high on the sidewalk, their shadowy outlines hanging on the white wall of the building. the only sounds he heard were the rustling of the evergreens near the building line, and the chug of a departing motor. suddenly a man coming from the direction of the parking lot slouched into view. asher stopped short a few feet the other side of the delivery court. then he moved closer, crouching stealthily like a fighter stalking his opponent. “it's only me,” the kingfish said. “you needn't be afraid!” “oh, hello, boss,” asher said excitedly. he strained to pitch his voice pleasantly. “i wasn't afraid, but you never know who's snoopin' 'round this time of night.” the kingfish smiled faintly. “i had begun to think maybe we wouldn't be seeing you again tonight.” “oh, no,” asher grinned. “i wouldn't run off like that without lettin' you know. jus' had a little business to take care of downtown.” just then light from the kitchen flooded the passageway as a chore boy opened a door and propped a box against it. involuntarily, asher moved closer to the kingfish. “business?” the kingfish said irritably. he gave asher a quick look, and asher saw surprise in his eyes, a hint of doubt. then, in an exasperated manner, the kingfish said: “oh, well, i hope you did it to her good. now, maybe, she'll keep the toilets cleaner. they've been simply filthy here of late.” asher, taken completely by surprise, stood there awkwardly, his mouth open in bewilderment. the kingfish hesitated for several seconds, then continued: “i know a better way for us, though.” furtively, he raised his eyes, and with a look of longing fixed them on asher's face. then, suddenly, he thrust his arm under asher's and placed it around his waist in an impulsive and intimate way. asher stiffened instantly, squirming uncomfortably at the man's touch. the kingfish dropped his arm and his eyes fluttered away from asher's expressionless face. asher remained tensely silent, and when the kingfish cautiously looked at him again, the tip of his tongue protruded beyond his tightly drawn lips as though he might have been in deep thought. when at last he did speak, he said: “you know, i was just thinking when i saw you hop out of that cab that you ought to have a car.” he stopped talking, perhaps to allow the benign expression that he now wore on his face to take effect on asher. “i said to myself, ‘he’s too nice a person to have to depend on those nasty taxi-drivers.’” then he asked: “how'd you like one?” “i sure would,” asher replied, his eyes aglitter. “they're not so easy to get these days,” the kingfish said, almost as if he might have been talking aloud to himself and, at the same time, as though he might have been teasing a child. “you bet they ain't easy to get.” “i know a man—one of my customers . . .” the kingfish stopped deliberately. “you know, i can do anything i please here in the bronx. you wouldn't mind a little thing like the black market?” “black market!” asher said. “any ol' kind of market would be all right wid me. but i ain't ready yet, boss.” the kingfish's small eyes pierced asher. “you want a car?” he demanded. “yeah, boss. i want one so bad i can taste it.” “w-e-l-l,” the kingfish almost spelled out the word. “you go see mr. jock tomorrow. he's over on fordham road. be sure you tell him i sent you—mr. maddox.” he fixed asher with an inquiring stare. “you can pay him half-price in cash, can't you?” he waited for asher's nod of agreement, then he continued: “i’ll arrange it so you can pay the rest on time.” then, raising his head slightly, he thrust his chin out aggressively as a man will sometimes do before a mirror when he has completed the self-inspection. “see, i'm not such a bad boss,” he said. the kingfish stood watching asher as he hurried along the de- livery court and disappeared in the kitchen. almost as far back as he could remember, asher had fondly dreamed of owning a car. and now, on the threshold of realizing his aim to “get on rubber,” he was not, at first, as elated as he had thought he'd be when that day arrived. indeed, he was like a person constrained from enjoying a stroke of good fortune by a strong yet unreasoned premonition of danger lurking in the background. he stood now in the locker-room changing his clothes, struggling to overcome his bedeviling apprehensions. then, suddenly, he had the sensation of the kingfish's arm around his waist. the lines about his eyes furrowed in a scowl. he's sure sold on me, he told him- self. humph! i can make this queer do anything i want. keep teasin’ him along—hopin'. that'll drive him almost crazy doing jus’ what i want him to do. but, it'll never happen. he can have all the money in the world, but i’ll never be that weak. he thought, too, of the kingfish's insulting allusions to his relationship with ester and he felt a hot blast of anger well up in him. that no good son-of-a- he was in his early forties, of medium height, a powerful barrel- chested man. “we might have something you'd like, young man,” he said. “how's about a chrysler club coupe? a four-door job with everything—radio, heater, slip covers, excellent tires—and in per- fect condition, going for around seventeen hundred.” asher looked across the man's desk and watched dave grimace, the corners of his mouth curling downward deprecatingly. “look, mister,” asher said. “i ain't lookin’ for no ninety-year-ol’ bus. mr. maddox told me you could get me somethin' sharp like one of them fine cadillacs—a brand-new one.” the dealer said austerely: “do you mean mr. maddox out on city island?” “that's what i said,” asher replied impatiently. “he’s the only mr. maddox. who'd you think i’m talkin’ about?” “well!” the man said, as if he were impressed. “you don't mind if i check on that, do you?” clutching the sides of the flat-topped desk, he pulled himself to his feet, and as he did so he said to dave in a questioning fashion: “come to think of it, i believe i have seen you out there.” dave cocked his head: “well, i’ve been around for a few . . . jock waved apologetically as he moved across the rear part of the office to where a telephone rested on another desk. asher and dave watched the man dial a number and wait for the click at the other end of the line. they saw his lips barely move as he talked into the mouthpiece of the phone, but being beyond earshot they could not make out what it was he said. when he put the phone down he had a cheerful smile on his face. “why, mr. brown,” he beamed, “if that's the only thing that'll satisfy you i think we can arrange it.” then he became very apolo- getic. “now, i hope you won't take that little phone call wrong. but you know how it is. can't afford to take chances these days. you never know who's who.” asher nodded understandingly, but said nothing. “now,” jock continued, still smiling genially, “if we can swing this deal we'd have to put about a hundred or so miles on it to make it second-hand.” he had spoken very slowly, and when he stopped talking his voice seemed merely to have faded away like an overly- sweet voice in a radio soap-opera. then he said: “it will cost you a pretty penny. the dealer that got this one has had it on his order book for fourteen months.” “that's all right by me, mister,” asher said. “you get it an' i'll buy it.” “um-um-um,” jock said, as though thinking aloud. rising from his seat, he waved toward a door at one corner of the room. “if you gentlemen will come with me, we might have something that'll strike your fancy, mr. brown.” there were only dim lights hanging in the room behind the office, and for several minutes asher could not make out much more than the outlines of some twenty cars lined up along one wall as jock led him and dave toward a corner of the semi-darkened garage. “here we are,” said the dealer, pulling at an electric cord above a car which stood a little apart from the others. it was a brilliant and dramatic study in black and white. and its sparkling finger-streaked nickel seemed to glisten in the car's shiny, bright ebony finish as the blades of two carving knives glint when sharpened one against the other. its light-colored canvas top seemed to match the spotlessly clean, white-walled tires. it was, indeed, a magnificent automobile, smart in the sleekness of its lines, the sweep of its torpedo-like fenders, the broad-beamed, meant-for-pleasure garb that it wore so proudly. asher approached the car as if it might have been a nervous mare. keeping a safe distance, he circled it, bending as if looking at crucial points. his eyes shone and his mouth hung open in homage. here was the car he had dreamed of, ever since he was old enough to think of owning one. he had, upon occasion, pictured himself driv- ing slowly along a city street with a “sharp chick” at his side, and pedestrians stopping to stare at him in open-mouthed awe and envy. at other times, he had seen himself with one hand barely touching the steering-wheel, speeding through the magic of the night air down a country road that was a ribbon of moonlight with little clouds sail- ing above like whiffs of smoke coming from a factory chimney. here he was standing before this car of his dreams, and he was dumb! he could not speak. completing his circle, he approached the snub-nosed front of the car and gingerly laid his hand on the fender as if he might have, in a moment of tenderness, been laying it on ester's soft, warm shoulder. but it felt cold to his touch and he took his hand away. jock, who had watched his exhibition in bewilderment, opened the door opposite the steering-wheel side and beckoned to him to sit in the car. and almost as if he were moving in a trance, asher obeyed, sinking into the red leather front seat. the dealer began to say some- thing to him about the engineering perfection of the car, but his words went unheeded, for asher was staring at the speedometer, sunk in the face of the oak-paneled dashboard, like a child looking into the bottomlessness of a well. man, he said to himself, you can save that crap for somebody else because i’m gonna buy this if it's the last thing i do in life. after a while he got out of the car, and im- portantly stretching himself to his full height, he said: “what you askin’ for it?” jock said, “five grand, half down and the remainder in a year. and i don't mind telling you, if mr. maddox hadn't sent you, you'd have to pay cash for it.” “that’s a deal, man,” asher said. at the side door of the garage which opened on fordham road the dealer said to asher: “have the cash on hand about this time to- morrow, and we'll have her ready for you with license plates and all.” dave's voice followed him as dave pulled open the door of his car and ceremoniously bowed asher into it like a liveried chauffeur. “you’re solid now, pardner,” he said. although dave's phrase carried with it the ring of congratulation, asher did not answer. for his rapture had transported him out of this world, rendering him speechless. they rode back to the res- taurant in silence, dave with an expression of seeming understand- ing on his face, asher with his thoughts upon himself—basking in fond pictures his heart drew of the admiration which he knew would be his from all men when he was seen in his new car. asher felt no compulsion to step on the gas when he sat in the car the next afternoon. he had come alone to pick up the automobile— not that he had planned it that way. but when lunch was just about over, dave, who had promised to come along with him, was still slowly going about his business serving several parties. so asher, wild with anticipation, had come alone. now he was gripped by a strange panic as he angled the car away from the curb in front of jock's place into the stream of traffic on fordham road. he felt, in a queer way, lonely as a child might feel out in the open on a summer's day when a storm, a very awful storm, threatens, and clouds scud across skies filled with rumblings. but it was all clear sailing as he pulled out behind a truck and shot across crotona avenue. in a minute or two he was rolling along the broad thoroughfare which divided bronx park. he drove very carefully, moving along at about twenty miles an hour, keeping close to the curb. yet his mouth was dry and his breathing came in hard, fast spurts. then he saw a car, driven by a woman, zip past him. and he said to himself, angrily: if she can do it, i can. he decided to follow the route the bus took out to city island through pelham parkway which led directly into the city island road just north of the pelham bridge where the parkway emptied into the new rochelle road—the only route he had come to know. within a few minutes he'd be out the other side of bronx park, he thought, bouncing around the sharp curve where the roadway swung into the parkway. then, after passing beneath the elevated structure of the white plains subway, he’d soon reach the spot where the imposing apartment houses stopped and the row of two-story, at- tached red brick dwellings began. he recalled three elegant bunga- lows which sat some distance back from the parkway amid well- trimmed lawns. he thought all this as he nosed the big car along slowly, and yet in a way he wasn't really thinking. he knew the route and the dis- tance, having traveled it many times, and he was merely checking over the obvious and the familiar—settling into it, really—as a way of relaxing after the tensions of taking the car out of jock's place. he had reached a stretch of the three-lane parkway where on one side of the center lane there was a dirt bridle path. almost at the neck of this stretch he noticed a black asphalt road that swung sharply off the parkway in a southerly direction, curving up and around a slight embankment, and at first he didn't know where he was; for a moment or two he had the feeling of not belonging he sometimes had when he suddenly awoke from deep slumber. then he saw the murky-colored stucco and the stained-window- panes of the pelham bay subway terminus, standing mute and re- assuringly off in the distance and to the left of the parkway, in the square formed by colonial avenue and eastern boulevard, where the city island bus stopped. he felt really relieved then, and the odd sense of dullness, or pressure as though a weight had been bearing on him, went away for the first time since he'd been snailing the car along in traffic. the traffic from that point on, bound mostly to and from orchard beach, thinned out considerably; in a few minutes he settled down to feel and enjoy, for the first time, the cradled smoothness with which the big car swept over the ruts and bumps in the road. and by the time he was out on the island—in fact, within sight of the restaurant —he was filled with a welter of new and conflicting sensations. al- most simultaneously there swelled within him an intense, childlike excitement and frenzy over possession of the automobile, then a morbid anxiety and solicitous craving for the waiters to put their stamp of approval upon it, a furious exultation over it, a sense of raging triumph over it, and then a blinding fear that made him, momentarily, want to turn about and go back—anywhere. when he inched the big convertible up to the curb between the two canopied entrances of the restaurant he was so carried away with elation that he didn't notice two waiters airing themselves under the broad-striped awning which extended from the door of the farm to the edge of the sidewalk. he sat there trembling in a paroxysm of delight, overflowing with the sheer joy of possession as he toyed with the cream-colored, finger-notched steering wheel. then, sud- denly, he eyed the instrument panel—a marvel of gleaming gadgets set in a slab of richly grained oak-as if he were seeing it for the first time. curious, he lifted a lever that controlled a red light in the rear of the car's body. he shrugged his shoulders as nothing hap- pened, turning his attention to the rheostat knob that jutted down from the dashboard. then he flipped a tiny, silvery knob, and in- stantly he felt a draft of cool air from the car's air-conditioner. he drank in the delightful fragrance, so like the fresh, gentle breezes that blow in high places after a summer rain. once his curiosity had been satisfied he continued to sit there for several minutes more, oblivious of his surroundings. a new plan was shaping in his mind. out of the deep-rooted joy over his possession, a joy which seemed to fill him with kindness and goodness, he now wanted to share his sharp car with ester. then it occurred to him that he had not seen her since their quarrel, and he wondered how she'd greet him. would she be interested? looking about at the luxurious, dark red leather upholstery, he flashed a broad grin. i’ll bet a man, he said to himself, she'll be easy to get along wid now. he hopped out of the car nimbly, and becoming aware of the two waiters as they recognized him for the first time, he smiled quickly at them both and said: “how'm i doin’?” he winked at them, trying to appear at ease. apparently his question was lost in the awe he inspired in the two men, for he heard one of them say as he nudged his companion: “holy jumping jeehovah! looka that glory wagon asher's got.” “ga—a—a—a—wd damn!” asher stood sidewise, gently pushing the car door shut and, at the same time, watching the waiters out of the corner of his eye. then he turned, walked swiftly away, and entered the restaurant through the main entrance. no sooner had he crossed the threshold, however, than he stopped abruptly as though he had been halted by a physical force. perhaps it was the vague sense of barren waste that the luxury restaurant conveyed to him during the dull period of its late afternoon naked- ness. for with the exception of three couples seated in the hole, and the puffy-faced cashier leisurely arranging a handful of luncheon checks into three piles as if he might have been playing a game of solitaire, the room was deserted. asher looked over his shoulder quickly as though suspecting that somebody were watching him. then, with a rapid, loping stride, and a wide grin on his face, he crossed the room. ester was sitting listlessly in an easy chair in the powder-room, having just finished her afternoon chores, when asher stuck his head inside the doorway. “hullo!” he grinned. “you look like you ain't doin' so well?” “whatta you care?” she said, trying to put a laugh into her voice. her pretense failed. “well, i like that,” he said. “here i come to tell you 'fore anybody else . . .” he hesitated as if he were rolling something good to eat around in his mouth: “to tell you i got a brand-new car, babes.” “that's just like you,” ester said. “i knew you'd do it or bust.” “dave tell you?” he asked with sudden suspicion. “that so-and-so. he promised he wouldn't open his mouth about it.” ester looked at asher for a minute. “no, he didn't tell me. but i know you.” “it’s right outside,” asher said, waving his hand toward the main entrance. “come on out an’ lamp it.” “i can't now. hattie's gone off for a while.” “you act like you ain’t even interested.” “it’ll keep,” she said. then she smiled and added banteringly: “you can come around some rainy night an’ give me a ride home if you haven't forgotten all your ol' friends by then.” asher stared at ester. “i—i was countin' on drivin' you home tonight, baby.” ester smiled quizzically. “all right,” she said quietly. he dropped his eyes momentarily and, becoming aware for the first time that he stood there in his street clothes, said: “i’ll be seeing you down on the corner after supper.” ester only nodded, but he was aware of her watching him as he trotted across the dining-room and went through the swinging doors into the kitchen. it was a little past eight o'clock when asher met ester at the cor- ner of rochelle street. dusk had begun to settle over the island, and the street in front of the restaurant was lined with parked cars. and as he led her to the automobile his step faltered before a small sedan parked just in front of his. then he moved ahead to the big cadillac, glimmering in the twilight. obviously, this magnificent automobile was more than ester had expected. for when asher climbed in on the other side of her, she whispered: “well, do jesus!” he grinned triumphantly. “you like it, baby?” he asked. “do i like it?” she repeated the question as if not knowing what else to say. “anybody would like this, and you know it, too, asher brown.” she snuggled back on the cushiony seat, stretching her legs out luxuriously. then she watched with fascination as asher snapped a switch on the instrument panel and the power-operated canvas top slowly rose and folded into the narrow trough behind the rear seat. it took him several minutes to maneuver the long car out from be- tween the others. but with ester at his side he somehow managed neatly. slowly, he turned the car around on the wide avenue and let it idle for a moment with its motor murmuring sweetly. then in a burst of speed he made a hair-trigger getaway. and almost within seconds the car had shot over the bridge and onto the mainland, having sped over the island as if it had ghosted through a sleeping town, in soft, soundless stride. looking up into the rear-view mirror, asher, smiling contentedly to himself, watched ester out of the corner of his eye. gazing off in space, her face soft and dreamy, she appeared to him half asleep. and asher, following her glance, looked about at the receding parkway. oaks and evergreens and elms stood shimmering in the summer gloaming. their dark foliage vibrant in the breeze presented enchantment. when he looked at ester again he saw that her eyes | were wide open, and after a while asher heard her voice, hardly audible, and the whispered hum of a song that he recognized with a little tingling thrill of delight. his long, bony hand patted her knee. she turned her face to him, her eyes puzzled. “i can scarcely be- lieve it, asher.” her gaze shifted in a wondering look at the instru- ment panel. “tell me, i’m not dreaming?” her whispering hum began again: “you’re living—you're living in a great big way.” “no, babes,” asher said in a clear, firm voice. “it ain't no dream. it's the real thing. you didn't believe me when i told you i'd get mine outa this man's world, did you? well, jus' you stick with me an’ you'll really be livin' on easy street.” asher drove on in silence. but even then, as he looked occasionally at ester, her head tilted against the red leather back-rest, her eyes delighted, it seemed to him that he could read her mind. yeah, babes, you're sent now, he thought, sent all the way like a ton of bricks. i betcha i won't have no trouble outa you looking at another man. 'cause you're already on easy street. wrapped in his thoughts, asher moved the big car through bronx park. and, as the car zoomed through the night, he became en- tranced with the nocturnal sights and sounds. he stared up at the sky, a pastel of white and powdered-blue fleecy clouds, glowing as if the light from the moon were fluorescent. then his eyes traveled in the arc of glareless light that the car's sealed beam lamps cut into the satiny night. he watched yawning bumps cast shadows ahead of the car, but the line of the lights never wavered, so level was its arrow-flight ride. he heard the swishing sound that the light wind made as it cascaded over the slanting windshield, drifting over his head like the low, deep, libidinous sighs coming from a person moved by a haunting blues song. the park dropped behind, and now in the heavy traffic of fordham road asher drove more slowly along the broad avenue which led past the fordham university campus and uphill through the fash- ionable shopping district of the bronx. several times he had to halt for a traffic light. and he watched intently as passersby looked, first ] with admiration at the gleaming automobile, and then gawked at him and ester with expressions that turned slowly from disbelief to perplexity then to incredulity, settling finally on a note of envy. once, he snorted derisively. then he said: “looka these poor white bastards oglin' us.” “they make me sick,” ester replied. “they look at you like they think you're not supposed to have anything at all.” asher, who had to keep his eye on the car ahead, patted her thigh with one hand. “pay 'em no mind, babes,” he said. “pay 'em no rabbit-ass mind.” asher nosed the car along for several blocks in the creeping stream of automobiles. when he reached the grand concourse he took the wide turn with ease and cruised down the wide boulevard. a red light blinked on as he approached the next intersection and he had to swerve the car off its path, to avoid running head-on into an ancient automobile that slowed down in front of him. neverthe- less, he managed to bring the car to a shrieking stop at the corner just as the jalopy groaned up beside his car. its driver, a blubbery man, running sweat, slumped over the wheel. asher looked from the man to ester, and said in a loud voice: “they oughta run these goddam struggle-buggies offa the street. gettin' in people's way an' clutterin' up everything.” with an expression of disdain, asher watched out the corner of his eye as the blubbery driver looked in his direction, heaved his shoulders once and then let them sag again. “just the same,” ester said, “i’d like to get out of here tonight with my neck in one piece. it may not be the best neck in the world, but it suits me. so take it easy, will you, daddy?” a childish giggle came from the back window of the old car. asher turned his head and saw a chalky-faced young girl. her blonde bobbed hair was scraggy and her makeup seemed to have been ap- plied with a paint brush. she winked at asher, nodding to him in a suggestive manner. the lights changed again almost before asher became aware of the girl's practiced friendly gesture. he leaned forward on his seat, shoulders squared, chest expanded, as he finger-flicked the gearshift. then, as the car zoomed ahead in a terrific burst of sprinting power, ester's words seemed to float back into his consciousness. “you’re safe, baby,” he said in a timid voice, keeping his eyes straight ahead of him. “handles like a baby carriage. jus' like singin' a song, back-and-forth. nothin’ to it! it's wonderful!” asher meanwhile continued to smile contentedly over what he took to have been an expression of the young girl's respect for him. but suddenly he became aware of ester's silence. casting a cautious eye in her direction, asher saw that beneath her “sharp” green hat her eyes were smouldering. well, looka here, he said to himself, she's jealous. how d'you like that. now, i know she's sent! boy oh boy, what a car’ll do to these chicks. that wasn't nothin' but a little ol' white tramp, babes . . . an’ a chippie to boot. now, of course, if she had been one a those fine of ys like those babies that come out to the joint with lots of money an' everythin’—that'd be a different story. glancing sidewise at ester again, he went on: she sho' would have to have everything to stand up with you, babes. but not no cow like that poor-ass bitch. no, sir! he could not find anything to talk to ester about during the re- mainder of the ride, and when he stopped the car in front of her house, he sat awkwardly as if not knowing how to combat her silence. then, inexplicably, ester snatched the ignition key from its keyhole in the instrument panel and, hopping out of the car, ran into the vestibule. ester took asher so completely unaware that several minutes elapsed before he followed her. she had left the apartment door ajar for him and when he walked in, looking about the room as if he were genuinely glad to be there, he found ester opening the living- room windows. “sit down and take the load off your feet,” she said. “nobody will hurt you. only colored folks live here.” “ol' fly you,” he said as he took a chair by the window. “i’ll take it, baby.” “take what?” ester asked. “come on, cut the playin' 'round. you know what i mean. gib me the key.” “you wouldn't beg for it?” she asked. “oh, no! not you! mr. big shot!” then, as if she were talking to someone else, she added: “he just ups and walks out if he can't have what he wants.” asher removed his coat and flung it across the room onto the sofa beside ester. | “that's right, babes,” he said scoffingly. “have your fun. lay it on thick.” traces of a smile played around the corners of ester's mouth as she ignored asher's gibe. “gettin' a bit hot for you? how 'bout a drink to cool you off? there's some of your favorite scotch 'round here.” “that'd be right up my alley, babes.” as ester rose from the sofa and started toward the kitchenette, asher lunged for her pocketbook which, a minute before, she had guarded with one arm as it lay beside her on an end table. but she was too quick for him. grabbing up the bag, she stood in the center of the room and held it behind her with both hands. “you don't have to fight for it, daddy,” she said teasingly. asher put his arms around ester's waist and reached for the bag. as he did so, she stepped into his embrace. simultaneously, their lips met in a long, hungering kiss. “now let that do you,” ester said as she stepped away from him. “you’ll get it when i’m good and ready for you to have it—the key, i mean.” - “okay, baby,” asher acquiesced as he looked at her admiringly from head to foot. “don’t make it too long.” asher sprawled out on the sofa and when ester handed him his drink he propped himself up on one elbow and took a long swallow. ester watched for a moment, then she said to him: “where are you going to keep the car?” “it all happened so fast, i ain't had time to think 'bout that,” he said quite frankly. “yeah?” ester said as she seated herself in a corner of the sofa. four o'clock in the morning, he lay sprawled out carelessly in yel- low pajamas, legs spread wide apart, feet propped against the foot- rest, as if he were alone in the bed. surprised at the sound of his voice, he moved his head cautiously on the pillow and looked at ester cuddled in sleep beside him, but she had not even stirred. this is reeal great! he said aloud again, softly, as though he were talking to her. nothin’ like that ol' dump i jus’ left. he gave a little shud- der, as if the very thought of his former lodging filled him with a morbid fear of being cooped up. it's a wonder that joint didn't bug ii . . . . he raised his head off the pillow, eased his shoulders up and leaned on one elbow. before settling himself in another position on the bed, he jabbed the pillow several times and turned it over. he found the coolness of the new spot as soothing and relaxing as a tub of water. he pressed the back of his head down in the softness of the pillow. and for several minutes he lay perfectly still, for the new position seemed to have eased the churned-up feeling inside him that he'd experienced before. then suddenly he was tense, quivering again. humph! he snorted. these women sho’ like to play tricks. they're all alike. . . . it all came back to him, then—how ester had got him to move his clothing into the apartment. he smiled to himself, feeling almost as though he'd been outwitted. she had kept him spellbound over what their new life together would be like, rattling on in her chatter-box fashion about the kind of home they'd have, until almost two o'clock that morning. then, without warning, she had suggested “now” would be as good a time as any for him to go for his clothing. de- lighted at the thought of slipping into his new role as the “man of the house,” as ester had put it, it had not occurred to him that that could have been a little stratagem of hers. packing his belongings had taken only a few minutes. he left just enough old clothing at the rooming house to give the impression of continuing occupancy—an almost threadbare suit which, besides, was completely out of style, an odd pair of trousers, a mottled pair of tan and white summer shoes, and his battered wardrobe trunk. for, besides these odds and ends, once he had started to rake in the big money he had sold the four suits he'd had in the pawnshop (as well as the blue serge he had been wearing when he started to work at the fishbowl), almost giving away the tickets for his pawned suits. his new wardrobe could be described as modest only because he was still engaged in picking up new pieces of wearing apparel from time to time. and thus far, in keeping with his grasshopper existence, he had acquired only six new suits, all of them broad-shouldered, long- coated and loose-hugging at the hip, summer lightweights. these, along with three pairs of new shoes, a dozen shirts and an equal number of gaudy ties, he put into two bags—a dilapidated, tan cow- hide suitcase and an oversized canvas valise. his socks and under- wear he stuffed into an old cardboard hatbox. the darkened street on which the rooming house faced was de- serted at that hour of the morning, and he experienced no difficulty in getting his belongings out of the house and into his car. but a few minutes later, as he sought to remove his belongings from the car in front of ester's house, the string which held together the beaten- up hatbox broke. he stood beside his shiny, new car for several minutes, a blue topcoat and a tan trench coat slung over one shoul- der, surrounded by his luggage, his haberdashery slopping over the sides of the hatbox, grimacing like a shamefaced child. finally, when he had gotten his wits together, he managed—by making two trips—to get his luggage inside the vestibule of the red brick house. he rang ester's doorbell violently and insistently. clad in a flare-skirted housecoat, with her shiny shanks showing, ester had rushed downstairs, and without uttering a word had snatched up the hatbox and dashed back up the stairs. it was only after she had put away his clothes that she spoke of the incident. he had not paid too much attention at the time. he was happy then, almost frantically happy. he was at home! she was his, to do with as he pleased. but now, lying there wide-eyed, it all came back to him. she had been awake beside him in the bed with a lighted cigarette in her hand. and she moved slightly away from him, turning to look him straight in the face. “you oughtn't to have done that,” she'd said a shade remorse- fully. “what you . . .” she continued talking as though she hadn't heard him, her voice rising with exasperation. “just like a man! first little thing happens, an' he's as helpless as a lamb. bad enough to cart your junk 'round any ol' way. but you didn't have to get me practically out in the street to get you in here. i ain't for everybody knowin' our busi- ness. . . .” she never finished what she'd been thinking, and soon afterward she drifted off to sleep. now as asher thought of all this he grew fretful and harassed. and the suspicion that was so much a part of him began to beat fast in his burdened heart. the bed suddenly became hot and hard and it seemed to him as if he were lying on a sheet of corrugated iron. i ain't studyin' these dicty's in this house myself! he thought. these poor-ass folks puttin' on airs over nothin'. ain't got one nickel to rub against another. up here living offa ice-cubes. the thought seemed to amuse him and, at the same time, fill him with content- ment. he sighed peacefully. she's my ol' lady an’ she don't have to worry none, 'cause i got what it takes. he took a cigarette from a pack lying on the night table and, sticking it into his mouth, struck a match against a cardboard match container with such force that when it ignited it made a hissing noise as though he'd put it to an open gas jet. warmth seemed to pervade his being after he'd inhaled deeply of the smoke several times, savor- ing its tangy bite on the tip of his tongue. well, jack, you better git this jive straight right away, he said, talking aloud again. ain't nothin’ to worry 'bout, he thought. he'd organize his do- mestic life just as easily as he had his numbers business, have it running just as smoothly in no time. just put his foot down and be boss. that's all. he had until then found the very thought of turning out the light a hideous prospect. but now he was composed and relaxed as if some compelling force deep within him had, in pushing these thoughts to the surface of his mind, calmed him. he reached down to the foot of the bed and drew the sheet up over him and turned over to snap off the light. if only ester wouldn't sleep so soundly. the worst of it was, you couldn't justly accuse ester of snoring. she only breathed. but she breathed with such authority—she made such a serious business of in- hale, pause, exhale, pause. who did she think she was, anyway? “stop breathin’,” he hissed at ester, but in reply she only turned to him, on the inhale, and flung her arm across his chest. he squirmed out from under it to the extreme edge of the bed. babes, he whispered to her, you never went to sleep on me like this befo'. you can't do this to me! i oughta wake her up, he thought. but even then, as he looked with almost angry longing in his eyes as she lay beside him coldcreamed and nightgowned with faint traces of her familiar smile playing suggestively about the corners of her mouth, he saw her in his mind's eye—her clothes, her skin, her hair, every- thing about her. somewhere in the shimmering borderland between sleep and wak- ing, asher felt an insistent tug at his shoulder. “huh—wha—huh?” he babbled, rising to a half-sitting position in the bed. his eyes squinting out of his slumber-swollen face, he yawned as he sought to focus on ester, standing beside the bed. “you must of been having some dream,” ester said. “you sounded like somebody was choking you.” “huh!” he muttered. “whee! don't you ever do that again—shakin' me like that when i'm sleepin'. you like to scared me to death.” “now,” she chided him, “was it that bad?” “bad ain't no word for it,” asher said, a note of fear coming into his voice. “why everywhere i looked i saw him coming after me. somebody i ain't ever seen before—a coal black stranger. swinging a copper's nightstick. it had long prongs stickin’ out all over it like on a rake. it sho’ was one mixed-up crazy dream. i was in some place like that house of mirrors down at coney island. everything was topsy-turvy. an everywhere i looked i saw him.” ester smiled. “the deep certainly boils like a pot,” she said. “what you say?” “you wouldn't understand,” she said, “that's from the bible.” “oh.” “come on,” she said, taking him by the wrist. “stretched out like you’re here for the rest of the day. but there'll be no days like that, with me going all the way.” “a-a-a-ach,” he yawned. “what time is it gettin' to be?” “just nine-thirty, darling.” he sat up and stretched. “my gawd,” he said, flinging off the sheet with one determined motion. he swung to the floor, toeing his feet into brown leather slippers. then he leaped from the bed and rushed into the adjoining bathroom. he banged the door, stripped, sprang into the bath, turned on the shower and broke into a loud uproarious version of “my desire.” it was a tiny bathroom, a mere closet finished in a pinkish tile which ran halfway up the walls. against one wall, across from the doorway, the sunken tub nestled against three sides of the room and up above it there was a narrow window. on its deep ledge there was a tidy but crowded array of lotions, creams, unguents, bottles, tubes, . jars, brushes, and other feminine beauty implements—the overflow that could not have possibly been put into the toylike medicine chest sunk behind a small mirror above the washbasin next to the tub. a sprinkle of water from the shower faucet careened off his shoulder and sprayed the gadgets. he gawked at the spattered collection and grunted with annoyance. all this crap gits in a man's way, he said as he turned down the flow of water. shouldn’t be here in the first place. then, as an idea struck him, he smiled to himself understand- ingly. that's the jive that makes 'em such solid senders, he thought. everything's jive in this world. ain't what you do, it's how you lay it. if i hada laid mine last night she wouldna gone to sleep like that. oh, well, he told himself as he made ready to step from the tub, i suppose i'll be buyin' a lot of this stuff from now on. jive an’ more jive. suddenly, he let out a scream of rage. “ester! c'mere!” she rushed in to find asher streaming wet, clutching a small blue guest towel. - “what's this suppose to be?” he bellowed. “you suppose to dry yourself with this or tie your hair up in it?” “i know you're accustomed to those bathrobe-size towels they give you in the turkish baths,” she said, laughingly, as she ducked into the bedroom. she got the towel in a jiffy. “but, daddy,” she said as she handed it to him, “take it easy. no need of you alarmin’ the house—hattie'll know you're living here soon enough.” he looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes. “is that why you took a fadeout powder on me las' night?” the twinkle gave way to a broad grin. “‘fraid the walls would talk?” “last night! you mean this morning, don'tcha?” she quipped, looking into his face. “well, look here, you might as well get this straight now. i can't be standin' on my feet all day takin' care of the white folks out there an’ entertainin' you all night here, asher brown.” for a minute he looked at her a little hesitantly and then he asked: “ain’t you gonna ride on out with me this mornin’?” ester looked at him seriously. “i dunno,” she replied at last. “something tells me, i better stick around awhile longer an' get a few things done. 'cause i know you won't let me have any peace to- night.” then a smile flitted across her face. “besides, i'm not quite up to havin' you march me 'round out there like we just came from church this morning.” she was conscious of his appraising eyes and dropped her own. this dropping of the eyes, asher reflected, was a special trick of hers, and boy, how she did it. sho' will make a man weak for you, babes. all that day, he was so exhilarated with happy thoughts of getting back home to his “new york wife,” as he called her, that he could scarcely wait for the hour when he would be free to leave the fish- bowl. besides, ester managed to keep out of his sight most of the day and he saw her only once—just a glimpse of her—as he passed through the main dining-room on his way from the fisherman's bar to the kitchen during the dinner hour. so, promptly at ten o'clock that night, he wound up his late-numbers collection and made a beeline for home. - now with the key to the apartment which she had given him that morning he stood on the landing, feeling a deep pride—pride like that of a man about to unlock the door of his newly built suburban home. he put the key in the keyhole, but his hand trembled as a warm quiver of eagerness shot through his body and for several seconds he stood there fumbling with the lock. finally, ester opened the door from the inside and, standing in the doorway, greeted him with an amused expression. “what's the matter, daddy?” she said. “can't you get in?” he grinned broadly as she took the key out of his hand, and sought to put it in the keyhole, to demonstrate how it worked. but he was too quick for her. he encircled her waist with his long, slen- der arms. lifting her a little way in the air, he carried her, strug- gling playfully in his arms, backward across the threshold, and slammed the door shut with the sole of his shoe. “don’t worry, babes,” he said, holding her up in the air in the cubbyhole foyer. “i ain't never missed gettin’ it in yet.” she jabbed playfully at his broad shoulder blades with the heel of her hands several times until with the sheer weight of his power- ful arms he drew her close to him and pressed his lips against her mouth. during the first two weeks of their after-work honeymoon, they were ecstatically happy. hattie made herself agreeable and they had the house to themselves. and never did an hour pass when they were together in their new-found domestic intimacy that they did not belabor one another with a love tap or pinch, pull each other's ear or cheek, slap one another gently on the arm or shoulder. it was a simple home that ester made for asher, one based as much on the customs and sentiments of their pastoral background as on the little gentlenesses and kindnesses that lovers bestow upon one another. she was not a person who tried to avoid or escape her responsibilities. she neither neglected her obligations nor—like the escapist—made excuses that fooled no one. she set herself the task of having a perfect home, and every night when asher came home he found the table set and the place fragrant with the aroma of good food. “what you got in the pot, babes?” he would ask. “suppose you wait and see.” he’d put on a look of mock sternness, the corners of his eyes crinkling merrily. “well, do i git fed or must i starve here listenin' to your jive?” ester, unable to control herself any longer, would shriek with glee: “yeah, but you like it.” “all right, miss smarty,” his eyes sweeping her from head to foot in a look of love and hunger, “that's the way you want it to be, don’tcha?” “yes,” she would say. “yes.” he would put his arms around her and kiss her violently. “now will you feed me?” “that's the way to ask for it,” she would answer. “as soon as you're washed up i’ll have it ready.” “why do you make me beg for it, baby?” it was a well-rehearsed act they went through night after night, for it was music to their hearts. this was the beginning for asher of a happiness which seemed both solid and durable. more importantly, he had the sense to realize his happiness. it seemed to him that ester gave him all that a wife could and, at the same time, he preserved his freedom; she was the most charming woman he had ever known, with a willingness to care for him and to please him that he had never found in any other. besides being an avid reader of the menu suggestions in the women's magazines, ester possessed a natural flair for experiment. ing in the kitchen. but she had seldom, if ever, had the money be: fore to indulge this yen to her heart's content. now that there was my son. yes, her vision of a better way of life—a well-founded busi- ness—was something a man would have to place before her first. yet, whenever she felt suspicion haunting her, she'd say to asher: “are you certain you know what you want?” “as sure as the day is long, babes,” he’d answer. whenever she was given to these deep silences asher wanted her more than ever, this mysterious woman, now so gay and then so quiet, who set his pulses hammering as nobody else ever had. then he always felt a shock of surprise that she was his. he wondered how long he would be able to keep her. there were stretches when ester seemed to be wholly his and there were times when she was withdrawn and distant, when there was a gulf between them he did not know how to bridge. at such times, he'd usually suggest a game of cooncan. he was a very skillful card player, and ester never seemed to tire of the adroit way he'd appear to be losing, only to win at the last moment. a great favorite among waiters, the game has, no doubt, evolved out of the shapes and forms of life that haunt every ghetto. it can best be described as a private version of gin rummy. it is a simple game, the object of which is to form three of a kind, fours and sequences of one suit, by combining the ten cards in the hand with others drawn from the deck, and the player wins who first lays down eleven cards. they sat one night at opposite ends of the long green sofa. ester lost in silence, staring at an ivy plant which shot up out of a flower- box resting on the outside window ledge, its green leaves nosing into the open window. asher watched her out of the corner of his eyes as he went methodically about stripping the eights, nines and tens from the deck of cards. as he shuffled the remainder, he said craftily: “sure would be good to git away on a little vacation, you an’ me.” ester looked quietly and searchingly at him. asher went on: “some place up in the mountains. remember a little place i worked at one summer . . . huh . . . prettiest place you ever did see. the river dropped down close to the side of the road near the hotel—what was the name of that place—anyway usta look out the dining-room window an’ see the river runnin' jus’ as deep an’ green. look up in the hills an’ see rabbits settin' like statues. jus' 'bout dusk the mountains looked like they was on fire . . . all 'round in the valley was half-dark. you couldn't hear nothin' but fish floppin' up an’ down in the water an’ birds chirpin’ in the bushes.” “yeah,” ester said, moodily. asher looked at her warily as he dealt out the cards, making two piles of them, one for ester and the other for himself, and set the remainder of the stack between them. “how'd you like to git away to some place like that?” he asked. “that'd be all right,” she said slowly. “that'd be all right, but . . .” asher broke in: “why don't you look it up in the amsterdam news. they tell me you'd be surprised at some of these cottages colored people got right upstate. whatta you say?” for several minutes ester did not answer, only looking intently into asher's face. when she did speak her voice was deep. she re- peated her words rhythmically as though she had said them many times before. “folks like us, that scuffle for a livin', are always playin' catch-up. 'cause we're always doing somethin’ like that on the spur of the moment. never get ahead. they're not ever free. come to a job an' get a few dollars put away, then something hap- pens, and the first thing you know they're poundin’ the pavements lookin’ for another job. they never do get ahead.” “um-um-um!” asher nodded his head. “remember what you promised me?” “huh! what? oh, yeah—you mean ‘bout settin' you up in busi- ness?” “it sure took a long time for it to come back to you,” ester began. “must have gone in one ear and out the other. but i haven’t for- gotten it, asher brown. an’ if you don't live up to your word, you’ll be looking for me one of these days an’ i’ll be gone.” “i put you in your own shop,” asher began, “an' you're subject to be gone anyway soon as one a them harlem big deals starts but- terin' you up.” “you don’t trust me?” ester said. “so that's it.” “can't you take a joke, babes,” asher said, resignedly. “okay— some day we gonna have that business an' we gonna go off on trips besides.” ester picked up her cards and gestured with them, happily. “that'll be the day.” asher looked at his cards absorbedly. he saw that he had the jack, seven, six and four of spades; five, three and deuce of hearts; king, seven and five of clubs. “whose first play is it?” ester said. “yours. i dealt ’em.” “oh me, i never can remember.” she plucked the five of spades from the deck lying face down on the sofa. but she couldn't use it and handed the card to asher. he studied his hand for several min- utes because the card could be used two ways: by making a run of three with the four and six of spades, or a triplet with the two other fives. “this is gonna be like takin' candy from a baby,” he said boast- fully. “um-um-um!” he said aloud as he wondered whether he'd be lucky enough to draw the queen of spades from the deck before ester drew it. he’d already placed the three of spades in her hand by some inexplicable piece of reasoning. finally he decided to make a spread with the fives of hearts and clubs. ester picked the ace of spades from the deck and, with two other aces in her hand, spread aces, discarding the jack of spades. they each, in turn, plucked several more cards from the deck that they were unable to use. then ester turned up the queen of spades, and it seemed as if she'd never make up her mind whether to use it or not. “study long an’ study wrong,” asher prodded her, in an effort to make her discard the card. “oh, you keep quiet a minute. i can't hear myself think for you talkin’.” “look, baby, some coons can an’some coons can't.” ester flung her hand down on the sofa in a violent gesture of dis- gust, the cards falling to the floor. “don’t bring that nasty, stinkin’ locker-room talk in this house. whatta you think i am?” “what's the matter, baby?” “you know what i mean,” she said, her eyes blazing. he looked at her with a look that was at once a mixture of sur- prise and sheepishness. “don’t be like that. it's jus’ a sayin'... huh . . . you say cooncan, don'tcha . . . you're jus’ a sore loser. can't take it, huh?” ester grew used to having asher about. her days fell into a double- duty pattern—working all day, shopping every other night or so, rushing to have dinner; sandwiched in between all this, she some- how even managed the job of cleaning and keeping the house in order, sometimes at night while the dinner cooked or in the morn- ings after asher had departed. yes, it was a hard job, but she got a thrill of happiness and, more important, a sense of accomplishment out of her new life. she was, nevertheless, aware that the process of sinking roots—which entwine themselves about men and women who have been joined together—was at work only in an odd and per- verse way. for there was no home to be established, no furniture to be purchased. but whenever she thought of all this, she'd cross her fingers and say, as if to chase it from her mind: “if he just don't go crazy over it's coming so fast we'll get straight- ened out bye and bye.” their new-found domestic intimacy made ester a changed person almost overnight. when asher first came to live in the pleasant little apartment she was lonely for the companionship of not just any man but for “her man.” she had hated the life she'd led. until they'd met, it was with a strong sense of guilt that she had made herself affable and congenial to an occasional date, whether or not she was par- ticularly interested. even now when it crossed her mind she had the feeling of having been soiled by the touch of something unclean. and she cried with pity for herself as she thought of the rough way in which a man would let a woman know what he was after. she looked upon asher as a life-saver, and she was grateful to him for having come to her rescue. but several things about asher annoyed her. behind closed doors, he was not a tidy person. she was just as likely to find his pajamas or trousers on the dresser, his newspapers all over the place, the ash- tray on the bed. his idea of a home seemed to be a place in which to eat and sleep. when he came home at night he pulled off his shoes, shed his shirt and flopped on the sofa. the fact that ester began her homework by cooking a fancy dinner after a full day's work didn't worry him one bit. never once did he even offer to help her with the dishes, empty the garbage, or give her a chance to rest by taking over some of the housework. more than anything, ester dreaded the possibility that hattie might show up at any moment, and she did not want to face her with asher lounging about in his undershirt. while she did not show it, the very thought made her inwardly restless and vaguely discon- tented. yet it could have been that it all went deeper than not want- ing hattie to see him thus—stretched out on the long, green sofa in his undershirt. for she and hattie were bosom comrades, drawn to- gether in the welter of the ghetto. perhaps asher's going about in his undershirt symbolized the strangeness of their relationship. a strange- ness that ester never once succeeded in pushing completely from her mind. she was like what the church-minded call a sinner, escaping the indictment, yet constantly haunted for no crime and living in per- petual fear of discovery. the climax came unexpectedly one night toward the end of their second week together. asher had come in that night, and, as usual, shed his shirt and sprawled out on the sofa. as ester prepared the dinner and was telling him the story of something she'd witnessed on the street, the doorbell rang. “ah, for christ sake,” asher exploded. “you ain't gonna answer it, are you?” “the way you got that radio blasting,” she said. “it may be some- thing important, who knows.” together and start panning men. for the moment, he even forgot the importance he’d felt at being labeled a sheik. mother tucker's laugh was an anti-climax. it was low and really amused, but not at all catty. “sorta!” she chortled. “now, listen here, honey, my days are numbered, so you can break right down an' do your ravin' 'bout him to me. i can't do you no harm. . . .” “i’ll bet you could show me a trick or two yet if you wanted to,” ester said. “but there isn't anything to tell, mother tucker. he's jus’ nice people.” “i can see that. he's such a gentleman . . . the way he treats you when you two is together. what kinda business is he in, honey? i jus’ knows he's somethin' big—that car an' the way he dresses.” “he’s got the concession in a private club out on city island.” ester's voice sounded casual enough, but asher thought he detected a note of pride in it. as a matter of fact, he didn't merely think it, he knew it, for her description of his business had even filled him with pride. my old lady sho’ can handle herself in a tight squeeze, he said to himself. “i jus’ knowed it all the time, honey.” mother tucker's voice sounded satisfied and knowing, even a little triumphant. “jus' knowed he had to be somethin' big an important. i says to myself, first time i laid eyes on him, he ain't one of these no-good hustlers 'round here, runnin’ numbers an' hot stuff. honey, you better latch on to him 'fore one a these fast hussies getta hold on him ... they'll live wid 'em 'an slave for 'em an' you won't have a look-in wid him.” “everybody is tryin’ their darndest, it seems, to marry me off.” ester sounded less sure of herself, a little defeated. mother tucker's voice was low and amused again. “lotta triflin' bums 'round.” the sound of her voice filled asher with anger and he wanted to run away, but there was no place to run. what right she got meddling in my business, he asked himself defiantly. “lord, child, i came over to borrow a yeast cake an' here i am jus’ gabbing away.” “you sure one will be enough, mother tucker?” ester said sweetly. asher grimaced, making the sort of expression he might have made had a salesman been showing him an inexpensive suit. ain't even got money enough to keep a lousy cake of yeast in the house, he said to himself. huh! want everybody to be a square like them and starve. he heard the scrape of feet as the two women walked toward the door. he strained to catch their voices, hearing mother tucker say: “remember, honey, they wear the pants but we gotta make somethin' outa them every time. so don't go playin' too hard to get—'specially when you got one sweet on you who's smart enough to git a break from these here white folks.” the next minute, she was at the door saying good night. asher heard ester close the door behind her. asher came back into the living-room and for several minutes he stood in awkward silence, his fingers drumming the edge of the card table, neatly set with service for two. he watched ester sitting on the sofa as she took several long puffs of a cigarette, inhaling the smoke defiantly. “don’t let that trash she was talkin' git you down, babes,” he said at last. his remark seemed at first to have startled ester. then she blurted out angrily: “people always gotta get in somebody's business. why won't they just let me be? i don't bother nobody. get me down. ... listen here, this time next thursday i'll be thirty-four years old. if i ain't old enough to know my own mind now i’ll never know it. ... you coulda backed me up ... but you always layin’ around in your undershirt. if you’d been lookin’ respectable sittin' here she'd never got a chance to open up the way she did. . . . why don't you buy yourself something cool to wear?” asher was obviously taken by surprise. he looked at ester in- credulously for several minutes, apparently not knowing what to say. finally, when he did get his wits together, he said jokingly: “i got a reeal ol' lady—thirty-four! well, i wouldn'ta known it if it hadn't been for this.” ester gave a little amused laugh. asher sat down beside her, took the cigarette from her hand and placed it on an ashtray, flung his arms about her and kissed her, while she, laughing and crying, sur- rendered herself willingly to his embrace. “you do love me, don't you?” she asked plaintively a few minutes later. “sure, babes,” he said. “don’t i act like it?” “you won't let me down?” she questioned, a little breathlessly. “i can depend on you?” he held her in his arms for quite a long while without answering. then he said: “babes, you can make me do anythin' you like.” “d'you mind?” “no, babes, it's too good to me to mind.” shortly after five o'clock the next afternoon asher was sitting in the headwaiter's office, with several stacks of numbers slips and a long line of well-sharpened pencils laid out before him on chief's over-sized mahogany desk. walters, whom he'd been expecting, ap- peared in the doorless entrance. “well, what's the last one?” asher asked impatiently, without once taking his eyes off the desk. “a four! eight twenty-four is the thing for the day,” replied the number-writer, throwing his voice loudly as if he were signaling to someone. asher raised his head slightly, but not high enough to see walters rolling his red eyes to indicate a man standing in back of him. “come on—let's git this over wid,” asher said. walters cleared his voice. “think we got a little nibble in this go-round,” he said. the dried-up little man shuffled into the room. asher sat back in the swivel chair and saw amos dowd standing in the doorway. a look of surprise came into asher's eyes, for no waiter ever paid him a visit in his “office” at this time of day. there was something so professional in his manner, something so business-like and, at the same time, so forbidding, that those waiters who lingered in the locker-room behind chief's five o'clock get-on-the-floor call, hastened out as soon as walters arrived, giving them the “too bad, too sad news.” but this was dowd's day. and he stood there grinning like a man who had just witnessed a long shot on which he'd placed a bet come galloping in ahead of the field. he was a spare, weather-beaten little man with a lean, chocolaty face. his entire body shook—just as it did when he carried a tray perched on his shoulder—like a branch of a tree swaying in the wind. a loud and long talker, he had only recently become a “new yawker.” he'd hailed from “just outside raleigh a piece,” with a caneback suitcase in his gnarled hand, and headed for harlem to enjoy the “free nawth.” he'd worked at several odd jobs—from moving-man's helper to porter—before com- ing to the fishbowl. the waiters had dubbed him old man dowd. as the old man edged his way inside the room asher whirled his chair about and faced him. he scrutinized him suspiciously. “well—what can i do for you?” he demanded at last. “you see,” said dowd, “well i guess you know that's my figure. you know i been layin' wid it a long time but, i always did say, it's a long t'bacco road that ain't got no ashcan in it. yes, sir! i done caught up wid this jive at last. now i ain't tryin'...” asher waved his hand for silence. “well, if you say you got it,” he said, “you must have it. but you coulda give me a chance to check up first.” he turned to walters and addressed him command- ingly: “let me have the lowdown on this.” dowd began again: “now i ain't tryin’ to rush you none, mr. asher. it ain't but a quarter hit. you can give me mine later on ifn you wanta. only i was wantin' to ask you if you could keep it be. tween us in here? i don't want tom an' jack 'round this here place knowin’ my business.” asher said “hum,” and he flopped back in his chair. “don’t know as we can do that. can't do that—gotta let the boys know 'bout your good luck. you're the first one to git a hit ... they're beginnin’ to say i'm puttin' the jinks on ‘em.” walters, who’d found the slip with dowd's play on it, had been waiting patiently for asher to finish talking. he had a perplexed: expression on his face like that of a man casting about in his mind for soothing words in which to couch his thoughts that would not offend his two masters—neither asher, nor his lucky customer—for his palm itched for the tip a winner always gave the number-writer. “ol' luck box,” he began finally. “man, you can't keep all this good luck to yourself. it ain't right. you gotta spread the good thing 'round, man.” “well, men, you may not believe it—but i been sorta thinkin' of stagin' a little shindig at my house but i can't invite this whole crew —it’d get outa hand, surer than hell.” asher's mind nosed over what dowd had said like a man turning over a salesman's claims for a newly marketed cigar. “a party, did you say? hum! that's an idea. i could give my ol' lady a ... how's 'bout lettin' me throw the party?” “your ol' lady?” dowd said. “you an’ miss ester married?” asher grinned broadly. “oh, you know—she's jus’ my new york wife. listen, next thursday's her birthday. i’ll buy the food an’ the liquor an' everything. we can git hattie an' your wife to fix up everythin'. won't cost you one red cent. whatta you say?” dowd's small eyes danced merrily in his lean face as he watched asher pull a fat wad of bills from his trousers pocket, counting out loud as he peeled off $ —the man's winnings—letting the bills fall casually from his hands onto the desk. - “you wouldn’t be aimin’ to invite the whole restaurant, would yóu?” dowd asked. “no, man!” asher said. “jus’ eight or ten couples—every las’ one of 'em hand picked. an' we won't say a word to nobody 'bout this.” “that's a good deal,” dowd said. he picked up his winnings, rapidly and hungrily, giving each bill a tender little pat as he passed it from one hand to the other. when he had counted the money over or two out of his way, just to look at the imposing building that occupied an irregular corner plot which covered over half the blockfront on st. nicholas avenue from rd to th street. each time he did this, his face would soften, take on an added wistfulness, and he'd say to himself: “lord, i wonder. . . .” - it was a regal-looking, dark red brick apartment house. the white stone window ledges and the sparkling white-painted window frames combined to give the house the appearance of having been inspired by some old colonial mansion. a blue-and-white-striped canopy ex- tended from the curb through the deep flagstoned courtyard en- trance, which was banked on both sides with a flowerbed, dividing the house into two huge bays. indeed, dowd might well have fancied himself in the more elegant precincts of park avenue, instead of treading a lower middle-class white neighborhood on the outer rim of harlem. perhaps it was for these reasons—the roominess of their apartment as well as the airs their neighbors put on—that the dowds were in- different to the battle raging between the tenants and the landlord when they moved into the big house—a battle that was tied up with what has come to be known as “bleeding a house” for the last ounce of juicy profit. the builder's market was still thriving when sam levine, the well- known speculator, built the house in . a wise man, he had heard the pleas of many small harlem tradesmen who, while unable or unwilling to meet the riverside drive rentals, clamored for liv- ing space within walking distance of their establishments. a man of the times, he prudently saw that the house was built largely on borrowed money, sinking only fifty thousand dollars into the ven- ture himself. doubling his money within three years he passed the “good thing” on to other hands—an unidentified woman who oper- ated the house in the name of the reserve stock corporation, and after her—during the rain of foreclosures—another unidentified woman for only one year. then, in , the west harlem savings bank, which had advanced levine three hundred thousand dollars to build the house, took control and began bleeding the house. door service, the house-supplied venetian blinds, the annual redec- oration of apartments. what had been the finest kitchen equipment and the latest automatic elevators fell into disrepair. steam heat and hot water became permanently in short supply. the ornate marble lobby grew shabby. almost everything in the lobby showed lack of care—the coverings of the chairs became soiled and, in places, threadbare, the tan drapes at the windows in the lobby turned a deep greenish brown, the rugs and the rubber runners that stretched the length of the lobby showed neglect. about this time, when the last few remaining white tenants had given up the fight and were moving elsewhere, the dowds applied for an apartment. the super, doubling as a renting agent, had hesi- tated over accepting them. but a ten-dollar tip changed his mind— for that nearly equaled his weekly wage—plus the first two months' rent which was a hundred and fifty dollars (representing a twenty- dollar monthly undercover hike which they gladly paid). thus they had at long last been domiciled in a three and a half room “suite” in the big house that overlooked the courtyard—one flight up, but the dowds never walked, using one of the two self-service elevators at all times. now that the party was set to come off, dowd and asher talked about it in the restaurant during the next few days. “we’re gonna have a ball,” dowd would say, like an adult trying, as he emulated an adolescent's slangy language, to find the hidden meaning in the phrase. “we gonna ball back.” “yeah man! we gonna pitch—right in the groove,” asher would comment. and tapping one foot as if in time to music, his shoulders would swing and sway; his eyes turned as if he had an image of the party—people moving excitedly about, their voices a medley of gay and rippling laughter. “man, it's gonna be reeal smooth.” that was the kind of party asher's imagination projected. one that was compounded out of his memory of small and intimate yet lavish affairs he'd once served in the private-party room of a fash- ionable men's club—where there had been food and liquor enough for even the waiters to get “theirs.”—and the lush parties he'd seen in numerous hollywood dramas where, as he said, “hipped chicks cavorted with sharp-togged slicksters.” and since it was to be a small, informal party, each guest on asher's hand-picked list measured up in some vague way to his idea of the kind of person it would take to make the party a success. each one got the news from him in strict secrecy, and he used the phrase “man, it's gonna be reeal groovy down at ol' man dowd's.” everyone lucky enough to get an invite was going; no one in his right mind would think of missing the party. since it was to be a birthday party for ester given by asher—the fishbowl's number banker—everyone knew it would be a solid party with plenty of everything. occasionally, however, dowd would rub asher the wrong way. asher, walking about the restaurant, was sometimes surprised and annoyed to find the old man, his mouth set in a wide grin, standing quietly by his side, ready and eager to discuss some phase of the party which they had already gone over before. “i still say,” the old man would begin, “if it was me givin' my lady friend a birthday party i’d plaster the place all up wid red, white an' blue buntin’. hang up a lotta balloons all over the place. an' man, i'd find a great big happy birthday sign”—he'd stretch his arms out wide—“from here to yonder. women folks eat that sorta stuff up.” asher would study the old man offhandedly for a moment. only the faintest trace of annoyance touched asher's tight-set lips. this old fart, he'd say to himself. if he'd just keep his old-fashioned notions down in his belly somewhere. i gotta good mind to pull the party off up the house . . . it sho' would be pretty hard to keep it from ester . . . now if we only had a phonograph. then he'd put on a condescending smile and say to the old man, jokingly: “no wonder everybody calls you ol' man dowd. don't you know, that crap went out wid the gas-lamps. ain't nobody but you-all down home folks goin’ in for that sorta stuff nowadays.” “well, i was jus’ tellin' you how i usta do it,” dowd replied, nod. ding his head dubiously. “but ain't nothin’ like it usta be no more. but i sho’usta to put on some big blowouts. you know, it was funny —didn't need much in them days. couple quarts of any ol' kinda liquor, a few cans of grapefruit juice an’ some decorations.” he lapsed into silence long enough to catch his breath. “things was sho’ tough in them days. big ones was eatin’ little ones. hadda scuffle mighty hard to make it. folks would say, don’t see how you do it. i'd tell 'em a heap sees but a few knows.” there was, however, one point on which they both agreed. and that was how the party should go—the shouts of greetings, the congratulations, the noise and good-fellowship. for all that, asher was prepared to go to any expense. for while it was true it was to be ester's birthday party, asher also knew that his reputation would stand or fall depending on the kind of party he gave her. and as the planning reached its crescendo, he thought less and less of ester and more and more of how he was going to impress with the evidence of his mounting wealth those waiters lucky enough to be invited. for, as he said, “man, i can't afford to play myself cheap. i ain't one of them small-time hustlers.” take the matter of refreshments. asher and hattie gave the problem considerable thought and hattie came to the conclusion that a buffet supper—one that would have “that choosy look,” as she put it, where everybody could help themselves—would be the best solution. since the bulk of this supper was to be purchased from the kingfish's wholesale supplier, it became dowd's duty to approach the boss. (for asher had been quite wary of discussing any aspect of his affairs with the kingfish that might implicate him with ester since the night the kingfish had ridiculed their relationship.) in the com- mission of this task, the old man experienced a pleasing sense of power and importance, much like a man who'd just had an honorary title bestowed upon him by a fraternal society. for the list included many choice edibles: a twenty-pound turkey, an eighteen-pound ham, a dozen boiled lobsters, ten pounds of crabmeat and ten pounds of boiled shrimp. asher himself bought the whisky. there was a whisky shortage on and he had to shop several stores, but he man- aged to get six bottles of ester's favorite scotch, six quarts of cana- dian rye, two quarts of bourbon and two gallons of wine. promptly at midnight—the hour asher had fixed upon for them to make their grand entry—he brought his automobile to a jolting halt in front of the big house. so suddenly, in fact, that ester and dave, riding with him on the front seat, were tossed up, bouncing back and forward, as though a rut in the roadway had stopped the car. “easy—does—it—pardner,” said dave, panting out the words as he drew his long legs out of the car. ester jumped out nimbly, the hem of her skirt flying up above her knees. dave held her loosely about the waist with one arm, and together they waited while asher turned off the motor. asher walked slowly around the front of his automobile and looked straight into the stonily set faces of three men lounging about a nearby lamp post. although the men did not move, asher noticed a faint gleam of recognition in their eyes as they looked from him to the car. then he heard one of the men, a short and thickly built person, with an egg-like head, say out the side of his mouth: “look at 'im! thinks he's like the song, “got the world by a drawstring.’ but i got news for him.” i don't know who's worse, asher said to himself, these damn stumble bums or the white folks. they sure hate to see a man on top. oh well. . . . he heard dave talking in his slow and bantering fashion. “you gotta slip it to this pretty little brown babe slow an’ easy. you gotta lead her to the jive like you'd lead a lamb to the slaughter—so she won’t know from nothin’.” “humph!” asher grunted, looking back over his shoulder at the three men. ester smiled gaily. but apparently dave's quip sailed over her || head, for she said: “that's right! teach him. 'cause when its slow an’ easy—ah, that gets it, every time with me.” in spite of dave's and ester's repartee, asher remained tensely that her hips and feet might get “loose,” too; raymond, the “hi-de- ho” boy, who listened to the music as if in a trance, sitting with rose, a plump, pleasant-faced young woman, who moved her feet nervously about as though she, too, itched to dance; harold trubee, the young virginian who was preparing to be an undertaker, holding the frail, limp hand of peggy, his girl friend, a tormented little creature who wore an expression of forlorn boredom as if she'd be glad when the party was over so she could take her “future” home; there was “big" jackson, the smartly dressed “sportsman” in a brown and tan ensemble, looking old and tired as a hawk, whose face in repose suggested that his stronger passions had now passed over into his love of the horses. with him sat mildred, a snub-nosed woman with ebony curls, who held her head in the manner of a school- teacher, prim and proper, while her slanting eyes hinted that she had known and been possessed by many men. the music stopped, the foyer was suffocatingly hot, and ester felt herself trembling with excitement. the scene which she had just witnessed while peering into the living-room was to her like a blurred picture, as if she had looked at a snapshot taken out of focus. she had really been taken quite unaware and, for several minutes, she had stood on her toes, her body bent slightly forward like that of a ballet dancer. now she looked about her, from dave to dowd to asher, with a flustered expression. - then she saw the buffet supper arranged on a long, narrow table which stood along a wall opposite a red plush sofa. in the center of the table, there was a large layer cake with a thick white frosting decorated with six tiny candles. a big turkey, crisply browned all over, rested on an enormous platter at one end of the table. one side of its breast had been carved and huge, thick slices of the white meat were piled high beside the big bird. at the opposite end of the table, there was a similarly carved ham, with its thick skin removed, revealing its molasses-browned juicy meat. between the two platters and all round-the cake there was a great variety of mouth-watering salads—chicken, potato, shrimp, lobster, crabmeat. there were also huge plates of hard-boiled eggs, olives, and cheese and crackers. hooked her arm around that of the young lawyer and clung to him. “jimmie, here,” she said demurely, “is such a life-saver to take mercy on an ol' married woman so she can see you-all carry on.” hattie began to clap her hands and tap her feet self-consciously as she started to sing: “happy birthday, to you; happy birthday, to you; happy birthday, dear ester . . .” one by one, in tune and out of tune, everyone in the room took up the refrain, their voices creak- ing and croaking. just then asher and mrs. dowd came into the living-room. the old lady wiped her hands on a plastic tea-apron. and without waiting for an introduction, she went right up to ester, threw her arms about her and kissed her on the cheek as an older woman might welcome a bride into the fold. “it’s so nice to meet you,” she exclaimed with generous kindness. “now, dearie, you jus’ make your- self right at home.” “thank you, mrs. dowd,” ester replied, her large black eyes misty with pleasure. dowd, who had started to pass a large wooden tray of drinks around, found dave and thrust the tray toward him. “here,” he said, “you do this. i gotta put some life in this here party 'fore everybody goes off to sleep. an' believe me, i got jus’ the thing to do it—a real ol’-time record. bought it the other day jus’ for this blowout.” he beckoned to asher as he walked over to the phonograph. “got one a bessie smith's ol' records,” he said. “don’t reckon you ever heard her, did you?” asher nodded his head, dubiously. “no,” he answered, “don’t know as i have.” dowd looked at asher with a sad expression on his face and shook his head. “son,” he said, “you sure missed somethin'. she was the greatest of all the ol’-time blues singers. the queen, they called her. i can remember when i was knee-high to a duck she usta come 'round down home givin' tent shows. folks would come from miles around, from everywhere, to hear ol' bessie.” ester and hattie and several of the other party-makers had by then joined asher and dowd. and it was as if having an audience she sang of parties where, after a week of unrewarding toil, people got together to forget mr. charley's hard knocks. she sang of satur- day nights, when work was done and mr. charley's restraints were forgotten and people felt free to invite themselves to other people's parties—whether wanted or not. she sang these things with a per- sonal sadness. ol' hannah brown from cross town gets full of corn and starts breaking 'em down just at the break of day you can hear ol' hannah say ...” she sang of the raw stuff of life in the ghetto, the leftovers, fashioning them into symbols that spoke boldly of a people's over- flowing vitality and of their everlasting faith and hope in a new life that would surely, one day, be a-borning. she sang, too, of their willingness to offer a token premium to one of their own who some- how had acquired a polish, a smoothness, even a slickness like that which seemingly enabled mr. charley to lead a life of ease. she sang of all these things, in a voice that was harsh and volcanic, but seductive and sensuous, too. and she added a loud and shrill “holler” to the end of each line that was a maddening and hungering cry. gimme a pig foot and a bottle of beer send me gate i don't care i feel just like i wanna clown give the piano-player a drink because he's got rhythm—yeah he sends me right off to sleep” as the song progressed, asher grew more and more troubled and restless. and every time a loud “holler” came out of the loud-speaker he would give a little involuntary shudder, folding and unfolding his arms nervously. finally, unable to stand the tension any longer, he lunged toward the phonograph. dowd caught his arm just in time to stop asher as he sought to snatch up the machine's playing-arm. taking great care, the old man stopped the phonograph. * by permission of the author, wesley wilson. “jesus christ!” asher exploded. “that goddam thing’ll give a man the creeps. play somethin' somebody can dance by. ain't no- body wanna hear that crap. sounds like some ol' down home re- vival meetin’.” dowd had a hurt expression on his face. he looked about him. everybody seemed to be tense and sad. nobody had anything to say. then he hunched his shoulders in defeat. “all right,” he said. “didn't mean no harm. jus’ thought you-all might like hearin’some real ol’- time blues. but, please, let me handle this here radio.” now the party really began to relax. everybody was trooping back and forth, from the living-room to the kitchen, where in the parti- tioned-off section which served as a dining space and opened onto the foyer, a makeshift bar had been set up on the kitchen table. dave mixed the drinks. and as asher said, “the juice was flowing, flow- ing back. everybody's juicing.” everybody was feeling better and better. all around, guests were laughing. there was much more laughter than there was talk, much more gesticulating and ogling than talk. everything seemed unrestrained, abandoned, and yet arti- ficial. dancing had begun again. mrs. dowd stood in the arched entry- way, looking on as the last touch of stiffness disappeared. old man dowd, standing guard over the phonograph, did a tap dance. there was a strong air of flirtatiousness—the men trying to impress the women with their gracefulness, the women, in turn, responding with their wiggling hips and coquettish ways. mildred, the snub-nosed woman with the air of a schoolteacher, bent her arms and elbows in front of big jackson. something in his old and tired and sensual face seemed to light up faintly as she tossed her head and rolled her eyes at him. her hips swaying from side to side, slowly she began to pull up her dress, exposing lace-trimmed step-ins and an island of brown flesh. her stockings were rolled down below her knees. finally, she ceased her swaying and began to dance. everyone in the room formed a circle about her and gaped, giggled, and applauded as she did one final split, touching the floor in front of big jackson. ester was a great success. she was the most attractive of all the women, elegant, gracious, smiling and full of joy. all the men clam- ored for her, hinting at future dates. all of them danced with her; some several times. and she danced with enthusiasm, with passion, intoxicated with pleasure, thinking of nothing, in the triumph of her birthday party, in the glory of her success, in a kind of cloud of happiness that came of this homage, and all this admiration, of all these awakened desires, and this victory so complete and soul- satisfying to the heart of woman. asher was gay and sportive, too. his face warmed and softened, his pulse beat fast. and he acted as if he were indeed king of the occasion as he walked about the room, highball in hand, calling women from other men's arms, demanding a sip from the drink of any woman he happened to see moving about with a glass in her hand, laughing uproariously, making ribald jokes to husbands or boy friends about his own great amorous powers. it was a gay but well-behaved party. the noise of the fun-makers never once threatened to become riotous or to get out of hand. and this was fortunate for, in the big house, the tenants were supposed to tune their radios down and never speak above a whisper after eleven o'clock. everything was rolling merrily along when, suddenly, a terrific pounding shook the door. a great voice shouted: “hey amos, open up.” dowd seemed to become rooted in an overstuffed chair near the console combination. he sat up a trifle straighter—or rather, slumped a trifle less. he looked at some object on the other side of the room. a bewildered expression filled his face. he locked and unlocked the fingers of his hands, nervously and rapidly. asher, who had been standing near the buffet table, started for the door, thinking, no doubt, it was walters, his number-writer, who was expected as soon as he got away from the restaurant. asher opened the door an inch or two, very quietly, so that he saw only a thin slice of the hallway, but not enough to distinguish the owner of the voice. just then the great voice boomed again: “come on, open that damn door. it's me, pretty willie ... i'se got ev'body wid me. cryin' sam an' flathead an’ shorty . . . come on, man . . . we done waked up one sam . . . lookin' all evil . . . thought i was gonna have to straighten him out.” asher tried to close the door. but pretty willie, lunging against the door, thrust it open and almost fell across the threshold. he looked up at asher. “’cuse me, thought you was ol' dowd, man,” he said. with one wild surge the eighth avenue crowd barged into the dowds’ apartment. and the fight was on. dave, coming from the kitchen with a whisky bottle, brought it down flush on pretty willie's head, dropping the man to the floor like a bag of loosely packed sand. asher caught flathead with a sledge-hammer blow on his jaw which sent him back, rocking on his heels. and cryin’ sam let go with a whopper that merely glanced the side of asher's face, high on his cheekbone. big jackson, leaping from the living-room, grabbed cryin’ sam by the front of his shirt up near the collar and, shoving him over pretty willie's outstretched body, sent him flying backwards into the hallway. shorty was firmly gripped by raymond and casablanca and pitched out of the apartment. the commotion was over so quickly that neither harold trubee nor j. adams forbes had a chance to get into the brawl, both of them having effectively blocked each other's way with their bodies, so that neither of them could get through the arched entryway that divided the living-room and the foyer. dowd, of course, remained in the living-room with the girls. asher and his boys now stood only a few feet away from the dowds’ door in the hallway, surrounding the sullen-faced and com- pletely subdued eighth avenue crowd, while they debated whether to take them out into the street and really work them over thoroughly. tenants all up and down the long corridor, who had heard the loud and profane voices and the door flying open under the impact of the struggling men, were now peeking from their own doors, uttering grunts and making little noises of disgust, sucking in the air between their teeth. then the police arrived, slinking up to the men, pistols drawn, as though they were trailing gangsters. there were four of them—two ordinary-sized, red-faced cops, a tall, rangy one and a short, roundish one. apparently the rangy one and the roundish one were both new and were bent on going into the situation with a maximum of conscientiousness. “now, what's going on here?” the rangy one began, after looking briefly at the well-dressed defenders. asher gestured toward the dowds’ open doorway, but said nothing. meanwhile, the short cop had poked his head into the apartment. “everybody stay where you are,” he commanded. then he turned back to asher. “this your place?” he asked. asher explained that they were having a quiet little birthday party and that everything had been going along nicely until the strangers had knocked on the door. the two older cops exchanged knowing frowns. they appeared openly leery of asher's explanation. then, taking charge of the questioning, they backed asher and his companions into the dowds’ apartment, leaving their younger colleagues to guard the intruders. “what you sellin' in here, boy?” one asked. “runnin’ a little crap game, maybe?” the other cop cross-examined. “no, sir, officer,” asher said. “nothin’ like that! you can see for yourself. everything is on the up an' up.” one of the cops closed the door behind him. asher called dowd. then he said to the policemen: “it’s his apartment.” dowd came out into the foyer, looking from one to the other policeman, shaking all over. “this your place?” barked the cop standing nearest asher. “y-yes, s-sir!” dowd stammered, looking at no one in particular. “you giving this party?” demanded the other cop. “i—it—it—it ain't exactly mine,” dowd said, still staring into space. “it’s his'm, mistah officer.” he pointed in asher's direction. “throwin’ it for his lady friend.” the cop standing next to asher nudged him. “got any identifica- tion on you?” he said. “sure!” asher said. he reached confidently toward the inside pocket of his sky-blue, double-breasted jacket, but his movement died in mid-air. “it’s in my other suit,” he said. then, as if instinctively, he reached into his trousers pocket and pulled out a fistful of money. “i’m the captain out to the fishbowl,” he said impressively. “you can check on me. these, here, is some of my men.” the cop that had nudged asher nodded sardonically and con- tinued: “well, i suppose you want me to believe you don't know those guys.” he nodded in the direction of the door. “what'd they do? make a pass at your gal, boy?” asher stood now absent-mindedly fumbling with the roll of bills in his hands. he appeared to be peeling off bills without taking notice of what he was doing. the other cop who'd been standing silently observing asher took off his blue cap and scratched his sandy hair. then he cupped his cap in both hands and stepped between asher and the group in such a way that his body blocked the money in asher's hands from the view of the others. “it does look sorta like a little private get- together,” he said. asher caught on immediately. “sure!” he said. “we ain't never laid eyes on them bums 'til they banged on the door.” then he pushed four twenty-dollar bills in the cop's cap. as the two cops went out into the hallway asher called to them: “come out on the island any time you like an' have dinner wid me. jus' ask anybody 'bout the place for asher brown. they'll fine me.” no sooner had the door closed on the cops than everyone in the foyer heaved a deep sigh of relief. casablanca slapped asher on the back, resoundingly. “my boy!” he said. “you sure are mr. treetop tall.” “you sure played it cool,” raymond said. “cool as a cucumber.” “he sure did,” said big jackson, “get down wid some fast action. like one of them photo-finishes out to the track. all i saw was that copper's hand goin’ in his pocket wid the jive.” asher, his face wreathed in a grin, stood now surrounded by his companions, with both hands stuck in his pants pockets, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. absent-mindedly he watched dowd who, having detached himself from the group, groped about straight- ening up the furnishings in the foyer. in a fumbling and uncertain manner, the old man picked up a small console table and placed it beneath a metal-framed mirror which hung on a narrow expanse of wall space between the kitchen entry and a closet door. then he righted a wooden clotheshorse that leaned against another wall. suddenly, asher began to cackle, uproariously, as if he were laughing over a secret, and his shoulders bobbed up and down the way a dancer's shoulders move. and there was in his laughter a mix- ture of merriment and triumph, a note of snickering, of mourning, of hilarity, of derision, of distress. he stopped laughing just as suddenly as he had started, the mus- cles in his face still twitching. “man, when you got money you got everythin’,” he said pompously. then his brow furrowed, as if there were something he could not quite express. “you can get anythin' in this man's world when you got the ol’ mazuma. yessir, all you gotta do is have it. new york's finest . . . huh! you can buy every las’ copper. man, you can make the goddam law.” meanwhile, a deep hush had settled in the living-room. still and tense, the party-makers were like a theater audience as the curtain goes down after the climax of an overpowering drama. hattie stood near the buffet table, with her hands on her hips. behind her, miss georgiana and rose and mildred huddled together at the end of the long table, their eyes bulging with unconcealed fright. over in the other corner between the window and the phonograph, peggy and anne stood in a sort of sheltered lee formed by their escorts, harold trubee and j. adams forbes. the girls, their mouths curled in scorn, eyes flashing angrily, seemed to be in silent communion with one another. it seemed as if peggy were saying “what'd you expect of these kind of people?”; while anne seemed to be crying “i’ve never been so disgraced in all my life.” asher strolled into the center of the room, with his head and shoulders held proudly erect, the little band of happy warriors trooping behind him, like hangers-on trailing a victorious prize- fighter. yet, in spite of his seeming swagger, he'd stepped hurriedly past ester who sat with mrs. dowd on the divan just inside the entryway. it might well have been that she made him feel a little less sure of himself, for she had given him a stabbing look with her fiery black eyes, at the same time seeming to shy away from him, as though fearful he had intended touching her. - “all right, folks,” he said, looking about with an impish grin. “everything's under control.” for a moment nobody said anything. but several of the women heaved deep sighs, like people at a funeral; while others fidgeted as though uncertain whether or not to move about. “w-h-e-e!” hattie exploded. “it like to scared the livin’ daylights outa me there for a hot minute. they sure made a lotta racket. sounded like the roof was fallin' in.” “wasn't nothin’ to it,” asher said. “jus' one a them things— a bunch of bums.” hattie squinted reflectively. “wonder how they . . .” asher cut her words off deliberately. “let’s have somethin’ to eat, hattie—i’m hungry enough to eat a horse.” then, talking rapidly, he went on: “hey, dowd, how’s 'bout somethin’ to drink? man, i feel jus’ as dry as if i ain't had a drink all night.” dowd, appearing relieved to get out of the room, beckoned to dave and headed for the kitchen hurriedly. asher followed behind them. “i know damn good an’ well you didn't invite them jokers,” he said. “not you, dowd. didcha? they just happened by.” “huh!” “don’t huh me.” - the old man gave a start as he watched a sardonic smile curl the corners of asher's mouth. dowd's eyeballs rolled upward. a frightened look stole into his face while he watched asher step threateningly close to him. “well,” he said finally, “it wasn't exactly my fault. that is er-er-er i couldn't help it. you see, it was like this. couple of the boys was standing out on the corner last night when we got outa your car wid all the food an’ liquor. an’ they just put two an’ two together, i suppose.” asher drew his hand back as though about to give the old man a back-handed clout. “don’t hand me that stuff. who do you think you're talkin' to? a damn fool?” dave stepped in front of asher. “calm yourself, pardner,” he said. “we’ve had enough rumblin’ for one night.” “honest,” dowd said, as though he were trying to convince dave rather than asher. “that's the way it happened. 'cause when i went out to get the papers they was still down there. an' they had it all figgered out. i tried to tell 'em one a the cap'ns out the place was throwin' the shindig for his gal friend.” for a moment there was a stony silence. then dave said, laugh- ingly: “we know how it is, pal. once a turkey always a turkey.” “a first-class turkey at that,” asher said as he marched out of the kitchen. hattie, meanwhile, like an actor taking his cue from another, had pressed miss georgiana into service. and together the two women, working rapidly at the munificent buffet table, were prepar- ing lavish helpings of ham and turkey and various salads. while they passed the plates around, asher stood with his back to the guests, nibbling on olives and cheese and crackers, his eyes nervously scanning the wall and the ceiling. despite this bustle of activity, the party seemed to be dying on its feet. the party-makers now sat in attitudes of silent watchfulness, stiff-backed and glum-faced. their eyes blinked in the light which flickered every now and then from too much drain on the current, causing minute circles of blackness to appear, like sunspots before their eyes. idly, some fingered the drinks the old man and dave rushed to them; while others gulped theirs down, signaling, crafty- eyed, for another. everyone eagerly accepted the heaping plates of food. yet everyone ate in a nervous and self-conscious manner, try- ing desperately to avoid each other's furtive glances. only occasionally did anyone attempt conversation, half-hearted attempts that died in mid-air. through all this, ester and mrs. dowd continued to sit in with- drawn silence. ester's expression remained impassive; not a muscle in her face quivered. there was, however, something about the way she sat forward, on the edge of the sofa, that made her seem alert to the sullen undercurrent of shame and defiance in this atmosphere of silent watchfulness. her eyes, now small and piercing, semed to take in everything—the raising of an eyebrow, the inclination of a head or the pursing of lips—without seeming to look anyone straight in the eye. and her breath came in short, jerky spurts as if controlled by the soft but rapid tap, tap, tap of mrs. dowd's foot, as the older woman nervously tapped the hardwood floor. then, suddenly, peggy and anne simultaneously began signaling their escorts with their eyes as though indicating their readiness to leave. apparently ester was aware of their intentions, for without seeming to attract attention she left the room and went out into the kitchen, shoving the door partly closed behind her. she dropped into a chair beside a table in the waist-high partitioned-off dining space. - “huh!” she said aloud. for a moment she looked around with an expression of thoughtfulness. everything seemed curiously empty— curious, because so much had happened. beneath the window ledge, lined up in a neat row, were eight empty whisky bottles, and in the corner stood a wooden crate half-full of empty beer bottles. at the bar there were six bottles of whisky, two of which had already been partly emptied, and two unopened gallon jugs of wine. besides them, there was an array of club soda and ginger-ale bottles, two bowls of cracked ice, swimming in water, and a number of glasses—some tall and thick, like jelly glasses, others short and bespeckled with tiny stars such as dairy concerns use for promotion purposes. “what a lot of waste,” ester muttered, shaking her head from side to side. “all this money thrown away for nothin’.” then, hearing voices in the foyer, she stopped to listen. “it was such a swell party,” peggy was saying. “dear me, i hardly know who to thank for what . . .” “isn't it the truth,” put in anne. “i know you gave it, mr. asher. but you, mrs. dowd . . .” “now, don't you-all go thankin’ me,” mrs. dowd said. “i’m jus’ so sorry it all had to turn out . . .” do what she wants, for my sake. i wouldn't lead you wrong, son.” asher looked at mrs. dowd questioningly for a minute. “all right,” he finally replied. they said little more then. and in a few minutes asher took ester home without either of them saying good night to the remaining guests. friday night, just before dinner got under way, asher stood outside the white colonial entrance to the restaurant watching the passersby. it was a hot, sultry day on city island and the sky was a patch quilt of tiny sullen clouds. the sightseers moved aimlessly along in the silence that had settled over the island in the absence of a breeze. walters was at asher's side, leaning against the building wall. “i’m beat,” he said, wearily. “i’m beat right down to my socks.” his shoulders sagged dejectedly. “work, work, work—that's all i do. a man my age ain't got no business workin' this hard.” defiantly, he flipped a cigarette out into the roadway. “so goddam tired when i gits in bed at night i can't sleep. feel like them waves is beatin’ hell outa me all night long.” asher listened to walters seriously. but there was nothing he could say. for at the fishbowl, all during the months of july, august and september, the waiters worked seven days a week. they could have as much “time in the street” during the winter as they wanted, the kingfish said, provided they “show up on weekends when i need them.” but for a waiter to take a day off during his busy season was indeed an unpardonable sin. of course the kingfish did not put his “no time off” edict into words. he was far too adroit for that. he merely had his paymaster hand an erring waiter, one who per- haps needed a day off the first part of the week, his pay envelope minus the weekly twenty-dollar bonus; if the waiter was out a day the last half of the week, he lost not only that week's bonus but also the next week's; and if he “slipped up” on a saturday or sunday he became one of the “regular extras”—that is, his bonus was taken from him for good. and the kingfish rejected all excuses—proved illnesses or even death in the family—with a disdainful shrug of his shoulder. asher felt above all this. besides receiving a forty-dollar weekly bonus as the captain of the fisherman's bar, he could take time off whenever he wanted to. consequently, once he'd supervised his num- bers collection that morning—the morning after the party—he had to have, as he phrased it, “time to catch up on my sleep.” had it not been the beginning of the long, mad-house weekend he'd have taken the remainder of the day off, but on that day he, too, had to answer the five o'clock get-on-the-floor call. at the start of the friday night dinner hour he had to take over his weekend station in the main dining-room in part payment for the bounty that was his by virtue of the kingfish's generosity. the bounty had been good to asher. what's more, like a lucky find being shared among friends, the bounty had that very day been divided at the fishbowl. the winning digit that day was and two of the waiters were in the chips having won a little over five hundred dollars. harris, the recently married man from missis- sippi, had collected two hundred dollars; while kimball, who the waiters said “ain't got chick nor child,” won the lion's share.” asher had returned to the restaurant just in time to pay the win- ners. the take that day had been good. even after he'd deducted the winnings he still had three hundred dollars for himself. he felt at peace with the world. looking at walters out of the corner of his eye he said: “you got yours, ain'tcha?” walters, who had lapsed into a brooding silence, came to life. “yeah, i’m satisfied,” he said. “funny thing 'bout a man. they all the time cryin' broke but they sho’ can scare it up for these num- bers. it's a good racket.” “that's what i’m talkin' 'bout,” asher said. “come on. let's go on in an’ knock this dinner out. ain't gonna be nothin' to it.” all week because, as they put it, “there ain't no use slavin’ for nothin'.” finally walters waved his hand in the direction of broadway and said: “i was jus’ fixin' to turn my station over to one of them.” “why not?” asher replied, hunching his shoulders. “we got ours. ain't no use breakin' your ass.” “looka, will you. chief's got all the greedy ones tied up in here. an it'll be way after seven 'fore they gits back in the second section.” “so what?” asher snapped. “hungry as they are, they'll snatch checks all over the joint.” walters laughed softly, but did not answer. and for a few minutes asher was silent. suddenly he realized his mouth had been working as though he had been talking to himself. his body seemed to grow tense as he finally blurted out: “poor-ass jokers.” “you sure said a mouthful that time,” walters said, chortling. “they ain't got a pot to use or a window to throw it outa.” “an’ what gits me, is they suppose to know so goddam much,” asher said. “i ain't got no use for broke bastards like them. oughta work 'em 'til their tongues drop out.” and he looked over at the extra waiters in broadway with an expression that was filled with loathing. just then chief, in his cream-colored dinner jacket, walked down the center of the dining-room followed by one of his cronies, thomas, a husky-shouldered man who carried a sheaf of menus under his arm. the headwaiter grimaced at asher, his mouth curled in open hostility, showing gold teeth. “looka ol' chief,” said asher. “sharp as a tack. must be ex- pectin’ it to bust open here tonight.” “same as every friday night,” chief snapped. “whattsa matter, afraid you might get a little workout?” “you know me. you put 'em down an' i'll get 'em up. every time!” “yeah!” chief replied sarcastically. “something's gonna drop on you one of these days an' you ain't gonna be able to get from under it. an’ real soon, i'm thinkin’.” thomas shrieked with laughter. sev. eral diners seated in the center of the dining-room stretched their necks, peered over the copper screen and stared at them. asher moved along to where three waiters were clustered about a service buffet at the entrance to the alcove. two of the men were old aces who worked in the alcove regularly. one of them, charlie hogan, was tall and dark brown. the other, freddy rowden, was a fat shapeless little man with a shiny bald head. asher had never seen the third man before. something about the man puzzled asher. he looked intently at the man as he came close. the stranger was a tall, rangy mulatto. and his small eyes constantly shifted about in his lynxlike face, never quite meeting those of his companions in a frank and friendly exchange. he had long mandarin fingernails, cruel-looking like an eagle's claws, and long, tapering fingers which showed off a flashy mexican diamond ring on one hand and a huge black stone on the other. indeed, everything about the man gave the impression of his being as slick as the half-pound of grease he had plastered on his hair. he stood some five feet off, in front of the two waiters, staring at them with an expression of surprise. suddenly he exploded in derisive laughter. just as asher came abreast of the men he looked across the dining- room and saw ester standing in the doorway of the rest room, smiling at him. she made her lips move as though she were about to say something to him. but then she looked from one to the other of the waiters and, as she saw the laughing waiter, the smile on her face instantly vanished. she turned about immediately and disappeared inside the rest room. the stranger turned to asher, tilted his head back, and looked him up and down. who the hell is this jerk? asher asked himself. just another ass- bucket. he returned the man's stare, as the stranger began to jump up and down in a straight line, chuckling to himself. something about the incident made asher feel queasy all over as though some. thing were crawling over him. what the hell she run for, he won- dered. hogan and rowden exchanged glances, snickering nervously. asher stared fixedly at them, his eyebrows rising in surprise. but the two old aces averted their eyes. the stranger now wore a cynical look, and, as if aware of asher for the first time, he said: “how you, boss?” “not me,” rowden said, obviously relieved to get an idle conversa- tion going. “i got myself a sweet little young chick. give her every- thin' i got each an' every tuesday i'm off. man, i jus’ knock my- self out with her.” slater jumped straight up and down, laughing uproariously. “must knock yourself out dreamin’,” he said. “ol' an’ dried up as you are —you can’t even remember what you were like twenty years ago.” “look out now,” hogan said. “this here is a young man you talkin’ to.” “whatcha mean, twenty years ago?” rowden said, feigning a cocky aggressiveness. “i’m better than i was twenty years ago. i gets better with age.” slater weakly pushed the outstretched palm of his hand toward rowden. “you can't jive the jiver,” he said. “i back cap all plays.” it seemed to asher that there was something dark and insinuat- ing in the way slater had spoken. he had the distinct impression that the man's words were intended for him. and he began to feel an al- most uncontrollable stir of anger. the restaurant suddenly seemed stiflingly hot, and he could feel the perspiration oozing out all over him. he felt an urge to say something sharp, to put the man in his place, but he did not have the chance to answer. for, at that moment, there was a commotion at the parking-lot entry. people coming and leaving the restaurant were pushing and shoving one another, like shoppers milling about in a department store just before the closing hour. at the same time, two women were preparing to leave the rest room, and ester stood in the doorway, smiling wanly at them. and, in a flash, slater had started running across the dining-room, zig- zagging through the crowd like a broken-field football runner. asher snorted violently as he watched slater dart across the room. i’d like to put my foot in his ass, he told himself. he looked furtively after hogan and rowden, both of whom had started walking toward their stations. one of them pretty boys, asher thought. and he marched into the alcove to join his co-workers, his head high and shoulders erect, trying desperately to affect a jaunty indifference. for all his trying, he couldn't help watching slater. ester gasped, an expression of loathing and fear on her face as slater came up to her. the two women to whom she'd been talking looked disapprovingly down their noses at slater, hastily bade her good-by and hurried away. “hi you, kid?” slater said breezily, taking ester's hand in his. “long time no see.” ester snatched her hand back quickly. “whatta you want?” she said, bitterly. “if it's money you're after, i can tell you right off, nothin’ doin’.” “now, now, that's a fine way to greet me. jus' cause you're ridin' high these days. but i ain't beggin', kid. i jus’ wanta talk to you.” “about what?” ester snapped. slater looked at her with his shifty eyes for a minute, then he dropped his eyelids and smiled cynically. “’bout the kid,” he said, with cringing fondness. “but not here. tell you what. know that sandwich place the other side of where the bus stops, the irish peggy? suppose i wait there for you 'til you get off tonight.” ester looked at him with hatred burning in her eyes, but she did not answer. “whattsa matter, kid?” slater said. “gotta heavy date, kid? want me to tell him i won't be keepin' you long?” he jerked his head back in the direction of where he'd left asher. “i don’t wanna have to spoil the heavy play you puttin' down, kid.” an expression of utter hopelessness began to creep into ester's face and her full lips quivered as though she might have been strug- gling to hold back tears. then, without uttering a word, she nodded her head affirmatively, turned about and went back inside the rest roorn. the big rush was under way. everywhere, diners swarmed about the dining-room, grabbing chairs and tables from one another, as people fight for subway seats. still more diners clustered in front of every entrance, calling impatiently for the headwaiter. but chief, with his customary indifference to what he called “this rabble,” was busy smiling and bowing the carriage trade—three elegant-looking parties of four—into the alcove. he sat one party at a table in each station except asher's. then he ordered hogan and rowden to tilt the back-rests of the chairs against their other tables. he waved away a small crowd of unescorted diners who had followed him into the empty section of the restaurant. “this section's reserved!” he barked at them. three couples, ignoring chief's command, seated themselves at asher's four-seat tables. now, on any other busy night asher would have considered himself most unlucky to have only six people—in- stead of, say, sixteen—seated at his station. for, as he said, “a man can't keep himself in shape waitin' on a gang of deuces.” but this night he did not seem to mind it. he stood now, leaning against a service buffet in one corner of the alcove, with a vacant stare on his face, looking from one to the other of the couples. just then, slater walked into the alcove. “damn! brown, you-all loaded up with deuces,” he said, chuckling to himself. asher glared at him, but said nothing. chief walked over to the two men and winked at slater. “mr. rich. he don't need much,” he laughed. “better see what your party's gonna have, slater. they's fine people.” the two men exchanged amused glances. asher, wearing a deep scowl, set about working. he moved list. lessly from table to table, his lips moving wordlessly, as he took each couple's order. then he headed for the kitchen. when he returned to the dining-room he found that he and slater were to share the same service buffet. slater suddenly became very talkative, making endless | chat about any and everything. - “ain’t nothin' but a bunch of cheap people in here tonight,” | slater said. “yeah,” asher replied, curtly. “they oughta go on to the automat where they belong.” asher grimaced, but did not answer. - slater tried again. “jus' come 'round to take up a man's time for | nothin’,” he said. still asher would not be drawn into conversation. but all during the dinner hour, whenever the two men were together at the service buffet or passed each other in the narrow spaces between their sta- tions, slater made a great show of overweening friendliness toward asher. “had any luck yet, boss?” he asked once. “nope,” asher muttered. once when asher returned from a trip to the kitchen he found that chief had brought slater a party of twelve people, which neces- sitated his joining three of his four-seat tables together. but instead of going to the cubbyhole beside the swinging doors that led into the kitchen for extra chairs, slater took all of the chairs from one of asher's tables. when asher returned and saw what had happened he grabbed slater by the arm. “what the hell's the big idea?” asher demanded angrily. slater, who was studiously watching his party study their menus, turned his head sidewise to asher. “sorry, boss,” he said. “chief's put so many people on me, i'm up a tree already. but i'll get you some more chairs jus’ as soon as i get this here order.” “you damn sight better, 'less you're lookin' for trouble.” “shhh!” slater said, putting one finger across his mouth. “take it easy, boss. don't lose your head.” one of the men in the party overheard the conversation and laughed. he nudged an attractive young woman who sat beside him, and explained the joke to her so loudly that everyone at the table laughed too. “yessir, boss,” slater said, snapping to the man's side, leaving asher standing alone in the center of the aisle, glowering at him. but, of course, he never did return the chairs to asher's table. had it been any other waiter in the dining-room, asher would not have minded the incident, but now he was itching to get back at slater in some way. near the end of the dinner hour, his chance came. in the section of the room between the hole and the kitchen swinging doors, slater, headed for the kitchen with a trayload of soiled dishes, indicated with a wave of his free hand to asher, who then dave shoved asher toward the alcove. “i’m surprised at you, man,” he said. “don’t you dig what's goin’ down?” asher did not answer. but he turned and moved slowly in the general direction dave had taken. “give me your checkbook,” dave said. “i’ll finish your folks up for you. an'go on over an’ let my ol' lady wise you up.” asher handed dave his waiter's checkbook and, without opening his mouth, walked across the dining-room to where hattie stood in the doorway of the ladies’ room. “you shoulda brained that no-good bastard,” she said. “huh!” asher said, still breathing hard. “that's jim slater—ester's ex.” asher's eyes widened until they looked as though they'd pop out of their sockets. then they centered, growing quiet and angry. “that ol' rotten headwaiter jus’ about got him to come out here to start trouble,” she went on. “he’d love to frame you an' get the boss to can you. an’ that no-good slater's gonna try to get his. he's already made ester promise to meet him outside after work. so he can put the beg on her, i betcha.” “yeah,” asher said, wetting his lips. “i’ll fix his wagon this night. he won't be no trouble when i get through wid him.” he went out then into the parking lot and walked along the gravel path around the back of the restaurant. his heart pounded high in his chest and his lips quivered. as he charged along in the glimmer- ing moonlight, he looked about suspiciously at the solid row of auto- mobiles parked along the outer edge of the driveway. their shadows cast menacing figures that cut across the gravel path and crept up the side of the building in a silhouette of outstretched fingers. sud- denly his forehead corrugated, and his underlip pushed out angrily, as he saw little specks of light emitting from an army of fireflies which seemed to flash in unison. jesus christ! he said to himself. suppose i’d really brained that bastard right in there? i'd sure been outa luck now. the thought of what might have happened made him halt sud- denly at the end of the gravel path where it sloped off into the un- * paved end of rochelle street. he lit a cigarette, expelling the smoke angrily. not that he was afraid of a fight, nor did he doubt, for one moment, that he could take care of himself in a row with slater. holy crap, i can't afford to get all messed up in this, he told himself. my racket would be deader than a doornail. then an idea flashed into his mind. he'd have some of the boys do the job for him. yeah, he said aloud, that's the way the big shots play it. some jerk rubs you the wrong way, and you have 'em take him for a ride. he flicked his cigarette out into the roadway resolutely. smart guy! i'll have the son-of-a-bitch run to hell outa new york. messin' wid me. then he made his way around to the delivery court and back in- side the restaurant, where he found casablanca and raymond stand- ing near the silverware-washing machine, pulling small chunks of red meat from the remains of a large t-bone steak which rested in a tray. “i ain't exactly hungry,” casablanca said. “but man, there ain't no use lettin' all this good red meat go to waste. want some?” asher eyed casablanca intently for a moment, as raymond winked at him. “think you-all could take care of a real smart guy?” he asked. casablanca gave a start and the t-bone dropped onto his aluminum tray. “takin' care of smart guys is right up my alley.” casablanca was somewhat flattered. “man, when i was in the merchant marine i usta lay for them kinda bastards . . .” “cut it,” asher said, thinking he'd have to listen again to a recital of casablanca's many fistic exploits. “this guy might have a switch- blade on him.” casablanca squared his shoulders and laughed. “that don't scare me,” he said. “a son-of-a-bitch pull a knife on me, i'll make him eat . . .” “jus’ put the finger on 'em, man,” raymond cut in. “that's all!” they waited for asher to go on and, when he didn't, casablanca asked, “who is it, man?” “now if you-all can git him back up behind the shanty soon as he comes outa here,” asher went on, ignoring the question, “an' * stomp the hell outa him, i mean sop him up reeal good, i'll make it all right wid you.” casablanca said: “all you gotta do is point him out, pal.” “okay. it's that pretty boy workin' long side of me in the hole.” casablanca's glance widened with shock. “him? he's one a your ! old lady's boy friends.” asher nodded soberly. “that's why i wanna keep outa it. you got any parties?” “they's almost finished,” raymond put in. - “get dave to finish 'em for you,” asher commanded. “we ain't got no time to waste now. i'll be over in the shanty.” they agreed that raymond would plant himself near the entrance to the shanty, taking care that the light from the bar did not shine in his face, and as soon as slater emerged from the delivery court he'd invite him over for a drink. in the meanwhile, casablanca, who'd be lolling about at the entrance to the alley, would have the job, just in case slater refused, of coaxing him across the street. asher, who took only a very few minutes to change his clothes, was out of the restaurant and in the bar in a jiffy. he was as jumpy ; and restless when he entered the shanty as if he had expected to find slater there. but, except for a couple of city island natives, the place was deserted. asher made a place for himself in the middle of the long, dark-stained bar, so that he'd have an unobstructed view of the fishbowl's delivery court diagonally across city island road. : mike, who was at the end of the counter that jutted out almost into the doorway, broke off the talk long enough to bring asher a bottle and glass, and went back to his talk. asher took his whisky straight and poured another. mike looked down the bar. “what's the matter, pal?” he asked asher. “them double sixes treat you kinda rough today?” asher studied mike's two customers for a moment, and apparently satisfied himself that they were not plainclothesmen. “naw,” he re- plied, gloomily. “i’m jus’ hotter than a chicken wid the pox.” mike waited for asher to go on, and when he didn't, said: “yeah— what's up, pal?” “ah—some ol' would-be smart guy over there tryin' to git in my business.” “you know how to handle smart guys, don'tcha?” mike said. asher eased his weight on the footrail, swinging to have a look out the door. and as he did so, he saw casablanca and raymond emerge from the delivery court, walking rapidly. “you bet a man, i know what to do,” asher said to mike. “i’m gonna have the jerk run off'n the island. but fast.” he picked up a small glass of club soda which mike had placed before him and, tilting it sidewise, allowed the sparkling water to flow over the brass top of the beer-cooler, and seep down through the myriad tiny drain holes. then he very carefully poured three drinks of straight whisky into the highball glass. tossing his head back, he emptied the glass in one gulp. “i’ll straighten you out later,” he said to mike as he headed for the back room. there was only a dim light in the back room, a low-ceilinged, barnlike place, with a dozen or so four-seat tables strewn about. it was seldom used except on saturday nights when the city islanders, out for their beer-drinking spree-on-the-town, wanted some privacy from the waiters. on the side of the room facing the street, up in the corner, was the family entrance and, running back the length of the room, there was a long, narrow bay window, the lower part of which was curtained off with a heavy tan material. huddling close in the semi-darkened corner opposite the family entrance, where he could see across the island's main street, asher stood now, his stomach thumping with excitement. suddenly, as if he might have been addressing ester, he muttered, you won't have no more trouble outa him, babes. he began to wonder then if deep in her heart she was still in love with slater; and the frequent thought he had had—that she's still carrying a torch for her ol’ man—began to take hold of him. as he looked across the street at casablanca lolling near the deliv- ery entrance, he found himself talking out loud. even he knew it. everybody in the joint knew what was up, but me. these women is so goddam tricky. you can't trust a livin' one of 'em. maybe, i shoulda watched the jive go down first. after all, she didn't put me wise. but even then, as he looked suspiciously about him, little, bright-colored memories came to him pleasantly, like the smallest valentines. in his mind's eye, he saw her then, with her sad black eyes searching his, and her familiar smile playing suggestively about the corners of her mouth. he remembered how she had once told him she was saving it all for him. you may’ve been runnin’ wid him, he said, almost in a prayerful whisper, but you're mine now. to hell wid that bastard. he felt fuzzy-headed and his throat was dry and clogged but the pit of his stomach felt warm, deliciously warm. he did not see the two men when they first started across city island road. several automobiles, headed for the mainland, halted by a stoplight a few feet beyond the white traffic road marker had temporarily blotted out asher's view of the delivery court. and by the time the cars had sped on their way with the changing of the lights, the two men were halfway across the wide thoroughfare. slater, with his long legs gangling and his shoulders arched, like a drum major, led the way. to one side and slightly behind him strode casa- blanca, who looked by comparison like a midget, although he was powerfully built, walking along as offhandedly limp and languid as a cat, and he had the same sort of sure, built-in balance. as both men stepped up onto the curbing in front of the shanty, asher saw raymond spring into action. like a ringwise fighter feinting his op- * ponent, he danced in front of slater and casablanca as, at the same time, he gestured wildly as though they were being watched by some- one at a window within the restaurant. then, turning about abruptly, raymond led the way, galloping up the shadowy dead-end street : toward the bar's family entrance. asher, grunting to himself, propped one foot up onto the window sill. looka this dummy, he said to himself. walking right into the trap. just as slater pulled up short to keep from bumping into ray- mond at the family entrance, casablanca, without uttering a word, grabbed slater by one shoulder and spun him around. with the side of his outstretched palm he slashed slater on the face and neck, his with his arms. as he started to pull himself erect, raymond caught him in the seat of his pants with the side of his foot, making a re- sounding thwack. slater's shoulders lunged forward several inches, like a runner practicing a start, and he seemed on the verge of sprawling over the pavement again. but casablanca took hold of him by the slack in his jacket collar, and pulled him onto his feet. “that's enough,” asher said. he was laughing softly and vic- toriously, like a person who'd just won first prize in a contest. he gave slater a slight shove. “now you git off'n this island, an’ stay to hell away from 'round here,” he said. “you better remember that, next time chief tries to put ideas in your head. 'cause if you ever come 'round lookin' for trouble again they gonna carry you away from here.” slater cowered, and backed up a few paces toward city island road. then, wheeling about, he charged across the street and started running in the direction of the bronx mainland. asher followed him, threateningly, as far as the corner, casablanca and raymond trailing right behind him. by then a small crowd of passersby had collected at the corner in front of the shanty. a pale-faced, balding man, in a short-sleeved sports shirt, turned to asher and asked: “what's up?” asher looked the man up and down, but he only laughed sar- donically in reply. casablanca, who stood watching slater's retreating form, now a block away as he kept on running, said: “looka that joker tearin' outa here!” “jus' like the crackers was after him,” asher said, turning to face casablanca and raymond. unable to learn what had happened, the little knot of curious on- lookers now dispersed, drifting off toward the end of city island road down at the water's edge. asher, tense with exultation, stood with his cronies, intently star- ing. then suddenly he heard a voice say to him: “look's like you got everythin' under control.” the voice, low and musical, as though intended to touch upon some fancied secret of his, first to pique and intended to force the others to lead the way into the bar. only hattie stood her ground, anxiously alert. ester turned to asher. “please, not tonight,” she said, sniffling. “i couldn't. . . . take me home, will you?” asher looked from ester to hattie. but hattie only hunched her shoulders as if agreeing with ester. “okay,” he said stiffly. “only stop that goddam cryin', will you.” he waved toward his car which was parked across the street up near the restaurant's entrance, and walked off slowly with ester. he took a thick wad of bills from his pocket and, turning to casa- blanca and raymond, handed them each a twenty-dollar bill. “tell mike i’ll straighten him out tomorrow,” he said. then, without utter- ing another word, he followed off behind ester. they drove home in silence. asher was not given to making a show of his emotions, but when he pressed ester's head tightly against his body ester could feel him quivering. “well, i suppose he had to show up sooner or later,” ester said, her voice unsteady. “he’s just rotten through and through.” “you can forget you ever saw him, babes. 'cause he won't come 'round here again stickin’ his head in our business. i'll bet a man on that.” dinner was not gay that night. ester drank cup after cup of steaming black coffee. but she merely pawed the food on her plate, pushing it back and forth with her fork. asher ate heartily. and be- tween mouthfuls, he talked a lot about how they'd beaten slater. “he sho’ was a glutton for punishment,” he said. “we beat that joker to a pulp.” “he oughta drop dead,” ester said. “yeah,” asher prompted, surprised at the violence in her voice. “how'd you feel if somebody had messed up your life?” “tell us all about it, babes?” ester, only too relieved, poured out her tale, and asher listened with absorbed interest. she had been born on a farm near plunderville, north carolina, she said, and had attended the one-room school which was held in the baptist church. when she was eight years old, a split occurred in the church and her family went with the seceding group. she was then sent off to raleigh to freedman's institute, which later became known as the sloane normal school. graduating nine years later, she'd held her first teaching job in the little church-school she'd first attended. at sloane's she had joined the presbyterian church and, at the end of her first year of teaching at plunderville, she'd gone to north carolina college to summer school. that fall she'd become a teacher at the college. during her second year there both her parents died and, instead of going home that summer, she came to new york for a visit with another schoolteacher. at this point, ester's narrative appeared to come to an end. she stared at asher absently, and for so long, that he was finally com- pelled to prompt her. “you been to college?” he said. “yes,” ester said, slowly. “for all the good it's done.” her voice died away and, after a long pause, asher learned that ester's parents had maintained a strongly rooted patriarchal family tradition that dated back to the early days of the civil war. her father, rufus werner, a pure-blooded negro freed as a result of the war, had married a mulatto, ella rogers, whose family was known as “the first negro family of plunderville,” because they had been freed before the war. ester's father, who came from the northern part of georgia, bought an eighty-acre farm when he married ester's mother, and they settled down to raising a family of three boys and two girls. and in the course of time, having acquired more property and forging ahead, rufus himself became a community leader, often acting as an ambassador for the people of “blacktown” in their relations with “whitetown.” perhaps because he'd spent only one year in school during his childhood, he was motivated by a fierce determination to “live to see my children get a education.” in this he was rewarded, for all of them finished freedman's institute, and, except for ester and her youngest had put him in charge of supervising the sandpapering and waxing of the dining-room tables. until a few weeks before, this task had fallen to one of the pantrymen who, as jack-of-all-trades, performed odd carpentering jobs about the restaurant before or after his nine- hour tour of duty. but a rash of complaints from the gentlewomen among the eatery's patrons over torn stockings and snagged skirts— complaints, incidentally, which were always coupled with bills of damages—had made the task too large an undertaking for a part- time carpenter. the kingfish, in one of his rare administrative moods, had hit upon the idea of having “his” waiters turn cabinet-makers for a few hours each week. saturday morning, so he reasoned, was as good a day as any for this stint, for the restaurant was usually deserted until mid-afternoon. (the night watch had their fling at this business every friday after the dinner hour.) of course, this new- fangled idea was unheard-of elsewhere throughout the restaurant in- dustry and, needless to say, the waiters were not paid a penny for their added burden. those waiters who had been “promoted” to this “branch work” never failed on this morning to dawdle over their breakfast of coffee and yesterday's biscuits. sometimes asher had to come into the kitchen as many as four times before he could get them into the workshop. this saturday—the start of the long labor day weekend—it was a warm, miserable day. the unmistakable threat of rain which hung in the air had turned the kitchen into a sweat-chamber. despite this, the kitchen stirred like a beehive in preparation for the holiday week- end, with waiters everywhere performing the work of pantrymen and kitchen-helpers. huddled around ten large trays standing on tray- racks in front of the coffee urns, twenty-five men were stripping large stalks of parsley into little sprigs about the size of boutonnieres. over in front of the fish-broiler's counter, another group of waiters busily shelled green peas. next to them, others opened lima-bean pods. farther down the broad corridor, four waiters standing beside six commercial-sized fruit crates sliced lemons into eighths. on the other side of the kitchen, still more waiters attended the condiments. some washed ketchup bottles at a sink, passing them on to others who poured the viscid, blood-red sauce from gallon cans into bottles, while others refilled sugar bowls and salt-and-pepper shakers. asher seemed totally indifferent to this fever of activity as he paced impatiently down the broad corridor, squeezing past the groups of perspiring waiters. he listened as the cooks yelled taunts to the sullen-faced waiters, above the din of clacking pots and pans. “looka these slaves,” a fry cook chortled. “an' they call them- selves waiters!” the fish-broiler answered: “sure is tough when all you can do is tote a tray. any dummy can be a dining-room man, all you need is a strong back an’ a weak mind.” on any other morning, asher would have joined in this repartee, taking sides with the cooks. but now he only smiled, the corners of his mouth curling contemptuously. for he had just spied his detail of cabinet-makers—eight waiters standing at the chest-high counter in front of the fry cook's station, their heads bent disinterestedly over their coffee cups. only two waiters were actually eating; the others appeared simply to be standing there listless and languid, as though they were inmates of a prison waiting for a work-gong to boom out—their soggy, perspiration-stained jackets stuck to their hunched-up shoulders, and the backs of their shirt collars crumpled like handkerchiefs tied around the necks of fat men. asher suddenly coming abreast of the waiters for the fourth time, after there had been no indication at all from them that they were even aware of his standing behind them, found the waiter whom the boys called preacher stacking a cup and saucer and lunch plate to- gether. asher nudged the man in his ribs. “expect them tables to walk out here to you-all?” he said. “don’t know why i gotta come after you. come on, let's git wid 'em.” he left the waiters wearily fumbling with their dishes. after a minute or two they came out in the farm and took their jackets and shirts off, draping them over the backs of chairs. mumbling to them- selves, they dragged chairs, one turned upside-down in the seat of another, and pulled them over to the copper screen that divided the long room. then they hauled the tables out of the room's banquet- hall formation, making four rows of them which ran the length of the farm. the sun, trying feebly to penetrate the torrid haze which hung over rochelle street, made little black spots dance in front of the windows of the snow-white, log-walled room. from where asher stood, near the concert grand piano at the entrance to the room, his shoulders squared and chest expanded, he watched the waiters dron- ing through their work. his eyes darted from one to the other with a look of triumph, even a touch of exhilaration. he opened his mouth as though on the verge of saying something to spur them on but apparently thought better of it, for he pressed his lips tightly together in amusement. a droopy-faced waiter, bent over a table, looked up as a fat man planed a piece of sandpaper over a table top, making a prolonged, nerve-tingling screech as it grated off one edge of the table and scratched the man's fingernails. “god damn this crap!” snarled the fat man. the droopy waiter's brown face glowed for a second in a soft- mannered smile. “boy,” he mused, speaking to no one in particular. “this sure will make business jump for them manicurin’ chicks in the barber shops up on the hill.” “go on!” snapped the fat man as he nursed his slightly bruised finger. “an' drop dead, wi' you.” “now, now . . .” placated preacher. “you know how it is. to he that have shall be given. an' to he who have not that which he seems to have will be snatched from him.” “amen,” chorused several of the waiters who had stopped working. asher strolled to the center of the room and found himself a sec- tion of the copper screening in front of which there were no chairs. he draped one elbow over the top of the screen carelessly, removed a toothpick from his mouth and worked his face into a big, cajoling smile. “all right now, men!” he said as though about to make an an- nouncement. “you told the boss you wanted to work in his dining- room. didn't you?” he looked around at the sweating waiters, their undershirts dripping wet. “well, stop knockin' yourselves out wid all this sad jive. 'cause you-all got a long way to go yet. might even have to polish up them tables down there in the next room. but if'n you snap into it an' git this room ready, i might let you knock off in time to git yourself some lemonade 'fore this place starts to bust wide open here this evenin’. it's gonna be a two-pound dinner this night—man, i'm tellin' you.” “ah! lay it on me, papa,” said a small-eyed man with his glasses riding up and down his bulbous nose. “i know it's all jive. but it's good to me. huh! lemonade? must think you're down home sittin' on a back porch.” by now everyone in the room was wide awake and seemingly in a jovial frame of mind. setting to work at a brisk pace, they made a rustle of scraping sounds, smoothing over the splintery tops and legs of the soft pine tables. it was a task in which the waiters automatically revealed their skill at creating a division of labor. first, one waiter wiped the tables free of the ordinary room-blown dust. he was fol- lowed, in turn, by three men, each with a piece of sandpaper of dif- ferent coarseness. after that came the waiter who poured the wax from a four-gallon can slung over his hooked arm. it made a loud, gurgling noise like a man belching, as he allowed tiny pools of the liquid to flow onto each table. he was a short, barrel-chested man with muscles the size of grapefruit. the waiters called him tickle- britches. moving slowly from table to table, tickle-britches rolled his large head from side to side dolefully. as he did so, he moaned “um- um-um-um! my mother never told me it’d be like this.” in singsong fashion, like a person repeating a refrain aloud to himself, he'd con- tinue: “l-o-r-d to-day! . . . why didn't i finish my schoolin' like she told me.” some of the waiters heaved deep sighs, others nodded their heads from side to side too, while the eyes of all were lit up with expressions of understanding. then tickle-britches spoke again. “serves me right,” he said. to look forward to in life—not even to their overpowering sense of guilt (and their need for punishment) which had been so firmly rooted in their consciousness, drilled as they had been in the hell- and-damnation school of religion. asher stood up straight. “i gotta go to press now,” he said. “sup- pose i can trust you-all to put this place back the way it was?” the waiters watched him as he hurried back through the second dining- room, and disappeared behind the swinging doors that led into the kitchen. out in the kitchen, asher found mr. jerry standing inside his three-sided counter-like desk that jutted out from the wall space between the swinging doors. the checker was readying a batch of checkbooks for the seventy-five or so incoming night and extra waiters. he was lining up the books on one side of his desk numeri- cally, as he recorded their numbers and, beside them, the names of the men, on a large red-and-blue-lined pad like an accountant's cost sheet. in addition to this, it was also his job to tabulate each waiter's hourly earnings, social security deduction, and the cost of his two daily meals—one dollar—which the kingfish added onto the waiters' wages to lighten his tax load. the checker, eager for conversation, giggled playfully at asher. “rainin’ like hell, huh?” he said, making a question out of a state- ment of fact. in reply, asher merely rolled his eyes. he lit a cigarette, and in- haled deeply. smoking in the kitchen was the one relaxation the kingfish allowed the waiters and cooks for, as he said, “they do work so hard.” mr. jerry tried again. “won't be needin’ all these books today.” he hesitated for a moment, then he said: “now if that ol' headwaiter of yours was on the job i wouldn't have this headache.” he sighed. “but then he couldn't sell any blues.” this struck a responsive chord in asher, and he gave a little grunt that was at once both contemptuous and belittling. for the sale of “blues” was another of the unique customs observed at the fishbowl whereby chief issued a “rain check” for a dollar or whatever the traffic would bear, which enabled a regular waiter to go off for half a day whenever business slowed down. “he sure has got a lot of suckers to work on 'round here,” asher said, turning to look about the kitchen. the kingfish, his face set in a deep scowl, was making his way along the passageway in the rear of the kitchen between the pantry and bakery. he halted abruptly as he reached the broad corridor that ran up the left side of the cookroom. his small piercing eyes darted about furiously beneath his narrow brown snap-brim hat as he saw five lobster barrels standing in the corridor, like wartime roadblocks. each of the barrels stood in a puddle of water from which little spirals of steam rose, giving off a putrid fishy odor. the cooks had, only a few minutes before, finished pouring huge potfuls of boiling water over the lobsters, parboiling them in the barrel—another of the kingfish's sleight-of-hand, dollar-making inventions for the prepa- ration of steamed lobsters. “god damn it!” the kingfish shouted, as he screwed up his nose. he placed his hands on his hips. “what am i supposed to be run- ning here, a bawdy house?” two vegetable cooks, the sweat streaming down their brown faces, stopped removing frozen garden peas from paper cartons at a nearby work counter, and stared blankly at the kingfish. “if i leave my kitchen for two seconds everything simply goes to pot,” the kingfish went on, addressing no one in particular. “i want this nasty, stinking mess cleaned up at once.” he walked off then, his hips swaying from side to side, as he stepped mincingly between the barrels, and continued on up the cor- ridor. by the time he reached the service clam bar, he was in an al- most uncontrollable fit of rage. a dozen or more bushel baskets of clams, stacked two and, in some places, three high, lined the top of the long, sparkling aluminum counter. the clam-openers—a midget- like family that consisted of grandfather, father and son—unmind- ful of the kingfish's presence jabbered angrily at each other in their native syrian behind the basket barricade. “michael!” the kingfish shrieked, exasperated. “where are you?” again. in fact, this huge machine that stood flush against the wall, next to the service clam bar, like a metal copy of a western pioneers' wagon with both ends open, through which the dishes were tunnelled in large wooden racks while boiling water cascaded over them, re- quired the attention of a mechanic every other day or so. and it almost always broke down during rush hours, which forced the waiters to wash whatever dishes they needed. but, of course, the kingfish would not think of buying a new machine when he had so many black hands to save or make him an extra dollar. now that the machine was operating again, the dishwashers were working rapidly to catch up with their work. for the apron-like tray in front of the machine was littered with soiled dishes piled helter- skelter, like a loosely gathered deck of playing cards. and as fast as the four dishwashers could get each rack of dishes through the machine, chicko, the puerto rican chore boy, would take the clean crockery to the various storage bins about the kitchen. he was a short, round-faced young fellow, who had narrowly missed death in the pacific when one of his patrol buddies had killed a japanese only after the soldier had stuck the end of his saber in chicko's neck. this had left him with a slight speech defect, causing him to snap up his drooping bottom lip with a gasp at the end of each sentence. a happy-go-lucky lad, he was immensely popular with the waiters and, quite often, they'd give him cigarettes and half-finished drinks that the guests left, which he'd mix together—beer, wine, whisky, rum and whatnot—and drink. chicko was walking very gingerly over the wet and slippery floor, his hands clasped beneath a stack of saucers that reached from his stomach almost to his chin, cradled in the crook of his arm as he approached the shelves under the coffee urns. suddenly he slipped, almost directly behind where the kingfish stood, and the dishes crashed upon the cement floor. for a moment chicko stood there trembling and stared at the mess of broken crockery with a dumb and horrified expression. then the kingfish, wheeling about, began to stalk him, like an apache dancer pursuing his partner. raving and ranting at the chore boy, the kingfish backed him clear across the kitchen until chicko bumped into mr. jerry's desk. both the checker and asher exchanged snickering glances, like two boys amused by an adult's misfortune. “you little drunken sot!” the kingfish screamed. “i-i-am-not,” chicko stammered. “why don't you clean the floor?” “you telling me how to run my business?” the kingfish said. “get out of here!” “give me my money. you can have your job.” “you’ll get it next monday—that's my payday. and you better stay out in the delivery court when you come for it. i don't want you in my kitchen.” “not so you can take my money. you ain't no good. all you know is how to rob everybody.” the kingfish gave a little shudder, and his face turned red. “get out of here!” he yelled. “you—you dirty filthy spick!” chicko seemed then really to go mad and, as he sought to express himself, sputtering and fuming, he lapsed into a frenzy of unintel- ligible spanish. then reaching upward on his toes, he squared off clumsily to hit the kingfish, but the kingfish warded off the blow with both hands, like a volley-ball player returning a service. by now a little band of waiters had crossed the kitchen and stood huddled near the two men, looking on with amazement, as though they could not believe their eyes. at that moment, asher slipped up behind chicko and, throwing his arms around the chore boy, pinned his arms to his sides. chicko kicked violently in the direction of the kingfish, first with one foot then the other. but higgins, cutting in between the kingfish and chicko, grabbed the chore boy around the waist, like a footballer making a tackle. “keep still, you crazy bastard,” asher yelled. “‘fore i break your neck.” “for christ sake! don't hit him,” higgins pleaded. “he’s like a baby. let's take him out in the alley an’ let the rain sober him up.” asher merely grunted in reply. and together they half-dragged and half-pulled the struggling chore boy through the kitchen to the de- livery court, like two men carrying a large round pole which was weighted at both ends. but no sooner had asher and higgins returned to the kitchen, than chicko ducked into the butcher shop through a side door, picked up a meat cleaver and started into the kitchen. with his arms hanging loose at his sides, chicko walked in a crouch, slowly. “where's that no-good kingfish?” he said. hambone, the lobster cook, who looked like a coldstream guards- man swathed in his cook's white uniform, was standing at his sta- tion just in front of the ramp through which chicko entered the kitchen. he began to inch up very carefully behind the chore boy. reaching out suddenly for chicko as though he intended to grab him by the shoulder, hambone threw his arm around the chore boy's chest, and rabbit-punched him on the back of his neck with the side of his free hand. involuntarily, chicko released his grasp on the cleaver, which skittered across the cement floor for several feet. chicko's inert body dropped onto the floor in a sitting position. both asher and higgins, who had been halfway up the other side of the kitchen, retraced their steps and darted through the passage- way between the pantry and bakery. meanwhile, chicko, who had only been stunned, was trying desperately to get onto his feet. but hambone kept him from rising by continually bumping him off bal- ance with his knee until asher and higgins reached his side. the chore boy looked up at the three men pleadingly, and began bawling at the top of his lungs. “let me alone!” he said. “i ain't after you! i jus’ wanna get my hands on the goddam kingfish.” then, with both hands behind him, chicko pushed himself up from his sitting position, his torso suspended in mid-air, as though about to begin a light calisthenic. asher, higgins and hambone moved in closer, crowding the chore boy warily. then suddenly chicko kicked out savagely, catching asher high on the fleshy side of his thigh. and the other two men set out to punch the boy. “let me at him!” asher demanded, puffing and grunting as he sought to shove the other two men out of his way. “i’ll kill the lousy sonofabitch! kickin' me.” but neither of the two men seemed to have heard asher. for they each took turns holding and hitting chicko, shouldering one another out of the way the better to clout him, like youngsters trying to outdo each other in a wood-chopping contest. the kingfish stood now, calmly, only a few feet off, with his hands on his hips. his eyes narrowed into slits, as he watched the three men pound chicko unmercifully, drawing the thick blood from his swol- len face with each wallop. and behind him, the broad corridor was filled with tense and motionless waiters and cooks, their eyes aglitter with a horrid fascination. a tall man stood in the doorway at the top of the ramp. he held a crushed napkin under his arm while he buttoned his white waiter's jacket. like the others the legs of his tuxedo trousers below the knees were spotted with grease stains. when he finished buttoning his jacket he moved into the kitchen, and he moved with the regal man- ner of an african zulu prince. he was a crackerjack waiter, not just a “hash-slinger,” capable of boning a shad in three minutes. he could remove the meat from a lobster and reset it in the shell without tearing the shell. there was poise in his manner, and a reserve that prevented the waiters from asking him why, when he was not busy, he marched back and forth, wearing a preoccupied expression. be- hind his back the waiters said he was “still out in the pacific fightin' the war.” this was ray jones, now in his second month at the fish- bowl. his open, frank face was indeed a nut-brown copy of the male model the slick magazines parade as the american type. his brow was unlined, like that of a bright young university graduate that these periodicals show every june entering some giant corporation at a good salary and a promising future. but his embittered eyes sug- gested that he was wise in his understanding of what made the fish- bowl a going concern. his hands, large and bony, were as delicate in their action as those of a surgeon. place! he mused. you'd thought it woulda been a washout here to- night. but look at 'em. pourin’ in like the man's givin' something away for free. rain or nothin’ don't stop these folks from comin' out here. in every room in the eatery they sat: plump middle-aged women, their hair dyed a brilliant auburn or a deep bluish gray, out for din- ner without their spouses, who spoke of their friends as “the girls”; stylish young women on the make, their faces frozen in hauteur; young men with long thin hands which they waved with the languor of models; young lovers so enamoured of one another that, every now and then, as they stole a tender pinch or pat, they drank and ate each other with their eyes, unmindful of the food before them; short, busi- ness-like men with black mustaches accompanied by dramatic-looking women in summer furs and silver necklaces. there were about a hun- dred of the fishbowlers who streamed into the restaurant that night for the first sitting—for, to them, it was part of the ceremony of their lives to dine at this famous seafood eatery. like indians victorious in a predatory tribal war, these owners of small businesses—and their retinue of assistants and hangers-on— after a week of conquest in the marketplace, came to the fishbowl on the weekend in their finest plumage. and in this ceremonial hub- bub many a woman whose eyes had very carefully scanned the assem- blage nudged her companion, and whispered, “don’t look now, but there's so-and-so right in back of us.” her companion, swelling with pride that they, too, were among those present in this arena where black servitors catered to them with such grace, would boom: “hey! waiter, how’s about some service here?” but asher noticed that the waiters did not hop and skip at the fishbowlers’ commands. they did not grin and “yessir” them. they a did not bow and nod and chuckle over the diners' little jokes. for they were a sullen lot that night, slow of movement and indifferent. when asked for quick service, they pretended not to have heard and proceeded to snail along as though trudging up a long hill. if the request were repeated, they merely hunched their shoulders, and replied curtly: “kitchen's slow, ain't nothin' i can do about it.” that ran from his nose to the corners of his full mouth seemed only to emphasize his cynical and half-soured outlook on life. as the waiter hurried along he brought his knees up high with each step he took, and his gait, proud and prancing, suggested that of a high jumper, straining for his take-off. just another crazy waiter, asher told himself. runnin’ round in a dining-room like he's in a briar patch or somethin'. and with just the right degree of anxiety and concern for something that he reasoned had nothing to do with him, asher continued to watch spike until he joined the waiter drying the water glasses in the rear of the room. then asher straightened out of his slouch, leaning forward, intently studying the two waiters as they began talking in a whisper. then something clicked in asher's mind. the story—rumored among the waiters—about spike burns. as he'd got it, spike had once been the prime mover in the organization of a group of railroad dining-car waiters. rooted in the grim and merciless struggle to be somebody—a leader—in the ghetto, spike had been a tough and resolute organizer. tenacious in purpose, he also had proved him- self a brilliant strategist in the long drawn-out battle with the rail- road over recognition. but once the fight had been won, his militant energies appeared to wane, so it was said, and he soon became in- different if not unmindful of the workers’ needs—a state of affairs which the rank-and-file of the organization interpreted as a willing- ness on his part to do business with the bosses. voted out of office, he had come to the fishbowl some five weeks before, a dour and de- jected young man who, as the waiters said, was “down on his up- pers.” at the same time, asher recalled that the waiter with whom spike was talking, clif jenkins, had also come to the restaurant about the same time. a prewar law graduate, recently returned from australia where he'd served as a red cross worker, he was preparing for the bar, while working as a “dinner man.” then, almost before asher realized it, he was hurrying down the outside of the room, keeping close to the copper screen, following a blind instinct to hear what the two men were whispering about. but when he came within earshot of them clif nudged spike, whose back was turned to asher, and instantly both men lapsed into silence. and as asher passed them heading for the farm, he was conscious of a little tingle of shock as he looked at clif's scowling eyes fixed on him. they were like spike's had been when he'd come from the kitchen, guarded and wary. he did not feel suspicious, exactly, yet he told himself they would both bear a whole lot of watching. the downpour had stopped by the time asher left the restaurant that night. but a murky cloud drifting in from the sound had dropped over city island. the early september fog steamed against the wet pavement and funneled lazily through courts and alleys. “what the hell!” he muttered aloud, as he loitered now at the corner of rochelle street a few feet from the delivery court. “it’s jus’ one of them things.” he realized he had talked that way to himself several times before —whenever he thought, momentarily, about the chicko incident. and now, for the first time, the expression seemed to make him un- sure of himself, for he shuddered as he repeated the catch-phrase. looking about uneasily, he began to stamp his feet on the slimy pavement, feeling the damp creeping through his thin-soled, tan and white shoes. when he'd left home that morning, he'd thought himself suitably dressed; even for what was such an ungodly hour—eight o'clock. his tan broad-shouldered english-drape model gabardine suit was surely sharp enough. he peered nervously down the broad thoroughfare. blanketed in the bewildering gloom, the tip end of the island was a nightmarish place. only the remnants of familiar landmarks, distorted and de- formed, were visible. the spectacular fog came down at the end of city island road, as if it were a stage backdrop, right behind the white fence that stretched across the avenue where the asphalt pave. ment came to an abrupt end. beyond it, the coast guard training boat berthed in the old ferry-boat slip was blotted out, except for its stern, which penetrated through the dirty gray curtain of mist like a dark doorway. the black rooftop of the one-story coast guard barracks, which stood at right angles to the fence, resembled an un- supported canopy hung over a low cloud, while the remainder of the building seemed to have been shorn away. even the few people afoot seemed to materialize out of the thick air—smart silhouettes, exotic shapes, moving against the shrunken lights. asher bent his head slightly and looked at his wristwatch. the luminous face showed seven minutes past eleven. it was an inex- pensive, seven-jeweled watch, smart and sleek in design—gold-plated with a chromium back, with a brassy expansion bracelet made of a myriad of tiny scroll-like links. he twisted his wrist from side to side, looking at the watch, appraising it as a badge of honor. the kingfish had given him the watch only a few hours before. bribery had not entered into it; it was what the kingfish considered a well-deserved need. true, he had given both higgins and hambone new, crackling fifty-dollar bills right in front of asher for their “bravery in that little kitchen disturbance,” as he'd put it. but he had later said jestingly to asher, rather like one businessman speak- ing to another: “i wanted you to have something you could keep.” “hot ziddity!” asher said now, as he continued to look at the watch. “i’d boot a whole army of them pearl-divers in the ass for this. goddam spicks! passin' for white.” just then ray jones came out of the delivery court and headed to- ward the corner, moving hurriedly in his free-stepping, regal manner. it was long after the last of the waiters on the morning watch had gone off duty, but, because ray had dared to incur the boss's dis- favor by speaking out against the beating of chicko “right in the kingfish's kitchen,” charlie, the scrub captain, had contrived in his seating of the dinner guests that night to make ray work overtime— “stick him,” as he phrased it. as though his mind worked in silent harmony with that of the kingfish's—for not so much as one word had passed between the kingfish and charlie over how to “freeze t ray of the gravy.” all through the dinner hour charlie had managed to keep ray's station fairly empty, allowing him only an occasional party of two or three. then, five minutes or so before chief put up the revised station board which signaled the closing of the two back rooms and the taking over of the front room by the waiters on the night watch, charlie had “loaded” ray's eight-seat table with a party of twelve people—a prosperous-looking, pompous-acting party which, from long experience in handling counterfeits, charlie had judged would sit long and spend so freely of their weekend pleasure money that they would have to come up short on the tip. as ray approached the corner now, asher, moving his head only enough to allow him a sidewise glance, eyed the man with distaste. but just before ray reached the corner, he turned and, stepping down off the curbing, walked off in the direction of the bus depot, as though he hadn’t even seen asher. black jesus! asher said to himself spitefully. how i love his kind all the time stickin' up for poor white trash—would-be whites at that. wouldn't even spit on you if they had a dime. striding rapidly off in the distance, ray's broad shoulders seemed to broaden, and asher suddenly gave a half-repressed snicker, turn- ing his head away from the man, as if to hide his contempt. well, i ain't got my ass hitched up on my shoulders, he said to himself, part of his mind still retaining a picture of ray. couldn't hear a peep out of him when he first showed up. now that he's got the wrinkles out of his belly, you can hear him all over the place. huh! you won't be no trouble much longer. 'cause your days are numbered. sure wouldn't wanta have the king down on my ass. his thoughts turned to ester. he had not seen her at all that night; in fact, he had had no desire to see her. not that he'd experienced any qualms over facing her after what had happened in the kitchen. but just as he knew almost instinctively that she'd learned of the fight by the grapevine, he also knew she wouldn't approve. and he had not wanted to risk having her voice her disapproval within ear- shot of some nosy waiter. i’ll straighten her out later, he decided. after all, i couldn't have just stood there and watch the kingfish get killed, good as he's been to me. he had a picture of ester hurrying from work, rushing through the darkened streets, dogged, hunched, as though it afforded her protection from the wet night. he saw, too, in his mind's eye the dinner table set with its freshly ironed linen and gleaming silverware. and he said to himself, i know that rice is ready. then he turned and walked stiffly back from the corner toward his car which was parked near the restaurant's main entrance. the tiny droplets still fell silently. the mist, which was everywhere, had blurred the rays of light that came from the brass fixtures which hung at both sides of the white colonnaded doorway. it was a muffled and discolored world, like a hospital ward after the lights had been turned low at night. just as asher reached his automobile he stopped short as though he had heard someone calling him. looking about him, he became aware of the shanty. through the mist, the neon signs in the window of the bar beckoned to him. think i’ll knock me a few, asher said to himself. keep on breaking my neck to get home every night, she'll think i ain't got no place else to go. leaving his car in front of the restaurant, asher strode off across the broad thoroughfare toward the shanty, walking like an athletic stockbroker out for an evening stroll, his shoulders held erect, arms and legs swinging in military cadence. but when he reached the en- trance to the barroom he halted abruptly; the place was nearly de- serted; only half a dozen waiters, paired off in twosomes, were drink- ing at the bar. now, as he stood poised in the doorway of the bar, his feeling of elation changed to one of surprise. to be sure, there was the massive, dark-stained bar with the rows of bottles behind it. there were the beer pumps, the juke-box, and the rows of booths opposite the bar. at the far end of the room, behind the bar, stood the mahogany cabinets with the bottles inside showing through cut-glass designs, something about the look of the place reminded asher of the run- down bars he'd seen time and again in the movies. the kind of dimly lit taverns where the villain, on a mission of plunder, stops for a drink after having ridden into town with the sky tarnished and the fog blowing slowly. this sure is one sad-looking dump tonight, asher thought. maybe there'll be some action in here later on. for a minute he watched joe, the red-faced old man who acted as combination waiter and porter, shuffle slowly toward the back room, his shoulders hunched up from the weight of a beer-laden bar tray. from the back room came the strains of “galway bay” being punched out on an accordion, while a full-voiced chorus of city islanders, out for their night on the town, sang “if you ever go across the sea to ireland.” poor-ass white folks tryin' to have a good time. stiff as beaver board. never able to let their hair down. his eyes wandered to the corner of the long, narrow bar that jutted out almost into the doorway, where charlie hogan and freddy row. den, the two waiters who worked next to his weekend station in the main dining-room, were in a huddle with their heads together. he listened intently to get the drift of their conversation. “... ain't nowhere in this table-waitin' business,” he heard hogan say in a low grumble, as he pushed his empty highball glass toward the inside edge of the bar. rowden drained his glass and put it next to hogan's. for a minute rowden remained silent, studying a light which hung by a length of black wire in front of a large mirror, the bulb damp and smeary, its shine diluted by the mist. “you can say that again,” rowden finally said as he lowered his gaze to the bar. “a man ain't nothin' but a sucker to get ambushed in this racket. all the crap you gotta take...” “what's goin' on in here?” asher asked as he stepped between the two men. “a wake or somethin’?” “jus' one a these off-nights, i suppose,” rowden said, as he inched back to make room for asher. turning his head slightly, he looked down to the other end of the bar, and called out to the weekend bar- tender: “hey, brady, come on an' set my friend up here.” brady was a robustly built man with close-cropped gray hair, a flattened-out nose, and overly large ears. he was leaning back against a section of the mahogany cabinets with his arms folded across his chest, listening to the back room revelers as they stomped their feet on the loose planked floor and clapped their hands lustily to the accordion player's brisk dance notes of “the stack of barley.” the bartender was apparently so entranced that he did not hear rowden's call, and rowden had to thump loudly on the bar with his glass several times to attract his attention. when brady finally roused himself he wobbled along the narrow catwalk behind the bar. “what's it gonna be, gentlemen?” he said sullenly, his face impas- sive. . “little scotch,” asher replied in an offhand manner. “little scotch an’ soda. better give the boys here a little taste. . .” he stopped !, talking for a minute and, looking from hogan to rowden, a faint flicker of a smile played about the corners of his mouth. then he went on, “’course they ain't on this scotch time. a little too delicate for 'em. but give 'em the best. make mine black label.” “yessir!” brady said in a clipped fashion. the bottle of johnnie walker black label was back in the third row of bottles and it took the bartender several minutes to find it. but while he studied the bottles he continued to say, almost absent- mindedly, “yessir, cap'n.... yessir, cap'n,” like a person made awk- ward in the presence of a young child"and trying, at the same time, to please him. when the drinks were finally poured rowden pushed a stack of three or four dollar bills, lying on the bar, over toward the bartender who started to reach for them. “whatta you think you're doin’?” asher said pointedly, as he pulled a huge roll of bills from his pocket. “something wrong?” brady said levelly, still fingering the bills. rowden pushed the bartender's hand away playfully. “you’re doin' right,” he said. “i ordered this round.” “put that change down,” asher commanded sternly, throwing a twenty-dollar bill on the bar. “looks like good ol' u. s. currency to me,” brady said. “you do as i say,” asher snapped, as he snatched the dollar bills out of the bartender's hand. “who do you think you are?” gang of flowers, roses and buttercups and whatnot, for two or three cents apiece. then you wrap a whole lot of that green stuff—that er-er-er grass—round four or five of 'em. first thing you know you done made yourself three dollar outa nothin' but some crap—hot- house flowers.” “that'd be the day,” asher said, making a wry face. “you be back out here beggin' the king to take you back in less time than a month.” just then, mike marched out of the back room. the accordion player was punching out “galway bay” again, as mike, strutting in time to the music, carried a round bar tray full of empty beer glasses in the palm of one hand to the beer pumps. “hi-ya, pal,” he called out to asher, as he nodded to several other men at the bar. then, putting the tray down on the brass drainboard in the center of the bar, he walked up to asher. “what happened to the gang?” he said. “everybody let me down tonight.” “i suppose the boys wanted to get outa this fog,” asher said. “feels sorta like wintertime out there.” “that so,” mike said, reflectively. for a second, he looked at asher out of the corner of his eye. then he asked, “what's the mat- ter? you on the wagon?” asher looked down at his empty glass. “look’s like this could stand a little touchin' up,” he said. “come on an' have one on me.” “don’t care if i do see how it feels to have somebody wait on me for a change.” he turned to brady who was washing the beer glasses. “mr. brown is treatin’,” he called out to him. the bartender instantly stopped washing the beer glasses and, with dripping hands, moved rapidly up the bar. asher looked over the waiters at the bar as though he might have been counting the number present. “give everybody a little smile,” he said loudly to the bartender. when the drinks had been poured, the half-dozen waiters and mike raised their drinks in a salute to asher. “drink hearty,” he said as he raised his drink inches above his mouth. then he drained his glass nearly empty in one long gulp. “how's that for drumming up business on a slow night?” mike - during the dinner hour. well, it's about time they get together. they're doing it all over town. but these good-timing charlies. sup- pose the kingfish doesn't give in so easy, will they stick together? they should . . . but i wonder. oh well, that's their problem. i've got mine. . . . the electric lights in the store signs blinking on and off in the business section of fordham road, like cats' eyes made blurry by bushy eyebrows, diverted her attention for a few minutes. and by the time the car had turned onto the grand concourse, she couldn't remember at what point they'd come out of the fog, for a drizzly rain was then falling. settling down in the front seat, her mind turned again, as it had all that night, to her home. all during the dinner hour, she had pro- jected herself toward the moment when she could shut the door upon the memory of the waiters stopping to report asher's doings in the kitchen. now she could see her apartment in her mind's eye—the lamps glowing, the cushions on the sofa and chairs plumped high and smooth—the coziness of the place reached out to her chilled and tired spirit like a comforting hand. god bless my little place, she thought. but even then something else began to stir inside her. something that stemmed from her childhood where she had learned not by pre- cept or example but just by absorbing what surrounded her—the judging of people by their personality as it revealed itself through their labor. - ray looked just like papa used to, she thought suddenly, in an old shirt and faded pants. he's the kind of man the waiters oughta follow. for a moment, the image of her father stood large in her mind— the high forehead, the thick, short hair, the eyes lazy and then sharp- ening, the glitter of anger beginning to come up in them. and the thought of him caused a wave of pride to surge up in her, flooding her heart with warmth. they can’t lose with a man like ray leading them, she thought; and i hope they get all that’s coming to them. the car made a continuous heavy rolling sound as it sped uphill over the th street viaduct. glancing about her, ester realized faint tears to her eyes. a lot he cares about how hard i had to work for it, she thought; i bet he's never given it a thought. suddenly she sat upright. what the hell am i getting out of life? she asked herself. he can walk out on me any time he gets good and ready. then her shoulders sagged, and she fell back against the car's back rest. she felt as though she were drowning. she was in an under- water world, floundering, sinking helplessly as her thoughts swirled in dark confusion about her. i’m not going to take this any longer, she promised herself. if he wants me he'll have to ... the car coming to a whining stop roused her out of her thoughts. realizing that asher had parked in front of her house, she straightened up abruptly, and looked at him. he was staring ahead, with his face puckered in an evil scowl, working his mouth as though he might have been talking to himself. a terrible despair gripped her. oh god, she prayed, please help me to show him the way. don't let me go to pieces, dear god. please let me show him how happy we can be. no sooner had they got inside the apartment than the explosion came. asher stood leaning against the portal which separated the tiny foyer from the living-room, every line of his slim body stiff with belligerence. only his eyes moved as they followed ester, who switched on the ceiling lights, flooding the silent room with a glis- tening brightness. “you gonna talk to me now?” asher demanded. “yes,” ester replied, tentatively, as she turned to face him. “yes, of course.” “well, whatcha waitin’ for?” he said. “you shoulda been home here, anyway. handin’ me that line 'bout gettin' stuck. for all i know you coulda been out there waitin’ for some joker.” ester stood in the middle of the room looking at asher for several seconds. “don’t you want to sit down, asher?” she finally asked him, smiling a little. ester took the far corner of the sofa, so that she sat cater-cornered across from asher; the folds of her dress fell gracefully as she sat, and her hands were quiet in her lap. asher's face suddenly blossomed in a wide grin that he apparently intended to be contagious. he laughed teasingly. then, becoming serious, he said: “that ol' union crap. an' you fallin' for it. now, i know it ain't the best job in town an’ it ain't the worst. but whatta those jerks think—they're white? gonna tell the king how to run his business? an' he's a millionaire. why he'll jus’ laugh in their faces an' sit back an’ let 'em starve. that's what he'll do.” ... * * ester, who still sat with her hands folded quietly in her lap, drew in her breath, as though she had suddenly become frightened. “sup- pose they walk out?” she said. “what are you going to do?” “it’ll never happen,” asher said, evasively. “i ain't got no time to spec’late on no such foolishness as that.” “for the life of me, i don't know what's come over you, asher,” ester said, incredulously. “i can remember when you use to say yourself that the kingfish needed to be brought down a peg or two. 'course you were just one of the boys then. now that you're on top, nobody can reason with you. can't even touch you with a ten-foot pole.” ester's remarks stung asher. he made a little gesture, like a person ducking his head as a bee buzzed toward him. he stared at her. then in a deep, plaintive voice, he said: “look, babes, i’ve come a long ways in life. believe me. this is the best break i ever had. i can’t afford to fool round wid it.” “yes, i know,” ester replied, as she eyed him tenderly. “but don't let it make a damn fool out of you.” lowering her gaze, she smoothed out several wrinkles in the center cushion of the sofa. asher straightened up abruptly and stared at her, his mouth twitching. then suddenly he smiled triumphantly. “i been out here in this man's world scufflin’ all my life,” he began, in a tone calcu- lated to arouse sympathy. “ever since i was able to walk, i been makin’ it the hard way. an' believe me, i’ve seen some dark days.” “all aunt hagar's children have seen dark days,” ester said quietly. “talk about the curse that fell on lot's wife. they sure put one on us. 'cause a child born of a dark woman is sure to see dark days. many . . .” ester was on the second bus that passed him lumbering slowly down the slight grade of the avenue toward the bus depot. but he did not see her until she had walked almost all the way from the station to the corner. she was in a summer suit, a suit he had never seen before, a short red cotton skirt with a white bolero jacket, and she was swinging a small white cap in her hand. her hair was as perfectly groomed as it always was, and her face was as smooth as ever. timing himself just right, asher got out of the car and walked up to ester, stopping flush in front of her as she was about to step up to the sidewalk. “hello,” he said, hesitantly. ester's mouth opened slightly and her eyes showed surprise, but she circled asher without stopping. “what's the matter, babes?” he asked, following along at her side. “don’tcha even wanta talk to me?” “what's there to talk about?” ester said. “unless you can make me believe you're a real man. but you don't wanna stand on your own feet.” there was the sound of footsteps in the delivery court, and the kingfish appeared at the gate just as asher and ester came abreast of it. asher had forgotten that the kingfish often came out into the court at that hour in the morning to poke among the boxes and cans of refuse (he'd once found eighteen pounds of parboiled lobsters that a cook in a raging protest over his drudgery had thrown out). he couldn't have known asher and ester were there—yet asher felt an unreasoning anger at the sight of him. “oh, my!” the kingfish said. “i didn't interrupt anything, did i?” “good morning,” ester said coolly, as she continued on down the street toward the edge of the restaurant's parking lot. asher and the kingfish stood there watching her as she walked away, her skirt swaying gently in the breeze. asher wanted to follow her, to stop and make her talk to him. but, feeling the kingfish's eyes on him, he did not move. i’ll get you for this, he promised himself. his face clouded up in a deep and threatening scowl. as ester disappeared into the parking lot, he heard the kingfish speak- ing to him, barely above a whisper, and it was several seconds before it sounded to asher like more than a jumble of hissing sounds. and then he heard the kingfish saying derisively: “that's the way it is when you have a girl—all the time spatting like little snotty-nosed schoolchildren.” “who?” asher said. “what—me, boss?” “who else do you think i’m talking about,” the kingfish said. he propped one foot up on a small wooden box that held one side of the iron gate open, and shifted his weight to his other leg. “you never have told me anything about her,” he went on cooingly. “but you know, i'm your friend. is she-how do the waiters say it? is she two-timing you?” “no, boss, they don't pull that kinda stuff off on me,” asher re- plied. “well, it must be pretty serious,” the kingfish said. “she certainly had her dander up. my goodness! what were you two arguing about?” he straightened up then, slowly and stiffly. his face became as hard and tight as stone, and his eyes narrowed into slits. “was it over that meeting last night?” he asked asher. asher's eyes bulged and he swallowed hard. unable to stand asher's silence, the kingfish poked him playfully. “i never thought you'd let me down!” he said. “but it's all right. mike told me all about it.” - asher said: “that's why i got out here so early this mornin', boss. i was gonna come back an’ tell you last night. but it was so late when i found out 'bout what was happening, i thought maybe you'd al- ready gone upstairs for the night.” “who're the ringleaders behind this?” the kingfish asked, spitting out the words. “i dunno, boss,” asher said. “i couldn’t git in an’ outa there with- out bein’ seen.” the kingfish's face clouded with distress. “just to think they’d went to treat me like this,” he said. “you know, i was just waiting for them to let up on all these building restrictions ...” he looked at asher carefully for a moment, then he went on: “i was planning to put up a first-class dormitory for the men out there in the parking lot. showers and a club room and easy chairs, pool tables and every. thing. just so they wouldn't have to travel all the way out here. i know they work hard. so do i. everybody's got to work hard. that's my rule. but they don't have to try to ruin my business.” “ain’t gonna be nothin’ to it,” asher said, consolingly. “ain’t no- body behind all this but that trouble-maker ray jones.” the kingfish's chin jutted out and his thin lips became cruel. “i thought he was in it,” he said. “i’ll take care of him myself.” he put his hand on asher's shoulder. “now, here's what i want you to do. change your clothes and get out of the locker-room before they start showing up. that headwaiter of mine can stay down there and hear what they're talking about. if he was on the job he'd known about this anyway. too busy hustling for himself.” “yeah, boss,” asher said. “that's as right as right can be.” “now, i want you to get in the dining-room right away. be in there when the waiters come on the floor. keep circulating about. every time you see two of 'em with their heads together, you try to find out what they're talking about.” asher said: “sure, boss. you can bank on me.” “get dunkel and tell him i want him,” the kingfish said. and then as he saw an expression of confusion come into asher's face, he added: “where else do you think you'd find him at this hour but in his office? now get a move on you.” “okay, boss,” asher replied. “i’ll fetch him for you.” the day inside the restaurant began quietly, with morning sun- light lying mild on the wide spaces in front of the two main en- trances—the colonial doorway that opened onto the street, the smaller one that led to the parking lot—and down through the center of the main dining-room. later, when the sun was hot, these two stretches of standing space would be like the entrances to a department store, where shoppers stood jammed together, waiting for the store to open for a great bargain sale. and there would be shouts of “it’s simply awful the way you have to wait for a table! they should have more captains here to seat you,” and the loud noises of agonized im- patience. but the guests had not yet started arriving, and a kind of haunted silence now filled the huge dining-room. asher, moving ab- stractedly about his work of setting a “table by the window in the hole” for mr. doppler, one of his regular sunday morning customers, stepped out into the space before the parking-lot entry and stood for a moment, not hurrying, shaking his side towel out gently toward the shadows that came from the long, shoulder-high flowerbox which formed one side of the alcove. i oughta duck in, before any- body gets on the floor, and sweeten her up, he thought, as he looked across at the entrance to the ladies’ rest room. suddenly his shoulders began twitching and he stepped hurriedly back into the alcove. “bet- ter let her cool off some more,” he muttered aloud. in the alcove it was dim, with the cream-colored venetian blinds lowered against the sunlight, and in the dimness asher moved absent- mindedly about his tasks. he wiped out the gray-and-white-streaked clamshell ashtray carefully, set it back on the table and, with his little finger, spun it around automatically, rearranged the position of the salt-and-pepper shakers, moved to the head of the table considering, and then set the bowl of crackers in between the two place settings and adjusted the napkins that lay folded, like shirt cuffs, on the service plates. when he looked up from this, listlessly, reviewing his next task, his face clouded. mr. doppler had appeared. why the hell don't he go some place else? asher thought with a stir of anger. but then he moved nimbly to one side and, inclining his head po- litely, pulled a chair back from the table. the old man, striding along as silently as though barefoot, had come in through the parking-lot entry. behind him trailed a plump, youngish-looking man, who also walked soundlessly. “good morning, gentlemen,” asher said. “good morning, brown,” the old man said to asher graciously. then he gave a look of speculative judgment about the dining-room, coughing a thin cough into his handkerchief. “it’s so nice and peace- ful in here before the mob gets here,” he said to his companion, as they sat down at the table. a lean-faced, fastidious old man, he was dressed in a three-button dark gray suit, the lapels of which stood asher cocked his head and gave the old man a long, speculative glance—the kind of glance that a waiter gives to the foolish ques. tion of a drunken patron—because sunday after sunday mr. doppler ordered the same thing, and so did his guest, no matter whom he brought. then asher smiled and said: “how 'bout some steamed clams? they're not so sandy now.” the old man turned to his companion. “can you be tempted, henry?” he asked. “they're something special here. right out of their own clam beds.” “suits me,” the man said. “one portion between us—a nice huge mess of them—should do it,” the old man said. “and, oh, yes—two cups of broth and plenty of drawn butter.” “yessir,” asher said. “now that that's taken care of, what else have you got for us, brown?” “a nice half a chicken,” asher suggested. the old man rolled his eyes and licked his lips. “whatta you say to that, henry? broiled spring chicken.” “sounds all right by me,” the man said agreeably. “well, that about does it for the time being, brown,” the old man said, dismissing asher with a wave of his bony hand. smiling to himself over the old man's antics, asher went off. but he had scarcely reached his side stand at the entrance to the alcove when his smile turned into a deep frown. for with sudden terror he recalled that the kingfish had instructed him to remain in the dining-room and keep circulating about. looking around furtively, he called walters. “go put this order in for me,” he said loud enough for the old man to hear, as he handed walters the order check. “an’ tell 'em i want it on the double-quick.” “gotcha covered, man,” walters said, with the air of a man glad to have something to occupy his time. asher watched walters shuffle off to the kitchen and then he turned to look about the dining-room. a number of the fishbowl's regular the other sections of the restaurant as it was in the main dining. room, fear lay like a cold hand on the back of his neck, causing him to remain where he stood, with the small of his back resting against the tray stand, drumming on the side of it with his fingers. and then out of the corner of his eye he saw charlie hogan and freddy rowden, both of whom had come out of the alcove into the passageway. rowden, with his wrist draped over an upper hook of a wooden clothestree, had one leg crossed in front of the other so that only the tip end of his crossed foot touched the floor. he made a quick, startled movement and his hand dropped loosely to his side, as asher turned abruptly to face him. “damn, man,” rowden said. “you like to scared hell outa me.” asher stared at him for a moment, and then he walked over to where the two men stood. “if you-all don't grab yourselves some of this business comin' in here, somethin’ else is gonna scare you,” he said. in spite of the brusque way he spoke, he seemed genuinely glad to have someone to make conversation with, for there was a faint twinkle about his eyes. rowden looked about him suspiciously and watched the people who were now entering the restaurant through every entrance. his bleak eyes grew more piercing. “to tell you the truth, i ain't particular 'bout gettin' nobody 'till i see how things is gonna go,” he said. “‘cause i got a feelin' holy hell is gonna break out in here today. an' i ain't fixin' to get caught in the middle of it. you know i’m sixty- nine years and seven months. i can’t afford to get my head busted in for nothin’.” his shoulders sagged and he sighed. asher said: “ain’t nothin' gonna happen to you, pop. in the first place, ain't nothin' gonna happen, anyway. nothin' but a lotta talk.” hogan snorted. “that's what you say,” he said. “but they was fightin’-mad downstairs this mornin', i'm tellin' you. come to think of it, i don't remember seein' you in the locker-room all mornin’.” “i had things to do,” asher said, with a sheepish look. “think i ain't got nothin’ to do but waste my time listenin’ to that kinda crap?” hogan screwed up his mouth reflectively. “well—anyway! i'm tellin' you they was mean an' evil as hell. simply spoilin’ for a fight. linin' up everybody an' his brother that'd listen to 'em, talkin’ about stoppin’ work this afternoon right in the middle of everything to make the kingfish take ray jones back. didn't even pay ol' chief no mind. couple of times there i thought some of 'em was gonna crack his skull open for him, he an' his big self so busy tryin’ to find out what was cookin' . . .” “everybody was sure touchy as hell,” rowden cut in. “you halfway can’t blame 'em,” hogan replied angrily. “the kingfish didn't have no right sendin’ ray back this mornin’. that boy didn't do nothin' but speak up like a man yesterday when you- all was tryin’ to calm that crazy dishwasher down. an' you gotta admit you was mighty rough on him, poor kid. yeah, somethin' tells me he made a hell of a mistake sendin’ that boy back this mornin’.” asher, who had held his breath at the mention of chicko, re- mained silent for a moment, studying hogan with a blank expres- sion. finally, he said: “you with 'em or the kingfish?” the question took hogan by surprise. his anger disappeared. his eyes grew puzzled and a little frightened. “i ain't for nobody but me,” he said. “i got my own plans. like i been tellin' you, i'm scufflin' here for a break so i can go in business for myself. i can't afford to get messed up in nothin’ like that. that's jus’ somethin' some of them young fellows done raked up on the spur of the mo- ment. how far you think they gonna git? suppose they do pull somethin’—you know these jokers won't stick together. an' where'll i be? out there on my raggedy ass. no that ain't for me.” asher's face beamed with satisfaction. “i knew we could depend on you,” he said. “you got too much sense to be followin' after a bunch of damn fools always talkin’ about what they gonna do. so smart—an’ right out here wid us. usin’ a lot of big words nobody ever heard of.” rowden took a handkerchief out of his pants pocket and wiped his shiny bald head. “jus’ the same,” he began, more as though he were talking to hogan than asher, “these young fellows ain't like us. of the tray stands. the air was full of their rebellion, and full of their discontent. asher's eyes bulged with horror as he entered the room, and gazed about him as though he could hardly believe what he saw. and then in a small clearing—between the frame portal and the end of the copper screen—he saw spike and clif huddled together, holding a whispered conversation. around them, eleven big heavy-shouldered men—spike's strong-arm squad—stood guard, their eyes defiant. charlie, the scrub captain in charge of the room, was running from one side to the other of the semicircle trying to talk to spike. as asher walked up to the group, he heard charlie say: “for christ sake! you can’t let the man down like this.” but spike refused to be baited into a quarrel. “keep your shirt on, bud,” he answered indifferently, as he listened to clif. “what's up, charlie?” asher asked. charlie, who was trembling with fright, merely hunched his shoul- ders, but made no reply. instantly, spike and clif stopped talking. the rustle of movement of the men standing guard around them died in a deep hush. and stark hatred replaced contempt in their faces, as they watched asher. he looked carefully from one to the other of the men, check- ing off their names in his mind. suddenly, the strong-arm squad opened up and shifted, like a football team regrouping itself on the line of scrimmage in a deceptive maneuver, and as spike and clif stepped outside the semicircle, the men closed ranks around asher and charlie, menacingly. then, while asher and charlie stood there gaping, spike and clif hurried to the back of the room, waving to every waiter they saw to follow them. not a sound issued from the men coming from every nook in the room as well as from the third dining-room as they bunched around the two organizers. spike stood with his back against a column, his arm around clif's shoulders. their heads were six inches above the heads of the silent men. spike cried: “this is it, men. we didn't wanta tell you before. but every scrub captain in this place is run- ning round trying to find out who's in on this deal, so they can ramp from the kitchen. one of them, a tall, executive-looking cop, said: “you asher brown?” “yeah,” asher said slowly. “yeah, officer.” “well, if you're goin’ down there to talk to 'em like your boss says, let’s get goin’.” at the bottom of the stair well asher beat out a series of loud rattling thumps on the rusty tin-covered door of the locker-room. then, as the door came slowly open, asher entered the room sur- rounded by the three policemen. as he advanced into the room, car- ried forward toward spike by the protective police wedge, he looked neither to his right nor to his left. stopping in the center of the mass of surprised men, who had quickly edged back to make room for him, he wheeled and, turning his back to spike, faced the waiters. everyone in the room became instantly motionless and all sound died. the men glared at asher. frightened, he said in a faltering voice: “you-all can't walk out on the boss like this. why, he don't even know what's eatin' you-all. but he's ready to listen to your com- plaints, if you'll jus’ come on back upstairs an’ talk to him. all he wants you to do, is come back on the floor.” for a moment not a sound issued from the press of men. and the tension mounted until it could be felt like the fleeting aftermath of an electric shock. the three cops stood alert, gripping their night- sticks securely. “that's jus’ what we're planning to do,” spike cried. “aren’t we, men?” “that's right,” a waiter answered. and the remark was repeated by every man in the room until it had mounted in a determined and angry crescendo. then, before asher could think of what to say, spike took over the show. “tell you what, brown,” he began, addressing asher's back. “if it's agreeable with the men, me an’ my sidekick, clif, will come upstairs right now and lay the men's demands before the king- fish.” he looked about the room, seemingly focusing his eyes on everyone present. “now, i want a show of hands, men, on my propo- sition.” as the men solemnly raised their hands in unison, asher turned sidewise and stared belligerently at spike. “all right!” he said, de. jectedly. “you’ll have to wait up in the butcher shop while i go an’ tell the boss.” they went out of the locker-room and up the stairs that led to the butcher shop, asher leading the way, followed by spike and clif and the cops trailing behind them. but within a few minutes the two union organizers returned to the locker-room. the atmosphere was hushed and edgy as spike and clif made their way through the crowd of men. the butcher shop was clear of crates and barrels now, but the air was strong with the smell of fish and fowl. now six policemen stood alertly about, and behind them stood asher and the little band of cooks. they exchanged opinions and judgments of the strikers in whispered tones as the waiters came up out of the basement. a youngish-looking cop, with pencil and notebook in hand, said to spike: “how many are going out?” for a moment spike gaped at the officer, but made no reply. the cop said: “you’re in charge of this walkout, aren't you?” “about seventy-five men,” answered spike. “might as well make it good,” the cop said, a twinkle in his eye. “it’s only for the police ticker.” spike heaved a sigh of relief. “a hundred and fifty,” he said tersely. asher, wheeling abruptly about, dashed out of the butcher shop and headed toward the checker's desk up at the other end of the kitchen. then, with spike and clif leading the way, the men marched into the kitchen, like a straggling parade of weary hikers. they talked together in low voices. their feet scuffed heavily against the cement floor. spike led them straight up the broad kitchen corridor past the fry cook's station and on past the broiler's workbench, instead of through the narrow passageway that lay between the pantry and the bakery (the route that would have taken them out through the delivery court). as they trooped along the corridor, cooks and the kingfish suddenly became very businesslike. he said: “very well, you get there right away. bring as many as you can get ahold of. i’ll pay 'em forty dollars a week.” asher's eyes bulged, and his mouth flew open. “that's right!” the kingfish said. “forty dollars a week. that's more money than anybody in this business ever paid before. and i'll give 'em twenty dollars’ bonus, just as i’ve been doing right along.” - “yessir, boss.” “before you go,” the kingfish said, “have some of the boys in the front room close off the rest of the dining-room. since they want to strike, i'll keep the front room going as long as they're out. and i know how long that'll be. inside three weeks, they'll all be broke, begging to come back. they can't run me out of business. i'm a millionaire.” w asher went into the second dining-room then, but it was empty, the scrub captains having blocked it off from the main room with a double row of upturned chairs. he stepped over to the frame portal and looked about the main room. for several minutes he stood there watching the few remaining waiters frantically scurrying about, trying to satisfy patrons. the room was crowded, and the waiters were unable to cope with the customers’ demands. dirty dishes remained piled on tables. patrons were making trips to side stands, helping themselves to water, trying to find condiments and clean silverware. some sat at disordered tables waving dollar bills in the air, trying to attract the attention of waiters, while others, tired of waiting, were leaving the eatery by every exit. then asher's eyes went to the ladies’ room. the door was shut. never in all the time he'd worked at the restaurant could he recall having seen the outer door to the ladies' room closed. a wave of apprehension sud. denly spread through his body, causing him to break out all over in a hot sweat. involuntarily, he started toward the ladies’ room, then turned and, half walking and half running, he charged in the other direction and went out the main entrance to the sidewalk. out in front of the restaurant, near the canopied entrance, the great crowd of striking waiters stood bunched around spike, listen- ing to him as he outlined what their next move would be. on the outer fringe of the crowd, the big, heavy-shouldered strong-arm squad stood guard, suspiciously glancing back every now and then in the direction of the white-columned doorway. a whisper ran through the crowd as the men became aware of asher standing there on the sidewalk, with one hand clinging loosely to one of the iron upright supports of the canopy. then a deep hush settled over the naen. sullen-faced, asher surveyed the men with narrowed eyes. gradu- ally, however, his face relaxed as he experienced a welcome sense of relief, for he did not see ester. and a wide, contemptuous grin spread across his face. asher, who until then had been content to merely stand there under the canopy, scornfully staring at the crowd of waiters, now began to laugh. “hey, you jerks!” he called to them. “what the hell you guys gonna do when your money runs out? an’ the boss’ll have all the waiters he needs. he's gonna pay 'em forty bucks a week an’ a bonus.” the crowd of men snapped their heads around to asher upon re- ceipt of this information. but no one answered him. asher, who was now seemingly beyond himself with rage, took several steps toward the crowd of men. he did not seem to see the stark hatred that flared in their faces. nor did he notice several of the men on the outer fringe of the crowd as, in unison, they began warily to shift in readiness, their shoulders gradually settling and widening, their big-muscled necks dropping down between their shoulders, their arms hooking slowly up, their eyes taking on a fierce gleam. but in that instant, what began as merely a gesture—the ges- ture of a man driven by a wild desire to reach out and put an end to the struggle, and the gesture of a mob goaded into the belief that that man, and that man alone, stood in the way of their obtaining their goal—became an act of violence. with catlike precision, a man's hand reached out and, fastening onto the hem of asher's white jacket, jerked him forward, making him stumble. almost at the same mo- ment another man, stepping deftly to one side of him, thrust his foot in front of asher's legs, and sent him sprawling. as he fell, a rain of punches descended upon him from all sides, as perhaps twenty of the men sought to do him in. in their eagerness to pommel him, the men not only hit and kicked him, but also pounded one another, until asher, his face swollen and gory, lay on the pavement staring va- cantly up at the big men glaring at him with venomous eyes. ester, meanwhile, had come out on the sidewalk. in one hand she clutched her white bolero jacket and pocketbook, and her small white cap sat lopsided on her head, as though pasted there, while stray wisps of hair fluttered out from beneath it. terrified, she had looked on helplessly at the horrible beating the men were giving asher. on the verge of fainting, she stood supported by spike and clif, both of whom held her arms, as if to protect her. now, with a quick nervous shudder she twisted her shoulders from side to side, flinging her arms out from her and, as her pocketbook and jacket dropped, freed herself from their grasp. her shoulders heaved. a difficult, slow sobbing began, but she managed to find words as she waded into the fighting mob. “for god's sake!” she cried, pushing and shoving the men aside. “don’t kill him. he ain't worth getting in trouble over.” her shrill words checked the men almost instantly. they stood momentarily surrounding asher, like a slow-motion photograph of athletes in action, some with a hand clenched and drawn back, others with a foot poised in mid-air. two of the men nearest asher, caught in the flux of their excitement, seemed unable to stop pounding him until ester had elbowed her way up to them. “please, for christ sake!” she said. “let him go.” then the men moved back from her and asher in a little widening circle, flicking glances of satisfaction at one another. “are you all right?” ester said to asher, as she bent over him. he stared up at her vacantly, and no words came from his swollen lips. , + the university of michigan - graduate library date due - ess sºlº : ***** *****::::: - *** {***** ******* * * ~ * º m :º); imº |||||||||||||* + . oosz, o *w*i eº la &. ezºśnº. *— §c% dd not remdwe miiilate bard,- a wwwwww would artes scientia library veritas of the ersity of michiga milliliitriinin university eutralitattu linnamuuntur tcebor stouris ucris peninsulam circumspice soll hummusuma utmanina re s uimum . boukshad e. t! new york neu ulti o canaan! a novel in o canaan! mr turpin achieves new importance as a novelist. his story concerns joe benson, mississippi field hand who abandoned a ruined cotton crop in the bad year of to lead his family and a troop of neighbors aboard a labor train headed north, laden with black labor des- tined for factories which were war-hungry for workers. weary of fruitless labor in the fields, the negroes saw a new life ahead in the promised land to the northward. mr turpin pictures a great social movement and its effect on a group of sharply etched characters. joe benson, his fam- ily and neighbors, their ephemeral adventure with success, their slow failure or abrupt doom, depict in terms of flesh and blood the ordeal of a race set apart, struggling, with a will to live, for human rights. here, then, is a novel of prime human significance on a theme never before ap- proached in american literature. an unforgettable story, told with sweep and power—and with a burning convic- tion—o canaan! is a splendid achievement by a writer whose work is certain to command the interest of critic and book-buyer alike. books by waters e. turpin o canaan! these low grounds waters e turpin o canaan! a novel bookshop e. th sti!! new york, n. ys doubleday, doran & company, inc. new york printed at the country life press, garden city, n. y., u. . a. copyright, by waters e. turpin all rights reserved first edition cl contents part i into canaan part ii wilderness part iii the tides of spring part iv rock in a weary land . ... and how shall a southern oak, in its full-blown prime, be transplanted to a northern prairie where the blasts of winter bowl from an inland sea ...? o canaan! we turned our eyes toward canaan in a day of confusion and trouble. ... and great was the fire in our bosoms ... as we shook the dust of the homeland from our garments ... as we sang a new song ...a brave song ... a song of hope and a new day. ... o canaan! our peasant feet shall tread your broad avenues. ... you shall bear our voices . . . and we shall be yours ... and you shall be ours. ... land of the rich and the blessed: you beckoned to us, and we answered. ... o canaan! joe benson scowled down at the relentless figures in the worn, gray-backed ledger before him on the counter. one of his hands gripped a pencil stub angrily while the other thudded the scarred boards. finally their thick fingers spread out like the branches of the blighted willow that screened the window at his back, both hands relaxed, palms down. "dam' bo’ weevil!” the words rumbled out like the growl of a captive bear whose cage is too small. joe benson was a big man, with a bigness that, whenever he was indoors, reminded one of a caged animal. and when he was angry, as he was now, this quality became more pronounced. at such times his great chest would heave, and his huge hands would thrust themselves into the depths of his pockets so violently that the seams gave, stitch by stitch. all these indices of his ire were evident now as he stalked from behind the counter to the doorway of his little store. there he slouched in moody contemplation of the narrow, white-dusted road whose ruts were baked to unyielding hardness by the late august sun. only yesterday he'd gone out with sol to observe the o canaan! havoc wrought by the pest upon his fifteen cotton acres. he had spat out a flavorless chew and leaned his powerful body upon a rickety fence beside which they had paused. from a wild shock of crisply curling hair he had slowly and re- signedly pulled the battered remains of his dusty felt hat to let it droop, as tiredly as he, in his toil-knotted fingers. and despite the absence of the headpiece, which had warded off the brilliance of the hot bottom-land sun, the shadows had deepened in his brooding face. the alluvial black land, gift of the great muddy coursing off westward to the delta, had stretched out in all its seeming lushness of growth-to the casual eye a promise of future abundant yield. but joe benson had known-he'd seen it before-he'd known it to be the diseased harlot it was, mocking now his son's toil as it had his own and his father's before him. ... dam' bo' weevil! "mought's well gone home, son," he had said to his dis- couraged oldest boy. “don't see why we don't pull out fo' the north like the rest o' the folks is doin', pa,” the big-framed boy had ventured. joe had grunted, noncommittal. now he snorted disgustedly at the silent row of white- washed shacks perched on the opposite side of the road, like muddy leghorn hens squatting in forlorn idleness. empty- every damned one of 'em! and here it was saturday after- noon with not the first cropper in town! it was the second saturday that three forks had been like this. . . . joe benson's great head lolled heavily. his leathery features, which evinced a fierce battle between the negroid and the indian, took on a deeper frown. "dam' lynchin'!” he growled once more. from lips that were firm even in their grossness a brown stream jetted to roll amoebalike in the dust of the road. piercing and mournful, a distant train shrilled. joe looked at his watch, huge even in his mammoth paw. four-twenty o canaan! on the dot . . . blue comet up from the delta. joe locked the door and swung up the road at a gait which testified that, for all his size, he had no great amount of fatty growth beneath his patched blue overalls and sleeveless shirt. his was the peasant's trudge, one that for the majority of his forty years had followed unhurried mules in the bottom lands. as he walked his corded arms crooked slightly forward from their power-sloped shoulders, and his fingers curved in a habitual posture. his was a figure that somehow seemed to belong here on this flat, dusty land—as if he had sprung from the very soil upon which he trod. “hey, joe! whar you bound?” a prodigious tuft of hair shooting perpendicularly from the left side of an unswerving part in his small head, a short, spare man grinned at joe from the doorway of what once had been a one-room shanty resembling the others along the road. a scrawled sign leaning beneath its one paneless window proclaimed to all and sundry that within one could procure a shave and haircut for fifteen cents. "hullo, sam," answered joe. "on my way to the depot- ain't nothin' else to do.” sam speedily locked his door and joined joe. "ain't gonna be nothin' mo' to do in this man's town, buddy!” he rejoined. "yeah ... that's what i bin thinkin' fo’ the last two weeks since they lynched 'at boy,” said joe disconsolately. "look-it them shacks!” "you know whar they's went?” asked sam. "i'll tell you: they's went up to jackson, jes' sho's my name's sam cum- weah, i know," said joe. "that labor agent, he come sough right after they raised all that hell. told ever'body er jobs an' freedom aplefity up in chicago. said his opny was runnin special trains from jackson fo' 'em ef t's there sat'dyight. they bin leavin'same's skeeters o canaan! wa hand nigger! said they warn't nev nothin' but high-class folks-jes' 'cause ole lem lawson an' his pappy was butlers fo' ole tit lawson an' his pappy! shucks! my pappy an' his pappy was fo’mans fo’ the lawsons—run the whole planta- tion fo’ 'em! ef i'd-a bin yaller they wouldn't-a said a mumblin' word!” "i’member," nodded sam. “they sho' was mad when you run off to natchez wid christine 'at sat'dy night! lawdy!” "huh! i know—they must o' wanted christine to do like them other gals o' theirn- joe's voice was lost in the rumble of wheels as he and sam mounted the narrow platform at the station and made their way to the car just back of the panting engine. it was half baggage and half passenger; from the windows of the latter compartment dark faces were thrust with friendly greetings. "whar you bound?” called sam to one old man whose hair was a mat of white above a dried apple of a face. beside him sat a beldam who was undoubtedly his equally aged mate. she was dressed in gingham, and her ancient straw hat shaded a worried frown. "jackson," quavered the old fellow, "an' from thar”- his stained teeth showed in a grin—"we's bound fo'- canaan!” as if this were a signal to the other occupants of the crowded interior (sam saw that the very aisles were packed), they burst into song: "o canaan–o canaan, o canaan-canaan over me- an' befo' i'll be a slave i'll be carried to my grave an' go home to my lawd an' be free!” just then the engine resumed its labored puffing, and the train rattled on across the flat, hot earth. o canaan! "you hear that?" asked sam. "yeah,” answered joe slowly. “what'd he mean by 'canaan'?” "that's what they's callin' chicago, man!” exclaimed sam as they walked back along the solitary street. “you know like the hebrew chillun in the bible. this here's old pharaoh's land an' the north is canaan. see? they gits that from 'at feller writin' in the champ'on.” "canaan, eh? h'm ..." joe bit off a chew decisively. "somep'n tells me i'm a-headin' fo' canaan! look here- how you go 'bout gittin' that comp’ny to run a train?” "well, it's this-a-way,” explained sam. “cordin' to the paper, you gits 'bout fifty to a hunnerd folks what wants to go, an' the comp’ny gits club rates fo' all you. three-fifty's 'bout what they's payin'—the mo' goes the less'n you pays. that's why so many's goin' to jackson—so's to git in on the club rates. this here war 'cross the water done took a whole lotta mens 'way from the comp’nies up north, an' they wants colored folks to work up there. payin' good money, too! jess bowman's boy writ home he was makin' money hand over fist!” “look here, sam”-joe stopped and spat—"you ain't makin' no money an' i ain't makin' none. now they ain't no use o' us stayin' here ef they ain't nobody gonna be here but us. now is they?" "sho'nuf the truth, joe! i swear, i ain't seed two bits fo' so long i'd drap daid ef i did, 'fo' the lawd i would!” "well, s'posin' me an' you scare up some folks to git them club rates," said joe. "i gots five chilluns, an' don't care ef 'tis canaan, it's gonna take a sight o' money fo' me to git up north.” "man, i sho'nuf wid you!” exclaimed sam. then his enthusiasm wavered. “what's them lawsons gwine say?” joe's face hardened. “they ain't gonna have no say!” he declared. o canaan! christine lawson benson (that was the way she wrote her name in spencerian flourishes) came of a breed whose bloodstream was threefold; it was easy to perceive which was dominant in her. after seven years in new orleans, where she had been an indifferent charge of a boarding school, she had come home a prospective teacher. it was during the summer of . from behind two sweating mules joe benson, only son of titus lawson's plantation overseer, had stolen one longing look at the auburn-haired beauty of the slender octoroon. his white grin had streaked across to her as she stood with her father, who was passing on some orders to old joe. her gray eyes had roved over his lean torso, bare to the waist and glistening in the sun. the slightly hawked arch of her thin nose had tilted in simulated disdain; but the sensitive nostrils had quivered- and her nostrils were one of christine's emotional barometers. and the fields had seen more of christine by sunlight and moonlight. . . . neither old joe nor his house- hold equal in rank, lem lawson, had an inkling of what was happening beneath their very noses. then came the saturday night just before the time scheduled for christine to assume her duties in the town's one-room school. from that time on joe benson hated the appellation "field-hand nigger.” old lem had spat it into their faces when joe brought his bride back from natchez. amid the belly laughter that secretly rocked three forks' colored section, joe's father had flared up at lem lawson's resent- ment. they never spoke to one another again, though they sat in the same pew of the church which knew them as deacons. old joe gave the bridegroom two thirds of his forty acres on the outskirts of town. but neither lem nor o canaan! his sister, housekeeper at lawson oaks, ever completely forgave christine. for four years her sisters, henrietta and consuela, lean vestiges of an earlier beauty resembling christine's, had ceased to recognize her. and this despite the wild escapades of their youth and hints of the ball they had attended in new orleans every year where no negro male showed his face—all common gossip of the town. but they were married to mulatto butlers of the town's two other "aristocratic” families. so they turned up their thin noses at their sister, who had degraded herself. ... they were somewhat appeased, however, when after giv- ing birth to a deep brown boy christine produced in rapid succession pale little lem and (hallelujah!) that veritable magnolia blossom, connie (named as a further peace offer- ing by christine). with these two bright flowers of her seed as passports, christine once more could sit upon the porches of her sisters' pretentious houses which were sandwiched between the border lines of the white and negro quarters of the town. "dam' uppity cusses,” joe had boiled as he worked his fields, followed by his silent young solomon, “i'll show 'em!” six years later he had shown them. he threw up a white- and-green structure beside theirs, just as pretentious and matching theirs line for line. old joe must have squirmed in his fresh grave at this wanton sacrifice of fifteen hard-earned cotton acres! then, as if to celebrate this coup de maître, one almost on the heels of the other, essie and the junior joe came with snapping black eyes, strangely curling lustrous hair, and (alack!) brown as dried cotton seeds. and from her earliest days essie hadn't cared how much her aunts sniffed at her. she ignored them; as a matter of fact she ignored most persons except her father and her brother sol. when henrietta, in a moment of what must have been weakness, had attempted to stroke the child's head, essie o canaan! ii had shied from the scrawny hand with a roll of her expres- sive eyes. her father had chuckled robustiously and juggled her in one huge palm with malicious glee. essie was always by her father's side when he was at home. she was there now as the family group sat on the porch during what was to be its last sunday afternoon in three forks. joe shaded his eyes from the sunlight flickering through the oak that mingled its branches with those front- ing the houses of his sisters-in-law. he spat out his chew and turned to his wife. "we's leavin' fo' the north, come sat'dy,” he announced. christine whirled in her chair to face him with the look of a woman who, even after many years of marital famil- iarity, is pampered by a doting husband. "there you go again!” her soprano shrilled plaintively. it sounded like the voice of a petulant child, and justly so, for christine, married though she was and a mother, had never really grown up. her father and older sisters had never allowed her to do so. "every time there's a bad season you get to talking about going north!” she continued. “and what good 'll that do you? none! you heard what reverend jones said this morn- ing. these people leaving the south now are just good-for- nothings. they'll never amount to anything anywhere! and they're a lot better off down here than they'll be up there in chicagoma-freezing and starving to death! white folks don't care a thing about you up there. down here they'll at least help you— "you bes' start gittin' stuff together you wants to take, come tomorrer," interrupted joe calmly. for the life of him he'd never been able to speak with genuine harshness to his wife. where she was concerned he was like a great rock which allowed the waves of her emotional storms to dash against it unheeded. "ain't no use o' me foolin' myself," he went on. “these o canaan! lips curled over her brilliant teeth. "ef uncle ben don't keep his hands to hisself, i'm going to take somep'n and knock his head off!” "what's he a-doin' to you?” joe's frame tautened. he glowered fiercely at christine, who had sunk back at the startling words of her daughter. joe forgot his easygoing ways with his wife. "i told you not to let 'er go to work over there!” he growled. "you know what you're saying, connie?” demanded the mother feebly. "sho' i knows what i'm sayin'!” retorted the girl. “i told ole miss lawson 'bout it, an' she ain't done nothin' but laugh! says i'm out'n my head!” connie clenched her fists savagely. "i sho' wish you would leave here, pa! i'm sick o' this place! i wants to be somebody-an' you sho' cain't be nobody in this town!” "well, you's leavin' now," assured joe. “you stay here an' help yo' ma wid the house an' packin' this week. sol, do ole man tibbetts still want that land?" "yeah, he want 'em all right nuf,” answered sol. “come round yestiddy sayin' as how he done hear all the niggers is leavin' town an' thinkin' mebbe you had a hank'rin' the same way. dam' his stinkin' hide! i heard he was one o' the head ones in that lynchin'— " "more 'n likely he was,” grunted joe. “how's lem doin' out there?” "he's all right,” said sol. “that gimp laig o'hisn holds 'im back some—but he's all right, fo' a young'un.” "i want 'im to help me wid the stuff at the sto' this week. reckon he's over to henny's, christine?” "dere he!” chirped essie, pointing. across the neighboring lawn limped a frail lad with a curly thatch of reddish hair. “how's your aunt henny?” asked christine when he had gained the porch. “her back any better?” o canaan! connie snickered. she liked her aunts no better than essie. and even at her early age she had heard old gossips of the village whisper about how henny was beginning to reap the bitter harvest of the sins of her youth. christine cast a threatening look at her precocious daughter. "hush your mouth, gal!” she warned. "humph!” grunted connie, unperturbed. “tain't my fault she's rotten an' stinks!” "hush up, gal!” ordered joe. but he concealed a malicious grin. christine rose abruptly and set out for her sister's house. "ain't no use fo' you to say nothin' 'bout us leavin' town,” joe called after her. “this time i don't want no mouth out'n them sisters o' yourn! see?” but christine already was mounting henrietta's porch. joe shrugged and looked sheepish under connie's amused glance. she was a slick one, that connie—always had been. "where's that joe?” he demanded by way of diverting her attention. “confound, that boy ain't never home!” "reckon he's down by the branch,” conjectured sol. "i'll git him,” said essie, and was off in a twinkling. joe stole a look at connie, but she was buried once more in her book. "... an' ain't nothin' you or nobody else do is gonna stop me! you's jes' wastin' yo' breath!” joe leaned over the counter and fairly bellowed the words into the sharp face of his father-in-law. he hadn't been surprised to see old lem hobble into the store just before noon. christine had been "raisin' ruckus” all week in addi- tion to having enlisted the aid of her sisters. he had blasted them back to their homes in short order, and now he was treating their sire to a heavy barrage. o canaan! "so you won't listen to me, eh?” quavered the old man. "you's jes' mulish like yo' pappy befo' you! here i done told you mistah lawson 'll let you have the job o' fo’man ef you stays here whar you b’longs, an' you's jes' too blame cussed to take it! you ain't had no business settin' up no sto’ noways-orter stayed on the land whar you b’longs ” "jes' a field-hand nigger, huh?” sneered joe. he leaned nearer his visitor as he grated: “well, i ain't gonna be no field-hand nigger! see? an' i ain't gonna stay here an' let no gal o' mine be no strumpit fo' nobody! see?” "what you mean, nigger?” old lawson flinched, and his gray eyes flashed as the red flooded his freckled neck. "you knows what i means!” leered joe. “ever'body knowed 'bout connie an' henny back there b'fo' they was married! ever'body knowed where them purty clo'es use come from— " "shet yo’ black mouth!” shrieked the old man, turning livid. joe laughed unpleasantly. "ain't no use gittin' on no high hosses wid me!” he retorted. “you knows i don't give a dam' 'bout nobody in this town, jes' like my pappy b'fo' me! see? an' ef they tries anything on me an' mine ..." joe jerked a revolver from beneath the counter and spun it expertly. old lawson recoiled. joe's deep chuckle was ugly as the weapon disappeared. "now ef you thinks you kin stop me from takin' my wife wid me, you bes' git the fool notion out'n yo' haid!” "you ain't comin' to no good! you hear me, joe benson?” the subdued butler fingered his black bow nervously. "you wait ’ll you gits up north wid hard times a-pest'rin' you! jes' wait!” with that he shambled out as haughtily as his years would permit. joe's laugh mocked him. a few minutes later sam cummins came in and took a seat upon a box. he was dusty and fatigued, but he wore an air of suppressed excitement. o canaan! "what you doin', man?” he inquired, wiping his face. "makin' a list fo' dave lennert's boy 'cross town what jes' set up in business," answered joe. “he's a purty nice po' white boy—somep'n like his pappy. says he'll gimme what the list calls fo-takin' the whole caboodle. how'd you make out up the country?" "man,” exclaimed sam, “ever'thing's set! some o' them folks up there's walkin' 'way! an' look- " he produced a letter. "these here people says they's runnin' a train labor day night all the way from the coast! all you needs is three-fifty from jackson— " "hot dam?!” shouted joe. “man, you's all right! 'bout how many's leavin' wid us?” "near 'bout fifty, countin' chilluns. man, moses ain't got nothin' on us! they's leavin' sunday night. me an' my ole woman's mos' ready." sam hesitated a minute. “look here, joe,” he said haltingly, “i'm kind o short o' money—you knows how things bin wid me. an' i cain't git nothin' on my house. " "here.” joe took out a roll of bills and peeled off three tens. “you gone home an' finish gittin' ready. you kin pay me when you gits started in chicago." sam was profuse with gratitude, but joe waved him out and went on with his accounts. "come on-git over an' give a lady a seat! what's the matter wid you menfolks? ain't you got no manners nohow?” with his youngest son in his lap, joe sat facing the sleeping christine, at whose side, slumbering with his head on her shoulder, was lem. connie shared the seat with joe and held the wide-awake, excited essie on one knee. joe looked up from his calculations on a scrap of wrapping o canaan! paper. the strident voice belonged to a buxom brownskin of christine's age. she was clad in widow's weeds but had not the least vestige of sorrow in her bearing. she was addressing the group seated directly behind christine and lem. one of her plump hands straddled a bulging hip, while the other gripped a valiselike pocketbook. her big, luminous eyes were full of scorn as the three men squirmed but re- fused to move. “you kin set here, lady,” offered joe. he rose with an inviting wave of his hand. "well, now—that's real nice o' you, mister," beamed the woman. she threw a last contemptuous look at the indifferent group before she moved. the train had just jolted out of memphis and was roaring on into the night. joe upended a suitcase and sat facing this woman, who even in repose bubbled with limitless energy. "here, gimme that lil rascal,” she commanded, reaching for young joe. she grunted, surveying the car with swift glances. “folks sho' nuf leavin' from down here, ain't they? never seed so many colored folks on one train in all my bo'n days—’cludin' 'scursions!” "yeah,” agreed joe. he had wanted to talk for some time; the journey was becoming monotonous. "reckon they's all headin' fo’ the same place-chicago?” "near 'bout. from what i gits from the papers, though, some's stoppin' in st louis. big meat places there, you know.” "what's yo'name?" asked joe. "mine's joe benson. that's my wife an' these is my chillunsman' there's my oldest boy yonder settin' wid sam cummins an' his wife. we's all from mis’sippi—three forks- "well, suh!” interrupted the woman eagerly. "i'm from down that-a-way too! come up to memphis wid my man twenty year ago. name's maggie dawson-maggie to my friends ” o canaan! "now that's sho' nuf nice,” said joe. “we's goin' to chicago. where you bound?” "same place," answered maggie, very pleased now that she was among "home folks." "my man he went out an' got hisself shot up by a woman 'bout a month ago—serve him right fo' his two-timin' ways—so i'm a-goin' north an' start all over agin. sold out my eat shop an' ever’thing-figgers on startin' another one soon's i gits to chicago. folks got to eat, you know!" "i'm gone do 'bout the same thing," said joe, and ex- panded. "i figgers i kin git started up there in a sto’-ought to make real money wid prices like they is ” "now you's talkin'!” agreed maggie. "ef i'd-a had a man like you " "who's that woman?” christine had jerked up suddenly out of her sleep. "if you'd-a had a man like who?" she demanded, her nose rearing. "wait a minute—wait a minute, honey!” chuckled joe. he hastened to introduce them. “how's you?" maggie smiled uncertainly. “my, but you gots nice chilluns! . . . jes’ like you, this gal o’yourn—an' that purty-haired boy there, too.” christine's face lost its hostility, for it pleased her vanity to have the looks of her children praised. as the two lapsed into feminine conversation joe left his seat to wander through the littered aisles that smelled of stale food, sweating bodies and the fortifying liquors which some of the migrants had brought with them. he met similar sights in each of the fetid coaches: here a raucous huddle of drunken city loafers; there a loud-mouthed group of women whose rouge, perfume and postures manifested their means of livelihood; yonder a sober parson hemmed about by his flock. but dominating all, like symbols of the strata to which they belonged, were the easily identified farm laborers, brawny stevedores and dock hands, some o canaan! still wearing the grimy garments of their occupations- black labor of the south hearkening to the call of the bustling, fabulously rich, industrial north. and some had visions: "... yeah, man! they's payin' real money! gonna see my chilluns wid a fittin' eddication. ..: "... gonna vote an' be a man!” "... gonna own my own house!” and some had illusions: "... says you kin go anyplace you gots money to go. ..." "... nobody to tell you 'stay in yo' place, nigger.' ..." "... don't work half hard's you does back home. ..." and some were jubilant and sang-sang the old songs while the whole coach joined in: "crossin' over-into canaan, an' i couldn't hear nobody pray!” and on the morrow that great titan city of the northern prairie, sprawled about an inland ocean, would fling out its wide-stretching arms to receive them for what they were. and their heartbeats would mingle with its never-ceasing throb of life. and somehow the lusty texture of its pioneer bloodstream would sweep up theirs—for better or for worse. .... lusty, virile, and boisterous city ... city of the high, the low, the merchant prince and the consuming pauper ... of the polyglot racial spawns spewed from all the quarters of the globe ... great pioneer city, sprung from the hut of du sable: nor northern rigors of climate, nor disaster of fire could defeat you! you bared your brawn to the elements and roared defiance! from ashes you reared yourself to splendor! you dispatched your lake tramps, laden with commerce ... you gathered the bogs and beeves from the prairies and western plains and cast them with sinews of steel into the world's hungry maw. . . . you mingled your leaping heartthrobs with the economic pulse international and established your own pumping stations. ... you stretched forth your arms in welcome and em- braced, with a huge belly laughter, the polyglot racial spawns spewed from all the globe's quarters. . . . you gave them each a portion of your broad bosom to suckle as you drew strength from your commerce, waxed gigantic, and sprawled around great michigan, monarch of land-locked waters. ... great canaan, ugliest where you are ugly ... alto- gether beautiful among ten thousand, where you are beauti- ful ... o canaan . . . titan of the prairies! the train staggered to a stop. the contents of the coaches seemed an endless stream. "my god! never knew so many of 'em was in the coun- try!” ejaculated a commuter as he and a companion el- bowed through the milling throng. "been like this all summer," panted the other. “might be good, but i doubt it. too many, b’jesus!” "mistah, how you gits to thirty-fifth an' dearbo’n?” "take the state street car ..." "cousin lonnie say he was gonna meet me. ..." "hello, honey! sho' is glad you made up yo' mind to come!” "you seed that boy o' mine? plague take his hide! ... allus gittin' hisself losted!” "this way out! this way out!” bawled a station attendant. "you all come wid me,” bade maggie. she helped christine to gather countless bundles. "here come here, gal!” she took up essie in one arm. “my sister josie lives up on state street an' she ought to be able to put us up fo' a while. i writ her i was a-comin'." "i sho' is much 'bliged to you, mis' dawson,” said joe o canaan! warmly. "come on, sol-you an' lem git the rest o' them bags. connie, you take that bundle an’ git hold o' junior's hand. hey there, sam, you an' maymie- " the little barber was standing bewildered in the aisle. behind him his wife seemed to cower like a fat child in fright. her mulatto features of infantile snubness were flushed, while her double chin shook with excitement. at joe's boom, however, the pair moved forward with their baggage expectantly. "whar you gwine?" whispered sam. "come on wid me,” said joe. out on the platform some thirty men, women and chil- dren were huddled. when they saw joe they bore down upon him in a body. "what we gone do now, mistah joe?" "whar we gwine go?” "i sho' is hongry- ” “mammy here ain't feelin' a bit good— ” "kinda wish i was back home- " they swamped him, but joe rose to the occasion. “come on, all o' you, follow me!” and like the remnant of an army, with restored confi- dence in its leader, they fell in step behind him. that he didn't know where he was taking them didn't disturb joe in the least. his head was up, a light was in his eyes, and his step seemed to lose some of its peasant's trudge. maggie threw him more than one admiring smile as she moved along at his side. “whew! man, i ain't never walk so much in my bo’n days!" with his toes pointed ceilingward, joe slumped on the worn cot. night had come. the rumble of streetcars and the clatter of other vehicles in the street below assailed the o canaan! open windows of the small, boxlike room that served as josie's parlor. josie was shorter than maggie but just as buxom as her older sister. aside from the one difference, they could have been twins. “you must o' had a time gittin' places fo' all them people,” she said. “sorry i didn't have mo' room, but you see i ain't got no more 'n fo' myself—an' one o' them's rented. dern rent's so high!” "yeah,” chimed in her stocky husband, whose round dark countenance had lost none of its good nature at this sudden barging in of his sister-in-law and a strange family. "ef it warn't fo' the rents an' the eats you mought make some headway up here." "i sho' hates to be puttin' you all out like this, mr jethro— ” "jes' jethro 'll do,” his host interrupted joe with a cor- dial smile. "you's a lodge brother, an' i reckon we kin manage till you all gits another place. you ain't bin here more 'n half a day an' ain't had time to look round. they's some houses over on dearbo’n street what ain't the wuss- co’se they ain't nothin' to brag on. ..." "yeah ... i was lookin' at some o' them,” said joe. he shook his head doubtfully. “i don't mind, but christine ain't noways hankerin' to stay in none o' them! i know that right now! where's she at?” "gone to bed-plumb give out,” said josie. “her an' mag- gie both. all us women's gonna sleep in two rooms an' you menfolks kin scatter round. yo' three boys is in the room down the hall " "an' i gonna sleep on that,” jethro pointed to the couch. "well, you all's jes' like home folks!” joe exclaimed. “met some folks today, though, that warn't-up on wabash avenue. kinda uppish-like, they is.” jethro grunted. “them's folks what tries to be dickty! o canaan! families bin up here a long time. mostly pullman po'ters an' folks wid hifalutin eddication. they don't mix wid us over here-don't even want set in same pew wid you " “like some folks down home, eh?” growled joe. "i'll show 'em!” “what you aimin' to do?” asked jethro. joe told him briefly, and added: "puttin' that oldest boy an' gal to work, an' use lem in the sto''cause he cripple.” "i kin git them young'uns jobs in the stockyards wid me -comp’ny needs plenty 'cause they shorthanded now.” "that's right nice o' you, now,” said joe, “an' i ain't fo’gittin' it!” he yawned. “reckon i'll git to bed. ef any mo' folks from home come round, jes' say i ain't here. look like they takes me fo' they pappy! ef some of 'em don't git mo' backbone, they ain't gonna make it!” it was a saturday afternoon during the latter part of that first october. already the prairie winds and the lake blasts were converging their chilling eddies upon the city, and sam was muffled to the ears in a greatcoat as he strutted into joe's newly established store on state street. he flourished a sheaf of bills under joe's nose and slapped them down on the counter exultantly. "there's yo' thirty-count 'em!” he chuckled gleefully. he leaned complacently upon the counter and surveyed joe's merchandise. "got to give it to you, man,” he said finally. "you sho'nuf knows what the folks wants, all right nuf!” he watched lem stack the cases of canned goods in neat designs on their shelves. “sho' don't take you long to ketch on, joe,” he continued. "that's jes' the way them other sto’keepers does they things. looks purty, too.” "you cain't let no grass grow under yo’ feet, man, up here," answered joe. “ever' day i goes out an' sees what they's doin' in other places an' then i does 'bout the same thing—keeps my prices right ’long wid theys's an' buys from the same wholesalers. nick cohen-he what keeps that bake- o canaan! shop next do'-got me in wid some friends o’hisn what's in the wholesale business 'cause lem an' me help put out a fire in his place last month. sho' makes a diff'ence in the prices. ef they was 'bout five o' us fellers together we could buy bigger lots an' that'd make things even better. i bin tryin' to git some o' the folks what come up wid us to put they money to use, but they won't listen- ”. "some of 'em done gone plumb crazy!” declared sam with a shake of his head. “some o' them single men-an' married ones too—what works over to the slaughterhouse wid may- mie ain't doin' a thing but givin' they money to them hussies what lives next do' to y'all- " "them dirty strumpits!” growled joe. "they's the nastiest bunch o' whores i ever seed! back in that hot spell they'd git out in they back yard wid not the fust stitch on! i cotched 'em tryin' to git sol an' lem to come over, an' i told them boys ef i cotched 'em havin' anything to do wid 'em i'd cut the hide off'n 'em! nasty high yallers an' po' white trash!” "ain't they a mess? us folks ought git t'gether an' go to the police 'bout it!” sam was vehement. “an' look like they's a saloon wid a gamblin' hole in the back on ever' corner- "ain't gone do no good,” said joe. "i went to the police last month an' they ain't done nothin' yit. only thing i see to do is move 'way soon's i'm able. i ain't wantin' them gals o'mine round no sich mess like that!” he remembered a question he'd wanted to ask sam, who, as in his southern home, acted as a news carrier. "what's done happen to jim ed boozey an' them wilsons from up the country? ain't seed 'em round fo’ more 'n two weeks now.” "man, they bin gone back home,” informed sam. “jim ed got daid drunk one sunday night an’ was late fo’ work, come monday mornin', over to the packin' house. maymie say the boss man warn't gwine do nothin' but take off his pay, but jim ed was feelin' mean on 'count o' his likker an' o canaan! went to talkin' 'bout what he gwine do ef the boss man mess wid his pay. so the boss man fires him an’ wilson 'cause wil- son was late the same mornin'." "now ain't that somep’n!” growled joe. “here they was makin' mo' money ’n they ever made in they life an' got go to cuttin' the fool! us folks jes' ain't right, that's all — " "they ain't-haven't—had a chance to get set, pa,” in- terposed lem, who had been listening to the episode. "this is all new to us folks from the south. i ain't-i haven't- never-ever-been in school with white boys and girls be- fore, and i find it hard 'cause it's jes'—just-strange. everything's new ... different ..." lem paused for lack of expression for his thoughts, but his sensitive face held a light of comprehension. "i remember,” he continued, "how the whole class looked at connie and me when we fust- first-started night school in september. sho' did feel funny. ..." "sho' do wish i warn't so old,” breathed cummins. "i'd go git some o' that eddication, b’lieve me!” "but you're not too old,” said lem quickly. "why, there are plenty of foreigners in our classes who are as old as you- "nope,” interrupted sam with a positive shake of his head. "too late now. you cain't teach a ole mule a new trot. wal, guess i'll git back over to the shop—'bout time fo’ the boys to be comin' in.” "that's the trouble with us,” said lem when sam had gone. "we're always saying what we can't do instead of what we can do!” "is that sho'nuf right 'bout them furriners, son?" asked joe slowly. “sho', pa! and some of 'em are older than you!” "well, i reckon i'll gone over there an' see what they gots,” said joe decisively. “come on now,” he snapped, “git 'long o canaan! wid them cans-gotta rig up them vegetables. git a move on!” so it was that joe sought the portals of learning after a lapse of over thirty years. he was placed in the sixth grade, but he shut his jaw down grimly and went to work on his books. during slack hours in the store he pored over them and thumbed them until they were grimy with grease and vegetable stains. grammar was his nemesis; as a matter of fact he dismissed it with a shrug. but history, arithmetic and geography were his meat. "where's ree-o-dee january?” he'd suddenly demand of lem. no sooner would lem supply the answer, or pretend he didn't know in order to give his sire a triumph, then joe would offer some arithmetical conundrum. at times when business fell into doldrums joe was wont to be "fretracious"; lem would lure him away into the field of history, where they'd fight again momentous battles and discuss the significance of the "scraps of paper" with which men have padded their earthly records. in all he became an avid seeker after the knowledge he had missed in his youth. nor did the interest of joe wane until he became the proud possessor of a certificate two years later. then it was that he said he "had to git down to business” and “ef they's mo' to learn i'll learn myself.” and literally he did just that. few book salesmen with their "short cuts to knowledge” found him an unfavorable prospect. he bought books on business, law, travel and-most beloved of all-politics. he'd learned the use of the dictionary during his two-year intellectual foray, and with the aid of it he doggedly plodded through volume after volume. his chief delight was to corner lem and connie on some point and then roar his rich abdom- inal mirth at them after he had stumblingly but successfully expounded. and this fever did not leave him even after he had become the prominent figure which the south side was o canaan! to know as one of its leaders--the one to whom men of far superior formal training were to come for advice and help, and whose favor they were eagerly to cultivate. for joe benson had that inner something which marks the born leader. out of all that black horde which swept blindly northward under the impetus of social, economic and political pressure from the bottom lands of the south, joe was among those best fitted to survive. his was a physical bigness and surging health that resolutely breasted the prairie's bitter sieges of ice and snow of the winters of and , and set him apart from the others. while some fled back to their southern haunts, joe reveled in the bite and sting of the elements. he would be up at five in the morning and go clumping downstairs to a frigid kitchen. soon the great fire that he had kindled would roar its summons to the rest of the family. connie and christine would shiver downstairs, their teeth a-chatter and their shoulders hunched. "come on, gals!” he'd thunder at them. "let's git goin'- i gots to git over to the sto' an' clean off the walk! ... you sol! you lem! git up from that bed! . . . git a hustle on! you's up north now, and you's got to git out an’git!” and the boys would descend, sleepy and unashamed be- fore their womenfolk, barefoot and in their long drawers, and dragging their outer garments behind them to dress in the warmth of the red-hot stove. then joe would get his youngest. he'd begin by tickling essie and smacking junior upon his quivering and rebelling buttocks; then, gathering the kicking and squealing twain under one mighty arm, he'd march back to the kitchen where the table creaked beneath the morning meal. though he was a good provider for his family ("rather feed you than pay a doctor!” he'd declare) joe was a thrifty man during those first years. his aproned, hulking form became familiar to the tellers in the colored bank o canaan! across from his store. but he was cautious; he put the bulk of his profits in a near-by national bank. "don't do to trust nobody too much,” he told lem with a crafty wink. “co’se i says with the rest o' the folks: we's got to stick together. but i done seen our folks mess up a heap, son. we gots a long way to go in this here business game—a long way!” it was at a meeting held in one of the large colored churches that joe first caught the eye of the south side. the meeting was sponsored by several civic organizations and had as its purpose to help the migrants from the south to adjust themselves to their new environment. the main speaker was a college-bred young negro who, from the general tone and substance of his discussion, was intensely in earnest about the welfare of his people. "i know that you've suffered all kinds of injustice down home,” he said at the conclusion of his talk, “but that's no reason why you should take it out on these people here. you mustn't become too easily insulted! be steady in your jobs; save your money; keep your children off the streets and send them to school regularly. you have a chance up here if you'll only take advantage of it. don't go around with a chip on your shoulder. and remember: a clean, self- respecting, intelligent, industrious negro is welcomed here in chicago; but a vicious, dirty, lazy, ignorant negro is a menace to his own people as well as to the other group! that's why you've been reading these spurious-bad- articles in the newspapers about us. whatever one of us does that is bad is placed in the account of the whole group. if you're going to get into streetcars dirty and drunk and sit beside other people because the law allows it, then you're going to bring trouble to all of us. if you're going to fight because a man accidentally knocks against you in a crowded o canaan! street, then you're going to cause trouble. just think-think more and feel less, and you'll become a great part of a great city!” after the applause the chairman called for an open dis- cussion. as is usual in such cases, an embarrassed silence fell upon the gathering. then a deep voice boomed from the rear of the auditorium, and all eyes swung to the speaker. it was joe benson, his great head thrust forward and his blunt fingers raking through his shock of hair. "i’grees with the gen’man,” he said haltingly, "but they's mo' to it than what he done say. what 'bout these here bad houses what we folks got to live in? i don't know 'bout other folks, but”-here his voice became proud—“i didn't live in no shack like i'm livin' in now 'fo' i come up here! i owned my house—an' i'm gonna own this one, too, 'fo' i'm through!” applause broke out. "then i'm gonna fix it up! but what i'm gittin' at is these here landlords makin' us pay these high rents fo' these shacks! look like the law ought make 'em fix 'em up! lawd knows it costs nuf to heat a house 'thout havin' to heat all out do's so's to keep warm!” laughter and applause greeted this sally. "an' some o' these houses ain't got the fust water in 'em! ... ain't that so, neighbor?" joe turned to a big red man at his side who nodded vigorously. “yes sir! my neighbor here has to tote water from my place, an' he's payin' the same rent i was payin' 'fo' i start buyin' my house! an' that ain't all. what 'bout these here whore houses an' gamblin' places?” a shocked stir ran through a group of elegantly dressed women sitting to the right of the rostrum, but joe blurted: " "tain't no use o’lookin' like that! you all don't have to be bothered wid 'em 'cause you live over on them high-class streets, but us folks what jes' come up here has to live in them hog-waller streets wid all kinds o' good-fo’-nothin' trash! now i done come up here to stay an' i'm gonna git what i wants 'cause i ain't gonna let nothin' stop me! but o canaan! some o' these folks i come up here wid cain't help theyselves. now what you folks what's done bin up here fo' the lawd knows when gonna do 'bout it? you kin hold all these here meetin' talks all you wants, but that ain't gonna do a thing ef you gonna hold yo’selves off from us like you bin 'fo' these newspapers started printin' things you all didn't like. you jes' give us a chance an' help us—an' don't think you all's so good 'cause you bin up here long ’n us—an' we'll show you somep'n!” amid the prolonged applause joe sat down and mopped his face, for the unaccustomed role had taxed him mightily. at the termination of the meeting the young speaker rushed into the audience and caught joe's arm. "wait a minute, mister!” he said eagerly. "i'd like to talk to you! my name's carter.” "mine's benson,” said joe. "i kind o'liked yo'talk. "s'posin' you come 'long wid me to my sto' so's i kin lock up fo' the night.” "mr benson,” said carter as they walked along in the still cold, "you brought out tonight exactly what i've been saying all along to my superiors. now that they've heard you, there 'll be something done about it, i hope. my plan is ..." he outlined his scheme of attack, which consisted of lin- ing up all of the social welfare agencies, with the churches as focal points, in a concerted drive. he'd form clubs among the young men and women of the older families of the city who'd make visits to the homes of the migrants; he'd organize the children of the latter group into "health and civic pride” clubs; he'd have a committee meet with the landlords . . . in short, mr carter was at that age when one is most energetic and optimistic, with visions of the choicest idealism. ... however, joe shared his enthusiasm and worked heartily with him. but human nature being as it is, and man the ani- o canaan! mal that he is, conditions surrounding most of the migrants remained the same; for the simple reason that time-stamped traits of the common horde are not easily eradicated. the gamblers, the harlots and the saloons continued to infest the blighted section. the housewives of the transplanted families took one look at the neatly dressed, smiling daughters of "old chicagoans” and reacted in no uncertain terms to their advice on hygiene and household cleanliness: "mind yo' own business!” “who you think you is? round yuh tryin' tell me how to run mab house!" such were the rebuffs suffered by these young crusaders. the majority of male newcomers slouched past the "christian welfare" building with its welcome sign in the window, squirted a stream of tobacco juice in its general direction, decided that it was too "dickty” and returned to the places of amusement more to their taste. young carter's efforts were not all fruitless; nor did he and the organizations with which he was affiliated subside in their efforts. some of the more intelligent settlers took ad- vantage of the opportunities presented and made their chil- dren follow suit. such was the case of the benson family. but only time and his chastening agents were to have a greatly significant effect upon that uncouth, surging horde which swarmed into chicago's south side when joe benson first trudged into his canaan. there was another tangible good that came of joe's meet- ing dan carter; it brought together connie and mae, dan's sister. for dan's small, sharp eyes had squinted appreciatively from his lean, coppery face at connie's points of beauty. it developed that the carters, who lived on wabash avenue in an ivy-grown brownstone mansion, had been a o canaan! part of the city for generations. the carters' record was a chronicle of success. great-grandfather carter had been a "free" mulatto of old charleston and during the reconstruc- tion had fled his headwaitership in a famous hostelry which he had made nationally famous because of his phenomenal memory for names and faces. he had settled in what had ultimately become the loop, and lived to see his son take over a prosperous catering business which his own industry had built. the present head of the family, dan senior, had taken advantage of his ability to be white or colored at will and turned barrister, in which role he had been no mean player. if his real-estate holdings were an indication of the man's astuteness, he most certainly had done well by himself. and now young dan was following brilliantly in the trail blazed by his father. ere long, the latter predicted, his boy, whose record at the university's law school was enviable, would be headed for the legislature. and the old man would finger the fine white mustache which he knew gave him the appearance of a solon. and his plump, sealskin- brown partridge of a wife, too, would preen her yellowish- white hair with fat hands that long since had lost traces of the laundry she had done before snatching the prize marital catch” of the nineties from under the very noses of her more socially fortunate rivals. now her dinners, luncheons and suppers were always listed conspicuously in all the week- lies. also she doted on their daughter, though teen-age mae, carrying her social diadem with a grace in spite of her tartaric attitude, often stated her antipathy for the carter tradition. "make yourselves right at home," she told connie and lem the sunday during the christmas holidays when they had finally accepted dan's invitation to call. connie and lem had stared at the display of well-being in the carter living room. everything exemplified a taste which had developed through years: the old furniture, the not too brilliantly bulbed tree with its heaps of presents o canaan! beneath it, the family portraits upon the soberly papered walls. and in this setting the easy conversation of dan and mae flowed as though it naturally belonged here. friendship soon drew mae and connie together in spite of dame carter's protests to her daughter. mae had a mind of her own. besides, she made no bones of her being smitten with the blond good looks of the girl-shy lem. mae was to become one of those little women whom men are prone to regard (erroneously) as animated adult dolls. men were to look at her and know immediately that the least too much pressure would break any one of her pretty parts. she quickly dissipated the illusion, however. from adolescence onward she was a half pint of tacks—the finely pointed kind-wrapped in cherubic, dark-eyed brown daintiness. when occasion demanded, her chirping voice carried a snarl like that of a peevish pekingese. it had been that same snarl which had quelled the sly aspersions thrown at connie by the snobs in mae's set. "always remind 'em where they came from,” mae had advised. "if you don't know, your guess will be pretty near right. then watch 'em run! remember that their plymouth rock was an auction block, just like ours!" their friendship was lasting, and it was mae who finally persuaded connie to follow teacher training when she had finished high school at the head of her class. “how's my babies today? in school, are they?” christine smiled welcome to her blue-clad, puffing visitor, for this was miss jane saunders, a school nurse of the south side. she was a robust, energetic mulatto with something of the sprite in her chubby, youthful face, which even the thick lens of her spectacles could not disperse. "come right up to the stove, miss jane,” invited christine. "your face is red as a beet! how in the world do you stand all that snow and cold?” "lord, honey!” laughed jane, unwrapping a blue scarf from her neck. “if you had on as many clothes as i have, you'd wish it was colder!” "here-give me your coat,” said christine. "i'll hang it near the stove " "nope,” said the nurse, "i'll just sit here and blow a minute. just stopped in to see how the kids are getting on. check-up work, that's all.” "i'll get a nice cup of tea ready for you," offered christine. "it ll help warm you up. you know," she confessed shame- facedly, "i didn't like the idea of you coming here at first- o canaan! looked like buttin' in. you see, we don't have nothing like you all down home- " "i know,” said jane easily. "i could tell that when you didn't want me to take essie and junior to the hospital back in december. but i couldn't let them stay here—you know what the conditions were. i have to give it to you, though. you and your folks certainly have cleaned it up.” she sighed heavily. "you ought to see some of the places i have to go into! lord! i don't see how any human can stand 'em!” christine glanced proudly about her brightly painted and scrubbed kitchen. “we were used to good living before we came up here,” she said. “all my family's good livers. but some of these we came up here with ain't never been used to nothing. they used to live in cabins, and some of these places up here's like heaven to 'em!” jane nodded understandingly. "i know. it reminds me of the little town i lived in as a girl.” christine was surprised. “where was that?" she asked. "i thought you was born here." jane started buttoning her coat and laughed. "no, indeed, honey!” she exclaimed. “i was raised by an aunt down in maryland. she was a midwife, and i guess i take after her. folks down there—some of them—don't live any better than some of the folks you came up here with.” she chuckled. "i guess nearly all the colored folk here in chicago come from some part of the south.” she moved toward the hall door. “how's essie and junior getting along in school? and how's your husband's store coming on? i hear he made quite a to-do at a welfare meeting not so long ago.” "they're getting on all right,” said christine. “essie says some of the white children are mean-like sometimes, but she fights 'em and makes junior do the same. she's got plenty spunk! the store's coming on tolerable fair—though joe ain't never satisfied ” o canaan! "your husband's that kind,” said jane. "he's going to make good here in chicago. that's the kind of men we need here. how's sol and connie doing at the yards?”. "fine. sol's in the slaughterhouse and connie's working in the canning—they changed her when the blood made her sick, though she didn't say nothing." "that's lovely ... that's lovely,” said jane. "i certainly hope your husband makes them save their money. times are good now, but they won't always be- " "yes, indeedy," interrupted christine. “joe makes 'em bring every cent to him. we ain't letting our children run wild like some of these folks. and connie and lem's going to night school, too.” they were at the front door and jane paused. "well ... i certainly am glad you seem reconciled to being up here now,” she smiled. "the lord knows you had your husband some worried for a while! and you don't want to go back home now?" "no, indeedy!” declared christine. "i guess i was plumb foolish at first—and i was worried, too: no place to live, everywhere noise and dirt! but i like it now, because, just like joe says, it's better all round.” "that's lovely ... that's lovely. ..." jane patted the older woman's arm. "i guess you won't be seeing me so often now, but i'll be dropping around every now and then just to see how you're getting on.” with that she pushed out into the snow and sleet that lashed the prairie for nearly forty- eight hours. christine hurriedly shut the door against the bitter cold and went about her housework. the shift from the drowsy monotony of three forks to the bustle of the great city had been beneficial to christine. she had lost her listlessness. and if she had any complaints there was no one to listen to o canaan! them. now that she was away from consuela and henrietta she developed a new independence of spirit. she took pride in making a home of the wreck of a house into which joe had moved his family-one at which the airful henrietta would have raised horrified hands. there could be nothing done about the weather-discolored exterior until spring, christine had decided. but with the aid of lem, when he was not at the store, she had gone to work with paint and calcimine until the filthy six rooms were now clean-smelling and spotless. even essie and the shirking junior had been enlisted in the scrubbing of the floors after school hours. and joe, delighted by this sudden energy of his spouse, had told her to spend what she wanted for furniture. hence jane's approval of the house's appearance. hitherto neglectful of her younger children, christine now took intense interest in them-especially essie. that bright-eyed youngster was distinguishing herself at school and stood out in contrast to the backward older children who had accompanied their southern parents during the summer and fall migration spurt of . noticing the slovenly condition of these children, christine determined that essie and junior should be models of neatness when they left each morning and noon for school. as compensa- tion for this new maternal care, essie and the boy brought home report cards that were a succession of high marks. junior's deportment column, however, was criminal. and no amount of warmings received from his father's calloused palms could bring about any change in the boy. christine was taking an active part in church work also, as had been her wont at home. circumstances had chosen bathsheba baptist church for hers and, therefore, the family's place of worship. it was two blocks below them on dearborn street. the pastor, rev. b. v. williams, was an enterprising soul who had, of necessity, followed his flock from mississippi the year before. he was portly and sleekly o canaan! brown, and his voice, coupled with his bearing, glorified the shabby "store-front” church he had established. "i guarantee,” he had cadenced during the call he made on joe and christine shortly after their arrival, “that within two years we'll be worshiping in our own church- and, brother benson, there won't be a negro church to com- pare with it! we people from mississippi ought to stick to- gether. i've been to these churches up here, and i've never seen such lukewarm christians in all my born days! they're stiff as plowshares! they makes you feel like you ain't wel- come! now you know the lord don't like nothing like that! now ain't that right?" "humph!" joe had grunted to christine after their visitor had gone. "i ain't never bin no church man. you an' the chilluns kin go where you wants to. but i gots to 'tend to business! that eye-talian 'cross street from me stays open all day sunday an' so do nick cohen-an' people up here buys ..." notwithstanding the adverse remarks of the rev. wil- liams concerning churches other than his, christine had tried one the very next sunday. pastor williams had been clever: christine went to church with a very large and precariously balanced chip on her shoulder; she saw, or thought she saw, what she looked for. "they sure did pop their eyes at us, all right!” she said to connie on their way home. "looks like they didn't want us sho' nuf,” replied the girl bitterly. "must have been these hats an' coats we got on!” and she had sulkily snatched off her outlandish head- piece. “i saw some o' them girls a-snigglin' at me! i ain't never goin' there no mo'!" “so they's like that, is they?" joe had growled that evening. "where's that reverend williams' address?" from that moment the success of bathsheba was assured. after his long conference with the pastor the latter deputized o canaan! joe as deacon. joe canvassed every family from three forks for membership in williams' church. he brought sam cum- mins' loquacity to play among barbershop customers. jethro passed the word along to his fellow workers at the stock- yards, and maggie dawson placed a huge sign of bathsheba's invitation "to feast on the gospel” in the window of her thriving "eat shop” next to joe's store. by spring of that year rev. williams, beaming his most unctuous smile, gave out the following announcement amid vociferous rejoicing: "brothers and sisters: it affords me great pleasure to bring good tidings of great joy this morning! i've been informed by the trustees and deacon board, of which brother benson is our beloved and most earnestly working leader, that we are now able to make the first down payment on our new home, one of the finest and largest churches in the city! all of you have seen it-it's right down here on the corner-yes, sister, that's it,” he assured one amazed and delighted old faithful, “that same fine, beautiful stone building-seats three thousand easy! it 'll be ready for worship easter sunday morning! may the lord be praised, for his mercy and goodness endureth forever! hear me! hear me! and i don't want you good people to forget our good brother benson, who has given so much of his time and goods to help bring about this miracle—for miracle it is for a group like ours to raise so much money in so short a time—but you can't hold back true children of god! no sir! hear me-hear me! i want every one of you under the sound of my voice to patronize brother benson's store! he's got the same thing for the same price! ain't no use giving our money to somebody else, now is there? now ain't that right? we got to learn to help one another! now ain't that right? and don't forget sister maggie dawson and brother sam cummins! i tell you, sister dawson can sho'nuf fry chicken. i know, 'cause i gets mine there every sunday the good lord sends! don't i, sister dawson? yes sir! and i ain't letting nobody o canaan! cut my hair but brother cummins! hear me-hear me! hear me, children! bathsheba's marching to zion! are you with me, children? amen! amen!” so joe had been drawn into church life along with his wife. but joe wore his new garment loosely. with christine it was a matter of being a part of the great social program with which williams cleverly held his growing congregation together. christine headed committees and was a controlling voice in the pastor's aid, as well as being soprano in the choir. to her all this fanfare meant a dictatorial prestige among her sisters of bathsheba. the fact that lem and con- nie were attending night school spurred other young folk of bathsheba, upon further urging by the pastor, to do likewise. and about the two grew a group of these aspiring youths who, following the reverend's eager suggestion, formed themselves into a b.y.p.u. christine's cup was sweet and full, and she was proud at last to be the wife of joe benson, head deacon of bathsheba. but to joe the music of his cash register was more pleas- ing by far than that of any choir, celestial or otherwise. "how's business, feller?” maggie dawson stood in front of her little restaurant, her arms wrapped in the folds of a greasy apron. it was april, but there still was a penetrating chill in the air which the sunshine could not dispel. "that's sho' nuf some nice writin' lem's a-doin'," she observed. she nodded to the window on which lem was skillfully printing. "kinda wish you'd let 'im do some fo' me. i'll pay 'im what he ask- "sho',” said joe. he looked up from the cabbage he was arranging on a stall. "he'll do it free o'charge.” o canaan! "sure, miss maggie,” said lem with a wink. "all i'll ask is a piece of that sweet potato pie of yours—best i ever tasted!” "i got it, son!” grinned maggie. "seem like i ain't able to make nuf fo' the mens nowdays. them rascals come a-rantin' over here from the yards when they shift is over, an'-swear to my rest—i works like the devil! look here, joe-ef connie 'll work fo’ me i'll give 'er same's she makes over to the yards. i needs help! chance to make tips. an' i'll make her hours so she kin go to school jes' like she wants to.” : "i reckons business kind o' good wid you, eh?” joe looked directly at his neighbor. "guess you ain't got nothin' to kick 'bout yo’self,” re- turned maggie just as shrewdly. "don't i see folks totin' whole sacks o' stuff 'way, come sat’dy nights—an' ever' night, too? you ain't no jay bird!” "look-a-here, maggie.” joe measured the big woman. "you ever think what we mought do ef we was to run our places in partners?” "i ain't bin thinkin' nothin' diff'rent!” ejaculated maggie. "that's what the white folks does.” her eyes widened as she looked up and down the busy street. “an' another thing i bin thinkin' 'bout: all these colored people up here in one part o' the city . . . s'pose you an' me had some houses to rent ” "doggone!" blurted joe. "you know one thing? i bin thinkin' the same thing! the white folks is movin' 'way so's not to be near us-over on prairie an' michigan too. an' we's making money hand over fist! wid rents like they's gittin' from colored folks—why, gal, we'd make mo' money ’n we could shake a stick at!” “s’pose we gits together an' talks this thing over,” said maggie. "all right," agreed joe. "i knows a lawyer an' real 'state o canaan! man. an' s'posin' from now on you an' me runs these two places together? what i don't sell, you cook it an' sell it. we cain't neither one lose!” "suits me to a t!” they had merged. "befo' i'm through i'm gonna have me one o' them swell places on prairie-see ef i don't!” cried maggie. "an' i gone be so close to you i kin spit right in yo' kitchen!” vowed joe. and both looked at each other and laughed a peasant's full-bodied laugh of the pride of possession. a june came. morose sol and easygoing jethro marched off to camp along with dan carter and other recruits of the old eighth illinois. for the first time since his birth christine drooled emotionally over her taciturn son. but sol seemed more embarrassed than anything about his mother's display when he came home just before the regiment was ordered entrained for france in the spring of the following year. "aw-ain't nothin' gonna happen to me,” he comforted her roughly. and in his big, khaki-clad trimness, sol looked capable enough to take care of himself. “only thing us boys is fretracious 'bout is this here bombin' of colored folks's houses! wish they'd turn us loose on the dirty suckers! i bet we'd put a stop to it!” "i'm gonna give 'em a chance to bum me!” growled joe, chewing the end of his cigar viciously. he'd discarded his plug tobacco. this was a token of his advancing prosperity. the parlor of the benson home was resplendent with new furniture. at the time joe sprawled upon its mammoth, overstuffed divan. he toyed with the thick gold chain across his paunched belly and went on: "we gonna move over on prairie, come july. an' the first o canaan! cracker i ketch messin' round my place is gonna git a load o’shot in his tail!” that night, instead of the regular sunday services, bath- sheba held a mass meeting. national songs were sung along with popular war ditties crammed with sentiment and patriotic fervor. white and colored orators swayed the crowd by extolling "the bravery and undying loyalty of the colored soldier in every war of the nation's history.” liberty bond pledges were made. at the end the gathering stood, some in tears, and sang the national anthem while the boys in khaki filed out to keep their rendezvous with whatever fate might await them. "sallie and pete's been fighting again, joe.” joe mopped the profuse perspiration from his freshly shaved face. it was the fifth of july and the city was sweltering. he was about to answer christine when a series of small explosions crackled in the back yard. he jumped to his feet and hurried to the rear porch of his newly acquired prairie avenue home, a finely proportioned brownstone house with something of the french in its contours. on the lawn essie and junior were about to set off another of their firecrackers when the boy looked up and scampered away. "you come on here, you essie!” snapped joe angrily. "what'd i tell you 'bout raisin' a ruckus fust thing in the mornin'? take that!” essie's hands flew to her outraged, tingling backsides where her father's expert palm had descended with pre- cision. she choked back the tears and rushed through the house to the living room. there she plunged her dark curls into a pillow on the divan and silently sobbed out her anger. "sure now, mr benson, she's only a child and meant no harm.” o canaan! the mother of the family next door was hanging out a wash and had paused to watch the tableau. her plump, kindly face and soft voice were conciliatory. "sure, my rosie would be after doing the same thing if she had any left," she added. "i know, mrs cohen,” said joe, "but you knows how the people in this block thinks 'bout me an' maggie movin'in here. they don't want us noways. co’se, you an' nick don't mind 'cause we does business together. you all done got to know us an' figgers we ain't so bad an' ruckshus as these newspapers bin sayin' us colored folks is.” "sure,” smiled mrs cohen, shaking a sheet, "and they was the same way about me and nick! that's the trouble- people don't wait and see what other people are before they make up their mind about 'em. people is people, is what i says to nick when you moved in here. and my rosie says as how your essie is a smart girl in school. and sammy says as how your lem is a nice boy and all. 'so what do i care if now it's colored they are?' says i to nick. faith, and i'd rather have you next door than some noisy no-gooders i know!” "that's a right nice way to look at it,” said joe gratefully but with a sigh. "some o' our folks is right bad, though. seem like they jes' cain't git theyselves sot right. ... now i gots to go over to forty-eighth an' wabash this mornin' an' git one of 'em out'n jail. you know 'im-pete thomas. gits his bread from you all's bakeshop " "sure—sure,” said mrs cohen. "he's such a nice man when he ain't drinkin'! pays his bills on time and everything. but he will get drunk when he gets his pay. what 'd he do now-same thing?" "yeah. gits drunk an' when sallie tries to git some sense in his head he turns on 'er an' beats 'er up—an' he's sorry after.” joe shook his head gloomily. "i tell you, mrs cohen, i wish sometimes i'd o'never got some o' them folks to come o canaan! up here! ever' time one of 'em gits in trouble they runs straight to me! an' look like ain't nothin' but death gonna cure some of 'em-jes' ain't no-count!” "well, now, i wouldn't be after sayin' that,” reproved his neighbor. she brushed back a wisp of fiery hair from her freckled face. “you oughtn' feel that way. faith, you ought to see some of the sights down on maxwell street when i was a little one! sure, and i never seen anything worse 'n a drunk irishman! and, faith, i ought to know because i'm irish m'self- " "why,” exclaimed joe, "i thought sho'nuf you was jewish!" rose cohen laughed with a merry wave of her hand as she picked up her basket. "a good man's a good man,” she said. “and, faith, they're so hard to find, it makes no difference to me what else he is! and 'tis i, m'self, that says it!” "by god, i'm so damned sick o' pickin' up drunks i could break every one o' their heads!” officer james milburn lounged against the rail before the judge's bench and spat his disgust into the freshly cleaned cuspidor at his feet. his tan countenance and crumpled hair showed the effects of his twelve-to-eight patrol. yet, sleepy as he was, the vitality of his compact body poured from his coldly gazing eyes and the even lineaments of his face. at the moment his teeth were clamped behind compressed lips, and his tautened jaw had an ugly jut. his companion, a tall blond with a slavic prominence of cheekbones, laughed softly. "take it easy, jim," he said. “what else can you ex- pect- " "i wish to god they'd-a stayed south where they came o canaan! from!” blurted milburn. "by jesus, as soon as they get up here where the pressure's taken off 'em they run wild!” his voice took on a drawling, argumentative note as he faced his fellow officer. "you know, mick, we ain't had all this before!” he thrust an arm in the direction of the noisy courtroom. it was packed with what appeared to be the dregs of every racial group in the city, the majority being negroes. "sure," said mick, "but you never had so many colored and white living near each other, either. you can't ex- pect- " "yeah, but look at what they're here for! this guy i just brought in-beating his wife!” "ho-ho!” scoffed mick. "you oughta go over to the yards station! ain't no difference, jim. if they're scum, they're scum!” "i know," admitted milburn, "but you don't understand. when i first came to chicago ten years ago ten years ago, the colored people here were a quiet, industrious group and getting along fine. now this bunch comes up from the south and ruins everything! you mark my words: you're gonna see trouble—and it ain't gonna be long, either! you know peo- ple don't like this low class of negroes to move into the same block with 'em. hell! i don't want to live with 'em myself! these bombings we been having is just a sample. you wait!” "here comes that benson fellow again,” said mick. he pointed to the back of the room. "i understand the people he came up here with look on him as a leader. they say the politicians are after him to swing votes for 'em.” "he's all right,” said milburn. "if they were all like him there wouldn't be so much friction. but he's made a mistake, moving over there on prairie in that white block.” "i've talked with some of the people over there-it's on my beat,” said mick. “they don't seem to mind him so o canaan! much, but that woman who runs that restaurant on state has moved in next to him. and she runs a rooming house. the folks over there say that those people in her house raise hell sometimes. when she's home, which ain't often on ac- count of her shop, they act all right because she makes 'em.” "that's the way it goes,” shrugged milburn. "one or two are pretty good, but the majority-uh! the juvenile court ain't never been like it is now. seems like that these men throw away the good money they make before they get home. then the hungry kids go out and steal. then as soon as the big-time crooks finds out a section is nearly all col- ored, in come the saloons and whore houses! hell! what kind of a background is that for kids? look at that house over on dearborn-damned near a killing a week!” "why don't decent colored people get together and pro- test?” speculated mick. "they do. they've organized civic improvement clubs and all that. does some little good. but the majority of the higher-class colored people are ashamed of this new element and don't want to be associated with it. you notice how many of 'em's moving out to the suburbs? especially since barnes, the real estate guy, was bombed?” "say, that was pretty bad, wasn't it?” exclaimed mick. "they say that they had it in for him for selling and rent- ing to colored people in white neighborhoods." "that's right. i told him a couple o' weeks ago to watch his step after we got those orders from downtown. but he's a stubborn guy! says now that he'll stick till hell freezes over! says if they can move a big colored man like himself they'll figure they've won.” "i like his guts,” said mick simply. “good mornin'," greeted joe as he came up. he took his cigar from his mouth and eyed both officers in a straight- forward manner. o canaan! si "hullo, benson," answered milburn gruffly. “what's on your mind—that thomas guy?” "yeah,” said joe. “i was figgerin' mebbe you could kinda go easy on 'im when the judge come in. i bin talkin' to 'im out in the cage, an' he says he's sorry 'bout what he done " "sure he's sorry!" snorted milburn. "that's the same thing he said last time! and what'd he do? just soon's he gets paid he's gonna do the same thing all over again!” milburn's conviction was emphasized by his singsong stressing of words at regular intervals. “jesus christ, joe! i can't have that sort o' thing on my beat " "sho'-sho',” agreed joe tactfully. "but ..." he paused and pointed over to a little, wretchedly thin woman. she was rocking silently back and forth in her misery on a bench occupied by a group of buzzing women whose faces and bodies bore the marks of their livelihood. "look at that woman's eye!” snarled milburn. his body seemed to coil like a tightening spring. he pulled up from his lounging position, and little creases gathered about his fighter's eyes. “why, the-why, damn his soul! i ought to go break my stick over his head!” "ease up-ease up, jim!” counseled mick. “the guy was crazy with booze.” "she says ef you put 'im in the bride'll her an' the chilluns ain't gonna have nothin'," put in joe hurriedly. "she says he won't do it no mo'. ..." milburn swore softly and once more spat his disgust. “by god,” he breathed, "there ain't no limit to some col- ored women's patience! well, if she wants him, i don't give a damn! but if i catch him beating her again i ain't listening to nobody! he's going to the bride'll!” joe grinned his relief. “thanks, mr milburn! you all smoke cigars?” he offered a handful to them. “never mind the weeds,” said the gruff milburn. he o canaan! fumbled without success through his pockets. “say, mick, you got any o' them tickets for the game saturday?" "sure!” mick eagerly produced a pack. "here.” milburn extended two to joe. "they're a buck. apiece-police and firemen's benefit. now you get that woman out o' here before judge nicolli gets in here. if that little italian sees her eye he'll give that guy plenty time! he's a tough oscar on wife beaters. maybe i can get thomas a d.w.p.” joe thanked him again and hurried sallie out of the court- room. "he's a good egg,” said mick. "yeah, but i still says we gonna have trouble!” "aw, it 'll turn out all right. you gotta give these people time to get themselves together. besides, chicago's a great city, jim. nothing's ever gonna lick it!” the sky was dismally overcast, but the towers of the loop bravely flaunted their banners above the crowds that closely packed the sidewalks and overflowed against the inter- locked arms of the policemen lining the triumphal march route from the coliseum. broad michigan's bitter winds eddied through the canyons of masonry along its prairie shore. but the multitudes ignored the gusts of the lake. for this one day of patriotic triumph even the problem, which was growing more acute, was forgotten. black and white, laborer and capitalist, mingled and became one to bestow honor where honor was due. roar on roar of acclaim poured over the heads of this dusky, proudly stepping regiment. it was february of , and the survivors of the now famous old eighth illinois, dubbed “the black devils” by war correspondents, were returning from "over there" after having helped "make the world safe for democracy.” "don't it make you feel tingly all over?" gasped connie into mae's ear. "there's dan!” shrieked mae, and she pinched lem's arm. lem nodded as he shifted his weight from his crippled o canaan! leg. “it's hard to tell 'em apart,” he said, craning his neck over connie's shoulder. "you see sol yet, mom?" christine shook her head, her shining eyes riveted on the marching rows of helmeted men. "oh look-it!” shrilled essie, who was perched upon her father's shoulder. "there he is! it's sol, daddy!” the family group pressed forward. christine's grip tight- ened on junior's arm as she sighted the figure swinging along with the passing squad. "hey, sol!” trumpeted joe. but the effort was lost in the tumult about him. "reckon they cain't hear nothin' in all this ruckus," he said to the others. "well, he'll be home soon anyways. come on, lem. let's git started uptown an' open the sto'-purty nigh to fo''clock.” it was nearly a month later before sol was discharged. he had been silent enough before his war experience; now he was doubly so. his formerly robust frame had grown gaunt, and the bones of his face stood out like rocks beneath a thin layer of earth. he dodged conversation concerning the war by giving short, curt answers or by staring vacantly at his inquisitor. and the only two members of his family who seemed to hold any interest for sol were essie and junior. each morning he walked to school with them and essie's playmate, rosie cohen. upon his return he would sit for hours on the back porch, or upon christine's request he would help her with the cleaning. when the weather was bad he invariably went to the cellar and whittled objects of interest for junior and essie. he had brought home a pocket knife which had an automatic device for opening and shut- ting its long keen blade. often as christine went about her work he would sit in o canaan! mamma!” panted rosie, scampering up the steps to her mother. they're fighting at the beach! the colored and white people, mamma-chey're fighting!” the devil you say!" rose paled. she whirled to chris- tine, who was remonstrating with sol. "mrs benson, what's the trouble? as christine turned to her neighbor the screen door slammed behind sol. asol says it's a riot!” she exclaimed. "says he brought the zie's home so’s they wouldn't be hurt. says they're heading "oh, my god! i better call nick at the shop!" tell him to tell joe to come home right away, mrs cohen! sai's zone plumb crazy! says he's going to kill up everything wire! i can't do a thing with him— sol!" sol nad slammed back through the screen door. the lack- sistem kad been routed from his eyes by a crackling blaze. tiere was a bulge at his hip, and he grinned as he mechani- caiz opened and shut his long-bladed knife. "s * christine seized him frantically by the arm. "dra't-don't!" she entreated. his face became more gaunt. he smiled peculiarly at his motha and patied essie's head. then he was gone down the street at a brisk military double-quick. he was hardly out of sight when lem and connie, fol- lowed by mazzie dawson, hurried up from the opposite di- rection, "what's the matter, mom?" asked lem quickly. “any- body been here yet?" "dad says there's a riot going on," put in connie. "i closed up soon's i heard 'bout it," puffed maggie. she sank into a chair. "mr milburn's tellin' ever body they bes' close up fo' the day. but joe an’ nick's still open-says ain't nobody gonna bother 'em.” o canaan! christine, who all the while had stood in stunned silence, groped for a rocker and trembled down into it. "sol's gone!" she moaned, twisting her hands. "gone?” "where?” connie and lem bent over their mother while maggie slid forward on the edge of her chair. "which way did he go?" asked lem. "i'll go after him.” he turned to limp from the porch. "no!” christine's voice was a wail. she sprang after her son and caught him frantically by the shoulder. "look up the street!” cried maggie, who had started for her house. like a brown rabbit in flight, junior was sailing toward home. as he took the porch steps with two effortless leaps the cause of his haste rounded the corner. a ragged body of babbling young ragamuffins were jostling one another along their destructive way. when they came to maggie's three- story house they stopped and showered it with bricks and stones. "the little nigger's in there!" "let 'em have it!” “run all the niggers out!” maggie waddled forward amid the screams and crash of glass. "here-here! you devilish boys! what's the matter wid you? is you crazy in the haid?” she bayed. she rushed at them, gesticulating wildly, with connie and lem at her heels. "let 'em have it!” yelled one of the gamins, and he threw back a threatening arm. "no, ye don't, ye rascally spalpeens!” a fiery figure as buxom as maggie's overtook and passed the endangered trio and planted itself in the way. it was o canaan! rose cohen. flushed of face and flashing of eye, she bristled with scorn as her freckled hands firmly braced the formida- ble girth of her middle. "i know ye, mike!” she went on, advancing at each word. "and it's to father brennan i'll be reporting ye in the morn- ing!” her sudden appearance disconcerted them, especially their leader, whom she had singled out. when she referred to the priest several dropped their missiles, and all began backing away. she followed them the length of the block until they turned tail and fled. "sure, and they're a bunch of no-gooders!” she said to maggie, who was mournfully contemplating the damage done to her property. "brennan's tigers, they call themselves—a club of 'em that does no good when the father ain't around to watch 'em.” "they sho'nuf was wantin' to kill me,” shivered maggie. "you was sho' nice to stop 'em, mis' cohen.” she stiffened with anger. "i'll fix 'em. the next time they comes round they ain't gonna git off so easy!” "you better get inside,” advised rose. "they're a bad lot, they are. i'm going to call the station house, i am!” "say, joe, i'm closing up! rose just called and said they was raising hell over home a while ago.” “reckon i better do the same, nick," answered joe. nick and his son were at the door of joe's store. sammy was about lem's age and had the swarthy, aquiline features and slender build of his father. both were excitedly wiping their hands on soiled aprons. "say, i forgot to tell you,” added nick, "rose says that your wife wants you to come right home. sol's gone out and she thinks he's going to join the fighting- o canaan! "what?” joe stripped off his apron. "help me wid these vegetables, will you, nick?” "here's some! let's git the white " nick and sammy dropped their loads and shrank against joe's display window. over a score of negroes armed with clubs and stones rushed the trio from the opposite side of the street. at the sound of their babble joe whirled and strode to the curb. “what's the matter wid you all?” he growled as they halted. “what you meddlin' wid these people fo’? they ain't done nothin' to you— " "git out the way, white folks's nigger!” snarled one of the foremost. “you ain't- " joe's bludgeonlike fist felled the fellow with one blow. as he groaned at the feet of the others joe leaped back, his huge revolver weaving an arc in front of them. "git out o' here, quick!” he snapped. “an' take him wid urb. you!” mumbling threats, the subdued mobsters gathered up the limp form and moved off. when they had gone sammy and nick were eloquent with gratitude. "boy, what a sock you got!” grinned sammy, wiping the cold sweat from his face. "i ain't forgetting it, joe,” breathed nick. he gave joe's hand a nervous squeeze. "come on, let's git from here,” said joe. for the next three days joe kept his family indoors. dur- ing that time no word was received concerning sol, though joe made a special plea to jim milburn to be on the lookout. all the while sporadic and intense rioting flared in different sections of the city. streetcars were stopped and victims dragged forth to be murdered brutally. marauding groups o canaan! of both races preyed upon all who had the misfortune to fall into their hands. it was an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, all done with the dispatch of heedless mob spirit. two vicious animals were at each other's throats, and there was no quarter to be asked or given. jim milburn's somber prophecy was being fulfilled. the immediate area of joe's store was surrounded by a cordon of police for the first two days, then withdrawn to a less quiet vicinity where the rioting had broken out with renewed vigor. sultry and gray, wednesday morning came. joe argued with his distraught wife at breakfast. "i'll be all right, honey!” he said. “i jes' cain't let my busi- ness run down-i took in right smart yestiddy." “what do i care about business!” cried christine. "here sol's gone, and now you want to go cuttin' the fool!” "the boy's all right!” scoffed joe. "ef he warn’t we'd-a heard 'bout it- " "hey! anybody home?” the voice was punctuated by a terrific pounding on the kitchen door. "it's miss jane!” cried essie. "what's she doing out in all this?” exclaimed connie. "hey! open up here! it's miss saunders!” lem went to the door. jane breezed in with her usual calm smile and energy. "hello there, pretty boy,” she greeted cheerfully. "i rang the bell at the front, but it must be out of order " "it is, miss saunders," said lem. he noted the glaring headlines of the paper she carried. "may i see the news?” "sure, go right ahead. white and colored folks are going crazy in this town, boy! where's my babies?” "here they is,” called joe from the dining room. "well-well,” beamed the nurse as she strode in. "hello, connie. haven't seen you in a good while; pretty as ever. what's the matter, mother?” she patted christine's shoulder. o canaan! "she's frettin' 'bout sol,” said joe. “he ain't bin home fo' three days." "well, now," comforted jane, "you oughtn' to be like that, mother. many bullets he ducked 'over there,' this little fracas don't mean a thing to him "is it very bad out?” asked connie. "i'll say it is!” lem whistled over the paper. “listen to this: 'south side in throes of reign of terror'!” he read aloud the lurid account of wholesale violence. "aw, shucks!” disparaged jane, taking junior upon her lap. "that fellow's just putting in a lot of that stuff! the whole thing in a nutshell is that everybody's surprised that the colored are putting up such a scrap. they're calling out the militia, i hear, tonight. this thing's been coming on for years. they tell me some of the boys of the black devils have a machine gun planted down on wentworth and they're giving 'em lead every time those gangs ride through!” "i'll bet that's where sol is,” ventured connie. "look here,” said joe as jane got up to go, "whyn't you git some cops to go ’long wid you?” "no sir!” replied jane. "if they knew i was out they'd make me go back home and report me downtown. i'm not letting anything stop me from getting to my babies! espe- cially during this hot weather.” "wait,” said joe. "i'm going 'long with you!” he ignored christine's and the nurse's protests, seized his hat and piloted jane out of the house. "they've shifted the police,” said jane. "my boss called me up from downtown and told me not to go out until things quieted. but i pretended i didn't understand and hung up.” she tittered at her ruse. "i'm gonna see ain't no harm coming to you, mis' saun- ders,” said joe firmly. "you was moughty nice to us when we first come up here. where you got to go?" bookshop e. th st! new york, n. yj o canaan! "over on the west side.” joe faltered in his stride. “what? you means you goin' over there 'mongst them pollocks an' hunkies? the paper says they think some colored mens sot that fire over there ” "sure they have babies too,” came the merry reply. "wait a minute. ..." joe stopped and rubbed his cheek. then he said: "come on. i got it!” "did you ever see state street as quiet as this?” chuckled jane as they turned into the almost deserted thoroughfare. here and there they passed shattered store fronts and an occasional fire-gutted building that gave mute evidence of the destruction of the mobs. "sho' bin raisin' ruckus, all right! never heard so many fire engines and police wagons in my bo’n days!” joe turned into a narrow alley beside an empty barbershop. he knocked at a door from behind which came muffled voices. the door cracked cautiously after a silence. "who that?" came a whisper. the door swung open to joe's answer, and he and jane entered a dark hole of a room that reeked strongly of alco- hol. "it's all right, sam,” said joe. “this is jes’ a nurse what's got to git over on the west side " "west side!" sam cummins' thatch of hair fairly bristled. "why, man, they bin chasin' ever'thing ain't white from over there fo' the last two days! these here boys ain't able to git to the yards- "look here, miss," rumbled one thick-shouldered fellow whose scarred face topped even joe's, "ef you wants to git over there to them cusses, we gwine to git you there! see? an'ain't a dam'soul gwine tech you! see? lemme see ..." he looked over the round two dozen men in the room. all were in their work clothes and smelled of the strong stuff they swilled. "hell! we gots plenty! follow me, men! come o canaan! on, miss, you show us where you wants to go, an'-by jesus!—we's wid you!” snatching her black kit, he grabbed jane by the arm and steered her up the alley. his cohorts lurched and reeled be- hind them. "this is jeff jackson, miss saunders,” said joe. "jackson . . . jackson ..." mused jane. "say, didn't i have one of your wife's babies? you're from georgia, aren't you?” "yes 'm, that's right,” grinned jeff. “reckon this is the fust time i seed you. wife talks 'bout you a lot. says as how you's so nice an' all — oh, 'scuse me, miss!” he released her arm as he felt jane flinch. "reckon i must think i'm a-rasslin' them steers!” they were approaching the railroad athwart thirty-first street. the men had stopped their loud talk and even ap- peared to sober considerably when they drew nearer this barrier. on the western side of the tracks a cluster of figures gathered rapidly. "git ready, boys," warned jeff over his shoulder. jane looked back and saw that her escort was armed to the teeth. jeff and joe had their right hands in their pockets. when they were within twenty yards of the tracks a dark-haired, unshaven member of the west side contingent strode to the fore and stood wide-legged between the rails. his followers moved up behind him, a wall of menace. "c'mon, git back 'cross town where ya b’long, ya black sons o'— " his threatening arm suddenly dropped to his side, and his look of hate turned to one of confusion. before the detain- ing hands of joe and jeff could reach her jane had stepped forward. the two men sprang after her with drawn guns. "oh-'tis you, is it, miss saunders?" the dark-haired one retreated a step. "sure it is!” jane smiled as coolly as her racing blood would o canaan! permit. “and i'd like to see that wife and baby of yours if you don't mind, mike- " "ef you ain't movin' when i counts three i'm shootin' sho 'n hell!” jeff's rumble drowned out jane's quieter tones. “we ain't movin' a dam' step, ya— " mike's face con- vulsed with rage. he also drew a gun. "come on over here, miss saunders,” he bade. "ain't nobody gonna bother you.” “no-no, mike," pleaded jane. she faced her escort. "come on, boys,” she said, “put your guns away now " "we ain't lettin' you go over there by yo’self!” declared joe. "she ain't gonna be bothered, i tell you!” shouted mike. "we ain't hurtin'no women-only the likes o’you! you bet- ter stay over there where you b’long " "put yo'gun away an' i'll beat hell out'n you!” roared jeff. and he pocketed his weapon and moved forward. "sure! sure!" came mike's answering roar, following jeff's example. “ 'tis all i want ya to say!” "boys! boys!” jane stamped her impatience. "you're wast- ing my time like this! now, jeff”—she caught him by the sleeve-"there's no need to go on like this! mike's promised to take care of me on his side. you're doing the same on yours. now go back so there won't be any unnecessary trou- ble. i don't want anybody hurt on my account. and if you boys are in any way uneasy about my safety i'll come past the shop when i'm through— "we'll meet you here!” said jeff stubbornly. he glared over her head at mike. "all right, all right,” said jane placatingly. “that's lovely -that's lovely. i'll be back here in about two hours. i'll look for you boys " "and we'll bring her back," said mike. "you better, you dam'- ". "now, now ..." soothed jane. she took her bag and waved to the watchful men at jeff's back, then hurried over "i see jim milburn's been made a lieutenant, joe.” christine shook the weekly champion free of wrinkles and read aloud the article concerning milburn's promotion. joe settled more deeply into the comfortably inclined chair and blew thick cloudlets from his fragrant cigar and nodded. "yeah,” he said, "the boys bin tellin' me he would git it. you remember he got cited after the riot-saved mick sil- vensky from a bunch o' bad oscars. we's springin' a party fo' him, come sat’dy night. you know—sorter congratulate ’im.” "i didn't know he belonged to the club,” said christine. "sho'-ain't nothin' but big shots in it,” explained joe. "you knows what a hard time i had gittin’in.” he chuckled. "hadn't-a bin fo’ dan carter wantin' to swing that real 'state deal, i never would-a got in.” he tossed a half dollar thoughtfully and mused: “good ole dough . . . ain't nothin' to beat it but mo' of it!” christine smiled; she well knew her husband was intoxi- cated with money and the power it gave him. she was also o canaan! aware of the source of joe's mounting wealth. they had come a long way since the night of sol's death. ... at first christine had been frightened when she learned that joe and nick cohen were among the leading bootleg- gers of the south side. though the cohen family had moved away after an increased influx of negroes into their block, nick had not forgotten the incident during the riot. "you might as well make the money,” he said to joe, who had displayed some qualms about sponsoring the very thing which he as a colored leader had fought. the gold had been too bright for joe's conscience. for the past six years he and nick had flourished. and, laughing at his wife's fears, joe had showered her with lavish sums to use as she desired. with joe's successful eluding of the law, christine soon lost her misgivings. then the house and family blossomed. from top to bottom former furnishings were replaced by the most expensive kind. telephones were installed. a garage was built at the back to accommodate two cars of costly design which gave way to new models each year. "nix on the show-off stuff, joe!” nick had warned. "aw, shucks!” jeered joe. "ain't we got protection? mought's well git some o' the good as you go 'long-ain't gonna do you no good when you's dead!” nick had shrugged his despair, and the splurging con- tinued. upon her graduation from normal school connie had fretted over the possibility of her not being placed in a teaching position; but joe had calmed her fears with a knowing grin. he gave her a roadster that "tipped like a maltese kitten” and told her to "take a peep at new york an' the east.” when she returned in the fall there was an opening ready for her. in keeping with the trend of the times among the south side's "socially prominent” families, lem had been shipped east to school and his picture inserted in the champion with o canaan! an explanatory caption. he was now "hither and yon on the atlantic coast" (as he put it in his letters) on vacation from his first year of postgraduate work. junior and essie were in the first and second years of high school. of the two, essie was by far the more studious. during his last year in the grades and at the beginning of adolescence, junior sprouted until he was almost as tall as his father. a happy leaning toward track and field athletics had helped to save him from skinniness. no football and basketball for him in high school, he had vowed: too much danger to his facial comeliness, of which he was acutely aware because of his already numerous female conquests; besides, the victory was more personal when one broke the tape ahead of his less naturally endowed competitors. his father had pressed the boy into service at the store during after-school hours and on saturdays. this proved unsatis- factory, however, for junior failed to appreciate the im- portance of promptness in his capacity of delivery boy, especially if he were to encounter any of the fair creatures whom he knew, complaints from impatient housewives ended his brief career, thereupon joe put the indolent one behind the counter, a howl immediately went up from the young, begoggled tuskegee graduate whom joe had hired to run his business. the cash register's ribbon never tallied any more with the goods sold. evidence pointed very strongly against junior's honesty. a sound thrashing had made no definite change in the larcenous bent of the boy, and he had been relieved of that duty, christine had been reading some of the "new theories of child rearing. she suggested to joe that he institute a system of allowances for both of the younger children. "new, hell!" joe had growled. "i oughta cut his behind to pieces!" but against his better judgment joe consented and gave over the administration of the scheme to christine. junior o canaan! became the envy of his schoolmates when he flashed his superior "change” nonchalantly in their faces. his offhanded liberality bound many a pseudo friend to his prodigal side. able to twist his mother around his finger because of her sentimental coddling of her "baby,” he never feared run- ning short from week to week. all in all, at the age of fourteen, joe's youngest son was not one in whom a thinking father could justifiably take pride. his only saving grace- if it may be called that—was an unfailing sense of humor and an indolent good nature that seldom took offense at anything. it showed in his carefree face and lazy, effortless walk, and in the ease with which he laughed off any barbed flurry essie launched at him. this was often, for junior's delight was to tease his sister. every "exclusive" social club among her set sought essie for membership. she was a petite, lithe creature of dark brown beauty. her glossily black, boyishly clipped hair was a wild crest while she was in flight on the cinder track and the tennis and basketball courts. hers was the satiny smooth skin of her particular type, and to enhance it her effervescent health gave to it a ruddiness which deepened whenever strong emotions seized her. this was often, for her temper flared easily, and when it was on a sustained rampage it was to be quelled only by her father; even he was hard put at times. she was wroth now as she sizzled into the room where joe and christine were sitting. oblivious of her rage, junior fol- lowed lazily. "dad, if you don't make junior leave my money alone "here, here!” joe's thunder halted the girl's outburst. “what's the big noise, sister?” "aw, i just want her to loan me a deuce until next week, dad,” said junior blandly. o canaananda ! "shet up!" joe thrust out a hand to grab junior, but that wary one eluded him. "joe!” protested christine, extending a restraining hand. "haven't i said that isn't the sensible way?” "give it to him, dad!” exclaimed essie maliciously. "mother doesn't do a thing but spoil him!” "essie!” exasperated, christine turned on her daughter. though they had grown closer since their coming to the city, there still remained a subtle animosity between them which increased with essie's advancing age and which cropped out with progressive frequency. "well, you do!” declared essie, her head thrown up in unconscious emulation of her mother. "shet up, i tell you, essie!” snapped joe. he had heeded his wife and had sunk back into his chair. "set down, both o you—i wants to talk to you anyhow. i done told you 'bout bein' so snappish wid yo'ma, gal! yo'temper's worse 'n yo' grandpappy's was. gonna git you in trouble yit—see 'f it don't! both o'you young’uns needn't think 'cause you got on grown-up clo'es you's gonna sass grownups. how come you ain't got none o'yo' money left, boy? ain't yo' ma give you same's essie? you jes' leave yo' sister be! an' don't you give 'im a red cent, christine. when i was his age i didn't have nothin' but a quarter on sat’dys after doin' a man's work- glad to git it, too!” thinning her lips, essie smoothed her pale green frock and sat down. she dearly loved green-so much so that her abundant wardrobe was dominated by it. and every april the invitations to her birthday party had a dash of the color upon them. "now,” resumed joe, motioning his son to a seat, "what i sho'nuf wants to talk 'bout is this here high-school business. opens up tomorrow, don't it? connie an' lem had to git theirs the hard way-workin' an' goin' to night school. you all ain't had to hit a tap— " o canaanan ! "i do your typing for you, don't i?” asserted essie de- fensively. "and rosie cohen only beat me by a little to lead our class when we graduated last year from grammar school.” "okay, okay,” said joe easily. "i was proud o' you too. ef i hadn't-a bin i wouldn't-a give you that birthstone fo' a present. that there piece in the paper sho' nuf looked good. yep, you done all right. but here's what i wants to say: i ain't wantin' you messin' round none o' these no- count boys! you ain't- " “joe! she doesn't bother ?” "i don't mess with boys!” essie interrupted her mother. her small, heart-shaped face reared angrily. "you ought to talk to junior about girls.” junior chuckled with a teasing, sidelong glance. “seems to me the new preacher's nice little son has a heavy crush on you!” "humph!” sneered essie. "that silly ronnie brown? he's a bigger sissy than you!” joe roared and slapped his thigh, but checked himself after a quick frown from christine. "ronnie's a real nice boy,” said the latter. "at least he has good manners.” essie grimaced but said nothing. "you still gonna stick to that business co’se?” asked joe. "oh, i do wish she wouldn't!” put in christine. “all the ladies who have daughters in my club say that theirs are preparing to teach- " "i don't want to teach!” said essie with finality. "if i had to bother with kids like some of them i was in grammar school with i'd slap their heads off. no sir! nothing doing.” "well, you could take up social work,” suggested christine. "i was talking to miss saunders not so long ago, and she said that it is a coming field- "huh! that's worse!” said essie. "nope, i'm going in for o canaan! something i can get something out of! i don't want to be bothered with a lot of no-count people.” “atta gal!” agreed joe. “dough's what counts-an' the only way to git it is to have somep'n folks want an’ sell it!” he expanded and prepared to plunge more intensely into his favorite theme. but christine cut him short. "never mind, joe. we know—we've heard it a million times.” she addressed essie: "you're going on with your piano and organ lessons starting next week.” "aw, mother, do i have to?” asked essie plaintively, and she shot a nasty look at her grinning brother, who stretched out languid arms to pantomime an overzealous maestro. "gone an' learn that music, gal,” said joe. “mought come in handy someday—you's bo’n but you ain't buried yit.” "mother just wants me to play the organ at church. i already play the piano for sunday school—tired of it, too!” "i'd think you'd be glad to be organist for bathsheba,” said christine with hauteur. “we have one of the biggest choirs in the country, and there isn't- " "-a larger congregation in the city,” finished essie mockingly. "don't be so smart, gal!” warned joe. he hid his grin, however, for christine's church zeal was a source of amusement for him. while he still kept his deaconship, he had no illusions about bathsheba or religion. the city had served to crystallize and bring to the fore- front of his character the attitude which he had long held. joe saw life eye to eye. chicago was just the place for him, he had decided; and the cramped feeling he had had in three forks fell from him after his migration. his physical bigness had become synchronized with the wide, sweeping stretches of this swaggering behemoth of cities. he liked the fare it served. for him there was no time for sentiment or contem- plation of a "better life to come”; let others, who could do no better, feed on that. as for him, he'd take life as it was; o canaan! and if the church helped him to get what he wanted from life, well and good; in return he'd help the church. besides, christine enjoyed it. ... "well, if i have to, i have to—but i ain't liking it!” said essie sulkily. "there's the bell,” said christine. "guess it's ronnie-he generally calls at this time on sundays." "yeah, i know,” said essie laconically. her snub nose wrinkled as she mimicked: "'mother sends good afternoon to all of you. ah-won't you go for a stroll in the park with me?!” with a final grimace she flounced out. "i don't know what these youngsters are coming to,” sighed christine, taking up the paper. "jes' what we come to," chuckled joe, "chilluns an' tryin' to git somep'n to live on!” essie came back relieved. "here's miss maggie,” she announced, and quickly retired after a grin and a pat from her patron saint. of all joe benson's children, essie was maggie dawson's "fav’rite.” "come on in, georgie,” she bade the slim young man she had in tow. "well, junior, what you doin' in the house this time o' day? the gals all quit you?” "naw, miss maggie,” answered the boy, assuming a mourn- ful pose. "sis' won't loan me a deuce i need to keep a movie date with "aw, shucks, now!” laughed maggie. she took a five-dollar bill from her pocketbook and shoved it into the artful youngster's hand. before either of his parents could speak he had rushed out with a cursory thanks to his benefactress. "cute devil,” grinned maggie. "sho' do look good in that nice brown suit, don't he, georgie?” joe's eyes narrowed as he watched this sleekly groomed personage slink to a seat beside maggie, quickly dart a long- lashed glance at christine's well-turned legs and then with an amused smirk take in the too sumptuous furnishings of o canaan! the room. joe had seen his bland yellow face with its tiny mustache in the poolrooms whose proprietors dispensed the products of nick cohen's secret stills. and from observing the feats of the fellow's cue, joe had decided that georgie used the green table as a means of livelihood. now, as he scrutinized him, joe came to another conclusion about the man. "this is mr weeks,” introduced maggie. her ring-laden hands fluttered slightly. but for all her showiness in the matter of jewelry, maggie's clothes were strictly conservative, kept so by constant admonition from christine and the dressmaker whom they both patronized. hence mrs maggie dawson, deaconess of bathsheba and one of the south side's successful restaurateurs, was a severely tailored "stylish stout." joe remained silent during most of the conversation that wended through various subjects. he found that this weeks had more than ordinary colloquial ability. with its smooth flow, his voice fell on the ear with a lulling effect. the words he used sounded to joe like those which lem and connie had used to address audiences in their b.y.p.u. days. christine trailed him eagerly. the pair soon outstripped maggie and left her to join her partner's studied muteness. of no mind to countenance this monopoly, maggie soon rose abruptly. "guess we'll be goin',” she stated, a curious quiet having come to her usually strident tones. she gave christine a quizzical look as the latter graciously suggested that mr weeks be brought around again. "my!” christine turned radiantly to joe after she had seen the callers to the door. “isn't he an interesting man? he's had so many experiences teaching school down south!” "humph!” joe's grunt was eloquent, but christine con- tinued to gush until she found that her husband was gently snoring. she sat exasperated, resentment twitching her deli- cate nostrils. then her gaze became subtly speculative. o canaan! joe found maggie humming a sprightly tune amid the clangor of her kitchen. her smile was a broad swath of white across the sweaty chocolate of her face. "hey-o, feller!” she greeted, vigorously kneading a moun- tain of dough. "place sho' looks fittin' since we made it bigger," joe commented. “yep, i told you puttin' these two fronts to- gether would do the trick!" "ain't bad, sho' nuf,” agreed maggie. "how you likes my cooks?” she waved to the long range where two young men moved swiftly between it and the serving table. "sho' looks fittin' in that white, don't they, boy? got 'em all the way from memphis—an' i'm gonna make 'em so good ain't nobody gonna have better eatin' noplace in town! man, i got 'em comin' from the loop late nights! things keep up like this, we kin fork up all them payments on them two parkway houses in no time ” maggie stopped in con- fusion, for joe wasn't sharing her enthusiasm. “well?" she demanded. then she looked away sheepishly and attacked the dough with accentuated motions. "you ain't likin' 'bout yestiddy ... georgie ... that it?" she panted. "no, i ain't likin' georgie,” said joe flatly. "is you plumb gone crazy, maggie? you knows he ain't nothin' but a pimp- “he ain't no sich a thing!" joe was taken aback by maggie's vehemence. "well,” he growled, "ef he ain't, you knows dam' tootin' he's younger ’n you! ain't much older 'n connie-an' here you is old nuf for his mammy! whyn't you give sam cum- mins a chance? you knows sam bin wantin' you ever since maymie died wid the flu- " o canaan! "what i want wid some old dried-up man?” scorned mag- gie, "be better 'n lettin' a no-good cuss like this guy do you out'n yo' money!" retorted joe. "he ain't gonna do no sich a thing!” maggie was out- raged. “why, jes' yestiddy i loan 'im some money to set up a poolroom " "what?" by a supreme effort joe lowered his voice, for the young chefs were idle at the moment. "sho'," answered maggie. "he signed a 'greement an' ever'thing- "did you go to a notary?" "no, co'se not! warn't none open yestiddy- " "i'll be damned!” "well, he ain't goin' nowheres. he likes me sho' nuf. ... he's fixin' up down on thirty-fifth now. you kin go an' see.” maggie's voice became plaintive: "he bin nice to me . . . takes me places where i allus hankered to go. that's more 'n anybody else does! i gits tired o' jes' workin' all the time. i gots to have some fun sometime. . . . he nice to me-i gonna be nice to him. ain't no harm in that, is they?" joe flung his cigar into a garbage pail. he started to speak but turned on his heel instead and stalked out. maggie fingered a biscuit she'd cut and frowned. she soon bright- ened, though, and went on humming at her work. with increasing concern joe saw weeks's gradual but steady worming into maggie's confidence. it was like watch- ing a creeping disease. by the middle of autumn georgie o canaan! had moved into maggie's house next door to joe's. and at thanksgiving ... "name of god! well, so help me!” drowsy with turkey and wine, connie perked up in her seat by the bay window of the sitting room. "the guy must be good!” she murmured, stroking the waves of her hair with pink-nailed fingers. christine and essie hurriedly stationed themselves by connie; but joe remained in his chair grinding a fireless cigar while the three females peered through the lace cur- tains. he knew what they saw in the frosty dusk. he struck a match savagely. "hot ziggety!” giggled essie. "that ain't a car—that's an overland boat!” "well, i declare to my rest!” breathed christine. "look at maggie. she looks like a christmas tree!” "she's high, too!” put in connie. "ain't it bad nuf fo' her to make a fool out'n herself 'thout you all pleasurin' in it?" growled joe. "come on 'way from that winder, essie.” the soft purr of a motor faded into the distance, and the three turned from the window. "never thought miss maggie would go for a gigolo," said connie. she stretched languidly, a statuesque figure of beauty with a barely perceptible stamp of the city's sophistication. when he heard her speak spanish, as she did sometimes with essie in order to help the younger girl's efforts with the language, joe often thought that connie looked like she belonged over on the west side more so than here in his home. "and the way she used to pinch pennies when i worked for her!” continued connie. “georgie sure must have a sweet line! he's doing the same thing with jeanette allen- " "you mean that girl who lost her husband last year?” ex- claimed christine. > o canaan! "one and the same. they say— "guess you bes' git on to that show you was goin' to, essie,” said joe suddenly. "oh, let her listen!” protested connie, placing a restrain- ing hand on her sister's shoulder. "she may as well listen and learn! she's not a kid any longer. i'll bet she could spot us all some. and i don't know but it isn't best after all.” she pulled essie down beside her affectionately. "yes,” connie resumed. “this guy's getting to be the talk of the town. as i was saying: they tell me jeanette dumps her check to him. and are her folks hot about it! you know, she used to live with them. now she's rented an apartment over on south park, and from what i can get, it's the little love nest so cozy and warm. ... why, she even brings him to our club dances! and does the cold shoulder ice him? not on your life! there was talk of putting jeanette out. but darned if some of the other good sisters haven't gone and fallen for him too! oh, he's good, all right!” connie's lips twisted her distaste. "you should have heard the line he threw me last night at the dance! he thinks mother is so charming. and, pop, you're a pioneer in negro business! i felt like spitting in his weaselly face!” "maybe it's all just talk, honey," interposed christine. "you know how people talk. after all, a young man could pay attention to an older woman without having any bad motive ” "et tu?” exclaimed connie archly. "you sound like one of my dear club members ” "don't be silly, connie!” christine's face went crimson. connie gave her a long stare. "yep,” said joe, “he's a slick article. i went past that place o' hisn last week, jes' 'bout time school was lettin' out. you listen to this, essie.” he turned squarely on his younger daughter. "i went down to the court buildin' wid o canaan! jim milburn last week, an' i tell you i ain't wantin' no gal o'mine endin' up like some o' them i saw down there! some warn't no older ’n this gal i'm tellin' you 'bout. well, as i was sayin', it was jes' 'bout lettin'-out time fo' school. an' this weeks had some fresh gal talkin' to 'im then. she warn't more 'n seventeen an' i knowed she was a schoolgal 'cause she had 'er books wid 'er— " "i bet i know who it was,” interrupted essie quickly. "was she about my size and big up here?” she indicated her small bust. joe nodded with interest. "and she's got sort o' red-like hair and uses a lot of lip- stick and rouge, doesn't she?" ventured essie. joe nodded again, and his eyes fastened intently on the girl. "how you know so much 'bout 'er?” he questioned. "i ought to know her! she's in my class and has more clothes than any girl in it. changes every day, and carries a big roll of dough- " "how do you like that?” connie was cynically triumphant. "she lives over on dearborn near our old house,” essie went on, enjoying the interest of her elders. “it's a regular shack! her folks came up here from pittsburgh last year, she says. her name's gladys—gladys colton. and is she tough! and the cuss words and dirty jokes shem " “well, you keep 'way from 'er!" commanded joe harshly. "who, me?” said essie defensively. "i don't have anything to say to her unless she talks to me first. maybe you'd like to know that she told me the other day that you were a bootlegger- " joe bolted upright in his chair. "don't you be talkin' none to her!” he roared. “the hussy's jes’ sayin' what she hears " "you needn't yell at me, dad,” said essie, her head rear- ing. "i've been knowing about that. haven't i been keeping your books for you? i'm no dummy. but i don't talk. . .." she grinned at her sire and winked. o canaan! connie smiled exultantly at joe as she and essie left the room arm in arm. joe suddenly chuckled deeply. “joe,” said christine, moving closer to her husband, who had sunk into a reverie, "hadn't you better give up this liquor business—for a while anyway?" "can't quit now," answered joe. "still got them two houses to finish payin' fo’. wid maggie cuttin' the fool like she is it takes longer. wish to god that weeks would drop dead!” the christmas season came and christine at last realized her long-cherished hope. old lem lawson had finally been lowered into his grave during the preceding summer. upon her return from the funeral christine had prevailed upon joe to have her sister consuela spend the holidays with them in the city, henrietta being confined to her bed with the disease that plagued her. aunt consuela came with her sharp nose ready to sniff, but she stayed to stare in popeyed wonder. she was dazzled. for the first time she warmed to joe as she cavorted in the splendor generated by the money “brother” joe poured forth. joe was showin''er! he allowed christine to drape her sister's washed-out, skeletal frame in the finest of garments and to lavish expensive little trinkets upon her which would serve as mementos of the occasion. « 'cause the next time i give 'er anything,” explained joe caustically to essie, “i'll be buryin' 'er!” joe was "showin''er"! "how are the two white ladies?” asked mae carter merrily just before new year's. mae's mother had given a dinner party for consuela. "name of god!” connie exclaimed. "i don't see how the old beanpole can stand the pace!" christine took consuela on a shopping tour and secretly o canaan! laughed as the latter gushed about the festooned loop. she gasped at the finely appointed homes along michigan boulevard and south parkway into which joe's money and political potency had gained admission, even over that social obstacle, recency of migration to the city. aunt consuela's stay of a fortnight was one long round of visits and countervisits with so-called "first families.” teas and dinners of elaborate courses were served. the con- versation strove to be indicative of "culture,” with sources having sickly, immature roots in a very thin layer of pseudo art: the new this, the new that, the new the other ... so-and-so has caught the very soul of his race. ... mmm! my dear, we must take you to thus-and-so. . . . and, my dear, have you seen thus-and-so? it's perfectly marvelous! mmmmm! as a climax connie and mae took christine and the now flabbergasted consuela to a black and tan. christine's tri- umph was complete when the master of ceremonies singled out their party to be introduced to the hilarious patrons just before the floor show. after the final sunday night service within bathsheba's regal walls (consuela had been introduced to the congregation the sunday morning before) christine whirled her sister down to union station in joe's big limousine and placed her, wilted and bewildered, in a lower birth of a limited. "you can pass, so don't change," she told the exhausted consuela after having tipped a porter's eyes nearly out of his head. christine's sleep was most complacent that night. "now that's the way it is, joe-take it or leave it!” jim milburn clasped his hands across a stomach already grown paunchy since he no longer walked a beat. joe also settled back in his swivel chair and drummed softly on the sliding extension of his littered desk. the two were in a second-story office on forty-seventh street into which joe had lately moved. on the window, streaked with irregular flurries of march snow and rain, a gilded sign told the be- draggled walkers below that this was the seat of joe's real estate activities. over in the corner near the door was a smaller desk bearing a covered typewriter. on the wall above this desk an electric clock silently moved its hands toward half-past three. unheeded, the ashes spilled from joe's cigar to the dull, wine-tinted rug which essie had selected to match the draperies at the window. milburn glanced over the other niceties of the compact, neat room: the plump red leather armchair near the window, the small bookcase filled with leather-bound law volumes, and the one quiet landscape, copy of an old master, which relieved the blankness of the wall facing the door. in all, the room had an air that reached for quality, and it appealed to milburn. o canaan! "you know,” he said, his voice losing its usual hardness, "i gotta hand it to you. ... i've been rather interested in watchin' you since you come up here ten years ago. i could tell you had somep'n that would take you places when you first come round to the station to help them folks out o' trouble. you didn't go runnin' after the 'fays soon's you started makin' a little, like so many of the boys do up from the south. you been co-operative with the civic agencies that's been tryin' to help the folks from the south—though damned if i believe some of 'em ever will make it!—and, best of all, you ain't never sold your folks out to the poli- ticians. but ..." "but what?” coaxed joe as milburn looked out of the window. a muscle flexed in the stubborn jaw of the policeman and he sat forward in his chair to look joe unwaveringly in the eye. he sat thus for a moment, then he relaxed again to blow small rings of smoke at the picture. when he spoke his voice was singsong. "all right,” he said, "here goes: you're jammin' your hand too hard, joe. you been holdinaces for ten years. since you been in the hooch racket-come on, don't look so sur- prised!—you been holdin' even the joker. but you can't expect your luck to hold out. and i'm tellin' you, as a friend, you better quit now while you're ahead. first place, you're a swell guy, and i like you, joe-not just because you helped me out of a hole once, either. second place, the mobs are gettin' more vicious than ever-don't give a damn about nothin'! you know that-look at the papers. third place—and this is the most important—they're crackin' down on the department and demandin' action. it's gonna take a heap o' jack to pull clean when they take you!" "but i got pull!” protested joe. "an' i don't have nothin' to do with the mobs—nick takes care o' them.” milburn laughed shortly. “don't kid yourself about the vou're a swout of a holious than look at th o canaan! pull! young dan carter's hungry for power-never saw a man change like him since he came back from france—and he's gettin' the power, too. and as for nick takin' care of the gangs—ha, that's a laugh! why, the poor sap's booked to go any minute! only reason he ain't dead is the big mugs are layin' low for a while. just let 'em get peeved with some small amount of cash he turns into 'em. he'll go just like that!” milburn snapped his fingers contemptuously. "then you'll be next.” "hell! i ain't a-scared o' dyin'!” growled joe, shifting his shoulders aggressively. " 'sides, i cain't quit now till i gits " "until you're through payin' for this real estate you're buyin' up,” finished milburn. “sure, i see your point, joe. but i also see that you could turn legit an' still pay for it. cut down on your expenses. christ, i never seen it to fail! soon's some o' you guys make a little headway you gotta buy a coupla cars, fur coats for your wives, all kinds o'stuff you'd get along without if you didn't have the money to get it. can't you see you ain't gonna be makin' dough like this all the time? remember ? well, you're gonna see some more years like it. go read your history; don't take my word for it.” "i know,” said joe worriedly. “but ef i keeps goin' jes' six mo' months i'll be in the clear. an' then i'll kiss the racket good-by." "in six months this town's gonna be hot as hell for you guys, joe! i ain't talkin' through my hat-i know! then you'll either be takin' a nice long vacation with no expenses or you'll be taken for a lotta dough. you better get out now. you can't do nothin' in jail.” "i gotta take a chance,” said joe with stubborn finality. "okay, joe. ..." milburn rose. “but don't say i didn't warn you about " “greetings, boy friend!” o canaan! essie stood at the door shaking her green slicker and hat. "hello there, brownie!” jim milburn lost his stolidity, for he and essie were great friends. they had been so since the day he rescued her from a group of her grammar-school enemies. he had come upon the little fury putting up a sturdy fight in retreat, and he had quickly drawn her to safety under one arm while the sight of his uniform had put to flight her besiegers. "i hear you're too bad on your basketball team,” he said, pulling on his black raincoat. "huh!" pouted essie playfully as she began shifting papers from her father's desk to her own. "a lot you care about it!” "aw, now, brownie," defended milburn, ruffling her hair, "you know i ain't had time to come see you play!” "baloney!” retorted essie. then she smiled her brightest at him. “but thanks for the candy you sent me christmas”- her smile changed to a frown as quickly as april sunshine to shadow—"even if you didn't come to see us!” milburn laughed. "she's just as stubborn as you are," he said with a significant emphasis to joe. he blew essie a kiss and departed. "what did he mean by that?” essie looked across the top of the typewriter at joe. joe grinned thoughtfully and shrugged. essie's face clouded. "maybe you better listen to what he was saying just be- fore i came in,” she suggested shrewdly. "maybe you better git to work!” snapped joe. then gruffly, as her lower lip dropped: "aw, fo’git it!” "did you go to the doctor about that dizzy spell?" asked essie suddenly. “naw! ain't nothin' the matter wid me,” said joe off- handedly. "must o' bin somep'n i et.” "now, dad, you ought not to "git to work, gal!” o canaan! the next morning georgie weeks sauntered gracefully into the office. he adhered to the "collegiate” mode of the day, but his oxford-gray chesterfield overcoat, his blue cheviot suit with hat and accessories to match, gave him the conservative touch of the habitually well-dressed male. he smiled with condescension at joe's brief, none too cordial greeting. making himself comfortable in the armchair, he talked as he slowly removed his gray suède, fur-lined gloves. on his left hand scintillated a huge diamond which had not been there when joe first met him. "maggie jes' gittin' up?" asked joe pointedly. the man looked at joe searchingly but saw only a blank face cons wondering," anking about...hostill expression- "i was wondering," he said, "if you'd be interested in the proposition i've been thinking about. ..." "what kind o'proposition?” joe's face was still expression- less. "well, i'm inclined to think it 'll be a very profitable venture,” said georgie with smooth conviction. "you probably have noticed any number of unattached, attractive young women about town. i've made a little study as to their living conditions. quite a few of them are domestic servants, and others fall into different classes; all are making money. being a real estate man, you know the housing con- ditions here. do you follow me?" joe nodded for him to continue. his eyes were closed now. "you and mrs dawson have a house you're buying over on south park, from what i can gather. now i propose that you two turn it into a kind of lodging house for women. have it nicely furnished, a matron to look after its upkeep and so forth. i'm willing to go in with you and mrs dawson to help with financing the scheme. in return all i ask is one o canaan! fifth of the profits and—a chance to sell yours and nick's liquor— " "who's nick? i don't handle no liquor.” joe was out- wardly bland while inwardly he seethed. so maggie was run- ning her mouth! georgie shrugged. "all right, have it your way. you don't handle liquor. maybe you know somebody who does. that 'll do just as well.” "these women you was talkin' 'bout,” said joe, ignoring georgie's smirking suggestion, "you cain't git that many of 'em to fill that house. an' ef you did, they wouldn't want to pay them high rents- "oh, but these women i know wouldn't mind the rents," assured georgie. "you know what i mean, mr benson.” he winked. “they have gentlemen friends over on the north side. we could even get a cut from the money they make every- georgie shrank back as joe rose slowly to his feet, big and scowling. in a trice the dapper pimp was yanked up and held suspended against the wall. disdaining to use his fist, joe slapped the yellow face until it looked raw. then with one contemptuous motion he flung the cowering fellow in the direction of the door. throwing a hateful look at the glowering joe, georgie scrambled for the hallway. his teeth grating, joe strode the length of the office while he thrust his hands deeper and more fiercely into his pockets, and even the expensive cloth and workmanship did not save the seams. he saw georgie's hat. he slammed open the window and tossed it out, grinning his satisfaction when it landed in a puddle. then suddenly he'swayed and gripped his chest with one hand as he groped for the armchair with the other. breathless, he slid into it. when the spasm had passed joe shook his massive head, ran trembling fingers through the shock of his graying hair and stared grimly at the wall. from his desk drawer he took a pint bottle, started to use it looker notion het o canaan! to pour a small glassful, but instead tilted the bottle to his mouth for a long, lusty pull. april came with cold rains and just a hint of spring in the air. joe, still uneasy, held tenaciously to the course he had set for himself. it took sheer nerve now to hold on. all about them on the underworld's fringe where he and nick trod catastrophe, swift and sudden, was overtaking those who walked with them. the big shot was cracking down to destroy ruthlessly the lesser of his kind. under the strain nick became drawn and furtive, and the least noise sent him into paroxysms of fear. "i wish i was out of it!” he whispered one saturday night toward the middle of the month. he had come to divide the week's profits in joe's office. he spread a tabloid on the desk and pointed a trembling finger at the headlines and the grim picture of death beneath them. "aw, fo'git it, nick!” joe folded the paper and dropped it into the wastebasket. he coolly checked the money. "i'm bein' followed!” exclaimed nick, pacing back and forth in his agitation. “every minute they got somebody on me—i know it! jeez, i can feel it. ..." joe heaved to his feet. "listen,” he said easily, "ain't no- body gonna lay a finger on you in this part o' town. come 'ere.” he led nick to the window and pointed. lounging indifferently in doorways across the street were six men, all of whom approximated the burly build of joe. "see them?” asked joe. "ain't none tougher on the south side! all of 'em was wid sol in the war an' knows they rods, brother!” his smile was grim. "s'pose you move back over here from that dickty place you's in— " “i'll be movin' tonight!” declared nick. his eyes lighted hopefully, and he started for the door. o canaan! "you better take a couple of 'em wid you," suggested joe. "i'll call 'em- ” "no!” nick paled. “i'm bein’ watched, i tell you! they'll think something's funny if they see your boys with me." "okay.” joe smiled ruefully after the hurrying nick. "boy's some scairt!” he chuckled. selecting a crisp bank note, he placed it between an elaborate birthday greeting and scrawled on the envelope: "to essie from dad.” as he slid into the front seat of the limousine at the curb the six indifferent loungers casually crossed the wet trolley tracks and climbed in, two sandwiching joe and four flanking him. joe handed each a bill, and the car eased out into the traffic. a saxophone moaned to a chattering banjo while the grand piano's dignity was shattered by fingers that ripped weird chords from its classic depths. essie's party was in full swing. the french doors between the dining and living rooms were flung wide to afford more space for the young couples huddled beneath the dim light shed from the chande- lier's green bulbs. connie whispered to the serious-faced young man with whom she sat: "all you'd have to do, bran, would be to substitute fig leaves and trailing gossamer webs for the tuxedos and gowns, and you'd have a modern version in bronze of the fauns and nymphs, eh?” bran's coppery features remained impassive, except that his tawny eyes narrowed as he considered her bantering sug- gestion. "i'd rather substitute a tomtom for the music,” he said dryly; "then, anthropologically speaking, you'd have some- thing." o canaan! "oh, you medicos always stick to your scientific guns!" laughed connie. “now look at essie—if she isn't a nymph, there never was one in mythology.” bran shifted his attention to the slim, green-sheathed essie. while other pairs, like intertwined saplings, swayed in spots to which they were rooted, she and her partner glided gracefully among them to the throb of the music. "her face is as cool and impersonal as a poker player's,” observed bran. "no adolescent urges uncontrolled there." "if you're surprised,” said connie, "you can attribute it to tennis and the like. she's the athlete of the family; she's already knocking the ball around on the indoor court, and basketball season isn't over yet.” "i'm not surprised—not after knowing you." "you've known me only two months—since you came out to intern at the hospital.” "you forget i was in school with your brother. and he's all right. he'll make a good teacher too.” "if he can forget his lameness,” added connie. "well, how do you like our little town, now that you've had a real chance to see it? you know i stopped you from judging it on first sight.” "first of all, it's not a little town,” corrected bran. “i thought new york was something, being from boston by way of virginia as i am. but this place it overwhelms one! why, if the south side continues like this, harlem will be a big laugh. it is already to me. i don't see how the folks do it out here." connie smiled. she had become a chicagoan and liked to hear the city praised, although she had no illusions about the south side. "nothing to it,” she said. “guess the spirit of du sable sort of infects our folks once they get here. you know about him—first trading post and all that?" o canaan! "yes. i notice that your average colored chicagoan takes pride in pointing out that historical figure.” "well,” continued connie, "right here in this room is a good enough example of the reason for the progress made by us in chicago.” she paused as bran looked surprised. the dance had stopped, and essie's young guests were making noisily for the punch bowl in the dining room. "see the big boy at essie's side with the suspicious bulge at his hip? that's the watermelon king's youngest son— " "watermelon king?" puzzled bran. "sure. came up from mississippi on the same train with us back in ’ . found out that colored folks like watermelons in the city as well as down home, and he decided to sell them. made enough to set up a store-hence the perfectly fitting tuxedo his son's wearing." "well, sir!” "see the slinky kid with the black gown which she be- lieves makes her sophisticated? her dad's lousy with money -runs a policy wheel. he used to work in the stockyards when i was there " “you-stockyards?” "oh yes,” affirmed connie. she enjoyed his obvious as- tonishment. "i know more about a hog than his mother! see the youngster calmly pouring his grog from that beauti- ful flask, and who thinks he's a valentino? his father buried more flu victims than any other colored undertaker in the city. if he doesn't watch out he'll be burying that youngster of his—and he won't have to use any embalming fluid!” "you seem to know all about them,” observed bran. "i ought to. their mothers belong to the same clubs and lodges with mother. and what do women do at club and lodge meetings? guess!” "go on, i'm interested,” urged the young intern. “you see, up in boston the colored folks have their social dis- tinctions-old bostonians, and all that!” o canaan! "old families?” laughed connie lightly. “we have 'em too! oh yes!” the music had started again, and she pointed hastily. "the chap there who could pass for your younger brother? his family used to live down where the loop is now. here since the year . and are they proud of it! it was his mother whose delicacy was shocked by the sight of folks just up from south picking their toenails and corns on the grass plots in the center of south parkway. she wrote an editorial about it in the champion and organized a club to fight further migration. it was like waving a red rag at a crazed steer! the brethren paid her no mind—as you can see for yourself. took mother seven years to get into her club: dad loaned her husband some money, or something or other. great social climber, mother! that's why i'm chaperoning tonight. she's at one of her meetings. what they do until one and two in the morning beats me! but coming back to first families: it seems that all a family has to do is to find someone away back yonder who did some- thing out of the ordinary before any other negro did it. or if you can find an indian lurking somewhere around the family tree, or some other racial hybridism-presto!—first family. of late, though, it's the folks with money who are counting. and it doesn't make any difference as to how the money's made. just make it, flash it, and you're among the bronze who's who!" "i take it that you don't set much store by this ‘first family business either!” laughed bran. "no!” connie was emphatic. “with me, if you've got any good stuff in you, it makes no difference to me who your folks are, or where they come from, or how much money you've got! give me a man with guts enough to get what he wants and who's willing to pay the price of it! like dad. he may not speak the king's english, and he may look like something-sent-for-and-couldn't-come in a dress suit, but when it comes to his standing on his own legs, he's got it! o canaan! frankly, i get sick of hearing about - why, here's dad. hey, dad!” joe stepped smiling from between the heavy portieres at the hall door where he had paused, hat in hand, and still in his overcoat. "young folks sho' dances 'culiar these days,” he voiced above the blatant saxophone. “look like they ain't doin' nothin' but huggin'!" "that's what they want to do,” laughed connie. “you remember doctor branshaw, don't you, dad?” "sho'-sho'!” joe extended a friendly hand. “lem sent his regards to you in his last letter, doc. how you gettin' on?” notwithstanding joe's cordiality, bran couldn't suppress the feeling of wonder he always experienced whenever he saw joe. he had liked the man instinctively. he liked joe's bigness, the sense of being confronted by an earthly figure that emanated a primordial quality. and it was this rugged- ness of joe's physique and features which bran found hard to associate with connie, even when he weighed christine's flawless beauty into the account. one never knew how the chromosomes would act, he reflected. "can't figure it out?” connie's voice was amused. joe had trudged off to "spruce up a bit," as he put it. "figure what?” bran started guiltily. "oh, you don't have to be twitchy about it,” said connie with genuine unconcern. "lots of my friends have wondered how we children differ so much from dad. but to tell the truth, we don't differ very much, except on the outside. maybe i ought to say that we're about evenly divided be- tween our two parents or nearly evenly. carrying out the -whose theory? mendel?” "i don't get it." bran looked at her and shook his head. he just couldn't afford to fall in love with this interesting woman at his side. o canaan! she was earning more money right now than he'd make even after years of practice. but she was a lovely thing. he couldn't help himself, that was all. .... "well, it's easy,” said connie. “lem's like mother-sort of thin-skinned and none too substantial. he looks like mother, too, if you're observant. i look like mother, but i have dad's mind. with me, a thing's a thing—just what it is and nothing more. essie's dad all over again on a feminine scale. she's acquisitive to the nth degree, and a fighter from away back. that curiously coarse crimpiness of hair and the cheekbones she and dad have? well, it seems that there was a creek indian somewhere back yonder-great-grandfather or something. see? there it goes! but we don't put any premium on it. if you were to hear aunt connie and aunt henrietta you'd get another side. i suppose you can guess that, though?" "you're pretty cool about it all, aren't you?" bran smiled. "you know your family right down to the bricks and make no bones about it.” “why should i? they're just human beings.” "how do you classify the mischievous little brother there dancing with the swooning creature yonder?” connie frowned and lost her detached attitude. "frankly, i worry about him," she said. “it may sound harsh, but it's my opinion that he was a mistake . . . that if he had never been born the world would not have been very much at a loss.” "oh, come now!” protested bran. "aren't you being a little too hard? after all, he's just a kid.” "yes, i know. but he's been handled a little too loosely, i think. then he's not bad to look at-like essie, but different in mind. when we lived over on dearborn the loose ladies of the house next door used to kidnap him until mother complained to the police. and my girl friends used to make over him. all he had to do was to throw his big soft eyes on o canaan! them and right away there was a quarter for ice cream!” "well, that's only natural!” laughed bran. "yes, but he's big for his age. by the time he's seventeen i'll wager he'll be full grown physically. then it won't be ice cream he'll be getting! you know how any city is. ... here's an example of what i mean coming in now.” bran looked toward the door and gaped. "who's she?” he demanded. "maggie dawson," informed connie. “how do you like the backless velvet and the diamonds? real sparklers, too. she's dad's partner, you know.” "so that's maggie dawson!” bran sat back and crossed his long legs. "that's the lady, all right. and the example of what the well-dressed man should wear is the sugar daddy. now do you get what i mean about junior?” she rose. “i'd better greet them and forewarn dad-he hates the sight of that georgie weeks, and it 'll be wise to coach him on the duties of host. mind if i bring them over here?” "mind? i'd love it!” and as connie crossed the floor with her free-limbed stride, bran felt again that surge which came to him when- ever he thought of her. he clenched his hands, rebelling as he often did of late at his puny financial means. what a magnificent creature she was with that pale green, shiny slip of a thing rippling about her tall form! and that huge knot of auburn hair dropping almost to her gracefully held shoul- ders! bran swore morosely to himself and awaited the ap- proach of the three. feigning a smile, he acknowledged the introductions connie made in her low-pitched drawl. and a violent resentment swept over him as he noticed georgie's eyes trailing her out of the room. “very striking, isn't she?” said weeks brazenly. bran's agreement was curt. he felt like punching the fel- low's head. he was glad essie breezed over to them. o canaan! "gee, i'm glad you came, miss maggie!” she exclaimed. "thanks for the pocketbook and what you put in it.” "glad you likes it, chile,” grinned maggie. she looked the girl over with approval. "you's sho’nuf gittin' purty, gal! uh-huh!” "oh, stop, miss maggie!” protested essie. “now listen here: i don't want you folks to sit around and not dance at my party. i'm going to play the piano for the next dance, and i want you all to get up and shake a leg! i'll wait till connie comes back, bran.” she added slyly: "of course i know you don't want to be bothered with connie!” "here, here! stop trying to vamp my man, essie!” connie had come in pulling joe behind her. "hey there, partner!” cried maggie. "just come off so's to git to the gal's party, an' georgie left his place so's to come wid me. how ’m i doin'?” she stood and turned about so that joe could better appraise her. joe grinned broadly at maggie's bedecked bulk and turned a wary eye upon georgie. the latter breathed more freely when he saw no signs of hostility in joe's inscrutable face. "glad you come,” said joe cordially to maggie. "essie was some fretracious 'cause you didn't come last year. how'd you all like to have some real stuff to drink?" he placed his. hand over his heart as casually as the pain would let him and went to the small cabinet in the dining room. “git goin' on that piano, essie! git some glasses, connie.” "i wish you'd persuade dad to let you examine him," whispered connie to bran as joe poured the liquor. "essie says he's having regular dizzy spells, but he's stubborn about it and won't see a doctor." "i'll do what i can,” replied bran. just as essie's nimble fingers trilled into one of her own improvisations of the "blues” the telephone rang. "guess it's yo' ma wantin' junior to come fo' her," said o canaan! joe. he sauntered out into the hall. in a few seconds he was at the portieres beckoning frantically to connie. "excuse me a minute, bran,” she said, and quickly joined her father, who was trying hard to conceal his agitation. connie propelled him back into the shadows. "what's the matter?" she asked. "nick—they's got ’im,” said joe. "that was rosie cohen. they dumped his body on 'er porch 'bout ten minutes ago!” the doorbell rang. joe reached for his hip pocket. "no!" commanded connie. "wait here." she went to the door and cautiously cracked it. four men stood on the porch, two white and two colored. "open up, lady,” said one crisply. he flashed a badge. she let them in. "if you don't mind,” she said, striving to be calm, "please wait here. my sister's having a birthday party- "you all wants me?” joe stepped forward out of the dark. "that's benson," said one of the colored men. “get his coat, miss.” he showed a pair of handcuffs to joe. joe grinned and shook his head. “bring my coat out to the car, connie,” he said. “tell the folks i had to go out on some quick business. in the mornin' you call up my lawyer ” "i know,” said connie, her face drawn. "let's go.” joe strode through the door., connie forced a smile and rejoined the impatient bran. at the piano essie was swaying and singing in a warbly con- tralto: "some o' these days you gonna miss me, honey!” "play it, essie!” "aw, whip it, baby!” "yeah, man!” the party was a roaring success. o canaan! "oh, name of god, mother-please!” connie shook chris- tine's shoulder impatiently. "there's no sense in your carry- ing on like this—absolutely none whatever!” "i told him all along to stop,” wailed christine. she lifted her tearful face from the crook of her arm. her untouched breakfast lay before her on the table, and in its stead she nursed a glass filled with a cloudy liquid. "you've had enough bread soda to cure a horse's indi- gestion!” declared essie sourly. "for cryin' out loud, mom, snap out of it! you sure don't make a pretty picture sitting there like that.” "but what will all our friends say?" sniffed christine. "friends!” connie's tone was barbed with irony. “you needn't worry about your friends, mother! dad's got plenty salted away, i think, and so long as you're as loose with your pocketbook as you have been, your friends will stick around! and dad 'll be able to buy out of this i hope!” "that reminds me," spoke up junior. "just when do i get my week's dough?” "look in my pocketbook," said his mother wearily. “wa-a-ait a minute!” essie sprang ahead of junior, who was already on his way. “you wait right here, brother! i'll dish the dough out to you!” "ah-so you're the big boss since they jugged the ole man, eh?” laughed the boy. "okay by me, sister! only don't snitch on me, see!” he took the money essie shoved into his hand. counting it hastily, he pursued her into the kitchen. "hey, what's the big idea?" he howled. “you ducked two bucks ” "you're tellin' me!” snapped essie, facing him. “hope to o canaan! tell you i did! you've been owing me that deuce for two months. now i'm collecting, see! any objections?” junior grinned sheepishly. "okay, palsy!” he shrugged, and sauntered out of the house. “sometimes i'd like to ...” connie glared disgustedly after her blithe brother. "not you, sis—i would!” hissed essie. "you'd think he'd stick around and go with us to see dad, wouldn't you? him? not him-aw, no! he's too cute and stuck on himself! too busy chasin' the chippies! that's where he's going—to some fresh girl's house whose mother's out to work. you ought to hear him brag about what a sheik he is! let him keep on -one of these days he's going to get more than he's looking for!” with that, essie made for the upper rooms, where she could be heard moving about in her usual tempestuous fashion. "mother, you'd better take that boy in hand before it's too late!” warned connie as the doorbell rang. "i guess that's dad's lawyer,” she said. she started for the hall and turned. "come on, mother, pull yourself together. name of god! i hate all that silly sniffling!” one by one connie listlessly dropped the pile of books into her brief case. her lips thinned as she scanned with tired eyes the forty empty seats and desks of her homeroom. well, it was over again! no more noises, smells, petty quarrels and sudden emotions until september. then the grind would start once more ... and the next year ... and the year after that ... all over again . . . funny, she reflected, she'd never felt like that before. "say, what are you dreaming about?” connie did not look up. she knew it was mae carter. "come on," chirped mae, "school's out and it's time for us to have fun! ditch the boy friend for once and come on with me out to the country seat.” she wrinkled her pert nose at the last two words. connie smiled slowly; mae was a tonic at all times. "what's that-a new one your mother's brought on you?” she asked. "you guessed it!” said mae. "she and her airs are getting my goat! now that architectural monstrosity out in the park is a country seat! guess the next thing she'll spring on me will be a crew of servants! and, take it from me, when www o canaan! ioi it gets that bad i'm burning that shack down! didn't want to go out there in the first place. like going from new york to brooklyn every night. remember when we were back east?” she executed an exaggerated mimic of her moth- er's mannerisms: “ 'but everybody of consequence is mov- ing away from the congestion, my dear!?” connie laughed and followed mae out into the corridor. "if i didn't know you, mae, i'd swear you hated your mother. but i know better; if anything were to happen to her or your dad you'd have a fit.” "you're right,” agreed mae. “but i get sick of a lot of silly airs all the time. you'd think we were millionaires or something by the way mother likes to spend! keeping up with the joneses! but you can't talk sense to her, and dad trails right along with her. every time you turn around it's a bill—and, sister, such bills!” mae whistled. connie frowned as she climbed into mae's defiantly shabby coupé. “so you're having the same trouble too?" she queried. mae's hand lingered on the brake and her bright, birdlike eyes shifted to connie's. they both laughed. "don't tell me!” exclaimed mae as the car lurched away. "i didn't know we were in the same boat. what's the mat- ter? momma's on a spending spree?" "you got it,” said connie. "dad shelled out a lot of cash to beat that bootlegging rap-nearly wiped out all his profits. but does mother care? she called in the decorators, to celebrate, i guess! bills? girl, you should have seen that one! then it's party, party, party! the managers of the stores downtown must rub their hands when they see her coming. she seems to have a mania or something. ..." "lawdy me!” mae's favorite expression was followed by a mirthless cackle. “it must be a disease! i tell you what- let's not go out home. i know a nice little speak-easy where we can drink two cocktails apiece to our dear mothers! i feel an urge to drive dull care away. and we ought to cele- ;" said pending she same bohe car lur o canaan! "maybe you're right,” reflected connie. "maybe? i know i'm right! look, connie—this teaching is okay for somebody like me, but not you. you take it too seriously.” "how can i take it any other way, coming from where i came?” said connie soberly, and with a far gaze in her eyes. "you don't know-nobody who's ever had the advantages you have had, mae, can ever know-what it means to want a chance to learn—to read books—to make something of yourself—and to have that chance denied by circumstances over which you have no control. . . . that's why i take my job so seriously." "i understand,” said mae more quietly. she paused briefly, then resumed her bantering tone. “i know you, too, sister! what you want besides this teaching is a nice little apart- ment, an ambitious husband like bran to steer ahead, and a couple of brats to worry with.” connie laughed. "don't laugh!” said mae. "you know it's true. that's all those spells of impatience are of yours. me? i reckon i don't want any part of it ... maybe. don't want anybody but lem anyway! and he won't give me a tumble, the lofty- minded galahad! you ought to see the letters he writes me about his glorious job teaching down south! nope, if i do marry-after lem turns fool and takes up with a gal who doesn't understand him-it 'll probably be to confirm my skepticism and to get a nice brawl of a divorce that the champion can feature on the front page!” mae's laugh was gayly cynical as she ordered a second round of drinks. "yes," she continued, "you're not like you used to be. you used to be a regular ole she-pirate with a chip on your shoulder when i first met you. here lately, you've softened up like a ripe peach ready for plucking! and, since you're so ready, i don't see any better guy to pluck you than bran. o canaan! why, with the money you make, you could help him a lot for a couple of years until he got on his feet- " "that's an idea!” connie set her glass down decisively. "i've been thinking the same thing for the last two months.” "well, what's the matter now?" demanded mae sharply, for connie had suddenly lost her enthusiasm. "he wouldn't listen to it.” "lawdy me! now i know you're getting soft! well, i swan, gal! have you forgotten the string of boy friends you've led around on pink ribbons? how come he won't listen? my eye he won't! here it is summer with all kinds of moons and the biggest parks in the world right in your back yard, and you talking about what a man won't do!” mae was all scorn. "now i know i'm going to have another drink!” connie sought to restrain her, but mae was not to be denied. "you know,” she giggled, "i can just see myself swinging down the aisle with a great big bouquet and all diked out in pink!” “you've just got to marry me off, haven't you?” chuckled connie. but her gray eyes were softly lighted. mae made a frame with her hands and giggled anew. “what a bride! what a bride!” she sighed. “well, that's settled! i'll get my own dress, and you won't have to bother about a present for— " "you'll do nothing of the kind!” blazed connie before she could check herself. they both giggled like mischievous schoolgirls. and bran's fate was sealed. then mae blinked unbelievingly over connie's shoulder. “lawdy me!” she gasped. “you may as well look now. is that your little brother, or is that your little brother?" connie pivoted quickly. junior waved nonchalantly at her and then proceeded to seat a stoutish, flashily dressed woman. her face suddenly scarlet, connie started to rise. startedly dresseatly at her o canaan! "whoa! whoa!” mae hauled her back. "you can't do that in here! relax-relax! so, bossie—so-so, bossie!” "why, the dirty-old-fashioned— ” mae closed her eyes and clamped her hands over her ears. “what a whale of a difference the stockyards make in one's vocabulary!” she giggled. “poor me! my sheltered life as a girl was a handicap. wish i had half your cuss words.” "oh, but, mae, it's ridiculous!” snapped connie. “that woman could be his grandmother! and bringing him into a place like this! i've a mind to— ". "forget your mind!” ordered mae quickly. "if i'm not mistaken, that bloated and painted clotheshorse is minnie light, one of dan's female powers in his ward. for atten- tion paid by him she helps dan swing votes. i give you one guess as to what she does. she's got money's mammy, and her weakness is young and tender pig meat-sort of a high- yaller maggie dawson. your best play is to ignore her and talk to the little brother privately." “let's get out of here before i pull her eyes out and drag him away by the nape of his neck!” “gott in himmel! wait for me, brunhilde!” called mae. she hastily drained her glass. connie fired a black look at junior as she strode past the table where his companion was stroking his arm much in the manner of a spinster caressing a stray kitten. the boy's grin was its most insolent. "well, i must say,” panted mae, hard pressed to match connie's angry strides, "the old cat's got an eye for pickin' 'em! if he weren't your brother, now, i'd " "oh, shut up!” connie's voice was an accentuated drawl, a sure sign of her ire. “give me the keys—i'm driving!” "okay, sweetness. i feel a little whoozie anyway." the gears ground out connie's wrath, and the coupé tore from its parking space. there was a terrifying screech of o canaan! much? do mother and essie know yet? what time is it? my arm's in " "lawdy me, gal!” mae bolted upright. “wait a second- one at a time! just ease up the pressure, and i'll give you an itemized account.” “shoot-quick!" "all right. now. item one: your arm's busted and you barely missed having a concussion. it seems that you're rather hardheaded. item two: from now on signal all ten-ton trucks before you pull away from a curb. nevertheless, i'm grateful for your complete disposal of that eyesore on wheels " "i'm sorry, mae. i'll " "think nothing of it. it was insured, and i've been think- ing about a new one for months. sometimes, though, cars get next to you-like dogs. the older they get, the more you hate to get rid of them. poor thing! i feel like wearing a dash of black for it. next time you get ready to do the same job, try pushing over a cliff. less painful, wouldn't you think?" "you must still be tipsy!" "no ... i got kind of bighearted and scattered bless- ings in sundry places immediately after the crash.” "i'm terribly sorry " "are you going to listen? item three: bran's going to see essie and the mother, and phone my folks. girl, that m.d. is certainly taking care of you! me? wouldn't have made the least difference to him if i'd cashed in, the heartless brute! oh well, i'll get even. it 'll be a pleasure to lead him to his fate-me all dressed in pink- " "quiet, please!” a sturdy nurse stood at the doorway. "it's seven o'clock. you both should be asleep.” she pressed a button, plunging the room into semidarkness. "nite-nite, mrs branshaw!” mae snuggled deeper amid the sheets and sighed rapturously. "what a break-right in o canaan! the same hospital where your man is! this setup's better than a park in the moonlight, girlie connie gave a rattling snore. "okay, girlie!” snickered mae. "i'll be seeing you at the altar! what a break. lawdy me ..." "i don't want to be married in church! is that plain?” connie's drawl was impatient as she paused before her mother. "it's my wedding, isn't it?” she resumed. "name of god! one would think you were getting married— ” "all right, all right,” said christine in an injured tone. "i only thought that since your father and i are looked upon as pillars of bathsheba " “pillars of bathsheba!” interrupted connie scornfully. "you know pa doesn't care a hang about bathsheba! and all it means to you is a chance to show off before your dear sis- ters!” "connie!” christine was aghast. but connie was not to be repulsed, and in spite of the oppressive august heat which poured through the screened windows of the living room she paced the floor. "yes," she continued, "that's all you want to do, and you know it. as if pa hadn't enough to do paying these crazy bills you're always making! name of god, mother, i don't see how you have the heart to do it!" o canaan! iii "well, i can't afford to entertain my friends in a shabby way,” simpered christine. "after all, you've got to keep up appearances ” "appearances!” connie brought her heels together smartly on the hardwood floor. “sometimes i wish we had never moved from dearborn street, mother! it's gone to your head, that's what! when you were over there you could do your own housework. now-name of god!—you must have a girl”—connie's voice was a whining imitation of her moth- er's—"to clean house for you and help with dinner par- ties " "all my friends have girls to help them,” said christine defensively. "i only have one now and then. why, the law- yer wilsons keep a girl all the time " "yes, and he can afford it, too,” replied connie. "pa hasn't half the money he has—especially since that mess in april and it cost a pretty penny to keep that out of the papers. and on top of that, maggie dawson's gone and let that pimp of hers wade right into the profits of the restaurant. and believe you me, that snake is taking everything that isn't nailed down!" "but georgie says ” christine checked herself. "georgie says what? say—what do you know about what georgie says?" connie fastened a steady gaze upon her moth- er's frightened face. "well, i–i,” stammered christine, "i met him yesterday ... coming from the library- " "listen, mother,” said connie scornfully, "are you falling for that dirty little smooth-talking worm?” "connie!” all shocked and bruised sensibility, christine fluttered a handkerchief to her nose. "how could you talk so to your own mother?” "oh, stop it!” commanded connie relentlessly. “mother or no mother, you're a woman, and—if i must say it-with not half the common sense maggie dawson has. she knows ii o canaan! what she's doing where georgie is concerned and probably doesn't mind what he does so long as he doesn't thieve too much from her. she's a lone woman, but you're a wife and mother, with a husband whose heart is subject to go like that any minute now if he doesn't ease up on the pace he's going just to grub dollars for you to throw away! you know what bran told us last week about dad.” "can't i meet a person i know and talk with him without being under suspicion?” countered christine with a show of spirit. "all right,” shrugged connie. “have it your own way. all i say is, it seems to me that you could pick out a different person to be seen talking to!” she made for the hall, where she turned. “if i were you, i'd try to see that we didn't have a georgie weeks of our own in the person of your darling son! i told you that i saw him with that minnie light in a speak-easy back in june. maybe that's where he stays those nights he doesn't come home!” christine was visibly shaken as she watched her daughter stride down the walk to the street. after some hesitation she went to the phone and spoke a number softly into the mouthpiece. in the midst of her cautious murmurs she stif- fened and quickly hung up. she turned to face the insolent leer of junior. "hello, mom," he mimicked her murmur, "i just wanted to ask you if you could let me have a ten-spot." christine's head went up in her characteristic gesture, and her thin lips parted. but the sharp rebuke would not come. the boy's eyes were too knowing. her head sank, and she whispered: “wait here." junior's grin was triumphant as he watched his mother hasten up the stairs. o canaan! “wal, joe, yo' gal's sho'nuf gwine from you now." sam cummins stropped his razor and gently fingered the deep creases of joe's heavy jowls. "yeah,” said joe, “that's the way it goes: the pappy works like the devil to set 'em straight, an' some squirt comes along an' grabs 'em up!” "heh-heh—that's sho'nuf the truth, man!” sam always made a leisurely operation of joe's shaves because these were about the only instances which gave the two old friends "a spell together," as sam put it, so diver- gent had their lives become. “now, suh, that sho' nuf was some weddin'!” he ex- claimed. he poised his razor and looked off into space. sam was a talker who captured one's attention, and the loafers in the narrow, mirrored rectangle of his shop always gave ear to him. perhaps it was this picturesque, quaint, col- loquial ability of the little barber that bound so many of his clientele to him. once sam cummins cut a man's hair or shaved him, he had another customer almost invariably. for sam knew when, what, how and to whom to talk. and if he were ignorant of a subject—which was seldom—he had the good sense to listen in such an ingratiating manner that the individual speaking experienced that sense of abundant knowledge so appeasing to the male ego. "uh-huh ...” he mused, raking his whitened tuft of hair and executing a few lightning strokes with his precise razor (sam's boast was that he never nicked a face, no mat- ter how bumpy it might be). "you was there, too, wasn't you, pop?” prompted his as- sistant, a sloppy, bald, overly fat octoroon whose bleary eyes and pimply nose were indices of his daily bouts with the bottle. but he was a good barber-he needed only scis- o canaan! iis talkin' 'bout she cain't eat no mo' an' eatin' fit to bust all the time!” "did you tell maggie you still wants to hook up wid 'er?” chuckled joe under his lather. "huh!” scoffed sam, scraping away, and with his voice more directed to joe. “she done got too highfalutin fo’ me! an' her runnin' wid that slick oscar down in thirty-fifth street what runs that poolroom! whyn't you talk some sense in 'er head, joe?” "ain't no use, sam. no fool like a old fool, you know.” “sometimes i thinks you all's both fools!” stated sam with the license of long friendship. “you an' her done quit comin' to church, ain't you? swear to my rest- "ain't got time, sam,” said joe. “look like the mo' a man gits, the mo' he got to git to keep what he got! an' the mo' you got, the mo' you gots to spend— ” "ain't got time fo’ jesus, eh? that's what wrong wid you!” sam was expounding on his favorite theme with joe. “you all done come up here an' fo’got yo' jesus " "now you knows that ain't so," protested joe tolerantly. "don't i keep up my dues? ain't i looked after gittin' that jewish church so's this reverend brown kin move you all to a nicer neighborhood?” "that's all right," interrupted sam, “but that ain't what the lawd wants. he wants yo' heart! an' you knows yo’ heart ain't in no church, joe! an' i ain't sho' the lawd wants us to be buyin' up a grea' big church so's this man, what took rev'end williams's place when the lawd took 'im home to glory, kin rare an' pitch in. somep'n tells me he ain't no mo' called by the lawd 'n a mule! sho'—he kin preach all right, an' make them sisters jump an' holler, but they ain't no jesus there. you hears me? an' them sisters- christine 'cluded—talkin' 'bout gittin' him a car an' sendin' him off on a vacation! vacation! jesus didn't need no vaca- tion! doggone " o canaan! “well now, sam,” chuckled joe easily, “the bible done said a man ought to be worthy of his hire- "hire!” exploded sam as he wrung a steaming towel and applied it to joe's face. "the lawd don't hire nobody! jesus calls 'em-an' ef they ain't called they ain't no good, that's what!” joe chuckled louder, and sam became belligerent. "you mark my word, joe, the lawd ain't gwine stand too much foolishness! he gwine show you somep'n one o' these days, suh! he gittin' tired sho'nuf now! this place 's gittin' jes' like sodom— " "thought it was jes' like canaan when we fust come up here, sam?” reminded joe. "it ain't no mo',” replied sam, unruffled. "israel done fo’got her god an' the day o'wrath is a-comin', you hear me! you cain't do 'thout the lawd, joe!” "sam, you ever stop to figger why the white boys is so far 'head o'us?” asked joe, wincing from the sting of an astrin- gent. "they ain't so far—they jes' look like they is,” said sam with a knowing wag of his head. "you mought be right,” said joe. he paused as he pressed a big hand against his suddenly heaving chest. "what's the matter?" questioned sam, noticing the action. "oh, it ain't nothin',” replied joe as the pain subsided. "what i was sayin'—you mought be right and you moughtn', sam. these white boys is slick—ain't no gittin' 'way from it-an' we gots a long ways to go yit—a long ways. now the biggest trouble wid us, sam, is we bin thinkin' too much 'bout jesus an' fo’gittin' 'bout livin'! we bin sayin': 'gimme jesus an' you all kin have the world.' now the way i figgers this thing is, ef jesus an' the lawd 'll jes' gimme a chance ’long wid the other folks, i ain't gonna worry 'bout heaven -i gonna try an' git somep'n myself down here an' not fret the lawd 'bout it too much! you ever stop to figger what "take a look at these letters, dad.” joe read one after another without comment, then leaned back in his chair to look over essie's head at the landscape on the wall. "who told you to write 'em?” he asked slowly, his voice an ominous rumble. "well, dad, if you don't tell these stores not to let mother charge things ” "i didn't tell you to write 'em!” "i know, dad,” said essie, “but you've got to do it. look.” she handed him three invoices. "those are the coal bills for september, october and this month. it takes a lot of money to heat those parkway houses. and now that you've sold out the store ... remember you haven't quite paid for those houses yet, and you're selling " "i oughta kept on sellin' likker,” muttered joe, fingering the letters. "well, i'm glad you're not!” essie laid an affectionate hand on his shoulder. “we'll pull through all right, dad. but you'll have to let me send those letters. it ʼll do mother good to pinch a little. let me show you something." o canaan! she went to a tall filing cabinet and brought back four indexed sheets. "here are our records from ’ through ’ and up to now in this year. we're just about even. now if we can keep going until we'll be in the clear!” "that's sho’nuf right nice bookkeepin', gal,” said joe. he grinned appreciatively at his daughter. “you's a right smart gal. reckon that high-school co’se must o' bin all right.” "it was hard enough,” laughed essie. she ran her fingers through his nearly white shock of hair and kissed him on the nose. "have you taken your medicine?” she demanded. he fumbled in his desk drawer. she tittered at his facial contortions as he downed a teaspoonful and spluttered: "that devilish bran kin fix up some o' the nastiest mess fo' me to take! swear to my rest!” "you're worse than junior used to be about castor oil!” snickered essie. "anyway, the medicine's doing you good.” "ef it don't cure me it 'll sho'nuf kill me!” growled joe. "where's that junior anyhow?" "you're asking me?” shrugged essie. "the last i saw of him he was heading for milwaukee-goes there nearly every week. i don't see where he gets all his money- ” she stopped short. she did know. she continued: "he just laughed in that crazy way of his when you cut off his allow- ance and told him to find a job after he flunked out in june.” "reckon he ain't ’mountin' to much," mused joe pen- sively. "he's just no good, that's all,” said essie. "the women like him too well.” "well, when he comes home this time i'm givin' him his walkin' papers! ef that's the kind o’ life he wants, i'm gonna give 'im a chance to git a bellyful. maybe he'll git some sense in that head o'hisn. . . . gal, you never knows what you's gittin' when you born a chile. ain't no tellin' ... no tellin'. ..." o canaan! joe drummed his desk absently. "you go past connie's today?” he asked as an afterthought. "yes, and that little rascal of theirs is as fat as a butter- ball!” "that charlie's a mess!” chuckled joe. “ever' time i goes there he gits ahold o'my finger an' won't tu'n loose fo' noth- in'! reckon i'll drop in on 'em after i git through seein' ole dan carter an' barnes. i'll mail these letters on my way ef you'll put 'em in envelopes.” while essie typed the addresses joe drew on his fur-lined overcoat that made his massive figure more portly. essie watched him from the window as he strode along. she watched him lovingly, for she was proud of her father. he was head and shoulders above the saturday evening crowd of shoppers along teeming forty-seventh street. and she noted that some of them paused to follow with respectful eyes that towering, commanding height and breadth of him as he moved along, head and shoulders above them all. essie's snapping eyes grew worried as she watched her father. how long ... ? bran was always evasive except to say that any severe shock would be damaging and that joe's vitality was such that there was no definite prediction to be made in his case. joe's money-getting and striving after power had exacted a price: the man's great heart had weak- ened in the strife, though his will was as strong as ever. and now her mother ... essie's brow contracted be- neath her curling bangs. her mother and georgie weeks ... for essie knew_had known when she came upon junior and christine one day as the boy was demanding his tribute for silence. a brown fury, she had assailed them: "if you ever let dad find out about it, " she had hissed her unfinished sentence through clenched teeth. and the boy, knowing the wildness of his sister's temper, had slunk away to plague his mother no more. essie had lashed christine with the whips of scorn until o canaan! i the older woman had cringed and whimpered a promise to abandon her liaison. but georgie had been unyielding; he had demanded payment-an exorbitant sum—under threats of exposing the affair to joe. and tonight was the dead- line. "i'll see him myself,” essie had told the distraught chris- · tine. "and from now on you don't spend any of dad's money except what i let you have, you-you- " she had clamped her lips on the vile name and left chris- tine prostrate in terror and shame. and the girl spoke no more to her mother unless joe was with them. christine avoided her daughter, for now on the one hand there lay be- tween them nothing but scorn that bordered on hate, and on the other bitter humility and fear that bred hate. essie drew her shoulders erect and walked slowly away from the window. just as slowly she put on her sleek musk- rat coat and green hat, gloves and scarf. then her move- ments became quicker as her strong lower jaw lifted and a wild light kindled in her black, snapping eyes. when she strode forth the lights of the city pierced the prairie dusk. though she was comparatively small, her lithe, erect figure, too, stood out from the crowd; and many were the sensuously admiring male eyes that stared after it. georgie weeks lounged upon the softly cushioned window seat overlooking michigan boulevard and blew thin wisps of smoke toward an amber-bulbed floor lamp. it was the right light for georgie, and he knew it. they'd always given him amber lighting when he'd been a star player in his dramatic club at college back east. : "college ..." mused georgie. he glanced about the sumptuous furnishings of this, the living room of his three-room apartment. culture for serv- o canaan! ice! this was a damned sight better than teaching in a one- room school filled with a lot of smelly, snotty-nosed kids! forty dollars a month! georgie's sensuous lips turned up in a sneer. he'd made college pay real dividends. and there was that silly little country teacher wanting him to marry her! women ... women! georgie's sneer became more pronounced as the bell rang. "about time she got here!” he muttered. smoothing his glossily pomaded head, he lighted another cigarette before he rose. he adjusted his silk dressing gown of oriental design and walked leisurely to the door. that black benson would pay off now for that slapping! he opened the door and drew back in surprise. "why--this is a pleasure, miss benson!” he exclaimed, falling into his part like the actor he was. "nix on the smooth line, brother!” answered essie. she stepped briskly across the threshold. “and you can drop the movie pose too ” "won't you have a seat?” interrupted georgie. his trained smile did not break though he raged inwardly. so the old bitch had blabbed! he'd fix her! "never mind the seat!” essie's husky contralto was as hard as the sharp lines of her face. "you know why i'm here,” she went on, "and i've come to tell you this: if you write any letter to dad i'll kill you, you dirty bastard! i'll kill you, so help me god, i will! and you needn't think i'm just running off at the mouth!” her voice was like the tremolo of an oboe now, and her teeth showed full against the flushed brown of her heart- shaped face. georgie backed farther away, but the fury followed him as she barely whispered: "i love my dad—you hear me? and before i'll let you hurt him-you son of a bitch—i'll kill you!” she wheeled and ran from the room, to lean quivering and with closed eyes against the hallway wall. o canaan! "what 're ya doin' in there?” essie stared. it was gladys colton. with sodden cigarette hanging from a corner of her smeared lips, and a menacing scowl upon her violently rouged face, she brought the full glare of her disease-ridden gray eyes upon essie. . "what 're ya doin' in there?” she demanded again, her right hand fumbling at her pocketbook. "what's it to you?” snapped essie. she switched away, her high heels clicking impudently upon the tiled floor. gladys' hand came swiftly from her bag with a small shiny object with which she drew a bead upon the retreating girl. the hand wavered, then fell as essie's head disappeared below the top step of the stairs leading to the floor below. impatiently gladys rummaged in her pocketbook and finally extricated a small paper packet. she dumped a portion of the white powder on the back of her trembling hand and sniffed it vigorously. her whole body twitched spasmodically and steadied, and her smirking face was ugly as she rang the bell of georgie's apartment. "why didn'cha go my fine?" she snarled. he had hardly opened the door. "now wait a minute, gladys!” gasped georgie, retreating hastily. he stared fearfully at the round black hole of the small gun she held. "so ya wanted to make time with a chippie and let me take a rap, eh?” "wait a minute, for god's sake! let me- " the sentence was never finished. the woman's finger had tightened, and the round black hole did not waver. ... old dan and joe benson were chuckling gleefully in the former's office atop barnes's bank on state street. it was o canaan! this room that joe had used as a model for his office; only here the furnishings were more worn and of an earlier mode. "well, how do you gentlemen like my proposition?" asked barnes. he was standing with a half-filled whisky glass in his hand-a tall, dull black man with keen features made more distinguished (he thought) by pince-nez spectacles perched upon the indented bridge of his thin nose. winged of collar, spatted of shoe, and wearing his iron-gray, stubborn hair in a severe pompadour, he was as immaculately groomed as old dan. that he was more orator than executive was easily detected. "sounds good to me,” said carter, scratching the ends of his white mustache with the tip of his little finger. "and you want each of us to take a third of this new stock, is that it?" "that's right,” vouchsafed barnes, "and immediately you have an equally controlling interest in the bank along with me.” "how come you wants us in on it?" asked joe shrewdly. "because, mr benson, i am interested in the growth of negro business—and that interest is not a selfish one!” answered barnes oratorically. "you gentlemen know how i stuck to my post—at great loss to myself, i'd have you recall—when those bombing outrages were at their worst? i assure you, gentlemen, that it would have been easy for me to give up then. but did i? no, gentlemen, i refused to budge! and as a result negroes are now able to live in neighborhoods never before occupied by them in the history of the city. you gentlemen are aware of that—and very profitably so, if i'm not mistaken.” he smiled slyly at them and sipped his drink. "that's right,” agreed joe. "we followed you when we started buyin' up houses, sho' nuf.” barnes continued: o canaan! "gentlemen, i'm not thinking just of the present. i'm thinking of the day when our boys and girls will be coming out of schools and colleges and taking their places in busi- nesses owned and operated by negroes. there's no getting away from it—unless we as negroes become more eco- nomically competent we're doomed! i'm thinking of the day when south state street and forty-seventh street will be teeming-teeming—with negro business! there's room for us, gentlemen, if a few pioneers like ourselves will have vision enough and courage enough to strike while the iron is hot. and, gentlemen, the iron is hot now! i know what i'm talking about. stocks are rising every day. before the end of this stock you're buying will have reached inconceivable peaks, and the bank—our bank—will be absolutely solid-even more solid than it is now. what do you say, gentlemen?” "i'm wid you!" rumbled joe. “let's git them papers signed.” they drank another round after the transaction was completed, and joe and barnes left together. when the door closed upon them young dan emerged from the office adjoining his father's. "well, you went through with it, didn't you?" he said with an ironical twist of his full, mobile lips. dan's lips and eyes were his chief assets as a lawyer. they were both fascinating; the former were very facile in the delivery of a speech and writhed and twisted as emotion directed; the latter were intense and piercing, and the degree of their marked squint forewarned of the vitupera- tion about to be ejected by his strong baritone. during such moments of vitriolic objurgation, which grew more frequent as he grew older, dan's head, rather long from front to back, would shoot forward on its sinewy neck and lower so that the four regular, thick waves of his hair were high- lighted. and to add formidableness to the pose with which o canaan! "i haven't any objections to a man's making an advan- tageous marriage, o volatile-tongued barrister!” "oh, dad, for the love of mike!” dan finally broke off his tirade. for in spite of the pungent arguments in which the two frequently engaged, the son loved and admired his father. and it had been the older man's cutting sarcasm that had brought the youngster out of the dejection caused by his first defeat at the bar. "listen, son,” said old dan, also abandoning his vitriol, "i appreciate your point of view. but, after all, what is business? in the final analysis it's a chance. now don't think i've decayed so much as not to have investigated this thing. the stock's all right-perfectly sound. the boys downtown are going for it strong. besides, even if the whole thing collapses i'll still have plenty left. you see, son, i've been thinking about this negro business a long time—since before you were born, in fact. and i think that now's the time, while we're on an economic crest, as it were. why, negroes are depositing their money in barnes' bank by the thou- sands! success is bound to come! don't you want to see your old man a bank director? don't you want these kids finishing school to have a chance?" "all right, all right,” said dan, resigned. "have your old man's pipe dream. an economic crest, as you call it, may be all right, but my economics says to buy low and sell high! of course i'm just an upstart, and you old heads are always right. ... go on and be a bank director-and i hope you like it! as for these kids coming out of school- humph! these gin-totin', slang-talking brats don't impress me. the war taught me one thing, dad: in life it's every man for himself and to hell with the hindmost. life's a struggle, dad! and the more older negroes coddle the youngsters—making it easy for them—the least they can expect ” o canaan! "but we intelligent and able negroes can't let the others drift, son " “damn the others!” exclaimed dan impetuously. "they're the ones who make it hard for those who 're trying to do things! you can't make a thoroughbred out of a plow horse. i found that out twelve years ago when i had those silly, altruistic ideas in my head. all i got was a cussin' out for my trouble. to hell with 'em! if i can feed on them i'll do it. may as well ... others do it.” "i wish you'd never gone to war, son," said old dan. "it did some ugly things to you. i wanted you hard, but not too hard-especially where your own people are concerned.” "who are my people?” asked dan somberly. “what do you get for being soft? i was soft with connie, and look what happened. i lost her.” "still bothers you, eh?” "i'll get her yet!” "some things aren't meant for some individuals, son.” "humph! women are just peculiar, that's all,” scowled dan. "look at mae--swears she's going to marry lem! and for what? he hasn't got what it takes—no guts, no push. but that's the kind women like the soft, dependent kind- our women, anyway." "that's quite a compliment to me, to say the least,” put in old dan, smiling queerly as he rose. "you know, one of our women married me. ... when are you coming home? your mother's complaining because you don't visit us more.” "i'll be out tomorrow. got to check on my wheel.” "you'd better go slowly with that policy game, son. as soon as they tighten up you light out.” "can't quit now, dad,” grinned dan ironically. "i've got to be ready to catch you when you fall from your bank roof.” "i'll bounce, son.” with this parting shot old dan bundled up and went out o canaan! to brave the fine, driving snow that presaged a prairie blizzard. meanwhile joe trudged toward connie's, highly elated. a bank director! he chuckled so deeply that other passers-by looked askance at him. he came to a mailbox and bethought himself of the letters. with great silent glee he tore them to shreds and flung them into the gutter where they cavorted in the prairie wind and snow. "doggone! i knowed it!” "what's the matter, joe?” queried christine. "ain't nothin' the matter,” said joe, gulping the re- mainder of his breakfast coffee. "some gal's done jes' blowed georgie weeks' brains clean out!” christine gave a faint gasp and half rose from her seat, but sank down at a look from essie. “who did the job, dad?” "says here," answered joe, bending closer to the paper, "some gal by the name o'gladys—gladys colton. ... say, ain't that the gal you was tellin' us 'bout once?" "must be,” said essie indifferently. "what do you think they'll do to her?” "they oughta give 'er a medal!” growled joe. “she say they had a fight an' she shot in self-defense. i reckon she git off wid jes' time fo'totin' a gun.” for some reason essie breathed a quick sigh of relief and rose from the table. "did you mail those letters last night, dad?” she asked before she left. o canaan! "sho'-sho',” lied joe and bent more attentively to the paper. “ain't you goin' to church this mo’nin', honey?” he asked christine, who continued to gaze fixedly at her plate. "oh . . . you know, i hardly realized it was sunday!" fluttered christine. when she and essie had gone out together with their purple robes on their arms joe assumed his favorite position in the living room-sprawled upon the divan and puffing at long intervals a fragrant cigar. he had not been there long before the familiar steps of junior sounded on the porch and in the hall. "come here, boy!" rumbled joe. he sat up and snatched the cigar from his mouth. "hi, dad!” greeted junior with a leisurely flip of the hand to his sire. joe clamped angry teeth upon his cigar. "look at you!" joe covered the distance between them with three swift strides, gripped the boy by the overcoat collar and shook him as a bear shakes his cub. then he shuttled him across the room with a violence that crashed a coffee stand. "now you git out o' here—an' stay out!” roared joe, standing over him. "i done ever'thing fo’you a pappy kin- give you ever'thing—but you jes' ain't no dam' good! git!” junior struggled to his feet and mumbled: "gimme a chance to get my clothes, will you?” "you gots all the clothes you need on yo' back!” stated joe adamantly. "ef you wants mo', work fo' 'em! dam' you—you'll work now!” "that's what you think!” was the sullen rejoinder. and before joe could intercept him the boy was gone. joe sank upon the divan and clutched his bosom. then he made his way to the dining-room cabinet, where he downed four glasses of whisky in rapid succession. o canaan! "bran! look--they've done it!” connie rushed excitedly through the small combination living-dining room and into a smaller bedchamber. she snapped on the light and shook bran by the shoulder. "wake up, darlin'!” she cried. “wake up! they've done it!” with a simulated groan bran rolled over and sat up, pained tolerance and sleepiness combating for possession of his lean, tired face. "who's done what, baby?” he yawned. "mae and lem! listen: 'we did it stop blame santa claus stop see you in stop mr and mrs lemuel benson.' they're in detroit. they must have gone over last night. isn't mae the limit, though? she said she'd do it!" connie tossed the telegram to bran and gathered their kicking son from the crib beside the bed. he was a redhead with bran's tawny eyes peeping out of cheeks so chubby that they dropped away from his tiny puckered mouth like the jowls of a solemn, fat old man. "some bouncing boy, honey!” jane saunders had ex- claimed when she made her routine call. and jane had not been her matter-of-fact self concerning connie and the boy, for she had continued close to the benson family through the years that saw her rise, through her efficiency, from one of hundreds of child-and-mother welfare nurses to the directorship of the south side branch which she had established and developed. and except the slight stoutness that had supplanted her youthful stockiness, miss jane was the same calm, energetic soul who had battled many a prairie blizzard and covered many a hot mile under the blazing prairie sun in the faithful pursuit of her duty. "well, here's luck to them!” bran snatched the boy from o canaan! connie and tossed him until his gurgles turned to squeals. "i hope it doesn't detract from lem's thesis writing. and speaking of the thesis, i must say he sure picked a whopper!” "he looks a little peaked to me,” said connie. “here, give me charles branshaw, iii, before his father ruins him! for a doctor you can do some of the worst things to your own son!” "lem does look peaked,” agreed bran thoughtfully. "he's taking that stuff too seriously. but he always was that way, even as an undergrad. i'll have a look at him when they get back.” "i wish you would. by the way, how are you coming with that paper of yours? any more for me to type?” "nope, not yet. have to wait for miss saunders' material on luetic mothers.” bran's face lighted. "now there's a woman for you! boy! she's more thorough than many a doctor i've known. you know that side wasn't my idea-it was hers. seems that she's been keeping a sort of independent case record since she started her station. i'm telling you, when we explode these findings on syphilis in the south side ” "oh, bran! not before breakfast!” connie made a face. "okay, baby,” laughed bran. “but i'm telling you if something isn't done it 'll be the next plague- "how do you want your eggs?" broke in connie merrily. this scientist husband of hers was a case! but how she loved him. you saw it in the way she looked at him, the lilt she put into his name. "all right!” he laughed again. he tousled her hair, which she now wore in a long bob. "shipwreck 'em-and if they're scorched i'll beat you!” "okay, cap'n!” connie snatched the bedclothes from his long body. "now suppose you do the duties by our little bundle of love this morning! you know, you're just as much to blame for him as i am. ... and don't say you don't o canaan! know what to do, doctor.” she shouldered one end of the blankets and dragged them behind her to the kitchen. bran sat up and ruefully eyed his son, whose bright, tawny eyes looked up expectantly. "you doggone little tyrant, you!" yawned the father. "blub-blub, pooh!" came the answer, accompanied by a pommeling of the crib blanket. "okay, your majesty.” bran picked up the boy and made for the bathroom. "gee, i'm glad you got a break this christmas and don't have to go to the hospital!” exclaimed connie. they had eaten breakfast and bran was on the floor amusing the baby with toys. beneath a tiny tree in one corner of the room lay their own presents. "yep, it's swell all right," agreed bran. "now if mom were just able to get away from those two new england spinsters who swear they can't eat anybody else's cooking, everything will be jake. i sent her the money to come last week, but i haven't heard from her.” "bran,” asked connie thoughtfully, "do you think your mother really wants to see us?” "why, of course she does!” declared bran. "say, what are you driving at?" "well . . . you know ..." hesitated connie, looking away. "know what?" "well, she didn't even acknowledge the announcement we sent her about charlie. ..." "oh, that?” bran laughed. “you don't know mom, that's all. she probably laughed all day to herself and told all her girl friends about it. she doesn't like to write. she's a little sensitive about her limited education " "that's just what i was driving at, bran. i thought when o canaan! "that's essie,” said connie, going to the door. "yippee! merry christmas and all that to you!” cried essie as she flapped into the room with her galoshes open. “what do you think about lem and mae?" she was followed by a thin, effeminate young man who sighed his relief when bran took from him the toppling packages that were about to throw him. “what have you been drinking?” demanded connie. she took their coats and hats. "mae's crazy, but i'm glad she got him. hello, ronnie—just home from school?” "yes,” gasped the sallow-skinned one. he wiped the moisture from his horn-rimmed glasses. “mother and dad ” "-extend to you the season's greetings and trust that you will worship with them this coming sunday!” finished essie with an impatient look at her abashed escort. "don't be so rude, essie!” scolded connie, but with the corners of her mouth turned down. “say, i've heard that same speech four times already this morning!” stated essie with a toss of her head. she picked up her nephew and to his gurgling delight swung him aloft. "young man,” said bran to ronnie solemnly, “it is the duty of the male of the species to place a firm curb on the female whenever needed. get me?” “yes,” said ronnie as he sank into a chair with a sigh, "but i'm afraid some females don't submit willingly to the treat- ment." “dad wants you to have dinner with us,” announced essie. "and, bran, he says for you to leave that stethoscope of yours at home! say, did you have any inkling about lem and mae? they sent us a crazy telegram from detroit about santa claus and an elopement " "isn't it something, though?” exclaimed connie. “next thing we know you'll be running off- "not me!” interrupted essie decidedly. “never no that for o canaan! little essie, sis—not for a long time! why, i ain't sowed me wild oat yet!” "you're impossible,” said connie. "you ought to take a club to her, ronnie.” the bell broke in upon their laughter. bran opened the door, gave a wild howl of joy and whirled back into the room with a small, white-haired woman in his arms. "connie—here's mom!” he cried. bran's and connie's misgivings about his mother's attitude were quickly dispelled during the week of her visit. her still youthful, tawny eyes had put connie at ease as they looked approval at her; and she gave tangible evidence of this by the way she confidentially whispered certain choice culinary secrets to her daughter-in-law, as though she were afraid other ears might hear. "you know,” she said one morning after bran had gone to the hospital, "my son told me what a sweet girl you was. and now i knows fo’sho'. i sho' glad he took up wid you.” and connie breathed thankfully, for she saw that this small, unlearned woman had an innate wisdom that was not to be deceived by outward show. "no, thanks, honey,” she had quietly told christine at the christmas dinner. "i done heard so much about this city i just rather look around a bit. don't you worry about me. i don't play no cards anyway-never had a chance to learn." christine had felt somewhat repulsed, for bran's mother had a quiet air of refinement which charmed those who met her. bran's associates at the hospital marked the tailored neatness of her little figure and the distinctiveness of her snowy hair and small-featured brown face, and exclaimed their approval to him after she had gone. she was really like a young girl with her lively curiosity o canaan! and countless questions about all she saw. connie took her on a tour of the stockyards, where she was fascinated by the skillful dispatch with which the animals were transformed into the meat of the world. “so that's where this smell comes from!” she sniffed as she gazed out upon the penned cattle from a high bridge connecting the units of one plant. "you ought to catch a whiff of it on a hot day when the wind's from the west,” laughed connie. "you can tell our city by its perfume.” joe and harriet branshaw enjoyed one another. they made an odd pair: she so tiny and he so huge. he had essie drive them through washington and jackson parks, through the roaring loop, and along the lake shore drive, and the boulevards where the "horde” had stampeded eastward and southward from the narrow confines of its 'teen boundaries. "you folks are sho' doing things, mr benson,” she com- mented. “won't i have somep'n to tell my friends when i get back east!" and joe had swelled with justifiable pride, because he felt himself an important element in the epochal migration. "i'm sho' glad miss jane and miss ella went to florida this year,” she sighed with a fullness of spirit when bran and connie had put her on the train at the end of her stay. "guess i'll have to write everything down so's to be able to give 'em a good account, 'cause they gone want to know. don't you fo’git to write 'em, son. they wants to know mo' 'bout this here extra work you doin'. come here, boy." she took her "grandboy” into her arms tenderly. "you rascal, you! got a good mind to steal you and take you back with me! how'd you like that, huh?" the boy blubbed his reply and from his antics seemed not averse to the proposal. she had done a good job of spoiling him. "take good care of yourself and my son, honey,” harriet o canaan! had whispered as she gave "her girl” an affectionate hug. "don't you let him work too hard—'cause he don't know when to stop when he gits into somep'n.” and connie had smiled happily as harriet waved a gloved hand at them while the train pulled out of the station. maggie dawson was evidently none the worse because of her loss of georgie. having recuperative powers of the first order, she had indulged in just one outburst at the demise of her lover: heavily veiled and in the severest black, she had followed the body to the cemetery, placed a gigantic heart of roses upon the bier and returned to her home, where in solitude she had consumed a quart of the best bootleg whisky obtainable. after she had thus completed her period of mourning she settled down to business. and joe breathed easier, now that the restaurant was yielding steady profits. "well, feller, how we doin' now?” she grinned to joe. it was the day after new year's. they were seated in a corner of the palm-decked, christmas-wreathed restaurant which had become a veritable show place: there were murals on the walls, finely finished tables and chairs, expensive linen, individual lighting for each table; and two shifts of uniformly liveried waitresses, running the gamut of brown and mulatto beauty, were no small part of the gastronomic appeal of "madame dawson's palm café.” "sho' cain't kick," commented joe, puffing contempla- tively on his cigar. "now ef i could jes' make you see this here bank proposition " "nothin' doin', boy!” interrupted maggie with a decided shake of her head. "i ain't wantin' to be cotched barefooted as a goose in the wintertime! i ain't trustin' no colored bank—done seed too many of 'em fall through. nawsuh! o canaan! "a-ha!” he laughed briefly, looking from one to the other. "two old married hens exchanging connubial cackles! my card, ladies—divorces cheaply and quietly arranged. i never fail.” "note the alliterative quality of his speech!” observed mae tartly to connie. she took the extended card, tore it to bits and showered dan with them. “there's your rice, my sweet little nasty! i suppose you want to make a belated attempt on this fair damsel's heart, eh?” "i?” queried dan, striking an attitude. "why, you wrong me, my sweet chit! i would but dance with the fair one.” connie took his proffered hand. “pay no attention to him, connie,” warned mae, follow- ing them down the stairs. "i wouldn't trust him behind a pin!” "you mustn't mind anything my sister says,” laughed dan. "there's a streak of insanity in the family, and she inherited it, poor thing." mae plucked him soundly on the head. "ouch!” exclaimed dan good-naturedly. "you see, connie? what did i tell you?” and he received another pluck. he said little while he danced in his stiff fashion, but as he escorted connie to the punch bowl and about the dining room to view the presents which mae's many friends had given her, he launched out: "i suppose you know how i still feel about you?” "now, dan ..." protested connie. she admired dan's aggressiveness and tenacity, but there had always been engendered within her a feeling of repulsion by those very qualities. the man was too intense. "don't say it!” exclaimed dan. "i know—you've told me before. but i just want you to remember how i feel. and remember this." he gave her his most intense look, half o canaan! frown and half cynical smile. "if you ever need help i'm always ready ..." connie laughed. “and what's the string attached to it?” "what do you think?” he asked. she drifted away with the same merry laugh with which she had always rebuffed him. he glanced impatiently at his watch, made a hurried excuse to his mother and went to get his wraps in the hallway. as he swung toward the door he collided with a slender, pretty, brown-skinned creature whose heart-shaped face puckered angrily until she smiled recognition. "knock me down, dan!” she exclaimed. "pardon me, essie!” he begged. "say, you're getting to be some looker! how are you, miss maggie?” he extended a hand to the latter, who bulked behind the girl. "hey-o there, boy!” she greeted. "that was some party you brung in t'other night! where 'd you git all them purty gals from?” "sh! sh!” cautioned dan with a wink. he turned further scrutiny on essie. "i've an idea that i've been missing some- thing! when are you at home, young lady?”. "hey! none o' that!” the group turned their attention to the uniformed figure just entering. it was jim milburn, his tousled, iron-gray head thrown forward and the mirth crinkles more pro- nounced about his eyes. "this is my gal, now that the young college squirt has gone back to school!” he announced with a chuckle. "and i ain't lettin' no shyster lawyer cut in on me, either!” he gathered essie to him with one arm and playfully scratched her ear with a thin growth of beard that no razor could conquer. “just my luck!” groaned dan, snapping his fingers. "well, enjoy yourself, folks—i'll be seeing you!” "this ain't no raid, folks," announced milburn as he o canaan! barged into the front room with his arm still about essie. there was general laughter at this sally, and he continued: "just got off duty and thought i'd drop out to wish the newlyweds my best. here ..." he tossed a package to mae and shook lem's hand. “what you blushing about, boy?” he roared. “shucks! you done broke your neck now—you're an old married man! haw-haw! now if i could just convince essie here to run off with me, everything would be jake! how 'bout it, joe?" joe grinned and took a puff on his cigar, and everyone laughed once more, for they all knew jim milburn to be a confirmed bachelor. "reckon it's kind o'late fo' you, jim!” chuckled joe. "come on here an' git some o' this punch. you an' me ain't no mo' trouble!” and so the party continued until the small hours of the morning. and there was happiness abounding, for this was the infancy of that year, the peak-of-prosperity year. the city was a brave, swaggering giant come to the prime of its virility and gorged with profits that soared higher each time the sun rolled up out of the lake and dropped behind the broad hinterlands to the west. and from the loop to its farthest-flung environs, comparatively few were the dwell- ings ungraced by the yule tree and the good cheer of the season. the christmas spirit had descended and was lingering like the diffusion of a rare perfume which one breathes once in a lifetime and which ever after haunts but returns no more. and this land—the ever young western land from ocean tide to ocean tide, and from gulf waters to lake waters -- had greeted the infant year and had gathered its strength for the bright tomorrows. ... the winter waned, spring came to the prairie, and essie gave her party. summer heat drove the horde of the south side to promenade the broad avenues and haunt the spacious parks and splash in the blue waters of michigan. joe watched his paper profits mount in gleeful satisfaction. the summer faded as chill winds blew from the lake. few were the prome- naders, and only the very young with their attendants and the very old walked beneath the burnished leaves in the parks. joe ceased to count his paper profits. ... then came that night in october when seared leaves fled across the boulevards and the sky was a murky yellow above the false light of the loop. they were in old dan carter's office: barnes, joe and old dan. there was a frightened air about the first two. "i don't understand it-nobody does!” exclaimed barnes, a feverish light in his small, closely set eyes. "the boys downtown are in the same boat,” said carter more steadily. he was still the cool gambler, worried though he was. "ain't there nothin' we kin do?" inquired joe anxiously. one hand was pressed across his great chest, and the usually o canaan! ruddy brown of his skin had turned ashen. he drank deeply from his glass and refilled it. "nothing but raise more capital,” stated barnes. "i'll stand for a third—i'll have to mortgage just about all of my property. ..." "i'll meet your amount,” said carter as though he were tossing chips in a poker game. "i got to see maggie first,” said joe. “i reckon i kin git her to do it. ef i don't i'll have to sell my share in the property and use that.” it continued through october, and in november they knew that all was lost. then came the misty day when the panic-stricken depositors stormed the bank and threatened barnes's life. "it's over!” moaned barnes into his trembling hands when they met that night. "ain't got nothin' left but my house," rumbled joe brokenly. "gentlemen, we played a game and we lost,” said old dan, his mouth grim. “better luck next time.” the other two left him there with his white head still unbowed, fingering his stiff mustache and staring at a framed diploma beside the door. “go ahead and say it, son," he said softly as the door of the inner office opened and dan looked down at him sardonically. "there's nothing to say,” said dan. his expression softened. “sorry, old man. ... i must say, you took it like a thoroughbred. how much did you lose?” the old man quietly stated the sum. "whew! say, you're just about washed up! i thought you said you weren't going any deeper than- o canaan! "i know i know—but i couldn't let joe down. if you'd seen the look in his eyes tonight ..." "well,” said dan with a deep breath, "you and mother won't have to worry. i told you i'd catch you, and i will. but no more of this, though, dad!” "and, son”-old dan rose tiredly—“if you don't mind, i wish you'd go over to joe's office and have him make the deed of his home over to mrs benson or one of the children -so there won't be any wolves snapping it up, you know. see if you can catch him before he goes home, will you?” "okay, dad.” old dan lit a cigar as dan departed. he drew on his overcoat and marched out like the thoroughbred he was. dan had just left. joe slumped back in his swivel chair with a glass of raw whisky before him. he was still in a daze. what would he tell christine . . . and essie? and maggie, who had let him have his way about mortgaging the property? joe gulped doggedly and rose, swaying against the desk. he ignored his car parked at the curb. he wanted to walk, though the dull ache in his chest was becoming sharp. maybe he could think. and he trudged along in his peasant's trudge while the cold wind brushed away the mists from the stars of the moonless night. he trudged more wearily, with now and then a misstep that caused him to stumble slightly and which brought him up with a sharp stab of pain. up prairie avenue he moved, the sweat streaming down his rugged face in spite of the cold. gone . . . gone . . . all gone. . . . he felt bruised and beaten. gone? gone. . . . and he swayed like a gnarled oak that refuses to bow its crest to the storm. all gone? gone o canaan! ... gone ... like cotton smitten with the weevil ... like seed when the big muddy overflowed the bottom lands. . . . all gone. .... then he laughed—a horrible laugh, a deep belly laugh, as elemental as the mounting wind that now rushed and howled across the flat prairie and whined through the bare tree branches. and he continued to roar his unearthly mirth to the stars while other pedestrians stared. he laughed as he turned into the walk leading to his hard-earned housea dwelling, pride of a peasant's heart. but when he raised a foot to mount the steps of the porch he collapsed and rolled upon the dead grass of the lawn. and he clutched a handful of the still unfrozen earth in his big peasant's fist and lay still-a transplanted southern oak fallen at last upon the northern prairie, while the low-hanging stars flickered down and the wind roared on, carrying the strong stench of the yards lying to the west. long night with a slow dawn ... o ruthless fortune that swoops down upon a northern prairie's shore-that lays low a southern oak transplanted where the blasts of winter rage, and all is strife to live ... what shall we do now, we who struck our roots beside the oak and knew the shelter of its stalwart limbs? where shall we find sustenance, we who twined our lesser stems about its rugged trunk and drew therefrom our life's blood? what remains for us who have not now that strength which com passed us and fended the buffets of daily strife? now we must fight, if we would live, and naught else will sustain us. ... o autumnal time ... o dawnless dark! we will fight, for life is strife, and naught else can sustain us now. ... the sheer will to live snatched joe benson back from the wrack of that november night. the man's constitution was of primordial stuff; and though the flesh seemed to fall away from him until he was only a gaunt remainder of the mighty figure that had caused people to turn and stare as he trudged the prairie streets, now and then a flash of his old intrepid spirit would manifest itself. for two weeks after essie and christine had struggled his unconscious body into the house he lay in a kind of torpor. then one day before the christmas holidays, as he sprawled listlessly on the divan with his eyes closed, essie came in stamping the snow from her galoshes. peeping into the room and seeing him ap- parently asleep, she tipped past. he sat up attentively when he heard her voice and christine's lifted in contention. "the money's gone-gone, mother! do you understand? gone!” essie's voice was full of exasperation. "i can't understand it!” whined christine. "you ought to!” retorted essie. “god knows you spent enough of it while dad was making it! showing off before everybody!” o canaan! "i—i guess we'll have to mortgage the house," sighed christine. “we'll do nothing of the kind!” blazed essie. “dad deeded this house to me, thank god! and i'll eat garbage before i'll lose it! see?" the wrangling waxed hotter. joe's first impulse was to rush into the kitchen and silence essie. instead he fell to pondering over his lot. self-pity had burned itself out in that walk from his office that night. besides, he had never been one given to mawkishness. what was done, was done. now he thought dispassionately through his situation. he had no illusions about getting help from those whom he had aided. they'd certainly kept their distance since his fall. only maggie, miss saunders and jim milburn had taken the trouble to call during the interim. he was too proud to seek help, at any rate; he'd fight his own fight. he'd have to begin all over again. looking down at his big hands, he doubled them into fists and arose, his shoulders erect and his chin thrust out at its old fighting angle. "all right-you kin cut out all the fussin'," he said as he entered the kitchen and sat down at the table. “gimme my dinner now, christine-an' gimme plenty 'cause i'm gittin' out o' here fo' a spell this afternoon. git my overcoat fo’ me, essie.” “but, dad, bran said you weren't to exert yourself!” exclaimed essie. "git my coat, gal!” growled joe, his brows beetling. essie hesitated for a moment, then went to do his bidding. joe's voice had lost none of its command. "now, joe,” began christine, "don't you do anything foolish ” “rush that grub, woman!” interrupted joe. “i'm the man o'this house, an' i'm gonna keep on bein' the man! what you think i am? think i'm gonna lay round here a-doin' nothin' whilst essie's out tryin' to scuffle up on a job so's to o canaan! joe flung him aside contemptuously and breathed heavily as he pressed a hand to his chest and boarded the trolley which had just drawn up. quite a few of the men had wit- nessed the encounter and eyed him respectfully when they passed. "i bin wantin' to smack ’at guy down fo’ a don't-know- how-long, joe!” laughed jeff. "but he jes' ain't never gimme no chance. damn his soul-i gone drap his dirty yaller body in one o' them furnaces one o' these days.” jeff looked directly at the fellow as he said this, but that one moved on. "so you wants a job, eh?” jeff turned to his companion. "yeah, i gots to git one,” said joe, “but the boss-man jes' told me i was too old.” "aw, that boss-man's crazy!” declared jeff bluffly. “but you don't want no job like this noways. an' 'fo' long they gone be drappin' men anyways. i kin git you a good job ef you'll take it." "where?” demanded joe eagerly. "runnin' on the railroad,” replied jeff. "i'd take it myself, but my ole woman swears she ain't wantin' me 'way from home all that much. says i mought fo’git to come home one time!" jeff here let out a loud guffaw and winked. “you want try it? the man what kin put you on is from my home town an' all i got do is say the word an' you got the job.” "railroad, eh?” said joe disappointedly. "you mean a po'ter?" "kinder . . . sorter like ..." jeff eyed his friend cau- tiously. "co’se you don't git much pay, but the tips use to be good. but don't take it ef you don't want to. i was jes’ tryin' to help out a little like you done fo' me christmas 'fo' las' when i lost 'at money an' you lemme have some so's my ole woman wouldn't know nothin' 'bout it.” "well, i reckon that's 'bout all i kin do now anyway,” re- flected joe. “when do i start?” o canaan! "now you talkin'!” exclaimed jeff. “i'll have ever'thing ready fo’ you come next sat'dy night. that 'll make it so you'll git good tips on 'count o’the holidays.” "all right,” said joe. "thanks fo' the help, jeff. i'll come past yo' house next sat'dy afternoon. okay?" "okay, joe,” said jeff, and muttered to himself: “sho' ain't what he used to be, sho' nuf.” thus began for joe this new period of his life. everything in his nature rebelled against it, but he gripped himself and held on. he knew that he would never be able to retrieve what he had lost, but he was satisfied that he would not be a burden to anyone. as time wore on he became more accus- tomed to the treadmill existence of pullman portering. two of the days of his weeks he had at home; the rest were spent shuttling back and forth either to the west or to the east. and though he could never assume the menial air of which his fellow porters were master, he did acquire an efficiency which marked him well in the eyes of some travelers and upon occasion resulted in heavy tips. in time, too, under the steadying routine, his heart attacks became less frequent. but on the whole, the job was just a job to him-a bulwark against an idleness that would have proved both loathsome and fatal to him. "sho'glad you done got yo’self together, feller,” remarked maggie two months later as he came into her restaurant. "wish i could git somep'n to do. things keep on like this an' i gone have to close up!” "don't close up, maggie,” said joe. "things got to break sometime—can't go on like this. i jes' wish i had " "here, have a piece o' this pie,” put in maggie hastily. "don't go startin' that wishin' no mo-ain't no use. when a cow's done give all her milk, ain't no mo' till next time, 's o canaan! what i says. we come up here an' had a good time right off. now's the hard time an' ain't no use cryin' 'bout it. least- ways, you ain't turned fool an' kilt yo’self like some. shucks —what diff'ence it make anyways? when we dies we ain't able to take a red cent wid us! what's matter-christine cryin' the blues agin?” “yeah.” joe frowned into his coffee. "i'm doin' the best i kin, maggie. but they jes' ain't no suitin' that woman " "you's a fool fo' tryin'!” interrupted maggie laconically. "good a man as you's bin, a woman's a fool to fret when you ain't able to do what you has done. dern ef i'd let it bother me!” "reckon you right,” said joe slowly. "but she keeps sayin' she gone go homemtired o' bein' up here." "huh!” maggie's grunt was contemptuous. "praise god- i sho' wouldn't cry ef she did go home, ef i was you. you's done the best you kin-an' that's that. say, whyn't you all take in roomers? seems to me they ought be some o' them men you works wid wantin' a good place to stay." "i bin thinkin' o' that,” said joe. “but essie 'll have to take care o' things. that young’un sho' got spunk! don't know what i'd do without her.” “you tell essie i say she kin have a job here ef she wants," said maggie. "ain't much pay, but they's some tips. an’ she kin have sundays off so's to play the organ in the morning like she bin doin'. i'll talk to her 'bout takin' in roomers.” essie took the job with alacrity. and one sunday morning when joe was on a run she broached the idea of lodgers to christine. "take in roomers?” cried christine. "that's what i said!” snapped essie. “and you needn't be so shocked about it, either!” o canaan! “but what will my friends ” "mother, if you start talking about what your friends will say, i'll—i don't know what i'll do! i don't give a damn what they say! we have to live, don't we? and you may as well make up your mind that your so-called friends know you're broke, so you don't have them to worry about. they're prob- ably all figuring out ways to drop you. be your age, will you? come down to earth; the party's over, see! now if you're ready for church, come on. and you may as well get used to walking, because i sold the car yesterday- ” "what!” gasped christine. "oh, for cryin' out loud, mother-how do you think we could have paid the bills we owed? skip it! come on.” "i'm not going,” sighed christine. essie shrugged and left her. "i don't know what i'm going to do with mother, sis,” she told connie when she stopped at the latter's apartment on the way from church. "she gives me the willies, moping around the house feeling sorry for herself.” "she's like that,” said connie, who was bathing the baby. "just pay her no mind. you find a job yet?” "no," said essie glumly. "the only other money i'm mak- ing is that i get for playing the organ. and dad doesn't make much. he sure is taking a licking—you can just see that job eating into him every time he comes in. but he won't quit. i think i'll keep miss maggie's job until i get some office work to do.” "atta girl!” approved connie. "it won't hurt you. i'm going to try getting back into the school system. they're talking about cutting the hospital staff, and bran's private practice is mostly charity work now—the people just can't pay. and there's all that equipment he has to pay for. he doesn't think i know it, but his mother sent him a check last week. i'll work in the yards before i'll let her do that. things sure are tight!” o canaan! "you're tellin' me! but i swear dad and miss maggie sure can take it! you know, miss maggie lost her money when her bank failed. she's sold out half of the restaurant and got rid of her chefs and all her waitresses. her sister's with her now, and she has a man who takes charge at night. says she's going back to selling corn bread and pigs' feet. her house is mortgaged to the roof, and half her roomers are out of work. says as long as she has anything we don't have to worry about eating.” "she's all right,” said connie. “i wish mother had half her backbone. ... what's junior doing? i saw him the other day when i was around.” "what's he ever done?” countered essie bitterly. “came home last week, and mother made dad let him stay. he hasn't done a thing but eat, sleep all day and run all night! he gets money from somewhere—his women, i guess. but he doesn't say a thing about giving any toward expenses. i'm going to tell dad that i'm going to put him out, believe me!” "go on!” urged connie, her voice hard. "if you're to run a rooming house as you said, you can use his room. times are tight, essie, and you've got to figure every way possible to make ends meet. that's what i tell bran about his patients, but he's too idealistic to see it.” connie frowned and gave young charlie a finishing smack on his bottom that sent him to his toys in the living room. she went to the small bedroom and relaxed on the bed with a heavy sigh. "what's the matter, sis? tired of being married?” asked essie. connie placed her hands behind her head and looked at the picture of her and bran and the baby which stood on the bureau. she smiled softly. "no," she said thoughtfully, "i know this is what i want and i'm still happy and in love. but i'm worried about the future. bran can't make it without my helping someway. o canaan! yet i know he's going to resent my wanting to work. he's that way.” “ha! that's the reason little essie's going to stay single!” connie threw a quizzical, knowing look at her sister but said nothing. by the latter part of february all the bedrooms were taken. essie had chosen her lodgers carefully after consult- ing miss maggie, and she had forbidden christine to admit women or couples. "the women will start bringing that boy-friend stuff on you, and before you know it we'll have a bed house on our hands,” she said. “and i don't want to listen to any fights between men and their wives. we'll stick to men. any enter- taining they want to do, they can use the living room for it.” with her father's sanction she had ignored christine and sent junior packing after her talk with connie. "and stay away!” she warned. "you're through leeching around this house.” and he had gone, making nasty insinuations about the male lodgers. the idea of pursuing beauty culture was suggested to essie one thursday late in march when josie was hurrying her clean-up work at maggie's now unglorified “eat shop.” "say, if you're in such a big rush to get off, i'll finish that silver for you," offered essie. “what's all the hurry for any- way? going out with your boy friend?” "yeah,” grinned josie. she doffed her apron gratefully. "i got to git my hair done, and i paid the woman seventy-five cents already fo' two o'clock." essie's ears pricked up. “you mean to tell me you pay seventy-five cents to have your hair done?" "sho-an'that's cheap," assured josie. "used to be a dollar 'n a half-still is in some o’the big shops.” o canaan! essie became acutely conscious of hair from that moment. she noted the number of women with straightened hair when she walked the streets. she scrutinized the heads of her friends when she infrequently went to the dances sponsored by her set. why, there were literally thousands of women in the city who were addicted to the straightening comb! she enrolled at once in the school on south parkway and made arrangements with maggie about her working hours. "sho', gal, go right on,” said maggie. "you's jes' like yo’ pappy-plenty o'gitup in you. i ain't got much now, but when you finishes yo'co'se i'll see ef i kin lend you somep'n to help you git started." the harshness of existence was impressing itself upon essie and was forming the philosophy which was to color her whole life. it stared at her across the long counter of maggie's restaurant–from the faces of the young, the old, the middle- aged customers whom she served. they became more ragged and unkempt as the months passed, and sullen glumness followed the first looks of indifference. she heard it in their conversations: "man, i ain't had a job in so long i wouldn't know how to start!” "bin laid off fo’ five months now.” "where the hell is all the money?" "cain't even buy a job!” "doggone ef i ain't gonna hafta git in 'at bread line, things keep up like this!” “dam' ef i ain't gonna start stealin'." they had hard-bitten, peasant faces and labor-scarred hands. and as their bodies grew leaner their tempers short- ened; the slightest friction brought on open brawls which often ended in flashing blades and the rushing of the police to the scene. canaan was canaan no more. ... o canaan! but not until she had gone with jane saunders on a round of the latter's calls to the homes of new mothers did essie realize the utter destitution that stalked the south side. it was july and one of essie's free thursday afternoons. loath to go home and listen to christine's now constant whinings against the fate that had overtaken them, and feel- ing low in spirits herself, she had dropped in at the nurse's station a few blocks below the restaurant. "so you're down and out today, are you?” said jane, rais- ing her thin eyebrows. she was packing her bag and giving brisk orders to the two assistants working at desks in the freshly painted store that served as her clinic. "yes,” sighed essie, "i'm just not getting anywhere, that's all. here i am an efficient stenographer and could do the work of a secretary. and what am i doing? slinging hash and beans and chitt’lin's— " "you don't sound like that father of yours," interrupted the nurse. “look at what he's had to do—but you don't hear him complaining. you come along with me. i'll show you a few things that 'll make you think you're living like a princess!” they climbed into jane's dilapidated ford and turned into dearborn street. essie, who had not been on the street for a period of years, was amazed at what she saw. the houses had been ramshackly enough when the family had lived there, but now ... "my god!” exclaimed essie as the nurse drove slowly along. "people don't actually live in those awful places, do they? i thought state was getting to be bad enough ..." miss jane smiled grimly. "you see them sitting on the porches, don't you? and there's plenty of them living in them, too. but wait until you see the insides! here—we'll stop here first.” she pulled up to a two-story dwelling which, like most of the other houses in the block, had a flight of wooden steps on o canaan! od lees. besid. , hair the outside leading to the second floor. jane mounted these and rapped on the door. it was opened by a dull-eyed, bovine woman whose hair was a grimy mat. "what you want?” she demanded, her breath reeking of whisky. “oh, it's you, eh?” some of the gruffness left her voice. she let the door remain open, shuffled to a filthy, fly- swarmed cot and sank upon it. immediately she was asleep. from a back room came a faint, infantile cry. essie's small nose wrinkled with disgust as she picked her way gingerly after the nurse into the back room. what she met made her suddenly sick at the stomach. an emaciated brown girl lay amid a wad of bedclothes that fairly crawled with vermin. her hair was a mass against the almost black pillowcase. beside her squirmed a naked infant whose arms and legs were festerous with running sores. it was sucking at a bottle containing a thin, yellowish liquid. "hello, mother!” greeted jane, seeming not to mind the filth and unearthly stench. "i came to tell you that we're moving you to the hospital tomorrow, and i want you and baby ready by nine o'clock sharp. hear? i'll be here for you." the girl shook her head. "did you all find johnny?" she whispered. "not yet, but we will," said the nurse, patting her arm. she gave essie some coins. "go down to that little store three blocks away and bring me a pint of milk," she ordered. when essie returned she found jane washing the girl. the child was washed and salved and in a clean garment. "go into the kitchen there and heat the milk. here- wash out this bottle in boiling water you'll find there." the nurse's voice was so crisp and commanding that essie forgot her nausea. she found the kitchen a small cubicle with one window, and with smoked and crumbling walls like the outer room. it was a mystery to her how miss jane had coaxed a blaze into the greasy oil stove upon which the kettle o canaan! simmered. within a few minutes, after a constant battle with flies, she had the bottle ready. then with essie's help the nurse spread clean sheets on the bed. “good girl!” approved miss jane. "i'll make a nurse out of you yet!” after some final instructions to the young mother she made ready to leave. "nurse”—the girl's voice sounded from the bed—"i ain't got no dress fo'to- "she can have one of mine," offered essie quickly. "i'll bring it to you tonight, miss jane.” "that's lovely—that's lovely,” breathed the nurse. she smiled her brightest and turned to the girl. “there you are, mother—this young lady's going to give you a dress!” "thank you.” the girl's face took on a weird grin. "my god!” shuddered essie when they had moved off in the car. "how in the name of all that's holy can they live in such a hole?" "ha, child, that isn't anything to some of the others,” re- plied the nurse. "tell me about her,” requested essie. "she isn't as old as i am by years ..." "she's only sixteen. same old story, honey. they came up here the same time that you folks did. the father got tangled up with another woman and left that one you saw back there. she took to the bottle. lost her job last year and the girl ran wild. there you have it—illegitimate baby, and its father's run off to jelappi or someplace. mess, isn't it? i just found out about the case this afternoon-one of their neighbors got conscience-stricken. the baby isn't listed in any records, so i guess the old lady must have acted as the midwife. ..." essie shuddered again. "god! i'd—i'd kill myself and the baby, too, before i'd live through that! god!” they made more stops, and the scenes were but repetitions, in more or less degree, of human misery and degradation. for o canaan! those peasants who had trekked northward during the great exodus, their canaan had become a howling wilderness, and there was no rock in the weary land except the religion which they had brought with them. here and there all along their route essie saw innumerable "store-front” churches with names scrawled upon boards over their doors, such as: "holiness tabernacle” and “church of christ and saints of god” and others. they were as thick as mushrooms after a rain. “our folks certainly believe in their religion when times get hard," opined the nurse on their way back to the station. "yes," replied essie. "they're flocking into the churches now. reverend is getting fat on the depression. you ought to see the money he takes in every sunday morning. and all he does is supply them with a means of forgetting their hard lot-an emotional cathartic and an anesthesia against the pain of reality! the old so-and-so!” her eyes blazed and her lips curled. "and he's got the nerve to try to be fresh, the old pimp!” the nurse laughed aloud at this outburst, so typical was it of the girl's temperament. “i suppose there's no use in my trying to change your mind about social work?” she asked as they alighted at the station. "nope!” essie screwed up her face. "if i had to look at what i've just come from every day, i'd go batty in no time!” her face hardened. "everybody for himself, and god for us all! that's what dad says. life's hard and mean, and the only way i see to buck it is to be hard and mean right along with it. i found that out a little when i used to play basketball and tennis. if you don't beat, you get beaten!” "well now, i wouldn't get too hard, baby,” advised jane with a parting pat. “don't forget the dress, honey." by august connie had made up her mind. there was nothing left for her to do; she had to get her job back. her applica- tion for reinstatement received one of those roundabout re- plies that affirmed nothing and denied nothing. bran had become more worried and peaked of face with the passage of each month. his salary had been cut to the limit. then came the notice that the financial straits of the hospital re- quired that salaries be cut further. he came home that night and glumly related the details. he looked beaten. next morning connie called at mae's apartment on the floor above hers. "lawdy me!” exclaimed mae, looking like a wide-eyed doll in her lounging pajamas. "where's the funeral?” "they've cut bran's salary to the bone,” announced connie. "no!” mae became serious. "say, connie, if you're short, i-i- " "it isn't that bad,” interrupted connie, lying bravely. “besides, there's lem's summer tuition and all. when is he going to finish that work?” o canaan! have that job—i've got to! and i'm not letting anything stop me!” with troubled eyes mae followed her to the door, then hurriedly dressed. when she was ready to leave, lem walked in. "where are you off to?” he asked, dropping his bulging brief case beside a chair and wiping his flushed, perspiring face. “want to get a few things for dinner,” she explained briefly. she gave him a hasty kiss and left him gazing somberly after her. dan leaped to his feet and strode eagerly toward his visitor. "surprised?” she questioned, placing cool fingers in his hot, moist hand. she sat down in the chair which he drew up to the desk. "no. i've got over being surprised at anything," he answered. he settled back in his chair and clasped his hands beneath his nether lip, looked at her for a moment, then said in a bantering tone: "what charges do you want to make: infidelity, cruelty- has he beat you yet?-or just plain incompatibility? good ole incompatibility!” he laughed as connie smiled negation. that slow widen- ing of her lips stirred him as sharply as it had always done. his clasped fingers tightened, and he squinted more narrowly. "don't say it. i know—you still love the guy!” he leaned forward. “anything your little heart desires—ask it, and it's yours.” connie smiled again and came directly to the point. "i want you to lend me some money until i get my job back in the fall,” she stated evenly. “wait—let me finish.” her gray eyes did not waver as she went on calmly as she o canaan! had planned. "i said something to you about strings when you made an offer once. i know i can't get anything for nothing." she lifted her head higher and added: "you can attach any string you want to it—any string your little heart desires." dan walked slowly around the desk to confront her. his head was lowered in its bullish fashion, and his hands were twitching at his back. "how do you know you're going to get your job back?” he demanded. "if i don't i'll pay you some other way." dan scowled. "what have you been reading?” he rasped. "true-life stories?” "no, i simply want to play fair with you. i need money; you can lend it to me. i'm willing to pay for what i get, that's all.” "and just what would your husband say to all this?” "i can't help what he'd say," came the studied response. "all i know is that times are hard and tight. bran isn't making anything. i've a baby and a home to think about.” she looked at him fiercely. "you'll probably never under- stand it, but i'd do anything for them! anything!” "sort of a ‘man begs, woman sells' proposition, eh?” dan's lips were writhing in irony now. "call it what you like.” dan swore softly. "according to the books," he said with barbed sarcasm, "the thin veneer of civilization should drop from me now- or some other poetic nonsense and i ought to seize you hungrily and devour you with hot kisses, hissing, 'ha, me proud beauty!' hell! what do you think i am?” he scowled about the room and came up in front of her again. "i never bought a woman in my life. and i don't intend to start now—especially with the woman i love!” he gripped o canaan! her shoulders roughly and as suddenly released them. “you know i love you, don't you?” "no, you don't love me,” said connie, still calm though her flesh smarted from his strong grip. “you know and i know that you just want me. you couldn't love anyone but yourself, i guess. let's not quibble.” with a short bitter laugh he strode to the safe in back of his desk. "here!” he tossed a sheaf of bills into her lap. “will that be enough?” he did not wait for her answer. "i'll get you your damned job back!” he stormed at her. "now get out of here before i stop feeling so damned squeamish!” he dropped into his chair and jerked open a drawer from which he snatched a pint bottle. when he looked up connie had gone. he took a hearty pull at the flask, then slipped a sheet of paper into his typewriter. he had just begun to peck when the door opened. "what do you want?” he snapped peevishly. "bite my head off, brother!" came back mae's chirp. "and just why are you looking at me like that?” he de- manded. "what did you do when connie was here?" she retorted. "i know she was here, because she told me she was coming, and i was right across the street waiting for her to come out!” "listen, i've had enough theatricals for one day!” the ironical twist came to dan's mouth. “so you thought you'd stand guard to protect little red ridinghood from the big, bad wolf, eh?” he laughed loudly and reared back in his chair. “what did you do?" snapped mae. she edged around to the side of the desk. "if you tried any of your tricks, dan carter ..." o canaan! "relax-relax!” grinned dan. "no, my little guardian of vestal virgins, i didn't try any tricks. thanks for the compli- ment! your dear brother has gone suddenly chivalrous. no, he's an angel, if you ask me! and right now i'm going to celebrate my sprouting wings by getting good and damned drunk on some of the rottenest liquor since prohibition! won't you join me?" he waved with mock graciousness at the bottle. "i don't care if i do—with a gentleman!” mae reached over and pecked him on the cheek. "don't do that!” he growled, and toasted: "to the car- ters—and to the guy way back yonder in the first generation who must have been a sucker for a redhead!” taking a sip, he murmured: “if she just hadn't put it that way ..." "took you a mighty long time to get those groceries,” observed lem caustically as mae came into their apartment. "i stopped past dan's,” she said, stepping out of her dress. the raw whisky was making her perspire freely. "and i suppose that one drinks with one's brother?” he suggested witheringly, sniffing. "if one is of a mind to!” she retorted. then she turned her wide eyes to the rag-stuffed poodle on the mantelpiece above the mock fireplace and giggled. "he's jealous, poochie!” "i'm sorry," relented lem, and added: "i don't suppose a fellow who's living on his wife's money has a right to be jealous anyway. ..." he sat down on the edge of a chair and stared glumly at her picture atop the radio cabinet. "oh, lem, let's not quarrel about that any more," she pleaded. she pushed him back in the chair, sat on his knees and ran her small fingers through his red hair that was gray- ing prematurely at the temples. “what better use could i put my money to than to help you get started? i'd be throw- ing it away if i didn't have you-honest i would.” o canaan! "you've hardly bought any dresses since we were married,” he stated, "and those you did buy were cheap ones for formals. hell! i'm not a husband—i'm a—i'm a pimp!” "never mind the clothes, just look at our bankbook," she said. she kissed him and nipped his ear as she whispered: "you just keep on being a good pimp for me!” "oh, but, mae, i don't like " "the argument is closed!” she said firmly. then she giggled merrily: "one of these days i'm going to whip up twins! then you'll have enough to keep you from being so gloomy!” "you'll probably do just that, too!” exclaimed lem, brightening a little. "won't i though? you just wait and see!” and they laughed together—a young laugh of the newly joined. essie was looking through her wardrobe and frowning her vexation at the outmoded, shabby dresses. she couldn't ask connie for another loan; she still owed her sister for the gown she had worn to ronnie's fraternity formal in the spring. lem had just got his job, and here mae was blossom- ing with pregnancy already. no borrowing from them! the frown melted as essie thought of her humorous sister-in- law. mae was too funny for words. “i look like any—any polliwog!” she had tittered when essie last saw her. "she sure didn't waste any time!” mused essie half aloud. the frown returned. ronnie had recently arrived from divinity school and had asked her to make a tour of the exposition with him this sunday. but what to wear? the doorbell rang timidly below. "that's ronnie,” she sighed, her black eyes lifting ceiling- ward and the corners of her mouth curving downward. why couldn't he ring like a man! "hello," she said casually as she slouched languidly into the living room. she marked christine's hasty withdrawal, and her eyes smoldered. she knew that her mother would glory in her acceptance of ronnie's constantly reiterated proposal. o canaan! the young man answered in his queer treble, grinned the sheepish grin which he always gave her, and started un- certainly to rise. "don't get up!” essie's husky contralto was charged with irritability. then in her quick way she felt ashamed, and she smiled to soften the sharpness of her tone. he absorbed the show of teeth gratefully and returned an anemic replica of it. "damn!” fumed essie to herself. “if he had a tail he'd wag it!” and her shame left her as quickly as it had come. she looked him over as he talked: at his immaculate gray tropical-weave suit, white-and-tan sport oxfords, and his matching blue silk tie, handkerchief and socks; his spotless, starched white shirt; his scrawny, palpitating neck, receding chin, and weak, full lips forever moist at the corners; his thin, delicately arched nose forever twitching his glasses into a new position; his narrow, veined forehead topped by a well-oiled pompadour, and the small ears sprouting mouse- like from his hollow temples. . . . essie jerked her eyes away from the sallow, spotted face. she was glad she didn't have anything to wear! "i've a splitting headache, ronnie,” she said after they had talked awhile. "i guess i need to stay home and rest. it's pretty hard going at the restaurant, you know. ..." he became solicitous, which oddly enough infuriated her. she breathed thankfully when he reluctantly left. "you ought to treat ronnie better than that,” said christine, who came in as soon as he had gone. “what do you want me to do?" retorted essie maliciously. "play up to him and tap him for money like some people i know?" christine flushed painfully. for essie had come home early from a dance one spring night and caught her mother steal- ing from mr nichols' room. mr nichols was a pullman porter of the "old school,” a light brown-skinned, portly bachelor o canaan! somewhat younger than joe who believed in "spreadin' joy,” to use his own phrase, when he was in from a run on the road. his runs were conveniently opposite to joe's, so that when joe was out nichols was in. he had made his first "hit" with christine when he brought her a dress which he said he had "picked up” in new york. christine had given joe to know that connie had made her the gift, which was plausible since connie and lem both were in the habit of shifting whatever they could spare to their mother. so whenever essie was out of the house and nichols was in from a run, it was the favorite amusement of the other lodgers to listen for christine's moans from the man's room. yet the two thought that they eluded detection. and christine had brazenly faced essie, on the occasion alluded to, with the flimsily pieced lie about a sudden attack of indigestion which poor nichols had suffered. "indigestion!” essie had mocked. "i won't stand for your insults!” cried christine now on this sunday afternoon. "i'll leave first! i've got a home to go tomeven if your father does think more of you than he does of me and gave you this house!” "don't you say anything about my father!” blazed essie. "go to hell on! and take that bald-headed nichols with you! if i didn't think that telling dad would set him off on a spell i'd have done so long ago!” "i have a right to have friends just as much as you do!” screeched christine, livid and trembling with rage. “all your father does when he's off the road is hang around that barber- shop and play pinochle with that jeff jackson! none of my old friends come to see me—never invite me anywhere! and you've put connie and lem against me " "that's a lie!” essie advanced on her retreating mother. "the reason they don't want you around is that you're always meddling in their affairs—and whining for money instead of working like any other woman with any sense would do!” o canaan! "but i can't find any work.” christine had broken down and was whimpering. "don't i keep things clean here in the house? don't i do the washing and all- essie's flare was subsiding now, and the cold contempt which she held for her mother was taking its place. "all right-all right!” she exclaimed, suddenly weary. she sprawled on the divan as she had seen her father do so often. and christine whimpered out of the room and upstairs. "what a mess!” muttered essie. her eyes roved about the fading furnishings of the room and lighted upon a photograph of joe. it had been enlarged from a snapshot which she had stolen one sunday at the beach during their good times. joe had been extremely camera-shy. "what you want do—bust it?" had been his invariable reply to all requests. essie took the likeness from the mantelpiece and smiled. one could not help answering joe benson's grin, for it had been at its broadest that day. somehow, momentarily essie felt cheered. there was something strong and undefeatable about joe of which she was proud, even now when he was but a residue of his former self. it was spurring to watch him trudge off to his trains after his usual cup of coffee at maggie's, when he would pat her on the head with a "take it easy, daughter." there just wasn't any conquering of her father's spirit, she mused as she put the picture back and sauntered over to the piano where she became absorbed in improvising, one of her chief diversions when under mental or emotional stress. her fingers moved almost of their own accord, for her mind wandered at random. then it settled on one thought- the future. when would she have enough to start out! it was hopeless now to look for help from miss maggie. though maggie was all business and fighting valiantly, it was all she could do to keep the restaurant on a halfway paying basis, o canaazi! what with food prices soaring, low wages and unemployment rife. and for all her "no trust" signs, maggie was a soft touch for panhandlers. she could not refuse a hungry person. her customers increased because of this, but they were of the lowest kind who were barely able to scrape together the fifteen to twenty-five cents which maggie asked for her homely meals. she constantly asserted, however, that she would rise on this meager foundation to the heights she had known before the hard times. and essie, hardheaded as she was, believed that maggie would do just that—eventually. but when? and essie was too stubbornly independent to ask connie and lem for a stake. besides, they were barely making ends meet themselves. anyway, she wanted her beauty shop to be hers. ... as she became more absorbed in thought, essie played louder, her impatience mounting with the strong, somber minor chords. the doorbell finally pierced the fierce har- mony. “essie!" cried the stylishly dressed girl who peered through the screen. "clo hart!” essie swung open the door and pulled the visitor into the living room. "i thought you were down south teaching!” she exclaimed. "naw-i quit that racket right after dad died,” said clo. she was of a smooth, fawn complexion, oval of face and slimly pliant of body. carelessly dropping her handbag and trailing summer fur upon a chair, she sat down beside essie and crossed shapely legs that were sheathed in the sheerest of hose. the rest of her was precisely matched from high- heeled blue pumps to the slither of blue felt that served as a hat. "well, whatever you're doing must be all right!” breathed essie. she took clo's flamingo-nailed hands and scanned the rings-seven in all. the other arched her penciled brows and winked. o canaan! "you know lil clo,” she said. "you must have 'it'!” laughed essie. “come on, let a pal in on the secret, will you? where ’ve you been?" "oh, pittsburgh ... philadelphia . . . atlantic city ... new york ... different places ..." clo reeled off the names indifferently and lighted a ciga- rette. "i thought i'd come out and look the old town over while the fair's on,” she ended with a wry face. “say, i was over on dearborn yesterday_looks like a junk pile! i thought things were bad enough back east, but—damn ..." her throaty voice cracked as she laughed—a hard, mirthless sound. "remember how i used to have to bring our water from your house?” she recalled. “and how we used to peek at those women in the house next to yours when they sat almost naked in their back yard-until your dad chased us that day?" they fell into conversation about old times, comparing experiences, for clo's family had been among those coming north with joe benson. hers had been a harsh lot. her mother and two older brothers had succumbed to influenza during the winter of . from that time she and her father had been at odds, and many had been the occasions that joe benson had rescued the girl from the blind, drunken rages of her redheaded mulatto sire. when clo was in high school jake hart had taken unto himself a woman-an obese bohemian with a fondness for drink that equalled his. and clo had moved into maggie dawson's house and worked after school hours in maggie's restaurant until she went east to work her way through college. "so you want to open a beauty shop, eh?” she said when essie had divulged her plan. “it's a good racket if you can get started.” she cautiously patted the curling ends of her long, reddish bob. "this cost me a mint! but what are you going o canaan! i want plu eco's mer! to do-borrow money on the house? gosh, i used to envy you like anything! i thought your father was good and fixed.” essie smiled grimly and shook her head. "no, i've sworn never to lose this house. i know dad wouldn't want me to. that's why he gave it to me. guess i'll have to keep on plugging." "listen, essie”—clo's voice was hard and earnest—"you used to be darn nice to me-lending me your dresses and inviting me to things and all. ..." she stopped and looked shrewdly at essie. "you'll never get anyplace like this. you got to have a racket nowadays to go places. get wise to your- self!” "what do you mean?" "listen: all this noise about depression and no money is a lot of bunk! there's plenty money-and i know what i'm talking about.” "oh yeah?” queried essie sarcastically. “well, i wish i knew where to find it!” “where do you think i got these?” clo indicated her jewelry and clothing. "i'd hate to say,” was the laconic response. "well, i don't mind saying it!” snapped clo. “and do i look like i've been through the mill?” "i can't say you do." "get wise, essie! you're twice as good-looking as i am, and look at you! and you used to talk about what you'd do with your first million!” "i don't want to go that way!” declared essie. "maybe you won't believe me, but i still have my first oat to sowthough a hell of a lot of good that's doing me!” she stopped, for clo was laughing at her. "why, you sap!” exclaimed clo. "what do you think i am—a streetwalker?” "well," puzzled essie, "you as good as said so." o canaan! them drunk. then it wouldn't be so hard to take a few dollars they might have. and after a while we could put them in a taxi and send them about their business- "but suppose they went to the police?" interposed essie, who had followed the recital with increasing interest. she was thinking about her father and his intimacy with jim milburn. “would they want to explain?” countered clo. "you're right!” exclaimed essie. “but suppose they get rough?” "you used to play a mighty strong game of basketball and tennis,” replied clo. she got up and prepared to go. “when do we begin?” asked essie briefly. "atta girl!” approved clo. she scribbled her address on an envelope. "meet me there at eleven,” she directed. when essie had seen clo off she sprawled once again upon the divan. but now her small teeth were set hard against her tightened lips. she awoke the next morning with a sour mouth and a thumping head. she blinked about the strange room. then she remembered and hastily fumbled at the cleft of her breasts beneath their snug brassière. with a relieved and triumphant grin she pulled forth the wad of bills and counted them. "not bad, eh?” chuckled clo. she was at the doorway clad in a trailing negligee of fine lace. "it was worth it, the slobbery, old beet-faced ..." essie paused for lack of a suitable epithet and climbed out of the rumpled bed. she put hands to her head and groaned. clo's laugh was pitiless. “i tried to signal you to ease up on the liquor,” she said, “but you paid me no mind.” "what was i to do?” moaned essie. she stumbled to the bath and put her head under a faucet. o canaan! "drink ginger ale, sap!” clo laughed at her spluttering. "don't forget i'm new to this game!” retaliated essie, applying a towel vigorously. "well, i must say, for a virgin, you certainly do all right by yourself!" "guess i come by it natural,” was the cynical response. "what time is it?” "ten o'clock.” "holy mackerel! miss maggie 'll raise the roof!” they sipped their coffee and talked in the small kitchen adjacent to the bedroom. at times they laughed uproariously about some incident in their night's escapade. "i thought i'd die when you put the strong arm on the old boy!” howled clo. “and he'd been calling you his lil brown doll!” essie spat out a nasty exclamation. “i felt like scratching his damned eyes qut every time he put his slimy hands on my legs! he had the nastiest-looking mouth i ever saw!” she shuddered her revulsion. “damn! i can't go it again, clo, i swear! i feel all crawly!” "aw—you'll get used to it," assured clo. essie did not see clo for another week. then the following thursday night she received a phone call at the restaurant. "meet me at the shanty,” said clo. "i got two nice birds lined up for plucking.” essie wavered. the lure of the easy money dangled tempt- ingly. "okay,” said she finally. as the shanty inn was one of the south side's honky-tonks which had assumed the name of "cabaret.” it was above o canaan! thirty-fifth on state, for the night life was shifting south- ward from that corner which had once been the hub of the south side. even the strand, the theater to which all the sepia stars of the boards had once come, had ceased to be the chief house of entertainment and was now specializing in movies of the five-and-dime vintage. before the depression the site now occupied by the honky-tonk had been that of a thriving food market where the fabulously prosperous black migrants had done their saturday "grubbin' up.” under the hand of a decorator, who had probably never seen a shanty, and at the behest of its sicilian proprietor, who had an eye for what he thought was verisimilitude, the interior had be- come a garishly glorified twentieth-century concept of the former abodes of its dusky habitués. its walls were of hewn logs (stained papier-mâché) and its chairs and tables were of rustic design. in keeping with the general motif, the waitresses wore screaming bandannas and full gingham dresses. at the far end from the entrance was a brightly illuminated platform where the second of three nightly floor shows was in progress when essie came into the smoke-hazed "house of rhythm” (so designated by the dapper master of ceremonies). she meandered through crowded tables, liberally sprinkled with white couples and parties of varying numbers: some blasé and bored with this, another unsuccessful attempt at escape from themselves and their world; others hilarious and frantic in their efforts to capture what they thought to be the "negroid abandon” of their duskier associates, who ap- peared to be thoroughly enjoying themselves. upon the stage a comely female impersonator was singing in a husky tenor, the sum total of which was to ascertain whether or not the glamorous reports he had heard about "dixie” were true. and at his back a chorus of diminutive brownskins and a quartette of impersonators in white satin pranced to the raucous rhythms of an eight-piece band. o canaan! essie smiled recognition of the brief introductions clo made. she shuddered inwardly, though, as she examined the two "birds” clo had ensnared. they were but replicas of the first pair: piggish and watery of eye, pendulous of lip, scant of hair, mottled of skin, and puffy of paunch and jowl. from their fiery countenances and bubbling laughter they had been heavily plied with drink already, essie judged. "these boys are from out of town,” said clo with a wink. "you're out for a big time, aren't you, boys?” her brilliant teeth flashed at them, and essie thought im- mediately of a purring cat. "we sho' are!” chorused the lecherous "mr smith” and "mr brown.” they leered at each other and locked their little fingers in silent wishes. mr brown, he of the thickly bushed eyebrows, let his fat hand crawl over to essie's. her nostrils flared even as she smiled at him and suffered his moist fingers to play upon hers. "suppose we take the boys over to the apartment,” sug- gested clo. "it's hot in here anyway, isn't it, boys?” her voice was its most seductive, and she moistened her carmined lips. "sho'!” agreed mr smith eagerly. his eyes lighted behind their dark pouches. "thash a capital idea!” blurbed his companion, his ani- mated eyebrows reaching new heights. “waitressh! here shomep'n fo' you.” he handed the grinning girl a ten-dollar note. “keepsh shange!” he commanded with a grand wave of his fat hand. and the girl winked at essie, who answered just as swiftly and imperceptibly. "alwaysh wash parsh—parsh-parshal to mah brown-skin babiesh!” he informed the world at large. and his bullethead lolled toward essie. while essie and clo piloted the two inebriates to a taxi a quietly dressed, keen-eyed man left his table in a far corner o canaan! and followed them. when they drove off he signaled a large black sedan, gave its driver swift instructions and sprang into it. jim milburn cast tired eyes over the crowded courtroom, which was occupied on the side next to the window by women and on the side next to the noisy corridor by men. far below the traffic of the city hummed and roared, while through the windows the strong stench of the yards drifted. jim milburn mopped his perspiring face and spat with habitual precision into a convenient cuspidor. he hated com- ing to the women's court with its family squabbles and smirking prostitutes ready to pay the fines for their care- lessness in soliciting. he hated the scurrying lawyers, young and old, foraging for cases like scavengers among garbage. "buzzards!” muttered milburn after an aged fellow whom he had addressed as "counselor” had hobbled away. “what's the matter, boy friend?” inquired a familiar, cheery voice at his elbow. he looked up into the bright, alert face of nurse saunders. "hello,” he returned almost gruffly. "what ’re you down here for—another pappyless baby?” "not this time," she answered, sitting beside him. “just some routine. saw you here and thought i'd drop in for a minute. business must be picking up for you boys, eh?” she scanned the room and chuckled mischievously. "yeah,” snorted milburn. "makes you sick! why 'n hell don't they go on and have a red-light district, like in the old days?” the nurse shrugged. "say, i have good news for you! you know bran-connie benson's husband?” milburn grunted his acknowledgment. "well, he's been appointed to the v.d. clinic upstairs and starts work this morning." o canaan! "that's swell!” exclaimed milburn. "i was 'round with joe talkin' to 'em about a month ago—you know their kid calls me 'uncle jim'—and connie was tellin' me she wanted to help essie get started in this beauty-shop business she's been talkin' about. reckon she'll be doin' it now. nice kid, that essie. got guts like her old man.” "they've been pretty plucky about the old man's tough luck. he certainly is holding up well, though bran says that the least little thing to upset that heart of his might prove fatal.” "yeah,” said milburn, "joe's my kind. he can take it. he comes out to the house sometimes, and we play pinochle and talk over old times. doesn't let it get him down any. by god, i don't know what i'd have done in his place.” "he's all right,” agreed the nurse. "you know, bran's de- serving of that job. he's worked like everything on that sur- vey he made of venereal diseases in the south side ” "well i'll be damned!” jim milburn's mouth had dropped open, and he was star- ing unbelievingly at the aisle between the two sections of the room. a court attendant had just bawled: "mary green, sally jones, james smith and robert brown!” up the aisle from the women's side walked essie followed by a slim, stylishly dressed girl. behind them waddled two crimson-faced men. "well, sir!" gulped the nurse. milburn rose abruptly and entered the railed section be- fore the bench. the nurse was at his side in an instant. “there must be some mistake!” she breathed. milburn grunted. "what are the charges here?” the judge was lean, gray, saturnine, and spoke with the weary voice of a confirmed cynic. o canaan! "soliciting and running a disorderly house, your honor.” the prosecuting attorney was a young chap who looked as though he had just been graduated from law school-all spruce of dress and freshly groomed of face and head. "where's the officer who made the arrests?" inquired the bench. his jaundiced eyes dropped on the perspiring men of the quartette, while a brief sneer flitted across his face. the pair shifted their bulks uncomfortably and looked away. "officer o'malley of the vice squad,” replied the attor- ney, indicating the keen-eyed one with a nod of his head. "is there a counsel for the defense?” a hawk-nosed mulatto in shiny blue serge stepped for- ward and presented himself to the bench. "they're in the streets!” whispered milburn to the nurse. "that guy's poison!” "state the case of the prosecution,” ordered the judge and added pointedly: "please be brief!” the prosecutor rapidly sketched the facts: the two women had been found in a michigan avenue apartment at one o'clock in the morning with the two male prisoners; they had been drinking, and at the time of entrance were danc- ing. the two men had been vociferously drunk. "your honor," began the soft-spoken defense lawyer whose spectacles did not hide the glint of his cold gray eyes, "may i question the officer in this case?” “proceed,” ordered the bench shortly. "did you at any time hear the two ladies solicit the two gentlemen?" asked the hawk-nosed one of the officer. the latter looked confused. "well—er-er-no, but- " "do you have a witness who saw the two ladies accept any money or valuables from the two men?” "er-er-no, but- " "did you find the defendants in any incriminating pos- o canaan! tures—i'm sure you don't consider dancing incriminating- when you entered their apartment?” the broad lips of the mulatto now twisted into a sarcastic leer, though his voice remained the essence of politeness. "well, they was drinkin'-and- " "your honor- " "case dismissed!” snapped the judge. "but, your honor— " began ,the devastated prosecutor. "the case is dismissed!” the judge's tone was icy. "take these women upstairs and have them examined.” "yo' honor- ” wheezed mr brown. "well?” "well, yo'honor, ah believe one o'them wenches " “you will refrain from the use of epithets, or i'll hold you in contempt of court and fine you!" "well, pardon me, yo' honor—my wallet's been stolen- a titter ran through the lawyers and attendants grouped about the bench but stopped immediately at a fierce look from the judge. "it is not the business of this court to act as guardian of your personal effects,” he stated coldly and with a trace of satire. "my advice to you is to stay away from where you don't belong. next case!" "how much did you take him for?” whispered clo as they were conducted by a female attendant to the floor above. "i don't know," replied essie. "i stuck the thing between the cushions of the divan when the cops came.” clo snickered. “good going." "shut up!” snapped essie somberly. "okay, toots!” shrugged clo. "if that's the way you feel about it ..." “i'm sorry,” said essie. “but i just saw mr milburn " "what!” clo missed a step. “did he recognize us?” "i'll say he did! and miss saunders was with him.” o canaan! "too bad, kid,” said clo. “it's all my fault, i guess.” "it's my own!” said essie fiercely. "forget it!” they entered a long room lined on the window-exposed side by booths of frosted glass and on the other by rows of chairs. over half of these latter were occupied by men and women who held large case-cards in their hands. there was a strong disinfectant and medicinal odor that made essie's stomach heave. "now who's that staring at us?” whispered clo. clad in white, with one rubber glove half on, and stand- ing in a doorway marked “laboratory” was bran. connie found essie sulking in the unlighted living room that night. "go on and rave!” snarled essie. she was in no mood to be counseled. clo had left the court building a half-hour ahead of her, for bran had detained his sister-in-law with a tongue-lashing that had almost reduced her to tears. when she went to clo's apartment she had found nothing but disorder. clo had flown, and with her the money which essie had hidden under the divan cushions. "i'm not raving,” answered connie soberly. "i simply want to talk to you as an older sister should— ” "i can take care of myself!” essie remained defiant. “you attend to your affairs and i'll attend to mine! you're all set-you're married, got a job-life's plenty clear for you. but not for me i have to make mine the hard way, see! you don't have to listen to mother's whining all the time. you don't have to watch dad wither up by inches. you don't have to wear old clothes until they're ready to drop off you. you don't have to sling hash for next to nothing. don't think i want something for myself, do you? why do i- " o canaan! "haven't i always been willing to let you have what i can?” reminded connie. “oh, essie, i'm not scolding you- truth be known, i've little right to. but—well, maybe you don't know it, but your girl friend, bran tells me, is diseased right now. do you want to end up like that?" "i hope she rots!" scowled essie. “you don't have to worry about me, i haven't done a thing but drink a little and let some old snakes feel over me. i'm not going that way any more.” connie sighed her relief. "please, essie, let's be friends just as we've always been," she pleaded. “i've fixed it with mr milburn and miss saun- ders so that dad and mother won't find out about it. and" -she tendered a check to essie—"here's a check to put with whatever you may have saved to get started in your shop.” essie ignored it and turned sulkily away from the arm which connie tried to place about her shoulder. "all right-act like an ass!” drawled connie. “and i hope life beats some sense into your bullhead!” with that she strode out. and a barrier had come be- tween them. two weeks later junior came home. it was sunday morn- ing, and christine and essie were preparing for church. "can't you see i'm sick?” he answered dully to essie's sharp demands. essie shrank back in disgust. his face was full of scaly sores, and he stank. "get out of here!” she ordered. "dad!” she called to joe, who was sleeping, having just come in from a run. "you let him alone!” said christine. she put an arm about her son and met essie's fire with a sudden strength. "what's going on down there?" rumbled joe from the landing above, clad in a shabby dressing gown, remnant of o canaan! his better days. he descended the steps on seeing junior. "i done told you to stay 'way from here, boy!” he roared. "you ain't no good " "you let him alone, joe benson!” interrupted christine. "he's sick-can't you see?” joe looked more closely at his son. “good god!” he groaned. “you sho' is one chile o' sor- row. ... take 'im upstairs, christine. i'll go git bran. gone to church, essie.” essie stalked out, muttering: "what a mess! what a mess. ..." when bran had examined junior he shook his head. "there's little chance of recovery,” he told joe and the sobbing christine. "he's too far gone, if i'm not mistaken. it must have been working on him for a period of years now. cases like that often ..." however, he arranged to have the boy sent to a state sanitarium. but his diagnosis had been correct. in novem- ber of that year christine boarded a train in her mourner's weeds to take her son's body back to the homeland. she had moaned and wailed to such an extent that joe had gone to connie, and between them they had scraped the money to- gether to satisfy christine's whim about "burying my boy where he ought to be buried.” once at home, christine stayed. she wrote joe that the lawsons had promised her a small house on their land if joe would return to take charge of the farm. "still wants me to be a field-hand nigger!” he snorted over the letter. he looked at essie and grinned. "i reckon we kin make it all right by ourselves, eh, gal?” he muttered, tossing the letter aside. "we won't miss it!" came the resolute response. اور امارات part iii the tides of spring there is no place for us, and we wander. ... we turn our faces to the four winds, and at last toward the sun- set. ... in our youth we wander, and there is no place for us. ... where shall we find the indefinable for which we seek, when the hot blood mounts quickly, and hopes are born one mo- ment to be strangled in the next? where is the one in whom we may anchor our soul when the tides of spring surge within us, and we would ride the winds of march to far places? in our youth we wander, for we are lonely. though called a lighthearted people, even from the womb we come lonely and seeking. ... and nowhere in all the earth is there peace for us. ... we seek and think we find that which we sought, but a void remains to baunt our soul forever. ... o canaan! have you that which we would find before the night ... the dawnless night ... bids us, at last, to rest? and where shall a young man turn with his strident ambi- tion to garner a portion of the world's goods for his very own? where to, from maryland's lowland shore washed by tidal waters that feed the bay ... from the hearth and the fields of his grandsire, jim prince, who called life "these low grounds of sorrow"? not to the queen city on the patapsco, for in our youth we strain at the home ties to seek the new, the distant. but across the pine-bordered lowlands and the narrow dela- ware plains jim prince's youngest grandson journeyed to touch the quaker city; then onward through the jersey meadows to glimpse manhattan's towers upflung against the evening's haze. then ... harlem! harlem of the swarmed black folk from every quarter of the earth . . . harlem of the fiction writers' distortion; pseudo-bohemian, glamorous, fabulous ... harlem of the mundane, of the terrific struggle for existence; the elevator operator and the dogged university student ... the "bot goods” salesmen ... the young pimps waiting for their downtown maids at the subway stations every thursday o canaan! "just look at us,” paul followed up. “we both want to be in business for ourselves. we tried selling dresses-good dresses they were too. we made a little money, and the women started finding fault-swore we were giving 'em cheap stuff. so what did they do? went downtown and paid twelve and fifteen dollars for the same dresses we were sell- ing for six! they're your people, bobby! hell! it 'll take two hundred years more to drill anything into their heads. yet back there in march they raised all that hell about stores not hiring 'em on twenty-fifth street-breaking windows and stealing! and they wouldn't have done that if they hadn't got all emotional about that geechy kid who was shoplifting.” "you let these folks bother you too much, jack," was bob's opinion. "they're going to be what they're going to be, that's all.” paul snorted, continuing: "and look at us college tramps! up there at the political club you can find more trained minds in that pack of poker players than anywhere else in harlem! they can discuss any subject intelligently—from creation to communism! darn near every colored college in the country represented! and these government work projects—why, you can hardly get on one if you don't have a degree! collegiate tramps, that's what we are-whoring and drinking and dancing and gambling our time away, no thought for tomorrow-to hell with tomorrow_live today and have a good time—you only live once!” paul punctuated his scorn with a nasty ex- clamation. "what's a guy going to do if he can't get a break?” coun- tered bob. "take yourself, for instance: you worked for that greek in that delicatessen for over a year at ten bucks a week -and he started you at seven! what was he paying his greek clerks? twenty to thirty! you even had to steal from him so's to make room rent and board-and you with a b.s. in business!” o canaan! “i don't blame him," declared paul. “my own people haven't been able to build up any businesses—with a few exceptions—in fifty years and more. he came over as an immigrant who couldn't even speak the english language, and damned if he didn't build up one in fifteen years! why the hell should he pay me as much as he pays his own peo- ple? the odds are against us, but i still say we don't half try -we're too busy enjoying life!” paul shrugged and went on: "i've been out of school for four years—so ’ve you, graduated in ' . and what have i done? well, i've saved exactly two hundred and forty-seven dollars and sixty- three cents. i've spent a don't-know-how-much on rent, food, clothes and amusement-at least what i thought was amusement. i'll bet if you were to ask every fellow on our project how much money he had saved, about five out of ten couldn't show you next week's carfare—and we were paid off yesterday. the other five will have to borrow before next payday. now what's the answer?” "we just haven't learned the value of a dollar, that's all,” replied bob. "yet we're always whining about what we don't have!” sneered paul. “hell, i'm tired of hearing it! big as this coun- try is, there ought to be someplace where i can get started!” "you forget the depression is still on,” reminded bob. “damn the depression!” exclaimed paul, the big vein welling in his forehead. "i'm sick of that too! hell, man, five years from now i'll be nearly thirty-in exactly eleven years i'll be thirty-five. and, brother, something tells me if you don't have some kind of a foothold somewhere by the time you're forty, you're a lost ball in high grass!” "i'll be twenty-seven my next birthday ..." mused bob. "i don't see why you don't go back south and help your o canaanvil ! father with his undertaking business,” said paul. "if you can't sell 'em you can bury 'em!” "there are plenty of business opportunities in the south," said bob thoughtfully, "and i liked working with my old man. ..." his face darkened and he bit into his cigar. "hell, jack, i told you i can't take it from those crackers! when i was down there i got to the place where i'd made up my mind to kill a son of a bitch! that's why i left i didn't want to put my folks in the middle. i know when i got a bellyful.” "all white folks aren't alike,” reminded paul. "i know," said bob, "but you're always running into the low cusses who want to put you into what they call your 'place'-"hey, nigger, this' and 'hey, nigger, that.' i got tired of it, that's all! got so i felt a big white hand shoving me down ... down. ...” bob's face grew sullen at the memory. “what are you going to do?” asked paul. "stick it out a couple more years up here and go back to med school. after that i'm heading for south america.” “what about lil?” "i'm going to med school!” “but you two are practically-well, married, so to speak.” paul put it very deferentially. “i'm still going to med school!” paul shrugged. “you know," he said, “it's funny how a fellow can drift into things up here. guess we're all drift- ers. ..." he resumed his packing, and bob rose to go. “say, we ought to have a little party-kind of farewell get-together-tonight. what say?" "okay,” agreed paul. “where 'll i meet you—at the apart- ment?” "yeah-around eleven," answered bob and sauntered out. o canaan! a moment later a short, plump, brown-skinned woman, with mouth and eyes that perpetually smiled, came in. she was followed by a snagger-toothed man clad in shabby, non- descript remnants. "well, boy, you's really gittin' ready, ain't you?” "yes ma'am, a'nt lizzie,” replied paul. "why you—why you wan' go, bye?" questioned the shabby one in a decidedly foreign accent. “harlem no can do weethout you, bye!” "oh yeah?" disparaged paul, hastily donning a shirt. "nev' mind the shirt, boy!” said a'nt lizzie sharply but with a twinkle behind her rimless spectacles. “i done seen mo'o'you boys than yo' mammies when you's sick!” "that you have,” grinned paul. he chucked her under the chin and winked. “but what's a guy's best gal going to do but nurse him when he's sick, sweetheart?” he kissed her swiftly on her cheek. "go 'way from heah, boy!” cried a’nt lizzie. "these dev- ilish boys ain't a bit o' count, g. b.! jes' carries me a gait all the time, plague take 'em!” "you—you tell-a me?" grinned g. b. “nize byes, dough -nize fellas ..." "well, if we're so nize, suppose you go bring in that right- eous number, g. b. mantos, you snaggy spick!” the newcomer was of about paul's height and coloring and spoke in a throaty, hesitant voice. his apparel and the manner in which he nonchalantly smote the side of his leg with the latest edition of a tabloid would have given one the impression that he was an office worker. in reality, however, russ holt was just another chap in his middle twenties, up from carolina with a year of college behind him, and a hope of finishing someday ... someday. meanwhile, to use the facetious phrase he had borrowed from some wag, he was "lifting humanity”-twenty stories a day in an elevator downtown. his thin face evinced surprise at paul's activity. o canaan! "look-a-yuh!” he exclaimed. “cat, you're really takin' it on the lam, eh?" "aw, no! he cain't do that!” whined a voice at his back. it belonged to a youth of their age, build and complexion whose face beamed good nature and seemed absolutely void of any problem whatsoever. he wore white pants, gray sweat shirt, and crepe-soled shoes; a whistle dangled from a string about his neck. “what do you know, patton?" greeted paul. “what's mat- ter-payday today?” patton made him a swift sign and eyed a’nt lizzie fur- tively. "naw, man-all the play-street kids are down to a track meet in the park,” he explained blandly. "sure god glad, too! i ain't seen the bed in two days!” "better stop cattin' 'round ever' night," advised a’nt lizzie. “an' look-a-heah, boy-i ain't foolin'- i wants my back rent!” "now there you go!” whined patton, winking at paul and holt. he quickly undressed, unabashed before his landlady, and slipped between the sheets of the cot. "i told you i'm going to pay up next week—when the project gets paid,” he continued, already sleepy. “money ain't come from washington, a'nt lizzie. pay you next week ... next . . . week. ..." and he was dead to the world. "that devilish boy could sleep in a boiler fact'ry!" de- clared a’nt lizzie. she stepped to the cot and pulled the sheet from his face. "devilish rascal!” she grumbled while she picked his pants and shirt from the floor and hung them on a chair. "what's that correct digit going to be, a’nt lizzie?" asked holt jocularly, winking at paul. “come on now, all jokes aside.” "quit worryin' me 'bout the number, boy!" commanded o canaan! "ain't this a pistol!” breathed patton, now thoroughly awake. "everybody cross his fingers!” cried holt. he began fever- ish calculations in a notebook. "what good 'll that do?” scoffed paul, shutting his two shabby suitcases. "it's going to be what the racketeers want it to be, and there's no use in our employing a lot of caro- lina fogyism." "all right, you ole maryland oyster snatcher!” grinned holt. "what was it this time last year, russ?” asked patton. he winked at paul. "never mind, cat, i see you!” laughed russ. he turned the pages of his much-thumbed notebook. “here it is! well, i'll be doggone!” "now what?" demanded paul skeptically. he crawled into bed beside holt. "i suppose you're going to tell us that it was four eighty-one last year today!” "you don't have to believe me, cat,” said holt in an awed voice. "here's the book!" he pointed a bony finger at his notations and said: "there it is—june , ! what's the number?” "damned if it ain't!” puzzled paul. “but it's mathemati- cally crazy!” "you're right, paul,” said patton, the gambler of the trio. "it don't make sense." "sense, hell!” exclaimed russ. he jerked a swift thumb in the general direction of a’nt lizzie's front room and con- tinued: “i ain't never seen it to fail—any time ole dice in there wants a little money for her church over in jersey she prays to her lord and the number jumps, jack! i'm telling you now!” "aw, fooey!” snorted paul. “give up, cat!” "who—who got eet? who—who got eet?" g. b. burst into the room and grinned tantalizingly. o canaan! "listen, cat,” growled holt, "if you know what's the number, tell us—before i throw the whole room on you!” "türow on who? me? t'row—t'row on who?" bristled the snagger-toothed one in mock belligerence. holt groaned. "skip it, jack! skip it! what's the digit?” "the numbair—she eez—she eez- " "it's fo'eighty-one!” cried a’nt lizzie, shoving g. b. aside and excitedly waving a slip of paper. "hot damn!” paul and russ sprang from the bed simultaneously and started dressing, but patton, gambler that he was, turned his face to the wall and mumbled: "take twenty and keep the rest for me, a'nt lizzie.” he went to sleep immediately. by midnight paul had finished his tour of collecting the winnings from the magic number four eighty-one. it had taken him the length and breadth of harlem—from a finely furnished apartment on st nicholas avenue to a low dive of prostitution on th street; from a delicatessen on eighth avenue to a bakery on fifth; two saloons, two restaurants and two poolrooms completed the route. he came back to a’nt lizzie's six-room apartment exactly two hundred and seventy dollars richer. the place was in a hubbub. annie, a'nt lizzie's moon- eyed, chocolate-hued niece, met him at the door. "hey there, you lucky ole tightwad!” she yelled, throwing her one hundred and sixty pounds of buxomness about his neck. she must have bathed in whisky, thought paul. "hot damn, boy!” she raved, giving him a very moist, ample kiss before he could disengage her arms. "i hit that damned number for ten cents! fifty-four smackers, boy! talk about high! man, i ain't thinkin' 'bout goin' on no job o canaan! tomorrow! come on, have a drink on me! i know you ain't bought none, you ole tight dog, you! right on the dinin'- room table ..." she finished with a flood of obscene invec- tive. paul finally struggled away to his room. he found holt on the bed solemnly counting a pile of bills and small change. "what say, cat!” grinned russ. "told you to put six bits on it! look-a-yuh- ” he seized a handful of the bills and went through the motions of washing his face in them. "nigger-rich, eh?" laughed paul. “did you collect it all?” "all but twenty-seven fifty,” replied russ. "man, a cat all reefered up caught one of the runners over on thirteenth street and filled him just as full o’holes as a sieve! cat didn't put his numbers in and didn't tell anybody about it-tried to be slick! he'll be slick no more! bet they'll have to use a der- rick to lower him into his grave, he's so full o' lead!” "where's patton?” "man, that cat got up about an hour ago and bought a pint o' whisky. he and annie sat down and drank that up, and then she bought a quart. he left out o'here drunk as a lord!” "yeah—and i bet he'll want to borrow from us in the morning, too!” scowled paul. "no, he won't!” a'nt lizzie had come in. "i made that drunk rascal leave ten dollars with me! you'll find some fried chicken in the icebox fo' yo' lunch on the road, paul—that's ef you's gwine leave now. reckon you'll stay awhile longer now, won't you?” "no’m, a’nt lizzie,” said paul decidedly. “this is the first time harlem's ever given me anything, and i'm getting out before she takes it away! here—here's two hundred and fifty i want you to keep for me until tomorrow.” she counted the money and wrapped it in a handkerchief. o canaan! "you send any o' that money home, boy?" she inquired of holt. "yes ’m,” he answered, "a hundred and fifty-wired it to mom. here's a hundred to keep for me.” "doggone!” exclaimed the old lady, scratching her sparse gray hair as she took the money. "i got a great mind to run off with ever' last cent of it!” both young men laughed heartily at this, for they knew that this virginia woman who had been a veritable mother to them was as safe as a bank for their money. annie teetered in, her round face streaked with tears. she waved a bottle at them and sobbed: "all righsh fo y'allsh! you don't have to drinsh wish me! hic! done won allsh dash money an' ain' boughsh the firsh- hic!—drinsh! all righsh fo' y'allsh ..." “gal, ef you don't gwine to bed i'm a-gonna wring yo' devilish neck!” declared her aunt, striving hard to suppress a grin. “git on to bed, i says!" "don' nobody lovesh me!" wailed annie. she staggered over to russ and threw her arms about him. "you lovesh me -hic!-do' you-hic!—russh?" "sure, babes! sure!” snickered russ. "he donsh-hic!-lovesh me-hic!” she pointed at paul, lost her balance and flopped to the floor. "she's out like a light!” exclaimed russ. “come on, paul, help me get her to her room.” “drunk wench!” grumbled a’nt lizzie as she followed them. bob's party had spread to the two other apartments on the floor when paul arrived. "more power to you!” cried bob, who met him at the door. "patton was here about an hour ago, high as a georgia pine! he swears you hit the number for nearly half a grand!” o canaan! "that cat's crazy!” scoffed paul, and lied: "i just hit for ten cents!” “oh, hello, darlin!” from the dimly lighted foyer of the apartment opposite a petite vision of brown loveliness minced. she was clad in white satin, and her face evinced the highest in the cos- metician's art. she felinely patted the waves of her smart bob with brilliantly tipped fingers as she advanced, and her white teeth gleamed a wide smile. "oh-oh!” warned bob. “here comes your babe!” he with- drew hastily into his three-room apartment, where the radio was moaning softly and couples were clinging and swaying in the half-light. "hello, babe,” said paul coldly. “my," murmured she, still smiling. “isn't he chilly-on such a warm night, too!” "cut the smart line! where'd you get it—the movies?” his voice was terse and hard. "i suppose you heard i had a little luck, so you decided you'd come around and collect again, eh? what is it this time-twins?" "now why be like that?" she pouted, casting her long- lashed, sloe eyes at his. "i heard that you were leaving town and just wanted to say good-by." "wasn't that too nice of you!” sneered paul. "well, good- by!” he turned to enter the apartment, but she grasped his arm. "now what?” he demanded. she took three bills from her white pocketbook and ten- dered them silently. "never mind," he said. his quiet voice was disdainful as he added before he left her: “suppose you keep it for services rendered.” the party was more boring than he expected it to be: the same senseless crowd, reciting the same senseless drivel, drink- ing the same senseless concoctions, dancing the same sense- o canaan! ous to the conditions surrounding them—who lived from day to day and took naught but a passing thought of the morrow. he thought of the women he had known and pos- sessed, always with a feeling of incompleteness and a vague resentment at himself and them. what had the four years profited him? how far astray had he floundered from the climax of the oration he had delivered on the class-day pro- gram when he and booker had been graduated from the institute? " "to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.'” indeed! waste . . . naught but waste, those four years here in harlem ... except to learn that life is hard and that to live one must struggle ceaselessly, relentlessly. ... holt was propped up in bed busy with his pad and pencil despite the clamor of the cuban party going full blast in the apartment below. "still figuring, eh, russ?” mocked paul, stripping off his clothes. "yeah, man! i'm bustin' 'em wide open tomorrow! put- ting two bucks on nine ninety-four. better get on it heavy, cat!” "you mean you'll be two bucks short tomorrow," cor- rected paul. “don't you know any time a man offers you odds of six hundred to one you haven't a chance except in rare cases like today? man, why don't you pull out for home while you're ahead?” "now you know what i keep telling you about home!” grinned russ. "keep telling you i'd rather be a lamppost in harlem than a big shot in my home town!” "who do you think you're stuffing?" answered paul, falling into bed in his pajama pants. "i know what you want, you're just like thousands of us. you want to drive up to the old homestead in a big boat as long as from here to yon- o canaan! plunged into the work of the farm like a veteran. he was a true son of the soil. even in the bad year of torrential rains and a sudden drought he had wrested crops from the sullen, stubborn earth. then he had sent little packages of the soil to the wizard down at the school in alabama. and he had rigged up a bench in his room over the kitchen, where during the long winter evenings he puttered with some vile-smelling substances and liquids—"chemistry of the soil” was the phrase he had used to explain to his grandfather. afraid to scoff because of the boy's success with other "tomfoolery" -such as the laying mash which booker had administered to the chickens—jim prince had let him have his way with the wheat experiment. and here it was—a don't-know-how- many bushels from the acres planted! and the same thing with the corn and tomatoes! that booker was some p'n, now. . . . and he had rigged up lines from the highway and put a mess o' wires around in the house so's all you had to do was pull a string and you had light in every corner of a room, just like in the houses over in town! and that radio! all you had to do was turn some knobs on a box and you could hear the president way over yonder in washington-even heard the king o’england at christmas! and now booker was set- ting up some kind of a machine that was going to pump water to any part of the house; even talking about a bath- tub you didn't have to tote water for-as if the old wash- tub wouldn't serve the same purpose! well, sir, that booker was a case. .... jim prince looked up as a small roadster jolted up the ruts of the shell lane from the highway. it stopped midway, and a familiar figure vaulted the fence bordering the field in which booker was working. the latter had halted the tractor and was striding rapidly with outstretched hand across the stubble of the wheat. jim prince watched them, puzzled, for his eyes were unable at that distance to dis- cover just who it was that booker had lifted bodily and o canaan! whirled joyfully in the air. they were both approaching in the vehicle now. booker leaped out in the yard, yelling in his deep baritone: "pa! ma! here's paul!" and jim prince, his gaunt old face alive with joy, hobbled forward to grasp the hand of his grandson, who, everybody said, was the spittin' image of him in his youth. and blanche, brown, buxom mother of the two young men, slammed through the kitchen door to the yard and seized her son in a capacious embrace upon her hearing bosom, and breathed to the bot sky: "praise the lord! you done come, boy—you done come home!” eagerly he listened to the news of home from booker that night as they lay abed. "so ellen and jimmy-lew are proud parents of a boy?" he laughed. “where are they now?" "over on the western shore," informed booker. "as the superintendent of schools in this county, dad thought it best to have them transferred the year following the lynch- ing. you know how jimmy-lew is. he got so he carried a gun with him everywhere. and with that temper of his, he'd have used it, too. it's better all around for them, because they're supposed to get more salary over there, after this year.” “does dad finish that work at penn this year?" "all but the thesis. he'll be home after summer school in august. you staying this time?" "naw! i wouldn't have come home now if mom hadn't written that grandpa was sick.” "nothing wrong with him but age,” laughed booker. "he's tough as a pine knot. he'll be here a long time, brother! where do you think you'll head when you leave?" o canaan! "i don't know," said paul wearily. “sometimes i wonder if there's any use going anywhere. ..." "you got something there! but you wouldn't stay. i know you—you've got a little maggot inside of you that keeps squirming and it makes you foot-loose.” "i'll find a place!” paul's voice became determined. “i'll find one if i have to tramp all over this country!" booker grunted and turned over, mumbling: "i wonder if you'll know it when you find it!” paul fell into the monotonous life of the farm with an ease that surprised him. by the side of his bull-necked, huge- thewed brother he labored in the fields of his grandfather. for the first time in months he experienced the pleasure of an appetite at meals. and his mother took delight in plying his plate until he could eat no more. "chappie, they must have been starving you up there in the big town,” observed booker one day after their father had come home from summer school. the family was at sun- day dinner, and paul had just pushed his plate aside long after the others had ceased to eat. "leave him alone, you booker,” said blanche. "he don't eat a bit more ’n you.” "i know," laughed booker, "but i'm a big man. that fel- low's little compared with me. but he sure has been shoveling it in ever since he's been home. couldn't eat the first morn- ing—all he wanted was a cup of coffee and a couple of bis- cuits! ho-ho! now he packs up, i mean!” paul grinned but continued to strip the chicken bone he held in his hand. "all right, guy!” he retorted. “i know i'm the prodigal and you're the good son who stays at home. doggone, the way you work me, you ought to be glad to have me eat. i've o canaan! been wanting to stick my teeth into some home-cooked grub ever since i left here. and believe me, i ain't thinking about not laying it away!” "go to it, broadway,” chuckled booker. “tomorrow we pitch hay.” “what, again?” "don't you let him work you too much, son,” cautioned blanche, passing him a piece of apple pie. "you needn't worry about that, honey," spoke up her husband, ike, a studious-eyed, chestnut-colored man with the leanness of some scholars. “seems to me, when i'm out there with them in the field, both of them try to make me do all the work.” "that's what i say about these schoolteachers," winked booker to paul, “just can't take it when it comes to doing a man's work.” "ain't none o' you know what work is, ef you asks me," put in old jim, puffing away at his pipe. "i minds when i was a boy- "oh-oh,” whispered booker to his brother so that their grandfather could not hear, "here it comes—one of those good-old-days things, you know.” "han? what say?" questioned the old man. "nothing, pa-nothing," said booker in a louder tone, then sotto voce to paul: “don't let him fool you—he can hear when he wants to, especially if it's something you don't want him to hear!” all the while old jim was recounting the hard-working exploits of his boyhood with the boastfulness of old men who still feel ambition's stir though they are unable to put the impulse into action. and the boys did listen, for under their air of banter was a pride in the achievements of their grandfather-he who had through toil and perseverance kept the land which his father before him had acquired as a free man among slaves. so they let him have his say, listened o canaan! through half a century of musings that had become familiar to them as barefoot youngsters by constant repetition. and paul was glad again that he had come home before trying the world once more. he looked at the cheerful, ever calm countenance of his mother and the care-lined face of his father; and it dawned on him that what he had done in harlem was something of which they would not have wholly approved. yet within himself he knew that he would never be able to measure up to their expectations of him—for expectations they had had since they had struggled through the last two years of his and booker's training at the insti- tute in spite of the depression. even as he sat there tides, which seized him in spring and stayed to sweep him through- out the summer, were rushing through him now, urging him to be up and away. but he stayed. he went with booker to the social functions in shrewsbury, one of the more progressive towns in the lowlands, and took the easy favors of the village belles by night. he was home from new york! the fact placed a premium upon him. they frequented the dingy little beer- and liquor-dispensing "taverns," surprisingly numerous for so small a town. these were equally dissatisfying—what with their clamorous music boxes, noisy clientele of oyster shuck- ers from deerfield, crude and rough-spoken farm hands and bucolic strumpets with their diseased faces. a young schoolteacher, just out of training school, afforded him congenial company for a while; but she, too, fell under the pernicious spell of the environment into which she had been thrust and became as loose as any of the native girls. he tired of her almost insatiable cravings. he avoided her until she became piqued. "you want a husband,” he told her abruptly, “and i'm not the man!” o canaan ! and she had tossed her marcelled head, pouted her full lips and gone her way. cynically he watched the attractive, intelligent creature wallow deeper into the mire of the vil- lage. she did not return after the thanksgiving recess. but still he remained through the harvest season and the winter when the stark lowlands were their most dreary and lashed by winds from the bay. only christmas and the radio offered surcease from the sameness. spring broke early and paul followed booker at the plowing, the harrowing, the planting. then one day in may, when the smell of the new strawberries was strong upon the pine-sifted westerly breezes, paul rose early and began to pack. "when you gotta go, you gotta go!” was his laconic re- sponse to booker's query. "... and now, blessed master, go with this here boy o' ourn wheresoever he mought be-keep 'im in the hollow o' thy hand and be a lamp onto his feet and a light onto his path. . . . guide 'im an' pertect 'im, lawd! and when we's done bendin' down on humble knees and a-prayin' fo' all we's duty-boun' to pray fo', when we's done a-stumblin' down here in these low grounds o sorrow, take us all home to the bosom o' jesus, where we'll meet ouah love ones and praise his name, world without end-amen!” jim prince's voice sighed to a stop. and as he rose slowly from his knees there were tears in his fading eyes which he wiped away with a hand that trembled a little. "you ought to conquer the world with that blessing, boy!” whispered booker as the family group followed paul to his roadster. "you're tellin' me!" ejaculated paul. “well, let the old man have his way. may be something in it. ..." "sure will miss those haircuts i've been getting from you, o canaan! boy.” booker slapped his younger brother on the back and swallowed hard. paul forced a grin. with the brusqueness of youth he kissed his mother, who was straining back her emotions. he shook hands with his somewhat gloomy-browed father and gave a none too atten- tive ear to his counseling. " 'member you gots a home to come to, son," quavered jim prince, clinging to his arm. paul squeezed the wrinkled hand affectionately. “luck to you, chappie,” he said to booker. “i'll see you when i make my first ten thousand.” "what, piker-no million?” exclaimed booker sarcasti- cally. “last time you were here you swore by the beard of haile selassie that was your goal.” paul gave him a swift poke in the ribs and sprang into the dust-caked roadster. "ten thousand, farmer-and you can take it or leave it!” he came back. he jerked the car about and shot out over the ruts in a cloud of dust. across the lowland fields he fled in the rising sun. through the town of the marrying ministers he coasted and at noon ate a hurried lunch just west of the monumental city. up gradual slopes he rolled into western maryland, clad in the tender verdure of springtime and alive with the voices of orioles, cardinals and robins. when the sun was yet high he bore down upon barbara frietchie's town, and he still did not know whither he should go. he sought the little cottage of his cousin, jimmy-lew, which the latter and his wife were buying in a back street of the town. he stopped overnight with them and their baby, and far into the night they talked of home and their childhood together on neighboring farms. paul and jimmy- lew, a big golden-skinned athlete with the brooding eye and face of the idealist, argued as of old on questions of para- mount importance to them. "i tell you, we who have been better privileged are for- saking our duty to the downtrodden!” declared jimmy-lew, his black eyes flashing and his dark curls lowering toward his adversary. from the kitchen where she washed the supper dishes o canaan! an unconscious dramatic gesture of his orator's hands. "he thinks it's his salvation, poor fellow. it's his destiny to be like tantalus: forever reaching for the inaccessible ” "inaccessible, baloney!” defended paul, rising. "there's nothing inaccessible to him who tries and is willing to pay the price for it. i haven't had my ears slapped back for nothing, believe me! and i'll go on seeking until i find what i want. every man to his own poison, i say. you and ellen go on and teach-stick to your high calling, as jimmy-lew labels it. that's what you like, and i guess it's your job. as for me”-he took a coin from his pocket- "heads it's pittsburgh, tails it's chicago!" the flipped coin turned tails. "i'll be seeing you!” he said. he picked young jimmy-lew from his high chair and held him aloft until the hazel-eyed youngster gurgled his glee. hand in hand the young couple watched the roadster until it turned a corner. "i have to hand it to him he knows what he wants, at that,” said jimmy-lew. . "i wonder ..." murmured ellen. past the monuments of gettysburg's field of battle he rolled and veered abruptly west at the town's circle. then mountains loomed in the distance, the appalachian spine, and paul drank great draughts of the tangy air. one hundred miles of them he climbed and began the precipitous descent of their western slopes. engine trouble delayed him, but he did not care. for him this was high adventure: to absorb in passing the ever-changing beauty of america. and he thought: "what a great land is this. surely there is a place here for me and those of my blood who may follow.” and subconsciously he rejoiced in his young manhood. for the o canaan! highway, and he found himself upon the black earth of indiana's prairie-long, monotone levelness with scarcely a bend in the hot, concrete road. on either hand he viewed with almost a feeling of awe the unending fields of grain and the green spaces where sleek porkers rooted, cleaner than any he had seen. labeled with unpronounceable names, prodigious barns and comparatively small houses commanded the flat, rich land. his grandfather's eyes would have sprouted from his head, thought paul. fort wayne disappointed him. he had seen the name on the maps and had expected an inland metropolis rivaling new york. instead he found just another prairie town, a little larger than the rest, but with the same ugly regularity of architecture and layout of thoroughfares. he found lodging with a family who lived on a street lined with cottonwoods, and whose scampering children made the night ring with their free play. the restaurant in which he ate the next morning was located on a street that strangely resembled gatlin's alley in shrewsbury. all was squalor with the same dingy pool- rooms, ramshackle dwellings and corner loafers. "you cain't miss the highway, suh,” responded mrs hammond, the proprietress of the “eat shop.” to paul she looked like any number of gray-haired, hard-pinched women whom he had seen in virginia and maryland towns. "all roads leads to chicago from heah,” she assured. "whar you hail from?” he had to give her full particulars, and as reward she replenished his plate with fried potatoes that went with the t-bone steak and biscuits—all for thirty-five cents. "oh, i bin up yuh nigh on to twenty y’ars. alabam's mah home," she expanded to his questions. "all the show folks stops yuh.” she swept the fly-swarmed little dining room of her "hotel,” the walls of which were liberally hung with o canaan! sam, working away with his clippers. maybe, if he could get them to talk, they would wait for him to do the jobs him- self. confound that jack! "ain't no better,” said jeff. “they needs another war! wish i was back in the yards. ... we ain't workin' more 'n three days a week. an' the boss-man's havin' a lot o'worrya- tion outn the unions. glad i ain't no union man! 'pears to me like they don't know what they wants. hell! the boss- man ain't layin' off nobody ef he kin help it—an' the man sho' ain't gittin' no orders. them dern unions is all right sometimes, but they's a mess, too, at the wrong time!” “funny thing,” chimed in another hard-handed fellow whose build and garments proclaimed him a laborer, "them unions didn't start wantin' us to jine up 'twell these here hard times come along!” "look like to me them com-moonists is the only ones sho' nuf wants to play fair wid you," put in a third whose drawl over fifteen winters among swiftly speaking north- erners could not quicken. "they ain't no diff'rent ’n the rest!" asserted another. "jes' wants use you like them others—ain't no diff'rence!” "i ain't trustin' none of 'em!” avowed the fifth, a wiry, sharp-featured fellow. "they ain't givin' a damn 'bout us! only way we gwine git somep’n is git fo' our damned selves!” sam breathed easier. even if they did ignore his "no profanity” sign, at least they were not leaving. just then the boy shuffled in. sam raised a finger to his lips and beckoned. "did you find 'em?” he whispered. “sure," answered the boy and grinned. “they's both drunk!” sam lost his religion. he swore with the complete abandon of any child of satan, and doubled the quantity and quality as a lean-faced, sprucely dressed fellow peered through the o canaan! window and walked in. here was a new—a new-customer, and jack whitney drunk! "pardon me," said the young man, "but i saw these men waiting and the empty chair. i wondered whether you needed any help.” sam looked him over keenly and noted the oblong tin box under his arm. "is you a barber, sho' nuf?” he demanded eagerly. "ef you is, git a coat out’n that back room there an' git to work! ef you's all right, the job's yo's!” "okay!” the young man was at his post in so short a time that sam nodded his approval. so animated and engrossing had their argument become that the waiting men had not noticed what had occurred. "what's yo' name, young feller?” whispered sam. "paul-paul johnson.” "got a license?" paul shook his head fearfully. “that's all right-i'll fix that,” said sam, and bawled: "next!” the men looked up, too surprised to speak. "who's next, gentlemen?” smiled paul. “who all's this?” demanded jeff jackson, nodding a matted head at paul. "mr johnson, my new barber," announced sam. "listen here, cummins," growled big jeff, eying paul meanwhile, “i come in here to git a haircut an' i ain't wantin' to git messed up next do' to sunday! i looks bad nuf as 'tis!” “uh-huh! i bin tellin' jeff he's a ugly soul!” guffawed one of the men. "now he done come right out wid it!” the others joined in the merriment at jeff's expense, but paul held his face impassive. “just a second, mister," he said in a conciliatory tone. . o canaan! "i'll strike a bargain with you. if i fail to suit you i'll give you the price of a haircut and shave as compensation." "doggone! listen at 'im talk!” roared jeff, turning to his friends. “sound like one o' them there schoolboys—though he don't look no ways triflin'. . . . all right, schoolboy, do yo' stuff!” jeff lumbered to the chair, and paul adjusted the cloth about his thick neck. "what style, mister?” he asked, poising his clippers. "you's the barber, ain't you?” asked jeff curtly. all eyes were on the operation. paul put aside his clippers immediately after trimming the nape of jeff's neck. from then on he used the scissors and comb exclusively. his maneuvers were expert; there was no waste nor inaccuracy in the rapid snip-snip of the scissors. "doggone ef he don't use them snippers jes' like jack!” declared the protagonist of communism. the others nodded their agreement. "how's that?” paul held a small mirror to the back of jeff's head. "you's all right, ain't you, schoolboy?” approved jeff. "see what you kin do wid these here sprouts.” as paul lowered him into shaving position jeff admon- ished: "now i ain't got but one neck, schoolboy! an' mind out 'bout them hair bumps." paul smiled and with tweezers began to extricate the hidden curls of hair beneath the bumps. : "ow!” howled jeff. “what you tryin' do, schoolboy- kill me?" his cronies slapped their thighs in appreciation of his discomfit. "you see,” explained paul, “your hair grows in a spiral- unlike the prismatic growth of the yellow and white men. o canaan! whitney swung about to ease the pressure. but paul jerked the whole arm upward until the hand nearly met the back of the man's pudgy neck. whitney sagged to his knees. "you got enough?" demanded paul. "y-yeah! lemme up!” yelled the man. paul released him and backed away. in a flash the man whipped out a razor and lunged. but jeff jackson was faster. he seized whitney's wrist and slowly squeezed. the muscles of his bare right arm bunched and writhed as he lifted whitney's until the man was on tiptoe. the paralyzed fingers of the latter unclasped and paul picked up the razor which clattered to the floor. "let him go, mister!” he bade. jeff complied, and paul collared whitney and pinned him to the wall. "now listen, you!” he grated. “the next time you come around here with that kind of stuff i'm going to break your damned back! understand?” he shook the wilted man. whitney nodded, gasping. "get going!” paul shoved him toward the door. "schoolboy, you's all right!” jeff gave paul a resounding thump on the chest. "thanks for the help, mister," said paul warmly and ex- tended his hand. "jeff's the name," said the other and took the proffered hand in his rough palm. he grinned down at paul, who was certain that he'd made a friend worth having. part iv rock in a weary land ... ... an' i'm a-climbin' up the rough side o' the moun- tain, chillun ... but i ain't a-gittin' no-ways tired ... 'cause i done come through the howlin' wilderness ...'cause i done sot my eyes on the mo’nin' star ... 'cause i kin rest on the rock-in-a-weary-land . . . 'cause i'm gonna cross over jordan into canaan! an' all you what b'lieves in the worth o' prayer-pray fo' me!” "don't be foolish, essie!” connie laid the yellow check on a stand beside the divan and rose to go. she threw a swift glance about the room and frowned. gone was the opulence of its former days. though all was cleanliness, all was shabbiness as well, from the moth-eaten velour of the chairs to the mended lace of the curtains. down the center of the high ceiling a stained crack had crept, while in one corner a portion of paper had peeled. a faint odor of smoke clung to everything "i'd advise that you take out some insurance," continued connie, ignoring her sister's sullen air; "then if you have another fire you'll be covered. i'm willing to pay half until you're able to take care of it yourself. dad does enough to keep coal in and to pay for the light and gas.” connie waited for an answer, but essie maintained her silence. "name of god, essie!” ejaculated the elder sister im- patiently. “don't be so stubborn! it's dreadful the way you've acted these last two years! you might at least have acknowledged the birth announcement of mae's baby. ... and here lem has been sick for two months and you haven't o canaan! "what's the matter-do i look that bad?” the young man suddenly smiled. again essie felt that shiver. "n-no—i mean-yes, i'm miss benson!” blurted essie, and she was immediately impatient with her confusion. "well, i'm paul johnson," informed the young man. "mr cummins, the barber for whom i started working yester- day, told me to come see you about a room. but you looked so—so young, i thought i was at the wrong house." "oh, come in!” essie swung open the door and led him into the sitting room. "you're from back east, aren't you?" she hazarded, in- dicating a chair for him. "yes. how did you know?” paul squinted his admiration of her comeliness. "oh, i could tell.” she smiled. "great day in the morning!” exclaimed paul to himself. "what a gal! what a gal! this place is strictly the play." aloud he said: "i hope that won't be held against me, miss benson. how about the room?" "the room? oh yes—the room.” essie had forgotten about the room. pressing her lips impatiently, she assumed a businesslike air. "i do have a room, but i don't know whether you'd like it. come on—i'll let you judge for yourself.” he took full advantage of the opportunity to gaze at her lithe figure as he followed her up the stairs. “what a gal,” he told himself again. “last week one of the roomers went to bed drunk-and with a lighted cigar,” divulged essie on the way. "i don't suppose he'll do that any more," ventured paul humorously. "nope," assured essie with grim irony. “he died yesterday of the burns. do you smoke in bed?” "not any more!" ejaculated paul. o canaan! "i thought you wouldn't like it,” she said, noticing his frown as they looked at the room. : "oh yes!” he smiled quickly. "i was just thinking how closely you resemble someone i know.” “wife?” essie held her breath. he laughed and shook his head. "do i look like a married man?" "well, you never know ..." “i'll probably never marry,” he said bumptiously and in- stantly regretted the utterance. "i-i-i mean—well ..." "you mean you'll probably never marry!” her teeth showed teasingly. “well, what about it?” "maybe someday when i have enough dough to support a wife and kids i'll — " "i'm talking about the room.” again her teeth gleamed. “what? oh, the room ... it's swell! i'll take it. how much?” "aren't you going to look at it?" she laughed. “we can't afford to paint it yet awhile." “how much?” demanded paul impatiently. "five dollars a week.” "okay.” he handed her a bill. "i have another mattress—a little old, but clean. you mind helping me with it?" "show me where it is, and i'll bring it up myself.” "wait a minute,” she advised. “you'd better change into some old clothes—it's pretty dusty in the cellar.” "all right," agreed paul. “i'll bring my bags in from the car. by the way do you have any place i can keep it?" "there are two garages in the back that haven't been used in years,” she informed him. "two?” paul looked his surprise. "you mean to tell me that you and your folks used to have two cars?” he did not like the smile that played upon her lips as she answered cryptically and with a shrug: o canaan! "times change, you know!” "i know it's none of my business," he said quietly with his eyes full upon hers, "but you ought never to twist your lips like that—you're too nice to look at to be spoiling it all with that— " "say, you're a fast worker, aren't you, mr johnson?” essie's face hardened, and her eyes grew sharp. "nope. i just mean what i said,” he answered more quietly and descended to his car. she felt repulsed and a little mean, and she vaguely resented the feeling. "suppose you change in my room," she suggested when he returned with the suitcases. she opened the door for him. then she remembered that her pocketbook was on the dresser. hesitating a moment, she entered the room. "excuse,” she said, “i'd like to get my handkerchief.” she snatched the purse and beat a hasty retreat. he had a beautiful pair of shoulders, she thought, and, stripped to the waist, as he had been when she entered, he reminded her of that leopard she'd seen pacing his cage out at brookfield- he was just that lean. he quickly rejoined her in a pair of worn trousers and a frayed shirt. with a queer grin which somehow threw her into a state of discomfiture he locked the door and handed her the key. "i–i didn't mean to be rude," she said, descending the stairs ahead of him. "think nothing of it,” he answered easily. "after all, i am a total stranger to you—as yet.” she wondered how his face looked as he added the last, peculiarly emphasized words. during their rummaging about the celler, paul unearthed a pair of tennis rackets, each encased in a rubberized bag and clamped in braces. he discontinued his dusting of the mattress and examined them. "say, who plays the tennis?” he balanced one and o canaan! she broke off to resume tucking the sheets. paul did not press questions upon her, for he guessed she had almost touched upon a point that was unpleasant to her. "i'll take you out to the park and trim you some sunday when i'm not too busy,” she offered after the pause. "you and who else?” he replied, assuming a mock polite- ness of tone. he nearly laughed, for he had had three years of varsity play. “i won't need any help,” she informed him just as politely. "oh yeah!” his lip curled. "ah-ah!” she teased. “remember what you told me a while ago?” "okay.” he accepted the jibe. “but i still say: you and who else!” she finished the bed and beckoned him with a derisive finger to the door of her room. she entered, rummaged about for a few minutes and returned with a tarnished loving cup a foot high. "that, my good mr johnson, is one of the few tokens of my tennis prowess," she informed him icily. "and these” -she dumped a heap of medals upon her palm-"are a few lesser trophies!” "i salute you!” he bowed stiffly from the hips. “and now, miss benson, may i take the liberty to inquire: so what?" "just that you couldn't beat me a set if you tried until you grew a beard!” flared essie, and wondered at herself meanwhile. here she had just met him ... "if i were to supply the balls, miss benson, would you be so kind as to allow me to test my meager skill against your superb ability upon the clay courts?” he repeated his mocking bow. "with pleasure, mr johnson!” she curtsied just as mock- ingly. he laughed suddenly, and she joined him. it was the first o canaan! real, wholehearted laugh she had indulged in for a long time . . . a long time. "say, how did we get into that?” she exclaimed. "i don't know," he said gayly, "but we're in it! what do you say to next sunday afternoon?” "it's a go,” came her ready agreement. "and i'll give you that racket if you beat me two out of three sets. but if i beat you, you treat me to dinner.” "okay! dinner . . . that reminds me—i'm starved!” “how'd you like to help me get dinner downstairs?" she offered quickly, and again she wondered at her forwardness. "you're a fast worker, miss benson!” he said, tongue in cheek. "oh well, now, if you're going to be like that ..." she stiffened. "think nothing of it, lady—think nothing of it!” he soothed. “just lead me to the kitchen!" "um ... say, lady, did anybody ever tell you that you can really lay something into a chicken?” paul dropped the bone he had stripped and dabbed up the last of the gravy on his plate. he slouched lazily in his chair and licked his fingers. "how much do i owe you?” "you just scrape up enough for that dinner next sunday," replied essie. “besides, it's been rather enjoyable having com- pany to eat with. dad's so seldom at home on sundays." "i understand,” said paul. “i used to get tired of eating in restaurants when i was in new york.” "tell me about harlem,” requested essie. "is it really like everybody says? my sister ..." "your sister, you were saying,” prompted paul, squinting at her intently. o canaan! "tell me about harlem,” she said, looking away. "oh, there's nothing to it.” paul's voice became cynical. "nothing but a lot of colored folks jammed together in one spot, like a-like a bunch of blowflies on a piece of rotten meat." "my stomach, mr johnson-please!” essie grimaced. "forgive it.” he bent his small head toward her and gave her one of his intent looks. “suppose you tell me about your- self. you and your father live here all alone?" "sure-except for some roomers. what about it?” she was on the defense. "nothing, only ... these roomers—are there any women?” "no women for me. all men, four pullman porters," she told him while she eyed him curiously. "you mean to say that you live in this house with nothing but men?" ejaculated paul. "what's so remarkable about it?” she demanded. “my father's here." "but your father isn't here often. mr cummins says that he's a-he works on the railroad.” "you needn't look like that!” she rapped out. "i know what you're thinking! well, it may interest you to know that i can take care of myself-been doing so since i was knee high! and if you have any crazy ideas in your head you can take your things and get out! and here's your money!” she flung the bill he had given her across the table. "whew! just like that!” paul smiled easily and noted the ruddiness that now deepened beneath the brown of her skin. "listen, lady, i don't have the first idea! now let's not spoil our dinner. suppose we wash the dishes. i'll dry them.” his calm put her to shame. "i'm sorry," she said in a quieter tone and bit her lip, impatient that he could make her feel at all. and she had to o canaan! "i know someone from the eastern shore,” she said after he had finished. she told him about jane saunders “she sounds interesting,” said paul. “i'd like to meet her.” "well, she's—very busy,” stammered essie. she had avoided the nurse and milburn since the episode at court. conscious of her confusion, paul didn't push the subject further. this little brown was a peculiar one, he decided. but, peculiar or not, to him she was a lovely thing ...a lovely thing. every ounce was in its proper place, he also noted while she moved about the kitchen. why, she made babe look like a scarecrow! fickle young huntsman ... "put the dishes in that cupboard, will you?" she requested as she went to answer the timid ring of the doorbell. her face was as changeable as march weather, he judged, for impatience was now clearly stamped upon it. he hurriedly stowed away the dishes and sauntered through the hall. he was curious to know who had caused her to frown so. essie called him into the sitting room. “this is mr brown,” she said, "who is assistant pastor at my church.” paul took ronnie's hand and wondered that a man's could be so soft. through the screen door he sighted a big shiny car parked behind his. the contrast made him grin. he lifted his brows in secret mirth. "well, i guess that's that!” he told himself while he washed and dressed. "thought you were a little too lucky, paulie.” he watched them drive off and finished his dressing feeling somewhat chagrined. paul gathered much about essie and the benson family from the talkative sam cummins that week during idle periods. "yep,” said the little barber in the course of one recital, “joe benson fo’got his god, an' the lawd showed him o canaan! somep’n, sho' nuf, jes' like i told 'im. 'tain't no use tryin' fo’git yo' jesus, suh! plague on ef you don't wind up like cotton when the weevil hit it! i told joe and maggie dawson the same thing. now maggie done got some sense in 'er haid-got so she 'tends church reg'lar an' keeps in the path. but joe, he don't never come no mo'. you cain't buck the lawd-nawsuh!” sam indulged in one of his many flights of biblical eloquence: "the sins o' the father comes down on the chilluns too. that youngest boy o'joe's went to runnin' wid all kinds o' womens an' the lawd smought ’im down in the flower of 'is youth. an’now that lem what used talk 'bout colored folks spendin' too much time an' money in church done gone an' got the consumption-an' the lawd gwine take 'im 'way from here, sho's you's bo’n to die. you cain't buck the lawd! an' you bes' not mess none wid his chilluns—nawsuh!” with his tuft of white hair and pinched face, sam looked like a weazened prophet rejoicing in the fulfillment of a prophecy, mused paul. "i thought you and joe benson were such great friends," he reminded sam. “we is!” avowed sam quickly. "an' they ain't a better man, 'cep'n his religion, than joe benson! i ain't sayin' nothin' agin him—what i is sayin' is you cain't fo’git yo' jesus! i'd say the same thing to my brother. that's what wrong wid you young folks today—you done fo’git yo' jesus!” sam was an adamant isaiah. "no, i ain't got nothin' agin the man pussnally, y'under- stand,” he continued. "hadn't bin fo' him i wouldn't be up here today. an' i 'spect bathsheba wouldn't be the church she is, 'twarn't fo' joe benson. by the way, you wants to git essie to bring you over next sunday. you oughta hear that gal play a organ!” sam lifted his eyes rapturously. o canaan! "she plays the organ?” paul remembered the piano in the sitting room. "i mean she do!” attested sam. "i'm a-tellin' you, when that gal feel right ain't nobody in the world kin beat 'er! make you think you's right in heaven!” "i'll be over,” said paul. "that's right, son," counseled sam, "don't you let the city git you 'way from the church.” "i'll be there every sunday!” sam looked at him and grinned. "uh-uh!” he grunted knowingly. "now ain't no use o' you tryin' to co't her! the rev.'s son-he second pastor; we got two, you know—the rev.'s son got his eye on her. bin sot on 'er sense they warn’t more ’n chilluns." i him and growingly. "now and pastor; we during the week paul met joe and the four lodgers, and he smiled at the thought which had come to him when essie told him about the latter. the four could have been quadruplets, he decided, if their shuffling gaits, servile old faces and bodies could link them. they were nothing like joe, paul had decided, for though his meeting with essie's father had been a casual one in the hall, he had been at once impressed by the great stature and bearing of the man. he was still a king, even though dethroned, thought paul. "you's sho' in a nice place,” one of the lodgers, zack moton, informed him one morning when the two made themselves acquainted. he had warmed to paul because of the young man's patient interest in his recital. "i'll come in an' git you to cut my hair,” he offered. he chuckled as he patted his shiny pate. and he did, bringing his three friends with him. "yes,” he expanded without coaxing from paul, “this here gal sho' takes care of you. gives you plenty covers in the "so you wants to go in business, eh?" joe lighted his cheap cigar and surveyed paul through a cloud of smoke. they had just finished their sunday break- fast and paul was helping essie with the dishes. "yes sir," answered paul. “always did want to be my own boss, even as a kid. and i guess i like the idea of handling money-my own money.” "it's a great game, son,” mused joe, raking his hair in his characteristic gesture. "i reckon sam done told you 'bout me?” he chuckled as paul nodded. “ole sam swear the lawd done smacked me down 'cause i done wrong. but 'tain't so, son; business is business, an' the slick feller gits ahead. when he stop bein' slick he gits a kick in the pants, that's all. reckon that what happen to me. ... what kind o'business you want try? barber?” "no sir," replied paul thoughtfully. "i want to sell - doesn't make much difference to me what it is, so long as people want it and buy it.” "you done had trainin', ain't you? that's what essie told me.” "so, you've been talking about me?” teased paul to essie. o canaan! "merely passing conversation, mister!” she retorted. "mought o' bin passin',” chuckled joe, heaving to his feet, "but it sho' didn't sound like that to me! sound like you an' her done chewed up a whole lot o'rag." "dad!” protested essie. "well, that what it sound like,” persisted joe, ruffling her hair. "told me mo' 'bout you, young feller, than i ever heard 'bout other squirts what used to run after her- cludin' ronnie." he gave one of his huge laughs, then looked keenly at paul. “she's a good gal, boy, an' i don't know what i'd do 'thout 'er.” he started to trudge out, but pused to smile down on them. “hope you 'joys yo' game after church. don't let 'er beat you, young feller, 'cause ef she do you'll never hear the last of it! i'm goin' round to see lem an'connie. you be by today, daughter?” "tell them i'll be past sometime during the week,” lied essie. "all right. i go out tonight, so i reckon i won't see you all no mo''twell sometime in the week. have a good time, now." "he certainly has a lot of guts,” voiced paul when joe had gone. "if i'd lost as much as sam says he lost, i guess i'd have jumped in the river.” essie nodded. “yes,” she said, "but it worries him, though he tries to conceal it. and all the time he's out on the road i'm wondering if that heart of his will hold up.” "pshaw!” disparaged paul lightly. "he's just like my grand- father-hard as a pine knot. my brother booker often says that they don't make that kind any more. and i guess he's right. you don't have to worry about your dad—he can take it. come on. it's about time for us to be getting to church, isn't it?" it was the first sunday morning in june, and the day promised to be one of those ideal ones of abundant sun'with just enough breeze from the lake to moderate the heat. o canaan! "sho' do miss you at the shop,” she said warmly. "co’se i'm glad you's makin' more ’n you was. things is pickin' up agin, gal. who's this here?” essie presented paul, who received maggie's instant ap- proval. "uh-huh!” she chuckled slyly at essie. “look like the young rev. gone have trouble, eh?” essie laughed off the hint, but paul, watching her closely, thought her eyes sparkled brighter. "you all come round an' see me sometime," offered maggie while paul handed her (to her delight) up the steps. "i'm over on vincennes still—you knows the house, essie. tell yo' pappy i missed him this week. i'll be lookin' fo' you, now." and she was conducted into the auditorium by a bridegroom- like usher. "i'll see you later,” essie told paul. “hope you enjoy the show.” when he was settled into his seat paul was astounded by the vastness of the circular interior. its design was a mixture of gothic and byzantine with flying balconies and embossed ceiling of gold and silver. with the exception of two panels, one on either side of it, the rostrum stretched the entire breadth of the auditorium, the floor of which dropped gradually from front to back, like that of a theater. the portions of wall space to the left and right of the platform held depictions of the baptism and ascension of the christ, whose features were definitely negroid, as were those of the angels and cherubim. at the back of the white-draped pulpit and the high-backed chairs of choicest wood and workings were the three sections of the choir. above this was a glass- enclosed baptismal pool with a painted river running down the wall to suggest to the highly imaginative the river jordan. to the right of the pulpit a large grand piano of o canaan! the minister was a dapper, light brownskin who walked with a peacock's strut. from his diction, paul knew that the rev. mr brown, sr had been exposed to excellent training in his sacred calling. but the reverend knew his congregation and its needs. he threw training to the winds after his intro- ductory remarks on the theme of the samson and delilah episode. he rose to dramatic heights when he suited actions to words and illustrated the famous strong boy's walking away with the gates of a city; one could almost see samson straining at the very hinges. his language and examples also were made significantly concrete with what he called "down- home" and "cornfield” expressions familiar to his flock in their original southern pastures. after each climactic utter- ance which brought fervent outbursts from his congregation, but which were lost on paul, he would breath in an exhausted and laborious manner: "ah, god!” “pray with me, children!” “why don't you say amen?" "ride on with me, children!” and numerous others were his stock in trade. they never failed to raise the temperature of the flock, paul observed. all in all, it was a deluge of words, gestures and intonations well calculated to bring about the desired effect upon the sin-ridden ones who heard it. to the zealous religionist it was another sound thrashing which satan had absorbed. after this morning course of their weekly spiritual nourishment the rank emotionalism gave way to affairs of a more practical nature. the clerk, a finely bedecked lady with a clear, carrying voice, read the notices of the day and week: the church's employment agency had jobs to dispense; the day nursery was available for working mothers, free of charge; sister so-and-so had some discarded clothes which might be had by any needy member; sister maggie dawson's restaurant was being renovated to accommodate a larger patronage; brother tate's funeral parlor was offering re- o canaan! an agreement we could make with the owners. and here's what the rabbi told me these are his exact words, and i know that what he said was true, because at the time brother benson was one of our leading realtors. here's what he said: ‘reverend brown, we've had offers from a leading manu- facturing concern that wants this building you contracted to buy. they offered us a fourth more in cash than you are paying, but i told them that we do not want an edifice which we dedicated to our god to be used for any other purpose.' now those are his very words! why don't you say amen?” "amen! amen!” "and the rabbi let us set our own payments at the lowest rate of interest! now ain't that fair? you know any so- called christians who would do the same thing?" he glared at them. "now, children, you know what you're going to do for me this morning? you're going to dig down in your jeans and give me that money right now! let the choir sing as the ushers serve you!" the collection was taken with a precision that made paul stare. at the conclusion of the hymn twelve of the ushers marched down the middle aisle with laden wastebaskets, and the pastor smiled upon his willing givers. after the obsery- ance of the sacrament ritual, doxology was sung, the choir marched out, and essie joined paul as the congregation be- came a noisy rabble. "do you mean to tell me that he got the amount he asked for?” demanded paul skeptically. "he'll have more than that after the night's services,” de- clared essie. “come on, let's get out of here before ronnie finds me—i gave his ring back to him this morning before services began." paul looked at her sharply, but she kept her face averted. he smiled and said, to change the subject: "you know, i could take that preacher, a brass band and o canaan! enough bright uniforms, and lead my people anywhere i wanted them to go!” "there's no use in your frettin'," laughed paul. “just relax and save your energy—you'll need it!” essie sniffed. “these chumps always hog the courts," she retorted impatiently. "there's no telling when we'll get on!” clad in white ducks, sweat shirt and low-cut tennis shoes, paul lounged with her on one of the benches along the high wire fence enclosing the white-marked courts. to their right, just beyond the cars shunting swiftly up and down the boulevard, piles of rugged rocks bulwarked the strand against the blue-green waters of michigan which gleamed in the mid- afternoon sunlight. "do you swim?" asked paul. she was standing wide-legged between him and the sun, and he marked the trim lines of her figure through the thin white divided skirt and loosely fitting blouse. "with all that beautiful water,” he added, "you ought to.” "sure, i swim," she replied. “come on, there's a match ending on the center court.” "let's take a few dives after we finish here,” he suggested. "you have shorts on under your skirt— " "you're too fresh!” she snapped, but smiled. “you'd better concentrate on your tennis. if you've enough left in you after i'm through shellacking you, maybe we'll take a dip.” "you're a cocky snip!” he grinned. “just for that crack i'm going to beat you a love set right off the reel!” "you better say maybe!” she retaliated, her little jaw set at a stubborn angle. “here, fish, see what you can do with this!” they were on opposite sides of the net and she smashed one over that nearly turned his racket. she laughed as the ball skewed into the net. o canaan! "love set my eye!” she jeered. paul smiled. he knew her style now-a smashing, volleying game all the way. he knew, also, just the dose for that, but he gave no indication while they went through a lengthy period of warming up. he volleyed along with her, gripping his racket tighter as the force of her forearm drives in- creased. "toss for the service, fish!” she ordered finally, coming to the net. "back east, 'fish' means 'chump,'” said paul as he care- lessly twirled his racket to the ground and she won. “i sup- pose the term has the same meaning out here, eh?” "you guessed it, mister!” she grinned. “if you know any prayers, start saying 'em!” “okay, lady,” he rejoined calmly, "i'm practically on my knees now!” “ready, fish?” she called from her stance on the back line. “service, my little minnow!” retorted paul. the ball was a white blur that zipped across the net and caromed off the ground at an angle. paul's racket sliced the air in a vicious chop stroke, and the sphere barely topped the ribbon to skim in a short six-inch double bounce. though she shot forward desperately, essie was too late. "oh, so that's your game?” she panted angrily. "why don't you play a man's game?” "because i'm playing a female minnow!” grinned paul, unruffled by the taunt. anticipating his action, essie made for the net on the next service, but paul, as though reading her mind, volleyed a hard angle shot to her backhand which she missed by feet. "oh, you!” cried essie. she dropped her racket and glared at him. paul laughed. he was not even breathing hard. the battle waxed grimly from that point on in silence except for the dull twang of racket meeting ball. sensing the o canaan! intensity of the rivalry on the center court and appreciating the finesse of the play, other singles and doubles opponents abandoned their matches to form a gallery. some of the girls and women knew essie and gave her cheers whenever she made a particularly brilliant shot. the men, cognizant of a chance for fun, formed a partisan group for paul. many were the jibes that passed back and forth between the two factions. paul made good his threat and took the first set six-love, though essie threatened all the way. "got enough?” he asked as they paused to change sides. essie's response was a black look. "serve up!” she snarled. paul admired her tenacity; he eased his play to such an extent that she won four straight games. “what's the matter-can't you take it?" she taunted. her gallery cheered vociferously. "pin his ears back, essie!" called one pretty cream-colored rooter. “the big brute!” paul waved his racket at the fair one and winked. and now did these two lithe brown youngsters battle furiously. every point was contested with bitter, tight-lipped grim- ness. but paul, his male stamina standing him in good stead, prevailed. slowly he whittled essie's lead until the count stood five-all. the gallery was intensely quiet. the count went to seven-all; still essie refused to yield. finally paul broke essie's service, and the count stood eight-seven in his favor. "here you go!” he called. previously during the match he had used a simple cut service. now he shifted to a reverse that bounced low and hard on essie's backhand. unaccustomed to it, essie, who was feeling the effect of her long absence from the game, drove the ball tiredly into the net four times in succession. the match was over, and she sank to the ground even as the o canaan! things don't suit you, down drops your lip—like it's doing now! who do you think you are? why, you— " "let me alone, will you!” essie sprang from the car and barely missed being hit as she dodged through traffic to the lake side of the thoroughfare. paul locked the car and leisurely followed. "suppose you wait until you've cooled off before jumping into that cold water,” he said when he had made his way to the spot where she was discarding her skirt and shoes. "you'll catch cramps if you don't.” "go chase yourself!” she snapped and took a running dive. she was as graceful in the water as she had been on the court, he observed. that overarm stroke came only after much practice. shivering, he followed, wading. holy smoke! the water was cold. ... his teeth were chattering when he caught up with her. "so you can't take it!” she taunted, and splashed him un- mercifully. then she ducked out of sight and came up at a distance of twenty yards from him. "come on, sissy!” she jeered. “swim!” scowling, he plunged in and chased her. unmindful of the distance they had traveled from the shore, they disported themselves until a warning whistle shrilled. when they veered about, her face reflected her dismay. "what's the matter?” asked paul quickly, treading water. "nothing!” she gasped and sank. when she rose he grabbed her by the shirt and held her head above the water. “let me go!” she gurgled, and lashed at him. the anger vein welled in his forehead, and he smacked her smartly. her eyes widened, and she ceased struggling. "grab my shoulders and keep still!” he ordered. she obeyed meekly, while he pulled for the shore. in a few min- utes she could wade, and he half carried her to the sand. o canaan! wing "i know you've wondered where i work,” she said as paul turned into the street. “well, i'll give you a chance to see. only”—she looked mysterious—"you must keep your mouth shut. and don't be surprised at anything you see. here we are.” paul followed her down a dark, foul-smelling alley which ran abruptly into the tin side of what appeared to be a large garage. "what are you-a night mechanic?” whispered paul, tittering "no, a machinist," she corrected and laughed noiselessly. they had come to a doorway lighted by a single bulb. she signaled by rapping twice. a slot opened in the door, and a pair of eyes examined them briefly. a bar scraped, and essie led paul through the opened door. the hulking possessor of the sharp eyes climbed from his stool to advance on paul. "he's okay, thug," said essie. "uh-huh,” grunted the man. nevertheless, he patted paul from ankles to shoulders. “okay!” he said gruffly, pulling a lever. a ponderous door slid on oiled rollers and paul squinted in his amazement. the high-ceilinged, raftered enclosure into which they stepped had been a garage of immense proportions, paul judged, for the concrete floor, over which discarded remnants of theater seats were rowed, still bore dark grease spots. along the left, from the entrance, was a long narrow space occupied by machinery and workbenches of the former garage. it was now manned by a motley crew who appeared to be setting type and preparing a series of small printing apparatuses for action. along the right wall, across the width of the place, stretched a section of three screened cages. down its entire length ran a high counter where girls, all o canaan! of the work. the nondescript crew moved with efficiency equal to a well-organized unit in a legitimate business con- cern. long two-inch rolls of paper were fed to the machines, which printed and cut sets of the announced numbers. as quickly as the machines ejected them, the crew stacked and packed them into suitcases, boxes and other conveyors. paul knew now where all those policy slips of various colors came from that one found in the streets of the south side. paul nodded his appreciation of the printers' adeptness, and one ink-smeared young fellow grinned and winked. regaining his seat, paul once more focused his attention on the counter where essie worked. every so often men and women, whom he guessed to be comparable to runners in new york's number game, hurried to the counter to dump piles of change, bills and policy slips. depression! snorted paul to himself. depression his eye! an hour after the last drawing he was joined by essie, and the crowd departed silently. "i never saw so many colored people together as quiet as that in my life!” exclaimed paul. “why, you'd think that they were working in a bank, or some big business!” "that's just what it is,” smiled essie. "it's where you in- vest and wait for the outcome. you ought to see it some saturday nights and just before holidays! tonight's crowd was a small one.” "it's a sweet racket,” mused paul. "who owns that one?” "my brother-in-law used to run it,” said essie as she stepped into the car and they drifted away. "he gave it up last year, because the risk is getting to be too great. i was going to work in that big department store on forty-seventh, but he offered me twice as much as the store pays.” they were headed for home, but essie told him to take michigan avenue to the north. "i'll show you something to make your eyes pop,” she said, chuckling. “you easterners don't know what it's all about!” o canaan! "you got us back there," agreed paul. “that place would last just about as long as a snowball in hell if they tried it in harlem!” "that's how you make money these days,” she said. “since our folks love to gamble and are always looking for some- thing for nothing, the guys with brains figure they may as well dish out the dough to their own kind. quite a few of these legitimate businesses you see run by us come from the good old wheel!” "it's a pretty fair game, too, isn't it?” "about as fair as any other gamble. at least you get more than one number to shoot at-like in new york.” "i think i'll have a try at the wheel,” said paul quietly. "don't let it try you!” she advised. “turn in here." though the hour was late, the place which they ap- proached was ablaze with light. the entrance looked like that of a theater and was swarming with habitués of the bar at the right. they mounted two flights of broad stone stairs to a narrow green door. a silent, glum-faced fellow accosted them. he made essie open her pocketbook and patted paul swiftly. that this was a wise procedure was attested by the collection of tagged guns, knives and blackjacks pigeonholed in an open case over which the attendant kept guard. satis- fied as to their harmlessness, he let them pass. what paul witnessed now transcended the policy house. they entered a large, glaringly lighted room flanked on either hand by tiers of seats, all occupied by sober-faced men and women holding numbered cards. the center floor space was sectioned into areas for nearly every game of chance known to paul. at individual folding tables sat foursomes; around the walls, faro, wheels and dice held forth. every racial group was represented—slant-eyed, silent mongols; diminutive islanders; pale nordics, from blond to brunette; and, dominating all, the gamut of afro-americana. over- looking the entire assemblage were the vigilant gamekeepers o canaan! "i better not see him if he doesn't have my money!” grated paul grimly. "he's a slicker," informed a loafer. "i won wid him once, an' he swo' 'fo' the lawd he lost my slip. got all bad an' pulled a razor on me, too! i ain't never played nothin' wid him since that " "heah you is, schoolboy!” paul, sam and the waiting customers stared aghast. big jeff sagged against the doorframe, partially supported by a scared-looking taxi driver. the latter hopped into his machine as soon as paul reached jeff's side. "sweet jesus!” cried sam. "he's bloody's a hawg!” . jeff was bloody. a long, cleanly opened cut on his left cheek welled a profuse stream which descended the side of his neck to his hulking chest; this was augmented by a con- stant flow from his nose. another slash in his left arm dripped on the floor. "git a doc!” he ordered, brushing sam aside. paul led him to a seat and tied a handkerchief above the arm wound. "i found 'im!” growled jeff. “son of a bitch won't mess wid nobody else's dough! over on wabash gamblin' wid my money!” he laughed harshly, ignoring his paining lips. "five of 'em up there in a 'partment playin' georgy skin—then come tellin' me 'bout i warn't gwine git my money! hell-fire! tried t kill ever' one of 'em, the bas’ards! reach yo'han' in my pocket, schoolboy. don't know how much they is—took all i could find. ...' the doctor, a young man with a studied professional air, came in briskly and examined jeff's wounds. "h'm ...” he murmured casually, "razor cut, eh? now if you'll be very still, i'll fix you up so that there 'll be as small a scar as possible.” he turned to paul and directed him to hold jeff's head. "don't need nobody to hold my haid!” snorted jeff. o canaan! "you'll pull it through,” she assured him, "because you could pull anything through!” and, leaning against the door, she watched his brisk figure until it was out of sight. two hours later he returned, picked her up and whirled about the shop. "it's all set!” he cried. “we open in april on forty-seventh street—your birthday, miss maggie says, for luck! how ’m i doin'?” the boulevard terrace was a model housing project in the heart of the black belt. financed by a prominent philan- thropist as an experiment, its six-story, articulated buildings of fine brick occupied an entire block. with spacious outer and inner courts artistically landscaped and abundantly scat- tered with trees, shrubbery and play spaces for children, it was a complete community within itself-an oasis in the desert of the surrounding areas, which, like the rest of the south side invaded by the horde, were fast deteriorating into slums. "a’nt lizzie ought to see this,” remarked paul as he and essie entered one of the sunny courts that sunday morning. "yes—but don't take her into the next block!” added essie. connie eagerly opened the door for them. by her side a chubby-faced boy in a sailor suit viewed them with tawny eyes that held the peculiar gravity of childhood before strangers. "don't show any surprise at lem's appearance!” whispered connie hastily to essie. she conducted them into the living room from whence came the sound of a piano. bran, who was strumming the keys when they entered, advanced with outstretched hand to essie. he made no men- tion of her long withdrawal from the family group. o canaan! "you're just in time to help me pick out a piece," he smiled to her, and grasped paul's hand cordially. essie, meanwhile, could scarcely suppress a cry when she saw lem. he was without color, and the veins and bones stood out sharply beneath his transparent skin. but most shocking of all were his eyes. they were already dead; they stared rather than looked at you. "hello, essie,” he whispered, forcing a horrible grin. "glad you finally got around to see me.” he paused for breath and continued with grim humor: "mae's taking me into exile today, sis. aren't you, mae?" mae had come from the rear of the apartment, followed by a delicately brown toddler with blond curls and her plump mother's black eyes. "lawdy me!” cried mae, kissing essie. “here's your aunt essie, rosetta,” she informed the child, who fled to her father. throughout the excellent dinner paul sensed the restraint which stilted the table. he endeavored to offset this by dis- cussing current topics with bran and answering lem's wheezes about harlem. he and essie were teased about marriage; the antics of rosetta while eating afforded pleasantries which under ordinary circumstances would have produced hearty laughter. but the pall remained. it became worse when lem suffered a coughing attack that left him nearly breathless. he shoved his barely touched plate from him in vexation. "no use!” he fretted gloomily. he glared around the table, laughed harshly and painfully, and coughed again. "why don't you say it?” he demanded as sharply as he could. "say you know i'm going out there to die!” a spasm crossed mae's worried face, and she looked plead- ingly at paul. "i wouldn't say that, lem,” said bran quietly. "i wouldn't mind it so much,” whispered lem, "but you're o canaan! all so damned healthy!” he grinned his horrible grin and drank from a brown bottle. it seemed to relieve him, for he continued without so much painful effort, and his tone was derisive. “you and johnson have been trying to dispose of the dictators for fifteen minutes. you shifted from that to this god damned race question, which you tried to solve in twenty minutes! hell! you want me to solve it for you?" he laughed again and coughed. bran tried to stop him, but lem would not listen. "i give you my solution!” he said with as much force as his lungs would permit. “death! that solves everything! it would have solved dad's problem-it solved junior's ... sol's . . . everything, you hear?” another coughing spell left him weak and shaken, but he raged on: "what we need is more plagues! plagues that you and your learned associates, bran, couldn't lick. then you wouldn't have unemployment-no slums! and we ought to have a special plague for us—something worse than what's got me- that would wipe out all these good-for-nothings cluttering up your great civilization all those good-for-nothings i used to put on relief! then you healthy, prosperous people with your fine education and the lords of the earth wouldn't have to worry with us scum! we need a plague- “let's get ready to make the train," interjected mae, biting her lip in anguish. “i believe i'll have a highball after that!” connie dropped wearily into a chair. they had returned from the station, and she sent the children to play in the court. "perhaps we'd better have one all round,” said bran, re- pairing to the kitchen. “we don't have such good breaks with the males of our o canaan! family, do we, connie?” said essie ruefully. "first it was sol, then dad and junior—now it looks like it's lem. ..." "if he would only brace up!” connie made a despairing gesture. “but mae says that all he talks about is death. he's even threatened suicide-says that he doesn't want to be a burden on mae. he had that complex once before—when he didn't have a job. mae certainly has been a brick to stick it out.” connie smiled at paul, who was looking silently out of a window. "'i suppose you think we're a pretty somber lot, mr john- son?" she ventured. "no—no more than any other family," answered paul thoughtfully. "i guess all families have their ups and downs.” he chuckled. "my grandfather has seen so many that he calls life 'these low grounds of sorrow'—he's an old man, too. what do you think of that?” "i think he's got something there!” laughed connie, pick- ing a glass from the tray bran offered. "i don't know," frowned paul. “one's attitude toward life and living depends largely upon the experiences he has, i guess. my grandfather's lived all his days in a section not readily given to change—where the next generation may meet the same handicaps which he and his children have had to face, and where the struggle for existence is just that and nothing more. but out here—i think it's a bit different.” connie's face became ironic. "have you taken mr john- son over on federal and dearborn and into some of the blocks on the other streets below the forties?" she asked essie. "you should have made a few rounds with lem before he became sick!” "and don't leave out miss jane!" put in essie. "i've seen something of what you're hinting,” said paul. "but who's to blame for those people's condition? quite often they are themselves! we are to blame for a lot of our o canaan! own misfortunes. take my case, for instance. it took four years of harlem to knock some silly notions out of my head! and there are thousands of fellows like myself- college-bred, supposedly intelligent, and with abilities, yet they're throwing themselves away-chasing phantoms! they're romanticists instead of being realists, that's the trouble. they want to start big and stay big-scrambling after high-sounding degrees, unwilling to work up in some drudging occupation which supplies the world's needs. then when they wind up as failures they very often hide behind the bugaboo of race! take these people who buy and sup- port huge churches. why, if i could get every negro who puts his money into the church's coffers to put the same amount into a fund to start a producing business—just for one year—that business would employ thousands! what do you think, doctor?”. bran balanced his glass and crossed his legs. "you're half right and half wrong." he smiled quietly. "i've been out here for nearly ten years and have had deal- ings with all kinds of people. to my mind chicago, taken in all its aspects, offers about as fair an opportunity to all its people for advancement as any city i've lived in. the average visitor from the east goes back home with tales of splendor. and he's right as far as he goes. you'll find more businesses run by negroes here than in any other northern city; you'll find finer homes also. but, like any city, ours has its seamy side. it offers you both. it says to the newcomer: 'here are my wares—take what you're strong enough to take and hold. no city can offer more!' and she's right. if you're weak, then you get the weakling's portion, and the other way around. that's the law of life, i've found. so far you're right, johnson— " "but what about the other side?" demanded connie heat- edly. "i don't know whether essie remembers, but i do. we came up here in ’ , and on the train there were folks from o canaan! they's is they's. i ain't never gone set down on 'em-no suh! young'uns got nuf do to take care o' theyselves nowadays.” and he trudged out to his work. maggie shook her head approvingly after him. "there goes a man what is a man, sho'nuf!” she avowed to an indolent helper who leaned upon the idle counter. "he's jes’ like the old song says: 'jes' like a rock in a weary land!'” "yeah, he's a man all right nuf,” mused the indolent one, pursing his lips, "but look like to me he ain't here fo’ long, ef you ask me, big as he is. sometime when he git that short- ness o'breath i swears i done seen him fo' the last time.” "humph!” grunted maggie defensively. "i bet he'll be here when they's pattin' dirt in yo’ face! s'pose you git to work on them ’taters an' stop lookin' like a two-bit gambler!” the shop's trade increased, for mae and connie had pre- vailed upon their colleagues to shift to essie for their mas- sages, waves and manicures. the bank account grew accord- ingly, and essie hired a helper every week end. "things keep on like this, we'll be in the clear by june," she declared to paul one rainy night in april. "say, what's eating you?" she demanded. "aren't you glad to hear what i've just told you?” "miss maggie's decided not to open the tavern,” said paul, his face plainly stamped with disappointment. "i've talked my head off, but she won't see the light. says her business is down and she's afraid to take a chance until things get better. that place on forty-seventh won't be vacant much longer, either. i passed there friday and saw a couple of italians look- ing at it.” he grew more morose, though essie's shop prospered as the weather became warmer. the spot on forty-seventh o canaan! street had been leased and turned into a saloon that did a thriving business. "i told miss maggie that's what would happen!” he fumed to joe. “all because i didn't have the money myself, there goes a swell business up the rainspout!” "you all ain't doin' so bad here," reminded joe. “in a couple o' years you'll have enough so's to have one o' yo' own.” “yeah, maybe!” he said skeptically. in june the big championship prize fight, which was occu- pying more newspaper space than a war in europe, began packing the city with fans from all parts of the country. paul fumed anew at the trade he saw the newly opened saloon enjoy. essie was kept busy from early morning until late at night at her irons and curlers. the south side was preparing to herald the first negro heavyweight champion in over a quarter of a century. lose? why, their boy couldn't lose! what about that fight last year? aw, that was a phony! the barbershop became a clearinghouse for opinions, and woe to the dissenter who strayed from the universal belief that "the idol of his people” would win. you had big jeff jackson to "whup” if you did stray. paul's ears wearied of listening to the daily wrangling that waxed hotter as the night of the battle neared. “you want to see a sight?” asked essie when paul came home that evening. she had closed the shop because cus- tomers had stopped abruptly after seven o'clock. "cheer up!" she coaxed. “i reached a new high in receipts today. come on, i'm going to show you how chicago cele- brates. dad's already around to the jacksons-he and jeff are going to listen in together on jeff's new radio that he bought just for tonight.” and she dragged him forth despite his protests. a peculiar tenseness gripped the south side. when they reached forty-seventh and south parkway the air was o canaan! his even as another spasm raged through her, and tears of remorse mingled with the sweat. through the night, alone they suffered until it was over in a veritable crescendo of travail that left her tortured young body quivering even after the agony had passed away and she knew rest. joe noticed their subdued manner, though they had put on a good show of their appreciation for his securing dan's backing for the tavern. however, when their laughter be- came more infrequent and their countenances more brood- ing, joe looked questioningly at them. he was startled to find that within a few weeks paul had developed a streak of gray down in the center of his small head and that essie no longer hummed at her work. they were at early supper two sundays later, just prior to joe's leaving for his run. all during the meal the burden of conversation had been upon him. essie had barely touched her plate, while paul's eating had been mechanical, as though his mind were fixed on some far event. "well, son," remarked joe, "look like you gone open up next sat’dy-leastways that what dan says.” “yeah . . ." said paul absently. “i mean, yes sir!” he cor- rected. “business picked up this week, didn't it, essie?” joe shifted as paul fell into his apathy again. essie nodded. “twice as much as last week,” she mur- mured. joe pushed back his chair, eying them humorously as he did so. "i sho' will be glad when that young 'un gits here,” he chuckled, pulling on his coat. "i bet, doggone, you all won't have no time to be lookin' so sad then! i mind when sol was comin' ” may - university of michigan bookshop e. th st new york, n. y: the hindered hand sutton elbert griggs -s cecil e, harfm , p % "princes shall come out of egypt; ethiopia shall soon stretch out her hands unto god." the hindered hand: or, the reign of the repressions. by sutton e. griggs. third edition-revised. nashville, tenn.: thb orion pcblishino company'. . copyrighted by the orion publishing company nashville, tenn. . cecil e, harris, p. . no. obryon st dedication. to a devoted father, of rugged strength of char- acter, and, withal, pre-eminently a man of peace, and to a loving mother, ever tender and serene of soul— to these twin moulders of the hearthside, who have ever been anxious that their children should contribute naught but what is good to the world, this volume is most affectionately dedicated by their son, the author. ( ) books by sutton e. griggs. 'imperium in imperio." "overshadowed." "unfettered." "the hindered hand." fc> fe/ solemnly attested. upon a matter of such tremendous importance to the american people as is the subject herein treated, it is perhaps due our readers to let them know how much of fact disports itself through these pages in the garb of fiction. we beg to say that in no part of the book has the author consciously done violence to conditions as he has been permitted to view them, amid which conditions he has spent his whole life, up ^ to the present hour, as an intensely absorbed ob- server. ^ if in any of these pages the reader comes across ^ that which puts him in a mood to chide, may the i author not hope that the wrath aroused be not wasted upon the inconsequential painter, but di- j rected toward the landscape that forced the brush into his hand, stretched the canvas, and shouted <a in irresistible tones: "write!" very respectfully, sutton e. griggs. nashville, tenn., may, . ( l illustrations. by robert e. bell. "the young woman looked into his face" - ''her pretty brown eyes nestling"... - "name me as i was named" - "the rock battle was now on" - "what do they take me to be" -s "what have you done?" - "yer air jes' a plain, orternary liah" - "poor bud, her helpless husband" i ' "to and fro the two men swayed" - "is it a crime for me?" ' -i "i have tellerphoned 'round the world" - "she made a flag of truce" - "don't circumscribe the able, noble souls" - "we machine men in the south" . "ensal bent forward and kissed tiara" - ( ) contents. page. chapter i. occurrences that puzzle chapter ii. his face was her guide chapter iii. wherein foresta first appears. t chapter iv. the ways of a seeker after fame chapter v. rather late ix life to be still nameless chapter vi. friendly enemies chapter vii. officers of the law chapter viii. a messenger that hesitates chapter ix. a plotter is ue chapter x. arahelle seakright chapter xi. unusual for a man chapter xii. a honeymoon oi l' of the usual order chapter xiii. shrewd mrs. crawford chapter xiv. alene and ramon chapter xv. unexpected developments chapter xvi. an eager searcher chapter xvii. peculiar divorce proceedings chapter xviii. > ists that vanish. ? c ) contents. chapter xix. page. the fugitives flee again chaptek xx. the blaze chapter xxi. planning to act chaptek xxii. the two pathways chaptfk xxiii. they grapple chaptek xxiv. out of joint with his times ns chapter xxv. a joyful farewell chapter xxvi. gus martin chapter xxvii. tiara mystifies us chapter xxviii. poor fellow! chapter xxix. a revelation chapter xxx. mr. a. hostility chapter xxxi. two of a kind chapter xxxii. working and waiting chapter xxxiii. back in ai.maville chapter xxxi". a great >ay in court chapter xxxv. eunice! eunice! - chapter xxxvi. enthusiastic john blue , chapter xxxvii. postponing his shout op triumph chaptek xxxviii. he cannot, but he does! chapter xxxix. a son of the new south chapter xl. sorrow an > gladness tuning the lyre. in the long ago when the earth was in process of formation, it must have been that those forces of nature most expert in the fashioning of the beautiful were ordered to come together as col- laborators and give to the world almaville! journeying toward the designated spot, they halted on the outskirts of the site of the contem- plated city, and tossed up a series of engirdling hills, whose slopes and crests covered with verdure might afford in the days to come a beautiful sight to the inhabitants when riding forth to get a whiff of country air. these same forces of nature, evi- dently in love with their work, arranged, it seems, for all the beautiful clouds with their varying hues to pass in daily review over the head of the city to be born. in all that appertains to physical excellence almaville was made attractive, and somewhere, perhaps behind yon hills, the forces rested until man set his foot upon - the soil and prepared to build. they so charged the air and all the en- vironments with the spirit of the beautiful, that the men who later wrought in building the city found themselves the surprised and happy crea- tors of a lovely habitation. ( tuning the lyre. on an eminence crowning the center of the area whereon the city is planted, the state has builded its capitol, and from the tower thereof one can see the engaging network of streets, con- template the splendid architecture of the build- ings, and gaze upon the noble trees that boldly line the sidewalks, and thus testify that they are not afraid of civilization. even in the matter of climate almaville is highly favored, it would seem. her summers are not too hot nor her winters too cold, and many a fevered brow finds solace in her balmy breezes. the war gods saw and admired her, and de- creed that one of the famous battles of the civil war should be fought within her environs, that their memory might ever be cherished here. philanthropy, it seems, singled out almaville for special attention, granting unto her oppor- tunities for learning that well might cause proud athens to touch her crown to see that it was still there and had not been lifted by her modern rival. a murky river runs through almaville and a dark stream flows through the lives of all of us who dwell upon its banks. but yonder! yonder! is the ocean! where? the author, the hindered hand. chapter i. occurrences that puzzle. o the pagan yet remaining in man it would seem that yon railroad train plunging toward the southland is somehow conscious of the fact that it is playing a part in events of tremendous im- port, for observe how it pierces the darkness with its one wild eye, cleaves the air with its steely front and causes wars and thunders to creep into the dreams of the people by whose homes it makes its midnight rush. well, this train now moving toward alma- ville, queen city of the south, measured by the results that developed from that night's journey, is fully entitled to all its fretting and fuming, brag and bluster of steam and smoke, and to its wearisome jangle of clanging bell and shrieking whistle and rumbling wheel. it was summer time. a negro porter passing through a coach set apart for white passengers noted the fixedness with which a young woman with a pretty face and a pair of beautiful blue eyes was regarding him. her head was inclined to one side, her hand so supporting her face that a prettily shaped ear peeped out from between (ii) the hindered hand. her fingers. in the look of her eye there was a slight suggestion of immaturity, which, however, was contradicted by the firm outlines of her face. as the porter drew near her seat she sig- nificantly directed her look to a certain spot on the car floor, thence to the eyes of the porter. having in mind the well understood dictum of the white man of the south that the negro man and the white woman are to be utterly oblivious of the existence of each other, this negro porter was loth to believe that the young woman was trying surreptitiously to attract his attention, and he passed out of the coach hurriedly. in a short while he returned and again noted how in- tently the young woman regarded him. this time he observed that she had evidently been weeping and that there was a look of hopeless sorrow in her eyes. again the young woman looked at him, then upon the floor and up at him once more. the porter looked down upon the spot indicated by her look, saw a note, stooped and picked it up. he returned to the coach or rather to the end of a coach, set apart for ne- groes, took a rear seat and surveyed the car pre- paratory to reading the note which the young woman plainly indicated was for him. "i don't want white girls passing me notes," thought the negro, clutching the note tightly and continuing to glance about the coach in a half- frightened manner. he arose to hoist the window by which he sat, intending to utilize it to be occurrences that puzzle. rid of the note in case the occasion should demand it. his fears had begun to suggest to him that perhaps some white man had noticed his taking cognizance of the young woman's ef- forts to attract his attention. as the negro section of the coach was the for- ward section and next to the baggage car, any person coming from the section set apart for the whites would be to the back of the negro pas- sengers. the porter therefore changed his seat, going forward and taking a position where he would be facing any one coming from the coach for whites. he raised the window by which he sat and his eye wandered out into the darkness amid the sombre trees that went speeding along, and there arose to haunt him mental visions of a sea of angry white faces closing around some one dark face, perhaps guilty and perhaps inno- cent; and as he thought thereon he shuddered. he felt sorely tempted to toss the note out of the window unread, but remembering the pleading look on the face of the young woman he did not follow the promptings of his fear. "in case of trouble, this crew in here couldn't help a fellow much," said the porter, moving his eyes about slowly again, taking note one by one of those in the section with him. there was the conductor, who though a white man, seemed al- ways to prefer to sit in the section set apart for the negroes. there was the newsboy, also white, taking up two seats with his wares. the hindered hand. "as well as they know me they would go with the other gang. a white man is a white man, and don't you forget it," mused the porter. there were two male passengers sitting to- gether, negroes, one of whom was so light of complexion that he could easily have passed for white, while the other was of a dark brown hue. "a fine looking fellow," thought the porter con- cerning the dark young man. across the aisle from the two young men men- tioned, and a seat or so in advance of them, sat a young woman whose face was covered with a very thick veil. the perfect mould of her shoulders, the attractiveness of her wealth of black hair massed at the back of her head—these things were demanding, the porter noticed, many an admiring glance from the darker of the two young men. the porter seemed about to forget his note in observing with what regularity the young man's eyes would wander off and straightway re- turn to rest upon the beautiful form of the young woman, but an incident occurred that brought his mind back very forcibly to the note. the door from the section for the whites opened and two white men entered. the porter's hand in which the note was held cautiously crept toward the open window, while he eyed the two white men whom he feared had come to accuse him of an attempted flirtation with a young white woman. one of the men occurrences that puzzle. reached behind to his hip pocket and the porter half arose in his seat, throwing up his hands in alarm, expecting a pistol to appear to cover him. the white man was simply drawing out a flask of whiskey to offer his companion a drink. ensal ellwood, the dark young man, looking around to see if the parties who had entered had closed the door behind them (for the adjoining section was the white people's smoking apart- ment, and care had to be exercised to keep smoke and tobacco fumes out), saw the two white men about to take a drink. he arose quickly and ad- vancing to the two men, said quietly, urbanely and yet with an air of firmness, "gentlemen, the law prescribes that this coach shall be used exclusively by negro passengers and we must ask that you do not make our first- class apartment a drinking room for the whites." the two men stared at ensal and he looked them frankly in the face that they might see that in a dignified manner he would insist to the last upon the rights of the negro passengers. the justness of ensal's request, his unostentatious, manly bearing had the desired effect. the two men quietly turned about and left the car. the porter who had been standing during this little scene now sat down, opened the note and read as follows: "mr. porter: when this train is within a fifteen minutes' run of almaville please pass through this coach and so announce. then stand the hindered hand. on the platform leading from this coach to the coach in which the negroes have their section. "from the girl that looked at you." the first part of this request the porter con- cluded to comply with, but he registered all sorts of vows to the effect that he would never be found waiting on any platform for any white girl. he murmered to himself. "my young lady, you may sign yourself, 'from the girl that looked at you;' but with all due re- spect my signature is 'the boy that wasn't there.'" again he looked out of the window at the same sombre trees and into the gloom of their shadows, and he put his hand in his collar as though it was already too tight. "no, my god!" he said softly. tearing the note to shreds, he fed it to the winds, lowered the window and began to whistle. when the train was in the designated distance of almaville the porter entered the coach for whites in which sat the young woman who wrote the note. "fifteen minutes and the train pulls into almaville," he exclaimed, as he walked the aisle in an opposite direction to that desired by the young woman. she at once understood and saw that she must depend upon herself. the fragile, beautiful creature arose and by holding to the ends of the various seats staggered to the door. she opened it and by tenacious clinging to the iron railings on the platform occurrences that puzzle. managed to pull herself across to the adjoining coach. passing through the smoker for the white men she entered the negro section. with a half stifled sob she threw herself into the lap of the negro girl and nestled her face on her shoulder. the young woman from the coach for the whites now tossed back the veil of the negro girl and the two girls kissed, looking each other in the eyes, pledging in that kiss and in that look, the unswerving, eternal devotion of heart to heart whatever the future might bring. the young woman now slowly turned away and went toward the coach whence she came, assisted by the wondering conductor. from large dark eyes whose great native beau- ty was heightened by that tender look of the soul that they harbored, the negro girl stood watch- ing her visitor depart. the grace of her form that was somewhat taller and somewhat larger than that of the average girl, stamped her as a creature that could be truthfully called sublimely beautiful, thought ensal. whatever complexion on general principles ensal thought to be the most attractive, he was now ready to concede that the delicate light brown color of this girl could not be surpassed in beauty. if, incredulous as to the accuracy of the esti- mate of her beauty forced upon one at the first glance, an effort was made to analyze that face and study its parts separately, each feature was seen to have a beauty all its own. the hindered hand. "so sweet and beautiful a face and so lovely a form could only have been handed to a soul of whom they are not even worthy," thought ensal. a sober look was in ensal's eye and some kind of a mad gallop was in his heart. there was more than soberness in the blue eyes of earl bluefield, ensal's companion. when ensal looked around at his friend he was astonished at the ter- ribly bitter look on his face. the train emptied a number of its passengers and rushed on and on and on, as if fleeing from the results to be anticipated from its deposit of new and strange forces into the life of almavihe. chapter ii. his face was her guide. his is a rich man's war and a poor man's fight." such is said to have been the character of the sentiment that was widespread in the ranks of the confederate army during the late civil war. be that as it may, it is very evident that the highest interest of the "poor whites" who bore the brunt of the fighting was to be conserved by the collapse rather than the triumph of the cause for which they fought with unsurpassed gal- lantry. for, with the downfall of the system of enforced labor, the work of the world became an open market, and the dignity of labor being re- stored, the "poor whites" had both a better oppor- tunity and a more congenial atmosphere to begin their rise. thus the stars in their courses fought for the "poor whites" in fighting bitterly against them. at one time the negroes of the cities of the south had almost a monoply of the work of trans- ferring passengers and baggage to and from the depots, but white men organized transfer com- panies, placed white agents on the incoming trains to solicit patronage, employed white men ( ) the hindered hand. to drive the transfer wagons and thus largely wrested the business from the hands of the ne- groes. but the negroes would yet drive up to the station, hoping for some measure of success in the spirited contests that would arise in at- tempts to capture such gleanings as the ad- vance agents of the transfer companies had left behind. so, when the train on which we rode into alma- ville poured its stream of passengers upon the platform of the car shed and they had ascended the steps to the depot platform, they were greeted with a series of shouts from the negro hackmen and expressmen standing at the edge of the plat- form, the preponderance of the chances against them lending color to their cries. ensal ellwood and earl bluefield boarded a street car, while the negro girl who had occupied the coach with them, not knowing anything about the city, went in the direction of the clamoring hackmen, hoping that some one of them might tell her where she could find proper entertain- ment for the night. as she drew near, the line of hackmen bent forward, with hands out- stretched for traveling bags, each man eyeing her intently as if hoping that the character of the look bestowed upon her might influence her choice. one man pulled off his hat, hoping to impress her with a mark of respect not exhibited by the others. the remainder of the hackmen quickly pulled off their hats, determined that no 'the young woman looked into his face and recoiled. ( - .) his face was her guide. one should have the advantage. the young wom- an tossed back her veil that she might see the bet- ter. a young man better dressed than the hackmen was standing behind them. the moment he caught sight of the young woman's astonishingly beautiful face he pushed through the crowd, walked rapidly to her side, gently took hold of her satchel, and said quietly, "you will go with me. i will see you properly cared for." the young woman looked into his face and re- coiled. his tone was respectful and there was nothing affronting in his look or demeanor, yet the young woman felt utterly repelled. "that's right, lady. don't go with him. go with any of the rest of these men in preference to him," said a genial faced young man, slightly below medium height, rather corpulent and very dark. the young woman looked in his direction and was favorably impressed with his open, frank expression. "i'll trust myself to your care," said she, pull- ing away from the well dressed young man. leroy crutcher, for such was his name, cast a look of malignant hatred at bud harper, the suc- cessful hackman and muttered something under his breath. he also scowled at the young woman whose utter disdain of him had cut him to the quick. the hindered hand. "i will get even with the pair of them, if it takes me the balance of my life," said leroy crutcher to the group of hackmen, after bud harper and the young woman had driven away. the men looked at him in sullen, contemptuous silence, loathing and yet dreading him more than they did a serpent, for he conducted a house of ill-repute for the exclusive use of white men and negro girls, and, being diligent in en- deavoring to bring to his home any and all ne- gro girls to whom his white patrons might take a fancy, had great influence with this element of whites. noting the indisposition of the men to talk to him, and rightly interpreting their contemptuous silence, crutcher drew from his pocket a wallet full of greenbacks. taking out as many one dol- lar bills as there were hackmen, he threw them on the platform and said, "i am a gentleman, my- self. money talks these days. help yourselves, gentlemen." the men did not look at the money. each one returned to his vehicle and journeyed to his hum- ble home, leaving crutcher alone upon the plat- form. if the hackmen had taken his money it would have served as proof to him that they were no better than he, that they were not in a business like his simply because they lacked his skill and finesse. the action of the hackmen intensified his re- sentment at the treatment accorded him by bud his face was her guide. harper and the young woman, and, meditating vengeance, he now walked toward his den of in- famy where his mother had reigned in her day and where he was born of a white father. the human race has not thus far even ap- proached the point of constructing such habita- tions as would render mankind indifferent to rumblings underground, nor has society such se- cure foundation that it can think lightly of its lower elements. in the long run the leroy crutchers will be heard from. it is inevitable. chapter iii. wherein foresta first appears. hen the young woman who had com- mitted herself to bud harper's care awoke the next morning she saw standing near her a tall, slender, ne- gro girl, of a dark brown complexion. "my name is foresta," said the girl, showing the tips of her beautiful white teeth. her lips were thin, her nose prettily chiseled, her skin smooth, her brow high, her head covered with an ample supply of jet black hair. "excuse me, please," said foresta, "but mama told me to tell you that breakfast would soon be ready." foresta having delivered her message, for which she was thanked, did not at once turn, to leave. her pretty brown eyes nestling under equally pretty eyebrows, looked lovingly into the stranger's face. without saying more, however, foresta left the room. a little later she brought the young woman's breakfast, clearing the cen- ter table to make room for it. "we eat in the kitchen. it is mighty warm in there, though, in the summer time with fire in the ( ) "her pretty brown eyes, nestling under equally pretty eyebrows, looked lovingly into the stranger's face." ( - -) wherein foresta first appears. stove. we thought we would do a little better by you than that," said foresta apologetically. she sat down to keep the young woman's com- pany while the latter was eating. "that was bud harper that brought you here last night," said foresta, unable to repress a smile over some pleasing thought that was pass- ing through her mind. the young woman looked up from her break- fast. " my!" she said, "your eyes are pretty. they are such a lovely brown." "i'll swap hair with you," said foresta, feeling of her own hair and looking admiringly at the wealth of beautiful black hair on the young woman's head. "you would cheat yourself. your hair isn't as long as mine, but it is so black and lovely," said the young woman. looking at foresta from head to foot, plainly but neatly dressed, the young woman remarked, "you are a pretty girl, foresta—and a good girl," pausing between the former and the latter com- plimentary reference. foresta's kindly face lighted up with joy at the compliment. for some time she had felt, without knowing what it was that she felt, the need of a confidante—some one with a fellow-feel- ing to whom she could talk. "something funny happened once about bud harper and" the hindered hand. "yourself," said the young woman, with a sweet, knowing look. "yes," admitted foresta with a light laugh, pleased that the young woman was entering so readily into the spirit of the recital. "bud had a brother dave that looked just like him," said foresta. "almost, i mean," she added, remem- bering that nobody was to be put on a level with bud. "poor dave is dead now," she said in sad tones, looking the young woman fully in the face as if making a further study of her. satisfied with the result of the inspection, for- esta now said in a confidential tone: "dave died in the penitentiary. he and a white man got in a fight. dave killed him in self-defense. dave could have come clear, but it wouldn't have done any good. he would have been lynched. his lawyers advised him to take a twenty years' sen- tence to satisfy the clamor, and said they were sure they could get him a pardon. all of dave's friends thought it was better to take his chances with a good governor rather than a mob." foresta's eyes now filled with tears. "it did hurt poor dave so to go to the penitentiary. he was such a good-hearted boy. he died there in about a year and a half. it may be he's better off." foresta now paused an instant. shaking off the spell of sadness she said, "but that's not what i started out to tell you." "i know it isn't," said the young woman, smil- ing sadly. wherein foresta first appears. "don't be too sure you know what i have to tell," said foresta, laughing. "it is really some- thing funny." "i am listening," said the young woman. "one night bud went to church with me. you know our church is called the 'high falutin' church,' and a good many of the poorer and plain people don't like to go there. "well, bud isn't a highly educated boy and he doesn't like our church for anything. he likes the preacher all right. he will hardly ever go in and sit with me. he walks about out doors till church is out, then comes back home with me. you are tired listening to my foolishness, aren't you?" asked foresta. "not at all. i am interested," said the young woman reassuringly. "well, bud is a sort of a bashful boy. dave was just the opposite. dave was full of nerve. bud kept a 'hemming and hawing' trying to, try- ing to er" "well, just say that he was trying to," said the young woman, and the two laughed heartily. "dave kept after bud to speak out, but bud was afraid that he would spoil matters," resumed foresta. "they rigged up a scheme to find out where i stood without bud's risking too much. now, remember, bud and dave looked just alike, almost. many a time i have taken one for the other. when little they often got scolded and beaten for one another. their father never could the hindered hand. tell them apart. bud came to church with me one night, and he and dave agreed that dave was to carry me home without my knowing it was dave. dave was to make out that he was bud and make a dash of some sort to find out how bud stood with me. on our way home dave didn't talk much. that helped to fool me, because bud and i have gone along not saying a word; only looking at each other now and then. but that night dave, whom i was taking to be bud, was unusually quiet. and i thought then that he was meditating something. when dave got home with me, he stood between me and the gate and said, 'you must pay toll to get in.' i knew he was asking me to kiss him. 'if you don't let me by i will call mama,' i said, mostly for fun, for i knew that bud thought mama was against him. you ought to have seen dave stepping aside to let me in. i didn't say another word, but walked into the yard and upon the porch. t knocked. mama came and unlocked the door and went back. 'good night,' said i. but dave wouldn't move. he was so afraid that he had spoiled things for bud. i stood there and thought a while. it came to me that it might not be wise to treat bud's first attempt to say what i was willing for him to say, too coolly. and yet i didn't want to appear too anxious. you know what i mean," said foresta appealingly. "i understand you, perfectly, though my time hasn't come yet," said the young woman. wherein foresta first appears. "so i stood on the porch," continued foresta, "looking away from dave, thinking and think- ing how i could save myself and not hurt bud too much. womanlike, i suppose, i decided to make a sacrifice of myself. i opened my door a little. quick as a flash, but so he could plainly see what i was doing, i threw a kiss and darted in the house. dave fairly flew to where bud was waiting for him. dave told bud all about it and the two boys liked to have hugged each other to death. dave having opened the way, bud grew bolder very fast. after everything was understood between us and the time set, bud told me all about the trick. and i boxed his ears for him. if you are here i want you to come to my and bud's wedding." foresta now arose to go. holding up a finger of warning, she said, "we haven't told the old folks yet." chapter iv. the ways of a seeker after fame. his world of ours, thought of in com- parison with man the individual, is so very, very large; its sons and daugh- ters departed, now on hand and yet to come, form such an innumerable host; the ever- increasing needs of the living are so varied and urgent; the advance cry of the future bidding us to prepare for its coming is so insistent; the con- test for supremacy, raging everywhere, must be fought out among so many souls of power—these accumulated considerations so operate that it is given unto but a few of those who come upon the earth to obtain a look of recognition from the universal eye; and fewer still are they who, by virtue of inherited capacity, proper bent, neces- sary environment and the happy conjunction of the deed and the hour, so labor as to move to admiration, sympathy or reverence the uni- versal heart, an achievement, apart from which no man, however talented, may hope to sit among the earth's immortals. the fact that enduring world prominence is an achievement rarely and with great difficulty at- tained operates upon different individuals in dif- ( ) the ways of a seeker after fame. ferent ways. some grow weary of the strenuous strife, give up the contest with a sigh and retire, as it were, to the shade of the trees and with more or less of yearning await the coming of the deeper shades of the evening eternal. others, fully conscious that they have been entrusted with a world message, confront a mountain with as much courage as they do a sand dune, and press onward, whether the stars are in a guiding or a hiding mood. mrs. arabelle seabright, aspirant for world honors, sat in a rocking-chair in her room in the domain hotel, almaville, the stopping place of the wealthiest and most aristocratic visitors. her small well shaped hands were lying one upon the other, resting on the back of an open book which was in her lap, face downward. slowly she rocked backward and forward, tapping first one foot and then the other upon the floor. it was very evident that she was thinking, but a glance at the face was all that was needed to tell one that this thinking was not due to irresolution or uncertainty of purpose. nothing was ever more plainly written upon the human countenance than that this woman knew her own mind and knew the course which she was to pursue. her thinking now is with a view to making travel along the elected course as agreeable as possible. the door to her room opened and there entered a young man of medium height with delicate, almost feminine features. o the hindered hand. his face was covered with a full beard that was so black as to appear almost uncanny, and it seemed so much out of place on one so young, the wearer not being over twenty-five at most. "you have come to say 'yes,' my boy," said mrs. seabright, rising to meet her son. the young man had really come to say "no," but that firm, unyielding look in his mother's eyes halted him. instead of the determined stand which he had resolved to take, in the presence of his mother's imperious will, all he could say was, "mother, i—i—i—had hoped otherwise." his mother shook her head and looked him di- rectly in the eyes. she wanted him to see the de- termination written in her own eyes. he saw and collapsed. "i will go, mother," said he. "be seated, mother," he requested. mrs. seabright, directing a look of inquiry at her son, sat down. he now dropped on his knees and rested his head upon her lap, "mother, say to me the prayer that you taught me in my childhood—days when you were not this way. lead me back there once more, for something within tells me that life is never more to be life to me." mrs. seabright did not at all relish the senti- mental turn of her son's mind, but she began in as tender tones as she could summon: "now i lay me down to sleep." "now i lay me down to sleep," repeated the young man. the ways of a seeker after fame. "i pray the lord my soul to keep," his mother continued. "i pray the lord my soul to keep," said he. "if i should die before i wake," the mother said. "if i should die before i wake," said the son. "i pray the lord my soul to take," concluded the mother. "i pray the lord my soul to take," the son re- peated lingeringly. "mother, truly i am laying me down to sleep. i am putting my life, my soul away. when i awake from this sleep into which your influence as a mother has lulled me, i shall awake to look into the face of my creator." the young man now arose and turning upon his mother, he said out of a burning heart: "oh, mother! may your soul meet god. as i leave jou, let me tell you it takes that to reach your case!" "you are not the son of your mother," quietly said she. the young man now rushed from the room to get out of the presence of one who, though his mother, possessed nothing in common with his own soul. in spite of the manner of his leaving, mrs. seabright knew full well that he would per- form unto the utmost all that she had exacted of him. mrs. seabright resumed her seat and rocked to and fro complacently for a few moments. the ways of a seeker after fame. low me to be with her when i choose. oh, moth- er, how i wish you were now what you were be- fore the adder bit you." mrs. seabright, unmoved by this outburst, gently released herself from her daughter's grasp and returned to her rocking chair. "i shall yet harness to my cause the two forces that are the most potent yet revealed in shaping the course of human society," said she. going to her window, she looked out into the skies and whispered in confidence to the stars: "i shall be remembered as long as you shall shine." hard by the house of fame sits the home of in- famy. those who offer too strange a price for the former are given the latter. rather late in life to be still nameless. himself notoriously brave, scarcely knew which to admire the more, ensal's searching words that inspired the men for that world-famous dash or earl's enthusiastic, infectious daring on the actual scene of conflict. gus could read and write in a fashion, but was by no means as well educated as either ensal or earl, his friends, and consequently looked to them largely for guidance. earl had made efforts to secure promo- tion upon the record of his services in battle, but had failed, because, according to common opinion, of the disinclination of the south to have negro officers in the army. gus martin took earl's failure to secure pro- motion more to heart than did earl himself. gus was a follower but not a member of the church of which ensal was pastor, and he had come to pour forth his sentiments to ensal anent the failure of his friend earl to be rewarded. ordinarily the well-known tractability of the negro seemed up- permost in him, but this evening all of his indian hot blood seemed to come to the fore. his voice was husky with passion and his black eyes flashed defiance. he questioned the existence of god, and, begging pardon, asserted that the gospel was the negro's greatest curse in that it un- manned the race. as for the united states gov- ernment, he said, "the flag aint any more to me than any other dirty rag. i fit fur it. my blood run out o' three holes on the groun' to keep it the hindered hand. floatin', and whut will it do fur me? now jes' tell me whut?" ensal endeavored to show that the spirit of the national government was very correct and that the lesser governments within the government caused the weakness. he held that in the course of time the national government would mould the inner circles of government to its way of think- ing. "excuse me, elder; but that kind o' talk make me sick. you are a good christian man, i really think; but like most cullud people you are too jam full o' patience an' hope. i'll be blessed if i don't b'lieve job was a cullud man. i ganny, i got indian blood in me and if they pester this kid they are goin' to hear sump'in' drap." it was to this conversation that ensal's mother had listened with disturbed feelings. she believed firmly in god and her only remedies for all the ills of earth were prayer and time. therefore it ruffled her beyond measure to have a new spirit appearing in the race. "ensal, there isn't any good in that gus mar- tin," said she, in earnest, tremulous tones, nod- ding her head in the direction of the depart- ing gus. "i may be dead, my son, but you will see that the devil will be to pay this side of hear- ing the last of him," she continued. ensal did not look in his mother's direction, but stole one of her thin worn hands and placed it between his own. he felt that his mother's rather late in life to be still nameless. prediction with regard to gus martin was only too likely to be fulfilled. at this juncture two young women appeared at the gate and entered. they were foresta crump and the young woman whom we saw taken to foresta's home on the preceding evening. being informed that the stranger desired a conference with him, ensal retired to his study, lighted the room and invited her to enter. foresta remained upon the porch and entertained mrs. ellwood, with whom she was a favorite, because of her peculiarly lovable disposition and her attention to the aged. when the young woman was seated, ensal took a seat and looked in her direction, saying, "consider me at your service, please." there was an air of unnatural calm about the young woman. she now removed her hat from her head and ensal noted that her hair was ho arranged as to allow her face to fully stand as nature gave it to her, unrelieved. he also noticed that her attire was of a simple order throughout, though good taste and ample means were needed to produce the results attained by her dress. the light of the train that had told ensal that she was beautiful, had only hinted at the at- tractiveness of form and feature as disclosed upon closer inspection. the young woman seemed in no haste to begin the conversation about the matter that had brought her there, and chatted with ensal in a the hindered hand. desultory manner. she was studying ensal and was affording him an opportunity to study her. ensal had been so highly spoken of to her, and in her present state of mind she was so anxious to meet such a person as he was represented to be that she was calling into requisition all the pow- ers of intuition of which her soul was capable. at length an instant of quiet on the part of his visitor told ensal that she was now to approach the matter that had given rise to her. call. "mr. ellwood," began the young woman, "it sometimes happens in the course of human life that we are compelled to appeal to the faith that people have in us. life is more or less a matter of faith anyway, but ordinarily there is some sort of buttress for our faith in surrounding circum- stances. to-night, i bring not one shred of cir- cumstance, not one bit of history from my past life, and yet i appeal to you for faith in me, abso- lute unquestioning faith." her earnest tones and the pleading look in her beautiful eyes and the trembling of her form burned those words into ensal's memory: "i have the necessary faith," said ensal, ear- nestly and quietly. "i have come to almaville to begin life anew. this has become -necessary through no act of my own. this is all i care to say on that point, and i do not promise to ever break the seal of sil- ence with regard to the past. i wish to find a name and i wish to find friends among the really "name me as i was named when a babe. the name that i have borne shall know me no more," replied the young woman." ( - .) rather late in life to be still nameless. good people of almaville, the good negroes. i am lately from new york and i am your friend. with these facts and only these, can you name me, can you place me in touch with your friends?" said the young woman. "name you?" enquired ensal. "name me as i was named when a babe. the name that i have borne shall know me no more," replied the young woman. as pastor of a negro church at a period when almost the entire leadership of the race was cen- tered in that functionary, ensal was accus- tomed to having all sorts of matters placed be- fore him, but the present requirement was rather unique in all of his experience as a pastor. he arose from the chair and began to walk slowly to and fro across the room, having asked the indul- gence of the young woman for resorting to his favorite method of procedure when engaged in serious reflection. if we must tell the truth of this young man, the question which he was de- bating most was somewhat at variance with those raised by her requests. ensal had come to the conclusion many years previous that marriage was not for him, and hitherto woman had had no entrance into the inner chambers of his thoughts. and this beau- ^-/tiful stranger, nameless and homeless, had almost ^nwrested the door of his heart from its hinges, without even an attempt thereat, and the young the hindered hand. man was trying to grapple with the new experi- ences born into his consciousness. finding that he lost ground by trying to reason with his heart, ensal let the wilful member alone and engaged in the more honest task of naming his visitor. turning toward the young woman, glad that he had something to say, so that he might look into her beautiful face again, he said: "i name you tiara." ensal assigned the name with so much warmth that tiara dropped her eyes, and the faintest symptoms of a smile appeared on her face. "you have forgotten the latter part of my name," she remarked. ensal resumed his walking. happening to look up at the top of his desk he caught sight of a sculptured bust of frederick douglass. he paused, and pointing to the bust, said: "behold one whose distinctive mission in the world was to serve as a harbinger for his race! a star of the first magnitude, he rose in the night of american slavery, attracted the admiring gaze of the civilized world, and so thrilled the hearts of men that they broke the chains of all his kind in the hope of further enriching the firmament of lofty human endeavor with stars like unto him. i name you tiara douglass." - ensal turned to tiara, his face enkindled with enthusiasm. he stepped back, threw up his hands, and plainly showed in his eyes the un- bounded surprise which he felt at the way in rather late in life to be still nameless. which tiara had received his suggestion for a surname. there tiara sat, tears evidently long pent-up freely flowing and her body shaking with emotion. to find a word expressive of ensal's bewild- ered state of mind is a problem to be handed over to the type of man engaged in the search for per- petual motion and does not come within the pur- view of a simple author. man who tames the lion, harnesses the winds, makes a whimperer of steam and cowers the lightning—this same vain- glorious, triumphant man is simply helpless in the presence of a woman's tears! ensal stole quietly to his seat and sat there in a state of amazement. tiara looked up through her tears, a few pretty locks of hair having now fallen in beautiful dis- order across her brow. "mr. ellwood, i cannot endure the name doug- lass and i cannot explain," said she. ensal now perceived that this name douglass had somehow made the girl's thoughts touch upon the very core of her life's troubles. "douglass, douglass, douglass; no not doug- lass," repeated tiara in passionate tones, evi- dently trying to accept the name for ensal's sake and yet being unable to do so. "your name shall be tiara merlow," said ensal. "merlow—merlow. i like that," said tiara. the hindered hand. "i will arrange for you to stop with mrs. helen crawford," said ensal. "thank you," said tiara. tiara now arose to go, but it was evident that there was something yet unspoken. as she reached the door of the room she turned around and looked ensal directly in the face. ensal had been following her to the door, and the two now stood near each other. "she is just tall and large enough to be grand in appearance, which, coupled with her beauty of face and symmetry of form, make her fit to set a new standard of loveliness in woman," mentally observed ensal. "mr. ellwood," said tiara, "i perceive that you are an admirer of frederick douglass. do you approve of his marriage to a white woman?" ensal was about to answer, when something in tiara's look told him that he was somehow about to pass final judgment upon himself. he looked at tiara to see if he could glean from her coun- tenance a hint of her leaning, but her countenance was purposely a blank. he now tried to recall the tone in which she asked the question, but as he remembered it, that, too, was noncommittal. he was not seeking to divine tiara's opinion with a view to shaping his own accordingly. if it was apparent that he and she agreed, he was of course ready to answer. if they were to differ, he pre- ferred to postpone answering until such a time ag rather late in life to be still nameless. he might be able to accompany his answer with his reason for the same. ensal now said smilingly, "practice suspension of judgment in my case. in some way i may let you know my views on the matter later on." "all right," said tiara, slowly turning to leave. it was evident to ensal that further progress in her favor was largely contingent upon his an- swer, and the marriage of frederick douglass to a white woman became an exceedingly live ques- tion with him. he accompanied tiara and foresta home and the moonlight and starlight never before appeared so glorious to him or na- ture so benign. after all the heart makes its world. chapter vi. friendly enemies. t has always been a mooted question with ensal as to whether he did or did not sleep the night of tiara's call at his residence. but he has ever stood ready to take oath or affirmation that, whether waking or sleeping, tiara was constantly in his thoughts that night. and when turning his face toward the window the following morning he saw streaks of golden sunshine stretched across the floor, and realized that there was a nameless something within him which that sunlight could not match, he knew that the crisis in his life had come. after a frugal meal with his mother, and the planting of a kiss of unusual warmth upon her cheek, ensal stepped forth for his day's duties. as he went out of his gate he noticed a white man across the street acting as though he was sketch- ing his (ensal's) home. feeling that he was warranted in having as much interest in the man as the man seemed to have in that which per- tained to him, ensal walked somewhat obliquely ( ) friendly enemies. across the street, coming near enough to the man to receive an explanation, if the man desired to give one, or, at any rate, near enough to have a good view of the sketch taken. the white man took advantage of the oppor- tunity to get a full look at ensal, who felt a little uneasiness at the intense interest which the man's whole countenance showed that he had in him. the man's eyes had an earnest, pained ex- pression. his cheeks were hollow and seemed to indicate that he was just going into or emer- ging from a hard spell of sickness. his hat was a faded brown derby and his suit of clothes was of a tough, coarse fibre and much worn. standing by him on the sidewalk was what appeared to be a much battered drummer's case to which the man's eye would revert oftener than the utmost caution would seem to have rendered necessary. ensal passed on, but somehow this strange white man came into his mind and demanded a share in the thoughts which would otherwise have gone undividedly to tiara. ensal called at the home of mrs. crawford and made it possible for tiara to arrange for a home with her, an alliance which would at once afford tiara an entrance into the social life of the best negro circles. this much accomplished, ensal started in the direction of the crump's to apprise tiara of . the arrangements. "why so much haste?" the hindered hand. ensal turned and looked into the face of his friend, earl bluefield. "was i walking fast?" asked ensal. "fast!" exclaimed earl. "if you can induce the saints in your church to give the devil half as much trouble to catch them as you have given me, why they will be saved all right. really a person who didn't know would have thought that your mother-in-law had died and that you were hurrying to make arrangements for her funeral," said earl. "by the way," said ensal, "i am glad that i met you. a-a friend of mine from new york, a miss merlow, tiara merlow, is in the city. i wish you to pay her a call with me to-morrow evening. may i make the engagement?" earl dropped his head in meditation. his brain was exceedingly active. beneath this ap- parently simple proposal of ensal's lay hidden many possibilities. ensal and earl represented two types in the negro race, the conservative and the radical. they both stood for the ultimate recognition of the rights of the negro as an american citizen, but their methods were opposite. they intuitive- ly assumed, it seemed, opposite sides on every question that arose pertaining to the race, and championed their respective sides with much warmth and vigor. yet they remained friends, were great admirers of each other, and lived each friendly enemies. in the hope of converting the other to his way of thinking. on the question of racial connection ensal was really proud of the fact that he was a negro, and felt that had he been entrusted with the determin- ing of his racial affinity he would have chosen membership in the negro race. earl accepted the fact of his connection with the negro race as a matter of course, had no desire to alter the relationship, and felt neither dejection nor elation on account thereof. ensal felt that the acceptance of slavery on the part of the negro in preference to extermina- tion was evidence of adaptability to conditions that assured the presence of the negro on the earth in the final wind up of things, in full posses- sion of all the advantages that time and progress promise. earl rather admired the indian and felt that the dead indian refusing to be enslaved was a richer heritage to the world than the yield- ing and thriving negro. ensal held that the course of the negro dur- ing the civil war in caring for the wives and children of the men fighting for their enslavement was a tribute to their humanity and would prove an invaluable asset in all future reckonings. while thoroughly approving of the negro's pro- tection of the women and children of the whites from violence, earl was sorry that the thousand torches which grady said would have disbanded the southern armies were not lighted. ensal dep- the hindered hand. recated all talk and thought of the sword as the final arbiter of the troubles between the races. earl had his dreams—and his plans as well. the procuring of the full recognition of the rights of the negro was such a passion with ensal that earl relied upon it to finally bring him from the ranks of the conservatives to the radi- cals. earl was fully convinced within himself that all of ensal's hopes of a satisfactory, peace- ful adjustment of matters were to be dashed to the ground, and knowing how thoroughly ensal's soul was committed to the advancement of the race, he really expected ensal to develop into the leader of the radicals. but this looming into view of a young woman, a friend of ensal's, was liable, earl thought, to complicate matters. earl had all along rejoiced in ensal's determi- nation to remain unmarried, fearing that family life might add to his conservatism. this ac- counts for the fact that ensal's simple invitation to call on a miss tiara merlow on the following evening so deeply affected earl. "yes, yes, i'll go," said earl slowly, almost as much to himself as to ensal. ensal knew earl so well that he could have told him the character of his (earl's) thoughts. on the following evening as ensal and earl sat in the parlor of the crawford's chatting, tiara parted the curtains shutting off an adjoin- ing room, and stepped in. her hair was arranged in two rich black braids tied up so as to extend friendly enemies. only to her shoulders. the hair on the front part of her head was allowed to come forward, but not enough to forbid glimpses of a well rounded, beautiful forehead. as she stood there, symmetrical in form, just large and tall enough to be commanding in appearance, ensal again in- wardly declared that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, heard of or dreamed about. her eyes would have made a face of less regular features appear beautiful. as for tiara, they made her beauty simply dazzling. when earl's wits, swept away by tiara's beauty, slowly returned, it dawned upon him to his great astonishment that he was face to face with the young woman who had ridden into al- maville with ensal and himself. "if she was ensal's friend, why did he not make himself known to her on the train?" asked earl of himself. but this query was soon dis- lodged from his mind by one of far more inter- est to him, to wit: "is it not likely that i may utilize this young woman as a means of bringing to me a second glimpse of that girl that paid us a visit from the coach for whites?" earl was introduced in due form and joined in the conversation now and then; but it was evident to ensal that he was, for some cause, ill at ease. tiara and ensal, however, enjoyed the evening, each intently weighing the remarks of the other. the hindered hand. they say that cupid is blind. this may be true of him at some stage of the proceedings, but when he is looking for a spot at which to let fly an arrow, he could play schoolmaster to argus, of the many eyes. ensal and earl departed, ensal going home to live the evening over through the night, while earl called upon leroy crutcher and engaged him to use tiara merlow as a clue to trace the unknown young woman. "is this honorable, this forming an alliance with leroy crutcher, this placing of a surveil- lance, as it were, on the movements of my friend's friend?" these questions came to earl more than once that night and the answer of the hot blood of his soul was: "conditions have made me an outlaw among my kind. rubbish aside, am i not as much of an anglo-saxon as any of them? does not my soul respond to those things and those things only to which their souls respond? he that is without the law shall be judged without the law." judged! that is a solemn and sometimes an awful affair with nature. chapter vii. officers of the law. old on, there!" said one of a group of white boys on their way to school. the command was addressed to a ne- gro lad fourteen years of age. "where are you going?" asked the self-appointed spokes- man of the white boys. the negro lad looked sullenly at the white boy. "no need of clouding up; you can't rain," said the white boy. "don't you know the law? the school board said for you niggers to get to school a half hour before we white children. what do you mean by hanging around and going to school on our time?" "it is none of your business," said the negro. "i guess you had better skip, mr. coon," said the white boy. the group now sat down on the curbing, while the negro walked away. the white boys gathered stones preparatory for bat- tle. the race problem had at last reached the child- hood of the two races. in former days the chil- dren of the whites and the negroes had played together, and ties of friendship were formed that often survived the changes of later years when cm? the hindered hand. one playmate became a master and his fellow be- came his servant. but that friendly commin- gling of other days was practically all gone now, and clashes between the white and negro chil- dren became so frequent that the school authori- ties had decreed separate hours for the opening and closing of the schools of the two races, so as to lessen the friction as much as possible. "fly, you black face nigger, you," shouted a white boy. "my face ain't near as black as your heart," rejoined the negro, adroitly dodg- ing the stones thrown by the white boys. the negro threw his books to the sidewalk and soon had a handful of missies. the rock battle was now on in earnest, the white boys feeling sure that their superior numbers would soon put the lone warrior to flight. the negro entered into the battle with his whole soul, and was vigorous and alert. it was his idea that the injuring of one or two of his opponents would bring the bat- tle to a close. a policeman rounded a corner leading to the street in which the rock battle was raging. the negro's back was to the policeman, while the other boys were facing him. they dropped their stones and assumed a pacific and frightened attitude in time to impress the police- man that they were being needlessly assaulted by the negro. the negro who did not see the policeman, as- cribed the capitulation of his opponents to his "the rock battle was now on in earnest, the white boys feeling sure that their superior numbers would soon put the lone warrior to flight." (.,., officers of the law. own vigorous campaign, and now picked up his books, a look of exultation on his face. when he turned he found himself in the arms of the police- man. one of the boys, it developed, had been slightly bruised by one of the negro's rocks. the negro was put under arrest and locked up in the station house for the night. the next morning as tiara was perusing the paper, she noticed that a negro boy, henry crump, had been arrested on a charge of assault and battery. "henry crump — henry crump — crump — crump! that name is familiar to me," said tiara, laying aside the paper to see if she could recall why the name sounded so familiarly to her. "i have it," said she, springing to her feet. "why, i stayed with the crumps the first night that i was in almaville. and it is their little henry in trouble. i'll help the little fellow out," said she. liara observed that little henry's case was set for ten o'clock that morning and it was then nine. she dispatched a note to ensal, who immediately responded in person to accompany her to the place of the trial. "this," said ensal, "is but a symptom of a growing disease. in the days before the war the young master and the negro boys played to- gether and there was undoubtedly a strong tie of personal friendship between the slaveholding class and the negroes on their plantation. but all is changed now. rarely do you find white and the hindered hand. negro children playing together, and the feeling of estrangement grows apace with the years." "what is pending?" earnestly asked tiara, turning her large, anxious eyes on ensal. "heaven alone knows," replied ensal. "just think! in order to have peace here between the children of the two races, the school authorities provide that there shall be a difference of an half hour between the respective hours of going to and coming from school," continued ensal. they were soon at the police station. climb- ing the flight of stairs they entered a room crowded with negroes from the lower stratum. the great majority of the women, it could be seen, had made some effort at respectability in at- tire. some of the occupants of the room were there as witnesses in cases, others because of in- terest in parties to be tried, while the majority were there to pass judgment on the judge and learn as best they might the ways of the court and the law. here and there was a sprinkling of respectable people who had by means of some mischance been caught in the drift. one by one parties charged with offenses were called forward, fined and ordered released or passed back. at length the case of henry crump was called, and he came forward at a rather brisk pace, looking confidently at his mother and foresta who had come prepared to lift him out of his trouble. on the same seat with foresta and her mother sat tiara and ensal and their officers of the law. presence somehow gave added assurance to henry. henry made his statements, the witnesses were examined and in the monotone with which the police judge went through with all of the cases, he said, "fined twenty dollars and costs." foresta half arose, shocked at the amount, and mrs. crump crouched back in her seat in despair. foresta had in her hand a crisp ten dollar bill which the family had raised, not dreaming that the fine would go above that amount. "pass him back," said the judge. henry cast an inquiring look at foresta and his mother. tears were in foresta's eyes and henry knew that they were helpless. it simply meant that he was to have a pick on his leg and work the streets of almaville. he dropped his head dis- consolately, nervously fumbled his hat, and tears appeared in his eyes. the sting went deep into his boyish soul as he walked away. "wait a minute!" rang out tiara's voice, and going up to the judge's desk, she put down a fifty- dollar-bill, saying, "take the amount of the fine and costs out of this." the judge looked up somewhat surprised. tiara's act, born purely out of sympathy for the youthfulness of henry and of sentimental regard for the first family that harbored her in alma- ville, was totaly misunderstood by the court of- ficials. they fancied they scented a race contest in the matter and felt that tiara was simply try- officers of the law. out by an overseer. he had seen a petition emanating from the colored people containing sworn allegations setting forth a multitude of horrors. henry remembered having seen one boy re- turn whose foot was frost-bitten and had to be amputated as the result of exposure at the farm. it was summer now, but ten months would carry him fully through the winter at the farm. the thoughts of a stay there was too much for him. arising quickly he sprang up into the court house window. an officer rushed toward him to in- tercept him, but it was too late. out of the win- dow he jumped, dropping to the pavement below. he dashed out of the side gate of the court house yard and ran southward across the square, in the center of which the court house stood. coming to the street which led to the bridge over the river that intersected the city, he turned eastward and started across the bridge with all the speed at his command. the court officials were now in hot pursuit of the fleeing lad, one officer seizing a buggy, an- other jumping upon a street car and ordering the motorman to proceed at his utmost speed. henry had almost covered the full length of the bridge when the cry of the officers, caught up from one to another, had about come up with him. when he had all but reached the farther end of the bridge, in order to avoid an officer whom he saw standing awaiting him with a drawn pistol, the hindered hand. he leaped over the railing and dropped about twenty feet, striking the embankment reared up for a resting place for the end of the bridge. this officer of the law saw henry leap and ran to the steps which were not far from the spot whence he had jumped. the officer reached the steps in time to see henry sliding toward the wa- ter's edge. the officer began running down the steps, shooting as he ran. the people on the bridge crowded to the side over which henry had leaped and witnessed the race between henry and the shooting officer. henry fell and it was thought that he was hit, but he arose and continued his running. he turned under the bridge and ran along parallel with the waters of the river. after passing fully under the bridge, henry plunged into the stream and ran somewhat diagonally to- ward the center of the river until he was up to his neck in water. "move a step further out and i will kill you," said a bareheaded officer, who had at last reached the river bank, brandishing his pistol as he spoke. by this time hundreds, perhaps a thousand or so, of people had gathered on the bridge. henry stood in the water tossing his arms up and down. he feared to come ashore and was equally afraid to try to swim further out, feeling that he would be killed in any event. some one on the bridge lifted a revolver to the railing, leveled it at henry's head and fired. officers of the law. "shame! shame! shame!" was the word passed from lip to lip, as the noise of the shot was heard. henry threw up his hands and fell, his arms upstretched above his head as he dis- appeared beneath the surface of the water. no one of the thousands stirred. in breathless silence they watched the spot where the lad had sunk out of sight. some felt that henry had simply dived and in due time would rise. second after second passed, on the brief moments of time flew, while the eager eyes of the multitude were fastened on the murky waters of the river. henry did not rise. he was dead. when it was known that life must be extinct, officers of the law rowed out to where he was last seen and fished his body out. ensal who had followed the chase now returned to the court house. tiara, foresta and foresta's mother had heard the shooting and formed an awe-struck group, fearing that something had happened and yet hoping against hope. ensal's sad countenance told them that their worst fears were realized. "henry is dead, mama," moaned foresta, as she threw her arms about her frail mama's neck. "he is dead, mama; let's go home," wailed for- esta again. ensal and tiara returned to mrs. crawford's. chapter viii. a messenger that hesitates. rs. crump sat in her room, her el- bows propped up on her knees and her cheeks resting on her hands. the death of henry, her only boy, was indeed a severe blow to her, but at this particular moment she was bearing up well under it, reserving her strength by a supreme effort of her will to the end that she might comfort her husband when he became aware of the tragedy. foresta had gone for her father with the un- derstanding that she was not to tell him what had occurred, but was to allow her mother to break the news to him upon his arrival home. every step that foresta took on her sorrowful journey was accompanied by a rain of tears. as she drew near the place where her father was at work, she stopped and tried to remove all traces of sorrow. she wiped and wiped her eyes, but the tears persisted in flowing. her father was at work in a quarry as a rock breaker. the city was using small stones as a sort of pavement for the streets, and aged negro men ( ) a messenger that hesitates. were given the work of breaking rocks into fragments to be used in that way. the occupa- tion was not an ideal one, as employment was of a fluctuating character, and the sitting on the ground, often damp, was not conducive to health. the amount earned in proportion to the labor performed was very small. but aged men un- able to move about very much found this to be about all that they could do. so, the rock pile grew to be the accepted goal of all the negro men who wore themselves out in other service with- out laying aside a competence or establishing themselves permanently in the good graces of their employees. there were many who did thus establish them- selves, and ford crump would have been such a one but for the following chain of circumstances, to which account you may give heed while wait- ing on foresta to feel self-possessed enough to approach her father. soon after the civil war mr. arthur daleman came to almaville and entered business. ford crump, foresta's father, then a young man, was his first negro employee. the business grew un- til mr. daleman was rightly classed as a very rich man. for several years after mr. arthur daleman's marriage, no children had come to bless their home. early one morning, as mr. daleman was crossing the bridge, he saw a young white girl the hindered hand. vcting rather suspiciously, peering up and down vhe bridge. drawing near, he found that she had an infant wrapped in a bundle. fully believing that it was the intention of the girl to drown the babe, he asked that she give him the child. this the young woman very gladly did. as the child grew, mrs. daleman's heart warmed to it and after several years of anxious thought and ob- servation of the child the couple decided to adopt it as their son. within a year after this was done a beautiful little girl, whom they called alene, was born to them. when mr. daleman grew wealthy, he decided to travel through the north and induce capital to invest in the south. he felt that the commer- cial tie between the sections would be of the greatest possible value and it was said of him that he brought more outside capital into the south than any other one man. he turned his business over to his adopted son, arthur dale- man, jr. arthur daleman, jr., did not like negroes, and though ford crump had been with the business from its infancy, his presence was not desired by the new manager. when ford crump got so that he was not as active as was desired, he was summarily dismissed and his place given to a young white man. arthur daleman, sr., whose interests were now immense, never came near the store, and, as a consequence, did not know the fate that had overtaken his faithful employee. a messenger that hesitates. ford crump did not appeal to mr. daleman, sr., in the matter, partly through pride and part- ly because he could not bear the irritating tone of the younger daleman, which was in such strik- ing contrast to the kindly manner of the elder daleman. he had saved his earnings and bought a little home, and he was now willing to take his chances in the world even at his advanced age. it was thus that he found his way to the rock pile. we now return to our messenger. foresta sees that she is not going to be able to appear before her father free from signs of sor- row, and she decides on another course. pick- ing up a stone she rubbed it violently on the back of her hand, tearing the skin and causing blood to flow. she now hurried to the spot where her father sat, and said, "papa, mama wants you!" the tone of foresta's voice caused her father to look up quickly and anxiously. "what are you crying about, my dear?" asked mr. crump. foresta made no reply, but held out her hand so that her father could see it. "poor thing; how did you hurt it?" he asked. "don't think about that. mama wants you. come on!" said foresta, averting her face. the father and daughter trudged along home, the father trying to say comforting things to foresta and she weeping the more bitterly the while. at length it occurred to mr. crump that the hindered hand. foresta was more deeply touched than would have been the case if her trouble had been merely that of a bruised hand. stopping, he said, "say, now, foresta, is your mama hurt?" "o no, papa! mama is not hurt. come on!" "is henry" foresta perceived the coming question, and ran to avoid it. they were now near home. foresta rushed in and threw her arms around her mother. hearing her father's footsteps, she ran into the kitchen, leaving her mother to break the news. "ford, we haven't any little henry now!" said mrs. crump in sad, soothing tones. ford crump whirled away from his wife and walked rapidly out of the room through the kitch- en into the back yard. little henry's chief task was attending to the chickens, and mr. crump stood at the fence running across the yard to form an enclosure for the fowl. "chicks, your best friend is gone," said he. "my head! my head!" he cried. foresta and her mother heard his cry and reached him just in time to break the force of the fall, but not in time to prevent his answering the final summons. chapter ix. a plotter in he. eighbors came and took charge of the body of ford crump. the body of henry was brought home and re- ceived the same kindly attention. for- esta and her mother now set forth to make ar- rangements for the burial. the undertakers asked for a lien on their place as a guarantee of the payment of the debt. upon investigation it transpired that the place had been purchased by arthur daleman, sr., in his own name. mr. crump had paid him in full for the place but the proper transfer had never been made. mr. daleman was not in the city and arthur daleman, jr., refused to have anything to do with the matter. he also intimated that un- less mrs. crump could show a clear title to the place, she would be charged rent. this intimation did not worry mrs. crump, for she knew arthur daleman, sr., to be the soul of honor and knew that he would do what was right, title or no title. but her personal confidence in ( ) the hindered hand. mr. daleman could not be converted into cash, and she had to look elsewhere for money. there infested almaville scores of loan com- panies that charged exorbitant rates of interest and had their contracts so arranged that a fail- ure to pay put them in possession of the house- . hold goods of the party in debt. it was also held to be a criminal offense punishable by a term in the penitentiary for a person to borrow money from more than one company on the same items of furniture. little henry had always asserted that he was going to be a merchant when he became a man, and made it a custom to pick up and preserve such business cards as were thrown into his yard. from his pile of cards stacked in a corner mrs. crump learned the location of these loan companies and decided to resort to them for the money needed. getting a small sum from each, she had borrowed from fifteen companies when she at last got the amount demanded by the undertaker. arthur daleman, jr., was not making money as fast as he desired in the business turned over to him by his father, so he had resorted to the loan business. knowing that people would of- ten borrow from more than one loan company in spite of the regulations forbidding it, and reason- ing that such borrowers would be even more sure than others to pay, because of fear of the peni- tentiary, he had ten loan companies of his own a plotter is he. operating in different buildings under various names. it happened that on the evening that foresta and her mother made the rounds borrowing mon- ey, he was on an inspecting tour of his loan com- panies. mrs. crump borrowed money from five of arthur daleman's companies without, of course, knowing it. arthur daleman, jr., him- self was present in two places when she was bor- rowing the money. on each of these occasions he had taken more than a passing interest in foresta. her beauty was by no means dimin- ished by the mourning attire, and arthur dale- man, jr., found himself admiring her, notwith- standing his hatred of her race. when the pa- pers were signed in the second loan transaction which he witnessed, he said to himself with a feel- ing of satisfaction: "my way is tolerably clear." with the money procured from the various loan companies little henry and his father were given what the people called a nice burial. with- in a week after the interment arthur daleman, jr., made his appearance at mrs. crump's home. foresta was at school when he called, and when she reached home she found her mother standing, facing him, with an angry and excited look in her eyes. foresta read in her mother's coun- tenance that she was angry and that the advan- tage in whatever matter it was, was not alto- gether on her side. "what is it, mama?" asked foresta. the hindered hand. "this man wants you to hire out in his family after you graduate." foresta looked at the man in surprise. the thought of going into the service of the whites was utterly foreign to her ambition. "you may take your choice," said arthur dale- man, jr., sure of his ground. "what choice?" asked foresta, alarmed by the man's tone of assurance. "it is this way. negro servants are not up to what they used to be. they are getting squeam- ish, and you have to be so careful how you speak to them or they will leave you. we are kept al- ways on the lookout for a servant girl." "what on earth have i to do with that?" asked foresta, her eyes widening with astonshiment. "this much—i am going to have a measure of stability in my family service somehow. your mother here is in a tight box. all i have to do is to speak the word and to the penitentiary she goes!" said daleman. foresta grew weak, her lips slightly parted and she backed to the wall for support. arthur daleman, jr., continued: "borrowing money from loan companies takes the form of a sale, as you can see by reading any of the con- tracts. now you can't sell a thing to two differ- ent people at the same time. the law does not allow such. it is a penitentiary offense. see?" a plotter is he. foresta rushed to her mother and threw her arms about her and sobbed bitterly. mrs. crump said, "i'll go to the pen. come af- ter me when you get ready! but fores' shall never work for you." "take your choice," said arthur daleman, jr., and walked from the room. foresta tore herself from her mother's arms and rushed out of the room after him. "mister! wait!" she called. "don't do anything to mama. i'll come and do the work faithfully," said foresta trying to smile. "all right," said daleman, smiling, "be a good girl and you won't have, a better friend than i am," said he, in a significant tone, trying to awaken foresta to the real situation. if she understood it her impassive countenance did not reveal the fact. the world at large has heard that the prob- lem of the south is the protection of the white woman. there is another woman in the south. chapter x. arabelle seabright. rabelle, i am not going to have a thing to do with this whole matter. suppose the bottom falls out and we are detected. just imagine my fate." "detected?" hissed mrs. arabelle seabright, turning a scornful gaze upon her husband. "you talk as though we have committed or are about to commit some crime. you just stay in your place, please, and leave matters to me." "do you mean to tell me that i need not meet the man?" asked mr. seabright eagerly. "yes!" replied mrs. seabright. he leaped out of his chair and waltzed across the room, kissed his wife and darted through the door. "fool!" she muttered between her teeth. mrs. arabelle seabright in her room in the domain hotel was now awaiting the arrival of a newspaper reporter, the next victim to be bent to her will. it had been on her programme to have her daughter eunice and her husband pres- ent during a part of the interview with the re- ( ) arabelle seabright. porter, but as they were not entering enthusias- tically into her plans she was rather glad that they had declined to be present. it was not long before a mr. gilman, reporter for the "daily columbian," was ushered into mrs. seabright's room. "let us understand each other at the outset, if possible," said mrs. seabright, with a smile, di- recting a kindly gaze in the direction of the young man. mr. gilman bowed deferentially, but said nothing. "i am ambitious?" said mrs. seabright. "ambitious people are the ones that carry the world forward," ventured the young man mod- estly. "i have an unbounded ambition,—an ambition to live in history as long as a record of human af- fairs is kept. oh! i hate death!" said mrs. sea- bright with a shudder, stamping a foot upon the floor for emphasis. "i have money with which to further my ambitions. i am aware of the tra- ditions of your paper, the 'columbian.' i shall not ask you to violate them. but if you will put your heart in your labor and be an incessant worker in my interest, your ambitions will be gratified. a fair exchange is no robbery. you put me on the way to attain my ends and i shall do the like for you. is it a bargain?" "whatever i may be able to do consistently, i shall certainly do, and shall be duly appreciative pf whatever may result in my favor in conse- the hindered hand. quence of work worthily done," said the young man with so much fervor that mrs. seabright knew that she was well fortified in that direction. bit by bit the almaville public was educated as to the seabrights. they were descendants of sires that took a prominent part in the affairs of the colonies during and succeeding the period of the american revolution. mr. seabright in- herited a large fortune which a keen business sense had enabled him to increase very material- ly. he had now moved to almaville to found one of the largest furniture manufacturing es- tablishments in the country. he was so ab- sorbed in business pursuits that he did not relish social affairs much, but his charming wife was such a dispenser of hospitality that she made up for his deficiency. eunice, reputed to be the sole heir to the sea- bright millions, was a girl of great beauty, highly accomplished, and the center of attraction of any group of which she formed a part. a valuable tract of land had already been pur- chased for the manufacturing establishment and a contract for the construction of the plant had been let. as soon as a suitable location could be found, mr. seabright was going to erect a man- sion in almaville that would be the pride of the south. an option had been taken on a piece of property in the west end that about measured up to the requirements, and the likelihood was that the residence would be constructed there. arabelle seabright. the mere prospect had caused the prices of the property in that vicinity, already valuable, to soar much higher. the public soon perceived that the conservative, the reliable "columbian," the paper of the south- ern aristocracy, was favorably impressed with the seabrights as a valuable addition to the commer- cial and social life of almaville, and even the most exclusive circles prepared to make room for the newcomers. the hon. h. g. volrees sat in his law office with his chair tilted back, his chestnut brown hair much rumpled upon his large daniel web- ster looking head. here was one of the most astute legal minds of the state and the real head of the democratic party of the state. he was now forty-five years old and unmarried. he had never held public office but was seriously consid- ering entering the race for united states sena- tor. a venerable senator was to retire within about three years and the position could be his if he but indicated a willingness to accept. the hon. h. g. volrees had large ambitions. he was anxious to restore the old time prestige of the south in the councils of the nation. he was a well-to-do man but did not have the money to gain an assured social position at the nation's capital. he fancied he detected the flavor of am- bition in those flattering notices concerning the seabrights. "it may be that my hour has come," said mr. the hindered hand. volrees, picking up the paper and looking again at the published picture of eunice. he closed his desk and went to his hotel. mrs. arabelle seabright's net had caught its fish. and what had the fish caught? now that is the vital question. the hindered hand. the "daily columbian" did its share in stimu- lating interest in the forthcoming marriage. al- maville as a whole seemed to be particularly well pleased with the proposed wedding, involving, as it did, a union of the wealth and beauty of the north with the brain and chivalry of the south. as for mr. seabright, the more his family at- tracted social attention the more uneasy he grew. at first he did make out to accompany his wife to church and to theaters; but he had such a way of staring at the ceiling, avoiding the gaze of peo- ple, and hurrying away to escape introductions, that finally she was glad to leave him at home. many brilliant social functions were given at his home, but he was always absent. a mrs. marsh, in whom curiosity was more strongly developed than even in the rest of her kind, was determined to find out something about this eccentric mr. seabright. she managed to get on intimate terms with mrs. seabright, and was very free in moving to and fro in the sea- bright residence. her intentions were not how- ever hidden from mrs. seabright. she knew that mrs. marsh was planning to get closer to her husband as a matter of curiosity, and she was glad of the experiment, hoping that mrs. marsh would eventually succeed in making him at home in the social circle. there was a sort of turret-shaped cupola crowning the seabright residence and mr. sea- bright made this his retreat. it was fitted up unusual for a man. with a telephone connecting it with the rest of the house and with his place of business. it also bad connections with a long distance system. the door to his den was always locked, and no one could gain admission without first calling him up over the telephone. one day mrs. marsh, who was a good mimic imitated the voice of a foreman in mr. sea- bright's factory and caused him to open the door of his den. 'when mr. seabright caught sight of a woman's face and form he made a quick at- tempt to close the door, but mrs. marsh appre- hending such an attempt, thrust a foot in so as to prevent this. "will you kindly withdraw?" asked mr. sea- bright, excitedly, holding the door as nearly closed as the foot would allow. "no, thank you; i have had too hard a time get- ting here," said mrs. marsh cheerily. "to be frank, mr. seabright, would you allow a lady to be able to truthfully charge you with discourtesy?" asked mrs. marsh naively. mr. seabright opened the door in despair, in- tending to dart out of the room as soon as mrs. marsh entered. mrs. marsh was looking for just such a step and forestalled it by closing the door and pocket- ing the key. she now took a seat and bade mr. seabright to do likewise. seeing that he had an unusual character to deal with, mr. seabright the hindered hand. sat down resignedly to await the further pleas- ure of his female captor. mrs. marsh looked directly at mr. seabright, and said, "i have broken through all rules of propriety in order to get to you. i wish to say to you, mr. seabright, that this plea of absorp- tion in your business is all humbug. you have other and secret reasons for not desiring to ap- pear in our social circles." the perspiration broke out in great beads on mr. seabright's face. "you have treated your wife and daughter shamefully, refusing to honor their social affairs with your presence," continued mrs. marsh. the tone of reproach in this remark, indicat- ing that mrs. marsh did not approve of his ab- sence from social functions, caused mr. sea- bright to feel slightly better, as she evidently did not think that the secret reasons governing his course were to his discredit personally, else she would not have lamented his absence. "you are from the north and rate the south- ern women as being beneath your notice, do you?" inquired mrs. marsh. "o no! no! no!" said mr. seabright. "on the contrary, i very much admire ," he did not finish the sentence, some fresh thought checking him in the midst of the utterance. mrs. marsh waited for him to finish, but he did not go on with the remark. finally, finding her- unusual for a man. self unable to make any headway with mr. sea- bright, mrs. marsh eventually arose to go. "i would be very thankful if before you leave you will sign a statement that i shall draw up," said mr. seabright eagerly, going to his desk to do the writing. mrs. marsh looked at him a much puzzled wom- an. his phenomenal success as a business man gave proof of his sound mental condition, and yet he acted so queerly about everything else. "i wonder what sort of a statement he wants me to sign," thought she. the paper ran as follows: "this is to certify that i was in the presence of mr. seabright unaccompanied for a few mo- ments and can testify that his treatment of me was in every way exemplary." mrs. marsh smiled in an amused manner. "you are making me testify to the fact that i de- served my cool reception. i will sign." so say- ing she attached her signature to the paper and departed. mr. seabright folded up the statement and put it among his most valuable papers. "this may save two hundred and eight bones from being broken. i think that is. the number of bones in the human body," said he, double-locking his door. chapter xii. a honeymoon out of the usual order. i m i ■ he much heralded volrees-seabright marriage is at last a reality, and a morning train is now bearing the dis- tinguished couple through the beauti- ful mountain scenery of the state, en route to an atlantic seaport, whence they are to set sail for an extended tour through the old world. as the porter passed through the coach in which eunice sat, he recognized her and she like- wise recognized him. eunice perceived that the porter remembered her and she was glad of it, for it simplified the work before her. in order that they both might look directly out of a window eunice insisted on taking a seat be- hind mr. volrees. taking advantage of her po- sition she wrote the following note. "mr. porter: enclosed you will find a one hundred dollar note. for this you must see to it that this train stops after it has gone a few hun- dred feet into the long tunnel. now you had better do as i tell you or else i will see that you ( ) a honeymoon out of the usual order. : have trouble. you know that any white woman can have a negro's life taken at a word. be- ware! do as i tell you and say nothing to any one!" the porter took the note and read it with much anxiety. there came to his mind instance after instance in which white women had given innocent negro men great trouble. he had heard how that negro tramps begging for food had been greeted by such a show of fear and excite- ment on the part of those approached for food that the tramps had been overtaken and lynched for alleged attempts at heinous offenses, when the real offense was that of begging for bread. he recalled one case particularly that took place on a farm adjoining the one on which he was reared. the father of a girl seriously objected to the attentions being paid his daughter by a white man, and he cautioned his old faithful negro servant to keep a watch upon the movements of the daughter with a view to preventing an elope- ment. seeing that there was not much hope of outwitting the father without first getting rid of the negro, the girl decided to get him out of the way. the negro was so loyal to his employer and so faithful in the discharge of his duties that the girl knew that she could not attack him from that quarter. one morning before day she was found lying upon the front porch of her home, her dress covered with blood. when after much effort she finally spoke, she laid a grave charge the hindered hand. at the door of the negro servant. he was ap- prehended and a mob was formed to lynch him. the father of the girl, however, doubted her story and insisted that the negro be given a trial. within a very few days the girl eloped with the suitor so unacceptable to her father. after her marriage she testified that the negro was in- nocent, that the blood found on her was the blood of a chicken sprinkled there by herself and that she concocted the whole story of the outrage to get rid of the surveillance of the faithful negro servant. the perturbed porter canvassed in his mind the stock of alleged facts circulated secretly among the negroes setting forth the manner in which some white women used their unlimited power of life and death over negro men, things that may in some age of the world's history come to light. after thoroughly considering the situa- tion, the porter succumbed to the temptation and concluded to stop the train according to eunice's directions. eunice read in the porter's eyes his acquiesence and her spirits rose high. she was all life and animation and the hon. h. g. volrees was re- galing himself with thoughts of his home as the social center of the life of washington. "let me bring you a drink of water," said eunice laughingly. "and where does southern chivalry take up its abode while you do that?" asked volrees. a honeymoon out of the usual order. "in the granting of the first request of a newly made and happy bride," said eunice, playfully pulling volrees down in his seat and tripping gaily out to get the water. she used a cup which she had brought along and into which she had dropped a drug of some sort. volrees drank the water suspecting nothing. as the day wore on he found himself growing very sleepy, but did not associate it with the wa- ter which he had taken. in order to get his busi- ness in such shape that he could leave it, he had not found much time for rest of late and felt that his tired body was now calling for rest. eunice arranged a tidy little pillow for his head and watched him sink into a profound slumber. toward nightfall the train reached the desig- nated tunnel. eunice under cover of the dark- ness, incident to passing through the tunnel, went to the door of the coach without attracting much attention. when the train made the stop prear- ranged with the porter, eunice dropped off of the coach step and stood with her back pressed against the tunnel wall. the train soon pulled out, the officials concluding that it was the shrewd trick of some tramp "riding the blind baggage" (between the baggage and the express car), who desired an easy way for alighting. on and on rolled the train bearing the sleeping mr. volrees. when he awoke the sunlight of the day following the one on which he went to sleep was falling in his face. tied to his wrist he saw the hindered hand. a letter. looking about for eunice and missing her, he concluded that she was playing some joke, and with a smile he took the note from his wrist and read: "dear mr. volrees: pray act sensibly in this trying period that has come in your life. think well before you act. i am a sincere friend of yours and really like you. now it will pay you to do just as i am going to tell you to do. con- tinue your journey to the old world. from each point mapped out for a sojourn send back the ap- propriate letter from the batch which i have written and am leaving with you. i have read much of the places which we have planned to visit and i am sure that my letter's have enough of local color to pass for letters written on the scene. send these letters back to be passed around and "read by my friends. "in some foreign country telegraph back that i am dead. your ingenuity can supply the de- tails. by this time mother knows all and will join me in my advice to you. when you return to this country come as a widower and enjoy the money which comes to you through your mar- riage with me. by all that is sacred in earth and in heaven, i swear that i shall ever remain dead to you and will in no way directly or indirectly cross your path. nor shall any one save my mother know that i am alive and she shall never see or hear from me again. it was not long before mr. volrees was handed a telegram which read as follows: "for god's sake do as the girl directs. so much is involved! eunice." "arabelle seabrighty ft '"what do they take me to be, a knight errant of hell and a simpleton withal? i swear by every shining star that i shall probe to the bottom of this matter if it shakes the foundations of the earth,' said he." ( - .) a honeymoon out of the usual order. t the hon. h. g. volrees' wrath knew no bounds. "what do they take me to be, a knight errant of hell and a simpleton withal? i swear by every shining star that i shall probe to the bottom of this matter if it shakes the foundations of the earth," said he. he took the first train back to almaville, his spirit crushed within him, though he bore his sorrow with an outward calm. he ut- terly refused to discuss the affair, as did also mrs. seabright. almaville society had not received so profound a shock since the unexplained course of sam houston in returning his young bride to her parents and disappearing among the indians. chapter xiii. shrewd mrs. crawford. letween tiara and ensal there ex- isted a barrier which had seemingly prevented a development of the ties that all who knew the two expected with full assurance. the attitude of a negro on the social question as between the races was no child's play with tiara. it struck at the very root of the deepest convictions of her soul, and she was firmly re- solved to allow no negro into the inner circle of her friendship of whose views on that question she was ignorant. she had, as she felt, prac- ticed "suspension of judgment" with regard to ensal, and assured herself that he was making no progress in her esteem. she also impressed ensal that he was a decidedly stationary quantity, no further advanced in her esteem than on the occasion of their first meeting. this situation did not displease ensal alto- gether. he felt that so long as tiara did not and would not take more than a passing interest in him, he could continue to keep in abeyance that grave question as to whether, in view of the drift of things, a young negro, absorbed as he was in ( ) shrewd mrs. crawford. the question of the condition of the race, should form family ties. so he journeyed along cherish- ing an ever-increasing attachment, but content for the present to worship her at a distance. mrs. crawford, with all her quietness, was an exceedingly wise woman. she did not know ex- actly what it was, but she knew as well as did ensal and tiara that there was an artificial bar- rier between them. she also knew that if ever a man loved a woman, ensal was in love with tiara. and she knew more. she knew that tiara was self-deceived; that tiara herself would be the most astonished person imaginable when she awoke to find out how much she really cared for ensal. mrs. crawford knew ensal's reasons for hesi- tating to form family ties, but did not regard them as substantial. she was determined that ensal and tiara should marry; her whole heart was set upon the project. never in her whole life had she met a couple more clearly designed for each other than this pair, as she viewed the matter. she knew how firm of mind both ensal and tiara were and how useless it would be to at- tempt to talk to either of them. in view of the secret barrier, tiara would have given her to un- derstand that the matter was not worthy of a second's consideration. as for ensal he could not have been brought to think that tiara came any nearer being in love with him than with the rankest stranger, for in all their conversations, the hindered hand. not being settled upon the question of mar- riage, as a matter of honor he had neither sought to develop nor to test the strength of tiara's re- gard for himself. mrs. crawford felt fully justified under the circumstances in forcing matters to an issue. she perceived that to do this involved a great sacri- fice on her part, the temporary loss of tiara's friendship; but she decided that the purchase was worthy of the price. one night as tiara was about to retire to rest, mrs. crawford dropped into her room for one of their customary chats. after talking on various topics she brought the subject around to ensal. "now there is a young man that inspires many people with contempt," said mrs. crawford, in a manner to suggest that she, too, was one of that many. tiara almost fell, clutching the footboard of the bed for support. "how can any one possibly have such an opin- ion of mr. ellwood?" asked tiara, in tones of deepest injury. mrs. crawford merely shrugged her shoulders. "i have never met a nobler man," continued tiara. "oh, some people have faith in the fellow," said mrs. crawford sneeringly. "you seem to have changed, mrs. crawford. it hasn't been so long since i heard you speaking of mr. ellwood in the highest possible terms." shrewd mrs. crawford. "we learn more of people from time to time and must revise our estimates of them in keeping with our more extensive knowledge," replied mrs. crawford. "be specific, mrs. crawford; mr. ellwood is a friend of mine," said tiara, now thoroughly aroused. "oh, if you are that much of a friend, you might not be competent to weigh the evidence in the case," said mrs. crawford, smiling and aris- ing as if to go. "would you cast aspersions upon a person's character and treat the matter so lightly?" asked tiara, a flush of anger appearing on her face. "things other than moral blemishes inspire contempt sometimes. i do not care to say more about the matter. good night," said mrs. craw- ford. tiara went no further with her preparations for retiring. she stowed away all of her posses- sions in her trunk and locked it. she then sat down and wrote a note to mrs. crawford, thank- ing her for her many courtesies and expressing regret that she found it beyond her power of en- durance to longer stay under her roof. tiara now went to the telephone in the hallway and called for a carriage. it was not long in com- ing and she was soon being whirled in the direc- tion of mrs. crump's residence. the hindekeu hand. mrs. crump was glad to receive tiara and she was again assigned to the room in which she slept on the night of her arrival in almaville. tiara did not go to bed, but rocked to and fro, anxious for day to break, eager, so eager to see ensal. at length the question crept into her consciousness: "why are you so enraged? are you as anxious to see every one whom you have defended as you are to see this one?" "my god! i love the man!" said tiara, rising from her chair and throwing herself face down- ward across the bed. "oh, i must never see him again. he might read this awful, this maddening love in my eyes." early the next morning, mrs. crawford sent for ensal. "mr. ellwood, i wish you had been more frank with me," said mrs. crawford. "please explain," said ensal. "i took occasion to discuss you rather freely last night, and i seem to have given mortal of- fense to miss merlow, who appears to be madly in love with you." ensal was perplexed and knew not what to say. "where is miss merlow?" asked ensal. "she became so indignant that she left my house last night. when you win people's love to such a degree as that, you ought to post your friends so that they may be careful. miss mer- low has gone to mrs. crump's. i shall offer you no explanation of my course until you have heard shrewd mrs. crawford. from miss merlow. now leave me and go to her." much mystified at the strange turn of events, ensal took his departure. the postman early that same morning had left the following note at mrs. crump's for tiara. "ensal ellwood is a noble young man. you loved him and did not know it. i have opened your eyes. forgive me, dear, but i could not see two, whom i regard so highly, so far apart. as for ellwood, the lad has never had his right mind since he first met you. "madge crawford." that day a telegram came to mrs. crawford's for tiara and she carried it to the latter forthwith. when the two met there was a mischievous twinkle in mrs. crawford's eyes and the light of happiness in tiara's. when tiara read the telegram she ap- peared much disturbed. that night she left al- maville. when she returned she bought her a home on the outskirts of the city, took mrs. crump to live with her, and denied herself to all her former almaville friends, ensal included. eunice volrees or seabright, had come to stay with tiara and the latter had for the sake of eunice shut herself out from all her friends. chapter xiv. alene and ramon. lene daleman and ramon mansford stood within the vestibule of the for- mer's home. ramon's arm was around alene's waist and her beautiful black eyes were upturned to his, as if to say, "fathom the love we tell of, if you can." down stoops ramon and plants a fervent, lingering kiss upon the lips of the girl he loves, saying, as he stroked her hair, "the last token of love until the minister has his say." "let me have a last, too," said alene, tiptoeing to plant a kiss upon ramon's lips, and thus the two parted. light of heart, alene went tripping to for- esta's room and said: "foresta, as you know, the house is full of peo- ple who have come from a distance to attend my wedding. you need not stay here to-night. i will occupy your room." foresta was very glad indeed, as an early re- lease enabled her to carry out some plans of her own. * * * * * * $ ( ) alene and ramon. "mama," said foresta, her face buried in her mother's lap, "i have something which i wish to tell you." her mother stroked her hair, and said, "tell me, dear." "you know mr. arthur daleman, jr., threat- ened you with the penitentiary, but compromised the matter on the condition that i should work . for him." "yes, dear," said mrs. crump, beginning to breathe fast through the force of increased ex- citement. "he pretended that he would not cancel the matter, in order that he might be sure to hold me as a servant," said the girl. foresta paused and her mother said, "go on; i am listening." "he had dark purposes, mama," said foresta. "yes," said mrs. crump, rather feebly, fearful of what was to come. foresta, detecting considerable anxiety in her mother's voice, looked up quickly. "now, mama, don't look so scared and troubled; it isn't anything awful, now." so saying, she buried her face again and continued her recital. "he pretends to love me, mama. he has tried many times to kiss me. i knew what kind of a sword he held over you, and while i resented his advances, i sought not to enrage him for your sake." "well!" said mrs. crump; thoroughly alarmed. the hindered hand. "i kept him in his place by threatening to tell miss alene. he thinks lots of her and that scared aim. he wouldn't care about anybody else." foresta took another look into her mother's face, then resumed her former attitude. con- tinuing, she said: "miss alene leaves to-morrow, and i am afraid to stay there with him. you know a colored girl has no protection. if a white girl is insulted her insulter is shot down and the one who kills him is highly honored. if a colored girl u insulted by a white man and a colored man resents it. the colored man is lynched." mrs. crump let a tear drop and it fell on for- esta's cheek. foresta felt the tear and raised herself and said. "now, you bad mama, you! what's the use crying? i'll take care of myself," a fierce gleam coming into her pretty eyes. having wiped her mother's cheeks free from tears, foresta buried her face again. "i am not going back any more. i am going to get married to-night. bud and i are going to get married. and bud has saved up enough money to pay us out of debt." mrs. crump now understood why foresta was hiding her face. she remembered her own feel- ings when the question of marriage had to be broached to her mother. she bent over and kissed foresta. "bud and i are going to run away and get alene and ramon. married. run away from you," said foresta laughingly. "and you must be awfully surprised when we come back. we are going to do this to avoid a lot of useless expense in getting up a big wedding. that money can go to help us get rid of those eating cancers, those old loan men." mrs. crump knew how much foresta's heart had always been set on a fine wedding, and she knew that foresta was making that sacrifice for her sake. "my sweet foresta, you have been such a dear child—god will reward you," said mrs. crump, burying her head on foresta's shoulder. "this is not what i had planned for my darling; but god knows what's best. his will be done." at the appointed hour bud harper was stand- ing at foresta's gate. foresta soon joined him and they took a train for a nearby town where they were made man and wife. in the meantime some awful things were hap- pening at the daleman residence. leroy crutch- er, of whom we caught a glimpse or so in an ear- lier chapter, happened to be passing along the sidewalk that ran parallel with the side of the daleman residence. as he reached the alley at the rear of the yard, he saw a man standing on a rock looking over the back fence. the two men glared at each other. the moon was shining brightly and they could see each other well. leroy turned away and walked along the street, saying to himself, "i ought to have shot that the hindered hand. scoundrel, bud harper, then and there." reflect- ing a little he said, "no, i must get him without hurting myself." the man about whom leroy had thus spoken climbed over the fence and crouched in the shad- ow of the coalhouse. his eyes were fixed on foresta's room and his vigil was ceaseless. at about eleven o'clock arthur daleman, jr., emerged from the hallway of the second story, paused a few moments and crept toward for- esta's room. "yes, its true," muttered the negro, between gritted teeth, the look of a savage overspreading his face. he clambered over the fence saying, "wait a few minutes, happy couple." in the meantime arthur daleman, jr., had un- locked the door to foresta's room and stood as if rooted to the spot. there upon the bed lay alene instead of foresta, as he could plainly see by the dimly burning light. fearing that alene might awaken and see him, he quickly turned out the light and stepped from the room. in his haste he left the door slightly ajar. what took place thereafter the morning revealed. chapter xv. hi unexpected developments. [ ccording to previous engagement, mr. arthur daleman, sr., alene's fath- er, and ramon mansford, her affianced, went forth together for an early morn- ing walk. arm in arm the somewhat aged south- erner and the young northerner sauntered forth. "my boy," said mr. daleman, "i have thought to have a talk with you concerning the dark shadow that projects itself over our section, the negro problem. not that i would infect you with my peculiar views, but that those of us and our descendants who abide here may have your sympathy." "my love for alene invests all that is near to her with my abiding sympathy," said ramon with quiet fervor. "yes, but the mind must be informed if sym- pathy is to be intelligently directed. to begin with, men of my class, families like mine have no prejudice against negroes nor they against us. we know them thoroughly and they know us. there is never the slightest trespass on forbidden ( ) the hindered hand. ground by us or by them. it is a boast of many negroes that they can tell a 'quality' white per- son on sight, and practically all negroes ascribe their troubles to a certain class of whites." "i have noticed the kindly relations between your people and all the negroes that have had dealings with them," interposed ramon. "my class was humane to the negro in the days of slavery and under our kindly care de- veloped him from a savage into a thoroughly civ- ilized man. but i am glad slavery is gone. un- der the system bad white men could own slaves and their doings were sometimes terrible. they were the ones who made uncle tom's cabin pos- sible and brought down upon us all the maledic- tions of the world. like 'poor dog tray,' the humane class were caught in bad company and we have paid for it. but all of that is in the past. a word about the present and the future," said mr. daleman. the two men were now in a grove of trees in the suburbs of the city. mr. daleman took a seat on a stump and ramon, unmindful of the dew, threw himself at full length on the grass, and looked up intently into the face of his pro- spective father-in-law. mr. daleman now resumed: "the radical ele- ment at the south has always given us trouble. the radicals hate the negro and nothing is too bad for them to do to him. we liberals like him and want to see him prosper. such of us liberals v unexpected developments. as labor to keep the negro out of politics do so, not out of hatred of him, but for his own good, as we see it. we hate to see him the victim of the spleen of the radicals and they do grow furi- ous at the sight of the negro in exalted station. in your northern home bear in mind these two classes of southerners and remember that some of us at least are anxious for the highest good to all." mr. daleman now paused and a sad look came over his face. he resumed: "one of the hardest tasks among us is the suppression of lynching. in the very nature of things, as conditions now exist, there cannot be such a thing as a trial of a charge of outrage by a negro man upon a white woman. often in cases of that nature the crime charged is disproved, by proving another offense involv- ing collusion. well, no lawyer can be found who would set up such a defense for a negro client if the white woman in the case objected, for he would be killed, perhaps, and, furthermore, col- lusion is punished in the same way as outrage. so lynching is here fortified. tolerated and con- doned for one thing it spreads to other things and men are lynched for trivial offenses. "if a departure could be made from the cus- tom of public trials and jury trials in such cases, relief might be found. the trials could be secret and before a bench of judges. care for the feel- ings of the woman and her guardians, and things the hindered hand. will be better. there is no pronounced sentiment among the better classes in favor of lynching for other causes and it can be put down. there is marked improvement in this matter, and it may be that lynching may be stopped without the changes in jurisprudence which i suggest." mr. daleman now arose from his seat, saying, "come, my son. they will be awaiting break- fast for us, i fear. tell the north that down in this southland there is an element of as noble men as the world affords; men with a keen sense of justice and an unfaltering purpose to lift our section to a position of high esteem in the estima- tion of the world. we may seem to work at cross purposes with you of the north; we may be overwhelmed by waves of race prejudice from time to time, but we are here, and i claim to be one of them. i challenge the man, white or black, rich or poor, to say that i ever mistreated him by word or deed." "you need no vindication. time was when practically all southerners were classed together by the outside, but that day has passed." the two men walked back home in silence, mr. daleman thinking about the future of his home without alene, and ramon thinking of his own future home with her. when they got back to the house breakfast was ready and they were soon seated at the table. "tell alene to come down. i know the child is a little shy this morning, but must have her unexpected developments. by my side this once more. go for her, arthur," said mr. daleman, sr., to his son. arthur involuntarily drew back slightly at the request and his father cast an inquiring look at him. "i hate to disturb the child's slumbers. i doubt whether she slept much last night," said arthur, in somewhat husky tones. "he hates to see alene leave him," thought mr. daleman. arthur ascended the stairs and, coming to alene's door found it slightly ajar. he knocked, but received no response. he knocked harder, then again and again. he knew that he had knocked hard enough to awaken one from sleep, so he concluded that alene must be up and in some other part of the house. as she had left the door open, arthur decided that the room was pre- pared for entering. he had a secret desire to step in and glance around the room in which, on the previous night, he stood in such imminent danger of exposure. pushing the door open, he stepped in quickly, but far more quickly stepped out, terror stricken. upon foresta's bed lay the beautiful alene, her face covered with blood and her hair falling over her face, dyeing itself a crimson red. arthur was speechless with horror. he ran his fingers through his hair, brought his hand down over his face as if seeking by that means to clear his brain so that he could answer the the hindered hand. question as to whether he himself had not com- mitted the murder. recovering his self-posses- sion in a measure, he dragged himself down stairs to where mr. daleman was. there was such an awful look upon his face that mr. daleman was thoroughly aroused. "what is the trouble, arthur?" asked mr, daleman. arthur said nothing, but made a motion in the direction of the room that looked to be as much a sign of despair as of direction. mr. daleman rushed up the stairway and into the room. a glance told him the awful story. the kindly light that always lingered in his eyes died out and a cold, keen glitter appeared. his form showing the slight curvature of age, now stiffened under the iron influence of his will and he stood erect. the tears tried to come, but he tossed the first away and others feared to come. no more bitter cup was ever handed man to drink; but he quaffed it, dregs and all. one aw- ful unnamable fear, involving the motive of the crime, haunted his soul. the family physician was sent for and said tenderly, as he came from the room of the murdered girl, "it might have been worse." through the dark sorrow of mr. daleman's soul there shot a gleam of joy. the two men clasped hands in silence. the horror was less. the whole city was soon in a furor of excite- ment. bloodhounds were put on the trail and unexpected developments. about noon a negro who had been tracked was ap- prehended, sitting quietly on a bridge a few miles out from the city. he made no effort to escape, and manifested no surprise when caught. "have they killed anybody else?" was his first and only utterance to the officers who took him in charge. his captors did not deign to make reply. the negro was handcuffed and led back until the party arrived at the outskirts of the city. the patrol wagon was telephoned for and the negro was soon safe in the station house. news spread like wildfire that the criminal was in the prison and soon the street was full of thou- sands. a mob was formed and an assault was planned upon the prison. the chief of police came out on the steps of the building and, with drawn pistol, declared that the majesty of the law would be maintained at all hazards. he then retired within. nothing daunted the mob surged forward. the chief of police came forth again and in a manner that left no room for mistake, declared that only over his dead body could they take the prisoner. his long record as a daring and faithful officer was well known and the mob now hesitated. the sheriff of the county was out of the city at the time and one of his deputies was in charge of affairs. this deputy had been laying plans with a view to being the candidate of his party for the office of sheriff at the next election, and he fancied that he now saw an opportunity to the hindered hand. curry favor with the masses. he elbowed his way through the crowd and held a whispered conference with the leader of the mob. there- upon the leader took his place on the steps and harangued the mob as follows: "fellow citizens, do not despair. the voice of the people is the voice of god, and your voice shall be heard this day. i assure you of this fact. i beg of you, however, that you now disperse. you shall meet again under circumstances more favorable to your wishes." the persons in front passed the word along, and knowing that some better plan of action had been agreed upon, the crowd dispersed into neighboring streets. the deputy sheriff, armed with the proper pa- pers, appeared at the station house and demanded and secured the prisoner, as the city had no juris- diction over murder cases. when he had pro- ceeded about a block with his prisoner, a group of men who understood the matter raised a mighty yell. the mob which had dispersed now reformed. the prisoner was taken from the deputy sher- iff, and was hurried to the bridge connecting the two parts of the city. a rope was secured and the negro was dropped over the side of the bridge. as his form dangled therefrom, every man in the crowd who could, and who had a pis- tol, leaned over the railing and fired at the negro. the rain of bullets made the negro's form swing unexpected developments. to and fro. the crowd finally dispersed, leaving the body suspended from the bridge. gus martin had kept up with the mob from the beginning, walking about with folded arms, be- traying no trace of excitement save, perhaps, the rapid chewing of the tobacco which was in his mouth. his blood was stirred, but its indian in- fusion contributed stoicism to him on this occa- sion. when the whites were through with the body, gus went to the side of the bridge and drew it up. calling to his aid another negro, he procured a stretcher and bore the body to bud harper's home. chapter xvi. an eager searcher. p and down the street on which he lived, ramon mansford, the affianced of alene daleman, walked as one in a trance. night was coming and as the shadows deepened the bitterness deepened in his soul. "think of it! my father sleeps in an unmarked grave somewhere in the south, and i know that the hope of freeing the slave actuated him to en- list in the army. for the negro, my father buried his sword to the hilt in the blood of his southern brother and in turn received a thrust, all for a race from which this vile miscreant has crept to murder alene, my alene." in the darkness of his own calamity distinc- tions between right and wrong began to fade away, and he found his hatred of the negro race assuming a more violent form than that manifest- ed by the native southerner. in his heart there was the harking back to times more than a thou- sand years ago—to times when his race was a ( s) ''what have you done?' sternly asked ramon." ( - .) an eager searcher. race of exterminators. at this particular time it seemed to him that nothing would have suited him better than to have taken the lead of forces bent on driving every black face from the land. now and then he would pause and ask himself: "is all this horror'true? is the sweet alene - gone? was the dear one foully murdered while i slept? great god of heaven, can all this be true? must i go through life unsupported by the brave heart of alene on which i was depend- ing for strength to conquer worlds?" he sat down upon the curbstone and buried his face in his hands. about twelve o'clock that night a negro wom- an came rushing along at full speed. ramon seized her and she uttered a loud scream, falling in a helpless heap at his feet. with a tight grip on her arm he said, "have you, too, blighted somebody's happiness? have you murdered some one?" with terror stricken eyes the woman looked up into his face and said, "mistah, please lemme go, please sah!" "what have you done?" sternly asked ramon. "nothin' sah," said she. "i'se been roun' ter dilsy harper's, settin' up ovah bud harper's daid body, whut wuz sent home frum de bridge. wal, sah, ez shuah ez dis here chile is bawn ter die, while we wuz settin' up ovah bud's body, bud hisself walked in. we looked at bud, den at de body, en we wuz skeert ter death. den de liv- the hindered hand. in' bud, went up an looked down on de daid bud, and de daid bud skeert de livin' bud, and de liv- in' bud fairly flew outen dat house. den, bless yer soul, honey, dat ole house wuz soon empty." this weird tale furnished the needed diversion to ramon's overburdened mind. his thoughts began to run in another direction. "was the mob mistaken? is the man thought to have been killed yet alive? if one mistake has been made, who can say that two haven't been made? is her real murderer yet alive?" such were the thoughts that went crashing through ramon's mind and his grip on the wom- an's arm slackened. the woman wrenched her- self loose and continued her journey with in- creased speed. as late as it was ramon hurried to the har- pers' home and found the negroes standing about at a distance from the house, discussing the sud- den reappearance and disappearance of bud har- per, when there, all agreed, lay bud before their very eyes. ramon returned to his home strangely be- calmed, and though late in the night he sat down and wrote the following letter to his home in the north. "my dear norfleet: i am in the throes of an overwhelming sorrow. my alene has been foully murdered. a mystery surrounds the case. we cannot fathom the motive of the crime. to- day (rather yesterday now, for it is two o'clock an eager searcher. ill in the morning) a man accused of murdering her was lynched. to-night the man who was supposed to have been lynched made his appearance at his home. but the mother sticks to it that the real murderer, her son, is the corpse, and appearances seem to bear out the contention. now it may be that alene's murder- er is yet alive and that an injustice has been wrought upon somebody. my heart is more firm- ly knit to my southern white brethren than ever before. i fling ambition to the winds. tell my friends that i shall not make the race for con- gress, and thank them for me for the way in which they have always seconded my aspirations. it pains me much to not be in a position to at- tempt to scale the heights which their loving hearts fancied i could make with ease. i shall walk with my kith and kin of the south in the shadow, for in the furnace of a common sorrow, my heart has been melted into one with theirs. we of the south (you see i call myself one of them), know not what the future has in store for our beloved section, but we face the ordeal with the grim determination of our race. if you be- lieve in prayer, pray that i may be just and may even in darkness do the right. "ramon, 'the mad.'" when alene had been laid to rest, ramon, af- ter lingering in almaville for a few weeks, dis- appeared completely, leaving behind no trace of himself. he had previously given mr. daleman and friends assurances that he would do no vio- lence to himself. so while they knew not where he was nor what was his mission, they were not unduly apprehensive as to his welfare. chapter xvii. peculiar divorce proceedings. ilsy brooks, would you 'low me er few wurds wid you?" dilsy harper, bud's mother, paused in her knitting, pulled her spectacles a little further down on her nose, and peered over them at silas harper, her husband, who had just entered her room and stood with his hat in his hand. he was low of stature, small and very bow-legged. a short white beard graced his chin, while his upper lip was kept clean shaven. his head was covered with the proverbial knotty, wool-like hair, which was now the scene of a struggle for the mastery between the black and gray. since the moment that the news was brought to him that bud was accused of alene's murder he had been acting rather queerly, even after all things were taken into consideration, thought mrs. harper. the tone of mr. harper's voice and his sober face led his wife to believe that he was now about to unbosom himself. as he had seen fit to call her by her maiden name, mrs. harper did not deign to reply. ( ) the hindered hand. "i is willin' ter 'cept yer silunce fer cunsent, as i feel i mus' say whut air in me," mr. harper resumed. continuing, he said: "yer been 'ceiv- in' me, dilsy; yer been 'ceivin' me." mrs. harper could not stand that impeachment of her honor and she quickly hissed, "yer air jes' a plain, orternary liah, silas. i is er hones' 'oman myself. but out wid yer pizen. i been knowin' 'twuz in yer." "i 'peats ergin whut i dun sed. yer hez been 'ceivin' me, dilsy; yer been 'ceivin' me, an i ken prove it." mrs. harper cast a withering look of contempt at her husband, folded her arms and leaned back in her chair, more puzzled than ever at his queer course. "now, dilsy, let me ax yer some queshuns. wen i wuz a lad in slabery time, didunt i dribe my young missus 'bout whar' eber she went? an' she wuz safe. didunt dis heah same silas do dat?" said he, his voice rising to a high pitch in his earnestness. "wen de yankees wuz fightin' our folks and our mens wuz ter de front in bat- tul, didunt dese hans er mine hole de plow dat brung de corn ter feed my missus? at night did i sleep er wink wen dare wuz eny t'ing lackly ter pester de wimmins?" said he in the same high tones. "de wimmins befoh de wah an' since de wah an' in de wah hez alius hed a pertectur in old un- cle silas, an' yer knows it!" said he, pointing his "'yer air jes' a plain, orternary liah, silas. i is er hones' 'oman myself. but out wid yer pizen. i been k no win' 'twuz in yer.'" (. - .) peculiar divorce proceedings. index finger at his wife. "wal, i'm comin' ter de p'int. bud's done kilt er 'oman. he ain't no blood uv min'. you ain't been er true wife ter. me. he's sumbody else's boy. he aint mine. my blood don't run dat'er way." not a muscle in mrs. harper's face moved as she listened to this indictment on the part of her husband. "an', now," he continued, "you needunt min' 'bout sayin' eny ting 'bout dis. i aint gwine ter say nothin' 'bout yer ter skanderlize yer. i am gwine ter nail up de doh 'twixt you an' me. you aint no wife er min' fur bud an me aint got de same blood. he kilt er 'oman." mrs. harper looked steadily at her husband, her anger gone, now that she understood all. she leaned forward and parted her lips as if to speak. she seemed to take a second thought and slowly leaned back in her chair. it was evi- dent that a debate was going on in her mind. "no, he talks too much," said she to herself. she adjusted her spectacles, picked up her knit- ting and resumed work, a gentle look of forgive- ness upon her face. silas harper with bowed head, and shoulders more stooped than common, walked from the room. procuring a hammer and nails he soon had the entrance from his room to that of his wife securely barred. and every lick that he struck was like unto driving a nail into his own heart, for he loved dilsy, the love of his youth, the hindered hand. the companion of his earlier struggles after slavery, the joint purchaser of their four-room cottage, and the mother of the two boys whom he had hitherto regarded as his sons. chapter xviii. mists that vanish. n his far away peaceful northern home, norfleet, friend of ramon mans- ford, received the following letter: "my dear norfleet: i am about at the end of one of the most shocking and most mystifying affairs known to the human race. in keeping with my resolve i disappeared into the negro race for the purpose of fathoming the mystery of the murder of my beloved alene. the fact that i could so disappear is one of far- reaching significance. it shows what an awful predicament the negroes are in. any white crim- inal has the race at his mercy. by dropping into the negro race to commit a crime and immediate- ly thereafter rejoining the white race, he has a most splendid opportunity to escape. and men who commit the darker crimes are not failing to take advantage of the open door; but i picked up my pen to tell you my weird story. "well, i actually became a boarder in the home of aunt dilsy, the mother of the man accused of murdering my alene. by mingling with the ne- groes i came in contact with three persistent be- liefs which i investigated. "first of all, the negroes were practically a unit in holding that bud harper had not commit- ted the crime. ( ) the hindered hand. "on the next point to be mentioned the popular belief was divided. the more intelligent class held that the negro lynched was not bud harper, but some strange negro resembling him. when confronted with the fact that dilsy harper ac- cepted it as the body of her son bud, they shrugged their shoulders and said that that re- port came from the white officers who would pretend that a negro had said just any- thing and that aunt dilsy would hardly know bud after the mob got through mutilating him. they believed that bud was living and that he had come home while the body supposed to be his was lying there. the more superstitious among them held that bud was unjustly killed and his ghost had come to the wake, and that it could be seen almost any night on the bridge. "i found whispered around in a rather select circle the belief that arthur daleman, jr., had killed alene. it was thought that authur was se- cretly in love with his foster sister and in a fit of uncontrollable jealousy had murdered her. a ne- gro woman, who went to the daleman's to care for the house, was reputed to have found in arthur's room appliances for making one assume the appearance of a negro. "now all of these rumors i investigated and i came to the conclusion that the truth of the mat- ter was as follows: " . bud harper did not kill alene. " . bud harper was not hanged. " . bud harper and not his ghost appeared at his home. " . dilsy harper accepted the body as that of bud to prevent a further quest of bud. mists that vanish. " . arthur daleman, jr., bore some relation to alene's murder. the fifth conclusion was forced upon me by the guilty hangdog appearance of arthur daleman, jr., which some people mistook for sorrow over alene's death. "now let me tell you the strange manner in which i received confirmation of these things. on taking up my abode at dilsy harper's i no- ticed that she and her husband had no dealings with each other, though they lived in the same house. to-day i came home and found the door unbarred and silas harper sitting in his wife's room, his face all wreathed in smiles. mrs. har- per had been called away and he proceeded to un- fold the cause of his previous strained relations with his wife and his present happy state. he had separated himself from her by the process of the barred door, because she had borne him a son that stood unpurged of a charge of having mur- dered a woman. while thus separated from his wife, brooding over the disgrace brought upon his name by his reputed son, he became very sick. his wife offered to nurse him, but he re- fused her services. "in order that mrs. harper might be near her husband in his affliction, she gave him informa- tion that actually cured him—lifted him from his bed. she explained to him that she would have told him before, but feared that he would tell abroad what she confided to him, and thereby oc- casion more trouble. he promised to never divulge what she had said and kept his promise by telling me, the first man that he had seen since he was told. and here is the strange story that disentangles a deep mystery and solves a question which i was determined to probe to the the hindered hand. bottom. i give in my own words the story told me by silas harper. "this couple, silas and dilsy harper, had had two sons so very much alike that hardly anyone save mrs. harper could readily distinguish them when they were attired alike. "dave was one day walking along the street with a young lady when a policeman collided with them. words passed between them and in the fight that ensued dave wounded the policeman and was sentenced to prison for twenty years. another lad, a consumptive was sentenced the same day for two years. the guard that took them to the prison did not know one from the other, and at the suggestion of the consumptive the two exchanged names and sentences. when dave harper's name was called the consumptive stepped forward and registered, and when the latter's name was called dave stepped forward. the prison officials, not dreaming that a man with a two years' sentence would exchange with one having twenty years' sentence, the matter was arranged without difficulty. in less than a year's time the consumptive, regarded as dave harper, died and was buried as such. "the real dave harper served the consump- tive's two years' sentence and was duly released from prison. he was so chagrined over the dis- grace that his incarceration in prison had brought upon his family, he did not make himself known at home when released. desiring to live in alma- ville and yet be free from the danger of being identified as dave harper, he found employment in a saloon patronized only by whites. it was here that he overheard arthur daleman, jr., telling his companions of a pretty 'coon,' foresta crump, whom he had slated for his next victim. mists that vanish. knowing that foresta was bud's fiancee he deter- mined to look into the matter. as he watched the daleman residence he saw arthur daleman, jr., enter the servant girl's room. judging that foresta was favorably receiving his attentions dave determined upon the killing of them both. thus it was that my dear alene lost her life. she received a blow that was drawn to her by the wicked plannings of her foster brother. "dave harper supposing that he killed for- esta and arthur daleman, jr., ran by home, made himself known to his mother and confessed all to her. he told his mother that leroy crutcher had seen him and no doubt mistook him for bud and that he would therefore be compelled to hover near the city so that he might return and con- fess to the committing of the crime in case bud was about to be made to suffer for his deed. "such are the facts as they came to me from aunt dilsy's husband. i have confronted arthur daleman, jr., with the matter and he has con- fessed to his part of the awful tragedy. "i have now changed back to the white race. in my capacity of a white man i have assured aunt dilsy that bud harper shall not be molested and have assured mrs. crump that it is safe for foresta to return. the two women are happy souls. i have succeeded in locating bud and for- esta and shall leave at once for the purpose of restoring them to their families and their friends. "mv dear norfleet, in view of the terrible way thintrs get twisted down here, don't you think it is an awful shame that this weak and often hated race is denied the right of trial by jury? "'ramon." chapter xix. the fugitives flee again. hen bud harper and foresta, on the night following their elopement, re- turned to almaville, bud took foresta by her home to break the news to her mother, leaving her at the gate, while he went to his home to tell his mother. finding a corpse in his house and noting the terror that his appear- ance seemed to inspire, bud left and ran back to foresta's home. in the meantime mrs. crump had explained the situation to foresta, who now told bud. with bowed heads and troubled hearts the three sat in deep study as to what to do. the white people were under the impression that bud had committed the murder. they had killed another man thinking that it was he. in case they now apprehended him, would the popu- lar feeling be that there was a mistake in the lynching or a mistake as to bud's having commit- ted the murder? bud felt fully able to demonstrate his inno- cence, but the ruthless mob would hardly give him time to collect his evidence, he feared. thus, though innocent, he decided that it was best for the fugitives flee again. him to leave almaville and remain in hiding for a time at least. foresta asserted her determina- tion to go with him it mattered not where he went. bud gave to foresta the privilege of choosing their exile. for a number of years the condition of the negroes in the cotton states farther south had been weighing heavily on her mind. she had read how that under the credit system, the country merchant, charging exorbitant prices for merchandise for which the crops stood as secur- ity, was causing the negro farmer to work from year to year only to sink deeper and deeper into debt. she had read of the contract system under which ignorant negroes, not knowing the con- tents of the papers signed, practically sold them- selves into slavery, agreeing to work for a num- ber of years for a mere pittance and further agreeing to be locked up in a stockade at night and to pay for the expense of a recapture in case they attempted to escape. she had heard much of the practice of peonage, how that planters and contractors would enter into collusion with mag- istrates and convict innocent negroes of crimes in order that they might get negro laborers by the paying of fines assessed on these trumped up charges. she had read accounts of investigations of the prison system of the south, showing that the various states made the earning of money by the prisoners a prime consideration, and detail- ing how brutal overseers were wont to maltreat the hindered hand. convicts leased to them by the state. these things coupled with the absence of reformatories for youths were destined, foresta felt assured, to. produce a harvest of criminals. what to her mind added to the hopelessness of the plight of the negroes was the fact that an emigration agent was required to pay such a heavy tax and stood in such a danger of bodily harm from the planters that nothing was being done toward pointing the inhabitants of the blighted regions to better lands. foresta concluded to choose mississippi, a-state in which conditions were in some respects so thoroughly forbidding, as their future home. two things influenced her in making a choice, a desire to use her education for the amelioration of the ills of which she had heard so much and the thought that a land reputed to be so desti- tute of hope for. the negro would be searched last of all for negro refugees. so the two had gone forth in the darkness and journeyed southward. with money that bud had saved they bought a small farm near maulville, mississippi. it was not long before foresta's quiet influence was felt throughout that region. the whites who had been preying upon the more ignorant of the ne- groes were not long in tracing this new influence to its source. it was agreed among them that the fultons (for such was the name assumed by bud and foresta) were rather undesirable neigh- bors and a decision was reached to put them out the fugitives flee again. of the way. the thousands of individual mur- ders, and lynching by mobs, had so blunted the sensibility of these whites that they reached this decision without any qualms of conscience. sid- ney fletcher was agreed upon as the man to rid the settlement of bud and foresta. on this particular afternoon, foresta's hair was hanging down her back in girlish fashion. a small cap sat upon the top of her head, while a blue gingham apron protected her dress. she had finished the milking and was walking toward the house when sidney fletcher, the owner of a neighboring farm, approached her. "where has tobe stewart gone?" asked fletch- er, in a very gruff manner, inquiring about a ne- gro lad who had run away from him. foresta looked at him steadily without reply- ing. "you wench, you, you can't speak can you? you and that dad blasted man of yours have got the big head, anyway," said fletcher, drawing his pistol and starting toward foresta. ^c/ foresta dropped her milk pail and ran into the house. fletcher took a seat on a bench in the yard and awaited the coming of bud harper, foresta's husband, who was out hunting and was not due for some time yet. ^ foresta stole out of the door on the other side of the house and reached a patch of woods with- out being observed by sidney fletcher. by a cir- the hindered hand. cuitous route she was able to place herself in bud's pathway so as to intercept him before he reached home. "oh, bud," said foresta, greeting her husband, "old sid fletcher is at our house waiting for you with a drawn revolver." a frown came over bud's face. "the jealous knave," said he. "ever since we bought thia farm he has had a dislike for me and i have been expecting trouble from him." "yes, bud; but we must stay out of trouble. a colored man hasn't a dog's show in thir part of the world." bud sat down oh a stump and foresta dropped at his feet. "let's stay away from home to-night. we have had trouble enough, bud," said foresta pleadingly. bud looked down on her tenderly, and said, "it is a shame for a peaceful, industrious man to have a home and not be able to go to it." just then sidney fletcher was seen coming in their direction. "get behind a tree; nobody knows what will take place," said bud to foresta. she obeyed and bud now calmly awaited the approach of sidney fletcher. when fletcher got in shooting distance he de- liberately opened fire on bud. after the third shot bud raised his gun to his shoulder and fired and fletcher fell backward a corpse. bud and the fugitives flee again. foresta now looked at each other aghast. they knew the penalty attached to the raising of a black hand against a white man, even when that man unjustly sought the life of the black. rushing to their humble little home, bud and foresta hastily gathered a few things into a bun- dle, seized whatever food there was in the house, armed themselves and went forth as fugitives, foresta attiring herself in man's clothing. by day and by night, through fields and forest, swamp and morass, avoiding the sight of man the unhappy couple fled. the news of the killing of fletcher was not long in getting abroad and a mob of several hun- dred whites was soon organized to give chase. the news agencies acquainted the whole nation with the situation and day by day the millions of america scanned with eagerness and with sad forebodings the progress of the chase. several negroes who happened to be found in the path- way of the mob that was sweeping the country were shot down or hung according to the whim of the pursuers. the two in turn relieved each other at watch- ing, whenever the exhausted condition of one or the other imperatively demanded sleep. it be- came foresta's time to sleep and the two took a position behind a huge fallen tree, foresta reclin- ing her head upon bud's lap. soon she was asleep, with bud looking down in tenderness on her pretty face, now showing signs of the terri- the hindered hand. ble strain that they were undergoing. bud thought of his position as her protector and gnashed his teeth in the bitterness of his soul as he contemplated his utter helplessness. hot tears coursed down his cheeks and, dropping on for- esta's face, awakened her. foresta, who had been having troubled dreams, quickly lifted her head from bud's lap and looked about in terror. turning toward him she saw his eyes reddened from weeping. she threw her- self on his shoulder and the two now gave way to their feelings for the first time. "we have one consolation, bud. they can't destroy our love for one another, can they?" said foresta. bud was too full of sorrow at the plight of the wife of his bosom to reply. a deep groan of an- guish escaped his lips. he leaned back against the log, foresta still clinging to his neck. after a while both of them from sheer exhaustion fell asleep. chapter xx. the blaze. ittle melville brant stamped his foot on the floor, looked defiantly at his mother, and said, in the whining tone of a nine-year old child, "mother, i want to go." "melville, i have told you this dozen times that you cannot go," responded the mother with a positiveness that caused the boy to feel that his chances were slim. "you are always telling me to keep ahead of the other boys, and i can't even get up to some of them," whined melville plaintively. "what do you mean?" asked the mother. "ben stringer is always a crowing over me. every time tell anything big he jumps in and tells what he's seen, and that knocks me out. he has seen a whole lots of lynchings. his papa takes him. i bet if my papa was living he would take me," said melville. "my boy, listen to your mother," said mrs. brant. "nothing but bad people take part in or go to see those things. i want mother's boy to scorn such things, to be way above them." ( ) the hindered hand. "well, i ain't. i want to see it. ben stringer ain't got no business being ahead of me," mel- ville said with vigor. the shrieking of the train whistle caused the fever of interest to rise in the little boy. "there's the train now, mother. do let me go. i ain't never seen a darky burned." "burned!" exclaimed mrs. brant in horror. melville looked up at his mother as if pitying her ignorance. "they are going to burn them. sed lonly heard his papa and mr. corkle talking about it, and it's all fixed up." "my heavenly father!" murmured mrs. brant, horror struck. the cheering of the multitude borne upon the air was now heard. "mother, i must go. you can beat me as hard as you want to after i do it. i can't let ben stringer be crowing over me. he'll be there." looking intently at his mother, melville backed toward the door. mrs. brant rushed forward and seized him. "i shall put you in the attic. you shall not see that inhuman affair." to her surprise melville did not resist, but meekly submitted to being taken up stairs and locked in the attic. knowing how utterly opposed his mother was to lynchings he had calculated upon her refusal and had provided for such a contingency. he fas- the blaze. tened the attic door on the inside and took from a corner a stout stick and a rope which he had secreted there. fastening the rope to the stick and placing the stick across the small attic win- dow he succeeded in lowering himself to the ground. he ran with all the speed at his com- mand and arrived at the railway station just in time to see the mob begin its march with bud and foresta toward the scene of the killing of sidney fletcher. arriving at the spot where fletcher's body had been found, the mob halted and the leaders insti- tuted the trial of the accused. "did you kill mr. sidney fletcher?" asked the mob's spokesman of bud. "can i explain the matter to you, gentlemen," asked bud. "we want you to tell us just one thing; did you kill mr. sidney fletcher?" "he tried to kill me," replied bud. "and you therefore killed him, did you?" "yes, sir. that's how it happened." "you killed him, then?" asked the spokesman. "i shot him, and if he died i suppose i must have caused it. but it was in self-defense." "you hear that, do you. he has confessed," said the spokesman to his son who was the re- porter of the world-wide news agency that was to give to the reading public an account of the affair. the blaze. the dispute waxed so hot that it was finally de- cided that it was best to accept neither place. "we want this affair to serve as a warning to darkies to never lift their hands against a white man, and it won't hurt to perform this noble deed where they will never forget it. i am com- mander to-day and i order the administration of justice to take place near the negro church." "good! good!" was the universal com- ment. the crowd dashed wildly in the direction of the church, all being eager to get places where they could see best. the smaller boys climbed the trees so that they might see well the whole tran- * saction. two of the trees were decided upon for stakes and the boys who had chosen them had to come down. bud was tied to one tree and for- esta to the other in such a manner that they faced each other. wood was brought and piled around them and oil was poured on very profusely. the mob decided to torture their victims before killing them and began on foresta first. a man with a pair of scissors stepped up and cut off her hair and threw it into the crowd. there was a great scramble for bits of hair for souvenirs of the occasion. one by one her fingers were cut off and tossed into the crowd to be scrambled for. a man with a cork screw came forward, ripped foresta's clothing to her waist, bored into her breast with the corkscrew and pulled forth the live quivering flesh. poor bud her helpless hus- the hindered hand. band closed his eyes and turned away his head to avoid the terrible sight. men gathered about him and forced his eyelids open so that he could see all. when it was thought that foresta had been tortured sufficiently, attention was turned to bud. his fingers were cut off one by one and the cork- screw was bored into his legs and arms. a man with a club struck him over the head, crushing his skull and forcing an eyeball to hang down from the socket by a thread. a rush was made toward bud and a man who was a little ahead of his competitors snatched the eyeball as a sou- venir. after three full hours had been spent in tor- turing the two, the spokesman announced that they were now ready for the final act. the broth- er of sidney fletcher was called for and was given a match. he stood near his mutilated vic- tims until the photographer present could take a picture of the scene. this being over the match was applied and the flames leaped up eagerly and encircled the writhing forms of bud and foresta. when the flames had done their work and had subsided, a mad rush was made for the trees which were soon denuded of bark, each member of the mob being desirous, it seemed, of carrying away something that might testify to his proxim- ity to so great a happening. little melville brant found a piece of the charred flesh in the ashes and bore it home. "poor bud, her helpless husband, closed his eyes and turned away his head to avoid the terrible sight." (i -i -) the blaze. "ben stringer aint got anything on me now," said he as he trudged along in triumph. entering by the rear he caught hold of the rope which he had left hanging, ascended to the attic window and crawled in. the future ruler of the land! * * * * * * on the afternoon of the lynching ramon mans- ford alighted from the train at maulville in search of bud and foresta. he noted the holi- day appearance of the crowd as it swarmed around the depot awaiting the going of the spe- cial trains that had brought the people to maul- ville to see the lynching, and, not knowing the oc- casion that had brought them together, said with- in himself: "this crowd looks happy enough. the south is indeed sunny and sunny are the hearts of its people." at length he approached a man, who like him- self seemed to be an onlooker. using the names under which mrs. harper told him that bud and foresta were passing, he made inquiry of them. the man looked at him in amazement. "you have just got in, have you?" asked the man of ramon. "yes," he replied. "haven't you been reading the papers?" fur- ther inquired the man. "not lately, i must confess; i have been so ab- sorbed in unraveling a murder mystery (the vie- the blaze. the ages is being enacted? alene, o alene, my spirit longs for thee!" ramon took the train that night—not for al- maville, for he had not the heart to bear the ter- rible tidings to those helpless, waiting, simple folks, the parents of bud and foresta. he went north feeling" that some day somehow he might be called upon to revisit the south as its real friend, but seeming foe. and he shuddered at the thought. chapter xxi. planning to act. n the morning following the maul- ville tragedy, before ensal was out of bed earl was tugging viciously at his door bell. recognizing the note of dis- tress in the clang of the bell, ensal arose, quickly attired himself and hurried to the door. "oh, it is my good friend, earl. glad—" ensal stopped short in the midst of his cordial greeting, so struck was he by that look on earl's face that said plainly that some overmastering purpose had full charge of the man. "walk back," said ensal, in a more subdued manner, leading the way to his room and steady- ing himself to meet some grave crisis which earl's demeanor plainly told him was at hand. "and what may i do for my friend?" asked ensal soothingly, when the two had taken seats facing each other. earl placed an elbow on his knee, using his hand as a rest for his throbbing temples. turn- ing his eyes full in the direction of ensal, as if searching for the very bottom of the latter's soul, he said, ( ) planning to act. "have you read the morning paper?" "no," replied ensal. "read," said earl, taking a paper from his pocket and handing it to ensal. "my god! this cannot be true!" exclaimed ensal in tones of horror, as he read the detailed account of the maulville burning. he arose and strode to and fro across the room. "never in all my wide range of reading have i ever come across a more reprehensible occur- rence," muttered he. "listen," said earl, in the tone of one having more to add. ensal paused in his walking and unconsciously lifted his hand as though to ward off a blow. "the man and his wife who were burned at the stake were bud and foresta." "what! our bud! laughing, innocent, whole- souled foresta!" almost shouted ensal, the hor- ror, through the personal element brought into the matter, now doubling its force. "poor mrs. crump! poor negro womanhood! crucified at the stake, while we men play the part of women, for, what can we do?" said ensal, look- ing at earl, tears of pity for his people welling up in his eyes and stealing their way down his noble face. "this is at once the saddest and the sweetest moment of all my life," said earl, rising. con- tinuing, he said: the hindered hand. "the fact that a race that lashes itself into a fury and cries aloud for the sympathy of the out- side world if a negro casts a look of respectful admiration in the direction of a white woman, finds no limit to what it will do to the women of our race, fills my cup of humiliation to the brim. but i find a measure of compensation in the fact that you, dear ensal, the arch-conserva- tive, have at last been stirred to action." earl now paused to give emphasis to what he was to say next. "ensal, the christ has bidden you, you say, to preach his gospel to every creature. if the white people of the south permitted you to preach the gospel to them, you would have some basis for the hope that you would be contributing your due share to the work of altering these un- toward conditions. since they deny you your way of reaching them, come and go our way," said earl. "have you at last found a plan of escape from our awful condition that commends itself to your sober judgment, earl?" asked ensal, looking his friend earnestly in the face. "i have" said earl. "earl, come back to-night. my spirit is tired, tired. give me the day for the finding of my truer self. i doubt whether the elements which this terrible shock has brought to the surface can be trusted to pass sanely upon matters of such vast importance." planning to act. earl accepted the suggestion and departed. during that day the two busiest brains in all the world, perhaps, were the brains of these two negroes: earl, arranging for the successful carrying out of his plans, and ensal for- tifying himself for events which he knew would largely affect the destiny of his peo- ple. he knew not the details nor even the direc- tion of earl's plans, but he knew that earl was every inch a soldier and that the blood of some of the mightiest captains of the english speak- ing people was coursing through his veins. chapter xxii. the two pathtvays. he day wore on, and about dusk earl returned to ensal's home, and the two at once entered upon the consideration of the grave matter that was to be the subject of their conference. "before giving my plan, ensal, i will present the course of reasoning that leads me up to the conclusion that it is the one path to pursue," be- gan earl. "so do," said ensal. "the men and women," began earl, "who moulded the sentiment that led to our emancipation and enfranchisement, who set in motion the influences that have tended toward our general uplift, are fast passing away. i am told that the younger generation now coming into power in the north is not as enthusiastic over the matter of helping us as were their fathers. as i see the matter, several influences are at work producing these changes. "first: a very natural desire on the part of northern people to be on more pleasant terms with their blood relations of the south. ( ) the two pathways. "second: the moving of whites from the south to the north, where, in social circles from which negroes are debarred, they mould senti- ment against the negro. there are more than one million five hundred thousand southern white people in the north. "third: among the negroes going north there is a shiftless, criminal element, whose ten- dency downward is aided by the prejudice against negroes in labor circles of the north. this class of negroes in some parts of the north almost monopolizes the attention of the criminal courts and the result is an erroneous opinion with re- gard to the race as a whole. "fourth: there is a decided drift of north- ern capital to the south. the greater the hold- ings of the north in the south, the greater the indisposition of at least that element to have con- ditions down here disturbed, i think. i believe that by acting now we shall receive far more sympathy from the north than we would be likely to get a few years later." "suppose, for the sake of progress in the dis- cussion we concede the validity of your conclu- sions. granting that the present is the time to act, what would you do?" asked ensal. "let me state first of all what i would not do. i would not attempt an exodus. the white peo- ple of the south would resort to force to prevent our leaving in a mass. i would not attempt a general uprising. they have absolute charge of the hindered hand. the means of transportation and intercommunica- tion as well as the control of the necessary equip- ments for waging war." earl now paused and looked steadily at ensal, who awaited with almost breathless anxiety earl's next words. "when i was a lad i declaimed the address of leonidas to his brave spartan band, and the idea of a vicarious offering has ever since lain heavily on my heart. "in almaville here i have a picked band of five hundred men who are not afraid to die. to-night we shall creep upon yonder hill and take charge of the state capitol. when the city awakes to- morrow morning it will find itself at our mercy. we also have a force of men which will take charge of the united states government building. this will serve to make it a national question. "when called upon to surrender, we shall issue a proclamation setting forth our grievances as a race and demanding that they be righted. of course, what we shall call for cannot be done at once, and our surrender will be called for. "we shall not surrender. each one of us has solemnly sworn not to come out of the affair alive, even if we have to commit suicide. our act will open the eyes of the american people to the gravity of this question and they will act. once in motion i am not afraid of what they will do. i am not fearful of america awake, but of america asleep. & the hindered hand. "if in a city of light such as is almaville this spirit obtains, it won't be long, they feel, before the negro laborers of the south will be firmly in the grasp of a new form of slavery. they are also alarmed at the clamor of leading newspapers for a vagrancy law which will be invoked in times when the negroes refrain from labor in the hope of advancing their pay. the presence in our ranks of the labor element representing the ne- gro masses will give striking evidence of the ef- fect things are having upon all classes of ne- groes, welding them together. "now, ensal, you have my whole story. this is to be the most sublime affair in the whole his- tory of our race. honor yourself, my friend, by joining our ranks." earl now ceased. "earl," began ensal, slowly, earnestly, "do you know the anglo-saxon race and particularly that brand found in the south? provoke the passions of that race, arouse the dormant but ever-present fear of secret plottings for a general uprising, and you will inaugurate the wholesale slaughter of innocent men, women and children. satan hearing of what is going on, will resign his post as king of hell, will broaden his title and move up to sit as emperor of the south. "no, no, no, earl. dark, dark is the night, but let us not mistake the glow of the 'jack-o'- lantern' leading to a bog for the gleam of the morning star ushering in the dav," the two pathways. ensal ceased speaking and the two men looked at each other in silence. "do you regard yourself as having finished?" asked earl after a few seconds of silence. "sir," he continued, "if in this hour when i am strangled with the ashes of bud and foresta you feed me with a negation "he did not finish the sentence. "i understand you, earl. i must offset your proposition with a better one. foreseeing that you would demand this of me, i have prepared myself," said ensal. going to his desk he procured a rather bulky document. ensal turned the manuscript over and over. in it he had cast all of his soul. upon it he was relying for the amelioration of condi- tions to such an extent that his race might be saved from being goaded on to an unequal and disastrous conflict. he hoped that its efficacy would be so self-evident that earl might stay the hand that threatened the south and the nation with another awful convulsion. no wonder that his voice was charged with deep emotion as he read as follows: ****** "to the people of the united states of america: "the anglo-saxon race is a race of the colder regions and there evolved those qualities, phys- ical, mental and temperamental, which constitute the hindered hand. its greatness. a large section of the race has left the habitat and environments in which and because of which it grew to greatness, and in the southern part of the united states finds itself confronted with the problem of maintaining in warmer climes those elements of a greatness hitherto found only in the colder regions. "the race in these warmer regions took firm hold of the doctrine of a foil, a something thrust between itself and the sapping influences of weather, sun and soil. the negro was pressed into service as that foil. he was to stand in the open and bear the brunt of nature's hammering, while the anglo-saxon, under the shade of tree or on cool veranda, sought to keep pace with his brother of the more invigorating clime, counting immunity from the assaults of nature and supe- rior opportunities for reflection as factors vital to him in the unequal race that he was to run. "not only was this foil deemed necessary to the maintenance of the intellectual life of the south, but to its commercial well being as well; for the white man was regarded as constitu- tionally unable to furnish the quality of phys- ical service necessary to extract from the earth sufficient fruitage to have the south hold her own commercially. "the wealth of the south, because of a deep seated conviction as to the absolute need of a foil for the white race in warm- er climes, because of the hardiness of the negro's frame, his docility, his habit of cheerfulness when at work, his largely uncom- plaining nature, his conception that labor condi- tions are fixed, his individualism leading to in- eptness in combining—these qualities the wealth of the south regards as ideal for the services of the two pathways. capital, and negro labor is much preferred to that of chronically discontented, aspiring and combining whites. "the capitalist influence would have the ne- gro treated humanely, would give him industrial, moral and religious training, and would have him enjoy the protection of the law that he might continue in the south, working in contentment and with efficiency in the lower forms of labor. "but this element desires that the negro play the part of the foil and accept this as mainly his mission in america. it has scant sympathy with the college professor and the political agitator that would, set the race to dreaming very largely of higher things. the element, therefore, that is most desirous of retaining the negro popula- tion and seeks to make the race satisfied with its present habitat is for the very reason leading to that course, thoroughly opposed to making a speciality of developing all there is in the negro, so that the development that this element stands for is assuredly one sided. "opposed to the element that is half friendly to the negro because of his superior qualities as a foil and commercial asset, are the white indus- trial rivals of the negro, whose animosity is whetted by their conscious inferiority in matters physical to this son of the tropics, who is more nearly at home under southern sky than are the children of the colder regions. "the industrial rivals of the negro, led on by those who would exploit race prejudices for their profit and those who feel that grave danger lurks in a mixed civilization, keep the baser passions of the people so inflamed that such horrible outrages take a place that the future often seems overshad- owed with a cloud dark, portentous and riftless. the hindered hand. "the two elements thus far mentioned, the half- friends of the capitalist class and the rancorous industrial rivals of the negro, are opposed to each other on the question of the negro's leaving the south, the former opposing and the latter favor- ing his elimination, but they are one in insisting that the negro must be restricted in his aspira- tions. the question has another complication and a third element is to be reckoned with. "there is a vein of idealism running through our country that would hold the american peo- ple to the thought that the united states has a world wide mission. it is the dream of this class that shackles, whether physical, political or spiritual, shall fall from every man the world around. "this class says to the capitalist class of the south: 'our ideals will suffer if we permit you to have political serfs, however well fed they may be.' to the class that would oppress the negro it says, 'the patient suffering and material serv- ice of him whom you buffet entitles him in his own right to a home in this country, and here of all places justice shall be his portion.' this class has opened northern institutions to them, and training has produced a large and aggressive army of able young negroes enraptured with the expressed ideals of the republic. "when it is sought by idealists to make the po- sition of the american negro square with the constitution, the capitalist class of the south, which fancies that it sees the sudden loss of the foil, and the rivals of the negro in the labor world combine to oppose the programme look- ing to the political uplift of the negro. as the the hindered hand. element out of touch with the broadening influ- ences of the age, whose vision is yet bounded by the narrow horizon of race. "the administration of the government, then, inevitably falls into the hands of the less refined and a contemned race of an alien blood is handed over to them to be governed absolutely. as might be expected under a system that picks its rougher spirits for rulership, the governing force is often worse in its attitude toward negroes than are the great body of whites. instead therefore of the government being the guide, piloting the people to broader conceptions, the governing power often sets in motion brutalizing tendencies that eventually sweep down and affect the people. "local sentiment has been invoked to hold in check the wrathful outpourings of united states senators, legislatures have held in check rampant governors, and cities have cried out against the acts of legislatures imposing repressive meas- ures not warranted by local conditions, things that signify that repression sends to the front men whose tendency is to lower rather than ad- vance civilization. "it is generally conceded that the drift of the negro population of the south toward the cities is due to the lack of police protection in the rural districts. in the city policeman, then, we have an opportunity to study the output of the system of repression at its highest level. policemen are often the most unbearable of tyrants, arresting negroes upon the most flimsy charges, and refus- ing to tolerate a word of explanation. it is ac- tually a capital offense for a negro to run from a policeman, however trivial the charge upon which he has been arrested, the two pathways. "in almaville, which represents the south at its highest point of civilization, policemen have wantonly shot to death negro after negro for seeking to elude arrest. "the following article which we reproduce from one of america's most reputable journals, will speak for itself. "'how lightly the wanton killing of a negro has come to be regarded in some southern com- munities is brought out by an incident of the week at memphis, which hardly needs comment. an inoffensive negro was hawking chickens about the street, when , who was not in uniform at the time, jumped to the conclusion that the chickens had been stolen, and arrested the man. while he went to put on his uniform he left his prisoner in custody of a nearby grocer, rightly named , to whom he handed his pistol, with the offhand injunction, 'if he tries to get away from you, kill him.' 's assertion that the negro made a break for liberty is dis- puted by the testimony of bystanders, but at all events he fired on the negro, wounding him so severely that he died the next morning. 'well, you got him, didn't you?' said on his re- turn. 'if i didn't, i almost,' answered with a smile. the policeman's only statement in palliation of the unprovoked killing was that the deputy to whom he delegated his authority had 'taken his instructions literally.' the most shocking feature of the affair is that has not been arrested, and the policeman is apparent- ly to continue on his beat. the 'commercial-ap- peal' may well exclaim in bitterness, 'life in this community is cheap; the life of a negro is so val- ueless that it is freely taken without fear of fu- ture punishment in this world,' the hindered hand. "the question may be asked as to whether there are provisions for redress against police outrages. there are courts and commissions that may be appealed to, but two considerations ren- der these institutions of slight value to negroes. in the first place the sentiment obtains that the evidence of a negro is not to count as much as that of a white man. with this much the start the policeman has still another advantage. the policy of repression has fostered the idea that it is all right for a white man to. commit perjury in cases where there is a contest between a white man and a negro. witness the manner in which election commissioners have often been chosen because of their known willingness to swear falsely as to the contents of ballot boxes. "so, with little sentiment against perjury when a negro is involved and the extra weight at- tached to the word of a white man as against that of a negro, the wrongs of the negro more often than otherwise go absolutely unavenged. "public utilities are likewise administered by white men who often maltreat negroes. in almaville a street car conductor was sen- tenced to two years in the penitentiary for the killing of an inoffensive negro who was asking him for correct change and at whom, according to his own sworn statement, he shot 'to see him run.' "in this same city a negro woman was kicked off of a street car by the conductor for pulling through mistake the cord that registered fares in- stead of the one that signalled for the motorman to stop. "for this same offense a negro in memphis was shot in the back four times and killed by the conductor, who was allowed to make his escape, the two pathways. "many good white people of the south will ask 'if this state of terror exists among our negro population, how does it happen that it has not im- pressed itself more forcibly upon the public mind?' largely because the affected people are voiceless and because they grow weary of invok- ing the aid of courts and commissions that some- how find their way clear to sustain the side hold- ing membership in the race to which they belong. the negroes, therefore, meet in groups and exchange accounts of outrages and bitterly sneer when they read in the white newspapers of the south accounts of the ideal relations of the two races. "the claim of some of the white people of the south that the negro needs no power in his own hands to insure a proper regard for his interests ought not to be tolerated for a moment in view of all that has happened since the whites have had exclusive charge of the southern governments. "it has long been a contention of the anglo- saxon race that the people should retain power to protect themselves against possible indiffer- ence, incompetence or outright meanness on the part of public officials, and if anglo-saxons re- fuse to commit their welfare unreservedly into the hands of fellow anglo-saxons, it seems clear that it is placing too great a strain upon human nature to expect ideal results when an alien race is involved. not only does repression bear such fruit as we have indicated, but it also bears heavily upon the repressed in other directions. "all history shows that a race stands in need of great men, in need of the contributions of their superior powers, and the inspiration that their names will carry from generation to generation. the hindered hand. "grappling with the affairs of state affords unique opportunities for growth, while the honor of having served the state operates as a magnify- ing glass enlarging the inspirational force of in- dividuals so honored. thus a race having the privilege of committing great trusts to its mem- bers draws as a dividend men of enlarged powers and names which will inspire. these influences reapplied to the needs of the state serve mightily to pull the people forward. "again, to fix a limit to the development of a race is to run counter to the forces of evolution which are indisposed to recognize barriers of any kind. the human mind revolts at a 'ne plus ul- tra.' the great unknown has hid himself in the heart of things, and yet the fainting soul of man lingers forever at the barred door of his palace in a sort of rebellious worship, determined to learn of deity even the forbidden things. "the human mind is yet human when encased in a negro body and if this mind chafes at limita- tions seemingly imposed by eternal forces, it will not submit to limitations arranged by finite crea- tures. "we have no doubt arrived at the point in this discussion where it is in order to suggest a remedy for these ills. the of- ferings of the humane class of southern white people who would like to settle the whole question upon the basis of the development of the negro race along restricted lines, must, because of the danger that lurks in the principle of repression, be rejected as totally inadequate. above all things, the government must go out of the business of repression, must cease tagging the negro as an outcast among his fellows. the men who administer affairs must be made ame- the two pathways. nable to the sentiment of the whole body politic and not simply that portion represented by the white citizenship. "one says: 'the nation felt all this and granted to the negroes political power.' explain to us those largely writ words 'reconstruction governments.' "right gladly do we respond to the task as- signed. "one whom the nation knows as perhaps the foremost living southerner, who has acquired the art of speaking upon this whole matter in a way that seems to beget at least a respectful hearing everywhere, says: 'few reasonable men now charge the negroes at large with more than ig- norance and an invincible faculty for being worked on.' "to this we make reply, the overturning of slavery in the south was revolutionary and not evolutionary. there was no spiritual cataclysm to correspond with the political one. he who on one day ruled over the negro was found spirit- ually unprepared to rule with him on the succeed- ing day. when, therefore, the negroes were approached by two sets of men, the one set, composed of the former ruling class of the south, equipped morally and intellectually for good government, but wrong at heart upon the great question of human rights, the other composed largely of carpet baggers, scal- awags and bad administrators, but true to the principle of equality before the law, it ought not to be surprising that a race fresh from the galling yoke of slavery should choose the set that would look after their liberties. "this, we feel, fully explains the ills of recon- struction, and those that lament that they were the hindered hand. thrust aside from leadership, should further la- ment that they were evidently not far enough away from the ruling of a race by a race to have charge of the momentous experiment of the joint rulership of races. the real blame for the un- fortunate state of affairs falls, perhaps, upon those crushers of free speech in the south who, prior to the civil war, allowed not the preaching of the doctrine of human rights which would have furnished men of the right temper and proper vision to take charge of the new or- der of things. "but we gained much from those times that must not be lost sight of. we gained our racial awakening, the upward impulse. this was a supreme need of our country. for, what pen can set forth what would have been the outcome of a festering carcass of a dead race within our borders. "the ballot put into the hands of the gloom enshrouded negro sent a thrill of hope into his very bone and marrow, and the sense of respon- sibility and the beckoning of the high destiny of citizenship in a great republic begot such a fever of progress in the race that the problem is now that of dealing with the aspirations of the race rather than the more awful problem of try- ing to avoid the contaminating odor of a race dead to higher appeals, sinking and pulling the nation with it. "and finally upon the question of reconstruction we find that perpetual disbarment is not visited upon the people of the mightiest city of the new world, because it has from time to time made mis- takes and put bad men to the fore. "moreover, be it remembered that the negro of to-day is not restricted to the choice of yester- the two pathways. day. good men and true abound in both races in the south, who are now fully equipped to oper- ate a truly democratic government. "people of america: we were wrested by you from the savage wilds and thrown into your mould. our bodies have been fitted to your climes, our spirits have been put in tune with yours. we love your institutions, and if your flag could speak, it would tell you that it has no fear of the dust when entrusted to our sable hands. "the great burdens of your future need the cheer that we can bring, and your labors in the tropics now dimly foreshadowed, may put a pre- mium on what we can yield. by the token of our patriotism and in sight of our willingness to yield all the blood or brawn or brain neces- sary for the advancement of our common coun- try, we simply beg that you cast not away your ideals, that you do not unsettle the foundations of your democracy when you come to deal with us. "grant unto us equality of citizenship. fix your standard for a man! if you choose, plant the foot of the ladder in a fiery test and engirdle each round with a forest of thorns. do this and more, if your civilization and the highest needs of the unborn world require it. but when, through the fire and up the path of thorns, we climb where others climb, hurl us not back be- cause of a color given us from above. let one test be unto all men. let the strong arm of the nation for its own good and for the ultimate good of humanity insist upon the observance of this principle wherever old glory floats. let this be the guiding star of your policy toward us. this grave question settled, the vast army of negro leaders absorbed in the momentous work of j the hindered hand. adjusting this external problem, will be free to turn undivided attention to the curing of those ills that are gnawing at the vitals of the race. "those most interested in the internal de- velopment of the race can render the cause so dear to their hearts no greater service than by facilitating the adjustment of the outer rela- tion. "the campaign, then, is one that concerns not only the political forces of the nation, but the moral forces as well, since the pressing of this great wrong upon the hearts of an inoffensive, patient and aspiring people tends to their moral undoing, not only by the evil passions engendered, but also, as has been pointed out, by the with- drawing of so much of the attention of the race from internal development to the absorbing, ex- acting and, in some respects, narrowing task of battling against an alien aggression. "from the depths of our dark night we cry unto you to save us from the oppression inher- ent in the present situation and clear the way for our higher aspirations. "in behalf of the negroes of the united states of america, "ensal ellwood." ensal finished the document, folded it carefully and laid it upon his desk. "now earl," he said, "let us print millions of this address and see to it that a copy thereof gets into every american home. furthermore, let us see to it that it is translated into the various languages of the civilized world that the whole thought of the human race may be influenced in the two pathways. our direction. earl, our cause is just and we must learn to plead it acceptably. that is our problem. eschew your plan and join hands with me." earl was silent for a few moments and then said: "this is all very good, ensal, but it needs a sup- plement. charles sumner's oratory and mrs. stowe's affecting portraiture of poor old uncle tom were not sufficient of themselves to move the nation. there had to be a john brown and a harper's ferry. preserve that paper and send it forth. the blood of earl bluefield and his followers shed upon the hill crowning almaville will serve as an exclamation point to what you have said in that paper," was earl's comment. earl now arose to go. ensal stood up facing him. "ensal, clasp my hand in farewell," said earl feelingly. "earl, knowing the mission upon which you go to-night, criminal in its utter folly, i would not for my life put my hand in yours," responded ensal. a flush of anger overspread earl's face, his lip quivered and he was upon the eve of uttering some biting remark. he suppressed his anger, however, and departed, determined upon making his offering of blood. true american that he was, ensal was determined that the offering should be the output of brains, rather than of veins. chapter xxiii. they grapple. lmaville is asleep, watched by the quiet moon, now about to disappear, and the far off silent stars. upon the bridge from which hun- dreds had seen little henry crump driven to his death; where the majesty of the law had been trampled under foot in the murder and mutilation of dave harper—upon this bridge now stood en- sal awaiting the coming of earl who had to pass that way to reach the place of rendezvous agreed upon by himself and followers. at about one o'clock ensal, standing in the shadow of the framework of the bridge, saw earl walking rapidly in his direction. as the latter was about to pass, ensal laid a hand firmly upon his shoulder. earl looked around quickly to learn the mean- ing of the firm grasp and recognized him. there was a look of determination in ensal's eye that caused earl to feel that important developments were sure to follow. "earl, my friend, you shall not commit th!a blunder," said ensal. (- ) they grapple. "blood must be shed at some time and it might as well be shed now as at any other time," said earl, staring ensal in the face as though he might have reference to his (ensal's) blood. ensal's grasp tightened, and he said, "i tell you frankly, earl, you will have to disable me before you get to that crowd to-night." "turn me loose," said earl, in a quiet, de- termined, yet kindly tone. "ensal, you and i have been friends all of our lives. we sat in school together and hunted birds' nests in the woods side by side. i have sought your counsel from time to time and you have served as a check to me in many instances. but my mind is fully made up now, and it will not pay for even such a friend as you are to stand in my way. i warn you, beware!" ensal decided that it was time to act. he quickly pinioned earl and backed him up against the iron railing. he had just heard the city clock strike one and felt that he could hold earl in his grasp for one hour, at which time a policeman would come along, whereupon he could deliver earl over to the officer. with earl out of the way he felt that he could get around and dissipate the forces that he had organized. earl remembered that in ensal's earlier days, he had suffered a fracture of his left arm, and in his struggling earl now weighed heavily on that arm which began to weaken. ensal soon saw that he was not going to be able to pinion earl for the hindered hand. the hour to intervene before the coming of the officer. so deciding, he concluded to stake all on a fall. he felt that if he could get earl down and get the famous neck hold, which they had practiced so much in their youth, he could suc- ceed in holding him in that way. to and fro the two men swayed, each man feeling that the welfare of millions depended upon the outcome of this duel of the mu?cles. at last ensal gained an advantage and earl was thrown. earl pretended to be making vio- lent efforts to hurl ensal off of himself, but this was merely a feint. by skillful maneuvering un- known to ensal he got hold of his pistol and sought to so aim it that he could shoot ensal through the heart. concluding that he now had the pistol at the right angle, he pulled the trigger. the trembling condition of his hand could not insure a steady aim and the pistol falling down sent the bullet crashing into his own side. ensal leaped up, but earl lay motionless upon the bridge. it was now only a few moments before the po- liceman was due at that point and ensal was in a quandary as to what to do. he was not long in doubt, however. lifting the wounded man, he half dragged and half carried him to one end of the bridge where there were steps leading down to the river. he disappeared down the steps and hid under the bridge just in time to escape the eyes of the officer. "two and fro the two men swayed, each man feeling that the welfare of millions depended upon the outcome of this duel of the muscles." (. - .) they grapple. ensal did what he could to staunch the flow of blood. he then tried to think. he did not care to expose earl to the fury of a white mob by revealing the conspiracy. he preferred to heal the racial sore himself without calling a doctor, whose remedy might be worse than the disease. but if he kept earl's illness secret and earl died, he was himself liable to be arrested on the charge of murder. he concluded, however, to take the risk of handling the matter himself. he would have earl nursed back to health and then demand that he leave almaville on the ground that he was an unsafe leader for the people under ex- isting conditions. he now felt the need of a con- federate and his mind ran to tiara, who was yet living in practical seclusion. "by the way," said he to himself, "she lives near the river." taking possession of a boat which he found moored near by, ensal put earl into it and rowed until he was opposite tiara's house. after con- siderable effort he succeeded in arousing the in- mates. tiara attired herself and came out upon the back porch and listened to ensal's story. she dared not look him in the face too often. her eyes told too plainly of her suppressed love. as humble as was ensal's opinion of himself he was compelled to admit that the net result of this short interview was a decided conviction that tiara was not altogether indifferent to him, that chapter xxiv. out of joint with his times. edge, i'd lack to mek' er few dimes. ken peddle limonade nigh de co't rouse do', sah, yer honah?" the judge looked with a kindly eye upon the rather small, aged negro, who made the above request. the look of the man was so ap- pealing and his voice so sad of tone that the judge was moved to grant the request. "thank 'ee, jedge, thank 'ee," said the negro, bowing low, his face and whole frame testifying to his immense joy at being allowed to sell lemon- ade at the court house door. "his family must be starving," thought the judge, as he resumed his walk to the court house, haunted by the pleading look in the negro's eye. "he asked for that insignificant favor with as much soul as a man could put in a plea for his life," mused the judge, as he continued to think of that haunting look. "that negro would hardly tell me, but i would like to know what dark cloud it is that so patently casts its shadow over him," thought the judge, turning to cast a look in the negro's direction. ( ) the hindered hand. the negro saw him turn and greeted him with another profound bow and humble laying off of his hands. the judge entered the court room, which was now crowded with people from far and near. that day was to be a great day with them. the lynchers of bud and foresta were to be tried, but that was not what excited their interest. the congressman from the district in which maulville was located had just died, and his suc- cessor was soon to be chosen. there was but lit- tle free discussion of political matters in that district, the white population generally rendering unswerving allegiance to the democratic party, while the negroes were equally as ardent in the support of the republican party, each race claim- ing that so far as it was concerned the exigencies of the situation permitted no other course. in the absence of a political arena in which young statesmen might display their prowess, the court house became the nursery of statesmen in the south. thither then the people were nocking to-day, ostensibly to witness the trial of the slayers of bud and foresta, but in reality to pass final judg- ment upon the claims of the young prosecuting attorney who had announced himself a candidate to succeed the deceased congressman. the abil- ity of the young man was unquestioned and his exposition of the fundamental principles of the democratic party was all that could be desired, out of joint with his times. they felt, but they wanted to hear him on the one question that was the final test of his acceptabili- ty, his attitude on the race question. the court assembled and the crowds poured in. the prosecuting attorney, h. clay maul, son of gen. maul, after whom the town was named, ar- rived early and took his seat, his earnest face wearing the look of a determined man sure of his course. well did he know how much was in- volved for himself personally in what was to transpire that day, but he had vowed on the pre- vious night, which he had spent at his mother's grave, that he would do his duty regardless of its effect upon his own future. the first case to be called was that of the man designated by the mob to apply the torch. the chief concern of the defense was in the matter of securing a jury. they expected the judge to do his duty, and the prosecuting attorney to put forth his best efforts to convict. but their re- liance was in a jury in whom the race instinct would triumph over every other consideration and cause it to bring in a verdict of not guilty. it was at last young maul's time to speak and he arose, slightly nervous. he hesitated an in- stant before beginning. all the hopes of his de- ceased father concerning him, all the dreams of his boyhood, all the blandishments of fame and power came surging to his mind and his ego said, "spare thyself. thy sacrifice will be in vain." the hindered hand. overcome by conflicting emotions that gathered in his bosom at this moment, he waved his hand to the audience as if to say, "wait," and sat down. his eyes were directed to the floor and his hand still outstretched to the audience, giving the people to understand that he was yet to be heard from. every eye in the room was now upon him, and all were conscious that a supreme struggle was going on in his bosom. at last he stood up, a smile of triumph upon his face. and thus it was that a son of the new south came into his spirit- ual inheritance. the audience was more eager now than ever to hear every word of the forthcoming speech, and as it forever fixed the status of the young man with his fellows, we give enough of it to our readers to warrant them in passing judgment on the judgment of the people of maulville, miss. said he: "upon an occasion such as this, in order that we may the better get our bearings, it might per- tinently be asked as to why, in the evolution of things, you, honorable judge, you, esteemed gen- tlemen of the jury, and myself, your humble ser- vant, are here to-day addressing our attention to a crime which was in no wise directed against us personally. "we are here to take care of the interests of society, to guard it against the influence of a sav- age deed whose foul breath blown upon our civili- zation threatens it with utter decay. availing myself of the latitude accorded one in your court, out of joint with his times. honored judge, i shall seek to point out all the involvements in the case which we have before us. "god has given unto us, or, to be more exact, has permitted us to wrest from the indian and from creeping snake and prowling beast, a goodly land. here we raise a product that supplies a need of the world that cannot be so acceptably filled up to the present time by any other quarter of the globe. "the world at large, therefore, has a vital ma- terial interest in the manner in which we conduct ourselves on this spot. we have in our midst negroes who have a superior adaptation to the labor of the fields, and it is to our interest and to the interests of mankind generally, that they be treated properly, as in their humble way they do this their share of the world's work. "crown murder king here to-day, if you will, and his bloody sceptre waved over our fields will drive the negroes therefrom, keep us poor, and sadly disturb economic conditions in the most re- mote corners of the earth. the material inter- ests of civilization at large, therefore, appeal to you for the administration of justice in our part of the world. "but civilization has even higher interests in- volved. we must bear in mind that these are no longer days of isolation, that the deeds of maul- ville have been canvassed throughout the earth. man has been battling upward through the ages, and his savage instincts have sought to mount the ladder with him as he climbed. it has been one of the hardest of man's battles to leave be- hind him these depraved parts of his nature, and evidence that you carry your savagery with you will make the battle harder for the whole of the the hindered hand. human family. and so the moral health ot the world demands that every community have a pest house where the isolation and treatment of the morally diseased may forestall an epidemic. "coming nearer home, i would call your at- tention to our sister states to the north of us. these states are bound up with us in a political system. destiny has made us one people, and by the outside world we must be reckoned with as a unit. under these circumstances, the thought must unavoidably develop that that for which all are to be held responsible must, when the need arises, be made the subject of inquiry and action on the part of all. "for the honor, then, of the other members of our political compact who form a part of our shield against the outside world, and to enable them in view of the attached responsibility, to accord, with a clear conscience, full deference to our claim to the right of local self-government, it is incumbent upon us to act worthily here. "gentlemen, our own larger interests are in- volved in this matter. it is our privilege, and our duty as well, to contribute our best heart and brain to the care of the interests of our nation and to the guidance of the world. but if our statesmen walk through the halls of congress emitting from their garments the scent of burn- ing human flesh, when they would put forth their souls as great magnets for mankind, the tender, sensitive world-heart will recede from their touch, and leave their hollow, resounding voices reverberating through space. thus shall we lose our share of great world leaders. "gentlemen, the lives of white men will be placed in jeopardy by a miscarriage of justice here to-day. the jury that refused first to hang the hindered hand. evidence in so plain a case. but knowing the deadening miasma of race prejudice that hangs over, envelops and stifles us so often, i shall dwell briefly upon the nature of the crime com- mitted by the defendant. "a negro, acting upon that instinct of self- preservation that ramifies all nature, shot down his would-be murderer, no other course save the surrender of his life being open to him. have we gone back to the days of the cannibal kings, when it was deemed a virtue for a subject to lay down his life to salisfy a whim of his master? have we, the proud anglo-saxon race, fallen so low that we are to ask that the negro meekly lay down in our pathway, while we enjoy the pleas- ant sport of boring holes through his body? if this is not what we mean, how do you account for that writhing form, the form of that negro, whose only offense was that he sought to pre- serve from the violence of man a life granted unto him by his maker? "and now i come to the crowning horror of the ages. our poets have sung in loftiest strains of the devotion of woman. "a negro wife, true to that impulse of the woman's heart that has made this old world worth living in, that has taught men that the fire- side is worth dying for, that impluse—devotion to a loved one in distress, led that girl to journey by her husband's side through bog and swamp, bearing up bravely under the scorching heat of the sun and wilting not in the dead of night amid the gloom of the beast infested forest. "ah! gentlemen, that girl deserved better of us than what we gave her. and i declare unto you that as the ages roll by, the people of the earth are going to make of those cruel flames that wrapped "'is it a crime for me, one of your sons, to invoke loyalty to the national constitution? if so, i commit that crime.'" (i - -) out of joint with his times. themselves about her nude body a fiery chariot of glory to carry the blessed memory of her de- votion from age to age. "such will be the verdict of the future; but, gentlemen of the jury, you are this moment the mouthpiece of your age and we are concerned about your verdict. "gentlemen of the jury, the evidence in this case, the revolting nature of the crime and every consideration of society demands a verdict of guilty. we have reached the apex of infamy in the crime which lies unavenged at our doors. "let us retrace our steps beginning here to- day. seeing whither our present policy as a people toward the negro has led us, let us.adopt another course. "is it a crime for me, one of your sons to in- voke loyalty to our national constitution? if so i commit that crime. let us accept the negro as a partner in our government, and acts such as these will not occur. nor in so saying do i abate one inch of my stand for white supremacy. as long as there are distinct races there will be racial aspirations for first place. but i crave not the first place born of the prestige of sitting upon a throne whose base is forever lapped by the waves of the blood of the innocent and the helpless. i stand for white supremacy in intel- lect, in soul power, in grasp upon the esteem of others through sheer force of character. but all this aside. justice whom you cannot afford to banish from your borders calls upon you to pronounce over this defendant's head the verdict of guilty." young maul's speech was now over, but he did not sit down. having declared himself in the the hindered hand. manner that he did, he knew that he was hence- forth to be a political outcast, a pariah. he had not stood up for the extension of the caste idea to the political system and knew that its ban would henceforth be upon him. yet in spite of the dreary future which his speech had carved out for him his soul was at ease, for he was con- scious of having advocated that which was best for his people. grasping his hat he strode out of the room, not waiting for the verdict of the jury. "it is a pity that our section can find no place for so true a soul presided over by so bright a mind," thought the judge, his eyes following young maul, as the latter passed out of the court room, and through the court house yard, looking neither to the right nor to the left. the people understood his going. he was saying that he had done his duty and personally could be ab- solved from concern as to results. the lawyers for the defense, feeling sure of the jury, saw no necessity for the making of speeches on their part. they waived their rights in this particular, and the jury, after bemg solemnly charged by the judge, was handed the case. the negro at the door selling lemonade had been an eager listener to all that was said in the case. he had now totally suspended his sales and, standing in the door was eagerly scanning the faces of the jurymen, who had announced out of joint with his times. that they did not need to retire, but could return a verdict on the spot. "come here, darkey, with your lemonade," called a white man on the outside to the negro. the negro obeyed, though his heart for some cause was in the court room. suddenly there was a tumult in the court room and the negro dropped his lemonade bucket and ran to the door; he saw a crowd surging about the lyncher that had been on trial, and he cried out in startling tones: "gemmen, don't do dat. don't kill de man. de boy whut wuz burnt, i'm his daddy. i jes' wanted yer ter 'nounce de man guilty so as ter tek de stain off'n de dead; but fur gawd's sake, don' lynch de man." the judge saw through it all at once and has- tened to silas harper's side, for it was he, bud's father. in sorrowful tones the judge said, "you are mistaken, friend. they are congratu- lating the man. they are not trying to hurt him. the jury has said that he was not guilty. you had better come and go with me. they might become enraged against you and have an- other lynching." silas harper's jaws fell apart in amazement and his eyes took on the look of a terror-stricken, hunted animal. he meekly slunk along after the judge, and to an outsider would have ap- peared to be a criminal doomed to die. chapter xxv. a joyful farewell. r. seabright sat upright in bed and rubbed his eyes. the gas was burn- ing and there sat a man in one corner of his bedroom, turning a rifle over and over, in a cool manner, a keen look of satisfac- tion in his eyes. "am i dreaming? o, i am dreaming!" said mr. seabright, trying to thus reassure himself; but a man was sitting in a chair in the corner, all as plain as day. "but i have had dreams that appeared as real," thought mr. seabright. he pinched himself so as to further determine the fact as to whether he was awake or asleep. being thoroughly convinced that he was awake, he quickly fell back in the bed and pulled the cover over his head. remembering, however, the man's rifle, he pulled the covering far enough down to allow one terrified eye to keep track of the weapon. "mr. seabright!" called the intruder, "sir," responded mr. seabright, in sepulchral tones. (■ ) a joyful farewell. "i think your wife belongs to that man mar- shall's church," remarked the man. mr. seabright nodded assent. "tell her that her pastor will hardly live till morning and that he would like to see her," said the man. mr. seabright had now found courage to pull the cover down from over the other eye, and it now rested on his nose. "did you hear me," said the man, rather sharply. "you will please excuse my boldness," said mr. seabright, tremblingly, "but you have a totally wrong conception of my disposition i fear, mr. stranger. you can get the full benefit of my services with only the butt end of that thing pointing my way, instead of the occasional shift- ing of the muzzle in my direction." the stranger smiled coldly and said, "tell her what i said." mr. seabright now got out of bed and pro- ceeded to the door opening from his room into that of his wife. "arabelle!" called mr. seabright through the partly opened door. mrs. seabright, who was in the midst of a hor- rible dream, sprang out of bed. "arabelle, percy g. marshall is dying and would like to see you." "o my god! can i save him?" she cried, wringing her hands. the hindered hand. excited though she was, it was not long before she was attired and rushing to the study of the church where she was told that she would find the dying man. the door of the study was slightly ajar so that she had no trouble in enter- ing. there upon the sofa lay the dying man, his hand pressed to his side, evidently in an effort to staunch the flow of blood. it is the young man whom we saw repeating his childhood prayer after mrs. seabright in the domain hotel. "i knew that it would come to this, mother. i wanted to live to tell you that," said the dying preacher. "o my boy, my darling! o what has lain hold of me?" cried mrs. seabright, as she knelt by the bedside of the dying one and kissed his lips fervently. a gasp and the spirit of the young man was gone. a loud scream rang out on the night air when mrs. seabright realized that it was all over with him. "wait, my boy, mother is coining." taking from her bosom a small vial she swal- lowed the contents, fell across the breast of the dead and joined him in the spirit land. * * * * * * * * when mr. seabright had delivered to mrs. seabright the message of the intruder, he turned and looked at the man in a helpless sort of way. when mrs. seabright was gone the man re- marked to mr. seabright: a joyful farewell. "i been had my eye on your house for sevul years. it makes a good fort to shoot frum. it'll be turned to that use to-day. you'd better clean out, for a mob ' be here soon." "o my god! have they found me out? o my god! my god!" said mr. seabright, wringing his hands. "you may git now, i say." said the man. mr. seabright sought to put on his clothes, but trembled so that he did not make much head- way. his visitor, to expedite matters, assisted him in dressing. "take your money and the like. i won't need it where i'll be 'fore night," said the intruder. mr. seabright took advantage of this offer to pile into a small valise all the money, valuable papers and jewels in the house that he could find. he went out of the rear door and passed back to his stable, and out into the alley. casting a look back at his house, he said: "farewell, hades!" looking up into the heav- ens, he whispered as he ran: "in case, o stars, any inquiry is made of you as to my where- abouts, please let it be known, of course with- out specifying the exact spot, that i have gone to the land of the eskimo. my face will soon be overgrown with a beard which i shall so dye that the keenest scented mob in all the world can not discern any difference between my humble self and the anatomy of the regulation eskimo, so, farewell!" chapter xxvi. gus martin. us martin, for it was he who was mr. seabright's visitor, saw to it that every window and door of the house was properly barred, and then re- paired to the tower which commanded every ap- proach to the house. to his very great surprise he found the tower a veritable arsenal with am- munition in abundance and death dealing devices of the most improved types. he perceived that the tower was protected by armor plate and was so constructed that one might fire upon oth- ers with practically no danger of being hit him- self. "beyond doubt i shall go to judgment to-day, but i shall take along with me a putty good body guard," said martin, as he settled himself back. the day dawned beautifully, and martin put a hand to his lips and threw a kiss at the sun. "to- morrow i'll know more about you than i do now," said he. "and some others will, too," he added. ( ) gus martin. at about eleven o'clock he saw leaping the front gate a tall raw boned bloodhound. "its a pity a pore dum' brute has got to lead this pursession; but if it mus' be, it mus' be." so saying, he lifted his rifle to his shoulder and a shot rang out on the air. the beast leaped high up in the air, twisted his head to one side and plunged forward lifeless. within a few more moments a second hound appeared, and he met a like fate. soon there was a clatter of a horse's feet and an officer of the law came dashing down the street. as he got opposite the seabright home a rifle shot rang out and his horse fell, throwing the rider against an electric light post, and stunning him for the time being. martin aimed his rifle at the officer as he lay, then low- ered it. "not yet. ain't had the confab yet." the people in the vicinity perceived that there was something unusual going on and began to crowd in front of the space facing the seabright residence. it soon became known that rev. percy g. marshall had been murdered and the murderer had been tracked to the seabright residence. it was also surmised that the offender was a negro, as the hounds had traced him from the place of the killing to a negro dwelling, thence on to the seabright house. the city of almaville was soon in a ferment and the white people poured out to that section of the town. several thousand peo- the hindered hand. pie were soon massed in the neighborhood of the seabright residence. martin had provided himself with a speaking trumpet and through it he now shouted, "you people are permitted to stand in front uv these premises, but you mustn't 'tempt to git over my front yard fence." some one suggested the getting of a trumpet to induce whoever the party was to allow officers of the law to come in unmolested. the trumpet was procured and the following dialogue took place. the trumpeteer of the crowd shouted, "who- ever you are, we call upon you in the name of the state to surrender." martin replied, "i'm a nigger. martin is my name. i have killed a white man fur a good cause. before i give up i would like to have a little talk with the sheriff. tell him to step to the neares' tellerphone place and call up sea- bright." the sheriff did as requested and gus went to the telephone. "say, mistah sheriff, this is gus martin that saw dave harper lynched. if i give up to you will you perteck me?" "i'll do what i can, martin. of course, you know what you have done." "will you lose your life trying to perteck me?" asked martin. "well, uh—well, martin, that's pretty hard to "'i have tellerphoned 'round the world and there ain't no justice nowhere fur a black man. we'll fight it tut right here.'" ( - ) gus martin. say, considering you murdered one of my race, you know." "ring off," said martin. gus now called up the governor's office. "governor, this is gus martin. will you per- teck my life if i surrender to this heah sheriff? i am 'cused uv killin' a white preacher." "i can do nothing unless called upon by the sher- iff of your county," said the governor, and put up the telephone receiver. the seabright residence had 'long distance' telephone connections and gus called up the white house at washington. he stated his case and the secretary to the president replied: "we are powerless to act. the most that we can at present do is to create a healthy public sentiment against lynching." "ha! ha! ha!" laughed gus through the tele- phone. "is that all you can say to a man that risked his life fur your flag?" gus now called up the british legation to sound it on the question of proposing intervention on the part of the leading nations of the world. he was told that the problem was a domestic one and that foreign countries could not intervene. gus returned to his trumpet and said, "i have tellerphoned 'round the world and there ain't no justice nowhere fur a black man. we'll fight it out right here." in the meantime five young men had formed an agreement that they would make the dash to the hindered hand. the building. they had figured that gus could not shoot all five before one of them could reach the lower door and be sheltered from the fire. they made the dash, but gus was quicker than they fancied, and one by one they went down be- fore his deadly aim. the city was in a frenzy. we must leave the scene of combat for a while in order to be prepared for the dramatic turn events were about to take. chapter xxvii. tiara mystifies us. iara was sitting on the fiont porch of her home gazing pensively out upon the blue hills that fringed the distant horizon. on the day previous she had been able to pro- nounce the wounded earl well and he had gone forth solemnly pledged to no longer rebel against the overwhelming desire of the negro race to pursue steadily the policy of moral suasion, as ex- emplified by ensal. that morning eunice had taken her departure and had for some reason or other refused to let tiara know her destination. tiara missed eunice, but there was a countervailing joy in her soul. eunice gone, her period of exile was over, and ensal —o, well, well; he could call to see her sometimes. that was as much as she would admit to herself, but there was an enlivening sparkle to those beautiful dark eyes whenever that individual came before her mind. she was intending that night to write him a note suggest- ing that he ought to call and receive an account of her stewardship in the matter of preserving ( ) the hindered hand. earl's life. that was a non-committal piece of territory on which a renewal of friendly rela- tions might begin, she felt. the newsboy came riding along and tossed the afternoon paper upon her porch. she picked up the paper, opened it and glanced at the various headings. in an in- stant her interest in the paper was more than perfunctory. she saw an account of the murder of rev, percy g. marshall, and of the besieging of the supposed murderer that was still in progress when the paper went to press. at that moment a white man was passing in a buggy. tiara hailed him, grasped a hat and was soon in the buggy by his side begging him to speed her to the city, which the wondering man kindly did. directed by tiara, the man drove to the edge of the crowd of besiegers. by brave struggling, her hat gone, her long hair down her back, her dress torn, she made her way to the front of the swaying, surging mass of frenzied humanity. "gentlemen," said she, "let us stop this fright- ful slaughter. suspend hostilities! give me a chance and i will bring things out all right. all i ask is that you respect my prisoner." tiara's sweet, strong voice carried conviction and the crowd in silence awaited her action. snatching a walking stick from a bystander and tearing a sleeve from her dress she made a £. . of trr.;e and mounted the steps of the gate, "snatching a walking stick from a bystander and tearing a sleeve from her dress, she made a flag of truce and mounted the steps of the gate." ( - .) tiara mystifies us. through his trumpet martin shouted, "flag uv truce held by the lady won't be shot at, purvided no one else comes with her." the crowd now awaited with feverish anxiety the outcome of this new turn of affairs. tragic, as were the surroundings, the great throng found time to admire the great beauty, the magnificent form, the queenly carriage of tiara, as bare- headed and with flag aloft she marched up to the citadel of the outlaw. martin met her at the door, let her in and ran back to the tower to see that no one took advan- tage of his absence to attempt to approach the building. but his precaution was unnecessary. it was a matter of honor with the great throng and none thought of violating the flag of truce. tiara followed martin to the tower and spoke to him a few words in a low, earnest voice. "woman, is that true? and all this havoc to be laid at my door?" "my god!" said martin humbly. "my god," he murmured again. steadily down the stair- way he walked and flung the door wide open, say- ing to tiara, who followed, "well, i'm done. they may have me." tossing his rifle in midair, he said, "i give up, gentlemen." taking the white flag he marched down the sidewalk, stepped outside the gate and stretched forth his hand for the sheriff to handcuff him. no sooner was he thus fastened than the mob surged in upon him. a blow from a stick knocked him down. as he the hindered hand. lay upon the ground the muzzle of a pistol was seen protruding from each of the side pockets of his pants. leroy crutcher, whose testimony had helped to stimulate the mob that lynched dave harper, was again on hand. eager for a souvenir that would enable him to boast to the white peo- ple as to how he stood by them, he stooped down to snatch one of the protruding pistols. martin had the pistols so set in his pocket that to snatch them would pull the triggers and cause them to fire. a shot rang out and ploughed into leroy crutcher's body and he fell a corpse. the crowd swayed back from gus in supersti- tious fear, taking him to be a remarkable per- sonage to be able to keep up a bombardment in his condition. as no more shots came the mob felt, reassured and drew near the prostrate form of gus. his eyes looked up into scores of pistols now leveled at him, and as they rang out their death song gus martin smiled and died. chapter xxviii. poor fellow. he whole of the night following the gus martin tragedy was spent by en- sal in sorrowful meditation, as he rest- lessly walked to and fro in his room. the rev. percy g. marshall had been an out- spoken friend of the negro. the white south, ensal felt, had at one time seemed to fetter its pulpit, not allowing it much latitude in dealing with great moral questions that chanced to have an accompanying political aspect. ensal had looked on with profound admiration as the young rev. mr. marshall, by precept and by example, boldly led the way for an enlarged scope for the white clergy of the south. had the pulpit in question done its full duty in preaching against the institution of slavery, it might have been eradicated by peaceful means, and the civil war averted, was ensal's firm con- viction, and he further felt that the future well- being of the south and the happy adjustment of the relations of the races was largely dependent upon the extent to which the white preachers taught the brotherhood of man and invoked the ( ) the hindered hand. application of the golden rule to all pending problems. in all this work the rev. percy g. marshall was a pioneer spirit, and by degrees the white pulpit of the south was growing more and more aggressive and emphatic. and now it was the irony of fate that this young minister should be slain by a member of the race for which he had imperilled his own standing among the whites. in addition to his grief over the tragic death of the rev. mr. marshall, there was another phase of the gus martin affair that gave ensal deep concern. gus was the child of the new philosophy that was taking hold of the race, which was as follows: faith in the general government was at a low ebb. concerted action of a warlike nature on the part of the race was regarded as being out of the question, if for no other reason than that the negro leaders were practically a unit in pronouncing such a course one of stupendous folly under the existing unequal conditions. word was therefore being passed down the line that every man was to act for himself, that each individual was himself to resent the injustices and indignities perpetrated upon him, and that each man whose life was threatened in a lawless way could help the cause of the race by killing as many as possible of the lawless band, it being con- tended that the adding of the element of danger poor fellow, to mob life would make many less inclined to lawlessness. ensal saw where such a course would lead the race. negroes were ordinarily approached in the name of the law and in that name disarmed. when the law had thus rendered them helpless, the mob would form and be presented with the object of its wrath bound hand and foot. resistance, then, to be effective would have to be offered to the officers of the law. the utter pitiableness of the lone negro being sent by this philosophy to fight the organized power of mod- ern society went home to ensal's heart. the night passed and dawn found him yet pacing his room. his mother summoned him to breakfast, but the all-night agony of his spirit had robbed him of an appetite. the mail man's whistle blew, announcing the morning's mail. "i hope i will get a letter that will turn my thoughts into another channel." such was ensal's solemn soliloquy. how little did he dream of what was in store for him. going to his front gate he re- ceived the mail. to his great surprise, the handwriting on one envelope seemed to be that of gus martin. he quickly tore this letter open and read its contents. he looked around and about cautiously, as if to see if any one was observing him. he crumbled the letter tightly in his hand and started toward the house, when he began to sway to and fro. his head grew dizzy, he tottered the hindered hand. and fell. his mother, who had been observing him through the window, suppressed an incipient scream that almost escaped her lips, and rushed to her son's side. she had seen the effects of the letter, and her first act was to attempt to gain possession of it for the possible protection of her boy. but even in his swooning condition he clutched the letter with so powerful a grasp that she could not wrest it from him. she now cried aloud for help, and neighbors came to her rescue. ensal was borne into the house, his mother keeping in close touch with the hand that held the letter. after some effort he was restored to consciousness, and his first words were, "the letter! the letter! o my god! the let- ter!" "you have it, my boy. it has never left your hand," said his mother. "thank heaven!" uttered ensal fervently. when ensal seemed to be nearly restored to his normal state the neighbors retired. "mother, ask me not why, but prepare my things. i must leave america," said ensal, in a tone so forlorn as to deeply touch the mother's heart. drawing near to ensal she threw her arms around his neck and looked into his eyes as if to read his soul. upon this holy scene where troubled son and anxious mother meet we will not obtrude, and so step lightly out of the room. chapter xxix. a revelation. he fact that ensal was to resign his church and leave the country was soon known throughout almaville and filled the hearts of the good people of both races with sore regret. tiara was amazed. "am i no more to him than that," she asked herself. choosing an hour when she knew ensal would not be in, tiara called at his home to see his mother. mrs. ellwood received her in her bedroom. she dropped on her knees by mrs. ellwood's side, and said in tones that told of a sadly torn heart: "mrs. ellwood, don't let your boy leave. we need him. i—, don't, don't let him go." "i have plead with him, my dear, but his mind is made up, it seems," said mrs. ellwood sorrow- fully. "perhaps he thinks that—that—that i am not —as good a friend to him as—ah! but he ought to—." tiara arose, clasped her hands tightly and bent her beautiful face toward the floor thinking, ( ) the hindered hand. thinking. tears began to gather as she thought of this culminating sorrow of a life so full of sor- rows. "mrs. ellwood," said tiara, "when your son comes home, for my—well—please, oh please, be- seech him to stay. think me not immodest be- cause i plead with you thus. i feel so sure; i know—somehow i know that if all were known between your boy and myself he would not leave the country, at least would not leave it—." tiara paused and looked up at mrs. ellwood as she fin- ished her sentence with the word, "alone." "may heaven pardon my .boldness," said tiara, with clasped hands, lifted face and eyes straining for the light that would not come to her soul. "i understand you, dear child. i must confess that i do not know what has come over ensal." the two women now sat down upon the bed, and, clasped in each other's arms, silently awaited ensal's coming. "wait, dear," said mrs. ellwood. "i will bring you a copy of the farewell address which he has prepared. girl, my heart is drawn to you and i love you, have loved you, and i always thought that ensal loved you with all the ardor of his soul. but i don't understand. i will get the address. it might give us some light." mrs. ellwood soon returned bringing with her the document, which was addressed to a negro organization devoted to the general uplift of the a revelation. race, a body that had been founded, and was now presided over by ensal. the paper ran as follows: "fellow members: i believe in the existence of one great superior intelligence whom the christians know as the god of heaven. i be- lieve that this great being accords to men free moral agency, but gathers up all that we do and shapes it to his 'one - far off divine event.' "the dutch slave trader that landed his cargo of slaves upon the banks of the james river was moved thereto by his greed for gain, we know. the southerners who wrought upon their slaves and gave them the rudiments of civilization, wrought, we know, for the purpose of gain. "the war which brought emancipation was not in itself a deliberately planned altruistic movement, but was precipitated upon the country, and waged primarily in the interest of the soli- darity of the white race in america. "in order that the negroes might preserve their estate of freedom and thus obviate another martial conflict they were given the ballot, and, that the national life might not be corrupted by the putrid exudations from ignorant aliens to its civilization and its ideals, culture was provided for the liberated millions. "the medley of motives working through all the past has at last produced in america the strongest aggregation of negro life that has at any time manifested itself upon the earth. "to say the least it is a striking coincidence that simultaneous with the turning of the thought of the world toward africa and the rec- ognition of the need therein of an easily accli- mated civilizing force, that the american ne- the hindered hand. gro, soul wise through suffering, should come forth as a strong man to run a race. "in america we are confronted with a grave problem, the adjustment of our relations with a strong race. some have suggested that our so- cial absorption by this race is the only real solu- tion of our difficulties. "fellow negroes, for the sake of world inter- ests, it is my hope that you will maintain your ambition for racial purity. so long as your blood relationship to africa is apparent to you the world has a redeeming force specially equipped for the work of the uplift of that con- tinent. "again, a seer linked to us by ties of blood, foreshadows that the paramount problem of our century will be the problem of the adjustment of the white to the darker races. if we disappear as a dark race this world problem must look else- where for special advocates. it seems to me that our situation is from every point of view eloquent with the voice of destiny. "i go to introduce a working force into the life of the africans that will make for their up- lift. may it continue your ambition to abide negroes, to force the american civilization to accord you your place in your own right, to the end that the world may have an example of alien races living side by side administering the general government together and meting out justice and fair play to all. if through the process of be- ing made white you attain your rights, the battle of the dark man will remain to be fought. "as i enter therefore upon the larger mission of the american negro, it is with the confident hope that my base of supplies shall remain intact that our struggling kinsmen everywhere may mr. a. hostility. ensal did as bidden and sitting thus close to the man noted the almost maniacal look of in- tensity in his eye. keeping his eyes steadily on ensal's face, mr. hostility lifted his hand to his inside pocket and drew out a leathern case. laying it on the table he crossed his hands upon it and said: "will you hear me patiently? gus martin told me over and over again that you were a negro who had dedicated your all to the welfare of your race. i began watching you years ago and i have carefully noted the trend of events waiting for the moment that would make our spirits con- genial to each other, and i do believe that the dark shadow under which you stand will sober you into fellowship with my sombre soul." "you seem to be bitter. i am more crushed than bitter," said ensal. '"yes, but bitterness is the next stage, and i am sure that consideration of a few things which i shall put before you will bring you to the next stage," said mr. hostility. opening the leathern case he said, "look at this map." ensal bent forward and looked at a map of the world spread out before him. "the world, you see, will soon contain but two colossal figures, the anglo-saxon and the slav. the inevitable battle for world supremacy will be between these giants. without going into the question as to why i am a pro-slav in this mat- the hindered hand. ter, i hereby declare unto you that it is the one dream of my life to so weaken the anglo—saxon that he will be easy prey for the slav in the com- ing momentous world struggle." "do i understand that you are to talk treason to me to-day; for of course you know my people are tied up in a political system with the anglo- saxons," asked ensal, with some warmth. "ah! that is the question? are you a part of the american nation or a thing apart? i can prove that you are a thing apart—a fly in the stomach for whose ejection an emetic is being diligently sought. now, hear me," said mr. hos- tility. always eager to hear what thoughtful men had to say with regard to his race, ensal leaned back in his chair, determined to give earnest attention to this observer of american life, whose very hos- tility assured the acuteness of his observations. just at this moment ensal's mother informed him that a committee was in their parlor, having come for the purpose of pleading with ensal to reconsider his determination to leave america. "madam," said mr. hostility, "tell the gentle- men that there is a party closeted with your son, who has the one key to the southern situation long needed by your race, and that i am sure your son will abide in america." mrs. ellwood cast a look of warning at her son as she withdrew from the room. she was not at all favorably impressed with mr. hostility, and mr. a. hostility. had been ill at ease ever since he entered the house. ensal said, "excuse me a few moments, mr. hostility," and stepped out of the room. mrs. ellwood, knowing that her son would fol- low her, stopped in the hallway, and when he came dropped a pistol into his coat pocket, say- ing in a whisper, "my dear boy, do be careful." ensal smiled sadly and kissed his mother. "tell the committee, mother, that my mind is fully made up and a discussion of my going would be utterly useless. take the name of each, assure them all that i appreciate their in- terest and will call on them to have a social chat before i leave, provided, however, they agree not to seek to disturb my purpose in this regard." ensal's mother went to the parlor with his final word, and ensal returned to mr. a. hostil- ity. tiara was now at home praying that ensal might not leave america yet awhile. mr. a. hostility was also praying to his evil genius for a like result. monstrous incongruity! how often do diverse spirits from widely differing motives work to- ward a common end! chapter xxxi. tico of a kind. hile ensal was absent from the room mr. hostility had caught sight of a book which he perceived was the work of a rather conspicuous southern man, who had set for himself the task of turning the entire negro population out of america. he clutched the book eagerly and said to himself: "i will further inflame the fellow with this ven- omous assault on his race. i will further ripen his heart for my purposes." upon ensal's return to the room, mr. hostlity called his attention to the book written for the express purpose of thoroughly discrediting the negro race in america. the militant look that came into ensal's eye pleased mr. hostility im- mensely. "i will get him! i will get him!" thought he. ensal did not speak for some time, allowing his weary mind to go forth upon excursions of thought begotten by the mention of the book. the movement for which this book stood, constituted what ensal regarded as one of the most menacing two of a kind. phases of the problem of the relation of the races. he knew that in the very nature of things a policy of misrepresentation was the necessary concomi- tant of a policy of repression. now that the re- pressionists were invading the realm of literature to ply their trade, he saw how that the negro was to be attacked in the quiet of the american home, the final arbiter of so many of earth's most mo- mentous questions, and he trembled at the havoc vile misrepresentations would play before the truth could get a hearing. ensal thought of the odds against the negro in this literary battle: how that southern white people, being more extensive purchasers of books than the negroes, would have the natural bias of great publishing agencies on their side; how that northern white people, resident in the south, for social and business reasons, might hesitate to father books not in keeping with the prevailing sentiment of southern white people; how that residents of the north, who essayed to write in defense of the negro, were laughed out of school as mere theorists ignorant of actual conditions; and, finally, how that a lack of leisure and the ab- sence of general culture handicapped the negro in fighting his own battle in this species of war- fare. at last ensal discussed the book with such warmth that mr. hostility greatly rejoiced. lean- ing across the table, his fiery eyes glowing more fiercely than ever, he almost shrieked; the hindered hand. "friend, aside from that book, knowest thou not unto what the content of the southern policy is leading? extinction, sir, extinction! listen to me awhile." "one could hardly be more absorbed than i am at this moment," said ensal, rather glad of the warmth of the discussion that took his mind somewhat away from his personal grief. "the southern white man, when it comes to you, is a believer in caste. he believes or pro- fesses to believe that god, who created the worm and the bird, also created the negro and the white man, and that the gulf between these respec- tive orders of creations is just as wide in the one case as in the other. follow this caste idea to its last analysis. the lower orders must give way to the higher. the mineral is absorbed into the vegetable and we get the herb, the cow comes along and crops the herb, the man comes along and eats the cow. the higher order is given the power of life and death over the lower. can't you see that your race is simply preserved be- cause it is not yet in the way of the white race?" said mr. hostility. "proceed," said ensal. "even now, when have you heard of a white man's being hanged for the murder of a negro, however cold-blooded the murder? can't you see the awful significance of that fact? over seventy-five thousand negroes have been mur- dered in the south since your civil war and i two op a kind. know of just one hanging of a white as a result. again, the worst houses to live in are assigned to your people; the lower forms of labor, involv- ing the most exposure and danger to life, are re- served for your folks. phosphate mines and guano factories shorten human life wofully and your people are sought for these 'life shortening' jobs. mark my words," said mr. hostility, ris- ing and bending across the table, "when the anglo-saxon feels the need of it, he is going to exterminate you folks. theories to the wind! when has a theory or sentiment of any kind been allowed to stand in the way of his interests?" "well, what are we to do?" asked ensal, anx- ious to draw the man out. the man dropped back to his seat. "now that's right," said he; "'where there is a will there is a way,' you americans say." reaching into his vest pocket he pulled out a bottle which was hermetically sealed. "there, there, lies your salvation," said he, tapping the bottle. "how so?" enquired ensal. "this thing came to me like a revelation," said the man. "the way to attack an enemy is to get at him where you can do him the most harm at the least risk to yourself." a sinister smile now played upon the man's face. "your color is the thing that operates against you negroes. you can take what is your curse and make it your salvation." the hindered hand. the man was delighted with the interest that was plainly evident on ensal's face. "listen!" said he, bending forward and speak- ing in low tones. "the pigment which abides in your skin and gives you your color and the pecu- liar negro odor renders you immune from yellow fever. this bottle here is full of yellow fever germs. organize you a band of trusted negroes, send them through the south, let them empty these germs into the various reservoirs of the white people of the south and pollute the water. the greatest scourge that the world has ever known will rage in the south. the whites will die by the millions and those that do not die will flee from the stricken land and leave the country to your people. "the desolation wrought will for a time disor- ganize this whole nation and the pan-slavists will have the more time to plan for the coming strug- gle. "my scheme helps you.and helps the pan-slav- ist cause and disposes of a common foe, a section of the white race. of course, we will have you negroes to fight in the last contest. but you would prefer being the ones living to make the fight, would you not?" asked the man, now ner- vously awaiting ensal's next words. ensal was silent for a few seconds. then he asked slowly: "do you make that proposition to me, a follow-; er of the christ?" two of a kind. "i have anticipated you there. did not god use plagues and a wholesale slaughter to solve the egyptian race problem? shall you be more righteous than god?" "really would you, a civilized being, propose to me a course that involves the wholesale destruc- tion of women and innocent babes?" asked ensal with mounting wrath. "did not your god tell the hebrews to wage a war of extermination on the canaanites?" asked the man. ensal arose and pointing his index finger at the man, said with a voice vibrant with deep feel- ing: "now hear me a while. during the civil war my race met the requirements of honor where- ever the test was applied—whether it was in the test of the soldier on the field of battle or the slave guarding the women and children at home. "nor has freedom altered this trait of negro character," continued ensal. "when discussion rages fiercest, negro servants continue to abide in white families, with no thought of leaving or of being dismissed. negro men sit in carriages by the side of the fairest daughters of the southland and take them in safety from place to place. the negroes do the cooking for the whites, nurse their babies, and our mothers hover about the bedside of their dying. this they do while their hearts are yearning for a better day for themselves and their kind. but the racial honor is above being the hindered hand. tainted. let the anglo-saxon crush us if he will and if there is no god! but i say to you, the ne- gro can never be provoked to stoop to the perfidy and infamy which you suggest. "and as for you, sir, i pronounce you the true yoke fellow of him about whose book we have been talking, who, wearing the livery of the unifier of the human race, smites the bridge of sympathy which the ages have builded between man and man, who, inflamed racial egotist that he is, would burn humanity at the stake for the sake of the glare that it would cast upon the path- way of the one race. is the issue clearly enough drawn between us?" mr. hostility nervously folded his map of the world, restored his bottle of germs to his pocket, and stood facing ensal in silence for a few sec- onds, his keen disappointment adding to the un- canny look of his face. "remember, we have each other's secrets," said mr. hostility meaningly in tones that showed his keen regret at the failure in this instance of his long cherished scheme. this somewhat re- called ensal to himself. "yes! yes! fear me not. i do not need to impose anything whatever between your sugges- tion and our racial honor. that is simply unap- proachable from that quarter. for that reason i am not tempted to repeat to others what you have said to me." two op a kind. thus reassured, mr. hostility made a bow of mock humility, directed at ensal a look of utter contempt, and disappeared. ensal dropped upon his knees and prayed thus: "o spirit eternal, god of our fathers, move thou upon the hearts of the american people and bid them to lift thy children of the darker hue from their 'low ground of sorrow,' where all the evil influences of the world feel free to tempt them. in all the dark night that may yet await them, when men shall so beset them as to threat- en the sustaining influence of patriotism, grant from the dawn eternal the lighted taper of hope that shall throw its beams athwart the darkness, and furnish a cheering glimpse of the fair end of all things. watch with thine all seeing eye and nail with thine omnipotent hand the machinations of those who would poison human hearts and destroy the humane instincts that are the graces of our faulty world. abide thou here forever and grant that the post of pilot of our planet be given unto this land unto which, though i depart, my heart is moored by the sweat of brow, flowing blood and anguish of spirit contributed by my an- cestors. grant unto this prayer the full measure of consideration that can be bestowed by divine will upon the heart pleadings of an earnest, hum- ble soul." chapter xxxii. working and waiting. iara had gone home from her painful interview with mrs. ellwood, and sought the seclusion of her room for the purpose of trying to think out a course of action. she was able, she felt, to make all things plain to ensal, but in order to do this it would be necessary to make disclosures, which, if given publicity, would very materially affect the welfare of others. she felt that ensal would sacredly guard her revelations, but her disclos- ures would be of little service to him if he could not use them to protect himself in case the charge against her became public. not desiring to put him in a possibly embar- rassing position, tiara concluded to bear her sor- row until such a time as she would be free to de- fend herself openly, if such a course became nec- essary. as to when she would be in a position to do this, tiara was utterly unable to tell and, to add to the horror of the situation, there was ab- solutely nothing that she could do to advance her interests. chance, blind chance, so far as she ?ould see, had her fate in hand, and to all the ( ) working and waiting. pleadings of her heart as to what was to become of her, no answer came. the time came for ensal to depart, and the lips of tiara were yet sealed by circumstances and did not utter the word that would have set all matters right with her, but wofully wrong with some others, perhaps. it soon became evident to tiara that she could not stand the strain of a life of hopeless brooding and ensal had not long been out of america before she began to cast around for a line of endeavor. before leaving america, ensal had published the address which he had prepared in his contest with earl, and tiara chose as her mission the placing of a copy thereof in every american home, feeling that it would draw to conditions in the south a greater degree of interest on the part of the nation as a whole. not only did tiara thus appeal to outside influ- ences for an amelioration of conditions, but she also addressed herself to matters that depended upon forces operating within the race. she looked upon the dead line in the business world as being as baneful as that in the political world. this spirit of caste in the upper grades of employment in the south forbade negroes from working side by side with the whites. she felt that the most practicable manner of banishing this dead line was for negroes to combine their capital and launch enterprises that would make it possible for their people to rise in keeping with the hindered hand. of her mission that she was oblivious to all that was passing around her. "whar you gwine?" asked the driver of his negro companion. "scuse me, but beins you don't seem to be over prosp'rous, i specks you had kinder bettah pay in advance," said the driver, with a diplomatic smile that said, "now, don't get mad. this is a business matter." without a word the stranger pulled out a bill and handed it to the driver, who took out his fare. tiara reached the johnson residence, which was a large building, built on the colonial style and surrounded by as fine a set of trees as one could wish to see. tiara went around to the kitchen and was taken into the dining room by the negro woman cook. "you will please withdraw as i desire to be alone when i meet mrs. johnson," said tiara to the cook, with a pleasant smile. mrs. johnson pulled aside the sliding door leading into the dining room and, catching sight of tiara, uttered a scream of joyous surprise and rushed into her arms. tiara gently disentangled herself in order to close the door which mrs. johnson had left open. sitting down by mrs. johnson's side, tiara took hold of her hand and talked in low, earnest tones for a few moments, watching her countenance the while. "no, no, no, i could not think of that for a mo- ment, no, no, no," said mrs. johnson, and in her back in almaville. negro's direction, who read at once mr. volrees' disgust over the fact that he, a negro, dared to broach the question of his family trouble. "pardon me," said the negro, turning to leave. "come back! are you a fool?" said mr. vol- rees angrily, his desire for information concern- ing his wife overcoming his scruples. "my wife took me to be one and left me," said the negro in a tone of mock humility. mr. volrees looked up quickly to see whether he meant what he was saying or was making a thrust at him. the solemn face of the negro was non-committal. "now, what do you know?" asked mr. volrees gruffly. "i know where your wife is," said the negro. "how do you know that she is my wife?" "i was the porter on the train that you and she began your bridal tour on," replied the negro. "how have you been able to trace her?" "i was the porter on the train on which she first came to almaville. she came into the sec- tion of the coach for negroes, and she and a ne- gro girl created a scene." "go on!" almost shouted volrees, now thor- oughly aroused. "the reward?" timidly suggested the negro. "of course you get that. go on!" said volrees, with increasing impatience. "the affair was so sad-like that i always re- membered the looks of the two women," resumed the hindered hand. the negro. "one night not long ago i saw the negro girl buy a ticket to goldsboro, mississippi. it came to me like a flash that she was going to see your wife. she had the same sad look on her face that she had the night i saw them together. i followed this girl to mississippi and sure enough i came upon your wife." volrees had now arisen and was restlessly moving about the room, his brain in a whirl. "was she living with some family, or how was she situated?" he asked. "she and her husband live" "her husband!" thundered volrees, grabbing the negro in the collar, fancying that he wa grabbing the other husband. "the people there say that she is married," said the negro timidly. "i will choke the liver out of the miscreant," said volrees, tightening his hold in the negro's collar as if in practice. "i am not the man," said the negro, with grow- ing determination in his voice. volrees was thus recalled to himself and resumed his restless tramping. "no, you are not the man. you are only a nigger." grasping his hat, volrees strode rapidly out of the room. at the door he bawled back, "you will get your reward." chapter xxxiv. a great day in court. ong before the hour set for the trial of the alleged eunice volrees on the charge of bigamy the court house yard and the corridors were full of people, but, strange to say, the court room in which the trial was to take place, though open, was not occupied. the crowds thus far were composed of negroes and white people in the mid- dle walks of life, who looked upon the forthcom- ing trial as a 'big folks'' affair and, as if by agree- ment, the court room was spared for the occu- pancy of the elite. as the hour for the trial drew near the carriages and automobiles of the upper classes began to arrive. each arrival would come in for a share of the attention of the middle classes and the distinguishing feature of each personage was told in whispers from one to an- other. when the carriage of the hon. h. g. volrees rolled up to the court house gate silence fell upon the multitude and those on the walk leading to the court house door fell back and let him pass. his face wore a solemn, determined look and the ( ) a great day in court. common verdict was, "no mercy there. a fight to a finish." the court room was now fairly well filled with almaville notables, and the plain people now crowded in to get seats as best they could or to occupy standing room. almost the last carriage to arrive was that containing eunice. the cur- tains to the carriage were drawn so that no one in it could be seen until the door was opened. eunice and her lawyers stepped out and quickly closed the door behind them. contrary to the expecta- tions of many, she wore no veil and each person in the great throng was highly gratified at an oppor- tunity to scrutinize her features thoroughly. a way was made for her through the great throng and she walked to the prisoner's seat holding to the arm of her lawyer. the case was called, a jury secured, and the ex- amination of witnesses entered into. the first witness on the part of the state was the hon. h. g. volrees himself. as he took the witness chair a bustle was heard in the room. the people in the aisle were trying to squeeze themselves together more tightly to allow a man to pass who was lead- ing a little six-year-old boy, who had just been taken from the carriage which had brought eu- nice to the trial. "make room, please. i am taking her son to her," the man would say, and the crowd would fall away as best it could. the hon. h. g. volrees had opened his mouth to begin his testimony when he noticed that his the hindered hand. attorney, the opposing counsel, the judge and the officers of the court had turned their eyes toward the prisoner's seat. as nobody seemed to be lis- tening to him he halted in the midst of his first sentence and turned to see what was attracting the attention of the others. as he looked, a pe- culiar sensation passed over him. perspiration broke out in beads and his veins stood out like whip cords. he clutched his chair tightly and cleared his throat. there sat beside eunice her child, having all of mr. volrees' features. there were his dark chest- nut hair, his large dark eyes, his nose, his lips, his poise and a dark brown stain beneath the left ear which had been a recurrence in the volrees family for generations. the public was mysti- fied as it was commonly understood that the marital relations had extended no farther than the marriage ceremony. the presence of this child looked therefore to be an impeachment of the integrity of mr. volrees and of eunice. the wonder was as to why nothing about the child had been mentioned before. mr. volrees sat in his chair, his eyes fixed on the boy. the lawyer at length resumed the examination of mr. volrees, but the latter made a sorry wit- ness. it was evident that the coming in of this child had thoroughly upset him in some way. he was mystified, and his mind, grappling with the problem of his likeness sitting there before him, could not address itself to the functions of a wit- a great day in court. manifested in me, and my mother's good name was imperilled. "my mother confessed to my father the fact that she was a descendant of negroes and he made a like confession to my mother as to his an- cestry. when shirleyville found out that my par- ents had negro blood in their veins, i was re- garded as a 'reversion to type,' and the storm blew over. my father became mayor of the town, and great ambitions began to form in my moth- er's heart. "a notable social event was to take place at in- dianapolis and my mother aspired to be a guest. she met with a rebuff because she had negro blood in her veins. this rebuff corrupted my mother's whole nature, and hardened her heart. she had my father to resign as mayor. our home was burned and we were all supposed to have perished in the flames. this was my mother's way of hav- ing us born into the world again. "my mother, father and the other two children began life over as whites, and i began it over as a lone negro girl without family connection, and we all had this second start in life here in your city. "most all people in america have theories as to the best solution of the race problem, but my mother fancied that she had the one solution. she felt that the mixed bloods who could pass for whites ought to organize and cultivate unswerv- the hindered hand. ing devotion to the negro race. according to her plan the mixed bloods thus taught should be sent into the life of the white people to work quietly year after year to break down the southern white man's idea of the negro's rights. she felt that the mixed bloods should lay hold of every center of power that could be reached. she set for her- self the task of controlling the pulpit, the social circle and the politics of almaville and eventually of the whole south and the nation. o she had grand, wild dreams! if she had succeeded in her efforts to utilize members of her own family, she had planned to organize the mixed bloods of the nation and effect an organization composed of cultured men and women that could readily pass for white, who were to shake the southern system to its very foundation. with this general end in view, she had her son trained for the ministry. this son became an eloquent preacher. my mother through a forged recommendation, which, however, the son did not know to be forged, had him chosen as pastor of a leading church in this city. "my mother had a strange power over most people and a peculiar power over my brother. he did not at all relish his peculiar situation, but my mother insisted that he was but obeying the scriptural injunction to preach the gospel to every creature. the minister in question was none other than the universally esteemed rev. percy g. marshall, who now rests in a highly a great day in court. honored grave in your most exclusive cemetery, from which negroes are barred as visitors." there was a marked sensation in the court room at this announcement concerning the racial affinity of the rev. percy g. marshall. "i visited my brother clandestinely; often he and i sorrowed together. on the night of the mur- der, which you all remember, and preceding that sad event, closely veiled i visited him at his study. when we were through talking i arose to go and opened the door. 'kiss your brother. we may not meet again,' said he sadly. neglecting to close the door i stepped up to him and kissed him. when i turned to go out i saw that gus martin, whom leroy crutcher, as i afterwards found out, had set to watching me, had seen us kiss each other. i hurried on home embarrassed that i could not explain the situation to him. when on the next day i read of my brother's death, i im- mediately guessed all. that is how i had the key to bringing gus martin to terms. when he found out his awful mistake he was willing to surrender. "so resulted my mother's plans for the mastery of your southern pulpit." turning to eunice, she said, "there is her daughter. through her my mother hoped to lay hold on the political power of the state. but that girl loved a negro, the son of the prosecutor, the hon. h. g. volrees [sensation in the court]. "after leaving her husband, eunice came to live with me. earl bluefield, who is mr. volrees' a great day in court. pear or dwell in mediocrity, taking on a mocking sound and a metallic ring; art will become formal, lacking in spirit; huge soulless machines will grow up that will crush the life out of humanity; conditions will become fixed and there will be no way for those who are down to rise. hope will depart from the bosoms of the masses. you will be a great but a soulless race. this will come upon you when your heart is cankered with caste. you will devour the negro to-day, the humbler white to-morrow, and you who remain will then turn upon yourselves." tiara paused and glanced around the court room as if to see how much sympathy she could read in the countenances of her hearers. the rapt attention, the kindly look in their eyes gave her courage to take up a question which the situation in the south made exceedingly delicate, when one's audience was composed of southern white people. "one thing, mr. judge, wells up in me at this time, and i suppose i will have to say it, unless you stop me," said tiara, in the tone of one ask- ing a question. the judge made no reply and tiara interpreted his silence to mean that she was permitted to pro- ceed. said she: "you white people have seen fit to make the negro a stranger to your social life and you further decree that he shall ever be thus. you know that this weakens his position in the the hindered hand. governmental fabric. the fact that he is thus excluded puts a perennial question mark after him. furthermore the social influence is a tre- mendous force in the affairs of men, as all his- tory teaches. to all that goes to constitute this powerful factor in your life as a people, you have seen fit to pronounce the negro a stranger. the pride of the negro race has risen to the oc- casion and there is a thorough sentiment in that race in favor of racial integrity. "so, by your decree and the cordial acceptance thereof by the negro, he is to be a stranger to your social system. that is settled. the very fact that the negro occupies an inherently weak position in your communal life makes it incum- bent upon you to provide safeguards for him. "instead, therefore, of the negro's absence from the social circle being a warrant for his ex- clusion from political functions, it is an argument in favor of granting full political' opportunity to him. when a man loses one eye, nature strength- ens the other for its added responsibility. just so, logically, it seems absurd to hold that the negro should suffer the loss of a second power because he is shut out from the use of a first. "your bible says: 'and if a stranger sojourn with thee in your land, ye shall not vex him." white friends of the south! let me beseech you to vex not this social stranger within your bor- ders; the stranger who invades your swamps and drains them into his system for your comfort; "'don't circumscribe the able, noble souls among the negroes. give them the world as a playground for their talents and let negro men dream of stars as do your men.'" ( - -) a great day in court. who creeps through the slime of your sewers: who wrestles with the heat in your ditches and fields; who has borne your onerous burdens and cheered you with his song as he toiled; who has never heard the war whoop but that he has prepared for battle; whose one hope is to be allowed to live in peace by your side and develop his powers and those of his children that they may be factors in making of this land, the greatest in goodness in all this world. don't circumscribe the able, no- ble souls among the negroes. give them the world as a playground for their talents and let negro men dream of stars as do your men. they need that as much as you do. as for me, i shall leave your land." turning to eunice, tiara stretched forth her hands, appealingly and said, "sister, come let us leave this country! come." "ha! ha!" laughed eunice, with almost mani- acal intensity, as she waved her hand in disdain at tiara, who now slowly left the witness stanch all eyes were now turned toward eunice, who had arisen and stood trying to drive away the passions of rage that seemed to clutch her vocal cords so that she could not speak. at last get- ting sufficient strength to begin, she said: "honorable judge and you jurymen: i de- clare to you all to-day that i am a white woman. my blood is the blood of the whites, my instincts, my feelings, my culture, my spirit, my all is cast in the same mould as yours. that woman who the hindered hand. and it seems cruel to crush her and drive her from those for whom she has the most affinity to those whom she is least like. then, i pity the boy. he carries in his veins some of our proud- est blood, and it seems awful to cast away our own. but we must stand by our rule. one drop of negro blood makes its possessor a negro. "our great race stands in juxtaposition with overwhelming millions of darker people through- out the earth, and we must cling to the caste idea if we would prevent a lapse that would taint our blood and eventually undermine our greatness. it is hard, but it is civilization. we cannot find this girl guilty. it would be declaring that mar- riage between a white man and a negro woman is a possibility." a vote was taken and the jury returned to the court room to render the verdict. "the prisoner at the bar will stand up," said the judge. eunice stood up and her little boy stood up as well. there was the element of pathos in the standing up of that little boy, for the audience knew that his destiny was involved in the case. "has the jury reached a verdict?" asked the judge. "we have," replied the foreman. "please announce it." the audience held its breath in painful sus- pense. eunice directed her burning gaze to the lips of the foreman, that she might, if possible. a great day in court. catch his fateful words even before they were ful- ly formed. "we, the jury, find the prisoner not guilty." "murder!" wildly shrieked eunice. "doomed! doomed! they call us negroes, my son, and everybody knows'what that means!" her tones of despair moved every hearer. the judge quietly shed a few tears and many another person in the audience wept. the crowd filed out, leaving eunice clasping her boy to her bosom, mother and son mingling their tears together. tiara lingered in the corridor to greet eunice when the latter should come out of the room. she had thought to speak to her on this wise: "eunice, we have each other left. let us be sisters as we were in the days of our childhood." but when tiara confronted eunice, the latter looked at her scornfully and passed on. when tiara somewhat timidly caught hold of her dress as if to detain her, eunice spat in her face and tore herself loose. chapter xxxv. eunice! eunice! ith slow, uncertain step, a wild haunted look in her eye, eunice, clutch- ing her little boy's hand until it pained him, moved down the corridor toward the door leading out of the court house. she was about to face the world in the south as a member of the negro race, and the very thought thereof spread riot within her soul. the nearer she drew to the door the greater was the anguish of her spirit. more than once she turned and retraced her steps in the corridor, trying to muster the courage to face the outer world in her new racial alignment. at last she stood near the door, her whole frame trembling as a result of the sweeping over her spirit of storm after storm of emotions. her little boy, unable to grasp the im- port of his mother's behavior was eagerly scan- ning her face and weeping silently in instinctive sympathy. with a sudden burst of courage eunice stepped out of the court house door and a young white man, who had been awaiting her, stepped up to speak to her. his hat was tilted back on his head, ( ) eunice! eunice! a lighted cigar was in his mouth, and his hands were thrust deep in his trousers pockets. eunice looked up at him, saw the wicked leer in his eyes, and recoiled. "don't be scared, eunice. i stayed here to tell you that the hackman who brought you here got a chance to make a little extra by taking some white ladies home and said for you to stay here until he got back. he wont be gone but a few minutes." the suggestive look, the patronizing tone, the failure to use "mrs.," on the part of the man that addressed her, and the action of the hackman in leaving her to take some white woman home, served as a tonic to brace up the quailing spirit of eunice. her first brush with the world as a member of the negro race had aroused her fighting spirit. "how dare you address me in that manner, you boorish wretch!" exclaimed eunice, her small frame shaking with indignation. the young man seemed rather to enjoy eunice's rage and coolly replied, "well, eunice, you know, eunice, that you are a negress now and there are no misses and mistresses in that race. if you were a little older i would call you 'aunty;' if you were a little older still i would call you 'mammy;' if very old, 'grandma eunice.' but as it is, i have to call you plain 'eunice.' my race would disrespect me if i didn't follow the rule, you know." the hindered hand. "you wretched cur! you yap.'" screamed eunice. "as this is your first day in the 'nigger' race i won't bother you for calling me out of my name. but let me give you a piece of advice. we white folks like a 'nigger' in his place only, and you find yours quick. and remember that you 'nigger' women don't come in for all that stepping back which we do for white women. we go so far as to burn your kind down here sometimes. as for that brat there, bring him up as a 'nigger' and teach him his place, if you don't want him to see trouble." so saying the young white man turned and walked away, leaving eunice enraged and amazed at his effrontery. the refined classes among the whites who would not under any circumstance have wantonly wounded eunice's sensibilities, had nevertheless issued the decree of caste and the grosser ones among them were to execute it, and eunice was tasting the gall that the unrefined pour out daily for a whole race to drink. typical of that class that enjoyed seeing the negroes writhing under their wounded sensibil- ities, this young man had craved the honor of being the first to make eunice taste the bitterness of her new lot in life. eunice and her son now proceeded to the street car. a number of white women boarded the car just in front of her and the conductor politely helped them on. when her time came to step up, eunice! eunice! he caught hold of her arm to assist her. when a glance at her face told him who she was, he (hav- ing seen her picture in the newspapers, and learned the result of the trial) quickly turned her loose so that she fell off the car, badly sprain- ing her ankle. eunice did not understand his action and looked up at him inquiringly. the contemptuous look upon his face explained it all. with her sprained ankle she hobbled on the car and took a seat near the rear door. a number of half- grown white boys were on the rear platform and felt inclined to contribute their share of discom- fort to the newly discovered negro woman. they hummed over and over again the "rag time" song. "coon, coon, coon, t wish my color would fade!" when eunice and her son arrived at her hotel she alighted from the car unaided, and painfully journeyed to her room, which was being thor- oughly overhauled by an employee. "where where is my room?" asked eunice, haltingly, fearing that she had somehow made a mistake. "you haven't any in this hotel," was the gruff response. "but i have; i am in the wrong room, perhaps," said eunice. "no, you have been in the wrong race. you are a 'nigger' and we don't run a 'nigger' hotel. your things are piled up in the alley, and you the hindered hand. pie had voting power and could stand by us we could stand by you. it is a matter of business with us." "you are discriminating against me without the warrant of law and are subject to a suit," said eunice. "the case will be tried by a white jury and a verdict will be rendered against us. we will be required to pay the cost of the court and to hand^ over to you one cent!" taking her little boy by the hand, eunice slow- ly turned and walked away while the tears rolled down her cheeks. she did so much crave the darkness and seclusion of a berth, where she could take an inventory of the new world into which she had come, but there was no escape from the lighted coach occupied by negroes. get- ting on the train she took a seat in the section of the coach set apart for negroes. the negro porter thinking she had made a mistake took her into a coach for whites. ''take that woman baek. she is no white woman," bawled out one of the passengers, who had in his hands an afternoon paper containing a likeness of eunice and an account of the trial. the puzzled porter turned to eunice and said, "are you a—are you a—" he was afraid to ask the woman as to whether she was a negro fear- ing she might be a white woman and would have him killed for the insult; and he was equally eunice! eunice! afraid to ask her as to whether she was a white woman, fearing that if she was white she would resent a question that seemed to imply any sort of resemblance to a negro. it occurred to him to say: "this coach is for whites and the one you came out of is for negroes." saying this he left hurriedly, leaving her to select the coach in which she was to ride. eunice groped her way back to the section of the coach set apart for negroes. earl had heard by means of the long dis- tance telephone of the outcome of the trial, and desiring that the first meeting with eunice af- ter the sad experience should be private, he had preferred sending to the railway station for her. to going himself. he was now in his library when eunice and her son reached the house. as eunice pushed open the library door and stood facing her husband she stretched forth her hands and said in tones that pierced earl's heart: "doomed! doomed! assigned to membership in the negro race! made heir to all the contempt of the world. doomed! doomed!" earl stood with folded arms and a heart whose emotions cannot be portrayed, and looked at the picture of woe before him, his beautiful wife frantic and despairing and his little son already feeling in his youthful spirit the all pervading gloom that creeps through the negro world. the hindered hand. "be not dismayed, eunice, dear! i am not at the end of my resources. i shall yet burst a bomb in this southland," said earl. eunice rushed to earl clutched his arms and looked up wildly into his eyes. "earl, dear earl! tell me! tell me quickly and tell the truth! is there, can there be any hope for the negro here or elsewhere?" - earl did not answer at once. he looked stead- ily into her eyes and realized that he was in the immediate presence of a soul about to make a final plunge into the dark, dark abyss of despair. it was to him a holy presence and he could not lie! "eunice, dear, there is hope. slowly, but sure- ly the world is working its way to a basis of jus- tice for all," said earl. "my boy! is there hope for him?" "the hope of sublime battling, dear," said earl. "is that all there is for my boy? no hope of reward. only battle! battle!" asked eunice. "grant me a favor, eunice. i know what that look in your face means. i see that you are think- ing of leaving me, and of taking my boy and your boy with you. you are planning suicide," said earl. "ha! ha!" laughed eunice, in the uncanny tones of madness. "you guess well. come with us," she said, casting a look in the direction of a, drawer where she knew the pistol to be. eunice! eunice! "grant me this favor, eunice. don't die. spare my boy. live and let my boy live a little while longer. i have several more lines of attack. if they fail then we can all go." eunice whirled around the room gayly and said with childish glee, "you will then die with us, will you? ha! ha! ha!" a terrible fear stole over earl as he watched her peculiar behavior. "live! ha! ha! ha! 'nigger,''darkey,'coon— live! yes, i'll live! i'll live! whee—poo—poo— wheep!" screamed eunice, now dashing wildly about the room. she had gone mad. ****** at the earliest moment practicable earl bore the raving eunice out of the southland, carried her to a sanitarium in a northern city. giving the physician in charge a history of the case and allowing him time to study it, earl awaited the verdict as to eunice's chances of recovery. "mr. bluefield, to be absolutely frank with you, i am compelled to say that, in my opinion, your wife's case is an incurable one. the one specific cause of her mental breakdown is the southern situation which has borne tremendously upon her. that whole region of country is affected by a sort of sociological hysteria and we physicians are ex- pecting more and more pathological manifesta- tions as a result of the strain upon the people. "only one thing could cure your wife and that is the reversal of the conditions that have the hindered hand. wrought upon her mind. she has lucid moments, but whenever her mind forcibly recurs to the southern situation she again plunges into the gulf of despair. if in these lucid moments yon could place before her a ladder of hope, i am of the opinion that a cure would be effected. that is equivalent to saying, i fear, that the case is in- curable, for i can see no way out of the southern tangle." such were the awful words addressed to earl bluefield by the physician in charge of the sani- tarium when earl called to learn of him his opin- ion concerning eunice's case. earl walked forth from the sanitarium and journeyed hurriedly to the southern border of the city. when the houses of the city were well at his back and he had an unobstructed view to the south, he paused and, holding his right hand aloft, he said: "hear, o spirit world, if such there be, that, in the. days to come, you may witness how faith- fully earl bluefield, humanity's ishmaelite, kept his word. non-existent was i until the whim of a southern white man, trampling upon the alleged sacred canons of his race, called me into being and endowed me with the spirit of his kind. in the race into which i was thrust, i sought to manifest my martial spirit, but met with no ade- quate response from men grooved in the ways of peace. i found me a wife with spirit akin to mine, and like myself a victim of the bloods. eunice! eunice! the two of us withdrew from the active affairs of men, and from our own heath looked out upon the land of our birth, in the very which we had been made aliens. and now we have been dragged from our happy seclusion and gibbeted. "and thinkest thou, o southland, that the last has been heard of me? ha! ha! for fear that thou mayest deceive thyself thus, hear the oath of earl the ishmaelite: "by the wrenched chords of the heart of a boy spurned by a contemning father; by the double shame of a mother wickedly wooed and despised in the one breath; by the patience and optimism of the blood of my black forbears; by the energy and persistence of my grant of blood from eu- rope—by all these mighty tokens, i make oath that this nation shall rest neither day nor night until this shadow is lifted from my soul. and i further make oath, despisers of the offerings of my higher self, that i shall meet your every fresh wound with face the more uplifted because there- of, and to better meet all that you have to hand out to me, i shall keep company with the spirit that makes nerve food of disasters and ascension chariots of whirlwinds." enthusiastic john blue, n a room of a hotel in the city in which the sanitarium having charge of eunice was located, earl bluefield sat upon a sofa, his hands, with the fingers tightly interlaced, resting between his knees, his head and shoulders bent forward. the intense, haggard look upon his face told plainly of the painful meditation in which he was engaged. owing to earl's peculiar status in the world, eunice, beloved as a wife, was far more to him than a wife. he looked upon himself as a sort of exotic in the non-resisting negro race and consid- ered himself a special object of scorn on the part of the white people of the south, who seemed to him to resent his near approach unto them in blood, and to mistrust his kind more than all other elements in negro life. in the absence, therefore, of a perfect bond of racial sympathy anywhere, eunice became to him his world as well as his wife, and no more horrible suggestion could be made than that he should go through life apart from her. here indeed had been a marriage—the welding of two into one. ( ) enthusiastic john blue. earl was not brooding as one who had hopeless- ly lost his all, but was plotting as one who would save his all. the task of the knight of old upon whom was the burden of rescuing some lovely maiden from imprisonment in a seemingly im- pregnable fortress, was but child's play compared to the task before earl, who must s( ale the walls of the castle of despair and batter down doors that laughed at the feebleness of steel if he would claim eunice for his own again. he was face to face with the dreadful fact that nothing but the solution of the long standing race problem of america could release to him the one so dear to his heart, so essential to his existence. as earl sat canvassing the terrible plight in which he found himself, his mind ran the whole gamut of panaceas that had been proposed for a solution. his own martial scheme of his earlier, unmar- ried days passed in review before his mind, but failed to appeal to him as it did in the days of yore. so far as he himself was concerned he would have welcomed a death in a glorious cause as an honorable release from the ranks of the ad- vocates of universal justice, who, to his impatient spirit seemed to be marking time in the face of an aggressive foe. but death for himself would not rescue eunice! his mind recurred to the impression that seemed to prevail in some quarters that the solu- the hindered hand. tion of the problem mainly hinged upon giving in- dustrial training to the negro masses. "that," said he to himself, "will solve a large part of the negro's side of the problem, but how great an army of carpenters can hammer the spirit of repression out of those who hold that the eternal repression of the negro is the nation's only safeguard? what worker in iron can fashion a key that will open the door to that world of higher activities, the world of moral and spiritual forces which alone wooes eunice's spirit and mine? what welder of steel can beat into one the discordant soul forces of willing negroes and un- willing whites, the really pivotal point of the problem? really pressing is the need of indus- trial training for our people, but my peculiar case calls for something that must come from lincoln the emancipator rather than from lincoln the rail-splitter." earl next thought of ensal's proposed cam- paign of education which had been vigorously car- ried on.by tiara and he said: "it is one thing to produce a niagara and another thing to har- ness it. o for a means of harnessing all the righteous sentiment in america in favor of the ideals of the constitution." thus, on and on earl soliloquized, groping for the light. he stretched out upon the sofa and sought to refresh his tired brain with a few moments of sleep, but sleep refused to visit him. suddenly he leaped from the sofa and said: enthusiastic john blue. "i have it! i have it! eunice shall be free." he now began to make hurried preparations for a trip south. while he is thus engaged we shall divulge to the reader the process of reason- ing that at last led him to what he conceived to be daylight. "two things must be done," argued earl with- in himself. "repression in the south must die and men with broader visions in that section must take charge of affairs. this is an age of freedom and an age of local self-government. freedom must obtain in the south, and largely through some agency found or developed therein. the most effective way of killing repression is to make it kill itself and out of the soil nurtured by its carcass will spring a just order of things. "i will lure repression to its death and then find my force within the south that will lead the south into nobler ways." understanding this much of earl's new plan we are now prepared to follow him and intelli- gently watch developments. the scene now shifts from the north to the south. * * * * * * fully conscious of the stupendous character of his undertaking, earl walked slowly up the walk leading to the office of the governor of m , a southern state. he was steadying himself for the coming effort. the hindered hand. when shown to the governor's office he said: "this is the governor of the state of m , i believe." "they say that such is the case," responded the governor, smilingly. "i am just from the north and am making a tour of the south. i am traveling incognito and would like to be known to you as john blue. as i shall broach only matters of common public in- terest in case you honor me with an interview, i shall be pleased to have you excuse me from mak- ing myself further known to you in a personal way," said earl, with great affability. the governor was captured at once by earl's suave manner and actually fancied that some northerner of exceeding great note was paying him a visit. "well, i am glad to see you—glad to see you. the more you men of the north see our southern 'niggers' the more you will sympathize with us," said the governor. "do you think that either we northerners or you southerners get anything like an adequate view of the negro," asked earl bluefield, alias john blue. "why not?" asked the governor. "well, you southern people don't mix with them socially, practically never enter their best homes, and would be amazed, i am told, if you really knew of the high order of their develop- ment socially. it is said that you call them 'nig- enthusiastic john lue. gers,' that your children speak of them as such, that you often speak harshly of them in your home circles, that many of your men are not as refined as they might be when they are dealing with negro women, and that for these reasons the better grade of negroes are leaving your domestic service, so that your observation of the negro is more and more centered upon the type that does not represent the race at its best." "i had never thought .of that. we do call them 'niggers.' i have a lot of trouble in keeping a cook. i wonder if that is the reason. well, well, who would have thought that there was anything about a 'nigger' that southerners would have to be told by a northerner," remarked the governor, winding up with a loud guffaw. "as for the tourist class of northerners," re- sumed john blue, "and northerners residing in the south, they see only the rougher side of ne- gro life, much as do you southerners. the northern missionaries whose duties place them in touch with the best and worst that there is in negro life have the real rounded view of the sit- uation." the governor's affability now disappeared. said he: "don't praise those mawkish missionaries to me. they are down here educating the heads of 'niggers.' we white folks have got enough heads to run this country." enthusiastic john blue. "third, public office, neither federal nor state, was gotten up for a 'nigger' to hold. "fourth, all money spent on educating a 'nig- ger,' except to teach him to work, is a squandering of the public funds. "fifth, the outside world be d—d. we will deal with the 'nigger' to suit ourselves. "i will also tell you confidentially that i am one that don't want the 'nigger' question out of poli- tics. we are living side by side with these 'nig- gers,' and public agitation helps our people to keep in mind that there is an impassable gulf be- tween the races. such men as i am would be per- fect fools for trying to solve this 'nigger' problem. a crazy man can see that the solving of this prob- lem puts my kind out of business. thousands of southern men can whip me out of my boots on any issue outside of abusing the 'nigger.' that's where i can go them one better. haven't you ob- served the universal lament that we are not up . to the standard in point of statesmanship. the trouble is we ride into our kingdoms so easily. it don't take a genius to persuade a people that you can beat a more tender-hearted man keeping a 'nigger' in his place. we machine men in the south don't want this 'nigger' bugaboo put down. it's our war whoop." "aside from the political use to which you put your announced views on the race question, you really believe them, don't you?" asked earl. the hindered hand. "o yes. i think the good of the world demands that the 'nigger' be kept in his place," replied the governor. "now, i am getting to the point," said earl. "lincoln once said our country could not always exist half slave and half free. you see he wat right. now a lesser light than lincoln tells you that the policy of repression must obtain in all our country or none, for the nationalizing spirit is at work, and is sure in time to produce a na- tional unity of some sort. shall this unity, so far as touches the question of the races, be upon the northern or southern basis, is a very live ques- tion for you southerners. now i suggest that you southern people make this question a national one." "how can we raise the issue," asked the gov- ernor. "easily. you people have been tolerating ne- groes in federal positions down here for years. collectorships of ports, marshalships and numer- ous positions of honor have all along been held by negroes. become tired of this and demand that they be withdrawn. that will be an invita- tion to the nation to join with you in your policy of repression." "good! good!" said the governor, clapping his hands. "you can go further. the presidency of our nation is where the copartnership of the states finds conspicuous concrete expression. demand enthusiastic john blue. _ that none but a repressionist or a man silent on that question be allowed to occupy that chair." "good! good! good!" exclaimed the gov- ernor. "now as to your chances. the race instinct is in the north, but is not cultivated as much as it is in the south. send your men to the north who are most adroit in their appeals to prejudice and you will find a force there to join you. then re- member you southerners sprang to arms so gal- lantly in that skirmish with spain that you made a fine impression. it was discovered that you had been brave enough not to allow defeat to ran- kle in your hearts, a really good quality. a more opportune time for you southern people to take a stand would be hard to conceive," said earl. down came the governor's hand upon his desk with a thud. "don't you know i have been thinking that very thing. i have great influence in the councils of my party and i shall see to it that the 'nigger' question is the next national issue," said the gov- ernor. "you will have one little backset," said earl, "the man whom you will have to oppose haa made fewer negro appointments than any of his more immediate predecessors and those made have been of a very high order—a thing that could not always be said. again, he has made it a point to have no southern adviser save a known the hindered hand. friend of the best element of the southern peo- ple." the governor looked wrothy again. "best ele- ment," said he, sneeringly. "he is losing his time fooling with that crowd. all we radicals have to do is to crack our whips and they run to cover." "that brings us to another point of consider- able importance. when the campaign is launched, whose views on the race question shall be in the foreground—the views of the radicals or conser- vatives in the south," asked earl. "the radicals shall occupy the center of the stage, sir. we are tired of these half-way poli- cies!" thundered the governor. earl now arose to go. "you will certainly hear from us radicals as never before in the history of the nation—that is, since we jumped in the saddle and brought on the war," said the governor. "by jinks, you don't think another war will come on, do you, mr. blue?" asked the governor. "oh, no; we have had our last war with lead and steel. all of our internal conflicts for the fu- ture must be intellectual, it seems," answered john blue. "i am glad to hear you say that, for if we got into another tangle i do believe to my soul that these 'niggers' would be a little less quiet than they were before. but for our political alliance with the north we of the south would have to be one of the most truckling of nations. for, what the hindered hand. the convention dominated by the radicals met, and john blue, alias earl bluefield, was there. when the anti-negro plank was read, from his seat in the gallery a mighty cheer rang out that started a wave of enthusiasm unsurpassed in the history of political conventions. as john blue stood waving a flag and cheering, his eye swept over that great throng, and he said to himself: "o bonnie southland: if you had developed real statesmen among you, men who knew their age, they would be here to tell all these people save myself to be quiet, on the ground that it is indeli- cate for a corpse to cheer at its own funeral. but your really great men are at home sorrowing over your coming humiliation. this day's work is the beginning of the end. eunice, the sky brightens! "heaven of heavens, i thank thee that thou hast so arranged it that the american people must now say as to whether or not the caste spirit shall be allowed to lay his bloody tentacles on the po- litical life of the whole nation." the hindered hand. with its foundation. lo, the word has already gone forth that the south is the place for capital, that labor is cheap, that there is an absence of social unrest found elsewhere. "read your commercial journals and note how many of the institutions upon which you have de- pended for a livelihood have been transferred to this land of cheapness and peace, ominous peace. note how your captains of industry are assever- ating that factories in the north must cut wages in order to compete with those that have gone south. "your economists saw in the days preceding civil strife that the workingman of the north could ill afford to compete with slave labor at the south. permit me to say to you that the half- slave, the political slave, made timid by an en- vironment that tends to crush his spirit and dwarf his energies, is a menace to you, holding the white labor of the south down and affecting you of the north. "again, adverse conditions at the south will drive the negro to your very door. some day when you desire to remain away from work to allow your employers leisure to ponder a condi- tion which you desire improved, you will find the negro there to take your place. "men of the north, mark well my words: you must lend your aid to an adjustment of relations in the south upon an equitable basis or be con- fronted with the question of the disorganization and readjustment of your own affairs. stand out against the repressionists of the south, make the whole nation a field of fair play and then we will not have this one disturbing center distributing trouble to all other parts of the nation." postponing his shout of triumph. addressing the business interests of the coun- try, he said: "work is the one american word, and as a re- sult great is the monument erected to our indus- try. our accumulations are enormous. "from time to time questions affecting the whole wealth of the nation must be passed upon by the people. these repressionists have shown that there is no interest so vital but that they will smite it hip and thigh if by so doing they may ad- vance the policy of repression. you are con- fronted therefore with a power that bids you to become repressionists or stand subject to on- slaughts whenever the fancy obtains that a lick at your interests will do their cause good. "you cannot commit yourselves to the cause of repression. it taints character. you are great employers of labor. in the mighty problems that are to confront you your spirit will be your most valuable asset. you must keep it pure at all haz- ards. nor can your business interests long en- dure these constant jars from the repressionists. you cannot afford to accept either horn of the di- lemma offered you by the repressionists. your only remedy lies in smiting repression." to the statesmen whose anxious eyes were upon the future of the nation, he said: "in the days that are now upon us and in the years that are to come there can be no escape, perhaps, from some ills of which the fathers never dreamed, unless a larger grant of power be given unto our national government. however press- ing the situation, rely upon it, the repressionists will seek to keep the nation in swaddling clothes the hindered hand. for fear that added power might some day turn its attention to the question of repression." in an address to the whole people, he said: "a power that would wrong a race, that would in any way restrict human growth, that would not have the nation a fair and open field, is out of tune with heaven, is working at cross purposes with the whole universe, and will carry into an abyss all whom it can mislead." the negroes are a people capable of great en- thusiasm and ardent attachments. all their fervor was thrown into the campaign. any vast body of people with deep convictions have the power to greatly impress others. the settled conviction of the negroes that their very destiny in america hinged, it seemed, upon the outcome of this election, was not without its psychological effect upon the public mind. the cause championed by earl marched to a glorious triumph at the polls, but he took no part in the jollification that followed. "my work is only half done," was the reflection that kept him calm in the presence of the victory for which he had made the full offering of his soul. chapter xxxviii. he cannot, but he does! nsal ellwood entered his room in his home in monrovia, liberia, west coast africa, a thoroughly dejected man. he had just returned from an extended trip in which he took a survey of his work and contemplated the outlook. his inves- tigations had served to increase his hopes as to the possibilities of the african race, but he was nevertheless depressed. nor was this the first time during his stay in africa that this gloomy atmosphere seemed to envelop him. in fact, he was the subject of fre- quent attacks of melancholia which the many friends that he had made had found inexplicable. this depression was not due to the african fe- ver, because science had been able to prepare his system to resist that debilitating agency. it was not due to a want of encouragement in his plans. he had met this on every hand. a number of southern men in sympathy with the higher aspirations of the negro race, hopeless of seeing those aspirations realized in the south-. ( ) the hindered hand. land, had placed at his disposal a large sum of money with which to draw off the negro popula- tion from unfriendly points in the south and es- tablish them in africa. far sighted capitalists of america seeing in an awakened africa a possible market for american goods, thought it wise to keep in touch with this young man who was to be so largely the great awakening agency. england, france and germany vied with each other in offering inducements for him to devote his energies to their respective holdings. the republic of liberia was wild with joy over his in- terest in her welfare. the king of abyssinia had made urgent requests for him to come to his borders. thousands of cultured young men and women had caught ensal's zeal for the world-wide awakening of the race and were only awaiting his signal to flock to his standard. and yet his heart was heavy. ensal took his seat at his desk and rested his throbbing brow thereon. he mused to himself, saying: "here i am with the mightiest work of the ages on my hands, and the door of opportunity before me, and yet, terrible, terrible thought, i see fail- ure written upon my skies. for my spirit lags; there is no quickening battery at my life's center. ah! it is awful to be dead alive. that which would quicken my spirit and give me the needed the hindered hand. sona non grata. i have added to my unpopularity by the manner in which i lambasted the repres- sionist element in the campaign just closed. come to america and help the nation to reap the fruits of its victory over repression. apart from my interest in the negro race, which you of course have never doubted, i have grave personal interests at stake, and know not what i shall do if you fail the nation in this hour of its need. a sorrow as great as the world has ever known hangs over me and over the negro race. come and lift it. earl bluefield. "no, i cannot go. i cannot be that near to ti- ara. heaven knows that i would be driven mad to see, to be near that girl, and be conscious that her love lies buried with another. no, i cannot go. america may need me, but so does africa, so does africa." such were ensal's thoughts upon the reading of earl's letter. now all of you who believe in altruism; who be- lieve in the giving of one's self for others; who believe in fixedness of purpose; who have in any wise pinned your faith to that man ensal—let all such prepare yourselves for evidence of the utter frailty of man. bear in mind that ensal claims to seek the highest good of his race, that he has chosen africa as the field for the greatest service, and that he has just rejected a proposition to re- turn to america from an ultra-radical, who of all men has come to regard him as the man of the hour. he cannot, but he does! picking up a package of newspapers, he tore the wrappers off and noticed that they were al- maville papers. "i have seen that face before," said he, look- ing at the likeness of eunice seabright volrees- bluefield reproduced in one of the papers. he now turned to the reading matter, taking note of a column that had blue marks calling at- tention thereto. this was an account of eunice's trial and contained in full the words of tiara in court on that occasion. "o my god!" exclaimed ensal when he came to that part of tiara's testimony which disclosed the fact that the rev. percy g. marshall was her brother. now observe him, you who have faith in man. "landlady! landlady!" ensal exclaimed, rush- ing out of his room in search of that personage. finding her, he said excitedly, "put everybody in monrovia at work packing up my possessions, please. i must leave." "what can this mean, pray tell. i understood that you were to devote your life to this work," said the landlady, much amazed at the sudden turn of affairs. "what work? life?" asked ensal, absent- mindedly. "the uplift of africa, the redemption of your race," replied the landlady. "my race, dear madam, is to catch the first steamer returning to america. just now the the hindered hand. whole world with me converges to that one point. let us be in a hurry, please." * * * * * as ensal stepped off the gangplank and again touched american soil, earl was there to greet him. arm in arm the two men wended their way through the crowded streets until they reached the hotel at which earl was stopping. earl told ensal the story of eunice's derange- ment and of his quest for a message of hope with which to effect her cure. ensal readily grasped the situation. at times in the past friends had hinted that the problem would derange him. "let us serve each other," said ensal. "i will go south and see what message i can bring back for you to carry to eunice. i will serve you thus. while i am thus engaged there is something you can do for me. the kissing of the rev. percy g. marshall by tiara, made known to me by poor gus martin, caused me to abandon my purpose of seeking the hand of tiara. i wish you to go to her, and pave the way for a visit from me. tell her that i have always known that she was the noblest girl in all this wide, wide world; that looked upon the kissing incident as a pure love affair, not knowing but that she was one who held that of one blood god had made all the sons of men to dwell upon the face of earth; and that i felt that death alone prevented her and the rev. mr. marshall from becoming man and wife in some other part of the world. the hindered hand. "i notice that you say 'mister,'" said ensal, in kindly tone. "i am not, one of those that believe that my manhood is compromised by the use of the term 'mister' to a negro. i remember that the greatest of all southerners and the greatest of all world heroes, the immortal washington, once lifted his hat to a negro man. when asked about his ac- tion he replied that he could not let that negro be more polite than he was. i take the same posi- tion. i think a man's manhood is exceedingly feeble when it has to have an army of sentinels to be always on the alert, to keep somebody from kidnapping it," said young maul. "to come at once to the point, mr. maul, i have come to you to make overtures for a treaty of peace between the negroes of the united states and the white people of the south," said ensal. "i shall hear you gladly," said young maul. "george washington, thomas jefferson and robert e. lee are to the people of the south stars of the first magnitude, and you would like to send other stars to keep them company. but, chang- ing the figure, an actor must have a stage that places him in the full view of his audience, if he would do his best work. our nation is the stage upon which your sons are to strive for immor- tality. "to labor to the best advantage they must have the chance to be vested with the authority of the nation, the power of the whole people. given a son of the new south. that power, the scroll of immortality will at least be laid before them that they may make effort to write their names thereon," said ensal. "now, mr. maul," he continued, "the negro population is so distributed that it now holds the balance of power in the nation. we have it in our power to keep the south out of its larger glory. "however unpalatable it may be to a southern white man, he must reckon with the fact, that be- tween himself and the coveted favor of the nation stands the will of the negro." "that is very apparent," said young maul. "while we can hamper," resumed ensal, "the white people of the south nationally, they can trouble us considerably locally. now, we are not enemies of the south, and take no delight in the crippling of her influence per se, and we would like to see this unarmed strife come to a close. nothing would give the negroes greater joy than to see the right kind of a white man from the south made president of the nation. "and the right kind of men exist in the south! there were perhaps as many white men from the south in the union army as there were negroes. "only one thing is now needed to gladden the hearts of the negroes of the united states and cause them to turn enthusiastically to the mak- ing of the south the grandest section of the union," said ensal. "what can that be, pray?" said young maul. the hindered hand. "mr. maul, excuse me for not stating at once. cast your eye back over the history of our coun- try and take note of the woes that have been heaped upon the south and upon the nation by the radicals among you. "there was a strong anti-war party in the south prior to the breaking out of the civil war, but the radicals overwhelmed them and brought on that disastrous conflict. "immediately after the war the radicals got control of some of your state legislatures and be- gan to pass laws that would have practically re- enslaved the negroes. the radical policy of the nation, as revealed in reconstruction measures was the child of radicalism in the south, so charge the burdens and woes of that period to your rad- icals. "'carpet-baggers' and 'scalawags' misman- aged affairs in the south, and some of your good people, you state, resorted to lawless methods to displace them. the radicals took charge of this lawless organization, you claim, prostituted it, and made a record of crime and villainy in the south so great that eleven large volumes in the records of congress are required to merely hint at the atrocities. the nation grew quiet for a period, to catch your point of view and reason with you, and your radicals misread its attitude and thought that it had undergone a change of heart. they led the south to its recent crushing defeat. a son of the new south. "the radicals who have oppressed the negroes of the south and sent them north, sent them forth with heart burnings, and through the pivot- al states of the north they are ever on guard to turn the tide of battle against your section. rad- icalism, then, is building up a political power in the north that will be a potent factor in continu- ing the isolation and impotence of your section, and will render the wish of a negro ward politi- cian of the north of more consequence than the combined pleadings of all your congressional dele- gation from the south. "in the south to-day radicalism is widening the breach between the races and that old kind- ly feeling is fast disappearing, being succeeded by suspicion and hate. "the bonds of personal friendship which have served to keep things quiet in the south when circumstances seemed most forbidding are being snapped asunder. the sullen hatred of the ne- groes engendered by the rabid utterances and vio- lent conduct of the radicals among the whites is pregnant with harm to the south, and tends to summon to a resurrection the entombed savagery of some members of the race, and to dishearten others in their upward strivings. on and on i could go, showing the awful wreckage in the path- way of the southern radical. "if the nation would ever heal this sore the radicals must be suppressed. if the negroes at- tempt their undoing a feeling of racial solidarity chapter xl. sorrow and gladness. n the parlor of the sanitarium earl sat awaiting the coning of eu- nice, his face telling of the hopes now alive within his heart. with an exclamation of joy eunice ran and threw herself into his arms. during her whole stay in the sanitarium the negro question had not been broached to her and her mind seemed almost normal. earl now sought to complete the work by letting her know that things had at last been set right and that the color of a man's skin was to no longer be in his way. standing over her he whispered: "eunice, the american people have decreed that the door of hope shall not be closed to any of their citizens because of the accident of birth." a strange glow came into eunice's eyes. "when will the duly authorized power see to it that the states live according to this decree and apply one test to voters of both races," asked ( ) the hindered hand. eunice so quietly, so intelligently, that hopes sprang up in earl's breast. stooping, he kissed his wife, saying: "i can't say, my darling; but it will surely come in time." "time!" shrieked eunice. "same old thing! time! bah! we shall all die in 'time.' earl, are you turning against me, coming to me with that old word 'time v ah! earl, are you a south - erner? time! earl, can't you persuade the peo- ple to let justice do now what they are waiting for 'time' to do?" jumping up she whirled round and round un- til from sheer exhaustion she fell into her weep- ing husband's arms. "o thou of little faith, counterpart of my own darker days, eunice, awake! awake! the cur- rents are forming that will sweep the caste spirit out of the political life of the nation. awake, my eunice! awake!" plaintively spoke the grief- stricken husband to the unheeding ears of his wife. while hope thus wrestles with despair, we visit another parlor. * * $ * # in the parlor of tiara's home ensal sat awaiting the coming of the girl that he had loved so long and so ardently, on whom he had now called for the purpose of asking her to link her destiny with his. "without any pretense at delivering any one of the many thousand little preliminary speeches framed for the occasion, ensal bent forward and kissed tiara." ( - .) sorrow and gladness. ensal had delivered many speeches in the course of his lifetime, but he could hardly recall one that had given him as much trouble as the short speech which he had sought to prepare for tiara. form after form of approach came to him, but they were all rejected as being inade- quate to the occasion, so that when the beautiful tiara appeared in the parlor door ensal was ab- solutely and literally speechless. with love-lit eyes tiara walked unfalteringly in his direction and, with a smile for which ensal the great altruist, mark you, fancied he would have been willing to return from a thousand af- ricas, she extended her hand to him in greeting. there is a saying among the negroes to the ef- fect that "if you give a negro an inch he will take an ell." whatever may be the meaning of that expression, this we do know, that when tiara gave ensal one hand, he deliberately—no, we won't make the offense one of premeditation—he, without deliberating the matter at all, hastily took not only more of the hand than what tiara offered, but the other one as well. for the sake of ensal's reputation for poise, already a little shaken, we fear, we fain would draw the curtain just here; but as we have, all along sought to tell the whole truth about matters herein discussed, we will have to allow our hero's reputation to take care of itself the best way it can. without obtaining any more consent than that which was plainly written in tiara's eyes, notes for the serious. . the author of the hindered hand was an eyewitness of the driving of "little henry" to his death by the officers of the law. . the details of the maulville burning were given the author by an eyewitness of the tragedy, a man of national reputation among the negroes. some of the more revolting features of that oc- currence have been suppressed for decency's sake. we would have been glad to eliminate all of the details, but they have entered into the thought- life of the.negroes, and their influence must be taken into account. . the experiences of eunice upon being as- signed to membership in the negro race are by no means overdrawn. the refined, cultured and most highly respected young woman whose actual ex- periences form the groundwork of that part of the story was not only thus accosted and insulted by a white man of the order indicated, but was actually beaten in a most brutal manner and fined fifteen dollars in the police court. . the following statement of facts lends in- terest to the contention of one of the characters of the hindered hand, to the effect that the re- ( ) notes for the serious. pressionist order of things brings forward, by its own force an undesirable type of officials. during the recent presidential campaign the repression of the negro was made an issue in the state of tennessee. the moet representative audience that assem- bled during the whole campaign in the state was wrought to its highest pitch of enthusiasm by the following outburst of eloquence from the junior senator of that state: "the man that does not know the difference between a white man and a 'nigger' is not fit to be president." the kind of a state legislature begotten by a campaign in which the foregoing remark marked the highest level of the discussion so far as the popular taste was concerned, may be judged from the following comments on that legislature after it adjourned: "there were many men in the last legislature upon whose faces the mark of incompetency or worse was as plain as the noonday sun."—the nashville american. "it would be better for tennessee to groan on under present laws and let the legislature meet no more in ten years if it were possible under the constitution."—lebanon banner. "mediocrity was in the saddle, and picayunish partisan politics held the center of the boards."— franklin review-appeal. "the legislature has adjourned. many praises unto the 'great i am.'"—murfreesboro news- banner. notes for the serious. . the question might be raised as to whether the conditions set forth in the hindered hand are true of some special locality or are general in character. as to how general the conditions complained of are one may infer from the following editorial from a leading southern newspaper, which never fails in defense of the south where defense is possible. "in south carolina, as we have noted, the saf- est crime is the crime of taking human life. the conditions are the same in almost every south- ern state. murder and violence are the distin- guishing marks of our present-day civilization. we do not enforce the law. we say by statute that murder must be punished by death, and mur- der is rarely punished by death, or rarely pun- ished in any other way in this state, and in any of the southern states, except where the murder- er is colored, or is poor and without influence. now this state of affairs cannot last forever. we have grown so accustomed to the failure of justice in cases where human life is taken by violence that we excuse one failure and another until it will become a habit and the strong shall prevail over the weak, and the man who slays his brother shall be regarded as the incarnation of power."— the charleston news and courier. . since the recent defeat of the ultra radical element in the national campaign, there has been a marked improvement as to the more violent manifestations of race prejudice, emphasizing the fact that actual political power can procure re- spect. notes for the serious. . it must never be concluded by those interest- ed in these matters that the mere suppression of mob violence approaches a solution of the race problem. the programme of the negro race, that must be ever kept in mind as a factor to be dealt with, is the obtaining of all the rights and privileges accorded by the state to other ameri- can citizens. . acknowledgment is here made of the gener- ous aid often extended the negro race in its efforts to rise by the liberal element among the whites of the south. one of the most notable achievements of this element has been the manner in which they have fought off the attacks of the repression- ists, directed against the education of the ne- groes in the public school systems of the south, so amply provided for by the "reconstruction" governments. . the overwhelmingly predominant sentiment of the american negroes is to fight out their battles on these shores. the assigning of the thoughts of the race to the uplift of africa, as affecting the situation in america, must be taken more as the dream of the author rather than as representing any considerable responsible senti- ment within the race, which, as has been stated, seems at present thoroughly and unqualifiedly american, a fact that must never be overlooked by those seeking to deal with this grave question in a practical manner. the author. notes to the third edition. correct and made editorial comment upon the same, and no one would dare pronounce that pa- per hostile to the south. we stand ready to furnish ample evidence of the absolute correctness of each and every por- trayal to be found in "the hindered hand." sutton e. griggs, no. webster st., nashville, tenn. a hindering hand supplementary to the hindered hand. a review of the anti-negro crusade of mr. thomas dixnn, jr. a hindering hand. the poor white and the negro. from the door of a squalid home, situated may- haps upon a somewhat decent spot in a marsh or upon the very poorest of soil, the poor white man of the south, prior to his emancipation by the civil war, looked out upon a world whose honors and emoluments cast no favoring glances in his direction. between the poor white and his every earthly hope stood the negro slave. as his thoughts now and then stole upward toward the higher so- cial circles, he realized that the absence of slave quarters from his home entailed his absence from those upper realms. if in the marts of toil he of- fered the labor of his hands, he felt his cheeks tingling from the consciousness that others re- garded him as being upon a level with slaves; and at the best the market for his labor was very lim- ited, for the fatted slave stood in his way. so utterly forlorn was the condition of the poor white that the enslaved negro felt justified in meeting his protruding claim of racial superiority with contemptuous scorn. in the very nature of things the strongest sort of repulsion de- veloped between this class of whites and the ne- ( ) a hindering hand. gro slaves. the work, therefore, of overseeing and driving the slaves on the plantations of the more wealthy whites, fitted the habitual mood of the poor white exactly. no form of service was more congenial to him than that of whipping intractable negroes for their masters. it thus came to pass that the poor white man registered it as his first duty to wreak vengeance upon this unbowing, scornful negro standing be- tween him and all that was dear to his heart. this feeling of hostility was handed over from father to son, from generation to generation, until the very social atmosphere was charged with this bit- ter feeling. when the civil war came this neglected and despised class suddenly became important and furnished its quota of soldiers and commanders. nathan bedford forrest hailed from this class, and as a result the american people have on their annals fort pillow and its savage-like massacre. when the war was over, the poor white class be- gan to bestir itself in civil life, and from that class the nation derived the hon. benjamin r. tillman, of south carolina. and now literature is receiving its contribution from this class of whites, in the work being done by mr. thomas dixon, jr., of north- carolina, who does not hail from the more wealthy and more friendly element of southern whites, but from mingling with the poorer classes, where hatred of the negro was a part of the legacy a hindering hand. handed down from parent to child. for, before mr. dixon's marriage he was a poor man and was viewed by the negroes of raleigh, n. c, as one belonging to the class of their hereditary enemies. it is with the outpourings of a man who has been steeped in all the traditions of this hostile atmosphere that we are now called upon to deal. the goal toward which mr. dixon is striving is the ejection from america of nearly ten million of his fellow citizens, against the overwhelming majority of whom he can allege no unusual of- fense save that they are of african descent. the work of their fathers and of themselves in wresting the fields of the south from the clutch of forest; in crimsoning american soil with their blood in every war that has been fought; in yield- ing of all of the best of their heart and mind for this country's good is, according to mr. dixon, to count for naught. harnessing hatred. it is to be conceded that the presence in large numbers of two distinct races in the same terri- tory under a democratic form of government con- stitutes a grave problem, and profound is the wish of many of both races that a separation might be effected. mr. dixon is by no means a pioneer in desiring a separation. the great emancipator desired this result. but mr. dixon is a pioneer in the matter of seeking to attain his end by an attempt to thor- a hindering hand. the adopting of a course so patently barbaric stamps mr. dixon as a spiritual reversion to type, violently out of accord with the best tendencies of his times. the very opposite of mr. dixon is professor nathaniel f. shaler, of harvard, himself a south- erner, who approaches this same grave question of the relation of the races and seeks to prepare the american people for the consideration of the subject free from the distorting influence of prej- udice. a serious handicap. the cultivation of race hatreds on the part of mr. dixon and others who labor with him, if suc- cessful will react on the american people sadly to their detriment. the wonderful activity of american industries call loudly for the world as a market for their goods. the dark races of the world, now backward in the matter of manufac- turing, must largely furnish these markets. the cloven foot of america's race prejudice will make itself manifest, and its owner will find it in- creasingly difficult to secure a ready purchaser for his goods. we have a hint of what will happen in the awakened darker world in the boycott of ameri- can goods by the chinese, because of the rude treatment by american custom officials, of un- offending chinese, a treatment born of the spirit pf race hatred. a hindering hand. mr. dixon is shrewd. let us now take note of the various artifices re- sorted to by mr. dixon to unhorse the negro in the esteem of the north and bestow his place upon those who would repress him. in his first anti-negro book, mr. dixon was shrewd enough not to make a southerner who was persona non grata to the north the hero of the story. the poor old ex-confederate soldier, rank secessionist, the real hero and dominating figure of his times, in this book is tied out in the back yard, while the post of honor is given to a little boy whose father fought most unwillingly against the union. mr. dixon's choosing for a hero this lad, whose father wore a confederate uniform over a union heart, forcibly reminds one of the reply of the whimpering soldier whom the captain was upbraiding for cowardice under fire. "you act as though you were a baby," angrily shouted the captain to the frightened soldier. "i wish i was a baby and a gal baby at that," whimpered the soldier, reasoning that "gal babies" were exempt not only from that battle, but from all others. while mr. dixon was in search of a hero that would be far removed from what was regarded as treason in those days he might have made as- surance doubly sure by doing further violence to the predominating sentiment of the day by mak-* ing his hero—not his heroine—a "gal" baby, a hindering hand. the old plantation melodies evolved in those and earlier days. charged as these melodies are with true religious fervor, they stand as a bulwark against all who would assail these earlier gropings of the race after the unknown god. equally mis- placed are the sneers of mr. dixon at the negro minister. the center of the whole social fabric erected by the negro race in the south is the ne- gro church, and to the zeal and power of the un- tutored negro pastor and his more favored suc- cessor is this success due. subtract from the as- sets of the negro race those things placed there through the instrumentality of the negro minis- ter and small will be the remnant. again, this religion and this minister at whom mr. dixon sneers, are really responsible for the pacific character of the negro population of the south. the negro race is a great fighting race. the native optimism of the individual soldier causing him to discount his own chances of being killed, coupled with his ability to be lost in his enthusiasms, make the negro very effective as a soldier. africa has been one great battle field and the internecine strife of fighting africans is in a measure responsible for the plight of the negro race in the world, as a union of forces could have the better halted alien aggression. but in ameri- ca the negro was taught -the gospel of peace. the singing of the american negro is said to lack the martial strain found in the fatherland. for the a hindering hand. peace loving negro, credit the church and the ne- gro minister, whom mr. dixon would have the world contemn. mr. dixon stabs to kill. the late hon. george f. hoar, of massachu- setts, once remarked (we quote from memory), "our population is composed of various races of mankind, but there are four great things upon which we are all united: love of home, love of country, love of liberty and love of woman." the glory of the anglo-saxon race has come largely of the estimate it has placed on woman. mr. dixon would break the accord of the ameri- can negro with the rest of his fellows by pictur- ing him as the savage enemy of womankind. in order to attain his end he picks up the degenerates within the negro race and exploits them as the normal type. in one of his books mr. dixon makes a negro school commissioner solicit a kiss from a white girl when she applies to him for a position. the man of this character in the negro race is known of all men familiar with the south- ern negro to be an exotic, for nowhere in the world does woman get more instinctive deference from men than what negro men render to the white women of the south. the very fact that degenerates sometimes make them the objects of assaults, invests them with a double measure of sympathy and deference on the part of the great body of negro men. a hindering hand. other peoples has been the result of the union of what they begot with what strangers brought them. the soil of africa fed the negroes so bounti- fully that they did not acquire the habit of in- dustry, and with a plenty of time on their hands they warred incessantly. the hot, humid atmos- phere made them black and sapped their energies. to save them from yellow fever, nature gave them pigment and lost them friends. other peoples have hesitated to intermarry with them because of their rather unfavorable showing in personal appearance. some hold that a race is great in proportion to the distance it has wandered through intermar- riage from the parent stock. the great races of the world, it is held, are the mixed races. when the africans' environments robbed them of come- liness and attractive qualities, they were thrown off to their own one blood, no one courting alli- ance with them. the merest tyro of a sociologist knows that these are the essential facts which account for the backwardness of the african people, and yet mr. dixon would fasten upon negroes the charge of inherent inferiority because of the showing made under circumstances most adverse to the de- velopment of civilization. reconstruction days. the most pathetic page in the history of the negro race in america is the story of reconstruc- a hindering hand. tion days. kept in ignorance during the days of slavery his one great desire under freedom was for knowledge and self-improvement. because the white south was spiritually unprepared to deal with the new order of things, and because the north did not desire to make one great military camp of the south, the negroes en masse were summoned forthwith to the task of establishing governments in the southern states in harmony with the constitution of the united states. the men whom the negroes supported accomplished that task well, but in other respects betrayed their trusts. when corruption in office, a thing by no means confined to one era of the world's history, became manifest, in many quarters an appeal was made to the negroes to help overturn the corruptionists. and be it said to the honor of the race, the cry for good government never failed to rally negro support, even at a great sacrifice. when wade hampton was struggling for the dethronement of corrupt governments in south carolina, six thou- sand negroes took part in one of the parades dur- ing his canvass for the governorship. but some states did not have leaders prepared to deal with the negroes as political equals, lead- ers who were wise enough to appeal to the good within the race. in such places the unreasoning, undiscriminating, brutal, murderous mobs arose to do by violence what better and wiser men had done elsewhere through moral suasion. had en- a hindering hand. lightened methods been employed the sky would not have been as portentous as it is to-day. as it is, we have the sickening record of the atrocities of the ku klux klan and the heritage of evil and lawlessness left in its wake. over against mr. dixon's lurid and grossly mis- leading pictures of the conduct of the negroes in reconstruction days, we offer the following tribute to the race, clipped from the columns of the nash- ville banner, perhaps the most widely read daily newspaper in the state of tennessee, and a paper opposed to the reconstruction policy pursued by the federal government: "let us do the negroes justice. there is no spirit of bloodthirsty and incendiary revolt pre- vailing among them. history and experience have shown that there never existed a more tract- able people considering all the trying conditions and circumstances to which they have been sub- jected. in time of war and in the frightful re- construction period, when they were urged and tempted by false friends and incentives and had opportunities of evil appalling to contemplate, they were restrained as perhaps no other people would have been restrained and were more sinned against than sinning. and to-day as a people they have no mind except to accept the best that may come to them." mr. dixon vs. hon. james g. blaine. mr. dixon's hope is evidently in the young north. that the young people may not be wed- ded to the traditions of their section, he would impress the young north that what their fathers a hindering hand. did in the way of bestowing equality of citizen- ship upon the negro, was the result of a leader- ship blind with the spirit of revenge. as a com- plete rebuttal to this contention on his part, we quote from an article which appeared in the north american review from the pen of the late hon. james g. blaine: "it must be borne in mind that the republicans were urged and hastened to measures of ameliora- tion for the negro by very dangerous develop- ments in the southern states looking to his re- enslavement in fact, if not in form. the year that followed the accession of andrew johnson to the presidency was full of anxiety and warning to all the lovers of justice, to all who hoped for 'a more perfect union' of the states. in nearly every one of the confederate states the white inhabit- ants assumed that they were to be restored to the union with their state governments precisely as they were when they seceded in , and that the organic change created by the thirteenth amend- ment might be practically set aside by state legis- lation. . in this belief they exhibited their policy towards the negro. considering all the circum- stances, it would be hard to find in history a more causeless and cruel oppression of a whole race than was embodied in the legislation of those re- vived and reconstructed state governments. their membership was composed wholly of the 'ruling class,' as they termed it, and, in no small degree, of confederate officers below the rank of briga- dier-general, who sat in the legislature in the very uniforms which had distinguished them as ene- mies of the union upon the battlefield. limited space forbids my transcribing the black code wherewith they loaded their statute books. in a hindering hand. mr. lamar's state the negroes were forbidden, under very severe penalties, to keep firearms of any kind; they were apprenticed, if minors, to labor, preference being given by the statute to their 'former owners;' grown men and women were compelled to let their labor by contract, the decision of whose terms was wholly in the hands of the whites; and those who failed to contract were to be seized as 'vagrants,' heavily fined, and their labor sold by the sheriff at public outcry to the highest bidder. the terms 'master' and 'mis- tress' continually recur in the statutes, and the slavery that was thus instituted was a far more degrading, merciless and mercenary than that which was blotted out by the thirteenth amend- ment. "south carolina, whose moderation and justice are so highly prized by governor hampton, enact- ed a code still more cruel than that i have quoted from mississippi. firearms were forbidden to the negro, and any violation of the statute was punished by 'fine equal to twice the value of the weapon so unlawfully kept,' and 'if th?^ be not im- mediately paid, by corporal punishment.' it was further provided that 'no person of color shall pursue or practice the art, trade, or business of an artisan, mechanic, or shopkeeper, or any other trade or employment (besides that of husbandry or that of a servant under contract for labor), until he shall have obtained a license from the judge of the district court, which license shall be good for one year only.' if the license was granted to the negro to be a shopkeeper or peddler he was com- pelled to pay $ per annum for it, and if he pur- sued the rudest mechanical calling he could do so only by the payment of a license fee of $ per annum. no such fees were exacted of the whites, . a hindering hand. and no such fee of free blacks during the era of slavery. the negro was thus hedged in on all sides; he was down, and he was to be kept down, and the chivalric race that denied him a fair and honest competition in the humblest mechanical pursuit was loud in its assertions of his inferiority and his incompetency. "but it was reserved for louisiana to outdo both south carolina and mississippi in this hor- rible legislation. in that state all agricultural la- borers were compelled to make labor contracts during the first ten days of january for the next year. the contract was made, the laborer was not to be allowed to leave his place of employment during the year except upon conditions not likely to happen and easily prevented. the master was allowed to make deductions from the servants' wages for injuries done to 'animals and agricul- tural implements committed to his care,' thus making the negro responsible for wear and tear. deductions were to be made for 'bad or negligent work,' the master being the judge. for every act of 'disobedience' a fine of $ was imposed on the offender, disobedience being a technical term made to include, besides 'neglect of duty' and 'leaving home without permission,' such fearful offenses as 'impudence,' 'swearing,' 'indecent lan- guage in the presence of the employer, his family, or agent,' or 'quarreling or fighting with one an- other.' the master or his agent might assail every ear with profaneness aimed at the negro man and outrage every sentiment of decencv in the foul language addressed to the negro women; but if one of the helpless creatures, goaded to resistance and crazed under tyranny, should answer back with impudence, or should relieve his mind with an oath, or restore indecency, he did so at the cost a hindering hand. to himself of $ for every outburst. the 'agent' referred to in the statute is the well-known over- seer of the cotton region, and the care with which the lawmaker of louisiana provided that his deli- cate ears and sensitive nerves should not be of- fended with an oath or an indecent word from a negro will be appreciated by all who have heard the crack of the whip on a southern plantation. "it is impossible to quote all the hideous pro- visions of these statutes under whose operation the negro would have been relapsed gradually and surely into actual and admitted slavery. kindred legislation was attempted in a large majority of the confederate states, and it is not uncharitable or illogical to assume that the ultimate re-enslave- ment of the race was the fixed design of those who framed the law and of those who attempted to en- force them. "i am not speculating as to what would have been done or might have been done in the south- ern states if the national government had not intervened. i have quoted what actually was done by legislatures under the control of south- ern democrats, and i am only recalling history when i say that those outrages against human nature were upheld by the democratic party of the country. all democrats whose articles i am reviewing were in various degrees, active or pas- sive, principal or endorser, parties to this legis- lation; and the fixed determination of the repub- lican party to thwart and destroy it called down upon its head all the anathemas of democratic wrath. but it was just at this point in our his- tory when the republican party was compelled to decide whether the emancipated slave should be protected by national power or handed over a hindering hand. dixon's claim that the negro suffrage was born of the spirit of revenge. me. dixon's wide hearing. if mr. dixon is so wholly false as we have set forth in this paper, the question naturally arises as to how he could have obtained such a hearing as has been accorded him. of the many factors which perhaps operated to secure this hearing we shall mention a few that commend themselves to us as possible causes. in the first place, there is that great american spirit of fair play. the negro through uncle tom's cabin and the tourgee novels had his day in court, and it was felt to be only just that the south be heard in all fullness. another factor in mr. dixon's success in ob- taining his hearing we believe to be his choice of the hour in the world's history in which to de- mand a hearing. queen victoria, who had reigned so long and honorably, had just sum- moned by her death all of anglo-saxondom to her bier, where in a common sorrow over the depart- ure of a great and good woman they learned anew how that, fundamentally, they were all about alike. about this time, too, a poet had arisen, with voice to reach, for the time being, at least, the whole english speaking world, furnishing another scrap of evidence that differing forms of govern- ment, wide seas and varying problems had not affected their spiritual unity. a hindering hand. phizings of the minstrel performer; in the litera- ture which he will ere long create, by means of which there can be contact not personal; in myriad ways the negro will write something upon the soul of the white man. it should be the care of the american people that he write well. mr. dixon trembles at a possible physical amalgamation and would have the races separ- ated. the "nay" which the nation renders to his cause so badly plead makes the spiritual amalga- mation a certainty. that the contribution of the negro to the com- ing composite americanism may be of the highest quality is the nation's problem. just now the american people seem much en- grossed with the training of the hand of the ne- gro, confessedly a work of tremendous moment. but be it known unto you, oh americans, that it is through his mind, his spirit, the exhalations of his soul, his dreams or lack of dreams, that the negro is to leave his most marked influence on american life. let the use to which mr. dixon is putting his borrowed emotional power recall the nation to the slumbering negro mind that must ere long awake to power. may the coming, then, of mr. dixon, the literary exotic, serve as a reminder to the american people that they give the negro a healthy place, a helpful atmosphere in which to evolve all that is good within himself and elimi- nate all the bad. if this be done, even mr. dixon will not have lived and frothed in vain. a hindering hand. a final word. a final word with regard to mr. dixon. the appearance of such a man with such a spirit might incline one to think that the world is going back- ward rather than forward. but there is this re- deeming thought. mr. dixon represents the ultra radical element of southern whites. the coming of this radical of radicals before the bar of pub- lic opinion, clothed in his garb of avowed preju- dice of the rankest sort, means that the self-satis- fied isolation of the past is over, that even the radi- cals desire or see the need of sympathetic consid- eration from other portions of the human family —decidedly a step forward for them. the com- ing to the light of this type where civilization may work upon it is in this respect one of the most hopeful signs of america's future. soberly the great world consciousness will deal with this ene- my of the human race, and the universal finger of scorn that will surely in the end be pointed to- ward him will render it certain that no other like unto him shall ever arise. tf, when his services are in demand, the chiseler of the epitaph for mr. dixon's tombstone desires to carve words that will be read with patience in the coming better days of the world, let him carve thus: "this misguided soul ignored all of the good in the aspiring negro; made every vicious offshoot that he nictured tynical of the entire race; pre- sented all mistakes independent of their environ- a hindering hand. ments and provocations; ignored or minimized all the evil in the more vicious element of whites; said and did all things which he deemed necessary to leave behind him the greatest heritage of hatred the world has ever known. humanity claims him not as one of her children." sutton e. griggs. j'. a picture of the life of the negro race in its tragic, unequal struggle in the southland. rt. rev. a. walters, "'overshadowed' is the most bishop of a. m. e. interesting book it has been zion church. my good fortune to read in many a day. it required a well developed mind to write such a book. it has my unqualified endorsement." "the name of the author at rev. e. c. morris, d. d., once inspired interest in the president national bap- volume, and i read it, and tist convention, while it deals with a very del- icate subject, i have no hesitancy in saying that it is logical and chaste in every detail. it can be trusted in any home." john e. bruce. "no book yet written by any au- (bruce grit) thor portrays more strikingly and truly the real conditions, political and social, which environ the negro than 'over- shadowed.' if 'overshadowed' is ever dramatized, it will make one of the most exciting plays ever written." overshadowed, pages; l mo. cloth edition, $ . ; postage prepaid. paper edition, c; postage prepaid. ! v v. i v :!: % : i ! .v a -:- '§ t ¥ the orion publishing company, nashville, tennessee. a story with a philosophical bent that throws a flood of light on the whole situation. a clear voice from the inner life of the negro race, showing how the negro views his own problem. indicates lines along which the thoughtful minds of the race feel that salvation is to come. a book of great value to all interested in the great american problem: the philadelphia press: 'sutton b. griggs, who wrote a rather striking book called 'imperiamln imperio,' has produced another treat- ment of the negro problem tinder the guise of fiction, called 'unfettered .• the book is serious, it is readable, and it is thoughtful." the philadelphia daily telegraph: "the book in question has many elements of power; it is sincere, deep, forcible and very mach in earnest." the new york world: "the writer's ntter sincerity maintains for him and his book people the readers' constant interest and considera- tion." the chicago daily news: "the author is evidently a man of education, who has thought long and deeply." rev. j. g. merrill, president fisk university, nashville, tennessee: "it is the work of a man who has given profound study to one of the most vital problems of the hour. the story is interesting, the plot novel, and the outcome pleasing." the examiner (.yew york): "sutton k. griggs, author of several books on the negro question well deserves the hearing he asks. those who are interested in this problem and the negro's way of looking at it, will be helped by mr. griggs' story, 'un- fettered.'" the gazette (cleveland o.): "is fascinating in the extreme and will hold the atten- tion of any reader throughout." unfettered, ! mo.; pages; cloth binding. price, $ . , postage prepaid. the orion publishing co.. nashville, tennessee. - j; university of michigan property of ** hec university of michigan libraries artes scientia veritas robert lewis waring as we see it by robert l. waring mcgrath publishing company college park, maryland . warras reprint mcgrath publishing company library of congress catalog card number: - manufactured in the united states of america by arno press, inc., new york copyright, , by robert l. waring - to those negro men who dare defend the woman- hood of their race. -the author. as we see it forward ynasmuch as the title to this work, “as we see it," may be a little obscure, i offer the following explanation for its adoption: books upon books have been written on the negro question, but none have told the story as "we" see it. by “we” i mean the educated negroes, those of cultured families of the third and fourth generations, those negroes who see things as other men of their mental caliber see them, who feel the sting of race prejudice most keenly, and at whom the damnable laws of the south are aimed. in the books that have been written the “jim crow nigger" is always in evidence and is always a welcome and fit companion for those who father the “jim crow law” industry. this work is intended to reveal two sides of southern life, which are carefully obscured, intentionally avoided or delib- erately misstated my newspaper and magizine writers. first, in this story we picture that class of negroes who are doing something, whose lives, homes and successes are the same as those of other men, and who, starting from nothing, have in fifty years accumulated in the aggregate more than two hundred and fifty million dollars worth of property. these people compose that class of american citizens whom the calamity howlers are careful to keep in the background, and whom the southern press persist in misrepre- senting even to the point of malicious lying. second, we aim to represent, in their true character, another class, lower, both morally and mentally, than the negro. these people, the “crackers” of the south, marry in and out of families closely connected, first cousin to first cousin, great uncle to niece, step-brother to step-sister, brother to brother's wife, father to step-daughter, adult men to thirteen-year-old girls, etc. these marriages may account for their degeneracy more certainly than the newly discovered hook worm. they can boast, and do boast, of being of the fourth and fifth generation of those who can neither read nor write. they have an utter disregard for the property rights or lives of other men, although this is seldom com- mented upon by writers. this southern "cracker” is not multiplying as his birth rate would indicate, for his offspring dies in great numbers in early babyhood owing to a lack of intelligent care, and many older children die in large numbers because of the lax enforcement of the child labor laws. these people, the “crackers” of the south, who today hold that section in political thraldom, and whose uplift, through education or the infusion of live blood, is the only possible means left the white people of the south by which they can hope to keep ahead of the progressive negro, present the true problem of the south. so long as the discriminatory laws remain in force in the south, just so long will the negroes, as a whole, continue to outstrip the whites, as a whole. every intelligent negro who is doing something, and who reads of what his brothers are doing, knows that he is leaving the southern white man far behind. the “cracker” knows this also. to illustrate: was there ever a large business of any character, a store, a bank, an insurance company, a school, college, or what not, organized, built up, controlled by a man or woman who sprang from the “cracker" element of this country? hundreds of such enterprises are owned and con- trolled by negroes who were slaves. this non-progressive citizen is, however, held up to the world not in his true light, as a worthless trouble seeker, a veritable cancer eating into the vitals of the body politic by his “god-given right” (?) to vote, but as a poor, struggling white man whose chances for gaining a livelihood are curtailed by the presence of thrifty negroes who are bent on removing the bar to their manhood, placed there by the state. these things, which should be apparent to all persons educated in american schools, and also to those who observe the trend of american ideas, are ever before the educated negro. but, even with conditions as they now are, and the negro moving along the lines he is pursuing, the time is not far distant when a change will come over the land. the popularity of the doctrine of rope and torch for the negro is on the wane; the apostles of that doctrine have been rele- gated to the rear. new ideas, more progressive, have taken hold on the popular mind. in a few more generations the negro will be a man, thoroughly trained, a true american, ready and willing, as he has ever been, to fight and to die for the flag that now protects him-not. as we see it chapter i. bout the year eighteen hundred seventy six, in a a beautiful section of the old state of alabama, there sat upon the large and commodious veranda of an old southern home in the golden twilight of a perfect sunset, two old friends, whose friendship was of life-long standing, who were alike in many respects, but yet essentially different. one a white man and owner of the place, the other an aged negro, of the old school, were smoking in perfect harmony, the white man, a meerschaum pipe of queer work- manship and of great age, having been in his family for three generations, the negro the old corncob pipe so common among negroes of that day. “go to college? what the darn-nation good would that do? why, the time is not come for ‘niggers' to be educated like white men. i tell you, abe, i shall not agree to any such d- nonsense.” “yes, sar, dat what you say i guess am true when it comes to ole ‘niggers' like us, but what you goin' do wid a boy lek my abe? ise hear’n you say when dat boy's no mor'n twelve yeahs ole dat he war de smartes' boy, white or black, dat war ebber on dis hyar place. ise de fifth abe overley, black, dat war bred an' bornd on dis hyar place. yuse de fifth abe overley, white. yuse seventy-two, ise seventy-two; yo' abe's nineteen, mine's nineteen; yo' abe's de sixth white, my abe's de sixth black; yo' abe an' my abe was teached by the same 'oman at the same time, den de man come an’dey is both ready to go to college. now, what yo' goin' do? yo' boy's weak, my boy's strong. you war weak, i war strong. could you git 'long widouten me? yo' abe need my abe, my abe need yo’ abe.” as we see it. “yes, abe, but don't you know that these are different times? that your abe and my abe cannot get along in college as they do here? white men do not sleep with 'niggers’ at the big colleges. times have changed.” “yes, ise hear'n dat de times am changed, but de hearts ob true men never change. does yo’ think dat abe overley, sixth, white, will ever turn his back on abe overley, sixth, black? my abe say he want to go to college to be a lawyer, why he not? he go to sunday school an' teach dem young 'niggers' ebery sunday, an' miss annie godly she say dat she can't git ʼlong widouten him.” “oh, yes; that is a sure indication he will make a good lawyer. who is going to pay for his schooling ?” “why, who pay for his ticket to de fair las’ fall? sho' yo' abe he pay for hit.” “h— and damnation! you ole fool, don't you know that it would cost five hundred dollars a year for his schooling ? what have you got, or has abe got, to pay five hundred dollars with ?” “i could sell my ole mule, an' baldy, dat would bring something." “why, abe, you have no more sense in that old black pate of yours than that d— old kicking mule. who would buy the beast? i said five hundred dollars, not fifty cents. do you know the difference? now, who will pay the money ?” abe replied with great solemnity : “when yo' mammy die, she take our hands an’ she put dem togedder, an’ she say: 'you two abes mus' al’ays be friends, no matter what de world say.' you say, “yes,' i say, “yes.' when yo' wife die, she do like miss miranda. she say to you an' she say to me, and to yo' abe an' to my abe: 'you mus' al’ays be friends an' honor each odder'; dat was mor'n eighteen yeahs ago. who been yo' abe's mammy eber since? how many times when yo' abe, weak sor as we see it. an’ sick, habe he crowded my abe from he own mammy's breast? dey sho' mus' go through dis world togedder.” “abe, you are a cunning old ‘nigger.' i cannot forget these things. but conditions are not like they were in the old days. the old homestead is mortgaged, and the crops are getting worse each year, and every d- ‘nigger' on the place is talking about going to college. what am i to do in the next year or two? this dirty sneak, lashum, holds the mortgage and he wants to live on the place where the hound used to boss the ‘niggers,' and i hear that that whelp of his wants to go to college, too. what is this world coming to, ‘niggers' and, worse, poor whites, talking of going to college and being lawyers and doctors ?” it was early in the year eighteen seventy-six that these old friends, both of the royal blood, the kind that never knows a friend but as a friend, and never break, from a friendship but in death, were thus engaged in a warm discussion as to the future of their sons. a word as to the place where we find these representatives of their respective races, and as to who and what they are. about the year seventeen hundred and two there came to this country a sturdy scotch family, consisting of father, mother and three sons, possessing nothing but their vigorous bodies and a strong determination to get along in this new world. after many wanderings and hardships, they selected this spot in alabama, upon which they settled and built their ancestral home, and upon which we find them. they did not belong to the people who “gloried in the holy (?) institution of slavery,” but, owning slaves, they made their burdens as light as possible. when the great war of the rebellion came on the overleys were not eager to join their neighbors in their cause; so, as a consequence, they lived under suspicion, and were in constant dread lest they should be assassinated or burned out by the as we see it. poor whites who were in those days just as they are today, ignorant, idle and vicious. the rebellion finally ended, leaving this family with its ancestral home intact, but much reduced in wealth, all of the stock and animals of value having been carried away by bands of patriotic (?) rebels for use at the front. abe overley came of a stock of nature's noblemen. he was tall, straight, broad of shoulder, strong limbed, good featured and very black—a typical african-but the kind of man that inspires trust and confidence at a glance. abe's parents for four generations had enjoyed the confi- dence and esteem of the overleys. the first abe was bought by one of the first overleys at a public auction, he being sold because he was considered an intractable “nigger,” having refused to be whipped by the overseer of the plantation upon which he lived. it was said that abe was stolen and brought to this country and sold in slavery. his wild and independent spirit was never broken. overley saw at a glance what the trouble was. as soon as he had closed his bargain he took the manacles off abe's arms and said: “abe, you are to be my right-hand man. can i trust you?” after a long and searching glance, abe replied: “you can always trust me; but you nor no living man shall whip me.” “abe, i do not whip my people.” this bond was never broken. before the rebellion the overleys had an overseer whose name was lashum, nick lashum, a long, gaunt, typical alabama “cracker,” whose father, grandfather and great- grandfather before him were overseers, and who never aspired to anything higher. this man's sole ambition was satisfied when he became known as malcolm a. overley's overseer. when the war came on it soon began to be whispered about the state that nick lashum was engaged by the confederate government to press animals and stock of all kinds into as we see it. service, for the good of the cause. there appears to be no doubt that he “pressed the animals into service," but, accord- ing to the whisperers, he did not or was not able, owing to the “press of business,” to account for hundreds of them. it was even whispered that numerous droves of cattle gathered by him found their way to the union lines, much to his profit. however, at the close of the war, this individual found himself so well supplied with ready cash that he concluded to buy a large plantation and settle upon it and live as a capitalist and planter should. what place should he buy? there was but one place in all the state of alabama which suited him, that was the home of his former employer, malcolm a. overley. but this place was not for sale. the adjoining plantation was, however, so he acquired this place and moved upon it. mr. nick lashum was a man of family, a large and growing family, a growth peculiar to this particular family of “crack- ers.” as the wealth and numbers of this family increased their church-going parties, regaled in all their finery, came to be the sight of the county, a sight that strangers never failed to enjoy. this great man,, former overseer, who had grown so wealthy in such a few years, and one of whose sons was clerk of the county court, and another about to be sent off to college, was looked upon by the “crackers” of his section of the state as the man who was to lead them back to the good old times when a "nigger's” hog was the property of the first “cracker” who could steal it. how fared the overleys as the years sped by? having been left, after the war, without stock to work the plantation- thanks to the disinterestedness (?) of nick lashum-on behalf of the cause, and without farm hands to work the crops—sav- ing the strong arm of old abe and his family—things had been going back. for some time poor crops, poor cattle, and only a few of them, had been the rule, until, after a family council, it was decided to mortgage the place and raise money enough me as we see it. to stock the plantation as it was in the old days and begin again. after much dickering and many heartaches, it was decided to borrow $ , from the pioneer savings bank of a— county, alabama, nick lashum, jr., cashier. never once did malcolm a. overley think that nick lashum, sr., would advance the money and hold the mortgage, but after it was all over malcolm a. overley had $ , and nick lashum, his former overseer, held him bound for five years for $ , at per cent. this mortgage had eighteen months to run when we find him discussing the advisability of sending his son, together with old abe's son, north to college. old abe felt that his boy should go to college with the white boy. after long and deep thought old abe, with intense feeling, spoke: “i thought when i stan' by de bedside of yo' mammy, an' she place our han's togedder and she say we war al’ays to stick togedder an' to he'p each odder, an’ when yo’ boy's mammy die she say de same thing, dat we was to he’p each odder. i thought when dem yankee sojers come, an' dey say, ‘old man, you kin go,' i say, 'no, i dun promise his mammy to stay an' he'p him through dis life.' i thought when i teach my boy he mus' stay an' he'p; i thought when i tell dem odder ‘niggers,' joe an’ he 'oman, jack an’ he 'oman, an’ cleo an' her gals, to stay, dat i was doin' my duty, dat i was keppin' my word to de daid. ise worked on dis ole plantation well nigh seventy-two yeahs, and ise good for twenty mo', but never did i tink dat de time would ebber come when de overley would break he word.” after old abe had delivered himself of his speech there was a long, deep silence. finally it was broken by malcolm a. overley, with a voice trembling with emotion: “abe, you old black fool, who has broken word with you? i said, i do not see where the money is coming from. that d- hound's mortgage is due in eighteen months, and i haven't the money to pay it. he will surely sell me out. as we see it. now, what shall i do: take this money and send the boys to college or pay this mortgage ?” old abe answered solemnly: “send de boys to college, an’trus’ in de lawd.” “trust in the lord! that is all you ‘niggers’ think about. you had better learn to trust in yourselves. however, i have made up my mind that both boys shall go to oberlin college. you can tell that boy of yours that he can go with my boy when he leaves for college this fall, but i want all the work done on the place before they go.” “thank god!” said old abe; “i know'd dat yo' heart is in de same place dat all de rest of de overleys is.” as a fit finale to this discussion, mammy cleo blew three shrill blasts on the supper horn. soon the field hands are coming in, as is evidenced by the vocal sounds of melody that float soothingly to the ears of the two old friends. first to come through the yard to the great house is a tall youth, with a delicate face, lit up with clear blue eyes, with a well-formed head, covered with thick light hair, which hung about his ears in ringlets, the face, head and carriage of the man of good blood and breeding. this youth was abe, sixth, white. he took a seat on the floor of the veranda, leaning his back against a post, looked up at his father and laughingly inquired: “why, dad, what is the matter? have you and uncle abe been quarreling over the stock or over some passage in the bible, or what?”. “no, we have not. that old fool thinks i ought to send his abe to college with you this fall,'' answered the parent. “why, dad, i think he is perfectly right. abe ought to go to college; he certainly deserves it." at that moment a tall young negro of manly appearance, a perfect counterpart of old abe, came up to the veranda and sat down. he also observed the faces of the old men. “why, dad, what is the matter?” he exclaimed. “have as we see it. you and mr. overley disagreed again on some point in the bible, or some point in farming ?”. “no, d- your black hide,” spoke up overley, sr.; "we have disagreed on you." “why, what is the matter with me? have i not done my work well ever since i have been old enough to work?” “oh, d— your work! i wish i could find some fault in that line. this old fool insists that i pay $ a year for your schooling, until you get through college, that is what i mean.” for several moments there was nothing said by any of the four friends. finally, the younger overley said: “father, if the money is not to be had, let us fix it this way. let abe here go the first year, and i will stay home and keep up the place. the next year he will keep up the place and i will go. he can give me the benefit of what he has learned when he comes home.” abe protests that the white boy is entitled to the first year, but overley, sr., cut the discussion short by announcing that he had determined that both boys should go to college together; therefore he didn't want any more “d— talk.” both boys then moved away to the corn crib, their favorite resort, to talk the matter over. “abe,” says the black boy, “your father is a mighty good man to spend all that money on me.” “yes, but you and uncle abe have been mighty good to us. what would we have done after the war had your father left us, or had he said to the rest of the people, 'let us go north ?' we would have been left without help or hope. he remem- bers how uncle abe and the rest worked for five years without being paid one penny, and— ” “yes, but your father has paid us in full, paid every penny,” interrupted the black boy. “yes, but off of whose labor ?” as we see it. “no matter, he has paid up. where in all this state will you find another white man, who, having had twenty-three colored people working for him for five years, without pay, would have paid them one cent? very, very few. your father mortgaged his plantation. if he had not paid us he would not have had that to do. no, abe, he is a mighty good man." “yes,” says the white boy, "he is a dear old dad;" then adds: “say, abe, didn't he cuss—well! so we are to go to school together?” “i am sure i do not know; what college are we going to ?” “oberlin college.” “that is the one college in this country that i want to go through. they say they do not know color there. just to think of anyone failing to see whether i am white or black!” and both boys laughed heartily. “say, abe,” the white boy said, “i hear that buck lashum is to go to college this fall.” “what college?” “i do not know," answered the white boy. “well, we must not let him know what college we are going to attend, nor that i am going with you.” “why, abe, what difference does that make?” “well, i must say that i feel it would be better to keep our plans from him until we are gone, at any rate.” “abe, you will see what will happen to him if he has anything to say to me about your going. i haven't forgotten the thrashing you gave him when he tried to force himself on my sister lucy when you drove her to deaconsville to the camp meeting last fall,” laughed the white boy. “his black eyes were such beauties, and they lasted so long. say, but dad forgot his rheumatism when he was told what happened. when they told him that the sheriff had put you in the cababoose for licking buck lashum for insulting sister lucy, gee! how he ran to the harness room, and got a saddle and chapter ii. por the benefit of my readers who are not familiar with the alabama “crackers" i will give an historical sketch of the lashum family, that they may draw their own conclusion. this family dates back to the last years of the war for independence; at least, that is the time of the first record which the state has of its existence. the following can be found in the western bulletin, monday, september , : “nick lashum, who lives in a log cabin on a small clearing in foggy bottom, on mars creek, was taken out of his cabin by a vigilance committee and given nine and thirty lashes on his bare back. “it appears that the indians have been drinking and caus- ing a great deal of trouble lately. the source of their supply of whiskey could not be ascertained. it was at last determined by the vigilance committee to search foggy bottom, where a few disreputable 'crackers' have squatted. the search revealed the fact that nick lashum was making corn whiskey and trading it to the indians in his neighborhood. the search also revealed the further fact that nick lashum was the leader of a gang of moonshiners who were making corn whiskey and trading it to the indians and negroes in all the lower counties of the state. “nick lashum and his confederates will be tried at the next quarter session of court and are likely to get long terms in the penitentiary.” thus the lashums are ushered into the limelight of history. no mention is made of what finally became of this nick lashum, but tradition has it that he came back from the penitentiary to his old haunts and resumed his old habits until the time of his death, which was hastened by a vigilance committee after nick had been caught with some cattle upon which the brand had been changed. this man appears to as we see it. have been the progenitor of this race of lashum, many of whom proved to be worthy of their sire. the nick lashum of this sketch was a long, gaunt, lean “cracker” with a thin, sharp face, lit up by a pair of small gray eyes full of low cunning and treachery, that never looked you in the face. his head was topped off by a crop of thin stringy hair, that was entirely unused to care. his garments, which were gray in color, might have been homespun or anything else, and hung in loose flaps about his person, the trousers (?) stuffed into ragged cowhide boots. this gentleman, a typical “cracker” overseer, having heard that malcolm a. overley wanted an overseer, owing to the death of pete quickly, who had served the overleys for twenty-five years, betook himself to the overley plantation to apply for the position. with much fear and many misgivings he finally mustered up courage enough to pass the portals of the big gate and make his way to the great house, where he expected to find the master. as nick neared the house he removed his hat and walked slowly up the gravel path, where he was accosted by old abe, who inquired of him who he was, whom he wanted to see, and upon what business. at first, nick was inclined to feel insulted and hurt that a big black “nigger” should ask him what he wanted. but, upon second thought, he remembered how near old abe was to the “throne,” so he answered very civilly that he wanted to see mr. overley and wanted the job of overseer. after some thought abe concluded he would conduct him to his master. this was done with many misgivings as to the future, should he be selected. nick was cautioned to keep close to old abe, lest the dogs should attack him, as they did not like “no po' white man, nohow," and to keep his hat under his arm, where it belonged; all of which nick was glad to do; but making a mental vow, however, that he would skin old abe if he succeeded in getting the place of overseer. as we see it. turning a sharp bend in the path, nick, without warning, came suddenly upon mr. overley and his family under the shade of a large tree, and the sight seemed to deprive nick of power of speech. he stood looking at his ragged boots and holding his hands before him. mr. overley sprang to his feet, looking first at old abe, then at nick, not seeming to com- prehend the meaning of the intrusion. at last he spoke, and demanded of old abe what this man had done, and why he had brought him there, the man's demeanor leading him to believe that he had been trespassing. when he was told that the man wanted the position of overseer, mr. overley laughed heartily, and the women drew close and examined him very attentively. abe said: “dis po' white man come up de walk an’ say he want to see you 'bout being yo' oberseer. i say he kin see you, but i guess he kin talk for heself, maybe. say, mr. oberseer, dat am mr. overley. kin you talk? you hab to talk mor’n dat to git work outten dem ‘niggers' back in de cotton patch.” nick, thus goaded by old abe, finally said: “sah, mr. overley, i heah thet old pete was gone an' daid, an' that you war in need of a man to look arter yo’'niggers.' my ’oman she say you mought take me on, in old pete's place. i've been hankerin' arter yuse job for a long time, sah.” “well,—you have, have you? where did you work last, and why did you leave?” “i worked for mr. jim connors, down on the bottom in grove neck. he sol' all his ‘niggers' an' gone 'way. he never did lek plantation life. he gin me one ‘nigger,' but i couldn't feed him, so i took an’ sol' him. he was as no count 'nigger' as you ever see; couldn't git him to do nothin'. sell a bad ‘nigger,' sah, same as you sell a bad hoss." “i have no bad ‘niggers,' neither have i any bad horses ; all my people are happy and content. i am afraid you would as we see it. cause them to become dissatisfied. what do you want per year?'' “mr. jim gin me $ a yeah an' house an’ten acres, the house free. i git along on that very well, sah.” “well, you can see me in two days." “yes, sah; my ’oman she say— " “that is all, sir; you may see me in two days. abe, see that the dogs do not molest him.” nick, with his hat still under his arm, bowed most pro- foundly and turned to leave by the path through which he came old abe called to him, saying: “come dis way, white man. dem dorgs will eat you up down dat path by yo’sef. what you go dat way for, nohow? you mus' tink yo' mars jim cornors. de nex' time yo' come heah yo' come in de way i am now showin' yo' out. if dem dorgs had seed yo’ fust—well, dey don't like yo’ kin' people, nohow." “it strikes me, abe, yuse a mighty peart ‘nigger.' i sup- pose yuse is boss heah?” “yes, ise de boss of dis house, an’dem stables, an’dat garden patch, an' all dem chickens an’ fowls-yo' dunno dat, does yo'?” “oh, i tink it war somethin' like that-yuse welcome.” by this time their walk had led them to the barnyard, out of which a lane ran through the cornfield to the main road. abe's parting shot was: “look out, white man, for dem dorgs when yo' come back through dis corn patch, an’git yo’hat off befo’ yo' come through dis gate.” “abe, you kin do me a good " “dat am all, sah; yo'kin see me in two days,” said old abe, with the most aggravating composure. nick stood for a moment glaring at old abe; then he turned and walked hurriedly down the lane toward the main road. as we see it. owing to abe's thoughtfulness, nick had about three-fourths of a mile farther to walk to get out to the main road on his way home. abe watched nick until he passed out of sight; then he laughed and remarked to himself: “dat man goin' raise de debble on dis heah place some day.” turning to a large brindle hound that watched nick very closely during his visit, abe said to the dog : “joe, yo' jus' watch fo' dat po' white man day arter tomorrow, an’ if he try to open dat gate yo’ jes' stop him; dat's all.” the dog seemed to understand what abe had said, for he gave nick's direction a contemptuous glance and walked away with abe. true to his appointment, nick appeared at the barnyard gate, hat in hand, but afraid to open it, for there stood joe looking at him in no uncertain way. abe was in the harness room cleaning harness when joe, by his growl, let him know that nick had arrived. abe looked through the window and saw nick at the gate and resumed his work as composedly as if he were not there. “dat po' white man am com’; well, he can wait or he can com’in, an' joe an' de res' of de dorgs will look arter him.” after about three-quarters of an hour abe appeared at the door of the harness room and said: “man alives, is dat yo'? i couldn't 'magine what dat dorg dun saw at de gate. why yo' not cum in? 'spec' mars abe cumin' to see yo’ heah? man, yo’ ain't nebber goin' git ’long on his heah place; yo' too slow.” “i was afeared of that dorg,” said nick. “well, dat dorg he don't lek no po' white man, dat sho.' cum on an' see what mars abe goin' say. you sich a noble lookin' critter dat i sho' massa goin' have you,” said abe, after contemptuously surveying nick's tattered appearance. as we see it. nick made a mental note of abe's observation and vowed to get even, if the time ever came. nick was engaged by malcolm a. overley after a long lecture, in which he was told plainly that he was not to curse nor abuse any person on the place, and that no whipping was allowed. when he could not get work out of the field hands they were to be sent to the great house. nick did not know at first what to make of that kind of treatment for negroes, but he soon learned. he quickly discovered that he could get more and better work out of them in that way than he could by the lash. he continued in the service of the overleys until the war of rebellion. u chapter iii. anhe time finally came for the overley boys to leave the old place for college. quite a discussion arose as to the names of these boys, each having been known all his life as abe overley, one white, the other black. it was seen by them, and very properly, that they could not be thus distinguished while at college. it was finally decided that one should be malcolm a. overley, jr., and the other abraham overley, jr. it appears that the negroes had never been called malcolm. the senior overley on the day of their departure called both boys into his library for a final word. he said, with great earnestness : “you boys are now leaving this place for college. this is the first time either of you has been from home. you will meet with temptations, but i expect you both to overcome them. you will meet them within and without the college walls. i repeat that i expect you to overcome them. you both bear a name that has remained unsullied for a century. i expect it to remain so. i have no fortune as my ancestors had. i have but their name left. i entrust it to your safe- keeping. “you, malcolm, must remember your mother's last words, that abe is your life friend; and abe, you must remember that malcolm is the son of your father's best friend. need i say more?” abe extended his hand to the elder overley, who grasped it heartily. he said: “i cannot express what i feel, sir, when i consider what you are doing for me. i can but say that you will never regret what you do for me. if i live to get through college i will repay you. i thank you, sir, with all my heart.” “i do not want your thanks; you deserve what i am doing for you. all i want you to do is to get through college and bring my name back as you take it from the old plantation.” chapter iv. nahe next morning at sunrise both of the old men met at their usual place on the veranda. they smoked a long time in silence, which was finally broken by a remark from the owner of the place. “abe, what do you think those boys will want to do when they get out of college?”. “i guess your boy will want to go to congress and my boy will he'p dese po’ ‘niggers’ git back som’ ob de lan’dat has been tooken from den by dat lashum fambly.” “that would be a good thing for him to do; but i am afraid his hide would not be worth a picayune when he tries it.” “ise hearn him say dat, too. den he say dat he intends to try, so he'p him god, when he cum back. dat boy, he mean what he say.” “well, abe, what do you think of that boy starting a legal fight with these poor whites? they are in control of the county and the courts and everything else that i know of. then, abe, do you think that it is right for a ‘nigger' to fight a white man?” “well, i tell yo', 'fore de war, when all de ‘niggers' 'long to som ’body e’se, all dat i hearn am dat de lawd made a white man fus', an' dat de white man war made specially by de lawd to own an' boss de ‘nigger.' den i belebe dat de 'nigger' jes' natchuly ’long to de white man. but when dem white sojers cum heah an' lick de debble outen dese white folks an’ i see how meek an’ humble lek dey cum to dem, den i say, what am dis ? am i right nohow? is dese white folks what dey is cracked up to be? den i see dat lashum fambly puttin' on airs an’ silks—the same folks dat i seed 'fore de war in missus' ole work apron. den i say, what am dis world a cumin' to? but when i see all dem trash fishiatin' 'round 'lection day an'havin' all de say, den i say dat de as we see it. debble am de boss arter all, an' dat de po' nigger'am de feed for his fire, an’ dat if de men lek you an' mr. jim cornors an’ mr. big joe wheatly don't took an' do somefin' dis country ain't goin' to las'. whoever hear'n of anything lassin' dat dese po' white trash does? does i tink dat a 'nigger' oughten fight a white man? dis is what i was teached. dat i was to 'spect a white man an'not answer him back nor hit him. but dem was slavery days. what de dif- ference now, i dunno. “i does know dat dem po' white trash on de neck is a whole lot wus den me or my people is, an'dat you an' mr. jim an' mr. big joe is a mighty sight better'n dem ‘niggers' what gits drunk all de time an’ hangs 'round de cross-roads. but is i as good as you an' de res' ob yo’ friends? dat keeps me wake ob nights. my boy he young an' read de books. he say dat all men is bornd ekil, an' dat a man is what he make heself. he say dat a man hab no right to say he am as good as dis one or dat one, because he am a man, but he mus' make heself a man. he say dat ebry man will find he strata in 'ciety. what he mean by dat?” “he means his level.” “he say dat a 'nigger' or po' white man dat say he got a right to cum to yo' house an 'cum in an' set down, widouten you ax him in, am a fool. dat what i tink. i don't let dem trashy 'niggers' cum to my house, nor does yo' 'low dem po' white trash to cum heah. but den i jes' don't feel dat ise fit to mingle wid yo' gess. no, i don't tink so. now, when dem boys cum back from college, dey may or dey may not be chums; but dey will say how dey will treat each odder at dey own house. it 'pends ’tirely on who dese people is. i tink dat a ‘nigger' oughter fight ebry po' white man dat don't treat him or he kinfolks right. dat what yo' an' yo'friends does.” “that is so, abe; but i did not think that you felt that way all together.” jhe university of michigan libraries as we see it. after old abe had relapsed into silence, malcolm a. overley pondered abe's remarks for a long time. “what a change a few years have wrought! old abe, d- his black hide, feels that he is almost as good as me and my friends! he has doubts on that score. well, who the h- would have thought it? but he has sense enough not to push himself. he holds himself above the low ‘niggers' about here. he is looked up to by all the 'good niggers' far and near. he is right to hold himself above these d— poor trashy whites, i could never understand why these poor whites hated abe and his boy so. i see now. there is a natural antipathy between the two classes. abe and his kind represent all that is honest and true, while the poor whites are just the opposite. but can this boy afford to start a fight with these people just at the time he comes out of college and with nothing to live upon ? in spite of myself, i can but admire that boy's pluck and spirit. “well, i guess i will come in for my share of trouble for sending him off to college. why, i must be getting babyish. who the h— will dare to question an overley as to his reason for doing what he thinks proper ?” thus he smoked and dreamed for an hour. suddenly he exclaimed: “abe, you have changed somewhat in the past year or so, it seems to me.” “i don't reckon yo' ever axed me dat question befo’. my boy say dat dere am no mo’ ‘niggers,' but all am 'merican citizens, free an’ ekil befo' de law. dat what he say. now, ise a citizen an'has de rights. what i goin' to let dem po' white trash bamboozle me oughten dem fo'?”. “abe, why do you continually refer to the poor whites ? are they the only people who do not treat you right?” “why, man alives,” said abe, with wrath, “don't yo' know dat de po' white trash am de onliest people in dis whole world dat am al’ays hollerin' nigger,' 'jim crow,' 'social 'quality,' as we see it. 'nigger marrying white 'oman,' an' de debble knows what-all sich fool talk dat causes trouble? dem very same trash dat kotches our likely lookin’gals on de road an' drags dem in de bushes. dem de people dat sees a hard-workin' nigger' wid a home, an'a mule, an' a 'fix' to go to church wid, dat gits up de mob an' hollers dat dis ‘nigger'is arter he wife or gal. den dey burn he home, an' barn, an' take he life, an' mule, an’ hog, an 'fix' to pay de damage. dem's de trash dat gemmen lek you an' mr. jim an' mr. big joe oughter he'p us for to fight. 'fore de war when dem same critters did steal hogs an' de lek, yo' all did ride to dere cabins an' take dem out an’ flog deni on dere bare backs. now, dey do de same thing more bold; holler rape, an' de whole country is ridin' an' beatin' ebry ‘nigger' dey meet, an' if he owns a good hoss dat is better'n dear'n, dey swops hosses wid him whedder he wants to or no. “why, man alives!” said old abe, with increasing wrath, “dese things am ’nuff to make a man bus' wide open, an' dey is gettin' wus. when dat drunken smaly boy kotch my sally jane on de road dat night, when you an' mr. jim hearn her holler, hit was a good ting dat yo’ abe hide dat gun. i run for de gun fus', but yo' an' mr. jim git dere fus'. i sho' would hab killed him. “but, lawdy, how my abe did walk on him! i think sho' dat de padroller would git him. i nebber tol' you dat it war my abe dat beat him up so. no, sah. i was afraid dat yo' would think dat a ‘nigger' oughten lick a white man.” this last sentence was spoken in such a solemn tone that both men laughed heartily. “abe, you are a sly old rascal. you know perfectly well that i have abused your boy time and again and told him that he was a coward for allowing that poor white hound to get off without a thrashing. and you would not tell me? you told my boy, though. i can now understand why you three devils the university of michigan libraries as we see it. always grinned in my face every time i spoke of that case. told my boy, but would not tell me. why not me?” “well, when dem boys cum to me an’ abe tol' me what he dun done, yo' abe say dat you better not know 'bout it. i say no, you dun got ’nuff on yo’mind 'thout dat. dat i war abe's daddy, an' dat i war de one to bar de trouble. so i say, no, an’dat end it.” “well, abe, that was very kind of you. what you say about those poor white people has long been a source of worry for me and my friends. only last night we determined to get together and try to put a stop to these deviltries. it will be a hard job. these poor whites are in the saddle now; we have been asleep too long, and they have taken advantage of every- thing. we are going to try to stop them by fair means; and, if not, then we will try the same method we used on them before the war.” it appears that the negro referred to in a previous chapter as belonging to nick lashum—he having been given to lashum by mr. jim connors, and sold by nick as a worthless 'nigger'-had, after the war, accumulated some property and had a good home, upon which he reared a family of nine children, the eldest of whom was a man of family and taught the county school for colored children. this young man had a wife and three children. he rode a very fine colt to and from his school, which was some distance from his home. there was but one other horse in that end of the state which could hold his own at the county fairs with this colt, and that horse belonged to young malcolm a. overley. this negro's horse was the envy of every poor white man in that section. often was the remark made that that horse was too good for a ‘nigger,' and that he must have stolen it. finally, the man appeared who lost (?) the colt, although it was well known that this colt was sired by malcolm a. as we see it. overley's horse, “ben,” known all over the state by its color and markings. one warm july night, while this old negro and his family were sitting about the front of their home, a party of horsemen were heard coming down the road. nothing was thought of that until the sound of horses' hoofs was heard coming up the back road toward the rear of the place. suddenly all sounds ceased; then a pistol shot was heard; then a rush of horses' hoofs; and before one of the astonished negroes could gather his wits volleys from shotguns and revolvers were fired amongst them, killing and maiming men, women and children alike. the old father, the young schoolmaster and his young- est child, who was asleep on his lap, were killed. the wife, who was about to become a mother, was trampled to death beneath the horses' hoofs, before she could drag herself out of the way. the dwelling and barn were fired in a dozen places at once. both buildings, together with their contents, save the colt in question, were consumed. the alabama news, the leading newspaper of the state at that time, had the following conservative account of this tragedy: the university of michigan libraries “george burrell, a desperate negro, whose desperate deeds date back before the war, and his son, who was following in his father's footsteps, and two more of his desperate family, wiped out by sheriff c. lashum and a posse of citizens. “it appears that a deputy sheriff went earlier in the day to the cabin of george burrell to replevin the colt that burrell had stolen. the deputy sheriff was met at the door by burrell and his son, both armed with double-barrelled shot- guns, and his life threatened if he dared to serve his papers. "the sheriff was notified and the papers were served with the above result. it appears that in the fight which ensued upon the service of the papers the lamp was overturned and as we see it. the cabin was soon in flames, which, in turn, spread to the barn, both buildings being entirely consumed. “it is to be regretted that a negro woman and two small children were trampled upon by horses; but the citizens claim that the horses became unmanageable when the fire started. “a coroner's jury, which was empanelled on the spot, exonerated the sheriff and his deputies, as it was clearly shown that the negroes resisted the service of a legal paper. “it will be well for the negroes and all concerned when they learn not to resist the law, but to submit to the lawful service of papers as white men do.” exonera that the well for the law, but this conservative account of a most atrocious and bloody deed was heralded to the outside world as another example of negro depravity, degeneracy and disregard for the law and its representatives. this paper sent out this account without investigating the case, and based its report upon the statement made by one of the parties who participated in the killing. the facts are as follows: the party who sought to replevin the horse well knew that he could not maintain the suit, if it were presented to the court in the regular way. so it was determined to put the two principal witnesses, the old negro and his son, out of the way, which was done very successfully. the finding of the coroner's jury, which was composed of members of the mid- night marauders, empanelled on the spot, was not questioned. the sheriff was there with his papers, and the deputy sheriff who swore that he was at the place earlier in the day and was met by the old negro father and son with guns in their hands, was also there, although, as a matter of fact, he was not on the place prior to his coming with the mob, who were bent on killing a prosperous negro and his family. all these things were known to persons in the neighborhood, but the machinery of the law was in the hands of the murderers and nothing could be done. the attention of the governor of the state was called to the case, together with the fact that what was left of the family had been driven from that section of the as we see it. country and their property practically confiscated. the governor was informed by his special agent, garrington, that the negroes resisted the lawful service of a legal paper, and that all the killings naturally followed the unlawful acts of the negroes. the loss of property and the driving from home of helpless children by the lashums was not gone into. everything was regular and according to law. this outrage is what brought malcolm a. overley and his friends together. we shall see later what good was done by this combination of law-abiding white citizens. chapter v. a bout one week after the boys had gone, two letters arrived. both began : “dear father: we arrived safe and sound. so did buck lashum.” each father instinctively looked at the other, and read the other's thoughts. each felt that this announcement meant trouble for his boy. the letters contained the statements that the boys were through with their examinations; that both had passed with credit, and had been assigned to their respective classes. they had secured adjoining rooms, but were very much disappointed to learn that buck lashum had secured a room on the same floor, across the hall on the front tier, overlooking the campus-one of the rooms sought by the rich boys. they also spoke of the boys of different nationalities who were attending the college. there were englishmen, scotch- men, italians, spaniards, japanese, chinese, negroes, french- men, germans, and one persian of a noble family. as all the young men spoken of in the letter met in the chapel at devotional exercises and at the mess table, the southern boys, led by buck lashum, not understanding the sentiment which prevailed at this college, promptly waited upon the president, the grand old dr. finley, and requested that the negroes, also the japanese, chinese and the persians, be seated at a separate table, so that the gentlemen of the south could enjoy their meals without feeling that they were degrading themselves by eating with “niggers.” the president of the college listened very attentively to these students, then asked: “do you know who these young men are? and what is your objection ?” as we see it. “you young men who come from the south may think you are right because you have been taught these ideas; but you young men who have never been south must have borrowed these ideas, which are no credit to you. “as president of this college, i will inform you, gentle- men, that the college will continue to stand by its old rules and customs, and live up to the sentiment which has always dominated it, and if in any way the table does not suit you gentlemen, you will be permitted to have a table at which you may enjoy yourselves as your sense of dignity may dictate. these young men are students here in the same sense that you are, entitled to all the rights and consideration to which you are entitled. it is not the policy of this college to humiliate one student at the behest of another. i am rather astonished at this proceeding. you gentlemen have just entered college. you have been here but three weeks, and yet you come to me with a request for me to unsettle a policy which was established forty years ago. am i to consider you a disturbing element ? “my advice to all of you is, look well to your books; look well to your lectures ; look well to yourselves, lest these same boys whom you now hold in such contempt outstrip you when examination day comes, and leave the management of the college to those upon whom that duty devolves.” with these words, spoken in a kindly voice, but in no uncertain way, the president arose and the interview was at an end. when this delegation was well out of hearing of the president's office, buck lashum burst forth with an oath, saying: “who would have thought that a white man would have said that a ‘nigger' is as good as a white inan, and that a white man can eat at a side table if he don't like the ‘niggers' being present! “i, for one, will write home and tell my pappy that i am as we see it. sick from eating with ‘niggers' and want to come home. he will send for me by the next mail.”, the next speaker was a boy who came from a “copperhead” family of southern indiana by the name of bloxum. this family possesses nothing but a reputation for aping aristo- cratic people and forming friendships with the newly rich of their neighborhood. there appeared to be something in buck lashum for bloxum, hence the newly formed friendship. “buck, don't do nothing of the sort; stay right here and let's give them h— these ‘niggers’ have no business here; we can freeze them out.” “that is right,” spoke up the rest; “we can arouse enough sentiment to force the faculty to put them out.” “we can write home and ask our people to write here, saying that the 'nigger' must go,” said bloxum. then spoke up young bucker: “well, you fellows can do that if you choose, but i am going to take dr. finley at his word and let this thing alone. i didn't want to mix up with this affair in the beginning, anyhow. my father has no money to waste on me fooling with other people's business. i must make my time count while i am in college." “just like you,” said bloxum, “afraid of your shadow. well, i guess we can find enough white men in this college to carry this thing through.” “we will try without you," said the rest. "that is what you will have to do,” replied bucker. when this visit to the president became known, and what these young men had attempted to do, the foreigners were astonished. being of royal blood, they could not understand what was meant by the attitude, and the request preferred, and took just the opposite view, thinking that the common people were afraid to sit with royalty, and, therefore, under- the university of michigan libraries as we see it. took to explain to lashum and bloxum their willingness to waive the point in etiquette so long as they were in school. when the students learned that the foreigners had con- descendingly endeavored to waive this point in etiquette and were willing that these protesting boys should eat at the same table with them, the jibes and shafts of wit and sarcasm thrust at them by the students would have been unbearable to persons of refinement and culture, but were completely lost upon these boys—one the son of a former overseer of six generations of overseers, the other the son of a “copperhead,” whose natural characteristic is what the word “copperhead" is meant to imply. consequently, in the density of their ignorance and self- conceit they failed utterly to appreciate the ridiculous position in which they had placed themselves. both buck and his friend bloxum failed to pass the examinations which had been passed with credit by the boys whom they presumed to condemn; but they were permitted to go on conditionally. buck felt that he was white and that that was all that was necessary. by the end of the first quarter he had learned better. chapter vi. yt is now christmas time following the departure of the boys. we find the two old abes before the great fire- place smoking and discussing their absent sons. suddenly overley changed the conversation by remarking: “abe, i am expecting some friends here tonight. mr. jim connors sent me word that he would come over and stay a couple of days; so i have invited some of the old family heads to join us, as i think it a fit time to discuss ways and means to put a stop to these cussed 'crackers' carryings on. big joe wheatly, the postmaster, sam hurry, and the only one left in office who belongs to my circle of friends, dr. jack cushing, the minister, rev. dr. snell, and— " “the minister ?” interrupts abe. “i hope, sah, dat you will ’member he presence an' not forgit yo' presence ob mine an’ say nothin' dat he will feel called on to pray fo' you fo'. you 'member what you done do de las' time he war under dis roof?” (overley having been guilty of using some very strong language in reference to the doctor's sentiment on slavery.) “abe, who the h- made you my censor? who ". “what dat? who made me what? what you mean by dem big words? dat one ting dat i al’ays take count on when i gits right whar you oughter listen; den you go on wid yo' big words, tell somehow i loses count of what ise goin' to say, an’den you is seen larfin' to yo’se 'f lek de debble. yo'll not be able al’ays to talk outen my sight. i promise you dat." “abe, i did not mean to offend you; but you know that i am not sickly and weak like i was seventy years ago. maybe you have forgotten that i am the head of the family, and that i may talk as i see fit." “yes, sah, dat am true ’nuff; but de good lawd am sholy takin' count ob how de haid ob de house is 'havin' hese'f. the university of michigan libraries as we see it. dare am jes’ one ting dat de lawd seem negleckful 'bout, an’ dat am yo' soul. me an' my 'oman has bin axin' de lord to sho’ you de erer ob yo’ way for mor'n fifty yeahs, but all to no puppose. “let me axe you, what you goin' do, what you goin' say when de great day done cum, an’de rocks an’ de mountains hab all fleed 'way, an' de sea shall be as a burnin'flame; when de great jehover hab done cum to jedg dis world; when de 'corden angul dun gits down to yo’ name an’ he dun read all dem bad an'awful words dat you dun say an' dat he hab got agin you? what you goin' say? huh? what you goin' say? it do seem to me sometimes dat yo’ is suttenly foolin' wid de lawd. duz you 'member miss miranda, what she say when she jine our han’s togedder jes' befo’ de lawd done took her 'way? i axe you, duz you 'member? she say: 'cum close to me, i wants to tell you both what de lawd has done fo' me, kase i has al’ays trusted him.' duz you 'member dat she say: 'oh, lawd, thy will be done.' den her haid drap an' she dun gone to hebben. duz you 'member dat you is de onny pusson on dis heah 'hole plantation dat has nebber gib he soul to de lawd? you is a old man now, sah, an'hab but a few mo' days to linger on dis heah eart'. you is in good mine an’ body today, but you don't know what mout be de matter tomorrow. duz you not feel de lonel’ness ob bein' outen de lawd? duz you not feel dat tim’hab done cum fo’you to spoke to de lawd an'axe him to forgin you all yo' many sins? duz you not feel dat a old man is safer in de lawd's fole dan he is outen it? duz you tink dat you will be so peaceful an' happy as miss miranda when she died- when she smile an’ say: 'lawd, thy will be done!'". abe observed that his friend's eyes were filled with tears and that he was greatly affected by his reference to the past, and asked him if he would not then and there throw himself upon the lawd. overley seemed on the point of opening his heart to god, when there was a knock at the door and lucy as we see it. announced jim connors and big joe wheatley. as both men strode into the room overley stood looking at them with a tear-stained face, but unembarrassed. abe observed the interruption and noted the harm done by their untimely arrival; but he bowed his head and murmured: “lawd, thy will be done." to their question as to what ailed him, overley said quietly and with great seriousness that abe had almost persuaded him to become a christian. big joe wheatley laughed and observed that from his appearance abe must have persuaded him that he was an infant again. he also wanted to know how long abe had been doing missionary work among the heathen. jim connors took a more serious view of the matter and wanted to know what abe had said. connors had had a very pious catholic mother and had never forgotten her last words, although he had not followed her parting advice. when he was told what abe had said of the death-bed scene of mrs. miranda overley, he, too, was visibly affected. the words brought back to his memory a similar experience. he sat silent and thoughtful for a long time. finally, he broke the silence, which had become painful, with the remark: “malcolm, i remember your mother's death as well as if it were yesterday, instead of thirty years ago. of course, i remember my own mother's death better, although she has been dead more than thirty odd years. but they were both good christian women, and both left us with the request on their dying lips that we trust in the lord. has either of us done so? i will say that i have not. what have you to say for yourself?”. “jim, at times i have considered this question of eternity very seriously, but have never gotten to the point where i could reconcile all the various obstacles that have arisen in my mind. i do honestly wish that i had.” “yes, yes, malcolm, i have no doubt that it would have the university of michigan libraries as we see it. been better for us both had we followed our mothers' parting advice. we are old men now " “is it too late now?”' exclaimed a voice from the hall, and the good minister, rev. dr. snell, came into the room. in the seriousness of the discussion lucy's announcement of dr. snell's arrival had not been noticed. he had heard the latter part of what was said while being relieved of his hat and outer coat. "i do not feel that it is too late, nor do i feel that there is any particular hurry about the matter. i just cannot get my mind around to the point where i feel that it is necessary for me to become a christian," answered overley. “doctor, that is also the way i feel concerning the matter," said jim connors. “oh, brothers, let me tell you what the lord has done for you. you are poor insects as compared with him. he could have crushed you out of this life long ago, but he has spared you for some good purpose. you are old men now, well nigh eighty years of age, though still hale and hearty. have you nothing to be thankful for?” “oh, yes, we have our fallen fortunes to be thankful for,” said big joe wheatley. “oh, my brother, you always strike a bitter chord when you speak of our fallen fortunes. years back, when the colored people were our bonded servants, we always had the means of raising ready money; but now we have to content ourselves with the crops and rents. some years are good, but most are bad. god in his wise providence may send the good old days back again.” “god forbid !" said the three men in chorus. “i was born on a plantation where there were over one hundred slaves. i came into possession of all those men, women and children. i fought to maintain our cause; but, god forbid that those days of bondage may ever come again," was the remark of jim connors. as we see it. big joe wheatley remarked: “i, too, was born on a plantation peopled with dozens of slaves. the old place belongs to me now. my former slaves are now my tenants; some few have bought the places on which they live. but i never want to see these people in slavery again. no, i hope that our fair southland will never again be cursed with human slavery.” “but, doctor, i do not understand how you can wish for what you call the good old times. you lived north before the war and saw nothing of the slave system, only when you visited your old uncle here at christmas time. how do you know that those were good old times?” “i always heard uncle refer to them as the good old times," was the doctor's hesitating reply. old abe had been seating the guests, a number of whom had arrived. he had also been a close listener to the remarks of the good minister. upon leaving the room he mumbled to himself: “dat preacher man he beate de debble. he a good man one way. he sho' can 'zort de sinners to tu’n from dey crooked ways; but den he al’ays droppin’sumfin’sly lek 'bout de good slavery day; 'bout de war times ; 'bout he wish dat slavery cum agin’; 'bout de yankee sojers, when he a yankee hesef. he onny cum heah to lib arter his uncle die an’ lebe him dat plantation. my abe say he a sturdin'element.. well, nobody in dis heah house wants slavery to cum agin'. i thank god fo' dat.” after abe had gone, overley called the attention of his friends to what was done and said at the last meeting. it was soon agreed that a set of resolutions should be adopted and published as a warning to all persons engaged in these midnight killings. the resolutions were as follows: “whereas, murder, arson, rape, riots and outrages of vary. ing degrees are of frequent occurrence in this county; and the university of michigan libraries as we see it. indi, do pled that we, theages, there filling to come constituted “whereas, it appears that the regularly constituted authorities do not seem able nor willing to cope with the perpetrators of these outrages; therefore, be it “resolved, that we, the following-named law-abiding citi- zens, do pledge our support, our purses and our persons individually and collectively, to the county authorities and to each other for the suppression of all kinds of lawlessness. it is further “resolved, that these resolutions be published and posted, in order that all persons may learn them and govern them- selves accordingly.” after much discussion it was finally agreed that a contest should be made in an effort to wrest the office of sheriff from the lashum family. little joe wheatley was named for the office. after an old-fashioned christmas dinner, enlivened by wit and good-fellowship, the committee adjourned, subject to the call of the newly elected chairman, james connors. chapter vii. then the two boys had started to college, as pre- m v viously related, they were both shaken by conflicting emotions. neither had ever been from home before, but both were determined to succeed. “abe, suppose i fail in the examination? how could i look father in the face again ?” said malcolm. “you fail! how could you possibly get that idea in your head? you will never fail,” said abe. “did you notice those lashum and smaly boys at the station? what a nasty look they gave us when we got on the train? well, they are far behind now, and we have nothing to fear from them. it is awful to live among people whom you have to watch all the time people that only let you alone because they fear you. those smalys are surely going to do me some harm some day. i feel it.” “abe, you are getting daffy. i have seen those people drive in the ditch to let you pass in the center of the road. why do you look for trouble from them ?” "that is just it. you don't seem to understand the nature of these 'crackers.' when they show their teeth or obse- quiously drive in the ditch to let you pass them on the road, or offer to shake hands when you meet them, look out for yourself; guard your haystacks and barns and keep off the dark roads at night when alone. i have seen the result of so many accidents (?) to haystacks and lone negroes that my heart grows sick, and it's getting worse.” “well, abe,” said malcolm, “do not take the gloomy side of this affair to rest your judgment upon. there are other things to talk about just now. what will we do when we get to oberlin? i think it a good thing for us to see president finley as soon as we get there, and ask his advice as to the courses we shall take in school,” continued malcolm. as we see it. “i think that is a very good idea, indeed. we certainly should have some definite object in mind. we must explain to president finley what schooling we have had and what we want to do in the future and let him advise us.” “well, abe, we will do that. abe, there is another thing about which i want to have an understanding with you. you have already said that you would not agree to room with me even if we could get a large room with two beds. i do not blame you for that. we must have adjoining rooms, however. what do you say to that?” “that has been my desire from the first, but i did not so express myself, because i am not malcolm a. overley, jr. i am simply abe overley, jr., and have no right to make my expenses at college one cent more than is absolutely neces- sary.” “well, that is just what i expected you to say. father told me, and he told you, that you are to have and fare the same as i do. now, abe, you know my father and you know me. you know that if you were not to have the same advan- tages that i enjoy you would never have been sent from home. you will wound my father's feelings very much if you ever let him know that you entertained any such ideas. now that is settled, there is one other thing. i promise you that i shall join no society, no team, without your knowledge, and i think we should consult before either of us does anything that may affect our relations or our futures. do you agree to that?” “i do. i agree most willingly. i suppose you will come to me if you see a girl you like, and say, 'abe, i am sweet on miss silks. do you think i had better try to win her?'” “well, what would you say to that?” asked malcolm. "i would ask you for twenty-four hours, and then i would look up her family, and if she had no 'cracker' blood in her i would say, 'go in and win her.'” as we see it. the next day but one after their arrival they were able to get a few minutes with the good president, dr. finley. after they had stated who they were and whence they came and the circumstances under which they came to college to the president, he, after some thought, dismissed them with a request that they come to him again. the boys' story had greatly impressed dr. finley, and he was desirous of consulting his friend, george billings done- well. as dr. finley and mr. donewell sat next evening in the doctor's library their conversation turned to the college and new students. “donewell,” said the doctor, “i have two students here this year whom i shall watch with a great deal of interest. they came here together under most peculiar circumstances. first, let me describe them. both are about six feet tall; one is very white, with curly chestnut brown hair, blue eyes, ruddy complexion; he does not look nor act like a southern-born boy. the other is as black as the first boy is white; six feet, good features, with curly black hair of a peculiar texture, a perfect specimen of physical manhood. they appear to enjoy each other's confidence to an unusual degree. they gave me their history and how they came to be here. it appears that the white boy's father is of an old family of alabama as old as the state itself. and the negro comes from a slave family that has served the white boy's people for generations. it appears, further, that the respective fathers are close friends, and the white father, though reduced in circumstances, with a heavy mortgage hanging upon his home, is sending his black friend's boy here to college with instructions to me that i look after them both and that they are to fare alike. i tell you, donewell, these southern people are a puzzle to me.” “doctor, you do not know them. you know that i have lived and traveled in every state in the south, both before and since the war. i have had an opportunity to study them psychologically and commercially. there are two separate as we see it. and distinct classes of white people in those states, as separate and distinct as if they were not caucasians. i refer to the old blue blood families and the people who are commonly designated as 'crackers.' the old blue bloods these days are reduced financially, but their blood remains pure. they would not consent to a daughter or a son marrying a 'cracker' any more than they would consent to a marriage with a negro. this ‘cracker' element was, before the war, the overseer class; now they are the policemen and street car people, and men working along those lines. they are non- progressive, always have been and apparently always will be. there are rare exceptions, however, where you will find one of this class possessed of any amount of brains-brains in the broad sense of the word. men of this class prefer negro women to their own, and they are entitled to their share of responsibility for the very large number of mulattoes that are found in the southern states. in traveling through maryland i heard, in fact, i saw all the parties to the following story : a white man by the name of scotch lived with an old black woman who bore him several children, two girls among them, the eldest of whom was a large, well-developed country girl, about twenty years of age when i first saw her. this father persuaded his daughter to come to him in a cabin where he lived. the girl was gone from home for two days and nights. the cabin, the girl, the man, all bore evidence of the two days' struggle. this is an extreme case, but it will give some idea of the nature of this race of white men who live south of us, and who are fast coming amongst us, bringing their uncouth and semicivilized manners and customs. the other class, while they will risk life and fortune for a handsome mulatto or octoroon, will also educate their offspring.” “yes, but this does not appear to be a case of that kind. this boy is a full-blooded negro. there must be some tie that binds these people other than that referred to by you. i shall watch this case with great interest. they have asked as we see it. my advice, which i shall gladly give them. do you remember having met a man by the name of lashum-nicholas lashum -in a- county, alabama ?” “oh, yes! i met him, or, rather, his family, ten or twelve years ago. one of the family was sheriff of the county, and i think that one of this family has been sheriff of that county ever since the war. it is a very large family and one of whom some of the citizens of a- county are not very proud. the elder lashum was notorious in the state during the war. he made his money in some questionable way during that period. i met them in the course of business while in that county. i also met some very fine old bourbons in that part of the state. “these young men to whom i refer both came from that county. overley is the name,” said dr. finley. “why, i remember the overley plantation very well. i spent two days upon it. i was greatly impressed with the cordial welcome extended to me by the overleys. i remember the perfect friendship that seemed to exist between mr. overley and his former slave, abe, than whom a more perfect specimen of physical manhood i never saw. the two sons were like their respective fathers, and each seemed to enjoy the complete confidence of the other. i was struck by the simplicity and beauty of the lives of the people on that planta- tion. there appeared to be only one thing lacking-funds. i sold the lashums a large bill of goods, but overley told me frankly that he had no money and could not purchase any- thing at that time. i offered to send him what he wanted and take his word for the money, explaining to him that i owned the plant and no one would ever push him for payments. after a consultation with his black man, abe, he refused my offer. i will always remember that home.” “you will have an opportunity to study that family from another point of view. these boys are no doubt the little fellows whom you saw while at their home.” the university of michigan libraries as we see it. “when you see them again, doctor, i would like to be present. i want to note what changes ten years have made in them." mr. george billings donewell was one of those rare char- acters sometimes found in this selfish world, who have been successful, and who delight in helping others. he advanced a peculiar "code of ethics," as he termed it, based wholly on the golden rule, “do unto others as you would have them do to you.” his theory was that all men are born free and equal; but as god, in his wise providence, endows some men in a greater degree than others, that those persons so endowed hold their endowments in trust for their weaker brothers. he believed that dr. finley, having been endowed with great mental faculties and the power to comprehend and digest great educational problems, was in duty bound to disseminate his knowledge and to hold it in trust for all mankind. so also with the man endowed with the faculty for accumulating wealth. he believed that he was required to use that wealth for the benefit of mankind. mr. donewell argued and lived up to this theory : first, that a man's duty is to god, who made him. second, that a man's duty is to the family that god has given him. third, that a man's duty is to his distressed worthy brother. should a man be successful in this world, financially, his first duty is to provide for his family; but all over and above their wants and needs he holds in trust for mankind. many are the young men who have passed through oberlin college and felt the aid of a helping hand, but never discov- ered whence this help came, so careful were dr. finley and mr. donewell that their good offices should not be heralded. two days after their first conference with the president, dr. finley sent for our alabama friends and had a long talk with them, at which mr. donewell was present. the doctor advised them as to the courses he thought proper for them to chapter viii. yn the early morning following the two boys, together il with several other young men, set out for the river. they had gone but half the distance when they were overtaken by a 'bus load of young people, boys and girls, bound for an outing. as the 'bus passed, malcolm noticed several female classmates whose names he had not yet learned. “who is the young lady with the dark hair and eyes? the one on the end of the seat?” asked malcolm of young forbes, a resident of oberlin. “why, that is miss donewell. she lives on main street. her father is worth a million, but you would not think he had doughnuts if you saw him on the street. the other girls next to her are new yorkers—sisters—chiswells—father is a wholesale druggist. they will graduate this year, i believe. i will take you up to see them tomorrow if you desire to be presented.” “certainly, i will only be too glad to avail myself of the opportunity. but what about my chum, abe? will you be as glad to present him as you are to present me?” asked malcolm. “why, of course i will. he is black enough, but appears to be a gentleman.” “what do you think the young ladies will say ?” questioned malcolm. “you do not seem to realize one thing," answered forbes. “i have lived here all my life and i know the sentiment of this college. there is a fraternal feeling that prevails here. all students are treated alike. these young ladies will receive him very cordially, take my word for it.” the young men soon arrived at the river. some busied themselves digging grubworms; others prepared a camp; the others strolled about the banks looking for a good place to cast the lines. as we see it. malcolm and forbes were amongst those who went up the stream. just as they turned a bend in the river a short dis- tance from the camp, abe, who had remained behind, heard malcolm's voice ring out clear and sharp: “stop that! stop that! you are upsetting the boat!” abe knew from the ring in malcolm's voice that something unusual was happening, and he hastened to the bend in the river, as did some of the others, to see what the trouble was. they observed a boat containing five persons—three girls and two young men-coming down the stream. one of the men stood in the middle of the boat, rocking it violently. the girl who was sitting in the bow of the boat lost her balance and was about to slip overboard. this young man, whose name was rattles, heard malcolm's warning; but, in defiance, gave the boat one more violent tilt, which caused it to careen, and when it righted again miss donewell fell overboard, dropping head- first into the water. as the boat lost her weight, mr. rattles's position caused it to careen violently to the other side, and he was thrown into the water also. when each came to the sur- face the current had carried the boat out of their reach. mr. rattles grasped miss donewell about the shoulders and held her head under the water wbile trying to keep his own above. malcolm and forbes both sprang into the water and were soon at the girl's side, but could not loosen rattles's l old upon her. she was apparently being: exhausted by being kept under the water so long. abe saw the trouble from the shore, and, spring- ing into the water, was soon within reach of them. without a moment's hesitation he dealt rattles a blow between the eyes which dazed him. abe then pushed rattles's head under the water, which caused him to loosen his hold on the girl and to grasp abe. malcolm and forbes soon got the young lady to the river's bank, which was not more than twenty yards distant. but abe came near losing his life. rattles suc- ceeded in getting a hold on him which abe could not break. abe's only recourse was to keep under the water and swim as we see it. mind against abe, malcolm and forbes. rattles was a west- ern boy of good family, true-hearted, but a little faulty in judgment at times. “say, mr. rattles,” began buck, “i hear that you were given a wrong turn on black river last saturday. that ‘nigger,' abe overley, is bigger than you are or he would never have dared to do what he did.” “no,” said bloxum, “if i were you i would not stand for such treatment at the hands of a ‘nigger.' he is running about now crowing and saying how he smashed you between the eyes. that fellow he came here with makes a fool of him. the idea, taking a ‘nigger' to call on a white woman!” “why, mr. rattles," again urged buck, “are you going to stand for that? look at your face! just think of it! a 'nigger' hit you! go to the dean and complain. we will go with you and help you out. this ‘nigger' is too free with his fists." buck evidently remembered his own encounter with abe. “rattles, come and go to the dean,” said bloxum ; “buck and myself heard him say what he had done and what he expected to do before long.” “what did he say that he had done?” asked rattles. “why, that you are the biggest cur he had ever met, and all he wanted was just one chance at dr. finley's son and he would be satisfied.”. “well, that seems strange to me. abe refused to go with the young ladies that day ; but insisted on staying with me. “he not only stayed with me, but reduced the swelling in my face, smoothed the matter over with the faculty, and went with me to mr. donewell's home when i offered my apologies. in fact, he has acted like a man in the whole affair. he is my friend. he has just left my room. maybe you gentlemen would like to have me call him? he is with forbes and two or three others across the hall. jhe university of michigan libraries as we see it. “we don't want him. we don't associate with ‘niggers,'” said buck. rattles surprised them both by springing to his feet and opening the door, saying: “go! go, and go quick! who sent for you? who asked for your advice? who asked for your aid? you are both liars. i do not believe one word you have told me. i say this man is my friend. and you dare to come to me with your lies about him. i never want to see your faces in my room again.” the three young men were now in the hallway. rattles, in his anger, had elevated his voice above the others, and attracted the attention of several of the young men who were in the adjoining rooms, among them being abe, malcolm and forbes. “what is the matter with rattles?” asked forbes. “he has his western dander up. he is out on the prairie now, not out on the water,” said hawkins, rattles's chum. “oh, he's got it in him. say, rattles, old boy, what is the matter?” asked hawkins. “these fellows have taken it upon themselves to come to my room to insult my friends,” said rattles. “what do you think of them ?” “come in my room, fellows,” said one of the young men ; “we are not permitted to stand in the hallways. do not leave, gentlemen,” he added, noting that buck and bloxum were moving away ; "you are welcome, and, further, it will be necessary for you to explain the nature of this insult of which rattles complains." all the boys, about fifteen in number, crowded into the room, buck and bloxum among the number, though they were not very willing to enter. “gentlemen,” said hawkins, "an unusual thing has hap- pened. one gentleman has passed the lie to two others. and, further, has ordered those gentlemen never to put their faces as we see it. in his room again. according to the ‘unwritten law' of this college, the offending party must apologize or fight. it is also the law, that a committee hear the case and pass upon it. now, mr. buck lashum, you are the insulted party ; what complaint have you to make?” “i have nothing to say, nor have i any complaint to make,” was buck's answer. “mr. squealer bloxum, you are also one of the insulted parties. what complaint have you to make ?” “i think that mr. rattles was a little excited when he used the word 'liar' and that he did not mean— " “that is not for you to say," interrupted hawkins. “it is no part of your business to make apologies for mr. rattles. the lie has been passed. the question is, have we two liars amongst us, or have we two men amongst us who, knowing they are not liars, do not possess the manhood to resent the insult? now, what have you both to say? i will say further that you gentlemen must either obtain an apology from mr. rattles, or fight, or be branded as liars and cowards; that is the law.” buck and bloxum both remained silent, not knowing what to say. “what is the matter, lashum?” asked a tennessee boy. “are you afraid to talk? do you forget that you come from the south, where all men are free, and where you only find true manhood ?” “yes, these fellows are a sample of your southern man- hood,” spoke up a long yankee boy. “i venture they have lied about somebody, and now they are afraid to own it. just to think of it, a true southern gentleman afraid of the conse- quences of his acts !” this bit of sarcasm was followed by a peal of laughter. “gentlemen, let us have no cross-firing," said hawkins, adding: “mr. rattles, you have violated the ‘unwritten law' the university of michigan libraries as we see it. of this college inasmuch as you have called fellow students liars. “what have you to say for yourself?” “i will simply say that these fellows " “gentlemen,” interrupted hawkins. “well, students,” said rattles. “no, gentlemen,” insisted hawkins. “students came to my room,” continued rattles, “and lied to me about my friend, whose name i may not mention. it is enough to say that he is my friend, and that no gentleman of honor will hear his friends slandered behind their backs. in this case i know they lied. i so expressed myself, and i reiterate what i have said before. they are contemptible liars." “my god! lashum, are you a southern man? have you any blood in your veins ? will you allow your name to be handed down in this college as a contemptible liar?” again urged the tennessee boy. “oh, this is not the first lie he has told, nor will it be the last while at this school,” said rattles.” “well, fellows, these gentlemen, by their silence, acknowl- edge that what mr. rattles says is true. there can be but one conclusion for you to reach, which is that they have lied on somebody. who it is does not matter. what will be your decision?” “that hereafter all honorable students refuse to believe anything they have to say unless corroborated by a third person,” spoke up the long yankee boy. this decision was mild in form, but severe in operation. no matter what they said, even that the weather was cold, would be met by the retort, “whom have you to vouch for that statement?” after the boys had separated, buck said to bloxum: “that 'nigger' always gets the best of us. we will fix him yet.” as we see it. “buck, let's go to elmyra tonight and have some fun,” said bloxum. “i don't care. we can stay until sunday night,” answered buck. elmyra is a town about eight miles from oberlin, in another county, where the students of loose habits go for relaxation. the university of michigan libraries as we see it. . “yes jis' knowed that? why, i mistook yer haid fer a place fer brains. yer lettle sister arabella, she told me that two weeks ago. what yer think i kin do 'bout it now? go on to college and see what they do with them ‘niggers,' then let me know, and i'll settle the whole matter then. that's what yer do." “yes, pappy, but that 'nigger' is at the same school, and i- " “how long yer been runnin' this heah place? yer better a darn sight do as yer is tole an’ not stop to augrify wid yer betters. i know mor’n a minit than yo'll git outen books in a lifetime. yer rub thet air critter out and see that she don't git stiff ’morrow mornin'. i won't have my critters worked that way. 'pears to me thet i have sed thet offen ’nuff,” said the father with warmth. mr. nick lashum prided himself on the fact that he was the boss. there was but one person on his place over whom he had no control, and that was an old negro woman, of uncertain age, the mother of several doubtful looking chil- dren of variegated colors, who resembled the lashum family. this old woman claimed that she had known nick lashum since “long 'fore de wah” and that he was bound to take care of her until she died. all of which appears to be true, from the fact that she lived in a cabin within a stone's throw of nick's wife and children, without doing labor of any kind, and having free access to everything on the place. this old woman, who was known in war times, when she traveled about the state with nick lashum, as black sue, and who appeared to know a great deal of nick's innermost affairs, was a char- acter within herself. no person on the place appeared to know exactly where she came from nor on whose place she lived before the war. suffice it to say, when nick came into possession of his present home, she came with her six lean, yel- low children and took the cabin in which we find her, as her the university of michigan libraries as we see it. share of nick's assets, and lived there with her growing family. we shall see something of her later. buck, not having gained his point, and only succeeding in arousing the wrath of his parent, took the mare to the stable yard and proceeded to obey his father's injunction—to rub her out. after buck's departure, nick lashum and his cronies resumed their talk. “why, in course, ole mal is the bottom of the whole darn thing,” said si weedles, a citizen of large family and small resources, whose business was cross-road politics and juryman; “and, furdermore, i hear that little joe wheatley is to run 'gin casper lashum for sheriff.” “the h— yer say, si,” said nick; “who tol' yer so?” “wal, i dunno 'zackly who it war that tol' me, but i hear'n hit today. that's what i camed heah fer—to talk this thing over. i tol' them darn hothead smalys and wardemans to let them ‘niggers' alone; thet thet hoss was burrell's, and sich doin's war goin' to make trouble. now this is only the begin- nin’. yo'll see,” said weedles. “so, that's what the matter wid them 'big bugs,' is hit ? takin' up fer ‘niggers,' hey? leetle joe wheatley? him's the one they expects to beat cas fer sheriff? wal, i mus' say them people is smart. that darn boy's suttenly well thought on in this heah county. doggon, if cas an' his pals ain't got to git out an’ hustle,” said nick. “yes, time fer 'lection on'y nex’ mont', and we jus' knowed who is goin' to run 'gin him,” said weedles. “i, fer one, is goin' to git my coat off an' go to woric. all we is got to say is, that they is takin' up fer ‘niggers' an' we will beat 'em a. sho'." "si, yer tell all the boys to meet heah sunday arter nex' on matters of great 'portance,” said nick, as the friends sepa- rated. as we see it. on the sunday afternoon, long before the appointed time, the good citizens of the county began to gather at the home of nick lashum. the first to arrive was si weedles, clad in his best, which consisted of a large hat, a large pair of boots, a large pair of pants, which were suspiciously like a pair that sheriff lashum used to pride himself upon owning, a hickory shirt and a large corn-cob pipe. attired in this outfit, the alabama statesman appeared early, because his self-imposed duties, as handy man, ex-officio, at all political meetings, were well understood by himself. soon the big barn loft, an ideal place for an alabama political council, was well filled. there were great men galore-judges and former judges, clerks of courts and former clerks of courts, sheriffs and former sheriffs, justices of the peace and former justices of the peace, road commissioners, school commissioners, lawyers, doctors, school teachers and plain country gentlemen—all come to see the lights of the alabama democracy flash, flutter, glimmer, sputter and finally become extinguished. the hour soon arrived for business to be proceeded with. without the formality of the election of a chairman, nick lashum, by virtue of the meeting being held 'neath his vine and fig tree,' and by virtue also of his acknowledged superior ability, took upon himself the right to conduct the meeting. he said: “gents, we is hyre on a mos' momentous occasion. dese hyre 'big bugs' is not satis' by the way things is bein' run in this hyre county. if i war not satis’ i would move outen the county. i don't give a doggon fer any of them. they is stuck up and has been always.” “right! right!" came from the crowd. “now, they is goin 'to try to beat cas lashum fer sheriff. and who is they goin' to run agin' him? leetle joe wheat- ley. is he one of us?” “no! no!” responded the hearers. “wal, we is got to git t'gether an' beat the whole darn bunch. i tell yer, fellers, that if them people ever gits us onct the university of michigan libraries as we see it. yer will be jus’ lek yer war 'fore de war. i knows what i'se talkin' 'bout. i war hyre on the spot at that there time. you boys that has been to school offen yer po' pappy's labor, may snikker an’grin kase yer ain't got no more sense. now, gents, this whole thing is up to yo'll.” after a few moments' silence, a young man by the name of goodrich called out: “mr. chairman, i move that we do now proceed to the election of officers.” silence. “i therefore place in nomina- tion for chairman the honorable judge- " “no yer don't do no sich a darn thing,” said nick; “i'se the cheerman of this hyre meetin', an' nickolas lashum, junior, is the s'c'tay. ain't that right, fellers ?” “sho' yer is,” spoke up si weedles; "an' anybody thet don't lek them officers, we puts out. we don't 'pose ter have this hyre meetin' 'sturbed by nobody.” mr. goodrich relapsed into a discreet silence, but remarked to his companion, “that he'd be d- if he would vote for such people.” the chairman announced that the coming election was for sheriff, county judge, and one road and school commissioner each. whom would they nominate to run for these offices? the all-important matter to nick and his friends was the office of sheriff. to bring about casper's nomination was their determination. si weedles was on his feet at once. “mr. cheerman: i rases to my feet fer the puppus of put- tin' in nomination, fer sheriff, that battled-scarred hero, that patriotic citizen an’ farmer, that alabamy gent an' fi'ancier, that stock raiser an’ father, that man of the world an’ the church, him no other than the man that carried the blood- stained banner of alabama mocracy down to victory, him no other than the man that has always kept ’nuff 'niggers' in the chain gang to woric the roads so no white men don't have no woric to do on the roads, him no other than the one that knows how to keep ‘niggers’ in they places, him no other than as we see it. the man thet ain't heppen' no ‘niggers' 'gin white men, him no other than the wise an' provident casper lahsum.” after this flash of eloquence, the yell, so well known, peculiar to the savages of the west and the “crackers” of the south, was given with such good will that the barn seemed to vibrate with its volume. not a voice raised in opposition to this nomination. nick declared, as soon as he could be heard, that the unanimous “voice" of the caucus was casper lashum. the hold-over officers, judge and commissioners, were renominated. nick then adjourned the meeting sine die. just twenty-three minutes had elapsed since the meeting was called to order. the county bulletin, the official organ of the county, had the following announcement: “at a convention, attended by hundreds of delegates (self- appointed) from all parts of the county, held in the large hall on mr. nick lashum's place, the following persons were named as candidates for the offices of sheriff, judge, road and school commissioners: casper lashum, sheriff. josephus wiggles, judge. william runeasy, road commissioner. jackson contention, school commissioner." the university of michigan libraries young goodrich and his friends engaged in a very warm discussion as they drove away from the lashum place, declar- ing they would do all in their power to defeat casper lashum for sheriff. chapter x. ung goodrich and his friends, true to their deter- y mination, set about to defeat casper lashum for sheriff. knowing well the strength of the lashum following, they were compelled to resort to strategy. first, they made a canvass of all the better class of people in the county and obtained their promises to vote for little joe wheatley when the time came; but in the canvass, up to the last day, they were to appear to be staunch followers of the lashums. judge wiggles and his supporters, who had long wished for an opportunity to throw off the lashum yoke, also promised to come out at the proper time and advocate the election of wheatley. so well was this game of politics played, so complete was goodrich's organization, that the lashums did not suspect that the enthusiasm on the part of the "big bugs” meant defeat for their kinsman. the evening before the election the county bulletin came out with a burning editorial denunciatory of the lashum regime, denouncing their methods and charging that for years they had been corrupt in office. so sudden and com- plete was the attack, coming from so many unlooked-for sources, that lashum and his followers were at a loss to know how to combat the new issue. nick lashum, casper lashum, si weedles and a few others, among them the smalys and wardemans, met at nick lashum's, down by the pig sty, nick's favorite corner, and engaged in a lively discussion. the smalys were in favor of going immediately to the office of the county bulletin, get the “nigger” who carried the copies of the paper about the county to the subscribers and hang him, as he was responsible for the paper being in the hands of all the white people in the county who could read. after a very lengthy argument, it was finally decided that, should the lashums lose, the “nigger," the driver of the as we see it. wagon owned by the publishers of the county bulletin, should be taught a lesson—should be taught not to distribute papers unfavorable to lashum and his followers. the ownership of the paper, of the horse and wagon and of the paper route, never entered into their thoughts. the “nigger” was respon- sible, wholly and entirely. they, vowed to run him out of the county. when the votes were counted the following day it was found that casper lashum had been defeated by votes, while his associates on the ticket had been elected without a dissenting vote. si weedles reported that great fraud had been practiced, inasmuch as a report had been put in circulation, by good- rich, that the lashums were trying to steal the county court house and that nick lashum had a deed already drawn which he would put on file as soon as his brother was re-elected—all of which the “crackers” believed and acted upon. little joe wheatley's election to the office of sheriff gave the negroes great satisfaction. it forecasted, for them, a pos- sible chance of a “square deal.” they were not disappointed. the university of michigan libraries chapter xi. s we turn our attention again to the boys at oberlin we find the school year has come to a close. buck and bloxum barely passed their examinations, and were severely lectured by the dean, though they were per- mitted to go on with their classes. malcolm and abe made good marks and were congratulated by the dean. each bore a letter from the dean to his father commending him and urging his return the next school year. their homecoming was made a time for rejoicing. each person on the place vied with the other in his endeavor to make them welcome. the parents of the two boys were greatly elated over the record made by their respective sons. the vacation time passed very quickly, and the boys could hardly realize it was over when told to get ready to return to school. malcolm and miss donewell had become great friends, and he had promised to return a few days before the school term began in order that he might spend some time with her in pleasure-seeking. chapter xii. to then the time for homegoing drew near buck lashum extended invitations to several young men whose acquaintance he had made while at the college to be his guests for a week at his father's plantation. bloxum was the first to accept; but his railroad tickets were not forth- coming and they were stumbling blocks which he set about to remove. he knew that his parents could not spare the money to cover the expense of this trip, nor would they permit him to go south with buck if they had to make a further sacrifice than they were making in sending him to college. he had, however, another reason for wanting to go. he was aware that he would have to work if he went home for the summer vacation, and he therefore determined that buck should bear this expense for the trip, and also that he would stay the whole vacation through. buck and bloxum had formed the habit of going to elmyra to spend saturday night and sunday in recreation.” on a return trip, after one of these carousals, when buck was feeling exceptionally good, bloxum opened the subject by remarking: “buck, i am compelled to ask you to withdraw your invi- tation to me to take that trip down to your plantation.” “no yer don't. what's the matter with yer? haven't yer passed yer word that yer would come? haven't yer learned yet that a gentleman never goes back on his words? didn't i write pappy that yer particular was coming ? now, what yer goin' to back out fer?”. this was just the position bloxum wanted buck to take. “of course, i know all these things; that is just the reason i am telling you now. i am so sorry. i wanted, above all things, to meet your sister clemmie. i know she must be a stunning girl-and little arabella—oh, well; i guess i must forego all these pleasures.” the university of michigan libraries as we see it. all this was said solemnly, with a view of impressing buck. “why, bloxum, what is the matter with yer? hupe nobody ain't daid.” “no, nobody's dead, but the fact of the matter is, we have been burned out; that is, our barn and farm implements have been burned. father says in his letter, 'come home and go to work.'” then bloxum soliloquized: “just to think of it! two months rest—clemmie and ara- bella—and nothing to do—with ‘niggers' to wait on me! now, two months work—work from morning till night-all because i lack a few paltry dollars. father says he cannot possibly send me one cent, but to come home and go to work.” then he added : “why are you grinning? can you see anything funny in that? i will not see clemmie nor arabella for another year.” “i am not laffin' at yer,” said buck. “i am pleased to know that is all. why, i can fix any moneys all right." “what you take me fer? think i am a ‘nigger'? going to let you buy my tickers and— ” “yer shut up; ain't yer my guest? how yer get down there is not yer business. i'm responsible fer yer 'til nex' year. so that ends it. yer write yer pappy and tell him that yer is in the hands of mr. buck lashum, of a— county, alabamy.” “buck, you must be a great man down in your county. when you get through college the people of a— county will see that you go to congress from your district. i tell you, buck, you are a wonder.” “yer can bet i am going to run things when i git out o' college,” said buck. “yes; when i come down their electioneering for you, then you can pay my expenses; and you can then present me to clemmie and arabella.” “bloxum, i tell yer i don't want no more fool talk. yer as we see it. goes with me as my guest. pappy say fer me to bring yer. i will write yer mammy and tell her that i will look after her little boy.” and buck laughed at his own cleverness. when bloxum left buck, he laughed long and heartily to himself at his success in obtaining buck's promise to take him south as his guest. “well, that fellow is easy, sure enough. but that gives me an idea. if i can handle him so easy, what may i not do with the whole bunch of 'meadow hogs' in a year or two? what in the world does clemmie look like? wonder how she dresses ? old man lashum must have lots of money. bet your life i will find out this summer.” such thoughts ran through bloxum's mind until he finally fell asleep. buck, being of the same state of mind, congratu- lated himself upon the clever way he had induced bloxum to accept his hospitality. “bloxum is too darn sensitive. but i must take him down there, or pappy will say that i lied when i wrote that i was the leader of all the southern boys in the college. i don't know about that tennessee fellow; he is so darn proper and stuck up, he may refuse. anyway, i can get four or five to go; that will prove what i wrote pappy.” buck was much concerned lest the young man from ten- nessee and a few others, who belonged to old aristocratic fami- lies, should refuse his invitation, as he had written home giving the names of the young men whom his father might expect as his son's guests for one week. “well, devaux," said the tennesseean to his louisiana friend, “i hear that you propose to visit that lashum fellow at his home this summer for one week ?” “not guilty,” said devaux; “what do you take me for? how long since i commenced to take these 'crackers' on terms of 'social equality'? i am under obligations to you, since i got the invitation through your friendship for him.” the university of michigan libraries as we see it. “oh, of course, i am responsible for all your ills. did i also make you acquainted with miss donewell? did i also cause overley to cut you out?” laughed devaux's friend. “but, seriously, devaux, you had the lead until overley and forbes pulled her out of black river; then your colors fell. why did you surrender so quickly?”. “why? because the young lady seemed to want somebody else. my pride would not permit me to wait until i was snubbed,” answered devaux; then added: “what do you intend to do about your invitation to visit lashum ?” “visit lashum? why i never took the proposition seri- ously. i have no intentions of accepting an invitation of any kind from him. who is going to accept?” “bloxum, i guess,” answered devaux; "he has the one chance left. he was saying to me that he thought new orleans a most beautiful city. when i asked him if he had ever visited that city, he answered by saying that he had not, but would as soon as he got acquainted with some native of the soil. i did not continue the conversation further. you can bet he will go with lashum.” their talk drifted into other channels, and bloxum and buck were forgotten. the time soon rolled around for the boys to leave for their respective homes. bloxum had finally agreed to let buck do the honors for the summer, and they left the college together. when they reached their destination, they were met by mr. and mrs. nick lashum, sr., clemmie and arabella. bloxum was not prepared for the sight that met his gaze. nick lashum, sr., with his large boots and small legs; mrs. nick lashum, sr., with her plaid shawl and blue skirt; clemmie- the divine creature—with her bangs and curls, topped by a picture hat of flowers, ribbons and velvet, a yellow gown trimmed in brown, a costume calculated to cause all the girls of her class in a— county to envy her. he could not get his eyes off this vision. was this the girl as we see it. “these things don't worry me nor do they worry my family or friends. we work on the principle that a negro has the same right to live and enjoy life that any other man has. we hire him and pay him for his labor. he goes about his busi- ness; we go about ours. when he is trying to do right and we know he is an honest man and he asks our aid, we give it. we always aid a worthy negro. when we see that he is being imposed upon, we call a halt. “no, indeed, my friend, you don't understand the nature of this race of people," continued the tennessee boy. “they are simple and they are not simple. simply because they will trust your word implicitly, do thousands of dollars worth of business with your 'taking your word for it,' but remember- ing every little detail in the transaction for years back. we never break our word given with them. this is the reason that all men of my class in the south have no grievance against the negro. he understands us and we understand him. lashum and bloxum can speak for themselves.” “my pappy says ‘niggers' ain't got no right to live,” said lashum, “let alone own plantations and stock.” “why?” asked a dozen boys at once. “because tliey are ‘niggers,' ” was the answer. “what makes them ‘niggers'?” asked an english boy. “why, their inferior blood, of course,” was buck's answer. “well, that may be from your point of view. you are white; your blood is superior. thomas l. jones, who gradu- ated from this college last year and who was rated third in his class, was called a “nigger.' he was whiter than you are. what made him a 'nigger'?”. “why, his mother's blood, of course,” buck answered. “his mother's blood ?” asked the english boy. “why, she was a quadroon, as white as you are, and his father was a caucasian. do you mean to tell me that the sixteen drops of your superior blood will be overcome by his one drop of inferior blood ? impossible! your position is ridiculous. you are governed by a blind prejudice. get rid of it!" as we see it. upon malcolm's arrival he was asked by the ladies why he had not brought his friend. he made an excuse for abe by saying a previous engagement or something to that effect had kept him away. the visiting ladies had heard so much of abe through miss donewell and malcolm that they were curious to see and learn something more about him. they were very much disappointed that he did not accept the invi- tation. malcolm was asked by miss donewell if he could not suggest some way by which abe could be induced to visit her guests, as they were very anxious to meet him. after some thought malcolm suggested that miss watson be invited and that she be requested to bring abe with her, explaining that the visiting ladies and no one else be present. that the ladies wanted to hear miss watson and abe in their famous duet, the two having won the reputation of being very fine singers. one of the visiting ladies was an exceptionally fine pianiste and a delightful musical evening was promised. next morning abe reecived a note from miss watson inviting him to accom- pany her to miss donewell's home that evening to meet some ladies of the musical world. abe was very fond of music, and, as miss watson was to be there, the two inducements decided him to accept. this was the first note abe had ever received from miss watson, so he hid it away in his pocketbook, little thinking the service it would be to him a few weeks later. at the appointed time miss watson and abe arrived at the donewell home, where they found the ladies waiting. after several choice selections, vocal and instrumental, tea was served. some time was spent in a very spirited conversation, after which miss watson and abe left to join some friends at the home of miss watson's friend, miss glenn. “mabel,” exclaimed her friends, all speaking at once. “my! but he is black! he's your " “mabel, his voice is grand and his manners are " “mabel, where was he educated? he acts like he is white; his table manners are as we see it. “no, i am not leaning ‘nigger-ward,' nor am i taking up for ‘niggers.' i think you two ought to be more manly, either to say these things to overley or leave them unsaid. but you and bloxum do not seem to understand the position that gen- tlemen should take in such matters. if you despise overley, as you claim, the dignified gentleman would ignore him." “bucker, you ain't a thing,” said buck. “ain't we white ? whose got nothin' to do with us when it comes to these 'nig- gers'?” “well,” said a boy from north carolina, “the whole fetched crowd is bad. but buck and bloxum do worry too much about them. we've got nothing to do with thatair pipe. come on, let's have a game. do something that gentlemen can find some amusement in.” these young men then passed into buck's room, where they were soon busily engaged in a game of poker. chapter xv. hile abe was at the home of miss donewell, mal- w colm missed his pipe, the meerschaum pipe spoken of in a previous chapter. he searched his own room, and abe's, but could not find it. upon abe's return he found malcolm brooding over his loss. “malcolm, what is the matter? you look as if you have lost your best friend. cheer up. i have a message for you from miss donewell. she invites you to call tomorrow evening at . p. m., as her visitors have received an unexpected sum- mons to return to their homes. they will take the midnight train. they also expect you to see them off. miss donewell says she is going with them. you will have four full hours with her, malcolm, and this is your chance, or else she wouldn't have sent for you. i wish you every success.” “abe, after the way you treated me in your affair, i think you have nerve and plenty, to expect me to talk to you about my case. but you seem so fatherly, i will say that i do intend to avail myself of the first opportunity that presents to learn my fate.” after a moment or two malcolm added : “we have met with a very serious loss, abe, if you do not know where our pipe is. i have looked all over the place for it. do you know where it is ?” “let me see,” said abe; “i think i saw it just before i went out last night.” “well, it is not here now,” said malcolm, and the gloomy look which abe noticed when he entered the room again settled upon his face. “what will i say to father if we don't find it? he values that pipe very highly, because his great-grandfather smoked it. that pipe was never off the old place before and now it is jhe university of michigan libraries ase. but you see the first opportunity on added: lost." as we see it. while malcolm was talking abe had been searching the room. he looked in every place in which the pipe could pos- sibly be, but to no purpose. it was gone. “malcolm, i cannot find it. think. have you left it in any boy's room? let us ask forbes and the rest of the boys." they then proceeded to forbes's room, but forbes had not seen the pipe nor had any of the rest of the boys. “what shall i do?” asked malcolm. “this pipe is a family heirloom. my father will never forgive me for losing it.” “report the loss to the dean at once,” said rattles. maybe he can suggest some way by which it can be recovered.” they went immediately to the dean, and explained the loss and its seriousness. the dean promised to investigate the matter at once. he first, however, reported to dr. finley that the pipe was lost under circumstances that looked as if it were stolen. they then ordered all the boys on that floor before them. dr. finley had a short heart-to-heart talk with them, suggesting that he would consider it a personal favor if the boy who knew the whereabouts of the pipe would see that it was returned. he did not ask nor did he desire the students to inform upon one another. he also intimated that he thought the boys on the same floor with malcolm and abe knew all about the pipe, thereby practically exonerating the rest of the school. this brought buck and bloxum together about a week later. “buck, now we've got him," said bloxum. “let us go to the dean and tell him that we are on his floor and do not feel content to live under the suspicion that has been cast upon us simply because we are on this floor. that we saw abe with the pipe. all the fellows who were with us in the hall will remember how he had the pipe up his coat sleeve. i tell you we've got him this time.” “d— his black hide! i hope we is. come on, let's go to the dean,” said buck. the two then proceeded to the dean's office and stated to as we see it. him that on account of being on the same floor with the over- leys they were very much humiliated because of the suspicion cast upon them by the loss of overley's pipe. they very much disliked to say anything that would reflect upon any student, but they saw abe overley with the pipe half up his coat sleeve going into forbes's room on the night of november th; were confident that it was november th. they gave the names of several other students who saw him, together with the part of the conversation that followed after buck's remark about abe taking the pipe to forbes. these young men were so embarrassed that they could not tell the story at once, and it was only by dint of close question- ing that the dean could get a clear idea of what they had seen. he reported the facts to dr. finley, who immediately sent for the boys whose names were given as witnesses. after ques- tioning them very closely, the doctor concluded to send for abe. when abe put in his appearance the doctor repeated to him what he had heard, and asked what he had to say for himself. “doctor,” said abe, “i was not in the hall the night in question between the hours of . and p. m. i was at the home of— ," abe stopped short and looked the doctor full in the face, and said, “i cannot tell you at whose home i was that night without the perinission of that person.” “mr. overley,” said the doctor, “do you realize the posi- tion in which you place yourself and the chain of suspicion that encircles you? consider well before you decide not to make a complete statement of your whereabouts the night this pipe was missed." “doctor, i know only too well the danger in which i find myself. i know the natures of the persons who have come to you with this story. i know the animus behind the whole affair. but, doctor, for all that, i cannot say where i was that night. it must come from the other person.” jhe university of michigan libraries as we see it. “does your friend overley know your whereabouts ?” asked the doctor. “yes, sir, he does,” said abe. “will you say to him that i desire his presence at once. i do not wish you to say one word to him about what has passed between us,” said the doctor, as he arose and extended his hand silently to abe. “what does he want, abe?” asked malcolm, when the request was delivered. he said to me, 'i do not wish you to say one word to him (meaning you) about what has passed between us,' so you see where i am at. you must face the lion unprepared,” said abe, laughingly. “well, i will soon know," answered malcolm, as he pre- pared to leave for the doctor's office. after abe's departure the doctor turned to the dean and remarked: “these boys are the two strongest characters in the school. they are friends. this white boy feels the loss of his pipe very keenly. now, we will see what he will say when he learns what these other boys have said about his friend.” upon malcolm's arrival the doctor told him what he had heard, the number of witnesses who saw abe with the pipe, and, finally, abe's refusal to say where he was the night the pipe was lost. “now, mr. overley, your friend says you know where he was that night. will you tell us?” “no, sir; if he refused to say where he was, i, of course, cannot betray his confidence," answered malcolm, simply. “well," said the doctor, as he handed malcolm an official note, “take this to him. it is a notice of suspension, pending further investigation. i am very sorry that this course must be pursued.” “do you mean, doctor, that you believe, upon the statement of this bunch of- " as we see it. “be careful, mr. overley. i have expressed no belief in this matter. i am simply pursuing the course that is usual in matters of this kind,” the doctor answered very quickly. “i will never believe abe stole that pipe, nor will he steal,” said malcolm, as he left the doctor's office. he hastened to abe with dr. finley's note, which follows: oberlin, ohio, november , —. mr. abraham overley, dear sir: this is to notify you that you are suspended from further participation in the college exercises or lectures until further notice. finley, president. “what have i done, malcolm, to warrant this?” asked abe, when he had recovered from the surprise caused by his sus- pension. “you have refused to tell doctor finley where you were on the night the pipe was lost. why, abe, you have not even told me where you were that night.” “have not told you !” exclaimed abe. “can it be possible that you, of all persons on this earth, doubt me, too? why should i tell you that which you already know?”. malcolm, with his hands deep in his pockets, stood looking at abe in amazement. “abe, do i understand you to say that i knew of your whereabouts upon the night this pipe was stolen? how can you say— " “my god, malcolm, you, too, doubt me?” as abe asked this question he laid his hand on malcolm's shoulder and looked him in the face, hoping to find there the old look of trust and confidence. malcolm turned his face away. abe's hand dropped to his side; his whole attitude changed to one of despair; he seemed to age perceptibly. abe moved toward the door, then turned to malcolm with a look which malcolm never forgot, and simply said: jbl universii i vi ivichigan libraries as we see it. “and you, too, malcolm !” malcolm met his gaze with a heart full of doubts and fears, but answered abe calmly, saying: “abe, you did not tell me where you were, nor do i know.” “my god!” exclaimed abe, “he, too, believes me to be a thief !” abe passed into his room and cast himself upon his bed, where he remained for the rest of the night and the following day. the morning of the second day, as abe had not put in his appearance, malcolm became uneasy about him. still abe had not told where he was the night the pipe was stolen. malcolm, therefore, went to forbes and rattles for advice. “say, forbes,” said malcolm, “what shall we do with abe ? he has not left his room for two days. he does nothing but moan all the time.” “let us go and see him,” said rattles. when these young men entered abe's room they found him lying across his bed, where he had been since his talk with malcolm. rattles went to him and lifted his head from the bed, bringing his face into the light, at the sight of which, haggard and careworn, malcolm and forbes drew back astounded. “abe,” said rattles, kindly, “what can i do for you? come, old man, brace up; you are killing yourself about noth- ing. this thing will blow over in a day or two." abe raised his eyes to malcolm's face and kept them there in a long, bewildered stare. malcolm could not endure the gaze and moved away to his own room, followed by forbes. “malcolm,” said forbes, “what is the trouble between you and abe?” malcolm hesitated, but forbes urged him to tell what had come between them. “well, the truth is," said malcolm, “while i will never believe that abe stole that pipe, nor will he steal, he would not tell dr. finley where he was the night of the th, nor would he tell me. why not me? then he said i as we see it. knew. but i do not. he told dr. finley that i knew, when he must have known that i did not. what has come over abe that he has so far forgotten himself as to lie?” “are you sure of what you say?” asked forbes. “i am loath to believe that abe will lie.” at that moment rattles came into the room with abe's pocketbook in his hand and walked to the window, remarking that abe said there was a prescription in it which he wanted filled. rattles searched the book and pulled forth the note miss watson sent abe asking him to accompany her to miss donewell's. it follows: oberlin, ohio, november , , a. m. mr. abraham overley, dear sir: will you kindly call for me this afternoon at . to accompany me to a musicale at miss donewell's home? we will meet some musical people there from new york city. sincerely yours, nancy watson. jbl univekjii ř üf iviittigan libraries as rattles began to read- “oberlin, ohio, november , , a. m.,” malcolm exclaimed: “what is that? november , —? let me see it, rat- tles,” and he grasped the note. as malcolm read his color changed, his hand trembled; for a moment he seemed to be deprived of the power of speech; he staggered to a chair and sank upon it, still holding the note before him, at which he gazed in blank amazement. “why, overley," said forbes, “what on earth ails you? has that note deprived you of your senses? let me see this scroll from the magii.” forbes read the note, as did rattles, but neither of them seemed to understand the situation. forbes again asked mal- colm for an explanation. as we see it. “do you not see that date?” asked malcolm. “november th is the date upon which i lost that pipe. abe was at miss donewell's home with miss watson, and, to make matters worse, i knew he was there. what a thoughtless thing i have done, to let abe suffer for two days without attempting to console him. then, i have written to my father and explained the whole affair to him, as i thought. what an injustice i have done abe! how i could have forgotten that he was at miss donewell's, when i told them how to get him there, is more than i can understand. he ought never to for- give me. i will see him at once.” malcolm went immediately to abe, who was seated on a chair, where rattles left him, staring into space. malcolm extended his hand to him, saying: “abe, can you ever forgive me for the pain i have caused you? i understand now what you meant by asking why you should tell me that which i already knew. my friend, i am ashamed to say so, but i forgot all about that engagement of yours with miss watson at miss donewell's. abe, i ask you a thousand pardons." abe looked up at malcolm in a half conscious way, apparently not fully understanding all that had been said to him. he took malcolm's hand, however, in both of his own and said: “malcolm, did you think i stole that pipe?” “why, no, abe," said malcolm; “no such idea crossed my mind. i thought you were not living up to your promise made to me when we first came here, that we would have no secrets from each other. abe, i shall go immediately to doctor finley and explain this wretched affair.” “no, malcolm; do not do that. i do not want it done. this explanation must come from them. i must insist, my friends, that each of you promise me that you will not say one word of this to a living soul.” as we see it. “i am sure i do not see the force of your request,” said rattles; “but i will respect your wish.” “abe, we want to consult on your case,” said forbes, mal- colm and rattles as they went out of the room. “malcolm, you are the only person who has the key to this situation. what does abe mean by not wanting you, nor either of us, to say where he was that night?” “i do not believe that either of you has ever heard abe express himself about visiting white women,” said malcolm; “nor do you know that he has never before november , visited miss donewell. well, such is the fact. he has always contended that no good could possibly come by the commin- gling of the races socially. now, through miss watson, he accepted an invitation to meet some ladies at miss donewell's home, and while there this pipe was stolen. abe absolutely refuses to say where he was that night, nor will he permit us to say. he is already suspended and will suffer himself to be expelled before he will divulge his whereabouts the night in question. what can we do about it?” "i hardly know,” said forbes. “we must certainly respect his wishes. but must we permit him to sacrifice himself upon the altar of his high ideal, which seems to me a bit over- drawn?" “what can we do?” asked rattles. “it is abe's affair. we have no right to 'butt in.' say, i admire his grit. he is suspended now, and is prepared to be expelled rather than say that he was at a white woman's home. many a negro would be crowing about it.” “when i questioned abe about not accepting invitations to these various places, he answered that his female associates suited him," said malcolm. “he even said that you could not tell the difference between miss donewell and miss watson but for the color of their skins. i tell you, fellows, he has ideas of his own.” the university w michigan i ibraries. as we see it. "as we have no right to divulge abe's secret,” remarked forbes, “let us advise him to see doctor finley himself.” “abe,” said forbes, “we are your friends and want to advise you. overley has just explained this whole affair to us. we think you are wrong. miss donewell and her father have invited you to their home; so have i invited you to mine. do you think that they or that i would object to your saying that you accepted the invitations? abe, you are drawing it too fine." “forbes, i appreciate your good intentions,” answered abe; "but you do not understand. you cannot understand the position in which i am. you— " “why can't i understand?” asked forbes. “because you are not a negro,” abe replied, solemly. this remark of abe's stopped all conversation for several moments. the silence was broken by abe's remarking: “fellows, i am in for it. i can but let matters take their course.” “well, you can take a little exercise, at any rate,” said rat- tles, and he suggested a turn around the campus. as abe and his three friends neared the upper end of the campus they came upon a group of boys, which included devaux and his friend from tennessee, together with bucker and bloxum. devaux was the first to note abe's approach. “why, fellows, there is abe overley,” he remarked. “look at him. i don't believe he would steal anything." “nor do i,” said the tennesseean. turning to abe, he extended his hand very cordially, saying: “overley, i hear that you are in trouble—that you are suspended—that you are practically accused of stealing a pipe from your friend malcolm; all these things coming through statements of persons not above small things. i want to say to you that i do not believe that you are guilty in any sense of the word. if there is anything i can do for you, command me; i am at your service.” as we see it. “overley,” said devaux, after the general handshaking, which was joined by all except bloxum, who slunk away as soon as the boys began to gather about abe, “when this thing is cleared up and you are exonerated, as i know you will be, you must do some lambasting.” “d— if i wouldn't commence now," said the yankee boy, “if i were you. those fellows need a good thrashing. i tell you, abe overley, i can count on my fingers all the boys in this college who believe you guilty. whenever i think of this trick, i feel like thrashing somebody.". as bloxum turned to leave the crowd, bucker called to him, saying earnestly: “don't leave, bloxum; don't you hear what these fellows are saying?” bloxum apparently did not hear what his friend bucker said, as he kept on, going straight to buck's room. "say, buck,” he said, “don't you know those fellows down on the campus are making a fool of abe overley, telling him that they know he is not guilty, and that a 'nigger' won't steal. well, you should have heard them.” “bloxum, i don't give a doggon fer the whole bunch,” said buck. “i am going to elmyra; come on and go.” bloxum did not need a second invitation; they were soon on the way. abe appeared to feel much relieved after being assured by his friends and acquaintances that he had not lost their confi- dence and still retained their respect. these young men went back to malcolm's room, where a free and frank exchange of thought was had. good-fellowship soon held sway once more. jbe univeasiii ur ivil milan libraries chapter xvi. fter the conversation between malcolm and abe, which resulted in the latter's prostration and seclu- sion for two days, malcolm felt it his duty to inform his father as to what had taken place. he, therefore, wrote to him as follows: oberlin, ohio, november th. dear fathmagine how but i feel it i can imagine how you and uncle abe will feel when this letter reaches you both, but i feel it my duty to write the whole circumstances, that you may form your own opinion. the meerschaum pipe that i brought from home is the cause of all this trouble. on the night of november th last, i missed the pipe from my room. i reported the loss of the pipe to the dean; he, in turn, reported the loss to dr. finley, who called all the boys on our floor together, stating to them that he thought some of the boys on our floor knew where the pipe was. he asked that it be brought back. later, buck lashum and squealer bloxum went to the dean and told him that they, together with several other boys, saw abe with the pipe, half up his sleeve, going through the hall to will forbes's room. the dean reported to the doctor, who sent for the boys, and they all agreed that they saw abe, as buck and bloxum stated. the doctor then sent for abe, who denied being in the hall at the time they claimed to have seen him. when asked where he was he absolutely refused to say. he said, further, that i knew where he was, but i do not. as a result, abe is suspended, and at this time is in his room, where he has been for two days. i do not know what to do with him. i do not believe that abe knows anything about the pipe; but why does he not tell where he was? and why did he say that i knew where he was, when i did not? father, what must i do? tell uncle abe to write to him and command him to say where he was. he will obey his father. these are the circumstances. i hope this will not worry ha result, abeen for two do with her but why knew wh i do not anything a why did as we see it. you, but i feel it my duty to let you both know exactly what has happened. give my love to the people. i am well, but worried. yours, m. a. o., jr. after malcolm a. overley, sr., had read and reread this letter, in old abe's hearing, he said: “abe, what the h— do you think of that? just to think of it! abe suspended under suspicion of having stolen my pipe, that he has been playing with all ‘his life! such d- rot! that shows what little sense these d— professors have. that boy steal? why, i should as soon believe that my abe would steal. but, why don't he tell where he was that night? abe, d— your black hide, have you nothing to say? are you going to let them make a thief of that boy? buck lashum! he saw abe hiding that pipe! h— and damnation, man, are you asleep, or are you dumb, or are you such a fool that you don't care what happens to that boy of yours? d— if i don't believe you are glad he is in trouble! sit there now looking like that d- old kicking mule of yours. can't you talk ?” “yes, sar, ob cose i kin talk,” said old abe; “but yuse been talkin' an'cussin' for mor'n half hour. how kin i talk? how i goin' to git a word in, nohow? my po' boy, he am in all dis heah trouble 'bout dat pipe. i vouch buck lashum stole dat pipe. yes, sar; de lawd's will mus' be done.” “yes, the lord's will must be done. saddle it on the lord. that's the plea of every ‘nigger' i ever heard of, after he has been caught doing wrong. the lord's will! according to that doctrine, the lord wills that you ‘niggers' do wrong. it is too foolish for discussion. what are you going to do about that boy of yours?”. "i does not know. i does know dat my abe won't steal; but why he not say whar he war, i does not know. dat boy he sho' got a good 'scuse fo’ not sayin' whar he at dat night. all i say is dis: ‘lawd, dy will be done.'” as we see it. “well, i be d—! is that all you have to say ?” both of these fathers then relapsed into silence, one to brood over the prospect of a disgrace to his name, the other to pray silently to almighty god that his son may come out of this entanglement with his name untarnished. thus we leave them to their own thoughts. as we see it. “yes, sir,” said malcolm. “but i have given abe my word not to mention his whereabouts unless the other party so directs. i hope you will not question me further.” “mr. overley, i appreciate your position and will see what i can do to gain you that permission." thereupon he instructed his secretary to bring to him the lady who was in waiting. when malcolm saw miss donewell enter the room he started up wtih a look that betrayed his feelings. he extended both hands to her, saying: “thank god, you have come! i knew you would. i know now that abe will soon be reinstated. i am very glad to see you.” miss donewell colored very deeply and drew back, as if she feared malcolm would crush her in his eagerness. “miss donewell,” said the doctor, with a merry twinkle in his eye, “will you give mr. overley leave to say where his friend was on the night of november th ?” “of course i will, doctor. mr. overley, you may say that mr. abraham overley was at my home on this night, and all else you may know about this affair that pertains to me.” malcolm immediately started into a complete recital of the whole story, stating that it was november th that abe had the pipe in the hall; also stating abe's reason for not saying where he was the night of november th, to all of which the doctor and faculty listened very attentively. after malcolm had finished the narration, the doctor instructed him to have abe come to him at once, and that he would impose the further burden (?) upon him of seeing the young ladies home. the doctor also instructed his secretary to go for lashum and bloxum, telling him to keep them in the library until he sent for them. he then suggested to the dean that he thought it advisable to search lashum's room. the dean, together with two other members of the faculty, proceeded to make the search, which resulted in finding the pipe at the bottom of lashum's trunk. cjivhvo! arhniunii! in ttcvjatin jor as we see it. the dean took the pipe, wrapped very closely, to dr. finley's office. when abe reached the doctor's office he expected to hear that he was expelled. his surprise was very great when told that the whole affair had been cleared up, so far as he was concerned, and that the announcement of his reinstatement would be made in the most public manner next morning in the chapel, just after devotional exercises. the doctor and other members of the faculty then shook abe's hand very cordially and bade him good night. the doctor had been informed as to how and where the dean had found the pipe, so, after a short discussion, it was thought best to interview bloxum first. when bloxum came into the room, the pipe was on the table in full view, and when he saw it he staggered to a chair and dropped upon it. he knew that trouble was in store for him. true to his nature, he resolved to put the blame on buck. dr. finley did not question him at orce, but kept looking at the pipe, waiting for bloxum to be the first to say something concerning it. bloxum was wary and did not betray himself. finally, the doctor turned suddenly to the dean and said: “dean sternly, where did you say you found this pipe ?” "i found it in mr. buck lashum's trunk,” was his response. “mr. bloxum, how came this pipe to be there?” asked the doctor. “i hope you will see fit to tell me the whole truth about this matter.” “i did not put it there. i told buck to let it alone,” was bloxum's answer. “now, tell us the entire circumstance,” said the doctor. bloxum said that he and lashum and a few others were passing through the hall the night before buck got the pipe and they saw abe with it. buck said: “let's get that pipe and put it on abe,” but bloxum advised him to let it alone. buck insisted. buck alone did the whole thing. all bloxum did was to say that he saw abe with the pipe, which was true. as we see it. after this remarkable statement, the doctor sent for buck. when buck saw the pipe on the table he became sullen at once. “mr. lashum, do you know where that pipe was?” asked the doctor. “no, i do not,” said buck. “it was found in your trunk,” said the doctor. “i didn't put it there,” said buck; “nor do i know how it got there." “have a care, mr. lashum,” said the doctor; "i have a statement from one who claims to know all about this affair.” the doctor then read the statement made by bloxum. buck thought a moment, then concluded that bloxum must have “squealed” on him. “well, i won't say nothin', because i don't know nothin',” said buck, and moved toward the door. “do not be in a hurry, mr. lashum,” said the doctor. i want to know whether or not this statement is true.” “no, it ain't true," said buck. at a sign from the doctor, bloxum was brought in the room again and his statement was read to him. “mr. bloxum," said the doctor, “is this statement true?” “yes, sir, it is true; every word of it,” was bloxum's answer. buck glared at him for a moment, then said: “so you are trying to put this whole thing on me, are you? well, you won't. didn't you tell me how to fix that 'nigger'- " “mr. lashum,” interrupted the doctor, "you will use nothing but proper language here. you will withdraw that word.” “well, bloxum told me how to get even with abe. he told me to get the pipe and hide it and say that abe stole it, and that we saw him with it, and that the boys would not know what night it was. now, he tries to put the job on me. i ain't afeared to say what i did. i’m white, i am.” as we see it. tul isitiosta viivi, s' ass i ddadito after buck had finished, bloxum began to remark that buck knew better; that he advised against the whole thing all the way through; but he was cut short by the doctor, who said that their cases would be disposed of that night and that the conclusion would be announced next morning at the chapel exercises. dr. finley, after a prayer next morning, in which he asked almighty god to watch and protect the school and those in the school who were weighted down with troubles and sorrows, and those who were about to leave the school and who would need his constant care, said he had two duties to perform, one a pleasant, the other a very disagreeable duty. first, that the faculty, after new facts had come to light, had unanimously agreed to reinstate mr. abraham overley, who had been suspended pending the finding of mr. malcolm overley's pipe and the investigation as to his where- abouts the night the pipe was stolen. he said it gave him great pleasure to state that the investigation disclosed that mr. overley was not guilty in any sense of the word. he, therefore, withdrew the suspension and hoped that all the students would understand that no suspicion whatever rested on mr. overley. this announcement was met by the yell that only college boys know. abe was the hero of the hour. the doctor's manner then changed. he said the investigation also led to the discovery of a case of criminal conspiracy. he stated that it was discovered that two students had conspired to rob another of his good name by lying about him, and gave the complete details of the affair, after which he announced that the faculty had dismissed mr. buck lashum and mr. squealer bloxum. the boys arose to their feet looking for buck and bloxum ; but they had been notified of the action of the faculty and were not present. these young men were busy packing their belongings, buck cursing and scoring bloxum as an ungrateful dog, bloxum whining and crying, not knowing where to get money to pay his fare home. when as we see it. the doctor's announcement was made that buck and bloxum were dismissed there was a moment of silence; then there burst forth a perfect volcano of cat calls, hisses and groans. when the noise had ceased, the doctor dismissed the students. out on the campus a party surrounded malcolm and abe and wanted abe to tell where he was that night and all about the case, but abe still refused to say a word about his where- abouts, remarking that if one visit caused all this talk and trouble, what would ten visits cause? as devaux and his friend passed out of the chapel the tennesseean remarked : “that was undoubtedly the dirtiest trick i ever heard of.” “devaux, what do you think of such people?” “well, i am sure i don't know. they just deliberately stole that pipe and accused somebody else of the theft, thereby bringing other people into it as witnesses," answered de vaux. “these fellows must feel cheap now.” “i am glad they are gone." the next issue of the college bulletin contained a full account of the affair. malcolm mailed one to his father and also a letter to abe's father, asking pardon for causing him unnecessary worry and trouble. chapter xviii. tui isivt, whitni ajratiti.. :ddadilo loxum, unlike buck, had no cash upon which to draw to procure a ticket for his home trip. he was, there- fore, compelled to write his father for the necessary funds. what should he write? how was he to explain his expulsion? after much thought, bloxum concluded he would write his father at length, explaining that he had brought trouble upon himself in an endeavor to protect a negro by the name of overley, forgetting that his father received the oberlin bulletin. in due course bloxum received the bare amount necessary to procure his ticket, unaccompanied by either letter or comment. he left by a night train, well knowing that no boy in the school would be sorry to see him leave. bloxum's father concluded to express himself to his son in person. after writing home that abe overley had lied on him, that abe had stolen a pipe and put it in his (buck's) trunk, buck declared that he was coming home. oberlin was no place for him. a “nigger's” word there is better than a white man’s. buck also forgot that the bulletin was sent to his home; but he was more fortunate than bloxum. nick lashum, sr., could not read and was kept in ignorance of those things which the family did not desire him to know. buck concluded he would visit friends in elmyra and cleveland before he started home. he found himself stranded in cleveland, however. upon receiving a telegram from buck, his brother immediately tele- graphed him the necessary amount to procure a ticket. when buck arrived home his father wanted to know about the affair that led to his homecoming, inasmuch as his brothers and sis- ters had been careful not to inform nick, sr., that his son had been expelled from college. he, therefore, launched into a long story as to how he happend to be home. in the first place, oberlin was no place for a white man, anyhow. “nig- as we see it. details, that transpired at the big house. black sue was no exception to this rule. after buck had related his version of why he was expelled, this virtuous (?) person was consumed with wrath. she regarded buck thoughtfully for some moments, then remarked: “chile, i know jes’ how to git eben wid dem overleys. ole mal overley and ole abe and de rest ob dem men is gone to take dey grain to de boat. dey won't be back till day arter ’morrow. yo'kin kotch dat gal ob ole abe's what puts on so many airs jes’ kase she kin read and write, and dat ole mammy ob hern stealin' bacon outen yo’ pappy's meat house. i dun kotch dem onct. den yo'kin gib dem a good floggin'." buck knew only too well the purport of this statement. he saw very readily that he could rehabilitate himself in the good graces of his father by this means. he therefore immediately sent one of black sue's boys after the smalys and warde- mans, upon whom he could depend. it was agreed in the council that followed that at p. m. the next night they were to assemble and go quietly to the cabin of the overleys, take the two women out and flog them. at the appointed time these representative citizens met at the place designated and proceeded to the cabin, where they found these lone women. the daughter was engaged in reading the bible to her mother, as she had been accustomed to do for years past, just before retiring. jack smaly burst the door open and with an oath demanded to know where the bacon was they had stolen from mr. lashum's meathouse. the daughter, who was a very spirited girl, arose to her feet, saying that they knew she nor her mother had stolen nothing. jack dealt the girl a blow with his fist that felled her to the floor. the mother, in trying to prevent this assault, was knocked down by one of the warde- mans. they were both then seized, bound, and taken back into the orchard, stripped bare to the waist by these “alabama gentlemen” (?), who proceeded to administer with a leather as we see it. horse-trace nine and thirty lashes on their bare backs. at the first blow, the mother, old and feeble, fainted and hung by the thongs that bound her to the tree. no thought of pity for her; no hand was raised to stay the sickening blows that fell upon her emaciated body; no word of warning that her life was being taken; nothing but curses and blow's were multi- plied upon her, until her brutal lynchers stopped from sheer exhaustion. the daughter begged that the mother be spared, but was answered by a blow that loosened several teeth. the trace was applied to the now perfectly nude body of the unfortunate girl, until she, too, hung limp and apparently lifeless, subjected to the vile remarks and jeers of these merci- less wretches. at this moment buck's brother, nick, jr., arrived on the scene. he, though a lashum, did not approve of such deeds. he went at once to the old woman and cut her loose, thinking she would be glad to get away, but she fell to the ground. after bending over her for a moment, he said: “you fellows have raised h- now, haven't you? you have killed this old woman.” he then went to the daughter and found her almost lifeless. some of the negro women from the nearby cabins were called and they took the girl to her cabin, where she died before morning. this drunken mob, now sobered by the realization of the enormity of their crime, began to move away, leaving their victims dead and dying. sheriff joe wheatley was notified of this tragedy by some of the negroes and was soon upon the scene. he learned from them that the deed was committed by buck lashum's gang. the sheriff immediately put buck and his cronies, the wardemans and the smalys, under arrest. the coroner also soon arrived. when he learned that buck and his friends were under arrest, charged with murder of these women, he impanelled a jury at once, to determine the innocence of these young men. testimony was adduced from the negroes that should have been strong enough to hold the prisoners for the as we see it. strength and took his accustomed place with old abe on the veranda, where for two generations they were wont to smoke and talk, the altered appearance of each was so noticeable that the old men sat for a long time gazing at each other. finally, malcolm a. oberley said: “abe, what the h- are you staring at me that way for? have you never seen me before? d— your black hide, do you think i am a ghost ?” “yes, sah, yo' is de ghost of yo’se 'f. but, sah, will yo' nebber 'member dat de lawd is more pow’ful den we is? will yo' nebber 'member dat his will mus' be done? my ole ’oman dat’s daid an’ gone, she say dat she will die happy when she know dat yo’ done gin yo’ heart to god. now, she done pass 'way, an' yo' air still outen de lawd's fold. yo' jes' come through de valley ob de shadow ob death an' yo' is not changed yet. i dun stop prayin' fo' my ole 'oman an' my gal, kase i know day is in glory. i’se prayin' fo' yo'. when i see how nigh de grave yo? ” “why, abe, who the h— told you how near the grave i am ? you old ‘niggers' think that you know as much about the lord's business as he himself knows. where did you get the idea that i am nearer the grave than any other man of my age?” “hab yo' forgot so soon dat yo' jus' camed outen yo' sick bade? dat de doctors say yo' mus' die, an'- " “oh, d- the doctors! they tried to kill me. old cleo, she brought me out. but, abe, what will we do when my boy and your boy learn the truth ?” “god am my hepper, i dunno. i pray god my abe may nebber learn de truth.” after old abe had expressed himself as not knowing what to do, malcolm a. overley seemed lost in thought. "abe,” he said, “what will the grand jury do with those d- beasts? si weedles foreman of the grand jury! what the h— has this country come to? poor white trash! a as we see it. the liviucks y vinodirectie vgraries hound like that foreman of the grand jury! i tell you, abe, if that grand jury does not indict that bunch of murderers i shall take my gun and kill the whole d— crowd. what are you shaking your head about? d- your black hide, you haven't the courage of a flea. what are you going to do? let them go scot free? well, just you wait until that boy of yours comes back here; then you will wake up. d— if he don't fix matters.” “god forbid my po' boy come back heah wid he heart full of murder an’ vengeance. no, he mus' nebber know how he po' mudder an’ sister done die. i hopes, sah, yo’ will nebber tell him.” at this point big joe wheatley, jim connors and several more of malcolm a. overley's friends, together with the good minister, rode up to the house. old abe called some of the boys to look after the horses. “malcolm,” said big joe wheatley, “tomorrow the grand jury will sit on those cases; already they are bragging that it will not indict. i do not think myself that it will. but what can we do? at times i feel like taking my gun and killing the whole crowd.” "i can but feel that that will be the only way in which this thing can ever be settled,” said jim connors. “why, of course, that is the way,” replied malcolm a. overley. “d— their dirty hides! i have said so all along. i just told abe that if the grand jury did not indict them, i would indict, try and execute them, too. h—! they deserve to die.” “but, my brothers,” interposed the good minister, “that would be murder. two wrongs will not make one right. still, when one considers the wickedness of this deed, the wanton brutality attending the crime, there may be some excuse. should the passions and desire for revenge, common to all human beings, get beyond control. my brothers— ” "may de good god almighty keep yo’ gemmen from letten? as we see it. yo' passions get 'yon' control,” interrupted old abe. “ef yo' does 'venge yo’se'f on dese people, an' take dey life, yo' souls will be los'. dar will be no 'scuse fo' yo'. i’se de one dat is most hurted. i dun forgin dese people. why yo' gemmen not do de same? god grant dat yo’ will not 'pen' on any 'scuse an' cubber yo' hands wid blood.” old abe made these observations solemnly and with all the simple eloquence peculiar to his class. abe's rebuke to this man of god was apparent to all. it put a stop to all further discussion along those lines. upon the following day the grand jury met and consid- ered the case. after hearing the three white men, who tes- tified before the coroner's jury, together with the negroes who witnessed the murders, buck and his friends were dis- charged, an alibi having been established. the following was found next day in the county bulletin: “messrs. buck lashum, rex and tom wardeman, jack and jim smaly were yesterday discharged by the grand jury, they having been held by judge wiggles in $ , bond each, charged with the murder of two ‘nigger wenches' on the overley plantation. the time has not yet come for white men to be tried for killing ‘niggers'.” and thus the matter ended. malcolm a. overley and his friends were compelled to bow to what seemed to be the inevitable. the grand jury exon- erated the men who killed these women. the county bulletin had passed editorially on the killings. the case passed into history. malcolm a. overley was called from his bitter thoughts by a communication notifying him that his mortgage would be due in thirty days, and that it must be paid in full. the money was not available. what was he to do? after a long consultation with his friends it was decided to ask the bank for eight months' extension of time. when the proposition was submitted to nick lashum he as we see it. hound like that foreman of the grand jury! i tell you, abe. if that grand jury does not indict that bunch of murderers i shall take my gun and kill the whole - erowd. what are you shaking your best about: d- pour blaek hide, you haven't the evarige of feat what are you going to do! let them go spot free! we just to wait until that boy of fours comes bacit bre: then you wii wake up d— if he doa 't is matters. ** “god forbidi er po bev top bat bezah wid he heart full of mirtier än teeme. ta he mus" beboer know how he po muiter an sustituce che coes. sah po' will nebber tell hirl** at this point by joe wah connors and several roce of v . (enler's friends together with the good m:n ster. rode sa tu the lease old be called some of the boys to look after the horses. "malolm. ** sand big joe wheatley, stomorrow the grand jury will sit on those cases; already they are bragging that it will not indict. i do not think myself that it will. but what can we do! at times i feel like taking my gun and killing the whole crowd." "i am but feel that that will be the only way in which this thing than ever be settled, " sand jim connors. whyof course, that is the way." replied malcolm a. overley - "d— their dirty thidies! i have said so all along. i just told ale that if the grand jury did mot indiet them. i would indiet., try and execute them, too. they deserve to die.” "but, my brothers, intern would be murder. two wo when ame considers the brutally attending should the passin huumeam beings. may de go as we see yo' passions get 'yon' control," menrum in yo' does 'venge yo’se'f on dese peopit, a tan i souls will be los'. dar will be no scdse Ít. e r dat is most hurted. i dun forgir * de t i gemmen not do de same! god gran: ca: : de on any 'scuse an' cubber yo' hands wic dic" old abe made these observation somut a s i simple eloquence peculiar to his class i : . man of god was apparent to all. e pie e s e discussion along those lines. upon the following day the grand june ered the case. after hearing the tita f e t e tified before the coroner's jury, getner * who witnessed the murders, boek ant se sense charged, an alibi having been establisier. the following was found next dar i tar et mill. er, “messrs. buck lashum, rex and tom team jim smaly were yesterday disesangat t they having been held by judge w charged with the murder of the ts overley plantation. the time has men to be trie for killing mig ed to en were m that no ud no signs of and thus malcolm to what se erated the ad pass natter ended erley and in to be the se who killed i corially olm ain't you? 'cused er he say youse a dis- ,ut ter say is, i'se on yer i yer, an' no harm will come vants her ter come hyre; i want opportunity to get old sue to talk hurried to sue's cabin, where he found door, with her corncob pipe in her lap. wants to see yer. he wants to ask yer about as we see it. denounced the “big bug,” saying that now he had him and he was going to sell him out. but the officials of the bank were not of nick's opinion. the time had not come for the mortgage to be foreclosed. they prevailed upon him to with- hold his vengeance for a few months. the extension was obtained and it was placed upon record, and thus the matter was settled for the time being. the isiviwraxis in ivrihi di raries chapter xix. then nick lashum, sr., learned that buck and his friends had been arrested by sheriff wheatley, charged with the murder of the overley women, his wrath knew no bounds. “what the h— yer think of them 'big bugs' 'restin' white men fer ‘niggers'! d— if i don't git even. yo'll see. go they bail? in course i will. i don't kere a d- ef it's a hundred thousand. they is good boys, an' them ‘niggers' was stealin' my bacon. serve 'em right.” thus commented nick, sr., when requested to offer himself as bondsman for the murderers. when buck was questioned by his father as to his knowledge of the theft of the bacon, he said black sue first told him that the women were stealing from the meathouse; in fact, that she had caught them in the very act. he then determined to watch and see for himself, and he and his friends caught the women red-handed. buck told these lies without a tremor, without a blush. his father, already convinced that a nigger will steal,” only needed to hear such a statement to convince him that the women were guilty of stealing his meat. it mattered not to him that no bacon was missing, nor that the meathouse showed no signs of having been tampered with. “wall, boy, youse in a pretty fix, now, ain't you? 'cused of killin’ ‘nigger wenches'. yo' brother he say youse a dis- grace to, the family. wall, all i got ter say is, i’se on yer bon', an’ no grand jury will 'dict yer, an’ no harm will come ter yer. yo'tell old sue i wants her ter come hyre; i want ter see her.” buck was glad of the opportunity to get old sue to talk with his father. he hurried to sue's cabin, where he found her dozing by the door, with her corncob pipe in her lap. “sue, pappy wants to see yer. he wants to ask yer about is we see it. the iniviviksi la ivernihiv mraries them overley ‘niggers'. i told him what yer told me and what i see them ‘niggers' do myself.” “yer tell yo'pappy i'se got no time ter was' wid him. yo' tell yo'pappy dat i’se to home.” “but, sue, pappy says- " “go 'long, boy. what i car' what yo’ pappy say. yo' tell him i’se to home.” and she laughed at her own cleverness. buck went back to his father and told him that sue was sulky, but she would be up to the house in a few minutes. nick waited more than an hour for sue, and then went in search of her himself. he found her where buck had left her, sitting beside her cabin, smoking. “sue,” said nick, with a great show of wrath, “why the h-- don't yer come when i send fer yer? do yer— " “look out, white man!” exclaimed sue, interrupting nick with kindling anger. “dose yer know who yo’ is talkin' at? i’se telled yo'fo' now dat i don't ’low no white man ter talk ter me dat way. yo' jes’ mod’rate yo’ tune ef yo’ wants me ter talk ter yer. now, what's yo’ gwine say ?” “sue, i wants the facts 'bout them ‘niggers' of overleys," said nick, meekly. “buck tells me thet yer caught 'em in my meathouse. is thet so ?” “say, man, ef buck tell yo' dat, what yo' ax me fer; ain't dat 'nough ?” answered sue, with great dignity. “yes; but, sue, i wants ter know what yer did see. ain't yer never goin' ter l’arn to act lek a lady? d— ef i ever seed a woman lek yer. yer never keeps yer word with nobody.” nick said this very meekly, careful not to anger black sue further. “keep my word!” yelled sue. “yo's a nice one ter tell folks 'bout keepin'dey word. does yo' 'member dat yo' promised me er greenback mor’n six mon? yo's a nice one, i swar- man, yo’go long. i tells yo’nuttin'." after sue made this speech she lighted her pipe, closed her eyes and seemed to forget that nick was in existence. nick chapter xx. alcolm and abe had been informed that abe's mother and sister lucy had died very suddenly, uv and that there was trouble on the plantation because of their deaths; also, that it was advisable for them not to come home, as they would arrive too late for their burials. abe was prostrated. he could not understand why he had not been telegraphed at once. malcolm, forbes and rattles were unusually kind to him, which only augmented his uneasiness. forbes was careful to keep the newspapers from him. it was soon known about the college, however, that abe's mother and sister had been lynched and that buck lashum and his friends were under arrest, charged with their murder. how to keep the truth from abe longer was the all-absorbing question before the three friends. while dis- cussing ways and means to keep abe in ignorance of the manner of his mother's and sister's death, malcolm, forbes and rattles were surprised in rattles room by abe, just as rattles remarked, “i tell you, fellows, abe should have been told at first.” abe heard the latter part of this remark as he entered the room, “i should have been told what, fellows ?” he asked. the three boys were so surprised by abe's appearance that they betrayed themselves. abe noticed their confusion. “say, fellows, what is this conspiracy? why, what is the matter ?” he asked, as no one appeared to be willing to answer him. abe observed them carefully, apparently reading their very thoughts. finally, he sank upon a chair and said: “malcolm, tell me about my mother. you fellows know more about her death than i do." abe made this request in such a pitiful, heartrending way as we see it. that malcolm turned from him to hied his tears. rattles remarked : “abe, i am afraid you stay in your room too much ; come with me to the campus." abe permitted himself to be led from the room by rattles, who said to forbes: “tell devaux and his friend to meet us down on the campus.” soon rattles and abe were joined by malcolm and forbes, together with the other young men. as soon as abe saw malcolm, he attempted to take him to one side and ask him about the part of the conversation he had overheard in rat- tles's room, feeling that he still had something to learn con- cerning his mother's death. rattles noticed the movement and signaled devaux to follow, which he did, remarking: “you fellows shall have no secrets from the rest of us. overley, tell us about this sad affair.” “no, i cannot,” said malcolm ; “your friend here has kept in touch with the case ; let him tell you." abe was conscious of the solemn manner in which malcolm spoke; also of the solemn faces about him. he sank upon the ground in an attitude that college boys know well, and said: “fellows, i am ready to be crucified.” the tennesseean began by saying: “overly, you may be crucified before i have related all that i know of this affair, but you must bear up like a man. we employed a man to go to your home to learn the facts. we learn that during your father's absence your mother and sister were " “lynched!” yelled abe, as he bounded to his feet and grasped the tennesseean by the shoulder in a grip that cause: him great pain, but which he bore without flinching. abe's manner and appearance were so changed that his friends feared for his reason. his eyes bulged from their sockets, they seemed to flash fire. he looked a full foot taller. his hands worked convulsively. his neck was swollen. he did as we see it. not seen to breathe. he looked the very incarnation of the avenging demon. this was a terrible tableau, lasting for several moments. all stood looking at abe in awe. they were conscious he would wreak a terrible vengeance when his time for vengeance came. finally, abe sat down and said: “fellows, i will listen, but i see the whole thing now. i know that my mother and my sister were both killed. by whom? why were they killed? why was i not told at once? malcolm, why did you keep this from me all these weeks ? their murderers may have escaped by this time.” “no, they are awaiting the action of the grand jury. they are under heavy bonds,” said the tenesseean. “who are these people? who are under bond?'' asked abe. the tennesseean answered after a moment's thought: “buck lashum, two wardemans and two smalys. the grand jury will hear their cases tomorrow.” after a long silence, abe, as if speaking to himself, said: “so, this is done to be avenged on me. oh, my poor mother! i am the cause of your death! can there be a just god! mother, so surely as you are dead, i will avenge you!” the boys thought it best not to tell abe, at this time, of the manner in which his mother lost her life. so they slowly returned to their rooms, abe walking between malcolm and rattles like one in a dream. when they reached the hall devaux and his friend stopped; each extended a haud to abe, the tennesseean remarking: “overley, i have said to you before that i am your friend. i am still your friend. my services and my funds are at your disposal; command me and them.” “abe, i am with you to the same extent that my friend is; command me,” said devaux. “i thank you both. your god alone knows what i may need!” exclaimed abe. the two young men then left abe and his friends, as their rooms were not in the same hall in which abe's and malcolm's as we see it. were; for they, true to their southern blood, had, when they first came to oberlin, refused to live under the same roof with abe and the rest of the negro students who were in this building. when abe and his friends reached his room there was a long silence, which was broken by malcolm saying: “abe, we all sympathize with you. what can we do to help you in this matter?” “i want to go home! i want to see my mother's grave! malcolm, why did you keep this from me?” he asked, and then added : “can there be a god? can there be a just god? can there be laws to reach such people? can there be nothing that governs the universe but the avenging demon ?” abe had now risen to his feet, towering above his friends in his rage. he called out again in his madness : “if there be a demon; if there be a devil; if there be an imp of hell; if there be a force that will turn blood to gall, love to hate, good to bad—come to me that i may feel thy full force; come to me that i may forget that i am human, until i have avenged this wrong, perpetrated upon my mother and sister! by all the imps of hell, this was done to be avenged on me! oh, my poor mother! i am the cause of your unnat- ural death! by the god that made me, and with the aid of the demons of hell, whose help i implore, i will be revenged ! you hear me, fellows? i will be revenged !”. the three young men stood looking at abe, conscious that all that was human in him, all that was good in his nature, had succumbed to the brute instinct of human nature for revenge. suddenly, abe turned to malcolm and demanded, in a tone and with a look that malcolm had never heard nor seen before: “malcolm, why did you fellows keep this from me?” rattles, the only one who seemed to be able to cope with the situation, said: “abe, stop a moment and consider. see the rage you are in. you cannot govern yourself now. what would you have as we see it. the vinvlajmit firsi tuan lidhakies done at your home when all this excitement was on? you, . by yourself? we talked over the matter among ourselves. malcolm wanted to go home with you. he was ready to place his life at your disposal. he argued that you should avenge your mother's and sister's death. but he was per- suaded that the time was not come. now, abe, listen. the school year is now nearly over. you and malcolm will soon be going home. then you can ferret out the guilty parties. you can do nothing now. from the beginning malcolm wanted you to know; so do not blame him. yesterday i talked this matter over with dr. finley, and he told me to bring you to him. will you go? i think mr. donewell has also had this matter investigated. abe, your friends are doing all they can to have those persons indicted; but, as you know, the grand jury may fail to indict. let us go to the doctor's office.” “abe,” said malcolm, “i have felt all along that you should know all about this deed; but the majority of our friends thought it best for you not to know, as you would naturally want to go home, where you could do no good. i was willing to go with you, and i am still willing to go. i will aid you in any way to right this wrong. i hope you do not think, abe, that i will desert you in your hour of need ?” “malcolm, i cannot think. i know you and your father are my best friends. i know you and he will aid me. i will need your help.” the young men clasped hands in a friendly manner. sud- denly abe said: “stay here six weeks? why, fellows, i am going tonight. how can i study now?” “abe, i took the responsibility upon myself to make an engagement for you with dr. finley. will you go to see him before you decide to leave the college?” asked rattles. “yes, rattles, we will go," was abe's answer. when the boys reached dr. finley's office the good doctor met them very pleasantly. as we see it. “doctor,” said rattles, “i have brought mr. overley to see you. we have been discussing his bereavement, and— ” “yes! yes!” said the doctor, who seemed to divine rat- tles's intentions. “i have been expecting mr. overley for some days.” rattles gave the doctor a full account of all that had trans- pired, and also abe's determination to go home at once. the doctor took abe by the hand and drew him to a chair by his side. he invited the boys to listen. he then went over the whole case, dwelling upon the enormity of the crimes, the flimsy excuse for them, and the environment amidst which the people live, who tolerate such crimes in their midst. he finished by asking abe what he expected to do after he got back home, provided he should go at once. abe, who had been quietly listening to the doctor, arose to his feet, extended his hands toward the heavens, remarking with great bitterness : “doctor, i intend to go home and kill! kill! kill! my poor old mother's blood cries for vengeance. i hear it as it falls to the earth. it calls to me drop by drop, as it is drawn from her emaciated body by the brutal hands of her lynchers. oh, my poor mother! poor and lowly that you were; slave, but virtuous and true; ignorant, but wise in the duties of life; look down from thy celestial home upon me, thine only son; search my innermost heart, where, if one drop of blood has its resting place, that calls not for vengeance, that falters even for an instant in that purpose, dry it up. call me not thy son should i not bring down upon the heads of thy murderers a like fate!” “but, mr. overley, consider that to which you are about to commit yourself; consider the great gifts that god has bestowed upon you; consider the life in a higher world to which your ability will surely lead; consider the wishes of your many friends, those who are sacrificing that you may enjoy the benefits of this great college; consider the wishes of as we see it. that old father, who is now praying for the hand that bereaved him, and who, even when he first received the terrible blow, bowed his head and said, 'lord, thy will be done.'” dr. finley spoke these words with great earnestness, but abe was unmoved. “doctor," answered abe; “i come from a race of men who, though slaves, were never known to falter in the performance of a duty. my poor mother's blood calls for vengeance. i see that blood, as she lies bound and helpless in the hands of her murderers, drawn drop by drop from her helpless body. i tell you,” continued abe, as he sprang to the middle of the room, his whole attitude changed from the man to the animal seeking an object upon which to vent its rage, “her blood calls to me; it calls aloud, abel-like, for vengeance. i care not what befalls me. i care not what my life in eternity may be. aye, i care not what your god may demand. my poor mother's blood cries to me for vengeance, and i will answer that call. all i ask is that the demons of hell may lend me their strength; that i may possess myself of the bitterness, gall and hatred—the kind which possessed the murderers of my poor mother—in order that i may wreak a vengeance suit- able to their crime.” dr. finley realized it would be useless to argue further with abe, and therefore remarked, without answering abe's last outburst of passion, that he hoped abe would see mr. donewell and miss watson before he concluded to leave the college. after some general remarks the boys took their leave. “abe,” said rattles, “are you thinking about leaving the college without first asking miss watson's permission ? i thought you were more gallant than that. do you want her to follow you, seeking an apology ?” rattles said this with a view to relieving the strain under which they were laboring. abe did not answer rattles, but as we see it. he seemed to be in deep thought. he seemed not to have noticed rattles' little pleasantry. suddnly abe remarked: “that is so; i did not think of her. well, i can see her tomorrow.” this gave rattles an idea. he determined to see miss watson before abe saw her. he went next morning to the young lady's home and explained to her abe's intention to leave the college and go home to revenge himself upon the murderers of his mother. he asked her good offices in per- suading abe to remain until the end of the school year, which she promised to use. as we see it. the universiti w ini muhiy lioraries “you state your conclusion, professor, and reason back to your premises,” said dean sternly. “you will pardon me for saying that this is a most unusual manner of reasoning, and one to which you resort only when you have the negro under discussion. why say, 'we all know the negro is thus and so,' when the facts before us are just to the contrary? in your class report of last year you say, to use your own words, 'overley is an exceptional negro; i may say an excep- tional man.' i did not know then what you meant, nor do i know now. i can simply guess. how a student can be exceptional, and be less than a man, is a point upon which i beg you to enlarge. but this “exceptional negro' is the one under discussion, not the race to which he belongs. will he adhere to his vow? i agree with dr. finley, that he will surely kill the murderers of his mother. “he has been educated, developed, i may say, up to the point that has been reached by our civilization, where men take the lives of one another in revenge for the lives of their kindred or for wrongs perpetrated upon their women. how is it possible for a negro, or a man of any race, to live amongst us, be educated in our schools, take on our civili- zation, and differ from us in this respect? i grant that there is a class of negroes who have been taught that it is a crime against god, for which there is no forgiveness, for them to take the life of a white man. i may add that they think it is even wrong to strike one; but this negro, overley, is not of that type, and that old type is now the exception rather than the rule. no, professor, your conclusion is not tenable. pardon me, you reason backward. this negro is a white man, in the sense that his ambitions and his desires for the good things of this world are identical with yours. he loved his mother and he loves his home. his feelings are outraged by the manner of his mother's taking off. he says her blood calls for vengeance. he sees her bound and helpless, being lashed to death. he sees no difference between a white murderer and as we see it. a black one. he has never been taught that a white man's person is sacred. he resolves to kill. what else can you expect? what would a white man do? what would you do? i am almost prepared to acquiesce in his resolution and bid him godspeed. but i remember thou shalt not kill.' were i this young man, placed as he is, could i withstand the desire for revenge that is born in every human being? would the mosaic law deter me? with all the avenues of justice through the courts cut off, compelled to combat a sentiment which sanctions, such atrocities, living in a community that bids him be silent, because his mother deserved to die, and that it was fit and proper for those young brutes to take her life—i repeat, placed in his stead, could i, could you, resist the impulse to avenge her death? would you not avenge your mother's murder? would you do your mother justice not to avenge her? i do not condemn the man who seeks vengeance. i leave these matters for each person to decide according to his personal feelings.” “dean sternly,” said professor narrows, “ do you consider your doctrine of revenge a sound one? is it one that should be inculcated into the minds of these negroes ?” “i have no doctrine of revenge, nor have i said to incul- cate any such doctrine into their minds,” answered dean sternly, hotly. “i have said that the desire for revenge is an attribute of human nature, controlled only by the will of the individual. in the case under discussion, and in all sim- ilar cases, the only remedy, the only means of eradicating this terrible evil, is to teach the lynchers, by example, that they will meet like fates. men who gather in mobs and kill are not of the class who will face death individually. men who are brave in mobs, when attacking a single person, will not even attack that person with a mob when they know that retribution will certainly follow them. you gentlemen have a certain code of ethics along those lines for yourself and a different one for these negroes. you say that he must not as we see it. szimvyoit ayd!!a"! aichapa!n hc look at your women, but at the same time his women are not safe from you. that for which he is lynched you simply smile at in one of yourselves. still, you are educating him along your lines. when you place him in classes along with your sons and daughters he outstrips them frequently in intel- lectual power; and i cannot conceive how men can be so blind as to think that an educated negro will be any less the man than any other human being that has taken on your education and civilization. “you take the chinaman, the japanese, all the darker races, in fact, even the native african, and educate and civilize them, and then you point with pride to your work. with open arms this product of your labor is received into the body politic. but the american-born negro—it matters not what his early environment, the social status of his parents, nor that he has passed through with highest praise the courses here prescribed by you, and brought credit to your school—you consider him with a specially constructed code of reasoning, both illogical and unjust, and force him outside of your con- sideration and social institutions. no hand is extended to him, unless it brandishes a cudgel; no door is opened to enable him to gain an honest livelihood, no matter how proficient he is in the branches from which you have graduated him. the american negro possesses a something, i suppose, which you cannot tolerate—a something that no other man nor race of men, not even his forebears, possessed. how came he by this undefinable something? does he get it by contact with this dominant race of ours? yes. examine yourselves and you will find the source of the trouble. why, you are unwilling to accord him the same privileges, the same chance to earn a living and enjoy life which you accord other men, is a question which i have long pondered. you gentlemen, pos- sibly, can give me the solution." “well, for my part,” answered professor narrows, “the foreigner acts differently from the american negro. you as we see it. always know the foreign negro; but the american negro has an air about him that makes him objectionable. he likes to rub against one too much. oh, he presumes to be one's equal. i don't like him for that.” “yes, that is very true," answered dean sternly. “that is the secret of the whole matter. you invite the chinaman, out of whom you can never educate his opium; the japanese, out of whom you can never educate his idolatry ; the malays, hin- doos, moors, africans, and all other foreign races of men, you invite to come to you. the people who never take on your civilization you bid come. you repulse the american negro who has taken on your civilization. can you not see that that of which you complain is but the american idea ? how can the negro come in contact with you and your institutions and not be americanized? why do you teach him? you edu- cate him, then ostracise him, apparently for taking on your teachings. this state of affairs must certainly be embarrassing to the negro. professor, if you are not willing to live up to the result of your work, you should not be a party to the tragedy which you are helping to enact. i was born and reared in the south, and i know that your theory and com- ments are all wrong.” “gentlemen,” said dr. finley, “a discussion of this ques- tion was had over forty years ago. at the time, the founders of this college concluded that there were no white men, no black men, no yellow men, no red men, but that all men were alike before god, and, further, that this idea should dominate the policy of this college. from this ideal it has never devi- ated, and so long as i remain president it never shall. this brings us back to this young man, overley. can he justify himself before god, should he keep his vow? we read, 'the avenger of the blood himself shall slay the murderer: the murderer shall surely be put to death.' we would infer from this charge to moses that the great god almighty con- templated an avenger of the blood. would you consider it as we see it. deaths is out of the question. i say “them.' i, of course, do not expect mr. overley to avenge them; but i know him so well that i know he will aid me. i am going home for no other purpose than to take the lives of those who killed my mother and sister. i am going to kill—kill every man that has my mother's blood on his hands. i have determined to devote my life to the wreaking of vengeance. i have come to make this confession to you. i have come to confess that i am a murderer at heart and soon will be one in fact. i am going to ask whether, after i have stained my hands in the blood of my mother's murderers, which i surely will do, will you still want to see me? will you answer me now or shall i leave you to consider the matter?”. “mr. overley, i have already considered,” was her answer. “i have been taught 'thou shalt not kill’—ʻlove thy neighbor as thyself.' i have also read, 'an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.' as god is my guide and my helper, i know not how to advise you. but, were i a man, nay, woman that i am, should my mother meet the cruel death at the hands of brutal lynchers that your mother met, i would leave no path unsearched, no stone unturned; i would delve into the very bowels of the earth; i would skirt the fires of hell; aye, cross them, in my endeavor to wreak a suitable vengeance upon such brutes; nor would i feel, until the last murderer was slain, that i had done my duty to my dead. will i care to see you? mr. overley, i feel this outrage upon negro womanhood most keenly. i feel that it calls for a terrible retribution. i thank god that i am permitted to call my friend the one negro man who will devote his life to the punishment of the perpetrators of this crime. will i care to see you?” again she asked, her eyes flashing, her slender figure swaying, as the panther sways when about to leap upon its prey. “go, and when you have wreaked the vengeance for which your mother's blood calls, be it one month, one year, nay, be it eternity, i will wait for you!! as we see it. as miss watson, who was known for her passive christian spirit, finished this declaration she extended her hand to abe, who raised it to his lips with the remark: “miss watson, i was afraid you would not understand my motives. i am pleased that you take the view of this matter which i do. i am more than proud to know that the one woman now left to me in this world approves of my determination. miss wat- son-may i say nancy? i am proud of you. i love you. i have always loved you. i loved you before i ever met you, or else how would our souls have joined at sight? nancy, you say you will wait for me? wait for me to commit these terrible crimes—for crimes they will be? oh, nancy, you have not said you loved me!”. as abe said this he held out both hands to her. she came close to him, permitting him to put his arms around her and implant a solemn kiss upon her forehead. suddently she drew away and asked what his plans were. abe said he would go home at once, to which she objected. “abe, do not go home immediately; wait until the end of the school year; then go home quietly as if nothing had hap- pened. learn all you can about this deed, who committed it, and how it was done, why it was committed, if there be a reason. then you will know what vengeance to wreak and upon whom. be cautious. ingratiate yourself into the good graces of all, until you know the whole truth. it matters not if it takes one year or two years. success is to be your object. to avenge the death of two outraged women is to be your undertaking. i shall expect you to write me as your hunt progresses. do you think that a good plan ?” “yes, nancy, that is a very good plan, and i shall act upon it,” said abe, as he arose to leave. “mr. overley," said miss watson, “haven't you forgotten something?” abe did not seem to comprehend her meaning. “forgotten what, nancy?” he asked. as we see it. “why, my father, of course; you have forgotten that i am a minor," was her laughing reply. “oh, i will never forget that; all girls are minors up to a certain time in their lives,” answered abe. “that will do, sir; i will call father,” and miss watson left the room. mr. watson was a substantial citizen, who had conducted a grocery business in oberlin for a number of years. he was very fond of his only daughter nancy. “mr. watson,” said abe, "you have been sent for that i may make two confessions to you. you have, no doubt, heard of the terrible deaths of my poor mother and sister. well, sir, i have vowed to avenge them. i shall go home and kill every man who was concerned in their taking off. i confess this to you, that you may know the next time we meet, if meet we do, that i have the blood of one or more persons on my hands. further, when we do meet, i shall ask you to give me your daughter in marriage.” mr. watson arose to his feet, taking a turn across the room. he stopped, looked abe full in the face, and asked: "would you give your daughter to a murderer—a double murderer, maybe?” abe answered solemnly: “mr. watson, should your daugh- ter nancy be foully murdered—lynched—what would you do ?” after a long silence, the old man faltering as to his decision, said, as he extended his hand to abe: “i will consult my wife and daughter.” abe then left the house and returned to his room. chapter xxiii. a oon the day of his departure came, and `abe, with malcolm, took leave of the college. when abe arrived home he found his father broken and apparently twenty years nearer the end of his life's journey. the old man greeted his son without a word, but with a long, clinging grasp of the hand. in his eyes was a mute appeal, felt only by the two souls that had been stricken by the same blow. the father led the way to two newly made graves, by which abe kneeled, raised his eyes to heaven, and in a voice choking with emotion pleaded with the ruler of the universe for strength to bear his burden. abe's father listened, thinking that perhaps after all his son had accepted the situation and would not seek revenge. the young man fell across his mother's grave, where he remained seemingly lifeless, while the father watched and waited, hoping that abe would soon leave the graves and go with him to the house to greet mr. overley. the old man finally concluded to call mr. overley and ask him to try and persuade abe to go to the house. mr. overley, accompanied by malcolm, came to the quiet burying plot, where he found abe still prostrate on his mother's grave. abe's father pointed to his son with a silent request for help. mr. overley knelt by him, taking his sand, saying: “abe, my boy, come to the house with me; i am anxious to hear something of your success at school. you cannot help matters by grieving over what is already done. boy, i feel for you. this thing is the most hellish crime that has ever been perpe- trated on woman in this country. but what can you do? h— and damnation! what can you do, i say ?” abe arose slowly and stood looking first at one and then the other. finally, he asked in a solemn voice: “what can i do? by the gods! ask me what will i not do ?” as we see it. he again fell upon his mother's grave, where he remained some moments in silence, which was broken by his father saying to him: “my boy, yo’ po' mudder am in hebben. she am now lookin' down from dem stars on yo'. she am sayin' to yo’, to belebe in de lawd. dat de lawd's will be done. oh, my boy! look to de lawd fo’ he’p in dis matter.” abe arose to his feet, extended his hand to his father, saying: “dad, i appreciate what you say, but i feel that i must avenge my mother's death. oh, my mother! oh, my poor mother!” again abe, in a frenzy of despair, threw himself upon his mother's grave, where he lay supine and quivering, moaning that the great god almighty had forsaken him and his. he extended his hands toward the heavens, and in the stillness of the night, in the presence of his father and their old friend, called upon the god that made him to register his vow. he said: “by the god that made me, by that silent breast that nurtured me, by the sister of my childhood, by all that i hold dear in this world, i will be avenged! mother, may i ever be accursed in your sight if i do not avenge you!” turning to his friend, he said: “mr. overley, would you not consider me less than a man should i permit these mur- derers to go unpunished? i swear to you that so surely as there is a god, so surely as this brutal deed is recorded in heaven, so surely as there is an eternity, so surely as there is a hell, so surely as the perpetrators of this crime are watched for in the hell into which i shall plunge them, just so surely shall i avenge this murder." finding it impossible to induce abe to leave his mother's grave and go with them, mr. oberley and abe's father reluct- antly left him there and returned in silence to the great house. when they had gone abe again raised his hands to the heavens and exclaimed: “mother! oh, my poor mother! as we see it. look down upon thy son! let me feel thy presence! mother, i devote my life to the wreaking of vengeance upon thy mur- derers!” as abe uttered these words he sank once more upon his mother's grave, where he remained in silence until morn- ing. chapter xxiv. tt soon became known throughout the county that abe i had returned to his home. speculation was rife as to - what he would do to avenge his mother's death. he gave no sign, however, as to what his intentions or feelings were, but set about quietly, though diligently, to glean the facts in the case. he soon learned that black sue had planted the germ which led to the deaths that bereaved him. he also learned that the crime had been committed by buck lashum, the smalys and the wardevans, and that they had used a leather horse trace to accomplish the horrible deed. the trace, he discovered, had been cut in pieces by the five men and the pieces taken to their respective homes to be kept as souvenirs of this great performance, thus perpetuating in their families the fame of having participated in such a laudable (?) under- taking. abe concluded that he would possess himself of the pieces of trace, splice them together, and make this recon- structed trace the instrument of his revenge. after some thought he concluded to take malcolm into his confidence. “malcolm,” said abe, one evening as they sat in their favorite haunt, the corn crib, “i want to tell you something, and then i want your advice. first, i have discovered by whom and just how my mother and sister were killed. sec- ond, i have determined how these lynchers shall be punished. my poor mother was beaten to death with a horse trace. just think of it! seventy years old, and to meet such a death! and my sister, nude, was beaten to death amid the jeers and curses of those drunken brutes!” as abe recited these details the tears of rage rolled down his cheeks, his head dropped upon his breast, and he remained silent for a long time. malcolm, respecting his grief, waited for him to recover. abe finally resumed, saying: “i have also learned that each archdemon in this horrible crime has as we see it. a piece of this trace at his home, as a keepsake. i propose to possess myself of those pieces, make a whole trace of them, and then let that gang beware! i shall take them one by one, tie them to a tree, and when i have finished with them all there will be five new graves somewhere in this county. i shall begin with buck lashum. there is but one thing, malcolm, that deters me. i may be compelled to enter the homes of these people, especially buck's, and steal those pieces." after a long silence malcolm said: “abe, i do not think you should let that stop you. i will go with you and help you get them. then you will need someone to help handle these fellows. you cannot do the whole thing yourself. and, more, i want the pleasure of laying the strap on buck. jim wheatley and jack connors both told me to tell you they would be glad to help you in any way you might suggest. what do you say?”. “no, malcolm,” said abe; “ alone must do this deed. you and your friends will make this state and county your homes. i have no home. if blood must be shed, i must shed it. there will be a price on my head. no, it will never do for you to be drawn into this affair in that way; you can help me in other ways." when abe had finished he arose to his feet, looked out of the door, and remarked: “well, the moon has gone down; i shall now go on my errand of stealth. my friends who work at the smalys and wardemans will be waiting for me with the different pieces. i hope i will have only buck's house to enter, and i know exactly where to find the piece he has. i hope he will sleep soundly; for if he awakens he will face his maker sooner than he anticipates. when i return in the morning i will have the five pieces." with this speech ringing in his ears, malcolm watched abe as he disappeared in the gloom. abe went to the wardeman place, where he found the pieces imbedded in the earth on the left side of the left post of the as we see it. big gate at the main road. at the smalys he found the pieces sticking through a crack in the barn, six boards from the east corner next to the spring. then, going to buck lahsum's home, he entered by a back window, which he found open, and went straight to buck's room, where he had been told the piece of trace was tied to a picture which hung over the head of buck's bed. these instructions flashed through abe's mind as he passed into buck's room, all the while ask- ing himself what should he do if discovered. he was not discovered, however, and reached home without accident. next morning, when malcolm came to the harness room, he found abe busily engaged splicing the pieces of trace. “hello, abe!” exclaimed malcolm. “you are a successful pilferer, i see. tell me, did you have any trouble?” "not a bit," answered abe. "i found everything just as i expected-down by the big gate at the wardemans, sticking out of a crack in the barn at the smalys, and buck had his piece hanging over his bed. when i looked upon that brute sleeping so peacefully, the vision of his crime came upon me. i stood over him, hoping he would awaken, that i might strangle him. i did not feel capable of striking him down in his sleep. he slept on, but with a look of terror on his evil countenance. he felt my very presence, even in his slumbers. his god was merciful to him. had he opened his eyes, had he indicated to me in any way that he was aware of my presence-well- malcolm watched abe for some time in silence, then asked: “what will you do next, abe?” “i have been told by friends that buck is going to ride in the tournament down on the neck next wednesday. that he will be gone from home two days. he is sending his traps around the road, and will ride across the country. now, there is but one path for him to travel after he leaves the back end of his place, and that leads through the gut north of the swamp. you know where the solid ground narrows as we see it. to a neck of ten feet in width? well, there i shall set a trap for his horse which will cause the animal to throw him. i will do the rest. this place is six miles from buck's home, and his cries cannot be heard that distance. i will endeavor to impress upon his mind, in the two days i shall engage him, that negro women are as sacred as his own, and that negro men will have to be reckoned with in the future when their women are assaulted.” “abe, don't make a brute of yourself in this matter," said malcolm. “what you propose to do will be a terrible punish- ment." “i mean for it to be terrible," answered abe. “i mean for my first blow to strike terror to the hearts of these people. malcolm, you will see. but i must go and study the land at the point i have in mind. i will ride kate, if you do not object." "do not what?” said malcolm. “you are getting mighty careful all at once—asking for the use of a horse. i guess i had better tell your dad that you want to use kate, and where you are going, and for what purpose.” both young men laughed as abe rode away. he rode to within fifty yards of the place, secured his horse, and pro- ceeded to lay his plans. he first selected a sapling, bent it to the ground at a point where bushes overhung the path, cut the top out, and attached part of a plow line to it. passing the line through the bushes and once around a series of stakes, driven in a circle on either side of the path, with their tops leaning out, the plow line formed a loop into which the horse would be sure to step, thus causing the line to leave the tops of the stakes, release the sapling and thereby tighten the line around the horse's leg. should it be the foreleg, the horse will be sure to go down in front. if the hind leg is caught, he will plunge and kick, unseating the rider. abe expected to profit by the struggle that would follow the springing of his trap. the afternoon of the tuesday follow- as we see it. ing abe noted buck's departure, and immediately set out at a brisk run for the place at which he hoped to stop buck and his horse. he had scarcely seated himself at an unobserved point, with his eyes on the path, when buck came in sight, the horse sprung the trap with his forefoot and began rearing and plunging, tearing up the earth for yards. buck fell heavily to the ground, and before he could recover himself abe was upon him. buck was filled with terror. his teeth chattered; his lips were purple; his eyes bulged. abe placed a small rope with a running noose about his neck, and ordered him to stand up and keep quiet, which he gladly did. then, cutting the line which held the horse, he proceeded with it and buck to a dense nearby thicket. buck in his terror begged to be allowed to go home, saying: “mr. overley, sah, yer knows i was always yer friend; ’deed i was. i'm yer friend now. what you treat yer friend this way fer? mr. oberley, if yer let me go home i will have my pappy send yer a dollar and a half; 'deed i will!”. abe made the horse secure, after which he fastened the end of the rope that was about buck's neck to a small sapling that was already bent to the ground, and when this sapling was released the rope tightened about buck's neck with a sudden- ness that nearly lifted him off his feet. buck grasped the rope and drew the sapling down to him, thus taking the strain off his neck. when he did this, abe dealt him a blow which caused him to scream with pain and to release his hold on the rope, which again jerked him by the neck to his toes and held him there. up to this point abe had not secured buck's hands. he started toward him for that purpose. buck seemed to divine his intention and pleaded : “mr. overley, fer god's sake let me go home! my mammy-" when buck made this reference to his “mammy" abe as we see it. sprang upon him, with a cry that resembled a wild beast, and dealt him a blow on the crown of his head with the trace that, but for the thickness of buck's skull, would have crushed it. buck threw both of his hands into the air, and with a laugh that appeared not to be human, as it echoed through the still forest, sank to the ground. abe stood looking at him for a long time, as he lay prostrate and apparently lifeless. sud- denly he realized that buck was getting black in the face; the rope was slowly choking him to death. he released buck and sat down beside him. the shades of night began to fall; the moonbeams and the shadows were flirting in the gathering gloom. buck, to all appearances, was dead. abe watched him as if he feared that even in death buck might escape him.. all night he lay motionless. as the sun began to dispel the gloom of the forest abe dis- cerned a movement in him and reached forward to turn his head that he might see his face, when buck suddenly raised himself to his elbow and their eyes met. abe knew instinct- ively that he was facing a maniac. buck, almost bereft of reason, could see but one object, and that one hateful to him. he bounded to his feet with the quickness of a wildcat, and was upon abe before he hardly realized buck's intentions. the struggle that ensued, spurred on as it was by a mortal hatred on the one side and an unevenly balanced mind on the other, was fierce, but of short duration. buck, in his wild rush, endeavored to grasp abe about the middle, but failed, and only succeeded in securing a hold on his shoulders, which enabled abe to more easily throw him. buck fell with great force, with abe across his body. the small of his back struck a stake, causing an injury to the spine which paralyzed him from the waist down, rendering him totally helpless. buck never recovered. abe, not knowing buck's helpless condition, belabored him with his horse trace, buck at intervals bursting forth in a laugh that resounded through the forest. when abe noticed buck's condition he sat down to think how he might get rid of his victim without killing him outright. ide as we see it. finally concluded to take buck back to the place where he was thrown from his horse, and where the ground showed a struggle, turn the horse loose, and leave buck to be found by his friends. abe was careful to cut the sapling which sprung the trap close to the ground and to remove all evidences that would tend to show that human hands were responsible for buck's condition. the horse soon made its way back to the barn. black sue saw it and spread the alarm. “i bet dat abe oberley knows sumfin' 'bout dis hos' an' 'bout dat chile,” said sue to herself. soon a searching party was formed, which included some of the overley negroes, who were inspired by curiosity. when buck's dogs were turned loose, they started for the swamp in full cry and soon had him located. every man crowded about with an opinion, all finally agreeing that the horse must have kicked buck in the back while his foot was hung in the stirrup. when the wardeman boys heard of buck's mishap, tim, who had become a local minister, concluded he would answer a call from a town in a western territory. he left very sud- denly. about two weeks later abe learned that rex warde- man, the one who knocked his mother down in the cabin, breaking her jawbone, was riding three times a week into the next county to visit a lady whom it was rumored he would soon marry. abe set about to learn the truth. he was informed by his friends in the wardeman home that such was the fact; that rex seldom returned home earlier than a. m., and that he traveled the same path night and day. abe was also told that rex was always heavily armed. after an inspection of the path traveled, abe found, at a point remote from any road or habitation, two trees, opposite each other, close to the path, to which wild grapevines were clinging. by pulling one of these vines nearer the earth it could be so arranged that a person riding horseback would be swept off his mount by it. abe selected the following wednes- day night for his attempt, it being the dark of the moon. chapter xxv. d ex rode away from his lady's home whistling softly to himself. as he drew nearer and nearer abe's trap he became drowsy and permitted his horse to make its own way along the path unaided, the bridle rein hanging loose. when the animal came upon the vine, as abe had arranged it, it instinctively lowered its head and quick- ened its pace, and as it passed under the vine rex was caught and lifted from the saddle. before he realized what had happened abe was upon him. he seized rex by the throat and pinioned him to the ground. then began a desperate struggle for the possession of the pistol that rex carried, and but for the strangle hold abe had on rex's throat the pistol would have been used with deadly effect upon abe. as it was, rex succeeded in getting his hand in his coat pocket, where the pistol was concealed, before abe rendered him selpless. abe bound rex and took him back into the marsh, where he had prepared for the vengeance that had mastered him. when rex again gained consciousness and realized into whose hands he had fallen, his fear and abject cowardice were despicable. abe sat by quietly waiting for the sun to dispel the darkness, that he might be better able to complete his work. rex, true to his “cracker” nature, begged and prom- ised abe to make all amends possible. “fer god's sake, mr. abe, ain't yer got no heart in yer body?” he pleaded. “yer knows my pappy has got a plenty money. 'deed, sah, he'll pay yer lots—thirty, forty, fifty- only let me go home to my ole pappy!”. while making these supplications rex raised himself upon his knees and drew closer to abe, who dealt him a terrible blow on the head, which rendered him unconscious. the sun was high in the heavens when rex again opened his eyes, and as we see it. the sight that revealed itself to him caused him to tremble and close them again. abe, who had been watching him, observed that he had regained consciousness, and told him that his time had come; that he had five minutes to prepare to meet his maker. rex, cringing, whining and pleading, dragged himself to abe's feet, begging to be spared. abe spurned him, refusing to say another word. at the expiration of the alloted time abe took his victim to a stump, to which, after stripping him of all clothing, he bound him, and proceeded to administer the trace to his bare back in a regular stroke. rex pleaded, yelled, threatened, cursed, and, finally, made a last frantic effort to break the thongs that bound him to his post of torture, exclaiming : “i won't die! i'll see my po' mammy!” this yell of rex's seemed to arouse the half-slumbering demon in abe. “your poor mammy? curse you! curse you for a cow- ardly hound! beat my mother to death! beat the flesh off the nude body of my sister! curse you! curse you! your damnable crime is now being punished !” yelled abe. as abe was delivering himself of these imprecations his fury seemed to redouble. he belabored rex with both hands, until, in his mad frenzy, he fell exhausted beside the limp and lifeless body of his victim. had one of rex's many friends happened upon the scene at this time abe would have become his easy captive. when he recovered he stood for some moments seemingly appalled by the terrible crime he had committed. the lifeless body of rex hung to the post, torn and bleeding. after his first fright, abe concluded to hang a piece of the horse trace about the neck of his victim and leave him to be found by his friends or the vultures, and then made his way as we see it. back to the overley place. upon his arrival malcolm wanted to know where he had been and what he had been doing. "malcolm, suppose i tell you just what i have done, will that not make you a party to ny crime, or whatever you may call it?" asked abe. “no, malcolm, i guess i had better not tell you.” after a moment malcolm asked: “why, abe, can you not trust me?” “oh, that is not the point. i can trust you, but i do not want to draw you into this affair of mine." while they were talking one of black sue's boys rode up to the gate on rex's horse and asked if they knew the horse and to whom it belonged. when asked where it came from, the boy stated that he found it in the back lot on nick lashum's place. nobody on that place seemed to know to whom the horse belonged. malcolm did not know. as the boy left malcolm turned to abe with the inquiry: “abe, who rode that horse to his death last night? tell me; i want to know.” “well,” said abe,“ if you must know, rex vardeman fell from it last night about five miles back in the timber. when i left him this morning his soul was in paradise.” “abe, what have you done?” “what i promised my poor mother i would do,” replied abe quickly. when the boy on rex's horse reached the main road he soon found persons who knew the animal and who directed him to take it to the wardeman place. the wardeman home was quiet, nothing having been thought of rex's non-appearance. but, when the horse was brought in, the fear was expressed that he had been thrown and lay somewhere in the timber, hurt and helpless. the boy was questioned as to where he found the horse. he, of course, knew nothing. a searching party was soon formed and on its way to the timber to find rex. they were not successful, however, returning as dark- as we see it. ness came on. but the next morning with the returning sun a party of searchers rode away from the wardeman place. this party, spread out over a large area of timber and soon came upon the mangled and lifeless body of rex. at a glance it was apparent to all that human hands had brought about rex's death. the opinions as to who committed the deed were numerous and varied. si weedels, who was ever present on occasions of this kind and ready with his advice, was of the opinion that the brothers of the girl whom rex was visiting were the parties who took the young man's life. his decision may have been influenced by the fact that one of these boys had beaten him in a horse trade. it is strange, but not one of the assembled searchers thought of abe. all agreed that some fiend among the whites was responsible for the killing. young joe wheatley, the sheriff, who was present, said nothing, but listened to the story of each man, all the time firmly convinced that he knew the probable murderer.. after a coroner's jury had returned a verdict declaring that rex's death was caused “by a party or parties unknown to the jury,” the clans of each county began to arm and to watch each other. buck lashum, not being in a condition physically to lead his clan, the leadership passed to tom smaly, who was known for his drunken brutality. after a day's hard riding, following the hounds in a great fox hunt, tom smaly was not to be found among those who gathered at goose neck inn to commemorate and celebrate the day's sport. his absence at first caused some comment, but mirth ran high, and rum flowed so freely that his absence was soon forgotten. it was not until next morning that his brother fully realized that tom was missing. after an all-day search the body of tom was found in the same condition and in the same place that rex wardeman's was not so long before. · when it became known that another white man had been killed in the same manner, at the same place, the wise people e nan as we see it. began to shake their heads. some were in favor of calling on the governor for a detective to ferret out the murderers; others were opposed to such a move, claiming that a- county could look after its own affairs; that a county is the same as a state, inasmuch as it has the right to handle all matters that arise within its borders. while these fiery arguments as to county rights were in full swing at goose neck inn, one of black sue's boys, a worthless mixture of black sue and nick lashum, came for- ward with the story that he saw abe riding away from the place where tom smaly was found. nucis. chapter xxvi. on he next morning a self-appointed posse of citizens, good and true, soon formed for the purpose of finding abe and lynching him. within a very short time after the mob was in possession of this infor- mation abe and the whole overley plantation were warned. messengers were sent out hurriedly for friends who could be depended on to aid in case of trouble. this mob, more or less liquorized, under the leadership of si weedles, mounted on a borrowed horse, he never having been able to recover from the disastrous horse trade mentioned above, swearing vengeance and promising great things, was soon on its way to the overley plantation. as they drew near the place a discussion arose as to the gate they should enter. some were for going through the big gate, while others favored the back cut. “ole mal overley is so d— funny,” said their leader, in deciding to go in the back way, “that he might git mad and shoot somebody when he see so many of us comin' up his front way. it ain't proper fer no white man to git killed fer no 'nigger.'” these people passed through the barnyard on their way to the veranda of the great house, where they found malcolm overley and a friend quietly smoking. when they lined up in front of him, off came their hats. overley sat calmly sur- veying them, waiting for the leader to make known their business. as no one of them spoke, he demanded in an angry voice: “what the h- do you d- meadow hogs want on my place?” at the same time thrusting his hand into his coat pocket, which movement caused them much uneasiness. si weedles started up the steps of the veranda at the same time, saying: “sah, mr. overley, we are on a- " as we see it. see or hear of anyone of you five men being on any man's place on such a mission as you are now engaged in, i will put you among the breakers. now, go!” “yes, sah, mr. joe, we is goin',” answered si weedles, as they hurried back through the barnyard. when si and his companions had left the place malcolm a. overley, sr., greeted the sheriff very cordially, saying: “joe, my boy, i am proud of you. you know better than any man in this county how to handle those 'crackers.' come up and let me introduce you to my friend, a friend of my college days from nova scotia.” after some general conversation, the stranger said : “sheriff, i heard mr. overley and you use some expressions to those men which they seemed to understand, but which i did not. mr. overley's expression was, “shoot the crumbs off you.' what in the world do you mean by that?” this question brought forth a peal of laughter from all those present. “well," answered the sheriff, “that is a slang phrase that should carry an insult with it. it means that the person so addressed is low and filthy. i am surprised that a fine old gentleman of mr. malcolm a. overley's caliber should make use of such slang. had it been just plain cuss words i would not have been a bit surprised. but what did i say?" “your expression was, “i will put you among the break- ers.'» "that expression translated would read, 'i will put you in the chain gang to break stone,'" laughed the sheriff. “well, well,” said the stranger; “apt, indeed. i could but notice its effect on those men. we do not have that class of men in our section.” the sheriff left, saying: “i am very glad to have met you. i hope you may learn to sight a rifle close enough to shoot the crumps off a 'cracker.'”. two days later black sue's son was found hanging by the as we see it. neck to a young sapling that had been bent to the ground. he was dead, having strangled to death. pinned to his breast was a card, upon which the following words were written: “let this be a warning to all ‘niggers' who carry tales to the white people.” when the news of this young man's death reached black sue her grief and wrath were pitiable. this drunken, worth- less scion, the most worthless of all her illegitimate brood, was her favorite. black sue reached the conclusion that abe was responsible for her son's death. she, therefore, swore ven- geance upon him. she, like all of her kind, was an adept in gathering and disseminating scandal. she instructed her pickaninnies to say that abe injured buck lashum ; that he killed rex wardeman; that he killed tom smaly; that he had now killed their brother. this story soon spread over the county. a demand was made upon the sheriff for abe's arrest. sheriff wheatley, however, refused, in the absence of facts, to arrest abe. feeling and excitement ran high. those who felt the burden of the affairs of the county most heavily met every day at goose neck inn, and their sessions continued until midnight, when the bar was closed. si weedels, always the busiest and most ragged citizen at these sessions, had undergone another change of heart with regard to abe. some of his friends were heartless enough to express the suspicion that the sight of the winchesters at the overley place were responsible for this sudden change. si was loud in his protestations, and grew louder as the night grew shorter. he now insists that “no ‘nigger' had the nerve to kill a white man like that. whoever hearn of a ‘nigger' doin' sich a thing! black sue and her pickaninnies has caused all the trouble in this hyre county for the past ten years. them people was killed by some oncivilized critter in the next county.” thus si talked and argued with kindred spirits, while the weeds grew up to his doorsill and the holes in his boots and pants grew larger. chapter xxvii. ono discuss the mysterious deaths noted in the previous chapter, and to devise ways and means by which these mysteries could be solved, nick lashum and his cronies met at their favorite nook, by the pig sty. si weedels was still of the opinion that some “oncivilized” white man from the next county had done the killing. jack smaly was of the opinion that abe overley did the deed, or that burrell “nigger" did it. his cowardly conscience pointed out to him the real source of the calamities which had overtaken his brother and friends. he felt within himself that he would surely be called upon to answer for the part he played in the killing of abe's mother and sister. nick lashum, sr., could see no reason why any man in the next county should want to kill anybody in a— county; neither could casper lashum. “si, yer is suttenly mistook. who's in thet county thet has got nothin' 'gin anybody in this hyre county? nobody's bin hurted by them people fer mor'n twenty yeirs. not since jeff snooks took and killed ollie booker—and none of these boys 'long to them fam 'lies. no, sir, yer is mistook. we is got to look ferder ’n thet. d—, ef i don't tek black sue's gess fer hit. thet ‘nigger’ abe done thet killin'. i’se axed my buck mor’n onct who did thet job for him, but he don't seem ter understan'. by god! i would gin all i’se got ter know! thet boy war a promisin' boy. he had his faults, but he was a promisin' boy. now, look at him. ef i thought thet thet abe overley hurted thet boy, i'l kill every d'nig- ger' in the county; thet i would.” “what good would that do, father?” asked nick lashum, jr. “the other negroes did not do it, nor are they respon- sible for what abe has done." as we see it. “thet is jes' lek yer. forever takin' up fer them ‘nig- gers’!” shouted nick lashum, sr. “d— ef i knows who teached yer them sentiments. d— ef i did.” “no, you did not, father. common sense taught me,” answered the son, with some warmth. “it does seem to me that men grown would learn something as they pass through this life. when those two women were killed, did you feel that every white man in the county should be killed ?” “in course i did not. who the h— ever hearn of white men bein' killed fer ‘niggers'?” answered nick, sr. “jes' sich talk as thet makes them ‘niggers' think they is got the same rights as me and you is got. what right is they got to have one hundred and sixty acres and good horses and cattle- horses thet kin come down the road faster'n you kin? i tells yer, mr. nicholas lashum, thet yer pappy don't want thet darn talk on his place. d— ef i does.” this last remark aroused the quarrelsome 'cracker' blood in nick, jr., who answered hotly: “no, i suppose not. your whole bunch was so d— ignorant the day of the meeting here that you would not let white men talk who had as much right to talk as you had. now, what is the result? uncle casper is out and ail the offices are in the hands of the people opposed to you. your friends are being killed under your very noses, and all you know and all you can say and all you can do is kill a ‘nigger.' d— such ignorance! i have been with people of brains and standing long enough to learn that killing ‘niggers' and burning their property is a mighty sorry way to control anything. while you and your friends were bellowing ‘nigger,' these people used their brains and took the office of sheriff away in one night. now, your friends are being killed, and you are bel- lowing ‘nigger,' instead of locating the murderer and bringing him to justice. i do not wonder that these people call you 'meadow hogs,''crackers,' and the devil knows what not. to h- with your d— brute ideas! i am cashier of the pioneer as we see it. savings bank. i mingle with the best people of the state. must i be forever and continually reminded that i belong to a family of murderers ?” “yes, thet is very fine talk, but who the h- ever hearn of killin' 'niggers' bein' murder?” asked nick, sr. “your d-d ignorance is simply maddening,” answered the son, with great wrath. “can you give a ‘nigger' life? have you got a right to take that which you can't give? i don't care a d— for these niggers,' but i would like for my family name to stand for something besides brutal assaults and adulterous connection with ‘niggers.' if this thing keeps up i shall leave the state and go where the curse of 'cracker' ignorance is unknown; go where i will not hear at every turn that nick lashum says this, and nick lashum says that, all of which bespeaks phenomenal ignorance and brutality. i am tired of it all.” “yes, i suppose yer is. yer an' arabella is the only two thet tells ther ole pappy thet he is ig’rant and all these things,” whined the old man. “yer has al’ays been a good boy, nick; but can't yer overlook them things thet i learnt when i was a boy?” “overlook h—!" yelled the son. “are you never going to learn anything? am i ever to be reminded that my father is different from the fathers i meet out in the world? your whole bunch of d-d ignorant 'crackers' is despicable!” and nick left with an oath applicable to them all. when nick, jr., left the crowd began to melt away. soon jack smaly, nick, sr., si, and casper lashum were left to themselves. casper said: “nick, what did i tell yer when yer started thet boy to school twenty odd yeirs ago? i tole yer jes’ what 'twud be. you never hearn my boys talk lek thet. why? 'cause i knows as much as they does. i took pains not ter let them go no longer than i did. thet is what i done." as we see it. let yer come in and git what i wants? youse a fine brother, yer is! wan’ter rob yer own flesh and blood ?” “how's thet robbin' yer ?” asked casper, warmly. “yer is sich a d— hog thet yer wants the best of everything. yer tooked thet burrell place from them ‘nigger' chil’ren, which o’ny cos' yer one hundred and forty dollars, court cos's, an' yer promised to gin me eighty acres of thet lan’an’yer didn't do hit. i fixed thet deal fer yer, and yer keeps the whole hundred and sixty acres, an' i gits nothin'. thet's the kin’er brother yer is. then say i wants ter rob yer! ter h— with thet talk!” “cas, yer and nick's ferever cussin' at each other,” said si. “is yer never goin' ter get ter act lek men when yer gits tergether? i wants yer both to do better, d- if i don't.” si's remark caused a laugh, accompanied as it was by an attitude of authority. in spite of the suggestions offered, this assemblage broke up without reaching a definite conclusion as to the killings. chapter xxviii. n the meantime abe had expressed his determination to il mr. overley to quit the place, as the “crackers” were aroused to a point where it was likely they would fire the house and barn because of the fact that mr. overley pro- tected him. the senior overley, however, would not listen to abe's protests, insisting that he was master on his own place. at this time abe was approached by an italian with whom he had been very friendly and who had worked for the lashums for some time. he seemed to understand the whole situation and endeavored to persuade abe to use bombs on the white people of the county. “abe, i maka de bomb. i learna in my country. i shoota one little birda. da counta de costigni he beata me. i fixa de bomb under his door stepa. he comea. buoy! buoy! ha! ha! his heada go one waya, his feeta keep on run- ning. i geta my revenga! i leava my country. i go backa some day rich mana. i liva and diea good mana. i makea you de bomb. no? bah! no revenga ?” “no, tony,” said abe, “i do not want your bombs. i have no quarrel with the whole county. five men killed my mother. two of them are dead. three live. one worse than dead. he shall die, however. that leaves two more to be accounted for. were i to use a bomb on the first white man that comes along, simply because he is a white man, i would commit a cowardly crime, for which i would deserve the worst punishment. this is not a question of race with me. but it is a step back to medieval days, when brothers avenged brothers' wrongs; when the state was not strong enough, as in this case, to right such wrongs. the time is now come when negroes should kill the man or men who on the slightest provocation lynch or take the lives of their kinsmen. when they learn to do that, we will have fewer murders of as we see it. informed. you may know that, however. with kindest regards to abe, yours, devaux. abe sat silent for some moments after the reading of this epistle, then said: “again have those young men done me a very great service; this time unconsciously. i have tried in vain to locate tim wardeman. this letter, with its informa- tion, comes at a very opportune time. i had made up my mind to go in search of him, which would have been a long, tedious hunt. now i can go direct. his wife! black sue's girl viney! she disappeared about the time tim did, and i have no doubt it is she who is with him. but we shall soon know. malcolm, when do you start for college?”. “when do i start for college?” asked malcolm. “have you concluded not to go? we should start next wednesday. dad said last night that we were to finish this year; that he is very proud of the showing we have made. have you talked to your father about going?”. “poor old dad! i had almost forgotten him. no, i have not. i have had very little to say to him on any subject. he will, of course, want me to finish my course; but i do not feel that i should remain at college after what i have passed through in the last two months. i shall leave here for oberlin when you do, however. i will then make my way out west. i am sorry that i must leave jack smaly and buck alive, but i will return about christmas.” abe then went to his father, whom he found sitting silent and alone, apparently weighted down by the burden of events which have so rapidly succeeded the taking off of his loved ones. “dad, you seem worried,” said abe. “what is the trouble?” “yes, my son, i is worried,” answered the father. “i'se worried 'bout yo’. two munts hab yo'been home an' yo' has as we see it. not spent two nights wid yo'ole dad. my son, my ole heart tells me that all’s not right wid yo’. when de great day dun kum, an de question's axed yo’ what yo’ dun wid dem two munts, what yo’ goin' say ? oh, my po' boy, what kin yo' say?” the old man's head dropped to his breast, his whole body quivered, tears ran down his careworn cheeks, his whole atti- tude was one of dejection, of despair. abe stood for some moments gazing intently at his father, whose age and helpless- ness were apparent to him now as never before. he suddenly realized what a blow his determination to live for revenge had been to his old christian father. his heart swelled with remorse, but his purpose was not shaken for one moment. he knelt before his father, whose hands he took in his own, saying: “dad, why spend your last days worrying over a thing which neither of us can remedy? you say this case can only be settled at the bar of god. dad, i sincerely regret that any action of mine should cause you trouble, but my mother's death calls for revenge." “my boy, does yo' 'member what de good lawd say on dat · <t? he say dat 'revenge is mine.' does yo' feel yo’se'f stronger dan he am? does yo’ feel dat you is on dis eart' to do his work or his biddin'? oh, my po' boy, what i teach yo' when yo' a leetle boy at yo'po' mammy's knee? did i teach you to be 'vengeful? what has yo' lef' fo' de lawd to do in dis matter? my boy, it am yo'ole dad's wish dat yo' goes baʼk to school and leve dese pussons in de han's of de lawd. if yo’ does dat, yo’ will tek yo’ ole fodder's blessin' wid yo’.” as abe's father spoke these words he laid his hands upon his son's head, with a mental supplication to almighty god that he direct abe anew. “father," answered abe, “i have come to you to say that as we see it. “mr. overley, i have come to talk to you about my going off to college with malcolm next wednesday,” said abe. “you have, have you? damnation! do you think i want you to wake me up to talk about your d— school ? didn’t i say go? how long have you been on this place that you haven't yet learned that i sleep at this hour? you did well last year. what the h- do you learn at school, that you don't know better than to disturb an old man during the hour he sleeps? you, both! malcolm, i am displeased that you let abe awaken me.” “yes, dad, i'm sorry, but- " “but?”' interrupted the father, now thoroughly awakened; “what is the matter? what have you young devils hatched now?' “mr. overley, i want to tell you how i am going to devote this school year. i hope you will bear with me." abe then related all that had passed between himself and his father; also his determination to find tim wardeman and wreak vengeance on him. the senior overley listened attentively. when abe had finished he sat silent, with his eyes closed, apparently lost in thought. neither malcolm nor abe dared speak. “so, you want to go out west to kill somebody, do you? well, if i thought you killed the two valuable citizens who were found dead back in the woods i would have you hanged, that i would. and you do not feel that you ought to go back to college? why?” “i do not know at what moment the hand of the law may reach me. i do not desire to bring disgrace upon the college by being arrested while there," answered abe. “well, i never looked at this dbusiness in that light before,” said mr. overley. “how are you going to live ?” “i have no fear along those lines," answered abe. “i want to get back here by christmas. i think that jack smaly would like to meet me about that time. i shall avail myself chapter xxix. ar he day of their leaving came only too quickly, and the boys were on their way to oberlin. it was agreed between them that upon their arrival abe would call upon miss watson, see dr. finley, and leave the town imme- diately. he went from the station direct to miss watson's home. their eyes met in a long, steadfast gaze, the one bear- ing the mute inquiry, “what have you done ?” the other conveying the desired information. miss watson asked no questions. she seemed to know intuitively that abe had kept his promise to the dead. “abe, will you finish your course this year?” she asked. “no, nancy; i am on my way out west,” answered abe. “i hope to be with you again just before christmas. i have stopped in oberlin to talk to you, also to pay my respects to your parents. i expect to visit dr. finley, dean sternly and mr. donewell, after which i shall leave the town.” by good fortune, abe, after leaving the watson home, found the three persons whom he most desired to see in the doctor's office. he was greeted very cordially by them. the doctor, assuming that abe was back for the school year, immediately began to compliment him upon his determination to finish his college course. abe's embarrassment was not at first apparent to the doctor, who, when he did notice his confusion, asked for an explanation. abe stated briefly that unforeseen cir- cumstances had arisen that would not permit his attendance at college this year; that he had stopped in oberlin to see his friends and say good-bye to them, and that he was going out west and might never return. abe's vow to avenge the deaths of his mother and sister was known to the doctor, dean sternly and mr. donewell, and they felt that that vow was the basic cause of his determination not to attend college this as we see it. year. dr. finley arose from his seat greatly agitated. he walked over to abe, placing his hand on his shoulder, saying: “my son, may i not speak to you in god's name? listen to me, an old man, who has passed the three-score-and-ten mark, and who firmly believes in the brotherhood of mankind. in god's name, do not leave this college; do not go on this errand to the west; do not begin this wreaking of vengeance; do not put yourself without the pale of the law; do not do that which will bring the wrath of god upon you. leave this matter in his hands. i know that your provocation has been great. i know that you cannot invoke the aid of the law. i know that you feel, from your point of view, that revenge is the only course open to you. but, why take this matter in your own hands? why take your own life in your own hands? why leave off the building of a useful life, as you seem to have determined to do ?” “doctor, my mother's death will then have been avenged,” answered abe. “avenged !” exclaimed the doctor. “a false doctrine ! to be avenged you would violate the law of the land; to be avenged you would take your own life in your hands; to be avenged you would forever put aside the building of a useful life, put aside the opportunities that are open to you, forever put aside, dwarf, deaden and transform into an agency for evil those faculties which god seldom bestows upon man in such abundance. my son, i repeat, you will do all these things to be avenged, and after you have been avenged what have you accomplished?” abe stood looking at the doctor. his form seemed to heighten and expand. finally he answered in slow and meas- ured tones : “doctor, not being a negro, you cannot understand nor can you appreciate my feelings in this matter. taking your last argument first, granting that god has bestowed upon me in an unusual degree faculties that are susceptible to cultivation, as we see it. must i not also be endowed with the accompanying sensibilities that would tend to make up the mentality of which you speak? doctor, had your mother, your mother, mark you, been treated as mine was, though she was ten times guilty of what my mother was so wrongfully accused; had your sister been lashed upon her nude body until death relieved her sufferings, even though she had been guilty of murder—would you stifle in your breast your desire for vengeance when you knew that the processes of law were a farce and there was no such thing as justice? with no other means of redress but retaliation, and no remedy for the wrong except the torch, the knife or the club, would you refuse to hear the cry for vengeance from your dead mother and sister? doctor, god may have endowed me as abundantly as you say, but the one gift from the great jehovah for which i am truly thankful is this right arm of mine!” as abe spoke these words he raised his arm aloft in all the pride of youth and conscious strength of manhood. then, with a sudden burst of passion, he exclaimed: “doctor, what do i now care for law, life or liberty ? could i go calmly through this life, trusting to a force which i can neither see nor feel, conscious that the brutes who foully murdered my loved ones, my poor old mother and my young sister, are enjoying liberty? would i be a man? would you, under such circumstances, bow your head, clasp your hands and trust in the lord? life is worth nothing to me now. i go forth from here with the deliberate determination to take the lives of those who murdered my poor mother.” when abe had finished a silence fell upon the assemblage that was broken by mr. donewell, who invited abe to walk to his home with him. "mr. overley,” said dr. donewell, “what do you expect to do after you have kept your vow? i have invited you to walk with me that i might ask you this question. i am not censur- ing you, mark you, but, as i place myself in your position, i as we see it. can see nothing that i could do. my life would be a blank. have you considered well the step you have taken ?” “yes, mr. donewell, i have considered,” answered abe, “and if i do not forfeit my life in this attempt, the time allotted me from the consummation of my vow to eternity will be spent in the upbuilding of my people in some foreign land, perhaps. but i am frank to say that i feel that i have noth- ing for which to live. why should i care to live? my poor old father, now on the very brink of the great beyond, is all that binds me to this earth.” “why, mr. overley," asked mr. donewell, “i hoped there might be a young lady somewhere who would influence you to resume your course at this college?”. “yes, yes,” said abe, “there is a young lady from whom i wrung a promise when the enormity of this crime was upon her, but who is too good, too pure, to have her life linked to one whose hands will be red with human blood. when i next see her i shall bid her forget me. i shall give back her prom- ise. i shall then be an outcast, a homeless wanderer, an out- law, maybe, with my hand raised against mankind and a price upon my head. god alone knows how it will end. but, no matter how it ends, no matter what i am forced to do, the dying cries of my poor mother and my outraged sister shall be answered by the dying cries of their brutal murderers. though i face death at the fiery stake in this world, though i am sure to be engulfed in the fires of hell in the next world, my mother shall be avenged!”. as abe uttered these words he stopped short, looked mr. donewell full in the face, and remarked: “perhaps i had better not go further, sir; i am already a murderer.” mr. donewell gazed at abe for some moments in silence. in spite of his conviction that abe was wrong in his determi- nation, he could not but admire him. the thought ran through his mind that here is a splendid life wrecked, one of god's rare creations, one of nature's noblemen, made wretched and as we see it. reckless by the wanton killing of his mother and sister—a killing directly traceable to lust and drunken brutality. after some moments’ silence, mr. donewell took abe by the arm, resuming their walk. “mr. overley, i feel for you. my heart is with you, but my reason tells me that you are wrong. i would to god that i might be of some service to you, that i could say or do some- thing that might help you to the right course! what can i do to help you?” “mr. donewell, i know of nothing you can do for me; but away down in the state of alabama there are two old men who are dear to me, who have made great sacrifices for me. i wish there were some way in which you could look after them and help them to spend their last days in peace on the old plantation. mr. donewell, do this, and you will surely be rewarded in heaven. i will leave you now, sir.” as abe extended his hand to his friend, his eyes filled with tears. he said simply: “good-bye, mr. donewell; i may never see you again.” “good-bye, my boy," was all that mr. donewell could say. chapter xxx. hen left to himself, dr. donewell recalled abe's words, “see that they spend their last days in peace on the old plantation.” after some thought he recalled dr. finley's remarks concerning the conditions under which malcolm and abe entered the college. he deter- mined to have a thorough investigation made at once, which investigation resulted in the disclosure that the mortgage on the overley place was about to be foreclosed; that some of malcolm a. overley's friends were pooling their money to buy the place in for him. mr. donewell instructed his solicitor to buy the place in at any cost. when the day of sale came, nick, being precluded from bidding, left that duty to casper. the bidding started slowly, and it seemed at first as if the probable price brought would not pay the mortgage. soon a stranger raised the last bid of casper's one thousand dollars. casper stood aghast. he raised the bid one hundred dollars, however. the stranger bid one thousand dollars more. casper yelled, “five hun- dred dollars mor’n thet last bid!” the stranger calmly bid one thousand dollars more. neither nick lashum nor his cohorts could understand this move. they consulted together, after which, at the request of the auctioneer, they bid one hundred dollars more. the stranger, who was seated in a public carry-all, arose, remarking in a loud voice: “mr. auctioneer, i propose to have this place, if it costs me a half million. i bid twenty- five hundred dollars more!” “mr. casper lashum, will you let this grand old place get away from you for seventeen thousand five hundred dollars ? do i hear a bid of one hundred dollars more? seventeen thousand five hundred dollars for property which is worth as we see it. the last bid took the selling price up to thirty-one thousand five hundred dollars, all the place was worth, and if the stranger refused to bid again he (nick) would have more than twenty-five thousand dollars cash to raise over and above his mortgage; that this stranger was setting a trap to break him. but nick, sr., whose cupidity was now thoroughly aroused, whispered to casper to bid one thousand dollars more. “naw!” exclaimed casper; "who the h~'s goin' ter git they money together? ‘bid one thousand dollars more, cas- per.' when my home's gone yo’ll gin me one lek you did them eighty acres. yer put yer own head in the trap. yer is a nice " “thirty-one thousand five hundred dollars! going! going!” yelled the auctioneer, now thoroughly satisfied with his prospective fee. “going-once! mr. zeph smaly, do you bid one thousand dollars more? mr. casper lashum, are you done. do i hear one hundred dollars more? this prop- erty is worth fifty thousand dollars, if it is worth one cent. going—twice! thirty-one thousand five hundred dollars ! make it one thousand more, mr. wardeman? will you let this opportunity pass? are you all done? going! going! gone! this gentleman here gets the place for thirty-one thou- sand five hundred dollars. the bargain of his life. mr.- " “john k. evers is my name,” said the stranger. “mr. john k. evers, the terms of this sale, of course, are known to you. one thousand dollars at time of sale, balance in thirty days.” “yes," said mr. evers; “i am prepared to comply with the terms here and now.” “it is not necessary to go into details here in the road, sir,” said nick lashum, jr. “we will drive to the bank, where we can arrange all matters and where the papers are to be found.” this was satisfactory to mr. evers, who made the deposit and promised to come to the bank next day at p. m. and make as we see it. you are competent and willing to set up a standard of deport- ment for the young ladies of your acquaintance." “mrs. donewell, do you not think your daughter a little severe in her comments?” asked malcolm. before mrs. donewell could answer malcolm's query, mr. donewell came into the room. “mr. overley, i am very glad to see you; very glad that you are back to finish your course.” “i am very glad to be back," answered malcolm. “this old college is very dear to me. we form ties at college that should never be severed.” “father, what is the matter?” asked mrs. donewell. “you look as solemn as a judge who is about to pronounce a death sentence upon some person whom he does not believe guilty.” “well, i feel just as you express it," said mr. donewell. “i have just passed sentence upon a young man whom i admire and respect. my heart tells me he is right in his determination to take the law in his own hands. his is a position calculated to try the strongest. i would— " “you have seen my friends, abe, mr. donewell,” inter- rupted malcolm. “what has he told you he means to do?” “he insists that his vow must be kept,” said mr. donewell. “his only concern is for two old men in alabama who seem to have made great sacrifices for him. his concern is that they spend their last days quietly on the old plantation. what can he mean by that remark? i tried to persuade him to remain at the college with us this year, but he would not. he has a mission to perform in the west, he says. i hope something unforeseen will prevent the fulfillment of that mission.” “mr. donewell, nothing but death will stop abe," said malcolm. “i have not tried to dissuade him for the reason that i know it would be useless. he will surely keep his vow." “mr. overley, what vow has your friend abe made ?” asked miss donewell. “do you refer to his vow to avenge as we see it. the south who believe that every man has a right to life, liberty and happiness, have studied these people, and have come to the conclusion that new blood injected into the 'cracker' is all that will save the southland. these people are non-progressive. they produce little and consume much. the negroes are outstripping them at every turn, and let me say that herein lies the trouble. the 'cracker' will not do himself, and resents with great fierceness the progress made by his black neighbor. but where is this new blood to come from? some states have agents soliciting emigrants, con- tracting for them abroad, in violation of the laws of the united states. when they come here they look the 'cracker' over, turn from him to the better class of negroes, or leave the country. they will have none of the cracker.' and the birth rate of the mulattoes goes on and on. where will it end? we have men in public life who have negro blood in their veins. these men are fiercest in their denunciation of the negro. in a few more generations, in some sections of the south, the line will be obliterated, much as some of us may deplore it.” “mr. overley, you draw a gloomy picture of the future of the south,” said mr. donewell. “can you see no light of hope, no gleam away in the far distant future, that would indicate an awakening in this 'cracker' element?” “no, i can see nothing in them," answered malcolm; “they are today where they have been for generations, with an exception here and there. where one has reached the united states senate, he stands even there for those things which have disgraced the south. in the governor's chair, some low-bred ‘cracker' has brought disgrace upon the state. there is nothing you can do with them. as a whole, they are intract- able, unteachable and incapable of cultivation. they simply multiply like the germs of a contagion, fighting ever at the vitals of the body politic. but where has abe gone, mr. donewell?” chapter xxxii. be, after leaving mr. donewell, went to miss watson's home and took his final leave of the family, saying that he would return the week before christmas. he then went to malcolm's room to await his arrival. malcolm soon came into the room, fully persuaded to try to show abe the error of his way. he found abe seated by the table, gazing at a little homespun jacket which he held, as the great teardrops fell like rain upon the garment. malcolm stood for amoment as one suddenly awakened from a dream. “abe, where did you get that little jumper?” he asked. “oh, mammy rinda made that for me years ago! let me see it. yes, this is one of mine. here is the family coat of arms she sewed on the collar. sh! poor old mammy rinda! how i would love to see you now! abe, do you remem- ber— " “do i remember? my god! malcolm, how can you ask- " “now, abe, be reasonable,” said malcolm. “i want to ask you about the good things mammy rinda used to fix for us. i remember her as the only woman who nursed me, who sang me to sleep, to whom i told the story of my sufferings, and who always comforted me and soothed my pains. now she is gone, and by the hands of murderers! curses on them! abe, when do you start for the west? i will go with you. those hellhounds must surely die!” malcolm forgot for a moment the fine resolutions he had made to persuade abe to stay at school. he remembered nothing but that that old black woman, the mother of his childhood, had been foully mur- dered. the little garment took him back to the days and acts of her kindness and love never to be forgotten. malcolm sat with his face in his hands for several moments. as we see it. he finally said: “abe, i want to help you. god knows i do. but in what way? how can i help you most? poor old mammy rinda! the only mother i ever knew!” malcolm arose and walked to abe, placing his hand upon his shoulder, saying: “abe, you are my brother. the brother of my childhood. why did god almighty make you black and me white? make us to love and revere the same things? alike in all respects but color? and this world holds you responsible for your color! abe," continued mal- colm, as they clasped hands, “what can i. do now to help you?" “malcolm, you can best serve me by not becoming involved in these crimes i am committing,” answered abe. “while i appreciate your feelings in the matter, and believe you are willing to avenge my mother, it is not right that you should do so. you should not stain your hands with human blood. you cannot justify yourself before man or god. this is my affair and mine alone. i have come to say good-bye to you, malcolm. i am going to find tim wardeman. he shall not escape me. but i feel that i am leaving my brother, if not in blood, in unity of soul. malcolm, brother, look after my old father. see that he wants nothing. if i never return and he should learn the truth, tell him what i have confessed to you- that i lied to him that he might not suffer the anguish the knowledge of my errand would bring to him. if i ever return, i pray god that it will not break his heart. can there be a god, malcolm? is there a god that directs and shapes the courses and destinies of nations alike? why, my brother, are we brothers, yet as far apart as the poles, north and south, and held apart because i am black and you are white ? devaux and his friend, ready and willing with their money and their blood to defend me, would not sleep under the same roof that sheltered me, because they are white and i am black. this must be the god that rev. dr. snell down home preached about. you have no conception, malcolm—you can have no as we see it. conception of the terribly humiliating effect of this undefin- able something that makes me an object of scorn, of derision, something to be shunned, to be ever set apart from other men, not because i am not decent, clean and orderly, but because god made me black; a something that white men with the christian love for their fellow men in their hearts, and mil- lions of money in their pockets, have not the moral courage to stand up before the world and combat. though the sermon on the mount is against this unbrotherly feeling, they are unwilling, though professed followers of christ, to say, 'this black man is my brother and has a man's rights. they can- not take a black man into their religious institutions, even when he is weak and exhausted by the toils and disappoint- ments and diseases of this world, and say, 'rest here in peace, brother; god will show you the way.' that christian spirit of brotherhood is reserved for all nations and races of the earth save the american negro. in all civilized communities the negro, even the american negro, is welcome and wel- comed, save in such communities as are protected by the star spangled banner, the emblem of the land of the free and the home of the brave. i leave you now, malcolm; but i feel that god has made some white men after his own image. i feel that, should i never come back, my good name will not suffer in your keeping. good-bye, my brother!” “good-bye, old boy,” said malcolm, as their hands doubled over each other—and abe was gone. as malcolm stood listening to abe's receding footsteps he suddenly remembered that abe had no money. taking all he had (forty dollars), he wrapped it in his handkerchief, well knowing that abe would not accept it if given openly, and called to abe, saying that he wanted him to take this handkerchief, as that was all he had to give him. abe placed the handkerchief in his inside pocket, remarking that he would keep it always. as we see it. after abe's departure, malcolm soliloquized: “why was abe not made white the same as i am ? why should a man of his fine intellect and sensibilities be placed in this world where he is looked down upon even by the most ignorant of white men? what, indeed, must be his feelings as he meets that sentiment at every turn. but tim wardeman will surely die. abe will come back as he said he would and go south with me and finish the rest. poor old mammy rinda! my old black mother! i nursed at that breast, drew my life from her care. father has told me time and again that but for mammy rinda's care i would not have lived. now she is dead. am i not a craven that i do not avenge her? is she not the only mother that i ever knew? beaten to death! my god! and i have not struck a blow in her defense, nor have i uttered one word in protest! shame! shame! and i am a white man! i shall go back home, and when abe returns he will find nothing to be done. i shall finish where he left off. i shall see mabel and go tomorrow.” with this determination uppermost in his mind, malcolm sought the sleep which, try as he would, was denied him. chapter xxxiii. a be, after leaving malcolm, went direct to the station, catching the chicago express. while thinking over the events of the day malcolm's gift presented itself to his mind. upon examining the handkerchief he discovered the money which malcolm had concealed in it. his first impulse was to return it to malcolm when he arrived in chicago. he concluded, after much thought, however, that to send the money back to malcolm would be an offense which would wound his feelings. he felt that malcolm had made a sacrifice for him which he should appreciate. his mind turned to the working out of some plan by which he could accomplish his mission without detection. abe found that his money amounted to sixty dollars, all told, and that he must find employment to procure funds to pay his passage to st. louis. while searching about the docks for a job, he fell in with a person who interested him a great deal. his new friend was a young white man, apparently thirty years of age, well edu- cated, but a slave to drink, who said his name was “draper.” he could not be induced to talk further about himself. he appeared to “take” to abe at sight. “draper" worked upon the docks when he felt so disposed, seeming always to have a job at his disposal. he procured a job for abe. the second day after they met, while waiting for a boat, abe asked him why he did not let liquor alone, get himself together and go back to his home and friends. “draper, you are a bright man; you are college bred; you come of good stock; you have no excuse in the world for living as you do. now, i am not trying to lecture to you; i simply hate to see you in this condition. come, old man, tell me why you are throwing your life away?” “black” (this is the name he gave abe when they first as we see it. “come on, draper; there is our boat. we can get seven hours off her; that will take us up to dark. then we can go to the y. m. c. a.” “y. m. c. a.?” asked draper; “what put that into your head? i have not been inside of one for two years. then they drove me out. but we will go.” that night abe and his friend made their way to the y. m. c. a. building—a large and commodious place, given over to the reformation and upbuilding of the men along the docks. the building was filled with all the conveniences need- ful for such work. the dormitory was a model in itself. after hearing a long and very instructive lecture by a local preacher, without a charge, abe and his friend betook them- selves to the library. they had been seated but a short time when a gong sounded and the inmates of the library arose and began to file out of the room. abe and his friend sat still. soon the superintendent came to them, remarking that he observed they were strangers. he also remarked that the gong had sounded for bedtime. turning to draper, he asked: “do you expect to tarry with us tonight?” “yes, that is what we came for," answered draper. “well, er—you might—but, er—your friend-he, er- " stammered the good man. “he, er—hell! what is the matter with my friend?” asked draper. the chargeless minister, who had just been discoursing so eloquently on the brotherhood of mankind, together with two other persons who were evidently christian workers, joined the group. “well, er—the fact of the matter is, our rules forbid the sleeping of colored men here; we will do all else we can for them,” said the superintendent. “oh, i see! dagoes, sheenies—any old nation—is welcome but the american negro,” said draper. “come, black, let's go back to con mcnulty's. we can get a room over his booze joint, but you cannot get one in this christian institution. as we see it. he found abe overley standing over him with a horse trace in his hand. tim collapsed, and would have fallen into the water had not abe caught him and pulled him away from the bank. when he recovered, he looked at abe with bulging eyes, and fear and guilt were stamped on his every feature. their eyes met. tim felt that his time had come. his craven heart manifested itself. his one endeavor was to get away. he bounded to his feet in a vain attempt to escape, but was felled to the ground by a terrific blow on the top of the head that rendered him unconscious. when he regained his senses, he found himself stripped of clothing, bound to a stump, and abe standing over him with a horse trace ready in his hand to administer the terrible blows that tim felt were sure to come. he began to plead. “mr. abe, would yer?” “did you ever see this horse trace before?” asked abe, holding the trace before tim's eyes. “how kin i tell, i'se seed so many?" answered tim. “how many have you used on helpless old women?” de- manded abe. “deed, mr. abe, i never did sich a think in my whole life,” was tim's answer. “liar!” hissed abe, at the same time bringing the trace down on tim's shoulders with a force that split the skin. “take that, and that,-maybe you can remember an old woman whom you beat to death with this very trace. curse you, i am now going to treat you as you served her. i am going to beat you to death.” “my god! mr. abe, spare me,” he pleaded. “think of my wife and chile. they will suttenly starve without me to find for them.” "your wife and child? they will suffer! did my poor old mother suffer? did my sister suffer when you brutes were tearing her garments from her back?” thundered abe. as we see it. "take that, you cursed brute, and that, and that. yell, you dog. did my mother's cries stop you? yell, curse you. your cries are what i have come to hear. ha! ha! yell! yell! damn you, yell!” abe stood over tim and belabored him with the trace, first with an even stroke that was cruel and diabolical in its sameness of contact with tim's body, each stroke cutting deeper and deeper into the flesh. abe's temper arose with tim's cries. he soon began to wield the trace with both hands, regardless of where the blows fell, until he stopped from exhaustion, dropping down beside his victim, who was unconscious. abe waited for tim to recover, thinking then to finish his work. it was nightfall before tim recovered, although abe had repeatedly deluged him with water. tim's first cry was, “spare me, mr. abe! spare me fer my ole father!” “spare you for your old father!” yelled abe. did you spare my sister for her old father?” “mr. abe, my po' ole mother, she ”with a cry that was beastly in its fierceness, abe sprung upon tim, dealing him a shower of blows that soon rendered him lifeless. tim, as the life left his body, gave vent to one cry which was heard by two miners who, together with vinnie, were in search of tim. they immediately returned to their cabins, the miners leaving vinnie in great haste. when abe discovered that tim was dead, he cut a piece of the trace and hung it about his neck, after which he made his way to the cabin where he found vinnie cowering in great fear, the cry which she heard having completely unnerved her. when abe strode into the room, she instinctively knew what had happened, but when she saw the blood-stained horse trace in abe's hand her terror rendered her helpless. abe stood in the gloom of the poorly lighted room, gazing as we see it. intently at her. vinnie was held transfixed by his gaze, her eyes bulging, her tongue refusing to move. at last she whispered in a voice, uncertain and weak, “abe overley?”. “yes,” said abe, “i have come to tell you not to move out of this cabin, not to let any person in, nor to tell any person on earth that you ever saw me in this country. if you do, the voice that you heard on the hill an hour ago will call you to that door. do you understand? “yes, abe, i does, an’ will do jus' as yer says,” was her trembling reply. “but abe, yer is goin' 'way. don't leave me here. we was chillen togedder, yer tooked me ter sun- day school many a time; tek me back ter the ole place. abe, i'll be yer wife. i swears ter yer, abe, i never had a 'nigger' man in all my life. ise always been a good woman. i—_" “been a good woman?” was abe's contemptuous reply. “what do you call that?” pointing to the child. “be my wife! move out of this cabin before twelve o'clock tomor- row night and you will join tim wardeman in hell.” with this remark, abe left vinnie, as he had a distance of ten miles to walk to catch the overland express to utah city. abe reached that city in safety. he then went to san francisco, from which city he shipped on a coastwise steamer plying between san francisco and vancouver. from vancouver abe made his way to windsor, canada, from which point he wrote malcolm, asking whether it was advisable for him to come to oberlin. malcolm wrote him that he might come in perfect safety, and abe left windsor, arriving in oberlin ten days before christmas. when he left vinnie, she sat for a long time trying to think what was best to do. suddenly she thought of a miner by the name of hutchins who had been very friendly to her in tim's absence. she arose and looked out of the door, remarking that surely it was after twelve o'clock. in reality it was little past sunrise. vinnie determined, however, to as we see it. he struck a very rich vein of ore and left the mining camp, taking his family of three children and his half-breed indian wife with him. it is not known whether vinnie ever saw her mother and brothers again. it is to be hoped that their new life and new surroundings will be an inspiration to them. parson tim was taken to the parsonage by his members and prepared for burial. in the absence of either undertaker or preacher, the preparation and burial were not of long dura- tion. tim died as he had lived—a miserable wretch. as we see it. love you more for it,” said abe, implanting a fervent kiss upon her forehead. “abe, what do you propose to do now?” asked miss watson. "i am going home to settle accounts with jack smaly and buck lashum,” answered abe. “abe, when all this is ended, what will you do the rest of your life?” inquired miss watson. “i do not know, nancy. i shall do something that will gain us a livelihood," was abe's reply. “when are you going home? when do you start?” was miss watson's next query. “i will leave here tomorrow at midnight. i want to join jack smaly in his christmas festivities." answered abe. “but before leaving i want to see mr. donewell. i will leave you now. may i return later?” “i will inform you when you return whether or not you may remain,” laughed miss watson. abe went immediately to malcom's room, where he found the latter hard at work. “hello, malcolm! how are you? are you still in the lead in your classes? you look well. hard study and good com- pany seem to agree with you. why, what is that you are reading? for what are those clothes being aired? i never saw those full dress clothes before. what's coming off? going to a ball? don't let my coming stop you. i want to see- ' “abe overley!” interrupted malcolm. “i have been looking for you for several days. you are hurting my hand. how can i answer all those questions? i am not going to a ball. i am going to be married." "be what!” exclaimed abe. “be married? will your father be present? when will the event take place? to- night! want me to stand with you? malcolm, are you crazy? that would never do. tell me about it.” as we see it. malcolm told abe that he and miss mabel donewell were to be quietly married that evening and were to start imme- diately for cleveland and new york, leaving new york in time to reach home christmas day. abe was also informed by malcolm that he had not consulted his father,—that the whole thing was intended to surprise him. “i have no doubt that it will surprise him," said abe. “you have my word for it that what he will say will also surprise your bride.” “be that as it may, i want you to stand with me,—to give me away,” laughed malcolm. “i have no clothes,” said abe, “nor do i think it proper for me to join the company in which i would find myself should i accede to your request.” “i have had several full dress suits brought here for you to select one from," said malcolm. “it is out of the question for you not to be present at my marriage. you are my only friend at this college. would you desert me at this time?” “no, malcolm, of course not. i will wear those clothes and try to look happy for your sake,” said abe. “but, malcolm, this is very sudden, is it not?” “yes, it is sudden,” answered malcolm. devaux soon came into the room in company with his friend from tennessee; they, together with rattles and forbes, having promised to stand by malcolm, and make all the trouble possible for him. they had bribed the negro coachman to drive them out toward lake erie, to within a short distance of a road house kept by joe hilton, where he would be met by those young men, who would stop the carriage, relieve them of their baggage and valuables, detach the horses, and leave the bride and groom to find their way, as best they could, to the road house. abe learned of the plot and determined to frustrate their plans. the driver was again bribed, this time by abe, to let him (abe) drive in his as we see it. stead. after the ceremony and while the couple held an impromptu reception, abe slipped out of the house, donned the driver's livery, and took his seat upon the box. devaux came out and asked the driver if everything was all right, abe said: “yes, sah,” then added: “boss, can't yo'gin de ole man another ten; i’se lierble to git fired fo’ dis." “here's the money, old man; now keep your head and drive fast.” “i'll sho' drive fas', sah," said the driver, with a broad grin. devaux did not recognize abe in the darkness. soon malcolm and his bride came out followed by the throng of mischief makers. they put the bridal couple in their car- riage, remarking to the driver that he had just seven minutes to catch the midnight express. “i'll git thar, sah,” said abe. devaux and his friends got into their carriage motioning abe to proceed, the whole party moving off at a terrific rate. at the second corner abe turned toward the station. the occupants of the other carriages noticed this move. then began a race to the station that was fast and furious, but of short duration. abe dashed up to the platform just at the express was pulling in. he jumped off the box and opened the door, saying: “quick, malcolm, run for the train.” noting malcolm's hesitation, for he did not recognize abe in his livery, abe grasped him by the arm and pulled him out of the carriage. “run for the train, i tell you; they are coming.” malcolm did not need a second warning, but hurried aboard. abe grasped the baggage and was soon on the train. they were not seated, however, before malcolm's friends were also in the coach. they started for the supposed coachman, but recognized abe. the trick was apparent and the joke was on them. abe relieved himself of his livery, pass- as we see it. ing it out to the negro coachman, forgetting at the same time that he had placed devaux's ten-dollar bill in the pocket of the coat, where it was found by the negro driver. devaux extended his hand to abe, saying: “abe, in con- sideration of what you did for my brother in chicago, i for- give you this trick.” abe laughingly replied that he appreciated his goodness of heart and as an evidence of that good will devaux might call on miss watson and explain abe's sudden departure. soon the train was on its way to cleveland. “abe, tell me about this escapade. what had those fel- lows planned to do?” asked malcolm. “mr. overley, do tell us. from their disappointed looks i know they had planned something that would have an- noyed us very much,” said mrs. overley. “yes,” said abe, they had planned to delay your depart- ure. you were to be driven out on the road toward lake erie, held up by highwaymen, robbed of bag and baggage, the horses detached from your carriage, and you were to be left to the tender mercies of the storm.” “i would not have cared, would you, malcolm ?” asked mrs. overley, as she nestled close to him. “cared! of course i would. suppose you had become chilled and caught cold? i would never have forgiven those fellows,” said malcolm. “abe, how did you manage to frus- trate them?” abe then related his connection with the affair, also stat- ing that devaux had given him a ten-dollar bill which he put in the pocket of the coachman's coat and forgot it when the coat was returned. “abe, where are you going now?” suddenly asked malcolm. “why, malcolm, do you think you can get along without my care?”' laughed abe. as we see it. “i will be glad if you will stay with us,” said malcolm, “but as you have said nothing of your intentions, i, of course, do not know what to expect.” “malcolm, i am going home. i want to arrive at night. i will have ten miles to walk across the country. my plans must all be arranged before christmas day. i will have but two days in which to perfect them. so you may expect me to leave you in cleveland,” said abe. when the train bearing mr. and mrs. malcolm a. overley, jr., reached cleveland, abe took his leave of them and they betook themselves to a hotel. as we see it. compliment to the intelligence and standing of the gentle- men who are present tonight for such sentiments as we have heard here to be heralded to the whole country as the opinion of the sober-minded and better-thinking whites of the south i do not subscribe to such sentiments and wish most emphatic- ally to be put on record as expressing my disapproval of them. such ideas are in contravention of the spirit of the constitution of the united states, which every good citizen is pledged to uphold and support. they are opposed to the doctrines of christianity, which teaches the fatherhood of god and the brotherhood of man. they violate the spirit of our american civilization, which declares for equal rights for all and special privileges for none. “if we are not patriotic enough to uphold our constitu- tion; or, if we do not accept the christian doctrine of brotherhood; or, if we do not believe in the theory of equal rights, as business men we ought to seek the negro's eleva- tion politically, socially, and economically; because the more we elevate him and increase his earning power, his saving power, and his intelligent appreciation of his relation to his community, the more valuable he is to us. he becomes a land owner and must need money which he will invest in our stocks and deposit in our banks. as he earns more he spends more. intelligence and education increase his needs and wants, which we alone can supply. it is worse than sui- cidal for us to restrain and restrict the development of such an element in our community. “the rural negroes in this county earn on the average eight dollars per month. nearly every dollar of it comes back to us through our stores and business people. suppose in some way we could increase their earning power to twenty, thirty, or fifty dollars per month; their additional earnings would still come to us. if you had a piece of poor land, would you keep it poor? would you use every effort as we see it. to prevent the improvement of the land or would you fertil- ize and cultivate it so as to increase its productive power? of course you would improve it. why not pursue the same course toward the negro. if schools improve the earning power and civic value of the whites, they will do the same for the negro. if kindness and brotherly love and opportu- nity make the white man a better citizen, they will make the black man more useful and more valuable. whenever a citizen is made better the community is made richer. it would seem therefore that this attitude of repression and proscription toward the negro is not only un-american, un- christian, and unjust, but it is positively impairing the very communities we are pretending to serve. “again, it is impossible to practice such injustices upon our weaker brother without directly injuring and preventing the right development of our own moral natures. to culti- vate unreasoning prejudice, to concoct schemes which are aimed at the peace, happiness or welfare of another is to set in motion influences that sap out the sweetness and beauty of our souls. this sort of an attitude embitters our own lives, handicaps our children, spoils our women, degrades our homes and undermines our civilization. i cannot under- stand and have never understood why we commit ourselves to this unwise and un-christian policy. “for myself, there is no right or privilege which i enjoy or which i seek for my family that i am not willing to accord to the humblest negro in the land, and i believe that it is in this spirit that the proper solution of this vexed question must come. “we must realize and accept the fact that we cannot keep among us and treat as aliens a race of people who are wor- shiping the same god, reading the same bible, attending the same school system, serving under the same flag, forming a part of the same civilization. we must accept them as a as we see it. part of our homogeneous population and treat all alike, or we must get rid of them entirely. since the latter is impos- sible, the former is clearly our duty. “let me urge you to educate the negro to see political issues as you do; to treat him politically as you do other races of mankind that have come among you. “your legislature has just enacted a state-wide prohi- bition law. in mobile it is enforced strictly against the negro. the negro dens and saloons have been closed up and it is well-nigh impossible for negroes to obtain intoxicating liquors, a thing for which the better class of negroes are truly thankful, while the low and vicious whites have free ac- cess to it. your prohibition law, so far as it is enforced, is similar to your educational qualifications as to the franchise. you place before these people an incentive, an obstacle to overcome, which you do not place before the ignorant of your own race. illiteracy among the poor whites is not decreasing as rapidly as it is among the negroes. the poor whites have practically the same percentage of illiteracy now as they had fifty years ago. you say to the negro, educate your children. you leave the ignorant white man to flounder on and on, upon the theory that because he is a white man, that will suffice. it does seem to me that the folly of such a policy should be apparent to all men. “gentlemen, do you know what these negroes are doing? do you know that they control just a few thousand less than five hundred million dollars worth of farm property in this country? do you know that they own and operate farms valued at six millions of dollars more than the total of all capital invested in manufactories in the twelve southern states in eighteen sixty? this farm land that they own and operate if put acre to acre would make a strip of land five miles wide that would reach from new york city to san francisco. if by nineteen forty, as predicted by the united chapter xxxvii. hen abe left malcolm and his bride he proceeded at once to the county of c- , nine miles below the overley plantation. he arrived near mid- night, walking across the county to cleo's cabin, where he rested during the day, while gathering the news of the neighborhood. abe learned that buck lashum could be seen any fine morning in a glass inclosure, which his father had built on his front porch. his chair is rolled into this retreat where he is left for hours at a time. abe concluded to visit him in this place. when he saw buck in his helpless condition, noticed his look of recogni- tion, and that, although he could neither move nor speak, his face bore a look of terror, he concluded to leave him as he was, feeling that his punishment would be greater if left in that condition. abe succeeded in regaining the overley plantation without having been seen. early christmas morning, abe, mounted on ben, the overley horse mentioned in a previous chapter, was riding through the back woods, when suddenly he came upon a horseman, who, upon seeing him, wheeled his horse and fled into the woods. abe recog- nized jack smaly in the fleeing horseman. “go, ben! go!” cried abe. the old racer seemed to understand that he was to make the effort of his life. away he dashed along the cow path over which jack was racing. abe noticed that jack was well mounted. his horse seemed scarcely to touch the earth, so quick was she in her move- ments. “ben, go! are you going to fail me now? on! on! i tell you!” abe had his horse trace buckled about his waist; he raised it above his head to deal old ben a blow, but lowered his hand, muttering: “no, this is not for you. as we see it. never will i disgrace you, old horse, by a blow with this blood-stained lash. this is for murderers.” the old horse, now thoroughly aroused, increased his pace, rapidly closing in on jack, who seemed to know that he was being overhauled. a few more bounds brought them to a clearing, across which their course led. jack turned in his saddle, with a pistol in his right hand, which he leveled and fired at abe twice in rapid succession. abe swung his horse to jack's left, making it impossible for him to turn far enough in his saddle to get his range without unseating himself. jack's movements were fatal to him, as they caused his horse to slacken her pace. at the same time his shots went wide of their mark. as old ben came along side of jack's horse, abe dealt smaly a blow upon the head which knocked him to the ground. jack fell upon his head, the force of the fall breaking his neck. abe dismounted and hastened to his victim, thinking to lash him as he had his brother; but he found jack dead, and concluded to leave him where he had fallen knowing that his friends would soon find him. abe then went to his father's cabin, where he found the old man at breakfast, which had been prepared by one of cleo's girls. after greeting his father, abe greeted the girl just as if he had not seen her before. he remained until, by the confusion at the big house, he knew malcolm and his bride and friends had arrived. abe found them as malcolm was introducing mrs. overley to his father. “what is that you say, boy?” exclaimed the father. “your wife? who the - ? what the — ? how in the - you have disobeyed me, sir. abe, tell me what my abe has done. got married? didn't he tell me that? not one word, sir. you have disobeyed me. abe,” he cried, addressing old abe, “i have asked that boy of yours to tell me what my abe has done. he does not obey me. those chapter xxxviii. yew year's day came only too soon. malcolm was reminded of the fact that he still had his course at oberlin college to finish. his father insisted that the bride stay with him for a short time only. it was finally agreed that she would stay on the plantation until easter time, when she, and the senior overley, would visit oberlin. at the end of the school year the donewells and overleys would make an extended tour of canada and europe. the party finally left. abe bade farewell to his friends, the mates of his boyhood days, knowing that he would never return. his farewell to his mother's grave was taken in silence. he approached the mound in company with his father, messrs. overley and donewell, dean sternly and professor smirchum. this old woman's grave nestled among the graves of seven generations of overleys, and was marked by a granite stone upon which was inscribed “mammy 'rinda,” a term of endearment fully understood only by those who knew and appreciated her. as the party stood with uncov- ered heads different thoughts and feelings surged through their breasts. abe's sorrow was of the kind that wrings men's hearts. he was a strong man bowed with grief, a strong heart burst- ing with a sense of injustice. his whole being strained to the bursting point, with no outlet. dry eyes, twitching mouth, clinched hands, rigid form, marked his terrible suf- ferings. all eyes were turned upon him. professor smirchum, who seemed to be greatly affected by abe's mute agony, took his hand and said in a kindly voice: “mr. overley, i am sorry, indeed, to see the extent of your sorrow. your mother must have been a grand woman to as we see it. women that it has ever been my lot to meet. i can never for- get that she took my abe to her breast, a puny, sickly child, nursed him day and night, put new life in him, guided his footsteps, was a mother to him, indeed, until he is now the man of whom i am proud. that old woman was your mother. she was a slave in name, but never in fact. boy, there is nothing i will not do for you so long as you are true to her teachings. your old father has ever been my companion. we shall continue our journey of life together.” “i thank you, mr. overley,” said abe, as they clasped hands. professor smirchum had been a close observer of all that was transpiring. he had never dreamed of such friend- ships among the people of the south. when the party turned to leave abe put his arm about his father and said: “dad, i leave with malcolm tomorrow i have three more years in school in which time i hope to have finished a course in civil engineering; then, if god has been merciful to us, i will send for you to spend your last days with me and mine.”. the old man raised his eyes to heaven and said: “lawd, watch over my boy. thy will be done." as the sun went down the next day, the donewell car, with abe aboard, crossed the alabama line, bearing him away from scenes and faces which he was destined never to see again. as we see it. height of a consuming passion when the vision of nancy and her child came before him. his passion was subdued. his calm reason regained its sway. abe was himself again. he promised the japanese that after he had consulted his wife he would give them a definite answer. when abe arrived at home that night he found nancy in a dimly lighted room, quietly rocking his little son, who seemed fretful. nancy noticed by abe's demeanor that something unusual had hap- pened. motioning him to a seat by her side she asked what was troubling him. abe told her of the offer made him by the envoys of japan laying particular stress upon the com- mission, but he said, speaking as if in a dream. “can i renounce forever, the allegiance i owe my country because of personal wrongs, because of the crimes of murderers; can i renounce forever the land that gave my mother birth, the land in which she now lies buried; can i renounce for- ever, the land that my fathers knew, the land which i now know as my country, my home; can i renounce forever, the land of my few friends, the land in which they are daily appearing; can i renounce forever that which i know, and embark in a foreign land in that which is problematical; can i- ?" he suddenly sprang to his feet, saying: “nancy, my mother appeared to me in my thoughts. she held the stars and stripes proudly above her head while her other hand was extended to me. my mother wills that i shall defend the flag of my country.” two days later the japanese called upon abe to obtain his final answer. he said: “gentlemen, i have considered your proposition very carefully and conclude that, although the stars and stripes afford me little protection, although the laws of this land are interpreted against me, although the machinery of the law is too weak to bring the murderers of my mother to justice, in spite of these things and in spite of as we see it. attempts at every turn to humiliate me, in spite of what may seem strange to you, that one part of a nation can and does hate another, i must decline your offer. will you fight the land of the rising sun? no! nor will i fight the land of my birth, over which the sun is now rising. i am proud that i am an american!” the japanese were astounded. they, like hundreds of thousands of other people, american citizens, too, never imagined that a negro's heart was governed by the same honorable impulses that other men’s are; that his soul is alive to the touch that stirs other men; in short, that a negro is a man. two weeks before abe's commencement, mr. golden- heimer died very suddenly. abe was notified that his services as superintendent would be dispensed with, but that he could have the choice of the care of any one of the flats, that now numbered thirteen, at seventy-five dollars per month. abe immediately severed all connections with the estate. his wife, who handled his finances, showed him de- posits to the amount of twenty-five hundred dollars, and abe concluded to embark in the practice of his profession. abe's commencement day was june st, — may st a long, legal envelope was handed mrs. overley by the postman. it proved to contain a very important document. it appears that leon devaux had been making yearly trips to new york, and had kept in close touch with abe's prog- ress, through mr. goldenheimer, and knew his standing in the college. devaux's brother was the head of a large cor- poration that was reclaiming land in the lower counties of the state of louisiana, and building a narrow-gauge railroad to the coast. this envelope contained a contract guarantee- ing him employment for five years, at twelve hundred dollars the first year, twenty-four hundred dollars the second year, three thousand dollars the third year and thereafter. his university of michigan " | | - - - -------------- --- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - º --- - - ---------- - ºº- - - - - --- - ºffl - - --- - - - --- - - - - --- --~~~~ - - - - - - - - - -- --- - - --~~ -: - fº - º - |--|--|--|--|--|--|--|--|-- --------------- - - ------------- ºffl -: - - - - - - - ------------- - º - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ------------------- ------ - - - --~~~ - - - - - - - - - - ||-| - - - -------tº- - - - - -- - ------------------ | - - --- - - -------------- —- - - - - - - - - --------------- --- - - - - - - - - - ºffl º º - - - - º |--|-- - - - - - e. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - --- - --- - - - - - - - fºº- - - - - - - --- - - - - - - - - - -------→ 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ºfflº - º - — - - - - - - - - --~~ - ºffl - - -------- - tº - - - ---------- - - - - - -- - º ºffl - - - - - - - hº - - - - --- - - --------- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - |- - - - - - tº º º - - - - - - - º --- - - - -- - - - --- - - - - - - - - - --- - - - - - - - º - - - - --- - - /. / ///////ſ. a r this first novel by a young negro discloses a fresh and amazing talent. at twenty-five, his feet dusty from wandering, william attaway has brought to his pub- lishers a book as poised, as perceptive, as honest and tender as many an older writer with a solid list of books behind him would be proud to claim. this is the story of step and ed, young men with no child- hood behind them, no security before them; too young as yet to know complete despair, but old in the ways of hard, precarious living. most of all it is the story of hi boy, a little mexican boy of ten, who brought to step and ed a glimpse of unguessed integrities, who gave meaning to their lives, let me breathe thunder is that rare thing, a novel by a negro about whites; a novel that reveals a powerful and objective talent at work upon the very fabric of life. let me breathe thunder william attaway let me breathe thunder doubleday, doran & company, inc., new york, let me breathe thunder w ■ we were seated in the doorway of a boxcar, legs dangling. the ground was speed- ing away beneath our bare feet and the fields swung in a semicircle around the doorway of our "hobo pullman." the little mexican boy who was be- tween step and me yelled gaily at a cow tethered in a field: "hi boy, hi boy, hi boy, hi . . ." and the cow was gone. let me breathe thunder step looked at me and laughed. the kid's high treble and singing tones always tickled him. i laughed with him just for the fun of it. “hi boy, hi,” the little lad sang as we left a town behind. “ought to be in seattle pretty soon,” yelled step, throwing his voice through cupped hands. boyish and full of friendliness for all things sounded the kid's cry again; we had just passed a farmer who had waved at us from his fields. step reached over in mock anger and took the lad by the throat. “don’t you know any other words?” and his grip became a rough caress. the kid didn't know much more than his one greeting for the whole world: “hi boy.” we had just picked him up in new mexico a week or so before, and all we had been able to get out of him was a few sentences: “family over there. . . . están allá, pero no let me breathe thunder encontrarlos. . . . los molestaria mucho . . . yo," he had said and pointed when asked about his folks. but this left us even more confused, for the point- ing finger wavered this way and that until his people might have been in any three or four places in the southwest at the same time. "sure, you're too young to be on the road," i had chimed in. he could not have been more than nine years old. "mucha trouble . . . run away fprontol got ten dollars," he said. "ed, you know some mex. what's it all about?" step had appealed to me, but all my spanish was on the listening end. i couldn't ask him any questions. what little i knew came from hearing the spicks jabber around on the quays. the kid had not lied about the money, though. step had it in his pocket now for safekeeping. "am on road now?" the lad had asked after pass- ing the money to step. let me breathe thunder “and how,” was step's answer, and he winked at me. we wanted to run out on him right away, but he was such a trusting little feller that we didn't have the heart. it was finally decided that he should go on to seattle with us for a hot time. it was a long trip but we always had more time on our hands than anything else, and distance doesn't mean a thing to a guy on the road. so be- cause seattle was a wide-open town, like it was just across the street instead of over a thousand miles away, we set out. step and me had been on the way to our regular summer round of the flat farm country before the kid came along, but the ten dollars changed our minds. we were just wandering handymen who never thought of work as long as there was a dollar to throw away in some city. it was late afternoon when our freight pulled into the seattle yards. the boy was asleep underneath step's coat, for the day had turned cool. step slapped let me breathe thunder at his shoes with the dog's tail he always carried and glanced enviously at my leather jacket. "that tail's a hell of a thing to carry around." "almost in the home stretch," he said. "time to wake up the kid." "whyn't you throw that thing away and get you a whole dog?" "butch wasn't just a dog." "if that flyer had left the behind onto the tail, i suppose you'd carry that around too." "he was mine, even if he was too dumb to dodge." "he was my dog too, but that tail needs sun for awhile." "this tail's luck," he said. "luck and a smooth ride." "aw stuff, get the kid up," i told him. the train was slowly coming to a stop. he shook the boy roughly and took the coat. rub- bing his eyes, the boy sat up. "put your shoes on. time to bail out." r let me breathe thunder through half-opened eyes the little lad looked into step's face. “hi boy,” he whispered sleepily. step felt my eyes on him. “time to get the hell out of here,” he said, and pushed the boy out through the car door. the three of us crouched by the side of a switch engine, anxiously scanning the yards for road de- tectives. “no snakes around.” we struck out across the tracks. before us were the hazy lights of the town, clean and beautiful now; soon to show the dirty streets of the water- fronts. “let's go to hamburger joe's first.” “okay,” agreed step. passing through a square at the skirts of the city, we were stopped by the sight of a little fountain. “race you.” and we were off. i was the first to reach the water, and after a quick let me breathe thunder drink i stepped back and began to tear off my clothes. “squirt the water on me . . . squirt the water.” step reached for the nozzle of the fountain, then he stopped. “i say squirt the water,” i cried. but there was something the matter with step. the kid, too, had a strange look on his face. suddenly i knew what the trouble was. “eee-ya, ee-ya!” we yelled, and did a war dance. the lice were eating us up. throwing clothes right and left, half-hysterical with laughter, we swabbed each other down with water. it was black night before we resumed our march on the city. “women or whisky? women or whisky?” puzzled step to himself. “a beefsteak with mushrooms and onions,” i exulted. let me breathe thunder “smokes, cigars,” said the kid gravely. he pulled hard on an imaginary cigar. “okay, kid,” cried step, “we’ll all smoke cigars . . . big black cigars.” on the way to hamburger joe's we had to pass through the red-light district and step wanted to stop in one of the underground dives for a drink. “aw, c'mon, let's eat first,” i begged. but he had to have his drink, so we went down the steps to a little basement saloon. we were stopped at the door. “can't bring that kid in here,” snarled the bouncer. “okay, okay,” said step, drawing up his chest, “you don't have to get tough about it.” we took the kid back to the sidewalk and placed him on the curbing. “stay right here, now,” commanded step. “we'll be right out.” “hi, hi, hi, hi boy.” the kid was calling to the passing automobiles. i felt kind of funny leaving him there all by him- let me breathe thunder “okay, okay,” said step, grabbing her by the arm. “have a drink.” he ordered more whisky. “speak english? english?” step asked. “sure, baby,” said the woman. “talk to her, ed,” he told me. “aw, c'mon, step,” i pleaded, “the kid's waiting.” “what the hell's eating you?” he snapped. “you know well as me we got to ditch that kid.” i just looked at him. “jeez, he can't go around with us,” he said. “they won't let him in a bar, and we can't take him in any of them places.” there was logic in what he was saying, but it still didn't seem right . . . it being the kid's money and all. “we'll give him back a couple of dollars,” said step. “an' i call that being damn soft.” i didn't say anything else. step was a bad person to cross when he was drinking. he had done a turn io let me breathe thunder in the ring, too, and whisky always made him quick with his fists. "suppose we take this spick broad with us. save picking up a dame later." "naw, we can go to a house," i said. i was still hoping that he would think of the kid after he sobered up. "one dame is the same as another." he patted the woman's broad hips. "jeez, here's woman enough for both of us." "okay," i gave in. "but you're the guy that'll have to get rid of the kid." gathering up the change from the ten dollars, he led the way to the door. with no urging the woman followed. just before we reached the steps the bouncer stopped us. "you goddam tramp," he told the woman, "we told you before we don't allow no pickups in here." "sure, baby," said the woman. "now hold it a minute," began step. // r let me breathe thunder “you damn spicks don't know a word of english when you get in a jam,” said the man. “i’m wise to that stuff.” “i said hold it,” repeated step. “that's all right, buddy,” said the bouncer. “i ain't blaming you none. but she's been warned be- fore in spanish. she knows what i’m talking about.” “sure, baby,” said the woman. “just don't give a damn if we get closed up, do you?” he hit her across the breast with the side of his hand. she fell back against the door, all her pain held, like a bitch dog, in her eyes. “sure, baby,” she whimpered. i tried to grab step's arm but i was not quick enough. his clenched fist raked the bouncer's chin, and with the follow-through his elbow stabbed at the dazed man's eyes. a knee in the pit of the stomach left just a helpless dummy for the quick fist and elbow to cut to pieces. step was like a mad- i let me breathe thunder man. he did not try to knock the man down. it satisfied him to turn the bouncer's face into a mass of long red welts. "lay off, step. lay off," i yelled, but i could not hold him. the face began to turn into just a piece of pulpy meat. the bartender sprinted around the bar and tried to help me save the bouncer. step turned and struck savagely at us. "don't let him kill him," cried the bartender. "they'll close my place up if he kills him." i picked up a beer bottle. there was nothing left to do. i couldn't let him kill a man. he had had to quit the ring because he went mad like this when he started hitting a man. the bottle was aimed for the side of step's head, but he moved and it caught him on the cheekbone. he went down like the cattle used to fall when i had that job polling steers at the st louis stockyards. the bouncer was still on his feet. he would have ' let me breathe thunder fallen across step if the bartender had not held him up. “get him out of here,” said the bartender. “better get him out of town too. this guy has a lot of friends. they won't like this.” i threw the dregs of some beer in step's face and in a few minutes he opened his eyes. because he looked up at me and smiled, i knew he was dead sober. “you didn't have to hit me so hard,” he said. i helped him to his feet. “the bottle slipped,” i told him. he still would not go without the woman. she had been crouched behind the door during the fight. it was easy to see that she was scared to death of him, but she went with us to the sidewalk. the mexican boy was still seated on the curbing where we had left him. “hi, hi,” he sang when he saw us. we stood looking at him. the woman stood with i let me breathe thunder us. her eyes were dull lead in her face. she was an animal waiting for her master's mind that would be her mind. "okay, you tell him," i said to step. the kid sat with his eyes on us, unsurprised at sight of the woman. he was, probably, not the kind of kid to be surprised at anything. his attention finally wandered to the street again and his lips moved in a soundless "hi boy, hi." "go ahead, tell him." step rubbed his face where the beer bottle had left a great purple splotch. his brow knitted in heavy thought. "didn't have to hit me so hard," he muttered absent-mindedly. he glanced quickly at the woman. "sure, baby," jerked from her lips. "look here, sure baby," he said. "i changed my mind. go peddle your papers." she looked, uncomprehending. "i mean for you to scram . . . blow." he gave * let me breathe thunder her a little shove. she got the idea and backed away a few steps. then she stopped. “here, wait a minute,” he said, and pushed a couple of bills into her hand. she was holding the money limply as we went away. i guess she never met anybody like step before. we did not go to hamburger joe's. we walked around the city. step bought some frankfurters and a bag of rolls, and we walked along munching and saying nothing. even the kid was silent. i was surprised when step remembered to buy the cigars. late that morning we found a city park and settled down at the edge of a duck pond to wait for dawn. the kid fell asleep. step took the lighted cigar out of the little feller's hand, snuffed it out and put it away. his jaw was paining him and he did not feel like smoking. the grayness that came at four-thirty found us there watching the ducks that . kept up a riotous “ha . . . ha . . . ha . . .” and let me breathe thunder thinking that life was not so simple as it had been before we met hi boy. "get on your coat, we got to get going." that was how quick we left seattle. it wasn't because step was afraid of what the bouncer's friends might do, it was simply that a transient cannot afford to get into trouble. he insisted on us riding the cushions as long as we had money. "you got to remember," he told me when i pro- tested, "we ain't real hoboes. we're out looking for a job of work." "but where we going?" "far as these tickets on the n.p. will take us, stupid." "that ain't very far." "all right, then, we'll jump a freight after that. there's a farm around the snake river. be plowing for wheat now . . . need good men." ' let me breathe thunder "see this kid?" the conductor looked into the boy's face. "hi boy," said the kid gravely. "yeah, he's mex all right," admitted the con- ductor. "well, i'm the kid's paw." til be jiggered." step was looking so levelly into the man's eyes that i could almost have swallowed the story my- self. "some bruise you got there," said the conductor, noticing step's discolored face. "accident, maybe?" "naw, that was tattooed on," said step. "used to be a mermaid but i washed my face and the colors run." the conductor started to smile but step kept a straight face. "what was you doing in seattle?" asked the con- ductor after a pause. he should have had sense enough by that time to let step alone. ' let me breathe thunder “the kid was in school there,” was the answer, “but we had to take him out. he learned so much they was scared to learn him any more until his head grew bigger.” the conductor looked like he wanted to laugh or apologize for something, i don't know which. step didn't give him a chance to make up his mind. he pointed to me. “that there's the kid's maw, we . . .” there wasn't need to finish that lie. the conduc- tor turned as red as skinned beef and started off down the aisle. step gave a cruel little laugh. “aw, what'd you do that for?” i asked. “nuts to you,” he growled back. “the poor guy was just lonesome,” i said. “how'd you like to be riding a train all the time without no- body to talk to?” “stop, you're killing me,” he mocked. “then if you got somebody to talk to, there wouldn't be nothing to talk about 'cause people don't talk about nothing important to conductors.” o let me breathe thunder step got serious. "jeez, there's other guys on this train, why'd he have to pick on us?" "maybe we look like good guys," i said. "the hell we do. we look like guys what ain't used to riding the cushions. maybe we look like bums on the stem, or something. maybe we look like guys what don't amount to nothing, so he aggers he can get familiar with us." "we don't amount to nothing," i told him. "i notice he ain't taking off his cap and flopping down in the seat with that guy what's got the iron hat on." he pointed at a fat-faced man in a stiff collar and derby hat. "he don't look like such a good guy from the back," i said. "well, we bought our tickets just like he did," argued step. "we got a right just like him not to have the conductor get too familiar. we ain't on the outside now, we're on the cushions." let me breathe thunder ward. step, who had made several efforts to express what he was sorry about, watched the man in the iron hat go forward. “you game to eat in the diner?” burst out of him. he hadn't meant to say that. “hungry enough to eat,” said the kid, rubbing his stomach. step pushed the point when he saw me hesitate. “i still got six bits left,” he said. “ought to be able to get enough for the three of us on that.” i looked at his wrinkled coat. “aw, we ain't dressed right.” “we got our tickets,” he said. “what's the matter, getting yellow?” “you know that ain't so. it's just that you can tell we sleep in our clothes.” “me and hi boy's going in the diner,” he stated. “coming or not?” looking back over his shoulder at me, he herded the kid into the aisle. i followed. the kid didn't let me breathe thunder know what it was all about, but step and me kept hunching our shoulders and fumbling with the but- tons on our coats as we walked. there were only three or four people in the diner —that made us feel better. i wanted to slide into one of the chairs at the very end table but for some reason we had to walk hard on our heels to the center of the car. everybody looked around at us and we tried to act like it was a joke that we were so dirty. "eat boy, eat boy, eat boy," sang the kid happily. "the kid's a laugh, ain't he?" said step loudly. but step wasn't tickled—he looked miserable. everything was so white. the people looked whiter than any i had ever seen before. once i was in a restaurant in detroit and a very black boy had come in walking hard on his heels. everybody had looked at him. now i glanced down at my hands to see if they hadn't turned dark. the waiter hadn't served the black boy. let me breathe thunder the waiter did not come for a long time. “these mountains sure are swell mountains,” said step, looking out of the window. he was still talk- ing too loud. “yeah, sure are swell,” i said. “look, hi boy . . . look at the mountains.” “sure, swell swell mountains,” mimicked the kid. “any mountains where you come from, kid?” asked step. “everybody knows they got mountains in mexico,” i said. “they got mountains everywhere.” “how come you got to talk so loud p’ whispered step. “i ain't talking loud, it's you,” i whispered back. “well, let the kid answer.” he was shouting again. “hi boy ain't no dummy.” “what you getting on me for?” “i ain't getting on you.” he glanced around de- fiantly. let me breathe thunder the train was circling the rim of a gorge. there was a straight drop to the tops of the pines five or six hundred feet below. the sunlight hit the scrubs on the slope above us and filtered down into the gorge, piercing it with great jagged shadows. be- hind the far rim of the great cut that was like a part in the hair of the piny mountains lay tier after tier of ranges; each successive range more cloudlike than the one before, until the very last line of rolling gray became the rind of the sky. we forgot the diner. "maybe they got mountains in mexico, maybe not," said step absent-mindedly. the kid gazed away in the distance. his eyes were soft and mystical looking. he was far away at some place that must have been so simple and beautiful that only a child's mind could bear to go there. his eyes rose with a mountain whose peak was lost in white and mist. "vivo muy arriba, did," he stated simply. let me breathe thunder there was a moment of great quiet. we both were looking wistfully at him, as if we wanted to ask him not to go there again without taking us with him. “too bad that people have to grow up and come down off the mountains,” said a deep voice from across the aisle. we whirled. it was the fat-faced man in the iron hat. only he didn't have the hat on now. we didn't know what to say to him. “yeah,” said step noncommittally, turning away. i could see that he resented the man catching us off guard. i hadn't liked it at the moment, but when the stranger smiled and turned back to his meal i could see that he hadn't meant to butt in on us. most likely he had felt in the kid the same things we had. and now that the iron hat was up on a hook, i could see that he wasn't such a bad-looking guy. his face was reddened and crinkled, with eyes squinched up like they were looking into the sun. wind and shine must have been in his face for many let me breathe thunder a long morning before breakfast. the face of a rancher, but i had never seen a rancher who wore city clothes that looked like they might have been made for him. "what ' it be, sirs?" it was the waiter standing over our table. step thought for a moment. "well, what you got?" the waiter picked the menu from behind the salt and pepper shakers and gave it to him. step flushed. "i might suggest that you would like the lunch- eonette," said the waiter, before step's fumbling hands could open the folded card. annoyed, my buddy looked up at the brown face. the waiter saw the blood-purpled bruise and his eyes widened. "okay, okay, bring what you said." step looked ominously after the retreating white coat. "the next sonofabitch who asks me about my let me breathe thunder face is going to find out how it happened damn sudden,” he gritted. “but he ain't asked you nothing.” “well, he wanted to ask. everybody in this car wants to ask.” i didn't say anything more about that because, after all, it was me who hit him with the bottle and made the bruise. he might still have gotten sore at me if that had crossed his mind. “how much do they charge for food here?” i asked it just to change the subject. i was sure we had enough money. “can't be more than six bits,” said step. “he didn't say dinner or supper; he didn't even say lunch—he said luncheonette.” “yeah, and, too, we didn't order no sides or noth- ing.” “just straight luncheonette,” he grinned, putting his hands on his hips and switching about in the chair like a sissy. let me breathe thunder i watched step in amazement. i didn't know much about him, except that at the country fairs he used to fight all comers to make a living. he had never talked about his home. this insistence on some kind of table manners made me curious about his past. he had not gone to high school as i had, i knew that. and where, other than school, could fellers like us pick up table manners? the waiter tried to help the kid who was making a mess of his food in trying to imitate step. “this kid's my son,” said step. “i got to learn him something.” that was the second time he had told the same lie, but now he said it like he, him- self, believed it. “oh.” the waiter tried to back away. “trot back and draw three, boy,” ordered step. “what's that?” puzzled the waiter. “java . . . java . . . three cups.” the kid just could not learn to use the knife, so step finally reached over and used it for him. that let me breathe thunder left his fingers greasy, so he wiped them carefully on the napkin and then tucked the smeared cloth in his collar. with such an example, i did not dare to pick up my meat. i followed suit and went at it the hard way—with a knife. after coffee came the check. the waiter laid it face downward and went away quickly. step picked it up. the satisfied look left his face. "sonofabitch." "what's the matter?" "no wonder the darky turned that check down and beat it," he said, and pushed the blue square of paper toward me. i stared with amazement at the figures. "two dollars and fifty-five cents, and sixty cents for coffee." it was unbelievable. "there's some mistake." he beckoned the waiter. "that ain't our bill," i said. the waiter had not made any mistake. he showed us the menu. we gazed at it for a long time. let me breathe thunder “okay,” said step. “we just wanted to make sure.” “what we going to do?” i whispered after the waiter had gone. “don’t know yet,” he said. reaching in his pocket he took out the six bits, counting the money and matching it against the check. suddenly he grabbed the dozing kid by the shoulder and shook him awake. “look, kid,” he ordered, “go on through the train to the last platform. when the train stops drop down to the tracks and crawl like hell.” “what about us?” i whispered. “we'll make a run for it.” both step and i were trembling as the kid got up, but the little feller did not seem a bit scared. “now don't forget to crawl like hell.” “okay.” he strolled back through the train. we sat for awhile, then step reached in his pocket and got out the cigar butt he had been saving for the kid. let me breathe thunder one of the automobiles waiting on the highway waved frantically at everyone she saw on the train. we waved back at her, and from the rear platform we could hear the kid’s “hi boy, hi.” with the train barely moving we tensed ourselves for the run. we were waiting for that jangle that would mean the engineer was giving the air brakes all the pres- sure they could stand. “everything all right, sirs?” it was the dining-car waiter standing in front of our table. “damn,” i breathed. “everything's okay,” said step tensely. “more coffee?” suggested the waiter. “naw . . .” he picked up the check, put it on a little tray and extended it suggestively toward step. we heard the jangle we were waiting for. “guess i'll just have to let this guy have it,” whis- pered step. he got up and pushed his chair back. i set myself let me breathe thunder to hop over the waiter, for it was sure that in a moment he would be on the floor. step's left arm came back. "just a minute there." a voice. we held ourselves. "i'll take those boys' check," said the voice across the aisle. the waiter looked relieved. he gave the man our check, got his money and left. the man looked across to us. "better call back your little friend," he said. i ran through the cars to the back platform and there was hi boy sitting on the railing, hands in his pockets. i hauled him back. "you little fool. whyn't you wait till the train stopped?" "i ready jump . . . crawl like hell." "yeah, and if the train had hit a curve your juice would have dripped all over the tracks." back in the coach the man in the derby was wait- f let me breathe thunder ing. he sat in the seat facing step and me, his arm around hi boy's shoulders. for one of the few times since i had known him step showed great dignity: “that was a swell thing to do. maybe we'll be able to stand up for you sometime,” he said. “forget it,” the man told him. “you know how it is when you lose your pocket- book,” said step. inwardly, i groaned. so step was not going to play straight after all. i had hoped that we were going to be able to be just ourselves. and step had started lying already. “sure . . . sure . . . i used to lose my pocket- book a lot, too, when i was your age.” step looked suspicious, but the full crinkled face did not suggest double talk. “yeah, yeah,” he said. “you see,” the man went on, “i kinda had an idea that i owed you fellers the price of a meal anyway.” “how's that?” step and me spoke together. let me breathe thunder "it's sorta hard to explain, but i'll try." he rubbed the kid's head where it dozed in the circle of his arm. "crawl like hell," whispered the kid. "suppose your mind was tangled up in a lot of little things—future of apples on the market, trees to be pruned, truck to be put in the ground, orchard ground to be broken for auxiliary crops, lambs to be castrated, desert irrigation, pheasants shot out of season on your ranch, a nest of rattlesnakes under your back doorstep . . ." "that's tough," sighed step. "yeah," i agreed. "oh, it isn't so tough," laughed the man, as he looked at our serious faces. "especially when some fellers happen along who show you that there are some bigger things to think about. mountaintops, for instance." he rubbed the kid's head again. i liked the way the man talked, but there was a half-sneer on step's face. maybe he didn't like to be let me breathe thunder reminded how the man had caught us with our guard down back in the diner. “suppose you fellers tell me something about yourselves,” said the man. neither one of us spoke. “that is, if you feel like it,” he added. “sure, sure, we don't mind,” said step. “course my brother and me hates to air our troubles . . .” it was out. the sneer had meant that step took the man for one of those sentimental suckers. we were always meeting up with people, mostly females, who wanted to make pitiful figures of us— and were mostly willing to pay for the sad, sad tale of our lives. poor little boys of the road, they called us. we never disappointed them. that “brother” gag was one of the first things we always pulled on them. i could have told the rest of step's tale back- wards in pig latin. “i can appreciate that feeling,” the man was say- ing. let me breathe thunder "we ain't really bums or nothing," said step. "we're fellers out looking for a job of work to send our mother to a sanatorium. she broke herself down washing clothes to put us boys through school." "and your father was a drunkard, i suppose," said the man. "naw, the old man was a sailor. was drowned in a hurricane off the cape of good hope. might have saved hisself, too, if he'd been of a mind—he could swim like a fish—but he stayed by the captain and went down with the ship. that's what captains are s'posed to do, you know." "so i've read in storybooks." step gave him the suspicious eye but continued: "so there we was. left with no money and no- body to turn to. the old lady took in washing to keep us boys in school. so, jeez, by the time we got to going good she was ready for a wheelchair. i was set to be a lawyer. my brother, here, was going to go in for doctor work. but we talked it over and de- let me breathe thunder cided to give all that up and go out in the world to find us a job of work and send the old lady up for the rest cure . . .” step paused like he was expecting a little praise, but the man sat and touched his finger tips together. “so far,” said step, “we ain't found no kind of work that lasted long; but everything we make, or anybody gives us, we send home to ma.” the man did not reach in his pocketbook like he was supposed to. “haven't you forgotten something?” he asked my buddy. that kind of shocked step. “what's that!” “about the kid here.” “oh, him—he's a neighbor's kid. an orphan . . . that is, his folks died,” stuttered step. “i understand.” that was the end of that, and we just leaned back let me breathe thunder and watched the country roll by. after a long while the man turned back to us. "you boys know anything about sheep?" "i do," said step. "might have a little work for you out my place, four mile farm, in the yakima valley. of course the pay ain't much—just eight dollars a month apiece." "it ain't much as we're used to getting," said step, "but it ain't hay." by the grin on his face i knew just what he was thinking. "well, if you decide to come you can't miss the place. like the name says, just four miles outside the town." "you ain't told us your name," i said. "sampson. everybody in yakima knows samp- son." "my pardner's name is step; mine is ed," i told him. "oh, and we just call the kid, there, hi boy." sampson shook our hands like we had just met. he pulled out a cigar and bit off the end. let me breathe thunder “excuse me,” he said, reaching back in his coat, “do you boys smoke cigars?” something in the way he asked the question made me want to deny that we smoked. “no, we don't,” i blurted before step had a chance to open his mouth. “that's funny, would have sworn i saw you smok- ing back in the diner,” smiled sampson. step gave me a long hard look. i could hardly stand the pressure of his eyes. squirming about, i grew as little as possible in my seat. it was late afternoon when the conductor came through and curtly announced: “you fellers get off next stop.” “maybe i'd better write down the name of the farm and all,” said sampson, “so's you won't forget.” on the back of a card he scribbled something with a silver pencil. “now there’ll be no excuse, unless you just don't like work.” he gave the card to step. sampson waved at us as we stood by the roadbed let me breathe thunder watching them haul down the spout of the water tower. we waved back, and the kid sang out his "hi boy" as the engineer gave the whistle two sharp toots. "there's the highball," remarked step. the train gathered momentum and in a couple of minutes was gone. "after that, i suppose you won't be satisfied with freights any more," i said to step. "oh, i don't know," he said. and laughing with all his old freedom, he cried: "c'mon, you fellers, there's a water hydrant. . . . race you." we wandered in and out among the mex and spick shacks. most of the men were away working on a roadbed five or six miles down the right-of- way, an old woman told us. from her we got corn- cakes and all the goat's milk we could drink for a dime. she kept looking at the kid. let me breathe thunder he had been turning the card in his fingers and the writing on the back caught his eye. "well, i'm a sonofabitch." the kid came running. "what is it?" i asked. "if this don't beat all hell," said step. "the guy writes his name and everything but, jeez, under- neath he says: 'i don't believe that poor liars are always poor workers.'" "what you think he meant by that?" "aw, the guy was hep to us all the time," said step. "he wasn't swallering that story a little bit." "did you ever get fooled?" i howled. the kid howled too. i don't think he knew why. "yessir, he had his hip boots, all right," said step with grudging admiration. to my mind, that settled it. he would never go to the yakima valley now. laughing, i watched him pull the lucky dog tail out of his pocket, throw it in the air and mark the direction in which it pointed. let me breathe thunder “cut the ‘hee haw, and let's find somebody who knows when a freight pulls through here,” he said briskly. “what's the hurry all of a sudden?” he slapped the tail against his thigh. “tail says to follow sampson, and by god we'll do it. we'll go to the yakima valley.” sheets of invisible rain came in the night. the three of us crouched under a sheet of corrugated tin propped against the water tower. the “slow drag” that we were going to hitch onto was down a half mile on a siding to let a fast passenger ball through on the right-of-way. the kid was covered with my leather jacket but the jacket had been soaked through when i gave it to him. it must have made him wetter and more miserable because his whimpers could be heard through the roar of water as it drummed against the corrugated tin. let me breathe thunder step and me had been through other nights like this one. we were cold as hell too, but knew how to joke and keep up our spirits. "oughtn't be a cloud left nowheres, after this," said step. i threw a rock into the black. there was a splash. "must be the ocean out there." step threw a rock and listened for the splash. "c'mon, hi boy," he called, "c'mon, throw some rocks and help fill up the ocean." the kid did not move toward us. "aw, you cry baby," step said. he leaned over me to pull at the kid. "c'mon, kid, laugh." i could feel step's arm jerk as the kid squirmed away. "i cold, cold, mis manos son heladas" he kept re- peating. step got tired of it. "ain't going to help none to cry," he said. "don't let me breathe thunder you think we're cold? feel ed, here.” he pulled the kid's hand over to my wet chest. “he’s in his shirt sleeves, but do you think he'd holler?” the kid's hand was trembling, and it sounded as though his mouth made little noises in spite of himself. “aw, goddam you, you're yellow,” grunted step. “we can't have no yellowbellies traveling with us.” “give him a break, he ain't nothing but a kid,” i said. - “jeez, he's old enough to show yellow,” said step. without seeing, i could feel him turn his back on the kid. to emphasize his complete withdrawal he started up a new conversation: “you should of re- minded me to get a sack o’ tobacco. a guy oughtn't to be without a smoke on a night like this.” the very tone excluded hi boy from the wish-tobacco. the kid moved up against me. his body was hot against my side. it would have been better for all of us to have snuggled together in a heap, but step let me breathe thunder and me were funny about things like that. we were always so anxious to prove to each other how much we could stand. so he sat apart, and i was glad it was too dark for him to see me enjoying the heat of the kid's body. long before we heard the rattle of the speeding passenger, we saw the glare of the headlight and heard the trailing whistle that always means a train is balling along. "jeez, she's coming like a bat out of hell." the piercing headlight was a wedge in the rainy night, holding it apart in two towering black walls. the engine screamed again, wildly; the slow freight answered with a short blast, and the broken lights of the coaches were flickering past. a brief glimpse of diners, sleepers, fat men smoking in a club car; then the red letters on the rear of the observation platform: moonlight flyer. the night closed in again, and the train had been only a dream. ' let me breathe thunder “c’mon, that slow drag will be pulling any min- ute.” step brought me back to the present. clambering up the cinder incline of the roadbed, we ran down the siding toward the lights that marked the freight. step had ignored hi boy alto- gether. i dragged him along by one sleeve of the jacket. there wasn't any time to lose; they had taken on water already. - i was the first one to find the refrigerator car. call- ing to step, i ran the rungs to the top. if only the ice compartments were empty, we could get warm in a “reefer.” opening the trap, i peered down. “any ice?” called step from the ground. “c'mon up, no ice. must be a lettuce car.” in a flash he and the kid were at my side. he fished in his pocket and brought out a dry match. he always did that. you never can tell what you'll find in a “reefer.” a scratch and he was holding the flame down in it. let me breathe thunder there were three men on the floor of the com- partment. "you ain't no snakes, are you, buddy?" came from the depths. the voice was whining, without confi- dence. "naw . . . any room?" asked step. "there's three of us, but c'mon down. be warmer with more." six fellers in a "reefer," clicking along in the night. we sat shoulder to shoulder, our damp clothes steaming. it was pleasant to be in out of the weather; it made me drowsy. the next thing i remember was waking with my head on step's shoulder, the kid half across my lap. someone had lit the stump of a candle and all eyes were strung to the flame. the air was thick with human steam and smoke. it all smelled good. "you awake?" asked step. s let me breathe thunder peel; one was concealed in whiskers, but the eyes were hunted and shifty; the third was black . . . moons flashing in a face merged with the shadows. those were the points of the faces i saw. i was in the mood to catch nothing but high lights; and between periods when i must have dozed, i caught the following high lights in their conversation: "been riding long?" step asked the wizened- faced one. "five hours. me and them too," he gestured. "where you headed?" "just eastways." "your buddies too?" "never saw them 'fore tonight." "we're all headed just eastways, buddy," said shifty eyes, without seeming to move his lips. "where you fellers headed to?" asked the black one. "off at yakima." "good place in august. i've knocked apples there." /■ let me breathe thunder “yeah, might be good country to stop in when a feller gets too old to knock around,” said step. “reckon i'll pick the city when i cotton on one place for good,” said wizened face. “me, i'll always be moving,” said the shifty-eyed one. and as if he'd said too much: “anyway, when the road gets you you'd sooner be moving.” “i reckon i thought i was going to stay put a hundred times,” said the black face, “but somehow i always catch myself moving on.” “an' a good thing it is to move on. dicks never forget, and if they should happen to forget they got it all written down somewhere in the white house.” the man who did not seem to move his lips glanced about nervously as he spoke. “ain’t hard to get on relief now,” said wizened face, “but i never can seem to get settled on what city.” “no sense a-tall in a feller running round the country when there's steady jobs he can get,” said let me breathe thunder the black face. "still, somehow, i always catch my- self moving on." "i ain't gonna knock around from job to job till i get to be a million years old," said step. "after i seen the whole world and every kind of dame in it, i'm gonna hold me down one job of work and marry with somebody soft as a movie star." this was a new step. of course i knew that one day i would settle down, but step "well, i wouldn't never marry no dame," said shifty eyes. "you sour on them and they run quick an' tell everything on you they know." "that's one thing about the city," leered wizened face. "jeez, what broads." "when i settles down it's gonna be where i can still mix with guys on the road," said black face. "guys on the road ain't got prejudice like other folks." "them city broads . . ." dreamed wizened face. "why, i was coming into chi from wichita last let me breathe thunder year or last month, or something,” continued black face. “there was a yeller-haired girl in the empty with a bunch of us. some of them gave her money. she let me love her up all the way in to chi for a piece of cake.” “if i ever do come across a place safe to settle in, it won't be with no dame,” declared shifty eyes. “yessir, all the way into chi. black or white, it's all the same on the road.” “you ever see 'em sitting in store windows in seattle?” asked wizened face. “if you're cute enough about it you can flash a phony bill and they'll give you a tumble.” the black face swayed with the candle shadows. “i had a gal onct in alabama. man, but she could go. guess i would've married up with her too, but i got to thinking 'bout raisin’ colored kids in ala- bama. was gonna send for her when i found a bet- ter place, but jobs give out 'bout that time. i just kept moving.” let me breathe thunder "one dame ain't no more 'n another," said step. "it's according how you look at it. they all was give the same thing by god." "before i got ruled off the track, when i was bringing 'em in under the wire, always in the money, i used to have as many as five dames in my room every night," said wizened face. "them was the days." "i was hitched once. the bitch ratted on me," snarled shifty eyes, choking the air between his claws. "jobs ain't so hard to get now. maybe i might write that alabama gal one of these days when i settles down." "been a long time . . . might could get me a job at the tracks, somewhere they run horses, if i could stay put. dames and horses again, i ain't too old for either one." "the priest that tied the knot, even he told me she was no good. and now i never will be able to stop let me breathe thunder movin'. he was a smart man, that priest . . . he was a good man.” the shifty eyes were motionless for a second. “preachers and ministers and such—ain't none of them worth a one-dollar bet on a two-legged horse,” declared the ex-jockey. the eyes in the black face flickered like paper lanterns in a strong wind. “see that kid?” the ex-jockey pointed at hi boy. “he looks sort of like a girl. ain't i right?” he asked. “cut it,” warned step, and his voice teetered on the edge of dangerous. “that's all right, buddy, i ain't trying to horn in on nothing,” cringed the man. he laughed evilly and glanced across at hi boy again. step drew him- self up, but he couldn't stop the guy from laughing suggestively under his breath. it seemed like trouble might start. i listened for a moment to the wash of rain driven against the side of the car. let me breathe thunder "anybody here that's looking for trouble' see heaven damn soon," broke out step. i felt his shoulders stiffen. nobody wanted to take up the challenge. the man with the shifty eyes picked up the can- dle. a flurry of rain drummed against the trap door. he blew out the candle. we could almost spit from the freight to the mid- dle of sunlit yakima. the girls here mostly wore pants, drove their father's trucks into town and took steps like men. step got fresh with a couple of them who were fixing a flat tire near the tracks. they cursed him, using good round oaths. he walked on. the kid and me wanted to stand by the pens that faced the railroad tracks and watch the men load sheep into the latticelike cars, but we had to follow step. after all, he had been here before and we didn't know the town. he should have l let me breathe thunder been feeling good because the swelling on his face had gone down, but he wasn't. the lambs bawled, and the kid, who was himself again, trilled: “hiboy, hiboy, hi boy, hi.” the loaders turned and waved to him because the cry was bright and joyful as the sunlight. “shut up, it might rain some more,” was step's remark. he was still off hi boy. for a minute i thought the kid was going to cry, he looked so miserable. but he didn't, and i reached out and took his hand. “you know where you're going?” i asked step after we had walked a distance. “to see mag. friend of mine.” i had heard about mag before. step admired her a whole lot. it seemed that she had been just a two- bit whore until she had come to yakima many years before. she had not gone the way most women like her go. she had saved her money and put it into real estate and houses. now, at fifty-three years of let me breathe thunder age, she owned a sizable stretch of land facing the tracks, a roadhouse and several houses. she had something on the ball, step had said. mag, herself, came to the door at our knock. she was fat and black as a tar ball. i was knocked off my feet for a second. step had not told me she was black. as soon as she saw step she gave a whoop and grabbed him around the shoulders. "well, roast me for a turkey," she cried. "what kind of white trash has the wind blowed in?" "and are you looking good," laughed step. "why, nobody would think you was a day over two hundred." she laughed with him and it was impossible to believe that she was almost twice old enough to be my mother. "this is my buddy, ed." "well, i'm right happy to meet up with you then, child." she looked at the kid. i could see that step was not going to introduce him. it's funny how that guy can hold onto a grouch. let me breathe thunder “that's hi boy,” i told her. “say, but he's a little feller.” she felt his ribs. “looks like he could use some biscuits.” “i ain't any too fat around the backbone, myself.” said step. “well, what the hell you standing out here for?” she cried. “c’mon in and fall to.” in no time at all we were seated at a table, gulp- ing down great mouthfuls of ham and eggs. she hadn't been fooling about the biscuits, either. they were big and flaky. “this ain't near appletime. you fellers must be just stopping through,” said mag. “naw, going out to a guy's farm to fool with sheep.” “not many sheep right around here. must be sampson's.” “yeah, that's it.” “must have seen them loading some of his lambs down at the pens, didn't you?” asked mag. let me breathe thunder "guess we did," said step. "say, what kind of an egg is he, anyway?" "damn good feller. been here in this valley twenty-odd year." "reckon you know near everybody in and out of yakima since the town was a town, don't you?" i asked. "ain't trying to find out how old i am, are you, young feller?" "oh no . . . no . . ." she laughed and started the biscuits around. "that's all right, son, i'm a pretty old woman. not that i still ain't got an eye for a well-set-up young feller," she added, squinting at me out the cor- ners of her eyes. "eh . . . yeah . . . yessum." she looked at me in approval. "by god, step, i like your buddy. you boys have had sense enough to stay just boys." "aw, nuts," said step. "we can hold our own c let me breathe thunder with any man. don't care if it's liquor or women.” “i ain't saying you ain't a man,” corrected mag. “and i ain't forgetting you done a man's job for me once.” “nuts,” grunted step. “yessir,” she said to me. “he sure stood up for me once. you lucky to have a buddy like him.” “where's all your guns?” asked step quickly. “still hunt like you used to?” “sure, only it ain't open season on nothing but rabbits and ground hogs now. but speaking of guns, boy, wait till you see the new contraption i got. had it made special, a four-barrel shotgun. it sure is a honey.” “hope you can hit a barn door with it,” said step. “for somebody that likes to hunt, you get less than anybody i ever saw.” “that's right,” she said reflectively. “i sure can't hit nothing. but how i loves to hear them go off.” the kid had just about stuffed himself by this let me breathe thunder time. he paused with his cheeks full of biscuit and raised his fingers like they were pistols. "bam . . . bam . . . bam . . ." he brought down an imaginary flock of something or other. mag laughed loudly and the kid looked pleased with himself. "he sure is a funny kid," she said. "where'd you find him?" "he ain't funny," said step, "he's yellow. can't stand boo." the kid looked hurt clear through, like step's attitude was killing him. anybody could see that he liked step even more than he did me. tears gathered in his eyes. "i not scared." "naw, you ain't scared," mocked step. "look at you, getting set to bawl now." mag and me tried to comfort the kid with soft looks, but step was scornful of our attempts. he did not let up a bit. ? let me breathe thunder “aw, let him be,” he growled, and suddenly he poked with his fork at the kid's hand. the boy jumped, red muddying the khaki of his face. “that proves it,” cried step. “scared to death i was gonna hurt him. he's just yellow.” “that don't prove nothing. nobody wants to get punched in the hand,” said mag. “that shows he's scared of everything.” there was a series of sharp cracks from some- where back of the house. except mag, we all started. she grinned. “take it easy, boys. it's only cooper out in the back yard. he likes to pop off with a twenty-two at tin cans.” step tried to save face: “let’s go out there—that's fun.” “naw, wait a minute. you got to see my new con- traption first.” she left the table muttering: “damn twenty-twos . . . give me something that makes some noise.” let me breathe thunder no sooner had she left the table than i whirled on step to ask the question that had been eating me up: "what'd she mean, you stood up for her once?" "save it . . . save it . . . tell you later," he growled. "aw, c'mon, give." "i said save it." "oh, all right." there was no use in pressing him. "who's this guy cooper?" "her man." "her what?" "her man . . . man, stupid." "but i thought you said she was fifty-three years old," i gasped. "yeah, and you better hope you're good as she is when you get that old." "is he her pimp?" "used to be, but now, of course, mag don't turn no more tricks. she don't have to. so he just manages business things for her." f let me breathe thunder “she sure is a lot of woman. imagine keeping a man around to sleep with at fifty-three.” “it ain't just that,” said step. “why, they like each other better than most married folks, i betcha.” mag came in carrying the gun. it was a beautiful job—silver hammered into the stock and everything. she handed it to step. “what you think of that little piece of business?” “jeez, you could knock over a whole flock of ducks with this,” he exclaimed. “it’s heavy as lead.” “can't let go with but two barrels at a time,” explained mag. “it'd knock you silly.” step handed the gun across hi boy to me. the kid started to reach up and touch it. “hands off,” said step. “you might stick your hand on the trigger guard or something and start bawling.” i took the gun and tried to sight down it. gee, but it was heavy. took all my strength to hold it level. let me breathe thunder nobody had been watching the kid; we were too interested in the gun. out of the corners of my eyes i might have seen him pick up the fork and thought nothing about it. hell, we were at a table where there was food—how was i to know he wasn't going to use it to eat with. but there was the fork standing straight up in his hand and the blood oozing up around the prongs that were imbedded in the flesh. it hadn't been an accident. he held the hand out to step. "i not scared." for a moment we just sat there watching the blood stain the checkered tablecloth a deeper red. the kid's mouth quivered, but he said calmly: "i not scared of stick hand." mag snapped out of it. "what the hell?" she pulled out the fork. the kid drew in his breath but did not flinch. ugly little puckery mouths reached for the retreating tines, then the blood be- gan to really flow. step and me were still just look- ing. ' let me breathe thunder “well, get the lead out of your feet, one of you guys,” cried mag. “get the dishpan, some warm water, a towel . . . in there, in the kitchen.” the kid's hand was filthy, so hurt or no hurt mag washed it with laundry soap. the water in the dishpan was now oxblood. step and me were scared to death, but mag didn't pay us any atten- tion. “hell, it don't hurt kids to bleed some. 'sides, can't wrap up all that dirt along with the bandage.” step held the kid's hand when she put the iodine in the holes. it must have burned something ter- rible, but the kid didn't cry once. “not scared . . . not scared,” he said once or twice, when the pain seemed about to get the best of him. “i’ll tell the world you're not,” cried step, after the hand was all tied up. step was pitiable in his attempts to put everything right again. he didn't know just what to say, so let me breathe thunder step decided that he would teach the kid how to shoot. mag was agreeable but thought it best to use one of cooper's twenty-twos . . . the shotguns were so heavy. cooper was still in the back yard popping away at tin cans. he was thin, slick and high yellow, with enough pomade on his hair to fry a steak. the hair must have been dyed because the morning beard on his face was pure white. altogether, he looked like a man just recovering from a sickness. sure, he would be glad for step to use one of his guns. nothing was too good for step. i wondered again what it was that my buddy had done for these folks. “now, here, let me show you,” said step to the kid. he put several tin cans and a couple of bottles on the fence. then, taking a stand about eighty feet away, he lifted the rifle to his shoulder and sighted along the barrel. crack . . . let me breathe thunder the bullet must have ended up in the middle of the next state somewhere; it certainly didn't meet any interference on the way. "yaaaaaa . . ." cried mag, "an' he says i ain't no shot." step gave the gun to hi boy. "you get the general idea," he said. the kid lifted the gun and without seeming to aim it, fired. one of the bottles shattered, throwing slivers against the sun. "jeez, what luck," cried step, but he spoke out of turn. crack . . . crack . . . crack . . . the gun went off just as fast as the kid could cock it, and after each shot there was one less tin can on the fence. "gawd, where'd he learn to shoot like that?" asked cooper. we couldn't tell him. "i shoot 'em good?" asked the kid. r let me breathe thunder “where'd you learn that?” i asked. “i shoot good.” he answered his own question. and that was all he would say. he must have used up a couple of boxes of car- tridges proving to us that his accuracy was no acci- dent, and still we wanted him to keep on shooting. finally mag put a stop to it. “let him rest that hand of his awhile,” she said. when we got ready to go that afternoon, step took mag to one side and they talked. the upshot of it was that the kid kept the twenty-two. mag and cooper wanted to give step a shotgun too, but he got around taking it. hitting the pavement to sampson's was fun. we walked along, our stomachs full, our minds easy. the kid pointed his gun this way and that, so it was a miracle that we got out of town without getting into trouble. once on the highway, step let him load it and he killed a couple of rabbits before we had gone a half mile. that was enough rabbits, so let me breathe thunder although we hated to do it we had to take the gun away from him. we were in sight of the place some time after the sun had started downwards. we must have been a funny sight—two bareheaded fellers with a rabbit apiece slung over their shoulders, and a mexican kid trailing along singing to a shiny gun held out of his reach: "hi boy, hi boy, hi boy, hi . . ." did you ever hear a lark whistle in the early morn- ing when everything is fresh and cool? the sound comes from somewhere out in the desert. of course, the desert here is not the sandy waste that you would think of as being a desert. the purple and green of the thistle and sage, the stretches of cactus, mesquite and tumbleweed make it sort of a big back yard of your house. the lark sings from somewhere in this back yard. his whistle is just as long as the let me breathe thunder chorus to a cowboy song . . . and has more melody in it. that was what woke us up on the morning of the first day at sampson's. that, and the frying smell of the rabbits that hi boy had killed the day before. the three of us had slept on a little screened-in back porch. there was a bed for step and me and a cot for the kid. it was better than being in the house for us who were used to sleeping under just any little piece of sky. the only real bedrooms in the one-story frame building were for sampson and his daughter anna. anna wasn't bad-looking and she wasn't good- looking. i guess she was like any other late teen-age country girl . . . a little plump and a little giggly. just a towheaded kid, except for her eyes. they were deep with that same quiet saneness that marked sampson's. the day we arrived step had been fresh with anna. she had been apologizing for the lack of space, saying that the workers who came at apple- let me breathe thunder picking time usually slept under a tent pitched in the orchard. step had said that he would not want to crowd sampson, which was polite enough; but then he asked if she kicked in her sleep. she had already answered in the negative before the meaning of the question dawned on her. tossing her head, she had flounced off. i was afraid that she was going to tell her father, but step had grinned at my fears. "don't be a chump. she's been buried out here in the desert just waiting for some guy to come along and get fresh with her." maybe he knew what he was talking about. samp- son hadn't given any sign of being sore at us yet. the slam of a screen door close by was like a pistol shot in the morning air. then anna's voice: "here, chick . . . chick . . . chick . . ." the kid got out of bed and went over to the screen. not having any underwear he had slept in the suit he was born with. i nudged step. it was a let me breathe thunder shame to laugh about something like that but we couldn't help it. and it was all right, because the kid didn't know what we were laughing at. “see . . . see . . . İmire, luegol” called the kid. we hopped out of the sheets. maybe the kid could have gotten a laugh at our expense, but he was too excited by what he saw in the yard. at first we thought he was talking about the mountains; through the clear air they had traveled almost within hock-and-spitting distance. then step grabbed me by the arm. “jeez, will you look at that guy!” he cried. it was something to get excited about. the wild pheasants were in the yard feeding with the chick- ens. step was pointing at the big cock in the bunch. fully as big as any rooster, his tail and brilliant wings chocked with color and vitality, he lorded it over all the flock. “boy, what i wouldn't give for a shot at him.” no sooner had step spoken than the kid grabbed let me breathe thunder up the rifle and cocked it. he was going to shoot through the screen. step knocked up the barrel. "you want to get us locked up? can't shoot 'em out of season." "yeah, we're just crazy about holes in the screen too," i remarked. while we were talking to him i noticed anna at the foot of the backdoor stoop. "duck, quick," i warned. she had on a bonnet that covered her face, but i was deathly afraid that at any minute she might turn and see us. that, together with step's freshness the day before, would just about finish our stay at four mile farm. "my, what a nice morning," said step loudly. he was acting like he didn't know she was there. "c'mon, step, please." i pulled at his arm. "boy, this air makes a feller feel like breathing," he declared even more loudly, and cupping his hands, he beat on his bare chest. let me breathe thunder it was awful, expecting her to turn around before i could get him away from the screen. safely out of sight of the yard, i angrily turned on him: “whazza matter? you trying to get us thrown out of here on our ears?” he regarded me with disgust. “i see i got to learn you everything just like you was hi boy. just suppose it was you out there by the steps and somebody talked as loud as we were talking. wouldn't you have turned around to see what it was all about . . . or to say good morning?” “maybe she didn't hear us.” “the hell you say she didn't,” he cried. “she had been peeking and knew we were raw. that's why she played mum.” “aw, you're always thinking dirty.” he looked at me pityingly. “jeez, how can you be so simple and live?” that was his final comment. breakfast was a quick affair, all of us eating at a big table in the kitchen. there was a grizzled old let me breathe thunder hired hand there too. his home was in the tool shed. anna brought on the rabbits. they were cooked crisp and ate like chicken, only not as tender. both step and me praised the cooking, but not once would anna look at us. that was strange. at the sheep pen the hired man, orlando was his name, gave us both a big plug of tobacco. i didn't know what the tobacco was for but i took it and hit off a hunk. the kid sat on the fence watching us chew. his hand was still sore, so for the first two or three days it was arranged for him to keep the house supplied with rabbits and watch for a hawk that had been carrying away the chickens. i soon found out what the tobacco was for. all the lambs in the pen were to be castrated. this was done with a knife, but the final operation was made with the teeth. that was so the wound would heal clean, according to orlando. and somewhere i re- membered hearing that tobacco was a good anti- septic. let me breathe thunder sheep on the side. especially since the government alloted free grazing land. "wish apples were as stable as mutton," he said. "why, back just a few years ago we let the fruit fall to the ground and rot. cost more to pick, crate and ship than it brought on the market." "that was a shame," i said. "there ain't never enough apples for the poor kids who ain't got the price of one." "lot of farmers around here chopped out their orchards on account of that . . . but i couldn't have done it. why, i love my orchards like another man loves a woman. you don't quit a woman because she don't come up to the mark two or three seasons. and besides, i was four years in college and the better part of my life learning how to raise the best delicious apples in this here valley." "everybody likes apples. it's a funny thing when a man can't make money when he's got something that everybody likes." let me breathe thunder “well, that's the way it is with apples, son. when you got them the price is down. when you haven't got them the price is up. you don't make anything to speak of, either way.” “don’t guess i'd ever make a farmer,” i said. “i’d sell the land and get a job in the city.” “oh, i don't think you would. not if you owned a little piece of land.” “fellers that own a little piece of land don't ever get rich,” i told him. “leastways, i never heard of any.” “reckon that's right,” he said, “but there's some- thing about growing things that gets you.” “guess you'd sooner grow apples than be presi- dent,” i said. “don’t know about that. can't say how it feels to be president, but an apple sure is a beautiful thing. makes a man think about guns and revolu- tions when he sees them rotting on the ground.” “guess so. ain't the government doing nothing about that?” let me breathe thunder "all they can, i guess. but sometimes i think we'd be better off if they took a rest and let god run the world a little." "i sure hope we'll be able to help you out some," i said. "you know, i didn't really think you boys was going to follow me on here," he smiled, "but i'm right glad you came. sorta took a fancy to you fel- lers. 'specially hi boy, here." he knuckled the kid's head. the kid did not look up. he took it as a natural thing that he should be liked. "i been in this part of the country lots of times, following the big fifty-mule combines through the wheat fields," i said. "reckon i'm sorry i never run across four mile farm before this." "like old times to have some boys around the place," he said, and looked far away at a big moun- tain that seemed to loom just behind the farthest orchard. "used to sit around here many an evening let me breathe thunder with mary. . . . we'd look at that mountain. the boys would be off somewhere, but you could hear them shouting and kidding one another.” i didn't say anything. i could see that he was liv- ing over again something that must have meant a lot to him. the mood was broken by the kid throwing and shouting at a chicken that had strayed behind the shed. sampson got up quickly. “reckon i’d better finish that south orchard while there's sun,” he said gruffly. later on, when we were in the sheep pen once more, i asked orlando about sampson. “shore, he had some boys,” said orlando. “four of the finest lads ever growed in this here valley. they was the first in these parts to volunteer when uncle sam jined in the scrap overseas. funny thing about it was that none of 'em was killed by gunfire. they all died o' some kinda sickness while they was in a training camp.” “mary was his wife, huh?” i prompted. let me breathe thunder "shore was . . . broke her all to pieces when those boys blew in their chips. didn't last more 'n five year after'ards. i reckon sampson might've followed her if it hadn't been for the little gal anna. she weren't no more'n born at the time. that gal and apples is all that keeps him on this here earth." late that night step and me rolled cigarettes and talked. everyone else about the place was in bed, but the night was pleasantly cool and we were seated on the top step out of reach of the rattlesnakes that lived underneath the back porch, so we just naturally had to discuss things. "how long you figger we're going to stay here, step?" "got itchy foot already?" he laughed. "i told you sheep wasn't no picnic." "naw, it ain't that. i just want to know." let me breathe thunder “well, i'd say 'bout a month at the most, i guess.” “he’s a pretty swell feller,” i remarked. “sampson?” “yeah.” “guess he is, at that.” “bet you didn't know that he used to have four boys just about as old as us when they died,” i said. “that's tough.” “he says that it's like old times to have us around the place.” “guess so.” “we'll be gone in 'bout a month, you say?” “yeah, how come you to ask that again?” “oh, i don't know. . . . he'll be sorry to see us go, i betcha.” “say, you ain't getting soft, are you?” he inquired. “you ain't hinting that we ought to stay here?” “naw . . . naw, nothing like that,” i assured him. “that's all right, then. you had me guessing for a minute.” let me breathe thunder "boy, you sure can get me wrong," i told him. "why, we ain't seen half the world yet," he said. "we ain't never had one of them island women, either." "you mean the kind that wear the grass and wig- gles their stomachs?" "yeah, like at carnivals," he said. then: "where do they hang out, anyway?" "oh, i don't know," i said vaguely. "it don't matter; if we keep on traveling we're bound to run across them. why, when it comes to going to bed, i bet they'd make a gal like anna look sick." everything in me held motionless for a second. step must have sensed that something was wrong. "what's eating you?" "about anna," i said. "she's only a kid." "so what? she's old enough to play around like she knows what it's all about." * r let me breathe thunder “she ain't old enough, step. you got to leave her alone.” “what you mean i got to leave her alone?” he asked harshly. for once i did not give in to him. i knew what i meant and was ready to back it up. our faces were not six inches apart. i would not be stared down. “this is the time we either got to agree or part company,” i told him. suddenly he laughed. “aw, who ever said i was going to bother her, softie?” and he slapped me on the shoulder. “all right, i'm soft, but i want you to promise.” “aw, forget it.” “you got to promise.” “hell, i promise.” he got to his feet. “hope that makes you feel better, mama.” long after he had gone to bed i sat there looking in the direction of the farthest orchard to where the big mountain would be if the air was clear to- let me breathe thunder when she kissed him, he told me, but by concen- trating on everything unpleasant that had ever hap- pened to him he got mad enough to break away. i hadn't counted on that much will power in step. sampson and the kid were buddies almost at first sight. now they were together all the time. before sunup they would be out hunting rabbits; in the evenings they jabbered in spanish as they walked in the orchards; and at night sampson would sit with him on the porch and try to enlarge his knowledge of english. most of these english lessons would end with the teacher and the pupil spouting such fluent spanish that my ear could not distinguish one word from another. step and me were pretty busy in the truck garden while waiting for a small gang plow to be used to break the ground in the new orchard for the plant- ing of subsidiary crops. sometimes we found time to go out with sampson and the kid, and on week ends we would ride the truck into town and raise let me breathe thunder hell. still, i could see that the place was beginning to get on step's nerves. he always grouched a lot when the urge to move on was about to hit him. just any day i expected to have him suddenly say: "get on your coat, we got to get going." that's the way he always left a place—in a hurry. we might have col- lected our pay and left without anything at all hap- pening if the kid hadn't been troubled with his hand. the holes left by the tines of the fork had healed over all right, but there must have been some in- fection on the inside, because one morning the whole hand was red and swollen. sampson bathed the hand in hot water but that didn't do any good; so on the third morning when the hand had not gone down, he told us to take the truck and go into town with the kid. the doctor there took care of all his people and got paid by the year. the kid hadn't been far from the place since we let me breathe thunder "should have brought him in before this," snapped the doc. "whose kid is he?" he had asked anna, but she didn't know how to answer. "he kind of belongs to us," said step. "we sorta adopted him," i explained. "well, coming from sampson is good enough for me. i'll have to lance this, of course." he dropped a thin knife into a steaming pan. "you ain't going to cut nothing off, are you, doc?" cried step. the kid whimpered. "no, no, son. it's not that serious. i just mean to open it up and get some of that pus out." "sure . . . sure, that's what i thought . . ." fal- tered step. "no need at all of you staying here," said the doc- tor. "why not just leave the boy and come back in an hour or so?" the kid looked around as if he had been con- let me breathe thunder demned. you could see that if he hadn't been afraid of step's displeasure he would have cried. “i’ll stay here,” declared step. “you and anna can take a walk or something.” we left them there holding hands while the doc- tor washed up. anna did not want to stand in front of shop windows, so we wandered down to the rail- road station. all the time we were walking i felt that she had something to say to me . . . and we hadn't been at the station more than half an hour before she started in. “you and him been traveling together a long time?” she asked, seating herself on the railing of the station yard. “few years, i guess.” “oh, i thought maybe you knew something about where he came from and all.” “maybe i do.” i really didn't know anything much but i wasn't telling her that. “ain’t a secret, is it?” let me breathe thunder she laughed. “well, maybe it's 'cause i'm kinda soft for your old man,” i said, now in a stew of embarrassment. she surprised me by patting my hand. “you’re a hell of a good pal, ed.” it didn't sound funny to hear her swear. “but you wouldn't know what it means to be a girl and not be able to bum around the country or do anything exciting or romantic. maybe you don't know what it is to have a father who thinks about you like—like one of his apples.” “how's that?” “well, he can't stand to see any of his apples fall on the ground . . . and he won't let his ‘little girl' mix with any of the pickers or the young people around town who get high at dances.” “you don't have any friends?” “yeah, the thirteen-year-old kids of a few hand- picked farmers.” “maybe he knows more about it than you do,” i told her. ioo let me breathe thunder of a thing we used to holler when we saw a train; that made it yours, if you hollered first.” “oh, it ain't so much fun on the cushions,” i told her. we sat there chewing grass blades. both of us were at ease because we felt like we'd confessed something. there was no longer any need to strain at the main thread of our conversation . . . we had time to think up little unconnected side issues. “you like honey?” she asked. “i like it on flapjacks.” “so do i. i wish i was on that train eating honey and flapjacks.” “probably charge you ten bucks,” i said. “i’ve been in those diners.” “you have?” “sure . . . oh, sure, lots of times,” i lied. “did you have flapjacks?” “naw, what'd be the use? they wouldn't know how to make 'em—that is, with sour milk.” io let me breathe thunder "i think he likes hi boy better than anybody else," she said smoothly, as if she was still talking about trains. "who?" "i mean step." "i guess so. he don't care nothing about girls. that is, one's as good as another to him." she looked sharply at me. "it's funny that you're his buddy and talk about him like that." "that ain't nothing to say; it's true." "i don't believe it," she declared. "and what's more, i think i'll show you where you're wrong." "naw, don't do anything like that," i said. "he says a lot of nice things. i don't think he'd go out of his way to say them if he didn't mean it." "that's just a line. you wouldn't take your hand and stir up that nest of rattlesnakes under your back doorstep, would you?" "why, no. anyway, snakes underneath the porch are good luck." let me breathe thunder “well, don't go stirring up a man, 'cause you're only a kid and you're liable to get bit.” she laughed at me again. hi boy's hand was all bandaged when anna and me got back to the doctor's. as soon as we walked in step started running off at the mouth: “jeez, you should've seen it. why, when the doc opened that hand and squeezed, the juice must have spouted that high.” he held his hand up about seven feet. “jeez, it was just like one of those cobbler pies on the inside.” “all fix now,” said the kid, showing the hand. “you lose that bandage and get any dirt in that wound, and you won't have any more hand,” the doc told him. “sure, sure. i'll watch him, doc,” promised step. “sure . . . he watch,” said the kid. “tell sampson to send him back here in a week i let me breathe thunder or so," said the doc to anna. "and by the way, how is the old sheep nurse making out?" "he's doing all right," she said. "apples look like they're going to be good this year, and he just shipped out a couple of carloads of mutton on the hoof." "have to up the ante on him then," laughed the doc. we would not have thought of going to a movie if some friends of sampson's hadn't been getting into a parked car just outside the doc's office. anna got the idea to have these friends drop hi boy by the farm and tell sampson where we were going. the friends were willing—they were passing right by four mile. it was the kid who did not like the plan. i couldn't blame him for not wanting to miss the picture, but because of his hand we thought it best for him to be at the farm. we finally had to tell him that kids weren't allowed in picture shows on saturday. $ let me breathe thunder the movie was one of those good old westerns, the kind that you sit through twice. throughout the whole four hours we whooped and hollered. when the bad guys had the smiling young feller tied up, woolly pants and all, we booed and hooted; and when the hero saved the girl from a herd of stampeding cows and captured the bad guys, we cheered. it was evening when we came out into the fresh air again. “let's drive down by the tracks and wait for the early moon,” suggested anna. “it’s too nice an eve- ning to go home right away.” we were willing. step and me knew a few girls in town. we had met them on our first saturday night in yakima. it was only natural for me to pick up one of them to help with the waiting. i picked the nicest one i could think of, which wasn't saying much, because i didn't want anna to be out with just any little biddy. let me breathe thunder the four of us were pretty noisy for awhile, but after the moon came out the talk and laughter died. the girl i had picked up, belle was her name, dragged me around to the back of the truck. i didn't notice what step was doing. i was too excited by the feel of belle's warm breasts. after a long time i did remember to look towards the front seat. step was kissing anna; but i drowned my qualms by think- ing that, after all, a little petting wouldn't do the girl any hurt, and i would see that it didn't go any farther than that. i attended to my own woman. "what say we get a bottle of chinese saki and make a real party out of it?" called step after about an hour of petting. that would be fine, thought belle. "no, we better not," i said. "aw, please, ed," said anna. "you remember, i've never been on a party." "well, okay," i agreed. it would be better, any- how, for us to be doing something. this petting was ioy let me breathe thunder getting out of control. maybe after step had had a little of the rice wine he would take anna home and come back to get him a good-time girl like belle. i didn't want to go by mag's, because if sampson ever found out he'd kill us; but we didn't have any money and mag was the only person who would give us credit. “besides, we won't have to go in,” argued step. “she can just bring it out to the truck.” - we drove around the long way and approached the back of mag's house through the alleyways. step got out and walked up to the screen door. mag must have been in the kitchen for she rushed out before he had a chance to knock. i could tell that she was insisting that we come inside. i was all set to refuse as she and step approached the truck. “whyn't you children come on in for a few min- utes?” she hollered. “why, nobody’ll know you there.” “aw, we got to hurry back to the farm,” i said. let me breathe thunder "just for a minute. i'd sorta be pleased to take a drink with you." anna whispered to me: "let's go in—it'd be fun." "sure, let's go in," said belle. i hesitated. "maybe you ashamed to bring your ladyfolks in my house," said mag. step put his hand on mag's arm. "it ain't nothing like that," he said. "ed's just worried about getting back to the place." he looked meaningfully at me. "don't be a heel, c'mon." a couple of minutes later we were all sitting around the kitchen table. cooper took several milk bottles full of saki out of a closet and filled up enough water glasses to go around. "ought to be some kind of toast said before we take the spider off this wine," he said. step began: "to anything on wheels that can take a man where he ain't been before . . ." we started log let me breathe thunder to raise our glasses, but mag stopped us with a ges- ture. her dirty toasts were famous among the guys that hung around the poolrooms. maybe we were going to hear a new one, i thought. “i’m right proud to have you children in my house,” she began, “and sooner or later, i'm going to drink to each one of you. but first i want to drink to this young feller here, step. if it wasn't for him old mag wouldn't be sitting here now.” we emptied the glasses. rice wine is like that— you can drink it like water. “aw, stuff,” grumbled step. “what did he do?” i asked. “he wouldn't tell me.” “sure, let us in on it,” said belle. “we got a right to know what we're drinking to,” i said. “guess that's right,” said mag. step jumped up and took one of the bottles from the table. iio let me breathe thunder "hell, i ain't going to sit here and be made no hero." he pulled anna to her feet. "c'mon, sugar, le's go up front and play some records." mag poured another round of drinks and went over to sit in cooper's lap. we could hear step's laughter mingled with the trumpet runs of "my shawl." it sounded like they were dancing in the parlor. maybe i was crazy to think that anna and step couldn't have a little fun together without getting into trouble. i found myself feeling glad because step was a good dancer and could show her a good time. i was just as pleased as if it was me who guided her in the cuban rhythm. feeling like that about a girl was disturbing. "hope cooper don't mind my telling this," said mag. "anyway, it was long time ago . . . bygones is bygones. he didn't have no reason to get worked up over this hunky, but everybody here at the place was drunk and maybe it seemed to him like i was making a play for the guy." /// let me breathe thunder “you mean he was jealous of some other feller?” asked belle. “seems funny to you, don't it, that folks like us can get the wind up over each other? that's be- cause you don't understand. business is business, and that's all right; but to make a play for somebody just for what he's got in his pants, that's a horse of another color. i reckon cooper felt like any other man'd feel if he thought his woman was hot for another guy.” “and i ain't sure yet you wasn't,” growled cooper. mag looked at him fondly. “jeez, but you beat the hell out of me. i couldn't move around good for a week.” she paused to light his cigar. “but to get on with the story, in the ruckus that followed this guy was stabbed a couple of times. ain't nobody could say it was cooper did it. he didn't have no knife on him when the sheriff come. they didn't have no evidence to take him to the lockup, but they did.” ii let me breathe thunder "had to put me back on the street, though," said cooper. "even the hunky that got cut couldn't say for sure it was me." "that's getting ahead of the story," said mag. "it was while he was in jail that the real trouble started. that's where step comes in. he had been here in the house that night, but of course everybody cleared out after the cutting. and out of all the guys i've given free drinks to, he was the only one who was man enough to save me from being rid out of town on a rail ... or worse." as mag stopped to take a drink belle came over and plopped down on my knees. i had just finished my fourth straight glass of wine. the stuff tasted like nothing, but like a bolt of lightning it had knocked the starch out of me all at once. it was all i could do to hold up under belle's weight. thin and distant now, mag's voice started up again: "step heard the bastards in some joint plotting to get me. would have, too, if he hadn't " let me breathe thunder gone to get the sheriff. the mob was bashing in the front and back doors when he brings the law on the scene. course i had my old shotgun aimed straight down the hall. almost let the law have it when he pushed open the busted door. funny too, 'cause i never thought i'd be glad to see a sheriff.” cooper shoved mag out of his lap and stood up. “that wasn't the first time the folks around here has tried to run us out of town. ever so often they get a spell of cleaning up. funny thing about it is that the very bastards who start trouble are the ones who are sneaking down here every chance they get.” “i don't hold nothing against them,” said mag. “it ain't like the south where i come from. didn't make no difference that it was a white man got cut up. they always just as ready to run white out of town as well as black, once they get riled.” “i ain't been closer south than walla walla,” said belle, wiggling around on my knees. “it don't make no difference where you go,” said ii let me breathe thunder cooper, "they always hating somebody somewhere. all along from texas through new mexico they hate mexes worse'n a snake; down in lower cali- fornia they get like mad dogs if you mention japs; i ain't never been far east, but they say that out there everybody hates everybody else." "what you reckon makes people like that?" puzzled mag. nobody could answer that one. my attention was distracted by belle who just couldn't sit still on my knees. i wanted to push her off to the floor. "sit still, will you?" i whispered. making as if to whisper back she leaned over and bit my ear. then with her head on my shoulder she slid astraddle one of my legs. her thin summer dress was pushed up around her hips. cooper looked at us with a grin. "looks like you got something on your hands." "yeah." " let me breathe thunder belle poked at my ear again with her wet tongue. "we got to be getting on . . . must be late." my own voice sounded so far away that it startled me. belle pouted: "betcha step don't want to go." "he probably found him a room already," said mag. the wine ran away from my head in a flood. "where's step?" i yelled. "where you think he'd be?" said mag. "where's step?" i asked again. "you must be high," said mag. "thought i just told you." i listened for the victrola. i could hear "my shawl," but it seemed to be inside my own head. on deadened legs i jerked myself erect, spilling belle underneath the table. "watch what you're doing," she cried. "got to find step." pushing past mag i ran into the parlor. "now what the hell's eating him?" i heard mag say. let me breathe thunder there was nobody but cooper in the dark parlor. stretched out on the davenport, a cigarette illumi- nated his yellowish lips. “most likely upstairs,” he said before i could speak. he must have heard us talking in the kitchen. i made a lot of noise stumbling up the stairs. at the top landing, bewildered by the dark, i halted. “step, step,” i said uncertainly. a door halfway down the hall opened and a dim light showed up his face . . . terrified. i ran to him. “anna?” he could not answer. his features seemed to be scrambled up. i knew that look. once a stevedore working shoulder to shoulder with me had gotten his leg caught between the pier and a rolling freighter. there was that same look on his face as his leg was pulped. shot through with a fear that left me calm and icy, i followed step into the room. over his shoulder i could see the head of a bed and anna's face pale let me breathe thunder against a white pillow. her moans made little click- ing noises as they were forced up through her spittle. the sheet tucked underneath her chin was wet with spittle. "what's wrong with her?" i shook him. "what *d you do to her?" as i forced myself to lean over and shake her, i could see the water from her eyes running across both cheekbones into her massed hair. the wet face flopped from side to side. clumsily i gathered up a corner of the sheet and tried to dry her eyes. it was no use. "what 're we going to do?" "to do ... to do . . ." step echoed. "call somebody, quick," i cried. "wait," he said. "a doctor. that's it ... we got to get a doctor." the words seemed to penetrate to the girl. she raised her head and in her eyes there was a fear more powerful than pain. / let me breathe thunder “no . . . no . . . don't. . . please . . .” “the doc's got to be a good feller; he's got to keep his mouth shut,” said step. “we can't just let her lie here.” “maybe mag . . . .” i suggested. “yeah, the way she fixed the kid's hand. hell, no.” “we'll both get shot up.” i grabbed his arm. “no . . . no,” anna was sobbing. i relaxed my grip. “go ahead; what the hell's the difference?” mag strode into the room as step started to rush out. holding step by the slack of his shirt she glanced at the bed, then closed the door behind her. i was surprised at her strength. “where you running to?” she asked softly. “turn me loose,” cried step, struggling. “take it easy now,” she said. “he’s got to get a doctor,” i cried. she cowed us with a great contempt. “so you going to get me in bad just because a i o let me breathe thunder damn little virgin got treated too rough. don't lose your heads. she ain't going to die. ain't nothing wrong with her that i ain't fixed up before." step started to stammer out something, but mag stopped him with a snort: "huh, don't be no fool. i been taking care of women all of my life. got two houses full right here in town. this is something i know all about." while we stood undecided, mag pushed us out into the hall and closed the door in our faces. "send belle up here. tell her to bring some ice out of the box," she called through the closed door. we went downstairs. belle took the news calmly. "aw, quit worrying; it probably ain't much. i seen the same thing happen before when a dumb guy tries to mix drinks and virgins." puffing feverishly on our cigarettes, step and me sat in the dark parlor. through the smoke i caught a whiff of the dog's tail. i wished that i had some- r let me breathe thunder thing to finger while waiting. cooper started to whistle in a low monotone and i had to think hard about something or go crazy. from the kitchen was reflected just enough light for me to make out my buddy's harsh profile. the beak nose and the unruly hair shooting up from his forehead made of his profile a strange desperate bird in flight. i had an impulse to laugh. suppose his head were to fly away. the desire to laugh almost burst my throat, but i held myself. somehow, he sensed that i was watching him. “i know what you're thinking . . . but don't say it.” “i wasn't thinking nothing.” “you’re a liar, but keep your trap shut.” i hadn't actually been thinking about what he had done, but deep inside me there was a feeling so intense that i couldn't distinguish it from the kind of thrill you get riding the roller coasters at a fair. instead of being mad, i wanted to beg his pardon. i just couldn't understand myself. i let me breathe thunder "step." "yeah." "i ain't holding no hard feelings about you not keeping your promise." "so you ain't holding no grudge. all is forgiven. well, rah-rah-rah for you." "aw, i didn't mean it like that." "shut up." "you think she's going to be all right?" "how should i know?" "maybe we'll have to get out of town." "shut up, i told you. keep your trap shut." the couch squeaked under cooper as he gave a chuckle. "ain't no use in you guys getting all brittle. you ain't in no real trouble yet." "what you mean?" "well, mag can fix the girl up so she'll be better 'n new . . . but the thing is, will the girl keep her mouth shut?" let me breathe thunder “she don't want her paw to know about this any more than we do,” i told him. “i wasn't meaning that. i was thinking about the law.” “the cops?” “yeah, they can put you under the jailhouse for rape.” “what do you mean, rape?” snapped step. “she's under age, ain't she? well, that's rape on the books. and if she talks, we'll all go to the hoose- gow.” “she won't say nothing,” said step. “maybe not, but all the same, we'd better leave this town quick,” i said. step was quiet for a long time before he spoke. “we ain't running out on her before she gets home. and we ain't running out on hi boy neither.” anna looked all right when we came to take her out to the truck. they had washed her face and let me breathe thunder combed her hair, and if it hadn't been for the puffy eyes and the old housecoat wrapped around her, you never could have guessed what she had been through. "hello, anna." "how you feeling?" it was an awkward moment, and we had felt like we should say something. i don't know what there was in what we said that should have made her cry. mag put her hands on her hips and gave us merry hell. "well, you two stupid lugs. what 're you trying to do? trying to make her feel bad? don't you guys have sense enough to know when to keep your mouths shut? don't stand there, pick her up. it might start again if she trys to walk right away." between us, on crossed hands, we carried anna out to the truck. step supported her in the back, and with no thought of belle i hopped into the driver's seat. mag thrust a package onto the seat beside me. r ' let me breathe thunder jeez, all you get out of this is a good licking. step and me stand to get shot up or sent to prison.” she put her face up against step's shirt and must have gotten him all wet with her tears. it seemed like she wanted to cling there all night, so i gave step the sign to break it up. just before we got to the house there was a dis- tant roll of thunder. i looked at the sky. no moon, but the stars were all in place. the thunder rolled again . . . peal followed peal. it was eerie as hell to have the thunder bark out of a clear sky. it was like a giant dog away somewhere roaring out his crazy heart. “you suppose it's gonna rain?” asked step. “ain’t a cloud nowheres,” i said. “never heard thunder without rain or clouds.” “well,” i said, “if it rains out of a clear sky, you can bet your boots somebody up there has gone hay- wire.” sampson came to meet us as we rolled into the yard. hurriedly, i switched off the truck lights. let me breathe thunder "hallo." "hallo," called back step. "guess you thought we weren't coming back." "what kept you?" "had a little trouble on the road," i said. he looked through the darkness toward his daughter. "you all right, anna?" the thunder rolled again, and the wire fence took up the vibration and hummed with it. i heard anna stumble as she lowered herself from the truck, and i held my breath. then came a laugh and a voice as free of trouble as an april after- noon: "no need for you to wait up for me, paw. the car broke down on the road. ed fixed it." and as she went through the darkness toward the house: "i'm dead tired. good night, everybody." declining sampson's invitation to sit out awhile, we took the truck around to the shed. we both had let me breathe thunder been under a strain for a long time. now we were ready to drop in our tracks. “say, i forgot to ask him if it was going to storm,” said step. i listened for the thunder. “naw, guess it ain't.” the next day was sunday. nobody worked on sunday. when it was hardly light i heard sampson get up to let the chickens out to scratch, but he went back to his room. hi boy, who always beat the sun out of bed, tried to rouse step and me. his mexican prattle was mixed up with my dreams. the heat of the sun finally woke me up. i could see the kid sitting cross-legged on his cot, playing some kind of game with himself. i couldn't under- stand the words, but it must have been a good game. he would laugh softly every now and then. re- fusing to let my mind entirely wake up, i became e let me breathe thunder absorbed in watching him. a beautiful sight there in the sunshine—the light a rich glow on his tawny skin, the heavy black hair over his little jet eyes almost hiding them. in that moment he was a pocket-size edition of a priest laughing over his beads, saying his saints on his fingers. i wanted step to see him like that. "whazza matter? whazza matter?" grunted step as i poked at him with my foot. as step spoke, the kid flung his hair out of his eyes and peered intently at us. he saw we were awake and was on us in a flash. the three of us wrestled about madly. we could do nothing with the kid. he pinned us down with an arm around each of our necks. we made faces at him and des- perate attempts to rise. with one finger he pushed us back, taking the game very seriously. "ise rinde? jse rinde?" he asked. "we're finished, villa. you got the best," cried step. let me breathe thunder “sure, don't kill us, bandidito; give us a break.” he appeared to think that over. then he held out his twiglike arms for us to look at. “mucho esfuerzo . . . strong like bull.” “sure, sure; now scram, so’s we can fix up this bed,” said step. he picked up the kid and set him on the floor. “say, wait a minute,” puzzled step, running his hands through his flaming hair. “wasn't it just last night ... ?” “guess so,” i said. the sunlight beating down made what had happened at mag's unreal. “you seen her this morning?” “naw, not yet.” “suppose she's told?” “you woke up, didn't you? that's proof she ain't.” he looked at the sun. “must be near breakfast.” suddenly i couldn't pretend any longer. let me breathe thunder “i’m plenty scared,” i told him. “we’re going to stay here another week and get our pay. hell, why should we give somebody three weeks’ work?” the screen door slammed, and we could hear foot- steps on the stoop. there was a noise of corn kernels swished in a pan; then, loud and clear, anna's voice: “here, chick . . . chick . . . chick . . .” a squawk followed the firm pat-pat of chicken feet. anna's voice was no different than on a dozen other mornings. by leaning up on our elbows and craning our necks, we were able to see over the rail- ing. underneath her sunbonnet her cheeks showed their natural flush. “hi,” called the kid, who was standing in plain sight. she turned her face toward him and smiled. “morning. . . . breakfast in a few minutes.” after she had gone back into the kitchen step flopped down on his back and swore. let me breathe thunder the corners of his mouth fell and his face flamed like his hair. i knew those signs, but i kept on. “boy, you take the cake—thinking about yourself, and that girl in more of a jam than both of us put together could stand. maybe you think you done something to poke out your chest about?” “cut it,” he gritted. “i know what i done, and i know that it's too late to start acting like i was sorry.” the kid came over and put a hand on each of our shoulders. he looked like he wanted to be angry too, but couldn't make up his mind whose side he wanted to be on. as though to interest us in some- thing else, he pulled us over to the screen. “there,” he said, pointing at the barn. “i shoot many things . . . shoot things.” he picked up his empty rifle and sighted down the barrel. “pop . . . pop . . . pop . . . all dead.” “what'd you bag, kid? a mess of elephants?” asked step. let me breathe thunder "uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, muchos. . . . big hunter." "must have killed five elephants," i said. "boy, he is a hunter." grateful to the kid for putting us back on a joking relationship, i sat on the edge of the bed and began to struggle with my pants. step held the legs out for me. he looked around at the kid who was walking one of the long cracks in the floor. "you're a great little fellow, kid." the kid glanced up impatiently. "you hurry," he commanded. "okay," laughed step. i looked around for my socks. new and candy- striped they were. step had just put on his pants and shoes and stood up to slip into his shirt. a flash of red, white and blue showed around his shoe tops. "take 'em off. take 'em off." "aw, hell. i thought they were mine," he said. i picked up his stiff socks from underneath the r ' let me breathe thunder bed. they smelled of weeks of sweat and moist, spoiled dirt. i pushed them under his nose. “don’t tell me you didn't know the difference.” “there ain't much difference,” he said. “put mine on. “the hell i will . . .” i grabbed for him but he was gone through the doorway. “if you want 'em, take 'em,” he jeered. the kid laughed loud and shrill. for him this was a complete return to our normal selves. his crowing was unforced. he had nothing to blanket under a shout and a laugh. on bare feet i followed step out of the house. around and around the back yard we ran until we fell exhausted. the kid had been running too, but he wasn't a bit tired. he stood looking at us lying on the ground. “run some more.” “can't run any more, kid,” panted step. “out of wind.” let me breathe thunder "you run and we'll watch," i told him. "run, run," he insisted. "our feet just won't stand for it." the kid flopped down and rested his chin on his fists. he hadn't had this much fun with us for a long time. i think he hated to see the moment pass. "le's go back inside," said step. "you can have your old socks." "no, you come see i shoot things," babbled the kid. "backside of barn." "oh, all right, kid, lead on," said step. we followed him around to the rear of the barn. i expected to see a hawk or some other kind of bird that he had killed, but there was nothing. "what'd you kill?" "don't think he got anything," said step. "he dreamed it." the kid pointed at our feet where they almost touched a flat board covered with dirt. step put his foot under the board and flipped it over. ' let me breathe thunder “look out. jump,” he cried, and in the same mo- ment knocked the kid and me over against the barn. “snakes.” they were stretched out side by side in the damp left by the board. the kid laughed like a mad thing. he scrambled on his hands and knees toward the snakes. step tried to grab him by the feet. “come back here, you fool. those are rattlers.” “sure, sure, rattler,” cried the kid. he grabbed one up in his fist and held it limp in the sunlight. “why—why, they're all dead,” said step. they were very dead. some had no heads, while others had been shot several times along the length of their scaly bodies. five now dangled across the kid's outstretched arm. like wet ropes, they dangled —but even that can't hang with the limpness of a long dead snake. “jeez, you sure cleaned out a nest,” i said. “shoot 'em all up . . . bam-bam-bam.” let me breathe thunder "it was good work," said step, patting him on the shoulder. "but why in hell didn't you tell us what you had shot?" "the laugh was sure on us," i said. "mucho miedo . . . much fear," laughed the kid, pointing at step. step grabbed a handful of the kid's hair. "why, you little mex bastard. what'd you mean, i was scared? why, i ought to lynch you with one of these snakes." he took up one of the long bodies. "on second thought, i think i will." "that's an idea," i cried. "let's hang him with his own snakes." the kid laughed and screamed as we held him against the side of the barn and draped one of the rattlers around his neck. then anna came around the corner of the building and the fun was over. the scaly body hit the ground. we loosed the kid. "morning," mumbled step. "morning," i echoed. let me breathe thunder “breakfast is getting cold,” she said. at the word breakfast the kid was off like a shot. “eat boy . . . eat boy . . .” step shuffled around. “want your socks now?” he asked me. “naw, i'll go barefoot. i ain't used to socks, any- way.” “just as soon you had 'em.” “you keep them,” i said. “ain’t you scared of getting a stone bruise?” “never had a stone bruise.” “boy, they're awful,” he said, kicking in the dust. anna had been looking at us without blinking or shifting her gaze. step glanced longingly in the direction of the house and then turned to face her. “you say breakfast is getting cold?” he asked. she didn't answer. “well, guess i'll go and get washed up,” he said. nobody said anything, so he just shuffled away. anna and me seemed to be all right after step had i let me breathe thunder “well, it's on account of what you said that i have to know what he thinks about last night.” “it don't matter what he thinks, does it? ain't you through with him for good, after what he did?” “belle said last night that some girls have a lot of trouble the first time. i guess it wasn't his fault 'cause i was so dumb.” “look here,” i said, “you ain't figuring on having any more truck with that guy? leaving your old man out of it for a second, think about yourself.” “guess i am thinking about myself. . . . i got to hold him here now. i got to be in love with him after what happened.” we were almost to the house, and i didn't know any more to say. she went on into the kitchen while i stopped to dip my hands in the dirty water that step had failed to throw out of the washbasin. through the screen came sampson's deep voice say- ing grace. i stood until he had finished. then i went into the kitchen in time to hear him tell step: i let me breathe thunder "and after you sent hi boy home yesterday after- noon he got out his rifle and cleaned out that nest of snakes under the back porch. got 'em, every last one." "won't be afraid to walk out there in bare feet any more," said step. i looked at anna as she bent over to take the flapjacks out of the oven where they had been warm- ing. "i heard that snakes under the porch were your luck," i said. sampson laughed. "never was superstitious like most of the fruit farmers out this way." this was the first time since we had come to yakima that we had kept to the place on rest day. neither step nor me had the heart to do anything but play at mumblety-peg and roll one smoke after ' let me breathe thunder the other. we had the place all to ourselves until the cool of the evening, for anna stayed shut up in her room and sampson took the kid on a long hike to the dunes and farther. sunday night was peaceful. anna was inside wash- ing the dinner dishes that had been left in the sink, while the rest of us sat on the back stoop and watched the rise of the moon. the night was full of stars . . . too many even to wonder about. some- times when only a couple of bright stars were out step and me would lie on our backs and wonder. there was no danger of going daffy over just a couple of sparks overhead. as sampson began to jabber in spanish at the kid, i nudged step who was below me leaning against my knees. it was good to feel him there answering the pressure by a movement of his shoulders. here was step like he used to be. anna was in the kitchen doing what she would do years of sundays after we had gone from the valley. nothing had happened to let me breathe thunder sampson . . . nothing would happen. because i felt like that and was glad of the pressure against my knees, i leaned down and slapped step against the side of the head. "forgot your beer bottle that time," he said. "just wanted to let you know it wasn't your birth- day." i jiggled my knees. "i'm due a birthday. ain't had one that i can re- member." "didn't you never have a cake with candles when you were a kid?" "naw." "jeez, you missed it," i cried. "why, my old lady used to bake me a chocolate cake big as—as that washbasin." i pointed to the overturned basin. "i have birthday," broke in the kid. "many time i have many goat and many sheep all cooked and frijole and . . ." he went on in a stream of mexican patois. "take it easy. take it easy," said step. then to sampson: "what's he talking about?" r let me breathe thunder “he says that there would be a big fiesta on his birthday. there would be hundreds of pits over which they barbecued goats and sheep. he says that all night there would be feasting and dancing and the campfires on the hills would be like the stars there . . .” “stop it . . . stop it, he's dreaming,” cried step. “maybe,” said sampson. “what about you, step?” i asked. “didn't you get nothing when you were a kid and it was your birth- day?” “sure, i got something,” he said. “i got sent to the mills.” that finished the talk about birthdays, and step got up and walked toward the orchards. “guess you'd better be getting to bed, amigo,” sampson told the kid. “you’ve put in a long day.” that left just sampson and me. “he’s a strange little fellow, that hi boy,” re- marked sampson, getting out his pipe. “wish i let me breathe thunder could find some way to make him keep that hand of his clean." "sure can make up some whoppers," i said. "i don't know about that," said sampson. "kids don't lie like grown ups. they just have more imagination. i wish i could find out something about him, though. when i try to question him he won't say anything that makes sense. can't even get him to tell me his real name." "don't suppose it makes much difference what his name is. he seems to like the new one we gave him." "his name might be a clew to his folks." "i guess he didn't like his folks much or he wouldn't have been running around by himself. maybe they treated him mean or something." we had to stop talking for a second while anna pushed between us on her way to the yard. heading straight for the orchards, she was gone among the trees before we picked up the thread of our con- versation again. let me breathe thunder "he touched my arm. "i don't believe you're listening to me." "sure, sure i am." "maybe i'd better talk about this tomorrow. i guess you're a little sleepy." "no, i ain't sleepy . . . not a bit." "being around the place was too much for you boys. what did you do all day?" "nothing. just laid around." "when fellows your age who have worked all week just lie around when they could be in town, there's something wrong," he said. we sat there in silence while the moon passed the peak of its shallow curve and began to slant the shadows of the trees away from us. hoping to make him sleepy, i yawned. "you must have had a hard day . . . tramping over the dunes," i suggested. "interesting day. lots of little animals too tame to shoot; long talk with the kid." let me breathe thunder “you can take a lot more than the kid. he's sleep- ing like a log. i can hear his breathing from here.” sampson did not answer, and i sat and fidgeted until i could stand no more of it. i got up. “guess i'll find step and get to bed myself,” i said carelessly. i started away but his voice stopped me. “wait a minute, i'll go with you.” the ground under the apple trees was laced with shadow. we walked along the row to the old orchard. once i stepped on a fallen apple. it crunched like crusty sand under my foot. beside the chirping of the insects, that was the only sound. “maybe you'd better give a call,” said sampson. “step. step, where are you?” i called. two shadows detached themselves from a greater patch of shadow among the trees on our right. step and anna. they must have been watching us. “hallo,” said step. “just looking for you,” i said. he looked at sampson. i let me breathe thunder "just walking and looking at the trees and sky and all," he said lamely. "much better than sitting on the stoop," said sampson. "what say let's all go over by the rail fence," i said with a show of enthusiasm. "ought to be cool over there." "anna had better go on to the house," directed sampson. "she hasn't looked too good all evening." dutifully she left us, still not saying a word. we waited until her slow heavy footfalls were out of our ears, then we went in the opposite direction, com- ing at last into the clear moonlight, the rail fence within reaching distance of our hands. sitting on the top rail, watching a rabbit hop and pause, hop and pause across the open desert, i waited for sampson to speak. there was something to be said, i knew that; the sureness of that knowl- edge eased my mind. the rabbit ducked into a hole. step broke the silence. let me breathe thunder leastways, they told orlando and orlando told me. it's a good story, and he believes it. and it's the only story that claims definitely to know what is behind that thunder." "let's hear it," said step. sampson slid down off the fence and leaned with his back against it. he pointed with his pipestem over to the west. "those cascades are a lot of mountains—big mountains. we say that most of 'em are the foot- prints of volcanoes. according to the indian legend, the great god who created everything walked around here and the valleys are the impressions of his heel and toe. the hollow of his instep left the mountains smoking high above the valleys." "jeez, what a foot that guy had," breathed step. "well, this big fellow made the mistake of cre- ating everything. he made the earth like a great checkered quilt, everything in its place as it was sup- posed to be. he put the tribes of animals on the ' let me breathe thunder "that's easy to ask," said sampson, "but he was a wanderer by nature. being outside of patterns, he had to be a wanderer." "so what did he finally do?" "just what you suggested; but he couldn't stay put of his own free will, and nobody could weave ropes strong enough to hold a god. the only an- swer was to squat right over there among the cas- cades and become a mountain—a terrible smoking mountain for ages—rainier." "what about the thunder?" we both asked. "thought you might fill that in for yourselves," he said. "that is, since you boys are, in a way of speaking, relatives of that poor god." "how's that?" "oh, he's got a lot of relatives," said sampson. "most all of the wandering harvesters and farm hands that come by this way are his folks." "you mean, because everywhere they go they muss everything up?" laughed step. ' let me breathe thunder ex-jockey who missed his dames and horses ... a shifty-eyed man who was never going to stop mov- ing . . . step believing himself when he said: "i ain't going to knock around from job to job till i get to be a million years old." i thought about my- self hitting the road when jobs gave out. i thought about myself following the crops in season. step spoke now: "lots of fellers like us get hitched and stay put on jobs. i've seen them." "guess a lot of fellows from the war did too," said sampson. "the old god stayed put after a fashion by squatting down among the cascades, but the indians say that his tormented spirit still moans and moans, and in its misery sometimes breathes thunder." "gosh, so that's what we heard last night," said step. sampson looked at his watch. "say, we'd better be getting back to the house," he said. "we hit the orchard early tomorrow." ,-; let me breathe thunder so the two operations had to be done separately. we took turns riding the gang plow, as that was the worse job. there was something about the fine silty dust, thrown in your face by the tread of the tractor, that left you limp as a dishrag. when hi boy wasn't in the old orchard with sampson, he would follow us in the dun-colored mornings, running in the fresh earth behind the plow, falling and shaking the dust out of the bandage around his hand. when he was there for us to call and whistle to, the time passed quicker; but he was never there very long, for when the real heat of the morning would drive all the damp out of the air he would run to the cool of the old orchard and sleep on the low branches of the trees. at the end of the fourth day we had the ground torn up ready for the shoes of the cultivator to drag the lumpy earth. step said on the morning of the fifth day, when we crawled out of bed: "we got to be moving on soon." let me breathe thunder should go into town for more gas while sampson and i did a much-needed job of filing on the shoes of the cultivator. while we were hoisting the drum up on the truck, anna came out of the house. "who's going in town?" she called. "step's running in for gas," i told her. "tell him to wait for me," she cried, and ran into the kitchen. in a few minutes she was back carrying her sunbonnet. "why do you want to go into town ?" asked samp- son. "this is going to be a quick trip." "it's a quick trip for me too. all the staples have given out." "he can bring the stuff back without you," argued sampson. "sure, i wouldn't forget nothing," promised step. "i'd sooner go myself. i want to go," she insisted. sampson frowned, but anna did not wait for his consent. she put on her bonnet and climbed up to the driver's seat. r , let me breathe thunder hi boy, seeing the truck ready to roll, came whooping toward us, waving the filthy remains of the bandage on his sore hand. sampson looked at him and spoke quickly in spanish. the kid replied in a chorus of “si, si’s” and climbed to the cab of the truck. “he’d like the ride,” explained sampson. “want us to drop him by the doc's to get that hand looked at?” asked step. “i’ll take him in myself next week,” said samp- son. “you just hurry back with that gas.” with a “hi boy” the truck was off, and we went to the tool shed to get the files. before following him to the orchard, i slipped into the house. in the kitchen pantry i saw flour, sugar, meal, salt, pepper, spices, bread—bacon, but- ter and lard were in the icebox. i wondered what would have happened if sampson had thought to check on the staples. he was already working when i got to the let me breathe thunder "i didn't want to talk about this right now," he said, "i got other things on my mind, but being as you boys won't be around much longer, i figure ..." i could read his face. "if it's about the kid, we ain't going to leave him," i cried. "that's up to you, but hear what i got to say- then you can decide one way or the other. that's fair, huh?" "maybe you ought to wait until step gets back," i countered. he went right on: "you know i been trying to pick the kid ever since he came here. well, the other night he loosened up and told me something about himself. not much, but enough to show that it's best for him not to be bumming around the country with you fellows." "maybe he was just stringing you," i said. "i don't think so," said sampson. "i can usually tell when he's lying." let me breathe thunder looking at the movies. there was butch, a dog, but he was hit by a night flyer. sampson would have laughed if i had told him we had to keep the kid because butch was gone. "well, what do you say?" he urged. rusty old knives, belt buckles, bottle tops, pieces of string, broken watches, luck charms—all guys on the road had their pockets filled. they couldn't carry around orchards to hold them on the earth. . . . all i could say was: "it don't matter how long you've known a feller . . . that don't mean noth- ing." "the little fellow likes it here," he pleaded. "you talk it over with step. there's two days yet to make up your mind." the sun stretched at the shadows of the trees, the shoes of the cultivator were all gleaming, and the / let me breathe thunder and roar of the motor kept us from talking, except for shouts now and then when the dragging teeth caught a root and the tractor had to stop. it was hot work and sweat streaked the dried earth that caked our faces. every time my teeth got on edge i would suck at the grime and spit a stream of black saliva to the ground rolling slowly beneath my feet. step had the best of the spitting, for when he let go on the hot motor of the tractor there was a sp-t-t-t-t-t-t-t and a thin vapor pleasant to watch. sampson joined us after a while, walking ahead of us, stamping down the long roots. it was dusk when the kid came, bringing a bucket of ice water. "funny," he laughed at our dirt-streaked faces. sampson had been grim for a long time. now he spoke kindly: "work's about caught up now. let's knock off and catch up on our eating, what say?" we didn't say anything. we climbed stiff-legged ' let me breathe thunder to the ground and passed the pail back and forth between us, spitting out the first few mouthfuls of the cold water. i sat on a wheelbarrow beside the pump and watched the kid climb up on a box to pour a bucket of water over step's freckled body. framed in the light of a lantern dulled by night creepers and flyers, the kid held the bucket over the flaming head and laughed. "it's an hour now since we ate," i told step. "i got to talk with you." "let 'er go, kid," cried step, bracing himself. "eeeeeeee!" he shivered as the icy pump water splashed over him. no sooner was the bucket empty than the kid hopped down and began to work the pump handle furiously, anxious to repeat the whole thing. "better c'mon, ed," cried step, plying the soap, "can't get in the bed with me 'less you do." ij let me breathe thunder "hurry and get through," i said. "there's no hurry; we ain't going no place to- night. c'mon, get your duds off." "jeez, all evening i been saying i got to talk to you . . ." the next bucket of water went unheeded over his naked body. he stopped rubbing himself and looked out from under his reddish brows. "i know what's on your mind," he growled, "but it wasn't my idea this time. she wanted to." "what the hell are you talking about ?" then it all became clear—why he had avoided being alone with me all evening. "say, you mean you took anna by mag's again?" my voice must have revealed how new that thought was. he looked at me suspiciously. then he got very interested in the kid's pumping. "hurry up that water; the bugs are eating me up. put some axle grease in it." "si, si, very quick axle grease," cried the kid, pumping faster. let me breathe thunder "you heard what i just said," i told him. he turned on me: "jeez, why you all the time have to say so damn much? are you god or some- body? i wonder why i don't just punch your head and be done with it." he started to dry himself with quick slaps of his shirt. i got up and took the bucket away from the kid. "hi boy, where'd you go ... in town? you know, what place?" he looked at me and then looked at step. "don't know," he said. but as step gave him a warning glance: "shopping ... go shopping." "aw, what you want to make the kid a liar for?" i said, pushing the little feller toward the house. "run on away somewhere, kid. go on, now." say-eyed, looking back over his shoulder, he went. "heck, i didn't take him inside," said step. "he knows damn well what you went there for." "well, what of it?" said step. "he's old enough to go for the little gals himself. we been babying him too much, that's his trouble." let me breathe thunder to cut the south route of? our map. can't risk the kid's being caught." "hell, there ain't no road dick in the united states i can't dodge." he swept his hand in a wide circle parallel to the ground. "we'll go the south route and spit in their eyes as we sail by." i was not as sure as he was of sailing along spit- ting in anybody's eyes, but i did not argue the point because the other route, the north one, is known to roadmen as the hungry route. "now, we won't say anything to sampson about not leaving the kid," he plotted. "we'll just pull out when the time comes, and nobody ' have a chance to be sore." early the next morning, at a time when we were usually noisy and ready for any kind of horseplay, step was quietly sitting on the side of the bed, star- ing at hi boy the way you stare at a circus freak. let me breathe thunder orchards. "that's all forgotten, see . . . forgotten." "oh, that all forgotten." "sure . . . sure." "so, what is mad for?" his brow wrinkled. "why mad?" "that ain't mad what makes him stare like that," i said. "that's 'cause . . . 'cause he always gets like that this time of the year." "he has sick . . . ^enfermedad?" "sickness, yeah, that's it. it's his rheumatism." "what is rheumatum?" "that's an ache in the bones. his bones hurt," i explained. "he has to sit still like that when his bones ache." i could see that he was not satisfied with my ex- planation, so before he could ask any more ques- tions i patted him on the head and trotted away. "be nice to the poor guy, aching bones are bad," i called back. "si, si, hi boy . . . muy simpdtico." chuckling to myself, i caught up with step who let me breathe thunder was sweating and cursing as he stamped down a root caught in the shoes of the cultivator. he glow- ered at me. "whyn't you just take the whole evening off?" he grumbled. "i'm just a hired hand. don't give me a thought." "i just" "you just hell," he said. "grab that wheel." climbing on the cultivator, i took the levers in my hands. the sun had disappeared and it was too dark to see the end of the row by the time i took my hands off the levers and climbed down. the ice water was waiting. this time it was anna who brought the pail. she stood watching us drink. then she put her hand on step's sweaty arm. "papa says you didn't have to work so long." he shook off her hand and tilted the bucket for another gulp. on the back of his hand he wiped his mouth. "got to get this done by tomorrow night," he said. let me breathe thunder "why?" she asked. "you know, if you work too hard you might get so you don't like it here." "ed and me never lays down on a job of work," he said. "we can always go back to any farm we was ever at." he nodded at me. "that's right," i seconded. "you don't have to go back to any other farm," she told him. "this farm is as good as any in the country." "guess so," he grunted, and turning, he called to hi boy: "race you to the house." we followed slowly. she spoke haltingly. "he ... i mean you . . . aren't thinking about leaving any time soon, are you?" so sampson hadn't told her. "why do you ask that?" i hedged. "i want to know," she said. "well, you see how it is with fellers like us. we never know when we're going to feel like moving let me breathe thunder she did not seem to understand. "we're moving on—step said so this morning," i told her. "but he mustn't do that." she strained to look in my lowered face. "why do you have to be moving on from one farm to the other? why?" "go ask your old man," i said brutally. "he's been to college." leaving her in the orchard row, i lost myself among the trees. i spent a long time in a useless effort to figure myself out. i ended up at the pump, ducking my head in the water of the brass overflow basin. solemnly i promised myself never to return to the yakima valley . . . not if every apple tree sprouted solid gold fruit. when i came onto the sleeping porch, step and the kid were sitting on the big bed staring at each ;i let me breathe thunder other. with two pillows behind his back, step looked hot and uncomfortable, while the kid was fidgeting around as though one of his legs was asleep. they both let out a sigh of relief when they saw me. "where you been?" asked step. "is food for you," said the kid, pointing toward the kitchen. "yeah, anna put your supper in the oven," said step. "ain't hungry." i walked over to the cot and stretched out. i didn't want to talk. all i wanted was to lose myself in sleep. "what's eating you—are you sick?" asked step. i saw that i would have to talk to keep from be- ing questioned. "what's the idea of the pillows?" i countered. he got red and made a gesture toward the kid. "it's his idea." the kid pulled the pillows into place. let me breathe thunder "oh, hallo," i drawled. "damn, damn, damn," he was cursing in a deep regular monotone. a sound of shoes hitting the floor. "things didn't go so good?" i tried to keep my voice even. "damn whores! damn all of them," he said. trying to see his face through the darkness, i wondered what i could say to make him talk. i heard him drop his clothes on the floor, and then he slid under the sheet and settled on his side. after a while i began to think he must be asleep. "damn, they're all the same," he suddenly growled. "once they get to know what a man is for they want to tie him hand and foot so's he can't never get away." "who you talking about?" i said, trying to lead him on. but he did not answer, and soon his breath- ing told me he was really sleeping. feeling that i had been cheated because i didn't i i let me breathe thunder know every little detail of what happened, i lay there and could not close my eyes until i heard the last night birds harshly crying in the morning. it was hard to believe this was our last morning at four mile farm. sampson and step talked about finishing up the work in the orchards and i listened to the kid's chatter. anna was silent, but she never had much to say in the mornings. we all acted like this was just the start of another working day. after breakfast, when i was about to leave for the orchards with the others, anna motioned for me to wait. "i want you to give him a message for me," she said. her voice sounded all right. maybe she had gotten used to the idea of his leaving. "you will?" she asked. "sure, what is it?" "tell him i'll be at mag's tonight to say good-by. let me breathe thunder i'll walk to town early and wait until he gets there ... so papa won't think anything," she added. "why can't you tell him that yourself?" "there's a reason." through the screen door i could see sampson stop and look back toward the house. i started out. "to say good-by. okay," i said. she held my arm. "one more thing—don't tell him until you're on the way to town." sampson looked as though he might return. i opened the screen and jumped the stoop. "okay, anything you say." i could feel her in the doorway watching as i joined the others. with sampson's help the work was finished be- fore the call for dinner. as though the orchards be- longed to him, step looked around with pride. "reckon ed and me did pretty good." "better than that," said sampson. "didn't think we'd finish up here before sun- down," said step. "got anything else needs doing?" r let me breathe thunder out of turned clods with his toes, we plodded ankle- deep through the soft earth toward the old orchard. i looked far away down one of the rows to where the house was hidden by the massed green. i thought about anna and the tunes of the larks on cool mornings and the mountain towering out of the green of the farthest orchard. i thought how strange it would be to wake up on the floor of a box- car, jumping along on a rough track and my hips numb from the pounding. sampson was speaking to me. he had to repeat his words before i understood. "ed, did you talk to step about the little fellow?" "yeah." "and what did you boys decide?" "you have to ask step." "i didn't ... i mean, i ain't made up my mind yet," said step. we were in the old orchard. here the trees were not set out in straight rows. some of the horny ' let me breathe thunder limbs touched the ground and were as thick as the trunks from which they sprang. the kid ran up and down on the low branches and yelled so that we could hardly hear one another talk. sampson plucked him off a dragging limb. "you want to do me a favor?" he said. the kid stopped struggling and listened. "there were some hawks over the chicken yard this morning," he told the kid. "hawks trying to get the chickens. you get your twenty-two out and" the kid did not wait for him to finish. "hawks. i shoot them. will kill." he was on the ground and running as hard as he could go. "i ain't seen no hawks," i said. "maybe you just didn't look in the right direc- tion," said sampson. "why don't you go after the little fellow? might get in a few shots yourself." "you coming, step?" i wanted to know. "step and i can take a smoke and have a little talk together," said sampson. ig let me breathe thunder "go see?" "you go ... i been working . . . tired." i stretched my arms wide and gave a big yawn. "we go sleep?" "me—me go sleep." i jabbed my finger into my chest. "you shoot hawks." i pointed at him. "okay, jeez, si, si . . . los matare." "nuts," i laughed. "go on, beat it." he wandered away whistling the tune to which he usually sang his "hi boy, hi boy, hi boy, hi." i knew damn well why i had sent the kid away, but on the path to the house i tried to make believe that i was really tired and going to the house to sleep. the kitchen smelled of cooking and the table was laid out, but anna was not there. i read the note on sampson's plate: "dinner is in the oven. gone to the movies in town. won't stay late. anna." i opened the oven and there were the covered dishes and a meat pie still smoking. absently i stuck my finger through the crust of the pie, not thinking let me breathe thunder not even anna's absence could ruin sampson's good temper that evening. he only said: "she should have asked me if she could go. hard to raise girls, can't turn them loose like a boy." he patted hi boy on the head and rilled up his plate. we never traveled with more than we wore on our backs, so there was no packing to do. we stood on the sleeping porch and tied our bandannas around our necks. that was to keep the cinders from getting underneath our shirts. "you got everything?" asked step. "you know damn well i got everything," i said, lifting my pants' legs to see if i had forgotten to put on my socks. he felt in his pockets. "yeah, my smoking tobacco's here, all right—plug's here in this pocket. lucky tail in my coat . . . knife . . . keys . . ." "what good are those keys without the house to go with them?" i wanted to know. he had found them in town a couple of weeks before. let me breathe thunder he did not answer, and there was nothing for me to do but to sit and watch him fumble through all the rest of his belongings. ". . . piece of catgut . . . fish hooks . . . belt buckle . . . two dimes . . . snake rattles . . ." i looked on in silence and with disgust. then i began to whistle through my teeth. "you just gotta whistle?" "looks like we're going to be here till morning. i got to do something with my spare time." outside there were all the regular night noises. they would have had to suddenly stop and start again for us to hear them. however, we both caught the new sound instantly. i strained my head listen- ing for the faint rumble to repeat itself. it came again, even more faint. "sounds like thunder on the mountain again," whispered step. "yeah." "ain't heard it for a long time." ( d let me breathe thunder "aw stuff, i'm tired of sitting around waiting," i said. "whatever's on your chest, get it off and let's pick up the kid and hustle." "that's it," he said. "we ain't taking the kid." "what . . .?" "he's staying." "staying . . .?" "yeah, i felt funny about telling you. i'm glad it's out of the bag." "but i thought you . . . you . . ." "aw hell, you shouldn'ta left me there with samp- son. but he's right, we ain't doing the kid no good dragging him around and making a bum outta him. he'll get just like us—never have no place to stop in for long. it ain't no life for a kid. anyway, his hand's gone bad again. that ' call for a doc. an' he likes it here. he and sampson are—aw, you know what i mean." i knew what he meant, but maybe i had counted on step being too thick to know what was the right thing. let me breathe thunder "okay," said step. "so long." "so long," i said. "so long. tell anna so long," called step. sampson gave a half salute with a limp hand, and although we did not look back i knew that he stood there until we were lost in a shoulder of the road. the evening dusk was almost like night and the moon was below the dunes, yet the desert glowed with enough light of its own to show itself through a veil. it was a long time before we felt like seeing or talking. holding the kid's hand, we plodded along busy with our own insides. the kid had been looking from one to the other of us, not daring to break the silence, but, perhaps, wondering. step might have been feeling like i was—so unreal that the leg muscles had no part in putting one foot be- fore the other. i was gliding. if you had jabbed me with a knife i would not have bled. i'd have given off air . . . folded up like a paper bag. we were almost in town, had passed the scattered r let me breathe thunder shacks with the yellow lamps in the small windows. step started to speak but his voice was all off key, like he had forgotten how to talk. he shut up, and we walked on until the highway turned into main street. "let's cut off main street. don't want to run into anna leaving the show." "she's waiting for you over at mag's," i said. "told me to tell you." he stopped dead and cursed. "sonofabitch, last night was supposed to be the last time we'd see each other. we met behind the barn. she tried to make me say i wouldn't leave. now she wants to try again." "maybe she just wants to say good-by." "i ain't got no good-bys to say," he grumbled. we entered the lighted part of the town and instead of going to the right where the freight yards were, step turned off to his left. "this ain't the way." let me breathe thunder he shook his head and looked from side to side. throwing him back across my shoulder i went on. the crowd thickened. more people were piling onto first street from across the tracks. the moon had come up and with the street lamps made everything brighter than a cloudy day. the thought that mag's house was just down the street was a disturbing canker in my mind. "must be an election," i called above the voices of the crowd, more to still my growing fear than anything else. something scraped the side of my cheek. a man, whose stringy browned arms and hairy chest bulged out of a dirty undershirt, had stuck his stubbled chin into the side of my face. "election, hell. more'n likely a hanging," he bawled, and was off somewhere in the crowd. the shock of having the patchy beard against my face, more than the words, brought me to a stand- still. i put the kid down and looked at the people let me breathe thunder around me. a few phrases i heard began to make sense: "shot . . . choked to death." "thrown out in the street buck naked." "who was she?" "who was her folks?" "ought to have cleaned this town up years ago." "sheriff's in there now." "can't catch the bastard standing around in there." "he'll get clean away." "jail won't hold the sonofabitch." "town needs a coupla hangings." forgetting all about the kid who was clinging to one of my legs, i grabbed a man by the arm. i had to shake the arm violently to make him notice the g"p- "what's happened? what's happened?" the man turned a burning face in my direction and shouted something. i repeated my question but let me breathe thunder he pulled away. i tried to follow him. the trouble just had to be at mag's place. the thought was like ice all up and down my body. i forced myself to believe that, no matter what the trouble was, anna would have had sense enough to clear out. she was probably on her way to four mile now. uselessly, i snatched at coats of people around me. nobody would take the trouble to tell me what had hap- pened. at last i called to a group of boys and girls who were skipping about like they were on a picnic. one of the littlest of the girls answered: "colored man shot a woman's head off." "what woman?" "it rolled down the steps and into the street," she cried. "i saw it." "bunk," i said. but i could feel the spirit of the crowd. maybe cooper had killed mag. it was all i could do to keep myself from running from place to place telling people that i had seen mag's head bounce against the curbing; that it had hit my feet let me breathe thunder and i thought it was a football. there was a glorious feeling of being strong as god almighty in the very air ... of having a thousand hands and feet. i laughed crazily and tried to push my way to the steps of mag's house, but the kid was riding my leg. his upturned face was full of fear. "we'll take it easy, kid," i said, trying to make my voice calm. he relaxed his grip, and we stayed where we were until the front door of the house opened. i held my breath. men poured out onto the moonlit porch. a dull light reflected on leather and metal at their hips. the sheriff and another man fol- lowed with mag between them. all my attention was focused on the doorway. then i breathed a sigh of relief. nobody else was going to come out. anna was home by now. in one hand the sheriff held the shining four- barreled shotgun that i had seen on my first day in yakima. the sheriff held the weapon high in the bluish-white night. / let me breathe thunder in front of the house. a few latecomers were hurry- ing around the corner after the crowd. with half a mind to follow them, i reached down for the kid's hand. with a cry, he jerked away and ran toward the shadows by the side of the house. coming out of the darkness was step. he grabbed up the kid. step and me met under the street lamp, and be- fore i could get out the first word, he gave a push that sent me staggering along the street in the direc- tion from which we had come. "the freight yards," he cried. "we got to get out of here quick." something that i must have known all along flashed into my mind as a certainty: anna was not safely on her way home. with the kid under one arm, he was off at a clip that made me hustle to keep up. i tried to question him as we ran: "what's happened? what's happened?" "hurry," he gasped. let me breathe thunder "but what about the kid?" "got to take him with us. . . . don't talk; step on it." we ran. because i did not know exactly what we were running from, i filled up with panic and outdistanced him. it was not far to the yards . . . only a few blocks . . . near the center of town. the yelling from around the jail became louder as i mounted a cinder bank to the right-of-way. carry- ing the kid, step sunk deep into the loose cinders. he began to slide. i reached down a hand. "put the kid down. let him walk." step did not listen; he grabbed for my hand. with all my strength i tried to hold him steady and keep my own balance. i heard the cinders give. balanced on one foot, he had no chance to save him- self. "turn loose, we're going." i held on. a sharp cry from the kid and all three of us / let me breathe thunder "looks west to me." we had lost all sense of direction. maybe it was the fall that had gotten us muddled. from the tracks the town was plain enough, but in the night light it looked like some place i had never seen be- fore. step was the one who made all the decisions, so i waited for him to say what we would do. "we'll look for a brakeman," he said. but there was no time to find a brakeman. the "highball" sounded. the kid and me looked ques- tioningly at step. "grab her." the third car from the caboose had a black hole in its gray side. we tossed the kid through the door and scrambled aboard. the engine puffed furiously. a rattling started down the line as each car in turn took up its slack. step slid the metal door shut. "so long, yakima," he whispered. "adios, sampson," whispered the kid. / let me breathe thunder "there's somebody at the other end of the car," said step. "how you know?" "heard him hock and spit." i tried to focus my eyes for the length of the car, but there was no distance in the black around us. holding my breath, i listened above the hollow roar in the shaking boxcar; one noise was like another. "more 'n likely a 'bo," i guessed. "more'n likely." the kid was between us. he might have been asleep, i don't know. over his head we put our faces together and talked softly in each other's ears. "what happened to her?" "she got hurt. they took her to the doc's." "cooper killed her? she's dead?" "no, she ain't dead." "you sure?" "shot in the arm. it was an accident." "people said it was a colored man." let me breathe thunder "it was mag. she didn't mean to do it." "but they're after cooper." "mag shot at him. anna was running for the door. mag ain't such a good shot." "you sure she wasn't hurt bad?" "bone in the arm wasn't even split. got it from one of the deputies at the back door." "what started the shooting?" "i can't understand it. . . . it ain't reasonable." "what?" "it's crazy. they said that he was trying to rape anna." "jeez, cooper? who said so?" "the deputy. said that's why mag tried to get him." "maybe the sonofabitch did try." "no. it ain't reasonable. he should try to rape her in the front room and mag is in the kitchen?" "maybe he was off his nut." "maybe. he must have known mag would come a-running." / let me breathe thunder the last whisper between us. i was hardly conscious of the jarring rattle of the car. . . . that, like the blackness, belonged. leaning over i shook step awake. "what'd you say?" he asked. "nothin', i shook you." "what for?" "you was asleep." "'scuse me. didn't mean to fall off while you was talking," he said. i smiled in the darkness. if he had waked up first and shaken me, i would have said the same thing to him. after a silence he said: "you hear what the wheels is saying?" i listened hard. "sure. . . . clack-ah-clack, clack-ah-clack, clack- ah-clack." "naw. . . . hear it: ya-kim-a, ya-kim-a, ya- kim-a." / let me breathe thunder now that he had brought it up, the wheels were saying just that: yakima yakima yakima yakima yakima yakima yakima yakima yakima yakima. i could not stop my mind from singing with them: “yakima yakima yakima.” in an effort to escape the rhythm i tried to repeat another word—the first one that came in my head. in an instant the clicking wheels had copied my thought and started endlessly: anna anna anna anna anna anna anna anna . . . “let's talk,” i said to step. “yeah, let's talk out loud,” he answered. “got any ready-mades?” i gave him a cigarette and lit one for myself. “think i'll wake the kid up,” he said. “what for?” “he always has something to talk about that don't mean nothing.” - by the glow of the cigarette i could see the blur of the kid's face. peaceful. let me breathe thunder "yeah, you always said that." "and it still goes. dames have to look out for themselves." i was silent for a long while. the time clicked away and a grayness showed around the edges of the door. my behind was beginning to hurt, but i didn't pay any attention to that. it wouldn't take more than two or three days for the old calluses to come back. step had been quiet for so long that i thought he must be asleep. i wished that i, too, could sleep and not listen to the wheels. suddenly he spoke, and i knew that he had been sitting wide- awake like me. "if you think it ' do any damn good, we'll go back and get ourselves shot up," he growled. i listened to him in amazement. a great wave of feeling for him flooded my chest. his statement didn't require any answer, and i didn't dare to make a move that might be thought mushy. i just let my knee flop over like the movement of the let me breathe thunder train had thrown it. he would understand the con- tact. the train clicked on into the morning: anna anna anna anna anna anna anna anna . . . cooper had been in the boxcar with us all night. it was the kid who found him under a bunch of newspapers at the other end of the car. his eyes were bloodshot, his yellowish skin paled by a thin crust. tufts of hair caked with heavy grease stood upright on his head. the kid smiled like he was glad to see him. step and me were dumfounded. we could not say a word. "i heard you last night," said cooper, "but i was scared to say anything." "how'd you get here?" "they thought you were in the dunes," step said. "i hit out like i was making for the dunes," said cooper, "then i circled back." "they think you were after anna," said step. let me breathe thunder "they'll fill you full of shot if they get hold of you," i said. "reckon i don't care much," said cooper. "where you gun?" asked the kid. "wish i had it here," said cooper, putting his hand near his head and making a movement with his trigger finger. "all shot now," said the kid, trying to start a game. "where you going to?" asked step. "don't know." he looked at us curiously. "ain't you fellers sore on me?" "what for?" said step. "you was nuts to run off like this. they telling some crazy stuff about you tried to rape anna. now they'll believe it sure." "yeah, you should have told them anna got hurt by accident," i said. "you should have told them you and mag was fighting and that was all." "they couldn't have give you much time if you had stayed and told the truth," said step, "but now they'll believe that rape stuff." let me breathe thunder the kid was trying to get the car door open to let more light in. i pulled him away and opened the door. a little sunshine slanted in. hanging out of the doorway, i saw that the engine was running almost directly into the rising sun. i pulled in my head and called excitedly to step. "you were right—she's headed east. the hungry route." step did not turn. except where the freckles clustered, the back of his neck was glowing. i shouted again. he was saying something to cooper. then cooper was giving ground and i heard him give a scared cry: "wait a minute. i tell you, it wasn't on the level— it wasn't" step's fist landed like rock on rock against his temple. cooper smashed against the side of the car and slid to the floor, still trying to mumble some- thing. with an awful deliberateness, step leaned over and caught the limp man by the collar. cooper s let me breathe thunder "wait a minute." "why you trying to save the bastard ?" he shouted. "i just want to hear what he has to say. maybe he didn't" "he just admitted it," cried step. "get out of the way." there was no telling how much longer i could hold step without coming to blows. i didn't want that to happen. the only way out was to stop him until he had a chance to cool off. "i'm in this just as much as you," i told him. "so what?" "so i got a right to hear what happened." "hell, i told you." "i got a right to hear from him if i want to." in just the few seconds we had been talking a lot of the red left his face. i knew that he was almost under control. "you ain't no wild man," i said, taking my hands off him. "c'mon, let's hear what happened." let me breathe thunder he turned his back on me and walked to the other end of the car. "all right ... all right, you listen to the bastard. i heard all i need to hear." "thanks." "but make it snappy," he growled. "he goes out at the first stop." i tried to get the kid to go to the other end of the "empty" where step stood, but the boy refused to go beyond the middle of the car. there he eyed step with frightened glances. i knew that i would be frightened too, if i saw somebody go suddenly mad and i had no inkling of the reason. "th-thanks . . . feller," stuttered cooper. "don't thank me yet," i told him. "what did you tell step?" "don't know. . . . can't get m'wind. . . . i can't think," he cried. i stood over him, waiting until he got himself together. let me breathe thunder "you said you tried to rape her," i accused. he grabbed at my hand. "no—no. as god is my witness, i didn't." "well, what did you say?" "i said the trouble started when i grabbed her in the front room." he looked toward step. "but there was a reason. i swear there was a reason." "what reason?" i pressed. "i can't tell you," he moaned, "but it wasn't rape. i wasn't meaning to hurt her." "you better tell me the whole thing," i said, look- ing toward step. "i ain't going to protect no raper." "but it wasn't on the level." "then what the hell was the idea?" i demanded. he looked around for a few seconds as if thinking about escaping from the speeding car. then he looked at me. "all right," he said wildly, "maybe i want to tell somebody. maybe i want to tell you." i waited. / let me breathe thunder sitting back on my cane, my legs straddled. she was doing good, but everything was business to her. she didn't know what a real man was till i pushed her back off her heels. there never was but one way to do a sportin' woman. while you in the mood call her every low-down thing that comes to your mind and slap hell out of her while you're cussing. after that, nothing was too good for me. i was her man for as long as i could make it good.” step turned around to face us. “can't you see he's stalling?” “it ain't no stall,” said cooper. “i got to tell this like it comes to me.” “go ahead,” i told him. “mag and me was through a whole lot together,” he continued. “we got so we liked each other just like regular folks. and she was proud of me too. maybe 'cause i was the only man she ever took up with that could really hit the ball . . . and almost every time. things was all right until last year. let me breathe thunder "ain't no woman ever hollered before when i grabbed her." he looked puzzled. "then mag come running," i prompted. "she come, all right. i had sorta thought that she would just start cussing so's i could walk out like i was insulted or something. instead of that, she grabbed up her shotgun when she saw what was happening. both the little gal and me broke for the door. the little gal got it in the arm as she was go- ing out. by the time i got out some people was rushing her off to the doc's. one of the men on the street was saying that she was hollering rape and murder, so i knew they'd be after me. that's when i hit for the dunes. only i circled around." "how come you didn't tell them that you wasn't meaning to rape her?" i asked. "i got my pride," he said. "i couldn't stand for nobody to know that i wasn't even fit to make a little gal." there was nothing else i could say. let me breathe thunder “anyway, mag won't ever find out now.” he looked around the car. “you fellers won't never say nothing, will you?” “if you want to take the rap, it ain't my business to say you can't,” i told him. “you ain't sore on me no more, are you?” he asked step. step did not answer. “you won't never tell,” pleaded cooper. “aw, tell him you'll keep shut,” i said. “hell, i wouldn't even say his name in an out- house,” said step. “and he's getting out of here when this train stops, don't forget.” “got another smoke?” said cooper. i reached in my pocket and gave him the pack. we were riding the northern pacific. because we had money it was not such hard going. we bought sardines and bread. it would have been let me breathe thunder "that's okay." step turned to me. "say, that hand is getting worse." "yeah, he's got to have a doctor." "you think he can hold out until we get to the flat country?" "ask him how he feels," i said. "how's the hand treating you, kid?" asked step. he plucked at the bandaged hand like it wasn't anything of great importance. "all right. no hurt," smiled the kid. "it's okay," said step to me. "let me see you move the fingers, kid," i said, setting him an example with my own hand. the little feller winced as his fingers moved just a little. i felt the palm through the bandanna and it was up twice as big as it should have been. "you sure you feel okay?" "si, estoy bien," he said. "not scared." i was worried, but i hid it. "we ought to be in kansas in . . . let's see . . ." let me breathe thunder rattle of a passenger. step cupped his mouth close to my ear. "flyer." "yeah," i grunted. "that's what trains was made for . . . pas- sengers," he said. "and freight," i added. "we ain't neither," he said. "don't that strike you funny?" "nothing strikes me funny right now," i said, try- ing to shrink my back away from my soaked jacket. "we ain't even people. we ain't nothing." "wish i had a slug of whisky," i said. "if there wasn't no cars, no trains, no houses, it wouldn't make much difference to us." "you feel all right?" i asked. "sure. i'm just thinking things, that's all." "think about a slug of whisky," i advised. after a second he said: "i thought about a whole keg of wine, but it didn't do me no good. just ms ■ let me breathe thunder would do it. the train crew was human. they would stop the train and take the kid into the stove- heated caboose. step was out of sight before he had gone the length of the gondola. for what seemed like hours i stood without moving, the kid under one arm. vague thoughts stabbed my mind, then one thing came clearly: a vivid picture of step falling . . . clutching the sleeted roofs . . . tearing his nails off in a desperate effort to get a fingerhold. "step! step! come back," i screamed crazily, my voice lost in the rattle and the noise of the sleet striking like a million gourds in a mex band. beaten, i sunk down, the kid in a heap beneath me. it might have been tears that made my cheeks hot. the next thing i knew there was a hand on my shoulder. then an impatient voice: "snap out of it. . . . snap out of it." "step?" "who'd you think it was—gabriel? c'mon, get up." let me breathe thunder "right at the crossing. takes on water." on our joined hands we made the kid a seat be- tween us and started to walk the track. "so long," we called. "so long," called the man. "better not stop for daisy-picking. you're due for a southbound any time." we caught the southbound, all right, but it wasn't long before we wished we hadn't. it was a hotshot, stopping only long enough at the divisions to change crews. that would have been a good thing if the kid had not taken a turn for the worse. a day out of montana, his arm went up like a sausage and the fever was fit to blister his forehead. if only we could have taken him off the train, everything might have been all right. as it was, the train was balling along so fast we knew there was no chance of a stop before denver. and denver was hours away. let me breathe thunder "he sees you. he sees you," i cried. "hi boy, hi boy, hi boy, hi." and the kid closed his eyes. "didn't see me," said step. "guess not." he went back to his post in the doorway. there was only the faintest suggestion of a shadow now. "how many more hours you figger?" "red's going out of the sky. can't be much longer." "he's got to have some water." "there ain't no water before denver." "his tongue is all swollen up." "you got any sardines left?" he asked. i felt in my breast pocket and brought out a can. "going to open it now?" "yeah," he said. "the kid can drink the oil." "that good for him?" "better 'n leaving his mouth all cracked," he said. and getting out his knife, he went to work on the f let me breathe thunder "bet your life it's right." "about how long we got now?" "no more sun ... i rigger just a few hours." darkness came, and by the light of a candle stump we watched. i was worried because the boy was so still and limp. most sick people moaned and tossed about, then they got better. he just lay there, sometimes opening his eyes and moving his lips wordlessly. and except for my occasional "how many more hours?" step and i had stopped talking. when the moon came up and made the inside of the car silver and black, he snuffed the candle. "can't see the kid's face," i cried. "what'd you do that for?" "don't want it to burn out." "it's a funny feeling ... the dark." "might need that candle later," he said. "you said it was only a few hours more." "got to play it safe." he sat to one side, and soon smoke made the air let me breathe thunder comfortable and drowsy. i wanted to ask him to save me butts of the cigarette, but that would have meant leaving the kid while i smoked. somehow i felt that my body was helping the kid to stay alive, was pouring my energy into him at the points where we touched. the smoke-tainted air was good enough; i took deep lungfuls. with heavy rasping gasps in my ears i jerked my head up from where it had sagged down to the kid's. my lips and nose were hot like his face. i must have been taking the breath right out of his mouth. shot through with panic, i felt for my buddy. "huh?" "the kid." he lit the candle and put his face within an inch of the kid's. each time the little fellow's chest rose and fell we could hear a labored sobbing from somewhere in his throat. "what's the matter with him? what's the mat- ter?" let me breathe thunder no smell, except when a gust of fresh air was forced into the doorway. at such times i prayed that my arching stomach would not heave. for what seemed hours he massaged the arm. my fingers were con- stantly moving to keep their hold. when we had done all we had strength enough to do, we sat watching again, not bothering to kneel up off the filthy floor of the car. when we rolled into the denver yards we were watching a dead boy. we put the kid's body under a tarpaulin on a flatcar loaded with farm tools. i read the square of paper tacked to one of the boxes: "freight consignment. ferris tool co. albu- querque, new mexico." i looked at step. his face was like a piece of old leather. i had to say something. . . . "can't say we run out on him," i said. "he's go- ing back almost to where he came from." sity of wivers michiga gan.se ibrarie the primitive chester himes a signet book from new american library times mirror h pr © by chester himes all rights reserved fourth printing library of congress catalog card no. - signet trademark reg. . . pat. off. and foreign countries registered trademark-maroa registrada hecho en chicago, u. .a. signet, signet classics, signette, mentor and plume books are published by the new american library, inc. avenue of the americas, new york, new york printed in the united states of america late afternoon when she was seldom there, this sense of being alone was almost complete; not only shut off from people, from others of the species, but shut off from time, from seasons, from distance, from life, all life—dog life, cat life, cockroach life—shut off from eternity. it was like waking in a grave. for a time she lay unmoving, rigid, fighting off the panic. slowly her thoughts began to take shape in the form of mem- ory, and the events of the night before returned like sequences in a dream. bill had dropped by for a moment before dinner to bring some illustrated maps of italy, sicily, and mallorca. she was planning to tour europe during the coming summer and he was trying to be helpful; he had studied architecture in rome two years before and was consequently an authority on europe. bill was the helpful type—tall, skinny, redheaded, freckled, perseveringly cheerful, and sexless as cold boiled po- tatoes. they had become engrossed in an exchange of accounts of their great adventures. he had lived in a miserable pension near a noisome area of moldy ruins, unable to speak the lan- guage, repulsed by the filth, and had made no acquaintances and had been unhappy all the time. while for her part, she had spent three weeks in paris, three years previous, in an attempt at reconciliation with her husband, which had turned into a nightmare of wet-nursing him through a siege of dis- gusting drunkenness and at the same time trying to sleep with whomever became available as a kind of protest . he had cried long and hard over their "ruined" lives; he had vowed tear- fully he wanted to marry her again. (she would have married him again at any time if she could have found some means of keeping him on his feet long enough.) but she decided it wasn't worth it. he had been drunk from the moment she arrived until she left. perhaps it had been from fear of having to sleep with her again. he couldn't get over the fact she had divorced him to marry a negro. she hadn't married the negro, but that was beside the point. perhaps he was afraid if he slept with her again it would bring on a recurrence of his homo- sexual urges, which he had spent ten thousand dollars to get rid of by psychoanalysis. it couldn't have been just because of the negro, because he'd known of her sleeping with negroes while they were still married and together, and all he'd done in the end was join the army as a buck private when he could have had a commission for the asking. god knows he loved negroes as much as anyone; his love for them had impelled him, a mississippi boy, to devote the ten best years of his life working in their behalf, ten frustrated, guilt-ridden, and [cuckolded years in what he had once called in post-mortem regret, "the bright, shining world of race relations!" for ten years he had been a negrophile, an extreme negrophile, enjoy- ing the beds of his negro colleagues' wives without any con- descension whatsoever. but much of it had gone after the analysis. he had been analyzed to rid himself of a homosexual bent so he could sire an heir, and it had turned out that after- wards he loved negroes less. that always struck him as being very strange. he had discussed it at great length with her. but she didn't hint of this to bill. he respected her so she didn't dare risk hurting him. he thought that she was pure. per- haps not pure] but not easy] she had such a highly respectable job he couldn't possibly have thought otherwise, being the very j nice young man that he was, the type who believes the job i makes the lady. perhaps chaste would be a better word. well, why not? she asked herself. she'd never felt completely like a slut at any time. besides it was nice to have one man think of her like that. at ten o'clock, realizing he had kept her from dinner, he had invited her to a supper club. but she'd declined. that would have been the bitter end, going out to dinner at some night club with bill and coming home to sleep alone. then, as bill was leaving, harold had staggered in, drunk as usual. a frown came into her thoughts. she wasn't ashamed of harold—she wasn't ashamed of any of her colored friends; what few she had left. besides which, harold was an impressive- looking man when sober. and once she had respected him more than any man she'd ever known, really worshipped him. anyway, bill had met him there before. but why the hell did he have to come crawling around to her place every time he got helplessly drunk? suddenly she recalled having loaned him another twenty-five dollars. "oh, hell!" she said aloud. she was really through with him this time, she firmly resolved. she had sat drinking with him, trying to contort him—he'd been hurt and dejected as usual—and had forgotten to eat. after he had borrowed the money, she had become so enraged she had put him out of her apartment, despite the fact that by then he was barely able to stand and had begun weeping sloppily over his cruel fate. "you make more money than i do, and besides you're fif- teen years older!" she'd condemned him bitterly. now, in the recollection of it, of all those great things that earlier harold had been to her during her first year at the university, of all those "bright, shining years" of which he'd been a part, nothing was any longer real. he'd been a great man on the campus in those days, one who was going places; he hadn't seen her, a little country girl. now what she feared most was the unreality. the years seemed made of dust. she remembered the blubbering self-pity of men. . . . ronny crying in her room at the commodore hotel that winter when she'd divorced him and come to new york to marry ted. . . . "don't marry a nigger, kriss. . . . don't kill me, kriss. ... i know i've been a bastard, but don't break me. . . . i'm from mississippi. . . ." she had replied with sensual cruelty, "go back to mississippi then, you jerk, and sleep with all those black women you're always boasting of having grown up on. you don't know how to have a white woman. . . ." his tears wetting her new nylons. "please don't, kriss! ih get analyzed. "ih give you a baby. . . ." her final stab. "give yourself one, you louse; you've tried hard enough!" "what an awful rotten life!" she thought. "i'm a good girl, really." in some manner the strange thought brought sharp and vivid memories of willard the year he was such a star on the high school football team and of the two abortions when she was sixteen which had prevented her from ever bearing children. "i must call mother tonight," she told herself firmly, groping blindly for this one last hold to reality. she glanced at the luminous dial of the clock. it was ten after eight. abruptly she sat up, her bare feet groping for her golden mules. her nude body, heavy with years, was buddhistic in vague dejection. her.mind was flat, stale, stupid, but she didn't have a hangover. nat, her doctor, had advised her to drink only the best of whiskey because it contained less fusel oil she paid six dollars and forty-two cents a fifth for her scotch, and averaged six bottles weekly. but no matter how much she drank, she never suffered from hangovers. on the physical side, she was disgustingly healthy. it was just these awful depressions of awakening. now she stood up and went into the breakfast nook and switched on the lights of the sitting room. the entrance hall of her small, three-room apartment angled like a short-handled crank, encasing two deep storage closets in the angle at front, and widening beyond the kitchen door into the breakfast nook. this contained a blond oak table shaped like a heart, on which reposed two watery highball glasses on silver coasters and a flat silver ashtray with several squashed butts. here the hall angled once more, ending at the full-length mirror on the closet with tiny red pimples, but voluptuous as a botticelli painting. her legs were long and gorgeously shaped with beautiful knees, but her stomach was bloated and those old demon rubber tires had begun forming above her hips. her skin was very fair, the faint hairs on her arms and at the base of her spine golden in the slanting light, the hair on her head, cut short in the modern businesswoman's fashion, was of a light trans- lucent brown, verging on gold. her face had high cheekbones which were contradicted by a short, straight, tiny nose, and huge, light blue, slightly glassy, almost bulging eyes, slanting upward at the outer edges. a famous writer and critic of new york city, an old man famous for flowery phrases, once de- scribed her by saying she was as handsome as four peacocks. but he had seen her only when she was dressed. now as she bent over the set in the somewhat awkward and unflattering position of a can-can dancer sans costume, she looked gro- tesque. just at that moment the light appeared on the twenty-inch screen and the closeup of a man's face, blooming with the bright wide smile of a bleached skull, and wreathed in that dreadful early morning cheerfulness of this telatomic age which inspires old-fashioned diehards suffering from old-fashioned hangovers to rush into their kitchens and cut their throats. the happy smiling eyes, crinkled about the comers with inner joy and healthy living, stared knowingly at her anatomy, causing her to feel suddenly indecent and unhealthy. "oh!" she exclaimed, involuntarily shielding herself with her hands. she had turned the volume tpo high and a booming jovial voice issued from the smiling lip's of the happy face: "are you overweight? are you overwrought? do you suffer from morning depression? do you have a stale brown taste of biliousness on arising?" this boisterous catechism bursting upon her mood of mor- bid introspection rattled her. she did what she always did when rattled; she giggled. "then this is what you need!" the loud voice informed her. "what?" she asked the happy face, her quick spontaneous wit coming to her rescue. the face instantly disappeared and in its place appeared a giant's hand holding a giant bottle with the label forward. "thisr "oh, hell!" she said disgusted. the face disappeared. "yes! this energizing laxative, charged with vitamins, also contains chlorophyll. not only does it red; it went with her fair skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair. be- sides, it made her feel daring. she couldn't get along in the world without feeling daring. from alongside a bottle of red and yellow capsules of bar- biturates in her medicine cabinet, she took down a bottle of bluish-gray tablets, a patented drug relatively new on the market. they were made from a combination of dexedrine and amylobarbitone, and the directions on the label stated: "indicated in states of mental and emotional distress." the first time she had read that statement she had told herself, "that's me. that's me all the time." now, after swallowing one with a little water, she shook a couple of dozen into a lacquered snuffbox to take to the office; her store there had runout . then, bringing her toast and coffee, she sat on a stool at the end of the table so she could see the television, ate one half of a piece of toast and drank two cups of coffee sweetened with saccharine tablets. on the television screen, gloucester was interviewing the chimpanzee. "who do you think will get the republican nomination for president?" he asked. "five-star general of the army, dwight d. eisenhower, will be nominated on the first ballot," the chimpanzee promptly replied. "and are you sure it won't be senator taft?" gloucester, who was a loyal taft supporter, prompted the chimp. "no, not even for vice president," the chimpanzee asserted positively. "all bob taft will get will be a big hug from eisen- hower when the general rushes across the street directly follow- ing his nomination to congratulate senator taft on losing and calling for party unity. senator richard m. nixon of california will be nominated for vice president, and on september , , he will go on television—the same as you and i—to de- fend a political fund placed at his disposal by innocent and patriotic businessmen of california, most of whom have some- how become involved in the real estate business and are ham- strung in their desire to invest in low rental properties by the democratic administration's rent control program which, para- doxically, precipitates high rent. mr. nixon will also bare his financial status to the complete satisfaction of the republicans and the complete dissatisfaction of the democrats, after which he will hasten to the special campaign train of republican nom- inee general of the army, eisenhower, to pose for a news- reel parody of the jerry lewis—dean martin comedy, "that's my boy." "what do you think of general eisenhower's chances of being elected?" gloucester asked condescendingly. "on november , , republican nominee for president, five-star general of the army, dwight d. eisenhower, will be elected president of the united states by an ovemhelming landslide of electoral votes and a popular vote of , , , the largest popular vote in the history of your republic, thereby giving senator mccarthy a mandate to rid the nation of its mentality," the chimpanzee stated with extreme boredom. after all, this would bear no effect on chimpanzees—chim- panzees didn't think. "does that answer your questions?" he asked shortly, anxious to collect payment for his appearance. kriss stared at tbe chimpanzee in horror. "how can it say such things—and roosevent dead but seven years!" she thought indignantly. the pill worked rapidly on an empty stomach. the tre- mendous physical stimulation provided by the five milligrams of dexedrine was leveled off at peak efficiency by the coun- terpoise of thirty-two milligrams of amylobarbitone, holding the brain, which had been sharpened and alerted to almost supernatural brilliancy by the caffeine contained in two cups of strong black coffee, to an almost unbearable lucidity, like hemingway writing a novel. by the time she had combed her short curled hair, powdered her face smoothly white, painted her lips becomingly red, applied a light sheen of vaseline to her upper eyelids, and adorned herself with appropriate jew- elry: two hollow gold matching serpentine bracelets on her right wrist; a gold wrist watch with leather band on her left wrist; a leaf-shaped gold pin containing a dark blue stone at her left breast; a gold rope-shaped necklace; two gold-plated snap-on earrings; along with her wedding and engagement rings which she still wore for the same reason she still kept her mar- ried name—she felt capable and serene and alert and very secure. she loved her little pills for the security they gave her. thus bedecked and ornamented to the wildest fancy of any savage, emotionally fortified by the latest in patent drugs, faintly amused by the early morning television antics of the m.c. and the chimpanzee, her wits made keen by the essence of twenty- five milligrams of good pure american coffee, she felt herself an efficient executive, ready to face the day. now she could afford to think about dave levine. he hadn't called her again. she had tried hard to marry dave, and had almost gotten him, but his mother who was very orthodox, and incidentally held the purse strings even though dave maintained an apartment in manhattan, had put her with the solid case—but she never smoked before lunch; the three keys necessary to get into her apartment, another key to the side entrance of her office building, two small flat keys to the large hartman suitcases in her storage closets which she had not used since her trip to europe, all held securely in a snapbutton red leather key case; and a small red leather-bound address book, containing the addresses of nine couples, six single women, and two men, there being nothing to indicate whether single or married. one was a jim saxton from dallas, texas; the other a kenneth mccrary from hollywood, califor- nia. it was a neat, orderly, and comparatively uncluttered pocketbook. from one of the front closets devoted to coats she selected a soft plaid of medium weight and neutral shade. she pulled on black cotton gloves, picked up her purse and the morning paper, took a last sip of the now tepid coffee, leaving a smudge of lipstick on the cup, put out the lights behind her, and started to work. it was then exactly nine o'clock, at which time she was due in her office. but she'd gotten into such a habit of being late, it was now practically impossible for her to be on time. "i'd better buck up," she cautioned herself. sooner or later her boss, kirby reynolds, would get on her tail—in a nice way, of course; he was really a very nice guy—but she wouldn't like it . on opening the door into the corridor, she met mattie about to enter. mattie was a huge, black woman who never wore makeup nor gave any other indication of an interest in her personal appearance. her face always looked unwashed, her short kinky hair uncombed, her old tattered garments as mussed as if she had slept in them. at the sight of kriss her face lit with her professional grin, showing a row of sizable pale yellow teeth with amalgam fillings here and there. "mawnin' miz cummons." she seemed to have some manner of psychological block against pronouncing the name, cummings, although once kriss had heard her say distinctly, "mister drummings." however, kriss had no way of knowing the gentleman to whom she referred was named drummond. kriss grinned back at her, giving the little amused chuckle that made her so well liked. "i'm late again, mattie. it seems as if i just can't get off in time." "yt needs tuh be married, miz cummons. dass wut y'all needs," mattie replied with easy familiarity. what she didn't know about kriss's love life, she had guessed. "den y'all woud'n have tuh git up attall" kriss was never quite certain during these exchanges whether mattie was slyly poking fun or stating a profound conviction. she chuckled uncomfortably and hastened down the corridor, her hard heels echoing about her. outside she was greeted by a bright april morning. her apartment building, an eight-storied light brick structure erected during the middle nineteen-thirties, faced south on twenty-first street, between third avenue and the south end of lexington at gramercy park. it was a pleasant street, she thought, as she walked briskly along in the sunshine. expensive, sophisticated. to her left the old irving hotel, facing the park; to her right a modern yellow brick high-rent apartment house with beautiful windows, all lit at night, revealing the many wondrous decors. down here it was so rich and luxurious with a quiet expensive exclusive- ness. rich in tradition, also. she loved it here. she loved new york. but she loved it here far more than any other place she had ever lived in new york. it made her feel confident and exclusive. her telephone exchange was gramercy—"right up the street a few doors from gramercy park," she always said when directing friends to her address; never, "right down the street a few doors from third avenue. but she liked that part of third avenue, too; there were wonderful stores in that section. the street had emptied since the eight-thirty rush; only the service people and executives hailing taxis from the stand facing lexington were about at this late hour. a few nurses already had their charges in the park. "i must remember to get a key," she reminded herself. it was a private park enclosed by a high iron fence, and the gates were kept locked. but the neighborhood residents could rent a key for twelve dollars annually—or was it twenty?—by applying to the gramercy park association. the trees were already beginning to green, and red and yellow tulips were blooming in well-tended plots. al- though what she'd do with a key, frankly she didn't know. no one she knew would be found dead spooning on a hard bench in a dark chilly park when there was her beautifully furnished apartment so near, equipped with television and bed. after a moment she thought, "spooning? what an ancient word fork!" she continued down twenty-first street to fourth avenue turned north to the subway entrance at twenty-second street. there was a smile on her lips. she felt very happy. passers-by, even the surly printers and warehousemen of the neighbor- hood, noticed her happiness and smiled at her. she smiled in return, suddenly recalling the harlem saying she had often heard at maud's: i'd rather be a doggy lamppost in new york city than governor general of the state of mississippi. chapter turn he had dreamed fitfully. at first he had dreamed he was skating somewhere in a crowd and had broken through the ice. "help! help!" he had called as the icy current tugged at him. he had a thin grip on the broken edge of the ice but he couldn't swim and the cold water tore at him, trying to pull him under. "help! help!" he had called again, desperately, as he felt his grip loosen. but none of the other skaters, all of whom were couples, boys and girls, men and women, looked in his direction or gave any indication that they had heard his cries. they skated about the hole, smiling and chatting, engrossed in each other. "jesus christ! they don't even see me!" he thought as his grip broke and he went down beneath the icy water, clutched in an ice cold fear. he awakened and went to the dresser and poured a water glass full of gin. the faint glow of the city night came through the two side windows, silhouetting his nude body in the dim mirror. his hand trembled and his teeth chattered against the rim of the glass as he forced the gin down his throat. he held his mouth open, gasping until he got his breath, then went back to bed. "that ought to knock me out," he thought . but he dreamed again. he dreamed that he was present at a banquet, sitting near the end of the table where two pretty blonde women sat side by side. but there was an empty space between his seat and the end which prevented him from speaking to them. then the man at his right stood up and moved because he didn't like his neighbor on the other side, and that left him sitting at the banquet table between two empty chairs. he felt suddenly isolated. he was vaguely aware that he was the only negro at the banquet, but that didn't have anything to do with the feeling of isolation until a well-dressed, handsome, very assured negro magazine editor, whom he knew quite well, passed ever, looking to see where the short squat man had gone. now was really the time to run! everyone thought. but the short squat man had got behind the big wild man and he picked up a heavy oak chair and hit the big wild man across the back of the head as hard as he could hit. "jesus christ!" the big wild drunken man howled painfully like a wounded dog and fell on his face as if dead. jesse laughed in his sleep and muttered, "damn right!" then he dreamed the sweetest dream. he was seventeen years old and he was wrestling playfully on a bed with the prettiest girl he'd ever seen, trying to kiss her. she had a coffee- cream complexion and short black curls and her eyes flashed laughingly as she struggled to get loose from him. she had a strong slender body, hard and round, and she wore a middy blouse and skirt. she gave a quick turn and was free, her body extended away from him, tensed for flight. but instead of escaping she lay passively on her back, her hair spread out on the white counterpane, and he bent forward tenderly, looking into her dark laughing eyes, and kissed her from an upside down position. he knew it was the first time she had been kiss- ed and it was also the first time he had kissed a girl. he felt a sweet nameless sensation spread all over him. he opened his eyes wide. the sweet sensation was still with him and he lay unmoving, scarcely breathing, trying to hold it a little longer. but immediately his mind began analyz- ing it, dissecting it, breaking it up, pulling it down, twisting it this way and then the other. it was sweet because it was so pure. never in all of his life had he felt a pure sexual feeling, not even with his wife. but pure wasn't just the word. his thoughts began leafing through the dictionary of his mind: good—look under good: pleasant, virtuous, admirable . . . didn't get it . . . how about clean? nice? good? . . . there's that goddamned good again. they've ruined that word: good christians, good americans, good niggers, damn good killing . . . must be some other word to fit it. . . . but it wasn't in his vocabulary. sex in his mind had always been something a little soiled, a little weird, perhaps somewhat sordid too. not in a bad sense always, but always a little tainted by his protestant upbringing, his grotesque memory, his strange imagination. but this feeling in his dream had been completely undented. leroy's laugh came through his closed door and he heard the nasty little dogs racing over the hall floor. . . . "now napoleon, behave yourself. you come back here and get into your collar, you bad little thing." it was a man's falsetto voice affecting a womanish air. "homos," he thought. "the dogs too." all the sweetness went and the loneliness closed in. he was lying diagonally across the wide old-fashioned dilapidated mahogany bed, and had to roll over to reach the night table where his cigarettes lay. "there's nothing lonelier than a double bed," he thought, putting a paper match to his cigarette, and with the first inhalation the dizziness came. he was still too drunk for a hangover, but his head felt unset and his body disjointed and everything had a double-edged distorted look like a four color advertisement with each color slightiy out of line. however, his brain was sharp. for the past five years it had never let down. it was always packed with some definite emotion, defined in intellectual terms; futile rages, tearing frustrations, moods of black despair, fits of suicidal depressions —all in terms of cause and effect, of racial impact and "socio- logical import"—intellectual manure, but nagging as an un- solved problem, slugging it out in his mind, like desperate war- > riors. no matter how much he drank, nor whatever he did to deaden his thoughts, there was this part of his mind that never relaxed, never became numb. it was always tense, hypersensi- tive, uncertain, probing—there must be some goddamned reason for this, for that. it had started with the publication of his second book, five years before. . . . some goddamned reason for all the hate, the animosity, the gratuitous ill will—for all the processed american idiocy, ripened artificially like canned cheese. the night before he'd wandered from bar to bar, trying to find a safe-looking pickup. at the ebony up the street, on amsterdam, he'd tried to make the hostess, a show-girl type, what the guys used to call a "brown-skin model." the joint had been practically empty and she had come and sat with him at the bar. he recalled trying to kiss her, and her asking him to go with her the next day out to a used car lot near atlan- tic beach, where she was to pick up a new cadillac she had ordered; and him telling her he'd like to, but he had to go down to the fifty-seventh street dock where he was picking up a new ocean liner he'd ordered; and her getting angry and telling him to go to hell; and him saying he wished she'd got angry before drinking seven scotch highballs at his expense. "everybody's lonely in this goddamn city," he thought bitter- he'd come home and begun drinking gin and reading gorki's bystander, hoping the combination would render him uncon- scious. but the story came and went as he read on into the early hours, confusing itself with stories of his own imagining, until he'd become entombed in a completely new and frighten- ing world. and still his thoughts had kept on churning, turning back to one passage and another, here and there snagged by a line like one's clothes in a bramble thicket: “to love, to love! life is so frightful-it is torment if one doesn't love! ... a habitual—just grasp this!-an habitual lack of desire on the part of others to look into your soul kindly, tenderly. ... you must learn this: all women are incurably sick with loneli- ness. this is the cause of all that is incomprehensible to you men-unexpected infidelities, and everything. none of you seeks, none of you thirsts for such intimacy with a human being as we do. . . ." and always they came back to the passage describing the drowning of boris, clim's friend, and the line: “clim heard someone in the crowd question gravely, doubt- fully: “but was there really a boy? perhaps there was no boy at all! - jesse robinson. -mmmm ... jack robinson . . . james robinson ... jeff robinson ... jimwe have no jesse robinson listed here. —j-e-s-s-e . . . jesse. . . . you must have me on the list. ... -mmmm ... jeff ... jim .... -but i lived in the world for forty-one years. ... -mmmm... - i was a writer! i wrote two books about negroes. ... -mmmm ... i was an american—an american negro. i wrote about the negro problem in america. ... -ah yes! a very grave problem. we are very much con- cerned about the negro problem.... -then certainly you've heard about me. i wrote two books about the negro problem. it was all in the newspapers, in the book review sections. they reviewed my books. one of them said i remember quite well: robinson writes like a dark avenging angel with his pen dipped in gall. ... you must have heard of me! -jesse robinson. ... let's see ... jeff ... jim ... funny ... are you absolutely sure there was a jesse robin- son? ... perhaps ... “just think: half the men and women in the whole world in these few moments are loving one another, even as you and l... my dearest, my unexpected one. . .' —perhaps there was no jesse robinson at all! . . . "or magnanimity, of compassion toward a woman, in a word! . . ." —lawd! there ain't nobody in this coffin! —ain't jesse robinson . . . —nobody! —but jesse robinson . . . —who's jesse robinson? —he de one wu't died uf lonesomeness. say fust time in hist'ry uh nigger die frum lonesomeness. in all de newspapers • • • —but ain't nobody in dis coffin! —lemme see . . . mmmm . . . empty as a rninister's plate! . . . but whar de body of jesse robinson? —now you is askin' me. ... ah doan b'lieve dare evah wuz uh jesse robinson tuh bagin wid! . . . abruptly he opened his eyes. the cigarette butt was burning his fingers and he masbed it out in the glass ashtray atop a battered ancient mahogany radio cabinet that served as a night table. beyond the ashtray was a half-emptied package of camel cigarettes, a half-eaten, twenty-five-cent bar of milk chocolate, a half-emptied, pint-sized carton of milk, a small white enameled alarm clock with a broken crystal, and a milk- stained water glass smelling of gin. all were clustered like a repulsive brood of hybrids about a pumpkin-sized spherical bottle containing a green solution, which comprised the base of a night lamp which had a large faded pink shade that sat loosely on a frame made for something else. inside the cabinet, behind the closed doors, were his stacks of unpublished man- uscripts, carbon copies, old papers, and letters which he always kept nearby, carting them from place to place, hanging on to them year after year, to remind himself that—no matter what he did for a living—he was a writer by profession. according to the cracked face of the clock, it was ten min- utes after eight. the sun was over east river at about th street, beyond the flats of harlem and south of the triborough bridge, but in a direct line with flushing, l.i. sunlight slanted through the open venetian blinds, making thin stairways of light and shadow on the pale green of the opposite wall, and underneath the blinds, where they failed to reach the window sills by a matter of over two feet, a solid block of light fell obliquely across the hideous green, red, and yellow cover of the couch. his windows, facing south, were on the fifth floor, overlook- ing nd street between convent and amsterdam avenues, dull doe eyes quite suitable for his role. "faunesse," jesse thought, "suffragette casualty." he maneuvered the narrow treacherous pass that led to the kitchen on the left, the bath straight ahead, and mr. ward's back bedroom to the right . mr. ward's door was closed, as was customary, and there was no way of telling whether he was in or out. he was a short, dark, heavy-set, partially-bald man with marbleized eyes. "image of god," jesse thought, half-amused. "genesis : ." then, "if it'd been me, however, i wouldn't have admitted it." he stepped inside the kitchen with the intention of making coffee. but sight of the devastation discouraged him. garbage spread out from a pile beside the dumbwaiter, empty beer tins, crab shells, chicken bones, gin bottles, broken glass and what closely resembled dried vomit, beneath which the garbage pail was completely inundated. the breakfast table was covered with dirty egg-stained dishes, coffee cups, and scraps of bread, the spoils of breakfast; the sink was stacked with dirty dishes, the ravages of last night's feast. atop the oven of an incredibly filthy gas range in the corner were piled helter-skelter a variety of blackened kitchen utensils and several coffee percolators. on the warmer were cups of runny fat, greasy boxes of matches, a jar of salt, a tin of pepper, and a saucepan partly filled with burnt rice. the burners held a dishpan filled with cold boiled bluepoint crabs, their bluish shells resembling un- evenly tempered metal. underneath the stove was the dog bed, lined with filthy rags and surrounded by layers of news- papers which were stained in several places where the dogs had peed. jesse recalled hearing one of the boys say girlishly, the night before, "i feel so unnecessary!" he thought, "damn right! unnecessary and unexpurgated too!" he opened the refrigerator to look for his milk, then stood back and stared. the top shelf was crammed with tins of beer; on the second shelf were butter, eggs, two bottles of milk, a bottle of grape juice, three bottles of coca cola, and a quart of orange pop. his container of milk was missing, however. on the shelf beneath were the carcass of a roasted turkey, half of a layer cake with white frosting, a dish of boiled okra, a plate of fried chicken, and a quart bottle of gingerale. the bottom shelf held one half of a baked ham, a platter piled high with a gray concoction that closely resembled granulated putty —a specialty of leroy's made of boiled corn meal and okra— three-quarters of a sweet potato pie, two boiled pig's feet, fee." he bustled up a cup and saucer like an eager widow. "no, thanks, i'm going back to sleep. coffee keeps me a- wake." leroy looked crestfallen. "whenever i ask you to have a bite to eat you always say you're just going out or you've just eaten or you're just going to sleep," he complained. "one of these days i'm gonna quit asking you." "why the hell don't you," jesse thought, but instead he smiled and said, "you always ask me at the wrong time, mr. martin. this is my drinking day. he tried to hurry on before leroy could reply, but the little dog napoleon, who had been awaiting his opportunity charged him, barking furiously, and began nipping at his heels. both dogs were blonde pomeranians, thoroughbreds with recorded pedigrees, the best of the species. napoleon had been sired by nero, who now lay quietly in his dog bed, old, shaggy, and stinky, toothless and almost blind. they had been given to leroy by a former employer, a wealthy dress manufacturer, who had taken up doberman pinschers at the death of his wife, to whom the pomeranians had actually belonged. at the last moment mr. fishbein had relented his long-cherished resolve to have the dobermans chew them up, and had given them to his colored chauffeur instead. whether he appreciated the irony of his decision, no one knew. they were very valuable dogs, or at least had been during the life of mrs. fishbein. and leroy was quite fond of them, partly because he knew of their former value, partly because they were such sissy dogs. but jesse not only despised them but the breed as well. although of the two, he liked nero the better because nero was soon going to die, which is what jesse was convinced all pomeranians should do. so when this little pest came nipping at his heels his impulse was to give him a swift kick in the ribs, which he always did do when no one was about . but now leroy called sharply, "napoleon! napoleon! you nasty thing! you come back here and let mr. robinson alone." he raised his lidded lecherous look to jesse's face. "he likes you," he said with double-entendre; "those are just little love bites. he takes after his papa." "oh, we understand one another," jesse said, hastening back to his room. he stripped nude and began dressing. "need a damn chas- tity belt to step out this door," he muttered. he'd gotten on his blue-gray slacks, undershirt and shoes, when someone knocked. "come in." leroy entered with a tray. "oh, mr. robinson! you told quit his porter's job in white plains and had come to new york to look for a room. he had consulted a woman agent selected at random from the classified advertisements in a harlem weekly newspaper. she had sent him to see a mrs. susie braithewaite, on the floor above, who had registered a room with her agency. however, the room was actually rented for a good price, fifteen dollars weekly, by a bartender who only used it during his days off and one or two nights in between. but susie didn't like the fact that the bartender brought white girls there; and if he didn't bring them they came anyway and stood out in the hall where they could be seen by the other respectable negro housewives, and rang her bell until someone answered. so she had decided to put the bartender out. she hadn't apprised her husband of her intention until jesse called for an interview. then she had telephoned him at the cleaners where he worked as a presser. he had said, "hell no!" being a sensible man and realizing that in the long run money is worth more than respectability. besides which, the bartender threw some fine white girls his way every now and then—which was what she suspected. but she was attracted to jesse on sight and didn't want him to get away. she was one of those brown-skinned women who look as if they might be voracious in bed. she was about twenty- five, jesse guessed, with the strong solid body of a girl athlete, the bosom of a wet nurse, and the big high ball-bearing hips of a miller. she ran the tip of her red tongue slowly across her wide full cushiony sensuous lips, making them wetly red. and looked him straight in the eyes with her own glassy, speck- led bedroom eyes. he stared back, feeling all of himself run down to one point, too weak to move, knowing his eyes were begging now! yes now! please now! it's got to be now! oh, now! . . . and hers replying not now! you know it can't be nowl but soon! just wait! can't you wait? . . . so she'd gotten him this room on the floor below with mr. martin. he should have recognized mr. martin as a panette on sight. but you can't expect a man in that state to be very observant. he'd paid his rent and moved in before he'd realized the setup. of course he could have moved after the first week. but it wasn't worth the trouble. "what the hell do i care what people think!" he said defiant- ly, tying a duke of kent knot in his dark red tie. "i really ought to shave," he said as he pulled on a gray cable-knit sweater. "i wish that punk would get a job and get the hell away from here sometimes." from a curtained alcove he decided to go down to forty-second street and see what was showing at the cheap movie houses between eighth avenue and times square. they opened at eight. "good thing you like movies, son," he thought . "otherwise you'd believe all that stuff about your country you experience every day." he started down the slope toward th street. "i go down but it's uptown," he thought. everyone else was going the other way. he went down the street walking against the crowd. he staggered a little, but he didn't feel drunk. millions of thoughts were churning into grotesque patterns in the back of his head, crowding out the gaiety. chapter three kriss alighted from the irt local at fifty-ninth street and lexington avenue, turned west at sixtieth street, and walked north on madison avenue. for more than twenty years this strip of madison avenue had been relinquished by the city fathers to old ladies of the "arsenic and old lace" variety as a reservation in which to walk their cats and dogs. then came the apocalyptic day when the quiet genteel atmosphere of the reservation was shattered by house wreckers and steam shovels excavating for the foun- dation of new modern buildings. the old ladies freshened their arsenic and ventured forth, but the lower-class laborers didn't drink tea. so the elderly females were finally forced to dally behind bracketed curtains, and had to learn to exercise their dogs and cats early in the morning and late in the afternoon when the danger of their being squashed into hamburgers was minimized. they considered the clean, shining, bright buildings profana- tions, veritable towers of babel, in which, as events have proved, they were not so far wrong. they sharpened their tea leaves and bided their time. but when the old stone godwin mansion was given over to the india institute, and the reservation was invaded by its rabble of employees, jews from brooklyn, italians from the bronx, irish from hell's kitchen, negroes from harlem, for- eign americans from such outlandish places as akron, ohio, gary, indiana, tulsa, oklahoma, that was the bitter end. now the old ladies walk their cats and dogs with veiled eyes and closed ears, seeing only the glory of the past and hearing only the quiet gentility of remembrance, the faint shape of bitterness in the puckers of their old lips, perhaps of sad- ness, of sorrow that they should have lived to see the day. kriss liked the old ladies. she always smiled at them and sometimes spoke. she would stop to rub the arched back of a sleek, fat, spoiled blue persian cat, cooing with genuine ad- miration, "oh, isn't he lovely! he's the loveliest thing!" or she would grin sympathetically at some old blind scottie that had mistaken a gentleman's leg for a lamppost and was about to make a faux pas; and would be seized by an almost in- controllable impulse to say, "no, no, darling, that's a man's leg," and guide it gently to the proper place. the old ladies liked her. "she is the only real gentlelady of the lot," they said. "it's too bad she has to associate with such trash, poor thing." but there were no old ladies about this morning and kriss had to be content with the greetings of a few old fat pigeons that moved aside grudgingly to let her pass. it was twenty minutes after nine when she ascended the worn stone stairs and entered the godwin mansion. by this time the huge reception hall with its marble fountain, the focal point of prework congregation, was deserted. water no longer cascaded from the four mouths of the marble brahma in timeless, uncreated, immaterial and illimitable streams upon the bevy of frolicking cherubins in the empty basin, but the four faces of the supreme soul looked down upon all who en- tered with benign intelligence and bliss. kriss had once flirted with the brahmanic concept, years before when she was a freshman at chicago university, and had tried sleeping with a hindu; and many times of late, when passing beneath the four faces on this monstrosity, she had the strange feeling that perhaps after all life was but a dream. the mansion, built in the shape of a u about an inner court devoted to a formal garden, was a weird combination of ren- aissance architecture, indian impressionism, english pretent iousness, adapted to the basic idea of american plumbing, lighting, and comfort. it gave a fairly accurate reflection of the personality of old marcus cornelius godwin who had erect- ed it. by incorporating in both england and the united states, m. cornelius godwin had taken a fabulous fortune out of india during the nineteenth century and had died in at the age of eighty-nine an avowed brahman—although this latter had not been taken seriously by his family who had given him a decent episcopalian burial. old godwin had loved india but had been greatly impressed by the cold-blooded commer- cialism and upper-class idolatry of the british aristocracy. how- ever, in his later years he had discovered, somewhat to his chagrin, that he had lost his enthusiasm for monocles, ice-cold castles, the correct thing, and conversations conducted in a smaller vocabulary than that employed by an english-speak- ing zulu. so, in the 's he had built this monstrosity to pass his declining years in both style and comfort. it was not comfortable in the modern connotation of the word, but it had been warm—heated by a steam furnace that consumed in the winter an average of two tons of coal a day—and it had been lived in despite the rococo decor, the gilded mirrors at every turn apprising him of approaching death, the life-size angels in full sight about the ceilings of the rooms ready to bear him off at a moment's notice, the english drawing room with its leaded windows looking out on madison avenue, a concession to his youthful awe of titles. there was a full-length portrait of the old boy on the landing facing the double stair- way. most of the employees poked fun at the stern, bewhiskered visage of the erect, somewhat soldierly old pirate, dubbing it the "face on the gold room floor." but kriss revered the venerable old man and when no one was about, ofttimes stood for minutes before his portrait. he reminded her of her great grandfather, whom she vaguely remembered seeing when she was five or six. he had the same stern look and a great white forest of whiskers, and his eyes were the ice-cold blue of the godwin in the portrait. her mother had always maintained that her great grandfather was a bonafide german count, but as a little girl kriss had thought of him as god. however, this morning she didn't pass the portrait but continued quickly along a side hall toward the elevator. there were four floors given over to the institute personnel. the main floor with its formal garden was unused, being main- tained as a museum. and the servants' quarters in the rear of the right wing were closed and empty, except for a suite occupied by the superintendent . kriss's office was on the third floor in what had once been a guest bedroom, but was now partitioned into three small offices, of which hers was the center. on her way past she smiled and said hello to dorothy stone, kirby's secretary, who had the office to her left. dorothy gave her a scintillating smile in return, looking as if she had scads of things to talk about. but kriss didn't stop. her office was furnished with a glass-top desk on which lay several stacks of typed pages, her telephone, an inkwell, an empty porcelain vase, and a small bright glass globe of the world; a metal typewriter stand holding a new plastic-covered upright typewriter; a new desk chair and two leather-uphol- stered straight-backed chairs, leftovers from the original furnish- ings. on the deep window ledge at her back, a pigeon had built a nest and was now sitting on four eggs. kriss made a soft clucking sound and the pigeon looked at her indignantly. she gave a little girl's laugh—her private laugh reserved for animals, children, and television comedians. "go on," she whispered. "i don't want to sit on your old eggs." the pigeon stirred ner- vously. "now you know how i felt when you used to stand there and stare at me by the hour," kriss said, then hung her coat on the tree in the corner and sat at her desk. the institute had its origin in a foundation left by godwin for the purpose of bringing ambitious indian students to the united states to study. for more than twenty-five years it had been directed by a small staff of elderly women, retired school teachers and the like, who had played nursemaid to a small select group of high-caste hindus as they attended the ivy league universities. but following the war, during india's crusade for independence, it had assumed a startling stature as a source of reference and a point of contact, not only in the field of education but for the federal government, private enterprise, and all other major foundations as well. so the trustees had reorganized, and expanded the personnel to over two hundred. having soon outgrown the modest fund of eleven million dollars left by m. cornelius godwin, the new india institute was subsidized by more than a dozen other foundations and indirectly by the federal government. kriss had started four and a half years before at a salary of fifty dollars weekly, when the staff had been comparatively small. now her salary was six thousand dollars a year and she had the title of assistant director. she wrote the summaries of the institute projects which were sent, as prospectuses, to all of the subsidizing foundations and the u.s. state depart- ment. she was important, well-liked, and permanently situated. and yet she had liked her temporary job at the chicago foundation far more. on this morning, as on every morning, when facing the day's tedious work, she vividly recalled her office in the old mansion in chicago overlooking the spacious grounds that had formed a circle of exclusiveness, the leisurely personalized routine, the president's morning kiss —that is after she had begun sleeping with him—lunch on the terrace, bridge in the cardroom before dinner, conversation and drinking afterward, always the visitors: goodlooking negro professionals, artists, writers, college deans and presidents; the excitement of choosing the one she wanted for the night, which was the only reason she ever had to return to her apart- ment in those days. this memory lasted but a moment, yet it formed a definite black. she was still alert, still eager, still confident, but her mind didn't want to engage the task before her. for fifteen minutes she read the morning paper, after which she sorted her work, called her secretary from the floor below, and gave her the pages to be typed, and rapidly read the com- pleted summaries for typographical errors. she was an expert proofreader with a complete command of punctuation and grammatical construction, and in addition a very excellent writer of clear explanatory prose. her sentences were always concise and to the point, never ambiguous, and were phrased with amazing simplicity and conclusiveness and in perfect logical sequence. men would never believe a woman wrote such prose until they were taken into her office and confronted with the author. then they wanted to date her. at ten o'clock she began composing in longhand and con- tinued without interruption for an hour, by which time she had written nine pages. at eleven anne sayers, her assistant, came in to ask if she wanted coffee. "yes, dear, thank you," she replied without looking up. anne was a huge young women, over six feet tall, with a round pleasant face, a mop of tan curls, and was smart as a whip. she compiled the data for the summaries, checked the facts and figures with the sources. her office was located in the wing overlooking the court. there were only women in that section and something like a boarding school atmosphere prevailed. anne had a sideboard in her office where she kept tea, coffee, tea biscuits, cocktail crackers, jars of cheeses, tins of hors d'oeuvres, and usually a bottle of claret and a bottle of sherry; and, of course, cups and saucers, sugar and—if she thought to bring it—cream. an electric coffee pot, a cocktail service, and a set of silverware completed the stock. kriss's only concession to office refreshment was a silver flask of scotch she kept in her desk drawer; but coffee was always wel- come at this time. with it she could take another pill. a few minutes later anne returned with a flaming face. "god damn it!" she choked furiously. kriss looked up in surprise. "why—what's the trouble, anne?" "that damned watson again!" watson was the personnel director. he disapproved of the girls making coffee and toast in the big pleasant bathroom day," she said, "and he doesn't know how much anne weighs." "oh, that reminds me of a joke i wanted to tell you. mrs. donahue told it to me last night." she grinned. "i don't know where she hears such things." kriss knew mrs. donahue, the eighty-two-year-old semi-in- valid with whom dorothy lived, and she knew why the old lady told dorothy those rabelaisian jokes—she thought her prim, genteel roomer much too respectable for her own good. so did kriss. she gave dorothy a wicked grin. "tell me, baby." anne came in at that moment with the coffee and dorothy hesitated; she couldn't bear to be intimate with another woman. but when kriss urged, "go on, dot, tell anne, too," she began: "well—" then she looked at anne and blurted, "i got this from my landlady." anne flung a quick look at her and continued serving the coffee. "she knows, dear," kriss said. "well—there was a texan wandering about the city wearing a ten gallon hat . . ." now anne looked solidly at dorothy, but bit back the words, "you don't say?" instead she put her sting into the anonymous texan. "with water on the brain." kriss chuckled. "no doubt, dear. but not ten gallons?" "just like a texan. always exaggerating." "do you want to hear this story or not?" dorothy complained jealously. "let dot tell her story," kriss said. "this texan ran into an actor on broadway desssed like a quaker. he'd never seen a quaker before. so he went up to the actor and said, talk some quaker for me, will you, friend.' the actor smiled indulgently and tried to pass, but the texan took hold of his arm. 'oh, come on, partner, talk some quaker for me. ah never heard nobody talk quaker.' the actor tried to disengage his arm, but the texan held him firmly. 'ah tell you what i'll do, friend. if you talk some quaker for me, i'll buy you the best feed they can throw to- gether at .' when the texan said that, the actor turned slowly and looked him straight in the eye, and said, "befoul thee!'" kriss laughed with childish glee. "someone should tell that to watson. the last part, i mean." even anne giggled. "ih tell him. you just wait. and i won't say thee, either!" dorothy glanced at her watch. "oh, i've got to run; kirby wants me before lunch." she gave kriss a beseeching smile. "what i wanted was to ask you to go with me to the museum of modern art this evening. ifs the opening of the monet ex- hibition." through the corners of her eyes kriss noticed anne flick a glance at her as she began stacking the dirty cups and saucers. once they had discussed dorothy's passion for art exhibitions, but now she felt a slight disloyalty for having done so. "i'm so tired, baby. can't we go some other time," she beg- ged off. anne carted off the coffee service without comment . "oh, kriss . . ." she'd promised herself not to feel badly if kriss couldn't go, but she couldn't keep the disappointment from her voice. kriss felt sorry for her. "oh, baby, i'm just so tired." then, relenting, she said. "why don't you come and have dinner with me tonight.** "but—but . . ."she couldn't bring herself to ask. "he won't be here tonight," kriss assured her. "nor any other night," she thought bitterly. now dorothy was happy. she looked like a girl who'd been asked on a date. "all right . but you let me do everything. prom- ise?" kriss wondered again if dorothy understood her own emo- tions. a veil lowered over her eyes. "i promise," she said, chuckling mechanically. if i find myself in bed with dot, that'll be the bitter end, she thought. "make it around seven-thirty." "all right , then, at seven-thirty." she regretted it instantly. but at least dot would be better than being alone. anything was better than being alone. "you louse!" she thought with sudden venom, but whether her venom was directed toward ronny or ted or dave or anyone else in particular, she didn't even know herself. chapter four jesse came up from the subway through the arcade with its tobacco shops, barber shops, shoeshine parlors, notion stores, florist, lunch counters, turkish baths, to the north side of forty- second street, next to the corner drugstore. "this is what they mean by the underworld," he had thought in passing, and now he viewed the upper side with equal distaste. from where he stood at the corner of eighth avenue—a pesthole of petty thugs where a man could buy a gun, hot or man, "whyoncha pick on somebody yo' own size?" a snigger ran though the crowd. "he slipped up on me," the short man defended his prow- ess. "go on, go on," the cop said. "i can tell you never wuz a boy scout." "never was a boy, son," jesse thought. "where'd you study psychiatry?" further on a bookstore claimed his vagrant attention. he stopped for a moment, searching among the titles for those of his own two books. there were several books by negro writ- ers, but not his. "if you ever find someone who's read your books youll drop dead," he told himself. his gaze picked out the title lost horizon. "good and lost right here," he thought . then he recalled an editor who had rejected his second book, complaining, "why do you fellows always write this kind of thing? some of you have real talent. why don't you try writing about people, just people." he had countered, "white people, you mean?" the editor had reddened. "no, i don't mean white people. i mean people! like maugham and hilton write about , for instance. he laughed at the recollection and his bitterness left "i should have told him i don't know no eskimos, and that's all the people they left . don't even know no apemen, i should have told him, and no apes either, for that matter—although he probably wouldn't have believed that, close as he thinks i am to africa." the thought kept tickling him as he ambled along, unmindful of the fairy who trailed him on the lee side. "my folks didn't do right by me," he said aloud suddenly. "they shouldn't have got themselves caught." suddenly he turned and retraced his steps to another small bookstore that had just registered on his mind, disconcerting the man. he stared at the titles without really seeing them, a sort of reflex gesture. "what i really ought to have told the half-wit," he thought , "is why don't you read the old testa- ment , son? or even rabelais for that matter. that's the way i should have started the damn book." he blew laughter from his nostrils. "the nigger woke, sat up, scratched at the lice, stood up, made a wind, natured, gargled, harked, spat, sat down, ate a dishpan of stewed chitterlings, drank a gallon of lightning, hated the white folks for an hour, went out and stole some chickens, raped a white woman, got lynched by a mob, scratched his kinky head and said, boss. ah's tahd uh gittin' lynched. ah's so weary kain keep man eyes open. and the boss said go on home an' sleep, nigger, that's all you niggers is good for. so he went back to his shanty, stealing a watermelon on the way, ate the watermelon, rind and all, lay down on his pallet, blinked, yawned, and went to sleep hat- ing the white folks." "we can't print this dung," the editor would have said. "why not?" he would have asked. "it's too bitter. people are fed up with this kind of protest." "what is protest but satire?" "satire? satire must be witty, ironic, sarcastic; it must appeal to the intellect. this dung is filth." "all dung is filth. are you surprised?" "at what?" a falsetto voice asked at his side. for the first time he noticed the fairy. he was big, blond, and well dressed, had a pleasant face, but greedy blue eyes. jesse turned and walked on without replying. in front of him two painted showgirls, flanking a tall woozy westerner, came from the hotel dixie and crossed toward a waiting taxi. he caught a whiff of lanvin's my sin and found himself look- ing at their slender nyloned legs, long-eyed and woman hungry. for an instant he stopped and considered turning back to eighth avenue and heading uptown. there were always cruis- ing prostitutes in that section from forty-second street through jacob's beach, even this early in the morning. but he put it from his mind. he'd always been afraid of disease, not so much for his own sake, but he'd been afraid of infecting his wife. "wouldn't believe that about a nigger, would you?" he thought. although once he'd taken all comers who were thought to be healthy. for a moment his thoughts went back to that time in , when all liberals were trying desperately to elect roosevelt for a fourth term, and the cio's political action committee had been all the rage—"clear it with sidney"—sidney hillman and the boys. he always thought of that time at least once a day. not so much with regret as with wonder. "greatest time in the history of the republic for interracial love making," he thought. "nothing like politics for getting white love. black love, either, for that matter." and after a moment he said aloud, "old jimmy. wonder if he ever got enough." jimmy had been a lieutenant in the navy then, handsome chap in his whites. hollywood scenario writer now; he'd seen a first-run class a picture a few weeks ago jimmy had done the scenario for. cleo, the wife of a negro newspaper editor, had been nuts about him. "this is cleo, jimmy, she can do it hanging from a chande- lier," had been the way maud introduced them. for a moment his thoughts lingered pleasantly on maud. "what a bitch!" he thought. "a great woman, really. greater than anybody'!! ever know!" many times he'd considered writ- ing a novel about her. but he'd never been able to get the handle to the story. "great madame, actually. worked with her tools. besides which she was a cheat, liar, thief, master of intrigue, without conscience or scruples, and respectable too. that was the lick—the respectability." he felt a cynical amusement . "son, that's the trick. here's a whore who's friend of the mighty, lunches with the mayor's wife, entertains the rich, the very rich, on all kinds of interracial committees, a great negro social leader. while you, you with your so-called integrity, are just a pest and a nuisance." suddenly he was at the curb of seventh avenue. opposite was the times building; across forty-second a restaurant with tables out of doors. uptown to his left was another small theatre that specialized in weird off-trail films, displaying a huge poster of a leopard-skinned wild man bearing off a half-clad blonde. "that's just what you should be, son," he told himself. "then you could just grab one too and run and all they'd do would just be to make a film of it." beyond was the glittering front of the astor hotel, looking out on the chasm of times square; the bottom of the v where the canteen had been, now replaced by a recruiting center; and on the other side was the old stone profile of hotel claridge which had once housed the hall of science on the second floor where he had worked as a porter. he thought of the narrow marble stairway he'd had to scrub five times a day. "i wonder who's scrubbing you now," he thought to the tune of the popular song. but the hall of science was gone, defunct, no more, and the great white way looked cheap and naked and repulsive in the bright morning sunlight, like a striptease on awakening, fumbling about a small dingy hotel room in a soiled kimono, fixing her morning needle. he now felt only a deep, welling loneliness. "you dood it yourself, son," he said, "you thought you were being noble," and turned in at the first theatre without looking to see what was showing. an automatic middle-aged blonde stopped tally- ing her change long enough to push an automatic key for his automatic ticket and he went through a long, narrow, mirrored foyer, garnished with scenes from coming attractions, into the dim, musty interior. he turned to the right and climbed the dusty, worn carpeted stairs, which smelled strongly of stale urine, to the balcony, which smelled strongly of stale people. he went down the perilous stairs to the front row and took a seat between a young white man in a sweater and a sleeping negro, one seat removed from each. suddenly he felt exhausted. "you think too much, son," he told himself. "your head's for knots, not thoughts." and then, "besides which, its un- american." kriss remained at her desk until six o'clock to finish the report on the reverend john saxton project for an indian prot- estant school, then took the madison avenue bus home. as a rule she enjoyed this ride down the graystone and gleaming- glass canyon, past the window-lighted chain of women's shops, the shiny bustling entrance to the c.b.s. building, the brittle pyramids of the ad writers, the gloomy old mansion of random house, turning at forty-second through the tide of day's-end traffic over to grand central, down lower park avenue until it changed its name to fourth, and over to lexington at twenty-fourth street. it ran a crooked line through the city's heart, from the high brass notes of the hucksters to the low muted scale of gramercy park, and on nights when she'd known dave was coming she could hear the heart beat. she loved the city and all who inhabited it, but never when alone; in alone- ness it was a prison. now the tired faces against the city lights were like mirrors of her mind. she dreaded her empty apart- ment almost to fear. at twenty-third street she walked over to third avenue and down, stopping at her favorite delicatessen and green- grocer to buy a small barbecued chicken, frozen peas, whip- ped potatoes and a salad. when she turned her key in the lock she felt ready to expire. her mind felt dead, her body dry as straw—a desert waste. she went straight to the kitchen, depos- ited her purse and purchases on the sideboard, melted loose two icecubes, and mixed a stiff scotch and soda. only after she'd taken a long, cool, soothing swallow did she feel slightly human again. she hung up her coat and took the drink on a silver coaster to the sitting room, eased herself into the straight-backed three-legged chair which rested her, and opened last week's new yorker magazine. it was always at this time, the fag-end of a hard day, that thoughts of ronny invaded her mind, and the new yorker lay neglected on her lap. now, before the drink began taking hold, she recalled the happy things, nights talking until daylight before an open fire, their drunken wit, picking their friends to pieces. . . . "if hal could lift his brains three feet, get them back into his head, he'd be a great man'" ronny would nor a sigh, a sort of blowing from the mouth and nostrils all the vanities behind which people hide themselves. and she knew, with suddenly diffused emotions, even before she heard the soft slurred voice with its faint, almost indistinguish- able lisp, that it would say, "hello, kriss-baby, this is jesse." in the following instant it all came back: chicago and maud and that divine weekend that fern had later destroyed with all those lies about herself and jesse in new york. she'd come closest to loving him of any of them since willard—except ted, of course. "i really loved ted," she told herself. but it had gone into contempt, and he had married some negro woman in los angeles. she had never felt contempt for jesse, although she didn't know why. he deserved it if anyone ever did, and she wished she felt it now as she said with cold venom, "have you murdered your wife?" he laughed and his tension relaxed. jesse had been waiting in his room since three o'clock to call her. the idea had come upon him in the movie that morn- ing but he'd decided against calling her in her office. it had been over three years since he had seen her and he didn't know what kind of reception to expect. the last time he'd seen her had been disastrous. on his way home he'd picked up a bottle of gin, and had forced himself to wait until six-thirty. then he'd decided to go downstairs and use the public telephone be- cause the two extensions in the apartment were in the bedroom of leroy and mr. ward, and he didn't want to be overheard. kriss was unpredictable. she might say, "go to hell!" and hang up, and he didn't want to be seen with his mouth hanging open holding a dead receiver. there was an old-fashioned pay phone on the whitewashed wall of the basement hallway, where he put in his call, and while he was waiting for an answer two pretty school-age girls came from the green door of the super's flat, and looked at him as they passed. he whistled a bar of // / had you and they went into the elevator giggling, and he experienced the sudden blind panic of being lost in a world he no longer understood, a feeling which had been seizing him of late. "you damned fool, what are you doing this for?" he asked himself, the whole tide of all his disappointments and frustra- tions washing up and over him; and when he heard her voice his heart caught. he knew then he didn't feel a thing for her; he just wanted to sleep with a white woman again. but after he had laughed it was all right. "i love you, kriss-baby," he murmured. "you say the nicest things." she didn't answer but he could hear her purring on the other end, and he knew she was wearing that secret sensual look she always wore when her men came back to her. "i've sold a book," he said. td like to take you out to din- *****" ner. "are you living in the city now?" "i just came back a week ago. i have a room up on convent." there was a pause and she asked, "is your wife with you?" the thought occurred to him suddenly that he'd never heard her call becky's name. "we're separated," he said. "i haven't seen her now in almost a year." she was silent for a moment, then asked, "when's your book to be published?" "well, it's not exactly sold, really. hobson just took an option on it. they want to cut it." "what's the title?" " was looking for a street.'" "i hope it's nothing like that last thing you wrote," she said viciously. "i'm tired of listening to you negroes whining. i've got enough worries of my own." he laughed deprecatingly. "this has no protest, baby. i've made a separate peace." although she didn't answer immediately, he knew by her silence she considered that a special concession to herself. "i have engagements for tonight and tomorrow night, but i have thursday night free." he tried to keep the disappointment from his voice. "what time shall i call for you?" "seven-thirty. you have my address?" "i have the one in the directory." "all right, ih expect you at seven-thirty." she sounded brusque. "until then, kriss-baby. do nothing i wouldn't do." "that's practically nothing," she said viciously and hung up. slowly he walked toward the elevator. "son, eat your crow and like it," he said. at that instant the elevator door opened and the super emerged, lugging a short stepladder. he looked about and seeing no one besides jesse appeared startled. "i thought i heard you talking." jesse grinned, unaware that he had spoken aloud. "they got you hearing things," he said. he had put on his new oxford-blue flannel suit, bought the week before at a pawnshop on columbus avenue that offered factory rejects and slightly shopworn dummy models at half price. it was a beautiful suit of soft imported fabric, and with it he wore plain black english-made shoes from wanamaker's spring shoe sale, a buttoned-down white oxford-cloth shirt and a heavy silk gray and white tie of abstract design, both of which had come from gimbel's bargain basement . "all you need now is an umbrella, a bowler hat, a mutton chop, a glass of claret, lank hair and a white skin, and you'd be on your way to civilize the world, son," he told himself disparagingly, then added, "you've got the right inclinations anyway." he glanced outside at the weather. a slight drizzle was fall- ing. he put on his hat and a faded trench coat that kriss had admired seven years ago when it was new and they were new to each other, tucked a bottle of bourbon under his arm, wonder- ing suddenly what it was he wanted downtown that wasn't up- town in abundance. he found her name, mrs. kristina w. cummings, beneath the letter slot in the vestibule and pressed the bell beside it. after a moment kriss pressed the button beside the house phone in her back hallway, releasing the lock on the outside door. he entered quickly and hastened down the tiled corridor, grate- ful to find it empty, and at the back turned left to the door of her apartment. she opened the door before he rang again, and for an im- perceptible moment they stared at one another, their smiles of greeting frozen in slight shock. clad in a simple sleeveless black cocktail dress with a low square-cut neck, oramented by a heavy silver necklace and a pair of magnificent silver bracelets, she was a very handsome woman. but she wasn't the woman he remembered; he found no hint of the daredevil girl whom he'd once liked; instead he saw what appeared in flash judgment to be an assured, humorless, slightly dull woman wrapped in an impregnable respectability. for her part she saw in him nothing of the irresponsible woman hunter with the ready grin and brilliant eyes with whom she had spent those three exquisite days, his frantic sexuality like an aphrodisiac flame; nor anything of the repulsive drunk who had so infuriated her four years later, who at least had possessed a certain bitter effervescence that had made him in- teresting. this man before her, in the old trench coat she recog- nized immediately, was dead; hurt had settled so deep inside of him it had become a part of his metabolism. not that he had changed so greatly in outward appearance—not nearly as much as she had hoped. outwardly he looked much the same, the youthful contours of his face, the athletic figure, thinner perhaps, although his head seemed much smaller with his hair cut so short and thinning too, like an onion head— she liked men with hair, lots of hair, even though it be woolly. it was inside of him the light had gone out. but both recovered instantaneously. tm fat," she greeted, grinning tentatively, and he noticed about her bright blue eyes a faint border of red, as if she had been crying recently. 'tm thin," he said, returning her grin. and now somewhat lamely, since she no longer seemed the type who would ap- preciate it, he added, "i brought bourbon instead of flowers." for the first time she grinned a little like old times. "we'll drink our flowers." he went into the sitting room while she mixed the drinks, scotch for herself and bourbon for him, and when she brought them in he said with genuine admiration, "you have a beauti- ful place, kriss. it's really lovely." and then added, looking her over frankly. "you know, you're beautiful too." she sat on her favorite three-legged chair, pleased for the moment by bis flattery. "my assistant, anne, helped with the decor. she's studying interior decorating and the stores give her a discount." "are you still at the same job?" "i'm still with the institute." then, her voice filling with pride, "i'm a big girl now, tm an assistant director." there was vindictiveness in it too, and he wondered vaguely what had happened to her. "do you ever see maud?" "i saw her during the christmas season at a party at ed jones. she tried to ignore me at first but when she saw how nice ed and everyone else was to me she came over and started gushing, trying to make as if she hadn't seen me. she's heard i had something to do with sending the personnel to india and she wants to use me again. i was cold as ice." "how is ed?" he asked politely. "not that i give a damn," he thought. ed jones was a very successful negro artist who ran a private art school. "fine. i love julia, she's so sweet and real." "she's a nice girl," he said, although he'd never met her, but he felt it necessary to be agreeable. "i was frightened to death when i walked into that party," kriss confessed. "it was the first time in years i'd been to a party of negroes, and i didn't know what sort of stories maud had put out about me. but ed was very nice and i knew most of the people there. then dinky bloom said, 'oh, kriss is one of us anyway. she's been around niggers so long she's rubbed off enough black to be half nigger herself.'" she smiled her secret sensuous smile, thinking of the implica- tions of the statement. he was thinking the same thing, half-amused, but didn't pursue it. "what happened between you and maud? i haven't seen them since we had that falling out." "god, that woman hurt me!" the hurt coming through in her voice. "i lived with them when i first came to new york." "i didn't know." "i practically paid their rent and liquor bills. i had that little sitting room where you stayed, and when they entertained —which was practically every night, serving my liquor—i couldn't go to bed until all the guests left, although joe would go into his room and go to bed and leave his company sitting up. and i had to get up before any of them. then when i broke off with ted, maud practically threw me out. and we'd been just like sisters for years." "i know," he said, thinking, "lovers, baby, not sisters. maud never liked anybody she couldn't sleep with—man or woman. i know her." after a moment he asked, "why should she care? it was none of her business, was it?" "oh, she wanted me to marry ted so she could sleep with him when joe and i were at work." he picked up the empty glass and when she went to the kitchen to make fresh drinks, he followed her, wondering wheth- er he should kiss her then or wait. she didn't appear to be in a kissing mood so he said, "this is a nice kitchen, every- thing's arranged so well." and when they went back to the sitting room he said, "i really like your place." this time she didn't respond and he looked at her thinking, "the hell of it is, son, you don't remember a damn thing about that weekend; you were blotto all the time and afterwards never remembered a thing past the moment when you first kissed her." but aloud he asked, "what happened to you and ted? the last time—in fact the only time—i saw you two together was at a party in brooklyn. i think that was the only time i ever saw ted—the only time i remember. he was a good-looking boy though, as i remember." "i practically supported the rat," she said with sudden venom. "he was always running after cheap white people, thinking they were going to make him rich. he thought i didn't know anything, and i was supporting him." "what's he doing now?" " hope he's dead." "you probably wish i was dead too," he thought . in the silence that followed, realizing their need of each other, both now ostracized from the only exciting life they had ever known, both starved for sexual fulfillment, lost and lonely, out-casts drifting together long after the passion had passed, faced with a night of sleeping together which at that moment neither de- sired, they hated each other. she glanced at her watch and said, hurtingly, "shall we go now, or do we drink our dinner?" he bit back the impulse to say, "go to hell!" telling himself, "i'm going to have you whether you like it or not." then man- aged a thin smile, saying instead, "it wouldn't be the first time." "if you intend to get drunk you can get out right now," she said viciously. "i intend to take you to dinner," he said evenly. "the last time i saw you, you were nasty drunk. filthy! god, you were nasty. and i wanted you so." he gave her a bewildered look. "what did i do? the last i remember is vomiting all over don's white davenport." "god, ralph was mad. if you hadn't been so drunk he would have beaten you." he felt acutely embarrassed. "i don't blame him." "and i would have helped him." "but what did i do to you?" "jesse! if you ever ..." he had taken roy by that afternoon for don to see some of his etchings. that had been the summer following his visit to the big deluxe artists' colony called skiddoo, and he'd been sick—sick in the head. that place had made him sick like nothing else in all his life—or perhaps he'd been sick when he went up there. perhaps it was the book that had made him sick—that second book—and perhaps all skiddoo did was bring it out. some day he'd have to sit down and discover why he had hated skiddoo and all the artists there. but roy had been the exception; he'd liked roy and had hoped don would buy some of his war etchings to put him on his feet. instead of buying the etchings, don had taken their visit as an excuse to throw a party. by six o'clock a dozen or so persons were grouped about the big circular cocktail table in the sitting room and don was serving one pitcher after another of a strong gin drink he called a "gimlet." the last thing jesse remembered before throwing up all over the sofa was baiting a woman named muriel slater whom he despised. on entering she had dismissed roy's etchings and, seating herself in the center of the floor, had taken off her shoes and launched into a loud discussion about a big black negro actor with whom she'd been sleeping off and on for years. she was one of those hard brassy over- ripened blondes, always loud-and-wrong. during the last roo- sevelt campaign when the communists and negroes had been working together again for roosevelt's election, she'd been employed as a party giver by the central committee of the communist party; and after the publication of jesse's anti-com- munist book, she, as had all of his communist acquaintances and most of his negro friends, had quit speaking to him. he remembered saying to her, "muriel, baby, i know you have a beautiful clean mind and a pure unsullied soul, but your feet are dirty. look at them. really dirty, and not nearly so beauti- ful as your mind. don't you feel embarrassed on climbing into bed with some strange man with your dirty feet?" he re- membered her fury, and although he couldn't remember when kriss had arrived, he remembered winking at her, then taking another drink, and the next thing he remembered was vomiting on the sofa. . . . "what did i say to your "jesse! if you ever . . ." "just tell me what i said." "i won't repeat what you said. i've never had anyone in all my life say the nasty things to me that you did. if i'd been a man i would have hit you in the face." he shook his head. "i was sick. that summer i was really sick." and to himself, "sicker than you thought, son." "i don't want to ever see you like that again." "i've gotten over it. i've made a separate peace. i mean it." she stood up. "we'd better go; it's getting late." "do you have any place in mind?" "oh, anywhere we can get served quickly. i don't feel up to a lot of bother." "how about nick's?" "that's all right. we can have steaks." they were tense and silent in the taxi as it skirted the quiet darkness of gramercy park, past the old stone mansions with their brass knockers and foot scrapers and shining carriage lamps, and turned south on irving place. he glanced in passing at the front of the picturesque bar where it is said o'henry spent many brooding hours, and he thought, "son, you and me both." and a moment later, as they came in fourteenth whom paul had lived with—and off, too—that summer. roy had come too, bringing a very dignified and respectable looking woman whom he had introduced as estelle. she had looked as out of place as becky in that dirty two-room flat. paul had been well along the way when they arrived receiv- ing them dressed in a spotted tee shirt that looked as if it might have served duty as a cleaning rag, and incredibly filthy white duck pants, the seat of which was absolutely black. and kathy wore a soiled and rumpled sun-back playsuit that appeared to have made several tours of coney island since its previous laundering: the both of them giving the impression by their unkept hair and red smeared lips of having just arisen from bed. the dinner, sent up from the corner delicatessen, had con- sisted of greenish-tinted slices of hard-boiled eggs, curled and fragrant slices of bologna sausage withered slices of tomatoes dressed with dabs of yellow paste, and watery cabbage slaw; and had been served on an egg-and-wine stained, repulsively filthy paper table covering. however, paul had provided eight quarts of domestic ale and a gallon of california sherry, and since roy's lady friend drank only a very little sherry, and kathy no more than a quart of ale, there had been plenty left for the three escapees from skiddoo, wine and ale being a combination they'd found to be satisfactorily potent during their sojourn there. becky had drunk against despair. when the sherry was finished, paul and kathy had begun slobbering over each other in a manner that presaged violent passionate action at any moment. fearful of this action taking place right there on the floor, which would have been nothing new for greenwich village, and having no curiosity about the sex habits of psychotic writers, estelle had quietly departed. and an hour later, never having remembered what took place in the interim, jesse had found himself standing at the bar in nick's with becky between himself and roy, ordering three bottles of ale, and the bartender had charged him seventy cents for each. he had thought nothing of it until the woman at his left asked, "how much did he charge you for your ale?" he looked at her trying to get her face into focus. "seventy cents. why?" "we had ale just before you came in and he only charged us thirty-five cents," she informed him. he didn't remember what happened immediately following. the next thing he remembered he was shouting at the top of his voice, "what the hell kind of god-damned stuff is this! that had been the most awful thing that had ever happened to roy, and the day after the hearing he had revealed himself to jesse as a homosexual, making a grand slam of all the white men jesse had met that summer, which he always thought of afterward as the summer of the da-da-dee, a nameless tune he had shouted through the nights at skiddoo, coming back to the estate from the cheap bars in niggertown in the early hours of the morning, weary and bedraggled and blotto. it's basic theme was the melody of a popular song on the juke box in his favorite downtown negro bar, sung by ella fitz- gerald, with words that went, til get by as long as i have you . . . but he had never known this. it was just a sound that had kept him going the four miles down the dark and sleeping elm-lined highway back to the quiet splendor of skiddoo when he had felt more like just lying in the gutter and never getting up. . . . and why, after that, he chose to come back to nick's with kriss— "customary!" he thought grimly, as they alighted from the taxi. "they always return to the scene—what kind of detective stories you been reading, you don't know that?" they were taken to a booth along the wall up front, to one side of the dixieland band. the place looked completely dif- ferent from his memory of it, and he could not concieve of why he had caused such a row. everything seemed perfectly normal he thought of a boy he knew in harlem who said he smoked marijuana because it made him feel so normal. "you know one thing, jesse, only time i ever feel normal is when i'm high." jesse wondered, half-amused, if a white woman had the same effect on him. "get a white woman and go from schizo- phrenia to homogenia," he thought, half smiling, but caught such a malevolent look on kriss's face, he amended the thought, "you must have bought the wrong ticket, son." she had been thinking, "god-damn dave to hell!" the last time she'd been there, he had taken her, and she had felt the envy of the other women. now she felt their indifference, bringing a sense of shame, and in a roundabout way she was enraged with jesse by hating dave. if jesse were big and black like charlie thompson, the union official with whom she'd spent a weekend in cleveland, clinging possessively to his arm as they walked down euclid, she could have felt a daredevil defiance. or, if he were gorgeous like ted, she wouldn't even have to look to see how they were taking it; she could just relax and feel hated. all of them had wanted ted, his thick the seams in her fleshy neck. the next thing he noticed his glass was empty and a film was showing. he got up to mix more drinks for them both and found both bottles nearly empty. "i must be getting drunk," he thought, as he bumped against the wall when returning to the sitting room. "power of sugges- tion." he did not remember reaching the sitting room. his next conscious action was finding her inert on the faded blue sheet, eyes closed. he stood looking down at her until vague wisps of desire were transmitted from his brain; then he heard his voice saying with a slightly shocked note, "damn, you're white!" she opened her eyes and looked at him with the last flicker of sensual pleasure. "i'm about as white as one can be," she said distinctly. for a long time their senses were dulled almost to insen- sibility with drunkenness. her first reaction was memory: he had come into her office in chicago shortly before noon, wearing the same trench coat, new then and somehow dashing, and a double-breasted business suit with handstitched lapels. his hair was long and heavily greased with an interesting kin- kiness, and she had noticed instantly his long girlish eyelashes and beautiful eyes. he didn't look at all like the type of young negro writer who'd been given fellowships, neither hungry nor scholarly nor intellectual nor "called." more like a good lover with that air of frantic animality scarcely contained be- neath his respectful manner. so she had taken him to the execu- tives' luncheon to meet the president and other officials, and afterwards she'd had him wait in her office while she finished some reports. he had sat in one of the straight-backed uncom- fortable chairs, looking at her all the while with restrained and polite desire until she couldn't stand the warmth. she'd sug- gested that he go and do whatever he had to do and come to her apartment at six for dinner. ronny had been in the army then—overseas at that. he had brought bourbon, like this time, and she'd made her special goulash. afterwards they'd sat on the sofa in her pleasant sitting room, drinking slowly, and he had told her all about himself; she refusing to answer the intermittent ringing of the telephone. all that time sitting at opposite ends of the sofa, turned toward each other, her legs tucked beheath her and one of his beneath himself. then he had said, "i think i'm going to kiss you," and her face took on a melting look as she offered him her mouth and he had moved close to her and that first kiss had been almost as pen- etrating as the moment of conception. he had undressed first and was in bed and—of all things—covered up when she had to sleep. his startled gaze searched the dim cell-like room and, finding everything strange, he felt a shattering of emotion. he was on the verge of leaping up and searching for the light of reason when his hand encountered a body beside him in the bed. peering from bloodshot eyes, he recognized the matted head of kriss. "ready to light out and run, eh, son?" he thought, laughing at himself with self-disparagement . she appeared to be asleep. he moved towards her. "maybe she won't awaken," he thought hopefully. half-laughing, he recalled a burlesque skit of a guy in a hotel room eavesdropping on a honeymoon couple in the next room who were trying to close an over-stuffed suitcase. "no, not that way," he said as she tried to close it with her hands. "ill put it on the floor and you get on top." the eavesdropper's ears perked up. but it still wouldn't close, so she said, "oh shucks, it won't fit—you get on top." the eavesdropper's ears wagged in a frenzy. but it still wouldn't close, so he said, "let's both get on top." that's where the eavesdropper broke down the adjoining door. "this i gotta see!" he cried. but kriss pushed him viciously and said in a cold, dictatorial voice, "jesse, i've got to go to work. you don't have anything to do but hang around some harlem bar and you can sleep all day." "fine," he said, and turned over as if to go back to sleep. "you can't sleep here!" she said, trying to push him from the bed. "my maid's coming this morning to clean up," she lied, then, to infuriate him, she added, "go back to your wife then, she'll let you sleep all day. she always has." and when getting to his feet, he said, "go to hell!" she giggled maliciously. he found the switch for the hall light and went into the bathroom without replying. she had a glimpse of his body be- fore he closed the door, smooth sepia skin, strong back and broad shoulders, his well-formed legs and smooth calves, almost hairless, that could have been a woman's; she thought of other women who'd seen him in the morning and she resented his body bitterly. "he's five years older than i am," she thought, indulging in the complicated reasoning of attributing his youth- ful appearance to the fact that white people, like herself, sup- ported him so he could write a book every four or five years about what mean bullies the white people, like herself, were; while for her part, she had grown old trying to defend the lazy niggers. "if they had to work as hard as i do they'd all die," she concluded. he looked at his greasy reflection in the mirror and thought, "you don't look a damn bit different, son." there were five toothbrushes on the rack; to one side on a wall shelf of glass a box of talcum powder, comb and brush, colognes and per- fumes; beside the tub one gray and one white bath towel. inside of the medicine cabinet he found two safety razors, a container of blades, many bottles labeled with a doctor's prescription, a septic pencil and a man's comb, aftershaving lotion, an the bottle of blue tablets which had the shape of dexedrine but not the color. "man, woman, and doctor," he thought, immediately amending it to, "statue of modern woman stand- ing atop a drugstore, right hand lifting nude male to prophy- lactic couch, left hand behind back beckoning to hovering figure of doctor in background with two middle fingers crossed." when he came from the bathroom she said, as though to a servant "jesse! put on some water for coffee and make some toast." he went into the sitting room without replying and found his shorts among his other clothes heaped in a pile on the floor. she giggled luxuriously at his silent resentment . "get the paper from outside the door and turn on the television to gloucester," she directed. "i've had it now, little sister, for what it was worth," he thought, disdaining to reply. after donning underwear, sox, pants and shoes, he went to the kitchen, poured the remnants of the scotch and bourbon into a water tumbler, ran it full of water from the tap and drank it down without stopping. on a high shelf beside the stove he noticed an unopened bottle of imported sherry and a half-filled bottle of vermouth. looking through the refrigerator he found a remnant of grilled steak, a barbecued chicken leg, and two fried crab cakes, all of which he ate greedily without bread. the liquor took immediate effect and he began to feel good, bubbly with laughter inside, but slightly dazed as if everything, both mental and material, were just a wee bit out of line. "what i prescribe for the world is continuous drunkenness," he thought amusedly as he broke two raw eggs into his highball glass filled it with milk, and drank it down, breaking the egg yolks in his mouth by the pressure of his tongue. "jesse!" he heard kriss call to him from the bedroom he felt very indulgent toward her now. returning to the bedroom, he turned on the small night light. "yes, baby." "did you do what i told you to do?" she asked, laughing up at him with childish humor, and he knew then she'd done it to annoy him. he pulled the covers from her and in the soft pink light her nude body resembled one of van dyke's nudes. sitting slantwise on the bed he tickled her until she was nearly hys- terical, then said, "that's what you get for being so mean," and left her to get the paper and make the coffee and toast. she arose and turned on the television no gloucester before taking the paper to the john to begin her morning ritual. he felt wonderful, no sex drives and almost completely senseless, which was the way he would have loved to feel forever, but he could never let a good glow be, so he went back to the kitchen and drank a water tumbler of the vermouth. it put a sharp sar- donic edge on his glow and his thoughts came back not vivid but alive and about ten degrees off the line of conformity. "want some eggs, baby?" he called, and getting no reply, went to the bathroom door. "will you have eggs, chicken? or should i say do you have eggs." "you can poach me an egg on toast." she was brushing her teeth and her voice was muffled. "you'll find them in the ice- box. i'm not laying this morning," she added with double-en- tendre. "soup chicken now. ought to do a profile of woman at dawn for the new yorker," he was thinking as he returned to the kitchen, fried six slices of bacon and two eggs, poached one egg in vinegared water that came out frayed and unin- teresting looking, which he put on a slice of dry toast and served it with a cup of black coffee. "your breakfast is ready," he called, then made himself four well-buttered slices of toast, brought his own bacon and eggs to the table and began eating. he had neglected to turn up the volume of the television and was surprised to look up and find the busts of a man and a chimpanzee on the screen. "good god! the russians are here!" he called to kriss and she came to see the excitement. "oh, you must hear this; he's the cutest thing," she said and hastened to turn on the sound. she pulled the table in front of the archway so both of them could see, sat on the stool beside him, and said with giggling anticipation, "he says the most fantastic things." he looked up again at the two grimacing faces and after listening for a moment realized that the man was interviewing the chimp. "well, what will happen after that?" gloucester asked the chimpanzee with a condescending smirk. "on july responsible officials of the united states will charge that slave labor exists in russia on a scope unknown in the history of man," the chimpanzee replied grinningly. "not a russian after all." jesse thought. "not even an ape- man. must be a man-man." "that's no news," gloucester protested. "you're supposed to forecast news events." "all right then," the chimpanzee replied. "on september a woman named bella v. dodd will testify before a senate internal security subcommittee in new york city." "who cares?" gloucester interrupted rudely. "people are always testifying . . ." "wait! wait! the chimpanzee said. "following which the new york city board of education will declare that ex-com- munists who admit party membership will not lose their teach- ing positions if they are genuinely repentant." the chimpanzee looked at gloucester expectantly. "doesn't that sound like wonderful doctrine?" "get on with the facts and forget the doctrine," gloucester snarled angrily. "just what i was saying, facts not fancy," the chimpanzee murmured slyly. "on may fascist spain will be admitted to unesco. on june secretary trygve lie will deny that the u.n. is a communist nest. on july u.s. generals on an inspection tour of yugoslavia will endorse military aid to communist yugoslavia. on october senator o'conor of maryland will urge the u.n. to dismiss americans employed by the u.n. who have refused to say whether or not they were communists. on october is, following the reorganization of the soviet directorate, stalin will say in capitalist countries 'so-called freedom of the individual does not exist any longer.' on october u.s. secretary of state dean acheson will urge the u.n. to continue to fight in korea as long as is ne- cessary to stop aggression and restore peace and security. on november police will fire on negro rioters in kimberly, south africa, killing fourteen and wounding thirty-nine. african negroes will be protesting against government segregation of african negroes in africa." the chimpanzee's interest strayed; he began looking about for his bananas. "police will shoot into mob of ungrateful african negroes, impressing them with white man's goodwill toward african negroes who respect white man's rule in africa," the chimpanzee concluded, yawning with an air of extreme boredom. after all, no one was shooting down chimpanzees. "the little stinker!" kriss said. "imagine the u.s. giving military aid to those communists in yugoslavia!" "that's what i'll do! i'll write a book about chimpanzees," she smiled her secret sensual smile. at the front door he peeped through the judas window to see if the coast was clear. he heard footsteps and waited until he heard the outer door open and shut. then he went hurriedly down the corridor, relaxing only when he had safely reached the street. "not that i give a damn for myself," he thought. but he didn't know what might result from her neighbors seeing a negro man coming from her apartment early in the morning. she cared less about it than he did. but he didn't know that . it was shortly after nine o'clock when jesse let himself into the apartment where he lived. "i hope all those damn birdmen are at work," he thought. "or at least visiting some other nest." he didn't turn on the light in the pitchblack hallway because he'd have to go back and turn it off after turning on the second light . as he groped his way through the treacherous tunnel, bumping first into one hazard and then another, napoleon came tearing from the kitchen, barking furiously, and began nipping at his ankles. he aimed a vicious kick but missed him in the dark and kicked the leg of an unseen table instead, the sharp pain running up his legbone . . . "you little bastard! he hissed. "wait till i get you in the light!" "napoleon, now you behave yourself," came the dulcet voice of leroy. "don't you know mr. robinson yet?" "oh, he's not bothering me," jesse lied, muttering under his breath, "the little sissy cur!" aloud he continued, "he's just saying hello." leroy was waiting for him in the dim front hall, his big teeth grinning from his round black face, his big belly pushing the soiled white shirt down over the half-buttoned fly of his greasy black uniform pants. "i believe napoleon likes you," he lilted coyly. "he's just flirting." he shook his finger at the popeyed little beast. "you stop flirting with mr. robinson." the mop-shaped dog trotted complacently back to the kitchen where his ancient sire was dozing beneath the kitchen stove, dreaming of young lions frolicking on the african coast . "perfectiy normal," jesse thought. "sane as life." he tried to get past leroy by saying, "i've been peeping at hole cards all night. i'm beat." but leroy saved the choice morsel. "your wife stopped by last night after you'd left. she wanted to get some blankets." "oh!" suddenly everything went crazy, abnormal in an insane world. "you've been holding out on me," leroy accused coquet- tishly. but on seeing the bleak drawn expression that had come over jesse's face, he quickly dropped the levity. "mrs. robinson is a very fine-looking woman." "thanks." leroy"s face swam before his vision and he thought he was going to be sick. he staggered blindly toward his room. "oh, i almost forgot. she wants some sheets too," leroy added. "and said to tell you she was getting along fine. she asked how you were getting along and i told her . . ." "thanks," jesse cut him off, finally managing to get his room door open. "i'll get them for her sometime this morning. thanks very much." and he closed the door in leroy's face. "who times these things?" he thought, and the next moment he was lying face down across the bed crying with deep gasping sobs. "don't let her get hurt, god. please don't let her get hurt," he kept praying over and over until the paroxysm passed, then he stood, leaning weakly against the dresser top, and stared at his ravaged reflection. "jesse robinson," he said in a voice of utter futility. "jesse robinson. there must be some simple thing in this life that you don't know. some little thing. something every other per- son born knows but you." after a moment, without being aware that he had moved, he found himself at the window looking down across the flats of harlem. his vision encompassed a sea of rooftops from th street and eighth avenue until it was lost in the mists of east river, like sharp-angled waves of dirty water in the early sun, moving just enough to form a blurred distortion. "every other nigger in this whole town but you." there'd been a line in a piece he'd written for a white daily newspaper years ago, which all negroes had objected to: "just a pure and simple faith in the white folks and the days . . ." for ten years he'd forgotten it; now it came back to mind. "your trouble, son. you got no faith." the shimmering distortion of the rooftops made him nau- seated. "must be the way everybody sees the world," he thought bitterly. "all nauseated. every mother's son of them!" he sat down weakly on the horribly covered couch, bent over, swallowing down the vomit that kept ballooning into his mouth. "it's normal, though," he tried to convince himself. "any s.o.b. who sees it otherwise is crazy. un-nauseated bastard abnormal. put him away. going around shouting, peace, it's wonderful! lock him up! menace to society." suddenly he thought of the woman editor who, upon reading the galley proofs of his first novel that had been submitted for a prize, said it made her sick at the stomach, nauseated her. "fine lady! per- fectly normal!" he felt a great need of a drink. his hands shook when he held them out and he could feel his legs trembling. he couldn't make it to the store but he could telephone for a bottle. but when he stood up he noticed by the clock on the dresser that it was only a little past nine-thirty. stores wouldn't be open until ten. half hour; another half hour to be delivered. "too late the opiate—race problem." he debated whether to ask leroy for a drink, but decided against it. "if i have to look at that buzzard's greedy eyes, i'll vomit," he thought . his reflection in the mirror showed that he was fully dressed, even to his trench coat, but minus his hat. his hat was on the bed where it had fallen off while he was crying. and suddenly it was all back and he knew all his vagrant thoughts had been a shield, but to no avail. it was back and he knew he couldn't escape it, no matter how much liquor he drank. he lay down on the bed without undressing, his black shoes on the white spread, and put his hat over his face, and gave in to it, crying quietly to himself. "jesse robinson. how do these people do it, son? the white man is fouling on them too, and the days don't know them either. how is it they keep their wives, bring up children, get along? why can't you believe too? they say after the first bite it tastes like sugar. how come you have to be the only one to act a fool? and think you're being noble, too. . . ." the winter before the one just past, the last winter he and becky were together, they had lived in an isolated summer resort on a small island in upstate new york, where he had been employed as a caretaker. the blankets and sheets she wanted were part of a shipment of rejects the proprietors had sold to them for a fraction of the list price. it had been pleasant there among the empty houses, far from the hurts of modern city life. no condescensions and denunciations, no venomous intrigues and shattering infidel- ities, no negro problem and bright shining world of race rela- tions with all its attendant excitement and despair—the frantic frenzied and ofttimes funny interracial social gatherings, the frenetic interracial sex, the abnormally sharpened wits and equally sharpened spite, the veneer of brotherhood and ex- change of beautiful ideas in a ghostly garden of hope, and the unrelenting hatred of them all, white and black, if you did not agree that history was made in bed—no mean and undemuning competition with your black brothers for the favors of the white folks, which had always reminded him of lines from that devastating poem, "three ways of hunger," by francis robert white: want will assume a lost, lysippan animal proportion of man: small of head and long of arm's reach, whose knuckles break, break again in the brute contest for contested ends. his duties had been light, raking leaves, a few minor repairs, and nothing after the snow came in late november. the pro- prietors had known he was a writer, had given him the job for that reason, believing him to be honest and chiefly wanting someone to keep a close watch on the property. he and becky had a car to use, a lovely cottage with central heating, a fire- place and plenty of wood. and there had been a little terrier, owned by one of the proprietors, that had stayed with them; and in the cellar a hogshead of homemade wine that tasted a little like muscatel but was dry and very strong, which they had drunk all winter. it was full of dead gnats and had to be strained, but on occasion, to show off his ruggedness, he drank it with the dead gnats floating about in the glass. "ah laks marinated gnats," he would say. "marinated gnats is good." amusing himself with this parody on a fine novel written by a fellow negro author and highly praised by all nonchauvinistic critics, the part of which he remembered most vividly was a bit of dialogue between the protagonist and his brother: —ah likes chiddlins, do you like chiddlins? —ah likes chiddlins. —chiddlins is good. —ah likes de big gut, do you likes the big gut? —ah like de big gut. —de big gut is good. it was very cold that winter and the lake froze and all day long the ice fishermen sat beside their fires, tending their lines. gradually he'd come to find an inner peace, such as he had never known, and the sickness following the vile stoning of his second book had almost gone. he had begun his book: / was looking for a street. in a sense he had almost found that street. when spring came and the summer crew came back, his job was over. he had bought a fifteen-year-old plymouth sedan with part of the money he had saved, and they went to bridge- port, connecticut, and rented a room in the home of a widow who worked as a domestic. why bridgeport? why not yonkers? or new haven? afterwards, he never really knew. at the time he knew that bridgeport had a socialist mayor, and he vaguely remembered driving through it once, and it had seemed such a pleasant town. each morning he drove out to barnum park and found a quiet spot of shade beside the sound in which to park; and sat on the back seat with his typewriter on his knees and wrote. the sounds of the lapping of the waves and the cries of the sea gulls fishing in the rocky shoals were ineffably soothing, and he was at peace with his work. their money ran out about the middle of july and they decided to return to new york city from whence they'd gone upstate to the resort, and she would try to get a job in the welfare department. he advertised his car for sale in the clas- sified section of the evening daily—first $ gets sound- bodied plymouth sedan containing floating-power motor. the day the advertisement ran becky took their last twelve dollars and went to new york city to put in her application, intending to return that evening, leaving him a half dollar for cigarettes. at eleven-thirty that morning he contracted to sell the car to a young immigrant worker at the g.e. factory who was to return with the money shortly after he got off work at four. at three-thirty he drove down to the corner of fairfield boulevard to buy cigarettes. on his return, when pulling from the curb, his front bumper caught in the fender of a new buick roadmaster that was passing too close on his left, and jerked it off. the buick was driven by a white-haired white lady, dressed immaculately in a mauve-colored tweed suit that looked as if it might have cost more than he had earned from his second book—on which he had worked for more than a year. she was a very important person, and despite the fact she had been driving on the wrong side of a one-way street, and that her breath smelled pleasantly of excellent cocktails, she sent fer a policeman and had him arrested for reckless driving. this not because she hated negroes or wished to humiliate or harm him in any manner; simply because her husband was continuously cautioning her to drive carefully and she intended to prove by the record that she had done so. but he wasn't worried. he hadn't broken any laws. how could they arrest him? receive money from the outside. and he could not permit her to visit her husband until visiting day. then she began to cry. by that time it was four o'clock in the afternoon and the telegraph office closed at five. in the meantime, jesse had been marched to the mess hall for his supper of stale bread, macaroni and boiled cabbage, and marched back to his cell. "anyway, the food is better than in russia—they say in the newspapers," he thought. luckily, the warden couldn't bear to see a woman cry. this seemed to be a decent woman. he wondered how these decent colored women always got mixed up with some no-good hus- band. so he relented, impressing upon her that he was breaking the prison rules, but he would see what he could do. he had a statement typed, giving her the authority to draw the money, and sent it by a guard to jesse's cell to have it signed. then he countersigned it, and by then it was fifteen minutes to five. she ran down the stairs and looked for a taxi. on the second street she found one and reached the telegraph office one minute before closing time. she drew the money, returned, and bailed jesse out. when he came into the front hall where she waited, he saw at once that she'd been crying. her body was trembling all over and her eyes looked huge and dark with pain in her small heart-shaped face. "let's get out of here," he said. they went back to police headquarters where he'd parked the car. it had a red ticket for parking overnight. he put the ticket in his pocket, started the motor, drove back to the house. the young man who wanted to buy the car was waiting for him on the porch. jesse knocked twenty-five dollars off the price because of the bent bumper and crumpled fender, and the young man was satisfied. becky fixed a makeshift dinner and they ate silently. after- wards he said, "let's pack." they had two wardrobe trunks and three suitcases, but they couldn't get in everything they owned, so they left some clothing and several paintings in the basement of their landlady's house. then he went to the station and found a transfer man to take the trunks to the station. at eight o'clock next morning they caught the new haven limited to new york city. when they came out into grand central station, he paused for a moment beside a wastepaper container and tore the red bridgeport traffic violation ticket into tiny bits. his customiarily voluminous thoughts composed for the occasion only two words: "screw youl" to breath and everything began going and coming "unnatural nigger," he said to his reflection. "o heart, lose not thy nature .... wonder where the old plagiarist stole all that crap. but it fits, though. it reckons. maybe the old bastard was god, as swinburne used to claim. image anyway. same as mr. ward. for who could bear the whips and scorns of time, the op- pressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, the pangs of dispiz'd love, the law's delay, the insolence of office, and the spurns that patient merit of the unworthy takes, when he him- self might his quietus make, with a bare bodkin? who can say that makes less sense than: blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. blessed are they that hunger and thirst after righteousness for they shall be filled. blessed are the mer- ciful for they shall obtain mercy. or that both are not equally senseless?" if was ten minutes after ten, he noticed. "get it my damn self," he decided. he wiped his greasy face with a bath towel, put on his sunglasses and his hat, and took off his trench coat. there was a slight smudge of lipstick on his white shirt collar, but it didn't matter. when he left his room, through the open door of the bedroom opposite, he saw leroy standing beside the bed, his big black body clad only in a brief undershirt. "that's where those old boys missed it" he thought. those who lamented and those who railed and those like henry james who avoided and ig- nored. if one of them had ever written: alas poor culture, i knew him when, a fellow of infinite jest: of a most excellent fancy, he hath borne me on his back a thousand times. here hung those lips, that i have kissfd i know not how oft. but now his place hath been taken by uncouthness, a mean and sordid fellow without humor or refinement. how i despise this lowborn prole. but methinks, fair friends, that he is here to stay, a way of life, for a thousand years to come—he might have rolled along with homer." napoleon charged from the kitchen, skidding on the polished floor, barking furiously, nipping at his ankles, momentarily deflecting his train of thought; the dulcet voice of leroy called, "napoleon! you behave yourself and stop barking at mr. robinson. mr. robinson knows you're here." as he groped his way down the long dark corridor, pitch black through his sunglasses, the pop-eyed cur yapping at his heels, he returned to his stream of thought: "once it was only the sport of kings; then the upper middle classes, aristo- crats, and nouveau riche took it up. but now the masses have it . everybody's uncouth now. probably a good thing, too." chapter seuen dave was coming for dinner and kriss had donned her red silk chinese mandarin robe embellished with gold dragons, along with her pert persian slippers of red suede, handsewn with gold thread. at least, or rather, dave had called her at the office to say he wanted to see her and she had invited, nay, demanded, that he come to dinner. she knew he was com- ing, but whether he would get dinner depended on which turn her thoughts would take during the half hour before he was to arrive, not to say whether or not he would stay for dinner, a contingency the consideration of which she kept trying to float from mind by a rapid succession of scotch-whiskey high- balls. but this possibility, verily a probability, had refused to be floated, the proof of which was the flaming ensemble she now wore. she knew this was enough to set dave's teeth on edge. for she had cajoled him into buying the slippers to go with the robe which he afterwards had learned had been given her by fuller halperin—in fact, the information had come from herself: that fuller had paid a hundred dollars for it in san francisco and had given it to her that christmas weekend in washington when dave had been under the im- pression she had gone to chicago on business and had bought it in marshal field's basement . after all, dave was a lawyer and wasn't expected to know merchandise. besides which, dave not only thought it made her look like a strumpet, but thought it proved the point as well. and because the sight of it on her so provoked him, she thought of it as her muleta. now she smiled maliciously as she sat in her three-legged chair, leafing through the pages of the latest new yorker, enjoying the cartoons along with her fifth highball, the com- bination being aphrodisical in a highly intellectual way. the maliciousness in her smile was in no way related to her enjoy- ment of the new yorker. the maliciousness derived from con- sideration of the contingency that would not be floated away, and the additional reflection that dave would want to sleep with her, because she looked like a whore; and he'd sit there looking at her in the red robe thinking of how she'd slept with this fuller person all during the year of their "engagement" and had received gifts and money from him almost equal to her salary, which proved she was a whore. "god knows how many others she has slept with," he would think, wanting her in the way that men, good and bad the world over, desire whores and promiscuous women, and despising himself because of it . and the thought lit a rage inside her. "you lousel" she thought. "you jewish louse! i'm not good enough for you?" she began to cry, her full matronly face stretching and pucker- ing in the ugly grimace of the little towheaded girl called "dutch" crying because her mother had slapped her drunken father the day he lost his grocery store in a little village in north dakota. "you ruined me, you louse!" and in that moment of emotional torture, she couldn't have said whom she meant by this last louse. there were many such moments now, since dave had thrown her over, when she was confused as to really who had ruined her. just as in later years ofttimes her memory confused the great event of losing her virginity with the time she had diph- theria. the confusion was brought about by the recollection of her uneasiness, which had been the same in both instances; now twenty-one years later this being the most that she clearly recalled of either instance. the one time they had been skating on the millpond with the bunch. it had been a raw cold day with an icy blast coming down from canada. but to please willard she'd worn only her light skating suit. she'd become chilled to the bone. but willard loved to skate and she wouldn't leave him. although cold and miserable she had been happy to glide along holding his arm. finding her mother away when they'd returned home, he'd come in with her. something in his attitude had made her know that he would ask. he'd looked at her with that appraising onesided smile that had always made her heart turn over. by then her throat had ached horribly and she'd felt sick enough to faint . she'd wanted nothing better than to go to bed. but she'd felt a strange uneasiness that made her stay with him. she had been afraid to disappoint him; he had so many other places to go and there had been so many other girls who'd wanted him. she'd been afraid to admit being so sick. but the room had begun to blur. against her will she had fount! herself saying, "willard, you had better go; i'm awfully sick." after he'd gone she had thought, "i must be really awfully sick to send him home." then she'd stumbled upstairs to her bed. her mother had thought at first she had a cold. but the gether, each instinctively disliking the other, but she trying to excite him to the pitch of asking so she could let him know how much she disliked him by refusing, while he, for his part, gave no indication that he would ever ask. however, it had given her prestige to be seen with him. a doll-like young siamese prince with dusky velvet skin and dark doe eyes began courting her with flowers and candy and dinners in swank downtown restaurants. she'd spent a weekend with him in new york city. when ronny had learned of that, he'd cursed her in a violent rage, calling her a "nigger lover"; in one breath asking her how she could do that to him, and in the next asking her to marry him. she hadn't understood at that time those subtleties of white supremacy that inspired this native white supremacist to seek her hand in marriage who had bedded with a negro, whereas before this incident (which she recalled as being scarcely more exciting than a conducted ywca tour) he hadn't paid much heed to her. she would have finally had her revenge, but for a letter from her mother stating that her father was ill and they could not afford to keep her there any longer. so she'd accepted his proposal and the next day they'd announced their betrothal to the gang, and the day , after the gang had gotten up a party to celebrate and even then she hadn't known what they were celebrating. an apartment had been provided for the prenuptial ceremony to which they had been jovially if somewhat forcefully, escorted after a drinking bout. but she had no objections whatsoever, by then being very curious and knowing herself to be lovely. she had only willard's word for this but somehow she knew that he was an authority. spread across the bed she'd found a lovely sheer nightgown that showed her to advantage. but after fid- dling about in the bathroom and kitchen for almost an hour with- out having removed his coat, insensitive to her charms which she paraded seductively in her transparent gown, he had sud- denly announced, "i'm going to run to the corner drugstore and get some toothbrushes since we're going to stay all night." an hour later he had returned exhausted with two new tooth- brushes to fall into a deep sleep, while she had lain awake and fuming until dawn. thus they had sealed their engagement and had faced the world next day with shining teeth. that summer she worked on a wpa research project directed by harold ramsey, who was then becoming impressed by his destiny as a black sigmund freud in the blackest of all black belts. it was a glorious era of research into what is termed naively by u.s. terminologists as the "negro problem" —as if this american dilemma of what to do with twenty mil- lion descendants of american slaves, freed from bondage as a result of a bloody civil war, and granted equality by the due process of constitutional amendment, was some riddle these poor folk had cooked up for the mortififlcation of white in- tellect and could themselves solve at a moment's notice if they so desired. educated negroes in great numbers accepted this challenge and set about with great zeal, augmented to a considerable degree by white folks' money, to effect the solution—effect- ing sounded more impressive than confecting and more con- scientious than affecting. naturally kriss was greatly impressed by harold ramsey, one of the greatest apostles of this noble cause; but at that time he hadn't noticed her. she would have been both delighted and honored to have married him and shared her genuine guilt with his professional torment, but unfortunately he was already married to one white woman whom he paraded about town in his big new automobile, being wined and dined, not to say consulted, by the rich and recent negrophiles—and two white wives would have been outrageous even in chicago. so on the first monday in october, shortly after the begin- ning of the new fall term, she had married ronny in a veritable sweat of guilt. but it had been june of the following year before she had discovered the reason his friends had boosted the mar- riage was that he was bisexual. they'd taken a three-room flat in an old converted mansion near the campus and had quickly settled down to a married life of work, study and carousing with the other tenants, sim- ilarly settled down, a motley assortment of students, artists, writers and other rising young geniuses and a few old relics in whom the rising powder had evidently been omitted. there had been a party in one of the joints, shifting as was customary from flat to flat as the liquor ran out, and becoming enlarged on the way—like a seeded cat trying to get home to akron from bitter exile in cincinnati in the allotted three-score days—with couples drifting off from time to time to answer the call of nature. at three o'clock next morning when kriss staggered with the assistance of some unidentified male to her flat and found ronny with some tramp of an artist from upstairs, she said indignantly, "i'm not going to sleep on the sofa." her escort said that was unnecessary as long as his double bed on the floor remained untenanted. so at eight o'clock she return- ed, sleepier than before, and found that ronny had changed bedmates for a strapping fine sailor. she was alone this time and outnumbered, so she slept on the sofa after all. but that night, accompanied by much crying and continuous drinking, ronny related the grim story of his love for a foot- ball hero, bosom friend from childhood, not to mention bed- mate, who had been killed on a hunting expedition the two of them had taken one summer, by a negro woodsman with an axe, the negro being subsequently hunted down and lynched. this was by way of being more of an explanation of why he'd slept with the sailor than why he'd dedicated his life to the negro problem. it was a perfectly reasonable explanation for both pursuits, but at that time she didn't understand this and despised him on both accounts. "the lice! all of them are lice!" she thought. judging her by a code of morals not one of them accepted for himself. "god knows i should know!" she thought. she'd been intimate with the president of the foundation all during the time ronny was in the army. he had been one of the most revered and important men in his field in the world, but he had been as much of a wretch as any of the others. ofttimes after they'd attended a serious conference in which weighty problems had been discussed and analyzed he had escorted her home and whipped her unmercifully until she had yielded to his every desire. then there had been the worn-out heir of one of the nation's most glorious mercantile names who had demanded detailed and graphic accounts of her behavior with big black negroes—she having to invent these when none had occurred —then beating her until she begged for mercy, after which, catlike, he had soothed her hurts. how could they feel she wasn't good enough for them she thought sobbingly. how could they? when they'd made her what she was themselves. so she railed against the injustice of it with all the bitterness of her soul, at the same time accepting the moral judgment that she was ruined. they'd given her a drunkard for a father and a wretch for her first lover, two abortions and the loss of fertility, a homosexual for a husband and a bevy of men whose lusts she had been required to satisfy because of their importance, receiving no satisfaction in return; this in addition to a north dakota farm girl's strong healthy body and com- pulsive natural urges. which was against all reason. but when she'd taken negroes as lovers they'd crucified her. "kriss is solving the negro problem in bed," they'd said of her, solving their own problems in her bed alongside the negro problem; at the same time feeling she wasn't good enough for them and treating her like dirt. they'd made her feel like dirt before she'd ever thought of sleeping with a negro; and only when sleeping with a negro could she feel secure in the knowledge that she wasn't dirt. which was the same thing they had done to the negroes. so with them she never felt ruined; they never thought of her as ruined. they were ruined by being born black, ruined in the eyes of her race, and they kept laughing at the idiocy of a race that ruined its own women and threw them in bed with men of another race they'd similar- ly ruined. to be sure, some of the negroes with whom she'd been intimate had been weird enough. but no more weird than the realization that she was married to a homosexual. they even had the effrontery to talk about their honor. "is that what the louse is worried about—his honor?" she asked herself with venomous rage. he'd eaten her food and enjoyed her company and pleasured in her bed, never so much however as when he'd finally decided she was a whore whom he didn't have to marry; and what was more he'd taken her extra paint she'd had blended especially for her own apartment to paint his own dirty flat. and this paint had been mixed by a negro who had been recommended to her by negro friends, and who had charged her three times what it was worth to paint her three-room apartment in addition to the cost of the paint. and this louse had taken her extra paint, and now he was coming to get his watch which he had pawned to her the month before to pay his income tax, after he'd decided she wasn't good enough for him to marry. "i'll make you crawl, you louse!" she resolved. it being friday night she could drink herself unconscious and disgust him even more with her. because she knew that however he felt now, once he had wanted to marry her rather desperately. nor would she let him have his watch, even if he had the money to pay his debt. and she'd be damned if she would give him dinner. "i'll pay you out, you louse!" she wished now that jesse had left something—his hat or coat—which she could place in some obvious place for dave to see. but sight of him brought a change of mind. he was a tall, straight-limbed man, conservatively dressed in a dark gray brooks brothers suit, black wingtip shoes, striped shirt and dark tie. the absence of shoulder pads in the form-fitted jacket gave him a pall mall look, but his face had none of the blind snobbery of those escapees from socialism. it was a long narrow face with a strong nose and splendid bones and a wide sensuous mouth. at sight of her in the red silk robe his lips curled slightly in an indulgent smile. "hello, kriss," he greeted in his deep, controlled voice. "expecting company?" her heart melted and she felt suddenly cheap. each time she saw him after a short absence he impressed her anew with being so clean and handsome, what she'd always envisioned as a "harvard man." and all at once she had a desire to please him, to be modern and restrained and prove she was a good loser; and because she knew he was courting another woman she wanted more than ever to sleep with him. her glazed blue eyes beneath her swollen dead-white vaselined lids swam with sensuousness. "you're company now," she murmured, preceding him to the sitting room. although he had keys to her apartment, to both outer and inner doors, he'd chosen to ring both bells to emphasize his position; and as he followed her down the hall, laid the three keys on the hall table. she took her glass for a refill, and asked him, grinning mis- chievously, "scotch still? or have you changed to kummel?" he lowered his lank frame on the sofa, ignoring the dig. "have you seen the monet exhibition?" "dot wanted me to go with her, but i was too tired," she called from the kitchen, mumbling the words in a manner she'd picked up from maud. "what?" "just a moment, dear." after mixing the drinks she put the frozen whipped potatoes out to thaw and the steak to warm, and debated for a moment whether to make him potato pan- cakes, which he adored. but they were too much trouble, she decided; she'd just do the green peas and salad as she'd planned, although she wished she could make him something special. she felt a warm glow of passion, recalling maud's sage remark, "all that men like is food, drink, and women," and felt tingly to her finger tips. but when she passed the dining table and saw the three keys he had placed there surreptitiously, her mood went cold and malicious, the only hot thing left within her being rage. however, her outward appearance remained the same, she still grinned, so dave didn't notice the change. "dot wanted to take me," she said, placing his drink on a silver coaster on the table beside him. "but i've seen the best of monet in the louvre, and besides i'm weary of dot." he sipped his drink and put it down, smiling at her absent- mindedly. "what have you been doing lately?" the question infuriated her, all the more because he seemed preoccupied and didn't give a damn what she'd been doing. she felt an impulse to tell him, "just sleeping around, you louse! what do you think?" but she only giggled in a way that had always irritated him; it reminded him of the way his sister used to giggle when she'd done something naughty. "oh, the usual thing," she said. "i went to a party sunday— just a staff party at kirby's house in bronxville. arty was by monday—you've met him?" he nodded slightly. "he flew in from chicago to attend a conference. and tuesday johnny took me to see guys and dolls—that's the third time i've seen it . you know you took me to see it the first time, and it's just as funny as ever." she laughed. "i adore that floating crap game scene. afterwards we went to the versailles. then fuller took me shopping wednesday." she gave him a covert glance to see the effect of this thrust, but he didn't seem to be listening. "you needn't try to be so superior, you louse, i know the time when that would have killed you," she thought viciously, con- tinuing aloud with a sweet innocent smile, "oh, just the usual things a bachelor girl does in new york." and after a pause, "jesse robinson was by last night." something in her voice made him look up. "jesse robinson?" "oh, that's right. you never met him. you met harold." "is he a sociologist too?" she knew he wanted to ask if he was another negro, and she smiled with an appearance of sensual reminiscence. "he's a novelist. but that's right, you don't read novels." she finished her drink and gave him a lidded look: "but that's not what i like him for," she added, feeling an evil delight at the dull flush that mounted his face. he'd scarcely touched his glass but she asked sweetly, "would you like another drink, dear?" knowing that he detested scotch and never drank more than one highball, and that only at some social gathering. he shook his head, half angrily. she said, "it's just as well. jesse practically cleaned me out, although he brought a bottle of his own." she giggled, seeing his flush deepen. "all writers drink like crazy, anyway." "he had a good partner in you," he muttered. "partner in drink, partner in bed," she thought, smiling sensually as she said, "i almost married him once," and flounc- ed to the kitchen to mix her drink, throwing her hips more than usual. at last she'd achieved that superior feeling she used to achieve with ronny after she'd cuckolded him to his face and challenged him to accuse her. she felt a delicious sense of evil which tickled her all inside and the sight of the melting potatoes and blood-dripping steak tickled her all the more. "you can eat it raw, you louse!" she thought, taking a half glass of the strong scotch straight before mixing the highball, and when she returned to dave she staggered slightly and knew she was getting drunk. placing her drink with elaborate care on its silver coaster atop the storage cabinet, she lowered her- self carefully into her favorite three-legged chair, as amused by and interested in the spectacle of herself as any curious bystander would have been. "i almost married you once, too," she resumed, her smile now mixed with such maliciousness it seemed to drip sticky venom. "always a bedmate but never a bride." he flushed crimson, straightening in his seat as the pins and needles pricked, but kept his low deliberate voice con- trolled. "i really shouldn't have called, kriss, but i wanted to leave your keys and get my watch. i'll give you a check with whatever interest . . ." "oh, wait till after dinner, dear. . . . you know you're invited to dinner?" "oh, i . . ." he was a nice man and she had him cornered. "please be sensible, kriss. you know that i know you're not going to prepare any dinner. you know i know you that well." "you ought to," she said savagely, "as long as you've slept with me." he was red to the roots of his hair. "for god's sake, kriss can't we do a simple business transaction without a sordid fight?" "you can because you're a gentleman." she giggled suddenly and called, "but i can't because i'm a whore. that's what you called me, remember?" "for heaven's sake! you're throwing that up again. we were both angry and you called me far worse." "did your mother tell you i was a whore? or did you find it out by yourself?" he shrugged with disgust. "my mother likes you . . . "but i'm not jewish. if i joined the synagogue and . . giggling—"had the rabbi circumcise me, would i be jewish enough for her then?" "let up, kriss, let up!" he said in a low angry voice. "this isn't getting us anywhere . . . ." "certainly isn't, dear . . . ." ". . . and it'd be silly to part hating one another ..." "you've always hated me!" she flared. "you hate all gentiles, you louse! you condescending louse. you think i'm dirt under your feet!" "... so let me give you a check for a hundred dollars and staggering to the telephone, supporting herself against the wall, she called jesse. an extremely courteous male voice, mr. ward's, informed her that jesse was out. she was overcome by such a fury, the instrument trembled in her hand. "probably in bed with some black bitch!" she raged inwardly. "probably with his wife. ... if i find you sleeping with your wife, i'll kill you!" she muttered. the rage passed as quickly as it had come, and she began to giggle. groping about in the haze before her, she found the dial and began dialing another number with- out being aware that mr. ward was still patiently waiting on the line to ask is there was a message for jesse. "hello, is this the windemere hotel?" "i don't understand you," mr. ward replied. "you were asking for mr. robinson." "robinson?" she had forgotten his existence. "oh, jesse robinson. damn jesse robinson!" she tried to bang the receiver on the rack, but it missed and fell behind the nightstand, and she left it dangling on its cord and staggered into the bathroom. deliberately she fumbled in the medicine cabinet, groping for the bottle of sleeping pills which now she couldn't see. finally her hands encountered the small glass bottle. she held it close to her eyes so she would make no mistake. it was filled to the brim with small red and yellow capsules. she pulled out the stopper and dumped them all into one hand. with the other hand she turned on the faucet of the basin and filled her plastic toothbrush glass. "why did you do that to me?" she sobbed, her mind having gone to another hurt, but she didn't know what it was. "why did you do that to me?" opening her mouth wide, she threw in the capsules with one hand and raised the glass of water with the other. she choked slightly, and then got them down. she didn't know that , only four capsules had gone into her mouth, the rest scattering about the floor and in the basin. she thought she had swallowed them all, and in a vague alcoholic daze, she accepted her death with the thought, "now try to get your watch, you louse," and got as far as her bed and fell face down across it . chapter eight on his return from the liquor store that morning, jesse stopped at the super's and got the keys to the storeroom where his trunks were stored. from the steamer trunk containing leftovers from their light housekeeping days, he took two blankets, four sheets and four pillowcases for becky. he looked at the dusty junk about him, abandoned trunks, broken furniture, worn-out baby carriages and tried not to think of her. leroy was out with the dogs and he managed the dark cor- ridor without being assaulted. on his dresser was a letter from hobson's, asking him to call. he called from leroy's room and the editor asked if he could come in that afternoon at three. "now what?" he thought, going fluttery inside as the world became distorted again. sighing, he poured a half glass of cheap bourbon and tossed it off, grimacing in the mirror. he took off his coat and shirt and prepared to shave. then, half smiling, said, "better wash this white stink off; no need taking any chances," and stripped. the water in that house was always scalding hot, and as he ran the huge old-fashioned tub full to the overflow drain, he thought, "smart super, not his coal." then as he lay stretched out in water hot enough to scald a fowl for picking, he laughed, "can't be a nigger though, using white man's coal to heat water for other niggers—to bathe in, too. not american nigger! must be a mau mau, masquerad- ing as janitor creating coal and water shortages." hobson's was in an old building in the twenties on fourth avenue. an elderly and dignified receptionist mistook him for a messenger boy when he asked to see mr. pope. but when he explained it was his own manuscript he wished to discuss she flushed slightly and hastened to buzz mr. pope. "go to the end of this corridor and turn to the right," she directed, smiling sympathetically. "his is the last office in the corner. and he'll be waiting for you." this last to the tune of, t/z be waiting for you, nellie. "i don't expect him to jump out the window," he thought, smiling inwardly. "no such luck." james pope was a tall thin man with graying hair and a british mustache, like a cross between chamberlain and eden, dressed in baggy brooks brothers tweeds. he came around the desk to shake jesse's hand, his narrow face creased in an apologetic smile. "welcome to the bastard's corner." he gripped jesse's hand and released it quickly. "black, isn't it," jesse thought, but said aloud, smiling, "howya, jim. you got us wrong. we just love editors." pope pulled up a worn leather chair. "sit down." he went behind his desk and offered cigarettes. jesse declined. "can't say as i much blame them," pope reflected "the publishing business is lousy these days." jesse felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. how many times had he heard these words, always a prologue to a rejection. but he kept up his front. "we modern writers are just spoiled. in the old days a writer starved in a garret for fifty years and wrote seventy books, all masterpieces. we write one book and want to get rich. i blame it all on margaret mitchell." pope's face resumed its customary expression of shame and guilt, like that of a man who's murdered his mother and thrown her body in the well, to be forever afterwards haunted by her sweet smiling face. "i'm afraid i have bad news for you." jesse just looked at him, thinking, "whatever bad news you got for me—as if i didn't know—you're going to have to say it without me helping you. i'm one of those ungracious oiggers." "we've given your book six readings and mr. hobson has decided to drop the option." jesse had been prepared for this from the moment he'd read pope's letter and now, before the reaction had set in, he just felt argumentative. "i thought you were going to cut it." pope reddened slightly. "that was my opinion. i like the book. i fought for it all the way. i think all it needs is cutting. but hobson thinks it reads like fictional autobiography. and he doesn't like the title." "/ was looking for a street," jesse quoted, turning it over in his mind. "i was looking for a street that i could understand," he thought, and for a moment he was lost in memory of the search. "he said it sounds like a visiting fireman looking for a prostitute's address," pope said with his apologetic smile. jesse laughed, "that ought to make it sell." pope again assumed his look of guilt and shame. "the truth is, fiction is doing very poorly. we're having our worst year for fiction." "why not publish it as an autobiography then?" "it would be the same. hobson thinks the public is fed up with protest novels. and i must say, on consideration, i agree with him." "what's protest about this book?" jesse argued. "if anything, it's tragedy. but no protest." "the consensus of the readers was that it's too sordid. it's pretty strong—almost vulgar, some of it." * "i don't understand you." "damn right you don't," jesse thought. he didn't care to remind pope that a moment or so back he'd termed the rejected novel as autobiographical. instead he arose and picked up the manuscript. "there's nothing more futile than arguing with a rejection." "you don't owe us a thing," pope said, also standing. jesse grinned. "if i could get five hundred dollars from every six readers, i'd soon catch up with norman vincent peale." pope walked with him to the elevator, pressed the button, and stood with him. "for my part i liked the book, jesse. it's a powerful piece of writing." "thanks." "and please don't think of me as an enemy. keep in touch with me, please do." "i will, thanks." "i'm going to be in breadloaf the month of august. i'd like very much to have you come up and spend a weekend with me." jesse gave him a quick curious look. "thanks." the elevator door opened. they shook hands again. "good luck with your manuscript," pope said. "thanks." there were two women and three men beside the operator in the elevator, but already jesse's thoughts had turned inward and he didn't see them. "jesse robinson," he said distinctly. one of the women gave a slight start and everyone turned to look at him. "what did you think, son," he went on, "they'd shave you for nothing and give you a drink." the two women moved to the far corner of the elevator and looked straight ahead. the men stared at him curiously. but he was not aware. he smiled. "the ass," he said. jesse put the manuscript on the dresser amidst the other junk and poured a half glass of the cheap bourbon. he tossed it off and grimaced in < the mirror. "you were looking for a street, eh, son?" he said. "but all you found was a blind alley." he had eaten a substantial lunch of two fried pork chops, fried potatoes, and what went for apple pie in a "home cooking" lunch counter on amsterdam avenue, but found himself hungry again. he was out of raw eggs and the milk had soured, so he munched a chocolate bar absently and poured another drink, thinking, "when in doubt, get pie-eyed." and then, "be non- chalant, drink a bottle of bourbon." and after another moment, "you hired out for it, son. nobody made you. you were the best porter that briggs & sons ever had; old man briggs said so himself. . . ." his thoughts wandered off and he stood for a moment with his right thumb dug into his right cheek, stroking his upper lip with his index finger, his mind a vacuum. then he looked at his special account bankbook and dis- covered that he had $ . left from the $ . he felt a slight shock. "oh, how the lucre fugit," he thought, and re- cited aloud a half-remembered jinglet from bis childhood: oh how de ham do smell * oh how de boarders yell wen dey hear dat dinner bell he laughed silently and said, "damn right." and the next thing he was conscious of was walking south on convent toward the arch of city college. his mind drew a blank for the elapsed two hours and now it was six-thirty o'clock of a soft april evening. students were coming in a stream up toward the th street entrance to the subway. he went down the other way, walking against the crowd. he staggered a little but he didn't feel drunk. although he didn't know when he'd left the house nor where he'd intended going, it didn't worry him. he was accustomed to these blanks of memory, and as far as he knew nothing dreadful had ever happened to him during one of them. at the moment he didn't remember the rejection, but felt strangely depressed for some unattributable reason, and in the back of his mind began silently singing his private duirge, da-da-dee: di dee deeeee dee da da-da-da da da-da v dee dee-dee do da dee-dee do -' da doooooooo at th street he turned down the steep incline toward st. nicholas avenue. to his befuddled senses the slope seened quite level but his body tended to fall face-forward and he began to run to keep up with his head which seemed some dis- tance out in front of him. as he passed the church at the coiner of hamilton avenue, he thought half-amusedly, "open de door, brethren, ol' devil's chasin' me; i'm gonna pop in, once more around the block. . . ." the next he knew he was sitting alone in frank's restaur! int, eating apple pie alamode and a heavy-set dark brother sitting opposite a buxom dark sister in the booth opposite him, said with a tolerant grin. "that's an interesting theory, young man —seems to me as if i've heard it before—but i don't believe well solve this problem by making an all-negro state. who're we gonna be working for? now my idea is what we need are more negro-owned factories. now the negroes who got money ought to build factories to hire negroes who ain't; that's what the white folks do and that's why they got everything. now take joe louis and all the money he had. . . ." jesse's attention wandered. the woman looked disapproving. he wondered what he had said. finally, when the man stopped giving his theories about negro-owned factories and negro- owned steamships and negro-owned skyscrapers and why negroes in the south didn't get togehter and buy up a heap of land and why those in the north didn't get together and make their own automobiles and distill their own whiskey and can their own vegetables and why those in south africa didn't mine their own diamonds, jesse said, "it was just an idea." he felt quite sober as he looked about at the many-hued faces of the diners, here and there an interracial couple, and three tables in the rear seating large groups of whites, probably families. although it was located on th street just off st . nicholas avenue, in the heart of harlem, when jesse first came to new york six years before, negroes had only been served at the tables along one side. now they ate all over. "you see, boy," he said to himself. "someday well wake up and find all this race business gone and everything changed, people living in complete harmony without any thought of color." then, blowing laughter through his nose, added, "but old gabriel is going to have one hell of a job with his horn." the waiter brought him a check for a roast beef dinner with soup and salad extra. "i must have eaten it," he muttered, and then in reply to the waiter's perplexed look, added, "it's always good to know what one eats." "you can always depend on frank's," the waiter beamed. the bill was for $ . . "damn right," jesse thought. "too bad i didn't get here first." outside was a soft warm night and the harlem folk were crowded in the street. jesse walked through the milling crowds, jostling and being jostled. the neon-lighted bars were jumping and the red buses bullied through the tight stream of traffic. here and there a big braying voice pushed from the bubble of noise. the unforgettable scent of smoking marijuana pierced the gaseous mixture of motor fumes, cheap colognes, alcohol, at one-thirty he found himself having trouble with the locks of the front door to the apartment where he lived. he didn't know whether he'd gone to bed with the woman or not, for by then he had forgotten her. nor did he know how long he'd been fumbling with locks to the door. finally he got it open and found it almost as difficult to get it locked again. slowly he groped his way through the dark hall. napoleon growled from the dark but did not attack, being uncertain whether it was a bonaflde burglar or just the roomer. jesse noticed im- mediately that the bedding was gone. then his gaze went next to the rejected manuscript . up until then nothing had seemed strange. now he was plung- ed into a state of mind where nothing seemed natural. becky was gone and the book was returned. you can't marry a book. "no matter how much you sleep with it, you don't get any babies," he thought. "else, son, you would have sired more manuscripts than the whole victorian age." he looked at his reflection in the mirror. his greasy face was haggard, his eyes glazed and sunken, deep weary lines framing a catfish mouth. "jesse robinson," he said. "can't eat bitter, son. no more than natural, anyway. christian nation. don't forget that. pagans castrated au black slaves. christians let them have families. christian way. profit in it too. don't forget the profit . more pops more pickaninnies sired. just don't get bitter son. remember it was business; strictly business. funny, really. funny as hell if you get the handle to the joke. like the englishman said to the cannibal, 'you eat me, you savage, but youll play hell digesting me.' or would an englishman say •play hell?' doesn't matter. nobody's ever digested an english- man yet. black men not that hard to digest but our christians have weak stomachs. can't even digest their own christianity. too bad, son. too bad, so sad, you're mad. no point in being mad, son. better get your black ass glad." he stared at his ugly reflection. "don't blame them, either," he said. "hard a time as they had getting this world, make no sense to give it away, share it up with some wliining idiot like you. sensible people. look what they did with christianity. here a poor martyr died to bring his people freedom. and these people used his philosophy to enslave the world. if that ain't smart it will have to do. get smart too, son. be happy. smile. a nigger's big white teeth are worth more than a college education. show your teeth, son. show your worth. pry those gums open with a smile." he looked for his whiskey bottle, found it nearly finished. he had no recollection of drinking the greater part of it. "no wonder," he said, emptying the bottle into his glass. he raised the glass to his reflection. "smile." he grimaced as the sharp liquor burnt down his throat. before he'd finished undressing, the dirge had started faintly in the back of his mind: dee-dee-dee-dee dee dee dee dee o o o o o dooooooooooooooooooooo for a short time after he'd gone to bed he tried to decide what course to take with the manuscript, whether to buckle down and try to do the necessary revisions and cutting himself before his money ran out, or whether to try to find another publisher and get a contract first . "a writer writes, a fighter fights," he muttered finally. "you jumped the gun, son. this is the age of the great black fighters. next century for great black writers. they played you a dirty trick. you might have been a great fighter. but some joker put a pen in your hand. you should have stuck him with it." dee-dee-dee-dee dee dee dee dee dee o o o o o o dooooooooooooooooooooo when he lay flat the room swam. his heart beat with great slow strokes, like an artesian pump, shaking his entire body. he felt physically exhausted but his mind kept churning at fever pitch, twitching convulsively as if in the throes of death. he decided to read and took down his volume of gorki's bystander. the book fell open at a page and he found himself reading over and over again in a strange feverish daze the two lines he'd already read a hundred times: "clim heard some- one in the crowd question gravely, doubtfully: 'but was there really a boy? perhaps there was no boy at all!" he was convinced that those words contained a message, that through them some force was endeavoring to communicate some profound know- ledge to him, perhaps the whole solution to the mystery, which he couldn't interpret . . . . perhaps there was no boy at all .... perhaps there was no boy at all. . . ." upon the churn- ing water there floated only a black caracul cap. small, leaden pieces of ice swam about it . the water heaved up in little waves, reddish in the rays of the sunset. . . ." perhaps there was no boy at all. . . . beating the boy! that's the way negro intellectuals referred to discussions of the negro prob- lem: beating the boy! . . . perhaps there was no problem at idiocy, senseless loves and hatreds, lunatic ambitions, bestial passions, grotesque reasoning, fantastic behavior, that he turned in horror and fled back into the house of distorted mirrors where by comparison everything seemed normal. he threshed about in his sleep, grinding his teeth and groan- ing, and once he struck out with a stabbing motion, crying aloud through clenched teeth in a voice of insensate rage, "i'll kill you!" at nine o'clock he awakened, got up, and looked at his nude body in the mirror. his face was swollen and had the smooth greasy sheen of overdrinking; his eyes were glassy, almost sense- less. he skinned back his hps and examined his dull yellow teeth. as yet he had no hangover, but his senses were deadened. for five full minutes he stood and stared at the paper-wrapped manuscript without any conscious thought. the room seemed to undulate almost imperceptibly. outside the windows the day was gray. he turned his attention to the clock and watched the minute hand move from : to : . without being con- scious of his reason for doing so, he picked up his big clasp knife, opened it, then stood with the naked blade and stared i at his manuscript for another two minutes. abruptly, with [ a cry of stricken rage, an animal sound, half howl, half scream, j he stabbed the manuscript with all his force. the strong forged blade went deep into the pages without breaking. then all of a sudden thought surged back into his mind. he grunted a laugh and said aloud, "really protest now!" \ \ the combination of this thought and the sight of the knife sticking from the heart of his manuscript amused him vastly. "you're some boy, son," he said. "pope should see this now." then, smiling grimly, "but it's a freudian knot, not a gordian knot, son." the thought steadied him somewhat "deserves a drink," he said. for the first time he noticed the empty whiskey bottle. "dead, too." and then, half-laughing, "kill 'em all." slipping into his robe and house shoes, he went to the bath- room. leroy's door was open but he and his boy were out . napoleon came to the kitchen door and growled as he passed. through the half-open window he looked down on the convent wall. on his way out he glanced into the kitchen and noticed two partly filled whiskey bottles amidst the orgiastic debris. on sudden impulse he knocked on mr. ward's door and receiving no answer stepped into the kitchen and poured a gobletful of whiskey, half from each of the bottles. napoleon stood at a distance and growled threateningly. nero blinked sleepily from his deathbed beneath the stove. the sink was stacked with a natural-born comedian give a marvelous piano rendition of "what makes corn grow," reciting the lyrics in a husky sing-song voice: oh, it's dark and cozy in the shucks . . » two little grains been bellyrubbing . . . now they begins to—rhymes, baby rhymes . . • where there were only two grains before . . . now there is three, four or even more . . . no memory of going across the street to a blackjack game with this woman and another they'd picked up, of losing fifteen dollars and getting into an argument; of starting home for his knife, then changing his mind and taking the subway down to kriss's and pressing her bell continuously for five minutes; no memory of his blind rage at her refusal to answer; of going around to the airwell beneath her window and shouting curses at her until the super came out and threatened to call the police; of sitting in the white rose bar at twenty-third street and fourth avenue, drinking gin-and-beers and telephoning her at fifteen-minute intervals; of finally giving up at four-thirty and taking the subway uptown. . . . so now he wondered vaguely why he should console himself, because when he came to, he didn't know he had intended visit- ing susie and thought only that he was going to telephone again. he went down to the basement and telephoned kriss in the same frame of mind in which he had first telephoned her, with- out any memory of his hours of rage and frustration. in the back of his mind he was humming da-da-dee in a light gay motif as he listened to the phone ringing clearly and finally to kriss's forthright office voice: "mrs. cummings speak- ing." chapter nine the faint sound of the telephone clicking awakened kriss at four-thirty. she had slept through the din of jesse's doorbell ringing an hour earlier and the faint clicking sound which echo- ed at the other end as the busy signal had been going on for some time. she came awake abruptly and unnaturally alert. she saw at once the receiver was off the hook and had fallen behind the night table, but by the time she'd retrieved it the clicking had ceased. she divined instantly the caller had been jesse and chuckled gleefully. she suffered none of her usual panic at awakening alone because of his call. instead, she de- rived a delicious delight from his thinking she was talking to someone else. then she noticed that it was four-thirty and she'd asked him to call at noon. perhaps he'd been calling ever since noon and had got the busy signal each time. she felt a slight sense of guilt for standing him up for so long, and a slight trepidation of fear he'd not call again. but these tiny qualms were quickly dispelled by an abnormal sense of well-being. she felt more rested and refreshed than at any time in years, and for a moment she didn't care whether jesse called or not. for a time she luxuriated in the resolve not to answer when he called again, and he'd think she'd gone out with some- one else. it would serve him right, she thought. niggers! niggers! niggers! all they wanted was to drink your whiskey and sleep with you—he'd be furious if she broke their date .... she smiled with malicious sensuality . . . let him find some bitch in harlem. sleep with maud. she'd always want- ed to have him. . . . but the thought of maud started a train of memory she couldn't bear, as she had not yet taken her \ pill "for mental and emotional distress." they threw me to the niggers themselves, she thought accusingly; although whom she accused by the pronoun they, if not her entire race, she wasn't sure. she only knew that she wanted to be married to some decent, cultured, successful white man and bear his, children as much as did any other white woman. when the phone rang again, she felt certain it was jesse, she picked up the receiver and said in her office voice: "mrs. cummings speaking." "hello, kriss-baby, did you have a good time?" "i don't understand you, dear." "it's understandable enough. you had your receiver off the hook. has he gone?" she smiled to herself but made her voice sound sharp and angry, "it's five o'clock, jesse, and i'm hungry. . . ." "five o'clock!" he echoed in amazement . "where have you been, dear?" "i've been calling you since noon; the time slipped up on me," he said defensively. "i must have jarred the receiver when i went to bed," she said, smiling maliciously at the knowledge he didn't believe it. "you should have come down and rung my bell." "i intended to." "it doesn't matter. i had a good sleep." "i'll bet," she heard him mutter, and prodded his jealousy businesswoman than housewife, she telephoned her liquor store for two bottles of scotch and one each of gin, vermouth, and sherry; then telephoned her favorite delicatessen on third avenue for frozen peas, broccoli, whipped potatoes, a pound of butter, a jar of hollandaise sauce, a carton of uncooked pepperidge farm club rolls, a pound of ripe tomatoes, green salad, and six bottles of canada dry sparkling water, proving the adage that whiskey drinkers never eat dessert. after which she mixed a sturdy highball with the last of her scotch and took it to the living room. while leafing through the pages of the current new yorker, she savored its flavor. she thought smilingly of that classic bit of dialogue by hemingway: "what are you thinking, darling?" "about whiskey." "what about whiskey?" "about how nice it is." the first time the bell tolled it was the boy with the liquor. she wrote a check for twenty-five dollars and he gave her three dollars and thirty-five cents in change. she tipped him the thirty-five cents and he gave her a nice smile. the next bell was jesse. in his damp trench coat, dark snap- brim hat, dark green goggles, greasy tan face, arms filled with parcels, he looked like a gangster on the lain from florida. kriss grinned with genuine amusement . "no one recognized you, i hope?" "i couldn't get the damn things off with my hands so full." he unloaded on the kitchen table, hung up his coat and hat, pocketed his goggles, and came back and kissed her. she was opening the bags with a pleased expression; she liked to be given things, for men to spend on her. she found a porter- house steak, a ham steak, a pound of veal kidneys, two pounds of pennsylvania pork sausage, two bottles of scotch, one each of bourbon, gin, and vermouth. "at least you don't intend to waste away," she said, giggling. "you said you were hungry, baby," he said, looking at her mouth, breast and legs. "you know the harlem trinity." she felt her smile going sensuous beneath his lustful stare. "eat, drink, and make love," he said, and they kissed. "that's what i ought to write about," he mumbled against her mouth as his finger tips caressed her legs. "what?" she asked inside his mouth. "the ways of love. i could write a chapter on each way." "do you know all of them, dear?" "no, but those i don't know you can tell me." the doorbell broke it up. a man came with the groceries and while kriss was paying him jesse busied himself emptying the ice cubes into the glass tray and refilling the ice pans. sud- denly she recalled telephoning him the night before, and when the grocery man left she turned on him viciously, "jesse! if you were with another woman last night i want you to go home right now." he didn't feel at all surprised by this sudden outburst . "i haven't slept with anyone, baby," he said as he opened a bottle of her scotch and made himself a drink. "make me one too," she said as she went to the bathroom to repair her lip paint. "my glass is in here." he returned hers to the coaster on the storage cabinet and placed his on a coaster on the glass-top cocktail table, seating himself on the sofa. coming from the bathroom she paused for a moment before the mirror to worship her legs, then stood in the arch so he could admire them also. "i called you at two o'clock this morning," she lied, "and you weren't at home." he had no idea when he'd returned to his room and couldn't dispute her. "i got a rejection on my book and went on a binge." she grinned delightedly although she didn't know why she felt so pleased by his ill fortune. "i like your slack suit," she said, tucking up her rompers to reveal more of her thighs so he would return the compliment. he did. "i like your legs," he said. "you've got gorgeous legs, baby." she melted with sensuous ecstasy and her blue eyes swam glassily with passion. "ronny used to say i missed my calling; that i should have been a chorus girl." "i thought you were going to say call girl," he said, then impulsively knelt before her on the carpet and kissed each of her legs. tenderly she massaged his kinky hair. then savage- ly she pushed him away and threatened furiously, "if you ever sleep with your wife again, jesse, i'll kill you." she took her seat, shaking with repressed fury, and they began drinking as if it were their night's work and they were being paid by the drink. "i've had enough of negro women accusing me of stealing their husbands," she continued to rave. "after all, baby, you can't blame them. you've slept with their husbands enough." "i didn't give a damn for a single one." "you got your kicks." she grinned malevolently. "if i gave them an honest ap- praisal it would kill them." "why do you do it then?" she emptied her glass and held it out to him. "fix us a drink, baby." he emptied his and made two more. "i just wanted to know them," she said, smiling secretly. ''i wanted to know what they were like inside." "ditto," he said. "after all, what better place to study origins than in the egg." "when i was studying anthropology at the university, the kids used to say it was the study of man, embracing woman." \ "race relations is the study of black man, embracing white * woman," he paraphrased. "i learned more about negroes in one night than uncle whitney knew from twenty years of association." uncle whit- ney had been the president of the foundation. jesse felt a flicker of disgust, then was suddenly amused. "that reminds me of a joke one of my landladies used to tell—" he began but she interrupted rudely, "are you going to make the drinks, jesse?" he gave her a quick look, seeing her double, and thought, "i'll take the one who can't talk." on the way to the kitchen he staggered slightly and the abstract painting danced on the wall like an orgy of skinned cats. mad genius, he thought, vastly amused by his blurred perspective. while mixing the drinks he called, "shall i start dinner, baby?" and heard her reply something about whipped potatoes. he found the package in the carton of groceries and placed it on the stove atop the pilot jet to thaw. when serving her drink he said, "you came too late, kriss- baby. if you'd lived in the eighteenth century you'd have been a famous courtesan and would have made history, instead of sociology like now." for reward she pulled him down and kissed him. "why didn't you marry me in chicago, jesse? i would have married you in chicago." he resumed his seat and gulped half his drink, suddenly feeling old. 'to tell you the truth, baby . . ." he began, intend- ing to tell her he didn't remember a damn thing about their weekend in chicago, that he'd been blotto all the time and it hadn't meant a damn thing to him, but she didn't hear him, so moved was she by her own maudlin memory. "i loved you that weekend, jesse. why did you do it?" 'tern is crazy," he said. "i'd never so much as touched her. ill the time we had our weekend i hardly knew her. all i . . ." "she told it all over town that she was going to divorce mose and you were going to divorce your wife . . ." "i don't see how in the hell . . ." "i heard her telling alice and that group at a party. i was so hurt. why did you tell her that. and she's so ugly too. even mose couldn't sleep with her, he just kept her. . . ." "all i ever did—maud asked me to take her to the subway and we stopped in the fat man's and had a drink and that's all. . . ." "and you told me you were going to divorce your wife and marry me." she turned on him in a flurry of rage. "jesse, if you ever sleep with your wife while you're sleeping with me . . ." "that i'd like to see," he thought, but when she persisted, "i'm not going to have some black bitch after me with a knife," he also flew into such a violent rage the room turned white-hot in his vision. "this bitch wants me to kill her," he thought, gripping the sofa for control. "even maud thought i was after joe. they crucified me. | nigger bitches!" he started up to slap her when the telephone j rang, and he lowered himself to his seat, the room dancing crazily before his eyes. she staggered heavily as she went to answer it, and he finished his drink and sucked the ice to cool his head. he heard her saying in what no sober person on earth would take for a sober voice, "miss-sess cummingsss speaking," and he thought, half-amused, "what price we pay for respectability." then her natural voice in drunken enthusiasm, "oh baby, come on over, jesse's here and we're. . . . why do you drink that awful stuff, baby? you earn enough to buy decent . . . . you make more than i do, you louse. you've got to ration it. . . . and bring your own whiskey, the last time you were here you drank up. . . . i'll let you in, baby. ... of course we're sober, we just got started. . . . take a taxi. . . ." "harold's coming over," she announced from the hall. "i hope he's sober and doesn't fall out on my floor." "i haven't seen harold in years," he said as she took the glasses to make drinks. "not since he came to new york. i saw bebe once and she said he was living with you." "that lying bitch." she put the glasses down, sloshing them over and flopped into a chair. "she used to call up here all the time and ask to speak to harold and i hadn't seen . . ." "when i was in chicago in ' he gave a party for me and bebe . . ." "... in five years and he came in here one day with the d.t.'s and fell out in the middle of my floor and asked me to telephone his psychiatrist in chicago. . . ." ". . . he was sick then and she wanted me to have her. he was taking morphine . . ." ". . . it was saturday and she wasn't in her office . . . . the same one? nancy what's her . . ." . . rothchild. . . . and he didn't know her home num- ber, it's not listed. she was ronny's analyst too and i called the restaurant where she always . . ." . . all these people getting cured of something . . ". . and when i told him i couldn't get her he just turned over on his face and gave up. i had to call nat — my own doc- tor— and . . ." . . why didn't you just let him sleep it off. he'd have m • • . ". . . that louse wet my carpet and trembled so i thought he was dying. i called nat and had him sent to my own hospital. i had to sign him in and it cost me twenty-four dollars a day. nat wanted to have him sent to bellevue . . ." ". . . why didn't you have him? hell . . ." . . oh, i couldn't bear it. bellevue sounded like the end of the world — all those skid-row drunks — and harold was a great man once. nat said i was a fool. he wanted me to call the police and tell them he had no means of sup- port . . ." ". . . where was bebe? she had a little money then . . ". . . divorced the year before . . ." . . i'd have let him go to bellevue. they're used to handling d.t. patients . . ." ". . . went himself. . . . two days checked out my hos- pital and went back to his flat—had a cold water flat on hous- ton—called the police and told them he was sick and desti- tute . . ." ". . . what time is it, baby?" she glanced at her watch and leaped from her chair, staggered across the floor to her television set as if gone beserk. "sid caesar and imogene coca. mix drinks dear while i dial—" the screen lit up and showed the flashing of jagged lines. "oh damn!" he heard her cry as he staggered toward the kitchen bearing the empty glasses like a man dying of thirst staggering his last mile across a burning hot desert in a blinding sand storm, and when he got back to the sitting room with the refills he thought of donovan staggering into his apartment where they were having the last wpa party — the time they were let off for two days shortly before the end — his dirty white shirt flagging open, suspenders hanging down and his pants about to fall from his long lean frame, blue eyes glazed, red hair flagging across his bloodless forehead, ugly bony face set in grim determination, a bottle of paul jones whiskey in each hand, looking about triumphantly at all his goggle-eyed coworkers, saying, "i made it," before falling on bis face. she took her drink from his hand and gave him a quick friendly kiss, then sat on the sofa beside him. "i just love imogene coca, don't you?" he peered at the blurred pygmies on the screen, trying to focus his vision, and the next thing he knew harold was stepping down into the room, hand extended, saying in his jubilant tenor voice, "jesse, what you say, old man?" jesse jumped to his feet and they shook hands warmly. "damn, harold, i'm glad to see you!" he exclaimed with drunken emotion. "really glad to see you. god-damn folks are getting me down again." "it's a bitch, man, it's a bitch. i've been thinking of wearing a turban and posing as an indian like that sam preacher who went all through the south. stayed in all the best hotels and » kriss had served him a drink on the storage cabinet beside her three-legged chair and on resuming her seat on the sofa cut him off irritably, "harold, will you please sit down so i can see the screen." he was a big heavy-set man with strong bold features of a ruddy tan complexion, appearing rugged and forceful in a brown tweed jacket and gabardine slacks, and when he gave kriss a half-hurt, half-indulgent smile, and obeyed like a scolded child, jesse felt another tremor of violent rage. "thinks she's god!" he thought . harold was sitting, leaning forward, talking around kriss: ". . . pecks bowing and scraping . . ." when she cut him off again, "if you and jesse want to talk, go outside. this is my only pleasure, only . . ." she laughed childishly at some antic on the television screen, and now jesse was amused, thinking of those magazine cartoons of a man cast away on a tropical island with a beautiful woman and complaining that his radio wouldn't work. "bitch cast away with two men .... island not tropical ... no palm trees, but shade of skyscrapers, just as good . . . only pleasure television . . . he stood shakily and said, "i'ma maka drink." kriss held up her glass and harold hastened to empty his. "i smell somp'n on fire," jesse said, hugging the empty glasses to his stomach. kriss giggled. "it's harold's paraldehyde." jesse sniffed. "paraldehyde? smells like formaldehyde." "they give it to alcoholics at bellevue," kriss said, forgetting the program in her enjoyment of harold's discomfort . "don't laugh, my dear, you might be taking it yourself someday," harold said acidly. jesse staggered kitchenwards, laughing to himself. "poor idiot, embalming himself 'fore he's dead." when he stopped to place the glasses on the hall table to get a better grip he noticed for the first time the three keys atop a check. he poked the keys aside and studied the check, trying to concen- trate. but all that made sense was the amount and he thought, as he continued on, "son, if meat's so high you gonna have to drink soup." when he saw the potatoes on the stove he decided to start dinner. taking a short drink straight, he pulled out the grill, placed it on the table, lit the oven, put the steak on the grill, and the next thing he knew he was sitting on the sofa beside kriss, asking harold, ". . . happened about that chicago letter you were going to write for the new democrat? i bought it for a time but i never saw your pieces." he felt reasonably sober and quite lucid. "never heard from them . . . after that lunch at cherio's . . . was going to review your book . . . ." ". . . killed everybody ever liked it . . . rank poison those things . . . ." ". . . 'sa book, jesse ol* man, *sa book . . . these white folks 'mot gointa letcha . . . ." kriss turned on jesse in a rage and cried, "if this book is like the last one ih never speak to you again!" . . h never forgive you, 'ol man, h never forgive you. they'll . . . ." harold was saying while jesse glared at kriss, "did you read it? all you people . . ." "i hated it — 'n what's more . . ." ". . . count all the white people . . ." . . all of 'em, hal, all of 'em. no god-damn except . . . . you louse if you ever write another book like . . ." he looked at her glazed eyes filled with senseless hatred and felt the sickness coming over him. ". . . wrote it for you . . . wrote it to please you . . ." he was saying without realiz- ing what he said. she was saying,". . . ever mention it again in my house!—'n in her sleep she became conscious of being chilly and awakened immediately. before opening her eyes she flung a bare arm searchingly across the faded blue sheet. it encountered only emptiness. every event of the previous night returned in one flash of memory. she became rigid, scarcely breathing, her emotions shattered by the blind panic she always experi- enced on awakening and finding herself alone. "oh, hell!" she exclaimed in acute chagrin. not that she regretted having ordered jesse home, but that he had gone. she felt as if her fair white body had betrayed her. it had been bad enough when dave walked out, but for jesse—for any negro . . . she opened her eyes and saw that she had slept uncovered. critically she examined her negligent body. from her prone position she saw the hill of a soft white belly between two flat- top mounds of breasts, and beyond, the square-toed feet in vague silhouette against the dark gray slit of open window. she thought of the time she used to have a lovely flat stomach and resolved to stop drinking for a month. remembering how much she had drunk the night before she became enraged. "damn jesse to hell!" she muttered, as if he'd forced her to drink against her will. it was dim in the room; the door was open to a gray hall and outside it looked like gray night. she turned on the night light and looked at the gold-plated clock. the hands stood at : . she picked it up and found that it had stopped. she dialed time and while waiting looked at her body with distaste. a woman's controlled contralto voice purred affectedly, "when you hear the chime ... the time will be . . . one-thirty-two and one quarter. ..." it struck kriss as being a sexy voice, whereas a man would have been irritated, and she listened for it to speak again, wondering what the woman looked like, blonde or brunette, buxom or petite, young or elderly. she got up and set the clock and started across the hall to the bathroom but heard a voice muttering, "goin' to make love to you, god damn it," and stepped to the arch of the living room. in the semidarkness she saw clothes strewn hap-hazardly over the floor and a brown body curled grotesquely on the sofa, a wrinkled sheet beneath it and one of her extra blankets wrapped about the head and shoulders. it faced outwards, the buttocks pressed tightly against the sofa's back. by his presence she was instantly relieved of her panic and chagrin and when she heard him scream in muffled frustration, "don't play around!" she giggled with delight and felt warm and good all over. for a long time he didn't speak again and then he cried in a voice of rage, "kill you!" and kicked out so violently bis toe hit the cocktail table and sent a glass spinning across the floor. "uhn!" he grunted in pain but didn't awaken. then quickly he turned on his stomach, pressing himself against the sofa, and she heard a jumble of words which sounded like, . . now that's better, baby; but your skin feels rough." his tan body minus its head was like a bronze statue in the dim light and she felt an impulse to kneel beside it and caress it . but her curiosity as to what he might say next proved stronger and she let him sleep. she performed her morning's toilet as quickly as possible, brushed her teeth and showered briefly, and then, as she was standing before the mirror surveying her legs, one ear cocked to listen, abruptly her stomach fell. she had felt no hangover on awakening but was now so suddenly hungry she felt nause- ated. in the doorway of the kitchen immediately after turning on the light, she stood stock still in consternation. the window was open wide on the rusty wet fire escape and a face peered from the window of the apartment across the murky air well. it was raining grayly with that desolation of a miserable big city sunday and she went quickly to shut the window and draw the blinds to close out the gloomy day and the leering face of the fat, bald-headed salesman across the way who'd been vainly trying for the past two months to meet her accidentally in the corridor. the grill at the bottom of the oven was pulled out and charred black, and a soggy cinder of meat lay in the greasy sink. atop the stove was a pan lined with burnt whipped potatoes, a charred paper container and some green stuff in a pot that resembled scum on a stagnant pool. on the table the cardboard carton in which the groceries had been delivered had been hacked to pieces, and then she saw the knife sticking from the center of the door. four white, doughy, uncooked club rolls were skewered on the blade and the blade stabbed into the centerboard of the door with such force it remained in position as if awaiting the fire to barbecue. kriss stared as it for some time, more out of curiosity than fear, wondering what had been in jesse's mind, and from what she knew of how he thought, the skewered rolls took the form of a grim love token by a bitter negro on a lush white woman's door. looking at them, she was suddenly weak from hunger to the point of fainting. she ate a plain slice of white bread, then put on water to make coffee and boil eggs, and stepped back into the hall to clear a space on the table. not until then did she notice the scrawled note, and as she stood reading it, deciphering the scrawled words, her excitement was heightened by the veiled frustration behind the drunken threats and she would have gone to him if she hadn't heard the water boil. she made coffee, two pieces of dry toast, soft-boiled one egg, got the sunday herald-tribune from the mat outside her door, cleared a half-circle of table space, and while sipping her black coffee and munching her egg-dipped toast, began methodically reading the paper from cover to cover. she read rapidly, making mental notes of all items concerning foun- dations and the india institute, her brilliant mentality with its wide research experience rapidly condensing the facts and discarding the journalistic repetitions, functioning at the high degree of efficiency attributed to harvard-trained scientists who live normal lives, eat balanced diets, are happily married and compatible, and have never tasted an intoxicating beverage. with one corner of her mind she listened to jesse grinding his teeth and muttering angrily in his sleep and once, giggling with the therapeutic amusement which humans derive from the antics of monkeys in the zoo, paused for a moment to watch him thresh about like an eel in a net. "kill you!" he shouted in a fit of rage and struck out with his fist, striking the wall with such force she crossed the room to see if the paint was scared. after that he turned onto his side and tucked his bruised hand between his legs. he blew a snort of laughter and said in a distinct voice, "i got mine, now you get yours." kriss laughed girlishly with incurious delight and resumed her perusal of an address delivered for president tru- man by secretary of state acheson to the effect that unless suffering was wiped out in underdeveloped countries it might be used by a new dictatorship "more terrible" than the soviet union. since the first instant of sleep jesse had dreamed countless horrible scenes of murder and savage fights and apoplectic arguments, all of which had been blasted from memory at the moment of awakening by the last macabre dream of millions of negroes, men, women, and children, being driven off a cliff into a bottomless gorge by a genial mob of white horsemen, himself watching them disappear, wave after wave, like mute zombies without anger or protest or entreaty, but when it came his turn he cried out in a voice of terror, "but i signed the paper!" and the laughing horsemen spurred their mounts toward him, one of them saying, "who said you could write?" and trampled him over the edge, and as he fell turning over and over, he caught glimpses of columns of horsemen galloping through the sky and thought half-amused of a story his father used to tell about two slaves raiding the ham-house one dark and rainy night: old master was waiting inside in the dark with a hammer, and when the first slave reached un- derneath a loose board to swipe a ham he whacked him soundly on the back of the hand with the hammer. hearing his buddy grunt in pain and jerk back his head, the second slave thought he'd got a ham off the hook and asked enthusiastically, "you get yours?" to which the first slave replied with equal enthu- siasm, "yeah, ah got mine, now you get yours!" he awakened instantly in the middle of his fall and feeling the blanket wound about his neck thought someone was trying to strangle him and gave a desperate leap backward, clawing at the murderous hands. he landed with a loud thud on his side in the middle of the floor. when finally he'd torn off the offending blanket he saw kriss sitting at the table, grinning at him. "you've been having a bad time, dear," she said. "was some woman's husband trying to trap you?" "i thought i was being strangled," he confessed sheepishly. she giggled. "you shouldn't fight so much, dear. you wouldn't be so afraid." he stood up, threw the blanket on the sofa, and rubbed his bruised hip bone. "those bastards jump me while i'm sleeping," he said self-mockingly. "won't come out and fight when i'm awake and sober." "when is that, dear?" he noticed his clothes on the floor, the knocked-over glass, slept-on sofa, heaped ashtrays, dirty dishes and he blew laughter through his nose. "kilroy was here. on a bender, too." then to himself, "not kilroy, leroy." suddenly realizing he'd slept on a sheet he asked wonderingly, "did you make the sofa?" "no, dear, when i went to bed you were cooking." she grinned. "you were having a cooking good time." he remembered the burning steak and laughed. "damn right!" then he noticed her staring analytically at him. "what am i bid?" "you have a beautiful body, jesse," she said with honest lasciviousness. "it ought to be," he thought . "all the workouts i've had with a mop and shovel." "if we still owned slaves i'd pay a year's wages for you." "don't be so cheap!" td keep you for a pet and give you a gold collar and a nameplate." "be the envy of all the dames with the pekineses because i can talk." coming over. you like don, don't you, baby?" "oh, sure," he said, thinking, "i like de big gut, do you like de big gut?" "he's on the wagon, drinking nothing but cola." she was all excited as if her closest girl friend were calling, and when she added, "i love don, he's so sweet when he's sober," her face took on a look of melting sympathy. "can't be a successful fag without being sweet sometime," he said, and she became cross. "jesse, if you're going to be nasty . . ." ". . . baby, baby, i love . . ." "don's been an angel to me and . . "let's not argue any more, baby." she relented. "make us drinks, dear, while i order coca cola. mine scotch this time." calling to him in the kitchen, "make some ice, dear." "make some ice, dear . . . make some drinks, dear . . . wash the dishes, dear . . . scrub the floor, dear . . . kiss my toe, dear ... fix my door, dear," he muttered to himself as he melted the ice from the trays, but the back if his mind was still playing with the rhyme: . . . but if you will permit i most humbly remit i desire only to transmit what would most befit nay, benefit any chit oh, definite! to wit: i would emit . . . "jesse!" he gave such a start the ice tray flew birdlike from his hand and clattered in the sink. kriss stood in the doorway, grinning. "what are you thinking about, dear?" he'd been absently running water over the ice cubes in the sink, melthing them. "abwout twitty, bwaby," he said lispingly on recovering. "well, think about the ice now, dear, don will be here in a minute." he began putting the cubes into the glass tray. "yes, dear. ih think about the ice now, dear. anything else you want me to think about, dear?" the delivery man from the delicatessen brought twelve bottles of coca-cola, four bottles of sparkling water, tins "no wonder the sonofabitch makes like old faithful," jesse thought. ". . . but you must drink something ha ha . . . . but you look so well, baby . . ." kriss just loved that man—one, rather one of those, like the joke about the man counting off in the army: one-two- three- four . . . one . . . "oh i'm one too"—just loved that one because he was just like a sister and they could tell each other all about their affairs and discuss, oh, so candidly, last night's lover. besides which he was a harvard boston so- cialite, which made everything right, and once he'd taken her on a visit to his ancestral mansion—when all the family were away of course—and they'd had a glorous time hopping about the boston night clubs in search of men; so different from that louse, ronny, who sneaked off with the lowest kind of bums. but that was the difference between boston and missis- sippi; bostonians were cultured. when he next came from the john, kriss said, "why don't you eat some nuts, baby." "don't look at me!" jesse thought, pointing toward the bowl on the cocktail table. then suddenly his mind went off, shutting out the sound of voices, and he began again to play with words: be there a knight without affright to blight the white and smite the spite that men call right or even once a night will be quite all right especially if one is tight . and when his mind came back he heard kriss saying, "how is it with you and garner, baby?" and don began telling the sad tale of the slow death of his glorious romance with a hand- some, dark-skinned, curly haired negro army officer. the romance had reached its peak three years before when they sailed on a cruise to martha's vineyard and were so delighted with the blind tolerance and idyllic isolation of that new eng- land eden they decided to stay there in ecstatic inebriation for the remainder of their lives. don bought and furnished a huge old-fashioned house and bought a station wagon to drive back and forth to town, but that first winter they did not get to town very often and did not have a single unpleasant moment of sobriety. but the following summer garner's brother jack, a philadelphia lawyer, and his wife, geraldine, a brainy newspaper columnist, along with their young son and heir, a lad of twelve, came to visit and liked it so well they stayed. and don was so delighted he deeded the house to them jointly, thinking they would all live there pleasantly for life. but geraldine was a socialite and her house guests, who were always quite distinguished negro people, found the arrangement puzzling, and the presence of a drunken, unshaven young white man clad only in an old bathrobe wandering about the premises at all hours somewhat disconcerting, even though he was a harvard-bostonian socialite, so geraldine soon stopped introducing him to her distinguished guests and began devising ways and means to get him out of her house. "and she even went so far ha ha well, she was driving the station wagon to town to pick up some of her guests at the feery station and i asked to go along to do some shopping be- cause ha ha i'd never learned to drive the thing myself and daddy was sleeping and i heard her whisper to the guests ha ha that i was the gardener ha ha. i cared nothing about that but then she took my television set down to the living room for her own guests. . . ." "you didn't let her do that, baby? your own . . "—she's such an awful bitch ha ha and i positively could not bear in the condition i was in ha ha to make a scene involv- ing . . ." it finally reached the point where they lived in the house as strangers, each with their own set of guests, eating at differ- ent hours, sitting on opposite sides of the room to carry on separate conversations, passing each other in the house without speaking, each set acting as if the other were invisible. "so i told daddy if he would not take my part i would posi- tively leave him. now he is . . ." "lessel" kriss shouted suddenly. he gave such a violent start the cheesebits he was eating flew into the air like buckshot. she giggled. "make some drinks, dear. and you might join us if you have no . . ." "i'm listening to every word. fascinating. beats rimbaud's season in hell. beats macbeth. . . ." "you know garner, jesse?" "oh, sure, met him at your house . . "get the drinks first, dear." "yes, dear." incoherently, "an' jesse hates white people so. you don' hate white people, do you, baby?" ". . . but if he ever suspects that you know how he thinks . . ." harold was saying, with jesse interposing: "... kill you sure as . . ." and kriss mumbling sensually, ". . . tell me you don't hate white people too, baby . . . ." and walter stroking her but still trying to talk around her shoulder to harold and jesse: "it's time you niggers count your blessings «... ". . . know how insecure he is, you give him a problem he can't solve and he's panic-stricken, can't think . . ." ". . . ever tell you the story of . . ." ". . . white race has never solved a single problem in all its history except by extermination. dead indians good indians. . . . "... i went up to connecticut to work as a caretaker for this guy—new york city attorney, senior member in a firm that handled a lot of movie business." ". . . sa bitch, ol* man, itsa bitch . . "had a beautiful farm — used for breeding thoroughbred horses before he got it—beautiful stalls; wooden floors, electric lights in each stall . . ." ". . . tell you, ol' man . . ". . . were there, becky and i, before the son of a bitch came up for the summer an' wanted us to do housework—we quit—but that's beside the story. . . ." there was a big fine yellow rooster in the pig pen, a little bantam hen that lived in one of the wagon sheds, and seventeen fat white ducks in the wire-enclosed chicken yard. this attorney had decided to put in some laying hens, so he came out one weekend and killed the ducks by standing outside the wire fence and shooting them with a shotgun. after which he drove off to order two dozen pullets and pick up a negro in the city to pluck the ducks, which jesse had refused to do. the following week jesse cleaned and whitewashed the hen house, forked the chicken yard, bought two hundred-pound sacks of chicken mash and scratch, drove over in the jeep and picked up the pullets and installed them in their new home. but he'd been feeding them from a sack of old mash, which happened to be pig mash, and the eggs were ill-formed and had soft shells. when this attorney came back the following weekend he ex- amined the soft-shelled eggs and stated authoritatively their deformity was due to the rooster fertilizing them. this ignorant negro who plucked the ducks stopped by for his pay after dinner, and this attorney called jesse to the kitchen and the watch. if he couldn't have an attentive and admiring feminine audience he was ready to leave. harold chuckled. "don't get worried walter. you got what it takes." "that sort of thing don't worry me; i know i can . . ." walter muttered defensively. jesse cut him off, mumbling: "that's what you get for joining the human race." harold laughed. 'nothing's too strange for human beings, walt . now us apes, we got just one way . . ." laughing, jesse lurched to his feet and staggered to the kitchen. lucille greeted him with an accusing look. "you shouldn't have told kriss that, jesse, i didn't . . ."she began. kriss cut in: "she knows i didn't mean anything . . ." lucille continued: ". . . think anything about it at all. kriss always . . ." kriss gave jesse a sweetly malicious vindictive smile: "she knows it's just my way . . ." jesse trembled with a sudden squall of rage that left him momentarily sober. "don't be so cute!" he said to kriss, and seeing the first glint of outrage in her blue-glazed, red-rimmed eyes, he slapped her with such savage violence it spun her into the stove. he was going to hit her with his fist when lucille intervened, saying indignantly, "you shouldn't have done that, jesse! you're crazy! i'm not unhappy!" he looked at the anguish in her face and the rage drained out of him. "now this hurt bitch has got to defend this other bitch who hurt her to prove to the bitch she wasn't hurt when the bitch knows damn well she was hurt and she knows damn well the bitch knows it," he thought disgustedly. kriss wheeled toward him, her face aflame. "you son of a bitch! i'm going to . . ." he turned away as if unaware of her existence and went back to the living room and sat defiantly in her favorite three- legged chair. she came out and, standing behind him in the hall said, in an icy voice, "jesse! i want you to go home," and he replied just as icily, "kriss! go to hell!" harold chuckled innocently and began reciting: "when the fellows get to fightin' and the law is at de door—" walter cut him off. "when niggers learn how to behave them- selves . . ." "got it all figured out, haven't you, boy?" jesse felt a cold sober malevolence toward everyone. "got your big fat brain still sitting in the same position, thinking, "the nigger's earned his, anyway . . ." then everyone was standing, milling about, and he was patting walter on the shoulder, saying with great benevolence, "i like you, man, hell, i'm only too glad you found the com- bination . . . then the martins were gone and kriss was standing in front of the television set, putting on a coat, and stating to harold who stood to one side, with an attitude of deprecation: "i'm going home with you." harold was shaking his head and replying: "make himself a great hero . . ." and both were talking at once. "you gotta take me home with you, baby . . "but somebody else . . ." "i'm not going to stay here with this maniac.'' "not me . . ." "you're not going any goddamn where!" jesse said in a clear, dangerous voice. "you're psychotic!" kriss flared, flashing him a look of supreme indignation, then took harold by the arm. "come on, baby, take me home with you." "fix this lady right now," jesse thought and staggered to the kitchen to get the big kitchen knife. "don't cut her, man, don't cut her!" harold said in alarm when jesse returned, brandishing the knife. "hit her with your fist but don't cut her!" "don't tell that maniac to hit me, you fool!" kriss screamed in a rage now directed toward her erstwhile protector. "man's right," jesse thought. "lady just needs a little blacking for the coming cakewalk." aloud he said, "right-o!" and placing the knife carefully atop the storage cabinet so as not to scar the finish, hit her on the jaw as hard as he could. in amazement he watched her bang against the television set and crumple to the floor. "don't kick her, man," harold said quickly. "got you, coach," jesse said. "don't bruise the stuff." harold chuckled. "consider the depreciation." neither of them moved to help kriss as she struggled to her feet. with clinical curiosity jesse watched her first straighten the television set on its stand, then pull down her skirt which had flown up to her waist, thinking, "property first, virtue second," and when at last she gave him the full malevolence of her look, he added, "hatred, third. good thing to know." she kept silent for fear he might hit her again, but said to herself, "jesse! you are one nigger i'll never let sleep with i showed her that the hogs do not feel any pain whatsoever, and how happy they were to be giving a little sausage each day instead of being slaughtered all at once and butchered for hams, she consented to eat the sausage and liked it very much. the way i discovered she liked the sausage came about like this: she was sitting on the terrace with proust's remem- brance of things past open in her lap, but instead of reading she was looking across her sunny acres with a dreamy ex- pression. "if i may be so bold as to ask, what are you thinking, ma- dame?" i asked. "about sausage." "what about sausage, madame?" "about how good it is." it made me happy to see her happy, and the hogs were happy to see us both happy. but one day one of the hogs refused to give us his bit of sausage. i knew he was not going dry because he was eating as much swill as any of the other hogs and he was also just as fat. so after breakfast that morning i took him down to the slaughterhouse to have a heart-to-heart talk with him. "why do you refuse to give your bit of sausage like the other hogs do?" i asked. "i have run out of sausage," he said. but i knew by his hang-dog expression and the guilty manner in which he avoided my eyes that the sausage manufacturers had bribed him. "why do you lie to me?" i asked. "i can tell by looking at you that you have gone over to the other side." "but it is true," he contended. "besides which i have no more guts." "would you rather be slaughtered and butchered by the sausage manufacturers, or give us, your friends, a little bit of sausage each day?" i asked bluntly. "i don't know why i hate you so when you've been so good to me," he squealed pathetically, lard drops streaming from his little hog eyes. on hearing this, the other hogs, who had followed down to the slaughterhouse expecting to see him slaughtered, thought that i might forgive him and began shouting. "slaughter the traitor! slaughter the traitor!" but when i saw their sadistic expression, i recalled the words of our saviour, and i said to them, "he that is without pork chops among you, let him first cut his brother's throat." then i turned to the recalcitrant hog and said, "let this be morning brushing their teeth in this manner, look how much time would be saved to earn more money to pay for this ma- chine on the installment plan. it'd be the easiest thing in the world to sell; a natural for an advertising slogan: why be whiny when packer's electric shower-brush will make your teeth so nice and shiny? too long, though. don't beef! shine your teeth! that's better. . . ." he could envision a fine, fat, paunchy, but still bustling, bald-headed businessman, b. smart, taking his morning's ice-cold shower with his teeth clamped about the electric brushes when all of a sudden he has a spell of lockjaw brought on by staying beneath the ice-cold shower too long and trying to sing the chorus of "old shagging riley" while his teeth were being shined. and before he can get loose his teeth have been worn down to the roots and the busy little brushes are polishing away his jawbone. "nothing serious," he can hear the firm's executives saying. "people expect such things. perfectly normal accident of our mechanical age. good publicity, too. couldn't sell the damn things without an element of risk. great gamblers, the americans. got plates myself, thank god. ..." he laughed out loud, thinking of old mr. b. smart chomping up filets in " " with his razor-sharp jawbones. "i got a beautiful sense of humor," he thought . "as typically american as the tooth-shining machine. laugh at misfortune. but somebody else's, not mine. must remember to tell them that next time i apply for membership in the human race." the combination of warm shower and dry herb wine had a sobering effect on him and again he felt the dread of going outside into the unknown day. so instead of dressing as he had intended he went into the sitting room and sat on the sofa and finished the bottle of wine. "courage, son," he said, feeling slightly better, "it's cheaper by the bottle—best seller." but lacking the high proof courage of bottled-in-bond bourbon, he still did not feel up to facing the unknown outside. "reason why italians never won a war," he thought. "drink this stuff. raped abyssinia, though. so must be good for raping." taking the empty bottle back to the kitchen for the full one, "maybe if you drink enough of this, son, youh get in some conquests too. do the bitch a world of good. but abyssinia was a black, don't know how it'll work with whites." while drawing the cork he looked about the kitchen at the night's devastation. "tell we won this war," he thought. "don't know who we whipped but this is sure a hell of a liberated nation." pouring a tumblerful of the aromatic wine, he drank it down without pause, then cautioned himself, "just don't end up like mussolini, son. that bastard got so het up over raping a black he set the whole white world on fire." for some reason he didn't know why, he was assailed by a feeling of remorse. taking the bottle and glass to the sitting room, he stood for a moment as if bemused. with one part of his mind he thought, "they're all watching russia. better watch mississippi, too," and with the other part, for no evident reason, "thus does conscience make cowards of us all . . ." then with the first part, "no tonic manufactured good as whipping a nigger," and with the second part, strangely depressed, "all his con- science below the belt, though; never yet no higher," then with the first part, "poor kriss, too bad she's not strong enough to whip you, son; she'd give everything to heal you afterwards," and again with the second part, "can't change nature, though, folks in kentucky say their native oysters and brains taste just the same; fact, taste better, got more soul." involuntarily he went over and tuned in the television set, then sat wide-legged on the sofa. the voice from the television drew his attention: ". . . peace treaty re-establishing japan as an independent and sovereign nation, will go into effect. on may , a federal law requiring gamblers . . ." on sight of the two faces grinning at him from the television screen, he realized that gloucester was conducting his weekday morning interview with the prophetic chimpanzee, and involuntarily started up to call kriss, thinking, "shell want to hear this." but his call didn't awaken her and he could hear the chimp saying: "east germany will announce plans to form an army to protect itself against aggression." so he let her sleep on, thinking, "we must have been drinking different stuff," and went back to his seat. ". . . twenty-seven-year-old negro porter, irving greene, will confess to setting twenty fires in brooklyn during the past two years, including the june th fire in which seven persons died. when asked why he did it, he will reply that he liked the excitement." ". . . black nero," jesse thought . . . new series of reports of flying saucers over washington and other parts of the nation resulted in an air force an- nouncement that the objects were not a menace to the u.s. . . . ". . . subversive nightmares . . ." ". . . august th, florida supreme court will dismiss pleas of five negroes who seek entrance to the university of florida, and rule they are not entitled to admittance while equal facilities are available at the florida agricultural and mechanical col- lege for negroes—" ". . . southern mathematics . . .** ". . . general eisenhower will urge southerners to protect the rights of negroes . . ". . . beautiful word . . ." . . will be tried for the first-degree murder of mrs. krist- ina w. cummings. white, a divorcee employed as assistant director of the india institute. state-appointed defense attorneys for robinson will enter a plea of temporary insanity, based on the allegation that robinson, after a weekend of excessive drinking in the gramercy park apartment of mrs. cummings, had become intoxicated to the extent that, during the com- mission of the crime, he was not conscious of his actions . . ." . . bottle fatigue," jesse thought . "same thing as shell- shocked, just sounds worse . . ." ". . . prosecution will establish that, following a previous quarrel, during which he knocked her down with his fist, he entered her bedroom armed with the kitchen knife, stabbed her through the heart while she lay in bed, after which he washed the body clean of blood, changed the bedding, and arranged the body in the fresh bed in the position of sleeping with the eyes closed and the arms extended at its sides, then took a shower, dressed, packed the murder knife, bloodstained towels, and bedding into two paper shopping bags, pocketed an extra set of keys to her apartment, which he had formerly noticed in a bowl on the table, walked down twenty-third street to east river and threw the shopping bags containing the bloodstained evidence into the river, returned to the apart- ment, let himself in with the extra set of keys, undressed, hang- ing his clothes neatly in mrs. cummings' hall clothes closet, made a bed on the sofa in the sitting room, and went to sleep immediately . . ." ". . . what you get for reading too much faulkner, son," jesse said. . . defense will allege that he was completely blanked out all during this time; that if, as the prosecution will maintain, he stabbed her in a rage because she refused to succumb to his advances, he was entirely unconscious of making advances and of feeling outraged, and could only have been acting out of a subconscious resentment toward the woman who invited him to spend the weekend in her apartment for immoral pur- poses, and then, after two days of continuous drinking and enticement, reneged on her part of the bargain. . . ." ". . . you tell 'em, bub! give a little sausage or get slaugh- tered for ham." ". . . will dismiss the insanity plea . . said tentatively, and started to awaken her, then changed his mind and decided to take a nap himself. he slipped beneath the covers without disturbing her and went to sleep instantly. he dreamed horribly of running across endless glaciers and awakened minutes later, deathly chilled, without being aware that he had dreamed. "damn, aren't you cold, kriss- baby?" he asked. she didn't reply. he got up and slammed the window shut with a bang, then sat on the edge of the bed and poured a glass of wine. his teeth chattered against the rim of the glass. he felt certain that now she was awake and was keeping silent to annoy him. "you know, kriss-baby, you can be very unpleasant," he said angrily, and as his rage began to rise, added, "you're going to get yourself good and loused up some day." then, prodded by her continued silence, he turned on her furiously, saying, "and whether you like it or not i'm . . ." his voice stopped short when he clutched her naked shoulders. her ice-cold flesh burned his hands. his next action of which he was aware occurred two and a half minutes later. he was kneeling on the bed, trying to make her breathe by means of artificial respiration; and seeing his tears dripping on the purple-lipped knife wound over her heart, thought she was beginning to bleed again. he felt such a fury of frustration he began beating her senselessly about the face and shoulders, cursing in a sobbing voice, "breathe, goddamn it, breathe!" the next thing he knew he was kneeling beside the bed, sobbing into the sheet, praying between gasps: ". . . have mer- cy on her, god . . . forgive her, god . . . she was a good girl, god ... we were the bastards . . . you've got to forgive her, god . . ." suddenly it struck him, "here you are asking .'god to forgive her for what you've done to god," and he broke off and stood up and finished the bottle of wine. it soothed his panic sufficiently for him to look at the body again, and he thought, "you don't really know you did it," but in the next flash, "who're you lyin' to, son? you knew before everybody. you knew it two days before it happened. perhaps from the first time they ever hurt you for being born black." unaware of what he was doing, he leaned over and covered the body completely with both sheet and blanket as if to bury the deed itself. he felt for his pocket to get a cigarette. he realized then that he was naked, and instinctively closed the venetian blinds before turning on the light . there were no cigarettes in sight but he found one in the gold case in kriss's purse that lay open on the dresser, and lit it with her gold-plated lighter. ftives. but gone now. no more worrying about what's, .right and what'sjwrong. just what^s expedient. you're human now. went in the baclcdoor of the alchemy company of america a primitive, filled with things called principles, integrity, honor, conscience, faith, love, hope, charity and such, and came out the front door a human being, completely purged. end of a primitive; beginning of a human. good title for a book but won't sell in america with the word human in it. americans sensitive about that word. don't want to known they're human. don't blame them, though. poses the only problem they've never been able to solve with all their gadgets—the human problem. but they'll know damn well you're human. be in all the newspapers: blace~mmr~kltts white woman. not only natural, plausible, logical, inevitable, psychiatrically com- pulsive and sociologically conclusive behavior of a human being, but mathematically accurate and politically correct as well. black man has got to have some means of joining the human race. old shakespeare knew. suppose he'd had othello • kiss the bitch_and make up. would have dehumanized him. didn't take much to know. all right there in little figures. two plus two equals four. some happy-headed citizens are beginning to claim they equal five. and we've always had those mite-hearted bastards who claim they make only three. but equals four regardless. way the system works. got to change the whole damn system to get either three or five. wonder by this time why they haven't made up their minds to accept this. their own system, too. yours too now, son. too bad kriss not here to see you made it into the human race." his face relaxed in a slow sympathetic smile. "she'd be the only one who'd understand." a knock sounded on the door but the sound did not penetrate his closed and sealed perceptions. "miz cummons, anything mo y'all need?" . . too bad, kriss-baby," he was thinking. "spent ten best years of your life trying to get us into the human racf/ and not here to see your first recruit." he did not hear the diminishing sound of footsteps down the hall, nor the faint sound of the door opening and closing. in the act of lifting the telephone to call the police he stopped abruptly, thinking, "she'd never forgive you for not being dress- ed, son." he went across to the bathroom, shaved, brushed his teeth again, and dressed completely, retying his tie several times before he'd fashioned a perfect v-shaped duke of windsor knot. "now you can tell them you just stopped by by for the killing. nothing disrespectable about that." he the university of michigan of mic «versite ichigan artes ver tav n. the librar the fire in the flint walter f. white new york alfred · a · knopf mcmxxiv copyright, , by alfred a. knopf, inc. • published, september, · set up, elec- trotyped, printed and bound by the vail- ballou press, inc., binghamton n. y. • paper furnished by w. f. etherington & co., new york. • manufactured in the united states of amerioa ΤΟ my wife taloni best -la.ft “the fire in the flint never shows until it is struck." -old english proverb. . - c f the fire in the flint chapter i le, kenneth warm glow who delays-all enneth harper gazed slowly around his office. a smile of satisfaction wreathed his face, re- flecting his inward contentment. he felt like a runner who sees ahead of him the coveted goal to- wards which he has been straining through many gruelling miles. kenneth was tired but he gave no thought to his weariness. two weeks of hard work, countless annoyances, seemingly infinite delays—all were now forgotten in the warm glow which pervaded his being. he, kenneth b. harper, m.d., was now ready to receive the stream of patients he felt sure was coming. he walked around the room and fingered with almost loving tenderness the newly installed ap- paratus. he adjusted and readjusted the examining- table of shining nickel and white enamel which had arrived that morning from new york. he arranged again the black leather pads and cushions. with his handkerchief he wiped imaginary spots of dust from the plate glass door and shelves of the instrument case, though his sister mamie had polished them but half an hour before until they shone with crystal clearness. instrument after instrument he fondled with the air of a connoisseur examining a rare bit of porcelain. he fingered critically their various [ ] the fire in the flint parts to see if all were in perfect condition. he tore a stamp from an old letter and placed it under the lens of the expensive microscope adjusting and re- adjusting until every feature of the stamp stood out clearly even to the most infinite detail. he raised and lowered half a dozen times or more the lid of the nickelled sterilizer. he set at various angles the white screen which surrounded the examining-table, viewed it each time from different corners of the room, and rearranged it until it was set just right. he ran his hand over the card index files in his small desk. he looked at the clean white cards with the tabs on them—the cards which, though innocent now of writing, he hoped and expected would soon be filled with the names of innumerable sick people he was treating. his eye caught what he thought was a pucker in the grey-and-blue-chequered linoleum which covered the floor. he went over and moved the sectional book- case containing his volumes on obstetrics, on gynæcol- ogy, on materia medica, on the diseases he knew he would treat as a general practitioner of medicine in so small a place as central city. no, that wasn't a pucker-it was only the light from the window strik- ing it at that angle. “dr. kenneth b. harper, physician and surgeon.” he spelled out the letters which were painted on the upper panes of the two windows facing on state street. it thrilled him that eight years of hard work had ended and he now was at the point in his life to- | wards which he had longingly looked all those years. [ ] ?!! thes mashs the fire in the flint casting his eyes again around the office, he went into the adjoining reception room. kenneth threw himself in utter exhaustion into one of the comfortable arm-chairs there. his hands, long-fingered, tapering to slender points, the hands of a pianist, an artist, whether of brush or chisel or scalpel, hung over the sides in languid fashion. he was without coat or vest. his shirt-sleeves were rolled back above his elbows, revealing strongly muscled dark brown arms. his face was of the same richly coloured brown. his mouth was sensitively shaped with evenly matched strong white teeth. the eyes too were brown, usually sober and serious, but flashing into a broad and friendly smile when there was occasion for it. brushed straight back from the broad forehead was a mass of wavy hair, brown also but of a deeper shade, almost black. [ the chin was well shaped. as he lounged in the chair and looked around the reception room, he appeared to be of medium height, rather well-proportioned, almost stocky. three years of baseball and football, and nearly two years of army life with all its hardships, had thickened up the once rather slender figure and had given to the face a more mature appearance, different from the youthful, almost callow look he had worn when his diploma had been handed him at the end of his col- lege course. the reception room was as pleasing to him as he sat there as had been the private office. there were three or four more chairs like the one in which he [ ] the fire in the flint vase sat. there was a couch to match. the wall-paper was a subdued tan, serving as an excellent back- ground for four brightly coloured reproductions of good pictures. their brightness was matched by a vase of deep blue that stood on the table. beside the vase were two rows of magazines placed there for perusal by his patients as they waited admittance to the more austere room beyond. it was comfortable. it was in good taste—almost too good taste, kenneth thought, for a place like central city in a section like the southernmost part of georgia. some of the country folks and even those in town would probably say it was too plain-didn't have enough colour about it. oh, well, that wouldn't matter, kenneth thought. they wouldn't have to live there. most of them would hardly notice it, if they paid any at- tention at all to relatively minor and unimportant things like colour schemes. - kenneth felt that he had good reason to feel con- tent with the present outlook. he lighted a cigarette and settled himself more comfortably in the deep chair and let his mind wander over the long trail he had covered. he thought of the eight happy years he had spent at atlanta university-four of high school and four of college. he remembered grate- fully the hours of companionship with those men and women who had left comfortable homes and friends in the north to give their lives to the educa- tion of coloured boys and girls in georgia. they were so human—so sincere-so genuinely anxious to help. it wasn't easy for them to do it, either, for [ ] the fire in the flint it meant ostracism and all its attendant unpleasant- nesses to teach coloured children in georgia anything other than industrial courses. and they were so different from the white folks he knew in central city. here he had always been made to feel that be- cause he was a "nigger” he was predestined to in- feriority. but there at atlanta they had treated him like a human being. he was glad he had gone to atlanta university. it had made him realize that all white folks weren't bad—that there were decent ones, after all. and then medical school in the north! how eagerly he had looked forward to it! the bustle, the air of alert and eager determination, the lovely old ivied walls of the buildings where he attended classes. he laughed softly to himself as he remem- bered how terribly lonesome he had been that first day when as an ignorant country boy he found him- self really at a northern school. that had been a hard night to get through. everybody had seemed so intent on doing something that was interesting, going so rapidly towards the places where those in- teresting things were to take place, greeting old friends and acquaintances affectionately and with all the boisterous bonhomie that only youth, and col- lege youth at that, seem to be able to master. it had been a bitter pill for him to swallow that he alone of all that seething, noisy, tremendous mass of students, was alone—without friend or acquaintance—the one lonely figure of the thousands around him. that hadn't lasted long though. good old bill - - [ ] the fire in the flint van vleet! that's what having family and money and prestige behind you did for a fellow! it was a mighty welcome thing when old bill came to him there as he sat dejectedly that second morning on the campus and roused him out of his gloom. and then the four years when bill had been his closest friend. he had been one wonderful free soul that knew no line of caste or race. his friendship with van vleet seemed to kenneth now almost like the memory of a pleasant dream on awaking. even then it had often seemed but a fleet- ing, evanescent experience a wholly temporary ar- rangement that was intended to last only through the four years of medical school. those times when bill had invited him to spend christmas holidays at his home they had been hard invitations to get out of. bill had been sincere enough, no doubt of that. but bill's father—his mother—their friends—would they—old pennsylvania dutch family that they were =would they be as glad to welcome a negro into their home? he had always been afraid to take the chance of finding that they wouldn't. decent enough had they been when bill introduced him to them on one of their visits to philadelphia. but—and this was a big “but”—there was a real difference between being nice to a coloured friend of bill's at school and treating that same fellow decently in their own home. kenneth was conscious of a vague feeling even now that he had not treated them fairly i.. judging them by the white people of central city. yet, white folks were white folks—and that's that! hadn't his [ ] [ ] haftale to i s' nala lentity to ! i al e distant for the caci ulem the fire in the flint father always told him that the best way to get along with white people was to stay away from them and let them alone as much as possible? through his mind passed memories of the many conversations he had had with his father on that sub- ject. especially that talk together before he had gone away to medical school. he didn't know then it was the last time he would see his father alive. he had had no way of knowing that his father, al- ways so rugged, so buoyantly healthy, so uncom- plaining, would die of appendicitis while he, ken- neth, was in france. if he had only been at home! he'd have known it wasn't a case of plain cramps, as that old fossil, dr. bennett, had called it. what was the exact way in which his father had put his philos- ophy of life in the south during that last talk they had had together? it had run like this: any - negro can get along without trouble in the south if he only attends to his own business. it was unfortu- nate, mighty unpleasant and uncomfortable at times, that coloured people, no matter what their standing, had to ride in jim crow cars, couldn't vote, couldn't use the public libraries and all those other things. lynching, too, was bad. but only bad negroes ever got lynched. and, after all, those things weren't all of life. booker washington was right. and the others who were always howling about rights were · wrong. get a trade or a profession. get a home. get some property. get a bank account. do some- thing! be somebody! and then, when enough ne- groes had reached that stage, the ballot and all the [ ] the fire in the flint other things now denied them would come. white folks then would see that the negro was deserving of those rights and privileges and would freely, gladly give them to him without his asking for them. that was the way he felt. when bill van vleet had urged him to go with him to dinners or the theatre, he had had always some excuse that bill had to ac- cept whether he had believed it or not. good old bill! they never knew during those more or less happy days what was in store for them both. neither of them had known that the german army was going to sweep down through belgium. nor did they know that bill was fated to end his short but brilliant career as an aviator in a blazing, spectacular descent behind the german lines, the lucky shot of a german anti-aircraft gun. graduation. the diploma which gave him the right to call himself “dr. kenneth b. harper.” and then that stormy, yet advantageous year in new york at bellevue. hadn't they raised sand at his, a negro's presumption in seeking that interneship at bellevue! he'd almost lost out. no negro interne had ever been there before. if it hadn't been for dr. cox, to whom he had had a letter of introduction from his old professor of pathology at school, he never would have got the chance. but it had been worth it. kenneth lighted another cigarette and draped his legs over the arm of the chair. it wasn't bad at all to think of the things he had gone through—now that they were over. especially the army. out of bel- - ; [ ] the fire in the flint levue one week when the chance came to go to the negro officers' training-camp at des moines. first lieutenant's bars in the medical corps. then the long months of training and hard work at camp up- ton, relieved by occasional pleasant trips to new york. lucky he'd been assigned to the th of the nd division. good to be near a real town like new york. that had been some exciting ride across. and then the meuse, the argonne, then metz. god, but that was a terrible nightmare! right back of the lines had he been assigned. men with arms and legs shot off. some torn to pieces by shrapnel. some burned horribly by mustard gas. the worse night had been when the germans made that sudden attack at the meuse. for five days they had been fighting w and working. that night he had almost broken down. how he had cursed war! and those who made war. and the civilization that permitted war —even made it necessary. never again for him! seemed like a horrible dream—a nightmare worse than any he had ever known as a boy when he'd eaten green apples or too much mince pie. that awful experience he had soon relegated to the background of his mind. especially when he was spending those blessed six months at the sorbonne. that had been another hard job to put over. they didn't want any negroes staying in france. they'd howled and they'd brought up miles of red tape. but he had ignored the howls and unwound the red tape. [ ] the fire in the flint and now, central city again. it was good to get back. four-eight—sixteen years had he spent in preparation. now he was all ready to get to work at his profession. for a time he'd have to do general practising. had to make money. then he'd spe- cialize in surgery—major surgery. soon's he got enough money ahead, he'd build a sanitarium. make of it as modern a hospital as he could afford. he'd draw on all of south georgia for his patients. near- est one now is atlanta. all south georgia—most of florida—even from alabama. ten years from now he'd have a place known and patronized by all the coloured people in the south. something like the mayo brothers up in rochester, minnesota! “pretty nifty, eh, ken?” kenneth, aroused suddenly from his retrospection and day-dreams, jumped at the unexpected voice be- hind him. it was his younger brother, bob. he laughed a little shamefacedly at his having been startled. without waiting for a reply, bob entered the room and sat on the edge of the table facing kenneth. “yep! things are shaping up rather nicely. everything's here now but the patients. and those'll be coming along pretty soon, i believe,” replied ken- neth confidently. he went on talking enthusiasti- cally of the castles in the air he had been building when bob entered the room—of the hospital he was going to erect-how he planned attending the state medical convention every year to form contracts with other coloured doctors of georgia-how he was in- [ ] the fire in the flint tending to visit during the coming year all the col. oured physicians within a radius of a hundred miles of central city to enlist their support. he discussed the question of a name for the hospital. how would harper's sanitarium sound? or would the central city infirmary be better? or the hospital of south georgia? on and on kenneth rambled, talking half to bob, half in audible continuation of his reverie before bob had entered. but bob wasn't listening to him. on his face was the usual half-moody, half- discontented expression which kenneth knew so well. bob was looking down the dusty expanse of the road which bore rather poorly the imposing title of state street. the house was located at the corner of lee and state streets. it was set back about fifty feet from the streets, and the yard outside showed the work of one who loved flowers. there was an ex- panse of smooth lawn, dotted here and there with flowering beds of pansies, of nasturtiums. there were several abundantly laden rose-bushes and two of “cape jessamine” that filled the air with an intoxi- cating, almost cloying sweetness. though it was a balmy october afternoon, the air languorous and caressing, bob shared none of the atmosphere's lazy contentment. all this riot of col. ours and odours served in no manner to remove from his face the dissatisfied look that covered it. he lis- tened to kenneth's rhapsodies of what he intended accomplishing with what was almost a grimace of distaste. he was taller than kenneth, of slighter [ ] the fire in the flint build, but of the same rich colouring of skin and with the same hair and features. in spite of these physical resemblances between the two brothers, there was a more intangible difference which clearly distinguished the two. kenneth was more phlegmatic, more of a philosophic turn of mind, more content with his lot, able to forget himself in his work, and when that was finished, in his books. bob, on the other hand, was of a highly sensitized nature, more analytical of mind, more easily roused to passion and anger. this tendency had been de- veloped since the death of his father just before he completed his freshman year at atlanta. the death had necessitated his leaving school and returning to central city to act as administrator of his father's estate. his experiences in accomplishing this task had not been pleasant ones. he had been forced to deal with the tricksters that infested the town. he had come in contact with all the chicanery, the petty thievery, the padded accounts, that only petty minds can devise. the utter impotence he had felt in hav- ing no legal redress as a negro had embittered him. joe harper, their father, had been exceedingly care- ful in keeping account of all bills owed and due him. yet bob had been forced to pay a number of bills of which he could find no record in his father's neatly kept papers. these had aggregated somewhere be- tween three and four thousand dollars. various white merchants of the town claimed that joe harper, his father, owed them. bob knew they were lying. yet he could do nothing. no court in south georgia [ ] the fire in the flint would have listened to his side of the story or paid more than perfunctory attention to him. it was a case of a white man's word against a negro's, and a verdict against the negro was sure even before the case was opened. kenneth, on the other hand, had been a favourite of their quiet, almost taciturn father. always filled with ambition for his children, joe harper had fur- nished kenneth, as liberally as he could afford, the money necessary for him to get the medical educa- tion he wanted. he had not been a rich man but he had been comfortably fixed financially. starting out as a carpenter doing odd jobs around central city, he had gradually expanded his activities to the building of small houses and later to larger homes and business buildings. most of the two-story build- ings that lined lee street in the business section of central city had been built by him. white and col- oured alike knew that when joe harper took a con- tract, it would be done right. aided by a frugal and economical wife, he had purchased real estate and, though the profits had been slow and small, had man- aged with his wife to accumulate during their thirty- five years of married life between twenty and twenty- five thousand dollars which he left at his death to his wife and three children. kenneth had been furnished with the best that his father could afford, while bob, some ten years younger than his brother, had had to wait until ken- neth finished school before he could begin his course. bob felt no jealousy of his favoured brother, yet [ ] the fire in the flint the experiences that had been his in central city while kenneth was away had tended towards a bitter- ness which frequently found expression on his face. he was the natural rebel, revolt was a part of his creed. kenneth was the natural pacifist—he never bothered trouble until trouble bothered him. even then, if he could avoid it, he always did. it was not strange, therefore, that he should have come home be- lieving implicitly that his father was right when he had said kenneth could get along without trouble in central city as long as he attended to his own business. kenneth talked on and on, unfolding the plans he had made for the extending of the influence of his hospital throughout the south. bob, occupied with his own thoughts, heard but little of it. suddenly he interrupted kenneth with a sharply put question. “ken, why did you come back to central city?" he asked. he went on without waiting for a reply. “if i had had your chances of studying up north and in france, and living where you don't have to be a afraid of getting into trouble with crackers all the time, i'd rather've done anything else than to come back to this rotten place to live the rest of my life.” kenneth laughed easily, almost as though a five- year-old had asked some exceedingly foolish ques. tion. “why did i come back?” he repeated. “that's easy. i came back because i can make more money here than anywhere else.” [ ] , if tie unitting to in allalshoort he is now hrs the fire in the flint “but that isn't the most important thing in life!” bob exclaimed. “maybe not the most important,” kenneth laughed, “but a mighty convenient article to have lying around. i came back here where the bulk of coloured people live and where they make money off their crops and where there won't be much trouble for me to build up a big practice.” "that's an old argument,” retorted bob. “nearly a million coloured people went north during the war and they're making money there hand over fist. you could make just as much money, if not more, in a city like detroit or cleveland or new york, and you wouldn't have to be always afraid you've given of- fence to some of these damned ignorant crackers down here.” “oh, i suppose i could've made money there. dr. cox at bellevue told me i ought to stay there in new york and practise in harlem, but i wanted to come back home. i can do more good here, both for my- self and for the coloured people, than i could up there.” he paused and then asserted confidently: "and i don't think i'll have any trouble down here. papa got along all right here in this town for more than fifty years, and i reckon i can do it too." “but, ken,” bob protested, "the way things were when he came along are a lot different from the way they are now. just yesterday old man mygatt down to the bank got mad and told me i was an “impudent young nigger that needed to be taught my place' be- ; [ ] the fire in the flint cause i called his hand on a note he claimed papa owed the bank. he knew i knew he was lying, and that's what made him so mad. they're already say- ing i'm not a 'good nigger' like papa was and that education has spoiled me into thinking i'm as good as they are. good lord, if i wasn't any better than these ignorant crackers in this town, i'd go out and jump in the river.” bob was working himself into a temper. kenneth interrupted him with a good-natured smile as he said: “bob, you're getting too pessimistic. you've been reading too many of these coloured newspapers pub- lished in new york and chicago and these societies that're always playing up some lynching or other trouble down here ” “what if i have? i don't need to read them to know that things are much worse to-day than they were a few years back. you haven't lived down here for nearly nine years and you don't know how things are changed.” “it's you who have changed—not conditions so much!” kenneth answered. “what if there are mean white folks? there are lots of other white people who want to see the negro succeed. only this morning dr. bennett told mamma he was glad i came back and he'd do what he could to help me. and there're lots more like ” “that's nice of dr. bennett," interjected bob. “he can afford to talk big-he's got the practice of this town sewed up. and, most of all, he's a white man. suppose some of these poor whites get it into [ ] the fire in the flint their heads to make trouble because you're getting too prosperous—what then? dr. bennett and all the rest of the good white folks around here can't help you!” “oh, yes, they can,” kenneth observed with the same confident smile. "judge stevenson and roy ewing and mr. baird at the bank of central city and a lot others run this town and they aren't going to let any decent coloured man be bothered. why, i'll have a cinch around this part of georgia! there aren't more than half a dozen coloured doctors in all this part of the country who've had a decent medical education and training. all they know is ladling out pills and fake panaceas. in a few years i'll be able to give up general practising and give all my time to major surgery. i'll handle pretty nearly everything in this part of the state. and then you'll see i'm right!” “have it your own way," retorted bob. “but i'm telling you again, you haven't been living down here for eight or nine years and you don't know. when all these negroes were going north, some of these same “good white folks' you're depending on started talking about “putting niggers in their place' when they couldn't get servants and field hands. you'll find things a lot different from the way they were when you went up north to school.” “what’re you boys fussing about? what's the trouble?” bob and kenneth turned at the voice from the door. way behind them. it was their mother. [ ] the fire in the flint “nothing, mamma, only bob's got a fit of the blues to-day.” mrs. harper came in and looked from one to the other of her sons. she was a buxom, pleasant-faced woman of fifty-odd years, her hair once brown now flecked with grey. she wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the corner of her apron, announc- ing meanwhile that supper was ready. as he rose, kenneth continued his explanation of their conversa- tion. “bob's seeing things like a kid in the dark. he thinks i'll not be able to do the things i came back here to accomplish. thinks the crackers won't let me! i'm going to solve my own problem, do as much good as i can, make as much money as i can! if every negro in america did the same thing, there wouldn't be any race problem.'” mrs. harper took an arm of each of her sons and led them into the dining-room where their sister ma- mie was putting supper on the table. “you're right, kenneth,” mrs. harper remarked as she sat down at the table. "your father and i got along here together in central city without a bit of trouble for thirty-five years, and i reckon you can do it too." "but, mamma,” bob protested, “i've been telling ken things are not what they were when you and papa came along. why— " “let's forget the race problem for a while,” ken- neth interrupted. “i'm too hungry and tired to talk about it now.” [ ] the fire in the flint “that's right," was mrs. harper's comment. “draw your chairs up to the table. you're not goin' to have any trouble here in town, ken, and we're mighty glad you came back. mrs. amos was in this afternoon and she tells me they're having some trou- ble out near ashland between the coloured share- croppers and their landlords, but that'll blow over- just as it's always done.” “what's the trouble out there?” asked kenneth. he wasn't much interested, for he could hear mamie, in the kitchen beyond, singing some popular air to the accompaniment of chicken-frying. “it's a case where coloured farmers claim they can't get fair settlements from their landlords for their crops at the end of the year,” explained his mother. “why don't they hire a lawyer?” kenneth asked, with little interest. “that shows you've forgotten all about things in the south,” said bob with mingled triumph and de- spair at his brother's ignorance. “there isn't a white lawyer in georgia who'd take a case like this. in the first place, the courts would be against him because his client's a negro, and in the second place, he'd have to buck this combination of landlords, store- keepers, and bankers who are getting rich robbing negroes. if a white lawyer took a case of a negro share-cropper, he'd either sell out to the landlord or be scared to death before he ever got to court. and as for a negro lawyer,” here bob laughed sardoni- cally, "he'd be run out of town by the ku klux [ ] the fire in the flint klan or lynched almost before he took the case!” “oh, i don't know so much about that!” kenneth replied. “there are landlords, without doubt, who rob their tenants, but after all there are only a few of them. and furthermore," he declared as mamie entered the room with a platter of fried chicken in one hand and a plate of hot biscuits in the other, “supper looks just a little bit more interesting to me right now than landlords, tenants, or problems of any kind.” mamie divested herself of her apron and sat down to the table. she was an attractive girl of twenty- two or twenty-three, more slender than bob, and | about kenneth's height. her hair was darker than that of either of her brothers, was parted in the middle and brushed down hard on either side. though not a pretty girl, she had an air about her as though she was happy because of the sheer joy of living. she had graduated from atlanta university two years before, and with two other girls had been teaching the seven grades in the little ramshackle building that served as a coloured school in the town. that hard work had not as yet begun to tell on her. she seemed filled with buoyant good health and blessed with a lively good nature. yet she too was inclined to spells of depression like bob's. she resembled him more nearly than kenneth. as has every comely coloured girl in towns of the south like central city, she had had many repulsive experiences when she had to fight with might and main to ward off unwelcome attentions—both of the men of her [ ] the fire in the flint own race and of white men. especially had this been true since the death of her father. often her face overclouded as she thought of them. she, like bob, felt always as though they were living on top of a volcano—and never knew when it might erupt. ... the four sat at supper. forgotten were problems other than the immediate one of kenneth's in getting his practice under way. eagerly they talked of his plans, his prospects, his ambitions. bob said noth- ing until they began to discuss him and his plans for returning to school the following fall, now that kenneth was back to complete the settling of the small details that remained in connection with joe harper's estate. ... it was a happy and reasonably prosperous, intelli- gent family group-one that can be duplicated many, many times in the south. vos [ ] chapter ii | ituated in the heart of the farming section of the state, with its fertile soil, its equable cli- mate, its forests of pine trees, central city was one of the flourishing towns of south georgia. its population was between eight and ten thousand, of which some four thousand were negroes. the wealth and prosperity of the town depended not so much on the town itself as it did on the farmers of the fertile_lands surrounding it. to central city they came on saturday afternoons to sell their cot- ton, their corn, their hogs and cows, and to buy in turn sugar, cloth, coffee, farming-implements, shoes, and amusement. it was divided into four nearly equal sections by the intersection of the tracks of the central of georgia railroad and of the georgia, southern and florida railway. drowsy, indolent during the first six days of the week, central city awoke on saturday morning for "goin'ť town” day with its bustle and excitement and lively trade. then the broad dustiness of lee street was disturbed by the fords and muddied wagons of farmers, white and black. in the wagons were usually splint-bottom chairs or boards stretched from side to side, occupied by scrawny, lanky "po' whites” with a swarm of children to match, clad in single-piece garments, once [ ] the fire in the flint red in colour and now, through many washings with lye soap, an indeterminate reddish brown. or, if the driver was a negro, he generally was surrounded by just as many little black offspring, clad also in greyish or reddish-brown garments, and scrambling over the farm products being brought to town for sale or ex- change for the simple and few store products needed. and beside him the usually buxom, ample-bodied wife, clad in her finest and most gaudy clothing to celebrate the trip to town looked forward to eagerly all the week. crowded were the streets with vehicles and the sidewalks with the jostling, laughing, loudly talking throng of humans. after the noonday whistle had blown signalling release to the hordes of whites work- ing in the cotton mill over beyond the tracks, the crowd was augmented considerably, the new-comers made up of those who had deserted the country districts, discouraged by the hard life of farming, by rainy and unprofitable seasons, by the ravages of the boll weevil and of landlords, both working dire distress on poor white and black alike. discouraged, they had come to the city” to work at small wages in the cotton mill. all the trading done on these days did not take place over the counters of the stores that lined lee street. in the dirty little alleyways from off the main street, men with furtive eyes but bold ways dis- pensed synthetic gin, “real” rye whisky, and more often “white mule,” as the moonshine corn whisky is called. bottles were tilted and held to the mouth [ ] the fire in the flint a long time and later the scene would be enlivened by furious but shortlived fights. guns, knives, all sorts of weapons appeared with miraculous speed- the quarrel was settled, the wounded or killed re- moved, and the throng forgot the incident in some new joyous and usually commonplace or sordid adventure. . when darkness began to approach, the wagons and fords, loaded with merchandise for the next week, and with the children clutching sticky and brightly coloured candies, began to rumble countrywards, and central city by nightfall had resumed its sleepy, in- dolent, and deserted manner. from the corner where oglethorpe avenue crossed lee street and where stood the monument to the con- federate dead, the business section extended up lee street for three blocks. here the street was dignified with a narrow “park," some twenty feet in width, which ran the length of the business thoroughfare. over beyond the monument lay the section of cen- tral city where lived the more well-to-do of its white inhabitants. georgia avenue was here the realm of the socially elect. shaded by elms, it numbered sev- eral more or less pretentious homes of two stories, some of brick, the majority of frame structure. here were the homes of roy ewing, president of the local chamber of commerce and owner of ewing's general merchandise emporium; of george baird, president of the bank of central city; of fred gris- wold, occupying the same relation to central city's other bank, the smith county farmers' bank; of [ ] the fire in the flint ralph minor, owner and manager of the bon ton store. here too were the wives of these men, busying themselves with their household duties and the minor social life of the community. in the morning they attended to the many details of housekeeping; in the afternoon and early evening they sat on their front porches or visited neighbours or went for a ride. placid, uneventful, stupid lives they led with no other interests than the petty affairs of a small and unpro- gressive town. the young girls of central city usually in the afternoon dressed in all their small-town finery and strolled down to odell's drug store where the young men congregated. having consumed a frothy soda or a gummy, sweetish sundae, they went to the idle hour moving picture palace to worship at the cellu- loid shrine of a favourite film actor, usually of the highly romantic type. then the stroll homewards, always past the central city hotel, a two-storied frame structure located at the corner of lee street and oglethorpe avenue opposite the confederate monument. in front were arm-chairs, occupied in warm weather, which was nearly all the year round, by travelling salesmen or other transients. often a sidelong glance and a fleeting, would-be-coy smile would cause one of the chair-occupants to rise as casually as he could feign, yawn and stretch, and with affected nonchalance stroll down lee street in the wake of the smiling one. ... at the other end of lee street from the residential [ ] the fire in the flint rainy west of sticky, gummu anes, veritabl. section of the well-to-do whites, past the business sec- tion of that main artery of the town, lay that portion known generally as “darktown.” fringing it were several better-than-the-average homes, neat, well painted, comfortable-looking, fronted with smooth lawns and tidy, colourful flower-beds. it was one of these at the corner of lee and state streets that the harpers owned and occupied. after crossing state street, an abrupt descent was taken by lee street. here lived in squalor and filth and abject poverty the poorer class of negroes. the streets were winding, unpaved lanes, veritable seas and rivers of sticky, gummy, discouraging mud in rainy weather, into which the wheels of vehicles sank to their hubs if the drivers of those conveyances were indiscreet enough to drive through them. in sum- mer these eddying wallows of muck and filth and mud dry up and are transformed into swirling storms of germ-laden dust when a vagrant wind sweeps over them or a vehicle drives through them, choking the throats of unlucky passers-by, and, to the despair of the dusky housewives, flying through open windows. the houses that bordered these roads were for the most part of three and four rooms, the exteriors un. painted or whitewashed, the interiors gloomy and smelly. but few of them had sanitary arrangements, and at the end of the little patch of ground that was back of each of them, in which a few discouraged vegetables strove to push their heads above the ground, there stood another unpainted structure, small, known as “the privy.” in front there was [ ] the fire in the flint su nearly always some attempt at flower-cultivation, the tiny beds bordered with bottles, shells, and bits of brightly coloured glass. the ugliness of the houses in many instances was hidden in summer-time by yines and rambler roses that covered the porches and sometimes the fronts of the houses. around these houses, in the streets, everywhere, there played a seemingly innumerable horde of black and brown and yellow children, noisy, quarrel- some, clad usually in one-piece dresses of the same indeterminate shade of grey or red or brown that was seen on the country children on saturday. in front of many of the houses, there sat on sunny days an old and bent man or ancient woman puffing the omni. present corn-cob pipe. ... a half-mile westward from "darktown,” and sep. arated from it by the central of georgia railroad tracks, stood the central city cotton spinning-mill. clustered around its ugly red-brick walls stood dwell. ings that differed but little from those of “darktown.” here were the same dingy, small, unsanitary, un- beautiful, and unpainted dwellings. here were the same muddy or dusty unpaved streets. here were the same squalor and poverty and filth and abject ignorance. there were but few superficial or recog- nizable differences. one was that the children wore, instead of the brown plumpness of the negro chil. dren, a pale, emaciated, consumptive air because of the long hours in the lint-laden confines of the mills. the men were long, stooped, cadaverous-appearing. the women were sallow, unattractive, sad-looking, [ ] the fire in the flint each usually with the end of a snuff-stick protruding from her mouth. the children, when they played at all, did so in listless, wearied, uninterested, and apa- thetic fashion. the houses looked even more gaunt and bare than those in the quarter which housed the poorer negroes, for the tiny patches of ground that fronted the houses here in “factoryville” were but seldom planted with flowers. more often it was trampled down until it became a hard, red-clay, sun- baked expanse on which the children, and dogs as emaciated and forlorn, sometimes played. here there was but one strong conviction, but one firm rock of faith to which they clung—the inherent and carefully nurtured hatred of “niggers” and a belief in their own infinite superiority over their dark-skinned neighbours. their gods were tom watson "and hoke smith and tom hardwick and other demagogic politicians and office-seekers who came to them every two or four years and harangued them on the necessity of their upholding white civili- zation by re-electing them to office. but one appeal was needed—but one was used—and that one always successfully. meanwhile, their children left school and entered the mill to work the few years that such a life gave them. and, in the meantime, the black children they hated so-deprived by prejudice from working in the mills, and pushed forward by often illiterate but always ambitious black parents—went to school. ... . this, in brief, was the central city to which ken- neth had returned. a typical southern town—rea- [ ] the fire in the flint sonably rich as wealth is measured in that part of georgia-rich in money and lands and cotton-amaz- ingly ignorant in the finer things of life. noisy, un- reflective, their wants but few and those easily satis- fied. the men, self-made, with all that that dis- tinctly american term implies. the women con- cerned only with their petty household affairs and more petty gossip and social intercourse. but, be- yond these, life was and is a closed book. or, more, a book that never was written or printed. the companionship and inspiration of books was unknown. music, even with the omnipresent vic- trola, meant only the latest bit of cheap jazz or a yiddish or negro dialect song. art, in its many forms was considered solely for decadent, effete "furriners.” hostility would have met the woman of the town's upper class who attempted to exhibit any knowledge of art. her friends would have felt that she was trying to put something over on them.” as for any man of the town, at best he would have been considered a "little queer in the head," at the worst suspected of moral turpitude or perversion. but two releases from the commonplace, monoto- nous life were left. the first, liquor. bootlegging throve. the woods around central city were in- fested with “moonshine” stills that seldom were still. the initiated drove out to certain lonely spots, de- posited under well-known trees a jug or other con- tainer with a banknote stuck in its mouth. one then gave a certain whistle and walked away. soon there would come an answering signal. one went back to [ ] the fire in the flint the tree and found the money gone but the container filled with a colourless or pale-yellow liquid. ... or, the more affluent had it brought to them in town hidden under wagon-loads of fodder or cotton. the other and even more popular outlet of un- fulfilled and suppressed emotions was sex. central city boasted it had no red-light district like macon and savannah and atlanta. that was true. all over the town were protected domiciles housing slat- ternly women. to them went by circuitous routes the merchants whose stores were on lee street. to them went the gangs from the turpentine camps on their periodic pilgrimages to town on pay-day. and a traveller on any of the roads leading from the town could see, on warm evenings, automobiles standing with engines stilled and lights dimmed on the side of the road. down on harris and butler streets in “darktown” were other houses. here were coloured women who seemed never to have to work. here was seldom seen a coloured man. and the children around these houses were usually lighter in colour than in other parts of "darktown." negro fathers and mothers of comely daughters never allowed them to go out unaccompanied after dark. there were too many dangers from men of their own race. and even greater ones from men of the other race. there had been too many disastrous consequences from relaxation of vigil by certain bowed and heart-broken coloured parents. and they had no redress at law. the laws of the state against intermarriage saw to it that there should be none. [ ] the fire in the flint central city inhabitants knew all these things. but familiarity with them had bred the belief that they did not exist—that is, they were thought a natural part of the town's armament against scandal. one soon grew used to them and forgot them. the town was no worse than any other-far better than most. it was a rude shock to kenneth when he began to see these things through an entirely different pair of eyes than those with which he had viewed them be- fore he left central city for the north. the sordid 'ness, the blatant vulgarity, the viciousness of it all -especially the houses on butler and harris streets -appalled and sickened him. even more was he disgusted by the complacent acceptance of the whole miserable business by white and black alike. on two or three occasions he tentatively mentioned it to a few of those he had known intimately years be- fore. some of them laughed indulgently—others cautioned him to leave it alone. finding no re- sponse, he shrugged his shoulders and dismissed the whole affair from his mind. "it was here long be- fore i was born,” he said to himself philosophically, “it'll probably be here long after i'm dead, and the best thing for me to do is to stick to my own business and let other people's morals alone.” [ ] chapter iii enneth came into contact with few others than his own people during the first month after his return to central city. the first two weeks had been spent in getting his offices arranged with the innumerable details of carpentering, plas- tering, painting, and disposition of the equipment he had ordered in new york during the days he had spent there on his return from france. during the early months of , when through every available means propaganda was being used to whip into being america's war spirit, one of the most powerful arguments heard was that of the bene- ficial effect army life would have on the men who entered the service. newspapers and magazines were filled with it, orators in church and theatre and hall shouted it, every signboard thrust it into the faces of americans. alluring pictures were painted of the growth, physical and mental, that would cer- tainly follow enlistment “to make the world safe for democracy.” to some of those who fought, such a change prob- ably did come, but the mental outlook of most of them was changed but little. the war was too big a thing, too terrible and too searing a catastrophe, to be adequately comprehended by the farmer boys, the [ ] the fire in the flint clerks, and the boys fresh from school who chiefly made up the fighting forces. their lives had been too largely confined to the narrow ways to enable them to realize the immensity of the event into which they had been so suddenly plunged. their most vivid memories were of that damned second loot” or of beaucoup vin blanc or, most frequently, of all-too- brief adventures with the mademoiselles. with the end of the war and demobilization had come the short periods of hero-worship and then the sudden forget- fulness of those for whom they had fought. the old narrow life began again with but occasional re- volts against the monotony of it all, against the blast- ing of the high hopes held when the war was being fought. even these spasmodic revolts eventually petered out in vague mutterings among men like themselves who let their inward dissatisfaction dis- sipate in thin air. more deep-rooted was this revolt among negro ex- service men. many of them entered the army, not so much because they were fired with the desire to fight for an abstract thing like world democracy, but, because they were of a race oppressed, they enter- tained very definite beliefs that service in france would mean a more decent regime in america, when the war was over, for themselves and all others who were classed as negroes. many of them, consciously or subconsciously, had a spirit which might have been expressed like this: “yes, we'll fight for de- mocracy in france, but when that's over with we're going to expect and we're going to get some of that [ ] the fire in the flint same democracy for ourselves right here in amer. ica.” it was because of this spirit and determina- tion that they submitted to the rigid army discipline to which was often added all the contumely that race prejudice could heap upon them. kenneth was of that class which thought of these things in a more detached, more abstract, more sub- conscious manner. during the days when, stationed close to the line, he treated black men brought to the base hospital with arms and legs torn away by ex- ploding shells, with bodies torn and mangled by shrapnel, or with flesh seared by mustard gas, he had inwardly cursed the so-called civilization which not only permitted but made such carnage necessary. but when the nightmare had ended, he rapidly forgot the nausea he had felt, and plunged again into his beloved work. more easily than he would have thought possible, he forgot the months of discom- fort and weariness and bloodshed. it came back to him only in fitful memories as of some particularly horrible dream. to kenneth, when work grew wearisome or when memories would not down, there came relaxation in literature, an opiate for which he would never cease being grateful to professor fuller, his old teacher at atlanta. it was “pop”. fuller who, with his be- nign and paternal manner, his adoration of the best of the world's literature, had sown in kenneth the seed of that same love. he read and reread jean christophe, finding in the adventures and partic- ularly in the mental processes of rolland's hero many [ ] the fire in the flint is of his own reactions towards life. he had read the plays of bernard shaw, garnering here and there a morsel of truth though much of shaw eluded him. theodore dreiser's gloominess and sex-obsession he liked though it often repelled him; he admired the man for his honesty and disliked his pessimism or what seemed to him a dolorous outlook on life. he loved the colourful romances of hergesheimer, con- sidering them of little enduring value but neverthe- less admiring his descriptions of affluent life, enjoy- ing it vicariously. willa cather's my antonia he delighted in because of its simplicity and power and beauty. the works of d. h. lawrence, kenneth read with conflicting emotions. mystical, turgid, tortuous phrases, and meaning not always clear. yet he rev- elled in lawrence's clear insight into the bends and backwaters and perplexing twistings of the stream of life. kenneth liked best of all foreign writers knut hamsun. he had read many times hunger, growth of the soil, and other novels of the norwe- gian writer. he at times was annoyed by their lack of plot, but more often he enjoyed them because they had none, reflecting that life itself is never a smoothly turned and finished work of art, its causes and effects, its tears and joys, its loves and hates neatly dovetailing one into another as writers of fic- tion would have it. so too did he satisfy his love for the sea in the novels of conrad—the love so many have who are born and grow to manhood far from the sea. ken- [ ] the fire in the flint neth loved it with an abiding and passionate love loved, yet feared it for its relentless power and sav- agery—a love such as a man would have for an al- luring, yet tempestuous mistress of fiery and uncer- tain temper. in conrad's romances he lived by proxy the life he would have liked had not fear of the water and the circumstances of his life prevented it. flaubert, zola, maupassant he read and reread, finding in the struggles of emma bovary and nana and other heroines and heroes of the french realists mental counterparts of some of the coloured men and women of his acquaintance in their strug- gles against the restrictions of stupid and crass and ignorant surroundings. the very dissimilarities of environment and circumstance between his own ac- quaintances and the characters in the novels he read, seemed to emphasize the narrowness of his own life in the south. so does a bedridden invalid read with keen delight the adventurous and rococo romances of zane grey or jack london. but perhaps best of all he admired the writing of du bois—the fiery, burning philippics of one of his own race against the proscriptions of race prejudice. he read them with a curious sort of detachment- as being something which touched him in a more or less remote way but not as a factor in forming his own opinions as a negro in a land where democracy often stopped dead at the colour line. it was in this that kenneth's attitude towards life was most clearly shown. his was the more philo- sophic viewpoint on the race question, that problem so [ ] the fire in the flint close to him. the proscriptions which he and others of his race were forced to endure were inconvenient, yet they were apparently a part of life, one of its annoyances, a thing which had always been and prob- ably would be for all time to come. therefore, he reasoned, why bother with it any more than one was forced to by sheer necessity? better it was for him if he attended to his own individual problems, solved them to the best of his ability and as circumstances would permit, and left to those who chose to do it the agitation for the betterment of things in general. · if he solved his problems and every other negro did the same, he often thought, then the thing we call the race problem will be solved. besides, he reasoned, the whole thing is too big for one man to tackle it, and if he does attack it, more than likely he will go down to defeat in the attempt. and what would be gained? ... his office completed, kenneth began the making of those contacts he needed to secure the patients he knew were coming. in this his mother and mamie were of invaluable assistance. everybody knew the harpers. it was a simple matter for kenneth to re- new acquaintances broken when he had left for school in the north. he joined local lodges of the grand united order of heavenly reapers and the exalted knights of damon. the affected mysteriousness of his initiation into these fraternal orders, the secret grip, the passwords, the elaborately worded rituals, all of which the other members took so seriously, amused him, but he went through it all with an out- [ ] the fire in the flint wardly solemn demeanour. he knew it was good business to affiliate himself with these often absurd societies which played so large a part in the lives of these simple and illiterate coloured folk. along with the strenuous emotionalism of their religion, it served as an outlet for their naturally deep feelings. in spite of the renewal of acquaintances, the care- ful campaign of winning confidence in his ability as a physician, kenneth found that the flood of patients did not come as he had hoped. the col. oured people of central city had had impressed upon them by three hundred years of slavery and that which was called freedom after the emancipation proclamation was signed, that no negro doctor, how- ever talented, was quite as good as a white one. this slave mentality, kenneth now realized, inbred upon generation after generation of coloured folk, is the greatest handicap from which the negro suffers, de- stroying as it does that confidence in his own ability which would enable him to meet without fear or apology the test of modern competition. kenneth's youthful appearance, too, militated against him. though twenty-nine years old, he looked not more than a mere twenty-four or twenty- five. "he may know his stuff and be as smart as all outdoors,” ran the usual verdict, “but i don't want no boy treating me when i'm sick.” perhaps the greatest factor contributing to the col. oured folks' lack of confidence in physicians of their own race was the inefficiency of dr. williams, the only coloured doctor in central city prior to [ ] the fire in the flint kenneth's return. dr. williams belonged to the old school and moved on the theory that when he grad- uated some eighteen years before from a medical school in alabama, the development of medical knowledge had stopped. he fondly pictured himself as being the most prominent personage of central city's negro colony, was pompous, bulbous-eyed, and exceedingly fond of long words, especially of latin derivation. he made it a rule of his life never to use a word of one syllable if one of two or more would serve as well. active in fraternal order cir- cles (he was a member of nine lodges), class-leader in central city's largest methodist church, arbiter supreme of local affairs in general, he filled the rôle with what he imagined was unsurpassable éclat. his idea of complimenting a hostess was ostentatiously to loosen his belt along about the middle of dinner. once he had been introduced as the “black william jennings bryan,” believed it thereafter, and thought it praise of a high order. he was one of those who say on every possible occasion: “i am kept so terribly busy i never have a minute to myself.” like nine out of ten who say it, dr. williams always repeated this stock phrase of those who flatter themselves in this fashion—so nec- essary to those of small minds who would be thought great—not because it was true, but to enhance his pre-eminence in the eyes of his hearers—and in his own eyes as well. he always wore coats which resembled morning coats, known in local parlance as "jim-swingers." [ ] the fire in the flint he kept his hair straightened, wore it brushed straight back from his forehead like highly polished steel wires, and, with pomades and hair oils liberally applied, it glistened like the patent leather shoes which adorned his ample feet. his stout form filled the ford in which he made his professional calls, and it was a sight worth see- ing as he majestically rolled through the streets of the town bowing graciously and calling out loud greetings to the acquaintances he espied by the way. always his bows to white people were twice as low and obsequious as to those of darker skin. until kenneth returned, dr. williams had had his own way in central city. through his fraternal and church connections and lack of competition, he had made a little money, much of it through his position as medical examiner for the lodges to which he be- longed. as long as he treated minor ailments—cuts, colic, childbirths, and the like he had little trouble. but when more serious maladies attacked them, the coloured population sent for the old white physician, dr. bennett, instead of for dr. williams. the great amount of time at his disposal irritated kenneth. he was like a spirited horse, champing at the bit, eager to be off. the patronizing air of his people nettled him-caused him to reflect somewhat bitterly that “a prophet is not without honour save in his own country.” and when one has not the gift of prophecy to foretell, or of clairvoyance to see, what the future holds in the way of success, one is not likely to develop a philosophic calm which en- [ ] the fire in the flint ables him to await the coming of long-desired results. he was seated one day in his office reading when his mother entered. closing his book, he asked the reason for her frown. "you remember mrs. bradley—mrs. emma brad- ley down on ashley street-don't you, kenneth?” without waiting for a reply, mrs. harper went on: “well, she's mighty sick. jim bradley has had dr. bennett in to see what's the matter with her but he don't seem to do her much good.” kenneth remembered mrs. bradley well indeed. the most talkative woman in central city. it was she who had come to his mother with a long face and dolorous manner when he as a youngster had misbehaved in church. he had learned instinctively to connect mrs. bradley's visits with excursions to the little back room accompanied by his mother and a switch cut from the peach-tree in the back yard- a sort of natural cause and effect. visions of those days rose in his mind and he imagined he could feel the sting of those switches on his legs now. “what seems to be the trouble with her?” he asked. “it's some sort of stomach-trouble-she's got an awful pain in her side. she says it can't be her ap- pendix because she had that removed up to atlanta when she was operated on there for a tumour nearly four years ago. dr. bennett gave her some medi- cine but it doesn't help here any. won't you run down there to see her?” "i can't, mamma, until i am called in profession- ally. dr. bennett won't like it. it isn't ethical. [ ] the fire in the flint besides, didn't mrs. bradley say when i came back that she didn't want any coloured doctor fooling with her?” “yes, she did, but you mustn't mind that. just run in to see her as a social call.” kenneth rose and instinctively took up his bag. remembering, he put it down, put on his hat, kissed his mother, and walked down to mrs. bradley's. outside the gate stood dr. bennett's mud-splashed buggy, sagging on one side through years of service in carrying its owner's great bulk. between the shafts stood the old bay horse, its head hung de- jectedly as though asleep, which central city always connected with its driver. entering the gate held by one hinge, kenneth made his way to the little three-room unpainted house which served as home for the bradleys and their six children. on knocking, the door was opened by dr. bennett, who apparently was just leaving. he stood there, his hat on, stained by many storms, its black felt turning a greenish brown through years of service and countless rides through the red dust of the roads leading out of central city. dr. bennett himself was large and flabby. his clothes hung on him in haphazard fashion and looked as though they had never been subjected to the indignity of a tailor's iron. a sherlock holmes, or even one less gifted, could read on his vest with little difficulty those things which its wearer had eaten for many meals past. dr. bennett's face was red through exposure to many suns, and covered with the bristle of a three days' [ ] the fire in the flint coi wn growth of beard. small eyes set close together, they belied a bluff good humour which dr. bennett could easily assume when there was occasion for it. the corners of the mouth were stained a deep brown where tobacco juice had run down the folds of the flesh. behind him stood jim bradley with worried face, his ashy black skin showing the effects of remaining all night by the bedside of his wife. dr. bennett looked at kenneth inquiringly. "don't you remember me, dr. bennett? i'm ken- neth harper." “bless my soul, so it is. how're you, ken? . le's see it's been nigh on to eight years since you went no'th, ain't it? heard you was back in town. hear you goin' to practise here. come 'round to see me some time. right glad you're here. i'll be kinder glad to get somebody ť help me treat these niggers for colic or when they get carved up in a crap game. hope you ain't got none of them no'then ideas 'bout social equality while you was up there. jus' do like your daddy did, and you'll get along all right down here. these niggers who went over to france and ran around with them french- women been causin' a lot of trouble 'round here, kickin' up a rumpus, and talkin' 'bout votin' and ridin' in the same car with white folks. but don't you let them get you mixed up in it, 'cause there'll be trouble sho's you born if they don't shut up and git to work. jus’ do like your daddy did, and you'll do a lot to keep the white folks' friendship.” [ ] the fire in the flint dr. bennett poured forth all this gratuitous ad- vice between asthmatic wheezes without waiting for kenneth to reply. he then turned to jim bradley with a parting word of advice. “jim, keep that hot iron on emma's stomach and give her those pills every hour. 'tain't nothin' but the belly-ache. she'll be all right in an hour or two.” turning without another word, he half ambled, half shuffled out to his buggy, pulled himself up into it with more puffing and wheezing, and drove away. jim bradley took kenneth's arm and led him back on to the little porch, closing the door behind him. "i'm pow'ful glad ť see you, ken. my, but you done growed sence you went up no'th! befo' you go in dar, i want t tell you somethin'. emma's been right po’ly fuh two days. her stomach's swelled up right sma't and she's been hollering all night. dis mawning she don't seem jus' right in de haid. i tol her i was gwine to ast you to come see her, but she said she didn't want no young nigger doctah botherin' with her. but don't you min' her. i wants you to tell me what to do.” kenneth smiled. "i'll do what i can for her, jim. but what about dr. bennett?” “dat's a' right. he give her some med'cine but it ain't done her no good. she's too good a woman fuh me to lose her, even if she do talk a li'l' too much. you make out like you jus' drap in to pass the time o' day with her.” [ ] the fire in the flint white the fir worn shiny staph. kenneth entered the dark and ill-smelling room. opposite the door a fire smouldered in the fire-place, giving fitful spurts of flame that illumined the room and then died down again. there was no grate, the pieces of wood resting on crude andirons, blackened by the smoke of many fires. over the mantel there hung a cheap charcoal reproduction of jim and emma in their wedding-clothes, made by some local "artist" from an old photograph. one or two non- descript chairs worn shiny through years of use stood before the fire. in one corner stood a dresser on which were various bottles of medicine and of “ma- dame walker's hair straightener.” on the floor a rug, worn through in spots and patched with frag- ments of other rugs all apparently of different col- ours, covered the space in front of the bed. the rest of the floor was bare and showed evidences of a recent vigorous scrubbing. the one window was closed tightly and covered over with a cracked shade, long since divorced from its roller, tacked to the up- per ledge of the window. on the bed mrs. bradley was rolling and tossing in great pain. her eyes opened slightly when ken- neth approached the bed and closed again imme- diately as a new spasm of pain passed through her body. she moaned piteously and held her hands on her side, pressing down hard one hand over the other. at a sign from jim, kenneth started to take her pulse. “go way from here and leave me 'lone! oh, [ ] the fire in the flint lawdy, why is i suff'rin' this way? i jus' wish i was daid! oh-oh-oh!” this last as she writhed in agony. kenneth drew back the covers, examined mrs. bradley's abdomen, took her pulse. every sign pointed to an attack of acute appendicitis. he informed jim of his diagnosis. "but, doc, it ain't dat trouble, 'cause emma says dat was taken out a long time ago.” “i can't help what she says. she's got appendici- tis. you go get dr. bennett and tell him your wife has got to be operated on right away or she is going to die. get a move on you now! if it was my case, i would operate within an hour. stop by my house and tell bob to bring me an ice bag as quick as he can." jim hurried away to catch dr. bennett. kenneth meanwhile did what he could to relieve mrs. brad- ley's suffering. in a few minutes bob came with the ice bag. then jim returned with his face even more doleful than it had been when kenneth had told him how sick his wife was. "doc bennett says he don't care what you do. he got kinder mad when i told him you said it was 'pen- dicitis, and tol' me dat if i couldn't take his word, he wouldn't have anything mo' to do with emma. he seemed kinder mad 'cause you said it was mo' than a stomach-ache. said he wa’n't goin' to let no young nigger doctor tell him his bus'ness. so, doc, you'll have ť do what you thinks bes”.” “all right, i'll do it. first thing, i'm going to [ ] the fire in the flint move your wife over to my office. we can put her up in the spare room. bob will drive her over in the car. get something around her and you'd better come on over with her. i'll get dr. williams to help me.” kenneth was jubilant at securing his first surgical case since his return to central city, though his pleas- ure was tinged with doubt as to the ethics of the man- ner in which it had come to him. he did not let that worry him very long, however, but began his prep- arations for the operation. first he telephoned to mrs. johnson, who, before she married and settled down in central city, had been a trained nurse at a coloured hospital at at- lanta. she hurried over at once. neat, quiet, and efficient, she took charge immediately of prepara- tions, sterilizing the array of shiny instruments, pre- paring wads of absorbent cotton, arranging bandages and catgut and hæmostatics. kenneth left all this to mrs. johnson, for he knew in her hands it would be well done. he telephoned to dr. williams to ask that he give the anæsthesia. in his excitement kenneth neglected to put in his voice the note of asking a great and unusual favour of dr. williams. that eminent physician, eminent in his own eyes, cleared his throat several times be- fore replying, while kenneth waited at the other end of the line. he realized his absolute dependence. on dr. williams, for he knew no white doctor would assist a negro surgeon or even operate with a col- oured assistant. there was none other in central reve [ ] the fire in the flint city who could give the ether to mrs. bradley. it made him furious that dr. williams should hesitate so long. at the same time, he knew he must restrain the hot and burning words that he would have used. the pompous one hinted of the pressure of his own work—work that would keep him busy all day. into his words he injected the note of affront at be- ing asked—he, the coloured physician of central city—to assist a younger man. especially on that man's first case. kenneth swallowed his anger and pride, and pleaded with dr. williams at least to come over. finally, the older physician agreed in a con- descending manner to do so. hurrying back to his office, kenneth found mrs. bradley arranged on the table ready for the opera- tion. examining her, he found she was in delirium, her eyes glazed, her abdomen hard and distended, and she had a temperature of degrees. he hastily sterilized his hands and put on his gown and cap. as he finished his preparations, dr. williams in leisurely manner strolled into the room with a benevolent and patronizing “howdy, kenneth, my boy. i won't be able to help you out after all. i've got to see some patients of my own.” he emphasized “my own,” for he had heard of the manner by which kenneth had obtained the case of mrs. bradley kenneth, pale with anger, excited over his first real case in central city, stared at dr. williams in amazement at his words. "but, dr. williams, you can't do that! mrs. bradley here is dying!” [ ] the fire in the flint like that-least of all, a young whippersnapper just out of school ...” he shouted. by this time kenneth's patience was at an end. he seized the lapels of the other doctor's coat in one hand and thrust his clenched fist under the nose of the now thoroughly alarmed dr. williams. "are you going to help—or aren't you?” he de- manded. the situation was becoming too uncomfortable for the older man. he could stand kenneth's opposi- tion but not the ridicule which would inevitably fol. low the spreading of the news that he had been beaten up and made ridiculous by kenneth. he swallowed -a look of indecision passed over his face as he visibly wondered if kenneth really dared hit him— followed by a look of fear as kenneth drew back his fist as though to strike. discretion seemed the better course to pursue he could wait until a later and more propitious date for his revenge—he agreed to help. a look of relief came over jim bradley's face. a grin covered bob's as he saw his brother showing at last some signs of fighting spirit. with- out further words kenneth prepared to operate. ... the patient under the ether, kenneth with sure, deft strokes made an incision and rapidly removed the appendix. ten-twelve-fifteen minutes, and the work was done. he found mrs. bradley's peri- toneum badly inflamed, the appendix swollen and about to burst. a few hours' delay and it would have been too late. ... the next morning mrs. bradley's temperature had [ ] the fire in the flint gone down to normal. two weeks later she was sufficiently recovered to be removed to her home. three weeks later she was on her feet again. then kenneth for the first time in his life had no fault to find with the vigour with which mrs. bradley could use her tongue. glorying as only such a woman can in her temporary fame at escape from death by so narrow a margin, she went up and down the streets of the town telling how kenneth had saved her life. with each telling of the story it took on more embel- lishments until eventually the simple operation ranked in importance in her mind with the first sewing-up of the human heart. kenneth found his practice growing. his days were filled with his work. one man viewed his growing practice with bitterness. it was dr. wil- liams, resentful of the small figure he had cut in the episode in kenneth's office, which had become known all over central city. of a petty and vindic- tive nature, he bided his time until he could force atonement from the upstart who had so presumptu- ously insulted and belittled him, the beau brummel, the leading physician, the prominent coloured citi- zen. but kenneth, if he knew of the hatred in the man's heart, was supremely oblivious of it. the morning after his operation on mrs. bradley, he added another to the list of those who did not wish him well. he had taken the bottle of alcohol con- taining mrs. bradley's appendix to dr. bennett to show that worthy that he had been right, after all, in his diagnosis. he found him seated in his office, [ ] the fire in the flint dr. bennett, with little apparent interest, glanced at the bottle. "humph!” he ejaculated, aiming at the cuspidor and letting fly a thin stream of tobacco juice which accurately met its mark. "you never can tell what's wrong with a nigger anyhow. they ain't got nach- eral diseases like white folks. a hoss doctor can treat 'em better'n one that treats humans. i always said that a nigger's more animal than human. ..." kenneth had been eager to discuss the case of mrs. · bradley with his fellow practitioner. he had not even been asked to sit down by dr. bennett. he realized for the first time that in spite of the super- iority of his medical training to that of dr. bennett's, the latter did not recognize him as a qualified physi- cian, but only as a “nigger doctor.” making some excuse, he left the house. dr. bennett turned back to the local paper he had been reading when ken- neth entered, took a fresh chew of tobacco from the plug in his hip pocket, grunted, and remarked: “a damned nigger telling me i don't know medicine!” [ ] chapter iv iwo months passed by. kenneth had begun to secure more patients than he could very well handle. already he was kept busier than dr. williams though there was enough practice for both of them. kenneth soon began to tire of treating minor ailments and longed to reach the time when he could give up his general practice and devote his time to surgery. except for the delivery of the ba- bies that came with amazing rapidity in the com- munity, he did little else than treat colic, minor cuts, children's diseases, with an occasional case of tuber- culosis. more frequently he treated for venereal dis- eases, though this latter was even more distasteful to him than general practice while at the same time more remunerative. a new source of practice and revenue began grad- ually to grow. the main entrance to his office was on lee street. this door was some fifty feet back from lee street, and the overhanging branches of the elms cut off completely the light from the street lamp at the corner. one night, as he sat reading in his office, there came a knock at his door. opening it, he found standing there roy ewing. ewing had inherited the general merchandise store bearing his name from his father, was a deacon in the largest [ ] the fire in the flint baptist church in central city, was president of the central city chamber of commerce, and was re- garded as a leading citizen. kenneth gazed at his caller in some surprise. “hello, ken. anybody around?” on being assured that he was alone, ewing en- tered, brushing by kenneth to get out of the glare of the light. kenneth followed him into the office, meanwhile asking his caller what he could do for him. “ken, i've got a little job i want you to do for me. i'm in a little trouble. went up to macon last month with bill jackson, and we had a little fun. i guess i took too much liquor. we went by a place bill knew about where there were some girls. i took a fancy to a little girl from atlanta who told me she had slipped away from home and her folks thought she was visiting her cousins at forsyth. anyhow, i thought everything was all right, but i'm in a bad way and i want you to treat me. i can't go to dr. bennett 'cause i don't want him to know about it. i'll take care of you all right, and if you get me fixed up i'll pay you well.” * kenneth looked at him in amazement. roy ew- ing, acknowledged leader of the “superior race”! he knew too much of the ways of the south, however, to make any comment or let too much of what was going on in his mind show on his face. he gave the treatment required. that was kenneth's introduc- tion to one part of the work of a coloured physician [ ] the fire in the flint rie sc in the south. many phases of life that he as a youth had never known about or, before his larger expe- rience in the north and in france, had passed by him unnoticed, he now had brought to his attention. this was one of them. he began to see more clearly that his was going to be a difficult course to pursue. he determined anew that as far as possible he would keep to his own affairs and meddle not at all with the life about him. when ewing had gone, kenneth returned to his reading. hardly had he started again when bob came in. “can you stop for a few minutes, ken? i want to talk with you.” with a look of regret at his book, kenneth settled back and prepared to listen. “what world problem have you got on your mind now, bob?” "don't start to kidding me, ken. i don't see how you can shut your eyes to how coloured people are being treated here.” “what's wrong? everything seems to me to be getting along as well as can be expected.” “that's because you don't go out of the house un. less you are hurrying to give somebody a pill or a dose of medicine. to-day i came by the school to get mamie and bring her home. you ought to see the dump they call a school building. it's a dirty old building that looks like it'll fall down any time a hard wind comes along. all that's inside is a [ ] the fire in the flint eachers » 'welve doli, anybody rickety table, and some hard benches with no desks, and when it rains they have to send the children home, as the water stands two or three inches deep on the floor. outside of mamie they haven't one teacher who's gone any higher than the sixth or seventh grade—they have to take anybody who is willing to work for the twelve dollars a month they pay coloured teachers.” bob's face had on it the look of discontent and resentment that was almost growing chronic. "well, what can we do about it? i'm afraid you're getting to be a regular atlas, trying to carry all the burdens of the world on your shoulders. i know things aren't all they ought to be, but you and i can't solve the problems. the race problem will be here long after we're dead and gone.” “oh, for goodness' sake, shut up that preachy tone of long-suffering patience, will you?—and forget your own little interests for a while. i know you think i'm silly to let these things worry me. but the reason why things are as bad as they are is just because the majority of negroes are like you-al- ways dodging anything that may make them unpopu- lar with white folks. and that isn't all. there's a gang of white boys that hang around ewing's store that meddle with every coloured girl that goes by. i was in the store to-day when minnie baxter passed by on her way to the post office, and that dirty little jim archer said something that made me boil all over. and it didn't help any to know that if i had said a word to him, there would have been a fight, [ ] the fire in the flint and i would have been beaten half to death if i hadn't been killed.” “yes, i've seen that, too. what we ought to do is to try and keep these girls off of lee street, unless someone is with them. if we weren't living in the south, we might do something. but here we are, and as long as we stay here, we've got to swallow a lot of these things and stay to ourselves.” "but, ken, it isn't always convenient for someone to go downtown with them. i'll tell you what let's do. let's get the better class of coloured people to- gether like reverend wilson, mr. graham, mr. adams, and some others, and form a coloured pro- tective league here in central city. we can then take up these cases and see if something can't be done to remedy them.” bob leaned forward in his eagerness to impress kenneth with his idea. "you see, if any one or two of us takes up a case we are marked men. but if there are two or three hundred of us they can't take it out on all of us.” "that's true. but what about the effect on the white people whose actions you want to check? if negroes start organizing for any purpose whatever, there'll always be folks who'll declare they are plan- ning to start some trouble. no, i don't think we ought to do anything just now. i tell you what i'll do. the next time i see roy ewing, i'll speak to him and ask him to stop those fellows from annoy- ing our girls, the fellows can take care of themselves.” [ ] the fire in the flint bob rose and shrugged his shoulders and said noth- ing more. kenneth after a minute or two returned to his book. nothing further was said on the subject for sev- eral days. when mr. ewing called the following week, kenneth brought the matter up, and told him what bob had said about the boys in front of ew- ing's store. “i've seen them doing it, ken, and i spoke to them only to-day about it. but you know, boys will be boys, and they haven't done any harm to the girls. their talk is a little rough at times, but as long as it stops there, i don't see why anybody should object.” “but, mr. ewing, bob tells me that they say some pretty raw things. suppose one of them said the same things to mrs. ewing, how would you feel then?” ewing flushed. “that's different. mrs. ewing is a white woman.' “but can't you see that we feel towards our women just as you do towards yours? if one of those fellows ever spoke to my sister, there's be trouble, and the lord knows i want to get along with all the people here, if i can. if this thing called democracy that i helped fight for is worth anything at all, it ought to mean that we coloured people should be protected like anybody else.” mr. ewing looked at kenneth sharply. “i know that things aren't altogether as they ought to be. it's pretty tough on fellows like you, ken, [ ] the fire in the flint who have had an education. while you were away, a bunch of these mill hands 'cross the tracks got jerry bird, a nigger that'd been working for me nearly five years. he came here from down the country some place after you left for up north. jerry was as steady a fellow as i've ever seen-as honest as the day was long. i trusted jerry any- where, lots quicker than i would've some of these white people 'round here. he had a black skin but his heart was white. one night jerry was over to my house helping mrs. ewing until nearly ten o'clock. on his way home this bunch of roughnecks from “factoryville” stopped him while they were looking for a nigger that'd scared a white girl. when jerry got scared and started to run, they took out after him and strung him up to a tree. and he wasn't any more guilty of touching that white girl than you or me.” “what did you do about it?” asked bob. "nothing. suppose i had kicked up a ruckus about it. they found out afterwards that the girl hadn't been bothered at all. but just suppose i had gone and cussed out the fellows who did the lynching. most of them trade at my store. or if they don't, a lot of their friends do. they'd have taken their trade to some other store and i'd 'a' gained nothing for my trouble.” “but surely you don't believe that lynching ever helps, do you?” “yes and no lynching never bothers folks like you. why, your daddy was one of the most re- [ ] the fire in the flint e or spected folks in this town. but lynching does keep some of these young nigger bucks in check.” “does it? it seems to me that there isn't much less so-called rape around here or anywhere else in the south, even after forty years of lynching. mr. ewing, why don't you and the other decent white people here come out against lynching?” “who? me? never!” ewing looked his amazement at the suggestion. “why, it would ruin my business, my wife would begin to be dropped by all the other folks of the town, and it wouldn't be long before they'd begin calling me a ‘nigger-lover.' no, sir-ee! i'll just let things rock along and let well enough alone.” "mr. ewing, if fifty men like you in this town banded together and came out flat-footedly against lynching, there are lots more who would join you gladly." “that may be true,” ewing answered doubtfully. “but then again it mightn't. let's see who might be some of the fifty. there's george baird, he's presi- dent of the bank of central city, and fred gris- wold, president of the smith county farmers' bank. you can count them out because they'd be afraid of losing their depositors. then there's ralph minor who owns the bon ton store. he's out for the same reason that i am. then there's nat phelps, who runs the central city dispatch. he has a hard enough time as it is. if he lost a couple of hundred subscribers, he'd have to close up shop. and so it goes." [ ] the fire in the flint een “what about the preachers? it doesn't seem much of a religion they're preaching if the command- ment, 'thou shalt not kill,' doesn't form part of their creed.” "oh, you needn't look for nothing much from them. three years ago old reverend adams down to the first methodist took it into his head he was going to tackle something easy—nothing like the race problem. he started in to wipe out the bootleggers ’round here, thinking he could get a lot of support. but he didn't, because most of the folks he figgered on lining up with him were regular customers of the fellows he was after.” ewing chuckled at the mem- ory of the crusade that had died “aborning." “when the next quarterly conference was held, they elected a new pastor for the first methodist. no, ken, it ain't so easy as it looks. you're asking me to do something that not a southern white man has done since the civil war- ” rising, he walked towards the door and remarked: “my advice to you is to stay away from any talk like this with anybody else. there probably ain't another man in town who would've talked to you like this, and if the boys in the ku klux klan knew i had been running along like this with a coloured man, i don't know what'd happen to me. see you later. so long!” kenneth walked up and down the room with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, his thoughts rushing through his head in helter-skelter fashion. he was suddenly conscious of a feeling that he . [ ] the fire in the flint eparing peoing to happeouide and co had been thrust into a tiny boat and forced to em- bark on a limitless sea, with neither compass nor chart nor sun nor moon to guide him. would he arrive? or would he go down in some squall which arose from he knew not where or when? the whole situation seemed so vast, so sinister, so monstrous, that he shuddered involuntarily, as he had done as a child when left alone in a dark room at night. re- ligion, which had been the guide and stay of his father in like circumstances, offered him no solace. he thought with a faint smile of the institution known as the church. what was it? a vast money ma- chine, interested in rallies and pastors' days and schemes to milk more dollars from its communi- cants. in preparing people to die. he wasn't in- terested in what was going to happen to him after death. what he wanted was some guide and com- fort in his present problems. no, religion and the church as it was now constituted wasn't the answer. what was? he could not give it. "here i am,” he soliloquized, “with the best edu- cation money can buy. and yet roy ewing, who hasn't been any further than high school, tells me i'd better submit to all this without protest. yet he stands for the best there is here in central city, and i suppose he represents the most liberal thought of the south. how's it all going to end? even a rat will fight when he's cornered, and these coloured peo- ple aren't going to stand for these things all the time. what can i do? god, there isn't anything -anything i can do? bob is right! something [ ] the fire in the flint must be done, but what is it? i reckon these white folks must be blind—or else they figure on leaving whatever solution there may be to their children, hoping the storm doesn't break while they are liv. ing. no! that isn't it. they think because they've been able to get away with it thus far, they'll always be able to get away with it. oh, god, i'm helpless! i'm helpless!” kenneth had begun to comprehend the delicate position a negro always occupies in places like cen- tral city-in fact, throughout the south. so little had he come into contact with the perplexities of the race question before he went away to school, he had seen little of the windings and turnings, the tortuous paths the negro must follow to avoid giving offence i to the dominant white sentiment. as he saw each day more and more of the evasions, the repressions, the choking back of natural impulses the negro prac- tised to avoid trouble, kenneth often thought of the coloured man as a chip of wood floating on the sur- face of a choppy sea, tossed this way and that by every wind that blew upon the waters. he must of necessity be constantly on his guard when talking with his white neighbours, or with any white men in the south, to keep from uttering some word, some phrase which, like a seed dropped and forgotten, lies fallow for a time in the brain of the one to whom he talks, but later blossoms forth into that noxious death-dealing plant which is the mob. innocent enough of guile or malice that word may be, yet he must be careful lest it be distorted and magnified [ ] chapter v enneth was roused by a light tap upon the door. opening it, mamie stood on the thresh- old. inquiring whether kenneth had fin- ished his work, and on being told he had, she entered. “kenneth, why do you spend all your time here in the office? don't you think mamma and i want to talk with you occasionally?” mamie seated herself on the arm of kenneth's chair. “seems like you're becoming a regular hermit since you've been back. come on in the parlour- jane phillips is in there and she wants to see you. remember her?” kenneth smiled. “remember jane phillips? of course i do. scrawny little thing-running all to legs and arms. she was a homely little brat, wasn't she?” it was now mamie's turn to smile. “i'm going to tell her what you said,” she threat- ened. “she's lots different from the girl you re- member.” they went into the parlour. jane phillips stood by the piano. she turned as kenneth and mamie entered the room, and came to- wards them, a smile on her face. kenneth, as he [ ] the fire in the flint advanced towards her, was frankly amazed at the transformation in the girl whom he had not seen for nine years. jane laughed. "don't you know me, kenneth? or must i call you dr. harper now?” “no, my name is still kenneth— ” he answered. “tell jane what you called her a few minutes ago, or i will,” interrupted mamie. kenneth looked em- barrassed. jane insisted on being told, whereupon mamie repeated kenneth's description of jane as a child. caught between the upper and nether millstones of the raillery of the two girls, kenneth tried to explain away his embarrassment, but they gave him no peace. “let me explain,” he begged. “when i went away you were a scrawny little thing, a regular tom- boy and as mischievous as they make them. and now you're a—you're—you're ” jane laughed at his attempt, somewhat lacking in fullness, to say what she had become with the passage of the years. “whatever it is you are trying to say, i hope it's something all right you are calling me—though from your tone i'm not at all sure,” she ended, letting a note of mock concern creep in her voice. by this time kenneth had somewhat recovered his composure. he entered into the spirit of play him- self by telling her his surprise had been due to his finding her unchanged from the little girl he had once known, but jane laughed at his ineffectual ef- forts to answer mamie's and her teasing. to change [ ] the fire in the flint the conversation, he demanded that she tell him all that she had been doing since he saw her last. "there isn't much to tell,” she declared. “i went away soon after you did, going to fisk university, graduated last june, got a position teaching in north carolina, and am home for the holidays. next year i want to have enough money to go to oberlin and finish my music. that's all there is to my little story. you are the one who has been having all sorts of experiences. i want to hear your story.” "mine isn't much longer," answered kenneth. "four years of medical school. a year's interne- ship in new york at bellevue three months in training.camps. a year and a half in france. six months at the sorbonne. then new york. then exams at atlanta for my licence. home. and here i am." "don't you believe him, jane," said mamie. “that's just his way of telling it. ken has had all sorts of exciting experiences, yet he has come home and we can't get him to talk about a thing except building a practice and a hospital.” “what do you want me to talk about?” asked kenneth. "paris—school-army life what did you see?- how do you like new york?-is new york as good a place to live in as paris?” kenneth threw up his hands in mock defence at the barrage of questions jane and mamie fired at him. : [ ] the fire in the flint “just a minute—just a minute," he begged them. “i could talk all night on any one of the questions you've asked and then not finish with it or tell you more than half. if you two will only be quiet, i'll tell you as much as i can.” mrs. harper, hearing the voices, came into the room. the three women sat in silence as kenneth told of his years at school, of his stay in new york, his experiences in the army, of the beauties of paris even in war time, of study at a french university. he gave to the narrative a vividness and air of reality that made his auditors see through his eyes the scenes and experiences he was describing. though none of them had been in france, he made them feel as though they too were walking through the place de la concorde viewing the statues to the eight great cities of france or shopping in the rue de la paix or at- tempting to order dinner in a restaurant with an all- too-inadequate french vocabulary. he finished. "now you've got to sing for me, jane, as a reward for all the talking i've been doing.” with the usual feminine protests that she had no music with her, jane went to the open piano. she inquired what he would like to have her sing. “anything except the ‘memphis blues,' which is all i've heard since i came back to central city," he answered. jane ran over the keys experimentally, improvis- ing. a floor lamp stood near the piano casting a soft light over her. her long, delicately pointed fing- ers lingered lovingly on the ivory keys, and then she [ ] the fire in the flint ti retire for the evening. mamie had gone to prepare something cool for them to drink. kenneth had not heard them go. in fact, lost in the momentary for- getfulness created by jane and the song, he had com- pletely forgotten them. he did not, however, fail to realize that the dreams he was having were in large measure due to the soft light, to surprise at the great changes in jane, to the lulling seductiveness of the music. he was sure that his feeling was due in largest measure to a reaction from his unpleasant conversation with roy ewing. he vaguely realized that when on the morrow he saw jane by daylight, she i would not seem half so charming and attractive. yet he was of such a temperament that he could give himself up to the spell of the moment and extract from it all the pleasure in it. it was in that manner he put aside the things which were unpleasant, ena- bling him to shake off memories like mists of the morning ascending from the depths of a valley. the song was ended. herself caught in its spell, jane swung into that most beautiful of the negro spirituals, “deep river.” into it she poured her soul. she filled the room with the pathos of that song born in the dark days of slavery of a people torn from their home and thrust into the thraldom of human bondage. and then jane sang "nobody knows the trouble i've seen.” the song ended, her fingers yet clung to the keys but her hands hung listless. kenneth knew not how or when he had risen from his chair and gone to the piano where he stood behind jane. [ ] the fire in the flint something deep within them had been touched by the music-a strange thrill filled them, making them ob- livious to everything except the presence of each other. kenneth lightly placed his hands on her shoulders. without speaking or turning, she placed her hands for a moment on his. he bent over her while she raised her face to his, her eyes misty with tears born of the emotion aroused by the song. though often laughed at in real life and often dis- torted in fiction, love almost at first sight had been born within them. kenneth slowly brought her face nearer his while jane, with parted lips, let the back of her head rest against his breast. love, with its strange retroactive effects, brought to both of them in that mo- ment the sudden realization, though neither of them had known it, that they had always loved each other. not a word had been spoken—each was busy con- structing his love in silence. a great emptiness in their lives had been suddenly, miraculously filled. their lips were almost touching when a noise brought them to themselves with a shock. it was mamie. she entered the room bearing a tray on which were sandwiches, cakes, and tall glasses in which cracked ice clinked coolingly. kenneth hid his annoyance and, with as nonchalant an air as pos- sible, went back to his chair. when they had eaten, jane rose to go. kenneth walked home with her. neither spoke until they had reached her gate. jane entered as kenneth held it open for her. he would have followed her in but she turned, extended her hand to him as a sign of [ ] the fire in the flint dismissal, and asked him to leave her there. ken- neth said nothing, but his face showed his disappoint- ment at being hastened away by the same girl who less than half an hour before had almost been in his arms. "please don't say anything, ken,” she pleaded. “it was my fault-i shouldn't have done what i did. i used to worship you when i was little, but i thought i had gotten over that—until to-night.” her voice sank almost to a whisper. in it was a note of trouble and perplexity. she went on: “i–oh, kenneth—what happened to-night must not be repeated.” puzzled and a bit hurt, he asked her what she meant. "don't get the wrong idea, ken. i wouldn't do anything to hurt you for the world.” “but what is it, jane?” begged kenneth. "i love you, jane, have always loved you. i was blind- until to-night- ” kenneth poured forth the words in a torrent of emo- tion. whirling thoughts tore through his brain. he sought to seize jane's hand and draw her to him, but she eluded him. “no-no-kenneth, you mustn't. i can't let you make love to me. let's be friends, ken, and enjoy these few days and forget all we've said to-night, won't you, please?” she ended pleadingly. kenneth said nothing. he turned abruptly and strode away without even saying good night. hands thrust deep into his pockets, his head hanging in dis- [ ] the fire in the flint appointment and wounded pride, he hurried home without once turning to look back. ... her ten days of vacation passed all too soon for jane. she and kenneth saw each other frequently, but never alone until the night before she returned to north carolina. it was at a dance given in her honour. all evening he had been seeking a dance with her, but met with no success until the party was almost over. they danced in silence. jane seemed suddenly sad. all evening she had been happy, gay, even flirtatious, but now that she was with kenneth, her gaiety had been dropped like a mask. half-way through the dance they came near a door that opened on a balcony overlooking a flower garden. saying nothing to jane, kenneth danced her through the door and on to the balcony, where they sat on a bench that stood in the semi-darkness. though it was december, the air was warm. no sound disturbed the silence of the night save the music and voices which floated through the open door. "haven't you anything to say?” kenneth anxiously inquired, taking one of jane's hands in his. "nothing except this—i don't know whether i care for you or not,” said jane as she freed her hand and drew herself away. her voice was firm and de- termined. kenneth, ignorant of the ways of a maid with a man, said nothing, but his shoulders drooped dejectedly. “what happened the other night was madness—i was very foolish for allowing it.” she paused, and [ ] the fire in the flint then went on. “kenneth, i don't know, i want my music, i want to see something of life i want to live! i just can't tie myself down by marrying- i don't know whether i'll ever want to. you'll have to wait—if you care to- ” it was half command, half question. he said nothing. he did not know how she longed for him to argue with her, override her objections, convince her against her will. she waited a full minute. still he sat there silent. she rose and re-entered the house, leaving him there alone. [ ] chapter vi care another te lene for is, is a ife moved along evenly with kenneth, busied å usieu carrosret with the multitude of duties with which the phy- é s sician in the half-rural, half-urban towns of tri the south must deal. his days were filled with his blasto work and he was usually to be found in his office un- : til ten or eleven o'clock every evening. often heitinn was roused in the middle of the night to attend some one of his patients. he did not mind this except when calls came to him from the outlying country districts. not infrequently he made long trips of seven, eight, or ten miles into the country to treat some person who might just as well have called him during the previous day. he had purchased a ford runabout in which he made these trips. on a sunday morning soon after his return to central city, kenneth with his mother, mamie, and bob attended the mount zion baptist church, but this he did without much eagerness, solely as a duty. though years had passed since last he entered the church, kenneth noticed that it stood as it always had, save that it looked more down-at-heel than form- erly. before the door stood the same little groups, eagerly snatching a few words of conversation before entering. near the door were ranged the young men, garbed in raiment of varied and brilliant hue, urn toe re [ ] the fire in the flint ogling the girls as they passed in with their parents. there was much good-natured badinage and scuffling among the youths, with an occasional burst of ribald laughter at the momentary discomfiture of one of their number. as he passed them, kenneth smiled to himself as he remembered how he but a few years since had been one of that crowd around the same door. that is, one of the crowd until his father, with a stern word or perhaps only a meaningful glance, had been wont to summon him within the church. often had he been teased unmercifully by the other boys when one of these summonses had come. though the jests had been hard to bear, the likelihood of paternal wrath had been too unpleasant an alter- native for him to dare disregard his father's commands. kenneth noticed the vestibule had survived the pas- sage of years without apparent change, if one dis- regarded the increased dinginess of the carpet. there was the same glass-covered bulletin board with its list of the sick and of those who were delinquent in the payment of their dues. there was the same dangling rope with a loop at the end of it, and the same sexton was about to ring the bell above, an- nouncing the beginning of the morning service. there were the same yellowed walls, the same leather-covered swinging doors with the same greasy spots where countless hands had pushed them to enter the auditorium of the church. kenneth smiled to himself as he remembered how he once had de- clared in a dispute with a boy whose parents at- [ ] the fire in the flint tended the methodist church near by that the mount zion baptist church was "the biggest and finest church in the whole world.” he thought of the no- tre dame cathedral in paris, of st. paul's in lon- don, as he recalled the boast of his youth. inside, the same air of unchanging permanence seemed also to have ruled. as he followed the officious usher and his mother and sister to their pew, kenneth noted the same rows of hard seats worn shiny by years of use, the same choir loft to the left of the pulpit with its faded red curtains. the same worn bible lay open on the pulpit kept open by a hymn-book. beside it was the same ornately carved silver pitcher and goblet. kenneth felt as though he had never left central city when he looked for and found the patches of calcimine hanging from the ceiling and the yellowed marks on the walls made by water dripping from leaks in the roof. as a boy he had amused himself during seemingly intermin- able sermons by constructing all sorts of fanciful stories around these same marks, seeing in them weirdly shaped animals. once he had laughed aloud when, after gazing at one of them, it had sud- denly dawned upon him that the shadow cast by a pendent flake of calcimine resembled the lean and hungry-looking preacher who was pastoring mount zion at the time. kenneth would never forget the commotion his sudden laughter had caused, nor the whipping he received when he and his father reached home that sunday. the hum of conversation ceased. the pastor, the [ ] the fire in the flint reverend ezekiel wilson, entered the pulpit from a little door back of it. the choir sang lustily the doxology. all the familiar services came back to kenneth as he sat and looked at the dusky faces around him. preliminaries ended, the reverend wilson began to preach. he was a fat, pompous, oily man—with a smooth and unctuous manner. his voice sank at times to a whisper—at others, roared until the rafters of the building seemed to ring with its echoes. he played on it as consciously as the dried-up little or- ganist in the gaily coloured bonnet did on the keys of the asthmatic little organ. his text was taken from the th chapter of first corinthians, first verse that familiar text, “though i speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, i am be- come as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.” slowly, softly, he began to speak. “breddern and sisters, they's a lot of you folks right here this mawnin' what thinks you is christ'uns. you think jus' 'cause you comes here ev'ry sunday and sings and shouts and rants around dat you is got the sperit of jesus in you. well, i'm tellin' you this mawnin' dat you'd better wake up and get yo’self right with god, 'cause you ain't no mo christ’un dan if you neveh been to chu'ch a-tall. de good book says you got to have char’ty, and de good book don't lie.” there came from the amen corner a fervently shouted “amen!” from another came as equally [ ] the fire in the flint fervid a shout: “ain't it the truth!” the preacher paused for effect. he mopped his brow and glared around the congregation. his auditors sat in ex- pectant silence. suddenly he lashed out in scath- ing arraignment of the sins of his flock. each and every one of its faults he pilloried with words of fire and brimstone. he painted a vivid and uncomfort- ably realistic picture of a burning hell into which all sinners would inevitably be cast. almost with the air of a hypnotist, he gradually advanced the tempo of his speech. like a wind playing over a field of corn, swaying the tops of the stalks as it wills, so did he play on the emotions and fears and passions of his congregation. only a master of human psy. chology could have done it. it was a living, breath- ing, vengeful god he preached, and his auditors fear. fully swayed and rocked to and fro as he lashed them unmercifully. lips compressed, there came from them a nasal confirmation of the preacher's words that ranged from deep, guttural grunts of ap- proval as he scored a point to a high-pitched rising and falling moan that sounded like nothing so much as a child blowing through tissue paper stretched over a comb. frequently the preacher would with- out perceptible pause swing into a rolling, swing- ing, half-moaning song which the congregation took up with fervour. the beat was steadily advanced by the leader until he and his audience were worked up to an emotional ecstasy bordering on hysteria. his jeremiad ended, the preacher painted a glowing ne [ ] the fire in the flint picture of the ineffable peace and joy that came to those who rested their faith in him who died for the remission of their sins. a tumultuous thunderous climax-a dramatic pause and then he swung into a fervent prayer in which the preacher talked as though his god were an intimate friend and confidant. the entire drama lasting more than an hour was thrilling and enervat- ing and theatric. yet beneath it lay a devout sin- cerity that removed the scene from the absurd to that which bordered on the magnificent. to these hum- ble folk their religion was the most important thing in their lives, and, after all, what matters it what a man does? it is the spirit in which he performs an act that makes it dignified or pathetic or ludicrous <not the act itself. in spite of his sophistication, kenneth never was able entirely to ward off the chills of excitement that ran down his spine at these weird religious ceremo- nies. he saw through the whole theatric perform- ance and yet way down beneath it all there was a sincerity and genuineness that never failed to im- press him. this was not a mere animalism nor was it the joke that white people sometimes tried to make of it. fundamentally, it was rooted and grounded in an immutable and unfailing belief in the supreme power of a tangible god-a god that personally di- rected the most minute of the affairs of the most lowly of creatures. it had been the guide and ref- uge of the fathers and mothers of these same people through the dark days of slavery. in the same man- [ ] the fire in the flint oppt neth walked hind was this the did not ner it was almost the only refuge for these children and grandchildren of the slaves in withstanding the trials of a latter-day slavery in many respects more oppressive than the pre-civil war variety. kenneth walked home from church running over these things in his mind. was this religious fervour the best thing for his people? why did not the church attract more intelligent and able young men of his race instead of men like reverend wilson? why didn't some twentieth-century moses arise to lead them out of the thraldom of this primitive re- ligion? would that moses, when he came, be able to offer a solace as effective to enable these people of his to bear the burdens that lay so heavily upon them? he thought again of his conversation with roy ewing. what was the elusive solution to this prob- lem of race in america? why couldn't the white people of the south see where their course was lead- ing them? ewing was right. no white man of the south had ever come out in complete defiance of the present regime which was so surely damning the south and america. kenneth saw his people kept in the bondage of ignorance. why? because it was to the economic advantage of the white south to have it so. why was a man like reverend wil- son patted on the back and every negro told that men of his kind were “safe and sane leaders”? why was every negro who too audibly or visibly resented the brutalities and proscriptions of race prejudice in- stantly labelled as a radical-a dangerous character ♡ [ ] the fire in the flint interfering with their affairs or making them re- sponsible for the consequences. kenneth usually ended these arguments with him. self with a feeling of complete impotence, of travel- ling around like a squirrel in a circular cage. no matter where he started or how fast or how far he trav- elled, he always wound up at the same point and with the same sense of blind defeat. oh, well, better men than he had tried to answer the same questions and failed. he'd stay to himself and attend to his own business and let such problems go hang. but in spite of himself he often found himself enmeshed in this endless maze of reasoning. just as fre- quently he determined to put from himself again the perplexing and seemingly insoluble problems. it was after one of these soliloquies on his way from church one bright sunday in april that ken- neth reached home and found a call for him to come at once to a house down on butler street, in the heart of the negro district in the bottoms. telling his mother to keep dinner for him as he would be back shortly, he hurried down state street. turn- ing suddenly into harris street, which crossed state, which in turn would lead him to the house he sought on butler street, he caught a fleeting glimpse of a white man who looked like george parker, cashier of the bank of central city parker, if it was he, turned hastily at kenneth's approach and went up a narrow alley which ran off harris street. kenneth thought nothing of the incident other than a vague [ ] the fire in the flint , and quickly passing wonder at parker's presence in that part of town. kenneth hurried on, instinctively stepping over or around the numerous children whose complexions ranged in colour from a deep black to a yellow that was almost white, and mangy-looking dogs that seemed to infest the street. approaching the house he sought, he found a group of excitedly talking negroes gathered around the gate. the group sep- arated to let him pass, and from it came one or two greetings to kenneth in the form of "hello, doc.” he paid little attention to them, but proceeded up the path to the house. entering, he was surprised to find it furnished more ornately and comfortably than usual in that section. he knew the place of old, remembering that his father had always warned him against going into this section. here it was reported that strange things went on, that a raid by the police was not un- common. he had upon one occasion seen the patrol wagon, better known as the “black maria,” drive away loaded with bottles of whisky and with a nonde- script lot of coloured men and women. most of the property in this section was owned by white people, which they held on to jealously. they charged and received rentals two or three times as high as in other sections of “darktown.” kenneth found in the front room another excited and chattering lot of men and women. the men seemed rather furtive and were dressed in "peg-top” trousers with wide cuffs, and gaudily coloured shirts. - [ ] the fire in the flint the women were clad in red and pink kimonos and boudoir caps. with an inclusive "hello, folks,” kenneth followed a woman who seemed to be in charge of the house into the next room. in the centre of the darkened room there stood the bed, dishev- elled, the sheets stained with blood. on them lay a man fully clothed, his eyes closed as though in great pain, and breathing heavily, with sharp gasps every few seconds. by the bed, bathing the man's brow, stood a woman in a rumpled night-dress and kimono. kenneth recognized the man as bud ware, sometimes a pullman porter, who used his occupation, it was rumoured, to bring liquor from atlanta, which his wife sold. it was his wife nancy who bathed his brow and who moved away from the bed when kenneth approached. she informed him that he had come home unexpectedly from his run, and had been shot. kenneth said nothing but went immediately to work. he found bud with two bul. let holes in his abdomen and one through his right leg. it was evident that he had but a few hours, at most, to live. kenneth did what he could to relieve bud's suffering. turning to nancy, he told her what he had discovered. she stared at kenneth wide- eyed for a minute and then burst forth in an agony of weeping. “oh, lawdy, why didn't i do what bud tol me to do? bud tol' me to let dat man alone! why didn't i do it? why didn't i do it?” her screams mounted higher and higher until they reached ear-piercing shrieks. a head or two were [ ] the fire in the flint stuck interrogatively through the opened door at the sound of nancy's woe, and as quickly withdrawn. kenneth administered an opiate to bud to relieve his pain and sat by the bed to do what he could in the short while that life remained. the sordidness of the whole affair sickened him and he longed to get away where he could breathe freely. strengthened by the opiate, bud's eyes flickered and then opened for a fraction of a minute. he smiled faintly when he recognized kenneth. he made several ineffectual attempts to speak, but each effort resulted only in a gasp of pain. kenneth ordered him to lie still. bud, however, kept trying to speak. roused by nancy's shrieks, he finally managed to gasp out a few words, interrupted by spasms of pain that shook his whole body. "i knows i ain't got long, doc. dat's a' right, nancy, i ain't blamin' you none. i knows you couldn't he'p it.” he fell back on the pillow, coughing and writh- ing in pain. “lif' me a li'l—hiar—on the pillar, doc. dat's mo' like-it! doc—i ain't been much 'count. i tol' dat man parker—to stop foolin' with my ’oman —but—he keep on—comin' here—when i'm gone. he knew i wuz sellin' liquor—an' he tol nancy he wuz gwine—hav' his brudder—she'ſ parker put me on-chain gang—if she tell me he come here-w'en i wuz gone.” he had another paroxysm of coughing and lay for a minute as though already dead. kenneth adminis- [ ] the fire in the flint tered restoratives, meanwhile telling nancy to keep quiet, which only made her weep the louder. after a few minutes bud began speaking again. "i come home to-day—an' kotched him here. w’en i got mad an' tol him—to get out-and stahted towards him—he grabbed his gun an'—shot me.” after a pause: "doc, whyn't dese white fo’ks --leave our women alone?—i ain't nevah bothered none of their women.-an' now—i's done got- killed jus' 'cause– – " he half raised himself on the pillow, looking at nancy. “doan cry, nancy gal—doan cry— ” he fell back dead. kenneth, of no further as- sistance, left nancy to her grief after promising to send the undertaker in to prepare bud's body for burial, and made his way out through the crowd, now greatly increased in numbers, gathered around the door. he wondered if anything would be done about the murder, at the same time knowing that nothing would." the south says it believes in purity. what was that phrase the ku kluxers used so much —“preservation of the sanctity of the home, protec- tion of the purity of womanhood”? yes, that was it. suppose the races of the two principals had been reversed—that bud ware had been caught with george parker's wife. why, the whole town would have turned out to burn bud at the stake. weren't coloured women considered human—wasn't their virtue as dear to them as to white women? nancy and bud weren't of much good to the community- [ ] the fire in the flint but if bud wanted his wife kept inviolate, hadn't he as much right to guard her person as george parker to protect his wife and two daughters? again he felt himself up against a blind wall in which there was no gate, and which was too high to climb. he had determined to stay out of reach of the long į arms of the octopus they called the race problem- but he felt himself slowly being drawn into its insidious embrace. [ ] chapter vii entral city was the county seat of smith county. the morning after the murder of bud ware, kenneth went down to the county court house to file his report on the death. it was a two-story building, originally of red brick but now of a faded brownish red through the rains and sun of many years. it sat back from the street about fifty feet and was surrounded by a yard covered here and there with bits of grass but for the most part clear of all vegetation, its red soil trampled by many feet on “co't day.” the steps were worn thin through much wear of heavy boots. on either side of the small landing at the top, there hung a bulletin board on which were pasted or tacked yellow notices of sheriff's sales, rewards for the arrest of criminals, and other court documents. the floor of the dark and narrow hallway was stained a reddish colour by the mud and dust from the feet of those who had entered the building. just inside the doorway, on either side, were rectangular boxes filled with saw- dust for the convenience of those of a tobacco- chewing disposition, which included most of the male population. the condition of the floor around the boxes seemed to indicate that only a few of these had realized for what purpose the boxes had been [ ] the fire in the flint placed there. over all was a liberal coating of the dust that had blown in the door and windows. entering the office of the county health commis- sioner, kenneth found that dignitary in his shirt- sleeves, feet comfortably placed on top of his desk. "good morning, mr. lane. i've come to make a report of a death.” at the sound of kenneth's voice, county commis- sioner of health henry lane turned in his chair without moving his feet to see who it was that had entered. long, lanky, a two days' growth of red beard on his face, mr. lane removed the corn-cob pipe from his mouth with a rising and falling of a prominent adam's apple. seeing that his visitor was only a negro, he replaced his pipe in his mouth and, between several jerky puffs to get it going again, querulously replied: “can't you see i'm busy? why don't you save up them repo'ts till you git a passel of them, and then bring 'em in? got no time ť be writin' up niggers' deaths, anyhow. . ev'ry time i turn 'round, some nigger's gittin' carved up or shot or somepin'.”. "i understand it's the law, mr. lane, that deaths of anybody, white or coloured, must be reported by the physician at once.” “drat the law. that's fo’ white folks.” he drew himself out of his chair with great reluctance and ambled over to the counter, drawing to him a pad and pencil as he turned towards kenneth. “what nigger's dead now?” he inquired. [ ] the fire in the flint “bud ware, who lived at butler street,” replied kenneth. “how'd he die?” was the next question. “shot through the abdomen.” “know who shot him?” “yes. george parker.” “th' hell you say! and you come in here to re- po't it?" kenneth was somewhat startled at the ferocity of the commissioner's expression, which had replaced that of laziness and resentment at being disturbed. “i thought it my duty . . .” he began. lane spat disgustedly. “duty, hell! you're a god-damned fool and one of these damned niggers that's always causin' trou. ble 'round here. i always said eddication spoiled a nigger and, by god, you prove it. lemme tell you somepin'—you'd better remember s’long's you stay 'round these parts. when you hear anything 'bout a white man havin' trouble with a nigger, you'd bet- ter keep your mouth shet. they's lots of niggers been lynched for less'n you said this mornin'. ain't you got sense enough t know you hadn't any business comin' in here t tell me 'bout mr. parker? don't you know his brother's sheriff? if y' aint, goin' up no'th tuk away what li'l' sense you might've had befo' you went." kenneth stood silent, a deep red flush suffusing his face, while the official continued his vituperative tirade. his fists, thrust deep into his pockets, were elenched until they hurt, but he did not feel the pain. [ ] the fire in the flint he longed to take that long, yellow, unshaven neck in his hands and twist it until lane's eyes popped out and his face turned black. he knew it would be sui- cide if he did it. he realized now that he had done an unwise thing in telling lane who had killed bud warehe should have remembered and said that he did not know. if he was going to stay in the south, he would have to remember these things. when lane had paused for breath, kenneth bade him good morning and left the room. as he went down the steps, he heard lane shouting after him: “you'd better not lemme hear o'you doin' any talkin' 'bout this. if y' do, you'll fin' yo’self bein’ paid a visit one o' these nights by the kluxers!” hardly had kenneth left the court house before lane rushed as fast as his natural indolence would permit him into the office of sheriff robert parker- known throughout the county as "she'f bob.” lane was so indignant he spluttered in trying to speak. the sheriff looked at him amusedly and counselled: "ca'm yo’self, henry. what's eatin' you?” “bob, d’you know george shot and killed a nigger buck over in 'darktown' yestiddy mornin' named ware?” lane finally managed to get out. “yeh. what about it? george tol me about it las' night,” was the sheriff's easy reply. “well, that nigger doctor harper who's been up no'th studyin' and come back here las' fall, come into my office this mornin' to repo't it, and he had the gall ť tell me george done it.” [ ] the fire in the flint “th’ black bastard! what th’ hell's he got to do with it?” "said it was his duty. you bet i tol him good an' plenty where he got off at. guess he won't come in here repo'tin' no more ‘accidents’ like george run into.” sheriff parker's face had assumed the colour of an overripe tomato as he jumped to his feet and banged his right fist on the table with a resounding thwack. "i'll keep my eye on that nigger," he promised. "his daddy was as good a nigger as ever i did see, - but they ain't no way o'tellin' what these young bucks'll do. roy ewing was saying only this mornin' that bob, that nigger doctor's kid brother, was tellin' him the other day that he'd have to stop them boys 'roun' the sto’ from botherin' with th' nig- ger gals when they pass by. humph! they ain't no nigger gal that's pure after she's reached fo’teen years oľ. yep, i'll jus' kep my eye on those boys, and the first chance i git, i'll— !” his eyes narrowed in malevolent fashion as he left his threat unuttered. in the meantime, kenneth had gone home. he hesitated to talk the matter over with bob or tell him what had happened to bud ware or what had taken place at the court house that morning. bob was so hot-headed and insults made him angry so easily, he was afraid of what might be the outcome if bob knew what had occurred. he would breathe a deep sigh of relief when bob left in the fall to go back to [ ] the fire in the flint non himself entered the reception room and called out to kenneth as he sat in his office: "good mawnin', brudder harper. it certainly has done my heart good to see you attendin' chu'ch ev'ry sunday with your folks. mos' of these young men and women, as soon's they get some learning, thinks they's too good to 'tend chu’ch. but, as i says to them all th' time, th' lawd ain't goin' ť bless none of them, even if they is educated, if they don't keep close to him." kenneth rose and showed his visitor to a seat. he did so with an inward repugnance as the coarseness of the man repelled him. mr. wilson seemed al- ways overheated even in the coldest weather, and his face shone with a greasiness that seemed to indicate that his body excreted oil instead of perspiration. yet, perhaps this man could give him some ray of no light, if there was any to be had. he told mr. wilson of his experiences of the past two days. the preacher's eyes widened with a mild surprise and the unctuous, benevolent mask which he wore most of his waking hours seemed to drop rap- idly as he heard kenneth through to the end without comment. at the same time he dropped his illiterate speech much to kenneth's surprise, when he finally spoke. “dr. harper, i've been watching you since you came back here. i knew that you were trying to į keep away from this trouble that's always going on around here. that's just why i came here to-day. [ ] the fire in the flint your case is a hard one, but it's small to what a lot of these others are feeling. i have asked a number of the more sensible coloured men to meet at any house to-night. i think it would be a good thing to talk over these things and try to find a way to avoid any trouble.” kenneth looked at him in surprise, not at the idea of holding a meeting, but at the language the man was using. “i hope you'll pardon me for asking so personal a question, reverend wilson, but you don't talk now as i've always heard you before. why, your lan- guage now is that of an educated man, and before you—you—talked like a-like a— " mr. wilson laughed easily. “there's a reason-in fact, there are two reasons why i talk like that. the first is because of my own folks. outside of you and your folks, the phil. lips family, and one or two more, all of my congrega- tion is made up of folks with little or no education. they've all got good hard common sense, it's true. they'd have to have that in order just to live in the south with things as they are. but they don't want a preacher that's too far above them they'll feel that they can't come to him and tell him their trou- bles if he's too highfalutin. i try to get right down to my folks, feel as they feel, suffer when they suf- fer, laugh with them when they laugh, and talk with them in language they can understand.” mr. wilson smiled, almost to himself, as memories of contacts with his lowly flock came to him. [ ] the fire in the flint “i remember when i first started preaching over at valdosta. i was just out of school and was filled up with the ambition to raise my people out of their ignorance. i was determined i would free them from a religion that didn't do anything for them but make them shout and holler on sunday. i was go- ing to give them some modern religion based on in- telligence instead of just on feeling and emotion.” he chuckled throatily in recollecting the spiritual and religious crusade on which he had based such exalted hopes. : “i preached to them and told them of aristotle and shakespeare and socrates. one sunday, after i'd preached what i thought was a mighty fine ser- mon, one old woman came up after the services and said to me: “brer wilson, dat's a' right tellin' us 'bout shakespeare and homer and all dem other boys. but what we want is for you t tell us some- thin' 'bout jesus!'” kenneth laughed with the preacher at the old wo- man's insistence on his not straying from the religion to which they were used. “i had to discard my high-flown theories and come down to my folks if i wanted to do any good at all.” he continued: “these same folks, however, don't want you to come down too close. like all people with little educa- tion, whether they’re black, white, or any other col- our, they like to look up to their leaders. so i use a few big words now and then which have a grand and rolling sound, and they feel that i am even more [ ] the fire in the flint wonderful because i do know how to use big words but don't use them often." he paused while kenneth looked at this man and saw him in a new light. he had known that mr. wilson, many years before coming to central city, had attended a theological seminary in atlanta, and he had wondered how a man could attend a school of theology of any standing and yet use such poor english. it had never occurred to him that it might be deliberate. “and then there's another reason,” continued rev- erend wilson. “the white folks here are mighty suspicious of any negro who has too much learning, according to their standards. they figure he'll be stirring up the negroes to fighting back when any trouble arises. i had to make a decision many years ago. i decided that somebody had to help these poor coloured folks bear their burdens, and to comfort and cheer them. i knew that if i came out and said the things i thought and felt, i would either be taken out of my house some night and lynched, or else i'd be run out of town. so i decided that i'd smile and bear it and be what the white folks think they want —what the coloured folks call a 'white man's nig- ger. it's been mighty hard, but the lord has given me the strength somehow or other to stand it this far.” with his deliberately imperfect english, there had gone from the preacher's face the subservient smile. kenneth felt his heart warming to this man. he found his feeling of distaste and repulsion dissipat- [ ] the fire in the flint ing, now that the shell had been removed and he saw beneath the surface. the simile of the protective device of the chameleon came to his mind. yes, the negro in the south had many things in common with the chameleon-he had to be able to change his col. our figuratively to suit the environment of the south in order to be allowed to stay alive. his own trou- ble with the parkers and lane seemed much more trivial now than before. he looked at mr. wilson and asked: "what's the purpose of this meeting to-night? how can i help, reverend wilson?” “it's like this. a good part of my congregation is made up of folks who live out in the country. they've had a lot of trouble for years getting honest settlements from the landlords on whose land they work. within the last five years, two of my mem- bers have been lynched when they wouldn't stand for being cheated any longer. the folks out there are in a pretty bad way, and they want us to advise with them as to the best way to act. i haven't time to go into the details now, but it'll all be taken up to- · night. can i count on your being there? we need a man like you, with your education." kenneth deliberated several minutes before giving his answer. what mr. wilson wanted him to do was just exactly what he had determined not to do. but what harm could come from attending the meeting? if he didn't want to take any part in the plans, he didn't have to. anyhow, it seemed that the more a man tried to keep away from the race question, the on the [ ] the fire in the flint mo more deeply involved he became in it. might as well do what little he could to help, if he didn't have to take too prominent a part. he'd go anyway. he told reverend wilson they could look for him that night. [ ] chapter viii enneth was late in reaching the meeting-place that night. when he arrived he found all there waiting for him. besides himself and mr. wilson were the reverend richard young, pastor of bethel african methodist episcopal church, and herbert phillips, jane's father. there were also three men from the farming district whom ken- neth did not know, but who were introduced as tom tracy, hiram tucker, and james swann. mr. wilson opened the meeting after the introduc- tions had been completed. “brothers, we've met here this evenin’ to talk over some way we can he'p these brothers who live out in the country and who ain't been able to get an hon- est settlement from the folks they's been farmin' for. i'm going to ask brother tucker to tell us just how things are with the folks out his way. brother tucker.” “brother” tucker rose and stood by the table around which they were seated and on which flickered an oil lamp. he was a man between fifty and sixty years of age, of medium height and thick-set. his black skin was wrinkled with age and toil. his hands, as they rested on the table in front of him, were gnarled and hardened through a lifetime of [ ] the fire in the flint ploughing and hoeing and the other hard work of farm life. it was mr. tucker's face, however, which attracted interest. out of the rolls of skin there shone two kindly, docile eyes. one gained the im. pression that these eyes had seen tragedies on top of tragedies, as indeed they had, and their owner had been taught by dire necessity to look upon them in a philosophic and pacifist manner. one remem- bered a biblical description: "he was a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.” kenneth, as he looked at him, felt that socrates and aristotle and jesus christ must have had eyes like brother tuck- er's. his impression was heightened by mr. tuck. er's hair. of a snowy whiteness, his head bald on top, his hair formed a circle around his head that reminded kenneth of the picture-cards used at sun. day school when he was a boy, where the saints had crowns of light hovering over their heads. the only difference was that mr. tucker's halo seemed to be a bit more firmly and closely attached than those of the saints, which he remembered always seemed to be poised perilously in mid-air. he had often won- dered, as he gazed intently at the pictures, what would have happened had a strong gust of wind come suddenly upon the saints, and blown their haloes away. mr. tucker began speaking slowly, in the manner of one of few words and as one unused to talking in public. "brudders, me 'n' brudder trac, and brudder swann ast reverend wilson here to let us come t [ ] the fire in the flint town some time and talk over with you gent’men a li'l' trouble we's been havin'. y see, all of us folks out dat way wuks on shares like dis. we makes a 'greement wif de landlord to wuk one year or mo'. he fu’nishes de lan' and we puts de crap in de soil, wuks it, and den gathers it. we's sposed to 'vide it share and share alike wif de landlord but it doan wuk out dat way. if us cullud folks ain't got money enough to buy our seed and fert’lizer and food and the clo’es we needs du'in'de year, we is allowed t take up dese things at de sto'. den when we goes to settle up after de cott'n and cawn's done laid by, de sto' man who wuks in wif de landlord won't giv' us no bill for whut we done bought but jes' gives us a li'l piece of paper wif de words on it: “balance due.” he paused to wipe the perspiration from his face caused by the unusual experience of speaking at such length. he continued: “an' dat ain't all. w’en we starts to pickin' our cotton, dey doan let us ca'y it to de gin and weigh it ourself. de lan’lord send his wagons down in de fiel' and as fas' as we picks it, dey loads it on de wagons and takes it away. dey doan let us know how much it weighs or how much dey sells it for. dey jus' tells us it weighs any 'mount de lan'lord wants to tell us, and dey says dey sol' it at any price dey set. w'en we comes to settle up for de year, dey 'ducts de balance due' from what we's got comin' t'us from our share of de craps. i's been wukin' for nigh on to six years for mr. taylor out near [ ] the fire in the flint ashland and ev'y year i goes deeper in debt dan de year befo'. las' year i raised mo' dan twenty-fo' bales of cott'n dat weighed mo’ dan five hundred poun's each. my boy tom whut's been t school figgered out dat at eighten cents a poun'—and dat's de price de paper said cott'n sol' at las' year—i oughter got mo' dan a thousan' dollars for my share. an' dat ain't all neither. dey was nearly twelve tons of cott'n seed dat was wuth 'bout two hundred and fo’ty dollars. an'den dey was mo' dan three hundred bush'ls of cawn at a dollar'n a ha'f a bush'l dat makes fo’ hundred and fifty dollars mo'. all dat t'gether makes nearly three thousan' dollars an’ i oughter got 'bout fifteen hundred dollars fo' my share. tucker stopped again and shifted his feet while tracy and swann nodded agreement with his state- ments. "las' year me 'n' my wife said we wuz gwine t get along without spendin' no mo' money at de sto' dan we had to, so's we could get out of debt. we wukked ha’d and all our chillen we made wuk in de fiel's too. my boy tom kept account of ev’ything we bought at de sto', and when de year ended he fig- gered it up an' he foun' we'd done spent jus' even fo' hundred dollars. but when we goes to make a settlement at de end of de year, mr. taylor said he sol our cott'n at eight cent a poun' and didn'have but sev’n hundred and thutty-five dollars comin' to us. an' den he claim we tuk up 'leven hundred dol- lars wuth of stuff at de sto' which he done paid for, [ ] the fire in the flint so that leave me owin' him three hundred 'n' sixty- five dollars dat i got to wuk out next year.” his face took on a dejected look as though the load had become almost too heavy to bear. his voice took on at the same time a plaintive and discouraged tone. “an' when you adds on dat three hundred dollars dat mr. taylor says i owed him from las' year, dat makes neah’ly sev’n hundred dollars i owes, and it doan look like i's evah goin't git out of debt. an' i thought we wuz goin' to be able to sen’ tom and sally and mirandy ť tuskegee dis year off de 'leven hundred dollars i thought i wuz gwine ť make.” the discouraged air changed to one of greater courage and determination. his voice rose in his resentment and excitement. “now i's tiahed of all dis cheatin' an' lyin'! mr. taylor mus' take me for a fool if he thinks i'm gwine stan' for dis way of doin' things all de time. i stahted to tell him dat i knew he wuz cheatin' me in janua'y w’en he give me dat statemen', but den i 'membered whut happen t joe todd two years ago w’en he tol' dat oľ man stanton dat he wukked for, de same thing. w'en ol' man stahted thit joe, joe hit him fust and run. dey came one night and call joe to his do' and tuk him down in de swamp an’ de nex’ mawnin' dey foun' joe full of bullets, hangin' to a tree. de paper say joe done spoke insultin' to a white 'oman, but all de cullud folks, an' de white too, know dat joe ain't nevah even seen no white ’oman dat day. dey knew dat if dey say he 'sulted [ ] the fire in the flint a white 'oman, de folks up nawth won't crit'cize dem for lynchin' a nigger down here in georgy. so i jus' kep' my mouth close'. now we wants t know if dey ain't somethin' we c'n do ť make dese white folks we wuks for stop cheatin' an' robbin' us po' cullud folks.” he sat down, evidently greatly relieved at finish- ing a task so arduous. kenneth had listened in amazement to the story of exploitation, crudely told, yet with a simplicity that was convincing and elo- quent. having lived in the south all his life, he naturally was not unaware of the abuses under the “share-cropping” or “tenant-farming” system in the south, but it had never been brought home to him so forcefully how close at hand and how oppressive and dishonest the system really was. no wonder the south lynched, disfranchised, jim-crowed the negro, he reflected. if the negro had a yote and a voice in the local government of affairs, most of these bankers and merchants and landowners would have to go to work for the first time in their lives instead of waxing fat on the toil of humble negroes like hi- ram tucker. he turned to tucker to get further in- formation on the system. "mr. tucker, have you and the other folks like you ever thought of trying to get loans from the federal government through the banks they have es- tablished to aid farmers in buying land and raising their crops?” “oh, yes, doc. soon's they started lendin' money to farmers, i ’plied for a loan to buy me a li'l' place [ ] the fire in the flint at tucker's hi very heartily being ignora kenneth felt properly rebuked by this humble man who, though illiterate, was far from being ignorant. he joined in, but not very heartily, at the general laughter at tucker's homely sally. mr. wilson, as acting chairman, ended the discus- sion by calling on tom tracy. tracy was a much younger man than tucker and was about kenneth's age. tall, well built, intelligent looking, his dark brown face had worn a scowl of discontent and resentment while tucker had been talking. he be- gan talking in a clear voice that but poorly masked the bitterness he felt but which he tried to keep out of his voice. older men like mr. tucker were al- ways quick to rebuke any sign of “uppishness” in the younger generation. “i graduated from tuskegee three years ago. my old mother worked herself almost to death to keep me in school, and i came back here determined to earn enough money to let her rest the balance of her life. but she and my father had been living all their lives just like mr. tucker here, and they didn't have anything to give me a start. so i went to work on shares, taking that thirty acres that joins on to mr. tucker's farm on the south. i took this land that wasn't thought to be any good, because it had been exhausted through overworking it year after year. i bought some new ploughs and fixed it up fine. i thought i could put the things i learned at tuskegee into practice and in a couple of years pay off all i owed. but instead of doing that, i'm getting deeper in debt every year. i rent my place from ed stewart and [ ] the fire in the flint he knows that i know he's cheating and robbing and lying to me, but when i try to show him where he is wrong in his figures, all he does is to get mad and start to cussing me and telling me that if i don't keep a civil tongue in my head, the ku klux klan will be hearing about this 'sassy young nigger tracy' and i'll wish i had kept my mouth shut. i'm getting sick of the whole thing, too. if it wasn't for the old folks, i expect i'd 'a' started something long ago. they are all talking about me being a dangerous character out my way already. say i'm too 'uppity' and i need to be taught a lesson to show me that ‘nig. gers must stay in their places.'” . tracy finished speaking in a tone that was almost a shout. it could be seen that he was very near the breaking-point from brooding over the wrongs he had suffered. mr. phillips, who had said nothing, broke in with a question. "tom, why don't you move away from ed stew- art's place if he doesn't treat you right?” tracy replied bitterly: “yes, suppose i tried to leave, what would hap- pen? the same day i left, sheriff parker would come and get me. they'd put me on trial for jump- ing my contract and fine me. old stewart would be in court to testify against me. he'd pay my fine and then i'd have to go back to stewart's place and work a year or two for nothing, paying off the fine. a fat chance i've got with the cards all stacked against me!” [ ] the fire in the flint mr. young, of the bethel african methodist epis. copal church, nodded assent to tracy's statement. “brother tracy's right. look at what happened to jeff anderson down near valdosta last spring. he ran away and got to detroit where he had a good job working in an automobile plant. they swore out a warrant against him for stealing, brought him back, and the last i heard of him he was back down there working out a three-hundred-dollar fine. no, brother phillips, you've been reading the law that applies to white folks—not to us coloured people.” james swann's story was along the same lines as the others. the seven men entered into a discus- sion of ways and means of taking some action which would alleviate conditions before the harvesting of the crop which was now in the ground. one sug- gestion after another was offered, only to be as quickly discarded because of local difficulties. mid- night came, with no decision reached. when it be- came apparent that nothing would be settled, ken- neth was chosen with mr. wilson and mr. phillips to work out some plan to be reported at the meeting to be held one week later. [ ] chapter ix here was being held another meeting the same night. two miles from central city, to the i north, was a natural auditorium, an amphi- theatre formed by three hills. in this place a meet- ing alfresco was in progress. though the place was far enough from the road to be reasonably free from prying intruders, sentinels paced the narrow roads that led to the place of assemblage. skeleton-like pine-trees formed an additional barrier to the lonely spot, making as they did a natural fringe atop the three hills. there was no moon. light was furnished by pine torches fastened in some instances to trees, in others borne aloft by members of the gathering. about three hundred men were ranged in a circle around a rudely carved cross stuck in the ground. each man was garbed in a long white robe reaching to his feet. on the left breast of each hood was a cross with other strange figures. over the head of each man was a cowl with holes for eyelets. it was a meeting of central city klan, knights of the ku klux klan, realm of georgia. the exalted cy. clops, whose voice bore a remarkable likeness to that of sheriff parker, was initiating new members into the mysteries of the order. he held in his hand a [ ] the fire in the flint sheet from which he was reading the oath which the "aliens” repeated after him with their right hands upraised. whether through fright or excitement or because the night air was chilly, the voices of the embryo “knights” had a strange quaver in them. around them, rank on rank, stood the klansmen, who followed the ceremony closely. “... will willingly conform—to all regulations, usages, and requirements—of the knights of the ku klux klan--which do now exist–or which may hereafter–be enacted—and will render—at all times—loyal respect, and steadfast support—to the imperial authority of same. ..." the droning voices ended the monotonous recital. the flickering torches gave forth a weird light that was lost in the darkness cast by the trees. the pun- gent odour of burning resin and the thick stifling smoke were blown by vagrant breezes into the faces of the hooded figures, causing a constant accompani- ment of coughs, sneezes, and curses to the mumbled words. a recent rain-storm had left the low-lying ground soggy and damp and mightily uncomfortable underfoot. the crowd shifted uneasily as their feet grew cold with the dampness. moths, mosquitoes, and other flying insects, attracted by the flaring lights, swarmed, getting beneath the cowls and robes and adding to the discomfort of the wearers. even the imperfect illumination showed the cheap material of which the disguises were made, exhibited the wrin- kles and dirt around the hems, revealed every aspect [ ] the fire in the flint of the ill-fitting garments. once from a spluttering torch there fell a bit of blazing resin on the hand of the man holding the light. with a yell he dropped the torch, danced and howled with pain, a ludicrous figure, until the agony had subsided. the torch, flung hastily away, set fire to the underbrush into which it had been cast. an unlooked-for intermis- sion in the ceremonies followed as a score of the figures, holding the skirts of their robes aloft like old maids frightened at the appearance of a mouse, stamped out the fire, circling and yelling like a band of whirling deryishes. stodgy, phlegmatic, stupid citizens by day, these by night went through the discomforts of so unpre- pared a meeting-place, and through the absurdities of the rites imposed upon them by clever rogues who extracted from them fees and donations for the privilege of being made to appear more silly than is usually apparent. add to that gullibility a natu- ral love of the mysterious and adventurous and an instinct towards brute action restrained only by fear of punishment, by a conjuring of bogies and other malevolent dangers, and one understands, at least in part, the presence of these three hundred “white, gentile, protestant” citizens of central city at this meeting. the initiation ended, the exalted cyclops ordered the kligrapp or secretary to read several communi- cations from the imperial klan palace at atlanta. this he did, struggling manfully through the weird and absurd verbiage that would have made any of [ ] the fire in the flint the men present howl with laughter had he heard his children using it in their play. instead it was lis. tened to attentively, seriously, and solemnly. then followed a recital of the work to be done by the local klan. the kligrapp consulted a sheet of paper in his hand. “the eye that never sleeps has been seeking out those in our city who have acted in a manner dis- pleasing to the invisible empire. there is in cen- tral city a nigger wench named nancy ware who has been saying evil things against our brother, george parker. in the name of our sacred order, and in the furtherance of our supreme duty of pres- ervation of white supremacy, she is being watched and will be treated so as to end her dangerous utterances.” at this statement a robed figure that, even under the disguise, seemed to resemble him who had been "defamed” by nancy ware's tongue nodded approv- ingly. the kligrapp continued after a pause: “word has also come to us from brothers ed stew- art and taylor that there's a young nigger named tom tracy out this way who's going around among the niggers saying that they have got to stop white people from robbing them on their crops. tracy hasn't done anything but talk thus far, but we will keep our eye on him and stop him if he talks too much.” cowled heads nodded approvingly. "and then there's a nigger doctor who came in my office i mean, he went into the office of health commissioner lane—and had the gall to repo't the [ ] the fire in the flint death of a nigger bootlegger and say that a white man had killed him for fooling around with the nig. ger's wife. this nigger's daddy was one of the best niggers that ever lived here in this town, and this boy's keeping away from the other trouble-making niggers, but we've got to watch all these niggers that's been spoiled by goin' to school.” he added, as an afterthought: "... up nawth.” and so he droned on. negroes, two jews, three men suspected of catholic leanings—all were con- demned by the self-appointed arbiters of morals and manners. one or two men were singled out as vio- lating the code of morals by consorting with negro women. there was not much to report on this score, as those who were violating this rule in central city had rushed, on formation of a klan there, to join the order, that they might gain immunity from at- tack and yet continue their extra-legal activities with- out check or interference. with the conclusion of the kligrapp's report, the meeting dispersed, the members silently entered the woods and there dis- robing, and scattering to their various homes. some went towards "factoryville,” some towards the coun- try districts, others climbed into automobiles parked near the road and drove towards the residential sec- tion of central city where lived the more affluent merchants and other upper-class whites of the town. the place was soon deserted. the ceremony had been a strange mixture of the impressive and the ab- surd. there was underneath the ridiculously [ ] the fire in the flint worded language, the amusing childlike observance of the empty ceremonies, the queer appearance of the robes all designed alike with little regard for fatness or thinness of the prospective wearers, a seriousness which betokened a belief in the urgent need of their organizing in such a manner. they had been duped so long by demagogues, deluded generation after generation into believing their sole hope of existence depended on oppression and suppression of the ne- gro, that the chains of the ignorance and suppression they sought to fasten on their negro neighbours had subtly bound them in unbreakable fashion. they opposed every move for better educational facilities for their children, for improvement of their health or economic status or welfare in general, if such im- provement meant better advantages for negroes. creatures of the fear they sought to inspire in others, their lives are lived in constant dread of the things of evil and terror they preached. it is a system based on stark, abject fear—fear that he whom they termed inferior might, with opportunity, prove himself not inferior. this unenlightened viewpoint rules men throughout the south like those who formed the cen- tral city klan-dominates their every action or thought-keeps the whites back while the negro- in spite of what he suffers—always keeps his face towards the sun of achievement. ... in spite of the secrecy surrounding the meeting, next morning all central city talked of what had taken place on the previous evening. in such a town, where little diversion exists, the inhabitants seize with [ ] the fire in the flint, avidity upon every morsel of news that promises en- tertainment. though they had taken fearful oaths' of secrecy, it was asking too much of human frailty to expect three hundred men to refrain even from mysterious hints of their doings. with the love that simple minds have of the clandestine, the midnight secrecy, the elaborately arranged peregrinations to the place of meeting, the safeguards adopted by the lead- ers not so much to prevent interference as to impress their followers, the “inviolable oath,” the grips and passwords--all these added to the human desire to be considered important in the eyes of family and friends and neighbours. thus many of the three hundred dropped hints to their wives of what had been said and done. over back fences, at the stores on lee street, in the numerous places where women contrived to meet and gossip, the one topic discussed was the meeting of the night before. one told her bit of information to another, who in turn contrib- uted her mite. each in turn told a third and a fourth. with each telling, the ball of gossip grew, and each repetition bore artistic additions of fact or fancy designed to add to the drama of the story. by noon the compounded result assumed the proportions of a feat bordering on the heroic. at the noonday meal, known as dinner, the men found themselves viewed in a new and admiring light by their spouses and offspring. they basked in the temporary glamour and sought to add to the fame of their midnight prowling by elaborate hints of deeds of dark and magnificent proportions. w [ ] the fire in the flint in turn, to the negro section of central city were borne the tales by cooks and laundresses and maids, servants, with acutely developed ears, in the houses of the whites. everywhere in the negro section, in homes, on street corners, over back fences, the news was discussed by the dusky inhabitants of the town. in the eyes of a few, fear could be discerned. most of the negroes, however, discussed the news as they would have talked about the coming of the circus to town. some talked loudly and in braggart fashion of what they would do if the “kluxers” bothered them. others examined for the hundredth time well- oiled revolvers. most generally the feeling was a hope the klan would not bother any coloured person —but if it did — !... it was natural that the news should eventually reach nancy ware and tom tracy and, last of all, kenneth. mrs. amos, bustling with importance, has- tened as fast as her rheumatism would allow to tell mrs. harper what the klansmen had said or, to be more accurate, what dame rumour said the klans- men had said, about kenneth and bob. it was ob- vious the two men had taken on a new importance in her eyes in being singled out for the attention of the clandestine organization. that night in kenneth's office the brothers talked over the news. kenneth scoffed at what seemed to him a fantastic and improbable tale. he looked searchingly at his brother. “well bob, what do you make of it?” "trouble for somebody," said bob positively. [ ] the fire in the flint are & “and i have a sort of feeling that that somebody is us,” he added after a pause. "i'm not so sure,” was kenneth's doubtful re- joinder. “some of these crackers are just mean enough to start something, but i'm pretty sure there are enough decent white people in central city to check any trouble that might start.” bob said nothing, though his face showed plainly he did not share his brother's confidence. kenneth went on: “besides, they must have sense enough to know that a sheet and pillow-case won't scare coloured folks to-day as they did fifty years ago. it wasn't hard to scare negroes then—they'd just come out of slavery, and believed in ghosts and spooks and all those other silly things. but to-day— " “i think white people are right sometimes," broke in bob with conviction, “when they say education ruins a negro. one of those times is when you talk like that.” the irony in his voice was but thinly veiled. he continued: "the southern white man boasts he knows the ne- gro better than anybody else, but he knows less what the coloured man is really thinking than the man in the moon. i'll bet anything you say, that seven out of every ten men in town believe that you and i and all the rest of us coloured folks are scared to death every time we hear the word 'ku klux. they be- lieve the sight of one of those fool robes'll make us run and hide under a bed— ” [ ] the fire in the flint “oh, i don't go quite that far,” interrupted ken- neth. “i only said i thought some of the good white people ” “you can name all your 'good white folks' on one hand,” replied bob irritably. “a lot they could do if these poor white trash decide to raise hell. why, they'd lynch judge stevenson or roy ewing or any- body else if they tried to stop ’em. look what they did to governor slaton at atlanta just because he commuted the sentence of that jew, leo frank!” he added triumphantly. “a mob even went out to his house to lynch him—the governor!” “but that was an extraordinary case,” replied kenneth. “call it what you will, it just shows you how far they will go when they are all stirred up. and with this ku klux outfit to stir them up, there's no telling what’ll happen.” "bob, do you really believe what you said just now about most of them really believing negroes will be scared by the klan? that seems so far-fetched.” "believe it? of course i do. just use your eyes and see how negroes fool white folks all the time. take, for instance, old will hutchinson who works for mr. baird. will cuts all sorts of monkey-shines around baird, laughs like an idiot, and wheedles old baird out of anything he's got. baird gives it to him and then tells his friends about his good nigger will’ and boasts that will is one ‘darky' he really knows. then will goes home and laughs at the fool he's made of baird by acting like a fool.” bob [ ] the fire in the flint laughed at the memory of many occasions on which will had bamboozled his employer. “and there are negroes all over the south doing the same thing every day!” he ended. “that's true,” admitted kenneth, “but what ought we to do about this meeting last night?” "do?” echoed bob. a determined look came to his face, his teeth clenched, his eyes narrowed until they became thin slits. “do?” he repeated. "if they ever bother me, i'm going to fight—and fight like hell!” long into the night kenneth sat alone in his office, wondering how it was all going to turn out. [ ] the fire in the flint who sat beside him. afterwards, they had ridden home atop a fifth avenue bus, and the whole city seemed filled with romance. he had imagined him- self at the time deeply in love. but that tender epi- sode had soon ended when he told her he was plan- ning to return to georgia. “kenneth!” she had ex- claimed. “how can you think of living down south again? it's silly of you even to think of it! i could never think of living down there where they are likely to lynch you at a moment's notice! it's too bar- baric, too horrible an existence to consider even for a minute!” kenneth had tried to show her that it wasn't as bad as it had been painted, that coloured people who minded their own business never had any trouble. but she had been obdurate. kenneth left the house in a huff, and had never gone back again. what silly notions women have, he had thought to himself. the reason they talked about the south that way was because of sheer ignorance. as if he couldn't manage his own affairs and keep away from trouble! humph! well rid of the silly creature, and he felt glad he had found out before going in too deep. but now this was different. jane had no such absurd notions as those girls up north had. she wasn't the sort that couldn't leave promenading down seventh avenue in new york or state street in chicago or u street in washington. it wasn't that she didn't know what it meant to live in the north. hadn't she been to atlantic city and new york and washington with her mother? no, jane was just [ ] the fire in the flint it the sort of girl who would make the right sort of companion for him in a place like central city. intelligent, with a good education, talented musically —she would make an ideal wife. kenneth found himself musing along in this fashion until aroused by his mother as she called him to supper. it was darned silly of him, he thought as he arose to comply, to go along thinking like this. he and jane had spoken no word of love when she had been at home at christmas. nor had their letters been other than those of good friends. but hadn't she written him almost every week since she left? she must think something of him to have done that. he determined that as soon as he could he would skil fully direct the conversation to the point where he could find out just where he stood. it was time that he was thinking about settling down, anyhow. he would be twenty-nine his next birthday—he was mak- ing money—if he acted wisely his future was as- sured. yes, he would find out how jane felt. both his mother and mamie liked jane—and mr. phillips had called him “my boy” several times lately and had repeated to him snatches of the letters that jane had written home. the only doubtful quantity was the attitude of jane herself. on monday morning kenneth reached the railroad station long before the train arrived. he tried to sit in the filthy little waiting-room with the sign over the door, “for coloured,” but the air was so oppressive that he chose rather to walk up and down the road outside the station. at last the train came. [ ] the fire in the flint he walked down towards the engine where the jim crow car was. it was half baggage car and half coach. a motley crowd of laughing, shouting ne- groes descended, calling out to friends and relatives in the group of negroes on the ground. standing on tiptoe, kenneth strained his eyes to get glimpse of jane. the windows of the coach were too dirty to see inside. at last she appeared on the platform, dainty, neat, and looking as though she had just emerged from her own room, in spite of the filth and cindery foulness of the coach. kenneth thought of the simile of a rose springing up from a bed of noi. some and unlovely weeds as he hurried forward to help jane with her bags through the crowd of col- oured people that flocked around the steps. jane greeted him cordially enough, her eyes shin- ing with pleasure at seeing him again. kenneth, however, felt a vague disappointment. he had let his thoughts run riot while she had been away. so far as he was concerned, the only things necessary were the actual asking of the all-important question and the choosing of a wedding-day. as he followed her to his car, he turned over in his mind just what it was that disappointed him so in her greeting. he couldn't put his finger on it exactly, but she would have greeted bob or any other man just as warmly and he would not have felt jealous at all. maybe she's tired from the ride in that dirty and noisy car? she'll be quite different when i go over to see her to-night, he thought. he inquired regarding her trip—was it pleasant? [ ] the fire in the flint “ugh, it was horrible!” she replied, shuddering at the memory of it. “i had a pullman as far as at- lanta, but there i had to change to that dirty old jim crow car. there was a crowd of negroes who · had three or four quarts of cheap liquor. they were horrible. why, they even had the nerve to of. fer me a drink! and the conductor must have told everybody on the train that i was up front, because all night long there was a constant procession of white men passing up and down the coach looking at me in a way that made my blood boil. i didn't dare go to sleep, because i didn't know what might hap- pen. it was awful!” she sat silent as she lived over again the horror of the ride. then, shaking off her mood, she turned to him with a cheerful smile. “thank goodness, it's over now, and i don't want to think of it any more than i can help. tell me all about yourself and what you've been doing and everything,” she fin- ished all in a breath. he told her briefly what had been going on, of his plans for the hospital, of the meeting at reverend wilson's, and other items of interest about life in central city, until they had arrived at her home. he waited for an invitation to come in, but in the excite- ment of seeing her mother and father again, she for- got all about kenneth. placing her bags on the porch, he turned and left after promising to run over for a while that evening. the time seemed to go by on dragging feet that day. it seemed as though evening never would come. [ ] the fire in the flint it did at last, however, and as soon as he finished with the last patient, he went over to jane's home. re- freshed by a long rest, she greeted him clad in a dress of some filmy blue material. they seated themselves on the porch, shaded by vines from the eyes of passers-by. over kenneth there came a feel- ing of contentment-life had not been easy for him and he had been denied a confidante with whom he could discuss the perplexities he had experienced in central city. the talk for a time drifted from one topic to another. before he knew it, kenneth was telling jane of his ambitions, of the plans he had made before coming back to central city, of the suc- cesses and failures he had met with, of his hopes for the future. jane listened without speaking for some time. life among coloured people is so intense, so earnest, so serious a problem in the south, that never do two intelligent negroes talk very long before the race problem in some form is under discussion. jane interrupted kenneth in the midst of his recital. “kenneth, did you really believe that you could come back here to central city and keep entirely away from the race problem?” "i don't know that i thought it out as carefully as that, but i hoped to do something like that,” was his uneasy reply. he had the feeling that she didn't altogether approve of him. her next words proved that she didn't. . “well, you can't do it. just because your father got along all right is no reason why you should do the same things he did. you are living in a time life amonls problem in very long [ ] the fire in the flint the south have got to do. that is, those who've got any sense and backbone. if they don't, then this thing they call the race problem is going to grow so big it's going to consume the south and america. it's almost that big now.” she paused for breath. kenneth started to speak but she checked him with her hand. "i'm not through yet! i've been thinking over this thing for a long time, just as every other negro has done who's got brains enough to do any thinking at all. i am sick and tired of hearing all this prat- ing about the 'superior race.' superior-humph! kenneth, what you and all the rest of negroes need is to learn that you belong to a race that was centuries old when the first white man came into the world. you've got to learn that a large part of this thing they call “white civilization' was made by black hands, as well as by yellow and brown and red hands, too, besides what white hands have created. you've got to learn that the negro to-day is contributing as much of the work that makes this civilization pos- sible as the white race, if not more. be proud of your race and quit whining and cringing! you'll never get anywhere until you do! there, i've wanted to get that out of my system for a long time ever since we talked together last christmas. now it's out and i'm through!” kenneth sat quiet. while she had been pouring forth her tirade, he had thought of several logical arguments he could have advanced. but she had given him no chance to utter them. now they seemed [ ] the fire in the flint weak and useless. he was resentful—what did women know about the practical problems and dif. ficulties of life, anyway? his anger was not abated by the realization that jane felt that he had been try- ing to avoid his responsibility to himself and to his people—that he had been a coward. and yet she was right in a general way in what she had said. masking as well as he could the chagrin he felt at her words, he told her of the trouble tucker and tracy and swann and the other share-croppers were having, and gave her further details of the meeting at reverend wilson's. she sensed the wound to his pride that she had in- flicted. she did not regret doing what she had done -on the long ride home she had determined that she would tell him those very things as soon as she could find opportunity—but, with a woman's natural tenderness, she regretted the necessity of hurting him. she put her hand over his for an instant, touched at his dejected manner. "i'm sorry, ken, if i hurt you, but i did it because you are too fine a man, and you've got too good an education, to try to dodge an issue as plain as yours. why, kenneth, you've had it mighty soft-just think of the thousands of coloured boys all over the south who are too poor to get even a high-school training. you've never had to get down and dig for what you've got-perhaps it would have been better if you had. it's men with your brains and educa- tion that have got to take the leadership. you've got [ ] the fire in the flint to make good! that's just the reason they try to make it hard for men like you—they know that if you ever get going, their treating the negro as they have has got to stop! they're darned scared of edu- cated negroes with brains—that's why they make it hard for you!” kenneth threw out his hands, palms upward, and shrugged his shoulders. "i suppose i agree with you in theory, jane, but what are the practical ways of doing the things you say i ought to do? how, for example, can i help tracy and tucker and all the rest of the farmers who're being robbed of all they earn every year?” “don't get angry now just because i touched your masculine vanity. i know about the share-cropping system in a general way. tell me the facts that were brought out at the meeting.” kenneth told her in detail the things hiram tucker and the others had said. she sat in thought for a minute, her chin cupped in the palm of her hand, her elbow resting on the arm of the chair, as she rocked back and forth. kenneth sat watching her in what was almost sardonic amusement. he had been wrestling with this same problem ever since thurs- day night and was no nearer a solution than he had been then. it would be amusing in a few minutes, after all her high-flown thoughts and elaborate gen- eralities about bucking the race question, when she would be forced to admit that when it came to solv- ing one of the practical problems of the whole ques. [ ] the fire in the flint tion her generalizing would be of no avail. he was aroused by a question thrown at him suddenly by jane. “do these folks have to buy their supplies from the landlord ? "not that i know of,” he replied. “they buy from the landlord, or the merchant designated by the landlord, because they haven't the money or the credit to trade anywhere else.” there followed another pause while the rocking began again. “do you remember any of the economics you learned at school?” was the next query. he replied that he supposed he did. “have you got any books on co-operative socie- ties?” he doubted whether he had. "well, never mind.” she swung her chair around, facing kenneth, and leaned forward intently, the light from the arc-lamp in the corner illumining her face and revealing the eager, enthusiastic look upon it. “kenneth, why can't those coloured people pool their money and buy their goods wholesale and then distribute them at cost?” kenneth laughed, it must be confessed a little cheerfully, that she had gone from one problem into the mazes of another that was just as difficult. “for the very same reason that they are in the pre- dicament they are in to-day. they haven't got the money. perhaps you can tell me where the money to start this co-operative scheme is coming from?" [ ] the fire in the flint “that's an easy one to answer. it's going to come from you and papa and three or four more of these folks here in town who can afford it! oh, ken, can't you see what a big thing you can do? there are lots of people, white people i mean, right here in central city, who'd be glad to help these poor negroes get out of debt. papa was telling us to- day about a talk he had with judge stevenson the other day. the judge said he wished there was some way to help without it making him unpopular with the other folks here in town. of course, the folks who are making money off this system, the landlords and the store-keepers, won't like it, but you can go and talk with folks like judge stevenson and mr. baird down at the bank of central city. if this first trial succeeds—and i know it will be a suc- cess—it'll spread all over smith county, and then all over georgia, and then all over the south, and the coloured folks will have millions of dollars that they've been cheated out of before. that, kenneth harper, is one way you can lead, and it won't get you in bad with the white people at least the decent ones—either.” kenneth began to be infected by her enthusiasm. he saw that her idea had possibilities. but, man- like, he didn't want to give in too soon or too readily. “there is something in what you say, jane, but the details will have to be worked out first before we can tell if it is a practicable idea. i'll think it— " jane interrupted him, showing that she hadn't even been listening to him. [ ] the fire in the flint employ the very best lawyers money could get to take one of those cases where a negro had not been able to get a fair settlement with his landlord, and make a test case of it. what if they did lose in the local court? they'd take it to the state supreme court! what if they did lose even there? they'd take it clear up to the united states supreme court! they were sure to win there. kenneth walked home with his head whirling with the project's possibilities. he saw a new day coming when a man in the south would no longer be exploited and robbed just because he was black. and when that came, lynching and everything else like it would go too. he felt already like matthew and andrew and peter and john and the other disciples when they started out to bring the good news to the whole world. for wasn't he a latter-day disciple bringing a new solution and a new hope to his people? it was not until kenneth had gone to bed that he realized that though he had been with jane all the evening, he had had not one minute when he could "* have spoken of love to her. musing thus, he fell asleep. [ ] chapter xi arly the next morning kenneth rose and rum- . maged through his books until he found his old and battered text-books on economics. into these he dipped during the intervals between patients, making notes of ideas which seemed useful in the organization of the co-operative society. the more he read, the more feasible the plan seemed. properly guided and carefully managed, there was no reason, so far as he could see, why the society should not be a success. eighty per cent of the farm- ers of the south, white and coloured, he estimated, suffered directly or indirectly from the present eco- nomic system. though his interest was in the negro tillers of the soil, success in their case would inevi- tably react favourably on the white just as oppres- sion and exploitation of the negro had done more harm to white people in the south than to negroes. kenneth felt the warm glow of the crusader in a righteous cause. already he saw a new day in the south with white and coloured people free from oppression and hatred and prejudice-prosperous and contented because of that prosperity. he could see a lifting of the clouds of ignorance which hung over all the south, an awakening of the best in all the people of the south. thus has youth dreamed ove [ ] the fire in the flint since the beginning of time. thus will youth ever dream. and in those dreams rests the hope of the world, for without them this world with all its de- fects would sink into the black abyss of despair, never to rise again. his work finished for the day, he went as soon as he decently could to talk with jane. she, too, had been at work. eagerly they planned between them the infinite details of so ambitious a scheme. con- fidently they discounted possible difficulties they might expect to encounter—the opposition of the whites who were profiting from the present system, the petty jealousies and suspicions of those who would gain most from the success of their scheme. they realized that the negro had been robbed so much, both by his own people and by the whites, that he was chary of new plans and projects. they knew he was contentious and quarrelsome. these things seemed trivial, however, for with the natural expansiveness of the young they felt that difficulties like these were but trifles to be airily brushed aside. jane was not too much engrossed in their plans to notice the change in kenneth's manner. she had watched him closely during the times she had seen him since his return. he had been almost morose, his mind divided between his work and the effort to keep to a “middle-of-the-road” course in his relations with the whites. the inevitable conflict within him- self, the lack of decisiveness in his daily life that he consciously developed and which was so diametri- [ ] the fire in the flint cu cally opposite to that he used in his profession, had begun to create a complex personality that was far from pleasing. in a freer atmosphere kenneth would have been a direct, straightforward charac- ter, swift to decision and quick of action. one can- not, however, compromise principle constantly and consciously without bearing the marks of such con- flicts. his compromises were not all conscious ones, though. he believed honestly it was wisest that he observe some sort of half-way ground between rank cowardice and uncompromising opposition to the conditions which existed. in doing so, he had no sense of physical or moral timidity. he knew no negro could yet safely advocate complete freedom for the negro in the south. he felt there had been improvement during the past half-century in those conditions. he believed that in time all of the negro's present problems would be solved satisfac- torily. if, by not trying to rush things, he could help in that solution, he was content. in believing thus, kenneth was different in no way from the majority of intelligent negroes in the south: temporizing with the truth, it may be, yet of such temporizations and compromises is the life of the negro all over the south. with the evolving of a plan which enabled him to be of help and, at the same time, involved him in no danger of trouble with his white neighbours, ken- neth took on an eagerness which was at marked var. [ ] the fire in the flint iance with his former manner. his eyes shone with the desire to make their plan a success. of a tender and sympathetic nature, almost with the gentleness of a woman, he realized now that the burdens of his race had lain heavy upon him. he had suffered in their suffering, had felt almost as though he had been the victim when he read or heard of a lynching, had chafed under the bonds which bound the hands and feet and heart and soul of his people. but launched as he now was on a plan to furnish relief from one of the worst of those bonds, he had changed over- night into a determined and purposeful and ardent worker towards the goal he and jane had set for themselves. jane rejoiced at the changed air of ken. neth—he seemed to have emerged from the shell in which he had encased himself and, womanlike, she rejoiced that he had done so through her own work. so absorbed had they been in discussion of their plans that the time had flown by as though on wings. ten o'clock was announced by mr. phillips in the room above by the dropping of his shoes, one after the other, on the floor. kenneth needed no second signal, he rose to go. jane went to the door with him. "kenneth, you're entirely different from the way you were yesterday. i'm so glad. ..." the next morning he called on judge stevenson. the judge's office was above the bon ton store in a two-story brick building on lee street. kenneth [ ] the fire in the flint veve orn w climbed the flight of dingy, dusty stairs which bore alternately on the vertical portions tin signs in. scribed: richard p. stevenson, attorney-at-law and dr. j. c. carpenter, dentist. the judge's office was at the head of the stairs and in it kenneth found the old lawyer seated near the window, his coat off, and in his mouth the long, thin, villainous-looking cigar without which few per- sons in central city ever remembered seeing him, though none had ever seen one of them lighted. he chewed on it ruminatively when in repose. when engaged in an argument, either in or out of a court- room, and especially when opposition caused his choleric temper to be aroused, he chewed furiously as though he would have enjoyed treating his enemy of the moment in similar fashion. he was tall and thickset, his snow-white hair brushed straight back from his forehead like the mane of a lion. skin reddened by exposure to sun and wind, bushy eye- brows from under which gleamed fiery eyes that could shift in an instant from twinkling good humour to flashing indignation or anger, thin nose and ample mouth, his face was one that would command re- spect or at least attention in almost any gathering. he wore loosely fitting, baggy clothes that draped his ample figure with a gracefulness that added to his distinguished appearance. many thought he resembled at first glance that famous kentuckian, [ ] the fire in the flint henry watterson, and indeed he did bear an unmis- takable likeness to “marse henry.” the judge's life had beer, a curious combination of contradictions. he had fought valiantly in the confederate army as a major, serving under “stone- wall” jackson, whose memory he worshipped second only to that of his wife, who had died some ten years before. he bore a long scar, reminder of the wound that had laid him low during the battle of atlanta. his mode of brushing his hair back was adopted to cover the mark, but when he talked, as he loved to do, of his martial experiences, he would always, at the same time in the narrative, brush, with one sweep of his hand, the hair down over his forehead and reveal the jagged scar of which he was inordinately proud. with the end of the civil war, he had reconciled himself to the result though it had meant the loss of most of his wealth. he harboured little bitterness towards the north, unlike most of his comrades in arms who never were willing to forgo any oppor- tunity to vent their venomous hatred of their con- querors. judge stevenson had counselled against such a spirit. so vigorously had he done it, he had alienated most of those who had been his closest friends. following a speech he had delivered at one of the reunions of confederate veterans in which he urged his comrades at least to meet half-way the overtures of friendliness from the north, he had been denounced from the floor of the convention as a “yankee-lover,” and threatened with violence. judge stevenson with flashing eye and belligerent [ ] the fire in the flint manner had jumped to his feet, offered to fight any man, or any ten men, who thought him guilty of treachery to the cause of the confederacy, and when none accepted the challenge, denounced them as cowards and quit the convention. he had hoped that, with the passing on, one by one, of the unreconstructed veterans of the confed- eracy, a newer and less embittered generation, with no personal memories of the gall of defeat, would right things. instead had come the rise of the poor whites with none of the culture and refinement of the old southern aristocracy, a nation of petty minds and morals, vindictive, vicious, dishonest, and stupid. lacking in nearly all the things that made the old south, at least the upper crust of it, the most civi- lized section of america at that time, he saw his friends and all they stood for inundated by this flood of crudeness and viciousness, until only a few remained left high and dry like bits of wreckage from a foundered ship cast up on the shore to rot away, while all around them raged this new regime, no longer poor in purse but eternally impoverished in culture and civilizing influences. on these the judge spat his contempt and he poured upon their un- concerned heads the vials of his venom and wrath. the second devastating blow he suffered was the succumbing, one by one, of his children to the new order. nancy, his eldest daughter, had run away from home and married a merchant whose wealth had been gained through the petty thievery of pad- ding accounts and other sharp practices on poorer [ ] the fire in the flint wa us whites and negroes. mary ann, his other daughter, whom he loved above all others of his children, had fallen victim to an unfortunate love affair with a dashing but worthless son of their next-door neigh- bour. she had died in giving birth to her child, which, fortunately, the judge thought, had been born dead. his son had “gone in for politics.” he had been successful, as success was measured by the present-day south, but in his father's eyes, judged by the uncompromising standards of that member of an older and nobler generation, he had sunk to levels of infamy from which he could never recover. the crowning misfortune dealt the judge by an unkind fate was the loss of his gentle, kindly wife. she had uncomplainingly borne their misfortunes one after another, had calmed and soothed her husband's irascible tantrums, had been a haven to which he could come and find repose when buffeted by a world which he did not and could not under- stand. as long as she lived, he had been able to bear up despite the bitter disappointments life had dealt him. he had gone away to try a case in a near-by county, had returned after a two days' ab- sence and found her with a severe cold and fever. for three weeks he did not leave her bedside, drove away in anger the trained nurse dr. bennett brought to the house, ministered gently to his wife's every need, and held her in his arms as she breathed her last breath. frantic at this last and most crushing blow, he cursed the doctor, though dr. bennett had done all he could in his bungling way, cursed god, [ ] the fire in the flint gers placed end to end, and his chin resting on the natural bridge thus formed, the judge listened to kenneth's recital of his plan without comment other than an occasional non-committal grunt. “... and what i would like from you, judge stevenson, is, first, do you think the plan will work, and, second, will you draw up the articles of incor- poration and whatever other legal papers we need?” kenneth ended. as an afterthought he added: “you see, we want to do the job legally and above board, so there won't be any misunderstanding of our motives.” for a long time judge stevenson said nothing, nor did he give any indication that he was aware ken- neth had stopped speaking. in fact he seemed obliy- ious even of kenneth's presence. knowing better than to interrupt him, kenneth awaited somewhat anxiously the judge's opinion. when the silence had lasted nearly five minutes, a vague alarm began to creep over kenneth. suppose the judge wasn't as friendly towards coloured people as he had sup- posed? a word from him could start serious trou- ble before they got started. he wondered if he had acted wisely in revealing so much of their plans. he felt sure he had done wrong when he saw a look of what appeared to be anger pass over the judge's face. at last the old lawyer cleared his throat, his usual preliminary to speech. but when he did talk he be- gan on another subject. “what’re the folks out your way saying about these [ ] the fire in the flint kluxers? any of you getting worried about these fools parading 'round like a bunch of damn fools?” “to tell you the truth, judge, i don't really know yet what the coloured people are thinking.” he felt that on this subject he could speak frankly to the judge, as he was too sensible a man to take much stock in the antics of the klan. yet, he was not too sure-coloured people must always keep a careful watch on their tongues when talking to white people in the south. “you ain't getting scared out there, are you?” the judge pressed the point. “no, i wouldn't call it scared. most of those with whom i've talked don't want any trouble with any- body—they want to attend to their own business and be let alone. but if they are attacked, i'm afraid there will be considerable trouble and somebody will get hurt.” he paused, then went on: “and that some- body won't be entirely composed of negroes, either." “i reckon you're right, ken. these fools don't know they're playing with dynamite.” his voice took on a querulous tone. “we've been getting along all right here, 'cept when some of these po' whites out of the mill or from the tu pentine camps or some bad nigras tank up on bad liquor or moonshine.” he did not say "negro” nor yet the opprobrious “nigger," but struck somewhere between the two- “nigra.” “and now these fools are just stirring up trouble lord knows where it'll end.” he ran his hand through his hair—a favourite trick of his when excited, and paced up and down the room. [ ] the fire in the flint “i've been telling some of the boys they'd better stay away from that fool business of gallivanting around with a pillow-slip over their heads. they talk about being against bootleggers and men run- ing around with loose women-humph!—every blamed bootlegger and blind tiger and whore- master in town rushed into the klan 'cause they know'd that was the only way they could keep from getting called up on the carpet! a fine bunch they are!" the judge spat disgustedly. “now about this plan you got-have you thought about the chances of your being misunderstood? suppose some of these ornery whites get it into their heads you're trying to start trouble between the races. what're you going to do then?” he asked. “that's just why we want to do the job right,” answered kenneth. “we want to do everything le- gally so there can't be any wrong ideas about the society. i know every time coloured people start forming any kind of an organization besides a church or a burial society, there are white people who begin to get suspicious and think that negroes are organiz- ing to start some mischief. that's why we want you and the other good white people to know all about our plans from the start.” “i ain't trying to discourage you none,” replied judge stevenson doubtfully, “but do you think you are wise in starting coloured folks to thinking about organizing when this klan's raising hell all over the south?” [ ] the fire in the flint pv n “how else are we going to do anything?” asked kenneth. “farmers have been robbed so long they are getting tired of it. if something isn't done, there's going to be lots more trouble than a society like ours can possibly cause. this share-cropping business causes more trouble than any other thing that's done to negroes. lynching is mighty bad, but after all only a few negroes are lynched a year, while thousands are robbed every year of their lives.” “that's so. that's so,” agreed the judge, but the doubt had not been dispelled from his voice nor re- moved from his face. he removed his cigar from his mouth, viewed its mangled appearance through much chewing upon it, threw it with an expression of disgust out of the window, narrowly missing a man passing in the street below. he chuckled as he placed a fresh cigar in his mouth. “ 'taint no harm in trying, though,” he said, half to himself. “besides, our plan is to enlist the support of every white man in the county who stands for something," went on kenneth, eager to gain the old man as a staunch ally. “we know there'll be opposition from some of the landlords and merchants and bankers who are making money off this system, but we figure there are enough decent white people here to help us through. ..." “mebbe so. mebbe so," replied the judge, though there was a distinct note of doubt in his voice now. “i wouldn't be too sure, though. i wouldn't be too sure.” [ ] the fire in the flint “but, judge, ” interrupted kenneth. the judge silenced him with a movement of his hand. "ken, have you ever thought out what a decent white man goes through with in a town like central city? have you thought what he has to put up with all over the south? there ain't a whole lot of them, but just figure what'd happen to a white man to-day who tried to do anything about cleaning up this rot- ten state of affairs we got here. why, he'd be run out of town, if he wasn't lynched!” “but, judge,” began kenneth again, “take lynch- ing, for example. you know, and i know, and every- body in the south knows that if a negro is arrested charged with criminal assault on a white woman, if he's guilty, there isn't one chance in a million of his going free. why don't they bring them to trial and execute them legally instead of hanging and burning them?" “why? why?” the judge repeated the inter- rogative as though it were a word he had never heard before. “you know, and so do i and all the rest of us here in the south, that nine out of ten cases where these trifling women holler and claim they been raped, they ain't been no rape. they just got caught and they yelled rape to save their reputations. and they lynch the nigra to hush the matter up.” kenneth was amazed at the old man. not amazed at what he said, for that is common knowledge in the south. he was astounded that even so liberal a man as the judge should frankly admit that which is de- nied in public but known to be true. he hesitated to [ ] the fire in the flint press the inquiry further, and thought it expedient to shift the conversation away from such dangerous ground. :- .. .. . s eine “why don't men like yourself speak out against the things you know are wrong, judge?”. “what would happen to us if we did? count me out 'cause i'm so old i couldn't do much. but take right here in central city the men i've talked with just like i'm talking to you. how many of them could say what they really want to? i don't mean on the race question. i mean on any question—religion, politics—oh—anything at all. suppose roy ew- ing or any other white man here said he was tired of voting the democratic ticket and was going to vote republican or socialist. suppose he decided he didn't believe in the virgin birth or that all bad folks were burned eternally in a lake of fire and brimstone after they died. if they didn't think he was crazy, they'd stop trading with him and all the womenfolks would run from roy’s wife and daughter like they had the smallpox. that's the hell of it, ken. these po' white trash stopped everybody from talking against lynching nigras, and they've stopped us from talking about anything. and far's i can see, things're getting worse every day.” “couldn't you organize those white people who think like you do?” asked kenneth. "no, that ain't much use either. it all goes back to the same root-self-interest-how much is it go- ing to cost me? i tell you, ken, the most tragic figure i know is the white man in the south who [ ] the fire in the flint wants to be decent. this here system of lynching and covering up their lynching with lying has grown so big that any man who tries to tackle it is beat befo' he starts. specially in the little towns. now in atlanta there's some folks can speak out and say most anything they please, but here ” the old lawyer threw out his hands in a gesture of hopeless- ness. “why can't the south see where their course is leading them?” asked kenneth. “suppose there wasn't a white man in the south who was interested in the negro. suppose every white man hated every negro who lived. why couldn't they see even then that they are doing more harm to themselves than they could ever do to the negro? with all its rich natural resources, with its fertile soil and its wonder- ful climate, the south is farther behind in civilization than any other part of the united states—or the world, for that matter. aren't they ever going to see how they're hurting themselves by trying to keep the negro down?” “that's just it,” replied the judge. “a man starts out practising cheating in a petty way, and before he knows it he's crooked all the way through. he starts being mean part of the time, and soon he's mean all over. or he tries being kind and decent, and he turns out to be pretty decent. it's just like a man drinking liquor—first thing he knows, he's liable to be drunk all the time.” the judge shifted his cigar to a corner of his mouth and let fly a stream of tobacco juice from the [ ] the fire in the flint other corner, every drop landing squarely in the box of sawdust some ten feet away. he went on: “that's just what's the matter with the south. she's been brutal and tricky and deceitful so long in trying to keep the nigras down, she couldn't be decent if she tried. if acting like this was going to get them anywhere, there might be some reason in it all, but they've shut their eyes, they refuse to see that nigras like you ain't going to be handled like yo’ daddy and folks like him were.” “what are we going to do—what can we do?" asked kenneth. never had he suspected that even so fine a man as judge stevenson had thought things through as their conversation had indicated. he felt the sit- uation was not entirely hopeless when men like the judge felt and talked as he did. perhaps they were the leaven that would affect the lump of ignorance and viciousness that was the south. “what are we going to do?” echoed the elder man. “god knows—i don't! mebbe the lid will blow off some day—then there would be hell to pay! one thing's going to help, and that's nigras pulling up stakes and going north. when some of these white folks begin to see their fields going to seed, they'll begin to realize how much they need the nigra- just like some of 'em are seeing already." “but are they seeing it in the right way?” asked kenneth. “instead of trying to make things better so negroes are willing to stay in the south, they're trying more oppressive methods than ever before. they're beating up labour agents, charging them a ance [ ] the fire in the flint thousand dollars for licences, lynching more negroes, and robbing them more than ever.” “oh, they'll be fools enough until the real pinch comes. far's i can see, instead of stopping nigras from going north, them things are hurrying them up. wait till it hits their pocket-books hard. then the white people'll get some sense.” "let's hope so," was kenneth's rejoinder as he rose to go. “it's been mighty comforting to talk like this with you, judge. things don't seem so hopeless when we've got friends like you.” 'tain't nothing. nothing at all,” replied the judge. “just like to talk with somebody's got some sense. it's a pity you're coloured, ken, you got too much sense to be a nigra.” kenneth laughed. "from all we've been saying, a coloured man's got to have some sense or else he's in a mighty poor fix nowadays." he did not resent the old man's remark, for he knew the judge could not understand that he was much more contented as a member of a race that was struggling upward than he would have been as one of that race that expended most of its time and thought and energy in exploiting and oppressing others. the judge followed him to the door promis- ing to draw up the necessary legal documents for the co-operative society. when kenneth broached the subject of payment, the old man waved his hand again in protest. “ain't got long to live, so's i got to do what little as [ ] - - - - - - - chapter xii rom judge stevenson's office kenneth went di- k rectly to tell jane of the interview. so ab- sorbed was he in contemplation of the wider vision of the problem he was attacking which the judge's words had given him, he forgot to telephone her to ask if it was agreeable for him to call at so unconventional an hour. he found her clad in a bungalow apron busily cleaning house and singing as she worked. they sat on the steps of the back porch while he told her all that had been said. taken out of his preoccupation with his own affairs, kenneth had shaken off his negative air and now he talked con- vincingly of their plans. jane said nothing until he had finished. “that's fine!” she exclaimed when he had ended. “even if judge stevenson is doubtful of how much we can accomplish, we can do something. now all that remains is for you to present your plan- “not mine, yours,” he corrected "no, it will have to be yours," she answered. “you know how folks are in the south—they think all that women can do is cook and keep house and bear children. if you want the thing to go, it'll be best to make them think it's your scheme.” - - - - ---- - -- - - -- [ ] the fire in the flint kenneth demurred, but in vain. she would have it no other way. she felt no jealousy. she knew of the peculiar southern prejudice which relegated women to a position of eternal inferiority. though she felt the injustice of such arbitrary assumptions, she did not resent it. like all women, coloured women, she realized that most of the spirit of revolt against the wrongs inflicted on her race had been born in the breasts of coloured women. she knew, and in that knowledge was content, that most of the work of the churches and societies and other organizations which had done so much towards welding the negro into a racial unit had been done by women. it was amusing to see men, vain creatures that they are, preen themselves on what they had done. it was not so amusing when they, in their pride, sought to belittle what the women had done and take all the credit to themselves. oh, well, what did it matter? the end was the all-important thing—not the means. jane appreciated kenneth's thoughtfulness and felt no tinge of jealousy if her idea—their idea—should be a success in forming societies to help poor, help- less negroes out of the morass in which they were bogged. of such material has the coloured woman been made by adversity. she watched kenneth as he told her the develop- ments of which he had thought, the details he had worked out. each day, it seemed to her, kenneth became more keenly alive each day saw a brighter sparkle in his eyes, a springiness in his step that had not been there before. there are many men who [ ] the fire in the flint could willingly have followed—and do follow- without revolt or much inward conflict a course of self-abnegation such as he had mapped out for him- self. not so, however, with kenneth. he was al. most puritanical in his devotion to the fixed moral code he had worked out for his own guidance. it was not a superimposed one, but an integral part of his very being. nothing could have induced him to surrender to deliberate malice or guile or what he considered dishonesty or cowardice. his was a sim- ple nature, free from the barnacles of pettiness which encumber the average man. he was not essentially religious in the accepted meaning of the word. he believed, though he had not thought much on the sub- ject of religion, so immersed had he been in his be- loved profession, in some sort of a god. of what form or shape this being was, he did not know. he had more or less accepted the beliefs his environ- ment had forced upon him. he doubted the malig- nity of the god described by most of the ministers he had heard. as a matter of fact, he was rather repelled and nauseated by the religion of the modern church. narrow, intolerant of contrary opinion, prying into the lives and affairs of its communicants with which it had no concern, its energies concen- trated on raising money and not on saving souls, of little real help to intelligent people to enable them to live more useful lives here on earth, and centering instead on a mysterious and problematical life after death, he felt the church of jesus christ had so little of the spirit of the christ that he had little [ ] the fire in the flint patience with it. he went to services more as a perfunctory duty than through any deep-rooted be- lief that he could get any real help from them in meeting the problems of life he faced. he bore the church no grudge or ill will—it simply was not a factor in the life of to-day as he saw it. nevertheless he had a deep religious or, better, an ethical sense. when he was about to return to cen- tral city, that ethical code had been adapted to con- ditions he expected to find there. it was galling to him to accept a position of subserviency to things he knew were unjust and wrong, tacitly to admit his in- feriority to men to whom he knew he was superior in morals and training and in all the decencies of life, solely because of the mere accident that they had been born with skins which were white and he with one which was not white. when doubts had as- sailed him, he had quieted or salved his conscience by the constant reminder that he was following such a course for greater eventual good. on his return, when he had found a course such as he had charted for himself was becoming increasingly difficult, he had refused to face the facts his mind told him were true and had plunged more deeply into his work, seeking in it an opiate. only when jane had con- fronted him with the utter futility of his course and had, in effect, accused him of being a moral quitter in considering only himself and blinding himself to the far greater problems of those so closely bound to him by race, did his eyes begin to be opened. wea- ried of illusory hopes of peace through compromise, [ ] the fire in the flint he had grasped the tangible reality of work towards a definite end, through means which he had created and which he would guide and develop as far as he could. with the buoyant hopes and ambitions of the young, especially of the very young, he felt that he had al- ready created that which he was hoping to create. like a traveller who has lost his way in a dense for- est, an indefinable restlessness had pervaded his be- ing and made him sorely discontented. now that he had found what seemed the path which would lead him into the clear, open air, the clouds of doubt and perplexity were cleared away just as the bright sun, as it bursts forth after a shower in spring, drives away the moisture in the air. they sat there in the warm sunlight of early sum- mer, dreaming and planning all the great things they were going to accomplish. it had rained earlier in the morning and from the ground rose a misty va- pour. the odour of warm wet earth mingled with the aroma of the flowers. hens scratched indus- triously for food to feed the cluster of tiny chicks around them. a cat sneaking along the fence slyly crept near. with a great fluttering of wings and raucous cackling, the hens drove him away. from afar off came the voices of two women, resting for a minute from their morning toil, gossiping with much loud laughter. it was a peaceful, restful scene. to kenneth as he sat there, problems seemed remote and out of place in that place where all was so calm. he looked at the girl by his side. it seemed m their mort was a peacelems seemed [ ] the fire in the flint jane had never looked more charming clad in her bungalow apron, dust-cloth in hand. he was glad she had made no silly, conventional excuses because of her dress. the usual girl would have tried to rush indoors and change her dress. most women, he reflected, looked like angels at night, but in the harsh glare of morning looked terrible. jane seemed to him to be even prettier without powder or the soft light of evening. he felt a thrill of pleasure as he saw her dusting furniture in their home. they rose as kenneth started to leave. jane was telling him of some trivial incident, but kenneth heard nothing of what she said. he turned towards her suddenly. she divined his intentions—she could almost feel the words that were on his lips. quickly wishing him success in the meeting to be held that next eve- ning, she bade him good-bye. after kenneth had gone, jane sat for some time struggling with the problem she was facing. what was she to do? as a little girl she had loved ken- neth with a simple, childlike love though he, with the infinite difference of eight years of age, had paid no attention to her. she was not at all sure now of the nature of her feelings towards him. she liked him, it is true, but when it came to anything deeper than that, she was not so certain. she had been told, and had always believed, that love came as a blind- ing, searing, devastating passion which swept every- thing before it. she felt none of this passion and [ ] the fire in the flint experienced no bit of that complete surrender which she had believed was a part of the thing called love. jane was much in the position of the sinner on the mourner's bench who had been told that when he be- came a christian, angels and all sorts of heavenly apparitions would miraculously appear before him, and, seeing none, feels that he is being cheated. jane had seen in kenneth's eyes that soon he would make some sort of declaration of his love. what was she going to say? she did not know. ... so pleasant had it been sitting there in the warm sunlight talking with jane, kenneth had forgotten the time. entering his office, he found half a dozen patients waiting somewhat impatiently for him. as he entered his private office, he heard old mrs. amos, in her chronic quarrelsomeness, mutter: “dat's just what i allus say. soon's a nigger be- gin to get up in the world, he thinks hisself better'n us po' folks. thinks he can treat us any way he please.” kenneth laughed and, with a few bantering words, mollified the irascible old woman. the coloured doctor has to be a diplomat as well as a physician- he must never allow the humblest of his patients to gain the impression that he thinks himself better than they. of all races that make up the heterogenous populace of america, none is more self-critical than the negro—its often unjust and carping criticism of those who stand out from the mass serves as an ex- cellent antidote for undue pride and conceit. .... the next evening the seven men met again at mr. [ ] the fire in the flint wilson’s. kenneth stopped by for mr. phillips, but he did not see jane. the reverend stewart, tucker, tracy, swann, and mr. wilson sat awaiting them. tom tracy was exhibiting, somewhat proudly it seemed, a note he had found tacked to his door that morning. it was crudely lettered in red ink on a cheap-quality paper. it read: nigger! you've ben talking too dam much! if you don't shut your mouth we will shut it for you and for good! let this be a warning to you. next time we will act! k. k. k. beneath the three initials was a crude skull and cross-bones. though all seven of the men knew that the warning was not to be disregarded, that it might possibly portend a serious attempt on the life of tracy, that any or all of them present might receive a similar grim reminder of the ill will of the hooded band, there was a complete absence of fear as they sat around the table and conjectured as to the possible result of the warning. the calmness with which they accepted the omen of trouble would probably have amazed the senders of the warning. perhaps the clearest indication of how little the south realizes the changes that have taken place in the negro is this recrudescence of the klan. where stark terror fol. lowed in the wake of the klan rides of the seventies, the net result of similar rides to-day is a more de- [ ] the fire in the flint termined union of negroes against all that the klan stands for, tinctured with a mild amusement at the klan's grotesque antics. it was fortunate for ken- neth, in a measure, that tracy had received the threat on the day it came. with such a reminder be- fore them, the seven felt there was greater need than ever before for organization for mutual protection. they discussed means of protecting tracy, but he assured them he was amply able to take care of him- self. he had sent his parents that day to stay with friends until the trouble had blown over, telling them nothing of the warning, as he did not want them to be worried by it. two of his friends had agreed to stay with him at night. he was well supplied with ammunition and was sure the three of them could successfully repel any attack that might be made upon him. such trying periods have happened to negroes so frequently in the south that they have become inured to them. the subject was soon dropped. then kenneth presented his plan. he outlined in detail how the society should be organized. he proposed that the first lodge be formed at ashland, then gradually spread until there was a branch in every section of the county. they left until later the problem of extending the society's activities to other parts of georgia and the neighbouring states. each member would be required to pay an initia- tion fee of one dollar. men would pay monthly dues of fifty cents each, women twenty-five. the sums thus secured were to be pooled. half of the amount [ ] the fire in the flint was to purchase supplies like sugar, flour, shoes, clothing, fertilizer, seeds, farm implements, and the other things needed to satisfy the simple wants of the members. to make up any deficit, kenneth and mr. phillips agreed to lend money that the supplies might be purchased for cash, effecting thereby a considerable saving. the other half was to be used as the nucleus of a defence fund with which a test case might be made in the courts when any member was unable to secure a fair settlement with his landlord. similarly were other details presented and dis- cussed and adopted or modified. a name had to be chosen. kenneth would have preferred a short, sim- ple one, but here he was overruled. that it might appeal to the simple, illiterate class to which most of the prospective members belonged, a sonorous, impressive name was necessary. they decided on “the national negro farmers' co-operative and protective league.” at first the plan was considered a bit too ambitious, but as kenneth warmed up to it in presenting it as simply and forcefully as he could, the objections, one by one, were overcome. one change, however, had to be made. it came from hiram tucker. “ain't you figgerin' on havin' no signs and pass- words and a grip like dey have with de odd fellers and de masons and de knights of pythias?” he asked. “i didn't think that was necessary,” replied ken- neth. [ ] the fire in the flint "well, lemme tell you somethin', son. ef you figgers on gettin' a big passel of these cullud folks ’round here to jine in with us, you'll have ť have some 'ficials with scrumptious names, and passwords and grips. dese here ign'ant folks needs somethin' like dat to catch their ’magination. if you put dat in, they'll jine like flies 'round molasses." kenneth had hoped that the society would be run on a dignified and intelligent basis, but he realized that hiram tucker might be right after all. most of the share-croppers were ignorant—at least, illit- erate. mere show and pomp and colourful uni- forms and high-sounding names played a large part in their lives, which, after all, wasn't so much a ra- cial as a human trait. hadn't the ku klux klan outdone, in absurdity of name and ceremony and dress, anything that negroes had ever even thought of? this question was disposed of, after more discus- sion, by the adoption of hiram tucker's suggestion. kenneth was appointed to work out the details of organization, and the meeting adjourned. the na- tional negro farmer's co-operative and protective league had been born. [ ] chapter xiii the days that followed were full of interest for kenneth and jane. the constitution and by- laws were drafted and approved and sent to at- lanta to be printed by a coloured printing firm. judge stevenson prepared the articles of incorporation and did the necessary legal work, still refusing any pay for his services. kenneth had offered to pay him out of his own pocket, but the judge told him: “keep your money, ken, i c'n wait. i'm gettin' along in years now and i've been hopin' that this problem that's cursin' the south would be settled befo' i passed on. but what with these damn fool kluxers kickin' up hell 'round here, i don't know whether i'll see it or not. your idea may do some good—i don't know whether it will or not—but if i c'n help, let me know." kenneth thanked him and had been im- measurably encouraged by the old man's attitude. as soon as the literature they had ordered was re- ceived, the first meeting was called by tucker and tracy at ashland. jane and her father drove out with kenneth, who was to present the plan to the group gathered. the meeting was held at a little wooden church, whitewashed on the outside, and fur- nished within only with rude benches. on the walls were one or two highly coloured lithographs of reli- [ ] the fire in the flint gious subjects. the hall seated not more than two hundred and was crowded to capacity. even the windows were comfortably filled by those unable to obtain a seat on the floor. the illumination was furnished by four kerosene lamps attached to the walls, two on each side. hiram tucker acted as chairman, while tom tracy took minutes of the meeting. after a preliminary announcement of the purpose of the gathering by the chairman, kenneth was called upon to outline the plan that had been proposed. at the outset, having had no experience as a public speaker, he stumbled and faltered and knew not what to do with his hands. after a few minutes he jammed them into the side pockets of his coat and, warming to his subject, swung into a clear, forceful, and convincing recital of the purpose and possibilities of the co-operative societies. his enthusiasm became infectious. his audience be- gan to share his zeal. humble and lowly folks, their vision limited by the life they led, they had the feeling, as kenneth talked on, of having been face to face with a blank wall of immeasurable height and impenetrable thickness. under the spell of his words they seemed to see the miraculous opening of a door in this wall. hope, which had been crushed to earth year after year by disappointing settlements for their labour, began to mount. as for kenneth, he had forgotten his self-imposed inhibitions and prohibitions. gone was the hesita- tion and doubt. he had seen a light where he had thought there was no light. his voice rang true and [ ] the fire in the flint wato firm, and there was a look of eager earnestness on his face as the pale, flickering light from the oil lamps illumined it. he finished with a flourish so dear to the hearts of coloured audiences. it was what the old-style col- oured preacher used to call “de 'rousements.” "you husbands and sons and brothers, three years ago you were called on to fight for liberty and justice and democracy! are you getting it?" he was an- swered by a rousing “no!” “what are you going to do about it?” he demanded. "single-handed, you can do nothing! organized, you can strike a blow for freedom, not only for yourselves but for count- less generations of coloured children yet unborn! no race in all history has ever had its liberties and rights handed to it on a silver platter—such rights can come only when men are willing to struggle and sacrifice and work and die, if need be, to obtain them! i call on you here to-night to join in this movement which shall in time strike from our hands and feet the shackles which bind them, that we may move on as a race together to that greater freedom which we have so long desired and which so long has been denied us! only slaves and cowards whine and beg! men and women stand true and firm and struggle onwards and upwards until they reach their goal!” he paused impressively while the audience sat mute. he looked over the assemblage for a full minute and then demanded in a ringing voice: “what do you choose to be slaves or men?” he sat down. a salvo of applause greeted him. [ ] the fire in the flint a daniel had arisen to lead them! kenneth took on a new importance and affection in the eyes and minds of his hearers. he had heard their macedo- nian cry and answered it. as he mopped his brow, kenneth felt that he had made a good beginning, although he was a bit ashamed of having made so direct an appeal at the end to emotion instead of to reason. at the same time he knew that it had been necessary. " 'rouse- ments” were absolutely essential to awaken the re- sponse needed to get the co-operative societies under way. without them his humble audience might not have been aroused to the point of action that was so necessary. following kenneth, mr. wilson made a stirring ap- peal to the crowd to come forward and give their names if they wanted to join the newly formed so- ciety. those who had the money were urged to join at once. at first, only a few came forward. then they came in numbers until around the table at which sat secretary tracy there was an excited, chattering, milling throng. after the meeting mr. phillips accepted mr. wil- son's invitation to ride home in his car. kenneth did not object-it enabled him to be alone with jane. they talked of the meeting as they walked to the car. jane gave kenneth's hand a faint squeeze. “oh, kenneth, you were splendid!” she declared. it was a perfect night—one created for making love. a soft light filtered through the leaves of [ ] the fire in the flint the trees, casting a lace-like shadow on the earth. the air was soft and languorous, as it can be only on a spring evening in the south, as soft and caressing as the touch of a baby's hands. from near at hand came the mingled odour of honeysuckle and cape jasmine and magnolia blossoms and roses. the world seemed at peace. no sound disturbed the air save the chattering and singing of a mockingbird, as lovely as the sob of velvety, full-throated violins, and the voices, growing fainter and fainter, of the crowd leaving the now deserted church. it would have taken a much stronger man than kenneth to resist the spell of so perfect an evening. he was not maw- kishly sentimental—rather he detested the moon- calfish type of man who rolled his eyes and whispered empty, silly compliments in the ear of whatever girl he met. on the other hand, he was amazingly ig- norant of women. as a youngster he had been ex- ceedingly chary of the little girls of the neighbour- hood, preferring to spend his time playing baseball or shooting marbles. this shyness had never en- tirely left him. from his youth on he had had but one strong passion in his life that passion had possessed his every thought and in it was centred his every ambition-his desire and determination to become a great surgeon. his one serious venture into the realm of love-making had been the affair with the girl in new york, but that had not taken a strong enough hold upon him to leave much of a mark. so rapidly had it begun and ended that he had had in it little experience in the great american sport of [ ] - - - the fire in the flint “petting.” it was thus easy for him to fall head over heels in love with jane, for she was, in fact, the first girl in his life outside of his sister who had come into his life in more than a casual way. jane, on the other hand, had, innocently enough, flirted as every pretty girl (and many who are not pretty) will do. she appreciated kenneth's fine qualities: he was capable, industrious, and handsome in a way. he annoyed her at times by his almost bovine stupidity in expressing his love. she natu- rally liked the idea of having the love of a man who is naïve, who has not run the whole gamut of emo- tions in affairs with other girls; yet, also naturally enough, she did expect him to have at least some savoir faire, to be able to win her with some degree of the finesse that every girl wants and expects. she resented his business-like matter-of-factness in seek- ing her—as coldly calculating, it seemed to her, as though he were operating on one of his patients. in this she was doing him an injustice. underneath his surface placidity kenneth's love had become a raging flame_he cursed the shell of professional dignity which had crossed over and become a part of himself. thus they walked through the soft spring air, she wishing he would do that which he in his ignorance felt would be the unwisest thing he could attempt. thus is life made up of paradoxical situations where a word, a look, an otherwise insignificant gesture, would clear away at one fell swoop mountainous clouds of doubt and misunderstanding. - - - -- -- - - - - ---- - - - [ ] the fire in the flint jane stood, one foot on the ground, the other on the step, her hand resting on the opened door of the car. a faintly provocative smile flitted over her face. kenneth longed to seize this elusive, seductive girl in his arms, press her close to him, and tell her of his love. she wanted him to. instead he steeled himself against yielding to the impulse that almost overcame him, and helped her with complete decorum into the car. ... they did not say much on the way home. jane bade him good night, he thought somewhat coldly-- as though she were vexed. he told her he was leav- ing the next morning for atlanta to operate on mrs. tucker. she made no comment. he wondered as he drove home what he had done to offend her. ... as he neared the house, he suddenly remembered that he had promised to look in on old mrs. amos, whose rheumatics” had been giving her considerable pain. it was charity work, as she would never be able to pay him. she had sent for him several times during the day, but he had been kept so busy he had had no time to go. he was annoyed at himself for promising to call to see the quarrelsome old woman who was far more dictatorial and exacting than most of the patients who paid him promptly. with a muttered imprecation at being bothered with her just after his annoying experience with jane and her inexplicable behaviour, he drove through the darkened streets to mrs. amos' home. he found her sitting in a creaky rocking-chair. she began imme- diately to pour maledictions on his head for neglect- . e. [ ] the fire in the flint ing her all day. he answered her shortly, gave her her medicine, and left. carefully guiding the car through the gullies and holes in the unpaved street, he set out for home. nearing the corner of harris and state streets, he heard a sound as of several automobiles. he looked down harris street just in time to see three closed cars stop suddenly at the corner. from one of them two white-robed figures descended, lifting a large, black bundle that seemed exceedingly heavy. this done, the figures jumped hurriedly into the car, and it with the other two speeded away in the direction from which they had come. kenneth, his curiosity aroused, turned his car around and drove to the spot to see what was going on. as he slowed his car at the corner, a muffled groan came from the object lying there in the street. hastily getting down, he turned it over and in the half-light found it to be the body of a human being. his hands felt sticky. holding them close to his face, he found them smeared with tar. he got from his car a small flashlight. going back to the inert mass, he turned the ray of light on the body and found it to be that of a naked woman, covered with tar yet warm to the touch. between the dabs of the sticky mess on the woman's back were long welts, some of them bleeding, as though a heavy- thonged whip had been applied with great force. the hair was dishevelled and in its strands were bits of the melted tar. kenneth experienced a feeling of nausea at the revolting sight. the woman lay on her [ ] the fire in the flint ancy face. from her mouth and nose there ran a stream of blood which already was forming a little pool be- neath her face that became bloody mud as it mixed with the dust in the road. seizing her by her left shoulder, kenneth half raised the body and turned his flashlight on the woman's face. it was nancy ware, the wife of the negro killed by george parker. half carrying, half dragging the limp form, ken- neth managed in some fashion to get nancy to her own home a few doors away. the door stood open as though nancy had left it for a minute to call on one of her neighbours. on the table in the front room, there stood a lamp yet burning, the chimney blackened with the soot caused by the wind blowing upon it. beside the lamp lay a garment on which nancy had been sewing. kenneth placed her on the bed and hurried next door to summon help. his efforts were unsuccess- ful. he pounded on the door with both fists, calling out in his excitement to the occupants to open up. after what seemed an infinite delay, a window to the left of the door cautiously opened and an inquiring voice wanted to know what was the matter. seeing who it was, the owner of the voice disappeared and a minute later opened the door. kenneth hastily told what had happened, brushing aside a muttered excuse that the delay in answering was due to the fact that "i didn' know but whut you might 'a' been the p’lice.” on going back to nancy's cottage, kenneth gave her a restorative and endeavoured to relieve her suf. [ ] the fire in the flint fering. she began to revive after a few minutes. in the meantime the neighbours called by kenneth arrived, and they removed as much as they could of the tar from nancy’s body. kenneth then examined her back, finding it covered with long and ugly gashes that bled profusedly. he dressed them and nancy was arranged as comfortably as possible. he found himself so tired after the hard work and excitement of the day and evening that he was almost ready to drop in his tracks. at the same time he had an un- controllable desire to find out just what had happened to nancy ware. he was almost certain the ku klux klan had done it, but he wanted to hear the story from nancy's own lips. the neighbours had gone, with the exception of an evil-looking, elderly woman who had volunteered to remain with nancy until morning. after the application of restoratives regularly for an hour, she began to show signs of returning con- sciousness. kenneth watched her eagerly. five minutes later her eyelids fluttered. she gave a low moan-almost a whimper. suddenly she cried out in the terror of delirium: "doan let 'em whip me no mo'! doan let 'em whip me no mo?!” and writhed in her agony. she struggled to arise but kenneth, sitting by the side of the bed, managed with the aid of the other woman to restrain nancy and calm her. afterwards she became more rational. her eyes opened. in them was a gleam of recogni- tion of kenneth and he knew she was regaining consciousness. [ ] the fire in the flint mis mind. another wait. then, at kenneth's questioning, she began to tell what had happened. for weeks he had thought but little of her and the tragedy that had taken place in this same house, other events having crowded it out of his mind. "doc, you won't let 'em get me again, will you?" she pleaded with a whimper like a child's. ken- neth assured her he wouldn't. “doc, i ain't done nuthin' t' them kluxers. hones' ť gawd, i ain't.” kenneth told her soothingly that he knew she hadn't. "i was jes' sittin' here tendin' to my own business when dey come a rap on de do'. w’en i open de do', dere wuz two o dem kluxers standin' dere— befo' i could holler dey grab me and put a rag in my mouf.” a shudder passed through her body as the terror came back to her at the memory of what she had been through. "dey put me in a automobile and ca’ied me way out yonder in de woods by de fact’ry. dey pull all my clo’es off me and den dey whip me till i couldn' stan' up no mo'. den dey tell me i been talkin' too much. doc, i ain't said a word t nobdy 'cept dat dey oughter do somethin't that man george parker for killin' my man bud. ... den dey po’ed tar all over me and kick me and spit on me some mo'. ... said i oughter had mo' sense dan t talk ’bout no white gemmen. oh-oh-oh-ain't dey nothin' to he'p us po' cullud fo’ks—ain't dey nobody-ain't dey nobody?” it was just as kenneth had suspected. good god, [ ] the fire in the flint and these were the self-elected defenders of morals in the south! what if nancy wasn't all that she should have been?—whose was the greater fault- hers or george parker's? he could see him now in the bank—smug, a hypocritical smile on his face, talking about what the white people have got to do to stop these troublesome "niggers” from getting too cheeky—about protecting "pure” southern woman- hood from attacks by "black, burly brutes.” and the klan with all its boasted and advertised chivalry —twenty or thirty strong men to beat up and maltreat one lone woman, because she "talked too much” about the brutal, cold-blooded murder of her husband! kenneth's optimism over the organization of the co- operative societies began to cool-in its stead there came a blind, unreasoning hatred and furious rage against the men who had done this deed to nancy ware. god, but he would have given anything he owned to get them all together and kill them one by one-slowly, with all the tortures he could devise! the damned, cowardly devils! the filthy, smug- faced hypocrites! nancy was resting easily kenneth, shaken by the fury of his anger, more devastating because he knew that he could do nothing but hurl silent imprecations on the heads of those who had done this deed-im- potent because his skin was black and he lived in the south-went home to roll and toss during the few hours of the night which remained before he took the train to atlanta. [ ] chapter xiv t seemed to kenneth he had just fallen into a troubled slumber when he was aroused by the tinkling of the telephone bell at the side of his bed. it was hiram tucker. “doc, i reck’n you won't have to go t atlanty to- day, after all. my wife, she tol' me to tell you she's changed her min' 'bout that op'ration. ... what's dat? ... naw, suh, she's kinder skeered she won' wake up from dat chlo'form. ... yas, suh, yas, suh, i knows 'rangements been made but, doc, you ain't married, so you don't know nuthin' 'tall 'bout wimmenfolks. . . . some day you'll learn dat when dey says dey ain't gwine do somethin' dey’s done sot dere minds on not doing, dey ain't gwine ť do it. ... hello. ... hello. ... hello!” but kenneth had hung up. he telephoned the lo- cal telegraph office to send a wire to the hospital in atlanta to cancel the arrangements he had made for the operation on the following day, and tumbled back in bed to sleep like a log until late in the morning. he was awakened by bob, who informed him that the reception room was half filled with patients who were no longer patient at being kept waiting so long. he arose reluctantly, his eyes still filled with sleep. bob leaned against the wall, hands in pockets, and [ ] the fire in the flint looked at his brother with a smile of amusement. kenneth, not thoroughly awakened as yet, paid no at- tention to him for a time, but at last noticed bob's smile. “why this early morning humour? i've seen many 'possums with a more engaging smile then the one that distorts your face now!” he half-grum- blingly, half-cheerfully observed. bob but grinned the more at kenneth's remark. "i was just thinking that if jane could only get one glimpse of you in the morning before breakfast, your chances would be mighty slim with her.” "jane? what have my looks to do with her?” kenneth retorted with some heat, in a vain attempt to spar for time. bob addressed the world in general, calling on it for some aid in understanding this brother of his. “jane?” he mimicked kenneth's tone of surprise. “you talk like a ten-year-old boy with his first love affair. isn't he the innocent one, though? why, you poor maligned creature, everybody in central city who isn't blind knows that you are head over heels in love with jane phillips. and,” he added as an afterthought, "those who are blind have been told it. but to return to my original observation, if there was some means by which, with all propriety, all the girls in the world who are in love could see, and be seen by, the poor boobs with whom they are so infatuated, marriage-licence bureaus would be closed that day, never to open again.” this last with an omniscient air of worldly wisdom that caused so is [ ] the fire in the flint kenneth to burst into a roar of laughter, while bob watched him, somewhat discomfited. “what’re you laughing at?” he demanded in an aggrieved tone. kenneth laughed all the harder. “why, you poor little innocent, you haven't gotten rid of your pin feathers, and yet you are talking as though you were a philosopher like schopenhauer. you'd better wait until you finish school and see something of the world. then you can talk a little —though only a little as you did just now. by the way, it's about time for you to be planning for school this fall. still thinking about going back to atlanta ?” “i don't know what i want to do,” was bob's trou- bled rejoinder. “i've seen too much of what's go- ing on around this town since papa died to be satis- fied with school again. i've probably seen more of the real sordidness and meanness and deviltry of this place since i've been settling up papa's affairs than you'll see in five years. at any rate, i hope you don't,” he finished somewhat doubtfully. "bob”—kenneth walked over and put his arm around his brother's shoulders—the trouble with you is that you're too darned sensitive. i know things aren't all they ought to be around here, but we've got to buckle down and make them that way. and perhaps i've seen more of this deviltry than you think.” he told bob of what had happened to nancy ware the night before. a long whistle of surprise es- caped from bob's lips. [ ] the fire in the flint “and this happened right here in the coloured sec- tion?” he asked in surprise. kenneth nodded in assent. "i felt they were planning some mischief but i didn't think they would have the nerve to come right here in 'darktown' and do it. i wonder,” he said musingly, “if that dirty little jim archer who said those filthy things to minnie baxter that day is a member of the klan. i passed him on lee street this morning and he grinned at me like a cat that has just eaten a fat mouse." "he may be,” kenneth replied. “nancy ware told me last night she recognized the voices of sheriff parker and henry lane and george parker and two or three other prominent white people here." “that settles it,” bob answered determinedly. “when you first came back here i thought you were foolish to do so after having been in france. i said i was going to get out of this country as soon as i could and live in france or brazil or any old place where a man isn't judged by the colour of his skin. but i've decided that i'd be a coward if i did run away like that. ken,” he said in voice that showed he had passed in spite of his years from childhood into the more serious things of manhood, “i'm going to harvard this fall. i'm going to take whatever course i need to get into the law school. i'm going to make myself the best lawyer they can turn out. and then i'm coming back here to the south like you did and give my time to fighting for my people!” bob's eyes flashed. in them was a light of [ ] the fire in the flint high resolve such a look as might have shone in the eyes of garibaldi or of joan of arc. kenneth said nothing, but he gripped bob's hand in his and there passed between the two brothers a look of mutual understanding and sympathy that was more potent and meaningful than words. kenneth went down to attend to his patients and nothing more was said of the incident between them. bob took on a new interest in life. his moodiness, his brooding over the constant irritations and insults he had to suffer in his dealings as a coloured man with the whites of the town, his resentment at the at- titude of condescension on the part of the poor and ignorant whites who had neither his intelligence, his education, nor his wealth—all these disappeared in his eager preparations for the new life he had mapped out for himself. he already saw himself a powerful champion of his race and he gloried in that vision with all of the impetuosity and idealistic fer- vour of youth. as for kenneth, he divided his time between his practice, jane, and the formation of more branches of the n. n. f. c. p. l. kenneth knew there was nothing to be done towards the punishment of the men who had so brutally beaten nancy ware. he knew that it would even be unwise for him to talk too much about it. if sheriff parker was himself a member of the klan, reporting the outrage to him would be in effect a serv- ing of notice that he was meddling in the affairs of the klan which might bring disastrous results at a [ ] the fire in the flint - time when kenneth was most anxious to avoid such a complication, certainly until the co-operative so- cieties were well under way and actively function- ing. much as he chafed under the restraint and at his own impotence in the situation, kenneth knew that his interference would be a useless and foolhardy butting of his head against a stone wall. · it occurred to him to tell what had happened to judge. stevenson. he could be trusted and was as much opposed to the outlawry of the klan as kenneth himself. the judge listened gravely to the end with- out comment other than a question here and there. “that looks worse than i thought,” he said half to himself. “a few mo' cracks like that and there'll be hell to pay 'round here. but 'twon't do no good for you t meddle in it,” he observed in answer to ken- neth's question as to what he could do. "if nancy's right about bob parker being in it, your sayin' any. thing will only set them on you. you'd better go ahead and get your societies on their feet and then you'll have somethin' behin' you. then you won't be playin' a lone hand.” as for the coloured people, there were several days of excited gossip over what had happened to nancy ware. there was not much to go on, as she had been so frightened by her terrible experience that she refused for once to talk. the only tangible ef- fect was that mysterious parcels marked with the names of household implements began to arrive at the homes of the coloured people, but which contained fire-arms and ammunition. there was also a notice. he observed ; do no good question as t [ ] the fire in the flint able tightening of the lips and the development of a less cordial relationship between white and black. negroes, feeling that there was no help they could ex- pect from the law, felt that their backs were being slowly pressed against the wall. within a few hours the old esprit cordial between white and black had been wiped out. negroes who had been happy-go- lucky, care-free, and kindly in manner began to talk among themselves of “dying fighting” if forced to the limit. july came with all its heat. august passed with yet more heat. with the coming of september there had been formed in smith county alone seven branch societies of the co-operative and protective league with a membership of more than twelve hundred. kenneth worked as one inspired, one who knew neither heat nor cold, fatigue nor hunger. during the day he was busy with his practice, but it mattered not how busy he had been, he was always ready and willing to drive five, ten, fifteen miles at night to aid in establishing new branches or directing and guiding and advising those already established. the ashland branch, through the hard work of hiram tucker and tom tracy, had enrolled three hundred and fifteen members. in its treasury it had $ . , to which it was constantly adding as new members were enrolled. at a meeting held during the latter part of august the members decided that they would forgo the purchasing of their supplies in bulk that year but would use the money raised to- wards prosecuting one of the cases of dishonest [ ] the fire in the flint settlements when the time came for such settlements, usually in december or january. this step was de- cided upon after due and lengthy deliberation, as it was felt that if they could end the cheating of the farmers through court action, then these same farm. ers would have more money through the settlement of their accounts for the present season and could then begin the co-operative buying and distribution the following year. news of the new society that was going to end the unsatisfactory relations share-croppers had with their landlords spread rapidly throughout the sur- rounding counties. letters, crudely and cumber- somely worded and with atrocious spelling, came to kenneth and often individuals came in person to ask that he come to their counties to organize societies there. kenneth was elated at this sign of interest. he had expected a great deal of opposition from the coloured farmers. bickering and carping criticism there was aplenty, but most of them regarded him as a new moses to lead them into the promised land of economic independence. minor disputes over authority in the local societies there were in abun- dance. but none of them was hard to settle, for the members themselves were too eager to get out of bondage to tolerate much petty politics and selfish- ness on the part of their officers. - as a loyal ally kenneth learned to rely on jane more and more. often she went with him to attend meetings and to talk to groups not yet organized. while kenneth talked to the men, jane circulated [ ] the fire in the flint selves. among the women, who were subtly flattered that one so daintily clad and well educated should spend so much of her time and energy talking to lowly ones like themselves. her mother's health had not been of the best dur. ing the summer. that had been throughout the sum- mer her only worry. in august her mother had suffered an attack of paralysis, her second one. jane decided to remain at home instead of going to oberlin to resume her music. dr. bennett had been dismissed and kenneth was now treating mrs. phil. lips. during her more serious illness in august, jane often sat on one side of her mother's bed until late in the night while kenneth sat on the other, ministering to the aged woman's wants. there came a new and stronger feeling of companionship be- tween the two. often kenneth would look up sud- denly and catch in jane's eyes a new tenderness. without knowing what it meant, he felt a subtly con- veyed encouragement in them. he had, however, spoken no word of love to her, preferring to bide his time until a propitious occasion arose. he had told her that he loved her—had he not done so, she would have known—he was content to wait until she could decide what she wanted to do. at times the task was hard not to tell her again and again of his love. often as she sat by his side and talked of inconsequential things, he would again be seized by that consuming impulse to sweep away all her objections and demolish by the very violence of his love the obstacles that held him back from possess- . a ew [ ] the fire in the flint ing her. he found himself more and more filled with a wonderment that bordered on dismay as he tried to suppress this devastating longing with less success every time this feeling came over him. he tried staying away from jane. at first he had seen her but once a week and that on sunday evenings. then he began dropping by to see her on wednes- days. of late his visits had numbered three and four a week. on those nights when he was away, he was restless and irritable. this became so notice- able that mamie threatened jokingly one night to go over and beg jane to marry kenneth or throw him down hard or anything that would make him less like a bear around the house. she and jane had become fast friends—which pleased kenneth not a little, as it meant that jane would be more frequently in the house than otherwise would have been the case. as for jane, in spite of herself, she found her. self more and more interested in kenneth and the things he was doing. she found herself eagerly looking forward to the evenings when he called. she wondered if she were entirely honest in seeing so much of him. why didn't kenneth say something now? she felt rather annoyed at him for being so consider- ate. with a woman's prerogative of inconsistency, she resented his obeying so implicitly her demand that he wait until she had made up her mind. men were so silly—you told them to do a thing and they went like fools and did it. why didn't he talk about something else besides his old co-operative societies [ ] the fire in the flint ne and the ku klux klan and his old hospital and what that old judge stevenson had said to him that day? life is such a funny thing. but kenneth went along his way, not even suspect- ing what was going on in jane's mind. he was like the majority of men—wise in their own minds but amazingly naïve and ignorant when they left the beaten paths of everyday affairs. the end of the first week in september came. bob had completed all arrangements to leave the follow- ing week for cambridge, there to take his entrance examinations, after studying for them all summer. kenneth had written to an old friend there who had made the necessary negotiations. bob was an en- tirely new individual from the one he had been when kenneth had returned to central city. his air of moody resentment had been replaced by an eager earnestness to begin the course he had planned for himself. the bond had grown closer between him and kenneth, and many hours they spent together discussing and planning for the years to come. of. ten the two brothers and mamie, sometimes mrs. harper also, sat until far in the night talking of the future. if mamie felt saddened by the broader and more active life her brothers were planning which she, as a woman, was denied, it never showed on her face or in her voice. she might have been married long before in fact, there had been three or four men who wanted to marry her. none of them would she have. decent enough men they were. but she was unwilling to settle down to the humdrum life of [ ] the fire in the flint marriage with a man so far beneath her in intelligence, in ideals, in education. being a normal, warm- hearted human being, naturally she often pictured to herself what marriage in central city would be like. \but, keenly sensitive and ambitious, she shrank from marrying the type of men available, farmers, small merchants, and the like—she shuddered when she vis- ualized herself bearing children to such a man to be brought up in a place like central city. she yearned for love and as steadfastly put it from her. there are thousands of tragedies—for tragedy it is—like mamie's in the south, and the world knows it not. when kenneth or bob teased her about marrying, she answered him with a brave and all-concealing smile-all-concealing, that is, to masculine eyes. only her mother and jane knew her secret, and their lips were sealed in the bond which women sel- dom, if ever, break. ... that night jane looked better than kenneth had ever seen her look before. they seldom went out except for a short ride in his car. for there was no place to which they could go. central city boasted one place of public amusement—the idle hour moving picture palace. and to that no negro could go. once they had admitted negroes to the gallery. none of the better element ever went, as they had to go through a dark and foul-smelling alley- way to reach the entrance they had to use. the type of negroes whose pride permitted them to go were so boisterous and laughed so loud that even they were soon barred. eva [ ] the fire in the flint as usual they sat on the vine-covered porch where a breath of cool air was more likely to be had than in the parlour. that day he had had one of his more frequently recurring spells when he felt that he could not keep his promise a day longer to wait until jane had made up her mind. at first he had thought of telephoning her and saying that he was ill or busy— any old excuse to stay away. but he wanted to see her too much for that patent evasion. he would go over to see her but would talk of nothing but busi- ness or co-operative societies. that's it, he would keep in “safe” territory. but jane had never looked more lovely than on that particular night. ken- neth's heart jumped as he greeted her after she had kept him waiting just the right length of time. he likened her instinctively to a flame-coloured flower of rare beauty. all of the suppressed passion surged upward in him. he felt himself slipping. he turned away to gain control of himself. had he not done so, he would have seen the swift look of disap- pointment on her face at his restraint. keeping his eyes resolutely in front of him, he talked wearily and wearisomely of the meeting he had attended the night before, of how troublesome and irritating mrs. amos had been that day with her rheumatism, of his having at last persuaded mrs. hiram tucker to go to atlanta to have the operation she had so many times postponed. jane answered him abstractedly and in monosyllables. at last she moved, almost with obvious meaning, to the canvas porch swing and there rested against the pillows piled [ ] the fire in the flint throne!” he shouted. “we who hold in our hands the future of civilization have been asleep! while we have gone about our ways, the damn niggers are plottin' to kill us all in our beds! right now they're bringing into our fair city great passels of guns and ammunition marked ‘sewin' m'chines' and 'ploughs’! they're meetin' ev'ry night in these nigger churches all over the county and they're plottin' an' plannin' to kill ev'ry white man, woman an'chile in this county and take the lan' for themselves! they're led by a damn nigger doctor right here in central city named harper! i know it's so, 'cause another nigger doctor named williams tol' me yestiddy mornin' all about it and said that this nigger harper was leadin' this vile plot! he's been goin' all over the county stirrin' up the damn niggers and incitin' them to murder all of us! what’re you men goin' to do?” he challenged in a voice that shrilled in pre- tended rage and terror. a deep-throated roar answered him. cries of “kill the bastards!” “lynch 'em!” "kill every black bastard befo' mornin!” it was the age-long voice of the mob bent on murder—the pack in full cry. but it was more than the voice of the mob of the roman colosseum, for that ancient cry was one of pleasure at the death of a single christian. this was the shout of those intent on a wild, murderous rampage that spared neither man, woman, nor child. “klansmen!” a voice like that of a bull roared until the tumult had subsided. it was the exalted cyclops of the [ ] the fire in the flint central city klan. he stood in silence until the group of hooded figures was still. “the noble order of the ku klux klan don't han- dle situations such as this like a mob!” the figures stood expectantly, eagerly waiting to hear what would come next. “we have listened to the story told by our fellow klansmen. hol' yo’se’ves ready for the call of the invisible empire at any minute. we have planned the way to en' this dastardly plot and to punish those responsible with death!” “that's right! kill 'em! lynch 'em! burn th' bastards!” shouted the crowd. “that'll be done till ev'ry one is killed!” promised the exalted cyclops. “but it can't be done so's it can be laid to our noble order! already our ene- mies are charging us with crimes! the fed'ral gov'. nment will be down on our heads!” there were cries of “damn the gov’nment!” from some of the more hot-headed. but calmer judgment prevailed. something was to be done, but what that ominous "something” might be, was not revealed. each man was to be ready for instantaneous duty upon call of the klan. immediate action was not wise, for the klan investigators had not completed their work. action must wait until that had been done, for it was essential that not one of the plotters should escape. this last point was emphasized. at last the crowd became more calm with the determination to postpone its vengeance until it was certain of being complete. [ ] the fire in the flint the place was a darkened bedroom in the home of roy ewing on georgia avenue, and the actors in it were four in number. roy ewing, owner and manager of the ewing general merchandise store, whom kenneth had seen but little since ewing had discontinued his nocturnal visits to kenneth's office, was one of the actors. his wife, whose face still bore evidences of a youthful beauty that was fast fading, was a second. a third was old dr. bennett, who sat by the bed, his hair dishevelled, his face lined with perplexity and anxiety, as he apprehen- sively watched the fourth actor in the drama, a girl of nineteen who was restlessly tossing in pain on the bed. row ewing stood at the foot of the bed. his wife sat on the other side uttering little snatches of phrases of soothing sympathy which her daughter did not hear. dr. bennett was plainly worried and at a loss what to do to relieve the torture ewing's daughter was so clearly experiencing. he turned to ewing. “roy, to tell you the truth, it don't seem like i can find out what's the matter with mary. when she had that first attack, i thought she had appendi- citis, but she ain't got no fever to speak of, so it can't be her appendix that's botherin' her. looks like ť me she's got some sort of bleedin' inside, but i can't tell.” ewing and his wife looked anxiously first at their daughter, then interrogatively and pleadingly at the old physician as he watched the sufferer in her con- [ ] the fire in the flint he waved his hand vaguely towards the bed. as he did so, he looked with keen appraisement at ewing in the dim light. he seemed to be debating in his mind whether or not he dared take a very long chance. if the chance would not be more disastrous. if mary's life might not be better lost than that! ewing almost stopped breathing as he saw the mo- mentary indecision in the physician's face. mrs. ew- ing saw none of this by-play, for she had sunk down on the bed, where her body was shaken with the sobs she could not restrain. “there's jus' one chance t' save her,” dr. bennett hesitatingly began. ewing leaned forward in his eagerness. "there's jus' this one hope,” dr. bennett re- peated, “but i don't know if you'd be willin' to take that chance." “i don't give a damn what it is!” ewing shouted in his anxiety. “i'll take it! what is it, doc? i don't care what it costs! what is it?" he quiv- ered as with a chill in his excitement—the excite- ment of the drowning man who sees a possible res- cuer as he is about to go down for the third time. mrs. ewing had stopped crying—she seemed as though she had forgotten to breathe. they both waited eagerly for the older man to speak. at last he did. he paused after each word. “th’only — man — i know — near enough — to op'rate-in time-is—a—nigger-doctor-here-- named-harper!” “oh, my god!” groaned ewing as he sank to his [ ] the fire in the flint knees beside the bed and buried his face in his hands. “a nigger—seein' my mary—operatin' on her- good god! i'd rather see her dead than have a nig. ger put his hands on her! no! no! no!" he fairly screamed the last in his fury. "i didn't think you'd do it,” said dr. bennett mis- erably. “i jus' felt i oughter tell you. he's jus' out of school-studied in one of the bes' schools up no'th—and in france. he might save mary—but i can't blame you none for not havin' him.” while he was speaking, ewing jumped to his feet and paced up and down the room like a caged and wounded tiger. on the one hand was the life of his daughter-on the other his inherent, acquired, en- vironmental prejudice. none but those who know intimately the depth and passion of that prejudice as it flourishes in the south can know what torture what a hell—what agony ewing was going through. prejudice under almost any circumstances is hard enough to bear-in ewing's case his very soul was tormented at such an unheard-of thing as a negro operating on his daughter. “roy!” he turned abruptly at the sound of his wife's voice, having forgotten for the time everything—wife, sur- roundings, all—as he struggled with the problem he faced. "roy!” her voice was weak because of the or- deal through which she was passing. she ran to him, seizing his arm and looking up at him pleadingly. [ ] the fire in the flint he thought was the matter. ewing was sent from the room. kenneth rapidly examined the patient—and decided that she was having severe internal hæmor- rhages. it looked like an acute and dangerous case. immediate operation seemed the only hope. and even that hope was a slim one. he informed dr. bennett of his diagnosis. ewing was summoned. briefly kenneth told him his theory of the trouble—that the only hope was immediate operation. ewing faltered, hesitated, seemed about to refuse to allow it. at that moment a loud scream of pain was wrung from mary's lips. he winced as though he had been struck. he shrugged his shoulders in assent to the opera- tion. ... kenneth telephoned mrs. johnson, the nurse who had helped him before, to be ready to go with him for an operation in ten minutes. he drove rapidly home, secured his instruments, ether, sterilizer, gown and other equipment, bundled them into his car, called for mrs. johnson, explaining briefly to her the nature of the case as he drove as rapidly as he could to the ewing home. mary was carried downstairs and placed on the dining-room table. dr. bennett agreed to give the anästhetic. kenneth went rapidly, yet surely, to work. in his element now, he forgot time, place, the unusual circumstances, and everything else. swiftly he began the delicate and perilous task as soon as dr. bennett had sufficiently etherized the patient. yet, even in the stress of the moment, he could not ,[ ] the fire in the flint pain she had suffered, had sapped her strength until all resistive power was gone. kenneth knew that dr. bennett knew this too—even in the desperate struggle he wondered what the other would say and do—if the girl died. he tried to shake off the fear that seized him—fear of what would happen if it became known among the whites that mary ewing had died while a negro was operating on her. no mortal could have done more. even were that known and admitted, it would not save him, kenneth knew. the tense situation became too much for him. when he should have been steadiest, the double strain on his nerves caused his hand to slip. blood spurted forth. kenneth feverishly caught the bleeding artery with a hæmostatic and sought to repair the damage he had done. “tough luck,” muttered dr. bennett. kenneth looked up at him. the older man grunted and smiled_encouragingly. a burden seemed lifted from kenneth's shoulders. mrs. johnson wiped the perspiration that streamed from kenneth's face. she seemed endowed with a sixth sense that told her his needs almost before he was aware of them himself. it was a strange sight. anywhere in america. in georgia it was amazing beyond belief. a white woman patient. a white anæsthetizer. a black nurse. a black surgeon. ... all things must come to an end. kenneth rapidly sewed up the incision. he bandaged the wound tightly. she yet breathed. kenneth opened the door and admitted ewing, who [ ] the fire in the flint had paced the hall since the operation began. every minute of the hour he had been there, he had had to fight hard to keep himself from bursting into the room and stopping the operation. he had been restrained by the positiveness with which he had been ejected from the room by kenneth—there was something in the physician's air that had warned him without words that he must not interfere. something within him told him kenneth was right-knew what he was doing. the colour and race of the surgeon had been almost forgotten in the strange circumstances. “will she live?” he asked, his words whispered in so hoarse a tone they could hardly be heard. “i don't know—it'll be forty-eight hours before we can tell—if she lives that long," answered kenneth. the strain had been greater than he had known. kenneth felt a strange weakening—lassitude gripped his body—he felt a nausea that came with the reac- tion after the mental ordeal. ewing stood by the table on which lay his child. tears which he forgot to wipe away stood in his eyes as he watched her laboured breathing. dr. bennett put his hand on ewing's shoulder. “he did all he could!” he declared, nodding at kenneth. there was admiration in the old doctor's voice. ewing rushed off to give the news to his wife. ... the three men carried the unconscious form to her room. with a short “good night” to dr. bennett, kenneth left the house with mrs. johnson and drove away. ... [ ] chapter xvi he following day kenneth was kept busy ar- ranging his affairs in order to leave the follow- ing morning for atlanta for the operation on mrs. tucker. it had been a most difficult task for him to persuade her to have it done. he had been at last successful when he made her realize that it would mean either the operation or death. she dreaded the trip to atlanta but kenneth refused to perform the operation except at a hospital and there was none nearer than atlanta at which a negro could operate. during the day he had been kept so busy that he had not had time to go out of the coloured section except once, and that when in the late afternoon he drove through lee street to see how mary ewing was faring. he had been so busy with his own thoughts that he had paid little attention to the whites who were standing around on the streets. he did not see the threatening and hostile looks they gave nor did he notice the excited whispering and muttering when he came into their sight. ed stewart had partly told the truth at the meeting of the klan when he said that dr. williams had in- formed him of the organization kenneth and the others were forming. kenneth had seen little of the [ ] the fire in the flint pompous and intensely jealous physician since the time when he had forced dr. williams to assist him in the appendicitis operation on mrs. emma bradley. kenneth had felt nothing but an amused contempt for his fellow-practitioner, for he knew that dr. wil- liams covered his deficiencies in medical knowledge and skill with the bombastic and self-important air he affected. dr. williams, on the other hand, had never for- given kenneth for the incident in which kenneth had shown him up in a manner that injured the former's pride far more than kenneth had suspected. dr. williams felt that the younger man had deliberately and with malice aforethought offered a gratuitous in- sult to him as dean of the coloured medical profession of central city, though that profession numbered but two members. kenneth's success as a physician in central city, having taken as he had some of the best of dr. williams' own patients whom he had consid- ered peculiarly his own, the insult plus kenneth's success had rankled in his breast until, being of a petty and mean disposition, he hated the younger man with a deep and vindictive hatred.o.o he had not, however, intended that his conversa- tion with ed stewart should assume the proportions that it eventually did. on the day before the meet- ing of the klan at which kenneth had been named as the one responsible for the organization of the ne- groes, dr. williams had met ed stewart driving out along a country road near ashland. williams was returning from making a professional call in that [ ] the fire in the flint neighbourhood. stewart, a big, raw-boned, and lanky“cracker” or “peck," as they are called by negroes in the south, was going to inspect the cotton crops of his tenant-farmers, that he might estimate how big the crops would be and might know accord- ingly how large the tenants’ bills should be for sup- plies furnished.. . they had stopped to pass the time of day and for stewart to find which of the negroes on his place was sick. he wanted to know if that sick one was too sick to work the crop, as the loss of even one worker during cotton-picking time was serious, what with the number of negroes who had gone north. having gained the information, he started to question dr. williams in a way that he thought was exceedingly adroit and clever, but through which ruse the col- oured doctor saw instantly and clearly. “say, doc, you know anything 'bout these niggers 'round here holdin' these meetin’s nearly ev'ry night? seems t me it's mighty late for them to be holdin' revival services and indo' camp-meetin’s?” he queried in as casual a tone as he could manage. an idea sprang full-grown to williams' mind. kenneth harper was getting far too popular through the organization of his co-operative societies. wil- liams was shrewd enough to see that if they were as successful as they gave promise of being, kenneth would be the leading negro of the town, if not of that entire section of georgia. and correspondingly he, williams, would become less and less the promi- nent figure he had been before kenneth had come [ ] the fire in the flint rea in long to an eternally ordained “superior race," seldom realize how often and how easily they are taken in by negroes. williams enjoyed the look of concern that had come to stewart's face at his words. “what's goin' on, doc?” he asked in an eager tone, from which he tried with but little success to keep the anxiety that he felt. “heh, heh, heh!” laughed williams in a throaty chuckle. “these negroes are figurin' on takin' some of these landlords to court that's been cheatin' them on their crops. of course,” he added hastily, “that don't need to worry you none, mr. stewart, but from what i hear, there are some 'round here that the news will worry.” stewart flushed, for he was conscious of a vague feeling that williams might have been indirectly hit- ting at him when he had said that the court proceed- ings wouldn't affect him. he fell back on the old custom of flattering and praising fulsomely the negro from whom a white man wants information regarding the activities of other negroes. williams, like ev- ery other negro in the south, knew what value to put on it, but he was playing a far deeper game than stewart suspected. “doc, why ain't all these niggers good, sensible ones like you? if all the niggers in the south were like you, there never would be any trouble.” “that's right, mr. stewart, that's right. as i was sayin' to some of the folks out your way this mornin', they'd better stop followin' after the fool ideas of these coloured men who've been up no'th.” [ ] the fire in the flint ook on a trouble were to school he looked at stewart shrewdly and appraisingly to see if he had penetrated the subtlety of his remark. stewart, slow of thought, had not fully done so, it seemed. williams continued: "you see, it's like this, mr. stewart. folks like you and me could live here for a hundred years and there'd never be no trouble. there'd never be no race problem if they was only like us. but” — and his voice took on a doubtful and sorrowful sound—“the most of this trouble we're havin' is caused by fool negroes who go up no’th to school and run around with those coloured folks in new york and chicago who tell 'em how bad we po' col- oured folks are bein' treated in the south. they get all filled up with 'social equality ideas, and then they come back down here and talk that stuff to these ignorant negroes and get them all stirred up " stewart was seeing more clearly what williams was driving at. “i see,” he said reflectively. “i alw’ys said too much education sp’iled niggers—that is, some nig- gers," he added hastily for fear williams might take offence before he had done with him. “co’se it don't bother sensible ones like you, doc.” the last was said conciliatingly. “let's see, mos' this trou- ble's stahted since that other doctor's been back, ain't it?” he asked as casually as he could. “i ain't sayin' who's doin' it,” replied williams as he started the engine of his car. “but you're a good guesser, mr. stewart,” he threw back over his shoulder as he drove away. ... [ ] the fire in the flint stewart clucked to his horse and rode in deep thought down the road. his mind was busy devising schemes to circumvent the action of the societies to take into court men like himself who had been rob- bing negroes. they'd lose in the local courts, he knew, but suppose they raised enough money to take a case to the united states supreme court. no, that would never do! he'd see parker and talk it over with him right away! he put the whip to his horse and drove rapidly into town. mustn't let the damn niggers organize, that would be hell! .. kenneth was going about his business on the day following the meeting of the klan that had been caused by dr. williams' talk with stewart, in bliss- ful ignorance of the storm rapidly gathering about his head. his mind was intent on a number of things—but trouble on account of the co-operative societies was furthest from his mind. had he been told there was any trouble, such news would probably have been greeted with a laugh of unconcern. all the white people of the south weren't scoundrels and thieves like stewart and taylor and their kind! they were but a few. besides the poor whites, the majority of whites would undoubtedly heartily ap- prove his plan when it had been developed to the point where it could be made public. but kenneth thought of none of those things. his mind was too full of other events that loomed on the horizon. first, of course, he thought of jane. he thought of his great good fortune in knowing a girl like her. there was a girl for you! he thought of [ ] the fire in the flint the home he would build for her—he was mighty glad his father had been in fairly comfortable circum- stances and that he had been successful in his prac- tice. he would be able to build a mighty nice home for jane. they wouldn't bother with the cheap and flashy furniture, fumed oak or mission, to be ob- tained in central city. oh, no! soon's mrs. phil- lips was better, the three of them would go to atlanta and buy everything they needed there. they'd have the best-looking home in central city, white or col- oured! his mother and mamie wanted him to bring jane into the house. he might do that ... but the house which had seemed so comfortable before, now seemed too ordinary to bring a girl like jane to. ... he'd talk that over with her to-night. ... and then after a time there might be a little jane ... and a kenneth, jr. . . . kenneth laughed softly to himself as he saw jane and himself sitting by the fire of an evening with two little rascals playing on the floor. . . . and later they'd go off to school. he'd see that they got the best there was in life. ... so his thoughts ran. and then he thought of roy ewing and the opera- tion of the night before. must have been a mighty terrible ordeal for them to have to call a negro in to operate on their daughter. race prejudice is a funny thing! a white man will eat food prepared by black hands, have it served by black hands, have his children nursed by a black nurse who most of the time was more a mother to them than their own mother, let his clothes be taken into a black home to [ ) the fire in the flint petuously, enthusiastically—with all the glorious dreams of youthful love. all the little things—lit- tle, but so great when one is young and in love they said to each other. the things they said when the pyramids were being built. the things they will say a thousand years from now. to-night there were no warning signals from mr. phillips when ten o'clock came. he had been glad, and had said so, when kenneth asked him for jane. “we don't feel we're losing a daughter-we're gain- ing a son instead!” he had said. they talked on until there was no other sign of life discernible in the neighbourhood, save for the passage of a prowling cat, or the sound of the crickets in the grass. at last he had to go. early the next morning he was to leave for atlanta with mrs. tucker. three days he was to be gone. he would return on friday. in october they were to be married. mrs. phil. lips' health was not improving as they had hoped. she was cheerful but she wanted jane to be happily married before she died. they had decided to live at his house with his mother and mamie. they'd refurnish it and do over all the rooms. later on, when he had made lots of money, they'd build. mamie and jane and kenneth were to go to atlanta the latter part of september, there to buy the furni- ture and all the other things, they would need. mrs. phillips was too ill to stand the strain of the long journey and the excitement of the shopping. jane tiptoed into the house so as not to wake her [ ] the fire in the flint mother. she returned in a few minutes with a fluffy white mass in her arms. it was her wedding-gown which she was to make herself. they sat silent for a minute at the token of what it meant. tears stood in jane's eyes when he went down the stairs. he saw them when he looked back to say the last soft good-bye. “three days is an awful long time,” she said plaintively. of course, there was nothing else for him to do but go back up the steps and kiss her good-bye all over again. ... [ ) the fire in the flint ment or terrible misfortune. he went out in the hall and leaned over the balustrade, the better to find out what was the matter. it was mamie and his mother. he looked puz- zled, for he could think of nothing to make mamie cry that way. his mother was trying to soothe and calm her as mamie told her the cause of her weeping. bob crept down the stairs as softly as he could to hear. mamie between sobs was telling her mother of some accident that had befallen her. “i had been—to ewing's store and that jim archer—and charley allen—and two or three other white boys—that hang around ewing's store—said nasty things to me when i came out—i hurried home they must have followed me ." here she broke down again while her mother crooned softly to her, pleading with her not to cry so hard. mamie choked back her sobs and went on. bob's face became terrible to see. he hung there on the steps almost breathless, waiting, and dreading what he felt was coming. “at that old field-near the railroad—they jumped out—and grabbed me oh, my god! my god! why didn't they kill me? why didn't they kill me?” mamie's screams were horrible to hear. “then-oh, god! god help me!” for a minute bob stood there as one frozen to the spot. then a blind, unreasoning fury filled him. he ran up the stairs to kenneth's room and got the [ ] the fire in the flint revolver he knew kenneth kept there. without hat or coat he ran down the stairs. out the door and down the street. mamie and her mother were roused by his action. mamie, lying on the floor with her head in her mother's lap, her clothes torn and bloody, her face and body bruised, struggled to her feet. she ran to the open door through which bob had disappeared.' an even greater terror, if such was possible, was on her face. "bob! bob! come back! come back!” she cried in ever louder cries. “bob! bob!" but bob was too far away to hear her. in front of ewing's store there sat a group of nine or ten men and boys. they were gathered around one who seemed to be relating a highly interesting and humorous story. every few minutes there'd be a loud laugh and a slapping of each other on the back. suddenly, silence. a hatless and coatless figure was running down the street toward them. the group opened as its members started to scatter. in the middle of it there stood jim archer and charley allen. the former had been telling the story. bob walked straight up to jim archer, whose face had turned even paler than its usual pasty colour. he turned to run but it was too late. without say- ing a word, his eyes burning with a deadly hatred, bob raised the revolver he had in his hand and fired once—twice-into archer's breast. charley allen [ ] the fire in the flint rushed upon bob to overpower him. he met head-on the two bullets that came to meet him, and fell gasp- ing and coughing on the ground at bob's feet. the rest of the crowd had fled. without hurrying, bob stepped into a ford deliv. ery truck that had been left at the curb, its engine running. before the crowd which with miraculous suddenness filled the street could stop him, he drove straight down lee street, turned into oglethorpe avenue, and headed for the country beyond the town. ... three miles out of town the ford spluttered, coughed, shook mightily, and stopped. its gaso- lene tank was empty. shoving it into the underbrush on the side of the road, far enough to be out of sight, bob ran on. if he could only get across country as far as the railroad going north, he might be able to get to macon, where he could hide. when the excitement died down, he could go on farther north. perhaps he could eventually reach canada. he fought his way through brushes, across vast fields of cotton that seemed to have no end. near midnight he could go no farther. he had eaten nothing since breakfast—he had been too excited over his packing to eat any dinner. bitterly he thought of the change a few hours had brought forth. twelve hours before, he had been eagerly planning to leave for school. now, his sister ruined, he a murderer twice over—fleeing for his life! he hoped that he had killed both of them! it would be too ironical a fate for them to live. . . . he thought for a moment [ ] the fire in the flint for the “crackers”! one for me! bang! bang! got another! must reload! one-two-three four! nearly all gone! five-ten-fifteen min- utes to live! why did they pick on mamie? whyn't they take one of those girls that live in those houses on butler street? that's always running around after men? why'd they bother a nice girl like mamie? bang! listen at 'im howl? that's music for you! listen to the damn “peck” squalling! what's th’ matter? looks like they've gone! won- der if i can make a run for it? th’ damn cowards! fifty-one hundred—a thousand—five thousand- to one! that's the way “crackers” always fight coloured folks! never heard yet of one “cracker” fighting one negro! have to have thousan' to kill one little fellow like bob harper! smoke? can't be smoke! yes, it is! goin' ť burn me up! bang! bang! got one of 'em! my god! only one bullet left! never take him alive! lynch him! might burn him! burned coloured boy last month ’n texas! better not let ’em get him! good-bye, everybody! good-bye! good-bye! good — bang .... it was some time after bob had died before the posse dared enter the barn which by this time was burning rapidly. they feared the cessation of fir- ing was only a ruse to draw them into the open. at last, after riddling the burning structure with bullets, a few of the more daring cautiously approached the barn, entered, and found bob's body. after the bul. [ ] the fire in the flint let from his own gun had entered his head, killing him instantly, his body had fallen backwards from the box on which he had been sitting. his legs were resting on the box, his thighs vertical, his body on the floor and his head slightly tilted forward as it rested against a cow-stall. his arms were wide- spread. the empty revolver lay some ten feet away, where he had flung it as he fell backwards. his face was peaceful. on it was a sardonic smile as though he laughed in death at cheating the howling pack of the satisfaction of killing him. the mob dragged the body hastily into the open. the roof of the old barn was about to fall in. be- fore dragging it forth, they had taken no chances. a hundred shots were fired into the dead body. partly in anger at being cheated of the joy of killing him themselves. they tied it to the rear axle of a ford. howling, shouting gleefully, the voice of the pack after the kill, they drove rapidly back to town, the dead body, riddled and torn, bumping grotesquely over the holes in the road. ... back to the public square. in the open space be- fore the confederate monument, wood and excelsior had been piled. near by stood cans of kerosene. on the crude pyre they threw the body. saturated it and the wood with oil. a match applied. in the early morning sunlight the fire leaped higher and higher. mingled with the flames and smoke the exulting cries of those who had done their duty—they had avenged and upheld white civilization. ... the flames died down. women, tiny boys and [ ] the fire in the flint girls, old men and young stood by, a strange light on their faces. they sniffed eagerly the odour of burn- ing human flesh which was becoming more and more faint. ... into the dying flames darted a boy of twelve. out he came, laughing hoarsely, triumphantly ex- hibiting a charred bone he had secured, blackened and crisp. . . . another rushed in. . . . another. ... another. . . . here a rib. . . . there an arm- bone. ... a louder cry. ... the skull. ... good boy! johnny! ... we'll put that on the mantelpiece at home. ... five dollars for it, johnny! ... nothin' doin'! ... goin' to keep it myself! ... the show ended. the crowd dispersed. home to breakfast. [ ] the fire in the flint hell. ev'ry nigger out my way would go through hell 'n' high water for him. never seen 'em think so much of another nigger befo’. mos' the time they'll come and tell me ev'rythin' that any them other niggers doin'. this nigger harper's got 'em hoodooed or somethin'." the sheriff broke into stewart's monologue in a complaining, reminiscent fashion: “don't know what's gettin' into the niggers nowa- days. they ain't like they useter be. take this nigger's daddy, f'r example. old man harper was as good a nigger's i ever seen. if he met you on the street twenty times a day, he'd take off his hat ’n’ bow almos' to the groun' ev'ry time. but these new niggers, i can't make heads nor tails of 'em. take that uppity nigger they burned this mornin'. always goin' 'round with a face on 'im like he's swal- lowed a mess of crabapples. what if that jim archer did have a little fun with the nigger's sister? 'twon't hurt a nigger wench none. oughter be proud a white man wants her.” his voice took on at the next remark a tone of pained and outraged surprise. “nigger gals gettin' so nowadays they think they're's good as white women! and what 'chu think that old fool judge stev’nson said t me to-day? had the nerve ť sayť me that he don't blame that nigger bob for killin' jim archer!” he demanded of his companions in an almost ludi- crous surprise: “what's goin't come of the south when white men like the judge say such things? [ ] the fire in the flint wold. an' then the one's mos' likely to raise the mos' fuss is roy ewing. he thinks a lot of that nigger lately for some reas'n. ain't been able ť figger it out as yet, but he sets a heap by him." he scratched his head in an abstracted manner. “tol me over tº the sto' yestiddy that this harper's a fine type of nigger ť have 'round central city 'n' that we oughter encourage other niggers to be like him.” “another one gettin' ol and weak-minded befo' his time!" was stewart's comment. "but i want ť know if we're goin' to sit here all night talkin' 'bout things that's goin' ť keep us from punishin' this nigger or if we're goin' to get down to business. fust thing we know, we'll be 'lectin' this nigger mayer the town!” his sarcasm was thinly veiled, if veiled at all. parker and lane showed by the sudden flush on their faces that the shot had reached its mark. “you don't have to be so cantankerous ’bout it, ed.” parker showed in his voice, as well as on his face, that he didn't particularly care for stewart's brand of irony. “you know we're jus' as anxious as you to get rid of him. but we got to be careful. you live out in the country 'n' you don't know the situation here in town like me 'n' henry.” he sat meditatively for a time. stewart fidgeted in his chair, and henry lane sat lost in thought. parker suddenly sat up eagerly. “i got it!” he exclaimed. the others looked at him inquiringly. “we'll fix it so's we can say that harper insulted a white woman!” [ ] the fire in the flint his companions looked slightly disappointed and doubtful. “how're you goin' t' do that?” asked lane. “this nigger, as fur's i can see, since he been back's been stayin' out where he b’longs in the nigger section. only time he comes over this way’s when he comes to the bank or the sto’ or here to th' court-house. that's one thing i can say in his fav’r! bein'in france ain't sp’iled him none so fur’s white women's concerned. if he ran around with them frog women, he never tried any of it 'round here." "it ain't necessary for him to bother with white women in central city for us to put that on 'im," parker declared defensively. “nearly all white folks ev’n up no’th b’lieves that ev'ry time a nigger's lynched down this a way, its 'cause he's raped a white woman.” his manner became triumphant. "here's how we'll fix it.” the three men, although they were alone in the dark court-house and there was none to hear, drew their chairs together. their heads were close for more than ten minutes, while they talked excitedly together. occasionally there would be a low burst of laughter—again an oath. at last stewart rose, took a paper-bound book from the desk, copied for some time from it, and left the court-house. the next morning each of fifteen “white, protes- tant, gentile” citizens of central city received a let- ter. there was no writing of any sort on the envel. ope save their names and addresses. they were of ordinary quality such as can be purchased at five a [ ] the fire in the flint cents a package in any cheap stationery store. in it was a letter typed on plain paper, of a quality to match the cheapness of the envelope. there was no printing of any sort on the letter, nor was it addressed other than: “dear sir.” it read: nation. thet, to meet a situas one known to be ha “dear sir: “you have been chosen, as one known to be loyal, brave, and discreet, to meet a situation affecting the welfare of the nation, the state, and the community. you are hereby commanded to be present at the time and place and date given on the enclosed card. "be wise! be discreet! discuss this with no one! fail not! “the committee.” there was a plain card enclosed, also of cheap and easily obtained quality, on which was typed a date, time, and place. .... mirabile dictu, each of the fifteen recipients of this cryptic missive was a ku klux klansman. ... [ ] the fire in the flint --- ...... . that would keep him engaged all afternoon, it was decided that they should meet that evening at an office in a building downtown in the business section. it was with a deal of eagerness—and with some de- gree of anxiety, for he did not know how he would be received by dr. scott and the others—that kenneth set forth that evening for the meeting. he found three men awaiting him in the office of john anthony, who was one of the three. his footsteps echoed in ghostlike fashion as he walked down the hallway of the deserted building. from the open window there floated from the street below the subdued clatter of automobiles, the cries of newsboys, the restless shuf- fling of the leisurely crowd as it moved up and down peachtree street. kenneth sought to weigh the three, who were, he felt, representatives of that “new south” of which so much was heard, but signs of whose activities he had so seldom seen. he was seeking to find out their motives, their plans of ac- complishing that spirit of fair play toward the ne- gro, to determine how far they would go towards challenging the established order that was damning the south intellectually, morally, economically. kenneth, with too-high ideals for his environment, was almost naïve in his eager search for the great champion he had dreamed of who would brave dan- ger and contumely and even death itself for a newer and brighter day for his people in the south. that hope had been dulled somewhat by the things he had seen since his return to central city, for he was not of an unreflective mind. yet he had not seen far [ ] the fire in the flint enough beneath the surface of that volcano of pas- sion and hate and greed which is the south to realize that the south had never produced a martyr to any great moral cause one who had possessed sufficient courage to oppose, regardless of consequences, any one of the set, dogmatic beliefs of the south. true it was that there were some who had fought in the civil war with firm belief that the south was right- even though it had been shown that their idealism was a perverted one. but even then these had moved with the tide of sectional sentiment and not against it. educated in southern schools where the text-books of history always exalted the leaders of the confed- eracy, raising lee and jackson and johnston and gordon to heights but little lower than the heroes of grecian mythology, and ever tending to disparage and revile the union cause and its leaders, kenneth, like many coloured youths, had accepted the ready- made and fallacious estimates set before him. it was, therefore, but natural that he set his hopes for stalwart, unafraid leadership too high and, at the same time, failed to realize that the south had never begotten an abraham lincoln, a garrison, a sumner, or even a meteor-like john brown, bursting into bril- liance born of indignation against stupidity or igno- rance or wrong and dying gloriously for that cause. kenneth's eyes had partially been opened by his memorable talk with judge stevenson. etched upon his mind by the acid of bitter truths were the judge's words that the boasted anglo-saxonism of the south [ ] the fire in the flint had curdled into moral cowardice on all subjects by the repression incident to the race problem. never- theless kenneth was too inexperienced as yet in the ways of life to comprehend the full import of the older man's cynicism. he yet sought him who would fulfil his ideal of a great leader who, like a latter- day crusader, would guide white and black together out of the impasse in which the south seemed to be. kenneth thus anxiously examined the three before him to see if by chance any one of them bore the ac- colade which would stamp him the moses that he sought. naturally enough, his eyes first went to dr. scott, as it was of him that judge stevenson had spoken most favourably. minister to one of the larger at- lanta churches, he had spoken frequently and with considerable vigour for georgia in behalf of greater kindness and fairness toward the negro. he was very tall. his more than ordinary height with his attenuated and lanky slenderness gave him an almost cadaverous appearance which the loose suit of black mohair he wore accentuated. from beneath the folds of a low collar there sprang a white starched-linen bow tie, the four ends standing stiffly, each in a sepa- rate direction, like the arms of a windmill. his rather large head was bald on top but around the edges ran a fringe of yellowish-white hair with curl- ing ends that made his face appear rounder than it was. bushy eyebrows shaded pale blue eyes that twinkled in unison with the ready smile which re- vealed large yellow teeth. into his conversation dr. [ ] the fire in the flint even threats of tarring and of death from the ku klux klan, seeking a course directed by wisdom if not by valour. while he was being introduced by dr. scott, ken- neth examined critically the other two men. mr. anthony, who had volunteered the use of his office for the conference, as no comment would be likely if the four of them were seen in the office building, was first presented. john anthony might well have posed as model for a typical american business man or lawyer. of rotund figure, well-fed appearance, hair close-cut, his face clean-shaven, clad in neatly tailored but undis- tinguished clothing, he sat leaning slightly forward, his fingers interlocked, his thumbs and forefingers holding his cravat while his elbows rested on the arms of his chair. he acknowledged the introduc- tion to kenneth with a brief "pleased ť meetcha.” he did not rise, nor extend his hand in greeting, but he at once shrewdly appraised and catalogued ken- neth. john anthony's interest in interracial affairs had been first aroused by the war-time migration of negroes to the north. his personal fortunes had been touched directly by this loss of labour, and the resultant decrease in profits had caused him to in- quire into the problem of the labourers who had been always so plentiful. like most americans, and particularly those in southern states, he had had no idea of, or interest in, what negroes were forced to endure. though near to this problem, he had been a living example of those in the proverb who “live so [ ] the fire in the flint close to the trees, they cannot see the woods.” his inquiry, conducted with the clear-sightedness and energy he had acquired from long business training, had revealed brutalities and vicious exploitation that had amazed and sickened him. he was too shrewd to believe that negroes would be restrained from leaving the south by attempts to picture negroes freezing to death in the north, or to try to beguile them by transparent falsehoods to the effect that the southern white man is the negro's best friend. though he did not voice it save to his more intimate friends, he felt naught but contempt for the hypocrisy of those who too late were attempting to flatter the negro to keep him in the south. his motives were therefore curiously mixed in his support of efforts toward interracial goodwill. economic in part were they, because retention of negro labour meant the continuation of his own successful business career. equally, almost, did they proceed from a hitherto latent sense of moral indignation against the treat- ment which the south had accorded to negroes in the past. direct of speech, analytical of mind, he went straight to the heart of the problem with that same perspicacity that had won for him more than usual success in his business of conducting one of the south's largest department stores. here again did kenneth figuratively shake his head and decide that john anthony was not destined to be the moses of the new south. he could not for the life of him dissociate anthony's interest in be- half of justice from his direct financial interest in [ ] the fire in the flint keeping negroes in the south, where, with the in- evitable working of the law of demand and supply, a surplusage of negro labour would mean continued high profits for men like anthony. kenneth was too young to know that the more largely a man profits from a liberal cause, the more loyal will be his support of that cause and the lesser likelihood of his defection when difficulties arise. of the three men, kenneth felt greatest hope in the third—david gordon—younger than kenneth, alert, capable, and with an engaging frankness of face and of manner to which kenneth warmed in- stinctively. gordon was a graduate of harvard, where he for the first time in his life had learned to know coloured fellow-students as men and human be- ings instead of as “niggers.” at first he had re- belled strenuously, his every instinct had revolted against dining in the same room, however large, with a “nigger.” so indignant had he been that he had taken it up with the president. benign, kindly, clear- headed, and patriarchal, the older man calmly and dispassionately and without rancour had shown gor- don the injustice of his position-how unfair it was to deny an education to a man for the sole offence of having been born with a black skin. before he quite knew how it had happened, gordon found himself ashamed of what now was seen to be petty nastiness on his part. so interested had he become after his eyes were thus opened that he had made a special study of the negro problem. after finishing both his college and law courses, he had returned to [ ] the fire in the flint atlanta to practise law with his father. his interest in the race question had increased since his return. he was now one of that liberal and intelligent few who are most free from prejudice an emancipated southerner. some inner voice told kenneth instantly that greatest hope of the three lay in david gordon —and men like him. ... the introductions completed, dr. scott opened the conversation. “doctor, we've heard of the society you've started in central city. tell us how you're getting along.” "you have heard of it?” asked kenneth in sur- prise. he did not know his fame had preceded him. “oh, yes,” answered dr. scott. “you see, i know a man in the klan headquarters here. they've got, so i understand, a pretty full account of your move- ments.” “they honour me," laughed kenneth, a note of irony in his voice. he was not a physical coward- threats bothered him little. he had paid little atten- tion to the report of the klan meeting at central city, though it had worried his mother and bob consider- ably. no more would he be perturbed by any re- ports of his activities the klan might have in their files. “then, too, judge stevenson's been writing me about you," continued dr. scott. “we are all in- terested in what you're doing, doctor, and we want you to talk frankly. you can to us,” he added. the three men were genuinely interested in the [ ] y interested in the the fire in the flint must use discretion. how much are negroes think- ing about voting?” "they think about it all the time,” replied ken- neth. “we know the mere casting of a ballot isn't going to solve all our problems, but we also know we'll never be able to do much until we do vote.” "you must be patient—wait until the time is ripe ” cautioned dr. scott. “patience can be a vice as well as a virtue.” it was david gordon who spoke. kenneth looked at him gratefully. “your race's greatest asset,” continued dr. scott, addressing his remark to kenneth, yet seeking to im- part a gentle rebuke to gordon, "has been its won- derful gentleness under oppression. you must con- tinue to be sweet-tempered and patient- " “that's all very well to advise, but how would you or any other white man act if you had to suffer the things the negro has had to suffer?” demanded ken- neth. “suppose you saw your women made the breeding-ground of every white man who desires them, saw your men lynched and burned at the stake, saw your race robbed and cheated, lied to and lied about, despised, persecuted, oppressed-how would you feel, dr. scott, if somebody came to you and said: 'be patient'?” kenneth poured forth his words like a burning flood of lava-indicative of the raging fires of re- sentment smouldering beneath. he paused, com- pletely out of breath. dr. scott flushed until his face became a dull brick-red in colour. he restrained [ ] the fire in the flint lic sentiment so this liberal white opinion will become a force in the south against the ku klux klan and lynching and all the other forms of prejudice. that's what seems to me to be most needed.” “yes—yes—i agree with you, but tell us just ex- actly how we can help you.” anthony, in his direct way, was impatient of theorizing. “do you need any money-credit- legal advice—that is, any we can give quietly without it getting out that we gave it?" “yes, there is something," answered kenneth. “most of the men in our societies have been working on shares for so many years that instead of having any money, they owe their landlords large sums. the big problem is credit for the things they need until they sell their crops next fall." kenneth gave a detailed statement of their needs and their plans. john anthony took notes as he talked and agreed to see what he could do towards securing credit when they needed it. david gordon volunteered his aid as a lawyer. they rose to go. anthony gazed intently at kenneth as he asked gravely: "doctor, have you thought of the possibility of-er -trouble if your motives are not understood? that is, suppose some of the poor whites are stirred up by the landlords and merchants you're trying to take these coloured farmers away from-have you figured out what might be the result?” “yes, i have," responded kenneth. “i realize [ ] the fire in the flint one there might be some who'd break up our groups— " “no- -i mean to you personally," interjected anthony. “i don't think they'll bother me," was kenneth's confident reply. “but if something should happen -well, if i can feel i've perhaps pointed a way out for my people, i can die happy. ... at any rate, killing or running me away wouldn't kill the spirit of revolt these coloured people have it might stir it even higher. not that i've any ambition for martyrdom,” he ended with a laugh. kenneth spoke with no bravado, with none of the cant of the poseur. his words, rather, were uttered with the simplicity of the earnest seeker after truth- the unheroic but sincere worker in a cause that is just. “let's hope you'll come through,” said anthony. "i'm a southerner with all the traditions and preju- dices of the south, but i wish you luck.” he added after a pause: "you'll need it.” after kenneth had gone, the three men looked at each other questioningly. “what do you think of him and his plan?” asked dr. scott, half to himself. it was gordon who answered. "it's a good scheme-if it works. i'm mighty afraid, though, he's going to run into deep water if his societies grow very large. and the pity of it is that we in atlanta can't help him if we dared." anthony grunted. [ ] the fire in the flint “and yet the south is trying to solve the race prob- lem and leave educated negroes like harper en- tirely out of the equation. it's about time we woke up.” [ ] chapter xx t arly friday morning kenneth left for central city, before the atlanta constitution appeared on the streets for sale. soon after his train left macon on the way south, the engine blew out a cylinder head. they remained there until another could be dispatched from macon to replace it. there had come to his stopping-place in atlanta, a few minutes after he had left, a telegram which had been sent from a town twenty miles distant from central city, telling him to remain in atlanta until further notice. jane had paid a man liberally to drive through the country to get the telegram off in time. it would not have done to send such a wire from central city. all these things had so happened as though the very fates themselves were in league against kenneth. in total ignorance of what had happened to mamie and bob and the eventful chain of happenings since he had left central city three days before, kenneth sat in the stuffy, odorous, and dirty jim crow car, busied with his thoughts. a noisy and malodorous negro sat next to him who seemed to know some person at every one of the thousand and one stations at which they stopped. kenneth sat next to the win- dow. his companion leaned over him to stick his [ ] the fire in the flint w head out of the window to shout loud-mouthed and good-natured greetings to his friends on the ground. at those few stations where he knew no one, he would ask foolish, sometimes humorous questions of those he did not know. kenneth stood it as long as he could and then requested the troublesome fellow to be less annoying. kenneth, though vexed, was amused at the man's complaint to another of his kind behind him. “humph!” he grunted. “tha's whut i say 'bout a dressed-up nigger—thinks he owns the train. i paid jes’ as much,” he declared more ag. gressively, “as he did, an' ef he don't like it, he can git off and walk.” at this, a long laugh at his own witty remark, but kenneth looked out of the window and paid no attention to him. his thoughts were busy with other things. every few minutes he would feel the lump in the lower right-hand vest-pocket with a touch that was almost loving in its tenderness. he hoped jane would like the ring—it had cost a little more than he had expected to pay or could afford, but the best was none too good for a girl like her. he could see jane's eyes now when he opened the little box and she for the first time saw the glittering facets of the beautiful stone. he smiled in anticipation of her joy. and then he'd put it on her finger and she'd put her arms around his neck and he'd feel again her warm, soft, passionate, clinging lips. lucky he didn't get too deeply tied up with that girl years ago in new york. she had kissed as though she'd had long practice at it. too sophisti. [ ] the fire in the flint last child, she used again the endearing names she had called him when he was a babe in her arms— endearments she had not used since. “mamma, i've got to! i've got to! god, if i only can find those who killed him!” he shouted. she, like a drowning person, clutched at the frag- ile straw his last words implied. her voice was al- most a prayer. “but you don't know, ken, you don't know who was in the mob!” she cried. “that jim archer and charley allen—they're the only ones mamie recog- nized! and they're dead—they've paid! my little bob killed them! who’re you going to get? how're you going to find out to-night who the others were? you can't, ken, you can't!”. she realized this was her only hope. if she could only keep him in the house the rest of the night, when morning came she was sure he would be more calm. he would realize then how foolish and foolhardy his intentions of the night before had been. she pleaded-she begged—she moaned in her terror. he tried to shake her off. he did loosen her grip around his knees where she had clung like death itself. as he leaned over to pry her hands loose and was about to succeed, she grasped his arm and held on. he tried to jerk his arm loose and rush from the house. she was struggling now with that fierce, grim, relentless tenacity and courage of the mother fighting for her young. she held on. his jerks dragged her over the floor but she was conscious neither of the act nor the pain. she would have [ ] the fire in the flint was life worth anyway? why not end it all in one glorious orgy of killing? in his agonized fulmination against the whites and in his vow of vengeance on those who had dealt him so cruel and heart-sickening a blow, kenneth forgot those who had been and were true friends of the black man—who had suffered and died that he might be free. he forgot those who, though few in number and largely inarticulate, were fighting for the negro even in the south. kenneth's grief, however, was too deep and the blow too crushing for him to think of these in his hour of despair. at length his raging subsided a little. his mother was pleading with him with a fervour he had never believed she possessed. snatches of her words penetrated his mind. "... and who'll protect mamie and me? ... all alone . . . you're all we've got! ... need you ... need you now as never before ... mustn't leave us now ... mustn't leave ..." he sank to the floor exhausted by the fierceness of his rage. a feeble cry came from above stairs. “it's mamie!” his mother whispered, frightened. she left him lying there to rush to her other child. before she left she made kenneth promise he wouldn't go out before she returned. he lay on the floor as in a stupor. it was his gethsemane. he felt as though some giant hand was twisting his very soul until it bled. he thought of the hours mamie had lain in the field after the fiends had accomplished their foul purpose on her. bleeding, torn, rayished! [ ] chapter xxi enneth lay on the floor he knew not how long. at last he awakened to the realization i that his telephone was ringing furiously. subconsciously he was aware of the fact that it had been ringing for some time. he lay there and let it ring. telephone-officehouse profession—life itself—all seemed vague and nebulous phenomena remote from his existence far from him and as uninteresting to him as life on mars. the raucous dissonance continued. “r-r-r-r-r," the bell seemed to scream in its existence. it was like a mosquito in a darkened room when one wanted to get to sleep. “damn the telephone!” he cried aloud. “let the fool thing ring its head off!”... he thought of jane. he wondered if she would be content to remain in central city after the disas- ters to mamie and bob. if she didn't, then they'd part. he was going to stay there if all hell froze over until he found who had composed the mob that had killed bob. until he had wreaked the utmost in vengeance upon them. ... but jane would feel just as he did. she was no coward! hadn't she been the one to awaken him to the asininity of his own course in trying to keep away from the race [ ] the fire in the flint they could get away from everything that'd remind them of georgia. no, they'd go to philadelphia. suppose mrs. tucker's about able to take some slight nourishment now. good lord, had he per- formed the operation only yesterday morning? that couldn't be possible! too much has come in between then and now. must have operated on her in a previous existence. and died since. rein- carnation? yes, that's the word. never thought he'd actually experience it himself. ... his arms and hands became tired from pressing on his ears. his ears ached. he loosened the pressure on them a bit. the telephone was yet ring- ing. lord, he moaned, the thing will drive me crazy! won't be able to live long enough to get those damned scoundrels who murdered bob. he decided to an- swer it, curse the voice on the other end, and hang up. he tried to get up from the floor. there was a terrible pain in his legs. he was sore all over. he crawled over to the desk in his office and pain- fully pulled himself to a seat in his office chair. he stretched his arm out to pull the telephone to him. a sharp twinge shot through his arm and he groaned. he caught the cord in his hands and slowly pulled the instrument to him and placed the receiver to his ear. at first he could not speak. he made several ineffectual efforts. at last a faint, hoarse “hello” was wafted into the mouthpiece. “oh, rachel, i'm so glad to hear your voice. this is mrs. ewing--mrs. roy ewing over on georgia [ ] the fire in the flint avenue. i've been trying to get you for half a hour. has your son come home from atlanta yet?” the voice went chattering on while kenneth tried to moisten his parched throat sufficiently to speak. it seemed to him that his saliva-producing gland must have died along with his hope of a peaceful existence in central city. finally, he was able to speak. he answered mrs. ewing wearily: “this isn't mrs. harper, mrs. ewing. this is dr. harper.” “oh, my god! why did you come back?" she exclaimed. puzzled at her tone, kenneth abruptly answered: “why shouldn't i have come back?” she laughed nervously “nothing-oh, nothing. but i'm awfully sorry about what's happened.” at a disbelieving grunt that came to her over the wire, she hastened to add: “really i am i am from the very bottom of my heart!" she went on philosophically before kenneth could reply. “but everything'll come out all right, don't you fear. doctor, i'm so glad for one reason you're back. mary's had a set-back and she's in an awful fix. dr. bennett can't do nothing for her. i know it's awful hard to ask you, but can't you come over and see what you— " “no, damn it, no!” shouted kenneth into the mouthpiece. his voice mounted higher and higher in the rage that possessed him. “no, i hope she'll come ter [ ] the fire in the flint die-i hope she'll die! and every other white beast that's living! no! no! no! no!” he shouted as though mad. he started to slam the receiver down upon its hook. the voice of mrs. ewing came to him in an agonized moan and made him pause. "oh, doctor, don't take it out on my po' little mary. i know just how you feel, but don't blame it on her! please, doctor, please come over and i'll never bother you again! if you don't come, i jus' know she'll die!” she begged. kenneth's fit of passion had passed. in its stead there came a cold, terrifying calmness that was but another form of the raging torment and fury in his breast. he spoke with biting directness into the telephone: “mrs. ewing, if by raising one finger i could save the whole white race from destruction, and by not raising it could send them all straight down to hell, i'd die before i raised it! you've murdered my brother, my sister's body, my mother's mind, and my very soul! no, i know that,” he said to her interjected remark, which he repeated. “i know you didn't do it with your own hands! but you belong to the race that did! and the race that's going to pay for every murder it's committed!” he paused for breath and then continued his vitriolic diatribe against the white race. it was re- lieving his brain, he found, to be able thus to vent his spleen on a white person. he went on in the same voice of deadly calm and precision of statement; sa [ ] the fire in the flint "and where's that cowardly husband of yours?” he demanded in a voice of rising fury. “why didn't he come and ask me to save your daughter? no, he's like the rest of the damned cowards—makes his wife do it, thinking i'm fool enough not to know he's there at the telephone telling you what to say. no, no, wait until i'm through! ... he's where? atlanta ? what's he doing there? why did he leave his daughter when he knew she might die any minute? oh, no! you can't feed me any bait like that! i'm through, i tell you—i'm through listen- ing to the lying flattery you white folks use to fool ignorant and blind negroes like me! what? why - i don't see-don't understand! oh, well, i sup- pose i might as well, then. yes, i'll be over within ten minutes. tell dr. bennett to wait there until i come. what? he's gone! all right, i'll come! good-bye!” slightly puzzled, he hung up the receiver and sat for a minute gazing at the desk pad in front of him, but seeing nothing. why should roy ewing have gone to atlanta to see him? ewing knew he'd be back on friday. he had told him so before leaving. it was mighty strange for him to act that way. his mother entered the room, awakened by the sound of his shouting over the telephone. she spoke to him apologetically for having left him so long. "mamie was so restless,” she explained, “and when i got her quiet at last, i must have fallen asleep sitting there by her bed.” on her face there came a [ ] the fire in the flint called him that. ... he drove through the darkened streets of central city-down lee street past the deserted business houses, past the confederate monu- ment, and on across that intangible, yet vivid line that separated the élite of the whites of central city from the less favoured. ... his mind intent on his own tragedy, kenneth drove on, guiding his car without conscious volition, me- chanically. his conscious mind was too busy re- volving the string of events and trying to find some solid spot, it mattered not how small, on which he could set mental foot. ... e. [ ] chapter xxii t ifteen men sat around a table in an office on k lee street. there was above them a single i electric-light bulb, fly-specked, without a shade over it. at eleven o'clock they had silently crept up the stairs after looking cautiously up and down the deserted expanse of lee street to see if they were observed. like some silent, creeping, wolf-like deni- zen of the forest, each had stolen as noiselessly as possible up the stairs. the window carefully cov- ered, no ray of light could be seen from the outside. though unsigned, the mysterious note each of the fifteen had received that morning had brought them all together promptly. a fat man, with tiny eyes set close together, look- ing from amazing convolutions of flesh which gave him the appearance of a poland-china hog just be- fore slaughtering-time, was giving instructions to the men as they eagerly and closely followed his words. he occasionally emphasized his points by pounding softly on the pine table before him with large, over-sized fists covered profusely with red hair. he was clad in a nondescript pair of trousers, a reddish faded colour from much wear and the red dust of his native hills, a shirt open at the neck and of the same colour as the trousers, the speaker's neck [ ] the fire in the flint innocent of collar and tie. he was ending his instructions: “... now you-all mus' r'member all i said. you mus’n’ fail! when the accident happens”— here he laughed softly as he emphasized the word "accident," and was rewarded by an appreciative titter from his audience “when the accident hap- pens, you ain't t'breathe a word to anybody 'bout it! even th’ others here to-night!” he paused impressively and allowed his eyes slowly to traverse the group, resting upon each man in turn a penetrating, malevolent stare. measuring his words carefully, he spat them out like bullets from a browning gun. “th' mos limportant—thing—you got to r'mem- ber is this! you're not—to repo't-back to me or any off'cer—of the invis'ble empire!” he paused again. “after—the “accident—happens!” he added. "i reck’n that's all you need to know," he said in dismissal. “he came back t'night from atlanty! we've got the newspaper fixed! ef any of you is arrested, i don't reck’n she'ff parker'll hol' you long!” he concluded with a confident laugh in which his companion joined. ... though there was none to hear or see, they dis- persed with silent and cautious movements and voices. they crept down the unlighted stairs, hands extended, fingers touching the walls on either side to aid them in making as little noise as possible. as the fore- most reached the landing at the botton, he drew back sharply as he was about to step into the street. [ ] the fire in the flint 's “sh-h-h-h!” he cautioned the others behind him. “somebody's comin' lickety-split down the road in a ford!” they all waited with bated breath. the leader peered forth cautiously to see who it was stirring about at that time of night. the others waited, poised on the stairs above him. lee street was bathed alternately in moonlight and shadow as a vagrant moon wove its way in front of and behind small patches of clouds. the clat- tering car approached-came abreast the doorway- and passed rapidly by "it's that damn nigger himself!” he exclaimed to the men behind him. “what'n th’hell's he doin' out this time of night 'round here? an' headed towards georgy avenue, too! it's damn funny!” there was an outburst of excited whispering. various speculative surmises were offered. none was able to offer a sensible reason for kenneth's nocturnal pilgrimage. one proposed that kenneth be followed to see where he went and why he went there. afar off could be heard the puttering of the engine. and then it stopped. "ain't gone far,” one of them declared. they set out to trail the automobile. before they had gone two blocks, they saw kenneth down the street as he tinkered with the engine of the car, the hood raised. one of the wires connecting with a spark- plug had become loosened. he quickly screwed it tight again, started the engine, and drove off, as he was closely watched from the shadows of trees and [ ] the fire in the flint sexual adventure. their convictions were strength- ened when the light in the lower hall which had been shining when the door was opened to admit kenneth was extinguished, and another appeared in a few minutes in the bedroom on the second floor which faced on the streets, and the shades lowered. ... the fat man who had been speaking in the office on lee street a few minutes before abruptly ended the conjecturing. “ 'tain't no use t stand here all night talkin?!” he asserted. “we'll jus' stay here and see what's goin' t happen! looks damn funny ť me! tom! you 'n' sam 'n' jake go 'roun to th’ back do' an' watch there! bill! you 'n' joe 'n' henry watch that side do’! me 'n' the res'll stay here and watch th' front do’! then, when he sneaks out, we'll get him any way he comes!”... within the house, kenneth, all unaware of what was going on outside, was listening to mrs. ewing as she excitedly told him of mary's change for the worse, and as she explained her husband's absence. she was so worried over her daughter's condition that kenneth realized she would never be able to solve the mystery of her words over the telephone until he had done what he could for mary. he there- fore asked no questions but followed her up the stairs to mary's room, although his brain was whirl- ing, it seemed to him, like the blades of an electric fan. mary ewing was in a worse condition than even her mother knew. this kenneth realized as soon [ ] the fire in the flint day, she thought. i'll turn down the light so it won't be too great a glare. she did. it never occurred to her that kenneth's smile could mean anything other than that he was gaining ground in his fight for her little girl's life. .... outside, the fifteen waited. ... minutes, hours passed. it grew cold. the strain was getting irk- some. they watched the room where shone only a faint light now. they pictured what was going on in that room. it made their blood boil and grow cold alternately. two o'clock! they began to grumble. “le's go in an' get the damn nigger and roast him alive!” some demanded. “we can't do that!” the fat man declared. “the damned bitch'll yell and wake up the neighbours! she, a white woman, with her nigger lover! can't let it get out she consented! we'll get him outside an' say he was unsuccessful in th’attempt!”... with that they had to be satisfied. they grumbled, but they knew he was right. can't let the niggers know a white woman willingly went to bed with a nigger! ... that'd never do! must preserve the reputation of white women! ... kenneth still sat by mary's bed. his eyelids felt heavy. it was hard to keep them open. revenge began to lose its savour. wasn't so sweet as it had seemed. what's the use, he thought, of telling what he had planned to the ewings? they wouldn't un- derstand. they'd never seen great actors on the stage. all they'd seen was mushy movie actors and silly women. like casting pearls before swine! [ ] the fire in the flint am rance col. two things. first, to warn you not to come back to central city until things has blown over, because he'd heard threats against you. and most of all to see the gov'nor!” "see the governor for what?” kenneth asked. “why, to get him to do somethin' to protect you!” she cried as though amazed at his ignorance in not seeing. “protect me?” kenneth echoed with a rising, ques- tioning inflection. “yes, to protect you. y' see, he knew she'ff parker couldn't be depended on 'cause he's in with this gang 'round here. he knew the only chance was through the guy'nor.” “but why should i need protection now?" ken. neth asked wonderingly. “good god, haven't these devils done enough to my family and me already?" she explained patiently as though talking to a child. neither of them realized the unusualness of their situation. both had forgotten race lines, time, circumstances, and everything else in the tenseness of the moment. "b'cause the ku kluxers are after you!" she whispered. “why should they be after me? i've done noth- ing! my lord, i've tried in every way i could since i've been back in this rotten place to keep away from trouble ” he declared querulously. "wait a minute an' i'll tell you!” she interrupted him. she took his arm and led him into the next room where they would not disturb mary. "roy eness [ ] chapter xxiii enneth did not see the dark forms that crouched like tigers in the shrubbery on either side of the long walk that led to the gate. but as he reached the ground, he turned just in time to see a shadowy body hurl itself upon him. instinc- tively his right arm shot outwards and upwards. his clenched fist met flush on the point of the jaw the man who had attempted to hurl him to the ground. his would-be assailant gave a deep grunt and fell to the ground at kenneth's feet. before he hit the ground, however, kenneth found himself surrounded by a cursing, howling crowd. he lashed out blindly—hitting wherever he saw what seemed to be a form. madly, desperately, gloriously he fought! for a time he was more than a match for the fifteen that assailed him. he did not know that they had expected to take him by surprise. the surprise was now theirs. he heard a voice shout at him in rage: "sleepin' with a white woman, eh! you dirty black bastard!” with superhuman strength born of hatred, bitterness, and despair, he lunged at the speaker. almost at the same time that his fist landed in the man's face, his foot went into his stomach with a vengeance. he put into the blow and [ ] the fire in the flint the kick all the repressed hatred and passion the day's revelations had brought forth. it seemed to him he had been fighting there for hours, days, months! the odds fifteen to one against him-his strength was as of the fifteen com- bined. no marquis of queensberry rules here! he knew it was a fight to the death, and he yelled aloud for sheer joy of the combat! in the darkness his assailants could not lay hands on him, for he was here, there, everywhere-hitting, kicking, whirling, ducking blows, jumping this way and that-a veri- table dervish of the deserts in his gyrations! one after another his opponents went down at his feet! windows began to be raised at the tumult. shouts and cries of inquiry filled the air. but still kenneth fought on. at last he saw an opening. out went his fist! down went the man who met it with his face! shak- ing off one who sought to grasp him from behind, kenneth stepped over the body of the one who had just gone down before him, and, like an expert half-back running in a broken field, darted out to the sidewalk. fifty-forty—thirty-twenty—ten-five more yards and he'd be in his car and away! at last, he reached it! feverishly he wrenched open the door! he started to spring in! they'd never get him now! a shot rang out! another! another! ken- neth's arm flew up. with a low moan he sank to the street beneath the car. he tried to rise. he couldn't. [ ] в , в остава property o university of michigan libraries, artes scientia veritas worlds of color by the same author the suppression of the african slave trade to the united states of america (harvard historical studies, no. , ) the philadelphia negro (publication of the university of pennsyl- vania series on political economy and public law, no. , ) the souls of black folk ( ) john brown ( ) quest of the silver fleece ( a novel, ) the negro (home university library, ) darkwater: voices from within the vail ( ) the gift of black folk: the negro in the making of america ( ) dark princess (a novel, ) black reconstruction in america: - ( ) black folk: then and now ( ) dusk and dawn: an autobiography ( ) color and democracy: colonies and peace ( ) the world and africa ( ) in battle for peace ( ) the ordeal of mansart. first volume of trilogy, the black flame ( ) mansart builds a school. volume two of trilogy, the black flame ( ) the black flame a trilogy book three worlds of color by w.e.b. du bois mainstream publishers: new york copyright by d avro w. e. b. du bois all rights reserved first printing, april, mainstream publishers broadway, new york , n. y. cz printed in the u.s.a. ات el cat si in con t e n t s page i. the american negro's world ii. the color of england iii. the color of europe iv. the color of asia v. color in the west indies vi. the conference vii. the southern worker viii. the free north ix. the itinerant preacher x. bishop wilson xi. again world war xii. black america fights again xiii. roosevelt dies xiv. the nations unite xv. the attack on mansart xvi. the dismissal of jean du bignon xvii. adelbert mansart and jackie carmichael xviii. back to africa xix. the sanctuary of marriage xx. death to arthur edward mcfarlane ii my great grandson chapter i the american negro's world the black mansarts were descended from that tom mansart who in was lynched in charleston, s. c., for a crime he did not commit. his son manuel, born the night of his father's death, was educated at atlanta university, a colored college in georgia, and became a teacher. he had four children-three boys and a girl. all but one had done fairly well: his eldest boy was a rich chicago politician; his second son was a judge in new york city. his daughter was married to an ambitious young preacher. one son, literally almost beaten into crime, had been hanged. manuel mansart, after teaching in the public schools of georgia, had become president of the colored college and developed it slowly into a good and growing institution of learning. his chief helper in this work was his assistant, jean du bignon, a "white black girl" from new orleans; that is, a well educated young white woman who was classed as "colored,” because she had a ne- gro great-grandfather. manuel mansart was sixty years of age in . he was begin- ning to feel the pall of age. perhaps this was more mental than physical. had he not long regarded sixty as "old" he might not have noticed the slightly retarded reflexes and the easier fatigue; but as it was, life seemed suddenly to raise warning of its inevitable end and of things which must be done and plans which shrieked for final laying. the first world war, the depression and the new deal had shaken mansart to the depths of his being. all the old certainties were gone-all that neat little world with its good god, bad men and hovering angels. even work and wage, wealth and poverty, money and debt became wavering concepts. what now was this thing called the “negro problem" at which all his life he had been working? he knew the details of a social “problem”; now he wanted to see it entire and try better to grasp it. these colored col- worlds of color leges, for instance, of one of which he was president; there were a score in all, one or more in each southern state. they were called “land grant,” because they were born of the idea of land granted by the federal government to the states for encouraging popular education. as in all efforts in the south, from the beginning they faced the negro. first, they became a simple problem of graft, how to divert these federal funds mainly to the whites. but the silly negroes protested, as if they had any real right to federal in- come! there followed a phase of deliberate cheating: founding cheap colored schools, flimsy and scantily built, half-manned and run by black stoolpigeons owned by white grafters. protests came from honest southern white educators and from federal officials, and of course from negroes. rivalry rose with the better known private colored colleges like fisk, atlanta, and talladega. desperate effort in washington kept inspectors or even cabinet officials from having any real power to compel the white south to treat negro state education fairly. under the sacred aegis of “states rights,” the cheating of negroes flourished in education as in so many other facets of life. at the same time a nation-wide crusade had long been growing to limit, reduce and in part eliminate the standard type of southern negro college, built on new england models. they began to droop, curtail and disappear. in their place the south tried to foist on the negro, state and federally supported “land grant" colleges. but this program compelled the state gradually to let these institu- tions develop into real centers of learning. so the "separate but equal” policy reigned, which first insured that black state colleges exist but be poorer than white state schools. then, when states, pushed by white voters, began to make white public schools better and land grant colleges large and elaborate, negro colleges necessarily became larger and better equipped. such colleges could not be run by ignorant stoolpigeons and grafters. a fight ensued which evolved a new type of race politician- a colored man, fairly well educated, honest in handling funds, and efficient; ambitious for the rise of his people to equal status with the whites; and yet schooled or schooling himself to ask less than he wanted; or even vehemently to deny many natural aims. booker the american negro's world 'nigging but politby the govern washington was his prototype, but he went far beyond this be- ginning of manipulation of whites by blacks in the south. often this made die-hard southerners furious, but what could they do? a newly elected governor of florida faced the old tuskegee-trained head of the sick colored state college with a blunt ukase: "no 'nigger president is worth $ , a year!" the colored man said nothing but politely presented his excellent budget to the state board appointed by the governor. eventually the board approved it, including the $ , salary! so in north carolina, the little brown president of the colored agricultural and mechanical college asked the governor for a herd of cattle. the governor exploded: “'niggers can't take care of cattle. they're too careless and dumb. i won't waste the state's money on such a project.” the solemn little brown man agreed. “governor, you're abso lutely right! my people know nothing about raising cattle. of course, if they could get some training it would be a great thing for north carolina." they got "a little training" and before the governor left office a herd of cattle from the colored state college won first prize at the state fair. it was an extraordinary game and the presidents of the colored state schools when they met each other, laughed themselves to tears at their experiences in making white morons do what they were determined not to do. but the game also had its risks and tragedies; sometimes a negro president found himself replaced by a less scrupulous rival who bid lower for power. sometimes an honest man inadvertently lost his own soul like one of the black presidents of a large school whose reach had extended his grasp and who explained to a critic of his servility: “you know, sir, that is part of my 'stragedy.'” in the background ever loomed black public opinion which flared unexpectedly in the path of many a black educational politi- cian who proved too yielding in letting down the standards of the colored school. then, too, among the whites was rising a type of white educator and administrator who hated lying and cheating to keep negroes “in their places.” like old dr. baldwin of the white university of georgia, they believed the negro, let alone, would sink naturally to his inferior level. they were ashamed to worlds of color join in forcing him down, especially in cases where they had to admit undeniable negro superiority. continually, such idealists sought to yield to negro pressure and even offer them educational progress which they had not yet dared to demand. sometimes such innovators succeeded. often, they were discarded and went north in search of civilization. it was a great game and mansart enjoyed it. he knew many of the colored presidents. he wanted to know more. he had visited some of their schools. he wanted to visit all. so he took a trip after sixteen years' work, and visited colored schools, ending with a biennial meeting of the colored land grant college presidents, in baton rouge, louisiana, at southern university in the spring of . as he sat in the beautiful and well-planned auditorium of this school whose budget for buildings this year amounted to more than a million dollars, he looked around with mounting astonishment. huey long, governor of louisiana, and that fine-featured brown man yonder, had planned this thing. the brown president was northern-trained with an excellent brain. in fact, as mansart looked he saw other types of the new negro educator in the south who were not so much teachers as social statesmen, building a new cul- ture on a singular bi-racial basis. as he sat, jean du bignon coached him. jean was his private secretary and assistant. she was white but black, a woman of , with that slight touch of negro blood which classed her as “col- ored.” she was well-educated and had worked for mansart since he became president in . she had wide acquaintance with the college presidents. she said: “the small, well-dressed yellow man moving quickly and continuously among all is from west virginia institute and is the brains of this group. in his state he ranks among the best administrators, black or white. he thinks and knows. he has all the various intricate problems of all at his fingers' ends. he knows political washington, too, and pulls the strings. "his college is not conspicuously built but it has a well-trained faculty. “he is talking now to another type of man, gandy of virginia. gandy is solidly built in mind and body. he moves and speaks slowly and with dignity. the officials of his state deeply respect the american negro's world nd treat him withe asks for some action on vielding for the him and treat him with careful courtesy. on him they try no 'nigger' jokes and when he asks for some action or policy they know it is so carefully thought out and buttressed, that yielding for the most part is only a matter of time. thence came the finely con- structed, carefully located and functionally excellent buildings on his petersburg campus, and above all a faculty of highly paid and well-educated men and women. “the black man from north carolina is not so well-trained as many of his colleagues and complacently admits it. but he has just won a singular battle, like many other similar bouts in the past twenty years which were slowly culminating in a major campaign of victory. just as negro public schools were at first invariably situated in slums and back alleys, so the great colored land grant colleges were seldom located on main thoroughfares but usually hidden in woods or near swamps, on land which netted former white owners a pretty penny. but the college at greensboro had just last year emerged on the main northern and southern highway, where the wayfaring man though a fool had to notice it. here, too, was planted that chemical laboratory long demanded-how it hap- pened none seemed to know-and the black president said nothing but smiled blandly." jean reminded mansart at lunch that there was no represen- tative of the poor and confused colored land grant college of south carolina. this was a negro defeat. for years negroes at- tended and even taught in the university of south carolina along with whites. displaced by force and fraud, with the help of the federal government, new leaders appeared and separate colored schools. the man who started higher negro education in this state with federal aid was a typical southern gentleman, white in color, and carrying in his veins the proudest blood of carolina; yet thomas miller admitted and boasted of his negro strain. tillman and blease fought him to his death, disfranchised his people and drove him into exile. mansart remembered him. the college he founded eventually became the playground of white and black grafters, and totters today under the displeasure and neglect of byrnes, once supreme court justice, then secretary of state and governor. yet in this very state the groundswell against race caste in education began, and it may yet prove, thought mansart, that white south worlds of color carolina was too successful in fighting blacks. the man who once headed the negro land grant college in florida sat beside mansart at lunch. he was a strong, independent man, a graduate of oberlin, who had just been replaced by a more compliant negro. young had demanded independence and expan- sion for this school which the state authorities, already incurring criticism for yielding too much to this "impudent darky," had refused and hoped to secure more complacency from the new ap- pointee. but to appease the black public and answer northern criticism from tourists, they had just given the school the largest appropriation in history. mansart had seen the fine library and modern hospital which they were building on the campus. he smiled as young told him of his new job in missouri, where a negro grafter had just died and the voting colored citizens had revolted and demanded an outstanding scholar to head the school. what was "impudent" for florida proved attractive to mis- souri. mansart came to know henry hunt of north carolina who was just transferring from a private church school to a state in- stitution. he was thin and tall and looked like a poor white, which led to endless complications. but hunt was cool, honest and persistent. he was a trained administrator with but one purpose-his people's best good. he smiled at mansart wryly. "i've got a board of complete sons-of-bitches, but they're cheap and inexperienced whites. if i let one steal a hundred dollars, he'll vote through five thousand dollars worth of needed repairs. it's their habit of direct insult in dealing with us, that rankles. but," he added philosophically, “i can keep still in seven different languages." jean introduced mansart to trenholm of the state school at montgomery, alabama. he was young, alert and had degrees from two excellent northern colleges. in his battle for a negro college he had lost and won. here in alabama between the cot- ton belt and the iron and coal mines, on the very site of booker washington's plan for industrial training of negroes, he was stopped in his tracks by white trade unions from teaching negroes trades. white political power would not permit him to teach the building trades, mining, weaving or spinning nor any modern industrial techniques; so he built a teachers' college and secured the american negro's world it was a singulablem? they thering suced by the art as some sort of compensation adequate buildings, good equipment and an overflowing body of students. here was another pyrrhic battle for the superior white race. mansart spent an hour dis- cussing trenholm's problems after lunch. he was fascinated by the music program of the college led by trenholm's wife. from mississippi came not its negro leaders but two teachers from a small and almost forgotten school. alcorn had once seen a future, but when the negroes lost political power in it was neglected and the black folk under isaiah montgomery began a singular experiment in race segregation as an answer to the negro problem. they founded the negro city of mound bayou, and dreamed of furthering such experiments. the enter- prise was widely hailed and publicized by the white world, but negroes were not so unanimous. they whispered: what can a black town do in a white state where the blacks have no vote? little or nothing, the negro leaders themselves admitted; but all the more doggedly they maintained that their federal citizenship supported by membership in the great republican party would eventually restore the vote to the black majority of mississippi, and let black towns, black banks and black industry flourish un- hindered in the state. they fought long and hard and lost even their vote inside the republican party. the representatives from alcorn reflected this. they were well-dressed and polite but silent. what could they say? one man who addressed the presidents in the afternoon ses- sion attracted mansart especially. jean knew him well, but for some undisclosed reason did not like him and did not introduce him to mansart. hale of tennessee was the colored son of a man once governor of his state and related to many of the first families. this relationship was well known and he openly used it for political power. whatever hale demanded for his negro school he usually got. the school rose rapidly in size, power and equipment. he built one of the best stadiums for athletes in the south. he was a ruthless dictator on his campus, allowing no one a word or act without his personal permission. yet he worshipped education and drove his pupils, his teachers and his own children. his career brought hatred on both sides of the color line. he handled state money carelessly and lavishly, and not long after this meeting, as a result of grave financial charges, worlds of color w he committed suicide. mansart could never forget his clean-cut young arrogance. there was a man at this gathering whom mansart did not notice, and did not realize who he was, until years after. banks, of texas, was tall, lanky, awkward and self-effacing. his clothes did not fit, which made him noticeable in this well-dressed group. he had come up from a country field hand to working his way through college, teaching in the public schools and at benson's school in kowaliga, alabama, finally gaining the presi- dency of an obscure texas colored college supportedly stingily by the state to ease its educational conscience and avoid the law. he worked long and quietly until he knew every negro high school in texas, every principal and every graduate; he knew too every white man worth knowing, and white men wanted to know him because he knew so much and so accurately what they wanted to know. he asked nothing for himself; his salary remained ridiculously small as his school grew larger. he sought no office nor gift and no one thought of offering him graft. he just wanted to know about negroes in texas, what they were doing and what they needed. he became the admitted race relations consultant in a state which was rapidly becoming one of the most powerful in the nation and beginning to stir the world. he organized his isolated school as a nearly self-sufficient eco- nomic unit, with food-raising, bakery, canning outfit, electric plant, home-building by student artisans; a hospital which even whites sought; a few hand industries and larger efforts in the wind if the state did not forbid. indeed, prairie view, rising on the lone plain, looked like a miracle created by faith in a people by one of them. what banks wanted was to make this a real colored state university and industrial center as well as a center of scientific knowledge of the negro. then came a sudden change. texas became the home of mo- nopoly in oil and sulphur and manufacturer of a thousand new products. this negro problem must not interfere with industry and must find quick, easy solution. the millionaires planned a negro university in the wonder city of houston which they had moved from inland to the sea and made into a great port. this university would have money, teachers and buildings and be strictly controlled by white industry. banks would be president, the american negro's world callero education the south land g naturally. he was unassuming and safe. but banks unexpectedly demurred. he was unwilling to be president under control. he preferred to be on the board of trustees, with access to the eyes and ears of the rulers. but this meant no salary. very well; he would live on his small pension. he thus became and remains the strongest member of the board of trustees. his was the most extraordinary of the negro land grant presidents' careers. mansart saw the southern and northern attitude towards negro education changing. the negro was determined to have college training for his youth. if it was not furnished in the south it would be sought in the north and no dependence on luck, or ability or discrimination in marking, would avail to stop it. negro students often excelled-not always but often in the fierce competition of the north. even the history department of chicago university could not continue to deny the ph.d. de- gree, by unfair marking, although it tried desperately for years, and supported a department of white southern race philosophy. some colleges like ohio state were being swamped by negro stu- dents despite every subterfuge. there was but one answer: negro colleges in the south or admission of negroes to all southern colleges. this latter was unthinkable in , so big business in its national philanthropic cloak, planned and began to endow a select set of private negro colleges in the south like fisk, atlanta, and dillard. they headed a “negro college fund" drive, much too small but ad. vertised sufficiently to force beggars out of the field of philan- thropy; and carefully supervised by big business. even hope, at the new atlanta university, had white florence reed of the rockefeller outfit planted to restrain his broader plans. but south as well as north, the state university would eventu- ally bear the burden of higher education. these universities must be under political control and thus big business would control democracy. in the south the negro problem complicated all this. despite the continuing push of negro college presidents of the land grant group and the increasing millions already going to negro state colleges, negroes were still not getting half of what their proportion in the population entitled them to; if now a federal supreme court ever got guts enough to decree justice to negroes; or more, if a federal administration was ever tempted worlds of color by the growing negro vote to administer federal funds equitably, the southern negro state college might soon equal and even over- shadow the white. the south was scared. all this was discussed in private conversation at the baton rouge meeting. jean du bignon, through the man from west virginia and the tall seer from texas, laid out a tentative plan for cooperative, continuous sociological investigation in each state as a scientific beginning. it would be a controlled laboratory test on a grand scale unequalled in history. while plans for this were cooking, the president of southern suggested in private that this study be centered at georgia state and that preliminary to this, mansart be encouraged to take a sabbatical in europe to broaden his vision of the race problem. “he is fine and sincere; but his education has been narrow. he simplifies the negro problem as one of education and ethics; he has no conception of the role of industry, the plight of the worker, and the work of the trade union. indeed, most of our group, while running 'agricultural, mechanical and industrial colleges' really know little and do less in farming, industrial tech- nique and production of goods. they realize this but do not know what to do about it. again, we and mansart know nothing of the central problem of colonies in the world." only a few of the presidents took much interest in this sug- gestion, or at most looked at it as a personal matter and perceived no overtones of the huey long line of thinking and doing. they did not realize how far in settling the negro problem the role of the teacher was overshadowing the vital role of the worker. in- deed, because of the fight against booker washington's ideas there had grown something like enmity between teacher and laborer just when in the world labor was forging forward to its own. on the other hand, they all agreed that jean du bignon could in mansart's absence plan and start the group study. this was rather unusual agreement on their part, for negro men of action still harbored unconscious prejudice against women, stemming in part from the fact that family rebuilding among negroes stressed “the woman in the home"; and partly because negro girls were far outnumbering boys in school and thus presenting a severe problem of sex competition in earning a living. the american negro's world but jean du bignon was in some ways different or at least seemed so. in spite of her comeliness she was not beautiful, and her total impression was not of sex but of sense. her conversa- tion with a man slipped easily from arch dalliance to straight talk on his pet subject in which he soon got the impression of someone who knew as much if not more than he. of course, jean was careful to pick her conferees from those interested in her own fields of study, and to avoid venturing into depths which she had not plumbed. she did not try to settle problems of family relationships or prospective love adventures. she linked psychology to work rather than play, and listened when art and literature were discussed. she listened, and also commented. this proposal of mansart's trip intrigued her. he needed not simply rest but total spiritual change. he needed to see a world divorced from the essentially trivial and temporary question of skin color which had always been the center of his thought and action, and to realize that to mankind at most times and in most places color of skin was no more important than color of hair or length of foot. no amount of argument would ever convince manuel mansart of this fact. he must see and live it. for this reason he must not go as a lone traveller, buffeted by fellow american tourists with their alternation of patronage and insult to dark folk. his must be a guided tour, but guided not by the usual commercial agencies but by special arrangements. she im- mediately began consultation and correspondence. jean wracked her brains for ways to make mansart's trip a source of enlightenment and information and not a series of slights, discomfort and loneliness. she knew by reluctant testimony and observation, what such a trip might mean to a dark stranger in europe. without special and personal introductions to the right persons of knowledge and delicate intuitions, the stranger would be regarded as a curiosity, a matter of pitying condescen- sion or of isolated position. he would be avoided from courtesy, fear or distaste. if to balance this, the colored person sought letters or words of introduction, who in america would furnish them? would senator baldwin or any member of his board of trustees do so? whom would a colored american know in eng- land to ask to undertake such a task? in france, where colored folk were less in the category of curiosities in all levels of society, worlds of color a haitian or a martiniquan might be suitably introduced and wel- comed, but a negro from the united states would know no such friends. jean had known many colored friends-teachers, professional persons and others-who returned from a trip to europe thoroughly hurt and unhappy, even if they testified to enjoying it. they had been quite naturally introduced to americans who either ig- nored or insulted them. they therefore tried to avoid white americans like the plague, but where could they turn? if they had some special place or mission, like students or artists, or officials, they would after a time find their natural level with fellow workers; but a chance visitor or tourist? jean shuddered as she contemplated the sensitive mansart in such a role. she wrote to some former friends of school days and certain teachers with hearts and imagination. after some months and a few trips, she evolved a plan. she arranged personal contacts in england, france and germany. she secured friends and persons who could find other friends of the same kind. she thus got a number of persons of understanding who knew or could learn what an american negro experienced and yet with sufficient manners not to let this sympathy and knowledge so obtrude as to make the colored man feel like a curiosity, a museum piece or an infant. this quest was not easy. he began to get advice. a united states senator said: “how do you do, president mansart; i sure am glad to see you. i hear you're taking a sabbatical? that's fine. you deserve it. where do you plan to go?" "i had thought of england and france, sir; and germany. then, i'm a bit curious about russia.” the senator scowled. “i wouldn't advise that. i hear it's in an awful mess: a sort of national whore-house and murder racket. have you read what trotsky is revealing? when thieves fall out- you know. no, don't go there; it's liable to fall to pieces any day." "i see. but i do want to see a bit of asia.” “good! then go by way of italy and egypt and so to india. a fine trip-i'd like it myself." "sounds so, sir; i'll think it over. but i am afraid it might prove too long. but thank you for the advice." the american negro's world mansart talked it over with jean. she agreed. “you see," she said, “there's another reason; you might find that russia is making swift headway instead of failing. in that case it would be unwise to say so when you returned. that would be difficult.” mansart made no reply. mansart had been surprised by correspondence which began to drop out of nowhere. a visit to a meeting of the american educational association in chicago brought an invitation to join a small party on a trip to england. it was fascinating, even when he did not realize what this companionship would save in em- barrassment when seating in the ship's dining room and when placing of deck chairs harassed the steward. he gladly accepted. then from england came an invitation from an elderly gentle- man with a "sir" before his name. he had heard of manuel and his career-how, he did not say-and having an interest in the negro race because his family lived long in africa, he wondered if on his projected visit to england president mansart would not be his guest? details followed. manuel was astonished and inclined to hesitate. in his experience invitations from white people to negroes had strings attached. but jean induced him to accept. next jean started on france. after a glimpse at british aris- tocracy she wanted manuel to come in contact with the french middle class; the people who worked, but lived for beauty and self- expression in a simple atmosphere. a young french writer living in london was about to return to his home in southern france. jean found through a friend that he would be delighted to have manuel as his guest, from whom he could learn of america from a negro's point of view and in turn show him something of france- or rather of the world from the french point of view. asylum in germany was finally obtained through the karl schurz foundation. there was some hesitation, but this might prove good propaganda on both sides. china and japan eagerly welcomed this visitor without special arrangements. there was one matter which bothered jean and mansart and yet they said little about it to each other. that was the conduct of the school during his absence. where would authority rest? who would really be in charge? there were persons on the faculty who would be anxious to assume mansart's power; there worlds of color were other negro officials in and out of the state who would be only too willing to step into mansart's shoes; and above all, white trustees and merchants might see this absence as the time to work for a new distribution of authority. against all this was the fact that the absence was to last but three months of actual school time; and above all, the machine was now running so smoothly and well, that it would take some time and work to disarrange it. jean herself knew more of this working and was more efficiently entrenched in details than anyone else. logically she ought to be made dean or acting dean. but sex jealousy among black and white precluded even the suggestion of this. jean came forward with an idea which was adopted: a small executive committee was to be left in charge and jean chose it. it consisted of a white trustee who appreciated jean's work; a colored trustee who was not personally ambitious! the third member was jean herself. jean had coached mansart for his trip in various ways. she made discreet suggestions as to his table manners; she taught him how to eat a soft-boiled egg from the shell with a spoon. she secured through the brother of a white classmate the services of a first-rate tailor in new york and had him outfitted with suits for day and dress, fine shirts, pajamas and underwear. she saw to his hats, gloves and shoes. after much complaint he finally succumbed. the trustees were only too pleased to have mansart take a year off with full salary. all had grown to like and re- spect him. he left in june, . in new york, manuel mansart stopped to call on max rosen- feld, the teacher who helped his daughter sojourner in her music and taught for a while at his college. he had some difficulty in searching him out in his poor lodging on the east side, but rosenfeld was extravagantly pleased to see him. he was par- ticularly interested to know that mansart was going to germany and said he wanted to send a message by him. "but you must be careful. this goes to a jewish proprietor of a bookstore, a cousin of mine. remember that the jews in germany are in bad plight just now, so give it to him secretly, and then he will tell you what is going on.” mansart was surprised. he had never had any real concep- tion of a jewish problem, except of course in religion, where the problem, as far as mansart was concerned, centered in the fact germany, he will tell you. he had never in religion, where face the american negro's world that the jews did not believe jesus was god. he did not think that too important. of problems beyond this, which were racial, cultural, and economic and involved hatreds quite as bitter as in the negro problem, mansart was only faintly aware. there was a jewish wholesaler in macon against whom the white merchants tried to gang up; but mansart persisted in giving him custom and found him shrewd and honest. on the other hand, from the parents of his students in town and country, came frequent com- plaints of sharp practices and even cheating on the part of small jewish merchants in their dealing with poor laborers and tenants. there seemed some basis for these complaints. he often had wanted to make inquiries, but there was never time. on the boat manuel had time to catch up with long-neg- lected reading. he read as he sailed, a version of what had hap- pened lately to the world. european culture in the th century had rested on peace between the great powers; a world market regulated by international trade; a gold standard for prices and free individual initiative in industry for capitalists. for about a hundred years, to , peace among the leading european powers was fairly well kept. wars for colonial empire, on the other hand, were continuous, linking imperial eu- rope and eventually north america in world domination of the darker peoples of the earth. as this european consortium be- came increasingly tightened and perfected, three nations, ger- many, italy and japan, frozen out of their larger profits, began more and more peremptorily to demand a share of the colonial areas. the result was the first world war, with germany fighting for colonies against the great colonial powers and the united states; and these allies securing the cooperation of japan, whose price was recognition as the equal partner of dominant white european powers. this war disrupted the industrial or- ganization on which the th century rested. the world markets and the gold standard ceased to function, and russia came forward with a design to challenge free industry by planned economy for the raising of workers' income and power. desperate effort was made from to to restore the world market and the gold standard; and to resist communism in russia. it was the irony of fate that just as western europe shese allies secune equal parthe industrial het worlds of color was practically united to overthrow russia by force of arms, the system of culture which had lifted the west to world dominance during the th century, built on conquest of india, negro slavery in america, the sugar empire, and cotton kingdom and the industrial revolution, crashed in unprecedented ruin. naturally, in what mansart read, there were interpretations which ques- tioned or contradicted this thesis. but this was mansart's gen- eral conclusion as he landed in england. chapter ii the color of england lady rive of these colored hings could not. neoretically t sir john rivers, who had a lovely estate in essex, was im- mensely intrigued by the prospect of his black visitor from america. lady rivers was a bit worried. after all, she had heard disturb- ing tales of these colored folk. but a generation removed from actual savagery, the poor things could not of course be expected to have much culture; and fine as it was theoretically to make it pleasant for a deserving black teacher, she wished that sir john had talked the matter over with her before actually committing himself. three weeks! good lord! she discussed the situation carefully with reeves and his wife, the butler and housekeeper. her daughter, sylvia, who taught at st. hilda's, decided on a vacation in france during the time of mansart's stay; and her grandmother, the dowager, would as usual spend most of her time in her own secluded apartment. but manuel proved disarming and quite charming. he was not loud like most americans. he wore good clothes and clean linen and his table manners, though often strange, were never objec- tionable. sir john was quite delighted. he was about manuel's age and thoroughly british. he was big, red and healthy; he had never been obliged to earn a living but was broadly inter- ested in life-that is, real life among people who were fortunate enough to have something of actual value to keep them busy. sport interested but did not overwhelm him, and politics brought one into intimate contact with many people whom he decidedly disliked. for similar reasons, he never tried any of the profes- sions, unless his efforts at farming and horticulture could be so denominated. but he liked human beings in the abstract and certain con- crete specimens attracted him greatly. this was particularly true of negroes, especially those who were “rising"; that is, coming “up from slavery" to full freedom and manhood. he had jour- neyed to london in to meet booker washington, who was worlds of color the guest of his friend, the duke of sutherland. he was gratified at washington's modesty and solid manner, although a little disappointed at his silences. for the first time in his life manuel began to know just what a gracious and comfortable life could be. he breakfasted at nine when all his life he had been used to starting the day's work not later than seven. the breakfast was leisurely and individual, each dropping in as he chose. it was served usually out of doors on the terrace, with flowers near and a wide sweep of velvet grass guarded by noble trees. there was music from birds, and silent contemplation and carefree conversation and quiet, perfect service. indeed, all life here was leisurely, with time for thought and dreams; with no apprehension of ill or thought of lack of se- curity. without apparent plan or effort, the time was always filled in-wandering in the flower garden or though the solemn, lovely woods with little streams and a lake; there were the dogs and horses to visit, and one could descry the world from the hill or from the ancient tower built before america was discov- ered. it was a beautiful and peaceful world, with thatched cot- tages, winding roads, flocks and pastures; and here and there in the distance, great and palatial estates. visitors dropped by casually during the day, all groomed and spotless. even when in apparent undress. conversation never lagged; it was pleasant and gay with sharp but kindly thrust and counter-stroke, and sometimes interesting reminiscences and late news and comment. then there was the library, always quiet and musty, with chairs and couches, lights and ladders and beauti- fully bound books in every language. there were pictures on the wall and in portfolios and periodicals from all the world. dinner in the great hall was a ceremony which for some time manuel dreaded. there was the unfamiliar dress which a valet always appeared in his bedroom to arrange, despite manuel's repeated assurance that he could dress himself. there were the stony, very respectful but all-seeing eyes of the servants—the haughty butler and the two pretty but unsmiling maids; there was the endless array of unfamiliar silver and glasses and the quick re- trieving of anything dropped or misplaced. above all, the family and guests. but these unobtrusively guided conversation, told e dinner in died. there bedroom dress himselervants the color of england appropriate reminiscences and distracted attention from awk- ward situations. after the first week manuel found he could eat dinner and really enjoy it. of all the meals, mansart liked afternoon tea best, perhaps be- cause it was so unusual at that time of day to stop everything and enjoy pleasant gossip and delightful tid-bits in the open or by the blazing hearth, in complete relaxation. callers would drop in, dogs came in ingratiatingly and everybody would talk or keep happy silence. manuel determined to have afternoon tea when he returned home. of course, he never did. mansart from the first was fascinated by the servants; first by their number—the butler and housekeeper, the cook and her helpers, the maids and valets, the gardeners, chauffeurs and la- borers. he counted fourteen for this family of four. then there were their duties: they seemed so sure, so expert, and yet went about with so little effort. they accepted manuel but of course, without, in their unemotional way, showing any evidence. they sensed that he knew what work meant and sympathized with any hardship. he did things which would have occurred to no gentleman-born, and yet were in no sense ill-bred-like turning and carrying the dining-room maid's extra heavy tray; and hold- ing the door back for the laden butler. sometimes manuel asked questions which no one brought up to leisure would have thought of: their hours of work and their homes, and where they went to school, and-fancyl-if they liked their job! now and then he voluntered his own experiences, for which naturally they were too well-bred to ask but eager to hear about. they learned that he had worked with his hands and been a servant and taught school. on the other side, manuel's manners were not only to the servants but to the family, a matter of pleasant surprise. he was quite unconscious of this and never appeared anxious or strained; often when he made a faux pas he smiled and mentioned it, asking the correct way. he expressed no alarm or shame. in all this, his ten years as a college head had helped. he was used to being stared at by thousands of bright, intelligent and exploring eyes; he knew how to sit quietly and apparently unmoved while white men of wealth and power tried to insult him or draw him out or confuse him. he knew not only how to conceal his thoughts worlds of color his intercourses in john, careful to add that his color make him fore he weather served interesting; th or conclusions but better, how to let his observers wonder if he had sensibilities or judgments. here of course most strangers were kind and sympathetic and the family almost overdid it until they realized that he was a man of thought and experience which had caked into good manners. now and then ill-bred or careless persons appeared, like the haughty old countess who asked if any black women were chaste; or the child who rubbed manuel's face to see if the color was fast. he answered simply that his daughter was chaste, and held his cheek still while the child rubbed hard. his intercourse developed slowly and naturally. they were all, and especially sir john, careful to appear not in the least way inquisitive or over-curious. they sensed that his color and race had always been so central in his life that their first duty was to make him forget. so at first the talk ran to generalities and even trivialities. the weather served its eternal duty and its contrast to georgia made it often quite interesting; the trip across the sea; the travel by rail, the trees, birds and flowers. then came the food, the question of interesting games, the day's news. when manuel realized how much they were really interested in him as a human being, he began to relate litle pieces of information, about his childhood; about his college and his students. he avoided the race problem as such but stressed the human side. they soon were hanging on his words. quite naturally, sir john began to compare experiences and was gratified to realize how alike human beings were even if they lived a thousand miles apart in distance and even further in cultural experience. sylvia had run down to pack for france and incidentally to appraise this wild black american. lady rivers asked, to keep up conversation: "mr. mansart, what in england strikes you most?" manuel plunged: “your idleness.” they were at tea. the flavor was rare; the scones were hot and delightful and the tea cakes unusual. the silent, efficient service saw that everyone had what they wanted just as they were aware of the need. a light rain was falling. the smooth, green lawn stretched richly to the magnificent woods. "and don't you like it?" “i love it, but it scares me. you see, i would not dare to the color of england rest so much while others work so hard. i suppose it is just a differ- ence of what looks to some like duty." "or," said lady rivers, "perhaps it is only american rush and hurry which seems to us so unnecesary and even useless." “milady, you never picked cotton. you see, i was a child of workers. i was raised to work for what i wanted. you, if i may say so without offense-do not work.” sylvia settled back in her chair, luxuriantly. sir john came to the rescue. "i realize your implied criticism, mr. mansart. you see, the situation is complicated and historical. to many it is hard to grasp. for instance, my grandfather pioneered in the niger delta, traded in gold and pepper and at last in tin. he got title to valuable tin mines. he raised capital in england to de- velop the mines, hired natives to work them, brought in british technicians to direct this work; from the results of this, i and my family live." mansart was silent, but sylvia looked at him and said smil- ing: “we are waiting, mr. mansart!" mansart was uncomfortable but replied, “i can see, sir john, how your grandfather earned his income and how the natives must have been satisfied to work for him. but on my voyage over, i read a number of books which my assistant recommended. these have set me to thinking. my mind goes this way. your grandfather's discovery of tin in nigeria deserved reward. but not repeated reward; not continuous reward. not extravagant re- ward. and reward for the discovery should go to the discoverer and not to his children. the tin belonged to africa, not to eng. land. after the discovery, it was certainly as much the property of the africans as of the british. the british brought knowledge of extracting tin for use. this was of greatest importance. but this knowledge and technique was public property in europe. englishmen learning and using this knowledge deserved pay for their work. but not repeated and eternal pay. and this pay should go to the one who applied this skill for what he did and not to others who did nothing. and the machines and tools should be paid for, but paid for once, not continuously. their repair should be paid for, but paid for once, not repeatedly. in other words, sir, i can see clearly that your grandfather de- worlds of color served pay for his work, for his effort in acquiring skill; for ma- terials imported and used and their repair. but, pardon me, sir, if i ask where do you come in? what effort are you being paid for? the black workers who served your grandfather got paid once; their descendants are being paid not for what their fathers did but for what they do now. why this difference between the pay of the european and the african? both should be paid for their effort-should they not?—and for nothing else." “there comes in there, dear mr. mansart, something called property." "is this property the result of effort?" “it is the result of law.” “who makes the law?" "it is here that the great british institution, the family, comes in for understanding." sylvia stretched out her long limbs and took another cup of tea. “daddy, do continue to tell mr. mansart,” she said. sir john looked serious. "we britishers believe in the family- its long life, its unity, its sacrifice, its ideals. we strive to hold it together, to perpetuate it. frankly, we do not believe in equality as you americans profess to do. i even venture to believe you do not really, and are here precisely because you are superior, far superior to your fellow americans, black and white. some people are born to rule, to hold superior position, to have leisure for thought, creation and enjoyment. by selection of a ruling group the world advances and empire spreads. mistakes occur, to be sure; faults and even crimes crop out. but what other way has humanity yet discovered to advance but by way of aristocracy? i am first to admit that not all, not most of the subjects of the british empire are happy or content. but i sincerely believe that most of them are getting what they deserve and as much as their natural station in life entitles them to.” lady rivers added: “you must admit two things, mr. mansart: first that our way of living is pleasant; and second, that no system of life could provide such comfort for everybody, even granted everybody would want it. therefore, it comes down to this: on what basis shall we choose who shall have these amenities and comforts—by popular vote, by the king's grace or by the law of survival?" the color of england “we have served well,” interrupted the dowager in her thin but high-bred voice. she had today made one of her seldom appearances. she stared at mansart quite frankly. "we have served nobly as heroes and conquerors; as knights and earls; as warriors on land and sea, at agincourt, flodden field, oude- narde, and," she choked a bit, "on flanders field!" sir john placed his hand gently on hers and said, "but, maman, we must not boast; the world neither knows nor cares- that is, this world that has replaced the real world." she lapsed into calm silence. sir john continued: “we had the skill and cour- age; the persistence. we found the tin, bought the machinery and showed the natives how to dig it." manuel was a little irritated. “and you, sir, what did you do that these mines and these miners should work for you?" sylvia chortled, "you inherited, dear dad-no more, no less. that wasn't hard work!". "if not i, someone else; and although i am all too unworthy, i and my family can have the pleasure of entertaining you, mr. mansart. the world's best people should have wealth and au- thority. you, sir, are the exception among your folk. you have position and power. you should have more, but your family has just begun the long trek. it would never do to let the mass of american negroes have power to do as they wish." manuel was astonished to realize that sir john was quite sin- cere. he hastened to add: "you can't realize, sir john, by what narrow chance i had the opportunity just to live, much less to grow healthy, go to school and college and get this work. i was born, sir, in my father's blood as he was shot to bits by a mob. my mother worked her hands to the bone to keep me in school. i cringed and crawled to keep my job as a school teacher and to head this college. and while i was doing this, thousands of black boys and girls had no chance, no opportunity and sank to hunger and crime and shameful death because god forgot them. “sir john, i would not for a moment set my judgment against yours. but i have an experience which gives me a point of view which you can never understand. i know a nation and a land which talks as you do about ten million people-they are wrong and i know it because i am one of those people. we are not happy. we are not content. we are not in the status which best father's blood college just to live, john, byen worlds of color suits us or is best for the welfare of our white neighbors. the reason is that in deciding worth and ability, we are not con- sulted. others judge what we deserve and what we can do and of just what worth we are. and sir, while i have the deepest re- spect for your judgment, before agreeing with you i'd like to see african labor and hear what it says.” said sylvia, “you needn't go to africa. just listen to british workers and hear what they say of our leisure and the inborn superiority of british aristocracy.” lady rivers said: "i am afraid, mr. mansart, you do not realize just what my husband has done for his world: his breadth of sympathy which arose from broad reading and hard thinking; the positions of influence he has held, not eminent but so needed; his advice and wide individual acquaintanceship with high and low, rich and poor, peer and criminal. he has been rewarded graciously, i admit, but does this patrimony quite repay all that the rivers family have given britain, including-the life of my son?" mansart hastened to say: "i assure your ladyship that sir john richly deserves what the world gives him. i only ask, and with humility, if africa is today in position to pay the debt, and if her bankruptcy is her fault, since surely it is not the fault of sir john?" sylvia burst out: "africa? can even england pay? look at london's east end.” her ladyship complained, “this is more of sylvia's socialism. why, considering our own home-what would our servants do if we did not hire them?". sylvia yawned and flung back, rising: “i've said it before, our butler might enter parliament and the maids could have babies, legitimate if possible.” sir john laughed and also arose. “i'm wondering if mr. mansart would not like to drive up to london tomorrow and lunch at my club?" "can i drop in, too?" asked sylvia. “delighted, my dear.” the trip to london in sir john's rolls-royce was fascinating- beautiful as they rolled through essex, interesting as they trav- ersed the more and more crowded parts of the city. they skirted the color of england the crowded east end and came down through epping and barnett and then winding through the city came to the white marble façade of the liberal club. it was mansart's first experience with the club life of london; those great, quiet buildings, luxuri- ously furnished, where the members could rest at ease and have their meal; where they could meet friends and if necessary themselves have a room for the night. without his club, or per- haps two or three of them, no londoner could realize english life at its best. sir john naturally belonged to several clubs but his favorite on the whole was the liberal club because it was more catholic in its tastes and one could meet all sorts of people and yet know that they were mostly well-bred englishmen. they talked a while with a number of acquaintances to whom sir john introduced his black friend. mansart was, with perhaps one exception, re- ceived with courtesy and all talked together with mutual interest. naturally, the matter of the empire had to intrude and some- thing was said about the unrest in west africa. “labor in africa,” said one gentleman, “must of course be more or less compulsory. the people are not used to our steady, dependable labor." another interrupted. “and, of course, compulsory labor must act as a drug, keeping the people traditionally in harness like the coolies of china or of india.” “or,” said another, “if the drug does not subdue them into insensibility it may on the other hand arouse them, so that they begin to get impatient and dissatisfied.” “you are implying,” said the third, “that compulsory labor in colonies leads either to apathy or to revolution.” “and that,” said the fourth, "is by no means confined to colonies." at this time, as sylvia arrived, a part of the company joined her and her father and mansart at luncheon. the reserved table filled slowly. sir john occupied the center of the side facing the main dining area. he placed mansart at his right and his daughter at his left. beside manuel was a prosperous merchant, plump and pleasant. opposite the host was a vacant chair and beside it a voluble, gray-haired lady, carelessly but expensively dressed and, as manuel was told later, of considerable wealth. at last, worlds of color a tall man approached the vacant chair. he was massive in build, smooth skinned and perfectly groomed from hair to shoes, from kerchief to folded yellow gloves. his attitude was clear con- scious knowledge of his rank and power, with an air of distinct deprecation of any possible assertion of these, until his eyes fell on the black face of mansart. involuntarily he stiffened and his evident military bearing asserted itself. without a word he did a right-about-face and quickly stepped into the hall. sir john stared in astonishment, but quietly turned to order the lunch served when a servant hurried up with a message; sir john excused himself and went to the lobby. he returned shortly with pro- found excuses from sir evelyn charteris. it seems he had care- lessly forgotten a most important engagement which he must not miss. he would try to return before lunch was finished. mean- time, would the guests accept his profound apologies. he especially sent regrets to dear mrs. cartwright-- mrs. cartwright was much put out. “i had so counted on see- ing sir evelyn today. there is a great englishman, my friends. on such as he the empire rests!” sir john took up the con- versation easily, but manuel was not for a moment deceived. here was an imperial servant who did not eat with “niggers.” was this a mistake of sir john's ? a misunderstanding or what? it would of course be just like sir john to forget to say, in inviting sir evelyn, that his american guest was black. the colloquy in the lobby had been a bit sharp: “but sir john, i can't eat with a darkey-where would the british empire go, if its repre- sentatives lowered themselves to the level of the hordes over whom we are supposed to rule?” “this man is a gentleman, and the guest of my family, and i thought we were raising them, not lowering ourselves.” “but hell, they can't be raised and if they can, they're even more dangerous and must be kicked back. but pardon me, old friend, why the devil didn't you say your american guest was black?" "my god-_" “well, well! please make my excuses to the guests and espe- cially to elspeth.” meantime the lunch went placidly on. the portly gentleman to mansart's right took up the praise of sir evelyn. the color of england "fine fellow. it's such staunch representatives of our rule that build our power. absolutely fair, carefully trained, me- ticulous about his duties.” “he makes our dividends certain," mused sylvia. “but he's absolutely honest in his dealings with the natives." “no reason why he shouldn't be. he's well paid, has luxuri- ous quarters and more servants than he can use. the natives will pay him a good pension when he retires at sixty and he'll come home as an honored authority on native denizens of terri- tories. he'll see a lot. spiffy, i call it." mrs. cartwright was indignant. "sylvia, you have long needed spanking. sir evelyn deals honestly with the natives." “but do we?” insisted sylvia. “don't let's be hypocrites!" “agreed, but we did free the slaves and stop the slave trade.” “also, we made the negro slave trade to america a great in- dustry which built our cities and founded trade and industry. in the eighteenth century the african slave trade was the most valu- able trade in our empire and west indian property our most valuable property. we kept it up as long as it paid. when the slaves revolted we stopped the trade; and when they refused to be as cheap labor as we could find in asia or africa, we found more profitable investment for our capital there. philanthropy and re- ligion help, but they follow the biggest dividends. pitt, not wilberforce, freed the slaves.” mrs. cartwright retired into aristocratic silence. manuel broke the silence by asking his neighbor a question which seemed to force itself on his tongue: "i cannot help wondering just what this lunch costs in black miners' wages?" the merchant stared and finally said: “supply and demand take care of such matters." "british demand, african supply?" “naturally," said the merchant and turned to his neighbor who was expert on stock prices. the company began to discuss labor and socialism. mansart listened but said little, until someone turned to him. “what, mr. mansart, is your attitude toward africa? and what is the attitude of american negroes in general?" mansart replied, "we really know comparatively little of africa, worlds of color but of course theoretically what we want is that africa should be free and independent.” “why?" "well, we sort of think that is the heritage of mankind.” of all mentally of all blvia, "lugs lon us, but mented this beading to rumpitie sensi “yes, eventually of all men.” “if 'eventually,” said sylvia, “lugs along a hundred years or more, i wonder if you're right. if it is a matter of beginning now and working in this generation, i agree with you.” “in a hurry as usual, sylvia,” said her father smiling. and then all arose to greet a newcomer. he was a young englishman, tall and thin, rather carelessly dressed and very earnest in his manner. it seemed that he and sylvia were planning to take mansart on a journey. so after a time they left the group and the comfortable rooms of the great club with its marble façade and walked around the corner to sylvia's little austin. they drove away toward the east with desultory conversation and then, park- ing on the side, sylvia produced a shabby old raincoat which she wanted mansart to don. and she substituted a very disreputable hat for his new knox. "please pardon us, but we're going into the slums." the young man supplemented this by apologetically removing his tie and that of mansart and proceeding to rumple up man- sart's clean linen. “you know, our hosts are a little sensitive when people, especially strangers, come among them and are too well dressed.” as sylvia left them alone for a time, manuel mentioned his stay at her home and how he had enjoyed it. the young man agreed about the family and touched the matter of the death of sylvia's brother. “we were not exactly chummy, but i knew him well and his death was a blow to sylvia; and yet a relief.” manuel looked astonished: “a relief?” the young man relighted his pipe and continued slowly: “yes, he was a snob, a born aristocrat, english style. he never worked, but expected the world to work for him; correctly schooled and tailored, a captain in the guards, aiming at a rich marriage and a peerage; a dilettante in sports and arts, an exquisite idler who leapt at war just as he murdered big game. he died in a gut- ter filled with mud and the blood of england's flower. sylvia was the color of england . stricken, for she loved her handsome brother dearly. but she was glad he did not live to be what he wanted to be.” the little car lurched over the rough east end cobblestones. endless miles of slum streets, their dreary murk broken only by the garish invitation of brightly lighted "pubs.” at one time they en- tered one and ordered a pint of mild and bitter. the patrons were working folk, noisily comparing notes on wins or losses in the latest football pool or placing bets on the chances of whitechapel's heavyweight pride, erny hawkins, to win the title. there were the usual number of beer-sodden men cradling head on arms in despairing attempt to get away from it all. but it was the women who for years remained in mansart's memory. one incident stayed with mansart all his life. it was not the main picture nor most significant. but it persisted. among the quiet women with shawled heads were many in tawdry finery, grimy feather boas encircling their unwashed necks, heads crowned by bedraggled plumed hats. the arms of one of these tipsy tarts cradled a babe. its hungry wails put a damper on the “gaiety” until the barman protested: “ 'ere naow, 'ere naow! if you cawn't shut the brat's mouth you'll ’ave to tyke 'im out of 'here!” the cockney wit of her obscene retort drew guffaws of laughter, and the drunken madonna dragged a filthy handkerchief from her bosom, twisted up a corner, dipped it into her gin and put it in the infant's mouth. the wails subsided into a contented gurgle. mansart and his companions, choking back a rising nausea, emptied their glasses and quickly sought their car. it was well toward midnight when mansart and sylvia, having dropped their companion by the way, arrived at the rivers' house in essex. for miles they had been very silent. indeed, mansart never fully expressed just what he saw in the london east end and what it meant to him; but it marked an epoch in his life. for the first time he realized that white men and women in a civilized country and in the twentieth century could suffer in degradation, helplessness and crime quite as much as any negroes whom he knew in america; and, he surmised, as much as negroes and asians suffered overseas. it was to him an astonishing realization. chapter iii the color of europe mansart spent about a week more in england and then one afternoon there came to the estate the young frenchman who was to accompany him to france and be his host for several weeks. he was an interesting young man, well dressed and cultivated, speaking meticulously correct english and very polite and thought- ful. he said to mansart and the family that he was sorry he was not going to be able to entertain his guest so graciously as he was being entertained in england. he explained that in france they had by no means recovered from the devastation of the first world war. "but,” he said, “i hope to make you understand something of what france means to us and to the world.” he added, “i fear that in england you have seen the extreme and not the mean; the aristocracy and the slums but not the great english middle class. but,” he added philosophically, “that makes little difference. this middle class gives birth to the nobility and both ape each other, so in a sense they are identical.” mansart, remembering the sturdy, satisfied and very respectable merchants and clerks he had seen, was not quite sure as to just what the typical englishman was. both sir john and lady rivers hastened to assure mansart that he was going to have an unforgettable experience and that nothing in england, after all, was quite equal to what france had given civilization. singularly enough the matter that disturbed mansart most on leaving britain was the tips for the servants. he hated tipping; it stank of slavery. he did not believe in tipping and could not afford it. he took the bull-or rather the butler-by the horns and spoke to him frankly. the butler was polite and unperturbed. but he showed no enthusiasm. the housekeeper, when the message was delivered, was disgruntled: "if he's able to travel, he ought to be able to pay his way. i never did hold with niggers nohow." some of the maids and men sneered; others giggled. the color of europe as he rolled away on his journey, his hosts remembered not only this dark and well-bred gentleman who had become their friend, but for themselves they remembered their honeymoon in paris at the exposition of , and the walks they took across the pont alexandre, the new bridge which was then linking france and russia. after a pleasant and uneventful journey across the rough channel and then on the train between calais and paris, mansart and his friend came to a month of experience which always thereafter had for mansart the uncertain quality of a dream. manuel mansart did not realize until long afterward how expertly he was guided by m. villiers. villiers tried to show him at once the physical paris and its meaning, past and present. they looked out upon the city from the eiffel tower and saw the seine, the left bank and notre dame. they wandered in the bois de boulogne, having lunch in a secluded restaurant among the trees. coming back they paused over the eternal fire within the arc de triomphe, and they went up to montmartre. the beautiful church looked down upon the city which they had left with the tuilleries in the distance, the madeleine and the palais royale, and with the plethora of streets, churches, public buildings, and squares. walking down from the white church they came through the little streets of shops, and by the moulin rouge until they reached the opera and the grand boulevards. they stopped one day for chocolate and soft-boiled eggs at a world-renowned little restaurant, and then taking a cab rode through the square of the republic to the bastille. here the whole thing began to take on a different significance. mansart was at the place where the french revolution started, where the modern world was born, and where people began to dream of the equality of human beings and their right to have a voice in government. it seemed queer and unbelievable, the history that had taken place in this now so vast square with the old prison gone and the column of july rising alone in the center. as they walked they talked and villiers tried in various ways to interpret the living france: “it is difficult to characterize a nation. hardly any classification of its motives is all wrong; none is completely right. the only final judgment is what happens and that is difficult to see as a whole worlds of color and grasp entire. complete and accurate measurement of what men do is not attempted; it is not even envisioned as possible nor desirable. "how then shall we characterize france? we french are saint joan and her peasants who birth the people, believe in god and skimp and save and push the world backwards. we are the shop- keepers climbing into gross corporations, immortal, infernal, super- men, armed to the teeth, owning all ability; controlling thought and news; maiming, murdering and driving men insane. yet we differ from you americans,we still have writers and artists, unbrib- able, unsaleable, free and helpless, looking death straight in the face. this picture of france, mr. mansart, is as false as the nation itself. while we are dirty and vile amid our beauty, and love sex and say so, yet we have not yet sunk to the level of the whores of hollywood who wallow in pools and collect autographs and wave their legs and bare their asses to the world. “and france is europe. for five hundred years, all europe has fattened on the entrails of asia and africa and built her glory on the blood and guts of ‘chinks' and 'niggers.' what a brave and mighty folk we are, and how unrivalled and unprecedented in lying and murder!” they stopped in a small restaurant along the seine embank- ment. it was filled with laborers and clerks, but villiers found some acquaintances in the rear and they crowded around a table against the wall. among the group manuel was pleased to see a colored man from the west indies. he was a m. james and was a writer. with him was a russian and a frenchman who could speak russian. "communists,” said villiers with a smile. manuel was interested. he had never met a communist and was curious. “i have hoped,” he said diffidently, “that your revolution would supplement the french, which gave us liberty, equality, and brotherhood. ..." james flared. “you mean which tried and failed. the slave trade and slavery were the economic basis of the french revolution. ‘sad irony of human history,' comments jaurès. 'the fortunes created at bordeaux, at nantes, by the slave trade, gave to the bourgeoisie that pride which needed liberty and contributed to human emancipation. the french revolt of gave liberty to a large group of frenchmen, but it was the revolt of the slaves the color of europe in haiti which tried to force equality on france. but the reaction called thermidor beat back the terror of the rise of the french workers and crucified the house-servant babeuf, who tried to lead them to brotherhood with black workers and brown. thus, the french revolution was never finished. napoleon tried to transform it into colonial imperialism but christophe and dessalines balked him and the united states grabbed the spoil of louisiana.” the russian spoke rapidly as the frenchman translated: “and don't you see the russian revolution now comes to fulfill the french and haitian? we take the worker to the place where the french revolution tried to lift him and, setting him side by side with the black and colored people, bring a world brotherhood of which the most progressive white world never dreamed. indeed, white europe and america were headed straight toward a world war of race and color, which the soviet union alone will prevent." manuel stared at this interpretation of the russian revolution. he had heard the soviet union had made color discrimination a crime; but to him the "color line” was principally a matter of admission to street cars, trains, schools, and restaurants. of an equality higher and broader than this, involving economic equality, he had not given much thought. some days later they came down to the seine, looked at the fascinating book shops on its banks and then passing over, went to a restaurant which from its portico afforded a view of the cele- brated isle de la cité, with the vast towers of notre dame in the distance. this was the center of paris. there the first napoleon was crowned and there stood the palace of justice. they came across the pont neuf with the statue of henry iv, and turning to the left saw the great palaces of the louvre, the arc du carrousel, and the gardens of the tuilleries. they looked through the rue royale toward the church of the madelaine and rode up the elysian fields through the park of peace, la concorde. it was in the louvre itself that they spent long hours, not all at once but one and two hours at a time over a week of visiting. mansart knew almost nothing of art. he had seen before coming abroad practically no great pictures and what he had looked upon as sculpture was rather miserable stuff. here he could sit down quietly and look upon the winged victory of samothrace and the venus de milo. he saw mona lisa, and his companion showed worlds of color him many other pictures less advertised but quite as beautiful. he gained in time an idea of how the great painters of the world from italy to holland and france had tried to set down their conception of the beauty and meaning of the human body and its surrounding world. later he tried to understand matisse, gauguin and picasso. he emerged into a new conception of what the earth was and what man could see in it and its inhabitants. after a week or so, they went to the rive gauche along the boulevard st. germaine and into the boul mich. they spent after- noons in the beautiful gardens of luxembourg and went down to see the loveliest of botanical gardens. they rode by the insti- tute pasteur on the rue de vaurigard and lived at a little hotel there for a week, a hotel characteristically parisien, with its black- gowned hostess, its omnipresent servant and its morning breakfast- in-bed of coffee and croissons. many of these sights they visited again and again; the bois de boulogne, montmartre, the garden of tuilleries and the cemetery of pére lachaise. during this time they were talking together, of themselves and their world; of that fabulous america of which the young man was both so curious and so critical and wanted specifically to be coached on just what a "lynching” was. he himself was the son of a well-to-do peasant in south france, who still tilled the family farm. indeed, there he and his friend were going to spend the last week of this trip and there they would meet his father and mother and the married sister; a sister who, by the way, he said, had married an american and who wanted to go to america. but the husband was unwilling. m. villiers was unmarried and had a small income from his writings. he spoke with care and thought. he sought the exact word that would express just the specific meaning that he wished to convey. save that he wanted to express himself in writing or by some other medium, he was not sure as to what his life was going to be. he had no plans. he did not have wealth nor want it. he was fairly certain not to starve. he sought a world of taste and discrimination, without suffering and hurt, and filled with all manner of men. they came to the farm by way of roman france; they saw arles and nîmes and they walked if they did not dance across the bridge at avignon. they glimpsed the blue mediterranean the color of europe below the hill of their farm. the parents were simple and cordial, courteously curious and full of questions. the married sister especially greeted them with joy, because of her deep sympathy with her brother and her interest in america. she talked freely about her husband who was not at the time present. he had been in the american army in the first world war and had been brigaded with the french army. he had been wounded and had won the croix de guerre. but he did not want to return to america. he seemed in a way curiously prejudiced against america and this his wife could not quite understand. she asked a great many questions about america and explained that in france it was difficult since the war for a young man to get a real start. her husband lacked the over-precise curriculum of the french schools which was so necessary to get admission to certain lines of professional work. naturally, he also did not have the connections and acquaintances which would open ways to him. on the other hand, he had had a good american education and it seemed to her that the place to make his way was in america. the wages were high there, the chances of work were broad. she could not understand why he would not for a moment entertain the idea of going. of course, she knew that negroes formed a caste in america-but an officer and a gentleman would naturally be treated as one even in the united states. she talked earnestly to mansart about this, and mansart himself could not understand until the husband came home. he was a brown man. it was characteristic, on the one hand, of his french hosts that they apparently had never thought of mentioning this fact to mansart, which was of course in his mind of the greatest importance. it explained why the young husband did not want to return to america and why he knew, although he did not try to make this clear to his wife and her family, just why he could not see a career in america. he was a thick-set man of perhaps thirty-five; solidly built with a good-looking but rather discontented countenance. his mental balance was unstable. he was as startled when he saw mansart as mansart was to see him. it is always a problem for american negroes to know just what attitude they should assume toward each other when abroad. of course, if they are alone they come rather naturally together. but if they are in different social settings, what then? this colored man worlds of color was the husband of the only daughter in a french family and he, mansart, a negro teacher travelling in france. shall they treat each other as understanding friends or shall they rather ignore each other, or what path between was there? mansart tried to be pleasant and understanding but the young colored man did not respond very eagerly. he was curt in his answers and did not try to enter into the conversation. on the whole, it was rather an unpleasant experience. only once did mansart seek to get close to him. they met in the fields by accident, looking out upon the well-fed cows and the waving grain. “do you think of returning to america at some time?” asked mansart. "no," said the man shortly. "you have not been home in some years." "no." "perhaps you won't mind if i tell you that there are changes in america-we are improving in our race relations and there is a chance for a negro to get on rather better than i have ever seen before.” “i suppose you mean to get on as a negro? i am not a negro. i am a frenchman, and i am going to stay so. but i tell you what i am going to do. i am going to africa." mansart was a bit astonished. “africa? why-that's fine! i-i'm glad you thought of it.” “oh, i don't mean the africa you have in mind. i'm not going down on the fever coast to work like a ‘nigger.' i'm going into the french civil service or perhaps the military service in french west africa. i am going to invest there what money i can get hold of. i am going to have servants and laborers and live like a gentleman. i've been down there for a while and i know how a white man can live and what he can do. and i am a white man from now on." mansart said nothing. "you have been talking to john, i see," said his young host. “i'm glad. i wish you'd try to have some influence on him. i confess i don't quite understand him. i can see why he doesn't want to return to america, and perhaps he's right. i've heard of the negro's status there. but what in god's name does he want the color of europe in west africa? it's a hellish sort of hole, hot, fever-ridden, fly-blown. of course, he is attracted by certain aspects of colonial life. if a man can get a well-paid position and is willing to do nothing for the rest of his life except to yell at servants, well, i suppose he can make it, although how he can live without art, literature, self-expression of any sort, i don't see; and i don't myself fancy being surrounded by poor devils, ignorant, diseased and hopeless. apparently he rather likes that sort of thing. i'm sure my sister won't.” the sister came up about this time and she began talking with mansart. “i can understand," she said, “how a man brought up as john must have been wants to escape the plight of ordinary peo- ple without wealth and privilege. but i cannot see why he wants to go to the opposite extreme and lord it over the unfortunate. i rather like to work among the poor and the laborers. one finds real people there, don't you think?" “i certainly do,” said mansart. “i can't imagine working any- where else. and i question the whole institution of thoughtless service, of obeying commands on the farm or in the house or anywhere without any chance to know and to do on one's own ac- count. it seems to me that there is something wrong with a man to whom that is an ideal.” john came up just then and he spoke bitterly. "of course, you can't understand. you're a white folk's 'nigger,' mansart. you've been kicked and walked on so much that you're used to it, and you wouldn't know what to do if you had a chance to do a little kicking yourself. well, i am going to kick. i am going to step on people who are only worth stepping on. i am not going back to america. i am going to french west africa and there i am going to be somebody.” he turned away abruptly. there were tears in his wife's eyes as she followed him. the incident of this talk with john led to further conversa- tion concerning black france. "your country, by the way, was a considerable colored empire- seventy-five million colonials against forty million home folks,” said mansart, who had been reading. “yes, we have fifty million in africa, twenty-seven million in asia and a half million in america. frankly, i don't like it. worlds of color some of these we have assimilated by actual migration to france; others by making them legal french citizens in their homes. but that is but a handful; less than five million i should guess. the rest are ignorant serfs to be exploited by our big business. some will free themselves by revolt as they are trying to do in indo-china and may soon in north africa. the five millions of madagascar may erect their private system of home exploita- tion; a few more will become citizens and turn into exploiters of their kin, as john plans. it's a mess, mansart, i admit. but what is the future of the world's colonies? can you see it? i can't.” "i don't know. they must be led. missionaries have proven but tools of big business. business benevolence differs only in degree from business for profit. i wonder if the world will ever produce a power which will open the way for colonies really to become free?" "what is free?" mansart thought. “the right to vote, to work, to go to a school. ..." "no, freedom is the right to use the wealth they produce for themselves! nothing else matters," said villiers. “yes, something else—the knowledge how to use that produce for science, health and art.” “it's impossiblel" said villiers. “is it? if it is, civilization is impossible!" “that may be so." “in fact, it has been in spain.” "spain?" mansart looked puzzled. “do not tell me that you do not know what my country, britain and the united states have been doing—are doing to the people of spain?” mansart was silent. no, he did not know. he had read something about a civil war there; and now a new leader, franco, but ... "germany and italy are helping crush the spanish republic; the united states, contrary to all its traditions is refusing arms. it is wicked. but surely you have heard of the international briis wicked. but contrary to aning crush the "i never heard of it,” confessed mansart. within he began the color of europe in attic from that complete to wonder how much of the real history of the world was being hidden from him. after a month, a wonderful and unforgettable month, mansart left france and through switzerland came into germany. it was now no longer a guided tour thoughtfully planned by careful friends. he was now on his own, face to face with white europe. he met nothing of american indifference and antagonism, but also he met few friends. the surrounding world was curious and sometimes startled at his dark face, but he was treated with care- ful courtesy in hotels and restaurants and on the streets. he carried with him thoughts and memories of what he had been through, but he was unable to bring away from france as he had from england the picture of a complete civilization. france was something different from that; it was a continually developing idea; a certain attitude toward life; a way of thought and of changing ideal. it meant something when france had a dozen political parties, and england and the united states, two-or one with two names. but he was happy with the memories that he brought. he had something that he would never forget so long as he lived. mansart's trip to germany was part of the plan of americans of german descent, to bring americans and germans together; and after much thought it was decided that it might be well to include a negro among the visiting americans, so that in spite of the race propaganda in this new germany, the germans would realize that there were negroes in america and that they were well-treated. the trip then was carefully planned so that man- sart should meet as little personal indignity as possible, but on the other hand there was little of the social contact which he had had in england and france. he was put on guided tours, he made visits in company with groups, and he had plenty of leisure to read. mansart went to switzerland by way of lyons and geneva. he saw the great french manufacturing city much more quiet and settled than similar american or british towns, but skillful, tasteful, and with a certain contentment and happiness. then he went on to geneva, crossed the beautiful lake of lausanne, and came to bern. he never forgot that sight of the alps at bern. he was standing on the high plaza looking up over worlds of color the city to the mountains and the great white cloud formations above, and thinking how lovely it all was. and then almost by accident he raised his eyes to the skies and there above the towers, above the mountains and above the clouds, rose the startling magnificence of the high alps with their silver peaks piercing to the top of the sky. he shuddered in ecstasy. never before had he seen anything quite so magnificent. and he said to himself, “with all its dirt and sin and disappointment, this world is a beautiful, a very beautiful thing." eventually, by rail manuel mansart came to munich in south germany. he used haltingly some of the german which he had learned in school. he realized that this city was being re-built and renewed in folkways as the center of that new rising power in germany under adolf hitler. it was almost by accident that he went to see the museum of technology. never before had he witnessed anything like it. he saw the modern world in microcosm. it had , exhibits extending through nine miles of rooms. merely to glimpse it mansart spent four days walking through. there were seventy-three rooms devoted to geology, mining and metallurgy, with a complete coal mine. there were thirty rooms for transportation and twenty-one rooms for clocks, mechanics and electricity. ten rooms exhibited sound and music, and in the rooms devoted to chemistry one could traverse four centuries in an hour. all the wood products of the world were there, and three planetariums illustrating the heavens. all this technique was the foundation of the power which europe had directed for her world domination, and this was the explanation of the world in . mansart realized that while he knew something of raising raw material-cotton, rice and sugar, corn, wheat and peanuts- of the intricate and long processes by which material was turned into consumer goods, he and his people knew little. he turned to his guide, an old man, white-haired and white-bearded, who spoke several languages well and clearly and had evidently been a man of status once in his life; but now beginning to break, with no light in his eyes. mansart started to ask him some technical questions about the exhibit, and then suddenly found himself saying, "sir, when germans have all this and can use it, why do they fight?" the color of europe the man stopped and stared at him, reddened and then seeing how serious mansart was, said: “that, sir, will take some telling, but perhaps if you will join me at lunch we can talk about it." they went out together at noon, and mansart suggested apolo- getically that the guide allow him to be the host and that they go to some well-known restaurant so that he could see something of the real life of munich. the guide hesitated and then said, "there is one restaurant in town which every stranger ought to see, and that is the münchner hofbräu. i cannot afford to go there but if you can, i will be your guest there. at one time this was the greatest restaurant in bavaria, with the finest beer. it has lost much of its prestige and its beer is just ordinary stuff, to be exported to ..." he started to say, “america," and then added ". . . foreigners.” “let me tell you, young man,” he proceeded, “germany, although separated and provincial, was a great country in the th and th centuries. its work then, its thought, its science, can never be forgotten. but politically we were in a strait- jacket, so that men were asking: 'where is the german fatherland?' we were humiliated by the french and by an italian peasant with delusions of grandeur. “in the th century we had to fight in order to form what we thought would be a self-protecting nation, one of the great three countries of the world. the germans would think, france would feel, and let england trade. i was at one time a professor in one of our greatest universities. i saw our science, our music, our social investigations leading the world, so that those who wanted to do and know studied in germany. where else? “we had to make ourselves an armed nation. and led by the great bismarck and culminating at sedan, we became the ger- man empire. but this was not the world that it used to be when we started on this path. it was a changed world. it was a world which was not built of nations unified, each with its own educated directing and laboring classes; but part of a new organization of dominant nations where the working classes were not mainly within the nations but in colonies overseas. and we germans had no colonies and unless we got colonies we were going to fall far behind in what was a world fight. worlds of color i was but i the gulo thre “even our great bismarck did not recognize this. he did not want colonies. he wanted a unified germany. he gave africa to france and britain, and ignored asia. but he was forcibly put out of office, and into power came the men who knew that germany must have colonies, a navy and an army to maintain its place in the world.” he paused and asked: “do you remember the races congress in london, in u?" "no," said mansart. “i was teaching at the time and read about it in our magazine, the crisis. but i could not attend.” “it was a great meeting," answered the guide. "it would have been epoch-making if it had not come on the threshold of world war. there were great and wise men there and they were trying to unite the world across the barriers of race. black, yellow and white men met and conferred as equals. they would have been very influential if at that time it had not been absolutely necessary for the survival of germany to restrain england and france in their headlong economic imperialism. i remember some of the colored men there-indians, chinese and japanese-one young black social scientist from america, from a school called wilber- force, earl finch. and an editor who read a poem. but science and poetry were not listened to. indeed, it was one of our own greatest scientists who said at that meeting-and almost disrupted it-that germany must arm for war! he meant that industry and commerce must rule civilization and not considerations of human- ity, happiness and knowledge. "well, it was all of no use. we armed, we fought, we lost the flower of our youth, and we went down into the fires of hell. do you realize what happened to germany at versailles? do you realize the succession of blows that have prostrated this nation since? look at me. i was once an honored man, with a small but assured income from a pension so that i could have ended my life in study and ease. i lost everything. i am now the paid servant of foreigners, from most of whom i do not meet the courtesy that you have shown me today.” and so, after eating in this great and garish restaurant with crowds of tourists and few germans, they went back to finish the museum of technology. from munich mansart went north to beyreuth. this was a tribute to his daughter, sojourner, at home. he himself knew the color of europe works of had lived anqeeding who reeding little of music and drama but he must not miss this opportunity to hear the great works of richard wagner. he found lodging on a street where once liszt had lived and not far from wagner's own home. the hostess was a lady of breeding who spoke eng- lish quite well. she recognized her guest's innate breeding but hesitated at his color. she was a widow, whose sole fortune was this beautiful house in the better part of the city. here she made a living by giving board and lodging to tourists, chiefly english and american. the color prejudice of americans was well-known and even among germans there was being expressed a new race prejudice due to the rise of hitler and his doctrines. neverthe- less, she yielded to the chance of free opportunity to see the old and wonderful operas and accepted mansart's hesitating invi- tation to accompany him. it was different from anything that he had conceived. the opera was really a day's work. one went out to the suburbs, arriving at four in the afternoon, and sitting down to the curtain at five. then, for three hours one looked and listened. at eight all paused an hour for dinner: elaborate courses, easy conversation, lounging. and then they went back for an- other two or three hours of theater. except in the case of one english couple, the presence of mansart excited no comment. a few stared, but on the whole the hostess enjoyed the evening. what astonished mansart was the picture of the german soul which this music and theater painted. he thought how among american negroes, legend and fantasy might thus be wed to his- trionic ability and imagination, to build a great dramatic tradi- tion. the one here was magnificent. the rolling thunder of the music transported him. he did not pretend to understand it. sometimes it was vague and voiceless, but at other times he knew what wagner meant and what he had accomplished. especially at that last portrayal of the death of the gods, the power and glory of the music gripped him. he could never forget it. when he returned home he talked with the hostess and as she conversed with him tears came into her eyes. “see what we have lost, mr. mansart. think of the nation which built this music and the genius which voiced it. it went down in awful war. but one man is holding it together, and that is adolf hitler. he keeps beyreuth going, and i don't care what may be said about him. this one thing makes him to me the greatest of men. we worlds of color lost, but not forever, not entirely." from beyreuth mansart went to frankfurt, and then took that unforgettable journey down the rhine. the boats were less crowded and slower, naturally, than those coming up from rot- terdam. nevertheless there was more time and even with man. sart's small knowledge of german one could listen to conversation and look at the people. one afternoon they were passing mountains. they saw old castles, lovely vineyards and nestling towns. mansart seemed vaguely to remember about one mountain and consulted his guidebook. then he turned to a fellow-traveller and said in halting german: “is not this the lorelei and is not there a song?" the german scowled at him. “ja!” he snapped, "das is die lorelei. aber heute, kein echte deutscher singt das lied der juden, heine! (but no german sings the song of that jew, heine!)” and almost at the moment a group of boys and girls on vacation began to sing a song, but it was not the lorelei. mansart asked no more questions. he saw the busy ruhr, that great manufacturing district, whose work and profit united french and german capitalists even in the midst of war. and then after a hurried glimpse of holland and belgium-crowded, clean, well-to-do and busy, he came to the real object of this trip, tervourien. the beautiful building was set within a magnificent park and yet began on a false note. in its first room was the exhibit of the exploitable riches of africa on which european culture could be built. the belgian congo was fourteen times the size of the mother state and from the first was regarded primarily as a profitable investment. the worst outrages of leopold had now been curbed. missions were at work on elementary educa- tion and laws restricting the great corporations had been enacted. but still, as mansart could see as he wandered through the endless and beautifully arranged rooms, the chief end of the belgian congo today, as it was under leopold i, was to increase the pri- vate fortunes of belgian, and of european and american capi- talists. mansart remembered the story of cheating and cruelty which had made the heart of africa a colony of europeans. he re- the color of europe membered particularly the flamboyant promise of henry m. stanley peacefully to plant “christianity and civilization." in fact, they planted theft, murder and disease, while the people died at their hands. but here they were, the people and their products, but from the first room to the last exhibit, the emphasis was not on the people nor on their products but on the profit which the processing and sale of these products would bring; and would bring not to black men but to white. mansart now journeyed overland. he stopped at eisenach near luther's wartburg, and at goethe's weimar. then down by the great trading houses of leipzig and the art of dresden, up to berlin, the capital of germany. he was met at the station by a call, blond-haired youth, who greeted him in excellent english and took him out to the small but neat suburban home where he was assigned to stay by the carl schurz foundation. the mother was gracious and kept a typical, neat german home. she did not speak english but as time went on she and mansart talked together with the help of her tall son. soon her grievance and her prayer burst out. this son of hers, with all his nordic blondness and evident talent, could get neither work, education nor a career in the germany of that day, because as she said, “his father was a jew!" mansart evidently looked astonished and puzzled, but she ex- plained. "with the new racial philosophy which hitler has brought, the state helps only germans. others, even those half-german, can get no encouragement nor support. "my son therefore has but one alternative, and that is to leave germany. i especially asked to have you stop with us because i wanted to beg you to use your influence to get an opening for my son in america." mansart smiled wryly, and then was near to tears. it was difficult to explain to this woman how little influence he had in america and how he would be the last man on earth to be able to help this young man in finding a career. it seemed as though even to the last the woman could not quite understand. mansart began to see and know berlin as a great and efficient modern city. but it was tense, filled with meetings and its streets thundered with glaring radio propaganda. it was curiously upset worlds of color with what mansart regarded as unimportant things. for in- stance, he went to a movie to see the fight of joe louis with schmeling. the audience was in turmoil. their championship of the german fighter was uproarious. their race hate of the young brown contender was frightening. when louis was knocked out the whole audience went berserk. one would have thought that st. george had slain the dragon. mansart could hardly under- stand. the scene, however, was made clearer when he visited the olympic games held in berlin that summer. the setting was imposing and mansart thrilled to witness so fine an example of human equality, as dark figures threaded the stadium and every race and nation bore its banners aloft. it hap- pened that american negro athletes were unusually prominent. owens, little and lithe, won the and meter races and the broad jump, over world competition. the stadium thundered with applause. woodruff, tall, thin and brilliant bronze, won che meter run; and big, black johnson soared to victory in the high jump. and then hitler, who had paraded and poured praise on the white victors, failed to put in an appearance. it was a petty pout, but it spoiled mansart's feeling of triumph, just as it shamed many germans. mansart's guides, however, were careful that he should see just what the new germany was doing. “you must realize what hitler has done for us. a year ago we had seven million unemployed. you must see the roads and homes which he has built. remember what the treaty of ver- sailles did to us and is still attempting to do. but, by god, we'll escape. germany will rise again.” then, there were also germans whom he met who were more apologetic and knew that mansart sensed that all was not well and that there was opposition to dominant trends. one professor at the university burst out in the midst of his defense of the nazis and said, "but there are limits. i will not be pushed too far." he did not go into details and years after mansart wondered how far he had been pushed. once mansart was invited to supper at the apartment of a teacher in a gymnasium, as german high schools are called. there were six or eight persons present and mansart could not help the color of europe ish problemed the negt now he su noticing that when after eating they relaxed for conversation, the curtains were lowered, and during the rest of the evening the voices remained low. the teacher said bluntly: "i am ashamed of what we are doing to the jews.” then im- mediately he began some justification. “of course, the jews them- selves are in part to blame. they have bought up lands and prop- erty. they are pushing the small german shopkeepers into bank- ruptcy. they are flooding the professions. i know, i know, but that does not excuse the treatment some of them are getting. i am ashamed!” mansart listened during the evening to charge and counter- charge, and to overwhelming excuse and bitter regret. mansart listened and wondered. he knew in a general way that germany had a jewish problem. he had intended to find out how far this problem resembled the negro problem in america, but hitherto had seen no opportunity. now he suddenly remembered the letter from max rosenfels which he had not yet delivered. next day he excused himself from the planned itinerary and went off by himself. he rode up friedrichsstrasse across the spree to oranienburgerstrasse and there found, after some search, in a basement the number he was looking for. it was a dark and un- inviting bookshop. there were no customers and apparently no attendant. he browsed a while and finally, raising his voice asked in german: "anybody here?” a thin man finally emerged from the back, dressed in a long black gown and spectacled. he said softly, “did you want some- thing?" mansart handed him a list of several books which he had decided he ought to read, including marx' capital, a history of jews in germany, some books on russia, and others. the man scarcely glancing at the list handed it back to him and said, "sorry, but we have none of these," and turned to leave. but mansart addressed him again. “are you the proprietor of this shop?" the man looked at him suspiciously. "no," he said. “but," said mansart, “i have a letter for the proprietor." the man stopped, took the letter, read it and rushed into the back of the shop. after some pause he came back with an older worlds of color man, and hurriedly, after looking out on the street, they took him into the back. while the younger man returned and lingered in the shop, the old man talked. “welcome,” he said. “welcome! pardon our manners. we have to be very careful. i am glad to hear from my cousin max. you must tell him when you go home that we are in bad way, that millions of jews will die and be ruined before this world is much older.” and then they had a long talk. "you see,” said the rabbi, “german jews for centuries have made common cause with the aristocracy and lost the sympathy, indeed invited the enmity, of the workers and shopkeepers. that was not entirely the jews' fault. they were not allowed to work as artisans or farmers or to trade in earlier times. they became bankers and merchants, and in alliance with the privileged classes made their way and gained at least in part their freedom. the french jews made similar alliance with the leaders of the new big business and they're still prosperous. the british jews joined in commerce and with the politicians. the russian jews had the foresight to join with the workers and forward the socialism of the world.” “socialism?” asked mansart. “do you think socialism will win?” “will win?" replied the rabbi, “it has won! we're all socialists now. every country has some degree of socialism. even your own roosevelt is leading a socialist revolution. the difference you see is difference of leadership, of dictatorship. the ignorant mass cannot lead itself into economic emancipation, requiring scientif- ic technique and capital, with the forces and classes now against it. here in germany, this hitler has made alliance with the great corporations. they are going to give the mass of people as much socialism as will keep them quiet. "in france, the state owns and governs education, transpor- tation and almost all national enterprise. in england, the power is in the hands of the aristocracy, with help from the skilled artisans. whether they will win through this partial dictatorship i do not know. you see, if such an experiment as the russian should succeed, if the mass of the working people could really secure a dictatorship which would guide the state toward the color of europe complete socialism, the more would be emancipated. but they can't. it will be impossible for people so ignorant and inex- perienced as the russians to choose or keep in power a dictator- ship of the proletariat. they will fall out among themselves and then the foreigners will rush in.” "but i understand,” said mansart, “they are having some success.” "some success, yes, i hope more; but i doubt it. i seriously doubt it. if they should succeed, then the dream of our karl marx might come true. the mass of people would be so well educated and trained, so experienced and so schooled in new folk ways, that they would not need a state. but that is a dream, a wild dream. “but i am glad to see you, mr. mansart, because i want to call attention to one mistake that you american negroes are making. you are trying to make alliance with the old planter class, and the new rich of the north. that's a great mistake. first of all, it makes the worker and the poor whites your ene- mies. they lead the mobs and do the lynching. you have got to change your alliances or you are going to lose.” mansart was astonished. “i cannot believe it!” he said. “i cannot believe it! at any rate, i think after all i ought to see russia!” but mansart had to remember that his chief errand in ger- many was to learn of industrial education in the german state. to this he now turned as his time was growing short. he soon learned that germany was not seeking to use industry as a means of education. it was using education as a means of carrying on and perfecting industry. so too, mansart knew that in america the white philosophy back of the tuskegee idea was not to use industry to teach negroes, but negroes to help industry. in , the electrical industry of germany and a large part of europe was divided between two great german corporations of which siemens was the oldest and largest. it was capitalized at $ , , and employed more than sixty thousand of the highest skilled workers in europe. by permission, mansart entered this city within a city. among the many factories was one large, seven-story building. the chief worlds of color aim of this building was to produce a human product of the most careful and precise nature, to be used in the productive processes of this mighty industry. industry here was dealing with men as it would deal with cotton: studying them, experiment- ing with them. knowing exactly what it wanted men for, it proceeded with painstaking care, endless experiment and expert training to deliver a finished product which was unsurpassed in the world for efficient, delicate, precise and regular workman- ship. it takes from grammar school or high school graduates, apprentices each year. they are children who have done their school work well, and the children of employees of the company were preferred. only the very best material was selected. those whom mansart saw were from twelve to fifteen years of age, and were going to study four years after careful testing. the students were paid as they studied, not much but an increasing part of their living expenses were thus met as they proceeded through the course. they were entering a life work, would follow it all their working years and be pensioned after they were retired. with a skilled working class, educated for a specific life work, it was evident to germany that democratic control of the state could not be entrusted to them. industry in germany was to be controlled by a closely knit hierarchy for support of a wealthy class to whom the bulk of income and of power went. while these workers had some democratic power in their public life, in choice of local government officials and other smaller matters, on the other hand, in the great matters of government policy, general laws and the distribution of capital, of indus- trial aim and organization, of colonial administration, there was no democracy. the demands of the workers through their trade unions could not be wholly disregarded, but these demands were mainly in the matter of wages, and these wages and conditions of work must be improved and the cost of them taken from profits. this process, naturally, had to be watched carefully. it was clear, not of course from what mansart heard in the factory or from his interpreters, but from the newspapers and the broadcasts and from a colonial exposition which he visited, that the color of europe the germans thought they must have colonies and that the new colonies must not be simply those they lost in the first world war but larger colonial territory; that these colonies would supply this great industrial machine with raw materials raised on cheap land by cheap colonial labor. the new colonial territory might be, of course, conceded by britain or france in the face of the new german army and navy. but the chief idea of germany in , to mansart's surprise, was that the new territory was to come from soviet russia, and it was germany's growing thought and aim to take this territory. consequently there was, while mansart was in germany, furious propaganda against the soviets. communism was denounced, its crimes were emphasized, and its inevitable failure foretold. yet, and this is what intrigued mansart, most methods which russia had followed or announced were being imitated in ger- many. germany was a “socialist” state, in the sense that to an increasing degree the government owned and controlled industry. it controlled money and banking; it was moving toward ownership and control of land. work and wages, roads and homes, were un- der government control. there remained only the question: who will control the government? when the dictators arose in italy and in germany, the indus- trial world of england, france and america applauded because they saw in the dictators an answer to communism. mansart was continually astonished at the way in which russia was the center of german, if not of european thought. before that, to mansart's recollection, russia had been significant mainly as a national problem which was going to be of tremendous importance to the world. but it was no threat; rather an experiment and a dream yet to be realized or to die with noble memories. but in germany in russia was a fact; an accomplished experiment, so successful as to pose the immediate question of acceptance by modern culture or violent uprooting by every means. britain was an enemy, but an enemy to be copied in success and method. france was an ideal which needed only german science. italy was an ally. but russia was something threatening which must be put under german control. here came adolf hitler, a psychopath and a dreamer, with worlds of color delusions of grandeur, frustrated by poverty and war; ruthless in his idealism; bold, cunning, with a voice of brass and a knowl- edge of the human soul. this was the instrument which the cap- tains of german industry picked out at the time of their defeat and despair to become master, not only of germany but of europe and possibly of the modern world. hitler was an artisan. he came from a part of austria where the anti-jewish feeling was strong, as was also his own economic rivalry with jews as a worker. in germany had been near anarchy. the next year, although still a minority, the nazis attacked jews, burned the reichstag building and took power. industry was frightened, the junkers were frightened, the mana- gers, engineers and small shopkeepers were frightened. they all submitted to a man who had been at first a joke, then a pest, and who now suddenly loomed as a dictator. union labor, with its , , members, proceeded to squabble as to whether to usher in the millenium immediately or gradually; through this squabble adolf hitler and big industry drove a carriage and four. the greatest single invention of world war i was propaganda- the systematic distortion of the truth for the purpose of making large numbers of people believe anything authority wished them to believe. it grew into an art, if not a science. nowhere was it used to such tremendous advantage as by hitler in germany. newspapers, public speakers, the radio, expositions, celebrations, books and periodicals, every possible vehicle of information and training, including schools, were used on german people to teach them that they were the most remarkable people on earth; that the national socialist government would be the best government for germany, if not for the world; that other countries, especially russia, were in the depths of misery and that jews were respon- sible for all criticism heaped on germany and for most of the other ills of modern countries. all this mansart learned while in germany, while talking with his english-speaking companions, from several confidential inter- views with german teachers and workers, from listening to the endless broadcasts as they were interpreted to him; and by walk- ing, looking, listening. his stay in germany could by no means be compared to his experiences in england and france. he made almost no friends. he came into no intimate contact with the the color of europe people. but he did do much reading, and he began to under- stand germany as never before. he got some glimpse of what it had been in the th century-a great country of science and edu- cation, of ideals, with music and art. a people which, rising from the utter depths of conquest under the first napoleon be- came in its own eyes and even that of the world, one of the great- est if not the greatest country on earth, and now was in the midst of revolution. chapter iv the color of asia rusised by frience that pend that no the idea. all this, of course, made mansart eager to visit russia, that weird land around which all revolutionary hope and fear were swirl- ing, and thence to pass on for a glance at asia. he had had russia in mind when he first began this trip, but he had been advised by friends and people whom he had met in america, eng- land and france that perhaps such a trip would not be wise; that russia was in turmoil and that no one knew just how things were coming out. so he had given up the idea. but he was going to asia, and the quickest way to asia was across russia by way of the trans-siberian railroad. it seemed foolish and too costly for him to go around by the mediterranean. so he thought that per- haps he could spend a month in russia and then go on. this he found out was not possible. for some reason which he could not imagine, he was refused the right to stop in russia. he did not know about the unfortunate experiences of the rus- sian intourist effort; and of the new strains which the west was beginning to put upon this struggling country. so that the best he could do was to make the trip from moscow into manchuria without halt. this he finally decided upon. he wrote home as he started east: "it is october, . i am in russia. i am here where the world's greatest experiment in organized life is in the making, whether it fails or not. nothing since the discovery of amer- ica and the french revolution is of equal importance. and yet this experiment is being made in the midst of unexampled hostility; amid deep-seated bitterness and recrimination such as men reserve usually for crime, degeneracy and blasphemy." he neared mongolia and wrote: “we were nearing mongolia, and already in the province of the buriats. the slim firs stood sturdily with straight heads the color of asia and shoulders sagging with snow. the lonely silence of a siberian night was about us. we climbed down a pass in the black mountains, following a river half hidden in ice. sud- denly the tempo of the scene changed. a large new factory blazed up in the night. great piles of lumber lined the river bank. an electric road showed a beginning of modern road- making. tracks of rails stretched wide on either side, until a modern railway yard was evident. then we swept into ve- reudinsk, now newly named, and the world was soldiers. they filled the depot, covered the platform, crowded a standing train and marched about in overcoats to their heels, buttoned closely; some with guns, some with bundles. all was now clear. this was a frontier point of concentration against the threat of japan. "ten thousand miles east of our east lies a land, lonely and dust-swept, pregnant with history in the dim past. hence came the mongol hordes that swept from asia to germany and italy, and changed the history of the modern world. brown men they were and yellow, with broad faces and flat noses and wild, straight black hair. they are here about me today, november —perhaps , , of them-in inner and outer mongolia and in manchuria. "it was a new world. my color was nothing unusual. all the world was sallow, yellow or brown, except the blonde white russian girls who waited on tables in the restaurants and on the dining car. the train swung out toward the east. i was in a pullman car made in america. the porter was not of my own expert race, and i felt like giving him a few pointers. the roadbed was better than in siberia. always war hovered near us. they pulled down the curtains early. i wanted to look out but fortunately i first read the posted notices: ‘pas- sengers between hake and agounor must not look out of the windows on penalty of severe punishment.' i did not look out. "we swept along a great, wide plain, and the cold wind poured straight down from the north pole. it was a desolate, barren land, and the seldom folk crept wearily along the lonely way. then the whole scene changed as if by magic. we slipped out of the desolation of the northern desert. we flew easily on a perfect roadbed, ballasted with rock, and in japa. nese cars better than pullmans. the service was perfect. we were leaving the old border and haunts of the bandits, the modern successors of genghis khan. we came to hsinksing, worlds of color capital of the new manchurian state, set up by japan in . "i hurried on to china which was end and aim of all im- perial planning, from america to japan and from the oth century to the th. in the morning i went down to the great harbor of dairen. my friends handed me three colored stream- ers of farewell, and following the beautiful japanese custom i and a dozen others held one end while the friends ashore unwound the other ends until a rainbow of colored strips of paper streamed from ship to shore and i bade manchukuo goodbye. “china is inconceivable. here first a man out of the empty west realizes where the population of the world really centers. never before has a land so affected me. china, to the wayfarer of a little week and i suspect a little year, is in- comprehensible. i have, of course, a theory and explanation which brings some vague meaning to the mass of things i have seen and heard. i understand now as never before how i have believed the human history set before me and missed the whole meaning of a people. and this i know: any attempt to explain the world without giving china a place of extraordi- nary prominence, is futile. perhaps the riddle of the universe will be settled in china, and if not, in no part of the world which ignores china. . "i write this standing on the great wall of china, with centuries beneath my feet. the purple crags of manchuria lie beyond the valley, while behind are the yellow and brown mountains of china. for seventy cents i have been carried up on the shoulders of four men and down again. and here i stand on what has been called the only work of man visible from mars. it is no mud fence nor pile of cobbles. it sur- passes that mighty bastion at constantinople which for so many centuries saved mediterranean civilization from german barbarism. this is a wall of carefully cut stone, fitted and laid with clean matching and eternal mortar, from twenty to fifty feet high, and , miles long; built by a million men, castellated with perfect brick, and standing mute and immu- table for more than two thousand years. such is china. "i talked with a group of chinese leaders and business men. we talked nearly three hours. i plunged in recklessly. i told them of my slave ancestors, of my education and trav- els; of the negro problem in america. then i turned on them and said: 'how far do you think europe can continue to dominate the world; or how far do you envisage a world the color of asia whose spiritual center is asia and the colored races? you have escaped from the domination of europe politically since the world war-at least in part; but how do you propose to escape from the domination of european capital? how are your working classes progressing? why is it that you hate japan more than europe when you have suffered more from england, france and germany than from japan?'” mansart wanted to forestall the usual question and comment of foreigners on the negro problem in america and instead elicit so far as possible information about china from chinese lips. he continued: "i saw today something on the streets of your city which reminded me of america. a well-dressed english child of per- haps six years was walking with his nurse along the bund when he met some chinese children, small, poorly dressed and dirty. with a gesture he ordered them off the sidewalk; they meekly obeyed and walked in the gutter. in general the whites here treat the chinese just as we negroes are treated in the southern united states. i hear that only recently have chinese been admitted to the race track which is the fash- ionable amusement center of your city. the white foreigners rule your city, force your children into separate schools and in general act as though they owned china and the chinese. why do you permit this?” in later years, mansart was deeply ashamed of calling this con- ference and asking these questions because he came to realize how abysmally ignorant he was of china and her history. he had never studied or read chinese history or literature. in elementary school, china was a joke and its people “queer." in college he learned about the kings of england and france but nothing of the han or ming emperors. at this very moment, in , mansart had no dream of the frightful tragedy playing over china, or of the “long march" of , miles, circling from fukien to yunnan, szechwan and shenshi. just then, chu teh, of whom mansart never heard, fleeing from capture in the freezing snows of tibet, was starting out to join mao tse-tung in the future red capital of yennan. the long-enslaved, raped and murdered peasants of china were at last reeling to their feet, covered with blood and lice, worlds of color py to rule a world. and yet, of their fateful history of three thousand years and its bloody culmination in the twentieth century, mansart in his ignorance was questioning chinese leaders in shanghai as to why they let the west insult and rule them! they must have wondered whether he was fool or spy. of what the west had done to china since , mansart had heard little-of the opium wars to enrich england and reduce china to a colony; of the chinese revolt called the taiping “re- bellion,” in which the whoremonger and murderer, chinese gor- don, began his saintly career which ended when the negroes of the sudan cut off his head; of the slave trade in chinese coolies which sent cheap labor to america and the second frenzied revolt of the chinese under the boxers in , when the christian world united to steal china's treasures and partition her land. all this was either distorted or utterly unknown to this colored american. when he asked why they submitted to the west, there was a sensible pause quite as awkward for mansart as for the five chinese present at the dinner. mansart remembered how often he had sat in similar quandary when well-meaning strangers had stripped his soul bare in public and blandly asked him why and how and what? present with him today were five persons—the superintendent of the chinese elementary schools; the president of a college, supported largely by missionary funds from the united states; a young banker; a well-to-do merchant; and a civil servant. the school superintendent spoke first. “we are, sir, as you say, in a sense strangers and outcasts in our own land. that we realize each day. but we are not sitting supinely by and doing nothing. oh, no! europe is not always going to own and rule asia. we have started a good system of schools, well supported, with chinese teach- ers. there are not enough schools, to be sure, but they are grow- ing. we share today in the government of this city as we did not a decade ago, and there is no longer exclusion of chinese citizens from public places.” “but,” said the merchant, “as you surmise, the chief difficulty is industrial. the chinese are poor, miserably poor, and crowded into this city in a great hungry mass; foreign capital can easily get work done at the lowest wages and there is yet no effective effort to keep the income of the poor much above starvation. such unions as we have are ineffective, and the chinese employers work done at thereat hungry masmaiserably poor, worlds of color his ears. he knew of british culture before he went to england; he knew much of france before he saw it. but of china what little he knew was mostly distortion. through that false fog he saw little even when he stood with open eyes. one of his final days he spent in hangchow, that lovely city of islands and palatial homes, of tree and verdure, where the wealth of chinese rests in peace. it was a singular echo of that other great monument at which he but glanced, that magnificent palace of the proud empress dowager where, with imperial gesture, this indomitable ruler of hundreds of millions of human beings tossed away the money which her nation gave her for a navy to defend them from the west, and instead built a fairyland of water, bridge and stone, of ebony and ivory, of flower and fountain and vine, of lovely couch and carved statue-to speak of beauty and never of war. across the straits mansart hurried to japan, the one colored nation whose talent, industry and military might the white west feared. he looked on the island mountains with intense curiosity. he sensed a difference immediately. in china he had received every courtesy and yet he knew that china felt itself part of a white world and planned its future as part of that world. no sooner had he set foot in japan than he felt himself in a colored nation who hated the white world just as he, despite all effort, did himself. he was received almost as a fellow-citizen. he again wrote home: “i have never been welcomed to a land, least of all to my own, as i was welcomed to japan. i was helped past the port officials, white americans being politely but firmly el- bowed aside, to their open-mouthed surprise. it was aston- ishing to be at last in a colored country, able and determined to run itself without white advice. and japan considers itself colored and not white. i have already tested this in conversation and suggestion. "what is japan? i am, i admit, prejudiced in its favor. but i am trying to judge it fairly. first of all, it is colored. the blonde haired world of my summer and fall is gone. the hair of the japanese is coal black, with once in a thou- sand a faint brown. the skins vary from white to sallow, and then to yellow and brown. casually, if i woke up sud- denly in japan, i should imagine myself among new orleans or charleston mulattoes. the color of asia "but the most extraordinary thing about the japanese is not physical; it is spiritual. 'they are independent and self-reliant and self-sufficient colored folk in a world now dominated by whites. they have no fear of white folks nor secret envy. whatever white folk do or have done, the japa- nese are sure they can do better. "it was the fear of england that was pushing japan. england dominated china and india, australia and new zea- land. but for the grace of god and the vigilance of the japanese, she would own japan. at one time during and after the russo-japanese war, recognizing the power and ability of the japanese, england made alliance with her as an equal. then, with no reason except the unstated one of color prejudice in america, south africa and australia, britain broke the alliance in , unwilling to link her fortunes with yellow people. "japan found herself between the devil and the deep blue sea; rapprochement with china, based on blood kinship and cultural likeness, was stopped by war and boycott, and reached unbelievable depths of hatred. japan saw china kow-towing to the west, dragging whites about in human- powered rickshaws; she sensed nothing of the unbreakable strength of china, beneath a thousand years of humility. europeans secretly and openly encouraged a split between these colored peoples which played directly into their hands. there seemed nothing for japan to do but seek alliance with germany and italy, despite the fact that germany despises yellow races and italy's hands are red with the blood of black africa. “there is poverty in japan; there is oppression; there is no democratic freedom. but nowhere in the modern world is there higher literacy, as newspaper circulations of one, three and even five millions prove. the japanese laborer is not happy but he is not hopelessly discontented, for he belongs to the same class and family as the highest japanese. they will guide and protect. he will obey. "to me, the tragedy of this epoch was that japan learned western ways too soon and too well, and turned from asia to europe. she had a fine culture, an exquisite art, and an industrial technique miraculous in workmanship and adaptability. the japanese clan was an effective social organ and her art expression was unsurpassed. she might have led asia and the world into a new era. but her head- worlds of color strong leaders chose to apply western imperialism to her domination of the east, and western profit-making replaced eastern idealism. if she had succeeded, it might have hap- pened that she would indeed have spread her culture and achieved a co-prosperity sphere with freedom of soul. per- haps!” in the dying days of , while great fujiyama still veiled its silver face, mansart went down to yokohama and set foot upon the sea. he sailed east into the sunset again to discover america, in his own thought and through the thinking and doing of other folk. ten days he journeyed until he came, at christmas, to an unbe- lievable land of raining sunshine and everlasting flowers, called hawaii. new years, , he stood in california of fact and fable, with the city of st. francis of poverty and the birds before him, and lifted up his eyes to the hills beyond the golden gate. lifted them and let them drop; two small years, two little years; suddenly he saw the whole world again aflame. chapter v color in the west indies manuel mansart was standing at the front gate of his campus in macon, looking over the grounds. he was scowling a little and tapping his foot. it was a beautiful morning, one of those soft, glowing fall days of the south where there is no hint of cold weather and yet the heat of summer has gone. it was balmy, the trees were beautiful, and the breezes enticing. the president had been back from his trip around the world for several months, and as he looked about he was beginning to ask himself, why are we here, and for what end? what is our duty and our ideal? just then he heard a sneeze and saw jean approaching to begin her morning's work. they greeted each other cordially. "you've got a cold,” he said. “yes, i have. perhaps i've been overworking a little. it wasn't really so hard while you were away, but of course there were some irritating matters. you know, our colored men i think even more than whites, are not yet used to seeing authority in the hands of a woman. they knew that i could do your work but they resented it-not so much in word but in various ways. they resented having me put over them, and also some of the trustees were a little doubt- ful of my beliefs. but there was no real difficulty because, after all, i knew the work and the details and they knew that i knew, and they let matters go on. but i did have to keep busy and watchful, and perhaps i'm a bit run down." “i'm sorry you are,” mansart said. “i tell you what i think you ought to do. take a month off after the holidays and run down to the west indies and look about. i got a new slant on the west indies while i was in france. a negro named james gave me his book to read and it is revolutionary. we must include the west indies in our survey. you'll not have time for doing much, but induce one or two delegates to attend our conference." "i think i may,” said jean. and then she asked, “may i ask worlds of color what you were thinking about? that scowl on your forehead was ominous." "yes," he said. “i came home from looking at the world with the idea that, after all, the object of our life is or should be beauty, having lovely things about us. i think of those ancient wooden temples high in the forests of japan. i think of that cathedral near where i lived in england. i think of the castles on the loire in france. i think of so many lovely things. this world was meant to be beautiful. beauty is, after all, the object of life.” jean demurred. “beauty? yes, one object, of course. but not only beauty. in a way, not simply beauty. there must be people to know it and appreciate it, and they must have time to look and hear and enjoy. looking about us here, how many people have time or training to enjoy a titian painting or a great piece of statuary?" manuel was silent. then he said slowly, “nevertheless, for those who have time, for those who can, we must have beautiful things, even while we wait for more folks to enjoy them. and this campus is ugly. oh, there are some good things; there are the classic lines of our administration hall. we have kept the old pillars of the south which the south in some curious way took from the greeks. and yonder is a simple but rather fine façade.” “yes,” answered jean. "only one thing bothers me. the south in its better homes did keep simple, classic and beautiful lines. but have you ever thought that the southern home never had space or a place for a kitchen, much as it needed kitchens? they had to be stuck on, apart from the main house.” mansart smiled and said, “at any rate i'm going to have some grass on this campus, or something that looks like grass. i'm going to have some more trees planted, and then i'm going to have some pieces of sculpture. and in the halls some good paintings.” "finel” said jean. "only of course you must remember that the trustees are going to ask about the cost of all this!" and laughing, she went into the building. she realized that mansart's wonderful trip around the world had broadened his outlook and broken down some of the barriers that had hemmed him in to a narrow racial world. life had become beauty, logic, and comfort. but also jean wondered if this very breadth was going to make mansart forget or ignore the narrow color in the west indies demands of his exacting job from which he had glimpsed so fine a freedom. jean's cold persisted, and after christmas she planned a trip to the west indies. she remembered that from virginia, through the carolinas, georgia, and florida to cuba, haiti, jamaica, and panama, lay an unbroken country where negroes and mulattoes were in recurrent majority groups. whatever touched and influ- enced one part of this group, influenced the whole. then she read james' black jacobins and leger's history of haiti and other books. she was astonished and thrilled. she wanted particularly to stand on that battlefield where dessalines overthrew the power of france in . she went on one of those floating steamers making a round trip from miami and touching briefly, all too briefly, at cuba and jamaica, haiti, puerto rico, the virgin islands and the ba- hamas. as usual, she travelled alone. she had no white friends with whom she could go, and of course colored friends could not secure accommodations. she was first struck by the unbelievable beauty in these moun- tains stretching up from the depths of the seas into the heavens, with glorious foliage and flowers beyond description. and then, still amazed, she was depressed by the poverty, ignorance, and disease crawling upon them, dotted here and there with white vul- garity and tourist extravagance. especially the tourists infuriated her-these droves of stupid, gaping fools intermingled with thieves, gamblers, whores, and idlers. all with money and few with anything else. unaware of where they were and blind to what they said, laughing at the natives, sneering at poverty and ignorance; toss- ing alms like bones to dogs and revelling in menial service from cheap "niggers.” she glimpsed cuba and jamaica. she saw the same pattern: a colored and black aristocracy climbing desperately on the backs of black peasants in order to ape the wealth and extravagance of white englishmen or americans; while writhing below, great clotted masses of filth and sorrow, struggling toward the sun, but smothered with mist so that european race superiority and american robbery and rape looked like the uplift of man. jean debarked at haiti, looked at port-au-prince and then went north to the citadel of christophe and his palace. then she came worlds of color to cap haitien and sat in the square. she met the man quite by accident in the neglected square of cap haitien. she had asked her way in passable french of a loitering boy, to the battlefield where dessalines conquered rochambeau. he did not understand, speaking only creole; but the man sitting near answered. jean looked at him with interest and instead of immediately seeking the battlefield, started to talk. the man, dr. duval (he preferred writing it "du val") was a well-known character on the cape. educated in france and long a teacher in haiti, he was now retired on a tiny pension which hardly sufficed for his sup- port. he spent his time in reading and study and sat almost daily in the city park with books beside him and pamphlets and papers in his pockets. his greatest joy was to run across some intelligent listener with whom he could discuss west indian history. he gave information gladly and at length, but was sensi- tive at any patronage or attempt to pay him for what he regarded as simple courtesy among gentlefolk. a showy american tourist once handed him a five dollar bill after receiving his guidance for nearly an hour. the enraged duval threw the money in the gutter and indignantly strode away. "what the hell ails the nigger,” sputtered the american. “wasn't that tip enough?" today, the doctor sensed in jean an intelligent lady of breed- ing. he talked voluminously. he first pointed across the square to the road leading to that last battlefield november , , “when dessalines and capois overthrew the young rochambeau, leader of the armies of napo- leon, who was seeking vainly a new empire in america." "so britain seized the west and the united states had louisiana and the pacific thrown into her lap for less than a song," said jean. the man appeared gratified. “ah, you know something of history.” jean told him of her studies. "hm!” he muttered. “but that is anglo-saxon history. the west indies carried on the renaissance; they formed a micro- cosm of modern history after . but their story has been for- gotten, distorted, twisted, and especially ridiculed-ridiculed and sneered into a mass of lies. “abbé reynal said that labor in the west indies 'may be color in the west indies considered as the principal cause of the rapid motion which now agitates the universe!'” “but just how did this happen?" asked jean. "san domingo was the finest colony in the world and its pos- sibilities seemed limitless. after the independence of america in , this french colony doubled its production in six years. in these years, bordeaux alone invested millions of dollars in san domingo. the british bourgeois were the great rivals of the french. all through the eighteenth century, they fought each other in every part of the world.” "but the british stopped the african slave trade and eventually abolished slavery." “the british colonies had enough slaves. san domingo needed more. with tears for the poor suffering blacks, the new british bourgeois set up a great howl for the abolition of the slave trade, feeling their way to a greater exploitation of india. they began to abuse the west indies as 'sterile rocks,' and asked if the interest of the nation should be sacrificed to , masters and , slaves?" “but there was surely much real philanthropy in england?" “of course; and also faith that england was god's favorite. as one englishman wrote: 'it seemed as if providence, when it took from us america, would not leave its favorite people without an ample substitute.' pitt saw a chance of capturing the continental market from france by east india sugar. the production of cotton in india doubled in a few years. indian free labor cost a penny a day!” as they conversed, jean and her friend both stared across the great northern plain toward the mountains where in dark and sombre beauty loomed the mighty citadel of christophe. dr. duval was thin and yellow, shabbily but neatly dressed and a cultured gentleman in manner and language. there was about him no faint trace of servility, or thought that any woman of any color should not be honored by his attention. he pointed to the vast plain: "yonder the black slaves came, swept on like a hurricane; but what summoned them was the wheel.” "the wheel?" “the wheel, where they crucified the handsome ogé, the mulatto educated in france where he fought boldly for the free worlds of color negroes of haiti. he said no word for the black slaves. indeed, mulattoes, educated in paris during the seven years' war, were often slave-owners.” "why was ogé attacked?" “ogé had sought status for free negroes alongside the whites of san domingo as citizens of france. the whites would have no such alliance. they seized ogé and chavannes. they bound them to a great wheel; they broke their bones with bars of iron, and exposed them writhing and bloody to the burning midday sun until they died in agony." "i remember,” said jean. “the whites and free mulattoes began to fight." "but on the th of august, , down from the crags and valleys of yonder sinister mountains and across that wide and fertile plain which for one hundred and twenty-five years had been making france rich and europe envious-down poured four hun- dred thousand black men, most of them slaves, some freemen whose forebears had hidden in these mountains for more than a century. over the long, green snake and the reeking entrails of a wild boar they had sworn allegiance to boukman, crying in creole to 'the god who created the sun which gives us light; who arouses the waves and rules the storm; who sees what the white man does: watch over us and lead us!' "in a few days one-half of the famous north plain was a flaming ruin. from le cap the whole horizon was a wall of fire. from this wall continually rose thick black volumes of smoke, through which came tongues of flame leaping to the very sky. for nearly three weeks the people of le cap could barely distinguish night from day, while a rain of burning cane straw, driven before the wind like flakes of snow, flew over the city and the shipping in the harbor, threatening both with destruction ... “they, whose women had undergone countless violations, vio- lated all the white women who fell into their hands, often on the bodies of their still bleeding husbands, fathers, and brothers. *vengeance! vengeance!' was their war-cry, and they carried a white child on a pike as a standard!” jean looked at her companion and murmured: "so the reign of terror came from france to haiti.” “oh, no, no! the reign of terror started in haiti; it did not color in the west indies reach france until three years later, when white french workers three years later, when white french workers recognized their unity with black slaves and fought with and for them. indeed, the french revolution itself started in the west indies, in the twenty-five uprisings of black workers which from to swept the west indies and erupted in paris in ." jean stared at her companion. what looked like disbelief in her eyes, was really resentment that in her study of history, in her attempt to know what the world had done, this central bit of history had been almost entirely concealed and distorted. "you do not believe me!” he said. "oh, yes, yes!” she protested, “only the interpretation is so unusual-so new—' he smiled and started to his feet: “i will give you names of books; as you travel home, read them. but twilight falls. before dark we have time to visit the battlefield which you wished to see.” jean insisted on hiring a ramshackle cab and they rode west. as they rode jean asked: “after the uprising of the slaves, what happened?" “both spain and britain tried to seize san domingo, while france strove to keep it. but its value was its slaves, and this threw contradiction into the lap of the revolution. toussaint appeared as leader of the slaves and spain secured his services since he distrusted the french. the san domingo planters invited in the english, and william pitt seized most of haiti and several other islands. britain was on the edge of owning the rich west indies. this would mean the re-establishment of slavery in the west indies and a rich britain could then overthrow the revolution in france. “but in france, revolution reached its climax. the working masses of the french people took power in their own hands and the reign of terror ensued. the owners of wealth and employers of labor bowed to the workers. they declared hate for the 'aristocracy of the skin' and refused to drink coffee because it was stained with the blood of slaves. then from the west indies came a dramatic climax. in january, , three deputies arrived from san domingo-a white man, a mulatto, and a black man. when this black man, bellay, finished his speech, the convention declared the abolition of slavery in the french colonies! worlds of color la negro sla historian history of the west they "immediately, toussaint left the service of spain and took charge of the french forces in san domingo, proclaiming the freedom of the slaves. this black west indian drove the british army out of san domingo.” “but could negro slaves oppose the british army?” “they did. fortesque, historian of the army, said the year was 'the most disgraceful year in the history of the british army.' the english in three years lost , soldiers in the west indies, a loss greater than wellington's in the peninsular campaign. they spent $ , , and general white advised withdrawal. general maitland entered into negotiations with toussaint. “a convention was signed in which the english evacuated the island. general maitland arranged a brilliant parade and royal banquet, after which he presented toussaint, in the name of the king of england, a bronze cannon from the mansion of the governor and superb vessels of silver and gold.” "what now was the real significance of thermidor for black slaves?” asked jean. “the counter-revolution of thermidor meant not only the triumph of the bourgeoisie over the workers, but the attempt to restore 'order' in san domingo. french owners and investors wept. 'there is no longer any ship-building in our ports. the manufac- tories are deserted and even the shops are closed. thus, thanks to your sublime decree, every day is a holiday for the workers. we can count more than three hundred thousand in our different towns who have no other occupation than, arms folded, to talk about the news of the day, of the rights of man, and of the con- stitution.' "babeuf, a menial servant, preached communism, freedom for the blacks, and the unity of white and black workers. he organized the 'society of equals' but was executed in . the owners and merchants raged. france tried to support the mulatto rigaud against toussaint, since rigaud fought for slavery of the blacks. toussaint triumphed again and the french bourgeoisie did not dare to try to re-establish slavery, but they began to fear that tous- saint might set up an independent island. the english encouraged this idea. but toussaint believed in france and showed his faith in france by sending his sons there for education." “and his reward?" color in the west indies "his reward was eventual betrayal and cruel death in france at the hands of napoleon.” they stepped out of the cab and looked about the bare field. jean went back in thought to the fall of the directory in france and the establishment of the consulate of napoleon bonaparte. duval continued: “it was clear that napoleon hated and feared negroes, and this despite the fact that his first step upward in paris, came from his marriage to a west indian octoroon. josephine de beauharnais had married into the french nobility. when her husband was guillotined, she found protection at the hands of friends of napoleon and became the most glamorous figure in paris society. “napoleon married her just before he started on his italian campaign. he coveted for france its richest colonial possession, and was frightened at seeing it fall into the hands of the british. but before he could turn his attention to the west indies, tous- saint had arisen and made himself practically independent of france. he had seized the whole island from spain and in actually had the impudence to proclaim a constitution. he pro- tested, and quite sincerely, his loyalty to france. but napoleon, furious, determined to kill him. he planned a formidable fleet of ships built in france, spain, and holland. it carried , soldiers trained under napoleon himself and commanded by his brother-in-law, leclerc. “the fleet anchored at cap haitien in february, . the city was under the command of christophe. leclerc ordered sur- render in twenty-four hours. the reply was a volley of artillery fire and then christophe burned the city, including his own home, to the ground. there followed two years of fearful war. the troops and the fever decimated the french. “leclerc soon was frightened. he wrote: ‘my position becomes worse every day. sickness carries off the men. toussaint is not to be trusted, as i had indeed expected, but i have drawn from his submission the object i had expected.' "leclerc then resorted to disgraceful deceit. he lured tous- saint aboard his flagship on pretense of further negotiation. there the great black leader was seized and taken to france. "toussaint was murdered by cold and neglect in the snows worlds of color of the alps. this napoleon thought would be the end, but it was not. first, leclerc was in dread about slavery. he wrote na- poleon. read here in this book: ‘do not think of establishing slavery here for some time. all the blacks are persuaded, by letters which have come from france, by the law which re-establishes the slave trade, by the decree of general richepanse which re-estab- lished slavery in guadeloupe, that the intention is to make them slaves again.' "then he screams: “i have just discovered a great plot which aimed at raising the whole colony in revolt by the end of ther- midor. it was only partially executed for lack of a leader. it is not enough to have taken away toussaint, there are , chiefs to be taken away. ... “although i have painted such a horrible situation i ought to say that i am not without courage. . . . for four months now i exist merely by adroitness, without having any real force; judge if i can fulfill the intentions of the government.' "on november , the sick and distracted leclerc died. of the , french soldiers he had brought, , had died, , were in the hospital, and only , exhausted men remained. rochambeau succeeded leclerc. “rochambeau was a ruthless beast. he received , new french troops after the death of leclerc. he drowned so many people in the bay of cap haitien that fish were no longer eaten. he hunted down the blacks with dogs. he burned negroes alive, hanged and tortured them, and buried them to the neck in nests of insects. “but dessalines returned blow for blow. he hanged white troops before rochambeau's eyes. he burned the north plain until it was a charred desert. on this spot here, dessalines tore the white stripe from the red, white, and blue of the tricolor, and made the remaining red and blue, blood and sky, the flag of free haiti. on november , , the blacks and mulattoes gathered for a last attack upon cap haitien. a white slave-owner wrote a half-century later: 'but what black men these are! how they fight and how they die! i have seen a solid column, torn by grape-shot from four pieces of cannon, advance without making a retrograde step. the more fell, the greater seemed to be the courage of the rest. ... color in the west indies “those songs shouted into the sky in unison by , voices, to which the cannon formed the bass, produced a thrilling effect. the french too marched singing to their death, lighted by a magnificent sun. even today after more than years, this majestic and glorious spectacle still lives as vividly in my imagination as in the moments when i saw it.' "on november , rochambeau surrendered and took refuge with the british. he left the corpses of , french soldiers and sailors behind. on december , dessalines read the haitian declaration of independence.” it was dark as jean turned to leave this bare old battlefield. as they rode back, her guide continued: "christophe, who followed dessalines, could not hold the blacks and mulattoes in one government. it was no longer slavery that kept them apart, but a different conception of the state. the north under christophe harked back to african communism, with dictatorship and discipline to ward off the white world of colonial imperialism. hence the citadel of defense yonder at la ferrière, one of the wonders of the world. “but pétion and his mulattoes in the south had their faces set toward the new democracy of the nineteenth century, as led by france and america. pétion helped forward the independence of south america and sought in vain the good will of the united states. but white labor democracy in france and england, built on the exploitation of colored labor, repudiated all union with black haiti, save as a quasi-colonial area.” the next day after thanking her guide and mentor cordially, jean left the cape for port-au-prince. she perused in the books loaned her the extraordinary story of haiti. from the day when the english overcome the french in asia and conquered india; when the french, rich from slavery in the west indies, found their nation overthrown at home and threatened by a demand for the equality of workers, black and white; when the english tried to seize the west indies; when napoleon tried to enter asia by way of egypt and toussaint l'ouverture overthrew french, english, and spanish; when the french workers tried to unite black and white in one struggle and the british subordinated the black worker under the white and bribed the white with higher wages, the worlds of color color line stood until russia abolished it and saved the world from a war of colors. it seemed curiously clear now to jean what had happened since. great britain had transferred her investments in the west indies, and in the name of emancipation exchanged the west indian plantations for new investment and expanded capitalism in african and asian colonies. thence came the industrial revolution and the new imperialism, born of the blood of negro slaves. chapter vi the conference jean re-embarked at port-au-prince and sailed to puerto rico whence she planned to return home by way of the bahamas. but at san juan she left the ship again and went to the virgin islands. she wanted to be alone to read and think about the west indies, and plan a message which she could bring back to manuel mansart. on returning, jean accomplished one goal she had long had in mind. she became dean of the college. she had long been this in fact and was acting dean when mansart was abroad. on his return, the office of full dean should have been established, but in that case a man would naturally have been appointed. since no man on the faculty seemed fitted for the job, the matter was dropped. then mansart got back in harness, and the need of a dean with authority became clear, especially as mansart's mind and activities became increasingly engrossed in large matters outside the college. quietly therefore mansart and coypel, head of the white university system and mansart's superior, with the careless con- sent of baldwin, voice of big business, succeeded in making jean du bignon titular dean of the college. outside her routine duties jean now gave most of her time to the new organization for southwide study of race relations. she planned to have the first conference at the state college in , including not only the teachers of sociology in the land-grant colleges and the private colored institutions of the south, but a few leading social thinkers of the nation. she wanted in that way first to settle questions of method and aim in sociology for the guidance of the colored colleges; and also to get various institutions more and more interested and involved in this movement. first, she corresponded with the presidents of the colored land- grant colleges, urging them themselves to attend, and especially to send their professors of sociology or teachers of analogous sub- jects. nearly all the colleges promised co-operation. then jean began writing to southern white institutions to invite their sociol- worlds of color ogists to meet with the conference as observers and advisers. a few responded. finally, she sought to insure the attendance of certain leading northern teachers and writers on social subjects. she in- duced mansart to promise them expenses with board either in the college or at the white hotels in the city. several consented. jean tried to keep central in her mind the object of this purely scientific program as the best way to ward off criticism and make sure of the co-operation of all the colored people and especially of the white trustees. on the other hand, no scientific work can function in a vacuum and jean knew that inevitably the conferees would be considering in their own minds how and why the infor- mation gathered would eventually be used. in her own thinking she had assumed that the “socialism" of the roosevelt era would be regarded as normal for the future by those who attended the conference. but in that case the more ticklish question of negro political power must be in the minds of all, if not actually men- tioned; for socialism could only be established by votes. moreover, all the conferees must know that organized industry was increas- ingly going to center its efforts in the south because of its resources, its climate, its cheap labor and lack of labor organization. she con- ceived therefore that the trade union movement, particularly in the south, would be an object for her to investigate and, so far as possible, influence. there was also the accompanying question of how far the american negro, especially in the south, should try to develop as a self-supporting unit inside the white group. already this path was recognized in music and art; it was venturing into drama, and it was manifest also in a distinct body of literature. but jean saw that the economic aspect was as yet but partially conceived. there was, of course, the “group economy' discussed in the atlanta university studies; and there was “consumers' co-operation” which the crisis, organ of the naacp, was pushing. but heavy indus- try and the trade unions, and the part and place of the negro in this crucial development was not yet envisaged. should sep- arate trade unions be organized for negroes, and a nation-wide negro trade union movement be organized? jean pondered long on these matters. what would be the relation of negro business to the national business development? but all these considera- tions jean put sternly aside from her main object in this organ- the conference ization, which was truth about race relations in the united states, gathered scientifically and presented to the world without bias. but, jean continued to reflect, here was mansart's ideal of beauty, and here was the poverty that could not appreciate it. what was to be done about this? she kept thinking this over. her idea, firmly fixed at first, was to achieve a scientific knowl- edge of the truth, even in sociology, a discovery of its rhythms, a realization of the possibility of prophecy. to this she still held. manuel mansart, while obsessed by his realization of the beauty and order of the world, was interested in the economic develop- ment of the negro. he agreed with jean's plans to study the negro on a wide scientific scale. he wanted to plot the negro's industrial future in this world which industry ruled. but he saw no clear path at present. meantime, he wanted his college, his teachers and students, to realize what the world meant now as a place to live in. first of all, he himself began to have a conception of the world as one unified dwelling place. he was escaping from his racial provincialism. he began to think of himself as part of humanity and not simply as an american negro over against a white world. as he looked about, it seemed to him that one place to start was by beginning to make the state college at macon a more beautiful and satisfying place than it had been, a better expression of the breadth and beauty of life. interfering with this and disturbing his thought was the unrest in europe, the premonition of possible war. yet, he insisted on thinking of the broader aims of civilization, of the integration of mankind into the world; of the appeal to duty and order through peace. he did not believe, he could not believe, that there was going to be another world war. he said to himself and repeated to jean: “surely it is quite impossible that civilization should try war again?” jean looked at him contemplatively and said: “i'm not so sure, president mansart. i'm not at all sure. you see, the difficulty is that the problem which drove us into the first world war is unsettled, and that is the domination of the backward parts of the earth for the benefit of europe and north america; and the use of the profit from colonialism to settle the problem of the worker in imperial nations. all that we settled or seemed to settle worlds of color in the first world war was that germany was not going to be admitted as an equal partner in colonial imperialism with france and england. and now, you see, that is rebounding. germany and italy are insisting not simply on world partnership, but it would seem that they want world dictatorship.” manuel mused a considerable time. then he said, “i think i have learned something new concerning nations, colonies and social classes on this trip. the classic division of classes within countries in the past left a great mass of labor at the bottom, working in ignorance and sickness chiefly for the benefit of a small hereditary aristocracy. this is still a pattern in much of the middle east and in central and south america. “but in western europe and north america this pattern has changed. there, a considerable but a much smaller mass of ignorant and sick labor is at the bottom; and feeding on that, as well as subsidized by a powerful ruling oligarchy, is a large middle group of skilled and white-collar workers who think they have more to lose in any revolution than chains; they can lose homes and musical instruments, automobiles, electrical gadgets, servants, and the opportunity to live as superiors over lower classes. their temptation to curb or overthrow the ruling oligarchy is modified first by the real chance that some of their own group may be able to join the rich, or negated by their share in the profit of exploiting not only the lowest classes in their own country but the majority of the working people of the world in asia, africa and south america." jean assented and added: “this turns most of the well-paid laborers of britain, france and the united states into supporters of the ruling rich. in defense of their higher wage they join in oppression of the poor, and all the more cruelly because they so vividly know and fear poverty. then, too, they consent to serve as well-paid soldiers to keep the poor peoples of the world in servitude to the rich. thus, by higher wages and political power, they share in the loot of asia, africa, central and south america, the caribbean and south sea areas. “especially in the united states, the middle-class well-paid worker has long been inured to oppression by living beside despised and exploited groups like negroes, indians and foreign immigrants. the law permitted this oppression and custoin set few limits. the conference democracy was denied most such groups, and if war comes again, here lurks the cause." manuel went on with his thoughts and plans. first, he began to beautify the college grounds with trees, flowers and shrubs. he repaired and built fences and painted woodwork. pictures seemed to have never been thought of in his college and indeed not often in the south. he found he could easily get. large repro- ductions of the world's best pictures, and his students in their carpentry classes could frame them. so there began to appear in the halls and in the dormitories representations of european art: the older and greater painters, michelangelo, titian and rubens, the dark visages of goya, and some representation of the newer trends-matisse and gauguin and even picasso. especially, he wanted colored faces portrayed in a region where all skins were rendered white or caricatured. works of colored artists like tanner and meta warrick were sought. to this, manuel managed to add some large pieces of statuary. the trustees were not altogether in agreement here. they did not like naked white greek figures. they thought it would have a bad effect on the morals of negroes. but the venus of milo de- manded entrance, and the victory of samothrace, and some roman athletes. there were busts of douglass and booker washington. it then occurred to manuel that he must do something more about the library. he really needed a new library building. and by arrangement with the new deal administration a rather fine building was erected in , with both books and room to read and lounge. he secured a trained colored librarian with imagina- tion, and began to buy books systematically. back of the library a large room was set aside as a little theater, which thus brought a new and interesting member to the staff and resulted in enter- tainment for the students and some original writing. in consultation with his daughter sojourner, mansart enlarged his whole music program. he forecast a school of music which not only would emphasize american negro music but the music of africa, the west indies and south america, then go on to cover the great music of the modern world with bach, beethoven and wagner. some of the trustees thought this program over- ambitious; and the teachers had difficulty in gathering talent for orchestration, voices for singing and audiences to listen. but worlds of color the work grew slowly. colored singers like hayes and pianists like maud cuney appeared in concert. jean's plan was to induce each negro college to undertake continuous social study of the negro population of its own state. this would be financed by the local institution itself and would be on as wide and intensive a scale as it could afford. it would take advantage of local and current studies of every kind, made by the state, organizations or private individuals; it would use the data of the united states census, classifying matter which the census would not care or could not afford to use. jean hoped that gradually these studies would become broader and more systematic and, following the criticisms of the sociologists gathered at the conferences, would also become more scientific and reliable. in time, jean dreamed, there would emerge the largest and most complete, continuous study of the actions of a definite human group which the world anywhere was attempting, and out of this might come measurements for a science of sociology such as never yet had existed. naturally, the actual conference was disappointing. only a few of the colored presidents attended. most of the institutions, however, sent teachers of social science; but they were not a very promising group. the first step toward a realization of her project, jean saw, would be to have better teachers hired and give them more time and money for this work. four white northern sociol- ogists came and were very encouraging about the general program. they did not expect a science of sociology to emerge as jean did, but they were sure that with care and some money, a most inter- esting body of knowledge might gradually be accumulated. the two white southerners who came also expressed interest, along with some surprise. they wondered if negroes could carry out such a plan. if they could, it would be an excellent effort. there were only a few set speeches; most of the work was discussion, and that often was stimulating. there were few studies already in the making, and therefore few reports; but many plans were announced. among the set speeches was one by a chance visitor. aba aziz, who called himself in america, alexander abraham, was visiting the college. as was the custom, strangers of distinction, especially if colored, were welcomed at the college and enter- the conference tained. this one seemed a man of education, and was asked by the president to stop over and to address the conference. he was tall, thin, black of skin, with close-curled hair. his english was beautiful, as was indeed his french, german, italian, russian and arabic; which last two languages he never used or admitted knowing when in the united states. his address was clear and short, but puzzling. he said: “we admit that clear knowledge of things is the best way to understanding. yet an embarrassing question may here be asked: what do we really know of the things we think about if indeed there are any real things beyond our thought of them? common sense comes to support science and says, let us act as though this outer world really exists and proceed to know and measure it. on this hypothesis we build up a world of mass and energy which moves in time and space and shows astonishing regularities. indeed, last century we had reached the place where we believed we were on the track of the universal laws of action among things and closing in on analogous laws governing all life, vegetable, animal and human. then in our day came a halting “this moving mass, at one end infinitely small and at the other a vast reach of stars, with earth between, when interrogated not only refused to exhibit the same regularities, but differed widely and disturbingly. they contradicted each other so that at least among the atoms we could speak only of probability and even of sheer chance which the pre-scientific students had rather infelicitously called free will. time and space seemed to be but aspects of one thing and the universe could only be explained scientifically if we mathematically assumed that we had measured what was at present unmeasurable unless and until we know what is now apparently unknowable. “all this the oldest, exact scientist resented, the priest ridi. culed, but the mathematician proved true by splitting and fusing atoms; while bending rays of light and blending motion and mass. all of which challenges the present day student. in this complex the present conference, as i understand, takes its place. it will, so far as it can, measure human conduct in a distinct and con- trolled area and there either discover law or delimit the boun- daries of chance." go worlds of color mr. abraham sat down amid a polite but faint applause. few in the audience had any idea of what he was trying to say. some of the white trustees consulted later. “what the hell was he talking about?" "sounded like nonsense to me." "who is he?" "what does he really know about atoms? if so, how and why?" “let's get in touch with the fbi; he may bear investigation." the fbi gathered in the next year an astonishing amount of knowledge about aziz. the man was born in yemen. where is yemen? east of egypt! but in what nation? saudi arabia. was he a jew? not of the orthodox types usually so known. but connected with the ancient rites-a black jew. educated? oh, variously: in cairo at el azhar; in india at calcutta; at peking and the univeristy of tokyo; in berlin, the sorbonne and the university of london; also at yale. he had taught short periods and on various subjects in europe, asia and africa; in spanish america. in the soviet union? oh yes, lived and studied for a year at moscow. he had worked as an artisan in the united states-in electricity in poughkeepsie and in a chemical plant in chicago. this information was easily secured and aziz spoke frankly even about his change of name. but the conclusion was that he was either a spy or saboteur. he admitted that he was a communist. "i greatly admire the russians and their system of education," he said casually, as he was taken to prison. then he dropped from sight. a final report said that he had apparently been accidentally killed by falling from the walls of alcatraz. the trustees of the georgia state college were on the whole gratified and pleasantly disappointed at the conference. the meet- ing was not radical or inflammatory. it enhanced the reputation of the state college. the chief result, beyond promise for the future, was the stimulation among the local teachers and the visitors of arguments and exchanges of views as to the future development of the american negroes, especially along industrial lines. the place and future of the trade union movement came in for consideration, and then the general industrial policy within the race and over the nation. one of mansart's most informing the conference she expm. jean contere talks came after the conference, in a conversation with the dark dane, whom jean had invited to the conference. she explained to mansart just what a dark dane was. "the danes, when they owned the virgin islands, used in certain cases to decree that individual negroes of distinction were legally 'white,' with all the rights of danes. some descendants of such families still live on the islands and usually occupy high positions." he was a black man, tall, with velvet skin and sharp features- a typical scandinavian in all save color. a century since, the danish government, ruling the virgin islands after spain, france, the knights of malta and britain, had decreed that his negro ancestor was hereafter legally "white." his family henceforth was one with the rulers of the island of st. croix. he had a good common school and high school education added to reading; he was familiar with the literature of scandinavia and britain, and knew something of the french. but he was insular. he had never travelled much, and his experience among men was narrow. he did not like white americans and regarded their purchase of his island as a calamity. he met manuel with grave courtesy which later ripened into friendship and considerable understanding. "the west indies," he said, "once were on the way to becoming highways of modern europe to china and india. beautiful beyond dream, with perfect climate, inountain, song and sea, they began to reflect european civilization in microcosm. here culture, re- born in the renaissance, lurched upward to new realization of a new world; new vegetation, free gold and such meeting of souls as once island greece had known. here poverty, the scourge of man, was to be conquered and eterual life achieved. over these fortunate isles, out of atlantis, the best of men started toward fabulous asia, mother of human culture. “but into this paradise the serpent of greed entered, and in- stead of an eden for its own dark people and their european guests, arose hell for the indian, in blind effort to build a white heaven. but they made a mistake. they looked back; they turned back to africa, the first of continents, so as to enslave its flesh and blood. they tried to forget africa's past, malign its present and make its fu- ture a tale for beasts. to do this they had to blaspheme religion and lie to truth. the result was disaster: in slave revolt, human hate and worlds of color degradation. all this brought revolution to haiti, north america and france, and then came that revolution in industry which en- gulfed the modern world. “this vast and fatal change in ways of making wealth and giving human service became more than successful in production but tragic in the way its results were divided among men. not new culture in the dark west indies, nor reborn civilization in china, brown india or black africa became heirs of the new earth, but all these were forced to be sick, stupid, hungry victims of great white europe who tried to inherit the earth. the world advance was twisted in europe; asia struggled and africa shrieked until world war brought promise of utter disappearance of civiliza- tion." thus the dark dane spoke while manuel listened in much astonishment, some doubt and a little agreement. he ventured at last to question: “but what is happening in the west indies, i cannot under- stand. i hear of undreamed of beauty in all these scattered islands; i hear of music and laughter and yet too, unease, sickness, unhap- piness and the almost universal belief that real life and steady progress lie quite beyond these happy isles. above all, the people: there is no people; or there are peoples of every sort, kind, and hue, and yet the bond between is so fragile and thin. they dislike each other so cordially!” the dark dane counted on his fingers. "we are seven," he said. “the whites and the native whites; the mulattoes and the blacks; the americans and refugees; and the tourists. yes, god forgive us, the tourists, who never belonged here and yet whom we invite and fawn on and let trample us to dust." “but i thought,” said manuel, astonished. the dark dane interrupted. “you thought that the destiny of the west indies was to be the playground of rich americans where they could gamble, whore and get drunk at their sweet will, unhampered by law or gospel or even by the dictates of decent society; and above all where they could get rich on the ignorance, servility and poverty of the ‘niggers.'” "well, no, not exactly that; but these hotels,” “the chromium finish in puerto rico, in cuba, san domingo and haiti. the cars and beaches, the dining, dancing and yacht- the conference ing, the shops and jewels-no, no! the west indies should be center of a new and better world culture arising from and around and for their ten million colored folk and for such other human beings who wish to share their destiny as equal citizens and human companions. impossible? oh no! i've thought it all out. listen. “we would begin as a small compact group here in st. croix; ten families, a hundred, a thousand, with a little money, able to read and write, trained to think. first on fair-sized plots of average land we would raise what we needed to eat, importing nothing but what we absolutely must; using brown sugar, unrefined by cheat- ing americans; eating our own abundant fruit and vegetables with no canned slop; balancing our diet according to science but avoid- ing fads. we would build our own outdoor homes; low, ventilated and sun-bathed. we would dare shake our fists in the face of paris and new york fashion, and weave our own cloth from our own fibres. when we could we would learn to make and use the new synthetic fibres; but cotton, wool, flax and silk could cover us until nylon monopoly was broken. we would till the ground by inches, not by miles, and use hands and feet instead of tractors until better machines for simpler land culture were invented by our own brains or the brains of other human beings working for human happiness and not merely for profit. “and all our object would be leisure, not work; time for thought, education, painting, poetry and sculpture; scientific ex- ploration and invention. there would be no patents or copy- rights but rewards, prizes and scholarships for individuals; drama and theater, visitors-not stupid 'tourists'—but artists and singers, poor in pocket, rich in talent and unwilling to barter their souls to the metropolitan tyrants; writers out of whom greedy pub. lishers could not make money and therefore try to starve." "but wait,” interrupted manuel. “you go fast and make fearful progress in words. but there are obstacles. first, land. the land of the west indies either already is or is rapidly becoming mo- nopolized. where would your community live?". “we would tax heavily all unused land and let each use tax free what land he needs for crops or homes. property would be a social trust, revocable at will, with just compensation for any real sacrifice; ownership of property always known and publicly regis- worlds of color tered, and all income of everybody known to all with source and reason." "but the power to do this?" "we can vote." “but my dear man, so can other millions; but they vote as the rich and powerful order or—”. “are destroyed. but we would realize democracy. we would vote as we wanted and we would learn and teach what we ought to want and how to get it.” "but do you realize how little of such democratic government there is in the world and how quickly and effectively that little can be nullified or done away with? and how in god's name can you get a voting body intelligent enough to know what is best for them and how to vote it in?” "my dear president mansart, do you actually doubt the possi- bility of human intelligence and the practicability of education?" "well, no, but universal popular education started a hundred years ago and where are we?” "did it start with the reform bill, or did we merely start talk- ing about it? i tell you, it's possible.” "moreover, your land program and rewards, and i suppose with social medicine and old age security, public ownership of public utilities-all this sounds much like communism.” "like communism?". "you know, the russian way–iron curtain and all that." “is that communism? why i thought communists were mur- derers, conspirators and liars—at least so i have been told.” “and naturally believed it, as you will in future believe what you are told about other things. you see, dear friend, we are all at the mercy of what we are told, and ever will be." "and education is impossible because truth is unattainable?" "well-" "it is not well; it is ill.” the dark dane looked disgusted. mansart served tea. chapter vii the southern worker jean was thoughtful after the conference. she was at once dis- appointed and encouraged. her main object seemed attained, that of securing co-operation from the teachers in the various colored colleges. but in conversing with the delegates and visitors she found surprisingly little sense of the use to which the facts of social investigation should be put. some seemed to think that the object of the studies was the skills and training secured by the investigators. of further use of this body of knowledge for social reform, their ideas were curiously vague. jean was aware that this was to be expected from her plan, and that this was her proclaimed object. but she realized that despite her own purely scientific goal, she was really most inter- ested in the uses of information rather than just in obtaining it; that this was the only excuse for all this trouble in these critical times. the more she thought the matter over, the more she herself wanted to become familiar with industry which dominated the world. it must dominate the world, for men must work for food and shelter before they could rightly think and feel. she was aware of how theoretical her knowledge of factories and real production was. the labor movement to her was mainly words and theory. what was true in her own case was even more true of her fellow teachers. they knew industry as brute toil, seldom as organized and planned execution. they knew of servants, laborers, teachers and professional men, but seldom of skilled factory hands, union members and labor leaders. she determined, therefore, to take her summer vacation of three months away from the college to cross into the neighbor- ing but far-off white world and learn what a textile factory really was. there was risk in thus crossing the color line. hitherto, her chief difficulty had been to stay within her "race.” now she would worlds of color use her opportunity and be for a time what she seemed to be- "white." she knew that hiding would be easiest nearby, and so she just rode to atlanta, and got acquainted with the members of the textile union. the union was not large. it had no valid contracts with the industry, and its membership was firm on the exclusion of negroes. she learned that in north carolina negro tobacco work- ers and white union textile workers had found some common ground, but had been suppressed by the militia. the new cio was working in the south, and large numbers of negroes were coming into the general union movement, but not into textiles. jean rented a room in the white working section and began to talk to the women workers. she said that she wanted to become an apprentice in spinning and weaving. they laughed at her. "why on earth do you want to work in a mill? you've got an education,” they contended. "yes,” said jean, "but i want to know how to do the work. i want to become a worker, and see if we can't organize for better wages and conditions.” "well, we can't. if we go into the union and try to force the employers, first thing you know they'd have ‘niggers' here working in our place.” "in that case,” said jean argumentatively, “i wonder if it wouldn't be a good plan to anticipate the mand get some good reliable negro workers into the mills." the woman she was talking to sniffed. “i'd die first,” she said. jean kept on. over a period of three months she got the chance to work as an apprentice. then she joined the union and finally spent a week working in one of the factories. she talked with labor leaders and found them discouraged. "with whites and negroes competing we can't get anywhere in the labor movement.” “then,” said jean, “stop competing. unite.” “i know it,” he said. “that's what we ought to do, but that's exactly what we can't. it's the one thing that's quite impossible.' "i wonder if we couldn't try the impossible,” jean said. and she made arrangements the following summer to help in the state office as a volunteer. after the winter had passed jean returned to atlanta. one the southern worker morning zoe scroggs, who was now in charge of the state office, arrived to find a visitor waiting. zoe was the daughter of coypel, the superintendent of atlanta schools who had made manuel mansart head of the colored schools. it was zoe who was in the street encounter which resulted in the beating of mansart's son, bruce. eventually zoe had married scroggs, the labor leader, who once ran for governor and now headed the state labor movement. zoe apologized for being late and quickly got to her desk. “so sorry to be late. what can i do for you, miss—?". jean du bignon looked at zoe thoughtfully. she had come to talk with joe scroggs to learn more about the union move- ment, and also if possible to sound him out about the future of negroes in the union movement. she had not known that zoe was active in this work, and that put a new idea into her head. why not try to enlist zoe's sympathy? it would be a risk, and she might spoil her own plans. but zoe looked intelligent and jean knew something about her. she even sensed her contacts with bruce mansart, manuel's ill-fated son. this might be provi- dential; also, it might be fatal. she smiled and said: “officially, i am jean smith, studying about trade unions and seeking summer work. in fact,” she paused and looked zoe in the eye; "in fact, i am colored and teach in the colored state college at macon. my real interest is the future relation of negroes to organized labor. my real name is jean du bignon." there was a pause and jean waited. she saw surprise, resent- ment, indecision and resolve chase themselves across zoe's coun. tenance. then zoe said slowly: “i have heard of you from my father. i am glad to know you." then she made the last gesture of surrender from a southern white to a colored person: she held out her hand. they talked for an hour on the union movement in general, in the nation and in georgia. then jean began to talk about negro workers. but zoe stopped her. she hesitated and then blurted out: “did you know bruce mansart?" “oh yes; quite well. he was in one of my classes. i was at the college when the football game was played in atlanta.” zoe went white and was silent. then she whispered, "he is dead?” worlds of color “yes." "how did-he die?" jean paused and lowered her eyes. "he was hanged." zoe gripped her hands together and shivered. but jean con- tinued: “it was for a murder committed in missouri. the poor boy had gone mad. indeed, i am sure that he was never wholly sane after that beating by the police in atlanta." "that is true; it must be true.” “and now what i want is to be sure in the future that boys like bruce with a mechanical gift, and other negro workers who can help in the world's work, get a chance to work beside their white fellows, so that together they can raise the working class to such respect and income that they can occupy their rightful leadership in the world.” zoe, with tears in her eyes, said, “what a loss, what a horrible loss to the world, when a man like bruce mansart is driven from work to crime by senseless prejudice. we'll be pals. we'll work together. we won't tell joe all of this yet. he wouldn't under- stand. he's honest and he's striving toward right. but he needs time and knowledge. i'll see you have a job here this summer. you guide my studies and i'll guide joe. we'll reach the right if it takes a lifetime.” then zoe added, “you know that angelo herndon has been freed by the supreme court?” “yes,” said jean, “that was a queer case; i never understood it.” “it was white and black labor trying to get together; but you see, it was led by the communists and my husband didn't dare take part. a colored and white group met one night to talk over a proposed strike and to unite blacks and whites in one union, somebody told the police and they raided the house. angelo herndon was arrested and thrown into jail. that was in . he was a nice-looking colored boy of from cincinnati. he was charged with having communist literature and sentenced to years imprisonment. he got out on $ , bail raised by public subscription. the supreme court turned down his first appeal in , but young ben davis-do you know him?--fought the case until in april this year the supreme court, to , declared the georgia statute unconstitutional and herndon is free." the southern worker "how splendid. and this ben davis, i must hunt him up. i know of his father.” “i believe he is in new york now and one of the officials of the communist party; but listen, have you heard of herndon's brother?” “no; gracious! how ignorant i am, on matters where i'm supposed to be expert!” "this is about the lincoln battalion in spain.” “oh, communists again?” “not exactly. spain massacred striking miners in , but the radical left parties won the elections of and set up a republic. civil war ensued, franco leading, with hitler and mus- solini helping, while britain and the united states gave no assistance and allowed none. then, in america arose that marvel- ous lincoln battalion-a miscellaneous mass of youth-from work- ers, writers and artists to bums and ne'er-do-wells—who threw themselves into a crusade for spanish freedom. among the first was milton herndon, brother of angelo. tall, handsome, quick to learn, he was commander of a section in the machine-gun company of the mackenzie-papineau canadian battalion when he left his cover to go to the aid of a wounded soldier. he was killed while dragging the helpless man to safety. "among the , volunteers who went to fight for freedom were other negroes-sergeant joe taylor, who sang negro spirituals on the battlefield; commissar morris wickman, of philadelphia; bunny rucker, of cleveland, a light-skinned negro whose quiet efficiency won him the respect of the entire regiment; roach, the negro machine gunner from provincetown; mcdaniells, whom spaniards called 'fantastico.' i am told the negroes loved spain more than they had ever loved america, for in spain there was no prejudice against their color. of the battalion, , died crying, 'if spain is lost there will be a second world war!'” “i heard parts of this story,” jean said, “but knew nothing of the negroes save what i read in shirley graham's beautiful biography of paul robeson. he was in spain when civil war was brewing, and sang especially to the workers. but why, why is so much of this unknown, hidden from the public?”. zoe looked thoughtful. "well, you see, so many communists were involved. even russia sent aid to victims of franco's bombs worlds of color and barbarism. we in america are afraid of communism, just as hitler was in germany." "then how on earth did you learn all this?" "well you see, i've been talking to young ben davis." jean returned to macon just as chamberlain returned to england from munich where he had signed a treaty and pro- claimed: “peace in our time.” but in the world rushed to war. franco triumphed in spain, germany and italy united, germany declared war on poland, and great britain on germany. but it was the sudden expansion of japan which astonished jean. japan had already seized korea and manchuria. jean drew mansart's attention to japan. manuel was, of course, interested but not alarmed. he admitted that japan wanted to be one of the great nations of the world, and partners with europe and america in exploiting asia. “and,” said jean, “i suspect that this exploitation will be just as bad and just as thorough as that which great britain and france have been carrying on." “oh, no,” said manuel. “no, this is going to be a different thing. this is going to be a colored folk taking charge of the development of colored folk; and because they themselves know what domination and exploitation is, they are going to do better. i am sure of that. perhaps this is the beginning of the rise of the colored peoples of the world." "or,” said jean, “it is the ending of the old capitalistic exploitation with a few improvements. moreover," added jean, "you must not lose your interest in germany. you know what hitler was trying to do when you were there. well, he is carrying it out and pretty soon the rest of the white world is going to make alliance with him. a second world war is begun!” "i doubt that very much,” said manuel. “i think he's going to find himself with strong opposition and that he will not dare face it.” “that,” said jean, "is not at all evident in his treatment of the jews. the united states will soon be in this war and on which side i am not sure.” mansart insisted that there was hope. in the case of american negroes, there was progress. “there are things that negroes can boast of. the naacp still lives; there is one negro in congress the southern worker and one state senator; there are members of state legislatures and members of city councils; there are artists like hayes, robeson, bledsoe and marian anderson; there are little theaters among negroes in four or five cities and one in texas; there are , negroes in colleges and , graduates a year. in the courts there have been some victories. some negroes' books have been published. the wife of the colored congressman dared drink tea at the white house; and there are triumphs here and there in athletics.” as mansart voiced these considerations to his students and at teachers' meetings, inevitably a subject forced itself into dis- cussion which ordinarily was not discussed, and that was politics. for forty years among the better class of negroes in the south, it was not regarded good form to discuss politics. they were as a mass disfranchised, and while this situation could not and should not persist, yet as the dead booker washington had advised, discussion should not be insisted on at present. but discussion could not be avoided. jean said at teachers' prayer meeting: "how shall negroes vote next fall-those who can vote? remember that negroes who do not vote are still the basis of each state's representation in congress and somebody casts their ballot if they do not. it isn't a matter simply of doing away with the negro vote, the right still exists; but it is exercised not by the negro but by the white man, and not by the white worker but by the white landholder and investor, by capitalists and employers. with this increased voting power, the south can send to congress the most reactionary defenders of wealth and monopoly, can hold the most powerful committee assignments, and this hard, immovable core of opposition cannot be met by reason or appeal.” “i don't quite see that," complained a professor. jean got a copy of the crisis for and explained. “in the presidential election of , a million voters on the pacific coast elected congressmen. in the middle west, a million voters elected congressmen. in new england, due to disfranchised foreigners, a million voters elected congressmen. but in the south, the poor and ignorant south, with negroes and poor whites disfranchised, a million voters elected congressmen. in five states of the southern south, out of more than five million worlds of color possible voters, four and a half million were disfranchised, leaving , actual voters. “in , because of the financial crash, hoover was crushingly defeated and roosevelt elected. he was re-elected in . now, in , we american negroes face the question of a third term.” “and,” said mansart, “in addition to that, the question of socialism and world war." jean hastened to insist: “our greatest problem is that of work and wage, and this not simply for ourselves and for our kin and color overseas, but for the laboring world." there was a murmur against this, which a woman instructor voiced. “but do we really have to plunge into the world labor problem and the inextricable tangles of asia and africa? our problem is simpler. we want to be americans. other problems can wait." "no. becoming americans does not mean automatic settle- ment of our problems. it means sharing the problems of ameri- cans, and believe me, they've got plenty. these problems we must understand beforehand, lest we land as a dead weight and compli- cate the question we ought to be ready to help solve. we must not be content to loaf in a provincial racial enclave. we must emerge into the greater world even before we become americans. perhaps we can then lead them out of the woods." "nonsense. we can't lead ourselves, much less the whites.” "i'm not so sure. one of our negroes once had a vision of a ‘talented tenth,' that is, of trained, devoted men who would devote themselves to social uplift, not simply of themselves but of the world.” “a sort of set of dictators?". "yes, but not of a proletariat, because he did not know the labor group in industry. if he had, he might have gone another path. as it was, his talented became too often selfish money grabbers." "was that in burghardt's mind when he held the pan-african congresses after the first world war?" “no, not quite. i think he wanted negroes to emerge into understanding of a greater black world and its problems. his plan even attracted asia, india and vietnam. china listened. but neither the southern worker he nor they dared hope to get any chance to be co-workers in the white world. that world seemed then too self-centered." “isn't it still?" asked mansart, smiling as he rose to leave. jean continued. "no, not quite. there is english labor, french art, and russia and its dream. england must soon set india free and india will reach a hand toward us. this is a rapidly chang- ing world.” in her own mind and with her fall classes, jean from time to time reviewed the history of the negro in industry. before the first world war, integrated ownership and control had largely displaced the skilled negro worker in tobacco manufac- turing, in iron and steel, in lumbering and mining, and in trans- portation, and confined them more and more to common labor and domestic service of the lowest paid and worst conditioned varieties. from the new textile, chemical and other manufactures, negroes were nearly excluded. just as slavery excluded the poor white from profitable agriculture, so freedom excluded the poor negro from rising and expanding manufacture. on the other hand, the worldwide fall of agricultural income carried the mass of black farmers down to the level of landless tenants and peons. the first world war and its wild aftermath seemed for a moment to open a new door. two million black workers rushed north to work in iron and steel industries, to make automobiles, to pack meat, build houses and do the heavy toil in factories. they met the closed trade union which pressed them to the wall, into the low wage gutter, denied them homes, and mobbed them. and then the depression met all. in the depression, negro workers, like white workers, lost their jobs, had mortgages foreclosed on their farms and homes, and used up their small savings. but in the case of the negro worker, everything was worse in degree. the loss was greater and more permanent; technological displacement began before the depression was accelerated. the unemployment and fall in wage struck black men sooner, lasted longer, and went to lower levels. in the rural south their education almost ceased, while southern city schools were crowded to suffocation. above all, in the negro's case, local and federal relief helped him last. it was easily explicable human nature that the unem- worlds of color ployed white man and the starving white child should be relieved first by local white authorities who regarded them as fellowmen and regarded the negroes as sub-human. then came recovery through the new deal. the cio was formed. the negro entered the ranks of union labor and, with the nation, braced himself for a new future. this future, however, involved the negro's own inner development, which ſean must now study. chapter viii the free north the owner of the new york age, a negro weekly, looked up from his bookkeeping with a frown. "jack,” he said, “i'll have to put you on advertising, with a percentage instead of a salary." “you know i can't make a living on advertisements." “why not? you know what advertisers pay." “yes, they pay for buyers, and negro weeklies don't bring them customers. from russworm's freedom's journal, away back in , past fred douglass' north star, in , down to the negro papers from then to the civil war and the hundreds since, they have all tried first to free and defend negroes. this was and is a fine object, and the one i'm interested in. but it does not sell tobacco, liquor, food or clothes for white merchants. so they won't advertise with us and pay our expenses or more, as they do in white papers. you know that as well as i. now, there is one thing we can try as the success of the crisis has pointed out. and that is to increase circulation among negro readers by printing more news about negroes and pictures of them.” “that would cost money.” "borrow and try," “no, i'm in debt already deep enough. jack, it's either ads or you're through.” “i'm through,” said jack and went home. jack carmichael had married a niece of manuel mansart's wife and together, on mansart's advice, they had tried farming in south georgia. jack got into trouble with his landlord and had run away north, and was for a time lost. betty had gone to new york, leaving her boy on the farm with his grandmother. she had studied nursing and sent for her boy and her mother. then, almost by accident, jack was reunited with his family and had gone to work on a local negro weekly. dismissed, he was now thoroughly despondent. worlds of color at home, betty did not share in his despair. "jack, i've been thinking for some time that new york city is not the place for us to remain; it is too crowded and too southern in sentiment. i've been looking toward new england, the birth- place of american independence and of negro abolition. this morning, it happens, i see an opening. the city hospital in spring- field, massachusetts, wants more nurses and they have made me an offer.” "springfield?” "yes, its a city of about , persons in the west center of the state; a thriving manufacturing town, with excellent schools. it has a good government, two colleges and a united states armory. you've surely heard of the springfield republican, one of our most liberal papers." "sounds all right, but where do i come in?” "jack, let's go there and settle. if an honest, hard-working colored man can't make a way in massachusetts, then we'd better quit.” jack wanted to vote for quitting, but he could not disappoint betty again. betty went first. the hospital authorities were a little taken aback when they found that betty was colored, but they saw by examining the records that this fact had already been reported but forgotten or ignored during the ensuing negotiations. of course, it should make no difference, but there were awkward questions about dormitory space. this seemed answered when the hospital authorities learned that betty had a family and would live at home. but that brought up the question as to where betty could rent a place. she must be near the hospital and no colored people lived around there. the , or so colored folk lived almost entirely in a southern section of the city, by themselves. it was on the whole a nice neighborhood and well kept, and the negroes lived there, as whites asserted and really believed, in order to enjoy each other's company. it was suggested that perhaps after all a home in this neighborhood might not be too far away, but betty peremptorily refused to consider this solution. "i have no objection in the world to living beside colored people or jews or italians; but a home two miles from the hos- pital is unthinkable.” the free north had it not been for an unexpected situation, this difficulty might have resulted in stopping betty's enterprise right there. "it is ridiculous for this nurse to insist on living in a white neighborhood," said the chairman of the board. “perhaps we'd better let her go back to new york.” that was impossible, for already betty had taken over the care of cyrus taylor. and cyrus was a character. he was one of the richest residents of the city, of an old and prominent fainily which had been active in shays' rebellion back in . cyrus son was high in finance and industry, which promised more wealth and prosperity for the city and state. cyrus had long been a chronic and crotchety invalid and had recently dismissed the third nurse in succession, which the hospital, one of his philan- thropies, had furnished him. then betty, the very day of her arrival, had been sent as a temporary substitute and seemed to be giving perfect satisfaction. any thought of change just now could not be considered for a moment. so a small five-room cottage quite near the hospital and the taylor home was secured for temporary rental. the family arrived-the old grandmother, jackie, a lively boy of eight, and jack, the husband and father. there were soon some quiet protests chiefly on account of the effect which a negro family might have on the value of surrounding property and less openly because this would put a colored child into one of the best public schools. naturally, there were a few colored children in the public schools, but most of them went to one school which had a colored teacher among eight whites. it hap- pened that no negro child had ever attended the school nearest jackie's present home. it was delicately hinted that perhaps jackie would be a bit lonesome among so many whites and that transportation, the principal who ventured to make this suggestion to betty reported, “she was almost insulting, and seemned to resent the plan. mercy knows, i had only the best intentions, for i'm sure that this little darky is going to have a hard time keeping up in his work and enduring the treatment he'll get from the white children. but it's all right with me.” jackie started in with three fights in his first term. in the first he was soundly licked but claimed that it took four boys to do it. worlds of color he wanted no complaint made, so betty said nothing. the second fight, a month later, was a draw and jackie sported a black eye, as a sort of badge of courage. the teachers said nothing, for jackie was a bright boy, above the average in all his classes and increasingly a favorite among the students--a favorite and a source of some apprehension because of his private enterprise in many directions and his efficiency in swearing and slang on occasion. the third fight, in late fall, resulted in the so thorough beating of a very prominent young man that the principal thought he had to take a hand. on his invitation betty called and was prepared for argument: “yes, mr. principal, i know all about it and am glad you called me in. when three months ago a bunch of your hoodlums jumped on one little colored boy and beat him almost senseless, you had no complaint. i suppose you thought that would drive him out of your select school. it didn't. he wasn't brought up that way. the next time he had a better chance and came out very well. you didn't complain that time and neither did i. now, however, one of your rich pets has had some teeth knocked out and you threaten expulsion. go ahead and try. here is the card of my lawyer whom mr. cyrus taylor recommends. he thinks it might be a good idea to find out just who owns the springfield public schools.” the principal quickly assured mrs. carmichael that expulsion was the last thing he had in mind, that he only mentioned it as possible so as to ward off any court action on the part of the incensed parents. all he was seeking was to restore peace and good feeling, etc., etc., to the edification of a score of teachers who just happened to be passing along the hall. all this trouble over the house and jackie was of little account to jack carmichael who faced the problem of earning a living. it was a curious situation. springfield would have strenuously denied any real color prejudice. it had for a time harbored and helped john brown. it would have admitted some animus against the irish catholics, and the , foreign-born mill workers were a problem in some respects, especially since the unions and strikes had challenged the old alignments of property and wealth. the small group of negroes were mostly native born, with a common school training and good american culture. a few southern ne- possible soents. all her the edificats the hall. the free north groes had come in, but they were absorbed in the older group quite easily and with not too much complaint. the work of this group seemed almost providentially laid out; they furnished house service and common labor. this work was well paid, but not extravagantly, and could not be raised since there was no other demand for services by negroes. many of them owned nice, well-kept homes. the others rented from white owners property which could not be rented to others and might be even- tually sold to negroes at a good price. socially, negroes had their own churches, and one of these, the congregational, had organized a social center of which the town was justly proud. on the other hand, this negro group of laborers had almost no connection with the foreign-born, neither social nor economic. the foreign- born-italians, french-canadians and a few slavs-had come in as labor for the mills, which made electrical machinery, motor- cycles, firearms and the new plastics. the irish, their predecessors in the older woolen and paper mills, now considered themselves americans; they held the best hand-skilled trades and went into business, the city services and white collar work. the difficulty came as these elements began to change their status because of education, income and property. this was most noticeable among the irish and least among negroes. when mike gibbons became partner in one of the old mills, when tony marcelli married into a prominent american family, the hundred thousand and more original americans felt the economic and social pressure of lower groups and more or less resented it. but it never occurred to them that a colored man like jack carmichael would not want to be a servant. he was a nice fellow, well-bred and educated, but there was no job for him to do in the mills, no clerkships in the stores, and in fact a month's search opened for him not a single offer he could accept, except that of shipping clerk in a wholesale firm. and even this job had strings to it. its former white holder resigned because a raise in wage and promo- tion was long denied. jack was let do the work temporarily, because pressures of business had brought on an emergency. and the offer, as jack found out later, was accompanied by the wage of a porter, not a clerk. but it was a chance and jack took it. he did a good job; so good indeed that had he been white he would have quickly worlds of color been better paid and eventually promoted. as it was, his wages, were raised, but he was not recognized as a clerk and his applica- tion to join the clerks' union was turned down. jack and betty talked it over. it started with the matter of continuing the rental of their home. the owner said he wanted to sell and would no longer rent. the price he asked was high. the bank to which jack applied refused a mortgage loan. betty took up the matter with her patient, cyrus taylor. the owner lowered its price, the bank changed its mind, and jack and betty contracted to buy their home. this brought up again the question of occupation for jack. they needed a better income if they were to live like their neigh- bors. if they did not live up to the standard of the neighborhood, the neighbors would rightly complain. so betty induced cyrus taylor to talk with jack. cyrus taylor had been brought face to face with the infirmities of age and the changing economics of the twentieth century. he was upset in body and mind. to some of his older beliefs he stuck all the harder because of the revolution he could not stem in the main currents of his life. he had been an abolitionist almost from birth and never forgot the thrill of harboring fugitive slaves. he never admitted to any trace of color prejudice. when, therefore, betty came and proved a good and understanding nurse, taylor nearly broke up the household of his son where he lived, because his daughter-in-law wanted to treat betty as a servant and serve her meals in the kitchen. this insistence of taylor extricated betty from an awkward dilemma. the three servants were colored, a cook, a maid, and a chauffeur and gardener. they were nice people, clean, well-bred and efficient. but it was one of the basic principles of registered nurses that they were to be treated as professional persons and not as servants. the white nurses who preceded betty had been so treated and had their meals served in a private dining room. it occurred to his daughter-in-law that the infliction of a colored nurse, whom this impossible old man perversely proceeded to spoil, might be in part balanced by her treatment as a servant. then, to her surprise, the colored cook complained to cyrus himself of the discrimination in treatment of the colored nurse and so before betty herself had decided just what to do she found herself served the free north alone in state and the cook making apologies. the daughter-in-law loved betty even less than before. young mrs. taylor was a well-meaning woman. indeed, in her own eyes, she was deserving and unfairly treated. as a girl she had never let a boy kiss her, had never listened to dirty stories and had attended sunday school and learned to read, write and play the piano fairly well. she had helped in the housework at home but at her mother's wish had left the hard and dirty work to a servant. that kept her hands soft and her clothes clean. she had not exactly been presented to society, as her people had no such high social position; but after graduation from high school, she began to attend parties of the right sort. her parents did not want her to take a job, preferring that she await suitable marriage and work in her own home. her union with the rich young taylor was a social triumph. personally she was frightened almost to death at the event, never having had the slightest instruction or information as to sex conduct or response. the result was disastrous. neither hus- band nor wife had anything but embarrassment and frustration for months after marriage and finally retired to separate bed. rooms. the husband kept a hotel suite in new york and used to run down on business once a month. he was astonished and pleased to find pretty women there who seemed actually to enjoy his caresses. his wife naturally had no such recourse. the few advances to her of men in her circle, she rebuffed with indignation and shame, wondering how her conduct had invited such frightful desires. on the other hand, she did not know what to do with her time. she did not read much and did not enjoy what she read. the newspaper, except local gossip, was dull and hard to under- stand. particularly, she was ignorant of history and references to the past of mankind brought no response. she had been brought up not to drink alcoholic beverages, nor to gamble. she gave par- ties, but they were insufferably dull, save as a few got into corners and talked about each other. she and her husband took a trip to europe and she was surprised to find that the english used a language she could hardly understand, while the french actually understood no english at all. there was nothing to do but look at worlds of color monuments, churches and pictures. the scenery was all right but she preferred new england. her greatest burden was her stepfather in whose home she and her husband lived. he was a foul-mouthed old tyrant, who swore and complained, and to whom nothing seemed sacred. she tired herself nearly to death waiting on him and then when they resorted to a trained nurse, she found that the nurse also had to be waited on. it was disgusting. her servants had always been people from the colored settlement. they knew their places and she liked them. she could be intimate and confidential with them without having them take advantage of her. sometimes she thought they were her only real friends. she welcomed then the chance to hire a colored registered nurse and prepared to turn her over to the other servants, when she proved more intractable than her predecessors. cyrus taylor was breaking down physically, but his chief ailment was spiritual. he found himself living in an age which all his training rejected. he began to complain of this before jack, his caller, was seated or could introduce his errand. "sit down, sit down! i know all about your plans. you want to go into business so as to be 'independent.' well, my boy, you're born fifty years too late. there is no such thing as independent business any more. you know what i was once? an independent shoemaker. i repaired shoes and made them for special feet. it was a fine job and i loved it. i made enough to live on as well as i wanted to live. the old lady had a good home, a big kitchen, a back yard for the wash and a front yard with grass and flowers. we had three nice children. then the oldest boy set up a shoe store in town. he sold a few of my shoes and more of the shoes made by the united shoe machinery company. then they drove shoe repairing and hand-made shoes out of business. "take my two sons. neither of them ever did any real work, any straining of muscle or continuous hard thinking; or listening to wisdom or reading. not them. the oldest never went to col- lege. he got through high school after a fashion and went into business. that is, he began to scout around to see how quickest he could make the biggest income. he became clerk in a shoe store, where his pleasant manners sold shoes and got him ac- quainted with the big bosses. his shoe store became an outlet the free north for my shoe repairs on the one hand and for united shoe ma- chinery on the other. then he sold out me and the shoe store. with my savings and his charm and adaptability he got a block of shares in the united shoe machinery corporation cheap. the stock was split and watered and before i knew it, i was rich with nothing to do. it killed the old woman. she missed her kitchen and her washing. she just died. i'm still hanging about making trouble for everybody. oh, the boy was no drone. he did not sit about loafing and feeding his appetites; but to call what he did 'work' of any kind, or 'sacrifice,' is a lie. jan matseliger, the negro from the west indies, furnished the brains for the ma- chinery which the company bought and patented, and now owns. irish and french canadians did the work, bright irish and american salesmen distributed the shoes on percentages and salary, tasteful ladies set the styles, lawyers arranged ownership and tied it up so that we are rich. that's progress, i suppose, but i wonder if there wasn't something lost. “take that boy today. he's made money. he's making more; that's all he can do. he can't read and don't. he doesn't know one note of music from another. he can't tell a picture from a car- toon. he drinks whiskey and runs after women, not because he likes either, but to be a good fellow. he married and married pure and respectable, but it was just an incident in his life and still is. the other boy went to college, joined an exclusive fraternity, drinks, whores and gambles. he is receiving money which he never made and doing nothing else. to the real human service of letting men and women use their feet and letting shoe makers earn a living, neither of my boys are giving thought and never will.” he paused and stared at jack. “now, what is it you want?" “i thought of starting a small neighborhood grocery store, to deal in good food and staples and so make a reasonable living, save a bit for the future and be my own boss." “h'm, well, you might do something along that line down in the colored community.” “but betty says no. she says it would not do to come into a free northern city and open a 'jim-crow' store; even the colored people would object. i thought of taking a good corner near worlds of color the mill district and serving colored people, of course, but aiming at the whole neighborhood.” “fine, but crazy! if your store was poor you'd scarcely make a living. if it was good, the landlord would hike the rent and if you climbed over that, the big grocery chains would buy you out." "suppose i refused to sell?” "you'd sell all right before they got through. but don't take my word. try it. go ahead! i'll see you get $ , credit with the wholesalers. but i tell you, carmichael, you don't realize what a world you're facing. "we used to go into business to serve our neighbors, by doing and making useful things. all that is out. “our whole idea of work, buying and selling, is changed. "we used to work to do something for ourselves and for others. now we work for wages. we used to make things for use; now we make them for sale. "success is not what a man does, but what he gets. the larger a man's income the greater his desert is regarded. "if everyone works for his own advantage, we believe this will result in the best results for all; or in other words, universal selfish- ness brings universal happiness. “it is bad business today to make goods that last; better make goods that wear out quickly and must be renewed. we say flatly: “don't save, spend; a penny saved is a penny wasted; a penny spent helps business and no matter whose business. debt is wiser than saving; that's what saving is for. “don't pay as you go; pay as you come! "don't repair; throw away and buy new. “don't patch, don't mend, don't darn. “live in debt, gamble on the future. “drive out the tinker, the shoe repairer, the seamstress. "down with the miser. “modern life is buying and selling. “mass production of identical things drives us, kicks us, holds us in drab, tasteless sameness. we can't choose patterns of clothes, styles of cars, shape of shoes, texture of cloth, or color of skin. “ 'free enterprise guided by mass production and monopoly reduces our life to dead uniformity without individuality. in our cities, homes and public buildings all gradually yield to offices, and selling us in de production of the free north bought,ods, and then and sold, where goods are bought and sold; or rather where the ownership of these goods and the land occupied and the energies of laborers are bought, sold, or destroyed. "remember how that great and historic church on fifth ave- nue fell before a center for gambling in oil? heard how a great music hall is to be sold for room to exchange foodstuffs between the west indies and new england? a big railway station in new york is going to be turned from mere travel to a market place for buying and selling over the world. “we used to cook in pints for individual taste; now we mix in tons and season with straw. "we spend our savings not in improving products but in lying about them in great big picture magazines on a scale nobody dares resist. "our news is about selling; our art is about buying; our science is about getting wealth, and our religion about distributing it where it will do us good. “inventions and patents are not to make life easy, but to put wealth in a few hands. “politics is money and elections are bought and sold- "but what's the use talking. you don't believe me; neither do my sons, or that daughter in chicago. or if they admit my facts, they say: so what? this is a new age, a new world. it is, but it's a damn sight newer than they dream. so go ahead. who knows? you may start something!" the grocery store which jack opened was in many ways ideal. it was on a quiet corner, with middle-class white-collar workers near, mill hands two blocks west and colored folk three blocks south. the center of the city was four or five blocks north. betty saw that the store was tasteful, with a touch of beauty. jack made customers welcome and satisfied. he bought carefully and suc- cessfully at fair prices. he would not handle old or half-spoiled stuff. after careful inquiry, he extended some of his customers credit between paydays. jackie, after school, helped deliver orders, and thus built up an astonishing circle of acquaintances. the very fact that jack was colored and not italian nor french canadian, led to personal confidences and revelations which these foreigners would not have revealed to their own. so, too, the colored group felt a sort of racial interest in a worlds of color store which did not try to confine itself to colored folk, but still was run by a colored man. then, too, here was a store which was run by a worker rather than by an employer or an investor. it became a center of gossip about employment and wages; about organizing the unorganized worker. jack had much information about the west and south. betty spent much of her free time in the store and as a registered nurse was eagerly sought for advice as to sickness among a group which could ill afford medical fees. on the other hand, the white collar workers round about liked to trade at a good store where they could feel socially superior to the proprietor and to most of his customers. they became local aristocrats instead of unimportant people. in jack's new enterprise there were a hundred tricks of the trade to learn. he sought advice eagerly and for a time hired a former grocer to help out. from him he learned much about the storing of his stock and the selection of items. but the man wanted really to run the store and not just advise, so finally he had to go. there were difficult questions of buying. the wholesalers were used to unloading old and even partially spoiled goods on the small grocers in poor neighborhoods. they offered attractive bar- gains, which jack avoided. the canned goods which jack must watch often had labels newer than the contents. if, however, he bought first class goods guaranteed, the price was high and sale to poor people involved prices they could scarce afford. this meant a narrow margin of profit or sometimes no profit at all. it was a long, puzzling task, but jack, with betty and his son, did very well, and the store prospered. religion had to come into the picture of carmichael's life in curious ways. there were in springfield perhaps , church attending protestants, who formed the upper stratum of owners, employers and officials. there were , nominal catholics who were in more or less close touch with their church. the colored people were mostly methodists and baptists with a leading group of congregationalists. and since the church was the center of colored social life it played a more active part than the white churches. jack and betty at first refrained from close association with the colored churches. this was chiefly because they were both aston- ished to find that in this birthplace of abolition, the color line the free north was clearer in religion than in any other social activity. on the street, in the parks, at the movies there was no visible color line; in the schools and colleges and politics and elections there were evidences of more or less color prejudice and in business and indus- try distinct color discrimination. but in church the separation was complete. betty met it head on when she talked to the reverend mr. reeves about joining the first congregational church. she especially wanted its advantages for jackie. young mr. reeves was delighted and offered to write a letter to dr. deberry, the negro pastor of the colored congregational church. betty demurred. she knew dr. deberry. he was a fine man. but she was proposing to join the first congregational. "but why?" “it's nearest where i live, and besides, why do most of your communicants join this church?” "well, they are folk with common social interests—". "is your church a purely social organization?” mr. reeves was affronted. “mrs. carmichael, with whom would you associate in my church? what organizations would you work with?" “are you trying to say, mr. reeves, that your members will not serve god beside negroes?". mr. reeves arose. “mrs. carmichael, if you wish to join my church you may; but i warn you, you will not be happy. most people prefer to associate with their own; if you are ashamed to do so, that is a matter between you and your god.” "i'll take up the matter with him," betty said. she joined the first congregational and put jackie in its sunday school. she was careful to pay her church dues and now and then attended a sermon. on the few occasions when she was asked to serve on a committee or act with a group, she was so efficient that it was almost embarrassing. for instance, she worked with the public sanitation committee; she was soon elected chairman and launched such am- bitious plans for city-wide action that the efforts had to be stopped or incur the enmity of the city sanitation board, whose chairman was a prominent member of the first congregational church. jack attended church seldom; but jackie from the first became a regular and enthusiastic attendant of the sunday school. he loved the beautiful room in which it met, sang the lively gospel worlds of color hymns like a nightingale and joined in all activities; in most he was leader and planner, was elected to all sorts of offices and depended on by the teachers to put over their programs. of course, these programs had to be such as jackie personally approved. otherwise, they simply did not work and the mass of other students backed jackie in judgment to a man. still, everybody liked jackie, or at least all but a very few. these incidents illustrated the status of religion in springfield. everybody "believed” in religion; most were by profession “chris- tians," that is, they “believed" in god, the sacrifice of his son jesus for men's sin, and eventual reward of men in heaven or punish- ment in hell. they "believed” in prayer. but none of this professed belief had any real practical effect. nobody or certainly very few believed that a request to god would have any effect on what would occur; few believed really in god as a powerful person who was conducting the world benevolently according to some great plan. most people of springfield regarded jesus as a good man long dead, who left a moral program which nobody, least of all an american, could really live up to. and yet, this professed belief and practical rejection of its implications had a subtle but disastrous affect on honesty of character, telling the truth, and ability to reason clearly. people got so used to saying one thing and doing another, asserting honestly what they knew was untrue, and calling logic what was patently illogical, that religion as a real moral force was at a low ebb in the city. moral standards existed to be sure, but they were based on hereditary culture pat- terns-the influence of persons recognized as respectable, and the actual results of current conduct on everyday life. children were brought up in such an atmosphere of contradictions that they ignored, indeed had to ignore, advice and example. how could a man who was bad be called good? how could you love your enemies and refuse to speak to them on the street? how could you turn the other cheek and fight for your country, right or wrong? how could you lie and tell the truth for the sake of the same god? and who was this god, anyhow, and where was he and what should we do about him, while ignoring his existence most of the time? it was such a situation that brought anger and frus- tration when a concrete question demanded answer, as in the the free north matter of letting a family with dark faces join a group of professed followers of god, whose faces were whiter in color. the church was a group of socially compatible friends who built fine church edifices, had pleasant meetings and listened to what they wanted to hear. the minister was a well-bred person, college-trained, who used good english, and was a welcome caller in homes. he preached sermons but seldom said anything one need remember, or which displeased anyone. most of the sermons were “doctrinal”- that is, attempts to reconcile forgotten dogma with present fact, which was easy for those already convinced. festivals like christmas, gifts for missions to the heathen, and alms for the surrounding poor helped keep the parish busy. add marriages, christenings and funerals, and the church had more than enough to do. the catholic church differed somewhat from the protestant. its priesthood had nothing to do but promote religion among a large and loosely integrated group, kept in line by means of old folkways, emphasis on marriage and death, and insistence on the letter of the creed, while loosening calls for action. thus dancing, drinking and gambling on a moderate scale were winked at, if not encouraged, and occasional attendance at services, money contribu- tions and lip service to dogma were sharply insisted on. ceremony, rich vestments and lovely music made brief church attendance popular. thus, the catholic clergy had a wide influence on, and a more intimate contact with, the mass of working people than protestants-the purely social aspect of the church was less promi- nent. problems of race and industry were settled often by the clergy and not referred to the laity. there were few jews or other religious groups in springfield so that their problems did not intrude. what with their new economic status, their relation to the church, and betty's successful nursing, the carmichaels came to be regarded with mixed feelings; they were considered social climbers who wanted to “be white.” they were "ashamed” of their own people. but a new and more weighty charge was that the talks about labor, wages and unions which began to center around the grocery were dangerous, since they involved so many diverse elements and races-the foreign-born, the colored folk, the clerks. rights of labor, one big union, higher wages and shorter hours the free north fine nurse. one thousand dollars? yes, at least. but what was that these days? say $ , . but what would she do with that much? it was not enough to let her retire and why should she retire? well, he'd think about it. whatever he gave betty would of course go to help jack. now jack was a good man but impractical. he would never make a business man. he thought too much of his customers as people, not as buyers. you couldn't do business today on that plan. business was profit, not philanthropy. that was wrong, but it was a fact and in a world of private profit where would a merchant land who was thinking how his customers could live on their wage? what would a thousand dollars, ten thousand or a hundred thousand do in a competitive grocery business in springfield or in the united states, if it was run to help the com- munity and not to make the owner rich? so cyrus taylor did not make up his mind before the first stroke of apoplexy came. betty saw the look of unrest come and go on his face, but he died peacefully before he acted. the will did not mention betty. she was naturally disappointed. for the old man had more than hinted that he would “remember" her. the oldest son said: “my father seemed by the various memoranda lying about to have in mind some gift for you, but there was nothing definite. however, i want to thank you for your devotion. here is a little something." he gave her $ in addition to her wages due. also, when the two-year lease on the grocery building was up, he renewed it for the same rent but sold the property to one of the main city grocery chains. he could not be bothered with small investments like that. betty went back to the hospital staff where she had plenty of work offered as visiting nurse and on various assignments. but she worried about jack. he was a good man, pleasant and with no bad habits. she knew that he loved her and adored jackie. but he was restless. he was never satisfied. he always wanted to do something else. he wanted to dream and set his dreams on paper in word or line or color. it was this stretching out and away that always lured him from the job in hand. he realized this and fought against it. he worked hard and steadily and was so afraid that a second time he might fail his wife and son. he was desperately apprehensive of losing their respect. his wife sensed this and watched him almost furtively. jackie was unconscious of all this and went blithely on toward worlds of color that very weeed and courteous malling. it is sta life. he had no problem, or if he had, they were problems of life, not of color nor status. his social contacts remained normal be- cause at ten, sex had not begun to obtrude. he visited other chil- dren's homes and they his. his grandmother gave her life to him, to his delicious meals noted all over the neighborhood, to his mending and cleanliness, to his cozy room. his first knowledge of deep and unavoidable sorrow came when she died. yet, he had his mother, and while she could not give him as much time as grandmother had, she knew a lot and told him much. his father, however, was his great possession and his pride. with him he spent all his spare time and came to feel himself a real companion and co-worker and not just a child to be ordered about. when, on his twelfth birthday, his father changed the sign to “carmichael & son," all in shining gilt, jackie's heart burst with a pleasure so intense and deep that he could neither laugh nor cry, but only stand in mute ecstacy of perfect happiness. he made up his mind then and there to be a real partner and not just a helper. that very week one of the chain store owners renewed over- tures. a well-dressed and courteous man came and talked two hours. “i know just how you feel about selling. it is standard behavior in this era of business development. you have done a good job here and developed a good business. extraordinarily good. it's just because of this that our chain must move in. the city as you know is covered by three chains. this area is sort of on the border, but we've had our eye on it for some time. you've developed it to the point where we must have it. there's nothing personal or racial about it. it's just a part of the business cycle. mass manu- facture, mass selling and mass buying are the inevitable steps. the individual simply cannot compete. we can buy cheaper and sell cheaper. we can't lose. you can't win.” “sounds like socialism.” "oh, no, quite the contrary, free enterprise; that is, free for those who hold the power." "you say, there's nothing personal about this, neither race nor class?" "exactly. we are making you the same offer which we make white proprietors--” “except in one consideration. doesn't ihe selling proprietor usu- ally get an offer of management at least of his own store?” the free north the man paused and looked surprised. “why-yes. yes, of course. but you see in that case, in most cases-well, mr. car- michael, we might as well face it. here we strike an aspect of amer- ican life which has nothing to do with grocery chains--" “except that in my case it has everything to do with my earning a living." “surely, but that you have in any case. we do usually offer a man whose store we're trying to buy, a job as manager of the merged business. but as you know, in this case you would be entering a job where the members form a closer social unit. where if you made good we might want to transfer you. you might find yourself in charge of white workers--" "and in such case?" "it wouldn't do, mr. carmichael, you know it wouldn't. i'm sorry, but--" "i'm more sorry than you are. and i won't sell. i'll fight until i lose all." "you've made a bad decision. you'll lose all.” within a couple of months a store for groceries, food and no- tions was opened on the corner opposite carmichael. it was a capacious and well-equipped establishment. it was fully stocked and carried some widely advertised commodities which the man- ufacturers would no longer allow carmichael to handle. only one store to a neighborhood, the owners said. also, manufacturers be- came unusually strict on cut prices for their goods. he could not say they were not just as strict on his competitor, neither could he be sure they were. almost, he was sure they were not. for a time, the competition was steady, but carmichael held his own. so long as prices were the same, he held his customers and the neighbor- hood applauded. then, one afternoon jackie ran in after school and cried, "father, the chain is advertising three pounds of potatoes for cents. how can they when the cost is cents?” that was the beginning. the chain began deliberately selling below cost. customers hesitated, but after all money is money. jack tried selling some articles below cost; he tried buying from the chain and re-selling, but his co-conspirators were soon spotted and rcfused sales. it was a bitter, long-drawn-out struggle. the chain lost thousands of dollars, but they had the money to lose. car- worlds of color michael lost hundreds of dollars and could not afford it. at last, the wholesalers and the banks joined the fray and tipped the balance for the chain; until one winter night the sign “carmichael & son” came down and the store did not open next morning. that day prices went up precipitously across the street. deberry was angry and disappointed. he talked with several of his rich white supporters. "mr. bradley, you could help, if you would.” "yes, i could for a while; but i can't hold back american busi- ness.” "but carmichael is a good merchant. and we negroes have so few chances to earn a living." “i know, but why didn't he start business among negroes, and not compete with white merchants?". "are we or are we not americans? if we are, should we try to build a separate economy, with separate stores, separate transport?” “but that's what you're doing in your church.” "no, no, that's not what i meant. there are some small areas of life-social intercourse, homes and neighborhood, where temporarily we try to live and act apart because of race prejudice. but you surely do not want us to develop as a separate negro nation. that is preposterous!" carmichael and betty took a long ride into the country up along the connecticut river. he wanted to talk with an italian truck gardener who had often sold him some of his best produce. he had a vague plan of a little farm where he could think and write while raising his own fresh, good food. it was sunset when he arrived. the house was dirty and crowded. the family straggled in, dead tired, hungry and quarrelsome. the father, sweaty and soiled, looked at jack and betty with red, weary eyes. “welcome! yes, yes, my friends, i know. you're both dreaming of the little farm with quiet, ease and rest. you're hunting in the wrong world, the wrong world. when my father brought me from italy his one dream was a farm of his own in free america. how we worked and saved for this. we got it. it killed my father. it's killing me. it won't kill my children for they have revolted and left. only the two youngest remain with their wives and babies. next year they move to the mills in springfield. why? dear land, the free north long transport, high prices for materials and low prices for prod- uct-and god!” “god?" “yes. god with his rain and drought; his heat and cold; his wind and flood; his race hate. eat with us and let me explain. have some good red wine. now spaghetti. taste this chicken. now sit out here. there, that is better. listen. this land is good but it is not the best, and it was priced too high, far too high. the real estate men hoped to sell it to gentlemen who would farm as a pas- time. they didn't want the damned dagoes but if we must have it, we must pay the highest price. we tried. we are still trying. it proved too far out. it was too far for horses, and trucks cost in gas and oil. and then the market-the wholesalers, the stevedores, the squabbling for place, the price offered for the goods, the goods spoiled. we tried to sell directly to the customers; the city came with tax on taxes, rules of traffic and buy american'! and then god. rain that never stops till it rots the work of a season; sun that burns until you see yourself burning in hell. then the river turns loose and tears down from canada with brown destruction and the wind whirls over from the berkshires until the crop lies flat on the ground. and even when all is well, what can we do? how can we rest and play? what is there to see? where is there time for music, dance and song; for comfort and dream? no, my friend, that is not the way. believe me. i know. the consumers should pay more for goods? they pay plenty! but who gets it? i don't know, but i do know that we, the farmers, don't. “jack, if you have a big, husky family and work them like hell, you can make a farm pay with luck in weather. but you can't drive a family in america as we did in italy and i guess that's right. three of my children have deserted already. those two scowling boys yonder will go this fall. now, if a man owns land and has enough money to buy machinery and hire outside labor, he can make money-on the machinery and labor, if he can find labor. otherwise, there's only one answer: the mills. mills are making money and paying good wages; with a strong union wages can be kept up and pushed higher as profits go up. this is the only democracy left to us in free enterprise; the close knit group organized to fight and fight hard.” paying gonicher as profits me close knit gre worlds of color “that's not democracy. democracy means consultation and decision as to aims and methods." “sure, and trade unionism has little of this, only the faint beginning. it's not democracy. it's war or preparation for war." "all right; that's it. now, jack, there's but one thing for you to do. get a job in the mills.” “but i'd have to join a union, and most unions don't admit colored men.” "you'll have to push it. you see, jack, through your grocery you made a lot of friends. you treated people right. the best union for you to crash is the machinists. that's dominated by the irish catholics." . "fat chance i'd have there. the machinists have long led the fight to exclude negroes from trade unions." "all right, but the catholic church is wise. so long as that church represented the fight of poor irish immigrants to get jobs in america and not be further pauperized by poorer negroes, the church paid no attention to black folk whom they regarded as incurable protestants of the worst type. but things have happened among catholics since then.” "i know it,” said betty. "i have been thrown with many cath- olics and once made a study. black st. benedict of sicily was canonized in , and black martin of porres, in peru, was beatified in . the colored oblate sisters of province began teaching in baltimore in , and another colored order in new orleans in . in , the first colored priest was ordained in chicago, and in , came bishop o'connor's congregation for work among indians and colored people. “then in came the real beginning. katharine drexel of the rich philadelphia family furnished funds and the catholic church began deliberately to proselyte among negroes. a mission board was established in new york city in . after the war, in , german priests challenged the church by opening a seminary for training negro priests in mississippi. in , there were six negro priests and , negro communicants. and in came the pope's letter ordering the american catholic church to proselyte by planned effort for negro members." “there you are. it's even better than i thought, although i had heard of some of this action within the church. now this is the free north what you do. get a group of the boys to back your application for an apprenticeship in the machinists union. then go to the parish priest, not the italian nor the french canadian. get the priest of the irish group which calls itself ‘american' to make an appointment with the bishop. the bishop is a big man. talk with him. will you do this? i tell you you can't lose." jack and betty, with considerable advice from jackie, talked long over this scheme. betty said: “the international association of machinists organized in , excluded negroes and the a.f. of l. on that account would not admit them; but in the a. f. of l. backed down and admitted the machinists. the anti-negro clause of their consti- tution was not referred to, but in , one of the secretaries openly boasted: “the negro is not admitted.' today when industry is increasing by leaps and bounds, when war demands increasing factory work, continued exclusion of negroes is a vital matter." jack said: “i grew up thinking that a man's work was his life; his way of doing what he wanted to do, which was the same thing in my mind as to what the world wanted done. of course, i soon learned better, but concluded that a man could easily find how his ability and desire could best help to do what the world needed. that didn't work out. so then it was a search for any useful work whether i liked it or not, provided it supported me and left enough time for me to do what i most wanted to do. even that was denied. now i'm face to face with doing what i am not interested in, or even hate working at, and having no time left for my own life. that, it seems to me, is the plight of the mill hand, and i don't like it.” “perhaps, jack, it will not prove as bad as that. machinists get high wages; enough if work is steady to maintain a good life and with hours so limited as to leave something for hobbies and recreation. but, of course, first you have got to gain admittance to the union; then the union has got to fight for gradual better- ment of its wage and conditions of work. this is not simply your problem, it is the problem of the mass of human beings today in civilized lands.” "how about the uncivilized?” asked jackie. “and ever after, until we are ready not only to help ourselves but all other workers of the world,” added betty. worlds of color uppose have to at each “that'll be a long time." “it's our job to see that it's not too long." “and suppose," put in jackie again, “the bishop says come on in, but you'll have to become catholics." jack and betty looked at each other. “come, it's suppertime,” said jack, and betty started toward the kitchen; but she said as she went: “suppose we take that up when the invitation comes!" the young irish-american priest received jack politely, but looked a little puzzled at his request. “are you catholic?” he asked. “no," answered jack. "i come to you because i know that most of the machinists are catholics and yet they exclude negroes. i thought that perhaps you could persuade them to change.” the priest looked thoughtful. then he said: “mr. carmichael, this is a serious matter and before i try to do anything i would like to talk with the bishop. i know that he is particularly interested just now in labor and race relations." “i hoped you would do that. and perhaps you will get me a chance to talk with him?” "i'll try and call you up soon.” the bishop listened carefully and then called in the three chief officials of the machinists union. they were unanimously and definitely opposed to any negro members. the bishop leaned back and touched his ten fingers together. “my sons,” he said, “we're facing great changes in the world today. there was a time when the catholic church in america had the defense of irish laborers as its chief and almost only task. that's true no longer. italians, spanish peoples and others have enlarged our flock. where we had , negroes in the church in , today we have nearly , . and our growth among the dark peoples of asia and africa, added to our colored followers in central and south america, and the west indies, makes the mission of the catholic church more colored than white. more- over, these colored people are forging forward; they are gradually ceasing to be the children of other days. this carmichael is an example. now, look here, i'm not asking you to be big-hearted and charitable. god forgive me, but i know better than that. you're human. i'm just saying, watch yourself and consider a the free north small step in self-defense. if white labor doesn't begin to recog- nize and make common cause with colored labor, colored laborers will join employers and help crush you." “but," answered the labor leaders, "there are no colored ma- chinists in this town, and none coming. even this carmichael is no journeyman; he'd have to enter as apprentice.” “true, true. but there are colored machinists in the south and thousands of negroes who can learn. one day machinery will come to a thousand million asiatics and africans," “but, father, they'll never come here.” “no, but our industry may go there. have you ever thought that while you are excluding negro labor from the factories of springfield, these mills may one day go to mississippi where there are no unions, and where, if unions come, black scabs will stand ready to displace white workers? think that over, my sons. con- sider if it might not be wisdom to admit one black man now and here rather than face a national competition which will drive your sons into war or poverty.” it was a week before the bishop asked jack carmichael to call and received him cordially. jack was glum and prepared for disappointment, but the bishop ignored that. he set out whiskey, ancient and good, and cigars of delicate flavor. then he handed jack a letter from the machinists union, accepting him as ap- prentice. "don't mistake this gesture," said the bishop genially. “it is not a free gift. it's a small yielding to my request and to their own apprehension. but it may lead to something broader and finer. i'm glad to have been of some little service; but here again, i acted because i see the world on the edge of a struggle between races and colors which may tear civilization asunder. i want to do my bit to avoid that. no, no, no thanks! good day and call again. “and by the way, that boy of yours. i saw him at the city games. he's a fine lad. tell him to visit our new gym. i think he'll like it." jack came home elated but betty was silent. several days later she came and sat on jack's lap and thought aloud: “the problem of earning a living is probably now settled for us. as a master machinist and with steady employment you'll make more than a worlds of color clerk or grocer and as much as most professional men. i'll have my nursing!” “good. then why the gloom?" “because steady work for machinists will depend on making arms and materials for war. it's the threat of world war that is booming the arms factories and making the unions strong." "i hadn't thought of it that way." “i had, but what of it? in this crazy world it seems we must kill to live. we're helpless, especially we who struggle at the bottom of the heap. i'm all at sea, dear, but we've got to stagger ahead and peer toward the light." jackie stamped in noisily and a bit late. "hello, all. how about food? say pop, that catholic gym is a dandy. the fellows were swell. and do you know, the priests are not sissies. you ought to see them play tennis and box. remember, the ymca wouldn't let me use the tennis courts.” world ; ward mall at specially chapter ix itinerant preacher there was another visitor to jean's conference of , who dropped by almost accidentally-roosevelt wilson. roosevelt's mother had "given him to god” in a revival after the atlanta riot and he had grown up with the mansart children. he had later studied theology in new england and then worked in a large colored baptist church in atlanta. then, in macon he organized a baptist church near manual mansart's college and married sojourner, mansart's only daughter. the expansion of the church along roosevelt's line of thought had been hindered by race prejudice and the church membership itself. he had left the baptist church in macon. he was now settled in bir- mingham, alabama, as an african methodist minister. he had dropped over to atlanta to talk with his bishop and sound him out on the matter of his running for bishop in . he then passed through macon to settle various small bits of business, and visited the conference. he was thinking deeply of his work and destiny. like an obbligato running above the development of a nation becoming socialistic, and at the same time being drawn into defense of colonial imperialism, went the apparently unheeded and untouched line of development among the groups into which the nation was divided. this was especially true among the negroes. there were the schools which mansart represented, the expand ing negro business interests, the lawyers and physicians, the black white-collar workers. there was negro labor beginning to pene- trate the white unions, and there was the negro church. far more than among whites, the negro church was more social than religious. it was a broad center of daily life in work and play. the negro preachers were directors of this group to a much greater extent than among whites. this roosevelt wilson had in mind when he left the baptist worlds of color church in macon, georgia, went into the african methodist con- nection and accepted an appointment at birmingham, alabama. north alabama was the center of a new integration of american monopoly. here iron and coal were part of a new industrial empire reaching around the world; and here in mining, as once in cotton, the negro worker was becoming an indispensable factor. wilson hardly saw all of the broader economic picture, but he did sce his church as stepping stone to high positions for himself as a social leader. he took hold of a sprawling organization in , in the midst of the “new deal,” and began to build it into the semblance of the sort of church that he had planned in macon. this was a new church of working people, strategically placed. into this church he and sojourner cnticed miners and artisans who had joined the new cio unions and had some money to spend. in two years, they had erected a church edifice of which the negroes were inordinately proud. then came the social center, which was the only decent place in the city where negroes were welcome to recreation separated from drunkenness and gambling. he spread his organization and influence. he had a nursery school and a forum for discussion. he cooperated with labor unions. he became known in the white city as a progressive man with a certain independence. he did not beg for anything. he did not want charity. his church raised its own money and contributed to the poor and unfortunate. and at the same time wilson was building his fences for the bishopric. at the next general conference, in , he was deter- mined that there would be no doubt but that he represented the most constructive and forward-looking forces in the connection. wilson found his hands tied more tightly than they had been in his baptist church. over him was a presiding elder with power, and over the elder was a bishop, all-powerful. he began to work on the bishop, who was an old man but well-preserved. his knowledge of human nature was wide and deep. he was selfish and not too scrupulous, but keen, and he wanted his church to go forward. he watched wilson, he listened to him. often, with a certain ruthlessness, he swept aside the proposals of the presiding elder, and his objections, and followed the plans of wilson. the itinerant preacher still, the demands of the presiding elder were influential. he was a big, loud man, jealous of wilson and bent on increasing his own popularity with the bishop by his contributions to “dollar money,” and “dollar money” was the life blood of the church. wilson became angry at the manifest efforts to reduce his social and charitable activities by larger contribution to the general church funds. a serious break was avoided only by the bishop. he sided with wilson on the distribution of funds, but secretly promised to support the presiding elder for the bishopric in the convention of the church. this, naturally, wilson did not know. his outstanding success made him believe that his own merits would elect him by acclaim. he attended the general conference in chicago and was over- whelmingly defeated. his great handicap was that he was far too new a convert to this church. this ancient foundation demanded a long novitiate. he must serve as a worker in the ranks. he did not realize this. he did not understand that in this church his work as a baptist counted as nothing. what he did realize was that the place which he wanted was literally put up at auction and sold to the highest bidder-the presiding elder. wilson came back to birmingham and resumed his work but did not even try to conceal his dislike of the bishop. the in- evitable happened: at the end of the year, without hint or noti- fication, he was transferred to annisberg, alabama-a poor, run- down charge. he protested. the bishop was frank. "you want to be a bishop? then you must work for it and work long and hard." “there were many men in chicago who had worked longer and harder than your candidate." “sure there were, son. most ministers can never be bishop." “but,” protested wilson, “all my work in birmingham is lost. your favorite candidate for the bishopric gets it and i am thrown a run-down old church, to climb from the bottom again. four years of effort are lost.” "oh, no," said the bishop, “not lost. the church will build on what you have done. it will be easy to get a man to carry this work on, but difficult to get a man like you to begin a new work. you'll have a chance to do this in annisberg." but wilson was angry. “it is unjust,” he said. this work ou'll haves angry worlds of color the bishop looked at him coldly and said, “take it or leave it!” literally, there was nothing else to do. he was caught in a machine. but sojourner was not easily excited or upset and said quite calmly: “let's go and see what it's like." annisberg was about seventy-five miles west of birmingham, near the georgia border and on the tallahoosa river, a small and dirty stream. the city was a center of manufacture, especially in textiles, and also because of the beauty of some of its surround- ings, a residence for many owners of the great industries in north alabama. but it had, as was usual in southern cities of this sort, a black bottom, a low region near the river where the negroes lived-servants and laborers huddled together in a region with no sewage save the river, where streets and sidewalks were neglected and where there was much poverty and crime. wilson came by train from birmingham and looked the city over; the rather pleasant white city was on the hill where the chief stores were. beyond were industries and factories. then they went down to black bottom. in the midst of this crowded region was the allen african methodist episcopal church. it was an old and dirty wooden structure, sadly in need of repair. but it was a landmark. it had been there years or more and everybody in town, black and white, knew of it. it had just suffered a calamity, the final crisis in a long series of calamities. for the old preacher who had been there twenty-five years was dead, and the city mourned him. he was a loud-voiced man, once vigorous but for many years now declining in strength and ability. he was stern and over- bearing with his flock, but obsequious and conciliatory with the whites, especially the rich who partly supported the church. the deacon board, headed by a black man named carlson, had prac- tically taken over as the pastor grew old, and had its way with the support of the amen corner. the characteristic thing about this church was its amen corner and the weekly religious orgy. a knot of old worshippers, chiefly women, listened weekly to a sermon. it began invariably in low tones, almost conversational, and then gradually worked up to high, shrill appeals to god and man. and then the amen corner took hold, re-enacting a form of group participation in worship the itinerant preacher that stemmed from years before the greek chorus, spreading down through the african forest, overseas to the west indies, and then here in alabama. with shout and slow dance, with tears and song, with scream and contortion, the corner group was beset by hysteria and shivering, wailing, shouting, possession of some- thing that seemed like an alien and outside force. it spread to most of the audience and was often viewed by visiting whites who snickered behind handkerchief and afterward discussed negro religion. it sometimes ended in death-like trances with many lying exhausted and panting on chair and floor. to most of those who composed the amen corner it was a magnificent and beautiful experience, something for which they lived from week to week. it was often re-enacted in less wild form at the wednes- day night prayer meeting. wilson, on his first sunday, witnessed this with something like disgust. he had preached a short sermon, trying to talk man-to-man to the audience, to tell them who he was, what he had done in macon and birmingham, and what he proposed to do here. he synipathized with them on the loss of their old pastor. but then, at mention of that name, the amen corner broke loose. he had no chance to say another word. at the very end, when the audience was silent and breathless, a collec- tion was taken and then slowly everyone filed out. the audience did not think much of the new pastor, and what the new pastor thought of the audience he did not dare at the time to say. during the next weeks he looked over the situation. first of all there was the parsonage, an utterly impossible place for civi- lized people to live in, originally poorly conceived, apparently not repaired for years, with no plumbing or sewage, with rat-holes and rot. it was arranged that he would board in the home of one of the old members of the church, a woman named catt who, as wilson afterward found, was briefly referred to as the cat because of her sharp tongue and fierce initiative. ann catt was a lonely, devoted soul, never married, conduct- ing a spotless home and devoted to her church, but a perpetual dissenter and born critic. she soared over the new pastor like an avenging angel lest he stray from the path and not know all the truth and gossip of which she was chief repository. then wilson looked over the church and studied its condition. worlds of color the salary of the pastor had for years been $ annually and even this was in arrears. wilson made up his mind that he must receive at least $ , , but when he mentioned this to the deacons they said nothing. the church itself must be repaired. it was infested with vermin. it was falling to pieces. it was dirty and neglected. it really ought to be rebuilt, and he determined to go up and talk to the city banks about this. meanwhile, the city itself should be talked to. the streets in the colored section were dirty. there was typhoid and malaria. the children had nowhere to go and no place to play, not even sidewalks. the school was small, dark and ill-equipped. the teacher was a pliant fool. there were two liquor saloons not very far from the church, one white, that is, conducted for white people with a side entrance for negroes; the other exclusively negro. undoubtedly, there was a good deal of gambling in both. on the other side of the church was a quiet, well-kept house with shutters and recently painted. wilson inquired about it. it was called kent house. the deacon of the church, carlson, was its janitor. one of the leading members of the amen corner was cook; there were two or three colored maids employed there. wilson was told that it was a sort of hotel for white people, which seemed to him rather queer. why should a white hotel be set down in the center of black bottom? but nevertheless it looked respectable. he was glad to have it there. the rest of black bottom was a rabbit warren of homes in every condition of neglect, disrepair and careful upkeep. dives, carefully repaired huts, and nicely painted and ornamented cot- tages were jumbled together cheek by jowl with little distinction. the best could not escape from the worst and the worst nestled cosily beside the better. the yards, front and back, were narrow; some were trash dumps, some had flower gardens. behind were privies, for there was no sewage system. after looking about a bit, wilson discovered beyond black bottom, across the river and far removed from the white city, a considerable tract of land, and it occurred to him that the church and the better negro homes might gradually be moved to this plot. he talked about it to the presiding elder. the presiding elder looked him over rather carefully. he was not sure what kind of a man he had in hand. but there was one a consideraross the river ambit, wilson disco the itinerant preacher thing that he had stress, and that was that the contribution to the general church expenses, the dollar money, had been seri- ously falling behind in this church, and that must be looked after immediately. in fact, he intimated clearly that that was the reason that wilson had been sent here-to make a larger contribution of dollar money. wilson stressed the fact that clear as this was, they must have a better church, a more business-like conduct of the church organ- ization, and an effort to get this religious center out of its rut of wild worship into a modern church organization. he empha- sized to the presiding elder the plan of giving up the old church and moving across the river. the presiding elder was sure that that would be impossible. but he told wilson to “go ahead and try." and wilson tried. it did seem impossible. the bank which held the mortgage on the old church declared that the interest was considerably in arrears, and the real estate people said flatly that the land across the river was being held for an eventual development for white working people who were coming in, and that none would be sold to colored folk. when it was proposed to rebuild the church, wilson found that the terms for a new mortgage were very high. he was sure that he could do better if he went to atlanta to get the deal financed. but when this proposal was made to his deacon board, he met unanimous opposition. the church certainly would not be removed. the very proposition was sacrilege. it had been here fifty years. it was going to stay forever. it was hardly possible to get any argument on the subject. as for rebuilding, well, that might be looked into, but there was no hurry, no hurry at all. wilson again went downtown to a different banker, an intelli- gent young white man who seemed rather sympathetic, but he shook his head. "reverend,” he said, “i think you don't quite understand the situation here. don't you see the amount of money that has been invested by whites around that church? tenements, stores, saloons, some gambling, i hope not too much. the colored people are getting employment at kent house and other places, and they are near their places of employment. when a city has arranged things like this you cannot easily change them. now, if i were worlds of color you i would just plan to repair the old church so it would last for five or ten years. by that time, perhaps something better can be done.” then wilson asked, "what about this kent house which you mention? i don't understand why a white hotel should be down here." the young banker looked at him with a certain surprise, and then he said flatly: "i'm afraid i can't tell you anything in particular about kent house. you'll have to find out about it on your own. hope to see you again.” and he dismissed the colored pastor. it was next day that sojourner came and sat beside him and took his hand. she said, “my dear, do you know what kent house is?" “no,” said wilson, “i don't. i was just asking about it. what is it?” “it's a house of prostitution for white men with white girls as inmates. they hire a good deal of local labor, including two members of our trustee board. they buy some supplies from our colored grocers and they are patronized by some of the best white gentlemen in town.” wilson stared at her. “my dear, you must be mistaken.” “talk to mrs. catt,” she said. and after wilson had talked to mrs. catt and to others, he was absolutely amazed. this, of course, was the sort of thing that used to take place in southern cities-putting white houses of pros- titution with colored girls in colored neighborhoods and carrying them on openly. but it had largely disappeared on account of protest by the whites and through growing resentment on the part of the negroes as they became more educated and got better wages. but this situation of kent house was more subtle. the wages involved were larger and more regular. the inmates were white and from out of town, avoiding local friction. the backing from the white town was greater and there was little publicity. good wages, patronage and subscription of various kinds stopped open protest from negroes. and yet, wilson knew that this place must go or he must go. and for him to leave this job now with- out accomplishing anything would mean practically the end of the itinerant preacher his career in the methodist church, if not in all churches. he talked fiercely to mrs. catt. "that place ought to be burned down!" he said. she looked at him a bit wildly and said, “my dear pastor, that is exactly what i have done had in inind for years. protest is nothing. we is in bondage to a house of shame. i'd hate to hurt those pretty girls. they ain't to blame. but if it should burn down there sure would be a big chance to make mighty loud protest before it was ever built agin. i don't see what else we can do. it's gotta burn! god tells me!" wilson pulled himself together and looked at the wild-eyed woman. “my dear lady," he said, “i of course didn't mean that literally. you must-you must put it out of your mind. l-i was just talking in a general way." mrs. catt looked at him calmly. “i knows just how you was talking and just what you really means. i thinks as i have thought for the last ten years. it's gotta burn!” wilson went to town and got a clear idea of indebtedness, of the lack of insurance of church and parsonage, and what it would cost to borrow more money. the cost was very high. he talked the matter over with his board and tried to make plans for more regular and larger contributions. the response was not good. mr. carlson and the others seemed to think that they were already raising more money than they could afford, that they might possibly double the pastor's salary and make it $ , . but not a cent more, and that on the whole they wondered if mr. wilson wouldn't be better satisfied with a church elsewhere. and mr. wilson told them flatly that he would not. for several weeks he studied the situation. nearly every sun- day he found himself turned back into the african past by the amen corner, despite his cold, critical sermons. moreover, he was receiving in the collection not even as much money as the church had been used to raising. contributions from the whites fell markedly. he could see that he was being shoved out and back none too gently. he again had a talk with the presiding elder, who under the worsening circumstances listened more sympa- thetically. wilson took the train for atlanta. there he sat down with the bishop and went over the situation. worlds of color "my dear bishop, there isn't a chance to do anything in annis- berg unless i can get rid of that board of trustees and the domi- nation of carlson. i want you and the presiding elder to help me do this.” the bishop scowled, and just as he was about to say that this was more than he was willing even to attempt, there came a ring at his doorbell and a telegraph boy appeared with a mes- sage for wilson. the telegram said that allen church and par- sonage, and some of the neighboring buildings in annisberg, had burned down. wilson rushed back home. it was all too true. but there were other strange and disconcerting facts which he learned. the cat, as his hostess was called, was dead. she had been seen setting fire to the church at sunset, spreading the flames with her torch from cellar to roof. then she had climbed out on the roof of kent house, wavered there and almost fallen, while, amid screams from the street, she set fire from attic to cellar, giving the inmates a chance to escape. the girls had rushed out in every condition of dress and undress, and there had been a number of men who had run out at the same time. unfortunately the mayor of the city, in his attempt to escape, had broken his leg. the morning paper praised him for his valiant attempts to put out the fire. the chief of police came down and talked to wilson rather truculently. "i want to know what you know about this fire." “i know nothing at all. i have only been pastor of this church for a few months and have really made few plans and secured little power to direct it." “where were you last night?” “i was in atlanta talking to the bishop of the diocese.” “planning this fire?" "no." "have you ever heard anybody talk about burning down this church?” “no," answered the pastor, lying bluntly. “listen, wilson, this is serious business, and we have a sus- picion that some of these darkies deliberately burned this church and kent house under your advice!" "why, sir, should they burn kent house?" the itinerant preacher “i don't care why, but if they did somebody is going to jail for life.” “i should think,” said mr. wilson, “this might be a matter of rejoicing on the part of the people of this city, that they have gotten rid of a house of prostitution right in the midst of their only colored dwelling district." "if you dare say anything like that in public, wilson-" and wilson bent forward and said, “i dare, and i'm going to." the city council took the whole situation under careful consideration. this was bringing into public discussion some- thing that would hurt the city's reputation. carlson, of the col- ored church, was starting an appeal to white friends for funds with which to rebuild, and wilson learned that always in the past kent house had contributed generously to carry on the church. he took a firm stand against appealing for funds to anyone who wanted this house of prostitution restored. and he went to the city council to talk about it. but the council would not listen to him. the banker was willing to furnish funds for the rebuilding of the church. the matter of the disputed kent house was left in abeyance. then sojourner went into action. she knew that there was planned a meeting of the missionary society of the city among the white women. it had to do with foreign missionary work in africa. she went to the president of the methodist society and asked her if she would not like participation on the part of the colored people. she suggested, for instance, that she might bring a group to render some of the negro spirituals. mrs. dawes, who was a very pleasant and amiable person and not too bright, was delighted, and asked sojourner to bring her group on a certain evening. when she brought the matter before the missionary societies she did not find quite the coop- eration that she had expected. there was another matter that had to do with the question of inviting the catholic church and the unitarian church to take part. finally, after rather warm dis- cussion it was decided that they would not be included in the joint meeting. and after that, the weary meeting assented to having this colored woman bring her singers and give some negro music. thus, it was that sojourner went to one of the finer homes of worlds of color the city, on the hill, and sitting in the back parlor where her girls would not be too conspicuous, waited for the signal for her little group to sing. it was a rather long wait and most of the ladies present were willing to have the singing put off to some other time. but they were tired and a little hungry, and so while colored servants passed around sandwiches and soft drinks, so- journer arose and walking into the main parlor, said a word. “i was thinking, perhaps, ladies,” she said, “that you would not mind if i preface my music with just a word about one matter which is exercising us very much down in black bottom.” she spoke in a low and cultivated voice and the ladies stared. and then she dropped her bombshell. she said calmly, “i refer to the proposal to rebuild in black bottom that house of prostitution known as kent house." there was an astounded silence, and then almost a scream of protest. but one large handsome woman arose in the back and literally yelled them into silence. “listen. i'm going to hear about this! i know that talk has been stopped and i've tried in vain to get the truth. if this woman has anything to say, i'm for having it said right here." and then sojourner calmly told them that here was a house conducted by a madam who had ample financial backing and police protection, and who kept in the house as virtual prisoners some fifteen or twenty young white women from out of town who were at the service of the friends and relatives of the ladies sitting right here. “and christians of black bottom do not want that institution restored after god in his mercy has burned it down.” then, not waiting for the astounded ladies to recover poise or voice, she sat down at the piano and, gaihering her girls about her, they began to sing: "let us all bow together on our knees. let us all pray together on our knees. let us all sing together, to meet the rising sun! let us all sing together, if you please.” the meeting broke up in confusion, but the big, handsome woman tore into her home a half hour later, and when at the door she heard her husband's cheerful voice, "hello, rosebud, worlds of color he could build up a church. he knew that. he could build up a strong constituency which would regularly contribute to the sup- port of himself and the church in general. he could, if necessary, build new edifices, with social rooms and modern conveniences, with no debt, with an income which would pay himself a reason- able salary, pay an assistant and a number of social workers. he could start institutions for old people and children. but while he was doing this, the demands from the bishop and the general church would continually increase. there was not only the dollar money as it was called, which was a tax of a dollar a head on membership, but there were all sorts of special causes-missions, domestic and foreign, especially missions to africa. some of these causes were good, some were frauds. at any rate, it was difficult to discriminate or refuse. it was dangerous to get in the bad graces of the presiding elders, and particularly of the bishop. the bishop was well-nigh all-powerful. he not only received a good salary, but in addition to that he made forays and requests and demands of the district and of the church. when he came to visit, he expected not only free support but presents and money, clothes, shirts and shoes. in the course of the year these gifts to the presiding bishop or to other visiting bishops amounted to thousands of dollars. if they were not given, the minister need not expect a good appointment! of course, the bishop must bow to local opinion, and on local opinion wilson could count. his constituents always wanted him to return. nevertheless, the bishop and the presiding elder together could transfer him and at the end of three years by law they must transfer him. however, if he stood well with them he might possibly stay longer than that. he might stay almost indefinitely. but to stand well under such circumstances meant a tribute of money and subserviency. under these circumstances, it was natural for roosevelt wilson to redouble his efforts to attain the bishopric. he was by far one of the most successful pastors in the connection. he was well- trained, he had a talented wife and he was personally a decent man with high ideals. moreover, he believed in the church and in its dogma. not slavishly; he couldn't recite the apostle's creed, much less the nicene creed, and say that every word of it the itinerant preacher was true; but in general he accepted the christian dogma. but he wanted to see it exemplified and typified in human lives, and he leaned strongly toward the socialistic state. but beyond the personal ideas and decisions of the bishop were the attitudes of the preachers who elected the bishop in the general conference. they were selected as delegates by their churches, and wilson found that very widely they were seeking these places for the possibility of getting close to the bishop, and for the probability of actually getting paid for their attendance and vote. in their minds, it was not exactly selling out-it was a means of support for people who represented poor folk. they were mostly getting miserably small salaries and working hard for that. if they were elected to the general conference, the provision for their expenses was small, but there was always the possibility of going to the conference and being able to receive, not publicly of course, a definite sum of money if they would vote for a par- ticular candidate. this bribery for the bishopric, wilson found to his astonishment, was not only widespread but it was growing. wilson now tried another tack commonly attempted by dis- satisfied ministers. he applied for transfer to another diocese. the bishop presiding over texas welcomed him. he knew that wilson was a good money-raiser and suspected that his hard experi- ence would make him more amenable to advice. he needed such a man in dallas where a prominent church was getting out of hand. he sent wilson to the largest church of the con- nection, in dallas. it was a church of the colored prosperous and well-to-do. it had numbers of professional men, merchants, insurance men and contractors. there were some skilled artisans and some old and trusted servants of the rich whites. it had a beautiful edifice and a well-equipped parsonage and church house. its surpliced choir sang well, but avoided for the most part the spirituals. the church contributed to the city community chest and did not solicit contributions from whites, although some donations could not be refused. it had a forum which discussed politics as well as general matters. it was a body, only slightly religious and not at all social minded. it had no debt. it wanted a minister who would show off and emphasize its worlds of color assured place in the community. it paid its pastors well. the reverend roosevelt wilson at first sight seemed to fill the bill admirably. his first sermons were excellent-restrained, with learned allusions. the ones that followed, on social reform, work- ers and poverty, were less appreciated. the next talk, on trade unions, brought a conference with the board of trustees. the church was distinctly against unions. its members had suffered from discrimination, not only in trying to join the unions but even after joining. moreover, many of them themselves hired labor for personal service and for profit. they insisted that the subject be kept out of future sermons. meantime, they suggested that wilson ought to have an automobile for visiting his widely scat- tered congregation and for business matters. he could obtain one at nominal expense. chapter x bishop wilson deterioration set in gradually. wilson's ministry was com- fortable. his salary was good and promptly paid. the raising of money was adequately attended to by the deacons. the church program was planned by the numerous groups, clubs and societies. wilson's renewed suggestions about trade unions, boys' clubs, slum activities and other matters were listened to courteously and patiently. then they disappeared “in committee” and if they emerged again they were transformed into something unrecog- nizable or merged with previous efforts of a singularly different type. the firm basis of conservative, respectable church life was not altered a bit. at first wilson protested. he objected, even rebelled, but this was gradually forgotten in a really charming social life. his calls on his parishioners were delightful, and there the policy of the church, long set, was explained to him and defended while he was attentively listened to. the card clubs early took him in. there were dozens of them in and connected with the church, each with a score to fifty mem- bers, and varying from enjoyable social gatherings to respectable drinking bouts, with flirting and feasting. at all these social meet- ings, wilson was flattered and praised. as he aged, he looked more impressive; his skin grew sleeker, his bushy hair became a crown of iron-gray, his face dignified with lines of experience. his sermons slowly changed from crusade and invective and attacks on the white world, to description and reflection and suggestions of compromise, from the bible and shakespeare to current literature. he found increasing companion- ship in the church-doubters, cynics, pleasure-seekers, as well as earnest souls who dreamed of but recoiled from action and who, particularly in the face of the all-pervasive race problems, were not so sure of the ultimate answer as he was at first. especially, his almost forgotten attraction to beautiful women worlds of color now began to evoke his own dormant interest. it was delicious to sip wine and munch intricate sandwiches in a modern living room with the rapt attention of a charming, well-dressed woman who had leisure and who was as entranced as he. increasing por- tions of his spare time came to be consumed that way and he had less time for church and home. all this sojourner did not fail to notice. naturally unassertive, tending to take refuge in thoughtful silence rather than in ques- tions, and least of all in complaint, she felt the ache within her grow. she realized how deftly her music had been eliminated by the church. the negro spirituals which she had revived in the services after long disuse were gradually relegated to new disuse by suggestions of classic melody, of modern music and form, all put forward quite kindly in the sincere attempt to increase the prestige of the church. sojourner for a long time acquiesced and voiced no protest. her idea of the marriage communion was to help when help was sought, otherwise to wait and hope. but gradually, she began to realize that passive yielding was as useless in a church and family as in a race and nation. she began to think, plan and work. almost imperceptibly she began deliberately to split the church. over against the gay, drinking, card-playing spenders and dressers she organized the singers and musicians, the readers, painters and actors. she gathered the youth and children from the parish and beyond, seeking talent even in the slums. she organized her friends within and without the church. they took up negro music as it was developing-will cook, burleigh and dett. she had them study the african drums that shirley graham had brought into her opera “tom tom,” which a group of colored and white players staged as a city-wide venture in cleveland. they followed shirley's "swing mikado” which later entranced chicago and new york until driven off the stage by the same capitalist theatre that killed wpa. then sojourner organized a negro little theater patterned after the krigwa players in new york and the white little theater of dallas. paul green's play, “no 'count boy,” was set for a friday night, but it developed that the most ostentatious and extravagant of wilson's card clubs had chosen the same night to hold a session at a new night club in the suburbs. it was an bishop wilson elaborate night club and represented a large investment. several members of the card club were among the investors. they needed a flaming opening and the card club's party was just the thing; it was strictly private and cost $ a member. the curious public would pay off on saturday night following. wilson naturally had planned to attend the play at his wife's little theater, but neither date could be changed and the mem- bers of the card club, who wanted him to attend their party, brought up their heaviest artillery which included some beautiful and gorgeously gowned colored visitors from chicago. a compro- mise was quickly reached. the reverend mr. wilson's ticket was free, and he would come to dinner at six and leave early enough to reach the little theater by nine. the dinner was quite late but delicious, the company was charming and more, and the party in exotic surroundings grew wild. it was an alluring place, the walls flamboyantly decorated with animals, scrolls and near naked dark and pretty women in seductive poses; yellow, crimson and gold suffused the room; soft music and lowered lights pervaded the scene, and waiters danced and sang on their missions. liquor flowed freely from an open bar, with white-clad bartenders and half-naked flower girls. wilson crawled into bed about four o'clock saturday morning. he awoke at ten with a splitting headache and a feeling of utter despair. for the first time in his life he had been drunk in public. he lay back in misery and stared at the ceiling. what had he done last night and who had witnessed his disgrace? of course, sojourner had risen long since and slipped downstairs quietly, despite the fact that she too must be very tired. finally, she knocked softly and brought him a breakfast tray and the morning papers. she said nothing but kissed him gently and left. she left and ran up to her secluded nest near the roof. she tore her violin almost roughly from its case. hardly conscious of what she was doing, she played a poem, ripping from the instru- ment's entrails the pain and pity of her life. the first movement was rage and fury; she stripped the tones as gut cut gut and dis- sonance whined from the strained wood. then came dark hate and dull despair as the violin grieved and quivered. blending and low harmony followed with slow understanding of the deep roll of widened knowledge and high resolve. she rested, pal. worlds of color pitating, and caressed the bow until finally melody crept into her soul and slipped softly over the strings--softly and sweetly- with forgiveness and love, the love that gives forever without return. across the way, neighbors lifted their windows and listened. carefully, at last she laid the violin in its bed. silently she slipped enstairs to her wilson sat upthe express. after a time, wilson sat up. he could not eat but drank his coffee. then idly he glanced at the express. war had started in europe-let it start! roosevelt wanted us to enter; but why? then he turned to the amusement page. there was a column of extravagant praise for sojourner's play. seldom before had wilson known a white daily so to praise a negro cultural effort. wilson felt a mingling of exaltation and envy. he threw the paper down and idly picked up the colored weekly. it had a front-page display of the new and fabulous night club and its opening, together with two murders and a hold-up. inside was a half column on the little theater. on the back page was the gossip column. he started to throw the paper aside when he saw at the bottom a little squib: "the reverend roosevelt wilson did not attend the play last night. it is said he was rehearsing for the lead next week in his wife's 'no 'count boy.'” wilson got up slowly, bathed and dressed. he was in a white rage. this was a cooked-up thing-last night's dinner was pur- posely late and his drink must have been “spiked"! all right, so he was down! but by god he wasn't out! he sat down and wrote out resignations from every social club to which he belonged. he even sent a check in payment for his "free" ticket of the night before. then he composed a sermon. he wrote every word of it by hand and then copied and corrected it. he would go down to dinner and before retiring for the night, he would commit every word to memory, even arrange the gestures. it would be the best sermon he ever delivered and his church would be thrown back on its hind legs. he was so full of his own scheme that he greeted sojourner carelessly, picking absently at her very carefully prepared dinner and hardly glancing at her until with a cry of distress she tried bishop wilson to arise, then vomited into her plate. he was aghast. with help of the maid, he half carried her to bed as she, ashamed, protested and insisted that it was not any serious illness, but only something she must have eaten. the physician came quickly. he was a bright young man and had been at the party the night before. he emerged from the bedroom laughing and patted wilson on the back: “congratulations, old man, your baby has got an excellent start!” wilson groped blindly into the bedroom and took sojourner into his arms. “we're going to have a baby in the family,” he stammered, gazing into her eyes. but she whispered: “i don't want a baby, i want a bishop." wilson was not superstitious, nor did he ordinarily believe in signs. but the portents which within two days had poured down on his head gave him pause. he was going to make a sharp turn- about and re-orient his life. he was astonished to realize what store sojourner still set on his election as bishop; now he saw but one straight unveering path ahead... he had almost stopped reading and thinking. he had neglected sojourner, partly for reasons of self-indulgence and escapism, partly because she had found a creative life apart from him and was making a success of it. what did he now propose to do? he would supplement sojourner's work in music and drama by giving her a wider audience. heretofore, she had been entertaining a church composed of professional men, white collar workers and servants of the white rich. to this, he intended to add artisans and common laborers. the church would fight this but such a fight now would be a fight against a considerable body of white public opinion which liked the new music-drama. there would ensue a hell of a row, but he was ready for it. the rest of that saturday and far into the night, wilson sought out negro trade union leaders and artisans. he visited saloons and pool rooms. on sunday the church was crowded with strangers. there were mostly well-dressed artisans, but with them some shabby working people. wilson preached on “labor and labor organization.” "this is a new day. it is not sufficient to train our youth for worlds of color business and professional life. it is not enough for us to serve the rich and powerful. most of our people are workers. they dig and haul. they clean and carry. they do the fundamental work of mankind and in return are paid too little to live decently. this is true of the workers of the world and they are uniting to change this situation and see that the laborer gets a larger share of the wealth which he produces. from this day on, my work in this church will be directed to the uplift of negro labor in dallas by adult education, health promotion, and by organization for higher wage. if the church does not support this program, then i'll seek another church. to support this program, my wife will continue her work in music and drama.” there was open applause in the church that morning but there was also silent anger and determined opposition. a promi- nent colored contractor and trustee who paid his artisans “negro" wages and knew they were threatening to organize a union, got up and walked out during the sermon. there was every element of conventional church strife-whispering about the pastor's morals; of his neglect of "old-time religion” and failure to stress redemp- tion, sin and salvation; his sneering at miracles and conversion; his envy of the well-to-do and preference for the poor, criminal and lazy; his continual criticism of the rich whites and wooing of the despicable poor whites; his defense of strikes and unions; his wife's dragging in of slave music, resort to play acting, dancing and fiddles. the trustees consulted the presiding elder and the bishop. instead of open battle, there was attempted compromise. the increased audiences continued, with larger collections and meetings of labor unions during the week in the basement. the bishop talked to wilson about a church in the working districts, nearer “the masses.” perhaps wilson would like to transfer there? wilson consented if he could have a large social center with a little theater. white people cagerly offered to contribute to such a project. but the trustees of his church objected. they were fear- ful of losing status. they decided it would be better to keep wilson in his present place, then after his transfer next year, to keep the benefits of his expansion but gradually restore their church to normal. here, wilson was back to his old quandary. he could do much bishop wilson here in lifting labor. but after that? once again to the back- woods and everything to do over again. his mind veered again to the bishopric. what this great church needed was leadership from the highest levels to guide and support the local pastors who could learn his methods and ideals. it was the bishop him. self who started him on this line of thinking again, but whether deliberately or not, wilson was never sure. the bishop called wilson in one day and said: “my son, wilberforce wants to give you an honorary degree.” wilson stared. he had always opposed the cheap doctorates in “divinity” which many ministers sought so eagerly. but wilber- force was the leading church college and its commencements were gathering places for leading church politicians; perhaps there a movement for social uplift led by the church might be initiated under his leadership. he consented and the bishop added unex- pectedly: "while you are up that way, why don't you talk with your brother-in-law in chicago-douglass mansart? he is a rich and powerful figure." wilson could not quite see how a man like douglass could advise the church. but sojourner added an idea: “i think you ought to go. i was planning a trip. you see, we have about a thousand dollars profit on our theater, and i wanted to buy some scenery and properties in chicago. i'm sure douglass could get us discounts. now, of course, expecting the baby i can't go. perhaps you wouldn't mind talking with him.” wilson seized on the idea. the theater and music were popu. lar. suppose the church finally decided to get rid of him and give him neither the bishopric nor even a decent pastorate? he knew this was possible. he'd talk to douglass about entering the entertainment field as a business. think of what the negro audi- ence wanted in drama, moving pictures, music-entertainment without debauchery! here was a career! he ran up to chicago before the wilberforce commencement. douglass welcomed him but discouraged his entertainment schemes. "brother, you don't know that business. they'd skin you alive. now you've got no rent or taxes, no advertising, no trade unions, and an audience made to order. once on your own, you'd be at the mercy of politicians and white theater owners. white movie wilson cousan. but sojourne was planning a wheater, and worlds of color magnates would tell you what pictures you had to run and when; stage hands would fleece you. no, wilson, you'd have no chance. “but see here, how about the church? of course, you can do little in the pastorate, but you ought to be a bishop-could do a lot of good for the church. in fact,” said douglass reflectively, lighting a well-flavored havana cigar and leaning back in his leather armchair, “in fact, i don't know how else you could reform the church. talking won't do it. if you attack the bishops you will land without an appointment, and the bishops hold the power. now, on the other hand—” douglass paused and changed his approach. “of course, it costs money to run for the bishopric.” “i don't see why it should cost much, outside of postage and some travel.” douglass looked a bit impatient. “everything worthwhile on this earth costs money. there's no use getting on your high horse and thinking of what you'd like to do. fine thing it would be to have the bishopric offered you on a silver salver. forget it. naturally, you prefer to have this honor thrust upon you by acclaiming thousands. that won't happen in this hungry world, in a church of poverty-stricken workers. what you have got to choose between is whether you or somebody else will furnish this money. "you'll need to provide some bread and butter for a whole lot of poor black ministers who come up, particularly from the south, and do not earn enough to live on. if they're not careful and are too delicate and sensitive, they will not get enough money to pay their board in chicago and get home. you can call them ‘venal' and 'dishonest.' but all that you really have a right to call them is ‘poor.' “now, if you pay these ministers and pay them with discretion -not just throw your money around-you'll be bishop. then, if you want to be big and broad you can see to it that the min- isters, at least in your diocese, are better paid, that there are enough of them so that when they come to general conferences they can tell most of the candidates to go to hell and can vote for the best man. even that won't be easy to do. but that's the only way to approach the thing you have in mind. now, i'll make you a proposition. i believe in you, i know you're a good pastor. i'll loan you enough to become bishop, and you can pay me back on your own terms.' bishop wilson wilson listened with increasing distaste. at last, he said flatly, “no, douglass, not that. i'm not in the market to buy office in state nor church.” “have it your way,” answered douglass, “but let me know when you change your mind.” evidently douglass was prosperous and had money despite the recent depression. he had an elaborate home and a summer camp; he had a beautiful wife and two children. moreover, at first sight it wasn't at all clear whence his money had come until at last wilson, who had a gift for inquiry and amassing informa- tion, suddenly realized that douglass was one of the men back of the johnson brothers' policy racket-the gambling on small pay. ments against tremendous odds, carried on with the secret sanction of the city and state governments. in this ring, white and black politicians were making millions, and douglass mansart was in way of becoming, or indeed already was, a rich man. one of the results of the depression had been to encourage gambling. wilson was no strict moralist. he was not too nice in his scruples. he recognized that this was a world where dishonesty was often successful. it was doubtful if the righteous man usually had the chance to "flourish like the green bay tree.” on the whole, the man who was not too dishonest was the man who often got the chance at leadership and constructive work. but he made up his mind not to give up his hopes and ideals yet-not yet. wilson quickly made up his mind as to his procedure. he would continue his present work, and would let other pastors know about it. he would go to the general conference and push the necessity of the church taking a stand on labor and social problems. he might get wide support, might even develop such power that he would become a formidable candidate for the bishopric in , or later. if not,if he was ignored or defeated- then he must think of another career, perhaps as a social worker, or even of a return to the autonomous baptist church in some industrial center. he went to the meeting at wilberforce university determined to observe how great a sentiment he could find against bribery in the general conference, for a labor movement among negroes, and a church movement that wouid fight for health and social security. this church, since , had done much for education. worlds of color now that the city and state had taken over the schools-or were due to-could not the church turn to social reform? he was at first disappointed at wilberforce. the college had been almost entirely swallowed by the new neighboring state school. its final demise seemed in sight. but on the other hand, wilson met there a group of young ministers who thought as he did on social progress. they had several conferences. they criticized and suggested and when wilson left, it was with a dis- tinct understanding that in , at kansas city, he would lead a reform movement against bribery and for social uplift. on reaching dallas, he talked the matter over with sojourner. she agreed of course, but to his surprise she had less faith in the wilberforce movement than in douglass. she said: "a bishop of the african church is a great and powerful man. in the past, good bishops built this greatest organization of black america. lesser and smaller bishops have debased and nearly ruined this divine institution. it needs you. you are a good man. if you can get this place honestly, get it.” "is bribery honest?” “no, it is not. neither is starvation. if, by helping poor and ignorant ministers, you can begin to overthrow this poverty and · want, you ought to try it. this is not right, but it helps overthrow wrong." "jesuit!” murmured wilson. then the birth of sojourner's daughter dispersed all thought of everything. she was a dark and physically perfect baby, and sojourner went through the ordeal far better than they had feared. when the baby faced her second birthday, in the spring of , sojourner suggested a visit to chicago. it seemed that the little girl needed to have her tonsils inspected with a view to possible removal. sojourner did not trust the white hospitals in dallas, where no negro could rent a private room and where attention in the colored ward might not be the best. wilson had come to be very fond of his little daughter and suggested a later trip when the treacherous chicago weather would be milder. indeed, they might go together in august, at the time of the general conference in kansas city. there was an excellent colored hospital there. but douglass, who had been consulted, wrote that at some bishop wilson pains he had secured the services of the best tonsil expert in the city and advised immediate consultation. so sojourner and the baby went to chicago. douglass hardly recognized his sister. he had not seen her since her marriage and had hardly noticed her for many years before. he saw a comely, well-dressed woman, not handsome, not even good-looking, but who carried herself with quiet dignity. she could talk and had something to say. her child showed care and training. even douglass' wife was im- pressed and re-arranged her guest room and re-assorted her guests. since the baby's tonsils proved to be quite perfect and her general condition satisfactory, she was packed off to nursery school. then douglass and sojourner sat down in his office for a talk. sojourner immediately came to the point. “douglass, i want you to lend me the funds to finance my husband's campaign for the bishopric." “well, well! so he's come to his senses." “no, he has not, but i have. the fight in our dallas church is fierce and forbidding. i am sure that if my husband fails to be elected bishop this year, he never will be. also, he will lose this church whose leaders hate him, and he'll have great difficulty in finding another or in finding any work which will satisfy him. on the other hand, he is beginning to believe he has a chance of election. there is really a ground swell behind him." douglass smiled. “a ground swell which, if added to by a care- ful campaign and enough cash will produce a bishop wilson. otherwise, he'll be an ‘also ran.' he'll get a good vote, but won't be elected. i know who's bidding against him and how much!" “all right; but how much cash will be ‘enough'?": “about $ , .” “$ , ! you're joking! it can't cost that unless you're pro- posing to go in for wholesale bribery." "no, i'm not. but there's competition, fierce competition. the price at the last general conference was about $ , . but prices have gone up. and it's not all bribery, as you call it. there are quite legitimate costs of publicity if we go at this sensibly; there are some real personal expenses of travel and board which the friends of your husband cannot afford to meet. then, there are a few out and out grafters whose mouths must be filled. oh, i know it sounds pretty nasty. but, little sister, you're in a nasty world.” worlds of color "but if i undertake this, which i now doubt, i couldn't possibly afford such a sum. i'd thought of a thousand, or possibly two. but ten thousand-douglass, it's fantastic!" and sojourner arose. but douglass pushed her gently back into her seat. “wait, wait and let's consider this proposition. i'm a gambler and i believe in wilson. he's a good man, which i'll say of few other preachers i know. and he's got a good, far-reaching program. i'll take a chance. let me manage his campaign. if he loses, it'll cost you nothing. if he wins, i'll hand him the bill. and it'll be damn near ten thousand bucks or i'm much mistaken!" “done!” said sojourner. of this scheme, wilson knew nothing. he was pleased to hear good reports about his daughter's tonsils and assented to her and sojourner spending the spring in chicago, with its musical and theatrical opportunities. he joined them in august, when, accompanied by douglass and his wife, they all went to kansas city. wilson was encouraged. his mail was large. his pro- posals for a labor and social program were listened to with enthu- siasm by the large audiences at the conference, although the bishops and general officers said little. then, when the time for nominations came, wilson heard him- self nominated for the bishopric in a flowery but earnest speech, and not by a texan but by a lay delegate from birmingham, where he once was pastor. for a moment, his dream of a mass movement behind his program seemed to be sweeping the confer- ence, with him in the lead. a wave of exultation floated over him. he was to conquer evil with good. his lips trilled the old hymn: “let us sound the loud timbrel over egypt's dark sea; jehovah has triumphed. his people are free." he wanted to pray, but just then a tall texas preacher bent over him and whispered: "er-reverend-i'm afraid i have got to change my mind. i just told the madame that a couple of hundred dollars would meet my expense. but i find it won't. i'll just have to have at least three hundred. i'm terribly sorry—". wilson arose and his face went pale. “madame who?" he snapped. "why, mrs. wilson, of course. i thought you knew-" "i didn't.” and wilson walked off. bishop wilson he was leaving the hall when he was elected bishop of the african episcopal church on the third ballot. but he walked on. he had gained the bishopric not by his character, not by his accomplishment and brilliant ideas, but by cash. how much, he did not know then, and it was not until a month later that douglass' bill for $ , . came to his desk. but now all he knew was that money had been paid for his position and he was in deathly shame. he walked so rapidly that the bishop of texas had difficulty in following him. wild ideas swept through his brain. he was tempted to turn back and re-enter that hall. he saw himself mounting the rostrum, facing the delegates, and hurling into their faces this soiled episcopal robe. he-but here, the bishop of texas overtook him, almost pulled him into his car, brought him home and made him eat and drink. then he talked to him. “my son, you bought the bishopric and you are ashamed of yourself. so am i. so is your faithful wife. others have done the same and aren't a bit ashamed. do not despair, son. our church is not evil. this is not the first time bishoprics have been bought and sold in christendom. aye, and gotten even by knife and poison. oh, no! even today, in richer and wiser churches than ours-but never mind that. "in our own church, all places have not always been put up at auction. but today we're in a jam. we've got things to do, many things and fast. and they cost money. with money comes evil. we're too poor to do what the world insists we must do. we resort to bribery. i'm sorry. i'm sorry you did. i'm more sorry that the church let you. "one day, god willing and you and i helping, it will be so great a crime to sell a vote for the bishopric that none will dare do it and expect to remain in the church. but i'm glad it's you and not a lesser man that bought this high office. i do not judge your wife. neither must you. perhaps god told her what must be done, perhaps it was the devil; but she did it. i could wish that, as a humble shepherd in some little southern town, you could have served the master. that was not to be. instead, you are now the anointed of the lord. “now you have to learn what this office really means. hitherto, my son, you have had but little real belief in religion. you worlds of color despise dogma and miracles. church ceremony leaves you cold, save as emotional experience. i understand all that. all that i, too, have lived through. but do you understand or try to under- stand what religion has meant to most of your people? they found themselves in a world they did not know. its vicissitudes, its evil, its irrational compulsions were absolutely incomprehen- sible. the world seemed ruled by things. these must be ap- peased, obeyed, eluded. before you were born, your fathers, or perhaps better, your mothers were led to believe that the explana- tion of this world was not simply a devil of utter evil, but also a loving father who in his own good time would take his obedient children up in a chariot of fiery death to a world of happiness. in the dirt, degradation, toil and license of plantations, under the fervor of black prophets, this solution of the puzzle of existence was revealed to them in brief moments of frenzy among a scream- ing mass of people singing: 'shout o children, shout, you're free!' “then a miracle happened. they became free. but they were not happy. they were hungry and naked, and new preachers had to build a new church on top of the old. we tried to make this church a meeting-house where we could have what we lacked at home-heat, company, food, song. but not only this-there must be a meaning. gradually, that imagined heaven of slavery days must be brought down to earth, but not too swiftly. con- version by miracle, shouting to god in person--the religious orgy must slowly disappear. "you proposed to replace it with food and clothes and shelter. fine, if you could; only you can't, at least not now. you can't even teach these children to read what other men have done and thought, at least not yet. but while we wait, and schools linger, and people starve-in that little interval of a century or two- what shall we do, you and i? birmingham and annisberg said, ‘work and pray!' dallas said, 'eat, drink and be merry! you rried both. now, the salvation of the lord has laid bare the way -the path of blood and evil. arise, go and do!” sojourner was waiting. long hours she had waited, clothed in her white nightgown and sitting in their bedrom with her back to the window and her eyes on the door. the room was dark. the clock chimed midnight as roosevelt wilson entered, and his bishop wilson wife loomed dark against the thin halo of the shining city behind her. weary, and with eyes closed she was reciting and had long been reciting the fifty-first psalm: “have mercy upon me, o god, according to thy loving- kindness; according to the multitude of thy tender mercies, blot out my transgressions. wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity and cleanse me from my sin. for i acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me. against thee, thee only, have i sinned and done this evil in thy sight. ... hide thy face from my sins and blot out all mine iniquities. create in me a clean heart, o god, and renew a right spirit within me. cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me. deliver me from bloodguilti- ness, o god, thou god of my salvation, and my tongue shall sing aloud thy righteousness.” wilson started to approach her but she opened her eyes and held him back gently, while she sobbed and sang: “o the rocks and the mountains shall all fade away, and you shall have a new hiding place that day; sinner, sinner, give up your heart to god and you shall have a new hiding place that day!” then the low recitative began again: "o lord, open thou my lips and my mouth jħall show forth thy praise, for thou desirest not sacrifice, else would i give it; thou delightest not in burnt offering. the sacri- fices of god are a broken spirit—" she swayed in sheer weariness as he folded her close in his arms. chapter xi again world war the second world war astonished manuel mansart. it was something which could not happen-yet here it was happening. he had just travelled around the world. he had crossed the entire united states and if he had thought to have learned one lesson above all others on his journey, it was that all the world, and particularly america, wanted peace. yet, here was war again and not, in truth, a new war but as was now suddenly clear to him, the same old struggle for domination of peoples, the same unjust, cruel and evil program of murder and destruction which for centuries had been the content of history. all the stirrings toward this, he had looked on, yet had not seen. of what use was reason and effort and his dream? suddenly, he felt he wanted to get away. he wanted to go where he could get closer to the heart of the world, where he could talk with, question and listen to those who knew. he would take a trip to new york and there have a long talk with his son revels, whose keen mind seemed to see clearly where his own groped. first, there was the trip itself to consider. the black man in the south avoids the rail-trains when he can, for there he encounters color discrimination at its crudest. usually, mansart rode in his own motorcar, driving himself or with a student as chauffeur. but on a long trip such as this, he would have to take a fast train and have a pullman berth. this was possible in the case of a prominent negro like mansart, especially one who was directing the spending of large sums of money, much of it going to the railroads for passengers and freight. but the task of procuring tickets and reservations meant going through a certain mumbo-jumbo in deference to racial etiquette. he would phone: “may i speak to the passenger manager? this is president mansart of the colored state college. ... but this is urgent. . . . i must go on the noon train tomorrow.” the clerk again world war was abrupt. "he would see" and he hung up. mansart then got the manager of freight traffic on the line and reminded him that the college had just paid a bill of over a thousand dollars. he must have that reservation tomorrow, and his voice was a shade more brusque than usual. he got the tickets that after- noon. he would have to take "lower one” berth at the end of the pullman, and change at atlanta for the fast through train. there, only a drawingroom was available at three and a half times the regular fare. mansart took it. the colored porters were courteous; they all knew mansart and he knew most of them. he transferred to his drawing room at atlanta and settled down to rest. he did not attempt to go to the dining room-it would be full of white folk and it would be difficult to curtain off an alcove for "colored passengers," as the law required. that meant a long and humiliating wait. he would have his lunch served in his drawing room. he knew it would be late, for the white dining-car steward would wait until most of the whites had finished eating before he would send a waiter forward with a tray. so mansart, settling himself comfortably on his pillows and staring out at the flying, changing landscape, began to collect and marshall his thoughts and attempt to think through this new and, to him, unexpected war aspect of the world in which he lived -england and her colored colonial empire, france with south asia and north africa, the united states and china, japan, the west indies and central and south america. then he came back to the united states, to his own people—where did they belong in this new phantasmagoria? the waiter now brought his lunch and was solicitous in serving it. mansart enjoyed it, then settled back again to rest and stare out on the darkening landscape. the world swept by-the dark loafers at the stations-the white girls in the factories-the burdened wagons staggering along dusty roads. then, suddenly, with star- tling clearness, out there in the night he seemed to see a great green spider nesting in hell, weaving an impenetrable web. it sat in a pool of blood, which had gushed down from china, flowed in from spain and seeped through from mississippi. the spider seemed to be spinning out thin tendrils of american gold, linking strand to strand. to the drying, stinking mess, the spider added clods of british dirt and moistened all with the slime of france, worlds of color until the spreading web grew wide as the earth and high as heaven. it was too horrible. it seemed to divide the darkness from the light and the white world fought the dark world and both faced death. here, the porter shook mansart gently and suggested he make up his berth so that he could sleep more easily. mansart slept soundly the rest of the night and next day breakfasted with his son judge revels mansart and his wife, sitting on washington heights opposite the jersey palisades. “frankly, father, i am especially glad you are here, and in the normal course of your work and not by special invitation. i wanted to invite you but hesitated lest i get you into a situation that would be unwise for you even to seem to be a part of, since war has again gripped the world. as it is, you have come without premeditation or invitation.” "well, i'm glad i'm here. i like to come to new york, although i can't say just why. i feel nearer the center of things, and that is necessary today.” “that is in a sense true, at any rate after london and paris. perhaps in another decade-but as i was saying. there is going to be a meeting in new york of a peculiar character. i really know little about it. it was arranged by my royal arch chapter of the colored masons. it is not a masonic function, but the masons were probably asked to help because of their international affiliations, especially among the colorcd peoples. hence the appeal to colored masons, who are just now receiving unexpected recog- nition from the american whites." "frankly, i know little of the colored fraternities. the odd fellows in atlanta have attracted me but only because of their insurance and real estate efforts.” "well, away back in , the british army in boston initiated negro masons. the grand lodge of england set them up as a lodge and later they themselves organized a grand lodge. now there are negro grand lodges with , members and , in the royal arch. this negro american masonry today is recognized the world over. one of the high echelons of this organization was recently approached to assist in providing a meeting place for a group of colored leaders. as i say, i know little of this meeting. but at the request of friends, i have under- again world war taken local arrangements. i have confidence in the character and objects of those who are convening this conference. you know i don't go in much for meetings and not at all for negro organ- izations. but i believe this is important and timely, especially since the world for a second time in a generation has gone to war.” quite unexpectedly to mansart, the conference took place high up on the northern end of manhattan island at the cloisters- that magnificent collection of works of french medieval art as. sembled by george barnard and given by the rockefellers to the metropolitan museum of art. as a member of the museum board of directors, and through other influence which the judge had brought to bear, there was to be held in one of the chambers of the cloisters, closed and especially set aside for that purpose, a meeting of about one hundred delegates representing the colored peoples of the world, “to take council as to their situation in this war and in its aftermath.” this was all that judge revels had to say and his father inquired no further. the delegates gathered quietly at noon. lists of names were distributed to each member, which were to be returned upon adjournment. about twenty-three groups were represented. some, like africa, india and china, each had four delegates; south amer- ica and japan each had three; american negroes had two delegates; some seven other groups had one each. each delegate was identi- fied by a number which he wore on a medal conspicuously dis- played on his breast. one alone among all wore no number. he presided, sitting rather back in the shadows. he was small and thin and white turbanned. his eyes were caverns of gloom. his voice was low, clear and beautiful. opening the session without ceremony, he said: “there has come upon the world a day of doom, the most momentous since mohammed's flight to medina , years ago; or comparable to like dates in the history of other faiths. a world war has been unleashed which will cost the lives of twenty- five million human beings, mostly youth whence our world gets its strength and dreams. it will maim and wound and drive insane or weaken with disease fifty million more men, women and children. and it will cost one billion billion dollars. its weapons will be horrible. we will rip from the bowels of hell weapons deadly enough to wipe life from earth and i am told these worlds of color scourges will first be tried out upon us,the dark world. what shall we do? what can we do? "in the world's childhood, we used to blame god for such catastrophes, and then excuse him by attributing them to some inexplicable purpose of his, which he did not reveal. during the youth of science, despite our inability to prove this, we tried to account for human action as the result of mechanical law. now, as we approach, albeit all too slowly, scientific maturity we admit wide ignorance of the real nexus between cause and effect, but we work slowly and waveringly forward by use of scien- tific hypothesis, probing, changing and rejecting, by incessant test- ing of facts until bit by bit truth emerges. our greatest and most useful hypothesis is that the conscious action of human beings can change human history. still clinging to this hope and con- viction, we approach this new crisis of mankind to inquire what action caused it, what action can cure it. “first we will listen to a condensation of the most important of the voluminous and complete documentary reports deposited with us. we may foretell that britain will free india within a decade; the united states will seek to reduce china to colonial status; black men will save africa from hitler, but britain and france will try to keep her chained. japan will free us from europe but try to keep us in slavery to herself; south america will long lie divided and prostrate under europe and the united states. “the documents relating to these matters and to a score of others will be given you as you depart. we will separate in small groups and during the next weeks meet elsewhere in smaller gatherings. meantime, in farewell, watch and wait: remember that hitler's most dangerous gift will be not war, but the big lie- making truth inaccessible by the monopoly of communication. against this we must set the promise of the soviet union never to hold colonies, nor to join with colonial imperialism, and to outlaw every vestige of color and race discrimination within its borders. finally, it should be our bounden duty to seek peace through non-resistance. this, as i firmly believe, is our only path. go, with god!" mansart found himself leaving with his son and a young japanese. he began to ask questions and the japanese said, "i am a nisei, an american citizen of japanese descent. you wonder again world war why i am here. few know just what we japanese, born in the united states, have suffered and what suffering is planned. we have well-developed industry, land for raising and selling fresh vegetables. our competitors will make this war an excuse for seizing our property and even imprisoning us in concentration camps. our material losses will reach millions. our souls may be wounded beyond repair.” on the ride home, mansart talked with revels. “my son, this meeting may have been a communist plot!" "that is possible." "we know the real names of none and certainly not of that remarkable man who presided, and whose prophecies seem pre- posterous. i think i recognized him, although i may be wrong. he is either mahatma gandhi, or much like him physically and spiritually." "gandhi? it couldn't be. he has never visited the united states." “no; once he planned to when he was in england a few years ago, but his american friends, like john haynes holmes, advised against it. they said that a little ugly brown man, dressed in a loin-cloth, who had fraternized with african blacks, would be in- sulted and despised in the united states. for that reason, he gave up the idea. but it may be possible that today he has come incognito, for the simple reason that colored folk are not 'news' in new york and colored visitors attract little publicity.” "extraordinary, if true. but surely, the catastrophes he fore- tells cannot come to pass. i do not believe we will enter this world war." “i do not know. germany is moving on western europe in force. france and belgium have succumbed and britain has scurried home from dunkirk. roosevelt thinks that the defense of britain is an even greater duty than the development of the welfare state in america.” “but may not this whole thing be subversive and dangerous?" “it may be. but on the other hand, it may not be and may prove of the utmost urgency. if so, it had to be secret and this very fact warns us. the colored world, father, may be face to face with new dangers of oppression and of utter subordination. if so, we must know it and act. there was in this meeting a worlds of color note of sincerity and authority. i know personally many of its promoters and sympathizers. my belief is not easily won. i am by nature cynical and suspicious. if i had not believed in this movement, i would have had no part in it. this is the reason i helped it take place. i shall do nothing further without more knowledge than i now have. but-i shall watch and wait.” and then judge mansart added to himself: “it is quite pos- sible that this meeting, held so secretly, is already well known and reported to those in america who are in the seats of power." this was true. certain negro americans had brought circum- stantial reports to wall street where, in the morgan bank, a com- mittee had for some time been in continuous session. the mem- bers represented most of the chief international cartels which con- trolled the production and distribution of goods the world over. there were british industrialists and bankers, french business men of the type which originated the cartel idea, german army officers and representatives of krupp and thyssen; the japanese ambas- sador was there and, of course, the chief heads of american cor- porations in steel, oil, food, fibers and power production. they were all not only well-bred gentlemen but consultants of a peculiar sort. they not only must confer frankly and with- out losing their tempers on matters over which they were in seri- ous disagreement, but they must reach some degree of agreement; else, as one put it, “socialism will sweep the world and private capitalistic enterprise will disappear." they were discussing the new war beginning in europe. the reports on the secret meeting of the colored folk were reassuring. there was as yet no conspiracy and the mirage of peace and non- violence still guided them. “in the long run, the darkies are right," said an englishman. “but we must be sure that the present run is not long but short and quick.” as the hosts, the americans set down their demands first. "amer- ica must enter no world war until our profits are high and certain and there is nothing left for government financing of industry. we cannot be asked to restore the former british monopoly of world trade and finance. america must share. we oppose so- cialism in britain, western europe and particularly its extreme form in russia and the balkans. we will cooperate with japan again world war in reducing china to complete exploitation provided, of course, we receive our rightful area of participation." the british made notes and consulted and then laid down their demands. they were holding in leash a mild british socialism but would oppose any further push toward socialism in europe or america, and particularly in russia and southeast europe. they demanded preservation of the hard-won british trade opportunity and financial guidance in asia, africa and south america with reasonable exchange of advantages with germany, france and america. as to japan, they would recognize her productive power but could not admit her to british markets without due and re- ciprocal action on her part. the germans were definite and firm. “we have become since recovery from war and depression, one of the most efficient pro- ducing nations of the world. we need raw materials and markets. this is largely denied us in a world dominated by british, french and american capital. we demand entrance on reasonable terms. as to socialism, we dominate it at home and will completely put it at the service of private capital in russia and the balkans within a few weeks. we are ready to support japan in its demands for trade in asia similar to ours in europe.” a small core committee reported after lunch. “there is one area of complete agreement, several areas of partial agreement which can be adjusted, and one matter still requiring debate and serious decision. we all agree that russia must be eliminated from modern civilization, and socialism everywhere strictly curbed. there is a different question that remains to be studied and re- solved, touching the division of production, trade and finance in the world between britain, france, germany and the united states. we feel, however, that this can be worked out. "a more serious problem is connected with japan. europe cannot consent to be supplanted by japan in asia, nor to let japan flood europe with cheap goods. this question must be explored and perhaps an equitable basis of division of capital, land, and labor control can be arrived at. but because of the fundamental question of the equality of the yellow and white races, the time for agreement may be unduly prolonged. “meantime, certain delegates have put forward a startling pro- posal, which we lay before you. in the united states there is a worlds of color hard core of opposition to war as such. it is due to an asiatic philosophy of submission brought in by jews and to the same doc- trine of peace and non-violence which the current colored con- ference adheres to. supporting this thesis are the socialists, the liberals, and the new dealers. all this may make it difficult if not impossible to get america to go to war. “on the other hand, those whom we represent must have war. war alone will insure our present profits and bring greater profits and power in the future. if, of course, there could be progress without war, we could consider peace. history has proven that impossible. by war alone can socialism finally be conquered. now by curious contradiction, roosevelt, champion of the welfare state as outlined by the socialist, harry hopkins, wants war, because only by war can he retard or stop the fall of the british empire. all we need then, is by a strike of capital to hold off war until roosevelt is defeated. he must of course be put out of office by the vote of the people next november. once roosevelt is defeated, we will move in and enter the world war on our own terms and for our own objects. this will mean the end of the new deal and alliance with germany to wipe communism from the face of the earth. it will mean cooperation with britain for the halting of socialism in europe and the restoration of co- lonialism in asia and africa. this is clear. but we must face facts-roosevelt might win a third term. his hold on the american public is strong. in case then, and against all probabilities, he does win, what then? over this point, we argued long until a brilliant proposal came to us from japan." the speaker paused and wiped his forehead. then he continued: “japan proposes, if roosevelt wins, to attack the united states suddenly and without warning." there was a gasp and silence. the japanese ambassador rose unsteadily to his feet, but the little unobtrusive colleague beside him growled an order and the ambassador sat down. a frenchman asked: “what would be the effect of such an extraordinary move?" the chairman of the executive committee continued: “the proposal when first made startled us. but listen to its logic. on one matter alone today can american opinion be stampeded and that is race and color. on that matter there is a national unanimity unequalled on any other. there is wide difference of opinion on again world war e stateerican using hat r the allowable extent of the government in business, on private profit and the welfare state. socialism is gaining but it is far from being in majority. american attitude toward england varies, but there is no enthusiasm for using our strength to restore the british empire. americans believe that russian communism is bound to fail, but there is no unanimity on being willing to make this happen by force. even in matters of race, there is less dog- matism today than years ago. still, an attack on white america by yellow japan would unite the nation like a giant catalyst. war would be declared the next day. moreover, it would be war for one object alone, to conquer asia which is our object. it could not be a roosevelt war to restore to world power a socialist britain, but it would be a war lo restore the british empire of victoria, with the united states in close partnership, and to smash russia completely." "but what would become of japan. would she not face an- nihilation by america?” "only if we permitted it. japan is ready to take our word that in the end she will gain equality with europe, and co-rulership in asia!" the small unobtrusive japanese sitting beside the japanese ambassador now arose and introduced himself as the direct emis- sary of the imperial rule assistance association, which was now in supreme power in japan. in excellent english, he reaffirmed the promise of war on america. "but,” stammered a british merchant, “what might not such an act start in world reaction?" a german general spoke up crisply: “it could start nothing which german military might united to japanese versatility could not turn to the advantage of this body. before the japanese- american war was well started, hitler will have conquered russia and be facing the west with invincible force. we guarantee here and now the integrity and survival of japan as a recognized great world power. and we have already made offensive and defensive alliance with her." the discussion lasted long toward twilight. but in the end there was substantial agreement. this was in case roosevelt won a third term): . to ask japan to attack the u.s.a. without warning. worlds of color . it was guaranteed that when russia was conquered, germany, britain and france would protect japan from injury and grant her necessary access to world trade. . when the u.s.a. declared war, british industry and finance, with the cooperation of american business interests, would see to it that the u.s.a. did not attack germany or help russia. . after the war, france and italy as well as germany were to be recognized as co-partners with britain and the u.s.a. as leading directors of world trade, industry and finance. the november election came and franklin roosevelt was chosen president of the united states for a third term. judge mansart ex- ulted and a week later arranged for a small group to meet at his home. jack and betty carmichael came down from spring- field and brought jackie. he met young revels for the first time and together they went to see jackie robinson play ball. sally haynes, the young white social worker, was there. she had been in europe on vacation and managed to get out the august before, as war was declared. betty and sally had many notes to compare and jack and the judge's wife talked over his experiences in springfield. the judge marked time by silent attention for he expected another guest. it was late when hopkins finally came. he talked frankly and was enthusiastic about the recent election of . he said: "the people of the united states have given franklin roose- velt, by a vote of million to million, an election to an un- precedented third term in office, thus confirming a mandate for him to proceed toward the establishment of a welfare state leading to as complete a realization of socialism as satisfies the nation. it was decided that an intelligent nation used to free democratic methods of government could thus achieve socialisin without revo- lution or dictatorship. some countries, like russia, oppressed for centuries by serfdom, ignorance, disease and priestcraft, could bring uplift only by force and violence, especially if opposed by a world in arms. but intelligent ainerica has a better way.” “but,” asked judge mansart, “isn't this change to war which roosevelt wants, a sudden and a serious turning from social reform in the united states to pulling out of the fire the chestnuts of britain and france?" "i know what you mean and at first i was inclined to shrink from the war in europe and insist on sticking to our muttons right again world war here. but there were two mighty objections: first, the deep-seated belief of fdr, my friend, that england is the prime example of modern freedom and democracy; and that if ever we achieve so- cialism by democracy, britain must lead; and second, the increas- ingly clear fact that in a world dominated by hitler and mussolini, joined openly by japan, there can be no freedom, democracy or socialism for america or any other land.” the judge smiled and remarked: “some of us, mr. hopkins, expected that you might be a candidate in the last election.” hopkins was frank. "for a time i thought so, too; and fdr promised me his support. but just as soon as it was clear that he could be persuaded to run, i withdrew. of course, he was the only logical candidate. now, my only fear is for his health. these next four years may kill him.” sally haynes said: "my fear is that this awful war will not only divert roosevelt from developing socialism in the united states, but also to the support of colonialism in the rest of the world.” “and just here,” said judge mansart, "i was depending on japan. i thought she was leading the way to drive europe out of asia.” “that's just what she is attempting," answered hopkins, “and in so doing, she started the second world war back in . after the crash of our stock market and the collapse of european capital. ism, japan started to invade china. but not for socialism; not for the plans of the dead sun yat sen in china. no, but for a japanese capitalism exploiting the millions of asiatic workers.” "perhaps that was the key to the chinese situation which father missed in ,” said revels, “and yet, yet-". “remember that hitler became chancellor in , just after japan had attacked shanghai. the very next year, italy seized ethiopia with the tacit assent of britain and france. then hitler and mussolini joined franco to kill socialism in spain and keep it out of africa. the european axis thus was aimed not simply at the west but at the balkans and the middle east. in the far east, japan further penetrated asia and joined the european axis.” “but,” said hopkins, "there are curious complications. ameri- can big finance does not want us to enter this war on the side of the british empire. it wants to supersede britain as master of worlds of color the eastern world and, because of this, favors germany. our present business connections with germany are colossal-artificial rubber, chemicals, dyes and steel are all tied in with the reich. all that fdr could achieve until was neutrality. roosevelt believed in england even more than i do. he feared the fall of the british empire, and to him britain was civilization. i and others doubted. “a successful welfare state for our masses would be better than a realm on which the sun never sets in peace. but my personal loyalty to a friend prevailed over loyalty to an idea. moreover, i see a vision. there is a chance that the american welfare state may combine with a socialized britain and a communist russia to beat back the dictators who claimed the earth for european colonialism and for the profit of american big business. the difficulty here is that big business in the united states and britain are both bitterly opposed to a welfare state, and are openly and secretly bound to colonial imperialism even to the extent of airting with japan. 'they had vowed war to the death against any success for the russian revolution. this is the paradox of .” harry hopkins leaned back and reaching his glass for more beer said: “here's something else. einstein, the great physicist who has just come to princeton, has written roosevelt. he warns him that hitler is working on a secret weapon and urges us to start work on atomic power. this may be why the germans have not yet closed in on england with full force.” “there's another matter," said sally. "i was in europe last fall. i heard that britain, france and the united states as well as germany were sounding out the russian leaders. they wanted investment concessions in russia or at least no opposition to capital in the balkans. in return, they offer alliances of various sorts and kinds." “further than that," asserted hopkins, “japan is sending a plenipotentiary to us offering deals to big business, and business is approachable. on the side, he's talking peace and cooperation to secretary hull. i have a feeling that if business is not able to deliver, japan may attempt open force. well, i must go.” none can say how far franklin roosevelt would have gone in reorganizing the economy of the nation iſ the work of the first again world war eight years of his reign had continued and expanded. we might now live in a different world. but war intervened and once again, as so often in the past, ruined the future of mankind. on the strength of his third triumphant victory, in , roose. velt forced the nation towards war by gift and agreement, by lend. lease, annexation and warships. he took republicans into his cabinet, got millions appropriated for defense, and with churchill he drafted the atlantic charter on old and nearly forgotten terms of no new territorial annexations, self-government, free trade, free travel, better labor conditions and world government. big business conspired to wring every ounce of profit from the economy. it continued its alliance with the german cartels in rub- ber, aluminum and steel. even when material was furnished, the prices and conditions were impossible. owners of copper mines like those managed by barney baruch made extravagant profits; a bil- lion dollars were spent on airplanes before a single one was delivered. steel plate costing $ a ton was sold to the government for $ to $ a ton. the government spent over $ , , , for nitrates but got none before the armistice. four hundred mil- lion dollars were spent on contracts for shells which never reached the firing line. shipping lines sold ships to the government for $ , , each and later bought them back for $ , . president mansart often wished, in the ensuing five years, that he could have spent more time in new york, to learn more of just what was going on in the world. it was literally years before he realized that hitler had murdered six million jews in germany, that it had really begun back in and continued even while he was listening to wagner in bayreuth and talking to the old rabbi in berlin. he had been told this but could not realize it- how could such a horrible thing happen in the civilized world amid such indifference and such silence! in atlanta, the news was scarce and contradictory. france fell and belgium gave up. there was the tragedy at dunkirk-but why? neither the united states nor britain seemed to want alliance with russia, and suddenly germany did. it was a long time before mansart understood that hitler had outbid the west by offering the soviets the eastern part of poland in return for the certainty of not being attacked in the rear when he started on his western foray. the west offered the soviets assistance only if the soviets worlds of color gave up socialism, at least in part. even in such case, their offer was guarded. so hitler won the gamble and marched west. mansart heard indistinct reports of the terrible bombing of britain from july to december. in , in june, mansart learned to his dismay that germany had invaded russia. this sudden change of policy seemed to him inexplicable. he could not believe that this reversal on the part of germany was simply because british airmen were fighting back more fiercely. when a strong man meets resistance he does not usually turn his back. there was something unexplained. western europe, however, began to breathe more freely. it hoped that hitler would leave it in peace while he attacked rus- sia. for this they were willing to give up the league of nations, yield manchuria to japan, let germany re-arm and take austria, czechoslovakia and the rhineland, give ethiopia to italy and spain to france. our own ambassador said, “it would be the wish of the democratic countries that armed conflict would break out in the east between the german reich and russia. ... germany would be obliged to wage a long and weakening war." the diary of our representative in berlin said that “britain, the nazis and bullitt favored dividing the world, with germany dominating all of europe. japan was to control asia.” then like a clap of thunder, came pearl harbor! the united states had stubbornly stayed out of actual war until, with unbelievable effrontery, japan attacked the united states. japan was colored. the united states had browbeaten her, cajoled her, insulted her, admired her, but refused her recognition as an equal, and induced great britain to withdraw her first step toward such recognition. but these little brown men had persisted, had built a mighty empire and demanded partnership with the white world. japan's military might and her marvellous expanding industry was making her a feared rival of white imperialism in yellow asia. finally, japan made alliance with germany and italy. withdrawing from a plan of war she signed a non-aggression pact with the soviet union, and, during peace negotiations with the u.s., she destroyed our sea power in hawaii. this made war not only possible but imperative, backed by american color prejudice. japan was aware of the chink in american armor. mansart be- fore the war had met yasuichi hikida. this well trained young again world war japanese had visited negro schools, translated books on the negro problem into japanese, and made friends with colored people all over the nation. he did nothing subversive in act, and he tried to convince negroes that the japanese people sympathized with their struggle against race prejudice, indeed that the japanese were fellow sufferers. later, judge mansart made the acquaintance of an american white man who had married a colored woman in new york and, with funds which probably came from abroad, purchased two of the oldest american magazines, the living age and the north american review. whether this effort was japanese or german, judge mansart never knew. personally, he had no part in it. but he never forgot japanese hospitality to his father at the time when he had no dream of war. meantime, japan talked earnestly for peace and friendship be- tween these two nations, for future profits and future exchange of culture, and talked all the more persuasively because their envoy, kurusu, believed what he said and had no ulterior motives. but the japanese military junta achieved complete control of japan in . by secret division of the world cartels, it became the role of colored japan to divert american power from helping britain, while the nordic supremacist hitler, holding his hand from giving britain the coup de grâce with the help of the coming secret weapon, was to turn suddenly and annex the soviet union to greater germany. what really happened at pearl harbor december , , none will ever know completely. there was and is grave suspicion of treachery or treason. roosevelt himself was accused by congress but absolved after his death. here was a great military establish. ment equipped at vast cost to make the nation secure. here lay american warships with marines and officers alert in a world already at war. yet, when japanese airplanes flew out of that december morning with attendant submarines, there was neither warning nor planned resistance. everybody seemed elaborately doing noth- ing-dressing, parading and saluting. the timid report by a private who thought he heard planes was brushed aside. to this day, the gold-braided admirals dispute as to what each did or ought to have done. one black man, dorie miller, a messboy on the arizona, who could join the american navy only as a menial, put up a real worlds of color fight. seizing a machine gun in the use of which he had received no training, he shot down four japanese planes. but the japanese on that fatal day shot down american planes, destroyed ten warships, damaged eight others, and left nearly five thousand amer- ican boys dead, wounded and missing. japan was on the warpath-she struck at indo-china, the philip- pines, singapore, hong kong, the islands of the pacific. she stretched her empire thousands of miles in three months. siam fell, then guam, then wake island. 'the philippines gave up in may, with macarthur running away. by this time the japanese had spread over malaya and had sunk iwo british battle- ships. they captured the dutch east indies with its oil and rubber, then took rangoon, the capital of burma, and mandalay. by february, , the japanese flag had swept over , miles from the aleutians to australia. it was the greatest uprising of asia since genghis khan. in macon, president mansart and jean du bignon discussed these utterly unexpected developments. they went back and tried to piece together events which had happened two and three years before and which only now revealed their real significance. jean emphasized the role of italy. “look at northeast africa. here, italy was promised her colonial empire in the treaty of london, which tempted italy into the first world war. this clemenceau and lloyd george repudiated and italy never forgave them. in , when hitler had the west backed against the wall, italy seized her chance and her pound of alesh was ethiopia. the league of nations threw ethiopia to the dogs, despite the moving appeal of her exiled emperor. then in italy made alliance with hitler and began the movement east- ward toward egypt, the suez canal, greece, the balkans and the middle east. beyond lay the british empire in asia. by october, italy was on the march.” meantime, down in the french province of chad, , miles due south of alexandria, which graziani was about to seize, there was a black french governor, eboué. he decided to support the free french, and not vichy. from his four open harbors on the atlantic, he could import american war material and on planes a day send it to north africa. on nearly , miles of stone- surfaced roads, rubber, tin, lead and zinc, with cotton, coffee, cocoa, again world war palm oil and wood could roll north to the british soldiers gather- ing to hold and redeem the highway to asia. behind these supplies marched thousands of black troops. by january, , the tide began to turn. british somaliland and eritrea were recaptured and haile selassie returned to ethi- opia. rommel with his german afrika corps rushed to the rescue. the british were pushed back, but black ethiopia and black eboué reinforced british montgomery and at alemein, in october, , the axis armies fied west and met the british-american in- vasion. "that movement of ours to north africa, instead of against the bare back of hitler, has always puzzled me,” said mansart. "elementary, my dear watson,” said jean, with an apology for her impudence, “don't you see, churchill, the machiavelli of lon- don, wanted first to save the empire which he did not propose to liquidate. he wanted to make sure of that empire after hitler and stalin had destroyed each other. he proposed then to waste no time helping to stop what he regarded as the inevitable collapse of russian communism and the equally certain fall of nazi im- perialist colonialism. back of him, american big business was ready to leave all to churchill's fine italian hand to convince his friend roosevelt that both were framing an atlantic charter based on four freedoms. this, roosevelt sincerely believed. what churchill really believed, he wasn't saying!" in europe, hitler's plans seemed perfect. from june to octo- ber, his armies captured six great cities and surrounded leningrad. he announced that russia was crushed. but the cold came down from the arctic, the worst in one hundred fifty years, and , germans died trying to reach moscow-which they never entered. they whirled south to the caspian sea and surrounded stalingrad in august, . here, gradually, the steel hand of the russians slowly closed until in january, , hitler had lost his great gamble—the soviet union remained unconquered. it was a fearful victory. the germans destroyed , towns and villages, leaving , , people homeless. they demolished , industries; they tore up , miles of railroads with sta- tions, telegraph and telephone offices; they destroyed , hos- pitals, , schools and , libraries; they ransacked , farms and drove off million head of horses, cattle sheep and worlds of color goats. their damage to state industrial enterprises has been esti- mated at $ billion. sixty-one of the greatest power stations were blown up. coal mines and oil wells were destroyed. public build- ings, museums and churches were ruined. the soviet union lost seven million of its people in war, and perhaps as many more in civilian life. the british empire lost a million persons and the u.s.a. about the same. the germans lost at least ten million. the war cost the soviet union $ , , , . the u.s.a. gave her in net lend-lease about five percent of this sum. never before in the history of man had a single nation sacrificed so much for the salvation of the world. jean noted with some apprehension that president mansart was giving more time and thought to the war than to the college. but of course, she herself was tremendously interested in the great drama unfolding abroad. both she and the president were thrilled by the incredible march of japan-a colored people was challenging the most powerful nations on earth. mansart watched in fascination. he knew how japan hated white folk--for the same reasons which made mansart himself still shrink from them when he forgot his broader principles. he watched japan in that fateful year of in amazement and apprehension-the great east asia co-prosperity sphere. he tried to show nothing in his countenance. but he and jean alone in the office, could not restrain a certain exaltation as they wit- nessed the amazing uprising of asia against europe to oust the european masters. it was some time before president mansart seemed suddenly to become aware that once again american negroes were going to war. “and what are they going to fight for?” he asked in despair. of course, they were going to meet discrimination. possibly they were going to be more integrated into the army and navy than they were in the first world war. this proved true. after some pre- liminary hesitation, discrimination was abolished from the officers' training camps. even in georgia, negro officers were trained. at first a few, but at last at the rate of several hundred a month. still, why were negroes fighting? the teachers of state college discussed this matter and although careful, the bitterness spilled over. again world war "well, here we go again-fighting nobody for nothing." “for the british empire!" "and what has that empire done for us?” “it stopped the slave trade which it started—when the trade ceased to pay. it emancipated slaves when toussaint made slavery too dangerous. it changed chattel to wage slavery." "it stands for democracy!” "for whites only-never for the blacks and browns and yellows who form most of its realm.” “it may free india after this war.” "it will if it must-not otherwise.” “war will stop our welfare state and increase the power of wealth.” "unless we can depend on russia to beat hitler.” “a broken reed!” "so napoleon thought.” then, rather suddenly, there was an unexpected opportunity for negroes to voice their boiling inward revolt. the role of gov- ernment in industry had widened during the depression. there was a chance that it would permanently become much wider. yet, negroes were discriminated against openly, even in government contracts. there were, in , over a million negroes unemployed. they began to ask for the opportunity to work, especially in war industry. philip randolph, a colored socialist who had been hounded and imprisoned and finally lured to trade unionism, had organized the pullman porters into a union and was fighting for its recogni- tion in the american federation of labor. he now dared to de mand of president roosevelt that in the new war industry negroes be accepted on equal terms with whites. randolph declared that unless the president yielded, he was going to organize a black army of , black agitators to “march on washington.” the negro race all over the country was aroused and began to prepare for the march. some negroes and many white friends protested. they saw this was no way to get concessions. but down in macon, jean was pleased. she said, “you know, president mansart, randolph has chosen a strategic time. here, the united states is on the brink of entering the second world war on a large scale. they must have a united country behind worlds of color them. many americans oppose the war. the loyalty of negroes means more today than it did even in the first world war, and in the first world war it was indispensable. i have an idea that we are going to see some yielding on this matter.” mansart was skeptical. "we are, after all, only a small part of the nation and smaller than our numbers when it comes to education and wealth. we are in no position to demand.” but jean tossed her head. “we are in no position not to de- mand,” she said. roosevelt was thus faced, in , by realization of the fact that million american citizens, an increasing number of whom could vote, might be led into opposition to his program and party. moreover, as hopkins pointed out, the demand for equal treat- ment in government-controlled industry was absolutely fair. since, however, roosevelt did not dare ask congress for a law compelling the admission of negroes to war industry, he induced his friends to discourage immediate pressure. mrs. roosevelt, mayor laguardia in new york, and others tried to allay unrest and persuade negroes to wait. but prepara- tions for the march went on. headquarters were opened in new york and in other cities. monies were raised. the date for the march was set for july . on june , the president called randolph and a number of other negro leaders to washington. he met them, along with several cabinet heads and members of the office of production management. they discussed the situation earnestly. finally the president, knowing that he could not get action from congress and realizing that the negroes would not yield, offered to issue executive order to insure “full participation in the national defense program by all citizens of the united states regard- less of race, creed, color or national origin.” a commission to enforce this order was appointed, including two negroes and, as chairman, the white principal of the negro hampton institute. randolph and his friends called off the march on washington. thus american negroes won one of their greatest victories since emancipation. and franklin roosevelt in this way secured the almost complete backing of american negroes for him and the democratic party. this was even more impotrant than equal distribution of relief funds. it was the culmination of the roosevelt attitude toward negroes. again world war so to the astonishment of mansart, the celebrated fair employ- ment commission came into being. many whites protested. there were strong words in atlanta at the great camp which the city had built. there were strong words elsewhere, but on the whole the order was obeyed. it was a singular victory. and yet when negroes sat down and took careful account, what had they won and lost? yes, lynching almost disappeared. but something worse than lynching had taken its place, and that was systematic and nation- wide injustice in the criminal courts. negroes, forming twelve per- cent of the population of the united states, composed from to percent of the prisoners held in jail. they invariably form the great majority of the prisoners for life, and of , persons in the country executed between and , , were negroes. all this meant that negroes were being arrested more often than whites, were being railroaded to prison and given longer terms, and publicly killed twice as often as whites. compared to lynching, this record was far worse and more degrading and fatal for black folk. and what about the basic matter of earning a living? negro slaves earned nothing beyond subsistence, from to -a span of years. from to , the wage of negro workers, if not stolen from them, was paid at the rate of $ to $ a year for each family. after the war, the average might be half the average wage of white workers. they were beginning to vote and hold office, and yet the major- ity of negroes in america were still disfranchised by law or custom or by fear of violence or denial of work. chapter xii black america fights again the american army in the second world war, had , colored soldiers, with , commissioned colored officers, includ- ing in the medical and dental corps, chaplains and nurses. the navy had , colored seamen, including , in the marine corps. when the allies at last landed in normandy these black boys manned barrage balloons and big guns, loaded and unloaded ships, and drove thousands of trucks carrying supplies and troops on the french highways to the front lines. they had already helped largely to build the -mile alcan highway in canada and the ledo road in burma. colored pilots bombed sicily, italy, germany and rumania, and thirty of them earned the distinguished flying cross. a colored artillery unit helped hold bastogne in belgium when mcauliff's , men were entirely surrounded by nazis. the colored gand infantry division in italy bent but did not break before a nazi counter-offensive. negroes built airstrips in new guinea, fought against japanese at bougainville, against germans in north africa, and served in india, persia, alaska, france, hol- land and the philippines. these negroes thought deeply as they served, and some wrote home: "we thought about conditions as they exist in the states. we were elated to go into battle and perhaps die for rights that we, as negroes, had never known. but the heart-breaking part about it was that the people we were to fight against could get better opportunities in our own country than we could. all they had to do was to get there." a little sister wrote poetry to her black brother in the ranks: “or is the world just upside down the right all on one side. black america fights again one group of kids can buy war bonds but cannot buy a ride. or will this all be straightened out through blood and prayers and tears, or will it just go on and on as long as there are years?" a soldier aboard a transport wrote: “we were responsible for getting out the evening meal. this was a good six hours' job, and the heat was so intense that we worked stripped to the waist. we were bitter because, with at least four thousand men aboard, only our black battal. ion was required to perform this drudgery every day. some of our non-coms protested but they were only reduced io privates and sent back to the job.” still another said: "the battle of the bulge was the last and almost success. ful effort of germany to rule the world. in that battle were black soldiers and because of the need there was greater inte- gration of black and white troops than ever before." naturally there were some touches of human joy, as when one black correspondent wrote of his troops entering into paris: “i have never been kissed so much in all my life. almost every woman i meet on the street stops and kisses me on both cheeks. it is a beautiful custom.” the west was surprised and bewildered by the resistance which the soviet union exhibited to the fierce onslaught of the germans. the british suggested american lend-lease to the soviets; it would not save them, of course. it was never meant to save them but it would give britain a longer breathing spell and forward that mutual annihilation of two enemies which might save the world for them. americans went further and said, “suppose the british empire and the vast dominion of france fell, who would be their heirs but america?” it was the american century by logic, and there was no worlds of color need for fighting for it-let fascism in germany and communism in the soviet union kill each other off, while we inherited the earth! almost deliberately, therefore, britain and america, subtly led by big business, sacrificed france to germany. britain, despite all her respect for french culture, had hated the french for goo years, and her own ruler had long styled himself “king of france." amer- ica held france in contempt, thought her sex crazy even for "dark- ies,” though at the same time exquisite in food, manners and dress. this compelled at once almost slavish compliment and bitter jeal- ousy. let the bosch discipline the frogs. here, too, america would "take over." but if america was sluggish in the european area of the war, she rushed fiercely into battle in the far east. here, her pride and prestige were hurt and her color prejudice lent strength to her arm. the navy in which american negroes at the time could enter only as menials saw the disgrace of the britania which had so long ruled the waves. there were black boys a-plenty who crept through all the mud of the tropical islands from hawaii to japan, who died in iwo jima and on okinawa. they suffered from fever, brutality and race hate. but their voices did not carry far and few came back to talk. in the philippines they remembered their black brothers of the spanish war and they saw the great bandmaster, walter loving, drop dead and unavenged before the guns of japanese guards. at the battles of the coral sea and midway, early in , the united states began the annihilation of the japanese fleet which had been overextended in annexing the vast new japanese empire. the american army had begun a long, slow, roundabout and costly approach to japan which would take years but was sure to be fatal if left free to develop. after all, japan with million people and limited resources was fighting alone the richest nation on earth with million inhabitants. japan must have help. it was late in that a japanese gentleman called on judge mansart in his new york offices. he professed to know a certain indian whose interests mansart had defended successfully many years ago. he was a well-bred person of rank and education and said he was about to leave the country by special passport. he talked generally and then confidentially. “judge mansart, in strictest confidence, do you think american black america fights again neyroes would be disposed to help japan if they had opportunity?" “in what way? by sympathy, political support or by-espion- age?" “not only in these ways, but by-revolt?" "no," said the judge, “i do not think so." the japanese continued imperturbably. “i have heard,” he said, “that a slave psychology still hampers your people and that no insult, no discrimination can bring among them aught but whimpered tears and prayers,” "that is in part true; but more than that, these tears and prayers, along with hard work, patience, repeated appeal to reason, and successful organization have brought us such progress that we hope in time to reach full equality in this nation.” “at the present rate, when will you reach that goal? a hundred years or a thousand? pardon me. i do not mean to be discourteous. we japanese know only too well how long it takes to make the white world admit the equality of colored peoples. we are fighting today desperately to hasten the rate of progress. i take it that you do not think your people can help?" “you are right. i see now no practical way." “others do not agree with you. your jails are full of bitter vic- tims unjustly incarcerated. your streets are full of poor and neglected persons of your race whom the new deal helped last or quite forgot. there are , american indians left from the million of ; segregated mostly, and forgotten on reservations. they do not love this nation. there are a quarter of a million nisei, american-born japanese, largely robbed of their property and herded into concentration camps. they are ready for any- thing. there are millions of white americans-a third of your nation-so degraded and disappointed that they can feel what we feel. judge mansart, is this no sound basis for revolt?” "it might be, if conditions get worse. but if they get better" "they will not get better," said the japanese. “i beg your pardon. my wishes have rushed my words beyond my discretion. there are factors to spark this huge body of revolt. there is a negro congress and a communist party. there are pullman porters led by a socialist whom the a. f. of l. repeatedly has slapped in the face, who once threatened to march on washington. these folk daily thread this land. but i say too much. do not, worlds of color i pray, think that i am a conspirator. i have made no plot nor do i know others who have. but i see the material ripe for a fire. we japanese today need such a fire. please forgive me. please forget all i have said, until the day when remembrance will be a pleasure.” he looked earnestly at the judge, who bowed and shook his hand. he sat long after his guest had gone. he was not sure whether he had been probed or informed. he was beginning to question much of his past belief. especially, he saw a world ruled by industry and banking in a colonial imperialism of monopoly, reaping wealth from war. it was becoming clear to him that the concept of business as service to mankind was yielding to the idea of business as power over men. we were working not so much to fulfill the wants of men as to rule men and enable the comfortable few to use the miserable many. his japanese visitor hastened to the pier where he met some searching questioning. it appeared that he was a japanese citizen in transit to his home and on a trip begun before the opening of war between the united states and japan. his credentials were in order although his travel seemed to have been suspiciously slow. but the war itself perhaps explained that and he was finally allowed to sail. he landed in france and was immediately received by the vichy government. he was soon in possession of a diplomatic passport and accredited directly to the fuehrer, adolf hitler. he passed through a distracted land, inwardly torn, yet alive and almost hysterical with laughter that choked back tears. he entered a war-beset germany, muscles taut, eyes glaring, loud-voiced and harsh, dripping with the blood of jews. then more slowly he fared across the plains of russia, burnt, torn and ravaged, bleak with snow, with dead unburied, and with people hollow-eyed and hungry. it proved difficult to locate hitler. the german army, on its long march of , miles, had reached the shores of the black sea, but its troubles were not over. when the japanese special envoy at last reached hitler's camp, the fatal siege of stalingrad was in progress and hitler was in a fury. beyond the ruins of ancient kiev with its bulbous towers, and the treeless fields outside the city, the germans had built a camp, wide and ordered, with uniforms and trumpets. the japanese was led to an elaborate canvas mansion, where sentinels clicked their heels and challenged pre-emptorily: black america fights again "the feuhrer? your credentials! pass, heil hitler!” “who?” hitler roared as the japanese was ushered in. the japanese bowed low. “sir, i have the honor to bring you a special message and appeal from my august master, hirohito, emperor of japan!” he proffered his red-sealed message but hit- ler brushed it aside. "what is it?" he yelled. “i'm busy. speak!" the japanese saluted and said: “sir, japan is hard pressed. our navy is outnumbered and in danger. a large american army is approaching slowly but steadily, and it is well-equipped. my august master prays for help from the german nation. if you will turn back now and subdue england and the american forces resting there, the pressure on japan will be lessened. simultane- ously, black revolt may break out in the united states. "while this diverts both britain and america, we will consoli- date our new possessions and attack russia in the rear. after your fatal blows, russia will soon surrender to our might, backed, as it will be by that time, by the hundred millions of china. the great fuehrer of germany and the sun-god of japan will then rule the world." hitler whirled about. he frothed at the mouth and screamed: “get out. get out, you yellow dog! do you think that i will even tolerate you japanese monkeys in my back yard? emperor of japan-sun-god-indeed! i am german emperor, president of france, and when i will, king of england and president of the united states. do you think i am going to share my rule with darkies? get out-go home! tell your god-damned emperor to stew in his own vomit!” guards hustled the envoy out of the tent. he was pale and trembling, but dignified. he asked to be escorted to the front lines and soon left in the direction of stalin- grad. it was a week of travel in snow and ice before he was in the presence of joseph stalin. stalin was ten miles from the besieged city in a peasant hut; but he did not seem busy or worried. he received the envoy pleasantly, who now presented another set of credentials addressed to marshal stalin. stalin had them carefully translated and listened quietly. “the emperor of japan asked that the treaty of neutrality now in existence between japan and the soviet union be changed worlds of color forthwith into an offensive alliance. japan would send her armies and airplanes to help drive back the germans, and together, they would rule the eastern world and beat back the west." stalin paused over his tea to read a dispatch. then he said calmly, “thank you, sir, and thank the emperor very much; but you are too late. the germans have surrendered at stalingrad!” it was january , . the japanese envoy politely took leave, refusing the proffered hospitality for the night. he walked out into the black and bitter cold toward the great city flaming yellow and crimson beyond, alive with the roar and scream of cannon and bomb, streaks of colored lights illuminating the sky. the reek of death and the stink of putrid flesh filled the field. the envoy threw away his astrakan cap and let the snow sift into his hair. he unbuttoned his jacket and westcoat until his bare flesh under thin silk was bared to the chill night. then he drew out his sword, raised his hand in salute to the east, where , miles away the shrines of kyoto gleamed warmly in the sun. he said aloud, "my emperor, i have failed!” and plunged the sword deep into his bowels, twist- ing it as his body writhed in death. in the united states, unrest was stirring among the black folk. it was, as judge mansart had said, not revolt; but, as president mansart down in macon knew, it was deep and bitter unrest and it might grow to something more dangerous to all america, black and white. in detroit came a terrible outburst. among the half million immigrants who came to find jobs in that mass production capital since , were , negroes. they had had to fight for their jobs; and in june, beating, killing and destruction of the poorest and blackest began until roosevelt, over-riding the hesitant gov- ernor, sent , federal troops to quell the riot. two months later, in harlemn, came an inexplicable riot, with stores looted and torn apart. even the people themselves did not seem to know what was happening, and why. yet, it was in reality clearly part of the pattern which had spurred the president's effort to open industry to black workers. it was one aspect of the world-wide colonial exploitation of colored folk. harlem was being persistently exploited, and its black folk wanted bread and jobs and less clubbing by the police. black america fights again except in the case of the well-to-do, the mass of colored workers were segregated in the worst sections and houses at the highest rents. food which could not be sold downtown was disposed of in harlem at high prices. harlem schools were crowded and poorly disciplined under inexperienced teachers. at the stores into which negro con- sumers crowded no negro could work save as a janitor or servant. gambling and dope and prostitution were almost uncurbed, and the gains went mostly to whites. merchants were rude to black folk and policemen ready to club them mercilessly. in this seeth- ing mass of discontent and revulsion, the most trivial incident could suddenly be sparked into a roaring flame. the retail district of th street was half destroyed at the cost of a million dollars- an expression of the despair of the people living there. judge revels mansart was particularly upset by this new york riot-not only because of its general implications and questions connected with his position, but also on account of his son, revels jr. young revels was of draft age and was soon going to be taken out of college and put into the arıny. his father and mother were both upset and wanted him to take the officers' course, but he objected. they began to chide themselves for not having sought a home and environment better suited to his development, so that he would have had a group of friends and a pattern of activities to guide him. but where? how? what community wanted a negro family, no matter what their status and character? their advent meant lowering of property values through white fear and hysteria, and invited ostracism if not violence. or, suppose this phase passed-where would friendship, neigh- borly intercourse or social recognition enter? who would invite them to tea, dinner or dance? they must be outcast and alone. the elders might stand this, but what of an eager youth of eighteen? if this was true around new york, was it better in new england, the middle west, or california? los angeles was a “jim-crow” town and so was portland, oregon. many unions in san francisco excluded negro labor, and the whole south was caste-ridden and insane with color hate. they had even thought of migration, but wherei canada would exclude them, and mexico welcome then only if they were rich and did not need to work. in europe, the world was too upset and competition among youth too fierce for strangers and especially worlds of color those of a different race to intrude. south america held open some hope, but the political conditions there and the poverty repelled the mansarts. in the west indies, struggles of class and color were already too fierce for strangers to be able to live there happily at peace. the mansarts were glad that they had but this one son when the last blow fell-he volunteered for the air force. young revels had read of the flying squadron of colonel davis, a young negro officer. he came honie one day from meeting and seeing some of the cadets in harlem, and calmly announced that he had enlisted as a private in the flying corps and was going to tuskegee for training! his mother was aghast and used every argument to deter him from so dangerous a mission. but his father looked at it philosophically. here, at last, there seemed to be something which was of real interest to the boy. up to this time, revels jr. seemed to express no interest in anything in particular. he went through high school making a passing grade, attracted by athletics in a general sort of way but taking no part, having no particular hobbies and showing no interest even in girls. for him, the girl problem had curious phases. the colored girls in school were mostly from poor homes, were ill-dressed and homely. the white girls were richer and better dressed. they expected to be noticed but he ostentatiously re- frained from giving them any attention whatsoever. he was determined that no one of them was going to get the chance of snubbing him. there were rich and pretty colored girls to be found, but why spend time on such a quest? he had entered college with the half-expressed desire that he might take up the law and follow in his father's footsteps. but even his father was not enthusiastic about this, because junior did not show the drive or the interest which seemed to him to be necessary for this profession. he thought of inedicine and men- tioned it, but young revels wanted nothing to do with ailing human bodies. flying was different. he tried it experimentally. it was the most marvellous experience that he had ever felt, this soaring above the earth and all its little nasty things. so revels mansart ii went into the second world war as a flier. he travelled by way of the college at macon, sampled “jim-crow" for the first time, and spent a week there on his way to tuskegee. he especially liked black america fights again jean du bignon because she did not try to dissuade him from his chosen job. she just took it for granted that his mind was made up and that he was capable of deciding for himself, and then she talked about life from there on. he grew very fond of her during his short stay. if he ever came back, he wrote to his parents, he would like to sit in her classes. she understood fellows like him. jean drove him to tuskegee and was there when, experiment- ing with one of the old rattle-trap planes which the government had palmed off on this negro school, revels felt the machine dissolve beneath him. he promptly baled out, soared safely to earth and into the arms of an almost fainting jean. "nothing to it,” he said jauntily, and in an hour was aloft again. jean drove swiftly home. this generation! he was a boy who migbt have been her own son. thank god she had no sons! revels pictured himself sailing over germany to burn the backs of hitler's stormtroopers, who were spewing their hatred of jews and “niggers” and storming russia. to be sure, he knew little of communism, but quite enough to contrast it with britain's role in africa and asia. he liked french treatment of colored troops. he had read the world and africa and black folk then and now. he was eager for his mission when, to his bewilderment, his squadron was ordered to africa, and not to west but to north africa. he growled: "what the hell are we doing here? why don't our army jump on hitler while his back is turned?" "shut your mouth,” whispered his pals. "you're in the army now.” he stood one morning in january, , with a young french resistance officer looking out on the ceremony when churchill, de gaulle and roosevelt met in casablanca, north africa. the frenchman glowered. "where's the fourth chair?” he growled. “for whom?" "eboué!" "and who is eboué?" “the black man who made this possible!” revels looked blank. the young officer lighted a cigarette worlds of color and talked. “recall ? hitler had europe. the french surrendered in june, and britain was bombed for six months from july on, after the treason of the belgian king and the disgrace of dunkirk. italy already had armies in ethiopia and lybia. britain was in egypt, intent on saving the carcass of its precious empire-whether germany or russia won. all north africa, with algeria, morocco and french west africa followed vichy in surrender. the fatal port of dakar, nearest to america, was unprotected from german seizure. there was but one link missing in the encircling chain-equatorial africa, in the very center of the continent, south of lybia and nearest to the forces of britain in the anglo-egyptian sudan. through chad could flow mate- rials from its four atlantic harbors; here black troops could be as- sembled and sent north to egypt. who held chad, held africa; who held africa at that moment, held the world. “the governor of chad was a black man, born in south america, in french guiana, educated in france, once governor of guadeloupe. the white governor general of equatorial africa was bribed by vichy and named commissioner of all black africa, with headquarters at dakar. the white governor of gabon followed. "but eboué, black governor of chad, called his officers together. he said: 'we were sitting around the radio in the club at fort- lamy, the night of june , , to listen to pétain's broad- cast. with me were young french army officers, graduates of saint-cyr, several department heads and other officials of chad, and some of the local merchants and functionaries. when pétain had finished, a silence, born of great pain, fell upon us all. but the pain was stilled for me because i sensed that all chad stood together in its determination not to yield. i proposed to those gathered about the radio that we serve notice that, whatever the cost, we would continue to fight. i gave them a choice-to follow vichy or de gaulle. all but a few chose de gaulle.' “a french general later declared: 'if eboué had followed the example of pétain, laval and weygand, disaster would have followed. ... because he did not do so, british and american planes were landed and assembled at nigeria, flown eastward through fort-lamy to khartoum in the anglo-egyptian sudan, black america fights again thence northward to the middle east. had there been a day's delay, nothing could have stopped hitler! "eboué offered de gaulle soldiers, minerals and money. his poor black peasants collected million dollars for the resis- tance at a time when they were nearly penniless. already, eboué had built one of the largest and best airports in the east and nearly four thousand miles of roads. one hundred and fifty airplanes a day flew from eboue's airport to the middle east with troops and supplies. the soldiers he trained marched , miles north to fight in tunis and tripoli. later, they were among the first to enter paris." revels gasped and looked at the assembled guests. “so that is why he's not here today?" the young frenchman growled. "he's not dead yet. he'll present his bill for services rendered.” “will it be paid?” "hell, no! not if britain and america can help it!" revels hung his head. the flyer stood flanking the road as president roosevelt and general eisenhower explained the expedition and assured the troops that despite the seizure of half of russia by hitler, the defeat of rommel at alamein meant that britain and the united states were now in the fight and were going to close in upon the germans, even if four years late. on the whole, revels liked the air corps. there was less race segregation among the fliers than in other branches of the service. negroes were and almost had to be treated like other men. he made acquaintances, not deliberately but unconcern- edly. he took men as they came, white and black. some were interesting and some were not. then came the turning. after stalingrad, the united states army turned north to italy. leaving britain to push to the east and her colonial empire, america went north to take italy and be in position to help the eastern front should russia march to london. revels flew on wings inspired by all the dreams of his youth. it was a day in june, . summer was trying with golden sun and silver water, and with the emerald green of her foliage, to burst through the blood and degradation of war. revels black america fights again suddenly, he was sick of it all. even enemies were human. this, then, was war! he was not punishing enemies. he was not striking against armed and evil men. he was starving little chil- dren, raping young girls and crucifying their old fathers and mothers. he laughed as he received his final orders to fly to rome. eternal rome! he rode out and soared into the sky. he flew up straight and swift, above and beyond his fellows. he dropped burning hell on monastery, priest and people. in his mind's eye, he saw the blood of women and children spurt and fly. he laughed wildly at planes in pursuit until, outdistancing all, he was alone in the heavens and all his gas was gone. he had watched it as it ran out, and then swiftly curving the nose of his plane earthward, he fell ten thousand feet, closing his eyes as the plane drove its nose a hundred feet into the ground of italy. judge mansart received his son's letter long after the boy's death. “dear mom and pop: "when you receive this i shall be dead. i simply cannot stand this. i know now what war is. i am no longer deceived by fairy tales of glory and victory. war is dirt and mud, hunger and death, rape and lying. i have killed enough of my fellowmen. i have scattered the guts of women and children over the earth. i have seen blood spurt, red and thick, to feed the soil. i will not live in a world like this. tomorrow i am going to carry out orders and fly as near heaven as my engine will take me and then i am going to turn and drop straight into the earth. i shall soon be dead. i never expect to see you again but i greet you. i know what you have tried to do for me. i am deeply grateful. my love to you both and to aunt jean. goodbye.” there was no funeral. on the sunday morning after the news, a few visitors met in revels' living room. a citation lay on a crimson throw across the piano. his picture hung on one wall. a baritone sang: chapter xiii roosevelt dies union with terrible voided blindly after ansarts the death of their adopted son had shaken the mansarts to the depth of their lives. both grasped blindly after some sort of escapism to hide the terrible void. mrs. mansart found it eventually in re-union with her estranged relatives in charleston, south carolina. her only sister, older than she, had torn the family pride by openly consorting with a white man who eventu- ally became governor of the state. her family were light mulat- toes, old and well-to-do and related by blood to the best white families of the state, but it had been more than a century since any white person had consorted with this proud clan. their price was marriage, open and legal. despite this, one of their most beautiful daughters had become the known concubine of a well-born young white lawyer. they lived together in a fine mansion where she was officially "housekeeper," but with three children-a boy and two girls. when the man became governor, an aunt presided over the official mansion, but he continued to live mostly at his old home. when, however, the young governor proposed to go to the united states senate, the couple had to face facts. the young governor had been chosen to lead the revolt against the democratic party in the south, against the roosevelt new deal. it was not only resentment against roose- velt's recognition of the negro, but also the rise of the fight against socialism in a region where big business was about to play its boldest role in oil, sulphur and textiles. a revolt looking toward a ihird party in the south was due and the young governor was the man to lead it. but for this, he must rid himself of his colored family-either that, or the south would ruin him politically, so cially and financially. “this thing could be carried on a half century ago. but today with the women voting, it can't be faced. what do you say?" asked his supporters. and now he stood in his home with the cially his thing en voting worlds of color tensed body of his common-law wife in his arms and said to her: "you know i love you. i have never loved anyone else. you have been brave and true. i do not see how i can live without you. but i must. you see it, don't you? i must.” she made no answer. there was none to make. he pensioned off his colored family and married a young white woman of the current aristocracy. the colored woman and her children came to new york and bought a house on riverside drive. the son, quite white in appearance, was eventually taken into a white manufacturing firm and disappeared into the white world. the elder daughter, with darker olive skin, married a rising young colored lawyer, a protege of judge mansart. mrs. mansart had for a long time taken no notice of this family of her sister. but the youngest daughter, after the suicide of mrs. man- sart's adopted son, called. she was fifteen and of dazzling beauty- cream of skin, black-haired with liquid eyes, lovely features and faultless form. she came with the young lawyer brother-in-law at the suggestion of judge mansart. mrs. mansart, forgetting all her anger at her sister, the girl's mother, was drawn to her immediately and clung to her as to a new-found refuge. the girl was intelligent, well-bred and ambitious, but she was lost in new york. her brother and sister were older and the com- panions of her childhood were far away in charleston. her mother brooded darkly in dark seclusion. the girl felt deep compassion for mrs. mansart and in turn mrs. mansart came to realize what a wife this girl would have made her dead son; and despite his death, she found herself continually treating the girl, marian, like a prospective daughter. the judge, on the other hand, found increasing escape from his pain by gradually entering a new world. he refused to run again for the judgeship, even when the possibility of promotion was held before him. he reduced his private practice to a mini- mum, taking only cases which particularly attracted him. he increased his library and began systematic reading of books and current periodicals. marian, his wife's niece, got in the habit of using his library, and finally became his secretary, helped by a stenographer. the judge found a new world in a hungarian restaurant not far from his office on the east side. here, he fell into the habit of regularly taking a long lunch and meeting immediate intelligener brother were far asion. the mansart, vintelligenclung to, the intet ms lawyer roosevelt dies foreigners of education, experience and knowledge who received him gladly as a companion, without exhibiting that patronizing effrontery which white americans think it proper to use when they meet a black american whose position they cannot entirely ignore. thus, mansart was gradually transported into a new and hitherto unknown world. he learned how russia was striving to achieve democracy. in this desperate, heart-breaking struggle with weak human nature, with crime and selfishness, the soviet leaders could count on no aid or sympathy from the decency and religion of europe or america. judge mansart listened to this explanation with a good deal of surprise. he never had the situation put to him in this way. his whole idea of the soviet union, as he thought it over, was quite the opposite. the aim of the soviets, he had thought, was largely murder and purges. stalin was said to be a ruthless scoundrel. yet, here was a contradictory explanation. the judge said to himself, “where did i get my information about russia?" he began to realize that he had gotten it largely from the american press and leon trotsky; that when trotsky came to mexico the american press was thrown open to him and ameri- can liberals swarmed about him. so that for years it was trot- sky who made up the minds of americans on russia. all this, of course, could not have been spontaneous. it must have been promoted and paid for. all american periodicals, all news serv- ices were open to trotsky. the liberal movement became his agents. moreover, now, whether or not it was necessary to change one's attitude toward russia and one's interpretation of the current results of the russian revolution, whatever was necessary, was difficult because of the changing place of the newspaper in the life of ordinary americans. there was a time when the judge read the new york times and tribune, looked over a few stand- ard magazines and now and then read a book. he then felt pre- pared with knowledge, basic knowledge of what was going on in the world. but he began to realize that this was no longer true; that the newspapers withheld news, interpreted the facts in curious ways and even, on occasion, deliberately lied. this must be because of the influence of the business interests and powerful banks on worlds of color newspapers and magazines, which went to the extent of actually owning them or distributing the materials which they must have- the newspaper print, the use of the great news-gathering agencies. judge mansart saw, therefore, that he could not depend upon newspapers as formerly. he must, so far as it was possible, get his own sources of information. judge mansart began to learn what most men learn slowly and some never-namely, that when we live through a great series of human events, we do not necessarily see them, even less do we really understand them, nor can we arrange them to fit logi- cally into the world we already know. perhaps (and this compli- cates understanding even more) current events clearly show us that our interpretation of the past has been wrong, that only through the present can we see the past. time, in other words, shifts-future is partly the past and the past is future. judge mansart began to look back and to try to classify and rearrange his memories and experiences. the main school of his re-education in the meaning of cur- rent events was the little hungarian restaurant where he began to meet men with a first-hand knowledge of the world, and who talked frankly about it. he must get further information, by con- ference if necessary and even by correspondence. it was difficult and annoying, but manifestly this was what he had to do. so that he and mrs. mansart and marian, who was often at their home, made special efforts to acquire and constantly expand their own collection of facts and impressions concerning the world developing about them. marian was soon to finish her course at wadleigh high school and planned to enter hunter college. because of his acquaintance with harry hopkins and the fact that he had met him once or twice, judge mansart paid special attention to what the press reported hopkins as saying; to his mind, hopkins was an honest, straight-forward man who tried to tell the truth as he saw it. everything therefore, that hopkins said, judge mansart followed with keen interest. mansart recalled that he had had another chance to talk to him, just before harry hopkins went to england. he realized then that the united states was at last willing to become a part- ner with russia against hitler and mussolini. lend-lease had been debated for months and was finally roosevelt dies adopted as necessary to save britain, greece and china. there was a hard fight, but the president stood firm and finally obtained the power to extend lend-lease to the soviets if hitler or japan attacked her. hopkins' friends rejoiced. they hoped that this thin, anemic man would have the courage to stand up for this program while in england. and, grinning appreciatively, hop- kins told them he would. a few weeks later, this son of a harness-maker appeared in the kremlin and sat down with joseph stalin; they talked as man- to-man. he did not bring, as stalin expected and as his prede- cessors had, terms calling for the entrance of private capital into the baltic areas and the balkans. he offered only to help beat hitler, and the next thing the world knew, the united states was granting a billion dollars of lend-lease to russia. looking back over the history of these events which, at the time they occurred, he had not understood, judge mansart real- ized that his son had died because not until july, , had the british and americans attacked italy; they were still inching their way to rome, in june , when young revels plunged to his death. secretly, churchill feared victorious russia. knowing what he himself would have done under such circumstances, he was convinced russia's victorious hosts would never stop at berlin but would march on to london and paris. later, mansart learned that churchill had even ordered montgomery to stack the cap- tured german arms for eventual use by a new army to be composed of german prisoners. when the peace effort began after stalingrad, judge mansart concluded that churchill still feared russia. hopkins wrote: “if the west had responded by an equally strong push on hitler's bare back the war might have been settled in . but the world and its military experts, and especially the ameri- cans, refused to believe their eyes and were sure that russia must eventually be completely vanquished.”. later hopkins said to america: "the thing the american people must look out for is that there is a minority in america who, for a variety of reasons, would just as soon have seen russia defeated in the war and who worlds of color said publicly before we got into the war that it did not make any difference which one-russia or germany-won. that small, vociferous minority can take advantage of every rift between our- selves and russia to make trouble between our two countries. there are plenty of people in america who would have been perfectly willing to see our armies go right through germany and fight with russia after germany was defeated. they repre- sent nobody but themselves and no government worth its salt in control of our country would ever permit that group to in- fluence our official actions.” roosevelt who, as judge mansart came to see, was a greater man than churchill, rose to statesmanship. he set out to build friendship with the union of soviets and dragged churchill with him. the only man in the world at the time capable of getting the trust and friendship of stalin was franklin roose- velt; and this he accomplished by frankness and honest dealing. he knew that stalin was neither fool nor barbarian. he knew that russia had just demands and was capable of enforcing them. he knew that stalin kept his word but was not to be misled by flattery or double talk. personal conferences were arranged between roosevelt, churchill and stalin at teheran and yalta, but at a cost in sheer physical strain which later killed roose- velt. a young man joined mansart and others at the “stammtisch" in the spring of . he seemed well known to many of those present and talked freely. “there were strong and curious currents at yalta,” he said. "i was there and heard and saw. subtle, tragic and world-shaking things were in mind. not least was the role of the soviet union, led by the cool, unwavering stalin. stalin knew churchill, and knew him as a ruthless liar who had used every weapon he could lay hands on to overthrow the russian revolution. it was he who had held back the allies as long as possible, so that hitler had every opportunity to crush russia; and he had finally yielded only when he had to. “stalin liked roosevelt because of harry hopkins; but stalin knew that roosevelt was largely in the power of those same big business interests which hoover formerly represented. he knew roosevelt dies that this clique stood behind the landlords of poland and the baltic states who had organized among them a nest of lying and intrigue against the soviets. with poland, they formed the 'cor- don sanitaire' of clemenceau for conquering russia whenever the opportunity offered. poland had for centuries been the most dangerous center of greedy landlords in europe, sucking the life out of millions of helpless peasants. poland's hordes of soldiers, led by buccaneers like pilsudski, had for decades swept into russia and often overwhelmed her. czechoslovakia and hungary and all the balkan states had for a century been centers of european exploiters of the peasants.” judge mansart learned that we had given fifty billions of dollars to help europe stop hitler; thirty-one billions of this went to britain and we promised more and eventually gave it; ten billions went to france who laid down her arms and needed more help than she gave. but only eleven billions went to the soviet union which bore the main brunt of the fighting. this gift deserved at least to be doubled as russia lay bleeding along- side her million dead. but having nearly died to save us, she was doomed to crucifixion. in march, , roosevelt reported to congress: “the structure of world peace cannot be the work of one man, or of one party, or one nation. it cannot be just an ameri- can peace or a british peace, or a russian, or a french or a chinese peace. it cannot be a peace of a large nation or of small nations. it must be a peace which rests on the cooperative efforts of the whole world.” mansart listened attentively to the young man's further com- ment: “tremendous additional agreements were necessary and the implementation and refining of those was agreed on in principle. had roosevelt lived, this had every chance of being accomplished, not without friction but with faith, understanding and good will." harry hopkins wrote later: "we really believed in our heart that this was the dawn of the worlds of color new day we had all been praying for and talking about for so many years. we were absolutely certain that we had won the world's first great victory of the peace-and, by 'we,' i mean all of us, the whole civilized human race. the russians had proved that they could be reasonable and far-seeing, and there wasn't any doubt in the minds of the president or any of us that we could live with them and get along with them peacefully for as far into the future as any of us could imagine.” judge mansart had listened to the discussion with deep inter- est especially to the account of the young eye-witness of current events. "who was that young man?” he asked as the luncheon broke up. someone answered, “i think his name is hiss-alger hiss.” it was the very same afternoon of this conversation that man- sart noticed a newcomer in the restaurant. he was a young man in his twenties and drew judge mansart's attention not only be- cause he had never noted him before, but because every young man of this age, especially one with a touch of color in his skin, reminded him of his lost son. this young man was visibly col- ored and unusually handsome; broad, well-built and stocky, with beautiful olive skin and clustered curly hair. as he arose and glanced toward mansart, suddenly something vaguely familiar seemed to leap out from his face. it was a proud, young face, and its appealing beauty and self-reliance caught mansart like a sudden grip. where had he seen and known that smile? and judge mansart's heart almost stopped. he staggered forward and, hurrying, caught the young man almost roughly as he opened the door. "i beg your pardon. but someway, somehow i thought per- haps i knew you-had met you somewhere.” the young man's face grew almost stern, but he answered courteously. “no, judge mansart, i have never seen you before. but i came here today because i have a letter which i am commissioned to give you. i lost my nerve when i saw you looking at me. i'm sorry.” he felt carefully in his inner pocket and produced a long envelope. “this, sir, is for you, and should have been deliv- ered some time ago. and here is my card. may i call on you- from hiuddenly curly hair roosevelt dies perhaps tomorrow?" "but certainly. at my office or home.” “i would prefer your office. say at four in the afternoon? thank you, sir." he left abruptly and mansart was disappointed. there was something about him that drew old memories from the past. what was it? he looked at the card. mr. philip m. wright general electric, poughkeepsie, n. y. mansart scowled at the card; it was no one he knew-then he rushed to his office and opened the envelope. “my darling revels: i shall long be dead when you read this. but it will, i fondly hope, be given you by the hands of our son, philip wright man- sart, or, as he calls himself, philip wright. i will not try to bring back the awful tragedy of our parting. i know that all these years you have thought that i left you voluntarily. how could, o how could you after all we once were to each other. i never dreamed you would believe this until your demand for divorce came. then i knew. what message they left you, i do not know. i was kidnapped by my brother and his friends; put into an ambulance, gagged and transported to a sanitarium where i was committed legally as an incompetent. their plans were frustrated when it was discovered that i was three months with child, as i had long suspected but hesitated to tell you. i made a bargain with them. i was to keep the baby but never to see you again. otherwise i declared i would kill myself. it was a long battle, but i with my parents' help won, if that could be called winning. i went to cousins in maine and bore my beautiful child. later i returned to my home and parents and brought up our boy in my home town. then came your appeal for divorce. i granted it, of course, but soon afterward they discovered cancer. from this i shall soon die, but with one wish: that you know that never, never have i ceased to love you. and that you must know and bless our son. mary.” "mary" was that mary wright whom revels mansart had mar- ried in after he returned from war and whom he thought had worlds of color deserted him a year later. now he knew that she had been forced to leave and that the demand for divorce was not hers but had been made to seem to come from him. with dumb distress he now awaited the call of young wright, his son. marian, mrs. mansart's niece, was now a senior at hunter, with an outstanding record. she had for some time become accustomed to spend afternoons at her uncle's office, using his library and assist- ing in systematizing his work. she was there the afternoon when philip wright called-half-way up a ladder where she was seeking a book. wright had made up his mind not to visit mansart's home and become socially involved with him and his wife. but he had prom- ised his mother to talk with his father and now he must do so, although he had small liking for the task. he entered the well- furnished and impressive offices just at sunset, before the lights had been put on and the soft colors of evening were brightening the mahogany and brass. the stenographer had gone for the day, but marian was there, poised on the ladder. her arm was uplifted, her neck turned, and the soft light poured across the cheeks of a face that seemed to philip the most beautiful he had ever dreamed of. he paused a moment and then, moving quickly forward, took her hand to help her down and half whispered: “i think you are the most lovely thing i have ever seen!” marian was used to being stared at and called beautiful in all sorts of tones and every kind of word; but now she was speechless and moved as never before. she had never seen a man who so filled her every ideal of what a human being might be. his face was soft cream; his hair curled and dripped over his wide forehead; but above all he had manners and intelligence and he so evidently meant what he said in such deadly earnest. both were standing voiceless, when mansart came out from the inner office. he was still so full of emotion over the letter which he had read, that noticing nothing, he grasped the young man's hand and pulled him into his office. he began to talk almost hysterically. "believe me when i swear that i never doubted but that your mother had left me voluntarily. i did not for a moment question her right and duty to do this after what she had suffered. but i never asked for a divorce; i was told she had applied and i knew that it was her right to do so. for ten years i lived unmarried roosevelt dies both needed companie dreamed you for girl out ther and then at last married a good woman, not for love but because we both needed companionship. that we have had. but, o my boy, had i known-had i dreamed you existed--" the young man's face was gray. "the girl out there,” he said, "is she-your daughter?" mansart stared and answered hurriedly: “o no, she's my wife's niece and assists me--" but the young man was gone. mansart sat down heavily. it was what he deserved, but god how it hurt! he could see now every lineament of the face he once loved so dearly, in the countenance of this young man of whose very existence he had never known. he dropped his head and sobbed: "o my son, o philip my son, o mary my dead and tortured wife--" marian talked excitedly of the young man who had called, then left so hurriedly. mansart told both her and his wife who philip mansart wright was; he begged marian to make him return. she had no difficulty. he was back the very next day and had a brief conversation with mrs. mansart, but he seemed to have little time for anyone but marian and she hardly a thought for anyone but philip. this went on for a week. then one afternoon they came into judge mansart's private office, hand in hand. the girl's face was flushed and the boy's face shone. “we are going to get married, sir," they said. mansart staggered to his feet and clasped them both in his arms. mrs. mansart was not one who as a rule believed in love at first sight or trusted the sudden impulses of youth. but this mutual attraction of her niece and her husband's newly discovered son made her infinitely happy. it seemed to bring back the eternally lost. she assented to the marriage, and made the elaborate wedding a family reconciliation, at which the silent and brooding elder sister, marian's mother, appeared, as well as the young lawyer and his wife. philip, who in lieu of military duty, had an assignment at gen- eral electric, secured a leave of absence for their honeymoon. on the very afternoon of graduation, philip and marian mansart- wright drove south in the judge's big car to the bride's relatives worlds of color and old companions in charleston; from there they went on to macon, georgia, to meet president manuel mansart. in macon, president mansart was also becoming aware of the new post-war world. he realized how deep was the resentment against roosevelt in certain circles because of his attitude against wealth, his friendship for workers even if black, and his “appease- ment” of the soviet union. it cropped up again in warm springs, where the tired man tried to recuperate and help others afflicted like himself to do the same. president mansart had seen him ride by on his way to warm springs. “there is death on his face,” he told jean, and she reminded him of rumors in the air. it was the year of stalingrad when a white man accosted a negro employed on the grounds at warm springs. "why, hello, jim; you working here?" “yes, sir, i'm helping the president's valet.” "pretty good job?" “oh yes, sir, mighty good. i like it fine." "what do you do?" "well, when the president comes often he wants to be wheeled about after lunch or in the night when he don't sleep. i often pushes him in his chair; we wanders about the grounds-down by the pool and up by the highway." "alone?" “oh, no-they's always his guards about!" "then you take him back and put him to bed?” “oh, no. i just takes him back. only his valet touches him. he wouldn't have nobody else. i tell you that man carries a bur- den inside and out-pounds of iron and steel. i don't see how he does it. but he don't never complain, though sometimes he does look beat." “any colored folks treated in these springs?" “oh, no sir! only whites.” “i thought the president was such a friend of your people.” “he is; but this is the south and he can't interfere--" “can't, or won't?”. “can't, leastways not all at once. he's got a lot on his mind besides such matters. well, i must be moving." “do they pay you well?" roosevelt dies "pretty well-at least a heap better than i was getting." "you could use more?" “oh yes, sure, sure-good night.” the white man walked slowly back to his car. when he reached the hotel he talked to his companions. "i know the ‘nigger' who helps groom roosevelt.” “so what? can he tell us anything we don't know?" “no--" the man paused and looked his two companions squarely in the face. "but he is alone with him now and then, at night." “with the secret service in good sight," replied one. “lurking about of course, but inside those grounds--" the other froze. "but-you don't-you can't!--" the man was silent behind his hard scowl. “there's nothing i wouldn't try with that bastard!” he growled. american corporate finance, centered in an ever-growing net- work of powerful banks, was developing wider control of industry and trade. into its power fell the owners of property, the techni- cians, the newspapers, editors and publishers; the broadcasters and actors; even the laborers. the great and growing monopoly of money and credit was moving toward the absolute rule of the na- tion and even the world. this super-power hated franklin roose- velt with perfect hatred. they cursed this crippled traitor to his class, who after refusing hitler's blackmail, joined communists to prevent american business from corralling the earth. these insane seekers for power swore by earth, heaven and hell to kill the god-damned meddler and wipe his memory from history. this was the interpretation of current history to which jean du bignon gradually came. president mansart could not wholly believe it but he listened; he listened also to the strange story which was whispered secretly on his campus: “it happened a week later at nightfall, near the pool at warm springs. what happened, few knew. of those who did, none ever talked. but next morning a colored man named jim was found shot dead near the pool. he had struggled furiously and shrieked in protest. the president was not harmed and never mentioned the incident. a white man was also reported found dead on the grounds. roosevelt dies family which, from mother to grandchild, posed for him every problem of life which can try a man's heart. he neither whined nor whimpered, but backed heaven to hell to protect the right. in all and with all, he kept his soul serene, met mornings with a smile and talked to the hearts of his countrymen as never presi- dents had talked before. he died in harness-that harness of pounds of steel, under which he grimly bent every waking hour. his reach was not wide but his grasp was mighty. he 'never dreamed though right were worsted, wrong could triumph.'” chapter x the nations unite president mansart and his assistant enjoyed the visit of philip and marian. it was a breath from a new young world full of faith and force, and they were blissfully unaware of the testing of heart and soul which they must face in the next decade. jean especially realized that these young folk were ready for change and movement and she knew that this was what the world was about to see. when they left, she began to sense the meaning of the great march from the revolution of roosevelt to the counter-revolution of truman. it was unbelievable. here was a man suddenly made master of the world, grasping in bewildered surprise at the pro- gram of his leader which he never understood, nor ever would. it was a fantastic and awful commentary on naive american belief that any man-at least any white man-could do anything; a belief which might one day ruin the world. it was at this time that mansart's son douglass, from chicago, visited his father. mansart and jean were both glad, for none was more conversant than douglass with current politics in the middle west. douglass had come to bring his son, adelbert. the young man, it seemed, had decided to come to the state college for further study, a rather slim young man of medium height, brown, with a discontented face. indeed, he bore a startling re- semblance to mansart's lost son, bruce-there was the same black, loosely cured hair, the same unsettled and hesitant manner. man- sart could not quite understand why douglass' son had chosen to leave the north and his well-to-do family to come to georgia. dougass' explanation was vague, but mansart was so glad to have a grandson here at school that he did not press the matter and welcomed the boy, letting jean take charge of him. mean- time, he took up most of douglass' short stay with questions about truman, who had suddenly become president. he found that douglass had become rather corpulent, but was very well-dressed and evidently prosperous. he was expecting the nations unite to go to the state senate next year and was the political boss of the chief colored chicago ward. of course, douglass knew truman-he knew all the politicians in the middle west. “i saw him in france during the first world war. he was a good-natured, fun-loving guy who played the piano and had a good time. his rank as captain, which he got at the close of the war, rather went to his head, but he was better than most such officers. back in kansas city, he became one of tom prendergast's gang and that was a worse outfit than our big bill thompson's. tru- man gave up his men's outfitting business which had failed any- way, and 'went into politics.' “as prendergast's boy, he became county judge, then went to the united states senate. he was the club that beat wallace to the vice-presidency in the campaign of and was early chosen to change roosevelt's policies in case roosevelt died, which he did. so reaction is on top now. we have got as president a man with elementary school education, no cultural background and rather big ideas of himself due to his success in a provincial western city. much will depend on the advice he gets and on his own headstrong impulses toward self-assertion. “but truman's real handicap, and one he will never escape, is his lack of a fundamental and broad education. he is essentially a good-natured man who wishes most folks well. he has ability and a clear mind. but he does not know the world. history, to him, is a closed book. he has no conception of science; he does not read; he does not listen to the world's real teachers. he never learned how to study. he was always, essentially, a 'show-off.'” jean listened with interest to douglass' account of the new president, harry truman, but she was even more interested at the moment in his son. she wondered how douglass' married life had gone, for she had not seen him for many years and this son, who was not happy, intrigued her. it took a little time to gain young adelbert's confidence and learn why it was that he had left chicago and the opportunities of the north, his home and the schools open to him, to come down here. but gradually it came out. he did not like his home. he particularly disliked (in fact he said "hated”) his mother. he did not like his sister. his father was good enough but had hardly any time for him. it turned out that the real trouble centered in the fact that worlds of color douglass' first child was a girl, light-skinned and pretty, whom the mother adored and exhibited. her hair was brown but very krinkly, and her mother from the first had had it straightened and oiled and pressed weekly. and then the second child, good-looking and a boy, was disliked and almost disinherited in his mother's affection because his skin was dark. he was quite as dark as his father, with loosely curled hair which was, of course, a natural quirk of colored heritage. in consequence, however, while mother and daughter often went to town, sight-seeing or to theaters and restaurants and enjoyed themselves in many ways, the dark little boy was never taken with them. he exhibited too clearly his negro blood. from early childhood, then, he grew up hating his family and the world. his father sensed this but there was little he could do. he was busy with his business and his developing political career. true, he gave the boy money, sometimes took him along on automobile trips, but the boy grew up largely by himself. his father had had both children enrolled in white school dis- tricts. this suited his sister who ignored him, but it made little difference to adelbert. he kept away from his white fellow stu- dents. then, when he came of high school age, he insisted on at- tending wendell phillips high which was in effect a colored school in a northern city where schools were not supposed to be segre- gated by race. the school was crowded but well-equipped and had good teachers. he was interested in most of his studies and did well. he liked his colored fellow-students. approaching his graduation from high school, when the ques- tion of college came up, he determined to go to his grandfather in georgia. he wanted to live in a colored world which was satis- fied with being colored. the idea persisted that perhaps his grand- father would turn out to be a different kind of a man than his father. douglass was astonished at the boy's decision but on the whole was rather pleased with it. his mother was both relieved and affronted. and so, the boy, who had always been a problem to his chicago family, suddenly appeared in macon. gradually, he began to fit into the life of the school. he was particularly interested in drama and drawing and he wrote eng- lish well. one or two of his little plays were staged and mansart began to look forward to the time when his grandson would become the nations unite a teacher in the school. when an invitation came to attend his sister's wedding, adel- bert was firm in his decision not to go. he said he knew dr. steinway, the physician she was marrying, a man nearly twice as old as his sister but very successful, very, indeed. he had been trained in chicago and practiced there for some time; then he had gone to los angeles. he had insisted that this was a growing part of the country for negroes, being nearest to the spanish world of south america. he became what was sometimes called a "commercial” physi- cian. he had no deep human sensibilities or sympathies. he was strong, and callous. he calculated on making his profession "pay" in every way. he “strung along” those of his patients who could pay well for numerous visits over long periods of time. he was careful to select patients who could pay well, and to these he was always attentive. poor patients he got rid of in various ways- by curing them quickly or sending them to the city clinics; some- times by simply saying that he could do nothing for them. he split fees with consultants and specialists, even with drug- gists. he made out prescriptions at high prices when the same medicines were available in patented form at a much lower price. he was a good diagnostician but did not waste time on diagnosis when he thought a hastily prescribed pill would do. a variety of machines, gadgets and medical apparatus was installed in his office, all calculated to impress his patients. he often turned pa- tients over to the nurses who put them through treatments which required the use of these various machines. this did them no harm, but it cost them more money. he had no scruples about recommending operations by surgeons with whom he had worked out business arrangements and often sent his patients to hospitals when it was not absolutely necessary. young adelbert probably gave a rather too unfavorable picture of the physician. but there was much truth in his description. dr. michael steinway was especially opposed to “social medicine" or to free medical service of any kind whatsoever. he firmly be- lieved in what he called “the democracy of persons choosing their own physicians and paying them.” he was a large, good-looking man, yellow in color, with straight hair, always well-tailored and groomed, and with a perfect bedside manner. he was a good worlds of color "mixer," collected and told excellent stories, and had a wide ac- quaintance with persons of wealth, influence and power, white and black. his political connections too were wide. he had put off marriage until he could have the kind of estab- lishment which he wanted. that he found in los angeles where he bought, on harvard boulevard, one of the elaborate mansions which its former white owners could no longer afford to keep up. there he established his office and nurses, and installed an excel- lent household which included a gardener, cook and maids. then he looked about for a pretty girl and a young one, with money in the family. he found her on a visit to chicago in the daughter of douglass mansart. the mother was delighted. it meant that she would make an. nual visits to los angeles and would not have to spend the cold winters in chicago. it also meant that her social career there would be pleasant and notable. douglass did not like the idea at first, but after all, what difference?-perhaps an older man would take better care of his daughter than some young whippersnapper who wanted to get hold of douglass' money. so the marriage took place without adelbert. it was elaborate and costly, and some phases of it very beautiful. it was held in a prominent catholic church because mrs. mansart had joined the catholics early in her career for various reasons, some of which were obvious and some not mentioned. the bride was pretty and gorgeously gowned; the gifts were costly and many of them quite appropriate. the going away on the santa fe "super-chief” train was an event which even the white papers noticed with deference. manuel, who attended, did not exactly enjoy the occasion. the mansion on south boulevard was very beautiful, costly and well- run. but there was in it very little that could really be called “home life.” while he was in chicago, bishop wilson wrote him asking his father-in-law to return by way of dallas and suggested they both attend the organization of the united nations in san fran- cisco. the bishop was a “consultant" of the uno and douglass easily arranged for his father to get a similar appointment. the position carried no power and little influence; but it gave them the right to attend the sessions and hear delegates discuss and answer inquiries in small groups. mansart was eager to go, for he had high hopes in the uno. shop was ation of the un dallas and ote him as worlds of color mansart, in the bishop's new home in dallas, had talked with him of africa. “something new,” the bishop said, "is coming out of africa in the last half of this century. there will be revolution in west africa, and blood in the east. ethiopia will regain its seacoast and curb white investors. the ancient sudan will be an independent state, and a new egypt will be free of britain. south africa will start a war of races when less than three million whites seek to chain ten million colored and blacks. the united states will fur- nish capital for the whites. if any nation furnishes arms to the blacks the end will come soon.” "what nation will?" "india or the soviet union-or west africa." “i am amazed-i cannot believe that in either case--" “in a life and death struggle will negroes ask or care who sends them arms? i tell you, something new in coming out of africa.” “but what of central africa?” "if and when white south africa falls, then central africa-the rhodesias and the congo will go the way of west africa.” “and french africa?" “will go the way of indo-china.” “but will france ever surrender indo-china?” "she will. i know all this sounds fantastic, but believe me, president mansart, this prophecy is near the truth. it's simply a matter of time. but what bothers me is, what are black leaders going to do for the people of those countries? as i see it now, what they want to do is to replace the white exploiters, the people who have been using africa for the comfort and luxury of europe and america. “the ascendancy of black men, trained in england, to some de- gree in france, and a few but an increasing number in the united states, is going to transfer some of that comfort and luxury to africa. i wonder, however, if the mass of africans are going to be better off? probably, and yet not well off. black west africans, for instance, want to be the black rulers of an african world, doing exactly the same thing that white rulers have done for three hun- dred years. i do not like it, president mansart, i do not like it." then the bishop added, “i have one commission from africa and that is to induce american negroes to renew their interest in the nations unite africa. they want to hold a fifth pan-african congress in paris or london this fall. the naacp, you remember, initiated these congresses in . i wonder if it will help renew them now?" “i doubt it,” said president mansart. “the naacp is in a difficult position just now. it is trying to carry on a progressive program and avoid being attacked as communist.” "but i don't see how it could,” said the bishop. "nobody else does. but while we are in san francisco we'll have a chance to inquire.” manuel mansart and bishop wilson sat in the opera house at san francisco and witnessed the effort to organize the united nations. mansart felt uplifted. he seemed to be seeing history in the making. seated directly behind the president and the bishop were three persons-a young colored man, a white middle-aged man and a white girl. the colored man was a former student at man- sart's college and introduced them to each other. he explained that he was temporarily representing the urban league whose secretary would arrive next day. the white man was on the board of directors of the naacp and the young woman was sally haynes, the young friend of harry hopkins, whom he had met before. as they walked away together, mansart mentioned alger hiss who had presided. "i met him before. i like him. a good, clean-cut american with no airs; honest, if i know an honest man. stettinius i never liked. he seems to me like a rich man's spoiled brat, with no depth or breadth.” "did you notice,” asked grey, the white man, “how popular molotov is? he may be wrong but he has the poise of knowledge and the dignity of confidence.” the bishop recalled the variety of the world's peoples who daily sat in the great auditorium. he was never weary of watch- ing their coming and going-british eden and french bidault; the turbanned arabs and dark ethiopians; even the contradic- tory smuts, slave-driver and humanitarian. sally, however, was critical and uneasy. "i see something which i fear none of you noticed. observe how stubbornly they fight over colonial trusteeships?" “but the charter," interrupted mansart. “that splendid charter. listen to this: ‘promoting and encouraging respect for worlds of color human rights and for fundamental freedoms for all without dis- tinction as to race, sex, language or religion." "yes, but read on,” said sally, and sense the flat contradiction in the paragraph on trusteeships for the little people of the earth; in the trusteeship council the imperialists can never be outvoted. i smell a rat-a biz, filthy, evil rat. you see, my friends, i know big business. i grew up with it-i'm one of its products. of this new ruling class, my father was a prince of the blood-a ruthless banker who gambled in human beings until he lost a huge fortune and blew out his own brains. “i tell you, there is evil in the air. we are in today for a scientif- ically conceived and directed propaganda which will put goeb- bels to shame. listen, i was at dumbarton oaks last september as an ornamental guest whom most of those present regarded as a spy. i was not housed in the decorous old manor house with the officials,no, i was at that other mansion back in the forest. there the rulers of the earth gathered and listened and plotted. there were wires and wireless which connected us with every center of power in the world. messengers and messages were end- less and uninterrupted. we held our breath, whispered, shouted and celebrated. what a web those spiders began to weave. "i know you all think me a dope, talking through my hat. i am telling the exact truth, save for names. i am trying to say that because i was my father's daughter, left penniless by his death, and because i worked with harry hopkins, i was confidently counted upon as eager to betray hopkins and roosevelt. i sat for a time in the inner sanctum of the men now plotting to over- throw and rule this nation and the world. i was with them that midnight last month when roosevelt died. they drank champagne and shouted for joy." sally's listeners were uneasy but said nothing. later, down in the harbor, the five had dinner together near a window looking toward the craft-laden sea. the food was good and varied. they lingered to smoke and talk. bishop wilson said slowly: "one thing in which i rejoiced now brings me pause. that is the veto. by the veto which six nations have in the security counci, the white people hold the world in leash.” “you forget yellow china.” the nations unite “that is just the point; the whites own and control china. the day they lose that control or fear its imminent loss, comes the third world war, by whatever name it may be called.” there was a long silence and then mansart, turning to grey, brought up again the matter of the renewed pan-african move- ment and the possibility of the naacp supporting it. "i'm a newcomer to the naacp and cannot speak with authority. but we are in a singular jam. on our initiative tru- man is going to appoint a civil rights committee headed by big business, with both the naacp and the urban league repre- sented. i have good reason to believe that such a committee will make a very strong report. if it does, this will indicate that big business is willing to compromise with negro leaders and grant them civil rights if they in turn will keep out of the labor movement and give up the socialism of the new deal. if the naacp refuses to play ball it may be branded as communist and persecuted, just as they plan to destroy the council on african affairs and the civil rights congress.” both mansart and wilson were not only amazed but skeptical. "it isn't possible!" "i can't believe it." sally said, “you are due to see in america before long much that is now unbelievable." it would have been interesting to this group if they could at this very moment have listened in at a conversation taking place at the hopkins hotel on the heights above. in an exclusive suite on the top floor, with a gorgeous view of the harbor, sat four white men in close conversation. "wilson, that's strong stuff!” they were discussing a report for president truman on civil rights for negroes. "it is strong.” “it means some day intermarriage and social equality between races." “it does--" “then, by god--”. "wait; either this, at our own time and in our own way, or we develop in our midst a group of bitter enemies, daily growing smarter and more united and richer by internal cooperation; worlds of color open to any proposal from anywhere for secret revolt or armed rebellion-fifteen million here plus ten million in the west in- dies plus at least inillion more in the south and central americell, they'll nee revolted, i sme a dozen other “and never have revolted, i suppose—at least if you let us tell it; but remember haiti, cuba, and a dozen other islands; remem- ber d'ayllon, old providence; in new york and new jersey and a dozen times in virginia, south carolina and louisiana. remember vesey and nat turner; remember a hundred thousand fugitive slaves and a half million black soldiers, laborers and spies who settled the fate of the civil war; remember the chicago, washington and detroit riots? the majority of living human beings today the world over hate our guts. shall we help them out by building a black atomic bomb in our own insides?" “so you are going to let your daughter marry a 'nigger'}" “what i want won't make a damn bit of difference to her, especially if russia, china, india and all the dark world get strong enough to step on our faces. and too, my dear friend, what the hell are you bellyaching about? you've got colored cousins now in every southern state; a few more in years, or a brother-in-law in fifty, won't kill you. meantime, with just this report-not even carried out-negroes will be frantic with joy. they'll do our will; they'll hate labor unions and fight russia. they'll desert africa and china. they'll worship the white rich and despise the black poor.” "well, i still don't like it!” "neither do i, but what else can we do about it? it's equality or war. i say get their leaders, annex their brains; honor and promote them; separate them from their ignorant masses-sepa- rate them from boiling africa and caribbean upsurge. i tell you there's nothing else to do! besides, we promise today; we start to fulfill in ten years; we step forward in years. boys, this is a program for a century." "you mean the donkey and the carrot act?" “more than that, boys; this is no donkey and we've got to put up more than carrots." "i wonder," said the fourth man, hitherto silent, "i wonder! perhaps we must offer more than carrots, but surely not as much the nations unite as social equality. at least not for a long time. admission to hotels and the social gatherings open to the public will satisfy the dark social climbers for a long time yet. you see, the ne- groes have small alternatives. their internal social structure, while extensive, can be shattered by only a slight giving in on our part. who will attend the alpha phi alpha christmas gatherings or balls or parties, if they can go to a waldorf astoria public new year's dinner along with the ordinary white social climbers? and yet, this will be far from inclusion in the social register. let's be sensible. we must yield, but such yielding can be stretched over a hundred years!” such was the conference at the hopkins hotel. our group did not hear it. the bishop and president parted after the uno conference at san francisco. the bishop started east, stopping in new york, where he had already accepted a place on the board of di- rectors of the naacp. he first noticed that the organization had in effect been divided into two parts. the legal department, with separate offices and funds, was attacking the question of color discrimination, especially in education and voting. it was hav- ing notable success, destined in the next decade to become phe- nomenal. the main organization, on the other hand, faced difficulties. the civil rights report was still only on paper; the fepc had received no impetus from president truman, de- spite his promises; and the old question of relations with trade unions and the labor movement still faced the old hesitation. if, now, the organization were to begin pushing agitation for civil rights beyond the program of the legal department; especially, if it now were to join the labor movement and help the progressives toward the new aims of this world-wide move- ment, it would without doubt be charged with communism and, like most current movements for social uplift, be publicly proscribed as “subversive.” in these vital fields, therefore, the organization was cautiously marking time and waiting and, at the same time, with difficulty keeping its more reactionary ele- ments from joining the national witch-hunt. the bishop was puzzled, but being a newcomer on the board, ventured but one suggestion, and that was that the naacp take part in the projected fifth pan-american congress to be m worlds of color held in england in the fall of with some reluctance the board of directors authorized bishop wīkson to attend the pan- african congres as their representative. the bishop eventually thus came into the international labor movement early in the world federation of trade unions was formed in paris, and there were representatives of various afri- can provinces and countries present. there arose some difficulty wa the right of these african trade union representatives to spak for themselves and not be spoken for by the trade union organizations in the mother countries-the english trade unions, for instance, wanted to be the mouthpiece for the british afri- cans. otherwise what might not colonial labor demand? after a considerable struggle, the africans won their right to speak for themselves. then various of these african representatives proposed that immediately following the labor congress there be called another pan-african congress. they thus took up the idea which the naacp had started back in , under which four pan-african congressos had already been held. it was first proposed then, that a fifth pan-african congress be held in paris in the fall of , but certain difficulties developed, partly connected with the war, which made it necessary to transfer the meeting to london. the fifth pan-african congress, to which bishop wil- son was sent, was thus scheduled to meet in london. here, new difficulties arose, undoubtedly instigated by the government, which made it impossible to find adequate halls in which to meet or to secure suitable boarding accommoda- tions. finally, a local organization in the city of manchester undertook to grapple with the matter, the congress was called to convene in manchester, and in october, the fifth pan- african congress was held. the bishop planned to viist the pan-african congress with sojourner, intending then to go to west africa to devote him- self to his church work. it had been arranged that during their absence, their little daughter would stay with the wife of judge mansart. but at the last moment this plan was changed and the little three-year-old girl, named "africa," flew with her par- ents to england and went with them later to africa. more than delegates met in chorlton town hall, man- the nations unite chester. for the most part they were delegates sent directly from african colonies. represented were gambia with , negroes, sierra leone with a million, the gold coast with four million; the union of south africa with seven and a half million natives and other colored people; nigeria with mil- lions and representatives from still other colonies in north africa and the west indies. the delegates were young men, some of them immature and enthusiastic, others with considerable experience in colonial life and social development. the proceedings were of great interest, the speakers exhibiting not only the natural and sometimes emo- tional eloquence of negroes, but also an illuminating substratum of knowledge of hard fact and careful judgment. one could trace in the speeches two clear tendencies; self-criti- cism, warnings against inner class conflict; urgings to sacrifice as the beginning of reform. the other, and the stronger, a demand- sometimes arising to bitterness-for self-government and even inde- pendence. the basis of these demands, as developed in many of the speeches, were an exposition of colonial conditions that astonished even many who knew something of what colonies mean. it was emphasized, for instance, that in west africa, under the controls of the war administration, ginger, which used to sell at pounds a ton and rose in wartime to pounds, was bought from the black farmers, under compulsion, at pounds and pounds. representatives of , farmers of the gold coast complained bitterly of the cocoa situation and the refusal of the new colonial secretary of the labor government even to listen to proposals that involved any change in the economic controls then in effect. each speaker emphasized the poverty-the grinding poverty-of west africa, of families receiving an average of pounds a year for their work, and skilled labor toiling to earn barely shillings a day. among the persons whom bishop wilson met at this congress were several whom years afterward he had cause to remember. there was jomo kenyatta, a tall, bearded man from kenya, leader of the native movement. there was kwame nkrumah who, a few years later became the first prime minister of the gold coast. there was wallace johnson, the trade union leader in sierra leone, and several other black men from south africa worlds of color and liberia who were destined to play important roles in the african liberation movement. the final resolutions said in part: "the delegates of the fifth pan-african congress believe in peace. how could it be otherwise when, for centuries the african peoples have been victims of violence and slavery. yet if the western world is still determined to rule mankind by force, then africans, as a last resort, may have to appeal to force in the effort to achieve freedom, even if force destroys them and the world. "we are determined to be free. we want education, the right to earn a decent living; the right to express our thoughts and emotions, and to adopt and create forms of beauty. with- out all this, we die to live. "we demand for black africa autonomy and independence, so far and no further than it is possible in the 'one world' for groups and peoples to rule themselves subject to inevitable world unity and federation. "we are not ashamed to have been an age-long patient people. we are willing even now to sacrifice and strive to correct our all too human faults. but we are unwilling to starve any longer while doing the world's drudgery, in order to sup- port, by our poverty and ignorance, a false aristocracy and a discredited imperialism. "we condemn monopoly of capital and rule of private wealth and industry for private profit alone. we welcome economic democracy as the only real democracy; wherefore we are going to complain, appeal and arraign. we are going to make the world listen to the facts of our conditions. for their betterment we are going to fight in all and every way we can. "the fifth pan-african congress, therefore, calls on the workers and farmers of the colonies to organize effectively. colonial workers must be in the front lines of the battle against imperialism. your weapons—the strike and the boycott- are invincible. “this fifth pan-african congress calls upon the intellec- tuals and professional classes of the colonies to awaken to their responsibilities. the long, long night is over. by fighting the nations unite for trade union rights, the right to form co-operatives, freedom of the press, assembly, demonstration and strike; freedom to print and read the literature which is necessary for the education of the masses, you will be using the only means by which your liberties will be won and maintained. today there is only one road to effective action-the organization of the masses. "colonial and subject peoples of the world unitel” communisme, the continent to visit libe these proceedings the bishop duly reported to the naacp in america: but such a program was too forthright for this organiza- tion to dare espouse at that juncture. it therefore quietly dropped this entire program. during the next three years bishop wilson, moving on to west africa, watched the world in considerable perplexity. first he saw the american and western trade unions try to smash the new federation formed at paris; ostensibly to oppose communist trade unions, but also, as wilson knew, to still the voice of colonial unions and forestall demands for wages more nearly equal to wages in the home countries. in both west africa and the west indies, the negroes hesitated lest they be charged with communism. but wilson saw revolution in west africa and unrest all over the continent. meeting padmore, the black english leader, the bishop ventured to visit liberia in a plane which used the great airport which the united states built for the republic of liberia. wilson looked down upon the vast rubber plantations which firestone leased, and on forest, river and land which stettinius and his associates controlled forever. he said, “i am not sure i am right, but i feel as though i was returning home as a missionary from africa to america.” he and sojourner came back to talk about what was happening in africa and what might happen to the colored people in the united states. it was a great event for judge mansart and his wife in new york. and in macon president mansart and jean celebrated the return by a concert featuring african music which sojourner conducted. the potsdam conference, the second peace effort of the re- organized world came just as president mansart returned from worlds of color san francisco. jean noted with distress that truman, utterly ignorant of foreign affairs, was himself going to replace roosevelt at the conference table, taking with him as secretary of state, byrnes of south carolina. “byrnes? isn't he a rabid enemy of our people?" "certainly. remember how he defended lynching in congress? but worse than that he is the last man to deal with the russians. he was trained to despise workers, black and white." “but roosevelt liked him!” “yes, but as administrator in the war effort at home-never as negotiator with stalin.” so it happened and mansart saw the peace conference turn into the beginnings of new war. atlee displaced the astonished and disgrunted churchill, but churchill made friends with tru- man and flattered him. the war of worlds was reborn because truman held the greatest secret of the modern world. it gave him a power which drove him wild. he was sure the united states was master of the universe. at potsdam he only whispered it but the arrogance with which he conducted himself was un- bounded. the united states had the secret of splitting the atom and releasing its giant energy. where roosevelt would have shuddered before this power and stood humble before his terrible responsi- bility, truman got arrogant and byrnes "got tough"! it had been agreed by the victorious powers to disarm germany and make her pay indemnity for ruling half the world. but the united states did not mean to keep its word. it had started on another path. a week later, without warning, american planes dropped on the unarmed women and children of hiroshima and nagasaki in japan, a frightful catastrophe, killing , persons and maiming others to the second and third generation. it was the most awful deliberate mass murder that modern civilization had ever seen. it smashed japan and made soviet aid to america unnecessary. truman and churchill immediately determined to crush com- munism and regain control of the baltic states, and eventually of russia. this program churchill soon published in the united states at the invitation of his new friend, truman. truman found himself in the powerful hands of a new regime; the big the nations unite bankers, spokesmen for the new york stock exchange, the life insurance, steel, oil, railroad, and automobile interests entered his cabinet. lend-lease to russia was stopped, payment for it was demanded and loans refused for restoration of the ally who had won the war for the west at terrible sacrifice. already, truman knew he had china, led by chiang kai-shek and the soongs, in his pocket. one other thing jean made president mansart think of, partly because due to convention he had ignored it, but also because it seemed to her really important. she said, “joe louis has been in the front lines entertaining the soldiers.” mansart listened. of course he knew about joe louis. louis had been a new person in the negro world, of whom president mansart heard while in germany-and tried to forget. but on his return, he found that ignoring joe louis was impossible. joe louis loomed in the nation, in the world, and was without doubt regarded by public opinion as the greatest man in the negro race. he was both hero and legend-this poor, unlettered negro boy from the plantation slums of alabama, who had not spent a single day in school and had worked like a dog for henry ford. then the sportsmen and gamblers saw his magnificent bronze body; under their guidance he had through sheer skill and dogged endurance risen to be first boxer of the world. his vast strength, carefully trained and artfully guided, had knocked out carnera the giant, braddock the american, and schmelling the german, in good, clean fighting. mansart knew this was not the greatest career for a man, but who could stand and protest in a world of war not only not clean but unfair, deceptive, dirty? if they didn't like joe's profession, why didn't they train him for another? in his sphere he achieved greatness. then too, joe louis with his silent, expressionless face, traveled , miles to entertain the distraught soldiers of world catastrophe. jean said, “he should have a congressional medal.” mansart was silent. he had never countenanced boxing in his school. he had never mentioned joe louis in his talks to the worlds of color students. he felt guilty. in this rotten world joe stood high among men! bishop wilson and president mansart talked earnestly about what was happening in the united states. greater civil rights for negroes seemed certain although the president was still doing little to implement his promises. there was aid for turkey and greece, or was it for control of oil in the middle east-oil for war in face of the world cry for peace? in china our state de- partment was boosting and aiding chiang kai-shek. was that truly aiding china? above all, the bishop wondered about the union of soviet socialist republics. “i cannot believe that communism is simply a conspiracy." "nor," said mansart, “do i. but are you quite fair to american big business? i realize what a marvellous technique we have, what tremendous factories and industries. we must give credit and much power to the creators of this industrial miracle." “yes, indeed we must, but we must not let american business choke us, destroy our souls, prevent democracy and ruin taste and art. mass production is too often mass slavery and stoppage of progress. americans used to be able to choose different types of autos. now they are all alike. shoes have not altered since ; they are still wide at the heel and narrow at the toe, while the human foot is just the opposite. in clothes, homes, buildings, individual taste is captive to profits for mass manu- facture. there can be no mending, patching or repairing; we throw away shirts, trousers, pots and pans, waste wool, tin, copper, and steel to rape more from the earth for more private profits. we build roads for speed not for scenery; we erect buildings for floor space not for comfort. we hold inventions off the market if they threaten profits. we use patents for monopoly, not to encourage ability and genius. we are slaves of our industry instead of its masters. is this necessary? can we not improve it? and must we fight the soviets to help ourselves and the world?” chapter xv the attack on mansart the luncheon at the womens club in atlanta, in the fall of , was most successful. there were six persons present-all white of course, three of them southerners. clair, the representa- tive of the new maloney fund said, as the coffee came, that his fund would gladly give $ , now for a new study of american negroes and more if needed. he was a northern man of sixty who had just retired from automobiles and entered philanthropy. the white southern college president, a vivid man of , explained that his institution would undertake the research. "fine," said the politician, now and sure to be the next governor of the state. "for a time the negroes controlled the study of their race in america, and they put out some vicious propaganda; which, even if true, was bad for publicity for the south and for the white race. we can now know the truth and publish as much of it as is good, and color it our way.". clair looked a bit uneasy, and the president hastened to ex- plain that naturally the work of investigation would be strictly scientific, mrs. emery, a clubwoman, interrupted. “naturally, naturally; who could doubt that! yet, it is better to have reports made with some reference to our good name and recognition of our intentions. the world must not continue to think that the chief industry of the south is lynching." the northern sociologist remarked: “and it is the negroes' own fault that their studies were given up. atlanta university started them in , dropped them in , tried to revive them in and then let them lapse entirely. of course, white students can do them much better." “now,” said the chairman, “this is the situation. negroes have been complaining of not getting their share of educational expenditures, state and federal. it was true. but a determined effort is being made to remedy this. unless it succeeds, this race worlds of color arationem, of clared, if it come but we sepuble systemery decaded, hastily, bual systeriologist separation in schools will lapse because of lack of funds for a double system, or even by court decision.” mrs. emery declared, “that must never be!" the politician added, "if it comes, the south will rebel!" "oh no!” said clair hastily, “but we must get enough funds to meet the cost of equal educational systems." “it will take a lot,” volunteered the sociologist. “at any rate, we must try,” said the politician. “our state of south carolina is leading and will persist.” “already,” added the chairman, “we have enough figures to send out a report which will show that the two systems are so rapidly approaching equality that complaint will soon be abso- lutely unjustifiable.” "splendid,” said several. and clair added, “make it a book. we'll give it wide circulation." "suppose, however,” said the sociologist, "that the supreme court should forbid public school segregation?" the politician was firm. “they'll never do it. or if by unthink- able chance they do, it'll be a four-five decision and immediately reversed. moreover, the ‘niggers' themselves don't want integrated schools. the black teachers would lose their jobs and the black children suffer hell!” the college president demurred. “it is true that no decisive supreme court edict is probable, but in the unlikely case it came, then remember that negro opinion would force all negroes to demand the right. they have been yelling for equality too long to refuse it when offered.” the sociologist again ventured advice. “remember, however, that if equality keeps on being refused, the communists will continue to make capital out of this and the negroes will more and more listen to them. moreover, we'll continue to build up a dangerous group solidarity right within our borders based on that very race pride which we have preached and they have lately ac- cepted. i tell you, they've got us over a log." mrs. emery sniffed. “you are giving negroes too much credit for brains. think of what will happen if the supreme court should be so crazy as to order integration of the schools,the negroes could then blackmail us into complete social equality on pain of going communist.” e capien. mocht withched at the attack on mansart both mr. clair and the college president intervened. “there's not the slightest chance that the supreme court will interfere with the present long-established pattern of race separation in the united states. we now have only to see that school appro- priations become more equitable and that this is widely known." the president, however, added thoughtfully, “of course, we are facing the upsurge of the colored peoples and we cannot mini- mize that fact. britain has freed india. who would have dreamed that ever possible! china has the bit in her teeth. this country must see that she drops it soon. it was a mistake for america and britain to assume that the fall of japan left china helpless in their hands if power stayed in the grasp of chiang kai-shek, their puppet. silently, irresistibly, china arose. no power or plot of america sufficed to hold her and the arms furnished chiang dropped into the hands of the communists. i am not so certain as some that formosa can be depended on. of course, the chinese republic will eventually fail." "it won't fail!” the gruff interruption came from the oil millionaire, vanderburg. he had been expected to be present and to flaunt his power; but as usual he was late-he was used to having people wait for him. “china won't fail in our day and chiang is finished. the supreme court is bound to stop segre- gation-if not this year, then soon. we've just got to give up this foolish notion that we have the earth by the tail or that we own all the brains. we don't. 'niggers' and 'chinks' are as smart as we if they have the chance. what we've got to do is to see they don't get that chance. "continued segregation here in the united states means in- evitably building a closely integrated group with leaders, organiza- tions, plans. this mustn't happen. we've got to integrate 'niggers' into our group and work them into positions under us, but below policy making and giving orders. we've got to cut down, for instance, the power of these land-grant college presidents and keep power in our own hands to be carried out by our own puppets, in place of the present gang who've got too much brains. i've just got myself elected to the board of the state college at macon. i'm going to get rid of mansart. don't fool yourselves-- unless we're smart the darkies of the world are going to give us hell. we didn't lose china; china kicked us out.” and vander- worlds of color burg, with an abrupt nod here and there, marched out. the group was astonished, but their convictions were not altered at all by this outburst. clair smiled deprecatingly. "i'm afraid our friend exaggerates." "he certainly does," echoed the college president, while the sociologist disdainfully sniffed. the meeting closed after a few more pleasant exchanges and encouraging remarks. as they drifted out, mrs. emery shook out her gown and eased her girdle. pursing her rather full lips, she let fall a few words out of the side of her mouth into the receptive ear of the politician. "i understand that vanderburg's high opinion of negroes ex- tends even to their women's beds." meantime, down in macon signs multiplied of coming trouble for president mansart's administration. though he had not for- gotten it, he did not let his mind dwell on an occurrence at the first board meeting following his return from san francisco. a well-signed petition was brought before the board demanding a stadium in which competitive athletic games could be played. manuel had never encouraged athletics and was particularly op- posed to intercollegiate sports. this attitude was not unrelated to his memory of his son, bruce. sports brought a species of inter-racial mingling which he feared. the white people of macon, especially the merchants and white collar workers, were starved for entertainment and flocked to the colored games. there, separate seats had to be furnished and some of the local citizenry thus had their feelings of race superiority prodded. incidents of race clashes occurred frequently; they were seldom serious, but manuel disliked the situation. also, it seemed to him unusual that this petition, signed in the main by his own college alumni, instead of being brought to his attention first, came up in the board from the hands of a white oil man from texas-vanderburg. betty lou baldwin had died in . just before her death, she had summoned a cousin of her daughter-in-law, from texas. her son john was failing in health and her grandson, lee, needed more guidance than his mother could give. betty lou thought that vanderburg, as the nearest male relative, represent- ing the tremendous industrial upsurge of the southwest in she hatty lou baldrom texasup in the bostead of being signed in the attack on mansart chemicals, sulphur and especially in oil-with its tax-free bon- anza-might be a good influence to introduce into the baldwin family and its many interests. vanderburg acquiesced. he opened an office in atlanta, became a director of baldwin's bank, and was soon elected to the board of trustees of the colored state college. then betty lou died, not exactly in peace but at least not without hope. john baldwin had by no means retired, but he was glad to give up smaller duties to others, and his family relations were far from pleasant. vanderburg quickly took over supervision of the state school, although baldwin continued to visit it now and then. vanderburg had ideas about negro colleges. one of them concerned negro athletics and he accompanied his proposal and petition for a stadium by a gift of oil bonds with a face value of $ , . such a gift had to be received with thanks. mansart put the bonds in the college safe and took no immediate action. mansart's calls away from the college were, as he knew, getting to be too many and he meant to curtail them. but another an- nual meeting of the presidents of the colored land-grant colleges, to be held in atlanta, was coming up, and he felt obliged to attend. he felt he wanted to consult his collegues on many urgent problems of which inter-collegiate athletics was one. he hurried off to atlanta. the day after he departed, a woman entered the dean's office with a letter of introduction from the benevolent oil man. she was a light mulatto, striking in appearance, well-dressed, and carried herself with assurance. her english was perfect and she evidently had a keen, well-trained mind. she said, after greetings: "i was sent by mr. vanderburg. some time ago i applied for a position as teacher here." jean remembered that vanderburg in had pressed the appointment of mrs. grey to the faculty to teach social science. the matter had been postponed for further inquiry. mrs. grey had a master's degree from chicago and seemed well qualified. but social science was jean's own field and she had no wish to share it. she was easily able to do all the work of the department, even after her appointment as dean. but this was because the world war had stopped the development of her cherished plan of social worlds of color study by the land-grant colleges. when and if this plan was revived, as she was determined it should be, jean would have little time for undergraduate teaching and another teacher would be needed. all this flashed through jean's mind as she looked mrs. grey over. she did not like her. why, it would have been hard to say. but hitherto the faculty had been carefully chosen and was on the whole harmonious. friction, of course, had arisen here and there from temperment, envy, and ambition. but mansart's char- acter, backed by his great influence and jean's advice and knowl- edge, had kept relations pretty good-with one exception. at the time the president had gone to chicago and thence to the uno in san francisco, an appointment had been made in “business” which jean still regretted. john jacobs was quiet and presentable, but he was not in- terested in the school as an institution of learning. he might be playing a part for forces outside-of this jean was not sure. she could not confirm her suspicions and planned to talk to mansart about it. meantime, under pressure from the white members of the board, jacobs became bursar of the college. he was a thin, dark man, unobtrusive and accurate, and taught bookkeeping. his wife was a silent, black, mouselike little woman. yet jacobs did not exactly fit in. he seemed to feel that his office was not accorded the recognition it merited. as bursar, he felt he should be consulted more often on major policy decisions. jean saw that there was some basis for this complaint. the president and she had long been accustomed to run things with- out much outside consultation; because they understood each other so thoroughly and agreed so completely on policy, further consultation seemed unnecessary. if jacobs had been more com- panionable and had evidenced a deeper understanding of college problems, he might easily have grown to occupy a more important place. but because of his attitude toward the institution as a machine rather than a group of human beings and his slow, reserved, almost sensitive ways, it became customary on the part of jean and president mansart to ignore or even forget him. the proposed appointment of mrs. grey had been pressed lately but decision had been avoided only because of jean's in- sistence that the president had not yet had time to reach a con- the attack on mansart clusion. no appointment had ever been made by the board without his recommendation. vanderburg was nettled and showed it, but the board had too high an opinion of mansart to rush the matter through. meantime, jean tried to obtain some information concerning mrs. grey, and, quite accidentally, found it in the story of a student. this student had been employed during the summer in the office of mr. vanderburg in atlanta. he assured jean that mrs. grey was a frequent visitor there and that there was much talk about her. no, he could not obtain testimony or sworn statements, but her general reputation was not what one would call good. this information jean relayed to president mansart. he had made up his mind what he was going to do. there was no use resorting to detectives and secret photography or similar methods. on the contrary, he made up his mind that a visit to mrs. vanderburg in atlanta would not be amiss. he telephoned for an appointment, identifying himself as president of the state college. she was surprised to find him colored. so far as she remembered, no colored man of this type had ever asked to call upon her. but she was not narrowly prejudiced and, after all he was from the college in macon. she was interested. she received him at the front door but seated him in the hall; she continued with the burnishing of her nails during the conversation. "president mansart,” she said after he had explained his visit, “you have asked me something that ordinarily i would not talk about. and yet, i do think that you need protection in this case. mrs. grey, to be quite frank, is a bitch. she and my husband for some years have been, shall we say, seeing a good deal of each other. she is a brilliant woman, and besides entertaining him she does dirty work of various kinds for him. ordinarily, she would be about the last person to have at your school. “on the other hand, let me give you a frank piece of advice. if you don't have her, you'll have someone else. this is the great age of spying and lying. they're going to plant somebody there to find out about you or to make up plausible fairy tales. it worlds of color might be the wise thing for you to accept a person whom they nominate and whom you know. “thank you for calling." and mrs. vanderburg arose. as they walked toward the door, she said, "you will, of course, wonder why i endure mrs. grey. the reason is simple. by not interfering with my husband's affairs in business or love i keep my own freedom. i associate with such persons as i wish, i spend as much money as i want to, and i go where and when i will. of course, i could imagine something much finer than this with- out money and without freedom, but the choice has not been given me. i trust you understand, president mansart?” president mansart said he did, and thanked her humbly. and the appointment of mrs. grey to the department of sociology in the georgia state colored college went through. from then on, president mansart and jean made it their business to give much more careful and concentrated attention to the college and to the currents within it of opposition and disintegration. first of all, the stadium must be built. all his fellow-presidents had advised this for many and differing reasons; not least among which was the unusual gift of bonds. unobtrusively, mansart had plans drawn and surveys made. meantime, mrs. grey moved swiftly. she organized her pro- gram of teaching and taught well; she learned all she could about the college, its personel, their relations. it occurred to her, or was suggested, that john jacobs, the bursar of the state college, might be useful for some of the plans she had in mind. vanderburg was impatient. he had an over-simplified idea of public institutions and of state officials. he was in a hurry to locate the graft in this college-who got it, how it was worked, by whom. he had no doubt that mansart was getting more than his small salary-other- wise he was a fool. vanderburg wanted to increase his control over the college. its funds, its attendance and its reputation were growing. up to this time, nothing wrong financially had been discovered. the college was well-run, although its accounting methods were not exactly up-to-date. still, there was no patent dishonesty. on the other hand, if there really was no dishonesty, then it must be manufactured-and mansart removed. mrs. grey soon observed that jacobs, the bursar, was not the attack on mansart hapancial of happy. he was quiet, unnoticed, usually alone. mansart ran the financial affairs of the college himself, with jacob's role limited to that of top clerk. nevertheless jacobs did retain certain responsibilities. he kept accounts, had access to important papers and to the safe. mrs. grey, therefore, made a distinct set for jacobs, which was something so unusual in his life that it almost frightened him. he lived in a home in the surburbs of macon, back of the college-a nice site but undeveloped. the house was old-fashioned, comfortable, but in no way striking. it was a simple, two-story residence built on stilts in the southern style and without a cellar. his wife, a meek, dull-faced brown woman, obeyed her husband without question. she kept house well, was a good cook and punctual, but neither did nor said anything out of the ordinary. mrs grey began to put her plans into effect. first, after an apparently fruitless search for lodgings, she proposed to make her home at jacobs' house. he was pleased, but for that purpose mrs. grey asked that the second story be substantially rebuilt and refurnished. under her guidance, this was tastefully and comfortably done, but it called for more money than jacobs could spare. mrs. grey gladly loaned him the money on his note. she then proposed that he ought to build a basement and furnish a playroom where he could entertain his friends and neigh. bors at cards. she had in mind the need for a place where meetings might take place far from the attention of the public, colored or white. again jacobs hesitated, and again mrs. grey was accommo- dating. she managed, without commitment of any definite word or gesture, to make him begin to think of the possibility of something romantic entering into his bleak life, even daring to believe that this very elegant and striking woman was actually personally interested in him, and that somehow, a future life might be shared between them. he hastened to agree to her play- room, but had to borrow so much more money to build it that without realizing it his promissory notes were soon transformed into a sizeable mortgage. his wife signed the mortgage without reading it and without asking questions. a cellar was dug beneath the home, and a cement foundation entering in to think of any definiccommo. worlds of color and tile floor and walls put in. it was nearly finished save on one side where the tile had reached only half-way up to the ceiling. there was left between it and the yard a wide, excavated hole. this was to be finished in the next few days. it was at this stage that mrs. grey found an opportunity to sit down in the cellar and speak confidentially with jacobs, beginning to unfold her further plans. she did not realize that her voice could easily be heard through the thin partitions of the floor of the kitchen where jacobs' dull-faced wife sat sewing. mrs. grey was encouraging jacobs to talk about his position and duties. yes, he kept books-that was about all. he did not sign checks. he was seldom called in to discuss plans such as, for instance, the projected stadium. "where, by the way,” asked mrs. grey, “are those bonds kept that were given to build the stadium?" "in the safe, or at least they were.” "you have the key or combination?" "yes, and so do the president and dean." mrs. grey hummed. then she said, “john-- oh, pardon me for using your name. ..." jacobs assured her it was a pleasure to hear her call him by his first name. she proceeded. “john, have you by chance noticed the daily quotations on these particular oil bonds?". jacobs had never noticed the prices of bonds of any sort, and said so. "well, these bonds are steadily rising in price. moreover, you know that i have inner sources of information. these bonds will continue to rise markedly for another week; then they will suddenly drop to a very low point.” “but--" "wait; when they are at or near their highest, if the bonds were in my hands for say, hours, i could clean up from fifteen to twenty thousand dollars and restore the bonds intact. but their value would be by that time far below par and the college would lose money. it might later leak out that somebody had meantime made money on them. the president or even that prissy dean might be suspected.” jacobs looked scared. mrs. grey continued. the attack on mansart "they couldn't suspect you for the deal would be carried out in atlanta while you would be here. moreover, in any case you would be protected by powerful friends whom i know. suppose now you secure those bonds and put them in my hands for hours?" "they'd never think of president mansart's taking them if he denied it; he's absolutely honest. he'd vouch for the dean." “of course. but he might be accused of criminal carelessness in the handling of bonds destined for a project which he never favored." “i suppose so." "certainly so. it would hasten mansart's retirement. and,”- mrs. grey leaned nearer and lowered her voice-“john, as he goes out we move in, understand?” her bosom touched his chest; her lips, subtly perfumed, brushed his cheek. there surged in him a rush of passion such as he had never known before. “listen, john,” she said, “i want you to take those bonds and give them to me.” “and go to jail for theft?” "certainly not. mansart is responsible for the bonds, even though you and that dean have access to the safe. but it is mansart who alone is responsible. if the bonds disappear, he will be the last to accuse or suspect either of you. you will not have left macon. he will suspect thieves, and the board will, at the least, accuse him of carelessness, especially since he opposed the gift.” “but suppose the bonds are traced to you?” “they won't be. i shall leave macon friday and not be seen until monday afternoon at my one o'clock class. i'll slip back saturday night and get the bonds from you. no one will see me but you. i shall take the bonds to atlanta and hand them to mr. vanderburg who gave them to the college. i assure you, dear john, no one will suffer for the disappearance of these bonds but mansart.” jacobs, the sweat streaming down his face, promised to "think it over.” mrs. grey gave him a week; then they talked again. jacobs had not been consulted by the president and the dean as to the future stadium or their plans. he felt more affronted than usual. mrs. grey took his hand and said: worlds of color "listen john. i am going to atlanta this weekend on some business. after i have gone, not before, just open the safe and take out those bonds. i will slip back secretly and take the bonds back to atlanta." "why go away at all?". “so that i cannot be connected with the disappearance of the bonds if discovered, and you cannot be connected with me!" jacobs was afraid, but the idea kept turning over in his mind until mrs. grey went north on a friday afternoon. the next night she was to return secretly. meantime jean, almost by accident, had noted the rise in oil bond quotations in the morning papers, in the course of checking some of their bond holdings. she waited until the lunch hour when the executive offices were empty and then, securing the bonds, compared notes. the bonds they held were quoted cur- rently at . if they were going to auctuate like that, she thought, they should be sold. she hurried over to the president's home and interrupted his nap. "we should sell those bonds today. if they drop, we will be held responsible for any loss." “but we cannot sell here. atlanta is the only market with new york connections." “tomorrow is friday. suppose i drive up to atlanta tonight and go to baldwin's bank tomorrow morning. when the board meets tuesday we'll not only have plans ready for the stadium but $ , cash with which to build it.” mansart agreed and jean went to atlanta late that afternoon. on the following saturday night the little dull-faced wife of john jacobs was sitting in her living room motionless. sometime after dark she heard the gate open and saw mrs. grey slip softly through it. she used her key to enter the front door, then went down to the playroom to see how matters stood. she looked at her watch, wandered about, then got up on the scaffolding where the tile foundation was being finished, to look over into the open hole. suddenly from behind came first a gentle and then a strong push. she fell headlong into the hole and on her fell a wheel- barrow of cement intended for use in finishing the wall. the little brown woman went swiftly upstairs and outdoors. she began shoveling dirt into the hole. she worked furiously the attack on mansart ched for about the con for four hours until she had covered the wheelbarrow and cement and reached almost to the height of the wall. within the hole there was no sound or motion. then she went back into the house and took mrs. grey's handbag, searched for her keys, went to her room and found the mortgage. she burned it in her stove. jacobs came home quite late. he did not bring the bonds. he had opened the safe soon after the president and dean had left friday afternoon. he often stayed to clean up odds and ends of the day's work. slipping his hands quietly into the safe he reached for the bonds. they were not in their accustomed place. he looked about. he could not find them. perhaps they had been taken out for the committee meeting tuesday, he thought, and left carelessly on the president's desk. he could not find them there and did not dare force the lock. besides, this was unlikely and the president had said nothing. reluctantly, jacobs left and locked the safe. he was almost afraid to face mrs. grey, but the fault was not his. he realized more and more that what he had tried to do might, if he had been successful, have put him in jail, and certainly would have ruined president mansart. his feeling for mrs. grey was strong, even tumultuous. but he was not a fool. he resolved to go no fur- ther with this extraordinary plan. he lingered in town, went to a movie and finally returned home late. mrs. grey was not there. finally, he woke his sleeping wife. “mrs. grey come yet?” “no," she said. “heard nothing from her?" “not a word.” he waited for mrs. grey until nearly dawn. still she did not come. “that's queer,” he said, and reluctantly went to bed. it re- mained queer. nothing more was ever heard of mrs. grey. vanderburg, awaiting her in atlanta, was beside himself. when he arrived for the board meeting tuesday he summoned jacobs, after failing to find mrs. grey. "where's althea-mrs. grey?" : jacobs said he did not know, and then seeing the rage on worlds of color vanderburg's face he blurted out the whole plot which he was sure vanderburg already knew. vanderburg yelled: “but the bonds were sold friday in atlanta at the top of the market. today they're down to as i planned they would be. where the hell is althea? has she been mur- dered and the bonds stolen?” "that dean got them bonds and sold them,” said jacobs. "she must have murdered mrs. grey and stole the premium.” “all right, when she reports to the board today we'll know." jacobs went as vanderburg stormed out. but the board meet- ing revealed nothing except completed plans for the delayed stadium. the dean reported that she had sold the bonds at a premium at mr. baldwin's bank in atlanta friday morning and that the college had $ , on hand for the stadium building fund. vanderburg sat dumb. he could not ask how the dean got the bonds from mrs. grey; he was naturally not supposed to know mrs. grey ever had the bonds, if indeed she ever had. whether she had or had not, she had been foully done away with. he sought out jacobs who was equally distraught. he had never given mrs. grey the bonds for they were gone friday night when he tried to get them. but mrs. grey-poor mrs. grey had met foul play. but how, where and from whom? the college and president, especially the dean, made every effort to trace mrs. grey, without success. her car was safe in her garage. had she gone to atlanta by train? the train hands had not seen her and she was a noticeable figure in the "jim-crow" car. where had she gone and when? vanderburg was suspicious of everybody. he quickly sent for private investigators from new york. they searched mrs. grey's office. they searched jacob's house from cellar to attic; they tore her bedroom apart. they ransacked her car. mrs. grey was never found. also, to jacobs' unanswerable distress, no record was ever found of the mortgage which she held on his house. it had never been registered nor was payment ever demanded. but always john jacobs waited for her. he glimpsed her in crowds or dissolving in the darkness of night. the play room was finished and mrs. jacobs kept it immaculate. but no com- pany was invited in. often jacobs sat there alone in the dim light. worlds of color the u.s. why? it must be treachery-betrayal! washington swung around just in time to hear that russia already had the atom bomb. that was it. that explained all, and the only answer was war and war now! truman's secretary of defense, heading an irresistible war ma- chine capable of immeasurable destruction-this man who stood for ships, planes, guns and atom bombs and who represented one of the world's greatest owners and purveyors of capital, the dillon-read bank, ran half naked along the streets of washintgon shrieking, "the russians are coming!” and when taken into custody leaped from a sixteenth-story window. paul robeson, forty years before, had broken forrestal's nose in a football game. it looked as though with forrestal, the president and the whole nation winced. the state department formed nato to build within the united nations an inner bastion against the soviet union; churchill was invited to egg our students on to war. the marshall plan was set up to rescue european capital from loss by war and the demands of labor unions. then, the government turned back to its home front with fury: eleven communist lead- ers were sent to jail for no crime but thought of what might lead to crime; ten hollywood writers were sent to jail on charge of perjury; the persecution of alger hiss was unleashed.. the nation-the thinking nation revolted. the best of our thought and will lent their names to a national call against war, and tried to gather in new york the best intellects of all the world to plead and argue for peace. this seemed to president mansart so obvious a move that he gladly accepted an invitation to attend. in a great meeting like this-held at the waldorf-astoria-here, he was sure, was the solution. it conformed entirely to what he had learned on his trip in and to what he had been trying to preach and do since. first, peace, and then increasing world un- derstanding and realization of life, truth and beauty. it seemed to him that the conference at the waldorf astoria was a tremendous success. but in the face of the bitter, hateful and sudden flare of opposition which followed the universal attack, he was left speechless. why was it that new york and the nation ut- terly repudiated this meeting of some of the greatest men of the world? how could one of our greatest universities refuse to let shostakovich give a concert on its campus? if it was spontaneous reaction, it was ominous. if it was planned propaganda, perhaps the attack on mansart that was even more threatening. he returned south in silent dis- tress. somehow it seemed to him that his students as individuals, and the seething dark millions back of them were melting away from his touch, were getting further and further from his influence. once they were all his people. he had had his arms about them and was protecting and guiding them. this was no longer true. other things, the world itself, had intruded, had come between him and the negro people. he had been sucked up into greater and wider causes-peace, socialism, the meaning of all life. he wanted now to rid himself of diversion and get back to the negro problem, to concentrate all his energy and hope there. and yet, if he and his folk were part of this wider world, how could he or they ever be really separate? chapter xii the dismissal of jean du bignon to prob to see had guidich fa in the spring of jean du bignon broached to president mansart the idea of her taking a trip to europe. it was shortly after the meeting at the waldorf astoria in new york, which had taken place in march. jean was far more upset by the extraordi- nary repercussions of the meeting than was mansart. she believed she saw deliberate organized opposition to any effective peace move- ment. if this were true, what was the reaction in the rest of the world? she wanted to know and she was sure that america was not prepared to tell her. she had received an invitation to a world council of the partisans of peace in paris and suddenly here seemed a chance at one time to probe the progressive forces of the world and to fulfill her long wish to see the europe of which she had read so much and through which she had guided president mansart. he assented without question. peace which failed in new york might triumph in europe. and so jean du bignon sat among the , people in the salle pleyel in april, . she had seen some of these types of peoples and races many times; but these africans, algerians, south americans, moroccans—they were not simply types for the inspection of europeans,they were men and women, talking, arguing, demanding peace. jean stood and cheered wildly with other thousands when paul robeson came striding across the hall from his concerts all over europe. it seemed to her so appropriate for him to declare: "my people will never fight the russians who have outlawed race preju- dice!" the applause was tumultuous. it was years before jean realized the tremendous implication of this statement if ever it was implemented. it meant the splitting of eastern europe from the white world and adding it to the power of the colored world to assert autonomy and independence of euro- pean imperialism. it led later to a fierce persecution of robeson in america-almost to his crucifixion and the refusal to let him the dismissal of jean du bignon travel abroad or to sing at home save under restrictions. this jean did not sense at the time, but she did later. she began to realize almost shamefacedly how thoroughly white and american she was in thought and reaction. that afternoon she lunched with the russian writer, ilya ehrenburg. she had met him while he was traveling in the southern united states and they had many notes to compare. as they were leaving the restaurant, he asked: “have you seen picasso's 'guernica'?”. she looked puzzled—“guernica?” he looked surprised and explained: “you know, the spanish town which was bombed." she did not know; indeed, she realized she had not known much. but now as she saw the mighty mural, she heard ehrenburg tell what civilization did to the struggling workers of spain. brit- ain, france and the united states let these ragged, starving women and children drown in their own blood, under the bombs of hitler and mussolini. it was a horrible tragedy. it was obscene! for the first time in her life, her loyalty to the land of her birth faltered. she said nothing and would not see the tears in ehrenburg's eyes. they returned in silence to the salle pleyel and she sought her seat. she sat a space in silence and found herself listening in astonishment when a woman from viet-nam was called to the rostrum. she looked like a rare and precious chinese doll. she seemed hardly more than fifteen, yet she was a matron and talked the language of all civilization. "like other peoples," she cried, “the people of viet-nam want no more war. they know too much of murder, ruin, devastation not to long for peace.” viet-nam? what and where was viet-nam, jean asked gabriel d'arboussier as she listened. he was a dark west african. he answered: “the people of viet-nam, like the peoples of madagas- car, africa, asia and oceania, see in the new masque of the franch union the old face of the french empire. the marshall plan, the atlantic pact and the proposed pacific pact are all designed to dis- tribute to france and other colonial governments, money which enables them to hold, conquer and exploit their colonies.” jean sat perplexed. like most americans she had always re- garded the marshall plan as an attempt to help the needy. she worlds of color : had never attempted to understand the atlantic pact. she had thought of most of the world's peoples as backward, uncivilized, perverse-problems of civilization and also victims. she could not help but be thrilled when, knowing that chinese and korean dele- gates had not been permitted to attend the paris congress, she learned they were holding a simultaneous congress in prague. she rose with the delegates when the prague congress announced the fall of nanking. it was the climax of the congress when over the wires came the voices of that congress sitting in prague where delegates from nations, excluded by the fears of the french government, had met in unison simultaneously to fulfill the world cry for peace. the voice of the leader of the chinese delegation, kuo-mo-jo, thundered down the aisles and through the balconies of the salle pleyel: “we march! we will continue to march! we will march around the world!” like many others, jean's attention was centered on the rus- sians. in looks they were impressive: the white-crowned metro- politan; the madonna-like mother of two war heroes; the suave writer, fadeyev and the fiery ehrenburg. she knew in a general way why the united states disliked and feared russia; but what she was curious to know was why so many other countries, new nations and little folk, africans and asiatics, seemed to place their hopes for salvation on communism. the magnificent and awe-inspiring spectacle at the buffalo sta- dium answered some of her queries. here were massed at once , human beings, and at least , during the afternoon passed through. it was not an organized spectacle. she was sure that the napoleons and the german wilhelms had often offered more grandiose and glittering performances. but she doubted if ever before the mass of unorganized peoples had poured out their hearts as strikingly and desperately in a plea for human uplift. that cry for peace rang in her ears for days and months. she did some sight-seeing in south france, but had to hurry for she had not much time. and then she had the good fortune again to meet ilya ehrenburg. ehrenburg beamed upon her in his sort of enveloping and fatherly way and said, "why not look at the soviet union before you return?" worlds of color veterans and anti-semitic hoodlums could reach with the aid of the police. the friend wrote: hell was at work; cops, in a craze of hate, were beating cars with their long clubs, smashing fenders, lashing out against windshields, doing a dance of frenzy as the autos rolled out of the place. even through our closed windows we could hear the flood of insanely vile language from the police, the unprintable oaths: "jew, kike, darky, nigger!” the slime and filth of america's underworld of race hatred compressed into these "guardians” of the law. there were about thirty police grouped there at the entrance, and they flogged the cars as if the automobiles were living objects of their resentment. policemen routed other cars through the woods where the mob beat and wounded the hundreds who tried to drive home. it was of this story that mansart was reading when john baldwin of his trustee board was announced. baldwin had not visited the school or a board meeting for a year. he was in bad health and worse temper and asked the president peremptorily about the rumor that the dean, jean du bignon, had gone to a “communist peace meeting in paris, and that the president him- self had been at that communist gathering at the waldorf in new york." mansart said that these visits had been made; but that neither meeting was, to his knowledge, “communist” and both were most worthy of attending. "you must realize, mansart,” stormed baldwin, “that things in this country are coming to a showdown. we are going to stop this communism. we are going to turn this country back to its normal path.” mansart interrupted: “don't you think that what we have called 'normal' is really abnormal? wasn't the new deal leading us right?” "no, it wasn't. it was interfering with private business." “which,” said mansart, "had already been ruined by private greed. mr. baldwin," he continued, "i'm an american just so far as i am allowed to be by law and custom. i want the best for greed. mr. baid mansart, "hadering with private the dismissal of jean du bignon america. i want america to be the best. but i don't like some things in america and i don't like what some americans do. and i won't say i do. for instance, there's ben davis. i knew him. i knew his father before him. when i was a student at atlanta university little ben used to come daily to school. he was a good boy. he grew up to be a good man, men black and white tell me. he was one of the best councilmen new york ever had. “what ben believed and what he planned, i do not know and i do not care. he was not even accused of doing any wrong. he had a right to believe in communism. but to punish a man not for what he did, not even for what he believed, but for what his beliefs might lead to, was not justice. it was a crime.” “mansart, you are going too far." “the supreme court went too far." baldwin scowled. “mansart, we have been counting on the southern negroes as a conservative force in this country. we are going to see that they are or we are going to smash them. i have particularly depended upon you and you've done a good job. don't spoil it now. it was a mistake for you to attend that meet- ing of fanatics in new york." “but mr. baldwin, they were not fanatics. they were some of our best americans, and the foreigners-why we had a great musician from russia, with two authors, and men of science.” baldwin brushed all that aside. “they represented com- munism, and communism has no place in the united states." "i'm not saying that it has. i'm saying that we ought to have a democratic exchange of ideas. this was stopped by a mob, and normal exchange of ideas was absolutely prohibited. imagine, shostakovich being refused the opportunity of giving a concert on the yale campus!” “president mansart, i am not going to discuss that with you now. all i am going to say is this: it was a mistake for you to go to new york. it was a greater mistake for that du bignon woman to go to paris, and as i understand, even to russia. she is a firebrand i am afraid, and we have got to get rid of her. now mansart, if you want to play along with us we want you to re- main here as president of this institution. otherwise, we are go- ing to get someone else. i want to make this plain to you. the to get rid ofussia. she along with sident of the worlds of color board has made up its mind." and baldwin left. mansart was dismayed by this interview, yet the eruption in of the korean war, possible prelude to a third world war, so utterly astonished him that he gave more thought to the world situation than to the future of himself and his college. he wrote letters, he attended meetings. he spoke, openly and freely, and as he made his stand clear, the stand of his trustee board and of the powerful interests in the country back of it hardened. in several conferences baldwin and other merchants and bankers emphasized their point of view among themselves. "the old plans,” said baldwin, "which young william bald. win, president of the long island railroad, expressed and em. phasized in the south in were to develop negroes as a sepa- rate working force, with jobs different from that which the skilled whites were going to do. unorganized, uncontaminated with foreign ideologies, they would balance each other so that we could continue to have a cheap, efficient working force. "well, all that's gone out the window. it is impossible not to realize now that negroes are getting education; more than we had planned and more than we can stop. moreover, the whole method of industry has so changed that the distinction between ordinary labor and skilled labor is disappearing. it's labor, mass production. now what we have to look forward to is an inte- grated labor force, white and black. there'll be opposition, and we can use race prejudice to keep unionization and race inte- gration at a minimum. but race distinctions which interfere with industry eventually must go. "what we've got to do is to see that in neither group of white or colored labor do foreign radical ideas penetrate. we have got to keep labor organization in hand and the labor unions down; curtail their political power in such a way that this mis-called democracy disappears under the dictatorship of big business. “i do not think that mansart is going to play along. and i know this all-too-influential white woman who is helping him and who calls herself colored has got to go. mansart's a good man. we must keep him as long as possible. but we've got to cut his nails and we've got to do that now." meantime mansart, instead of listening to the gossip of what the trustee board was thinking, and guiding his actions as he the dismissal of jean du bignon was used to doing, was utterly upset by the drafting of his grand- son adelbert, douglass' boy, who had graduated from the college and who had become one of the assistants in the little theater. despite mansart's influence, adelbert was drafted and sent to a camp in biloxi, mississippi, where the full force of mississippi race prejudice slapped him in the face. and then, soon after, he was on his way to the mud and blood of korea. manuel mansart never, to the day of his death, could logically and satisfactorily explain to himself the year of . sometimes he thought it must have been the result of headstrong vagaries of one man with power and responsibilities far beyond his brains or education; then he shifted the blame to truman's fastidious and stiff-necked secretary of state; at other times, he was sure everything was the crime of that vast, crawling and spiderlike octopus of industry and trade, held vise-like in a half dozen mag- nificent ganglia of money and credit which almost owned and certainly ruled a great part of the earth. yes, this was the master criminal-or was there no master-simply embodied, encysted evil? in december, , the pale wraith of china became disem- bodied from the enveloping mists of two years' strife. by january, , most of the world had recognized a new republic in china. america would not believe it. too long had it held chinese in utter contempt. could the great corporate business in korea, which the japanese sold to wall street, have sent john foster dulles to that front trench to watch over the tungsten deposits which, in his fevered imagination, the north koreans threatened? so north korea took up arms to stop the american agent, syngman rhee, from marching north. then harry truman started what narrowly missed being world war iii. it was, as he said, his most important decision, when without authority of any sort, on june , , he ordered american troops to "take police action” in a foreign land. he did not consult congress. he had no mandate from the united nations. but the united nations, with the soviet union absent, consented eleven hours after macarthur was on the march, and congress never dared object. so harry truman within a year sent , american boys to their death, maimed a hundred thousand more, and plunged korea into a bloody hell that took at least billion dollars in worlds of color suddenly, in his autocratic the interv the first year, from education, health and housing which the na. tion sorely needed. jean returned from her trip abroad at the beginning of the new school term in the fall of , and manuel and the teach- ers were deeply stirred by her reports. macarthur had crossed the th parallel and rushed to the manchurian boundary where he was not only bombing china but russia. jean pointed out how seriously this changed the war and waited to hear how china would answer. evidently washington was worried and suddenly, in october, truman rushed halfway round the world to talk with his autocratic pro-consul. according to the papers the interview was eminently satis- factory and our troops kept rolling north, killing and spurting flaming oil until, as it later was revealed, on november , mac- arthur again threw his might across on the border. then it came, and to the astonishment of the world and the rage of macarthur, china struck back. in late november, six thousand american and korean troops lay dead and , wounded. on november , as macarthur cried, it was indeed a “new war." the united nations army reeled back and ran. the un had opposed the united states drive across the yalu, and attlee had rushed to washington when truman almost nonchantly, had threatened use of the atom bomb. the un now asked for a “cease fire" and truman declared a “national emergency.” the question of evacuating korea entirely was dis- cussed in washington. jean gave her idea of the situation. "macarthur was fright- ened into panic and his army made the longest and most headlong retreat that any american army ever made. then macarthur, with his troops miles below the th parallel, realized that the chinese had stopped following. they were not rushing to pusan and seeking to drive him into the sea.' no, they had stopped at the th parallel and were ready for peace.” the demand for peace was growing all over the world. four great peace congresses had been held in new york, paris, mos- cow and mexico in and . the stockholm peace appeal had gone forth in march, and in april a peace information bureau had been established in new york. its “peace-grams” were flood- ing the country and as the korean war opened, , , ameri- the dismissal of jean du bignon cans had already signed the petition against the use of the atom bomb. five days after truman opened the war, acheson emitted a blast against the stockholm appeal which the peace information bureau stoutly answered. it revealed that , , people in all parts of the world had signed this appeal, led by some of the greatest personages of the day. this was serious for macarthur's plans. he was trying to arouse the fighting spirit of america by luring the chinese south and then administering a smashing blow; or, if this led to further defeat of his forces, he would secure for himself unlimited men and war materials and carte blanche for further operations. for this he wanted chiang kai-shek to come from formosa and join him on the mainland. the american phase of the war would then be over. most of his ground troops could go home. but with american airplanes and artillery, and with atom bombs; with chiang's troops and the chinese bound to flock to his ban- ners once he reappeared, and with the american navy raking the coast and wide rivers, he and his troops, backed by american business, would march into manchuria, and then to peking, nanking and shanghai, and down to canton. chiang, under expert guidance, would know how to wipe out the peasants west of hankow to chungking and bomb them out in shensi and szhechwan and even sinkiang and mongolia. at last, asia would succumb to america. but for this chiang was absolutely necessary; he would be the symbol for china, putting down communist rebellion, helped by american traitors. he and his followers would know customs and language. macarthur insisted on chiang and wrote not only to truman and the penta- gon but to the powerful china lobby, with its fat supply of soong funds; finally, he made the mistake of writing even to the republicans after their gains in the recent congressional elec- tions. meantime, as jean pointed out, since the chinese did not fall eagerly into the trap macarthur had so liberally baited by evacuating seoul and retiring toward pusan, he adopted other tactics. having already express permission again to cross the th parallel when he so decided, he clapped a deep censorship on worlds of color his movements. there ensued a pause of a month, when thoughts of peace spread. macarthur tried to get the right to bombard manchuria. he did not succeed, but he got the right to cross the th parallel again. secretly in february he sent his troops across, and finding no chinese army he ordered the navy to bombard wonson for days, longer than any city had ever before in history been so attacked. american flyers poured lead and flaming oil on unarmed men, women and children until, as the triumphant admiral told the press, “you cannot walk in the streets. you cannot sleep any- where-unless it is the sleep of death.” the population became “suicide groups" and songjin and chongjin, cities nearby, were given the same treatment. but in the narrow neck of korea, macarthur was held as by a stone wall. writhe as he would he could not advance north. the chinese army, which he had enticed to pusan, was at the th parallel and there it stayed. then, jean unfolded the morn- ing paper and pointed to the astounding news that on april , truman had recalled macarthur. mansart read the news in the utmost astonishment. “but why, why?" he asked. jean explained. “truman was in a jam. the little 'police action,' which had looked like a fine piece of publicity ten months ago, had now begun to be more than a hot potato. in the first year, it had cost five billion dollars and involved seventeen nations and , men. this was not merely a 'police action'—this was heading to world war, as our allies were not slow to emphasize. “the peace demand was growing right here in the united states, as the elections showed. the atrocities of the war irked truman, but as the boasted soldier he thought he was, he would not admit that. the cost of the war was making taxpayers writhe, but he dared not yield to such considerations. “macarthur had impudently disobeyed his orders. this tru- man angrily denied. but when macarthur appealed to martin, leader of the republicans in the house of representatives, where the democrats had only a majority of two-this, to truman, was political treason and he seized on it as an excuse." jean talked to mansart as often as possible, not so much about paris and the peace movement as about the things she had seen the dismissal of jean du bignon in prague and warsaw and particularly in moscow. he listened with interest but mounting distress. it was true, as baldwin had insisted. jean was going radical. this would be a danger to her and to the school. he must in some way talk this out with her, and yet she was doing most of the talking, filled with the en- thusiasm of what she had seen and learned. she talked freely to him and to her students. one morning in the fall of , soon after jean's return, and as she was overflowing with her experiences abroad, a new student, a tall, bright-eyed yellow boy in the back row of her class asked, “miss du bignon, what do you think of the rosenberg case?" jean had been reading since her return of the young couple accused of treason. she was aghast as well as indignant. she resented what seemed to her an attack on womanhood, an affront to motherhood and especially a denial of the clear proc- esses of justice. she spoke frankly and heatedly. "i am amazed at this case. i am sure the accused will soon be released. it involves first the right to think. perhaps the rosen- bergs were communists. i do not know. i do not care. i have just returned from visiting a nation of communists. i saw mil- lions of fine people. i believe in freedom of thought no matter what it believes. actions alone are punishable, not beliefs. “the rosenbergs were decent people so far as all testimony proves. they had studied together in school. they had fallen in love and married, built a home, worked for a living and brought up two fine boys. they are accused of conspiracy to com- mit wartime treason in time of peace. the testimony against them is from a confessed criminal, whose testimony was bought by what i call bribery; that is, by a reduced sentence for confessed wrong-doing. “just what the rosenbergs are accused of actually doing is not revealed. what was it? was it anything they could have done? what proof of their doing it exists, outside the word of a criminal? what is 'conspiracy' to commit when commission is not even alleged? this brutal sentence cannot stand, i am sure." there was silence a moment. then the same boy asked, “do you think it was right to send ben davis to jail?" worlds of color otright here in georg university, andaw at har- jean hesitated a moment. perhaps it was not wise to discuss such matters in class. but why not? was this not the place to teach truth? if not, where? jean said: “ben davis is a fine man. he was born right here in georgia, up in dawson county; he took his high school work at atlanta university and then went to college at amherst, in massachusetts. he studied law at har- vard. he secured the freedom of angelo herndon in atlanta. he served two terms in the city council of new york and did excellent work. "i have no doubt but that ben davis fears, just as you and i often fear, that nothing but force will ever set our people free in this land. at the same time, i'm sure that neither he nor you ever laid plans or took action to start violent revolution. he was never charged with that. he was charged with being a member and official of the communist party, and that he freely admitted. “i have heard him thank the communist party for the way it had treated him and for what he had learned from communism. but belief in communism does not mean that all communists always believe in immediate revolution. they believe that there are times when revolution is unavoidable, but not necessarily here and now. a man's thoughts, his beliefs, are his own and he is free to hold them. if at any time his thoughts lead him to illegal actions, he must stand ready to take punishment, not for what he thinks but for what he does. for these reasons i think davis' sentence and that of his fellows was unjust and unconstitutional." when miss du bignon finished her answer the new student in the back stood up and quietly departed. he had only re- cently enrolled and belonged to a well-known colored family in washington, d. c. his father had long been a clerk in the office of the attorney general. he ran through the corridors into the street, caught a street car, left the car at the union station and took a cab for the airport. a few hours later he was closeted with officials in washington. several months went by. and then one day miss du bignon was surprised to receive a visit from a federal official who handed her a summons. it seemed that she had been ordered by the attorney general in washington to register as a foreign agent. she was surprised and indignant. she immediately told the worlds of color "you have my word.” “then i advise you to refuse to register. i will associate myself in your case, but not as chief counsel. president mansart knows well that my acting as counsel for his college has been no easy job. it has cost me some clients and certain social losses. these things i do not mind too much although my family sometimes com- plains. for me not to act in this case would hurt you. but new currents are moving in this nation and for that reason you must hire as chief counsel someone better prepared to defend you. how about mansart's son in new york?” mansart wrote to revels and asked his help. revels stayed in his office reading the letter and looking at the picture of his son in flying uniform. then he wired to mansart and offered to take the case. the atlanta attorney was willing to associate himself with revels. after a short interval, jean was indicted by a federal grand jury in washington for refusing to register. it became clear that the justice department was trying to prove that jean had gone to paris to consult with the "communist conspiracy”; that she had then gone to moscow for “orders” and that she had come back to the united states to spread in her teaching and administration the overthrow of the government of the united states. it was a fan- tastic charge, but she had to go on trial. meantime mansart had spent some time in washington and brought into the case as his personal assistant a young colored woman recently admitted to the well-known firm of colored law- yers, cobb, hayes and howard. the young woman, tall, brown and well-tailored, was frank. she said, “the government has no case and they know it, unless they bring in a hired informer to swear that miss du bignon is a communist. there may be strong influence back of this prosecution that demands conviction. if that is true, then miss du bignon will go to jail.” "but can lying testimony be had and be believed?" “it can in america today at $ a day, and government pro- tection. but we'll wait and see.” jean appeared in washington a month later and to her aston- ishment as well as curiosity she was in the prisoner's seat, accused of something that looked like treason. she talked very frankly. the dismissal of jean du bignon yes, she had “communist” books in her library: how could she teach the facts about communism if she did not read such books? and how could she teach social science today without touching upon communism? yes, she deeply sympathized with the objects of communism. no, she was not a member of the communist party. yes, she had met americans who were members of the communist party. no, she had not been under direction of com- munists either in this country or any other country. of the discussion in her class, she thought it was proper to put before students the conclusions which any honest person made from the facts which he had gathered. certainly, if in the future she discovered other facts that proved or disproved what she had said, she would say so. she certainly did believe that certain americans had been guilty of violence; as a negro, (and when she said that there was a stir in the court)-she had seen dishonesty, cruelty and betrayal, as well as violence and murder. the charge that jean was herself a communist was delayed be. cause none of the paid informers which the prosecution had at their disposal had ever seen or heard of her in the centers of the communist party of america. at the last moment, after all the accusations were in and jean herself had testified, there was hurried into the witness stand, a well-dressed and intelligent white man. he calmly deposed that he was an undercover agent of the federal government; that he had been stationed in paris to cover the peace congress of . he had met miss du bignon; in fact they had lunched together several times, alone and with well-known foreign communists. she had attended secret meetings at which he had been present and that without doubt “she was a party member and a spy and agent for the soviet union.” jean sat stunned and incredulous. this plain lie surely could not stand up in court! she looked appealingly at her lawyers. they looked away. the examination continued. "is this person in the courtroom?" "i am told she is.” "could you identify her?”. he thought he could. he arose and looked at the table where jean and her lawyers sat. directly beside jean sat the young brown lawyer who was judge mansart's assistant. now in fact, this paid stool-pigeon, secured at the last moment, had never before seen worlds of color miss du bignon, but knew of course that she was colored. when she had been pointed out to him sitting at the lawyer's table, he naturally assumed that the colored girl was the accused and not the apparently white girl by her side. “there she is,” he said confidently, pointing at the girl. the prosecuting attorney leaped to his feet but mansart was ahead of him. “will you touch her on the shoulder?" the witness complied and mansart said: “your honor, we rest our case, and ask dismissal.” the judge with a look of disgust assented and jean du bignon was free. outside the court, there were certain men who talked together. on the whole, they concluded that this woman was not a commu- nist conspirator. at the same time, the very frankness of her beliefs and her outspokenness were a source of danger. and, too, on the other hand, she might be a communist spy unusually intelligent and resourceful. it seemed, therefore, on the whole, to be wisest to drop the case and then over a space of time, a year, perhaps ten years, to keep her under careful surveillance; to see that she did not get work or leave the country; to read her mail; to watch her contacts. this would be the best way of finding out the truth about her. jean was delighted and her attorney greatly elated. the at- lanta lawyer said that this was a complete vindication for her, but he warned that hereafter she had better not touch upon the subject of communism, and see that no further accusations could be brought against her. she looked at him in astonishment. “do you mean that in an institution called a university, the subject which is the greatest matter upon which mankind today is thinking must be slurred over and omitted? are you advising me not to study communism any further?" he was uncomfortable and did not think that miss du bignon's statements showed a sensible attitude. he simply added, “i am tell- ing you that today it is not wise even to study communism!” revels mansart said little. he received her thanks gravely and refused compensation. he only remarked cryptically, “this, my dear friend, is only the beginning, not the end.” jean returned to macon with her sense of triumph dampened the dismissal of jean du bignon by these words. her apprehension was confirmed by a communica- tion from the board of trustees which was already on her desk. due to the fact that she had been even suspected of treason, the board thought that her usefulness at the state college was at an end and she was summarily dismissed. there was no mention of a pension after her thirty years of service. this was the first time that manuel mansart lost a cause before his board of trustees. he saw from the very opening of the meet- ing that he had no chance. the board evidently had already been in consultation, and both the colored and white members had made up their minds. they listened to him respectfully, even when his plea found him so filled with emotion that he could not speak with ordinary calmness and incisiveness. when he was through they attempted no rebuttal. they simply passed the edict of dismissal. the thing that hurt jean most was that her plan of a continu- ous sociological study of the american negro was thus stopped. the colleges which had united in this project for various reasons found it expedient to withdraw. most of them, after all, had no clear conception of what this study might have meant to the american negro and to the science of sociology. after the board meeting, mansart called jean to his office and said, “jean, i need not tell you how grave an injustice i know you have suffered. but there is one thing that i hope you will let me say. from the first time you came into this office until now, through all these thirty long years of struggle, you have been in the center of my life and work. “if i had been a younger man and if there had not been between us this startling contrast in the color of our skins, i should have long ago asked you to marry me after my wife died. but i felt first that to mention any such thing would be a sort of betrayal of my position as employer and spiritual father, and that you would have a right to resent it. any resentment or recoil on your part would have seemed to me like death. “but now the situation has altered. in the midst of your fine career you suddenly are placed where you cannot earn a living. and i wonder if under these circumstances you would not let me at least have the name of being your husband, so that i could con- tinue to have the benefit of your counsel and be able to protect you." the dismissal of jean du bignon groes. the answer lay in the length of time white labor could afford to pay for the cost of color prejudice. president manuel mansart on his part turned to the task of con- ciliating and rebuilding his board, which seemed quite possible but which proved in the end to be a fruitless endeavor. he had talks with various members of his board. he realized very soon that it was not so much a desire to get rid of him personally that was moving them as that they had in mind a man who could better carry out the kind of work which they wanted done at the state college. he was the young president of the land-grant college for negroes in northern louisiana. it had been subsisting on small appropriations from the state and from the federal govern. ment. president limes had not offended the authorities by continual importunity and by protesting what was given him. on the con. trary, with what he was granted, he had expressed thanks and gone to work to do what he could. and what he could do was to ap- pease the local community, to furnish them with house servants and with a number of helpers in agriculture paid by the united states government; he had given himself the job of inducing the colored people to stay on the farms, to work for the wages given, and to im- prove the quality of farming in various well-recognized ways. now, this was the kind of man john baldwin and the white members of the board were very much pleased with. with larger funds and greater power this man could be an influence among the negroes. he could restrain feelings of discontent. he could stop organized agitation. he could be armed with concessions to the negroes for the right to vote. they could even, in some in- stances, be allowed to enter the "white primary,” and so long as they voted for the dominant democratic party, this would strengthen conservatism and reaction there. thus, the new negro vote, gradually integrated, could be a distinct advantage to the employers and to big business in general. there would be more funds for negro education and it might even happen that separation by race in schools might eventually be given up. that would save money, gain votes for industry and clip the claws of the white unions. all this was not voiced loudly; but it was a matter of secret and earnest consultation. thus mr. limes, suave and pleasant, influential among colored worlds of color people, knowing how to woo them and persuade them, and being young and energetic, could do a much better job than could be ex- pected of mansart. mansart was getting old and used to having his way; he was undoubtedly listening to, if not entertaining, new and dangerous ideas. the method, then, decided on for getting rid of mansart was not to level false charges or have a row, or arbitrarily force him out. it was the perfectly logical decision that in the colleges of the south, particularly those helped by federal funds, there should be a recognized age limit for the presidency. mansart would be seventy-five soon. it could therefore be decided that at , all presidents of land-grant colleges should retire. this would get rid of manuel mansart, and there could even be appropriate recog- nition made of his work, and a pension suitable for a colored man given him. the transition would be made without difficulty and without criticism. jean, despite her brave words, walked out into the world with a shiver. she had a strange distaste after the long years again to en- ter the white world as one belonging to it. she had lived too long with her own black folk. she felt completely bone of their bone and flesh of their flesh. she did not wish to leave them for a mo- ment. even the contemplation of it was revolting to her. not that they were always lovable, always right in decision and broad in outlook. oh, no. they were often narrow, selfish, wrong- headed human beings. but they were hers. she belonged to them and they to her. it was hard to leave them even for a short time. she went to atlanta, found a room in the factory district and reported for work at the labor office. then, having an afternoon to herself, she took a walk. she walked out to peachtree, as almost everyone does. it was changed, but always interesting. about four in the afternoon she found herself at the fork in the road fronting the episcopal cathedral. people were gathering, and she paused at the crossing. an elderly lady paused beside her and said, “could i take your arm? i'm attending the funeral, too, and my sight is none too good.” "but of course,” said jean. "he was a great loss,” continued her companion, "but perhaps he had outlived his usefulness." jean hesitated and then glanced at the black-broidered program the dismissal of jean du bignon slipped into her hand. john baldwin was dead at , and this was his funeral. she said nothing but went into the church, and they sat together. the old lady commented in whispers now and then: “his wife is still beautiful, but so cold, always so unfeeling. i'm glad betty lou went on before. oh, there is the boy; lee will never amount to much. perhaps his marriage may help, but i doubt it. who is she? oh, some russian princess, so they say. there seems to be such an astonishing number of eastern european nobility now. they say she was flirting outrageously for a time with john the father. his wife apparently never noticed. now the engagement with the son seems almost announced. there she is! just a shade too spectacular for my taste!” she sank to her knees as the organ pealed. jean sat through the services and helped her friend down the steps. “thank you so much. my car will pick me up at the corner. pardon me, somehow your face seems familiar." “i'm a du bignon, of new orleans.” “yes, of course. why once i met old mére du bignon. what a great lady she was! won't you come home with me to tea?" "i'm so sorry,” said jean as she left, “i fear i haven't time!" adelbert mansart and jackie carmichael he could do nothing; he could not even protest. he was a soldier and must obey. then suddenly all changed. there came a pulse of weird si- lence, but not for long. seemingly without forewarning, the troops wheeled in their tracks and came smashing, dashing back, driv- ing the panicky soldiers aside to the gutters. the whole army was turning. the war had stopped, the fighting ended, the retreat begun. yellow china was pouring into brown korea. the commanding officer, general walker, roared by swaying in his jeep. suddenly the jeep reeled, rose and overturned. the army leader lay crushed and dead. who did it, how did it happen, why? there was no time to ask. adelbert's own jeep stalled in a ditch. the men jumped out and floundered through the mud and snow, yelling and cursing. the wind shrieked and the dying shrieked back. adelbert stumbled, he staggered on and fell. some- one stepped on his head and thrust it far down into the slush. he tried to turn and rise when a great iron wheel rolled over his right arm. he heard the bones crack. exquisite needles of pain rose and gripped him and he knew nothing more for endless time. when he awoke he was aboard ship and screaming-why, he did not know. a blurred figure jabbed narcotic into his arm to stop him. this happened several times. at last he lay silent and through a small porthole watched the curling sea. an officer bent over him. he tried to salute but he had no right arm. he rose in terror. he had no arm! again a scream struggled in his throat and again he fell into a stupor of sleep. days went by; at last he lay calmly. he was in japan. he had lost his lower arm and was going home. his head, too, was not right. it ached continuously, a low, sullen ache. he was aware that the nurses thought him crazy, but he was not. he knew that. but what would he do at “home”? the thought made him sud- denly laugh aloud. arrived in seattle in early may, he was rushed to a hospital and when he awoke the rest of his right arm was gone. after many weeks, he became calm and normal. he boarded a train for chicago and went straight home. the beautiful, three- storied mansion sat back from the boulevard, with a wide lawn in front and at one side. there were chairs and tables and gay umbrellas. hundreds of people were milling about-beautiful women of every color, richly coiffured and gowned; colored men in adelbert mansart and jackie carmichael it would seem the united nations had changed the basis of this law, or would change it; but then again it hadn't, at least, not yet. the first step toward effective change would follow the new atlan- tic pact; that is, if it was followed, as it must be, by a mediterranean and pacific pact. “in fact, if european dominance or the rule of--" he had paused there and had not added, “the white race,” as logically he would have had he not become conscious of the colored faces before him. curious, the thought struck him, how colonials and asiatics and africans were crowding into the universities since the war. well, it was a tribute to civilization and to the white peoples. . . . it was here that adelbert left. what the professor had been saying seemed to him pure poppycock. in fact, education as it was called in the world and as it unfolded itself around him, was becoming increasingly distasteful. he was short and slight, with a face of dark chestnut brown and hair long and curled. his features were straight and sharp and his eyes black and glowing. he was well but carelessly dressed and had an air of being used to good living which brought waiters scurrying as he lounged over to a corner of the café. he had but one arm. "what rot!" said a companion who joined him, a young english- man. “what's the old buffer driving at? the same old slop, europe is civilization!” “brittania rules the waves,” added adelbert. "the idea dies hard.” "it does; but it dies. it must die willingly or be killed.” adelbert looked up lazily. "haven't we had enough killing?" “not of ideas. there a massacre is still due." “i wonder. ideas don't need violent killing. all they need is slow starvation-forgetfulness, oblivion.” "and how soon this side of never-never-land will that take place, so long as our schools are dominated by anachronisms like this fossil?" “that's what gets me. i'm wondering how much more of what is called 'education' i need or can use,” said adelbert. "you see, my father was hipped on 'higher education.' to avoid argument, i went to my grandfather's college in georgia. i did it to escape a northern college-for reasons you wouldn't understand.” worlds of color "perhaps i do,” said the englishman calmly. then he paused. he wanted to hear the story of this somewhat arrogant but reticent young colored man who seldom spoke of himself. now, the eng- young c was eager to hted a cigarette before going adelbert paused, lighted a cigarette, and watched two passing girls, who glanced responsively his way before going on. then he continued. "well, yes, of course you know our famous 'color line.' it hit me pretty hard. as a child, my intriguing father got me placed in suburban schools with well-to-do whites. they, or most of them, had little or no background of race discrimination and i had almost no color consciousness. we played and studied together, visited each other's homes. we were conscious only of good companion- ship. of course, now and then the outer world intruded. once we came to blows over a football match with another school when i was refused entrance to the shower. we practically tore the plumbing out. there were also one or two girl episodes which were embarrassing; but in those years i cared nothing for girls. “well, i insisted on changing to a high school which despite the law was confined to negroes. i liked it that way and determined that if i must go to college i would go where i would find the com- plete race segregation of the south. my grandfather was head of such a college and there i went. i liked the people and the work. but i came to realize that in my native land i was destined forever to be a pariah, an outsider, a 'nigger.' i was wild to escape the color line. i did. how? i was drafted in the filthy korean war. i lost my arm and my soul. and i saw the world. my god! what is it? have you found out?" the englishman slowly re-lit his pipe and got it going. “no, i have not, but i'm groping. sometimes i think i descry a faint glimmer in the darkness. the center of the world is undoubtedly moving east. we must move with it-in thought certainly, if not body. the trouble is--" he paused. “the trouble is," added adelbert, “that the human beast even in the east is not attractive." the englishman shifted uneasily. he said, “of course in time- “and time,” added adelbert, suddenly feeling the weight of his adelbert mansart and jackie carmichael twenty-two years, “is not something we have in unlimited quan. tities." "which reduces itself to the pressing necessity of finding what to do with what little we have.” "or with chucking the job entirely and having another pernod.” “no, no, not that,” began the englishman. but adelbert had already risen and beckoned to the waiter. he started off, waving a careless good-bye. crossing the boul' mich' he entered the luxembourg gardens and sauntered down one of its ornate flower-lined paths. he found a chair and for a long time stared at the dark gray façade of the palace. its columns held an answer attempted two hundred years ago-beauty and gracious life built on toil and misery. he saw a lady emerging between the portals, coiffured and curled, groomed and painted and dressed with an elegance distilled from the rags and disease of a thousand beggars, a chain of pearls about her neck, pearls which were the nodules of syphilis. so what, he thought. had we bettered this? not a whit. we had moved our poverty and misery out of sight of fastidious eyes and simply stored it far away in africa and asia and the islands of the sea "where every prospect pleases, and only man is vile!" the number of rich and well-to-do living on human misery, thought adelbert, is far greater than it was in . here now walks a paris girl of the better class-a hundred chi- nese coolies starved to give her stockings. how many australian black men sweated to make her skirt? that leather belt around her slender waist-it must have brought tuberculosis and hunger to how many shacks among the gauchos of the argentine? and her scanty, delicate underwear, wasn't it wrought in the mills of carolina by children working through the night? who put that jewelled wedding ring on her finger but a million black african families torn asunder and scattered in thousands of dank, dark mines. what she will eat at noon, peoples, races and nations plant, tend and send abroad while their own children starve. this is the french empire! this is merrie england! this is god's country-america- land of the free! he arose angrily from his seat and swung out on the rue vaugi- rard where, pausing for traffic, his eyes caught an old poster: "con- gres mondial de la paix." he stopped to admire picasso's dove, adelbert mansart and jackie carmichael they remained talking and arguing until sunset, then parted with promises to meet again soon. adelbert had hitherto hesitated about associating himself too much with the african blacks because he regarded herding simply on the basis of skin color as silly. he had no “race pride,” only "human" pride as he expressed it, and indeed it was not quite that -rather pride of individuality and of interests based on like indi- vidual tastes and outlook. and yet, in this worldwide movement there had arisen a new thing-here was a common human cause, peace. here were human beings of every variety, united to secure life when life was threatened by annihilation and the frightful deformations of war. this common cause made him feel a kin- ship for such folk greater than any bond he could feel for negroes as such. perhaps in the time of his grandfather, negroes as slaves or as new freedmen had some mystic bond of “race” that made them one. but now? except for a certain similarity of color, what had his father in common with a mississippi field-hand? barring that color, his father was a white american making money, buying votes, using “influence" as other chicagoans did. now, in africa ..." he suddenly became conscious of the woman. it was, he was sure, the same asiatic woman whom he and d'arboussier had seen two hours ago. he dimly remembered seeing her as he turned from the rue vaugirard toward his lodging on a narrow street which led off to the right. she had followed him, or at least seemed to, until he started to turn. then, under the street light he met her face to face and was startled. at first he thought she was the lady from viet-nam pictured in the press as hurling fiery words at the peace congress. then he saw she was not; but she had the same doll-like fragility, the same small exquisite feet and hands. she was younger but not young. her face was comely, not beauti- ful, but strong and set and there were deep lines carved upon it. coming swiftly around the corner she was upon him before she could stop. she paused, drew back with an almost snake-like quiver, stiffened and looked him unblinking in the eye. although she was rare in look and race, he thought he knew her kind, and raised his hat easily. she walked straight toward him and passed him without a word or gesture, disappearing silently around the corner. he was puzzled; was it that he did not look rich enough to be her quarry or had she mistaken him for another? if the worlds of color latter was the case, he was glad he was not in that other's shoes, there was something like murder in her face. he forgot her and climbed wearily up to his room. next morning he came to two conclusions, on one of which he wrote his grandfather: “dear granddad: “it's no use. i can't stick it. i don't like study; i don't like universities. i don't like life. i have an experiment in mind. if it turns out to be feasible i'm off on my own. if it fails or does not continue to attract me (which is the same thing), i may come crawling back home. i may not. so long." president mansart was worried about adelbert's letter and im- mediately sent it on to his son revels. judge revels received it in the same mail with a communication from betty carmichael, in springfield. he had not heard from the carmichaels in some time, but understood they were getting on quite well. he knew that young jackie had graduated from high school and then attended college at yale. the judge's wife somehow had gathered that jackie was going to marry a white classmate in springfield, but they had no definite word of this. jack, the father, was now a man of thirty-four and the judge was curious to learn how he had turned out and what he was doing. betty came down from springfield to talk to her relatives. "we are doing well in everything, i suppose, that really matters, and yet there are clouds. jack has his job in the factory and with the war work, he earns over five thousand a year. however, the fac- tory is threatening to move south, where it can have cheap land, unorganized labor, low taxes and even some free capital furnished by the city and state. this is making the unions anxious but nothing has happened yet, except what unions in war work must fear, and that is, peace. my nursing has gone well; i am in a new research laboratory with interesting work and good pay. we have a lovely home, a car and a servant.” nevertheless, she was worried. jackie had graduted from yale in with a good record. since high school he had been engaged to a pretty white classmate of irish descent, a catholic in religion. there were difficulties at first. but jackie had many catholic adelbert mansart and jackie carmichael friends and betty had nursed the girl's mother through a dangerous illness, and all were at least resigned to this inter-racial marriage. “while jackie was in college, i noticed that matters were not going smoothly between the pair, and before his graduation the engagement was quietly broken although jackie insisted that they still remained good friends. i am not, as you know, wild about our men marrying white girls, but if the couple are compatible, i see no reason in mere color of skin for it not to take place. “but this was broken off without consultation with me. then jackie went west to a technical school for post-graduate work. we saw nothing of him and he seldom wrote. jackie's college record, at least temporarily, secured him exemption from military service. after graduation he worked in electronics and physics. he was studying and working hard, summer as well as term time, and was earning enough to pay his own expenses. he was also interested in bio-chemistry and nuclear physics. "i planned several times to go out and see him but he or i were always too busy. yesterday, like a bolt from the blue, came a wire saying that jackie is married and leaving for work in-of all places–mississippi! moreover, because time presses he wants to have a wedding reception here in your apartment-next tuesday. he says he won't have time to come to springfield. i don't know what to make of all this. is it pique at being jilted by a white girl? is his wife white or colored? and who in god's name ever heard of an educated young negro settling in mississippi? i hardly know what to ask in regard to this self-invited reception.” the judge smiled, and lighted another cigar. “the white south has always argued that equal rights to negroes would be the straight road to intermarriage. we protested but the south was right." “but,” said betty, "i always thought that our pride of race, our memories of the past, would so bind us into a self-respecting group that cases of intermarriage would be few until the day when nobody cared.” “and yet, in the face of this we want to meet-indeed we must meet and know-our white neighbors. we live beside them if we can afford to or are not kept away by law or force. we push our children into schools with white children, and we must if we want them well educated. take jackie. in the rural south, he had adelbert mansart and jackie carmichael showing signs of refusing further to follow the rule of reaction- ary north american investors working in the name of the church. catholic labor in the united states stopped in its tracks the at- tempt of the catholic hierarchy of new york to fight union labor in the cemeteries of brooklyn. yes, and one day catholics will repudiate budenz and his kind; they will refuse to let liars teach morals in a catholic university." the bell rang and jack carmichael entered. he had just ar- rived from springfield. not yet middle-aged, he was already slightly grey and solemn in mien. he did not join in the talk but listened seriously. after dinner they relaxed in the library and waited. it was nearly nine at night when the bell rang and mrs. mansart opened the apartment door. jackie and his wife stood there. jackie, a big, husky, cream-colored man, vibrant with life and faith, strode in like a fresh breeze-but one foreshadowing a whirlwind. “i expect you do not remember me, sir? i am the grandson of your mother's youngest sister. you remember how your father helped my father settle in south georgia? oh, hello, mom. hello, dad!” mansart remembered only too well. how vainly his father had dreamed of negro farms in the south leading the dark millions to freedom! and now they were heading by the hundreds of thou- sands to the greater freedom of harlem and chicago's south side. beside jackie stood a woman nearly as tall as he, well-propor- tioned, with a brilliant dark brown skin and long black hair. she was simply but tastefully dressed and one saw at a glance that she was reserved and intelligent. her manner and bearing remained calm even in a situation which could not but be trying to her and her ease and perfect poise dominated the scene. betty stared open- mouthed-it required a desperate effort to find a few words of greeting. mrs. mansart came forward with some conventional phrases which she knew sounded stilted and empty. the judge simply reached out both hands. the bride smiled graciously, then leaning forward, kissed betty lightly on the forehead. "jackie has talked so much of his mother,” she murmured. mrs. mansart kissed her and jack took her unconventionally in his arms. she smiled gratefully at him and then turning slowly to the judge began to speak. she spoke a clear musical, distinctly worlds of color enunciated english, which had a slight accent and yet was in no way foreign "you must forgive us, judge mansart, for this unwarranted in- trusion. it was entirely my fault. you see, i am the granddaughter of hiram revels, once senator from mississippi, after whom you are named. from childhood i have been eager to meet you. nearly all my family are dead and you seemed more than a relative. american? of course i am. i was trained at alcorn and then at sixteen went to denmark, whence i returned only three years ago. i am thirty-two,” she added. by this time the group had thawed and soon jackie was talking. "ann," he explained, “mother is still bursting with that broken engagement in springfield. you see, mom, kate was a nice girl. i think she was the prettiest thing i ever saw on that commencement night. of course we ran into all sorts of difficulties, but we were madly in love. but then, while i was in college i began to think. trouble was about what we were going to do when we lived to- gether. kate was american-much more american than most americans. she had not the slightest interest in ireland. she wanted a beautiful home, a big car, servants and good ones, clothes in plenty and a good time. she had a heavenly love of pleasure; her laugh was divine. all this i liked. i think too i could have earned enough money to carry it out. but after that, what? “this matter of inter-racial marriage bothers me. we may look at it as a way of settling the race problem by letting the negro race gradually be absorbed into the white and thus disappear in america. i think mom sees it this way. that means that all which the negro as such had to contribute to this country would be lost. i don't believe in race pride, as we call it, but our contribution rests on our experience and memories, our suffering, our music and laughter. this is impotrant. it is a massive bundle of human his- tory from which the world can learn and be guided. then too this disappearance by absorption would mean the death of negro women; the negro men for the most part would marry whites; the negro women would languish as spinsters and lonesome, bitter out- siders. this would be a terrible loss. no people can lose their womanhood and survive. “then, too, contrary to the current american philosophy, mar- adelbert mansart and jackie carmichael riage is not mainly and cannot be entirely sex. marriage is friend- ship and cooperation in work. this nation is striving madly to make sex appear as the only real life and the result is divorce, broken homes, deserted children and nasty orgies with alcoholic and drug stimulants. i know this because i've watched and thought of women now for ten years. i saw college life continually ruined by absorption in sex. i saw human intercourse diverted into sex. and in contradiction, children, instead of becoming cherished and planned for, became more and more neglected, mis educated or lost in abortion. so i gave up the idea of kate. we loved each other but it was an attraction of sex, not of ideal and work. it was the lure of the unusual. more and more kate craved ex- citement. she loved gambling-you should have seen her at a horse race—and could she drink whiskey! when i met ann, there was something different. i was drawn to her not because she was brown-although that made it easier-but because we wanted the same things, remembered the same things, and were trained to do the same work, and that work we thought of supreme im- portance. “then comes the thought of the indians—the forgotten, disinherited, murdered, and debauched american indians. you see ann is part indian. her father married into that indian tribe that still lives out on long island. i knew nothing of indians until ann taught me. here in the united states, slowly, inevit- ably the indians are disappearing into mere americans, without enriching america or saving their own souls and culture, which deserve saving. but indians survive. in central and south america are a hundred million or more people who are pre- dominantly of ancient indian blood. that blood and culture has swallowed spaniard and portuguese, italian and jew, and with negro blood it will give south america a new civilization which the world will hail. the united states, helped by white europe, now. dominates and exploits these millions and keeps them in slavery with the connivance of indian traitors, rich and ambitious. but change is coming, precipitate and complete change. ann and i await that change with enthusiasm. we seek other negroes to work and wait beside us. i suppose all this is a sort of egocentric, spiritual nationalism which the world today fears. yet, for us it is self defense, a determination that worlds of color the judge read: “dear mr. president: “there has come into my hands-and i have just read- the report of the women's international commission for the investigation of atrocities committed by u.s.a. and syng- man rhee troops in korea. "mr. president, i have never, in my forty years of life, been so shocked and horrified as i was today upon reading this documentary report of the utter depravity of the sex- crazed troops under our command in korea “... hospital patients burned to death from incen- diary bomb fires . . . mothers and children killed ... systematic machine-gunning of civilians trying to extinguish fires ... children machine-gunned from low-flying planes while running from burning homes . . . hospitals, tram- cars, bridges, water systems blown up ... women and girls “caught" on the streets and taken to army brothels ... a native beaten by the americans because he hid his wife from them ... the americans led her naked through the streets . . . north korean prisoners of war put into a field, petrol poured on them, set afire and burned alive ... moun- tain forests destroyed by american incendiary bombs... imprisoned women beaten by americans, raped ... vic- tims killed by american cartridges exploded in their mouths ... in king won alone , women raped by american and rhee troops ... chased into rice field, violated, shot... : “how long, how long, oh mighty president, must this bleeding, killing, murdering, torturing, destroying, maiming, this infanticide, homicide, genocide—this travesty on justice -continue? “america's 'leaders'-by their own definition in world war ii-are making themselves war criminals, perpetrators of dastardly crimes against humanity for which they may yet be made to pay with their lives by an enraged world opinion. "at the head of that parade of the despised clique of fanatical 'anti-communists' and would-be atomic annihilators of life on earth and destroyers of the civilization which took millions of man-years to create, will march-in chains, per- haps—the one man who could have stopped it all but didn't-harry s truman, unless . . . unless you do some- adelbert mansart and jackie carmichael thing tangible and effective immediately before it is too late. “if that day comes, mr. president, you can contemplate in retrospect a certain longish -page letter dated wednesday, september th, , in which the 'terrible end' was ‘prophesied' by a little-known, now-dead-and-gone-and-forgot- ten, little nobody who signed herself, "pleadingly yours, vena.” worlds of color at first tempted him not to speak. but they both turned at the same time. she showed no trace of coquetry as she said, “the other night i mistook you for another. you are very like in build, and he used to live near." he smiled. “i am glad i wasn't he,” he said. “so am i,” she answered coldly, with no trace of a smile. she did not enlarge further and as they sat down she returned to her thesis. she was sure that the western laborer had sold his political power for comfort and mechanical luxury, then had turned soldier to conquer and enslave the colored masses for more power. adel- bert insisted that the colored folk, too, would under similar circum- stances yield to the same temptation. she was silent and her slender arms, tensed under her mental earnestness, fell to her lap, the wide sleeves falling back. then, for the first time, he noticed. he had heard of it, had even seen the scars on coarse, hairy arms. but here, on a wrist that might have belonged to a child, were the tatooed numbers of the concen- tration camp- , . he stared down and then took her hand gently in his. the beginnings of tears started in his eyes-he felt so utterly anguished that he had no words. she let his hand lay on hers for a space, then said: “you see, i was educated in france. when the war came, of course, i helped the partisans and was-betrayed. they took me to germany." he wanted to know everything, to ask about all that happened to her but could not; nor did she offer to tell. she arose at last and looked into his eyes with something nearer to a smile than he had ever seen. “goodbye,” she said with a certain finality. “trust the people!" and she was gone. he suddenly realized that he did not even know her name. adelbert never forgot the ordeal of decision he experienced in the next week. his grandfather had written pleadingly: "don't be crazy. please come home!" he would have every chance-his father had money-more perhaps that adelbert thought. he had influence. “don't be a fool!” there was more in the letter; but to adelbert all was too clear-nobody in america wanted or needed him. the handful of leading negroes were getting rich-the back to africa mass of poor negroes were getting poorer. all that the leaders aspired to was to be like white americans-wealthy, loud, swagger- ing. yes, he could be one of them. but then what? he did not have to swagger and boast-he was perfectly sure of himself and of his worth. he was not concerned about what other americans or other negroes thought. but he did want something worthwhile, something meaningful to do-some vast chance on which to risk a life. he began to feel he had found it. of course, he was not sure-could anybody be sure of anything in this damned world? but why not take a chance? throw all to the winds and try africa? he leaped up and grabbing his suitcases, began to pack. he had just piled his fresh clothes on the sofa and was kneeling over his largest valise when the door opened softly and quickly closed. he turned-the viet-namese woman stood there. her robe was torn, a bloody knife was in her hand and her face was pale as death. she stared at him. “you!" she gasped, and staggered a moment. he started toward her but she stiffened and touched her lips with a finger. he heard a commotion in the hall. there was a peremp- tory knock on the door. without a word he turned and, pushing her on the sofa, threw a pile of clothes over her; she was so fragile that the addition scarcely showed. he quickly turned the blood- smeared doormat and said gruffly: “entrez!” busying himself with the bags and scarcely looking up. "monsieur,” said the polite paris gendarme, “i believe a woman just entered your room.” adebert turned casually and the police officer noted his fine linen shirt and tailored trousers. “sir,” he said as he brushed off his hands and lighted a cigarette, "a lady left at six this morning. she has neither returned nor been replaced. i was expecting that damned concierge to help with these bags, and thought it was he when you knocked. did you happen to see him?" "i did not, sir. but pardon me, a dangerous murderess has escaped and is in this house. would you permit me, sir, to look through your apartment?” "with pleasure, sir, only don't disturb my things. i've been up half the night arranging them.” the policemen searched the bedroom, the little bathroom, the oaken armoire; he looked under the bed and behind doors. puzzled, he profusely begged pardon and hastened away, bowing politely as he hacked out of the door. worlds of color the bundle of clothes did not move, did not even tremble. when adelbert lifted them the woman, stained with blood, lay still as death. he was seized with panic. quickly filling the bath with warm water, he lifted the little body, stripped off the torn clothes and lowered her into the water, rubbing her body gently and massaging her temples, cheeks and neck. she lay like a golden idol, infinitely beautiful, of perfect form. he was sure she was dead and for a moment was horrified at the predicament he would be in. then he thought he detected a faint pulse beat. he opened a bottle of cognac and poured a few drops between her lips. she stirred slightly as he lifted her in his arms and placed her on his bed, covering her warmly and stroking her forehead and temples with gentle hands. then he poured a few more drops of liquor into her mouth until at long last she was sleeping gently, her heart beating regularly. he turned to gather up and destroy her clothes. suddenly, as he gazed down on the torn and blood-smeared garment, the full horror of the situation dawned on him. neither squeamish nor given to nerves, adelbert was no stranger to death and murder. death-if sudden and violent-was news even in chicago; in korea, it seemed to him, he had seen nothing but death. war was mur- der and murder was war. it made the world dirty. and here it had touched with tainted hand this lovely wisp of a woman who had affected him somehow as no woman ever had before. she was beautiful, yes, but not innocent-she had deliberately transgressed the commandment: “thou shalt not kill." he stood up slowly. he made a bundle, as small as possible, of all the blood-stained things. carefully he climbed the attic stairs-paused and looked around. there was a policeman on the roof. he returned, left the bundle hidden among his packed clothes, then sat down to think. he must see d'arboussier. he started for the door and paused. he tiptoed to the bed. it was after midnight. she was still asleep, breathing regularly but faintly. he started to make himself a bed on the floor. then alarm seized him again. suppose she should die in the night? he partially undressed, lay down beside her on the bed and enfolded her gently in his arms. thus they slept. he awoke with a tremor. he felt her slight body nestled against him. but though her eyes were closed, he knew she was no longer essed, lay dopose she showbed on the thing regu back to africa yet to accept the slaughter of masses of people. it is perhaps the greatest anomaly of the twentieth century-an infinite contradic- tion. it is more than wrong. masses of men are never guilty. the victims of hiroshima were not guilty of wrong. those who dropped that bomb were murderers. we build monuments and cast medals for men who kill indiscriminately in wars we call ‘glorious, yet condemn to shame the man who strangles his daughter's seducer. "we, in viet-nam, arose and took back the country which for- eigners had stolen. france fought by murder, torture and starva- tion, helped by england and america. we fought on. "while studying in paris in , before the war, i met our great leader, ho minh. i acted as his secretary while he was ne- gotiating with the government for our freedom. it was then we met eboué, just summoned home from his governorship of guade- loupe. we knew what he had done for the workers, their homes and wages. we sought his help and sympathy. he promised aid. he believed in france, but france did not believe in him. he re- fused to be a tool of mandel and as punishment was sent to africa. but he was glad. he had already served there five years. he as- sured us of his help and of the good faith of france. he knows better now. "during the war, i tried to help that part of france which re- sisted germany, and could surely sympathize with viet-nam. i was right. but the crime and criminal appeared in our ranks. spies and traitors appeared to sell us to our murderers and traducers. was there the slightest doubt of their guilt? were they not worthy to die? must they not be killed if viet-nam was ever to live? "one there was-i knew him well; tall for our land, handsome, educated, gifted. we were in school together in my land and met again studying in paris. we were in love and planned to marry. but he went with pétain, i with the resistance. for a time, phan hu pretended he was still on our side, but spying on vichy. in this way, he betrayed me to the nazis." adelbert tried to take her tattooed hand in his, but she with- drew it gently. "no," she said. “i did not kill him for that. i would not murder just for myself. but when i learned that he was planning to restore control of france over my country by means of a degenerate puppet prince who was gambling at monte carlo; and that his were the brains engineering this plot, i knew phan hu worlds of color must die; not because personally i hated and despised him but because he was leading the traitors of my land. “i gave up my education. i gave up my state scholarship. gave up my profession of medicine. i became the hand of god and of my country to remove a man worse than a murderer. i stalked him a year; that is how i first met you, mistaking you for him. last night i found him. i killed him. my work is finished. what happens to me now is of no account. least of all, my friend, would i have you stain your hands with a crime in which you had no will. ing or conscious share. i want to go now and surrender to the french police. i would have done so last night but it might have involved you." she started to rise when there came a knock at the door. they paused and stared at each other. then quickly, before he could prevent it, she opened the door. d'arboussier stood there. they were silent. “may i enter?” he asked, smiling. they came to life and grasped his hands. he bowed, kissed the hands of the lady and murmured, "god bless you, dao thu; you have served well!" he listened to what had happened, then said, “now for your escape!” she shook her head in despair but before she could say a word, again came a knock at the door. adelbert almost lifted her bodily and carried her into the bedroom. d'arboussier calmly opened the door. a telegraph boy stood there with a blue message for adel- bert. d'arboussier paid for it, then burst into laughter. “boy,” he said, "where'd you buy that uniform?” the boy, somewhat taken aback, answered suspiciously. but d'arboussier continued smoothly. "we want to play a joke on a friend-send him a telegram by the hand of his own sweetheart disguised as a messenger. how about lending us your suit for an hour. it's worth-oh, what's the difference-here's a thousand francs.” the boy hesitated. another thousand franc note appeared and the boy quickly shed his suit. in a minute or so dao thu, dressed as a telegraph boy, was accompanying d'arboussier to his auto, while the stripped messenger lounged about in adelbert's room until dusk when, wearing an old suit of adelbert's, he left under the back to africa sharp scrutiny of the concierge—but with three thousand francs in his pocket. it was not until he left that adelbert, whose thoughts were all of dao thu, suddenly remembered the message. it was a cable- gram from his father, saying “grandfather very ill. he wants to see you. come immediately.” it held a draft for a thousand dol- lars. adelbert liked his grandfather. he had always seemed to him a nice old man, perhaps a bit too anxious to be accommodating to the world, shrewd but honest. his father sometimes criticized him as an uncle tom, but he, too, had a good deal of respect for him. now when it came to returning to america for the old man's funeral, adelbert had not the slightest idea of doing such a thing. it was useless ancestor worship and he'd have none of it. moreover, he felt he had to see dao thu again, that until he did so he would not re-order his life-as he was firmly determined to do. it was a week before he received a letter from d'arboussier, at marseilles, urgently inviting him to attend a meeting of persons interested in the future of africa. without hesitation, adelbert packed his belongings and took the train south. he rode slowly down the valey of the rhone. unable to get near the buffet at dijon because of the crowd, he was ravenously hungry by the time he finally was served a meal in the wagon-restaurant between avignon and marseilles. yet, he found it a rewarding journey as his train pounded past vineyards and ancient churches, leaving in his mind memories of dissident popes, roman ruins and frederick barbarossa. he climbed to a castle of provence, encircling the knife edge of a ridge, above the blue and isle-dotted sea. he threaded nar- row, tortuous streets, clean and filled with workers, children, stray cats and dogs. he passed along high walls with great square tow- ers, narrowly slitted, enclosing courts with pleasaunces where a thousand years ago gay princes and their ladies must have laughed at the world-where now are these smiles of yesteryear? the vast castle grounds, once flowered and turfed, were now covered with dark cypress and lime. the enemy without was no longer the barbarians from the north, but sullen toilers in fields of the plain below these walls, peasants full of envy and resent- ment, frowning today, as their descendants did through the cen- back to africa alongside the seven millions of the anglo-egyptian sudan; the nine millions of the belgian congo, speaking the same tongues, allied to the same bantu races; british west africa, the greatest center of african nationalism, where nkrumah was building an independent black nation. beyond these and in their sphere of influence lay ethiopia and uganda, with native ruling dynasties; and kenya, where the white land thieves ruled and where jomo kenyatta was leading revolution. and still beyond, lay the hell of the rhodesias and south africa, with twelve or more millions who had more to fight for than any other people on earth. “and you aim to raise africa against all its mighty oppressors?” asked adelbert. “not at all,” several replied. “we aim to make africans sup- port and work for themselves as the chinese are beginning to do. united, conscious and determined to do this, none can make them do aught else. we want to make the workers of france, and eventually the workers of the world, realize that here in africa -and today-are forged the chains of their continued bondage, the bondage of poverty, of land theft, of monopoly of raw mate- rials, of machine regimentation, of chained thought and domi- nated education, of slave labor cheaper than the cheapest. "here it is that the englishman, determined to regrasp his lost dominion; france, set to recapture the taste and fashion of the world; america, determined to outdo the universe in power and control-right here in africa-and today-the great exploitation to restore the pre-war imperialism of the european white world has begun, and right here and now in its beginnings it must be met and thwarted-or the dark age descends on civilization.” “we have already begun,” added d'arboussier, “and we want your help. dao, the most gifted organizer in the world today must go to africa to get home if she ever reaches home or," he paused significantly, “or ever wishes to. for her to enter french colonial africa, she must marry a colonial official. and you, adelbert mansart, have been commissioned as a french colonial civil servant, provided you accept and surrender your american citizenship." adelbert did not need to pause for consideration. with barely conscious impulse he arose and crossed over to dao's side. “we accept,” he said for both. worlds of color why should he hesitate? what was there to hesitate about? he knew from his own experience, from everything he had been reading for years, from what americans had bluntly said in his hearing. . to a large part of white america the colored world was dirt-useful, but not human. to most americans a free and equal china was simply in- conceivable. the chinese were and always had been good, humble workers who could be kicked and cuffed and who would never be anything else. if, therefore, there had come a revolu- tionary change in their government it must be the result of some kind of conspiracy or accident, of betrayal by americans of american business, or perhaps of a political blunder which would soon be remedied. they therefore awaited-with impatience but with certainty-for the collapse of chinese communism just as they had waited for years for the collapse of soviet communism. the longer this collapse was deferred, the more angry they were at the traitors in america who had cut them off from so rich a source of profit. , toward africa their attitude was even clearer. there was not the slightest chance in the world that africans would ever really govern themselves or work for their own benefit. they were fated to be serfs of white men. the ridiculous pretense of the black folk of the gold coast, nigeria, the congo to set up independent governments, the absurd shadow of revolt smolder- ing in south africa, the horrible crimes of resistance of the mau mau in kenya-all this proved what the future of africa would be unless america took firm control. the dangerous task of escape from france to colonial africa confronted dao and adelbert. alone he could go freely, by way of algiers or morocco, to bamako and timbuctoo, across the ancient trails of the vast desert. but dao? a woman, a confessed murderer on whose head lay a fortune in reward? adelbert raised the question of funds; there seemed no difficulty there. when he offered his thousand dollars, dao looked at him strangely then laid on the table a fortune in jewels and gold and silver ornaments. "these are yours,” she said to d'arboussier. "if i go to africa, it will be in complete poverty. is it not so with you?" she asked, turning to adelbert. the sanctuary of marriage and especially the press-the voluble, all-knowing daily papers said almost nothing about the strike. the nation, the state, even the main population outside the city got no news of this struggle. jean finally staggered aboard a midnight train and rode to de- troit, simply because that happened to be the train's destination. it was in a cheap boarding house a week later that, reading the morning paper, she saw the advertisement. one of the smaller colleges of the many colleges of ohio wanted a teacher of the social sciences for the summer. she applied. the dean was impressed by her graduation from radcliffe and the doctorate from chicago; but uncertain because of her recent work for a labor union and her former teaching in a college for negroes. correspondence with president mansart, however, would be sure to furnish a recommendation. jean wrote to him and explained. after the first interview the dean was still uncertain. "the woman says she is only , but she looks old and frail; her hair is turning grey; she is feeble, in fact. yet there is something about her that intrigues me.” “she has personality,” her assistant answered. “could we not try her for the summer semester? it's so hard to get anyone to teach the social sciences now, and this woman has had experience, even if it was in one of those negro colleges in the south." "all right," said the dean. but she still had her doubts. the work progressed quite well for four of the six weeks. but the pace was swift and the work grueling. the summer students were for the most part grim and verging on middle age-there was none of the resiliency of youth. one day in the classroom jean du bignon sat facing her class. a little uncertain and with her mind wandering, she looked at them, and they did not look at all familiar to her until she saw a brown face at the back of the class. she did not look at him but she was conscious of him all the time and being conscious, her words became more connected and her thoughts clearer. she said: “you know, we sociologists—and i hope i do not have to apologize for the name-for a long time were a little ashamed of our statistical methods, our 'probabilities,' our frank or per- haps not so frank, acknowledgement of chance when we wanted certainty-that good old certainty of the th century when we worlds of color knew everything or could know it-given a little more time for measurement and examination of matters measurable. "today this attitude seems changing. we are depending on statistics and probabilities not only for the deeds of human be- ings, but also for the physical world—the world of atoms, the world of biology and of psychology. we have come down from our high horse of measured certainty to the business of collecting with infinite pain the facts, and coming to possibilities and proba- bilities as to the real conclusions of science. in fact,” said jean almost laughing, "we have opened the doors to our old friends, chance and free will.” a voice came out of the back of the room. “and god?” "well, at any rate,” said jean reflectively, “and gods. there may be a considerable number of minds contributing to change the course of history and social development." "would you say,” asked someone else, "about ten such gods- or minds-or ten million?” "something in between these extremes, i would say. not everyone really makes decisive choices. such choices are not made every day. but from adult and disciplined and sane people come numbers of such important decisions; and in the aggregate they may constitute an historically decisive social force." “and,” asked a girl,"would you make the number of sane people large or moderate?” jean's eyes became vague and she almost forgot the class. she looked first through the window and then seemingly through the walls and out over the earth. “sanity,” she said, “after all, is a comparative thing. what i am about to say may seem a little insane to you, but what insanity is to a few or to a time or to a place may in the larger world be the reality of a greater sanity." and then, losing sense of time and place, she began to talk rapidly. “there is not only the energy within the atom; there is not only the vast mystery of the cosmic rays from the outer world. this world must reach into a world beyond-with its flames and leaders. i seem to see a white flame lighting up the north, with hitler and bismarck, wagner and freud, a flame that blazes furi- ously then droops and dies; behind comes the flaming tri-color of the sanctuary of marriage the boastful west, with napoleon and mussolini in front and washington and churchill in the rear. “and then, rising in the east to light up the sky, the red flame of lenin and pushkin, buddha and sun yat-sen, and the dazzling black flame of the south-the black flame of tarharqua and askia, toussaint and lobengula. that flame of the north, with its thin paleness, will fail; and spengler has told us how the flame of the west is declining. but that of the east, as we can see, is growing, growing. oh, few of you know as i know what the black flame of the south will bring. "away down there in the antarctic, at the end of the world, we have been building an ice palace. nothing the world has seen is of such size. the inches of the pyramids have been yards in this massive and gigantic building; the empire state building is a mere pilaster. the building already looms so that at the end of the globe the earth soon will lurch, and swinging outward into the barriers of the stars lay open a universe with no assump- tions of space nor hypotheses of time. “and then between the pillars of the universe, looming from highest heaven to lowest hell, will appear again the black flame.” her head sank upon the desk and the students stared, and then moved uneasily. "i think the old girl has gone crazy," said one. “either that or she has seen a vision,” said aonther. “do you think we ought to let the dean know?" “my god, is she dead?” cried the brown boy, leaping up. jean opened her eyes slowly. she somehow felt more rested than she had for a long time past, longer than she could remem- ber. she looked out on a green and lovely yard, the window framing hollyhocks and sunflowers, roses and geraniums; vines climbed over an old stone wall and trees here and there rustled in the gentle breeze. a startling thought flitted through jean's mind-she might be dead and forever at rest. then quickly she drew her dreams back and looked about the room: white and blue, with only a few pieces of furniture. one picture hung on the wall- what was it? she half rose and a nurse appeared. "i think you will enjoy a bit of lunch," she said as she set down the tray. jean's questions elicited the information that she the sanctuary of marriage it was a good world and they loved it, and especially they loved each other with deep and abiding affection. they came to a valley among mighty mountains. it was a glorious morning. the sky was glass-the wind a whisper. like solemn sentinels on either side stood enormous trees, brown as dried blood and tall as heaven-trees that were living when christ was born. beyond and above them loomed a domed mass of piled granite, already old when homer sang-even perhaps when the morning stars sang together and the sons of god shouted for joy. and far below and between, surged and sinuously swayed the silver, swinging mist of living waters, plunging, singing, roaring, curling in the golden sunshine. later, they lingered in san francisco, dwelling high in the hopkins hotel, whence they could scan the golden gate. together they re-lived the past and dwelt fondly on each inci- dent, each triumph and failure. they found new persons in each other, new thoughts and novel desires. california was beautiful -they talked of spending the rest of their lives here in this para- dise, yet knew even as they talked that life was stirring too strongly within them and that work called too loudly for them to contemplate complete rest-even though mansart was and jean . it was the decision of the supreme court on race segregation in public schools that aroused them. mansart gave voice to their ideas. “so, the supreme court has spoken and with one voice. they are wise. they know that if, for another century, we negroes taught our children-in our own 'bettering schools, with our own trained teachers-we would never be americans but another na- tion with a new culture. but if beginning now, gradually, all american children, black and white, european, slavic and asiatic are increasingly taught as one-in one tradition and one ideal- there will emerge one race, one nation, one world. it must have been a hard choice to make-they had to surrender 'superiority' and accept eventual miscegenation. social equality would dis- place the divine right of white folk. otherwise, there loomed a world so split with hatred that it spelled suicide. “am i glad? i should be, but i am not. i dreamed too long of a great american negro race. now i can only see a great are wise. thren-in our own beric americans but anotne, u worlds of color human race. it may be best. i should indeed rejoice--" from then on began a restless probing and inquiry. what could they do in this crisis? they both had so much experience; they both were still strong. jean said, “once i conceived a great measurement. i arranged to count the deeds of a segregated group in ten states or more; year in and year out for decades; to centralize the classifying and interpreting of these facts in one place, under the direction of ex- perts whom the best judgment of nation and world could furnish and which therefore must include our own dark scholars. this plan failed. today white men, without benefit of the judgment and experience of blacks, are telling the world what black folk think and are. i wish-i still wish-_-" mansart looked up from his newspaper and scowled. "jean, dear,” he said, “what's wrong with the world? what's happening to america? i never dreamed we could act this way. spies, stool-pigeons, professional liars hired by government; theft, waste, gambling, crime. i cannot understand. i'm all at sea!" they decided it would be best, for a few months at least, to rent a cottage near the ocean, and just rest and plan. they were not surprised to run into the usual difficulty colored folk en- counter in securing even temporary shelter in a good community. at last, they obtained a short lease on a cottage in the san mateo area; it belonged to a retired professor who was glad to get the extra income to cover the cost of repairs. he himself arranged board and lodging with a neighboring merchant not far away. it proved a pleasant arrangement; the professor became a regular caller, and several neighbors accepted the newcomers when they learned they were persons of culture and would not stay long enough to depress real estate values. they continued their intensive reading and talking. the neighbors became interested in this dark man and his pale wife. most of them said little, but they listened all the more. mansart, at rest and relaxed, found himself talking more and more freely than had been his usual habit. he said one day: "i've been thinking seriously. i'm puzzled- and terribly troubled. i have lived long. i've circled the world. yet, when i look on this my native land, i am forced to ask: what have we to fear more than ourselves. we seem as men worlds of color or four of these exquisite studies appeared and then jessie fauset stopped writing at the height of her literary possibilities. "it was a shame, a deep loss. i saw her once only in passing -a small, rather plump girl, beautiful and comely, a brilliant brown, and sparkling of eye and soul. how an eighteenth cen- tury britain would have lionized her or a france of baudelaire's day! but an america of the raging twenties did not even read her few delicate poems. so, my dear, this day we'll read out of this author's there is confusion!” as time passed, on pleasant afternoons neighbors frequently dropped in at the mansarts' at tea time to sit and chat on the wide porch overlooking the sea. they had, in fact, instituted afternoon tea as a regular custom. one day, a neighbor, the retired professor, was there, and jean was pouring tea when a middle-aged woman who taught in one of the city high schools came by to borrow books on negro his- tory-a subject in which the public libraries were weak. the neighborhood grocer, who had brought her there in his station wagon along with the week's groceries, also dropped in, and a stranger, who said he was a landscape painter and who had stopped to admire the roses, then at their top brilliance, was also invited in. another neighbor, a writer, whom they knew slightly, stopped in at about the same time to borrow a match for his browning meerschaum. the talk, at first desultory and casual, soon became animated. the old professor launched into his favorite theme. “we americans are stupid and afraid. we're scared stiff, and why?" the teacher broke in with what seemed to her the most logical answer: “bad schools and growing worse; poor teachers and too few of any kind." “i never heard of so much lying and stealing as goes on today, or so much suspicion of each other," interpolated the grocer. “don't know what to believe, if anything-- the professor continued. “does anyone really believe that communism is an international conspiracy and that russia is planning to destroy us?" mansart mused. “i am more and more convinced that ameri- cans are being forced to think and act against their own real be- the sanctuary of marriage liefs by a small group of powerful men who control most of our wealth and media of communications." “now we're getting somewhere," said the old professor. "listen, there are men who hold directorships in billion-dollar corporations which control per cent of all cor- porate assets in the united states. these men are not elected to office and power by any democratic process. they are se- lected by interested parties or select themselves by their individual initiative. this oligarchy is becoming smaller in number and more powerful in its grip on industry in america and in the world. the small business man is disappearing and the artisan is pricing himself out of the market. what to do? suppose now that the wealth and legal control of industry was by law taken from this and given to the state. suppose intelligent democracy con- trolled the state and that high ideals for the good of all people activated the voters and that the men they elected to control of the state were honest and self-sacrificing-how's that for socialism without revolution?". a chorus of voices rushed to challenge this thesis, question pil- ing upon question. "would the assent to being stripped of power and without desperate fighting?" "how would the be recompensed for this theft of their * property?” "where is this 'intelligent democracy'?”. “how can we get 'honest civil servants of high ideals'?" the old professor did not answer-he smiled and slipped away. the writer sneered: “we don't even dare discuss the situation for fear of being bludgeoned with poverty if not with prison.” "only real democracy can cure this,” said the teacher. "but democracy is what we haven't got-and we're losing even what we had." jean said, “we're bribing the negroes with civil rights and hushing union labor with high wages in return for war and vot- ing rights." the painter picked a rose as he left. “the only answer is revolution!” was his parting remark. "no," said the teacher. “the answer is lawyers. we are worlds of color ruled by lawyers; lawyers make our laws, apply the laws. they nominate lawyers for judges; judges interpret the laws which the lawyers have made. we are a world of lawyers, run by lawyers, for lawyers. which explains why we are so lawless-with injustice the rule rather than the exception. small wonder revolution always aims at the courts, the judges and the lawyers.” laughing, they bid each other and their hosts good night and slowly departed. next day they were astounded to learn that the old professor had been arrested, though the charge against him was not clear. a few days later a quiet and well-dressed stranger called at the cottage and showed his badge. he was an agent of the fbi. "i was wondering,” he asked mansart politely, “if you would be willing to cooperate with the government?" "why certainly,” answered mansart, “in what way?" the agent brought out a memorandum book and took a seat. "you had a meeting here lately?” “a meeting? no, there's been no meeting--" jean interrupted. “he probably means the friends who come to tea.” “very well. will you give me their names and--" mansart arose angrily. "i certainly will not!" "then you refuse to cooperate?" "i refuse to be a stool pigeon! good day!” as jean feared, it was not long before manuel mansart was subpoenaed to testify before a congressional committee which began sitting in the pacific area. mansart was surprised but not averse to going. he could not imagine any information he had which would be of interest to these men. and he never dreamed, as jean surmised, that he would be accused of subversion and that the committee wanted confession and information. jean spoke over the long-distance phone to douglass' son-in-law, dr. stein- way, in los angeles. she also wired to revels, in new york. the appearance before the committee was brief and unbe- lievably vicious. mansart was from his very entrance treated as a convicted criminal. "were you ever in russia?” “who paid your way?". "were you ever in china?" worlds of color “now, i want you and jean to come back with me to new york. it is not as beautiful there as here, but it is safer. come and live with me and my wife. we need company. we'll talk, listen, drink and eat. we'll have a few friends in now and then. we'll go to the theater and movies and drive in the suburbs.” “in other words,” said jean, "we'll be clams." “precisely! and believe me, it's clams or death here today! and i prefer to live!” both mansart and jean said, "i wish we were as sure as you are!" death i felt i could send it off. it has now been refused by five pub- lishers and for curiously similar reasons. as far as i can see now, there is nothing further to do. "soon after we came to new york, i had a personal talk with this last publisher. it was, he said, a good novel, just as all the other publishers had assured me-only the climax. whom would my white-black girl marry and live with happily the rest of her life? she must not marry a white man—that would condone 'mis- cegenation.' she could not marry a colored man, for she was too white. yet, she must marry or where is the purpose of the novel? it was all too silly and the matter was clinched when i said, 'but i have married a negro and we're very happy.' the editor gave me a look of disgust and did not even shake hands when i left. so that is that, and here is the script. “there was one incident that i developed in the story that none of the publishers liked but which i hate to give up. do you re- member the oil marriage that was making the headlines just be- fore we left the west coast?" "oh yes, the millionairesss of seventy who married the widowed millionaire and threw a fabulous party?" "yes. well, i put it in my script; now, that party was fabu- lous but it was also uniquely american. listen, this is almost word for word as it appeared in the press: champagne will gush like the oil that's paying for it tonight at hollywood's biggest blowout of the year, the $ , mo- cambo party being tossed by newlyweds. the bridegroom is a widower and has grown children. he has oil interests in the san joaquin valley and texas. the bride is and the daughter of an oil king who at his death left her over $ , , . the couple have taken over the entire nightclub for the evening, with guests, including film stars and politicians, invited to the glittering white-tie affair. as a starter, there will be pounds of caviar, costing $ , . the club will be decorated with about $ , worth of gardenias, which will garland even the cages of the mocam- bo's famed parakeets. a horshoe of blooms will form an arbor over the entrance to the cocktail lounge. available to guests will be brands of scotch whiskey and types of bourbon. but champagne will be the featured beverage. it will spout from a fountain decorated with a wedding bell and doves of ice. death at midnight september twenty, , in the rainbow room of the rockefeller center, to hear a rescript on the future of africa and the black race. there will be in attendance african rulers, west indian officials and leaders of the negroes of the united states. our steward at the waldorf-astoria will await his ac- ceptance.' "this,” said manuel, “sounds like cheap propaganda in the guise of melodrama. i hate to waste my time." "wait,” said the judge. “this is propaganda and it is certainly theatrical. but it has power behind it. it means something. it has impressed thoughtful jews. you cannot remain ignorant of its efforts. my advice is to attend. to my mind, this is the idea of white american business aimed to dazzle africans; and their ideas have been dramatized by what czarist russian exiles still regard as the airs of high society. i doubt if it impresses africans as much as it will influence american negroes-who are ready to jump wherever white society beckons. how far will that influence sift down to the fifteen million of the black rank and file? but you must attend-you most certainly must attend." on the appointed night, the automobile with the old rabbi called promptly. the rabbi said as they rode along: “i was most eager to have you attend this meeting to which you have been invited by this so-called princess. it was originally planned to bring to new york the leaders of the african peoples to indoctrinate them against subversive movements and extend amer- ican influence among them. my son told me of the plan and i asked if you were to be invited. he said no, and intimated that you had gone radical. against his own judgment and on my insis- tence, he secured an invitation. “lately, the nature of the meeting has been changed to make it more social than political. and this society woman who has been an underground political figure and has recently married some southern millionaire–baldwin, i believe is the name-has been put in charge.” “will many africans be present?" “not as many as they hoped, but a few. west africa will be represented by asikiwe, of nigeria.” death from her long, slender neck and low cleft bosom to her bare arms her flesh was flawless marble. to her long, crimson-pointed hands, she was braceleted and ringed with a fortune in precious metal and blazing gems. her bosom, with the contrivance of wire and elastic, was built out almost too full for her long, lithe limbs which undulated beneath billowing fabric whose embroidery must have kept a hundred skilled costumers working a hundred days until now their delicate folds concealed and at the same time revealed the perfection of her form. her feet were shod in slippers of beaten gold and writhing silver. there was a studied harmony and simplicity in all her magnif- icence, and the total impression, when with a studied languor she extended her bejeweled hand to the guests, was beauty and opulence. as she entered, there was a murmur of subdued applause. some of the africans raised their hands and bowed low; the west indians bowed slightly and many of the women curtsied. the for- eigners exchanged remarks in low tones. a group of the american negroes talked in almost audible whispers from the sides of their months. "listen, who's back of this baby?” "search me-may be a phoney!" “phoneys don't hire these diggings or put on all this side.” “they might-with the right sugar daddy.” “take it from me-there's money back of this gal and you can't lose playing along. i think i know the folks in washington and new york behind all this-here she comes-boy, she sure sends me!" behind the princess, as she glided easily to her throne, she drew a train of billowing velvet which with one sinuous motion she draped about her, as half bowing in gracious condescension, she subsided into her gilded armchair. she spoke slowly and distinctly in a deep and lovely contralto voice, waving the fiery tip of an ivory cigarette holder. she welcomed by name and station the royal and chief african delegates as they gravely responded. the rest she addressed in general words; then, pointing to the great mirror behind her, she said: "i am not here alone, your highnesses, excellencies, gentlemen and ladies; nor am i your host. some of the sixty men who own worlds of color america and are the real rulers of one world are behind me, sitting back of this great mirror and seeing you clearly although you do not see them. they are modest men, in accord with american tradition among business leaders, but as you and i well know, they are the ones who act and do. they are the ones who have invited you here and you have been selected with thought and calculation." the old rabbi leaned toward mansart and whispered: “if you think the battle for socialism is won in east europe you reckon without your hostess. the landlords of poland and the shoddy aristocracy of hungary and the balkans, buttressed by religious reaction and american investment, will fight many years to regain dominion over their millions of serfs.” the princess, with a perceptible change in attitude and tone and a silght tensing of her voice, continued crisply. "you will do well to heed my words. a world crisis is upon us and it is high time that those whom you represent and others not here, under- stand perfectly what those who are and intend ever to be masters of the world, have ordained. you see, gentlemen, that i mince no words and conceal nothing. “for five hundred years the british, french and german em- pires, and lately the united states, have ruled europe, asia, africa, the seas and all america. that rule has been temporarily disturbed in some areas. it will be restored and perpetuated-of that there is no shadow of doubt in our minds and none really in yours. we are masters, because masters we were born and masters we will remain by the will of almighty god!” she was now sitting straight and arrogant,the embodiment of wealth and power. “you may have been swayed by current world gossip that american business is led by fools and criminals. very good. let us hasten to admit that the rulers of the greatest indus- trial realm the world ever saw or is likely to see, are human. if you were to look behind this mirror," she continued cynically, "you might find perhaps several sorts of men-gamblers who have taken chances and won; freebooters who, laws unto themselves, have robbed some people but used their loot for the good of all men; heirs who inherited fortunes for which they did not need to work, born as they were to the purple; merchants who, trading honestly or dishonestly, piled up untold riches; artisans and en- death gineers who used rare skills to amass and pyramid wealth. all these men are owners of wealth and power-whether they are dream- ers for the future or indulgent in drink and women, liberal or re- actionary; men who read and think or men who do not whether they are good or bad. “the point i bring you is this-they are the powerful of the earth. they rule. what i want you to do in the time that you are with us is to think of your own future under them. will you join with the white european race to help crush and beat back the crazy chinese and russian communists, help bring that world back to its normal procedures; or will you join this rebellion against established authority-this revolt against civilzation?" she paused and looked about. there was a dead silence. azikiwe raised his outstretched arms in african courtesy, but was silent. the kabaka, in his red fez and ceremonial gown, said in impeccable oxford english: “we have heard, highness, and we will consider your words.” bustamente of jamaica growled inarticulately but said nothing. then an american negro, a business man evidently chosen for the task, stepped forward and began to speak. “your highness, we want to thank you for this advice. i know the power of the white race and what it has done to help my people. i assure you that we negroes are loyal americans. we hate communism and despise communists. we ask of the white world only such recognition as we deserve and treatment as equals only for such of us as are equal. we want the right to vote and hold office when we qualify. we believe in property and private profit. we want the right to work and save and we do not believe in labor trying to compel capital to pay wages it cannot afford. we want the right to spend our wealth without discrimination, to live where we can afford and to secure public accomodations when we can pay the price. we will always be glad to defend the nation which made us citizens and which is gradually—" he suddenly paused and looked around-there was vague, elusive unease in the air. it was not a noise or an interruption, but was it neither applause nor approval. it was something that denoted that subtle disagreement, which negroes know so well how to suggest. it was then that manuel mansart spoke-without premeditation, worlds of color without design. the other speaker did not protest-he merely stopped speaking and stepped back. manuel said, “madame, permit me. for many years i hesitated, uncertain as to just what my part in this world was to be, what it should be. but now i know. now-rather suddenly-i know. we human beings are not all equal-but none are born rulers or pre- destined slaves. up from the masses of all kinds of men can and will rise the gifted and the good. and no man-no men-no force- can stop this rise. the uplift of mankind is limited neither by color, race nor descent. we do not rise by stepping on each other but with each other, helping each other, and in time the over- whelming mass of men will achieve understanding and wealth enough for all their needs, all their yearnings, for every wish, every desire. mankind, all of mankind will be strong and healthy, free of the corrupting power of greed and envy. "every industrial merger you make, every integration of mo- nopoly power, every new penetration and enlargement of market, or seizure of new sources of raw materials, is just a step to the social ownership and conduct of industry by all for all. i therefore greet that land which first enacted equality of races-russia. i'll never fight her. i hate, i detest the pretensions of the white race. they shall not continue to rule—their end is near, socialism is not creeping, it is marching, and in its triumphant march i see the end of all war. “we black folk will make a great mistake if we continue to ape white folk, whose wealth and power is based on taking from workers most of what the workers earn, and using it to amass untold power and luxury for parasites who have no right to it. socialism is the effort to render the worker owner of what he creates, and it is this which the soviet union, china and the other communist nations are trying-despite enormous difficulties and opposition-to accom- plish. they are educating, healing, strengthening, encouraging the masses of the people so that this tremendous task may be done better. if those who deride and hinder and slander this effort can do better, let them try. let them not spend their power in war and preparations for war to overthrow what these striving new nations, in blood and sweat attempt. “today, we americans, black and white, whether we work by death hand or brain, suffer from recurrent unemployment with its toll of insecurity. we fear sickness and disease, and gamble to escape it. we fear old age and steal to avert its sufferings. we need rest and recognition but cannot afford it. education is so bad and so costly that many of our children sink to crime. prices are so high, most of us cannot live decently-yet are forced to waste the little we have. “black brothers, let us never sell our high heritage for a mess of such white folks' pottagel" a dead silence had descended as mansart began to speak. when he concluded, all eyes turned to the princess. at first she showed indifference, patience, then surprise and at last anger as she realized the tenor of what mansart was saying-this was not the speech planned. she glanced about uncertainly until gradually realizing that mansart's speech was shattering what had been so carefully planned-and at such great cost-she stamped her foot and arose waving her cigarette holder imperiously. but before she could utter a word, there came a sudden blast of trumpets and the curtains at the side of the long hall were quickly drawn, disclosing a large room, gaily decorated with an orchestra and flowers and an enor- mous table in the center laden sumptuously with foods of all kinds, temptingly displayed. tables at the side offered a great variety of drinks. white-liveried servants stood ready to wait on the guests and from other rooms beyond appeared fifty or more white men and women to welcome the dark guests. all were guided to seats, carefully mixed by race and color, and a lively buzz of conversation soon ensued. hardly anyone noticed, as the curtains to the dining room opened, that two tall footmen, moving unobtrusively, had quickly taken mansart's arms, one on each side and led him away from the food and guests and music, into the entrance hall. the jewish rabbi quietly followed as an attendant quickly brought their coats and hats, and an elevator stood ready with open door. swiftly they glided down to the main floor thirty-two stories below. as they crossed the plaza the rabbi said, “out of five thousand years of glorious history, the barbarians of western europe have enslaved the world for the past years. but their day of infamy begins to end in asia-from finland to calcutta-in africa-from worlds of color israel to good hope-in america—from arctic to antarctic. men -all men-reassume the power which is theirs by right and by might." the cadillac was standing ready on fifth avenue, but benjamin, the son, was not in it. mansart hailed a cab. the rabbi turned, his head uncovered and his white hair blowing in the frosty night so that he loomed ghostly in the glow of the lights. he placed his hands on mansart's shoulders and blessed him: “yevorechecho adonoi veyishmerecho; yoer adonoi ponov eilecho vichuneko; yiso adonoi ponov eilecho veyosem lecho sholom.” months passed. manuel mansart continued in outward health and seeming enjoyment of the world. he celebrated his th birth- day. but jean knew that his end was near. the physicians whom she unobtrusively called in were puzzled. “i thought it was cancer. but the pain has disappeared and the other symptoms are not there. i just don't know what it is; nevertheless, he is not going to live long.” "we physicians know so little. we are especially ignorant about old age, because we have no time to study it." “god! if we just had the hospitals and funds some nations have" "but we haven't,” said manuel, opening his eyes, “and after all what difference? it is only a matter of a few years, more or less. jean and i have had a full life-full and fruitful. i know i am leaving her and this world soon-and forever. but while we live we will always have our memories-our memories and dreams.” jean looked at him long and intensely, and whispered, “have you no hope-i mean-afterward—?" he smiled gravely and answered, “none.” he continued, “we continually assume that if a thing seems desirable, it must for that reason be true. and if a man does not believe that what he would like to have so is so, then somehow he is held to blame. most human beings would like to live again-prolong and either cor- recting or fulfilling this so imperfect existence. naturally, some wouldn't-they are satisfied with one try, and ready to call quits after that. “if a man faces the facts and says honestly, 'i don't know, and death see absolutely no proof that we will live again'-should such a soul be derided or accused or read out of the congregation of the righteous-while hypocrites, liars and fools crowd into that com- fortable refuge? “would it not be wiser and better to say, 'i do not know' or 'i do not hope?' no matter what paul preaches, i know hope is not truth. in any case, i will not lie. if others believe in immor- tality, i respect their right to that belief. but what i fear and hate are the fanatics who would send me to hell for not consenting to lie.” then he added, "god is no playwright. his lives end dimly, and without drama; they pile no climax on tragedy nor triumph on defeat. they end quietly or helplessly—they just end.” the days passed slowly and pleasantly for manuel mansart despite unpleasant occurrences in the nation and the world. jean drove him one morning to the brooklyn botanical gardens to look at the blossoms. she sensed that he was gradually growing weaker, and that he knew it. as they rode back across the east river, he sang in low voice, with the silhouette of manhattan looming before him: “swing low, sweet chariot, comin' for to carry me home-" when they reached their apartment house he had to be helped more than usually into the elevator and to their door. settled in his armchair, with a blanket across his lap, he whispered to jean: “call all my scattered children from the seven seas, every one. douglas, my first-born, is in chicago with his wife; call him and his daughter and child from california with her husband. revels is here but his son phillip settled in hawaii with its golden rain. be sure to summon him and marian-harry bridges will spare them. sojourner and her bishop will hasten to me gladly from africa. i want to see jackie and ann again and marian's brother and sister with their mother. then there are two young people in atlanta named baldwin, and young moore in arkansas-perhaps they will come. i still hope douglass' boy will return from europe. i want you to cable him. it will be good to have my brood stand around me when i die, which i hope will not be long now. and you, dear faithful jean, are always with me. i want us to say goodbye together in this old and evil and incredibly beautiful earth.” when word reached them his family started by train and plane, by cab and car, over road and river and sea to be at the bedside worlds of color of manuel mansart. they gathered, one by one, or in couples, or in family groups-all a little apprehensive, a little uneasy. after the first greetings, the older folk talked about family problems, their children's careers, current developments, the state of business, the season's weather, styles and clothes. gradually as the days passed, all seemed to separate into age groups and one lowering night the younger members of the family group climbed to the roof and sat there in the drizzly night, huddled under umbrellas and rain- coats, staring west across the city to glimpse the dim palisades on the new jersey side of the hudson. someone began to speak-it was too dark at first to discern who it was but the voice spoke clearly. “we're here to watch the ending of a life. it was a good life but it was ineffective. it's up to us to carry it on and make it work for the future-the future of our colored people here in america; yes, and the future of mankind, too. "our professional men and civil servants, our white collar workers are paralyzed into silence and inactivity. they practice their profession, work hard, make good money and keep still. they buy cars and refrigerators; rent better apartments, often even buy and build their bank credit is good. but when all is said and done, what does it all add up to? the most and the best you can say of the negro is, 'he's rising from nether to upper hell.'" by now, everyone recognized that it was phillip's voice speaking. “we have all been disappointed in various ways and degrees. small business, even when carried on by intelligent negroes with some capital, is impossible--it is at the mercy of white banks and chain stores and big business. directly or indirectly, it must live on exploitation of the poor, with practically no freedom of thought, or action. jackie and ann, down in mississippi, cannot exist as small farmers-they are manipulated by the white market, pawns of petty white politicians, under perpetual threat of the mob. even my brother-in-law here, in new york, installed in a rock- efeller center office, prospective vice-president of a huge corpora- tion, looks forward only to being a cog in the vast wheel of an international oil trust with no real voice in its aims or operation.” ann's rich cultured voice, full of anguish, interrupted. "oh, i am ashamed, ashamed of my people. we have lost all death clarity of vision, of purpose. we have forgotten our purple history, of endless resistance to white terror, of suffering which made us strong, of struggle which made us wise; we despise our own great and rush pellmell to embrace white america. why?” a low bass voice in the rear barely audible took up the strain from elijah—“then did elijah the prophet burst forth like a fire; his words appeared like flaming torches”—but ann, alinging off her head-covering, lifting her face to the rain, continued. “what is this america to which we all crawl? the east no longer stands for literature, philanthropy, a heritage of culture. it is a naked and brazen financial and industrial dictatorship. our free west? the old glory of pioneer california has dis- appeared; grafters rule labor in the northwest where joe hill never died, and in the south, bestial backwardness reigns supreme as it did a century and more ago. was america born for this-or to soften, strain out, select, blend the finest of europe, asia, and africa, even those long buried in poverty and ignorance. perhaps it will yet do this. but here and now, the german-americans no longer even remember their rich heritage. the scandinavians forget their folklore. so many italians have lost sight of the glory that was rome and remember only what the slums of naples and the degra- dation of sicily taught. why, the boast of our tallest jewish states- man is that at thirty-five he had successfully gambled in stocks, with stacked cards-for the right to wield as his own a million dollars of property he never earned. “the irish, forgetting the gaelic revival, fianna fail, and the irish theater, are still running from one of the loveliest spots of earth. what have we negroes and the indians to compare even with this? the indians are spiritually dead in this nation, but with neither literature nor history. the negroes are seemingly mesmerized. where is the outburst of literature which we began a generation ago-the poetry and music, the dance and drama? in the last decade we have not produced a poem or a novel, a history or play of stature-nothing but gamblers, prizefighters and jazz.” “but ann, you are being unjust. will publishers publish or critics review, or booksellers handle anything but negro's lauding of white philanthropy? can sterling brown or rayford logan get a book in print even if it is a classic?". “right-and why? because negroes themselves do not buy a , property of university of michigan libraries artes scientia veritas the hit a novel by julian mayfield the vanguard press, new york m hi copyright, , by julian mayfield published simultaneously in canada by the copp, clark publishing company, ltd., toronto no portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may wish to quote brief passages in a review for a newspaper or magazine. library of congress catalogue card number: – manufactured in the united states of america by h. wolff, new york. designed by marshall lee - this book is for my father and mother hudson and annie mayfield the hit hubert cooley was the superintendent of four tenement buildings on one hundred and twenty- sixth street in harlem. in one of these, on the ground floor, he and his family occupied a small apartment rent free. one saturday night during the summer, when it was very warm, he was sit- ting with his wife gertrude in their living room. she had been reading the baptist news for more r than an hour and was not aware that her husband was staring at her. he was thinking: what a mess! how i ever came to marry this woman i will never know. imagine living with her for twenty-five years! how did i ever stand it? “i think i'll walk a little,” he announced sud- denly. "all right,” said gertrude. leaving the apartment, hubert told himself that gertrude was not—and never had been—the woman for him. she had not even looked up from her paper when he spoke. she had not said good night, god bless you, or good night, dog. he cer- tainly had no reason to feel guilty about going to call on another woman. out on the street hubert thought: nothing short of death can keep a negro in his house on a saturday night. by this he did not mean himself, but his neighbors who were lounging on the front stoops and in the open windows of their apart- ments. they were laughing and talking too loud, and some of them were drinking beer and wine. they greeted him, but he only nodded his head and walked on. they were not his friends, but gertrude's. no, indeed! he minded his own busi- ness and he hoped they would mind theirs. he had no use for the trifling kind of negro; they did not know how to act in public. even now, as late as it was, their dirty little kids were playing in the streets, catching ball, pitching pennies, and play- ing three-card molly under the lamplight. as he crossed lenox avenue a very black boy driving an oldsmobile tried to run him down. this was con- vincing proof that young negroes went crazy as soon as they got behind the wheel of a car. sister clarisse lived alone in a small two-room apartment near seventh avenue. her husband had been a deacon at little calvary baptist church before he passed on to glory. both sister clarisse and hubert's wife gertrude were very active in the affairs of little calvary. they were members of both the willing workers' society and the la- dies' auxiliary. sometimes on sundays they were referred to from the pulpit as “pillars” of the church, but to hubert they were as different as night and day. sister clarisse was the kind of woman he should have married: sweet, gentle, and, most important, very feminine. she did not give a man a hard way to go, by contradicting him, arguing with him all the time. gertrude was a thorn in a man's side, bothersome, constantly after him to do this or that. hubert firmly believed that a man ought to have peace from his old lady and not a lot of lip. sister clarisse's apartment was a first-floor front just above the sidewalk. this evening she was sit- ting in the window seat fanning herself. she laughed and said, “why, mister hubert! what in the world are you doing over here?” he answered that he just happened to be walk- ing by, and she wanted to know why he did not come in and sit a while. he could see nothing wrong with this idea and soon he was seated be- side her. sister clarisse had lived alone for several years, and she enjoyed casual flirtations. it certainly was not her fault if some of the brothers happened to pass her apartment now and then. keeping them at a respectable distance, she possessed a definite charm they could not and did not want to resist. a pleasant-looking, light-brown woman in her for- ties, she had a dark mole on one cheek that they never failed to notice. hubert was fond of her high musical laugh. if he made a joke, she would spread her hands and laugh in a southern way, saying, “you stop it now, brother hubert, coming over here and making a girl laugh herself almost to death over your foolishness.” he would go to almost any lengths to make her laugh, because sometimes when she was really tickled she would slap him on his knee, and that would make him feel warm all over. after saying good night to her, hubert decided to walk down lenox avenue; he never wanted to go directly home after leaving sister clarisse. at the corner of one hundred and twenty-fifth street he stopped to listen to a black nationalist who stood on a small platform making a speech to an audience of thirty or forty people. the nationalist was a fine-looking man with glistening black skin. his mustache was thick like his eyebrows and trimmed neat and sharp. his tongue seemed crim- son against the ebony of his skin. in a broad west indian accent his screaming words slashed at his listeners: “black mawn, wake up! wake up! drive this gowddawm white mawn out of harlem where he comes and takes your mawney, mawn, out of your pockets. he molests your women while little children got no decent schools and go without food in their belly. wake up! you hear me? i say, black mawn, black womawn! wake up and recog- nize africa as your true home. do you hear me? wake up!” when the nationalist finished, hubert was so moved that he could not help joining in the loud applause, although he did not want to go to africa or any other place where there were so many ne- groes. he walked on. at one hundred and twenty-fourth street an old man with a clean-shaven head had somehow pushed taps into his bare feet and was dancing on the sidewalk. he must once have been a profes- sional, for he moved effortlessly and gracefully in his small circle, setting up a machine-gun rhythm with heel and toe. now he mumbled, “pick up on this. hey! . . . one . . . one ... one two . . . one one one two two.” sometimes he would whirl six or seven times, tapping as he went. as he settled down he would shake his head sadly and say: "old bill robinson is dead and gone but lightfoot charlie dances on." jere c then he would compliment himself with a raspy laugh and a loud slap on his leg: “goddog your time, boy. you know one thing? you're a dancing fool.” he wore a white shirt with broad green stripes and pink trousers rolled up to his knees so everyone could see that the sounds were coming from his bare feet. but no one paid him any atten- tion, and the old hat he had placed on the side- walk remained empty. hubert felt instant dislike for the passers-by who hardly glanced at the clownish dancer. sure, he was foolish, but at least he was trying. hubert felt a sudden kinship for the man. he dropped a dime in the hat. farther down lenox avenue a young woman brushed against him with her hips. “hi, pops." hubert did not know her and resented the famili- arity. and who was she calling pops? he ignored her and walked on. at one hundred and twentieth street he stopped to listen to singing that poured out of a little store-front church with white painted windows. as the congregation inside shouted the words, they stamped their feet and clapped their hands. lordy, lordy, they keep crucifying you. lordy, lordy, they do it every day. atom bombs and h-bombs, crucifying you, lord, in every way. ro a crayoned sign on the door said that this was the happiness holiness church. inside, the song went on and on. women screamed and fainted. everybody shouted and the song went on. at one hundred and fourteenth street in a tene- ment hallway a dark brown boy was kissing a cop- per-colored girl. it was a long, sensuous kiss, and both of them moved their bodies in time with mambo music from a nearby jukebox. hubert strongly disapproved of this kind of carrying on. no wonder, he thought, our young people find it so hard to get along. they don't know how to act. farther on, hubert saw a barroom where the negroes seemed to be standing three deep. the jukebox, as usual, was turned up full volume, and they were laughing and shouting over its noise. such scenes always disgusted hubert. all these years of freedom had not taught them the most important thing about being free: to hold on to your money and make it work for you. wasn't that the way the big white man stayed on top? did you ever catch him spending a dime unless he ex- pected to make two more? if the good lord would let hubert catch one of those lucky numbers he would show everybody that there was one negro who knew how to put his money to work. as hubert neared the park he began to hear spanish from groups of people clustered on the sidewalk. he wondered why foreign people would choose to settle in harlem. many of them seemed light-complexioned enough to live anywhere they wished. if hubert had been blessed with fairer skin he would have crossed the color line and never returned. it was a soft night, a gentle night on central park west. girls and boys strolled arm in arm. hu- bert sat down next to a man and a woman on one of the long benches. his thoughts turned to san francisco, where he was going if he ever won at the numbers. once someone had told him that negroes had very good opportunities in the west. some of them had their own businesses and all of them were industrious because that was the kind of city 'frisco was—a place where willingness to work was rewarded. the very thought of himself on the west coast made him feel good. impul- sively he turned to the woman sitting beside him. “you ever been to san francisco?” the woman was startled. she turned to her com- panion, a man of about thirty, who leaned forward so he could get a better look at hubert. "what did you say, fella?" hubert didn't answer. he couldn't understand why the man sounded so belligerent. “do you know this lady?” “no, i don't,” hubert replied. then he realized that the man thought hubert was flirting with the young woman. that was silly. after all, a man his age ... “then what the hell are you talking to her for?” the man stood up. he had a wide, tan face and a lower lip that jutted out. the woman said, “aw, i don't think he meant nothing, j.c.” “i think you'd better beat it, buddy.” "aw, j.c. ..." she looked pityingly at hubert. "gowan, pop,” said j.c. “beat it.” what was there to do? hubert got up and walked away. it was just like a negro of that low type to show off in front of his girl. hubert wished he were younger and nearly the same size as that big yellow bastard. he would have beaten j.c. un- til his socks dropped off. behind him hubert heard, “aw, baby, the poor little guy didn't mean nothing. just a little off, that's all.” “this park is full of nothing but freaks,” said j.c. “this whole city is full of all kinds of freaks. they ought to exterminate 'em all.” hubert walked down central park west. the farther he walked, the less he felt inclined to re- turn to harlem. and so it happened that he never went back home that saturday night. hubert cooley had but one obsession, and that was to leave family, home, and harlem as far be- hind as possible and create a new life for himself. he had lived with this idea for more than five years. he wanted to go to another city, san fran- cisco preferably, and set himself up in some small business. for this he had some qualifications. dur- ing the nineteen thirties, he had, at various times, . any time it came to mind: standing in a crowd, working, walking down the street-anywhere. true, their long-standing relationship was under- going considerable strain. hubert had not re- ceived his due reward. soon it would be too late; already he was more than fifty years old. but he was optimistic. where was the meaning of life if god did not correct his errors? if justice and right did not triumph? more than twenty-four hours after hubert left home he found himself sitting on central park south. it was near midnight and he was tired. he sat on a bench and crossed his legs. he had been to brooklyn, queens, and the bronx, and now he was thinking about returning home. he had never spent the night away from home before, and gertrude was bound to be worried. but this did not bother him. it was simply that his money was gone and he would soon be hungry again. on central park south the skyscraper hotels look northward over the park toward harlem and the bronx. these hotels are like high glass for- tresses that guard manhattan's sparkling midtown district. what fascinated hubert were the pent- houses. their tiny lights peeked out into the night like small, excited eyes. he wondered what it was like to live so far above the ground. this was an exceptionally hot night, but there were probably cooling, gentle breezes up there. certainly it was quiet-not at all like one hundred and twenty- sixth street, where the children whooped and yelled until all hours and the lenox avenue drunks raised holy hallelujah every night. hubert had never been inside such a fine hotel as the one across the street, and only in the movies and in magazines had he seen the interiors of penthouses. but as he stared up at their lights he could easily imagine the tall, casual men and the luxurious women with their soft, clear skin. he saw them lighting cigarettes and sipping chilled drinks from thin-stemmed glasses. he heard their pleas- ant, educated talk and quiet, refined laughter. across the street a taxicab drew up before the hotel and stopped under its white light. a smiling doorman in a blue-and-white uniform helped the passengers to the sidewalk, and the taxi moved away. the guests were in their fifties. the man was short, rotund, and a little lame, it seemed, for he walked with the aid of a cane. the woman ap- peared taller in her dark evening dress. there was something in her hair that sparkled; for a moment the hotel lights seemed to set it afire. there was a joke between them, and they were laughing. the doorman touched his finger to his cap as they passed, but they took no notice of him. the glass doors closed behind them and they vanished into the lobby. hubert was excited and breathless. it had seemed such a simple thing, and yet how grand, how magnificent the whole thing was! the way the guests had stepped from the taxi and had hardly looked at the uniform that saluted and held the door for them! and they seemed so at home in that wonderful setting. hubert thought: if i had been born white this would have been the kind of life i would have led. he knew, of course, that there were many white people who were almost as bad off as colored folk. but hubert could not imagine himself being both white and poor. the two things simply did not go together. even god, who had often disappointed hubert, could not have been so cruel and thought- less as to bless him with fair skin and leave out the silver spoon. it was past one o'clock in the morning when a policeman stopped to chat with the doorman of the hotel. the doorman nodded toward hubert, and the policeman started across the street. when hubert saw the policeman coming toward him he told himself that he had no reason to be afraid. central park was for the public. he was not a bum, because he had an address and he worked for a living. nor did he look like a bum. his necktie matched his blue suit, and, as always, his shoes shone brilliantly. no one, hubert assured himself, could mistake him for anything but what he was: a respectable citizen. still, he could not shake off a dark guilt feeling as the uniform of the law ap- proached. the policeman stopped a few feet away and took a good look at the little negro man. he saw a small dark man with tense, nervous features. he did not know exactly what to think of hubert. manhattan was in the middle of a heat wave, and yet this man was wearing a heavy blue pin-stripe suit. it was just possible that hubert was one of those foreign negroes from haiti or africa or some- place like that. perhaps one of those attached to the united nations. they caused trouble when they were mistaken for local negroes. the police- man, a man with fifteen years' experience, decided to proceed with caution. "hello,” he said. "hello,” hubert responded brusquely. “what are you doing there?” "i'm sitting,” hubert's voice shot back. “what did you think i was doing?” the words sounded just the way he had wanted them to, bold and self-possessed. he was pleased with himself. “i'm just asking you a question, pop." “well, i just answered you,” said hubert. “and my name ain't pop.” "what is your name?” “never you mind about that.” “you're up kind of late,” said the policeman. “so are you,” hubert replied. “so what?” thus far hubert felt he had done well, but a deep-seated fear of and respect for white authority made him think he might have gone just a little too far. so he added, in a protesting tone, “i ain't done nothing. i'm just sitting here where i've got a right to be." the cop moved two or three steps closer. he was a man with blunt features. he stood easily with his hands on his belt. he was not threatening hubert, but the little man felt intimidated anyway. “come on, pop,” said the policeman, “let's move it along and call it a night, what d'ya say?" if hubert had stood up then and walked away, the matter would have ended there and most of his dignity would have been left intact. but again the policeman had called him out of his name, and this was something he especially disliked. besides, he reflected angrily, this was a public park and he did have a right to sit there. he was a citizen. so by way of replying hubert used an old southern expression: “you and lets move it along if you want to. i'm gonna stay right here.” he folded his arms on his chest and recrossed his legs. you couldn't let these people push you around all your life. sometimes you had to stand up for your rights. before hubert knew what was happening, the policeman had reached down, caught him by the shoulders of his jacket, and jerked him off the bench. in one deft movement hubert was spun around so that he was facing away from the po- liceman. at the same time the policeman reached under the back of hubert's jacket and caught a grip on the trousers' belt. with this grip the police- man jerked upward, forcing the breath from hu- bert and causing him to stand on tiptoe to avoid being cut between his legs by the crotch of his trousers. all this happened very quickly. the cop's patient voice now became a growl. “a nice quiet night and then you had to come along.” keeping his grip on the belt and holding it so high that hubert was forced to walk on the very tips of his toes, the policeman began taking long steps toward columbus circle. naturally hubert knew better than to struggle against a policeman. as he was being pushed and carried along, he tried to make it appear as if he were moving under his own power, but without much success. hubert and the policeman passed a boy strolling arm-in- arm with a blond girl. hubert could hardly see their faces in the dark but he was certain they smiled. he could easily imagine how ridiculous he must look with his trousers pulled high above the tops of his socks. it was very undignified. at columbus circle they had to pause to let the cars go by. both of them were breathing hard. “what's your name, boy?” the cop demanded. then hubert had an idea which seemed excep- tionally good. here was his way to repay the cop. he would not reveal his name. “just call me pop," said hubert. instead, the policeman called him a so-and-so sonofabitch and pushed the little negro toward the precinct. but hubert smiled fiercely. now that he saw the cop was boiling mad, he somehow felt repaid for the indignity he was suffering. he was not afraid any more. they could pour hot oil over his naked body, set fire to his hair, and extract his teeth one by one. but he would never, never tell them his name. never. at the precinct station nobody seemed to care. after he refused to answer the first time, they shrugged their shoulders and continued their dis- cussion of baseball. all of them agreed the giants had a good team that year. one of them expressed the opinion that although the dodgers had got off to a slow start, the team had now begun to catch fire and was steadily rolling toward the pennant. there was loud disagreement. they thoroughly re- viewed the two previous seasons in defense of both points of view. this done, the desk sergeant took a look at hubert and decided that the little man was a mental case, and all of his subordinates agreed. "hey, al,” the sergeant said to one of his men, "take this guy upstairs someplace.” "okay. i'll put him with the preacher. he's on his way to bellevue tomorrow morning, too." "my god, is preacher back? what's the matter nan was with those guys down on psycho? why do they keep letting him out?" “they say he's just an average nut and they don't have any room for average nuts. the city's full of them.” the man took hubert by the arm and walked him up two flights of stairs. he unlocked the door of a room that smelled of disinfectant and urine. he asked hubert if he wanted to go to the toilet, and when hubert said no, the policeman locked hubert inside the little room and went away. for several minutes hubert stood just inside the doorway without moving. out of the darkness came broken, unintelligible murmurings that might have been used in a prayer. suddenly the words would halt and there would be the heavy breathing of a sleeping man. in a moment the mur- murings would begin again. “lord, the cross is heavy ... lord ... thy will be done ... down with the devil . . . pure and white for thee i'll keep my soul, o lord. ... though he tempt me i will never ... most high ... never, never . . . amen.” the man's voice was raspy and hoarse. could he be dangerous? hubert turned and felt for a door knob but there was none, nor was there a place where one had been. silently he pushed against the door, but it refused to move. he would have cried out but he was intimidated by the great still- ness of the precinct building. when his eyes grew ud man used to the darkness he saw the figure of a man on a cot with his knees drawn up in front of him. he lay facing the wall. he was praying and scratch- ing himself. this was the preacher. hubert walked quietly to the cot and let his weight down upon it slowly. he certainly had no intention of waking his roommate. “thy will, not mine ... suffer . . . suffer ... with clean hands ...o lord.” hubert had never in his life been inside a prison and he had no idea what he should do next. he sat for a long time thinking about nothing in particu- lar. he gradually became aware that he was very tired. had he slept at all the night before! he couldn't remember. he wanted to lie back on the cot, but what if this preacher fellow were to wake up and find hubert off his guard? no, it would be better to stay awake. he would lie back and close his eyes for just a few seconds. he lay back, yawned, and, very much against his will, went to sleep. this was the best dream hubert had ever had. the others were usually so vague-confused im- ages and sounds, like snatches from a hundred dif- ferent motion pictures. but in this dream everything was sharp and clear. hubert and sister clarisse were having sup- per in the diner of a streamliner speeding toward san francisco. the black waiters were smiling and arou bowing as they set the meal before the couple, both of whom were dressed fit to kill. she would say to him: “where did you get the money?” and he would answer: “i turned the number around and played .” "where did you get the money?” "i turned the number around and played ." over and over they said the same thing. “where did you get the money?” “i turned the number around and played .”. sister clarisse laughed and put her hand on his knee, which made him feel so good he wanted to scream. then the train plunged into a tunnel, and hubert and sister clarisse were enveloped in dark- ness. he sat straight up when he remembered where he was. his fear rushed back. he had not in- tended to sleep. why, anything could have hap- pened to him as he lay there with his eyes closed. the preacher seemed not to have moved. the man was probably not dangerous at all but some unfor- tunate fellow who also was being taken advantage of by the police. an automobile passed in the street below but barely disturbed the silence. the precinct building was a great sleeping thing, and hubert lay awake in its bosom. “not my will ... lord ... but thine,” mumbled the preacher. it was true that now and then hubert had imag- ined himself and sister clarisse together in san francisco, but he had always put such thoughts down as wishful thinking. after all, she was a re- spected member of the church, a devout christian woman. but now that the dream had again brought the idea to mind, there could certainly be no harm in thinking about it. the dream alone was evidence that he had reason to hope. a man was a fool not to pay attention to his dreams, especially if they had numbers in them. of course, with everybody dreaming different num- bers, you could not expect them all to win. you had to be lucky and you had to have dreams so clear that there could be no doubt about what number was indicated. hubert lay back on the cot and cupped his head in his hands. it was true that he had played those three digits in every possible combination except in the order four, one, seven. the week be- fore he had come close but had not hit it. "four-seventeen,” said hubert. it had a good sound to it, and he felt good when he said it. if i get out of this jail in the morning, he thought, i'll start betting on . it probably won't pay off, but it's better to play and lose a few dollars than have it come out when you don't have a penny on it. the very day you turn chicken- hearted and decide not to play, that's the day your number always comes. he yawned deeply and felt drowsy again. he thought of sister clarisse and how different his life would have been if he had married her. well, what was it they said? life begins at forty. or was it fifty? who could say? hubert cooley might make his big splash yet. tomorrow i will play , hubert said to him- self. my luck is overdue. "amen,” grunted the preacher. man man in his forties, a hulk of a man with boyish red cheeks set on each side of a florid face. this ser- geant was not just fat, he was gigantic. the younger man was preoccupied with his personal problems, but still he could not help wondering how much fat the policeman carried about with him. two hundred and fifty pounds? no, it was surely closer to three hundred. but weren't there weight limitations on the new york police force? when the sergeant first joined he must have been much smaller. jesus! thought the younger man, he must have a hell of a time trying to screw a woman. he tried to imagine how the whole act would look and sound but he couldn't. the sergeant inhaled noisily and began a long, groaning yawn as he mumbled into the telephone. the skin of his face and neck crumbled into a thousand tiny particles. he was not tired, but he wanted his morning nap. why, he wondered, was the graveyard shift in a harlem precinct always like the fourth of july? they were always kicking up a fuss, these people, for the sole purpose of dis- turbing his five-o'clock snooze or preventing it al- together. he grumbled a bored thanks into the mouthpiece and hung up the phone. as he yawned again, more deeply this time, he let his eyes rest on the young man in front of him. james lee cooley was blacker than the average american negro. his was a liquid, whole black- ness. he was a little over average height and gave the impression of being a dark reservoir of strength. his eyes were like those of a young boy: large, intelligent, uncompromising. but his man- ner was older, his expression almost grave. he had a singular appearance that often caused people to stare—they never knew quite what to make of him. just now the sergeant, finishing his yawn with a soft wheeze of relief and satisfaction, was thinking: black as pitch ... funny-looking face ... like sculpture . . . never know what he's thinking. now what was it i was just talking about on the tele- phone? oh, yes. "i was right. precinct downtown called in a few hours ago that they had picked up a fellow who fitted the description of the missing hubert coo- ley.” the sergeant explained that the fellow down- town was probably a psycho, at least they thought so because he refused to give his name. what did the young man think? could that be hubert cooley? james lee felt vaguely uncomfortable, a little disloyal. the man downtown was probably his fa- ther, and this fat sergeant was a stranger and a white man to boot. but what did it matter? fact was fact. “yes," he said, “that could be him.” "you could save time by going down and having a look,” said the sergeant. “of course, it's hard to tell. the city's full of crackpots. but they say this fellow fits the description. a skinny little dark- colored fellow. been missing since saturday night, huh? that ain't so long." “my mother was worried about him," said james lee. “he never stayed away before.” “do you know how to get to the precinct on west fifty-fourth street right off eighth avenue?” asked the sergeant. james lee knew how to find the precinct station. except for a very rude and unforgettable interrup- tion of twenty-three months spent in uncle sam's army, he had lived in new york all of his twenty- six years. going back and forth to school, he and his gang had raised hell on the subway trains, been chased by furious conductors through the rumbling cars. and there was that time when he had been unceremoniously kicked— literally kicked-out of the fourteenth-street station by two subway cops, a white one and a black one who wasted no love on schoolboys. he had hugged girls on the trains and pinched at their nipples when he thought no one was looking, girls with quick an- swers and chewing gum and bobby socks. and later he had ridden the trains with girls in high heels, nervous, long-legged girls, to basement par- ties in brooklyn and the bronx, to the palace theater and the capitol theater, and to the roxy, and to frenzied saturday nights at the palladium. and some nights, cold, flat, gray nights, he had ridden from the brooklyn end of the line to the bronx end. this was because he had been drunk and had slept past his stop. so now he said to the sergeant that he knew how to get to the precinct station downtown. but the sergeant told him anyway, giving him detailed directions. james lee mumbled a thank you and wondered if white people ever listened to anything negroes said. the sergeant punctuated his thought with: “and don't forget to get on the front of the train, d'ya hear, young fella?" the young man reminded himself that the ser- geant had been helpful, not nasty as a cop could be. so he called back a final thanks before leaving the station. i'm all mixed up, james lee cooley was think- ing. i don't know whether i'm coming or going. running around, jumping into bed with everyone i can find. hell, is that all i'm living for? i'm twenty-six years old and i don't know what it's all about yet. damn! as the train lurched out of the one-hundred- and-twenty-fifth-street station he found himself a standing place in the front car near the engineer's booth. from here he could look ahead into the black tunnel. as the train was throttled forward, the tracks reflected the light of the onrushing cars and seemed to leap under their wheels. staring straight ahead into the darkness, he imagined that but no! she was probably as mad as she could be because he had left her alone all night. by now she had called him everything but a child of god and was ready to throw things as soon as he opened the door. now he turned his anger on himself. a sensible guy with a girl in white plains would keep himself free on the nights she was able to get into town. you did not have to be in love with her-he was never certain how he felt about essie—but if you saw she was a good girl, in your corner, as the say- ing went, you did not go out of your way to give her a hard time. now essie would be hell to get along with for two or three days. in the end, of course, she would thaw, come around as she al- ways did. he would kiss and pet her, maybe buy her a present, and she would become her usual self again. but this time winning her over would be especially difficult, and he knew he had only him- self to blame. the express train flashed through the eighty- sixth-street local station. james lee became aware of a deep-seated itching in his right buttock. he squeezed closer to the engineer's booth, where he put his hand under his jacket and into his back pocket so that he could scratch himself without at- tracting too much attention. on hot days when he perspired he itched around the scar tissue of his wound. when this happened he would think up special curses for the army surgeons who had as- sured him that they had removed all the metal pieces. why was it that whenever he found himself alone in a room with essie he began to feel restless, hemmed in? sometimes he told himself that he loved essie and that he ought to marry her and treat her right. at other times he felt just as cer- tain she was just another women to please him in bed when he felt the need and that it would be the worst mistake to let himself think seriously about her. when he felt this way, he tried to get away from her as he had last night. “baby, i'm going out to the precinct to see if they've got any word on pop. i'll be back soon.” “okay, james lee." she had come around the bed and kissed him, keeping her lips against his so long that he felt he was being smothered. then gently he had pulled away and gone down the stairs. he really had meant to come back, he told him- self, because it was the first night of her week's vacation. essie had begged and pleaded with her employer in white plains, mrs. ornstein, for the week off. finally essie had to threaten to quit be- fore mrs. ornstein gave in. she had been excited about spending a whole week with james lee, and he had felt good about it, too. but once they were in the room together he knew he would have to get away, at least for a little while. the strange thing about it was that of all the women he saw saw regularly, essie was the only one who made him feel that way. after leaving her he walked over to bank's bar & grill, where he ran into jacky and harold. these were his two closest friends from high-school days. now harold was married and lived out in long is- land, and jacky led the life of a harlem sports- man. they only saw one another occasionally. their meeting by accident certainly called for a celebration. at the beginning james lee kept telling himself he should go back to essie, but this seemed less and less important as the night went on. this morning he remembered only disconnected conversation, jumbled fragments of voices ordering gin, soda, ice, and—what was the crazy concoc- tion that woman had been drinking?-oh, yes, scotch, milk, and sugar. "send the ladies another round and ask them if we may join their party.” this was jacky speak- ing to the waiter at the vet's club. jacky was al- ways tailored in the best and seemed to have money to spend. he said he earned his money singing, but james lee did not believe this because jacky's few engagements in small harlem night clubs never lasted for more than a week or two. the women were picked up. they were not goodtime girls and were so embarrassed jacky had to work overtime getting them to relax. “no kidding. you're really from georgia?” "sure we are. what's wrong with that?" spil was anx- “i told you guys, didn't i? i said, “there's a georgia gal if i've ever seen one.”” "aw, go on, man. did he, sure enough?” “he sure did.” this was harold, who was anx- ious to say something to prove that he was a reg- ular fellow, which he was not. harold was the most successful of the three. he had a job as a layout man with an advertising firm downtown. what was it ebony magazine had said in their spread on him? talent and ability smash color bar di "that's right,” harold was saying now, “ 'there's a georgia gal, fellas,' he said.” “how'd you know?” “ 'cause of that evil look on your face,” said jacky. “everybody knows that georgia women are evil as hell.” “i knew you were lying. i told these girls, i said, “there's a man who was born lying. we bet- ter leave him alone.'” “let's have a drink.” “whaťre you having?” “tom collins. i'm hot.” “me too. gimme the same thing." “and you? what are you drinking, pretty?" “scotch, milk, and sugar, handsome.” "i told you those georgia gals were crazy.” “girl, why don't you stop showing off?” "you drink what you want. i drink what i want.” she winked at james lee, who so far had not said much. he winked back and decided she was fairly attractive. "waiter!” “how do you girls happen to be out on a sun- day night? don't tell me you're playgirls.” “we all went to the ballgame today and de- cided to make a night of it.” “who do you pull for?” “dodgers, naturally. we all pull for the dodg- ers.” "if you ask me, they've got too many spooks on that team. it'll never work out. i used to pull for brooklyn before they got all those negroes on the team. then i switched to the yanks. you know negroes never can work together.” the women protested. “man, you talk crazy all the time, don't you?” “he looks colored but he talks cracker." "i ain't kidding. i was out at ebbets field the other day and so many boots came running out on the diamond i went to the gate and got my money back.” the woman named bernice pushed her chair back and stood up. “i ain't gonna sit here and lis- ten to all this nonsense." "come on, girl. have a drink. i'm just kidding. i'm a brooklyn fan myself. jackie robinson is my first cousin." bernice sat down again. “are you kidding? is he sure enough?” "sure he is. my name is jacky and his name is jackie.” everybody laughed. bernice asked, “why do you fellows travel around with a crackpot?” “that's because he's got all the money,” said james lee. “let's go someplace else,” harold suggested. jacky said, “drink up, girls. i know a jumping joint on hundred-twenty-third street. drink up. life is short, you know.” they paired off easily. james lee found him- self with the woman called lottie. she was past thirty and seemed shapely, with high pointed breasts that pushed against him when they sat to- gether in the taxi. the more he drank, the more he thought about them. later, in her bedroom, her ample figure seemed almost liquid, dissolv- ing and spreading when she loosened her girdle. by then he was drunk and, in a feeble sort of way, desperate to relieve himself sexually. seeing her flabby breasts sagging on an overripe figure was only a momentary disappointment. briefly he pictured essie's animal young suppleness, but he pushed the thought away. here was another woman to be had in another stuffy little bedroom. “you're different, you know that?” she snapped off the light and lay beside him. “what do you mean, different?” he was almost gruff. he wanted to get it over with. he did not want to talk. “the way you look, for instance. like you're thinking hard about something. and you don't talk much. that's what i mean, different. like the scotch, milk, and sugar i drink. i don't even like the stuff, but it makes me different, see?” “yeah.” “everybody ought to have something that sets them apart. but not too much. i'm talking crazy, i bet. that's 'cause i'm scared. here, feel my heart.” “come on,” he said. she smelled of sweat and powder. in the dark her flabby ugliness made no difference. he gave himself to the situation, punished himself, going beyond the few feeble exertions he felt capable of, and, completely spent and disgusted with him- self and relieved only by the knowledge that the stupid night was almost over, finally fell asleep. luckily he awoke early and was able to avoid the embarrassment that always followed these quick affairs—the strained familiarity, the half- hearted promises to see each other again, the say- ing good-by to a stranger. outside, daylight was just coming to harlem. there was no need now to rush to essie. he would need time to think of a good excuse. he had found himself walking near the one-hundred-and- thirty-fifth-street precinct station when he decided to go in and inquire about hubert. now, on his way downtown, he wished he could remain forever where he was, at the front of the subway train staring ahead into the tunnel. its blackness was relieved only by the small red, green, and yellow signal lights that dotted the passageway. perhaps if he stared into the dark- ness long enough he would find a way out of the dark confusion of his life. but the tunnel sud- denly burst into the brilliant black-and-white- checkered columbus circle station. the eighth avenue “a” train roared to a halt. its doors hissed open and the passengers pushed out. james lee turned his back to the engineer's booth, scratched himself energetically, then squeezed through the doorway and hurried toward the station exit. ne “that's him,” said james lee. yes, of course he knew the little brown man with the sleep-red eyes and the wrinkled suit. this was his father, the queer duck of one hundred and twenty-sixth street. but, thought james lee, i don't really know him, not really. when james lee was very small, in the beginning, there were the three of them in what was called a family. but his father had never been a part of them. he was the man who came home to their little apartment, came home from stores, shops, and poolrooms, and talked dreams as they ate their dinner. “this is only for a little while,” he was always saying. “just steppingstones on our way to bigger and better things.” the most persistent memory james lee had of his earliest years was his father's shrill, hope- charged voice insisting that nothing around them was real and permanent. they were always on their way to a place where there were no railroad flats with greasy walls and piss-smelling hallways. this was a place where there was money, good food, and plenty of room to move around in. this was always coming next month, next year. soon. these had all been lies. james lee had un- derstood that for a long time now. the railroad flats with the greasy walls and stinking hallways were all very real. only hubert cooley was un- real. james lee could identify him as his father, but beyond this hubert did not exist for his son. they were strangers and had always been so. “don't he know,” this new police sergeant was saying, “that he can get into trouble hanging around neighborhoods where he don't belong? suppose something had happened there last night -a robbery, burglary, rape, or something? first thing we do is pick up all the loafers in the neigh- borhood.” james lee told the sergeant that his father had never before been in any kind of trouble with the police and that he was certain hubert would not loaf in the parks any more. the sergeant grum- bled to himself, opened a large rectangular book, and began writing. after a few moments he paused and glared at hubert. "you wanna tell me your name now?” hubert mumbled his name. the sergeant's face was suddenly red with anger. his rock-hard voice roared at the little man. “speak up, you! what's the matter? can't you talk?” hubert took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and spoke again. “my name is hubert cooley.” where did hubert live? where did he work, and what did he do there? "i'm super of the building." "what building? the one where you live?" “yes, and three more on the same block.” "well, why didn't you tell me that in the first place? what am i supposed to do—read your mind?” when the sergeant had received all the answers he wanted, he slammed the book shut, pushed it to the corner of his desk, and glared at hubert. “don't you people have enough trouble without looking for it?” he pointed a thick, stubby finger. “now hear me. if i ever catch you loafing around here again i'm gonna see that you get some time. you can believe that.” he was a heavy-set man, strongly built, not yet fifty. his steel-gray hair was clipped short and added to the impres- sion of blunt strength. his voice boomed, his slate- mo gray irish eyes threatened. it was as if he per- sonally had been insulted and at the slightest provocation would leap across the five feet of desk and railing, catch the little negro by his scrawny neck, and snap it. "now get the hell out of here,” he growled. hubert turned and walked from the building. james lee followed. "pop, i hope you're going right home.” "sure, i'm going home.” hubert was examining his reflection in a restaurant window. he set his tie right and then began buttoning his vest. “mama's been worried about you." "she's always worried about one thing or the other.” hubert finished buttoning his jacket and his vest. “a man ain't got the right to sit on a park bench any more, you know that?" “i knew that before, pop, and so did you.” hubert changed the subject. “you got any money?” “why?" "i need it for something,” hubert snapped. “let me have five dollars until payday.” james lee knew that hubert disliked having to ask him for money and it made james lee un- comfortable. his first urge was to give his father what he wanted so that the scene would be over as quickly as possible. but nothing annoyed him mo more than his father's expensive habit of playing the numbers. to james lee the numbers game thrived on mass ignorance, and, though he might occasionally gamble at poker or dice, he had never chanced a nickel on the long odds of the numbers. besides, his father's payday never came. his mo- ther had begun to collect the small superintend- ent's salary. that was the only way she could be certain any of the bills would be paid. james lee took some silver from his pocket. "here's fifty cents to get uptown with, pop. this is the best i can do." hubert did not move. "i'll pay you the five dol- lars on payday.” james lee fought down a desire to snatch one of the two bills from his pocket and give it to hubert. but good money was good money and there was no sense in throwing it away. besides, he would probably have to buy essie a present to pacify her. this little man, the crazy fool! why couldn't he be like everybody else. "nothing doing, pop.” without another word hubert turned and walked toward the eighth avenue subway. for all his neatness, he was a shabby figure. james lee returned the silver to his pocket. he had no urge to go after hubert. he would call his mother and tell her his father was coming. he felt as if his clothes were sticking to his body. he wanted a bath and a change of cloth- ing, but first he would have to rush over to the garage. suppose that dispatcher had given his taxi to someone else? he couldn't afford to lose a day's work. after picking up the cab he would rush home to essie. he stopped at the corner and caught a crosstown bus. in the room on one hundred and twenty-fourth street essie dee turner tried going back to sleep but her nerves were tense. a few minutes earlier essie had been shocked out of her sleep by the shrill scream of a woman. she had sat straight up in her bed, wide awake, not daring to breathe. then the woman had started crying, a low, throaty moan, and essie had realized with relief that it was not a woman who had screamed but only that doggoned cat out there in the back yard. she was certain it was the same cat that raised so much sand every time she spent a night here. the good lord knew, that old pussy would cause her to have heart failure one of these nights if she kept screaming like that. she lay back on her pillow and tried to get to sleep. where was james lee? could something have happened to him? as she thought about him it seemed that he was there, lying beside her, touching his lips to her ears and throat, murmur- ing all that foolish talk that always made her won- der if he was sincere. it was: baby, you know i love you, don't you, honey? i'm crazy about you. you kill me with those crazy eyes. . . . new york nonsense talk, she called it, but she liked to hear it. yes, james lee, sweet black man . . . he had her number, all right. the tension lifted. she yawned and fell asleep. they were somewhere, the two of them, inside a house. she knew this house well and felt at home here. james lee said something about being sleepy and she agreed that it was time to go to bed. she watched him take off his clothes, felt that same anxious sensation she always experi- enced when she saw the hardness of his body. and she saw that he was not really sleepy; nor, come to think of it, was she. they were together as one, she and james lee, making love in that wild, clutching, fighting way that usually left her weak and trembling. but it was not definite to her, and she was vaguely dissatisfied. and now they were in a living room. she could see this very clearly. the light-colored furniture was very modern, like mrs. ornstein's in white plains. it was not cheap, either, not the kind they sell on one hundred and twenty-fifth street, but solid stuff she would take good care of and pol- ish each and every day. and there were children. she could not really see them, but she knew they were there. perhaps they were a boy and a girl or two boys or two girls. she was not certain of anything except that they belonged to her and james lee. they were all over the place, those kids, running and gig- gling and making a racket, and james lee was smiling all over himself because he really did like them, after all. well, hadn't she been telling him all along that kids were the best things in the world? essie had so much happiness that every- thing was soft and warm. then she saw the basin and she was living through the whole terrible episode again. that basin! she would never forget it, never! that was her blood, wasn't it, the pinkish splotches on the white enamel? at first she was not certain, but it had to be her blood because it was she who sat over the basin. it was strange to be looking at it like that. the pain was there, too, the one that for anybody. she felt herself drowning, being sucked down into the heavy blackness, and her throat was clogged with a terror. she opened her mouth to scream but no sound came. she was lost. again essie was sitting straight up in the bed. her breath came in deep, noisy gasps. her body was wet with perspiration and she trembled with cold. her eyes were wide open and unseeing. she wanted to get out of the bed, but she could not will her arms and legs to move. above, on the next landing, she could hear heavy footsteps moving along the squeaky wooden floors of the hallway. this meant that it was seven- thirty and the plump, brown-skinned woman up- stairs, the one that always reminded essie of her mother down home, was getting her husband off to work before she left herself. the woman's soprano voice seeped through the thin floors. “lonzo, don't you forget to go by and see how leo is.” essie knew that lonzo was about forty-five years old and baldheaded with a bulging pot of a belly. he said, “woman, if you was to stop worry- ing about what i is supposed to do, and worried about what you is supposed to do, you'd be a damned sight better off.” “lonzo!” her high voice was full of shock. “don't be cursing in the hallway like that so every- body in the world can hear how evil you are.” now lonzo was down to essie's landing. he was mumbling to himself as he walked past her door. “with that woman, if it ain't one thing it's the other.” essie heard him sigh wearily as he started to let himself down the next flight of stairs. the talk had served to pry her mind and body loose from the grip of the nightmare. she began to think. quietly and slowly the thought formed itself: i've got to get out of here. calmly and soberly it took body and grew. i've got to get out of here. still she did not move, and now her eyes darted from the dirty, streaked wall in front of her and swept around the room. they rested a moment on the black, greasy gas stove that she had scrubbed and scoured with steel wool and had never been able to clean; sped on to the single window that looked out onto the nothingness of other back windows with the same torn green shades and the gray grassless yards below; darted up to the dingy ceiling and stopped on the large heavy white patch of plaster that she had told james lee would one day crash down and kill them. i've got to get out of here. she had never liked the room, not from that very first moment when james lee had swung open the door and announced that this was it. he had done this proudly, as if he had accom- plished something in finding it. yes, a young cou- ple needed a place of their own. each time they went to a hotel she was nervous and tense because she realized the clerk and all the hotel help knew that she and james lee were not married. james lee had said this was the way people did things in new york, but that did not make her feel any better. so she had agreed to the room. but this place was much too small, hardly large enough for the roaches, let alone her and james lee. why, the room she had in the ornstein house in white plains was fully twice as large. of course, it was in the basement of somebody else's home, but even that was better than having to walk up four flights of stairs through a dimly lit hallway to this dirty little back room. essie's body trembled under the nightgown. it was silly to be so cold when anybody could see that it was going to be another hot day. i've got to get out of here. but still she did not move. despite her dislike for the room, their first night had gone well. they laughed about how much noise the bed made and decided to get some lu- bricating oil so that everybody in the house would not know their business. james lee declared that the last couple must have been pretty old if they hadn't minded such noisy bedsprings. later in the night, after they had given to and taken from each other, after they were both drowsy and sat- isfied and ready for sleep, essie had gone to the bureau drawer and taken out her nightgown. what the hell was that? james lee wanted to know. she answered that it did not seem right to sleep naked, and he laughed so hard that essie was certain he would wake everybody in the building. she had to kiss him on the mouth to shut him up, and later they slept, her head on his chest, their bodies warm against each other, and the nightgown on the chair, where she had left m it. * she forced herself to concentrate: i've got to get out of here. now she moved for the first time, pushing back the covers and throwing her legs over the side of the bed. with her toes she found her bedroom slippers and slid her feet into them. she jerked her robe from the chair and wrapped it around her trembling body as she stood up. who did james lee think she was, anyway? he certainly had his people confused. if he thought she was going to sit there like a fool and wait for him to make up his mind to come home, he had another think coming. after pleading with old lady ornstein for these few days off just so she could spend some time with this good-for- nothing, low-down snake of a negro—did he think she was going to spend those days sitting in their dirty room alone? well, we would see about that! her pink toothbrush lay on the bureau in the glass container beside the tube of toothpaste. she picked them up and gathered her washcloth, towel, and soap from the bureau drawer. she pulled her robe tightly about her and cracked the door to see if there was anyone in the hallway. finding it empty, she pulled the door shut behind her and tiptoed along the hallway toward the bathroom. but just then a man came down the stairs from the floor above, a light-skinned young man with a round porkpie hat. he smiled-she thought it was more of a grin—and said good morning to her. she only half nodded and hurried to the bathroom, where she locked herself inside. when these new york men spoke to you they were usually after something more than a good morn- ing. none of them had any respect for women. why, even married men had tried to get fresh with her! she splashed cold water over her face and shivered. new york men were no good anyway, essie reflected. she had gone through the works with one by name of james lee cooley and he was the last one she ever would have. if anybody ever saw her going with another new york man, trying to fall in love or do something foolish like that, she wanted that somebody to give her a good swift kick. now she was hurrying frantically. she had to get dressed and away before james lee came. if he were to come in just now ... well, she had let him change her mind before. in her haste she dropped the toothbrush con- tainer and its thin glass tinkled over the floor. impatiently scooping it up, she pricked her hand with a crystalline fragment. she said “shoot!”, and flung the debris into the trash basket. back in the room, she looked at the reflection of her slender brown legs in the mirror as she stepped into her skirt. her thighs were lean and smooth, and she told herself for the thousandth time that she could use a few more pounds around the hips. but then, new york girls liked being skinny. new york . . . james lee . . . maybe he could push these local girls around, but he was thinking like grandpa dreamed if he had any idea he could do that to her. men were crazy. all you had to do was let one of them know you liked him a little bit, and right off he ... how did the song go? ... he'll start cutting a hog. just be good to a man, lord, and he'll treat you like a dog ... she sat down before the mirror and began brush- ing her hair with quick, angry strokes. the ends were breaking off, and it was time to have it done again. maybe when she got to her sister's house she would call madam johnson's for an appoint- ment. but why not splurge a bit? yes, it would not be madam johnson's this time but rose meta's. a good hairdo would pick up her spirits. suddenly the hand with the brush stopped in mid-air. she wasn't coming back! she had not sa meet old lady graham on the first floor. mrs. graham was the landlady from barbados who al- ways looked at essie dee as if she knew the girl was living in sin. one thing was certain: if she stuck her head into the hallway this morning, she would get a piece of essie's mind. but old lady graham, perhaps sensing danger, did not ap- pear. essie opened the door and stepped into the street. the loudspeaker of the record shop at the cor- ner was giving out with a hot record by a white woman who sounded almost colored: going to chicago, sorry i can't take you, going to chicago, sorry i can't take you, nothing up there a man like you can do.* essie decided that one day she would buy that record just to remind her of the day she broke free of james lee. she stopped at the corner of lenox avenue to change her bag from one hand to the other, and that was when the man bumped into her. he bowed slightly and tipped his hat and said, “ex- cuse me, miss.” he had a pencil mustache and he was grinning. essie was sure he had bumped into her on purpose. "can i help you with your bag, miss?” he still * from "goin' to chicago blues” by james rushing and count basie. copyright © by bregman, vocco and conn, inc., broadway, new york , new york. used by per- mission. turner, that she was not the smartest person in the world, that it sometimes took her a while to catch on; but one thing was sure: she never made the same mistake twice. nobody could say that about mrs. turner's little girl. this morning gertrude cooley told herself that she had too much to do to worry about hubert. monday was trash collection day, and all the cans would have to be out on the street before ten o'clock. in the house next door they were com- plaining about having no hot water, and she would have to get the furnace started. this was not an easy job once the fire died completely. a pane was broken in the front door of number across the street and would have to be replaced. sarah anderson was complaining that her toilet would not flush, but this would have to wait until hubert came back. she couldn't be expected to do every- thing. she prepared bacon, eggs, hominy grits, and coffee for herself. she always ate a good breakfast before beginning her morning chores. when she had finished, she put the dirty dishes in the sink and covered them with water. a good meal for the roaches, she thought, but this morning she did not have time to skirmish with them. for seven- teen years in this apartment she had been at war with the roaches, but they seemed as plentiful as ever. she sighed. despite all the powders and sprays and the efforts to starve them out by keep- ing the kitchen clean and dry, it looked as if they would win in the end. “you'll bury me yet,” she murmured, taking a halfhearted whack at a black peanut shape that scooted for refuge into a hole under the sink. gertrude put on her work clothes. these con- sisted of a green fatigue jacket and trousers james lee had brought home from the army, which she had altered so they fitted her. she was a tall, heavy woman, big-bosomed, with strong arms and shoul- ders. her movements seemed slow, but this was because they were so deliberate. the average task took less time in her hands. at almost fifty mov as years of age she was in good health, though in the last few years she had begun to tire more quickly. she went down to the basement and brought up two cans of trash. this was difficult, because the cans were large and heavy and she had to drag them up one step at a time. it was really a man's work, she told herself, and she ought not to be straining her back with heavy cans. but the job had to be done, and if hubert was not there it was up to her to do it. james lee helped oc- casionally, but he was not home much. nowadays he often stayed away all night. she did not mind this. he had a right to his life without having to worry about the old folks. but she wished some- one would see that she had some rights, too. both her men, hubert and james lee, ought to under- stand that she could not keep up a house by her- self. she dragged the last of the cans to the front vestibule, where she paused to catch her breath. she would like to die, sudden-like, while they were both away from home. she could imagine their faces as they stood above her body. maybe they would cry a little--not for her, but because they had treated her so badly and now they would not have anybody to wash, clean, and cook for them. it would serve them right. she took a deep breath and began dragging the first can down to the street. it was not like ger- trude to indulge in morbid thoughts. she never worried about death and sickness. besides, she knew that if she did pass on, they would not really care. james lee might think he had loved his poor old mother, but neither he nor hubert knew any- thing about love. loving somebody was doing things for them and helping to make life easier for them. clearly, nobody loved gertrude. “good morning, mrs. cooley." “good morning, mrs. williams." mrs. williams was a decrepit old widow who lived across the street. her yellow, lifeless skin sagged on her bones and her trembling face al- ways looked as if she were about to cry. she lived alone in her little third-floor front room with the idea that a mysterious group of people was plan- ning to kill her. this same group had been respon- sible for her husband's death fifteen years be- fore. like many people in the block, she found gertrude a sympathetic listener, and every few days brought in new evidence she had uncov- ered. “it won't be long now, mrs. cooley.". "it won't?” “oh, no, indeed,” mrs. williams whispered. gertrude detected the odor of the cheap wine mrs. williams drank. it was a sweet, heavy smell, oppressive and sad. “any day now, mrs. cooley,” she said. “in fact, you might say any minute." “what are you going to do about it?” gertrude asked. about this same time the previous year mrs. williams had felt she was in immediate dan- ger. at other times she felt she had her enemies stymied. gertrude had no idea what caused the old woman to feel one way and then the other, but it was obvious that all of mrs. williams' fan- tasies were very real to her. this morning ger- trude was slightly annoyed. she had troubles and complaints of her own. she wished she could bring herself to be rude to mrs. williams, but she could not. "i ain't afraid of them, mrs. cooley. you know that, don't you?" gertrude nodded. mrs. williams' deep-lined face seemed to grow duller even as gertrude was looking at it. “but this time i think they will win, just the way they did with mr. williams.” she rested her hand on gertrude's arm. “god bless you, dear mrs. cooley. you're the only one that understands.” and with her odor of sweet wine and lace, with her petticoat showing beneath the hem of her dress, mrs. williams walked across the street to her little room with its quiet terror. gertrude went back to work. what was it like. she wondered, to be like mrs. williams, to think about unreal things as if they actually existed? gertrude counted herself among the lucky ones of the world in that she was practical and down to earth. everyone who knew her shared this opin- n ion. she did not think of herself as especially bright. she had no idea what made the world tick, nor did she much care. but she looked upon herself as strong. she felt a measure of pride when friends said to her: “gertrude, i declare, girl, don't nothing ever get you down, does it?” no, nothing ever did. it was almost two years now since she had discovered that hubert really intended to leave her. one day she had decided to clean his closet, and inside, pushed back into a corner, she had found the suitcase. even now she could remember the smell of its new leather. she had never seen it before, had not known it was in the house. under a transparent plastic covering were shirts, ties, socks, and underwear, all new. certainly an ordinary thing, a suitcase with cloth- ing, but when she thought of the hints and in- nuendoes, the veiled threats—“woman, you just might wake up one of these mornings and find me long gone”—the suitcase and the clothing, hidden for she did not know how long, made sense to her as soon as she discovered them. in the cellar of the house next door she began to gather kindling and paper for the furnace. when- ever hubert wandered away and let the fire go out, she had to get it started again. the draft of the old furnace was not good. when she set fire to the paper and kindling the cellar filled up with smoke. with stinging eyes, coughing and wheez- ing, she stooped over the door of the furnace and tried to nurse the tiny flame within. this was also a man's job, she decided, and she was beginning to think she was the only man in the house. no, she never let anything get her down. she had never mentioned finding the suitcase in the closet, nor had he brought it up, though he knew she must have seen it. it was a silent barrier be- tween them. well, gertrude, she told herself, you're pretty good. you wake up one morning and find you don't have any marriage, that the old man don't want you any more, but you just keep on go ing like nothing ever happened. oh, she had known before that everything was not all right. she had her ways of telling. it was before the discovery of the suitcase, almost a year before, that they had tried for love in bed. she had sought to arouse in him a need, a desire for her, and he had made an effort to respond; but nothing had come of it, nothing but embarrass- ment and escape to opposite sides of the bed and heavy, forced sleep. the color of the fire changed from a dull yellow to an intense blue and the smoke began to clear away. she closed the door and set the thermostat. then she went to her apartment and washed her face. her work was not half done and she was tired already. she looked at herself in the mirror and saw that she was ugly. not at first, of course, but gradually, as she was able to imagine what he saw when he looked. yes, she was ugly. she swal- lowed hard and turned away from the glass. “to tell you the truth,” she said aloud, "he ain't so hot- looking either.” sometimes it was almost too much to bear, the dry, empty routine with its frustration: waking, eating and sleeping, working four apartment houses, going to church. “i'm forty-nine years old!” she said, thinking: lord, only forty-nine, not old at all. she felt she was brimming over with life and she wanted to give everything of herself. she was hurt that nobody wanted her—not hubert, not anybody. so she kept herself strong. when she felt a need to be needed, loved, made over, she teased herself and said, “you're not a hot girl any more, so keep your pants on.” and sometimes she man- aged to laugh. where was she to blame? during the past three dull and empty years she had re-examined every particle of their lives together so that she would know where she had failed. but the most intense remembering, the going over in her mind of every- thing that had passed between them—all this had uncovered nothing to clear away her confusion. she opened the supply closet and took out a pane of glass that would fit into the front door of sixty-seven. with the glass, the tools, and the putty she crossed the street. "jesus, have mercy!” she muttered, and she meant have mercy on hubert and james lee and cee gertrude cooley. god knew she had done the best she could. she had stuck with him through all the hard years. at the time they married, hubert worked as a messenger in the garment district. he liked his job and his boss, mr. rosenblatt, who taught hubert the value of cloth, how to measure and cut it. hubert was a hard worker and thrifty. he began saving his money because he wanted to open a dress shop in harlem. but mr. rosenblatt was forced to shut down in , and hubert was out of work for a while. he used up his savings be- fore he found another job. in , hubert rented a grocery store and managed to hold onto it for a year before it went under. in , he rented an- other one, smaller and less ambitious, but this failed, too. between these ventures he worked at anything he could find and saved until he could try again. later there was a poolroom that was al- ways crowded but never seemed to show a profit, and soon that had to be given up. these were the lean thirties, bad thirties—the furious years of struggling just for food and a place to live. on gray, hopeless mornings gertrude often sat on the “slave block.” that was what colored women called the little park up in the bronx where they were scrutinized by the white housewives who decided which ones looked honest and clean "i'm fixing you some breakfast.” “thanks.” after hubert had taken a bath and shaved he came into the kitchen and sat down to the food she had prepared. he emptied his plate and asked for more. “did the trash get out all right?” "uh-huh. i put it out.” “sorry i stayed away like that.” hubert spoke gruffly. this was an apology. "that's all right.” she sat down at the table and watched him eat. “i like four-seventeen today. dreamed it last night just as clear as anything." she said, “sounds all right.” gertrude sometimes played but never for more than a few pennies. since hubert had begun to bet so much on the numbers she did not like to think about them. they were silent for a while. suddenly hubert said, “do we have any money, gertrude?" "there's only seven dollars in the whole house. just enough for the gas and light bill.” almost in- voluntarily she asked why. “oh, nothing,” hubert mumbled. “if we don't have it, we don't have it.” he shrugged and went on with his breakfast. when he had finished he asked gertrude what work had to be done. she showed him the pad on which she scribbled the complaints of the tenants. е : any mo eve se. they decided which ones should be taken care of first, and hubert went out. he worked diligently. he unclogged sarah an- derson's toilet and stoked all the furnaces. he swept and mopped the hallways of and then spackled over cracks that had developed in the plaster. he set traps, he painted, he hammered, he sawed. hubert cooley was absolutely the bus- iest house superintendent in harlem that morning until eleven-thirty. that was when gertrude left the apartment to go to the store. hubert took this opportunity to slip into the bedroom and pry open her bureau drawer. he took out the seven dollars designated for the gas and electric bills. with the money tucked snugly in his pocket, he hurried away down the street. the one person in the whole world iretha did not want to see this morning was her kid sister essie. they got along together well enough, but essie al- ways chose iretha's busiest days to come burst- ing in. on mondays her schedule was always crowded, and today was no exception. at nine- thirty she had a beauty appointment at rose meta's that she simply could not break. then she would have to rush back to the apartment, because at noon lillian sommerville, dr. sommerville's sis- ter, was dropping by to discuss iretha's candidacy for membership in the wheatley social circle. this was the charity group that gave some of har- lem's most important social affairs and collected money for the poor little children in the west in- dies. also, sometime today iretha would have to sit down and write a letter of resignation from the fun girls, that silly little club she had joined years before, when she had worked as a practical nurse at harlem hospital. some of the members were bound to say she felt she had outgrown the fun girls, but that would not bother iretha. she knew how they were—nasty, like crabs, pulling one an- other down. goodness, she did have a lot to do! tonight she and her husband hugh were going to the theater. trummy carpenter, the well-known lawyer who was expecting a magistrate's appoint- ment if the november elections worked out as ex- pected, had given iretha and hugh tickets for the broadway musical hit guys and dolls, which meant that iretha would have to arrange for a baby sitter. it was really very thoughtless of essie to come visiting at eight-thirty in the morning. she knew it was essie by the three short, insist- ent rings. essie never came visiting except when she had had an argument with james lee. she would moon around the house crying all morn- ing, getting in iretha's way and upsetting the chil- dren. then james lee would call, and essie would go running back like a tamed puppy. iretha resolved that today she would not listen to any of essie's tearful stories. if the girl was silly enough to run around with low-class negroes, she de- served all the trouble she was having. iretha had an impulse not to push the buzzer that would open the door five flights below. maybe essie would go away. yes, that was it! she would not answer the bell. but she felt a tinge of guilt. after all, essie was her sister, unsophisticated and naïve, it was true, but her sister nevertheless. down below, essie pushed the bell again, three short, compelling rings. “oh, darn,” muttered iretha. she pressed the buzzer and bit her lower lip as she waited. it was as if her kid sister had read her thoughts and said, “no, no, iretha, that wouldn't be nice.” iretha decided to tell essie that if she had to drop by unexpectedly she must try to avoid doing it on mondays. but essie would be crying when she came in. well, iretha would wait until she had calmed down and tell her then. iretha would be firm. no one could accuse her of having neglected essie. when the girl had come up from their home in cheraw, north carolina, iretha and hugh had taken her in. this was when there had hardly been room for themselves, before they moved into this larger, more modern apartment overlooking river- side drive. they had introduced essie to their friends and taken her to the annual christmas ball given by the upper manhattan lawyers guild in the skyline room of the theresa hotel. iretha had insisted on buying essie a gown for the affair, a white silk thing, not daring and only vaguely suggestive. the smart set had made a fuss over her. the young men had found one pretext after another to come over to their table and get themselves introduced to the new young face that seemed slightly out of place in the colored lights and restrained conviviality of the skyline room. iretha had felt that the triumph belonged more to her than to essie. she foresaw her sister making a nice marriage with one of the young doctors or lawyers—it did not matter who it was so long as the man was a professional who could take good care of essie without her having to work. essie would not have the long hard struggle for security that iretha had had during those first years in new york, before she married hugh. he was not yet forty and already was an inspector with a gold badge at the post office. that night at the ball a photographer from the amsterdam news snapped essie and ted thayer, jr., the son of the well- known new jersey real-estate man, as they danced. the picture had been displayed promi- nently in that friday's paper. but in the end the whole thing had come to nothing because essie was so stubborn. iretha sank onto her new chaise longue and lit a cigarette. there was one thing you could say about the turner girls—meaning herself and essie and two other sisters who still lived in the south. there was not one of them who was hard to look at. iretha was thirty-five, but she felt she looked ten years younger. perhaps none of them was light-complexioned, but that was a handicap which was overcome by their tall, slender figures and the teasing, chestnut brown of their skin. iretha had always felt that the baby of the family, essie dee, would grow into the prettiest of them all. she had been right. "tsk!” she made a noise with her tongue and ground the cigarette into the ash tray. that was what made it so damned tragic. a girl had to be sharp in new york, on her toes every minute, ready to take advantage of the slightest opportu- nity. how she had worked to get where she was! and she had not stopped yet, not by a long shot. any girl as pretty as essie, with a sister who had offered to pay the bills, as iretha had, had no busi- ness working for jews up in westchester. essie was stupid and ungrateful. when she heard the elevator door in the hallway open, iretha uncrossed her legs, got up from the chaise, and went to the door. on her face was the smile that was always there when admitting some- one to the apartment. she was hoping that essie would not cry very long and would leave soon so that she could get back on her schedule. she was surprised to find when she opened the door that essie stood there smiling back at her. "hi, baby,” said iretha. "hi, yourself,” responded essie. they touched cheeks. essie seemed so happy that iretha asked, “girl, are you all right?” "well, look at me," said essie, spreading her arms. “am i standing on my own two feet or am i not?" iretha stared. there was a twinkle in essie's eye that puzzled her. she did not like to be confused so early in the morning. "i'm hungry,” announced essie. she went to the kitchen and swung open the door of the refrigera- tor. “what you got to eat, girl? i'm starved.” essie began to take leftovers out of the refrigera- tor and soon was sitting at the table eating the re- mains of sunday's dinner. what in the world had got into the kid? iretha decided that what she had seen in essie's eyes was not a twinkle at all but a glint. essie looked as if she were at war. iretha lit another cigarette and continued to stare. frank davini was a chunky italian who smoked and chewed cheap cigars and had ulcers. he never nagged his men about averages. if a man's money on the clock began to fall consistently below the average, frank would call him into the office and ask him what was wrong. didn't he like working for frank? didn't he like having a new car to drive? didn't he like having a whole army of mechanics waiting to take care of his car when it broke down? didn't he like coming to work in the morning and knowing his car would be there wait- ing for him? or maybe he would like to work for one of those companies where they made the men shape up every morning and sometimes a hackie didn't get a car at all. or maybe he'd like to go to work for national and drive one of those check- ers, where a man couldn't make a living because the new desotos like frank's were always stealing fares from him. or maybe he didn't like being able to draw his money every day instead of having to wait until the end of the week. and having a paid vacation for a whole week every year. frank never gave the hackie a chance to argue or apologize. he would get up from his green little desk, smile, slap the hackie on the back, and say, “all right, get on out there and put some money on that clock.” nobody's feelings were hurt. more often than not, the cabbie worked harder and produced more money. if he did not, he came in one morning and found that his car had been given to someone else. "jesus christ!” screamed frank davini this morning, as if he were in pain. it was a high, shrill exclamation, almost a squeal. “what the hell is this?" he stood in the middle of the garage point- ing at car number three-six-eight, the only car parked in the entire garage. frank's outraged voice shot into every corner and reverberated off the walls. “danny! danny! goddamit! come out here.” the mechanics at work on the second tier of the garage peeked over the railing to see what was ail- ing the boss. danny o'halloran came hurrying out of the dispatcher's office. he was a tall, blond young man, athletically built, good-looking. he did not think of himself as the best dispatcher in new york city, but he was certain that as a ladies' man he was unsurpassed. among the drivers and the mechanics he was known as young genitals. “da-a-aneee!” “what is it, frank?” frank had not seen danny come up. his delib- erately soft, self-assured voice startled frank. danny always made frank feel cold and off his stride. the syndicate that owned the greater bloc of stock in the garage had suggested danny for the job and there had been little that frank could do about it. on his own he would never have hired danny. it was not just that he was too good-look- ing, a pretty boy, but he had never driven a hack. what kind of garage had a dispatcher who had never hacked? to frank it was almost unethical. “danny, is this car in running condition?” “yeah, frank, it is—” "then, holy jesus, what the hell is it doing here? it's almost nine o'clock.” “the driver isn't here yet.” "is he the only one who can drive this friggin' car?” squealed frank “you know how things are in the summer," danny said. “there aren't too many extra men around.” "don't hand me that. there're plenty of guys around who'd be happy to drive a new car.” “what can i do, frank?” said danny with a spread of his hands. “if an extra man had come in, i would have given him the car—". “git on the phone; call some of the old drivers; do something and git that goddamned car out of here, danny. you hear me!” frank walked toward his own car parked in the driveway. he took quick, short puffs from the cigar. he was being loud and authoritative, but there was also a whining note of protest so that danny would understand there was nothing personal in what he was saying. “is that car making any dough for you or me or anybody else while it sits here in the garage? no. take the car away from the damn driver if he don't want it.” he opened the door of his dark blue chrysler and got in. “jesus christ,” he exclaimed as he slammed the door shut and started the motor. “nine o'clock and the friggin' car sitting up here in the friggin' garage and not a friggin' thing wrong with it!” he wiped the sweat from his plump face with a handkerchief as he backed through the ga- rage exit. “jesus christ!” he exclaimed again as he drove toward second avenue. danny walked back into his office. he would give cooley hell when he came in. who did that black bastard think he was, not even calling the office to say he would be late? evaline, the secretary and cashier, was seated at her typewriter. she was a brunette, petite and at- tractive. danny stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders. as he talked he strained his eyes to see down the top of her low-cut blouse. "if i get any calls, switch 'em upstairs, huh?” evaline continued her typing. her voice was cold and contemptuous. “you've got to give me a rub-down to tell me that?” he took his hands away and walked out of the office. the little bitch! he would get her yet, just for meanness, just to hear her cry. yes, he would see that she cried. now he would tell the grease mon- keys about the virgin he had snared over the week end. he enjoyed seeing the looks of envy on the faces of those married guys when they listened to his stories. he ran a comb through his hair. well, some guys had it and some guys didn't. he had it. was it his fault? me a james lee's fear of being late amounted almost to a phobia. somewhere he had heard that white folks believed negroes always traveled behind- time, and, although he told himself he did not care what white folks thought, he always made an extra effort to be punctual where they were concerned. as he approached the garage he felt he espe- cially did not want to see frank davini. when frank started yelling at you, he never gave you a chance to say anything and he always made you feel that you had done him a personal injury. even if you did not like to be yelled at, especially by white people, you could never really answer frank because there was something in his voice that made you suspect he was halfway right in what he was saying. on the other hand, james lee did not mind meeting the new irish dispatcher they had brought in. he did not like the irish anyway, and he would never take any guff off a young punk like o'hal- loran. he took the dispatch card for his car and punched the time clock. “hey, cooley, wait up!” o'halloran's voice sounded harsh and threaten- ing in the empty garage. "what is it?" james lee asked. danny was descending the steps from the sec- ond tier. a cigarette was in his mouth and he was lighting it as he came down. he spoke with slight irritation in his voice. “wait up a minute, will you? : another minute or two won't matter." james lee stopped and waited. his eyes meas- ured the young irishman. they were about the same height and size, slender heavyweights. danny was fuller around the shoulders. powerful wrists and hands projected from the sleeves of his shirt. a person would think twice before getting into a fight with o'halloran. they faced each other in almost the same spot in which, fifteen minutes earlier, frank davini had yelled, “jesus christ!”, pointing at three-six-eight and demanding, "what the hell is this?” “this is a fine time to be coming in, cooley." "i had something to do. sorry.” immediately james lee wished he had not added the last word, for danny pounced on it. "sorry! my god! you drag in here at nine o'clock and all you can say is you're sorry.” james lee shrugged. “that's what i said. what do you want me to do, crawl in here on my hands and knees? i told you i had something to do.” “this is a job, cooley, you know.” “i know this is a job, o'halloran. what did you think i thought it was?” he was thinking that o'halloran reminded him of captain queens in louisiana who had yelled at him, “this is the army, cooley, y'know.” he had had to swallow a lot in the army, but things were different now. “this is a business to make money. everybody loses when you keep a car laid up here this long. there were three extras around here but i saved the car for you." james lee knew this was not true. o'halloran already had the reputation of not doing anybody any favors unless he was paid for it. he said noth- ing. he was aware of the mechanics peeping over the railing upstairs. he felt hot and uncomforta- ble around the neck. "some of you guys give us a hard time, drag- ging in here at all hours.” “some of what guys?” james lee demanded. did he mean the negro drivers, or hackies in gen- eral? "some of you friggin' drivers,” said danny, who had not meant that at all. he turned on his heels and walked toward the steps he had just come down. “if you want this job you had better start acting like it.” and, like frank davini, he added: "put some money on that clock.” james lee got into the cab and drove it out of the garage. he thought back over the conversa- tion to see if he had held his own. he always did badly in these examinations. part of the price of being a negro was that he was never satisfied with the fight he put up for his dignity and pride. he decided he had not said anything wrong but that he had not said enough. he should not have let danny have the last word. he was a hackman with a good record. he could get a job anywhere. upstairs, danny o'halloran settled down onto his favorite stool near the grease pit. “one of these days,” he said, “i'm going to kick that nigger where it will do him the most good.” the three mechanics agreed that they would like to see danny try. it happened that all of them were small men and this fact spiced their resent- ment of danny, who towered above them like a golden-haired hollywood hero. they would like to see him in a scrap with somebody his own size, though they were not certain they would want james lee, a negro, to win. one of them winked at the others and said to danny: “so go ahead, kid. you had just got your hand on her brassiere and she had said, 'please don't, danny darling ...?" the young dispatcher ignored the sarcasm. “oh, yes . . ." he closed his eyes and let his mind swim in the gruesome details. there was a fan in the telephone booth where james lee was, but he was hot. he had just come from the room in which he had expected to find essie waiting for him. "hello, iretha. this is james lee.” “hello, james lee,” said iretha, as if they were old friends. james lee had met her only once and he had not liked her. it had been a dinner for three cou- ples, a quiet, pretentious affair that nobody en- ey- joyed. he had known what iretha was thinking when she looked at him: that he was strictly no ac- count and was taking advantage of her poor little sister. "is essie dee there?” “yes, uh-huh, she's here." "can i talk to her?” “just a minute.” iretha almost sang the words. james lee hated her cooing voice. it was sweet and nasty, like syrup that clung to your fingers. it was typical of that phony crowd iretha ran around with. why did essie have to run up there every- time she and james lee had a fight? she had said she hated iretha's way of life, yet as soon as some- thing went wrong they became thick as peas in a pod. “hello, james lee.” it was iretha's oozing voice again. “yes, iretha?” “i'm sorry, but essie says she doesn't want to talk with you. "but ..." "i'm sorry, james lee.” iretha had hung up the receiver. james lee's lungs were empty. he wanted to hit somebody. he cursed into the dead phone and slammed the mouthpiece onto its cradle. he had passed three fares rushing back uptown to see essie and now he did not have a penny on the clock. he cursed again and rushed outdoors to his cab. morning on lenox avenue was like a blue song, soft and soothing, with a steady bass beat, unhur- ried, going nowhere. the doors of the saloons, the shoe shops, and the fish-and-chip joints were thrown open, but it was too early for customers. one by one the corner bums took up their sta- tions, the old folks brought their folding chairs out to the sidewalk or found seats near the open cs windows of stuffy apartments, and the blue song of harlem wandered on. “hey, man,” called timmy, who was known as the creep, “whatcha know, john lewis?” “man, i don't know nothing,” said john lewis as he shook hands with timmy. when john lewis took his hand away he had a dollar bill hidden in his palm that he put into his already bulging pocket. “let that roll on one-six-three,” said timmy, “and i'll be collecting from you at about five p.m.” “you've got it working, pops.” john lewis continued his morning stroll down lenox avenue. beyond the door of mabel's beauty salon was mabel herself. she was plump, forty, and cheerful, with deep dimples and an extraor- dinary head of long, blue-black hair. “hey, john lewis, you big black handsome thing, you." "hey, baby, you sweet little bundle of female, you.” mabel left her customer and went to the cash register. she took out five one-dollar bills that she gave to john lewis. “i'm playing single action, john, honey. i want a four to lead." “you got it coming, baby, you got it coming.” on down lenox avenue walked john lewis. “hey, john lewis, what you like today?” “everything, man. i like everything." "put my money on two-twelve.” “you got it coming." farther. “hey, john lewis, sweet poppa.” "hey, baby, you look good enough to eat.” "take my money, you robber. i'm still playing six-nineteen, and it's beating me to death.” “it's coming, baby. just hold on.” “john lewis, you people must have those num- bers fixed. you see how i missed those figures sat- urday? i came so close i got a good mind never to play no more." "well, you know what suzy ann told nappy chin?” “no. what?” “she says, “if you keep on gambling, you're bound to win."" “john lewis, you're crazy. here, put this on my regular figure.” "you got it coming,” said john lewis. “you got it coming." the most popular gambling game in new york city, and especially in harlem, is the numbers. the poorest, most miserable creature alive can play. to try his luck, all he needs is a penny, and if his guess is right the numbers bank will pay him six dollars in return. the odds against his winning are a thousand to one, and his payoff is only six hundred to one, but this disparity is somewhat compensated for by the comparative ease with which he can play this supposedly illegal game. the fat lady upstairs who sits at home all day with her cats and dogs, the grasping little man in the candy store across the street, the furtive, over- dressed loafer with glistening shoes who is stand- ing on the corner at sunrise-each will take a bet on the numbers. the penny bet is the stock in trade of a multimillion-dollar business with its headquarters downtown in the city's financial dis- trict. this business is incorporated, after a fash- ion; it has its stockholders, its officers, its workers, and its payroll. its volume of business is steady, and it is seldom in crisis, for it is based on that most solid and persistent of all american phenom- ena—the dream. john lewis was a large brown man with a good- natured smile and a carefully cultivated mustache. he was extremely attentive to his long black hair, which was waved and set regularly in a local beauty salon patronized exclusively by men. his rich voice was warm and friendly and especially appealing to women. men were uncomfortably aware of his masculinity, but they admired him. more important for his business, everybody trusted him. if your number hit, you never had to look for john lewis. he would search you out and put every penny in your hand, no ifs, ands, or buts. the entertainers and the sporting crowd gathered. six days a week he took his morning stroll down lenox avenue, turning into the numbered streets along the way. he had trained himself to carry all the bets in his head, and a curious policeman could search john lewis all he wished, he would never find a slip of paper with num- bers written on it. sometimes when john lewis did more business than usual he would go home two or three times so that he could write the numbers down there. by ten-thirty john lewis had finished his pick- ups and was in his apartment where he and his wife ada totaled the day's receipts. there, until early afternoon when the first race was run, peo- ple came in to place bets with him. at one-fifteen the pickup man came from the numbers bank and collected the money and the receipts. after the third race was run, if there had been any hits, the pickup man came again and paid john lewis, who in turn paid the lucky player. it was a good living for him. he carried a large book of regular players. he was certain of seventy dollars a week, and with his cut from winnings he often earned a hundred. there was really no risk involved. the big banker took care of any difficulty with the police, and john lewis had no fear of losing any money because as the middle- man he never risked any. this morning as soon as john lewis got home he sat down at a table and began writing down the numbers that had been bet with him on the street. ada came out of the bedroom and spoke with her lips close to his ear. “how's it coming?" he shivered. this always happened when she petted him. it was silly. he could never under- stand how such a little woman could have so much power over a big man like him. “come on, baby,” he said, “don't start your funny business. let me write this down.” when he had first come to new york he had sported with the tall yellow glamour girls. it had seemed that a big man like him needed a shapely, statuesque woman to set him off well when he appeared in public. ada had changed all that the day he walked into don's bar-b-que where she waited table. at first he had resisted the idea— “why, she's only as big as a minute,” he told himself—but six weeks later they were married. now she was wearing a black mandarin costume and chinese bangs. the hair at her neck was caught with a bright red ribbon that matched the color of her lips. she sat on his knee and rested an elbow on his shoulder. she touched her lips to his forehead. "nora just called,” ada said in a voice that seldom went above a whisper. “she wants to know if we're going over to atlantic city this week end." john lewis jotted down the last of the figures. "baby, to tell you the truth, i don't know. maybe i'd better stick close and see how everything works out before we start spending money.” she kissed his neck below the ear. “is it going all right?" "it'll work out, i think.” john lewis rubbed his chin with his hand. “i've got to play my cards close and i need a little luck.” this was absolutely true. two weeks before, john lewis had forsaken the relative security of the ordinary numbers writer. he had reasoned that a man could not stop growing. a big man had to step out and take a chance. months ago he had sat down and taken stock of his progress. he and ada had a few hundred dollars in the bank and he had just had a run of luck with the ponies at saratoga. why not make some real money for himself and step into the big league? instead of just writing the figures and turning the profits over to someone else, why not bank them himself? he knew the numbers game and he had good contacts. if he nursed his little stake along he might build it into a real fortune. oth- ers had done it. he knew very well that you did not rush head- long into establishing a numbers bank. harlem, en ico like all of new york, was divided into carefully guarded sections, and each section had been al- lotted long ago to specific groups. the overall system was controlled by men with enough power to stay on top and dictate which groups operated and which did not. a new bank, even a small one of a few hundred dollars, could succeed only at the expense of another bank, so you had to have permission to operate. you had to pay off the right people and you had to have luck. if you opened a bank without permission, you very quickly ran out of luck. many an upstart num- bers entrepreneur had ended up dead. but so far john lewis had been smart. he had used his good contacts and had played them right so that the big boys had finally given him a nod. to be sure, it was not much of a nod. they had just made a little corner for him. they wouldn't help him, and he had to pay them to operate. but they wouldn't bother him. in a few months, with luck, he would be in the cadillac class. he had set up operations with two thousand dollars. twelve playing days had now passed and his bank had grown to thirty-one hundred dol- lars. hubert could never relax until he had played his number. whatever amount of money he had in his pocket urged him on toward his goal, the numbers writer. until the bet was safely placed, he felt he was playing a foolish and dangerous game by carrying the money in his pocket. so he never tarried. as he rushed along the side- walk, if anybody spoke to him he would give a hasty answer and continue on his way. "hey there, mister hubert," called mrs. jonas, the old woman who sold sweet-flavored crushed ice from her little cart on one hundred and twenty-sixth street. “what you liking today?” “i reckon a four,” said hubert and hurried on. mrs. jonas made a mental note of the four. all morning she would be asking passers-by what they liked. when she had decided which digit was the most impressive she would risk a quarter on it, hoping for a two-dollar return. this form of bet- ting was called the single action, where instead of trying to catch three numbers you tried for one. the fellows who stood in front of the crystal bar had hubert marked down as a character who was always good for a laugh. they had learned from john lewis that hubert played large sums of money on the numbers and this convinced them that he was crazy. the numbers he played sounded weird to them, and, worse, he kept changing them all the time. this was something no good player was supposed to do. so each day when they saw him approach they would nudge each other and greet him with exaggerated re- spect. cau as "good morning, mister hubert,” they chor- used, bowing at the waist. "good morning.” hubert's response was always brisk and unfriendly. negroes who stood on the corners laughing loudly and drinking wine were the very ones who kept the race from advancing. flash was a kind of leader of the group be- cause he was very resourceful in finding ways of obtaining sneaky pete, the local term for cheap sherry and muscatel. this morning he removed his hat and smiled broadly, showing several gold teeth that had been installed in better times. “may i ask what number you're playing today, mister hubert?” "four-seventeen," said hubert. he always told them, although he knew they were laughing at him. it gave him pleasure to think that when his number came they would remember having heard it that morning. they were sure that was not a good number because fours and sevens had played the week before. so they had a good laugh wonder- ing how much money hubert was throwing away again. flash remembered he had an aunt who lived at st. nicholas avenue, but this dis- turbed him only a moment. he and his aunt were not on good terms—she had refused to have anything more to do with him until he found a job and it was not likely that her address would indicate a lucky number. hubert spoke abruptly. “john lewis, how much money do you get for a seven-dollar hit?” “i don't know right off, mister hubert.” "well, figure it up then,” said hubert impa- tiently. after a minute john lewis said, “that comes to four thousand two hundred dollars." hubert thought about it. forty-two hundred dollars was a very satisfactory figure. he held the seven dollars toward john lewis. "put that on four-seventeen. four, one, seven.” john lewis took the money. “boy, you're really playing them heavy." "that's the only way i know how to play 'em.” "well, good luck to you.” john lewis put the money in his pocket. hubert went out, and ada closed the door after him. "that poor little man,” said ada. “just throw- ing away good money after bad. don't you feel sorry for him?” "if i started feeling sorry for people, i'd have to go into another business. the reason i will make it in this town is because i save all my sympathy for myself. and you, of course.” "but you know he doesn't have a chance, the way those fours and sevens were running last week.” john lewis put his big hands on her waist and lifted her into the air. “baby, remember that every number is a good number until it don't come out. fellow was telling me just the other day about a time back in the depression when two led off every day for sixteen straight days. what do you think of that?” he set her down and went back to the card table where he continued his figuring. strictly speaking, it was true that yesterday's number might come back today, but it was highly un- likely. but why should he care if hubert threw his money away? how could he make a living if there were no fools with money? he turned his mind away from the little man and the bad bet. the question was: how much money could he back with his own bank and how much would he have to pass on? noon eased itself into the manhattan streets. the sun hung high over harlem, and its heat was heavy as a white cloak over the flat roofs and the gray streets. children sought the coolness of dark basements and dank hallways. the old people sat near their windows and looked with indifference out onto the shimmering streets. behind the lunch counters brown girls and yellow girls, ir- ritated by the heat and their own perspiration, grouchily served up frankfurters with sauerkraut, hot sausages with mustard and relish and onion, milk shakes, malteds, coffee, and orange juice; served these to impatient clerks and laborers and helpers' helpers, to shoppers, policemen, and hack drivers. preachers napped and dreamed of churches larger than the abyssinian. lawyers and petty real-estate brokers planned and schemed and gamblers figured. a con man dropped a wal- let with a hundred-dollar bill in it to the sidewalk in front of the corn exchange bank and waited for a sucker to fall for the age-old game. a hus- tler sat in her apartment on sugar hill sipping cocktails with a white merchant from downtown who was taking a long week end, sized him up, estimated his worth. madam lawson shuffled her cards, madam fatima stared into her silver crys- tal ball, and turbaned abdul ben said of the ebony skin mumbled an incantation to the black gods of old, and lol all of them saw glory in the morning if not sooner. there, near the top of manhattan island, harlem sizzled and baked and groaned and rekindled its dream un- der the midday sun. as hubert walked along one hundred and twenty-fifth street, he was, after his own fashion, praying to god. these were hot, turbulent en- o ns counters accompanied by furious sounds and col- ors. the ordinary hum of the city, the horns and the whistles, the murmur of voices, the hoarse breathing of car and truck engines—all these city noises changed to shrill shrieks and senseless tumult when hubert had a go at god. when he was a boy he had believed in the god of the southern baptist church, the know-it-all dis- penser of justice and glory at the end of a chris- tian life of trial and tribulation, showing off mir- acles and casting fallen sinners into the hellfire. hubert had not really lived with god then-had just taken his existence for granted without re- ally acknowledging it. but now he knew that god really did exist and that he was strictly responsi- ble for everything, good or bad, and whenever he did not straighten up and fly right, hubert gave him down the country. today as hubert walked along he sometimes gestured violently to emphasize a point he was making. he paid no at- tention to the people who stared at him. the tires of the car screeched to a halt. the driver pushed his head through the window and said lazily, "hey, pop, wassa matter? got the blues? tired of living, huh?” hubert did not hear him. he stepped onto the curb and continued on his way. “god, you may be all-powerful, but as far as i am concerned you have been lax on the job. there's right to be done and you ain't doing it. had of late become a regular caller, but it pleased sister clarisse to pretend she was surprised each time he came. she walked around the screen into her neat little kitchenette. “well, if we're going to have lunch, i'd better get it fixed. did you ever see so much hot weather in your life? i declare, if it gets any warmer i'll just melt, that's all.” he did not answer. she was becoming used to his long silences and she went on talking. she had heard it said at little calvary that hubert was “peculiar in the head,” but this did not dis- turb her. after all, she was not married to him, and he always behaved himself while he was with her. later, after they had eaten and she had served hubert a glass of cold beer, he spoke abruptly. “sister clarisse, what do you think of me?" “well, now—" “do you like me?" "why, yes, of course” "then listen," he said, and he went on to tell her about his dream. as he talked he held her with his eyes. she felt uncomfortable. why in the world was he being so serious? “'where'd you get the money,' you kept saying over and over again,” said hubert. “and you and me, we were on our way to san francisco ... together.” she did not know what to say about such a dream. she shifted her weight on the couch and said nothing. unaccountably, she crossed her legs. "i want you to know i think an awful lot of you, sister clarisse,” said hubert. she began to move her fan furiously. leftright- leftrightleftrightleftright. “well, i'm glad, mister hubert.” "i'm not happy at home, and i ain't been for a long time.” “now, mister hubert, i don't think you should be telling me such personal things—” "hush now, sister clarisse. i want you to listen because i'm building up to something i want to say.” her fan took up a calmer rhythm as hu- bert settled in his chair. he went on: “i been watching you and thinking about you and i've figured out that, like me, you must be awful lonely, too_” “mister hubert, please "it's the truth, ain't it?” she hesitated. the fan slowed. left ... right ... left . . . right. “well,” she said, “naturally, we all get lonely sometimes, especially somebody who is all by herself.” left ... right ... left ... right ... "well, now, i know you never gave me no call to talk like this, but wouldn't you rather me speak what's on my mind than hide it?” “well, yes,” she said, “i expect i would.” this was not true either. she was a woman who liked pleasant banter, but when the conversa- tion took a serious turn she quickly lost interest, or, if it was pointed at her, she became warm and embarrassed, as she was now. she could not help noticing his eyes. they were definitely not ordinary. remembering what they whispered about hubert at little calvary, she began to won- der if she had been wise in encouraging his at- tention. she did not mind a casual flirtation but ... left right left right left ... what was he saying? "... out in california. they say a man with a little shop can live real comfortable there. lots of people go out there when they're getting up in age because of the sunshine and all. any day now, sister clarisse, i'm expecting to get the money and make this big move. when it comes—and it will come, it will come—i'll be asking you to come and go with me.” her fan stopped abruptly. only now did she understand fully what he was talking about. “mis- ter hubert!” was all she could say, but the ex- clamation sounded ineffectual, without the out- rage she wanted it to have. so she added, “well, i never!” "well, now i said it,” said hubert, "and i'd be pleased if you'd think about it. i know it don't become a married man talking like this, but you know i ain't asking you to do no wrong. we're both lonely and we could make each other happy. if things work out right, would you—you know you ought to, but would you—come away with me?” sister clarisse did not know what to say. she was frightened and very warm. left right left right left right. somehow hubert had moved over to the couch and had her hand in his. she wanted to take it away, to smile, to say something, any- thing to regain control of the situation. could hubert be dangerous? he was acting peculiar, talking fantastically about impossible things, and here she was, alone with him. “brother hubert,” she began, “i do think i may have given you the wrong impress—” she be- came aware of a man's unfamiliar breath. his lips touched hers and she inhaled sharply. he stood up. "i'll be going now," he said, “and please think about what i've said.” he left. now she was really angry. who did this man think he was? she would have to get him told, really put him in his place. but he was gone. she raised her fingers to her lips. tended not to notice each other and waited for the light to change. the driver of the checker was next to the curb and by an unwritten law the passenger belonged to him. james lee could see that he was planning to jump the light as soon as it was safe to cross the intersection. james lee had the same idea and a faster car. the light changed. james lee jerked his foot off the clutch and simultaneously slammed the accelerator to the floor. the desoto leaped across the intersection. james lee cut in front of the checker, who gave a scream with his horn, and brought the desoto to a halt in front of the lady with the suitcase. she opened the door and got in. “boy, you sure must be hungry.” the checker had drawn up to the left of james lee and the driver was yelling in an angry voice. james lee felt the blood rush to his head. “aw, go get yourself a car and stop crying,” he yelled. the checker driver was a middle-aged, stocky, brown-skinned man with rimless eyeglasses. “some people will put their heads in a toilet for a buck,” he said. he put the checker in gear and drove away. “take me up to seventy-third and madison, driver. i'm in a hurry.” she was a thin white woman with black hair and a voice that was cold and sharp. she was not the kind to take notice of two colored hackies who shouted at each other ve and almost wrecked their cars trying to get her as a fare. james lee eased the car into the traffic and headed uptown. he did not like having to beat another negro out of a fare, and he wished he could explain to the driver that he really needed every nickel he could get that day to keep up his average. but why should he feel bad? it was dog eat dog out on the streets, and he had never no- ticed anybody holding back to let him get ahead. "i do wish you would hurry, driver. i have a one-thirty appointment.” “i'm going as fast as the traffic will allow, madam.” “well, do the best you can.” he wanted to say something else, but the thought that he might knock himself out of a tip stopped him. then he examined her face in his mirror. no, he decided, dried-up prigs like that would never tip more than a dime, not even if it were raining and you carried their suitcases for them. a dime was all they thought you deserved. "i'm free as a bird,” called essie. her voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else as it rang through the empty apartment. “do you hear what i say?" she demanded of the innocent walls and chairs and tables. "i'm free as a bird.” yes, that black man had had her number, all though it had been exciting to meet the impor- tant people who came to the house, she knew nothing of the things they talked about and she spoke very little for fear of saying something wrong. who was she but a poor little southern girl whose mother still took in washing down home? who was she to be sitting among these doctors and lawyers and these fancy women with their beautiful clothes? essie wanted to get out on her own. “stay with us,” iretha had said. “go to school and take one of those business courses. with your looks you'll get a good job in no time. and don't worry about money. hugh and i aren't rich but we're doing all right. stay with us, girl. besides, it won't look right, your being my sister and working in somebody else's kitchen.” it had been a real struggle getting away from iretha and hugh. they had done so much for her that she had felt guilty leaving them when they were obviously sincere about wanting her to stay. still, she knew she could not live with iretha and hugh. true, a sleep-in job was not much, but at least she had been on her own and free. but not from loneliness. then james lee had made her days in the city complete and satisfying. during the hot months she especially liked to go to the beach with him. she loved his body, and when they played in the water she fancied she knew what was going on in the minds of the other women. and, if she said so herself, she was spring. she had asked him to bring her because she had never been rowing before. she was wear- ing a brightly colored sailor's outfit, and james lee teased her, saying he thought she was over- doing it for a mere rowboat. but she could tell he liked the way she looked. he rowed well and easily, moving from one part of the lake to the other with little effort. his strokes were rhythmical, one oar biting the water at a time so that the boat moved along smoothly. she complimented him. she knew he was show- ing off a little, but that was nice, too. it was a peaceful day, and she was glad they had come. then she thought that she would like to row. “but why? aren't you comfortable?” “i just want to try. please, james lee.” "aw, come on and relax," he said. “these oars are heavy." she was vaguely disappointed. why didn't he want her to try? “please, james lee." "okay,” he sighed. “come on.” he frowned as he helped her into the stern seat and took hers in the bow. he would not smile when she winked at him. like a boy, she thought, whose toys have been taken away. well, she would not ask him anything. she would learn to row all by herself. but he was right. the oars were heavy. she had hardly begun before one of them slipped co through the oarlock into the water. she managed to retrieve it, but not before she had dropped the other, which he lifted from the water and passed to her without saying a word. in a few moments she was exhausted and frustrated with her in- ability to make the oars move with any sort of rhythm. she gave them up and went back to her seat, and did not say a word the rest of the time they were on the lake. for days she was angry with him—a quiet, frustrating anger because it puzzled her. they had bitter little quarrels over trifles. then gradually she had stopped thinking about the lake, but she had never forgotten it. essie went to the radio, switched it off, and re- turned to the window seat. a tug with yellow let- tering on it chugged down the hudson, leaving a pencil of black smoke. only now, as she looked back, was essie aware that she had attached so much significance to that little incident. since that day there had been a new thing between her and james lee. figura- tively she had tried many times to row the boat and he had prevented her. the abortion. what had a rowboat to do with that? she shut her eyes tight. it hurt almost phys- ically when she thought of it. they were con- nected, the rowboat and the abortion, both parts of a large pattern. she had given in to him on that most important of things, their baby. “don't you see, essie," he had said, "that's the ugly way to get married? we'd always feel we'd been forced into it.” “but if we love each other ..." she had paused, afraid of the thought that had come to her. “you do love me and want to marry me, don't you, james lee?”. “you know i do, baby, but not this way. as soon as we're ready we'll get married and have a great big family. but let's not start out this way.” it had all been wrong. the reasoning had been twisted out of shape, but she had listened and been persuaded. even now the memory of what they had done made her go cold all over, trem- bling because it was like yesterday, the abortion, and there was nothing anybody could do about it. she opened her eyes. the tugboat with the yel- low lettering disappeared around a bend of the river trailing its thin, black ribbon of smoke, and her thoughts rushed on. things. everything about her overpowered you and finally you gave in. that was being in love. so he was not in love with essie. he had been sleeping with her for more than a year and he felt he knew her like a book. she was that simple, and she was definitely not overpowering. she was just a pretty little girl from the south who was crazy about him. but his life was stuck like a car in the mud. it was a lot of disconnected pieces and he could not make any sense out of them. he felt guilty about his treatment of essie, and at the same time he knew he had nothing to feel guilty about. women seemed born to hard luck. the trouble was that he was twenty-six years old and he did not feel he had hold of anything, that he was growing. essie was about the only thing in his life that he was sure of, and he had the strange fear that if he lost her everything might fall apart. the traffic was jammed for three blocks leading up to the pier. the “queen mary” gave a loud, anxious groan and waited. the traffic lurched for- ward a few feet and came to a sudden halt. the cab was a hot box, and james lee's clothes were soaked with his sweat. his buttock itched, but he had two women passengers and could not give it the hard scratching it needed. he had to content himself with squirming in the seat, at the same was “boy, what are you doing over here?” there was not even a hint of friendliness in his gruff greeting. “you're a long way from home.” "i guess you are, too,” said james lee. “damn if i ain't,” he agreed, and he laughed as if he had not considered that before. “they tell me you got your backside blasted. that right?” "yeah, that's right.” mcgowan chuckled and went on with his breakfast. it had been only a few days since james lee was wounded and he was in constant pain. he was sullen and angry. “i'm glad you can see something to laugh at, fella.” “boy, if you can't see something funny in that you ain't got no sense of humor. here you come all the way over here carrying that rifle and that other silly stuff they give you—all the way over here, just to get your butt busted open.” he gave up the struggle to keep from laughing. his stunted little body shook so hard that he had to push his tray away to keep from knocking it over. “man," he said, controlling himself for a mo- ment, “you could've done that at home with less trouble.” james lee watched in silence. the man was obviously crazy. he wished he could lift himself out of bed and get near enough to smash his fist into that open mouth with its uneven teeth. mcgowan finally stopped laughing, pulled his tray back into position, and began piling his mouth full of food. “where're you from, boy?” “new york. why?" "new york,” he grunted. “i thought they made some smart negroes up there. me, i'm just a southern boy myself. born and bred in kentucky. don't pay no attention to me 'cause i ain't got no sense." "that,” said james lee dryly, “is one thing i can believe." “what the hell were you doing over there in those hills, boy?” mcgowan pointed in the gen- eral direction of korea. “they sent me over there," james lee retorted. “what did you think?" "the question is what did you think?" said mc- gowan. "you look halfway intelligent. didn't you know you could get killed over there? or did you think those koreans and china boys were fool- ing?” “well, what were you doing over there?" james lee assumed that everybody in the ward was a war casualty. “over where?” mcgowan looked shocked, but his eyes twinkled. again he pointed. “you mean over there! boy, i wouldn't be caught dead or alive over there, not as long as they're shootin' and fightin’ and fussin’ and carryin' on." he winked at james lee. “i got stomach troubles, man. they started just as soon as i heard where z- we were going and they ain't give me no rest since. my stomach bothers me all the time." he took a large bite of his food and chewed at it viciously. “you see, doctors don't know too much about the stomach." “you mean there's nothing wrong with you?” james lee said coldly. he had spent a lot of freez- ing nights in the mud of korea and he had a few buddies who were still there. and then there had been leroy butler. mcgowan frowned. “shhh, man. what you try- ing to do? spoil my play?” later that same day he asked james lee, “say, man, do you know what these people are fighting about?" james lee said, “that's a silly question. how the hell would i know? do you know?” “no, i don't,” mcgowan laughed, “but i sure thought you did, coming in here with your butt full of lead and steel. and i'll tell you something else, mister. if i ever go somewhere where they're shooting and killing, i'm gonna have a better reason than "they sent me.' you can believe that.” james lee grew to hate the man in the bed next to him. but he also became fascinated by him. each morning he woke up with the thought: what is this fool going to say next? he learned that mcgowan was from louisville, kentucky, and had spent a year in a southern college before vas men on he was drafted. he was one of the few men on the ward who used the red cross library, but to james lee he did not talk or act like an educated person. nobody liked him, and for good reason. he was ill-mannered and aggressive. if the other men on the ward had a general joke, mcgowan could see nothing funny about it. but when they showed movies in the ward mcgowan always burst out laughing during the emotional scenes that were underlined with sentimental music, thereby embarrassing those who were involved in the picture's plot. the wonder was that nobody ever jumped him and gave him a good beating. fights were not unknown on the ward, but every- body avoided mcgowan and paid him a grudging respect with their unsuccessful attempts to ignore him. one day he said to james lee, “man, you know what's wrong with you? you're in danger and you don't know it.” “what kind of danger, professor?" james lee had begun calling mcgowan by the name the ward had given him. “when that chinese boy busted your backside with that grenade, didn't it make you stop and think? i'm not talking about being scared, but something else. didn't you say to yourself, 'why, i can get killed and won't have a damned thing to say about it?" james lee had thought along those lines—or, s- no so more accurately, he had felt along them—but he said nothing. “most people just go through life dancing to somebody else's tune,” mcgowan went on. “they get caught up early and they keep going along with the act just like sheep. and when they die it doesn't mean a damn thing because they never lived in the first place.” mcgowan put his head back on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. “the first right is the right to live, boy. you got so many years and days and minutes to do some- thing with your life. the only way you know what to do with your life is to think. life is precious, man, and it makes me feel bad when i think of all those people who never had a life of their own because they let somebody else or some other thing have first call on it. it's like you're a house and you rent out all the rooms to other people and you end up sleeping outside because you didn't save any room for yourself. that's what it's like.” lots of what mcgowan said was too vague for james lee to understand, but it almost always made him uncomfortable. he could seldom think of anything to say in reply. one day mcgowan suddenly asked, “boy, you got a girl back home?” “i got lots of 'em. why?” mcgowan snorted, but james lee felt he was on sure ground. it was true that he always had been popular with the girls and this was certainly something that little, ugly mcgowan could not claim. “i guess you trim 'em up a lot, don't you?” “i guess i do 'trim 'em up' a lot, professor," said james lee with a sneer at the country ex- pression. "boy, you sure are stupid,” said mcgowan. james lee's temper flared. “have you got a girl?” "nope, but i got a wife,” said mcgowan, and already there was a snapshot in his hand that he passed to james lee. the smiling woman was on the plump side but not unattractive. she held a baby in her arms. james lee was surprised that she was not ugly. how in the world had she got stuck with a runt like mcgowan? "to really appreciate a woman, boy,” mc- gowan was saying, “you've got to do more than trim her. you've got to get inside her soul and take a look at yourself. then—and only then- you are cooking with gas.” he took the snapshot and put it under his pillow. then he lay back and closed his eyes and went to sleep. the doctors were extremely attentive to mc- gowan. they were of the opinion that he had the only interesting case on the ward. he was con- stantly being fluoroscoped and x-rayed. visiting specialists in internal medicine were always taken to mcgowan's bed first. regularly his stomach be- not like sitting around in a robe and pajamas with nothing to do. he promised to send them a post card when he got to china. it happened at three o'clock one morning. the hospital was quiet and peaceful when mcgowan suddenly began to scream. they were blood- curdling shrieks that shocked james lee out of a deep sleep. the lights began to go on. mcgowan was sitting up in his bed staring straight ahead as if something on the other wall had pushed him beyond the border of sanity. his shrill, horrified cries made every man tremble. sleepy-eyed nurses, orderlies, and doctors came running. they approached the frenzied, stunted little man cau- tiously. mcgowan swung suddenly and viciously and knocked one of the orderlies cold. the others jumped him, but with surprising strength he threw them off and jumped out of bed. with agonizing screams he ran through the ward break- ing windows and overturning tables. suddenly he stopped screaming and began to sing and dance. “ 'cause my hair is curly, 'cause my teeth are pearly ... that's why they call me shine.” * his pajama bottoms had fallen off now, and his immobile face with its frenzied eyes made him look like a crazy, wound-up doll. they rushed • from “s-h-i-n-e.” words by cecil mack and lew brown. music by ford dabney. copyright mcmxxiv and copyright mcmxlviii by shapiro, bernstein & co., inc., sixth avenue, new york, n. y. him again. he fought them off, striking out savagely at anyone who came near. james lee sat in his bed transfixed, certain this was a bad dream that had suddenly erupted in his sleep. the scene became as bizarre as a halloween party, as more orderlies arrived, equipped with a strait jacket and sheets. they fell upon mc- gowan as a mass, and he went down, still strug- gling and singing and kicking his feet as if to dance. a doctor was standing near with a hypo- dermic ready. when mcgowan was safely fastened inside the jacket the doctor approached and in- jected the sedative. the muscles of mcgowan's face seemed to relax immediately, and he was taken out of the ward. but as he was being dragged through the door—and about this james lee was absolutely certain—mcgowan turned his * head toward james lee and winked. “driver!” the woman's sharp voice jerked him out of his thoughts. “driver!" “yes, madam.” "is this the quickest way we can go?” "it's the quickest way i know," james lee said. "midtown is always slow at—". "well, go over to park avenue. it seems to me that park avenue ought to be quicker than fifth.” of course she was right. park avenue was al- ways quicker than fifth, but his mind had not been on his work. when they reached the beauti- ful six-laned avenue the traffic was moving slowly but steadily. james lee glanced at his passengers in his mirror. the woman's husband was embar- rassed because his wife had created a scene, but her look was one of sharp-faced triumph. the one good thing about driving a cab, thought james lee, is that when passengers get out of your car you will probably never see them again. he gassed his car into the park avenue overpass above grand central station and thought of essie again. no, he did not want to marry essie. but what did he want? what did he want of any woman? damn! in four years he would be thirty. time, they said, went faster after that. in almost no time he would be forty. his life was slipping away from him. he had to get himself in hand. the trouble was that a man's life ought to make some sense and it didn't, not his anyway. you spent all your time doing one thing or the other, and all you were really doing was trying to make life make sense. you never succeeded, he sus- pected, but you kept trying because there was nothing else to do. at twenty-six you ought to know something of what it was all about. when his cab was empty again he drove to the west side and pointed the car uptown. perhaps he would go to iretha's apartment and see essie. it was better to settle these things before they became too involved. wea was the oldest and, in a sense, the boss. she often complimented her two operators on their work, but the praise was always bestowed in a con- descending manner, as if from the master to the student. each one took great pains to point up the merit of her individual work. each had her regular clients and each took great pride in send- ing them away fully satisfied. all things con- sidered, they got on well together, for the shop was small and they had to make one another com- pany for long hours six days a week. mabel was running a hot comb through a young woman's hair. “girl, i swear it's getting longer and prettier every day.” "oh, you think so, miss mabel?” the girl was pleased. her mother was one of mabel's custom- ers and, no doubt, if she ever had a daughter she would be sent to mabel's, too. "i guess it's time you were thinking about get- ting married and making a family,” said mabel. she was intensely interested in the personal life of every one of her customers. this amounted al- most to a passion, and a customer was hardly in the chair before mabel, in her friendliest man- ner, began probing. through the women who came to the shop mabel managed to know what was going on in a large part of harlem. “planning anything soon?” mabel asked sweetly. the girl smiled and blushed. mabel laughed good-naturedly and dropped the subject. the alice frowned when she had finished adding up the total. she looked at mabel and asked, "what did you play today, girl?” “i just put five dollars on a four to lead,” mabel replied in her sweetest voice. "well, wouldn't you know it.” alice pushed the paper and pencil aside and went back to her customer. “as bad as i need money, and mabels hit that number again. there ain't no justice.” “well, i play to win, girls,” said mabel. “ain't no need in y'all getting mad at me." lucille said, “don't tell me that number's a four when i have all my money on sixes.” "it's a four the way i figure it,” alice said. lucille left her customer and sat down in the same chair. “here, girl, let me figure this thing out for myself.” she began to count aloud. after a minute she said, “it's a four, all right.” she crumpled the paper and threw it into the waste- basket. “mabel, where in the world do you get such luck?" alice said, “that baldheaded old man of hers sure must be giving her some good treatment.” all the women laughed except mabel, who smiled serenely. "that i wouldn't deny,” she said. a pimp walking down seventh avenue looked down at the man who was shining shoes and said, “what's happening today, pops?" and pops looked up from the shoes and said, “four times.” when the pimp got to one hundred and twenty-eighth street a policeman was standing on the corner twirling his nightstick. “what's hap- pening?” he asked the pimp, and the pimp re- plied, "a four's running.” the cop walked over to lenox avenue, where some young men were sitting in a car drinking beer. one of them said to the cop, “what's up, doc?” the cop held up four fingers and walked on. an old woman sitting in the shade of her newsstand called across the street, "what did he say?” the young men told her what the first number was. the word went out from thousands of apart- ments and shops and stores. it crackled through the streets like electricity. people held up four fingers, whispered it out of windows, and tapped four times. in a few apartments negro girls examined long lists of three-number combinations from which they separated all those that had four in them. from these they separated all those that began with four. when they had the results, they pre- sented them to their bosses, who got on the phone and began placing bets on the next two numbers with larger banks. this scene was duplicated thousands of times on the east and west sides of s es urance mo manhattan, in the bronx and brooklyn by white girls sitting at adding and calculating machines, and by their bosses who got on the phones and began placing what they called insurance money bets. in a tall building downtown suave executives, the kind who first grow gray at the temples, and nervous executives, the chubby ones who sweat and chew cigars, checked with their accountants on the state of business, now that a four had played. the girls at the switchboards channeled the sudden flood that poured in at the same time six days a week. here, at the summit of the busi- ness, men and women accepted these calls from district banks, then immediately sent the figures off to the accountants. and in john lewis's apartment he looked up from his pad and slapped his head with his hand. "a four! well, what the hell do you know about that!” he said. “a four! where did that come from?” he took his list and checked off his four money. there was no rush, no emergency. it was a routine matter. he smiled. well, the suck- ers guessed one number right, anyway. he phoned in his insurance money but did not dis- turb the twenty dollars in his pocket. es “a black woman shall see hard times,” gertrude cooley quoted to herself as she walked toward lenox avenue. a few minutes before, she had discovered her bureau drawer pried open and the seven dollars missing. it was possible that some- one might have sneaked into the apartment and stolen the money, but, as hubert was missing, too, it was more than likely he had taken it. the owi w interior department. you know him—his father owns all those funeral homes. sent that boy to harvard. he's supposed to be one of us but he wouldn't give a black man the time of day. he made an uncle tom statement about that boy they're trying to frame down there in florida. but he's supposed to be in washington represent- ing us. can you beat that!” he looked over his glasses at gertrude and saw that she was not listening. “are you all right, mrs. cooley? some- thing the matter with mister hubert?” “no, nothing's the matter, mr. curtis.” she walked to the door. “i'll be seeing you.” "if i can do anything to help, mrs. cooley," he said, “you just give a yell.” “nothing's the matter,” said gertrude, “but thanks anyway.” gertrude walked to lenox avenue. the after- noon was hot, but there were quite a few people on the street. lord, lord, thought gertrude, where in the world am i supposed to start looking for that crazy man? where did i sin to deserve all this misery? i must be about the unhappiest woman alive. she had known lenox avenue for more than thirty years, but now she seemed to see it with new eyes, with deeper, more terrible understand- ing. many of the faces were familiar: the young men on the corner laughing and boasting of empty accomplishments; old slim thomas who their hands high so mrs. jonas could see their pen- nies. she put the ice in paper cups and flavored it with chocolate syrup. the girls squealed eagerly as they exchanged their money for the cups. "i declare, mrs. cooley,” mrs. jonas said, “you ain't looking so good today. what's the matter?” gertrude sighed. “a black woman born into this world shall see hard times.” "i know it's the truth,” mrs. jonas said. she be- lieved in all the old sayings. she sat on her folding chair and drew up the other one that she kept for company. "come on, mrs. cooley, let's sit and chat a while.” but gertrude did not feel like chatting. she ex- cused herself and went into her apartment. tage of these opportunities. then there were the women he met when he worked the night line. he wondered what essie would think if she knew that there were many women who would rather sleep with him than pay their fares. they were not us- ually whores, either, but ordinary women, col- ored and white, often very well-to-do. they liked his looks. he wondered what essie would say if she knew that the city was full of opportunities for a man like him. but why worry about essie at all? she was just- “where're you going, driver? isn't this the ad- dress i gave you? the passenger was a man who usually ordered people about. he and his companion wore cool summer business suits and an air of self-impor- tance. • james lee mumbled, "sorry,” stopped the car, and backed up to the entrance of the apartment building where a tall, gray-haired doorman touched the visor of his cap as he helped the pas- sengers to the street. the fare was eighty cents and the man told james lee to keep the change. “thanks.” "that's all right, george,” said the man pleas- antly. he walked into the apartment building with his companion and the doorman slammed the taxi door shut. late one saturday night not many months be- fore a white passenger had called james lee ma as “george.” james lee had brought his car to a sud- den halt, dragged the man out of the back seat, and knocked him to the sidewalk, where the man had apologized, explaining that he called every- body george, not just colored people. james lee had driven away and left the man sitting there. he was often confused about what to do when he was called “son” or “boy,” because an older white man might call anybody that. but he was never in doubt about george. this time, however, he had been caught completely unaware. the man had gone into the building and there was nothing he could do without feeling silly. he could not even show the minimum protest—to curse the passenger and throw the change in his face. a taxi drew up behind, forcing james lee to drive away. petty frustration gripped at him. then he knew what he had to do. he would go see essie and have it out with her. this day every- thing had gone wrong for him, and it was all her fault because she was on his mind, bothering him. nothing would be right until he settled with her. he pointed the car toward harlem. he had been to iretha's apartment only once, and he had not liked it then. now he disliked it even more, and he knew why. it was in one of those modern buildings at the foot of west one hundred and fifty-third street. negroes had only recently moved in, and there were still a few white families in the building. most of the new occu- pants were big-shot professional people doctors, lawyers, real-estate brokers, well-paid civil serv- ants, and racketeers—that group of colored folks who always seemed to have everything going their way. when james lee was around them he felt almost insignificant, just the way he did when rich white people got into his cab. that time iretha had invited him and essie to dinner-just to ex- amine him, he was sure—he had felt clumsy and uncomfortable all evening. "oh, it's you,” essie said. she held the door open for him and told him to come in. she was calm and pretty. he was irritated that she had obviously not been crying. he remembered now that he had not had a bath or changed his clothes, and he needed a shave. the fancy apartment intimidated him, made him feel dirty. who the hell did essie think she was? as they faced each other in the living room he began aggressively, “look, baby, what is this bus- iness? i call you up on the telephone and you don't want to talk to me." she shrugged. “i didn't want to talk to you, pe- riod. i don't want to talk to you now. i don't have anything to talk to you about. you and me, we've had it.” she gave a little wave of her hand. “look, about last night ..." he had almost for- gotten about last night, the drinking and the u no ve woman called lottie. he would have to think of something good to tell her. “frankly, i'm not interested.” essie sat down on the couch and crossed her legs, smoothing her skirt down over her knees. this made james lee even more uncomfortable. now he was the only one standing in the center of the living room. as large as the room was, he felt too big for it in his wrinkled clothes. he did not know this essie. she was too calm. he wanted an argument or anything that would make her someone he recognized. he said, “i only wanted to explain.” she returned, “you don't have to. you can go home now-or wherever it is you spend your nights.” he was being dismissed like a small boy who had come asking for something and had been re- fused. for a moment he felt it would be better to walk out of the apartment and try to forget the whole thing, but that would mean he had been de- feated. he forced himself to laugh. then he started shouting at her. "why, just look at little essie. where do you get off? you're nobody to me, you understand, and i mean nobody! i picked you up and i can drop you just like that. where do you get off sitting up in this apartment putting on airs like a two- bit whore-” she was stung. the viciousness hurt and shocked her out of her calm. she jumped to her feet. "nobody asked you to come up here," she yelled. “why don't you just go away somewhere and leave me alone? i don't want nothing to do with you, and i mean nothing!” now that she had lost her temper, he felt he was on even ground. his voice mocked her. “if you're mad about last night why don't you say so? i come up here to explain something and you start acting like a fool—" “you're the fool but you just don't know it," essie said. “that's right. you don't know it and you never will know it, but you're the fool.” his words slipped out easily. “here i've been thinking it was time we were getting married—” “i wouldn't have you on a bet.” their words clashed against each other. she was standing close to him, flinging her words into his face. he put his arm around her waist and snatched her to him. it seemed the natural thing to do. then everything went wrong. something, per- haps a thousand such scenes in the movies, had made him expect that she would, after a moment's resistance, give herself to his embrace. but she twisted and she struggled, she kicked and she screamed, and he had to let her loose. struggling for breath, she fell against the wall. then he knew he had to hit her. he had to punish her for what he was feeling. he had made a fool of himself, and she was the cause of it. but tro if he beat her, hurt her, she would know whether he was a man or not. she must have known what he was thinking, for she stood quite still, almost in a crouch against the wall. but even as he raised his hand he knew that he was not going to strike her. this was not the way he had wanted it to be. it was all messed up. james lee cooley, he thought, what the hell are you up to now? you don't have the slightest idea. just plain mixed up, that's what you are, cooley. he lowered his hand and cursed -not essie this time, not himself, but everything. he opened the door and walked out of the apartment. essie did not move for several moments. she continued to stare ahead of her as if he were still there. then, suddenly, essie thought she knew something that she had not known before, some- thing that helped to explain everything that had happened. it surprised her because it was not about james lee but about herself. james lee fought off all thinking as he wrenched the wheel of the car, jerking it out of its parking area and merging it into the southbound traffic of riverside drive. he had no destination, yet he drove with a fury, switching incautiously from one lane to the other, jumping traffic lights before they turned green. he rigorously avoided think- ing about essie. he felt as if he were being chased. better-than-average piece of machinery that takes you from one place to the other; it is a symbol of accomplishment, of triumph. when you drive a fishtail cadillac you're serving notice that the world is no longer kicking you. the situation has been reversed, and you are kicking hell out of it, riding it like a bronco buster, breaking it in to fit your style. they say, “a caddie is due respect,” meaning not the car but the man who is driving it. they say, “man, that woman ought to be rid- ing in a cadillac,” meaning that she is good to look at, and, if they had their way, they would see that she had the best of everything. a woman who is not so favored has no business in a cad- illac. many a young man whose fortune has taken a sudden turn for the better has traded in not only his ford or his chevrolet but also his woman. this particular cadillac was a powder-blue affair with immaculate white sidewall tires and bumpers trimmed in sparkling chromium. on the previous saturday night the young owner had managed an extraordinary run of luck by throw- ing seventeen passes in a floating crap game. each time he had left his winnings on the table and they had multiplied. on the seventeenth pass he broke the game. sunday had been a day of acute frustration for him because all the car deal- ers were closed. but this very morning, he had gone to the showroom and bought his cadillac for cash. when the collision came he was stand- ing under the theresa hotel marquee talking with his cronies, some of whom had made generous contributions to the game on saturday. he turned and saw that it was his car, but he could not believe what he saw. he drew in his breath sharply and closed his eyes, then opened them again. it was true: there was really a yellow taxicab setting up on the rear end of his powder- blue cadillac. he turned pale with rage, and from his head he snatched his hat, an expensive panama straw (also new), slammed it to the side- walk, and stamped on it with both feet. clench- ing his fists, he looked up at the sky and swore a long and terrible oath that would have shocked and offended many of the bystanders had they all not felt as he did, that a man with a cadillac had certain sacred and divine rights and that among these was immunity from collision. flanked by his companions, he walked weakly toward the scene of the accident. he attempted to regain some of the calm he had felt that morning. "well, i'll be a monkey's uncle!” he said. “boy, the good lord just don't like colored folks.” his friends tried to cheer him up. “don't worry, man, you got to get paid. all those taxis are insured.” he shook his head. “but, man, it'll never be like it was. never.” glumly james lee and the unhappy cadillac owner went through the formalities of exchanging credentials. while each was copying down infor- mation about the other, bystanders helped to un- tangle the automobiles. when the ceremony was over, james lee drove away toward the garage. “jesus christ bloody mary! look at that!” they were all watching as james lee parked the car. the mechanics stared over the upstairs railing and evaline came to the door to see what danny was yelling about. well, let them watch, thought james lee as he prepared himself for what he knew would be an uncomfortable scene. just so they don't start anything with me. danny tramped loudly down the metal steps and took a quick look at the car. “i'll be damned, a front end!" at all garages the driver was con- sidered at fault if the front end of his car was damaged. front ends ran up the insurance rates because they indicated the garage employed care- less drivers. “how did this happen, cooley?" “i ran into a guy." "you mean it was your fault?” even with a front end a new york hackie never admitted he was at fault. it was against tradition. "yeah, i guess that's what i mean,” said james lee. “i was at fault.” i don't have to stand here and be grilled by this punk, thought james lee. he turned to eva- vels, line and said, "give me one of those accident forms, will you, evaline?" "well, hell's bells!” danny called. “wait a min- ute, will you, and tell me what happened.” “i'll put it all down on the accident form and you can read it.” “i don't want to read it, i want to hear it-from you!” "you gonna have to read it.” "well, get a load of him, will you, fellas?” danny spoke to his audience of mechanics, who were following every word from the second floor. “he brings in one of our cars half wrecked and he can't even take time to tell me about it.” he walked toward james lee, who thought: he's just like that marine poster in front of the apollo theater on one hundred and twenty-fifth street, with his blond hair and blue eyes. he's the clean-cut american boy like the movie heroes, and i guess i'm scared because he's just as big as i am, but this is one day he can get a fight if he wants one. danny lowered his voice. “look, sonny, i'm just the dispatcher around here, you know?” “i don't care who you are” james lee was conscious of evaline standing in the doorway, "and who the hell do you think you're calling sonny?" “look, jackson, all i ask,” “_and what's this jackson business? my name's not jackson. you know my—" "—to hell with what your name is. i don't give a—" james lee swung first, a hard-aimed right that he did not know he was going to throw. but it was the next logical thing to do. then all the ac- cumulated fury and frustration exploded, and there were not just james lee, negro-american, and danny o'halloran, irish-american, squaring off at each other in a taxi garage. james lee was facing all the people who had irritated him all day, all the confusion that had kept him from understanding. there was essie who was trying to show him up and make him feel small and in- ferior, and his father who was making a fool of himself, and mcgowan with his crazy ideas, and the white man who had called him george and left a twenty-cent tip for the privilege. o'halloran had none of this to drive him on, and he had been caught by surprise. he fought well because he had been in street fights and barroom tussles before, but there was nothing outside the natural desire to win and keep from getting hurt that im- pelled him. james lee thought, i will kill him if i can or i'll make him wish he was dead. when danny caught him by the shoulders and slammed him to the floor he got up thinking, he's a good wres- tler and i'll have to stay out of his reach. swing now and keep him off, swing now and move right and move left and swing and keep on moving be- cause if he catches hold of me i'm done for. but danny did catch hold of james lee's head with his left hand, pushing it down and slap- ping it with several cutting rights that left james lee struggling for consciousness. in desperation he thought, i'll break his guts, and he brought his knee up into danny's stomach and he heard the wind break from the irishman's mouth. james lee stepped back and with one vicious blow to the head he staggered danny, who was dazed and fighting to catch his breath. with short, chop- ping blows james lee beat against the dispatch- er's head, thinking, goddamit! get down, down, down. finally o'halloran was on one knee and then the other. a grunt of final effort tore from james lee's lips as he slammed the heel of his right hand down on the back of danny's neck. the dispatcher sprawled face downward with a deep groan, unconscious. neither evaline nor the mechanics had moved, had hardly breathed, during the few savage mo- ments of the brawl. now for another full minute they stood as if impaled by what they had seen. then the mechanics began running down the metal stairs, setting up a jarring racket. evaline stared at the unconscious figure of danny, stifling a scream with her hand over her mouth. james lee, breathing heavily, turned and stum- pushed their way into hubert's thoughts. he had been standing in the sun and he was drenched with perspiration. he walked toward the barber- shop at the crest of the hill where one hundred and fifty-fifth street joins st. nicholas avenue. the fans in the shop droned. the barber was called smitty. he was in his thirties, already fat, with the beautifully contoured lips of a man who enjoys talking whenever the opportunity pre- sents itself. he and his customer were discussing a murder that had recently occupied the front pages of the negro newspapers. "the guy was crazy for playing around with a chick like that. him with a wife and five kids." smitty's scissors moved with a rhythmic chatter around the man's head. he had finished the hair- cut sometime before, but he would never let the customer know it until the conversation was finished or another customer entered. “she was bound to kill him if his wife didn't get him first. the cat never had a chance." "she swore it was his gun and she took it away from him.” both men laughed. smitty nodded toward hubert who entered just then. “hiya, mister hubert, you're next.” “no, smitty, i don't think i need one today.” hubert cleared his throat. “what was the last i one?” to on hurt him any more. he was surprised to find that he really felt sorry for them, for all the harlem black and brown and yellow folk, all the colored people all over the world who had never made it. good-by, you poor fools, hubert said to harlem. god bless you. soon hubert would push them into the past like a bad dream. john lewis wore a large grin when he opened the door and looked down at hubert. “man," he exclaimed, “am i sorry i ever laughed at you!” john lewis gave a low whistle and slapped hubert on the back. “you sure must've got up on the right side of the bed this morning, mister hubert. that's a lot of money you've got coming." hubert was uncomfortable. he did not like to be slapped on the back. he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “what are you going to do with all that money, mister hubert?" asked john lewis. “oh, i've got a few ways to spend it,” answered hubert. john lewis said, “well, i know this ain't no social call. you want to get your hands on that loot and i don't blame you.” “well, i want it as soon as i can get it.” "i tell you what i'm going to do,” john lewis said. “just because it's you, i'm going and pick it up myself. suppose i bring it by your house at, “john lewis, boy,” he said glumly, “you’re a fool.” for once in his life he was sure he knew what he was talking about. was w hubert looked at women again—not a particular one, but all of them—in a great sensuous con- glomerate. he was the young male animal apprais- ing each female he passed on the street. the young woman with the green outfit was easy to look at, and those earrings set her chestnut-brown complexion off just right. hubert reflected that in all the world there was nobody who could beat a colored woman wearing earrings. and it seemed to him that the women were taller than they used to be. at one hundred and twenty-fifth street he paused to look at the young girl who stepped down from the bus. she was tapioca-colored, with red lips. around her waist was a wide belt that matched the deep black leather bag she was carrying. hubert wondered what in the world she would want with a bag so large. she had fine legs, slender yet strong. as she walked away, hubert concentrated on the swing of her hips and the way her tight skirt em- phasized the swing of her thighs. she was taller than hubert by two or three inches. he could not remember women being so tall when he was young and really after them. they had been good-looking, all right. yes, in- deed, women had always been pretty when a man was on top and had life where he wanted it, but hubert did not think they had been so tall. he walked on. now he had more to do than watch young girls. there was a woman, a real flesh-and-blood woman waiting for him although she did not know he was coming. surprise and disapproval were on sister cla- risse's face when she opened the door. she had not forgotten their conversation earlier that after- noon. “mister hubert!” she frowned. “twice in one day? what will people think?” was without waiting for an invitation he walked past her into the room. “it hit,” he said. “what did?” she asked. “my number. it came just like i played it.” “good for you,” said sister clarisse, who was still wondering why he had returned to her apart- ment. “how much did you hit for?” “seven dollars,” he announced. “aw, gowan,” sister clarisse laughed. she knew that no one ever hit the numbers for seven dol- lars except big gamblers and people like that. with poor colored folks a hit for seven cents was more likely. hubert said, “that's more than four thousand dollars i got coming." his seriousness frightened her. “mister hubert, you're joking, aren't you?” “not a bit,” he answered, then added with a bold flourish, “not a damned bit.” the language was unusual for her apartment, but she took no notice of it. “well, my goodness,” she said weakly and sat down on the couch. “this is what i was talking about when i was here a few hours ago, sister clarisse, only i just didn't know how soon it was coming. here's our chance, yours and mine." sister clarisse was only happy in a routine she understood. problems bothered her because she did not know how to begin to handle them. she had never solved a major problem in her life. there had always been someone else to take care of them for her or she had left them to take care of themselves. now she felt trapped. this man standing in front of her actually had ideas about the two of them going away together. it occurred to her that a woman with good inten- tions could get into a lot of trouble by just being nice to a man. “i've been unhappy and dissatisfied for a long time, and you probably have, too. for more than ten years i've been waiting to kiss harlem and new york good-by and go somewhere and start all over. all i needed was a little money to buy myself in because i found out a long time ago that a man has to own something to be on the in- side. he needs money in the bank and a check book in his pocket. that's the only thing that makes him somebody." now, somehow, he was on the couch beside her and she had not even noticed that he was so near until he spoke again. "i'm a man you could live with because i'm a man who could love you and be a partner with you in everything. we're not children any more- i'll be fifty-one my next birthday. i figure that we've got a little good living coming to us, clarisse. now, if you say yes, by eight o'clock tonight we'll be on our way to a new life together.” it was a wild idea. from time to time she had thought of doing wild and irresponsible things, but she had never been what she would call "bad.” she raised her eyes and looked at hubert. yes, she liked his face. it was a man's face, smooth and strong. she liked the heavy black hair of his mustache, the firm lips. but the eyes bothered her. they seemed brown at first and yet darker, almost black. and intense, like the eyes of a troublesome boy. he had the eyes of a wild boy with wild dreams. such dreams had to be beaten out with the practicality of adulthood. a man of fifty-one had no business with such eyes. “are you coming, clarisse?” once, when she was seventeen and still a girl in alabama, she had spent several months with relatives in another county. there had been a boy with such eyes, a restless boy, intense and passionate, who spoke to her of the wildest things. they had said that he drank and gambled and would never amount to anything, but none of that had mattered to her. she had given more of herself to him than to any man since. she had loved him. but nothing ever came of it. what happened? ... a quarrel? she could not remem- ber. and later, when she heard that he had been killed in an ugly gin-mill brawl, she cried for days. later she came to realize that every- body had been right about him all along. loving that boy was the last irresponsible act she had ever committed. hubert was waiting. she had to say something. then she saw them as they really were. she was forty-eight and a widow. no matter what some jealous folk said, she led a good, christian life. her husband had been a deacon of little calvary. hubert was a man with a family, and everybody said he was peculiar in the head. sup- pose she were to do the crazy thing he proposed? that would really give the sisters something to talk about. she could see them now, buzzing around sister gertrude with their sympathy and advice. no, sister clarisse would never give them any real ammunition to use against her. besides, she was a good christian woman and would never dream of doing such a thing. she smiled and her laugh fluttered. “well, mis- ter hubert, my goodness! what would everybody say?” she knew it sounded childish and silly, but how else could she put it? you could not come right out and talk about a thing like that. hubert stood up. he looked at her for only a moment. then he turned and walked out of the apartment. the vacant smile lingered on sister clarisse's face for several minutes. her feeling of relief was tinged with sharp regret as she stared at the closed door, and she only remembered to remove the smile when she turned her eyes away. at first the coming of the seven did not ring a bell with the corner bums at all. they lounged dispiritedly outside the crystal bar and went through a variation of their daily routine. “boy, money and me, we hate each other.” "you and me both, pops." “and here i am, dry as a nun's tit.” when james lee approached, one of them yelled, “jesus, look at the kid." “he looks like a truck backed over him.” “two trucks.” the blood from james lee's nose had dried into a black stain on his shirt. his jaw was puffed and one of his eyes was swollen. “boy, look at your hair standing at attention.” “and your eyes going in every which direc- tion." “and your jaw trying to take off like the mumps." “your old man's done hit the jackpot, boy.” “what are you guys talking about?” “don't you know about four-seventeen?” he did not know. they told him. he hurried on. earlier, when gertrude had returned home, she had sat in the big overstuffed chair and begun to cry for the first time in many years. no, life had not been good to her, but she had taken every- thing without a whimper. she had known that life was something you did something about, you acted, so there had never been any need for tears. but now there was nothing to do. she felt her- self a raw, tender thing who had been roughly handled and hurt. at first she had cried softly. but these tears seemed to open up a well within her, and her large body shook with great sobs. bag. james lee's voice sounded weary as he spoke. “pop, what do you think you're doing?” “i'm packing a bag, boy,” said hubert, “as any fool can plainly see.” he went to the closet and took out a suit. “you going someplace?” “that's right,” said hubert. “you get the idea.” “you mean you're leaving home-mama and everything?" “that's right.” james lee was suddenly exasperated. “you're crazy, you know that! just plain crazy. why, you little jerk! you couldn't make it on your own with fifty thousand dollars if you didn't have somebody to play nursemaid to you.” he yelled, “you're a number one first-class jerk!” the words had no effect on hubert, who went into the bedroom. james lee turned to gertrude. "mama, aren't you going to say something? try to stop him?” “not a word. let him go. i can't take it any more.” her voice was low and tense and she was trying to keep from yelling. when hubert came back to the room james lee said, “if you're trying to hurt mama, you can forget it. you've already done that.” “not trying to hurt nobody,” he said. “i'm just leaving. never did like it around here. i've been wanting to get away for many a long year.” he went on with his packing. their way through the exits and dispersed. james lee felt the rumble of the heavy old seventh avenue trains below the street as they dragged themselves farther uptown. a girl in a blue bon- net, somehow pretty without rouge or lipstick, stood near one exit selling religious magazines. shoeshine boys in tight-legged motorcycle dunga- rees stood near the corner and yelled at prospec- tive customers. people paused in front of the newsstand to snatch a news or mirror or a jet magazine that they began to read while waiting for the traffic light to change. a bus already packed with passengers roared past its stop and halted in the middle of the block to discharge some of its occupants. some of the people who had been waiting at the stop set up a yell of pro- test and pushed down the street toward the bus. a mounted policeman, a black man with dark glasses, galloped down the block and drove the people back onto the curb. the smell of grilled frankfurters came from a nearby stand where a dark brown girl was irritably reminding the crowd that she only had two hands. the soft, steady daytime beat of lenox avenue shifted. picking up its darktime rhythm, it became fever- fish, mad, syncopated. tames lee turned west on one hundred and twenty-fifth street. he was biting his lip and talking to himself. he wished he could have said to his father and mother what was on his mind . are can the spice of life ... screw 'em all while you can ... do her wrong before she does you wrong. how many times have i wanted to really talk to essie? mcgowan had said it! life is a precious thing and you don't fill it up with dumb ideas just be- cause there are plenty of them around. now i see. there are all kinds of things trying to pull a man down, but mostly it's his own ideas. you've got to stay on your toes and you've got to keep thinking for yourself ... always thinking for yourself ... it's your only hope. suddenly james lee was conscious of his direc- tion. he broke into a run toward iretha's apart- ment, where essie was. the afternoon rush hour in grand central sta- tion is a long one that begins at about half-past three and only subsides toward seven o'clock. in the vacant white lights that spill down from the high chandeliers thousands of people rush toward new york central commuter trains that carry them out of the city's heat to small green resi- dential towns farther north. during these hours the station is like a well-organized but over- crowded beehive. from the world's busiest center, manhattan's midtown, the car horns, the millions of voices, the thousand other distinct sounds, com- bine into a single persistent din that envelops the station and seeps through its walls. the hollow voices of the public address system and the clatter of racing footsteps echo off the high hard ceiling. the young negro woman who walked down into the station from the west-side entrance car- ried her head high. she had been shopping, and, besides her overnight bag, she carried a large hat box filled with her purchases. she moved with a jaunty step that was not without youthful grace. there were pride and sophistication in her walk, and anyone watching her would have said def- initely that she knew where she was going and what she was going to do when she got there. when you go through life being afraid, she was thinking, you're really asking for trouble. and you don't have to wait long before you get it. poor little essie. i just had to have a big strong man to lean on. i couldn't stand the thought of being alone in this big old city. he never took anything away from me. the things that counted, i gave. but i'm somebody too. she stopped in front of the ticket window and bought a round-trip fare. no wonder he wanted to hit me. if your pet dog starts acting up, you give it a beating. well, people didn't. he had been going along just fine, with a great future, and then a crazy, stupid num- ber like this had to show up. why hadn't he bet the money with the big bank in the first place instead of taking a silly chance? four ... one ... seven ... those three numbers could ruin a man's whole life. together, the hits against him came to seven thousand dollars, and he did not have nearly that much. and his reputation! this was what really mattered. well, no one could say he hadn't tried. he really wanted to pay off the winners. he and ada had been on the phone two hours trying to round up some cash. they had called every big wheel they knew without any luck at all. guys he had drunk with and gambled with, guys who could have raised the money with a telephone call—they had turned him down. when a new bank got busted, everybody swore it off. if his had been an old, established bank that sud- denly came up two hundred thousand short- well, that would have been different. but those low-down rats would not back him for four thou- sand. they were willing to let him go under. but john lewis was a big man and he would show them. this was what they called a tempo- rary setback. a couple of months and he would be back. numbers players are funny people. right after they hit and don't get their money, they're liable to kill you. but give them a little time to think it over and they will chalk it up to one by one its cars were pulled into the tunnel. essie was gone. ox enue evening approached harlem. hubert had taken his suitcase and set it on the small landing out- side the vestibule. from there he would be able to see when john lewis turned into one hundred and twenty-sixth street from lenox avenue. he sat down on the suitcase to wait. the news of the big hit had spread up and down the block. many of the cooley neighbors rushed through their dinners so they could see john lewis when he brought the money. coming home from work some of them had stopped to inquire, “you taking a trip, mister hubert?" “yep.” and when they had asked him where he was going he had smiled and said, “any place that comes to mind.” when there was no one asking him questions, hubert talked to himself. “a man hopes and prays all his life for something like this to hap- pen, and when it comes he can't back down. it's a deal he makes with himself and that kind he can't break.” in their homes from time to time the children of the block had overheard their parents say that hubert was crazy. some of them now gathered under a street lamp a few yards away from the cooley apartment. they played half- heartedly at their games. they were really watch- ing hubert and waiting for john lewis. hubert looked at them for a long time. then he spoke aloud, softly, insistently. “it's no good around here,” he said. “you never get a chance to do any living. babies are born here and old folks die here, but in between there ain't no living." and later he said, “i don't blame gertrude and i don't blame the boy. i tried to give both of them ambition and i found out that you can't do that. they never understood me. i don't believe i was born to spend my whole life on this street or any other street in harlem. i've wanted to be too many grand and wonderful things to find out in the end that this was all i was ever meant to be.” it was almost completely dark when james lee came down the street. hubert did not seem to know him. the young man spoke gently, in a tired voice. “no use waiting, pop. john lewis won't be here." james lee explained what had happened at grand central, but when he finished he knew that hubert had not listened to him. his father sat with his eyes fixed on lenox avenue. james lee said, “it's past eight o'clock, pop. believe me, he's not coming." he put his hand on hubert's shoulder. “he never comes, pop. don't you see that? john lewis never really comes.” hubert did not answer. james lee became con- scious of people watching from nearby houses. he looked at the kids who had stopped their game under the streetlamp and were staring. james lee went into the house. he would bring the old man in later. now he wanted to tell his mother. after a while hubert gave a low chuckle of satisfaction. “they laughed at me and said i would never make it, but i did. maybe it ain't true that every dog will have his day, but i'm go- ing to have mine.” he laughed and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. now he was tired. he felt as if he had no strength in any part of his body. he took a deep breath. “come on, john lewis, come on. i gave this street too much precious time. gave it my youth, gave it my strength. ain't gonna give it no more. come on, john lewis, come on.” a fire engine, clanging and hooting, roared down lenox avenue. night settled over harlem but brought no rest. the murmur of living, like the river, flowed on into the evening toward the dawn. university of michigan university of michigan do not remove or mutilate cards a , run, zebra, run! leon r. harris property of university of michiğan libraries artes scientia veritas i run, zebra, run! about the title from a letter of the publisher to leon r. harris: because there is no accepted definition of the negro who passes as white, i suggest you title your book run, zebra, run! the zebra is black and white. is he black with white stripes, or white with black stripes? put him against a white background and he is black; put him against a black background and he is white. when his camouflage fails, he becomes prey to the beasts of the jungle and his only escape is to run. edward uhlan, president exposition press inc. run, zebra, run! a story of american race conflict leon r. harris exposition press new york h v la exposition press inc., fourth avenue, new york , n.y. first edition © by leon r. harris. all rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form, except for brief quota- tions in critical essays and reviews. manufactured in the united states of america. soooo!- οι Το my mother contents . in the national bank . in the brownstone mansion . in the sky-blue bedroom . in jack's rooming house . in the studio of music . in the methodist hospital . in the whitewashed cabin . in the darkened room . in the orphans' home . on condor street . in the cellar . in the railway coach . in tuckertown . in the farmhouse . in the kitchen . in the woodshed . in the junk room . in the sugar camp . in the church . at the mill . in the miller's home . behind the veil . in the clover field . in the sheep pasture . in tuskegee . in the little bungalow . trav'lin' on . changing winds . in birmingham . back to bridgeville . behind the magnolias . through the shadows . the zebra rests run, zebra, run! run, zebra, run! "jist as usual, mr. nick, jist as usual. mebbe fur me—mebbe fur you. jist s'pose we see, suh." the porter pushed through the gate and stood at the end of the convenient table around which the bank's directors so often sat and conferred. on the open palm of his right hand reposed two dice, a red one and a green one. the dice slipped from his hand to the table. "shoot yuh a dime this mawnin', mr. nick." "shoot!" the little man laid a silver dollar beside the porter's dime. the porter picked up the dice. "mek it fo' chris'mas," he exclaimed rapidly as he shook the dice and rolled them across the table. they "made it," a lucky "natural," on the top of the green one, four dots; on the top of the red one, three dots. the porter grinned. "shoot th" twenty cents, mr. nick." "shoot 'em, you lucky devil." "hit him fo' chris'mas!" again there came up a "natural," this time eleven. the porter picked up the dice, tightly squeezed them in his right fist, held the fist to his lips, kissed it loudly, and remarked, "shoot th' fo'ty cents." "shoot!" a pair of fives greeted him. "ugh, ugh," he grunted. "now i'se gotta wo'k fo' you honies. don' yuh fool wit' me, dice! make 'at ten fo' chris'mas!" he rolled again. the result was a pair of deuces. once more, and up turned a five and a three. the negro raised his arms in supplication. "bring me ah six an' ah fo', dice. jist ah little six an' ah fo'. heah yo' pappy beg yuh, dice! come six an' fo'!" he rolled, but instead of the six and four again the pair of fives greeted the players. the porter let out a whoop and the little man turned toward the fire in disgust. "what the devil did you do last night? go to church?" "yas, suh. you bet. ah newah misses chu'ch this near chris'- mas." in the national bank "thought so. well, tell you what i'll do. you're eighty cents in my dollar. give me the change." joe handed the little man twenty cents. he laid the four nickels on the table and picked up the dice. "if i pass, joe, the boss will win the nomination for gov- ernor next year. if i don't pass, you take the twenty cents. i want to try out my luck." he rolled the dice to the farthest end of the table. "you win, mr. nick," said joe. "won on lucky 'leven. glad of it. ruthah see mah boss guv'ner than have them fo' nickels thar. did he come in las' night?" "yes. i met him at the station. he's tired but looking fine. said he'd be up early this morning. i'm going to wait for him. he's an early bird, you know." joe looked at the clock. "ugh, ugh! hits aftah eight bells. lemme git busy an' shine 'em up 'roun' here." when he grabbed up the dustcloth and returned to his shining the little man sat down before the fire. nicholas leeder, a lawyer who seldom appeared before a bar of justice, a businessman who seemed to mix in all the business carried on in his section of the state, a good orator, a good bass singer, and a good presbyterian, was admired by his friends who spoke of him as the honorable mr. leeder, and was soundly hated by his enemies who called him "slick nick." whether he had more enemies than friends was hard to discover. his greatest success had been the making of george vanalban, president of bridgeville's national bank, congressman of the district. but his enemies remarked that vanalban could have been elected as easily without nick's assistance as with it; the only credit nick deserved was for persuading vanalban to run for the office. he was fifty years old but appeared to be under forty. he had lived a temperate life. for twenty-five years he had been a widower and a guest of the midstate hotel, where he occupied a suite of three rooms on the second floor. when at home, he drank one swallow of scotch in the morning and smoked one long black cigar in the evening. he never overworked himself or allowed his friends to overwork him. he was immune to worry and criticism. run, zebra, run! whatever happened just happened to him. but he had a keen, analytical mind; he could feel the beating of the public's pulse every day in the year. when, two years before, he had decided that his lifelong friend should be the district's congressman, he worked toward that end with a determination that easily overcame the little opposition that developed. promptly at ten minutes to nine, joe responded to another . sharp rap on the front door and admitted the bank's employees. there were four of them: george vanalban, jr., cashier; frank, his brother, assistant and teller; riley, the bookkeeper; and miss mary nourse, stenographer and clerk. they greeted leeder and joe pleasantly, removed their damp wraps and overshoes, and each in turn warmed his fingers at the fireplace. at the stroke of nine the cashier opened the massive safe; sacks of silver and bundles of bills were placed on the counters within the cage; merchants and farmers, laborers and housewives entered, and the day's work began. nicholas leeder never arose from his seat before the fire until a loud, cheerful "good morning, everybody!" echoed through the lobby. a tall and rather portly man was busily shaking hands with everyone, at the same time inquiring about the health of all their relations as though he were, himself, related to all, and fam- ily connections forced his inquiries. the man was congressman george vanalban, home for the holidays, and jolly and friendly as ever. he had opened his overcoat and undercoat. a large watch charm, attached to a heavy gold chain, dangled and shone in front of him. a diamond pin glistened in his necktie. his long sideburns seemed to move and shake faster than his head as he talked and laughed. his demeanor was that of a prosperous and happy man, at home and among friends—home for rest—not for business—home to enjoy himself—not to be annoyed by either the little or the big things of his own or of other people's lives. walking behind the railing, he slapped his friend on the back. "wake up, nick, old man. let me get a little laugh out of in the national bank you this morning. heard the latest story, the one about the irish- man and the load of coal?" "no," said leeder positively. "no! and i don't want to hear it till you tell me i can make that announcement tonight." "what announcement? oh, by holy smokes! i had forgotten all about it." he opened the door to his private office. "come on in, nick." it was pleasant inside. the men stood before the radiator. leeder took a newspaper from his pocket and tapped gently thereon. "well, can i make it, george? it's a sure victory. the people will fall for you." "blast it all, nick! why do you want me to be governor? i didn't even want to be a congressman. i want to rest in peace awhile before i'm dead. believe i have heart trouble anyhow. i don't want any more honors. i don't need any more. besides— no, you can't make that announcement, for i won't run against mcknight." leeder smiled. he knew vanalban and expected just such an argument. he was ready. "you won't have to run against mc- knight. he's moving to higher ground, just as you should do. he'll run for, and he'll be elected, the next president of the united states." "umph! so that's the program, is it?" the friends were still standing before the radiator. outside the fog and mist had lifted. leeder glanced through the window. far away up the street he saw three girls approaching. they were walking briskly. one of the girls was wearing a red and blue indian scarf. it was thrown over the head, wrapped around the neck, tied in a loose knot, and the long, free ends of it were sway- ing in the morning air. leeder knew the scarf and he knew the girl. "you owe it to your friends and to your family, george. i want to announce your candidacy tonight. say yes, won't you?" the congressman was silent. in a little while, he, too, glanced through the window. the girls were approaching now, not more than two blocks away. run, zebra, run! "isn't that catherine?" vanalban asked. "yes. don't you know your own daughter?" vanalban laughed. "hope to goodness i'll never get as far- sighted as you are, nick. you can even see presidents and gov- ernors two years away." when the girls reached the corner, vanalban tapped on the windowpane and beckoned for his daughter to come inside. he met her at his office door and threw his arm affectionately around her slim shoulders. "where to so early, daughttie?" there was a smile on her lips and laughter in her eyes. "go- ing for my music lesson, papa, and i can't learn a bit. i love to listen to the teacher's songs and singing but not to her instruc- tions. i can't play the simplest things yet without making mistakes. i can't sing any better than i could when i was ten. aren't you and mama tired wasting money on my voice and fingers?" "no. shame on you for even thinking 'i can't.' i'll expect you to play and sing my favorite song for me for my christmas present. better run along." he opened his pocketbook and withdrew a shining quarter. for several years a quarter had been his daily allowance to her, and now, though she was eighteen and grown up, he was disap- pointed because she had not begged him for it that morning, before he left home for the bank. he held it toward her and she accepted it laughing. "what you going to spend it for?" he asked. "gumdrops," she replied, and slipped through the door like an elf. leeder seized his opportunity. "the daughter of the gov- ernor," he exclaimed. "yes," said the congressman, "you may make the announce- ment tonight." the little man rushed to his rooms and rapidly wrote copies of telegrams he would forward at once to the columbus, cleve- land, and cincinnati papers. but before he left with them, he entered his bedroom and unlocked a walnut cabinet sitting on the mantel shelf. from its inner recesses he withdrew a silver jewel- in the national bank box. this he also unlocked. soon he was holding in his nervous fingers a small, tintype photograph, a kind which in those far-off days was made and developed at fairs and circuses. it was the photograph of a laughing girl; a pretty face beneath a broad- brimmed hat; a face bordered by wisps of curly, black hair. he looked at it intently, then pressed it to his lips. "the daughter of the governor," he whispered. then he re- turned it to its secret place, locked the walnut cabinet, and hurried out. in the brownstone mansion a faint "yas-um" descended from the upper floor. "come on down heah, gal, an' sit th' table. hurry hup. it's 'bout noontime." then, turning to mrs. vanalban, she replied, "bettah ordah special sack o' yaller meal, ma'am. dat ole gemman sho' do love his corn pones. ah 'members him. et hup ah gallon ob maple 'lasses in one week, mixin' hit wid his clabber milk. newah seed sich kind o' eatin' since ah war bawn. how long he say he goin' stay?" "just a few days. you know his son, phil, lives in cuyler. "he'll spend most of his visit there. george, jr., told me yester- day phil was pretty hard up. he was in to the bank last week. they have a new baby which makes six in all—just stairsteps. i can't understand what that sharp-tongued, lazy wife of his is thinking about." "wal, she may be lazy an' dum', but she got good sense," said honest mary. "dese yere young narthern wimmins is gittin' too wise fur dere own good. dat's why so many ob dem is sleepin' in de groun'. bettah livin' fools den dead smarty's, ah thinks." "well, perhaps you're right, mary. maybe the good lord does still send all the babies. but it seems he's overly generous to poor people." the hall clock chimed the noon hour and at the same moment the whistle of bridgeville's one big industrial plant—the rollin' mill—blew a long, coarse blast. mrs. vanalban arose from the chair, and mary turned again to her oven and pots. "git a bucket ob fresh wattah, gal. yo' knows th' mistah's heah tuhday an' he drinks nigh on tuh ah gallon ah meal. lemme see how dat table looks." mary inspected the dining room and was satisfied. lucy was an excellent maid. the cook, who was her grandmother, had trained her well. the family arrived for dinner one at a time. first came the congressman, then frank, who always rode home with his elder brother, george, who lived with his family a block dis- tant, and last the daughter, catherine. george vanalban's home was a little private world, solidly walled in from the big world without. the sun of love illumined run, zebra, run! it by day; the moon of peace bathed it in effulgent rays by night. the storms of strife blew over it and the gentle showers of friendliness fell upon it. it was a perfect home for such a family— for an honorable father, a good mother, an obedient son, a loving daughter, and two faithful, conscientious servants. they were seated at the table and everyone was happy and hungry. vanalban said the grace as though he were thankful in- deed, and the first words he uttered when the bowed heads were raised were, "this is home." "papa, you don't have time to get homesick, do you?" inquired catherine. "homesick? well, i hadn't thought of it like that. but maybe that is what gets the matter with me some days. been thinkin' i just have what the south'ners call 'the blues.' it's mighty hard to break an old habit, daughttie, and you know i'd been in the habit of living with you folks a long time before i went to congress. maybe i was sick for home." "what's the rumor i hear about you running for governor, father?" asked frank. "no longer a rumor, son, it's a fact. i told nick to make the announcement. it'll appear in the evening papers." "mercy me, father! governor! how on earth could i get my- self together in the governor's mansion?" mrs. vanalban's pre- dicament in the anticipated situation was terrifying indeed. vanalban laughed. "i'm wondering how i can get myself to- gether in the governor's chair, mother. but let's not worry about that. it's a long time till election, and, too, i'll have a fight for the nomination. let's all forget it now and talk about christmas." "and the company for christmas, too," said mrs. vanalban. "brother silas and phil and his family will be here during the week." "that means a bigger tree, mother. do you know the little shavers' names and how old they are? better find out and add all of them to our list for presents. make their presents warm clothes and lots of toys and candies. i was a poor youngster, too, once upon a time." "don't forget to be home by four o'clock, papa," catherine in the brownstone mansion admonished. "every child in school knows you're here. they'll be looking for you." the family retired to the living room in the front of the house, all but the mother, who called mary from the kitchen. "mary, didn't you tell me the other day that sarah washes for phil's wife every two weeks?" "yassam. she do, ah bleeves." "you ask sarah to give you the names and ages of all of phil's children. also, find out how large they are. we must get them some christmas presents." during the autumn months, four o'clock in the afternoon had long been the happiest hour of the day at the brownstone mansion. the vanalban home place, some two acres in extent, was enclosed by an iron fence but the gates were never locked. the mansion fronted on condor street, two blocks from the condor street public school. a half-mile or so away, at the very edge of the town, stood the rolling mill. on the side streets, in modest cottages, lived the rolling mill men and their families. the congressman was the principal owner of the rolling mill. he also owned a large farm some miles out, on which was growing the best apple orchard in central ohio. since the time their own were grade-school pupils, it had been the custom of the vanalbans to distribute big yellow, red, and "rustycoat" apples to all children who passed by the mansion trudging home from school. they ate the apples and told their fathers and mothers about them. little wonder that the generous donor received nearly all the votes of bridgeville when he entered politics. of late this pleasant duty had fallen upon catherine. she knew .the name of every child. she was extremely anxious that her father should greet their little friends again and, in his jolly way, make them realize that he, and his family, were getting a bigger blessing by giving than they were getting in receiving. on that misty and cloudy afternoon, catherine, assisted by lucy, had carried three heaping bushels of apples and deposited them behind the hedge fence beside the open gates. the con- run, zebra, run! gressman came home in jackson's cab, "for fear i'd be late," he told his daughter. at four, when school was dismissed, the shouts and laughter of the children could be heard as they came running to receive what, to their hungry little stomachs, was a virtual gift of the gods. they received more than the apples. they received the friendly touch of vanalban's hands; his cheery smiles and hearty laughs; the pleasant words he uttered. "and what's your name?" he would inquire. "johnny." "how many brothers and sisters have you, johnny?" then johnny would start counting them, and sometimes he would become confused and would count himself twice. they would all laugh and the congressman would say, "oh, very well, johnny. is little nettie here your girl?" johnny would say, "no, sir," and twist and turn red and finally would impart the information that nettie was willie's girl, which would cast all the confusion onto willie. but right then nettie would speak up for herself and say she wasn't anyone's girl but her papa's and mama's, and the con- gressman would remark, "that's right, nettie. you stick to mama and papa always." then nettie would smile and munch her apple and look slyly at the two boys, who had forgotten all about her al- ready. they were having a grand time there at the gate—vanalban and catherine and the rosy-cheeked sons and daughters of the rolling mill men. it was the best time vanalban had had in months. he was really living again, living as he desired to live; a happy hour of soul music and soul beauty. for there is no music as sweet as the mingled voices of children, and there is no work of art more beautiful than the smile on the face of a child. . the last one had departed homeward. as the congressman and his daughter turned to enter the gate, the eyes of a stranger arrested their attention. they were eyes one might be compelled to remember but would always want to forget. lusterless eyes, slightly bloodshot, deeply set, and seemingly guarded by high cheekbones and extended brows. it appeared, during the moment in the brownstone mansion that he advanced toward them and could not help but see their pleasant countenances, that he would have turned his gaze away from theirs if he could. but something held it there—something he could not resist. perhaps his soul craved the warmth of their friendship, though his ill-clad and unclean body, if it could, would have disappeared instantly. the congressman, who still held an apple in his hand, smiled. "have an apple, stranger," he said nonchalantly, holding it out to him. the stranger stopped and bowed—bowed as one bows to a queen or princess, low and from the waist. when he raised his head he held out his hand, flat and palm upward, that the apple might be placed thereon. he did not attempt to grasp it with his fingers. "you are exceedingly kind. i am very hungry," he said. his voice was soft, even musical. each word seemed to be perfected in his mouth before it was uttered. catherine glanced toward the baskets. "here are a few more, papa. he can have them all." she gathered the apples from the baskets and handed them to her father, who, in turn, gave them to the stranger. he filled the pockets of his coat and walked away holding a half-dozen on his arm, which was pressed against his body. "you are very, very kind. i thank you," he repeated again and again. the girl grasped her father's arm and they walked slowly toward the house. that almighty power, which keeps the paths of life whereon we must tread so dark and unknown before us, was good to them that afternoon. they could not see the time when they would meet this stranger again—when his rolling, musical words would fall as red-hot coals from the altar of their familial love—when he would consume their hearts and cast away the cores, just as he was then consuming and casting away the cores of a few of their red, yellow, and rustycoat apples. mary—a black "fascinator" tied securely over her ears, a ponderous brown coat enwrapping her buxom body, red-spotted mittens on her hands, and a pair of men's overshoes on her feet— run, zebra, run! came wobbling, puffing, and blowing into the rear hall of the mansion as the congressman and his daughter entered the front hall. she had been to visit sarah. mrs. vanalban met her before she entered the kitchen. "did she tell you about phil's children, mary?" "yassam. an' ah wants to tell yo' befo' ah fo'gits it. dey's stawrsteps all right. dere's amanda, she's nine—an' phil, he seben—an' silas, he six—an' gawge, he fo'—an' claude, he two— v an' de baby, hit been heah 'bout five mon'ts, but they calls huh buhnice. fo' boys and two gals, misses, an' dey's all lawge fo' dere ages." chapter three in the sky-blue bedroom in her sky-blue bedroom, catherine vanalban conversed with some very close acquaintances. some were the young ladies and gentlemen she had met inside her storybooks. but these seemed to be very distant and unreal acquaintances, just like some strangers she had met in her dreams had talked and laughed with a little while—then had awakened to discover they had not only disap- peared but had never really existed. while a little girl and during her early teens, she had been particularly interested in a friend who stared at her from a pic- ture entitled "the harvest,” which hung on the wall. this friend was a handsome farmer lad, who held in his brawny arms several bundles of wheat which he was about to toss into a wagon. his father, on the opposite side of the wagon, was bending over a shock of the grain. but catherine knew the son was relieving the old man of all the heavy work and she liked him because he was kind and dutiful. sometimes she would talk to him and tell him she loved him. she would ask him if he loved her. then she would put into his mouth the words, "yes, catherine, i love you dearly," and they would kiss and marry and be happy ever after- ward. sometimes she would rummage through the box where she kept her keepsakes and converse with this one and that one who had contributed to her store of mementos. three pressed four- leaf clovers, between a blank sheet of paper in an envelope on which her name was inscribed, reminded her of chubby reginald stone. "reggie,” she would say, "you are married and your red- headed wife has the cutest little baby." and she would laugh half aloud, remembering that reggie had once told her that the first boy who gave her three four-leaf clovers at one time would cer- tainly be her husband. while her father was away and she had temporarily lost his run, zebra, run! companionship, she had become more interested in the young men of her set whom she met at socials and house parties. but she could not think of one she particularly admired, certainly not of one she might learn to love. the young men, too, if any of them worshiped her, worshiped her afar. she was very pretty. she was also sweet and intelligent and womanly—too much so for most of them. to them she was an "untouchable." she loved life and activity and fun, but she played in the distance, and mostly by herself, seeking to draw her companions to her side but not once venturing to go to them. in her bedroom tonight, she did not converse with any of these whom she knew. in fact, she was a little lonely. when she felt this way, she wanted to go to bed and to sleep, half hoping that a pleasant, unusual dream would come to her during the dark hours, and that she might awake with pleasing memories of it. so she undressed hurriedly, slipped on her nightgown, and for a mo- ment stood before the oval mirror that hung above the old-fash- ioned bureau. her dark-brown hair hung loose to her waist. but, unheeding her mother's instructions to "plait it up every night," she simply tied a blue ribbon around it at the neck, then turned out the gas lamps and crawled beneath the covers. chapter four in jack's rooming house as usual, jack, and sarah his wife, were having a friendly fuss. this happened every time jack's tobacco money ran out and he was compelled to approach his better and larger "half," and re- quest a small loan. it may be said that sarah kept the purse strings tied in hard knots. she was an industrious and thrifty soul—a pure, dark-skinned yankee. she had lived near and worked for yankees all her life, and had become thoroughly inoculated with every germ that makes the yankee close, saving, thrifty, or stingy —whichever characteristic one may judge the yankee possesses. "come on, sarah, gimme a dime. my mouf's waterin' for some battle-ax. lisson, woe-man, whose money you got anyhow? i gives you my money to save fo' me, not to keep fo' me." jack spoke rapidly. it was now the fifth time he had requested the dime and still sarah was deaf to his request. but she was not dumb. she was singing: my lawd, what a mornin', wen th' stars begin to fall, and appeared to be more interested in the morning and the falling stars than in her husband's tobacco supply. at last she walked out of the kitchen into the middle room and jack followed. she looked at him contemptuously. but she saw his flashing eyes, she realized he was getting "hot undah the collar," and knew she had hesitated long enough. "here's yur dime," she said, bringing it up from apparently nowhere, "an' remembah, that's yur last one this week. 'stead of chawin' terbacker, i bleeves to my soul you eats it. newah seen sich a man nohow. button up 'em pants fur you go out o' here an' try an' look like a gentleman." then she happened to remember, and, lowering her voice, remarked, "honey, be in by seven-thirty, please. i wants you to keep th' house, fur i've got to go to church." run, zebra, run! jack and sarah lived in a nine-room house "under the hill" on the cuyler pike. far and wide, it was known to the travelers and wanderers of their race as "jack's roomin' house." during pros- perous times, when the rolling mill was running full blast and work was plentiful, each room was full of roomers and boarders. then the landlady and her lord salted down the dollars and dimes, wore good clothes, gave liberally to the church, and were recog- nized as the most prosperous "colored family" in bridgeville. but the panic of ' had consumed most of their savings. at this time, they had only three roomers. jack eked out his living by doing odd jobs and sarah helped by taking in washings and going out to wash for a few of the white families who could afford to hire their washing done. around eight o'clock that monday night when sarah went out to church, she left her husband sitting by the fire smoking his cob pipe and reading a week-old paper he had picked up in some base- ment where he tended the furnace. slim and bob, her mill-men roomers, worn out by twelve hours of heavy work, were snoring in their beds. as usual, her girl roomer, molly, was out. she did not like to keep girl roomers, especially those who seldom worked and whose parents she did not know, but experience had taught her that, to a rooming house, a girl roomer might be a wonderful asset. too, molly was a quiet, sensible, and tidy girl. she was "nice." so, although sarah and jack were criticized behind their backs by their fellow church members, they continued to close their eyes and ears when, occasionally, molly brought her com- pany into their house, and the girl was allowed to live her own life and go her own way. it was late when sarah returned from church. the prayer meeting had been wonderful, for a new minister had lately arrived and was getting ready to start a "revival meetin'." the first week the members must get themselves "right," must confess their sins and shortcomings, must begin speaking again to those of their brothers and sisters with whom they had been at outs, and must im- bibe the spirit that would force them to go out into the slums, the byways, and the hedges, and seek the poor sinful souls who were out of the "ark of safety." sarah had received her blessing. she in jack's rooming house had gotten right with sister eliza jones, whom she had accused of purloining two pies from her basket which were left over from a club supper. she had prayed, testified, wept, and shook hands with everybody, and, returning, she entered her humble home hum- ming a new revival tune, while in her heart was a staunch resolu- tion to do all within her power to bring to the mourner's bench, and to the master, the two poor, lost sinners residing beneath her own roof, slim and molly. her husband sat asleep before the fire. "jack, jack! jack! wake up an' go to bed," she commanded. she poked the fire, then stepped into the hall, intending to go upstairs and see if all were within. but at that moment molly entered. the girl held the door ajar and behind her entered a man. sarah turned her back in disgust. more than once she had requested molly to bring her company early, and get it away at least before midnight. but molly did not ascend the stairs. instead, she followed sarah into the sitting room. sarah turned. the man stood stiffly in the doorway. "he wants to rent a room, aunt sarah, the cheap- est one you have." sarah looked at him and, saying nothing, stepped and turned up the light. she was not satisfied. she struck a match and lighted the other lamp sitting on the mantel shelf. then she looked at him again keenly. "no," she said emphatically. "i can't rent you a room. lots o' roomin' places an' hotels in town fo' white people. bettah go to one o' 'em." "i am not a white man," he replied. "yere not? lemme look at yuh ag'in, mister." she scrutinized him closely. "maybe not, but yuh could surely pass." she reached for his hand and mumbled, "jist wantta see yo' fingahnails." the hand she held was soft; the fingers long; and tufts of black hair lay on the light skin between the knuckles and the first joints. the fingernails were pink and unblemished and smoothly rounded. but the proof of the blood must have been beneath them, for sarah was satisfied. run, zebra, run! "what's yo' name, mister?" "halldeau." "where yuh from?" "cleveland." "what's yo' wo'k?" "musician." "umph. poor chance 'roun' here. ewah do any hawd wo'k— mill wo'k?" "no." "know anyone 'roun' here?" \ "no." "when yuh come here?" "today." "chris'tun?" the man seemed not to understand. he looked perplexed. "i mean, evah b'long to a church?" "yes, once." "what chu'ch?" "episcopalian." "umph! fust 'piscupalun colored pussun i evah heerd tell of." immediately to sarah came the thought of the coming revival, and with this thought the fact that no one of her church now in town was able to play the organ. that very night the new pastor had discussed with his officers the advisability of employing some white girl to play for them until the meetin' got started off right. she motioned toward her own little organ which stood in a corner of the room. "cawn yuh play some chu'ch music on that?" at sight of the little instrument the stranger suddenly stood erect. it seemed that his stature increased inches. his eyes opened wider and a peculiar fire appeared in them. his lips moved, and something like a half-smile appeared on them. instantly, his arms reached out and he moved toward the organ as though he might have been going to pick up a baby or embrace a wife. the keen- eyed sarah halted him. she noticed the dirty trousers and ragged coat. "wait, mister. lemme spread a newspapah on th' stool." in jack's rooming house he sat down, unshuttered the keys and adjusted the pedals. "have you a book and a favorite song?" he inquired. "yassuh. here's th' book. one hundred an' six. 'how firm uh foundation.'" the stranger touched the keys. an instant—and from the throat of that little organ, sitting in the corner of that dimly lighted room in the barnlike house "under the hill" on cuyler pike— rolled forth a melody the like of which the listeners had never heard. perfect melody—intoxicating melody—soothing melody— its sweetness wafted them instantly away from their lowly worlds into the region of the spirits. sarah intended to sing her "favorite song," but she could not sing. the familiar words dried up in her mouth. her organ was speaking better words—newer words— words no hymnologist could write—words no poet could express. "well, praise th' good lord," was all she could say, and she laughed through her tears. the musician played on. he turned the pages of the old hymn- book at random and, no matter what the hymn, its music burst forth sweeter than it had ever been given to the world before. the eyes, the ears, the hands of a genius were ordering tones and melodies to suit his own soul. his soul thirsted. for months it had been kept away from the fountain from which gushed or rippled the sweet, harmonious waters of life—the waters of health, peace, satisfaction, and happiness—all that makes life worth while. the little organ had become the key to the door of the world in which he belonged. he had unlocked the door and entered it, content again to live with his angels of music who had nurtured him so fondly in times past. the musician played on. jack, with mouth wide open, stood beside him, and watched the deft fingers as they ran over the keys. molly sat down in a chair and buried her face in her arms. the front door opened softly and a neighbor family entered the hall—a white man, his wife and son, and two grown daughters. through the door, slightly left ajar, the music rolled—out of the yard—out the gate—out onto the pike. a boy, buggy-riding with his girl, stopped the horse in front of the whitewashed gate and they sat silent, listening. others came by and stopped. soon the run, zebra, run! yard was full of people—mostly young people—young people who know what real music is—whose hearts have not yet been hardened by life's discordant dins. their silence was the most perfect applause. suddenly the musician exclaimed, "i am tired." his hands dropped from the keys and he arose quickly and went to the fire. his listeners came toward him but something held them distant. not one offered a hand. few questions were asked, and these were answered by molly in her own way. they dispersed. jack went to his bed. sarah went upstairs to prepare her cheapest room. then molly slipped her chair over closer to his and whispered, "take this two dollars and a half. she'll want her rent tonight. ask her to heat some water for you to take a bath. i want to see you clean. and listen—don't get up tomorrow till i can get out and find you some clean clothes." his reply was the peculiar half-smile and the interrogation, "didn't i tell you i could play?" sarah asked for her rent money and heated the water. she was downstairs in her bedroom snoring loudly when molly tiptoed to the musician's door. she opened it softly, noticed that he was nude, and stood outside. he came to the door. "here, sleep in this tonight and don't get any dirt on her bed. she's mighty particular." inside his room, he unfolded before the lamp what she had handed him. it was one of her own pink silk nightgowns. he played every night that week at the little colored methodist church. it was packed to the doors and beyond. collections were wonderful. on friday night they gave him twenty dollars. the white methodist preacher, pastor of the largest church in bridge- ville, was present that night and invited him to play the offertory on the pipe organ at his church, at the coming sunday morning service. and, too, that friday night, he walked uninvited into molly's room and handed her the twenty dollars he had just received. she shooed him away. "keep it, boy, keep it," she told him. "can't you see i like you?" the following week, which was the week before christmas, in jack's rooming house he was invited to play at numerous house parties and at the busi- nessmen's association's luncheon. he was well received, well liked, and well paid. it was at the latter affair that vanalban invited him to entertain his guests at the mansion the night after christmas. the night he entered the vanalban gate he suddenly remem- bered he had seen that spot before. but he was not embarrassed. that was in the past. the past did not worry him. the past had never worried him. yesterday was gone. today, he lived. he en- tered the mansion as a king might have entered it. a conqueror he was—for he had conquered even himself. his host and the guests arose and bowed. he was happy to find here the finest and the sweetest-toned grand piano he had discovered in bridgeville, and he played better than bridgeville had ever heard him play. from attic to cellar, the mansion was filled to overflowing with his music. he played from memory compositions he thought he had forgotten-hard, intri- cate, classical compositions of the old masters—waltzes, schot- tisches, pastorals, love songs. mary, sitting in the kitchen, shed tears and wiped her wrinkled cheeks with a flour-sack handker- chief. lucy danced with the tray she was carrying, set it down, threw her arms around her grandmother, and exclaimed, "gran'. maw, just think. he's one o' us!" during a refreshment period, while several of the younger folk were standing near him, it was catherine who summoned courage enough to ask him where he had studied. he didn't tell them much, but mentioned paris and vienna and berlin and london, and told them that coleridge-taylor, the great negro genius and composer of "hiawatha,” had been a fellow student. someone mentioned athens. his eyes brightened, suddenly he shook his head, turned and faced the piano and said calmly, "now i must sing." the revelation surprised all of his auditors. was there no limit to his genius? they would know. quiet ensued. a chord broke on the stillness and died away. then the melancholy strains of the "maid of athens" poured from his throat. high and low -low and high-sweeter and sweeter-nearer and nearer—until, run, zebra, run! into the heart of every mother and father, wife and husband, sweetheart and lover, girl and boy, nestled the three last words of his song—the sweetest words in any language—"i love you." his tongue, thus loosened, could not be stilled, and he sang other songs—carols, hymns, and folksongs. old man silas re- quested "my old kentucky home," and there were tears in the small keen eyes when he slapped the singer on the back and thanked him. then, while the grandfather's clock in the hall (which, by the way, was the present brother silas had told his niece would talk to her the rest of her life) was striking the midnight hour, van- alban whispered his request into the singer's ear, and, stepping back, announced, "friends, my favorite, and it's his last song, 'home, sweet home.'" he sang it from memory—every verse and word—and his voice grew husky. home! home! yes, home! dearer than any spot on earth. but what did he know of home? vanalban led him into his library and den, handed him his hat and overcoat, and slipped three one-hundred-dollar bills into his hand. "say," he said, "i own an empty four-room cottage down the street a ways and i'm ordering a grand piano set in there to- morrow. fix it up for your studio. we around here who can afford to pay the price want you to teach your wonderful music to our youngsters. no back talk, young fellow. see you in a day or two good night." chapter five in the studio of music the musician had given his first lesson in his new studio to a young matron of swedish extraction, the wife of the manager of the rolling mill. he dismissed her at the front door, then walked out on the narrow porch and sat down on the railing. a bright winter sun was shining. he filled his lungs with the invigorating air, rubbed his hands together, looked down, up, and across the street at the cleanly painted homes of his neighbors, and greeted his surroundings with a smile. he was feeling better than he had ever felt before. the past few weeks had greatly changed him. gone were the hollows in his cheeks—the dead luster from his eyes—the paleness from his face. he had taken on weight, the motions of his body were less nervous and more natural, he seemed to be at ease with himself. as he smoothed down with his hands his mass of curly black hair, care- fully parted at the side, he presented a plain picture of a young man free of worries and care—of a young man satisfied and content. beside the door, surrounded by a frame of polished oak and painted on black glass were the white letters that told bridgeville who he was. he was jaques wilhelm halldau, and this was his studio of music. this was enough, aplenty for bridgeville to know about him. if any would know more, let them get the knowledge at their own risk. another pupil arrived, a muscular young man who wanted to learn to play the violin and sing bass. halldau opened the door and ushered him inside. if he wanted to learn he would teach him at least something. to talented or untalented he would give con- scientious service. he loved to teach, loved to guide the hands, the eyes, the voices of his pupils. he gave them their money's worth and more. music was a part of his very soul, and when he taught music his soul was free—free in its own sphere—free to associate run, zebra, run! and harmonize with other souls the great goddess drew together. more pupils came and departed until, in the late afternoon, the day's work was done. he realized then that he was ravenously hungry. he walked to the rear of the cottage, to the dining room. the table was set—two plates—two glasses—two chairs—one at either end. it was a new dining room, small, dean, and cozy. halldau had the white-papered partition installed because, he ex- plained, "i can't eat right when i can see the kitchen stove and hear the kettle boiling." he walked on through the dining room and entered the kitchen. "how are the eatings, girlie?" he inquired. molly turned and smiled. she was a pretty girl—her chestnut skin smooth as velvet, her perfect teeth white as ivory, her large eyes dreamy but awake. "go sit down, boy, and wait a minute. why didn't you tell me you were ready?" he obeyed her. she brought in the steaming meal—colored folks' eatings—turnip greens cooked with hog jowl; sweet pota- toes; buttermilk; and a brown apple cobbler speckled with nutmeg and cinnamon. he filled his glass with the buttermilk, reached for a cake of the cornbread, broke it, and his hand started toward his mouth. molly, sitting opposite, was watching closely. "huh-huh," she admonished. "don't you do it. what have i been telling you every meal?" he looked at her shamefacedly—as a boy caught stealing sugar might look at his mother—then he bowed his head. "lord, make us thankful. amen," he said. molly smiled. her tender eyes worshiped him. "the idea! you always forgetting!" and she told him again for the nth time, "no matter how big a devil you are, you ought to be thank- ful for your eatin's. and you ought to let the lord know you're thankful. 'tain't no disgrace for anybody to pray over a good meal. we know how we hurts when we're hungry." indeed he knew! and, though he would not let on, down deep in his heart he admired the brave girl for expressing her in the studio of music opinion and forcing him to respect her wishes. and more, he knew that this little prayer before each meal was really all that was linking him to god, and to the god-spirit in each individual. such a weak strand it was—between good and evil, bliss and torment, life and death! but, as long as it held, he was safe. the days came and went. they satisfied him as well as he had ever been satisfied. he had never been fully satisfied and knew he never would be. he was made not to walk on the earth but to grasp for the stars. to grasp and not obtain is disappointing. he was, even now, so soon after he had been pulled out of the dust and dregs of life, grasping for a star he knew he could not get and should not even desire. he had no business with it. she was just a girl—a mere slip of a girl, but . . . and he knew well what the end would be! he had told catherine that europe had made him a master of music. perhaps, had he told her all, she would have shunned him, would have fled from his presence as though he were a leper, would have hidden herself securely in the bosom of her family, and he would never have found her. just perhaps—but who knows? suppose he had told her that he came from nowhere; that he was the unclaimed and unknown son of an english father and a jamaican mulatto mother? that this unwedded mother—so young and so beautiful—had died giving birth to his half-sister? that he had grown halfway to manhood before he had ever owned a pair of trousers, had ever eaten a meal at a table, had ever slept in a bed? that a french sea captain and his wife had heard the sweet music rolling from his throat as he lay on the white sand of the beach, near the harbor, had taken him home with them, and their generosity had provided for him? that he had become what he was then—but, alas! that he had also become what he was when she first met him—a victim of alcoholism—unable to break the chains gay paris had forged and entwined around him? suppose he had told her that this was the fifth studio he had occupied in as many cities—and always some bold or subtle mon- ster had unleashed his ravenous appetite for liquors, which had not been satiated until his substance and his body were entirely run, zebra, run! consumed? true, never had the monster appeared in the form of a comely girl—but it had come and, invariably, had caught him weak and unprepared. suppose he had told her all this? would she have shunned him? perhaps—but who knows? she came to the studio for her lessons twice a week; one day, early in the morning, the other day, late in the afternoon. he dis- covered immediately that she had no desire to study music or to be taught music. her thoughts were elsewhere. in the very midst of her lesson she would raise her deep, brown eyes to his, ask an irrelevant question, and, in a second, all he had told her would be forgotten. her fingers would not strike the right keys. he would grasp her hands, but the moment he touched them she would struggle to free them, and, when free, would gasp with admiration and touch with her slender finger the gold signet ring he wore. he told her it was all he possessed that had belonged to his mother. he reprimanded her for her carelessness and laxity, and one morning told her plainly he was going to dismiss her and so in- form her father. but the tears welled in her eyes and she begged so piteously he could not do so. he became angry with himself when he discovered he was bestowing upon her special favors; buttoning up her overshoes; picking a speck of lint from her cloak; or adjusting the scarf around her neck. then, one afternoon, she asked him to sing for her. he had consistently refused to sing in the studio for anyone except molly. this was his special favor to her. he owed her this and more. she was his housekeeper, and—his girl. he could touch her—could kiss and embrace her. his head could rest on her bosom—his heart beat against her heart. in the kitchen, molly was singing a simple ditty he had taught her. to him, her voice was barely audible. but to catherine's sensitive ears, it had become a raucous din. she knew the song was one of his songs. she arose from the piano bench. "sit down—mister jaques," she commanded, "and sing for me." he refused. he would not humor her further. as usual, when in the studio of music certain of himself, he stepped away and waved her toward the door. "be gone, temptress, nuisance," he said. "it's time little girls should be with their mothers." but he realized not his weakness. boldly, she walked up to him and threw her arms around him. "come sing. sing for me!" the words escaped from her lips— harsh whispers, plaintive hisses—like the gasps of some pet animal wounded unto death. she clung to him with upturned face, her arms drawing him closer and closer. mechanically, he drew her to him. he felt the quiver of every nerve in her supple body. "then take it—all—everything," he said, and he pressed his lips to hers, long and hard. he was singing his third song when molly appeared at the door. "good night. i'm going home," she said simply. it was the first night she had left him before the supper hour, but he knew well why she was going. "good night," he replied, as she banged the door. he turned to catherine. "now you go too. go!" he com- manded, and, entering his bedroom, threw himself across the bed and hid his face. the weeks passed by. molly, faithful and sad, continued to perform his household duties and to serve him well. catherine, intoxicated by his kisses and embraces, came to him when she should not have come, and stayed with him until he would be com- pelled to force her to leave. it was mid-may. the grass, shrubbery, and trees around the brownstone mansion were fast becoming green. the pet vanalban robins had returned and were devouring bugs and fishworms in the flower beds jack had freshly spaded. mary, the cook, still dressed like mid-january, to keep from catching her "death o' col'," was wandering about over the yard with a tin bucket and a case knife in her hand. she glanced around as catherine entered the gate. the girl wore a sailor hat, from the back of which flowed a streamer of blue ribbon. her long, white spring coat, trimmed in in the studio of music know, who said solemnly, "william hall and elizabeth vanalban —i pronounce you man and wife." and while the old man was speaking these words, william hall touched her soft hand, and slipped on her finger the ring that had been his mother's. the congressman's conscience was clear. he was a good presbyterian. beckoning the musician aside, he said to him, "here is five hundred dollars. get your stuff in bridgeville and clear out of there in forty-eight hours. and may i never see your face again." a few hours later in the railway station, an officious negro redcap accosted george vanalban, jr., and reached for his grip to carry it aboard the train. young vanalban turned on him with the fury of a lion. "don't you touch it, you black imp, you nigger! get away from me!" the redcap's jaws clicked and he clenched his fists. "just say that again, you poor white trash, and i'll mash your nose." as the musician entered the studio the next morning, he jerked down the sign from beside the door, carried it within, and threw it to the floor with all his strength. it shattered into a thousand pieces. molly was sitting at the end of his piano in his own rock- ing chair. he slumped down into her lap. throwing her arms about him, she fondled him as she would have fondled a child. "my boy, my poor boy," she moaned. "what on earth are you going to do now?" "do?" he rose to his feet and laughed. "do? i'm going away —who cares where? i'm going to get drunk, beastly drunk, drunk as the dog i am. and i hope i stay drunk till i land in hell!" he tossed her vanalban's five hundred dollars and walked out. catherine had taken it—all—everything he had. chapter six in the methodist hospital when he arrived at the bank the morning following the secret pittsburgh wedding, george vanalban, jr.'s first act was to sum- marily discharge joe, the industrious and efficient colored porter, who had served the institution for many years. then he walked into his father's private office, locked the desk and the door behind him as he came out. the elder vanalban, aged ten years overnight, departed for the michigan lake region. catherine and her mother left to sojourn with some distant relatives in central pennsylvania. mary, the cook, and lucy, the maid, returned to the little whitewashed cabin far out on the cuyler pike, and frank, who was to be married in a month, went to live at the hotel. the gates to the grounds of the mansion were closed and locked, the doors locked and barred, and no one but george vanalban, jr., carried keys that would unlock them. the weekly bridgeville clarion published ample news about the doings of the town's first family, and no one doubted the truth of any statements printed. the vanalbans were good citizens, good neighbors, good friends. there was genuine sorrow in many hearts when the announcement was made, that, on account of failing health, the congressman was compelled to withdraw from the race for governor and would quit politics altogether. since catherine's departure, nicholas leeder had been travel- ing around in circles. from bridgeville he had gone to the "lakes" to spend a week with vanalban. from thence, he had gone to cleveland, then on to pittsburgh, then to a hilly hamlet in central pennsylvania, then to washington, then down through the caro- linas and back to ohio through kentucky. twice, during the summer and early fall, he had made this circuit and twice he had seen catherine. but the girl did not know he had been anywhere near her. on in the methodist hospital both occasions he had rented a buggy and driven alone in the evening, down the narrow country lane past the cottage in which she was domiciled. he had seen her face through the open, lighted window—had feasted his eyes upon it—had thrown her kisses through the darkness, and then had left the vicinity and the state as quickly as he could. peculiar actions for a middle-aged man, but love, perhaps, not only covers all sins but also all fool- ishness. leeder was glad when vanalban sent for him in late october. his friend wrote: "i need someone, nick, someone who under- stands, someone who can help us out of this mess in the right way. i can't depend on myself or on any of the family, so i have to call for you. come at once." he found the congressman improved in health but not in spirits. they drew their chairs together in a corner of the veranda, which was now glassed in from the biting winds that swept down from canada and across the lake. "it's just about ruined me, nick. i see, now, how big a fool i was, now when it's too late. i feel like i'm responsible for every bit of her trouble and disgrace. i can't even blame the boy. he was only human. she was a girl and he was a boy, but i certainly played the devil being a father." "ah, come out of it, george. no use crying over spilled milk. such things just happen, that's all. they'd happen anyhow, in spite of all we'd think, say, or do. what we must plan now is the best way to shield her, the best way to make life worth living again for her. we've got to take care of her, george, and take care of her well. and, of course, we've got to protect your family's good name. but you stop worrying, old boy. let me take the case. i'll work it out all right." "you can have it, nick. i don't know what to do. i'm afraid of junior. he'd kick her out in the streets tomorrow if he could. don't spare any expense. i've got to go back to washington, but i'll be home christmas, and i want her there when i return. i want my home again. this kind of living is hell. see that she's taken good care of, nick, and see that she's home christmas." the next morning the little man left for cleveland. a firm be- run, zebra, run! liever in predestination, yet possessing a naive optimism, he had never been influenced to believe that whatever was predestined must, of necessity, follow a beaten path to its certain terminus. the ordained "end," that was sure and real, but the "way to that end," well, he believed there was more than one way to the end of anything. so, as he had freely volunteered to take a leading role in this drama of life and death about to be staged, he proceeded to act with caution and deliberation. reaching cleveland, he walked out of the railway station and hailed a cab. the cabman, bedecked in the full livery of the day— tall plug hat, thick, dark-blue overcoat, down which extended two rows of shining, silver buttons, and red-topped patent-leather boots—opened the door for him and stood at attention awaiting orders. "drive me to all the hospitals in the city," he commanded. the cabman looked hard at him. then satisfied that his fare was neither drunk nor crazy, he mounted the seat, spoke to his horse, and drove away. in about a quarter of an hour they turned off the brick-paved street onto a cindered driveway. leeder spoke through the tube. "what's this?" "city hospital, sir," replied the cabman. "drive away from here. it doesn't suit me." the cabman crawled down from the seat and opened the door. "i'll have to ask you for fifty cents, sir. that's the fare here." leeder produced the half-dollar. "now drive me," he said, "to some hospital that isn't public, catholic, or presbyterian. i've changed my mind." the cabman thought awhile. he looked at leeder suspiciously. "say, mister," he said, "are you sick?" "no." "well, i know of a house out near where i live that some methodists are trying to make a hospital out of. but it hain't much of a hospital. want to drive there?" "yes, drive there." after a drive of not less than two miles, the cabman stopped before a two-story frame house. it sat at the end of an unpaved in the methodist hospital street. beyond was a large pasture in which some jersey cows were grazing. the front yard was large, and a wire fence enclosed it. flower beds, filled with the stalks of dead flowers, and two small pine trees were on either side of the cinder path that led to the front steps. a long, narrow sign, nailed to the edge of the roof over the front porch, bore the appellation the john wesley hospital. no other house was within a block of it. leeder spoke to the cabman. "i believe this is the place i'm looking for. wait till i return. i'll pay you well for your trouble." he walked to the door and turned the knob. the door was locked. seeing no bell, he rapped with his knuckles. the door was opened by a ponderous man in shirt sleeves. his bulk almost completely filled the entrance. his face wore a half- scowl, and looked unusually large, for he was bald and his high, naked forehead seemed to be only an extension of the face. he was unshaven, the sharp, straight, sandy bristles sticking out from his chin like needles from a cushion. he looked down on leeder and spoke. "i'm joe taylor, mister, an' whut you be a'wantin'?" the little man looked straight into the giant's eyes. "well, my name's leeder, and i'm looking for the one in charge of this hospital. if that person is you, i'd like to talk to you a minute." "well now, lessee, mebby you mawht talk to me. i'm in chawge now 'cause there hain't no one here tuh horspitalize. come on in." he followed taylor through a narrow hall into a carpetless room. a coal fire was burning in the grate, before which were standing three straight-backed chairs. both men sat down. "now, brother leeder, whut may youre bizness be?" taylor inquired. leeder glanced around the room. the walls were clean and bright, despite the lack of furniture. the curtains and blinds were new, and the floor had been scrubbed less than an hour before. it was still damp. leeder spoke. "i'm looking for a hospital that will admit a young lady who'll be ill shortly. she must have the best of care and i have the money to pay for the best of care. but the main thing is this: her attend- ants, those who look out for her, must ask no questions and give run, zebra, run! out no information. she's a married lady and all right, but, for certain reasons, this must be what you might call 'a secret case.' you understand, don't you?" "yes, brother leeder. a baby case an' a secret case. waal, we hain't had none like thim yere yit but guess we can manage. hain't been nary a burth an' nary a dith in this horspital yit. we're jist startin' out, kinda new yit. i'll see old doc tomorrer an' tell 'im 'bout yer an' let yer know. where yer live?" "i'm stopping at the swayne hotel. i would like to see the doctor and the nurse who will wait on this young lady tonight. can't you have them to call on me?" "waal, mebbe so. make hit eight bells. if he hain't there then, make hit ten bells tomorrer. i'll try an' look 'im up, an' if he hain't out on a preachin' trip, or on a doctrin' trip, he'll be thar." that night, promptly at eight o'clock, the bellboy informed leeder that an old man and a woman were in the lobby desiring to see him. he requested that they be shown to his room. dr. boone was threescore and ten but as hale, hearty, and active as a man of fifty. he was the very essence of dignity—a per- fect picture of the successful city physician of the late nineties— even to the neatly trimmed gray beard which rested on a level with the first button of his vest. for forty years he had been a medical missionary of his church, had labored faithfully in both foreign and home mission fields, and, still very active at sixty-five, had raised an awful rumpus when his church retired him. in fact, he would not be retired. he continued to practice medicine and preach the gospel, and, ambitious as a youngster, decided to found a hospital, because, he said, "a hospital has always been my home anyway, and when i'm through, this one will be a good place for me to die in." he heard leeder's explanations. "well, brother," said the doctor, "i talk plain talk. mrs. mcklissick, here, and i will take the case. she shall have the best care possible to give her. about the confidential part of it, you need have no fear. we understand such things. our services will cost you one hundred fifty dollars per week, payable in advance." in the methodist hospital leeder counted out the money and took the doctor's receipt. catherine's friends were disappointed when she informed them by letter that her mother was returning to bridgeville but that she had decided to prolong her visit. she wrote the letters at the behest of nicholas leeder. night, silent, kindly night, which enfolds in her sable robes so many of the sad secrets of the children of men, well protected the girl when she arrived in cleveland, and the good nurse and doctor spared no pains to make her comfortable. leeder visited her every day. at first his visits pained her— she would have much rather been left alone—but he was so tactful, so gentle and kind, that soon she began to anticipate his coming with a degree of satisfaction. it was joe taylor, how- ever, who could make her forget and smile. in spite of his rough and raw exterior, he was a friendly, though droll individual. caretaker, handyman, and whatnot around the premises, she soon realized that he considered his position to be far more im- portant than the doctor's. "ol' doc gives you your midicine, mrs. hall," he said one day, "but i gives you your comfort. he gives you your bitters, but i gives you your sweets. he looks at your tongue but i looks after th' fire for you. see?" and if she would nod and smile, he would wink his eye at her and walk away, repeating, "'at's right—'at's right. you're a smart 'ittle woman." and his big, bald head would nod in approbation. that night, when the only sleep joe got was cat naps, sitting downstairs astride a straight chair with his back to the fire—that night, when the old doctor and the nurse got no sleep at all—a heavy snow fell throughout, and early the next morning the caretaker was out with his shovel, clearing a path from the front gate to the porch. coming up the white carpeted street was a cab, and in the cab was nick leeder. he paid the cabman at the gate and hurried into the hall. joe followed close behind. they faced each other at the foot of the stairs. "how is she?" leeder inquired. "fine. fine boy." run, zebra, run! "have you seen him yet?" "who? ol' doc?" "no—the boy—the baby." "can't. asleep. all o' 'em asleep. sit down till they wakes up." leeder walked into the room and stood by the fire. slowly he removed his hat and overcoat. his hands were shaking. even- tually he sat down. for an hour—two hours—he sat there, until he heard noises above. then he arose and stood by the fire again. someone was coming down the stairs, coming briskly. the door opened. the nurse greeted him with a pleasant, "good morning, mr. leeder." the little man was shaking. an expression of agony disfigured his face. he seemed to be ill—suffering. "mrs. mcklissick," he stammered, "how—how—the baby?" "a fine seven-pounder, mr. leeder. a seven-pound boy. mother and baby doing fine." "but i don't mean that. i mean—i mean—how—does it look?" the nurse was taken aback. she looked at him sharply, in- clined for the moment to give a curt reply. then she noticed his shaking hands and the agony on his face. she lowered her voice and her words were cool and collected. "it looks like all other newborn babies, mr. leeder. it's fine- featured and well developed, and—" he cut her off. "but isn't there anything different about it— anything at all?" she laughed. "no, mr. leeder. wait awhile and i'll see if you can see it yourself." she went into the kitchen, procured an article, and hastened back up the stairs. catherine was awake. the little mite of hu- manity was asleep beside her. she had been touching the soft cheeks and velvet forehead with the tips of her fingers. the nurse bent low, smiled, and whispered, "mr. leeder is downstairs. he's asking the funniest questions about your baby. seems to think it just had to be born blemished in some way." the nurse looked at the baby again, critically. "it has quite in the methodist hospital an unusual color. and it's hair-gee! it's going to have a fine head of hair. wasn't its father a foreigner?" "yes," said catherine. the nurse resumed her duties, but when she looked into the face of the girl again she saw a large teardrop roll from the corner of her eye down the narrow valley between the cheek and nose. she grabbed a handkerchief. “now, now," she soothed. "we mustn't have any of that. you'll be all well in a week or two and feeling fine. mustn't cry, little mother!" and she wiped the tear away with the handkerchief. chapter seven in the whitewashed cabin true to his promise, nick leeder brought catherine home to her father's house before the christmas holidays. she returned with him as mrs. nicholas leeder. unknown to her or to any member of her family, he had filed suit for her divorce in a pittsburgh court, within less than three months following her marriage. thanks to plenty of money and plenty of pull, he was able to obtain the divorce without publicity. his only stipulation was that the decree be not issued until a certain date—the day after thanksgiving day. before this time he knew her child would be born. returning from pittsburgh on the sunday following thanks- giving, with a copy of the divorce decree in his pocket and his mind at ease because he believed he had performed his duty well, he arrived at the john wesley hospital and went at once to catherine's room. he knew the girl would be unprepared for his assault. he had resolved to make good use of this ad- vantage, being firmly convinced that "all's well that ends well" anyhow, and realizing that the end he had in view had been causing him nights of restlessness and days of longing for years. his fervid ardor literally swept her off her feet, and within a half-hour he had persuaded her to marry him. then, suddenly collecting her senses, she asked him about her child. he was prepared, even for this. "it's not your child, catherine," he told her. "it just belongs to the world. it came here unasked for and unwanted, and the world will have to look out for it. i've arranged to have it cared for in a foundling asylum. it may be adopted into a good home." the girl burst into tears. he sat with his arm around her but refrained from saying more, and let her weep her very heart away. the congressman's homecoming was a happy one. he greeted catherine in his usual loving, fatherly manner, and, noticing in the whitewashed cabin that her elder brother was slighting her, called his son aside and reprimanded him. late in the evening, he took advantage of an opportunity to converse privately with his son-in-law. his first inquiry was concerning the child. leeder attempted to explain. "we can't have it that way, nick. i don't agree with you. it's a vanalban's child. it's got my blood in its veins. no vanalban is going to be stuck in an orphanage and thrown on the mercies of the world. i want that child taken out of there. i'll provide for it." "but, george, listen. its presence here will cause a world of trouble and annoyance. the family name must be considered— catherine's embarrassment—her feelings. it's all been settled be- tween us and i've forbidden her seeing it again. she has so promised. don't let's stir up the mess again. we can't do it." the congressman rose to his feet and his eyes flashed. the indomitable determination of his forebears—of the dutch who cleared the rocky hills of pennsylvania, of the puritans who con- quered the bleak wastes of new england—this was revealed so plainly the little man hung his head. "i'm civilized, nick. i'm a christian and i have a conscience. i care nothing about your arrangements and catherine's. if she doesn't want to see her child again, she needn't look at it. but i'm going to see it and take care of it. i'm going after it tomorrow and you needn't worry any. i'll put it where it'll never bother you." he walked out of his library, through the hall and kitchen, into a little bedroom, where mary, lying on her back fast asleep, was snoring perfectly. he touched her and she quickly opened both eyes and threw up her pudgy hands. "sh-sh-sh—" he silenced her. "mary, i'm calling jackson's cab. when he comes, you go on home, put on some of your good duds, and meet me at the depot at midnight. i want you to go to cleveland with me and if anybody asks you any questions tell 'em to scat." from that time on, the word "scat" became the magic word— the mighty silencer that relieved mary and the little family in the whitewashed cabin of many explanations and much annoyance. run, zebra, run! any reasonable question asked her relative to the baby, leonard william hall, mary would answer with the utmost civility. but, should the questioner press her to the wall with a desire for in- formation she did not want to give, she would remark, "huh- huh! i'se gotta say 'scat' to dat." the "dat" in her reply would be duly emphasized. some of her friends, neighbors, and visitors went so far as to nickname the little one scat. they would in- quire, "how's little scat this morning, aunt mary?" or, "has scat started to teethin' yet?" then, when mary was alone again, she would pick up the youngster, bounce him on one of her big arms, and croon, "yo' do look like ah leetle scat! yo' leetle rascal, yo'!" and she would kiss him all over the face. of course there was plenty of talk among the colored people about aunt mary's "lily-white baby." little of the talk, however, was to mary's face. "white!" she explained more than once. "wy, dis chile hain't white. hain't no mo' white den i is. whatsa mattah wid yo' all. yo' kin look undah its fingahnails an' see 'cullud' all ober it. don' bleeb, jist look. he one o' aunt hagah's chilluns." but in a little while the sudden appearance of leonard wil- liam and aunt mary's new job as nursemaid became stale news. at the same time, the daily life in the little whitewashed cabin grew less hard. mary missed the "white fo'ks' kitchen," missed it very much. it had long been her second home. had it not been for uncle zeke, it would have been her first home. zeke was her husband but the white people, the vanalbans, had been her providers. she couldn't tell whom she loved the best. she was well compensated for her care of the child and her prosperity shone forth brightly. zeke was wearing the first new suit he had worn in years. his suits had always been "second-, third-, or fourth-handed ones. both were giving more liberally to the church. mary discarded her "everlasting fascinator" and purchased a new hat, a ridiculous-looking conglomeration of straw, wool, and hair, which had a white and black striped band around it, a bluebird, with red wings and a red tail, on the back of it, and a white and pink ribbon in front of it. on the first monday in every month she would waddle up to the bank and in the whitewashed cabin vanalban or his son would give her fifty dollars. leonard william was taken care of on this money, but much of the money was also taken care of "on" mary. in the old sock, or, rather, in the old triple-stocking—for it required three of them sewed together —which she wore beneath her garments around her waist, she had saved much of the money paid to her for the baby's support. out of babyhood into little boyhood, leonard grew like a weed. mary knew how to raise children. she had reared a dozen or more—a few of her own and several others, some related to her and some "just chillun." now and then vanalban visited her. he really came to see the child. he would tell her, privately, how pleased he was to see it looking so well and growing so fast. sometimes, while sitting at her window or on the little front porch, she would see nick leeder drive by with his wife and baby, but they would never stop. leeder would be driving fast and mary would not attempt to see whether catherine glanced to- ward her whitewashed cabin or not. chapter eight in the darkened room vanalban's family had always called it "father's room" and the colored servants called it "mr. george's room." it was to the left of the hall as one entered the front door, and this room was always bright and cheerful, even on gloomy, cloudy days, for there was only low shrubbery and small trees on that side of the house. in the early morning the rising sun would peep into this room first—would hurry and drive away the shadows and chilly air of the night—and the vanalban children would run to it the moment they left their beds, and always find it cozy and warm. in the center was a massive oak table over which hung a gas lamp the shade of which was decorated with flying bluebirds. the top of the table was rough and scarred. good mrs. vanalban always tried to keep the top covered with a pretty linen cover. she said she was ashamed of it. but vanalban and the children kept the cover wrinkled and lopsided, kept its corners folded over, or threw it off altogether. tired elbows and old books and the magazines and newspapers could rest and lie so much better on the rough, naked top than on the slick linen cover. on one side of the room were three large and tall book- cases, exactly alike. they were always full of books, and, most of the time, were running over, so that their doors were hard to close and to keep closed. the book one wanted was always so hard to find, the father and children started playing a new game they called "find the book," and they had much fun together. on the walls were pictures of many kinds—on the floor, one large, blue-shaded, velvet rug and many smaller ones. there was a sofa and comfortable chairs—but why tell about this room now? for the first time in many years the curtains are drawn and the blinds are down and the square clock on the mantel shelf is not ticking. the room is darkened and still. in the darkened room yesterday, a beautiful april day, vanalban, who was stand- ing here looking out the center window at two robins hopping about, called his wife and told her, "honey, i'm going to have this year what i've wanted a long time. see that spot right there where that robin is standing? i'm going to have jack make a round flower bed there. it will be at least eight feet in diameter. i'm going to plant in it nothing but asters—asters of as many colors as i can find. i've always wanted a bed of asters, and nothing else in it but asters. of course they'll look scraggy like a lot of weeds all summer, but in the fall, when the other flowers are about all gone—say, won't they be fine to look at out this window?" the practical mrs. vanalban replied, "all right, george, but remember, asters are hard for us to raise. they take the wilt and the blight, and every bug and louse in the world seems to like them. but try them there if you want to." vanalban spent a busy morning at the bank, was driven out to his farm in the afternoon, and ate a hearty, though rather late supper. after supper he played awhile with little three-year-old elwood, catherine's child, but only a little while, for it was time for elwood to be in bed. but catherine allowed her father to come upstairs with her and watch her undress her son and baby daughter. then, after she had tucked the covers around them, kissed them good night, and turned the gas down low, she went with her father into his bedroom and they conversed awhile very pleasantly. mrs. vanalban, who always got ready for bed in a hurry and went to sleep in a hurry also, called out to them "good night" from her bedroom, and they shook their heads at each other and smiled, for they hadn't even heard her come up the stairs. this morning, at getting-up-time, vanalban was sleeping peacefully, and tonight—he is sleeping peacefully, downstairs in the darkened room. early the next morning when lucy came to work, mary came with her. "i'se goin' wid yo', lucy," she said, "kase ah wants tuh see run, zebra, run! mester gawge by muhsef, an' i'se gonna tek leonard wid me. nevvah tho't i'd see dis day, oľ as ah is. de good lawd knows bes', though. he allus knows whut he doin'." silently they entered the house and proceeded to the kitchen. closing themselves within, they conversed awhile in whispers. then, calling the child and sitting him on her knee, mary said, "leonard, ah's goin' in yander tuh see ah dead man. he's lyin' all still in ah leetle box-lak dis—see, honey?" "yes, ma'am," leonard replied. "i'se 'll carry yo', honey, an' yuh mustn't mek ah bit o' noise, heah me, honey?" "yes, ma'am.” "an' yo'look at 'im, honey. look at 'im good, an' 'membah how he looks. will yuh, honey?" "yes, ma'am.” with the child in her arms, the old vanalban cook tiptoed through the hall and entered the darkened room. stopping at the rough-topped table, she reached and turned up the gas. the room was flooded with light. holding the child in her arms, she looked down upon the pallid face of a friend. tears coursed down her cheeks, and, drawing a long towel from the pocket of her skirt, she wiped her eyes vigorously. then she whispered, “see 'im, honey? look at 'im good. he war a good man, honey, ah mawghty good man. he gone now, honey, gone tuh heaben. he up dere wid de angels singin' de lamb's praises. don'fo'git how he looks, honey, will yo'?" "no, ma'am,” the child whispered. she was standing there weeping, and suddenly another stood beside her. a white arm encircled mary's neck, and a little child was almost smothered between them. then white hands lifted the child from mary's arms, and pink lips were pressed against its lips, and against its cheeks and forehead. and, a little later, as mary carried the child outside, the gas was again turned low and the room again was darkened. chapter nine in the orphans' home after the death of his father, george vanalban, jr., became the guardian of the family fortune and family name. he was tall, a six-footer as his father was, inclined to portliness, and wore his sandy hair, which was curly at the ends, very long. he possessed a determined, obstinate character—was hard to deal with, his associates said—and was ever ready to stick his hairy fingers into anything, tangible or intangible, from which he believed he could extract a dollar bill. he had never become reconciled with his sister and vowed in his heart that he never would. he never visited her unless busi- ness or family reasons compelled. when their father's estate was settled and she demanded that every penny of her fortune be converted into cash or negotiable securities and placed in her own hands, he was very angry, called her a fool, and told her she had never been anything but a disgrace to the family. catherine made no reply and shed no tears. she, too, was becoming hardened. when mary called at the bank on the accustomed date, this vanalban scion greeted her with a cool, "howdy, mary," and informed her he was making other arrangements and would see her in a day or so. that very night someone knocked on her door. she admitted a man who wore a large official badge on his vest front. this personage informed her he was a sheriff, and had come "after the orphan you're taking care of." "whar yo' gwine tuh tek him to?" mary asked. "to the home up there on the hill." he stepped over to the lamp and read to mary a paper she could not understand, but, instantly realizing that he represented the law and that argument was useless, she awoke leonard, gath- ered up what few belongings of the child's she could find handily, kissed him good-by, and delivered him to the officer. "dis am some ob dat mean, young gawge's doin's," she mum- run, zebra, run! bled to zeke. "wen ah sees him again, he'll sholy git ah good piece o' mah min'." then, grasping the small hand of the half- asleep child, she said, "yo' be ah good boy, leonard, an' min* ev'erbuddy. don' fo'git gran'maw, honey. good-by." in after years leonard could not remember "gran'maw" as she looked that night, but he never forgot the trip through the fields and up the hill to the county orphans' home. he remem- bered that the man lifted him to his shoulder, told him to look up at the large, full moon, and climbed over a high gate that was beneath a big tree. when he awoke early the next morning and opened his large eyes, the room he was in was dimly lighted. he could not see and began calling, "gran'maw, gran'maw," then, "gran'paw, gran'paw," then, "lucy!" a woman wearing a long, white gown, and with brown hair hanging in braids over her shoulders, bent over him, shook him a little, told him to keep still, and said she would spank him if she heard him call again. so he lay there quietly and looked up at the ceiling a very, very long time. the county orphans' home was a red brick building located - on the outskirts of bridgeville. it sat on the brow of a hill over- looking a large expanse of open country. in the far distance a railroad ran straight across the horizon, and on clear days one could see the puffing smoke from the passing locomotives. nearer were little farms, green pastures and brown fields, forests of high and low trees, and, nearer still, the shallow waters of willow creek gently flowed along, on under the covered wooden bridge and away. at the base of the hill was the winding cuyler pike, a white road along the edge of which, here and there, were neat little cottages, farmhouses and large barns, and two or three whitewashed cabins, the roofs of which seemed to touch the ground. the front of the home faced condor street, which here abruptly ended, running out into the gate which the home cows went through going from the barn to the pasture. on this side were well-trimmed lawns, pretty flower beds, and a wide, graveled road. the children's playground was located at the side of the building between the graveled road and the orchard. all the in the orphans' home hillside down to the pike was the orchard—apple, peach, plum, cherry, and quince trees—and between the rows of trees were berry bushes and grapevines. leonard was nearly four years old when he became one of the orphans. he was still wearing dresses that hung a little below his knees and curls which came to his shoulders. he lived in the nursery with the other very little boys and girls. he was never lonesome during the day, for there were heaps of toys, and miss roberts was very kind to the children and played games with them. at mealtimes, she tied little white bibs around their necks and let them sit at the table until they had eaten all they wanted. on sunday mornings she would dress them up in their very best and take them to sunday school. then they would see many other little children, and the teacher would give them pretty picture cards and let them hold hands and march around in a circle. only one thing leonard disliked—he was forced to sleep too much. every day after dinner, all the children had to lie down on the floor behind their chairs, and stay there until miss roberts told them they could get up. they could not whisper either, for if they did miss roberts would spank, and leonard had dis- covered that miss roberts' spanking was much harder than his grandma's had been. so he had to lie there very still. and then, in the evening, miss roberts would put them to bed while all the big boys and girls were outside playing and having the grandest time. how he longed to grow larger, just so he would not have to sleep so much! the day he became a "big boy," miss roberts took him by the hand and led him far down the hall into a room where all the chairs were larger and standing in two long rows on each side. there was a platform at one end of the room, and on this platform sat a very large lady. she was patching a pair of pants and looking very glum and solemn. the top of her dress seemed to fit very tightly, and her arms were as big and round as leonard's grandma's arms. miss roberts stopped before her. "here's a new boy i'm giving you, miss hannan. he's five years old now." run, zebra, run! miss hannan stopped her patching and looked at leonard. she had keen gray eyes, heavy eyebrows, and two deep wrinkles above her nose. when she looked downward, the muscles beside these wrinkles would twitch, and this made her look, to leonard, just like his grandma always looked when she had a feeling she was going to sneeze. "what is your name, young man?" "leonard." "leonard, and what else? what is your last name?" "leonard hall." "speak plainly so i can hear every word you say. now answer me again. what is your full name?" "leonard hall." this time leonard spoke very distinctly. miss hannan seemed to be well pleased. "now, leonard, go to this side of the room and sit down in the tenth chair. count the chairs from the end here, so you will get into the right one." leonard proceeded to count. he could already count to one hundred, and he knew the alphabet, thanks to miss roberts' instruction. in fact, she had taught him to read simple stories, to write his name and the names of some of his playmates, and his precocity had amazed her. the right chair was reached and the child sat down in it. miss hannan looked at miss roberts and nodded approvingly. "he is smart. all of them are when children. i've had a dozen or more of them under me and i've not found a dull one yet. but when they get in their teens they seem to go the other way." "probably he'll prove an exception," replied miss roberts. "i only wish i could have him myself till he's grown. i'm going to keep an eye on him." "you can have him. why don't you adopt him?" miss roberts blushed. miss hannan, who was jealous of her associate's popularity around the home, let the dirty dig soak in. then she continued, "you wouldn't have to be afraid of his color. come in and see him after i get him trimmed and dressed up. he'll look like any little white boy." in the orphans' home "all right, i will. i'll be back after a while. good-by, leon- ard." she waved a hand as she opened the door. "come and see me some time." miss hannan walked over to a corner before a large window where a tall chair was sitting. "come here, young man. crawl up. i'm going to make a boy out of you." she proceeded to pin a white cloth tightly and securely around the child's neck. then, going to her work basket, she returned with a comb and a long pair of shears. her fingers grasped one of the long, black curls. its softness and silky texture surprised her, and for a moment she allowed it to rest in the palm of her hand. then, again grasping it tightly, the scissors snipped. at the same moment, and only a few blocks away, a young mother was slipping a comb through the golden tresses of a baby girl sitting on her lap, but miss hannan never wondered whether or not this mother would have liked to have held in her fingers one of the black curls the sharp scissors were snipping from the head of the little boy. when the big boys returned from school at noon they found the little new boy, bedecked in a blue shirtwaist, onto which was buttoned his first pair of trousers, sitting in number ten chair. these boys were of all ages and sizes from six to sixteen, and there were more than thirty of them. they entered their room quietly, grinned and snickered a little when they noticed leonard, and each boy sat down in his accustomed place. this was their quiet hour—the calm before the storm. miss hannan, sitting on the platform, continued to patch; now and then quickly raising her head and glancing sharply in the direction from which came a whisper, a snicker, or grunt. within ten minutes all the chairs were occupied. then miss hannan laid her patching on the table beside her and stood up. "children," she said, "the name of the little boy is leonard hall. stand up and say, 'good afternoon, leonard.'" all the children arose, but some of the larger boys only moved their lips and grunted. it was apparent they did not approve of this formality. then miss hannan continued, "leonard is a run, zebra, run! colored boy, but i shall expect every one of you to treat him right. the first one who calls him any bad names will be soundly punished." when this information was given them, all the boys stared hard at leonard. some mouths flew wide open. two of the three larger colored boys only grinned, but the third one, john dacey, who sat on the far end of one of the rows and was the largest boy in the room spoke abruptly. "ah, who said he was cullud? he sho' don't look like me." miss hannan struck the palms of her hands together. "you be quiet, john dacey. who asked you for any remarks?" then the buxom matron brought forth a bench from beside the wall behind her. it was about two feet wide and four feet long. she held it high. she held it high, as though she desired all the boys to see it plainly, and she set it down slowly. one little flaxen-haired youngster began to cry softly, then, as miss hannan brought forth from the table drawer a short paddle, the same youngster began wailing quite audibly. "very well, henry egstrom," she said. "you may come first." the flaxen-haired youngster arose and slowly advanced toward the platform. when within arm's length, miss hannan caught hold of him and pulled him to her. "you soiled your bed last night, didn't you? haven't i told you a hundred times to call me when you want to get up? why didn't you do it? well, perhaps you'll call me the next time. get down here." with her willing assistance, the child lay face downward on the bench, a spindly leg extended on either side. placing her left hand between his shoulders, she applied the paddle vigorously— a dozen licks or more—and when she turned him loose the young- ster scrambled off the bench in a hurry, bawling loudly, with both hands tenderly caressing the two parts of his anatomy upon which the cruel paddle had descended. a larger boy came next, none too willingly. this boy con- fessed he had struck another lad, a "town boy," while coming from school the afternoon before. "why did you strike him?" miss hannan asked. in the orphans' home the boy whimpered, "he called me names. said i was a raggiddy orphin. said i had to eat 'tatoes and prunes and had to sleep with possums an' coons." "you should have come straight home from school, frank, and not stopped to fight. get down here." frank received a few licks, but it was plainly noticeable, even to the children, that the licks were very light ones, and when frank got back to his chair he was smiling. "now, louis henry," said miss hannan, "i will attend to you." louis, a handsome lad of fourteen years, arose from his chair and walked boldly toward the matron, smiling. without her assistance in the least, he threw his long body over the bench in the accustomed fashion, remarking as he did so, loud enough for all the children to hear, "hurry up, miss hannan. i'm hungry." the children laughed. "quiet!" the matron commanded. then, turning to the lad sprawled over the bench, whose hands were resting on the floor, and whose impudent face was turned to hers, she remarked, "you seem to think this is funny. i'll show you how funny it is before i'm through with you." reaching in her work basket, she brought forth a short sling about the thickness of a clothesline. dexterously looping it over one of his wrists, she caught hold of the other one, and in a moment his arms were securely tied together beneath the bench. then, placing her huge self between the culprit and the children, she unbuttoned his suspenders in the back, let down his trousers and underwear, and the paddle descended slowly and method- ically upon the naked flesh. a few strokes—no sound at all—then a groan—then a long moan—then a scream—and then, all to- gether, groaning, moaning, wailing, weeping, and pleading. the lad begged for mercy but no mercy was shown. he was paddled and paddled well, until he had promised a dozen times he would not repeat his offense, and when at last she turned him loose, the smallest boy in the room could have chased him with a feather. in a moment the dinner bell rang. run, zebra, run! "one! rise." the matron commanded. "two—turn. three —march!" the boys marched single file out the door, up the hall, into the washroom, where everyone bathed hands and face and combed and brushed his hair. then at the sound of another bell, all entered the dining room and took their places at the long tables. leonard soon learned all the rules of the big boys' room. first of all, he learned that miss hannan's word was law and must always, always be respected. although it was a long time before he felt the sting of the hickory paddle, like the sword of damocles it was ever swinging over his head, and, though young and brave, he was not foolhardy. his nature, his common sense, and the paddle compelled miss hannan to speak of him as a "bright and obedient little boy." chapter ten on condor street at the beginning of the present century you could see all bridgeville on condor street. not the largest stores, the hotel, or courthouse, for these were on main street. not the churches, the high school, or the lodge halls, for these were on stubbins avenue. but condor street held a monopoly on the real life of bridgeville; on most of her joy and sorrow; on most of her pleasure and pain; on most of her wealth and poverty; on most of her literacy and ignorance; on most of her love and hate. condor street started on the "hill" and ended in the "bot- toms." between the hill and the bottoms lived—and "lived" is surely the word—those who gave their very souls to bridgeville and made the little city what it was. condor street started at the home, where orphaned children wished for their parents. condor street ended at the hovels, where poverty-sickened parents wished they had fewer children. leonard became well acquainted with condor street even before he was six years old. it happened that when he became a big boy, and had to live in the big boys' room, he was the only boy in the room too young to attend school. he had no one to play with, so miss hannan would send him to the girls' room to play with the three little girls of his own age there. but leonard did not like to play with little girls. they would make him nurse their doll babies, or put on a dress and play a grown-up lady. and, as miss klick, the girls' matron, did not like "dirty little boys," or clean ones either, for that matter, and never watched after him, often leonard would slip into the nursery to visit with miss roberts. one friday afternoon, which was miss roberts' afternoon off, she asked miss hannan could she take the boy home with her, and miss hannan consented. her parents lived five blocks from the home in a yellow-painted house, which had a porch run, zebra, run! at the side but none in the front, and vines were growing all around the porch and at the sides of the front windows. miss roberts took him upstairs so her mother could see him. mrs. roberts patted him on the head and asked him was he a good boy. "so you are a good boy, are you? well, i always keep something to give to good little boys. we will see just what we can find." she led leonard downstairs and into the kitchen. opening the door of a tall cupboard, she stuck her hand into a shiny black can and brought forth three cookies. leonard thought they were the prettiest and the best cookies he had ever eaten. they had white frosting on top of them and a little piece of red candy in their centers. he ate all around the pieces of candy, then ate the candy, and certainly enjoyed it. then mrs. roberts wiped off his hands and mouth with a soft blue towel, and, calling her daughter, said she had to go to the ladies' aid, and here was her little boy and she must give him something to amuse him. when miss roberts came to leonard she had changed her dress and fixed her hair up differently and looked so pretty and sweet he hardly knew her. her mother told them good-by and went away. then miss roberts led him into the sitting room, which was right next to the front room, found him a half-dozen picture books, and gave him a sack full of spools of all sizes and colors. he sat there and read the picture books and built houses and castles and fences with the spools and had the grandest time he had ever had in his life. by and by a knock was heard at the door. miss roberts came running into the room where leonard was, looked in the mirror, and fluffed her hair around the edges so that she looked prettier than ever. then she opened the door and admitted a tall, smooth- shaven young man whom she called johnny. johnny sat down on one end of the sofa and miss roberts sat on the other end, and they started talking. they did not talk very loud and sometimes it would be so long before they said anything at all, leonard would think they had gone to sleep. then he would look up and see miss roberts sitting very still on the end of the sofa, but he couldn't see johnny at all unless he peeped on condor street around the side of the door, and he was too polite to do that. they had been there some time when miss roberts excused herself and left the room. then johnny called to him, "come here, young fellow, and let me look at you." leonard came into his presence carrying a picture book and a string of spools, and johnny said, "my, that's a pretty book you have there. can you read it?" he pointed to a picture. "well, let's see what this is." "that's papa bear," said leonard. "and here is the little bear and mama bear." and he began to read the simple sentences beneath the pictures. "my, you are a smart young fellow," said johnny. "who taught you to read so well?" "miss roberts did, and i just love miss roberts. say, don't you love miss roberts too? i love her." the young man grinned foolishly and his face turned very red, and he said to leonard, "you little rascal." right then miss roberts returned, bringing a cooky with her, which leonard took and went into the other room to eat and enjoy. she sat down again on the end of the sofa. leonard was munching the cooky and didn't hear what the young man said, but soon he heard miss roberts say very slowly, "well—don't ?>f } — then he heard the young man reply, "yes," very loud, and he also heard a commotion on the sofa, and miss roberts said, "oh, johnny, dear!" and he looked up and the young man had miss roberts in his arms and was kissing her lips and cheeks and forehead and mussing up her pretty hair something awful. they sat there holding each other a long time, and then the young man got up and went away. when he was gone, miss roberts called leonard and told him they had to get ready to go back to the home. she was smiling, her eyes were as bright as stars, and when leonard looked at her she appeared to be so happy he could not tell whether she was about to laugh or cry. before she went to change her dress she grabbed him up, held him in her lap, and, looking into his eyes, said, "leonard, you run, zebra, run! mustn't tell anybody you saw johnny kiss me. you won't tell, will you?" when he promised he wouldn't tell a soul, she squeezed and kissed him almost as much as she had squeezed and kissed johnny. jackson, the colored cabman, also lived on condor street. he lived in a little flat-looking house that sat in a yard which was far below the sidewalk. next door lived mr. lickenstreeter, who worked at the home; who milked the cows and raised the garden, and fired the boiler and cleaned the snow from the walks in the winter time. every once in a while, jackson would bring mr. price, the superintendent, or mrs. price, out to the home in his cab. he drove a big bay horse which never walked but always trotted, and it was a long time before leonard knew a horse could walk at all, for he had never seen jackson's horse walk. one day as jackson drove up the graveled driveway he saw leonard playing in the yard, and he asked mr. price to let him take the boy riding for a while. he sat leonard on the high driver's seat beside him, and away they went down the street to jackson's home. when leonard arrived there, the first thing that greeted him was jackson's puppy, and the next was the scent of cabbage. to him, cabbage seemed to be cooking everywhere, in the yard, all through the house, even out in the alley behind the house. he could smell nothing but cabbage. mrs. jackson prepared her husband's dinner and sat leonard down at the table with them. she gave him a little saucer full of soup—which she called "pot- likker," and a piece of white cornbread. when leonard ate it and told her it was good, she seemed to be much pleased. but she wouldn't let him eat any more, saying, "you've been eatin' white folks' vittles all your days an' i spec' my eatin's mout make you sick." all the jackson children were at school, so, as soon as dinner was over, and after bob, the bay horse, had eaten his dinner, the cabman put him up on the high seat again and they drove around awhile and then back to the home. but leonard never forgot on condor street jackson and the trotting horse, and would think about them every time he smelled cabbage. josie always came to the home on mondays and did the laundering. she was a tall, strong woman, very dark, and seemed to be always happy. she could laugh and sing louder than any- one leonard had ever heard, and, all the time she was washing in the basement, the entire home would ring with her songs. leonard used to slip down the stairs and watch her at a dis- tance. he could only see her back, and her elbows rising up and down as she stooped over the tubs, for there was so much steam her head was always hidden. but when she saw him she would always grab him and kiss him. he was not fond of josie's kisses. her large mouth seemed to run all over his face, and when she turned him loose he would take his fist and try to rub her kisses away. this would cause her much merriment. but josie appealed to his stomach by making for him on the laundry stove the best pudding he had ever tasted. she called it a "cawnstarch puddin'." it was soft and as yellow as golden butter. she served it to him in a bowl that had black kittens all around the edge of it, and she would always tell him to eat it up quick before the black cats got it. one monday night, josie told him she was coming after him the next day and take him home with her. he didn't believe it, but sure enough she came. miss hannan dressed him in his sunday clothes, told him to be a good boy and mind josie, and told josie she could paddle him if he needed it, but he wouldn't need it for he was a good boy. josie took him by the hand and led him out to the street, but hardly said a word until they were out of sight of the home. then she said, "leonard, i'm takin' yuh to see gran'ma. yuh 'member gran'ma, don't yuh?" he didn't know whether he did or not, right then, but he looked up at josie, and her color and hair made him remember someone who looked like her—someone, he remembered, who had been mighty good to him once upon a time, so he replied, "yes, ma'am." run, zebra, run! "she lives with me now," josie said. "she is my gran'ma too. she can't walk no more, leonard—has to roll herse'f aroun' in a wheel chair. but she jist had to see yuh, for you are still her little boy." down condor street, josie walked on and on. mrs. jackson came outside and talked with them awhile when they reached her house, and leonard smelled cabbage again just as he had smelled it when he was there before. then they walked on—past miss roberts' house, where the vines were growing by the sides of the front windows—then on till they came to a large brown- stone house, sitting far back in the center of a wide yard. josie looked toward this house when they reached two big iron gates, standing half open, and said to him, "that's a mighty sad place now, leonard. mighty sad place. they had a death in there las' week. ol ' man an' ol' lady both gone now. mighty sad place, leonard." they passed by the condor street public school. some of the children were outside, for it was recesss time for the smaller grades, and the little "home boys" waved at leonard. josie told him he would be going to school there next year and he wished it was next year right then. they walked on and on—past a bakery shop, where josie purchased some cookies—then on down a hill into the "bottoms" —then to the far end of the street, where all the houses looked alike, until they stopped at one of them almost at the street's end. "this is my home," said josie. "be quiet. we'll slip in on gran'ma. sh-sh-sh!" they stepped inside. but grandma was looking for them, sitting there in her wheel chair right at the door. "my, my," she said. "heah is leonard! come heah, chile. my sakes—how you is growed! kiss gran'ma, honey." she held the child to her breast. "so much lak yo' po' mother, chile. jist lak huh. i seed huh yistiddy, chile. yo' po' sorrowin' mother. po' leetle thing." she kissed leonard again, and he did not know and could not tell whether that kiss was meant for him or for the mother on condor street she was speaking of. she was still holding him when josie re- turned, now dressed in a long white apron suit, and without her hat. "come here, leonard," she said. "i wants yuh tuh see the othah childurn." stepping to the rear of the house, she called, "childurn! you childurn! you 'lizbeth! mar—ee! johnie—ee! whar yuh at?" a faint "here" was heard in the distance. "come here, you childurn—all of you." in a little while, leonard was introduced to the ones whose names he had heard. then josie took him inside and undressed him to the skin. she redressed him in an outfit made up of about half of the outgrown garments discarded by her family five years past. "now you kin go out an' play with them an' git as dirty as you will. you kin even eat a little dirt if you wanttah, jist lak my childurn do sometimes. it'll do you good." they played and quarreled and made up, and played and quarreled and made up again, and played all day—just as chil- dren will do if the old folks won't bother them too much. when it was time for him to return with josie to the home, he was tired. but that night, when he said his prayers and went to bed, he was still hearing mary, his grandma's last words, "bye-bye, honey. th' good lawd bless yuh, chile. don' fo'git gran'ma, will yuh, honey? good-by." chapter eleven in the cellar when leonard entered the first grade in school it was not long before the children began to tease him and call him "teacher's pet." this nickname he resented, but it stuck with him. miss myers, his teacher, seemed always to be setting him on an in- visible pedestal, and pointing to him as the one pupil who never made a mistake or did anything wrong. his report cards pre- sented a line of perfect p's and high 's—he won most of the small prizes offered for good work—on friday afternoons he would recite the longest speeches, and when all the first-graders assembled in the music class, which met once a week, his was the voice that rang out the loudest and never missed a note. through the second and third grades as through the first, he marched a conquering hero. childhood's misfortunes, such as measles, mumps, and chicken pox, never held him back. when he entered the fourth grade, just before his ninth birthday, the teachers spoke of him behind his back as the "smartest little boy in school." miss hannan, at the home, mr. price, the super- intendent, and mrs. price were very proud of him, and were constantly wishing and hoping he might be adopted into some good family. the fact that he might be adopted sometime worried leonard not a little. there was something mysterious about that adopting business; something he could not comprehend. it was like dying— the adopted ones never returned to tell whether they liked their adoption or not. and dr. dingby, who came from somewhere and carried the adopted children away with him, was such a solemn-looking man. he wore long whiskers which were so thick around his mouth leonard could never tell whether or not he ever smiled or laughed. the boy was afraid of solemn- looking people. he was also afraid of the world outside of the home. most in the cellar but she did not do so, not then. instead, she sat down on the bottom step and said, "come here, leonard." the boy came to her—close. he was not afraid. she looked into his eyes, and, removing the checkered cap, ran her slim fingers through his curly hair. then, drawing him into her arms, she kissed him, not once only but many times, and she held him so close to her breast he could hardly breathe. just as suddenly she released him, and the child saw the hot tears coursing down her cheeks. "oh, leonard," she said, "please don't tell anyone you saw elwood's mother and that she kissed you. you won't tell, will you, leonard?" "no, i won't," the child replied. "you won't even tell elwood, will you?" "no, ma'am." she handed him an apple and dropped on her knees before him. "kiss me, leonard, just once." he put his small arms about her neck and kissed her, then, remembering where he was, bolted through the door and ran toward the home as fast as his little legs could carry him. thereafter leonard visited the cellar often, nearly every school day, and always he would find elwood's mother there. always she would greet him with a smile and dismiss him with her caresses. she would watch through the narrow cellar window as he ran through the yard, through the iron gates, and up the sidewalk going to the home. she would watch, and the past would spring up before her, and sorrow would drench her eyes with tears. she was watching one day just as he reached the iron gates. a buggy was passing there at the same time, and the tall, bushy- haired, and portly man inside suddenly stopped his horse and leaped out—rushed at the child and caught him by the arm. the man's grip was like a vise, and the child screamed in terror, dropping the apple he held. "what are you doing in there?" anger was in the man's voice —more than anger, bitter hate. "what are you doing in there?" run, zebra, run! he inquired again. the terrified child could not speak. the man shook him roughly and hard. the little checkered cap fell off and large feet trampled it in the dirt. elwood's mother had seen more than she could bear. she rushed through the cellar door, out into the yard, on toward the man who was shaking the child. then, as he saw her coming toward him, he picked up his victim and dashed him to the ground as though he might have been an unclean animal, saying as he did so, "if i see you inside those gates again i'll kill you. get out to the home where you belong, you little nigger." the child picked up his trampled cap and ran, weeping, his body bruised and his heart broken—and the man crawled back into his buggy and drove away. elwood's mother slowly entered the front door of the brown- stone mansion and went upstairs into her room. dry-eyed and silent, she stood there at the window—seeing nothing. the sun, now low in the western sky, cast its soft rays upon her, tinting her hair with gold, but deepening the deathly pallor on her face. this room had been her father's bedroom. in this room he had died. she turned her head, and there on the wall was the likeness of his kindly face. those eyes were ever gentle when he had spoken to her. there, too, was the likeness of the face of her uncle silas, hanging there in the massive gilded frame. it was the face of a man of power—a man who hit hard and took hard licks in return—the face of a man who had never been known to admit defeat. he had always been fond of her but had often told her, "i'd like to grab and shake some life into you, kitten. but i'm afraid if i did, i'd shake what little bit you have plumb out of you." the thought flashed into her mind: "he's good. he'll be good to my boy. he shall have him." sitting down at her desk, she wrote a letter to her uncle, then, dressing hurriedly, called to her husband to look after the children, and told him she was going down the street to her brother frank's. she found frank sprawled on the floor playing with his two- year-old son. he was of slender build, with hair inclined to ruddi- in the cellar ness. unlike his brother, he was of the easygoing type, and never was known to do more than a day's work per day. his sister's unannounced arrival confused him. "what on earth, catherine, brings you here right at supper time?" "business, frank, nothing but hard business. you know it's not a social call." "business. and here i am trying my best to forget business. i get too much business at the bank all day. couldn't you put your business off until tomorrow?" "no. i want to talk to you now. this is what i want. i want twenty thousand dollars in cash. i want it for leonard. i am going to send him to uncle silas." frank arose to his feet. it was the first time he had heard her mention the boy's name. he looked at her, then his eyes fell. "do you think you're doing the best thing, sis? have you spoken to george about it?" "george!" she almost shouted. "what would that brute know about what is best for anything? no! i'm not going to speak to him! i don't want to look at him again. you have my money ready for me when i want it. i'll want it in three weeks." "sis, that's a lot of money. it's almost half of what you have." "what if it's all i have," she interrupted. "nick has money and can provide well enough for our children. leonard is my child and i'll provide for him. have the money ready, frank, when i call for it." in a little while she was walking slowly toward her home, and the next morning she posted the letter she had written to her uncle silas. chapter twelve in the railway coach dr. dingby, the assistant director of state charities of the state of ohio, was a burden-bearer of the first order. how the state ever got along without him before he was born is an unsolved mystery. how the state has ever gotten along without him, since he has passed away, is another unsolved mystery. had dingby not kept himself so well hidden in the background, he would have been a governor, or perhaps a president. talk about being a "servant of the people," dingby was an abject slave of the people. and dingby is now forgotten! why? because good servants are never remembered. but after they are gone— oh, how their useful, conscientious, and faithful service is missed! dr. dingby had a little cubbyhole in the attic of his residence in columbus which he called his office. mrs. dingby, or one of the girls, cleaned and dusted in there regularly, but only four times a year. it was the good dinghy's "thinking palace." for twenty years, about half of all that was done for the welfare of the great state of ohio was initiated and planned right there in that little cubbyhole. ten governors had known dingby personally, and all of them brought their hardest problems to him for solu- tion. all had accepted and followed his advice. yet none of them had requested him to accept any office save the one he held. all of dr. dinghy's immediate superiors had been better politicians than humanitarians. the honor of being appointed director of state charities was quite a worthy one. it was cer- tainly a good position for the ambitious politician seeking higher honors. during his terms of office, the director would become acquainted with all the leading powers in every county in the state. he would have an opportunity to address all the important religious, civic, and welfare meetings. in charity's name, and at charity's expense, he could ingratiate himself in the hearts of all charitable citizens, the citizens who controlled the destinies run, zebra, run! when leonard awoke that night he found himself in miss hannan's room, sitting on her knee, while she was drawing a stocking onto one of his feet. mrs. price, the superintendent's wife, was stooping over them. he shook his head and rubbed his half-open eyes with his fists. mrs. price bathed his face with a damp cloth. "are you awake, leonard?" she asked. "yes, ma'am." the boy glanced around the room. he felt as though he had only been alseep a little while, and wanted to stretch out again in his comfortable bed. then mrs. price spoke again. "dr. dinghy's coming after you, leonard. he's taking you far away. you're going to have a new home. you must be a good boy and remember to say your prayers and read your bible every night. if you're good, you'll be happy and grow up to be a fine man." soon he was fully dressed and standing before them. miss hannan grasped his hand. "good-by, leonard. be a good boy," she said. she had led him out into the hall. "can't i say good-by to clarence and the boys?" he inquired. clarence was his best "home pal." he thought of clarence first, for they had such good times together, talking and playing. "no, leonard. it's way in the night. we can't wake the boys up now. but i'll let you see them." they entered the boys' bedroom and miss hannan turned on one light. leonard glanced at the sleeping youngsters and looked hard at clarence, his brown face resting on his arm. "good-by, clarence. good-by, boys," he said simply, and miss hannan turned out the light. dr. dingby and mr. price were sitting in the office down- stairs when mrs. price brought him in to them. dr. dingby looked at him and spoke. "a fine-looking boy, price. a fine- looking boy. no one would ever think it." then, turning to leonard, he remarked, "young man, we're going to take a little train ride pretty soon. think you will like to ride on the train?" run, zebra, run! him. you won't let anything hurt him. good-by, leonard. here are some apples and there's a little bible in the sack too. read the card inside your bible and be a good boy." she was kissing him again when the tall man grasped her arm and dr. dingby took leonard by the hand. and as leonard was led outside, she was weeping pitifully, and he heard the tall man exclaim, "don't be such a fool, sis." when he found himself awake again the train was running fast and dr. dingby told him they would soon be in columbus. day was breaking as they reached the city. the morning was cold—a gray mist hung over the river—and the tall buildings seemed to be floating along on the mist like ships. everything seemed so strange to the boy—the fat policeman at the station, with the shiny rows of buttons on his overcoat and the funny- shaped hat—the colored porters with red caps on their heads— the lighted streetcars filled with men holding long dinner pails. they entered one of these cars and had to stand up, and some of the men who knew dr. dingby spoke to him, and, though roughly dressed, talked very pleasantly. light was streaming from the front windows of a large house before which they stopped and, as he unlatched the front gate, the doctor said, "here is where we stop and get a good breakfast, young man." mrs. dingby must have been looking for them, for she met them at the door and kissed her husband. then the greeting, "good morning, father," seemed to echo from every corner, from every room, even from every closet. the large house was full of young men and women, eight or ten of them. they were coming from all directions to greet the gray-bearded man they called "father." the doctor became happy and jovial—he talked and laughed—all seemed to want to tell him something at the same time, and leonard, standing there unnoticed, looked on in wide-eyed wonder. when they were seated at the long table for breakfast, all bowed their heads and dr. dingby prayed. then they sang two verses of a hymn and everyone repeated a verse from the bible. leonard repeated his verse when the doctor nodded his head, and in the railway coach they all smiled. then everyone started to eat at once, and, though it was very early, all seemed to be hungry. the hash, the large heaping platter of buttered toast, the bacon and eggs, the jellies and amber syrup, looked very good and tempting. it was a happy family, and, had leonard known that every one of these young men and women who now called the doctor "father" had, at some time, been a little orphan boy or girl in some "home," he would have feared adoption no more. in a few hours when leonard was at the depot again, he was a much changed little boy. his hair was neatly cut and parted in the center. he was wearing a brand-new and expensive suit of clothing, a new, heavy overcoat, new shoes, and a new round fur cap. his old clothes and other belongings were tied in a neat bundle which was wrapped in heavy, lavender-colored paper. he had a new purse in his pocket in which was a dollar bill, one silver dollar, and some smaller change. some other money was sealed in an envelope and placed inside the bundle, and dr. dingby told him he mustn't lose any of his money and mustn't tell anyone the money was inside the bundle, for if he did someone might steal it. before the train for cincinnati arrived the doctor put his arm around the boy's shoulders and said, "leonard, i want to ask you an important question. are your mother and father living?" "i don't know," the boy replied. "well," continued the doctor, "i am going to tell you about them now, so you will always remember. leonard, your mother and father are dead. both of them are dead. if anyone ever asks you this question again, you tell them what i have told you— that your mother and father are both dead. they are dead, leonard. mothers and fathers who do not look after their children are dead—always dead. so, if anyone ever asks you about yours, always say, 'they are both dead.'" when the train arrived the doctor led the boy inside the coach, found a seat for him in the center of it, and told him he was going a long way but not to be afraid. "the conductor will look after you," he said, "and someone will meet you in cin- run, zebra, run! cinnati." then, taking a tag from his pocket, he looped a string on it through the buttonhole of the new overcoat. the tag read: "this coat belongs to leonard hall, a nine-year-old orphan colored boy, a ward of the board of state charities of the state of ohio. he is en route to mr. silas t. harker, brinkley, blank county, kentucky. any kindness shown him will be appreciated." the doctor then bade him good-by. the train rolled out of the station and out of the city. soon they were passing farmhouses and barns and snow-covered fields. flocks of white sheep were gathered around hay and straw stacks, and chickens of all sizes and colors could be seen clustered around the cribs, where ears of white and yellow corn were peeping through the narrow slats. the train passed over high trestles and bridges and leonard was afraid and held tightly to the arm of his seat. a lady passed by and smiled at him, then stopped and read the tag on his overcoat. she seemed surprised at what she read and called her husband. "why, he hasn't a single colored feature!" exclaimed the husband. a man sitting in the opposite seat heard them talking. he rose and also read the tag. "yes," he remarked, "that's possible all right. i travel a lot down south and i've seen many of them you can't tell from pure whites. i had a good friend down in virginia who was a doctor, and five years after he married a baltimore girl he discovered she had a dose of colored blood in her. he was southern-born and left her right away." "did they have any children?" the lady inquired. "yes. they had two—fine-looking little chaps. he was ar- ranging to provide for them but she skipped out one night with both of them and he hasn't heard of them since." "what a pity," said the lady. "what difference would a little drop of blood make in a case like that? it sounds inhuman to me." "yes, it's rather hard on the children, i guess. those of us who are born up this way can't understand their views about this colored business. expect if the truth were known, about a third of the southern whites have colored blood in them anyhow. in the railway coach they've been mingling down there nearly three centuries." just then another man walked by. he was a little, short, fat, gray-haired man with a ruddy face. noticing the tag, he also read it. "oh, a little sambo, eh?" he remarked. "step out here in the aisle, boy, and cut us a step or two." he began to pat time with his hands, but leonard, who had no idea what he was talk- ing about, sat still. "can't you dance for us?" the chubby man inquired. "no, sir," said leonard. "i can't dance." "well, can you sing?" "yes, sir." "give us a song then." christmas was not long past, and the first song that popped into leonard's head was one the children at the home had learned and sung for santa claus. without any hesitation what- ever, his strong young voice rang out: hear the children laugh and sing; santa claus comes today: oh, the presents he will bring; santa claus comes today. hear the children laugh and sing; while the merry echoes ring: waiting for the coming, coming king; santa claus comes today. above the rumble of the train was heard the soft melody— music as sweet as the tinkling of chiming bells. papers were cast aside and the whole car listened. when he sang the last verse: do you know his other name; santa claus comes today: call him love, it's just the same; santa claus comes today. everyone in the car clapped their hands and soon a shower of pennies and nickels descended on the child. he sang two other songs for them, and then, feeling hungry, took one of the apples run, zebra, run! from the sack and began to eat, and his admirers returned to their seats. it was dark when the train reached cincinnati. the reverend mr. nogatt met him there. but all he remembered was that mr. nogatt told him to look down and see the lights on the boats as they were crossing the wide river, and, when they left the street- car and entered a house, two ladies helped undress him imme- diately, and he crawled into a soft bed and went to sleep. run, zebra, run! in the waiting room. young eyes and old eyes, male and female eyes—eyes of all colors and glints—bore down on the boy like so many gimlets, seeking to pierce his very soul. the tall and the short, the mustached, bearded, and clean-shaven, all gathered around him—a little boy—who happened to be dressed better than any of their children had ever been dressed, and who was better looking than any of their children. all started talking at once. "what's yer name? where yer from? where yer goin'?" interrogation after interrogation—he could not begin to answer anyone. then, someone saw the tag on his coat. a half-dozen hands reached for it at once. some noticed the small writing and drew back. it would take a good tuckertown reader to decipher that scribbling! well, here he was—tod mickle's boy—who had gone off somewhere to school a term. young tod held the tag in his hand and began to read: "this coat belongs to leonard hall, a nine-year-old orphan colored—colored—colored!—" tod stopped reading and looked in leonard's face. "say, this says he's a nigger!" "a nigger!" a dozen voices gasped together. "say, boy, you hain't a nigger, are you?" asked young tod. "no, sir," leonard informed him. "but this tag says you're a nigger. it says you're 'colored.'" "mebby he don't know he's a nigger," a tall, bearded man remarked. "did anybuddy ever call yer a nigger, boy?" "no, sir," said leonard. "thar's sumpin' gol-darned funny 'bout that then," another young fellow said. the reader continued: ". . . ward of the board of state charities of the state of ohio—" "oh, he's from ohio. them yankees thar never told him he war a nigger, i reckon," said another. others commented and finally the reader was able to con- tinue: "he is en route to mr. silas t. harker, brinkley, blank county—" run, zebra, run! then quickly ran down to the end of the row of seats, laughing. all the others joined in the laughter while jake's head commenced bobbing up and down, and his sharp, red tongue began twirling a huge cud of tobacco from one cheek to another. "wal, i hain't talkin' 'bout th' winches, fellers. i'm talkin' 'bout th' buck niggers." this explanation seemed to satisfy all his listeners, so no one said anything else to embarrass him further. just then a shy little man, very pale and wearing a black suit, stepped inside the door. all eyes were turned toward him and he bowed. "good morning, brethren," was his salutation. "howdy, brother lasty," several voices echoed. the little black-garbed man walked to the ticket window and conversed awhile with the agent. then, without noticing the others in the room, he went to leonard, sat down beside him, and grasped his hand. "how are you, little stranger?" he inquired. the boy smiled, the first smile that had flitted across his face since he had come to tuckertown. "i'm all right," he said. the little man asked his name, how old he was, could he read and write, and other questions. he read the tag on the coat and the others watched him closely, but the information it carried seemed not to affect him in the least. "you are going to a good home, leonard," he told him. "i am the pastor of brother harker's church. he is also a preacher. if you're a good boy you'll be well taken care of. are you a christian?" "i don't know," leonard replied. "well, do you ever read the bible or go to sunday school?" "yes, sir. i can read the bible and repeat almost all the psalms by heart. i have a bible in this sack. elwood's mother gave it to me when i left bridgeville." "well, well, that's fine. let's see your bible." leonard brought the bible from the sack and handed it to him. it was a small volume, bound in scarlet morocco. the cor- ners were worn and some of the leaves were wrinkled. the pastor opened it and his eyes alighted on a small, square card on which in tuckertown something was written. he noticed the words "dear leonard," and handed it to the boy. "can you read this?" leonard took the card and read slowly, "'dear leonard: please find in your bible, and read, the twenty-fourth, twenty- fifth, and twenty-sixth verses of the sixth chapter of numbers, and be a good boy.' " it was signed: "elwood's mother." "have you read those verses yet?" brother lasty asked him. "no, sir." then the boy opened the bible, immediately found the verses, and read aloud: "'the lord bless thee and keep thee; the lord make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee; the lord lift up the light of his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.'" "you read fine, leonard. you have read a great prayer. was elwood's mother any kin to you?" "no, sir." "was she your sunday school teacher?" "no, sir. she's just elwood's mother. they live in a big house on condor street." the pastor arose and shook hands with another man who had just come inside, then the two walked out together, and soon leonard was left alone. he sat there a very long time. the ticket agent left and the depot was deserted. he was lonesome and hungry and began to wish he was at the home again, looking into the friendly faces of those he knew, and playing with the boys he had learned to love. soon tears were trickling down his cheeks and he found his handkerchief and wiped them away. by and by the ticket agent returned and another man was with him. the latter was wearing a heavy pair of leather boots. as he walked across the room, his heels, as they struck the floor, sounded like hammers. he had a long, brown mustache, which turned down straight at each end of his mouth. he was wearing a fur cap and a heavy, greasy overcoat, which had in front of it a row of the largest buttons leonard had ever seen. he was of medium height and his face was very red. run, zebra, run! the two passed by the boy and said nothing. he watched them as they entered the ticket office, and for a while there was much loud talking and laughing and stamping and lumbering there behind the wall. then the door opened again and the mustached individual stamped up to leonard, abruptly picked up his bundle, and said, "come on, boy. you go with me." leonard followed him. outside was a wagon, heavily loaded with barrels, boxes, long, tightly filled sacks, and large tin cans. a black and a bay horse were hitched to the wagon. the horses were standing very still, their heads down low as though they might have been sleeping. the man climbed into the wagon with leonard's bundle under his arm, and was soon perched high on a spring seat. "gimb up, boy," he said. leonard struggled up the front wheel, then over the side boards, and managed to reach the seat as the man pulled the horses' reins and commanded, "you, hawk! you, crow! git up thar!" the horses strained at the load—the wagon creaked—and soon they were going away from the depot, out a little way on a dirt road full of rocks, frozen clods, and deep ruts, and onto the turnpike. as they moved slowly down the rocky pike leonard held tightly to the seat. up and down and to each side he bounced or slipped. sometimes he was thrown over close against the driver, and the next second he would find himself hanging for dear life to the end of the seat, expecting every minute to be shaken loose and to fall to the ground, which seemed to be so far below. suddenly, when they had come to a level stretch in the road, and the wagon was running smoothly, the driver introduced him- self to leonard by giving him a sharp punch in the ribs, exclaim- ing as he did so, "scrach-ch!" and quickly looking at him out of the corner of his eye. leonard hardly knew whether to cry or laugh. he looked so frightened the driver guffawed. "har—har—har! did i skeer you?" the boy did not understand the meaning of the word "skeer," and made no reply. in tuckertown "can't yer talk? cat got yer tongue? what name yer got? what they call you?" his voice was keen and rasping. each word seemed to be fol- lowed by a short hiss, which sounded as though he was sucking his breath through his teeth. "my name's leonard hall." "you kin talk, kin't yer?" said the man, and he punched leonard in the ribs with his elbow and "scrach-ch'ed" at him again. by this time they had reached the foot of a steep hill. the driver jumped from the wagon while it was yet moving, carrying the reins with him. he talked to his team all the way up the hill, encouraging them to go forward, and every few yards pulled them sidewise and locked the wheels of the wagon so they could rest. the hill was steep and long, but at last the summit was reached, and the driver climbed back to his seat. immediately he punched leonard in the ribs and scrach- ch'ed at him again. "ol ' hawk an' crow thar is the best team in blank county," he said. "now who says they hain't? nobody does. they kin outpull any team that's ever been hitched. now who says they cain't?" he spat a long stream of tobacco juice which went over the front of the wagon and landed on the ground at the side of hawk's forefoot. "i got some good team, hain't i, boy?" "yes, sir," leonard said quickly, although it was the first time he had ever seen a team pull hard in his life. they passed several farmhouses of different shapes and sizes. the barns were all standing close beside the pike, and from the pike a narrow road led to the double doors or open shed of every barn. the driver "halloed" cheerfully to everyone he hap- pened to see, whether the person was without a house or peering through a window. by and by they came to a crossroads, where there were three houses and a long building standing close together. hawk and crow left the road of their own accord, and stopped before the long building. soon a man came out and helped the driver un- load nearly half of the things he had in the wagon. then they run, zebra, run! pulled away and traveled on, between the rows of rail or stone fences, mile after mile, until they could see in the distance the spire of the church and numerous houses which seemed to be clustered around it. leonard looked up into the driver's face, and, as the expression he saw seemed to be a pleasant one, he meekly inquired, "is that the town i'm going to live in?" "no. you hain't goin' to live in no town. that's brinkley. yer goin' to live with pap. you got to go three miles farther down th' pike." when they arrived at brinkley the wagon was unloaded of everything but two of the sacks and one leather mail pouch, which was locked with a round brass padlock. then they drove on, and never stopped again till they came to a large, painted house, standing within a grove of naked-limbed trees. the rear of the house faced the pike. it stood on a little knoll, and a flat, rock-wall fence extended for many yards below it. the horses drew the wagon up close to the wall fence and stopped. the driver "halloed" loudly. in a moment a little girl came bounding out of the door and ran swiftly to them. "uncle jute, is this him?" she asked. "yep. this is him. git off, boy. here's where yer goin'," he said to leonard. by the time leonard had crawled from the wagon a tall, lanky, gray-haired woman appeared on the scene. "is this the little nigger?" she inquired. "yep, that's him, maw." her eyes wandered from the feet of the boy until they reached his face. "he's purty white fer a nigger, hain't he, jute?" chapter fourteen in the farmhouse colonel ebenezer blank, that hardy north carolina back- woodsman who led the fifth group of colonists through the moun- tains of what is now eastern kentucky, on into the rich bluegrass regions of central kentucky, had a wife who ruled him with a rod of steel just as he ruled the men under him with a rod of iron. he was a big giant of a man and she was only a wee little woman. but her tongue was sharper than his sword or hunting knife, and her tongue he obeyed. when she ordered him to give to her troublesome nephew—the first kentucky harker—"a passel o' lan' whar thar's a-plenty o' game an' water, so he kin hunt an' fish the balance o' his days," he promptly looked about him for this "passel o' lan'." eventually he chose some several thousand acres at the extreme edge of the bluegrass region. this area was nothing at all except good "huntin' an' fishing lan'." it was too rocky to plow; too hilly to farm; too rough to cultivate. it was just what this first kentucky harker wanted. silas thomas harker, owner of some of that original "passel o' lan'," and father of the generation of harkers who lived in blank county during the early years of the present century, was an only son. his father was killed by the kick of a wild colt he was breaking, hardly six months after his wedding day. the bereaved young wife, soon to become a mother, returned to her new england home. there silas was born, and there he lived until, some five years later, his mother married george vanalban, a pennsylvanian of old dutch stock. his stepfather settled in bridgeville and prospered in his day, but when young silas be- came a man he returned to kentucky, married a kentucky girl, and took possession of his inheritance. his wife bore him eight children, then died of a fever, leav- ing the youngest child a baby in the cradle. silas soon married again. his second wife was just a strip of a girl. her family was in the farmhouse neither was he ever a successful politician. once he was elected judge of the county court and twice he was sent to the state legislature. but his name appeared on every ballot cast at a regular election in his county during forty years. for some office he was a constant candidate. at the time of the coming of leonard, silas harker had passed his eightieth birthday, but was as active as any man of sixty. before he received the letter from catherine he had no positive knowledge of the child's existence. true, rumors had been current, but, as all of them had been traced to phil's wife, who was noted for her long tongue and long letters—but not to her husband's people—few of the family believed the rumors. least of all did silas take any stock in them, for he had visited his half-brother, knew catherine, and loved her sincerely. he burned her letter as soon as he read it, went to the barn, saddled ben, his favorite riding horse, and rode to the farthest end of his farm. his mind was made up before he returned. he would accept the charge. the boy would be reared as any white harker. he would receive the advantages his mother desired for him. when he returned from his ride and entered the rear door of his home, his wife was sitting in the armless rocking chair, engaged in her favorite pastime, patching. he told her about the letter and his decision. "but hain't he a nigger, silas?" she asked. "well, his father was that music master i told you about. but what of that? kitten says you can't tell him from any white boy. they were married and he came here honest. i want him to be raised as a white boy." "never! silas, never! if that's the way you think about it, i hain't goin' to have nothin' to do with him. how could i stan' havin' him runnin' roun' here with sybil an' me knowin' all the time he's a nigger? if you take him an' keep him, you gotta keep him as a nigger. i won't tell nobuddy he's catherine's, but i mean to tell ever'buddy he's a nigger an' i mean to make him know he's a nigger, too. i jist can't do any diff'rent. it jist hain't in me." run, zebra, run! "oh, well then. have it your own way, as usual. anything to keep peace. but i'm going to write and tell her to send him down after christmas." the home of the harkers was a house of parts as well as rooms. the framework of the "old part" was the three-room log cabin of that first kentucky harker. this part sat close to the ground. the old logs were hidden from without by weather boarding and from within by ceiling boards and fancy wallpaper. but they were still there, and often harbored a stray rat or snake, and, more than once, even a swarm of bees. downstairs the three rooms were now the parlor, library, and a spare bedroom called "the preacher's room." the two rooms above this "old part" were bedrooms also, in one of which jay harker slept when he was at home. the "middle part," built by a harker of a later generation, stood higher from the ground, and, downstairs, was the wide hall which ran throughout the entire house. it was also the sitting room, dining room, and the bedroom the master and his wife occupied. the "new part" had been added by silas harker. below was the large kitchen and pantry, sybil's room, and a room next to it called "erne's room." above was a part of the upstairs hall, one bedroom, and a room in which all manner of old furniture and bric-a-brac was stored. this was called the "junk room." the house was so large a stranger might easily become lost in it. it was sybil who opened the door and said pleasantly, "come on in, leonard, and get warm." she was a girl of eleven years and greatly resembled her mother. her eyes were large and blue, her hair, which hung in a long plait to her waist, was the color of ripe straw. her cheeks were pink—the kind of dim pink one notices on a full-blown pink rose blossom when it is fading. her small mouth seemed to be constantly puckered until she smiled. then the smile, and the way she held her head, produced a coquettish expression that made her look much older than she was. she was rather tall for her age, and possessed a natural and charming grace which was in the farmhouse the old lady exploded. "why, silas, you know he can't eat with us. you know he's a nigger!" the old man spoke bluntly. "he doesn't look like a nigger, does he? come here and sit down—here beside me. get him a plate and a glass, sybil. i mean for this boy to be treated right. he's to eat at this table and sleep in a decent bed. i mean it." "he's mighty smart, pap," said sybil. "he kin read an' write better'n me, and knows all about hist'ry and geography." "good blood, daughter. good blood," repeated the old man, and he laughed heartily. the old lady again took her seat at the end of the table. then she threw her long arm across her eyes and burst out weeping. "tuh think i'd ever have tuh eat with a nigger," she wailed. "tut-tut, judy. don't be such a fool." the old lady rose to her feet. "i can't eat a bite—nere a bite," she whined and walked out into the kitchen. the old man helped leonard's plate generously. in the kitchen, the old lady could be heard sniffling, and, when leonard shyly looked into silas harker's face, he seemed to be able to detect a smile lurking beneath the long, white beard. when the meal was finished, leonard and the old man went into the sitting room and sybil proceeded to clear the table. the old man lit the swinging lamp above the center table and another one which sat on a table in the corner near the fireplace. on the center table were three unopened letters and several newspapers, magazines, and books. the old man sat down in a large rocking chair and the boy stood by the fire. "do you like to read, leonard?" he inquired. "yes, sir." "that's fine. i like little boys who like to read." he motioned toward the corner table. "there's your chair and table over there. that corner belongs to you and sybil. now don't get to fighting over it. here's a paper." leonard sat down in the corner beside the table and began to read. he found the children's page, and the story thereon run, zebra, run! was interesting. he was so absorbed that, when sybil entered, and sat in the window seat on the opposite side of the table, he did not know she was there. but soon the girl began to read loud enough to be heard by all in the room and leonard looked at her. "how do you say this word, leonard?" she asked and spelled out a word. the boy pronounced the word correctly and the old man looked up and smiled at him. the old lady was sewing carpet rags and gave no sign she had heard anything at all. the children conversed in low tones. leonard had left his chair and was sitting beside her in the window seat. the old lady looked up. "sybil, sit in that cheer," she commanded. "oh, maw, we want to look at this together," the girl replied. the tone of her voice emphasized the bitter protest of her heart. "you do as i tell yer. it's not nice fer white girls to sit so close to nigger boys. git up from thar, i say!" the old man spoke. "now, judy, what harm is there in these children sitting there together. they're not bothering nobody." the girl arose and sat in the chair but her little pink lips were puckered much more than they were before. the immediate silence that followed was broken by the tramp of heavy feet on the floor of the back porch. the kitchen door was opened. someone entered and began rattling dishes in the cupboard, and pans and pots in the oven and on the stove. "that's jay," sybil said, looking at leonard, but her mother and father said nothing. presently a tall man entered the sitting room and sat down on a straight-backed chair before the fire. he had a long mustache —black, streaked with white—heavy eyebrows, and a mouth that puckered a little like sybil's. his face was very red, and a faint odor of alcohol permeated the air in the room almost as soon as he was seated. he was wearing a heavy overcoat, a fur cap, with flaps hanging loosely over his ears, and large muddy leather boots. he pulled his chair so close to the fire he was almost sitting in it, and the mother told sybil to get some more wood. he sat thus for a while, then arose, turned around, and sat down again, this in the farmhouse time straddling the chair with his back to the fire. then, placing an arm on the chair's back and laying his head on his arm, he closed his eyes. ere long the children were conversing again. leonard began drawing articles from his trousers pockets and showing them to sybil. first, he brought out two glass marbles and told the girl all about the game and how proficient he was at playing it. then he brought out his knife, and then his new pocketbook. opening the purse, the girl saw the paper money—the dollar bill, the silver dollar, and the smaller change. "maw, look! he has a whole lot of money," she said. "put it back in yer pocket," the old lady replied sharply. "money's made to spen' and save, not to play with." jay harker, the latest arrival, aroused and stretched. "go to bed, jay. git up an' go to bed. git on up," the old lady repeated. "ah, dammit, shut up an' lemme alone." the drawling words fell out—his lips hardly moved at all—his tongue seemed to roll from one side of his mouth to the other. the old man threw the paper he was reading on the table and looked hard at his son. "jay," he said, "haven't i forbidden you to use such language in this house? if you're going to talk like that, you get out of here and stay out. i mean it." "ah, shut up," the intoxicated man repeated. then silas harker brought forth from the shelf beneath the table the large family bible. opening it, he read one of the shorter psalms. at the conclusion of his reading, all turned and knelt by their chairs—even jay—and the patriarch prayed. he prayed for the world—for the nation—the state, county, and community. he prayed for the churches and schools. he prayed for the in- mates of penitentiaries, jails, and asylums. he prayed for the sick and afflicted—the needy—and all "distressed in body and mind." he prayed for his children—those present and those absent. he prayed for his grandchildren and his great-grandchildren. he mentioned jay by name, requesting his god to "make him see the error of his ways before it is eternally too late." then he prayed for the little "stranger within our gates." it was a fervent run, zebra, run! prayer, and, somehow or other, though he knew not why, the boy who heard it there on his knees felt much better when he arose. "where's he going to sleep at?" the old man asked his wife. "up in th' junk room, pap. i've fixed his bed up thar." "no, he hain't either. he'll ketch his death o' cold. put him in effie's room." "but effie'll be mad as a wet hen if she comes an' finds him in thar. she'll niver sleep in her bed ag'in after that." "then she can sleep in the junk room," said the old man. and there was a twinkle in his eyes as he looked at leonard. "come here, boy," he said. "i'll show you where you'll sleep." he led him through the door that opened from the dining room. the old lady followed them. as she lit the lamp which was sitting on an old-fashioned maplewood bureau, she ex- claimed, "well, i'll have to take all o' effie's nice quilts off th' bed. he can't sleep under them. go and git yer ol' clo'es to put on tomorrer. i hain't goin' to have yer 'roun' here dressed up all the time." soon leonard was sound asleep. when he awoke, day was breaking and the odor of frying ham was in his nostrils. someone was calling his name. he jumped out of bed and drew on his old trousers. then, remembering his knife, marbles, and his new purse full of money, he felt for his possessions in the pockets of the trousers he wore the day before. he found the marbles and knife but the purse was gone. he called, "sybil! sybil!" quick steps were heard and the old lady stood in the door- way. "you say 'miss sybil,' you—you— say 'miss sybil.' don't let me ever hear yer say 'sybil' ag'in. now what do yer want?" "i can't find my pocketbook," he replied meekly. "well, i told yer las' night money wern't made to play with. giss it's plum' gone now. come on in here an' wash yer face." while pouring the water into the basin he looked out of the pantry window and saw jay harker mount his horse and ride slowly away up the turnpike. chapter fifteen in the kitchen leonard discovered where he was when, the next evening, he found the maps of ohio and kentucky in sybil's geography book. he located bridgeville and blank county on them, and even little brinkley, only three miles away. this discovery prompted him to call sybil, and, leaning over the geography book together, they traced the route he had traveled. a red line on the map repre- sented the railroad. with the end of a slate pencil, they traced this line from bridgeville to columbus—then on to cincinnati— then on to tuckertown. but there was no red line from tucker- town to brinkley, neither was there a red line in all of blank county. the post offices in blank county were designated by little black dots. sybil found blankton, and told him that was the county seat where the courthouse and the jail were. "pap goes there every court day," she told him. "he has to leave sunday afternoon so he'll be there early monday morning. and, oh, leonard, lookee! here's pigeon, where pap held a 'tracted meetin'' last winter—and lookee! here's pigeon river runnin' right through blank county." she placed her pencil on the crooked, zigzagged black line that was named in the book pigeon river. "i bet our house is right here," she said. "our house isn't on a river," leonard reminded her. "well, it's almost on one. pigeon river is just down below our sugar camp." as leonard had not explored any, he said no more. he was wondering, too, what a sugar camp was. he would not ask sybil to tell him because, being very ignorant of rural terms and things, and having already been embarrassed several times on account of his ignorance, he feared the girl's laughter, and the remark she was sure to make to her mother: "maw—maw, he don't even know what a sugar camp is!" run, zebra, run! all day, leonard had been on exhibition. he had hardly eaten breakfast before members of the harker tribe began to appear, singly and in bunches. the schoolteacher, who was a grandchild, came first. when sybil—who was her aunt, though many years her junior—told her how far leonard had advanced in his studies she replied, "that's because they have good schools in ohio, syb, and the white and nigger children all go together. i had a roommate in the seminary from ohio. she told me all the little niggers were smart and sharp as tacks, but they'd get dumb and couldn't learn nothing when they got older. you'll soon catch up with him. i'd hate to have to teach any little niggers. hope grandpap don't ask me to give him his lessons." leonard had been listening to this conversation, but with little concern. he was much more interested in the children as they arrived. most of them called their teacher cousin lillian although one little boy and girl called her miss jones. all carried round tin buckets containing their lunches. some larger ones, who had smaller sisters and brothers, carried in one pail or basket the lunch for the entire family. the little and big boys were dressed alike. all wore boots, jeans pants and coats, and shirts or waists of striped material. the girls wore high-topped shoes, knitted yarn caps or fascinators on or over their heads, and short or long shawls. all had mittens of yarn which were either red and white, red and blue, or blue and black. they all stared at leonard as though he might have been a freak, or some gnome, fairy, or ogre who had jumped right out of their story books. the last to arrive before school time was a large and very pretty girl called pearl. "hello, all of you," she said as she breezed into the room. "is syb ready yet?" then, as the old lady joined them, she sud- denly exclaimed, "gran'ma, my calf has a pretty little heifer calf. it's the prettiest little thing, gran'ma, you ever laid eyes on. just came last night. pa is givin' it to me and i've named it pearl, after me. stop the first time you go to town an' see it." "it's a heifer, is it?" the old lady looked at the talkative granddaughter and smiled. "giss that'll be yer cow to go house- keepin' on, pearl." in the kitchen "oh no, gran'ma. it'll have to git big an' have a calf and the calf will have to have a calf 'fore i do any housekeepin'. i'm goin' off to school next year if pa's terbaccer does any good. he told me so t’other day. he's goin' to put out ten acres next year an' i promised to make a good han' fer him. i want to be a teacher like cousin lillian.” all during the conversation she had been casting sharp glances at leonard. "gran'ma, why didn't gran' pap git a sure anuff little nigger if he had to have one? this un is pure white as we are. he's lots whiter than uncle phil's two oldest childern. i ain't seen—" "say 'i haven't seen,' pearl,” cousin lillian admonished. “i wish i could stop you children sayin' 'hain't.'” "well then,” pearl continued, "i haven't seen uncle phil's youngest childern yet. hope they're not as dark as the oldest.” "they can't be very white, yer know,” said her grandmother. "look how dark their mother is. they say she's irish, but i dunno. i've heerd o' black dutch but i never heerd o' black irish. i know one thing. she's got an awful long tongue.” "yes. look at them lies she writ down 'bout cousin catherine. maw told me 'bout them. cousin catherine used to send me the prettiest things when i was little. i always wanted to go an' see her.” "mebbe you kin if that terbaccer turns out well, pearl. she's got a growin' fam'ly o’ her own now, an' they say she hain't well a bit. poor gal. i hain't never seen her, but yer gran pap says she's awful pretty an' nice. he allwuz was a plum' fool over her.” pearl was still interested in leonard. “what did gran' pap want to git a little nigger fer anyhow, gran'maw?" "wal, we thought a little nigger boy would do more work an' stay with us longer, i rickin. you see th' last two boys we had run away 'bout th’ time they got big anuff to be some 'count. i think this little nigger will 'preciate a good home better." leonard's head was in a whirl when the children and their teacher departed. he wanted to ask a thousand questions but was afraid to address any of them to the old lady. the old man was out on the farm. he had not seen him that morning. in a little run, zebra, run! for leonard was peeping at the face of the grandfather dock and watching the slow-moving hands. after each prayer, all said "amen" together. the old man prayed last—a long prayer full of feeling—and when the "praying time" was over, leonard could think of nothing else in the world left to pray for. that evening at "praying time," the one prayer was a short one and no scripture was read at all. at the breakfast table the next morning, the old man in- formed them he was going away for three or four days. it seemed that his decisions to go "scoutin' aroun'," as the old lady called his numerous trips, were not made suddenly. but their announce- ments were always made of a sudden. no one knew one day whether he would be home the next or not. even when he was going away to hold a "protracted meeting"—as revivals were called at that time in his country—often everyone would know he was to be the revival preacher before his own intimate family would know it. he always had plenty of irons in the fire. preacher, lawyer, politician, stock-buyer, real estate dabbler, farmer, and whatnot else, his numerous professions, jobs, and enterprises kept him away from home most of the time. and he was never in a hurry to return. he dearly loved to visit. those he visited were glad to receive him. his reminiscences, tales, anecdotes, jokes, and words of advice and wisdom would interest old and young alike. so wherever he went, he was received with open arms. "wal, i'll git cindy an' john to stay nights with us," said the old lady. "these winter nights is too long fer us to be by ourselves so much. seems to me like changin' beds so much this time o' year would mos' nigh kill yer. i'm sure i couldn't stan' sich goin's on." the old man laughed. "how you know, judy, but what i get better beds away from home than i do at home?" "wal, mebbe you do. you sure like to sleep in them. i know that." he called leonard to go to the barn with him to help hitch ben to the buggy. "you're large enough to hitch up a horse and drive to blankton by yourself," he told him. "i'm going to have i in the kitchen to make a country boy out of you. guess we might as well start now." when they reached the barn he showed leonard how to bridle ben and also how any horse was hitched to a buggy. after he had gotten inside, and the bearskin was tucked snugly around his feet, and the many laprobes and the buffalo robe were drawn up over his legs, he said to the boy, "now you be good and mind mrs. harker while i'm gone. don't be impudent or sass her any. read all the books and papers you want to. i'll be back by the end of the week." he waved farewell as he clicked to ben and drove away. the moment leonard entered the house again the old lady met him with the command to "go up an' bring them two sacks o' rags behin' th' door in th' junk room an' be quick about it. i'm goin' to give yer somethin' ter do terday to keep yer nose outta books an' papers. yer know too much now fer yer own good. hurry an' git 'em." in a few moments he returned with the two large meal sacks full of rags. "now you sit down here an' take these scissors and cut 'em up, just like this." she showed him how to take the rags and cut them into long strips about an inch and a half wide. later they were to be sewed together to be dyed and woven into carpets. under the watchful eye of mrs. harker, he cut rags from early morning until noon, and after dinner was told to get back to his job. by night his fingers were blistered and his hands were cramped. sybil returned from school jolly and hungry, but he could not talk to her. his tongue was thick and a lump was in his throat. one of the largest blisters on his right forefinger had burst. when he stuck it in his mouth the pain caused him to burst out weeping. the old lady looked at him. "what are yer snifflin' 'bout?" she asked him. "my finger hurts," he replied piteously. "you stop that racket er somethin' else will be hurtin' yer worsen yer finger." run, zebra, run! the boy dried his eyes and sybil came and sat beside him. "let me see it, leonard. oh, maw," she said. "he's broke a blister on his finger and it's all red." the girl brought a box of salve from the mantel shelf and anointed the sore. "git away from him," the old lady commanded. "you go ter pityin' him an' he'll never be no 'count. put them scissors up an' be sure yer know whar yer puts 'em. yer'll need 'em termorrer. an' yer gotta be pearter tomorrer then yer've been terday or yer'll git a good tannin'. i hain't got no use fer lazy niggers. hain't got much use fer no kind. come in here an' git yer supper." he sat at the kitchen table that night and the old lady "helped" his rusty pie pan. she gave him hardly half enough, but he was afraid to ask for more. before he finished eating, cindy and john arrived. cindy was the old lady's eldest daughter. of medium height and rather stout, her face round and full, she might have been good looking once upon a time, but now she was ugly. if an artist could paint the face of that fiend, disappointment, the face painted would be a replica of cindy's. for all her life she had wanted that which she could not get. when a young miss, she wanted to be popular. but she was not popular. then she wanted a certain young man for a husband. she fooled him and forced him to marry her, but he divorced her in less than a year. then she sought riches. she went to the city and worked as a milliner, and in ten years saved two thousand dollars. she invested her money and it grew. then the panic of ' came and she lost every dime. then she married john, who she thought would inherit his father's extensive land holdings and fine stock. but when the old man died, his debts ate up everything he had possessed. she had wanted children—at least one baby—but now she was getting old and no baby had come. disappointment had made her ugly and mean. her tongue was sharp, her mouth was twisted, her graying hair was thin. she entered the kitchen where leonard was sitting at the table. "so you're the little nigger, are you?" the boy turned his head and looked at her. in the kitchen "say something. can't you talk? don't look at me like that!" she advanced as though to strike him. then she returned to the dining room and leonard heard her words. "a little nigger! umph! don't see how you ever 'greed to stand for it, maw. pap bringin' that little nigger here for you to wait on, like as though you hain't got enough to do already. it's a sin an' shame. hardly any white child ever paid for its raisin', and i know no nigger ever will. why didn't he git one of the grandchildren to live with him if he had to have a boy? it's a shame an' a disgrace! i'm goin' to give him a piece of my mind when i see him. ever'thing that little nigger in there's gittin' the grandchildren ought to git, an' lord knows some of them need it. look at ed's children and tom's ten. i jist wouldn't stand for it, if i was you. let him send him back where he got him from." leonard wished in his heart they would do so. he got down from the table and slipped through the dining room into the sitting room. it was dark in there, the fire was low, and he was glad of it. they would not be able to see his frowning little face or the tears in his eyes. sybil got up and began clearing the table and john came into the sitting room. he filled his cob pipe and picked up a live coal with his bare fingers and laid it on top of the tobacco, and leonard watched the live coal as it became redder with each in- halation. he heard the water being poured from the teakettle into the dishpan and the rattle of dishes. then he heard them talking in lower tones. suddenly the old lady called, "you come here, leonard." when he entered the kitchen the old lady tied an apron around his neck. it hung to his feet and she drew it up and pinned it around his waist. "you'll have to make him a couple 'specially for dishwashin', maw," said cindy. "make 'em so they'll have holes for his arms." the old lady dipped her hand into a crock and brought it out again with some soft lye soap on her fingers. then she stirred the water with the soapy fingers until the suds foamed on top of it. "come on an' git busy," she commanded. run, zebra, run! leonard walked to the pan. it was sitting on the stove and he could not reach it. "git th' footstool fer him to stan' on, sybil." the girl returned with the footstool. leonard stood upon it and dipped his hand into the soapy water. he had forgotten the sore finger. the instant pain almost took his breath. "oh, my finger!" he wailed. quick as a flash cindy grabbed both his hands and held them under the water. it was hot—the pain was intense and he strug- gled violently. "you won't wash 'em, will you? you won't—will you?" she struck him hard on the side of the face with her clenched fist. the sharp blow knocked him from the stool to the floor. jerking him up, she pulled him across her knee and her blows descended upon his bottom as hard and fast as she could lay them on. the boy screamed in pain, then grew faint and sick at the stomach and was soon vomiting on his persecutor and the floor. she flung him aside in disgust. the old lady mixed some salt in water and made him drink it. sybil flew to the sitting room. cindy went to the pantry and, returning with the scrub bucket and some rags, said, "you clean up that mess. i'll wash 'em tonight, but you've got to wipe 'em. mebbe that spankin' ' do you some good. it's jist what you needed, you little nigger." the next day he started washing dishes regularly, and cath- erine's child became the boy slave of the harker womenfolk. chapter sixteen in the woodshed the front half of the woodshed was built of hewn logs. this part of it had once been the smokehouse. looped over the old rafters were still some sharp, forked sticks upon which many a juicy smoked ham, jowl, or side of bacon had hung in days gone by. inside, the cracks between the logs were boarded over with thin planks of many widths and lengths. outside, they were filled with white "dobbing," a mixture of lime and sand. the back part of the woodshed was built of inch boards nailed onto uprights. these uprights were set two feet apart. inside, some rough boards were nailed to them a distance of approximately three feet from the floor. this had been done so the heavy ricks of wood could not press against the siding and push it off. these holes in the woodshed between the siding and the rough boards became leonard's trunk, his bank, his pantry, his library, his archives, his museum—yes, and even his wine cellar. here he placed everything he cherished, everything he wished to hide and protect. in one of the holes, wrapped neatly in a piece of newspaper, were two handkerchiefs—badly worn but dearly loved. one was the prize he had won at the presbyterian sunday school in bridgeville, for memorizing and repeating more of the psalms than any scholar in his class. the other had been given him by elwood's mother one afternoon in the cellar. she had dried her tears with that handkerchief that afternoon, and then had used it to wipe from his hands the dirt from the school- house yard and the juice from the apple he had just eaten, so he wouldn't soil the fine dress she was wearing when he sat in her lap and put his arms around her neck. in another of the holes he kept what little money he could call his own. sometimes it was only a penny, but often it was as much as a dollar or two. he had learned early to hide his money,. run, zebra, run! for mr. jay had a knack of searching his pockets while he was asleep, and many a time he had missed his money just as he had missed it and his new pocketbook, too, the first night he slept under the harker roof. when the old man was away and he was forced to eat at the kitchen table—which was more than half the time—he was certain to get not enough food to fill his stomach. he got just what the old lady believed, and said, was enough. if she happened to be in a bad humor—which she usually was—her "enough" was very little indeed. but he did most of the kitchen work and had free access to the cupboard and pantry. into a hole in the woodshed went the food he loved best, preserves and honey in jars, sweet- cakes and gingerbread. and his conscience never accused him of being a thief. in his library hole he had preserved an assortment of liter-- ature, the like of which could not have been duplicated in any other library on the face of the earth. almanacs and religious tracts, patent medicine circulars and pieces of hymnbooks, old cincinnati enquirers and pentecostal heralds, storybooks and worn-out books of essays, grammars, and orations, a part of a huge dictionary, which began at the e's and ended at the ws, any piece of paper on which was printed a sentence that inter- ested him was sure to be deposited in his library and cherished as the purest gold. in another hole he kept anything he discovered that was made of iron or steel. pieces of old clocks, little cog wheels from corn cutters and old wheat fans, wires and spikes and bolts and nuts. he would have big times tinkering with these when left at home by himself. his wine cellar was used only once. one day he filled a bottle with cider and put it away. in a week or two the grapes were ripe and he gathered a bucketful of them, slipped to the haymow, and pressed out their juice into another bottle. then, some time after- ward, when everyone was gone, he brought forth the two bottles and sampled their contents. he sampled too much, got dizzy and sick, and a long, long time afterward—when he was able to walk straight again—he took the two bottles out to the nearest tobacco in the woodshed field and buried them. his wine cellar was empty from that day on. leonard learned many things in that woodshed; many things a boy should know and also many things a boy should not know. there were three windows in the little building, one at the back and one at each side. through one of the side windows he could see the nearby open fields and the ten acres of tobacco pearl's father was cultivating that year. it was cutting time, a warm day in early fall, and pearl and her father and an older brother and the hired man were working in the field together. the hired man was young and handsome jim rucker. the harkers called the ruckers "poor trash," and said they were lower down than niggers. leonard, peering through the window, saw pearl's father and brother cutting down the plants with the long-handled knives. behind them walked pearl and the hired man. they would pick up the fallen plants, slip them on sticks, and lay several of the filled sticks together in a pile. then, after a while, the father brought the team and wagon to the field, drove from pile to pile, loaded the wagon, and father and son drove away over the hill to the tobacco barn. after they were gone the hired man and pearl kept getting closer and closer together. then leonard saw him grab her and try to kiss her, and she struck at him playfully. but the next time he grabbed her, she stood very still and his face was pressed against hers a long time. then they sat down on the ground be- tween the uncut plants and leonard could not see them. that winter, after the tobacco was stripped, pearl's father hauled it to the cincinnati market and it sold well. but pearl never went away to school. she and jim rucker ran away and got married, and all the harkers talked very badly about them. but jim took her across the "bluegrass" to the edge of the mountains in eastern kentucky, rented a little farm, and started raising tobacco in that community—something that had not been at- tempted before. he was very successful. in three years he owned his farm and dressed pearl and their two babies better than the harkers dressed their wives and children, and he was very good to them. so pearl's folks began to speak to her and jim again— run, zebra, run! her father let her have her calf, which was now a cow, and her brothers even condescended to borrow some money from jim. during these years of his childhood and early adolescence, leonard lived in three distinct worlds. grcumstances were con- stantly forcing him out of the one into the other. he did not understand why these worlds existed but he knew they were real. he could see their beauty or ugliness; he could feel their joys and sorrows. then he did not realize that the time would quickly and surely come when his tortured and roaming soul would seek a harbor in the world he loved the best, would seek, but perhaps would never find it. for circumstances are not shadows. they are often mountains too steep to climb—they are often deserts too wide to cross—and sometimes they are pits concealed among flowers blooming in fertile valleys. most of the time he lived in the "nigger boy's" world. here he was undernourished, overworked, and persecuted from early morning until late at night. the center of this world was the harker kitchen. the vixen who controlled its destinies had a headful of religion and a heartful of hell. she was able to pray to her god and shed tears of penitence one minute and apply a rod to the naked flesh of a helpless child, and laugh in ghoulish glee the minute following. her married daughters were chips off the old block. some of them visited her every day, and usually they brought with them their babies or young nephews or nieces. leonard was com- manded, and expected, to nurse and entertain these young aristo- crats, all of whom had been taught from tiny babyhood that he was a nigger boy, and so it was his bounden duty to sacrifice any- thing he possessed for their comfort and pleasure. when the old man was home, especially for a week or so, he was suddenly transported into the "white boy's" world. this was a world of peace in which he felt very much at home. in this world he could live with the great characters he met in the story and history books he read. in this world he was not tormented or called names. the work was pleasant work. with the old man looking on, he would plow the small garden and roasting ear patch, help cut and shock the acre of fancy seed wheat, salt the in the woodshed an hour, waiting for her call. mother and son walked to the porch, and lee jackson sat down on the steps. he was a well- built boy, a year older than leonard. his tanned face was not ugly, but his gray eyes were expressionless, and the harker curl of the lip seemed to be nearer the end of his mouth than the center. he sat there for only a moment, then he got up. "whut's th' nigger doin', gran'maw?" he asked. "gittin' in his kindlin', i rickin." the boy darted away. "now don't yer go botherin' after 'im, lee jackson," mary lou interposed. but the boy was out of sight in an instant. in a moment a shadow darkened the woodshed, and leonard looked up into the sneering face of lee jackson. the interruption was ill-timed. leonard was hurrying to finish the kindling because he had a new book called conquering the wilderness in his library, and he wanted to read some of it before being called into the house to perform the evening chores. besides, the weather was warm, and little beads of perspiration were standing on his fore- head. the very sight of lee jackson, fresh and cool from the swimming hole—where he never got to go except clandestinely— was enough to irritate him. he knew, too, just about the very words lee jackson would utter. of all those who insulted him, and who were near his own age, lee jackson was the most hated because he was simply the most insulting. a frown spread over leonard's face. his visitor leered at him and a foolish cackle escaped his mouth. "he-ee-ee! yere workin' hard, hain't ye, nigger?" leonard dropped his ax and advanced slowly. suddenly, within him, a fountain of hot resentment began to bubble and boil. suddenly he began to associate that contemptible appellation with all the mental and physical anguish he was compelled to suffer. he saw, entering his own private world, a deadly enemy and one that must be crushed instantly. he clenched his fists and looked squarely into lee jackson's eyes. "don't you ever call me that name again," he said boldly. his voice sounded strange even to himself. for the first time since coming to kentucky he had given a white boy a command. run, zebra, run! lee jackson never moved. the sneer grew broader and the grin longer. "whut air ye but a nigger? nigger—nigger— nigger," he taunted. leonard raised his arm and his hard fist descended squarely on lee jackson's nose. his victim swayed a moment, then dropped to the ground letting out of his throat as he fell a sound resem- bling the bellow of a wounded bull. leonard saw the crimson stream, the result of his blow, and the slumbering savage within him awoke and took full possession. he dropped to his knees, and both fists descended again and again on the face of the prostrate lee jackson. leonard was wild with rage when the mother and grand- mother pulled him off his victim and almost dragged him into the house. the old lady started to tear the clothes off his body, at the same time yelling to her daughter to go out and cut her some limbs. soon he was standing before the three of them, stark naked, realizing he was about to receive the beating of his life. but it was not to be. the moment he felt the first sharp sting of the limb, he jumped onto the old lady with the fury of a wildcat, wrapped his supple legs around her body, and sank his teeth into her arm. she screamed and fainted. mary lou grabbed for him, but he knocked her down, then bolted out of the door and ran as fast as he could until he reached the river. jumping in, he swam to a little island a few yards from the bank and sat down there among the willows. it was after dark when the old man came home and called him. he answered the call, and together they walked up the rocky lane through the sugar camp to the house. he told his story and silas harker was very angry. when they reached the house, and leonard had put on some clothes, he called the family into the sitting room. "this boy is to be beaten no more," he said. "no one on this place is to call him 'nigger' again. i mean this. i'm going to send him away to school just as soon as i can find one to send him to. i'm boss here yet, and those who don't mean to treat him right had best stay out of my house." in the woodshed that night leonard requested permission to move his bed from effie's room to the junk room. "yes. get out o' there," said the old lady. "i wish ye'd move ter africa. i don't want ter ever see yer face ag'in." he was never whipped after that but his back remained covered with scars. and at least one of the harker grandchildren never again let the word "nigger" escape his lips in leonard's presence. that one was lee jackson whiteley. in the junk room sion of that which he desired, just as the day before he had defended himself from lee jackson's insults. the following saturday and sunday were "meeting days" and there were to be services in the church—the old man was at home. sunday night, after church, he visited leonard's room. "how do you like it here?" he inquired. "it's too warm, isn't it?" "no, sir," the boy replied. "i like it fine. i get plenty of air. it's just right." they talked a while and then the old man said abruptly, "leonard, i've got to take you to school tomorrow. i saw johnson last week. he's the committeeman for the colored school. the law now is that all children have to go to school at least two months during the term. passed that law last session of the legis- lature. we must always obey the law. i told johnson you knew more than his teacher knows—told him you read everything you can get your hands on and that sybil helped you with what she had. you are better educated right now than sybil is, and she'll graduate next spring. i should have had you in some school, though, during the past five years. haven't treated you right about that. but where could i have sent you? no good colored school around here and the whites wouldn't let you in the door. but get up early in the morning and do your work. it'll take an hour or so to drive there." they arose very early the next morning and sybil prepared leonard's lunch. "i'm fixing your pail just like mine, leonard," she told him. "i'd certainly like to see you in school with all those little darkies. bet you'll know more than the teacher. wish i could go with you just to see. pap, can't i go with him some time to visit? some friday?" "yes, sure, if he'll let you." then the old man turned to leonard and his eyes twinkled as they did so often when he had something on his mind he wasn't going to talk about, and he continued, "ask him when he comes back tonight if he wants you to visit him in school." after breakfast he put on his second-best suit, his polished shoes, and new straw hat, hitched ben to the buggy, and, with run, zebra, run! the old man by his side, drove away. the colored school sat on the pike two miles from brinkley, in the midst of a grove of hardwoods. it was a little one-room frame building which had had a coat of red paint on it when it was erected, but was now very dingy. leonard had passed it every time he had gone to tuckertown, but that had not been often. he could not remember that he had ever seen it while school was going on. in blank county the school term was divided. the rural schools were open during july and august, before "tobacco-cutting time," and dur- ing december, january, and february before "tobacco-setting time." literally and in toto, the education of all blank county's farm children depended on the tobacco patches. the colored people of the community were few and scattered. most of the families were tenant farmers who existed on some rocky farms their owners had abandoned. but there were two settlements of them; an island of some two hundred acres in pigeon river, called "little cuba," and the other, a settlement of a half-dozen small farms which the whites called "nigger- ville." the school was approximately three miles distant from each of these settlements. after tying ben to a sapling and covering him with a sheet to protect him from the flies, leonard followed the old man to the schoolhouse door. the teacher admitted them, bowed, and said humbly, "good morning, mr. harker," then stood respect- fully silent, expecting the old man to place his charge under her care and depart. but the old fellow had no such intentions. he glanced about the little room, and, seeing the stove in the center and a bench turned sidewise facing it, he walked by the embar- rassed teacher and seated himself before the stove. from nine until twelve, and again from twelve-thirty until three, not once did silas harker leave his seat beside the stove. the teacher did the best she could. she was a pretty young girl, a "high brown," with a mass of wavy hair that extended to her shoulders. but when she read a chapter from the bible and mis- pronounced many simple words, and, after the lord's prayer was repeated, the old man called her to him and asked her to allow leonard to read for her the same chapter she had just read. she in the junk room consented. the pupils—there were ten of them—gawked at the boy with wide-open mouths as he read aloud slowly and distinctly. when he had finished, the teacher gave him some arithmetic problems to do. he solved these rapidly and correctly and she never bothered him any more during the day. when she dis- missed school in the afternoon she told the old man his ward was too far advanced for common school and recommended that he be sent to the nearest high school for colored, which she said was in lexington. "all right," the old man said, "but you tell johnson when you see him that i brought him here and obeyed the law. i knew you couldn't teach him anything but i wanted to prove it to johnson." "mr. johnson won't bother you about it any more," she replied. they arrived home and sybil met them as they drove into the barn. "how'd you like it, leonard?" she asked. "not much, and i'm not going back. she said i ought to go to high school in lexington. i'm not going to any colored school. i don't belong to them and i'm not going to them." the old man, who had heard these remarks, said nothing. but that night after he had gone to bed, he told his wife, "i've a big notion to send leonard up north to school. i would, if i didn't need him so much here now. expect i'd better send him next winter." "humph!" the old lady grunted sarcastically. "he's too smart fer a nigger. you keep on spilin' him an' pritty soon he won't have no sense a-tall. you'd better teach him he's a nigger 'fur it's eternally too late. can't yer see he's gittin' too big fer his britches?" but the old man turned on his side and was soon sleeping peacefully. upstairs, in the junk room, leonard was propped up in bed reading a scrapbook he had found among a barrel full of dusty old books, papers, and magazines. the scrapbook had been made by effie, the daughter whose room he had formerly occupied. in the junk room also wanted five acres of corn, a large garden, and even some broomcorn and sorghum. he told the old lady that he felt like another panic was coming on—that that man roosevelt in the white house was going to keep on antagonizing the rich until they made things hard for everybody, and he was going to be prepared this time, and, at least, have plenty of bread and meat in the house. "wal, you voted fer 'im an' you otter be made stan' by 'im," said the old lady. "yes, i did. and i'd do it again. somebody's got to bust up the trusts and put wall street where it belongs, even if we all have to suffer for a while." "wal, i never did have no use fer republicans," the old lady clamored. "my pappy always told me they were a bunch o' nigger lovers. we white people wouldn't have to struggle so hard if them republicans hadn't whipped the south." "there you go again, judy. you're always bringing in the niggers. what on earth did those poor folks ever do to you that makes you hate them so?" "wal, pappy always said thar warn't no good niggers 'cept dead uns, and i suttinly believes it now. when you do a good turn by 'em they even jump on yer an' try to eat yer up. my arms' sore yit whar that nigger bit me las' summer." the old man's eyes flashed. "if you hadn't been trying to beat him like a dog, he wouldn't have done it," he said. "wal, you kin pet an' pamper him if you want to, but he's sure to kitch it fer he gets much older. the children and grand- children hain't fergot 'bout it." "no? well, if i hear of one of them layin' a hand on him, it won't be good for them. just dry up. i don't want to hear another word about it." that summer leonard sang more than he had ever sung in his life. the open fields were his temples. he grew stronger, sturdier, and better looking. he worked hard and ate ravenously. if the old lady wouldn't give him as much as he wanted to eat when his guardian was away, he took it. he came to life. once he pulled sybil's hair and received a sharp slap on the jaw in return. he hit run, zebra, run! jay harker on the head with a rock one day when jay came home drunk and maliciously kicked over a bucket of fresh milk he had just set on the ground in the driveway of the barn. and that fall he went to a "corn shucking" and kissed drusilla harker, ed's youngest girl, who found a red ear of corn. she was sitting right next to him, and when he saw the red ear in her hand he grabbed her before she had time to hide it. drusilla screamed and got very angry when her cousins teased her and told her privately that she had been kissed by a nigger. but the old man was there and leonard had shucked more corn than any other, so, as far as he knew, the spontaneous kiss did not become combustible. also that fall the old man gave him a colt for his very own. a colt! the most precious possession a kentucky boy could have! he named the little bay animal pearl and loved her as a sister, anxiously awaiting the day when she would be old enough to break and ride. too, during the rainy days that spring and summer, sybil, who had been taking music lessons for several years, began teach- ing him to play the piano. he practiced faithfully and soon was playing better than his teacher. when sybil left for the seminary in lexington, where she was to attend school, he took her place at the instrument sunday mornings at family prayers, and one bitter cold day that winter he played at church services because no one else was there who could do it. the following spring, an old tenant, tod wilkins, returned to the harker farm and moved into the house jute and effie had been occupying. effie was sent to the hospital in cincinnati, her father paying the necessary expenses. jute moved to tuckertown but held onto his job transporting the mail and hauling supplies from the depot to the little country stores in that section of blank county. wilkins was a good farmer, but for several years had been living in louisville. there, his eldest son had gotten into trouble and landed in the state prison. he returned to the farm, he said, "because it seemed like my boys were headin' for th' same place, an' i wantta save 'em if i kin." "that wilkins girl," however, was the first of the family with whom leonard became intimately acquainted. elizabeth was in the junk room sixteen, well-developed for her years, and soon got the reputation of being "fast," mainly because she was full of life and had learned the waltz and two-step and was willing to impart her knowledge to any inclined to receive it. as dancing was con- sidered a sin, and no one in the community danced but a few sinners and the "poor trash," white and black, it is certain the girl would have forgotten the art entirely had it not been for leonard and the piano in the harker parlor. elizabeth visited the harker house nearly every day. it was not long before the old lady became quite fond of her. she took the place of sybil, who was away at the seminary, and was so industrious and handy the old lady was pleased when em sea- graves informed her she couldn't work for her any more, and took herself and her constant knitting out of the house. elizabeth was hired immediately to work by the week and was paid a dollar and a half and her "keep." the girl was a pioneer flapper—though at that time the word had not been invented. she would shake her yellow curls and primp and pose before a mirror an hour at a time. she was also fond of finery and trinkets, and nothing delighted her more than to ransack through the cupboards, chests, barrels, and boxes in the junk room, looking for discarded silk and satin dresses and old outlandish hats, with which to bedeck herself. this she would do any time she had the opportunity, and the opportunities came quite often. one day while she and leonard were in the junk room to- gether she found a dress which was too small for her. it was a narrow, sheer silk thing, but she was determined to see herself in it whether or no. as she could not by any means get it over the clothes she was wearing, she began to undress then and there, in his presence. off came the apron, then the dress, then the petti- coat, until she stood before the boy looking like an underwear advertisement. he was bewildered, then confused and abashed, and turned hastily to leave the room. before he reached the door she called him back. "here, leonard, help me button it," she said. it was one of those back-buttoned things, and while he was run, zebra, run! standing there behind her, she threw her arms around and her fingers touched his hair. instantly she faced him. "gee, what soft hair you have, leonard!” she exclaimed. "it's just like a baby's.” she ran her fingers through his hair, then suddenly pulled him close against her and kissed him. she held him tightly and he did not resist. somehow or other, he did not want to break away from her. run, zebra, run! preached many a sermon. and, too, his tears had fallen there, very, very often after the old lady or one of her daughters had given him a cruel beating. he always felt better if he could have his "last cry" with his face pressed against the ground, or against the rough, black bark of a maple. but not the solitude alone—the life of the sugar camp also interested the boy. with this life he became very familiar. it taught him many lessons—lessons he never forgot. in the sugar camp he became acquainted with birds of many species. he no- ticed how cruel they were to each other, how they would quarrel and fight. he watched the busy squirrels at work and play. the grove was alive with them. the old man would allow no one to kill a squirrel in the sugar camp without obtaining special permis- sion. he said he wanted the squirrels there so one would always be available for soup for a sick person, and, too, so the greedy hunters couldn't kill all the squirrels in blank county. "syrup-making time" was the biggest and grandest time on the harker farm. it was better than threshing time, sheep-shearing time, or, even, christmas. then the old man remained constantly at home. all was forgotten except the necessary preparations for the bountiful harvest of amber maple syrup and sugar, sure to come. this harvest was never a failure. it came as certainly as spring came. usually it came suddenly. one day it would be freezing cold and perhaps some snow would be sticking close to the soil and to the trunks of the old trees. then, during the night, the wind would veer to the south. the next morning the sun would peep over the horizon and climb into a cloudless sky. the snow would vanish; the frozen ground would slowly soften; the day was at hand. preparations began when jute commenced bringing crates of new gallon jugs from the tuckertown depot every time he made the trip. every jug had the words harker's old time maple syrup stamped upon it. then aunt fanny would appear some morning. she was an aged colored woman who had been "helping with the syrup" for over fifty years. she was the only kentucky in the sugar camp colored person leonard knew during his childhood and he never really knew her. she was very dark and her face was long and wrinkled. when any of the smaller children came around her and asked a question, she always replied with a series of grunts. if they became too importunate, she would turn around and look at them—stick a forefinger in each end of her mouth—stretch her mouth as far as it would stretch—and growl like some wild animal. she had only two teeth, an upper and a lower, but they were very large teeth. together, the stretched mouth, the two big teeth and the uncanny growl would send the children flying from the kitchen. when aunt fanny was in the house, leonard always remained at a safe distance. but when her back was turned he eyed her critically. her waistline was so slender she reminded him of a mud-dobber wasp. her hair was white and short and exactly like the wool of a young lamb. every round curl stood alone. it ex- tended down her neck as far as the collar of her dress and was as thick there as it was on top of her head. leonard wondered if it was like that all the way down her back. aunt fanny brought all the jugs from the bee house and washed and rinsed them thoroughly. then, at night, the old man and whoever of the family happened to be visiting made the "spiles." they were made from the branches of elder bushes. the round branches were cut ten inches long and each was split to within two inches of the end. the unsplit end was sharpened and the pithy center punched out. when the trees were tapped the sharpened end was driven into the hole and the sugar-water ran down the channel and dropped into the bucket. it was usually around mid-february when the trees were tapped. when the red-headed woodpeckers, called sap-suckers, arrived in droves and began pecking on the branches of the maples, the old man got out his augers. then, every little boy and girl in the neighborhood who wanted to earn a dime could earn it some time during the season by carrying sugar-water. three large furnaces stood in the center of the camp, and boiling never ceased unless there came a long rain. run, zebra, run! carrying the sugar-water up and down the rocky hillside was no easy task, but leonard liked it because he hated dishwashing. during syrup-making time he was free from the kitchen. he sat before the furnaces until late at night and listened to the men telling tales—ghost, hunting and indian tales. he imagined he was living in the days he had read about in history books. and there was peace there beneath the bright february stars. the furnace fires before him and the bonfire behind him kept the cold wind at a distance. the aroma from the boiling sugar-water was sweet and pleasant to his nostrils. the long, naked limbs of the tall maples above his head seemed to form a network to pro- tect him from any evil. no wonder that though the harkers did everything to make him hate them, he never, never could hate their sugar camp or the state they called their home—old ken- tucky! syrup-making time always ended with a sugar party. the last week's run of the sugar-water was boiled down into thick syrup and retained in the huge kettles, ready for a little more boiling on the night of the party and then to be poured out into greased plates to harden as sugar. every man, woman and child who came to the party received a cake of sugar. they came from miles around, old and young, colored and white, for "uncle" silas invited the whole county. such a grand time it was for the young folk and children! they played at hide-and-seek all over the sugar camp. they played other games and ran races up and down the steep hillside. then there were the big races. the boy and girl who won the big, uphill races were the heroes of the county for that year. this boy and girl received ten cakes of sugar as prizes, were escorted to the house, seated in the parlor on tall, decorated boxes called "thrones," and were crowned and proclaimed sugar king and sugar queen of blank county. it was leonard's big ambition to be the sugar king. during his fourteenth year he barely lost to long-legged george harker, jr. the next year george was eliminated and leonard was certain he would win. he practiced on the sly and was able to run the in the sugar camp course in less than half a minute. the night of the party the ground was muddy and he drove some hobnails into the heels of his boots to prevent slipping. he was determined to win. the girl's race came first. a long-legged colored girl called annabelle was a favorite, but the officials, none of whom were related to the harkers, were undecided whether to let her run or not. it was an unusual thing for a colored girl to attempt to compete with white girls. they took their problem to the old man, who settled it pronto. "yes," he said, "everyone must have an equal chance. if she wins she'll be crowned queen and get the prize." but probably no one but leonard had noticed a quiet, modest girl standing apart by herself near the end of the line. a black knitted cap covered her shapely head, beneath which protruded real golden hair, naturally curly. it was caught up at the back of her neck with a black ribbon, then plaited. the thick plait ex- tended to her waist, and was bound there with a blue ribbon, the color of the woolen dress she was wearing. her large, dreamy eyes were blue. her face was white—very white for a country girl's face. there was not a blemish on it and it looked as though it had never worn a coat of tan. her thin lips were just a line of delicate red. she barely parted them when she smiled, and when she did smile, her face was the prettiest leonard had ever seen. he couldn't take his eyes away from it. it bewitched him. he only distinctly remembered two very pretty faces, miss roberts' and elwood's mother's. both were beautiful. this girl's face was also beautiful, like theirs. when the race was about to start, the crowd gathered up close to the contestants. the favorites—mostly girls connected with the harker family—were deluged with words of encouragement. pretty elizabeth wilkins was also a favorite, especially with the young men. the "fast girl" had won many admirers since coming to the community, and, right then, was brazenly flirting with a half-dozen boys, all at the same time. for reasons well known to those who had contested previously, annabelle was crowded near the center of the line, next to elizabeth. the girls in the center, run, zebra, run! unless very fleet and sure-footed, were apt to be jostled by their competitors and made to stumble and fall. and now the watchful crowd leaves the starting point and reassembles near the finish line. here, two men are holding poles to the ground, between which is extended a piece of twine. leon- ard walks slowly by the pretty girl and smiles in her direction. she does not see him; the toe of her shoe is touching the mark and she is waiting for the starter's command. "toe the mark!" the command echoes through the length of the sugar camp and resounds across the bottom—on and on— beyond pigeon river—over the tops of the willows and sycamores —on into the distant hills and valleys. "get set!" there is silence and tenseness. not a girl in the line is moving a muscle. "go!" then was heard a medley of gasps and screams and shrieks— all the noises a group of young, excited girls can make. they are coming forward! the line is now raggedy. the weird cross-lights of the bonfires, fanned by the night wind, flickering on this mass of moving limbs, bodies and heads, makes the scene appear like some grotesque witches' dance. they are coming! the watchers hear the labored breath. someone slips and falls nearly every yard of the course. but three girls are far out in front. one is lithe, slender anna- belle—a deeper shadow among shadows. one foot touches the ground and the other swiftly performs a half-circle. she waves an arm and throws a foot. she looks as though she were swim- ming—swimming in the air! another, in the center, is emily harker. the harker honor is at stake, and my, my! how she is trying to win and maintain it! her progress is a series of rapid jumps—her body rises and falls —she reminds one of a galloping horse. the other is the pretty, pale-faced girl who stood near the end of the line. she seems to have springs in her limbs. she is running straight forward—hardly zig-zagging an inch. her feet stick right where she places them. her body ascends the hill gracefully—like a feather floating in a gentle breeze. in the sugar camp "she's goin' to beat! she's goin' to beat!" several excited voices are heard. "oh, she's beatin' th' nigger girl!" a young matron close to leonard remarks. and this girl does win—her chest touches the line first, and she bows and rests her exhausted body on folded arms pressed tightly against her thighs. no one is there for her to lean on, but they gather around and congratulate her. she was a "dark horse," and had never previously attended the annual event. few knew who she was until some of them from over brackett's hill said she was abner jones' girl, gladys, "the jones who runs the mill down there." she came along with some of the bracketts. no one had ever known her to compete in any kind of race before. in a few minutes the boys line up. leonard tries to obtain the same position gladys occupied, but is forced out of it. he doesn't care. he is confident he will win. when the command "go!" is given, he leaps forward ahead of the field and stays there. few congratulate him. some of the contestants say they knew he would win and they never tried to beat him. he immediately left the crowd and entered the house. slipping upstairs, he removed the clothes he wore at the race—the muddy boots, the patched coat and trousers, and put on the best suit he owned. going downstairs, he passed through the kitchen, where aunt fanny and the other colored people were sitting. he never spoke to them—just smiled—as a white boy might have smiled. none of them spoke to him. when he entered the parlor, gladys was sitting on her throne and the old man was placing the crown on her head. it was now bare, and leonard could see nothing but her face and golden hair. when he realized he was staring at her, he cast his eyes downward and was ashamed of himself. when he looked again, she was wearing the crown. the circlet of dried winter flowers of many shades made her face more beautiful. when they called him for his own coronation, and everyone was quiet, he felt very small. what he thought was to be a grand and glorious event in his life was now a very little thing—just a passing incident hardly worth a thought. now he did not want to run, zebra, run! be king. he was fearful he might rob gladys of some honor and glory due her. shortly afterwards, he stood close to the wall when they started playing the old game "spinning the plate." the queen was having the first "try." she called out the name of one of the brackett boys, a short little fellow, who caught the plate before it fell. but he was too bashful to claim the kiss he had won and sneaked away amidst the laughter and teasing of his friends. gladys also stepped silently out of the limelight, and also out of the brighter lamplight. fate led her to the side of the room where leonard was standing among strangers, for he shunned the harkers, most of whom were congregated opposite him. he was standing there when daughter cindy brushed into the room. meddlesome and officious always, her presence was like a rising storm, and her guttural voice sounded like the growl of a wolf amidst a flock of bleating lambs. soon she noticed leonard and her face darkened. she had always hated him. com- ing close to him, she remarked loud enough for all nearby to hear: "you'd better go out in th' kitchen an' let the other niggers see yuh. they wantta look at your new hat. get out!" she com- manded. "you know you've no business in here." leonard's anger mounted, but he said nothing. neither did he move. but, in a little while he turned his head, and, as he did so, his eyes met the calm gaze of gladys. she smiled and he knew the smile was for him alone. cindy disappeared in the crowd and soon the queen and the king were standing beside each other. an elderly woman no- ticed them. she was the wife of jeff roth, a prosperous farmer and the staunchest republican in blank county. mrs. roth smiled. "you two look fine together," she remarked. "i saw the races and you both won fairly. i must congratulate you." she walked away quickly, for the hour was growing late and some of the guests were leaving. then suddenly the boy found his tongue and remarked, "i'm awful glad you won, gladys." "i'm glad you won too, leonard," the girl replied. in the sugar camp she smiled as the softly spoken words fell from her lips. the boy hurried out of the parlor. he wanted the company to leave now as quickly as possible, every one of them, for he was anxious to get to the junk room, where he could repeat gladys' words over and over to himself, and see her smile, alone—and in peace. chapter nineteen in the church the harkers, especially their womenfolk, were faithful to their church. not only did they worship in it—they worshiped it. the church was the main topic of their conversation, the chief recipient of their voluminous prayers. it was the center of all their social activities. a female harker might neglect and abuse her husband but she would never neglect or abuse her church. the harkers were methodists, old-time, loyal, aggressive methodists. most of them believed that only methodists would enter heaven. they fought the baptists in the community as hard as they fought the sinners. they stuck to the methodist creed in toto and obeyed the letter of every law, rule, and regulation of their church strictly. they could not obey the spirit of these laws, rules, and regulations because they could not understand it. they knew well what "thou shalt not" meant but not what "thou shalt" meant. they spent their hours trying to be good by not being bad. they might have been happier had they tried doing a little good now and then. that cold december afternoon when leonard attended sun- day school the first time in the brinkley church was, too, the first time in his life that "going to sunday school" brought him more sorrow than joy. his presence created a serious problem in that good, christian organization. he had followed sybil the "short way" to the church; across pigeon river on the ice then over the hill; on across the snow-mantled fields; through woods, little valleys and hollows, until they entered the pike at the brinkley school, a quarter-mile from their destination. his little fingers and toes were numbed with cold. but when he entered the build- ing no one was there to welcome him. the children stared at him; some of the older ones grinned. the adults, teachers and parents, hardly noticed him at all. sybil pressed through the throng surrounding the one, lukewarm stove, but there was no in the church room by the stove for leonard. finally, he sat down on the bench by the door rubbing his cold extremities and suffering silently. after a while the children separated and went to their classes. little tongues began reading the difficult bible verses. there was much spelling of words, and sometimes even the teachers did not pronounce them correctly. leonard wanted so badly to be with those little boys in their classes. he wanted to show them how well he could read—how much he knew about the lesson. he wanted to recite some of the psalms, for he knew more than half of them and could recite them without making a mistake. but no one noticed him at all, and the cold neglect pained his little heart as badly as the cold outside had hurt his toes and fingers. it was a long time before the superintendent came to him and asked his name. then he turned and called the teacher of the little boys' class. “come back here, mary.” the teacher was wearing a new blue coat with very large sleeves. she was tall and her face and neck were unusually long; there was a mole on the side of her nose. her pointed fingers were rough and red. holding a pencil very tightly, she would, when in the act of writing, jab at the paper she was writing on in a way that reminded leonard of a chicken picking up grains of corn from the ground. when the teacher faced him, the superintendent also grinned much like the larger boys had done. "what are we a-goin' to do with him, mary?” he asked. "i hain't got no idea, mr. palmot. i kain't have 'im with my boys, but i know i gotta do somethin' with him or gran' pap'll be mad as a hornet. what do you think we kin do?” "i bin thinkin', mary. he's been wisht right on us an' sudden- like, an' i hain't had a chance to see brother lasty an' git his advice. i bin thinkin' we mouwt let 'im sit in th' seat behin' your class, an' after you git th' lesson done wit' th' boys, then you mouwt hear 'im an'larn 'im th' golden tex' an' th' mimery verses. that's all we kin do as i sees it.” following this conversation, leonard became a parasitic mem- ber of the brinkley methodist sunday school. every sunday he run, zebra, run! sat behind mary's class of little boys, one long bench of them. what he learned he learned by absorption. sometimes mary heard him repeat the golden text and memory verses and sometimes she did not. it all depended on the particular humor she happened to be in. but when he returned home, the first question he was asked by the old lady was: "wal, did yer larn today?" woe be unto him if he had not learned as much as judy harker thought he should have learned. when the circuit-riding pastor, brother lasty, came on the fourth sunday, ben was hitched to the surrey and the entire family drove to church. the old man and leonard occupied the front seat, and sybil and her mother sat in the rear. leonard soon learned to drive, and it became his duty to hitch ben to the harker hitching post in front of the church and to help the oc- cupants in and out of the conveyance. the old man was a "local preacher" and sat in the pulpit beside the pastor. the first time leonard attended "preaching services" he led the boy to the pulpit with him and told him to sit down on the pulpit steps. "no one will bother you here," he whispered, "and you will keep out of devilment." so, until he was a rather large boy, the steps of the pulpit were leonard's private pew. here, between the circuit rider and the choir, the methodist religion was preached, prayed, sung, and testified into his soul in copious and regular doses. heaven and hell became real places to him, just like bridgeville, cin- cinnati, and brinkley. there, on the edge of the pulpit, sitting almost within the fountain, he drank of the spiritual waters until he was filled to overflowing. he prayed with the pray-ers, sang with the singers, and preached with the preachers. he did not testify until after he joined the church. he did not want to join the church because the members of it did not seem to want him. it happened during the administration of brother robinson, who succeeded brother lasty as pastor. brother robinson was a young man who had recently married a very pretty wife. she was a city girl and her wants were many and varied. she loved nice clothes and elegant house furnishings. the young husband soon realized his wife would be grievously in the church disappointed unless a way could be found to increase his meager salary. there was only one way to do this, hold a big revival, convert sinners, reclaim backsliders, and renew the spiritual strength of lukewarm christians. a revived church and an in- creased membership would donate liberally. brother robinson invited the reverend brother barber to come to the circuit and carry on the revivals. there were to be four of them, one in each of his churches. each would be of three weeks' duration. the first was to be held in the brinkley church, for this was the largest church on the circuit and the sinners were thickest in the brinkley community. and then it was necessary to get ahead of the brinkley baptists, who also were planning for their revival. brother barber had everything necessary to produce the best results. he was a young man, single and handsome. his mass of red, curly hair, parted in the middle, would become mussed up perfectly as he preached his fervid sermons. he was one of the first of the kentucky "sanctificationists" who had their day among the methodist churches during the early part of the present century. he was spiritually perfect. he was saved from his sins, he was sanctified, he had been reclaimed, he had received the holy ghost, he had the "fire." also, he was so well acquainted with his bible he recited chapters as he read, just as leonard recited the psalms he had memorized. on the first night of the revival brother barber did not preach at all. but he prayed for thirty minutes there on his knees with his face lifted toward the ceiling. his prayer brought a medley of groans, moans, sniffles, whoops, and "amens." then he called for testimonies. all the members testified. two sinners were present and fell at the "mourner' bench," remaining there until midnight. when they arose from their knees they were christians. the first night's meeting was a grand success. within a week the little church was crowded to the doors at every service. on sun- days and sunday nights many came and could not find even standing room. barber preached, prayed, and sang as no man had ever done before, not in that church. when exhorting sinners to repent, he would leave his pulpit and mount the backs of the run, zebra, run! benches and glide over them with the agility of a cat. few sinners could resist his appeals. leonard did not know he was a sinner until one night, while driving home alone with the old lady, she said to him, "i can't see why you don't give yer heart to th' lord an' repent o' yer sins an' git converted. don't yer know if you'd die you'd go straight plumb to hell? i want yer to think on it an' git up thar to th' mourner's bench tomorrer night." "what for?" asked the innocent child in a hurt tone. "i didn't know i had to be saved. i'm as good as george and bob and sybil. i don't want to go to that old mourner's bench." "you wantta git smart 'bout it, do you? take that fer yer smart-alecky talk," and before he could drop the lines the back of the old lady's hand struck him hard in the center of the face. the blow brought blood from his nose and tears from his eyes. "if i ever hear yer talk like that ag'in, i'll thrash yer within a inch o' yer life. you'd better git yer evil soul saved, yer had." that next night, when brother barber called for mourners, leonard looked at the old lady and saw an evil scowl on her face. he slipped off the steps and kneeled at the nearby altar. when the first sinner arose from her knees, he also arose. that sinner was maud bellern, eldest daughter of the country physician. they always called maud a "hardhearted sinner." there was so much joy when she arose from her knees no one noticed little leonard at all. he returned to his private pew and remained there until the invitation was extended to those who had been saved to unite with the church. then he walked forward and held out his hand to brother barber. but he was not baptized the following sunday morning with the other candidates. he was received into the church by himself. church membership imposed upon him various duties and obligations. now he had to attend every class meeting and pray and testify. his weekly prayer at the family altar on sunday mornings had to be longer and more fervid. and he had to pay his class dues, his presiding elder dues, and his conference assess- ments. he was also supposed to fast on "love feast day" which in the church came every three months. but he did this only once. thereafter, he prepared for it by purloining a generous supply of biscuits, boiled eggs, preserves, and other foodstuffs, and hiding it in the hayloft or in his pantry in the woodshed. he believed he could serve his god much better with a full stomach than with an empty one. as the boy grew older and larger, he began to realize that there were many kinds of christians. some of them, the older ones, were almost perfect as far as he knew. he had never known old silas harker to do a wrong thing. the number one gass leader, old uncle tom blueheart, was a perfect christian. he always said, "god bless you, my boy," when leonard testified. he would also pray for him publicly, calling his name, and re- questing the god he served to make him grow up to be an honest, upright, and christian man. uncle tom was really a christian. there were also others. but some he knew were funny christians—very funny chris- tians. there was judy harker. when she testified in class meeting, she would always say she was "saved, sanctified, and kept by the power of god every moment of her life." but sometimes, when she got home from class meeting, she would beat the boy unmerci- fully. she would laugh all the time she was applying the rod— laugh as he winced and twisted and screamed. his sufferings brought her untold pleasure. when maud bellern, the physician's daughter, had a baby the year following the revival, and all the gossipers said brother barber was the father of her child, leonard discovered that even zealous preachers could be tempted and led astray. "yes," said the daughter cindy to her mother, "that's what she got while he was prayin' with her so much durin' th' 'tracted meetin'. i alwuz knew thar were no good in that stuck-up heifer. gittin' a woods colt to git a man." she laughed. "i'm plumb glad he's gone somewhar an' they kin't find him. serves her right. hope they never find him." after the boy joined the church, he became a full-fledged member of the junior missionary society. the members of this society were the young bluebloods of the church—the sons and run, zebra, run! daughters of the upper families—of the officers and most re- spected members. to be a "junior," one had to be very faithful to all church obligations. the weak were not welcome in this society, neither were the illiterate or poverty-stricken. leonard was admitted mainly because the old man suggested they admit him, and, too, because he had to attend the monthly meetings with sybil because she was afraid to drive any horse, even old ben, unless someone was in the buggy with her. the juniors were supposed to be supervised by the pastor's wife, or by her appointee, if she could not attend the meetings regularly. as the pastor lived in tuckertown, mrs. jeff roth, whose hobby was missions, had supervised the brinkley juniors many years. mrs. roth's neighbors and fellow church members accused her of being queer, but leonard thought she was a pretty nice lady. the daughter of a mountaineer, she had at- tended a term or two at berea college, that little jewel of knowl- edge and service that nestled there between the kentucky moun- tains and the bluegrass region. then she taught school in her home community and, when twenty-one, married her childhood sweet- heart, jeff roth. jeff's father had enlisted in the northern armies and fought throughout the civil war. when the juniors admitted leonard as a member, mrs. roth saw to it that he became a member in fact. no sitting on a rear bench, as he was compelled to do in sunday school. he sat with the other children—sang and prayed with them—took his turn at reading the missionary lesson, and spoke his piece if he was on the program. now he had an opportunity to rise and shine, and well did he take advantage of his opportunity. he always knew more about the lesson than any other member—he asked the most pertinent questions—and when his turn came to preside, he showed qualities of leadership seldom possessed by one of his years. mrs. roth insisted he was going to become a great preacher, and usually, after she told him this, he preached a few sermons to the trees, birds, and squirrels, down deep in the re- cesses of the sugar camp. when sybil went away to the seminary and he was deprived of the little companionship the old lady permitted her daughter in the church to give him, it was but natural that he should seek a closer asso- ciation with the boys and girls who were friendly with him at the meetings of the society. so he tried to be more friendly him- self. he talked with them more before and after the meetings. he tried to be agreeable and never refused to play a new song for them or tell them a new story he had read. he continued driving, and allowed the three girls sybil had always picked up on the way to ride in the buggy with him. but soon their parents put a stop to the practice. however, in spite of all his efforts, he could not bridge the gulf. his youthful companions had been told that he was what they were not. no matter how he looked, no matter how well he dressed, no matter how much he knew, the mark had been placed upon his forehead and could not be erased. he began to realize the injustice of it all and his heart cried out in protest. then arose within him a strong determination—the determination to compel his associates to treat him as an equal. he did not know it, but the indomitable spirit of his forebears had taken posses- sion of him. this same spirit forced his father to become a great musician and rise from the depths every time he fell. this same spirit forced his grandfather vanalban to become a successful businessman and a congressman. this spirit forced him, their son and grandson, to pit his intelligence against his companions' ignorance; his shrewdness against their cunning; his talents against their mediocrity; his christianity against their methodism. the struggle commenced almost immediately. it was the meeting following the last one after which the three girls had been permitted to ride with him back to their homes. he had ridden his colt pearl to the church that day. he had a new bridle and saddle which the old man had purchased for him, and he wore a pair of shiny black leggings. mrs. roth told him he looked mighty nice, and some of the girls smiled at him coyly as he mounted his colt. one of the girls was ethel thomas, whose father was a prom- inent farmer and also deputy sheriff of the county. ethel lived on the pike nearly a mile from the church. she was one of the girls for whom sybil had always stopped. she was short and run, zebra, run! chunky, sixteen years of age, and had been "going in company" for over a year. leonard, who had stopped at the general store to make some purchases for the old lady, overtook ethel halfway between the village and her home. again she smiled at him and he tipped his cap. as she remarked, "gee, leonard, your colt is so pretty!" he quickly dismounted, for he had been taught it was impolite to converse with a lady while mounted on a horse if the lady was on the ground. he threw the bridle rein over his shoulder and walked with the girl to her home. he was not embarrassed, although it was the first time he had ever walked with any girl except sybil. neither did ethel show any embarrassment, although several neighbors passed them. when they reached her home, he unlatched the front gate for her, then leaned on it, and they talked a while longer. but one man who had passed them was angry at the boy for his show of effrontery. that man was farmer neal, whose son, howard, was, for the time being, ethel's regular fellow. farmer neal was sucking an end of his long mustache when he drove into his barn lot and met his son. "hey," he said, "i seen that nigger of old man harker's walkin' up th' pike with yur gurrel. are ye goin' to stan' fer a thing like that?" howard pulled the harness off one of the horses, mounted it bareback, and in a minute was galloping up the pike. he over- took leonard near the covered bridge that spanned pigeon river. "hey," he said as he halted his horse. "what you doin' walkin' up th' pike with my girl while ago?" "i didn't know she was your girl," leonard replied. then he added boldly, "what are you kicking about? i didn't bite her, did i?" the farmer's son swung a long leg over his horse's back and picked up a rock the moment his feet touched the ground. "i'll learn you yere just a damned nigger," he said. but quick as a flash leonard dismounted too; dodged the rock which sailed over the back of his colt and rushed his adversary. he grabbed the wrist above the fingers which were about to release another in the church rock and said, "drop it and fight fair, if you want to fight. i'm not afraid of you." howard was older and larger than leonard but he couldn't free his wrist from the grip that held it. leonard dexterously dodged his poorly aimed blows and was laughing as a buggy approached from around the bend in the road. but that laugh was dangerous. he was cunningly waiting for an opportunity to drive his left fist into howard's mouth. the word "nigger" had come out of that mouth and he wanted to see that mouth bleed— bleed like lee jackson whiteley's mouth had bled the day he called him that name. then he felt a soft hand on his shoulder and mrs. roth spoke to him gently but firmly. "shame on you, leonard. what are you boys fighting about? and you're right from the missionary meeting too." "he's a nigger, an' he walked up th' pike with ethel," blurted howard. mrs. roth's face became hard and stern as she said, "i don't think it's right for you to call him such names, howard. now you boys go on home. we've all had enough of this." the contestants separated. when mrs. harker heard about the "rukus" she raved and fussed and told leonard he would never amount to anything. but the youth was very happy when elizabeth informed him a few days later that ethel had "turned howard down," and had said he was "too ugly and silly" for her to keep company with. this "fast girl," elizabeth, now the harker's housemaid, had kissed leonard and called him a "pretty boy" many times since that day she had first kissed him in the junk room. but he had never kissed her. neither had he ever kissed any girl. he shunned elizabeth when he could, but he had felt her body close to his and he knew her flesh was soft and tender. he knew kisses were pleasant to the taste, for she had even kissed his lips. but now he had seen gladys. he thought about her every day and he was ever trying to invent some excuse to get to brackett's hill, and to the mill below, the mill abner jones ran. but it was another, and not gladys, who captured his first kiss. it was a little metho- dist junior missionary whom he liked mighty well, who, like in the church next to leonard, he motioned for him to get up. but he would not do so. he had never given up his seat and had vowed he never would. it was his seat—his special seat. they had forced him to accept that seat and he had no intention deserting it, no matter how large the crowd. if george didn't want eva there next to him, he could stand up himself and make the accustomed space supposed to be between his girl and the boy they all called "colored," or worse. while the hymn was being sung he offered eva his hymnbook. she accepted it, smiled, and whispered, "thank you, leonard." then the evangelist called on old brother hale to pray. those in the "amen corners" fell to their knees and all heads were bowed low. christians prayed long prayers in those days and, like baal's prophets, the longer they prayed the louder became their voices. leonard's head was bowed and his eyes were closed and brother hale was praying. then eva touched his hand. he never believed that touch was an accident. it was that mysterious call of the flesh, the call that makes a bird seek its mate in the springtime. eva touched his hand and he touched hers. just the slightest touch it was, but she felt it and understood. her little hand slipped farther down between them and he took it into his own. he could feel her heartbeats through her fingers. brother hale prayed loudly—still more loudly—and he held eva's little hand. and then, when brother hale's voice reached the topmost pitch, she moved her pretty head close to his and whispered, "come and see me." he squeezed the little hand. "tonight," she said. "i'll look for you." he rode before the old man's surrey on the way home and he later unharnessed and stalled old ben, but he did not unsaddle pearl. afterward, when he entered the house, they were undress- ing for bed. he covered the log fire with ashes and went upstairs to the junk room, took off his shoes, slipped back downstairs and out the front door. soon he was again astride pearl, riding across pastures, woodlots, and bare fields, taking the shortest cut toward hennesey's, to eva. he had hunted and roamed all over run, zebra, run! the neighboring farms and knew just where he would enter the pike near her home. in spite of his belated start, he got there before she and george arrived. george was in love and drove slowly. he saw the swain help her out of his buggy at the stile and kiss her—only once. george was bashful; or, probably, he felt himself unworthy of her. she so spotless, so innocent, so good. the house was dark, for her sister was already home and in bed. through the filmy curtains, he saw her light the lamp and remove her wraps. then she turned the lamp down very low, came to the window, raised it, and peered out into the semi- darkness. in a moment he was there. noiselessly, he climbed to the windowsill and took her in his arms. her hot breath burned his shoulder—his kisses covered, many times over, george's one little, timid touch, and it was long past midnight when pearl got back to her stall and he got back to the junk room. run, zebra, run! fields were too wet to plow or cultivate, and in the fall, when every farmer was fattening hogs for the family meat. then the mill lot would be crowded with horses, wagons, and buggies. the citizens of the community would get together, and if the weather was warm they would gather beneath the branches of the two big sycamores rooted in the soil of the riverbank, right in the water if the river was high. in the winter they would gather around the long wood stove in the "sack room." there sinners would mingle with the saints—baptists with methodists—blacks with whites—democrats with republicans. the old, the young and the middle-aged, if they wore breeches, were welcome. going to the mill in blank county was a male's job. the womenfolk and the children shelled the corn. the miller, old bill hamlock, was a typical poor white. but he was not a poor man. although his neighbors, higher in the social scale, said he had cheated people and stolen all he had, nevertheless he had it, and let one of them try to get a farthing from him if he could. he was illiterate but smart. he couldn't read or write, but he could outfigure the best of them. the colored people of the community despised him, as it was common knowledge that the had filched about half of the land he owned from an old colored woman, the grandmother of most of the inhabitants of little cuba. this little island was separated from the miller's farm by a few yards of water—water clear and blue during dry weather, but yellow and swift and foamy after a heavy rain. it was after a heavy rain one day, but the hot sun had dried the two logs beneath the sycamores, and the men sitting there were arguing about the merits of the respective candidates for county, state, and national offices. "little bill" hamlock, the miller's son, was most vociferous. he had become the democratic leader of the township. in spite of his family tree and lack of education, he was "delivering the goods," the goods being a majority of the democratic votes cast in the township. he had delivered the votes to judge evan merrill. brinkley township's votes had again given merrill the democratic nomination for judge. it was old jabez henderson, a baptist deacon, talking now. at the mill "a judge! a fine judge he's made!" and to show his con- tempt, the deacon turned his head and spat. the "old field to- bacco" juice struck the water with a little smacking sound. rub- bing his hairy forearm across his mouth, the deacon continued, "thar's a whole passel o' us dimmycrats right in this yere town- ship what hain't agoin' to give him a vote in november. we uns kin disremember some o' his crooked dealin's, but we'll never disremember how he 'cided favorin' yer pap in that ol' jane larkin's case. yer know yerself, bill, that case fairly stunk with rottenness. why old jane even nussed evan merrill when he war a baby war'n dities. he knew hisself that lan' war jane's an' he didn't need no proof. right's right, bill." "now see here, mr. henderson, old jane had been owin' pap—" "she newah owed yo' pappie ah dime in huh life." "little bill" turned on the speaker who had interrupted him. his face reddened. "who asked you, allen, to butt into white folks' discussions? better keep yo' trap shet afore some o' us shet it up fer you fer keeps." allen, a powerfully built young negro, rose slowly from the log and clenched his fists. "ah says gran'mammie nevah owed yo' pappie ah dime in huh life. ah says it tuh yo' face an' not behin' yo' back. ah says it to yo' front so's yo' won't git sore behin'. an' ah'm not feared o' no po' white trash neither." "heh! a fight! don't let 'em fight! that nigger'll kill 'im!" shouts and yells brought the crowd. men and boys came from all directions and there was much excitement. when leonard reached the scene the participants were facing each other like angry and snarling dogs. but wisdom prevailed, and soon allen was carrying his sack of meal to where his little iron-gray gelding was tethered. tossing it over the pommel of the saddle, he mounted and slowly rode away. "thar goes a damn mean nigger thar." a man, whose beard was more black than white, uttered this remark and many said, "yes, he is," and nodded their heads in approval. • the man continued, "thim island niggers ar' gittin' too sassy inyways. ef i had my ways i'd run th' last damn one o' thim in run, zebra, run! the river some dark night. what good ar' they to th' township inyway? keepin' a passel o' po' houn' dogs erroun' to kill sheep an' yer kain't git a one o' them to work fer you inymore fer a decent wage. even thar dam winches won't look atta kitchen fer less than a dollar a week." "an' i don't blame 'em nary bit," said a lanky, smooth- shaven individual. "if we'd treat 'em right, henry, an' give 'em a better school an' not 'cuse 'em o' all th' lawbreakin' done in th' county, we'd all git along better. i'm fer th' right thing fer all mankin', be they white, black, grizzly, er gray." "oh, i knows yer 'pinions, jeff roth, but i'm damned ef i respicts 'em. yer'u alius talkin' 'bout eddicatin' thim niggers. niggers don't need eddicatin'; they're jist like animals. i don't believe a nigger has a soul, i don't." "what yer goin' to say 'bout a nigger like this boy here?" the inquirer was jeff's oldest son who was sitting next to leonard who sat on the end of the log. leonard held a copy of the triweekly cincinnati enquirer in his hand, and had been reading aloud to a group of grownups surrounding him. he had been rendering this pleasant service for some time. for more than a year, now, when he sat at the mill, someone would produce a newspaper. this he would read to them, and not only would he read it, he would also explain what he read if they could not understand. "ah, that er boy hain't no rale nigger nohow. i don't think o' him like i think o' niggers. his daddy war shorely a white man an' his mammie musta been damn nare white. he hain't no rale nigger." on the way home, leonard wondered what he was, sure enough. and after he got home, the old lady was perplexed when he inquired, "mrs. harker, what's the difference between a nigger and a real nigger?" but he learned more about the negro enigma as he grew older. another day he returned from the mill—it was a summer day—and sybil had just come home from the girls' school. when he entered the house her merry voice called, "leonard, is that you?" chapter twenty-one in the miller's home he had not seen gladys since the night of the sugar party, but he had not forgotten her. when they held a "protracted meeting" that spring in the brackett schoolhouse, he attended it three nights every week, only because he thought perhaps she might be there. but she was never there and he returned home disappointed. once he went all the way to brackett's mill to have the grinding done. he saw her father, the miller. but it was a busy day—the miller had no time to chat—and he left the mill a stranger. soon after sybil returned from school that summer, he told her about gladys and how pretty she was. sybil was not inter- ested. "i never saw her but once, leonard," she told him. "looked then like she needed bigger and better meals. someone told me her folks were kinda funny. they're poor mixers. i bet when she won the race it almost scared her to death." leonard described the girl and the race so minutely that sybil laughed. "i believe you got stuck on her, leonard. oh, i know you did now," she remarked as she noticed a red flush spread over his face. "shame on you. better be careful. those boys are awful rough and mean over at brackett's, and you know you're colored." he seldom talked with sybil about her afterward but he talked to himself about her often. he could close his eyes any- time and see her, just as he saw her that night in the parlor when she smiled at him. he compared her with the other girls he knew and she was always perfect. she was so different. the others—well, they were just girls. he felt like it might be a pleasure to play with some of them, just as he had played with little eva hennesey. but could he play with gladys like that? no indeed. in the miller's home when he told the old man he heard that abner jones had some pure-bred duroc pigs for sale, he imparted the information with an assumed air of nonchalance. but his heart was beating wildly. would he get to see her now, after so long? would the old man purchase the pig? that pig—that little pig—so much depended on that little pig! the old man was pleased. there was a sly twinkle in his eyes when he remarked, "abner jones—sure. he's the father of the sugar queen, isn't he?" he arose early the next morning, fed the stock, performed the usual chores, and was back upstairs in the junk room when sybil called breakfast. when he came down he was wearing a clean white shirt, a necktie, and his second-best shoes. he had combed his hair a dozen times and was plenty angry with himself because he had not gone to blankton the last "court day" and gotten a haircut. sybil brought the red flush to his face again. "ma, i think i'd better go with him and take care of him. he's goin' to his queen's castle. he might never come back." the old lady frowned. "mebbe he's larned his lesson since th' way he acted with ruth bellern. if he hain't, he'd better." breakfast was eaten hurriedly. afterward, he hitched hal to the buggy and started up the lane toward the pike. sybil came out on the front porch and was standing there with her arms akimbo, smiling as he passed. he waved at her and grinned sheepishly. he drove slowly and it was midmorning when he reached brackett's branch. the narrow, shallow stream of water tempted the horse as his forefeet touched it. he stopped of his own voli- tion and tossed his head impatiently until leonard stepped from the buggy to the ground and loosened the check rein. while hal was drinking his fill, the boy looked at the reflection of his own face in the water. kneeling, he removed the broad-brimmed straw hat, and, wetting his hands, smoothed the rumpled hair until it lay smooth and shining on top of his head, and every half-curl at the edges and above his eyes was just where it rightfully be- longed. the narrow pike beyond the branch wound up and over brackett's hill, and on the other side of the hill a lane extended across a fertile stretch of bottom land, then on to a little knoll, run, zebra, run! upon the brow of which sat the home of abner jones. a quarter- mile below the house stood the old mill. he saw gladys from afar, sitting on the narrow porch at the rear of the house and—churning. he felt peculiar. he had never pictured the girl in such a pose as that and his vision of her, when she would meet him at the door, was a gladys neat, well groomed, and smiling. if she wore an apron, it was to be a white one—a long white one with ruffles over the shoulders and con- fined around the slender waist with wide strings tied into a big bowknot. her wavy golden hair was to be uncovered, the short bangs shading the modest blue eyes. but the gladys he saw at the churn on the back porch was wearing a checkered sunbonnet and he couldn't see her face at all, nor a single strand of the golden hair. he had driven up to the back-yard gate and tied hal's rein to the hitching post there before he again looked toward the porch. but he knew, before he looked, that she had ceased singing an old church hymn and the churn dasher was being operated slower. she smiled as she spoke, and he noticed a pink flush spread over her face. "well! good morning, leonard. how are you?" he informed her that he was well and stated his errand. "papa'll be home about eleven for dinner. that's just an hour or so. won't you come in and wait?" she guided him through the hall into the sitting room and introduced him to her mother. mrs. jones arose from the low, armless rocking chair and extended her hand. "i'm glad to meet you, leonard. gladys told us how fast you ran to win that race. sit down and make yourself at home. mr. jones will be in before long." her soft-spoken words dispelled his embarrassment and he felt at ease immediately. as gladys was unlike the other girls he had met, so was her mother unlike the mothers of his acquaint- ance. mother and daughter reminded him of the friends of his early childhood; of mrs. price and miss roberts; of elwood's mother and some of his early teachers. they were not like the blank county women. in the miller's home in a little while leonard was telling mrs. jones about ohio and the home; about miss hannan and miss roberts; about dr. dingby and his trip to the brinkley community. he told her a little of his home life—of the old man and sybil. but he never mentioned the old lady, nor did he tell how often he had been beaten, insulted, and persecuted. when gladys returned to the room she looked more like his gladys of the sugar party. she had discarded her sunbonnet, and the golden hair hung down her back in two long plaits, confined at the ends with ribbons. but the short bangs did not shade her eyes at all. he noticed now they were large blue eyes, and that there were dimples in her cheeks. she was beautiful—strikingly beautiful. she was all beautiful, from the small feet and slender ankles to the crown of her head. he worshiped her and wanted so badly to touch the velvet skin—to press a kiss on the pink cheeks or lips. but, even if he had the opportunity, right then, he knew he would not have taken it. first, he would have to be wanted by her. she would have to want his kisses, his caresses, his love, just as badly as he wanted hers. the mother went to the kitchen to prepare the noonday meal, and the lonesome boy and the lonesome girl were alone together. for the first time they looked frankly into each other's eyes and, oh, how quickly they understood! both smiled and would have been content for a season to have just sat there and looked at each other. but only one thin wall separated them from her mother, and that wall had a door in it. they must talk—they must say something. leonard picked up a book—longfellow's poems. "do you like poetry, gladys?" "yes, if it is easy to understand. my favorite is whittier. do you like him?" leonard had read the life of the quaker poet and many of his poems. "oh, he wrote 'maud muller' and 'the barefoot boy.' everybody likes those. my favorite is 'snowbound.' it's long but so plain and—and—musical." she went to the bookcase in the hall and returned with a vol- ume entitled great american poems. "papa gave me this book run, zebra, run! for christmas. i've read it through three times. the more i read it the more i love it." she handed him the book and he began reading aloud the first verses that came to his notice. a long and unfamiliar word puzzled him. he asked gladys its meaning. "well, we'll settle that word for good, leonard. that's what papa has always taught me to do. when i don't understand a word i look it up in the dictionary." they were close together, leaning over the ponderous book lying on the table, when abner jones entered the kitchen from the back door. he paused and looked at them. his wife spoke. "he's brother harker's boy from up to brinkley. come after one of your red pigs. he's the boy who won the race like gladys did." the miller washed his hands and face, and when he came inside the sitting room long strands of wet hair were lying over his ears. the end of his sandy beard and the front of his blue shirt were also wet. gladys unfolded her handkerchief and flitted it over his face in spite of his protestations. when she had finished, he held out his hand to the boy. "papa, this is leonard. he came over to buy a pig. he's the sugar king in our county." "glad to see you, leonard. quite some honor to have a king and a queen too in the house. come in and have some dinner." he washed his hands at the water bench behind the kitchen door, and gladys brought a clean towel. they sat down at the small, round table, the boy and girl facing each other. the father prayed. leonard always remembered that blessing. it was so short and simple, yet so honest and so humble. abner jones prayed as though he was in the habit of talking with god and not to god. "lord, we are thankful for thy blessings. we trust thee. amen." when the meal was finished all returned to the sitting room and abner requested a song. "play a piece or two, chicken, while i'm tryin' to get this dinner down." then, turning to leonard, he asked, "can you sing, young fellow?" "i try to. but i can't sing much." in the miller's home gladys sat down at the little organ and started playing a church song. it was a new and popular one, something about "abiding and confiding." spontaneously, all of them sang the chorus. then leonard stepped up close to the organ and he and gladys sang the verses together. their voices blended perfectly —the spirit of music united their hearts, happiness and content- ment filled them to overflowing—and, when the song was fin- ished, the mother was smiling through her tears. abner was swallowing a lump in his throat, and the girl and boy were looking into each other's eyes, seeing what no one on earth could see but themselves; and understanding a secret no one but them- selves could understand. "you sing fine, leonard. let's hear you sing something by yourself. now when i was a young fellow, i'd rather sing than eat a good meal's vittles, but my voice is gettin' sort o' cracked now." "no, it isn't, mr. jones," remonstrated leonard, realizing that abner jones's voice would bring credit to any choir he had heard sing in blank county. "you sing mighty well," he con- tinued. "i hope i'll be able to sing that well when i'm as old as you are." abner jones smiled. the boy's honest compliment pleased him. gladys' eyes beamed. "i've always said you were a good singer, haven't i, papa?" and she added, "that's why they're always trying to get you into some choir." "don't you ever sing in the choir?" leonard inquired. "no. that's against my creed. i don't belong to any church here. you see, we're what you might call 'ex-quakers.'" leonard was unacquainted with the quakers, except for the poet whittier, so he refrained from further comment or interro- gation. he picked up the songbook, scanned the index, and chose a number. "i'll sing this one if you'll play for me, gladys." "i don't know that one, leonard. it's quite new." "i think it's mighty pretty. will you let me play it?" "certainly. can you play too?" she quickly arose from the bench, and soon leonard's agile chapter twenty-two behind the veil so much happens behind the veil. there we taste life's sweetest joys and bitterest sorrows. behind the veil a kindly fate may bestow upon us lavish blessings, and we revel in ecstasy—behind the veil. yes, behind the veil! there, the wise man said, "the bread we eat is pleasant to the taste." who cares what else he said? "the dead are there?" yes, but why worry; the dead are everywhere! leonard wrote gladys a letter that night. then he tore it up. he wrote her several more letters and tore up every one of them. he didn't know why he should write her a letter at all. he only knew he just had to do so. but his mind was flustered. when he returned from the miller's he found mrs. harker on her "high horse." he had remained away nearly all day—had wasted a good, warm working day in june—when the garden needed hoeing, and the flowers transplanting, and there were chicken coops to build, etc., etc. oh, he was "gettin" so no 'count he warn't worth his keep no more." then sybil followed him to the barn at milking time and teased him outrageously. he made matters worse by telling too much, giving her information from which she could deduce the truth he was trying to conceal. so he just couldn't write a letter that pleased him. he went downstairs and got the cyclopedia of useful knowl- edge and, for an hour, read and reread every "friendship" letter in the volume. then his letter, after a dozen more trials, became a note. it read: my dear girl: i am glad you promised to be my girl, gladys. you are the first real girl i have ever had and i like you better than any girl behind the veil i have ever seen and i always shall like you to my dying day. look for me sunday about three o'clock. your o'bt servant, leonard the next morning he went to brinkley, posted the letter, and, before he returned home, wished he had it back so he could put more in it. that week he worked harder around the place than he had ever worked before, and was so cheerful and willing the old lady said she couldn't see "whut's come over him." but sybil remarked, "maw, pap ought to send him after a red pig every week." gladys was naturally cheerful. no matter what the sorrow of the night, joy came to her every morning. leonard's visit only increased her exuberant cheerfulness. but, because it also in- creased her loquacity, mrs. jones was compelled to express her opinion of the boy to her daughter, which she certainly would not have done had gladys not forced her to do so. between mother and daughter, her only child, there was a comradeship that tolerated little secrecy and no hypocrisy. "mama, isn't he nice?" she exclaimed when she returned to the kitchen. "he's the nicest boy i've ever met. and can't he sing! he's smart, too, isn't he, mama?" "yes, he seems to be a nice, well-bred boy. i wonder what those harkers think about him. i don't think he likes them very well—none but the old man. it's strange he hasn't finished school yet. he seems to be well learned." "he never said a word about going to school, did he? maybe he doesn't go at all. i'll ask him when i see him again." "what?" mrs. jones looked hard at her daughter. "oh, he's coming back sunday afternoon, mama. he can come and see me, can't he, mama?" mrs. jones made no reply, and gladys knew her mother's silence was always golden. in this case it meant, "yes." that june night was pleasant. white, red, pink, and yellow roses, bursting into bloom, filled her room chockfull of their fragrance. she was healthy and happy and her wants were few. run, zebra, run! home. he threw the summer laprobe and his coat over her shoul- ders, and they laughed merrily as they ran swiftly to the house and to shelter. and there for the first time she kissed him, a spontaneous kiss on his forehead, kissed him quickly and ran away to the kitchen where her mother was. love—love—young love! what happiness you bring! who has never found you has never found life. for love is the very genesis of life. blessed—so blessed are those, love, who can walk hand in hand with you down the path of the years—and never grow weary of your company! while leonard was driving homeward, abner and mary jones were conversing with their daughter in the little sitting room. the girl, sitting on her father's knee with her face hidden against his shoulder, was weeping softly. that very afternoon a serpent had entered her eden, a serpent which the holy christ himself has not yet been able to destroy. the father's gentle hand was smoothing the girl's golden hair—still damp from the rain- drops—while he talked to her in low and serious tones. "gladys, we hate it—your mother and me. we hate it, we do. so much for your sake. we didn't know, that is, we didn't know the truth of it. but it's so. john blakemore asked george harker yesterday. john is our friend. he's warned us in time. you've always obeyed us and you'll do so now. we are only thinkin' of your good. he mustn't come to see you any more." "but i can't tell him—i can't tell him. oh, what shall i do?" she rose quickly from her father's knee, darted into her room, and flung herself face downward on the bed. she was weeping her very heart away. abner jones followed to the door. "you'll obey us, chicken. we know best." he closed the door softly. he arrived early at her home the following sunday after- noon and knew the moment he entered the sitting room that someone had been discussing him with her family. the girl and her mother welcomed him cordially, but there seemed to be a black cloud there. he had been there only a little while when bob wilkins came behind the veil in. this young man a year older than leonard—was a distant relative of elizabeth's, "the fast girl” who was the harker's housemaid during sybil's absence. he was a green, lanky boy, so illiterate he could hardly write his name. he worked as a farm hand for any who needed his services, and, it was said, could cut more cordwood in a day than anyone in the county when the mother left the room, bob tried to put his arm around gladys and she pushed him away. "let me alone, bob,” she commanded. "ah. yer tryin' to be sorta techy, hain't yer?” he made an ugly grimace and pointed a forefinger at her, which he shook rapidly. "bet yer'd let me kiss yer if this little niggie boy warn't here,” he remarked. the blood rushed to leonard's face. gladys quickly tried to change the conversation, and inquired about bob's mother. "oh, she's well, i rickin'.” he turned to leonard and grinned foolishly. "hain't yer some kin ter 'nigger jim larks?" he in- quired. the subject of his inquiry was a very large, very dark, and very ignorant negro, who lived in a rotting cabin on the island of little cuba. he had often been convicted and jailed for petty larceny, and his reputation was more unsavory than that of any person of color in the county. the look leonard gave him would have silenced anything but a fool. this insult was too much. he rose to his feet and was so angry he stammered. “i'm g-goin', i guess. come outside a minute, bob. i-i—want to tell you something." the girl read murder in his eyes. "oh, wait a while, leonard. papa wants to see you before you go." when she left the room, leonard moved to a chair in the corner, as far away from his tormentor as he could get. bob sat there still; he was grinning like an opossum, and began repeating over and over, "niggie-niggie-niggie. comin' tuh see er white gal. you niggie—niggie—niggie.” oh, how leonard wanted to taste his blood! his fingers gripped a knife in his pocket, and only his deep regard for gladys chapter twenty-three in the clover field george harker, the eldest son, had become chief manager of his father's affairs. the old man, now past ninety, was telling his relatives, friends, and all he chanced to meet that he had decided to take a rest for the remainder of his life, so he could be a little used to resting when he died and went to his eternal rest. but, although his step was slower and his hair whiter and his shoulders drooped, his memory remained good and his mind was alert and keen. he was still the strong-willed boss of his business. his son, or others of the family, might beg or argue special favors of him, but it was hard for them to fool him out of anything. he still managed to keep one eye on his bank account, and demanded his just share of every litter of pigs, bushel of corn, pound of tobacco, or anything else produced on his large farm. between the patriarch and catherine's child there developed an attachment which brought comfort and a degree of happiness to both. the boy, gentle and patient by nature, was now his constant companion. he drove him where he wanted to go— away from home or about the farm. he helped him to attend to his personal interests; the flock of sheep he loved; the pure-bred pigs he was raising; the acre of smooth-head wheat he was grow- ing as an experiment. the old man repaid him with many favors. he purchased a fine rifle for him, and kept him supplied with good warm cloth- ing. he bought him books, magazines, and papers, which he devoured. the old gent was wise, too, and could answer most any question the boy asked. neither mentioned school any more, for school meant that the ties that bound them would be broken, and the ties had now become strong. but the old man was too good to him. jealousy and envy arose in the hearts of all the children, grandchildren, and great-grand- in the clover field then august came, and on the very first day of that month sybil got a letter from bernice, stating she was coming to visit until the opening of school. bernice, her brother phil's youngest daughter, was the baby of the "stawrsteps" mary, the cook, had told mrs. vanalban about some eighteen years before. then phil was poor and struggling hard to feed and clothe his large family. but the years had brought him good fortune. blessed with a wife who talked too much, but withal possessing an abundance of ambition, industry, tact, and common sense, he had forsaken the farm near cuyler for a fac- tory in bridgeville—from there, to selling sewing machines— then to an insurance office and on into politics. a shrewder poli- tician than his father, he had twice been sent to the ohio legis- lature; twice he had been elected clerk of the county court; he had served one term as sheriff, and at that time was bridgeville's post- master. bernice had attended school with sybil at the seminary. when leonard entered the house, the girl was holding the letter in her hand. her mother and elizabeth were listening to her description of her niece. "maw, bernice isn't a bit like the rest of us." "wal, she couldn't be, syb. phil's her daddy but her long- tongued maw— nobuddy iver did find out whar she come from or who she war." "she's a brunette, maw, and has the blackest eyes and hair. and she's a regular devil. everything we've got lying around we don't want broken we'd better move before she comes, for i know she'll take the house. why, 'lizabeth, she has regular tantrums. this old cabin'll be alive while she's here. she even kicks and talks in her sleep." "will i have to drive after her?" leonard inquired. the description had interested him. "no," said sybil. "she can come in with jute. riding in a jolt-wagon will do her good. besides, you'll have to help us change the straw tick on the bed in erne's room, and you'll have to drive to the 'seven acres' after the new straw." "well, i'm not going to fill that tick myself. it holds half a run, zebra, run! "shet up," said the old lady. "when did yer got so big 'roun' here you kin say whut yer'll do er won't do?" as usual, leonard held his peace, but when he went to the "seven acres" after the new straw, sybil and elizabeth went with him. bernice arrived the next day. she came like a cyclone. her grandparents and sybil were standing on the back porch awaiting her. jumping out of jute's wagon, she ran like a gazelle through the big yard, grabbed her grandparents, and kissed them a dozen times or more each, and talked so fast one would have thought she was two persons. leonard was out of sight but he was looking at her. he had never seen a girl like her before. she reminded him of a picture of a spanish dancer he had seen in a book. she was almost as tall as he was, but not too slender—"built up just right," as they said of blooded colts in kentucky. her black and glossy hair, confined within a net, was a mass of ringlets and curls. her eyes were large and lustrous, her skin more creamy than white, and her lips had the harker half-pucker but they were full, red lips. she was more beautiful than any harker girl leonard had seen, but one would not compare the beauty she possessed to that of the lily or the rose. her beauty was like that of a perfect maiden blush apple. when leonard entered the sitting room at supper time she saw him and sprang from the piano stool. "oh! this is leonard! gee, what a pretty boy. why sybil he looks just like—" "sh-h-h-h-h!" sybil clapped her hand over her niece's mouth. "bernice, get ready for supper and don't talk so much." at supper she sat beside her grandfather and across the table from leonard. she could not keep her eyes off the boy. he assumed an air of indifference, but she made him talk. when he finished a sentence she would remark, "so interesting! he's smart, isn't he, sybil?" "yes. that's because he hasn't been around you any." they all laughed. that night, a troop of aunts, uncles, and cousins came in and leonard retired to his junk room. but the next morning . . . in the clover field bernice was up with the chickens and dressed in her riding habit—the first one leonard had ever seen. she wanted to ride over the farm. she wanted to see the sugar camp and pigeon river her "daddy" had talked about so much. she wanted to go swim- ming in real running water that afternoon. "come on, leonard," she commanded as soon as he came downstairs. "you'll be my slave while i'm here, won't you? syb is so lazy she makes me sick. can't he go riding with me, grandma —grandpa?" "if you kin git him to," whined the old lady. "silas won't make 'im do nothin' no more." the old man and his wife were still in bed. leonard remarked that the horses were in the pasture and would be hard to corral so soon in the morning. but bernice was a determined body. she meant to get what- ever she wanted. she showed her impatience by stamping a little foot and shaking herself like a sitting hen just off the nest and exclaimed, "oh, come on, leonard. i'll help you catch the horses." then, grabbing his hand, she pulled him out of the house. she ran swiftly all the way to the barn. the horses were at the gate but they saw her coming toward them and galloped away. after much trouble, they got them within the barn lot and leonard saddled pearl and hal. bernice wanted to ride pearl and he let her have her way. she rode well on a man's saddle, and they were out for more than an hour. her conversation was all nonsense—mostly to herself—to her mount—or to the world at large—until they came to the clover field. here, he dismounted to open a gate so she could ride through, but she also dismounted. when he turned from closing the gate, she was standing very still, facing the east, her eyes surveying the scene before her. "oh, leonard! oh, isn't it beautiful! no wonder daddy told me it's the prettiest spot on earth." the field was covered with a green carpet of round clover leaves—the new second crop—and dewdrops glistened on the carpet like diamonds on green velvet. through the leaves and branches of the tall sycamores on the riverbank, the rising, red run, zebra, run! sun was shimmering. directly below them in a little hollow cov- ered by shrubbery and bushes, the running water of a spring branch could be heard as it glided over the rocks and tumbled into deeper depressions. and the sky was cloudless and the morn- ing air cool and invigorating. they remounted and rode on through the field to the river. here, where they stopped, the water was quiet and very clear. they could see the reflections of their faces quite plainly, as the horses drank. the girl looked into the water, then suddenly raised her head and looked at her companion. "leonard, don't you know you're a very pretty boy? you look just like—" she stopped quickly and bit her lips. "who? who? who do i look like, bernice?" "oh, they told me not to tell you. i'm going to tell you a lot though, some day. some day, when we're both older, i'll see you again. then maybe i'll tell you." "please, bernice. tell me now," he pleaded. a few yards down the river, on a branch of a small tree above the water, a red cardinal sat and sang. "oh, lookee, lookee, leonard! what a lovely bird. do you love birds? did you ever rob a bird's nest? that's wrong, isn't it? i'd like to see this spot in the winter. can you skate, leonard?" the boy was bewildered. she was a living question box. returning to the barn, they dismounted and led their horses into the driveway. leonard unsaddled hal, and, as he turned to pearl, they heard sybil coming down the path, singing. quick as a flash, the intrepid girl threw her arms around him and kissed him twice. "that's for being so good, leonard—and—and—just because i want to." in a moment she had greeted sybil, and arm in arm the girls strolled up to the house. during succeeding weeks, she rode with him often and she kissed him many times. but the memory of gladys was fresh in his mind, and not once did he kiss her. gladys was his angel, and his angel protected him from the wiles of the young, vivacious animal—this girl so full of life and fire. because bernice tried to be his friend, she gained the ill- in the clover field will of most of her relatives. but she was as frank as she could be, and her wit and sarcasm went to the marrow. when any of them made an insulting remark about him in her presence, she would resent it in a way that would quickly silence the insulter. more than once she told them, "he's the smartest and best looking boy i've seen in blank county and that's because he wasn't born here. you kinfolks give me the ague." she remained until the middle of september, then left with sybil for another year at the seminary. the day she left, she kissed leonard good-by before a score of them, and the boy immediately saddled pearl and rode away to brackett's, for a chance to laugh unseen at her relatives' shocked countenances, and to see if he could get a glimpse of gladys. chapter twenty-four in the sheep pasture winter came early to kentucky that year. the ground was white with snow before thanksgiving day. leonard was kept busy providing comfort and security for the farm animals, espe- cially the flock of sheep, and supplying the numerous woodboxes with firewood. jay harker, the vagabond son, was now spending more time at home, but he was utterly worthless. he was quarrelsome, too, and, to keep out of his company, leonard spent most of his spare mo- ments in the junk room with his papers and books. occasionally, the old man would plod up the carpeted stairs and sit and converse with him. together, they would discuss the past and the present —but never the future. if either mentioned the future at all, that time would be limited only to the next season—the coming spring, summer, or fall. perhaps both thought often of a more distant future—the boy, of life's greener pastures—the old man, of death's dark valley. but both were richly endowed with hope and courage. both were fighters—and fighters are unafraid. early one morning, george harker, the eldest son, who with his brother ed, had spent the night with their father, followed leonard to the barn. the boy was surprised, when, on turning in the driveway, he saw him standing there, his arms folded, his squinty eyes peering at him through the darkness. "you've got a right smart o' work to do nowadays, hain't you, leonard?" the tone of his voice was natural and not un- pleasant. never before had he given him so much as a kind look. "yes, sir," he said. "i guess i keep pretty busy." "why don't you go away to school this winter?" "oh, mr. silas can't do without me." the man unfolded his arms and a sharp glint appeared in the squinty eyes. "yes, he can do without you. ed's two boys can in the sheep pasture live here with him. tell you what i'll do. i'll give you two hun- dred dollars for pearl and another fifty if you'll go. you're about grown. nobody likes you 'round here, and the old man's so childish he'll never tell you you ought to go. what you say?" "i'll think about it," he said, and george bridled and saddled his horse and rode away. ten minutes later, leonard related the conversation and george's offer to the old man. the patriarch shook with anger. his eyes flashed. he drew up his old frame to its full height, and twenty years or more seemed to roll off his shoulders. "the ungrateful wretches! they got five thousand from me last night and now they're trying to buy you to leave me," he roared. "well, you're not goin'. i know what they want, and that they're not goin' to get. you keep out of their sight as much as you can and tell me every word they say to you. i'm boss around here yet." the moment he left the old man's presence, he remembered that he had heard loud and apparently angry conversation be- tween the father and his two sons downstairs the night before. now he knew they had been discussing him. but why? why should they be so anxious to get rid of him. he was a great help around the place. he looked after the stock well, did most of the chores, and kept a plentiful supply of wood on hand all the time. he never bothered any of the harkers at all, especially any of the children or grandchildren. in spite of their scorn and insults, he had refrained from striking back—even from "talking back" to them. he could think of but one reason. they hated him be- cause he bore the stigma, because he possessed a few drops of negro blood. they wanted to treat him, and they wanted him to act, like a real "nigger." because the old man protected him, they would be rid of him. these reflections awoke the spirit of hate long asleep in his heart, and almost instantly he became a new person. returning to the house from the barn, he entered the hall, seized two heavy sticks of wood, carried them into the sitting room, and tossed them on the fire. the force of the action scattered live coals over the hearth and beyond. run, zebra, run! the old lady objected. "be keerful what yer doin'. hain't yer got no sense?" he glowered at her and stalked off into the dining room. "come back here an' sweep up!" she yelled. "sweep 'em up yourself," he echoed, and walked on to the kitchen. elizabeth looked at him, smothered an hilarious laugh, and patted him on the cheek. "that's right," she whispered. "talk up to her. she's been ridin' you ever since i've been here." when he entered the sitting room again that afternoon, ed's oldest son, another "george" harker, was sitting in the corner of the fireplace, in his chair and place, his long legs extended before the fire. deliberately, and without excusing himself, leonard stepped over the lengthy limbs, squeezed between the chair and the wall, and picked up a newspaper lying on the table. "looks like you mighta gone 'roun'." "looks like you 'mighta' take up a little less space." the mockery and insolence his words and tone of voice conveyed brought the blood to the face of this scion of the harkers. "better be keerful. 'member who you are 'roun' here." leonard looked at him and sneered. "who do you think you are? you're nothing but a piece of poor white trash, that's all you are. if you don't like it, lump it." he carried the paper upstairs and elizabeth patted his cheek again when he was alone with her in the kitchen after supper. then she said to him, "i'm glad you're takin' up for yourself. i thought you'd learn some day." "they've been trying to make a nigger out of me long enough," he said. "i'm just as white as they are—whiter than most of them. from now on, they'll treat me white or fight, i don't care which. i'm not a nigger and i can't be a nigger. i don't intend to try to be one." but the boy was young. he did not know when he was making this bold declaration to the simple housemaid what a day or a night could bring forth. that very night, a bunch of dogs got among the sheep and killed a dozen of them. leonard discovered the massacre early run, zebra, run! burning sensation beneath his left arm, as though his clothing were on fire. he sprang from the fork and fell to the ground, there in the deep snow in the fence corner. as he started to rise, he heard someone walking rapidly toward him from the direction of the tobacco barn. he looked and recognized jay harker, carrying a rifle in his hand. instantly he toppled over on his side, and lay there in the snow as still as a corpse. jay harker walked up and peered at him with his bleary, watery eyes. evidently thinking he was dead, he picked up leonard's rifle, which had fallen over the fence, removed a loaded cartridge from the chamber, and, taking the empty shell from his own rifle, inserted it into the boy's. this done, he turned and walked as fast as he could to the house. mere words cannot describe the boy's emotions when he realized what had happened. to be made the victim of such abominable treachery replenished the fires of hate already burn- ing in his breast. when he rose to his feet he was smiling—no, grinning. grinning as an insane person grins. he could see it all now—as plainly as he could see the shining moon. it would be an accident of course. he fell asleep; fell out of the tree, and his rifle was discharged and killed him. so plain and simple. anyone would believe that and that only. "i'll get even with you! i'll get even with you!" he repeated the sentence over and over. "i'll get even with you this night!" for an hour he stood there in the snow leaning against the fence, deliberately planning how he would kill jay harker. he couldn't shoot him, for the report of the rifle would arouse the whole house and he feared the wails and the screams of the old lady. at last he decided he would beat him to death. as he en- tered the hall, he would get the old man's heavy, knotted hickory cane, which stood behind the hall door, and carry it upstairs with him. jay's room was in the old part of the house, to the right of the stairs, not as high up as the junk room. he never locked his door. perhaps he would be asleep and it would be easy. he was excited, determined, and bloodthirsty, and ran all the way to the house and quietly slipped within. all were in bed, and the old man was snoring loudly. pulling off his heavy boots, chapter twenty-five in tuskegee had leonard been a man, it is quite probable he would have disobeyed his guardian and not gone to tuskegee. he didn't want to be a negro, and certainly he did not want to go to a negro school. he had never talked with an educated person of color in his life. that race, as he knew it, was a silly, ignorant, ugly, uncouth, grinning, smirking group of people. in fact, he had an idea they were closely associated with the heathen, for he knew that some of the money his junior missionary society sent away every quarter went to help support "our colored missions in the south." true, he had heard of booker washington, but he had not read up from slavery. he had also heard of pete vinegar, kentucky negro revivalist. the old man had promised to take him to hear pete preach, but had never done so. the white people said booker washington was a great man, a great teacher, because he taught the "niggers" to be good, reliable workers. they said pete vinegar was a great preacher because he told his people to stop drinking "moonshine" liquor, stealing chickens, and living with women without being married to them. leonard had as much regard for the colored preacher as he had for the colored teacher. all he knew about either was what he had heard the white people say. it was fear, more than anything else, that forced the boy to follow the old man's instructions. he realized he had committed a serious crime. he desired protection. he rode the many miles through the country to cincinnati as quickly as he could, expecting every moment to be overtaken by the blank county sheriff or one of his deputies. when he reached the city, late the next night, every man he saw wearing a uniform frightened him. he slept in a chair in the livery-stable office, and was glad indeed to receive the information from the negro "night man" that his "boss" always came down "very early mornin's." run, zebra, run! it was "slap" jackson who became his guide and mentor during his first days as a tuskegee student, and a more faithful companion could not have been found. there was a reason- perhaps several reasons. but there was one big reason. it was pie. samuel lawrence adams paul jackson was just as "black" as leonard was "white." born on the adams plantation in central alabama, he was given the boss's name because he had so many brothers and sisters his parents had used up the names of all the great white and negro characters they knew. then, before little samuel lawrence adams was a year old, his share-cropping father received a "call” to preach. then the paul was added. slap was a night student, working his way through school, and was the oldest occupant of number nine, old barracks. he had been sleeping alone in the big double wooden bed for some three months, and was sorely vexed when he came from his work at the horse barn, tired and hungry that late december after- noon, and was told by mack and alfred, the other residents of number nine, that the stranger in their midst was leonard hall, a new student. slap looked the new boy up and down and grunted. "say, boy. ef yuh kick nights, yuh'll hafta sleep undah mah bed 'stead o' in it. i'm tellin' yuh, boy. i gotta git mah res', 'cause i gotta git up an' feed th' hosses while yo’ all's still sleepin', an' i cain't be bothered wit' no kickin' mules in mah stall." he talked very fast, and it was difficult at first for leonard to understand his words. the meaning of all of them he never was able to understand, even after he had known slap a year or longer. the boys went in to supper together, and after supper leonard and alfred went to the study hall and slap and mack went to their night classes. it was not until after chapel exercises at nine o'clock that the four met again in number nine. "pies, buns, an' doughnuts! here's your pies, buns, and doughnuts! git 'em while they're fresh-git 'em while they're good-git 'em while i got 'em—know you'd git 'em if you could!” the song of the "pie man” was heard in the distance the pie man who brought, every night after chapel, supreme joy and satisfaction to those hungry students fortunate enough to in tuskegee have a nickel or a dime to pay for his wares, but untold misery and disappointment to all not so fortunate. that night slap was one of the unfortunates. his income seldom amounted to more than a dollar a month. that night, too, he was hungrier than he had been for weeks. when he heard the pie man he bolted through the door, but returned almost immediately, crestfallen and dejected. "can't borrow a penny," he wailed. "that's alius it. nobuddy evah got it w'en you hain't got nothin'. bet next time i gits a dollah nobuddy'll know it but me. alius th' way w'en ye're hongriest. nobuddy got nothin'!" the pie man paused before number nine. slap looked longingly at the basket. beneath that white cover reposed the idol of his stomach—some yellow, sweet, and juicy lemon pie, or a thick, creamy sweet potato custard. his thick lips parted, a broad, red tongue appeared and lapped at the upper one. he shook his head sorrowfully. leonard looked at him, then at the pie man, who at that moment was surveying the new boy up and down. "give slap a pie," he commanded. "i'll pay for it." the white cover was thrown back. "lemon, man, lemon! you know what i eats. gimme a juicy one—not more'n two weeks old." slap grinned broadly. the other boys were looking on. "want anything else?" asked the charitable leonard. "get some doughnuts," alfred advised. "we'll get two apiece. can't waste too much o' your money." from that night onward, until leonard moved from number nine into one of the brick dormitories, slap was his closest com- panion. he became his guardian and counselor, as well as his personal attendant. he told him who, of their many needy neigh- bors, would repay a borrowed dime or quarter and who would not. he forced him to resist many a temptation to break a school regulation he did not like. he taught him how to make up the bed so the pine straw would not penetrate the thin ticking and irritate his body. he kept a bottle of "blisterin' "—purloined from the horse stable—on hand all the time to kill the obnoxious in tuskegee institutions. their opinions did not coincide with leonard's about miss erouser. "who? miss 'eraser'?” said alfred. "that white darky hain't interested in nothin' 'cept 'rasin' out your good marks an' writin' down worse ones. she wouldn't take an interest in beulah land an' wouldn't give christ a prayer." mack was more critical. "the most 'uppish' teacher here,” he informed leonard. “thinks she's all of it 'cause she's got good hair and good clothes. half the time she won't speak to you when she meets you in the big road. an' i bet her daddy was some poor, low-down white man." slap alone was tolerant. he remembered leonard's color and features and was afraid his new friend might be hurt by the plain talk circulating so freely. "now—now. let's don' be so radical, boys." alfred gave a big "haw-haw." "listen,” he whispered loudly to mack, " 'radical! that's th' new word he learned yesterday." slap ignored their jests. “i thinks i knows huh bettah than all o' you. she goes ridin' 'bout every othah day an' i saddle huh hosses. hain't nevvah seen nothin' uppish 'bout huh. wants waitin' on aplenty, an' i'm right thar to do that one little thing. she neyvah fo'gits nothin'. look at dat present she sawn't me las' chris’mus, an' she's allus tellin' me how glad she is i git sich good marks in 'labor.' she cawn't he'p huh looks an' color, no mo' than leonard heah cawn he'p his. lots o' 'em don' like huh jist 'cause she hain't choc'late er nappy-haired. they jist jealous 'cause she dicty an'—an' got th' looks an' kin w'ar th' clo'es. i knows she hain't color-struck. look who huh 'special frien' is. he blacker'n me.” "oh, no, slap. no. no. no. you hain't looked at yerself lately. 'blacker'n me'!” alfred gave another big haw-haw. leonard's progress did please miss erouser. he was also well pleased with himself. he had determined to excel in every- thing, and he studied hard and wasted few moments. he took to mechanics like a duck to water; chose to learn the machinist trade, and the shop instructor was more than pleased when he expressed in tuskegee saved him, in later years, from despair and degradation were the psalms he memorized while attending the little presbyterian sun- day school in bridgeville, and the spirituals he learned to sing at tuskegee. chapter twenty-six in the little bungalow in spite of the friendly atmosphere of his school, catherine's child was often solitary and friendless. the ambitions and in- terests of negro people excited his curiosity but did not appeal to his consideration. he laughed more at his associates than he did with them. but always, he tried to be agreeable, he tried to see their intricate racial problems as they saw them, and, by so doing, he learned to know humanity. not black and white but just—his fellow men. slowly he began to comprehend that there were black angels as well as white angels and black devils as well as white devils. he found good and evil all mixed up in everybody, just as he knew it was all there, all mixed up in himself. he saw the con- sequences of good and evil. because he was endowed with keen intelligence and common sense, he chose to be good. he knew he would reap only what he sowed and his mind was on the harvest. back in old kentucky, silas harker read his weekly letters and was happy and satisfied. "god works in a mysterious way," he repeated over and over. "it was all for the best. if catherine, the little kitten, knew, she too would be content." then, when he thought of his niece, tears would come into his dim gray eyes. "she does know! she does know! god is letting her guide her son!" he would muse and smile. one day he broke his glasses, and that afternoon jute brought him leonard's letter. immediately he sent for one of his grand- children. "you be here bright and early tomorrow morning. i've got to catch the train to lexington," he told the young man. he went to lexington and his wife and elizabeth, the maid, thought he had gone to get some new "specs." he had. but before he went to the oculist, he went to the seminary where sybil was. he had her come to him immediately, straight from an in the little bungalow important class session. his daughter sat on the arm of the rock- ing chair he occupied and he drew the letter from his pocket. "here, syb," he said, "this is what i came for. read me this letter. you're the only one i can trust and don't you miss a word in it." with every letter he wrote to his ward, he enclosed a generous money order. leonard was earning more than half his expenses by working at the school and his wants were few. ere long he had several hundred dollars to his credit in the bank. he spent his first summer in the library and machine shop. before the opening of school, he moved out of number nine, old barracks, into number two room, in one of the brick dormi- tories. here he became intimately acquainted with steam heat, elec- tricity, and young men who talked little about pie but much about their girl friends. leonard was teased so often because he didn't have, or "couldn't get," a girl, some of them said, that he began to tell them about his girl back home. it eased his mind and helped to close their mouths when he told them he didn't have a special friend there because he loved the girl back home and was going to marry her as soon as he was graduated. some of the boys thought he was wise and others thought him foolish. afterward, when alone, he wouldn't think about it at all, himself. he was trying to forget the girl "back home." then one day, a fortnight before the christmas holidays, he received a letter from lexington, written by a strange hand. be- fore he read it he looked at the signature. it was from bernice. he had almost forgotten the cyclonic, dark-eyed minx. they had never corresponded, and sybil had not mentioned her young niece in any of the letters he had received from her, which were few and far scattered. but as he read the letter between frowns and smiles, he remembered her all too well. he remembered her brunette loveliness—the black mass of ringlets and curls—the velvety, creamy skin—the pearly teeth—the large, piercing eyes —the slender, supple, healthy body she had never confined in rigid corset stays or starchy petticoats, for bernice always had her way and would not wear such things. he remembered, too, her sharp tongue, her keen wit and sarcasm. how, when angry, run, zebra, run! she seemed to bite a piece off her every word, but when thoughtful and content, how her voice sounded like music made by little silver bells—like the rippling water of pigeon river flowing over one of the numerous shallows. "you nervy little devil!" he exclaimed aloud when he had finished reading the letter. then he read it the second time. "i want you to spend christmas with me," she had written, "and i'll accept no excuses." her plans were made. one of the numerous cousins and her husband lived in covington. this cousin, who was named after her aunt effie, occupied a brand-new, modern little bungalow which they had recently purchased. when they moved into their new residence they desired a maid, a good one, and were willing to pay more than the customary weekly wages. bernice recom- mended edna, the colored girl who had been doing odd jobs for sybil and her at the seminary. edna was well pleased and satisfied and so was cousin effie. cousin effie and her husband were going to spend the holidays with the relatives in the brinkley community, and bernice and the maid were going to spend their holidays at cousin effie's. cousin effie knew bernice would be in covington with a school friend, but, of course, she did not know the school friend. cer- tainly, she had no idea bernice and the "school friend" would spend the holidays in her little bungalow. no one knew this but edna, who loved bernice, and had too much sense to talk. the "school friend" and bernice would leave before cousin effie's return. and leonard read the second time: "won't it be a grand and glorious christmas for us? you come, leonard. you be sure and come. i just must see you. i really and truly love you. answer at once and don't say no. here's your railroad fare." in the letter was a twenty-dollar bill. he read that letter over and over. he was surrounded by negroes, was eating and sleeping with negroes. all he heard, saw, and touched was negroid. but, somehow or other, that letter absolutely separated him from his surroundings. he knew he cared nothing for bernice as a girl. he did not appreciate her friendship, although he believed it was sincere. but he adored that in the little bungalow little letter in the pink envelope because a white hand had written it. a white girl's mind had composed it. a white girl's heart had conceived it. he slept with it beneath his pillow. it became the link that united him to the people and the race that had disowned him—the race and the people with whom he still believed he belonged. but he answered the letter at once, refused the invitation, and returned the money. "i'm too busy to come," he told her. "you're the best and the sweetest young harker alive, but i can't come, even for you. you're apt to get caught and get into trouble and i'll be wasting time and money. besides, we're going to have a mighty good time here." within a week, bernice had written again and the twenty dollars were in the letter. "so you are going to have a good time there, are you?" she wrote. "well, we, you and i, are going to have a better time in covington. if you're fond of any chocolate- colored girl down there you had just as well forget her, right now. if you're still crazy about that milk-white, moveless gladys jones, you'd just as well forget her too, for syb tells me she's going to marry arnold larkins." arnold was a lawyer's son and lived in blankton, the county seat of blank county. the information hurt leonard but he be- lieved bernice was lying. "if you don't come, i'm coming after you, for i'm going to see you christmas if i hang for it. if you can be colored, i can, too, for you're as white as i am, and i'll tell those educated col- ored folks down there when i come that i'm your sister. they'll never know any better. and, too, i've got a lot to tell you, a lot no one will ever tell you if i don't. they don't think i'll tell you, but i will tell it, just because i love you, leonard. i have loved you all my life, even if you didn't know it and don't be- lieve it now. i saw you in my dreams long before you ever saw my face. please come, leonard. i must see you. i want to tell you about your mother." those last eight words took him to bernice—to bernice's cousin eme's little bungalow in covington, sitting on the bluff above the river. they took him to the girl who loved him—loved in the little bungalow so bright the skies: so soft my flesh; so bright my eyes. ah, i am young and tender, and you have found me, lover; no sorrow i remember, no sin have i to cover; so soft the breeze; so bright the skies: so soft my flesh; so bright my eyes. pale moon so high above me, • you know what i've been missing; a man to hold me, love me; a man i would be kissing: so soft the breeze; so bright the skies: so soft my flesh; so bright my eyes. he did not get a chance to think about himself, his new- found relatives, or his future, until he was on a train again, bound for tuskegee. bernice traveled with him as far as lexington and introduced him to some of her schoolmates who boarded the train at different stations on the way. some university students were also in the coach, and they had a happy time together. he informed them he was attending the university of alabama. but he tried hard to think after he had kissed bernice good-by. he wondered if he had been wise or foolish. trav'lin' on "trav'lin' on"! a new song! a new year! new faith! new de- termination! new power! "trav'lin' on!" leonard was humming the song when he undressed for bed. he arose the next morning determined to be a "new boy." he would forget the past. he would conquer his silly fears. he was one of them—he would be one of them. he would be more friendly, more intimate—yes, he would be a real negro. why not? negroes had nothing to be ashamed of any more than had the white people. what else was he anyhow? it was the decree of fate. that very day he tried to get friendly with a little light- skinned texas girl. "what you doin', an' mean?" she asked. "tryin' to make a mash on me? you hain't the right color. i like dawk meat. you're too white for me." there was another very pretty girl in his class who often talked with him and seemed to enjoy his conversation. she had fine features, beautiful long hair, and, except for the full mouth, possessed no noticeable negro features. her voice was soft and low. it always reminded him of gladys' voice. he knew she had a special friend, but he was a poor night student who wore shabby clothes and was in a low grade. "why not her?" he thought. she should be glad to be his special friend. wasn't he good-looking, a swell dresser, and often at the head of his class? he was diplomatic this time. he wrote a modest note and sent it to her by the girl who waited on her table. she replied promptly. "i'm sorry, leonard. i'll be your 'play sister,' but you > know jerry is my 'special friend' and he comes before all others." eventually he realized he had much to learn before he could understand colored girls. they were different. he could be a negro, but it seemed he could not be the right kind of a negro. he just could not entertain a negro girl as she desired to be enter- tained. most of them considered him "stuck up," a smart-aleck, and an egotist. he was "set back" so often he was about to give up his efforts to find a special friend, when one day he discovered little alice boone. she was certainly a frail little miss and he felt sorry for her. run, zebra, run! a new student, and very intelligent, she had entered school as a "middler," the grade he was in at that time. but malaria sent her to the hospital before she had attended classes a week. for three months she hovered between life and death. when able to travel, her parents came and took her back home. she had re-entered school the first of the year. she was writing an essay in the library one day, and leonard was sitting across the table directly opposite her. he could not help but notice the frown that flitted across the pallid, reddish- brown face, and the little wrinkles that appeared between the glancing eyes. she returned his smile, and he arose and sat down again beside her. that day he helped her with the essay and thereafter she clung to him. she was certainly the clinging vine type. he never asked her to be his special friend. it wasn't necessary. soon he was escorting her to the games and social affairs, and she was laundering his handkerchiefs, pressing his neckties and scarfs, and doing other little kindnesses tuskegee girls were supposed to do for their special friends. her mates teased her about her "white man," and the boys guyed him and asked him how it felt to rock the cradle. but alice took on some flesh, her hair grew lengthy and thickened; she stood, with leonard, always at or near the head of their class, and the time came when some of those who had once guyed him tried hard to take the little miss away from him. he continued to progress well in his studies and began experi- menting on a mechanical device, an engine reverse gear, which occupied all his spare time and interested him so much he decided to remain at the institute the second summer, and, if possible, complete the invention. alice also was going to stay, for she was taking a course in nursing and was compelled to make up for the time she had lost during her illness. he was anticipating a pleas- ant vacation period. all was well and he was content. he felt indeed as though he was "trav'lin on." the early southern springtime came. he wrote the old man and told him how beautiful everything was—the flowers and bud- ding trees, the balmy days and starry nights. the old gentleman replied and told him to "send some of that good weather up here trav'lin' on for we're having the coldest, dampest, latest spring i've seen in a generation." he told him the cold he contracted christmas was getting worse instead of better. he advised him, as usual, to take good care of himself and save his money. recently the letters had been shorter than usual, but the money orders had been larger. since bernice had told him about his mother's legacy, he understood why. he knew his guardian was sending him a portion of the money due to be paid to him when he reached his majority. convinced that he would be independent financially, he became more liberal and donated freely to the many worthy enterprises in which the school was interested. he was a second lieutenant in the student battalion, and one day, in early march, was enjoying himself at the officers' picnic. this affair was the supreme social event of the season. only com- missioned officers and their special friends could attend it. he was very proud of little alice that day. attired in a new pink gown, she was wearing a half-open pink rosebud in her hair and looked prettier than any girl there. he had maneuvered to slip away with her unnoticed by the crowd, for the express purpose of telling her how pretty she was. then, when she hung her head and blushed, as she always did when he paid her a compliment, no one but himself would see and no one would tease her. they were returning to join the others when he noticed the assistant commandant coming rapidly to meet them. the young lieutenant saluted and the captain returned the salute. "i have bad news for you, lieutenant," he said and handed leonard a tele- gram. he read the brief message from sybil and his heart filled with sorrow. "father is dead. come home at once." alice laid her little arm in his and they walked slowly. he had told her about his guardian, but not that they were related. he had told her how good and wise he was, how he had protected him, how he advised and instructed him. "i sympathize with you, leonard," she said. "it's just like los- ing a father and i don't know what on earth i'd do if i lost my father. my father is like you are, big and strong—in mind and in body," she continued. then she looked at him like a frightened run, zebra, run! bird, fearing she had said too much. he caught her hand and pressed it. "thanks, alice. no one else will sympathize with me. they won't believe i have any feelings—just because—because—" he ceased talking, but she was looking into his face, and her eyes demanded the conclusion. "because i am colored." silas harker was dead. his body was laid out in his bedroom. leonard saw the coffin through the curtainless window as he drove up to the farmhouse in the dim light of the dawn. "wait," he told the colored lad who had driven him from tuckertown. "i'm going on back." he opened the front door, walked down the hall, and entered the sitting room before any of them knew of his arrival. the logs in the fireplace were burning feebly and the hanging lamp over the center table was turned low. "good morning," was his only salutation. he could not distinguish who they were—these children, grandchildren, and other relatives. some were asleep in their chairs, some were awake, some with heads bowed, some with eyes turned toward the flickering fire. "'lo, leonard. hi—i" and a few grunts were their responses. he picked his way between them, walked into the bedroom, and stood beside the coffin. there he wept. someone entered the room behind him, but he was not ashamed of his weeping and did not try to hide it. he did not know or care who saw or heard him weep. silas harker was his friend. silas harker had loved him. silas harker had protected him. and he had loved silas harker. "good-by forever." he uttered the words in a broken whisper and turned his eyes from the dead man's face. a half-dozen curi- ous countenances appeared within range of his vision. he only saw sybil's. she, too, had been weeping—with him. the others stood there, dry-eyed and half sullen. they could not clasp his hand. they could not comfort him. they could not sympathize— not with him. he was the pariah. he bore the stigma. he was hardly human. trav'un' on "i'm going on back. the boy is waiting. thanks for your tele- gram, miss sybil." "no, leonard," she said. "not 'til after the funeral. go on into the kitchen and get some breakfast." she turned to one of the auditors. "go out there, jim, and tell the boy who drove leonard here to go back. leonard is staying." jay harker was in the kitchen, drinking hot coffee and eating like a gourmand. they greeted each other cordially. "guess ye're 'bout starved, hain't yuh?" said jay. "nice for yer to come. sorry pap didn't live tuh see yer ag'in." the man he once thought he had murdered was looking better than he had ever seen him look. he was a "prayin' man" now, leonard was informed. silas harker's prayers had been answered. soon sybil came to the kitchen with elizabeth, then bernice came with her father and one of her brothers. it was the first time leonard and phil had met. he was a true harker—more like his father than any of the children. they ate and drank together, and talked until the gray morning was visible through the narrow windows and the lights were blown out. then leonard went to the barn, fed and curried and bridled a young sister of pearl's, and rode away, carrying his grief with him and leaving the family with theirs. he rode down into the sugar camp and dismounted at a familiar stump, which brought back memories of sorrow and of joy. there he knelt and prayed. when he arose he felt better. he rode on to the river, and thought of the mill farther down the crooked, narrow stream, and of the miller's house and gladys. he returned through the clover field, and remembered the day he had stood there on the brow of that hill—there with bernice. then he remembered the little bungalow in covington and tried to feel ashamed of himself but couldn't. he rode on to brinkley and returned in time to feed his mount and to see silas harker's body carried from the house by his sons to the narrow hearse standing below on the pike. then he followed in the procession, on to the methodist church, which was filled to overflowing. he pressed through the crowded aisle and sat down again on the steps at the side of the pulpit. this was his place. it run, zebra, run! had never belonged to another. silas harker had given that place to him. and wasn't he a negro? it was the place for him, separate and apart. he never heard the mournful hymns or the lengthy prayers and sermons. he knew the man in the coffin so well—so much better than those who sang and prayed and preached and mourned. they would soon forget him—all of them—even his own chil- dren. but he would never forget him. silas harker—silas harker's soul—would walk with him down the paths of life, would always be with him, his protector, his comforter, and his guide. they buried him on top of a rocky hill, in the old harker burying ground. they buried a great kentuckian—the last noble- man of his clan. they buried a christian who was not a hypocrite, an honest man who was always honest, a fighting man, who fought as hard against the wrong as he fought for the right, a humble man, who was not afraid to acknowledge his sins, a gentleman, even among the lowliest of his fellows, a white man who was white. may his spirit keep "trav'lin' on"! blinded by his tears, the boy did not try to see those at the church or at the burying ground whom he might have known. what interest did he have in them anyhow? the one weak link that had united him with the harker family and the brinkley community had been broken. but he had forgotten another link— one that had not been broken. ah, not yet! bernice and sybil had gone to the railroad station in tucker- town, direct from the cemetery. he had lingered and bade them adieu. most of the buggies, carriages, and those on horseback had gone—gone down the narrow, rocky road to the turnpike—on to their homes, far and near. yes, it had been a big funeral. that funeral would be long remembered. he was taking a midnight train, and had several hours longer to wait. he would return to the farmhouse, eat supper, and talk with elizabeth. he rode down the hill, crossed the little branch, and started up the lane on the other side. a buggy, bouncing over the rocks in front of him, came to a stop. gladys and her mother and father were in the buggy. they were waiting for him, but he was face to face with them before he recognized them. he removed his hat trav'lin' on and bowed. abner's friendly, drawling voice saluted him. "glad to see ye again leonard. very sad occasion, though." he was wearing the everlasting blue shirt with the stiffly starched collar, and leonard saw the shirt before he saw its wearer. he had just glanced at gladys and had quickly averted his eyes, for he realized, all too well, that if he looked again into the depths of those blue eyes, he again would be a captive, a slave. their magic luster would hypnotize him—again he would fall a victim of self-pity and melancholy—again he would have to go through that awful process of forgetting. he had learned it was hard to forget. now, he was free, free of her race, her color, her customs—her "set." free, he would remain. so he looked every way, toward the burying ground they had just left, toward the woods in the distance, over the back of abner's horse toward a yellow, gullied field at the right—ahead of him up the hill. he looked every way except toward gladys. again he heard abner's drawling voice. " 'goin' back soon, leon- ard?" '"yes, sir. tonight at midnight. it's almost examination time." "well, we're mighty glad to see ye. ye look quite like a grown man now. hope ye abundant success." his horse was restless and started on. he checked her quickly in time to hear three good-bys echo from the buggy in unison, and one of them was spoken sweet and low. he rode on ahead of them but only a few yards. abner called again. he reined his horse. "say, leonard. how 'bout comin' over and takin' supper with us? ye kin ride down brackett way to rh' crossroads an' won't be very much farther from tuckertown. guess ye'll ride there, hain't ye?" "yes, sir," he slowly replied. "i'm going to have a boy bring the horse back tomorrow." "well, come on down an' sit awhile." then he looked toward the inside of the buggy and saw a smile—a smile he had always loved—and two hopeful blue eyes were shining. "all right. thank you, mr. jones. i'm going by home and then i'll be right over." run, zebra, run! the mare had been wanting to go and now he let her go. he touched her flank with the switch he held and she trotted up the hill to the pike. and there, on the better road, as she swiftly trotted on, the sound of her ironshod hoofs striking against the bedded rocks seemed to be a repetition of the words his heart was uttering: "to gladys—to gladys—to gladys!" elizabeth was alone in the dreary old farmhouse, and she re- lated to him all the incidents of the old man's passing. "he just laid down and went to sleep. just as peaceful as a baby. he was sitting in that chair and talking to us an hour before he died. said he was tired an' sleepy an' got up an' went to bed after we had prayers. he was so quiet afterward, aunt judy looked in at him an' he was gone. wasn't that a fine way to die, leonard?" he admitted that it was. "the good lord loved him, eliza- beth," he told her. "he couldn't let him suffer any. 'he giveth his beloved—sleep.'" the lamps had never shone brighter in abner jones's home than they shone that night as leonard dismounted at the stile and tapped on the door. "come right in, come right in, young feller. been waitin' for ye. 'table's set, th' biscuits het, an' all the hands er hongry.'" abner repeated the rural doggerel and laughed and led the way to the dining room. he enjoyed the plain but well cooked meal as well as he had ever enjoyed a meal in his life. there was so much love around that table. and gladys insisted that he keep on eating biscuits because they were her biscuits, and the cake was hers too. "now, gladys, you don't do all the cookin' around here," said her mother. "leonard, i fried the meat." "it's good too, mrs. jones." and he ate another slice of the delicious home-cured ham. he told them about tuskegee and the south and they drank in his every word. they thirsted for knowledge. they were that kind. they always had. that was why they were broad-minded and tolerant and above the average in their community. that was why they were christians and not just church members. that was why. trav'lin' on "it can't be the 'lover's,'” he whispered. "what shall it be? the 'conqueror's' kiss?" "yes, leonard-sweetheart-friend, and make it a good one." he pressed his lips to hers. it was a good kiss—a long kiss a sweet kiss—and when he turned her loose both were laughing. "got to go," he said loudly, and advanced to the door. he shook hands with her mother and father and gladys followed him to the stile. there he grasped her hand. "good-by, gladys.” and he whispered in her ear, "the conqueror rides away!" he rode on. sitting erect in the saddle, he raised his right arm and clenched his fist. "the conqueror! the conqueror!” he re- peated. “gosh! you can even conquer love! i'm certainly 'trav'lin' on'!" chapter twenty-eight changing winds it was sunday afternoon when leonard arrived at tuskegee —a warm and pleasant afternoon—and the band was giving a concert of sacred music on the lawn in front of alabama hall. he had been alone with his thoughts many hours: ever since he had left the miller's house. the panorama of the past had appeared before him more glaringly than he had ever witnessed it. he had viewed the scenes of his turbulent young life and wished he could erase all but a few of them from his memory. it seemed that the sad, the cruel, the hideous pictures, were so much larger that the sad, then the cheerful ones band and assen he kept at a distance from the band and assembled students and walked down to the old barracks. if slap was in his room he would talk with him a while. slap's room was empty; in fact, the whole building was empty. he saw only one student, a very tall boy, who was standing in the hall before the door of his room with a foot hoisted on a chair and a shining rag in his hand. he was surveying the shine on the newly polished shoe. leonard understood why the boy was there at that hour. the eagle eye of the captain or the sergeant had detected the unshined shoes that morning at inspection, and their wearer had been sent from the ranks in disgrace. probably he had received fifteen demerits to boot. it would be too bad for him if those shoes were not shined before chapel that evening. the boy only grunted when leonard spoke to him, but a mournful, melancholy tune emanated from his throat as soon as the visitor was out of sight. leonard's quick ear caught the tune and also the words: oh i got nobody-ee-ee-ee-ee, fo' to tell mah troubles to- - - . leonard went to his own cozy, comfortable room and sat down changing winds on the edge of the bed. "nobody to tell 'em to," he mused. "yes, they're all gone now." then he thought of alice. the more he thought of her the more he longed to see her. she was kind. she was sympathetic. she was endowed with a lot of practical common sense. the more he thought of her, the more he realized he needed her; needed her badly right then. he needed her to "tell his troubles to." he wrote a note to send to her during the supper hour, in- forming her he was asking permission to see her in the girl's parlor that evening before chapel. he obtained his request from the matron. she was as glad to see him as he was to see her. he told her of his recent experiences in kentucky—told her much, but nothing about gladys. she told him all that had happened after he left the picnic that afternoon—told him much, but not that her chums had teased her and told her he had gone where he would see some of his white girl friends and that she was crazy to take up time with htm. now she would have something to tell them. it was the first time he had ever visited her in the parlor. parlor visits were seldom allowed, and the girl fortunate enough to get a "parlor call" from a special friend was envied. it was proof of a close friendship—of what was considered to be more than mere friend- ship. his visiting time was nearly spent before he told her about the song he had heard in the old barracks. "that's why i came to you," he said. "somehow i feel like i'm going to have plenty troubles to tell someone from now on." she laughed. she was wearing the plain, dark-blue uniform, but it became her well, and for the first time he noticed how slender her fingers were. "guess i can bear your troubles and mine too, leonard. i'm big and tough and hard as nails. they won't get me down, for i never worry long about anything." her merry, sarcastic words brought smiles to his face. "big and tough! that's some joke. bet you don't weigh ninety pounds." "oh, what a poor guesser! why, i weigh a hundred and two." he wanted to tell her much more. it was on his mind to ask run, zebra, run! her to many him after they were graduated, but he could not summon the necessary nerve. he wanted to be perfectly honest, and he was afraid he didn't love her well enough to marry her. in fact, he knew he didn't love her at all—not as he had loved gladys. would it be all right to ask a girl you didn't love to marry you? but from that day on, little, friendly, sensible alice was his guiding light and shining star at tuskegee. no matter how diffi- cult or embarrassing the situations he got into, she seemed always able to get him out of them, and in the right way. there was a grown woman's head on her young shoulders. she mothered him as she would have mothered a child. she always had so much more to give to him than he could give to her, and, though he showered on her every gift he could persuade her to accept, deep down in his heart he felt she was never fully recompensed. he wrote to bernice every two weeks. in her first letter after the death of her grandfather, she chided leonard because he neglected to seek an opportunity to be alone with her. "i hardly got a chance to look at you," she wrote. "you must have known how badly i wanted to kiss that sorrowful face of yours. you'll understand some day how wrong it is to mistreat one who loves you as much as i do." he was always glad to hear from her as she kept him informed about all the goings on at the harkers', and her letters were full of love right from the heart. he often wondered how she could possibly love him so much when she must have known her love was not returned in the least. his letters to her were brief and full of nonsense. she would be graduated from the seminary in may. early that month he wrote to her and asked what she wanted for her graduation pres- ent; he also inquired whether she would teach the next year or get married. her reply was frank. "no, leonard, sweetheart, husband. i am not going to teach or marry. i hope to be busy mothering the dearest little thing in the world—your baby and mine. i wouldn't tell you before be- cause i didn't want to bother you with such good news till school was out. oh, leonard, you don't know how happy i am. i know changing winds i can never get you, but, just think, i'll always be able to hold in my arms and have to love a part of you." the "good news" surprised and worried him. he felt sorry for her and was angry with himself. but he realized there was little he could do. he offered to send any amount of money she needed, but when she replied she refused his offer. "dad knows all about it," she wrote. "he even knows it's your child, and he's treated me square. it will be born in a hospital in covington, and afterward i'm going to take a position with my best girl friend's father, who runs a string of restaurants in indiana. i'll always be able to keep the baby with me. no orphan- age for your child, pretty boy." summer passed and then came his senior year. soon he would be out in the world. he had heard much about that time since entering tuskegee. tuskegee had been preparing him to face that world—to face it as a true tuskegeean. he knew the principles of his alma mater and what was expected of every graduate. he must go out and work and serve. he must be an example wherever he went. he must bring no disgrace upon himself or upon his school. his teachers and instructors considered him to be one of the few students fortune had smiled upon. most of his fellow students wished they could stand in his shoes. physically, he was well built, he had a handsome face, his curly black hair was thick and luxuriant. his only physical blemish was his color—he was too white for a negro, even for a yellow or mulatto negro. he was blessed with a keen intelligence; he had grasped and mastered every subject he was taught. and he had money—plenty of money —nearly two thousand dollars in the bank. little wonder he was envied, when per cent of his fellow students had never pos- sessed as much as fifty dollars. yes, he was prepared, and was going out into the world to work and serve as a true tuskegeean. serve whom? his race, of course. he would get a position in some machine shop and, after he became of age and received his legacy, he would have a shop of his own. he would join a colored church, a colored lodge, colored clubs. he would marry a colored girl—probably alice. run, zebra, run! his children would be colored children. in spite of his color and features, tuskegee, now ready to graduate him, had made him a pure american negro. commencement came with all its worry, work, and excitement. alice was the second highest student, the salutatorian of their class. he stood next to alice. his teachers knew that all that kept him from heading his class was his color. it would never do for one so white to receive the valedictory honors before the many southern and white visitors. his graduation address was about machines and machinery. few understood what he was talking about; but at its conclusion, he was roundly applauded. the audience was applauding the young man, not his address. they were applauding him—the one who had stood there before them looking so handsome in his new captain's uniform, who had spoken so plainly, who had enunciated so distinctly—who had shown in his speech not the slightest trace of the dialect of his race. every white mother and father there would have been proud of him had he been their son. some of them secretly wished he was their son. some of them felt sorry for him; others wondered why he was there when he could have been elsewhere—in some other school. some of them even said in their hearts that he was out of place there—there with those negroes. but not one of them would have accepted him as their equal. wasn't he there? then—he bore the stigma. he sang the hymn of his alma mater as fervently as any of his classmates. ah, "mother tuskegee," a noble son is leaving your bosom! a son who loves you and respects you. a son who has promised to be faithful to your teachings and never to forget your instructions. there he goes, mother, out into the world—your son! yes, you have made him a pretty good negro. he doesn't want to be a great president any more—he wants to be a good machinist. he doesn't want to own a bank—he wants to own a machine shop. he doesn't want to live in a mansion—he wants to live in the kind of house ordinary colored people live in. he doesn't want to ride in a pullman—he wants to ride in a jim crow coach. he doesn't want to sing a carol—he wants to sing a changing winds spiritual. he doesn't want gladys or bernice—he thinks he wants alice. mother, behold your son! it is may—and he was born in the fall of the year. he won't be of age for another six months. there is a fast-growing, in- dustrial city in northern alabama, where the ambitious and dili- gent tuskegee graduate can always get a job. his grips are packed. the train is at the station. the conductor shouts, "all aboard!" run, zebra, run! "what would you order, george, if you were real hungry?" he looked up into the waiter's face. then his eyes fell and his mouth flew wide open; his shoulders gave a quick jerk. the waiter was giblets! "giblets," a fellow tuskegeean, had come up on the same train with him two days before. he had told him that he worked in a restaurant every summer and got good tips but a mighty poor salary. he had told giblets he was going to get a job working at his trade. the waiter winked slyly and stooped low. "don't be scared, hall," he whispered. "i don't blame you. i know how to keep my mouth shut. take it easy. i'll bring you a dinner you'll like." he was relieved and thanked him when through dining, leonard tipped him a dollar. giblets never let on. instead, he handed him his hat and bowed respectfully. that night he wrote alice a long letter and told her of his troubles. he told her where he was living and how he was living. he tried to tell her how he felt. "i don't want to do this thing," he wrote. "i feel like i'm sinning against my people—our people. if i continue like this, i'll always feel like i'm living a he. i want to be true to myself and to my race. i don't want to run away from this, so don't advise me to leave birmingham. i can't trust myself. if i leave here, i am sure to keep on being white. i want to fight this thing out now, once and for all; and i want the negro in me to win the fight." she replied immediately and her letter made him jubilant. he kissed her photograph, which he kept well hidden, a dozen times or more. now he knew he would never be able to get along in the world without her. she wrote: leonard, i think you're making a catfish out of a minnow. you'll learn the ways of this country and the people by and by. what's hitting a "poor-white" man? aren't our men doing that in this country every day? sure, they'll give you ten years if they catch you, and you don't try to settle it. but it will be easy to settle. you call them "poor whites." if you knew them as well as i do, you would know just how poor they are. the majority of them are as poor in manhood as they are in gold. that's your cue. in birmingham now you do this. go to some good lawyer there, who usually settles fighting cases between whites and our people, and tell him to offer the fellow you hit fifty dollars to take up his warrant. he'll be so glad to get your fifty dollars he'll forget you ever struck him. that's more money than he's making in a whole month—perhaps more than he's ever had at one time in his life. send the old gun back, too. and don't work in such places any more. you were made to boss others—not to be bossed. he settled the case in two days, settled it as alice said he could. but the yankee in him would not permit him to give up the room until his month was out. he had paid for a month's lodging and he got it. but he was glad—so glad—when he moved to mrs. jackson's, where a half-dozen other tuskegee boys roomed and boarded. here they had a piano in the parlor and they sang spirituals every night. he was glad when he could hold up his head in a negro church and when he could sit in a negro barber- shop reading a negro newspaper. he was glad, too, when he found a small, vacant building near the negro district—but also near the business district—that he could use as a machine shop. he bought a few secondhand machines—a lathe, drill press, and boring machine—and soon was getting some custom and earning his expenses. then he could experiment there with his newfangled engine reverse gear. he was happy and satisfied. in birmingham he worked and dreamed throughout the sum- mer. in september, bernice wrote and told him about the birth of a little daughter, whom she named catherine marcella. and in november he celebrated the birthday of the son of another cath- erine, born twenty-one years before. run, zebra, run! him, and did it. then he could feel the raw sore which was so hard to heal. then he could feel the irritation of the rough cottonade shirt he wore. that night he wanted to remember—and he did remember. he remembered the persecutions, cruelties, insults, slights. he remembered well the first time a white hand had struck him with- out cause. the bushy-browed stranger's hand—at elwood's mother's gate. his mother, too! his mother! so kind and tender! so gentle and loving! how could anyone with a heart at all be cruel to her? but so many of them didn't have hearts—these white people. these smart, christian, civilized, cruel, devilish, mean white peo- ple! so different from colored people. he had never heard of a colored person being mean to a child. the most ignorant colored person, though living in the depths of the south, though poor and wretched and hardly human, even such a colored person as that would fight anybody or anything—a white man or a circle saw— about his children. leonard sold the few machines he had in his shop, packed his grips, and purchased a through ticket to bridgeville. he didn't tell anyone he was leaving birmingham—not even alice. he didn't know why he was going. but he knew something, some power, impelled him. he took a seat in the jim crow coach, and the negro porter politely informed him he couldn't stay there. before leonard could stop him, he was lifting his grips from the rack. into the white coach they went, and he quickly glanced at the faces of his fellow passengers. near the center sat a girl reading a magazine. he took the seat opposite her. she reminded him of cindy, the worst of the harker women. brown hair and eyes, a rather full, round face. perhaps cindy looked something like that when she was young. she raised her eyes and looked at him and he felt uncomfortable. soon he was restless, moving about in his seat. nothing he saw out the windows interested him. something was wrong—something. he had to move. run, zebra, run! and there was the orphans' home—newly painted a buff color. it didn't look right. he wished they had left the brick walls red. george vanalban was in his office at eleven o'clock and he told his secretary to admit the young man. leonard entered. "shut the door," he said gruffly. they faced each other. the young man was as tall as his mother's brother. steel-gray eyes met flashing black eyes on a per- fect level. george vanalban's eyes were hard and piercing, while leonard hall's were soft and piercing. vanalban could hurt and never be sorry. hall could hurt, too—but could bind up the wounds he made. "well, what can i do for you, leonard?" "give me a little information, mr. vanalban. i'd like to know the exact amount of money my mother left with her uncle silas. i'm twenty-one now." george vanalban turned red when he heard the words "my mother." perhaps it was because the young man emphasized those two words. if vanalban had any doubt his visitor was familiar with the circumstances of his birth and early boyhood, leonard's nonchalant demeanor and positive manner of speaking dispelled the doubt. something resembling a hypocritical grin changed the expression on the elder man's face. "how much have they given you?" he queried. "a thousand dollars." the hypocritical grin changed to a sneering cackle. "whew! hey-hey! a thousand dollars! don't you think that's enough money for a nigger to have to throw away?" once before in his life leonard had felt as he felt that instant —after george vanalban uttered those words. only once before, the time he realized jay harker had attempted to murder him. he laughed, clenched his fists, and advanced toward vanalban. "take that word back, you insulting brute—you dog." his large fist was dangerously near vanalban's face. "take it back, or, by god, i'll brain you." vanalban knew he had met his match. he had kicked many a man—men larger than leonard—out of that very office. but he knew he had better not try to kick the one there now. back to bridgeville "take it back," leonard repeated. "i mean for you to swallow it. now!" "all right. i apologize. didn't think it'd make you mad." then he talked on rapidly, "can't tell you offhand how much it was. just a few thousand." leonard's jaws clicked. "i'm not asking for the money. your damned tribe'll need it before i will. i know i've been robbed. you've all robbed me and your uncle silas, like you robbed my mother. i just came to let you know i know it. came to let you know i remember you shoved me over and abused me in front of your father's house when i was a kid. i ought to make you apolo- gize for that, too. you're a dirty dog and a heartless beast. you'll be dead pretty soon and you're one animal the world won't miss. lead the way out of here, you damned dog." vanalban was glad to be relieved of the young man's pres- ence, and leonard was glad to get away from the bank. "if he ever comes here again don't let me see him. tell him i'm not in. tell him i'm out of town—dead—anything. keep him out of here." the banker's secretary had never seen him so agitated. he left immediately for his residence and did not come out of the house again all day. leonard returned to the depot. then he thought of the letters he was to write to alice and bernice. "to hell with both of them," he muttered under his breath. "bernice! love! huh!" he grunted. "she's white. she's a harker. from now on i'm crushing everything white i can lay my hands on. and the niggers—they'd be in my way. from now on it's hate for hate!" run, zebra, run! her clean, new shiny little room looked like an oasis in a desert. there was hot and cold water, a desk and revolving chair, a glass-topped table, a cupboard and covered jars of bandages, gauze, and other surgical supplies. she felt very happy. here was opportunity—unusual opportunity. hardly one colored nurse among a thousand had such an opportunity as she had. she was the only colored industrial nurse in birmingham—perhaps in the whole south. and, too, leonard was somewhere in birmingham. she hadn't heard from him lately, but she knew she would hear from him. they could be together again. yes, she was happy. she was examining her paraphernalia and supplies when the two white men entered—the general manager and tom block. tom saw her first, for he entered first. he was blinking his eyes. "hello. you've got your first job, nurse. something's in my eye." he sat down in the chair in the center of the room beneath the bright electric light and rested his head in the v-shaped cushioned slot. the nurse wrapped some cotton around the end of a little stick, dipped it in a solution, and her hand appeared above his face. "which eye is it?" she talked like an experienced profes- sional. there was no nervousness, no hesitancy. "the right one—no—the left one." he continued blinking. "gosh! i believe it's both of them." she examined his eyes, found nothing, but washed them out anyway and gave him a piece of dean cotton. then, going to the basin, she rinsed her hands. tom looked at her as she turned her back to him, and the general manager winked slyly. he knew the young man's weak- ness. remarking that he had to go to the office, he left the young people alone. of course tom got "fresh," as the colored girls say, when insulted by white men. she expected him to get fresh. poor-white or rich-white, sinner-white or christian-white, had he not gotten fresh he would have been the lone one out of the dozen who don't do so whenever opportunity presents. he continued blink- behind the magnolias ing his eyes. gose to her, he ran his hand down her arm, then tapped her velvet-bronzed cheek. "certainly a neat little chicken. i like little women. how about a date?" she looked him squarely in the eyes and never blushed a shade. "nothing doing. i'm not that kind." "oh, come on. be sweet. i'll give you a ten-spot." his face was very red. "nothing doing," she repeated. "not for a hundred of your ten-spots. leave me alone." she backed away from him and looked toward the door. he lingered a moment. suddenly she faced him again. "i know what you expect," she told him. "i need the position and will do the best i can. but if you expect me to pay your price for it, i don't want it. i like my own kind." he was a white man and a gentleman among his kind. yes, he realized instantly she was also his kind. no difference at all but the skin color. she had principles—high ones. she was intelligent. she had plenty of common sense. she even had grit. she reminded him of a few of the poor northern white girls he had met in pitts- burgh. he was compelled to say it. her cool demeanor—her flashing eyes—her sincerity—forced the words from him. "i'll always admire you, nurse. if any of this poor-white trash around here bothers you, let me know about it. we'll get along from now on." then he laughed. "but i hope you back- slide some day," he said as he walked out. she remained there two years and never called on tom for assistance. she was always able to take care of herself. then the gas and the smoke and the dust got into her lungs, and she could not get it out. her physician asked her if she wanted to live. she replied in the affirmative. "then get out of that mill and get away from this town," he warned. she did. two years—and leonard hall had left a red trail of sin and folly from bridgeville to the pacific coast, then east to the south run, zebra, run! atlantic, then north, and west again to chicago, then down through the central south. he was no longer a negro. neither was he a white man. he was an arch-hypocrite. his name was not leonard hall. he could not remember all the names he had given himself. he was a purveyor of hate and ruin to every white who fell for his false friendship—to every white he could betray. they dropped into his clutches as insects fall into dripping honey. he was handsome. he had a smooth voice and an oily tongue. he could play the piano and sing like a lark. he could make love like a romeo. he had nerve, and he got money. in the small cities and towns he was very lucky. suddenly he would appear in the sunday school—in the christian endeavor meeting—or his voice would ring out so sweetly during the church service all eyes would turn toward him. after church the choirmaster and members would congregate about him, would invite him into their organization and into their homes. then— the serpent would bite! if he ran short of money, there was always the race track. he knew horses. he bet heavily and seldom lost. too, he was a first- dass mechanic, a sort of genius with tools. the automobile had appeared and he quickly became an adept hand at repairing its intricate parts and mechanism. automobile owners had to have money then. he knew this and forced them to pay him well for any work he performed. he purchased a car for his own use, and found it very handy for his purposes. the red trail wound on. here, a newborn baby wailed, and the young, unwed mother held it to her breast and wept. thank god she would never know her little one was branded with the great american stigma—a few drops of negro blood. for its father never fell so low as to tell that to a girl whose virtue he had stolen. no, no! not that! not that—because the stigma could be hidden. he knew this was true. he had hidden it himself. and he knew, too, it is hidden so often and in such unsuspected hiding places. a priest in a "white" church—the editor and owner of a big "white" metropolitan daily—the pretty star in a "white" pic- ture—a physician whose practice was limited to "white only"— even a white who had had a negro lynched. he had met these behind the magnolias characters and others and discovered they were hiding the stigma! how could one tell who was not hiding it, here in the united states, where whites have been cohabiting with blacks and browns and yellows and other stigmatized whites for more than three hundred years? the red trail wound on. the south was warmer in the winter time. he wanted to go to miami and palm beach—probably on to havana. he always had a better time in the south. then polly lived in the south, and he was getting a little silly about polly. polly held him at arm's length. he had only kissed her once—in new york. but she was going to miami that winter. she was looking for a husband. he wasn't looking for a wife, but he wanted polly. he might go so far as to marry her if he couldn't get her any other way. no, that was out of the question. her family was too rich and aristocratic. old southern stock and all that. ■ they would try to investigate his family tree. he laughed. family tree! yes, but he just had to have polly. he wanted to have a good time with her in miami. he couldn't see any other girl right then. so he would go to memphis where she lived. her father owned a big department store. he had been to the home—twice. out there on the bluff. some place that! plenty of eats and drinks too! but he didn't drink. he hated the stuff. but gosh the eats! and he certainly loved good food. that old colored cook polly's folks had! he laughed. wouldn't the old sister lay down that "foot- wash baptist religion" and "mess aroun' " some if she knew who she was cooking for and who that pretty yellow housemaid was waiting on? the red trail wound on. it had been winding for nearly three years. now, his new automobile was causing it to zigzag and deviate more. it wound into nashville and deviated from the negro district, for he knew too many big negroes who lived in nashville. then on to memphis. the red trail wound on in memphis—up rather close to the river—then back a few blocks. he would cross beale street—the "black street," at the east end of it. there wasn't much danger, but still some damn-fool nigger who once knew him might see run, zebra, run! him and recognize him. had to be careful in the south, always. he had never forgotten soil's in birmingham, and giblets. it was very early in the morning, though, and few were out—only negroes—and they were going to work as usual, early in the morning. they didn't have time to notice strangers. he thought of the song he had heard them sing: po' niggah—po' niggah— wo'k th' hardes'—eat th' wust: po' niggah—po niggah—. git tuh bed las'—git hup fust! the red trail wound on, across beale street, then ended—in a pool of red blood. the negro truck driver reported the accident to the policeman on the beat in this fashion: "boss, he war starin' so hard at a gal dar on de sidewalk he newah looked at de lights a'tall. he ran right plum' dab inter me." after the keeper of the peace discovered the white merchant's big truck wasn't damaged in the least and that the driver and owner of the smashed car must have been a colored man, for he was taken to the colored hospital, he thought no more about it. he never even reported the accident to his superiors until he was off duty that evening. "nobody got hurt but a nigger. one o' them smart yaller niggers too. sarved him right," he told them. she knew him when she saw him staring at her, but it hap- pened so suddenly. "help me get him to the hospital, please," she requested. while four of them—all colored men—were picking him up an onlooker objected. he was a well-dressed individual of digni- fied appearance. "you'd better let me call an ambulance, miss, and let them take him to the other hospital uptown. you know we haven't much room over there in ours. we haven't enough room for our own folks." alice knew the objecting individual and never replied. only behind the magnolias a short time before, his dying sister was refused admission to one of the white hospitals in that very city although the family had money and the authorities knew they could pay. when the surgeon arrived, she had him undressed and on the operating table. the surgeon threw back the blanket that covered the wounded body. "too bad," he remarked. "certainly a fine physique." he requested his instruments and went to work. there was a slight fracture of the skull, a broken arm, and numerous cuts and bruises. "he won't die. make a careful report of this case, miss boone. we must remove him to the white hospital as soon as we wake him up." "he isn't a white man." alice's voice was low and trembled a little. the surgeon stared at her in amazement. "what! if he's not white then i'm not black!" the surgeon was very black—a shiny black. even the palms of his soft hands were purple. "i know him, doctor. he graduated from tuskegee when i did. his name is leonard hall." he had over five hundred dollars in his pocket and the identi- fication card read "philip c. tyler." inside his watch case was a photograph of a pretty, laughing girl—a white girl. the surgeon's sharp eyes twinkled. "i knew you were mistaken, miss boone. this girl's face looks familiar. think i've seen it in some paper or other." "you have. in the commercial-appeal's society columns many times. it's polly greenlea—the department store, you know. but i'm not mistaken, doctor. this man is leonard hall." she compelled them to search his grips. surely somewhere among his personal effects was the proof she needed. they dis- covered it—within a sealed envelope. "don't open except in case of emergency" was written on the outside. alice opened the en- velope with her own slim fingers. there they discovered her photograph and his—taken at tuskegee. the hospital had been an old southern mansion. it sat far back from the street behind a semicircle of stately magnolias. run, zebra, run! here, for a month, a gentle, bronze-skinned angel ministered onto a white-skinned devil. her soft fingers touched him, but he could not see them. hate and sin—and now, physical pain and disappointment had calloused his very soul. and he still wanted to see polly and go to miami. miss greenlea was angry and hurt when he didn't appear the day he said he was coming to visit her. then she thought about it and the more she thought the more she was convinced something had happened to him. he wasn't the kind to he—not to her. she knew he liked her. when a friend both knew in chicago wired that "tyler" had left that city a month before, she confided her fears to the colored maid. sometimes colored maids, especially experienced ones like the greenleas', know just how to meet emergencies. they all know—when they are suspicious—and the greenleas' maid was a suspicious soul. she happened to be acquainted with a maid who worked at the colored hospital, and the hospital maid had told her all about the "yaller niggah" there they all thought was a white man. "i thinks i cawn he'p yo' out, miss polly," she told her agitated mistress. "don't wantta hurt yo' feelin's, but i'se newah thought that ere tyler war a white man. i thinks he's one o' us— jist pass in'. i thinks yo' all'll fin' 'im right heah in our hospital, right heah in memphis." alice was sitting by the window, sewing, and leonard was dozing, when the limousine driven by the liveried black chauffeur stopped before the hospital entrance. she saw polly alight, smoothed the blankets over her patient, and picked up a news- paper lying on the extra chair. she met the white girl at the door. "gome this way, please," was all she said. polly stood over the sleeping patient. then she looked at alice and shook her head. tears welled in the eyes of the colored girl. leonard awoke with a start and both of them were looking down on him. he tried to smile, then turned his head and covered his face with the hand he could use. the white girl touched him. "shame on you," she said. turn over and let me see that behind the magnolias handsome face again." he did as she wished and she laughed. it was a pleasant little laugh. "don't be afraid, philip. it was good while it lasted. i admire your courage, but i pity your judgment," she added. "you have a mighty sweet little nurse. hope you get well soon. here," she held out her hand. "shake. i'd kiss you if your nurse wasn't here. she'd tell it. i can tell by the way she looks at us." then the smile on her face vanished. "you'd better not play your game too often. you almost got beat this time." she turned, dignified and smiling again. a low voice from the covers answered her pleasant adieu as she passed out into the hall. the nurse returned to the room. shortly, he heard the limou- sine drive away. "come here, alice. please come here," he pleaded. she stood afar off, her expression solemn and pitiful. "oh, alice! please come here." she never moved. "oh, hell and damnation!" he groaned and turned his head and wept. her eyes were not dry either when he looked at her again; but she was sitting close to his bed. "alice, can you forgive me?" "certainly. i have forgiven you. ask the good lord to for- give you now, leonard." and she stroked his forehead with the tips of her soft fingers. chapter thirty-two through the shadows when the kind surgeon came into the room one day and found alice sitting on the arm of the rocking chair leonard was occupying, he did not reprimand her. he had told his friends she was the best unmarried girl he had met in many moons. he was happily married himself and loved his pretty mulatto wife and five healthy children. he had often chided alice because she didn't go out much with boy friends. now he knew why. that little flame had been burning there in her heart since those tuske- gee days of which she talked so much. but when he saw her sit- ting on the arm of the chair, he wanted to call his rapidly convalescing patient a rat. leonard asked her to marry him the day after polly's visit. she would make him no promises. but she told him she liked him—liked him better than anyone she knew. "then why not marry me, alice?" he insisted. "i can't do without you. if you don't marry me, the devil will get me sure the next time." "i'm not certain but what he still has you," she replied, laughing. "you stop thinking about me and what you want until you get well. sick people haven't any sense. they don't know what they want." then the day came when he had to leave the hospital. he could have left a month sooner, but there was room for him, and he could afford to pay for his care. he had asked the surgeon to give alice the day off and had gained his consent. "yes. take her and make her happy, young man. the poor girl. she deserves happiness if anyone does." his car, repaired and in good running order, was waiting for them at a nearby garage. she knew some people in the country so they drove out there. they were returning to the city in mid- through the shadows cozy, convenient four-room apartment. she loved the noise, smell, and sights of the big city and wanted to stay in the midst of them. she was a country girl in town—a southern girl in the north. he couldn't change her and he never tried. he could only be happy and contented when she was. then, suddenly, he sold his patent to the very company that employed him. sold it through their main offices in pittsburgh. they gave him ten thousand dollars for it and per cent royalty on sales. it was to bear his name, "the hall." alice shed tears of joy because he was so happy. they went out that night and danced for an hour together, something they had not done since the night they were invited to a little party at a teacher's home in tuskegee. and when they returned to their apartment . . . in the summer, the lake breezes usually found their open win- dows around eleven o'clock, and then, in his pajamas, he would sit in the roomy, upholstered chair and scan the daily paper. it was alice's time to "doll up to go to bed," he called it. but when he tossed the paper to the floor and rested his head on his hand—it was her time to come to him and squeeze down into the chair with him and receive the kisses he pressed on her velvet cheeks and lips. she was sitting there then—that night, that happy night— when she rubbed his last kiss off her cheek onto the front of his pajama coat, then sat upright, looked into his eyes and smiled. "want to know something, leonard?" "uh-huh." he was building an air castle—a big one now—for he had ten thousand dollars. he hardly knew what she said. she put her little hands on his broad shoulders and shook him. "wake up! wake up and listen." then, putting her lips close to his ear, she whispered, "you're going to be a daddy, leonard." he awoke with a start. "what! what! oh, alice—" he rose quickly, picked her up, and laid her on the bed, then dropped to his knees and laid his head on her breast. "thank god." his voice modulated to a whisper. "thank god—my mother's god—old man harker's god—your people's god—the god that made me find you again." leonard quit his job, started another shop of his own, and run, zebra, run! began to talk, walk, and act very importantly. soon he had more work than he could do and hired an assistant. then he took on three colored boys as apprentices. then he was compelled to hire more help. he became a small manufacturer before he realized it. his story was just another one of those good success stories, so common in the united states. so common here, where "every prospect pleases," and every opportunity is, and everyone—black, white, brown, yellow, or red—can find a way to success or make a way! so common here—where there is nothing ever seriously wrong with the country, and what wrong there is, in the country, is just what has been created and invented by thoughtless, igno- rant, evil, or misguided citizens. they named their baby harriet because alice thought the name was a pretty one. the little brown mother's one wish was to see her baby toddling around. the cheerful smile, which had been the light of the cozy apartment, was fast becoming fainter. the shadows were thickening. soon, very soon, both husband and wife knew the light would vanish. both were brave—very brave. and the precocious little harriet herself seemed to know the wish of her mother's heart. she started crawling before she was nine months old; soon she was grasping her father's forefinger and holding on for dear life, while the chubby little feet took their first steps. then alice said she knew heaven must be a wonder- ful place indeed, if she could be happier there than she was here with her baby and husband. and when she said this to leonard he kissed her hectic forehead, then went outside and walked around the block so she wouldn't see his tears. oh, she gave him so much to live for! so much to live right for! in spite of his sorrow, he felt that he was living not in a sad, dreary, and evil world. the conqueror was riding again! she had taught him to conquer hate; and he had overcome the world. now he was living in a new world where there was love, and more peace than confusion; more honor than dishonor; more friendliness than enmity; more sympathy than disdain. alice's little brown hand had led him into this world. never again would he depart from it. she had taught him so well to look for the good in everything. she had taught him so well to see the good there is in everybody. chapter thirty-three the zebra rests after alice was gone, leonard sent baby harriet to her aunt at tuskegee, gave up the cozy apartment, and took a room in a hotel. every night, returning from work, he would stop at a florist's and purchase three cream-colored roses. he had always wanted to grow cream-colored roses. once mrs. jeff roth had given him a cutting from a rare and valuable monthly rosebush. he tended it with care and it rooted and grew. eventually it bloomed. then, it died. patience—wisdom—goodness. these were her supreme vir- tues. evenings, after he had scanned the daily paper he would look at the cream-colored roses. before he retired he would pick up the vase that held them and inhale the fragrance, subtle and sweet. cream-colored roses! not alice—but what alice was. patient, wise, and good. he was lonely but not regretful. the roses were not pretty—they were beautiful! the roses did not receive—they gave. alice—and the three cream-colored roses! the extras came out on a day two weeks later. men he had never seen before came to his shop. they wanted work done and done in a hurry. he accepted their business and worked far into the night. sometimes he never went to his room at all. the united states had declared war! chicago was full of tuskegeeans and some were leonard's former classmates and schoolmates who came to see him. they were going to des moines. was he going? uncle sam was train- ing colored men there for officers. yes, he would go—gladly. he closed his shop on sunday and looked up a recruiting officer to get some information. but he was on the "tuskegee list" and the officer had already made his investigation. they knew all about him and his business. no, he could not go to des moines. the govern- ment needed him in his shop right there in chicago. he hired every man and woman he could find who could run a , pro per university of michigan libraries, tes scientia veritas - books lauriats boston & chestnut hill property of university of michiñan libraries ies scientia veritas الم books lauriats boston & chestnut hill the band will not play dixie first edition copyright, , by theodore browne all rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form published by the exposition press inc. fourth avenue, new york , n. y. manufactured in the united states of america library of congress catalog card number: - -- ! ini - ( - the band will not play dixie my arrival back in new york city was as unceremonious as had been my departure. there had been no one to see me off when i sailed for europe; there was now, on my return, no one to greet me at the pier. i commandeered the first cab i got to and instructed the driver to take me to the booker t. washington hotel up in harlem. the swift newsreel of downtown manhattan ended when we rounded columbus circle and came up manhattan avenue along- side central park. we stopped for a traffic signal at the intersec- tion of th street and seventh avenue. i was in harlem. the booker t. was a little farther up the avenue. a man, lan- guishing with a pushbroom in the act of sweeping the sidewalk out front, noted our arrival and summoned a bellhop. the bellhop made a show of hustling himself into action. i no- ticed a pretty young thing saunter out of the lobby behind him and wait to one side in the doorway. meanwhile, he took my bags and i followed him inside, passing the pretty young thing who looked me up and down in a faceless, clinical fashion. "stick around,” he told her in an undertone. "i got plenty to do," she said impressively. "well, go 'head, then!” he sulked. the girl laughed heartlessly. he looked back at her and rolled his eyes, indignant and restrained. the lobby was small and unpretentious as hotel lobbies go. there was not a single potted palm or a green thing growing there. there was no attempt to make it other than a place to check in and check out. except for a circular bench in the center that faced the elevator, there was no place to sit or lounge. the lobby had the surface cleanliness of having been swept and dusted cursorily. a short, wide hall led off into a dining room. a waiter was clear- ing a table near the entrance. i could hear people chatting softly and the sounds they made with knives and forks, but all this activ- ity was out of sight and beyond the door. the desk clerk, a waspish young man, who had a scrubbed- clean, cocoa-brown complexion and was prematurely bald in front, had got himself off to a bad start by trying to take care of me and the switchboard at the same time. to make matters worse, the bell- hop baited him by banging the bell and calling attention to me. "will you stop it!" he shrieked. "where's sandra?" the bellhop asked. "how th'hell i know!” he snapped. “tha's what she here fuh. not you." "well, she's not here and i got to answer this switchboard." "ain't yo job.” "oh, go take a you-know-what for yourself!" he gave me a "yes, i said it and i'll say it again!" look. my aloofness did not soothe his wrath. finally, he untangled himself and came pouting to the desk and allowed me to register. he was coldly precise and efficient. i noticed the phi beta kappa key. there was no doubt of his feel- ing superior to his job and to these cheap surroundings. i had no- ticed, too, the title on the jacket of the book he must have laid aside when the switchboard had interrupted his reading, racial tensions-north and south. i would have liked to have asked him about the book, only i was afraid he might resent my inquisitive- ness. the bellhop, i think out of respect for me, restrained a mighty nasty urge, having suffered himself to wait this long for me to reg- ister. as he had done with the girl, he retaliated by rolling his eyes indignantly as he hustled up my bags and routed me toward the elevator. talking on the phone. when he saw me, he gawked and grinned. "say, hold the phone. . . . 'thello king!" i shook his left hand. he was holding the phone in his right. “'thello, i sure am glad to see you, boy. you sure looking fine. pull up that chair here and sit down. i'll be right with you, 'thello. . . . chivers? ... hello? ... lissen, here. i tell you what. i'll send sandra-you know sandra, my secretary-i'll send her out soon she gits back from lunch. i'll send her out and you give her all the details. how's that? fine! lovely! solid!” he turned to me. "'thello, boy, you sure looking good. nigger, how you manage to keep so chippie-looking, what i want to know, streamlined-and look at me? i borrowed your tux to wear to a for- mal once, remember?" “soft living," i laughed. “too much fried chicken and pork chops." taz shook his head remorsefully. “tha's a fact! i eat too damn much of what i oughtn't to eat. 'thello, you ought to know chivers bousefield-the urban-welfare-league bousefield? just occurred to me.” “i ought to. he's been my brother-in-law for twenty years.” "well, i'll be who-struck-john! s'if i don't know that! what th'hell is the matter with me, anyway? that was chivers bousefield i was just talking with on the phone. does he know you're here?” “not yet.” “mercedes know?" i shook my head. "wha's all the mystery?" "i want to surprise them." “they giving a little party tonight, you know—or, don't you?" i didn't, of course. "is it formal?” "oh, no, no, no," taz hastened to assure. “nothing but a lit- tle get-together. few of the 'intelligentsia' who like to gab about the race problem and that sort of thing, don't you know." chuckling over his briticism, taz lapsed back into his own comfortable south- ern naturalness. “that's right up chivers' alley!” he said. he joked about my brother-in-law chivers bousefield who was a regional secretary of the national urban welfare league. taz called the organization a talk-and-do-nothing outfit, claimed that all chivers did was compile a lot of worthless statistics about the negro-this and the-negro-that, making intricate charts of progress and decline. said taz, chivers even had charts to show the increase over a five-year period in the number of negro men who deserted their wives and children when the men lost their jobs. “ 'thello, you know for yourself, chivers's just trying to make his ownself look important! he ain't helping nobody solve nothing! now, is he?" taz had a perverse streak in his make-up. he was happiest when he could make fun of something or somebody. he even made fun of his own pomposity, recalling how he had put on the dog when he and gussie, his wife, attended a reception for the mayor at one of the big hotels downtown, how he "carried it off” without the white folks so much as suspecting that he really felt out of place. with all his college training, his ability, and affluence in the newspaper field, taz was still a big, corn-fed country boy, who could be counted upon to do anything that was expected of him, that is, providing it didn't jeopardize too many of the creature com- forts he slavishly loved. yet, he could be nagging and unreasonable when he sought to get his own way. he began to upbraid me for quitting my job as foreign correspondent. i knew this was coming. i argued that any- body could report the stuff i was sending him. i told him that biggy danbridge, whom i had left in charge of the office over there, was just as capable as i to do that kind of jejune reporting. when i said that, taz rolled his big eyes at me and puffed angrily. “what you talking 'bout, 'thello? biggy danbridge ain't no writer. why, that journalistic yardbird! what th'hell can he write! read this-_" he handed me the item biggy had just cabled from london, then he sat primly upright, his fat hands gingerly astride his hips, waiting for me to peruse the evidence which would make me out a liar. meanwhile, he fussed, “mess he wrote 'bout some african prince toko-some-goddam-thing (i'm positive he ain't got his name spelled right either!) having a audience with the queen. a nine-year-old child coulda reported better than that. fool don't even say where it took place! read it! biggy ain't doing a thing over yonder but whoring! no explanation of what business the prince was on. ... how much you bet me biggy was even there?" “what you gonna do with this?” i capitulated. i thought he was going to crush the cable with his big hands and pitch it into the wastebasket. no doubt he was tempted, but he restrained himself. “damn his ignorant soul to hell! and you give up your job to somebody like him!”. knowing taz, i knew he wasn't as outraged as he was then pretending to be. he loved this sort of thing, this pyrotechnical bitching "biggy studied journalism at columbia," i needled. "tha's the lie biggy told you," taz woofed. “you fool 'nough to believe that. the only thing biggy studied in his life is a rac- ing form! 'thello, for an intelligent man, i declare, you can sure let people talk you into believing everything they tell you. biggy went to columbia! biggy ain't went nowhere, you ask me. ol' biggy used to borrow books from the public library and carry them round under his arm-and pose!" "you don't think he read them?" "read what!" “he may have got the knowledge by osmosis," i suggested, with seeming innocence. "tha's the only way, too!" "i only took his word about columbia,” i said. taz threw up his hands. "'thello, please!” he entreated. we both burst out laughing together. subsiding and feeling much better, taz said, “i tell you, i'll guess up the missing information and stick the whole thing on page one. we got a picture of this prince took some years ago when he was in paris. ain't nobody goin' to know the difference, no- how.” he hastily scribbled a marginal note on the cable and laid it aside. he knocked the ashes from his pipe into the wastebasket, then burrowed the bowl inside his tobacco pouch. several matches were expended during the lighting process. belching a penumbral haze of sickly sweet smoke, taz settled back comfortably, the chair creaking in protest. the weighty calm was indicative. all joking aside now. "now, i want you to tell a fool something," taz resumed. “what th'hell you quit your job for? wha's this all about, anyway? in your letter you went all round robin hood's barnyard to tell me you was quitting. wha's behind all this? wha's your real reason? now, dispense with the double-talk. i want it straight. you don't have to be no diplomat with me. anything i hate is for a writer to talk the way he writes!" "you finished?" "you got the floor.” "i'll let you in on a little secret. i'm going to write a book.” taz looked fiercely at me. “is that all?” "what do you mean 'is that all? i have to gather material, which takes time. you know that." “ain't this a crime!" taz caviled. “hear you talk, you'd think you was writing a daily column! you coulda turned out half-dozen books. why, your job don't take up that much of your time. tell the truth, 'thello. now, does it? own up to the truth." “i have to be here to work on my book," i explained. “i have to consult with people like solomon morehouse and knock about the country and sort of find out first-hand what's going on.” "what sort of book is this you're writing, if i'm not being too personal? do i understand you to say you're going to consult with solomon morehouse?” i nodded. “the book's to be about him." "solomon morehouse?” his tone was disparaging. "most significant negro in america," i boosted. “biggest race leader since marcus garvey. he's getting things done, boy." "he's making a heap of sound and fury, if tha's what you mean," taz said. "what does surprise me is that you and your paper don't get solidly behind him. hitch your wagon to his star, man. he's going places. all you do is knock the man. if you're not knocking him, you do something worse, which is ignore him." “the examiner tries to be impartial. we don't kowtow and we don't ride on anybody's bandwagon." “impartiality often breeds contempt. you're either for him or you're against him. i think you're against him. honest to good- ness, the stuff you print about morehouse, you think some white southern liberal was writing it.” "awright, you! i'm goin' to tell you something. 'thello, you messin' with dynamite. i'm warning you, because you're my friend and i hate to see you get in wrong. solomon morehouse is a very dangerous man. oh, i admit he's done some good. we got seven negro congressmen, thanks mainly to his agitation. the federa- tion of workers in personal service is now a great national organi- zation--" “and whoever dreamed it was possible to organize negro women doing domestic service?" i pointed out. "yeah, i know. i know all that. he's done some good, but the harm he's done, in my opinion, far outweighs the good. i say he's dangerous. i say solomon morehouse is a dangerous spellbinder. he's one of them mass-hypnotists, much on the order of a hitler. all right, you laugh. 'tain't funny. why, man, solomon more- house has got negroes stirred up to a point where they're liable to wreck themselves and the entire country 'long with them. you haven't seen it, but i have. you hear me? he's got these negroes- not only here in new york city, but all throughout this here country-he got'em to a fever pitch of wild excitement. they gone crazy! man, they ready for anything he tells'em. why, father di- vine and marcus garvey never had the mass appeal as this con- juratin' nigger has. i'm here to tell you! i ain't exaggerating. i wouldn't lie. why should i lie? ... lissen heah, it ain't just to the ignorant he appeals. he's got young college intellectuals wav- ing his banners and out making fiery speeches on the street cor- ners. you don't realize the discontent and overcrowding thas' here. negro population alone has tripled inside three years! yes, sir! where they coming from?-every backwoods corner and hog wal- low in the south. i tell you, "thello, they some bad niggers in harlem now. you'll see when you've walked around a bit. be careful where you go. oh, my, they're bad! i got myself a police -- ! permit to tote a gun. yeah! i'll use it too, i have to. these niggers ain't to be trifled with. they tush-hog. ... new york just can't stand much more of this influx. problem of finding jobs for them and feeding the hungry. chivers bousefield can tell you how they're taxing the welfare funds of the city. you ask him about it tonight. get him to tell you. it's grim. it's frightening. you re- alize white folks have to work and eat, too. after all's said and done, they were here in this city when all these new niggers were down south picking cotton and grubbing 'taters. you know that. and, mind you, white folks here are beginning to take measures to protect their own interest. do you blame them? these new niggers don't belong up here. ain't no cotton to be picked up here. then, why in tarnashun don't they stay down south where there's room and need for them? no, a goddam hitler-minded nigger like solomon morehouse goes about agitating and urging a pack of ignorant black fools to leave home and migrate up here where they can vote for the things he tells them to vote for and nobody's going to lynch'em if they do. same conditions you find in the other big cities, take like in chicago, philadelphia, in detroit, in los angeles and san francisco. man, it's a dangerous, potential men- ace. white people are getting scared. it's getting out of hand. some- thing's gonna explode. brother, i am worried.” i half laughed. taz looked at me in helpless bewilderment, as if he questioned my sanity. “don't you see it, taz? can't you see he's playing for high stakes?" i said. “sounds fantastic, but morehouse is out to force the issue of a negro state. you must know that, taz." “i see what he's up to. sure, i see it,” taz cried. “it's the way this rabble-rouser is going about it that i don't like. this keeps up, us negroes won't have any white friends left. they'll all turn against us." “you mean, they'll be glad to get the negroes off their hands and give them their own autonomous state, or whatever it is they want, just to be rid of us. and morehouse certainly wants that to happen. pressure the white folks, till they in turn pressure con- gress to set up a negro homeland!" "all i say is: lord, deliver me! i know negroes. they'll get to said. i was burned up. "the better for what?" i asked. “the better for me, the better for you, the better for our race," he pontificated, keeping his voice soft but firm. “then you plan to ignore him?" i said. "far as the examiner is concerned, there ain't, there never was, and never will be a solomon morehouse. do i make myself clear?" "what is this-a one-man conspiracy of silence?" “call it whatever you like. don't take my word for it, 'thello. i'm not even going so far as to say that there aren't some of our papers that'll continue to publicize morehouse." "you're hinting pretty loud that the biggest ones have already joined the boycott against him.” taz dipped his head evasively, then came right back up with an arch grin rippling his mouth. he was cute and charming to watch. "well, sir, if you want to put it that way-yes. the white press and radio are both in on this, too. jesus christ, man! we have to do something! the country's already on the verge of another world war. niggers'll wreck the country so we'll all be at the mercy of communists. get this straight, i'm not telling you not to write your book. i'm only trying to warn you that you may not find your way into print, so wha's the sense wasting your time on a subject which is taboo? 'course, it's your funeral. if you persist in going ahead, well, tha's your black business!" "all right, lard-head, but you won't get sore at me if i don't take your advice?" "no. but you'll wish you had. you can have your old job back, anytime you feel that you've had your bellyful of that black mes- siah. i hope you puke your guts real soon, 'cause i know biggy danbridge'll never do on that overseas job." i felt like a wayward, unregenerate son toward him. "i'll see you and gussie tonight at sis's place." “okay, son.” "by the way, taz, how can i contact solomon morehouse?". "well, i hear–i don't know if it's true-i hear he's out on the coast right now. i hear he's a mighty sick man. all kinds of rumors flying around. i even hear tell he had a nervous breakdown. went so lightly with rouge. her hair had been dressed to a high gloss and ringed in an attractive halo. what a sweet, tiny black angel she would make, dressed in a white robe and equipped with wings to fly! she artfully wriggled herself loose. “oh! i'm terribly sorry!" i said. "i should look where i'm going," she said. “i should look where i'm going!" "my fault." "i looked to read the sign--" "oh, that sign! you could pass this place a million times and wouldn't know it was here," she laughed. “you got to bend way down to see it." and that was what she did to prove to me it was so. the cheeks of her small rump creased the thin dress she was wearing. "this iron railing is in the way," i said. "this thing!" she looked at it with an expression of long-suf- fering annoyance. then, i added, “i suppose it has to be here, or somebody'ud fall and crack his nut." "we need a better place, all right, one up on the street, but there's no other place available. and we have to locate in harlem. so ... that's that!" she smiled and ran down the steps. "hey!" i called after her. she reached the bottom, turned, and looked up at me like a startled doe. “you work here?" i asked. she bobbed her head as a little girl would do. “tell me—is mr. morehouse back?" this time, she shook her head as a little girl would do. "could i talk with his secretary?”. she wiggled her index finger, beckoning me to come downstairs. i followed her through a busy front office, where a dozen or more men and women were too preoccupied with whatever they were doing to notice me, through a maze of desks, filing cabinets, and mimeographing machines, to a door with the sign privatb painted in black on the frosted-glass portion. she opened the door, and when i was inside she closed it. she brought a chair from a cor- ner of the room and invited me to sit down, then she backed herself against the edge of solomon morehouse's desk, folded her arms, and regarded me quizzically. "secretary? you?" "i'm ravenna snowden,” she said. “i'm-_" "you're mr. king-mr. othello king, the writer.” "that's right. how did you know?" “i had a hunch.” "it was a good one!" “i could have been wrong, though. biggy danbridge wrote and told me that you might be coming in to see us. so-i've sort of been on the lookout for you." “so, you know biggy?" "he used to go with my sister. she got tired of waiting for biggy, so she just upped and married another fellow. what's biggy doing over there?” she had the cutest way of hugging herself and giggling. i was no longer someone she was meeting for the first time. she could be her bubbling little self with me. "i know! i know!" she squealed. “he's running true to form," i grinned. i'd say ravenna was twenty-three. she couldn't have been much older. i think she'd always been a "little woman," from the day she started to walk. she'd been a rather pert and precocious "little woman,” butting into older people's conversations, and being sharply admonished that "little children should be seen, but not heard." "i didn't know biggy'd written to you,” i said. “in fact, i didn't know that you two knew each other. i don't even recollect my talking with biggy about morehouse. it may have slipped out. i might have been thinking out loud, and he probably overheard me. i have that habit sometimes of thinking out loud. maybe he could have got the idea from the clipping files i've kept on morehouse and the double-a.i.a.” "well, he didn't say exactly what it was you wanted to find out. you know biggy. he just says you're a friend of his, and if you should come in to see us to give you any information we might have. i assumed you might be wanting to do an article about the double-a.i.a.” “yes, that's partly it. i already know a great deal about the organization itself, you understand, but what i'm primarily inter- ested in right now is solomon morehouse himself. i want the facts about him as a man, as a leader, well, a thorough briefing on his life and struggles.” she was nodding her head to assure me that she understood my intentions perfectly. "you see, miss snowden, i wish to know as much about him as it is possible to know. do you think he'll co-operate?". “i think he will. i think he'll be glad to." “good! i'll be getting around and interviewing other people who've known him for some time. anybody who's been in the limelight as long as he has, and accomplished all he has, must have made all sorts of enemies and friends. naturally, i want his story from his own lips first. i'd like to get together with him as soon as possible. i understand he's out in california, 'least, i've been told he is.” "yes ... he is." "when you expect him back?" "i don't know, mr. king. i really don't. mr. morehouse left on a speaking tour of the west coast. that's far as i know." ravenna's open, butter-melting countenance was about the worst place for a lie to hide. it was a dead giveaway. "then, he's not ill?" "oh, no!" "how long's he been gone?" "how long?" "yes." "well ... uh . . . well, it's over a month, i would say. oh, but that's nothing. he's away from the home office a good deal of the time, you know. he's traveling about the country, dropping in on the different branch offices. he's in great demand as a speaker. of course, our newspapers haven't been giving mr. morehouse much publicity of late.” “so i've heard." "unless," she went on, with a tang of bitterness in her voice, “it's to belittle or to misrepresent what the double-a.i.a.'s doing. oh, they're great on ridiculing everything that has to do with us. they send their reporters out to cover all the mass meetings, but they won't write up a thing about us, unless something bad, like a fist fight, happens. would you believe it, they won't even print the bulletins we send them, even though we offer to pay for the space? we have to get out all our own notices. they won't run our things. won't sell us any space. they're terrible!" i didn't realize that the door had been opened, until all at once i heard the thrashing sound of typewriters and mimeographing machines and noticed the abrupt batting of ravenna's eyes. turn- ing in my chair, i looked up into the cold, fishy eyes of a jaundice- complexioned, short, and rather chesty man who, i would say, was in his middle fifties. his face looked as though he had shaved sev- eral days under the skin and scrubbed all the oil from his pores, it was so dry and tight. he had the calculating, cautious and, i thought, squeamish reserve of a professor of social science, or some- thing that has to do with sizing up people objectively and catalogu- ing them according to type. his sandy red hair was close-cropped and slicked down on top with a sticky, mild-scented pomade, but was kinky about the sides where it had grown too long. i saw imme- diately that ravenna put herself on guard. she may have suspected, as i did, that he had been outside the door for a time listening to what we'd been saying ravenna, in a rather awkward fashion, introduced him to me as haskell sneed, legal adviser and director of research. "othello king of the harlem news examiner?" he queried. he seemed overly impressed. "oh, yes! did you just recently return from abroad?” i smiled. “just this morning.” ravenna spoke up. “mr. king would like to get in touch with mr. morehouse." haskell sneed raked me with a piercingly cold glance, then slowly lowered his eyes, focusing them somewhere along my mid- dle. he had to think for a moment, rubbing his small, daintily clean fingers along his nether lip. i turned my head as dolly peered suspiciously at me. mercedes burst out laughing. dolly let loose a yell. everybody in the apart- ment must have heard her and wondered. we hugged and kissed with savage glee. "othello! othello! oh! i can't get over you!" dolly was from home. she had lived across the street from us in atlanta, georgia. she was pathetically white, so pale she looked anemic, bony and angular, her small gray eyes set way back in her head. her hair was auburn-colored, the grain as fine and soft-look- ing as the floss silk of dandelions. she was continually fingering it back off her ears. the one possible giveaway flaw in her physi- cal whiteness was her wide-spreading mouth. she was pretty, how- ever, with a prettiness her nickname “doll girl” implied. we raised such a ruckus that we drew all the other guests out into the kitchen. it was an unpretentious way to be greeted and welcomed back. and i liked the folksiness of it all. but mercedes shooed us all back into the more appropriate set- ting of the living room. “my lord! what'll my highbrow neigh- bors think?" she whispered in an aside to dolly and me. “all of us whooping and hollering like lenox avenue darkies!" dolly had no escort that evening. i offered to see her safely home. before accepting, she briefed me with the warning, "i live in brooklyn, you know.” “i know." "troop avenue." "i don't care." we took the subway. “taz got you sore, didn't he?" i said, as we headed for brook- lyn, siphoned through the labyrinthine underground of manhattan. dolly was caustic. she was not, as yet, over her anger and re- sentment at taz. "he always tries to make fun of somebody, the park ape! i can't stand him! i simply can't--!". “taz is all right. you pay attention to taz!" “he wanted to run down krisna deva, and he doesn't know her." "he's full of hell." "all he knows is that she and solomon morehouse were together once," she prattled inflexibly. “tazewell doesn't know what their relationship was to each other, outside of their business partner- ship, except from hearsay and gossip. i knew them both, but do you think i'd go gabbing what i know to tazewell odum? why, he'd smear it all over his paper. he'd go to town to involve more- house in a big colored-folks mess. othello, i'll be truthful, i don't like solomon morehouse, myself. i couldn't, not after the way he treated my friend krisna. but that's nothing to do with him as a leader, you understand. i believe he is a truly sincere fighter for the race. i believe he's right. i only dislike him because of the way he treated the woman who loved him and helped him get where he is. ..." without giving me a chance to explain my interest in solomon morehouse, taz had pounced upon dolly and figuratively backed her into a corner. “tell me this, dolly. what become of your girl friend, the crystal gazer, the one who used to tell fortunes? tell me, didn't she and morehouse team up together at one time? sure, they did! before morehouse branched out to become a labor organizer. he and this woman ran the temple of tranquillity' whatever she called herself, i know that it wasn't her real name. she was no more a hindu than i am. she was one dream of a woman, though. looked just like a little doll in all that oriental getup. my, my! she was a cute chick.” “you must mean krisna deva,” dolly said leanly. "tha's her. krisna deva. say, what all become of her, dolly?" asked taz, as though it really meant a lot to him, which i knew it didn't. it was a whim. he couldn't possibly be as interested in krisna deva as i was. dolly happened just then to be looking at me. i think she sensed right away that i was extremely interested, that my interest in her friend was genuine, and that taz's was not. “krisna went out to chicago. oh . . . some time ago," she told taz in a manner that shut him up. doll girl had been politely rude to editor tazewell odum. anybody who has taken the eighth avenue subway from man- hattan to brooklyn knows how difficult it is to talk and be heard. dolly did the talking, bringing her eyes and hands into play, so, il -u in this way, i was able to follow her, even when the words were dissipated, that is, up until the time the train made its underwater dash through the tube linking manhattan to brooklyn; then, it was impossible to hear or to think of anything, except the wonder and the terror of being below a river. i didn't hear or understand dolly again until we were coming up out of the station where we got off. being an unpredictable person, she suddenly stopped me on the stairs and stared me into helpless confusion. i felt silly, with her saying nothing. “do you know," she asked, "do you know who solomon more- house puts me in mind of?" "no. who would you say?" . "of course, i really don't know if he has changed much, since the time i knew him. well onto fifteen years, i reckon. othello, do you know you look enough like him to be his twin brother?" "his twin?” "except for the goatee,” she said. going up the steps, she held onto my arm. “as i remember," she confided, “solomon was very nice, very refined, and very soft- spoken. you know something, too, he came right out and told me that he loved krisna. came right out and said he needed her, that he'd asked her to come in with him to be his assistant and compan- ion. i think that's how he put it. he said he could not marry krisna, because he already had a wife and that he had no grounds to di- vorce her. he asked me did i think it was wrong for him and krisna to live together as man and wife. i told him i didn't know. i wouldn't presume to judge in a case like that. who was i to say? i said it was entirely up to him and krisna. ..." as i think back to this ride to brooklyn with dolly, i wonder, even now, if tazewell odum didn't have something like this in mind when he brought up the subject of the affair between krisna deva and solomon morehouse? taz would do a thing like that, and there wouldn't have to be a logical reason for his doing it. he was, in fact, the most illogical, inconsistent person i had ever known. he may have been mad at dolly for keeping a secret from him, and, to get even, he sicked me on dolly in order to wangle that secret out of her. since he couldn't have it, then he'd see to ulu there was no sign of a train. there was only a handful of people waiting on the platform. i doubted whether any of them had noticed ravenna, or, if they had, felt the concern i had for her predicament. when i looked again, a fellow was standing close up to ravenna. i couldn't hear what he was saying, but he seemed to be quarrel- ing with her in a spate of hard, cutting words. presently, i saw ravenna walk abruptly away from him, not bothering to wipe her eyes. she paid her own way through the turnstile. she nearly brushed me in passing, going up a ways to a point where the sec- ond or first car would stop. the young man waited back a while, then he sauntered through the turnstile, and stood with his evil eyes sardonically watching ravenna as though he expected her to bring herself back to him, to repent and to make up. there was a vulgar arrogance and presumptuous coldness in the pose he struck. he seemed much too sure of himself. frankly, i didn't know what to make of these two young peo- ple. just thinking about them made me feel old and out of step with the times. i wondered, for instance, how come a personable, intelligent girl like ravenna would involve herself with a fellow who was so obviously inferior to her. to begin with, he was un- attractive, willowy thin, and he looked tubercular. he was black, but his blackness had none of the velvet luster ravenna's had. it was the coarse, ashen kind. perhaps it was his worldliness and his fine instinct for clothes. in fact, he seemed all clothes, from head to toes. he looked sharp. reeking with liquor, the sickening sweet- ness of hair pomade and cigarette smoke, he was sharp, and he knew it with all the certainty of his baleful arrogance. each of us boarded a different car. there were less than a dozen passengers in mine. i had a seat and the area around me all to myself. i stretched my tired legs, and, propping my right elbow up against the windowsill, i used my palm as a headrest. my tiredness seemed to come down on me all of a sudden. in the midst of think- ing about ravenna and her choice of a lover, i dozed off. the wear and tear of that first day back must have tuckered me out. i'd simply collapsed. i would have gone to the end of the line, then back to brook- lyn, if ravenna hadn't shaken me back into consciousness. "wake up! mr. king! mr. king! wake up-_” i heard her baby voice, as i was rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "you get off here ... th street. . . . hurry-_". "oh! . . . oh! ..." i gasped, scrambling to my feet. she had me by the arm, steering me out onto the crowded plat- form. i almost got my foot clawed by the twin doors. "are you all right?" i looked at her foolishly and smiled. “yes, yes. . . . thanks.” "you ought to be careful. it's bad business sleeping like that on the train. you could be robbed, you know." i sobered instantly and began feeling through my pockets. ravenna giggled. “you were lucky this time. i sat beside you all the way.” "from brooklyn?" "we got on at the same station." "you don't say?" i pretended not to know. "i saw you, but you didn't see me.” there was a bright smile on her face, and she was as cheer- ful as a lark. much as i wanted to ask her about the boy friend, i did nothing of the sort. i let her believe in my ignorance of the incident in brooklyn. “would you mind, mr. king, seeing me home?" she asked. "it's so late, and i don't mind telling you, i'm afraid to walk down that street by myself.” "i'll be glad to," i said. "certainly. ...". "it's only two blocks. i'm round the corner from th and eighth avenue,” she informed me, as we set out for her home. "this harlem's bad, especially round here. it isn't safe for a lone woman this hour of the night. i don't think it's so safe for a man either. these kids are awful, mr. king. oh, they are! they carry guns and knives. and i've seen them beat up a drunken guy and then roll him. no policeman in sight. there never is, when you want one. i think they're afraid. then, who isn't? everybody in harlem is afraid-more or less. it's awful to live in harlem. i guess you can take care of yourself, all right. you look it, anyway.” she shook her head. "where is he, then?" "that i can't tell you." "won't you?” “now, may i have one of your cigarettes, please?" "of course ..." i knew she would tell me. it was something she wanted me to share with her. for a selfish reason, perhaps. because she was des- perate and afraid and she had no one to turn to for the comfort or help she needed. "mr. morehouse left here to go to georgia. where in georgia, i don't know. i don't think he even knew himself where he was going. you see, he didn't plan this. he was forced to leave. at the point of a gun.” she stopped talking and was staring me straight in the eyes. "you don't believe me, do you?" she asked, after a while. "first he's in california; now it's georgia. ..." "i was with him, i tell you, in his apartment. he was work- ing on a speech he was going to deliver out in california, when in walked these three white men. mr. morehouse knew one of them. he was senator spruce salters. you bound to have heard of him.” “he's behind the african colonization plan.” "that's him.” i was incredulous. "you're fooling! what's this a joke?" i said, laughing. i saw she was angry at me. “this was no joke. why would i joke about a man i love and respect as i do mr. morehouse? he's like a father to me. i tell you, i was right there with him when this thing happened. i was right there! ol' senator salters even addressed mr. morehouse as "boy," and ordered mr. morehouse to come with him. mr. morehouse wanted to know where he was taking him and what this was all about. ol' senator salters laughed, and said, 'don't be scared, boy. we'll tell you all about it later. there ain't time to explain. i'm going to take you to meet some friends of the colored race.' . . . mr. morehouse said, 'well, senator, would you mind just telling me where we're going?' ... the senator told him they were driving all the way to georgia in his private car to a conference with the ku klux klan.” i still couldn't believe her. it didn't sound like a thing that could be true. it sounded like an hallucination-like the wild imagin- ings of a sick mind blowing its top. she was sick, this girl, mentally sick, i suspected. maybe it was only a temporary thing, a state of mental aberration induced by marijuana. the limpid, glassy eyes told me nothing. they would not support my suspicions. they only seemed angered and hurt by my disbelief. they turned from me, i watched the small, tragic nape of her neck, my thoughts wholly detached from her. incredible as the thing sounded to me, it set fire to my imagina- tion. a race leader, whisked away to parts unknown, to meet in secret with the ku klux klan! think of that! my god! could such a thing happen? i asked myself. what might any negro and the klan have in common to talk about? was it to make some deal with morehouse? we'll do this, provided you'll do that. whatever it was, it certainly had to do with negroes in the south. my specu- lations pyramided to dizzying heights. perhaps the klan will sup- port his scheme for a negro state, a buffer state in some no-man's land between the north and the south. perhaps it was to win morehouse's support of a compromise bill which senator salters had authored, a bill which would underwrite the exodus of negroes from the south. perhaps, i had misgivings, this was the making of the great betrayal-the negro people being sold down the river, for somebody was forever selling the negro short. ... "you say they forced morehouse to leave with them?” i asked. "yes," she replied, turning her face towards me. “did you notify the police or the f.b.i.?" "senator salters warned me not to. he told me i must keep my mouth shut, if i wanted mr. morehouse to stay alive. you're the only someone i dare to trust. i didn't tell haskell sneed or anybody. i told haskell he'd left suddenly for california without explaining why. i don't think haskell believes me, though.” vaal nvdihrnu liisssainii hone call by the these southern things their own “how long ago this been?" i asked. "wednesday night. three days almost. i should have had a wire or phone call by this time unless ...". “you don't know these southerners. they don't rush. they move slow. they are always going to do things their own way. i wouldn't want to be in the spot i think morehouse is in. the hot air they can generate is enough to suffocate a man! i picture him sitting off to himself while they huddle together and talk about their friendship for the colored people. they always know what is best for us. know us better than we know ourselves! they, the only people who understand us! what else can morehouse do but sit there like a brass monkey and keep his thoughts to himself? by now, he's probably lost so much face that if he looked at himself in a mirror, he'd only see a speck. a cracker isn't going to grant a colored man but so much dignity, i don't care who he is." "what do you think we ought to do?" “i'm damned if i know, baby. do nothing. what can you? i don't know of a thing we can do right now. we don't want to mess it up by butting in. maybe, in another day or two, you'll be hearing something from him.” it didn't satisfy her. “i'm so scared! honest to god!” ravenna cried. she shivered and laughed uneasily. "i'm glad i have you, mr. king. i'd be out of my mind if i didn't have you to turn to." “how come you trust me so?" i asked her. “i trust you?” she reiterated. "yes.” “anybody'd trust you, just by looking at you." "ravenna?" "sir?” "that'll never do, now." "what'll never do, mr. king?" "all this formality.” "oh. ..." "mistering' and 'siring'! you can call me othello. i won't get mad, you hear?" “agreed! from now on: othello. okay?" "check!" "what was it you started to ask me, othello?" neath she was just a sex-ripened little strumpet, probably carrying on an illicit relationship with some other woman's husband. she was probably playing morehouse, too, for a sucker, the way she would play me, if i were to get in deep with her. i got sick at my stomach from thinking the worst about her. my mind became a cesspit. i came out into the street and moseyed for a time in front of the entrance, watching people going in and coming out and get- ting into cabs and driving off. i tried not to think. there was a bar and grill diagonally across the street. so i went there. i immersed myself in the crowd of raucous, animated drinkers bivouacked around the bar. i came out into a partial clearing in the rear of the place, which was an enormous room honeycombed with semi-private booths. i found one that was empty and hid myself. a waitress spotted me in passing. she smiled hospitably and tossed her hips. i waited indifferently for her to come back. i didn't want to eat, but i ordered the fried chicken she recom- mended along with french-fries and coffee. “are you still stopping at the hotel?” surprised and quizzical, i looked her up and down. she knew i was wondering. an amused, impudent smile creased her pretty face. "i don't forget a face-not a face like yours," she said. “mine isn't much to look at,” i jibed, still wondering. "i must have thought a lot of it to remember it. and i only saw you once, getting out a taxi and going by me into the booker t. that morning. you passed right by me," she said. now i remembered her. "you were talking to whosis-the bell- hop?" "lester. now, don't tell me you noticed me!" "i sure did! lester asked you to stick around.” "what did he say about me?" "nothing. i heard him ask you to stick around," i said. "we don't mean a thing to each other. i just know him from coming in here. i don't have any steady. i think i'm better off that way, don't you?" .:" t "that depends on the company you keep," i said. “i think you've got something there!” she tittered. she was alerted by a couple who were preparing to leave. “i'll see you," she told me, and slid away. she was busy, back and forth. if she looked my way at all, i didn't know it. she was hustling, driving herself, and shrewdly attending strictly to business, keeping an eye on everybody, ap- parently, except me. i finished eating and wanted my check and looked around to get her attention. i had a feeling that she was deliberately ignoring me. i started to get up and walk over to her, but she had vanished. i settled back, thinking to myself, after all, i'm not going anywhere, so i may as well . . . i took a cigarette from my pack, then placed the pack in front of me on the table. i was fishing about for matches, when a light fickered before my eyes. i squinted up into the waitress's face. still holding the match, she shook loose a cigarette from my pack, lighted hers after mine was lit, then sat down across from me. she had removed her apron. the black dress she was wearing was part of her uniform, but it looked no different from any dress a woman would wear in the street. on her, it made no difference anyway. most anything, a shift or a cheap cotton housedress, would have looked good on her frame. she had hastily tidied up her face and hair. with the cigarette she stretched back and relaxed. "all through?" i asked. she nodded, her eyes casually focusing at me. they had an open, searching look. "hungry?" she shook her head, still regarding me. "drink?" again she shook her head. "i'll get you something, if you like,” she said. “i don't drink.” "no, never mind.” "sure you do," she decided. “be right back. what do you like? scotch? bourbon-->". "you be the doctor," i said. she was pleased, and winked at me. she came back with a highball. "i made it up special for you,” she said. "what's in it?" "scotch, some bourbon, a little ginger ale." "what's your name, by the way?" "katherine." “'katherine special,'” i said, naming the drink. i sipped and tasted in the gingerly astute manner of a connois- seur, which i wasn't. her cheeks rippled with dimply smiles. she reminded me of a little tomboy tickled by some mischief she had cooked up. "well, it ought to cheer you up," she said. "do i look like i need cheering up?" i asked. "you sure do!" she came right back. "i'm the worrying kind." “i'll listen to your troubles. might help me forget my own. do you want me to listen?" "to my troubles?" "sure!" "i've got so many!" "women?” "good lord, no!" she looked incredulous. "if i told you, you might laugh. you probably think i'm crazy.” "nothing of the kind. you're not the crazy type. you're too in- telligent and cultured. you're out of the ordinary. you like books and good music and good shows, things the average person couldn't appreciate. am i right about you?” "i have a little education. not too much, not enough, i hope, to make me a fool. i'm not educated out of my race." “doesn't take much for some negroes to be. the educated negroes don't do anything to help the race. they try to get away from the race as fast as they can. i know the light ones don't stay in it. the black ones wouldn't either, if they could help it. i'm like you. i'm neither. we're sepia. we have to stay on this side.” “do you mind it?" me inside the sweetly scented room which belonged to her exclu- sively, closed the door, then turned on a blue-colored light which cloaked our shamelessness in something resembling a tropical twi- light. "we have to be a little quiet, lover. they're hard-working peo- ple. both her and her old man get up early and go out to work. these others, well, they're like me. night owls who sleep all day.” i sat down upon the edge of the bed and watched her as she removed her dress, kicked off her shoes, and slipped on a robe. she acquired some things she needed, then she left me, after giv- ing me a peck, saying, “lover, make yourself comfortable. know what i mean?" "all right, baby," i said. “don't forget to come back.” i lit a cigarette and started peeling off my clothes. ... ordinates cringe. he demanded to know who the party was that was calling him. the man whispered that it was somebody call- ing from new york, that the party wouldn't give his name, but that he claimed he wanted to speak directly to the senator on offi- cial business. "gimme it heah,” the senator said rashly. “i'll talk to him.” the "hello?” was deceptively softened. "senator?" "speaking." "i'm a reporter." "reporter? i thought you said you was some official of the united states government? what you mean by calling me heah? what is it you want?” "simply this, senator. i want you to tell me where solomon morehouse is." "solomon who?" he hedged. "solomon morehouse," i enunciated. i waited. there was no sound, so i knew he hadn't hung up the receiver. it occurred to me that the senator was instructing his man to get to another phone and have the operator trace my call. i was almost dead sure. "it won't be necessary for you to trace my call, senator. my name is othello king and i am calling from my room at the booker t. washington hotel in new york-in harlem, that is.” he tore out at me angrily. “i don't know nothing 'bout any solo mon morehouse. i never hear tell of any nigger by this name.” "oh?” i said sweetly. "how is it, then, you know he's a negro?" "why, uh-why, uh-_” "is it coincidence?". "i don't know and i don't care! the name suggests a nigger to me. it's a nigger name. now, see heah, you've wasted 'nough o'my time. i'm a busy man. ..." “don't hand me that!" i cut in quickly, for fear he'd hang up. “you forced solomon morehouse at gun-point to accompany you south for some kind of secret meeting with the ku klux klan. you're holding him a prisoner. i demand to know why you're hold- ing this man against his will.” it was solomon morehouse's study. on the other side of the room, opposite from where i stood in the doorway, i saw the tele- vised images of the people whose voices i heard down the hall. the bottom half of one of the windows was raised flush with the upper, the drapes winnowing outward through the opening as if i knew for sure ravenna was there, i called to her softly, “ravenna? ..." and stepped inside. and, sure enough, she was there. when i looked down, i saw her lying at my feet. immedi- ately, i gathered her up in my arms and hustled her into an adjoin- ing bedroom, thinking she must have fainted. i laid her on the bed, foolishly calling to her and asking her what had happened. it was when i slid my hand from under her back that i realized she was dead. the cuff of my white shirt and the sleeve of the tan- colored jacket i wore were both stained with her blood. i was so choked with pity i burst into tears. “oh, my god! oh, god!" i cried. i don't remember how long i was there, or what i thought or did while there. it was sometime later that i found my- self back in morehouse's study, looking out of the window and down upon a narrow, carefully tended, brick-paved backyard. in the dusk, i saw the body of a man slumped over the low iron picket fence which enclosed the rear of the premises. it was as limp and lifeless as a giant-sized rag doll which it resembled. the size of the man, the clothes . . . i did not have to see his face to know who he was. “that crazy lunatic!" i thought in a rage of pitiless revulsion at his impalement. “damn fool! what a mess! what a awful mess!" a mess i've got myself in! the thought shocked me into a cold sweat. i don't want to get mixed up in this, i worried. it may not even look like what i think it is, may not have happened the way i think it happened. it could be many things, angles the police could never guess at, the sinister shadow of senator salters which hung over ravenna, over solomon morehouse, yes, and over me! this thing had the plausibility of murder and suicide. to a policeman, a negro going berserk and shooting his girl friend, then committing suicide by leaping from a five-story window. i remem- bered ravenna saying that her boy friend was a knife-toter. he would have stabbed her. you could not expect the police to know that. negroes do shoot one another and commit suicide, too. but this particular negro was a bad actor, and a bad-acting negro is more likely to knife than shoot, and a bad-acting negro rarely takes his own life. such was my befuddlement. i couldn't believe the suicide. not him! he would beat it away from new york and lose himself in the black ghetto of another metropolis, say, chicago or los angeles, take up with some other woman, and live quietly unnoted, and perhaps never get into trouble again. there never is a big 'miration made over one negro killing another negro. there never is. the white newspapers ignore such trivia. and negro newspapers give it a merely routine reporting. it's all forgotten so soon. lynchings, scandals, and society make much better read- ing in negro papers than commonplace murder. befuddled though i was, i was not going to call the police and get mixed up in this-whatever it was! i got out. "you're leaving us, mr. king!" “yes . . . i'll be leaving here. ..." “not for good, we hope." “i don't think so." "well . . . when you come back this way-_" "i hope you'll have a room for me." “we most certainly shall! you just wire us when you're com- ing. we'll take care of your reservation, all right." "thank you." “the man came for your luggage, while you were out.” "yes, i know. . . . your key. here it is. i'm all set with you?" "yes, sir. you're all paid up.” "i guess that's all!” "hope you have a nice trip, mr. king.” "thank you. take care, now!" “ 'bye!" i was hoping that he wouldn't notice the lady's overnight bag i was carrying, but notice it he did and it was all he could do to contain his curiosity. i had borrowed this from katherine with no intention of ever returning it. she knew i wouldn't, since the thing wasn't worth over two ninety-eight, though i had asked to borrow it. ing. just stirring so what! haven't we their problem, “do he mean more to you than us?" "i don't know." "would you risk your life for me?" "right now i would!" she laughed. “i wonder!" “katie, did you ever hear of solomon morehouse?” i asked. “i think he's crazy, don't you?” "why do you think he's crazy?” "well, stirring up all this mess about a 'negro state, which he ain't gonna get. there's enough friction between negroes and white people as it is without him making the thing any worse. and that's what he's doing. just stirring up more trouble. i wish he'd shut up. i know our race is a problem. so what! haven't we always been a problem? let the white folks worry about it. it's their problem, anyway. it's up to them to solve it. did we ask to come here?” "the white folks want to send us back to africa,” i said. “that old senator salters of georgia is behind that,” she said angrily. “isn't he the one who's trying to get that bill passed?" "he's sold a lot of people in the north and in the south the idea.” “they'll never pass a bill like that, would they, othello?” "not if we negroes are united to fight it." "you mean like solomon morehouse want us to be?” "united, we hold the balance of power in any major election. that's what has happened already. morehouse can deliver the negro vote. a lot is going on, baby, the public doesn't know about. like my friend i told you about who was kidnaped by the ku klux klan. the south is licked on the negro issue, and they know it. they'll either have to secede from the union and fight a sec- ond civil war, or give up enough land from several of their own states to form a 'negro state.' my guess is that they will chip in the land, unless they can persuade my friend to sell out to them. i don't think they will. there never has been a race leader like solomon morehouse!" "was it him? him?" she gasped. "yes! . . . yes!" i said brusquely, angered because i had told my secret. i attempted to get up, but she restrained me. “katie, i swear to god, you open your mouth about this, i'll kill you!" i said. "you mean it, too!" she chided. “i do so mean it!" i threatened. she pecked at my mouth with a sensuous monotony. “and i mean for you to come back to me!" she murmured. hoped this might make them forget about me. the car began to fill, and soon i was orphaned among a crowd of unconcerned whites. there was an immense activity, as there always is, just prior to the time of departure of a train. the restlessness of the people who have come to see somebody off. the anxiety felt for time run- ning out. the sameness of all the small talk that goes on at this time, repeated promises and admonitions, and pantomimes at the windowpanes. the conductor, a stoop-shouldered, middle-aged giant, footsied through the car. his red, homely face had a pleasant, vacant ex- pression. he conferred for a moment with the porter. whatever it was they had to talk about, he spoke with a drawl as thickly southern as was the porter's. the porter, on his guard, was politely deferential, addressing the white man as “cap.” the conductor said “all right, boy" and went on to the next car. . . . hucksters of magazines, confectioneries, soft drinks, and sandwiches hustled through. now and then a dining-car man in starched white linen hot-footed through. and, finally, “board!” the jerk comes like a tidal wave. then, the countermovement of being carried forward. the train pulls out of the station. i could relax now, because there was something to see beside the people around me. the train was out in the open now. i watched from the window. i watched for a long time, my thoughts lost in some meaningless abstraction. the passengers seemed content to ignore me. the two elderly ladies had long dismissed me from their interest as though i no longer was there to look at and gall them. only the porter seemed to be painfully mindful of my pres- ence. i would happen to look up and see him crane his neck out through the draped opening of the men's washroom to see what i was doing. when he pussy-footed past, it was the same furtive stare of disapproval and curiosity. when he was summoned to serve someone, he was all smiles, until he glanced at me. then his stony displeasure would show. i tried to retaliate, but he never looked when i was prepared to snub him. he managed to be very busy when i came into the washroom. when i returned from the diner that evening, most of the beds, including my own, had been made down. a negro is sensitive to the change which comes over the whites once they are below the mason-dixon line. they instantly take over. they make it clear to any non-white that they are the supreme rulers here, that they are a law unto themselves. the line is sharply drawn, as restrictive as a chalk marking upon a stage set, so that each actor definitely knows his place. there is no margin for mis- takes. one becomes increasingly aware that accents are arrogantly and chauvinistically southern. when i went to the diner the fol- lowing morning for breakfast, i was intercepted at the entrance by the white steward. he was tactfully polite, though absolute. a place had to be found for me, and when i was seated a partial curtain was drawn. it was at the end of the car to one side of the door. the table could accommodate four people, though i was alone for the time i was there. i could see the people across the aisle from me all the way up to where the steward stood busily doubling as cashier and usher. i saw him summon one of the waiters and dispatch him to my table. the waiter showed up, his bottom lip hanging churlishly. "i ain't supposed to work dis table. steward knows dat. i has to make a trip special all de way down here, when i supposed to be up front,” he grumbled. “he signed dat tomin' nigger charlie givens to my table, so i could come down here. i does all de work of servin'. he collect them people's tips! how you lak dat? dey 'bout done through dey eatin'. ... yessuh!” he changed the subject “—what you goin' have fuh breakfast?" he kept looking up ahead at charlie, his loose lips puckered with malice. as he bent over to check off the order form, another waiter bumped him deliberately. "git yo' fat ass out de aisle, papa!" he soft-pedaled. “let dis fine lady by.” the lady was seated at the table across the aisle from me. she shared the table with a middle-aged couple and their little grand- son. the waiter held the chair, sliding it under her with a sleight- of-hand deftness as she sat down. or so ill-mannered as to risk offending a southerner by making an issue of race segregation. oddly enough, i found myself admiring dolly's flawless per- formance in the role of a white woman, the way she wisely steered the conversation along the line of inconsequential generalities, such as the weather, the trip, the food. the husband was quite taken with this charming and vivacious yankee lady, the wife uneasily affable, while the little boy was too centered in himself and his grandparents to like anybody else. ... i was filling a dixie cup with water, when the door was pushed back all the way and the porter entered huffing and puffing with his arms and hands full of luggage, followed by dolly whisonant. on seeing me, she haughtily rigged her head to thwart any impulse i might have had to engage her in conversation. it proved a wise thing for her to do, for, for that split second, i forgot that we were not supposed to belong to the same race. pressing my back against the wall, i gave her room enough to pass me with- out touching her. as i was passing the private drawing room which had been assigned to her, i overheard the porter telling her, “yes, ma'am, dey has to shift the passengers in yo' car to the others, 'count of dey has to take her off to repair the damage the fire caused in the wirin'. anyway, you be much mo' comfortable and private in dis drawing room all to yosef, yes, ma'am.” "thank you, porter.” "oh-thank you, ma'am! thank you very much!" she had given him a tip, and he was backing out and bow- ing, as i made my way back to my seat. he leaned over me, as i sat down, and whispered confiden- tially, “gimme whole sawbuck! man, she sho has class!” he chuckled and left me without lingering to hear what i had to say. after dinner that evening, i went to the club car for a drink. the bar had just opened. there were only two others there besides my- self and the attendant. the two men were busy at a game of whisk, their highballs untouched beside them on the table. they didn't even notice me. - - - - i asked the attendant behind the bar, “no law against serving me a drink, is there?” he was a fellow about my own age and my shade of ginger- snap brown. he was a hustler, shrewd, poker-faced. he moved fast and with precision. he looked at me insolently for a while, then gave me a knowing wink. he laughed with his shoulders, mirth- lessly. "you much right here as anybody else,” he said. “i eat my dinner behind a curtain,” i told him. "i know. they do the same thing in this club car, wasn't for the fact that very seldom any colored people come in here. see, an- other thing, it's mostly all men that come in here. that makes a difference. white men don't like you close up to their women.” "white women do come here, don't they?”. "some do. usually pickups-some broad on the make. there's one now," he indicated with an expressionless stare. “last night she come here with a different guy. got pissy-assed drunk.” she was a giggly, undulating charmer. she was cloying and affectedly girlish for a woman of her perjured years. the man and she were laughing about the jouncing they were getting as they made their way unhandily through the car. each tried to help the other and failed. "god!" she shrieked. “i'm sittin' down!" "not here!” he protested. "here is good enough!” “no!" “be a good boy!" “you really want me to be a good boy?” "i do." "on one condition-_" "horace! not with these people round!” "oommmmmmm!" "horace! you behave yourself!" she tittered shrilly. "you're my sugar!" "oh, stop it! horace! now, you sit down 'fore you fall flat on your face!" “that's what you think!" "horace-are you drunk?” “no! but, doggone, i'm gonna be, 'fore the night's out! you gonna git drunk with me!" "i don't get drunk.” "that's what you think!" “honest! . . . i declare, i don't know what i'm gonna do with you!" "i know what i'm gonna do with you!" “what you gonna do with poor little old me?" “i'm gonna give you the lovinest time of your life!" “horace!" she hit at him across the table, prettily, not unmind- ful that others were present. he roared with obscene laughter. “dare you say such a thing! it's not nice." "i fixed it with the nigger-_" "shhhh!" she reproached, then looked up at the attendant who had gone over to their table and was waiting with unobtrusive aplomb. “the boy wants to take your order, horace.” "yes, sir. what will you and the lady have?" asked the attendant. "i want a double-header of some whiskey and some plain water." "and the lady?" "an old-fashioned, i'll have. and i wants a heap of ice in it, too, you hear?" she talked fast, spontaneously, in a voice husky and arresting and all of a piece, having to stop from time to time to clear her throat and swallow her adam's apple. garrulously friendly, as was the man, she was out to have fun. as the attendant got busy filling other orders, i moved away from the bar, went and sat down in one of the lounge chairs off to myself, leisurely sipped my tom collins, and smoked. i was a distance away from the couple. as the tables near them were being taken, the woman lowered her voice, leaning over the table to talk more intimately. with this repudiation of their own notoriety, i lost all interest in them. i became concerned about myself, the great loneliness and ostracism i must endure, while i observed that the chairs about i just got back from europe. i was away fifteen years. i'm sorta browsing." he was listening to me with his mouth wide open, his hands clutching his kneecaps. the attendant brought us our drinks, managing to make his intrusion so inconspicuous that i don't believe the white man even noticed him. "have you anything special in mind?” he queried. "they tell me it's changed a lot down here," i said. "like what, for instance?” he reached for his drink, without looking, as if it had been there all along. he sipped and smacked his lips. "these mass migrations of negroes to the north. i'd like to find out what's behind it all. there is a reason.” “there's a reason, all right, but i should think you could find that out from the ones tha's already migrated and settled in the north. you know it as well as i do, they're the lowest and commonest in your race. they're that shiftless and that no-good sort, them ones who don't wanna work to make a livin'. so, they go up north where the relief boards'll take care of them. the best of the nigras remain right here. there's no nigra problem in the south today. nigra who behaves himself and stays in his place gets along all right. don't let anybody tell you different. nigras got nothing to worry 'bout, so long as they behave themselves. most of the trouble we have is with these outsiders who come down here and they try to tell us how to run things. these communist bastards and your own lying papers, they the ones that stir up most the trouble. you know that. now, that there fellar morehouse, that nigger he's doing the colored folks a lot of harm, boy. the klan's been burning a lot of crosses lately in the colored sections in and round atlanta and warning the colored folks 'ginst any foolishness like this thing that morehouse fellar is calling for. i tell you, it's bad-bad for your people. the south won't stand for that.” i hadn't touched my drink. when i noticed him looking at it, i picked it up and held it, only for a while, then i set it back down. “suppose it's true that the big interests in this country have bought up the pledges of nearly all your southern senators and "yes. interview him.” "interview him how?" “ask him questions, of course." “kind of questions?" “get him to discuss that colonization program.” "what you want the interview-for your paper?" “yes." “you know they goin' print it?" "i think so." "you think so." "yes!" "you know?" “i don't guarantee ..." "well, i happen to know that your papers never print the truth about anything senator salters says. they butcher up his speeches he makes on the floor of the senate and they quote him out of con- text. they make him out to be some devil.” "i don't think that's done deliberately. they just don't like what he says. negroes don't like his back-to-africa program." "that's what i mean. they don't like it.” “but it does make good copy." “i suppose it does. i read the nigger papers. i know 'bout the lies you folks print, way you love to run down white people.” i smiled. “you haven't answered my question.” "what question is that?” "the interview.” he regarded me skeptically and half smiled. he stuck the burned-out cigar in his mouth, patted his enormous chest until he was able to locate his pencil. he scribbled the address of senator spruce salters on the back of his calling card, handed it to me. "it's twenty-two miles out from atlanta. bus passes right by there. you ask the driver to drop you off. tell the senator i sent you. my name's on this side." "flood norfleet," i read aloud. "that would be mister flood norfleet when you present your- self to the senator.” he grinned and gave me a gentle poke in the ribs. “don't forget the title, boy. down here you must remember to beasley knew how i felt about him. i made a point of getting my feeling across to him. and he knew what i was thinking when i came into the washroom and found him sitting there alone. i coldly re- sented and spurned his ingratiating smile, though this was the first time he had smiled at me, the way he looked at me, unashamedly begging me to bury the hatchet, putting the matter entirely up to me, as though the “misunderstanding” had been entirely my own fault, not his. now he wanted to make up. he had the gall to be indulging and patronizing, to extend the glad hand of fellowship! it was the wrong time. i was in no mood to forgive and forget. what had occurred to me in the club car had demeaned my spirit. i hated the whole human race for my outrage—the white race in particular. now, this despising negro waits until he's drunk and we are alone together,out of sight and sound of white folks—and be- hind the white folks back, he tries to make up to me for his moral cowardice and denial! i didn't have to smell the whiskey in order to tell that he had been drinking. his eyes popped with a glassy brightness. he was fidgety and alert from the overstimulation. the porter's cap was set back from his forehead, sweat oozing from the oily surface and dribbling off his chin, and not seeming to faze him in the least. he studied me avidly, and, with obnoxious, cunning slyness, see- ing through my wavering indifference. he waited until i was brushing my teeth before he said a word. my back was turned to him, though i could see him in the mirror about to speak to me. his voice had a sugary, wooing, almost feminine softness. it reminded you of all the sweet-talk that had ever been mouthed to you, the wheedling flattery that had made you so susceptible, that had persuaded you against your will and better judgment, seduced you in a moment of weakness when your guard was down. "who, now ... now, jes who is it that you puts me in mind of?" he contemplated out loud. “all de evenin', whilst i'm makin' down my beds, i been puzzlin' my head 'bout dat. de resemblance. seem lak to me, i see a pitcher o' you, or, maybe, i has seen you some- where befo'.” he stopped, as though to ponder more deeply. he was him! tot e the ninth, i thom send for you to come. black as you are, james lee, black as my shoes. ... do you have to shoot him? please, don't fault him. fault me!" she passed out. i shook her. it did no good. her body went limp as though the life had gone out of her. i was frightened. what if she were dead? i put my cheek to her face. yes, i reassured myself, she is all right. the bosom of her dress exuded a highly scented fragrance of lilac perfume. its sticky sweetness blended foully with the whiskey vapors breathed through her nostrils. she would be like this until morning, perhaps, until she came to. she couldn't be moved. i had no place to take her. to move her anywhere might involve too great a risk-of being discovered with her in my arms. outcries and accusations: “nigger carrying around a white woman in his arms! ... what's wrong with her? ... wrong? . . . you can see he drugged her with knockout drops! he ravished her! ... take him! take him! take him!" ... i have to leave her here in my berth, i thought. got to dress myself quick. off this train before the night is over! oh, the mess i'm in! i cried. watching both ends of the car and dressing like mad, i peeped in at beasley to see if he was still asleep. i certainly didn't want him to know. it was unlikely that he would believe my version of what had happened. he would only believe what any white man would, that i had taken advantage of a drunken white woman and she had passed out on me. in other words, i had run true to form and raped her. what i didn't bother to put on i stuffed into the overnight bag. i tiptoed to the farther end of the car, purposely to get away from beasley. i didn't dare chance the door near the men's room, for fear the noise or the gush of air might waken him. i had trouble with the door. it was a job to pull open. i had to twist and yank and yank at the knob. in my concentrated fumbling, i didn't hear the door of the compartment to my left open. it was a hand touching my elbow that wheeled me around, startled and panic-stricken. the violence of which i was capable in that instant was aborted when i saw it was doll girl-dolly whisonant. the fright in her eyes said she knew i was in trouble. not ques- "what difference it make to you anyway?". "it don't make a total of that much difference to me!" she de- clared, describing the tip of her index finger. “maybe i'm a whole lot selfish, but i just don't care. i never did much care." “then why don't you quit the race altogether and marry a white man?" “because i'm a fool, tha's why,” she said calmly, as if she had waited for me, or anyone else, to ask such a question. “because i know i just never could be happy. i could never forget some things. i'd always be sneaking back and taking a peep to see what was going on, afraid i miss something tha's too good. i be bound to give myself away. as it is, i have a dickens of a time trying to act white. how can i lie to you! i care. trouble is i care too much. just too much for my own good.” "you're almost as crazy as i am. not quite," i said. “almost," she sighed. a smile barely brushed her cheeks and was gone. i thought she was going to cry. "i know where to reach you." "we still at the same old place." "i'll see you in a day or two, honey. hear? ... no. stay where you are-_” i stepped between doll girl and the door and put her hands behind her and kissed her. “nothing, nothing is going to happen to me,” i promised her, with as much assurance as i could simulate. “i'll be all right. i'll see you." i was strictly on my own, left to my own devices. out on the platform, i methodically executed the escape which i had already planned. i pinned the heavy outside door back against the wall. i had to grip the railings with both hands, straddle the trap, while employing my right foot to get it up and back against the door. it was like a roaring wind tunnel inside the vestibule. the wind lashed and bloated my clothing. i held tightly to the railings, sliding my hands along them, as i made my way down the steps. my face stung from the vicious pelting of cinders and gravel sucked up from the roadbed. there was no point, i told myself, in waiting. there was no likelihood the train would slow down. i looked for some sign of a highway-electric lights along the road or a light flashed by a passing i landed on hands and knees, out of breath, but unhurt. i got up just as the last car trundled past. in the desolate, eerie darkness i watched after the red taillight until i could no longer see it. i lit a cigarette, then held the lighted match above the face of my wrist watch to see what time it was— : a.m. the damp chill in the air seemed to penetrate through to the marrow of my bones. this was a mean climate. i thought of how insufferably hot this place would be along toward noon. i was aching cold in every member of my body. i was not going to sit here and wait for it to get light. a man could freeze to death. the overnight bag which i had dropped a few yards behind me i recovered, then i set out down the railroad track, keeping inside the rails and walking as fast as caution would allow. my head hummed with the indecipherable code-miming of mil- lions of invisible crickets and the dry-throated croaking of frogs. i went along for some time, when, suddenly, the light of an automobile aashed across my path. i had reached a grade crossing. i jumped back to avoid being run over. my panic was unwar- ranted, because the driver had seen me, had already slowed down and come to a stop just before the inclination of the crossing. no other thought came into my mind but that it was somebody who was offering me a ride, so i came quickly around to take ad- vantage. the door was already swung open and waiting for me to hop in. "no sense to walkin', when you kin ride!" the voice was young and worldly. though i could not make out his features in the dark, i knew straight off that he was colored. i got in beside my benefactor, quickly closing the door to block out the cold. he could tell by the way i stuttered out my thanks that i was cold. “daggone near so to freezin'!” he said. “an' heah 'tis summer! sun come out, you burn up. git so hot an' sticky!" "you not lyin' either!" i managed to laugh. the heavy car picked up speed in a hurry. in no time he had her doing eighty-five. i got to thinking what would happen if this thing ever had a blowout. the fellow must have sensed my thoughts. "say, daddy, don't be nervous o'me speedin'. wish i has a dollar for every time i been over dese ole back roads! i has to make time. thas' why um givin' her the gas. man, y'oughta be with me when hit gits all wet an’ slippery! after a good rain! i wrecked mo' friggin' cars lak dat! sho a wonder i ain't dead! um goin' turn now. um goin' up thoo dem woods. den um stoppin' to pick up some stuff.” the car shimmied and crawled straight up a steep wooded hill. the driver, crouching over the wheel in a jackknife position, kept his eyes peeled on the ticklish road ahead. i could feel his one- pointed tension as he sucked his breath at each calculated obstacle he overcame. the road suddenly leveled and i knew that we had reached a plateau. the driver sank back, relaxed his steering. beneath a tree two white men stood waiting. as the car drew up, the big one sauntered recklessly into its path, as the driver stopped it within a foot of the big fellow's waist. "what in hell keep you?" the man asked churlishly. the driver sank the window on his side, and the big fellow leaned forward with his two big elbows crammed inside the frame. the driver just chuckled, parted his thighs, and began rubbing his groin sensually. "what keep me?" he begged the question, as though to make conversation. "damn you! been off somewheres whackin' the bushes!" “i be damned! you know i ain't have no time atall to mysef dis evenin'? i swear!" "earl—_” the other fellow came up to the side i was on. “you know that lil ole high-yallar gal who minds them stiles bullock younguns?" i took no part in the conversation. i knew by the way the two of them eyed me from time to time that they were waiting for wardie to explain my being with him. wardie finally told them that i was a friend that he had brought along to keep him company. he told them that i was from atlanta, but that i had kinfolks who lived in butler city. they wanted to know who my people were, and wardie, thinking quickly, told them i was related to cramer bell, whoever he was. the men were satisfied and asked me how ole cramer bell was getting along. i said he was fine and chipper. wardie nudged me as he slid out of the car. i got out on my side. i helped him raise the seat in back where he stored gallon jugs of moonshine whiskey. earl, the big fellow, took a pint bottle from the hip pocket of his overalls and gave it to wardie. "you an' him kill dis whilst you-all drivin' back. is you two boys hongrey any?" “no, suh, we's awright, mistuh earl. we jes thirsty an' dis'll take care dat.” wardie nudged me and laughed. "if you is hongrey, jes say so. i git de 'oman rassel you up some breakfus.” "no thank you, mistuh earl.” wardie handed big earl the en- velope he took from an inside pocket. it was fat with bills. “miss vergie gimme dis fuh you.” "o-kay, boy." wardie and i got back into the car, and wardie started the motor. “i see yall next week,” he said. “membuh what i tell you, wardie,” said boone laughing. "wha's dat, mistuh boone?” “don't gi' dat gal too much meat!" "you see ole senator salters agin, you tell him fuh me dat he better haul ass on back to washington. he fuggin' round an' we 'bout to have 'nother civil war on our hands!” big earl was looking at me mean and hard. “look heah, boy,” he said to me “—you ain't mixed up wif some dem ’lanta niggers who advocatin' fuh de south to turn over a whole new state to dem?" before i could reply negatively, as i was surely going to do, wardie quickly answered to earl's satisfaction. "who? him! he ain't even done hear o'sich a thing! he worsen me 'bout tail! das' all on his mind! niggers is sho crazy to think dat radical stuff!" i was glad to get away. so was wardie. "some mean bastards, dese ole back-country peckerwoods! i man- age wif'um, 'cause i doan't do or say nothin' das’ apt to rile dem. i talks little an' i keerful what i say. ain't goin' ketch me driving thoo heah in de day-not de broad, open daytime-unless um drivin' wif white people in de back seat. dey see me in a car lak dis, an' by mysef, dey shoot dis thing full o' holes lak a sieve, liable to kill me to boot!" wardie was young, quite young, and he liked to talk. it was apparent by his loose, racy talk that he had been more exposed to what passes for experience than a lot of men twice his age. he drove, he told me, for a rich sportin' woman, who ran a dicty sportin' house in butler city and another one in atlanta. all he did was drive. he said boastfully, “i takes de madame wheresomeevuh she wishes to go. twice a week me an' huh goes to huh house in atlanta. she checks up on huh business there an do's huh bankin' an' shoppin' round. 'cose, i has to stick right wif huh, 'cause she won't lemme outta huh sight when we goes to atlanta. she know what i do. i find mysef one o' my own girls. man, she do hate dat! she threatened to kill me once; an' twas ovuh a colored girl i was goin' wif in atlanta. don't she have de police pick me up where me an' dis chick was at? dey only brung me into the station house an' turnt me ovuh to huh, an' dat was all dey was to hit-till she gits me home! she sho was some mad! i loved huh up an' tole huh, ‘baby, i some sorry whut i done,' an' i make a promise to huh i ain' goin' do hit no mo. 'twon't happen agin, i say. she say awright. i really put de thing on huh dat night. i made huh moan an' sigh. when us finish, damn if dat evil woman don't reach unduh huh pillow an' pull out dat lil' ole pistol o' huh's an' she pints dat thing right at my temple, an' she say, you sweet-lovin' yaller bastard, i a good mind to blow yo' brains out! i awmust pissed de bed! scared? i was one scared nigger! i keeps my presence o' mind. i copped a plea. i said, 'baby, if you do's 'way wif me, who gonna love you de way yo sweet papa wardie do?' dat hit huh lak a ton o' bricks! damn she don't break down an' weep all ovuh me! i gi'n huh some mo' lovin'. ... i be huh man since i was goin' on eighteen. um goin' on twenty-three now." “how old is she?" i asked. “she old enough, dough she don't look hit. i stick to huh, 'cause i knows i never will have hit as good as i has hit right now. i don't have to hit a lick. she takes keer o' me an' i allus has plenty o’ spendin' money. my great weakness is i laks a lil' stray bootie now an' then wif some one o'my own kind. she knows hit too. man, do she git mad! she goin' kill me one o' these days! you read 'bout me!" i listened, vaguely believing, vaguely discounting the glib-flowing, unprompted confessions. in transit, we took turns sampling the bottle of moonshine. it was strong, raw stuff. i could only wet my mouth with it. it choked me to get it down. but i was cold and it heated my blood and made me feel good. wardie gulped and belched it as though it were no stronger than soda pop. the effect on him was far from hidden. he grew more voluble and, yet, he seemed now to drive with greater care and precision than before. he was thoroughly pleased with himself. he purred with satisfaction over his power, his power over miss vergie in the clandestine sanctuary of her bedroom, an affair that no one outside of tannie, the cook, knew about, and tannie just giggled and joked about it only to him-in private. the power which he felt behind the wheel of this enormous car pleased him no end. he thought he had everything. it was everything he needed or really cared about. all this, and, once in a while, a stray piece of bootie from some of his own kind. what more could a man ask for? he was pleased with himself, this wardie was. smug and pleased. a big shot. “what kinda racket is you in?” he asked me. i told him that i was a newspaper reporter, and, since he had befriended me and could probably help me further, i gave him the story of the kidnaping and murder and the train episode straight. he drove the car way over to the side of the road and stopped. "wait, now," he said, tipping his hat back from his forehead. “does you membuh me tellin' dem two white fellows i took keer de senator?" "sure, i do," i said. "you know who twus dis senator?" “i did wonder,” i said perfunctorily. "dat was him! um a sonavabitch! dat were senator salters his- sef, man! his estate where he lives ain't fuh from butler city. now, wait a minute. i membuh somethin'. dis could be a clue to whut you aftuh knowin' concernin' dis man you speak of -de colored leader. i do believes ole senator have dat man deir awright. i doesn't know fuh certain, you understand? um jus' surmisin' frum some de things he say to me. i thunk he outten his head way him talkin', 'cause he pretty well likkered up when i took him home yurly dis mornin'. he keep tellin' me not to worry 'bout a thing, 'cause him an' his boys took keer de nigger who causin' all de trouble in dis country." “he said that?” i prodded. “de man who hoped me wif him at de house tell him to shet his damn mouth. i dunno dis man, but he a guest deir at de senator's. he didn't shet ole senator up, dough. he keeps on blabbin'. i'tended lak i a total blank to all he say. um dumb. don't know nuffin'. das' what i wonts’um to think! so, i jus went on hopin' him undress. man stay right deir. ole senator wonted to punch him in de mouth fuh tellin' him to shet up. git real riled. i helt him till he cooled down. ole bastard fight de drap o' de hat, ole as he is! say to me, 'boy, if i wus obuh deir in sovie russia, i be head o' de secret police.' would you, sho nuff?' i asked him. de other man gimme a nasty look. he didn't lak me speakin' up. ole senator den say, “um fuh makin' de ku klux klan de secret police heah in de united states. us awready is de secret police, ain't us, george?' das dis othuh dude. 'we out to git you, we git you! if a nigger gits too smart, we knows how to git de smartness outta him! we don't have to lay a hand on him. we work on his head, till he snap a cord in his brain. he ain't no mo good aftuh we git thoo wif him!' den, dis george say to me, you go 'long 'bout yo business, boy.' 'um talkin' to dis nigger! senator yelled to him. 'um tellin' him somethin' fuh his own good an' pertection.' ole senator glared at me an' pinted his finger. 'nig- ger, long as you live, don't you evuh try to outsmart a white man. you cain't win. we git thoo wif you, you won't even know yo right name! you won't nevuh be de same aftuh! ... i didn't much like dat kinds o'talk, specially de way he said hit. man, i sho wus glad to git away frum deir! i ain' goin' lie." wardie folded his hands upon his lap and was silent for a long while. darkness was lifting from the sky and i saw in his face the pain of what he must be thinking. “lord!” i wailed. “i wonder what all they have done to that poor man? they must have done something or salters wouldn't have spoken the way he did. maybe his conscience was bothering him.” "i dunno," wardie muttered. “um only hearsay." "i wonder if a man like him has a conscience?" "i dunno. ..." i asked him, “there any colored folks out there working for salters?" “no, man,” wardie was quick to reply. "he nevuh hire no col- ored to work fuh him. furthermo', i don't know any o' our folks who wont to go work fuh him. if he brung dis friend o' yourns to his place, he mussa brung him in de daid o' night, so's nobody see him.” "i wonder could he still be in that house?" “um begin to wonder mysef,” wardie said vaguely. "only one way to find out. that's go there." "i guess we bettuh ease on way frum heah fo' we's seen,” he said, and started the car. “i git back, i goin' see whut i kin find out. i git miss vergie ʼlone by huhsef i pick huh. i pick huh sho as hell!" the car bounded forward and tore up the dirt road. wardie had her wide open. the assurance and smugness returned to his face as he steadied the speeding car. he was again pleased with himself. the butler city to which we came was not, as the name would imply, a real city. it was like so many hundreds of small towns all over america which seem to exist all by and for themselves and which nobody, except a person who came from there, ever heard about. seeing a town like this, a visitor would wonder what its peo ple do for a living. lights were on in kitchens and bathrooms of most of the small homes we drove past. then we came to a section where the homes were bigger and farther apart from each other and with- sweetest lil' ole pint-sized 'oman in de state o' georgia! tannie, meet a frien' o'mine--" tannie grinned to acknowledge my “glad to know you.” neither she nor wardie was interested in my name. wardie had given me no opportunity to tell him. "whut you got on yo hip?" she asked wardie. "huh?” he asked absently, as though he hadn't heard. "ain't you brung me somethin' to wake up on?" "heah...." wardie said, giving her the half we had left. she took it eagerly. “don't say i nevuh gi' you nothin'." she tipped the bottle to her lips and had a generous mouthful. "i sho needed dis! chile, dem mens was entertainin' heah las' night, dey drunk up evvything was heah, an'et up evvything, too! i ain't got no chops y'all kin have. all is heah is bacon an' eggs, y'all wonts dat.” "gimme dat, den, 'cause i sho is famished.” wardie sat down gloomily, beckoned me to sit at the other end of the table, while tannie prepared our breakfast. the talk between her and wardie was mostly banter and mostly alluding to people and places about which i knew nothing. they were great “company” to each other, being the only colored in the house. they gabbed about the girls and their male following, the big spenders and the cheapskates. there was a kindly, vacant earnestness in wardie's doll face and big dark eyes. it was the face of a girl, soft and light brown, the straight nose and thin lips shaded by a delicately trimmed mustache that did not, as he wished it to, give him a look of maturity. his skin was marred only by what looked like pin scratches that had left white scars on his forehead and down the sides of his face and neck. "wardie, don't you waste too long ovuh dat coffee." “um goin' play mistuh big today.” "who you tellin'?” "shoe fits ..." "don't fit my feet.” "um goin' do nuffin' all day.” "bes' you do!" “dat be a hint?" wardie nodded mechanically. i could tell that he didn't think much of my ruse. "well, um goin' let you off up yonduh where you see dat big ole tree," wardie said with an exasperated sigh. "you see de house when you git deir. hit sets back off de road a lil ways." the approach to the house was a winding lane, bordered with magnolia and dogwood trees. the house itself was an aged, two storied, white stucco-covered brick edifice with a wide, narrow por- tico and balcony half hidden behind four auted doric columns and ivy trellises. two massive bloodhounds slithered through the dwarf boxwoods lining the driveway and flanked me on both sides, nuzzling me about the legs and thighs, as i approached the piazza of the old manse. then, having satisfied whatever curiosity they had about me, the two graceless brutes cut loose and ran ahead of me, leaped to the piazza, and crouched there waiting, growling their inexplicable hatred. they defied me to come an inch closer. i waited at the bottom of the steps, hoping that someone in the house would hear them and come out. i heard a voice inside say, "well, go see who it is.” the big screen door was flung wide open. it bounded back against flood norfleet as he stepped outside the doorway. he kicked at the dogs and shooed them off, as he held the door open. they ambled away, crestfallen. "mus’uv skeered hell outta you, didn't they?" he said. “they sure did," i said. "good thing you didn't come up them steps!" “i guess it was a good thing i didn't.” “i seen’um jump a nigger who broke from the county jail and hid out here in the woods. poor devil was suffering so, why, we had to shoot him." "is he all right? ... what you do to him?". norfleet stuck his foot under my stomach and tried to raise me. i caught hold of the banister of the staircase and tried to raise myself. “lil' outta breath, that's 'bout all. he tripped and lost his balance,” norfleet said. getting to my feet, i saw the senator for the first time. the sharp, green eyes regarded me with happy, diabolical cunning. he was a wiry, nervous little man. he kept backing away daintily, as though he were afraid my nearness might contaminate him. slivers of dingy gray hair kept falling down around his temples to annoy him, and he was continually scooping the unruly strands back in place with his fingers. "say something!” he commanded me. "what do you want me to say?" i asked. "aha!” he exclaimed. “it was you, you black bastard, who called me on the phone from new york! thought you could scare me, didn't you? what? did you think you had me? hah? boy, i got to hand it to you. for a nigger, you sho has a lotta nerve to come down here! i think you a durned fool, myself, to come down here. boy, you sho got yourself in a mess!" "don't you wish, now, you'd stayed in harlem?" norfleet snickered. the senator started to laugh, then abruptly he changed his mind. he waved to norfleet. “git him inside here." "you gonna give him that interview?" "call it what you like.” he went down the hall and we followed him, norfleet just a step behind me. “he ain't foolin' 'bout that interview, 'cause one thing he sure loves to talk!” norfleet said. the room we entered had the austerity of a strictly private study. the walls were serrated with shelves of books which must have come with the purchase of this old mansion, kept there for no other reason except that the shelves had been designed for them. the senator back-hopped upon the desk and sat there swinging his legs out and under like a small boy. a third man was present and a woman was there also, the woman, i recognized immediately, being the one who had been on the train-the woman from whom i had fled. there she was, as sober and pristine looking as a minister's wife! i might not have recognized her so easily. it was the way she avoided my stare that gave her away. she sat poised serenely in a big leather-upholstered chair, while the man seemed to be favoring his blubbery weight by remaining in a prone position on the sofa, his eyes grazing the lofty ceiling. he didn't so much as look at me. he knew who was there and was content to just listen. norfleet locked the door and wandered off to a corner of the room and slouched lazily in another armchair. they did not intend for me to sit. the senator and norfleet ex- changed sly, amused glances between themselves. they were going to have a little fun with me. i pretended not to notice. i could do nothing but play possum and wait for the showdown. the senator, however, was in no hurry. i suspect they were rather disappointed because they could not enjoy my helplessness as much as they had anticipated. they knew that i was under no illusions. and i knew that behind the façade of amusement was a sinister purpose. i knew that they were people who would stop at nothing, that i might not leave this place alive, yet the terror of my knowing was not enough to frighten me. they saw this, and i sensed their warped hatred of me and of all that i represented to them. “tell me you come all the way down here just to interview me," the senator marveled, as though my presence intrigued him, flattered him. "i didn't come just to interview you, senator," i corrected him. he glared at me in mock surprise. “why, i thought you wanted to ask me what my views and opinions concerning the nigger race. i thought you wanted to git from me some statement for your paper. that's what i thought you after.” “i think the colored people are better acquainted with your views, senator, than you give them credit for being," i said. “no, they are not!" he smacked the desk, bounced to his feet, and leered at me. "what makes you think so?” i asked calmly. i didn't back away from him. he was right up in my face. finally, i had to back away to keep from being spattered. into a faint whisper."... like the little ole fly that walked into the parlor of the ole cunning mister spider." he froze, then he raised his arm slowly and snapped his fingers. the men noiselessly alerted themselves, spreading out. they came by us slowly, cautiously. josh pushed me down to a squatting position at the base of the tree. “stay here," he whispered, as he melted into the thickness. there was a burst of gunfire which lasted no longer than a sec- ond, followed, a moment later, by three single shots spaced seconds apart. it sounded a long ways off. the thickness of the woods may have muffled the noise. i could now hear only the cracking of dry branches. they had gone way back into the woods and were there a long time. i stretched my legs and waited and tried to speculate as to what they might be doing. they came out of the woods from the opposite direction from which they had gone. i got up and went to meet them. by now, my eyes had got used to the darkness, so that i could move about without stumbling over chunks of dead branches and pine cones or bumping into trees. for the first time, i noticed that there were two large automobiles parked there. "is it all right to smoke?” i asked josh. “why not!” he said. "have one?" "no thanks. i got a cigar.” "how about the other boys?” "you hang onto your cigarettes. you go passin' em around, you won't have none." the fellows laughed. “he shore right, man!” said one of them. "les' move out!" josh ordered. i got into one of the cars and sat between josh and the driver, a big fellow who smelled pungently of pine resin and body musk. he was a solemn fellow. he didn't talk. he responded, when josh gave instructions, with an acquiescing nod. he was wholly pre- occupied with driving. the three men in the back seat talked in sluggish snatches of mumbled animation. our car led off. the other car had trouble starting. it finally caught up with us when we had advanced about a mile down the road. i heard it chugging behind us. josh sat sidewise, one arm across the ridge of the seat, the elbow of the other nudged through the window opening at his right, smoking a cigar. "we don't do much talking when we're out like this," he told me. "most talking we do is when we're making our plans. we got a job to do, like the one tonight, we go ahead, decide on what we goin' to do and how we goin' to do it, and then we go ahead and pull it off. we don't let nobody in on what we do. that's why we sent wardie back to town. wardie don't know nothing. he can't git himself in no trouble, can't git us in no trouble. you didn't see us doing anything, did you?" "no. i heard the shooting," i said. "you know what the shooting was about?" "no." "what else you hear?" "you fellows moving around.” "we only wanted one. three came, so we had to take care of three. it was you they were after. you know now. you know who all was the three?" "flood norfleet?" "uh-huh.” “the big fat guy?" "hoagy shibe.” i hesitated. what i was thinking seemed incredible to me. “not salters? not him?” a reckless, foolish-sounding question, i thought. i was flabbergasted when josh nodded and said simply: "yes, we did. we even got the grand dragon. flood norfleet was our man, though. he's the one we really wanted-wanted bad. we had to get him for shooting to death preacher's oldest boy. that's preacher here driving this car. that shooting happened several months ago, so you see how long we waited. they been killing a lot of our folks and the law won't bother to prosecute them, so, in self-defense, a group of us got ourselves together to do something about it. so far, we done all right. nobody talks. they go out look- "i know that.” “them people kidnaped him, you say, and they were holding him up yonder at the senator's place?" "i know it to be a fact. they took him there. whether he's there still, i don't know." "just a minute-_” josh had preacher stop the car. "biddy," he said to one of the men in the back seat, “go back there and change places with ewell. tell him i want to talk to him." "he goin' ride wid you-all?" said biddy. "you and him swap cars, 'cause i want to talk to him," josh ex- plained. “get ewell to tell you about some old fellow he saw about a day or so ago," he prompted me, as ewell got inside the car to join us. “ewell, our friend here would be glad if you tell him about that stranger you meet up with the other night when you was hauling that lumber out to cantey crossing." ewell was a voice that spoke to me in the dark, for i couldn't see him. he sat directly behind me, between the other two men, in the back seat. and i was wedged between josh and preacher in front, so that i was unable to turn round. but he leaned forward and talked close to my ear. bronchitis had all but snuffed out his voice. it must have been an ordeal for him to articulate. "been a dark night, chances is i nevuh woulda notice de man, him being way ovuh t'othuh side de road, walkin' long slow, payin' no ’tention to nothin', draggin' long lak somebody in a complete daze. i kinda frightened first. i drove up 'longside o' him an' he nevuh so much as turn round to 'knowledge i'm there. i thought hit mighty funny and peculiar, so somethin' tell me to 'quire if he was sick an' if i could hope him. i awready 'tracted his 'tention, when i called out to him, an' he'd stopped. so, i den 'quired if he sick an' in trouble an' if i could do anything to hope him, i'd do hit, i says. he was pleasant an' nice. didn't seem upset or nothin'. he thanked me an' he say how glad he was to meet somebody. he tell me he been travel- in' afoot fuh some time. he didn't jes recollect where he'd been at, but he wanted to git back to chicago, so he wanted to know if he was goin' in de right direction to git deir. he spoke very good english, lak a man dat is mos' highly eddicated, but ain't jes quite right in de head, you know whut i mean. i tole him he nevuh git to chicago by walkin'. i say, 'brothuh, you has to go by train to chicago. you know, he thought he was way out in de suburbs o’ chicago? he didn't b'lieve hit when i tole him where he was. no' could he, fuh de life o' him, make out how he git way down heah in georgia. he say he would pay me whutevuh i charge, if i git him to de railroad sta- tion, so he could git de train goin' to chicago. i tole him dat dey wus no train whut goes dis time o' night, but he could stay de night at my house an' in de mornin' i'd take him to de depot in butler city an' he catch a train out from deir. i wusn't aimin' to charge him nothin', but, in de mornin' aftuh he has breakfus' wif me an' de missus, bless if he don't hand my missus a whole twenty-dollar bill! have plenty money on him. i notice de clothes he have on wus real high class, 'ceptin' dey look lak he slept in them and git them all wrinkled an' soiled up." at this point, i asked, “did you notice any marks or bruises on him-like on his face and head? did he look like he'd been beaten up, i mean?" "nothin' dat i noticed, 'ceptin' he sho needed a shave awful bad an', lak i said, his clothes wus all mussed up. not raggedy. jes mussed up. i offer him my razor to shave, but he said he wanted his beard to grow back, 'cause he felt naked widout his vandyke beard.” "did he tell you his name?”. "king solomon. but i think he mus meant 'solomon king.' i don't think he rightly knowed who he wus. he so mixed up an' con- fused. whut you call dem people who fuhgit who dey is an' dey memory is all blank?” menamnesia victinink he wus." wwee in chicago. inow his “das' whut i think he wus." “he say whom he was going to see in chicago?” "he said his wife lived deir, but he don't even know his wife's name! i asked him. he tried to think who huh name is an' he jes couldn't. den i asked do he know de address where she lives. he didn't know. now, i know muhsef-an' i ain't nevuh wus deir-dis chicago is a terrible big place. now, how he goin' find a wife he don't know huh name, don't know where she lives at? i reason all i reached atlanta without incident. the long waiting for the bus to come out of butler city was a more agonizing experience than was the long, wearisome ride itself. i was too close to butler city and the cross-burning for comfort. and i was alone out on the highway. my rescuers had summarily left me there to fend for myself. josh didn't seem to think anybody would bother me way out there. the troublemakers, he said, were all in butler city either watching or taking an active part in the demonstra- tion. which was not enough to allay my fears, so i stood way off in the shadows deflected by a large tree whose spreading top branches overhung the lamppost and the road, ducking behind the tree out of reach of automobile headlights. i waited fully two hours for the bus. my feet and my legs were numb from standing. for there was no place to sit. i had to stay near the road for fear the bus might shoot past and i would be stuck in this place for the remainder of the night. for all i knew, the klan might be scouring the countryside for me. they might have grown impatient and tired of waiting for their grand dragon to show up in butler city and might have gone out to the salters estate to find out what the cause was for the delay. the woman might still be there. it was possible that she knew that i had escaped and that the three men had gone after me, and possible also that she might have heard the shooting. my brain sizzled with fears and speculations. i had no way of knowing how far from the house the shooting had occurred. if she heard it, she surely must have phoned into butler city and informed the klan. the one remaining "white street” left. the neighbors thought the whisonants were white, until their suspicion was aroused by the visits of negroes. then, one by one, the white neighbors sold their homes and moved across the park. i lifted the gate-latch and entered the yard. dolly must have spied me from the window, for she was holding the front door open as i stepped onto the porch. if she was surprised to see me, she didn't show it. she eyed me critically, the way a mother might look at a child she didn't quite know how to handle. the outlandishly gay smock she was wearing over a pair of baggy slacks and the disarray of her white-folks hair didn't at all harmonize with the mood she was in. "you look a mess!" she said. "i feel the way i look!" i retorted. "like something the cat dragged in!" "never mind how i look," i said. “i'm damn lucky to be here." “between you and this mess last night, i don't know why i'm not out of my mind!" "i had nothing to do with last night. why jump down my throat about last night?" “not with last night, but, lordy, the night before! i call myself coming down home here to spend a nice quiet vacation with my folks. and what happens? i get mixed up plenty in this mess of yours on the train. i get home, and there's this terrible awful mess the whole night long! were you here? did you see it?". “i just arrived here." "where've you been all this time?" “butler city." "butler city? what a fool you are to come here! this is no place for you to be now. you oughtn't to come.” “i'm here now, and that's that," i said. “am i welcome in your house?” "don't be sarcastic!" "i didn't know," i said icily, but i was play-acting. dolly under- stood and she laughed, grabbing me by the coat sleeve and pulling me past her into the hall. “nerve you have to act hinkty with me! nigger, for two cents--!" "who is it, doll girl?” her mother called from the kitchen. memory leaped over the years and the sound was identically the same, so i knew right off it was her mother—“miss addie.” i called to her, “it's me, miss addie." dolly added: “it's 'thello king, ma." neither of us expected the old woman to remember me. i don't think i bore any resemblance to the child she had known. dolly took me back into the kitchen. miss addie, as i had always called her, was sitting at the table having her morning coffee. she squinted up at me through her glasses and smiled as i greeted her. “mama, this is 'thello king,” dolly said. “missus caroline king's boy. yonna, this is "theil. ses and smiled arning coffee. she wys called i don't think she heard dolly. she pretended, because she didn't want me to think that she could have forgotten me. “oh..." said she. her nearsighted little blue eyes twinkled prettily as she fluttered her dough-white hands. “quite a stranger!" the back door opened and in came dolly's father with a scuttle of kindling wood. they had a fire going in the ancient kitchen range, presumably to cook breakfast and to take the early morning chill off the house. rangy and agile for a man who must be over seventy-odd years, mr. whisonant's florid whiteness made him look like an east european. both his hair and his full scraggly mustache were black without a streak of gray visible. he didn't notice me. he busied himself methodically stoking the fire. the room was filling with smoke. mrs. whisonant coughed and fanned away the smoke with her hand. “mr. whisonant, don't go making a big fire," she pleaded. "ain't a big fire. make it so to take the chill off," he said. “i know, but it is summer. it's goin' warm up. the radio man says he predicts round ninety degrees by noon.” “way long time before noon.” he saw me and dolly and grinned. “you got a sweater on," he kidded his wife. "hello, mr. whisonant!" i said. “how's the boy!” he greeted me cheerily, as though i were some- one he was used to seeing and talking to every day. the truth was that he probably thought he should know me, even if he couldn't hhh place who i was. he was a retired letter carrier, and this fact may have explained his friendly casualness. “how you been, son?” he asked. “oh, just fine," i said. “just fine." dolly saw no need to reacquaint us. "how did you folks make out with the fire last night?” he asked. "i wasn't here,” i said. “i was out of town when it happened.” “didn't reach your place? tha's good to hear.” it was apparent that he thought i was somebody else. i sort of encouraged the de- ception. “by the grace of the good lord, the wind shifted and tha's what saved us-all up here. that thing got to goin' so, couldn't nothin' have saved us, if the wind don't shift. i don't much think them firemen tried very hard. they was sure a long time gittin' out here." "tell me, how'd it start?” i asked him. dolly pulled a chair up to the table, then led me to sit down, while she hustled up breakfast for me. mr. whisonant saw what she was about and obligingly got out of her busy way. he leaned back leisurely against the sink to talk to me. “you know, things ain't been the same round here, since the time that solomon morehouse was here and spoke in the auditorium and the white papers carried his speech he made. that was quite a while back-i don't know if you remembers it-but it sure made these white folks think! that fellow stirred up a hornet's nest! and i tell you what make'em so plague-take-it mad is that they know he's got the whole country behind him. you know, he said that the south can only redeem herself for her crime against the negro one way, and that is by the immediate creation of a negro state. “separate, but equal! he shouted. i heard him. i was right there when he shouted it 'cross the hall. ol' klan try they level best that night to break up that meeting. you remember that meeting! a hundred or more o' them in white hoods stampeded right into the hall and made for the platform where morehouse stood speaking. somebody got to the basement and switched off the lights. they hustled morehouse out the back way, into a car, and got him outta town in a hurry! it was quick action, all right. they was goin' lynch morehouse sho as anything." “how did this thing last night start?” i again asked. mr. whisonant looked surprised. “what! you didn't hear the president's speech?” there was anger and reproach in his voice. "why, it come over all the radio stations and the tv. where was you?” as if i could have known about anything outside the terror and desperation of the past twenty-four hours of my life! his censure gave way to a patronizing sense of humor, as he was amused by the apathy and know-nothingness of the members of his race. i rather fancied he enjoyed his intellectual isolation. he poised himself like a great dramatic actor and declared, “the president said that a state of emergency exists and that the whole country is now under martial law. then he read the proclamation. the proclama- tion, son.” he wagged his head. "i'm tellin' you!" i was astonished. i must have looked awfully funny to him, be- cause the old man laughed at me. “mr. whisonant, are you serious?" i asked, my voice trembling with emotion. “what sort of proclamation?" “you mark my words, son, this proclamation is goin' down in history as the second emancipation proclamation! the first one emancipated the colored man from chattel slavery, didn't it?" "yes. ..." “the second one emancipates him from second-class citizenship!" he declared astutely. “from here on out, son, you and me and all the rest of the colored people in this country gonna be facing the greatest challenge to our manhood since lincoln freed the slaves, 'cause this will mean that we goin' have to think and work and govern for ourselves. yes, we goin' have to stand on our own two flat feet. son, we're free at last! we free as any man can ever hope to be. now, we got our own place in the sun." mrs. whisonant winced, cutting her husband with a silencing half turn of her head. she sat prim and upright, looking to catch dolly's eye. when she did, she warned dolly in a whisper she wanted to be heard, “fetch him his soapbox!” dolly humored her mother and pretended to be laughing at her father behind his back. the old man understood. he winked at dolly. dolly winked back. there was conspiracy and counter- conspiracy. it was difficult to tell who was laughing at whom. i had a plate of ham and eggs set in front of me, hot bread and coffee to my left and right respectively. i had had nothing in my stomach since the breakfast tannie had prepared for me and wardie, which had been all of twenty-four hours, and i was starved. i relished every mouthful of that food, and i think dolly enjoyed seeing me eat. "you make these biscuits, miss addie?” i asked with butter- melting sweetness, southern-style. the old lady smiled. "no, honey. they's doll girl's,” she said, and gave dolly an affectionate smile, as though she were pulling for dolly in my behalf. “that negro's hungry, mama! anything taste good to him!” dolly quipped, as she brought me a second helping of hot biscuits. she reached between me and her mother and gathered up the pack of cigarettes and matches that were on the table. she put them back after she had lit a cigarette, smoke streaming from her thin nostrils. mrs. whisonant coughed, shooing the smoke away. "doll girl!" she reproved. “i'm sorry, mama." “blowing that ole smoke right in my face! over this boy's food!” “doesn't bother me, miss addie,” i said. "i don't like it blowin' in my face. besides, you hadn't ought to be smokin'. i think women smokin' is vulgar. i love the smell of a good cigar, myself. tried to get mr. whisonant to smoke cigars. he prefers that ole stinky pipe to a good cigar. ... doll girl, who you say this boy was?” she turned to me. "he's othello king, mama-miss caroline's boy." "caroline morris' boy?" "yes, mama.” "well, i do declare!" she marveled, taking a good look at me. “he takes right after caroline. looks a whole lot like her brother grady." "they all said i took after my uncle grady," i told her. "just like grady morris for the world! i said to myself, when you come into the room, this boy sure do put me in mind of grady morris, caroline morris' older brother!" "oh, for pete's sake, addie!" mr. whisonant moaned. "grady been dead so long! you stay in the past! the past! it's all dead and gone forever! this young man don't remember his uncle grady. grady died when he was too young to remember he had an uncle. anyway, it isn't important. my good woman, do you realize that we are passin' through one of the most-if not the most-critical mo- ments in the history of the colored race in this country?". mrs. whisonant sighed mockingly: "oh, lord! dolly, it's more soapbox!" the old fellow turned his appeal to dolly and me. "trouble with people like addie is she don't want to face up to facts and reality. she won't admit it, but she's afraid of what's happening here in atlanta. i ain't afraid. i seen all this coming on long time ago.” then, before resuming, he paused and relighted his pipe. i watched him, the sucking motion of his cheeks expanding and contracting like hand bellows. toughness and durability showed even in this so casual act. "miss addie,” he chided his wife, “what you goin' do when they order you out of your own house?” “let me ask you that question, mr. whisonant." "i'll go, tha's what i'll do," he said. “go where?" "wherever this government orders me." "you talkin' pure craziness, mr. whisonant!" "i'm the same as anyone else. we all in this boat together. i'll start a new life.” "new life nothing! at your age, too. your life is behind you. this house is my home and i'm not goin' give up my home, mr. whiso- nant, and go somewheres i ain't sure i'm even goin' have a roof over my head!” "listen to that talk! as if the government was packin' her off to some foreign country! you'll still be in the united states. in a brand-new state. thas all it is, addie-a new, created state. do you know it's goin' to include parts of several states, they say, 'bout one- third of mississippi, alabama, georgia, and south carolina, which will make it just about the size of tennessee. i'm all set to give it a name. i've thought up a name to give to our forty-ninth state.” miss addie sniffed. “you've thought up a name!" “take the m for mississippi, the a for alabama, the g for georgia, and then you add the ina in carolina, and put them all together, you spell m-a-g-i-n-a-magina!" beautiful-sounding, i thought! “magina-magina-magina,” i repeated orally, testing the euphony of the new word. mr. whiso- nant watched me with a pleased expression on his face. “i think that will be a marvelous name to call the new state,” i said. "i thought of writing the president and suggesting it to him,” he said proudly. miss addie was distraught. "we scraped and saved to buy this house, mr. whisonant," she went on, oblivious of our enthusiasm. "you goin' let a house decide your future for you?" mr. whiso- nant asked. “i ain't got no future. i just want to live wha's left of my life in peace.” mr. whisonant wagged his head, his hands fluttered in gestures of despair. “you can't talk any sense into addie! no vision! plague take it, addie! you have got to make sacrifices. tha's the truth as i'm telling you, girl. old and young alike got to bring this dream to pass. we ain't goin' be round long enough to enjoy it ourselves, but doll girl here, her and this young fellow will, and if they have children, they children goin' look back on us dead and gone and it's goin' make them feel mighty proud that us old people had this vision. girl, i'm telling you!" the three of us-dolly, her father, and myself-looked at one another, touched by our mutual understanding. then, we looked hopefully at miss addie. miss addie shut her eyes tight, defiant-like, and said, “you go follow after the niggers, then, mr. whisonant. i'm goin' up north and i'll live with doll girl and i'll pass myself off as white! so help me, thas' what i'll do! do what we both shoulda did years ago-for doll girl's sake. and it was all on account of you, mr. whisonant, that we didn't. you made the race problem for your- self, you did!” "oh, shut up, mama!” dolly snapped. i knew she did this out of consideration for my feelings. “i think it's all foolishness. i don't care what i am. it doesn't bother me. never concern me. i'm some of everything. so's the rest of the human race, they only knew it. i don't say i'm white. i don't say i'm colored. i don't say anything! get me?" her eyes narrowed into a concentrated hardness, as though to warn me and her father not to expect her to change her present way of life. later, when we were alone together, i asked dolly what she intended to do. inter. nothing," she ante a race man" .. white as papa is. sod why he "your father is quite a race man," i said. "he is. no put-on about papa. as white as papa is, you know, he's always been proud of being a negro. i never understood why he has to be proud about it. i never been one way or the other myself. how about you, 'thello? you proud of being a negro?" “i have to be proud-in self-defense,” i said, not profoundly. "come on, now! what can you be proud of?" she argued. “i don't know truthfully.” "what have the white folks got to be proud of either?" "they have to pretend the same as we do. it's a basic social need.” i thought we could laugh off our dismay, but dolly didn't seem to want to. “'thello, i know what is happening for our people is the right thing, and i'm glad. i want to see it. they're my people. but how i choose to live and the people i choose to live with is my own busi- ness. i like the advantages of being white. you know what i mean?" "sure," i said. “a white skin pays off. white folks are here to stay.” i meant to hurt her. i could see that it did hurt her. dolly looked long at me without saying anything. we each under- stood how the other felt, and yet our feelings imprisoned us sepa- rately. but i really did want to make an exception of dolly whiso- nant, because i knew her heart. you could see through so easily to her heart. i would not have liked her but for that, because i disap- prove of any colored person who passes for white. i got away from dolly as quickly as i could and was out of atlanta before the morn- ing was spent, because i knew that there was not any longer a place in my world for even a dolly whisonant. the dolly whisonants could think white, look white, and act white. if i tried to, i'd only delude myself and probably get into some serious trouble to boot. i can feel no affinity for those of my race who can and do pass for white. and, to the ones who can't, like myself, the dolly whisonants are lost and their loss should never be counted. dolly had insisted on going to the station with me to see me off, but i refused to let her come. i told her frankly that she was too white to be seen on the streets of atlanta with any man who even remotely resembled a negro, and especially at this crucial time. she laughed in ridicule at my qualms, for dolly always had a reckless, independ- ent spirit, but i made it plain to her that i meant to leave atlanta without incident and that it was best for me to go my way alone. dolly yielded, but she chided me about my being awfully silly and afraid of my own shadow. “i'm going back to new york,” she announced. “i'm flying back. i might do it tonight. i'm going out to the municipal airport now and make reservations." "what about your folks?" i asked. "they'll be all right. things will work out. we've got to wait anyway and see what happens. i don't think anybody is prepared for this,” she said. "i know i'm not,” i said. “i sure didn't expect it to happen so soon." "i want you to give me katherine's address, so i can go by and see her,” dolly said. "why would you want to see her?" i asked. "woman's reason,” she smiled. "that all?" “isn't that enough? good god!" "not where you're concerned!” "plague take you, 'thello king! i'm making it my business to find out if she's good enough to have you." “aren't you rushing this thing a bit? honey, i don't profess to be in love with anybody, but if you want to meet katherine, well, it's all right by me. she's a swell girl. i know you'll like her.” "do you?" she smiled roguishly. "we'll see. what's her address?" i gave her the full name and the address, and she wrote it down. “will you really go by and see katherine and tell her how i am?" “yes, mother?” the young woman queried. "is anyone else waiting to see me?" "yes, mother-mrs. fowler and sister rebecca are waiting.” “give them my blessing and, please, dear, will you persuade them to come back tomorrow? i wish to see no one." “are you all right, mother?" “my peace is wonderful, dear.” “mother, i'm so glad!" "thank you, daughter!" "i thank you, mother!" mother serena preceded me up the long, winding stairs of the sedate old mansion which had been reconverted so as to accommo- date the particular needs of her prosperous cult. the downstairs consisted of a consultation room, an enormous chapel where services were held nightly and all day sundays, and the banquet room where the sunday “love feast" was held. mother serena's private quarters and the guest rooms were on the second and third floors. she told me about her temple as she labored slowly up the stairs. “all that you see about you is the handiwork of god," she af- firmed in a dreamy, singsong voice. “i am the overseer. i see to it that everything here must express some of god. this is a house of love and devotion. i am the vessel-the channel for infinite mind and divine principle. i am not the reincarnation of the virgin mary as my followers insist that i am. i rebuke them for saying this. i do! i am a manifestation, certainly, but i am not the virgin mother.” "you have a beautiful place," i said. "isn't the peace wonderful!” she exclaimed happily. "beyond words!" she smiled approvingly. the man inside the room we were entering stood with his back to us before a huge panel of richly curtained windows framed by thick velvet draperies which hung from a high ceiling down to an immaculately polished parquet floor. the room, i gathered, had been transformed from a bedroom into a parlor. the sliding doors of the closet were closed tight and partially concealed by draperies. the ponderous antique furnishings must have come with the purchase of the house, and the whole shebang lifted bodily from downstairs and brought up here to crowd and to junk a space that was way too small to do it justice. the man stood with his forefingers locked behind him, his head bowed in meditation, for he did not seem at all interested in the view the windows may have given him. "darling?” mother serena called to him gently. “there is some- one to see you. a nice gentleman from a newspaper. and he has come all the way from new york to see you." without turning round to acknowledge either of us, or to lift his head, he inquired, “does he seek my help?" he seemed a trifle an- noyed at our intrusion. she looked at me as though to beg my indulgence, then said, “yes." he sighed heavily, mumbling, “i will help him. where is he?" "he is here now." he described an imaginary arc as he turned himself around. there was charm and vanity in the way he received us, a smile of affection for mother serena and for me a benign nod. he waved his hand to us to sit down. as we seated ourselves, he strode back to the window. i had seen so many pictures of this man in the newspapers i received while i was abroad, yet i don't believe that a single one i saw did him justice. for one thing, he was not as dark of skin as he showed up in those printed reproductions. he was the lightest pos- sible shade of brown-close to being a "high yaller.” it is the fate of most pigmented people to photograph either too light or too dark. for another, he was not in the least flaccid. he had a well-formed nose and, for a negro, a small mouth. the eyes were something else. they were big, poppy eyes, the yellowed, bloodshot eyes of a man who had difficulty sleeping. his head had been shaved and scrubbed till it glistened like an amber-colored wax orange. the hair which had been allowed to remain about his mouth and chin gave promise of restoring to his features the occult likeness of king solomon. the long, high-collared frock of scarlet red, lavishly brocaded down the front with mystic symbols of gold, and the wide green sash wrapped tightly round his waist and lapped over once so that the tassels fell about his knees and bobbled when he moved about, further restored the likeness. sigh. “how could anyone like me have done the things-the great things—this man has done? i couldn't read or write my own name until i was a grown man. my father and my mother were both il- literate people. my father was an old-time root doctor. he practiced voodoo and black magic. he was an evil black man. i get my light color from my mother. she was a mulatto. my father could fix people and cause them to have fits and spells. they bought his vang-vang oil, the lucky mojoe drops and mojoe incense. it was from him that i learned the secrets of love potions and fortunetelling. i know voodoo, though i never used it to harm anyone, you understand. mother will tell you. . . . she is reposed. i shan't disturb her. no. it wouldn't be good for her. she is in another world. . . . let us go quietly. i will see you to the door.” he closed the door behind him gently and went with me down the stairs. he smiled. “i was on to you all along!” he said. “on to me how?" i asked. “i knew you were trying to insinuate that i might be solomon morehouse." "insinuate nothing!" i said bluntly. "you are, man! you've had a terrible thing happen to you. you lost your memory. i've followed you here to chicago." "you claim i was kidnaped and taken to georgia for a secret meeting with the ku klux klan, and then they did this terrible thing to me because i didn't do whatever it was they wanted me to do?" "yes. how do you think you got to chicago? you remember coming here?" "it's been so long! i've been in chicago a long time.” "how long?" "i don't remember exactly." "i can tell you that you haven't been here over two or three days, because i talked with the fellow who put you on the train in butler city." "it was somebody who looked like me-like yourself. here. ... turn round.” he made me look at myself in the big mirror at the foot of the staircase. he was smiling as i marveled at our physical resemblance. “there! aha! even with this head of mine shaved dupl a dupl , a property of universih of michigan libraries artes scientia veritas university place book shop university place new york , n. y. thunder gerere the black challenge the black challenge edmund o. austin vantage press • new york washington • chicago • hollywood • toronto x ; a ints first edition all rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form copyright, , by edmund o. austin published by vantage press, inc. west st street, new york , n. y. manufactured in the united states of america ( . to marcus cox-a proud negro. i'll neverever i'en i die 's) i hope that when i die and go to- wherever i am going i'll never bend the knee too low to- whoever did the sowing. i hope that when the good lord calls me, and says: who's a-going there? i'll have the nerve to shout-whate'er befalls me there's a nigger coming here! ode to the n. a. a. c. p. and its freedom fighters. (the 's) o strivers in the wilderness, erupting into bloom, upturning to the sun's caress the face of him in gloom, expression of the black man's voice to sing his lowly songs, crusaders thou, without a choice, go sing his age-old wrongs. sing to the world a carefree tune, nor note of gloom nor fear; this to the world the heavenly boon that only black men dare. out from the night, out from the dark swing low, swing high, swing long, voice of that night, voice of the lark, throating a golden song. nor power nor wealth may come to thee- thou hast no port, no goal; for thou art e'en a ship at sea, with freight-the negro's soul. and who may span that boundless sea, or limit its embrace? be this thy opportunity, voice of the negro racel e. o. a. the black challenge chapter i “a canaani a land flowing with milk and honey!" - this was jeremiah king's summary opinion of harlem some few weeks after his arrival in new york as hé paused at the corner of th street and seventh avenue and stood contemplating the hustle and bustle of black, brown and light-skinned negro life streaming around him. "but with no strict jehovah and his ten command- ments to worry about and-no moses," he added, as an afterthought. thinking in biblical terms came natural to jeremiah king. back in his british west indian island home, from which he had so recently emigrated, his father had been a minister of the gospel. from his very early beginnings jeremiah's youthful fancy had been fed on stories from the bible, particularly the old testament, reciting the progress of the ancient israelites in their toilsome journey from en- slavement in egypt towards canaan, the land of promise. during his contemplative pause on the harlem sidewalk, jeremiah felt himself to be, indeed, akin and like unto one of that imaginary band of invading israelites standing on the hill of mizpah, and having before him the vision of a promised land. jeremiah had used his short sojourn in harlem to ad- vantage. he had observed much. true, in his search for knowledge and diversion in the pleasure palaces of this "nigger heaven," as harlem had quite recently been most inelegantly termed by a well-known, but ribald, novelist, on the hill of mary band of invadir skin and like unt the black challenge jeremiah had found the july weather to be much more un- comfortably hot and disagreeable than even the heat of his tropical island home, yet he contrived not to perspire too profusely and endeavored at all times to maintain what he considered to be one of the hallmarks of a true gentleman -a poised and dignified leisureliness. all in all, it seemed obvious to jeremiah that harlem was a most liberal place. in any undertaking conducted there, the sky seemed the limit. officers of the law jeremiah had seen, both white and black, but their purpose in the scheme of things seemed rather to preserve the hilarity than to disturb it. in the matter of business ventures, harlem appeared a young, tod- dling community, with the race to the dexterous of hand and the nimble of brain-a totally irresponsible place made as much to order for him as he had ever dreamed any spot in the world could be. a desire to weave himself into the fibre and texture of this place, to be a part of its sprawling adventure, surged through jeremiah; and he came to the conclusion that he was going to enjoy a very satisfactory existence, indeed, in harlem. as jeremiah continued to pause there on the sidewalk, he heard in the distance the deep, regular boom of a drum come up the avenue. suddenly, the air was cracked by the shrill blare of a brass band. up the avenue the sounds came, nearer and nearer, the gladness of anticipation ripen- ing into the fervor of consummation. people here and there stopped in their tracks on the sidewalk; and advance agents -children rushing along and weaving their way in and out of those who had stopped to watch-heralded the ap- proach of what it turned out to be, a mammoth parade. at the head of the procession, a short, squatty, black negro bestrode an enormous white horse. the horse, a chosen performer for the occasion, stepped proudly and prancingly along like the charger of some king. even from the distance jeremiah caught the flash of gleaming white teeth as the rider grinned and bowed to the sidewalk throng. the black challenge his broad shoulders and thick, compressed body were en- cased in a close-fitting purple military suit. across his broad chest was spread a golden sash bearing conspicuously in black letters the insignia: "high commander.” following the high commander and upborne by two stalwart aides-both black as their leader and similarly dressed in purple uniforms-a large crimson banner flaunted its brazen message aloft: “back to africai” and below, in smaller letters: "return to the home of your african an- cestors.” the parade itself was so flamboyant that neither its plan, its scope, nor its purpose impressed themselves on jeremiah's immediate comprehension. of parades celebrating some sig- nificant thing in the life of the community back in his west indian island home, jeremiah had seen quite a few. he had often enjoyed the antics of the gay masqueraders during mardi gras carnivals. he had witnessed the battalions of the british army put through their paces. he had mingled with the east indian population of san fernando during the periodic gaieties of their hosein festivals. all these had had some accepted place in the life and habits of his island community. but here was something which, in pur- pose and in spirit, seemed entirely outside of, and foreign to, the rushing life of harlem-a “back-to-africa" move- ment. harlem, with its streets and avenues, their odors, their crowds, their color, was truly intriguing to jeremiah. back to the african jungles-habitat of lions and tigers and all sorts of strange, wild animals, among them savage human beings? interesting enough, perhaps, but full of danger and uncer- tainty. one would always have to be on the alert while satisfying curiosity. but here in harlem, and on its high- ways and byways, were stray and idle groups of gossiping men and women holding up lamp posts and cluttering street corners; ribald laughter; quick banter and turns of speech; deep, rumbling voices that sounded like drumbeats and were yet mellow as flutes; and, underneath it all, a gay ir- the black challenge responsibility which seemed not to give a snap of the fingers either for the here or the hereafter-this, indeed, was fit hunting ground for an adventurous soul, “who in hell wants to go to africa?” he muttered. to whom was this invitation addressed, anyhow? surely not to him and all the brown and yellow and light-skinned people collected there. was not england, the birthplace of his caucasian mother, as much his home as africa, the land of his paternal ancestors? if so, how divide himself? which part of him belonged to africa and which to somewhere else? what was the matter with new york, with harlem? wasn't this place good enough? and who was this bold proposer-or these proposers-who had the folly or the te- merity to preach the rank heresy emblazoned on these ban- ners flaunted aloft? the leader of the procession had reached th street, he swept his purple-and-gold oștrich-plumed cockade from his head with a grandiose gesture and waved to the crowds. his thick, stubby hair sprang in remonstrating kinks from the top of his head like the erected quills of an agitated porcupine. with the white of his eyes and gleaming teeth set as focusing points in his black, perspiring face, he seemed for all the world like some naughty ape which, in the glee of newly found freedom, was intent on some wanton act. an instant more, and the prancing white horse and its rider came abreast and in full view of jeremiah. jeremiah stared into that black face with unbelieving eyes. excited recognition came to him. by the great jumping jehoshaphat. that was marcus- marcus cox, his erstwhile man-of-all-work back home in the west indies some half-score or so years ago. for a flashing moment those years rolled back their veil and a clear picture came to jeremiah out of the past. a long dusty road lay ahead. jeremiah himself bestrode an old, rakish, raw-boned horse, riding to his law office in san fernando. sometimes by his side, sometimes holding on to the old horse's tail, at other times lagging still farther behind, the black challenge a short, squat young negro was jogging along, often to take the horse back to its home at their journey's end, at other times remaining in town to perform odd jobs around jeremiah's office. and now, here was that young man, al- ways voluble and precocious, bowing and grinning before him in the flesh! "i'll be damned! i'll be doubly damned!” mused jere- miah. “this is amusing. marcus, the leader of a parade! a movement! a high commander, if you please, whatever that meant, but obviously a person of some consequence in harlem, judging from the general excitement and the plaudits of the crowd as he rode by on his white horse.” “he sure is a great niggah, that cox! wonder how he gets away with it? he sure has got those monkeys by their tails all right, all right!” remarked an approving bystander next to jeremiah. "monkeys, nutten!" ejaculated a scowling black giant a few paces away. "he's you damned 'merican niggers' leader, too, he is. dat's de truf, and don't ye ferget it neder!" jeremiah recognized in this speaker's brogue the west indian tongue, whose owner had been referred to as one of the "monkeys" whom marçus had by the tail. his curiosity now aroused, jeremiah followed the pro- cession and kept pace with the prancing white horse as the parade swept into a side street and came to a halt before a low, rambling barnlike building covering almost half the block. the high commander was about to dismount. jere- miah moved over from the sidewalk to greet his erstwhile employee, but a half-dozen or so of the marchers automati- cally formed a bodyguard around their high commander and jeremiah was unceremoniously pushed backward to the curb. then, like a battalion of well-drilled troops, the men and women paraders formed themselves into columns and filed into the building. twilight had by now descended. an accommodating arc- the black challenge light near the entrance of the building burst into glow. simultaneously, a flare of light shot up from inside the building. jeremiah, following the long line of single-file marchers, attempted to enter, but an undersized, bullet- headed negro barred the way. he looked impudently at jeremiah. "is yo' a member? . . . no? den what yo’ wants? dis meetin's private; nutten but u. n. m. mens and womens here,” he growled. "what does that mean-u. n. m.?" inquired jeremiah in a tone and manner intended as ingratiating. "wah yo' mean wot dat means? mon, git away from here and doan be a dawmned jock-ass,” and the speaker prepared to add force to his scowl. exasperated, but preserving his temper, jeremiah pre- sented one of his cards: “jeremiah king, barrister-at-law, kingswood terrace, san fernando, b. w. i.," it read. jere- miah added: “i'm a very good friend of marcus-i mean mr. cox," he hurriedly corrected. “i come from his home and would like to see him.” the doorkeeper hesitated an instant. the card was im- pressive. “i'm sure mr. cox will be glad to see me," jeremiah urged, noting the hesitation. another purple-clad and bemedaled negro came up. the doorkeeper saluted the newcomer and explained: “leftenant, dis mon say he's a fren' of de high commander. he say he want to come in." the newcomer beetled his brows, deftly switched a hang- ing monocle to his eye, and slowly scanned the card. “might i axe you, mr. couns’lor, what yo' bizness wid de president general high commander might appertain to? dis is a gala night; plenty of 'portant bizness and ..." then, suddenly, as the walker of a tightrope might flop to the floor after a gallant effort to maintain his balance, he turned about face: “shucks! leh'm in, sergeant. he from down home, anyhow." the black challenge as jeremiah was about to enter, a slow, surging glow of neon lights across the front of the building broke upon his vision. “liberty hall,” those lights announced. jeremiah entered, found a seat at the back of liberty hall, and sat down. chapter ii the disposition to explore new horizons when the old ones become stale and humdrum was undoubtedly the cause of jeremiah's departure from his well-established west in- dian haunts and his presence in liberty hall on this par- ticular hot july night. throughout all his thirty-six years, jeremiah had found the world, and life in it, to be very satisfying-in fact, a delightful thing. he was thankful to the fates which had ordained him to be one of that in- numerable caravan to adventure on the shores of this earthly sea; but that had come about, he told himself, because he had contrived to make it so. “the eye sees in it what it has in it to see; and the world to a dog and to his master are quite two different universes,” emerson very cogently said in one of his essays. shakespeare's dictum, too, “first to thine own self be true," was to jeremiah an immortal truism; and so, from his early years of comprehension to his ma- turity, jeremiah had developed the knack of not taking life too seriously. thus it was that things in the world which inhibited and restrained most other people—such as duty and obliga- tion and the many passions born of those mental goblins- had done very little either to incite his activities or to agitate his conscience. not that jeremiah king was devoid of these promptings; but whenever the occasion arose to bestir himself or to re- frain from so doing, it was the essence of his being to con- sider first his own comfort, his individual well-being and, the black challenge above everything else, the preservation of his peace of mind. many years before, jeremiah had drifted into marriage. so successfully had he filled the role of domesticated man that, in proper and due season, he had become the father of a son. little michael, his son, had died when he was only four years old. a period of frustration overtook both jere- miah and his wife dora after their little boy's death. what change michael's survival might have made in the current of his life and in his outlook thereon, jeremiah would never know. in the solitude of lonesome walks and strolls he had pondered deeply upon these things but had found no an- swer. nevertheless, as time went by and his inward vision of the prattling, kicking youngster with sparkling black eyes became fainter and fainter, michael's early release from life seemed in some vague, dim way a matter of relief to his father. dora was always nagging, and jeremiah dreaded to think what greater conflicts might have arisen over the rear- ing and training of a son. jeremiah had not married his wife dora from any urgent heart-promptings. in affairs of the heart, ever since. the time, many years before, when as a law student in lon- don he had fallen desperately in love with an english girl and that affair had come to naught through racial barriers, jeremiah had found it expedient to be very wary of romance. the time came, however, when, as a matter of business and professional diplomacy, it seemed desirable to have a wife and a housekeeper. there had not appeared to him any par- ticular reason why he should not have chosen dora; and as she herself was anxious to marry him, and, in addition, as her father was a man of some substance, jeremiah had obliged. but there was one element in this which jeremiah had failed to take into account: that was dora's striving and tempestuous nature. no sooner had they married than dora deemed it necessary to act as a spur and goad to him, relentlessly pursuing him, first with urgings, next with pleadings, and, finally, with naggings-all to the end that the black challenge jeremiah make a better and better place in the sun for themselves and, when little michael came along, for him also. naturally, dora was ambitious to acquire some measure of prosperity. she wanted a comfortable home and such other appurtenances as would make her relatives and nu- merous acquaintances, especially her erstwhile female com- petitors, feel that she had chosen well in her matrimonial venture. and so, when jeremiah had deliberately elected, as dora saw it, to travel the path of ease and comfort and had refused offers of several prosecutions on behalf of the government, which might have meant almost immediate pre- ferment and financial benefit, dora's urgings and pleadings turned to most bitter naggings. jeremiah had not taken kindly to dora's promptings; and when the naggings came, with their harsh reproaches, he had found it expedient to fasten about himself the armor of indifference. jeremiah had his own views about both his professional and his social activities. he considered himself sole captain of their domestic ship, with no aides, advisers, or accomplices. "accomplices!” this word expressed his idea to a nicety, suggesting to his legal mind one who aided and abetted another for sinister purposes. to jeremiah's mind, any help tendered by his wife in his activities would always be . . . sinister. jeremiah was not given to morbid introspection. he felt one fact intuitively and instinctively-life was a personal and present affair. yesterday was an orange, juice-sucked, to be tossed over a fence into the limbo of forgetfulness. tomorrow was a bare anticipation, void and formless, and, whatever it might bring to him in its uncertain and specu- lative course was certainly of no concern to anyone, espe- cially to dora, on whom he felt he had conferred her chief honor, that of being known as “mrs. jeremiah king." jeremiah, however, never loved a quarrel; and so, partly by a policy of evasion and mainly by an impenetrable non- chalance, he had contrived to pursue his own devices through the black challenge the many years of their married life, especially after his little son's death. money was often the cause of their conflicts. dora had a comfortable allowance from her father, but she persistently made it clear to jeremiah that, when it came to his finances, she, dora king, his wife, was first and foremost in con- sideration and importance. what was left, after her wants and whims had been satisfied, he could spend as he liked. now, money to jeremiah had always been a most per- sonal affair. money, in bills or in coins jangling in his pockets, was synonomous with individual liberty, freedom to secure the things he desired and to do the things he wanted. it meant boxes of the best cigars, cocktails at his club, all the clothes he wanted, and, whenever the urge seized him to be generous, to do so with that competence and complacency which was of the essence of his ease-loving nature. jeremiah never seemed able to accumulate sufficient money. indeed, after marrying dora, it had been a most difficult matter for him to realize that his wife constituted a financial burden to him; and all through the years, as dora's demands on jeremiah's purse-strings continued, they appealed to jeremiah as so many blows struck at his per- sonal liberty. a vague longing to wander, to loosen himself from a tie which had come to constrict his personal whims, gradu- ally took shape and substance within his being. jeremiah felt that he had reached the point where separation, total and absolute, from his domestic state seemed the only solu- tion to a most disconcerting problem. instinctively, his eyes and thoughts turned towards the united states, land of promise to disquieted millions throughout the world. faint whisperings of new york and of harlem where, as rumored, hundreds of thousands of people of color had a city of their own, came to him. at thirty-six years of age, was he too old to pull up stakes and start anew? surely not! his professional and other intellectual the black challenge attainments should count for something; and, while finding a place for himself, he surely would not starve. he had put by a competence against any such calamity. dora, during one of her periodical huffs, had gone off on a visit to her father in one of the remote parts of the island. what was there, then, to prevent him from taking advantage of this opportune time to avoid the bitterness of personal crimina- tions and recriminations by removing himself quietly and unobtrusively? nothing, absolutely nothing! so it seemed to jeremiah. thus it came about that jeremiah took an early train on the monday morning following his wife's visit to her parents and arrived in due season at the capital port of the island, from whence he embarked for new york. he left behind him a deed in dora's name to their house, and a letter in which he told her that all the money in bank in their joint account was now hers, as well as everything else in and about their home, even his personal accumulations, with which he did not want to burden him- self. “and now, my beloved wife,” he wound up his note (this was his last shaft at her, for even the dove of peace, much less that of love, had long since departed from their household), "you may consider yourself 'free as a bird of the air.' get a divorce; do anything that you like. i shall not return." : this was his parting message; and as the train rumbled on towards its destination, jeremiah told himself that, in all the things he had done, he had been exceedingly gen- erous; and, in fact, he had done something which not many men could have done. jeremiah boarded his ship and stood on its stern as she gradually nosed her way out of the harbor into open water late that monday night. behind him the lights of the city sprang up. he watched them until they became mere twink- ling specks in the distance. from beneath the horizon on his left, a moon, a more than full moon, arose gently and shyly, the black challenge as a coy, dainty person might emerge from shadow into light. impulsively, jeremiah's hands moved out and up- wards as in a last farewell over the white churning waters in the ship's wake, and he breathed deeply within himself: “god! it's good to be freel" the black challenge nessed earlier that afternoon. it was as if he were attending a theatrical performance and were waiting for the curtain to rise on some farce. “liberty hall-and a back-to-africa movement!" what connection did the one have with the other in this free and democratic america, where all men were created equal, though not born equall the distinction between the two concepts seemed a nice one to jeremiah. a man might be born a cripple, a hunchback, and, therefore, handicapped and unequal; but he was created equal none the less to one born with a perfect body and supreme intelligence. “eh, what?" he murmured to himself in true english style and smiled as he continued to toy with the paradox. in a moment, however, as he sat there in liberty hall pondering, jeremiah was jolted back to the actuality of things by the sharp blare of a bugle. advancing from the wings of a stage at the far end of the room, a midget of a black boy appeared. head thrown back, the lad held a bugle to his lips. with his unoccupied hand, the small bugler tried to control the swaying of a long, unwieldy sword which hung from his side and clanked ridiculously on the floor while he essayed the business of bugling. as the bugle rang out, the audience rose as with one accord. jeremiah, too, found himself on his feet. from either side of the stage there filed out two parallel columns of soldierly-looking negroes, chosen especially, it seemed, for their imposing height and stature. they halted at either side of the rostrum with spears held aloft. • a second bugle note rang out. the spears were lowered to meet on either side, and through the center of this lane strode marcus cox, the high commander. he was dressed in the same purple uniform as the one he had worn earlier that evening, but now on his head there reposed a skullcap of gorgeous gold, and, from his shoulders, a leopard cloak lined with deep scarlet hung loosely and swept the floor. the night was hot, the room was close with the odor of perspiring bodies, but the high commander advanced cool o, found c audieness of buot; the black challenge and supreme. he approached the front of the platform with a strut and swagger that reminded jeremiah of one of his gamecocks back in san fernando. pausing an instant, mar. cus made a profound bow, then slowly settled his squat body into the seat of a black thronelike chair which was the sole piece of furniture on the dais. instantly, as the high commander seated himself, a black curtain bespangled with golden stars rustled across the platform behind him, leaving marcus as the sole occupant there. looking around him, jeremiah noted that the men and women in that crowded audience were predominantly black or of dark complexion. “no doubt about it, this is an african movement!" he chuckled to himself. but marcus, the high commander, was about to do some- thing. slowly spreading his cloak over the back of the chair so that the leopard background was revealed to the audience, and carefully permitting its feline head to pro- trude from the folds, marcus cox took a step nearer the edge of the platform and, with an outward movement of his arms like the first gesture of a swimming exercise, began to speak: “mens and womens of this universal negro movement of the united states and of the world! soldiers of this black movement that's agoing to revamp the earth, i salutes you! and know by these presents, you black sons of ham-for ham was the first black man in the world according to holy scripture-an' i don't means any hog ham eder. ..." there was a rumble of laughter at this sally. feet were scraped and shuffled around the hall approvingly. marcus was quickly getting into his stride. “know by these resplendent presents that we held forth today an example of our intentions for our posterities to shine by and ambulate." jeremiah began to smile. marcus was indeed spreading himself. "as the shakesperians has said,” marcus continued, "you the black challenge eder wants to be or yo' don't wants to be. now, which is it- you black brothers of this movement? and when i says 'black' i means black, and we all wants to be proud of our blackness. we ain't 'shamed of rich black earth that god almighty's made to fertilize the earth. why in hell is we 'shamed of good, rich black mens and womens?". there was a burst of thunderous applause. "no, sir! no, sir! we ehn't 'shamed a bit,” came back the triumphant response. “you know," marcus continued, “i wants to transgress for a moment. i wants to tell you this: dere is plenty of rhiney niggers, many of dem who don't know who dere mudders or fahders are. dey're in ha'lem, dey're all over. dey think it's smart to pass, to make believe they're every- thing 'cept what they really are-just pure damn fools mak- ing believe their skins are white while dere souls is just black as hell." there were loud guffaws at this shot, but marcus held up his hand for order and proceeded: "i has no use for man, woman or chile who's 'shamed of his race or color, pussonally, i'se proud o' my black skin. i thinks it gives me all d' strength i feels in my bones. i aims to tramp d' earth wid all d' dignity and power of a great big elephant. i aims to make every son-of-a-gun knows that i'se around. i remembers back in dis place they calls ha'lem dese many years ago. dere wasn't but a handful of niggers here den, just the few who was white enough to squeeze in and think dey was passing. but after de great big world war when de kaiser tried to raise hell all through europe and we 'mericans--white and black dis time, when it comes to fighting-went over dere and licked de pants off him-after dis fuss was all over, seems as if de niggers from all over d' world come and invaded ha'lem. they chase all the white people out of dere homes and flats. in fact, de white people just ups and runs away. dey just smells the niggahs coming and ups and leaves like jackrab- bits. 'twas just like when de ancient israelitish people comes the black challenge to de hill overlooking canaan and galillee, and de philis- tines and de hittites and all dose other ancient people heard 'bout dem coming and dey scampers away leaving dere lands and possessions to the chillun o' god. 'twas just that away wid we black niggers in haʼlem. but my brudders and sisters, dose same white people, dey plays a trick on us. dey left us in ha'lem high and dry. de's caged us in here between central park and de ha'lem river. when we goes below th street, we kin walk on de sidewalks, it's true; but we dasn't enter one a dere barrooms, dere res’rants, dere hotels, nor anything dey's got; and when we ask for a job, we gets nothing 'cept a po'ter or some handyman's job. dey has us pinned down. ha'lem is just one big concentration camp where we come up to after we've scrubbed de white man's floors and done all his other dirty work downtown. and it's de same way all over de world. we ain't got nuthin', and we don't 'mount to nuthin'. why, shucks! hell! gol darn it! the sitiation of us and our chilluns is worse'n than de dregs of de earth. we all is just hew'rs o' wood and draw’rs o' water. we'se like de ancient israelitish people crossing de dead sea wid de 'gyptians at our behinds. but de great god almighty ain't fergit us. dere's a pillar o' fire aleadin'; and i, marcus cox, is dat pillar o' firel yo' been sleepin' unto de third and fou'th generation, but, please god, i'se going to wake you up! de time is now ripe for you to wake up like a young giant all freshened up from his nap. as i said afore, yo' can't do nuthin' in dis white man's land, and dere ain't no use in trying. “and where is we going, black soldiers of this universal movement? where is we going? we is going back to the land of our fadders and mudders where we can rule our- selves and show de white races of de earth that we's jest as good as dey are any time! “but we can't do nuthin' without money, fellow com- rades. we need ships jes' like de white man. we need our own captains to run de ships and black sailors and soldiers, too. we can't walk 'cross de ocean, and white mens ain't the black challenge going to take us dere, 'cause he need us in dis country to do his dirty work, so dat's dat, brothers and sisters, dat's dat! we'se got to raise money, and all dis movement that we got here today and all de other movements dat i'se per- jected over the face of the four waters of heaven from de caribbean sea to de china ocean, we'se got to get our chil'rens and our chil'rens chilluns and all of us go back to the land where our great, green grandfadders come from in bars of steel and shekels many, many years ago. dat land is africa, africa!” marcus shouted. “all i'se asking the white man is: 'let my people go,'” he ended. at the mention of africa there was a dense tumult of noise which lasted for many minutes. jeremiah sat with a cynical smile curling his lips. surely an african colony, or even a kingdom, to this fourth or fifth generation of negroes was not an answer to the problems marcus had posed in his colorful tirade. “who in hell wants to go to africa?” jeremiah repeated, as in the earlier part of the afternoon, and yet this illiterate gibberish was undoubtedly making a profound impression on these people. again jeremiah gazed around him. on every side there was deep, grim, absorbing attention. it was gripping in its intensity. here, close beside jeremiah, sat a little bald negro with a slanting forehead. he was trying to tease his smooth, unyielding brow into encouraging wrinkles of approbation with quick, nervous finger strokes. occasionally, he cocked his head first on one side and then on the other; and, his forehead not sufficiently responding, his eyebrows were taking up the burden with marvelous little twitches like those a playful chimpanzee might make. over yonder, to the left, a black giant hunched forward on the edge of his seat, his jaws puffing and his eyes bulging, was following with gestures every word of the high com- mander. occasionally, a deep grunt issued from his froglike jaws. across the aisle another lantern-jawed negro had reached the black challenge a state of ecstasy. head thrown back, eyes tightly closed, wide- lipped, he smiled most happily. visions that black man had- visions far greater than those of his high commander, mar- cus cox, could ever evoke for him. a little thatched hut ... a crooning river ... heavy laden forest ... rustling leaves ... a dreamy sundown . . . peace and quiet ..: and the rapture of an african jungle home. back a few hundred years, nay, back a much lesser span, and this man was seeing with the eyes of his african ancestors. here in har- lem nothing but pavements, rumbling noises, hustling life. nothing but work, work all the time. yesterday the same, today the same, tomorrow the same, morning, noon and night. working to pay the rent, working to buy bread, work- ing to get a few clothes, no time to stretch, no time to loll, no time to lie down and get a good sleep ... always working, working for the white man. no wonder this dreamer of a back-to-africa movement was smiling. his body was in harlem, just as the body of his slave ancestors had been on a north carolinian or a west indian plantation before he was born, but the soul of this dreamer of dreams, like that of his father and mother be- fore him, was in africa, shouting its african heritage, voic- ing its african aspirations. had a negro spiritual burst forth at that moment, that black man, unlearned in the art of music, would instinctively have carried its tuneful plaint, for in it was made articulate the cry of his starving soul. from whence had this ability to emit such harmony come to these negroes? was it or was it not some contribu- tion of worth to so-called civilized man? and deep in this negro's being there might be other qualities of equal worth to the world deserving cultivation by free and unbounded opportunity. the lord of creation had made the mountain as well as the valley, the lion as well as the mouse, the great storming winds as well as the gentle breezes, each to fulfill and round out their turn and purpose in the eternal plan. who was there who dared put into practise any way of life the black challenge wood or inis pov,marcus, and di which would enslave the bodies or souls of these creatures of god? and marcus, the high commander! marcus, rude, primi- tive, atavistic! marcus could evoke dreams and visions for these people. jeremiah king, educated, cultivated, refined could not reach these people's hearts. marcus was one of them, jeremiah was not. what a power existed in marcus' grasp for good or evil! and to what account was marcus intent on turning this power? “as you all well knows,” marcus' voice was ringing on, “de principal purport of dis meetin' and dis promenadin' parade we undertook today is to complete de displeted treasuryship. we'se had much disbursements to make, and de treasury is well-nigh empty-handed; so, brothers and sisters, collection of dues is now in order, and de 'sembled members knows well dere is a special 'sessment of $ per mens and $ per womens which we got to make up tonight. we got to make a fust deposit on our new ship we goin' contract to purchase, and de name of dat ship, as yo' all well knows, is goddess of liberty. de hour is gettin' 'long, and we'll jes now proceed to de bizness of collectin'de money. de honorable chamberlains will 'tend to dat bizness.” as marcus cox concluded his speech and resumed his seat on the black throne, prolonged handclapping and feet- pounding resounded throughout the hall. he arose, bowed many times, and sat down. there was a far-off look in his eye as if he glimpsed things visible only to himself. as a matter of fact, from the corners of his eyes, marcus was warily following the collections being gathered up. beneath the platform on which marcus sat in solitary grandeur was a railed-in space containing small tables. at each table sat an honorable chamberlain, small black book in hand, taking money and marking down beside each con- tribution the name of the contributor. soon the flow of persons going forward to pay ceased altogether. a whispered conference took place among the chamberlains, and then the black challenge the chief of this band went forward and handed marcus cox a basket filled with bills and coins and a slip of paper. marcus cox rose: “i'se glad to 'nounce de receipt of $ , . we should o' raised tonight no less dan $ , ; but we got to take what we got and do de bes' we can.” “gheel" muttered jeremiah. “that's surely easy money!” and, leaning back in his chair, he chuckled. the negro by his side who had been teasing his fore- head jerked himself around and scowled ferociously. "what's de matter wid you, mon?" jeremiah hastily composed his features. he decided that he must meet marcus cox without de- lay. there was no plan or scheme in his mind. he had seen a great many astonishing things in harlem since his arrival, but this performance, with its coincident golden shower, seemed strangest of all. for more than a half-hour after the last straggler had emerged from that temple dedicated to black men's hopes, jeremiah walked up and down before the building. he proposed to wait until morning, if necessary, to meet mar- cus cox. he was willing now to admit that he had been wrong in his prior estimate of harlem as being without a moses; and since this moses was none other than his former man friday, he proposed-well, there was no harm in mak- ing himself known to him. he was so absorbed in these thoughts that an automo- bile rolled up and all but brushed him from the sidewalk. “look out dere what yo’ doing, nigger; don't you see me drivin' up? don't you know dis car belong to de high commander? git out de way, mon,” shouted the driver. jeremiah was about to respond; no living man could with impunity address him as “nigger.” he had never be- fore in his life been accosted that way. he proposed to chas- tise him in the only way a gentleman did those things- with his cane. fortunately, at this moment, marcus cox himself appeared. the chauffeur immediately came to at- tention and saluted his chief. jeremiah stopped, hesitated, the black challenge and then advanced with hand extended to meet marcus cox. “what a pleasure to meet you on this side of the water, marc ... mr. cox!” he greeted. they met under the arclight on the sidewalk. marcus carried a small black bag in his right hand; and at jere- miah's approach he instinctively clutched it upward to his side. for a moment he stared blankly at jeremiah; then, whether in relief that the black bag seemed in no danger, or because of his genuine pleasure in recognizing jeremiah, his face relaxed into a broad smile. “we- , we- , we- , counselor! i'm sure glad ..." but noting the look of consternation on the face of his chauffeur, who had just been abusing the friend of his chief, marcus concluded in a crisp, businesslike tone: “jump in, king, if you're going my way.” and, to the chauffeur: "home! ebeneezer, i'se tired!” jeremiah did not know whether marcus cox's way was his way or not, but he jumped in. as the door swung open, a shaded light in the ceiling of the limousine spread its tiny glow within. jeremiah be- came aware of another occupant of the car, a young woman -perhaps a very young woman-he could not immediately determine. he became conscious of a pair of dark eyes glowing like two black pearls into his. “hullo, lido,” marcus greeted; and, nodding towards jeremiah, “this is a friend of mine, counselor king;" and to jeremiah: “king, this is my secretary, miss jones.” and the lincoln limousine rolled off. chapter iv there was very little of conversation in the car as marcus and his companions were driven home. for one thing, the rush of the car and the street noises rendered conversation difficult; and, for another, there had sprung into being almost instinctively a faint prescience of adjustments to be made which could not be attempted hastily and in the presence of a third party. for the succeeding moments, how- ever, this third person, lido jones, in such close proximity to his senses, stimulated jeremiah's curiosity. a subtle perfume, delicate, illusive, but all-enveloping, seemed to radiate from this young creature of whom he had had but a flashing, yet arresting, glimpse. soft, cream-color complexion with two glowing pearl-like eyes that had mo- mentarily transfixed his! and this essence which exuded from her presence and filled the car as a totally exotic in- fluence! what connection could there be between portly, squat black marcus cox and this striking, exotic creature? perhaps it was that jeremiah's nerves, stimulated by the happenings of that day, were unusually alert, made edgy by every untoward circumstance. whatever the cause, jere- miah felt himself charged with the same kind of excited expectancy as had come to him on a particular occasion only once before in his life. that had been long ago in his final school year as a law student in london. he had just returned to his lodgings the black challenge wg unable to chally, in a loc on to jennia from a walk in hyde park with a girl-jennie stallings. jennie and he had come to see quite a lot of each other, more or less secretly, but constantly just the same. they had agreed that jeremiah should write to jennie's parents and ask permission for an open engagement. he had sat down, filled with youthful emotion and glowing with hope, to compose a letter to jennie's parents asking for the de- sired permission. draft after draft he had attempted and de- stroyed. it was important-most important-to express all the things he wanted to say in exact fashion and, especially, to close his missive in terms that would adequately disclose the glow and warmth of his devotion to jennie. but words eluded him and, finally, in a last moment of frustration at being unable to find the language with which to close his love-declaration, he had determined to appropriate the words and phrases of some famous author-at the moment he had forgotten whether it was carlisle, huxley, spencer or another writer of note of a past generation-to the object of his adoration on a similar occasion, and he had brazenly copied that language. “i am poor, without place or posi- tion,” he had concluded, “but i am young and i am sincere and true. i love your daughter, and there is no wealth or circumstance in the world which can equalize the devotion of a true heart.” he had felt a great tender melting in his heart as he had thus concluded his letter. he was young and in love. there was nothing in the world that he could not grasp and lay at jennie's feet. he had gone out and dropped his letter into a mailbox, then turned into hyde park and sat on the little bench under a spreading tree where jennie and he had sat a few hours before. as the moon came up over the trees and flooded the greensward with its soft light, he had speculated on what jennie's parents would answer. that answer came a few days later-dust and ashes. he had never been able to see or make contact with jennie again. . . . and so, in the black challenge due season, he had completed his law course, returned to the west indies, and ... married dora. . . . but now, here was harlem! ... the limousine came to a quick, almost abrupt stop, and jeremiah's musings were at an end. as he and his companions alighted and lingered on the sidewalk for a moment, jeremiah found himself standing before a four-story brownstone dwelling of distinguished ap- pearance. along its side, bordered by flowering plants, an iron-gated courtyard ran back and toward the rear. around them on each sidewalk, lazily swaying with softly rustling leaves, a lane of maples, flanked on either side by a row of other substantial houses, extended througout the entire length of the street. in the peaceful quiet of their shade, it seemed that both the trees and the buildings were gently nodding themselves to sleep. a moment before they had faced the glaring noises of the avenue; and now here, at the mere turn of a corner into this side street, was a charming seclusion which mocked those noises and made them seem remote and far away-like stified echoes from another world. and this imposing residence was marcus cox's! and it was in this dignified atmosphere that he had been able to establish a retreat! an amused chuckle escaped jeremiah's lips. "some house, ehn't it, boy?" commented marcus as they turned to ascend the steps. “i'll say so," hastily agreed jeremiah. reaching the vestibule of cox's house, lido jones, in the van, drew a key from her handbag and inserted it into the door. the vestibule light shed its rays upon her; and as she turned and gazed upwards for a moment, her full face met jeremiah's. of a complexion as light as his, her cheeks and lips colored and flushed with the healthy bloom of perhaps some twenty-odd years, she was a striking figure. those sparkling black eyes which he had first sensed shot curned and bule lighi handbag ani.lido tor the black challenge him a fleeting smile. curiously, jeremiah's gaze traveled over and encompassed the black squattiness of marcus cox. musingly, he looked down at her slim, dainty figure. “damn funny!” he breathed as they passed inside to- gether. chapter v “we'll have a bite to eat!” announced marcus soon after he had shown jeremiah to a most sumptuous washroom and marcus himself had returned from the place. from the kitchen, off the dining-room, came sounds of clinking dishes and cutlery; and soon ebeneezer, miracu- lously transformed from a uniformed chauffeur into a white- jacketed butler, passed silently around them filling their plates and glasses with fine food and drink. marcus took water and, a little later, tea. jeremiah took a cocktail, several glasses of wine, and so did lido. conversation at the table languished. perhaps they were all hungry; perhaps the at- mosphere of restraint still lingered. supper over, marcus said to lido: “there's some money in my bag-reckon it and put it in the safe.” then, turning to jeremiah: "come on into the li'berry, king. you smoke? but o’ course you do! i remember. have a seegar!” and from a console nearby, as they passed on into the library, marcus extracted a box of cigars and held them out to jeremiah. “h-m, carolinas!” noted jeremiah. “nothing but the best for marcus!" “sit down and make yo’self to home,” marcus said. his stomach filled with satisfying food, his brain pleas- antly stimulated with cox's cocktails and wine, the aroma of a good cigar in his nostrils as the smoke curled up from his initial puffs, jeremiah became conscious of a generous glow in his insides. "well, how in blazes are you, marcus? you seem to be the black challenge doing mighty well by yourself,” jeremiah exploded, as if he had for the first time become aware of his friend, at the same time letting himself sink down among the inviting cushions of a large nearby sofa. marcus cox had taken a pipe from a nearby stand and was slowly filling it with tobacco. he turned his gaze mus- ingly on jeremiah without immediate answer. "i'll tell you, mr. king,” marcus finally responded- and there was undoubtedly significant stress on the word "mister," "these united states of america is the greates' country on god's earth, de greates' for white mens, for black mens, for yellow mens, and every other kind of mens and womens in de world. lot of people comes to this man's country from de bottom and dey's soon at the top; and a lot of other people comes from de top and dey's at de bottom. you comprehends me, king?" and, after a pause, “but yo' done right to come to dis country, mon. de west indies is no place for a mon wid brains." “and yet, marcus," jeremiah found himself replying, "a few short hours ago you were advocating an exodus of all your people to africa. are you thinking of going there?" marcus did not reply immediately. stalking over to a smoking stand in a corner of the large room, he snuffed the match with which he had been lighting his pipe and carefully laid it down. “maybe ... and maybe not,” he slowly responded. there was momentary silence between the two men. jeremiah pulled at his cigar, and rings of white smoke began to curl from the bowl of marcus' pipe. "how long yo’ been here?” suddenly queried marcus. "just five weeks today." "on a vacation?" jeremiah hesitated. "dora and i...” he began, then checked himself. “mrs. king and i had a little disagreement, in fact, ehr ... ehr ... well, we decided ... i decided to pull up stakes and come to this country ... for good,” he ended abruptly. the black challenge "so you couldn't make it-you split up, eh?" with what seemed to jeremiah to be an ever so slightly cynical note. jeremiah subtly resented cox's tone. he resented thus discussing his private domestic affairs with a man who, after all, had been his handyman, but he held his countenance and rejoined: “call it that if you like." “well, that's neither here nor dere. the impohtant thing is that you is here”; and, after a pause, “what yo' thinks o' doing?" jeremiah shot a quick glance over at marcus; then some mischievous imp prompted him: "i'd like to be a high commander.” they both laughed. “yo' thinks that a joke, don't yo'?” queried marcus. “not by a damned sight," hastened jeremiah. “that $ , you collected tonight was real money, wasn't it?" again marcus emitted a chuckle. “king, yo' ain't changed a bit; yo’se jes' as sa'castic as helll i bets yo' never seen so much money in yo' bawn days." “not at once and not so easy." marcus was silent for a moment. “yo' was in de hall, then, tonight, was you?" jeremiah nodded. "what yo’ thinks of my speech?" “rotten!” marcus shot a quick glance over at jeremiah. “i 'spose you thinks you could ah done heaps better, don't you?" "no, not half so well with ... them," jeremiah retorted. “they understand you. they wouldn't understand me." “then what is yo’ kickin' 'bout?" “i'm not objecting, but you asked me and i am telling you." “but de $ , was all right-no kick 'bout that, eh?” drawled marcus. “no, nor about a great many other things." the black challenge “udder things like what? for instant?” urged marcus, as jeremiah hesitated. "well, this-for example," with a sweeping gesture of his hands around the room. “mighty unctious, ehn't it?" “yes, mighty sumptuous,” but marcus gave no heed to the correction. “say, king," he resumed cautiously, “i may ... i may be able ...to ... to use you." marcus held his pipe poised in one hand, and his gaze roamed out through an open window as if to some distant vista beyond. “ye-s-?” drawled jeremiah slowly, with a half-curious lift of his eyebrows. he had not expected this offer. “yes," mused marcus, “we needs above everything else a good lawyer, a good couns’lor. i don't trust no white mens no furder than i kin throw a greased bull by his tail. we has a young fellah, a couns’lor, but he don't know nuthin'; he ain't on to contracts and co'porations and such things, and we'se involved in a lot of sich things. we has a big organization, a pow'ful organization, and i aims to make it more pow'ful. we aims to shake de world, king. we'se a sleeping race, king, and i'se de man who kin wake 'em up. but right through here, i needs help; i needs a man with brains. i needs a man to front for me sometimes, to plan and scheme while i holds my people's interest and keep dem in line and get some money-a lot of money. i wants to put my people in politics ... to learn 'em how to use dere votes. i wants to make much publicity, publicity among de white race. i wants to reach dere hearts. this africa preachment is jes' one of those things. we has to have a dream to lead us by, king. de bible say mens can't live by bread alone, and we black people ehn't satisfied with jes' eatin' and drinkin' an' ... workin'." “blood, sweat, an' toill” he continued. "we'se had enough of dat. we wants some of de easy things. look out the black challenge dat window, king. yo' see all dem houses out dere? you see dis one? we grab all dese from de white folks. how? dey jes' gets scared and runs away. one niggah, one skunk; two niggahs, two skunks. dey smells us and dey skedaddles. ha! ha! ha!” he laughed ironically. “we don't care why dey runs, so long as dey runs. if dat is de only way we kin do it we'll jes' stinks dem out. i tells you, king, dis is a race, a race to de swif' and de strong, to peoples wid brains. i'se got a pow'ful lot of black niggahs entered in dis race; and if we jines together dey can't stop us. we boun' to get some of de things we wants. we black people is goin' to do it widout you white rhiney niggahs if we has to, but it's up to you’se, too. you'se eder wid us or 'gainst us.” marcus cox had become as animated and alive in this tirade as he had been in liberty hall earlier that night. his right fist clenched, his left clutching his long black pipe, he gestured wildly. jeremiah was regarding marcus out of half-closed lids shrouded by cigar smoke. he wondered how much of real seriousness there was in this man and how much of pose, of bluster-but he was intrigued. while working at odd jobs in jeremiah's home and office in the west indies, marcus cox had never impressed jeremiah as having any latent potentialities. if an appraisal of marcus had ever crossed jeremiah's mind, he had merely seen him as one of the many human beings of low degree who came and went remotely across his horizon, existing, mainly, perhaps, to cater to the comfort and well-being of jeremiah and such as he. that early afternoon and tonight, however, and here, there and everywhere around him, in that room and house, were costly furniture, rugs, pictures, and lavish decorations of worth and taste! these were tangi- ble evidence of this man's arrival at a status far beyond jeremiah's most extravagant fancy and far beyond what, had he been asked a few hours ago, jeremiah would have been willing to concede that a man of marcus' attainments could ever have aspired to, much less achieved. the black challenge but this was harlem! harlem's reputation had but faintly penetrated the distant confines of jeremiah's island home. on occasion, vague rumors had floated across the ocean of the opportunities in this land of promise. it was, indeed, these reports which had influenced jeremiah to come to new york rather than return to london, where he could easily have resumed his practice of the law. but if marcus cox could achieve this—and his eye roamed around cox's library once more to take in all the sumptuous evidence- what was the matter with him, jeremiah king? surely the education which he had acquired meant something! and surely the ripe experience of his years at the bar in san fernando was equipment of some worth! there might be more in this man's ravings than he, jeremiah, had given him credit for. there was a knock at the door. in answer to marcus cox's "come in," ebeneezer's head showed in the doorway. "is dere anything else you wants, chief, before ah turns in?" “is mrs. jones in yet?" queried marcus. “yes, sir, but miss lido has gone out,” replied ebeneezer. "then bring me some whiskey, some soda and ice," ordered his master, "and, say-bring me a piece of dat apple pie we had for dinner.” marcus caught the question in jeremiah's eyes. "de apple pie is for me, the whiskey for you. i don't drink. at least, not as a rule,” marcus explained. this arrangement suited jeremiah perfectly. "what is the general purpose of your organization?" jeremiah ventured after a while. helping himself to a whiskey and soda from the bottles deposited by ebenezer on a nearby stand, he was now meditatively observing the bubbling beads of his drink as they chased each other up and down his glass. at the same time he thought: “marcus is certainly a darn fine host!" slowly he imbibed a first long sip from his bubbling glass. marcus was very hesitant in answering jeremiah's latest the black challenge query, but jeremiah had now become accustomed to the careful manner of his host. “i'se tole you already, king, but just through here we needs to collect money." "and then what?" “collect more money ... and still more money,” marcus continued as though communing with himself. jeremiah had by now unreservedly committed himself to his drink. before wafting it a final farewell, he tenderly shook the last remains of the clinking ice and bubbling soda and slowly drained the glass. rising and moving over, jere- miah helped himself to another of his host's cigars. lighting it, he was about to resume the conversation, but marcus was saying: "you see, king . . . and there was something in marcus' manner of saying “king” that still grated on jere- miah's sensibilities. jeremiah sensed that this was marcus cox's subtle method of conveying to him that a great change had taken place in their relations. “what the negroes in this country needs more than anything else is money ... more money ... and still more money." “yes," rejoined jeremiah, inwardly reminded that some rehabilitation of his own finances would be very welcome. “yo' see,” continued marcus, “de white man runs dis country because he's got all de money. niggers don't 'mount to much 'cause dey ain't got nutten. why, mon, suppose i has a lot of money. i could do anything. if things was diff'rent i might be president of dese united states-you dawmed jockass!" he ended in a sudden burst of fervor. jeremiah was slowly stirring another highball. his spirit, his mood, his reservations were expanding. had marcus desired to be bugler of note in the legislative halls of the nation, he might have been prepared to suffer it. but marcus cox as president of the united states-indeed, of any coun- try! what a hell of a country that would have to be, even though his friend had proved himself a wonderful host! jeremiah smiled noncommittally. apparently, however, the man before him was serious, for coming forward and the black challenge bearing down upon him like a ship in full sail, marcus was almost shouting: “yo' sees me today," he challenged, "yo' sees me ridin' my white horse and leadin' dose niggers up seventh avenue? you sees me speechifying to dem in liberty hall? you sees dem shelling out dere bucks? well, what yo' thinks of it? all i needs is a couple more mens with brains like mine, and ... i bets ... i bets yo'...” he groped, “i bets yo' hist'ry will send marcus cox's name down de sands of timel” in the short ensuing pause, jeremiah became aware that marcus cox was perhaps making a final appraisement of him. he seemed to be looking through him. “yes, king,” marcus continued, “i thinks . . . i thinks ... ... can ... use you. down in de west indies i thinks you got brains, lot of brains, but you was lazy, king, lazy as de debil; but you has plenty of brains, king, and i is de man dat can use dem." aside from supporting marcus cox in his ambition to be president of the united states, jeremiah was not in a frame of mind to oppose any other of his aspirations, espe- cially such as appertained to himself, so he soothingly agreed: “yes, marcus, i think i could possibly be of some help to you." “i thinks so, too,” replied marcus, appearing not to notice this time that jeremiah's tone towards his high commander- ship was much the same as in the old days when jeremiah had ordered: “marcus, go buy me a cigar!” “we could prob’ly put you in as gran' couns’lor of de organization ... at a salary," he added, looking ques- tioningly at jeremiah. but jeremiah did not press the point. instead, he stared back inquiringly at marcus cox. marcus, however, did not proceed. abstractedly, his gaze sought the ceiling. finally, after a pause: “will you come over to de office tomorrow mawning 'bout eleven? you knows where 'tis-down on sev- enth avenue.” jeremiah nodded his acquiescence. the black challenge as they sat and talked later into the night, talked of the west indies and things and persons of interest there, relaxa- tion came to them. before jeremiah departed, it seemed to him that he had been able to whittle away the last vestige of formality in the demeanor of marcus cox. on the part of marcus himself, there was a secret conviction that jere- miah king had been suitably leveled to his proper status in the newly conceived order of things and that he might become a very useful adjunct to marcus's aspirations for the downtrodden black people of harlem and other portions of the world. chapter vi departing from marcus cox's home and reaching seventh avenue, jeremiah gazed down its sprawling electric-lighted length. in the immediate distance, not two blocks away, a twinkling chop-suey sign offered its onioned invitation to late stragglers. the pleasant stimulation of cox's whiskey, the rather surprising denouement of the night's adventure and what it might open in the way of immediate prospects had had their effect upon jeremiah. the twinkling sign, with its suggestion of exotic things, was definitely alluring. he had had quite a session with marcus; a little midnight snack might afford just the opportunity he needed for fur- ther reflection. bending his head low to avoid collision with the upper basement sill, jeremiah descended, as it seemed, into the very bowels of the earth to partake of chop suey. a small, compact, low-ceilinged room-overly small and compact for the purposes to which it had been adapted- hot and stuffy, greeted jeremiah. in the center was a railed- in space where couples were dancing; at the far end on a raised platform, an orchestra blared forth a lilting tune; all around were small and large tables at which a few stray couples sat huddled together. in the ceiling, over the dance space, a revolving bowl-shaped chandelier, jewel-cut and faceted with prisms of glass reflecting all the colors of the rainbow, shed its kaleidoscopic light on the struggling danc- ers below. dim, shadowy, ghostlike, the varicolored lights multiplied their numbers many fold, and the silhouetted figures appeared like so many frolicking wraiths. the black challenge jeremiah found a seat at a vacant table cluttered with empty glasses and the remains of a late supper. the or- chestra continued its teasing, dreamlike waltz. the refrain blended with jeremiah's airy mood and, unconsciously, he hummed it. he had heard that particular melody again and again at night spots during the past weeks—“although you belong to somebody else, tonight you belong to me.” this was, indeed, the way he felt; and he applied that feeling to harlem. others had created it, but tonight, to- night harlem belonged to him. one of the band, with a soft, crooning voice, broke into song, and the group of dancers on the floor, lost in ecstasy, cuddled together. a generous glow of pure warmth and good nature permeated jeremiah. this room filled with merrymakers, lithesome saunterers, swaying shadows! this was what life should be-expansive, gay, friendly. that gliding couple here, for instance, almost brushing him as jeremiah rose from his seat to lean over the edge of the brass rail, the girl's arms encircling her partner's neck and her head resting upon his shoulder, his arms about her slim waist as if to draw the last measure of entrancement from her swaying body to his-contentment, satisfaction, nay, a sweet, gentle sadness suffusing her face as she nestled more closely to him-surely, no greater bliss, no diviner solace could ever again be snatched from life's cup by these two creatures than in this fleeting moment! jeremiah smiled his approval at the gaiety around him. the music came to an abrupt end. the dance was over. the prismatic lights of the central chandelier grew dim. the multiplied shadows drifted away like ghosts. the nor- mal lights of the room flared up. the couple jeremiah had particularly noticed, followed by two others, were coming towards the table at which he sat. by jove! those in the van were lido jones and a coffee- colored young man. jeremiah rose. lido jones smiled her recognition. “why, mr. king, you here?" the black challenge jeremiah held out his hand. “meet a friend of mine, mr. webb,” she chirped gaily. "didn't catch the name,” webb bubbled. “oh, yes, king. ... counselor webb's my name.” “glad to meet you, counselor," jeremiah replied. in his social code no one ever stressed his professional title dur- ing introductions. maybe his english training had made him somewhat of a snob; but that, together with many other things, would disappear with time. lido's other companions joined the group: dr. proud- foot, with a fair, blue-eyed girl of dashing appearance; and a white man, of medium height, thick-set, with an olive- complexioned brunette bringing up the rear. introductions followed, and jeremiah was about to move away. "sorry to have appropriated your table,” he murmured. “oh, no, not at all; please don't go. sit down and join us,” lido invited. “i'm sure we'd all like to have you stay," and she looked around for approval by the others. "yes, indeed," agreed webb. “make yourself at home.” then, turning, he fished under the table and brought out a bottle. “have a drink with us. how about you, lido? and you, ruth?” turning to the olive-complexioned young woman. “i don't need to ask you, owen," he flashed towards the male white member of the party. proudfoot and his companion had drifted over to an adjoining table and were now chatting with a group assembled there. webb's hands wobbled as he officiated. his straightened hair was much touseled and tumbled, and there was a sparkling uncertainty to his stare as he poured and talked at the same time. “no, none for me, george,” remarked lido jones; and, as he insisted boisterously, with, “you sure am one little quitter, lido," she looked severely at him and turned to- wards jeremiah. another dance had struck up. lido jones stood poised like someone inviting a flight. she looked up at jeremiah, wom ruthp" a drink w the black challenge and there seemed the slightest flicker of her eyelids. jere- miah was somewhat uncertain of himself. he had not danced much of late; besides, he was not sure that his west indian style would do justice to this young harlem flower. still, lido jones evidently wanted to dance, and so did he. he extended his arm: “may i?" and they jostled their way into the dancing enclosure. a peppy, spirited tune was lunging forth from the band. it came to jeremiah snappily, alluringly, temptingly. he found his feet moving in time to lido's and in rhythm to the music. this slim, curling creature in his arms, wrapped in a faint aroma of the same perfume that had assailed his nostrils earlier that night in marcus cox's car, was very pleasant. was it the whiskey which had so stimulated him, or was it some latent thing in his blood coming to life? a gentle pressure of lido's arms about his shoulders caused him wonder. he looked around at the other dancers, then down at the little black head of bobbed curls almost brushing his cheek. "cutting a hog?” he murmured. taking her head from his shoulder, she looked quickly at him. then, replacing it, she murmured, “i thought you were a lawyer." "what has that to do with it?" “do lawyers ... cut ... hogs?”. "sometimes ... on dance floors. am i?” he persisted. “not any more.” “before?" “hopping a little–and ..." “and what?” “your shoulders." jeremiah smiled. “wiggling too much, eh?" "a little bit stiff.” “damn them!” he breathed. she once more took her head from his shoulder. her eyes smiled into his. the black challenge "you're not a bit like a west indian. you don't talk like one." “that's encouraging." "you're a friend of mr. cox?" “are all his friends west indians?” "oh, no-lots of americans, too; but you talked about jamaica at dinner.” "they just let me escape from there." “honest?” she questioned. “you're not a bit like one." "is that fortunate or unfortunate?" “they're mostly pains." “am i a greater pain than usual?" “no, you are very-different.” “in my dancing, you mean?" “i'm afraid i was rude," she apologized. “i forgot. i'm so fond of dancing, and for a moment you were just ... my partner.” "i hope i still am." “yes, but i might have waited." "for what?" "until i knew you better.” “why delay pleasant things? this helps, doesn't it?" “maybe.” “how am i doing now?" “you're going fine.” she had again taken her head from his shoulder and they were now talking face to face. "i guess i do need a little loosening up-in my legs," he ventured. “your time's all right. you hold yourself a little stiffly. relax some and you'll be it." "oh, i see-just let myself go and sway and glide-like this," and he wrapped himself more closely around her and took her more tightly to him. “that's it,” she breathed. “isn't that dangerous?" “what, relaxing?" the black challenge “yes." “why?" “i can be a cave man.” “at such short notice?" “yes, why not? if eventually, why not now?" “violent, eh?” "the kingdom of heaven suffereth violence and the violent-you know the rest?" “bible stuff, eh?” “who told you?" “my sunday-school teacher.” “where is she?” “she's a he.” “where?" “dancing with me.” “that's a good one,” he laughed. “do you know any more like that?” "yes, hunching shoulders again.” “damn the shoulders!” he repeated. “yes." “you agree with me?" “surely." the girl referred to as ruth-ruth dennis,and her white partner almost collided with them. “look out, girlie,” shouted ruth to lido. "oh, you downtown express!” lido shouted back at the galloping couple. “who is the blonde?" inquired jeremiah. “you met him, didn't you? he's an assistant district at- torney." “i haven't much memory for names”; and, after a pause: “what's he doing in harlem, slumming?" “the same thing you're doing, enjoying himself, i suppose," she replied coldly. “i'm sorry. i was merely curious.” "he's a friend of george webb's and comes up quite the black challenge parted in an engaging smile. jeremiah permitted her slowly to disengage herself from his arms. “a wonderful dance!” he breathed. “yes, i enjoyed it immensely,” she agreed. they returned to their table. webb was talking at the top of his voice to proudfoot. as owen murphy and his partner approached, webb turned to murphy. "i was just telling the doc here about that case i tried against you the other day. that was a great piece of cross- examination i conducted, wasn't it now? tell the doc about it.” dr. proudfoot sat, one arm encircling the chair in which his fair partner sat, his upper lip curled backwards in a sort of grin, disclosing a single gold tooth. he was obviously bored with webb’s recital. a patronizing look was on his face. “i permitted you to get away with murder in that case,” answered murphy. “i just wanted you to earn the fee that i knew you'd get if you won, that's all.” "you did in the pig's neck!" retorted webb. "i put it all over you that time, and you don't want to give me credit." “i'll tell you what i will do. the next time i try a case against you, i'll convict your client, just to show you; and you'll have to come to me on bended knees to get a suspended sentence for him.” "you mean, with empty pockets after you're through,” laughed george webb, looking at owen murphy uncertainly but meaningfully. murphy gave webb a sharp glance. “you're drunk, george,” he said. “you'd better go home and sober up," and he turned towards lido jones. “come on lido, let's have this last dance." as the party broke up jeremiah was glad to have met lido jones so soon again, but, absentmindedly, as he passed out of the cabaret and strolled up the avenue homewards, he pondered: “i wonder where in hell does that fellow murphy fit in in harlem?” chapter vii all upward movements have their blatant and, very often, their comic phases. to the youthful blatancy of negro aspiration, which becomes gleeful at the thought of misfortune overtaking its traditional white enemy and oppressor, there must have been a full measure of satisfaction in the occupancy by ne- groes of the fine old mansions and residences of upper harlem formerly possessed by whites. to a sympathetic spirit, however, jealous of old melodies and lost in rapture for well-preserved things of a bygone day, this change like most other radical changes, is as pathetic as ... death. no need to preach on the inevitability of all such changes. that is granted, and is not here in question. but in the silence of the night, or on other occasions when departed spirits venture abroad—and there must be such times, or else why does the torch of racial antipathy burn so unbrok- enly if it be not fed by the breath of the dead?-can we not imagine the consternation in the ranks of the white masters when they come to revisit old haunts in search of beloved survivors, nay, in search even of a mere memory? what gall and wormwood to the disinherited negro-baiter and mili- tant negro-hater! what horror to the gentle departed soul un- accustomed to black hordes! and even to the tolerant spirit able in life to conceive of a place in the sun for all god's children, yea, even to such a spirit, what a pang of regret! a few more years, and when these present black dwellers shall have passed on and, in due season return as well to the black challenge disport themselves, there may be a meeting of black and white ghost-revellers; and some night hell is likely to break loose in harlem. the police riot call will, no doubt, be sounded, and then the gigantic discovery will be made that there is no cessation, even in death, for racial hatreds. true it is that the streets are still softly treed and shaded, by night even as by day; true it is that the courts and courtyards are still blossoming and flowering as of old; true it is that, wherever one passes in and about these old mansions, order and beauty is still preserved, here and there even increased and added to; but-and the greater the pang that it should be so—the people on these shaded sidewalks sitting and droning in the soft summer night are not the old masters. the jeweled candelabra, the tesselated mantels, the tapestried walls within-all this, the natural and divine right of the fine lords of caucasia, is now possessed by ... niggers! these were some of the fanciful thoughts that came to jeremiah after a more prolonged stay in harlem; but the morning after his initial visit to cox's impressive brown- stone mansion, and his later meeting with lido jones at the chop suey palace, jeremiah's mind was most immediately concerned with cox's suggestion of the possibility of gainful employment. accordingly, and promptly at eleven o'clock next morn- ing, jeremiah presented himself at the headquarters of the universal negro movement on seventh avenue. when the occasion demanded, jeremiah could easily forego his leisurely tempo. he had done so that morning. reaching his lodgings in the early hours of the dawn, jeremiah had mulled over some of the events of the past day, but he had soon drifted off into blissful sleep. the building before which he now stood was a four- story brownstone structure set in the middle of the block. it had evidently been a private residence converted into what seemed now to be an office building. on its southern the black challenge exposure an iron-gated courtyard ran back the entire depth of the structure; and this, together with a green canopy extending from the curb to the entrance, gave the building a somewhat pretentious air. marcus and his movement un- doubtedly had a flair for the gaudy. the door was opened by a white-gloved, uniformed at- tendant. as jeremiah passed through, he found himself in an outer reception room amid a crowd of pushing, gesticu- lating negroes. these stragglers wandered here and there, some curiously examining the pictures of negro celebrities hung along the walls, others idly scanning the handbills, circulars, and pamphlets upon the tables around the room. jeremiah took note of the glaring headlines of marcus cox's propaganda: “back to africa!” “build a kingdom in the home of your fathers!” “let my people go!” and similar appeals. jeremiah strayed over toward a more than usually noisy. group assembled before a large picture painted, it seemed, overnight, so fresh, so bright the colors shone upon the gilt-framed canvas. “he sure is a li'l runt,” one irreverent bystander was remarking. "hush you mout, mon, dat's king tut! doan yo' knows a king when yo' sees one? dat's de fustest nigger king dere ebber was.” "wah yo'talkin' 'bout?” interjected another. “yo'se full o' nonsense. cannibal was de fustest nigger king.” “kal kal kal” shouted a pygmy on the outskirts. “hear dot nigger talk! cannibal, dat's man-eatin' shark! you' means honnibel." "i means cannibal,” returned the first speaker. “what yo' bets? i'se got six bits dat says i'se right.” "yo' lose all dot money, mon," jeered the small, wizen- faced negro. “yo' better goes out and buys yo’self six bits of g'ography befo' yo' talks to me.” their argument was interrupted by a thin, cadaverous, the black challenge purple-clad negro who burst into the group. gold stripes on his sleeves, chevrons on his shoulders, he must have been a captain, perhaps a major or even a general. “foh de edi'cation of de honahed visitahs hey assemble, i rises to 'nounce dat a frame pictuh of king tut, de fustest nigger king in de worl', goes free to ebery new membah who jines dis organ'sation today. step right in de office and de hon’able chamberlain phillips will fix yo' alls up.” "hear dat, nigger, ain't i tole you so? king tut is de fustest nigger king,” shouted the negro who had so an- nounced in the beginning, running forward and trying to get the official announcer by his sleeve. “majah, say dat again, will yo? will yo'?” he pleaded. “to whom is you speaking-to whom? i'se captain gen- 'ral, if yo' please. to whom hab i de honah of addressin' myself to?" • before the captain general could receive his answer, he was touched on the arm by a fellow purple-clad figure, who, saluting, remarked: “yo' is wanted on de 'phone, cap- tain gen'ral.” within a brass-railed space persons in authority were officiating. one could readily distinguish the latter by the purple uniforms, which, jeremiah now realized, consttiuted the official garb of this movement. bells were buzzing, tele- phones were ringing; on every side noise, bluster and dis- order prevailed. jeremiah wondered what kind of real work occupied all these people. it was talk, talk, jabber, jabber- a bedlam of sound everywhere. for some minutes jeremiah was lost in the confusion. a passing wonder assailed him as to whether he could ever fit himself into these people's affairs. back in the west indies he had had some contact with such negroes, but that had been as a lawyer dealing with stray clients. he had never seen them thus massed in a body for such a purpose as this movement purported to be. above all, he had never had to go to them; they had always voluntarily sought him. today, however, he was here among them in search of em- the black challenge ployment from their leader. impulsively, he hesitated and retraced his steps towards the door through which he had just entered; then, turning, admonished himself: “i think you're taking this thing too seriously, old man.” approaching a wicket gate at which a brass-buttoned clerk half-sat and half-reclined before a broad desk, he pre- sented this card: "take that in to mr. cox and say that mr. king is here." the man took jeremiah's card, scrutinized it, and, then, with a suspicious leer, inquired: “yo' means de high com- mander president gen'ral?” jeremiah nodded. “i'm here by appointment." . “what yo'bis'ness? eberybody got 'pintment wid de chief. can't let you by on dat,” and he grinned cynically up at jeremiah. "i don't want to see your chief-your chief wants to see me; and i'd just as soon get out of here as not, so you may suit yourself about it,” replied jeremiah, irritated at this negro's demeanor. “i'll give you just two minutes to take that card to mr. cox or leave it." jeremiah's manner had its effect. the cynical grin on the attendant's face changed to a scowl; and, shambling leisurely down a short hallway, he unlocked an iron gate with one of a number of keys hanging at his belt and disap- peared upstairs. here, indeed, was the saint peter of this movement! soon the brass-buttoned servitor returned. “come on," he jerked and, leading the way, showed jeremiah up the spiral stairway from which he had just returned and led him into a waiting-room. “de chief'll see you in a minute,” he grudgingly ex- plained, with the air of one who had plunged and lost on the turn of a wheel. jeremiah dropped into a comfortable-looking leather sofa nearby and lighted a cigar. many minutes passed. jeremiah looked at his watch. “half-past eleven!” his cigar was smoked to a stub. he won- the black challenge dered whether he had been forgotten or whether, perchance, this were another of marcus cox's methods of impressing a visitor with his majestic aloofness. he rose and paced up and down the narrow room. the only sound from the inner sanctum was the faint clicking of a typewriter. perhaps marcus was dictating. another fifteen minutes passed by. restless impatience gave place to petulant anger. jeremiah approached a glass- paneled door and knocked. light footsteps came towards him from within. soon the door swung open and lido jones stood before him, pink and fresh, as if she had had full twelve hours of rest instead of having gone home at four o'clock that morning, as jere- miah recalled. “how d’ye do, mr. king?" "is mar ...” started jeremiah, then corrected himself: "is mr. cox in? i've been waiting out here for three-quarters of an hour.” “oh, have you? that's too bad; mr. cox is a very busy man, and visitors have to wait on the high commander, you know.” there was that in the mischievous light of her eyes and the mincing tone of her voice which convinced jeremiah that his speculation had been correct. he had been made to wait outside to suit marcus' pleasure. as lido softly tapped at another glass-paneled door and a gruff “come" responded, jeremiah's gorge rose and, no sooner had he been ushered into marcus' presence, than he exploded: "did you keep me out there all this time for the mere pleasure of having me cool my heels, marcus? i thought we understood each other last night.” “i thought so too, mr. king," dryly replied marcus. “that's the reason i kept you waiting. after all, i'm de general of dis army, and you is ... you may be,” he empha- sized, “only its gran' counse'ler. i only wants my couns'ler when i sends for him," and marcus cox looked at jere- miah with cold, level eyes. the black challenge jeremiah stood hesitantly for a moment. whatever there was of humor in the situation suddenly overtook him and chased away the petulance. “oh, i say, marcus, can't we cut out this ... this ... buffoonery?" he suggested; and, as he noticed the glare which leaped into marcus' eyes, he hastily corrected himself: “i mean, can't we get down to a man-to-man basis and talk things over together chummily... as you know we must ..." jeremiah smiled at marcus, “if i am going to be of any use to you?” jeremiah had an engaging smile. it was perhaps the best feature in his rough-hewn face. marcus' bad mood changed as suddenly. going forward, he grasped jeremiah's hand: “all right, king, let's get down to business," at the same time waving him toward a red morocco armchair. “since talkin' to you last night, king,” he began, without further introduction, “i've been thinking. what yo' think you kin live here on? how much money you wants?” jeremiah had turned this matter of money over in his mind also; but there were so many things at which he had to guess—the ability of marcus and his organization to pay, what his duties were going to be, and other phases of the proposal—that he could form no reasonable estimate. life in harlem was expensive. he had already spent pretty nearly all the cash he had brought with him to new york. yes, two thousand dollars had all but drifted away. jeremiah was about to venture, with some misgivings, that about four or five thousand dollars a year might be necessary when marcus broke in: “yo' think ten thousands per year would be sufficiency to help you rep'sent de dignity of our organ'- zation?" jeremiah's heart stopped beating for a brief instant, then leaped forward tumultously. “ten thousand dollars! my god, ten thousand dollars!” why, he, jeremiah, could ... but he must be calm; he must not get excited; so, in what he hoped was a casual tone, he replied: “i figured about that. we can start out on that and see how the cat jumps." the black challenge marcus cox pushed at a button on his desk. a brief silence, and the door separating lido jones' office from that of her chief opened. lido's head appeared in the door- way. “want me, commander?" “bring in dose credentials for mr. king dat you prepared dis morning; and-say," as lido's head was about to disap- pear through the doorway, “enter mr. king's name on de sal’ry roll at ten thousands per year-payable?" and his eyes questioned jeremiah's. "weekly,” hastily prompted jeremiah. “weekly,” ordered marcus. “let's see, dat's how much? oh, you work it out miss jones, whatever it 'mounts to. put it down dat way." it did not escape jeremiah that, in his office, lido was "miss jones” to marcus cox. lido soon returned with the credentials. she handed them to her chief. marcus cox came over to jeremiah and ceremoniously placed in the lapel of his coat a mysterious purple enamel-and-gold button, with a small lion rampant in the center. then, as one who performs a solemn ritual, he chanted: “i, marcus cox, high commander of the uni- versal negro movement of the united states and of de world, hereby appoints you, jeremiah king, gran' coun- 'selor of de said 'sociation, so help me god!” at the same time he handed to jeremiah an imposing- looking, plentifully beribboned parchment scroll, red-sealed and gold-lettered, with a border of gay purple. jeremiah took it and was about to place it on the desk. "read it!” ordered his high commandership. and jeremiah read: “know all men by these presents that the bearer of this, honorable jeremiah king, is, in virtue and token hereof, the duly appointed grand coun- selor of the united negro movement of the united states and of the world, inc.; and i do hereby in virtue of my authority duly delegated to me by the supreme council of said association so to do, empower the said jeremiah king the black challenge to represent the said association in all matters appertain- ing to his said office as grand counselor and advisor, and i command each and every member of the said association to honor and recognize these presents, into whosesoever hands these said presents may come. given under my hand and the great seal of the uni- versal negro movement of the united states and of the world, this day of july, in the year of our lord, nineteen hundred and marcus cox, high commander.” jeremiah read it to the end, even to the signature. he recalled vaguely now that he had wondered at the boldness of this man's signature-a strong, flourishing stroke-when marcus had been in his employ at san fernando. the pub- lic schools there had at least taught marcus cox the art of writing, even though, with respect to his speech, they had not done so well. his broken, idiomatic english still per- sisted. for a moment jeremiah's mind toyed engagingly with the prospect of ten thousand dollars divided into weekly install- ments. this grandiloquent parchment, evidence of his ap- pointment, was so much dross beside that contemplation. he suddenly realized that it was incumbent on him to do something. he leaped to his feet. cox was still standing before him. “shake, marcus,” he said, “i'm with you." lido jones was standing nearby. he subtly felt her to be included within his good fortune. the impulse came upon him to shake with her also. were they not all members of a common conspiracy? but, coincidently, and, in time, jeremiah recovered his caution. he must be dignified, even as marcus was dignified. he was now grand counselor of this movement. whatever real purpose it had, there would be plenty of time to discover; but there was one thing about which there could be no doubt: a meticulous regard for external appearances, respect for rank and titles, seemed to the black challenge be a dominant policy of the movement. much as jeremiah would like to have extended his generous mood to embrace lido jones, he merely smiled at her. marcus rose. “i got a 'pointment down town at de public attorney's. i's got to tell you 'bout that later, king. jes' now i'll leave you here and have miss jones show you 'roun' and interduce you to my 'sociates.” and so saying, a bulging brief case clutched within his grasp, marcus bustled off. the black challenge she nodded and made a gesture towards the avenue. “all the people out there and everywhere else like them." "who says they need help? they seem perfectly happy and contented. hear that?" as a loud guffaw came to them through the open window. “anyone with a laugh like that doesn't need help.” “oh, don't be silly, you know what i mean. everybody knows that negroes are a downtrodden people and need their rights protected.” “their rights? i didn't know they had any rights. i thought they had all wrongs.” “you're making fun of me. but you know very well what i mean." "no, i don't know what you mean. submerged colored people are just like any other submerged people. if they are poor and ignorant, they are imposed upon just like the poor and ignorant of the irish, the jews, the italians, the poles, yes—even like the submerged of the noble english. even these gods of the world have their submerged who have more wrongs than rights. why shouldn't i try to help all those?” “because charity begins at home, and you ought to help your own race first. come on, let me take you downstairs and introduce you around. mr. cox told me to do that." “can't we do that some other time? let's sit here and talk some more. what's your little office in this outfit?" “who, me?" "no, who, i?” “all right, mr. englishman. who, i? i don't like par- ticular people." “i'm sorry," he smiled. “i shall be very unparticular hereafter." “see that you are,” she arched back; then casually: “i am first grand secretary.” “you are the only one of us who deserves a title. you are a grand little secretary, all right." “who, i?" she mimicked. the black challenge “no, me,” he bantered. "i know what title you deserve.” “tell me, and i'll ask the high commander to make me that.” “grand kidder.” "what's that?" “don't you know english?" “yes, but not american-not yet, only a few words." "well, let's hope it will be soon; you'll be all right then." "well, how about now?" “not quite so 'forty.'” “how did you guess it?" “guess what?” laughed lido. “did you think i was re- ferring to your age?" "surely! what else is 'forty'?”. “when you're a full-fledged american, i'll tell you, but not now. i think you've learned enough for one day; also, i have much grand secretarying to do, and i must get to work.” "oh, stick around a little longer, won't you?" “stick around? that's fine. you'll soon have your first papers." '“what first papers?” “to be an american.” “you mean because i said 'stick around'?” "surely! you're learning." “oh, i know quite a few more. i'm not so dumb after all, am i? you remember? i know 'cutting a hog,' and others.” "you'll soon do if you travel that fast.” "i hope so. but tell me, what's the shouting all about?” "what shouting?" “the united negro movement of this world and the next?” lido laughed: “at least you have a sense of humor.” “do you know," he said, becoming serious, “i only dis- covered that about myself last night when marcus sug- the black challenge gested that he could use me. i withstood the shock. i said to myself: it must be my funny side." “what's funny about mr. cox employing you?” he looked at her. “i'm afraid you wouldn't understand.” "it's one of those deep, dark english secrets, i sup- pose.” "i suppose so. but you haven't answered my question," he resumed, after a pause. "what's the purpose of this movement? what do they aim to do?" "i'll tell you,” she said, her brows knitting, “it's best for you to wait and form your own conclusions as you go along. i couldn't tell you, anyhow. it isn't something to be explained. you'll have to live it and get on to it that way. you must come in and see mother-she'll tell you." "your mother?" “yes, my mother. didn't you think i had one?" he feigned a reproachful look at her. "why, of course i did; only, i hadn't heard of her.” “well, we only met last night, you know.” “that's so, but i seem to have known you for years and years." house, or other man for its "yes,” she continued, “i'll have you meet mother after i come back from my vacation at atlantic city. she was out last night when you had supper with us.” "oh, she lives at mr. cox's house, does she?" “yes, we both live there. you see, mother manages the establishment which the organization has set up for its high commander. mr. cox is a bachelor ..." she was con- tinuing when jeremiah broke in. "is he? what's become of his wife and ... brats?” he ended shortly. a surge of color swept lido's cheeks. she stared evenly at jeremiah and, with much of ice in her voice, questioned: “what's become of yours?" “oh, so marcus has been talking to you, eh?” lido jones nodded. "just the same as we've been talking about him," she the black challenge added. “but it makes no difference either to mother or me whether mr. cox is married and has ... brats," she snapped, "or not. that is something which in no way concerns us. to us mr. cox is just a leader of a great cause, that's all.” jeremiah felt sufficiently crushed. he almost hastened over to her side in contrition, not so much for the things he had uttered, but for the tone of his utterance. “i'm sorry," he muttered, looking down into her up. turned face. “that's all right,” she exclaimed, “but it's just as well to straighten you out. you're not the first who has imag- ined things. harlem is a funny place, you know.” jeremiah refrained from answering. in fact, there was nothing to say further on that subject, but he was greatly relieved, and he did not want to identify the reasons for his relief. “so you're going on a vacation soon, eh?” as if recalling something that had been lost. “yes, at the end of next week.” "don't you need a chaperone?” he bantered in an effort to recapture their former mood. lido was smiling again and looked archly at him. “maybe ... and maybe ... not,” she lisped. “will you call upon me if you do?" “yes, but in the meantime i have much work to do," she smiled back at him as she turned and went towards her own secretarial sanctum. in a moment jeremiah heard the swift rumbling sound of lido's typewriter. “quite a girl!” he pondered as he resumed his stand at the window. chapter ix marcus cox concluded his downtown engagement and re- turned to the headquarters of his organization late that afternoon. jeremiah was still in the office where marcus had left him some hours earlier. he was lost in thought. the burden of his thinking was what he could best do to help the movement of which he had just become a member-a member for pay, it was true, but a member just the same- in honor bound to further its aspirations in every way pos- sible. subconsciously, jeremiah heard the outer door open and close. he sensed that the quick, heavy footsteps invading the undercurrent of his consciousness were those of marcus, who had returned from his downtown mission. jeremiah made no effort to remove his feet from the glass top of marcus' ornate desk to which he had elevated and propped them some half- hour before; he now lay back in a swivel chair puffing at one of cox's fragrant cigars. jeremiah found it easier think- ing that way. marcus was standing in the inner doorway before jere- miah became fully aware of his presence. a spreading grin wreathed cox's countenance as he noticed jeremiah's posture. “mon, dis takes me back over ten years to down home. yo' 'members when you’se had a tuff case and you use to loll back wid your feets on de table communin' wid de spirits? you must be doin' some pow'ful thinkin', mon?". “yes, i have been thinking,” replied jeremiah; and, the black challenge after a pause: "how did you make out with your business down below today? you seem to be in mighty good spirits." marcus rested his brief case and hat on the desk and slumped down into a chair across from jeremiah, who now removed his feet from the desk top and resumed an upright position. “i'll tell you, king, i'se far from being in good spirits," breathed marcus in a tired voice. "i'se jes' weary. i'se had one hell of a time wid dose people down at de public prosecutor's office today. we knows this fellow murphy there a while now? well, we's had contac' with him for some time now, but he's only an 'sistant. the big chief of the office is a man by the name of smart-jim smart, dey calls him. he's a reg'lar man-eatin' shark when it comes to puttin' people in jail dat he have no use for. dey say i'se been raisin' too much hell 'mong de niggers in ha'lem. 'sides, dey wants money for dere political campaigning. de pri- maries is next month, and dis man smart wants to run for gub'nor." “well, what has that to do with you and your work?" broke in jeremiah. "yo' see, you'se much too young in dis man's country to know much 'bout dese things. dis is a great country, king, but it's a funny country in some ways. it's a great politician's country. when a man wants to run for gub'nor, or president, or some big office, he jes' looks up some big shot on de other side of politics and puts him in jail. dis man smart has jes' jailed one of de big fellahs from de free-wheeling party, dey calls demselves; maybe dey hang him. i don't wants to be eider hunged or put in jail.” “well, you haven't done anything that you need to be scared of, have you?” "no-o-o," marcus drawled, “but yo' never kin tell. for one thing, we's been picketin de stores in 'twenty-fifth street dat's been taking de cullud people's money all dese years and not giving them any employment, 'cept perhaps a po'ter's job here and dere or some sich menial slave work. we wants the black challenge better'n dat, king-we wants clerks', bookkeepers', and man- agers' jobs. and not only de stores, but de banks, de tele- phone company, and every other blessed business dat is run up here in ha'lem. we's part of dis country, king. we pays taxes jes' like all de other people-dat is, all de taxes 'cept, p'raps, income taxes; but dat's 'cause we ehn't got much income. we wants to pay dese income taxes, too, but we can't pay dem off a po'ter's job.”. "well, picketing is a perfectly lawful act, isn't it?” inter- jected jeremiah. “sure, sure! but it depends on who's doin' de picketin' and who's yo’ picketin' 'gainst. dese stores and oder places that i'se talkin' 'bout is willing to spend dere money wid de politicians rather than pay it out in good wages to negroes in decent jobs; and de politicians wants money to start things up next month when de prim'ries comes around. dey say we has to stop picketin' till after election, and dey wants two thousand bucks contribution from my organiza- tion-or else." "blackmail,” pronounced jeremiah. “maybe,” agreed marcus. “fact is dat is jes' exactly what smart put dat big free-wheeling politician man in jail for; but yo’ see, it's one thing when smart's party does it and anoder thing when de oder party man does it. it all depen’s,” droned marcus, “on whose bull is bein' stabbed. i don't want any 'countant from de prosecutor's office nosin' 'round our books. when we gets stronger, we gets even wid dese fellahs. some day, king, i aims to have a hundred t'ousand mens and womens voters in dis man's town; and den, den-” marcus gloated, "we gives fellahs like dis man smart hell. we knocks 'em over like kingpins.” “ninepins, you mean," suggested jeremiah. “ninepins, kingpins, what's de diff'rence, king, so long as we knocks 'em over.” jeremiah was viewing his friend marcus, sitting on the other side of the desk across from him, with thoughtful eyes. his estimate of marcus was undergoing a change. jere- the black challenge miah began to realize that this squat black man before him had more of sharp, practical wisdom than he had given him credit for. there was, too, in cox's determination to right some of the negro's wrongs a spirit which began to com- mand jeremiah's respect. in many of the social and other gatherings at which jeremiah had been present, he had sensed a sort of universal tendency for conversation and, very often, debate on the problems of negro people in the united states—the discrim- ination to which they were subjected, the segregated neigh- borhoods in which they were crowded and compelled to live, and a thousand and other limitations suffered by them. here and there in these groups he had met negroes-or rather, colored people, as they preferred to be termed—who seemed to deprecate such discussions as if they themselves were untouched by racial hatred; but aside from this minority, ninety-nine per cent of colored persons felt that their situa- tion was, definitely, a “problem” which they must somehow or other solve. as a barrister-at-law from a british west indian island, jeremiah realized that he could not automatically take up the practice of his profession in new york from where he had left off in san fernando. it seemed fitting that he should mention this difficulty to marcus. "oh, that's all right,” replied marcus, "we don't have no co't business anyway; leastways, not much, and obadiah jackson can 'tend to that. he's our co't lawyer.” in obadiah jackson jeremiah recognized the lawyer who had “razzed jedge laz'rus to beat de band,” as he had lustily recounted to him at a seventh avenue meeting some few days back. "it ain't dat dat's worryin' me jes' now," marcus ex- plained. "fact of de matter is that t'ings has come to a standstill, an' i doan seem to be able to move 'em. we got lot o' expense, and money doan come in fas' 'nough. 'sides dat, dere's a few fellahs right next to me dat i can't trus'... tryin' to stir up trouble. oh, doan worry,” as jeremiah raised the black challenge in de debil's name should niggers want to copy de white man all de time? i say, let us quit imitatin' the white man, quit actin' like white monkeys and act like black monkeys. "jesus, what's money?" he continued vehemently. “you t'inks i'm a grafter like all de rest of dese niggers in ha'lem. i uses money, shucks! yes, i uses money like water. i aims to keep on using it. i deserves it. i makes de niggers respect me; but i aims to help 'em, and dey is going to get dere money's worth all de time from me, so help me god! i is goin' to make 'em know dey is living in a world where dey needs to wake up and do things." jeremiah sat somewhat mystified. he had not sensed any real sincerity in all that he had seen of marcus cox's osten- tation. his hasty conviction had been that marcus was just a plain charlatan living softly and easily on the gullibility of his fellow negroes by exploiting their ignorance. but an attempt to raise this submerged tenth! my god, what a task! other men, men with great brains, in other times and coun- tries, had had similar lofty ambitions down the years. jesus, the son of a galilean, had tried it; but even this superman had been crucified-and by his own people, too. it was not the jews who had acclaimed the christ, but aliens and strangers who had found in him the virtues which his breth- ren had denied. an appeal to humanity at large was one thing; an appeal to particular racial instincts quite another. was he, jeremiah king, equipped to contribute any real help to this black dreamer and his followers? and if he were equipped, would his temperament enable him to do so? after all, he, jeremiah, had not the make-up of the crusader; and this would be some crusade if it were to be a real one. both men lapsed into silence. marcus cox's office, taste- fully curtained and screened, commanded a view of seventh avenue. up and down that avenue, as they both gazed out, men and women and children of their race swept past, some black like marcus cox, some brown, or yellow, or light like jeremiah-but all, all for a common purpose, jumbled the black challenge and herded together as one class of negroes, niggers, col- ored people, or whatever one's taste, or mood, or personal disposition might prompt him to name them. thoughtlessly, aimlessly, a group banded together on the street corner; another was skylarking there on the sidewalk; occasionally, a loud abandoned guffaw resounded, smacking of primitive unrestraint; again, voices were raised in angry disputation. the afternoon sun beat down on the sweltering streets; and, everywhere, to jeremiah's eyes, while there was the super- ficial appearance of a prosperous, bustling community, un- derneath the surface of things was tawdriness, gilt and brass besmirched with dirt, with incompetence. he saw the cheap shops, with their bizarre, ill-kept show windows; he saw a certain run-downness at the heels in any and every place in which business was being attempted, much as if this community had but recently recovered from some blight. night time and the glare of lights! these hid a world of pathos; but in daylight, in the disclosing light of god's full sun, this "nigger heaven” was, perchance, all too close to a ... "nigger hell.” it came to jeremiah like a flash of lightning illuminat- ing a darkened area. harlem-this man's town, as everybody called it-harlem was indeed there, but harlem had not yet arrived, no, not by a damned sight! jeremiah stole a glance over at his high commandership. he wondered whether, by any chance, marcus was seeing the same things he saw. there was so much about marcus cox that grated on jeremiah's sensibilities: his english, or lack of english, for one thing, although he did not see why he should expect any more in this respect from marcus; for another, marcus' proneness to use the word “nigger” so freely. he had no objection to marcus cox's referring to the submerged tenth as “niggers." he himself thought of them in the same way; but marcus might, by chance, include him, jeremiah king, in that category. called it-hanet bv a damned sight! vish commandership. the black challenge “renegade nothin'!” rejoined marcus. “i bets you i could had you 'rested fo' what you t'inks of de whole damn mess. you is sittin' here wid me and you'se jes' as squeamish of me as a cat is of water. you looks down on me, you looks down on all de blacks jes' the same as de white people looks down on all of us. you mulatto people are only kiddin' yo’selves when you t'inks you is different from black nig- gers; you'se just de same niggers yo’selves. but what's de diff? de white people is jes' the same. we has our mulat- toes 'spising our blacks and browns and what-nots, and dey, de white people, why, dere's de germans dat hates the italians, de italians hates de austrians, de russians is always knocking de debil out o' de jews, and de english-hell! dey hates everybody else in de world 'cept 'emselves. so i says again, what's de diff, king? what's de diff?”. "well, if that is so, what's all this fuss about then? why are you trying to build a negro kingdom on the black man's troubles if everybody, white and black, is subject alike to these common annoyances? suppose you had a whack at the remaking of things, what would you do?" "say, is yo' tryin' to kid me, king?" marcus answered, rising, and his face lowering. “what would i do?" then he sat down. “i'll tell you what i'd do ... yes,” he added, his face now radiating as with a pleasant thought, "i'd get some kind of machine dat turns out all models alike, jes' like mr. ford; and i'd make dem all wid legs alike, wid feets alike, same color skin, same hair, same everyt'ing." “and then," quickly chimed in jeremiah, “every time you looked into the other fellow's face you wouldn't know whether you saw yourself or somebody else. and your wife- helll you could pick up every other fellow's wife and make believe you had made a mistake ... thought she was yours. ha, ha, ha! good idea, marcus. beautiful world! you're going strong, old man; go ahead, tell me some more of what you would do.” "talking 'bout womens," marcus replied, “i feels strongly 'bout dat. when i has a woman, i aims to hab her cat turns pleasant th: yes," h the black challenge all to myself. i doan aim to hab her messin' around wid other men. yellow niggers like you, king, you wants every woman you sees-white, brown, black or yellow, dey's all de same to you. yo' see how quick you was to talk about de other fellow's wife. dat's de fust t’ing comes to yo’ mind. yo' perambulates aroun' jes' like a bunch o' mustard seed spreadin' itself in grass. i guess yo' inherits dat. you gets dat from your white fahders. dey comes down from de moun- tains on de little nigger gals in de valleys. and widout sayin' nuthin', not even so much as 'if you please,' dey takes a nigger woman and, cripes! befo' yo' knows what you is talkin' 'bout, you is de result, you and all de udder yallow niggers in de world, wid your light skins and kinky hair- jes' as kinky as mine. yo' is one hell of a mess, you sure is." "i suppose you prefer your pure charcoal, eh, marcus?" retorted jeremiah sarcastically. “yes,” snapped back marcus cox, “i does—i prefers my charcoal. dat's pure just like-white lead. dey's both pure, charcoal and white lead-black man, white man. dat's where de white man and niggers like me has it on you fellahs. dat's de reason white men doan want any you niggers messin' roun' wid dere womens; but shucks! dey may as well tell de sun to stan' still, 'cause any time a woman wants a man, she's goin' to git him, jes' the same as she gits her dresses, her ribbons, and her furbelows. i doan blame 'em, either. i'se just like dat myself. if i lubs a woman, i lubs her. i'se goin' to beg for her; i'se goin' to steal for her; i'se goin' to fight for her, and if dere is any killin' to be did, i'se goin' to kill for her. i aims to gi' her everyting her little heart desires, and i doan care whether she is black, brown, white or yellow. dey is all alike to me. and womens is jes' the same. if a white woman sets her eyes on a black man, and dere is somethin' 'bout dat black man that she lubs, she wants him; she has to have him-same as when a white man wants a nigger woman. what in hell is either of dem goin' to care about de purity of de race. and whether de one is charcoal and de other white lead or not-if dey can't the black challenge go in de front room and gits what dey want, dey is goin? in de back yard, in de bullrushes and steal it, jes, like down in egypt when de 'gyptian king's daughter went in de bull- rushes and finds her-moses. hal hal ha! say, king, does yo' believes all you reads in de bible?" questioned marcus, his broad face spreading in a grin as if the humor of his own remarks surprised him. then, his mood suddenly changing, he did not wait for jeremiah's reply. “jokin' aside, king, we'se got to place our race in a posi- tion dat if de white man doan likes us, he can't ’ford to hate us, just as de jews does.” marcus cox's past dissertation had tumbled itself on jere- miah so suddenly that he was really at a loss whether to resent, whether to agree, or whether to keep silent altogether; but this last remark more intimately concerned his business with marcus cox, so he replied: "yes, you're right. but how is that to be done? you know negroes are a young peo- ple, young in accomplishment, young in everything. we haven't had the same start as the white races of the earth.” “yes, we had too. the 'gyptians was black people. dey had a start, but you know what happened. a lot of white people come in and messed dem all up. dey was soon neder one t'ing nor de other, just like you. you can't be a black man, and yo’ can't be a white man; but me," and he thumped his chest with his hand, “me,” he repeated, “i'se a black man and i'se proud of it! i aims to continue being a black man. i aims to do everything i'se minded to do jes' as i wants to do it. if i'se black in my insides i'se goin' to let it show outsides. when i laughs, i'se goin' to laugh as loud as i likes. when i sings, i’se goin' to sing strong and hollow like a big trombone; when i cries, i'se goin' to croon like de woods asighing at night. if i wants a red hat i'se goin' to wear a red hat. what de hell does i cares what de white man t'inks of me? suppose he like black clothes and i like red clothes-ain't my red clothes as good as his black clothes? i doan mean that we should spill water the black challenge all ober de parade, but what i means is dat niggers ought to find out what dey are good for and do jes' dat thing. i'm tired of all dese black and brown people who is always tryin' for to copy de white man. dey's jes' like monkeys trying to shoot a gun. de monkey ain't 'customed to any gun, and de fust t'ing you know he shoot himself. what de monkey need is a stick same as he know about in de woods. 'course, i'se only illustratin', but you gits my pint, does yo”?" jeremiah nodded, and added: "the only flaw in your reasoning, marcus, is that you forget that when one's in rome, one has to do as the romans do. now, the negro race in new york, or anywhere else, can't do anything else but try to measure up to its surroundings, to acquire the civilization it finds itself in. negroes can't go strutting around like a lot of bushmen; that's just the trouble with them. i suppose that is what your movement means, that you want to improve their effort, and by improving their effort, improve their condition.” “say, king,” responded marcus, "you has smart brains, but you is awfully shortsighted. man, let me tell you some- thing. you knows why de black man can't build towns and cities like de white man, like out dere?" and he waved his hand towards the buildings out on seventh avenue. “i'll tell you. it's 'cause for generations back dere mudders and fahders been building mud huts, and you can't take a man from de jungle who'se been building mud huts and 'spects he's goin' to build a wool'ruff tower. de trouble ain't wid his hands; his hands and his head's all right; de trouble is wid his instinct. he ain't feel like foolin' wid any towers; he jes' wants a little mud hut where he can lie out in de shade and jes' eat and sleep. de best t’ing to do with de niggers is to take 'em all back to de place where dey was born and let dem start fresh. yo' doan train a race hoss on a farm; all yo' train on a farm is a truck hoss. dat's what i believes in; and even if i doan wants to go back to africa myself, dat ain't proving dat africa is not de best place in the black challenge de world for de negro race in de whole. i bets you dat in de next fifty years dere won't be a nigger-a real nigger- in dis country. dere will be black people, no doubt; but not real niggers. if dey are black, dey will be washed out, no pep, no snap, no ginger, jes' like dey are here in ha'lem, jes' imitation niggers; and dey will all be de most unhappy people in de world-jes' like you, king, neder one t'ing nor de other. why, mon, if you was a black man, wid a lot of snap and pep, not lazy and lolling-like, wid your brains i bets you you'd be a-hannibal,” marcus exploded. “look here, marcus, i don't like your use of the word ‘nigger'-to me, anyway. it grates on my nerves, and i wish you'd cut it out. i just don't like it! the chances are if i were black like you i wouldn't have any brains, so that let's me out of being hannibal or anybody like him.” then, suddenly, tired of the whole discussion, he added hastily: “we get nowhere with this line of talk, marcus; we're simply wasting time. let's talk of something more practical, or, better still, let's go out and eat." "all right,” agreed marcus. “i'se hungry myself. let's go." as the two men strolled down seventh avenue, jeremiah came face to face with dr. proudfoot. "by jovel counselor king, just the man i was thinking ofl i'm having a few friends gather at my apartment on saturday night, will you join us?" “thanks, doctor. what time?" “oh, any old time-say, eleven, half-past, or as late as you like.” “righto," returned jeremiah. “i'll be there." jeremiah noticed that no sign of recognition passed between dr. proudfoot and marcus cox. how strange that these two prominent persons of harlem should not be acquainted. “don't you people know each other?” he ques- tioned. "we all have heard of mr. cox,” grinned the doctor, “but this is the first time i've had the pleasure of meeting him. glad to meet you, mr. cox," and he bowed, some- the black challenge what stiffly, jeremiah thought. “i'd be glad to have you with us, also, mr. cox-just a few friends. marcus cox bowed but made no direct response to the doctor's invitation. “are you going to proudfoot's party?" jeremiah inquired as they continued their way down the avenue. marcus did not answer immediately. he was meditatively stroking his chin. "how well does yo’ know dese people?" he finally in- quired. “dr. proudfoot? i met him soon after landing. i met him again last night after i left your house, in that chop- suey joint we just passed below your offices, him and a young fellow by the name of george webb ..." and jere- miah stopped. he determined to say nothing of the female members of the party-lido, for instance. "oh, you met dat young upstart lawyer george webb, eh? was that white district attorney fellah wid him? dey always travel 'roun' in ha'lem together.” “what's his name?" asked jeremiah. “murphy, owen murphy," replied marcus. “yes, he was there too." “webb and proudfoot good friends?" questioned mar- cus. “they seem so," answered jeremiah. “yes, i think i'll go to the party,” finally said marcus. “de doctor only ring me in to be polite; but i'm goin'- for a reason," he ended, as they stepped into eddie's chop house. "i'se sure to meet owen murphy dere; and besides, it's time for me to show des ha'lem swell-head mulattoes a thing or two." chapter x jeremiah king had no illusions about himself. he had always made it a point as far as possible to know exactly where he was tending. during the many years he had daw- dled away in san fernando, jeremiah had by no means missed the essence of things. it was simply that he refused to be concerned whether his course of conduct brought joy or pain to his contacts. he was essentially a realist. if ad- vantage came to him, it was because he measured up; he ascribed his discomfitures to a mere lack of fitness which, he told himself, he could overcome were he to strive suffi- ciently. he had no tearful self-pity for his failures, for accomplishment to him did not necessarily mean striving in the market place. he dreamed of a perfection to which he might bow down not because he was akin to it, but because of his sheer unholiness, and he had no excuses to offer for the latter. quite early in his matrimonial venture with dora, jere- miah had come to the conclusion that his wife would always be to him a crass spirit, a kind of thick, beefy affair which only needed meat and drink and raiment for its sustenance. of industry his wife had had an abundance; of push and hustle there was no lack; of imagination she had none; and of that intangible quality which unites two human souls at times when food is nauseating, when drink is beside the question, and when raiment is but a paltry possession, dora king had not even the makings. thus, he had come to despise that soul, to condemn it, to resent being hemmed the black challenge in by and with it. and yet, withal, he had been tolerant. his aloofness was not an intolerant aloofness; it was simply a vague distaste which brought with it deep silences. . strange and unnatural enough, jeremiah had found him- self possessed of the same distaste towards his father-a large man, of powerful physique, with flat, broad, black face and spreading lips adorned with stubby side whiskers; a face not by any means cruel, and yet a face to disturb, perchance, the dreams of a child. but his mother-ah, his beautiful mother!—with her frail body and pale, white face set with two mystic blue eyes that seemed perpetually pleading for soft things and never to encompass them. she may not have been beautiful to any other person in the world, but to jeremiah, his mother had always been the most angelic, the rarest thing in all creation, an imperishable memory. many and many a time he wondered how it had come to pass that this frail white creature, his mother, should have joined herself to this thick black creature, his father. he had heard the story over and over again from her lips, but had never ceased to wonder. his father, a negro missionary sent to the african gold coast from the british west indies, had met his mother, the daughter of a scotch missionary, engaged in the same work of saving black souls. and this pure white soul had joined herself to this black soul in the hope that, thus united, there might come to their credit on god's account a larger bag of black native african souls. he, jeremiah king, had been the sole result. after many years of striving in africa, his mother's health had given way and his father had been only too glad to accept the pastorate of a church in san fernando. jere- miah had grown up there, had been sent to college in eng- land and, finally, had studied law in london. his mother had died while he was in england, and he had not even been able to see her in her last moments. his father also had died soon after his return to san fernando. and now, here he was in harlem, pursued by the same strange des- the black challenge tiny that had overtaken his father and mother: he was grand counselor of a movement dedicated to the uplifting of black souls. what irony of fate! thus did jeremiah muse as he wended his way to dr. proudfoot's home in response to the invitation extended to him. the taxi in which he was riding drew up with a jolt, and jeremiah pulled himself from his revery and got out. as he paused on the sidewalk, his gaze swept aloft to en- compass a white indiana limestone apartment building ex- tending for six stories from the corner far into the middle of the block. dr. proudfoot was alleged to own this building. “not so bad for a little black man,” jeremiah murmured as he entered the doctor's building. “yas, sir, going right up; mind yo' step,” the elevator boy was saying as he grinned pleasantly, and the car shot upwards to the top floor. “which way is the doctor's apartment?" jeremiah quer- ied. “de whole way-doctor got de whole floor for heself," at the same time pointing to a push button. dr. proudfoot himself opened the door, a short, dapper little man, pince-nez struck pertly on nose, upper lip cov- ered in the center with a mere rake of a moustache and bared back in a perpetual smile to show a single shining gold tooth. “how are you, old chappie? awfully glad to see you,” greeted the doctor. his accent was a cross between that of boston and the east side of london. jeremiah passed down a short hall and entered a fair- sized room in which a phonograph was pouring forth a breezy, jazzy tune. fully a dozen couples were swaying and "bumping” in harmony to the music. close-linked, they heaved together in semidarkness backward . . . forward ... forward ... backward, rising, falling, rolling in one united movement like the swell of an undulating wave. soon the the black challenge roamed from room to room. this gathering was quite unlike marcus cox's cohorts, but it contained many things in common. as the liquor circulated, spirits expanded, and even the stiffly dignified began to unbend. loud noises, louder than usual, much feet-tapping, indrawn cries, were coming from the dancing-room. a human ring encircled a tall brown- skinned beauty. it was ruth dennis doing a “charleston." skirts working high, dainty silk things and occasional glimpses of brown skin beneath, she twisted and turned and whirled and kicked in delightful abandon. the noted author half-stood, half-crouched in the center of the inner circle. pop-eyed, his tongue continuously licking his lips, he seemed like some crouching animal about to pounce on its prey. a desire for emulation seized him, and he jumped into the ring towards the kicking performer. not to be outdone, a tall rangy blonde, the wife of a publisher, threw herself in beside the author. the little brown girl, with sparkling eyes, edged out of the ring. she smiled. all the black, brown, and light-skinned males also smiled. george webb, next to jeremiah, nudged him in the ribs and threw him a sly, knowing wink. the white lady's skirts, working high, also disclosed dainty silk things and occasional glimpses of white bared thigh beneath. dr. proudfoot, at the edge of the crowd, with his neck out from his short shoulders like the lunge of a turtle's head from its flat body, craned forward for a closer peep. his upper lip, bared backward, froze in an ecstatic smile. he breathed deeply: "oh, boy!” and around the group of black, brown, and light-skinned males, the echo replied: “oh, boy!” jeremiah raised his eyes. they encountered those of lido jones. she was standing somewhat apart, arm in arm with owen murphy, who, much the worse for liquor, sagged every now and then in an effort to maintain his balance. a sickly grin overspread his face. lido's brow was puckered with a little frown and, as the echo of “oh, boy!" resounded the black challenge on every side, she turned disdainfully away. her escort barely avoided collapse. the air was suddenly punctured by the angry burring of the door bell. how often and long it had been ringing, no one knew, but it now sent its metallic summons dis- tinctly above all other noises. dr. proudfoot rushed toward this belated guest. he had maintained his position at the door all night, the first to welcome his visitors. soon he re- turned with a companion treading behind him-no taller than the doctor, but almost twice as broad, as ponderous and as heavy. it was marcus cox, dressed immaculately in evening clothes, and with his "high commander” gold sash across his broad white-shirted chest. there was a moment's hush which seemed to communicate itself to the farthest confines of the doctor's apartment. the silence was broken by a large, brawny black woman – madame castanet by name, the richest black woman in america, or was it in the world?—whose mother had made a fortune out of uncurling curly hair. "my god!” she ejaculated. “look who's here! well, i swear ..." she did not complete what she wanted to swear; but, whatever it was, her immediate circle seemed to be in entire accord with her, for, as marcus advanced farther into the room, there was much gathering of skirts and raising of shoulders and eyebrows from the coterie of ladies gathered about madame castanet. lido jones, however, was there to save the night for her high commander. whether she sensed the atmosphere of chilliness or not, she swiftly disengaged herself from the wobbling owen murphy's arm and, going forward, greeted: “oh, mr. cox, how glad we all are to see you!" marcus took both of lido's outstretched hands, smiled down beamingly upon her, and bowed right and left to the assembled company. then, with his quick, roving eyes, his glance detected jeremiah in a little foyer nook in an ad- the black challenge joining room. passing madame castanet and her attendant ladies-in-waiting with the tiniest perceptible gesture of scorn, he pulled up beside jeremiah. "well, i came, king." jeremiah made room for marcus on the small sofa un- derneath a huge palm. “yes, i see you're here-and in full regalia,” his smile taking in marcus' sash. “oh, sure, why not?" his tone and manner were full of a certain austere dignity which marcus carried very well at times; and jeremiah noticed, too, that, whenever marcus cox assumed this manner, his english became almost per- fect, as if some disembodied spirit of another mood and person were temporarily in possession of his black frame. "i see no reason why you shouldn't; after all, you're the only king harlem has so far anointed." “stop your kiddin'l do you think i came here for the pleasure of foolin' 'round with these highfalutin mulattoes and browns?” he questioned, looking disdainfully at ma- dame castanet and her assembled court ladies. “i'm here to meet owen murphy, that public-attorney fellow. have you met him or seen him?" “yes, he was in the front room a moment ago with lido," replied jeremiah. "yes, she runs aroun' with him and that fellow webb quite a deal,” he remarked, and then added: “i'se supposed to have a talk with murphy here tonight, and i wants you wid me.” “all right, whenever you're ready," jeremiah replied, at the same time wondering what it was all about. “say, dis is one hell of a party, ehn't it?" resumed marcus after a while. “i'll say so.” "a lot o' whites. too." "didn't know there were so many in the world,” laughed jeremiah. “who is de pompous fellah over yondah?” the black challenge "you mean the one with his hair sticking up like a mop?" "yes." “that's a famous author.” "not de one dat writes dat story, blackbirds?” “the same; he's all mussed up from doing a charleston just before you came in.” “i reads dat book. damn funny! you know niggers doan know when dey's made fun at.” . “no? it's a virtue to be funny, you know; and if negroes are really humorous, it is real art to create them so. no objection to that, is there?” "i’spose not.” “would you like to meet him?" offered jeremiah. “he might want to put you in his next book.” "i'd bust 'im in de mout if i ketches ’im.” “they say that book made him a fortune. he might divide the gate receipts with you as his next hero. you'd make a perfect ‘jake.'” "who's dat man 'jake'?" “didn't you read home to harlem? jake was the royster- ing sweetback in that story, but a real he-man just the same. how would you like to be such a character?” “hush yo' nonsens, king. you know, dough, white folks is crazy about nigger doings—what dey eats, what dey drinks, and what dey does.” "yes, especially their sex performances. to most white men and women, every negro man is a black stallion and every woman a mare for the entertainment of all the stallions in the world, white or black. it's the jazz age, marcus, the age of whoopee, freak movements, and long chances. that's the reason i'm beginning to think that even you may land somewhere." marcus looked over frowningly at jeremiah. “yo' knows, king, sometimes you gets my goat. i'll get mad as hell some day and cuss yo' all out. i believes some- times yo' means dose t'ings." the black challenge “as you once said, marcus, you could have me arrested for what i sometimes think; but i guess we're both pretty frank with each other.” "look at dat stringy, rhiney nigger comin' ober heah- looks like a swelled adjective! you knows 'im?” jeremiah rose and extended his hand in greeting to the newcomer. “awfully glad to see you, mr. hutson. you know mr. cox of course?" “no, never had the pleasure. they just told me the king of harlem was here, and i came over to bend the knee to him.” hutson's tone was slightly cynical, his gaze curiously critical, as he looked marcus up and down. "i hear your hall and that large plot is for sale, cox,” hutson remarked crisply. “if you'll name me a figure i'd like to handle it. i've been wanting to meet you for some time.” marcus did not reply immediately. his head cocked slightly to one side, his eyes glowered into hutson's. “nothin' i has is for sale,” he replied coldly. “huh?" and then, “ha!” broke from hutson's lips. “well, when you take all your niggers back to africa, let me know and i'll take that plot off your hands. so long, king!” and hutson moved off. “one ub dose bankin'-brokin' fellahs, eh? takes all and puts nutten. what yo’ say his name?" queried marcus. "hutson.” "where de hell dese niggers gets dere name from?" “where in hell did you get yours-cox? it's much the same as hutson, king, and all the others." "i suppose some white man hands it to my fahder de same time he hands 'im his top hat and old swallow-tail coat.” “i suppose so," agreed jeremiah. "i aims to change it some day. no kiddin',” he persisted as jeremiah looked quizzically at him. “i'se 'shamed of it.” the black challenge “well, ‘marcus' isn't so bad. might shorten it, though, and make it ‘mark’ like mark antony, you know." “mark antony! who’se dat?" "don't you know? i thought you knew all about shake- speare. heard you quoting him the other night in the hall." "shucks! man, you doan hab to read shakespeare to know 'bout 'im. eberybody knows t’ings in dat man's book.” "well, mark antony was the fellow 'who made the famous speech at caesar's funeral. maybe the same speech i'll make over you some day,” smiled jeremiah. “not ef i knows it! say, king, yo’ knows what i'd like to be?" “high commander? you're it already.” "no! jokin' 'sides, i'd loves to be a lawyer. mon, i tinks i sees myself in co’te: gen’mans ub de juries—and i knocks 'em dead wid my speech! den again, mebbe i gets real sassy- like to de jedge, and he says to me: now, council; and i butts in: no, yo' worship ...". "your worship? that's not how you address a court in this country. you say: may it please the court." "yes, dat's it: please yo' gracious hon-- hey's lido comin',” he broke off. "you've been neglecting me tonight, mr. king,” smiled lido jones as she bore down on them and waved a playful finger at jeremiah. “come on and dance with me." as jeremiah was about to move off, marcus called him back. “say, king, lean over heah. i wants to tell yo' somethin'. ... ef i eber gets to be a real king l’se goin' to take you wid me. yo' knows what fo?". jeremiah looked at him, and he looked mischievously back at jeremiah. “i aims to 'heads you," he popped out with a sudden laugh. “to what?" “ 'heads you. i chops yo' head off jes’ like de ole kings the black challenge used to do to dere chamberlains in de ole days. i jes' itches to do dat." jeremiah burst into a hearty laugh. marcus had a quaint sense of humor. “what are you laughing at?" questioned lido as they moved towards the dancing-room. jeremiah told her. “what a funny idea!" "oh, that's only marcus' way of showing his love and affection." “yes," she agreed, "he seems very fond of you. only the other night he was telling us of a famous murder case you had down in san fernando-the one in which you defended the indian girl's husband who became jealous of you and killed her. marcus said she was your sweetheart." "marcus talks more than he knows about,” he returned gruffly. as a matter of fact, this incident of tahiti, the little dancing indian girl, was a thorn in the side of jeremiah. after the discovery of tahiti's mutilated body and the arrest of her husband, jeremiah had felt it a sacred duty to defend the man; in this way only he felt he could atone to tahiti. and he had succeeded! he had always felt proud of that. “you don't seem so jolly tonight.” “no?" he queried. “what makes you think so?" “i don't think so i know so.” "well, you are having a good time." “the time of my life,” she agreed. “isn't it a great party? isn't doctor proudfoot a regular brick to turn this party on for me before i go away?" “oh, is it your party? where are you going?" “surely, didn't you know? i thought i told you the other night. i'm going on my vacation to atlantic city for a week, maybe; then i'm going down to washington, and from there to arundel-on-the-bay for another week.” “that's fine; wish i were going along with you.” he re- marked gallantly. the black challenge "well, wouldn't that be great! why can't you? you'd like atlantic citya great place," she bubbled on. "maybe i will”; and, after a pause: "where's murphy? i think mr. cox wants to see him.” "i think he's back in the dining-room," she answered. "he's pretty well pickled; been drinking too much whiskey, or gin, or whatever else he drinks,” she explained. "didn't notice you drinking much." "no," she answered. “i can't stand the taste of whiskey or gin; but i do love wine. the doctor told me he had some for me; and if you're very good i'll let you have a drink with me." “i'll always be good-to you," he answered in low tones near her ear, and with the faintest suggestion of a tighter pressure about her waist. “all right, we'll be regular pals,” she agreed. as they stopped for the second time, marcus cox was standing beside a chair nearby. he beckoned to jeremiah. marcus seemed somewhat perturbed. “what yo' think?" he complained. “that damned irish- man's drunk as a lord; he's layin' off there in one of proud- foot's rooms, and me nor webb can't get any sense into his head. guess we'll have to postpone our meetin'.” “what's it all about, marcus? i don't know the first thing you are talking about.” "oh, dere's a little matter of a indictment--they got it 'gainst me durin'de war. de blasted english was back of it; thought i was raisin' too much hell and might stir up the niggers all over-all over de world. we’se very strong on de african gold coast and in capetown. i managed to squelch de indictment; cost me a heap o' money; but murphy phoned me some time ago that he had to dispose of it one way or de udder. he said he was comin' up to dis little racket dr. proudfoot was havin' in harlem and axed me whether i'd be there. i tole him no, i didn't 'tend no such foolishness; but when you and me come down de steps on seventh avenue and meet dr. proudfoot, den it 'curs to me i'd trot the black challenge along and we could hab our conference with de blasted grafter here.” “oh, i see,” observed jeremiah; and again: “i see!” as jeremiah and marcus proceeded through an arched doorway beyond the dining-room toward one of the other rooms beyond, they were met by george webb coming out. “no use, cox; he ain't in any shape to talk tonight. we'll have to put it off for some other time. suppose we phone you?” marcus cox thought a moment. “all right, webb. let's see. i has to go on a tour the first part of next week. i'll get mr. king to telephone you when i get back and 'range it. good night.” he added shortly, and, taking jeremiah lightly by the arm, they found their way out. chapter xi there are cities and communities in the world which have their own special flavor, atmosphere-call it what you will. london breathes its own particular air; paris envelops you with its own distinct aura; and new york! there was some- thing about new york which, to jeremiah, was as authentic as the flavor of either london, paris or berlin. these are the highlights of the world; but here and there, in america as in europe, in asia, africa, or wherever one may roam, there are lesser lights of cities which have a gentle or, perhaps, a lurid perfume all their own; and once scented, or glimpsed, or felt-according to differing tastes- the stray sojourner's heart returns in memory even as a long- swirling sea bird drops back to the breast of mother ocean for snatches of sustenance and repose. atlantic city, “playground of the world”-as its sponsors have so grandiloquently christened it-spreading itself along the new jersey shore line, with its minaret-towering hotels, its boardwalk, and its crowds perambulating by day as by night in one endless, never-ending procession. ... atlantic city! no poet has adequately sung its praises nor expressed his lovel no painter has yet encompassed its sprawling spirit within the narrow confines of his palette and brush, for like many another place in the world, its tunes, its tones, its moods are so diverse, so varying, so chang- ing and changeful that nothing else in, about, or around it is typical save its glowing sands and the perpetual swish and wash and roar of the breakers as they roll unceasingly to the shore. the black challenge moment that heretofore his life had been a mere sauntering, strolling affair. today he felt quite different and he was going to ... jeremiah was roused abruptly from his musings. “oh, look, jerry, sea food, lobsters, a shore dinnerl” lido was bubbling. “do let's go in and have a shore dinner! i do so love 'em, only” she hesitated, “i wonder whether it's all right? i wonder whether they will serve us?" “what's a shore dinner, and why do you wonder if we will be served?” smiled jeremiah, abstracting his gaze and thought from the ocean. "a shore dinner? don't you know? oysters on the half- shell; soft, oozy steamed clams; broiled lobster, chicken and watermelon-nice, sweet dripping watermelon with black lit- tle seeds peeking up at you and wondering whether you are going to bite them or not," purred lido. jeremiah knew nothing of shore dinners. his little island home had no doubt possessed the ingredients, but he had never asked for a “shore dinner" before. "well, what do you mean by, 'if they will serve us'? isn't that what they have 'em for, to serve people?” lido looked covertly over at her companion. she had forgotten. jeremiah was a west indian. she had often heard these people boast that they had no complex color problems in the islands; but surely it couldn't be altogether true. there wasn't a place in the world where colored people could go wherever they pleased and do whatever they liked- except, perhaps, in the jungles of africa. “i've heard they are very prejudiced in atlantic city and don't serve negroes on the boardwalk,” she explained; and then, musingly, “but that's hardly different from anywhere else." "if that's so, how do you know about shore dinners? never saw any lobster palaces in harlem," he retorted. “oh, i've had shore dinners lots of times, and not in harlem either,” she boasted. jeremiah pondered as he looked musingly at lido. black- the black challenge haired, black-eyed, her complexion in its natural state a light beige, but now, with her cheeks blushed with rouge, a creamy peach color, it seemed to him a thoroughly cau- casian face, latin, perhaps, jewish, perhaps-except for the nose—a possible representative of the innumerable caravan from europe, one of the many types which populate new york's east side, and west side, and south side, and north side. “in new york i go out a lot to hunter island's inn, to city island, and other places with mr. murphy, that white friend of george webb's, whom you met,” she confided. "we go to any old place we like." “oh, is that so? you travel around with white men, eh?" rejoined jeremiah, looking at her as from a distance. “not 'white men,'” mimicked lido jones. “i said a white man.” "all right, we won't quarrel about the plural–a white man. what's the matter with me? we're both pretty white,” he added, taking up one of her bare arms in his and play- fully patting it. “it isn't a question of lightness. with your ..." and she hesitated, embarrassed, fearing to offend, but looking at his hair. “oh, i know-you needn't hesitate; i'm not a bit sensi- tive. you mean that with my hair curling up like marcus cox's there could be no mistake.” she could not tell whether jeremiah, in spite of his smil- ing frankness, were offended or not, so she merely nodded. “well, do you suppose i want to hide, or disguise myself, behind a light skin? i wouldn't change my hair for any other in the world.” “that isn't it at all. it isn't a question of hiding. we want what they have, and if we are fortunate enough to be able to get it without question, why not take it? i am never going to deny my race or my color, but i certainly am not going around pinning placards on myself. they'll serve a white man and a very light woman, or vice versa. they'll take a chance, not being sure. there are so many different kinds of people the black challenge in this country you can't ever be sure. besides, one carries the other along; but when both are doubtful, like us-you're a little and i'm a little-i don't know, they may not take the chance. i do wish i could have some lobster, though," she added very wistfully. “we are certainly going to have lobster if you want it,” he replied, as if that ended the whole matter; and calling to the negro wheeler to pull up alongside "jack's lobster palace” at the inlet, they jumped out. "let me fix up a little," lido said sprightfully, taking out her omnipresent compact case and dabbing at her nose and cheeks. “maybe that'll help some”; and, resting her arm lightly in that of jeremiah's, they entered the restaurant. was there a slight feeling of self-consciousness on jere- miah's part-just the smallest tincture of expectancy, as, pausing for a moment to select seats, they found their way to a table near a window overlooking the boardwalk and the bay? when it was all over, jeremiah tried to recall his feelings, but never settled the matter to his satisfaction. a waitress came over, laid a menu card on the table, and passed on. there was no welcoming smile on her face, no air of greeting, not the slightest hint of: “this restaurant is glad to have you come in, and we're going to take care of you well for the minutes that you are here.” just a quick, searching look. jeremiah had known ever so many eating places where both the food and the service-particularly the service-gave you a kind of homey, chummy feel. but, pos- sibly, there were too many transients coming and going for this place to have developed such an atmosphere. still, on this occasion, the place was not even half-filled; and the night was a lazy, strolling kind of a night, the air coming through the windows from the ocean soft and balmy, with just a sufficiency of tang in it to add piquancy. one got the feeling that it was a night in which to be generous, to be cheerful, to be expandingly gay. lido placed her wide-brimmed leghorn hat on a chair beside her and rested jeremiah's alongside it. she again ruf- the black challenge fled her curls and settled down to the pleasing prospect of a shore dinner. the waitress returned. she laid napkins and glasses of water beside their respective places. lido was chirping joy- fully. “you're going to enjoy it,” she was saying, "even if it is your first shore dinner. i've heard they are just wonderful in this place.” in the far distance of the restaurant, however, over on the other side of the room where there was a railinged space with a high desk surmounted by a cash register and an ele- vated chair on which sat a thick, matronly woman with great masses of blonde, wavy hair, a conference was going forward between the waitress, the cashier, and a man-a short, stocky, red-haired man who seemed to be in authority, perhaps the proprietor. jeremiah recalled that this stocky man had but a moment or two before passed behind their table and held a whispered conversation with a fat woman and her companion a seat or two removed from theirs. now the short, stocky man was coming towards them. he was even at that moment standing beside jeremiah, his hands lightly resting on the table beside him. he was saying something. it suddenly occurred to jeremiah that something very unpleasant was about to happen. “excuse me, sir,” the man was saying. "what is your na. tionality?" jeremiah looked steadily into the man's gray eyes before replying; then, slowly, as if measuring his calibre, his quality, he permitted his eyes to travel up and down his figure until they rested again on his face. finally, with deliberate slow- ness, he answered: “what in hell is that to you? who are you, anyhow, and how dare you come over here and ask me a question like that?” “i am the manager of this restaurant. i suspect that you two people are colored people, and we can't serve negroes here. it's a hard-and-fast rule-sorry.” the man was not rude in manner. he was civil, polite, apologetic, in fact. the black challenge a snarl, a curse issuing from between the corners of his lips as they opened themselves in a forced smile in lido's direction. "well, that's that!” he finally remarked, strumming on the table with his fingers; then, quickly rising, as if waking himself from a dream, he remarked, turning towards lido jones: “come, little girl, let's go.” as they walked down the restaurant aisle and passed through its doors, heads held high and eyes scornfully sweeping group after group of other diners who had wit- nessed their discomfiture, a little snicker from the fat over- dressed female sitting behind them was wafted to their ears. chapter xii “ah could ah tole yo’so,” confided their negro wheelchair- pusher as jeremiah and lido jones settled themselves for the journey back down the boardwalk. "told us what?” questioned jeremiah sharply and ir- ritably. “tole yo’ dey doan serve no cullud people in dat rest'- rant. dat's de most prejudicest place dere is in atlantic city. de mostest patrons of dat place is s’utherners-crackers from de sout-and dey doan serve we people atall, atall! no, sir! no chance whatsoever or howsoever," and he shook his head vehemently. he had stood alongside the window and witnessed the entire proceeding. jeremiah, however, had no immediate inclination to discuss his troubles with this man-their chair-pusher, their servant. after all, the mere fact of a common heritage did not, by that very token, make this man a fit auditor of his woes. as a matter of fact, it had not been a southern man or woman who had caused their rejection. he had distinctly seen, now that he recalled it, the beginning of the whole affair. it was the large, stout, overdressed, overdiamonded female sitting with her companion at the table behind them who had beckoned the manager of the restaurant and, in a whisper purposely designed, no doubt, to be disquietingly loud, had made objection to dining with—“niggers!” there had been some doubt expressed by the manager; and, finally, after a conference with his assistants, he had come over to their table. the black challenge there was an empty feeling at the pit of his stomach. his lips were so dry that he found himself wetting them re- peatedly with his tongue. his hands shook. he was flabber- gasted, upset, enraged-for himself and for lido jones. he glanced covertly at her. he wondered how she felt, what was going on in her mind. he heard her voice coming as from a distance. it took him a few moments to pull himself together and determine what she was saying. “don't take it too hard, old boy. you know i warned you i was afraid of just that.” "i didn't think it possible,” he muttered, more to him- self than to her. "yes, not only possible, but most probable-absotively probable,” she said, reverting to playful slang in order for him to snatch some measure of cheer from her lightness. "but we mustn't let that spoil our evening. that ... would ...be ...a ... crimel” and her eyes and smile encouraged him. "i guess you're right," but he lapsed into silence immedi- ately afterward. it was not so easy to shake off as that. sud- denly, he turned towards his chair-pusher. “tell me something, george.' “mah name ahnt george." "what is it?" "my name is abraham lincoln douglas. mr. abraham lincoln douglas, dat’s me, sar!” “abraham lincoln, eh?” “yes, sar, de same who freed de slaves; but dey calls me link for short.” “so the slaves are free, are they, link?" “sure dey is, befo' ah is bawn!" “and how long has this kind of thing been going on here?" “what yo' means-dey doan serve cullud people?" "yes." "all de time, and ah bin livin' here nigh to fifty yeahs.” “didn't you ever think of doing anything about it?" the black challenge “me? ah is only a poor wheel-pusher. been doin' dat all mah life. if dese dicty niggahs wants to eat on de bo'adwalk it's dem bis’ness. ah mines mah own bis'ness.” “that so," agreed jeremiah. “do you know what i'd like to do right now?" "no, sah, ah ain' no min' readah.” "i'd like to get about fifty of the blackest negroes i can find in atlantic city and march them into that restaurant and sit down until we had a lobster feast.” “man, yo' shuh is looking to raise some hell, ain't yoh?" "yes, i'd like to do just that.” "you'd have a race riot befoh mohnin'." "and then—?" "all us niggahs would be chased out o' atlantic!" “that wouldn't be such a bad thing. what's the use of living here if you can't have what you want?” "me? ah gets all i wants. doan lak no lobster, nohow. ef ah did ah'd buy him at de stoh!" "well, what about your children? suppose they should grow up and want to eat on the boardwalk?" “dey ain't got no sich foolishest noshuns in dah heads. besides, i ain't got no children.” “no wonder!”. jeremiah breathed, turning towards lido jones. “i guess this is one of marcus' problems.” “yoh means de mayor, mr. marks? he ain't got no use foh cullud people, eithah. he's ah refohm man.” "no, i mean mr. marcus cox, the high commander president general of the united negro movement of the world-didn't you ever hear of him?" "no, sah, nevah heard tells of him," replied abraham lincoln douglas. lido jones had sat silent during the whole bantering discussion. she sensed that jeremiah was exhausting some of his steam. "come on, let's go on the pier,” she suddenly suggested as young's million dollar pier showed in the immediate vista. the black challenge "well, what about something to eat?” questioned jere- miah. “oh, i'm not hungry. i just wanted some lobsters. it doesn't make any difference, anyhow. we've saved that much money. haven't we?" and she took hold of his arm chummily. “hang the money!” he growled. jeremiah knew that lido was lying. she must be hungry. she was attempting to soften the blow. he felt her manner and, because he felt it, he reproved himself for placing on her the burden of saving the evening's entertainment. so, taking himself in hand, he answered: “yes, one swallow doesn't make a summer. let's try somewhere else.” the experience of a few minutes ago, however, had had its effect. automatically, doubt came to him; fear of a recurrence of what they had just passed through; and, as they descended from their roller chair and approached the caged window for tickets to the pier, a grim spectre was by his side, the same spectre, he suddenly realized, that must stalk beside every negro man and woman in the united states in search, during their travels, of public accommoda- tions in restaurants and hotels in cities and towns and hamlets all over the country. he had heard many race discussions since he had been in america, in harlem. he had heard about racial preju- dice from marcus cox, from others. he had caught the sound of it in his walks about the streets of harlem, but he had not heretofore measured its significance. now it was invad- ing his most inner life. in the past white people, to jeremiah, had been just-people. people like himself and dora and their many friends in the islands were just-people. they had no distinguishing marks save their accomplishments, their achievements, their culture. people like marcus cox and his kind were ... they were not just-people; they were black people. marcus cox was right. jeremiah king had a color sense, a color complex, after all. he had had it without realizing it. was it because he had unconsciously the black challenge aligned himself with that other group which had just seared him with the hot iron of their contempt? was it because. the white part of him had made him feel that he was not like this—this other black kind? for a moment he looked around. he and lido had en- tered the dancing pavilion, and they were waltzing. the hundreds of other couples around him were white couples;. but lido-lido, as he looked down at her was almost as white as any girl in that place. she was just as well dressed, just as dainty as the daintiest on the floor. he was proud of lido as she swayed contentedly in his arms. was it because of her light color? or was it because of her grace and beauty and-manner? perhaps color had something to do with it. he could not imagine himself dancing in this place with a black woman, nor with a fat, ungainly, slovenly white girl, no- not of any color. it was because lido fitted so eminently well into these surroundings. it was that and something more. now he realized it. it was because, light and pretty as she was, her lightness and prettiness had that quality in it akin to his, which made it possible for him to say: “you are my kind!” there was that in his being which thrilled triumphantly. she belonged by virtue and token of her mixed race to him. and, by jove! they were there in that circle of white beings who, at a beck, a nod, would deny them the right to be there, to compete with them; but they were there just the same; they were able to compete with them, and, by god! they were going to compete, not alone by virtue of their lightness of skin, but by virtue of their inherent quality, their culture, their attainments. unconsciously, jeremiah held his partner a little more closely to him. instinctively, he expressed the pride evoked inside his soul by the tiniest increased pressure of his arm around her waist. the waltz floated on; its cry hung suspended as if in air. no words-just a tune and its haunting melody throated by the saxophones as they reached the crescendo of the com- the black challenge poser's heartache. jeremiah's mood and his fancy floated on also. it encompassed marcus cox and their recent con- ference in harlem a few days back. many of marcus cox's shibboleths now emerged clearer, as if painted on a black- board-his openly expressed distrust, his resentment of the white man's dominance. jeremiah also resented it-resented it not from the standpoint of color but from the standpoint of culture, of achievement. damn it! that's where negroes deserved all they got. they were not fit; they were not equipped to deserve any more. . . . yet was this true? was he not well equipped? hadn't he as much refinement as any white man in the world? didn't he have fine sensibili- ties, fine ideals, fine fancies? yet how had he been treated? how much had all these assets weighed in that restaurant a short while ago? marcus cox was right! marcus cox was, so to speak, in the “right church but in the wrong pew." he would talk to marcus on his return, and maybe ... may. be, together, they could do something useful after all. “let's go outside and get some air," he remarked sud. denly. lido jones had enjoyed the waltz immensely. she loved dancing and would have liked to continue, but she was ready. : “all right, jerry!" they went out to the farthest end, where the last frontier of the pier met the ocean. underneath them the tireless sweeping waters were roughing themselves against the huge concrete-pillar supports; and a thousand phos- phorescent twinkles flashed up at them from below. they came upon a bench and sat down. from underneath the horizon, where vaguely dark water had met vaguely dark sky a moment or so ago, a moon, a more than full moon, arose gently and shyly. they sat out there until late into the night. chapter xiii there are wild things of the earth majestic in their wild- ness-the eagle with its untamed eye, its cruel beak, its lanc- ing talons. the lion, the tiger, the savage-all majestic be- cause of their unfettered abandon. even so the stormwinds and the stormwaves. even so god, who strikes with asperity -yea, with laughter. shall human beings shrink? yes, if they be not made of the laughter of the gods; if, bereft of the quality of the stormwinds, they come to be weak and sexless things. was he, jeremiah, a weak and sexless thing? had he, by virtue of his mixed heritage, become emasculated of the strength that might have been his had he been a purely white or a purely black man? scientific men, men who were supposed to have made a special study of the subject, had often declared that persons of mixed blood like himself were prone to inherit the weak traits of their respective black and white parents. he wondered: could this be true in his case? his atlantic city experience had bitten deeply into his sensibilities. he had suffered a mortal affront-a hurt to his spirit. how would a white man have answered this assault had the situation been reversed? how would a black man have answered it? what explanation had he to give for it? how was he going to gird himself to meet it? for he saw clearly that it was not a question of the past but of the present and of the future. he sat alone in his rooms-a small apartment on edge- the black challenge combe avenue overlooking the park. he had chosen this apartment (on the top floor) because of the view it com- manded over the lights and shadows of the big city. all of his past life in the west indies he had lived close to the ground; never in those years had he moved in a house more than one story high. here, however, he was on the thir- teenth floor. he delighted in being as high up as possible. it seemed to afford elbow room for his thoughts. to the north, east and south the lights of the city twin- kled out. almost immediately beneath, just over the house- tops beyond broadhurst, eighth and seventh avenues, the vacuous shadow of the harlem river wound its way north and south like a gloomy trail between the campfires of two bivouacking armies–new york and the bronx. a cooling breeze came through the open window by his side, and, as he smoked, his thoughts were roaming far afield. civilization, he pondered, had a tendency to weaken human beings. certain ancient civilizations were said to have never been so highly developed as immediately prior to their decay and fall. men built cities of wood and stone to shield their degeneracy. they built towers of babel in their egotism and their weakness. at times it were far better, for one's own self-respect, to be a wild, primitive creature. extreme culture made a man too proud to fight; but with ninety-nine per cent of the world not so highly refined, it was hell not to have the fighting spirit when the battle gauge was thrown down. a one-per-cent minority became a solecism, a mere nonentity. without even the moral justification of the martyr. the habit and training of years called on him to laugh off the affair of the atlantic city restaurant. two weeks had gone by since his return from that trip, and he had not been able to laugh it off, to forget. it still gnawed into the bone and marrow of his spirit. he found himself actually becoming morbid about it. as he looked back over the occurrence, he wondered whether he had not been a little weak. had it not called for the exercise of courage the black challenge transformations among the men and women of harlem by hair-straightening processes. he laughed aloud. “my god! to think that even such a thought should come into my mind!” flee from the question that way? never! he recalled his boast to lido jones on the boardwalk in atlantic city: “do you think i'd want to hide or disguise what i am?” and that was still true-please god, it would always be true. he would stand or fall by what he was. he saw clearly now the tight ring in which men of color, no matter of what shade, moved in the united states. he sensed that it was the same all the world over. looking back upon his life in the west indies, he divined that it existed as strongly there as anywhere else, although it had never obtruded itself upon his consciousness. he recalled that all the best governmental positions in the islands had always been filled by englishmen sent out from the home country especially for the purpose of preserving white dom- inance. no doubt about it—that was the reason-white dom- ination, an intent to impress racial superiority. with the english in the colonies, it sprang as a governmental policy from the top; in america, this racial antipathy sprang from the people themselves. marcus cox's movement had appeal because it expressed the growing rebellion in black men's souls against the iron ring of white prejudice and antipathy pressing on them from every side. it was an instinctive racial gesture of self-protection. . what was the answer-if there were answer at all? re- sort to the courts? no, hell, law could not control deep- rooted prejudices. law was only law in so far as it expressed popular will. witness prohibition enforcement laws-all futile and doomed to everlasting failure. the answer could not, in the nature of things, be an immediate answer; it must be an answer of the ages, of time, of growth, of development in power and in dignity by the black race. it should be an answer in which every colored man in the world was in- terested; and one of the first ways of answering it was to nail one's negro identity to the mast and place it there to the black challenge be observed before every other consideration. white preju. dice, hate, and oppression had kept the negro race alive- that and something inherently capable of surviving in the race itself. what was that inherent something which had enabled it to survive? clearly, it was a quality which the indian race did not have, because that race had almost been exterminated. was it the negro's good nature, that carefreeness of spirit which was said to be fundamentally and peculiarly his, which the great force back of the world needed and preserved when he preserved the negro? was this happy-go-lucky spirit for which he was as equally condemned as lauded really a fundamental trait, or was it an acquired habit by virtue of which the negro had bent under oppression and adverse circumstances but had not broken-like the indian? the proud indian had shot back fiery glance for fiery glance of the white man and had wasted himself away with lashings of his tiger's tail. the negro, in the same position, had acquired the ability to laugh it off, to laugh it off ... and wait, wait for the day of deliverance and power, when perhaps the tables would be turned. there was only one other race in the world with good humor equal to that of the negro, and that was the irish. under centuries of english oppression they, too, had continued to smile and sing and dream. had they not also survived? the creator of the world, in making the negro, had put some- thing into his spine which, during an emergency, when the issue was either smile and survive or be gloomy and die, had enabled the negro to smile and survive. why should not he, jeremiah, be proud of that part of his lineage which, being black and condemned, had the capacity for a sur- viving smile? and why should he not be proud, now that the battle gauge of “race" had been thrown down for him in a world where contests were waged by different weapons, to wage his own battle not as an indeterminate hybrid but as a negro? “by god!” he exclaimed in a moment of passionate in- spiration. “natural selection and all it implies, driving the the black challenge a hot flush surged through jeremiah king and undoubt- edly showed itself on his face. what did this man, marcus cox, think he was with respect to him, jeremiah? did he think he was his master, his boss? how ridiculous! he, jeremiah, had only associated himself with marcus cox out of desire to be of assistance to him in his unwieldy and stumbling efforts. what was lido jones to marcus cox, anyhow? what business was it of his that, “i has a strong interest in dat little girl, king. yo' know dat little nigger webb that yo' met at de cabaret de fust night i meets you? well, i had to get him tole 'cause he was runnin' 'round too much with lido, and i didn't like it 'cause i doan t’ink he 'mounts to much or ever will 'mount to much anyways; and just as soon as i'se through with a little matter that i has with owen murphy, l’se goin' to give him a piece of my min' also. oh, doan worry, i'm up to all de little tricks o' dese white men chasin' colored gals.” jeremiah took note that, for once, marcus had not used the word “nigger" in connection with lido, as he would undoubtedly have done in reference to anyone else. he replied in what he desired to be a most casual tone: “i thought lido–miss jones-was only your secretary." there was no mistaking jeremiah's tone. at least, it had a definite meaning to marcus. his eyes blazed, and with a cutting sneer, he replied: “yo' thinks everybody is like yourself, king. i ain't interested in lido de way you t’inks. it wouldn't do me no good ef i was. lido is jes' like a daugh- ter to me. yo' see all de swell t’ings i got dere-well, it's lido's mother, mandy jones, that select dem all. she puts my house away like a palace-jes' as yo' see it, and you didn't see de half of it, either. no, king,” he went on, noting the questioning gaze in jeremiah's eyes, "yo's wrong again. mandy jones ain't my kept woman, and she ain't my wife; she ain't eder 'cause she won't have me for eder de one or de other. but i'se crazy to hab her anyways she wants me-ef she's only have me,” and there was a note of tender sadness in his voice. “in de meantime she works for a salary the black challenge from de u. n. m. for keepin' my house jes' like lido and jes' like . . . you,” marcus ended pointedly. so that was the connection! that was the mystery over which jeremiah had pondered ever since he had become acquainted with marcus cox and lido. lido and her mother in marcus' house. what a reliefl instinctively, he rose and went towards marcus cox. "shake, marcus, you're a good sport. i think you are great, and ... you needn't worry about any harm coming to lido through me. i'd protect her as quickly as you would, as though i were-her father," he ended, no other relation- ship occurring to him at the moment. the two men silently clasped hands. “how are things out west?" inquired jeremiah after a while. “things is going pretty well in de other branches, and i thinks we have 'nough money to make de final payment on de ship, conditionin' her and everything." "where is she?" inquired jeremiah. "laying up in de nort' river, where she's been all de time, ever since from in the war, leastways from the time when dis country jumped into de fighting. we didn't make the las' payment and we didn't do neary a t'ing to her be- cause we was 'fraid de gov'ment might seize her; and i didn't aim to have us niggers do a damn, blasted t'ing to help dose bloody english people out o' their troubles.” “you mean you sympathized with the germans during the war?" "no," replied marcus slowly, sucking a long black pipe in his mouth, “i don't sympathize with any germans; but as 'tween them and the english, i sure was rooting for the germans.” “and the french, don't you like the french? they surely have always been fair to your-to our people." “yes, but dey was in de same boat as de english, and i hates england; i hates her very guts. what has the english ever done to any place dey ever been in but leech, suck the black challenge it dry, and leave it-same as dey do in de islands where you and i come from. why, mon, why do yo' t'inks you had to come to dis country? 'cause de english squeezed it so dry you can't make a living there. dat's de reason. you got more brains dan i, but you doan see it. who has all de nice places down in de islands? ain't it de english and de scotch and de ir-no, not de irish, dey's all in new york,” he added, with a chuckle. "and do you mean that, even after america went in, you and your association still felt the same way about it?" “sure-leastways, i doan know 'bout my 'sociation, but i know i does. i bets you,” marcus continued, his voice rising, “i bets you yo' doan know why dis country jumped in. no, 'co'se you doan know. you’se too english to know. dey jumps in beco's mr. morgan and all de other rich people of dis country had dere money ’vested with de eng- lish; and if de war had o' been lost, if de germans had o' win, dey'd have los' every blooming penny, dat's de reason. dey went in after their money, and not a damn thing else!" “ah, you're talking a lot of poppycock. you're talking just like a lot of other ignorant people talked. the ger- mans would have been over here just as soon as they had licked the allies, as sure as sure.” “sure as sure, nothin'! that shows you doan know nothin' 'bout it. dat was a lot of 'ganda dat dey put out in all de newspapers; but dey wasn't a bit of truf in it. why, shucks, mon, if de germans had o' come over to dis country i'd been de first man to get out dere, wadin' out into de ocean to meet 'em. i'd been o' out dere fightin' like a hell-cat, 'cause i'll tell yo' somethin', king, i loves dis coun- try. she is de greatest country on de face of de globe, bar- rin' none. de white 'merican has no use for us niggers, neder for you nor for me, but he ain't pretendin' like de english. de niggers in dis country to the white man is just like a lot of burrs de white man ketch in his clothes in a briar patch. dey is wid him and he can't turn 'em loose, but he doan want 'em. he tell you so; he call you “nigger," the black challenge but, all de same, you get a chance to make a living. where de hell yo' t'ink i could live like i living in this man's country? they let me 'lone so long as i let dem ’lone and don'fool wid dere . . . womans," he ended, looking sig- nificantly at jeremiah. “and i suppose you are safe, then, for a very good rea- son.” “you go to hell, jeremiah king. yo' t'inks dey'd want yo', don't yo’? i bets yo' i could get 'em as fas' as you could --only,” he added quietly, after a pause, “i doan want any of dem.” “sour grapes!” muttered jeremiah; but marcus cox let the remark pass. instead, he took a bundle of papers from his pocket and, handing them to jeremiah, remarked: “these is de con- trac's for de ship, and this is a copy o' de bill o' sale they'll give us when we makes de las' payment. look over dem and see whether dey'll be all right.” “all right, marcus, i'll go over them later. in the mean- time, i have a few things on my mind that i'd like to talk to you about." “shoot, king," replied marcus. “i'll tell you. marcus, i've been thinking over things, and, in the main, perhaps, they are all right; but there is such a lot of wasted effort connected with them. i don't see, for example, why you have to be injecting africa into your plans. these people don't want to go to africa any more than you or i do. what would they do there, anyway? from all appearances, you seem to be spending a lot of money and getting nowhere with it. you talk about the white man and what you don't want him to do to you. take, for instance, your building on seventh avenue. i imagine your rent there is pretty steep. whom are you paying that to but to some white man who owns it? why don't you buy? why ..." "you're wrong there, king, dead wrong,” corrected the black challenge marcus cox. “we owns dat buildin'; we done bought it and paid for it." "you do?” "yes, sir, i tends to dat; and, 'sides, i knows all yo' is goin' to say. you'se goin' to ax me why we don't 'vest in some mo' real estate, some mo' buildings; why we doan have groc'ry stores and laundries; and why we doan make t'ings as de white man does and give our people 'ployment.” “yes,” agreed jeremiah, "why don't you do these things instead of wasting their money-instead of spending money on a ... foolish dream?” he ended flatly. “you ain't the fust man who's thought of them things, king. i'se thought of 'em too, long time ago. i'se tried some of dem; but dey doan work. fust thing you know, we 'stablished a lot of dose things and dese niggers all bust up in a row. dey t’inks everybody is gettin' rich 'cept demselves. no, yo' can't call a plover with a siren; and dese niggers is all plovers. dey's all like a flock of dose birds in de air, and you got to stan' behin' a bush an’ whistle to dem soft- like. dey ain't many dat wants to go to africa. dat's truel all de same, dey'd 'tribute a million dollars to buy a ship to go dere when dey wouldn't put up a cent for a groc'ry store; and once i gets a ship and gets she sailin' de high seas, i'll work from dere. i'll come clean from heaven plumb down to earth, as a manner o' speaking." “i'm afraid you're a dreamer, marcus. you are not prac- tical. what good is a ship sailing the high seas going to do you and all these people?” “you eh’nt see 'cause you eh'nt got any vision, king. what you lacks is 'magination, mon. dat's why i'se where i is. i has plenty of 'magination. i sees more'n my ship sailing de high seas. i sees she down in jamaica. she goes in to de harbor dere, de fust ship of de black star line; all de niggers from all ober come running down to de dock. whose ship is dat? dat's marcus cox's ship! who is dis marcus cox? eh’nt yo’ hear de news? he's de man who is raisin' the black challenge hell in de united states, rousin' up all de niggers dere. dat is one of dere ships. de same t’ing in africal de fust thing yo' knows, dey wants to know all 'bout it. all our agents has to do is to jine 'em up, takes dere money, build more ships, send 'em all over de world. de fust time de ship docks in london, de english is goin' to laugh. dey's goin' to say: what de hell dose niggers knows about runnin' ships? de next time de ship reaches dere, dey ain't goin' to laugh so much. and when de third ship gits dere, dey ain't goin' even to smile. dey is goin' to sit up and take notice. de same wid all de white people in de oder coun- tries. meantime, all de niggers in de world is going to be wid us, and we is goin' to have plenty of money-for every- thing," he ended. “and what about america? how are americans going to feel about your ship project?" "oh dey'll loll along de dock and kid us 'long and say to demselves-tol’rant-like-let de niggers amuse demselves. they is jes' playin' at ownin' ships. then when dey sees we means bus'ness, dey'll say: see, dose is our niggers; we trains 'em to do these things. jes' like one time i was in a cab'ret in paris, and dere was two black boys in dere, and man! you should a-hear those babies sing. a 'merican man says to de white woman wid 'im: 'dose is 'merican niggahs. great, ehn't dey? we gives 'em de chance to do dose things in new york.' pretty soon after they stops singing', a dance starts up. den comes one of dese black boys with a white woman on de dance floor. man, she was a peach-a roosian duchess or princess or some kin' a thing like dat. but she was pretty ’nough to be anything. dis black boy took hold a she and starts one real black-bottom wid she on de floor, and man; de white man from new york get up from de table as if something suddenly sting 'im and he says, loudlikes, so as everybody could hear: 'come on! leh's get out a here. de idea of lettin' a nigger man dance wid a white woman. dey oughta be lynched.'” “what happened then?”. the black challenge of de united states or of russia. when i gets my ships run- ning all over de world, maybe de people in haiti or san domingo or liberia done invites me to rule 'em.” “well, suppose you were president of liberia, you would be under the wing of great britain. if you were president of haiti, you'd be under the wing of the united states. you'd be only a figurehead in any event." “i would, eh? yo' t'inks so? i'd chase de blasted english out o' liberia befo’ you could say jack robinson; and in haiti i'd teach de united states to respect me.” "well, you'd have to borrow money, and they wouldn't lend you unless—". “dat's jest it, king. i wouldn't borrow dere damn money. we'd collect money of our own. didn't i tells you de oder night dat money, money is de great t'ing? doan you 'members i tells yo' so?" "sure you did, and that's just the reason i'm talking about all this waste of money around you. when you had your kingdom, then what would you do with it? where would your subjects get the money to give you if you didn't establish things and industries from which to earn it-stores and shops and mills, and schools and banks, and all the things that god almighty put people into the world for?" "dat's true and it ain't true. i ain't educated like you, but dere is something in me dat tells when t’ings is right and when dey ehn't. just like a woman's 'tuition. dere is many a place an' time when yo' has got to ask yo' heart and not yo' head. dis practical worl, as yo' calls it, is all head. look at de way dey treats us niggers-all dey need is a li'l heart stuff.” "not on your life!” returned jeremiah. “the negro should not ask for sympathy-that's heart stuff. you think abraham lincoln aimed to abolish slavery because he was thinking altogether of the negro. no, sir! his big brain realized that slavery was more pernicious to white america than to black america. he knew that the united states the black challenge couldn't get anywhere in the march forward with the can- cer of slavery in its midst. he used his head, and he visioned a great fact. it simply happened that reason in that case coincided with the dictates of his human heart. nature is so constituted that, when the heart tells you anything is right, it generally turns out right according to reason. you just test it and see. half the time, when a man is cruel, he's just being unreasonable, that's all.” “you gets my head dizzy wid your arguefying. yo' tells me one t'ing is wrong, and den yo' turns 'round and proves she's right as hell. if i was a lawyer man like you i could disputes you; but yo’ has it all yo' own way. all de same i acts on my instinks. when i meets yo' dat night in front of de hall, my instinks tell me suddenly: ‘dat's de man yo've been lookin' foh, cox,' and straightaways i angles for yo'. yo’ is goin' to do me good, and yo’ is goin' to do yo’self good-if yo’ lets yo' li'l heart move yo’ sometimes.” "but after all, marcus, isn't this the place for us to start? you know the first thing a good general does is to cement his front-line trenches. and new york-harlem- is the place for you to begin. we could use a little money here to great advantage, and it would be good practice, anyhow. let us raise all the money we can, but let us spend it well, spend it for practical things that will pay dividends and make for real prosperity.” “for instant?" prodded marcus. "well, there are a lot of negroes in harlem. even your own members would be sufficient. you could establish some co-operative shops, stores, and businesses of various kinds. you might encourage thrift by forming a bank. you might erect a few apartment houses and give them living space at a low rate of profit, say, about four per cent, using their own money. you could invest their money in other opera- tions which would give them employment of a superior kind even if, in the beginning, you had to hire a few whites to teach them. but what is needed most of all is to organize them-organize them industrially, economically, politically the black challenge and every other way; teach them that, as negroes, their only salvation is to band together for every purpose in the world, solidly, substantially, and not chasing a visionary fool thing." “maybe you is right, king. dat's what i wants from you -ideas, man, ideas! does yo' thinks you can look into dese things?" “i think so, and," he continued, "there is one thing that should be done immediately. you should establish a legal department to protect all your members. if they are entitled to things within the laws of the country, and they them- selves are orderly and law-abiding, you ought to fight for those things. 'it's all right to talk about africa, but it's a long time before you transplant them; and, in the mean- time, we are all in america. it's rot to talk about traveling along the lines of least resistance." “say, king, yo' is talkin' like a real man now. you musta had some ginger spring into yo’. but what yo' sayin' dere 'bout a legal department is jes' what de a.c.s. does. "who are they, marcus? never heard of them before.” "dey calls demselves de 'sociation of colored strivers; but i calls dem de 'sociation for certain strivers, because dey's only two or three that runs de whole show and draws down most o de money. dey's jes' like a bunch o' under- takers; dey thrives on lynchings. one fellah, he talks about lynchings; de other fellah, he writes about 'em; and dey's one little mousey-faced fellah who travels all over de coun. try smellin' out de lynchings. every time dere is a lynching dey raises some money; den dey spends dat, see? and dey sits by and waits till another nigger is burned in alabama or texas, or wherever dey burns us people." “is that the bunch who publishes the newspaper called the crucible?” “de same. dat's run by de fellah that i showed you at proudfoot's party dat night, de one who was standin' around in a corner like a billy goat hunchin' heself up on a rock on a rainy day. i used to reads dat paper; but man, it gives me de blues, so i stops! it 'minds you of a dawg sit- the black challenge ting out in a field at night and bawling up at de moon. it doan get nowhere—just bawl and bawl like a little puppy all de time." “say, marcus, you know the thing that has made more for negro progress in the united states than anything else?" marcus looked questioningly at jeremiah. “the institution of jim-crowism. i am convinced that driving the negro back upon himself and his own resources is the best thing in the world for the negro as a race.” marcus cox stared his surprise. "my god!” he finally blurted out. “look who's here! when did you get that idea?” “i've been pondering things over, and i've come to that conclusion. let me tell you of an experience i had in atlantic city." “yo' means de time dey turns you down in dat res’trant?” jeremiah nodded. “you heard all about it, did you?" “yes, lido tells me and mandy about it, and i nearly lafs myself to death; but mandy was mad as hell." "and what did lido think about it?” “she? oh, she says she gets even wid dem jes' de same. she goes back next evening wid owen murphy who was down dere, and she gets her lobsters jes' de same.” “do you mean to say that she went back there to that restaurant with a white man?" "sure. why not? ef she can do it; and she did. de only reason you is sore is dat you di'nt have de chance to do it yo'self. yo' wouldn't think it 'mounted to anything if it was me who was chased out. you'd say, 'serves yo' right'; but jes' because it was yo'self, yo' ego is disgusted," and he chuckled mockingly. jeremiah said nothing more. he felt very much shocked, outraged. the affair in the restaurant had assumed mo- mentous proportions to him. it was a very sore spot in his heart. and to think that lido, his companion, his friend, should have returned to that restaurant after their dis- comfiture and dined with owen murphy, a white man! the black challenge “why doan you sues 'em and collec' damages?” marcus questioned. “dere's a law 'gainst dat kind o' thing, yo' knows. go tell it to de 'sociation for certain strivers,” he again mocked. jeremiah stared at marcus without answering. for the moment, he forget all about marcus' presence. he was still thinking of lido jones and her disloyalty to him, as he viewed it. "yes, yo' should sue dem,” repeated marcus. "sue, helll" retorted jeremiah irritably. “what good would that do? public sentiment is with the restaurant people. that's not the answer to the problem.” “what is de answer, den?”. "the answer is power, fitness, money, wealth. i'll bet if negro capital existed which could go alongside that man's place and establish a restaurant of the same kind which would serve all comers, that man would soon be glad to serve colored people; and wherever that kind of thing hap- pened, do the same thing until white people in business realized that negroes had ability, power, a punch! equality is not an abstraction merely to be mouthed. it's a fact to be accomplished, and not by begging on the part of negroes of the white people to be permitted to have a place in the sun, but by securing it through sheer force of their own ability and power." “say, boy, i jes' loves to hear you talk dat way. yo' musta eat some o' dose nigger peppers from ‘badoes lately. what else has yo' got on yo' ches'?”. jeremiah paused for a moment, then remarked: "you know something, marcus?” "no, what's dat?" "why can't we start a newspaper?" "a what?" "a newspaper, a weekly, maybe bi-weekly.” marcus got up from his chair, walked over to the win- dow, and stood looking out there for an instant; then turning, came eagerly towards jeremiah. the black challenge "say, boy, you has an idea, all right. dat's a spliffin' one. by golly! why eh’nt i thinks of dat long ago? a real newspaper, and me all ober de front page! marcus cox does dis. de high commander does dat. de president gen- eral does de oder thing. mon, you done earn all de salary i’se ever goin' to pay you," and he placed his arm admir- ingly on jeremiah's shoulders. "well, that wasn't exactly my idea, having one person on the front page. my idea was a more serious—" “when does we start, boy?" "well, we might go downtown and call upon some printers and see what terms we can make for printing.” "no, we ain't goin' to call on nobody. we’se goin' to print it right on de premises, down in de basement wid our own machinery. we'll print our own newspaper, den nobody kin shet us down." and, after a pause, as he gazed dreamily out over edgecombe park, “say, king," "what is it, marcus?” “we two is going to knock hell out de world yet!" the black challenge ing, but she was a wise, patient mother and deemed it best to hold a relaxed rein on this young filly. she realized that harlem was by no means a cloister, and an attempt to make it so for her child might prove disastrous. accordingly, she always sought to maintain very comradely relations with lido; and, when differing with her, she differed as one equal with another. amanda now sat in an easy chair alongside her daughter. the women bore a striking resemblance. amanda jones was still handsome. of a complexion more bronze in color than lido's, she had the same glowing black eyes and nicely molded brow and features as her daugh- ter. there was very little to suggest the negro in either, and yet they were both obviously persons of color. “i don't see why you don't marry mr. cox and be done with it,” lido was saying to her mother. amanda jones looked intently at her daughter. “i'll never marry a black man on this side of jordan, lido." “i suppose you are going to wait until another one like father comes along." lido regretted immediately this remark. her mother's eyes clouded in a passionate mist. "i don't want you ever to say anything like that to me ... ever again! you hear me, child?” "i'm sorry, mother, i didn't mean to say that; but i don't see the difference between working here as you do and marrying mr. cox. everybody thinks you ought to be married to him, anyhow; and, after all, when a man can give you as much as mr. cox can, i don't see what difference his color makes.” “do you think i'm worrying about what people say, especially these nigger women in harlem? i suppose by people you mean mrs. castanet, gertie davis, nina lang- ford, and that truck with their gin parties and pajama rackets that i hate to see you mixing with. why, the whole bunch of them ain't one generation removed from the white people's kitchens. it takes more than money to make peo- ple, daughter; it takes blood, good blood. as far as what the black challenge marcus can give us is concerned, i am not crippled yet. i can still work for myself. i don't want anything but what i work for from him or anybody else." “but. mother, you talk about blood. aren't we all col- ored people just the same?" "sure we are all colored people. i'm not claiming to be anything else. fact is, i'd just as soon be what i am as any- thing else in the world. i'd certainly rather be your mother than your father, as far as blood is concerned; but i'm talking about class, child, class!" "well, i think there are plenty of nice people around, only you never go out anywhere, mother. you sit back in this old house and mope, mope all the time. if you can't get what you are looking for, why not do the next best thing?" “what's that? marry marcus, eh? i'd just as soon marry ebeneezer. he and marcus are just the same, no differ- ence, only one's got a little more push than the other. but just imagine yourself tied to people like that for a lifetime, to be rubbing up against them; to have to do their bid- ding; to have to ... succumb to them,” she ended, not find. ing an apter word. “faugh! the bare thought gives me the willies.” "well, say, mother! tell me something. of course, we are both in the same boat, and this isn't meant as criti- cism; we're only talking between us, understand?” her mother nodded. "you talk about standards. tell me, just what do we look like in our present position?". "you mean working for marcus cox and his bunch of negroes? i suppose, lido, you think-and everybody else would do the same—that if marcus cox and his people were a bunch of white crazy people wanting to return to jerusa- lem or siberia or some other such place, it would be all right for us to be working for them just as we are; but just because they are black niggers, it is different. i tell you, i the black challenge “i find him very entertaining-has quite a sense of humor.” “marcus tells me he has a wife in the west indies,” ventured her mother after a pause. "is that so? hadn't heard about it. tell me some more about him.” lido's voice was well controlled, but as her mother again searched her daughter's features, she divined a slight blanching of the skin. "well, that's what divorce courts are forl" her mother remarked after a pause, as if answering a question. “what in the world are you talking about, mother? what made you say that?" “oh, nothing," and, after a pause, very wistfully: “daughter, i wish you wouldn't run around so much with that white fellow, owen murphy.” “you see, mother, there are lots of places that i can go to with murphy that i couldn't go to with many of our young men around here; and, after all, i don't see why i shouldn't enjoy those places in the way i can.” “yes, daughter, but there comes a time when one has to pay for all one gets; and in a case of this kind it's always the man's price that a girl has to pay. you understand, dear?” “all right, mother, i promise i'll take care of myself.” the door bell rang, once, twice, thrice, in quick suc- cession. they both sat up alert. “who can that be?" ques- tioned amanda jones. they heard ebeneezer's shambling footsteps below and then the swinging open of the door. soon ebeneezer him- self was coming upstairs. “gen’man to see you, miss jones.” "me?" questioned lido. “no, de madam.” “to see me?” queried mrs. jones in surprise. “are you sure?" the black challenge “yes’m.” “did he give any name? what's he look like?” "no ma'm, no name. he's a white gen’man.” amanda jones turned to her daughter. "come on down with me and let's see who the visitor is,” and they descended the stairs together. there was a short hallway leading from the entrance vestibule directly into a foyer in marcus cox's house. de- scending the stairs from the upper rooms, one could look directly into this hallway. as amanda jones and her daugh- ter reached the foot of the stairway, a voice came out of the dimness: "manda!” mrs. jones' form stiffened instantaneously, and her hand clutched at her daughter's arm. a white man, of medium height, spare of figure, with finely cut features and steely blue eyes, came out of the shadow. "mauricel” lido's mother gasped, and then automati- cally drew herself up and stood in her tracks. “what do you want here?” she added in a cold, hard voice. "i came to see you,” he answered, recoiling a little and twirling the straw hat in his hand. “aren't you glad to see me again?” "no, i hoped never to set eyes on you again in this world,” she ended passionately. “my god! and i've travelled all the way from california to find you. who is this?" approaching lido. “is this ... our ... little ... daughter?" he was standing before lido, had taken her chin in his hands, and was gazing down curiously into her face. “i am maurice fitz-johns, your father, child.” he leaned downward and kissed her upturned lips. lido's arms found themselves reaching up towards her father's neck. a heavy mist enveloped her eyes. maurice fitz-johns turned towards his wife: “i came to take you and my daughter back with me. things are dif- the black challenge marcus cox's mouth opened and his eyes glared. was this man actually referring to him? he rushed forward with raised fists. "oh, please, father! please, mr. cox!” and, tugging at her father's arms. lido led him through the open door and down the steps. she forgot that she had no hat; she forgot that only a pair of thin bedroom slippers were on her feet; but out to seventh avenue, down that avenue to th street, and then eastward she walked hand in hand with him to the subway station, unheedful of her friends who chirped to her, unheedful of the negroes who stopped to stare at her, arm in arm, with this white man. at the subway station, her father said: “come, go with me, child.” "where?" “california.” “i'd sooner die than leave mother.” at length he stooped to kiss her. reaching down into his pocket he drew a thick roll of bills and pressed them into her hands. "no," she sobbed, “i don't need them." "yes, take 'em-i want you to have them. good-bye," he said. "good-bye,” she whispered. “maybe sometime i'll come to see," and he rushed for a closing subway door. back in marcus cox's house, lido's mother found her way into the dining-room and sank down upon a chair. her elbow resting on the table, her chin cupped in one hand, she sat as if frozen. marcus cox occupied a chair across the table. he, too, was silent for many minutes. "i thought you say he's dead," he remarked finally.. "he is—to me,” she replied. "you know i think i goes out there and kill dat white man." she raised her head and looked at him. “what good would that do you, marcus?" "i think you still loves that man. if it wasn't for him chapter xv happy the man without a background, who has nothing in his ancestry but-missing links. the past has no frown- ing ghosts to point with accusing finger; and the future must, therefore, of necessity, be an open sea. if failure over- takes him, he can but slink back into the obscurity from which he came; and if success crowns his efforts, he stands like a monumental figure, a rock-ribbed oak, the first of his line to establish a name and status for posterity. in this respect most black negroes are fortunate souls. in this respect, also, even light-skinned colored folk are equally fortunate, for the tincture of proud white ancestry which the fates at times mete out to them is brought, for the most part, with such furtive secretiveness and from such a hushed liaison that one is often more prone to have it covered by the darkness of silence than to boast about it. marcus cox was a proud, disdainful black man. groping back into the past for a noble ham tree on which to hang his lineage, he found not even a leaf nor a twig. had he had the good fortune to have been born in distant africa, he might have manufactured for himself a royal heritage, no matter how primitive, how far removed from civilized sources; but, coming as he had from the island of jamaica, where for hundreds of years all imposing black lineages had been lost, he preferred to hug to his soul the conviction that it was supreme greatness in itself to have emerged from such a huge blankness. marcus had no memory even of a mother, much less the black challenge of a father. mothers, all the world over, are static, definite persons-but fathers? well, from the day father adam de- nied responsibility to god for what had happened in the garden of eden, fathers have ever been somewhat illusive figures. no beatific black female eyes, with blue-white irises, had ever gazed down lovingly into his infant cradle. no crooning black voice had ever lulled him to sleep. he had just found himself living as a boy, around the age of thirteen or four- teen, in the family and household of the reverend ezekiel king, jeremiah's father, and, thereafter, he had lived as life came to him. jeremiah was not fully cognizant of it, but marcus loved him, loved him even as a david loveth a jonathan. to mar- cus, jeremiah, the son of the ezekiel king who had harbored him in his childhood, represented the only link which con- nected him with the origin of his life. to his atavistic soul, jeremiah was the sole surviving chieftain of the clan-his clan, his tribe. when they had met under the arc light in front of liberty hall many months ago, his heart had leaped forward to welcome the representative of the chief of his tribe. the only thing he later told himself necessary was to impress upon this clan brother was the fact that, in this new land in which they both found themselves, he, marcus, also possessed chieftain qualities. they two, jeremiah by virtue of birth, he, marcus, by virtue of character, were the leaders of all the other members of the tribe in the world. of blood relationship, he knew nothing; unknown heritage mattered not. “i grow'd up jes' like a little tree from de earth,” he would whisper to himself in times of stress, “but, by cripes! i'se goin' to make 'em all set up and take notice.” and this was the spur that goaded him onwards, nothing to lose but- obscurity; everything to gain, perhaps an african kingdom, even if, failing to achieve the substance, he woke up some day to find the shadow erected within his black soul. amanda jones, on the other hand, was also a proud, the black challenge disdainful negro woman-negro by all the rules of the game, but not so accepted by her. to herself, she was a creole, if you please. there was more than a difference in terminology. there was a difference in spirit derived from ancestry. unlike marcus, the pride that raged in her heart sprang not from the fact that no one could point an accus- ing finger to the blank void which lay behind, but by reason of the tremendous foliage which had bloomed about the tree of her pedigree. she was a boissere! when the first neck of land of the island of trinidad had arisen from its watery sources, there had been a boissere-no matter his race, color or condition; white man, black man, beggar man, thief-all the same when touched by the transforming rays of antiquity -perched on its topmost eminence; and the boissere family ever since that day had carried on as only the boisseres could. their men had been proud, lofty, hot-tempered souls, own- ers of broad lands, spirited horses, famous gamecocks, was- trels at times, but universally gay, proud and lofty. their women were equally famed for their beauty and for their spirit. no man, throughout the years, in trinidad or in any of the numerous other islands for hundreds of miles around, who would not have accounted it a prize to have won the hand and heart of a boissere woman. one of the proud boasts of the family, one that it hugged to its pedigreed heart with a fierce joy, was that not for many, many generations had its blood-whatever its inde- terminate character-been polluted by a black man or a white man. amanda had become the exception. urged on by young, hot love and by a father lacking in diplomacy, she had broken the family faith. many and many an hour since then had she sat in sackcloth and ashes. she still loved her husband. she had to take her medicine; but, with the help of all the blood that ran in her boissere veins, she would never betray the family faith again. no, she would not suc- cumb to black marcus cox. marcus cox realized this. back in the west indies, no matter what other good fortune fate might have brought the black challenge shouted into ebeneezer's ear: “leh's go and get mr. king; and we's three all goes down together." they found jeremiah delighted to make the trip, and soon the car was speeding south towards lower new york and staten island. “open 'er up! no cops to bother us at dis hour,” marcus directed as they crossed the ferry and approached the hylan boulevard. then, turning to jeremiah: “what's de matter with you? you hasn't said half-dozen words tonight. you'se as silent as a drownded rat. what yo' say we has a drink?" as a matter of fact, the silence was no fault of jere- miah's. in the early part of their journey down through the city, marcus had been the one who seemed disinclined to talk. two or three attempts at conversation on jeremiah's part had been met with short grunts, and so jeremiah had left marcus to the thoughts which possessed him as he slumped back in his corner of the car. marcus' invitation to drink was very welcome to jeremiah. “that's the first idea you've had all night,” he rejoined, “i think we both need it.” yes, marcus did need a drink. thinking of amanda jones was the one thing in the world which made him blue; and he needed optimism, a perpetual driving cheer if he were to carry on in the struggle to which he had committed himself. ebeneezer chose a level spot alongside the roadway and brought the car to a halt. soon he busied himself in the re- cesses of a compartment near the driving wheel and brought forth a bottle of whiskey, another of ginger ale, and a thermos container filled with ice cubes. “go on, eb, pour yo'self a drink and set down. we's all have a good time,” invited marcus after he and jeremiah had clinked glasses. they sipped their drinks in silence. behind them a grass- grown pasture; in front a rolling field spotted with small trees and an undergrowth of stray bushes, from which the black challenge gleamed the occasional flare of a firefly; above them, the stars. marcus' voice broke the silence. its quality had changed from that of a few moments ago. he had evidently recov- ered his high commander's spirits. “dis is a gor'jus night, ehn't it, king? look at de stars." “yes, one forgets the stars in new york. too many electric lights, i suppose." "i never fergets dem, king. sometimes i lies out on my verandah in de woods and i plays dat each star i see is a so'jer-a so'jer in my army; and i drills dem and orders dem aroun'. i thinks we'se marching on de moon. we'se got to take her-she's de enemy, see? and i forms my star- so'jers fust one way and den de udder so's we attacks un- awares, like all de great generals does. we creeps up gradual- like and den we makes one gran' rush, and bing! we knocks her ober. say, king, where de hell you t'inks de moon go ef we knocks her over?” "search me, marcus, you're doing the knocking." "well, what de debil does we care so long's we knocks her over.” a loud roaring noise came to them from the distance behind; and, heralded by the steady gleam of a single head- light, a motorcycle flashed by, slowed down a couple of hundred yards ahead, swerved around and came back to stop on the opposite side of the roadway. the policeman shut off his motor, propped his cycle on its supports, and approached. “what you fellows doing here?” silence a moment, then marcus' voice. "we's taking a drink officer, and i thinks there's some more left in dis bottle," as he held up a half-filled bottle to the glancing rays of an arc light a dozen paces away. the policeman came over to the grass-bank on which they sat, looked them over deliberately for a moment, and then reached for the bottle in marcus' hand. putting it the black challenge to his lips for what seemed to jeremiah an ungodly long minute, he remarked: “whiskey, eh? don't you fellows know it's agen the law to transport liquor? what'd you say you come around to the station house with me?" both marcus and jeremiah gazed uncertainly at the officer. was he serious? of course not. that must be .his little joke. however, he looked both tough and rough. "come on there; get a move on you’se. it sure's whiskey all right, and damn good whiskey, too,” he added as he took another swig from the bottle. jeremiah arose. “surely, officer, you're not serious?" and there was an anxious note in his half-statement, half-ques- tion. "like hell i ain't! who's driving this car? come on, get a move on you, i said; and that goes!” he swaggered over towards his motorcycle. in the dim half-light, marcus gazed at jeremiah and jeremiah gazed back at marcus. ebeneezer was standing somewhat apart. “say, chief,” he whispered, bending over towards mar- cus, "you and mr. king jumps in. i gets in after and makes believe i follows de cop. den i shoots by and drives like hell. dis li'l car kin do ninety. i'se got a gun in de seat, and if he ketches us, dey's goin' to be one mo' dead irish in the worl’.” marcus pushed ebeneezer aside. “you talks like a billy goat, eb. hey! hois' me up," as he extended his hand to ebeneezer, “i knows how to handle dat cop.” and he went over towards the motorcycle where, for the third time, the uniformed guardian of the law had the whiskey bottle to his lips. “dat's damn fine liquor, ehn't it, officeh?” observed marcus. "it sure is, boy; best i've tasted since prohibition. what're you fellows, bootleggers?” “we ought to be, but we ehn't. we jes' have two bottles. de udder one is over dere in de car. i has plenty more in de the black challenge country where we going, though, and we doan need what we have here pertic'lar." the policeman eyed marcus knowingly. “say, bo, you look like a regʻlar guy." “dat's my middle name, marcus regulus cox. maybe you hears of me ef you reads de papers reg'lar. i is de president general high commander of the united negro 'sociation of the world.” the irishman's face broadened into a generous grin. “that's some little title you got, kid. what else have you got with you?" “dis," at the same time displaying a yellow bill which he had furtively slipped from his pockets. “and the liquor in the car?" “sure, i tells you i done brought it down here thinkin' as i'se meet you; and say! ef you's ever down at de high- lands, in jersey, you know, drops over and sees me. hey's de number. eb,” he shouted, “get another drink from de car for my fren' hey." the guardian of the law collected his booty, straddled his motorcycle, and was about to move off. he shouted to marcus as he moved away: “if any of my partners ever stop you coming through here tell 'em you're a friend of officer o'brien-mike o'brien,” and in a moment he had roared out of sight. “good night, o'brien,” shouted jeremiah when he was sure his voice could not reach the officer, “and may the good god almighty take you into the lowest depths of hell!” turning to marcus: “what did you give him?" “twenty bucks.” "i'd have seen him in hell first." “well,” mused marcus, “de law is de law, you knows; and dere's no use seein' a man in hell when you gots to go ’long wid him to see him dere. he never 'tended to take us to any station house, nohow; but he's 'titled to his li'l graf'. ef it wasn't for dat, prohibition would be as dead as hell." the black challenge “that couldn't have happened under english law,” remarked jeremiah. “de hell it couldn't!” returned marcus. “but even ef it couldn't it was a damn good thing it could'a happen hey, 'cos we'd been in one hellova fix ef, instead o’de cop lis'nin' to reason, we'd have to ask de jedge fo' mercy. me? i prefers de 'merican way o' doin' things. to hell wid you inglish. inglish justice ehn't got any heart in it an' no reason eder. it's stiff like de english demselves. it stinks.” ebeneezer's voice broke the momentary silence which followed: “you knows, boss, when we gets to africa, i want's yo' to make me a bicycle cop. i'd jes' loves to patrol roun' loose-like.” "shucks! eb, i makes you my chief of police-dat's what i do. but,” he added, "ef i ever ketches you graftin' i chops yo' head off.” they got into the car and moved off. ninety ebeneezer had said the lincoln could do-ninety it did. silent, steady, almost like an automaton, he shot forward the smooth, live thing of iron and steel, swerving around a curve here, grind- ing the brakes there, but always shooting forward with in- credible speed, uncanny precision. he was king of the night which enveloped them, king of the breeze which lashed their cheeks, one with the drowsing trees and silent things which, moment after moment, flashed by and receded far behind. half an hour after their stop, they rolled into atlantic highlands and were soon driving towards the wooded slopes among which marcus cox's bungalow nestled. it was jeremiah who, glancing through the window beside him, first noticed the glow in the sky. “seems like a fire over there," he remarked, pointing. “brush burnin', i guess,” muttered marcus, following the direction of jeremiah's finger. half a mile and they drove on in silence. “boss," ejaculated ebeneezer, “dat looks like a fire for true, and mighty close to de bungalow, too,” he added. the black challenge dense foliage. soon, they emerged into a more open but still sandy roadway. “dis runs back of de house,” whispered marcus to jere- miah. jeremiah did not reply. strengthening rage was well- ing up in his being. so the ku klux klan had their little parties up north also! the car came to a stop. fifty yards away, through a lane of poplars, jeremiah saw the back door of the bunga- low. “keep de car running, eb, and stay right here,” cau- tioned marcus. “we’se goin' in. come on, king. eb, has yo' got yo' gun?" "yes, boss,” and the rakish muzzle of a forty-eight colt showed in ebeneezer's hands. jeremiah was not a fighting man. a lifetime of soften- ing intellectual pursuits had dulled any primitive instincts with which he might have been endowed. for the last few minutes, however, at sight of the burning cross-at the sound of the pistol when it had barked the first and second time and the dog's death cry-a certain savage joy had sprung up within him. had one been able to see his face, it was a chalky white, but it was not fear that possessed him-it was white rage; it was the fighting face of his mixed kind. “what yo' got inside?” he questioned, unconsciously assuming marcus's lingo in his tense excitement as marcus raised a half-open window and crawled inside the house. “come on down to de celler and see,” marcus whispered back as he caught jeremiah's hands and gave him a hoist. they slipped down a dark flight of stairs and found their way to the front part of the house overlooking the sloping land and the burning cross. they could see but not be seen. evidently, whoever were outside-for, up to the present time, they had only been able to guess by the pistol shots that there were human enemies lurking around-were all concealed in the far clump of trees around which they had skirted through the woods. “here she is!" confided marcus, switching on a tiny the black challenge electric bulb in the head of an ugly-looking machine gun, the muzzle of which protruded from an innocent-looking hole cut in the lattice boardwalk extending along the foundation of the bungalow. “creep upstairs, lie flat on de floor of de verandah, and see if you sees anything," suggested marcus to jeremiah. feeling his way up the stairs down which they had come a moment ago, jeremiah found his way on the north veran- dah. peering over the edge of the shrubbery rising close to the house, he saw, first one, and then, appearing gradu- ally and stealthily, a dozen or more white-robed, white- hooded figures gathering in a clump of bushes fifty yards or so on the left. he cupped his hand to his lips, and his voice broke the silence. "you white-livered sons of bitches! get out of there or we'll shoot you full of holes!” the wooden cross had all but spent its flames; nothing but thin wisps of smoke and an occasional flare from half- burnt pieces of wood remained. the moving figures flitted here and there below among the trees like ghostly shad- ows. there was a moment of stillness following jeremiah's voice. then, simultaneously, a dozen flashes from the woods and as many pistol shots rang out. another fusillade and whistling things through the trees in front of him told jeremiah that real, honest-to-goodness bullets were being hurled in his direction. he shouted down to marcus: "give 'em hell, marcus! shoot into the far end of the trees on the left.” there was a roar of sound from underneath the piazza where jeremiah lay flat on the floor, and then a steady rat-a- tat as marcus' gun kept up its play. shouts from the woods, cries of warning, of fear; a noise as of the scattering of a lot of crows from a dead carcass whipped away by some superior force. in a few minutes, complete silence, the silence of the woods. the black challenge jeremiah still lay flat on the floor. marcus stood above him. “dey's gone," remarked marcus. his eyes were shining large and bright, and he was perspiring profusely. a little while afterwards, they sat out and breathed more freely on the porch. “no use trying to go to sleep any more tonight-or rather, today, marcus. it's daybreak," observed jeremiah. “no, i guess not, we kin take a nap later, whenever we feels like it,” replied marcus. silence for a while and then jeremiah's voice: “this is one hell of a country, marcus." “sure, what's de matter with it?" “nothing." and then, after a pregnant pause: “i'm be- ginning to be crazy about it myself.” “yo' knows something, king?" marcus' voice startled jeremiah. he lay at full length on a rattan sofa-he must have dozed off for the moment. “half of life is a bluff, jes' a plain bluff.” “there you're wrong again, marcus," replied jeremiah irritably. “it's resistance; its power-a punch-that counts. it was the force of those machine-gun bullets that drove those skunks away.” marcus laughed a thin, cynical laugh. “yes, king, but you knows something?" "what?" “dose cartridges that i fires is all blanks." “the hell you sayl” remarked jeremiah, and soon they lapsed into silence. a little while later, as dawn came over the hills in the north, they went down to the lawn and buried their dead dog under the charred and disfigured emblem of the white man's faith. the black challenge i'm afraid the universal movement draws most of its strength from the class of people of whom that is true.” "well, i've noticed,” answered jeremiah, “that the re- ligious negro treats his religion almost superstitiously. there's a lot of elasticity about his fancy which can be turned one way or another; and, fortunately, there is just enough of uncertainty about all there is in the bible to permit of clever deviation-about moses, jesus, and all the rest of the biblical heroes.” "you'se hit de nail on de head, king," burst in marcus. "i'se been tryin' to tell mandy dat dese five years." “you've been telling me nothing of the sort,” retorted amanda. "everything that anybody says that sounds good, you have always been talking about. the 'great appropria- tor' ought ot be your name.” "well, anyhow, it takes brains to 'propriate. i admires a clevah tief,” and he grinned shamelessly at amanda jones. “say, mandy, when is yo' goin' to let me steal you?” he ended, looking roguishly at amanda. amanda jones was taken by surprise. she glanced quickly at king and then back again at marcus. this was the first time marcus had been prompted to declare himself before a third person, even her daughter; but she gathered herself together. "i'll tell you, mr. cox,” she answered lightly, “when you build your african kingdom i'll consider an application to be its queen.” “oh, i was jest foolin'-i knows you ain't studyin' me,” but he looked wistfully at her. “what are you going to do about the challenge to de- bate with you issued by this a.c.s. crowd?” inquired jere- miah after some moments of silence. marcus cox had slipped off his shoes, drawn up another chair in front of him, and now was resting his stockinged feet across the second chair. “my feets hurt!” he explained. jeremiah continued to look inquiringly at him. the black challenge “we ehn't goin' to do nary a thing. we's got our paper now, and we'll jest give 'em hell in de trumpet." “and then you'll be sued for libel, perhaps." “shucks, man, what we care for dere suits? leh’m sue and get fat. dat's our meat, king-noise, plenty of noise. every time dey hits us we's fifty times stronger. but say,” he broke off, as if the fact had that moment occurred to him, “dey is havin' a meetin' down at lafayette hall to- night. what's de time? half-past nine? suppose we drops down and looks dem over, eh king?” jeremiah agreed. marcus scrambled up and began replacing his shoes. “where's lido?" he suddenly inquired, looking up towards her mother. “she's out-had some kind of an appointment. she'll probably be back by the time you return." jeremiah's level eyes measured amanda jones. he had a shrewd guess that even at that moment lido jones was out somewhere with owen murphy. at half-past eleven that morning, jeremiah had ascended the spiral stairway and opened the door of lido's office adjoining his and marcus cox's. her back, as he entered, was toward him; and she was so engrossed in a conversation over the telephone that she did not sense his approach. “yes, all right,” she was saying into the mouthpiece, “half-past seven. i'll meet you. ... where, did you say? ... yes, mott avenue and th street, downtown subway side. . . . sure. ... goodbye.... half past seven.” instinctively, jeremiah had guessed that lido was mak- ing an engagement for that evening; and, by the same token, his mind reverted to owen murphy. the man had called up on two or three occasions when lido was out to lunch, and the call had been switched to his wire. ever since the night in his apartment when marcus had let drop the information that lido had returned to the atlantic city restaurant the evening after they had been the black challenge refused service, and had dined there with owen murphy, a certain coolness had sprung up between them. he had had to consult with her frequently, for she apparently had the affairs of the association, especially the financial affairs, at her fingers' ends; but, except for a studied politeness on his part and an equally studied restraint on hers, the cordiality which had united them from the time of their very first meeting now seemed to have all but departed. for reasons which he had not stopped to analyze, but which had grown in strength and intensity, jeremiah resented owen murphy's attentions towards lido jones. equally, he despised what. ever there was in her which encouraged these attentions. as he gazed across the table now at her mother, he wondered whether amanda jones also knew; and, if knowing, whether she condoned these excursions and meetings between her daughter and owen murphy. what did she hope could be gained from such a relationship between her colored daugh- • ter and this white man? had not her own experiences taught her anything? or, was it that, in spite of those experiences, she was flattered that her daughter had arrested the atten- tions of a white man? marcus' voice broke in on jeremiah's speculations. "come on, king, leh's go," and he and marcus departed for the meeting of the association for colored strivers at lafayette hall. as they entered the hall, the meeting seemed in full swing. scattered among the many colored people on the platform, there were a few white men and one white woman. the slim-headed, coffee-colored negro whom marcus had described to jeremiah at proudfoot's party as the “shouter" of the a.c.s. was speaking. whether he recognized marcus cox's entrance, or whether he had approached this point in his discourse or not, neither marcus nor jeremiah could divine, but the speaker declared: “now, there is in harlem an insidious, a dangerous movement among negroes. its principal purport seems to be to encourage and develop differences in the the black challenge group itself, based wholly on the lightness, or brownness, or blackness of the individual. that, ladies and gentlemen, is a sinister, a damnable question. no man or woman in this hall or outside of it is responsible for the fact that he finds himself a negro. no man or woman is responsible for the fact that he is a black-skinned negro, a brown- skinned negro, or a light-skinned negro. that is his mis- fortune. but it is a fact that whether light-skinned, or dark- skinned, or black-skinned, he is a negro under all the rules of life in this country just the same. and, united we stand, divided we fall!" there was prolonged applause. marcus began to fidget in his seat beside jeremiah. “and there is more than that to the story. i and my associates," and he turned around and bowed to the gather- ing on the rostrum, "and the large majority of the right- thinking and intelligent citizens of harlem and, indeed, of the entire country, question-they seriously question-the sincerity of this movement. this movement, made up for the most part of certain illiterate persons who, by virtue of their background and lack of information and culture, utterly fail to grasp the lofty ideals of american citizenship and life, are committed to the dangerous policy not of acquiring american citizenship, but of encouraging the emigration of a substantial part of our population who might, under proper leadership and guidance, be of some assistance to the race in its hard struggle upwards. further- more, it appears that this deluded movement has not been honestly administered. i understand-we understand--that even now there is pending an indictment against the self- created leader of this movement for misuse of its funds." there was a general craning of necks forward. this seemed news to most of the audience. marcus cox had now taken out pencil and envelope and was diligently making notes. “and, my friends, i think it behooves every one of us here tonight as good colored american citizens to combat the black challenge this movement, to rebuke it. how shall we do this? the answer is simple: by educating and informing the masses. there is no organization so well fitted, so well equipped to perform this task, as the association for colored strivers. but it needs funds, my friends; and it's up to you women and men to support this association. my white friends here with me tonight are doing a great deal for us," and he again bowed to those on the platform around him, “but we need not only your moral support but your financial support as well. such donations as may be made here tonight will be applied to the purpose of widely and publicly combatting the universal negro movement of the united states and the world.” the speaker sat down. there was a sprinkling of well- mannered handclaps; but, underneath, there was silence. jeremiah thought he discerned in the audience quite a number of marcus cox's cohorts. marcus cox arose. the handclapping had not yet abated. he raised his hand in an endeavor to attract the attention of the chairman of the meeting. finally, marcus shouted: “mr. chai'man, i craves the privilege of a few remarks.” “what's the name, please?" asked the chairman, cupping his ear with one hand. “i'se marcus cox, de same who dat elongated nigger talkin' 'bout a few minutes ago–marcus cox, de high commander of de universal negro improvement 'socia- tion,” he repeated. there was a whispered conference on the rostrum. sev- eral of the white men leaned towards the chairman and nodded vehemently. "let him speak!” the whisper carried itself through the hall. the chairman rose. “it's rather an unusual proceeding, mr. cox, but my associates think it well to hear your ex- planation.” "i ehn't aimin' to explain nothin'," announced marcus. "i jes' wants to tell you gen'mans a few things.” the black challenge it was now jeremiah's turn to fidget and squirm. little creepings of his flesh began to disturb him, and, for an instant of panic, he looked behind him towards the door. there he was with marcus, and marcus was about to spread his impossible gibberish to an intelligent audience. but marcus had already begun. with his favorite out- ward fling of his long well-shaped hands, he seemed to be- come a dignified person. a broad, benevolent smile was on his face. "ladies and gen'mans of de a. c. s.,” he began, turning slightly to the right, “and de few fren's of my own organi- zation who i see 'sembled here: de learned gen'man who has just spoke is full of words, beautiful words, but ... just plain words. dere's no sense to 'em; dere's no truf to 'em. de fact of de matter is, he doan know a damned t'ing dat he's talkin' about." there was a sally of laughter at this blunt statement, especially from the right wing of the house. jeremiah began to feel a little more comfortable. marcus, at least, seemed to have complete command of himself. “now, my fren's, dere is many kinds of movements and organizations. dere is movements dat springs from de head, and dere is movements dat comes from de heart. our or- ganization and movements springs from de heart of all de persecuted niggers in de world—not only de persecuted black niggers, but all de persecuted brown and mulattoes. co’se, maybe we doan cater to a few fohtunate ones, light, brown or black, who has got de jump on us udder fellahs, like de heads of dis a. c. s. dey kin 'ford to talk from a platform and beg de public for money all de time. dere jobs depends on dat. fact is, dey ain't talkin' for anybody but deyselves.” "hear! hearl" shouted a thin, piping voice from the right wing. “give 'em hell, commander.” “all right, sam, i aims to," replied marcus and con- tinued. “as i was sayin', i doan have to come here and ask de the black challenge public for monies. de membahs of my 'sociation supplies dere own funds. i doan have to ask you white men and women on de platform for a penny. i never 'poses to. we'se too proud to do dat. we aims to pay our own way as we goes along. now, dere must be some reason for dis state of 'fairs. all de mens and women membahs of our 'sociation all de world over is poor, hard-workin' niggers. i admits we ehn't got many high-brown-all dem kind wid us is working for a salary.” there was a general snicker throughout the hall at this dig. “but all our membahs is dat po'tion of de negro race who craves a li'l place in de sun-not for deyselves, minds you—and i want you to get dat straight 'cause it's impohant -not for deyselves as individuals, but foh de negro as a whole racel it's a very easy t'ing to pick out a nigger here and there, no matter what his color may be, and push him along; but i tells you, it's one hell of a job to push along ten millions of undermerged niggers. dat's de job i and my 'sociation is undertakin'. if you gen'mans doan happen to like my membahs, you doan have to. mos' of dem is as good 'merican citizens as you highfalutin fellahs. but l’se wid dem; i aims to stay wid dem till hell freezes up." there were whoops and catcalls from all corners of the hall. apparently, marcus had gotten to his audience. "you'se right. dere is a li'l matter of a indictment 'gainst me. it doan 'mount to nothin', though. i'll meet dat when de time comes. it de blasted english who's behin' dat. dey's scared stiff dat i raises up all de niggers in south africa and udder places where dey grinds dem down under dere heels. but i aims to 'tend to dat, too, after a whilst. in de meantime, my answer to you fellahs up dere on de plat- forms—and i doan have no ref'rence to de white gen’mans and ladies, i mean all you niggers up dere who is jest seekin' foh to live off speakin' words 'stead of gettin' down and bein' real niggers and doin' something for yoh race- you doa highfaluñell free -- - chapter xvii near a lake which spreads itself at the foot of a rolling hill beyond a narrow asphalted roadway, with an undulating greensward used as a golf course extending for as much as several acres back to the edge of a clump of trees in the distance, perched as it were impudently on the very top of the high ground surrounding it, there is a long, low ram- bling white house in primrose park, in the borough of the bronx, the city of new york. by day a sickly, half-yellow, washed-out color; by night, blazing electric signs outside and subdued lights shining through glass-enclosed veran- dahs from within, throwing out and taking back their reflection from the waters of the lake nearby. innumerable automobiles are parked here, there, and all over its surround- ing terraces, shedding their little red back-lights like so many scattered crimson eyes in the dusk. tallyho inn- for that is its name-lies just a step removed from the more blatant, garish lights of harlem and looks, for all the world, like some little fairy temple set on the topmost eminence of a woodland glen. as owen murphy and lido jones stepped out of mur- phy's rakish packard roadster and ascended its steps, the shrouded half-glow of descending darkness, punctured by the lights which sprang up all around, made of that woodland roadhouse a secluded habitation. “hello, al,” murphy greeted the proprietor, “how's tricks?" “wie gates, counselor?” grinned al grubber, fawning the black challenge on murphy as if he were both a close acquaintance and a person of some importance. as a matter of fact, owen murphy was, as an assistant public prosecutor, a person of some importance to al grub- ber, proprietor of tallyho inn, in the borough of the bronx, in the city of new york. “here, charlie," the proprietor called towards one of his waiters, "take care of the counselor; and,” he added in low tones for murphy and the waiter only, “bring the check to me when you're through.” then he laid a light, restrain- ing arm on murphy's arm. “got a moment, counselor? i would like to ask you a question.” · al grubber and owen murphy sat for several minutes at an unoccupied table and conferred in low tones. owen's head was bent over the table near the german's mouth, his fingers tracing an idle pattern on the tablecloth as he listened to what grubber had to say. soon murphy nodded his head vigorously several times and, as he rose, he took grubber's hand. “all right, al, that's a bet. i'll do my part, and- you'll deliver,” he ended, gazing meaningly at his host. the waiter had shown lido jones to a table set inside a small recessed nook surrounded by a group of french windows overlooking the lake a few hundred feet away—the choicest spot in the inn for a happy little tête-à-tête. to the right of their table, beyond the rows of other tables with diners which lay between, was a small dance enclosure. the musicians, five negroes, were at that moment ascending the platform and tuning up their instruments. "just agreed for a little retainer,” confided owen to lido jones as he reached his seat, enthusiastically rubbing his hands together. "you seem to do business wherever you go,” remarked lido. "yes, got clients all over-that's what my office is for, you know, girlie,” he responded cheerfully. "i wouldn't stay in that job for a minute if it weren't for what i made on the side-couldn't stand the racket. why, the salary they pay me the black challenge wouldn't even ... wouldn't even take you and me out two or three times a week, lido,” he ended. “does it cost that much to-take me out?” she questioned a little icily. but owen murphy either did not catch, or ignored, lido's direct question. he was explaining to her: “these fellows, these roadhouse people, make theirs pretty soft, you know; and there's no reason in the world why they shouldn't be made to give up ... a little. all i have to do is to play ball with the federal people; and, say, lido, i'll buy you a little car yet, girlie.” “apple saucel" murmured lido, but the words were mechanical; absentmindedly she had just been thinking of jeremiah's remark to her that morning in the office: “you sure are one little date-maker, lido." what right had he to be nosing into her affairs? he had probably stood by her desk and heard her entire telephone conversation with murphy. "no kidding," murphy was saying, "i mean it; but it's got to be fifty-fifty, you know." once more she rested her eyes on murphy. "you've been drinking again, owen.” "i just had a couple of shots before i picked you up." “how many's a couple for you? i suppose a dozen at least.” as a matter of fact, owen murphy had had just four drinks of alleged scotch whiskey that afternoon; but they had been fair-sized drinks, and he felt very cheerful. as he had hung around the bar of the speakeasy on his way up town with two of his office cronies, and had imbibed first one drink and then another, he had concluded, in thinking of this very appointment with lido, that the time was ripe to approach the goal. there was no sense in any more finesse. "what are we going to eat?" he questioned. lido was looking over the bill of fare. “could get you up a nice steak–a nice planked steak, the black challenge "what's funny about him?" "he struts around like hamlet looking for his father's ghost.” “is that supposed to be funny?" “no, it’s ‘as you like it,'” he giggled. “i'll bet you that's over your head." “yes, it is over my head," she mocked. “mr. murphy is the only person in the world who ever sees anything." "i'll bet you don't know what i meant.” "you were trying to be smart by connecting hamlet with shakespeare's other play, 'as you like it.'” "bravo, little temptation, you're there a hundred ways, but ... i wish you'd be nicer to me." "like what?" she questioned. but he was not yet ready to proceed. there was a lull in the music, and the waiter was bringing their dinner. they returned to their seats. they were both hungry, and the food looked appetizing. conver- sation lagged. it was merely a case of, “hand me the salt, pleasel” “how about that pepper near you?” “ghee, this steak is good,” uttered by one or the other. owen murphy had, in the meantime, changed his drink- ing order from cocktails to highballs-rye whiskey and gin- ger ale, but lido refused to have her ginger ale mixed with whiskey. coffee was brought on, and murphy lighted one of his long, formidable-looking cigars. lido, too, lighted a cigarette and exhaled cloud after cloud of thin, flowery smoke. parted and pursed in the act of exhaling, her lips were pretty lips, cherry red lips, lips filled with warm, red blood, tempting lips—at least, so they seemed to owen murphy. “do you know, kid, you're a swell girl," and his eyes filled with desire. “that so?" she breathed, looking over at him out of half-closed, half-veiled eyelids, smoke-laden, dreamy, and teasing the black challenge "i guess you don't know it yourself.” “well, i sure don't hate myself!" "well,” and he paused, "when are we going to make it?" his tone and look came across the table to her with significance. "make what?” she had had an uncanny feeling all eve- ning that some disturbance was ahead. during the last few minutes it had left; and now-here it was again. “oh, you know jolly well what i mean. what's the use of playing dumb? when are you going out with me?" the roughness in murphy's voice irritated her. they were in that little dining nook, secluded, very much to themselves. below them an occasional car whizzed by along the narrow roadway. far out on the lake, as far as one could see, little lights from gently gliding boats flitted here, there and everywhere on the dark surface of the water. happy laughter-light, teasing at times—rapturous laughter, came to them. "why, i'm out with you now, am i not?" she returned with studied ingenuousness. “hell!” he replied quickly; and again roughly and crudely: "you know very well i don't mean that. when are you coming down to my flat and give me a night of it?" his voice came slow, deliberate, demanding. lido jones had sensed what was coming. she had been sparring for time. the female in her was now ready to meet the male in murphy at his own game. she did not reply at once. instead, she poised the half-smoked cigarette firmly in her fingers, placed the end daintily between her cherry-red lips, puffed a huge cloud of smoke therefrom, and covered him with a cool, reflective gaze. then she answered: “never!” and she hesitated just a trifle and re- peated: "never! unless i am married to you." no immediate answer came from murphy. instead, his lips turned themselves down in a sneering smile, and he stared across the table at her. an abrupt laugh, half-snort, half-grunt, sprang from him. chapter xviii parting from marcus cox on the sidewalk in front of his home after the meeting of the colored strivers at lafayette hall, jeremiah had just reached his apartment when the telephone bell rang-softly at first as if in summons to some gentle encounter, then anxiously and stridently as he opened the door of his bedroom and took the receiver from the hook. : “that you, jerry?” the voice sounded distant, far off, and, somewhat plaintive. “been trying to get you for some time.” “hello, lido!” at the other end of the wire, there was something in the welcome of the "hello, lido” which reassured lido jones and told her she had made no mistake in calling her grouchy friend, jeremiah. leaving the restaurant as soon as owen murphy had wandered out of the room, she had hurried over in the direction of the lake and sat down. for many minutes she was unable to think clearly. gradually, she became calmer and her thoughts were more ordered. as a woman, a young woman, sitting alone alongside that lake, lido jones had no feminine fear such as might have possessed many of her sex under the circumstances. she felt quite able to take care of herself; indeed, had done so all her life, and she would stay out there on that bench beside her lake all night if need be. no, it was not that kind of fear that possessed her. it was simply an uncanny feeling of strangeness, of being out of place-of being alone the black challenge in an alien world. that restaurant back there which she had just left, it contained all white people save the few musicians of her own race, and they didn't count. out there before her on the lake, all those boats and the voices coming from them were white voices without doubt. no colored person could possibly be there. she was alone, in this strange place, surrounded with owen murphy's kind, without kith or kin of her own. the streets of harlem? no. that feeling of aloneness would never overtake her there, and she had traveled those streets at all hours of the day and night, oftentimes very late at night and alone too. harlem! harlem was her har- lem. she knew it. she was part of it. no harm could come to her in harlem. even broadway, any street or thorough- fare in the city, with its hard pavements and its electric lights, she would be at home there also, with taxis and streetcars and elevated railroads roaring by. but out here in the woods? it was a lonesome, uncanny place! owen murphy had undoubtedly gone. she had heard his car roar down the roadway as if expressing its driver's temper. she could go back to the inn and ask them to call a taxi for her. no! she was through with that restaurant and all the people there. the diners had snickered after her as she had made her way down the aisle and out the door. should she call her mother? no! her mother would give her the devil, anyhow, and she couldn't stand any scolding tonight. mr. cox? no! he would be entirely out of place coming up there for her. somebody might see her driving around with her black high commander at this ungodly hour of the night. besides, he wouldn't under- stand either. mr. king-jerry? why not? jerry had been very strange and cold lately. she knew the reason, though. either her mother or mr. cox had told him about her dining with owen murphy at atlantic city. he had made several sarcastic remarks to her about it. but shel what did she care? it had given her a real thrill to go back to that atlantic city restaurant next evening and be served by the black challenge those white people. she figured she had put one over on them. besides, she was entitled to as much fun and pleasure as she could get out of life, no matter from what direction it came. race? race and color meant nothing to her. it was only a talking subject. she wondered how jerry would receive her call. would he snub her? she wouldn't be able to stand that either. still, she might try. so it was that, after much cogitation and quite a few misgivings, she decided to call jeremiah, hoping to reach him at home. she had reached him. his voice came again to her over the wire: “where are you?” "i'm up here in the bronx, at tallyho inn," she ex- plained, “and i want you to come and get me." "all right, tell me how to get there." "just get a taxi and tell the driver to bring you to tallyho inn, in primrose park. he'll know how to find it- it's a well-known place,” she added. "i'll be there as fast as he can drive.” "you'll find me sitting on a bench near the lake off from the inn," she directed before ringing off; and, care- fully wrapping her cloak about her, she returned to her bench beside the lake. it was characteristic of jeremiah, she thought, that he had not asked any more questions. she had hoped that he would simply sense her need for help and come to her. he had done just that, and she was glad. explanations would, of course, come later. “one has to make mistakes," she told herself, “and this hobnobbing with owen murphy had been one whale of a mistake.” she used to be rather proud of her foragings in the camps of caucasia. she had been sure that none other of her girl companions in harlem had carried it off quite so well as she had. at times she had felt convinced that she more properly belonged to those camps than to har- the black challenge lem; and, although she had never stopped to determine how, when, or where, little imaginings of an ultimate lot for herself different from that which overtook most colored girls had arisen in her ambitious heart. she had been a little reckless, a little thoughtless, she now realized; but she would forget it-would put this fiasco out of her mind. a minute or two later, however, lido jones discovered that she could not get rid of the subject so easily. it kept recurring to her. "he called me a ... nigger!” she repeated to herself. she hated, even in thought, to formulate the last word, so humiliating it was to her. a wave of resentment passed through her, and she muttered: “i should have thrown one of those tea cups in his face. ... i'm sorry i didn't-the dirty cad! it's just what mother has been telling me all along. a colored girl to a white man is eventually nothing but a ... nigger. the damned skunks!" she realized that it was not the fact that owen murphy had approached her with the suggestion that the day, or rather, the night of reckoning had come when he thought he should collect for all the good times he had afforded her. after all, she, lido jones, knew enough of life around her to understand that this expectation of a return on the part of men from women to whom they had been attentive was a customary thing, a part of the game. she knew, with equal sureness, that some women-nay, many women- automatically, and as if by a common understanding, si- lently acquiesced in this regular system of rewards and punishments-for it must be punishment to many of them who merely swapped one pleasure in casual fashion for another. no, it was not this which had outraged her spirit. it was that word . . . "nigger" sneered at her from mur- phy's lips in his moment of frustration. “and yet the word “nigger,” in and of itself, was a most common one to lido jones. she had been hearing it around her ever since she could remember. in company with her the black challenge girl friends, in their happy and bantering talk fests, it was a common thing for one of them to say: "look here, nigger girl, you need to be told something, and it's me who is going to told you.” this and other slangy expressions were frequent in their conversations. how many times had not her friend ruth dennis, equally light in complexion as she, but who just seemed to take to this rough language as a duck to water-how many times had this chum of hers not addressed her in identical language! yes, how many times had she, lido jones, herself not replied to ruth and others in like manner! but this had all been girlish horse- play; the typical horseplay of one colored friend to another in harlem. always there was the accompanying smile in the teeth of it. tonight, for the first time, that word-that venomous word–had been hurled at her cruelly, with con- temptuous manner and intent, to humiliate, to defile her and ... by a white man-a white man whom she had per- mitted to get that close to her, so close within her breast- works that she had perhaps ... yes . . . perhaps all but ... many a time had owen murphy kissed her; many a time had he caressed her fiercely, passionately; and she had responded, too-yes, she had responded; and at times, under the mood of the moment, with all that was purely male in him calling to all that was purely female in her, it ... might ... have been ... possible. and now-god! she felt contaminated by every one of those caresses. in the vividness of her hot contempt for herself, for such permission as she had given, each of these past and gone kisses seared her mind. each caress was to her a quick, short, stabbing jab. the memory of them surged through her with the force of a thousand hot irons tearing at her insides. tears sprang to her eyes and went coursing down her cheeks. she did not even know they were there. ... there was a quick tread on the grass, and jeremiah king stood alongside her bench. "hello, little girl," he greeted, taking her hand in his. the black challenge but she sensed also that it was not mere anger. jeremiah was hurt. she paused before replying. "i didn't think of it in that light.” "you were just anxious for a good time. you'd have sold your soul for that. all of you girls are alike. i suppose, no doubt ... you've been ... very . . . close . . . very int- very intimate with that man,” he finally hurled at her. he had turned his face on her and was lashing her with his staring eyes.. instantly, lido jones was erect. she snatched her hand away from jeremiah's knee where it had wandered, and she glared back at him. the blood left her face, as it usually did in moments of passion and stress. in the half-dim light which lay like an enveloping shadow over them, had there been a watcher on the shore, they would have appeared, for the moment, like two carved figures in a posture of threat- ened combat. “jeremiah, you are—" for a moment, it seemed as if short, ugly, unrecallable words would spring from her lips. as quickly as the impulse came, it died. her mood changed, and she said in a low, pleading voice: “is that nice, jerry? is that a nice thing for you to say to me-after i've been so honest and frank with you? i've told you everything. is that the thanks i get for my frankness?" "you've been frank and candid only because he turned you down, insulted you, made it impossible for you with any spark of decency to continue with him. you didn't have brains enough to sense that that was what he was after all the time; that you were selling your-your soul for a filthy mess of pottage-a good time, and-my god! how much closer could you have been to him, anyhow? do you think you are conferring a favor on anybody by refraining from running around with white men? for my part, you can run around with them all you want; go the limit- do any damned thing you like. you're not hurting me nor anybody else. you're just cheapening yourself.” she did not reply immediately. she was trying to con- the black challenge trol herself. some of the things this man said were true, but many were not. he was being unjust. she had not made a confidant of him in order to be chastised. she had merely sought friendly comfort and refuge. “you know, jerry," and there was a cutting coldness to her voice, “the trouble with you is that you're just one everlasting prig. you don't give me credit for learning my little lesson. look at you! you were just like all the other monkeys who come from the islands before they insulted you in that atlantic city restaurant. you thought you were some indeterminate white person. it took that cut to put some punch, some backbone into you." “let us hope you respond in the same way,” he retorted with unmistakable sarcasm. "you go to hell, jeremiah king!" she blurted out sav- agely and sidled over to the far corner of the boat. silently, they returned to the landing place and sought their waiting taxi. chapter xix the green hills that nestle around and beyond the high- lands on the new jersey shore brooded in the distance. mar- cus cox sat out on the open verandah of his bungalow which commanded a full view of those spreading, green-wooded slopes. the sun was going down, off there to his right where lay the waters of sandy hook leading out into the open atlantic. from afar he caught the ghostlike reflection of a steamer, of many steamers, proceeding, it seemed, into the very skyline where white fleecy clouds banked them- selves above the edge of the horizon. his black pipe in his mouth, his legs lazily spanning the balustrade, marcus smoked and awaited jeremiah's arrival. it was friday afternoon, and jeremiah and he were to have their conference with owen murphy and his man friday, george webb, the following afternoon. marcus looked at his watch. half-past fivel he wondered whether jeremiah had missed the three-thirty boat. jeremiah, however, had not missed the boat. at that moment he was taking his time and strolling along the mile-and-a-half stretch of road leading from the depot to marcus' bungalow. it was such a pleasant day-ideal for walking-and the hillside and garden patches around him were so green and attractive that jeremiah had decided to walk instead of taking a taxi. he reached the intersection where the pathway turned the black challenge intermittently trying to secure portions of his food. “ 'have, jocko!" reproved his master. but jocko did not behave—had no intention of behav- ing, at least so far as retrieving bits of bread and boglogna from his master's grasp was concerned. or was it his master? was it not his friend, his pal? evidently, he was the latter to the monkey, for even at that moment he was snuggling his little blunt nose up against the old man's ear, intent on snooting the battered derby off his head. “ 'have, me say, jock. me tie you up if you no 'have,” he threatened, jangling a small chain which hung across his knees. jocko looked down at the chain cautiously, curiously, as if it were the strangest thing in all the world to him. a limpid expression crept into his shiny eyes-age-old, plead- ing, as if all the millions of other monkeys in the world were peering out and pondering on the customs and usages of chains. yes, this man, threatening him with a chain, was indeed his master! and this master was irritable and un- kind. he, jocko, would have to wait until this other appe- tite was appeased before he could play at his game of snatching. this man was not now his friend and-there was the chain! rovingly, his eyes lifted themselves to the tree tops. two nesting birds were twittering and frisking from twig to twig aloft. little jocko's lips bared back and his white teeth gleamed as his eyes followed the chirping birds beneath the tree where the pair sat, low-hanging branches bent almost to the ground. jocko bared his teeth, glanced down at the chain, and then, quickly, suddenly, with a single bound, he leaped off the old man's shoulder and, at almost the same moment, was peering down on them from the branches above. the old italian scrambled to his feet with surprising alertness. "cumma here, jock! cumma here!” he ordered. “cum, cumma little jock-cumma to ole pedro,” he pleaded. but jocko seemed in no hurry to obey. instead, his gaze the black challenge was directed upwards farther afield, towards those other branches which spread themselves above and connected with other trees, other spreading branches in the woods where they lingered. the old man clutched a low-hanging branch as if to swing himself up to his monkey. “that's useless!" shouted jeremiah. “look-he's away off there!” and as the old man lifted his uncertain, watery gaze into the tree tops, he saw his jocko going farther and farther away. he crooned: “jock, cumma here, cumma to ole pedro," at the same time plunging into the trees. jocko was now chattering gayly high up in the branches of another tree. dusk was gathering. jocko's disobedience had driven the old man into a panic. “me breaka yo' neck when me getta you!” he jabbered. but jocko did not propose to have his neck or any other portion of his body broken; and as the birds began to voice their evening melodies, and the crickets and the °? me tocusts, and mayuras, c frogs, the locusts and katydids, sent up their chorus of evening song to the gods of the woods, it seemed to jere- o m miah that, above them all, he could detect the chatter of jocko blending itself with those other woodland sounds. it seemed as if in the wilds of his african or other forest home-from whatever nursery life had come to him-he had found his destiny from the beginning of things. marcus cox, hearing the uproar, came down the path- way. "what's de matter?" he inquired. for answer, a loud, weeping wail came from old pedro among the trees. “gone-gonna-jocko gonna!” jeremiah explained, and added: “just one more little monkey gone back to africa or to hell," and smiled at marcus. marcus raised his eyes questioningly to jeremiah. he did not relish his grand counselor's humor. chapter xx marcus and jeremiah sat out on the verandah next after- - noon after an early dinner. the one was sucking at his old black pipe and the other was puffing at a long cigar. they were both at their ease-marcus in a pair of khaki pants, white shirt open at the neck showing his broad, hairy chest beneath; and jeremiah in a pair of knickerbockers, his col- lar, too, opened at the neck. his bare arms, much whiter than his face smitten by the sun, had taken on a glow of red. marcus' hands and arms, bare, too, were long and hairy as an ape's. "white man-black man,” thought jeremiah, as he looked over at marcus. "in appearance only ... both black by all the codes of all the worlds. one speck of black blood, a black man. one speck of yellow blood ...a chinaman- perhaps; perhaps not. certainly one speck of indian blood, not an indian; for had not richard croker taken to his heart and home in sunny ireland his indian princess without astonishing the world? and was not the love affair of john smith and pocahontas a classic of white america? both of these damsels were fit mates for white lords of creation. a speck of black blood-never. ..." marcus had been busy all day. jeremiah had been busy also following marcus around while he worked, pruning trees, cutting grass, and doing other chores in and about his acre of land. jeremiah enjoyed looking on. he had no interest in the actual work, however. with marcus, it was his delight, his hobby. it came natural to him to be cutting the black challenge grass and raking leaves. his forebears, for generations in the west indies, had laboured thus. many another in his posi- tion, graduated from the necessity for such labor, might have despised it and escaped from it; but marcus' soul was big enough to divine that this physical labor was a dignified thing so long as his spirit was free, so long as he was not urged to the doing of it by whips and jibes and by ... necessity. he took immense pride in doing things around his bungalow with his own hands and in telling about the rustic chairs and tables which he had made from logs out of his own woods, the woods surrounding his bungalow. as they sat on the verandah, marcus recounted to jere- miah how he had himself made that addition to the porch on which they sat. the railing on which jeremiah's legs were comfortably stretched, he also had built, cleverly inter- lacing the supports and crosspieces with pronged branches so as to carry out its rustic design. “yo' see that big white birch-bark swan? i makes dat. and dat hanging lamp?"-a lamp made out of a thousand twigs just like a bird's nest-he, marcus, had also conceived and fashioned that. “i guess when you get back to africa, that's what you and the rest will be doing," smiled jeremiah, a note of banter in his voice. “yes, why not? isn't dat as good as anyt’ing else? after all, dat'd be native genius,” he grinned back, not a whit disturbed by jeremiah's sarcasm. “look at de chinese and de japs. dey makes dere little carved iv'ry gods and dere elephants, and de whole worlds jes' goes crazy 'bout 'em. go into de stores and try to buy one o' dem t'ings, and see what dey costs. shucks, man, look at de fuss de white people is makin' over de t’ings that come out of king tut's tomb. when we goes to africa, and their ships put in at our ports, dey'll be just as crazy to buy de goods we makes wid our hands and brains. it all 'mounts to de same ting. supposin' i builds my little birch boats and swans and little carved t’ings, builds 'em all my bawn the black challenge nothin's, and all dat-leh' 'em call me what they wants. i doan care, and ef i want to tarry a little and lay down under a shade tree and live like dat sometimes, yo’t’inks i'se goin' to worry what becomes of de damn old world? de world? she has been takin' care of herself dese-how many years, king, tell me dat? how long's de worl' been takin' care of herself?" "let me see,” said jeremiah, scratching his head. then after a pause, “i swear i don't know, marcus." “neder does i, and neder does i care. but what's de diff? what's de diff, king?” laughed marcus. "what time do you expect murphy?" jeremiah ques- tioned after a brief silence. “are they coming down on the boat?" "no," replied marcus, "i think he and webb is goin' to drive down in murphy's packard car, and then dey goes to long branch. i thinks murphy got a cottage down dere somewheres, and dey plays poker and drinks rum and fools wid de gals till monday mawning, when dey goes back to de city." “delightful life!" smiled jeremiah. they smoked in silence for some minutes. "did you read de copy of de indictment i sends you?" marcus inquired abruptly. “dose fellows will be here any minute now, i guess.” “yes, i read it,” replied jeremiah. “what yo 'thinks 'bout it?" queried marcus after a pause in which jeremiah had leaned over the balustrade and flicked the ashes from his cigar. “as i understand it, the indictment charges you with grand larceny in two counts. first, appropriating $ , of the monies and funds of the association to your own use by false entries and omission of entries in the association's books; and, second, it charges you with grand larceny in the same way of the sum of $ , at another time.” "de first $ , is de money i buys my house wid; the black challenge over of marcus' house to the association and the transmis- sion of the funds in jamaica to the association's bank account in new york. “marcus,” he advised, "both acts in the eyes of the law are unlawful, perhaps criminal acts, all depending on the intent-your intent to steal, to defraud the association; but how does it happen that the thing has run along all these years? i thought you said you had spent money to settle it.” . “i did t'ink it was all fixed up. yo' see,” he explained, “dese indictments come up during de war. i'd been speech- ifying 'round pretty plain. i done tell de members what i t'inks of de english and what i t'inks of de whole damn war; and befo' i knows it, de 'thorities gets after me-de british consul in new york sicks 'em on me. i'se sure of dat; he and dat little rat-face george coates dat i trowed out de 'sociation for stealing. he goes down to de british consul and complain dat i living off de members' dues and dat kind o’t’ing. at dat time george webb was our law- yer, and jes' befo' he goes to camp to learn to be a so'jer, he tells me quick one day: ‘mr. cox, if yo' gets me $ , i fixes dat indictment up fo' you.' i gits him de $ , and i doan hear no mo' 'bout it until jes' recently, when owen murphy ring me up 'bout it again. he was de same man in charge of de t'ing when george webb fix it up befo', and dey's very t'ick all de time. yo' never sees murphy gaddin' 'round ha'lem widout webb. he's 'me and my shadow,' as de song says,” ended marcus. a moment he pondered, then continued: “dere's some- thin' funny about de whole business. yo' 'member i tell yo' about de time i had to chase george webb from de house because i didn't like his gallivantin roun' wid lido all de time? well, it doan take long after dat for me to have dis whole t'ing reap up again.” this explanation of marcus was enlightening to jere- miah. he wondered if it were possible that the strings of the black challenge justice of the great state of new york could be pulled by such remote and personal considerations. that was highly improbable, he thought. it must be just a coincidence. it must be that, sooner or later, the thing had to be for- mally cleaned up, and the time had now come. "i don't think we need to worry, marcus. i think every- thing will be all right." "i ehn't worryin' any, but ... i doan know," he added reflectively. "i guess we'll be able to settle these things with- murphy," jeremiah was loathe to call the man's name. he thought very bitterly of him in connection with lido jones. “i doan know about dat," he rejoined. “i'se got some- t'ing to say to dat man murphy dat i doan t'inks he's goin' to like.” “then i wouldn't say it,” counseled jeremiah, “at least. not now," he ended. "i doan know 'bout dat eder," quietly rejoined mar- cus, sucking vigorously at his black pipe. a short silence, and marcus knocked the ashes from his pipe. there was a noise as of a slammed car door from down below the slope. marcus rose abruptly and peered through the shrubbery. "here dey is now, webb and murphy comin' up de hill.” “hello, marcus," greeted murphy, apparently in high good humor. “nice place you have here,” his eyes roaming around. marcus cox held out his hand and drawled slowly, “howdye do, murphy?” jeremiah rose as murphy came up the steps. “howdye do, mr. ...". “king," added jeremiah. “sure-king! forgot the name." jeremiah nodded to george webb as he followed mur- phy up the steps and on to the verandah. "take your coats off and make yo’selves at home,” in- uia. the black challenge vited marcus; and, turning towards the rear of the bun- galow, he called: “ebeneezer, bring us a drink. these gen- tlemens is thirsty, i doan doubt.” owen murphy winked over at george webb. "a little drink wouldn't go bad, eh, george? it's a tiresome ride through staten island, and it's as close as hell.” he tugged at the collar which encircled his thick neck. he was breathing hard for so young a man. ebeneezer arrived and laid a tray with glasses, ginger ale and soda, and a bottle of whiskey on a nearby table. they went over, one after the other, and helped them. selves. marcus, too, poured out a drink of whiskey into a glass with ice. he sipped at it slowly. "well,” he abruptly opened, looking towards murphy, "what's de verdict? how about dat indictment? i thought dat was fixed and through with long time ago.” “no, it was just pigeonholed. the chief was going over a lot of old matters the day i called you up, and he asked me why i didn't get rid of it, get it off the calendar.” “well, how is we goin' to get rid of it?” “that's up to you, marcus," replied murphy. “i thought when i pays you dat $ , jes' befo' you went to camp,” marcus remarked, turning to george webb, “dat dat was to end de whole matter." "i thought so too,” lied webb, “but you see, mr. mur- phy's chief came across it, and now we have to get it out of the way for good.” “jes' what does yo' mean?” marcus queried, still ad- dressing himself to webb. webb did not answer. instead he looked expectantly at murphy. “i'll tell you,” murphy interpolated. “i have a little plan in my head. it's this. you let webb enter an appear- ance for you-or rather, i think he already appears as your attorney of record. you authorize him to handle the matter now, and i might be able to take him into the chief, explain the black challenge the whole thing, and perhaps recommend a nolle prosse, that the indictment be quashed,” he explained. “but,” he added, “you and webb had better go into the next room and arrange matters; arrange your retainer and everything.” he glanced significantly over at webb. "no need to go in de next room," replied marcus promptly, "we'se all men here; we ain't no chilluns; and we kin speak our min's right out in meetin'.” “well, you see, mr. cox, i have to have ... to have a retainer-a substantial retainer-so much down cash and so much balance to come when the indictment is quashed,” webb suggested haltingly. marcus cox stroked his chin thoughtfully for a mo- ment. “oh, i see," he remarked and turned his glance towards jeremiah. jeremiah stared back at marcus cox without any ap- parent indication of what he thought or was thinking. “how much dat's goin' to cost?" queried marcus, his eyes roving from murphy to webb and back again. “five thousand down and five to come-after it's all over,” promptly replied webb. “ten thousand dollars in all,” mused marcus. “dat's a lot of money-a whole lot o' money.” “well, there's more work to this than you think. i'll probably have to get up a little brief; and there's confer- ences and ... other things to be taken care of,” he explained in his halting, stammering manner. jeremiah sat by watchfully. occasionally, his gaze sought the distant hills and just as often returned to murphy and to webb. he now broke in, addressing himself to webb. “isn't the question of a crime in this case altogether a question of intent?" he inquired. “exactly,” responded webb. “that would be almost the only question of fact for a jury if the case were tried. i think i can persuade murphy's chief and mr. murphy himself that mr. cox did not commit a crime-in intent.” “suppose mr. cox were to make a deed of the house the black challenge to the association and turn back the $ , to the corpora- tion, wouldn't that end the matter? wouldn't that satisfy the public prosecutor? after all, no harm has been done.” . "it's not quite so easy as that," interjected murphy, siz- ing up jeremiah. he didn't like this man's smooth voice; there was something challenging in its quality. "if it were as easy as that there wouldn't be any thieves in sing sing today. all they'd have to do would be to disgorge when they were caught with the goods.” "mind what yo' say 'bout t'iefs,” warned marcus, his voice acquiring a belligerent note. “i was only drawing an illustration, cox-i wasn't, of course, referring to you! ha! ha! no-not by a damn sight," and murphy laughed boisterously. marcus' eyes sought jeremiah's and lingered there for a moment. outside a gentle breeze was rustling the trees. the night voices of the woods began to make themselves heard. it was getting dark. marcus cox rose and switched on a light in the birch- bark porch lamp set in the rafters of the verandah over- head. it was jeremiah who took up the conversation. "suppose you give mr. cox a few days to think this matter over, mr. webb. that'll be time enough, won't it?” he questioned. “yes, but no longer," replied webb. "yes. delay is dangerous," chimed in murphy with sig- nificance. marcus' neglected glass of whiskey and melted ice lay by his side. he half-leaned, half-rested himself against a small round table by his chair. he gathered up the glass and sipped absentmindedly at his whiskey. finally, with a last draught, he drained the glass and set it down on the table beside him. taking a kerchief from his pocket, he slowly dried his lips; then, replacing it, he turned his gaze towards owen murphy. the black challenge “dere is one thing, murphy," and his voice was cool, his tones slow and deliberate, “dere is one thing that i wants to mention to you about while we'se all here frien'ly like. it's about dat little secretary girl o' mine, miss jones.” • the air was charged with stillness. it may have been the quality of marcus cox's voice. “i want yo' to keep yo’self to yo’self and stop chasin' dat girl. i had to tell george webb de same t'ing, and now i tells you to keep yo' distance. yo' stands me?" and he looked deliberately into murphy's cold eyes, which glared back surprisedly but disdainfully at him. owen murphy made as if to rise from his chair, but marcus cox waved him back. a hot flame of contempt was surging over murphy's flushed face, of contempt for these people, and ... "i knows what yo’ is thinking," continued marcus, "and i ain't through yet. i understan' that you took dat little girl out de other night in yo' car and yo' insults her.” “she told you that?" demanded murphy. “yes, she tole me dat,” replied marcus, and paused. it came-came abruptly, swiftly, crudely, as if irresistably springing from owen murphy's insides. "the cheap little nigger!” he rasped. poor owen murphy! he could not help it. generations of white blood, the blood of white men, were speaking through his lips. at the same time, generations of black blood moved in the veins of two negro men-one thor- oughly black, the other light as owen murphy, but a negro man just the same; and, simultaneously, two figures hurled themselves at one figure. marcus cox reached his objective first. owen murphy, sensing the result of his hasty explosion, half-rose from his seat. instinctively, his hands raised themselves as a defensive barrier. he was too late. the knuckles of marcus cox's fist found the point of murphy's jaw with a resounding smack, and murphy sank to the floor and rolled over like a stuck pig. the black challenge george webb sprang from his chair, but marcus' voice stopped him. “stan' back dere, you little black nigger, or i'll nail yo' de same way.” george webb sank back into his chair. jeremiah and marcus had met in their rush at the point where stricken owen murphy was now lying. jeremiah gazed at marcus, and marcus gazed at jere- miah. "well, i guess you've done it now.” “yes, i guess i has,” replied marcus wearily, “but i'se glad. i feels relieved now. i'se been itchin' all night to splash my fis' in dat white man's face jes' as i'se done. he can do his worstes' now. i doan care." owen murphy's eyes opened slowly. he gazed about him as a sleeping man awakes from a dream. now he re- membered. it all came back to him: he had been socked on the jaw! he roused himself into a sitting position and passed his hand over the point of his chin where marcus cox's fist had connected. seeing his friend attempting to rise, george webb stooped over and helped him. “i guess you fellows better get out o' here befo' i kills yo',” growled marcus. george webb took their hats from a nearby table and holding his friend by the arm, helped him down the steps and out to the pathway. at the foot of the hill, owen murphy turned, halted for a moment, and then, with all the hurt and hate of an outraged soul, shouted up at the bungalow: "you black son of a bitch, i'll fix you! i'll make you sleep in sing sing yet." the night repeated it; the air repeated it; the trees sighed it: “you black son of a bitch!” marcus cox and jeremiah turned towards each other. they silently grasped hands and both were . . . unafraid. a whinnying noise came to them from the far end of the verandah. they listened. jeremiah went over, peered chapter xxi drums beating, brass instruments blaring, banners lifted on high, purple-uniformed and gold-braided, the parade of the universal negro movement of the world started early that saturday morning from lenox avenue and wound its way westward up the hill through th street and on to river- side drive. as before, marcus cox led the procession on his pranc- ing white horse. as before, when jeremiah had first gazed on that spectacle, a lofty banner shouted its crimson mes- sage: “back to africa." truly a curious sight for the dignified dwellers along riverside drivel as one elderly gentleman, taking his morn- ing constitutional, testily remarked: "must be all the nig- gers in the world.” for once the drive forgot its nice manners. for once windows were lifted, heads protruded, and, occasionally, a dishevelled figure showed itself from behind curtains in- discreetly opened. jeremiah himself was part of the parade today, he and the joneses, mother and daughter, bringing up the rear in the high commander's car driven by the purple-uni- formed ebeneezer. their goal was fourteenth street, where, alongside a pier, lay the rejuvenated good ship, goddess of liberty. they were to make a trial trip down the bay that day. no doubt, even at that moment, smoke was belching from her funnels in readiness. the black challenge the affairs of the association had been moving smartly. the cornerstone of a new building on the site of their old ramshackle hall had been laid the week previously, a seven-story apartment building with commodious audi- torium, restaurant, and reading-rooms occupying the ground floor, and, somewhere below, a swimming pool, handball courts and other amusements for children. the living apart- ments were to be chosen by lots when completed, thus eliminating any possibility of favoritism among the mem- bers. this much jeremiah had accomplished, and he had laid the groundwork for other improvements. they were work- ing on plans for a large, modern hospital where black doctors and nurses could hold forth and secure all the ex- perience they wanted on black bodies. he wished he could do as much for the lawyers. he thought they needed prac- tice more than doctors; but their situation was different. marcus, too, in spite of an occasional vacation at the highlands, had been unusually active. at jeremiah's sugges- tion, he had hied himself to atlantic city, and prestol a branch movement had sprung into being. not long after- wards, as a result, beholdt a strike along the boardwalk in the ranks of the black chair-pushers. all these black strivers needed was a rallying cry, and “back to africa" was as good as any other. “organize! organize!” they had caught the shibboleth. it was not so much “back to africa" in body as “back to africa” in the quality of their independence and spirit, that independence and spirit of which the slave marts of the world had robbed them through many generations. marcus himself typified his movement. back in his home, he was a morose, silent, brooding figure; but marcus be- striding a white horse, marcus haranguing his tribe or lead- ing them forward-that was a different marcus! there he rode now, broad, chesty, expansive and ex- panding, bowing and grinning to the throngs as they gath- ered along the sidewalks of the drive. self-conscious? mind- the black challenge ful of the gibes and sneers and wisecracks which occasionally shot through the stark, surprised silence of the watchers? not a bit. with shining eyes and white gleaming teeth, he was a supreme person, impervious, untouchable. week after week, ever since its initial number, the trumpet had sent out its challenge-a new challenging note to black and brown and light-skinned america. there was dignity in being a black man, a brown man, or a yellow man-dignity to the first because of his blackness, and dig. nity to the others because of the strain of black strength pressed into them. of necessity, there were disputes. harlem itself was di- vided into distinct camps. there were the marcusites, the anti-marcusites, and those in between, wanting to be shown. there was only one cloud on the horizon, and it was more on jeremiah's horizon than on marcus'. it was easy for marcus to forget things or to ignore them. when he had crashed his fist against the point of owen murphy's chin at his bungalow, fear of any consequence growing out of his indictment by the great state of new york had immedi- ately departed. not so for jeremiah. he was fearful of the vice-talons of the law. to him, a crime was a ... crime, a disagreeable concept. the same thing was true of amanda jones. a day in prison would have been a lifelong disgrace to her. even having to defend oneself against a charge was a calamity. she and jeremiah were, at that moment, discussing the situation. lido was out on the front seat of the car with ebeneezer. nattily dressed-as nattily as the nattiest of the women along the drive--with her bright coloring and black eyes, she attracted as much attention as the parade itself. innumerable guesses followed her: “that must be the big nigger's wife. . . . what a shame! ... what a pity! ... nice little thing like that married to a big black man. . . . she looks like a white woman..." lido was enjoying it immensely. it was quite a lark. jeremiah's and her mother's undertones from the rear the black challenge seat of the car sounded like bees droning in the distance. she and jeremiah had been quite distant after that night in primrose park. it was wearing off, however, and they were getting to be better friends. "when's the trial coming up?" amanda jones was ask- ing of jeremiah. “next week, when the fall term of court starts, i believe.” "are you going to be his lawyer?" "i can't-have never been admitted to the bar in this country, you know," he explained. “that's a pity.” “no, i don't think so," jeremiah replied. “it would be better to have a good american lawyer." "white or black?" “well, to be frank, i don't think much of the breed around harlem; but that's equally true of the rank and file of white lawyers. you know it takes experience to make a good lawyer; and the colored brother suffers from lack of that. his brains and training may be all right, but he needs more experience than falls to his lot around the small district courts. if i were marcus, i would hire the best trial lawyer that money can buy.” “why don't you talk to him? he doesn't think i know enough of these things to listen to me.” "i've told him that a half-dozen times," jeremiah re- plied, “but he has a crazy idea in his head. he says he'll be his own lawyer; if i can't try his case he'll do it himself. claims he can do it just as well as most of the lawyers he's seen in court." “that's ridiculous!” exploded amanda. “not only ridiculous, but very dangerous," dryly re- joined jeremiah. “it would be awful if anything were to happen to mar- cus. he's the only one who can hold these people together," and amanda jones looked questioningly at jeremiah. "well, he hasn't committed murder; they can't hang him. the worst that can happen to him is a prison term.” the black challenge "a prison term? you talk about that as coldly as if it were a plate of ice cream,” she observed huffily. “yes, why not? one, if he be disillusioned, has to face ultimate possibilities; and this is nearer than that, it is a ... probability." “that would be awful,” she repeated. “i can't think of that as being possible.” jeremiah glanced over at amanda jones with half- veiled eyes. finally, he ventured: “you see, marcus is a reckless skate, after all. he can still rough it with the rough- est. he doesn't care a darn little bit for himself. he could be made to care if somebody else were involved, somebody who was ... whom he knew to be finer,” he explained, “and who would also be hurt." “like who?" she questioned. “like yourself, amanda.” he had addressed her by her first name on occasion, when they had come to talk very seriously together; and she, too, on similar occasions, had called him by his first name-jerry, the name that lido often used. "you are marcus' great little god,” he continued. “you could make a real big man of him, i believe, by marrying him. why don't stared over silher. was he s amanda jones stared over silently at jeremiah. he was still somewhat of an enigma to her. was he serious? was he being sardonic, or what? she wasn't sure. she looked at him and held her peace. lido's voice broke the silence: “there's the ship! look, mother, our goddess of liberty!” her cheeks flaming and her eyes sparkling with excitement, she turned her face to them in the rear of the car. jeremiah thought that he had never seen her so beauti- ful. he gazed from mother to daughter. “undoubtedly two fine spirits, two thoroughbreds, but cast upon such strange soil,” he pondered. marcus, dismounting from his white horse, was met at the head of the gangplank by captain joshua hippolyte, the black challenge marcus, a trifle winded by his hasty trip down the deck to the captain's bridge. "forgot something?" queried the captain. "yes, i fergets my white hoss. we's got to go back and git 'im-and den we all takes a ride down de bay together.” captain joshua hippolyte was every inch a captain, nurtured in the best traditions of the sea. his superior in authority, his high commander, had spoken. he signaled for the departing tug, turned the ship's head about, and went back to the pier for marcus' prancing white horse. they all sailed down the bay together. the black challenge their nat, indeed, were abet, and enco, for their gatherin had gone out and selected that spot for their gathering place, the better to aid, abet, and encourage him. what, indeed, were the white people doing to their chief, their leader, their high commander? grand larceny! mis- appropriation of their money! why, that was a joke! there wasn't a man, woman-nay, nor a child-in that assembly who would not pluck out his or her eyeballs and lay them at the feet of marcus cox. had he not worked wonders for them? had he not built, purchased, created, somehow, a great big ship for them? and had they not all sailed down the bay the saturday before with flags flying and brass band tearing away on deck how come? they asked each other in the typical language of harlem. their money, the money that each and every mother's son and daughter of theirs gave had been contributed to "the cause”-their great big cause, the cause of their suffering race-and it was marcus cox's to use without question, without accounting. were they not the united negro movement of the united states and of the world, and was not that association they- themselves? they could not understand how any such charge, any charge at all, could be laid at marcus cox's door when they were perfectly willing to give him, yes, their last penny. the fact that the universal negro movement of the united states and of the world, inc. was an entity, sep- arate and distinct from them, from each and every one of them, and that marcus cox had been charged with larceny of the funds and property of that intangible and dead thing known as a corporation, was incomprehensible to them. "how come de co’poration to make charges 'gainst de high commander when we is all satisfied?” argued one giant bystander in the throng. “it's not de corporation; it's de white people who is jealous ub us and our ship,” expounded another. whatever the original reason, the battle gauge had been thrown down many weeks ago in that little bungalow the black challenge w nswe in the woods of new jersey; and even at that moment the case of “people of the state of new york against marcus cox” was being called by the fat, round-headed clerk of the court as he adjusted his tortoise-shell spectacles on his stubby red nose. owen murphy was on his feet and, with a cynical leer over at jeremiah king and obadiah jackson as they came towards the railing, he answered in a loud, pompous voice: “the people are ready." to owen murphy this courtroom was his own special bailiwick. he, perhaps more than the judge sitting upon the bench, represented the law—the strong arm of the law. it was when he let up that the criminals had a breath- ing spell; it was at his bidding that they were pounded and ground into the dirt. he proposed to do some grinding right here in this case. who was his opponent? that black, moon-faced obadiah jackson? what a joke! he'd make mincemeat of him. maybe king, that stuck-up rhiney-faced nigger was going to try the case-some kind of an english woodshed lawyer. he'd teach him a few tricks also. but where was cox, the defendant? a few minutes before, marcus had risen from his seat and whispered to jeremiah: “i'se goin' in de washroom for a moment; you hol' things down till i come back," and he had not yet returned. “the defendant is ready,” called jeremiah in answer to owen murphy. the judge-judge guffy was his name-glanced down at jeremiah from beneath a pair of bushy, bristling eye- brows. one saw judge guffy's eyebrows before any other part of him. black in color, with graying patches around the edges, set underneath a flat, bald dome of a head, these eyebrows jutted out like hairy embattlements. there was a small, boxlike contraption on the desk before him and a pair of earphones connected therewith which occasion- ally he adjusted to his ears and at other times permitted to rest loosely on his shoulders. the black challenge in a lull of the court's business some minutes before, marcus had whispered with a snicker into jeremiah's ears: “de justice outside de courthouse is stone blin'; dis one in here seems to be stone deaf.” “is one of you the defendant?" inquired judge guffy. “where is the defendant?” “he just stepped out; he'll be right here in a moment," replied jeremiah, at the same time turning to look back- wards down the entrance aisle. judge guffy's gaze and that of the rest of the courtroom followed jeremiah's. yes, marcus cox was right there. he had that moment entered the door and was coming up the aisle. purple-uni- formed and gold-braided, high-commander gold sash across his breast, his cockade hat with flowing ostrich plume trail- ing in his right hand and sweeping the floor, he presented a most unusual figure for a new york courtroom-a figure to make the bystanders and court attendants stare and, having stared, to direct a questioning gaze at each other, uncertain whether to smile or be ... contemptuous of the monstrosity of this—nigger who was importing his monkey- shines into the sacred portals of the supreme court of the state of new york. "my lord!” gasped jeremiah. “he's done it.” so that was why marcus had gone to the washroom- to change into his regalia. jeremiah turned towards the bench to see what effect it was having on judge guffy. owen murphy was openly snickering. for a moment judge guffy's eyebrows seemed to bristle more bristlingly. then, as one peered into his steely blue eyes, one discerned a merry twinkle lurking in their depths. “who are you?” he was saying as marcus came inside the railing and stood beside jeremiah. “i is de defendant, marcus cox, high commander of de universal negro movement, your worship, and i wants to handle my own case. my fren' here, mr. king, is a law- yer; but he ehn't admitted to de bars of dis state. he's a english lawyer; but i would like yo' worship to do me the black challenge jeremiah that either new york was very good to the irish or the irish were, compassionately, very good to new york; for, as represented on that jury, they were there in con- siderable force. but obadiah jackson was leaning over and whisper- ing: “try and get some jews on. they ain't so preju- diced.” "shucks,” whispered back marcus, "dey's all de same when it comes to judgin' a black man. 'sides, i loves de irish. dey's good lovers and good haters,” and he lifted his eyes and once more surveyed his jury. a large, raw- boned member of the panel met his gaze and smiled frankly at him. marcus grinned back at him. owen murphy was now on his feet. he was making his opening address. he did not intend to be lengthy, he explained. it was not necessary. the case of the people against this defendant was simple, clean-cut, clear-cut. the evidence consisted mostly of documents—the books, the check stubs, the cancelled checks, and the books of the negro corporation, the corporation of which the defendant cox was the moving spirit, the dominating head. the oral evidence, such as it was, would come from the lips of the defendant's employees, his associates, his friends. there could be no gainsaying this testimony. he would ask them to lay aside any sympathy they might have for this erring and misguided colored man; he would ask them to treat the defendant as though he were one of themselves-and in the saying this, there was that oily smirk in his voice, in his manner, in the characteristic rubbing together of his fat hands, which sent a hot flush through jeremiah. murphy's voice rose ringingly, as he asked the jury to protect honest men and women from ... thieves. marcus cox leaped to his feet. “objection!” he thun- dered. “i 'jects to dis man callin' me names—at dis stage of de game, anyhow," he added. judge gaffy adjusted his earphones and leaned forward. marcus repeated, now more collectedly: "i 'jects to my the black challenge le’ned enemy over dere callin' me names.” marcus, as his own lawyer, was beginning well. “that's right, murphy, don't sum up, just state what the evidence will be,” admonished the judge. "the galled horse winces!” apostrophized murphy un- der his breath, with his lips bared backwards, but loud enough for the jury to hear. he, the representative of the people of the state, felt so confident of the facts that he took it upon himself to elect to try this defendant only on the first count of the indictment, that of appropriating and converting to his own use $ , of the corporate funds of the universal negro movement. he would show them, though, as evidence of the defendant's larcenous intent, that the defendant embezzled other funds of the corporation. he had transmitted $ , to a bank in his home in the west indies. george washington coates was the first witness called on behalf of the people-a skinny, elongated black negro who leaped to the witness stand with the air of a hungry dog yapping at an inviting bone. “dat's de one i trowed out de 'sociation; de cat-face nig- ger! i wishes i strangled 'im," growled marcus to jeremiah. "bang!" went the gavel on the judge's desk; and looking severely over at jeremiah and marcus, judge guffy re- marked: “if you two want to confer together, you'd better go outside. this is no place to hold a conference." “mr. coates,” smoothly began owen murphy, “i show you a piece of paper and ask you what that is-if you know?" "sure i knows,” responded coates, “dat's a check. i writes it; de grand commander ober dere," pointing at marcus, "he signs it. he tells me to draw it; i draws it. he signs it. he sends me ober to de bank and says to me, 'hab dat ce’tified.' i does it; i brings de check down to broadway where he goes in some white man's office and dey's all sittin' 'roun' a table. he says to me-de gran' commander says to me-'george, i’se takin' title today.' he hands ober de check to a white man, and de white man gi'es he a paper, a the black challenge deed-de deed to de house up on a hundred and t'irty- eight street." “what was your position in the negro movement of the world-in the corporation at that time-the date of that check?" pursued owen murphy. “me? i was gran' 'sistant treasurer.” “are you still that in the corporation?" "no," snapped george washington coates. “he," point- ing to marcus, “trowed me out 'cause i tinks-" jeremiah prodded marcus, and marcus jumped up. “i 'jects,” he shouted. “i 'jects to all dat nigger has to say-he's jes' a goddamned liar anyhow." there was a gasp from the back of the courtroom. most of the jury smiled broadly. the big, rawboned irishman, the one who had smiled at marcus, let out a loud guffaw. judge guffy adjusted the earphones which he had a few moments before cast aside and leaned forwards. jeremiah was whis- pering furiously in marcus' ears. “may it please de cote,” marcus now blandly, suavely, urged, “dis man is tryin' to say what's in his min'. i 'jects to dat. his min's a dark secret anyhow; and i 'jects to dat as irreverent, infinites’mal, and ..." he groped for his words, and finally blurted out: "non compos mentis.” judge guffy's mechanical ears were now aiding him. “you mean irrelevant, immaterial, and incompetent, don't you?" “dat's jes' it, jedge; dat's jes' what i means, jes' what you done says." "objection sustained!” pronounced judge guffy, gaz- ing up at the ceiling after a moment's pause as if for in- spiration. “never mind the reason,” cautioned owen murphy to the witness, “but tell us," again jeremiah was whispering in marcus' ears. "please yo' honor and gen'mans of de juries, we's willin' to 'cede all dis man is talkin' 'bout. we's willin' to permit dat i buys dis house for $ , , and i takes it in my name. the black challenge handball court, and other amusement areas in that building for the children of their members; that, in time, they aimed to provide special educational centers for the children of their groups; that they were at that moment organizing a bank, and plans had been drawn for a community hospital at which colored doctors could operate, since they had found difficulty in securing such experience in the white hospitals of new york; that, in brief, it was his, marcus' aim and that of the men and women with whom he was associated, to organize the negroes in all parts of the world, wherever they lived, into an intelligent movement which he felt sure would make for improved living, improved outlook, and improved usefulness. his story was simple; it was effective; it was impressive. judge guffy had leaned forward and was listening intently. the jury, too, had their attention focused on marcus. judge guffy's voice broke in on marcus' recital. “and what's all this back-to-africa stuff that i've read in the papers about you and your movement, mr. cox? you need not answer the question if you don't want to, but it may have some bearing here. i'll have it stricken out if it's not material,” he promised. marcus was both surprised and flattered. after all, these white people, this white judge, anyhow, whom he supposed very much aloof and apart from harlem and its affairs, had read, had heard about him. he turned towards judge guffy: “well, it's like this, judge,” and jeremiah, as he leaned forward and listened, sensed that he was going to hear the inside story of “back to africa” for the first time, "when we first forms our li'l organ'zation, dere was just a few of us, and we talks 'mong usselves that dis man's country was no place to live in, dat is, for a nigger man or a nigger woman; even if we wo’ks for lot of money it ehn't no use—we can' even spen' it. we can't go 'roun' like white peoples and enjoy ourselves." “and what about harlem? aren't there plenty of places up there?" questioned judge guffy. the black challenge "well, doan yo 'thinks we want to go out of ha'lem sometimes?" plaintively questioned marcus. “i see,” nodded judge guffy. “go on!” "and, as i was sayin', we 'cided de bes' thing to do was to buy us some lan' in africa and builds ourselves some kin' of a place where us could do as we damn pleases-'cuse me, judge, i means, where we kin lives as we likes; and we talks dis thing over with some moh people and some moh people; and de projeck grewed and grewed and it's still growin'. but dat's de idea-to fin' us a place whey we can spread ou'selves, and whey we doan need to go in at de back door to get what we wants." judge guffy took off his earphones and turned to owen murphy. "are there any questions you want to ask, mr. murphy?" and his blue eyes wandered out speculatively as if at some distant object in the back of the courtroom. "i sure have, judge-your honor,” he corrected, leaping to his feet. this was the moment he had waited for. "marcus—," he began. "my name is cox, mr. cox, if you pleases, mr. murphy," returned marcus with a belligerent note in his voice. “all right, mr. cox, then,” emphasized murphy, “do you draw a salary from the corporation?" "no, i doan draw no salary.” "how do you live?" “what's dat?” returned marcus, turning his head to one side. “i said,” repeated murphy slowly, “how ... do ... you . . live?" “de organʼzation suppo'ts me.” “oh, i see, the corporation supports you." “yes," responded marcus tartly. "you own an automobile, don't you?" “yes." "what kind of a car?" marcus turned towards the bench: “does i have to the black challenge "i doan know 'bout a million dollars, but consid'ble money." "would you say a half-million?" “all of dat, if not more," replied marcus proudly. “and you've had your share?" “yes, whatever i needs.” "now this $ , that you sent to the west indies, what's it doing there?" “it's dere for a purpose.” “what purpose?" “de interes' is used to supp'ot a fren' of mine." "a friend of yours-man or woman?” pressed murphy. “a woman, a ole woman.” “oh, a ole woman, eh?” mocked murphy, and con- tinued: “so this organization which, as you say, 'grewed and grewed from a mere handful, this organization which 'grewed' so big that you are able to collect over a half- million dollars from its members—this is the organization whose funds you use to purchase your house, to buy your lincoln car, to get your furniture, and to support a ole woman down in the west indies, eh? is that true, mr. cox?” murphy had goaded and jeered marcus to the limit of exasperation. he now leaned forward in his chair and, shaking his finger at murphy, answered: "leh'me tell you somethin' for good and all. i'se de organ’zation and de organʼzation is me, dat's what. i does all de work; i makes de organ'zation what it is. i collected de money. de mens and womens members gives it to me to do what i likes; and if i chooses to throw every cent of it into de ribber, dere ehn't nobody who's goin' to stop me, you hear what i says? i ehn't afeard of what you kin do, neder,” and so saying he crossed his arms across his chest and looked defiantly at owen murphy. about an hour afterwards, the jury went out and brought back a verdict of “guilty.” marcus was remanded to the tombs to await sentence. the black challenge to that which a great leader of a great people once made to his jehovah when, smiting a rock in horeb, he tossed the tablet of stone to the earth-a broken mass. ... virulent summer had gone; majestic autumn, symbol of decline and retreat, had arrived. jeremiah felt today the weight of his years the way a tired man, striving toilsomely uphill, suddenly becomes aware that the load on his back is heavy and the journey long. and yet, there was that in him which lifted his spirit to the hills, to the hills because they were high. “yes,” amanda jones was saying as she gently rocked herself on the porch of the bungalow the evening after marcus had elected to be deported from the united states rather than be imprisoned, “it's such a pity! when every. thing was going so finel” and, after a pause: "i suppose we'll have to carry on, though.” . “i suppose so," replied jeremiah wearily. "and is marcus still in—"? amanda hesitated. the word "jail" had an ominous sound for her. “the tombs?" completed jeremiah. “no, the judge al- lowed him out on bail during the two days that the ship will be getting ready. he went uptown to finish some busi- ness. i expect he'll be here any moment now." in a far corner of the verandah, lido jones was powder- ing the tip of her nose. perched on the back of her chair, little jocko, now their pet monkey, catching his reflection in lido's pocket mirror poised before her, was making frantic efforts to possess himself of that wonderful reflector. “behave, jocko!" lido reproved. “do you know what happens to naughty little monkeys who try to be smart? they are spanked!” she playfully made as if to tweak his small blunt nose, at the same time going towards jeremiah and her mother. “here, jerry! take your old monkey.” jeremiah withdrew his eyes from the distant hills and met lido's bantering smile. “and its mistress?" he tossed up at her. ilmself or before g his a , property of the of university of libraries michigan artes scientia veritas the ordeal of mansart by the same author the suppression of the african slave trade to the united states of america (harvard historical studies, no. , ) the philadelphia negro (publication of the university of pennsylvania series on political economy and public law, no. , ) the souls of black folk ( ) john brown ( ) quest of the silver fleece (a novel, ) the negro (home university library, ) darkwater: voices from within the vail ( ) the gift of black folk: the negro in the making of amer- ica ( ) dark princess (a novel, ) black reconstruction in america, - ( ) black folk: then and now ( ) dusk of dawn: an autobiography ( ) color and democracy: colonies and peace ( ) the world and africa ( ) in battle for peace ( ) ¿ze deind coor copyright by masses & mainstream, inc. first printing, march, - contents i. colonel breckinridge promises ii. tom mansart iii. the colonel breaks his word iv. manuel mansart is born v. the world and mrs. breckinridge vi. the marriage of betty lou vii. the education of manuel mansart viii. john pierce and henry grady ix. old dr. baldwin and his family x. the vision of sebastian doyle xi. manuel graduates xii. jerusalem xiii. color caste xiv. the atlanta riot xv. atlanta repents xvi. black capital xvii. manuel mansart decides postscript to shirley graham chapter colonel breckinridge promises it was october, . on the battery, the wide plaza which fronts the sea in charleston, south carolina, four persons were about to meet; and in a certain way their meeting was critical for a nation and a world. the sea was shining in the evening sun which hovered red above the shadowed city to the west. on the white-pillared porch of his home, colonel john breckin- ridge was sitting not far from his wife. he was medium in height and spare, almost handsome in countenance, with a sifting of grey in his hair. he was disturbed and unhappy and angry at himself because he was so moved. the reason was simple. he was about to tell a lie. colonel breckinridge was not accustomed to say anything which did not seem to him true. partly this was moral conviction; partly inherited training; and largely the result of economic inde- pendence which made reliance on other opinions or prejudices quite unnecessary to his manner of life. of course, his frank and arrogant expression of opinion was often curbed by natural kindli- ness and inbred courtesy. it seemed to him quite excusable to tell a devastated beauty that she was still as charming as ever; or to console and assure a sick and elderly friend on his appearance of health. but today he had been asked to assure a poor white leader that if he would withdraw his voting power from control by the up-state white farmers who were trying to annex and submerge the landed aristocracy of the rich lowlands, that this group would get the political and social recognition to which the poor white farmers now so fiercely aspired. this new group was composed of city arti- sans and small farmers who had never owned slaves and now hired little or no labor. they resented the piedmont whites only a little less than they hated the negroes; it had been suggested that by playing on these two motives an alliance might be made which would save the old landed aristocracy of carolina. ordinarily, colonel breckinridge would have been the last one to be selected for this delicate negotiation. but the most powerful of the ordeal of mansart promise to post quite as obvie, gentlemen and hand mpton used cognize artisans or jaho breckinridge the new white labor leaders, scroggs, had stubbornly insisted on dealing only with breckinridge, for breckinridge was a man of his word. he would not consider orr, butler, gary or even hampton. it was breckinridge or nobody. this was at once flattering and annoying. of course, the breckinridges were gentlemen and there- fore men of their word. but quite as obviously, no breckinridge was going to promise to recognize artisans or laborers as equals on any level. hampton used all his charm to persuade the colonel to assent to meeting scroggs and offering him alliance; but breck- inridge refused to tell a lie. yet he knew that he was going to lie in spirit if not in actual word. he was within profoundly uneasy as he awaited scroggs. he was expecting his visitor but showed no sign of noticing the man already approaching; he glanced at the papers in his lap and smoked. his wife, too, saw the stranger coming and continued to embroider slowly, occasionally glancing off at fort sumter burn- ing in the sun, and fort moultrie beyond. mrs. breckinridge was a du bignon of louisiana. she was not a beautiful woman; her face was long and her skin sallow, her mouth and ears large, and her frame tall and almost angular. but she was evidently well-bred and even sat with an air of quiet distinc- tion. her hands were long and exquisite; her hair piled carefully in a black, shining mass with hardly a silver thread; and her clothes, although evidently not new and in part home-made, had been styled in paris. it had never occurred to mrs. breckinridge that aristocracy was an effort or an ambition. it was simply a fact. her forebears had been nobles under the roi soliel in the th cen- tury; they had met disaster and even poverty in the th, but what difference? they were still aristocrats, and when their fortunes were restored in the new world it was but natural, inevitable. she had been educated partly in paris and used to visit france almost every other year until this war came. but nothing could permanently change the world nor the people in it. colonel breckinridge, on the contrary, was distinctly english by instinct and descent. his clothes came from london and fitted perfectly, even when old and slightly frayed. the breckinridges had played their part in english history for centuries. he still had titled cousins on the english countryside. one did not boast of this nor drag it into conversation, but it was a well-known fact. yet the colonel was troubled; he did not have his wife's compla. cency of position. the rough experience of war when he was a youngster in his twenties, and the aftermath, had made him realize colonel breckinridge promises that without effort and even desperate effort the old regime might collapse. as a boy he had been tutored in the classics by an oxford mas- ter of arts and was graduated at princeton. when the civil war broke out, without hesitation he followed his father and uncle into the field, emerging in at the age of orphaned, and with his hereditary fortune sadly impaired. the only reservation in his re- spect for the english was inability to conceive why the empire had not wholeheartedly supported the south in the civil war. he was uneasy at the portents of the future and not so sure of his world as he had been formerly. with faint surprise, but careful to give no evidence of it as he relighted his cigar, he now noticed another person approaching; a negro was crossing the battery from the south and apparently com- ing to his house. the colored man, tom mansart, was walking along the battery toward the breckinridge house. as he neared the imposing white pillared breckinridge mansion he began to feel inner panic. he walked steadily and firmly on, even straightening his broad shoul- ders a bit. the panic was first a little thing but it grew and grew. how should he approach the colonel? he remembered discussing this small but great point in his union. aunt betsy, who had walked in uninvited, pooh-poohed the whole thing. "crawl,” she said, "if you have to, only git what you want." "worms crawl, but they only git squashed,” replied forbes. “right,” answered jones. "go to breckinridge's front door; stand up and talk like a man and not like a slave.” so now he hesitated. should he walk boldly up the front steps, or should he enter the gate and knock at the side door? now, so far as mansart himself was concerned, he had no objection in the world to going around to that side door and going through the traditional ceremony. yet he was not a slave, he was a member of the legislature of south carolina. he wanted to make a tentative alliance between the black labor and the white landholders; and back of him stood , organized workers and voters. now the very first step toward this must be not to surrender a principle. if he should go to the side door he would go in the status of a laborer, little better than a slave. on the other hand, if he could face colonel breckinridge as a man and talk to him, the first and major part of the battle would be not, to be sure, won but laid out. the principle could not be surrendered out of hand if the battle was to be won. yet he realized that by some perhaps needless the ordeal of mansart insistence on his rights he might lose the battle before it was joined. it was an extraordinarily difficult matter to decide. colonel breckinridge was watching with feigned carelessness. he was puzzled and a little alarmed. he was expecting this poor white; it had all been finally arranged at the club last night. his was the chosen voice of southern aristocracy to make alliance with a newly organized group of poor whites. he hated the assignment but he could not refuse in the face of unanimity. his was, they had said, the natural voice of his class. moreover--and this was what irked him-he needed this alliance. unless his class regained con- trol, lowered ruinous taxation, and forced negroes to work for nothing beyond the cost of their support, he faced financial ruin. his crops were ungathered, his lands were almost worthless, and cotton a dollar a pound! and he a breckinridge, who never before this unholy war had ever known the meaning of poverty! was fear of poverty making him a liar, or was he acting from high principle? who, now, was this negro approaching his house, and what did he want, and at this of all times? he was not a servant, as his clothes and carriage showed. he walked firmly and held his head up. he was probably one of those half-educated darkies who were mislead- ing and befuddling the bewildered negroes. but where was he going? not, surely to this house and at this time? he could feel the white man glowering in his retreat. this was the time to unify the whites for an end. true, it was also not the time needlessly to antagonize the negro nor breed suspicion. was someone trying to crowd him into lying simultaneously to both sides? was he being forced to bear a double burden of shame? by god, he would never do it! let hampton lie to the negroes if he must. a breckinridge would never treat a negro as a man or even promise to. as these measured steps of some faint doom approached, the colonel recalled in a flash the fantastic tale of the last decade. the truth was simply unbelievable. it began in , when black soldiers actually marched into charleston, down meeting street to the bat- tery singing “john brown's body." beginning with , south carolina, the leading state of southern civilization, just beginning to reorganize its lost power after the war, had suddenly been handed over to the former black slaves and a rabble of white scala- wags and carpet-baggers. he and his like at first had simply with- drawn in proud refusal to cooperate in any way. the civilized world surely would not let this horror happen. they had simply to wait until this travesty and caricature exploded in its own filth. a “convention" elected by the illiterate rabble met. a legisla- colonel breckinridge promises herelina alm of his retally begutorward ture, composed of black ex-slaves, “crackers” and northern grafters, actually sat in the seats where calhoun, rutledge and pinckney once had thundered. he had lived in amazement to see a poor white governor; negroes voting; land given away by a yankee general; a supreme court manned by a negro, a white southerner and a white northerner. free schools had begun, taxes were increasing; one governor, a white southerner, had sunk to the bottom of graft and chicanery and another, a northerner, now led "reform." it was nauseating. here now in all probability was one of these impossible rulers of carolina almost at his steps. the astonishing thing that had driven him out of his retreat was that this caricature and pretense of government had actually begun to function; not effectively, of course, but with a reeling rush forward that was, in a way, more frightening than the awaited collapse. the fools had actually started schools and given paupers, black and white, the vote. this was rank bribery of the illiterate mob. they had begun to dis- tribute charity to the war victims and even to divide up some of the big plantations. this was sheer socialism and a blasphemy against the sacred rights of property. of course, the colonel and his people understood the motiva- tion; the black and white rabble was under guidance of conscience- less leaders, mostly from the north but partially envious local nobodies. there was but one remedy and that was for the south- ern aristocracy to reassert their power and seize leadership before it was too late. the need became imperative when the wily cham- berlain came to power and began to reform the state. here lay the deepest danger: a reformed state, honestly conducted but with the aristocracy despoiled of property, with land distributed among peasants, with the rabble making attempts to educate their chil- dren, and above all, with negroes voting and holding office. un- thinkable. rather begin the war again. his friends had begun the conspiracy and he had joined. they had reorganized the pre-war secret societies, encouraged mob vio- lence and made alliance with men like wade hampton of missis- sippi. they proposed at any cost to make him governor in . for this they must get the following and allegiance of the poor whites. the small up-state farmers had to be admitted to the plan at the price of curtailing the political rights of property and sharing some of the power which had formerly been the sole right of the planters. the upstaters were rough, ill-mannered men, yet they had social aspirations and a few had been admitted to clubs and organi- the ordeal of mansart as he could. dnel declined. pcroggs zations to which they had not dared to aspire before the war. indeed, they were not simply admitted to the conspiracy but, led by the military, they took direction and charge. all this colonel breckinridge had accepted with poor grace but of necessity. finally came a further demand at which he gagged. it seemed that a rift began to appear within the ranks of the poor whites. over against the merchants and farmers and the idle mob which they dominated, the artisans and laborers were organizing. this fellow, scroggs, represented this new group. scroggs had demanded to talk with him and the colonel declined. he had already dirtied his hands as far as he could. but his friends pleaded. hampton especially was solicitous. he did not like hampton too well; hampton was too theatrical, and all things to all men. he was not quite a gentleman. but his arguments were strong. this new worker group might be so manipulated as to hold in bounds the white farmers who wanted to be the future aristocrats and rule the state. white workers might balance white capitalists with land and trade. also-and this was important-they might be the best means of holding black labor in bounds simply because they hated negroes so bitterly. yet if organized they were less dangerous than the mob of thieves and murderers now forming the new ku klux klan. so here, today, was colonel breckinridge awaiting this emis- sary of the white artisans, to assure him that the new state in making would treat the white worker right and that he, colonel the core would vouch for this ker right and that he case in the colonel came back smartly to the present and realized that the negro actually was slowly but purposely mounting his front steps. sam scroggs, lurking yonder in the shadows of sunset, was watching. if the colonel received this negro at his front door what would the poor white think? he came to swift conclusion and arose slowly to his feet. he removed his cigar and looked straight at the negro. tom mansart paused halfway up and lifted his hat. he began: “i beg your pardon, colonel breckinridge,” he said, “could i have a word with you?" he could see the colonel stiffen; his chin lifted itself a bit and then he said with a low, firm voice, “the door is at the side.” mansart hesitated; he stood straight and looked at the colonel. "colonel breckinridge,” he said, "i am a member of the legis- lature of south carolina ..." but the colonel spoke with cold courtesy. “so far as i am con- cerned you are a negro, and no negro enters my front door." colonel breckinridge promises tom mansart turned and again started to speak. “colonel ..." the colonel interrupted. “go," he said. tom mansart had tried and failed. he turned and slowly descended the stairs. it was but twenty feet from the front steps to the side gate; but it seemed a mile and took a year. tom thought rapidly and fiercely. he had been deliberately insulted; his race had been slapped in the face; his state had spit upon him. what then? here was opportunity; perhaps a last chance before disaster. he could walk quietly and silently away but if he did he lost the chance which after all was perhaps, indeed probably, no chance at all. but if he swallowed his pride-his poor, lacerated, lateborn and almost obliterated pride—and turned in here to plead a lost cause, perhaps. . . . he turned in at the side gate. for a while there was complete silence on the porch as the echo ing footsteps of the departing negro became fainter. colonel breckinridge put down the papers he was reading and looked at his wife. slowly mrs. breckinridge laid aside her embroidery and looked after tom mansart. silence reigned a few moments. then mrs. breckinridge took up her embroidery again in her long, exquisite hands and inserted a needle. the colonel regarded her uneasily and said: "well?" she paused until the gate closed and then said: “i wonder if that was necessary?”. “what? his daring to come here?" “no, your reception." “are you ready to receive negroes on your front porch?". “no. but are you unwilling even to talk with a negro?" “yes, i am, unless he remembers that he is a negro and can ver be anythinger embroiderno desire toest; yet in telp seeing she stopped her embroidery again and slowly laid it aside. she turned toward him: "i have no desire to meddle in politics, dear, and doubtless you know your business best; yet in a sense i have fought these postwar years by your side. 'i cannot help seeing and thinking. the south was right, negroes should still be slaves. but the south was beaten and the negroes legally are free and are voters. in self-defense you are allying yourself with the poor whites. i wonder-i do not pretend to be sure, but i wonder-if a sounder alliance could not be made with the negroes? and if with such alliance we could not face the north with better arms in our hands?” the ordeal of mansart de breckinpiebeseriede labruptly. ch toward thing, until bile stoppen noti "do you know what that might cost? black men on your front porch, if not in your dining rooml" "a revolting price, i admit-but lately planters have entertained some curious guests. ..." “yes, yes, i know, and this scroggs – well he at least is white -" “of course—but this mansart has manners, and somehow i wanted to hear what he had to say. -but here is your mr. scroggs. i am afraid i must go.” from the other stretch of the battery, beyond the naval club, scroggs had walked slowly toward the breckinridge mansion, where he saw the colonel and his wife sitting, until he descried the negro crossing the street from the opposite direction. he stopped abruptly, and glancing furtively at the porch to see if he had been noticed, stepped back into the shadow of the trees. he was a thin, old-young man of , clay-colored and scrawny. he seemed never to have had enough to eat. his clothes were new but fitted ill. his nose was crooked; but his eyes were alive and burning. they seemed to center a fire that was consuming his soul. he was a mass of nerves which shook and tore at him. yet he held himself in fierce control. scroggs belonged to the disinherited of the south-the poor, un. educated, neglected whites. the black slaves were valuable prop- erty to be protected and preserved. white landholding masters were the people for whom government and civilization existed. most of the white people of the south fell into neither of these classes. scroggs not only belonged to the five million or more southern- ers who never owned a slave, but also to the lower ranks of this class: landless, half-educated, but with some skills as carpenters, masons and metal workers when cheap slave labor did not deprive them of work. born in georgia in , he grew up in bitter competition with slave labor on farm and in town. emancipation meant to him a chance to be a real white man. white planters had always looked through him; and even black slaves had jeered at him. he had lived most of his life in hunger, cold and dirt until the war. then came his chance, as he firmly believed. between these upstart "niggers” and the haughty planters, and despite the middle class farmers, he was going to find his place as a man. he was going to be equal to anybody. he was going to have skilled work to do, land to till and “niggers" to serve him. he was going to climb out of hell into a heaven like this rich charleston. some of his white fellows tried to ride to wealth and power by trampling roughshod over him as over the freed negroes. he sought to join them and e as he haters, and desp. he was going colonel breckinridge promises was only allowed to join the klan and drink, kill, steal and rape. but he soon saw that this was getting him nowhere. but he must be careful – careful. the darkies had leaders: whites from the north; educated blacks who talked like whites; the northern army. even some southern planters courted them. it made him sick and furious. he had none to turn to for advice. the lower mass of the poor whites were too lazy and ignorant to stick together. some were stooping to make friends with "niggers” and even marrying them. others were crawling before the yankees. the upstate white farmers were going to replace the planters and become aristocrats and lord it over him as well as over the "niggers.” but he, scroggs, was going to make alliance with the real aristocrats. he was going to become one of them and not seek to replace them; his grandchildren would marry theirs. in time they would need him and his folk. he knew it. but he must be careful-careful. most of the poor whites seemed to imagine that they were going to become part of the ruling class automatically. he knew better. he knew that the planters would use them to the limit and then kick them around as they did the darkies. they must organize and bargain. they must insist on recognition and equality. his group had grown. while the rabble was killing, drinking and whoring, his group was bargaining. they were willing to join the ku klux and kill "niggers” for the planters. they would steal and destroy and wreak vengeance for themselves; but the planters must pay. it had now come to the showdown. he had demanded the word of an aristocrat like breckinridge that the poor white work- ers were to get recognition; but he must be careful. they'd fool him and betray him in a minute. he had asked to talk with colonel breckinridge today. he came late on purpose so as not to appear too eager. he planned to swagger and walk boldly up the front steps and greet the high and mighty mrs. du bignon-breckinridge. by god, he'd show them that he was a man to be reckoned with. then the “nigger” appeared. where was he going? had breckin- ridge invited him, too? did he think he, a white man, was going to sit down and bargain with a "nigger?" or was he being double- crossed in some way? his suspicion became acute fear. the sweat started on his face as he lurked back of the tree. scroggs had seen the negro finally turn away, and was mollified. he paused a moment, straightened his collar and started forward. he saw mrs. breckinridge arise and turn away and he knew she was deliberately avoiding him. he spit elaborately on the hydrangeas colonel breckinridge promises vice and nurseskill. also, it was souls. she hadhar clan ack breckincisouls. she with equa the wo to be sure, a gentleman, and least of all to a gentleman of the south--but to some northerner or foreigner. then the thread of what he was saying caught her full attention: his first words dis- armed her. “you remember, madam,” he said, "aunt betsy?" certainly she remembered that black and silent sibyl. suddenly she glowed with remembrance of days before the war. aunt betsy had not been a servant in her family but a servitor in her social clan: a mid-wife, vendor of herbs, and a sort of counselor who had come and gone among the upper class of white families. starched and immaculate she traded bits of news between family and family, landholders and merchants, the dark world and the white, be- tween white and white. she seemed to know everything. she gave advice and nursed the sick. she brought babies into the world with incredible skill. also, it was rumored, with equal skill she had gotten rid of uninvited little souls. she had a sort of dignity and wisdom which mrs. breckinridge and all her clan acknowl. edged. with the war she disappeared, silently, without a word. mrs. breckinridge feared she was dead. now here in a curious way was a message from her. she started to ask after her but mansart continued. "i am tom mansart. i am a virginian. i marched with sherman to the sea, farmed in the sea islands, worked in the west and came here. here i meets aunt betsy and soon marries her daughter. aunt betsy feels strongly about things today. her trust is fastened, as she tells me time and time again, on the 'quality white folk,' the real aris- tocrats of the old time. she thinks always of the breckinridges as standing for that class. she wants me, because i am a member of the legislature and a sort of leader in the negro labor movement, to come and offer to colonel breckinridge such help as we can give. we has negro leaders, some of them men of education and honesty, some not. we knows that the whites from the north have tried to lead us—some up, some down. they don't all understand the negro." mansart continued: “what we wants is work and fair pay. we wants freedom and justice. we is willing to work hard but we wants to be sure of enough to live on. then for our children we wants a chance to learn. that's what we wants and that's all we wants. we don't want no offices exceptin' those we can fill well; we don't want no society. but we don't want no more cheating, lynching and mobs. now the point is that we been talking over pretty careful how to get these things. we knows we can't do it by the ordeal of mansart force. we can't depend on soldiers from the north. we can't get it just by voting; we knows good and well that our own votes ain't going to force things. we can't get what we wants by strikes; strikes is war. we tried striking on some of the plantations and with the longshoremen right here in charleston. we gained something but we lost more. "what we needs is law and order; honesty from employers, and -what can i call it? kindness, good-will of all people toward each other; not hatred, not murder. now what we have asked ourselves is where is we going to find all this? and my mother-in-law, aunt betsy, has long declared that we can find this only among people of 'quality,' among the old class of aristocrat slave-owners. i don't know, but i want to believe it. my old master back in virginia was a good man in his limits. after long thought and talk we have picked out colonel breckinridge. he is a gentleman, a man of honor; they tell me he will keep his word. now we offers him an organized labor movement and our political support for the ends we has in mind.”... -mrs. breekinridge listened carefully and thought as she listened: the man is earnest, sincere; his are the manners of the old south, imitated of course, but the imitation is good. it is real. she remem- bered again more or less vaguely the colored folk of louisiana who had consorted with her family; some were blood-relatives and so recognized. there was one woman in particular-she wondered what had become of her and the pretty little baby, blue-eyed and blond, whom she had played with. then she pulled herself back to the present. she sat down, but did not ask mansart to sit. he still stood, naturally and easily, and apparently did not notice the slight. she leaned forward with something like excitement in her usually cold demeanor. she said: “you are right; you are absolutely right. do not mistake me, i still believe that negroes should be slaves; that is their natural condition. i believe that in slavery most of them were happier and safer than they will ever be again. of course, among masters there were exceptions-beasts and tyrants who abused their power-but these are everywhere, especially in so-called free countries. i do not believe that the mass of negroes will ever rise above their natu- ral status—at least not in our time, perhaps not in hundreds of years. of course, i realize, too, that among them there may be exceptions, and provision ought to be made for such exceptions. there the south failed. colonel breckinridge promises “also, i am a law-abiding person. by the edict of this country negroes are free and they should be treated as free. that does not necessarily mean voting and holding office; it means that they ought to be under benevolent guidance and that, as aunt betsy knows so well, can be furnished only by southern gentlemen. i can promise you tom, that if you can induce the negroes to work whole- heartedly along with us we will reform this section and lead it to a new civilization. but of course i shall want to talk to colonel breckinridge about this." tom mansart bowed and said: “i'm glad to hear you talk this way. naturally, i don't wholly agree with you. i reckon, ma'am, you don't quite understand how it is with us colored folk. we don't want to be other people, we just want to be ourselves. we don't want what belongs to you, but we want what belongs to us-our homes, our wives, our children, our wages. we welcomes your advice and leadership; but if other workers vote, we must vote or we'll be helpless. there are some offices, perhaps most, that we ain't fitted to fill, but a few that we are fit to hold. wright is a good judge. cardozo is a gentleman, and honest. cain wants to do right. we ain't proud nor stubborn, we're humble. but we ain't slaves no more and we never will be again. things is going bad in the south. it's all coming to a head and something must be done and quick. thank you, ma'am, kindly for listening. but-i wonder, could i just have a word with the colonel? you see my men want a direct word from him." she hesitated and then said: "i'm afraid not today. he is en- gaged just now. but i will give him your message and i promise you will hear from him soon.” she knew this was not the best time to approach the colonel, but she believed she could in time per- suade him to act. mansart bowed but did not leave. "ma'am,” he said, “this matter is urgent. i know we're late making our decision. but i hopes not too late. but time presses. we must have the colonel's word right from him. i don't mind waiting, but please ma'am, i must tell my folks that i saw him. will you tell him? i'll just wait here." mrs. breckinridge bowed and left. as she crossed the dining room she was thinking: “of course, i could understand all this so easily if negroes were folks in the sense that i am; but are they? could they possibly be? perhaps, partiallya little; but in just that area of lack they must be restrained, guided. and where there is no real lack nor difference, should they not be free? for who could or sede hesitate from hind, with thindly for somethings is gone ain't the ordeal of mansart with difficultyine had a job to her the total poo would drive or compel them?” she paused for a moment, puzzled; then opened the colonel's study door. scroggs had glanced after the disappearing mrs. breckinridge and, scowling, walked after the colonel. he was acutely uncom- fortable, sensitive to every slight put upon him. he knew that the aristocratic hostess had deliberately avoided him. he knew that this planter of great and well-known family did not want to shake his hand and did not. he knew that even the "mr.” before his name had been omitted deliberately but with a certain effort concealed with difficulty. on the other hand, he had a job to do. and he was fiercely determined to do it. these aristocrats needed the total poor white vote and the power of white muscles now if they were going to con- trol carolina against the arms in the hands of the northern yankees; against the white upstate farmers and city merchants; and above all against the impudence of negroes who thought themselves free. it was this last matter that festered in scroggs' mind because it was nearest to him. he hated negroes with a deep, blind hatred. they typified to him all of his unavailing struggle to be a man. they took the food out of his mouth, they made it impossible for his children to be educated; they sneered at him and his scrawny, ill-clad wife and dirty cabin. for all he had suffered at the hands of the rich white world, he was going to take it out on these negroes, and this man breckinridge and wade hampton were going to make compact with him and keep it, or "by god!” one thing that secretly bothered scroggs and weakened his cause was absence of unified backing. he had a group behind him, but it was still small. as soon as a poor white got up in the world -in money, position or learning-he hastened to become an "aristo- crat”; he referred to slaveowning forefathers; he pretended to have had a "black mammy''; he tried to kick other poor whites around just as he did "niggers.” he fawned on and toadied to the real aristocrats. that left a heterogeneous mass of festering ignorance and poverty, bitter and frustrated, but with no centering thought for a leader to take hold of; no class consciousness, plans nor ideals except hate, blood and loot. on these, then, he must concentrate, and this was a shifting, uneasy basis for action. he felt bitterly the need of wise counsel of experienced educated men. he knew few that he could trust-no northern missionaries; few poor whites who believed in poor whites and had trained themselves as poor white leaders. absencen af. as soon as the hastened the preten colonel breckinridge promises but scroggs would not give in. he would not budge nor admit his weakness. the inchoate, undisciplined, cruel group behind him would go forward with him against the “niggers” or he'd turn it on the whites themselves and strip them of their last pretense. he distrusted the riots and rifle clubs of butler and gary. they represented the rich planter class, and although they killed negroes at colleton, beaufort, hamburg and ellenton, they rode as planters and aristocrats with no recognition for other whites. it was restoration of planter rule that they were seeking, not a new alliance with working men. to be sure, upstate near augusta lived the tillmans, and one, a young one-eyed radical, seemed to have ideas. but scroggs had not yet met him. the ku klux klan was another matter. here poor whites rode cheek by jowl with great planters. he proposed to increase this common action and kill, rape and rob negroes so long as the aristocrats stood back of them. in this way the fight would become a struggle of white against black and not of rich against the poor, with “niggers” in both groups. although he gave no evidence of it, colonel breckinridge was just as uneasy as mr. scroggs. it was a horrible duty, not only to accept alliance with upstate climbers, but to sit down with the labor riff-raff on terms of equality and beg them for help. but the alternative of negro rule was unthinkable, and therefore he steeled himself for this interview. he put a certain tone of geniality, even if of condescension, in his voice and passed mr. scroggs cigars to keep him from chewing tobacco. he could not quite bring himself to share his fine brandy with him and he wished he had thought to have gin. “scroggs,” he said, "we're facing a new world and you and i have got to stand together. while negroes were slaves, which was their proper place and always will be, the necessity for our alliance with all classes of whites perhaps was not so evident although even then it might have been wiser; but today we have got to put ne- groes back in their places.” scroggs lighted his cigar after some difficulty, leaned back in his chair and eyed the colonel almost truculently. he said, “we agree about 'niggers.' they've got to be put in their places even if we have to kill a few thousand. but that ain't all. before the war planters owned nearly all the black labor; whites had some land to work by themselves; we workers, which means most whites, had nothing but our hands. “now when all this is changed, what we want to know is where we workers come in? we'll do the work all right, but we won't the ordeal of mansart or word than his chair it than smokoment sile slouched he'd rathered and was for le had concel-bred and work with ‘niggers' or like 'niggers.' we'll help put the darkies in their place and help kill 'em off; but not just to make little white farmers and merchants into big whites while we be their slaves instead of the ‘niggers' or along with ‘niggers.' we want to know just what's your thinking on this and we want it straight. also, we want your word that what's promised will be lived up to.” scroggs slouched back in his chair and lacerated his cigar in a way that showed he'd rather chew it than smoke it. breckinridge frankly stared and was for a moment silent. the proposition was to him quite unexpected. he had conceived caro- lina as aristocracy and white mass. this mass was ill-bred and lazy, but led today by ambitious farmers and merchants who aspired to be the aristocrats of the future. with these leaders breckinridge and his class had been compelled to make alliance in order to fight the yankees and their black dupes. now it seems that the white mass was divided and their laborers were demanding a share of the spoils. it would have been ludicrous if it were not so dangerous. suppose for a moment both sets of workers, black and white, should join against property and civilization? this would be the end. he saw one ray of light: the hatred, bitter hatred of men like scroggs for the negroes. here and here alone lay salva. tion. he probed carefully: “of course you realize, scroggs, that we want this state to be white, ruled by whites for whites. but the negroes are here and we need their work. ..." "sure," broke in scroggs, “and we can have it. and we'll need it too as we rise. but work—not votes and offices. we won't need no educated ‘niggers'; just farmhands, ditch-diggers and servants at 'nigger' wages or none at all which is what most deserve; while we whites do the real important work with good wages. we'll build a new world with ‘niggers' at the bottom to do such work as no white man should stoop to; with white labor on top and the way open for all white men who can to rise to the very top.” colonel breckinridge thought aloud: “of course there are some negro workers-” he remembered the black workers who had built the beautiful homes along the battery, the tall churches along meeting street. he remembered his yellow overseer-but he stopped there. scroggs sneered, “yes, and now instead of working they are sitting yonder in columbia trying to make laws for white folks and wasting white folks' money on crazy plans. they got to be stopped from voting, killed off or sent back to africa to eat each other up." a new world with al important which is what me colonel breckinridge promises he started to add something about yellow bastards who naturally inherited white ability, but he thought better of that. breckinridge groped for areas of understanding. "i agree with you absolutely that negroes should not vote nor hold office. this is for whites alone. probably, too, the negro race in america will eventually disappear, especially if they are free to become lazy and criminal. you are aware that the planters have long tried to en- courage negro migration to africa. but return to the present. "we propose to drive the negroes out of politics by law if possible; by force if necessary. then the state will be run by the whites. we have agreed that the former political power based on slave property will go and that the vote which the negroes and yankees gave to the poor whites, although done too precipitately, nevertheless will stand. schools for whites must spread. what more can we promise?" scroggs was prompt: “we want all the best-paid work kept for white workers, and wages raised to northern levels. we want white labor to control black labor and to replace it in all well-paid jobs. they must be the machinists in the new industry which will come rapidly to the south when peace is really restored. as machinery replaces muscle we white workers want to replace ‘niggers' until 'niggers' disappear." breckinridge was aghast. the colonel bent forward and said: “insofar as whites want work they must have it and be paid just wages according to white living standards. if and when they can replace negro labor with better work, they must be allowed to do so. until then, naturally, it is to your interest as well as ours to keep negroes at work as contented laborers. as new and higher sorts of skilled labor are introduced, they will naturally go to whites. in time, of course, negroes will die out. but until then they must live decently for your sake and mine as well as their own." scroggs considered: “sounds right,” he said. “ 'course, meantime they don't need schools and colleges and they must be kept out of parks and first class railway and street cars.” "they certainly need no colleges," answered breckinridge, "but they will be better workers if they read and write and some of them must travel. at any rate, all this will be a matter of law and white folk will make the lawl" he sat back with a sigh. scroggs rose. “all right," he said. "all right. so then this is the clear understanding, colonel breckin- ridge. we'll help crush and kill the ‘niggers'; you take over the state with the help of our votes. we get the best jobs and good the ordeal of mansart wages. we get schools and land and chances to be as big men as we can. 'niggers' will be kept down." breckinridge gulped, took a glass of water and lighted another cigar. he said: “scroggs, i promise to see to it that white men in this state get employment according to ability at decent wages; that negro workers are not preferred before them; that we who are the old aristocracy will strive to open every path of progress to all the white people of south carolina; and that we look for- ward with confidence to the day when this state will be an entirely white and prosperous community. meantime we will take from the negro the vote he is not fit to use and put him in his place as laborer and servant pursuing such skills as he may have. we will protect him in his humble station and assure him a decent life and justice, so long as he is content with the sphere for which god created him." scroggs arose smiling. “donel" he said, extending his hand. breckinridge, ridding his cigar of its long white ash did not see the hand, but very courteously guided his guest to the door. "you have,” he said, “my word on this understanding, on the honor of a gentleman!" chapter ii tom mansart tom mansart was tall and broad-shouldered, the color of old mahogany, with crisp hair, straight nose and full lips. he was pass- ing through an extraordinary period of education in the meaning of life. twenty years ago he was an unlettered virginian slave boy, destined apparently to grow into a prime field-hand easily worth $ at a sale. he was good-tempered, hard-working, and dreamed of no destiny beyond possibly becoming an overseer. running away from slavery had never entered his head. some slaves escaped north, but he heard they had a hard time. his master was a goodhearted man; he had enough to eat and was not overworked. only the year before the war he had been given per- mission to marry a comely yellow girl and been assigned a small cabin. life to tom seemed good, until suddenly war upset the world. he was dragged from the plantation as soldiers moved over it. he lost sight of his young wife and never heard of her again. they put a gun in his hand and stood him on guard. he had used old-fashioned shot guns for hunting now and then, but he had never seen anything like this machine. he handled it gingerly, and wondered if he would dare use it, especially against a white man. then at dusk one day a white man came along. he knew that the man had no business here so near the camp. it was his duty to challenge him, and he called out in an uncertain voice: "who goes there?" the man looked at him insolently, kept walking toward him and ordered him out of his way. all his life tom had obeyed white men without question. he was in a grave quandary now. he stared at the man approaching. he was tall and arrogant, well-dressed and confident. it was his duty as a soldier to stop him. but did he have courage to do this? would the sergeant back him up or beat him, or worse? a moment more he hesitated. he saw the silk braid and shiny buttons on the coat of the trespasser. then he threw the gun to his shoulder, tom mansart war and now anion, organized as beginning to merced and gloomre the war she has more than one miling con- page: buted anduting himle best pas a sore teller secrets olf alo merchants were arriving on each boat; and the black code which sought to keep negroes in slavery had been modified. now in the summer of there was to be a registration of negro voters, and it was rumored that negroes were going to help govern, to have schools and perhaps to regain the land which they thought they had down on the sea islands. meantime he worked as a stevedore on the docks where trade was beginning to boom. he joined the stevedore's union, organized secretly by free negroes before the war and now flourishing. it was at this time that he first met aunt betsy, a tall, scrawny black woman with burning eyes, who seemed to pick him out as a person to whom she could impart her wisdom. aunt betsy was an institution, a black sibyl, chary of speech, grim, with eyes that pierced and gloomed. none seemed to know her background or age; but even before the war she had moved about free and un- hampered and there were tales that more than one white man had died disputing her freedom. she was the silent, unsmiling con- fidante of most of the best planter families, so much so that her refusal to serve a family was a social stigma difficult to ignore. she was nurse and midwife; fortune teller and prophet; confessor and scourge. she knew more of the family secrets of the great clans of carolina than any other person. she held herself aloof from the slaves but knew them, and among them her word, seldom given, was law. during the war she left her haunts and duties and flitted between armies; carried messages, information and advice; but neither side could be sure which she favored or which betrayed. after emancipation aunt betsy did not return to her vocation as servant and mentor of the rich, but set herself as guide to the freedmen. but her guidance lay in work and land, in family and home. she was continually seeking a foundation of labor and wage to bring independence and rooting to the locality which was want- ing to the uprooted slave. she became the influence behind the beneficial societies and trade unions; and by threat and promise, as well as by ancient remnants of. african lore and culture pattern, she wheeled church and minister in line. she early fixed her attention on tom mansart and began to guide his career. he went to board in her cabin in one of the alleys near the docks. he was now making a fair income as a stevedore. his union was strong, and he began to think of marriage and a family, or perhaps aunt betsy guided his thought. in all his inter- course with aunt betsy he had paid but slight attention to her daughter who always stayed in the background and kept the cabin home spotless and well-ordered. she was a slim black girl, the ordeal of mansart ome ear of his new visi as silent and efficient as her mother. of her father no one had a word to say, but neither had any indication of white blood. he had come home early one saturday afternoon, tired but satis- fied, with his pocket full of his wages. the cabin was cool, and no one there save the silent girl. few visitors ever entered this home, and today even aunt betsy had not appeared. tom ate the excellent dinner heartily and lounged back in his chair. the daughter, gliding in, was urging him to have more and he raised his eyes to say no, when his eyes met hers. usually she avoided his every look, but today their glances clung; her eyes were large, beautiful and black. in them lay a startled desire. he laughingly held out his arms and hesitatingly she glided into them. she lifted her lips to his and then started back, staring over his shoulder. aunt betsy came in slowly and seated herself. the girl began to withdraw from his embrace, but he held her close. the old woman and the young man glared a moment. then tom said a bit thickly, “mirandy and i is thinking of marrying." aunt betsy looked at the girl but the girl, shivering, hid her face in tom's soiled shirt. aunt betsy slowly smiled and began deliberately to eat her supper. so tom was married. he found plenty of work and good pay as a stevedore on the busy docks, when ships were hurry- ing goods into the empty stores of the south. the wife kept house. tom mansart heard of the labor convention called by a rob- ert elliott, in , at the state capitol, columbia. he attended, walking part of the way. now for the first time he saw an educated negro leader, a man who looked like a field hand, with black skin and a mat of close-curled hair, but who on the other hand not only was well-dressed but spoke white people's english and had that certain air of confidence which he had always associated with white people. here was a man who was one of his own race and yet in whose presence he felt uncertain and strange. he did not know whether he could trust this black man or not, but listened to him, and the man spoke what seemed to him excellent sense. he got no chance to meet elliott or to talk to him personally for a long time, but he did conceive the idea of trying to work with him and of training himself to be the sort of helper that he knew elliott needed. the convention demanded a half share of the crop for laborers and a dollar a day wage. but nothing seemed to come of their votes and plans. in tom went to the meeting of the colored national labor union at columbia. it was presided over by henry m. turner of georgia, a leader who thrilled mansart. he now began tom mansart to understand the possibilities of union labor. he worked in his own union until he became president of its members. from then on for three years he tried to improve union methods, strengthened its organization and drew into its influence the car- penters and masons, the teamsters and other skilled laborers. in the battle for reform in south carolina began. tom did not understand the situation. panic had swept the north. there were bitter charges of stealing and misgovernment in caro- lina. schools had been opened but there was no money to run them. land had been purchased for the farmers and , little farms sold, but there was cheating in the transaction. taxpayers were meeting and complaining bitterly. of all this mansart had little knowledge and no plans. this talk about taxes, railroads, public debt-he did not understand it. he paid no taxes for he owned no property, but the great landholders were not paying even what they were assessed. stealing, however, tom understood. if theft, graft, and dishonesty caused the lack of funds for what the state needed to do, this must be stopped. the idea of a wider labor movement to stop dishonesty as well as to increase wages grew in his mind and so when at last aunt betsy suddenly broke her usual silence, he listened. briefly aunt betsy spoke. “the world is going to hell, all business done gone, freedman's bank just bust with my $ ; northern carpet-baggers like patterson is stealing all they can git their hands on. southern trash like moses must go. stop the stealing. only one refuge: white quality; git into the legislature and vote the quality back. them and the black worker can save carolina." so tom ran for the legislature and won, in the same election that made chamberlain governor, in a struggle for "reform." he would never forget the day he walked into the great hall of the house of representatives in the capitol of the state of south caro- lina. it was in fact a place of decayed grandeur, restored in garish, flamboyant style. but to this virginia fieldhand it was magnifi- cent to a degree that left him breathless: the great domed roof glinting with gold; the rich panelled walls with paintings of proud and haughty men; the semi-circles of desks; and in them sitting, lounging, sprawling men. but not simply men, but over a hundred men of every color: black, brown, yellow, cream and white. he stared at the unbelievable scene. of course, he had heard of this the ordeal of mansart ert eilang? pite din is was who w but it had not penetrated his consciousness. all these human beings were sitting together as one. on the platform a black man was nodding permission to a white man to speak. a yellow man interrupted with a question. black and white boys scurried across the hall with notes and books. yonder a brown man was asleep, near a white man who was writ- ing. tom's heart swelled to bursting. this was a new world. men were men, despite color, despite difference in clothes and accent. what were they doing? how could he help? here he saw robert elliott again, now speaker of the house; with his tailored clothes, his clipped english accent; his air of being and knowing. he was black but looked and carried himself like a gentleman. elliott had just resigned from his seat in con- gress and everybody was talking of his debate with alexander stephens. tom listened while daddy cain related the occurrence in the cloak room. cain was a black virginian with side whiskers who left a brooklyn church to help south carolina negroes. he entered congress as elliott left. he said: "there sat alexander stephens, once vice-president of the con- federacy; wizened, slight, cloaked, looking like a skeleton and yet representing that mighty south which had challenged the nation for four fearful years. for years he had been kept out of congress, but now at last he had won his admittance and took his seat with all his old defiance of the north and contempt for negroes. yet today he must listen to a black congressman. “a hush fell on the chamber. elliott was a fine figure of a man, polished in manner and clear in word. the galleries bent forward. stephens sat motionless as elliott levelled his finger at him and said: “'sir, it is scarcely twelve years since that gentleman shocked the civilized world by announcing the birth of a government which rested on human slavery as its cornerstone. the progress of events has swept away that pseudo-government which rested on greed, pride and tyranny; and the race whom he then ruthlessly spurned and trampled on are here to meet him in debate, and to demand that the rights which are enjoyed by their former oppressors, who vainly sought to overthrow a government which they could not prostitute to the base uses of slavery-shall be accorded to those who even in the darkness of slavery kept their allegiance true to freedom and the union....!" tom began to believe in his black leaders and feel that they could unite in a successful group. he came to recognize beverly tom mansart nash, once a slave: blunt, ungrammatical, honest; wright of penn- sylvania he saw, now black justice of the state supreme court; cardozo, handsome, free-born and educated at the university of glasgow; ransier, dignified and alert, president of the senate; smalls, self-taught, crude and popular; richard cain, preacher and editor. the real world as tom had always seen it was of course that of the big plantation owners. they were to tom mansart a curi- ous group of people. in common they had manners, poise and a certain kind of education; but more, they had particularly an awareness of the greater world. they had travelled; some had visited europe; all of them were familiar with washington, phila- delphia and new york. what intrigued mansart most was their self-control, the calm way in which they looked at the world and ordered it about. he was not sure whether this was mannerism or a real sense of power; he suspected something of both. at any rate, they had a custom of command, they expected obedience of everybody, of their families, of the poor whites about, and of course of their slaves. here in this hall were fieldhands like himself; there were also white gentlemen and poor whites, and there were negroes—some of whom presented the same wall of cool courtesy that mansart found between himself and the white planter class. in fact, he supposed it was the same sort of thing—the result of training and contact, of travel and knowledge, and reading. it rather intrigued him to wonder if these manners of the aristocrats were after all not a mat- ter of race but the result of training; perhaps that was true. he had not had experience enough to know, but he wanted to talk with these black men. the point was, after all, that these ne- groes of all kinds and types, these white men representing all sorts and grades, were governing south carolina; they were building a new world. he ached to work with them, but how? what could he do? then, after days, he got more used to the scene. he saw uproar cut the quiet; he saw frayed tempers. but business got done. he followed the talk eagerly. but he wanted to grasp the whole idea. he soon sensed by the debates, by the newspapers, by the talk on the streets, that things were not going as they should. it was a long, hard job. he voted, of course, for dividing the land among the poor whites and negroes; for public schools; for pensions and relief and for better work and higher wages. but these things were side-issues to most of his fellow-lawmakers cut the of the talk ba* the debate not going course, to public sch the ordeal of mansart ere's dish said to paid for persons. who were immersed in taxes, debts, borrowing capital from the north and electing men to office. of these matters tom knew little, but he saw poverty increasing, cheating in land sales, and little money for schools. he resented the open bargaining and brib- ery, and saw a number of shifty persons, negroes and whites, who evidently were getting paid for their votes or some illegitimate service. mansart said to a brown man beside him: “there's dishonesty there!” the man was a small merchant and looked at mansart coldly. "where are you from?" tom told him. the man hesitated and at last said as he rose to leave: “men with $ , a year don't have to steal. they can be honest. but men who only earn $ a year either steal or starve. i happen to know that yonder sneaking darky cleared $ from his crop last year." he left tom thinking. he walked far out into the country along the inlets of the sea. rounding a mass of shrubbery he sud- denly came across a negro sitting in the shade eating a recently roasted chicken. the man was black, ragged and relaxed. he was sitting on a log and looked tom over speculatively. he had a pleasant face and laughing eyes. “where did i git dis meat? well, i tells you honest, bud, i stole it. ah took it right from ole man breck’ridge's home place. wrong? nawsah, ah don'tink it's wrong. hit's risky, but hit ain't wrong. white folks been stealin' me all my life. now i'se takin' some of it back. jus takin' it back. work? ah done done all the work i aims to do de balance of mah life. i's gwine to rest wid a little stealin' on the side. i'se through wid work. l’se free, ain't i? what's freedom but not doin' what you don't want to? never did like work, never will! workin' for mah people? ain't got no people; nevah had none. nobody evah cared for me; now ah ain't caring for nobody but me. may git jailed? sure. sit still and let white folks feed me. beat up? no, oh no. ain't no white man evah gwine to beat dis nigger again. git kilt and go to hell? could be. but see heah, bud, when i gits up there, know what ah aims to do? "gwine to stan' up and talk to god straight as man to man. gwine to say, 'massa god, maybe you knows yo’ business bettern . but as ah sees it you ain't doin' so well. looks like to me you done messed up dis world something awful. starved de good and fed de bad; made scoundrels happy and made saints sad. turible mess. look at me: born wid nothing, always hungry, beat up and drove to work. then you frees me and ah thanks you, jumps tom mansart an prays an hollers! den you tells me ah ain't free but gotta work. hell, no! i jest ain't gwine to work! ef you wants to burn me forevah-well, go ahead. ah still ain't workin'l reckon ah'll last as long as the fire.'” tom smiled wryly and then turned silently away. the man with his mouth half-full of succulent chicken, threw back his mas- sive head and guffawed. “plumb disgusted, ain't you, buddy? you goin' right on savin’ the worl' an' worryin' yo' fool head crazy. an’ wen yo' done, ole worlwus off dan evah. but go 'head. yo' caint hep yosefl go ’long." then he straightened up, bent forward and a cruel scowl leapt across his face. “only don't git no ideas 'bout de police!”. "i won't," answered tom and walked on. in may, tom ordered his agricultural union in colleton county to strike for higher wages. the workers threatened crops and property. they had some success but not great. in august, just at the time of gathering the crop, his union in beaufort county, where once tom had a farm, struck for a fifty per cent increase in wages. they were miserably paid and systematically cheated. they imprisoned the scabs who swarmed to replace them; overpowered the sheriff and his posse. but at last the ringleaders were arrested and jailed. mansart paused here. his union plan with strikes was not working. they could not keep from violence for without violence scabs would break the strike. scabs were plentiful because of pov- erty; while the planters and merchants stood ready at the slight- est excuse to arrest his leaders. meanwhile, mansart followed the routine work of the legisla- ture, without seeming to accomplish much. he stood back of governor chamberlain and his reforms. but when elliott op- posed chamberlain and the white city chamber of commerce praised him, tom paused. the black leaders were divided. some began to feel that they were being used by a group of bond- selling bankers and business men, north and south, with little real care for the working negro. he faced the election of com- pletely bewildered. what tom wanted to understand was how income was deter- mined; why good, hard-working men were poor and others who did little or no work were rich. he did not question inheritance; that seemed to him, if not altogether fair, at least logical. but these new-rich, these idle upstarts whose contribution to production and the ordeal of mansart service was so hidden, how did they get rich so quick, while black and white laborers worked so hard and remained poor? ignorance explained much but not all. he pressed for better schools. but more money was needed. he voted for asylums but there was no money. he wanted big plantations bought up and divided among poor farmers, but if money could be found there certainly wasn't enough honesty and good will available for these purposes. tom was still inclined to follow chamberlain, especially since elliott finally gave up his opposition and was running for attorney- general on the chamberlain ticket. elliott had once been a labor leader. where now did chamberlain himself stand? against theft and graft, sure; but that was not the complete answer. he must talk to chamberlain who seemed like a reasonable man. it took some time to get a chance, but it came one afternoon on the capitol steps. tom lifted his hat and apologized. the tall, bald-headed and well-dressed governor paused with cordial courtesy, not being sure at the moment which of his black followers this man was. he sensed tom's honest groping for in- formation. "governor, i'm all with you for driving out dishonesty and graft. i'm glad you hit moses, that low white southerner, and whipper, the colored thief. but what i wants to know is this: after we stop this stealing, is that going to do away with poverty?" the governor smiled. “you know what the good book says: 'the poor ye have always with you.'” “yes, sir, i'se read that. it say we got 'em, but it didn't say we got to keep 'em. and i'm wondering if we negroes always got to be as poor, ignorant and sick?" "oh no, no; they'll gradually improve. but we'll aways have the lazy and criminal." “yes, sir, and there's a lot of both among us. but that's what bothers me. take us colored folk, by and large. do you really think our condition is mostly because of laziness and stealing or more because of injustice of landowners and police?" the governor was silent and tom went on: “and if injustice is the real cause, what are we going to do about it? we must do something. now what i've been busy on is organizing the blacks to work good and steady and then get together to ask better pay and more regular--" "oh, yes, now i remember. you're the labor union man. now see here, mansart, you're on the wrong track. there's a lot of that stuff in the north among the foreigners, and it's going to be put tomo policend ste tom mansart down. you can't force people to give you their own property. if you are not satisfied with what you get, leave and go elsewhere--" "but sir, i'm talking about wages we earn and don't get; of property they take when it ain't theirs; and after all we can't leave here for there ain't no place to go." "exactly. then why complain? and say, have you by any chance been reading about the socialism these foreigners are talking?" “socialism? no, sir: never heard of it. i'm talking about farm laborers trying to live decent on a day and that sometimes not paid, and them thrown in jail for complaining. why, sir--" but the governor, glancing at his large silver watch, started to walk away. “sorry, mansart, but i've got an appointment. been nice to meet you. but drop that trade union business—this is a free country. goodbye!” tom stared after him. chamberlain right there had lost a sincere follower. there tom decided to listen to aunt betsy and appeal to the democrats; or at least to their best leaders. he remembered elliott's labor convention of and his speech in congress. tom determined to consult him on a scheme forming in his own mind. it was not so much his own scheme as aunt betsy's. in her slow, cool, unhurried way she kept track of tom and his efforts in the county and in the legislature. continually she recurred to one theme. he must talk with colonel breckin- ridge. he and his wife were "quality.” they talked straight even if harsh, and they kept their word. she distrusted elliott; she did not believe in any of these educated northern "niggers.” the "quality" southern aristocracy could and would lead black folk if appealed to right. she hated gary and butler after the hamburg riot. they stood for the white upstate farmers and violence. and hampton-well, only if breckinridge vouched for him. he was no south carolinian. he was from mississippi, and black belt slaveholders were bad. tom's chance to talk with colored leaders came when he was. appointed to the important committee on land and labor. after several routine meetings he found himself with elliott, cain, delarge and a number of the very leaders with whom he wanted to talk. they did not pay much attention to him, which was not surprising for he was young, diffident, and had never made a speech. but just before the committee arose, he ventured a word and was listened to courteously: “gentlemen,” he said hestitatingly, “will you let me say a word? like most of you, i'se been trying to support chamberlain. he's ppointed to the importas he found himseltvith whom he the ordeal of mansart ites everywin't railroaday. why n got northern business in his pocket; he thought he had us, and he almost got the planters. if he had, l’se afeared we'd a been finished. but the devil stepped in and the democrats, instead of supporting chamberlain or not fighting him, followed the 'straight-outs' and named hampton. we know what happened. mobs, and murder, and armed whites everywhere. but ain't there a card here that we can play? after all, it ain't railroads and taxes so much as work and wages that's the main thing today. why not organize black labor far beyond what we have done, and offer to join the planters? not the new strivers but the old quality? my mother-in-law, aunt betsy, is always hammering on this, and specially she names colonel breckinridge.” a silence ensued and the members looked speculatively at tom. the idea was not new. it was one of the first suggestions offered after the revolution of abolition; northern missionaries suggested it; northern businessmen emphasized it. but few realized its dif- ficulties: who could get the ear of the planters, and who now were the planters? the negro political leaders, whether educated north- erners or intelligent freedmen, were anathema to the former slave owners. freed slaves who had taken no prominent part in politics might approach their former masters, but only as suppliants too ready to yield anything which the masters demanded. now here came a new sort of man: a minor politician to be sure, but a worker-a labor organizer, at a time when efficient labor spelled the difference between bankruptcy and wealth for most landholders. not only that, but this man had an unusual path of approach to one of the most influential planters. elliott had heard of aunt betsy, and cain knew her. elliott, however, was skeptical. he was sure that it was already too late. already the coalition between planters, merchants and upstate white farmers had, he was sure, been consummated, and with the acquiescence of the north, the negro was doomed. little of all this, of course, was voiced. the committee merely paused; then the chairman thought that the matter "was of interest but hardly in order just here and now. ..." they adjourned, and the members filtered slowly out, leaving mansart disappointed and affronted, until he realized that several of the members of the committee were gathering about him for further talks. there was elliott, cain and delany. they walked apart, stopped, and finally sat down together on the capitol steps, at a point where listening in by outsiders was impossible. they questioned tom as to his life and experience and seemed especially interested in aunt tom mansart betsy. they knew of the breckinridge family. they were among the great landholders of carolina and represented the slaveholding planter aristocracy. they were a proud, incorruptible clan. they would not see eye to eye with butler and gary and the “straight- outs.” but on the other hand, they would face bankruptcy unless change came, and soon. “i am afraid,” said elliott, looking at mansart thoughtfully, "that probably it is too late to accomplish much. if the old aristoc- racy is not already compromised it soon will be. but one thing you say, mansart, interests me. and that is your labor organization. the weak link in the program of the white bourbons is labor. they can and probably will disfranchise negroes unless the north inter- venes, which as matters stand now is unlikely. but the south needs labor: black, willing hands to reap the harvest for high post-war prices; the planters are keen for this. suppose now-and it's im- probable-but suppose that through men like breckinridge we could somehow unite black union labor and the old land-holding aristocracy? of course it is impossible, but-by god! it's worth a trial. mansart, why don't you talk to breckinridge?" cain interrupted: “it will be useless. i tell you i know it has all been settled; the democrats are putting on a campaign this month which is race war. murder at hamburg in july; here and in ellenton in september. chamberlain can't talk at his own cam- paign meetings, and the whites are arming and parading. hampton is going to put the ‘mississippi plan' through in south carolina. the white merchant and upstate farmers are with him, and with a democratic president in washington we'll be beaten.” “but is breckinridge with him? can hampton swing the plant- érs? at any rate, will it hurt to ask?” ellott turned to mansart. "it's a last chance, but try it, boy, try it." he shook mansart's hand. "when?" asked tom. "now,” said delany. tom arose immediately; but delany detained him. delany was a black man, a former major in the union army. he was intelligent and far-seeing. he looked tom straight in the eye and said, “i'm voting for hampton.” "why?” asked tom. "because his followers are set to disfranchise and crush my people; but if they get into office through negro votes they won't dare carry out their program. so you see your plan is right along the line of my thinking. if we fail there is only one path left- migration out of this accursed land.” he put his hand on tom's the ordeal of mansart on us. hörthern ‘nie bed colon shoulder, and looking at him quizzically: "talk for yourself,” he said, “and do not mention us. i have a feeling that the colonel will not appreciate advice from northern ‘niggers'!" so it was that tom mansart had approached colonel breckin- ridge and been repulsed. he had gone to the side porch and there had talked to mrs. breckinridge. he was now awaiting the colonel. a sighe said, “i am as he mad interestin freeped make th for us to asi never ask colonel breckinridge watched scroggs descend the porch steps and shuffle off. then he turned wearily and sat down. it was just here that mrs. breckinridge entered. the colonel leaned back with a sigh, but she did not sit as he indicated. she said, “i am sorry, my dear, but the colored man is still wait- ing. no! listen-” as he made a gesture of impatience, “—just say a word to him. he really is interesting." she was about to explain further, but the colonel did not wait. without a word he arose, bowed slightly and walked to the side porch. he had his mind made up as to just what he was going to say to this black man. he had already been pushed too far today. he would say a few clear words. but before he could speak the black man rose, faced him and spoke clearly and directly: “colonel breckinridge, we black folk needs help and you can give it to us if you will. we never asked to come to this land and it was little use for us to ask for freedom after we got here. we'se helped make this nation rich and powerful. suddenly we'se set free. we can't refuse freedom even if we wanted to, and we don't. we wants to be men; not white men but men. we want work and decent wages. we want to rise in the world as far as we deserve and no further. if other working men don't need to vote then we don't. but if white workers vote we got to, or starve. most of us ain't got no business holding public office because we don't know enough. but some of us has made good, honest officials. there ain't no reason in keeping a man from holding office just because he's black. but even that is no matter just now. today, negroes out of every want work, not office; want victuals more than votes. "now, colonel, will you and your folks promise us this much justice? others promise us, but they lie and we know it. all they want is to put the black worker back in slavery, and that we won't stand for. we don't want everything at once. we'se willing to be judged by what we does. now, sir, the 'straight-out' democrats want our votes and promises that if they win they'll treat the negro worker right. you support them and hampton. can you tell us he tom mansart what we wrd of a gentleher word of as had been own good that on the and with is honest and will do what he says? it don't seem so just now. he's play-acting and his followers are killing our folks. on the other hand, we know chamberlain. he's talking reform and honest government. but he's long been working with northern and south- ern money-makers. if he wins with white votes what will we do? what can we do? "colonel, we'se in trouble and know it. we'se having a last rally tomorrow night in emmanuel church. it will be a closed union meeting but it will represent , votes in city and state. will you come and tell us plain just what you stand for and what you think we should do? we ain't promising to do everything you say. but we is promising to listen and trust the word of a breckinridge." the colonel sat down and stared out into the yard. this was about the last line of talk he had expected. he started to speak and then hesitated. "when is this meeting?” “tomorrow night. we'll expect you at nine." the colonel arose and said, "i will come. i will come and i will tell you honestly what i think you negroes should do for your own good, and what we whites will do to see that you get justice. i promise that on the word of a gentleman." then he turned, and without further word or gesture walked slowly back to the front porch. his wife had left. as had been his wont for twenty years he stood at sunset and stared out to sea. out to that ocean whence the drama of fearful history had rolled in on this fated land, this carolina named after that stiff-necked king who lost his head to cromwell; an empire larger than the king's own england. de ayllon had seen it three hundred and fifty years ago, and by black fate his own negroes had driven him away. de soto followed, with that grotesque negro who later opened up the unknown southwest. then followed spain. but in sir walter raleigh, that blood-stained pirate, swept his plumed hat over these sands and made them english until his settlers were murdered by indians or starved to death. it was fifty years later that the first proprietors wangled from that gay dog, the second charles, a grant of this realm where the first earl of shaftsbury settled with locke's slave constitution in his pocket. the colonel knew that from that day the black race had haunted carolina and its ghost remained today. virginia tried to become a land of gentry and lordly estates, with trained black service. but from the first, south carolina was gripped by com- mercial slavery, with hordes of driven slaves whose value was in the ordeal of mansart the crops they raised-first rice and then king cotton. they poured in after that war called "spanish succession,” but really fought by english merchants to gain control of the trade in african slaves. they came at a rate that frightened the white settlers whom they soon outnumbered two and three to one. from the first, slave revolts began: sebastian in ; goose creek in ; all around charleston from to ; in with jemmie and cato at stono, down to that fearful nightmare of with denmark vesey. the colonel never forgot this horror of his cradle, and the sinister figure of the leader defying the gal. lows: "die silent as i do!” the colonel turned away. was this land, this beautiful land of his fathers, always to be cursed by black men? it was a mad and perverse fate that had made carolina, created to be a land of beauty, art and culture, become instead the foun- dation stone of the cotton kingdom. from south carolina cotton fields and led by carolinians this kingdom had spread west to georgia, alabama and mississippi until it met decadent french and spanish empire in louisiana, and dreamt of a slave empire from the mississippi to the amazon and the atlantic to the pacific. and, too, rolling eastward, this cotton culture had built industrial revolution in western europe and colonial imperialism over the world. to support this fearsome superstructure had come the philosophy of labor as slavery, and in support of this war and counter-revolution. where next, asked the colonel, whither next? chapter iii the colonel breaks his word ce ove it in tend withromised colonel breckinridge, about to dress for dinner, stood stock- still before his mirror with his black cravat untied and his hands hanging. he somehow just realized that he had given his word to two different men and that both promises could not possibly be fulfilled. he knew this before, but just now the enormity of it really struck him. he had promised the poor white leader that the planters would stand with him to take political power from the negroes, place it in the hands of the whites and give white labor preference over black. a moment later he had promised tom mansart to advise negroes how best to secure justice for themselves. of course, in neither case did he say all that he meant. he knew this at the time, and the reservations did not then seem unfair nor unreasonable. after all, the poor whites knew perfectly well that they were not the equals of the aristocrats in ability, education or desert. if some did become equal, they must be so treated, but of course few would or could. and in the case of white laborers the portion of ability and desert was very small-little beyond that of negroes, less than some negroes. that was clear in his own mind and must have been even in scroggs' dull brain. and also to man- sart-a really good fellow, with respect for his betters. he had intended to say, and of course mansart knew it, that colonel breckinridge and his comrades stood ready to give the negro every right and opportunity they deserved, if they stopped trying to be what god never intended and followed their natural white leaders. yet now the colonel realized that not only was this not exactly what he had said or implied; it certainly was not what either scroggs or mansart understood. he had let them go with a false interpreta- tion. with neither interpretation could he himself agree, and most certainly not with both, for they were contradictory. the colonel was puzzled as never before. he could not remem- ber ever having faced such a moral quandary. telling the truth, even the harsh and unpleasant truth, had hitherto cost him noth- ing important; indeed it had added to his reputation and self- the ordeal of mansart under kind ost negroes could not added, as esteem. the blunt fact was: “i want a world ruled by those born to rule; that natural supremacy i will share, indeed can share with no one; not with low-class whites, certainly not with inferior breeds of half-men. moreover, if asked, i will tell them both so-openly and bluntly." yet he had not done this. he had told scroggs-or at least he had let scroggs understand-that henceforth the scroggses would be allowed to share power with him and his class and be recognized as equals. he had not said this plainly and simply, but he had implied it; he had let scroggs believe it, “on his honor as a gentle- man!” he had promised mansart to advise negroes how to attain such goals as they were able to reach. he had not added, as he fervently believed, that the most negroes could hope for was to be obedient servants under kind masters, and that was what he would help to make them and nothing more. but that was not what mansart understood, and the colonel knew it. why, why in god's name had he done this? he knew why; he knew perfectly well. he had lied to scroggs because the awful- the unthinkable alternative-was to surrender political power to men like gary and tillman or share it with a scroggs; if not that, then to rule with the help of higher apes. on the heels of this came the monstrous demand that he repeat this shameless performance and promise negroes their "rights," and for the identical reason: these negroes and the white scala- wags had at present the power if united to out-vote the planters and merchants and rule the state. so someone must lie to them. but not he, not a breckinridge; let others do it. and he winced to realize that he had already done this. to what depths of double- dealing he had sunk! what a mess life was! how had he ever come to such a pass? what had induced him to assent to such promises, unless it was the breaking of his rule never to argue with an inferior on matters which of necessity they could not understand? and then deep down within himself he knew he had another motive, long concealed but growing in press- ing importance: it was the wraith of poverty. not perhaps actual hunger but loss of loved luxuries, wearing shabby clothes, keeping few servants or even none-gradually sinking to penury and want. he had felt it creeping on him. there was the case of the new saddle-horse. his loved friend, the mare maggy, was undoubtedly getting old. she had served nobly and well for long years. but the colonel postponed replacing her until one day he caught sight of a beautiful young gelding rid- the colonel breaks his word blood-clever since as his he had byellow". den by a northern horse-trader. he tried him and was more than satisfied. carelessly he ordered the horse sent to his home, as was his wont, not deigning to haggle over the price. but the horse did not arrive and his mulatto overseer told him why. "he wants his money cash-and a lot of it.” "then pay him," retorted the colonel impatiently. sanford, the overseer, was a tall, thin, slow man with an expres- sionless face. his skin was warm yellow and his hair grey. during the war as a young slave he had been sent to the colonel from his uncle's plantation as his body-servant. he had remained with the colonel ever since. the colonel knew that this man was his own blood cousin, but the fact was never admitted, not even alluded to. he looked like the breckinridges and had been called “breck- inridge." but after the war he had taken his mother's name, san- ford. sanford was thorough, absolutely honest and methodical. he never wasted words. he answered now briefly: “no money." the colonel froze. “why not?" "no crops, no labor." “hire labor!" “what with?" “sell land!” "all right, sir, but this can't go on much further." sanford left. the colonel knew he was right. the colonel's uncle had invested in railroads before the war, sums he could ill afford. he himself had inherited from him and his father bundles of miscellaneous railway stocks which he had eventually converted into the widely touted texas and pacific. all these he had eventually turned over to his steward and forgotten them. his whole outlook for future income was now apparently only his land. the income from his land was slowly decreasing. he had sold much of his former large acreage and there was no market for what was left, where the proud home of his youth was beginning to moulder and fall. his few ventures in investment were futile. either the past must be restored with faithful black labor and complacent whites or the landed aristocracy was doomed. this was the unacknowledged reason, he realized, that he was dickering with poor whites and negroes. he was ashamed. but what else could he do? he would talk the situation over at the club. but here again, he mentally paused. many of his fellow-members were well-bred the ordeal of mansart gentlemen of the old school. but not all; there were lately increas- ing numbers of politicians, military men and shop-keepers. few of these would have any scruples at what he had done. many would laugh and count it good politics. no, he could not bring it up for general discussion. he was not good at doubletalk and frankness now would spoil everything. he went down at last to his own beautiful, oak-panelled dining room, dressed for the meal. the linen was smooth and white, the lovely old silver perfectly polished. of course they missed the old butler, but mollie, the maid, really was learning fast. mrs. breckin- ridge looked regal in her white lace. the colonel asked his usual question: “betty lou is not with us?” "she may come in later." betty lou was their only child, and as she grew seemed to fit less and less into the family pattern. she was twenty-four, having grown to womanhood in a torn and distracted world. nothing was normal nor ever would be so far as she could see. offers for her hand, few as they were, had not suited her parents in the least, and indeed she had no inclination for marriage. she was bored with conventional life and craved excitement. she wanted something to “happen,” but just what, beyond more and gayer parties which again did not satisfy her, she did not know. she was born too late to be a southern lady of the old regime, and too early for real education and a career. the men she met were drab or wild. she despised or feared them. she wondered what would become of her, and so did her mother. so betty carved out a desultory, indefinite life, which her father was too distracted to follow and with which her mother was un- willing to interfere. she had herself seen too much of straight- jackets for "jeunes filles,” to fashion one for her daughter. after all, her daughter was both a du bignon and a breckinridge, and could do no wrong. she therefore waited patiently to be taken into betty's confidence. she was at the moment not progressing. she and the colonel lingered over their excellent dinner with appreciation. the dry sherry and gumbo soup were excellent. there were shrimps, fried chicken and rice, of which they never tired. aunt jane's hot beaten biscuit could never go untasted, and today there was ice cream, flavored with mangoes. after the maid was dismissed the colonel turned to his fine old port with relish. “i do wish you'd see that betty joined us more often," he said, the colonel breaks his word turning his glass to the light. mrs. breckinridge over her coffee did not answer. neither mentioned scroggs. mrs. breckinridge sensed it was a matter of which the colonel did not like to think. it occurred to her that the conversation with mansart might be both relief and solution. “the negro was interesting,” she began. the colonel did not encourage her. he simply nodded and crumbled his bread. “and by the way, he is a son-in-law of aunt betsy.' he looked up. "is she still alive?” "so it seems, and she sent him to us." "indeed.” “i really think, dear, that the negroes, or some of them, are beginning to see the light.” "possibly.” "it appears that aunt betsy still believes in white folk and especially in us. this negro who married her daughter is a steve- dore and wants to lead black labor into our camp.” “so he said-but will he give up voting and trying to hold office?" “no, not entirely. but they offer to be guided by us if we- and by that he means especially folk like the breckinridges-will guarantee justice and good treatment." “i wonder if any number of negro leaders are ready to sur- render their impossible ambitions and return to their places?" "no, not quite that, but something almost as rational. mansart sees clearly that negroes need leadership and advice; there are not enough educated and experienced negroes; he distrusts the north- erners, black and white. he and his followers want southern leader- ship-but not the ku klux. they want the guidance of southern aristocracy, and they want your word to bind the bargain.” “what bargain? do they expect me to promise to let them vote and hold office? well, i will never do it. i've promised him advice. that is all. i've lied to the limit to appease poor white trash. i'll go no further." “others have gone further." "if hampton, gary and butler want to lie that is their burden. perhaps a promise of votes to negroes is a justifiable deception which some can bring themselves to mouth. i can't and i won't. my conception of the word of a gentleman differs from theirs." he was all the more vehement because again he was not telling the exact truth. the ordeal of mansart "but my dear, is the difference so great as you assume? mansart and his folk ask only such political power as is absolutely necessary for just relations between employer and employee. we know that all employers are not just.” “nor are all northern employers or english factory owners. who is to judge between servants and owners? the owners, or a committee of slaves?” "what mansart asks is that men like you guarantee them just rights. he wants to consult you and he asks that the intelligent blacks have some voice in decisions." “there are no negroes intelligent enough to have voice in gov- ernment; or such as are intelligent are not honest.” "oh, my dear, that is not fair; there are some negroes both in- telligent and honest. there might be more if they had a chance," she added, musing. the colonel made no reply. he could not share this line of thinking with his wife. he saw between them a certain difference of attitude. he had sensed it before, but it was clearer now. she believed in negroes more than he did, and less in whites as such. if alliance must come, she leaned toward negroes rather than poor whites. it was natural; she had been brought up in louisiana nearer to blacks; she had lived close to them in childhood and youth. in fact-and he started as he remembered-there were even rumors of du bignons whose blood was not untainted. then he pulled his thought sharply back. it was only that because of knowing negroes more intimately and poor whites hardly at all, that his wife conceived alliance with negroes possible -at least with some negroes, having no idea of the horrible and unavoidable results. or had she? he remembered suddenly that dark, hawk-nosed harridan, old mère du bignon, head of the rich and haughty clan. she had drawn him apart during his last visit in . "damn it,” she growled. “john, look yonder." he saw a beautiful brunette with flashing eyes and strong limbs go swiftly by. “see that bitch? she's determined to go 'nigger,' when i could easily pass her for white. she's got our blood-plenty of it. what can i do?" the outraged young breckinridge had stammered and with- drawn awkwardly. the blasphemy had cut his visit to new orleans short. he hurried back with his bride to carolina. of course this en unely the name as the con la to new orleans the colonel breaks his word lie contamination was far from her and the incident had passed from his mind. now he remembered. the thought, the tolerance, had lingered unconsciously in her mind. she would forget it in time; now he must not affront her. he must agree with the necessity of placating as many negroes as possible, especially of the mansart type of worker. but he would not-he could not stoop to another and more revolting lie. he spoke slowly: “this is interesting–very interesting. i will lay it before the committee and we will act upon it." "only remember, dear, these men want your assurance-none other. it is in a way a great honor." "too great, i fear. but do not worry; i will do my duty." she glanced at him quickly and uncertainly, but at this point betty lou entered and the subject was dropped. later, as they were getting ready for bed, he spoke slowly and earnestly: “this is, of course, an important overture. it may forestall any union of white and black labor with northern radicals. it may help checkmate the grafting whites; it may bring into alliance the landed aristocracy and the backbone of black labor. we must grasp this extended hand; but we must act with care and thought or every- thing will be spoiled. we must not affront the whites. we must not raise too high any hopes of negro equality.” “i am sure there'll be no danger of that. i stressed it in my talk to mansart. i told him frankly that i did not believe in negro equality with whites." "how did he answer you?" “he repudiated any desire for equality. he wanted a chance to work at decent wages; education for his children and–oh yes, he said workers must have the right to vote as a matter of self-defense!" "nonsense! but after all, what is voting? a gesture and a futile one in most so-called democracies. power is the real question, power and control. but of course i'm in honor bound to consult with the committee. we will work it out, i'm sure." the next morning, as she helped him into his light overcoat she said: “because of the meeting will you be late to dinner or dine at the club?” "at the club. do not wait for me.” she said, half hesitating, “i'd half hoped you'd come home-and let me go with you.” he stared at her in astonishment. “to a negro political meet- ing? certainly not! i shall go from the club. and my dear, let me the ordeal of mansart warn you about keeping off the streets at night, even here in this neighborhood. these are-uncertain times.” he kissed her and hurried away. he walked slowly. he did not want to go to that meeting. the whole sordid mess revolted him. why not fight all this in the open? no, there was the law; there was still the ache of defeat in war. very well, then cajole, cheat, but don't lie. gentlemen don't lie. and where in god's name are the gentlemen these days? and–very well, he wouldn't go! quite instinctively colonel breckinridge dropped in for tea with his old friend, dr. baldwin, who was visiting in town and stop- ping at the boarding house where he usually stayed. sophocles thrasymachus baldwin had always seemed old, even when men first became aware of him and he was forty. he had seemed too old and frail for war duty, having been born in . he was not unwilling to seem old, because he was opposed to war. he was a teacher and philosopher, the son of an overseer, trained at a "private academy" in georgia-little more than a poor high school. he had come to the old city of augusta just before the civil war to teach. when the war broke out he continued with his difficult teaching. after the war he kept on teaching. his own education had been the so-called classical training. he knew a great deal about greece and rome; less about egypt and practically nothing about asia. he had a stereotyped conception of england and new england. he deliberately forgot france. he was, however, interested in matters of the mind. he believed in the training of the mind as the only worthwhile salvation. in augusta he developed the local “academy" into a growing institu- tion. he became a center and an institution in himself. he was an optimistic man. he believed in progress. there were interruptions to be sure, and setbacks, but the world was going forward. that much he knew. he believed in democracy among the chosen few; a democracy like the athenian, which included slaves and foreign- ers, but neither as voters nor rulers. he was eager for the discovery of talent, for freedom of self-ex- pression among those who had something to express. there were plenty who had not. he was not sure about the mass of poor whites, but some of them had talent as was proven by the fact, he twinkled, that he himself was born one and that many very aristocratic plant- ers were descended from them. he had many questions about women. certainly a well-ordered world should primarily put their women to the fine business of recreating the species. the ordeal of mansart y acted plain accidencial movemendividual. bere in- but without common cause or vision. the actual deeds were in- dividual; often the directing thought was individual. but the coherency which made the vast social movement was more often mere coincidence or plain accident. the mass moved; the mass acted; but they acted through those men who represented at the moment the thought and desire of most of them. conversely in- dividual thought and desire influenced and directed the trends of the mass. it was all complicated and difficult to explain, but none the less it was true, and fifteen million southern people, white and black, reeled drunkenly on toward goals which they tried desperately to envision with clarity but failed. first of all, the white aristocrats wanted restoration of the former social organization; and the social situations to which they were used seemed absolutely essential to any life at all. those who thought this impossible lay down and died, or went north and joined the copperheads, or left for other lands like south america. to most, such uprooting was unthinkable. work must go on as before; the giving of services, homes and help. land must be cultivated, crops raised and sold, goods brought in for sale. men must live as men had lived in the south for centuries; nothing else was conceivable. therefore slavery must be restored in all but name, with perhaps disappearance of human sale, which after all had nothing to do with the essence of the system. so thought the sons of southern planters almost to a man. but nine-tenths of the white southerners were not planters or landholders and neither they nor their fathers ever had been. the world did not understand this. the united states did not realize it. they pictured the old south as slaveholders and slaves. it was poor whites and negroes to an overwhelming degree. emancipa- tion opened doors to the whites long before the slave lost his chains. the whites lurched forward-the gifted, the lucky, the un- scrupulous. they became traders, shop-keepers; they seized cheap land; they formed alliance with the northern government and commerce. they began to rule the south and the more successful and unscrupulous rode roughshod over white and black workers. but the south saw in the negroes an uprooted, ignorant, pov- erty-stricken and sick mass of workers, with crazy ideas of possible change. this nonsense must be stopped and stopped peremptorily in sheer self-defense, to protect civilization. negroes must think of themselves always as workers and never as thinkers or owners; the colonel breaks his word as peasants had got educationted to, and they the time nor as men in the sense that whites were men. shot across this obvious fact came a system of negro schools, lugged in by the white northern carpet-baggers, who ignorantly insisted that negroes were men. they should have seen, said the southerners, that their own popular education in the north was leading only to crime, poverty and a travesty on democracy. this might work out in time, since the laborers were, after all, white. but it was worse than stupid to think the african could be edu- cated. it was criminal misleading of a simple people born to be servants of men. the first effort, then, of the south for reconstruc- tion of agriculture and normal life, was to stop the ruin of the working class. this was the well-nigh universal public opinion of those who had hitherto always expressed the opinion of the south. but there was another class who must be counted now, the mass of the poorer whites, laborers owning none or little land and hav- ing few skills. hitherto poor whites had hung on the fringe of the slave system as peasants living drably on marginal land; a few became overseers; some had got education or capital and escaped into the ruling aristocracy. more now wanted to, and they pictured progress as sharing rule and wealth with planters, at just the time when the planters themselves were bankrupt and deprived of rule. colonel breckinridge reported his interview with scroggs to a few men in the smoking-room. it was six o'clock and there was general satisfaction. the price demanded was high, but thanks to colonel breckinridge this need not be as high as they had feared. there must be legal caste for the blacks, and preferential status for white labor. then at last colonel breckinridge mentioned the unexpected visit and offer of mansart. excitement increased. "why, that mansart is the best labor leader in the state. his stevedores have , members, welded like a rock. they are reaching into the carpenters and masons. this is marvellous. if we can get control of this union labor we can build a dual, mutually self-effacing labor class, which will eliminate strikes, keep down wages and set the south on the road to an unrivaled prosperity. breckinridge, follow this up, you must! talk to them, promise them anything-everything," "no," answered the colonel, “i won't.” there was silence, and then some of the members, realizing they had gone too far for the stomach of this straight-laced aristocrat, began to take a milder line. their argument was strong; no omelet the ordeal of mansart another handful ored the father-in-law. odo for the negroes without broken eggs. we have stooped low in the last years; another handful of grime and we may be free. “moreover," argued the father-in-law of a banker with northern affiliation, "perhaps this is our chance to do for the negroes what we long have promised: give them an opportunity; make them a real working class, with skill and decent life and broad guidance to real progress without the mirage of mob rule.” "but will they give up the ballot? will any negro leader dare to promise that?" “perhaps-sometime; but now can't we skirt that issue and prom- ise good wages, justice in the courts and even schools suited to their capacities?" “we can sure promise, but will the white labor vote allow ful- fillment even of this?" “maybe not immediately or ever; but now at least we can promise. ..." “that, gentlemen, is a lie i cannot tell,” rejoined the colonel. "we all know that scroggs and his gang with whom we have made alliance hate negroes worse than starvation. if i talk to the negroes tonight i will tell them to vote for hampton; that natu- rally hampton must promise lip-service to the law, but that never- theless his object, like ours, is to take the vote away from negroes. they can have schools for such as can learn to read and write, but no office-holding, no social equality. on the other hand, we'll protect them in the right to work at fair wages, justice in the courts and no mob violence." then suddenly the colonel burst out with something he had never before said but which had long festered in his soul. “and too, gentlemen, i'll tell them that i'll do all in my power to stop turn- ing our courts into tools to restore slavery and machinery for manu- facturing crime for money-grabbers to fatten on.” most of his fellow-members listened in consternation. "this will drive the most intelligent and best organized negro workers out of our party and it will convince the scroggs gang that we have double-crossed them. it might unite black and white work- ers against white property." breckinridge knew this was logic. “what would you have me say?” he asked. there was an awkward pause, but the inevitable mal-a-prop blurted out: “stall them. lead them along. promise them. ..." "i am not skilled in lying," answered colonel breckinridge lence" colonel long festin my porihinery the colonel breaks his word sight. theock. they fiversation in coldly as he arose and started out. it was seven o'clock. hampton followed and they went to the dining room. hampton saw that it would be a calamity for breckinridge not to keep his word to man- sart, and he hoped during dinner to effect some sort of com- promise. he ordered carefully, carrying on a light conversation in his most charming manner. it was eight o'clock. they finished, and before any compromise was in sight. the colonel was nervous and wretched. others joined them in the coffee room. it was past nine o'clock. wade hampton insisted: “this is important, very important. we are going to carry this election at any cost. but afterward we are going to need satisfied negro labor. colonel, you must go and promise everything-you must!" “pardon me," someone interrupted, “but colonel breckinridge is not the man; he is too straight-forward and forthright; in fact, too much of a gentleman." breckinridge writhed within to think that anyone could be blamed for being “too much of a gentleman!" hampton continued: “it must be breckinridge. these men picked him. they trust him. breckinridge, what you have got to do is to keep their faith. remember, this is war-race war. post- pone action as late as possible but offer them something now; not everything. use your influence, try to offer them enough to keep them under our control. meanwhile things are going to happen which will alarm them; but reassure them and in the end promise them anything-anything. then after i am governor we will act!” it was eleven o'clock. just as the clock struck, a white man hurriedly entered the club and was finally ushered to the room where colonel breckinridge was in conference. he came around and whispered in the colonel's ear. "pardon, sir, but they say that the negroes have seized your wife and ridden out toward the isles. we called at your home to check. your daughter said she was not there but had left on foot some two hours ago." the colonel went grey and staggered to his feet. all the fears of all the years of slavery fell suddenly upon him. that had hap pened which every southern white man always secretly dreaded but never believed could happen to his own family. he whispered to hampton and others and they talked low in turn. then to a man they arose, grim-faced and silent and hurried out of the room and building. just as they reached the door, a masked and foaming horseman rode up. anything-any-clock. just as was finally ushered came around the ordeal of mansart “we caught him trying to escape,” he gasped. “we've driven him back this way-comel” a dozen horses were offered and mount- ing, the colonel and his friends dashed toward king street just as a buggy, lurching crazily, wheeled into view pursued by masked riders. mrs. breckinridge, sitting beside a colored man, descried her husband in front on a great black gelding. she leaped up and cried: "john! john!" suddenly she fainted without a word. all that the riders saw was a dishevelled white woman screaming in the grasp of a negro. the colonel gathered her in his arms and rode madly home. chapter iv manuel mansart is born in a close-curtained room in the basement of the emmanuel a.m.e. church, mansart and his friends sat waiting. an open meet- ing might have brought down on them the democratic riders who were breaking up the chamberlain campaign. breckinridge had not come and it was well past the hour. they had received warning that trouble was brewing in the streets and strangers from outside the city were gradually increasing. they shook their heads doubt- fully. nevertheless they all agreed that it was worthwhile to wait and listen to breckinridge and then act accordingly. there was nothing to lose and perhaps something to gain. of course the chances were that it would come to nothing. reluctantly tom realized that there could be no doubt that the planters, the small farmers and the merchants, the people who had for generations ruled and those who planned to rule in the future, had been in close consultation. secret organizations had been flourishing; no one knew this better than mansart. he knew even some of the things they talked about and decided, and he was pretty sure that they had come to a definite decision as to the negroes. the decision could hardly be final; for after all, did they understand what the negroes were thinking about? were they not taking their reports from stoolpigeons and wishful thinkers? but not mansart nor breckinridge, scroggs nor hampton, un- derstood the enormous significance of the drama in which they were called to act. right and wrong were terms that scarcely could be applied to this situation. a mass of men and women, varying from conventional aristocrats to ignorant slaves, through masses of stolid farmers, narrow artisans and crafty tradesmen, were asked to have and act on opinions of the deepest human interest, which it was physically difficult and psychologically impossible for them to do intelligently and honestly. first came the aftermath of war with hate between confederate and yankee, with most negroes ranged with the yankees and the mass of white workers with no allegiance but bitter race prejudice. then hurriedly followed the contrast of property and poverty the ordeal of mansart ally conduct of thing, and only exploitatio ocs aprospect telligend spread of wspoor which follows all war. property was faced with poverty and poverty was looking at starvation. the first charge against the reconstruc- tion legislatures was that they were filled with poor men, when before the war they represented the rich. this seemed against nature. but the poor must have land and relief, and increasingly conscious of their ignorance, wanted schools. property complained of over-taxation, refused to pay the taxes assessed, and tax-payers' conventions spread. but they got nowhere because the poor and needy were untaxed and yet must insist that there was wealth and whosoever owned it must share it for the common need. this was socialism. it frightened north as well as south, and it alarmed such poor whites and negroes as knew no path to become rich except by exploitation of the poor. thereupon arose a new, strong, and only too true cry of waste and theft in the conduct of the state. it rose and spread. chamberlain eventu- ally led it. honest and intelligent negroes joined, and whites joined. there was a prospect of clean government with wide social objects for negroes and whites, conducted by whites and negroes for the benefit of all who were strong enough to reap the profit. ? when the democrats, led by hampton, gary and butler and later by tillman, saw this, they realized that from such a state negroes could not be excluded. men like elliott, cardozo and cain could only be eliminated by force. they suddenly whirled in and made the rift along the color line. they determined to split carolina into races regardless of ability or character, and in defiance of american democracy and the christian religion. they used work rivalry, social hates and finally hampton drama- tized sex. the die was cast and, with murder, lynching and legal caste, division by race and color gripped the south for a century and spread to the wide world. mansart saw the grim drama beginning in october, . white supremacy, naked and unashamed, started. three hundred rifle clubs of armed whites covered the state. chamberlain's campaign was practically stopped by armed men invading his meetings and taking charge. riot and even murder followed refusal. hampton's campaign became a crusade. he was a southern gentleman, born and bred; a veteran of the war and personally a big and powerful figure weighing over pounds, handsome and suave, beautifully whiskered, with flowery speech and fulsome compliments for “the ladies, god bless them," who thronged to his rallies. colonel breckinridge and his wife had attended the manuel mansart is born fort moultrie centennial. thousands of mounted and armed con- federate veterans marched in a procession a mile long. troops crossed over from georgia, insulting and spitting in the faces of the negro policemen. the hampton campaign became a triumphal procession, greeted by increasing crowds. people came scores of miles, marching amid music and roar of cannon. there were torchlight processions and all the memories of the past were aroused to pray for the redemp- tion of the “grand old state.” women had special seats; hampton rode in a flower-bedecked chariot and the crowds became hysterical as here on a stand a young white woman sat bowed, draped in black and chained. hampton approached with acclaim and martial music. the woman arose, young, white and beautiful, and throw- ing aside her black mourning, stood radiant and free! back of this theatre came grimmer coercion. the white state was armed, the colored militia disarmed. prominent republicans, white and black were spotted and followed, quarrels were picked and “duels” arranged. white republicans were subjected to intol- erable pressure, social and economic, until scores of them hurried to newspapers to insert cards professing conversion to democracy. tom mansart soon saw attacks on his workers' unions. despite his efforts they were being infiltrated and undermined. in a news- paper advertisement, “the workingmen's democratic association" offered to furnish to able-bodied men for any kind of work. a broad street merchant was prepared to furnish “democratic" labor at reasonable cost to any extent at a moment's notice. on the plantations, laborers who declared for hampton got better con- tracts, higher wages and debts wiped away; republicans were driven off. mansart worked continuously and held the mass of city artisans firm within the unions, but his country following began to dwindle. then prominent negroes began to come out for hampton; some honestly convinced of his sincerity toward negroes; some still distrusting chamberlain; some bribed and intimidated. hampton made public overtures: “talk about putting the colored man back into slavery or qualifying their suffrages. . . . it is against our interest to do either of these things, if we could. in the first place, the labor of the colored man is more valuable to us as he is than if he were a slave, because he was then perishable property and as soon as he passed away, it was so much loss to the general wealth of the country.” it was an extraordinary argument for unlimited and irresponsi- the ordeal of mansart ble exploitation of free labor; but it came at an extraordinary time and fell on itching ears far from south carolina. it was followed by a statement that sent a wave of fear into the hearts of even thinking negroes: "if ... the white people of south carolina were to give you the state, and give you everything, land, houses, churches, banks, you could not live without whites. the only way to bring about prosperity in this state is to bring the two races in friendly rela- tion together." “true," replied mansart and his workers. “true,” cried elliott and cardozo and cain, “but who will arrange these relations and just what will the relations be?" chamberlain, the governor, thought he had the answer. he was relying on the north to back a fair election by military force if necessary. he issued a proclama- tion and told the nation: "upon my full official and personal responsibility, lawlessness, terrorism and violence far exceed in extent and atrocity any state- ments yet made public.” grant responded with a proclamation ordering the disband- ment of the rifle clubs within three days. all available federal military force was ordered to columbia. but the democrats re- sponded quickly. the rifle clubs became “baseball clubs," "church sewing circles," "mother's little helpers" or "hampton and tilden musical clubs”; military display and exercises stopped but the organizations remained. sixteen companies of federal troops ap- peared and the whites received them and overwhelmed them with ovations. they thanked them for coming to protect them from corrupt negro rule which they were striving to overthrow. they set aside october as a “day of prayer." against these tactics the negroes and the dwindling number of their white friends had no adequate means of reply. the social ties which subtly drew the army officers and the southern whites into sympathetic contact were missing in the case of the negroes. the nation to which chamberlain tried to appeal was hopelessly torn in two; on the one hand the eyes which saw “the coming of the lord” were closed by the “orgy of theft and graft" which was sweeping the whole nation. on the other hand high tariffs, low wages and rich profit were the goal of industry in politics. graft and political control burst up from the swarming im- migrants at ellis island under boss tweed, out to the thieving landgrabbers of the pacific railroads. the liquor trade, increasing manuel mansart is born from to millions a year, was caught bribing the president's cabinet. a flamboyant centennial celebration of years of vain attempt at democracy which could not pass the color line, saw an emperor talking into the first telephone while far to the west an indian, bitter and deceived, was eating general custer's heart. depression had fallen on the nation like a blight, with crime, hunger and unemployment. blind revolt spread among farmers in the new grange; among workers in the demand for cheaper money. a liberal republican revolt sweeping from the west had for the first time since the war put the democrats in control of the house of representatives; of the states, led by tilden in new york, had gone democratic. president grant, discredited, did not dare run for a third term. here was the chance of the white south, if they played their cards with care. they must reorganize their strategy: the negroes must not be fought as ex-slaves but as grafters like tweed and the whiskey ring. the alliance of chamberlain with northern busi- ness must be disrupted and the white south must enter as the new business partner of the north, with cheap negro labor as the bait. only disfranchisement could keep labor cheap—this the north must be led to see. so now mansart was waiting, and the group was watching him doubtfully. it was getting late, not only in the day but in the year and in the culmination of the campaign of . the meeting began to get turbulent and out of hand. “where is breckinridge?” they growled, louder and louder. the door opened softly and a man glided in. he spoke to mansart low and long and then went out. mansart sat in startled silence and then arose heavily. “gentlemen," he said, "we have been ignored-or betrayed. breckinridge is sitting at his club. he has not started here; perhaps he never planned to come. the klan is riding the countryside; they are gathering here quietly in the streets. we must. ..." there was a slight movement at the door. it opened slowly and framed in it against the night was the figure of mrs. du bignon breckinridge, tall and slim, with the carriage and simply gowned grace of a born aristocrat. she was a white woman in a world of black men. silence was complete. it had come about quite by accident. colonel breckinridge, she was sure, had gone to address the mansart meeting. she was, of course, disappointed because she had hoped he would let her the ordeal of mansart have delay the colonel wasurned quick! accompany him. yet she half-expected that he would not think this proper; and even if he did he was advising with southern gentle- men like wade hampton-darling old man that he was, with his courtly bow and smile and his facile “the ladies, god bless them”-and keep them out of politics and business. no, she would not be expected; and she wandered out into the never palling beauty of night on the battery, when a little black figure slipped up the front steps, handed her a note and was gone. she smiled. negroes so loved secrecy! the note was from mansart. he said the colonel had not yet arrived; could she say if he was coming to the meeting and when? she glanced back at the clock in surprise. the meeting had been set for nine. it was well past ten. what could have happened? what could have delayed him? many things, of course, but man- sart must be reassured, the colonel was sure to come. he was doubtless already on the way. then she turned quickly-of course that was the thing to do-she herself would take the message. she would meet the colonel there-he might not like it, but he would understand. she threw a mantilla over her black dinner gown. betty lou came out on the porch: “you're not going out, mother?” “just a moment." "the streets didn't look quite safe as i came in.” “nonsense. i'm not going far.” and she went out. the battery was beautiful; always she had loved to saunter along it at night, revelling in the beauty of the harbor beyond. she walked slowly since she might meet the colonel on his way to the meeting or even possibly already returning; but perhaps it had been easier to approach the negro church from the club by way of other streets. she paused to recall that labyrinth of alleys that branched east from the docks. she used to know the nearer ones well in the days of aunt betsy, when she went to call on her or fetch her. of course she could find that house, and the church was not far. anyone would tell her. it was now quite dark, and she hastened her step. as she started to turn into an alley which she recognized, sud- denly a white man loomed in front of her. "where do you think you're going?” he asked unsteadily. she realized with quick revulsion that he was quite drunk. disgusted, she made no reply but walked on without quickening her step. never before had she even thought of insult on these streets, despite war and evil. but as she stepped into the darker manuel mansart is born alley she heard behind her men snarl and curse, and without look- ing back she knew they were white men. she walked calmly on toward the flickering gas light on the next corner and descried a crowd of negroes. the crowd had some- thing unusual in its aspect. it made no effort to shuffle out of her way but remained stolid, silent, except for another voice beside her which said, "better go back where you belong, lady.” she stepped off the sidewalk. suddenly she was startled; sud- denly she realized that she had blundered into something of which she had not dreamed: hate, fear, hurt and revenge swirled silently round about her. but she only knew a part of what was happening. the whole situation in the state was coming to a head, with attempts at final and fatal understanding. everyone was suspicious; the hoodlum who accosted her at the head of the alley suspected the worst. he lurched to find scroggs. scroggs, who not far away in conference, was telling doubtful men what breckinridge had proposed to him, was startled. was he being double-crossed as he always suspected he might be? perhaps the aristocrats were playing a shrewd game. this mysterious white woman at night in the negro district might be a messenger or spy; might be a lady or a bitch. in any case she was up to no good and must be caught. or better, killed and her death laid to the “niggers.” what would quicker unite the whites and seal the bargain? he sent armed spies gliding silently under the cover of night in the unlit alleys of the negro quarter. in bitter rage he brooded. the crowd of negroes gathering in the alley and seeing a white woman approaching, began to wonder if some negro was not sell- ing out to the whites and that here was evidence of negotiations through which their freedom and rights were to be sold away. when they saw the whites moving at the head of the alley they let out a growl of distaste and hate. mrs. breckinridge paused and looked either way. something hard and cruel was afoot and she did not quite know what to do. then she saw a man approaching. he was well-dressed and walked erect. instinctively she turned quickly toward him, assuming that he was white, and started to speak, when she saw to her surprise that he was black. she hesitated but a second however, and then said: “i beg your pardon, but could you direct me to emmanuel church?” the ordeal of mansart he started to brush past unceremoniously. then he stopped, peered into her face, hesitated and without a word turned abruptly. “this way,” he said and hurriedly led her across the alley, around a corner into a wider thoroughfare and toward a large dark building. she was surprised, thinking to see a crowded, lighted edifice. she turned to ask but her guide had gone. there was a shadowed basement door before her. she groped her way to it and knocked. the door opened and a lantern was thrust into her face. there was a gasp and hurried whispering. an inner door opened and she stood before five hundred colored men, with tom mansart on the rostrum. it was by no means the first time mrs. breckinridge had faced a colored audience. she had talked to sunday schools and churches; to picnics and gatherings of servants. she knew their giggling, fidgeting and soft laughter; their hearty “yaas ma'am" and "thank you!” but this was different. here was silence-cold, exploring silence. there was no laughter, no expectancy; rather she sensed surprise, doubt, antagonism, distrust. the silence became oppres- sive. she looked at mansart uncertainly and stepped toward him. she spoke low and clear. “i represent colonel breckinridge,” she began; "he has been detained, but i expect him any minute. he has, meantime, author- ized me to say—". she got no further. from without two shots in quick succession rang out. suddenly the lights of the room went out. she was un- ceremoniously seized and propelled along to a dark closet-like room. she turned on her captor in outraged repulsion. he was tom mansart. lighting a small candle he looked at her. “why did you come here?” he asked. he was in deadly earnest and the sweat poured from his face. she choked back her indignation and answered: “colonel breck- inridge was coming to this meeting tonight, to give you his word of honor to guard your rights if you will give us your cooperation and support. i cannot imagine why he has not come-or perhaps he has come and. ..." she paused and stared at mansart in sudden fear-had they kidnapped her husband-or killed him? mansart looked at her long and hard. then he answered slowly: “madam, you acted very wrong. colonel breckinridge ain't been here. why, i don't know. but i do know that unbeknownst you have put yourself unprotected into the middle of a race riot- manuel mansart is born r. with = said. his der, then boum perhaps of a long death struggle. you have put a terrible weight on us. if anything should happen to you here in the negro quarter tonight my whole race and all its friends would be held guilty. we must get you home to your friends-quick, if we can!” “what difficulty will there be,” she began. but mansart in- terrupted brusquely: “plenty.” she bridled: "i will be judge of that.” “you will not. you'll do as i say or i'll gag, bind and carry you. listen,” he said, speaking roughly but still low-voiced, "what i'm doing is not for you, i am acting for my people. if you get hurt here tonight we would get the blame no matter who was guilty. i am going to try to save you. i don't know whether i can or not; it's a risk, a great risk. i wonder your husband didn't tell you to stay homel hell will be loose in this city tonight. come, and for god's sake don't act like a damned fooll" she stared at him a long moment and then bowed her head. "i will do as you say,” she said. his dead earnestness impressed and frightened her. with a body guard of two or three persons staying close, they went out into the darkness and sneaked along the alleys, turning here and there. they walked far and fast and at last in a little narrow alley came to a house, neat and alone; and after knocking and low whispers they entered the door. immediately she remembered the room. it was the home of aunt betsy which she had often visited years ago. little had changed; there was the wide fireplace with its crimson and yellow flame; there was the old carved table and the black framed picture of christ above. opposite was the cavernous four-poster bed. on it lay a moaning woman and beside-yes, beside it stood the grim, silent figure of aunt betsy. she started toward her but the woman, giving her a grave curtsy which was both greeting and warning, waved her back. she drew back and saw mansart and his com- panions listening at the door. save the low moans of the woman, the house and street were very still. then there came a loud and peremptory knocking at the door. . everyone stood still and held his breath. even the woman in the bed sighed after a paroxysm and lay exhausted as aunt betsy fanned her. again the knocking, and finally tom mansart threw wide the door. two white men stood there, armed with rifles. one looked straight at mrs. breckinridge and bowed. "colonel breckinridge sent us to bring you home, madam; he was afeared the streets might be rough.” hooked the door.gain the paroxys the ordeal of mansart mrs. breckinridge stepped forward and then stopped. “why didn't the colonel come himself?” she asked. the man shifted his gun-, “he's mighty busy, ma'am. ..." "that's a liel" the heavy voice of aunt betsy came from the shadows. the men swore and both started to raise their guns. tom mansart struck one full in the face, and black arms from behind throttled the other. there was a scuffle, a rush, and three shots rang out. one man fell groaning, the other disappeared. mrs. breckinridge found herself lifted, almost carried, rapidly in the darkness out through the back door, until they came to a shadowy barnlike building, and mansart's voice whispered in her ear: “madam, that was a trick. you must trust me. i must get you away from here and safe back to your husband. that may prove our faith in him." he opened the door of the stable and went quickly about har- nessing a horse to a light buggy. she waited, feeling soiled and dis- arranged. mansart helped her into the vehicle and began driving slowly through the alleys until they approached the harbor. he paused and pointed to the left. yonder ran the river, and beyond was her home. she started but he held her back, still pointing: “the klan," he whispered. she saw the shadowy bedecked horsemen moving in groups and mustering in columns. without another word, he wheeled the horse out into the street and lashed him. they turned north instead of south toward her home, and involuntarily she gave a low cry. he drove even more swiftly, whispering, “if we went to your home we'd meet the mob. my life would be as worthless as your honor!" she stared at him. was this the truth or was this black man taking her out to the massed negroes of the islands, to prison or worse? she went stiff and cold as she heard him still whispering, “i am trying to reach race street and then come in through king to the full-lighted center of the city. likely there'll be no riders there and i may be able to drop you near the court house. that's our best chance." the horse dashed through the night. she sat back in the seat and began to recover from her panic. she said slowly but dis- tinctly: “you must believe me when i say that the colonel fully intended to meet you and give you the assurances you asked; neither he nor i pretend that we regard negroes as men fit to take part in government; but we do want you to have justice, a chance to earn a decent living; and an opportunity for your children, manuel mansart is born especially for the gifted and deft.” peering anxiously ahead and guiding the horse carefully by railroad tracks and unpaved roads he replied: “slavery was worse, much worse than you think. i knows; i was a slave, with a master called 'good.' negroes has more brains and can learn more easily than you think. i'm a negro; i knows. if you and i had our way freedom would have come not by blood but by prayer. we wasn't asked. now freedom is come; it's going to stay. what now can we do to see this happen in peace? i thought out a way and tried to get you and the colonel to back me. he failed me. he sits tonight · with the klan.” "i do not believe it," she cried, "he meant to come; he believes as i believe!” they had reached race street. he turned left cautiously and drove west more slowly. they were out in the country now and the roads were rough but they met few travellers. at long last they turned south into king street and began to approach the city. "there is still time," she argued, “what proof have you that all is lost?" "the whites are set to steal the election and drive the blacks back to slavery. the blacks could fight but they got few arms, and are divided up in leadership. but they'll fight if they must. the poor whites, who ought to be with us, hate us worse than they hate the planters. and we are just as stupid and hate them. the north, torn up with panic and graft is turning back to the planter. everything then, rests with the planters or with their leaders-the quality. if they could see straight they could meet the money-grab- bers in the north with a mass of good labor, black and white. but no! they are massing the poor whites to kill the ‘niggers'!" she started to speak, then paused in perplexity. he slowed the horse to a walk. finally, nearing the sidewalk he stopped, glanced about. no one was visible on foot and only now and then a car- riage and horse passed. “you are safe here,” he said finally. "yonder is the junction, beyond you can see the court house. your husband will be two blocks further.” “you want me to walk?" she asked, astonished. “certainly not; i wants you to take the horse and buggy and drive on. i will send for the rig tomorrow." she stared at him. “you mean to say that you are sending me home alone in this dangerous night?" the ordeal of mansart "a white woman is safer alone than with a negro." she spoke angrily. “and he himself is certainly safer; but don't come if you are afraid.” she reached for the reins. he hesitated. “naturally i am afraid,” he said slowly, but he was thinking fast. the woman was without doubt straight-forward and trustworthy. if he got her safely to her husband she might yet persuade him and the planters to balk the plans of the ex- tremists. if he deserted her she would turn against him and his plans and her husband would certainly be his enemy. she might even be killed deliberately-even here in the city,-and her murder placed at his door. on the other hand, it was dangerous to drive openly into the very center of the city tonight with a planter's wife, and into the very midst of a gathering of the klan. everything depended on how far he could penetrate before discovery, and how much time would elapse between discovery and actually meeting with colonel breckinridge. if without mishap he could deliver mrs. breckinridge safe into her husband's keeping, he might even become a hero to the whites. but if his plan was intercepted and made to look like a frustrated kidnapping, he would be a corpse before his child was born; and the south would be lost to democracy. he silently took the reins again, glanced about, listened, and began to drive. mrs. breckin- ridge smiled grimly and settled back in the seat. her panic now had fled and she was thinking clearly. it had all been a mistake. she would get tom mansart and her husband together and talk it all out; but she must not let mansart leave her; it would not be safe for him. they drove silently and at a not too rapid rate until they were opposite market street. suddenly without warning two masked horsemen, with white gowns and pointed hoods, came out of the street at full gallop. they swept up, one at either side, and stared at the couple. mansart slowed down a bit but said nothing, and mrs. breckinridge, lifting her chin, stared back calmly. without a word both horsemen turned, one racing back northward, the other galloping full-tilt south. mansart saw his one chance. "hold on tight,” he cried, and bending forward he whipped the mare. she leaped forward and they lurched, swaying, toward st. david's church. the horseman in front far outdistanced them and soon they were aware of the pounding hoofs of a cavalcade in the rear. tom lashed the horse into a gallop. mrs. breckinridge was uld be lost tened, and began.he seat. her parmistake the ordeal of mansart the bishop started to speak but another voice pealed and hearts stood still. the old woman came in, naked from neck to loin, marching with one thin arm aloft. in her vast hand lay a blood- stained child. slowly she swayed and danced through the church. the bishop, standing still behind the altar, saw a thousand years of the african dance of death gliding out of the past. snake-wise, the throng followed the dancer, moaning to her cries: “curse god! ride, devils of hell, with the blood-bought baby! burn! killl burnl crawl with the snake! creep and crawl! behold the black flame!" shriek rose on shriek, with tossing hands and spitting mouths. slower the sibyl moved, almost whispering: "his name is manuel,” she cried. “he is called!” she disappeared into the night. the throng sat, stood and lay prone, exhausted. the bishop stepped before the altar, sank slowly to his knees and said, “let us pray." chapter v the world and mrs. breckinridge for weeks mrs. breckinridge was severely ill. she lay almost motionless and the physician gave but faint hope. then gradually she rallied. she began to recognize the colonel as he came in, and to press his hand faintly. she was pleased to have betty lou come now and then and sit beside her. now as the bright winter sun poured through the windows she began to be more fully aware of herself and the world. she was weak, but her mind was clearing. she was beginning to be able to separate fact and dream, to remem- ber something of the fancies and something of the scenes that had occurred. today she lay quite at peace, watching the great white clouds with their mauve edges hover in the sky. the colonel would be in soon to talk with her; and then the nurse and her daughter. with a certain reluctance she turned her mind resolutely back again toward that night-that terrible night. she was not sure just how she had gotten home, and yet she dimly remembered the wild ride on horseback. it took her back to those rides that she and the colonel used to have in louisiana and out toward lake pontchar- train, in the beautiful days of the past. resolutely she brought her mind back and tried for some time to recall just when it was she had told the colonel the story of tom mansart, and how much she had told. she must say more about it to him and be sure that he knew the whole tale. then her mind wandered to that old woman bringing a baby to birth-ushering him into a new world. how many babies had she brought into the world? and again she began to think of her own daughter, brought by those same black hands-of her daugh- ter's cool and careless demeanor and her own continual wonder at just what the girl was thinking and what she was going to do. betty lou was ; singular it was that she had grown so fast. mrs. breckinridge's mind wandered again. she liked mansart- that curious, tall black man who had shared with her a frightful that curious, kinridge's mind wars that she had growas going to do. the ordeal of mansart it might belegro blood-wi of the legends incident in her life. in a way, and she almost smiled as she thought it, he was a great gentleman, so simple and direct, and so utterly self-sacrificing. she had been mad to drive him on in her panic and confidence. yes, and his people were hers; they were nearer, much nearer, than most of the whites of carolina. she thought again of her old louisiana home and the great family of the du bignons: of the legend-at which she could smile -of their negro blood-which of course was ridiculous. and yet, it might be. she remembered that dark, angular woman who was often about her home, and her beautiful, imperious little baby, evidently a white man's child whom she brought with her. yes, the colored people were near to her; the slaves were part of the south and could never be separated. arrangements must be made, now that they were free. she would talk to the colonel. and just then he came in. he came in quietly and looked at her and was pleased when he saw the calm light of full consciousness in her eyes. she did not start to talk as she had planned but said, as she held his hands: “have i lain here long?" “six weeks,” he answered. “and the election?" “is over-now, now, no politics; all will be well.” "was the general elected?” “yes,” he said slowly. he patted her hand soothingly. “wade hampton is governor of south carolina,” he asserted almost dog- matically. then he spoke of the weather and crops, and after a few minutes started to rise. a vague unrest came into her face. she stirred a bit on the bed and gripped his hand, saying, “dear, i can't quite remember how much i told you that night.” he glanced at her quickly. “there, there, dear, don't talk about that." “i know, but i must-i am sure i told you what a splendid thing, what a noble act mansart did for me." the colonel arose, turned to the window and looked at his watch but he did not answer. she pulled herself a bit straighter in the bed and talked to his half-turned shoulder. "i had no business to walk down there that night. i was upset and thought that you had been detained. i wanted to reassure the men. then i found myself between mobs; and this black man at the risk of his own life took me through the alleys and through his own house and around-i* taunted him to drive on until we came into that racing mass of men. i told you about it and gave the world and mrs. breckinridge tahing eyes. was ids the ghost bit she did not saya mansart into your protection-i did tell you about it, didn't i? you did take him into your care?" but just then the nurse entered with the daintily prepared lunch, and the colonel without a further word kissed her and left the room. it was then that clarice breckinridge suddenly felt the shadow of so great a tragedy that she lay back upon her bed and closed her eyes. next morning the colonel came in hurriedly and looked at her with searching eyes. was it imagination that she thought she saw through her half-closed lids the ghost of fear and almost con- sternation in those eyes? perhaps not; but she did not say any- thing. if there was anything to be said he would say it. he did talk, rapidly; unconsciously he was seeking sympathy and justification. he had not realized how much he had missed talking with her. as he talked on he almost forgot how ill she had been and still was. it was as though he were the one returning from a far country to tell her of the strange and baffling things which had happened and which had left his soul in curious indecision. "we are in revolution," he said as he walked to and fro ner- vously. she was glad of his perturbation for it gave him no time to notice the despair on her face. “there are two governments in carolina and two legislatures. no president of the united states has been elected. the election here was a nightmare; a farce; all elections are farces but this outranked them all. charleston county never cast more than , votes; yet although three or four thousand black voters had been scared by the whites into refusing to vote and another thousand bribed to vote for hampton, the total vote was , and the county went republican by unprece- dented majority. “in the white counties the whites voted time and time again, and hundreds of north carolinians and georgians crossed the border and voted with them. in edgefield county where there were , voters and a large black population, , votes were cast and the democrats won by , ! when the returns were in, the state went democratic because of fraud, and the electoral vote went republican because of the republican majority on the state board of canvassers. the board was put in jail. the republicans organized one house of representatives, the democrats another, and the two bodies began a wild fight for control until the united states army interfered. "chamberlain was inaugurated governor december th, but ten days later the supreme court of the state, with one black jus- states amberlain wapreme court the ordeal of mansart tice, recognized the democratic legislature as legal. hampton was declared governor; he demanded the great seal of the state from chamberlain and enjoined the mulatto state treasurer, cardozo. the whole mess was referred to washington and now i am urged by hampton to go to the hearing before congress.” he paused. she knew he half expected her to speak. she did not. she could not. there was one matter on which both knew neither could speak; both waited nervously. he began again. he wanted to tell her how the mansart incident had changed his whole attitude and led him to acquiesce in murder and cheating without protest, but he could not do this because if what she had said about man- sart was true (and it could not, it must not be true), then he had and more on h o w no excuse and had been doubly wrong. he must get away-he the men ne na must think. he found himself saying: . "i do not know why hampton is so set on my going. i am no diplomat. i am disgusted at the present situation. it amazes me. just because, as hampton insists, i am a ~” he gulped, “gentle- man of the old south, - yet i cannot see – i cannot see _" she managed to keep the tremor out of her voice and said, as she knew he longed for her to say, “you must go; of course you must go." she knew they were both fighting for time and adjust- ment. both wanted time for thought. neither could think nor act normally now. perhaps in time—but not now. in her heart she said hurry, hurry, go now! with her voice she asked: "when will you go?”. he glanced at her and was stricken by her pallor and thinness. “but you ?" "i shall be quite all right. i shall sit here and grow strong. when you return and all is well, we'll talk it all out." she was very, very sorry for him. he was both glad to go and reluctant. all his natural impulses were at war with each other within. he looked old, drawn, and distraught. but he must go and go now. she wanted to say this and scream it. but she only stroked his hand and closed her eyes. the colonel left next day, after solicitous arrangements for his wife's care. she lay a long week, husbanding her strength, dozing and fighting back her urge to think. she walked a little each day; first staggering from bed to chaise-longue; then crossing the room, then standing by the window and staring at the unseen sea. today she turned and went back and lay on her chaise-longue, facing and seeing the sea. then resolutely she put her mind to the past. what had she told her husband that night? had she told him the world and mrs. breckinridge anything? she remembered seeing him there as she rose and screamed, and then-nothing more. suppose – and it was possible – that she had told him nothing; that she had had no time to talk before she fainted? in that case, how would he and the others know what her situation had been; what had happened? she and her husband had flown home in the night, where lying senseless she had known nothing. what had become of tom mansart? why was her husband silent? because of accomplishment or tragedy? two more long days she waited, getting stronger in body and weaker and more utterly despairing in spirit. she asked nothing of anyone, but gradually without information she knew. she knew that some way in that night of disaster she had not said to her hus- band what she had meant to say; she had not told him or anyone just what had occurred. she did not dare to think what had hap- pened; yet she must know. today as she heard the door opening she composed herself and lay back quietly with her eyes closed. betty lou came in, tip-toed toward her, humming a little tune. as her mother's eyes were closed, she sampled the cosmetics on the bureau. mrs. breckinridge gripped herself and spoke: "oh, betty lou," she said casually. “you remember that man, mansart, you know, the black man?” betty glanced at her with surprise, but went on with her put- tering. “yes?" she answered. "what became of him?" asked mrs. breckinridge. betty lou whirled and looked at her in surprise. “why mother!" she said. “what could have become of him?-they lynched him on his own doorstep, of coursel” mrs. breckinridge said nothing; she closed her eyes and fainted. but she did it so quietly that betty lou thought she had dropped to sleep again, and tip-toed out of the door. as that great black wave of faintness engulfed mrs. breckin- ridge, she hoped it might be death itself. she welcomed it. she felt that she could not just faint and wake again. so she lay half-dead, with fluttering heart. when she opened her eyes the nurse was standing over her with a puzzled look on her face. “are you feeling badly?” she asked. "a little faint,” mrs. breckinridge gasped. "no, no lunch – let me rest a while longer.” and the nurse went out. colonel breckinridge, riding north on the ramshackle train, brooded long. he had not wanted to go to washington and had the ordeal of mansart told wade hampton so repeatedly. but hampton continued to plead: “we are going to rule the south. mississippi, georgia and ala- bama are safe. louisiana and florida will follow. nothing can keep south carolina out of our hands. then our problem will be how to handle the poor whites and the negroes. we'll bribe the poor whites with votes, a few offices and as much social equality as we must. the negroes we'll disfranchise, and draw a legal color line which will keep them in their places. this will take some time and more killing and cheating, but finally, with the help of the north, we can settle down to civilized life again. "if the north keeps alliance with the negroes as it did in the war and since, we will be crushed. but we have good reason to know that already this has been stopped. the real north never liked negroes and was not willing to attack slavery. now that it is gone they are glad and so are we; but they no more than we want to make negroes their equals. they want good, cheap, profit- able labor and so do we. "our first job is to secure control of this state. i want you to go to washington. i want the northerners to meet and talk to a southern gentleman. show them that we have already regained the state. show them how the negroes stole and raised taxes. get the sympathy of the reformers. rejoice that slavery is gone forever. we propose to govern justly and within the law. we will stop high taxes and stealing. we will encourage business and agriculture. we will put the negroes to work.” colonel breckinridge felt vividly his distaste for hampton's talk. he was disgusted with the campaign. they had gained victory by lying, cheating and murder. what excuse was it that their slaves had cheated and killed in turn? what race superiority of white over black did that show? and stealing-my god, who had stolen more or gotten as much as white men whom they both knew? no! he wanted nothing more of it. he was going back to his plantation to hide and think. this had cost too much in blood and violence. it had cost much more in the honor of gentlemen. he had left abruptly and gone home. he had gone to his wife's bedside and received the crushing blow of her story of mansart. he was struck dumb with astonishment and horror. he had always shrunk from that grim lynching, but had never questioned its inevi- tability, its absolute justice. what else in god's name could he have thought? he had wanted to come to some understanding with mansart, but what could he think when in the night there came rushing to the ordeal of mansart “the problem of the south is not southern, it is national. since the war i have travelled all over the country. i think i am familiar with what most americans think. nobody in this country, except a few fanatics, likes negroes or regards them as equals. nobody wants them to vote except as a step to compel reunion. after that they expect them to be disfranchised under some form of law. what americans want is a great united country organized so as to make this people rich and comfortable and give it leisure to broaden and cultivate the graces of higher social life.” "indeed," retorted the colonel, “i am glad; but they have very successfully concealed their wishes in the last twenty years." "i do not think so. we made the mistake of war and war kills reason. but war was a mistake and we all know it. now we are sane again and ready anew to start on a greater and wider path.” "i hope so," answered the colonel shortly. they continued the conversation until they reached washington and, alighting at the dirty sixth street station, sought their hotel. the colonel's distaste for washington was greater than his disappointment at richmond. he had known it when it was a southern city. he came back to a northern camp filled with yankees and negroes. he reflected that since he was here negroes had actually sat in the halls of congress which jefferson davis, john c. calhoun and daniel web ster had once graced. what possibly could be rebuilt upon this mire of civilization? there had been stealing in south carolina and misrule; but here in this den of thieves graft, plunder and bare- faced robbery had climbed up to the very presidential chair. as the colonel sat in the senate gallery and saw john b. gor- don of georgia champion the case of wade hampton on december th, and from then to january when patterson of pennsylvania defended chamberlain, the colonel began to sense in the attitude of the senate and the talk of his neighbors the change which had come to the nation. the panic of , which in the south seemed but part of the war, had loomed as a revolution in the north. here money was power. a democratic majority had replaced the republican rule of reconstruction. twenty-three states out of thirty-five, led by new york and tilden, now had gone democratic. reform was in the saddle. grant did not dare run for a third term. everyone said that hayes was ready to placate the south. breckinridge began to see hope for the south and the nation. he wrote his wife daily and the nightmare of mansart began to recede in importance. it was unfortunate, but it was part of world disaster. perhaps he could make it up some way. if mansart left been stealeves graft lential the world and mrs. breckinridge ton red of efused reater that, children he would see that they got training as good laborers. meantime, the greater world and a southern future beckoned. congress refused to interfere, and it became certain that hayes, assured of the presidency, had given his word to recognize hamp- ton and withdraw troops from the south. the colonel wrote the news to his wife and told her the day of his return. then he went to his hotel to pack. as he entered his private hotel suite he was surprised to find sitting there a stranger, tall and broad-shouldered, white-haired and handsome. "colonel,” the stranger said, rising and bowing, “i humbly beg your pardon. i had to be sure of seeing you in private before you returned south. i therefore prevailed on the hotel manager to let me await you here. permit me to introduce myself: i am aurelius beauregard, from the louisiana family which you know. i have the honor of bearing a letter of introduction from your mother-in- law, mère du bignon." the colonel, taken aback and ruffled at this intrusion on his privacy, motioned the gentleman to a seat, read the letter, and a bit stiffly shook hands. this gentleman would seem to be a person of high birth, vouched for by no less authority than mère du bignon, head of the du bignon clan. he remembered her vividly: hook-nosed, white-haired, with an inbred air of domination. she was an aristocrat to her finger tips and a born ruler of men. but mr. beauregard was speaking: “and now, sir, may i explain the reason for this unpardonable intrusion. i am a mason"-and he gave the colonel the grip of one of the highest degrees—"but more to the point now, sir, i have the honor to be general presi- dent of the knights of the golden circle.” he disclosed a maltese cross surmounted by a star on the reverse of his lapel. the colonel stared. he remembered joining this order a decade before the war, when the "southern rights club” of charleston, to which he belonged, joined in a body. "but," he started to say, “i thought," “i know, sir, what you are thinking: that the organization had been discredited and disbanded. discredited, it is true, by bickley and border state folk who meant well but were common people with no idea of our high mission. vallandingham disgraced us and made us look like a conspiracy formed to encourage deserters and saboteurs." the colonel said, “the organization which i joined planned to extend the south and its culture and institutions south of the the ordeal of mansart rio grande into mexico and central america and throughout the caribbean, perhaps even to south america; and to face the traders and shopkeepers of the united states with a great civilized nation of real culture based on black slavery.". "exactly, sir. our efforts, save in texas and california, failed; we lost our forays into central america, cuba and san domingo. we lost a war in this land. but we still survive, re-organized and set toward a wider, more glorious destiny than was ever dreamed of in ." “but surely you do not plan to revive the mummery of secrecy and tinsel which cloaked our aims then? slavery is gone. what is left of it to be restored, even if we had the power?” “sir, the deathless duty of leading to survival and power those high-born elements in the white race whose domination of world culture is the hope, and only hope, of civilization! this, sir, is worth even a bit of ancient ceremony and – mummery, as you call it, is it not?" "i presume so – but in my state the ku klux klan and other efforts at 'white supremacy' have not impressed me. rather the contrary.” “precisely. that represents a degradation of our aims, or at most a passing expediency for handling ignorant and debased allies against negroes and carpet-baggers. believe me, all that is past or at worst will linger only as long as it takes to restore law and order and white supremacy. after that, our principles will rule the world. - but sir, i argue too much. i am authorized to show the rescript to you for the new world grand castle, summoned by the knights’ marshall, to meet beginning tomorrow and to invite and urge you to sit with us. i am humbly to ask your pardon for the unavoidable lateness of this invitation.” he unrolled and handed colonel breckinridge a great sheet of thick parchment, engrossed, heavy with gold and color, and adorned with seals and ribbons. the colonel began to read, at first with doubt and suspicion, then interest and at last with amazement. if this document was genuine and its signature authentic it marked an epoch-making movement. he stared at beauregard. “but this is unbelievable – it is astounding. how _" "certain gentlemen, most of whom you know personally or by reputation, will call on you today or tomorrow morning to con- firm what i have said. if finally you are convinced, a carriage will the world and mrs. breckinridge be sent for you at this hotel tomorrow night. i have the honor, sir, to be your obliged and obedient servant. good day.” so it happened that the next day in the late afternoon colonel breckinridge, after telegraphing his wife, was whisked down the sweep of pennsylvania avenue, from the grey unfinished dome of the capitol toward the tall, thin monument of washington; past the white house where the conqueror of appomattox was pre- paring to leave the potomac. they crossed into virginia. it was clear and cold and a light veil of snow lay across the hills. at twilight they were at the docks of alexandria. silently they trans- ferred to a dispatch boat which, making hurried departure, rushed them a hundred winding miles to the broad waters of chesapeake bay. they swept up beside a stately yacht in the darkness and climbed aboard. it was a beautifully designed and lavishly furnished vessel which started on its voyage soon after the colonel and his com- panions stepped aboard. they were received with quiet courtesy and the perfect punctilio that satisfied the colonel's best traditions. a late, simple and well-appointed supper was served in his cabin with an exquisite bottle of sauterne and hot black coffee. he slept heavily in the cold night and noted, as breakfast was brought to his bunk, that the servants were not negroes, as he was used to, but white foreigners speaking english with an accent but perfectly trained to service. on ascending to the salon he saw a few gentlemen, none of whom he recognized. having his overcoat proffered by a ready ser- vant, he went out on deck and fell in with a tall gentleman, evi- dently from his manner and speech an englishman. it occurred to him that this gathering must be international, which gave him food for thought. this invitation, although couched in secrecy and all the paraphernalia of oath and grip, had attracted him because he was assured of the deep purpose and planning back of this front of pageantry and theater. they fell in step and walked in the fresh air. “i am glad you came, colonel breckinridge,” said the stranger, to the colonel's surprise. "i am afraid i do not recall-” he began, hesitating and then extending his hand. "of course not, sir; we have not met. but you are well-known. my name is — " he paused a moment, – “leicester," and then added diffidently, “lord leicester, if you will forgive the anachronism of the ordeal of mansart a title in your free america." the colonel concealed his astonishment, but said courteously, “i'm afraid, my lord, that we have just had an overdose of free- dom.” ' "much of the world is suffering from the same malady,” an- swered the nobleman drily. “if i mistake not, sir, there is some kinship between our families." the colonel almost flushed beneath his tan, and bowed gravely. “i have heard some such legend." “well, sir," continued the englishman as they fell in step and sauntered along looking at the dark, heaving waters of the at- lantic, “i presume you agree that in this crisis of the world we need to prolong this parade and mumbo-jumbo to keep and main- tain leadership. we have not yet named this culminating secret organization, but we maintain its ancient appeal as you will see. i often revolt, but when i saw little victoria-god save her-and the parliament which just named her empress of india with crown, robe and orb, — well by jove, i said, there's something to ceremony as an arm of government. and, sir, it is world government that we begin to erect this week." the colonel was silent a moment and then spoke slowly. “i was not fully cognizant of your plans," he said, “before i came. but certainly if ever there was a time for the leadership of the forces of blood and breeding, it is now. this world is on the road to hell!” the nobleman smiled and said, "there is no reason to despair; we are entering a new world.” and he excused himself. the colonel looked about and saw a number of friends, persons of breeding from the old days. he talked with one who said: “i don't understand the yankees. i never believed before the war that the better part of them really opposed negro slavery, and i don't believe it now. i believe they were caught in a cur- rent of fanaticism and greed they could not stem. but if once they would be sure of firm alliance with southern gentlemen and the aristocracy of europe, they would be as happy as we to chain the darkies to the soil like the european peasants, and erect a laboring class of whites held in the hand of a firmly rooted aristocracy like england's.” the colonel looked up with interest. "but that would take money and power,” he said. “good," was the answer. “they have the money and we can hem real they were but if onced the cy of europle the european peanaly rooted a the world and mrs. breckinridge have the power. we can vote the black millions even when they are free, if the north consents, and we have climate and resources.” “yes, but which north? the small nucleus of gentlemen or the mill-owners and railway owners, the bankers? and what about the masses of white laboring riff-raff who fought and won this war?" "this about them: they fought slavery, but they despise darkies and are as eager as we are to disfranchise them. if while they and the southern whites are fighting ‘niggers,' we are con- solidating our power in the world so as to hold all labor in its tracks, we can own the world!” a northern merchant got into the conversation next and pointed out that the southern poor whites would probably exact heavy toll for any alliance with the planters. the northern whites had the whip hand, but after all, they were men, and white men. so too, the poor whites had been the real victims of slavery. give them a chance, give them education; they could be raised. colonel breckinridge made no answer to this argument, but he did not believe it. on the whole it was his opinion that no persons with fantastic beliefs concerning the uplift of the lower classes, even if they were white, could be gentlemen born. there were differ- ences, and radical differences, even among white men. granted that alliance must come between classes so far removed as the planters and poor whites, the differences would remain. one man, whom he could not quite place, (he sounded like a northerner)-spoke to him vehemently and half secretly: “i tell you, colonel, this world is on the brink of vast change. england is going to try to be another rome and is making america play along. if we are not careful we will all be submerged and in the end find ourselves facing asia in the east, under japan and china, and africa right here in our bosom. there is no use estranging these africans; we are going to need them.” another broke in: "nonsense. 'niggers' can never amount to much.” but the first man insisted: “don't be a fool. darkies with educa- tion and leadership can do anything. diamonds have been discov- ered in south africa, and gold. black fanatics are holding england today in the sudan. nightmares? all right. but our task is plain: treat these 'niggers' well, build up leaders among them who are our allies and will join exploiting all labor, white, yellow and black!" colonel breckinridge turned away in disgust and sat down beside the ordeal of mansart a calm, clean-cut new york banker, who began conversation first about his railway investments and then rather suddenly pointed out the path to follow in the north to bring anglo-saxon rulership of the world in the americas, in europe, asia and africa. the laborers in the united states must be controlled; the power of the corporations must be expanded. “disfranchisement must be enforced in the south with regard to the negroes, but we must not try to keep them in ignorance. no such mass determination to know can be permanently dammed. but the course ought not to be greek and latin but guidance to intelli- gent workmanship. in time they may die out or they may become a good, profitable laboring class. “but above all we must keep our eyes set on the white workers. they are uneasy, and coming under the leadership of demagogues and fanatics, might join the negroes. there are the irish, the italians, the riff-raff from east europe whom we crazily called in to do our work after the war. naturally our democracy is not work- ing in the north. it can't work. our industry is in the hands of freebooters and europe is on the edge of revolution. we have had one depression, we are going to have others. it's time for real lead- ership to take hold, and that leadership ought to come out of the south.” the colonel listened, when another objected that this disfran- chisement of the negroes was not going to be so easy with the war amendments in force. a man from new orleans answered. “the supreme court will attend to that." “but,” said the colonel, “surely the supreme court is unbrib- able?” “of course," was the answer, “but all men have their price. al- ready we know the court stands to against the radical interpreta- tion of the war amendments. of the four, one has an ambitious son; one is a southerner who is willing to listen; and the third would like to be president of the united states. “right down in new orleans we have already rigged up cases by which, with proper decisions, the fourteenth amendment can become a bulwark of property, permitting disfranchising the ne- groes and reducing them to a caste. difficult? of course it will be. it calls for patience, finesse, money; but it can be done. once done and the united states will be the most powerful nation on earth. and england? well, england will be our handmaiden-or we hers.” the morning passed in conversations like these. the colonel the ordeal of mansart e persons was sure the frenthe cence surpassed anything the colonel had ever seen. there was marble and gold, silk and velvet. the persons present were re- splendent in uniform and order. the colonel was sure he recog- nized not only the insignia of the british garter and the french grand cross of the legion, but the spanish golden fleece, the german black eagle and a score of other orders and decorations. his own grey colonel's uniform was duplicated by a half dozen other confederate officers' and at least two generals' uniforms in blue. many were in civilian evening dress. there was opening ceremony and fanfare of trumpets, and then almost suddenly a cold, business simplicity took charge and a con- ference began which colonel breckinridge never forgot to his dying day. he did not remember nor try to remember speakers nor se- quence, but the clear thread of argument, fact and conclusion he never forgot: we face a world crisis. unexpectedly in the southern united states there has come the violent overthrow of a social system and half-barbarous blacks are being put in control of white civilization. property has been destroyed and confiscated and re-distributed. if this succeeds the world is upside down. in england the half-edu. cated laboring class led by demagogues is getting votes and seeking control of government. this gang stopped england from saving the south, and if uncurbed will break up the british empire. in france, a second peasant parvenu has run amok, but has been overthrown by germany, leaving france facing social revolu- tion. in germany, a strong hereditary aristocracy has arisen to rule but faces socialism, disguised as democracy. open and under- ground anarchy threatens ancient imperial russia, while new italian monarchy reels and staggers before radicalism and religious feud. yet at just this time a mighty europe, under guidance of its inborn superior talent, is arming itself for world conquest; it has unparalleled technique for manufacture and commerce. it has con- quered and held the hundred millions of asia. it had just bared and marked for division the undreamed of riches of africa. the critical year was . france was defeated at sedan; the suez canal was near-completed. europe was looking toward the tropics for raw materials for her factories. international finance was beginning and the corporation had begun its fateful role. gold and diamonds had been discovered in south africa. paul kruger was . been over germany, a strong uised as democracy russia, while new alism, disguisereditary aristocacing social revohas the world and mrs. breckinridge europe had been depending on the southern states of america to complete the conquest of the caribbean, where half-free and bloody-minded negroes had ruined the sugar empire; and south america where latins, indians and negroes were trying to imitate european civilization. here it was that the northern united states, misled by fanatics, overthrew southern economy, freed the con- tented slaves and started hell on earth. what to do? to your tents, o israell the battle is not lost. it cannot be lost as long as white nordics live. this is our program: . show northern leaders the truth about the world. . beat the negroes back to their kennels. . cajole and control white labor. . consolidate capital into imperial control of the world; guide world trade and monopolize gold and credit. at the closing session a youngish man, blonde, slim and straight, in a uniform resplendent with orders, arose to nominate a world commander of the new international order. all bent forward to hear some exalted name, perhaps even that of the german em- peror who had just risen amid the smoke of sedan to triumph over france. or his mighty chancellor, prince bismarck. but the name presented was unknown to the colonel: cecil rhodes. others too, were mystified and a wave of whispers circled. but the prussian major spoke impressively in his clipped oxford en- glish: "gentlemen! my cousin, the princess radziwill, has just arrived in america bearing the consent of cecil rhodes to accept for him the honor which i trust we are about to confer. my cousin, perhaps the most beautiful woman in europe, certainly the wisest, has known this man some time. to some of you his name is still strange. he is a young englishman of but twenty-three years of age but already a millionaire and coming master of africa. i met him first at oxford three years ago. together we heard ruskin point out the destiny of england. i can see the high gothic curving of that ancient hall, aspiring upward, and the figure of the prophet, austere and inspired: “ 'you youth of england can make your country again a royal throne of kings; a sceptered isle for all the world, a source of light, a center of peace.' "rhodes was tremendously moved as were all of us, even a foreign visitor like myself. we talked much thereafter. rhodes go the ordeal of mansart wants a giant super-government under england and america, with a federal parliament, recruited from the elite of the world; a man- agerial revolution guided by a giant secret society of financiers. he thinks of loyola's jesuits as a type to follow. his consent to head us is of tremendous significance. we must make the offer! “if only he lives to realize his dream! you know he has been tuberculous for years-that was the reason which sent him to the high plateau of south africa; but my cousin will nurse him back to health once they are married. england is behind him. her con- trol of egypt approaches completion. we germans have entrusted little belgium with the vast valley of the congo to hold for us in trust for a season. gentlemen! the star of the white race rises, never to set!” the election of rhodes was rushed forward almost too precipi. tously for colonel breckinridge and many others. it smacked of deliberate prearrangement. but of course the colonel knew that all this had to be planned ahead. so the vote went through. all these matters had taken long hours of debate, fact-finding, comparison and decision. but the meeting was admirably organized. experts were there. colonel breckinridge especially remembered that dark, keen-faced explorer just back from a death-facing trip across africa-his picture of resources, methods and plans already afoot. the calm, cool grip of british aristocracy on the world was succinctly shown; and methods of combating socialism and anarch- ism and the communism of marx; and ways of appeasing italy in africa and germany in south america. general hampton himself had sent a written outline of how the negroes had been put in their places in the southern south. thus cecil rhodes became grand commander, although many, like the colonel, were in doubt over the choice. but most of his confreres seemed wildly delighted. one young officer, evidently a little intoxicated with champagne, took the colonel's arm as they ascended to bed. "you should see him, sir! just picture him-high on a throne of royal state, which far outshines the wealth of ormus or of india -or where the gorgeous east with richest hand showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold-,'” he hiccoughed and paused. the colonel added thoughtfully: "satan, exalted sat!" the young man straightened, scowled and smiled. “ha, ha,” he laughed, "so kruger says. what matter, god or devil! we are no longer children; we're done with fairy tales. all is well so long the world and mrs. breckinridge as the white man rules.” curiously, the colonel did not wholly agree. after three days they all sailed away at night so that none or few knew where they had been. colonel breckinridge could almost have persuaded himself that he had passed through some fantastic dream, had not the clear program and results been burned so vividly on his mind. he telegraphed his wife again, naming the day of his arrival. he hurried south by every means of conveyance, missing much of his mail on the way. he landed in charleston late at night and rushed home by rickety, rolling cab. clarice breckinridge had read his letters in mounting consterna- tion. by now, through old newspapers and chance words, she knew the whole story of manuel mansart. she was still weak, but better in body and sicker in soul. after long, long days of brooding she had taken to pacing her room more and more restlessly. she kept whispering to herself—“there is blood upon my hands. i am guilty of murder of a good man who gave his life for me.” she could not bear it. she did not for a moment blame her husband. “he did what he did for me; he was a knight of derring-do for his lady, the greatest deed a man can perform for his woman. yet i cannot face him again.” at last came the letter announcing his home-coming, then the telegram like a reprieve; finally the last telegram setting day and hour. she drew her cloak of silk and fur about her and stepped quietly into the hall. a moment she listened, moving slowly to the balcony and looking down on the carriages and prancing horses amid the foliage. the whole house was sunk in the stillness of mid- afternoon siesta. she began climbing slowly to the third story, above the great carved pillars of the porch with their white doric capitals. she rested a moment and then climbed more slowly for she was desperately weak, until at last she stood upon the topmost balcony and the city lay before her. yonder was king street, the beginning of her world, her lost world. they who had much to lose had nearly lost all; but what of them who had nothing to lose-of a man like mansart? a man who owned scarcely himself and then lost all he hoped to have; how can one measure such emptiness, such death of all hope; and then death itself-cruel, terrible, bloody? she could almost see yonder the old slave mart in chalmers street, off meeting-house, hiding like a foul wraith. everywhere the ghosts of africa greeted the ordeal of mansart her. yonder behind, the cupola of st. michaels reared defiantly its pale and four-tiered head. she remembered how the buggy swerved on two wheels to fly by it and never succeeded. she repeated: “and the slave that saved st. michaels. ..." slowly she turned and faced the eternal sea, the old and ever-lasting sea. in front, frowning over the bay, gloomed the long, low bastion of fort sumter with its ten holes of death. it seemed now ages ago that she had prayed and sobbed, bowed in grief, before this dark symbol of the beginning of war. out beyond fort sumter lay moultrie; and then there to the right lay nothing, not even the hill which fort wagner once crowned. but ghosts still paraded above it, and beneath the ghosts lay a pale young yankee, “buried beneath his ‘niggers.'” she lifted her hands and saluted heaven and all its forts. she threw aside her costly cloak and leaned far out over the balustrade. there was level ground about the basement, covered with hard belgian blocks and embroidered with foliage and flowers. the early lilies leaned pale faces toward her; the brilliance of the azaleas floated up like a veil. the great black earth, like a waiting mother lifted its loving arms. and clarice du bignon leaned far out and dropped into the areaway sixty feet below. chapter vi and the placed, some winutiful big hout there were the marriage of betty lou colonel breckinridge was playing solitaire, sitting in the parlor of his dilapidated plantation home on the banks of the savannah, half-way between augusta and the sea. the plantation whither he had fled was old and neglected although there were still remains of a sturdy and even beautiful big house. but it was run down; its floors sagged, some windows were broken, there was no furnace and the plumbing was all out of gear. he huddled there and thought of the world. with his hands he was leading the cards slowly; but with his mind he was laying his life before him and trying to scrutinize its trends and meaning. the two activities merged queerly. he played the king of clubs and stared at it. clubs-force, power, murder! that was it; that was the way he and his friends had tried to right the world. what had they gained or lost? he laid the six other cards face down and then turned the ten of hearts. yes-that was it-hearts, love, had been reddened by war and were gone- dead. he had failed in almost everything, but how and why? what had been wrong with him? surely he had meant well, he had tried to hold high the ideals of his nation and his clan. the world said, and he was silent, that his wife had accidentally fallen from that roof. but he knew better; she had left him a letter and told him simply and lovingly why she had taken her own life. she laid no blame upon him. she put it all upon herself. but he knew that that was not true. their life together as man and wife had not been romantic and exciting, but in some way it had been more than that. there was no great sexual attraction for either of them. there was little of embracing and kissing, but there was friendship: a calm, thorough, basic friendship and understanding which had seldom been dis- turbed. she knew what he was thinking and what his fundamental principles of life were. she knew, indeed, often better than he did. and he understood her, her passive enjoyment of life, her love of flowers, her friendships and reticences. perhaps their greatest lack of understanding was in the case the ordeal of mansart of betty lou. of course, he had wanted a son, and perhaps she, too. but in the case of this daughter he, without conscious thought, simply abandoned her whole training to her mother and at times almost forgot her existence. the mother, on the other hand, was timid in the presence of her daughter. she realized vividly that this was another soul, another personage; she did not want to command and rule her, she wanted gradually to gain her friend- ship. perhaps, if everything had gone normally, this would have happened, but in the upturn and revolution of war and recon- struction, mother and daughter seemed to fare even further apart than before. he fingered his cards and turned the queen of diamonds; he thought of his impending bankruptcy lurking in the ruins of re- construction; he must look into his planting and see what he could retrieve. then came the ace of spades, and he shrank from the thought of black folk digging, toiling, loafing and laughing, crying and dying. was it really his fault that mansart was mur- dered horribly? how could he have acted differently, knowing what little he did? what sort of world was this that sends its puppets blind and groping for a light which does not exist? what was the place of negroes in the world and what was his relation to them? clubs again-a nine, and hearts—the little deuce, fading away; and the king of diamonds. his mind moved superstitiously. sup- pose by some miracle he became rich in the phantasmagoria of national revolution-what good, what end? he laid the queen on the king, the nine on the ten; he drew three cards and placed a knave, as was always true in this mad world; and then the black ace loomed alone above the whole array. he scattered the cards angrily. that was it—that was the fate. all this colonel breckinridge was thinking out as he sat in the old plantation home. he had abandoned the town house to a couple of servants and expected that betty lou would return there from new orleans. they had both gone to new orleans to the funeral. it was, to the colonel, a terrible ordeal. many people liked new orleans, but he hated it. it was to his mind dirty and coarse. naturally, back of the iron grilled homes were interesting and well-bred people; there was delicious cooking, there was a certain fineness to life, together with meanness and vulgarity. but this trip to his wife's funeral tore his entrails—there were long catholic services for his wife, who had never given up her religion although it did not fill much of her life. they buried her in the great family mausoleum, standing high above the swampy the marriage of betty lou grounds of the cemetery alone, superb and terrible. he had turned immediately toward the home trip. mère du bignon had of course talked to him on every occasion about property, a subject about which he never knew anything. then she brought up again the matter which seemed to him in- delicate, of certain black du bignons, branches of the family with colored blood, whom he would have certainly preferred to forget. colonel breckinridge said flatly that he was not interested. this brought coolness between them, and after a last ceremonious din- ner he slipped away with a promise to visit new orleans again soon, a promise which purposely he never kept. betty lou wanted to stay on, and indifferently he consented. week after week, month after month, he sat and brooded until winter burst into spring and spring bloomed into mid-summer. he received no visitors. he read no papers. he did not even open his mail. only briefly and brusquely he spoke to sanford, his colored foreman, and signed now and then checks and papers; but he allowed no explanations and answered few questions. when his bankers called and almost peremptorily demanded audience, he would not receive them. it was, he knew, the old question of debt. well then, let them foreclose, what did he care! he knew where, tripping through the woods in mud, rain or shine, followed by his two dogs, there could be found a great bluff above the brown river where someday, when he had courage, he was going to drop into nothingness. meantime he shuffled, again and again, the cards of his life. he remembered the astonishing meeting in the atlantic ocean, but he began to question it. was it so certain that the white world was going to rule everything? might it not happen that they would meet increasingly bitter opposition? or was it not possible that falling out among them- selves, (for after all, what did they have in common but greed and delusions of grandeur?)—suppose that falling out among themselves they should commit suicide and leave the world to black, yellow and brown? he did not know! he did not care. it all seemed curiously petty, but he could not drag himself away from this thought of the colored people, of mansart, of the fight in south carolina. what was going to be the end? was he so sure as he used to be that negroes were all fools and apes? there again, perhaps they were the real men of the world. perhaps they had grasped something that he in his aristocratic assumptions had missed. and too, how far was there anything real to all this pretense at aristocracy? the ordeal of mansart there was a curious old uncle, usually drunk, whom his father hated with perfect hatred because he represented the family as well as anybody else. his foreman was this man's son, as everybody knew and nobody mentioned. what was all this pretense of descent from english nobility except payment to impudent northern shysters who manufactured coats of arms? and so far as that was concerned, might there not be mulattoes in carolina descended as directly from charlemagne as any breckinridge? of course, he re- peated to himself, this was all nonsense, this was all mixed up. but the point was, was there any chance of straightening the thing out? was there any line of thought and action that was going to lead somewhere? he could not forget what a generation of lying, stealing and cheating had done to the gentlemen of south carolina; had done to him. it had left an ineffaceable scar. he saw it; he felt it. and more: out of the state had been driven by death and migration thousands of negroes and mulattoes. had this been gain or irrep- arable loss? how much had black blood and black ways and black music contributed to this state and its civilization? perhaps only a little, perhaps the major part of all that made the state. at any rate this source of human development had left in immense numbers, and behind its going lay a void. he knew it. he could not forget it. at first he could not sleep; he tossed and worried and muttered all night. he was sure he was going insane. and then at last, in the dull deep quiet of the woods of the plantation, with the voice of birds and the talking of his dogs, at last he began to sleep-long, heavy, dreamless drafts of perfect unconsciousness. he ate regu- larly, probably because the simple meals with plenty of good meat and fresh vegetables were regularly prepared by his quiet house- keeper. he began gradually to feel himself alive again, his brain functioning and stronger; and one day coming downstairs he turned toward the library, dusted off the papers and looked at the mail. it was by sheer accident that he took up that letter first. that astonishing letter dated ten days ago from old dr. baldwin. he opened it and read it; sat down and stared for a long space un- comprehendingly. he had forgotten, he had completely forgotten his daughter. it was not unnatural. he was not used to seeing her around. his wife had always attended to her and her wants. even at home he saw her comparatively seldom. she did not come regu- larly to meals,-never to breakfast, and only now and then to din- ner. he paid her bills without question and her mother gave her use the site arly preself alive the marriage of betty lou his fi | ly đi vent of de xed i ze the join such money as she needed. there was really no nexus between father and daughter. and after leaving her there in new orleans, it was true that in the overwhelming impact of his grief and de- spair he had completely forgotten that she existed. against this background the letter before him came like a thunderclap, announcing simply that old dr. baldwin had mar- ried betty lou. he wanted to come and explain about it and have announcements sent out. the colonel was first astounded and then furious. he had never thought that baldwin knew there were such things as women in the world; he had never evidenced interest in them; naturally there were none in his school. as for betty lou, her father knew nothing about her. he let her go the usual way-that of well-bred young white women of the pre-war south. she ought to have been presented to society some time ago; it had been delayed by post-war turmoil. he re- membered with a start that betty lou was nearly . she should have been married long before this. he should have thought of it. his wife had probably thought of it. but she had not mentioned it, -or had she? he had assumed that betty lou was back in charles- ton and that her short and sketchy letters lay in his unread mail. money she could always get from sanford. how on earth did she make up her mind to marry this old man, who was at least twice her age, had no property, and did not really belong in aristocratic society? what had happened? ng d da ; on c. a nens couli ered ? of ng, at bet popular, and he salary offenced that a new il. as a matter of fact, old dr. baldwin was as surprised at his marriage as colonel breckinridge. he was sitting rather late one rainy night, considering a proposal that he should head the uni- versity of georgia, which he had once attended and where for a time he had taught. it was not in itself a very attractive offer; the school was old but not popular, and poorly supported by the state. its buildings were falling down; the salary offered was hardly enough to live on. and yet dr. baldwin was convinced that a new era was coming to the south and the nation. here might be the place, then, for his leadership toward a new south. and then the doorbell rang. his housekeeper had gone for the night to her cottage at the rear. he went to the door himself and there stood betty lou breckinridge-bedraggled, drawn, ill. he had not seen her for a long time; they used to be rather pals in the past when he visited her father's house. he always had a joke for her as a child, and a book. he told her stories, and their friendship, although a bit en the marriage of betty lou "honey child, let's take the boat for st. louis,” he said, “i have cabins for tonight.” she stared at him, but knew immediately that she would go. she could not resist. after all, this was a break in the boredom, the utter monotony of life. she was going to see the world, she was going to know, perhaps, what this thing called love meant. and so with faint hesitation and almost no baggage, she tossed her old life lightly away and found herself on that great boat filled with crowding, crying, laughing people, on the broad waters of what seemed a little ocean, “old man river,” called the mississippi. he was to marry her, of course, but he didn't. he didn't even mention it once they were aboard; he simply possessed her. some- times he made romantic love, but mostly he raped her in drunken frenzy. he disarranged her clothes at any hour, laughed and sneered at her modesty, and told her dirty stories. he read nothing, did nothing, and thought of nothing but women, horses and gambling. gambling was his life's real occupation. he loved it with per- fect fascination. it began every night after dinner and lasted until early morning. sometimes he came down to the cabin and threw thousands of dollars on the floor, the bed and the table. sometimes he came, drawn and angry, apparently without a single cent. they disembarked in st. louis and went to a flamboyant hotel, occupy- ing a regal suite. there his luck at the gaming table seemed to flourish. he bought her jewels and dressed her in magnificent but gaudy clothes. on the one hand he exhibited her; and on the other hand he guarded her like an ogre, as though he was suspicious of her every glance and movement. she waited, in proud fury and hesitation, for him to mention again the marriage ceremony. she even felt the first stirring of a baby within her, and then it happened. he came home one night with a knife hole in his breast; he lingered white and still, gasped at last and whispered: "bring a priest. we must be married; i am going." the priest came, but before he entered the door the man was dead. what else should she do? she was in panic. she searched his pockets and found nothing. she went out and sold her jewels. she did not stop to pay her hotel bill or get her clothes, but boarded a train to memphis; changed trains, and without sleep or bath hurried on toward charleston. then she became frightened, stopped at augusta and took refuge with old dr. baldwin. she looked to the old man like a scared, sick and bewildered child. “i came to you. i did not know what else to do, i did not know ing. she or get her ithout sleep, stopped the ordeal of mansart where to go. i could not return to new orleans and that awful grandmother. she would have blasted me with disdainful words. i could not go to my father; i do not know how to talk to him, he was always a stranger to me. i could not bear the thought of his utter inability to comprehend what i had done; that a breckin- ridge, and a southern lady, should have stooped and for a moment been tempted by so sordid a situation. i came to you, then, to ask advice, to tell me where i can hide; and how in some way-any way,–i can work and make a living for myself and for-anyone else that i may have to support.” dr. baldwin had been thinking far ahead while she was talking. the problem before him was pretty difficult, but nevertheless he never hesitated. he said, with an air as near lightness as he could assume: “i am afraid there is only one thing for you to do, my dear, and that is to marry me." she stared at him in utter astonishment. such an idea had never entered her head. she could not for a moment comprehend it. marry this old man, this companion of her father's! how could he even think of such a thing? then-there darted into her head the hard logic of the thought. with him she would be safe; she would be at peace. then her fears started again: but the child-good heavens!-the child! the same thought was in his mind: how could he hold his position if he married a girl half of his age and became father of a child a few months later? they would send him packing from augusta with a sneer and a growl. and how could he after that make a living? if he accepted the call to the university of georgia he might outrun and outlive evil gossip and start again. well, he must try it. he could teach, he might write; he was physically strong and if compelled, could farm. after all, there was no question, he had to do this. it was the kind of call that a gentleman responded to. he thought of the words rather cynically. he had never called himself a “gentleman,” and certainly no one had regarded him as belonging to the upper class. his people had been poor and insignificant so far as he knew anything about them, and he knew very little. but he had certain ideas of life and obligation and here was a case where he must be knight-errant. "we will get married,” he said. “that settles it. of course i must let your father know, but not everything; only as much as is necessary. we will say nothing about a child. we will meet that bridge when we come to it.” the marriage of betty lou ccepted weapied here to as thought dr. bald woroad rivers betty lou said nothing more. there was nothing to be said. she simply accepted what was offered, and after the short private marriage ceremony, occupied her room upstairs where she lay and slept and slept. it seemed to her as though she would never get enough sleep. and one afternoon in early fall dr. baldwin got into his buggy and rode miles away. he crossed the broad river, turned north and slowly came to the plantation of his life-long friend, colonel breckinridge. he hated to meet him; it was a hard job. he climbed rather clumsily down from the buggy and rang the doorbell. iend, carth and slowl, miles away. hy fall dr. baluld never get distraught and bewildered, colonel breckinridge had mechan- ically laid aside this astonishing letter and began to open the rest of his mail. there were a number of letters from his bankers. he might as well face the truth-ruin was probably staring at him from all sides. he opened letter after letter, and read with mount- ing astonishment. his plantations, save this home place which he had not allowed to be touched, were unusually successful. his crops had been selling at high prices. instead of debt and deficit he had a large cash balance in the bank. in addition to that, his railway investments which he had long since written off as absolute loss, had become of great and increasing value. sanford, his colored fore- man, with the written consent which the colonel had not realized he was giving nor paid any attention to, had sold most of the stock at a high price, and as a result colonel breckinridge was a rich man, worth at least a hundred thousand dollars. he stared at the letters in utter astonishment, and read only half comprehendingly the strong advice of his bankers that he get rid of his colored foreman and stop placing so much confidence and discretion in his hands. the mulatto was bound to steal at last, and more than that, it made a bad example to have this fellow with so much power over so great a fortune. colonel breck- inridge threw this letter on the floor and snapped: "i'll be damned if i'll dismiss him. he'll stay as long as he wants to.” just here the doorbell rang, and looking out he descried old dr. baldwin climbing heavily out of his buggy. he felt affronted. then he remembered that all of ten days had passed since baldwin had written, and he had not read his letter until today, much less answered it. after all, courtesy among gentlemen demanded some- thing. he arose and, waving the maid aside, opened the door. old dr. baldwin stood there. they looked at each other with the ordeal of mansart embarrassment, concealed with courteous bows. neither knew just how to begin; both the weather and the crops as topics were not available. the colonel thought he was looking upon a lecherous old man who in his age had succumbed to the temptation of sex and deserved a thrashing if not worse. he simply could not realize how it was possible that a scholar and a philospher could act in such a manner. nevertheless he fell back into his armor of meticu- lous courtesy. he waved his guest in and to a seat. he should at least be heard. dr. baldwin looked upon a man who had been through the fires of hell; who had lost a wife by suicide and a daughter by abduction; although this latter he did not yet know and dr. baldwin could not tell him. he could not explain what had hap- pened. he must let the colonel go on believing what he evidently was believing, that in his old age dr. baldwin had become a fool or something worse. in the end, common sense prevailed. they were old friends and shared a mutual cultural pattern. the meeting and explanation proved easier than either antici- pated. first of all, the colonel was acutely conscious that he was rich and betty lou need not suffer from want or live on baldwin's meager income. crazy as the situation seemed, perhaps after all she would be safer with this solid old scoundrel than with some harum-scarum youngster. how the liaison came about he was not interested in asking, and dr. baldwin was not telling the whole story. the old man was so relieved at being even admitted that he had to repress a feeling almost of exultation at the way in which this tragedy was dissolving into the possibility of something like understandnig. then the thought of the child dropped on him like a thud. if it were born in the next few months the colonel would know that dr. baldwin could not be its father. how in god's name could this be explained to the colonel? the colonel knew perfectly well that betty lou and dr. baldwin had never been closely associated. his suspicions would be aroused and the whole sordid story would have to be told bluntly or the matter left as a festering sore. or worse, the colonel might suspect him of planned seduction. but, thought dr. baldwin philosophically, “sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof!" he leaned back and began to talk. they talked at length on various topics and then on what the world was doing and whither it was going. dr. baldwin was astonished at what the colonel did not know, and the colonel began to open his eyes on the world the marriage of betty lou again. they parted in recovered, even if slightly stilted friendship. the colonel would send out wedding announcement cards. then, to dr. baldwin's utter surprise, his housekeeper an- nounced on his arrival home that she was leaving. the woman had been with him now about a year and given unprecedented satisfac- tion. he noticed little about her personally. her name was mirandy-he never asked her last name. she brought with her a little baby, probably, he complacently assumed, a stray brat, after the fashion of negroes. she occupied the little cabin in his back mirandy-he oriced little as year and give heaving. thesekeeper an- yard. tom mansart's wife had left charleston after the lynching and had come to augusta, where she found work as housekeeper for old dr. baldwin. she proved a very excellent housekeeper, quiet and methodical. at first he had objected to the baby, but it was either the baby or another housekeeper; so the baby was installed and to his satisfaction proved quiet and well-behaved. the important fact was that the house took on new efficiency. it was clean and quiet; the food was, so far as the doctor noticed, excellent and well-cooked, and his favorite dishes appeared in per- fect flavor. the woman moved about the house like a quiet ghost. the few callers and guests were so well served and attended to that they noticed nothing at first and then later inquired whence he had obtained this paragon, and tried to hire her themselves. she seldom spoke, never gossiped. the baby was black, beautiful and shy. he cried very little and was never in the way. it was a perfect household for a teacher, and dr. baldwin sighed with relief as he remembered the slatternly, dirty cooks and maids of the past, some of whom he had "owned.” now, transient washer- women never intruded. the white, clean clothes emerged magically out of that cabin in the yard. men cut and raked the lawn when it was needed; even white tradesmen acquired new promptness and care. but when his new wife appeared dr. baldwin was immediately aware that his housekeeper did not like betty lou. she stared at her and said nothing. later she announced that she was leaving “next month." dr. baldwin was aghast. he offered her more money. she refused flatly. he begged her to stay. she simply walked to her cabin. then betty lou, aroused from her resting and her listless in- difference at the mere thought of taking charge of a house and of having someone new in her rooms to stare at her, hurried to the cabin and faced the woman with tears in her eyes. the marriage of betty lou university of georgia at athens, he half feared another revolt of his housekeeper. but after careful inquiry about the colored schools near there, and especially about the school in nearby atlanta im- pudently called "atlanta university,” she quietly consented to go, and dr. baldwin realized that she was thinking of the education of that black child, which struck him as funny. how much better the lower classes would be if they were educated for their place in life! atlanta, too, was in dr. baldwin's mind when he consented to go to the university of georgia at athens. the university was in a bad way; its buildings were old and falling to pieces; its students were dwindling in number; the alumni were indifferent, and many of them insisted that the institution should be moved to the young, growing city of atlanta where it might get from private sources money which the state did not and insisted it could not furnish. dr. baldwin was not at all convinced that atlanta was the place for a real university. he loved the old exclusiveness of athens and was intrigued by a vision of scholarship and culture hidden away among old trees and green fields, without the money-grubbing of atlanta. nevertheless he promised the alumni to look into a move to atlanta, to get acquainted with some of its influential people, and in fact carefully to give consideration to an eventual removal. then, too-although he naturally dropped no hint of this-he wanted to see at first hand one of these negro colleges of which he had heard, and judge how far they were real institutions of learning, with pupils capable of even the beginnings of scholar- ship. in his own mind much depended on the answer to this ques- tion as to whether he would consent to remove his college to this field. under other circumstances colonel breckinridge would have resented the removal of his daughter from augusta. athens and atlanta looked toward the wild west; atlanta was on that ridge of hills that separated the culture of the coast from the western wilderness of the mississippi. but finally he concluded that under the circumstances it was just as well. it removed his daughter from the gossip of charleston, and perhaps near this crude, new, bustling town she would find some comfort and even satisfaction. he had planned to go and see her in augusta, but put it off because of reluctance at facing her and also because of new plans for himself. he had not yet got used to his new wealth and the freedom of no longer having to worry about debts or expenses. the ordeal of mansart he sent his daughter and old dr. baldwin a check for ten thousand dollars and drew his will so as to make them secure. it would have been so different if betty lou had married a young man and he could have expected grandchildren! he thought of rebuilding the plantation mansion to something like his old and stately home. but he was continually worried by the attitude of the people in charleston and round about. they not only gossiped about betty lou but they more and more re- sented his colored steward. they kept advising that a white man be put in general control. they began to visit him and tried to make him suspicious of the colored man's honesty; and they went even further to threaten sanford! they seemed to forget or never to have known that before the war colored stewards often ran estates. the colonel declared that he would choose his own servants! but at last there came a note from the steward himself which could not be ignored. "tell sanford to come here," he ordered. sanford came. he was a tall, thin, slow man with an expression- less face. his skin was warm yellow and his hair grey. the colonel looked at him curiously, as though seeing him for the first time, which was not far from true. here was an honest man. had he wished he could have stolen thousands and disappeared. the bank- ers had been frantic with fear and voluble with warning. sanford had said nothing. yet he must have suffered in many ways. whites must have tempted, threatened, cajoled him. blacks must have laughed at him and jeered. to the colonel he had said little. every week he had appeared with reports, bank statements and such cash as the colonel asked. briefly he had asked for signatures on checks and receipts. now and then he had drawled a bit of advice: “better sell off the cotton quick; prices are still high." "bet- ter plant wheat instead of corn on them plantations.” “we need mules; several have died.” “that railroad stock is too high to en frana ve stolerue. here seeino keep'esterday cam poday.com yesterday 'came a note: "sir, i have decided to quit work here and go north.” today came sanford. the colonel stared at him. why had he served him well? there was no friendship between them. they hardly knew each other. what did this man think? what did he want? why did he live? then sanford spoke. “i'm thinking of going north.” “what?” almost snarled the colonel. “you'll do nothing of the sort! you'll stay here. if you want more pay, take it!" "i don't want more pay. i get enough. i want to live like a man the marriage of betty lou began.banker drew, --and i don't want to have to kill nobody.” at this point colonel breckinridge, in an old dressing gown, unshaven and hair long unshorn, turned impatiently to say his accustomed “no” to the housekeeper announcing, “gentlemen to see you, sir!” but he was too late. three men entered: two bankers and a well-known physician. the colonel straightened and grew red. “how dare you," he began. but his steward interrupted. "colonel breckinridge, these bankers have insulted me and re- fused to honor your last draft which i drew, transferring the bulk of your funds to atlanta. they have brought a doctor to begin efforts to have you committed for incompetency." the president of the bank, choleric and insulted, tried to speak but colonel breckinridge drew his steward aside and, turning his back on the white men, talked with him a few minutes. then deliberately, he signed another draft and gave it to his steward and accompanied him to the door. turning, he held the door open and said to the white men: “go!" the president of the bank protested. “colonel breckinridge, this sudden withdrawal of so large a sum may ruin us. i wanted to be sure this was your signature and that you were well—" “gol” repeated the colonel. sanford returned late in the day. his face was deeply seamed and he no longer held his usual impassive control. he stood flushed, and his eyes wide and angry. his resemblance to colonel breckin- ridge was the more plain and startling. he did not wait to be addressed but burst into speech. “here, colonel, is the draft on atlanta. outside are all the books covering the ten years of my service. i'm leaving you tonight. that bank president called me a yellow bastard. i knocked him down and smashed his nose with my heel. soon a mob will be after me, but i'll cross the river within the hour and they'll never find me." the colonel looked his steward in the eye for the first time in his life and started to protest, but the man drew back to the door, stood straight against it and continued. "john breckinridge, i'm your first cousin by blood, as you know damned well. i promised my father, your uncle, to look after you as long as you needed me. he said it was my duty as a breckinridge. i have been honest, hard-working and faithful to my trust as your records will prove. you've treated me like you treated your horses. you took no notice of me as a man and your closest living relative. the ordeal of mansart you pretended to forget my existence because you knew well how close i was to you and how like you i looked. all charleston knew it and laughed. my job is done now. my daughters are educated and are now both safe in the north, married, and have good homes. you are rich. i am going to leave now this hell on earth, this south carolina which strutted and boasted and led this nation to the devil. “when the whole country was fawning on this state and the south, fearing to oppose your disgraceful arrogance, you could have had anything in reason. you chose war and destruction. then your ‘niggers' came to your rescue. never in history has an humble peasantry furnished such faithful service to rescue fools. they toiled for you, they gave you schools and votes; they divided your land, they tried to make you human and decent. in return you mobbed and murdered them, stole from their poverty, lied about them over earth and time, and then fronted them, helpless and unarmed, with armed hoodlums masked as leaders of civilization. "you won. you crucified their leaders. gone is elliott, ruined is cardozo, disgraced is poor beverly nash. you have swept all knowl- edge of these great leaders of american democracy from the record so that today, unled, the masses of my people crawl in abject servi. tude while you bow to the circus performing of wade hampton and the coarse brutality of a tillman. “but, john breckinridge, you have not won. you'll never win. the black leadership of the south has not been killed. it is not lost. it has spread to the nation, and the nation is heir to what this blind state has lost. they still live and lead in the west and north -in illinois and ohio, in new york and pennsylvania; in massa- chusetts. white carolina has nothing left; not a statesman, not a poet, not an artist, not a writer.” sanford closed his eyes and swayed a bit. seldom if ever in all his life had he so let loose his deepest, most passionate feelings. his seething brain searched the dark future. perhaps he saw, per- haps he dreamed how the granddaughter of cardozo, treasurer of the state, married paul robeson; perhaps he saw that young black teacher who escaped from charleston slavery to become the greatest bishop of the greatest black church in the world. the first negro graduate of harvard was professor at the university of south carolina in and, driven out by hampton, became builder of grant's tomb in new york. the law partner of elliott was professor in this same university and left to become federal judge in hawaii. the grimke brothers, blood relatives of a great the marriage of betty lou carolina family, escaped north to become leaders of democracy and give birth to a poet. kelly miller, black fugitive of recon- struction, became one of america's keenest minds. when, after fifty years, white carolina began to write literature their subjects came from the alley where aunt betsy lived. sanford opened his eyes and glared at the silent colonel. then he turned and disappeared into the night. the colonel felt curiously alone. he had lost his last real friend. he had long since lost touch with his former associates. he increas- ingly hated what was going on about him. he prepared to sell this plantation and the home on the battery. it hurt him to do this, but what point was there in keeping them? he gathered courage at last for the long delayed visit to his daughter. he wrote dr. baldwin telling of his proposed visit, and as he wrote outlined a plan for travel abroad to see again after long years the europe of his dreams and hopes. but even as he wrote he knew that he was not a well man; that the toll of strain and dis- appointment was beginning to show. still he would not consult a physician, partly from fear, partly because in fact he did not greatly care to live. chapter vii the education of manuel mansart tion, the free nepite the efforts of the farm cea for the negroes, as physical resistance became impractical with- out aid of the northern troops and as the power of the ku klux klan and caste legislation increased, one recourse remained: migra- tion, the free negro's version of the slave's escape to the north and freedom. despite the efforts of negro farmers and laborers to adjust themselves to the rural economy, the farm ceased to be at- tractive. the return of ex-confederates to power, intermittent agricultural depressions, unfair and often cruel treatment by landlords and merchants, and rumors of rich opportunities in the cities and in other parts of the country, stimulated an exodus of negroes from the rural south that began as early as . thou- sands of negroes left mississippi, louisiana, alabama, and georgia. the movement chiefly was west, to free soil and money wage. this escape lay unconsciously in the minds of manuel's mother and grandmother: west to the hills of atlanta; first for education such as the low-lying slave-east did not offer; then later-who knows? further west or north to real emancipation? the logic was plain and often expressed by negroes and their white friends. this was at last a free country. if a worker did not like his work or his pay he could and would seek better work and higher pay. the negroes stood awhile bewildered by the new "freedom" conferred upon them. most of them in the south were on the same plantations, with the same “rations" instead of wages, and still with few rights which a white man was bound to respect. but was there not hope? perhaps not in south carolina nor in louisiana nor in arkansas nor in western tennessee. but kansas! fabulous kansas! land of the free, land of john brown's free men! aunt betsy knew of this black movement west; not distinctly nor in detail but in that curiously broad way in which she knew so much of the surrounding world. she had actually seen and heard black soldiers marching down meeting street in old charleston on the great day of surrender, to the tune of “john brown's body lies a'mouldering in the grave but his soul goes marching on!" she remembered the day when this fabled john brown had been the education of manuel mansart crucified and nailed to a bloody cross, with five black men. more dimly, before this, she had heard of his bloody crusade in kansas. kansas thereupon became a great word in her ears. it was that golden west whither men of all sorts were streaming to seek for the promised land; and atlanta was on the way westward and held out schools for her grandson. then came other rumors of movements among the negro masses. there was the weird old man, pappy singleton, the moses of ten- nessee, who with his own hard-earned cash, his white hair, strong voice and outstretched hand, led ten thousand black folk to kan- sas. later there was the younger, stronger henry adams of louisi- ana who actually signed up a hundred thousand dissatisfied black workers for migration. the southern planters were furious and alarmed. they called a meeting in nashville in . colonel breckinridge was invited but never answered the letter, if he ever read it. the planters made fair promises, but this proved hardly called for. the forty thousand penniless, ragged negroes who crept to kansas found cold welcome. the sturdy western pioneers wanted nothing like this; boats refused them passage; trains passed them by, and mobs threatened them. some died, some turned back; seven thousand stayed and struggled; but the net loss to the southern planters was small; they still had millions of cheap black labor. negro leaders were divided in council. the first colored gradu- ate of harvard college and his kind encouraged the migration: “come north,” they said, "leave the slave south and be freel” but frederick douglass, the intrepid leader, now in ripe manhood, and others, contradicted these leaders. “stay south,” he pleaded, “pos- sess the land where you have labored for years. let no one run you away. fight it out.” to the great rank and file there was doubt and hesitancy, but most negroes stayed and worked on the same plantations where once they were bond slaves. aunt betsy, who watched this struggle but knew the details only vaguely, held to the movement westward at least as far as atlanta where her grand- son must get an education. he must escape slavery not perhaps physically so much as in his mind. the little black boy born in his father's blood in charleston, , lived in augusta and athens during his first ten years of life. he was a beautiful child; physically perfect, with dark velvet skin, black and ivory eyes, white teeth and short, black, delicately crin- kled hair. he was always spotlessly clean and well-fed, but the black women always near him did not encourage outside intima- where these teepid lege slave son must get auch as in his mo his father's bloodten physically dle black boy bolathens during his with dark the ordeal of mansart cies. he laughed and played in a narrow but well-protected world. he had hardly begun to walk when his mother left the alleys of charleston and went to augusta, where they lived in the rear of dr. baldwin's house, in a little cottage which seemed to the child the loveliest home one could wish for. dr. baldwin's acad. emy was on the outskirts of the city, an old and rambling group of buildings where manuel, peeping eagerly through the fence, could see groups of very elegant young men walking to and fro. this was, he was told, an old and famous school, and dr. baldwin had always been its head. there, after a year, his grandmother joined them-thinner than he remembered and more grim of face, but always kind and thoughtful to him. at her coming there began that talk of school for him which continued for a long time. he asked why he could not go to dr. baldwin's school. but his mother said he was too young; and dr. baldwin himself when approached on the subject by this black baby hesitated a moment and said, "well, well! perhaps! who can tell? -stranger things have happened!” still his mother did not seem to think much of the idea. she kept talking of atlanta, where it seemed a very fine school was ready for him, young as he was. naturally, for five or six years, up to the time he first saw colonel breckinridge, manuel was blissfully ignorant of being a problem in the midst of problems. he was a happy little boy, living in a lovely world, surrounded by nice people who looked at his beautiful face and sturdy body and smiled. to some that dark color somewhat clouded their sense of beauty. he was to their minds, black “but” beautiful. but to most he was just a lovely boy, with dancing eyes, soft, smooth skin and bubbling spirits. he whistled and sang and went skipping happily to school; came home to delicious meals of cornbread, molasses, and collards, with now and then a bit of pork. then there were interesting chores to do for mammy, like splitting kindling, fetching water or running errands. and last there was delicious sleep long and deep, with sometimes magnificent dreams, when he was a king giving his mother and playmates pearls and gold and large pork-chops. he noticed, of course, but with no particular interest at first, that people were of different height, dress and color of skin. to him these differences were of no significance. some persons had more things than he, and different; but everything considered, the things he had were more satisfactory and were those which he the education of manuel mansart preferred. it was much nicer he was sure, to eat in the little kitchen near delectable odors, than in that vast dining room of the big house which he had inspected and which smelled flat and was otherwise uninviting. a horse and carriage to ride in was certainly desirable at times, but not usually near as much fun as hopping and running with freedom to stop, turn aside and climb; all of which horses could not do. as between white people and black, he had no generalizations which were fixed. old pop. jenkins, black as night, was nasty to everybody and said mean things. mrs. baldwin was "sometimey"'; he did not pay her any particular attention. he liked old man baldwin and the attraction was mutual. white folk had things to give away and gave him pennies, candy and sometimes dimes. that was nice of them as they did not seem to need these things them- selves. dr. baldwin eventually accepted the call to the university of georgia. he was not made chancellor, as the titular head was called. this place was left vacant. he was called “dean" with the essential powers of a president. this arrangement satisfied many conflicting elements, and he moved to athens. this moving proved a most exciting event to manuel. he was six when it happened and had just started going to school in augusta. mr. porter, a yellow colored man, had run a school before the war, where the free negroes educated their children. after the war this school became a public school and here manuel's mother had promised him that he should go. he had looked forward to this with great impatience, and had only just begun school when his mother announced that they were going to give up their lovely little cottage and move to a strange city. was it atlanta? no, but it was near atlanta. “but why, mammy? i like it here and this has always been our home." "we are going where there are better schools and nicer people." “but our people are as nice as they can be. and i don't want to leave, i ..." "hush, boy! you'll do as you're told. you don't know nothing about people yet. you're going to get an education. not by 'nig- gers' but by good white folks. you're going to make something of yourself, or i'll beat the daylights out of you. now, march and help me pack!” so everything was packed except a number of his prized pos- sessions, for which there was no room. the dog, who was his dear- the education of manuel mansart "no, sir, i am going to be a lawyer." “a lawyer? well, well; where did you get that idea?” “my mammy says that she wants me to be a lawyer.” “well, if i were you, i would tell your mammy that there are better things to do in the world than following the law.” then the colonel smiled, and putting his hand slowly in his pocket, took out a bill. "what is your name?" “manuel mansart.” colonel breckinridge stared, but slowly handed the bill to the boy. just as the boy reached to take it the colonel sensed that a woman, slim, dark, had come out of the gate and approached them silently. she stopped and stared at him, and then reached down and took the bill before the child could touch it. "we do not want your money, colonel breckinridge,” she said. “there is blood on it.” and taking the boy by the hand she walked swiftly away, almost dragging the surprised child. the colonel walked slowly on; it was as though on this bright morning a fatal cord had snapped in his mind. he remembered his dead wife. he remembered the battery; he remembered meeting house street. he remembered that dark and fateful gathering far off from the haunts of man, on the lonely ocean isle at midnight. and he knew that in some way a dark fate was still following him. he went on to the house. he was greeted with joy and a warm welcome. dinner was not altogether a successful meal, because it seemed that the servants had suddenly left. dr. baldwin was mystified and annoyed; but betty was philosophical. “father,” she said, “did you meet any of the servants as you came in?" he was silent a while and then told of meeting the little boy. “oh yes, and there was a woman, too.” “did you know who that woman was?" "no." “it was tom mansart's widow. i suppose she has run away be- cause she does not like your presence here." the colonel apologized. but betty lou shrugged it off; she was disgusted, of course. "you just cannot depend upon negroes; here this woman has been with dr. baldwin over four years, and now for nothing she picks up and leaves. they are utterly unreliable! all of them ought to be back in slavery where they belong!" the ordeal of mansart but silently colonel breckinridge had made a vow. in his will he would leave a sum of money for the education of this child. the doorbell rang and dr. baldwin himself answered. it was the sheriff. he said that he had held up two wenches and a child, with a lot of house plunder. they were at the depot trying to get passage to atlanta. he was told they were dr. baldwin's folk and probably making off with his property. if the president said so, he'd put a lien on the stuff and bring them back here or lodge them in jail. dr. baldwin with some difficulty convinced him that the women and their goods were free to go. so little manuel was torn again from his roots. there was one consolation. it turned out that the nice colored teacher was return- ing to atlanta and might meet him again in the mitchell street school which he would probably attend, near atlanta university. but nearly all the rest of this moving was tragedy. they sat in the dirty "jim-crow” part of the depot for hours, until the sheriff returned and sullenly let them board the train. the conductor shunted them to the little half of a coach next to the engine. then he spied the little dog which manuel was concealing beneath his coat. he seized the terrified little animal and tossed him off the platform just as the train started. “no dogs in here!” he growled. mansart screamed, but his grandmother grabbed him and cud. dled him in her lap. struggling, he stuck his head out of the · window and called. the bewildered dog heard him and with a yelp of joy started down the platform and leaped to the track. he stopped barking, but ran with every ounce of his strength and more. he ran until he staggered blindly and his heart broke and he died. manuel gasped and crawled back into his grandmother's arms. it was the greatest tragedy of his long and tragic life. they travelled long into the night. then in the clear morning the great railway shrieked and flew to a city so large that manuel stared and gasped. they landed half underground, pushed their way through what seemed millions of people, rode and rode, until past vast red buildings and wide lawns they came to a street, a little lane, and a house. and this again was home. at first he did not like his new home in the least. it was strange and unfamiliar; he did not know a single soul; there were no real big trees nor grass. but over, around and above all this stood the school, a plain wooden new england building not far from the campus of atlanta university, whose grass and ivy and beautiful the education of manuel mansart red buildings loomed to the west. this was the mitchell street public school, a regular grade school for children. the teachers were young men and women, students or graduates of the university. the children were mostly dirty and stupid; but some, like manuel, soon made the work interesting. he was a dear; so bright and eager; so good-tempered and delighted with school and life. his former athens teacher soon appeared. his advancement was phenomenal, his application amazing, and his happiness and con- tentment complete until an incident with the poor whites, which awakened him to new aspects of the world. the case of that dollar which his mother had made him return to colonel breckinridge excited his curiosity; first because it was more money then had ever before been offered him; and secondly because his mother had acted so funny. he began to suspect there might be white people who were in some way dangerous and must be inspected carefully before their friendship was accepted. this of course applied to only a few. manuel was too good-tempered to easily take offense or seek always to have his own way. he gradually evolved a philosophy of action. if a white boy blocked his path he walked around him and smiled. if he saw a crowd of whites approaching he waited until they passed or crossed the street. but sometimes the whites were truculent and sought trouble. manuel had always avoided any difficulties. he was a child of sunny disposition. he very seldom lost his temper; but when a hulking white boy much larger than he (the name he found out afterwards was scroggs), slapped him for no reason whatever and then seized his new geography recently purchased by his mother at great cost, manuel lost his poise. sud- denly the little fellow saw red; he fought like a demon; he tore the clothes off the older boy and brought blood. the white chil- dren, screaming, leaped upon him and when the policeman ap- peared upon the scene running, it was to extract a bedraggled, torn and bloody black child from beneath a heap of bitter, cursing whites. manuel was pulled and held while the outraged whites began to beat him. just then manuel's mother appeared as it seemed to him, right out of heaven. she seized him and began to plead with the officer. this astonished and enraged manuel. he started to explain, only to receive a blow across his bruised face from his own mother that made him scream in pain. then in a daze he heard his mother's voice: "please, mr. officer, don't arrest him; he's such a little boy. he the ordeal of mansart don't mean no harm. you just leave him to me and i'll whale him so he won't never touch no white child again. and i'll pay his fine and work for you if you want me, or do anything-please, mr. officer, just let him go this time.” the officer reluctantly released him, and the white children gradually slipped away. slowly mother and boy descended the little hill toward home; they entered and without a word his mother stripped him and beat him until he was faint with pain. he stared up at her through wild tears, and saw to his terror the tears that were streaming down her face. he stopped crying and struggling; suddenly she stopped beat- ing him and said brokenly: "manuel, don't you never dast strike a white boy. take what they give, bow, run away. don't hit 'em. don't fight. you can't. they’se got the power. we got to wait.” she turned and went out. he crept to his bed and lay very still. - in after life manuel always dated his understanding of white folks and the negro problem to this incident. he concluded that white folks were dangerous and unreliable people; that they hated negroes and were determined to injure them. there were, of course, exceptions. but the rule was avoid white folk and never trust them. of course they must be met and met pleasantly so as to avoid retaliation and to keep their good-will. they had the power; they had the wealth; they owned the earth. from their wrath his mother was trying to save him at the sacrifice of her own love. he resolved to thwart them. he would carefully avoid offense. he would always be polite, smile pleasantly and give a good word to those who spoke. to those like the poor whites who were rude or cruel he would avoid all contact whenever possible, or get back at them surreptitiously so as to avoid the law. that law he concluded was to protect white people and annoy and hurt colored people. the police were its agents and were at all costs to be avoided. they must be treated with great personal respect but never trusted, never given any information or help if possible. this extreme position, as he grew older, he modified in particular cases and situations. but its basic principles he never entirely forgot even to the day of his death. putting these principles into practice, he received both cor- roboration and correction. he saw the chain-gangs on the streets and realized that this was what his mother had feared for him. he knew that neither tender age nor innocence kept negroes from its clutches; for this was a way of restoring the old slavery and stopping the education of negroes. the education of manuel mansart what was happening all around manuel mansart was a vast social revolution of which he was only a partly-conscious part and groping for solutions and personal adjustments where much of the essential elements were quite unknown to him. normally mansart was a good-natured, frank and affectionate person. he liked people and he was neither selfish nor envious. his mother had made him a simple, homely, but neat little home. he enjoyed it. it was down a lane from the university-a lane of either dust or mud and of course unpaved and untended by the city. then up a red clay bank one entered a closely fenced and hedged yard, tiny, but full of roses, honeysuckle and bougainvillea in season. one stumbled right up to a tiny porch with an easy chair and a bench. then came the “parlor," a bit stiff; and the larger, delectable kitchen crowded with table, stove, tubs, coalbin, chairs and an ancient couch. here he, his mother and grandmother lived; the mother washing and cooking; he eating and talking and study- ing; the grandmother sitting very still on the porch. to young manuel mansart at the age of twelve came change guised as death, and almost unrecognizable for what it really meant. his grandmother died. nobody ever knew much of aunt betsy. she was black, tall and gaunt. on her once handsome face, beneath its mane of coarse black hair now faded to gray, time and pain had carved deep and angry grooves of bitterness. yet over it lay and ruled an iron will and a clear head. of the past she said not a word. how or where love had touched that magnificent body she never said. where she was born and where she travelled no one knew. she bowed regally to her slavery and yet bent its masters to her own designs. she knew nursing. she knew cures. she knew the human body. she used her knowledge as power. once and only once had a white man whipped her. he died soon and silence marked his memory. her plan was to stay in carolina-in charleston, and make its black folk rule, together with white aristocrats. both parties failed her: the white aristocrats lowered themselves to compromise with the riff-raff and to midnight murder; the negroes ran and hid. she followed her daughter and grandson to augusta for money paid in memory of clarice du bignon. she stopped in athens until on her very threshold appeared that colonel breckinridge, once her ideal, who had descended into hell. her march from the sea to atlanta was the beginning of death. she said nothing but began to sit all day on the front porch and stare at the setting sun, growing frail and silent. to manuel, she the ordeal of mansart waviney to supped at o never seemed to die. she just sat still and ceased to speak. then one day they buried her in a negro cemetery amid bare sand and little boards with waving strings. life went on. his mother worked hard. just how the money to support even this simple home came, manuel seldom inquired. he worked at odd jobs-bellboy and waiter in hotels during vacations and on emergency. his mother took in washing and went out to day's work. when he needed clothes or books there was anxiety; and when the time to pay taxes rolled around disaster repeatedly faced them frankly. compared to the lovely homes in the white part of town this cottage was assessed at ten times its value. in no sense was it worth the $ it was valued at by the white officials, who always were ready to sell it to white landlords and let black tenants rent it forever. but the mother by hard work, pinching and saving at every crevice; and at last by borrowing of unregulated loan sharks at exorbitant interest, managed to keep it until manuel entered col- lege. then she, too, lay wearily down one night and never awoke. the loan sharks seized everything greedily and manuel went into the dormitory to finish his course. thus at the age of manuel entered the “university," as the high school and embryonic college of negro school was called. here he came into contact with a new kind of white folks; northerners, both men and women, as teachers. it was both aston- ishing and disconcerting. they were different-in speech and man- ners. they did not have the haughty and overbearing manners which he had always associated with "quality" white folks; nor on the other hand the slovenliness, cruelty and dirt which he asso- ciated with “poor whites.” these whites dressed rather plainly but were painfully neat; terribly, and as he thought, quite unnecessarily punctual and strict in little things. he began to make a new cate- gory of whites. this made the racial problem less a matter of color and more a question of sort. he began to emerge from his racial world. but it was in his studies that he approached emancipation. emerging from "dead" languages which began to show signs of life, they began to read literature and stress what it said, instead of how it said it; they read history of the current world; mathematics be- came more tangible and less theoretic. there was the morning news bulletin and the discussions of a geography which was real and not a dumb map. the world began to be a fascinating place where one wanted to live, travel and act, and not merely eat. what manuel did not realize until many years later was that the education of manuel mansart this school was curiously different from most schools of its day. it had poor equipment-how poor manuel never knew; but it had sincerity, it had object and high ideal; it was quite uninfluenced by wealth or renown; no professor was using this low pedestal for a stepping-stone to high places; no degree taken here would be recognized in the world of letters. but out of this simple fellowship of souls, this close acquaintanceship and deep sympathy, came some- thing like that which once blossomed in the groves of academus. viewing thus the worlds about him, the larger and more power- ful and the smaller and closer, manuel's attitude hardened. from the white south he withdrew into his own world. he began to think black; white people had less and less place in his dreams. he was building a separate world for himself and his. as he saw the whites in hotels, on the streets, in stores, they seemed a narrow, sordid, often vicious lot. they stole from negroes without a thought, cheating them of their earnings, of their hard-earned property, of their good name. it was often difficult for a decent, hardworking negro to keep from arrest and even jail. the word of any white man was sufficient to convict him summarily. the only thing that could save him was the counter-testimony of some influential white. one must have white friends. also, for whites it was advantageous to have negro clients willing to serve, work cheaply and do as told. this southern world, however, now came to face a new world where manuel felt at home and under deep obligation: this was the contact with his white teachers. their friendship, and especially their unselfish encouragement and advice, made him avoid seeing the white world as wholly a hateful thing. on the contrary, he began to think that this northern world might be the normal world of real people, while the white south was the abnormal fungus. nevertheless he must not ignore nor under-rate the power of the south. at present it represented and really was the world, so far as he was concerned. this made the advent of miss freiburg in so momentous. his other teachers were mostly people born before the war, and not well acquainted with the newly dawning world of the late th century. miss freiburg was intensely modern. she was a tall, scrawny, keen-eyed woman from minnesota who came to teach history and economics and knew what she was teaching. she un- derstood what was going on in the world and for that reason had lost her instructorship at wellesley and took the only thing that was offered. the president of wellesley said frankly that miss frei- ng woorn sheame. she and knew minnesota ern, she walate th the ordeal of mansart burg's evident animus against great britain must arise from her german descent, and while understandable it was of course impos- sible for the college to allow such a picture of the british empire to be drawn on the campus. the harried president of atlanta uni- versity was too glad to get a good teacher for little or nothing to pay much attention to the criticism. this was a god-send for manuel mansart. miss freiburg had been educated in germany, had studied in france and england, and had actually been to africa and the west indies. like all the atlanta university teachers most of her students were in the high school rather than college grades. she brought them a sort of world view of race, which she applied to georgia. under her tuition manuel began to learn what was going on in the last decade of the th century, which was of interest to him as a black man. the black mahdi had arisen and driven the british empire out of the sudan. in south africa a consumptive who had listened to rus- kin's appeal at oxford for young englishmen to go out and rule the world, had become a millionaire by grace of black labor and gold, and now controlled the diamonds of the world. he read of the rand, with its ramshackle, corrugated iron houses, a few brick hotels and saloons, and wide open brothels; mines with wired-in compounds for the black laborers. second-rate magnates were drinking champagne, and bewildered boers, who had sold their farms for next to nothing, were coming in with their ox-drawn produce and watching a city spring up. bewildered kaf- firs shot up and down in cages to work in the bowels of the earth. london bar-maids and prostitutes auctioned themselves off to the highest bidder and sometimes found themselves married ladies. manuel read of lobengula, chief of the matabele, cheated out of the richest mineral hoard in the world by young rhodes,- rhodes, who set the british empire on the path from cape to cairo. kitchener-with the newly invented machine gun, then recaptured khartoun and desecrated the ashes of the great mahdi. ethiopia and france, about to meet on the headwaters of the nile, were warned off, and now britain ruled half africa. then his indefatigable and hard-driving teacher brought her classes back home. she pointed out the wave of strikes in the north beginning with . she read from the newspapers of the home- stead strike of and the rise of populism. the students talked frankly about white people in the sur- rounding world; they did not like them; they did not trust them. there were always exceptions, and favorite white teachers like then his home. she pointed from the newspa the education of manuel mansart spence and freiburg were in some subtle, unexplained way incor- porated into their own black race-a method all the easier since they too, suffered under the southern white world's ostracism and per- secution. among southern whites they had few friends and ac- knowledged these cautiously. these southern whites, therefore, in all student conversations almost invariably figured as born ene- mies. students talked over ways of getting even with the whites and over-reaching them. they weighed future conspiracies and what they were going to do when once they were out in the world. they had no doubt but that in the long run they were going to get the best of the white folk of the world, who always figured in their imaginations as conspiring to thwart the colored groups. some, like mansart, expected to come into their own by ex- celling white people in all lines of endeavor. they were convinced that given freedom of opportunity they would prove to have as much brains, energy and determination as the whites. others ridiculed and scoffed at this. negroes did not have more brains and did not need them; they did not want hard work. no! they pro- posed to get the best of the whites by fooling them; by taking advantage of their mistakes; by undercover conspiracy and hidden deeds. the whites were not so smart at that. this group of students were always laughing at the whites; at their pretense and strutting. they laughed in their faces with solemn mien, innocent looks and sanctified air. when pretentious white visitors appeared and espe- cially important southern city and state officials, they would ridicule and mock them with perfectly straight faces and then when they stalked off, go into reels of hysterical laughter. mansart did not follow this line of thought. he saw it based really on self-distrust; on a complex of deep-felt inferiority, at least in many essential respects. he rejected this. negroes had brains, but they lacked decent primary schools; sanitary homes; parents. they had small chance to learn english even from southern whites. if, with this handicap of poverty, ignorance and disease, the blacks were forging forward, as they certainly were, it needed no admission of inferiority and no subterfuge of deceit to gain a place in the world. their half-trained teachers in the elementary schools knew no english nor even elementary mathematics. their training had been piece-meal and incidental. negroes had as much ability as whites. not for a moment could white folk stand what negroes daily must endure. when mansart in was entering his second year of high school, the populist movement started in georgia and tom wat- the ordeal of mansart son was swept into congress. it was not the policy in the southern mission schools for negroes to say much about politics. but miss freiburg, from her own keen interest in this southern situation, talked freely with her brighter students. she told them about tom watson; how he had come to the legislature in by advocating free schools for all and attacking the convict lease system. she stressed the rise of the farmers alliance in the west and south and its cooperatives. mansart was particularly attracted by her explanation of the basic reasons for the current uprising of the farmers. it was not as he assumed, simply a race problem; white farmers were facing the same sort of oppression that negroes faced. the same remedies ap- plied to both. indeed, it began to dawn on manuel that more often than not what he called "problems” of his race were in essence problems of all men in similar positions. miss freiburg, sitting primly and yet speaking so clearly and concisely, talked nearly an hour after class to a group of students in the beginning of the campaign of . “there is want, hurt and fear among masses of americans, black and white today. the cause is not easy to explain and we have no scientific social leadership in this country. but we do know certain facts. not all know all the facts, but various facts are known by all, each in his own narrow experience. farmers need land and land is owned in great unused quantities by people who never earned the right to own it and do not need it nor use it now. the prices of goods raised by farmers have been falling for thirty years. laborers, north and south, black and white are not in many cases paid enough to feed, clothe and house their families well. some are mistreated, beaten and shot when they protest; especially in the south and among the new immigrants in the coal and iron mines. some actually fear starvation. “on the other hand, prices of goods in general are going up. why? for many reasons, some of which are clear, some only guessed at. for instance, more gold and silver are being mined. gold espe- cially, silver sometimes, are measures of value. when they increase their value falls and the prices of all other goods compared with them rise. again, new ways of making goods may raise their prices, and new supplies of workers may lower wages. "but no matter what the cause, farm products drop in price, and goods which farmers want rise in price. at the same time owners of land and valuable goods grow rich. millionaires have multiplied. the masses, led by various sorts of men, have sug- the education of manuel mansart gested remedies; they saw rich men buy a dollar's worth of goods for c, but later when they themselves spent their hard-earned dollars they got only cents worth of goods. they said that the government should remedy this by printing cheap greenback money. this greenback movement arose in the seventies and lasted until . then the farmers took hold: in the grange movement against railroad rates and then in the farmers alliance. last came the populist party.” during the campaign of , when mansart was , he followed the work of sebastian doyle. doyle was then a preacher in south- east georgia, near where the radical congressman, tom watson lived. doyle had advised and influenced watson, and was speaking all over the state in the campaign of for the populist ticket. the tall, cream-colored mulatto, with flying black hair, tre- mendously impressed manuel. he attended his rallies whenever they took place in or near atlanta, and several times they talked together. doyle found this boy both intelligent and inspiring. both believed that political power must be restored to the negro if he was to survive, but doyle insisted that this must come from alliance with the poor whites-the small farmers and city mill-hands. he told how he had forced this idea on tom watson, the new leader of the poor whites and had made him see the truth. mansart strongly disagreed here. he believed with his dead grandmother that the salvation of the negro rested in the hands of the “qual. ity,” the heirs, spiritual and temporal of the planters. later, in mansart's freshman year doyle was again in atlanta, stumping for the populists. miss freiburg heard doyle speak. she pointed out: “doyle represents the application of democracy to politics. negroes are suffering under present conditions. they should have opportunity to state and explain just where the shoe pinches in their case. then when remedies are proposed, these remedies must include the righting of negroes' wrongs.” she distinctly sniffed in class when mansart expressed his doubt about the use of bringing the wrongs of negroes to the attention of the poor whites. “they want negroes to suffer," he maintained. she retorted, “until they learn that they are in the same boat with negroes.” it looked for a while as though the stars in their courses were fighting for democracy in the south. but facing the stars, the forces of reaction and status quo rallied. they held the political state; then whe of negroes' when mansartroes to the the ordeal of mansart sprich nors that? ed of c they ruled the church; they had the press; they had the money and credit and held the mortgages; they had long controlled and manipulated the elections, and they counted the ballots. young negroes like mansart were convinced that in the south at least, honesty did not pay and that "poor whites” could never be trusted by blacks. miss freiburg clung to her belief in the ultimate triumph of democracy. in she particularly called his attention to the new negro leader who was to speak at the cotton states exposition. she hoped a new prophet would rein- force doyle. mansart sat in that great auditorium on negro night. his heart swelled with pride. the leading men of the north were there sitting beside the best blood of the south. never before had so many whites and negroes sat together since . it was, he firmly believed, an omen of world significance. one could, of course, see the color line as whites filled the auditorium and blacks a part of the gallery; but what of that? one must see things in per- spective, and while he had become used to sitting side by side with northern whites at table and in class, after all, he argued, what was that? peace, work, good-will-that was first. so they were separately seated of course, but they were there—the old south, the new south, the north-liberal and conservative, with here and there a radical and a reactionary. the list of colored speakers was impressive; he knew of many of them. he did not know nor had he ever heard of booker t. washington who was given prominence probably because he repre- sented rural education. he was principal of an alabama school called tuskegee. he spoke well, very well indeed; but to mansart's mind not better than two or three other colored leaders. then too, he felt some uneasiness because he feared that washington's phil- osophy of seizing opportunities at hand, avoiding politics and mak- ing friends with the white folks was yielding too much; was stating plainly his own belief but a belief which he did not want pro- claimed too publicly or put too clearly into words. he still never wanted to forget, or let any children he might have forget that they were men and had rights, and that those rights were being trampled on. nevertheless he was impressed by the applause and enthusiasm of the whites. they gave washington a tremendous ovation. they applauded his advice to the negroes to work and save; but they loved his words on social equality: “separate as the five fingers." ladies stood on their chairs and waved their handkerchiefs, while men threw up their hats, danced and gave the rebel yell. the ordeal of mansart sent to rhode island to see how the curious system worked. several mass meetings were held, but at the last one, held during the octo- ber fair, the forces against this northern innovation got control and killed the scheme. as the war scare increased, atlanta was not interested. it was the commercial center of a territory extending down toward the cotton belt, out toward the west and up toward yankee notions. the railroads brought in goods, wagons distributed them, and trade was brisk. nevertheless, a thriving southern city had to notice current events and in march, , a "kansas meeting” was held and resolutions adopted opposing the admission of kansas as a free state. “the safety of our southern institutions, and the peace and quiet of our truly patriotic, liberty-loving and law-abiding citizens are in danger ... by the interfering and aggressive policy of aboli- tion fanatics." none of the mass of people, however, contemplated secession. that would have been fatal to trade. but when secession actually took place and war was imminent, atlanta began to take notice. in february, , jefferson davis found that atlanta was his shortest route from washington to montgomery. he stopped off and said a word. later alexander stephens dropped by. he had fought a duel here in but now was a cripple on crutches and was on his way to savannah. at savannah he made his celebrated declaration on slavery as the “cornerstone” of the new south. as the war neared, atlanta, far from the front and centrally located, with means of communication, experienced a wartime boom. it became a military center and supply depot for the con- federate army. arms and ammunition were manufactured ex- tensively, and in the city became the headquarters of the confederate quartermaster and commissaries, as well as a chief hospital point. during the year atlanta became a base for federal prison- ers. in it was announced that federal generals were preparing to attack atlanta as the last connecting link between the east and the mississippi valley. if the confederates lost atlanta they would lose their food supply. at first it was feared that general grant would stop and attack on his way to richmond. characteristically during this time of anxiety great religious revivals took place. by june it was evident that sherman was preparing to march south- ward to the city. and sherman came. in july there were two battles: in august the city was bom- john pierce and henry grady barded, and was three-fourths destroyed in september when sher- man's army entered the city. the citizens were ordered to leave and , of them walked and rode away, laden with furniture and household goods. most of the negroes remained and two regiments of negro soldiers were immediately organized. then sherman marched to the sea, followed by a vast crowd of negroes, including tom mansart, and cutting a path straight through the confederacy wide in miles and wider in significance. slowly the people of atlanta, after the surrender, came troop- ing back. out of , buildings, only were left. but atlanta had lost little else by the war. her charred ruins after sherman's bom- bardment were picturesque and good talking points; after all, the destruction of a few thousand old wooden buildings only gave opportunity for brick, steel and concrete, on land still intact and rapidly increasing in value to almost fantastic heights. moreover, atlanta had had none of the spiritual losses and psychoses that paralyzed the southern south. atlantans had lost no picturesque plantation mansions, having never owned any; they had lost no faithful “retainers," having owned few slaves and hating the sacred "institution” because it took bread from the mouths and work from the hands of most atlanta settlers. atlanta had no old family bonds of blood, nor aristocratic traditions. instead of nourishing insane hate of the north and bewailing a lost civilization, this busy, energetic and ruthless town began a new culture designed to bring north and south together in profitable partnership first of all atlanta, to the disgust of the old and aristocratic cities of macon and savannah, became capital of georgia, remov- ing it from the inaccessible compromise town of milledgeville where local rivalry had hidden it since before the war. atlanta had every advantage at the time which a capital of georgia needed; accessi- bility, nearness to west and north, established trade and industry, wide-awake citizens not averse to hard work, and close alliance with northern capital. her negro population was small and there were none of the ties of blood and association which made negroes an integral part of charleston and augusta. the transition from united states con- trol was accomplished so precipitously that it had to be done twice. it ended both times in the same way: southern whites and repre- sentatives of northern capital in complete political and economic control of the state; negroes almost completely disfranchised; lit- tle disorder, and business “as usual,” before the rest of the south realized what was doing. the ordeal of mansart : led its value since shrewdness from artists were suckele georgia thus atlanta in was a rapidly developing city. it had , inhabitants, ten lines of railway, and real estate which had tripled its value since mansart was born. it was attracting men of ability, push and shrewdness from the plantations south and the business north. even writers and artists were sucked into the atlanta maelstrom. a little modest man, born in middle georgia and driven out by sherman, wandered about, worked in savannah and finally came to atlanta in . seven years later his folk tales of "uncle remus” began to appear in the atlanta constitution. henry grady, grandchild of irish peasants got his education in virginia, worked on papers in new york, and then bought part of the leading atlanta daily. atlanta in was handling a hundred thousand bales of high-priced cotton a year. the coal, iron and steel possibilities of the birmingham district had been tapped. the labor problem had been quietly and legally settled by deliberately planned and wide- spread arrest of negro offenders, together with a few white vagrants, and leasing their services to private corporations. these corpora- tions became in the “georgia penitentiary" and the state received an income of nearly a million dollars a year from this new slave trade. the panic of which rocked the country did not greatly dis- turb atlanta. no banks failed and business continued to flourish. three large new churches were built by the episcopalians, the presbyterians and lutherans. this prosperity called the nation's attention to the southerner's industrial paradise and to atlanta as its center. fired by the example of the great centennial exposition at philadelphia in , atlanta began a series of shows to advertise atlanta to the north and to bolster and encourage the spirit of the south which was still sulky and reminiscent. in came the visit of president hayes to the city. there followed in the "international cotton exposition" to celebrate the beginning of the transfer of cotton spinning from new england to the south, the opening of the atlanta cotton mills, and the completion of the railroad which linked atlanta to the west. alfred colquit, clad in his shining cotton suit, told the world of the “untarnished and untarnishable glory” of the “imperishable cotton kingdom!" young john pierce, a new york merchant, investor and banker, was especially interested when he arrived in atlanta in . there was a town in northwest massachusetts where for many decades the leading store had borne the sign, "john pierce and john pierce and henry grady l-groomed by son were now hice build- son.” by not only the leading store but most of the factories and other industries of the growing city and indeed many of those of new england and the whole country might have had the same legend flung across them, so far as control was concerned. at this time the firm consisted of old john, a tough industrial warrior of , and young john, a well-groomed business man of . the main offices of john pierce and son were now in new york city, in what was then "uptown" in one of the newer office build- ings. and there in sat the head of the firm, angry and bitter. the world appeared going to the devil, with no real reason. there was money, plenty of money in the north, accumulated from war activities, investments, speculating. recovering from the recent crisis, it sought new investment for future power and security. the conquered south with boundless opportunities lay at last open for development. then difficulties began to appear. the rebels set a stiff price on cooperation with northern business-namely, restoration of slavery in all but name, and a poor white president who tried to push this through. to stop this plan negroes were given the vote to outvote their former masters. silly thing to do, said pierce, but it wasn't intended to last long. ignorant black labor in the south, instead of doing as they were told, tried to use political power to control industry and spend the money of employers. these laborers had to be put in their places by force and violence as john pierce agreed; but just as that method was succeeding here came in one of the worst of those breakdowns of the whole industrial system, which are so frequent in the growth of modern capitalism that some scientists have sought to plot their ten-year cycles and measure the inevitable mathemat- ical course, or even to link them to sunspots. but, as in all social phenomena, here were clear causes rising from human thought and desire and expressed in human action. the panic of was caused by a bloody, cruel and costly war which ruined lives and plans, destroyed and misused hard-earned property, interfered with education, lowered morals and dealt civil. ization mortal blows. it was useless to seek to ignore all this and place blame on a mechanical money system, or to try to go forward with old plans and methods just as though nothing had happened. something had happened and more was happening of tremen- dous and 'lasting import. john pierce did not understand it. he tried to interpret it by applying old moral judgments on whole- sale cheating-as when the whiskey ring came to light; railway building graft which besmirched blaine; a cabinet official hastily the ordeal of mansart as of erce did was in resigning to prevent sordid scandal from actually reaching the presidential chair. meantime those who owned and controlled capital arranged for a new and rising stream of cheap labor. immigration, which stopped during the civil war, now rushed up to a flood, attracted by pictures of new freedom and free land. a half million im. migrants in became in two years , and for two decades remained at flood tide; and there was work shrieking to be done. then came other unawaited complications. white northern laborers, pressed to the wall by low paid immigrants, began a desperate fight to keep up their income until the strikes and riots from to became, as one said, “a rising against society itself.” revolution was in the air, and john pierce did not like it. john pierce did not like negroes and the reason was in its beginning small but in the end momentous. there were, before the civil war, less than , black folk in the north and west and only , among the , whites of new england. they formed a rather lonely group, attached as old house servants to some well-to-do families, or hidden away in small, segregated groups where they lived by small farming or as servants and laborers. one such family lived near the farm of john pierce's father and were annoying. three brothers owned three small adjoining farms which they had inherited from their father who had been brought to new york by dutch traders. they had in some way become recognized as "free" and here they were at the pierce's doorstep. they were quiet and kept to themselves, but they were outsiders and in the way of progress. the pierces wanted their bit of good bottom land around a tiny lake, and they wouldn't sell even for a good price. john re- membered his father's last offer. "jack," he said as he stood glowering at the negro, “i want this land and i'm tired of dickering for it. how much do you want for it?" the old man was black and tall. he wore earrings, which vastly intrigued little john. he answered briefly, for himself and brothers. “won't sell!” then they stalked away. old pierce was furious. he called this mere "nigger stubborn- ness.” it was more. if the negroes sold their land where would they go? what would they do for a living? but little john grew up despising negroes as stubborn and thriftless. they did not send their children to school and the whites were glad they didn't. they john pierce and henry grady labor was scarce.pread john pierheir land, dis- with businessman he and tried been a cadquarter did not attend town meetings nor vote, and the whites did not ask them to. they just let them alone or sometimes hired them at trifling wage when labor was scarce. when the slavery controversy spread john pierce, grown to manhood, saw that this negro clan had lost most of their land, dis- integrated and scattered. some went south with the th colored volunteers. then the pierce interests moved its headquarters to new york. john pierce during the war had been a "copperhead.” he did not believe in abolition and tried desperately to prevent civil war. as a businessman he considered such a war suicide. it interfered with business. he himself had avoided participation in the war by buying himself a substitute; and one of young john's first experi- ences at the age of was a brief view of the draft riot in new york, with blood running, and dying negroes, and some hanging to lamp posts. when in strikes broke out over his far-flung railway properties, old john dismissed his employees, hired private police to shoot them, and appealed to the government, which responded with alacrity; until suddenly the country faced another civil war. farmers in the west forced laws through actually giving states the right to fix railway rates; the despicable supreme court upheld these granger laws, and they spread. the laborers formed unions and actually demanded a voice in settling the rate of wages. al- though the reliable democratic party, shorn of its slavery heritage, came into power again in both house and senate in , yet beside them sat independent members elected by farmers and laborers. pierce was, by his own lights, an honest and deserving citizen. he was a typical, hard-bitten new england business man, and sit- ting in his simple but costly new york office this spring morning of he was a very angry man. he was talking to his close friend and business associate, cyrus field, who had just rebuilt the new york elevated railway system. "by god, cyrus, i've done as much for this country as the next man. i bought bonds, and loads of them, when they were down to . i supported the war; sent substitutes to the front and ran my enterprises at a loss. my money helped the centennial in ' , and now just as business is picking up and things getting normal and profits beginning to appear, the damned workers on my railroads go on strike and try to start a revolution. i tell you, cyrus, my business belongs to me and i'll run it as i damned please. i'll the ordeal of mansart pay such wages as i think right and if anybody don't like them they can get out and let others who want to work take their places. if this god damned government won't protect the right of a laborer to work, then i want to know it.” pierce had been an exporter before the war; then had turned to manufacturing for the tariff-protected domestic market; then to transportation and railroads, especially the new pennsylvania sys- tem which had just suffered from the strike of . just now he had entered the banking field to finance his own and other ven- tures. "no lazy labor leader, nor dirty foreigner, nor slimy catholic is going to tell me what wages to pay, what hours to work, or pry into my private income and ask how i earn or spend it.” field called attention, as he had often before, to the south and especially atlanta. “i was talking only yesterday to a bright young southerner. the name was grady-yes, henry grady, an impudent, hustling, self-confident irishman " "irishman!” growled old john pierce. “oh, by descent only, second or third generation; but a fierce american and southerner with new ideas. john must meet him.” "meet whom?" asked john, the son, entering the office. "henry grady of atlanta-". “grady? oh, i know him. he represents the herald in the south. i'll have him in to dinner next time he's in town.” young john had met henry grady on his first visit to atlanta- a chunky, ebullient newspaper reporter who literally worshipped northern big business and saw salvation in its advent into the postwar south. at , he was boyish-looking, with a round, kewpie- like head, and near-sighted. he had graduated from the university of georgia in and then gone to the university of virginia. college to grady meant two things: oratory and writing. nothing else mattered. his time was spent in effort and intrigue to gain some envied chance for an "oration"; and a year after graduation he was writing for the atlanta constitution and editing a paper in a neighboring town. with true southern gallantry he married his boyhood sweetheart and they lived together contentedly with sev- eral children until he died. he investigated election frauds in florida and was mixed up with the ku klux klan in georgia. he gave popular lectures. writing and talking were his life, and it always seemed that he regarded events as things to write and talk about rather than as the real life of real people. he was positively thrilled when he saw john pierce and henry grady interest in thely approached cyruernesgordon ben the new york stock exchange. “railroads as cards and millions for stakes," he sang. he worshipped industry as he saw it in action. he got a position as southern correspondent on james gordon bennett's herald, and then boldly approached cyrus field for a loan to buy a third interest in the atlanta constitution, the most thriving daily in the south. this loan he repaid from a "fier" on the stock exchange, and he began a fabulous career as prophet of the “new south.” by his sheer drive and enthusiasm he burned himself out before he was fifty. grady first sharpened young pierce's conception of the south and induced him to consider settling in atlanta. for a long time the situation in georgia had pierce baffled and repelled. he saw the most astonishing gang rule of which he had ever known. it surpassed in many ways tammany in new york. he heard of the triumvirate which had ruled georgia before the war-straightforward men but hopelessly antediluvian in thought and outlook; the huge pro-consul, cobb, who owned a thousand slaves and actually believed slavery was the ideal indus- trial system. he died with the war. then toombs, a robber baron of falstaffian proportions who, ranting in boston, threatened to auction his slaves on bunker hill. he was never reconstructed and fought northern capital as he fought abolition. he was now a vast and tottering wreck of a drunkard, and grady acted as his proud secretary, along with his newspaper work. finally there was alex- ander stephens, a high hat, a vast black coat and a thin white face between, hiding a brain far too keen to be consistent. these had ruled georgia until after the war. as these leaders stepped off the stage, there came the most awful gang of which pierce ever dreamed: shrewd, slick, courtly, who played the game of popular control to the limit. there was joe brown, the unctuous, conscienceless puritan from carolina; a stern, god-fearing presbyterian who neither smoked nor drank and was successively unionist, secessionist, carpet-bagger, scalawag and pro- fessional southerner. he served as governor, chief justice, railroad manipulator, lessee of state convicts, and united states senator. he was rich and ostentatiously charitable. his buddy alfred colquit, played the southern planter; a princeton graduate who raised bales of cotton on his ancestral macon plantation; governor, railroad speculator, united states senator, and courtly gentleman of the old school, whose fellow travellers, no more guilty than he, went to jail for bond frauds. the ordeal of mansart he triumphant discussed with young for him to and finally, general john b. gordon, the magnificent figure who played the old soldier game as it never has been played be- fore or since. he had fought with lee and surrendered with him at appomattox; he was governor of georgia and fellow-grafter with huntington and old john pierce in the southern pacific deal. by parading with the aged jefferson davis at the confederate re- union at montgomery, and later exhibiting his tottering guest at atlanta, he secured for himself the united states senatorship from the very hands of the triumphant populists. all this the enthusiastic grady discussed with young pierce and tried to convince him that the south was the place for him to settle. grady represented the poorer white element of the south rather than the planters; but not the farming peasant, rather the emerging bourgeoisie, the trader, middleman and industrialist. he stood for the new southern entrepreneur, needing capital, furnish- ing cheap labor and promising large returns with no squeamishness as to method. - grady was a “natural” for this job because he believed in capitalist exploitation as he believed in god. he declared that “the self-made business man had sunk the cornerstone of the only aris- tocracy that america should know.” he saw salvation in unham- pered business development in the south. he knew but laughed off the present political gang rule. to be sure, the triumvirate ruled the state, when one is governor, the other is chief justice, and the third united states senator; then the senator becomes gov- ernor and the governor, senator, and so on they toss the ball of power back and forth until the state, that is the mass of poor farm- ers and workers, are rising in arms, but grady brushed this off. they could be controlled by influx of northern capital and northern business ideas. he ignored the fact that under northern capital a quarter of the georgia white mill-hands were under . naturally the farmers alliance was growing in the state and now populism. it had been growing for a decade. "and it had reason. the basis of the georgia farmer's life is cotton. cotton has been falling continuously from cents a pound in to cents today. not only that, land bears the brunt of taxation while stocks and bonds pay nothing. we must head off radicalism by increasing business. we must interest the north in a new south.” john from time to time let out some doubts which had arisen in be sure is chief decomes of john pierce and henry grady his college days and had been emphasized by his travels south: “of one thing, grady, i cannot feel as sure as you southerners, and that is the future of africa and africans. i wonder if they can be written off as easily as you assume. have you been watching africa? i tell you the black world is stirring. three big six-foot men are fighting. one is european and dead white from tubercu- losis. he is rushing from the death which pursues him. the other is thick, stolid and red from the south african sun. he is fighting modern capital. the third is a black king calling his warriors and his witch gods to hold back the white flood.” . grady was impatient. “the blacks have no chance in the world. they lack brains. the boers will be crushed by the invincible british empire." "i fear for that empire," said pierce. "i fear for white su- premacy. of course, rhodes firmly believes that the british are 'the first race in the world and the more of the world we inhabit the better it is for humanity.' he believes this, and shrinks at nothing to make it come true. he will crush kruger and plant his own tomb on the heights of the royal matoppos beside the murdered lobengula—" grady laughed. “stop ranting. darkies will never rule; they can't. they can work and make the south rich. come and help.” “how are you going to handle the negroes in the south today?" "all we got to do with them is to make them go to work, and get in enough capital to employ them and the whites. but the present triumvirate in georgia is ruining the chances of our getting capital. they are manipulating the railroads for gain; exploiting the mines with convict labor and squeezing the farmers. hell will be to pay unless we can pry them from their grip on the state and its resources and get an honest regime in power.” “will that be easy?" "yes and no. easy to dislodge them but difficult to replace them with honest men who know commerce and industry and what they require. if we replace them by radicals and anarchists we'll only get rid of thieves to welcome fools." "i still don't see just where the negroes come in.” "so far as the political picture is concerned they don't count. they've neither the brains nor morals. but as laborers they come in as the best, most docile and if well treated, the most willing labor force in america. now see the danger: if they are brought back into politics you spoil your best workers and drive away capital. on the other hand, if we can ease out the white grafters, the ordeal of mansart attract capital and placate and guide the farmers, a new south is born.” so grady dined with the pierces the next time he came to new york. several southerners sat down with them. "mr. pierce," began a charlestonian, "you think you got troubles; just look at us. your laborers at least want to work. ours don't. ours want to go to college and learn greek. and you north- erners are furnishing them with colleges. they want to vote and control our money and get themselves good-paying public offices. they want to sit at our tables and marry our daughters. and by god, sir, we won't have it! i'll tell you the truth, we've stopped them voting; we've made them work or go to jail. we are going to force them to keep to themselves; live together, marry each other, have their own churches and schools. they can be as free as they want to be with themselves, but they can't force their company on us. “we are glad to be rid of slavery. i used to support more lazy old ‘niggers' than i could afford. made and kept me poor. now i'm tickled to death to have them take care of themselves. but they got to work. they can't loaf at other people's expense. if they'll work half as hard as the old 'niggers' used to work, i tell you sir, we'll have a rich and prosperous south, and there won't be no strikes neither, and no trade unions." old john nodded complete agreement. “and,” added a congressman from north carolina, “there'll be the best opportunity for northern investment on this continent, if not in the world.” “let me add another idea," said young john pierce. “i have spent considerable time in the south in the last two or three years. first of all, industry has begun a rush forward in the south. your railroads have twice the mileage they had in ; industry like cotton spinning is increasing by leaps; other industries are rising. prosperity faces you if you can get capital. northern capital, afraid of labor unions here, will come to you if your labor conditions get better. “what i see there is the responsibility not only of building up a satisfied negro laboring class, but one which could be trained to keep white workers, north and south, from making unreasonable demands. we could say to the white labor leaders in the north: 'there are negroes who can take your place and who ask less wage than you demand.' we could say to the southern white artisan: 'there are negroes right here ready to work for less than john pierce and henry grady u'll have you worring young we pay you, therefore it would be wise if you refused to listen to revolutionary northern union organizers.' finally, we could say to the blacks: 'we are offering you work and wages which whites want; as long as you work faithfully and avoid unreasonable de- mands you'll have good jobs.'” the south carolinian gave enthusiastic assent. the other congressmen were a bit disturbed. said one: “i wouldn't favor threatening white labor with black competition.” "i'll threaten the damned socialists with any weapon i can get before i'll let them interfere with my property,” said old john tersely. but young john added a further suggestion. “the blacks could never really compete," he said, “if they were disfranchised.” “of course not,” retorted a north carolinian, “but ain't negro suffrage a main demand of the north?”. john spoke slowly in answer. he was really searching his own mind for his conclusions as to democracy. “we northerners of course believe in democracy. but democracy is not suited to all people at all times. there must be a period of apprenticeship. it would have been better if this trial period in the case of the negroes had been longer, much longer. but as it is, we are not helpless. the courts can interpret the unseemly haste of con- gress. i think you see how this will work. already, in the slaughter- house cases in , the extreme interpretation of the th amend- ment has been tempered. in fact, it will now protect our invest- ments better than the rights of negroes.” “the supreme court is a set of fools," retorted old john, think- ing of the railway commissions. “yet,” answered one of his directors, “they are usually on the right side. when they are not, we can get better appointments." "certainly,” young john agreed. “just yesterday i had assur- ances that the outrageous civil rights legislation will soon be annulled by the supreme court. i think i do not exaggerate when i say that the north, led by business interests which have suffered grievously from extreme democracy at home, will acquiesce in this new interpretation of negro rights." the southerners looked gratified; but john added, “of course a main prerequisite will be a satisfied mass of black labor. they must not feel abused, as they undoubtedly do at present. we must yield to their laudable desire for education, but temper it with common sense, giving a reasonable amount and kind. we must above all see that they get proper leadership within their own ranks." laborce, ali se neiving a resise, for ediu the ordeal of mansart old john was gratified at his son's words. it showed a ripening: of judgment and a sureness of decision which had hitherto been lacking. young john himself was a bit surprised. his mind had been half-consciously coming to conclusions over which he had long hesitated. he was going to cast his lot in the south. his friend- ship with henry grady helped his decision. young john was a contrast to his father. old john was tall and thin, scraggly, carelessly dressed, with an abrupt if not gruff manner. young john was dressed well in tailored clothes. he looked prosperous without being showy, and he gave one a certain feeling of confidence in his judgments. he had been trained at andover and princeton and sent south after graduation to look over this new territory for industrial expansion. old john pierce believed in early marriage and half hoped young john would marry one of those pretty and aristocratic southern girls whom he himself so admired. but to his disgust john had married kate gibbons, an irish girl. new england was liberal and anti-slavery, but it disliked the irish and the catholic church intensely. had it not been for the railroad strikes and the adaptability of young john's wife, he and his father might have seriously quarrelled. but the old man needed his son's experience and help and kate helped by promptly drop- ping her religion and joining the congregational church. the ap- pearance of a healthy boy in halted hostilities, although old john was never quite reconciled. nor were the young couple satis- fied. new york society ignored the irish wife even of a rich pierce, and john for some time was not decided whether to settle down here or in the south. his decision came after that dinner in new york to which he invited grady. “we'll have the democrats in the white house in a few years," field assured them, “but we must keep them from fighting the war over again.” “yes,” said old john pierce, “but what about labor? we've got good laborers rushing to us by the hundreds of thousands and be- ing ruined and turned into anarchists by these damned unions. you've got millions of negroes-can they work and will they?". grady became earnest: “they can work and they must if they want to eat. but they must be kept out of politics. just as you northerners must and will control the labor vote, so we southern- ers must control negroes in politics." after dinner, with the older man gone, young john pierce and grady, with kate and the awakened baby, sat long and talked. john pierce and henry grady kate was fed up on new york. “i'll never get a chance here and i'll keep john back. the dutch will never recognize the irish. i want john to go south. how would i be received in the south?” "well,” said grady, "both of you must remember one thing. if you go south you must conform. it will be difficult but it is inevitable. the south has been hurt to its guts. it has been fed for a century on tales of its bravery, beauty and culture. then in a war where victory was certain, it was whipped not simply by yan- kees but actually by help of armed ‘niggers. “as a spiritual upset this was simply unendurable. now comes the cult and creed: ‘the south was right; the negro is fit only for slavery and must not vote; the south was never conquered and never will be.' if you grant these propositions you can help build a new south with docile black labor, northern capital and white brains. but you must grant the propositions; you must conform; you must talk and make speeches in support of this. otherwise you're a 'damnyankee' and a ‘nigger' lover and can never belong." kate laughed. “i might get my daddy's confederate commis- sion and his forage cap and pose as an honest-to-goodness seces- sionist-" “what!” exclaimed grady, and john scowled. the frank kate explained: "it's all a joke. you see, my dad, pat gibbons, a little down at the heels in , was representing a loan-shark outfit in georgia when the war broke. he tried desperately to get away but was caught in the draft, and making a virtue of necessity joined the company, became its captain, and was ‘missing' after the first fray." kate and her frail little mother had been hard put. the mother went into house service until when pat gibbons, after an in- credible series of adventures, made his way through the army lines and turned up in new york with a small bank roll derived from illegal trade. there, with irrepressible energy and impudence he became a member of tammany and got hold of a profitable street contract. in ten years he had made a modest fortune by methods not to be inquired into; had installed his weary wife and little daughter into a west-side brownstone front, and then died of drink just before tammany tweed burst into infamy. his sad little irish wife obediently followed him, leaving kate lonely but fairly well- todo in cruel postwar new york. kate met john in one of the innumerable bazaars which swarmed in the city for relief of the soldiers, the south and the freedmen. the vandeventer debu- the ordeal of mansart tante whom john was escorting looked down her thin, straight nose at kate's pert snubbiness when the irish girl inveigled herself into their company uninvited. the vandeventer girl soon found excuse to withdraw. this was a tactical error, for john was fed up with her cold, high breeding, and fell willing victim to the good-looking, healthy and terribly frank kate. they were soon laughing at the deserter, the whole company, and the world in general. kate threw herself at the young banker without reserve. he was the only gentleman of the new order she had met after the dubious politicians of the east side, and she wanted terribly to be a lady with such a husband. while john, just past the wilder and unsatisfactory indulgences of early youth was drawn to this honest, red-blooded, even if slightly over-dressed and vulgar girl. he found himself gradually forsaking prim and snobbish society for kate's welcome warmth and joy in life; until one night they ran over to connecticut, married, and spent a delirious week's honeymoon. old john was furious. he glared at the returned couple in grim anger. “my god! my son hitched to an irish paddy and a damned catholic!” but old john was no fool. after all, the boy was married, the girl was no drab nor mere fortune-hunter, and this was his only son. the boy had ability and john pierce and son needed all the ability and hard work they could muster. this miserable escapade gave the old man a handle to put the screws on the young one, to taunt him with dilettante indifference to real energy and interest in the affairs of the firm. in this he found he had a firm and intelligent ally in kate. moreover, kate could cook. so an offensive and defensive alliance was achieved quietly in the fifth avenue mansion of the pierces. society bowed unenthusiastically and slowly to wealth, and business began to boom. it was, old john decided, not so bad after all. it was the outline of this story which kate, at first to john's discomfort and then to his inevitable enjoyment, insisted on telling to young henry grady. grady shouted with laughter. "listen," he said as he left, "bring that commission and the forage cap along when you come to atlanta. as a daughter of the confederacy you'll go further than your banker husband.” thus young john and kate settled in atlanta the year that cleveland became the first democratic president since the war. john entered the largest bank in this city as an official and in charge of his father's railroad and investment interests. he came south with an increasingly clear program: control labor in the south john pierce and henry grady without disorder; make the negroes a satisfied working class with good paying jobs and education limited to their needs; develop southern industry, trade and commerce and tie it in with northern investment. the south was the critical area of the modern world. he gradually forgot africa. he had few actual contacts with ne- groes. he was in close touch with grady. “i tell you, grady, how to begin. i'll get the new england society of new york to invite you as speaker at their next dinner. we'll get the biggest capitalists of the country to be present. you lay the 'new south' on the line thick. treat the planters and the carpet-baggers as dead, and the negro problem as settled. grady, we'll start a new eral” “good, i'll try it. but there's one hitch. there is a man here in georgia who may upset the apple cart. he's a little red-headed shrimp named watson. he's a curious mixture: son of an augusta cotton mill hand and a small south georgia farmer. he's served one term in the legislature and put up a fierce fight against col- quit, the gang governor. then he got discouraged and sulked ten years. now he's hobnobbing with the farmers alliance and the western malcontents who are causing you and your father so much uneasiness. they are piling into the crazy farmers' cooperative movement. "if some combination including these elements should gain control of georgia and the south it would repel instead of attract northern capital and sound industrial organization. we've got to watch this. right now there's a deal on foot between gordon and colquit which, if it goes through, may raise such a stink as to put the radicals in power before we can head them off. populism is growing fast in georgia." pierce and grady kept in close conference as soon as young john was permanently settled in atlanta. pierce decided: “as a long range project we must rush legal disfranchisement of negroes. otherwise we'll have a labor revolt in the south to join the wild west. mississippi has started. tillman is at work in south carolina. we must push it in louisiana and georgia and alabama. the republicans are pushing a force bill to give the federal government charge of national elections. this is so un- popular it should help us disfranchise negroes. “remember, we've got all the money back of us that the situa- tion calls for. and now to this other business: i'm going to settle down here as a full-fledged atlantan. i want to buy or build a house and get to know the proper people, clubs, etc.” the ordeal of mansart "i'll help; but be careful. even i am a social outsider. just be- cause atlanta has no society like augusta or macon, it's sensitive and snooty, especially in the case of yankees. you'll have to go whole hog with them for success. “now it happens i have a good starting point. there is a woman in town with money to invest. she is a breckinridge of charleston, married to the old fogy who's at the university of georgia. she wants financial advice and came to clark howell, my boss, who runs with quality. he told her of you as a new official at what will soon be our biggest bank, and since i know you, i'm to bring her to your office tomorrow afternoon. you give her inside financial advice in return for a social steer. of course, you'll do this with care." thus betty lou breckinridge baldwin came to know john pierce and they liked each other. betty lou left a check for over $ , for investment; also, she gave john sound social advice. “of course, as you doubtless know, atlanta has no real society. it is a poor-white town, energetic and commendable but unknown in the best southern circles. but i have some friends to whom i shall be glad to present you and especially your wife who, i under- stand, is a daughter of the confederacy. that's good! you must, of course, build far out on peachtree among the more select folk. i and my son live out there. but where is dr. baldwin? he's getting so old and forgetful. “i brought some papers of settlement which i want signed and put in a safe-deposit box. you understand that the money in our family is mine, but i want to make suitable arrangements for my elderly husband, a precious soul-a close friend of my dear father --but a scholarly fogy and always late. you'll smile when i tell you that this minute he is visiting the colored college near here and i fear has quite forgotten me and the board meeting.” meantime the double plan of pierce and grady for north and south both matured and lost ground. in the south the groundwork of race division on which grady depended as immovable began to give way under watson's drive. while on the other hand, grady's influence in the north flourished and spread. the orator was a southern institution. he was more emotional and less reasoning than the greek who was his prototype. before the war he adopted the great voice, majestic mien and broad gestures. he was strongly emotional but carefully tempered this with disciplined culture. after the civil war came orators from nearer the masses who had been deeply imbued with the methods of the negro preacher. the the ordeal of mansart responsible. that year the american federation of labor was formed, less radical and for the most part excluding negroes. but despite labor revolt capital was riding high. one great industrialist said, “the public be damned!” another added, “if a workman sticks up his head, hit itl” another: “law? what do i care for the law?" and the king of bankers declared, “i owe the public nothing. men owning property should do what they like with it." by standard oil was in control of the whole industry. in two decades the railroads tripled in mileage, quadrupled in capital and shrunk in number of owners. trusts controlled sugar, whiskey, tobacco, salt, tinplate and steel; and by , of them had three billions of capital. there were millionaires. but revolution loomed and in the south tom watson was becoming its embodi- ment. grady, although alarmed at the populist movement in georgia, was not discouraged. he rushed wildly on with his writing, travel and speaking. he had kept close touch with the farmers alliance in georgia, addressing them annually and devoting a column of the constitution to them. but grady was tired. he had been speaking to vast audiences over the nation for years. to him speaking was great physical effort and nervous tension. a speech was always preceded by endless con- versation with all kinds of persons; and with eating elaborate din- ners. then there were the long trips almost invariably at night; and he never got real rest in a pullman. he was worried. his wife had had a miscarriage and he had lost $ , gambling in cotton futures. in he had spoken in georgia in march, in new york in april, in virginia in june, in south carolina in july, and in georgia in august. then at the piedmont second exposition in october, just before the primary vote, he spoke on farmers alliance day in atlanta and made his supreme appeal not to economics nor politics but to race prejudice. he warned against union of blacks and whites in georgia politics. "whom god has separated, let no man bring together!" nce day in atla but to race porgia politics chapter ix old dr. baldwin and his family marriage, using al contabe olderin, and for dr. baldwin a new life had begun. the state university was an old institution; but had for years been poorly supported, with tumbledown buildings and yet with certain tradition. dr. baldwin loved the institution where he first studied; it was some- thing to build on and he liked to dream of what it could become for guiding the south to a new destiny. quite characteristically his mind had worked on, with little interruption because of the marriage. they had rebuilt and refur- nished the old presidential mansion, using some of the funds which the colonel had given them. they had social contacts with members of the faculty and the community and a few of the older students. on the whole, life had renewed interest for dr. baldwin, and as for betty lou it was more livable than anything she had expected. she did not pretend that she was exactly happy, but she was at peace and safe. colonel breckinridge too, liked the old rambling neglected place which had a niche in the hearts of a large number of alumni. he liked to talk again with dr. baldwin about the world. he sat in some of his classes. he heard with distress about the mahdi in the sudan, and his driving out of the british. he was astonished at the efforts of italy to annex ethiopia. but he was not sure that the world was going right even when by accident a gentleman like arthur became president and the democratic party for the first time since the civil war might in a few years return to power. world commerce was increasing, railroads were pushing all over the country; life insurance had doubled and telephones were com- ing into use. but gradually the colonel became uneasy. he could not forget that mansart boy. he began to have the shadow of a headache, which was not quite a headache yet would not go away. he was not as aware of the world about him as he had been. he became forgetful in annoying and inexplicable ways. then he began to have startling dreams, when he could sleep at all. he began to see things which others apparently did not see. he had visions. it the ordeal of mansart . was not sudden or startling, but people began to ask after his health solicitously, which annoyed him more than it should have. once or twice he lost his bearings in broad daylight. once he found himself almost raving at a stranger because of a blood stain which was not there. once he shouted and shrieked at a band of mounted murderers, who were but white hunters returning from the country. once he found his wife lying bloody and dead among the lilacs of a public park. the doctors who were called in advised rest and later, travel, perhaps abroad. but betty lou revealed another remedy. at dinner one night, after the maid had withdrawn, she an- nounced to her father and husband that she was expecting to have a baby in a couple of months. then she kissed them and went up stairs. both men were astounded, but neither so astonished as betty lou herself. betty was thirty and her husband sixty-five. she had never been promiscuous; never but once had she forgotten her birth and blood. but especially here in athens she had close and personal friends. her husband's caresses had been rare and she had endured them with composure if not enthusiasm. dr. baldwin himself knew that the prospective child might be his. he also did not try to hide from himself the fact that it might not be. in that case he did not care. there was always gossip in a university town. betty lou was young and loved company. this child would be company to her. after all, physical paternity was unimportant. it was education that counted and he would have the privilege of training this child. the colonel was at first shocked and then uplifted. for a mo ment black suspicion engulfed him; but the complacency of the father and his own firm faith in the women of his family drove this instantly away. there followed a flood of exaltation. the breckin- ridge family would live again. his name was redeemed. he had become used to thinking of his family as dying out with him; of then himself escaping from settling the problems of the world. and now miraculously he was to live again. his health became better and he began to plan. he could not help but think of that healthy little black boy and to wonder how his and his own grandchild's lives were going to meet and intertwine in the world. he altered his will both for the benefit of his grandchild who would get the bulk of his for- tune, and to insert a sum of $ for mirandy mansart and her child. the long days and months went slowly by, with exaltation and old dr. baldwin and his family disgust for betty lou. she soon made up her mind that she would never live permanently in athens. it was a stodgy little university town, full of gossip and envy. betty lou knew that she, especially, was the subject of slighting remarks and unpleasant glances, along with perfect courtesy for the dean, as dr. baldwin was designated. there had even been some cases of social ostracism, which dr. baldwin never noticed but which she would never forget. the question of the future of the university dragged on, but betty lou was thrilled by the activities of a group of alumni who insisted that the place of the old university was in the new city of atlanta which had no institution of higher learning, unless one counted the negro college, which one did not. a committee on this matter met several times at the university and betty lou saw to it that they were pleasantly entertained; and the legislature in at- lanta helped things on by refusing decent and necessary appropria- tions for the university. it was openly whispered that the legisla- ture might be more generous to an atlanta institution. then at last the strain of waiting was over. in an atlanta hos- pital betty lou in blood, pain and filth gave birth to a little boy in the summer of . a few days later, in the beautiful suite of a new peachtree street hotel, colonel john breckinridge held in his arms at a baptismal font, john breckinridge du bignon baldwin; while old dr. baldwin stood smiling by. the colonel gave his grandson to the arms of radiant betty lou, turned slowly to sit down, and died of a cerebral hemorrhage. betty lou was sincerely grieved. in the last months she had come to know and sympathize with her father as never before in their lives. she wanted him to travel and meet more men of his kind. but the baby intervened and now he was dead. but of another plan betty lou was now certain. she was going to live in atlanta, this developing giant of a city; her boy was going to grow up there. the social advantage of breckrinridge and du bignon aristocratic blood in a poor white city could not be ignored. to this betty lou insisted on adding a rumored relation- ship of her husband to abraham baldwin, founder of the uni- versity of georgia. next, betty lou helped the alumni committee to finance offices of the university in atlanta where her husband could spend part of his time, meet business men and legislators, and prepare for the final transformation. to this betty lou added a calculation and re-investment of her new wealth. she was rich and sole executive, and did business with an old banking house which had just taken into partnership young the ordeal of mansart john pierce of the well-known firm of john pierce and son of nationwide fame. with this young man about her own age, who had a son also just born, she consulted. she was affronted to learn that her father had left $ , to the mansart boy. of course, her father never knew that old aunt betsy had bilked her out of five hundred dollars for a nursing job some years ago; and betty lou had never forgiven this pair for daring to leave her employ at such short notice when her father came to visit. she arranged without difficulty for the mansart bequest to be reduced to five hundred dollars. with the other two thousand she bought a fur coat which she had glimpsed at rich's department store. what, after all, did negroes need of all that money? dr. baldwin meantime was seeking to build a real university with headquarters at athens or possibly later at atlanta. he really did not care which, if the plans were right. what he was trying to do was readjust his thinking and teaching to a new situation. he had seen the carolina experiment fail; the attempt to build a new agriculture with free, educated, enfranchised black laborers. he saw it die a bloody death in . in its wake came a harvest of lawlessness, lynching and misuse of the courts to reestablish slavery, which he knew must eventually fail, or establish a new, modern caste system which he doubted could succeed. and it was all so unnecessary. he still stuck to his thesis that nothing was to be feared from a little education given to a few negroes of moderate ability. this new city of atlanta was situated between the old aris- tocracy of carolina and the newer cotton kingdom of the mississippi valley. and it was the natural highway for the incoming northern industrial invasion. this prospective change vastly interested dr. baldwin. dr. baldwin had not finally been confirmed as head of the university of georgia. that functionary was called the “chancel- lor" and had long been a figurehead for advertising purposes. re- cently it had even been proposed to make the aging jefferson davis chancellor. but there was need of a real head and director of education at the university, which the former students of dr. baldwin knew he was fitted to fill. he therefore became “dean" at a fair salary, and was in charge of educational policy and teach- ing while money-raising and speech-making remained with the un- filled office of chancellor. matters moved very slowly from to . industry and capital rolled into atlanta and politics grew grim. old man bald- old dr. baldwin and his family win was repelled. he had seen politicians try to settle human problems and the mess they had made of it. of economics he knew nothing. work was natural, wage was necessary; but this rising cry of the farmers could not be a matter of politics. it was a matter of work. he regarded watson as a demagogue and was attracted by the young grady. in , during one of his visits to atlanta to see his young son now eight years of age, and to consult with the university committee, he slipped out to piedmont exposition park one golden october afternoon and listened to henry grady. grady was standing before the , farmers and their wives, a bulky, beaming cherub, exuding good nature. "hello, folks!” he told two rattling good stories and had them yelling with laughter. then he roared; he raised himself on his toes and flailed with his arms. he thundered; his hair flew and the sweat poured down his face. blood suffused his fat cheeks. there came a sudden calm as the audience bent forward in tense expectation. with tremolo in his voice he turned to god and religion. his finger pointed to heaven, he raised himself on his toes. his deep voice swelled again with emotion and tears were in his eyes as he shrieked. “whom god has separated, let no man bring together!" baldwin was repelled. he did not like emotional appeal in political speeches. it was to his mind too negroid, a white imita- tion of negro methods. grady's speech was the studied histrionics of an experienced actor who believed in his role. every gesture, every cadence was calculated, and the real man was hidden watchfully behind the act to weigh its effect on his audience. and that effect was not satisfactory. baldwin noted the considerable number of negroes present, mostly segregated in groups by themselves, but not entirely. down in front he saw the handsome negro doyle, watson's confederate, looking at grady with concentrated unwinking attention. grady himself must have felt that his climactic final appeal to race sepa- ration did not go over so well as usual and the applause, while heavy, was not tumultuous. baldwin could see that grady was exhausted. he must have known that he was ill and perhaps feared that he and his party would be beaten in the next election. he saw black and white labor hand in hand marching to victory. they would not win. with the gang in control of elections they could not win no matter how det over so well asmactic final appealention. grady old dr. baldwin and his family and intelligent. you must understand the tragedy, especially the tragedy of the few negroes, the very few, who are above the mass; they must have a chance. you don't need to segregate them or to crucify they. they would not go very far, or if a few of them did, what of it? it was rather to their credit and to the advantage of the world. let them have their little chance. all this turmoil and fear and fighting was ridiculous. the great mass of negroes would always stay in their places. “if some persons try to lift themselves by their bootstraps, it is not necessary to argue with them or seek to stop them. the effort would stop itself in time and in a comparatively short time. the capacity of negroes is small. i have known them all my life. they were funny, bizarre, faithful, imitative; but they did not have brains.” of course, dr. baldwin admitted there were some exceptions; a few here and there. he admitted that as a matter of fact he really knew very few negroes intimately. his contacts had been narrow, and contacts of opinions and beliefs rather than of persons. he was rather interested in seeking to learn how far these new northern teachers agreed with his conclusions. he did not wait to be intro duced; he sought out one or two teachers in augusta and talked with them. some of them he concluded were frustrated old maids, : teaching more or less mechanically what they had learned in the north; sincere and honest, but having indifferent results. he had once visited one or two colored schools in carolina and south georgia and laughed at what they were doing. a few pupils were learning to read and write. most of them were floundering helplessly. negro colleges were entirely unnecessary, and probably high school education for the great mass would be unsuccessful. he didn't think much of the people who were educating the ne- groes. some of them he met and recognized as good-hearted folk without very sound classical training. he was quite willing to coop- erate with them, and he liked to talk about their negro students. there was, of course, some capacity there, certain exceptions, but the exceptions were few. some of the white northern teachers agreed with him; others seemed to him fanatical and wanted to establish colleges. he saw their argument, so far as it was valid. you must have teachers for these negro schools and that implied some education but not a regular college course; a normal school of some sort, yes, that certainly should be established. for some time after coming to his new work he lost touch with negro education. but today he was in town on business for the the ordeal of mansart university of georgia and incidentally to visit with his wife and infant son in the new house they had built far out on peachtree. he was received casually and hurried off so as not to be late for a university board meeting which was to convene at three. he found he had plenty of time and it occurred to him to drop out mitchell street and visit the negro campus, with its high green lawn. just as he was about to mount the stone steps he met a young man and stopped him to ask directions. the young man was manuel mansart. dr. baldwin was quite evidently out of place on the campus of atlanta university. he looked the southern gentleman of the old school; rather more carelessly dressed than was customary, and peering about nearsightedly and undecidedly. he saw manuel and hailed him in his high, shrill voice. "hey, boy!" this was, of course, the wrong beginning and stamped him as a white southerner. college students at atlanta university were not “boys.” they were men. then manuel recognized dr. baldwin, but of course the old man did not know him after ten years. he looked the "boy” over and was favorably impressed. he forgot his original query and began to talk. "you a student here?" “yes, sir." "like it?" "very much, sir." "what are you going to be when you finish?” “i don't know, sir. grandmother wanted me to be a preacher; mammy wanted me to be a lawyer. i think i'll probably teach." "because you want to tell what you know, or because it's the easiest job to get?". "because i want to learn." dr. baldwin stopped and stared. “well, young man (no more 'boy'), you are on the right track. but, (remembering his color again), there are other things to do: carpentry, cooking," he peered at the boy. manuel stiffened and started to say, “but i don't want to work for white folk.” but he caught himself and remembered that dr. baldwin was white as well as southern. he ended by saying, "i'd prefer teaching, sir." “hm!” said dr. baldwin. "i was just looking about" "wouldn't you like to meet our professor of greek?” of course manuel knew that greek was dr. baldwin's hobby. very mure you gol. grandmowyer. i t old dr. baldwin and his family "greek?” said the old man. “do you have greek here?" “oh, yes sir.” and then manuel reeled off the learning of professor spence. "he was, sir, a pupil of the great d'ooge.” baldwin stared, then said eagerly, “take me to him. i'd like to see him.” and to himself, "what on earth can a pupil of d'ooge find to do here?" then he had an experience which he always remembered. he met professor spence, and professor spence was a man from the university of michigan who knew greek. he knew an extraordi- nary amount of greek. he was a great greek scholarl dr. baldwin thrilled to converse with him and almost forgot the real reason for which he had scraped his acquaintance. he said finally, as he turned back to it, “but spence, why on earth did you leave your profes- sorship to come down here and teach negroes?" professor spence was a little man, and kindly. he smiled and said, “i like negroes and enjoy teaching." “but teaching them what?" asked dr. baldwin. “stay over for my class this afternoon." so dr. baldwin stayed; he found himself to his dismay eating lunch in a basement dining room with professor spence and his frail wife, his little daughter and six negro students. the students did not eat with their knives, and talked frankly to him, to the spences and to each other. they used good english. dr. baldwin smiled at this situation and wondered what his students would say; and his wife? then he accompanied the sprightly spence to his rather bare classroom and sat down with the professor, three young men and a young woman. they were all colors from white to black, and indifferently dressed; but old dr. baldwin being a scholar at heart and knowing greek, forgot all about who they were. to dr. baldwin that was an unforgettable afternoon meeting with a great student of the matchless greek tongue; marching once more and in dark companionship with xenophon down to the sea. but with it went the scholarship of spence, -the exact knowledge, the broad background, the human sympathy-it was not often one could know such an afternoon. as he thought the matter over later, he honestly concluded that his experience there was about the same thing as his experience in his own classes. except there were two masters of greek and one black boy who-well, if he hadn't been black would have made a third master of greek! yes, he certainly would! baldwin mused. there might be a great many more exceptional negroes than he nad thought formerly was in any way possible. in fact, he began the ordeal of mansart tour o'clauestion, batus than carefully to examine the idea of the possibility that the mass of negroes were much more susceptible to training and capable of attaining higher status than he had ever dreamed. he wanted to talk, to question, but, he happened to glance at his watch. it was four o'clock. good lord! his wifel he was to have met her at three. -he telephoned immediately. john pierce and betty lou drove up to atlanta university to summon dr. baldwin from professor spence's greek class. he was was all apologies for his tardiness and started to explain. betty lou was a bit short but hastened to introduce mr. pierce of new york, the well-known member of the staff of the first national bank. dr. baldwin then turned to introduce professor spence; but spence had discreetly slipped away and president sheldon of atlanta uni- versity stepped up to take his place. betty lou acknowledged the introduction stiffly and was evidently in a hurry to depart. john pierce was glad to meet sheldon and see this negro school to which his father had contributed, but evidently this was not the time to linger. he shook sheldon's hand cordially and they drove rapidly away. sheldon was glad of this opportunity to meet one of the rich northern donors to his poor school. dr. baldwin climbed awkwardly into the carriage and enter- tained him and his wife with a dissertation on the possibilities of the negro brain and indeed, any brain, under a man like spence. betty lou was speechless and pierce monosyllabic. the colored coachman seemed curiously pleased. he case. he had compromise. thiwas ready g dr. baldwin had listened to booker washington. he thought him shrewd and tactful, but wise only if the south was ready gen- erously to respond to his proffered compromise. this, dr. baldwin feared, was not the case. he had learned much since his visits to atlanta had brought him in touch with current events in the south. he saw proposals being made which argued ill for any real educa- tion for negroes. he could not forget that class in greek at atlanta university. what would happen to a disfranchised, servile caste, deprived of having any of its genius free to soar? he was afraid. his theories on race and progress came to be seriously at odds with those of his trustees and many of the alumni. he could not be summarily dismissed from his position; he had become an institu- tion and a legend. it was better to leave him alone, while narrowing his power and limiting his salary. meantime, to his family he was an increasing annoyance. the young mother and son lived in negroes. he commade which arguedent events in the trustees and progress carries to soare old dr. baldwin and his family the atlanta, where their own fortune and his increasing income enabled i capai them to live in simple elegance. they referred to the father with a e want shrug; a difficult person, not quite normal. in fact, the boy at vatch i had been brought up always to regard his father as queer and her ate negligible. one thing alone made the family and friends of dr. baldwin inivers patient. he was years old and while still in apparent good h health, it would be necessary to retire him soon if he did not die. betts meantime, he was becoming difficult because of his outspoken nerf words and theories. it was reported that at one of the board meet- onal kings baldwin had actually suggested that the new university in- but seclude the negro atlanta university as an integral part. as every: hantal body was too astonished to open his mouth, the heretical remark tedged went by without comment. later the doctor in class commented is on the rising populist movement as "perhaps the voice of the people conscious of a new democracy, including the poor and ne time black.” color ing this set off a bitter discussion which reverberated over the state. the resignation or dismissal of the dean was seriously con- sidered. but wiser counsels prevailed. ery however, hearing of this, it occurred to young mansart that in livie some way he ought to arrange for dr. baldwin to meet and talk man with sebastian doyle. this took some manipulation, for the meet- ing of black and white in the south on any level above that of race subordination, was difficult. however, manuel finally wrote to dr. baldwin inviting him to attend a conference at atlanta university, w the negro college, to meet and talk with dr. crogman, miss frei- dy gere burg and sebastian doyle. dr. baldwin was delighted and came, telling his wife frankly where he was going. betty lou was beside herself with rage, but the old man took no notice of it. when he returned after lunch he reported a very interesting time. betty fumed, “why in god's name doesn't the old fossil die?" betty visits & : souti no · cast: afraid t odds not be nstitu owing e was d in chapter x the vision of sebastian doyle he got hit a colored ained undef! modulated pa young sebastian doyle was a handsome man. he was one of those dark blonds of negro and white blood which sometimes makes the most beautiful beings on earth. he was physically perfect, with erect carriage and resonant, well-modulated musical voice. he had a brilliant mind, trained under wise old dr. crogman at clark university, a colored methodist school in south atlanta. here too, he got his ideal of moral integrity. he was in college at ohio wesleyan with the son of governor foraker and other young westerners who received him as friend and equal. here he got his vision of life and his knight-errantry for real sacrifice and hard work. he went out into rural georgia in at the age of as a teacher, and in took his first charge as a methodist preacher in waynesboro, not far from thom- son where tom watson lived. doyle had not only studied the negro problem, he embodied the negro problem. it was bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. it made his world and filled his thought. he knew something of modern history and followed current events. he had especially read economics and social reform; he knew about owens' consumers' cooperation and fourier's communities. he had read the “wealth of nations” and the “communist manifesto," and dipped into ricardo and malthus. he had read “progress and poverty." he was not a profound scholar but he was an intelligent reader and an earnest thinker. all he read or thought went to the solution of the question of how american negroes were going to find place as men in this country and the world. on many matters he was still at sea and knew that he needed more reading and experience. but on one point he was sure he had reached the rock-bottom of truth and that was that the only salva- tion for the negro in the united states was the right to vote. on this foundation stone all else must be built. his religion was a rather vague philosophy built on real life and work. he had small belief in dogma, doubted miracles and smiled at theological phrases. but he believed in honesty, he hated lying; he did not drink liquor the vision of sebastian doyle young lisa youngster courage. wed to the mer and he respected women. his sermons avoided doctrine and were aimed at good conduct, courage and search for truth. one of his young listeners wrote: “as a youngster i was greatly impressed by his learning, his eloquence and his courage. while his sermons were shot through with emotion, he never stooped to the methods of some ministers who played upon the emotions of the people in order to get their support. “he was the one minister who had the courage to challenge racial discrimination, even though he knew that his statements might be used against him by the so-called 'uncle tom' negro type of leadership so prevalent at the time. not only had he the courage to challenge jim-crowism, he also had the courage to chal- lenge the effectiveness of the dominant political parties.” he became excited as he followed the career of tom watson. while still in school in middle georgia and at clark university in south atlanta, at the age of , he watched him. tom watson was a scrawny poor white from south georgia, son of a woman who worked in the cotton mills of augusta and of a small farmer. near him lived alexander stephens and the great bob toombs. he worshipped them in his youth and even later their spell gripped him. he got his sketchy education by toil and study at the university of georgia during its war difficulties, and then "read" law. he became a flamboyant orator but for years remained at heart honest and sincere. he sensed the revolt of farmers and laborers against capital and industry and began a fight in georgia when he was elected to the legislature in . he faced an unholy mess. the state was in the firm grip of a triumvirate of politicians unrivalled in finesse and power. watson could do little against the open rule of wealth in the legislature. corporations ruled the state. combinations increased. the rural districts were discriminated against in favor of the large cities in railway rates. the landholder paid the taxes and the bondholder went free. a tenant could give a mortgage to a merchant on a non- existent crop raised on land which he did not own. in vain watson attacked the convict lease system. he finally resigned from the legislature, disillusioned and discouraged. ten years went by in which grady's “new south” rose and flourished. capital was invited to come and reign. a picture of fabulous future for the south was painted and for a while even y rates. the landhted against in favor increased. the sture, the ordeal of mansart watson was attracted. but soon he began to hesitate in his devotion to the “new south.” he knew that he himself had been a plow-boy and his brother was still a helpless tenant. he began to talk. “here is a tenant-i do not know or care whether he is white or black, i know his story. he starts in and pays $ for a mule, pounds of cotton for rent, and two bales for supplies. by the time he pays for that mule, and the store account, and the guano, he has not enough money left to buy a bottle of laudanum, and not enough cotton to stuff his old lady's ear.” then he began to appeal: “to you who grounded your muskets twenty-five years ago i make my appeal. the fight 'is upon you- not bloody as then-but as bitter; not with men who come to free your slaves, but who come to make slaves of you.” money and capital continued to rule the georgia legislature and nothing was done to stop corporate combinations, discrimina- tions by railroads against small way stations in favor of the great cities, and especially the mortgage and crop lien situation and the tax structure were not touched. money left to the store accs for sup gh cotton at atlanta university miss freiburg, who had just then begun teaching there, was frankly puzzled at the two figures: tom wat- son and henry grady. she was not satisfied with the current pic- tures of both. the north saw watson as a crazy socialist; the south saw him as a popular leader who was valuable but must be guided. the north saw grady as a prophet of triumphant capitalism; the south knew him as a brilliant editor and orator. these pic- tures were not contradictory, but they were not complete nor sup- plementary. she was eager to get the impression these men had on negroes. she heard doyle speak and, learning that he was teaching not far from the city, invited him to come to the university for a confer- ence. he usually stayed with his favorite teacher, dr. crogman, when in town, so she asked crogman also. he, as one of the first graduates of atlanta university, gladly accepted. miss freiburg arranged for high tea and invited the dean and a few college students. she included manuel mansart, who although only in high school, was intelligent and especially interested in doyle. she was a bit startled when mansart proposed to invite also the president of the university of georgia, old dr. baldwin. after consultation with the president, she asked dr. baldwin to step in "after lunch.” he accepted. dr. crogman was easily drawn out. “you must remember, miss the vision of sebastian doyle ride reason. he seeks beauty or clarity distinct politi especially poet seeks beauty or clarinventional poet freiburg," he said, “that watson and grady are both southern orators. in the south for reasons i will not stop to examine now, the orator is a species of poet. he seeks on a basis of fact to build a picture of life which is satisfying, even beautiful. his method is the orotund voice, the forceful presence, wide gestures and flashing eye. he differs from the greek orator because he lets emotion over- ride reason. he differs from the conventional poet in his object. while the poet seeks beauty or clarity for its own sake, the orator, especially in the south, has always a distinct political or social object. he wants folk to believe his interpretation of fact so that they will do as he directs. his basis of fact may be incomplete or even distorted; but his belief in his cure-all is complete. remember the flood of pro-slavery orations, with their pictures of happy slaves and philanthropic masters?” doyle added: “grady knew nothing of negroes. brought up beside them, he has never seen them or realized they are human. to him they are always lay figures-labor; service; the black race. when he lauds the 'black mammy,' he is talking of a fanciful picture of his imagination. but worse than that, he doesn't even know the mass of whites. he idealizes or fails to see them. “for instance, he once discovered a white girl in the chain-gang along with negro prisoners. he was incensed. he wrote a senti- mental plea to the public and had her released forthwith. he wept over this 'poor and lovely girl,' and the white state wept with him. “now, if grady had really known the south he would have realized that no white woman would even have been arrested, much less jailed, unless she was degraded beyond hope; while blacks, male or female, young or old, are jailed on the slightest pretense. this poor white girl, debased, freed, publicized and promptly forgotten, fell back into the depths and was soon on the streets as a public prostitute, living by the only profession she ever knew. "grady was outraged and discouraged. he protested to heaven the ingratitude of human beings. he never knew or utterly ignored the innocent negroes in chain gangs at whom none even looked. in the same way, while grady was ranting of the new wealth and happiness of the south, the same south was festering in poverty, ignorance, violence and disease." "watson's knowledge of ugly facts,” added crogman, “was deeper and better than that of grady. he knew poverty and bitter toil on the plantations. he had labored there long, hot days. despite his later boasting of a rich grandfather with droves of the ordeal of mansart despise if not hand always would of said it was not problem was slaves, he and his family were poverty-stricken, half-starved tenants and laborers. "on the other hand, in his long and difficult quest for knowl- edge he learned what the world was trying to do to abolish poverty and ignorance. he became therefore the champion of equal taxation, just control of money, rural mail delivery and cooperative buying. but he did not realize that knowing and doing are not the same. he had not experienced the slowness and difficulty of the democratic process. when with loud voice, winged words and furious gesture he had driven home the truth to cheering thousands, he thought that the battle was won. if reform did not quickly fol. low, fools and scoundrels were to blame, and watson went into angry hiding and sulked.” "with both these men,” said doyle, “the negro problem was an impasse. grady simply ignored it or said it was not there. watson knew it was there and always would be. his inherited reaction was to despise if not hate negroes. but knowing too well what poverty and ignorance had done to the white world, he had the courage to ask earnestly if the negro was not only suffering from the same oppression, which re-inforced white degradation. i'm going to talk to him. i'm going to see if tom watson cannot be led to try solving the negro problem." “remember one thing,” said dr. crogman, “watson is sick. he was starved as a child. he has a bad digestion. he suffers from migraine. his nerves are on edge, which explains his fighting, his crazy hyperbole, his hiding for rest and recovery." "so you know him personally?” asked miss freiburg. "no. few negroes who are not servants get to know white peo ple in the south. but i've seen him and read accounts of his behavior. he's sick. some day he'll go crazy." old dr. baldwin came in before luncheon was over. he sat with them and listened to every word. he made almost no comment of his own, but several times injected a question or asked further explanation. in fact this was the most illuminating contact and conversation this southern white man had ever had. he sat con- tinually saying to himself, "what race problem-what human problem would be left if all southerners, white and black, could now and then meet and talk like this!" no. few negroes ut. i've seen him crazy." it came to be more and more openly declared in georgia that a labor party must be formed in opposition to capital, and there was open discussion of the necessity of a third party. throughout the the vision of sebastian doyle south the farmers alliance grew. over forty congressmen and sev- eral senators from the south were committed to the alliance pro- gram. in a national meeting held in florida in a third people's party was openly advocated. tom watson joined the alliance. he was a pronounced free trader and campaigned for cleveland in , but afterward thought the money question most important and became a candi- date for congress on the regular democratic ticket, but with a straight farmers alliance platform. the farmers alliance was formed by cattle men in texas in . it merged ten years later with state groups to form the na- tional farmers alliance, limited to whites. the alliance entered georgia in and set up cooperatives. the next year the jute bag trust was formed in st. louis and a meeting of farmers in tom watson's town, thomson, started a boycott. this national alliance and certain northern alliance bodies which admitted negroes, met in st. louis in . that year watson entered the race for congress against the rich major barnes, nearly two years before the primaries of the oth congressional district were to take place. grady's death this very year determined doyle in , at the beginning of the congressional campaign, to seek personal confer- ence with tom watson. if the approach of a self-respecting negro to a planter aristocrat had its difficulties, so too the attempt of an educated negro to approach a poor white who had ambitions was equally hazardous. fortunately for doyle, watson was sitting out of doors in his front yard so that the question of approach by front or back door did not arise. doyle was purposely bareheaded so that the matter of lifting his hat was eliminated. he simply entered the gate and said: "mr. watson, may i have a word with you?" watson was sitting in an old rocker, surrounded by books. one large volume was in his hands. he glanced up from it slowly, noting the blacked boots with a film of road dust; then the well- fitting trousers; the vest, coat and tie. he was about to rise and welcome some well-to-do constituent when he saw the golden face and curly hair. he paused and sat still; his face hardened and he said curtly, "well?” “mr. watson, i want to sell you some votes." “i ain't got no money to buy 'niggers.'” “in this case the price is low; in fact the deal will pay you as much or more than it brings us.” o sell you some will pay you the ordeal of mansart "comcatson once i walce. my na “and what do you expect it to bring you?” "schools, homes, no convict lease, decent wages and land." watson stared and rose to his feet. “that's a hell of a lot, fel. low. who are you, anyway?” “i'm from upstate. my name is doyle and i've followed your campaigns since i was a boy.” watson glanced about and then led the way to the backyard. “come with me,” he said. he walked around back of the house to the garden, where they would not be conspicuous to chance passersby. he seated himself on a pile of wood and indicated an old chair. “sit down," he said. “doyle, you're too young to know georgia.” “i was born and educated in georgia and my fathers before me. i'm teaching upstate and expect to preach in waynesboro. i've travelled over much of the state.” "well, you're in for a jolt. you've got ideas, but ‘niggers' won't follow you. they ain't got sense enough. i know 'em. i can buy a thousand ‘nigger' votes at a dollar apiece.” "of course you can, because a dollar is as much as they have ever been offered, and they must strive hard to get a dollar by honest work. try offering more and not in cash but in rights." they talked a couple of hours. watson told of his disappointing experience with negro voters in augusta, but was astonished to learn of the growth of the farmers alliance in other parts of the state and in the south. doyle strove to bring to watson's attention the extent to which the alliance owed its increasing triumph to negro support. he pointed out that as far back as the negro head of a virginia tobacco union had attended the convention of the greenback labor party in cleveland; that three years later, in texas, there were ten negroes among the forty delegates to the first state con- vention of the greenback clubs; and that at a convention of the greenback labor party that same year negro clubs were among the clubs represented. "but," asked watson, "does the northern farmers alliance admit negroes?" “yes,” said doyle, “although of course there are comparatively few negro farmers in the north. but the southern alliance early became interested in the organization of negro farmers, and in the colored farmers national alliance was formed in hous- ton, texas. a white baptist missionary became its secretary, but its other officials were negroes." the vision of sebastian doyle a senat one fly; and er wanted “how many members are there today in the colored farmers alliance?” asked watson. he was astonished to know that the membership was nearly a million and a quarter and that already cooperative exchanges had been started in five southern cities. moreover, at the ocala meeting two negroes, representing the colored alliance, had been made members of a standing commit- tee in the southern alliance, and a column of news about the colored alliance was published weekly in their regular organ. in the election of watson was swept back to congress by the triumphant farmers alliance; the alliance won six out of the ten congressional districts of the state, controlled the state conven- tion, chose the governor, and elected three-fourths of the members of the legislature. there was, however, one fly in the ointment. it was necessary that year to elect a senator to succeed the notorious joe brown. gordon wanted to go back to the senate; grady groomed him, and even watson finally gave him his support to avoid supporting the grandson of john c. calhoun who was a railway attorney. that year the meeting of the farmers alliance at ocala, florida, turned decisively away from the democrats toward a third party movement; and the following year the third party was launched at a cincinnati meeting. all over the south and west the farmers alliance and the populist movement was victorious. it looked as though they might sweep the country in . the colored alliance began to establish schools and academies, but as doyle was free to acknowledge, there were some differences cropping out between whites and blacks. the colored alliance, for instance, backed the force bill, which the white southern alliance opposed. but at the same time it advocated votes for negroes. the colored alliance in proposed a strike of cotton pickers which the southern alliance, representing many employing farmers, na- turally opposed. the strike was not called. during the meeting in ocala of both the white southern al- liance and the colored alliance, committees for mutual greeting were appointed; and in louisiana in the address for a third party conference went to both colored and white groups; and local organizations fraternized. in may, , there was a third party convention at which the southern alliance, the colored alliance and other alliances, to- gether with the knights of labor and others met. color segregation was defeated overwhelmingly, and when confederate and union veterans clasped hands a negro delegate stood with them. the ordeal of mansart in congress watson bolted the democratic party and openly sided with the populists and the leaders of the st. louis conven- tion. doyle pointed out to watson this growth of understanding between white and black. he emphasized the growth of negroes in education and general intelligence. he offered his own services in watson's campaign. watson was attracted. he had never been thrown with a negro who was his intellectual equal if not his su- perior, with ideals that were essentially the same. they sought the company of each other and doyle threw himself into the campaign. his help, however, was with advice, and he seldom appeared as a speaker. watson had thought it was not yet time openly to ask for the negro vote in , although at doyle's suggestion his statements became increasingly bold and clear. watson's triumph in the campaign of had been complete, not only in his district but in the state. doyle now counselled open effort to attract the negro vote in the future, and complete union with the labor vote of the nation. doyle knew that laborers in other lands were getting leadership. it had been long incubating among the thinkers of europe. plans, elaborate, sometimes utopian but often practical, had developed. gabon meinem "coprinted in prachua vauha ido per revolution had been attempted, and in many ways the idea of independent, self-defending workers emancipated from grinding poverty, had spread. in america came the growth of the green- back and the people's party, now strengthened by the sending of tom watson to congress from a state where the farmers alliance had triumphed. this and watson's career in congress brought the critical fight between labor control and reaction into the open. doyle's advice was for watson to make an out and out bid for the negro vote. if the rest of the south followed his lead and they undoubtedly would, a tremendous victory would be gained. the negro would gain an undisputed place in the political picture as partner in the labor upsurge. watson took a stand in : “now the people's party says to the white man and the black, 'you are kept apart that you may be separately fleeced of your earnings. you are made to hate each other because upon that hatred is rested the keystone of the arch of financial despotism which enslaves you both. you are deceived and blinded that you may not see how this race antagonism perpetuates a monetary system which beggars both!'”. there were undoubtedly difficulties which doyle and watson both realized. the negro vote, being the vote of workers earning the vision of sebastian doyle vas inevitableru and wide appeace poor n here. biking and te and hope tess law low wages, with some semi-paupers, was in part purchasable. ne- groes would be herded to the polls in droves and voted by the reactionaries. other negroes would be driven away by force and fear. this was inevitable but doyle argued that reliance on right and courage, full publicity and wide appeal would offset this largely. watson not only feared that the average poor negro would sell his vote, but that force and deliberate fraud to suppress any vote would be undertaken. but the die was cast, and watson was now leading the third party movement in the south. his confederate, doyle, was seeking to unite the white and black workers against the industrialists; to give the black worker the vote and political office; to give him protection against lynching and the chain gang. there was double difficulty here. big business itself in the south would suffer unless law and order prevailed. the white south could not hope to continue to win elections by force and fraud. but now the crisis was on them. unless the negro vote was legally disfranchised, the united white and black vote might be victorious over big business. this was a real danger. even the die-hard rebels were out of line and attacking the north. “the great barbecue invited a second generation of car- pet-baggers as northern business men invading the south in search of profits.” watson started with furious energy to organize the white farm- ers and show them how the cheating and false promise of the ' 's had brought them only increased subjection of labor to corporate wealth. doyle supplemented this by cooperating with the colored farmers alliance. watson and doyle both attacked lynching; they denounced the ku klux; they demanded the abolition of the con- vict lease system which was the modern slave trade. negroes, led by doyle, became prominent organizers of the new third party. he demanded negro education and praised the black king lobengula then fighting cecil rhodes and the british grip on africa. the few negro members of the legislature exposed the abuse of negroes in the newly developing coal mines in the bir- mingham district. the white workers pledged themselves to protect negro rights. doyle risked his life in the campaign of , beginning late in . he offered his own services, and against the advice of his bishop practically gave up his church work for three months to take part in the campaign. he made speeches for watson. fifteen negroes were killed, but increasing numbers of them worshipped watson. the vision of sebastian doyle political meeting arose and made a hat negroes had scroggs stared at him in surprise. “but they're ‘niggers,'” he said. “doesn't make any difference what they are; put that stuff back and get out of here." from that time scroggs realized that certain whites were still teaming up with the negroes as they had in slavery times. he could not understand. scroggs, living near tom watson's home town of thomson, soon was attracted by him. he seemed a fellow-sufferer of the right sort, and scroggs began to attend meetings of the farmers alliance, especially when the price of jute bagging went up on account of the st. louis combine. he wildly applauded the proposal of a boycott. in quest for a job he had once crossed the carolina border and attended a political meeting presided over by a big, middle- aged, one-eyed man. someone arose and made a plea for inviting negroes into the alliance. he tried to point out that negroes had to work for low wages or starve; that if black and white labor stood together in union-. he got no further, for ben tillman, presid- ing, suddenly became a profane monster who almost leaped down the speaker's throat. “we want nothing to do with 'niggers,' ” he yelled. “we don't recognize them as men. we are going to keep them on the farms where they belong at the wages they are worth. we are going to kill and lynch them if they dare to look at our women. we want union, yes, but union among white men, not with black. there can be no union between white and black. negroes must be dis- franchised; they must be kept in their places. they are the servants of the whites, the bible says so!” this was but one of his bitter tirades, and they greatly im- pressed scroggs. with his meeting with tillman scroggs' outlook upon life began to change. he talked with the rough upstate leader and tillman warned him. he told tillman how disappointed he was with his own poor white friends and associates. "the mistake you fools are making," growled tillman, "is in trying to destroy the aristocracy. that ain't what you've got to do. you've got to take its place; and that means that everybody can't rule, everybody can't become an aristocrat; they ain't fit; only a few. you and me can break a way into this closed circle and let the others take their chances. some of the whites will never get up; but above all, ‘niggers' must have no chance; they must be kept down under the feet of all whites." scroggs mentioned watson but tillman scoffed. “watson is a the ordeal of mansart going aristocrats, now what yight and": that ain and shuts him sulky coward; he gets beat and then runs home and shuts himself up to spin theories and write poetry. that ain't no way to lick this game. you've got to fight and then fight some more; and you've got to know what you are fighting for. i am going to lick these aristocrats, but i am not going to drive them out. i am just going to take my place beside them. i am going to be elected governor of the state.” scroggs almost laughed but didn't dare because tillman was glaring at him with his one eye. "remember," tillman admonished him, "some of us are going to climb to the top, but we ain't going to tear away that top. we want it for ourselves!” tillman was cool toward organizing farmers' alliances. he said it was an idea from the north and thus suspect. when the election of swept watson into congress scroggs attended a rally to celebrate the triumph of watson and the small white farmer. in the crowd he was astonished to recognize tillman, governor-elect of south carolina, but evidently unknown to most of the crowd. scroggs had jostled the big, rough, one-eyed farmer and both bristled, ready for a fight, when tillman grinned and held out his hand, at the same time warning scroggs not to disclose his identity. then he growled: “what the hell are you celebrating?" "the victory of watson and the people," answered scroggs truculently, remembering that tillman was a big landholder and not sympathetic with watson. "you mean watson and his ‘niggers.'” "he might as well buy up the ‘nigger' vote as the landholders." "hell, he ain't buying-he's selling us to the darkies. treating 'em equal. first thing you know if this goes on your sister will be marrying a 'nigger.'' scroggs was impressed by the “us” and alarmed by the unthink- able prospect. “don't believe it,” he asserted vehemently. “look,” said tillman, pointing to the platform where a young negro was starting to address the throng. scroggs was appalled; he turned away. "if that there 'nigger stays about here," he muttered, “he'll get lynched.” tillman smiled. "what's your name? scroggs? oh yes. well, scroggs, listen. i'm a poor white like you. one of these days i'm going to take the vote away from ‘niggers” 'legal'; mississippi will lead off and the south will follow. then i'm going to the united states senate and see that southern whites rule this nation from the vision of sebastian doyle nathe negro c. his hate be white; tlord it on now on. already we've made the supreme court say that 'niggers' ain't got no rights! stick around! get your buddies; lynch that 'nigger, doyle!" scroggs stared at him. “i don't believe you," he gasped. but from this moment scroggs began to waver from watson and populism toward tillman. especially was he incensed at the phenomenon which doyle, the negro companion of watson, represented. if he hated negroes in general, his hate of educated negroes was em- phasized by fear. they wanted to be white; they talked white. once they got a chance they would be white, lord it over poor whites and marry their sisters. it must never happen. this doyle must be lynched! it was scroggs who led the mob to lynch doyle late in october, . it was a night never to be forgotten. the moon was full, the magnolias scented the world, and the slow, sullen river ran like blood to the sea. on the platform in the center of a vast throng stood the tall, handsome mulatto, on whose winged words a host of armed whites and negroes listened breathlessly. beside him stood little tom watson, red-haired and scrawny. scroggs marshalled his mob of a thousand armed men silently back in the shadow of the moss-dripped trees. suddenly his men let out the shrill rebel yell and started forward cursing, with guns waving. just as suddenly an answering yell shrieked up from the listening throng; guns glistened and clicked and horsemen whirled and then stopped. then came a dead silence; an awful silence that held death in a breath. one heard a nightingale singing. scroggs was appalled. this crowd was ready to fight for a "nig- ger"; they were ready to kill. slowly, slowly, scroggs paused and lowered his gun, glanced at his followers and began to move back- ward. then, without a sound they all turned, disappeared and rode wildly homeward. scroggs that night saw an awful vision: black and white labor united and black equal to white. it must never happen. he would starve first. he would surrender to landlord or yankee rather than see a negro considered his equal. two nights the crowd remained on guard. nothing like this had ever happened in the south. it was revolution. it was culmination of what abraham lincoln started. labor, north and south, was out of hand and even revolu- tionary. its radicalism was at the point of ignoring and forgetting race hate, one of the strongest of human motives. men talked in club and family circle; in church and in the secret societies which nd then stoppen guns glistened swering yell shriekesing, with guns scroges in a breath. came a dead sileed and horser the ordeal of mansart south rose " white propa io a thira, ous way to in the south rose from solemn mummery to become carefully cal- culated centers of white propaganda and action. the south said: the trend to a third party must be stopped by splitting the labor movement. the obvious way to do this was by using the “natural and doubtless god-given difference of race" in the laboring class to keep them separated. race difference must be emphasized and enforced by law. this, pleaded science, was in the long run legitimate and would lead to the best human stock; this, argued religion, is not hate and suppression but recognition of the “divine purpose” in history. in populism had swept the south. in georgia, alabama, mississippi, louisiana and texas it had received the majority of votes. but only in georgia had the populists gained actual control. in other states they were counted out by cheating, violence and fraud. but the situation was now ominous and the south girded itself for the next election. the west watched. reaction and race hate in georgia wheeled into line. watson's congressional district 'in the campaign of preliminary to the election was quietly gerrymandered by cutting off a strong ne- gro district. campaign funds poured in even from corporations in new york. voters were threatened, intimidated, assaulted and at least fifteen negroes were killed outright. at the polls votes were openly bought, forced and stolen. watson said, “it was almost a miracle that i was not killed.” the governor of the state added that he ought to have been killed. the newspapers cried, “watson has gone mad.” “the south is threatened with anarchy and com- munism." thus the georgia election of proved a farce, with terror, fraud, corruption and trickery. federal supervisors under united states marshals attended the election in augusta but could not prevent repeatings, bribery, ballot-box stuffing, voting of minors and intimidation. negro plantation hands and laborers were hauled to town in wagon loads that were brought across from south caro- lina and voted. they were paid 'in whiskey and cash. the total vote in augusta was double the number of legal voters. · watson and doyle had campaigned in counties and addressed hundreds of thousands of people. his “people's party paper" stood in circulation second only to the atlanta constitution. still, offi- cially he was declared defeated, on the face of the returns. a delega- tion marched miles from augusta to watson's home and raised money to finance a contest in the house of representatives. watson announced that he would carry on the third party fight. "i am watson and dusands of peoplene atlanta constireturns. a delegad the vision of sebastian doyle determined never to give it up as long as i livel" his contest of the election, however, was not allowed to come up until the second session of congress and then, for the first time in history he, as contestant, was not allowed to speak in his own behalf. the report was a complete whitewash and declared that the committee in charge of the election "were the very first citizens of georgia and were representing every business and profession, and were all men of the highest character, none higher.” in came panic. banks failed, money disappeared, factories closed, unemployment spread. the prices of farm produce con- tinued to fall and hunger and misery were more widespread in the south than even in . yet there was a democratic president in the white house. the next year was called the “terrible year of american history." the depression persisted, with strikes, bru- tality and distress. coxey's army of the hopeless marched on wash- ington. men were reading “looking backward” and “wealth vs. commonwealth.” the president sent troops to break a chicago strike and put eugene debs in jail. revolt was in the air and nothing but stern counter-revolution- ary measures could prevent the triumph of the populist party throughout the nation in the fall of . again the populists won. they doubled their vote in georgia; they increased it % in the nation. they carried the whole southern south. yet they lost. they lost again by fraud and force; by deliberate overthrow of the democratic process, by giving to the minority nominees offices which they did not win. watson had run in the ioth district of georgia. but he faced a new “registration law.” watson carried nine counties and his op- ponent carried two. but in those two was the city of augusta. there, with only , voters, black, who ran against watson, got a majority of , . black was declared elected. the cry of fraud was so loud that he resigned there months later and a special elec- tion was staged. when it came in black, now for "free silver" and helped by an outrageous primary registration law, won again. for a third time watson was officially defeated. but he cried: “discouraged? boshl let the fight of begin now!” watson gave up the hopeless struggle in georgia and looked toward na- tional recognition. the populist party stood for government own- ership of railroads and other national utilities; for an income tax; against federal suppression of strikes; against imperial expansion in hawaii and venezuela and for cheap money not dependent on the gold monopoly. ponent caistration law.", the th distric the ordeal of mansart the silver barons in western rotten boroughs bought control of the democratic party and sought to stop populist socialism by ad- vocating “free silver.” they nominated bryan, a political orator who ranted over free silver but about little else among the mea- sures which the populists favored. with him they named a rich railroad man from maine. the republicans, with the help of mark hanna, nominated a smooth-faced politician ready to take orders, and they poured money into a campaign aimed at warning the rich, the comfortable and the respectable. the populists, meeting last, were asked and subtly cajoled into accepting bryan. the forces of populism rallied for a final effort, and delegates met in st. louis. watson acted coy; he not only did not attend the convention but kept out of all direct touch. yet the leaderless crowd first nominated him unanimously as vice- president, and then accepted bryan on condition that the demo crats accept watson and populist socialism. this the democrats dared not do and thus lost nine-tenths of the populist two million votes. too late watson tried to retrieve his ill-advised absence and re- gain support in the west. he demanded government ownership of railroads and other public interests; control of trusts; an entirely new system of money and credit; and finally remembering doyle: “a ballot free from corruption, and political rights for negroes.” he added that there "was never a greater unrest than that which stirs the masses today,” and that "free silver" was too easy an answer. but south and west could not mix. there were fundamental differences that made this impossible and they stemmed from negro slavery. even with slavery partially abolished, slave labor in the south with low wage or none at all persisted; no democracy could thrive on ignorance, and the south, black and white, had few and poor schools; and post-war lawlessness, built on "white" supremacy, had become endemic. in the west, on the contrary, there had developed a democracy based on landowning farmers of essentially equal social status, with good schools. industry, organized and becoming monopolized, united its efforts and descended on south and west. in the south it was opposed by the attempt to unite labor and small farmers. but labor was split by the color line and the small farmer was dominated by the big planter. there was no real union there. in the west united farmers beat the banks and railroads but the mining corporations tempted them with “cheap money." vith low"ich slavery mpossible and there were fur the vision of sebastian doyle watson was beaten, bryan was beaten, socialism was buried, and triumphant organized private industry won the election and rushed into colonial imperialism through the spanish-american war. so revolution failed. so tom watson went mad. after he said: “politically i was ruined. financially i was flat on my back. how near i came to loss of mind only god knows. i was as near distraction as any mortal could safely be." ten years he hid, scribbled and brooded. then he roared, raving, into the atlanta riot and the fury and flame of the san francisco earthquake. sebastian doyle faded into silence after the campaign of . he had planted the seed. he had given all his strength and risked his life career. his own people distrusted his breach with the re- publican party and his alliance with democrats and poor whites. he faced his church conference, deficient in his report on dollar money on which the church lived. his bishop scowled and growled. "son, this is a bad report, and our church in augusta still needs a new building. i ought to send you to the woods. but you're a good preacher and mean well. so see here: drop politics. preach christ crucified and raise money. i'm sending you to alabama.” doyle could not rebel. he had a young family. he knew no other work. he bowed his head and went west. ten years he aroused growing congregations to fervent prayer for the grace of god and new church buildings. then a tubercle bacillus crept into his golden voice. ten more laggard years he fought back its ravages in ever failing effort; until discouraged and forgotten, he died in texas where the farmers alliance had been born. chapter xi manuel graduates manuel missed his mother more than he thought he would. she was not talkative nor widely informed. but she took care of him, gave him much from her store of experience, and above all listened to him. after her death he missed the intimacy of a home and began to dream of one of his own. life in the men's dormitory was pleasant but not satisfying. he began in his sophomore year to talk of his plans and dreams to susan sanders, a student in the normal school, as the large high school conducted by the uni- versity was called. just why he chose susan it was hard to say. in some unconscious memory of his mother's attitude, he avoided the prettier girls with tawny skins and flowing hair. he feared they might not care for a man so dark as he. for the students' ideals not only of dress and behavior but of beauty were based on the judge- ment of the white world. to them a light skin and straight hair must be beautiful because whites thought so. in unconscious sub- mission to this judgment, both manuel and the student body thought manuel ugly. susan was a small brown girl from savannah. she was timid and retiring and it was easy to find her sitting apart and alone at the social gatherings. by chance more than choice they found them- selves often talking together and finding common ground in crit- icism of erratic and unpleasant conduct on the part of fellow students and teachers. they were among the first to note the at- traction of president sheldon's daughter to the brilliant and rather nice young tommy hendricks, whose colored blood had not reached his sandy hair. they saw how her brother john resented this, for they resented it, too. but the interest of manuel in susan was not confined to atti- tudes toward others. he noticed how smooth and unblemished was her dark skin; how her hair crinkled prettily on her neck and how she listened to what he said and dreamed. manuel felt very grown and manly to see her depend on him for company and advice. manuel graduates since the average age of these colored college students was rather higher than among northern white students, engagements were more common as graduation approached. so during his junior year, almost without conscious decision on their own part, the student body regarded manuel and susan as engaged and they accepted public opinion. they became formally engaged in the spring by means of an engagement ring which left manuel almost penniless, and worried him because of his debt to the university for unpaid board and tuition. just before commencement in , president sheldon asked manuel to go north for the summer in charge of the college quar- tet. the former manager had got a job and married. manuel was to arrange concerts and make the collection speeches as was the custom. this was one of the many ways to which the college turned to make ends meet. it yielded something in cash but more in publicity; for summer vacationists loved the negro folk songs and were willing in turn to hear about conditions in the south. for manuel, also, this was a path to the future. he would work this summer, pay his debts and then during his senior year look for a job teaching. susan expected that her family would main- tain her in school until her graduation in . then they would both get jobs and as soon as possible get married. manuel went north with high hopes. he had never before been out of the south. he now had double incentive. the white president of atlanta university was in serious trouble about funds to keep the school running. poverty for an individual is understandable. there is, however, something mystic and pecu- liarly appalling in the poverty of an institution; it is more than the poverty of an individual or even of a large family. it is a huge and perpetually recurring burden which can be shifted only by miracle and that miracle usually assumes the guise of a very rich and benevolent man. president sheldon, tall, white-bearded, anemic and devoted to great causes, came south during the war. he was unwilling to enlist as a soldier but eager to work and he found in educating negroes an ideal task. he gathered them in old and drafty army barracks, in rickety church basements; at last in a fine new build- ing which the freedmen's bureau furnished out of unclaimed bounty money due dead or missing negro soldiers. finally, after the death of the founder, he came to atlanta university. his dream was of schools supported by the new state, in which whites and negroes shared in government. he was not bothered by all, the ordeal of mansart what seemed to him the purely academic question as to whether the schools would be open to all or separated by race. in time, of course, the schools must be biracial, because anything else would be fatally costly. then his plans were changed by the necessity of having more and more and better trained teachers. for a while war enthusiasm, adventure, “the coming of the lord,” furnished a flow of fairly good northern teachers, mostly women forced to celibacy by the bloody toil of war and the waste of savings and property in organ- ized destruction. but as this stream began to dry up because of postwar prosperity, so too, simultaneously, the demand for teach- ers in negro schools increased enormously. such teachers must be trained, and well-trained. the need of teachers of highest and most careful training was greater in the south and among negroes than in the north among whites, where social environment fur- nished much that the school need not attempt. thus sheldon's school became a “university' in ideal and forced purpose before there was any provision for its rapidly increasing costs. the disfranchisement of the negro, therefore, which to the southern whites seemed absolutely necessary to quick reconstruc- tion of their disrupted economy, and to the charitable north an unimportant, postponed ideal of some far-off democracy, was to president sheldon the destruction of the foundation of negro education. so long as the blacks had the power to make the state support schools for them, charity was temporary. but if negroes lost all control over public moneys, became a disfranchised working class with starvation wages, whence was support for their schools to come? not only for public elementary schools but even more, support for the higher schools on which the lower must depend? therefore, between the southern devil of disfranchisement and the deep northern sea of profitable investment, the cause of negro education began to suffer grievously. not only did the new south- ern masters begin a campaign to curtail and starve negro schools, but the northern supply of missionary funds for higher negro education also began to fail. once the thrill of war had passed and the victory won in the southern united states, the lure of mis- sionary effort in asia, africa and the south seas began to make larger drafts on imagination and charity. wealthy church officials of the north who were also investors in southern industries could not see why the south should not now support its own schools, and were disposed to argue that the white south knew better how to manuel graduates d liked him peess and bidding lang john to educate its workers than the white north. men like president sheldon of atlanta university were there- fore in an increasingly difficult position. he had to spend more and more of his time begging funds in the north. student singers, carry- ing on the fame of the earlier celebrated fisk singers who spread negro music across the world, were used to help this begging campaign. sheldon too, in this work, was compelled to assume an attitude antagonistic to the new southern leadership which increasingly had the ears of the rich and powerful. after henry grady spoke in new york in the reception given president sheldon, as he wearily passed the hat in northern churches and especially among business men, became distinctly chilly. was it not time that "free and equal" negroes supported themselves and their institutions? old john pierce was especially annoyed when his secretary brought in president sheldon's card in . here it was again! “university' for lazy negroes to toast their heels in. he knew sheldon and liked him personally. but negro education, so-called, was encroaching on business and bidding fair to get in the way of sectional understanding. he must ask young john to talk frankly to sheldon and either pound sense into his head or withdraw his support. so he put sheldon off with a smaller contribution than usual and referred him to young john who now lived in atlanta and was better situated to judge of his southern charities. it was not until after the election of that young john pierce, now quite at home in atlanta, was approached by president sheldon and reminded of the talk on negro education which old john pierce wanted him to hold. he got hold of some general data concerning atlanta university and had another talk with old doctor baldwin. baldwin was now but still hearty and intellectually alert. he spent much of his time with his wife and son in atlanta, rather to their annoyance. john pierce and his wife were often guests of betty lou and it was easy-indeed hard to avoid-having talks with the old presi- dent. he strongly advised conference with president sheldon. he thought the colored school promising, in the sense that negro students could be found capable of the highest training; but natu- rally it would be silly to develop two systems of universities, one for whites and one for negroes. eventually there must be one sys- tem open to all. eventually-perhaps; but what now? the ordeal of mansart dr. baldwin had no ready answer, and so john pierce went out and talked with president sheldon. his own feeling was that the urgency for providing university training was not pressing. he put this before president sheldon. the result of the interview was unpleasant for both men. pierce's arguments were not so over- whelming as they had appeared to him before the talk. "you can't begin with colleges," he said. “primary schools, work- shops,-even kitchens and backyards is where children must begin, and negroes are children.” "and who will teach even children? the ignorant cannot be entirely self-taught," retorted sheldon. "of course not. there must be some teachers, of course; but they don't need to be ph.d's.” "except to teach the teachers. that is a high calling and needs the best preparation." pierce referred to the great northern universities, but realized as he was speaking that their white graduates could not be tempted south either by salaries or social conditions. no, there must be a few negro colleges, sheldon then asked: “mr. pierce, have you visited a negro col- lege and examined its work? why not join our board of trustees and come to understand and help direct our program?" that seemed reasonable; yes, it was a good idea. he glanced at the catalog and noticed the names of several well-known northern business men among the atlanta university trustees. why not add to these some prominent southerners? well, he was a southerner now. he could persuade others. “very well, president sheldon, i'll join and i'll bring in others." his check was smaller than president sheldon had hoped for, and his allusion to "others” was ominous. but the president was encouraged. pierce took his trusteeship seriously, since he proposed to make it fit in with larger and pressing plans of his own. he unexpectedly appeared at atlanta university at the trustee meet- ing called at commencement in . he found himself almost the only trustee present from out of town. northern trustees usually did not bother to attend these meetings. he gave the university a thorough inspection and the president gladly gave him every facility. secretly, behind his detached gravity, he was hanging breathlessly on this inspection. he hoped that this might be the turning point and that from this visit the long awaited endowment might come. ver check was to oth his try i'll join pierce to other than manuel graduates hall bintution oth gror pierce was both gratified and astonished at his inspection. the institution was honestly and efficiently run on a surprisingly small budget. the college students were of good quality, few in number and probably with much less background of training than similar northern students; and older in years and experience, which had advantages and disadvantages. but their future looked to pierce uncertain. they ought to be trained to become good artisans, small merchants and intelligent farmers. they were, on the contrary, aiming to be teachers, preachers, physicians and law- yers. the reason was obvious: teaching and the professions offered immediate jobs in their own group. but for the south as a whole this was crazy. this was building for a divided world, with a black world organized with few producers, and a dominant white world with unlimited demand for consumption and yet not using its chief mass of producers. it was fantastic. this must be changed forthwith. but one other thing which astonished and affronted pierce was to see a white boy among these colored students. he was the son of the president and he was a very unhappy boy. john sheldon, then , had grown to dislike negroes because they hung like a weight around his neck. he had been thrown with them all his life, having been born on the campus. at first he had his friends and playmates among them in a perfectly normal way. then he became conscious of the surrounding white world and understood what it thought of negroes and of those who associated with them. for a short time he and his younger sister, henrietta, had been sent to the white public elementary school. as soon as teachers and pupils learned who they were the persecution and personal mistreatment became unendurable. it was in vain that president sheldon intervened, argued and pleaded; the children simply had to be withdrawn. they were entered in the grade school attached to the negro university. this the president thought was the best thing to do; he had only tried the public schools on account of the principle involved. henrietta got on well in the colored school. she liked the colored children and after a period of stiffness they liked her. indeed, as the age of puberty approached, the president's wife noticed with something like horror that henrietta was in serious danger of fall- ing in love with a classmate, a beautiful, sandy-haired boy, tommy hendrick; white, but “colored” in southern phrase, but as un- conscious of race as henrietta. the ordeal of mansart if the parents could have looked at the matter impartially they would have seen only the natural result of youthful contact. but even the president was frightened when he realized what a love episode between a colored student and his own daughter might do, not only to negro education but to the whole race problem. it had been a stock belief in the south that racial coeducation meant mis- cegenation. so quietly the next term henrietta was left in massa- chusetts and the atlanta home was broken. the lonesome brother bitterly resented this. he put the blame on the negroes and picked quarrels with the innocent and unsus- pecting tommy, who liked john as he had liked henrietta. for a time he avoided john or yielded to his surly treatment; then he got tired, thrashed john thoroughly and got himself expelled from school. this increased rather than diminished john's bitter distaste for his situation. the poor president was at his wit's end. not only was henrietta exiled from home, but although he wanted to send john away to college he simply could not afford to. he welcomed pierce's crit- icism and met it frankly. but he would not yield the principle: "i maintain that a white child can be educated alongside a black with mutual advantage.” "do you advocate mixed schools in the south?” “yes, in the south and in the north; in all the world; humanity is one and should in its earliest years be made to realize this.” "you know it would lead to intermixture of race-i hear that you feared this in the case of your daughter." “that is true. possibly-probably, i was unduly alarmed, and i was not free to take any chances of a happening which would ruin my work here and hurt the negro race. i still maintain that occasional intermarriage, probably rare in the present feeling about race difference, would be better and wiser than cultivation of race hate as necessary and god-given.” “so you are keeping your boy here to prove your theories?” “no, i'm keeping him here because i cannot help myself. i do not earn enough to send him away to college, and i'm afraid to turn him into the world without education. he is not at fault. in his environment he was almost compelled to breathe in race hate. he feels himself a victim. i am almost in despair.” john pierce regarded him with mingled contempt and sym- pathy. “i'll send him to college,” he said briefly. president sheldon would have given a fortune to have been able intermere and hurt chances of a was unduly ala manuel graduates to refuse this offer. but he thanked the philanthropist humbly. john pierce now had a brilliant idea due to an encounter he made just as he was leaving the president's office. manuel mansart was about to enter for a last interview before departing with the quartet. manuel courteously stood aside, but the president saw him. “oh, manuel, i want you to meet one of our new trustees. mr. pierce, this is manuel mansart who is now a junior. he is going north this summer to take charge of our quartet." “glad to meet you, mansart. walk with me to the gate.” they sauntered together across the green lawn, with ivy-covered livingstone hall behind; past the boulder over the grave of the founder. pierce paused. "- that we, our children and our children's children might be blessed," read pierce thoughtfully, as manuel watched him. this was to him a new specimen. he knew southern whites and north- ern missionaries. but northern business men? he cloaked his soul in caution. "that's an idea," said pierce. “we seem all to be in this to- gether.” an idea sprouted in his mind. he was going to princeton for a class reunion and taking along his boy of sixteen, john pierce iii. john would enter princeton in the fall. he was a rather un- certain, erratic young man. his father wanted to guide him. john sheldon, the president's son, could also come with them and try to enter princeton next year. he had just been talking to betty lou whose son, john breckinridge du bignon baldwin, was al- ready at the hun school near princeton. how would it do-> “say, mansart, could you bring your quartet to princeton?" "why, yes, sir, i think so." "you see, the princeton commencement will not take place for nearly a month in late june.” "oh yes sir, we'd be glad to come.” they talked further. pierce liked mansart. manuel was puzzled at pierce. pierce thought it would be both interesting to him and enlightening to the three young men to meet manuel mansart. he put the matter before his own son as they rode north. the boy was enthusiastic. “by jovel that'll be capital. three johns and feirefiz!” "who?" john did not enlighten him but rushed to find young baldwin. "say, i got another georgia boy, sheldon, coming. and with the ordeal of mansart him, a darky! my father is a trustee of his school and has sent him here in my care. he's got a quartet or something and is raising money for the school. let's give him a lift. what do you say? i'm having him in my diggings after his concert. he is older than we are and a college senior, but let's give him a good time.” baldwin evinced no great enthusiasm but promised to come. when sheldon arrived pierce invited him, but assumed that since he was from atlanta university he knew of mansart. he therefore only asked him over after the concert and forgot to add that man- sart would be there too. thus it was that manuel mansart in the spring of , just after the may commencement at atlanta and just before the june exercises at princeton, came to town with the quartet. princeton is in many ways an ideal college town. when the noisy, dirty penn- sylvania railroad proposed to run its tracks through this nest of decorous muses, the college rose in its dignity and made it pass the institution three miles to the east, leaving the village to its quiet and dreams. it had long had a famous theological school where the pres- byterians ruled in stiff dignity, but did not hesitate to admit a colored student now and then. that black john chavis, teacher of famous white carolinians, was trained here in the early th cen- tury, but of course granted no degree. later, as the slavery con- troversy waxed, southerners, avoiding the abolitionism of uni- tarian harvard and the latitudinarian tendencies of congrega- tional yale, began to send their sons to orthodox and reactionary presbyterian princeton which became after the war, in a sense, a southern university. no negro student gained admittance here for a hundred years after , and southern gentlemen sent their sons here with confidence, to sit largely under southern teachers, until well into the th century. manuel steered his quartet along the jersey shore to cape may, long branch and atlantic city. there were the usual difficulties of finding places for colored boys to stay, and suitable food to eat. manuel talked frankly and clearly about the university and the negro. he had to answer the usual questions about social equality and intermarriage. he began to learn to parry pleasantly, without too much offense, and to accumulate a stock of funny stories, which were not too funny and went over with only fair success. the collections were small and manuel was not altogether happy when he reached princeton late in june. he was astonished at the manuel graduates antics of class day. his boys, however, were comfortably housed. they sang well to a large and generous audience. then he went to find pierce. he suddenly confronted the three johns. they were sitting about relaxed, sipping coffee, when the door opened and manuel was ushered in. a stillness fell on the group. manuel paused a step within the door, and then stood quite still. he sensed the tension and knew it was their move. one or two of the elder pierce's classmates were present. one whispered: “a 'nigger' from georgia? what the hell” others were amused. after all, pierce had not infringed etiquette by inviting the fellow to dinner. what was mansart going to do? sing or dance? but it was the boys that the elder pierce was watching. young pierce arose quickly. "hello,” he said, extending his hand. “you're from georgia. glad to meet you. you know my father. these are some of his classmates." young baldwin came forward. “i'm from georgia, too. glad to welcome you." the third john, john sheldon, sat frozen in his seat as manuel appeared. he knew him, of course. they had been in school to- gether for years,-in a negro school. manuel glanced at him but made no sign of recognition, but sheldon quickly recovered. “we know each other," he said. "you two know each other? but of course, you're from atlanta." “and were in school together,” said sheldon, watching baldwin. baldwin looked puzzled and then realized that sheldon must have attended a negro school. probably his father was one of those car- pet-baggers who taught negroes. he was startled, but not too antagonized. he remembered what his father used to say about these schools and how his mother angrily disputed him and was sure these schools were spoiling negroes, while their teachers were fleecing them and the north. he had never had opportunity to test these judgments. he was rather glad to talk to a young man of education who happened to be black. pierce was quite delighted and noticed nothing. he shook cocktails, which mansart refused and sheldon touched sparingly. pierce started talking. "well, how do you like princeton? where are you staying?" "it's a beautiful town; and we got lodging with a nice colored family." pierce realized that no hotel would take him, and had to twist the ordeal of mansart his next the differ the concesing: his next query as to how it felt to be in the north. he saw that probably the difference was not as great as he was ready to assume. but he turned to the concert. "your fellows certainly sing." here baldwin could chime in: “there is nothing like negro music:"wonder," sainere: musica cture fo "i wonder,” said young pierce, “if the solution of the race prob- lem does not lie here: music, art and drama for black folk; gov- ernment, business and manufacture for whites?" "i doubt if the south would settle for that,” said mansart. “they need labor." "by george," said baldwin, "that's just what my mother is always harping on.” "it isn't easy to work out. labor means wages, security, political power." "but," said baldwin, "isn't it better for the upper classes to de- cide the rate of wage and conditions of work until the workers are ready and intelligent enough to take responsibility?" "i don't know about that ‘upper class' business," rejoined the elder pierce, touched on a sore point. “i think the owners of in- dustry should direct it, that's natural," there was a pause as heritage and power silently clashed. mansart was too discreet to talk further. after all, his task was to get pierce to help atlanta university. sheldon was silent because he knew too well what he wanted: money, and he cared not how it came. if driving negro workers was the way, he'd drive. but he devoutly hoped he'd never see another negro so long as he lived. but young pierce was inspired by a new line of thought. “by god! mansart,” he said. “you're lucky.” mansart looked at him. “see, you've got a job! you've got something you must do and want to do. your life work is laid out and it's splendid. i've never been interested in anything more than a week at a stretch except liquor and girls. a good football match can get me momen- tarily wild. but you, mansart, don't have to play games. you've got the real thing. fellows, i wonder if we couldn't join in and help him. the three musketeers to settle the negro problem-boys, is it a deal?" but the others discounted pierce's enthusiasm and laid it par- tially to liquor. on the other hand, pierce the father wanted fur- ther to explore these young minds and especially to draw out the reluctant mansart. manuel graduates at sheldon talks with bere she you like to by birth. not he said, “it's a big game-worldwide, with the south today in the center.” he leaned back, lighted a cigar and began to probe: “talking about careers for you boys," he began, “baldwin, i'm wondering if you wouldn't like to go into politics and help govern this land, especially the south?” baldwin looked interested. “well, i don't know, sir. mother has been stressing that idea. i think i might like it.” pierce smiled and remembered the many talks with betty lou on this matter. then he glanced at sheldon. “sheldon, you're a southerner, at least by birth. now the new south is industry. how would you like to go into business?" sheldon reddened and answered quickly, “i certainly should if i could, and by any route.” then john turned to his chief worry, his son. but the young man grinned engagingly and raised a deprecating hand. “now, dad, no tricks;-'never shake thy gory locks at me. we've been over all that. you've got your politician and captain of industry. now, i know, you're looking for a banker. no, thank you. not interested. couldn't stick it! but how about a little literature and art?" "well, perhaps, if we've got a young shakespeare about," “never can tell-could be. but you're not going to forget man- sart; why not see where he's going to fit in." the father was a little peeved. he wanted, of course, to bring in mansart's role, but as it was in his own mind fairly humble, he had not decided just how to approach the subject diplomatically. then young baldwin had to blurt it out quite innocently: “mansart, doesn't it seem to you that your people might train yourselves to furnish the south the faithful, skilled labor force which it will need as it rises to leadership in national and world industry?" this, of course, was just what the elder pierce had wanted to ask, and he listened eagerly. his son stared and sheldon closed his eyes. mansart glanced at the elder pierce and saw distinctly above his head a shadow that resembled miss freiburg. then he looked directly at baldwin and said slowly, as if thinking: "labor, hard labor, and skilled, is sure going to be needed. but i'm wondering just what kind of labor i would be allowed to do, and for whom,” he paused imperceptibly, “and why?" young baldwin looked puzzled; the elder pierce scowled; but young pierce whooped: “got you, john; what can you say to that?" ked puzzled; theeptibly, “and wh allowed to the ordeal of mansart but john baldwin made no rejoinder. they talked again about the concert, and mansart sang one of the songs, with baldwin at the piano: "walk together, children, don't you get weary!” then he cordially thanked them all and pleading an early train, left for his lodging. here a telegram awaited him: susan sanders announced that she was about to marry another man! it was quite logical. susan's father had died and there was no money to pay her way next year in school. she was not so promising a student as to warrant keeping her without pay. her depression had brought on a recurrence of the malaria which she had brought endemic from the coast of georgia, and dr. henry jones, a hearty, big and well-to-do colored physician who successfully attended her, had persuaded her that she would make an excellent successor to his wife now dead ten years. the dead wife had seen him through his early struggles and paid for it with galloping tuberculosis. he became fatter and more prosperous. he had learned his job. he wasn't a very good student and his medical art came from the bedside and not from books, hospitals or journals. he was a super- nurse, an unconscious psychoanalyst, and an inspiring and jolly companion; and he got on with the white folks. especially he got on with the white folks. once when he had driven through a busy intersection with his showy horse and carriage a policeman yelled at him angrily: "hey, ‘nigger,' where do you think you're going?" "ah'm goin' right back t'other side of that street, sah, and sit there twel you tells me to start again,” answered dr. jones with purposefully exaggerated accent and a broad smile. the policeman guffawed and jones escaped arrest and fine. he treated laborers, maids and porters and had them quickly back to work; he helped in the colored annex to the white hospital without asking status or recognition as a physician. he elaborately minded his own business and had, so far as whites were concerned, no opinions on the race problem. he never dabbled in politics. thus he was one of the best liked negroes in atlanta, and one of the richest. he could offer sarah security, a lovely home and nice clothes. of course she did not love him; he was too old and rough in his ways. but after all, one must live. there was too another reason which sarah never voiced even to herself, but which one of her girl friends blurted out: “old jones is a fool and mansart is a dear! pity that manuel is black and jones nearly white. girl you just can't bring black kids into this manuel graduates world and see them crucified. yellow kids have a better chance." sarah shrank. but the shaft went home and she made up her mind. she wired and wrote, returning manuel's modest ring. he could not desert the quartet and rush right south as he wanted to, but he wrote daily, making desperate appeals. he was in the depths of despair, and the president had to advise him not to paint too pessimistic a picture of the negro problem to audiences who wanted at least the possibility of some return for their contribu- tions. at last in late september mansart reached atlanta and sought out susan. she, usually rather phlegmatic, was for her, really exu- berantly glad to see him. she was working in the dormitory of her school as maid during the vacation, and sewing rather half-heart- edly on her trousseau for the october wedding. she wore a dazzling diamond of which she was, despite circumstances, quite proud. she had never owned anything half so beautiful. manuel burst the rather prim barriers of etiquette in school discipline even in vaca- tion time, and called on susan daily. dr. jones saw and knew it. but he discreetly kept absent and for the most part silent. now and then he sent flowers and delicious candy. but he did not at- tempt to argue. he waited. mansart talked to susan. no, of course she did not love jones. ye-es, she had long loved manuel. but after all, what could she do? she must live and she did not want to be a servant. she wanted a pretty home and clothes and good food. did he blame her? he did not. and all that she should have. but how? he'd get a job now; he'd teach school; he'd go north. of course poor susan's defenses were easily beaten down as she was only too willing they should be. it was at last arranged. manuel would finish his senior year, meantime looking for a job. susan would return to her home in savannah, helping her mother and younger sisters wash clothes for white folk if she could find no bet- ter employment. next commencement they would get married. so susan went home, with no opposition from dr. jones who even insisted that she should keep the engagement ring. the year went slowly. manuel tried to study; read as widely as time allowed, but what worried him more than all the clouded writhing of na- tions was the fact that he had up until april secured no job, no school to teach, no clerkship, not even an offer in domestic service that promised a living for two. and susan's letters were filled with disappointment bordering on despair. the ordeal of mansart the president had tried especially to secure a teaching position for one of his best students. the public school authorities were get- ting chary of atlanta university and her teaching. the city schools were filled with as many teachers as the city would pay for. the country schools did not want college graduates and paid little or nothing at that. then, late in april there came a chance, due to young john baldwin. as he returned from princeton a year after the meeting of the three johns he met mansart on mitchell street as he emerged from the railway station and was waiting for a cab. “hello, mansart,” called john. his handing his luggage to a redcap made an offer to shake hands unnecessary, and he was a little ashamed to be glad of it. but he paused. “how are things?” “rather bad;-about to graduate and hunting for a school!” "say! we are to have a town school superintendent at dinner tonight. he wants a teacher. here, let me talk to him. he lives in jerusalem, in the southeast part of the state." john gave manuel a good recommendation. he was genuinely glad to be able to do something. his effort was successful and manuel received a letter from the superintendent offering him the colored school for ten months beginning in july. manuel was overjoyed. he wrote susan immediately asking her to arrange the wedding in june. he very much wanted her to come to his graduation in may, but she could not afford it. susan was not enthusiastic. she knew the poverty and struggle ahead. but she was fond of manuel, and life with love in a cottage, even a leaky one, had attractions even to her rather prosaic mind. moreover, dr. jones rather overplayed his hand during manuel's absence, and her ingrained stubbornness came to reinforce her in- clinations. jones paid several visits to savannah. but after all, she was not for sale. the doctor, however, did not press her too far. he gave her the diamond engagement ring for her own, to her great joy, and planned to send her a wedding present so as not to suffer any loss of prestige in the community. meantime on april th war was declared with spain over cuba. there had already been much discussion in miss freiburg's class over cuba. in february she called attention to the revolu- tion in cuba; she reminded the class of the efforts of the slave power to annex cuba and its slaves in the fifties; of the ten years war waged by negroes and cuban whites against spain - , helped by american filibustering expeditions. then the americans manuel graduates invested millions in cuban sugar and when cubans under marti and the mulatto, maceo, revolted in the united states was ready to interfere. now manuel proposed to take the spanish american war as the subject of his commencement oration. he wrote his essay, climaxing the heroism of maceo with the philanthropy of america the emancipator. miss freiburg sniffed. “the sugar trust,” she said, "does not deal in philanthropy. and mckinley forgot to tell the senate that spain had surrendered before he demanded war." manuel modified his essay but he did not change it much. he lauded the american army and navy. miss freibun nopy. and mckinsmanded war." it much. he chapter xii jerusalem it would have been wiser if manuel had first gone to his new school, acquainted himself with the situation and then gone back to marry and bring his bride. but funds were too scarce and susan might see reason again to change her mind. so manuel hurried to savannah and went through a breathless marriage ceremony. they then boarded the dirty "jim-crow” car of the slow local train to jerusalem. they arrived in the early afternoon at a small, drear depot which had almost no accommodations for colored passengers. manuel had to leave susan sitting on a bench of the platform while he hurried to the office of the superintendent of schools. the superintendent was in and had several white visitors. he caught a glimpse of manuel and swore under his breath. it would be just like this fool ‘nigger' to burst in on him just as he was busy with white folk, and to come all dressed in city clothes. god! but he'd have to learn a lesson if he expected to stay here. he glared at mansart as he entered. he looked at the letter manuel brought and dropped his eyes. of course this city darky would be on time and rush about like a white man. he must be taught his place. "wait,” he said curtly, and then began to consult successively with several white visitors. one complained of a poor teacher; an- other of the delayed repairs on the white high school building; a third was impatient at the delay at finding a job for her daughter. “ 'niggers' seem to be getting most of the school funds anyway,” she flung back as she left. just as the last white person left and the superintendent was shuffling his papers and trying to think just how to phrase the un- pleasant things he must say to this new colored teacher who was better dressed and more upstanding than he had hoped, a white man entered, grasped hands with the superintendent warmly, and they both laughed, sat down, leaned back and smoked leisurely. they conversed a half hour until manuel, who had been standing, ventured: "perhaps, sir, i'd better return when you have more time?” en begana of a poobl buildir jerusalem the superintendent scowled and growled, “wait!" the visitor started to arise. “don't let me keep you, i had noth- ing to do” "sit down, sit down; got plenty of time. when can we go on that fishing trip we planned?” another quarter hour went by. then the visitor went and the superintendent turned and looked manuel over. “manuel,” he said, "never interrupt me when i have a white visitor! get this: you are in a southern town and remember that here a black man, no matter what he is, occupies an inferior place and obeys his betters!” he looked at mansart and manuel without a word looked him straight in the eye. the superintendent hung his head. "hell, manuel, i don't like this no more than you will; but you and i got to bow to white public opinion in jerusalem, or we'll both lose our jobs. i had to waste time talking about nothing while you stood, because my visitor is very influential in this town. i was ashamed and you were mad. but that's the way it is. work with me and i'll do my best. fight back and i'll kick you out. i'll have to. for god's sake, understand if you can.” manuel said nothing. he would have given his soul's salvation to have walked out and taken the next train. but his new young wife, tired and frightened, was waiting for him on the dirty depot platform. they had yet to find a home. he and the superintendent talked a half hour as manuel took his orders and learned “his place.” the superintendent offered manuel $ a month for a ten- month term, which was ten dollars more than his predecessor re- ceived. she had used $ of this to bribe two of the white trustees to keep her place. they both would deplore the new extravagance in wage and set themselves to find fault. jerusalem was a typical small georgia town. that meant it was a square, set at the meeting point of four country roads. around the square was the “city hall,” containing court house and jail; the post office, a saloon and pool room, several general stores, with a drug store and bank. opposite the court house was the first methodist church, an expensive, rococo monstrosity. down the west side, leading toward the country, was the colored quarter with a few shops, pool rooms, and churches. up the other side was the large white baptist church, a new white high school, and a hospital. from the square three other streets radiated to the country: one with new and elaborate homes of the white town aristocracy; two with more or less drab, old and new homes for humbler whites. a new white elementary schoolhouse had been built near the the ordeal of mansart ately. the onlook.efirst and foremost wadulgence in liquo square. the negro school was carried on in a rambling negro church on the outskirts to the west, near a factory and a fertilizer plant. to understand this community one must remember that it was a group upset and dislocated by war. it was humanity in flux with all its old culture patterns curiously changing and yet clung to desperately. the onlooker might have described seven matters which engaged this little town: first and foremost was money, then race and social standing; third came sex, and then indulgence in liquor and gambling; fifth the courts and police, sixth murder, and seventh re- ligion. there was no question about it: money and earning a liv- ing dominated the situation. it had to, because poverty lurked over the land. before the war the landed aristocracy lived scattered in the country, usually with city homes which later grew in relative importance as urban life developed. after the war the poorer whites gathered in the small villages and towns like jerusalem where they could achieve a local importance paralleling the city, as merchants standing between owner and worker; as professional men prac- ticing law and medicine; as artisans and laborers, and as loafers and semi-criminals; all this centered in a sea of black folk. the merchants drove hard bargains or cheated deliberately; the landed aristocracy neglected its debts from carelessness or ne- cessity; the white and black laborers fought for employment; and the new "democracy” began to function with the negroes intimi- dated or forcibly disfranchised or given "friendly" advice by em- ployers. the square was nearly always well filled with folk, white and black, mingling in good-natured fellowship but with clearly de- fined lines of cleavage: negroes lined the curbs and hitching posts; whites occupied the walls and steps. in the stores whites were waited on first and treated with elaborate attention. negroes were treated more brusquely but with enough condescending comradery to keep them from going to any rival store. there was always a certain tenseness in the air which at times, especially on drunken satur- days, brought one or two quick police to rush some black man to jail. whites were seldom arrested. here were the white secret orders and the white militia with its well-stocked armory. horses, mules, dogs and vehicles, with num- bers of negroes were common on the square; while white men of leisure, with strutting and roisterous young blades occupied the porches and ogled the young white girls who paraded by frequently the ordeal of mansart were light brown, yellow or almost white; in the country the num- ber of mixed bloods was smaller. the fierce fight to keep land and to get land was foremost in the minds and acts of men. some estates like that of colonel breckin- ridge which lay across the river, were going down in ruins. parts had been sold at prices far below the real value even in post-slavery times. other parts were lying fallow; some were ruined by white and black tenants who could hardly make food and shelter out of long hours of work without machinery or fertilizer. there were whites who had struggled up through overseerships and storekeeping and were beginning to buy up such land. one method was to sell it to negroes who were desperately hungry for land and who wanted to become landholders and farmers. through mortgages with high interest, and through faked debts and fore- closure and even by brute force, most negroes simply succeeded eventually in losing their land and paying the middlemen fabu- lous prices. then came the storekeepers with their systems of credit; with their “furnishing" the tenants and laborers, white and black, with goods before their crops were in or their wages paid; and then charging them exorbitant prices so that they remained al- ways in debt. beyond race and landholding, education was a sign of status, and here the negroes were fierce in their desire to learn to read and write. they could not be entirely deprived of this chance. yankees demanded it and sent money and missionaries whom the southern whites believed were sneaking hypocrites; but they had influence in the north, so that negro schools were carried on although not very effectively outside the cities. the jerusalem negro school was housed in a half-ruined old wooden church. it had no desks nor proper chairs and its teacher had always been one selected by the local whites for his subserviency and ignorance. after two or three months of school in the middle of winter, when the children learned little but reading by rote, sketchy writing and almost no arithmetic, they were dragged out of school to pull weeds and pick cotton on the country farms and to help in the homes of white housewives. most of the white chil- dren went to school six months and learned to read and write. few went further. above all, next to race, land and education came house service to prove and maintain status. every white woman who had any claim to standing or even decency must have at least one black servant: someone to cook, wash dishes, clean house and care for jerusalem the em competition or inferior" demanded "s were alw the babies. in some cases, where there was money to pay them, servants were efficient but dissatisfied because service was still near slavery. many of them got away to the cities as quickly as possible. most of the whites could not afford to pay decent wages and have well-serviced homes. nevertheless, few negro women dared refuse to work at service; if they did they were liable to be arrested and jailed as "vagrants.” they worked therefore, and subsisted by pilfering of food, wearing cast-off clothes, and malingering on the jobs as much as they could. male negro workers and their families were mostly serfs on the farms around about at nominal wages and under conditions of work inherited from slavery. black laborers were always in fierce dispute with white labor which demanded and usually got prefer- ential return even for inferior performance. this made always a state of competition where low negro wage lowered white wage. the employers gained accordingly. in house service, where no whites competed, wages touched bottom. next to money and status in jerusalem was sex: the thought, the planning, the dreaming of sex. it was not so much the fact that in this town sexual acts were more common than in other towns, north and west; but thought and talk about it was much more common. above all in thought, talk and imagination loomed the sex rivalry of race. every white man of any pretension was expected to have a white wife and at least one colored concubine. each colored man could have a colored wife but he might be asked to share her with a white man. on the other hand, he must not dare even think of touching a white woman even accidentally; actual sexual commerce between black men and white women called for riot and murder even if the woman was a known pros- titute. this theory, of course, varied in practice but its very un- certainty lent a perpetual nervousness to the life of the town. sex was looked upon as a matter of privilege, as escape from the deadly boredom of the town. life presented itself vividly as sex, and the owning of women was characteristic of the men's dreams. conversation centered on it in bar and parlor. especially colored women had the most difficult time. if they were pretty and comely they must marry early and even then their husbands had a hard time protecting them from white men. if they did not marry they were fair prey for both white and colored men. if they went into house service they were fairly certain to be- come concubines, and in a few cases colored women were sup- ported openly in the town and everyone knew what white man the ordeal of mansart was their master. sometimes the colored women fought furiously to ward off white men even to maiming and murder. in other cases they flaunted their sex attraction for white men in the very faces of white women, who could but helplessly hate, and hate they did. on the other hand, white women were guarded fiercely in physical and mental harems; they must avoid not only the evil of sexual life outside of marriage but the very suspicion or implica- tion of it. they must pose as “pure” and absolutely unsophisticated. they therefore indulged themselves increasingly in gossip and imagination. for they talked sex, they thought sex, they dreamed sex. always they were shrinking from white aggressors and running wildly from black rapists. always white men were making advances, and often they were affronted when a bold-eyed black man even looked squarely at them. among the black youth there was not only the natural sex atten- tion to his own dark girls but beyond that the lure and temptation of the unattainable, of the ivory colored limbs and scented bodies of women whom they could not own but might force. such rape was the greatest conceivable crime on earth in the eyes of white men. now and then a white woman willingly had a black para- mour, but if the truth ever became known or even suspected she must cry "rape" and he would be lynched without having a chance to open his mouth. about a situation so unreal and false as this must come forms of indulgence in appetites and excess; and in jerusalem it took the path of drunkenness, gambling and fighting. one only had to visit the square of a saturday night, when the meager wages had been paid or money been borrowed and the liquor cheap. the air was tense; brawls and fights broke out, usually within the race groups but sometimes between the races. then it meant riot, if not murder. the courts were curiously handicapped. they could do very little with regard to crime because their first business was to protect status; to give the white man, even the poor whites, a preferred position in the community which under no circumstances could be questioned or invaded by blacks. so that negroes were arrested because they were negroes, and whites allowed to do almost as they pleased because they were whites. the demand for forced labor made arrests and summary imprisonment absolutely necessary for the economic progress of the community. the chain gangs were filled because official orders were sent down for such and such a number of negro laborers. the ordeal of mansart guesses, slanders, lies and nasty truth. the gossiping habit was a festering sore. it poisoned the air and frightened everybody. it gripped and held the decent, normal core of honest white people, the simple lives of people who tried to be good and honest, who dressed, cooked, ate, washed and ironed or toiled with one or two black servants to make a home, and went to church to serve god. but fear gripped them, and especially fear of the negro; espe- cially the black ghost of a past they did not dare forget-why, they could not say. but the problem was there like a vast, dark hand. they were always conscious of it; their lives were efforts at pretend- ing to escape its grip, but they never could, they never dared. and fear gripped the negroes: whether they were humble drudges, striving desperately to please their masters; or bitter, hating serfs driven by hunger or blows or threat of the chain gang; or hard- working laborers, glimpsing a far-off freedom for their children. all these feared white folk, good as well as bad-feared them as they feared god and often more. over all this hung two veils which blurred all true views of life: over the whites a pretense and desperate assumption of superority, of natural inborn privilege, to be shown in strutting walk, loud talk and swagger. this pretense in solitude or among cronies might fall away, but it especially soared and swelled in the presence of negroes, even when these negroes were most elaborately ignored. the white always felt a negro was watching him and he acted his assumed part accordingly. and negroes did watch them from behind another veil. this was a veil of amusement or feigned, impudent humility. through gay laughter ran a vein of cynical contempt and “shaden-freude”; of cutting, jeering mockery. thus happy, careless guffaws hid bit- ter hate and even despair with impenetrable good humor. the superintendent of city schools in jerusalem, elected by the white people of the city, was in the summer of at his wit's ends. he wanted desperately to get a better job and to escape from this god-forgotten town. this depended on his local popularity and on his superior, the state superintendent. that official was putting pressure on him to build up the colored school, which had never been more than a farce. it had been taught last year in an old baptist church by a decrepit old woman who had inconsiderately died of chronic starvation just at the end of the school term. the superintendent was a well-intentioned man, but he knew that his real bosses and the source of his bread and butter was the jerusalem local white electorate. he also knew that his chances for promotion and escape from this dead community rested in the good will of the state educational officials. for some reason, he did not quite know what, the state was putting pressure on officials to improve the negro elementary school system. he did not believe it was pure philanthropy. more probably it was business and not unconnected with the new playing up to the north. whatever it was, why should they pick on him? they knew his predicament; he did not have nearly enough funds for his wretched white school system. how was he to get funds for a new negro schoolhouse and equipment and salaries for at least three teachers needed to teach children? he laid his troubles before old dr. baldwin as he dined with his old teacher and his charming wife and growing son in atlanta. they had no real solution, but when young baldwin recom- mended manuel mansart to his mother's astonishment, the super- intendent was glad. here at least was a well-trained negro, vouched for by good white folks and not disposed to haggle over wages. this certainly would be put down in atlanta to his credit. he hoped mansart would have sense enough to realize that he as white super- intendent had as great difficulties as the colored teacher. if the negro had sense and would play along they might accomplish something-not much but enough to bring escape for both. manuel had to beg a half month's advance of his salary, and then began to hunt for a house. for a couple of weeks they boarded in discomfort with a colored family who did all they could to accommodate them. the home finally found was poor. it was drab in appearance, with two rooms and a barren, half- fenced yard. the roof leaked and windows did not fit or glass was missing. the running water was in the back yard not far from the primitive outdoor toilet. of course there were no set tubs nor clothes closets. so in this town of jerusalem, manuel mansart began his active life. it soon revealed certain geographical connections of which mansart had not at first been aware. it was not far from thomson where tom watson lived. he had begun to wonder at watson's silence and to inquire after doyle. caste and disfranchisement were rapidly spreading over the south and mansart began to realize one of its causes when he learned that jerusalem was the home of the scroggs family. they were followers of tillman. he had heard of them through his mother who knew of sam scroggs and the part he had tried to play in south carolina in . he had been killed, the ordeal of mansart but his widow and children still lived in the country near jeru- salem. other parts of the family lived in atlanta. abe scroggs, now , had for a while been active in the farmers alliance. he was now in cuba as a volunteer in the spanish-american war. abe scroggs was born in jerusalem and thus grew up in the hard pattern of its racial culture. he hated negroes with a dark, unreasoning passion. had he tried to explain his hatred he would have traced it to an incident of his life when a small child. but he did not try. he was not conscious of any beginning or reason for his hate. it was just there. this one incident, however, young scroggs always remembered. he would never forget it although he was at the time only six. it patterned his life. they were a large family, ten children and many dead. a scrawny, ugly, half-starved mother; a father, usually drunk, who died when abe was five. there was simply nothing to eat one day, but the negroes next door were slaughtering a hog-a fat hog, carefully brought up and nurtured and looked forward to as sup- port, indulgence and well-being. the black father had had a hard time making ends meet, pay- ing his rent after the piece of land which he had tried to buy had been taken away from him by open fraud against which he could do nothing. but now the fall looked promising to him. they had this hog, they had plenty of vegetables and garden stuff stored away. the man had a job as porter and the woman worked most of her time up at a white folks' mansion on the square. the children were in school, when there was a school. and now they were con- gregated about celebrating the hog-killing. the father had gone to work; mother and children were cleaning up. it was dusk when mrs. scroggs, distraught with apprehension and yet trying to keep herself conscious that she was a white woman, went over into the negroes' yard. the customary race code was observed: she was called "mis' scroggs," by the hard-eyed black woman whom in turn she addressed as “nancy.” mrs. scroggs won- dered if nancy would sell her a bit of "meat”? she had been late in getting to the store before it closed. they would, of course, pay her "soon." nancy was sorry, very sorry, but she "reely didn't have a bit of meat to spare." her own six children needed every single scrap. mrs. scroggs sidled up to the table where nancy moved the meat that was being cut up just beyond her reach. but there were some of the guts and entrails there, and the tail; and on these mrs. scroggs laid her scrawny hand before nancy could remove them. poroesi sctos nalors she of coul jerusalem so mrs. scrogguts and started.ce exploded as “just this little bit, what would you charge?” nancy looked at her with venom in her face. she knew that without a fight she could not keep mrs. scroggs from getting this bit of chitterlings. if there was a fight nancy or her husband would go to jail without any question. she would have no standing in court against mrs. scroggs. so mrs. scroggs gathered up the tail and a couple of handfuls of manure and guts and started away immediately. then from behind the fence exploded a shout of derisive laugh- ter and mocking from the black children: “crackers stealin' hog- guts!" young scroggs, who was hidden behind his mother's skirt, was hurt to the heart. from that day he hated negroes with perfect hatred. he could kill them. he would do anything to hurt them. they had laughed at and derided his poor old mother who was trying to get a bit of food for herself and her half-starved children. with tragedy like this, the sixth year of young scroggs had begun in jerusalem. at scroggs had stopped school. he had learned to read and write and figure fairly well. he was not interested in the other studies offered. grammar eluded him. he could not understand what "algebra” was up to, and he did not care about the doings of foreigners, especially in the past. moreover, he felt that he must have a job in town and help his mother and the family. he worked at first in the fertilizer factory, but the labor was hard and unin- teresting and his wage only a little above that of negroes. he tried to oversee a farm and direct negro and white tenants, but both the merchants and the tenants cheated him. he tried other jobs and loafed in the square between times. he joined the ku klux klan. it was fun to ride masked and gowned on a good horse. moreover, he could steal from the negro cabins which were often invaded, and that was helpful support to his family. then came the mad lust of the man hunt. he had hunted squirrels, rabbits and a few bigger animals, but there was nothing like hunting a man. in his first adventure a negro had been found lying with a white girl. she was a bitch, as everyone knew. but the cry of rape roused all the wildest passions of the town and countryside. they rode at night, and scroggs was among the first to grab the terrified boy and split his head open with an axe. then they dismembered his genitals, burned him, and danced about the body, mad with hard liquor. when he came home that night scroggs went to bed trembling. he was frightened at what he had done. he could see the face of that boy and could not forget it. he rushed to the the ordeal of mansart church next night and for a week thereafter. on sunday he was "saved” by a passing evangelist. he gradually began to persuade himself that he was doing god's appointed work in helping re- strain or exterminate black criminals. his attitude toward black folk now changed. he had disliked them before but now he despised them because they were not really human. he learned something of this in school, more of it in the newspapers, and read one or two frightening books. manifestly it was his duty to make it impossible for this vermin to live like other men. but it was to live like other men and the better kind of men that manuel mansart was striving. and his beginnings in this town were not favorable. in fact his life was from the first discouraging. he lacked the equipment for the kind of teaching he wished to do. on the other hand, here was a chance to do work at the ground level. he was impressed by booker washington's criticism of young negroes leaving the rural districts where they were needed and rushing to the cities. perhaps right here in jerusalem he could start building and laying foundations for a real life. perhaps the tenu- ous bond between him and the three johns-his nexus with the great northern forces building a new south-might become stronger and more real. as a physical and spiritual partnership the marriage of manuel and susan was perhaps average. it was certainly not made in heaven, nor was it a failure. it lasted without thought of termina- tion for years and brought four children into the world. yet the union was not ideal and encountered from the first storms and obstacles. first, neither party had been prepared for marriage either in theory or practice. both had been raised in an era and in a group of sexual laxity and loose family ties; yet neither was physically tainted nor mentally twisted. susan had had a hard-working father who paid her no attention whatever. her mother worked hard also to help support a large family. they lived in poor surroundings. but the mother was strict. susan was the youngest and from babyhood had learned that there was something evil about sex and its organs. she must not even think of them, and being obedient she almost never did. what she saw and heard about rape, bastard children, and sordid indulgence she seldom understood. she gathered that what was largely evil and even nasty became in some curious way right, or at least permissible after marriage. being but moderately sexed herself her curiosity carried her no further. jerusalem manuel saw sex about him and had a certain understanding but little actual experience. his few experiences were so frustrated and incomplete that he was never tempted to looseness and promis- cuity, but rather spurred toward early marriage. thus the experi- ences of their marriage at first frightened susan and then brought her to shamefaced submission and enjoyment. they thrilled and uplifted manuel and then disappointed him in some not easily understood way, as if they had opened up heaven and revealed that there was no heaven there or at least none yet discoverable. all this was natural and rested on the fact that the couple had to earn a hard living under difficult circumstances. they had little time or space for adjustment. if their path had been easier and more immediately rewarding the results might have been different. as it was there came the fact that the tasks before them could not be shared nor mutually understood. manuel had no conception of the difficulties of housework, especially in the situation of susan. susan's own home was primitive in many respects, but as the youngest child she was always the helper and never the responsible doer. four years at school had familiarized her with running water, hot and cold; indoor toilets and garbage which disappeared. even in her last year at home there were older brothers and sisters to fetch and carry and do the drudgery. to her, then, a home had long spelled not the luxury which dr. jones had dangled before her, but at least a certain cozy comfort with a mate to talk to and to whom she could run for help and advice. but she knew little about marketing or buying, and her cooking was a blend of custom, with okra, and rice, red pepper, and what she had tried to learn in the "science" of cooking at the university. manuel had been used to a home where what he wanted ap- peared forthwith. of course his wants were few, and as they grew there grew too his own ingenuity for satisfying them, along with quick cooperation and understanding. thus his meals had always been ready on time and consisted of just what he liked because he had always been used to it. when he wanted to have a place to study, the "front” room became his without to do. the whole house was regulated with regard to his work and study. dormitory life changed this and yet even there, he and his work were first except as his roommate must share. eating, bathing and play were relegated to other places. add to this that manuel had an impossible job before him. the position of teacher of a negro public school in the rural south was druge were oldehich disapping water, the ordeal of mansart verythinople did the ton not an easy one. the teacher was not welcomed nor encouraged; he was endured. he must get on with four separate entities: the colored parents, the white town, the white school board and su- perintendent, the colored pupils in the school. the children were wretchedly untrained-most of them in the lowest grades. they had had little or no training in the surrounding country schools on account of forced work and parental helplessness or carelessness. they came irregularly to this school. even in the upper grades most of them could not really read nor write. the school was practically unequipped-no desks, planks to sit on, one grey blackboard, no maps, few textbooks. manuel had to make desperate effort to raise equipment which the town did not furnish; and the town did not furnish equipment because the white people did not want a colored school. they were jealous of everything done for the school. it was not only direct loss but greater indirect loss since it trained colored boys and girls away from house service and labor, made them want more wages, and often made them “impudent." they ran away to the big cities in a steady stream. there were continual incidents on the street and in homes, trivial in themselves but liable to become desperate in result. manuel found much of his time taken in interracial peace- making. the superintendent seldom called upon him and did not want manuel to come to his office. his answer to everything was prac- tically no. it was not because he did not want a negro school, it was because his own job depended upon his spending as much on the white schools as possible and as little on the colored school; otherwise in the next election, with no negroes voting, he would lose his job. faced by grim necessity manuel began at once to learn the etiquette of living and surviving in the rural south. he did not enjoy it but he had no choice. he must conform or go. he had nowhere to go. he became careful of his superiors, particularly of the white superintendent. when the superintendent expressed an idea mansart tried to agree. afterward, mansart might suggest some modification, some difference and improvement. he found, to his surprise, that his suggestions were often received and carried through, especially if they involved little or no expense. sometimes he was allowed to carry them through himself. he sensed gradu- ally that the superintendent himself was also in chains which rattled ominously. with those colored folk who had some authority because of jerusalem their long red he did not feel. in he wanted or cid had they tl their long residence and relation to the whites he did not get on so well, because he did not feel the necessity for hypocrisy. he talked out and told the things which he wanted or criticized; and they told him not exactly what they might have said had they them- selves been free, but what they knew they must say if they wanted to retain their own jobs and influence. in the midst of this growing effort at adjustment toward the world and its people there came an earthquake. it was in the shape of a small baby. of course mansart had always expected to have a child sometime, but to have it appear within ten short months after his marriage was astonishing; but not nearly so surprising and revolutionary as the difference which it made in his home. as he looked back he could see that with the birth of douglass mansart in , his home never again was the same thing. he ceased to be the center of it. his wife began to lose her health and looks; especially as douglass was followed in by revels. it did not occur to manuel that anything could be done about this; in fact he probably wouldn't have done anything if he had known what to do. children were among the natural phenomena of the world. but their coming did make a tremendous economic problem and almost broke up the home. of course no one would have said so, least of all the over-worked mother, and not even manuel. but he did not return now after a hard day's work to a quiet, neat little nook where he could make love to a pretty girl and dream about the future. he came to an over-crowded house with a poor yard, and a squalling baby who seemed to attract every disease of infancy, as was natural with contaminated water, flies and insects. meals were never on time and manuel was expected to help in the housework. to the problems of his day at school were added the most startling problems of mother and child, food and fire, clothes and neighbors, and the fearful threat of an unknown future. this became clearer when abe scroggs returned to jerusalem as a veteran of the spanish-american war. his racial antipathies had been accentuated, his hatred of yankees increased, and he was incensed to find the negro school using money belonging of right only to whites and taught by a well-dressed and college-bred negro. manuel mansart was made vividly aware of this one november morning in . the work in the cotton fields was finished and nearly all the children were in school. the rickety benches were crowded and there was a subdued hum of little voices with a few deep ones from the overgrown boys. the ordeal of mansart coulager hoject for, was hallansart what they suddenly the schoolhouse door flew open and in it stood abe scroggs. he had just come from the town square where he and his buddies had been celebrating his return. someone told how his black cook that morning had related some information from the colored school. it seemed that in a talk about the spanish-ameri- can war and teddy roosevelt the new teacher, mansart, had told the pupils that black soldiers had saved roosevelt and his rough riders from annihilation at el caney last july; and that a south- ern white officer had testified to this. "it's a damn liel" scroggs roared in anger. in fact he knew nothing of the incident but "niggers” couldn't fight! "everybody knew that!” he proposed that they all go right down to the negro school and make mansart retract. scroggs was half drunk and was easily dissuaded from this project for the moment. but as he took another whiskey and started home he caught a glimpse of the negro schoolhouse and with a fresh burst of anger turned toward it alone. he walked down through the negro quarter elbowing loitering negroes aside and entered the schoolhouse through the back door. standing right beside mansart scroggs yelled: "i hear your ‘nigger' teacher here has been telling you lies about black troops in cuba. no 'niggers' ever rescued roosevelt there, and you damn well better not say so. do you hear?” he swung about and glared at mansart. mansart started to his feet and then slowly sat down. he saw the eyes of a hundred black children fastened on him. he knew what they were thinking. he was the teacher. he knew all things. he could tell colored folk what to do when white people stepped on their faces. well, now let him talk! let him do something! he did nothing. he sat mo- tionless and silent. what could he do? he had no weapon. should he knock scroggs down? he doubted if he was strong enough or knew how to fight. he had not struck a human being, much less a white man, since he was a child. but suppose he could and did fight? he would be lynched before night, his people homeless, his family helpless and his school in ashes. to this end he had come! he was hardly earning a living. he saw small prospects of betterment. who knew of his efforts or would know? what was his future or for that matter the future of his people in america? the world stood shut and fast before him. any low, dirty, ignorant white hoodlum could publicly insult the most respectable negro in jerusalem and go free and exulting. how long could a black man live in a world like this? jerusalem slowly the clock ticked. a wave of unrest fluttered over the silent children. scroggs wavered. should he slam his fist into this black ape's face? but if he did, what would this mad mass of black children do to him? he faltered and then a step was heard. every- body heard it and started. somebody came crunching up the path. and then the superintendent of schools loomed in the doorway/ in front of scroggs. mansart arose. the superintendent paused a moment and took in the scene. he knew a crisis was at hand but he ignored it. “how do you you, mr. scroggs,” he said. “i have been waiting to welcome you back.” scroggs straightened up and shook hands. he stuttered, “i've been telling-these little darkies-a thing or two," he muttered awkwardly and lurched out. the superintendent turned to mansart and said, “you may dis- miss the pupils. it's a bit early, but i've got news for you.” “dismissed,” said mansart, mechanically. the children swarmed out quietly until they reached the border of the school grounds. then a roar mounted. scroggs heard it and looked back. that god-damned superintendent had set this passel of "niggers" on him. he walked fast and then started to run as he approached the corner where he could descry the square. he was almost too late. a shower of stones overtook him and one knocked off his broad-brimmed service hat and brought blood streaming down his temple. he ran for his life. the superintendent took no notice of this: he was staring at mansart's face and saw how the ashen pallor had killed the rich deep brown. he asked no questions but hastened to say, “mansart, i've got news for you. the atlanta city schools want you. i've of- fered to release you. i reckon you'll be willing. the salary is twice this." he paused; then waited for no answer but turning, left quickly. he furnbled at his tobacco pouch, but his hands trembled and he could not light a match. he glimpsed mansart as he turned. man- sart was standing very still and the tears were streaming down his cheeks. chapter xiii color caste ich the things hing b a new century dawned, the century which would crown the power and the glory of the great nineteenth. it was october and in the capital of the nation an unexpected president was at dinner in the white house. theodore roosevelt had been in office a month. he was exuberant. he was strong and healthy and eager for this immense task of governing the united states. his family was at the table-his wife, his daughter, alice, and one of the boys. two members of the cabinet were there also, and a special guest. this guest was booker t. washington. the subject of discussion was one which the president would have called minor and time-consuming but it was pressing. he was in a hurry for he had other things to do. this talk had been con- tinued from a morning interview and postponed until dinner. it was the question of appointments to political office in the south. appointments over the country were difficult enough to face, but more so in the south because there, due to the pressure of negroes, demucratic government was not being allowed to function. his brought forward many considerations which people out- side wwlitical life and unconnected with the question of mr. wash- ington's philosophy had to consider. was the united states to be a democracy and if so, how could the democratic process be carried out? it must not be thought that this question arose solely from the negio problem. it was exacerbated in that case because of long controversy and the civil war; and because it had become in- volveà with the whole world problem of races. in centers like new york city where theodore roosevelt, at the time booker t. washington was making his atlanta speech, began service as head of the police department, there was in prac- tice a method of government which was not democratic and yet which people spoke of as a method of democratic government. it consisted of manipulation and control, particularly of the votes of the foreign-born, so that certain political parties gained and kept their power through bribery by money, jobs and public dole. of the police was making chore roosev color caste ed in civid then by . the southby booker ing the negihe atlanta comprpe to go out of polars. this reform in the method of government was beginning in new york. in the south reform probably would have grown and gone forward had it not been for the memory of the disrupting slavery controversy which resulted in civil war; civil war resulted in the enfranchisement of the negro, and then by more or less secret un- derstanding the negroes were disfranchised. the south and the north agreed upon the atlanta compromise proposed by booker t. washington; that is, the negroes were to go out of politics and confine themselves to becoming honest and skilled workers. this would keep white union labor within reasonable demands; it would enable the south to recover and develop; it would help the already developing north, and no harm would be done to anyone because certainly the mass of negro voters were not yet ready for participation in a democracy. would it be possible to get a negro leader to agree to this? it had long seemed improbable. many candidates for the money, publicity and power of this kind of leadership were tried out, but failed to live up to the unalterable conditions. then booker washington came to hampton and from there went to alabama, the heart of the black belt. as he developed he seemed made to order. so roosevelt was going to ask his advice. . they had finished the first courses and the president was sharp- ening the carving knife for the roast. he always insisted on carving himself when the family party was small. “now, mr. washington," he said, “i want you to tell mrs. roosevelt and our friends, as you told me this morning, just what you think of my proposals for southern appointments.” up to this point booker washington had said almost nothing. he was a shrewd and careful man. he had come from the depths of poverty, hard toil and ignorance. he realized that the whites had the power. he saw no use arguing about that. there was also no, use trying to force the whites. there was no chance that the white north would long side with the negro against the increas- ing power of the white south. therefore the case was clear; seek the best terms which the southern whites would offer and accept them. this was sense. but back of this in his mind also was right. washington be- lieved that the present power of the white race was natural. he believed that work made wealth and wealth was the sign of virtue. the whites were rich because they worked. the negroes were poor because they did not work hard and did not know how to the power of would lonac. whites. the the ordeal of mansart increasingly by actual law. yet they were residents of the south and on their numbers in the population representation in con- gress was based. not only that, but they were members of the re- publican party and almost the only persons who cast a vote for that party in the south. now in appointments to federal office and in accord with demo- cratic tradition this population could not be absolutely ignored. on the other hand the white people of the south did not want negroes appointed to office, and they expected now as never before to have this affront to white supremacy met by the new president of the united states. here was a quandary which could not be evaded. ordinarily appointments to federal office in a state were made in pursuance of advice from residents. republican residents in the south were almost entirely negroes. gradually but firmly the republican party had been dropping the negro from notice in its national conventions and campaigns. since the republican national convention of , negro dele- gates attended the republican nominating conventions. in the convention of a former congressman, the black john r. lynch from mississippi, was chosen as temporary chairman. yet from words in the platform of , the negro sank to no men- tion at all in the platform in . should negroes continue to hold the balance of power in the republican organization? no, said some, because they do not vote in the south. very well, but they live in the south, and work. nevertheless, they should be disfranchised so far as possible in the republican national convention. but they still existed and their political power remained and the south based its representation in congress on it. this meant that southern congressmen needed but a quarter to a tenth the number of votes which a northern congressman needed, and by seniority the southerners got the powerful chairmanships. then came booker washington and his message was interpreted as saying: “negroes should not vote; they should not join unions; they should not strike." this was not just what he said, but this was the interpretation put on his words, and this interpretation he did not deny. it resulted that the better class of negroes got out of politics; they did not join unions often when they couid; and they scabbed on strik- ers. yet a fifth of the working class of the nation were negroes. where did this leave the labor movement? nationalould be disthey live in color caste place osed to take were the toes as nor abilituise to apia thus ton, but could hability. rooseves: t then there were the “lily whites,” white southerners who proposed to take over republican patronage in the south and dis- place the negroes as advisers or appointees. they were usually men of neither character nor ability. roosevelt recoiled from recogni- tion of them, but could he refuse to appoint any negroes? thus teddy roosevelt stood at the edge of an era which sought to eliminate the black man from undue power in the republican party. but this could not be done suddenly. the negro vote in the north was growing. the president did not want to affront the white south. he had many southern friends and sympathized with the problem of the white south. on the other hand, certainly it would be bad politics to affront negro voters. washington also was in a difficult position. of course he had not meant to advise negroes to give up political rights entirely. he had meant to advise them to stop insisting on political rights as the first thing needed. he expected that the south in turn would offer the right to vote to deserving, hard-working and thrifty negroes. he believed this was about to come true. he was overwhelmed with invitations to speak, especially in the north but frequently to whites in the south. when now he found himself called in as con- sultant on appointments by a president he saw a chance to make a subtle deal. he would recommend a white southern democrat on the one hand and a first-class negro on the other. he would thus appease the white south and satisfy the uneasy negroes. he paused and then answered the president's last question: "mr. president, i don't see how you can avoid appointing some negroes to office. former republican presidents have always ap- pointed negroes to office. president hayes, president garfield and president arthur; president mckinley and president harrison; also democratic president cleveland appointed negroes. negroes have thus occupied positions as u. s. marshal, collectors of cus- toms and treasury officials. i venture therefore to suggest that you select a negro of ability and irreproachable character and appoint him to an important position.” roosevelt looked thoughtful. he had half-hoped for different advice. but he saw the inevitable logic. “do you know such a man, and what office do you suggest?" "well, sir, there is j. c. napier of nashville; a banker of recognized character and ability.” “and what office?” “treasurer of the united states." sury officiajons as u. s appointed n the ordeal of mansart roosevelt scowled and drummed on the table. this was ridicu- lous. the nation would not stand for it. moreover his secretary of the treasury would never accept a colored subordinate in so high a position. then another excuse occurred: "but that would not be a southern appointment. the capital does not like to be considered south.” washington sensed that he had bid too high. he assented to the objection and looked thoughtful. at last he said: “i think i have it. south carolina has a negro majority. why not appoint a negro collector of the port of charleston? there have been negro col- lectors in new orleans and galveston and there is one in atlanta now.” “do you know a good man?" “yes. dr. william d. crum is a fine man and well-liked by all. he is a physician and a man of property.” "you vouch for him?" “absolutely." “good. i'll appoint him.” washington added: “dr. crum is a fine specimen of my race. his appointment will satisfy the negroes and i cannot think that the whites will be opposed." there ensued other questions pertaining to appointments of whites and negroes, of political activity, and of education. it was a most interesting dinner and everybody felt that much had been accomplished. more had been done, however, than either the astute president or the careful mr. washington had anticipated. roosevelt had quite unwittingly transgressed one of the major racial taboos of the south, and that is, that white gentlemen and ladies did not eat with negroes. of course this custom was often violated. white mis- tresses ate with their cooks; white farmers ate with their hands. but always care was taken about this and either the incident was not mentioned or the eating together was so conducted that the im- plied equality was not manifest. something resembling medieval “eating below the salt" was the custom between white and black in the south. for a week nothing was said of the washington dinner al- though as usual it had been noted in the daily press. meantime, in the office of john sharp williams, democratic majority leader of the house of representatives, several southern members of con- h, and the transgressed on had antider color caste gress were in conference. they were worried. "that appointment of jones is shrewd and dangerous. jones ought to be horsewhipped for accepting a judgeship on the recom- mendation of a negro.” "sure, but he's a good judge and if this policy continues it will build up a republican party in the south. what?” williams' secretary had hurried in with a whispered message. “very well, send him in. a reporter, whom i trust, has an idea, gentlemen.” a young man came in and outlined a plan. "it may work. try it. and you gentlemen write and wire home.” so it started. so a reporter spread the news throughout the south and the underground southern white leadership sensed something to offset roosevelt's two excellent appointments. the south was reminded that roosevelt had crossed the color line and eaten with a negro. the white south erupted. the south quite literally foamed at the mouth. it yelled and shrieked. the secretly fed upheaval, and it could be called nothing less, was astonishing. from the mason and dixon line to the gulf, from the atlantic to california, the southern papers were filled with vituperation against theodore roosevelt. a mississippi politician publicly called roosevelt a dog and apologized to the dog. the south scored booker washington harshly. there were threats of personal violence to both roosevelt and washington which literally filled baskets. one man who was arrested at tuskegee confessed (whether with truth or not) that he had been sent from louisiana to kill booker washington. judge jones of alabama was forced to do some elaborate explaining. this clamor eventually died down but neither roosevelt nor booker washington ever forgot it. evidently it was a concerted action based upon a determination completely to exclude negroes from political life in the south, and to establish them as a social caste by law and custom. roosevelt now did some fast foot-work along the color line. he elaborately ignored the clamor of the south on the washington dinner. he appointed the southern white democrat as federal judge in alabama. on the other hand he intervened in panama and established in panama a dependent territory, with all the southern paraphernalia of “jim-crow” from separate schools to separate currency and lower wages for negroes. then turning ilinner. healy ignored theme fast foot- the ordeal of mansart wanted ared. vard.h caroli swiftly, that same year he appointed washington's nominee, dr. crum, as collector of the port of charleston, south carolina, and announced the reappointment of a colored postmistress to a minor post office in mississippi. clamor arose again. he ignored it in south carolina. but in mississippi a new complication appeared. vardaman, a poor white demagogue from the hills, wanted to be governor of mississippi and then senator in washington. he chose the negro as his stalking horse, and having started a vitriolic newspaper in indianola, the commonwealth, he hit on minnie cox, the colored postmistress as his victim, and the washington dinner as his text. dressed in white, with long flowing hair, he paraded the state as the "white chief,” drawn by big white oxen and haranguing the people. he out-tillmanned tillman, and roared against the infamy of having a “nigger wench” handle white folks' mail. a valiant white officer, commanding the “first squadron of cavalry,” of arkansas, sent a telegram to vardaman: "subject to your order, i tender my services with one hundred and fifty cavalry to the good people of indianola for their protection against negro domination.” after a bitter and nation-wide struggle with the stub- born president, vardaman won and minnie cox lost her post office in . booker washington was shaken and deeply disappointed by the incident of the white house dinner. he saw clearly that the south had not responded to his offered compromise in nearly as readily as he had assumed or as his popularity seemed to indicate. he witnessed with apprehension the rising influence of ben till- man. ten years older than washington, and his bitterest white op ponent, was ben tillman. tom watson, nearly washington's own age and better known than tillman at the time of the washington speech, was rapidly overshadowed by tillman as spokesman of the new south from the time tillman became governor of south carolina in and united states senator in until after the first world war. the boston transcript described him in a phrase from virgil—“monstrum, horrendum, ingens, infandum cui lumen ademptum" - "hideous, profane monster, with one eye!" tillman became leader of the movement toward legal and permanent color caste in the united states. he demanded openly color caste and enland poin any men cous man pa and unequivocably the disfranchisement of every negro no matter what his education or fortune. he demanded the enfranchisement of every white man no matter what his status, education, fortune or work. he declared that negroes were congenitally so inferior to whites that the races could live together only as master and man. he wanted these differences written into state and national law and enforced by penalties. he would admit negroes to the body social and politic only as servants or low-wage labor occupying no position which any white man wanted. he wanted no education for negroes because they could not be educated and never in all his- tory, he said, had a black man proven himself human in the same sense as whites. tillman demanded this program in the halls of congress and from the seats of wealth and power where he was invited and listened to. he offered cooperation on no other terms. how far he really believed all that he preached on the huskings and lecture platforms over the land, it is hard to say. he had negro friends and liked negroes "in their place.” but there is no shadow of doubt as to his reiterated demands. under his bulldog impulse, legal dis- franchisement of negroes was made law in the south between and . caste legislation providing separate travel, no racial in- termarriage, and segregation in school and state, followed from the washington speech in to the atlanta riot in . the depths to which american civilization sank in race hate is almost unbelievable. tillman raged openly on the floor of con- gress: “yes, we have stuffed ballot-boxes, and will stuff them again; we have cheated ‘niggers' in elections and will cheat them again; we have disfranchised 'niggers, and will disfranchise all we want to; we have killed and lynched ‘niggers' and will kill and lynch others; we have burned 'niggers' at the stake and will burn others; a ‘nig- ger' has no right to live anyhow, unless a white man wants him to live. if you don't like it you can lump it!” vardaman, leader of white mississippi, shouted: “i am opposed to negro voting; it matters not what his advertised moral and mental qualifications may be. i am just as much opposed to booker washington as a voter, with all his anglo-saxon reinforcements, as i am to the coconut-headed chocolate-colored, typical little 'coon,' andy dotson, who blacks my shoes every morning." the presiding officer of the louisiana constitutional conven- tion said in his closing speech: "what care i whether the new con- color caste "it can't be true.” “yes, it can and is.” “my god! what can we do about it?" “dine-and soon.” it was in the north, then, that the real battle was fought, and lost only after sincere struggle. there were a few persons there who pretended to themselves that this disfranchisement in the south was normal and only a consequence of the general democratic move- ment to protect the ballot from illiterate and lazy folk; and that the caste legislation was a yielding to the timid and would wear away in time. these folk knew they were deceiving themselves; that negro disfranchisement was not simply a matter of illiteracy, and that caste was deeper than whim. the majority of northern- ers knew that they were assenting to a dirty deal which was a flat denial of democracy, a slap in the faces of those who signed the declaration of independence, and base ingratitude to the black soldiers and laborers who helped win the civil war. it affronted a race whose emancipation they had loudly proclaimed to the world was the cause and excuse for civil war-“the glory of the coming of the lord!” they knew lynching was the crowning disgrace of ameri- can civilization. such persons excused their souls and their country by remind- ing themselves that the ruling white race, entrusted by god with the care of this muddled world, was sometimes compelled by the sinful and incompetent mass of the world's peoples to take harsh and unpleasant measures for the good of mankind as a whole. the glory of god and the salvation of the world must be pursued even while a few suffered temporarily. they therefore redoubled their missionary efforts in africa, china, india and other lands, while cutting down their contributions to negro schools in the south. they received the assurances of good business men that disfran- chisement would restore normal life and wholesome economic con- ditions and that profitable business was civilization. moreover, con- tributions to hampton and tuskegee would encourage the right sort of training for american negroes. there were other northerners who took refuge in stubborn silence. they neither talked, wrote nor preached on this subject, pleading that it was either insoluble or at least that they did not understand it and would leave its settlement to those who did. but there were a few who recited the golden rule and the declara- color caste “perhaps, but dangerous. it needs scientific guidance. the whites have strongly advised that washington acquire my services.” "for what?" "that's just it. for what? i went to talk to him in order to find out what he wanted me to do." "what did he say?" “nothing. literally nothing. i talked my head off: about my plans and methods. about my ideals. he just let me talk until i realized that he had made me no real or definite offer. i saw that he did not trust me, that he was probing to learn just what my 'game' was. i had no game. but now i know what his white advisers' game is. they want to place me in a position where they can guide and curb my thought. well, i don't like it. i am going to refuse his offer of employment at tuskegee, which he never made definite. i am going to publish this year a criticism of washington and his philosophy.” "you'll attack him?" "no, i'll advise him and show him where he is wrong." mansart pondered and then ventured to say: "white people won't likart pondered and show him whe this was true. pierce was back of the effort to remove burghardt from atlanta university to tuskegee. burghardt had brains and ability and worked hard, but he must be kept under disciplined restraint. it was first proposed to settle him at hampton to edit a magazine for negroes, but he immediately told dr. frissel, the bishop of rhode island, and john pierce, who formed the commit- tee to test him out, that he would accept only if he had full charge of the policy of the magazine. in the face of this presumptuousness the plan was quietly but quickly dropped. then the tuskegee offer was made, and burghardt's widely read book was the result of that. this was too much and this man must leave atlanta university and be silenced. but there were obstacles, first of which were his undoubtedly scientific and widely acclaimed “studies of the negro problem.” nowhere else in the world was such a set of studies being made. they were not good but they were the best being done and might be the foundation of a new science of sociology. then in , as color caste hardened, this firebrand formed the “niagara movement.” it was a band of only a dozen negroes, none of whom were rich or famous, but their manifesto rang over the nation like a scream of defiance. and in , this group, grown the ordeal of mansart to over a hundred, met again at the harpers ferry of john brown and issued what burghardt had written: in the past year the work of the negro hater has flour- ished in the land. step by step the defenders of the rights of american citizens have retreated. the work of stealing the black man's ballot has progressed and the fifty and more representatives of stolen votes still sit in the nation's capital. ... never before in the modern age has a great and civilized folk threatened to adopt so cowardly a creed in the treatment of its fellow-citizens, born and bred on its soil. stripped of verbose subterfuge and in its naked nastiness, the new american creed says: fear to let black men even try to rise lest they become the equals of the white. and this in the land that professes to follow jesus christ. the blasphemy of such a course is only matched by its cowardice. chapter xiv the atlanta riot oy in new y., just yearsil, camerty after disfranchisement, caste and lynching brought hatred, riot and murder. the year was in a sense the year of doom. japan had just won a war against russia; india was struggling toward freedom. blind tom, a musical prodigy, was dying in poverty after making his white owners rich. then in april, came the san francisco earthquake and fire, just years after charleston. in june a rich playboy in new york murdered the leading american architect and went unpunished. in july the new niagara movement for american negro freedom met at harpers ferry. in august, theodore roosevelt punished the negro th cavalry for resenting color discrimination in texas. in september came the atlanta race riot, and in october manuel mansart was thirty years old. mansart's five years in atlanta had not been without success. he had made a good principal and had been promoted; but his financial position remained difficult and he came to see that much of his time must go to family problems and not to the negro question or even to his public schools. his salary was, to be sure, now more than twice its former size, but it appeared soon that his expenses would be at least three times their former amount. there was the house: it was not new nor really good, but the rent was fantastic and the only remedy seemed to be to buy a home, as all the teachers were trying to do. the white real estate dealers were eager to arrange this, but the results resembled life slavery to mortgages, interest and taxes. he must remain at present satisfied with a rented house of five rooms, but not fewer because the two-year old baby whom they had brought from jerusalem was joined by another boy the very year they arrived, and by a third in . the house became pretty crowded, the wife driven by housework, and new furniture, new clothes and shoes and growing quantities of food were in constant demand. with the best effort manuel found himself running into debt and patronizing the loan sharks who fattened on negro teach- ers and artisans. the organization of the atlanta negro schools followed that of jerusalem in avoiding as much as possible the wasting of the the ordeal of mansart time of the superintendent on them. he did not want colored teachers complaining to him or even visiting him. there was little he could do about their complaints even if he wanted to and he did not much want to. so the colored schools were put in nominal charge of a colored "supervisor” who had neither initiative nor power. john james had served in this position since , and he was tired and old. manuel mansart had deliberately ignored him. his object was eventually to head the negro schools of atlanta. for this he knew he needed better preparation; also he knew that he must make friends with the white school authorities. the wash- ington doctrine had been criticized, but it had taken deep root. he proposed to put down his buckets”right in atlanta. consolidated th white city prolent jealousy amon. were stirring, ana the general labor conditions in the city were not good. the very fact that there was an abundance of labor made for trouble. there was white labor and black labor, and they had to be care- fully balanced against each other. the negroes were stirring, and the stirring of the negroes meant jealousy among the poor whites. in the white city proletariat began to move forward. they consolidated the various white unions and formed the georgia federation of labor. then they began to fight the attempt of negroes further to enter the ranks of skilled labor and the by no means negligible efforts of negro capital. whenever negroes were hired in a mill or at any work not recognized as their usual work, the white unions struck and usually secured the dismissal of the person. this happened in machine works and in cotton mills several times. when, however, the white workers struck to better their own working conditions they usually lost, and always met the threat of negroes being hired to replace them. this in- creased race hate, until at last in , the federation of labor came out flatly in favor of disfranchising negroes, thus deliberately cutting the labor vote in two. this was easily accomplished, be- cause it tied white labor to the same race superiority as the own- ers of property and in a way foreshadowed the day when all whites would be rich and all blacks their servants. in , came the georgia industrial association of millown- ers, a powerful body of white employers, with propaganda and political influence. already millowners had been cooperating; they had combined in and defeated the first law against child labor. it was forty years before child labor was even partially abol- ished and in one-fourth of the eighteen thousand mill work- ers in georgia were under seventeen. the new organization was the atlanta riot had assimcome to live ind controlled, ed." he said wise in its day and generation. it brought pressure on members of the legislature; it spent money on "welfare” work; it began to move the mills out from the cities toward country towns where the em- ployers owned the homes, school houses and churches and paid for the teachers and preachers. political power drifted almost entirely into the hands of the employers and the next step was to induce the powerful white baptist church in its state convention to take a stand against trades unions. that same year the legislature made the age of consent for girls years; graft and bribery ruled the state; and the leasing of convicts to private employers was still one of the most profitable enterprises in the state. in this environment john pierce as the years passed became more and more southern in his thought and reactions. he did not, like his father, say bluntly "the public be damned!” he said the public must be cajoled, bought and controlled. he had learned much since he had come to live in the south in . gradually the south had assimilated and molded him. he lived in an en- vironment which talked of the “drivel” about "democracy” and the "popular will.” it said: look at england and the empire "on which the sun never sets!" it was the greatest government in the world and the most benevolent. did anybody hear of east or west in- dians voting? did the fiji cannibals or the chinese coolies elect members of parliament to make laws for the british aristocracy to live under? yet here we were with what would yet be the greatest colonial dominion on earth right in our hands, and we were belly- aching because a lot of lazy negroes wanted to vote instead of work. . they should be thankful for the chance to live in this great land and work for its wealth instead of yelling bloody murder because they could not go to congress or marry white women. business was king. the white race ruled the world and always would. “we ruling whites have made our mistakes and blunders. but we have built the greatest civilization the world ever saw and by god! we are going to keep it pure, and profitable.” great applause greeted this speech before the new york cham- ber of commerce in . big sums of money had been contributed to elect mckinley and defeat bryan. the free silver craze and populism were beaten in america; just as the "little englanders" were beaten in england. the impudent boxers-haters of white people-were overthrown in china. life insurance in america touched $ millions. movies, radios and autos became common; and world commerce reached $ billions. the triumphant rule the atlanta riot and industry across lines of race and poverty. bryan was not the man, for he utterly misunderstood or deliberately ignored the rące problem and the labor problem of which it was a part. teddy roosevelt began his career of trust-busting; that is, of complaint against understandings between great industrial organizations in which enabled them to control the markets. he worked against them through anti-trust legislation; reclamation of resources; pure- food laws; and the interstate commerce commission. wealth fought him through the courts, which practically overthrew his anti-trust legislation and opposed his conservation program. this illustrated a tendency in the whole nation to surrender democracy; and the increasing rule of wealth in the government of the country was soon realized by theodore roosevelt himself. his affiliations were naturally with the owning and employing class, but he soon saw the danger in the power of wealth in ameri- can politics and he spoke out. at the john brown celebration at osawatomie in he said: "we grudge no man a fortune if it is honorably attained and well used. but it is not enough that it should have been gained without doing damage. we should permit it to be gained only so long as the gaining represents benefits to the community." then from the great fight before him to release democracy from organized wealth roosevelt was unfortunately drawn into imperialism. he used the big stick in panama; he fought for the “open-door” for big business in china. the political dichotomy in georgia in was extraordinary. capital from the north was plentiful as john pierce, one of its chief representatives, knew. the pall of the crisis of was passing. but capital wanted security-wanted assurance. strikes were still raging in the north: the bitter anthracite strike was hardly settled; the typographers had been striking for two years; there had been this very year , different strikes as compared with twenty years ago. railroads all over were under fierce attack; trusts were growing and merging; and the popular demand for cheaper money was frightening. the dominant democratic party of georgia was torn in two. one faction was led by clark howell of the powerful atlanta constitution, representing the press, wealth, capital, the rail- roads, banks and factories. behind him stood, naturally, john pierce and his northern interests. on the other side stood hoke smith, a member of cleveland's cabinet, who saw the radical trend in the north and yielded to it. like roosevelt he began to attack fitinal dichotomy in georgia in ayuu . the ordeal of mansart white south that he was not unduly favoring negroes. when a black army regiment was placed in a small texas city and given treatment reserved for black folk, it stood all it could and then one night it shot up the town. the damage was small. only one white man was killed. but roosevelt remembered this black regiment and how it once saved his neck at san juan hill, cuba. he reacted savagely to show the south that he, too, was "white.” he dismissed a whole battalion in dishonor. the black world protested. in texas sebas- tian doyle, dying from tuberculosis, wrote to young foraker, his classmate in ohio. foraker aroused his father, the united states senator, who fought ten years before he secured partial redress. in september came the atlanta riot. the real cause of the disaster was not, however, just the smith campaign. it lay ten years back in the tirades by tillman of south carolina, vardaman of mississippi, and tom dixon of north caro- lina. they painted the negro as an enemy of the nation and threat to civilization. the north, in newspaper and club, listened sym- pathetically. through the long, fetid years the pus of race hate fes- tered and swelled in the putrid boil. the labor situation in georgia was in turmoil. negroes were fleeing the country to escape slavery and congregating in villages and cities. then came the crisis of ; especially in atlanta they were arrested wholesale. there was a mass of unhappy resentful people, black and white. , were arrested in ; , white and , negroes and among them , women. all were jailed for disorderly conduct and drunkenness, idling, loitering and vague suspicion. in , , were arrested. atlanta in had three times as many arrests as cities three times its size, and the over- whelming majority of the prisoners were negroes, despite the fact that negroes formed less than forty per-cent of the city population. the state was aroused as never before. race bitterness seethed, and white labor took the bit into its teeth. it demanded economic disfranchisement of the negro to follow political. the negro must be kept from buying land, his education must be curtailed, his occupations limited. "the minds of the mob must be turned again and turned from political and economic thought to pure race hatred. immediately the sex motif arose to leadership. all subconsciously, sex hovers about race in georgia. every negro question at times becomes a matter of sex. voting? they want social equality. schools? they are after our daughters. land? they'll rape our wives. continually the secrecy, the veiled suggestion, the open warning pivots on sex; try to ese crisis of mass of unge r took used as never per-cent of ones, despi the atlanta riot particularly owned by howell, was fanned to fury gossip rages and horrible stories are spread. the ignorant, the su- perstitious, feed on such flame and go mad with anger and hate. there is something horrible in the air that swells at times and bursts. the world goes stark mad.” the entire state of georgia was fanned to fury. the newspapers of atlanta, owned by howell, smith and john temple graves, particularly vied in lurid tales of assault. denunciation of the negro race followed; cooked up stories of rape and murder filled the press; negro schools were denounced. negro leaders were vili- fied. and all at once it seemed that not capitalistic exploitation but the presence of the negro race was the chief cause of georgia's poverty and ignorance. the campaign of betrayal and lies climaxed three decades of deception. and above the shrill chorus of negro hate rose the shriller yell of tom watson. he shrieked and raved like a maniac. nothing was too low, too revolting for him to pile on the prostrate negro, once his friend, ally and guide. manuel mansart was terrified. at first in accord with his wash- ington philosophy, he had “kept out of politics.” the campaign was not mentioned officially in his school. he even refrained from talking about it among his friends. then he went to hear watson. he could not believe all the newspapers were saying about his message. as he stood far in the rear listening, he again could not believe his eyes and ears. was this the man who had defended doyle from lynchers? was this the champion of the laborer and small farmer? if so he must be insane. he must have gone mad. in hoke smith was elected governor of georgia with the support of tom watson and john pierce, and on an anti-negro platform. and that year the nation went mad. in san francisco in april, earthquake, fire and flood engulfed the city, killed thou- sands of men, women and children. the world wept at a disaster so frightfully beyond human effort, so remindful of man's puny civilization. but few connected in thought this disaster with an- other, six months later, the riot in atlanta the same year. it was saturday afternoon, september , . atlanta was filled with country people, idle workers, casual loafers. on this hot half-holiday the saloons were wide open; drunkards were reeling and petty politicians yelling loudly, while newsboys screeched "rape" extras. all the atlanta newspapers threw "extras” on the street-the news alone had five of them with headlines five inches high announcing four "assaults” on white women in succession. then suddenly it broke out: an oath, a scuffle and the mob was the ordeal of mansart were richored servants to ignored the repeaceion. all nig loose. like most mobs, the core of this rabble was hoodlums, drunk- ards and half-grown boys. they started to chase and beat lone ne- groes, those huddled in the rear of street cars or hurrying along the crowded streets. they chased black boys and beat old men. some they shot dead. but this lawless core of whites was not the real cause. there were rich and respectable whites who the day before had warned their colored servants to avoid the streets this particular afternoon. there were officials who ignored the repeated plea of quiet negro well-to-do communities to send police protection. all night the mob raged through the city until negroes were cleared from the streets or dead in the gutter. but they did not go to darktown where crime and degradation festered amid hardworking laborers, churches and saloons. here the massed black folk gathered silently. here were thousands to be killed while in the main city only stragglers re- mained. the black mob yelled along decatur street: “come on down, crackers, we're waiting for you!” but the white mob rested until next day. on sunday they muttered and drank and went to church. then early monday, behind the police, circling defiant darktown they moved on south atlanta beyond the city limits. here was a negro college where crogman taught and sebastian doyle once studied; here were well-to-do colored homes of teachers, craftsmen and shop keepers. here were the negroes who trusted white folk and followed booker washington. the police came “looking for guns," and behind them surged the white mob looking for loot. the mob broke open homes, killed the unarmed, and stole everything they could lay hands on. the police with guns and clubs subdued all negroes who tried to resist. four days in all this drunken, sadistic orgy of murder, theft and maiming swept on, in and about the city. then at last the city began to come to its senses. those intelligent reapers of at- lanta's wealth, the merchants, the top politicians, the preachers and professional men, realized that this lawless surrender to the mob was getting out of hand. a captain of industry characteristically wailed: “saturday evening the credit of atlanta was good for any number of millions in new york. today, monday, we couldn't borrow fifty cents." this thoroughly awakened the city. wealth, power and re- spectability took firm hold, and religion preached. they counted the damage. so far as could be ascertained, a hundred human be- ings, nearly all black, had been killed and wounded; hundreds had the atlanta riot been scattered, without work; and widows and orphans were home- less, helpless and alone. and property-not of the white rich but essas med tacone warni amanwertown and on the hard savings of the black poor-had been stolen or destroyed. but not a single known criminal nor vagrant, white or black, had been found or arrested. it is not often today that men see the fabric of civilization loos- en, dissolve and give way. john pierce saw it from his office window on marietta street, and he did not soon forget it. and too, one little black boy saw it and never forgot. he was douglass, the eldest of mansart's children. himself seven years old, he had his five-year- old brother by the hand. they were hurrying home from the city. a man came running toward them. he was black. he ran crazily in zig-zag leaps; the blood was streaming down his face, and in his arms was a baby. behind him was a crowd of shouting, yelling, cursing white men and boys. they were shooting and throw- ing stones and clods of dirt, and swinging clubs. their cries rose like a cloud of sound; the fury of their rush swept over the children like a breath of hell. wildly douglass scrambled to his feet only to see the mob strike another crowd like a great crash of soft and hard masses. the on- coming mass was black; they, too, were bloody. they, too, yelled with fury, and then all writhed together until suddenly all were gone; all save the few stark, dirty, reddened forms that never stirred again. douglass staggered home long, long steps, to find it bare and open. he and his brother crept upstairs. late that night he heard his parents enter with the other boy and creep upstairs to look for him and his brother. he lay very still with closed eyes. they came and looked, then shut the door and went back downstairs. all night he heard them moving about. all night he heard the far off cries of angry and dying men. this was the atlanta riot. dr. carter of friendship baptist, who had once advised the boy manuel mansart on race relations, sat in his darkened study. the atlanta riot had terribly discouraged him, for his belief in god and ultimate right was profound. he had preached this sunday after the riot and ended with that low monotone of the negro folk song. the audience joined in the solemn voice of the negro dirge: "god's gonna shake this wicked world!” he could raise little fervor and did not try, but plodded monot- onously through his conventional phrases. during the following weekdays he attended inter-racial meetings. the whole world seemed reeling. later with some hesitation dr. carter prepared for the annual şahad terribly disofound. he hmonotone of the the ordeal of mansart "revival” in his church. for some years now the larger negro churches had farmed out this chore to hired evangelists who were trained to arouse and frighten “sinners” to join the church and help pay its expenses. dr. carter had long resisted this because he saw it was artificial and unsound. but now after this awful riot, he simply did not have the heart to summon hard working people to come to a god who had failed them in their helpless distress. he hired a popular colored evangelist and stayed home. the evangelist was a shrewd and intelligent man and did this sort of thing for a living. his knowledge of the psychology of crowds, and particularly of negro crowds, was profound, and preachers were willing to pay him a goodly sum to relieve them in this annual recruiting of their congregations. carter did not think much of his methods, but he knew his power and technique, and he had to acknowledge that in "conversations” he was a fin- ished artist. this year his opportunity was unusual because the nerves of the people had been set on edge by the riot. they had seen death in its ugliest form and they were prepared to learn about god and what he had done and what he proposed to do. but the evangelist did not quite strike the right note. these people were not disposed to think about submission and heaven; they had been through hell and they wanted to talk about the vengeance of the lord right here on earth. the stranger who had not lived through the riot did not understand their attitude. his usual vocabulary and stock of antics left his audience curiously cold and he realized it. into this fervor, which was usually so productive of loud "amens” and even screams of approval, crept a doubt. he confessed to himself that this was the hardest and dumbest crowd that he had met for a long time. while he was shouting and gesticulating he began seriously calculating whether he was going to be as successful in this church as he had expected and if he would be able to raise a large enough sum to pay his expenses and to justify himself before the reverend dr. carter; and be able to get further engagements on carter's valuable recommendation. he had already been here a week and if things did not pick up, he did not propose to fool away another week. he raised his voice to a great shout: "come to jesus!" pausing dramatically. and then the break came. he was used to it; if he could work his audience up to a certain point the floodgates would give way and a wave of emotion would seize them and toss the atlanta riot ed even there. he thought then he grippe in the them up and on. usually there were premonitions of such an event, increasing centers of excitement here and there, murmurs and sobs; but tonight in an audience cold and still, suddenly a scream rent the air. it startled even the evangelist. for a moment he did not connect it with his preaching. he thought perhaps somebody had been hurt, or vaguely pictured a white mob. then he gripped him- self and realized. a woman had arisen and was standing in the audience. tears were streaming down her face and she had beside her a little boy fiercely clasped by the hand. the evangelist paused and then bent forward. he was himself again: he knew the symptoms. here was the call, the demoniac possession, the frenzy of religious madness. it was typified by a woman who evidently did not easily let herself go; who was strug- gling even now to keep back the emotion that surged within her. the evangelist stretched his arms; he was a big man and standing high in the pulpit loomed tall over the audience. his vast voice rolled: “come to jesus,” he said, looking straight at the woman, and she came with a swift rush, dragging the little boy beside her, frightened but unresisting. she came up the aisle and the intensity of her emotion, the trembling of her hands and the swelling of her hard-held sobs gripped the audience because they knew her. she represented all that they had been through; these awful days; the police; the chain gang; murder, rape, mobs and fire; the horror of everything that was called "the race problem.” and she represented too the hard hand which had held out against god all these years and now had been miraculously touched. a great moaning swelled over the audience. it rose to a mur- mur and broke into a prayer with low obbligato of strophe and antistrophe: o lord (hear her, jesus-bless his name) receive this soul (bow down our knees-and bow our hearts beneath our knees) that comes a-weeping to your breast. (make a way, god-in the sin wilderness) open your great arms, god (o crucified one-open your arms) and take her in, give her peace, god! give her peace. (wash her sin away-save her soul) and wash her sins away in your own blood-your own blood, o lord our god and savior of men. the ordeal of mansart she looked apery of he preached fundamental belief in every word of scripture; who held god as a personal friend as real as the people to whom he preached; who went to him daily in prayer and praise, now wondered how he had ever believed in anyone or anything who could permit or ignore this atlanta horror. did he ever exist? did anything good exist? why, what, where? there came after a time a timid knock on his office door. he did not answer. after a pause it came again, low but imperative. he emitted a half impatient, “come in!” the door opened gently and in it stood an elderly white woman, gray-haired and dressed in gray. he arose. she hesitated and said in a well-modulated voice: cu voice: . "dr. carter? please sit. i am so sorry to disturb you. i know how weary you must be, but i will take but a ininute of your time. i just had to come.” he could not talk, but silently motioned her to a seat. she sat down, arranging the expensive drapery of her gown and removing her gray gloves. then she looked at him with an apologetic smile. “thank you for your service, dear dr. carter. i have two thoughts to add. first, dare i say that you must not blame god too much in these awful days? we know that god would not permit evil if he could help himself. god did not shake this wicked world; the wicked world shook god.” dr. carter murmured, "men are evill” “they are largely incorrigible devils. therefore we must pity the poor dear god. he is doing his best. and now, one other thing: the earthquake did not cause the riot-it was the other way around. the riot brought the earthquake and fire in san francisco, just as it did the destruction of lisbon years before. you see at times the dear god tremble in helpless wrath." dr. carter sat up. “but the riot was five months later!" "what difference? time is but our habit of thought. reason is more than time, and deed embodies reason. you see, i have just come from san francisco. i had to go and see for myself. i know now that the riot caused the earthquake. the earthquake was far more disastrous: died and millions of wealth were destroyed. that murder and flame came from the hate and horror of atlanta.” dr. carter protested. “but one was the act of god, the other the evil of man." thoughtsnk you for the atlanta riot the woman smiled placidly: "exactly; but first came the evil, then five months before came the punishment." “oh, no, no, no! why punish california for the sin of georgia?" the woman said, “we must rely on god's sense of justice. san francisco suffered not only for georgia but also for itself. for fifty years it has poisoned the world with gold. it made this nation greedy and sordid; a mass of thieves and murderers, until finally it burst into shivering flame. but that fire was ignited by the baser instincts of atlanta. atlanta financed slavery, it cajoled gentlemen gentlemer. and made them bandits. how well i remember dear general gor- don, that brave knight, before huntington made him a thief; and hoke smith, the liar, was once a gentle boy; while little tom watson was starved and went crazy. “but no more of that. this last word, dear dr. carter: don't blame this on god. lay the sin on the people. preach christ cruci- fied and tell how much more crucifixion is asked of each of us here, and now, or god himself will die. i'm sorry to go on so. forgive me. here is a contribution for your good work. and now, may i use your phone? i know my folk will be anxious about me." dr. carter arose a little bewildered to point out the phone, when a peremptory knocking came on his door. he opened it. a grouphr weid hissedewhites are he group of well-dressed whites and two policemen entered hastily. “oh,” said his guest. "you're here. i'm so glad. i was expecting you. i was about to call." she bowed graciously, shook hands with dr. carter, and left on the arm of an anxious-looking man. one of the policemen, who knew dr. carter, winked as he left and significantly pointed to his forehead. “plum crazy," he whis- pered. “been giving her family the slip. where do you think she has been?-san francisco!" dr. carter sat down and rested in darkness and silence for a long season. then his hands began to grope among his books and papers until he found it-that copy of the new york independent which came last week and which already he had thumbed to shreds. he held it before him, but did not read; he recited from memory, from bitter memory: wherefore do we pray? is not god of the fathers dead? have not seers seen in heaven's halls? thine hearsed and lifeless form stark amidst the black and rolling smoke of sin, where all along bow bitter forms of endless dead? chapter xv atlanta repents on the morning after the riot, white atlanta rose like a drunkard after a spree, or a careworn sleeper after a nightmare. those tolerant citizens who had allowed the storm to gather and burst without protest or real action, now suddenly became aware of their civil responsibilities. the natural recoil of men of good will was mightily reinforced by businessmen and capitalists who feared for atlanta's credit as a safe haven for investment and the financial center of the new south. the nation must be reassured. especially this race problem must be attacked vigorously and frankly. interracial committees of prominent whites and negroes sprang into being, and numberless conferences were held. the most immediate reaction however was haunting fear; the urge to see if there were any elements in town deliberately stirring up trouble or thinking of revenge. and this meant of course not white folk but negroes who were dissatisfied and who might be thinking of public agitation or even of reprisal. the editor of a little colored magazine, “the voice of the negro," a frank, intel- ligent young man who had the impudence to write a complaining letter to the new york world, was forthwith warned to leave town. the atlanta riot scared john pierce. there was no other word for it; scared him. he was, in , fifty-six years old. his father had left him not only a millionaire, but with almost uncounted other millions in his control and under his influence. his wife, kate, had not been a success in southern society. everybody liked her frank manners, but she was a little too frank for a group where sophistication was the ideal and feelings were deliberately disguised and hidden. atlanta society pretended to live in the vivid memory of a war which was the center of southern history. to kate the war had only been hunger and hard work. bull run, manassas and the merrimac evoked no memories in her, and now and then she made some fatal faux pas, like mentioning sherman or humming “marching through georgia,” or professing never to have heard of stonewall jackson! the ordeal of mansart cu. gradually society leaders like betty lou dropped her from her more intimate acquaintances. but of course kate moved among the best when she moved at all, for her husband was rich. mostly she stayed at home and made it a most comfortable place for her hus- band. her occasional receptions served delicious food and were well-attended, even if return invitations sometimes failed to arrive. the very excellence of his home arrangements led john pierce gradually to forget his wife. of course he was not aware of this and would have denied it. he was fond of kate, but his busi- ness interests grew and did not include her; she knew less and less about them and more and more they did not discuss them. his social life also gradually proceeded without her because of her home duties. often when she was snubbed pierce did not realize it, because kate never complained. with her son, kate had never had much contact. he from birth was an institution. after a lovely infancy he had been whisked off to local schools and then north to high school and college. as it appeared to kate he had never returned to live at home. he only boarded there. he kissed her good morning daily and then disap- peared. a baby girl came in , but after two delirious years of sturdy happiness, it died suddenly of the children's dysentery so common in atlanta at the time, and closely connected with a partially open sewer system. with this death kate's interest in life waned. she could not keep from connecting this catastrophe with her religious apostasy. she had not dared even to appear to know anything of catholicism in atlanta, much less to attend a catholic church. she took the little corpse to new york and buried it in consecrated ground beside her father and mother. after this more and more her life became separate from that of her husband, although char- acteristically he still did not notice it. in the european demand for capital to finance growing colonial imperialism in africa, asia and the balkans made it ad- visable that john pierce go abroad. he remembered that his son would be graduating from princeton that spring and a trip to europe would be for his further education. also, it would cut off his rather too frequent meetings with henrietta sheldon; her father was dead and she had spent summers with the pierces dur- ing the last two years. but as pierce remarked to kate, such a mar- riage would be unsuitable-he had other plans for the boy. also, he remembered to ask kate to go with them, fulfilling an old dream which they had often discussed. princeton won. also, it "heldon; her atlanta repents kate recalled when her husband had made an unsuitable mar- riage, but she said nothing and went along. on the voyage another matter of disagreement occurred. kate had assumed that of course they would visit ireland. to her a trip abroad had always meant seeing county cork. but now her son looked at her and said: “why ireland? to get acquainted with the shanty irish?" kate flared, “yes!" she said, "my father was one!” her husband looked annoyed and the son surprised. “i thought grandfather was a southerner-a confederate officer” the father hastily intervened: “we've no time for ireland this trip," he said. “i must hasten to london and paris.” nothing more was said on the matter. they spent two weeks in london which kate hated; and then a month in paris, which they all loved, particularly the week at versailles. when they returned to atlanta, kate persuaded pierce to buy an estate further out than the peachtree district so as to make her social life less annoying. in a meadow lying rather below the level of the through road they bought fifty acres, and in the center built a mansion fashioned after versailles in general plan and col- oring. here kate occupied her time in decorating, in housekeeping and wandering about field and forest. she saw her husband usually only at the breakfasts which she prepared personally and he en- joyed. almost invariably he lunched and dined in town, excusing her because of her duties around the new estate. she bought a dog, a great dane, for company. they were inseparable on her long walks. also since the baby's death kate had secretly re-entered the catholic church, but with no connections in atlanta. continu- ally, the son belonged to the father and not the mother. even during and after the riot it was with his father that he talked; it never occurred to him to discuss such things with his mother. and kate was not so forward with her opinions as she formerly had been. john pierce had planned to keep his son in the south. he had faith in the south. by , he had spent twenty years here in de- veloping carefully his plans, with studied care regardless of ex- pense. he had not reckoned on race hate as so terrific an impulse; so frightful a motive. right in atlanta, the capital of his new south, he had seen stark murder stalking men like beasts in a jungle. pierce was a man of peace and order. he had seen little rioting or lawlessness or blood save as incidents; as a matter for police and instant restoration of order. once, as a boy in new york in his the ordeal of mansart audience that there were certain matters of regular business before the house which ought temporarily to take precedence over this mo tion!” he then proceeded to appoint chairmen of several committees and to listen to many long and vague reports. finally, when the audience had recovered its breath and poise, the chairman tenta- tively "suggested” that young mr. pierce confer with the several chairmen just appointed, and that in consultation with them a new resolution to which all agreed could be submitted to the next meet- ing. rather irregularly but speedily and without objection the suggestion replaced pierce's motion and the meeting adjourned. pierce knew that he had been tactfully out-maneuvered, but he was not licked. the reverend dr. barnswell was rushing away when pierce, slipping out just as the doctor was entering his carriage, asked a word. the preacher, looking as near annoyed as he ever permitted himself, graciously made room beside him, telling the colored coachman meantime to “hurry, please, ben, i am already late for an important session of our foreign missions board." it was meeting in the very elegant quarters of his church house. pierce plunged into his subject: “the riot was a terrible thing, wasn't it, doctor?" "it was horrible! the ways of providence are past finding out!" "you don't mean you're blaming god for it, do you?” "certainly not. i blame ourselves, poor miserable sinners that we are,” "don't you think, then, that we ought to get busy and stop sinning?" “my dear young man, that is impossible. we were conceived in sin. but we ought to besiege the throne of god for help in bearing this intolerable burden." "pardon me, sir, but we don't seem to be getting anywhere. you are not saying, are you, that god is playing a cat and mouse game with us?" dr. barnswell looked outraged but answered quietly, “no, sir, i mean that the ways of god are past finding out." "that i readily grant, but the ways of men are painfully clear, aren't they?" "i do not judge my fellow men.” “wasn't the late governor joe brown a member of your church?” "he was a staunch doer of good works.” “and a thrifty doer of some mighty evil ones.” the doctor was annoyed and murmured, "i pray each day," atlanta repents "but, sir, we can't have it both ways: either we are guilty or god is. if it is our fault, or so far as it is, we ought to do something besides pray. now as i see it, one sin is that the churches are so divided; black and white; protestant and catholic; methodist, bap- tist and whatnot-don't you think we ought to begin to have com- mon services, joint efforts, interlocking organizations in order to fight evil, to get to know each other better and achieve brother- hood?” "i do not! the church of god—” "which one?” “i am sorry, sir, to interrupt this talk, but we have arrived—” “then you really think that god likes white methodists better than black; and protestants better than catholics—" “good day!” said the doctor sharply as he left the carriage. dr. barnswell sat down beside the lady chairman of the missions board. “sometimes,” he said as he wiped his brow, "i fear the younger generation has lost all reverence for god!” tight-lipped, pierce took a cab to the board of education. the superintendent of schools headed the proposed new education program. he was quickly received as his father's son. but the super- intendent laughed in his face: "mr. pierce, i haven't the money to make the negro schools equal to white. and if i had it and used it for this purpose, i'd lose my job as soon as the board of education met. and,” he added significantly, “some of us have to have jobs.” they looked at each other a long moment and then without another word john walked out, climbed the hill to the city club and took two stiff drinks. then he heard the words of his neigh- bor-and no god-damned northern ‘nigger’-lover is going to change that!” he turned and looked colonel brady, the president, straight in the eye: "change what?" he asked. “the white primary! no 'nigger' is ever going to vote in at- lanta, georgia!” "even if it costs another riot?" the colonel downed another whiskey: “not if it costs us an- other riot and the company of every damned 'nigger’-loving carpet- bagger in the pierce office!" then john pierce promptly drove his fist into the colonel's eye. the colonel would have killed him then and there but he did not happen to be carrying his customary revolver. the two clinched the ordeal of mansart and were separated, but naturally that ended the short-lived cru- sade of young john pierce. he was forced to resign from the city club and was gradually ostracized socially. he and his father had a frank talk. “john, i'm disappointed. i hoped you'd be the third pierce to head our business enterprises." "i'm disappointed too. i sort of took it for granted that i'd have to follow you and granddad, although i didn't like it. but i'm puzzled now. follow what? where are we headed? just what is business, anyway? you see, i had a vague idea that business might become a kind of professional service to help the world. i didn't see myself as any knight-errant, but i was willing to do my part. now i wonder if my part is worth doing. “remember the first job you set me to? a clerk in a little drug- store down on marietta street had concocted a drink with cocaine in it to relieve headache. the public liked it and drank so much of it that the druggist organized a company. the company began to make real money. then the united states collector stepped in. you know that colored collector, rucker? he was collector of in- ternal revenue for the state of georgia for years under mckin- ley and roosevelt. rucker stopped operations because of the co- caine and the new pure food law. “the company, however, substituted concentrated coffee extract for cocaine and began to expand. prohibition came and ‘soft drinks increased enormously in demand. there we came in and were asked to furnish capital. i was to look into it. for profit it sure was a gold mine. you could manufacture ten cents' worth of material into ten dollars' worth of drink, while patents stopped all imitation. from the point of view of profits, it was a natural. but for the pub- lic,,well, it was taking candy from babies.” his father blushed and retorted: “true, but babies exist and if we don't take their candy someone else will. if we had not grabbed this opportunity a dozen other capitalists would have been ready with the cash.” "so business is profit, not service,” said john. “business is life—it has its nasty, cruel side; but much of it- most of it is service; it is grasping at power which others will get if you do not. so profit first, then service. without profit, no ser- vice." "no, no!" protested john. "without service, no profit. surely that is possible!” "perhaps, in heaven above where all is love. but here." from toll, it was ta med and reto atlanta repents "i see,” said john, “i resigned the job. you put a hundred thousand dollars into it so as to substitute bottling machinery for human labor and increase profits still more." “john," replied his father, “it is plain that you'll never make a business man. private profit is life, as sometime you'll discover. but don't take my word for it. travel and look. perhaps you'll find what i never found; or perhaps life will knock some sense into you." “thanks, dad. i'll take you up on that!” pierce put his son out of his mind and turned toward business. he had been scared by this riot, but he began to see it as an unim- portant interruption-bad and unnecessary but not of real signifi- cance. there was something wrong in the south but it wasn't busi- ness; it could not be business. some astonishing figures had just been brought to his notice. they were astonishing, and meant that for every dollar in use in there was $ . in . buying had been doubled and more, and the profits of buying had risen. today was the day for manufac- turing and a wide and shrewd manipulation of labor. in the value of manufactured goods in the nation was not only larger than that of agricultural products but twice as large as farm, orchard and dairy products. before the war one man owned his own business or ran it by partnership; but begin- ning with the th century, the corporation, in which the investor was liable only for the amount he invested, was the director of large- scale enterprises. the corporation was the frankenstein of the th century, contrived by the lawyers of the th. by in america it would be the robot ruler of man. it had “neither body to be kicked nor soul to be damned”; but in the present century, it owned the earth and enslaved mankind. it could not be controlled in a world where the greatest force was control of wealth and the weakest the sense of right. it directed the kinds of business and the route of com- merce and set prices, salaries and wages. it decided the careers of men. it was king by the grace of whatever god remained in the calendar of saints. and if this was not really true, if individuals in secret still wielded the power and made the decisions, yet legally the corporation ruled. with began the age of big business. the first billion dol. lar steel corporation was formed in . mass production began. nine out of ten of the auto cars were made by three great com- panies. four companies sold over % of the rubber. two electric the ordeal of mansart for overdrivind machinery was deginning of this cen- aterial america ces. weads. no collars inhe spani companies were beginning to monopolize electric lamps, and one shoe machinery company took over most of the shoe manufacturing business. the sherman anti-trust act had been passed, but be- cause of a decision of the supreme court some of the biggest indus- trial combinations were established after it was enacted. it was as woodrow wilson said: “at the beginning of this cen- tury men were cheap and machinery was dear. a man might be dismissed for overdriving a delicate machine, but not for over- driving a man.” we had become a colonial power. the west indies which the slave power could not annex in the ' 's was annexed just before the beginning of the century through the spanish-american war. we owned in colonies a billion dollars in sugar mills, tobacco plan- tations, mines and railroads. no country except russia equalled us in natural resources. we became interested, therefore, in mexico, central america and south america. we wanted to buy cheap material raised by cheap labor and sell high-priced manufactured goods. the volume of our manufactures began to increase tremen- dously. soon the manufacturers of the world would be able to make more than they could sell. then they must seek new markets to absorb the surplus goods. american automobiles, typewriters, electric supplies, electric razors, moving pictures, bathtubs and foun- tain pens, would be shipped to the ends of the earth and help americanize the world. we not only had surplus goods but we had surplus capital to make goods. there was a time when english and other european capital had come here to build railroads and dig mines and lay out ranches, but after american capital began to penetrate other parts of the world. life insurance, that silent index of business faith, nearly doubled in the last decade. was that not proof of the soundness of american business? the interests of john pierce were largely involved in many phases of american development and had furnished millions of capital. but above all, he was watching with calculating eye the expansion of world trade from to billions of dollars in two decades. it was fabulous; he would be willing to bet that by it would reach a hundred billions. astronomical! then, too, what politicians called “trusts” were increasing. what of it? could not men with brains see that this movement was the culmination of government of business, by business and for business? did it not miracuously decrease expense and by elimi- nating senseless competition enormously increase profits? the move- but here as a time atlanta repents liked the quiet and smooth working of their summer home where she had stayed after her father's sudden death. but she refused their invitation south; first because she did not like atlanta; but particularly because she found herself getting too interested in young john pierce, while he only occasionally remembered she was alive. also his father, as she knew from his talk, had plans which did not include her. so she went to new york and lived a few months on her broth- er's bounty, an unpleasant chore. she wandered, moped, thought and read. she was level-headed, clean, punctual and reasonably healthy. since that childish episode of the little sandy-haired col- ored boy she had decided “love” was silly and she had never felt any particular sex urge. she did not ask much of life but it ap- parently offered nothing. this bit of nothing presented itself finally as a job in a shop where eight hours of absolutely uninteresting drudgery six days a week paid her board and room rent with a slight surplus. she was wondering just how long life like this could or should last, when she looked up and saw john pierce. she looked down at her work and then after a pause glanced up again. there was no mistake. “hello!" she said carefully. "hello,” he replied; and then, "what would you like to do tonight, if you're free?" they went to hear carmen at the metropolitan. "and now,” he said briskly, "let's go somewhere and talk.” they went to the “parlor" of her boarding house and were undisturbed. apparently nobody ever occupied it who did not have to. "i've left atlanta and dad,” he announced. she listened calmly and after a pause said: "you don't like atlanta?" "no; and since the riot i hate it." “are you going to be a businessman?" “i have always thought i had to be, until recently. but it's stupid. at least what i had to do was-stupid or crooked. it needn't be. i think a man might be happy running a small shop which was doing a good job for the neighborhood. i know i'd like to fence a farm and cultivate a crop of good potatoes, if i could make a living and have some leisure. but figuring costs and chances, cheating fools, stealing people's underwear off their already naked backs-it's not interesting.' atlanta repents there was no difficulty on the part of john, either, as indeed betty lou had never expected. he had no sooner been introduced to this beauty, after her mother had carefully outfitted her, than he was hopelessly in love. her poise and fragility; her unsophisti- cated and trusting ways fascinated him. it did not seem possible that she would ever permit him to hold her in his arms and take liber- ties of love and deep affection. and this proved partly true. letitia did not like to be, as she put it, "squeezed and mauled,” and indeed bereft of her protecting garments she did not appear quite so temptingly unearthly. she was a bit angular which helped her costumes hang right. she was so innocent as to approach the stupid side; which was not strange since her education had paid little attention to her mind and more to her hands, legs and complexion. letitia was in fact almost com- pletely illiterate, and yet her social success was immediate. their wedding was the social event of the charleston season, and atlanta opened its arms. to be invited to her teas and dinners soon came to be social recognition of the highest type. the real sex life of john baldwin was arranged in other ways, which at first caused betty lou acute distress. it was a mulatto girl, once a maid in the baldwin home. betty lou got rid of her with short shrift, but knew that the connection had been kept up. however it was quiet and kept her son from worse adven- tures. betty lou let the relationship go on. it was quite different with this white rice girl. mary rice was born in salina, kansas in . she had good elementary school training and later took the "business course” in the topeka high school. she was a strong, well-built and healthy young woman of good parentage. when she began to look about for a career the role of farmer's wife did not appeal to her in the least. so like many other westerners, mary went to chicago. per- haps that winter was no more characteristic of the great city than usual; but the wind and snow and cold proved more than mary enjoyed. then quite by accident she got a temporary job repre- senting her chicago firm in atlanta. again, perhaps by accident, atlanta climate was at its best in the fall of while mary stayed there and made final settlement of a contract with the first national bank. the details were ar- ranged with mr. john baldwin, and frankly, he was surprised to find so much efficiency, accuracy and punctuality in a hired clerk. he asked her finally if she wanted a job and she said “yes” without hesitation or qualification. atlanta repents thoroughly than she remembered ever having been kissed before. mary rice was no wanton. she had never yielded to a man and her last thought was an affair with a married employer. but she was healthy, lusty and lonely and john baldwin was the most attractive man she had ever met. the loud western men whom she knew, without manners, grammar or tailors, had never tempted her. but baldwin did as they worked closely together daily in a private office at a fascinating job. mary was moral but no innocent prude. she entered this relationship with open eyes, knowing betty lou would soon take notice. betty lou did take notice, as mary foresaw; and sooner rather than later. she invited mary rice to tea when john and his wife were in macon at an important social function. betty lou had cleared her calendar and was quite alone. but miss rice did not turn up. instead, at the last moment a formal note of declination came, pleading office duties as an excuse. betty lou said nothing, but when a month later john baldwin went to new york, betty lou walked into his inner office unannounced in the middle of the afternoon. she did not beat about the bush but said, as miss rice arose from her loaded desk and indicated a chair: "you did not accept my invitation to tea, miss rice." "no. as i wrote, i was sorry, but i had work which mr. baldwin left.” she sat down. betty lou leisurely removed her gloves and settled back in her chair. "let us be frank,” she said. “just what are your relations with my son?” mary rice laid aside her papers. “i am his secretary and private stenographer; i have charge of his mail and files. also,” she paused, “i am his mistress.” betty lou rose and approached the desk. miss rice never stirred. then betty lou took hold of herself. “when does john return from new york?”. “tomorrow at midnight.” “very good. will you do something for me—and for yourself tomorrow at six?”. miss rice hesitated. betty lou unbent. “please,” she pleaded. "it is in your interest as well as mine." miss rice assented. the next night betty lou picked her up at the office at five-thirty in a hired cab. they drove slowly down auburn avenue and through a better-class negro residential sec- tion. they stopped at a shadowy corner and waited. neither spoke. at låst betty lou called attention to a cab which hurriedly dropped the ordeal of mansart a passenger at a neighboring door. a tall, brown woman opened it and john baldwin left the cab and stepped inside. mary rice gasped. she had clear ideas about the freedom of women and the contradictions of marriage, but she had also limits of decency. their cab drove on while betty lou talked in low tones. "this has been going on for years. it began when john was a boy and this woman worked for us. i knew it, but have not tried to stop it for in a way it was a protection for john. by law this woman cannot compel marriage nor by custom can she sue for bastardy. before his marriage this liaison kept john from seeking prostitutes. after his marriage john's home could not be broken up nor his career ruined. the woman is decent and healthy. there are, i believe, two children. with you it might be different. both home and bank might be in danger. do you understand now?". mary's insides seemed slowly to drop away. she understood. next morning she paid her bill and arrived at the bank long be- fore hours. before nine she had all her work in perfect order and her own finances straight. she took the nine o'clock train to de- troit. she never returned. as for letitia brett baldwin, if she ever knew that mary rice was on earth, or cared, she gave no sign. she was content with her home and her gowns; her social leadership and her prominence as the strikingly beautiful wife of the coming mayor of atlanta. her reputation was flawless. in , just before mary rice came to atlanta, letitia became the mother of lee baldwin. it was a dis- gusting experience, and her sexual relations with john became fewer and fewer. their social relations continued most successfully. to young john baldwin the atlanta riot looked like oppor- tunity. it forced the retirement of his difficult old father from the university and out of the public eye. it drove young john pierce out of atlanta and made baldwin a closer associate of john pierce, sr., in his wide business interests. it broadened the control of busi- ness men over the south and discredited the politicians. the last years of old dr. baldwin, the father, were not happy. his theories on race and progress came to be seriously at odds with those of his trustees and many of the alumni. he could not be sum- marily dismissed from his position; he had become an institution and a legend. it was better to leave him alone, while narrowing his power and limiting his salary. meantime, to his family he was an increasing annoyance. the young mother and son lived in atlanta, where their own fortune and his increasing income enabled them atlanta repents riot, tues and cuphemi came to live in simple elegance. they referred to the father with a shrug; a difficult person, not quite normal. in fact, the young man had been brought up always to regard his father as queer and negligible. finally old dr. baldwin, at the age of , came to such a state that he had to be "put away" as the euphemism has it. he became quite impossible in his theories and outspoken comments. on the occasion of the atlanta riot, for instance, he said in class that this "deliberate murder was the direct outcome of the dirty political deal between northern industry and southern race hate.” word flew over the campus and the trustees hastily were con- vened. there was, happily, no trouble. dr. baldwin quietly and smilingly resigned, and asked to go up to his summer cottage in cherokee county at tallulah falls, about miles northeast of atlanta, where the waters of the blue ridge fall in wild beauty and rush on to reach savannah at the sea. here, with a housekeeper and his books he was left to his thoughts and vagaries, far from harmful influence upon the world. young john baldwin's mother, betty lou breckinridge, had am- bitions which gradually he came to share: social prominence, ac- cording to the standards of the pre-war regime, wealth, and a political career. he saw chances in the new south for a planter's grandson, a princeton graduate, a partner in the pierce interests, and a gentleman of manners to become-who could tell? his mother whispered: mayor, governor, senator-what not? to john baldwin life was simple. its work was business. the object of business was profit. profit meant wealth. wealth meant politics, politics meant power. power meant business. business meant profit, and so on ad infinitum. there were important side paths-society, golf, drink and women. but in the main life was sim- ple despite riot and murder; despite doubt and bribery. business ruled the south. the results were startling. since john pierce, his patron, had come south property values there had increased per-cent. the cotton crop had gone from to million bales in spite of the boll weevil. railroads had extended from , to , miles, and manufacturing establishments had doubled in number while their invested capital had quadrupled. it was fan- tastic. it was the greatest growth of the kind in world history. john baldwin watched his step. he became a rising official in the first national bank, a popular man-about-town and a shrewd judge of human character. the riot, he realized, was temporarily bad for business and northern investment. but it had to his mind no lasting significance. the negro must get fair treatment for he the ordeal of mansart was a valuable laborer and would become more and more valuable. but there was a gulf between black and white which could never be bridged. as early as a small and influential committee got together in the board room of baldwin's bank. there were four or five prominent southern businessmen, a couple of quiet but effective politicians, and john sheldon. it was in reality one of those secret caucuses through which so much of the government of the south is run, with a few tentative elements which might be useful in the future. the real object was to arrange to nominate baldwin as “reform" mayor in . he had every recommendation: a well- connected southerner, young, personable and closely connected with northern capital. sheldon would make an excellent off-the- slate manager of the campaign, with plenty of funds. chapter xvi black capital to manuel mansart, the one personal reaction from the atlanta riot and the industrial situation seemed to be escape from the south. especially after the flight of young john pierce, he began to consider taking steps toward this end. principally this decision came from disappointment with his situation in the at- lanta schools. the colored schools here did not greatly differ from those of jerusalem. there were more of them with a vastly larger enrollment, but just as in jerusalem, they were given little attention and proportionately less money. practically all the children were in double sessions. there was no colored high school and no night school. the salaries paid negro teachers were not only low but half those paid for whites for the same preparation and identical work. worst of all, mansart could not see what he could do about it. patience, pulling strings, using white influence; all this might accomplish something. but what was needed was a stirring up of the parents; exposition of the facts, and strong demands. just now, after the riot, any attempt at such a movement might cost him his job. and that was the trouble with the south. the successful black man must cajole and coax; he must conceal his feelings and take insults. he must crawl and beg instead of standing and talking plainly. mansart decided that he could not accept this as a life work. his children now became the center of his house and life. his wife began to look old, peevish, sick and worn. the house was never clean and in order. it was never quiet. he could not do any work there, nor thinking; and above all this, he was naturally more upset because he did not have enough income to pay the extraordi- nary expenses of this family of five people. the money simply could not be stretched. it was astonishing how the children wore out shoes and always needed new clothes. and as for his wife, she became almost a total stranger; they had no time to talk together. there was only one thing they could talk about-the money which was needed and which they did not have. in her general philosophy of life susan was simple and naive. black capital then by accident mansart visited gary in neighboring indiana. a friend drove him there in his car to visit acquaintances known to both. here was a new industrial city where separation by race was just being introduced by the steel trust. a new high school for negroes with colored principal and teachers had recently been opened, and colored children from all over the city were practically being forced to enroll here instead of in the city high school. man- sart saw the principle involved, but he also saw the opportunity. here was a fine schoolhouse, with ample funds and abundant equipment. think of anything like this in atlanta! what a chance for devoted teachers to show the world what negroes could do. he talked to the principal and that poor man, overwhelmed to find a negro who did not damn him as a traitor and who saw the vision which he had, urged mansart to come there as a teacher. he was sure he could find him a place at a salary of $ . mansart was amazed and gratified. he promised that if the position were offered he would accept. he started back to atlanta, glowing in anticipation of how his wife would greet this chance to escape the south; and of the op- portunity to raise the children in freedom. at the same time he felt the south reaching the north, for the “jim-crow” coach in which he sat ran boldly in and out of chicago. riding through tennessee on the same “jim-crow” coach he winced at the opposi- tion which the gary school was meeting and would meet from negro citizens of the town. they wanted to kill the race segregation idea. they were right in principle; but wasn't there a wiser and more fruitful way than opposition to this school and forcing out colored teachers, while negro children suffered the disdain of white teachers? it was, he admitted, a difficult matter to decide easily; probably because he had been born and raised in a segregated atmosphere he could see his side of this controversy more clearly. he fell into uneasy sleep, sitting in the crowded, dirty coach all the long night. to mansart's astonishment on reaching home full of all his thoughts and experience, he found his wife almost in hysterics. she had just learned that she was to have another baby. she wept and moaned, even shrieked. she declared she would no longer live with manuel; that she would not have another child; that she was not a brood mare; that already she was sick and broken in health; she had not had an undisturbed night's sleep for ten years; that her the ordeal of mansart whole life had been drudgery, with diapers and washing, mending and scolding, cleaning and lugging; she was tired, tired, tired; she wished she were dead; she would kill herself if she only knew how. manuel was appalled. he called in the physician and talked earnestly; they all talked together. the physician soothed and reas- sured them. he told manuel that such upsets were common; that it probably would be better to have no more children after this. he gave the distracted wife a sedative which put her to sleep and ad- vised manuel to send her to the country and manage for a few months to keep house with the aid of the three boys. manuel for- got gary and sat down to consider whether this thing called life was worth as much as he had assumed. mansart now began to view his future seriously. he was ap- proaching forty and no longer "young.” on the contrary he would soon be middle-aged which seemed in many respects worse than old. he was principal of a public school for negroes, inadequately sup ported by the city and overcrowded. his dream of escaping to the north with a better-paid job and a better supported school began slowly fading away. in its place began to rise the idea of business venture. booker washington had been preaching industry and in- dustrial training for more than fifteen years; but with that gospel had gone the urge for educated negroes to enter business and get wealth. a negro business league had been formed by mr. wash- ington in and its membership was growing. atlanta university in had made a study of business enterprises among negroes, and washington had used its encouraging report to spread his league. mansart began to consider whether or not he might enter some kind of negro business enterprise. venture. booker w: in its place beginner supported scho expanding business, growing yearly bigger and more powerful, dominated his era. no one questioned the righteousness and inev- itability of the continued rule of that industrial empire which great britain and the united states represented and which all nations envied and strove to follow. in a city like atlanta, mansart was totally surrounded by a world of big and growing business. he watched the rampart of office buildings rise in the city and the beautiful homes of their white owners spread themselves out from the slums of decatur street toward the surrounding hills. he saw the raw stuff pouring into atlanta; lumber and cotton, iron and steel, horses and mules; but he especially was amazed at the legerdemain by which the raw stuff that came into the city was transformed in all sorts of astonishing forms: machines and bricks the ordeal of mansart the finest barber shop for white people in atlanta. it was almost a patent of social standing to be welcomed at this shop, and espe- cially to be served by the owner in person. herndon, nearly white, had been born in a country town about twenty-five miles from atlanta and had worked as a farm laborer and then as a barber. he was polite, thrifty, and good-hearted. from the first he had saved his money and invested it in tenement houses; very simple, small, cheaply constructed rows of tenements where colored laborers lived and paid him rent weekly. herndon collected the rents himself, and the total returns from his shop and houses increased. he quietly put his savings in the first national bank. from time to time he spent considerable sums in making his barber shop beautiful and elaborate until it surpassed any other shop in the city. he shrewdly bought the building where it was housed. there was some hesitation on the part of real estate agencies in selling it to a colored man, but his influential white friends allayed apprehension, bought it for him and turned it over to him at a good commission. he paid cash and asked no mortgage. herndon was now well-to-do, but he saw a chance to be rich. he was greatly impressed by the doctrines of booker washington and he wanted to invest his money in something that would bring him larger returns than he was getting. first, he multiplied his shops, establishing three or four branch barber shops here and there in the city. they paid, but not as well as his first shop and they met competition and bad feeling from shops controlled by white barbers. then he built a better grade of tenement houses, but soon saw that they would not pay. the negroes who could pay rent for such houses were the very negroes who themselves wanted to buy property and not to rent. herndon noticed, however, and with increasing interest, the success of white insurance concerns among negroes. a large propor- tion of the colored folk, inspired by agents' sales talks, were now buying insurance against sickness and death; small sums from to a week were paid, insuring members of the family so that when sick, one could receive a small weekly stipend of $ , $ , or $ a week; if they died the family got funeral expenses of $ , perhaps $ . on this was built the business of negro undertakers; tying themselves closely to the white insurance companies on one hand, the negro churches on the other, they conducted an increasingly profitable business by selling expensive funerals to poor people. the colored people were stirred by death and by the social desire black capital to make a fine showing at the funeral of their relatives; thus a profitable field of exploitation appeared both for insurance com- panies, the colored undertakers and the white manufacturers of funeral necessities. the real point of the matter was, as herndon quickly saw, that numbers of people began to buy insurance, and then after a time stopped, from carelessness or misfortune or unemployment. huge sums in this way became forfeited, and by law accrued to the insurance societies as pure profit. this intrigued herndon. he inquired into it; he joked with some of the white collection agents who drifted into his shop. ordinarily they got seats in the back of the shop and were attended by the less skilled barbers; but now and then herndon flattered one of them by putting one in his own front chair and assiduously attending to him. he learned in this way a good deal about insur- ance business. he had never heard that in some parts of the world the city or state had undertaken this sort of service for the poor, not only for sickness and death but for medicine and other social services. in other parts of the united states this kind of socialism might have been publicly discussed, but not in atlanta; and no- where in the south for the benefit of negroes. herndon's only problem then was whether negro or white exploiters should share this profit, and he thought it fair that negro exploiters share the opportunity. as competition increased white companies put in colored col- lectors. they were found to make a better appeal to some of the upper group of colored families who resented the white agents. the white agents felt they must walk into colored homes with their hats on and address the owners by their first names. colored agents took off their hats and said “mrs." the number of these naturally began to multiply. the success of colored collectors had already induced colored business men to try to organize insurance companies themselves. the state had practically no curbs on the business and no deposits were required. but no sooner did successful colored insurance com- panies appear in virginia and in some other states and begin to spring up in atlanta than the state took notice and passed a law which required that beginning with the year industrial insur- ance companies must deposit $ , with the state as guarantee of their solvency. herndon bought out a small company and hastened to be the first colored company to deposit $ , with the state commissioner of insurance. the commissioner shaved daily in his white agentddress the owners id. mrs.” the the ordeal of mansart chair. in the assets of this company were worth $ , ; ten years later they were worth $ , . herndon died a millionaire in . thus as political power faded there emerged a new escapism for educated and ambitious negroes. in the south particularly, the better class not only turned from politics to business, but from industry to exploitation. a class structure began to appear among negroes, differing from the past. in the past there was a fissure between blacks and colored people which was not simply a color line but a line between the slave and free-the mulattoes claiming, and often legally, freedom from their white fathers. this line, em- phasized by ownership of property and better paid employment, became in cities like charleston and new orleans a distinct class cleavage. during the abolition controversy, to , the class line was naturally between slave and free, with some emphasis on hereditary freedom and increased consideration for wealth. then with emancipation the levelling process began to be modified by new efforts to get wealth, which was illustrated by the turning to ward business enterprise; and that enterprise began to change from personal service like barbering, restaurants and small shops for trade, to exploitation of labor. the teachers, physicians and writers were thrown with the new exploiters and separated from the work- ers, the only marked exception being the preachers who became leaders of the working masses without too good an understanding of what modern work meant in the new industrial process. the physicians and pharmacists inaugurated a new avenue of business enterprise. negro physicians began to increase slowly because of the difficulty negroes had in entering white medical schools and because of the few negro schools available and up to standard. but negro physicians were in increasing demand and white physicians were eager to be rid of negro patients. pharmacy was easily taught and standards low; patent medicine interests encouraged the negro market. thus negro drug stores began to multiply: they became centers of social intermingling for the black world; they sold soft drinks and food and also here and there they concealed gambling in “numbers" and sale of liquor. colored people of atlanta began stirring. they saw the increased prosperity of the city; they began to understand the mystery of investment and the gains from employing labor; they soon realized that a colored business man could hire colored labor and on the whole get better service for less wages than whites paid, particularly black capital of wooden be, the old negromic direction, had only one appedeath if a negro was in a position to give to his colored employee a cer- tain social standing and a chance to dress well and have pleasant working surroundings. colored clerks, stenographers and agents began to multiply. the colored artisans were more than willing to work for colored contractors if the contractors could get the capital and backing. this was difficult, but they did have a chance sometimes to underbid the white contractors by lowering the wages of their workers; and if they could make the necessary connections with influential white forces they could carry on their work. for twenty years or more, up until the riot, a colored builder, by outbidding whites, hiring cheap colored labor, working along with his men, being satisfied with small profits, and doing excellent work, was the biggest builder of wooden bridges in the county around atlanta. meantime, the old negro fraternities and secret societies began to move in this new economic direction. they had fallen into limited popularity and favor because they had only one appeal to the mass of colored people: their regalia and parades, small death benefits, and the lure of secrecy. but now certain shrewd leaders added the "endowment” or insurance feature. there was, for in- stance, the odd fellows. they represented an ancient triumph of negro shrewdness over whites. they had flourished in northern cities and to a less extent in the south. in georgia, in the first decade of the twentieth century they got a fearless leader. ben davis was a big man of physical power and persuasive manners who had studied at atlanta university. he and a group of his fellows began to organize new odd fellows lodges. they went into the corners and byways and gave the ne- groes centers of recreation in odd fellows halls; new amusements in the lodge meetings; new places of congregation and cheer; and finally, new methods of saving their pennies and dollars in the endowment insurance plan of the odd fellows lodges. the women were well taken care of in the "household of ruth,” and pretty soon the annual dues rolling into atlanta became a huge and impressive sum, amounting in to $ , . davis was elated and began to get ideas. in the order bought an entire block on auburn avenue, paying $ , for the land and erecting a five story office building at a cost of $ , . then they built an auditorium and were so successful that davis determined to extend his operations to the national field and gain control of the whole colored order which extended throughout the united states but, save in georgia, had remained relatively unimportant the ordeal of mansart and confined its activity to building a few lodge halls and staging annual parades. when davis appeared at the next annual convention where because of his increased membership he was about to control the order, the northern negroes got jealous of his power and also apprehensive of the soundness of his insurance venture. morris of chicago took the leadership of this opposition. he was a rich, brown-skinned lawyer, leader of the criminal bar of chicago, shrewd and unscrupulous. he simply out-maneuvered davis and the southerners on technical points, was himself elected grand master and moved to take firm control of the georgia branch of the order. davis went to bed ill from exertion and disappointment, and for months the whole matter was in abeyance. but the beautiful odd fellows' hall was finally finished and stood as an inspiration to colored people to save and invest. other negro orders, like the knights of pythias, were accumulating funds. white men, espe- cially investors and bankers, made friendly gestures toward colored business men. davis, who now directed nearly $ , worth of odd fellows property in georgia, angrily took a fatal step. he took the matter into the georgia courts, which promptly made the georgia branch of the order a state corporation under local law. davis threw the whole odd fellows order into receivership. in this way the efforts of negro capital came to the attention of john baldwin, the banker. he called on his patron, pierce, one day with regard to a mortgage on some land, an office building and other assets. pierce told him to go ahead if the terms were right. of course mortgages were risky, but in good times like these and in atlanta the risk was small. baldwin hesitated. “the property," he said, "is on auburn avenue and owned by negroes." pierce was astonished. “how much?” he asked. “half a million.” "who owns it?" "the colored odd fellows." “colored?” said pierce in surprise. “you can't touch it. col- ored real estate is poison.” he scowled and looked thoughtfully out of the window. he was about to say that it was no use for negroes to own property or try to invest as long as--. he was attacking his own theories. baldwin arose. “you are confirming my own judgment,” he the ordeal of mansart ingt ihe che age had bee vard economicha, but were her guild of pro, the youn but as sinuation abhed. and carefully watched for was the development of secret conspira- cies in these negro fraternities. and this might have happened but for the unexpected impact of negro education. the young, educated leaders were not like the older guild of preachers, grist for the secret underground, but were leaning with booker wash- ington toward economic solution of their problem. the economy of ten million people was no trifle, even if they were in the aggregate poor and ignorant. they earned and spent millions; they had been deliberately encouraged to take a hand in this industrial operation and help run it. in spots, here and there, they were trying with some success. but what of the future? what if they saw themselves continually balked? again sheldon viewed this problem as something not outside the na- tion's main problem but as singularly central. sheldon gathered the information about the odd fellows and related it to pierce. pierce was astonished. this was a develop ment of his interracial program which he had not expected. he wondered how many negro leaders really understood the game? it was no place for novices. it was dog eat dog and always would be until the trusts took over and perhaps some super-trust- there he reined his thought with a start. was this socialism? he was surprised at himself to see the analogy. he had always pictured negroes as common laborers, capable with training of becoming semi-skilled, and in a few cases skilled artisans. that would go far to solve the labor problems of the new south. when booker washington added to this his talk about the negro "in business,” pierce smiled tolerantly, thinking this was good propaganda and escapist philosophy for the restless. but of course pierce was sure that no subordinate race economy could grow up in the all-embracing empire which he was building. this negro odd fellows business was interesting and perhaps indicative of certain latent capacities in this race which in some dim future might be used. but today no such movement could succeed. doubtless the actuarial basis of this insurance effort was faulty and certainly if by any chance it succeeded it would only be for eventual swallowing up by white business. sheldon put it bluntly. "negro business without political power is silly. remember what the city did to those negro physi- cians and teachers who bought and built on boulevard? they stuck so many laundries and factories under their noses that the property isn't worth today half what they paid for it. in macon, black capital i'm told, they put a white whore-house in the center of the best negro residential district. davis owns no judges and couldn't buy any even if he had the cash. they wouldn't dare to sell out to him. he's bound to lose, and northern negroes can't win in georgia.” sheldon went out, leaving pierce bewildered. but sheldon himself was getting ideas. it might not be a bad plan to watch this growth of business among negroes. there might be pickings. and if the fools were determined to be fleeced, he might as well benefit as the next man. eventually nearly a million dollars of the hard earned money of negro laborers in georgia were given by the courts into the hands of a board of white receivers, of which john sheldon was one. these receivers borrowed money for expenses from john baldwin's bank which john pierce controlled. when, after years of litigation these assets were finally “liquidated,” there was noth- ing left for the colored policy holders. so died a dream. but dreams die hard and other dreams replace them. so it was in this case. in , two years after the riot, heman perry came to atlanta. he was a little, neat, yellow man with frank, business- like and persuasive manners. he was altogether different from the familiar type of negro preacher, but he was devout and sober. he did not pretend to eloquence or leadership. he was born in texas, had completed only six grades in the public schools and then went to work as a cotton sampler. then he became an insurance solicitor working for white companies who had colored customers. he went to new york for wider opportunity but saw no opening there. he said: : "i decided to leave new york and come to georgia. i went to a pawn shop and disposed of my cuff-buttons for five dollars. i went down to a river boat and gave the purser the five dollars to work my way to savannah. i made on the journey sixty-five cents in tips.” he began working in atlanta for white insurance companies among colored clients. but he was firm in the idea that negroes could start their own old-line legal reserve insurance company. he asked mansart's help. mansart laughed. he was no business man and never would be; yes, of course he needed more money than he was earning. he admitted that the negro problem was in part a matter of income. he would certainly be glad to intro- duce perry to his friends. black capital en came the a while my oldou believe it?-thenite white brutal force, but not before the nation was impressed that demo- cratic government was not working so well in america as we thought. the autocratic power of employers and property owners and the distribution of the money stock which they controlled were certainly the cause in part.” old dr. crogman added: “i remember the rise of populism which swept the south. some of us hoped it would unite white and black labor. watson-would you believe it?--then led the movement, and for a while my old pupil, doyle, led him.” "then came the elections of 'go and ' ," added dr. jones, "and there was hell to pay." "this part is where i get lost. what happened to watson?" asked mansart. john hope, a blonde colored teacher at morehouse who came from watson's part of georgia, answered: “you must realize the split in the democratic party. the northern democrats began to be the party of labor and reform. southern democracy was not a party but a group of industrial- ists determined to run the state for big business. tom watson the labor party, as teddy roosevelt tried to bring big business in captured the georgia democratic party and threatened to capture the south. we were near then to having a national labor party. but big business moved rapidly in, bought the elec- tion in the north and stole it in the south. politics for the first decade of the century reeled, and republicans bade fair to become to heel. the south, by manipulating the negro vote, began to be the defender of industrial bandits. "watson tried in vain to arouse the farmer and labor vote, south and north, in , but failed miserably. southern demo- crats offered to put him back in politics if he would desert the negro. tillman and his tribe abetted, and old folkways, sup- pressed for a time by doyle, festered and stank. in deserting black labor, watson had to desert white labor and spend his strength attacking jews and catholics. he sold out so completely that lynching, murder and riot in the south scared big business all over the nation into hysterics. and here we are." the monday club strolled home in small groups; most of them, including mansart, passed the new bank building where john pierce had his office. "and where do we go from here?" asked mansart. hope replied: "if we can keep out of war and can be led by woodrow wilson, the scholar and liberal southerner, we may unite in capanty, as teddy roate for big businroup of indus the defender died in vain to arguiled miserably. sould desert the laborking jews on and riot. and here wil groups; muhere johı the ordeal of mansart may restore pop black and white labor in one movement for the uplift of the working class; we may beat back disfranchisement and restore the ideal of democracy to the united states. we may restore popular education to evolve a nation, and a people intelligent rather than smart and rich; and integrate into this nation the blood and music of ten million africans." crogman looked at hope and smiled: “dear boy, that integra- tion has been made in you, but it has not yet been made in this na- tion and it will be long before it will.” and he put his arm about the shoulders of john hope, this young white man who was talking black because he had a negro great-grandfather. mart and rich: and nation, and a people manuel mansart decides ured thes given by officia the raceyees. the greatly the thinge lower order of beings. “at that time you stated you would investigate conditions for yourself. now after the lapse of a year we have come back, having found that all the forms of segregation of government employees of african extraction are still practiced in the treasury and post office department buildings; and to a certain extent have spread into other government buildings. "we have come by vote of this league to set before you this definite continuance of race segregation and to renew the protest and to ask you to abolish segregation of afro-american employees in the executive department.” president wilson was at the moment a worried and irritated man. world war i had broken out in europe three months before. he was straining every nerve to keep this nation out of this war. it seemed to him ridiculous to have this eternal negro question intrude now on his busy day. but he tried to be concili- atory. he said that he had investigated this question and had been assured there had been no discrimination in the comforts and surroundings given to the afro-american workers. he added he had been informed by officials that the segregation had been started to avoid friction between the races and not with the object of injuring the afro-american employees. the president said he was deeply interested in the negro race and greatly admired its progress. he then made the astonishing assertion that the thing to be sought by the afro-americans "was complete independence of white people," and that he felt the white race was willing to do everything possible to assist them in this effort. trotter was incensed and retorted bitterly that "colored people did not seek charity or assistance but that they took the position that they had equal rights with whites and that these rights should be respected.” "two years ago," he added, "you were thought to be a second abraham lincoln." the president reddened and interrupted. he was distinctly upset at the comparison. “leave out personalities,” he said. “you are losing your temper." but trotter persisted. "have you a 'new freedom' for white americans and a new slavery for your afro-american fellow- citizens?" the president was now angry. he said that the question in- volved was not that of intrinsic qualities because all had human souls and were equal in that respect; but for the present it was void fria fro-amein the nonishing complete was w manuel mansart decides thought about this order, to which their consent was never asked? behind screens and closed doors they now sit apart as though lep- rous. men and women alike have the badge of inferiority pressed upon them by government decree. how long will it be before the hateful epithets of ‘nigger' and 'jim-crow' are openly applied to these sections? let any one experienced in washington affairs, or any trained newspaper correspondent answer. the colored people themselves will tell you how soon sensitive and high-minded mem- bers of their race will refuse to enter the government service which thus decrees what is to them the most hateful kind of discrimina- tion. indeed, there is a widespread belief among them that this is the very purpose of these unwarrantable orders. and wherever there are men who rob the negroes of their votes, who exploit and degrade and insult and lynch those whom they call their inferiors, there this mistaken action of the federal government will be cited as the warrant for new racial outrages that cry out to high heaven for redress. "who shall say where discrimination once begun shall cease? who can deny that every act of discrimination the world over breeds fresh injustice?". the president took no action and trotter faced attack which was difficult to repulse. in trying to wreak political vengeance on a white party or leader, a black reformer like trotter faced serious anomaly. the voting records of negro legislators and city counsellors in the north showed this. they followed the machine; they opposed effi- ciency in government; they helped overload the budgets; they refus- ed to regulate the liquor traffic or places of amusement and gambl- ing; they voted against civil service reform; against efficiency in hauling garbage and government services; and although represent- ing working class constituencies they opposed laws wanted by trade unions. they defended their votes because unions discriminated against negroes and because “efficient" government paid them no atten- tion. they went along with corrupt white political bosses because reese bosses saw that negroes got employment even if in anti-social ways, and defended them against attacks on civil rights. the white reform movements almost invariably knew nothing and did nothing to lift the veil of caste from black folk. t along wirbes got employmon civil rights. id nothing from contemplation of this occurrence the attention of man- sart was suddenly drawn home. he received a startling bit of news: the colored supervisor of the atlanta colored schools was seriously postscript where documented material and personal experience are lacking. in the great tragedy of negro slavery in the united states and its aftermath, much of documented history is lacking because of the deep feeling involved and the fierce desire of men to defend their fathers and themselves. this i have sought to correct in my study of the slave trade and of reconstruction. if i had had time and money, i would have continued this pure historical research. but this opportunity failed and time is running out. yet i would rescue from my long experience something of what i have learned and conjectured and thus i am trying by the method of historical fiction to complete the cycle of history which has for a half century engaged my thought, research and action. i have personally lived through much of the history of the american negro from to . yet wide as my experience has been, by travel, seeing, hearing and knowing, i of course actually knew but an infinitesimal fraction of all that happened. the gaps of knowledge i can in part supply by the memory of others, by reading published and unpublished matter. yet with all this i am far from being able to set down an accurate historical account of those fatal eighty years. therefore i have assayed first to gather such verifiable facts as i can. this body of knowledge i have compared with the reports of others. but even with all this, much, indeed most, is missing: just what men thought, the actual words they used, the feelings and motives which impelled them-those i do not know and most of them none will ever know. these facts are gone forever. but it is possible for the creative artist to imagine something of such unknown truth. if he is lucky or inspired, he may write a story which may set down a fair version of the truth of an era, or a group of facts about human history. this i have attempted to do: adhering as closely as i can to historic fact so far as i can ascertain. i have added the fiction of interpretation so as to make a reasonable story. i may have blund- ered in places; i may have widely misinterpreted what seemed truth to me. but i have tried and i believe the effort was worth while. here lies, then, i hope, more history than fiction, more fact than assumption, much truth and no falsehood. i . iverso of michio tas * • libra *raries es. nv not without dust at wisat bu not without dust a novel seginald chantrelle exposition press / new york grad ( np first edition all rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form copyright, , by seginald chantrelle fourth avenue, new york , n. y. designed by morry m. gropper manufactured in the united states of america consolidated book producers, inc. library of congress catalog card number: - one the whole station was agog with hurried excitement. amazing how anyone could slither his way through this sea of surging restlessness and still maintain his equilibrium. the vast confines were packed to overflowing as a seemingly motionless crowd, in typical american fashion, politely jostled one another through the gateways to the platforms below. a remarkably gay party had assembled before gate , in pennsylvania station, new york, the more to be wondered at since one of its members was about to entrain for camp stewart, georgia. lieutenant roy raymond, in trim khaki uniform, with the dental caduceus on one side of his collar and a bright silver bar on the other, had no illusions nor was he disillusioned con- cerning his assignment to the deep south. to the casual passer- by, he was just one more soldier. to the more observant, the too easy smile that wreathed his thin-lipped mouth, the excited glow in otherwise roguish oriental eyes, which twinkled merrily beneath heavy black brows, betokened thoughts and feelings which of necessity were far-removed from the moment's hilarity. one more spring. another leave-taking. once again adrift from family and friends. so similar and yet so vastly different from that parting almost two decades ago when he had run away from his native jamaica. the conversation with his boyhood pal, eric, was etched for all time in the recesses of his memory. he had been just venturesome enough then to cast aside the needed security of mother and family, to reach out for the promised opportunities of that blessed new land which beck- oned him as a utopia. had he been older than seventeen, he might have reasoned that a light-brown complexion together with straight black hair could be definite assets in a country where those not typically negroid were enterprising enough to utilize nature's gifts to their own advantage. so many things had happened in the interim. the jobs that roy had held during the three years that he had struggled to adjust to the congestion of new york's harlem were too various to enumerate. it is never easy for an immigrant to swallow the jeers and contempt that are heaped upon him during the period of orientation and acclimatization, especially when people be- come aware of his struggle to step into another social stratum. for a man as slight, boyish and sensitive as roy, the struggle was well-nigh unbearable. ofttimes, feeling at the very end of possible human en- durance, beside himself with destitution and despair, he had an aching longing for the soothing calm of his caribbean sea. just as the weary traveler slowly wends his way toward the beacon that offers succor from afar, so in all this misery did one thought give him sustenance: he wanted to be a doctor. there was no groping to find his milieu. he knew what he wanted and each year progressed steadily toward his goal. his ambi- tion, like the hound of heaven, gave him no respite. so firmly entrenched was he in the desire to get ahead, to be somebody, that he closed his mind and heart to the normal yearnings of adolescence for companionship with the opposite sex. marriage -and subsequent parenthood-had to be postponed indefinitely. that could wait, he felt. in the midst of running elevators, dishwashing, mopping floors, he forged a philosophy that became the mainstay of his life. desolate, lonely, weary, flat on his back at the end of a day had come these last days to wish him godspeed. the hospital where he had served as the only negro in the field of oral surgery had tendered him a cabaret party and presented him with a military kit. what a glorious week it had been, one grand round of festivities, culminating in this merry gathering. the redcap who was attending roy's luggage discreetly touched his elbow and nodded significantly to inform him that it was train time. a tense hush in keeping with the moment's solemnity ensued. roy rose to the occasion with his customary continental air of nonchalance. he kissed all of the ladies, some on their cheeks, others on their lips, according to the degree of intimacy that existed between them. one by one, all of the men grasped his hand. as though everyone were suddenly devoid of speech, they stood silently as he squared his shoul- ders soldierwise and with rapid strides disappeared through the gates. the redcap delivered roy over to the pullman porter. his smile in departing bespoke his pleasure in receiving so unusual a gratuity. roy was generous to a fault. impossible for a man of his temperament to have struggled with the underdogs of society for an overly long period and not reach out, as a kindred spirit, to those who bore the yoke with humility. the porter suggested that roy go to the smoking room at the end of the coach while he made his berth. because of the drawn curtains and air of silence, roy assumed that all were abed. to his surprise, on reaching the smoking room, he found two white men engaged in quiet conversation. the room was small and rectangular. a mirror and washbasin occupied one wall. a built-in couch, upholstered in leather, ran the entire length of the wall opposite. facing roy was the entrance to the lavatory. still feeling the delightful glow of a last scotch and soda which one in the party had jokingly said was “for the road,” roy made his way cautiously across the room toward the toilet. just as he was about to grasp the handle of the door, a sudden lurch of the train sent him sprawling on all fours. with the dignity typical of the slightly inebriated, he picked himself up, opened the toilet door and disappeared behind it. emerging shortly thereafter, he approached the sofa where the two men were seated at the extremities. as neither made the least attempt to move together, thus providing room for him at either end, he sat between them. the older man, weather-beaten, rawboned, reclined languidly with the back of his head in the crook of his arm, while in his free hand he held a cigar. the younger man, ruddy, blue-eyed, blond, dangled a freshly lit cigarette from the corner of his mouth, his legs stretched out before him, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. seating himself, roy reached into his pocket for a cigarette. he was fishing in his pocket for a match when the older man flicked the ashes from his cigar and extended the lit portion to him, drawling in a deep, southern accent, “may i, lieutenant?" “thanks very much,” roy accepted cheerfully. “i suppose you are on your way to rejoin your regiment,” he continued in a friendly, interested manner. “join would be a better word. i have just been commis- sioned.” “since most of the troops are being trained in the south because of weather conditions and the wide, open spaces, i take it that that is your destination.” “true. georgia." "then,” remarked the other traveler, “you and i will be trainmates for another twenty-four hours. the skipper over there leaves us in south carolina.” looking more closely at the “skipper,” roy ventured to say, “no one asks too many questions in wartime, and i realize that smoking-room companionships are brief. may i presume to ask whether you are a sea captain?" “not at all. i used to be but now i pilot ships through the tricky south carolinian waters. our other smoking-room com- panion, as you label us, is a seafaring man also. he's a canadian, going to the coast to pick up his ship.” "that gives us something in common. i too went to sea. i never made the deep sea. it was only coastwise stuff.” from that point, conversation became general and cordial. matches were passed, cigarettes lit. the “skipper” switched to a pipe. an air of camaraderie pervaded the room, mixed with the aroma of tobacco. anecdotes were exchanged. while all three had different theories as to the outcome of the war, they all agreed that america would be victorious. the train sped through the night. like some wild animal with fury unleashed, it shrieked as it gathered momentum. the three men conversed far into the night, in a rambling sort of way, going off at tangents, in the typical fashion of men who know that they should be in bed but who do not wish to retire. roy had been accustomed to an interchange of ideas and points of view with white people. his previous contacts gave him every right to feel perfectly at ease. it might almost seem that subconsciously, for the minute, he questioned convictions that had been deeply rooted from early youth. it just never occurred to him that he had anything to fear-yet. as the train plowed its way into dixie, he had a sense of being at peace with the world, ensconced as he was with these two men in the smoker. then suddenly, completely without warning, after a lull in the conversation, the southerner remarked, “i've been up north for over three weeks. i hope none of my niggers has gotten into any trouble. as a matter of fact, one of them came damned near getting lynched a few months ago.” roy was stung by the epithet but showed no emotion. that poker face had served as a mask for deep emotional disturbance on many occasions. "how was that?” inquired the canadian quietly. "oh, he was browsing around town when he noticed a group of people in a huddle, so to speak. instead of minding his busi- ness, he got nosy and edged toward them to see what it was all about. it turned out that some nigger had tried to rape a white girl. well, in south carolina, we waste no time on that the yard, the dining-room crew to his right, the kitchen crew to his left. he strutted through the line of men shouting at length, “there's a thief among you.' he went on to explain that the yard foreman had found a slab of bacon and a chicken hidden in our dormitory. suddenly, in his prancing, he turned and col- lared one of the kitchen crew, a boy who had just arrived in new york from the south, demanding, why did you steal those things?' the poor fellow was so frightened that he almost fainted, protesting his innocence the while. the manager re- leased him, paced up and down and repeated the dramatics, this time the victim being the busboy. the reaction was the same. then, suddenly, the third cook broke from the column and aed to the nearby woods. the manager laughingly an- nounced, 'i knew it was he all the time. i wanted him to confess.' he was about to leave when i said, “mr. koenig.' “'yes?' he asked, wheeling around. “ 'you forget one thing,' i replied. “this is america, not germany. here, a man is always innocent until he's proved guilty. you've reversed the procedure. it's not american.' “the manager dismissed the entire matter with the typical teutonic 'ach' and walked into the dining room. now, tell me, where was the rank? i could have been fired and i needed the job.” the canadian looked at his watch and rose. “interesting, but it proves nothing. this kind of thing could go on all night. well it's getting late and i must be turning in. good night to you.” left alone, roy cupped his face in his hands, shaken to the core. he found it difficult to believe that an apparently friendly attitude was just a veneer which masked a well of bitterness, hate and callousness. he felt adrift in a sea of hostility. he listened to the train, in the blackness of the night, racing from a civilization he understood into another which was completely unknown to him. he thought of the readiness with which the canadian sided with the southerner and wondered what would happen to him when, instead of two, he would have to cope with multiples of two. for the first time in his adult life, a sense of insecurity bordering on fear took hold of him. he had quit many a job when conditions were intolerable. he could not quit the army, another job, no matter how reprehensible conditions became. he could grapple with things of substance-the tan- gible, as it were. he always had. this thing lacked form. it was utterly without substance. its very intangibility gave it an advantage, a superiority that put it beyond the pale of ordi- nary individual ability. the puzzled, strained look on his face was indicative of the depths of his disturbance. he reflected upon the manner in which each man had departed. he shook his head in non-acceptance, as though thoughts were audible. more things are wrought by the use of common sense than is generally supposed. reasoning that on the morrow he could think better, when his emotions were subordinate to his mind, roy too went to bed. sleep, blessed as it is reputed to be, did not steal readily over him. as he tossed restlessly in the narrow bed, listening to the wheels grinding on the tracks, the pillow became in- creasingly hard and lumpy, the mattress a piece of board. he lay there in the dark, turning and twisting. it was then that a long-forgotten incident of his high-school days stole stealthily across his memory like an interloper. it caused him to come to a quiet position. lying flat on his back, he relived an episode of fifteen years past when, during the summer vacation, he had shipped out of south street, new york city, as a mess boy on a freighter. the trip was for a month's duration, from new york to tampa, florida, thence, to sienfuegos, cuba, and back again to new york. the highly mixed crew was most congenial. after the ship had docked at port tampa at dusk, roy decided to stretch his legs ashore after supper. port tampa itself was of no particular interest except that it was the terminal of the streetcar which went to tampa city. roy boarded the empty car while the conductor was reversing the seats for the return trip. he sat in the middle of the car and took from his pocket a copy of cervantes' don quixote, the original of which he had previously started to read in a third-year spanish class in high school. he immediately became absorbed in the book to the extent that he was unaware of the conductor collecting the fare or of the starting of the car. neither did he raise his head to notice that, as the car progressed toward the city, it was gradually filling up. suddenly, he felt a tap on his shoulder. looking up, he noticed the conductor for the first time towering above him. roy asked himself the question, “what's this, i wonder?” he eyed the conductor quizzically as he remarked, “well, boy, you'll have to get up and go where you belong.” the spoken word with its intonation did not immediately register. he just con- tinued to gaze at the man. then, suddenly, the gleam in the small, piercing, sardonic eyes, the indignant look on the red- dening face, struck a chord in his mind. he groped for it. what was it? instantaneously, in a flash, it registered. yes, he got it. he had blunderingly seated himself in the middle of the car when he should have been in one of the last three seats. but why had the conductor permitted him to sit there in the first place? why had he collected his fare? however, that was of no importance now. the present was what counted. must he degrade himself by rising and going “where he belonged”? how could he so unwittingly have wandered into a position of which he would have hesitated even to be a spectator. he was jolted back to reality by the hissing voice of the conductor demanding belligerently, menacingly, “what the hell is wrong with you? you're a nigger, aren't you?” that only made matters worse. he sat there, rooted to the spot, staring at the man, speechless, petrified with fright. he realized that his life was at stake but he was powerless to move. finally, he glanced around the car and saw in a blur a sea of expressionless faces staring at him. they meant nothing to him. his brain had become numb, calcified. he was vaguely aware of the conductor leaving. he realized that the car had stopped and that the conductor was returning with the motorman. the latter carried a crowbar in his hand. roy's heart began to thump. he felt that all matter which repre- sented his body had vanished, leaving only his frightened, ex- posed heart beating violently against his ribs. what had once been feet had melted away. his brain, though conscious of what was going on, refused to function. why didn't he go to the back of the car as ordered? to this night, he had never been able to fathom it. was he trying to be smart, to thwart the laws? no. he was too callow, and not at all brave. through the fog, he heard another contemptuous, arrogant, withering voice, that of the motorman, bellowing, “by god, you damn nigger. if you don't go to the back of the car, i'll smash your blasted head in.” it might have been the spanish he was reading. it might have been atavism, a return to some long-distant spanish relative in his ancestral tree calling to him in his emergency. but still paralyzed with fear, he heard himself saying, “que dice usted, señor, yo no hablo engles.” both men looked at each other in disgust. the motorman snarled, “oh, hell, the bastard is just a damn greaser.” it was some time after his tormentors left and the car had started before roy returned to some degree of normalcy. still dazed, he automatically left the car with the others. using the trolley tracks as a guide, he retraced his steps to the ship. his gait was that of a drunkard, his brain was clogged to capacity. the fragrant countryside, the cool breeze, the starlit heavens were wasted on him. his only aim was to get home to the ship. he groped along the deserted road until he finally saw the lights of the boat. the ship was deserted except for the night watch. roy got into his deserted cabin and, because he was very young, he flung himself across his bunk and broke into weeping. as the salty tears trickled into his mouth, his taut body cringed as though it were being horsewhipped. over and over again, he heard the words repeating themselves like a refrain: “aren't you a nigger? if you don't go where you belong, i'll smash your head in.” he finally fell asleep wondering what the difference was between a greaser and a nigger. tion of the diner, it was not evident. their greeting was cordial. conversation followed the usual trend of picayune chatter across a breakfast table in a public place. the absence of condescension was marked. as roy indulged in his third cup of coffee, his emotions were more confused than ever. this couple was un- doubtedly southern. he thought of the previous night's episode and wondered if he would ever understand these people and the attitudes which so definitely labeled them as southerners. roy finished his coffee leisurely and rose to leave. back in the pullman, despite the desire to delve further into this enigma, he decided to peruse the officers' guide, a book on military courtesy, discipline and conventions. he realized that his knowl. edge of the army was nil and that a ten-per-cent margin for error was not enough. two the train crept into savannah, georgia, like a spent animal. aboard, everyone was making preparations to disembark. savan- nah, second city of georgia, noted for its old world charm and cosmopolitan flavor, is affectionately known to its residents as "the forest city.” as he alighted from the pullman, an elderly redcap ap- proached roy and mutely, respectfully offered his services. his only gesture was raising his hand to his cap. it was part salute, part salaam. on the long platform, flanked by two trains, roy felt strangely uneasy. he subconsciously contrasted its smallness with penn station. lack of hustle-bustle almost to the point of inertia was the dominant note. this was certainly no melting pot, no crazy quilt of nationalities. an absence of facial types labeled it american, all southern american. recognizing his luggage, roy directed the redcap to it, inquiring at the same time when the next train would leave for hinesville, the location of camp stewart. “your train's right over there, sir, on the next track,” the redcap softly pointed out. “it leaves in twenty-five minutes. i'll pile your baggage on the seat of that coach over there, so that if you want to look around, you'll see it just by looking through the window. you can't miss them, sir.” roy thanked him and gave him a coin. glancing at his watch, he strolled toward the exit. on entering the broad ter- race which separated the waiting room from the tracks, roy stopped dead in the middle of it. stunned, bewildered, he re- moved his cap to wipe the perspiration from his brow as he read the two signs which confronted him: “white waiting room,” “colored waiting room.” he knew that this system existed, but this was the first time that he had come face to face with it. it is one thing to read of the south's institutions in one's living room in the east, but quite another to meet them squarely, especially when you're on the short end of the stick. rooted in his tracks, he looked through the open door into the white waiting room. it was well appointed, restful, with its large, revolving electric fans and chrome and leather furniture. numerous magazine racks and neon lights completed the fur- nishings. he could not see into the colored waiting room easily as it was placed somewhat at an angle. curiosity prompted him to seek it out. amazed at its dilapidation, he entered it indig- nantly. the place was small, foul-smelling, its furniture out- moded. over the entrance to the lavatory, he noticed that some- one had chiseled off the “gentle” from what was intended to be “gentlemen," leaving only "men.” disgusted, humiliated and a bit frightened, roy strolled out to the nearest street where a negro bootblack shined his shoes, eyeing him surreptitiously. he obviously had never seen a negro in officer's uniform before, and roy's preoccupation did not invite conversation. roy questioned whether he had already seen the worst or whether this was just a beginning. knowing that, because of the south's economy, the army was more attractive to southerners than to northerners, he wondered if they had carried their system into the army itself. he felt that they had. returning to the platform, roy discovered the place alive with people. however, he was not prepared to see two lines formed, one for whites, the other for negroes. he felt that he had almost to recognize the negro either as a human being or as a soldier.” the major who had remained silent heretofore broke in hotly, “do you realize that you are being insubordinate?" roy wheeled around and looked him in the face, disdainfully retorting, “if that's insubordination, make the most of it.” “when you speak to me, you say 'sir,” the major countered with heat. a half-concealed sneer played around the corners of roy's mouth. he answered defiantly, “sir, while i do not know my army regulations, sir, i can assure you, sir, that he who demands courtesies, sir, which, sir, are, sir--" "well, you god-damned -----," the major roared, charging at roy, the blood vessels in his neck engorged, his face as red as a beet. the colonel who was nearby stepped between them with a commanding, “enough, gentlemen. at ease.” after both men had recovered their composure, colonel beecham with a stern face but calm voice addressed roy. “lieutenant raymond, i will agree that yours is not an enviable position. were it not for that and your newness to the service, i would take disciplinary action against you. there is a war going on, lieutenant, and we must win it. sectional methods of behavior are of secondary importance at this time. as for ‘sir,' you cer- tainly must have been a member of the reserve officers' train- ing corps at college and are well aware of military conventions when addressing superior officers. your sarcasm to the major was an unnecessary provocation." "i have never found sweetness in adversity. neither do i subscribe to turning the other cheek, sir.” “we haven't time to go into all that. there is a guest house on the post for colored enlisted men. you will spend the night there until other provisions can be made.” his tone was sharp, final. “where do i eat, colonel?” “the chaplains have a portion of an enlisted men's mess hall fixed up for themselves. i see no reason why you can't join them.” roy smiled wearily. “i could challenge that statement, colonel, but you have all the aces.” “at a.m. after breakfast,” the colonel continued, ignoring the interruption, “a jeep will call for you. you will report to the commanding officer at dental clinic number two for duty." “aye, aye, sir,” snapped roy. the colonel called the motor pool for transportation, and in a few minutes roy was on his way. the colored guest house was a twelve-room structure with an enormously spacious but cozy living room. furniture was of swedish maple and two-toned green leather. the curtain ar- rangement and color scheme had all the earmarks of a woman's touch. at the southeast corner of the room was a compact little office from which all activities could be discreetly supervised. three soldiers were reading magazines and looked up at roy's entrance. they followed him with their eyes, but no one spoke. roy left his bags where the driver had deposited them and walked toward the office. the hostess on duty rose as roy approached the office. colonel beecham must have notified her of his coming since she greeted him with, “welcome to our little family, lieutenant." “thanks. i'm lieutenant raymond. you have a dainty little place here." “i am mrs. winston, clara winston. we try to make this place as homey as possible.” her voice was that of the cultured southerner, with just the faintest drawl. roy viewed her with a masculine eye for feminine detail: small feet; well-shaped legs; thighs not extravagant, yet not penurious; waist and stomach doing well without apparent benefit of girdle; breasts just large enough to be cupped in one's palm. a cluster of dark brown wavy hair, which, even though the beautician might have accentuated it, screened a copper- colored complexion in which were embedded the full sensual lips of her african ancestors together with the chiseled nose and receding cheekbones of the nordic counterpart. beautiful? al- most. yet, it was the round expressive eyes rather than the “'and i said the hog is not for sale,' answered harry dog- gedly, his heart sinking because he knew what he was in for. “the squire reached into his coat pocket for a cheroot, bit off the end and lit it. with a half smile, half sneer, he took a puff and remarked, “you haven't learned yet how to live with white folks, have you, harry?' “sullenly, his quiet anger rising up to his throat, harry re- plied, 'have you learned to live with negroes, sir?' “the left side of the squire's mouth twitched back. he turned toward the gate. over his shoulder, he said, 'an uppish nigger, eh? rather an expensive dish, boy.' “the next morning, the hog was found poisoned.” roy's only response was, “you mentioned molasses a while ago. i don't know but that i could use some of it right now.” “come to think of it,” clara responded with puckered lips, looking roy squarely in the eye, "i didn't finish the sandwich which i usually bring along when i'm on this shift. if you're not too proud, you may have what's left.” roy smiled. viewing her again with renewed interest, he said, “you know what they say about beggars.” clara led him into the little office. from the desk drawer, she produced a cheese sandwich neatly wrapped in wax paper. handing it to him, she said, “hope it isn't too dry, lieutenant. i'll get you a coke to wash it down.” “thanks so much. i appreciate your kindness.” “i suppose it's old southern hospitality,” clara responded, as she made her way to the door of the office. roy lowered the sandwich which he was about to eat. with- out rancor, he replied, “i can see the southern, but, as to the hospitality, you'll pardon my saying i think it's highly overrated.” half turning, clara shrugged as she answered, “oh, well,” and left. in her brief absence, roy munched on his sandwich and mused how she was among the few women of all whom he had met that he would love to nudge good morning. just as he fin- she smiled. “in a few days, you will have forgotten many civilian habits.” “believe it or not,” roy retorted with laughter, “i've begun already.” “is this your first time south, lieutenant?" asked chaplain brown, apparently to make conversation. “that's interesting,” replied roy. “i have met many south- erners whom i would have taken for northerners. i wonder what makes you feel that i'm not one. is my accent so different?” he sipped his fruit juice which had just been served and eyed the chaplain playfully. "it's more than accent,” the chaplain said softly. “it's a ges- ture, an attitude, even though unspoken, an approach.” “that invites discussion, chaplain. but, to answer your question, yes. it is my first time south.” roy regarded the speaker intently. a fine-looking man, he thought: a well-formed, strong mouth, lips not too negroid; a highly arched nose, a trifle broad at the base; dark, searching eyes whose deep sockets failed to conceal their hunted look; a high, intellectual forehead the temples of which were laid bare by the receding salt and pepper hair. his very mien spoke refine- ment. “i thought as much,” continued the chaplain. “as an older man, i would suggest—and i'm not being rude-that you do not believe all the things you read in the northern papers. things are not always as bad as they are painted. you see, lieutenant, we get along pretty well down here with the white people. in fact, i number quite a few whites among my friends." “i left new york, sir, with an open mind,” roy answered, "but what i have seen and experienced during these last twenty-four hours makes me feel that, had the south been permitted to secede in , it would have been better for all of us. now, it's my turn to request that you do not consider me rude. but may i ask whether these so-called white friends have ever invited you to dinner, to a visit in their homes? has the time. “it's a new slant, even though quite a militant one.” roy glanced at his watch and began eating his bacon and eggs hurriedly. “i must report for duty at the dental clinic at nine o'clock,” he said, “and, to win, one must not be caught napping at the switch.” the breakfast continued with less acrimony. discreet ques- tions and light banter served to clear the atmosphere. everyone was in good humor when, at eight forty-five, the jeep arrived for roy. the major, roy thought, was quite a young man to hold a field grade rank. he was of that type of masculinity which might be termed passively aggressive. blond, tall, slender, he addressed roy in a manner representative of the true southern gentleman. "you have been transferred to another battalion, lieutenant. after you have met the men and checked in your instruments, you will be excused so that you can report to your new command- ing officer. there you will request a roster of battalion strength. tomorrow, instead of reporting here, arrange to examine all the men. examine them wherever you find them: on the range, in the field, in the mess hall-even in the latrine. we have to know just what is to be done and do it. speed and good work are essential. within six months, we expect to be going overseas. the men must be dentally fit. now, if you will come along with me, i'll introduce you to the men.” as roy accompanied the major around the clinic, the series of introductions was interestingly varied. many of the men gave firm, sincere handshakes. some gave a limp kind of clasp which conveyed the impression that they might almost be holding a tadpole in their hands. a few merely bowed, but, all in all, they were not bad fellows to work with as the weeks of close contact revealed. the only approach to anything unpleasant occurred on an afternoon when those dentists who had a half hour between appointments were smoking in an improvised lounge in the spacious lavatory at the end of the clinic. roy relaxed with four other dental officers when another entered in a huff. while washing his hands, he remarked, “those damn niggers. i've never seen such broken-down mouths.” the others glanced stealthily at roy but passed no comment. flicking the ashes from his cigarette, roy retorted loudly, “isn't that an indictment of the south?” the officer in question stalked out without answering. the incident was altogether ignored. the checking of his instruments having been completed, roy called the motor pool for a jeep to take him to his new outfit, the th coast artillery antiaircraft battalion. in the absence of the commanding officer, he was received by the second in command, major holland. military greetings were exchanged. the major affably offered roy a cigarette and invited him to sit beside him. roy was impressed with his friendliness and com- plete abandonment of the strict military dogma as he struck a match and held it to roy's cigarette. the act was trite among smokers. to roy, it assumed the proportions of a symbol. look- ing at the major, he noticed his closely shaven, oval face, his pale blue eyes and somewhat reddish hair. the major interrupted further scrutiny by saying, “if it will make you any happier, the colonel and i have discussed your case and have decided to help you as much as we can. by helping you, i mean treating you as another officer in this bat- talion.” after a somewhat lengthy pause, he continued, “you are from new york, i understand?” “yes, sir.” “that won't make things any better. in fact, it tends to arouse feeling against you. you will not only be considered a nigger but also a foreigner. you see, i'm speaking from experience. i'm from maine and even i am considered a damn yankee for- eigner. i want you to feel free to come to me for advice whenever you find the going too tough. but you must remember this: i can give you little physical support. i'm just another cog in this vast machine. majors can be bought a dime a dozen on this post.” “now as to the question of your lodgings,” he continued, "it has been decided to move you out of the guest house. it is restricted to the visiting families of the enlisted personnel. it is hardly adequate for the strength of this post, so a permanent abode there would deprive an enlisted man from sharing it. there is a large room behind the library which is being fixed up at this moment as quarters for you.” "is there a shower on the premises, major?” “no, but that can be arranged later.” “in renting an apartment in new york, we never accept promises. the general feeling is that it is wiser to have all im- provements completed before occupancy. now, major holland, you have been kind even to the point of being indulgent, but i should prefer to have renovations finished before i move in. the heat down here is equatorial, and with the popular concep- tion that negroes give off an odor, i must insist-and i hope that you will not think me presumptuous-that the shower be installed before i move in.” “mmmm. good point, lieutenant. so shall it be. with the plumbing for the toilet, the job can be done within twenty-four hours.” “thanks, major. this interview has been a liberal education to me. i will no longer subscribe to the tenet that all good white men died a million years ago.” the major laughingly said, “that's a new one.” he rose and dismissed roy. outside, roy felt a sense of exhilaration which prompted him to whistle softly to himself as he picked his way back to the guest house. for the next two weeks, roy's military duties kept him so busy that he had little time to think of himself. inasmuch as dentists received spot commissions and knew nothing about the army of the united states, classes were held from six to eight weeks to indoctrinate the newly recruited officers into the customs of the service. there were lectures on military cor- respondence, military courtesy, sanitation, the setting up of an aid station; care, transportation, classification and distribution of the wounded; field reports and a host of other subjects which were both enlightening and interesting. however, on returning to his quarters, roy felt a sense of loneliness which was deeper than any he had experienced. it was more destructive because he had met several friendly and charming fellows, men of formal education, and cultural back- ground, men who spoke his language. but they were enlisted approaching the theater of the area, roy spied a familiar figure. he increased his step to overtake her as he recognized clara. “not a bad sight for sore eyes,” he greeted her. “thanks,” she smiled. “are you going in?" “no. but since you left before the show was over, i take it that it was not so good,” roy answered, falling in step with her. "no. it wasn't the show. i felt restless and moody, so i thought the show would perk me up. fact is, it made me feel worse.” “most moodiness can be diagnosed as financial or of the heart." “i can't agree with you. no emotion is ever dismissed that easily. however, in a sense, it was the heart. i got a letter this morning from my husband who's overseas, and that's what started it all.” “i don't mean to change the subject, but if you're going to the guest house, may i walk you there?” “you may. it's o.k. with me.” “now, to resume what we were saying. do you feel that if you were not married, your emotional life here on the post, restricted as it is, would be different?” “yes, i think it would. when a woman marries, she makes adjustments which are hard to unmake, even if she becomes a widow.” “i agree with you. it has always been my theory that a woman's emotions are like a horse who, once having tasted oats, is reluctant to return to grass.” clara didn't answer immediately. finally she laughed softly, countering, “what of a man? why single out the woman? are our emotions so different?” "i'll answer you with a quotation: ‘love to a man is a thing apart, to a woman her whole existence.'” “the conceit of you men has always floored me, and don't forget, mister lieutenant, brother byron, whom you just quoted, was also a man,” she answered, turning her head to look into his face. he smiled. then they both broke into laughter. “i think i'll have to go and dig up byron and have him batttle this out with you. however, that inverted bowl up there which we choose to call the sky is too beautifully lined with stars tonight to be neglected.” "that's a graceful retreat, lieutenant. i must agree. it is a beautiful night, isn't it? by the by, i don't recall you ever men- tioning whether or not you are married.” “oh, i'm single,” said roy simply." “i have always felt that marriage is such a great adventure that a person is either a coward or without imagination to run away from it.” “it isn't always running away. sometimes, you can't when you would, and when you would, you can't.” “sounds a bit complicated. how about explaining?” "well,” he said, “i'll be personal. i couldn't get married while i was in school because i couldn't afford to risk the possibility of having a child-and i met some very nice girls. when i had finished and started to practice and was able to marry, the war began." “oh, lieutenant, that reason doesn't hold water. people are getting married almost every day on this post. the guest house is full of newlyweds.” “true. only i do things differently. i don't think most of these marriages will stand up a year after the war is over. in most cases, they smack of legalized prostitution. if the poor devil gets killed, his newly acquired wife inherits ten grand. what if he returns maimed? can you expect anyone to be solici- tous and loving for life to a cripple whom she married over a glass of whisky or slept with for a night and had it go to her head?” “that's putting it brutally, to say the least. it bears an atom of truth. but i never cross a bridge until i get to it.” post whose duties are to make adjustments for personnel who, like you, are meeting with difficulties.” “i shall utilize that possibility. thank you ever so much.” "forget it. forget it. good luck.” roy returned to his room. after consulting his notes on mili- tary correspondence, he began to draft this letter: subject: request for transfer to: commanding officer th coast artillery antiaircraft battalion camp stewart, georgia . officer requests transfer for the following reasons ... on second thought, roy decided to write the letter in the customary civilian form. he felt that the appeal would be greater from a psychological point of view. he hoped that a letter, written contrary to stiff, military convention, would catch the eye-and the hearts-of the higher-ups. thus, he began again: sept. , col. richard scott, commanding officer th coast artillery antiaircraft battalion camp stewart, georgia sir: i hereby formally request transfer from this post for the following reasons: . as a commissioned officer, i am denied treatment which is in keeping with my rank. for example, i'm compelled to eat field rations with the enlisted per- sonnel under conditions distasteful to me. the prem- ise is that the white officers would rise up in arms were i to eat under the same roof with them. . being the only negro with a commission, outside of two chaplains, i have no social or intellectual comradeship whatsoever. the result is that, of neces- sity, in order not to remain a recluse, i am com- pelled to frequent the post exchange and, over a bottle of beer, relieve the strain of ostracism. . there are many camps where the negro officer is not an oddity. i am requesting, sir, that you effect my transfer to one of them. i would like to point out, sir, that i am a new yorker. southern traditions are reprehensible to me. i fail to see how, under the above circumstances, i can contribute my small help to the war effort. permit me, sir, to quote from training memorandum # , dated sept. , : par. : the soldier must be treated as a man. treat him as you would like to be treated. par. : our men must be as comfortable as pos- sible. . . . they must have some reward for en- thusiastic and efficient training service. par. : regardless of race, color or creed, our aim is to produce highly trained antiaircraft units and soldiers. while doing this, we must also make every effort to inculcate in our men pride in being an american citizen, being selected to bear arms against our enemies, impress upon the men not only the advantages of being a citizen of the united states but stress also the respon- sibilities pertaining thereto. . between the reasons for my petition for a transfer and these quotations, there exists a contradiction which none but the blind could fail to see. hence, my request. thanking you for your indulgence in this matter, i remain, respectfully yours, roy raymond ist lt., dental corps tact you as soon as possible. another thing, lieutenant: don't carry a chip on your shoulders. if this is the only mistake the war department has made, then the war will be over this week end. expect my call.” “thank you, sir,” said roy, bowing his way out. the morning session at the clinic had not ended when the supply sergeant announced the call. from the other end of the phone, a clipped voice addressed him. “lieutenant raymond?” “yes, sir." "colonel gates speaking. your transfer has come through. within twenty-four hours, you will receive orders. i hope you will be happy at your new post.” “thank you kindly, sir.” “that's quite all right. you're welcome. good-by and good luck.” roy sat in a daze by the phone, overcome by the rapid change of events. he nervously puffed a cigarette, absent- mindedly watching the smoke fade away. all at once, he became aware of major rojan, chief of clinic. roy was always at ease with him. “aha. caught in the act. not working today?" the major jokingly asked. “oh, yes, sir. i have just been transferred. my orders are being cut.” “i suppose congratulations are in order.” “frankly, yes. major rojan, i want to take this opportunity to thank you for the fine way you have treated me. i am sin- cerely grateful. i can truly say this has been the only bright spot in my brief military career.” “i'm glad to hear that. i'm a southerner, so don't think too badly of all of us. now, don't bother finishing the day. the sergeant will check out your instruments. you still have to pack and attend to minor details such as clearing the field. my very best to you." they shook hands warmly. roy bade the operators good-by, then hurried away to his room. his packing finished, roy indulged in his usual habit of lying across the bed smoking. his thoughts strayed to clara. closing his eyes, he recalled the dream he had had of her. more than ever, he felt the desire of losing himself in the mysterious pools of darkness that lay deep within her large, brown eyes. common courtesy required him to bid her good-by; the promptings of his heart insisted that he do so. he shaved, changed his uniform, whistling softly off-key to himself the while. it was twilight before roy got started. clara sat in her customary place on the guest-house lawn. dressed in a hand- embroidered peasant blouse, with matching ballerina skirt, she presented a charming picture as she relaxed in a beach chair, her shapely legs stretched out before her. she smiled as roy approached. looking at him intently, she said, “well, you certainly resemble the cat who ate the pet canary.” “could be, but i had no idea that it was so obvious in this dusk. truth is that i'm being transferred tomorrow and, among other things, i've come to say good-by.” “good-by. all joking aside, i'm sorry that the prospect of leaving gives you so much pleasure; yet, for a long time, i have appreciated your position. by the way, why pick me for good-by when there are three other hostesses on the post?” “you know what they say about one rose in a vase.” “lieutenant raymond, i have always admired your gift for turning a phrase pleasantly, only when it is used impersonally, however.” “my dear mrs. winston, that is a half-truth. why be prosaic if you can say a thing elegantly? the trouble with most of us is-well, let me illustrate by telling you a very short story. you give the answer, if you will. two men are in love with the same girl. one is shy, timid. shall we dub him mr. country? the other is bold, polished, mr. city slicker. the lady is coming downstairs; both men are at the door. mr. country rushes to open it. in utter confusion, bathed in perspiration, he can't even find the knob. the lady smilingly waits. mr. city slicker walks over, gracefully opens the door, saying with a low bow, ‘may i have the pleasure?' the young lady smiles her acknowl- edgment and makes her exit. now, according to your line of reasoning, smug city slicker couldn't possibly be as much in love as clumsy mr. country, isn't that so?” after a somewhat lengthy silence, clara observed, “that's a farfetched example. furthermore, i've always felt that too much suavity smacks of insincerity or a vast amount of previous experience." “so, you care for mr. country, eh?” “let's not discuss it further. a fine way to say good-by.” “o.k. o.k. forget it." they sat in silence on the rolling lawn while the darkness gradually enmeshed them, each smoking, alone with his thoughts. the area was deserted because of a dance at the servicemen's club. finally, clara, in her quiet southern drawl, broke the silence. "since it is your last night, i suppose i should invite you to a farewell drink. it's not customary to entertain men in our rooms. however, with discretion, we can get around that con- vention. so, lieutenant raymond, of new york and points east, if you will accompany me, i'll perform the honors.” “spoken like a perfect southern belle. while the scent of jasmine and magnolia is still fresh in my nostrils, i'll follow thee wherever thou shalt lead.” clara said nothing during all this banter. she entered her quarters without looking back at roy who followed close behind. the room, a spacious one, at the end of the corridor, boasted of nothing save cleanliness and tricky curtains. the settee was a combination sofa and bed. a screen concealed what could be roughly called a kitchenette. behind this clara disappeared to int raye i'll pen belle reverie when a tightening of his arms prompted her to struggle for release. with great reluctance, he loosened his grasp until she was free. "clara,” he said, “is the struggle to preserve the chastity of your marriage vows worth the price of eventual mental illness?” “my dear, it would be comforting to warm myself in the glow of your affection. but i love my husband.” “i know a girl who fought as you are fighting. she became ill. no one could help her, not even the doctors. she went to two or three psychiatrists. each one advised physical satisfaction. she took their advice. very soon thereafter, in a fit of remorse, she wrote her husband. in answering, he merely mentioned the incident by saying, “i've had a wonderful furlough in australia.'” clara rose slowly, freshened the drinks, began to sip hers. with misty eyes, she clinked glasses with him. “roy,” she said, "i'll have to put you out. i'm no prude. i can think of no greater pleasure than sharing this couch with you. but i must think of tomorrow. people say that love is blind. personally, i believe that love just doesn't care to see. in my case, i see. i've gotten used to these lonely, loveless, manless nights. what would hap- pen to me if i took this moment of joy-with you leaving tomor- row? how would my spirit and body react? what other ad- justment could i make? no, dear. i must not destroy the peace of mind of tomorrow for the happiness of this moment tonight.” she finished her drink hurriedly. standing with his hat in her hand, she waited for him to finish also. alone, clara sat in the corner of the sofa smoking a cigarette in confusion. she wondered whether she had acted wisely. there is no halfway mark between right and wrong, but who is to judge in the final analysis, she queried. love is an honor. can one toss it aside and have done with it for all time? she remembered going into his arms as though drawn by a magnet. she had been attracted to him from the first night, in spite of loving her husband. is it possible to love two men at the same time, she asked herself. if both men were present and were competing for her, would she be indifferent as to who won, “thanks very much. i have to get a bite to eat anyhow, so i'll kill some time that way.” custom made it impossible for him to enter any post ex- change whatsoever and order a sandwich and coke, inasmuch as most of them were restricted to white personnel only. para- doxically, the whites used exchanges reserved for negroes, but it didn't work in the opposite way. in order to expedite things, roy walked up to the first negro soldier he saw and asked where he could find a post exchange for negroes. he proceeded as directed. apparently, among those things which produce the subtlest brands of amusement are witticisms and the ridiculous. roy chuckled to himself. just fancy a man fighting to preserve democracy even at the cost of loss of life, who couldn't order a pullman to get him to a post to which the government had assigned him, or drop into an exchange to make a purchase. washing his sandwich down, he looked at his watch, shrugged his shoulders and reported back to captain hicks. “well, lieutenant, you're lucky. i succeeded in getting a compartment for you to montgomery, alabama. however, you'll have to proceed to tuskegee by bus, a distance of about forty- three miles. your train, an express, will be flagged down at hinesville. you'll have to be there at the station at seven- thirty.” "thanks a lot, captain. the next time we meet, if ever, i hope you'll be wearing oak leaves.” “hm. i have them right here in my pocket, just waiting for the day to come.” they both laughed significantly. roy took the ticket which the captain handed him and saluted his way out. the scene at hinesville at seven-thirty was enough to stir the wrath of the most staid southerner. the train was flagged down. a white boy, burdened down with roy's bags, entered the coach from which the stationmaster was signaling with his lantern. behind him strolled roy nonchalantly, his hands in in that the war department had any idea of using negro pilots in combat. nevertheless, the cadets were thoroughly trained and rigidly disciplined. unlike the white cadet who, on receiving his wings, was sent into combat after a definite number of flying hours, the policy was different regarding negroes. they piled up so many flying hours that, from sheer boredom, when unobserved, many began to engage in stunt flying. some buzzed housetops. others tried to pilot their planes between two trees. the obvious result was that the casualties began to mount. to complicate matters, the aircraft was antiquated. some of the planes had been used by chennault's flying tigers in the china campaign. the negroes comprised approximately three-quarters of the field officer personnel. the remaining one-quarter white officers held all the ranks and were placed in all key positions. it was commonly asserted that the white officers received their pro- motions by “climbing on the backs of the negroes.” all of the negro officers could be classified into two groups: the ambitious and industrious or the plain parvenus. the latter usually advanced. another facet of southern attitude was a chauvinism which recognized no color line. most negro cadets and officer train- ing candidates were southern boys. the white northern officers who were opportunists curried favor with their southern brothers by adopting their philosophy in the treatment of negro troops. once this confederate approach was embraced, they became blood brothers and advanced. the few who remained aloof either received no promotions or were transferred. the field had a splendid theater, a well-appointed officers' club and a bowling alley: however, they were never frequented by the white officers. the latter preferred to remain huddled in a third-class hotel in tuskegee proper, where recreational exclusively by negroes after retreat at five o'clock. the command turned an indulgent eye away from the promiscuities of the negro officers which is not unusual in wartime. women could be entertained in the officers' quarters until midnight. since the mouse will frequently play when the proverbial cat is away, the deadline was not always observed. in all the labyrinth of interlocking subcommands, the station hospital presented the healthiest spot. the physicians, dentists and nurses had their separate mess and recreation halls. it was a nice little medical family with the key position held as usual by a white physician. even here, the lust for rank and power was not absent. it has been the observation of many sincere men that the healing art and the ministry should not share in the echelon of rank. as soon as a physician or a parson becomes a major or a colonel, you can expect neither bedside condolence nor divine humility from either. each forgets his calling and thinks mainly of the rank he holds and the authority it wields. so was it at tuskegee. the dental clinic was small, having only three chairs. the personnel consisted of three negro dental officers, all first lieu- tenants, and a major in command. he was an inoffensive mulatto whose preoccupation with becoming a lieutenant colonel left him no time to be bothersome. life in the clinic was pleasant and unhurried, as is usually the case when professional men are not working in competition. furthermore, no one had any illusions about promotions since none were being made at this time. any improvement upon one's civilian training was not to be expected via the army. however, since all three dentists were graduates of different schools, it naturally followed that, by daily contact, each had something to offer the other. most physicians at army air bases are flight surgeons. this is a specialized form of medicine called aviation medicine. it has to do with the effects of flying on the pilot. randolph field in texas was the training center. no negroes were ever sent there. to compromise, the war department arranged a cor- respondence course for its negro medics. learning of this dis- crimination, the negro press began a campaign to have it abol- ished. through the efforts of the white surgeon of the station hospital, the war department finally selected two physicians to their third round of drinks when roy teed off by saying, “since you guys fall all over each other when the discussion gets too hot and controversial, i think we should let blood act as a kind of arbiter. for one thing, he's the oldest of us all and his booming voice will make him a sort of vocal sergeant-at-arms." “what the hell do you mean by the oldest of you all? since when does thirty-six—?” “brother,” laughed frank, “you'll never see thirty-six again. didn't you tell me once that you had a chick parked in your car on a lonely road and you decided to take her to your apartment? well, any time a man can't make good use of a parked car, he has long since seen thirty-six.” the laughter which followed was uproarious. even blood joined in. when it had subsided, he rested his glass on his chair, saying, “you punks. is this your idea of a bull session?" “o.k.,” announced roy. “i'll start. tell me this, blood. you've been in the army nearly fifteen years. you know the book back- ward and forward. then why don't you fellows who have cap- taincies assume some kind of leadership in changing the condi- tions at this post where some white pimp is in control of every department? why, you even train the bastards when they arrive here as greenhorns, knowing damn well that, in four months, they'll be promoted above you and take over.” lieutenant frank jones, dental officer, was about to say something when blood laughed sneeringly. “i see, my boy, you don't know anything at all about the army. well, maybe you've heard the word. what happens when a man draws a courtmar- tial? i'll answer that one for you. some salesman or meter- reader in civilian life defends him, but who prosecutes him? i'll answer that too. a trained lawyer and, moreover, one who has been sent to a judge advocate general school to learn special military procedures of prosecution. so, i must assume a leadership, buck a system in which i know the cards are stacked against me and find my ass in jail? no, brother, not for me. i know when i'm well off. david and goliath exist only in the bible. another thing: you fellows don't realize that, while stand that the culture in the islands is very different from that here in america, and the basis of the difference is economics. most women in america work. they have to in order to maintain a certain standard. in the islands, in the class of which we are speaking, they don't because, first, there are no suitable jobs, and, secondly, it is not the accepted thing, which of course could be based on the first reason. however, that is not the point. when- ever a woman matches you, dollar for dollar, the parity, the level, the equality is established. on the other hand, when the man alone is bringing home the bacon, you have a tipping of the scales. but the tipping does not necessarily mean disrespect for the woman. it merely means that you don't have to help with the dishes if you don't want to.” roy chuckled. “let's all have another round together and wash away what could easily leave some scars,” recommended blood. “as i see it, we are all negroes or niggers, according to one's taste. how black is black, anyway? uncle says we're all black. so fill up, men, and change the subject.” everyone obeyed without urging, and, as the bottle and coke could be reached without moving, the gurgling sound of pouring and drinking filled the room once again. after everyone had wet his whistle, blood remarked, "i'm the only layman among you. all three of you are dentists or physicians. now, tell me this: how is it that while two-thirds of the negroes are in the south and badly in need of medical care, two-thirds of the professional men are in the north where only one-third of our people live?” “that's not so hard to answer,” replied roy, placing his glass aside and reaching for his cigarette. “when you consider that quite a chunk is taken out of a man's life preparing for a medical or dental career, it is natural that he should want to spend the rest of his life where he can enjoy some of the things a college education has refined him to. from what i see down here, after a man has bought a fine home, a shining cadillac and an expensive fur stole for his wife, he has nothing else to do with his money, or any opportunity to cultivate his tastes.” "i've heard that crap before,” said charles, who was a south- erner. “granted that you can go to the metropolitan opera, or eat in a swank white restaurant and go to almost any place you want to without the embarrassment of discrimination, last time i was up north i noticed that there were hardly any negroes in these high-tone, cultural places. blood is right. you guys are so piled up on one another that you are almost starving, while we almost work ourselves to death down here, feeling good in putting our professions to good use and a damned sight better when we look at our bank accounts." “it's not a question of not finding the places overrun with negroes. it's the satisfaction of knowing that you can go if you want to. take the vote, for example. the poor whites, the sharecroppers and the negroes are fighting for the vote down here. up north, we have it. yet, there is no stampede to the polls at election time. but it is comforting to know that we have the franchise. then, when a bastard who is too strong for our stomachs is nominated by the machine, we can go out there and defeat him. however, every man to his own poison,” said roy doggedly. “as for me, i prefer to eat hamburgers on the streets of new york than to eat steaks down here. is there any truth to this? i was told that if you should have a few white patients in the south, the city fathers compel you to put in separate waiting rooms, even though the same pair of black hands is going into the mouths of black and white." "i can't deny that,” said charles with feeling, “and since you bums are all getting so blasted erudite, i might as well take a fling at it too. didn't we render unto caesar the things that are caesar's? well, if the great white father wants separate waiting rooms, i say give them to him, simply because, in not giving them to him, the damage is greater than in doing as he demands. you see, raymond, even though you've lived in this country a long time, you really don't get the american point of view. in fact, you're like all west indians. we american negroes have a gift of survival. the indian was proud and haughty. he was exterminated. now, cities, states and counties are named after him. we're humble-but we're still here. if they want us to upon their capabilities by a subtle network of unjust practices. however, their general level of intelligence was sufficiently high to raise them above the abyss of discontent into which they might easily have sunk. the only place where open discrimina- tion was practiced was at the post exchange restaurant. since the white officers consistently refused to attend regular mess, a part of the exchange was set aside for their use exclusively. notwithstanding, no untoward incident was injected into what had become an ominous calm until a brother negro officer returned from leave bringing war department directive against discrimination in military installation no. a.g. . the pam- phlet clearly stated that all army personnel could frequent any and all installations on an army post. “how's about seeing if this is according to hoyle?” said the bearer. “things have been quiet around here too long,” said another. “let's make it lunch with the ofays tomorrow at their lily-white restaurant." a third chuckled aloud. “this is going to be good,” he said. the men were all too willing to co-operate. consequently, the next day at noon, twelve negro officers blithely entered the reserved restaurant, appeared to ignore the mess officer who approached them in consternation, and, with an air of abused innocence, found tables and seats. the effect was terrific. before the man could open his mouth to protest, the army regulation was thrust at him. the actions of the whites were abruptly stopped at the various stages of eating. some choked and sput- tered. forks dangled in mid-air. plates of food were rudely shoved aside as the majority rushed to the exit. all stared in sullen rage. but the negroes were served. the performance was deliberately repeated for four con- secutive days. whereupon, the commanding officer called a meet- ing of all officers. the colonel was a young, shrewd southerner. he explained that the restaurant was the only place where the white officers could relax and be alone, since the colored boys had the rụn of the field. he further explained that, in spite of army regulations, it was the epitome of bad taste to intrude where you were not wanted. the negroes listened in bored silence and continued to interpret war directive no. a.g. literally. a week later, a second meeting was called. this time, the colonel read the order. he closed the meeting by saying that "the men could damn well go where they pleased except into the women's toilet or the nurses' bedrooms." self such a feeling of animosity toward the south that he won- dered what effect it would have on his future. he had always loved his adopted country but couldn't reconcile loving a thing while entertaining hatred for a part of it. he thought of the field and its negro officers and could well understand it being a nigger heaven to some while to others a casbah. selfridge field was located in mount clemens, on the out- skirts of detroit, michigan. it was a small, compact, neat post, ensconced between lake huron, the runways and aircraft hangars. the troops arrived at midnight and were billeted in a handsome, two-story building overlooking the lake. the rooms were chosen according to rank, and although roy was only a first lieutenant, he was the ranking officer next to captain thomas. he selected a large spacious room on the second floor where each morning he could see the rising sun squatting on the rim of that wide expanse of water, lake huron. with detroit only a half hour's ride away from selfridge field, everyone had visions of enjoying its many night clubs with the added pleasures of women and wine, not to mention the gaiety and sensualities which are natural accessories. how- ever, all of this ardor was dampened when, the following day, the men awoke to find a notice posted on the main bulletin board requesting all officers to report at a.m. to the post theater for an address by the post commander. no one knew where the theater was. but after much wandering over the strange terrain and via inquiries, they finally located it. they had scarcely found seats when the familiar command, “attention,” brought them to their feet. a squatty, rum-soaked individual, the eagles on his shoulders denoting his rank, strode ahead of his two companions, majors, as it happened, to the platform. without benefit of introduction, the men listened to a rambling, incoherent talk which, in the main, warned them to abide by the rules of the post. before he had finished the mumble- jumble, ten negro officers who had been unable to find the theater entered. the colonel flew into a rage, saying that lateness would not be countenanced and, to impress it upon them, he was men found many reasons to admire and to like matthews. like captain thomas, colonel holmes had been an enlisted man, a master sergeant, before the war. even though he now wore the uniform of an officer and held a field grade rank, he carried buried within his breast the heart of an enlisted man. it was the same story of achieving greatness or having it thrust upon you. he applied the same brusque, callow treatment to the negro officers as he did to the privates. he would frequently breach of military ethics. the men were beginning to chafe under his command. every morning, at eleven, he browbeat the group, finding grievances which were purely fictional. the men showed their resentment by asking no questions, offering no suggestions. the colonel was speaking to a wooden audience. but if he were aware of it, there was nothing in his bearing to indicate it. it was hard to determine the reason for his behavior. was he anti-negro? had his rank gone to his head? whatever the reason, that too was buried within his breast. he had frozen the trips to detroit, knowing full well that a trip to detroit was the only respite the men had. detroit, fourth- largest city in america, motor capital of the united states, could boast of a population of three million, three hundred fifty thousand of whom were negroes living in widely scattered areas. their night clubs and restaurants were grouped around hastings street, branching out to all parts of the city from that original center. in spite of much tangible evidence of culture, unlike chicago and new york, detroit was just a sprawling country town. within this city, one might find twenty racial groups, the poles constituting the largest single entity. with the advent of war, detroit was converted from motor capital of the united states to munitions capital of the united states. despite its paramount importance to the war effort, the tension between the whites and negroes was high. reasons for this were many and varied. some maintained that the war indus- tries, with their wartime salaries, had attracted thousands upon with them their traditional attitudes toward the negro as well as their unique manner of influencing others to act in accord with them. others felt that it was the second-generation immi- grants, notably the poles who, in the process of becoming amer- icanized, aped the standards of deeply rooted racial animosities. still a third group believed that, desiring to sabotage the war effort, nazi spies had taken note of the race question and had worked overtime to stir up what at times might seem like dying embers of a fierce antagonism. whatever the reason, these facts remained indisputable: housing conditions were intolerable. the whites suffered. but negroes, stepchildren of the nation, found it practically impossible to obtain shelter. recreation was lim- ited. since the white man was in the saddle, he reserved the right to extend it or withdraw it. negroes were determined to assert their rights. a spirit of aggressiveness extended to all classes among them. they knew they were making contributions to the war effort and resented the lack of recognition of their true worth. this precipitated hate strikes. on one occasion, twenty thousand white workers at packard struck because three negroes were upgraded. all this in the midst of a war when hundreds of their kind were dying overseas. during the course of another strike, a white sailor who had recently returned from the war zone jumped into the striking mass to tell them that he had seen negroes fight and die, had seen many go down when their ships sank. the crowd jeered and insultingly reminded him that the navy prac- ticed segregation and discrimination. so why shouldn't they? the wonder of it all is that the government did nothing in the face of this potential danger and the possibility of the whole thing exploding in the face of the nation like a firecracker. however great the injury or injustice, negroes always laugh. and it is not always dark laughter. the gift of laughter has been a priceless treasure throughout the ages. so, in their own quar- ter, they laughed, they sang, they danced, they flirted, they loved, they hated, they back-bit, they went to church, they two- timed, they educated their children, they got drunk-and they resented the white man. the negroes of detroit were unusually friendly to soldiers. in most towns, at the approach of the man in uniform, the civilian hastened to shoo away his womenfolk, pausing only long enough to give him a polite but distrustful nod. detroit was different. the women's clubs vied with each other to entertain the man in khaki. they were refreshing, attractive and, on the whole, not ungenerous with their "affaires de coeur.” almost every night, some group could be found staging a party. the admission was the uniform; the bill was on the house. thus, they neutralized colonel holmes's bile and unwittingly lifted the morale of the ninety-sixth. · one day as roy was about to enter the post exchange, a tall sandy-haired major emerged. something about his figure was vaguely familiar. each stared at the other for a moment. then both rushed impulsively to grip the other's hands. "roy, you old scalawag. what in hell are you doing in the army?” the major was so overjoyed that he fairly shouted. “steve. my god. is it really you? and a major at that. i know you must have inherited it,” roy said, grinning. “say, this calls for a celebration. come on up to my room,” steve blurted out impulsively. “no. on second thought, i think it would be better if we took a little ride and had a few drinks in town away from all this. i have my car just around the exchange.” roy thought he detected confusion in his friend but soon forgot it, believing it to be baseless. “why don't you use army transportation instead of wearing out your own car?” asked roy. “in the first place, that would be too conspicuous. then i'd have to fill out a trip ticket and that's too bothersome. brother, the army doesn't furnish transportation for personal recreation." application. taken utterly unaware, in his embarrassment, he held the pieces of paper in his hand motionlessly while beads of perspiration covered the forehead of his flushed face. jenkins never uttered a word. he merely stared at the man, picked up the case and, with a twitch at the side of his mouth, left. his anger and bruised feelings at the thought of the deception stayed with him for weeks. he ate it at his meals. he slept with it at night. finally, he realized the futility of it all. but the spark, the dash, the self-confidence which are so important in an interview dwindled, then vanished altogether. the last time i met him, he was a used-car salesman.” they rode along in silence for a short distance. of his own accord, steve pulled to the side of the road and turned off the ignition. without any further preliminaries, he said quietly, “jenkins' story taught me a lesson-a lesson in defiance. i vowed to sell nothing but chemical engineering. one week after gradua- tion, i got a good job with a large firm. they thought i was white and i didn't disabuse their minds. after all, does a negro have to wear a placard announcing what he is? for a while, i lived in harlem, but i got tired of making excuses to the other fellows on the job who wanted to visit me. so i moved into a white neighborhood. i made rapid progress on the job, made good money, lived in a swell apartment on west end.” “oh, i can imagine you enjoyed many advantages,” roy added innocently. “that's on one side of the ledger,” replied steve with a lined face. “i had to visit my family surreptitiously. i had to swallow the almost daily references to coons and niggers. i had to listen without alinching to the lurid details of how white men enjoy sleeping with negro prostitutes or near-prostitutes and the dubi- ous honor of being a good bedfellow. roy, life is very often a paradox-too damn much so. even though you pass up your own race, instinctively you recoil from the jests and insults aimed at the very race from which you are trying to escape. in spite of the frequency of the insult, you never become immune. every insult is a fresh thrust. there is always a conflict, a war between your physical needs and that which you reject mentally and morally. yes, the pay was good,” steve con- tinued, gritting his teeth. “i sometimes wonder whether jenkins would have passed if he'd been able to." roy sat there with a puzzled frown on his face. he seemed momentarily burdened. he simply asked, “then, why did you enter the army as a white man?” “actually, i had no choice. on the war department form, in black and white, was the question, "race.” i had to think of my eventual return to civilian status. i had to remain white. i thought it would be a means of release. actually, i've swapped one evil for another. i never realized the call of race to race could be so strong. they say in this country that one drop of negro blood in your veins makes you a negro. well, i have that one drop, but it dominates the thousands upon thousands of white drops. my instincts lean toward the negro in spite of close, intimate, enjoyable associations with white people. oh, what the hell,” steve concluded harshly. “let's go have a drink.” steve drove to a rambling, vine-covered house. as they entered, soft indirect lights gave an atmosphere of warmth and cheer to a spacious room which was flanked on each side by numerous booths. many patrons sat at a large, semicircular bar which spread across the entire end of the room. a few couples were dancing. most just sat drinking and talking. steve and roy walked slowly to the bar. roy was aware of the stir which their entrance created. he could feel the hush in the conversations. he sensed something vague but malignant. two vacant seats near the end of the bar seemed to be waiting just for them. they approached and sat. “what will you have, roy?” asked steve. “black and white with water,” roy responded, addressing the bartender. the bartender looked at roy significantly, then said, “sorry, but i think you've had enough.” "had enough? enough of what?” exclaimed roy, amazed. man whom i presume to be the proprietor remarked that money talks on this base.” he was looking right at major riggs when he spoke. the change in major riggs's mien from indifferent placidity to subtle alertness was barely perceptible. “furthermore,” said steve, “i have an eyewitness, an officer whose report substantiating what i have told you is in my pocket.” “the place will be placed off limits, major stewart,” was the cold rejoinder. “but i would advise you to keep your nose very, very clean from now on." steve walked to the door. he said over his shoulder, “and don't forget, major riggs. you have a nose too." a week later, steve was shipped overseas. roy never saw him after the night's incident. one evening, as roy shaved in the latrine, matthews joined him, and, after the usual, commonplace chitchat, inquired, “say, raymond, how long are we going to put up with holmes's bull shit?” “as far as i'm concerned,” said roy, “i've never paid the bastard any mind. his rantings go right in one ear and out the other. but what's on your mind?” “how about rounding up some of the boys to see what they think? you stay right here. i'll be back in a jiffy. most of the fellows are in the barracks anyway. i'll hustle them over and just pass up the uncle toms.” roy had just left the shower when the men, with matthews in the lead, trooped into the latrine. matthews started, “dry yourself, man, and let's start this latrine conference.” roy tied the towel around his middle. eying the men, he said mischievously, “i don't think we'll accomplish much. but, this i know: some of the greatest decisions have been made in a shit-house.” lieutenant mackie, who had been transferred to the group, began, “we all know that colonel holmes, since taking over the hall, arranging themselves in the accustomed u formation. a sharp “attention” announced the arrival of the colonel. he stalked in in his usual rude manner and, true to form, began to gripe about some minor lapses on the part of the men. roy, who was at the extreme end of the hall, stepped forward. he addressed the colonel. “colonel holmes, may i have a word with you?” “yes. what is it?” "well, those silver oak leaves place me at a disadvantage. could we figuratively remove our insignia and speak man to man?” the room was in dead silence. the colonel who certainly was no student of psychology acted as though he were a past master of the subject. without answering roy, yet staring savagely at him, he stomped down the room, a distance of some fifty feet. standing face to face with roy, arms akimbo, he said, “for your information, lieutenant, one's rank is tattooed on him. it can't be removed. however, i'll accommodate you. what's troubling you?” “it's just this, colonel. since you have had this command, you have never spoken a kind word to any of us. at your meet- ings, it has been a series of innuendoes and bluster. you've lost sight of the fact that these men are porters neither here nor in civilian life. many of us hold college degrees—and from white schools. so there is a natural resentment toward your attitude. the junior officer, as inconsequential as he seems, can break his superior officer, be he colonel or general. the method is simple, just by passive resistance.” “continue,” said the colonel brusquely. "you've constantly harangued about our using government gasoline to go joy-riding around the post. yet, on my way to duty this morning, i saw a staff car, with army personnel, delivering a white officer's groceries. another thing. i understand that you are about to move us down to this mudhole from our present quarters. am i correct, colonel, in saying that i see in this move a fine italian hand?" seven the transfer of military personnel from one station to another is perhaps, next to a general court-martial, a commanding officer's most potent weapon. like the sword of damocles, it is suspended above one's head, a perpetual threat, to corral you into line. it is, to a degree, reminiscent of the church's power of excommunication. oscoda was an outpost of selfridge field. while its main purpose was to give troops rigorous and rugged training in preparation for overseas duty, it was a kind of siberia, a place to send non-conformists and those who strained too hard against the leash. the convoy started at the crack of dawn. as the day slowly reached out its hand to touch the cool, receding fingers of night, the trucks rolled from village to village. the deeper they penetrated the michigan countryside, the sparser became the houses in the passing hamlets, the more towering the pines and the denser the wooded areas on either side of the road. it was nearly twilight before oscoda was reached. there could be found the same type of quaint, sleepy village as had been passed countless times en route, and which are common to any midwestern state. with the outbreak of war, the village whu. had been closed as a summer resort because of the airfield nearby. in spite of the fact that detroit had so many negroes within its borders, none resided in oscoda or its immediate environs. but, war being war, and the departure from the normal being the accepted thing—at least, for the duration—when the inhab- itants of this little town, which numbered at the most three hundred, saw the truckloads of negroes descending upon them, they waved and shouted a regal welcome. it might have been patriotic or mercenary. oscoda had taverns, a bowling alley, souvenir shops and a few restaurants which had served the one-time tourist trade. to be overrun with a swarm of g.i.s, who have on no occasion been noted for their stint, was un- doubtedly disarming. from what standpoint their reception was genuinely altruistic could not be discerned. the little cottages which dotted the woods, stringing themselves along the shores of lake huron, added to the picturesqueness of the village. but they had been vacant too long for the owners' comfort, and were soon to find their walls bursting with the mirth and love play of these descending black men. oscoda army airfield was not built along the customary pat- tern of an army post. instead of large barracks to house as many as possible, there were small huts to accommodate couples. two officers shared each hut. furniture consisted of a potbellied stove centrally located, two beds, a desk and an open closet. the well-known adage of not being able to see the forest for the trees might be transposed to not being able to see the cottages for the foliage. only the station hospital and administration building conformed to army standards. the field had a small white cadre of enlisted and officer personnel. the station hospital was comfortable and well staffed. there were five medical officers, as opposed to the fact that there were no dentists. roy's task was to set up a dental clinic in order to care for his men, the station complement as well as for those needing treatment in the village of oscoda which had no dentist either and which, through a special dispensation from the war department, was permitted to use army hospital facilities. the only tavern which had accommodations for dancing was a cozy little place hidden among the pines and shrubs, called the sky top. there the men drank, played the juke box and danced with the local white girls who frequented the place. this prevailed for several weeks until it came to the ears of the local southern post commander. he visited the tavern and de- manded that the proprietor discontinue interracial dancing. upon his refusal, the commanding officer placed the sky top off limits to all military personnel. the sky top might just as well have boarded up its doors. in desperation and in order to stem the flow of trade from the other taverns which were doing a land-office business, the pro- prietor acquiesced. business returned to normal. the negro g.i. would put his nickel in the juke box, sit and sip his beer while his white comrade-in-arms danced at his expense. military police were stationed at the tavern to see that the ruling was enforced. peace reigned until a colored officer appeared to dance with his white wife. prepared for just such an emergency, he was able to produce a marriage certificate, demanding to know what national law forbade a man to dance with his wife. the incident provoked nothing more than a chuckle among the vil- lagers, because the proprietor was a native son while the com- manding officer was a stranger. furthermore, the natives were wise enough to appreciate the free spending among these easy- going, good-natured men. meanwhile, the negroes had begun to send for their wives and sweethearts to share the cozy cottages. an officers' club was hastily constructed by placing three log cabins together, with the unique feature of a double fireplace in the center, giving the structure a homelike atmosphere. each man contrib- uted his bit toward the purchase of furniture. the women did the decorating. a homemade bar and a juke box added to the atmosphere of ease and comfort. something was going on each night. lawn parties were held at the slightest provocation. during off-duty hours, there were boating and fishing on the lake, horseback riding through the woods. so it was that what was intended to be a punitive measure turned out to be an idyll. everyone was cheerful and pleasure-bent. the term "light-housekeeping” was coined and acquired a figurative meaning. it referred to couples posing as man and wife and sharing the huts for a fortnight or a month. their emotions exhausted, the women would leave as blithely as they had come. other convoys arrived, each man bringing with him a bit of imagination to add to the already large fund. gradually, the men began to forget that a war was going on. however, they were rudely jolted back to reality one sunday when, without warning, colonel holmes made a sudden appearance and scheduled a call meeting immediately after lunch in the mess hall. all enlisted personnel were excused. after a careful check was made to ascertain that none remained behind or were in the area, the colonel faced his men and began, “yesterday, we had an unfortunate affair at selfridge field. the post commandant accidentally shot and seriously wounded his colored chauffeur. i want you to understand that it was an accident and, when the news gets out, impress upon your men that such were the facts. i can easily understand how a warping of the details can affect this command since the man was a negro." the once belligerent colonel had a note of pleading in his voice which did not escape notice. the men said nothing, but it was evident that they were thinking deeply. his mission accomplished, the colonel closed the meeting. he motioned to roy to remain behind as the others filed out. remembering their last meeting, roy was taken aback. neither did he care to be seen in cahoots with the commanding officer. such a liaison would create distrust among the men, and he could think of nothing more damnable than to be considered a stool pigeon. however, tacit or otherwise, orders are orders. thus, he remained. eying him with a faint smile, the colonel said, “i understand people. yet, i have heard many white physicians say that the only thing a negro surgeon could do for them was to pare their corns. marian anderson, proclaimed by some to be the greatest contralto of our time, had to go abroad to be discovered, but she has failed to make the metropolitan opera house. carver has done wonders with the peanut. it is rumored that the american peanut company offered him a million dollars to turn all of his discoveries over to them. most whites feel that the only thing negroes are good for are singing and cooking. despite this fact, negro spirituals are the sole contribution of america to the world of music. a negro has conducted the highest form of musical art, the philharmonic symphony." "i have to confess,” the colonel replied, “all this is news to me." "and to millions of other americans who don't care to face facts. there has been a systematic effort to belittle the negro by deliberately withholding the truth. a columbia university professor whose history textbook is used in high schools and colleges all over the united states has remarked that, from time immemorial, the negro has been a hewer of wood and a drawer of water. notwithstanding, we find our images on the sphinx, and aesop, that delightful teller of fables, was an african. pushkin, the first great author of modern russia, was an octoroon whose father came from africa and was given to the czar. “now, in the midst of this war, time magazine wonders whether the negro fighting man is equal to his white brother when, as far back as the revolutionary war, crispus attucks led the mob in boston and, to this day, a monument to his memory stands on boston common. negroes fought on both sides during the civil war, one gaining the rank of general. “but enough of this. i know that your time is limited and i wonder whether all this is not water on the duck's back.” “on the contrary,” replied the colonel seriously, “i am grate- ful for all that you have said. i would like you to give me a list of a few unbiased books. i must admit, though, that i am dumb- unable to answer these turbulent questions, yet wary of the colonel's motive, roy finally quit the mess hall and went to oscoda where he could lose himself in the company of servicemen not yet acquainted with the fracas. roy was stationed at the field hospital, near the entrance to the post but far removed from the group. even though he met the men at mess, mainly at breakfast and lunch, there was slight opportunity for anything more than hurried conversation. the shooting was discussed with discretion. resentment was subdued but apparent. at supper, on the monday following colonel holmes's de- parture, an officer seated at one of the long rows of tables, not too far away from roy, remarked meaningfully, “well, roy, i see that you and the colonel have become boon coons." “oh, sure," replied roy, anticipating the thrust. “all roads lead to rome, remember?” “now what the hell does that mean?” “i tell you what. round up as many men as you can. meet me in my hut and i'll be glad to tell you all about roads and romans.” “i don't see why you have to be so damned mysterious. you must know that the men have discussed this business from every angle. the club has become a graveyard. the men are too preoccupied to pay any attention to the women. they're either sulking in their cottages or playing pokeno. we're getting no- where fast. just what gives?” holding onto his patience, roy said, “let's get together in an hour and exchange notes." “o.k. maybe you know something-and maybe you're playing fox for roy." “hm. i'd be a damned fool not to take care of me. come if you want to.” lying across his bed, roy was browsing through the day's edition of the detroit free press when the men entered his hut. medical officers together with a fair sprinkling of men from all branches of the service were present. roy rose to make room. no assuring nod of approval gave answer as roy surveyed the room unsmilingly and unflinchingly. the silence was sick- ening. then, gradually, the note that he had hoped for rose to a voluminous crescendo as the men boomed in unison, “bravo." the officers and enlisted personnel of the ninety-sixth fol. lowed the accounts of the shooting with avid interest. both day and evening editions of detroit's leading metropolitan papers reported the incident in detail. while the detroit free press, the detroit news and the detroit times all gave unbiased accounts, the press was favored because it was noted for its liberalism. the trial lasted seven weeks. it was brought to the attention of the readers that the post reeked of graft and corruption. because of the expediency of war with the accent on haste, action and production, and the resulting outgrowth of laxity, such a situation was not unusual. however, in this particular instance, it appeared that there had been a complete breakdown in command function because of the weakness in character of the commanding officer. the over-all pattern of chicanery pene- trated the ranks from the highest to the lowest. the opportunists believed in making hay while the sun shone, and the glow was that of a midnight sun. the press created such a furore that representative paul shafer was appointed to conduct a thorough congressional investigation. hidden beneath the placid countenance of what seemed to be a routine, workaday military establishment was a situation so scandalous that, in comparison, the fetor of the shooting was like that of orange blossoms. it was revealed that wealthy men's sons were taken off ships at the port of embarka- tion just as the vessel was about to sail, that they were detained at the fields in so-called essential positions which precluded their seeing combat. one enlisted man was known to have his yacht anchored in lake huron, just off the field, where high- ranking officers reveled in nightly orgies. the press demanded that the same justice be meted out to an officer as would have ensued had an enlisted man shot an officer. colonel cole finally stood trial. he had to face twenty-seven charges. the army with its chauvinistic philosophy of protecting its own found him guilty on four charges of conduct prejudicial to good order and discipline, and, ironically, of careless use of firearms. the men of the ninety-sixth battalion wondered whether carelessness in marksmanship connoted the wounding instead of the killing of the private. there is more mystery in the concepts of military doctrine than can be found in the philosophies of socrates or plato. the court-martial board or- dered colonel cole to be reduced to the rank of captain with no promotions for three years. that constituted his entire punishment. once again, newspapers took up the hue and cry. the detroit papers branded the whole thing a whitewash, pointing out that colonel cole actually hadn't been punished since he was merely reduced to the rank he held before the war, his colonelcy being of temporary grade. national publications began to add their pressure to the barrage of local criticism leveled at the war department until the colonel was finally dismissed from the american army. it is an accepted theory in some schools of psychology that the nervous system never forgets. if that is so, then the men of the ninety-sixth never forgot an unjust restriction to the post for two weeks without tangible reason. thus, they had suf- ficient cause to gloat over the misfortunes of one individual. colonel holmes did not pull his men out of selfridge field as quickly as he had planned. however, the fault or reason was not his, nor was it surprising that things moved so slowly. at best, removing any large group en masse is a herculean task. moving day in the army is as welcome as a blizzard in august. it is as devastating and demoralizing for the moment as it is with a large family that moves from one residence to another. i have an aunt?” she sounded breathless, excited and afraid. “i don't know what i can do but i'll try. give me your phone number and i'll call you back.” “thanks, pal. i knew you'd at least try. the number is sherry .” roy who was some distance from headquarters managed to commandeer a jeep to get him back there. colonel holmes was ignorant of the state of affairs in detroit. as roy dashed into his office unceremoniously, the look of indignation at this rude entrance disappeared as he recognized him. roy announced excitedly, “colonel holmes, there's a race riot in detroit.” “what? how do you know?” “my cousin who is caught in the middle of it just phoned me asking for help.” “just a minute.” the colonel picked up the phone, called all unit commanders as well as post headquarters, telling them to restrict all men to the post until the riot subsided. that accom- plished, he leaned back with a sigh of relief. “colonel, what about my cousin?” roy asked. “tell her to stay put where she is. she's at least safe there.” "i'm not so sure about that. is that the thanks i get for breaking my neck to come over here to inform you?” demanded roy somewhat heatedly. “all right, raymond,” the colonel said soothingly. “keep your shirt on. i'll phone selfridge field and have a truck pick her up to take her out of the riot zone. write down her name and address. but, don't forget: this is not strictly military.” “thanks, colonel. thanks a lot. i hope you will be a general soon.” "oh, cut the talk. write down the name and address and get the hell out of here,” said the colonel, apparently not unflattered. roy walked slowly back to the hospital. he was glad to be able to help sheila. but he wondered why the government hadn't taken steps to prevent this uprising when, for more than a year, it was common knowledge that detroit was dynamite. it was astounding to see that, in the midst of a world war, americans why the wledge prising could take time out to indulge in fratricide. was the chasm between whites and blacks so great that an ordinary fist fight between a negro and a white man could precipitate a race riot. had education and religion failed-or was hate a fiercer emotion than love? it is more or less true that all of our institutions harbor a hate streak, he speculated. then how could the individ- ual be blamed? the armed forces jim crow you. the schools in a great many states jim crow you with separate and unequal facilities. even the church, the last refuge and sanctuary, denies you admittance and sacrament in the major part of our country, he thought. the courts and those who enforce law do not always dispense blind justice. then, is it not better to fight back, he wondered bitterly, knowing you would die like a man, hoping, perchance, that for every three negroes killed, at least one white would die-outnumbered, swapping blows, bleeding, reeling, dying, but fighting back. roy was so engrossed in thought that he reached the hospital before he knew it. he had read of race riots in the nation's capital, in chicago, but he never had been as shaken as he was today. sitting on the steps of a less frequently used side entrance to the hospital, he tried to analyze the cause of his disturbance. it certainly was not sheila. it was something more deeply funda- mental than that. why? why must these occurrences take place, he asked himself, and with such frequency? now, at last, full understanding came to him as the words of claude mckay thundered through his brain; mckay, jamaican immigrant like himself, to whom this country had given so much also: although she feeds me with bread of bitterness and sinks into my throat her tiger's tooth, stealing my breath of life, i will confess i love this cultured hell that tests my youth. her vigor flows like tides into my blood, giving me strength against her hate. * *from "america,” in the selected poems of claude mckay (new york: bookman associates, inc., ); reprinted by permission. roy walked into the post exchange. he bought six captain's bars and a box of cigars. the enlisted man who sold him the bars grinned and asked, “may i be the first to pin them on you, captain? "sure. go ahead,” roy replied. the private removed the silver bar and replaced it with a twin bar, saying, “if i'm not too bold, sir, seeing that you won't be needing this bar again, i'd like to keep it as a souvenir.” “sure thing. and i hope that one of these days you'll be wearing it yourself.” “sorry, sir, but we can't all be officers. i'm always glad to see one of us make the grade provided he doesn't forget me and the thousands of others in the ranks.” “good thought, fellow. i accept my new rank with humility especially when i think of stout fellows like you. 'by, now.” “good-by, sir,” said the private, gazing at roy's retreat- ing figure with pride while his fingers fondled the bar. roy left the exchange to make his way toward the wooded area which was on the fringe of the post. just for one short minute, he wanted to meditate alone, with no alien, prying eye to rob the moment of its solemn grandeur. not since he had received his dental degree had such a feeling of accomplishment overwhelmed him. he sat on a log among the shrubs in a clear- ing that seemed to have been prepared just for him. he thought back over his army career, of the soul-searing bruises, of the disillusionment as to his place in the american scheme of things. he thought of his open resentment to a citadel, the abuses of which he could never condone. captain of the army of the united states of america. assuredly a signal honor for any man. deep within his heart he acknowledged it as a reward for cour- age, a mantle to enfold him as he pursued one set purpose: to continue to fight any further abuses he might experience, since, for the time being, reform was not a part of the pattern. in recognition of his new rank, roy was ordered to stand in review of the ninety-sixth that evening at retreat. he received full instructions concerning the deportment of officers from other “this is all the service you galoots are going to get from me. the stuff is right over there and it's strictly self-service. knowing how bashful you are, i'll be the first to lead off.” an outburst of raucous laughter followed. as roy fixed his drink, the men jostled one another to get theirs. “speech. speech,” roberts shouted, holding his cup in the air. before long, all the others took up the cry. “what the hell do you guys want? blood?” roy laughed. “you're smoking good cigars, and holding good whisky in your hands. so now you want a speech. maybe you want a strip-teaser too, eh? o.k. here's a speech. it's simply this: now that the ice is broken, other promotions should be forthcoming. but you will have to convince holmes that you deserve them.” “you're the only man i've ever seen or heard of who browbeat his commanding officer into giving him a promotion.” “do you really think that that is actually the case?” inquired roy. "oh, hell, i don't know.” "well, i know. it's hard work. it's a refusal to take an un- earned bawling out. it's the ability to sell the fruits of your labor, and, finally, it's the unwillingness to stoop.” the men fell into a silence which indicated that they had taken roy's statement seriously. finally, roy broke the stillness by demanding, “say, what is this? a wake? come on. drink up." the men returned to their festive mood and filed out of the hut only after they had emptied the last bottle. several weeks later, a war department inspection had the whole outfit on its toes. one of the brass visited the hospital, examined roy's records, and, finding things in order, inquired whether he had any recommendations or complaints. roy had two. first, he wanted another dentist to join the group on de- tached service so that the work could be speeded up. second, he wanted to go to a service school in order to learn something of his duties under combat conditions. the major, a dentist himself, remarked, “you're very inconsistent, captain. you want another dentist to help you because of too much work. yet, you want to leave to go to school.” “the inconsistency lies in the consistency of your policy, major. you consistently overload the dental corps in instances such as prevail here, while, at huachuca, you have a large dental pool where the men just eat, sleep and draw their pay. the other inconsistency is that i have received no formal military training except for stopgap lectures. yet, you expect me to ac- company this outfit overseas and to function under conditions far-removed from civilian practice. you cannot honestly deny that, except for paperwork, the duties of the dental officer are identical with those in civilian life.” the major frowned, then smilingly replied, “o.k., captain. unwind yourself. how can you generate so much heat in this michigan calm? what you've said is true. but you realize i don't make the policies. i'm only a major. there's some merit in all you've said. so i'll call it to the attention of those in command, and maybe-who knows?” the major kept his promise. the following week, another dentist was assigned to the group. roy had no sooner acquainted him with the roster and demands of the group than he received orders to report to carlisle barracks, pennsylvania, for a six weeks' training in medical field service under combat conditions. he packed joyfully because he realized that he would be just a stone's throw from new york, that bagdad on the hudson. odd, he thought, as the oft-repeated saying goes, that people who live in new york wonder how anyone can live elsewhere, while those who live elsewhere wonder how people can live in new york. passing through the city of carlisle, none would suspect that it holds such a prominent place in american history. it seems detached, far-removed from the hubbub of excitement and activity that appears to be characteristic of nearby harrisburg. maybe it has retired on its laurels or has been gently pushed aside by other communities which follow more closely the pattern of the twentieth century. carlisle was settled as early as . during the french and indian wars, it was the supply center of expeditions against the french. general washington maintained headquarters here during the whisky rebellion. not too irrelevant is the fact that molly pitcher of revolutionary fame is buried at carlisle. carlisle barracks, united states army medical field service school, situated at the northeastern section of the city, was built by the british before the revolution but was captured by the continentals during that same war. after the battle of trenton, hessian prisoners were kept there. the barracks were later burned down by stuart's men but were rebuilt by the prisoners and still stand intact as the west point of the medical department of the united states army. here, physicians, den- tists, veterinarians, sanitation and medical administration offi- cers receive training in the basic principles of medical deport- ment as well as training in combat routine. roy felt proud to be a part of this vast body of student officers. here, discrimination and segregation did not rear their ugly heads. if the predominantly southern students resented sleeping and eating beside negroes, they suppressed their feel- ings surprisingly well. the attitude of some of the members of the faculty was highly amusing. these officers, professional men in civilian life, had completely lost their identities. most of them seemed more concerned with barking out commands in close-order drill than with the more gentle and refined art of physical examination of patients. as a matter of fact, roy, who had never really been regimented, wondered how these civilian- soldiers would readjust to civil practice where persuasion, gentleness, a soft voice and a kindly demeanor are as essential as a major operation or a sound diagnosis. the six weeks' course was very intense. the following routine was meticulously carried out: breakfast at seven-thirty, forma- tion at eight, classes from eight to twelve, lunch from twelve to one, formation at one to the classroom. from three to four, either calisthenics or close-order drill was included. occasionally, this might bę varied with a hike of from fifteen to twenty-five miles or by watching the barracks' full complement of troops simulate combat with the emphasis on the functions of the med- ical corps men and medical department officers. supper from four to five, a long period of study followed by “lights out” at eleven-thirty, completed the order of the day from which there was rarely, if ever, any deviation. those who cared to visit carlisle proper or to travel in pennsylvania did so at the risk of failing their examinations. the wiser men learned to reserve their free week-ends for trips to philly or to the bright lights of new york. from the point of view of range and the deeper insight they offered into l'art militaire, the courses were sufficiently varied to meet the needs of almost any, conceivable military situation. no subject seemed to have been omitted. logistics, map-reading, sanitation, care and methods of handling the wounded on the battlefield, chemical warfare, intelligence and counter-intelli- gence, aircraft recognition, close-order drill, military courtesy and discipline, maneuvers in combat, transportation, the control of tropical and venereal diseases, all these were crammed into this brief period of training. to roy, fresh from the air corps where the accent was not on drill or related activities, the barracks seemed a virtual workhouse. discipline was strict to the point where it could easily have passed from the sublime to the ridiculous. roy had a humorous, though unpleasant, taste of this during the third week of the course. one day after lunch, he had to make a hurried visit to the latrine. in the midst of defecating, he heard the whistle blow for formation. he hurriedly terminated this physical function. what with attaching his gas mask and seeing that his attire was beyond the keen scrutiny of the platoon commander, he was late for formation. rather than make matters worse by breaking into the moving column, he proceeded directly to the classroom. he was no sooner seated than he was ordered by the lecturer to report to his battalion commander, captain mayo. still amused at his predicament, roy carelessly entered the captain's office, only to be ordered out curtly. “leave this room, captain, and come in the right way.” roy obeyed instantly. he returned, clicked his heels with a snappy salute and said, “captain raymond reporting, sir.” the captain, a physician, looked at him seriously. “you've been here long enough to know better than to enter your com- mander's office like that. you were not at formation. why?” unfortunately for him, roy was in a facetious mood. he answered impishly, “i was doing what comes naturally, captain.” "are you trying to be smart?" “no, captain. frankly, just truthful.” “captain raymond, you're insolent. if you persist in it, all i have to do is to lift that receiver and call headquarters and you'll be back in your outfit.” this last remark stung roy. he was always quick-sometimes too quick-on the comeback. he retorted, “my mistake, captain, in thinking anyone here had a sense of humor. really, i'm a bit weary of this cult as it is practiced here. you know, i begged for the assignment to this school, but while it is an education that i wouldn't have missed, i sometimes long for the peace and quiet of my outfit. i'm sorry for the rudeness. it wasn't intentional.” without batting an eye, captain mayo replied, “in that event, this is just the training you need. you'll stay here. consider your week-end pass for the next two weeks terminated. you may go as far as twenty miles from the post, but no farther. dismissed." roy stared at the captain, unable to believe his ears. the week end had already been planned for. a group of friends was to have met him at penn station and to have made the rounds of the new york night clubs. looking at captain mayo, a disheartened roy bluffed it out. “well, so it is, captain. that's one way of catching up on my studies.” with that, he saluted and left. outside, he reflected with bit- terness that it is not wise to look a gift horse in the mouth, nine in the fourth week of his stay at carlisle, roy and his entire battalion had to locate stakes placed from one hundred to three hundred feet apart. each student was accompanied by another. they marched to the area for maneuvers in formation. then, each group of two was on its own. the night was dark and rainy. roy and his teammate located the first stake but lost their bearing after that. in trying to recapture their direction, roy fell into a ditch and injured his knee. fortunately for him, his companion was a husky southerner. with roy's arms around his shoulder, amid bellows and shouts, they groped their way to another team. using flashlights, the men found enough branches to improvise a stretcher and car- ried roy to the nearest road where one of them went in search of further help. he returned with a jeep which took roy to the station hospital. more damage had been done than was evident at first glance. the injury was serious enough to keep roy hospitalized at valley forge general hospital for almost three months. the trip from carlisle to valley forge by car afforded an excellent opportunity to see the countryside. it was all through a novel houghton mifflin company boston : the riverside press cambridge first printing copyright © by herbert a. simmons all rights reserved including the right to reproduce this book or parts thereof in any form library of congress catalog card number: - toje •ribersibe $rett cambridge, massachusetts printed in the u.sa. c u\ to rubye who caused a boy's dreams to crumble and a writer's vision to grow . . . and my thanks to professor jarvis thurston whose guidance made it possible for me to write this book book spots on the wall page contents book the hollow echo page ounging under the lampposts on the comers of the city, crowded together in the dark back alleys and gambling dens, you'll find them. worn-out men with young faces, scattered through the cities you'll find them, young men as old as the oldest man in the world. take eighteen-year-old jake adams. tall, slim and solid in silhouette as the lamppost he leaned against. on his face was a look that could only be described as casual tenseness. this look came often to his face and was one of the things that made him attractive to women. he held a cigarette loosely between his lips and the smoke spiraled lazily upward to linger in the hazy light from the lamp bulb. out in the street hurrying cars blared angry horns at foolish pedestrians. "hey, jake, what you trying to do, get a suntan?" a guy called from across the street and dashed bravely through the traffic over to where jake was. it was scar, jake's best friend, [ "who you talking 'bout, maxine?" jake took his eye off the ball momentarily and glanced sidewise at booker. booker brushed vainly in an effort to wipe some of the chalk dust from his gray-and-white houndstooth vest. "aw, i know maxine," he said impatiently. "this broad was short, but stacked up real tough, with black, pretty hair and a crazy smile. she had some cute eyes too, something like a jap girl's only they didn't slant as much." "where were you to notice all this?" scar cut in. "'cross the street from the school, sure is fine." "sure is," scar agreed. "who is she?" booker said. "got a switch to give you an itch for." "eleven ball in the side," jake said, trying to keep from sounding annoyed. the ball hit the corner of the pocket and spun off. "need one," jake said disgustedly. "who is she?" booker persisted. "girl named armenta," jake said casually, hoping booker would drop the subject. "she's tough," booker said. "ain't she," scar said. "got lots of sense too." "is she!" booker said, making it sound like a statement. "your shot," jake told scar. scar called a cross-corner shot and made it. "eight ball three rails in the corner." "what's maxine going to do?" booker wanted to know. "what's it to ya?" jake said quietly. "need one," scar said, watching the eight ball just miss the corner. "don't be getting mad, what's he getting hot about?" booker said to scar. "leave him alone," scar said. "can you beat that, i've been bull-skating for years with ] this guy about his ole ladies and now he's getting hot. what's so diff'nt about this broad, she got a gold-plated —" "shut up," jake said quietly. "leave him alone," scar said. • "well of all the — " booker threw up his hands and walked away. "'nother game?" scar said after sinking the eight ball. the door of the poolroom opened with a flourish and spider walked in. "say, man, they got a crowd over at zodie's, let's drift." spider had on a new suit, a gray shark- skin single-breasted, with the new look front and seamless back. the shoulders were almost bare of padding and the suit looked neat on his tall, rawboned frame. "you ought to wear light-colored clothes all the time," scar said. "they look good on you." "come on, man, let's dig the happenings at zodie's," spider said. "what kind of crowd, old or new?" jake wanted to know. "new, think i'd play to an old crowd?" "think they'll catch on?" jake said looking at scar. "naw, man," spider said. "come on, let's drift." jake shrugged. "what the hell, let's try it." they hung up the sticks and paid for the game. "if monk comes in tell him i'm at zodie's." "o.k., jake," booker said. "you guys take it easy." zodie's was across the street down at the other end of the block. called the zodiac, it combined a bowling alley with a [ tavern and did a thriving business. they went through the tavern into a small room in the back. the closed door shut out the sound of intoxicated voices and the whine of an alto sax, backed by a piano, drum, and bass fiddle. inside the back room were a crowd of men and a few women. caldonia was there too. caldonia, who wore women's clothes and a poodle hair cut, and took douches be- cause all girls took douches. smoke hung in the room like fog in a swamp. small round dots of fire bit the atmosphere; the harsh burning ring of the cigarette, the feeble glow of the cigar, the ash-splattered flame of the pipe, gave off a poignant scent of tobacco. in the comers the cold, hard, bright red glare. it gave the foggy room a sweet intoxication. people crowded around the table where the man in the black pin-striped suit was throw- ing the dice. "dig the square," spider said. "aunt jeremiah's country cousin fattened for the kill." the square was winning. the square caught nine for a point and made it. the square caught five for a point and made that too. the money started piling up. a baldheaded, wrinkle-faced old man said something unheard and walked away from the table. nobody wanted to fade the square, but the man to the right was supposed to, if he wanted to stay in the game. that was the house rule. the money was piling up, the square was hot. the sweaty little man in overalls didn't want to fade the square. his high voice rose excitedly from thin lips. his flat nose quivered. grease trailed onto his narrow tan face in smeary blotches from the straight, sticky patches of his conked hair. the cold, impersonal marble-brown eyes of the houseman fixed themselves indifferently upon the sweaty little man. the heavy lips on his stony face moved slowly. [ "pay me," jake said. the little man with the conk tossed jake a dollar. the grain-colored woman tossed jake a dollar. the fat man, whose nose sang when he breathed, reached into his cream- colored pants and tossed jake a half dollar. the tall muscular guy, at jake's elbow, knitted his brow and tossed him a half. somewhere, from out in the crowd, quarters flowed. every- body wanted to get in on a sure thing. jake was laying two- to-one odds that spider would hit. the fat man reached into his pocket and snatched a large green-and-white handker- chief. he put the cloth to his nose and sniffed. he made a pretense of wiping the beefy face under his curly black hair. spider collected a dollar, on a private bet, from the guy in the pin-striped suit. spider hit eight straight licks at two dollars a wop. the money was reluctantly pulled from scar's pocket. then spider caught a point and missed. the dice finally arrived at the sweaty little man. he threw craps and cursed. he threw seven and gave a desperate laugh. he threw five and blew on the dice. he cajoled the dice. "five dice, five!" the dice turned up three. "five, come on, dice, five!" the dice bounced crazily, spun as if they were being pulled down a whirlpool and turned up six and one. the little man laughed derisively. the dice came to jake. the little man would not fade jake for more than a half dollar. jake caught eight for a point and made it. the stone-faced houseman took the fifty-cent piece and threw jake four dimes. the little man placed another fifty-cent piece gingerly on the table and held his breath. jake threw the dice and the little man caught them. jake let the dice go again and the little man stopped them. jake smiled. the little man ran his fingers over his greasy hair. jake threw the dice and the htde man let them roll and they turned up seven. jake smiled. the little man ran his fingers over his greasy head, ] and left the table. "fifty dollars, sweet jesus, fifty boons you'll never see again, lord have mercy! a whole week's pay, god damn!" the dice passed to scar. the dice rolled out clinging like lovers. spider bet that scar would hit; scar bet on himself. they gave odds to get somebody to bet against scar. people bet against scar and lost money. "that wipes me out," jake said and left the game. spider got the dice again. after spider hit him for five straight licks, scar decided he had had enough also. now spider started catching points instead of seven on the first roll. spider was hot, he even made four the hard way. he made five points before missing. leaving the game, spider lost his balance and bumped into the houseman. in the houseman's pocket were three ten's that hadn't been there before. "get hot, dice, get hot. don't have to share your luck no more," the pin-striped square said on the lot, next to the greasy spoon, they divided the money. "wow," spider said. "just about seventy-five skins apiece." "when do you think they'll get wise?" scar said. "they'll never get wise," spider said. it was his standard reply. spider kissed the small dice in his hand that matched the set in the zodiac. jake whistled for a cab cutting across welch on thir- teenth street. "where to, jack?" the voice was a part of the street. [ where to ... step into my cab and i will show you my wares. i will whisper of bars that open after legits close down, of cool, dark corners where intimacies and strangers are one, of close revolving atmospheres where the hard red glare glows, or the plunger, and love for sale. i can lead you to a cross stream, whose current is the swift pace of a big city on the move, in the dark, while the tissue-paper morals of so- ciety are soggy with sleep, and if you tire of the pace, or flounder in the stream, i can always take you home . . . "ninth and welch," spider said. "fifteen-o-six south thirteenth," scar said. "thirteen-thirteen wisconsin, what the hell, i ain't ready to go home yet." thirteen-thirteen wisconsin, of course. where else would jake be going? all the same scar wished he hadn't been around to hear jake say where he was heading. well, she was his ole lady, wasn't she? "say, you guys still moving around in circles?" spider said. "i guess when jake moves out on maxine for armenta, you move in, then when you move out for armenta, jake moves in on your ole lady, ain't that the way it goes?" jake and scar looked at spider. "yeh, i guess," jake said listlessly. he didn't mean it though. it made him sick to think of scar moving in on armenta. he tried to shake off the feeling. he and scar had often exchanged girls, so to speak. but not armenta. a guy had to draw the line some- where. spider talked on and on about the things they used to do. spider was too engrossed in talking and jake was too involved with his own thoughts to notice scar's silence. "this is me," spider said. "later on." "later," they said. the cab pulled away as spider ran across the street and disappeared into a gangway between ] the corner tavern and the delicatessen on the southeast side of welch street. forget her, scar was thinking. you don't want her, not now. not much you don't. she alone you wanted for your- self, just for yourself. it's too late now. yes, it's too late, because you can't get her on that basis. well, neither can he get armenta on that basis. didn't you and armenta years ago? but how were you to know jake was going to become crazy about armenta? jake didn't know about you and armenta. you wonder if he would feel the same about her if he did. or would it be different, like the way you feel about maxine is different? different, and yet all the same. well, jake didn't know how you felt about maxine either. forget it, jake's your friend, your best friend. no woman is worth breaking up that. "later on, scar," jake said. "later." scar watched the cab head south toward wisconsin ave- nue. the hell with it he told himself. he couldn't go di- rectly to sleep. there was the spoon, the flame, the plunge. he floated a long time, riding his habit hard . . . armenta is the best thing could have happened to jake, his mind said. who is armenta? his other self wanted to know. lucky, lucky guy. not as lucky as you. you're a king, you have a palace in the clouds, you're up so high, the height's so long you need a parachute to go downstairs. i wish i was in col- lege. what you want to go to college for, man, that's for squares. they said i was a great halfback. you great now, man, don't you feel great, up in the clouds? what could be greater than that? maxine. jake's girl. i really used to like maxine. armenta is jake's girl. i still go for maxine. that's jake's girl, fake's, jake's, jake's! it was. she still is . . . yeah, she still is. college, football, beating your legs against [ the line, running, running to max . . . one of these days going to college. going to go, go, go, be great, somebody. man, i done tole you, you great now, you in the clouds, you getting your kicks way up high, don't nobody live up here but you. lonely — taking the long lonely road. man, i done tole you, you great, you in the clouds, man, ain't i done tole you — the steps complained as jake galloped up to the second floor. he was careful not to touch the wall, and stain his jacket. there was no light coming from her room. he rapped lightly on the door. "is that you, jake?" "nobody else but." "just a minute." "here rover," a young female voice drifted up from some- where in the streets. screaming tires, trying to hold, mingled with the night sounds. a rustle of garments. light flood- ing under the door. minutes dragged — "i thought you weren't coming," maxine said, opening the door. her coarse black hair was in a net. even now, in her black-and-gold chinese style bathrobe, a faint blush spanked her light-brown skin. her wide, attractive mouth broke into a grin. "i cursed you out," she said, wrinkling her small broad nose at him. "how could you?" jake said. "you don't even know the words." his touch was as familiar as if they had been living to- ] gether all their lives. she broke away from him shyly. she sat down on the bed with her head turned toward the wall. she did not look his way when he casually started taking off his clothes. evelyn keyes turned off the radio she had been listening to for the past three hours. she was peeved with herself be- cause she had not put her hair up for the night. maybe she should let it slide just for the night. no, spider might come over tomorrow. she had to keep her hair looking nice; it was her one good point. she knew she was for the main part a plain girl, but spider said she had nice hair. he told her that way back in grade school. she had to try to keep it look- ing nice. her hair was thick and black and wild. it took her hours to pin it up, and there was not a home permanent kit on the market that could keep it in curls, nor was there a beauty parlor that could turn the trick, for that matter. no, her hair wouldn't curl, but if she took enough pains with it, it would be in thick fluffy waves in the morning. she started doing her hair. a slow, methodical process. spider was so wild. he didn't have a regular job, just as an extra waiter now and then, but he always had money, and he always wanted to take her some place where he could throw it away. not that she didn't like to go out, it was just that she couldn't ever see them getting any place at the rate they were going. he said he wanted to marry her. she won- dered what kind of life that would be. not that she didn't want to marry him, but she knew he gambled. she won- ] "good, i hope you're not having no kids." "how long does this go on?" jake got up without answering and began to dress rapidly. "jake, i'm talking to you." "i hear you." "well, why don't you say something then?" "what do you want me to say?" "i hate you." "do you?" jake said raising an eyebrow. "you're impossible to reach. you won't let anyone talk to you." "you're talking to me." "i don't mean that way, i mean really talk to you, you know what i mean." "uh-huh." "i thought i knew how to reach all of you. maybe i'm wrong, maybe there isn't any more to you after all." "why don't you go to sleep, maxine?" "before you go, jake, i want to know something." "sure." "how long does this go on?" "you mean —" "i mean you seem content to go on like this forever. we're different. i want to do things." "like what, get married?" "someday, what girl doesn't? but i wasn't speaking exactly about that." "you mean you want to become a famous dancer, and tag a husband along behind you." "you have an awful way of putting things." "that's it though." "well, you could be a doctor or something." "and we'll live happily ever after," jake said mockingly. [ "look, baby, let's get it straight. i wish you all the luck in the world on that dancer deal and i'll help you all i can, but you're right when you say i'm satisfied. why shouldn't i be? i'm beginning to make that long bread in a short time and the sky's the limit." "how?" she shot the accusation at him almost bitterly. "that's incidental." "go away, leave me alone," she said. "you're too sensitive, slim, the world's made of sticks and mud." "that doesn't mean you have to tear it up, smoking pod and—" "doing what?" jake said, surprised and unnerved. "i know you smoke pod," she said simply. too simply for maxine. "who told you?" jake said defensively. "no one had to tell me, i saw you with my own eyes. last week when we came back from the dance you were loaded. you stayed so long in the bathroom i thought you had passed out, so i looked in to see. you were on the weed. i knew 'cause the cigarette was so skinny and had a funny smell." "well, don't worry about it." "i won't," she answered just as brusquely. "i'm warning you though, you start fooling with boy and girl and i'm through with you. i don't want no junkies hanging around me. "don't worry," jake said. "you think i'm stupid?" max- ine did not answer. "you got any friends on junk?" "what do you think i am?" so maxine didn't know about scar. he wondered what she would think if she knew. scar had been a great high school athlete. all the girls had been crazy about scar. "how do you know so much about junk then?" ] "don't worry about it, i know," maxine said. the change taking place in maxine struck jake with the force of a blow. she had been smart in books, but dumb when it came to worldly things. he watched the smoke curl into her nose as she french-inhaled. to think he'd gone with this babe a whole month before she came across, al- though she had not been a virgin, and here she was three short months later talking like she had been on the corners all her life. "you better get some sleep. morning, slim." "morning, sugar." that was the way they always said goodbye. maxine felt the tenseness return as jake went out the door. must it always be like this? but she had im- proved. she really had. hadn't she? she hadn't ever lost control of herself since she had been going with jake. she hadn't ever cried over anything that had happened between them. that was certainly true. not physically, she hadn't. at four o'clock in the morning the city had one eye closed, but it never shut them both. it merely rested them one at a time. slightly disturbed by something he couldn't quite place in maxine, jake ducked under the stairs leading to the basement of the tenement in the tin-can-filled back yard, splattered with rubbish and dog excrement . . . suck it in. pull it in, don't let it out . . . trap it. swallow, put your hands over your face so it can't escape. breathe hard — it will give you a flight. . . the hard red glare. jake's room was neat. it had the look of being seldom occupied. he rubbed the frosty encrusted traces of sleep [ from his eyes and turned on the radio to station wybz to listen to "willard sadder and his mad discs of platter." there were two metal closets in the left corner of the room where jake kept his wardrobe. he had seven suits: three bold-look, single-breasted sharkskins, one dark blue double- breasted conservative cut — the only dark suit in his ward- robe — a single-breasted tan, a double-breasted gray flannel, and a single-breasted gray flannel. he had five pair of shoes: a pair of black patent leather loafers, three $ suedes with single white threads running around the top of the soles, and a $ pair of brown stacey adams, with a single thread of white around the soles. he had four weskits of various designs, a large assortment of slim jim ties of striped and solid patterns, twenty-five pairs of argyle socks, and ten pairs of ribs. he also had ten pairs of $ dak french- waisted trousers. he had only three sport coats, but they cost $ apiece and looked it. his three gaucho-styled jackets — with the elastic waists, zipper in front and hand- stitched flaps over the pockets — were favorites for all guys in the know, and of these three his gray suede was the cool- est. of course, he had some stingy-brim hats, and a french- styled houndstooth topcoat with raglan sleeves. two belt- in-the-back heavy topcoats assured him that he would be in style when winter set in. there was also a tuxedo which he had not worn since graduating from high school a year ago. his wardrobe was the envy of all the cats on the corners, and caught the eye of all the babes and he knew it. he had a physique made to hang clothes on, and knew that too. he had maxine, who half the guys on welch street would give their right arm to have, and another little girl, who really sent him, on the verge of becoming his. he had a car, and money coming in every day. he was sitting on top of the ] world, and that was a damn good place to be. maxine was crazy to think he wouldn't be satisfied with all of that. who wouldn't be? enroll garner was giving out with "pastel" and in the midst of the enraptured spell of the music, jake decided he was hungry. he threw back the army blanket that served as a spread and sprang out of bed. after reaching over on the lamp table and turning the radio up loud, he slipped into wooden shower-shoes and clomped into the bathroom across the hall. jake's was one of the few houses in that part of town that had a shower as well as a bathtub. jake had had it installed and was proud of that. after showering, he cooked a breakfast of ham and eggs. louis jordan's "run joe" calypsoed from the radio and he drummed his hands to the music. after cleaning up the kitchen, he read the note left by his father. jake smiled at the last lines in the message. "i wish you wouldn't stay out so late at night. you're going to get into trouble yet. knock up some gal or something. i should have straightened you out long ago. too late now, you're a man now ..." jake knew his old man had raised a lot of hell in his day. his mother, when she had been living, had often told him about his father. must be getting wilder than my old man, he mused, him worrying about me like that. for the past week the old man had been preaching, mainly by note, for they seldom saw each other except on weekends, or on rare oc- casions when jake came home for supper. going out the door to pick up the groceries his father had requested, jake suddenly ran back and shut off the radio, cutting off sarah's "everything i have is yours." a good song, he thought. a damn good song. that was just how he felt about the world. everything it had was his. he looked at himself in the vanity mirror and decided his hair was not exactly to his [ liking. he primped until his thick black hair lay in slightly kinky curls. he pushed the part so that his hair rose straight up to the top of his head. he pushed the hair that jutted over his forehead back an eighth of an inch or so, and pinched the front part square. he rechecked himself in the mirror. he had the perfect crew cut, a half inch of hair per- fectly flat on top. it was square in the back, on the sides, where the part divided it on the side, all around. he smiled. he couldn't help wondering about his old man. he wouldn't be trying to lay down the law, would he? the absurdity of the question changed the smile on his face into a grin. his father never tried to interfere in his activities. once, a year ago, he asked jake where was he getting so much money. jake told him a woman was giving it to him. his old man shook his head, muttered something about those damn women, and said nothing more about it. even when jake had started buying a lot of clothes, and a car last month, his father had not reopened the subject, except on one occasion when he had said "those damn women sure getting good to you lately. i'll be glad when some woman tames you and makes you settle down." "is that what happened to you?" jake had said with a twinkle in his eye. "aw, go out and play with some bitch," his old man had said. jake checked his golden longines, with the blue crystal, with the electric clock on the mantelpiece. he set the watch back two minutes. it was slightly chilly outside. he'd better wear the gray suede over the charcoal gray jersey with the striped collar. he pulled on the jacket, placed a gray stingy brim on his head, and caught a final glance at himself going out the room — sharp! the garvelis had been in business on the northwest corner of peabody avenue for sixteen years. they were some of the few whites who still lived in the steadily expanding black belt. the black belt had spread ten miles in each direction in the last twenty years, and the white families had fled, to avoid the plague, farther west and north, so that now the downtown district was almost completely surrounded by negro communities. the caucasians had to come alarming distances to go to work and to shop. pop garveli was working among stacks of cans, built neatly in rows on the floor, that rose almost up to the level of his five-foot-six beefy frame. "come on, pop, i'm late," his daughter georgia said. "pop" was not a family endearment. the name had become fastened to papaseppe garveli by the neighborhood, which was quickly convinced his first name was too long and diffi- cult to pronounce, and so he had been "pop" from almost the first day he opened for business in the then salt-and-pepper neighborhood. "hi pop," jake said. "'lo jake." "hi jake, you look real cute in that outfit. doesn't he look cute?" georgia said teasingly. "yeah, sure does. looks real sharp, as you cats say," pop added with a good-natured grin. the garvelis were friendly. that explained, in part, how they managed to do a thriving business in the neighborhood. there seemed to be an un- written law among the youngsters, who were notorious for stealing, to pound the hell out of local merchants but never pop garveli, and the neighborhood, living on credit and con- stantly in conflict with merchants because of unpaid bills, always paid pop; most always anyway. [ "you in a hurry, jake?" "naw, pop, sure ain't." "tell you what, how 'bout holding down the fort while i take georgia to school before she has a nervous breakdown?" "oh pop," georgia said. "sure, pop," jake said. "bye, jake." "later, georgia." jake sat down in a chair by the vegetable bin and picked up one of georgia's comic books, an epic featuring superman in a struggle with a mad scientist. jake had been almost like one of the family with the garvelis. from the time he was seven until he started high school at thirteen, jake had worked for pop. he had often eaten sup- per with them at their insistence, and on occasions gone on outings where curious glances of both races had marked their activities. georgia had been as close as a sister to jake, who was an only child, but this relationship had been buried be- neath social codes during the last four years and the fondness they felt toward each other was now blunted. jake was not alone in his fondness for the garvelis. the whole neighbor- hood seemed warm to their presence and forgave them the most unpardonable crimes. once, a few years back, jake and a group of friends were lounging, as usual, under the corner lamppost around ten-thirty at night when the voices of mr. and mrs. garveli carried quite easily from the bedroom window to the loungers below. mrs. garveli, quite obviously as high as her husband, objected to the hat her husband had bought that evening. a native of texas, mrs. garveli slipped now and then, especially when drunk, into the language common in her home town. mrs. garveli, in a voice that carried clearly from the bedroom window down to jake and his friends, shouted, "i don't see why the hell you had to go buy a straw hat with a yellow band. you ought to know by ] this time don't nobody wear straw hats but you and the niggers." instead of taking offense jake and the boys laughed at this. the tale spread through the neighborhood and business boomed, a far cry from situations in other stores where racial sentiments, unconsciously or in a fit of anger expressed, led to boycotts or freezeouts that had caused more than one store over the years to fold. at sixteen georgia was getting cute, jake thought. the buds on her chest had blossomed, her legs had filled out, and her auburn hair, cut short in the current poodle-cut craze, looked good on her. she had better watch out, jake mused. all the boys at creighton high will be trying to make her. he grinned at the thought of georgia handling or mishan- dling the situation. that was the way he thought of georgia then. when pop returned, jake rounded up his groceries and paid pop from his own pocket. he was feeling good. last year this time, they had been credit customers. "how's the old school?" pop said. "same, only it's getting more crowded all the time." "ought to build another or send everybody to the same schools. now —" "yeah, pop, see you," jake said, embarrassed as always when they happened to get on one of those topics. jake got off the streetcar at fourteenth and olivette. he walked briskly into the plush showroom of the carson buick [ dealers. the dynaflow was ready. he had to take it back last week because something was wrong with the steering wheel. in the dynaflow, with a tank full of gas, jake felt like he had just climbed off a stick of tea . . . in the clouds, you're living, he told himself. half an hour later he pulled up across the street from marshall high. scar, standing on the southwest corner of bishop street, directly across the street from the school, sang a few bars of stan kenton's "dynaflow" in a loud, off-key voice. most of the fellows hung around across the street from the school waiting for the girls to come out, because the police seemed too happy to use cave man persuasion to show the "young punks" they shouldn't hang around on school grounds. "'lo jake." "what' going on?" jake opened the door and scar got in. the guys gathered around. "hey, jake, why you get a black dyna?" red piped. red was short and thin, and a junkie. "to be different, you know all colored folks like red." the guys laughed. "that's me," red said. "hey, jake, who's miss big stockings the boys tell me you done latched onto?" "man, she's tough," jake said, not revealing her name and getting wound up for the coming bull session. "yeh." out of the eight guys gathered around the car, the only blank expression in the crowd belonged to scar. he sat in the front seat with jake, a knowing look in his eyes, detached, unimpressed. "built like a brick ..." the guys cut off jake's comment with laughter. ] "aw, who in hell is interested in a babe built like a crap house?" one of the guys said. "jealousy," jerry sang and got one of the few laughs of his career. "what a swing on that frame. big headlights and a sexy fishtail," jake said. unlike in the old days, he was not enjoy- ing talking about armenta in this way. in the old days this had been part of the fun in having a girl. building her up in the fellows' eyes and then watching them look at you in envy when you walked down the street with her. in fact, going to bed with a babe didn't mean nothing if you couldn't tell the boys. of course he never openly bragged about who he was going to bed with, he was too cool for that. he just let the fellows sort of draw their own conclusions and didn't bother to deny it, and besides people talked, it didn't take them long to find out what you were doing, if you didn't try to cover it up. "you mean the babe is built like one of them there —" "just like a cadillac," red said. "you know how it is with them cads, they just roll away." "do tell," slim jim willcott said, fingering the windsor knot in his gray-and-blue-striped slim jim tie, pulling the corners of his mouth down and wrinkling his forehead, bur- lesquing an impressed countenance. "lawd, lawd, lawd." that was jerry again. dark and hefty, he had developed into a first-class guard on last year's football team, but it was doubtful he would make this year's because he had a bad habit of stopping somewhere before he got to school and not quite being able to break away. "you ain't kidding," red said wistfully. "man, that broad would make a bulldog stalk an elephant with rape on its mind." "got me popping my shoelaces," jake said. "do tell." [ jake was wishing the bell would ring, so that he could break away from the fellows without them getting the idea he didn't want to shoot the breeze. what was wrong with him anyway? a broad was a broad, what difference did it make talking about 'em? anyway, everybody knew his repu- tation as a gash hound. everybody knew jake adams' girls came across. didn't he and scar have the toughest reputation of anybody that ever went to marshall high? the hell with it, jake thought. a broad's a broad. "what's the matter, scar, the beast don't move you?" one of the guys said noticing scar's silence. "not particularly." "try ex-lax," red said. slim jim laughed, being the only one in the crowd not having heard red use that expression before. "scar ain't so hot with women," jerry drawled, try- ing in his dull-witted way to break into the humor of the thing. "oh yeh," scar said. "that beast of yours doesn't think so." scar was mixed up. he wasn't particularly angry at jerry, it was just the way things had been going lately. the guys laughed uneasily, watching jerry. they knew jerry's girl liked scar. "do tell," slim jim said. being a newcomer to the city, he could afford to be blase" about the thing. neither jake nor scar had walked off with one of his girl friends before. "say, jake, if this babe's so tough, maybe you need to de- vote all your time to her, so good christian as i am, i'll do you a favor and take maxine off your hands." that was william, the guy who had been hanging around the school for the last eight years. nobody knew how old he was, what he did for a living, or anything about him. all they knew was that he would show up at the school every day, regardless of the weather. he, like the school, seemed to be waiting to ] engulf the students. like the school that appeared to droop a little more with each succeeding year, he just hung around on the corner. jake looked at scar as if asking permission to tell one of their secrets to the crowd. "hell, baby," he said with a wink. "any babe of mine you can get, take. i always say, if a man does his job right, he ain't got nothing to worry about. if he don't, he might as well forget it." "amen," scar said nodding his head solemnly. that was the truest thing jake had said today. "and the bedroom's your battleground," red said. "amen." "i ain't lost a battle there yet," jake said. "do tell." a loud, clattering bell broke up the bull session. "you guys take it slow," jake said pulling off. "play it cool man, play it cool," red said, turning his hands palms upward and looking dreamingly up in the air as if expecting something to fall into them. jake stopped in front of the steps leading up to the main doors of the school. students streamed out of the peeling, red-painted brick schoolhouse like lava oozing down a moun- tainside. they came, a rainbow of colors thundering down the steps in a crescendo of confusion, the din of hundreds going somewhere and all talking at the same time. "marilyn doesn't think i saw her trying to talk herself in with joe," a dumpy, bobby-soxed girl said to her feminine companion, "the bitch. hi, joe!" they came out of the school in the uniforms of the teen- age set. the girls wore slacks and pedal pushers of all pat- terns and designs. they wore white shirts with jeans and bobby sox, and dirty black and white saddle oxfords. they wore tight-fitting sweaters, with wide belts and pencil skirts [ which had slits in the sides. they wore sloppy joe sweaters and corduroy skirts, and blouses that looked like printed newspaper sewn together, that had headlines and catchy say- ings printed on the material. they wore checked vests and their legs and arms were adorned with identification brace- lets. girls who were debs for teen-age gangs wore berets, with identifying letters of the organization sewn on the headpiece, and sweaters with emblems of the gang their boy friends be- longed to. some of the girls wore school sweaters chiseled from some athlete. a few girls came dressed up in high- heeled pumps, box-back suits, and shortie coats. the boys wore sweaters and levi's, or corduroy trousers. they wore sport shirts with outer-seamed or hand-stitched pants and suede belts of a variety of colors. their shoes were leather, or suede, with double white threads stitched along the soles. they were partial to checkered weskits, bold new look suits, slim jim ties, and spread-collar shirts. they strutted in checkered sport coats and gaucho-styled jackets. their heads were crowned with stingy-brim hats, or the large- brim type which they wore unblocked and pulled down on their ears, or they wore the beret patterned after diz gilles- pie. they wore fancy tie clasps and carried long, black um- brellas, regardless of the weather, and multi-colored, encased pool sticks . . . they were sharp, gone, in the know . . . armenta finally came whirling down the steps in the shout- ing crowd. she was wearing the maroon-and-white school sweater with a track letter on it. her head, with the black, glossy hair bobbing up and down, vanished and reappeared in the sea of people. once jake, watching her head go down, almost thought it wasn't coming up again. "short people sure have a hard time." "yeh," scar said. "'specially if they're girls." at the bottom of the steps a curly-haired, mustache- ] sprouting, thin guy in beret and shades, a popular type of sunglasses, grabbed armenta as she was passing by. "leggo," she said. "oo-wee, baby, will i ever?" "not you, baby, you'll never." the exchange of conversation drifted to jake and scar. "that's my girl," jake told scar. "how you gonna sound, baby, how you gonna sound!" "like a cadillac, baby, shoom!" "or like a dynaflow," jake said coming over from the car. "hands off." "who sez?" "i sez. maybe if i rub your face off on the sidewalk you'll understand better," jake said quietly. "jake." "quiet, babe, i'll handle this." "she your girl?" "that's her business," jake said in an even softer, matter- of-fact tone. "you better make it yours to lay off. don't even speak, you dig? unless she wants to talk to you; in that case, that's her business and i ain't got nothing to do with it." "you ain't got nothing to do with it now. think you tough, huh? 'cause you got your boys," he said looking at scar. "coota!" the battle cry rang out over the multitude of voices. six guys pushed their ways swiftly through the crowd. they wore blue sweaters with gray barracuda fish on the chest. they swaggered in the manner of the tough guys on the blocks. their walk was the gait of corner boys. the handkerchiefs tied around their fists said they meant business. "no, jake," armenta said as jake's double fist flashed through the air and crashed into the tip of the guy's nose. "what you so hot about, jake?" a guy with a conk, thick lips and slits for eyes said, pulling the guy with the shades away from jake. [ "what the hell you pulling me away for?" the guy whined. "he's the one looking for a war!" , "he didn't mean no harm," the guy with the conk said. "take it slow, jake. see you man. let's go you guys! come on shades." the cooters swaggered away in the manner of a tough club. "you don't watch that punk, you'll see me sooner than that." "he didn't mean no harm," the guy said pushing shades ahead of him. "then i don't mean none." "later, man." "take it slow, slits." with the blood now splashing on his checkered vest, shades tried to get away from the restraining arms of the cooters. "but, but, slits —" "shut up, you stupid bastard," slits whispered hoarsely. "that's jake adams you fixing to war with." "you mean the president of the termites?" "he was, till he got out of the club. mix with him, you got the whole club down on our necks. we ain't fixing to rumba with the t's, not yet we ain't." shades looked at slits, not knowing what to say. he took out a handkerchief and dabbed at his nose. the barracudas pushed their way further into the crowd. "jake adams, you're awful!" armenta said, meaning it. "what was i supposed to do, stand there and watch him paw you?" jake opened the door of the dynaflow. "boy, you have an awful temper," armenta said. "his bark's worse than his bite," scar said. "jake, i don't want you fighting over me." "i wasn't fighting over you, i was fighting for you." "i don't get you?" "i wasn't fighting 'cause i was trying to keep somebody ] roy milton's solid senders jammed away on the frantic notes of jazz. it was one of the few square pieces jake went for. at four-thirty would come the cool sounds, a mingling of mostly bop and progressive jazz, with a few performers like nellie lutcher, louis jordan, and ruth brown thrown in, who belonged to the corn-bread crowd, but were con- sidered good listening by the guys in the know. old man adams came home promptly at six, as usual, and was surprised to find jake there. "man, i'm beat," he said. he hung his work coat in the hall closet and put on his house shoes. "why don't you stir up some chow, since you're here?" "sure," jake said, pleased at the request because his old man usually considered anything he cooked unfit to eat. jake would have liked to prepare something fancy, but knew his father would rather settle for a can of pork and beans and some more of the ham he had eaten for breakfast. "that damn factory's getting me down, sometimes i don't think i can make that other five years before i retire." jake was silent. he knew better than to tell his father he could get him a good deal, maybe even a small business or something. he wasn't kidding himself either. he knew monk could swing it, but more than likely his old man would swing on him. old man adams was too proud to take help from anybody. that was one of the things that made it difficult for him to talk to his son, since it was obvious jake was doing much better than he was. how could a father tell his son to give up all of that and come back to the kind of life he was living a few years ago? besides, he couldn't actually say jake was doing anything wrong. gambling, women — hell, all young studs did that. jake just happened to be able to turn those situations to his advantage. what was so wrong with that? he's a adams all right, no doubt about that. he fought the ] "come on, henry, let's let the young people be." ar- menta's mother led her husband away from the front room. "but edna, my favorite program's on now." "henry," she said firmly. her voice drifted from the hall- way. "he seems like a nice boy." "seems like he could have picked a better time to come visiting. s'after eight o'clock." mrs. arnez laughed. "oh, henry," she said. "if he had come by earlier, you would have sworn he came to eat supper with us." jake listening from the front room could not help com- menting, "i don't think your old man likes me." "oh, daddy's just upset cause you didn't call him 'sir,'" armenta said. "this is the twentieth century, babe. nobody expects to be called 'sir' nowadays." "daddy's a throwback. he thinks it's disrespectful if young people don't say 'sir.'" "you say 'sir' to him?" "of course." "well, i'll be damn," jake said. "where's your old man from anyway?" "oh, forget about daddy," armenta said, pulling jake down beside her on the davenport. "can't you think of better things to talk about?" they were very close. that smell had him again. he felt uncomfortable, like he was being used for a pincushion, especially the way she was looking at him. "you like b and sassy?" "natch." "how 'bout pres and bird?" "crazy," jake said. "got anything by miles, ventura, diz, or kenton?" "natch." she smiled at him. "you're a pretty down ole babe." "i live in the twentieth century," armenta said matter-of- factly. "your old man, he's strictly —" jake drew a huge square in the air with his index fingers. to her surprise armenta found herself laughing. "lay off, will you. i like my old man, even if he is —" she made the square with her fingers. "how 'bout me?" "i like you too, jake," she said demurely. "dig this crazy jam, i bet you never heard this." she walked across the room and placed a record on the turntable of the huge combination radio and record-playing set. the record she played was an instrumental, featuring a tenor sax with a tone that caught jake's fancy, and some terrific execution. "who's that?" jake asked. "sounds like pres on tenor." "getz." "who?" "stan getz, played with woody. remember 'early au- tumn'?" "getz, that his name? yeh, i remember his drift. he's tough. what's the name of the jam?" "sweety pie." "sharp. dig him the most to say the least." they had a session via the record player. now and then they danced, especially when sarah vaughan or billy eckstine sang, but mostly they just sat and listened. armenta played all the killers from bird on down. she had a record of the- lonious monk, but both confessed they weren't down enough to understand it. "you're my kind of babe," jake said. "from what i hear about you, all girls are your kind of babe." "well, i've always liked girls," jake admitted. "one of ] those unexplained mysteries of life. i guess i'm just funny that way." he had her laughing again. "so i hear." "you seem to hear an awful lot. where you hear all of this?" "at school," armenia said. "a lot of the girls talk about you, especially geneva and flordell. they make me sick. every time i go down the hall, all i hear is you." jake decided to change the subject. "you the only child?" "no, i've got five sisters." "five." "yep, my old man and eddie cantor." "where are they?" "married. i'm the baby of the family." "you're my baby," jake said. she told him about her sisters. two had married doctors. joyce, who was twenty-seven and the oldest, was married to a famous lawyer in milwaukee. sue had married a college pro- fessor and was considered the black sheep of the family, and wilma, who was only twenty and next to armenta in age, was somewhere in africa with her missionary husband. "jim!" jake said. "don't you people like plain, ordinary folks?" "not to marry," armenta said. "daddy would never ap- prove of it." "well, i'll be damn," jake said. "s'cuse me for cussing, but i'll be damn! what is your man anyway? i mean what does he do?" "he's in real estate." "he the henry arnez head of the arnez real estate agency?" "uh-huh." "well, i'll be damn. i thought he was a white man." "he's west indian," armenta said. [ "don't make a damn bit of difference. he ain't white. well, i'll be damn." it was all he could say. "you haven't changed much, jake adams." "what you mean?" "you always were awful." "i don't dig, babe. you sound like you been knowing me all my life." "i've known you long enough," she said. "since grade school." "you're mad, woman," jake said, not believing her. "like hell —" she caught herself, noticing the mocking expression on jake's face. "i mean — you can make me so mad at times jake adams," she raged at him. "i used to be one of those little girls that used to stand around and watch you all the time in grade school. you used to get into so much trouble." "in grade school, huh?" "and high school." a "i didn't never see you. how long you been living in this town?" "all my life." "i didn't never see you. how long you — i don't see how i missed something as cute as you." "i used to be bashful," she said. "you ain't now." "i outgrew it." "i still don't see how i missed you," jake said. "well, the fact remains, i used to like you." "you mean you don't now?" jake said, raising an eyebrow. "i used to expect to hear about you being put in jail every day, when you ran around with those awful termites." "i didn't run around with them — i was president," jake said, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. "well, i'm glad you don't run with them any more." ] "that's kid stuff," jake said. "i'm too old now." "was that kid stuff this afternoon?" "that punk made me hot," jake said. "i'd get mad behind anybody goofing over you." armenta was flattered though she didn't feel she should be. "then you should be mad at yourself," she teased. "for what?" "for ignoring me all these years." "i didn't know you existed." , "i don't see why not. i thought you said i was cute," she pouted. "you are cute. you know you're a good-looking babe. you see yourself every day in the mirror. how come i never met you before, anyway?" "i told you, i was bashful. anyway, rudolph held me pretty tight in high school." "that whose sweater you wearing?" "yes." "he's a good track man," jake said. "so you're the armenta he was always talking about. man, he used to talk about you like you was a queen or something. how come i never saw you with him?" "you were too busy flirting with other people." "where's rudolph now?" jake wanted to know. "in college." "where at?" "lincoln, that's where i'm going after i graduate in june." "yeah!" jake's left eyebrow was rising again. "it's not like you think. i'm going to get an education." "lots of people consider that an education." "you have a nasty, lowbrow mind," armenta said. "i don't know why i put up with you." "simple," he said. "'cause i like you and you like me." he kissed her then. her mouth opened only slightly under [ his, her arms remained in her lap, her eyes open, her lips cold. "that the way you do maxine, just grab and kiss her?" "what's maxine got to do with this?" it was the only thing he knew to say. he hadn't known she knew about maxine. "she's your girl friend, isn't she?" "she's a girl that's a friend of mine." "that's just it, jake," she said briskly. "all girls are just friends of yours. you got too many friends." "what you looking for — a little dream cottage with a white picket fence around it?" "maybe, but any guy that was my ole man, i'd like to know he was mine and not every clutching female's that happened along." so there it was; he hadn't met a girl yet that didn't want to put the ball and chain on him, stick a sign on his back saying hands off, i own him, don't touch. "what makes you think you're woman enough to hold a man strictly to you?" "sometimes i wonder if you're enough man." "i don't dig you." "sometimes i think you run around seeing how many babes you can make, as you call it, to prove to yourself that you're a man, that there's nothing wrong with you." jake flushed. most of what she said he knew to be true. it was what happened to a guy when he was poor and looked around and found out the whole world wasn't like that. it made you want things. you wanted a lot of clothes, a big shiny car, money, and plenty of babes, unless you were a square. you had to prove you were somebody, didn't you? "you got me wrong," jake said simply. "i really go for you. i have ever since the first time i dug —" he watched the smirk creep across her face. "aw forget it." he got up. "i'll see you," he said. she followed him to the door. once he turned, then spider and evelyn sat on the warped steps of her front porch. the top of the moon appeared just above the ragged flats across the street. a lone firefly circled the broken picket fences along the block. "he's out early this year," evelyn said watching the firefly. "yeh," spider said solemnly. "that's where we should be, out!" "it's nice to stay home sometimes. isn't it nice outdoors tonight." "i don't like to stay at home," spider said. "it gives me the creeps." evelyn didn't say anything. she knew all too well what spider meant. she often got that feeling herself. seeing the rundown neighborhood rubbing itself away on each new generation, and looking about her in the flat where she and her parents stayed, knowing it looked just as shabby, if not worse than the other houses on the block. she remembered her mother saying they couldn't afford to have any more children. she remembered the bread and sweet cakes, some- times, that her father used to bring home, that the bakers used to give him when he worked on the garbage truck for the city. he had a more respectable job now, as janitor in one of the grade schools, only no cake any more. she thought, if her father didn't drink so much, and gamble all the time, they could be living in a better neighborhood. it wasn't children her mother and father couldn't afford. her father was always talking about buying a house out somewhere, away from the riffraff as he called it. he was always talking about getting lucky someday, and winning a lot of money. i can feel it coming, he was always saying. one thing was sure, they were always broke. her mother wouldn't let her put any of her money in the house, though. she tried to see ] to it that her husband didn't borrow money from evelyn, but now and then he did. evelyn couldn't turn him down, even when she knew she wasn't going to ever see it again. "what you thinking?" spider said. "oh, nothing. i wish we could get away from here." "we will." "we won't live around here, will we, bert? our house won't be anything like this?" "hell, no!" spider said. "only the best. we're going to live. we're going to really pop." that was what she liked about spider. he was so sure, so certain of everything. the only trouble was she couldn't see him actually doing anything to make their dreams come true. she realized with a shock, he was something like her father. she shuddered when he kissed her, and pushed him away. "what's the matter? what you do that for?" "i didn't mean it, bert," evelyn said. "i'm tired, i think i should go to bed, so i'll feel like going to work tomorrow." "we both should," spider said. "what do you mean by that?" "you know what i mean. when a guy plays it straight with a babe all the time like i do, she should treat him right." "don't i treat you right?" "i guess," spider said. "but i just stay excited about you all the time, i can't help it. i guess that's just the way i am." "i'm glad that's the way you are," evelyn said. the front table in booker's was crowded with guys playing new york, even booker was in on it, but scar was leaning against the wall trying to get his eyes in focus. scar knew he should be in on it. it would be weeks before they got that many guys in the game again. he could really clean up, but he wasn't up to it. he was sick. he was sick as hell. those guys were good for at least twenty skins. that thought didn't make him feel better. so scar leaned against the wall and tried to watch the game, think about the game, anything but admit to himself what was wrong with him. it was a tough game, all right, you had to admit that. a perfect sucker's game because they never realized they couldn't win — the pain again, gnawing at him, demanding to be fed . . . don't think about it, think about something else, anything else. the pool game, new york, the perfect sucker's game. you played it with pills, up to eight guys play in it. you shook the leather container and dropped out two pills that held the number of the balls you were supposed to make. you had to run the balls from the one up to the sixteen or backwards in order to get to the balls that had the same number as the pills. naturally the suckers thought it was a game of luck, that the guy who pulled the pills closest to either end would win. but like all games that involved skill, the guy who could execute the best was going to come out on top — but it wasn't any use in thinking, he needed a fix, he had to get one quick. he tried to straighten up, look natural, before the fellows noticed what was really wrong with him, before they tagged him a junkie like they had done red. but it wasn't any use, he couldn't concentrate on anything. he didn't even see jake come in the door. "what's the happenings, man," jake said, coming over to ] him. jake didn't like the way scar was looking. there was something about that look. jake didn't want to admit to himself what it was. just then monk came in — white man in the black belt. "'lo monk." "hey booker, hi fellas. come out to the car a minute, will ya kid," monk said to jake. outside monk got in the front seat of his lincoln and jake got in beside him. "how you doing?" monk said. "fine," jake said. "got a heavier load this time, think you can handle it?" "you know me," jake said. "i think i do," monk said, looking him in the eye. "you stick with me, kid, i'll see you straight. little more groom- ing and you'll be ready for the big time." he punched jake playfully in the ribs. "got four hundred skins of stuff; you got the bread or want me to stake you till you clear?" jake got a boost from that. wasn't many guys monk would let have junk without cash on the line. in fact, it wasn't many guys monk would let push for him. jake ad- mired monk, he was a smooth operator. "sure," jake said. "look," monk cautioned. "besides pod, boy and girl, got some coke with this load. sniffers coming into the paradise saturday. they got into a jam with the locals last place they gigged, so you got to play it chilly. they might still be hot." "thought you ran the force in this town," jake said. "not yet, but i will." "i'll watch it," jake said. monk handed jake the package. this was the risky part, the exchange, if the bims should happen along right now — monk pulled off and jake hastily got into his dynaflow with the package and stashed it under the front seat. he knew he wouldn't feel safe until he had placed it under the boards [ in his room at home. he stood to make over two hundred on this run, maybe two hundred and twenty-five. that was seventy skins more than he ever made before. this was going to be a tough week, he concluded. there was pod for the light heads, boy and girl for the mainliners and now snow for the sniffers. he was branching out, and he didn't run much risk, because all of his trade were established con- tacts of monk's, mostly entertainers that came in every week. that was the way monk worked it. he told jake who to push, anyone else was taboo. their organization wasn't like the others, the guys that fed anybody's habit; with these guys a pusher never lasted long. scar came out of the poolroom and over to where jake was parked. "man i'm sick," he said. "what's the matter, scar?" jake said, knowing all the time. "son-of-a-bitch sold me some lemonade," scar said having a hard time talking. "four cents for the plunge, and it's lemonade." four cents, then scar wasn't just starting on the kick. he wondered what scar was going to do when he got up to fifteen and twenty a day which would happen eventually, if he didn't kill himself first trying to break off the habit. he helped scar inside the car. "son-of-a-bitch. man i'm busted." "take it easy, scar." "man, i'm popping my cap." "easy, scar." "my wig is split," scar moaned. jake drove around in the alley in the back of welch street, pulled over to a coalshed and cut the lights. somewhere in that long tunnel of darkness, angry curses . . . nickel i shoot . . . winos, gambling with each other, each trying to win enough money to buy another bottle of muscatel which ] all would wind up drinking. the flicker of a match in the blacked-out car — the rubber band, the heating of the spoon, the suck of the syringe, the plunge of the needle — "don't look so uneasy," scar said when he could finally relax. "i been knowing you push." "how'd you know?" jake said. "damn little of what you do escapes me." scar cut off what jake was thinking with an impatient wave of his hand. "don't worry, the cats don't know." jake did not know why, but he knew scar knew what he was talking about. "what started you on the jive?" jake asked. "i don't know," scar said carelessly. "just one of those things, i guess. one day you're not, the next, you're on." that was scar talking to jake, his best friend. scar, who knew he started on junk because he wanted to play football in college more than anything in his life, maybe even pro ball, but he had to turn down six scholarships, any one of which he would have been glad to take. he had to go to work and take care of his invalid mother, because his father, who crip- pled his mother one night in a drunken rage, got killed two days after scar graduated from high school last year when he crashed into a lamppost in another man's car while he was drunk. his old man tore up the car and scar's dream. he scattered scar's dreams like confetti in a hurricane. and so scar had worked in the stockyard in that animal smell, and grew bitter, and kept it to himself, and even jake had never known how he felt. then, one day he grew tired and wanted a lift, and not the marijuana he fooled with in high school, and red had whispered of how terrible the mainline was, and now he was hooked, and his mother had died, and he was free to go to college, only who wanted a football player full of junk? and so he had not written to see about his chances [ of getting his scholarships renewed, and so he stood around on the corners and made his living over the pool table, or with a set pair of dice, and so now he was a junkie, and didn't know how to tell the conductor to let him off. red had been right about the mainline though. "how much i owe you, jake?" "forget it." he gave scar a week's supply. "i'll straighten you." "i said forget it." "why don't you let me get my charge from you?" "i don't sell junk to my best friend." jake spat the words out as if they tasted unpleasant. "i dig what you mean," scar said. "i'll get unhooked yet." jake didn't say anything. he knew scar meant what he said, but he didn't believe scar could do it. poor scar. he drove around and let scar out where he lived. "later." "s'long, jake." that was scar. it wasn't the same with maxine that night. it wasn't ever the same with maxine after that night. two p.m. on a sunny afternoon. jake sat with the gang across the street from the school in the chicken shack, a small cafe that catered to the teen-age crowd, and sold hot dogs and hamburgers, french-fries, a variety of ice cream dishes and drinks, and soda pop. the chicken shack didn't have a chicken on the premises, or anything else in the higher price category. it was a very popular spot with the high school kids, because the jukebox had all the latest records, and there were booths where young lovers could sneak a smooch or ] explore a little. mrs. jackson, the elderly proprietress, was called mom by all the kids. her place, she boasted, was like one big happy family. "man, dig diz, ain't never heard a cat that could ride like he does on trumpet." "give me the lower register with miles, but diz's a crazy stud too." the guys stood around the jukebox applejacking, and hucklebucking to the music . . . oh he's got a fine brown frame. i wonder what could be-ee-ee-ee his name . . . man, don't nellie kill you?" "she's a gas, man, a natural petrol." . . . he looks good to me and all i can see, is his f-i-n-e, brow-w-nn frame . . . "say man, you hear 'bout the crazy happening at the gas station?" "yeh, ethyl got pumped." the guys lived it up. there among the hot dogs, ham- burgers, and the milkshakes sucked through straws, they smoked and held bull sessions. "the trouble, jake?" "nothing, man. everything's crazy." "that's the quietest i ever seen you," spider said. spider had on another new suit. "you're really getting sharp," scar said. "well, you know the successful man's got to look the part." "you'll be sharp as jake afterwhile," scar said. "you know me," jake said. "man, i ain't never seen anybody lucky as you with the dice." "that black boy sure got a way with them dice," spider said, verbally patting himself on the back. they laughed good and loud. "keep that noise down, boy," mom said. "i ain't running no after-hour joint." [ it was the gang's turn to laugh. "yeh, take it slow. you get put out of here, you'll have to find a new home." more laughter . . . run joe . . . "crazy, man. louie's a square, but he's in there." . . . run joe, run joe the man's at the do . . . "run joe" calypsoed from the jukebox, its beat setting the gang's feet to racing, fingers to snapping, hands to clapping. "run joe" calypsoed from the jukebox, filling the small cafe, seeping out, spiraling gaily down the street. "run joe, yo mama's done told ya," someone said. "yeh, i told you 'bout fugging with that pod." it went on like that until five to three. then everybody had to go out and greet the girls coming out from school. "this younger generation," mom said, hands on her hips, watching them stream out of the door. "come on, jake," scar said. "got a new broad on the line." "when you meet?" "couple nights ago at the flick." "how come we didn't pick her up yesterday?" "you know how i operate," scar said. "give 'em a few anxious moments before cutting in." "he's not conceited," spider said. "let's cut our wheels, man." they departed behind the fleeing crowd. the guys stood on the corner in checkered vests, unblocked hats pulled down on their ears, leaning on black umbrellas, crowding the lamppost. "man, dig that crazy cutta on the big beast in the plaid skirt!" three p.m. on a sunny afternoon. the school gave up its responsibilities for the day and turned them back over to their parents. the responsibilities rushed out going a thou- sand different places before going home. "hi, scar," pearl said, her big gray eyes smiling at him. "whoof, miss big stockings herself," scar said, making her blush as his eyes traveled her body. "hey curt! here's scar," pearl shouted. "hi, scar," curt said, pausing but not stopping, her thick eyebrows making a question of her face. "hi," scar said. curt continued walking, carrying her books high in her arms, swaying with a rhythm that was a part of her natural walk. "see you," pearl said, running after curt. "bye, jake." "take it slow," jake said. "tell curt, she didn't have to speak." "obviously," scar said. "she didn't." spider got out of the car. "pick me up on the corner, man." "who's spider's ole lady?" jake said. "he's still going with evelyn." "man, he's been tight with that babe ever since grade school." "that's what happens when you get a good thing." "they don't make 'em that good," jake said. "could be they make 'em in five-foot-four packages with pretty black hair." "you know me," jake said. "i don't see you walking no straight and narrow." "my time has run out," scar said. jake looked at scar, wondering what he meant, or maybe he wasn't wondering. maybe he ... [ "there comes my beast," scar said. "hey kenny!" kenny came over to the car. she was a dark girl, short, with a good build and attractive features. how does scar do it? jake wondered, looking at the long welt on scar's face. he don't look like he's got nothing, but whatever he's got the babes know about it 'cause they sure go for him. "how you doing?" scar said lazily. "hi, alonzo," kenny said. jake laughed. alonzo, it had been a long time since any- one called scar by his name. "his name's scar," jake said. "down, boy. hop in, public service at your service." scar got out and opened the back door for kenny to get in and got in beside her. "this here's jake. jake, kenney waston." "kenny," jake said. "where you get that name?" "from her parents, where you think?" "they found the name in some book they read," kenny said. "they liked it, so they called me kenny." "yeh, well i like corn bread and mustard greens, but i won't be naming no kids that." scar laughed. kenny looked at both of them, a puzzled expression twisting her sharp features. "he's getting his kicks teasing you," scar said laughing. "don't let him get you down." "oh," kenny said. she was smiling again now. "you're all right, kenny," jake said. "down, boy." "you jake adams?" "yeh." "i heard about you." "who?" "lot of people talk about you," kenny said. "you go with armenta?" ] "ha!" scar said. "guess you'll shut up now." scar laughed. "i heard about you too," kenny said. it was jake's turn to laugh. "couldn't have, i'm scared of girls." they all laughed. "you fellows are awful." "that's me, awful good," scar said pulling her over and tickling her until the pout vanished. when she laughed she had dimples. jake and kenny began talking, finding out what mutual friends they had. jake started flirting again. "well, hell," scar said. "y'all seem like a good match. you should get together." "oh, alonzo," kenny said, pulling him closer to her. "act your age." "sounds like a proposition," scar said, putting his arms around her and acting as if he was going to kiss her. she laughed, pushing him away. "you're a mannish thing." "he's a man." "i ain't funny, honey, if that's what you mean," scar said in a high feminine voice. "hey, there's armenta. hey, armenta, where you going?" "hi, scar," armenta said. "hi, kenny — hello, jake." "hi," jake said. "well, don't stand there, get in," scar said. armenta looked at jake. "i've got to—" "will you get in, you're holding up traffic," scar said. "what you trying to do, stand there and upset all the little boys, put grown-up ideas in their little childish minds?" "get in," jake said. "i_" "get in." [ "not in back, up front. i ain't your ole man," scar said. "thank god for that," armenta said, looking at kenny and winking. a crowd was milling around a group of fellows on the corner. the barracudas had found someone they didn't like. "those cootas are awful," kenny said. "they think they are," scar said. "ho, man, don't go another further," spider yelled. he erupted out of the milling throng on the corner and ran over to the car. he got in the back with scar and kenny. "hi, kenny." "hi, bert." kenny didn't seem to like to use nicknames. "man, the cootas tangled with one of the counts. they're still working him over." "get stomped?" "yeh." "tough," jake said. "they know who to mess with," spider said. "don't see 'em ganging no t's." "they're in for a hell of lot of trouble handling the counts," jake said. jake dropped spider off first since he lived only six blocks south of the school. kenny lived over on bell avenue in the same district as maxine. he dropped scar off with her. kenny lived in one of those tenement houses. there were a bunch of kids milling over the decaying wooden steps. some were shooting marbles in the front yard, playing big ring. "hi, sis," one of the little grubby-faced, pigtailed girls said. "marvin, willa, sis's home." "whose' that car?" "don't know, sure is fine." the kids ran up to the car, putting dirty fingerprints everywhere they touched. "stop all that noise," kenny said. "and you billy and ] thomas, why don't you stay at home sometime?" she said angrily. "mess up your own yard." "mama's working late tonight," willa said. "who's that?" she said, looking at scar and noticing his checkered sport coat and outer-seamed trousers. "your ole man, he's sharp." "see you," jake said. "yeh, take it slow." that was scar. jake made the long drive over to the other side of town where armenta lived. "bye, jake, thanks," armenta said, running up the steps and into the house before jake had a chance to say anything without hollering at her and seeming foolish. jake drove away, trying to feel gay, don't-give-a-damn. the feeling wouldn't come. four p.m. on a sunny afternoon. that night jake got rid of one hundred dollars of junk at the paradise. he went up on the dance stand and re- quested a favorite number. he told the players where to pick up the junk; he was told where to pick up the money. that was the way it went. nobody ever welched, nobody. friday night jake stopped running from maxine; he knew what he was going to do. as always maxine was looking good. she had on a fashionable, chic dress that gathered tightly at the waist and billowed out from her hips, a swinging circle of skirt framing her well-developed dancer's legs. maxine was tall for a girl, but she wasn't thin. her nickname, slim, came from the litheness, the grace of body and limb that was always present in her movements. he [ got out and opened the door for her. she kissed him lightly on the cheek. "good thing you did that before i started driving," jake said. "why?" maxine said as he got under the steering wheel. "would have raised my blood pressure so much i wouldn't have been able to control this thing," jake said. maxine laughed a hollow laugh. both of them were play- ing with each other, and both knew it. after the movie they went across the street to the paradise. the pretense that everything's the same, the warding off of the inevitable with small talk. "isn't gregory peck the sweetest hunk of man? he really sends me." "for some strange reason he don't move me, but that jones girl, whoof. never seen such a terrible cutta in all my life. did you see how she was busting out of those over- alls—" "jake." she hit him playfully. "she looks almost as good as you —" the guilty pause. "you're a heel." "and —" "i like you," she said. they sat at the bar sipping scotch and water. off in the back the band blew loud and fast on the raised stage. fatigued musicians exhibited their wares. "i like you more than like you," she admitted. he told maxine good night at her door. he got rid of $ worth of junk. he got his own kicks on the hard, red glare. [ pushed him into an air of indifference. spider beamed at the good fortune of getting evelyn to go out. kenny kept her eyes on scar. champagne bubbled on their table, scotch glowed. they were successful businessmen. they drank only the best. drinks, jokes — the floor shows came and went. shake dancers, chorus girls, vulgar, slapstick comedy, exhibitions of prowess from members of the band. that was the way the night went, and somewhere during that dizzy flow of activity jake trans- acted business. "look," jake said, his head reeling to the buzz of alcohol. "can you do this?" he started clapping his hands to the bongo beat. he brought his hands together once on a beat, then two times to a beat, then three, then he missed the beat altogether his hands fanning rapidly by each other without touching. he held up a certain number of fingers indicating how many times to clap on a beat; he made a zero with his thumb and index finger when they weren't supposed to clap at all. then he made it more complicated by missing a certain number of beats instead of simply clap- ping one beat and missing the next. the fingers on his other hand indicated which beat to clap on. heads turned from the direction of the band to focus on their rocking table. a few people joined in, the rhythm became jumbled as the crowd tried to catch the beat. the whole place started rock- ing, the rhythm carrying up to the band members who joined in clapping their hands with the crowd. they had a rocking good time to the tricky rhythm of the handclaps. the band got carried away and gave an impromptu floor show. they jammed for twenty minutes, hot wild notes of screaming dissonance, slow, sweet, tricky counterpoint fol- lowing a basic pattern of rhythm and melody. the band ] loved itself. the crowd loved the band. they got what they had come to see — the night wore on, the band screamed the night away. five o'clock in the morning, the sun throwing a feeble ray into the blacked-out sky. the milkman and his bottles, the cabbie on his last early morning hustle, the ragman driving his lonely, bony old horse and wagon down the alleyways, punching at the refuse spilling from the overstuffed ash- pits. the swing shifter going home, the early morning crew on the way to work a few slow-moving buses, the streetcar reeling on its early morning route. after hours cubby holes give up their load; the policeman, shivering in the early morning mist, curses silently, walks his deserted beat. the twenty-four hour restaurant, where the waitress sleeps, her scarred shoes listing on the floor, her run-filled stockings pulled under her as she curls in the booth. the old man drinking coffee at the counter, while the jukebox starves for nickels. the paperboy wiping the dripple from his nose with the back of his hand, the wheels of his bicycle singing on the pavement wet with dew. the dull thump as the paper hits its mark on the lawn or porch in the still air. the light in the kitchen, the strong aroma of percolating coffee. the first yawn and the stifled impulse to fall back in bed. somewhere strong and shrill, in a back-yard pen, a rooster crows. five o'clock in the morning, a new day. "i had a good time," maxine said. "come on in." jake went in; the protest died in his throat. in the dark [ and not wanting to be there, and wanting to be there all at the same time, and unable to stop it. the rustling whisper of garments, intertwining limbs, and the betraying squeak of the bed, and giving up at last and being lost and tossed about on love-splattered timelessness, on a rocket ship, on a trip to the moon. "what's your mother going to say when you come in this late at night?" scar asked kenny. "or should i say early in the morning?" "how late is it?" kenny wanted to know. "quarter to six." "i thought it was just a little after four." "it was when we left the club. we stayed at bill's a long time," scar said. "he has some good barbecue." "we've been talking out here almost an hour," scar said. "that was some of the best barbecue i ever had in my life." "i should have brought you home a lot sooner," scar said. "i had the best time i ever had in my life," kenny said. "kenny." but kenny was feeling the effects of the champagne and intent on following her own line of conversation. "you haven't even kissed me," she said. he kissed her. "oh, i wish we could go somewhere," she said. "tomorrow." ] "tomorrow i might not feel like this." "you will. don't you think you better go inside?" "mama will kill me," kenny suddenly realized. "it's not that serious." "you don't know mama. let's try the back door," kenny said. "maybe i can sneak in that way." they went around the back, trying not to make any noise in the trash-laden gangway, dank and peppery with urine. "mama works hard for us kids. she says we better not give her no trouble. she says she ain't going to put up with it, and she won't. i know mama." "how many of you is there?" scar said. "ten." "ten!" "shush, you'll wake up mama. it's just four of us here. the rest are married, or in the army. two of my brothers got killed in world war two." "tough." "the insurance money helped a lot. sometimes my broth- ers and sisters send money home. everybody but arthur. mama put him out. we ain't heard from him since," kenny said. "think you can make it in all right?" scar said, finding the back door unlocked. "if i don't, you'll hear me holler. you take off and run like hell," kenny giggled. "good night —" he cut her off with a kiss. she waved at him, tiptoeing up the steps with her shoes in her hand. man, you're hell, scar told himself. who's the babe you can't make? they don't exist. satisfaction wouldn't come. it had gotten so that now a guy couldn't even joke about it. who's the babe you can't make? they don't exist. too bad no one ever told that to maxine. [ afterwards jake could never get it straight in his mind how he finally broke with maxine. he couldn't actually say that he told her, or that she realized it was over and saved him the trouble. it did seem to him she did most of the talking. he remembered she took it good-naturedly. she was cool, she didn't seem particularly bothered. good ole slim, she was dependable. she was realistic about the whole thing. nothing lasted. hell, everybody knew that. he was glad slim took it the way she had. he liked her for that. over at armenta's, when she opened the door and looked questioningly at him standing there, he found himself unable to say anything. he must have stood there a few minutes without moving before realizing she had invited him in. in the front room he sat on the sofa still not saying anything. armenta asked him if he wanted to hear some records. he nodded. armenta had nothing to say. jake felt foolish. in those moments he actually hated armenta, because he thought she was ridiculing him and silently laughing at his uneasiness. so they sat listening to the records in silence. fi- nally, jake decided to hell with it. he wasn't going to let no babe get away with treating him like dirt. he picked up his hat, stood up stiffly and said he would see her later. "i don't want to see you," armenta said. she followed him to the door. jake was bewildered, but he wasn't going to let her know it. he wasn't going to do anything else to give her a chance to laugh at, but on the threshold of the door, instead of walking coolly out without looking back, he found him- self in the ridiculous position of hesitating. he would have felt a masochistic delight if she had shoved the door against his back and pushed him off the threshold. why should he be acting so silly around this broad anyway? she didn't ] care nothing about him. he stepped onto the porch still hesitating. when the door did not slam shut, he turned around to see her standing at the door looking at him. he would have said her face held no expression because he could not think of any expression to describe what he saw there. "good night," he said. "good night." "i just dropped by —" he paused. "i just wanted to tell you me and maxine broke up." armenta said nothing, but jake was sure she was silently laughing again. he felt like watching his shoes drag down the steps looking through hunched shoulders. "i guess i had you tagged wrong, kid," he said indifferently. "never let it be said jake adams ever insisted on coming some place where he wasn't wanted. later." he turned swiftly and walked down the steps with his shoulders squared. he had to get away from there; he had made enough of a fool of himself already. what was it armenta felt watching jake going down the steps? whatever it was, it wasn't pity. no one could ever pity jake, she thought. he seemed like a little boy, almost. armenta had never seen jake like that before. she could never imagine jake as a little boy. as conceited, cold, even brutal at times, she could imagine him. but she had always interpreted this as a defense of his to prove how tough he was, to hide the person he was underneath. the constant display of arrogance and indifference in jake had always fas- cinated her, but he tried so hard to show everyone he was a man, especially since he had started getting money and dress- ing nice (he had been so shabby in grade school), that he was childish about it at times. but she had never thought of jake before as a little boy, not even in grade school. she could not understand how that could be, because she had always, ever [ since she first met jake, wanted to mother him and make him act nice. he was so bad, he was the baddest thing in the world. "jake." he turned at the bottom of the steps. "i don't mind you dropping by when you're in the neighbor- hood. if you want to," she added coquettishly. jake turned back around, walked out into the street and unlocked his car door. he drove away without looking back. "that babe don't jive," he told scar at booker's. "how you figure?" "she's playing with me." "or trying to keep you from playing with her." "you know me." "and so does she." "she don't have eyes for me," jake said. "she's got eyes." "you know what i mean." "yeh, and i mean what i know. that babe goes for you, and you're goofed behind her. so quit trying to hide it from her and you'll get along fine." "up yours," jake said. "she's yours." monk came by. he had the same deal to offer. the night wore away rubbing against the stubborn light of dawn. may came, frustrated flowers silently bombarded their way up through the earth. green vegetation returned to the threadbare countryside. on the trees, green skin stretched itself around bony limbs. the faithful starlings now were ] joined again by the wanderlust robin, the saucy bluejay, the scarlet cardinal. their colors dazzled in the sunlight. the mad platter show exhibited the new turnover of records to the teen-age listeners. there was a thing called "east of suez" by charlie ventura. the chicken shack had an un- known, george shearing, occupying space on the jukebox. his "east of the sun," "continental," "september in the rain," established him a following among the guys in the know. the kids played hide-and-go-seek when night ap- proached. at night army blankets crowded the park. the winos switched from muscatel to mulberry. the barracudas got bolder. emma culpard, the thirteen-year-old girl who lived down the street from jake, bore evidence of conception. gussy, her little brother, was constantly reminded of this by the snickering street. wino jepe went to jail on a morals charge. pop garveli wore his straw hat. spider, scar, and jake had another good night at zodie's. a rookie policeman was reassigned to the county after trying to hang a charge of narcotics possession on some name performers at the para- dise. spring was back in all its glory. over on bell avenue, scar and kenny sat on the wooden steps of the front porch. people were crowding out of the tenements all along the block, boys and girls strolling along the streets and gangways. the tamale man, with his steam wagon loaded with pigs' knuckles, sausages, pigs' feet, and tamales, held fast to his station on the corner. his apron was crusty with mustard. bubbles of perspiration popped from his face. his tired feet ached in worn-out shoes. the shop- worn smile with the crooked, remnant teeth leered hopefully in the night. the steam whistle shrilled erratically, wooing the roustabouts to the tamale man's wares. boys gathered around the lamppost on the corner, discussing girls they had known, girls real and imaginary. since the girls were dis- [ cussed so vividly and exactly, every account was taken as factual. the coalshed was a rendezvous for teen-age love; in the alleys they gambled. wine and pod stimulated their blood. soon they would roam around looking for trouble and if unable to find it would fight among themselves. "mama will be coming home soon," kenny told scar. "she cuts some mean hours." "only eight, except when the hotel has a late party or something, then she has to stay late. you know dishwashers have to stay later than anyone else." "yeh, and you always have to be dishwashers." "huh?" "nothing," scar said. "you know, kenny, it's hard to get a good job, 'specially if you don't have a good education." "well, mama never went past the fifth grade, but she's smart. she's self-educated. she's awful smart when it comes to life, though she don't know much about books, and stuff like that." "yeh," scar said, knowing it was hopeless to get kenny to see what he was talking about. "what are you going to do after graduation?" "i don't know," kenny said. "civil service or something, i guess." "how you figure?" "lots of colored girls work for the government. take max —" "maxine's smart. she graduated with a . average in high school," scar said. "right behind me." "so what?" "you have to pass a test to get those jobs," scar said. "they're good jobs," kenny said. "a lot of people think so." "i suppose you think you can do better?" ] "i might one of these days." "you think you're so smart, alonzo carroway." "i don't think you're smart enough to get a job in civil service." "oh no? well, just what do you think i'm smart enough to do?" "wash dishes in somebody's kitchen." kenny looked at scar, that puzzled expression crossed her face again. "don't let me get you down, kid," scar said. "that's all you ever want to do," kenny said. "take me somewhere and get me down." scar was surprised. he had never suspected kenny of being capable of coming up with a comment like that. "here comes mama," kenny said. mrs. waston came up the steps in the tired shuffle of people who work for long stretches of time standing on their feet. streaks of gray criss-crossed her woolly hair. she was a large and muscular woman, stretched out of shape by too many tiring hours of hard work, and the pull of too many children conceived too fast. her stockings were a highway of runs. how many husbands have you had, mrs. waston? how many did you marry? "hi kids," mrs. waston said. "i sure is tired. lord knows i is." she rubbed a plump hand across her aching back. "never seen folks could make such a mess as them high- polluting white folks. don't you kids stay out here all night," she said going into the house. "don't you go sitting out there hugging and kissing," she said laughing. "if ya'll got to get all hot and bothered, come on inside where ain't nobody goin* pay you no mind." most nights jake spent over at armenta's. jake felt that mr. arnez did not like him and told armenta about it. armenta told jake not to worry about it. armenta never allowed herself to look realistically at her father's attitude concerning her and jake. she was afraid to. such was not the case with mrs. arnez. she always took her husband quite seriously. her husband was a man who held an atti- tude on everything and his attitudes seldom changed. mrs. arnez had learned, through long experience, the only way she could change his attitude was to belittle or doubt the seriousness of whatever her husband was set against. the night jake took armenta to the drive-in, mr. arnez told his wife he didn't like it. "i think he's a nice boy," mrs. arnez said. "that eighteen-year-old mystery man? she won't tell me a thing about him. acts all hurt when i mention a simple ques- tion like who his folks are, where he works, and things like that." "she doesn't want you to pry," mrs. arnez said. "pry! a man has a right to know who his daughter is spending her time with, and i tell you right now, there's something wrong with that boy." "oh, henry, you can get so upset over nothing." "that girl always did have poor taste when it came to boys." "my parents said the same thing about me." "take that rudolph fella. a knuckle-headed athlete. now what did she see in him?" "i heard he was a pretty smart boy, henry. he's going to college." "on an athletic scholarship." [ "it's still the same old story," jake said, thinking out loud. "what?" armenta wanted to know. "just thinking of a song, remember the movie casablanca?" "sure, tony martin." "i preferred humphrey bogart." "you would. what's the matter?" armenta said, noticing jake's uneasiness. "nothing." "you look strange." "do i?" "i said you did." "well, i ain't funny," jake said. "you aren't?" she was looking him straight in the eye. he couldn't tell whether it was a challenge or mockery smiling under the long silky lashes. his hands became bold. she looked at him with the look a mother reserves for the favor- ite naughty boy. the look infuriated him and he kissed her more in anger than anything else. she trembled against him and the roof of his mouth was on fire again. the eyes, that he had sworn were busy mocking him, were tightly closed when he pushed her down on the front seat of the car. she murmured "stop," weakly, but her legs responded to the command of his body. then her rapid breathing gave way to a moan. afterwards she looked at him with that look in her eyes. "let me up, jake," she said matter-of-factly. she acted as if she was going to sit over in the corner of the car away from him, but he grabbed her and held her close with her head resting on his chest under his chin. "i didn't mean to hurt you," he said awkwardly. she smiled weakly. he could feel the blush burn her body. "i did it once before," she said. "why?" ] "out of curiosity." "curiosity get the better of you now?" "none of your business." she slapped him playfully. "what are you thinking?" she said uneasily. "i'm crazy about you," jake said. "i've never known any- body like you before. i didn't know it was possible for anybody to move me like you do." "you ever try duz?" armenta said. "duz does everything." "armenta." he kissed that look from her eyes. "you don't have to lay it on so thick," she said. "you got what you wanted, didn't you?" "why in the hell you go out with me if you don't like me?" jake said. "who said anything like that?" armenta said surprised. "well, you act like it. everything i say, you make some- thing funny out of it." "you think i — i would — if i didn't like you?" "well, you did," jake said angrily. "why you — you —" she looked warm enough to blow smoke signals. they suddenly burst out laughing. "why do we always fight?" jake said pulling her close to him again. "you're so bad," armenta said. "you're the most impos- sible thing in the world. do you really like me?" she said glancing at him through the corner of her eyes. "from your navel to your knees," jake said. he grabbed her wrists before she could slap him and kissed her until she stopped struggling. "oh, you," she said. "and your legs, and your ankles, and your feet, and your toes, and your breasts, and your arms, and your shoulders, and your neck, and your chin, and your mouth, and your stuck-up nose, and your eyes, and your hair, and you and you and you," jake whispered in her ear. [ "jake adams, you're so silly," she said smiling. "what time is it?" "five after twelve." "take me home. you know i promised mother to be home by twelve," she managed to blurt out while they tussled and fondled each other. one week later, at the paradise where he had gone on business matters, jake ran into maxine sitting at the bar. she was between two men. it was obvious what they were trying to do. jake recognized one of the guys. his name was benbow. he had a reputation as a lady killer. the men were buying maxine scotch on rocks. maxine was trying to keep that sexy look in her eyes, but the whisky kept pulling them out of focus. she wore a black sophisticated dress that hugged a grown-up frame. light, sophisticated laughter spilled from lips pulled tense by a mocking smile. whisky was slowly stripping away sophistication. jake walked over to the bar and touched maxine on the arm. "hi, slim, what you trying to prove?" "jake! hello, heel," she said. "who's your friend?" the guy on the right wanted to know. "this is jake," maxine said in a confidential tone. "jake, this —" she paused. "what did you say your name was?" maxine giggled to cover her embarrassment. "eddie." "that's right, eddie." she tapped eddie lightly on the shoulder, and turned back to jake. "benbow, this is —" "i know him," benbow said. ] "oh!" maxine looked amused. "how you been, jake?" benbow said. "everything's crazy," jake said. "i've been having a wonderful time," maxine told jake. "there must be a million bars in this town. they've got more bars in this town than i thought they had in the whole world." she gulped down her drink. "whoops," she said straightening out her legs and wiggling her toes through her open-toed shoes. she giggled again. somehow she could not stop giggling. "doesn't even burn going down. that's funny, isn't it? why doesn't it burn going down any more, jake? remember how you used to always tease me about making faces when i drank? i don't any more. watch, i'll show you. charlie, bring me another drink. bring jake one too. ben- bow and eddie don't mind, do you?" she said, looking at them. benbow and eddie nodded. "i don't want one, and you don't need one," jake said. "what's the matter, heel?" maxine said. "you never used to try to keep me from drinking." "i never used to have to." "tsk, tsk," maxine said. "maxine, you're a very naughty girl. the heel won't like you if you drink. why do i always have to do what you want to do? why can't i ever do what i want to do?" maxine said. she was crying and she knew she mustn't cry, not ever, especially in front of jake. "say, is this cat bothering you?" eddie said. "be cool," jake said quietly. "i'll —" "try it," jake said matter-of-factly. "let's everybody be friends," maxine said smiling, dab- bing at her eyes with an inadequate feminine handkerchief. "come on, slim," jake said. "i'm taking you home." he [ lifted her off the stool by the shoulders. he was disgusted. he thought maxine knew better. eddie started to get up, but benbow restrained him by placing a slim hand on his shoulder. "who in hell does that guy think he is?" eddie said. "forget it," benbow said, raising a glass of scotch to his lips and sipping the drink calmly. "but i spent four bucks on that broad!" benbow looked at eddie disgustedly. he adjusted his blond straw hat with the brown band to the proper angle over his slender face. "that's the way it goes," benbow said. he wound the stem of his expensive benrus citation and rubbed the heavy gold band of the watch on his dark, light- weight suitcoat sleeve. he looked at himself critically in the mirror over the bar, and adjusted the dark brown tie. he noticed his fingernails were a little bit shabby. he reminded himself to stop by the manicurist tomorrow. outside, maxine was giggling again. "benbow invited me to a party in his rathskeller. he's got a new cadillac," she said. "better than your ole dynaflow." "man, dig the switch on the bitch," a guy said to a fellow lounger on the corner. "you can do better than that, slim," jake said, irritated by the way maxine was weaving along in her highheel shoes. "why don't you leave if you don't like the way i'm walk- ing?" "if i wasn't a fool, i would." maxine looked at jake. "i don't think you're a fool," she said softly. she pressed his arm tightly with her hand. he intended to leave maxine at her door, but he didn't. maxine talked in circles like an intoxicated person, and yet jake knew she wasn't drunk. "stay with me, just for a little while," she told jake. she made him sit down on the bed and ] cuddled in his lap with her face against his shoulders. she told him a lot of things. she told him she didn't want to be silly, and act like a little girl. she told him her father was dead and she had no one to turn to. she said she was afraid and ashamed of being scared of life, that she had tried to learn to be like he told her, but she just wasn't as tough as he was. "i still like you, jake," she admitted in a shaky voice. "even though — everything is through between us." why had she looked at him then? why couldn't she keep her face against his shoulder and not look at him like that? he thought he felt every muscle in her body vibrate as she breathed. she squirmed in his lap, pressing her body against him, while the tears began to sneak from the corners of her eyes. she held him tighter, trying to control herself. her hands massaged his shoulders in a slow, circular motion. it was like lighting a match to a gas-filled oven. he didn't even feel her teeth on his neck. she was the eager one, she gave him no time to prepare himself. his shoulders became smeared with her tears. "i didn't mean to hurt you, slim," jake said. she was incapable of speech. her nails left their mark on his shoulder. in the apartment across the hall the radio blared through the thin walls of the apartment house . . . / wonder where our love has gone . . . the rich, baritone voice of arthur prysock crooned. the high school auditorium was crowded with relatives of the graduating students. jake and scar sat in the upper bal- [ cony four rows from the back. from where they were the stage appeared to be a mass of maroon robes with white stoles and shades of brown blotches where heads were supposed to be. the school band played movements from the new world symphony. the choir sang spirituals, the surprisingly ma- ture deep bass voices forming a colorful background for the high flying voices of the spirited sopranos. the bald head of the principal caught the beams from the light and cast a glittering reflection into the audience as his head bobbled up and down in rhythm to the trite speech he made every jan- uary and every june. the bald head of the man seemed to accentuate his personality. he had bowed and scraped for years and probably rubbed all his hair off doing so. his life was a direct opposite of the inspired message he delivered to the students. his weak voice attested to the fact that that sort of words had no business emerging from the lips of that sort of man. the audience grinned at the principal. the grin could mean anything. jake, who had been concentrating on trying to find ar- menta among the robes, finally gave it up as hopeless. scar had a more effective way of getting around listening to what the principal was saying. he went to sleep. finally, the students strolled down the stage one at a time to get their diplomas. the audience was asked not to clap as each pupil received his diploma. the request was ignored. the popu- larity and number of relatives present for each pupil was in- dicated by the handclaps. consequently, it was no surprise to jake or scar that armenta received very many and kenny few. the audience dispersed to meet the graduates in the second- floor hallway. "we'll see you at the car," scar told jake and led kenny away from the boisterous relatives swarming around the students. no one was present to greet kenny and ] scar did not want to give her a chance to think about it. he remembered how lonely maxine had looked last year. mr. arnez was almost cordial to jake when he finally led armenta away from congratulating relatives. "i hope they don't stay out too late," mr. arnez told his wife. "they won't," mrs. arnez said. "well, graduation takes care of that problem. when we send armenta off to college, we won't have to worry about that bird following her up there. once she's up there, with the right kind of people, she'll soon forget about him," mr. arnez said with satisfaction. on the night of the high school prom kenny and armenta wore off-the-shoulder evening gowns — kenny's a smart imi- tation of the high-priced model, armenta's the real thing. jake and scar stood correct and uncomfortable in tuxedo shirts, the lightweight summer jacket and tux pants, the highly polished black leather shoes. kenny was the talk of the prom. she had a white orchid pinned above her breast on her blue gown. "baby, are you doing that to the dress, or is the dress doing that to you, or are you doing it to each other?" scar said. "oh shut up," kenny said. "you having a good time?" "that's a silly question," kenny said. her eyes were alive with excitement. "people should have a good time some of the time," scar said. [ "oh, alonzo," kenny said, caressing his neck with her fingers. "you're so crazy." "you're a good kid," scar said. "i hope you'll be happy some day." "i'm happy now." "now is such a short time," scar said. they danced to the music of percy white, a local band. "scar double-crossed me," jake told armenta as they sat over in the corner watching scar and kenny dance. armenta smiled. "how?" she said. "that white orchid. we agreed to get orchids, but jim, he must have paid a fortune for that white thing." "this beat-up ole purple thing is good enough for me," armenta said. "they don't grow orchids good enough for you." armenta squeezed jake's hand. she smiled. it was a sad smile. "what's wrong?" jake said. "oh nothing," armenta said. she squeezed his hand again. "come on, give," jake said. "don't this setup bugg you?" "that's just it, it does. i only wish —" "i thought you outgrew being bashful?" "i was just thinking about mary," armenta said. "mary?" "uh-huh, mary ballard. she didn't graduate," armenta said puzzled. "there's always somebody who don't make it," jake said. "but she was third-ranking student," armenta said, shak- ing her head. "we were good friends," armenta said. "we were supposed to go to college together." out on the dance floor kenny pushed scar away from her. "don't hold me so close," she said. "you'll mash the orchid." "if i had known that damn thing was going to keep me ] away from you, i would never have bought it," scar said. "you shouldn't have," kenny said smiling through misty eyes. scar shrugged. unlike jake, he was always embarrassed when someone thanked him for doing something and so he shrugged it off as if it were nothing. he saw pearl dance by him and told her he would be over after the number was over. on the next dance he left kenny with armenta and jake and danced with pearl. scar felt like a sponge. he felt he had to absorb every minute with all of his friends here. he wondered if they realized this would be the last time many of them ever saw each other? "she's still carrying the torch for you, curt is, i mean," pearl whispered in scar's ear. "they burn out," scar said. scar saw some of his old teammates over in a corner and joined them after leading pearl from the floor. "we sure missed you last year," mike said. "you did o.k.," scar said. "yeh, but we didn't have nobody could pull 'em out of the fire at the last minute like you used to." "well, i never saw anything like that flakes-hill combina- tion," scar said. "remember that pass he threw in the last minute of the riddick game? i don't see how he even man- aged to get the ball away, the way they were riding him down, much less throw that thing so far. that ball must have gone fifty yards, and did you see how hill came out of nowhere to take it? with one hand too. how he ever got his hands on that ball i'll never know." "he catches all of 'em with one hand," flakes said. "only the hard ones," hill said. armenta sat over in the corner sipping punch, watching jake and kenny dance. rudolph would have tried to dance every dance with her. rudolph was so dependable. rudolph [ was dull. jake had better remember who's his ole lady, armenta thought. burnell came over and asked armenta to dance. they glided over the floor. burnell could really dance. "how you and jake making it?" burnell wanted to know. "we're living." "if i had an ole lady as fine as you, i sure wouldn't be dancing with no one else," burnell said. "what's so bad-looking about beatrice? she's got all the boys in school after her." "she ain't as fine as you." "you've sure got a line." "i'm just talking," burnell said. "i know it. i know you're goofed behind beatrice." "i wish i was sure how she was about me." "are you kidding?" "we're getting married," burnell said uncertainly. "wonderful," armenta said meaning it. "i'm glad to hear it." "i don't know how it's going to work out, i'm going into the air force." "it'll work out," armenta said. "'cause you want it to." "i wish i was as sure about it as you are," bumell said. after the dance armenta told jake about burnell and beatrice. "proves my theory that women are dangerous," jake said. "he's going into the air force," armenta said. "tough," jake said raising an eyebrow. "what's wrong with that?" "they always told me absence makes the heart grow fonder — of somebody else," jake added. "jake," armenta said. "don't you believe a girl can be true?" "women or men either," jake said shaking his head. ] "jake," armenta said pouting. "i only believe one thing." "what?" "people will fugg up." "you believe i would do you like that?" disbelief lowered armenta's voice below its normal deep range. "i wish i could believe otherwise." "well, i wouldn't." "i hope i never have to find out." "i wouldn't," armenta said. "it's easy to say." over in the rest room the girls stood around and talked. "might have known armenta arnez come in trying to show off," one of the girls said. "yeh and kenny's getting just like her since they started running together." "who ever heard of anybody wearing a white orchid to a high school prom?" "honey, you're just jealous 'cause your ole man didn't get you one." "well, those look like plain ole dollar-and-a-half carnations you're wearing, baby." "ain't it the truth. just like yours, honey, and i sure wish william would have brought me one of those fragile little expensive white things." "scar always has been a show-off anyway. you have to expect things like that from him." "you're probably stuck on scar yourself. what you trying to prove anyway?" "i ain't trying to prove nothing. i just wish william was a show-off like scar." "wonder what he sees in ole black kenny." "calm down, you high yellow bitch," pearl said. "kenny's [ one of the cutest chicks ever went to this school, and she's got a fine shape too, honey, and she don't have to go downtown and buy falsies like some people i know." "are you insinuating—" "i ain't insinuating, i'm signifying. you can tell by the feel, mine are real." the air grew tense. "oh, kenny's o.k.," a girl said, "but that armenta —" "what about her?" curt said. "i don't see what jake sees in her." "you ever compare legs?" curt said. "or chests?" pearl added. "well, they won't be together long." "naw, jake don't spend too much time with no one girl," geneva said. "he sure is a fine-looking dark boy." "i've seen 'em darker." "i've seen 'em lighter." "he's sure got some fine clothes." "an' money." "an' a dynaflow —" jake was dancing with some other girl again. armenta sat in the corner talking to gertrude, a skinny, freckled-faced girl who graduated at the head of the class. "girl, i don't like to say this. i know i shouldn't —" "shouldn't what?" armenta said. jake had better come on back here, she was thinking. "don't you know about mary?" "no." "that was her baby they found in the toilet," gertrude said. "that's why she didn't graduate." "mary!" armenta said. [ "i got a ship to central state," flakes was saying. "i'm going to be the toughest little quarterback ever hit the place." "you're the only braggart i know that's as good as he says he is," scar said. "then, he ain't a braggart. he's just stating the facts," william said. "where you going, country?" scar said. "xavier." "that means you and scott will be playing against each other when xavier and southern tangle." "yeh." ... hey little girl, i got eyes for you . .. "too bad all of you couldn't get ships to the same school," scar said. "ain't it the truth." .. . hey little girl, what you gonna do . . . "you ought to come on down to central with me," flakes told scar. "nothing to keep you from going to school now." "i might," scar lied. "i'm going one of these days," he added almost believing it. . . . hey little girl, ain't you mighty fine . . . "don't wait too late," flakes said. .. . hey little girl, ain't you mighty fine . .. "i better go see 'bout my beast," scar said, not wanting to talk about it any longer. "bettern we all." scar sat in the corner waiting for kenny to come off the dance floor. everything was gone now. the thrill of the evening had been dispersed by the hard facts of reality. he saw jake and armenta dancing cheek to cheek on the dance floor. he's sure got it bad, scar thought. man, i need a lift. .. . hey little girl . . . ] scar hoped he could make it through the dance without getting sick, before his habit came down. . . . hey little girl, i'm in love with you . . . and so went the night, the bittersweet prom, the last gathering of the class. . . . hey little girl, i'm in love with you . . . the parting of the ways — ... i'll do anything baby, anything in the world for you . . . july was always hot. this july was no exception. the bars and public establishments on welch street were air-condi- tioned, except places like molly's and booker's billiard par- lor, where you had to wait until two o'clock in the morning for nature to cool things off. there were a lot of places like that. the pace of the street was torrid as the weather. people dressed for the weather; they did not slow down because of it. people shuffled over the street like flying cards under the erratic manipulations of a bungling dealer. welch street sweltered. the guys hung around booker's in ten-dollar panamas, t shirts, levi's and stacey adam shoes. the new york game was rapidly drawing to a close. scar had dampered enthu- siasm in the game. the guys in the know had double-teamed on scar, telling each other the pills they held and setting each other up by ducking up or making each other balls, but scar was still winning. the more pressure they put on him, the better he shot. when they were unsuccessful in hiding him behind some ball, so he couldn't hit the ball he was supposed [ to shoot at, which happened too often to suit them, scar ran the table. the guys got mad at each other. scar knew what they were doing and was amused. scar was also ten dollars ahead when jake came in. "what's happening, president?" booker said, trying out the new expression that had sprung up among the teen-agers. "it's 'what's happening, pres,'" scotty said. "pres, president. what's the dif?" booker said. "hey, man," jake said, speaking to all of them. "what's going?" "hear your ole lady's going to college," booker told jake. "that's what they say." "man, ain't you worried 'bout them college cats cutting in? with all that book learning, psychology and all that, and you not there. man, i'd be worried if i was you." "you ain't me," jake said. "o.k., president, you cool," booker said. "say man," jake said to scar. "give the studs a break. come on and dig tree with me at zodie's. cage is in town and you know how they always jam when he comes in." "they gonna curse each other out?" "don't they always?" "that's some crazy happenings, man," scar said, "but the boys might want to try and break even." "are you kidding?" scotty said. "with you out of the game maybe some of us can make some bread." scar laughed. "pure luck, man. pure luck." scar hung up his stick. the game went on. out on the street the night sounds. the baby cries, the kids chasing each other through the gangways. in the hall- ways the fellows and the girls. the shrill ringing burglar alarm at judiheimer's pawn shop where the gaping hole in the window protested of trespassing. [ the successful home-town boy. tree's husky frame vibrated like the sax, clear, sharp notes rang from the force of power- ful lungs. small, smiling cage stood in the door, his frail body wrapped around an alto sax almost as big as he was. cage glittered with success. the gold tooth glittered from the side of his mouth when he grinned. the gold rings on his fingers glittered as he raised the shimmering golden saxophone up to his mouth. cage answered tree with the sharp, flippant tongue of the alto sax. the crowd roared, the session had begun. da-da-da-da-da-da, tree blew. kill that mother fug— sce-de-da. sce-de-da. cage answered. your mother, your mother. applause thundered. da-de-da-de-sce-dop, tree blew. you're another one, the alto answered. trimmed your fanny brown. is that chick still in town? the alto inquired. tree blew hot, short notes daring cage to come up on the bandstand where tree could show him up. cage answered the challenge. he applejacked through the aisle leading up to the stand blowing wild insults as he went along. tree answered, screaming loudly on the tenor. applause ricocheted. "man, those studs are crazy." "they're the coolest," scar agreed. see, ba-de-ba-sce-, be-sce-ba. better get yourself a white girl, cage blew mounting the stand. sce-ba, de-de-sce, de-ba, sce-de. and leave these nigger women alone. sce-ba-bop-ba-bop-ba-ba, sce-ba-ba-bop-ba-ba. how you gonna sound baby, how you gonna sound! blowing a pretty little white girl, is better than a saxo- phone. ] see, da, ba, de, de, sce-d-da, de-de. he's funny that way, he's funny that way, tree blew. the crowd laughed. "what did he say?" a woman wanted to know. people looked at each other, swept along by the rhythm of the music but not understanding the meaning. people cajoled the guys in the know about what was hap- pening. the guys in the know said be cool, so they could hear what was going on. the squares went along with the guys in the know caught in the fervor of the music. you can have your pretty ofay girl, with her pretty little golden curled head. i'll take a flat-tongued klinker top, 'cause she knows what to do in bed. cage almost dropped his horn laughing. see, da-d-be-bla-aa, cage blew. sce-de-bop, sce-de-bop. tree and cage got real nasty. "when you going to quit it?" scar asked jake. "not until the session's over, man," jake said. "i mean the city, man." "hey, pick up on tree," jake said. "i'm digging," scar said. "you must have found a gold mine, man, to leave the corners with all that bread you're making." "i'm going to hit on monk for the same deal in j city," jake said. "you mean where lincoln is?" "yeh." "you mean you're going up there with armenta, man?" "if i can talk monk into it." scar did not know what to say. jake was goofed behind armenta, he had to be, but jim — to go to college just to — maybe he was just jealous because he couldn't go. still, how in hell did jake figure monk would let him do something [ like that? "you scared somebody might make it to your ole lady if you're not around?" "you and booker think just alike," jake said. "i just thought i might want to pick up on some college happenings, that's all. a little education can come in handy they tell me." scar let the subject drop. this was the first time he had ever known jake to be a dreamer. anybody with any sense at all knew monk wasn't going to let jake go to j city, not and keep working for him, he wasn't. scar wondered what maxine was doing. jake had started to tell scar the real reason he wanted to go to j city, but scar had guessed. in fact everybody had guessed. he was glad he had not told scar. man, how they would have laughed. they would laugh anyway. the hell with them, let them laugh. how was he going to talk monk into it though? man, there had to be some way, if he could just figure it out. he wasn't going to give up pushing, that was for sure, not for anything, not even for armenta. tree blew an idea on the tenor, but before he could finish, cage finished it for him. tree called cage a son-of-a- bitch. cage blew an idea and tree cut him off with one of his own. applause mingled with the music. spider came out of the brook brothers tailor shop down on kinkel and broadway. brook brothers was one of the most exclusive tailoring shops downtown. he carried his new suit in a box under his arm. his new gray greenfield ] suedes were not quite comfortable to his feet yet. man, i'm really getting sharp, he told himself. he took the dice out of his pocket, kissed them and returned them to the pocket. he went across broadway down to third street, turned left at the corner, walked down to the end of the block, and leaned on a paper stand. "paper, mister?" "never read the things." "how you expect to keep up with what's going on in the world mister?" the news hawk said. "i know what's going on in my world." it was five o'clock. evelyn should be coming along any minute, spider thought. employees filed out of lane bryant's like swiftly scurrying ants. spider watched five minutes before seeing evelyn. she saw him and started across the street against the traffic sign and the traffic cop angrily waved her back to the sidewalk. "we got jay-walker laws in this city," he told her, finally motioning her to cross the street. "sorry," evelyn said. "i don't know what i was thinking about." evelyn smiled and linked her arm in spider's. "work hard?" "not too hard." "you ask the people about kenny?" "uh-huh. i've been asking for weeks. i know she'd like to get away from the sweaty ole laundry, but they're all filled up right now." "let's go somewhere and peck." "mother's looking for me to eat at home," evelyn said. "then sip on a milkshake or something while i peck," spider said. "i don't like the food at home." "oh, bert," evelyn said exasperated as he guided her into a walgreen drugstore. "i'm going to be late getting home," she said as they sat in a booth waiting to be served. ] "man, that was good," spider finally said. "i don't see why you worry about bread all the time. it's easy to get if you know what tree it grows on." "you've got to stop gambling too; i can't marry a gambler." "oh, hell. o.k.," spider said. "i'll look for a regular job tomorrow." what the hell, he could get a part-time hustle somewhere, tell her he had a regular job and she would never know the dif. only a crazy man would cut long hours when he could bounce some bones across the table and know he was going to come out on top. "hey, i want to show you my new front," spider said. "i'll show it to you in the taxi." scar was over in maxine's neighborhood, but in kenny's house. kenny was not very talkative. she finally told scar she did not have a job. "what happened to the one you had?" scar said. "i quit." "when?" "yesterday." "why?" "i couldn't stand all that steam! it made me sick," kenny said apologetically. "you mad at me?" "who, me? naw. a laundry's a pretty hard place for a girl to work." "i'm glad you're not mad," kenny said. "mama had a fit. she said i was no good. she said she spent eighteen years raising me and buying me decent clothes to wear and soon as i get up where i can help her out i'm too ornery to work." [ "say, it's not that bad," scar said, seeing the tears starting to roll from kenny's eyes. "she's putting me out the house." "the bitch." "she's my mama." "she's still a bitch." "alonzo, don't talk like that." "where you going to stay tonight?" scar said. "i don't know. i've got to be gone when mama comes. i've been praying you'd come by tonight," kenny said. "let me stay with you till i find something." "you don't know what you're saying." "i won't be no trouble," kenny said. "i won't eat much." "you don't get what i mean. a girl can't afford to put herself in that position." "i gotta stay somewhere." "yeah, you gotta stay somewhere." "please!" "i'd rather you wouldn't," scar said. next day he went by for kenny's clothes. mrs. waston was there. she came to the door just as scar was putting the key into the lock. "i thought you would be at work," scar said. "i just knowed you would. living in sin with my daughter. i spected as much first time i ever laid eyes on you. oughta put the law on you. you needs to be in jail. that's where you both needs to be." "kenny needs to be at home." "don't you sass me in my house." "i came for kenny's clothes," scar said. "give me the key you let yo self in here with." "not till i get kenny's clothes." ] "well! of all the damndest nerve. get out of my house." "i want kenny's clothes." "i'll bring 'em to you," mrs. waston raged. "you just get yq black ass out of my house!" she brought kenny's clothes to him all right. she threw them all over him while he stood out on the porch. neigh- bors watched in idle curiosity. "hey, jack," the cab driver, who was waiting for scar, said. "you sure got yourself in a hornet's nest, didn't you?" "i'm getting my ole lady out of one," scar said. "i just don't know what my daughter is getting into," mrs. waston said, taking the key from scar. "you should have thought of that when you put kenny out," scar said. "nigger, i'm tired of yo sass. shut yo black mouth and get away from my do." she slammed the door in scar's face. "tell that no-good kenny she ain't no daughter of mine no mo," mrs. waston screamed through the window at scar as the cab pulled away. "and tell her not to come crying around here when she gets all bigged from messing around with you!" mrs. waston put a sweating, beefy palm on her throbbing temple. "i raised a no-good bitch. my baby, my baby," she sobbed. kenny wasn't there when scar came back to the apartment loaded down with her clothes. the bed, which they had shared the night before, was neatly made. there was clean linen on the bed, scar noted, and the floors had been swept. the dishes were gone from the sink. there were roses in the vase on the coffee table in the front room by the daven- port. the clothes he had worn yesterday were not hanging on the nail outside the closet door where he had left them. he opened the closet and found them hanging neatly with the rest of his wardrobe. the three-room apartment was looking nice. it reminded him of how it looked when he [ first moved in and had fixed it up. he had been surprised to find such a nice-looking furnished apartment in that section of town. he had loved the color scheme the first time he saw it. a blue living room, with a gray davenport and upholstered chair. a gray coffee table that matched the lamp table which held a balloon-shaped blue lamp. he had bought a small gray radio and set it on the table with the lamp. the bedroom was pink with blond bedroom furni- ture. the kitchen had gassed him too. the walls were ivory down midway to the black paneled wood that met the ivory halfway up the wall. the floors of the kitchen were inlaid linoleum, in large black and white checks. the bathroom followed the same color scheme of the kitchen, but what had really knocked him out were the hardwood floors. they were grimy and pocked with black marks when he first moved in, so much so that he had not realized they were hardwood. when he found out, he rented a sanding machine and got them looking nice again. now, once every week, he waxed them. it was a crazy crib costing sixty-five a month, but to him it was worth it. the apartment house he lived in was behind a rundown shoeshine parlor. the apartment house rose two stories above the shine parlor. the outside of the house was ugly, blending with the other buildings. the insides of the apartments were something entirely different. it was hard to believe you could take a short walk, through that foul gangway between the shoeshine parlor and the tavern, walk up a few flights and run into something like this. scar put his clothes in the front-room closet and hung kenny's clothes in the closet in the bedroom. she's a good kid, scar thought. i wonder where she is? kenny walked until her feet were sore. it seemed to her that she tried every business downtown. stores, factories, ] plants, everything. she stopped by the employment office twice; once in the morning and later in the afternoon. "the only thing we have open is for a dishwasher in the astoria hotel," a negro woman clerk told kenny, with an air of superiority, the second time when she came in. "don't you have anything like a stock girl, or drugstore clerk? i have a friend that's stock girl at lane bryant's." "we only have what i said we have," the clerk said. "what about hospital work?" "i told you what we have." "i took the civil service test," kenny said. "but i haven't heard from them yet." "they'll call you if you passed the test," the clerk said. "but it's been over a month." "then you probably won't hear from them," the clerk said with a knowing smirk. when kenny came back to the apartment she found scar lying on the davenport listening to the radio. "where you been, kid?" scar said. "looking for a job." "any luck?" "no. they offered me a job as dishwasher at the astoria," kenny said. "that's no luck." "what's the matter with you?" "nothing." "you look funny, your eyes look glassy," kenny said. "just waking up from being sleepy," scar said. "i'm hungry." "i'll fix supper," kenny said. "what you want? you got a whole lot of stuff back there." "i don't care. anything," scar said. after eating, scar put on his panama. "i got to go," he said. [ "why?" "got to get some bread to pay for these groceries." "you working?" "i'm making a living." "doing what?" "this and that." "what is this and that?" "a hustle here and there," scar said shrugging. "you're going to get in trouble with the law." "naw, not for doing this," scar said. "maybe you ought to teach me how to hustle." scar smiled. "uh-uh. you stay here. try to find you a job if you can." "what's with this going to j city talk?" monk said to jake, who was sitting beside him in the front seat of his lincoln. "i got my reasons," jake said. "you know what you're asking?" "yeh, monk, i know what i'm asking." "who you know in j city?" "nobody. i ain't trying to cut out, monk. you know that." "i don't know from nothing. that's what i'm trying to get straight." monk nipped the glowing cigarette butt out of the car window and turned to face jake. "look, kid. i've just about got things set up in town like i like it. soon as elections come along, i'll have everything clicking just right. i got every district in the swing. i got a good man ] in each section, you follow me? i think i got a good man in each section," monk said, looking at jake. "you know i wouldn't go against you, monk. i ain't trying to cut out. why should i? ain't no other gig in town i can make this kind of bread." "then why this j city talk?" "it's hard to explain," jake said. "i — i dunno —" "you know? you really want to know something? i looked around a long time before i found somebody in this section i figured could push without goofing. i had to find somebody who wasn't so old he'd figure he was a smart-assed punk that could hold out on me. then i had to find somebody that was willing to take a chance and could keep his mouth shut while he was doing it. that's a pretty rough deal finding somebody like that, you know that? besides that, this guy, i had in mind had to be smooth, the kind everybody likes and nobody asks questions about. he's got to be a pretty sharp boy, you know? 'cause if he ever got excited, just a little bit, when the bims sorta happened to put on pressure, he was going to screw up, and in this business you can't afford to have no goof balls. maybe i was wrong when i put my finger on this guy for the job. how 'bout that, huh?" "i ain't trying to get out, monk. i just got business in j city. what i thought you could do was let me push in j city and bring that stud here." "a switch?" "yeh." "why should i?" monk said. "what's with you anyway? in the first place you would hafta learn the ropes all over again in j city, 'cause none of these towns are ever set up the same way, and don't think they are. then the guy i bring in from j would have to learn your section. that's a lot of trouble and risky. don't seem very practical to me. how's it sound to you, kid?" [ "o.k., all right, monk, forget it," jake said. "can't very well do that either. would you forget it if you were in my shoes?" "i ain't in your shoes, monk." "naw, that's right, you ain't. i think they're a long ways too big for your feet, you know what i mean?" "damn, monk, you think i — i ain't on the stuff, man, i just peddle it" "then talk sense. let's have it. what's eating you?" "monk, let me ask you this. the best guy for doing any- thing is the guy who knows his business backwards and for- wards and is happy doing it, right?" "that's a real bright observation, kid." "o.k., then, i ain't happy here. i got business in j city." "what kind of business?" "nothing that's got anything to do with the org." "then i don't see hows i can let you go." "monk, have i ever crossed you? haven't i always taken care of my end of everything?" "so far." "then you gotta do me this favor. you just got to, that's all." "why?" "it ain't — aw i just want to go to college, that's all." "you what?" "what's wrong with that? it won't hurt nothing, will it?" "naw, i don't see where it could. i just don't see your point, that's all." jake sat silent for a long time knowing monk was watching him. "i got a girl going," he said. "that's what's eating you?" "it may not sound like much to you, monk." "you really go for the broad, huh?" jake shrugged. "yeh, i go for her," he said. ] "what's going to happen when she finds out where you're getting all those fancy clothes and pocket change?" "why should she find out?" jake said. "she's going to college, so she couldn't be lame. she's going to wonder and she's going to start asking questions." "she don't ask no questions." "she will. when you start thinking about a broad like that the next thing you know you're wanting to get married. you think she's going to marry you knowing you're doing something funny?" "we ain't getting married," jake said steadily. "you'll get around to it." "i ain't worried about it." "you will, when you have to choose between her and the organization if she ain't the kind of babe that won't ask questions and go along with it, and most of 'em won't. which way you riding when it gets down to that, kid?" monk was staring at jake hard. jake lit a cigarette, getting his hands in action so they wouldn't betray him. "you're talking crazy, monk. you're just making a whole lot out of nothing," jake said quietly. "look, kid. in this game you can't afford to like no dame, not the kind you got anyway. that's one reason i got you to push for me. you didn't let none of them broads get next to you. now, you're so goofed, you want to run to college behind some dame. o.k.," monk sighed. "go on, chase the skirt, i don't give a damn." "you mean i can go, monk?" "yeh, i guess. but get it straight. you're going on busi- ness. i don't give a damn what you do in school, but don't you goof on the org's business. if you do — if a guy can't carry the ball, he's got to get off the team before he messes the team up, you know that?" [ "yeh, monk. i know that," jake said annoyed. "o.k.," monk snapped. "and you know what that means?" jake shifted in the seat. he looked at monk. "yeh, i know what that means," he said. "o.k.," monk said, brushing his hand across jake's hair. "go on with your skirt," he said smiling. "now tell me some- thing." "yeh, monk." monk was still smiling. "when it gets down to choosing between me and the broad, which way you going to ride?" "it won't get down to that." monk's smile broadened. "suppose it does," he said. "i'm with you, monk." the cigarette tasted queer in his lips. "you know that." "yeh, sure," monk said. he punched jake playfully on the shoulder. "i'll make arrangements." monk was the only person jake knew who could talk to him like that and get away with it. he liked monk no mat- ter what. monk was like that. monk thought about it. he thought it over real careful like. i'm with you, monk, you know that. yeh, sure. he could bring in joe. joe was a bright boy. he could learn the new setup fast and jake wouldn't have any trouble work- ing into the routine at j city. still, it just wasn't smart. but you had to keep the boys happy, didn't you? jake was right about the guy doing the best job being the one that was happy doing it. it should work out. yeh, sure. he knew his men, didn't he? he knew every guy in his organization. he knew 'em real good. he made it his business to. he knew the colored boys, the dagos, the poles, the mexes, he knew 'em all. he knew. you were damn right he knew. he had spent all his life around the political precincts running the dirty jobs for the precinct bosses. he knew the city like ] he knew his own mother, and he knew j city, and calls- town where he also had an org going. his org was solid. he had handpicked his men to peddle to the people they were a part of. his men really knew who they were pushing to because they pushed to members of their own race. he was smart, there was no doubt about it. he had really been smart to set it up like that. he had been real careful. sure, he could trust the boys. i'm with you, monk, you know that. he would be rich in five years. just five more years was all it would take. then he would get out, go some place and take it easy without any worries. he had that all figured out too. yeh. if jake goofed? naw, he could trust jake. jake wouldn't run away from all that dough. jake wasn't stupid. jake was smart. and the elections, hadn't he fixed the elec- tions? could they touch him after the elections came in? hell no, nobody could touch him, unless some joker — i'm with you, monk. he knew that. he damn sure better know it. scar did not go into booker's much any more. it was getting so he couldn't make any bread there. the night before last was the first night in weeks he could get enough studs in the game to make it worth while, and he had a bad night, of all the times to have a bad night, but that's the fugging breaks. he went down on third street, where the railroad tracks ran across welch street. a few years ago it would have been suicide to come in here without the rest of the t's. this was where he had got cut in a wild running gang fight between the t's and the ratz. this was where jake shot bouie. jake had really been wild then. [ a wide, thick-lipped guy, resembling an icebox in height and build, squinted under the unblocked hat resting on his ears, straightened up and wiped his hands on his levi's and brushed at the blue chalk dust sprinkled on his rust-colored jacket. "well, i'll be damn," the guy said. "hey, man, look who just breezed in." "hey, scar, where you been?" the guys said, crowding around when he walked in the poolroom door. "you know i live out west," scar said. "i can't be associ- ating with you 'cross-the-track bums." they laughed loud and long at that. "hey, perk," scar said, speaking to the guy with the icebox build, "i hear you got respectable over the last two years. not even pres of the ratz any more." "i don't fight no wars no more," perk said, "if that's what you mean." "neither do i," scar said. "i'm a pro now," perk said. "i have my first fight next week." "no kidding?" "he'll bowl 'em over," one of the guys said. "they ain't never seen nothing like perk." "you can say that again," scar said. "hey, remember the time we had that tough war when the ratz and the t's was both trying to take over the town?" "man, i ain't going to never forget that," scar said. "looks like i kinda left my mark on you," a thin weasel- faced guy said. they felt each other out with laughter. "yeh, frenchie, it's showing where i ain't never going to forget it." they laughed nervously. it grew quiet. "those were some hell-of-a days," perk said. ] "yeh," scar drawled reminiscing. "say, what happened to bouie?" "bouie's in the hospital with tb. that slug clipped off half a lung," perk said. "yeh?" "yeh." "tough," scar said. "yeh, tough," perk said. "man, we sure was a bunch of crazy studs in those days. you know something? i'm glad we stopped," frenchie said. "yeh," scar said. they laughed good and loud. "what brings you down, scar?" "getting too good for those punks down on the other end of town. thought i'd come down and take some of you punks' bread." "you hear that," perk said, pointing at scar. "this punk thinks he's a shark." the guys doubled up laughing. "dig, man. the cat thinks he can swing a cue across the green." "sucker crying to be picked." "what's your game?" perk said. "you name it." "you're on." they got a new york game going on the front table. eight players. scar followed perk. frenchie followed scar. perk won the first game, making his balls before the others had a chance to shoot. "you're pretty good," scar said. "man, you ain't seen nothing yet. wait till you see frenchie execute." "frenchie'll be lucky if he gets a chance to get a decent shot," scar said. they laughed. frenchie got two decent shots the whole [ time they played. they played fifteen games at two bits a man. scar won ten. it was a scramble among the others for the other five. frenchie did not win a game. looks changed from mockery to pure astonishment as scar made the ball do everything but talk. perk would constantly draw the cue ball behind other balls to keep scar from a shot, only to see scar play a combination of rails and hit the ball and even make a lot of those shots. "i'm just warming up," scar said. "i'm just getting out," perk said. "i know when i'm out- classed." "me too," the guys agreed. "he's just lucky," frenchie said. "you play him heads up then." "not now, some other time, i'm tired now, man." "you do that," scar said. he hung around another half hour shooting the breeze. the words of kenny's mother came back often to haunt scar . . . tell her not to come crying around here when she gits all bigged from messing around with you. though he knew it was not in kenny's best interests, he liked her staying around him. it helped him to forget, and that was impor- tant. he had to become adjusted to sleeping with someone. he got used to it after awhile and it caused no discomforts. it made them greedy for each other though. "you're rough," she would say. "gentle as a lamb." ] "you hurt me." "you seem to like to be hurt." "are you sorry i moved in with you?" "sometimes." "when?" "when you're not swarming all over me and i can think straight." "you're not human." "what you mean?" "you want to do it all the time." "you're the one. you won't stay on your side of the bed," scar said. they laughed. "why do you play the radio all night?" "so i can hear music when i sleep." "you're crazy." they tussled with each other. "why don't you offer me one of your old cigarettes?" kenny said, watching scar light up and blow smoke rings toward the ceiling. "you don't smoke." "teach me." "you're the one who'll be choking," scar said. he lit a cigarette for kenny and showed her how to inhale. she tried it. she choked. "i warned you," scar laughed. that's the way it went. sometimes kenny would jump out of bed at two in the morning. "i'm hungry," she would say. she would pester scar so much with questions about what he wanted to eat that scar would end up in the kitchen with her. about that time "birdland" would be coming in very clear over the radio. scar would want to go back to bed with his sandwiches, but kenny would not let him. finally, they would get back in bed and listen to the radio and talk for hours. it was nights like these that led to kenny feeling [ so sleepy in the morning she could not get up to go looking for a job. there were a lot of nights like that. kenny looked though. she wore out her saddle oxfords walking from place to place. she found a few things, dish- washing jobs, but had made up her mind, she was not going to take that. scar bought her two pairs of strollers. "why'd you do that?" kenny said. "you can't be running around on highheel pumps all day." scar floated from poolroom to poolroom looking for a game. he did all right, and there were always the sticky dice with spider. once he went back on third street and saw frenchie. they played nine ball for a dollar a game. in an hour scar had $ of frenchie's money in his pocket. "you might as well admit it," perk said. "he's too good for you." "man, i dig," frenchie said. frenchie was sick. he had worked all night long carrying a tray through the steaming kitchen to the dining room at the astoria for that $ . "see you around," scar said. "yeh." "that lucky bastard. i should have killed him when i had the chance," frenchie said. "you might not get no other chance," perk said. so went the summer. the marshall high football team practiced in the frosty air that was nipping away at indian summer, the scrubs of three years ago this year's first string. the days were long, [ill a guy gets carried away like that the next thing you know he's getting married." "i guess you're the voice of experience," scar said. "you just watch what i tell you," booker said. guys started drifting in. the after-school crowd. "hey, scar." "what's to it, scotty?" "you know my story. heard your boy went to college." "yen." "what he want to go do that for?" "he followed his ole lady up there," booker said. "man, some guys'll do anything for trim. hey leo, how 'bout a nice sociable game of nine ball?" scotty said. "suits me." "i'm in," butch said. "i'll chalk a cue on the deal," scar said. "if you're in, i'm out," leo said. "me too." "see what i mean," scar said winking at booker. over on peabody avenue the kids started the football game on the weed-filled lot next to the alley. peabody was littered with leaves and paper. all along the block people swept the scurrying leaves into crumbling piles and burned them in the street even though the city had an ordinance prohibiting it. peabody avenue smelled of burning leaves and living. down in the grocery store pop garveli waited on his lone customer with bodily movements as brisk as the gathering wind. "going to turn cold soon," pop said. "how's jake doing?" "all right i reckon. i don't hear from him. he ain't wrote." "that's the way with youngsters," pop said. "glad to see him go to school. he's a smart boy." ] the rain let up. vapor like water floated slowly down to earth like fine particles of snow. the autumn wind whipped it along in short snappy breaths, stirring up the fallen leaves lying in the gutters and on the yards, sweeping the leaves, the trash, and the mist into a miniature tornado, leaves, trash and rain falling from the main body of the scooped-up refuse like a tail. down on the corner from the poolroom red leaned against the sleeping, deserted paradise, his houndstooth coat hug- ging his emaciated frame, the collar burrowing under his neck, the blue suede unblocked hat pressing his ears. red's clinched eyes cried at the mist, the black, puffed bags under them standing like muscles in his fleshless face. he couldn't stop the shakes. goddammit, there was only one way to stop the shakes. he balled his hands tighter in his pockets against the insistent pulsating pressure of his tortured body. he won- dered how his legs managed to hold him up. all that he owned, he wore on his back. the last suit pawned in judiheimer's. walk across the street, right next to the circle theater, and look into the pawnshop. go back into the long tomblike back room. there you would find red, hanging on the racks in suits, sport coats, shoes, pants; you could even find him on a radio, and yes a wristwatch, and a few rings. he was in judie's locked up tight. he was hocked, but good; he couldn't figure the formula for getting his soul out of pawn. float me on the clouds, man, with a mainline kick. red fingered the eighteen crisp one-dollar bills, the guarantee of peace for another day. why didn't he come on? a city trash truck grunted down the alley behind welch street, the back of the truck ringing to the clink of bottles recently picked up from the rear of the paradise. two hun- dred and thirty-five pounds, spread over a six-foot frame, swung rusty containers of dripping, soggy trash, ashes, tin, ] into the trash can by the gate in the alley. the bag burst and showered a mixture of paper, eggshells and coffee grounds over the ashes in the can, some of the rubbish splash- ing over and down the sides of the container. "trashwagon, trashwagon, here comes ole trashwagon," they chanted. the huge man's face turned to fuchsia. he dropped the basket of ashes he was lifting, and it rolled on its sides spew- ing its contents along the brick alley in a circular trail. "ah'll learn ya," clint yelled, charging down the alley. the kids fled, terrified by the mountain of angry man with rage chew- ing up his features. "mama," they yelled. their raincoats, made shiny by the drizzle, flapped heavily in the rain. "mama —" as fast as they could go they went, splashing down the muddy path leading to the big frame house. a dog yelped hysterically and was answered by other dogs all down the alley. the squatty, bowlegged bulldog raced out to the back of the yard and tried to get his huge mouth under a gap in the fence by clint's leg. the big guy stood there, his leg an inch from the bulldog's face. he stood there shouting, cords standing out rigid in his neck, strands of sandy hair, dangling from his hat, swinging over his face. "ah'll learn ya, gowdamn niggers!" he said. the frustrated bulldog snapped madly at the air, a nasty growl vibrating from his throat. "at the age they be to know no better." "ah'll learn ya, scrawning, stealing, stanking — " the bull- dog managed to catch the end of one of clint's pants cuffs. "get duh hell out duh way fo ah ram yo teeth dawn yo throat!" clint kicked sharply against the fence knocking the bulldog from the cuff. the bulldog tried vainly to get through the fence; his nasty growl rode the air. [ "he's crazy," mac said from the cab of the truck, watching clint raging hoarsely with the mist rolling down his face. "ah'll learn ya, gowdammit. just wait till elections. wait till ah'm on the force. ah'll learn 'em." the complaining truck groaned and began to shudder over the bumpy alley, flanked on both sides by cans laden with rubbish and the long rows of broken picket fences sagging as if tired of trying to stand up. leaves, heavy with cold water, plastered the alley, shivered in the cold autumn wind. "joe," red said, trying to keep his voice steady. "you talking to me?" "yeh." "how you know my name?" "i know everybody that pushes," red managed to say be- fore the convulsions caught him. "i need a fix, man, b-bad," he stammered. "i don't know what you're talking about," joe said. "don't screw around, man. can't you see i'm splitting my wig?" red grabbed joe by the arm in desperation. "i don't know you, baby," joe said. "i don't even know what you're talking about." "i got bread, man, look!" red brought the eighteen dol- lars out of his pocket with his left hand. "you straight man, just straighten me." "i don't know you, baby," joe said again, brushing red's hand away from his arm as if it were a dried up twig that had fallen on him from a decaying tree. the convulsions caught red again. by the time he straightened up joe was across the street. "hey, joe! hey, wait!" red knew he could not go back to ricky because he still owed him twelve dollars. he had to have that fix. the city trash truck groaned around the corner, bottles ] jingling. "joe, joel" red dashed out into the street. the truck groaned — red saw his fifteen-dollar blue suede hat go sailing down the street; he caught one vivid flash of fourteenth and welch. he never knew he left the ground. "goddamn!" mac said. "ah tole that nigger tuh watch out!" the three men in the back of the truck hurdled the sides. the crowd was already gathering. "is he dead?" "i dunno." "stand back," the tobacco-chewing mac said. "goddammit, clint, stand back!" down the block they poured out of booker's billiard par- lor, pool sticks still in their hands. "who is it?" "dunno, never seen him before." "that guy knows," a dark, fat woman loaded down with groceries said, pointing at joe. "they was talking to each other." joe looked at the crowd and cursed himself for coming back to gape at the junkie lying in the street. what would monk say if —? joe took off his hat and brushed the long wavy hair back in place. everyone was looking at him. "i don't know who he is," joe said, widening his eyes on his thin, boyishly handsome face. "he tried to put the bum on me for a quarter. that's all i know." the eyes of the crowd darted quickly back to red, lying in the street with his left leg twisted under him, the right side of his body mangled and pumping blood, some of the dollar bills still clutched in his left hand. the crowd followed the trail of money lying in a ragged path into the sewer among the twigs, leaves, and rub- bish carried by the current in the gutter. "that's all i know," [ joe insisted. jesus, he had to get out of here, if monk ever found out — "for christ sake, somebody call a ambulance," mac said. "i call one already," a short man in eyeglasses said. he gasped when he saw red. » "you know the guy?" mac said. "sure, i know him already." "who is he?" mac said. "stand back. jesus, stand back everybody." "hey! that's ralph ewing," leo said, coming into the crowd puffing, with a cue stick still in his hand. "sure is," scotty said. "man! he looks dead." "he come to my shop fifteen minutes ago!" "he sure looks dead," scotty said, shaking his head. the crowd looked at mac. "he came running out in the street when i turned the corner," mac said, spreading his hands helplessly. "he came running out of nowhere." "ah tole him tuh watch out. ah tole that nigger!" clint insisted. "say, man, you in the wrong neighborhood to be saying that," scotty said. "yeh, who you calling nigger?" leo said. "stand back. you trying to kill him? give him a chance to breathe," mac said desperately. "where you from, baby?" leo said to clint. "that's trashwagon," someone said. "one of them pecks from down home." the poolroom boys started closing in on clint. "maybe we better send him back down home. he don't like it up here," scotty said softly, swaggering toward clint with the pool stick held over his shoulder like a baseball bat. "don' ya start nothing," clint said. ] "you got it wrong, baby," leo said. "we're finishing it." "stop it!" mac shouted, pushing scotty away from clint. the guys looked at mac astonished. "this boy's lying here hurt bad, maybe dying even," mac said frantically, "and you're getting ready to trample him because of something that goddamn clint called you. so he said nigger! so what? nigger! boot, spook, kike, wop, coolie, greaseball, pecker- wood, kraut, chink, spik, polack, coon, rebel, ofay, sheeny, you name 'em! i — i can't think of 'em all. but i know this —" he paused sucking in his breath. the crowd was silent, stunned. "ain't none of them words never hurt no- body as bad as that boy lying down there. well, damn it," mac shoved his fists into his hips. "fight if you want to. go on, i don't give a damn if you hang that damn clint to the telephone wires! but don't you, don't nobody — you hear me! don't nobody lift a finger around that boy. not unless you want to whip me too. i hit him, yeh, that's right! i might have killed him even," mac said sofdy, with his head down- cast. then he raised his head, his eyes blazing defiantly. "but i'll be damned if i'm gonna let you trample all over him, not as long as i'm living, i ain't. now stand the hell back! that goes for you too, clint, damn it!" mac shoved clint away from red. "wait till elections," clint said. "wait till elections." "aw, shut the hell up," clint's working mate kelly said, advancing on clint with his fists balled. scotty looked at clint for a long minute. mingled emo- tions shuffled across his face. he slammed the pool stick to the ground and walked away. the poolroom boys followed him. the ambulance sped up the street, its warning jarring through the sound of the murmuring crowd. two squad cars darted around the southeast corner and stopped. [ "i'm getting out of here," booker said, suddenly feeling unprotected without the rest of the poolroom guys around. "nobody's going anywhere," a policeman said brushing through the crowd. "what's going on here?" "give them room," the other policeman said as the men carrying a stretcher approached the onlookers. "that boy with the pretty hair was talking to him just before it happened," the fat grocery-laden woman said. everyone looked around for joe. joe was gone. scar leaned back on the wall of the deserted poolroom staring with heavy-eyed indifference at the rain. kenny wanted to tell scar all about red as she had heard about it over the radio, but scar would not listen. kenny and scar went to red's funeral. there were a lot of people from marshall high there. scar stared at the coffin with heavy-eyed indifference. the preacher's words did not make any sense. he could not hear the preacher, he could not even hear kenny ... a million years ago — fugg it. they walked around to peer at red in the coffin. scar stared at red heavy-eyed with indifference. he did not even see him. days, days, days, ministrate autumn colors. the period runs its cycle. days — cold days. winter haunts the moon. the trees bow threadbare branches and quiver in the howling gale. smoke belches from the chimneys in puny breaths and dashes frantically in the atmosphere. dull, warm light peeps from lowered window shades and blinking venetian blinds. ] the people stay indoors. the people who are not the barflys, the hustlers, the corner boys. the corner boys stay on the block, under the lamppost, huddled together, waiting . . . days, and the elections, and monk is in. days ... the bonfires glow. chanting high school kids form human chains and crowd the sidewalk, their voices fill the city. gang wars among teen-agers flare in the public school stadium. the officials are glad the football season is drawing to a close. the public service system reluctantly opens its doors to the charg- ing teen-age football crowd. the streetcars rock to youthful enthusiasm. days .. . "looks like your daughter now," mrs. arnez said, looking out of the window and seeing a black buick glide into the curb in front of the house. "i still don't think it was a good idea letting her ride up here by car instead of coming by train." "oh, it was just a three-hour ride," mrs. arnez said. "i think it was rather cute." "edna, sometimes i don't understand you." mrs. arnez watched armenta and jake come up the steps of the porch, a torrent of words pouring from armenta, the flash of white teeth as they suddenly laughed about some- thing, lord knows what. it made mrs. arnez feel good. it brought back memories. armenta came bouncing in the door all out of breath, say- ing a hundred things at once. "school's wonderful," they finally managed to decipher. "you must be hungry," armenta's mother said. "not too hungry, mom. we stopped on the way back and got something to eat." "how are you doing in school?" mrs. arnez wanted to know. jake, scar, and spider sat at the bar in the zodiac. spider was full of life because they had won $ in a crap game. "say, man, this is a crazy thanksgiving, huh?" "yeah," jake said softly. "yeh," scar murmured. jake looked at scar hard. "get off it, man." jake was scared. he was actually scared for scar. "get off it before it kills you," he said gruffly. "i don't know what you're talking about, man," scar said slowly. scar's eyes looked as if they had pinpoints stuck in them, they were contracted so tight. scar scratched the dull itch. he scratched his body. "man, i'm floating," he said lazily. jake bumped scar hard. "man, straighten up. come on, scar," jake whispered fiercely. "cool it, pres," scar said. "spider knows i'm floating. he's still my friend." "i dug it a month ago, right around when red got killed," spider said. "goddammit, scar, everybody'll know if you don't straighten up. you know what they do to junkiesl" "fugg it," scar said. "scar." "fugg it." jake motioned to spider. they grabbed scar and got him the hell out of there. "fugg it." they took scar home and put him to bed. "he had one too many," jake told kenny who was watching perplexedly. "oh," kenny said. kenny looked as if she was going to cry. "why does he drink so much? he drinks himself sick [ all the time. he started doing it right after you went to j city." "he'll be all right," jake said. "we'll see you tomorrow, huh?" "you going to bring armenta with you?" "armenta won't be making it." "oh." "it ain't because you're shacking — you living with scar ain't got nothing to do with it," jake said. "her family's mak- ing her spend the holidays with them." "oh." "we'll see you, kenny," spider said. out in the car jake drove around pointlessly. "we could have made at least another hundred if scar hadn't been floating," spider said. "yeh. half the time he missed his cue," jake said dully. "man, i could have used that loot. i'm getting married," spider said. "yeh, i heard." "yeh!" spider suddenly turned around to jake. "say, man, you don't sound none too happy yourself. neither one of you studs is on my cloud." "such is life in the big city," jake said. things were hap- pening too fast. armenta telling him not to call any more and that she was not riding back to school with him. and scar acting like a trick. armenta had not given him an ex- planation. just don't call any more. what had he done? what kind of babe was she anyway? thanksgiving. yeh. "where you going, man?" spider said. "you name it." "i don't care," spider said. spider's good feeling was leav- ing. "let's take her out on the highway," jake said. ] jake went all the way out welch until he hit . he opened the buick up. they sped along the highway scaring the drivers in cars they passed. jake did seventy-five around a curve. "man, you crazy," spider said. "yeh." jake started laughing. "you're drunk." "yeh." jake laughed and pressed the accelerator to the floor. at one hundred miles an hour the highway was a blur. they smeared over the highway. spider started laughing at jake laughing. "you're drunk," jake said. "yeh." they guffawed. they sailed down the highway laughing and speeding for all they were worth. a squad car chased them for ten miles flagging for them to pull over. they finally did. "where in hell ya think ya going?" a big, red-faced cop said. he grew even redder when he saw jake and spider in the car. "what's happening, pres?" jake said laughing. "why, nig —" "that's enough, clint," a bespectacled officer said. "let's see your driving license." "you been on the force long?" jake said. "yah do the answering," clint said. "dammit, show him dah license like he ask yah." "who's the rook — hey, pres, didn't you use to work on the garbage truck?" clint jerked jake straight up in the seat with one huge hand. "leave him alone, clint," the other officer said, chopping clint's hand away from jake's collar. [ "you damn right," spider said. "that's against the law." jake was now completely sober. "mister, i don't play that," he said quietly through clenched teeth. clint started to reach for jake again, but the other officer pushed him away. "you better get your license out, buddy," he said. "you're wasting your time," jake said cockily. "i'm a friend of monk's." "oh, yen," clint said. "yeh," jake said. he gave the other officer his license. "you can check." "we'ah do that," clint said. "and god help ya if ya pull- ing ah fast one!" jake thought about it for the rest of the night. he would have to do something about that trashwagon guy. he had a lot of things to do though. it could wait. spider looked in the window of judiheimer's at the engage- ment and wedding-ring sets. he wasn't going to buy no wedding rings from judie though, hell no. he just wanted to look at 'em and kinda get a idea of what to expect when he went downtown to one of those big jewelry stores. man, he would be getting married next month. wasn't that some- thing? he looked critically at the rings, paying special atten- tion to the ones with the gawdy, glittering stones. it was a cold day, the kind when the wind makes your nose cry. as usual welch street was filled with scurrying people. a squad car patrolled lazily down the street with a disinter- ] ested eye out for trouble. the three-o'clock-in-the-afternoon- whiskyheads crowded the bars, drinking silently, unlike the boisterous night inhabitants who could never remain silent over a drink. a blind man, new to this section of town, attracted by the noise, decided this was the ideal corner to peddle his pencils. small boys, from eight to ten years old, chased a crying fugi- tive through the back alley of the thirteen-hundred block of welch street. "junior! stop all that racket down there and go get me a loaf of bread," a stout, dark woman said, tossing a coin from the second-floor window down into a crowd of teen-agers on the sidewalk below. it was a typical day. two ragged jalopies pulled up in front of the paradise and stopped. twelve guys descended from the jalopies. guys in their late teens who wore heavy leather jackets with a gray fish with bared teeth painted on the back of the jackets. "remember, you studs, when specs walks in the poolroom — wait a minute. there's one of them across the street," the guy with narrow eyes, thick lips, and conked hair said. "naw, slits, that ain't one of 'em," specs said. "that's spider, and he's one of them," slits said. "here's where you get your chance to get even, specs, if you ain't chicken." "you know damn well i ain't chicken, slits." "i know you ain't chicken against boys, but we getting ready to do action with the t's. that frigging bastard jake adams ain't going to like it, and that's gonna make me feel real good, you know?" "let's make contact, man." the cooters started drifting. the blind man on the corner tapped his cane against the unfamiliar sidewalk and shivered. he heard the sound of many approaching footsteps. the blind man twisted his [ features into what he thought was a smile, exposing black- ened teeth. "help the poor," the blind man said. "help the poor and handicapped." "i'm the poor," slits said and knocked the cane from the blind man's hand. the guys laughed at the blind man's feeble effort to find the cane. spider turned around. "say, man, you studs run out of playmates?" he said. he retrieved the blind man's cane and gave it to him. "man, you can't make no bread on this corner in that racket," spider told the blind man. "what's going on, slits?" "you tell me," slits said. the guys shifted around nerv- ously. "man, you're in the wrong section to find any counts." "i'm wise," slits said. spider shrugged. he turned his back to the barracudas and looked in the pawnshop window. the guys stood around not saying anything. spider noticed them still around him by their reflections in the window and grew uneasy. he wasn't worried though, nobody goofed with the t's. any- way, he was a man now, and getting married. he didn't be- long to the t's no more. he turned around. "you guys look- ing for somebody?" "naw," slits said. "well, i'll see you then, man," spider said walking off. the guys looked at slits hesitantly. slits seemed annoyed. "specs," he said. specs ran up behind spider and hit him in the back of the neck with a fist packed tight around a roll of pennies, a handkerchief around the knuckles. spider's eyes popped wide, more in amazement than pain, although the blow sent him reeling into the brick wall of the pawnshop and he had to fight to keep from blacking out. he swung as he turned, ] catching specs along the bridge of the nose and sending his eyeglasses flying out into the street. spider kicked specs in the groin and brought a knee under specs' chin when he folded over. then the others were swarming around him. sweat broke out on his face, he punched, kicked, gouged, bit, and yelled at the swirling mob raining blows upon him. from somewhere in the crowd the deadly sound of an open- ing switchblade clicked in the air. now spider fought si- lently, panicky. he was fighting for his life. after awhile it didn't hurt any more. then he really got scared because he knew he could not stand up any longer. down at the other end of the block the police patrol car turned lazily around the corner going off welch street. the blind man, cold, nervous, and scared, tapped his cane fran- tically on the sidewalk, while heavy, white-stitched soles of popular teen-aged shoes descended on the prostrate spider. spider rolled over on his stomach and covered the back of his head with his hands. shoes thundered against his body. "jim! i think we mighta killed him," a small, skinny guy said to slits in the car. "tough." "we ain't never stomped nobody that bad before," the skinny guy said. "what's the matter? it bothering you, morty?" specs said. specs' nose was bleeding. his lips were swollen. it hurt specs to talk. "damn, i think we killed him!" "specs asked you a question," slits said. morty looked at slits. slits' eyes were almost closed. they were shifting. fast, flickering around like moths or some- thing, like they was crazy . . . "did it bother you, morty?" slits said. [ "naw! naw — hell, why should it?" morty said. "i was just wondering why you had it in for the guy, that's all." "i didn't have it in for him," slits said, his maroon eyes darting beneath the almost closed lids. "then why the treatment?" "you getting nosy? you getting to wondering what the cootas going to be doing next?" "naw, slits," morty said spreading his hands. "i was just wondering, that's all." "well, don't. when i sight the object you just make the contact, o.k.?" slits' darting eyes danced over the rest of the guys in the car. he settled back in the seat tight-lipped. "i didn't have nothing against that stud. he just happens to be one of jake adams' boys is all." suddenly slits pushed away from the back of the seat and bolted into an upright position. "look, you guys, i'm the pres of this org and i ain't got to answer to nobody. don't be making with the questions, see. you guys better listen and listen close. you been begging for real action. well, you going to get it. you damn sure going to get it. the t's will be looking for us 'fore the night's over, so you better have your hardware ready, 'cause that's the kind of war it's going to be." "they gave it to him bad," scotty said. "spider?" jake said quietly. "yeh, spider. i knew you'd want to know. that's why i came over to your house." "you're the pres of the t's now, scotty." ] "only 'cause you stepped down." "get the boys and tell them to meet me at booker's at eight o'clock." "o.k." "in full combat equipment," jake said, his voice hardly audible. jake drove over to scar's place and let himself in with his key. scar was still in bed and kenny was not there. "man, you wanna sleep all day?" jake said, shaking scar awake. "say, man," scar said sleepily. "i had a terrible hang this morning, so i went back in the sack." "i told you about that junk." "junk? wasn't no junk, man. it was that scotch. junk don't hang you till you can't get it." "remember that punk i put in the hospital?" "bouie?" "evidently he's got a whole family of goofs." "who you talking about?" "his kid brother." "slits, man?" "yeh." "he didn't have the nerve to tangle with no t's man?" "didn't he?" "well, we ain't in no more." "neither is spider, but that's who they got to." scar did not say anything. he got up and put on his clothes. you're never out. and don't you forget that. never. "bouie could stand some company," jake said quietly. "but he ain't going to get it from his brother, unless he starts spending his time in the graveyard." scar didn't say anything. jake was talking crazy, but scar was feeling crazy. "i wonder where kenny is," scar said. "it's after six, she should be back by now." [ jake and scar got in the car and started over to the city hospital. on the radio, in the car, the commentator talked of how blessed the nation was in the year of our lord nine- teen-hundred-and-forty-eight, another year free from war. the commentator talked of the good christian families in good christian america, who said a good christian blessing before a good christian thanksgiving dinner and pitied the millions of people, in other parts of the world, who had so much less to be thankful for from the bottom of their good christian hearts. scar turned the radio off. evelyn sat in a chair by spider's bed in the hospital ward. "why?" she said over and over. "lord, why?" "it's o.k., baby, i just threw craps," spider said, trying to laugh. "but why, bert? why did they do it? you don't belong to a gang any more. all the times i thought it would happen it never did, now for no reason —" "aw, jake punched some punk belonging to the cootas one day in front of the school. i guess they getting even," spider said. "jake! i wish it was him instead of you." "evelyn." "i'm sorry, bert. but — but he did it. why didn't they get him instead of you? you didn't do nothing to nobody. why does god let things like that happen?" "my back feels funny," spider said. "i can't feel my legs. ] that's funny, ain't it? hey, what you sniffing about? just 'cause i got a patch over one eye and a hicky over the other don't mean i'm dying. i'll be kicking around good as new, you watch." "bert," evelyn said, turning away from him. "you don't like me no more 'cause i got sores all over my face," spider kidded her. evelyn put her face down on the bed by spider's chest. her shoulders contracted sharply. she made no sound. "gee, gee evelyn," spider said moved. "i really think you're goofed behind me." the tears fell. "gee, i feel funny. i feel funny as hell." "bert." "gee," spider said. jake and scar came in. evelyn did not look up. she didn't look up the whole time they were there. she heard jake and scar kidding spider and spider kidding right back. she heard jake and scar telling spider they were going to take care of the cootas, about the war starting that night. she remembered times when the termites were fighting some gang across town and how often she told spider how silly it was, and how she had told jake the same thing. she remem- bered the years of fighting. now it was starting all over again. now, it didn't matter much any more what they did. they made her leave spider at eight because visiting hours were over. she told the doctor she was spider's sister. she could not stand not knowing how badly spider was hurt. when she left the hospital nothing mattered any more. the doctor would have to tell spider sometime. she knew how he would feel. she even knew what he would say. and all be- cause jake adams was still acting like a fool and going around punching people in the nose. she thought of all the sacri- [ fices, the struggling, penny-pinching days, trying to get ahead. she remembered when she almost gave up because her father found $ she had not put in the bank yet for her and spider. she had worked overtime for a solid month to make up that money, and spider had never known. spider had gotten proud of their bank account and had started giving her $ a week to save because he had gotten a good job as a waiter and saved his tips. they were getting ahead. they were going to leave elm street behind. now, elm street was the only thing that couldn't be snatched from under her. she hated elm street. she hated jake adams and she hated every woman who had ever gotten married. the doors were locked at booker's but no outsiders were coming in anyway. the neighborhood knew the termites were holding a meeting. booker sat on a stool behind the counter by the cash register, silent. thirteen teen-agers, wearing belt-in-the-back velour overcoats, with matching hats resting on their ears, crowded around the first pool table where jake, scar, and scotty were sitting. the guys had on burnt-yellow cashmere sweaters under the coats. a broad, black t was sewn on the front of the sweaters. "you studs know what this council is all about?" jake said. "yeh." "this is a full-scale war," jake said. "we're hitting with everything we got. this ain't kid stuff. this is for keeps." "like the last scrimmage we had with the ratz." "yeh," jake said. "the time we got such a terrible rep nobody wanted no part of us any more." ] booker picked his fingernails with an old battered pocket- knife. booker's mouth was drawn in a tight line. he was tough, he was hard as they come. his boys could whip any- body in the world. "the arsenal been handed out?" jake asked scotty. "yeh." "what we got?" "two forty-fives and a thirty-eight. five bayonets, seven switchblades and two brass knucks. i couldn't locate but two lead pipes. leo's brother pawned the german luger and the twenty-two. cal has an m.l. that his brother shipped home in pieces from overseas, but i left it. i figure it's too hard to hide." "you figured right," jake said. "here's how we'll work it. these other studs make a mistake by bunching up in a scrim- mage. they get in each other's way. we're going to divide our force into three parts, so we can get plenty of swinging room. the artillery is going to scotty, scar, and me, 'cause we're the veterans and ain't afraid of using it. me, scar, and scotty will have a bayonet apiece too." you're never out of it, scar thought. fugg it. "there's going to be a knuck or pipe in each group. you say we got two leads, scotty?" "yeh." "o.k., the extra lead will be in my group, which is going to be the task force. let's see, we got two bayonets left, and seven switchblades, that's nine. so each group will have three blades. that makes everybody loaded, don't it?" "let's see," scar said. "we got sixteen guys, counting you, me, and scotty. if we divide the force we got two groups of five and one of six. if the six is the task force, they got two lead pipes, and three blades, not counting the leader's bay- onet and artillery. the other two groups got three blades [ and a knuck, not counting the leader. that makes every- body covered." "o.k.," jake said. "now here's how we work it. we in- vade their territory, and scout around till we make contact. but only the task force is going to do the scouting. we're going to string out and walk down the middle of the streets. the rest of you studs are going to stay in a car down at the end of the block. one car on one end the other car on the opposite end. you follow me or i got to draw a diagram?" "we follow you," scotty said. "o.k., we work through the section like that till we make contact. once the task force connects, the rest of you studs start down the sidewalks. scar on the right side, and you on the left. if anybody does the shooting it'll be me. you and scar can't shoot 'cause you might hit one of our boys, you dig? now pick up. some of them punks are going to turn chicken and try to beat it out of there. that's when you and scar start taking potshots, when these guys start running away from the action. you got it?" "yeh," scotty said. "o.k., the bull session is over. redistribute the arsenal and let's go to war." monk sat in the parked car outside the poolroom waiting. he knew what the locked door at booker's meant. he had seen it a lot of times, not only here, but other parts of town, even in other cities. it hadn't bothered him then, but it did now. this kind of crap was from nowhere. it was bad for business. you couldn't afford to have one of your pushers in on a deal like this. monk lit a cigarette and waited. then he started up in the seat. the t's were coming out. monk got out of the car and big-shouldered his way through the termites crowding the sidewalk. "hey, monk," scotty said. "what's going on?" ] "where's jake?" "right here," jake said, coming out the door with scar. "hey, monk," scar said. "you studs wait for me on the corner," jake said, following monk over to the car. "have a cigarette," monk said in the car and shoved a pack under jake's nose. "thanks," jake said. "what's up?" "that's what i want to know," monk said. "you tell me." "i don't dig you, pres." "knock it off. you ain't talking to none of them punks. why the war council?" "no war council, monk. educational program. we got some lessons to teach some studs dumb to classroom work on the corners." "you're out of it and that's the way you're going to stay. now look, get it straight. i don't give a damn about whose head the t's cave in long as it don't affect my organization. but you can't be in on it, kid. you know the org can't afford that." "you remember spider?" jake said. "yeh." "he's in the hospital and that makes me in again." "what happened?" "the cootas walked him." "so now you're putting on your boots?" "i'm going to do more than walk." "you're going to stay out of it." "like hell i am," jake said softly, rising to get out of the car. monk slammed jake back down on the seat. "damn it, you're getting dumber every day. i went along with you in everything else, but this time you're going along with me. [ do you know what's going to happen when you go looking for the cootas?" "yeh, somebody's going to get hurt." "that's right. suppose this thing blows real big —" "aw, monk." "aw, hell. suppose it blows so big the newspapers get wind of it. suppose somebody yaps to the cops and you get taken down on a murder rap maybe. what good would you be to the org notorious? even if i sprung ya?" "you're talking crazy." "you're the one talking crazy. you better grow up. you ain't got time for kid games no more. i got a org to protect and i ain't going to let you mess it up by caving in some coota heads." "what the hell you expect me to do, monk? go sip on a milkshake and forget about it?" "yeh, before you do what you want to do, you damn right." "i ain't built that way, monk." "you think you gotta kick in some teeth." "that's right." monk sighed. "o.k., kid, i'll make you a proposition." "what kind?" "you want some heads knocked in. o.k., but you don't have to be in on it." "i don't dig you, monk." "you will. you want the cootas taught a lesson. o.k., now think who could do the job and get praised for doing it." "you're crazy. i still don't — wait a minute, monk, you don't mean — you don't mean the bims?" "you're growing up." "but, monk, could you swing it?" ] "what do you think?" "i dunno. damn, i dunno." "you call off your boys. i'll see the cootas get taught a lesson." "o.k., monk, i'll go along with that." he was impressed. damn, he couldn't have been more impressed if monk was god. he stood on the curb watching monk drive away. damn, he forgot to tell monk about that trashwagon guy. the hell with it, it wasn't important. he strolled down to the corner where the t's were waiting. "the war is off," he said. he held up his hand against the protests. "if you guys let me finish, you'll know why." "we're listening," scotty said. "i got connections. you guys know that?" "yeh," they murmured, unimpressed. "i mean big connections. what would you guys think if i told you the cootas were going to be taken care of by a group even more professional than us?" "i'd say you was twisted, floating on cloud twenty-nine," scotty said. "yeh, i'm cracking, and i'm facting," jake said. "who's going to take care of these guys for us?" leo wanted to know. "i suggest you sit around and wait for the grapevine to bring in the news." "in the meantime spider'll be in the hospital thinking the t's is too chicken to look out for his interests," scotty said. "yeh," they echoed. "anybody here think spider ain't a good friend of mine?" no one said anything. "anybody here want to accuse me of being chicken?" jake said softly, looking at them hard. again silence. ] "i wasn't looking for no job. i went home," kenny said. "oh," scar said inquiringly, raising his eyebrows. "i went to see the kids. mama's never home on thanks- giving," kenny said. "oh," scar said. in the alley behind percy drive, one of the series of streets making up callek place, a once wealthy residential section that had long since turned slums, a slim figure darted through the darkness and rapped on a closed wooden door three times in rapid succession, then paused and rapped lightly two times more. the door opened slightly, cautiously, then swung open. the barracudas were sitting around a long rough planked table. a dim light above the table cast feeble shadows on the wall. slits, seated at the right side of the table, glanced away from the knife planted in the center of the table sur- rounded by blocks of wood representing battle stations and looked at the guy who had entered. "you see him?" "yeh, i saw him," the guy said. "what he say?" "he said he won his fight two weeks ago. he's a pro pug now." "lay off the funny stuff," slits said, his eyes back on the knife. "what he say?" "that's what he said, slits." "you trying to be funny?" "naw, slits. that's what he said." slits turned around to face the messenger. his eyes were [ dancing. "i ain't interested in all the preliminaries; i want to know what he had to say about the proposition i offered him." "that's what i'm talking about, slits. he said he ain't in no more. he said he was too old. there ain't no ratz no more, slits." "what you mean there ain't no ratz?" "there ain't no ratz seniors. all they got is juniors and midgets." "that all perk had to say?" "yeh. frenchie said he wouldn't mind going in, but he was the only one. he said he could get the juniors and mid- gets on our side." "that dirty son-of-a-bitch. my brother got a lung chopped off acting as his lieutenant. that yellow bastard." "i wouldn't call him yellow, slits. perk ain't never been yellow." "you telling me what to say?" slits asked the messenger. "naw, i just —" "he's yellow," slits said. "if my brother hadn't been the brains and planned all the scrimmages, you wouldn't have ever even heard of the ratz. you say frenchie says we can get the juniors and midgets?" the messenger nodded. "o.k., here's —" "slits! the bims is busting down the front door," a guy said, rushing into the back room. "stash the arsenal." "there ain't time, slits. we got to get the hell out of here!" the barracudas bolted for the back door leading to the alley. they met blue-coated policemen. night sticks flew. three negro policemen were in the group. ] editorials praising the police force for curbing juvenile delinquency received main column space on the editorial pages. the front pages of the newspapers carried headlines . . . recently elected police commissioner cracks down on teen-age terror . . . teen- age gang upbraided . . . police bring end to teen-age crime wave . . . everyone had praise for this newly elected, uncorrupt police force. specs occupied a bed down from spider in the same ward. jake and scar walked down to see him. "let this be a lesson to you, punk," jake said softly to specs lying in bed. "the t's didn't have nothing to do with it," specs said. "them bims, them damn dirty bims." "that's right," jake said. "them bims. you want to come back here, start something with the t's again." "let me alone," specs said, the tears welling. "let me alone!" jake motioned to scar. they walked away. specs was hurting, man, was he hurting. spider did not seem to be doing so good. he tried to fool jake and scar by joking about everything. evelyn sat quietly not saying anything. "the barracudas won't be bothering nobody no more," jake said, "mainly because there ain't no barracudas no more." "yeh, i heard about the bims splattering them," spider said. "who you think put the bims on their tail?" jake said, winking at spider. "you, man?" "he's got connections," scar said. "jim, pres! you swing a mean ax," spider said. [ "nobody gets away goofing with jake adams' boys; keep it under you hat, man." "you know me," spider said. "when they going to let you unhorse that bed, man?" scar said. spider glanced at evelyn. he brought his large hands together, making a vise and cracking his fingers. "i'll be out pretty soon," he said indifferently. "that's right," evelyn said bitterly. "what's eating your broad, man?" jake said. "aw — she's tired. she put in a pretty tough day at the store. why don't you take her home so she can get some rest? she spends all her evenings over here with me." "but, bert." "go ahead, evelyn," spider blurted. "i'll see you studs later, man. you come by and sit in with me tomorrow, huh, evelyn?" spider said softly. evelyn hesitated. "take her home, will you, fellas? i'm sleepy," spider said. in the car evelyn had nothing to say. she sat glumly be- tween scar and jake. "what do you think?" jake said. "he didn't look so good," scar admitted. "how's he doing?" jake asked evelyn. "you see him more than us." "he's doing fine, just fine," evelyn snapped. "man, what did i say wrong?" jake asked scar. "beats me!" they let it ride until evelyn got out of the car. "say, evelyn, we're still friends, ain't we?" jake said. "if bert hadn't been your friend, he wouldn't have gotten hurt," evelyn said. "jim, baby, i didn't have nothing to do with it." ] "you started it," evelyn said. "they started it, i finished it," jake said. "i fixed it so they ain't going to never bother nobody else." "you're good at fixing things, aren't you, jake?" "yeh, at times." "you want to fix everything for spider, is that it?" "i did." "did you? me and bert were getting married next month. he had a good job and we had a little money put away. now he's going to be crippled for life. can you fix that, jake?" she ran into the house leaving jake and scar staring. "so that's what's wrong with the stud," jake said softly as if he was talking to himself. "damn, that's a tough break," scar said. "yeh, tough." his hands felt clammy on the steering wheel, his head ten miles above the rest of his body. he got out a stick of pod and lit it, right there in front of scar. "i thought you steered away from the mess," scar said. jake sucked it in, got lost on the burning drag. spider got out of the hospital one week after jake went back to school. scar went over to spider's house to see him. two of spider's brothers, who were supposed to be in school, were playing blackjack on the kitchen table. they nodded to scar. the four-room apartment was crowded with the pos- sessions of seven children and two adults. spider seemed pretty cheerful. scar couldn't think of anything to say, seeing spider on crutches like that. he did not stay long. he went ] "'bout three weeks. good riddance too." "you don't know where she went?" "i told you i didn't. a man come and got her things 'bout three weeks ago. i ain't got time to stand here talking to you, i got work to do. you one of her men? humph! must not think much of you, going off to live with some other man and not telling you 'bout it." the old woman grinned derisively at scar. then the door closed. he went over to booker's. he was tore up. if the cops saw him now he was sure to get busted. he didn't care. "hey, scar, jake sure knew what he was doing, didn't he?" scotty said. "yeh." scotty made a cross-corner shot to sink the eight ball. "you better watch out, pres," he said laughing. "i'm getting good as you." "man, your boy's sure got connections," leo said. "yeh." "when spider getting out of the hospital?" "he got out last night." "good," scotty said. "hey, booker! rack the damn balls, will ya?" "jake's the toughest all right," booker said, coming over to the table. "yeh," scar said. "yeh." m jl/uaxine blinked her eyes open. at first she could not remember, then it all came back. the pain, the screams, the long, long wait for the ambulance. what had they done to her? she looked around the room, but saw only other women in rows of beds like hers. russell? she said, but no sound came out. she could not feel the tongue in her mouth. she was not certain how her tongue was sup- posed to feel, but she knew she was supposed to feel it. a prissy, stiff-dressed nurse came in carrying a tray filled with needles and medicine. she came directly to maxine. "how are you feeling?" she said. "o.k., i guess," maxine said, surprised to hear the words come out. she frowned at the sound of her voice. her voice sounded coarse, ugly, as if she were speaking with feelings instead of words. "i'll send the doctor in to see you," the nurse said. ] maxine murmured something, her eyes heavy again. when she woke up the doctor was standing at the foot of her bed watching her. "i'm delighted to see you resting so well," the doctor said. he smiled at her. the room was a mirror of flashing teeth. "how long will i be here, doctor?" maxine said, ashamed of her voice. "we should be able to let you go home in a few weeks, if you promise to take it easy for a while." "weeks?" the doctor shook his head. "but no one nowadays stays over a week —" "we had a tough time with you, but —" "how tough? — doc — everything was all right, wasn't it?" "you're going to be fine — " he was stopped by the eternal question in her eyes. the question that could neither be answered, nor avoided. he did as he always did in such cases, he hedged, he fumbled, he retreated and in that in- stance maxine knew. "we did everything we could, you must rest. i shall have your visitor come and see you later —" "i have a visitor?" maxine said dryly. the doctor nodded. "russell?" again the nod. "could i please see him, doctor?" she said, her voice tight and hard. the doctor nodded and left the ward. a few minutes later a fat, dark, half-bald man in a rust-colored suit came in. "the doc say i can't stay but a few minutes," the man said. "hi," maxine said. her eyes felt heavy, but she kept them open. [ "howya feel?" "all right, i guess. i feel a hundred pounds lighter and heavier all at the same time, you know what i mean, russell?" "sure. the doc say you be out in a few weeks." "yeh," maxine said. "well, i guess i got to go. i'll tell you 'bout things when you get better." "you can tell me now," maxine said. "aw, we'll talk about it later." "it was nice of you to take care of me all that time. you're a nice guy, russell." "yeh, that's me." "i'm not going to welch. you're going to make me a feature dancer at the paradise, aren't you, russell?" "yeh, your name in neon, a group behind you, spotlights, the whole works," russell said. maxine laughed and suddenly her voice was not nasty any more. she was still laughing when russell left. then she turned her face into the pillow. she should be out of it by now. she should be hard, sophisticated like everyone said she was. her heart was hard as a rock, wasn't that what russell said? yeh. it was hard all right. it was so heavy it was dragging along her shoes and she kept stepping on it. she rang for the nurse. a male hospital attendant answered the buzzer and stood shifting around, waiting for her to say something. "could you get me some supplies so i can write a letter?" "well, lady, gee i dunno," the large, baby-faced attendant said. "i'll pay for it later. you can trust me," maxine said. the attendant still hesitated. "i'll see that you get a dollar tip, soon as russell comes back," maxine said. "russell?" ] "the guy with the bald eagle haircut that just left." "well — o.k.," the attendant said. the attendant brought back the supplies and maxine wrote jake a long letter. she had trouble expressing herself the way she wanted to in the letter. she rewrote the letter five times before she was satisfied. then she went to sleep. spider made it all the way down the steps of the hallway where he lived. he made it on crutches by himself. he did not want help from anyone, ever. ice was on the sidewalk so he took it easy, not that he could go very fast anyway, but he sure didn't want to kick up any heels on that ice. course, maybe he should. maybe if he fell down it would knock his spine back in place. spider laughed. it was cold, the wind cut into his gloveless fingers gripping the crutches. he de- cided to get some gloves before he came back home. "hey, taxi!" spider called. "to the zodiac," he told the driver. "stay inside, man, i can make it." when the driver pulled up in front of the zodiac, spider gave him a dollar. "keep the change," he said. "thanks, bro," the driver said. spider leaned his weight on the door leading into the bar and went inside. "hey, charlie." "hey, spider. how you making it?" the bartender said. "everything's crazy," spider said. he hobbled on back to the back room. "hi, kid," the stone-faced houseman said. "how's tricks?" [ "everything's dead right now," the houseman said. "i dig," spider said. "anything, i can do for you, kid?" "i guess that little hype we had is all blown over." "naw, kid. you'll get so you can stand them crutches up on one end and hit all night. you can still make some bread," the houseman said. spider said, "naw, carl, that's all over. i been doing a lot of thinking, wasn't much else i could do laying up in that hospital bed." "i'm hearing ya," the houseman said. "that hype couldn't last forever. sooner or later somebody was gonna get wise. then i would of had to take my busi- ness elsewhere." "i don't know 'bout that," the houseman said. spider shook his head. "it would of happened sometime. i was getting ready to get married before i got wasted. that kind of changed things." the houseman nodded. "i don't mean i ain't still thinking about getting married, but i did a lot of thinking and i figure a married stud needs something steady, you know what i mean, carl?" "yeh, i'm viewing you," the houseman said. "i was sort of wondering —" "i can fix you up," the houseman said. "i don't wanna impose —" "i need somebody to help run the game," the houseman said. he winked at spider. "i'm getting old." "gee, thanks carl, you're a life rescuer, man." it was the first time spider ever remembered seeing the houseman smile. "there's a couple of tricks you got to pick up on like — hell, kid, the way you set up that dice deal, you shouldn't have no trouble picking up on this routine." ] you can't keep a good man down, spider was thinking in the cab on the way over to evelyn's. he was feeling good. he took evelyn out for dinner. they sat quietly in pol- lard's, a high-class negro-owned restaurant which featured fancily prepared food, expensive prices, and slow service. spider felt big, as big as a mountain. he rubbed his silver cuff links on the linen napkin beside his silverware. "you seem to be in a good mood," evelyn said. "i should be. i got a job, a good one. a damn good one." "spider, you're kidding?" "is a bear?" evelyn smiled for the first time in weeks. "tell me about it," she said excitedly. "here comes the chow," spider said. "i'll tell you about it after we peck." "oh, bert, this is like old times." "yeh," spider agreed. "almost." in the old days he had not even thought about getting a job. a light-brown-skinned waitress served them steaks still siz- zling on the platter. spider ordered dinner wine from the bar in back of the restaurant. he wanted everything right for his girl. he just hoped she would always think of him just as spider and not crippled spider. he brought his fist down on the table, hardl "what's the matter, bert?" "nothing," spider said. "nothing, forget it" after dinner they sat around smoking and sipping the remaining half of the bottle of wine. "bert, you're miles away somewhere." "am i?" "yes." "i was just thinking." evelyn reached for his hand. "tell me about your job," she said. [ "not much to tell." "where is it?" "at the zodiac." "zodiac?" "yeh, zodiac, that's what i said." "doing what?" evelyn said, her hand tightening around spider's. "houseman for the game in the back." "oh," evelyn said. "i'll make at least seventy-five stones every week." "oh." "some weeks i might even get up to a hundred." "oh." "is that all you got to say, just 'oht' "you're not gambling, are you, bert?" "housemen don't gamble, they just run the game." "oh." "i just thought you might like to know i had a job." "i am glad, bert," evelyn said, a lump in her throat. "i think it's a swell job. i do, i mean it." "you still want to marry me? you don't have to, you know." "yes," evelyn said. "yes, what?" "just yes, bert. that's all" "when?" "tonight." "let's wait until tomorrow. we can't get no blood test tonight." "we have to wait three days after the blood test before we can get married." "i can wait that long," spider said. when jake and armenta came home for the christmas holi- days, spider and evelyn were married. jake found scar and went around to see spider and evelyn as soon as he got in the city. they were living on thirteenth street not far from scar. jake liked the apartment, it was modernistic and clean. spider had beer in the icebox. they drank in silence. spider wanted to know about armenta and jake told him she had come home on the train so he had not seen her. there did not seem to be anything else to talk about. they looked at each other nervously. jake and scar did not stay long. they said they would get together sometime during the week and celebrate spider's getting married, but they knew they wouldn't. things had changed, they weren't ever going to be the same. spider had dropped out of the crowd. jake declined the invitation to go out with scar and kenny on christmas eve. he spent the night in a crowded bar down on third and welch where he was not likely to run into any of his friends. out north, where armenta lived, carollers made the neigh- borhood melodious with christmas songs. the blocks in the district were dressed up with sparkling christmas tree lights strung over porches, shrubbery, and windows. snow fell on the lights and became a dyed mixture of red, yellow, blue, orange, and purple, soft, splotchy softness. the carol- lers left their footprints in the ankle-deep snow covering the stiff grass lawns. laughter floated from basement windows where people welcomed in the holidays with bottled spirits in rathskellers. it was tolling church bells and the santa claus ditty and the barking chest cold with the feverish brow. at the arnez house mr. arnez and his wife finished deco- ] in bed. she took out the small portable record player, last year's christmas present from her parents and rilled it with forty-five rpms. christmas was for kids. she would never believe in santa claus again. she wouldn't believe in any- thing. everyone wanted to tear the world apart. no one wanted to put it together. religion was a big joke. every- thing her parents had taught her was a joke. her parents had always taught her to be neighborly to everyone, but her father had taken jake from her. her parents had also taught her to turn the other cheek. it seemed she had been doing that all her life. her parents were prejudiced, she realized dully. her father had always told her how prejudiced white people were, but armenta realized negroes were prejudiced too. her old man was a snob and she had to pay for it. she wondered if there was really a god. her biological science course had confused her. jake wasn't confused by that bio- logical science stuff. jake laughed about it. she felt guilty thinking about jake. jake didn't think she liked him any more because she had not gone back with him instead of tak- ing the train. she tried to stay away from him the way her father had wanted her to at school, but they had gotten back together, not like it used to be though. her father had started making her see things about jake she had never seen before. she knew he wasn't working, yet he always had money. she hated her father for making her find faults in jake. jake was waiting for her. he said if she didn't come it would prove she did not care anything about him. she would go to see him. she would slip off and — she was a coward, but she would explain it to jake, she would tell him everything. jake spent ten dollars over the bar trying to get drunk. he played eckstine's "body and soul" on the jukebox so often ] time, specially when jake was here. scar didn't use to be like that." "no, he didn't," evelyn agreed. "he still makes a lot of money. he says he makes it shoot- ing pool, but he ain't as good as he used to be." "kenny, you think you're doing the right thing? staying with him, i mean. i wouldn't be asking if we wasn't friends, but — well, you know." "you think i'm doing wrong, evelyn? i can't find no job." "i — well forget i said anything, huh?" "i don't think armenta thinks it's right. i ain't seen her since she went off to school," kenny said. "none of us have. i hear she's having trouble at home. jake said something about it once." "is that what it is? that's too bad, i know how that is," kenny said. "i wish bert had some other kind of job, but i guess it ain't much else he can do. i guess i'm lucky he's got that, but i hate to think of him around all that gambling. we're going to have a baby, you know?" "no," kenny said. "that's wonderful." "yes. spider made me quit working when i told him about it. i wish i hadn't. i could have worked at least four more months." "well, i guess he figures he's making enough to take care of you." "that's what he said. he said he was making enough to take care of two or three babies and me. he's so proud of that." "i guess he is. i'm glad you're getting on so well." "we ain't had a bit of trouble," evelyn said. over in the zodiac, in the back room, spider sat in a chair at the end of the dice table. his face was blank, as somber [ as carl's. the table was crowded. a lot of people spider had won money from were in the game. the guy shooting threw craps. "damn," he said. then his face wrinkled into a grin. "you're poison, pres," he told spider. "even on that end of the table you come up winning my money." spider shrugged. he took the money the shooter had placed on the table to cover his bet. "try your luck with a new pair," spider said, changing dice for the shooter. the shooter winked at spider. he threw the dice, caught a point, and made it on the next two tries. he caught seven three times in a row before he missed. "well, you can't have all the luck," the shooter said. the dice traveled the table. over in the far corner the houseman ran the blackjack game. in front of him was a metal box filled with money to pay off the winners. the box was getting chocked. no one was winning. spider kept the dice moving. man, if he didn't have to cut carl in on the profits he would really be whaling. course, he wasn't complaining. carl didn't split any of his share of the blackjack take though. but, what the hell, it should be like that; carl kept everything running. he bet carl made more money than the club did in the back room. man, oh man, and he had thought he was smart setting up that little deal with carl, that crooked dice hype, wasn't that some- thing? he wondered how evelyn was doing. he hoped she was feeling all right having a baby and all. she thought she had to work, wasn't that a joke? he knew she wouldn't go for how the game was run if she knew, but the hell with that. so carl had shown him how to make the guys throw craps every now and then so the houseman would get the shooter's bread. what the hell, she didn't think he could make $ a week, working a split-shift eight-hour day doing nothing* did she? school let out the twenty-first of january. jake packed everything. he wasn't coming back two weeks from now to start the second semester. he hadn't said anything to ar- menta since school had started again after the holidays. a few times, when he saw her in the coffee shop, she had started to say something, but she never did. a broad's a broad — he had enough of that true-blue stuff. look what had happened. maybe monk was right. he didn't have no business messing with her in the first place. he felt as strung- out as a squadron of b- 's, but he bet didn't nobody know it but him. he carried the two full suitcases out of the base- ment of a house down at the foot of the hill from the uni- versity and dumped them into the trunk of the dynaflow. school had been kind of fun for a while, but what the hell, he wasn't cut out for that stuff anyhow. he unfastened the room keys from his key chain and went up the stairs of the porch and knocked on the front door. "here's your keys, mr. koonce, i'm shoving off now." "still won't change your mind 'bout coming back next semester, huh?" "naw, i'm afraid not, mr. koonce," jake said smiling. "you didn't flunk no courses?" "naw. the only c i got was in english. i got a c-minus in that," jake admitted. "i can't get the hang of that stuff." "i knowed you was pretty smart all the time, otherwise i don't reckon that pretty girl of yourn would have been fool- ing round you. she got a scholarship, didn't she?" "for next year." "well, that's fine. i haven't seen her around here since you all came back from the holidays." "she's around," jake said. scar placed some discs on the player he had bought kenny for christmas. he was glad kenny was gone looking for a job or wherever she had gone. kenny liked boogie-joogie and scar was not in the mood for digging corn bread. he played a scrib of the duke digging what b could do on "sophisticated lady." he had heard it a few minutes ago in the record shop and bought it and "manteca" by diz. "sophisticated lady" turned out to be real tough. scar fed his habit and floated. if he didn't straighten up soon, man, he was going to get wasted. he was hung-up all afternoon, but he was straight when kenny came home. "hi, baby," he said. "dig this crazy jam." he closed his eyes and started "sophisticated lady" again. "you drunk?" "yeh, on music." "i wish you hadn't changed so, scar," kenny said ruefully. she crossed hesitantly over to the sofa where scar was lying and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "i thought you'd want to know i got a job, sort of." scar opened his eyes and sat up slowly. "you have?" he said not sounding happy about it. "ain't you glad for me, scar? now i won't have to live with you no more." "yeh. sure, baby. i'm glad for you," scar said flatly. "i guess i better pack. i leave for sweetport tomorrow." "you got a hang-over in sweetport?" "i enlisted in the wac's. we leave for training camp tomorrow." scar said nothing, his face said nothing, his whole body had nothing to say. "well, i better pack —" ] "maxine, you know?" benbow drew a figure with his hands, smiling at jake. "oh, yeh," jake said. he walked over to the jukebox and spent a quarter on bird, pres, and diz. then he dropped another nickel in the machine for "body and soul." the place started to get noisy as the barhops started coming in. a slim woman, dressed in red, wriggled in the door and skimp- ered down the aisle looking the bar over. she stopped by jake and pushed his hat over his eyes. "hi, kit. how's tricks?" jake said. "ain't nothing shaking but the leaves on the trees," the woman said disgustedly. "and they wouldn't be shaking if it wasn't for the breeze." she laughed, bounced away and assumed a provocative wide-legged stance with one elbow resting on the jukebox. the guy next to jake at the bar nudged him. "that one of yourn?" he said knowingly. "i knew her in high school." "damn, you mean they let whores go to school?" "she says her ambition was to be a schoolteacher, in the yearbook," jake said. "where she going to teach classes at, on the corners?" "it's a free world," jake said. "if you got a white face," the man said, laughing and slapping jake on his back. "say-charlie-bring-my-boy-a- drink," the man said, pointing to jake. "no, thanks," jake said, slapping the man back. "buy kit one. she might give it to you for nothing." "what's eating that cat?" the guy spread his hands. "all i did was —" he stopped in embarrassment. no one was listening. jake went around to the bowling alley part of the zodiac. he sat down on the last seat of one of the long rows of seats [ connected together. the seven bowling lanes were filled with players. tonight was league night and the seven teams in multi-colored uniforms were going at each other. the bowling balls blasted into the pins and agitated players yelled above the din cursing encouragements at each other. women hung around in turtleneck sweaters, their slack- covered legs dangling over seats, mouths stuffed with hot dogs, hands slippery on cold beer bottles. the air seemed heavy like it wanted to make you sneeze. caldonia switched in with a man hanging on his arm. caldonia needed a shave. jake went into the toilet with the cracked toilet and face bowls and the dirty four-letter rhymes written on the toilet walls. he closed the door in front of one of the toilet bowls and lit a stick. he dropped the match into the yellow-stained toilet bowl, leaned back against the wall, took a long drag, swallowed, and watched the ashless glow. the toilet was a merry-go-round. over at scar's, at two minutes after eight, the phone rang. "scar, have you seen jake?" "naw. who is this, armenta?" "yes. you haven't seen him?" "naw. is he back in town?" "we got in today. i've got to get in touch with him." "you try his house?" "you know that's the first place i called. i guess i should have known he wouldn't be home." "well he's not here." "scar, find him for me. you know where to look. i don't know where to look for— " she faltered. "well, damn, i —" "please scar. tell him to call as soon as you find him, no matter what time it is, will you?" ] "it's like that, huh?" "yes." "o.k., i'll find him for you," scar said. "who was that?" kenny wanted to know. "armenta. i got to go find jake," scar said. outside of the zodiac, jake breathed deeply in the cold air. he cupped his hands and lit a cigarette against the wind. he supposed he could go to some of the other joints, but what the hell, a bar was a bar. he could stay in the zodiac if that was all he was going to do. "hey, jake!" jake looked around and saw a long lanky figure in a sailor uniform beckoning to him from across the street. well, i'll be damn. he flipped the match out into the surging traffic and followed it. "say man, how you gonna sound?" they laughed at each other. "how long you been a swabbie, ed?" jake had to look up. "damn, when you start wearing stilts?" jake said. "i been in ever since a week after we graduated." "navy do that to everybody?" jake said measuring ed's six-feet-three inches of lanky frame. white teeth flashed in ed's handsome face. "dig the crazy mop, man," ed said taking the navy-blue winter dress cap off his head and bowing so jake could get a good look at the glossy waves pushed up pompadour fashion. "jim!" jake said. "where you get a burn like that?" "new york, man. that's where i'm stationed." "it don't look like a conk." "it ain't. it's a marcel, latest thing out. better join the navy, man. i was already pretty 'fore i went in. now i'm tall, dark, and handsome, ha-ha." [ ed hadn't changed much, except for height, jake was thinking. they had some good times in high school. ed's hair didn't gas him. it looked artificial. but he had to admit it looked a hell of a lot better than a conk. "you on leave?" "yeah. i got five more days to spend in this hick town. man, you oughta go to new york. ain't no other city like it in the whole world. come on an see my short. i'm parked down the way." "that what they call cars in new york?" "yeh, pres. where you been? don't tell me you goin' turn square on me? man, this hick town is got a bad in- fluence. what you doing now?" "this and that." "man, you looking prosperous." "i ain't complaining." "i got something in the short a knock your eyes out," ed said. ed whirled around to get a better look at the figure that had jostled him as they passed by. "what in hell is that?" jake laughed. "caldonia? he thinks every day is hallow- een." "this is me," ed pointed to a maroon chevy. "pick up on the happenings. they're ready to go, drunk as hell. i was hoping i'd run into somebody wasn't square that could take one of 'em off my hands." "well, i'll be damn," jake said. "where you pick them up?" "all right, huh, man? i ran into 'em across town." "they got those kind of bars over there?" "hell, naw. this is a square-assed town. it's all white over there, man." "then, how in hell —" ed winked. "that comes from being on the corners of the big city. get in, man." ] "no thanks." "what's wrong, man? you chicken?" "naw, i ain't chicken." "man, don't tell me that you going to turn out square after all these years? a little piece of white ass ain't going to kill you." jake looked at the stringy hair, the smeared make-up, the dowdy clothes, the skinny frames. "that's just it, they don't kill me." "man, they white." "i don't give a damn." "a hard rod ain't never had no conscience." "maybe not," jake said. "but i have." jake left ed stand- ing there. "see you around," he said. he went down to molly's to eat a few sandwiches and drink some coffee. that was where scar found him. "spider told me you had been by the zodiac," scar said. "just left there not long ago," jake said. "how you do- ing?" "i'm making it," scar said. "i just got in this evening." "yeh, i know. armenta told me." "armenia?" "yeh. she's looking for you, wants you to call her." "get off it, cat." "no joke, that's what she said. she sent me out looking for you." "aw, she's full of feces." "feces?" "word i learned in college," jake said. "only one i ap- preciated." "well, she said to call her no matter what time of night it was." ] proached the bar. "jake." scar grabbed jake by the arm. "goddammit, scar, leave me alone. what you got to do with it?" jake said quietly. "goddammit, you're going to call that girl. i didn't get out of bed and come all the way around here for nothing." "what the hell you doing in bed?" "kenny's leaving tomorrow for the wac's if it's any of your damn business. why don't you take care of your own and call armenta?" "kenny joining the wac?" "that's what i said." "man, that's a hell of a thing to join. they tell me half of 'em are hustlers." "yeh, i know," scar said wearily. "i don't guess it's much else she can do. she can't stay with me forever." "naw, you would have gotten tired sooner or later," jake said. "call armenta, willya?" jake punched scar on the shoulder. "o.k.," he said. scar sat at the bar while jake went back of the zodiac to the phone booths. armenta answered the phone on the second ring. "hello," jake said. "hello, jake." "what you talking so quiet for?" "my daddy doesn't want me talking to you, that was the whole trouble." "your ole man?" "yes. he doesn't want me around you." "i told you your ole man didn't like me." "i know. he's sending me to school in new york next semester." "after you got a scholarship at j city?" "he figures i will forget you up there." [ "will you?" "no." "looks like i threw craps," jake said. "i'll be back this summer." "that won't mean nothing with your ole man ordering you to keep away from me." "i'll see you anyway." jake laughed. a short guttural laugh. "i'm not in your class, armenta. i should have known i had no business mix- ing with the four-hundreds." "don't say that, jake." "well, that's right, ain't it? your father thinks i'm gar- bage or something. well, i may not go around with my nose stuck up in the air and talk all goofy like a professor or something, but i'll bet you this, i'll be driving a cadillac next year and i'll have a house as big and pretty as his by the time i'm twenty-one." "i didn't know you ever thought about houses and things like that." "i'm going to show your ole man i'm just as good as he is." "he doesn't have anything against you personally, jake. he just thinks i should be interested in doctors, lawyers, architects, and people like that." "what difference does it make what you are long as you got bread?" "that's what worries him. he wonders what you're doing to have a new car and things like that. i wonder myself, sometimes," armenta admitted. ... so monk had been right all along. "jake! jake, are you still there?" "yeh." "i'm going to send you my address soon as i get to new york. will you keep in touch with me, jake?" "yeh," jake said ... i wonder myself, sometimes .. . [ it was the worst time in the world for this kind of action, as far as scar was concerned, but it could not be helped. he had the choice of watching maxine floating or sick. time went fast for scar after that and yet everything was slowed down like it had never been before. he had time to walk around the world on each second and yet it seemed the show started right after he got back. spotlights danced all over everything. "man, i'm floating," scar said. he could see the music. he could actually see it. b flat was a nice golden yellow and man those blue notes were really blue. the notes floated out of the trumpets like silver discs, then jingled through the air like melting icicles when the trum- pets screamed them out of shape. the notes from the saxes were doughnut-shaped and they kept changing from green to purple and dull orange. the guy on piano was building ivory stairways to the ceiling. the notes were so solid scar bet he could walk all the way up to the top and sit down on nothing. he didn't know what the bass and drummer were doing, but they were kicking like wild. the notes kept exploding. he couldn't keep watching the orange flashes, it was like sticking your nose in a welder's torch. then he saw maxine come out in a white dress covered with sequins, open in front, showing her large, well-molded dancer's legs, going like crazy to the music in black lace stockings. she had a white hat full of black feathers bouncing on her head and she came out to the front of the stage and kicked her legs at the audience. he could see her thighs quiver with each thrust her legs made into the air. there was a mole painted on her left cheek. her cold, intimate stage smile flashed at the audience. then she looked down and scar was sure she must have seen them because she seemed to freeze for a second. then he didn't see her for a while because the group behind her swerved around her and she disappeared ] in the middle. the music stopped; everyone clapped like crazy. maxine was good; scar felt great. the music started again, this time a slow mambo beat. maxine's hips filled the stage, slowly gyrating to the sensual beat. then she was standing over them again. "hello, heel," she said. "what's wrong with your friend?" she whirled away, drifted around the stage and came back. "hi, slim," jake said. "how you been?" "hi, scar," maxine said. she wrinkled her nose at him. she slittered back to the other dancers and whispered some- thing. then she crisscrossed her way back up the stage. "she's coming down the steps," scar said. maxine danced down the steps and among the tables, the spotlight following her movements. she acted as though she would sit down on an old man's lap, the woman at the table brandished a pocketbook. maxine hurried away, waving back at the man as she went along. the audience roared. she stopped at another table and poured herself a drink. she made a toast to the men at the table, took the drink over to another table and had a man there drink it. the crowd got a bang out of that too. then she came over to jake and scar. "hello, heel. when you start running with junkies!" "what you talking about?" jake said. "hello, scar. i thought you had better sense than to get on the mainline kick," maxine said contemptuously. scar couldn't say anything. he had been dreaming of seeing maxine for months, but he couldn't say anything. "you've changed," maxine told scar, shaking her head. "you had something women liked once. too bad you didn't bring it around." "is that a proposition?" scar said dully. maxine laughed in his face. she stroked jake's face play- fully. "now here's a heel that's still got what all the women want." ] in bed scar stared at the ceiling. he couldn't touch kenny. he didn't know if he could ever touch any woman again. kenny thought he was drunk. when she got up at six o'clock he was still staring at the ceiling. "i'm going, scar." "o.k." "i'll write you, hear?" "o.k." kenny came into the bedroom and looked at scar. "you was the best friend i ever had, scar." she came over to the bed and kissed him quickly. she didn't tell him she loved him, she just walked out of the door. that was the last scar ever saw of kenny. you are no dream, no fantasy created by the mind. you are a lovely, vibrant woman whose warmth is hidden behind a veil of sophistication. you were not always so. you wear the mask of sophistication well. so well that most peo- ple cannot conceive of the person that you really are, or the things that you like to do. but, i know. i know the real you. i know you well, sophisticated lady. you are a career woman and you love your job. you have everything you want. isn't that what you tell everyone? ha, what a joke. the only thing you ever wanted was that guy that hung on the corner. the height of your ambition was a little white cottage full of little plump kids. but he walked out on you, didn't he, lady? yeh, he walked out and sophistica- tion walked in. the duke wrote a song about you, lady. you've heard it. it's called "sophisticated lady" and it fits you to a t. how does it go . . . they say, into your early life romance came . . . ] in smoke because of you. you want him, don't you, sophis- ticated lady? you want him back. you still want him bad, i know. i know what you want and how you feel. i know all about you. i know because the very same he did to you, you are doing to me . . . the record player was not on, but scar could hear the golden, melodious voice of billy eckstine very clearly. jake stood in front of the paradise, feet planted, hands shoved deep into the overcoat pockets of the gray velour overcoat with the belt-in-the-back. he couldn't get over it. first armenta, now scar. scar moving like that and not even telling him he was leaving. scar must not even be in the city any more, no one had seen him. a guy who was supposed to be your best friend, doing something like that? the hell with scar, he didn't care. he thought about going in there and seeing maxine, but he didn't. he walked down the street instead. he didn't blame maxine for what she had done, but damn, how was he to know? sleet fell like his thoughts, irritating as hell. he got into the dynaflow and drove around, not going anywhere. he thought of going home and answering armenta's letter. she had written him twice and he had not answered — yet. it wasn't that — he just didn't go in for that letter-writing stuff, that's all it was. he found himself getting out of the car and going into cardoil's, one of those all-night restaurants, and kidding sadie, a waitress, who used to like him when they were in high school. it was too crowded to talk much so he said he [ would call her and left. then he was on the highway going out to the city limits. the prisoner always returns to the scene of the crime. he found the motel, left the car, and hurried through the crazy sleet. he sat and drank scotch-on- rocks in the purple room and all the lights were colored with memories. he didn't give a damn. he heard the music and saw the violinist stroll among the handholding couples. he watched the candles flick their mocking flames over the checkered tabletops. it didn't bother him at all. he sat, he drank, he saw, and the crazy sleet fell. february was a month of sleet. the streets were ice in february. the air was hoarse, wind-pained. chattering peo- ple in bundled coats were trapped to complaining limbs, and brows were bonded to ice-locked thoughts in february. march came on a dying breath and coughed hard enough for kites to flop sickeningly in a phlegm sky. robins paid for their foolhardiness when night came. pop garveli stood behind the counter arid rang up the cost of groceries on the cash register. "how's jake?" pop asked. "something's wrong with him, but i'm not sure what. you can't tell from looking at him, but something's wrong," adams said. "well, you know how teen-agers are." "yeh. he'll be nineteen this month. i thought he was going to straighten out, but —" adams threw up his hands. "i thought sure — when he went off to school and every- thing —" ] "well, i wouldn't worry none about it, adams. likely as not he hasn't made up his mind what he wants to do yet. i'll be willing to bet he goes back to school in september. you wait and see." "i think he's got woman trouble," adams said. "jake? that's the last thing i'd expect him to have. ain't all the gals sweet on him?" "i think he's found that gal i was always teasing him about making him settle down." "aw, you don't think he's got serious about some gal? he's too young for that." "sometimes i don't think that boy's too young for noth- ing. he got a couple letters from a girl named armenta. i think she was the one in college with him. anyway, the other day he wrote her, and he ain't one to write. he takes after me in that way." "you think he's really gone and got serious?" pop was amused. "well, there's nothing like it. i remember when i first met — i'll be doggone if i had the slightest notion one day we'd have georgia and — course afterwhile i figured i might, but by then it was too late to do anything about it. it's funny how a woman can grow on you, ain't it?" "yeh," adams said dreamingly. "how's georgia like col- lege?" "well, you know she really wanted to go off to school, but — well, we couldn't afford it," pop said uneasily. "yeh, i know how that is." "she don't talk much about it. i guess she likes it well enough. she wants to be a teacher, so i figure she can get just as good an education at the city college as anywhere else. besides, you know the graduates from city college get first crack at the jobs around here?" "is that right?" then spring came, and the marble games started along pea- body avenue, the jumping from coalshed to coalshed, the walking of broad, rotting, wooden fences, the hopscotch games, the hidespy games with boys and girls going into the dark together hiding. the skate trucks roared, footballs sailed through the air. children congregated on the side- walks at night, their singsong voices chanting "little sally walker." slingshots broke out street lights. sitting in a saucer — gambling wineheads found their spots in the alleys. rise sally rise — welch street mushroomed people. wipe your winking eyes — the arguments in the houses, the splat- tering eating ware. over on bell avenue the tamale man permeated the atmosphere with his steam wagon. boy meets girl and disillusion. put your hands on your hips — molly's and the fat lonely owner watching overweight roaches run along the counter among soggy crumbs. the patrol car idly wanders the street. radios blare boogie-joogie music through opened windows. balls click in booker's and the little back room finds the dice roaming. guys linger on the wooden porches of the flats on the avenues, hands propped against a sagging rail, the cigarette smoke climbing, unblocked hats resting on ears, hats and smoke not quite shading the ques- tion in their eyes. the girls carry on conversation with their bodies. and let your backbone slip — night rains, the baby cries, the car horns sail, the dogs and people make a staccato street symphony. parks laugh with people. old men sip beer on porch swings. animation curses the city with activity. oh baby shake to the east — a new gang replaces the barra- cudas. oh baby shake to the west — cugat jackets hit the market, the latest thing. cugat jackets parade the streets in bright colors, blue, red, yellow, burnt-orange, green, the ] pointed-collared lightweight jackets hang off the shoulders of the guys in the know. oh baby shake to the one you love the best. the people welcome spring. jake was pleased with himself. he drove the new car away from the dealer's feeling the powerful motor vibrate under his feet. he had on his gray stingy brim, the new blue suede gaucho jacket, gray slacks and blue suede shoes. he felt like letting the top down on the big two-toned convertible with the blue top and gray bottom, but it was too cool for that. he wasn't even worried about the whitewall tires. it was easy to keep them looking good when you could pay some- body else to do the work. hadn't he made it to sadie and run across pearl last week and shacked with her? and what about that new babe working in the ticket window at the circle theater? her eyes weren't as big or pretty as pearl's but anybody could see they were for him. it was a good world as long as you had money to buy it. so he felt good. who in hell wouldn't if they could go out and buy them- selves a cadillac on their nineteenth birthday? he tightened his hands on the wheel of the car, controlling power, man, tons of it. he didn't much feel like going around the high school, most of the ole crowd didn't hang around there any more — scar, spider, red. well, you couldn't have every- thing. feed the suckers the mainline, man, the baby needs milk, the cad's got to have gas, the baby needs shoes, you can't run a cad without tires. the cad enjoys a man in the driving seat. the cad was the best babe he knew, she gave you kicks, she performed to your commands and if you took care of her she took care of you, which was saying a hell of a lot. feed the suckers the mainline — red, scar? hell yes, man, feed the suckers the mainline. maxine, armenta — feed the suckers. he cruised down welch street for a while, ] "that car of yours, seems to me." pop put his hands on his hips. "a 'forty-nine cadillac — well, if that don't beat everything. you're not doing anything wrong like robbing old ladies to pay for that thing, are you?" pop said laughing. "not yet," jake said. "i might have to next month when the note comes up." they laughed, all three together, on the sidewalk. "well, back to work for me. don't stay away long, georgia, you've got to cook supper tonight, don't forget. maude's making a cook out of georgia," pop explained. "i guess it's about time, she thinks she's grown enough to do everything else." "oh, pop," georgia said. pop waved to georgia and jake and went back into the store. georgia got in the car and they drove away laughing to- gether about nothing. "i hear you say you're boy crazy?" jake said teasing georgia. "oh, pop just likes to exaggerate. jake —?" "huh?" "what makes boys so vulgar?" "how you mean?" "well, you know how everyone always says 'how you been doing'?" "uh-huh." "well, all the fellows hang around in the hall and ask all the girls who have they been doing. sometimes they can be so disgusting with their vulgarities." jake laughed. "yeh, well you just watch out when the vulgarities don't seem so vulgar to you any more." georgia hit jake playfully. she had not done that in years, not since they had become old enough to know what it meant to belong to different races. "what are you thinking?" she said, noticing the expression on his face. ] "i don't care," georgia finally said flippantly, "do you?" "me? hell naw," jake said. they laughed. they rode all over the city. "remember when i used to be your play sister?" "yeh. we sure goofed over the store. i don't know why pop didn't fire me. remember the time we ate all that candy when we thought pop wasn't looking and got sick and he laughed at us?" "yeh. i should have known better than to listen to you." "it wasn't my idea," jake protested, "it was yours." "we really got sick all right," georgia laughed. "yeh, we sure did," jake joined her. they spent an hour remembering, then jake took georgia back to the store. "you ought to take me out riding again sometime. i still need a brother," georgia said. "aw, quit pulling my leg." "don't you want to be my brother?" jake thought of the car ride and the staring people. the unexpressed reaction started through him again. "sure i do," he said very deliberately. "o.k., then. i need some brotherly advice with all those mannish things pouncing at me from everywhere." jake laughed. "you're not conceited." "i didn't mean it like —" "i know what you mean. it's no mystery why they're pouncing at you from everywhere." georgia smiled. "goodbye, kid sister." georgia thumbed her nose at him. smoke fogged the small back room. it was three in the morning and spider had only one more hour to work. he was in a hurry to get home to evelyn. she had been sick yesterday and was not feeling good when he left. she had told him it was to be expected and that sometimes expectant daddies get sick. he had never heard of that before. man, that must really be something. he changed dice for a tall thin man and watched the game indifferently. the door to the back room opened and a tall, well-built woman in an evening dress came in. she looked the place over rather skeptically. then her mouth hardened and she walked over to spider. "hi, spider." "maxine!" spider said, surprised to see her. "long time no see. i hear you're at the paradise now. me and evelyn intended to get around to see you, but i work such funny —" "i know," maxine said squeezing his shoulder. "how have you been getting along?" "can't complain, out of touch with everything since i got hitched. you know me and evelyn are expecting." "no kidding?" "yeh, one kid anyway, evelyn that is." spider tossed a new set of dice to a shooter. "seen any of the ole gang lately?" "naw, i ain't. jake ain't been in here since that first time. i ain't seen scar either. i hear he ain't even in the city no more." "is that right?" "yeh, that's what they tell me. funny how things change, ain't it?" "yeh, yeh, real funny, spider." "we had a lot of fun in the ole days, didn't we, slim?" [ guising his intelligence behind corner boy talk. yeh, who used his brain to figure out how to get another fix — nice. "well, anyway, at least you're amounting to something," evelyn told maxine. "i'm so happy about your big break. someday you got to tell me all about it." sure kid, tell you all about it. "nothing to talk about really," maxine said. and let your backbone slip. nothing to talk about except the mocking sounds in the night, the endless bars, the price to pay for the spotlight. "you and spider are the lucky ones. you don't know how lucky you are." "how?" evelyn wanted to know. "you're the celebrity." "you've got each other," maxine said. "i —" she was about to say that was the most important thing in the world, but what was more disgusting than a drunk fool crying in his beer? "funny how things work out in the end, ain't it?" "the end hasn't got here yet, spider," maxine said. spider smiled. "you always was quick on the trigger, slim, that's what jake — that's what jake always liked about you," he finished. "you really must tell me about your big break, maxine. it's so thrilling to think of somebody we know as a big-time celebrity," evelyn said. "like i said, there's really nothing to it." nothing at all. oh baby shake to the east. you just trade long lean days and men for a soft career with hard hours, for security spelled with dollar bills, and count your breaks on the navels of fat paunches hovering over you for the pay-off. oh baby shake to the west. they talked about the fun they used to have. "it's funny about things, how they change, i mean, ain't it?" spider said. ] no one had an answer. oh baby shake to the one you love the best — she read his letter again. the same letter she had read many times. she remembered how strange he had sounded over the telephone the last time they had talked to each other. she had promised to write every day, but she hadn't. she had written once every week instead, five in all. he had written her only once, and it was not a long letter. why did she like him so much? was it because he was bad? maybe people admired other people when they were bad because they did not have nerve enough to be bad themselves. she remembered in grade school and high school he was always the bad boy that all the teachers liked, though they some- times pretended they didn't. she blushed because she knew she wanted to be in bed with jake, and that was wrong. was that what made love, wanting to be bad with someone? they had been bad together a lot of times. she blushed. she had been a regular little slut around him. she knew she was not really a nice girl at all, not like her father and mother thought she was. she couldn't help it though, she couldn't help it if she felt like that. she wondered when her father and mother went to bed did they feel — she really blushed about that. she was acting silly, she knew all about the birds and bees. and she hadn't, not with anyone but jake, except that time with scar. rise sally rise — one letter after all those times. she bet he didn't even remember them all. she did though, [ in the spring, coming back from the drive-in, that first time. wipe your winking eyes— and the times she thought she would never again until she did. she could remember all of them, that last time in the motel — oh baby — he prob- ably even forgot that, he better not. probably just wrote that one letter because he felt sorry for her. he said he loved her, not exactly like that, but in a funny way that first time after the drive-in — she couldn't stop blushing. why did she sit in the dormitory reading an old letter from jake when she could be out with lou carl, who was going into interning next semester? all the girls liked him and he was going to be a doctor. he was real smooth and said he liked her a lot. she bet. she wasn't going out with him and let him get her some place where he could do that. jake. jake wouldn't even answer her letters. she threw the letter on the bed in disgust. he wasn't worth her thinking about for two seconds anyway. he was just a smooth talker and always had that little boy look on his face that made girls want to be nice to him. she bet he was running around with everything he could get his hands on while she was stuck away up here in new york. he'd better not. he'd better remember who's his ole lady. to the east — he wrote such uninspired letters, like they were answers to a chemistry problem or something. she wished he would have used some pretty words, some poetry even, but jake was not that kind. he would think it was silly. well, maybe it was, but she would have liked it. he said he would wait for her, but in his own way. she wondered what he meant by that. there was only one way to wait for someone, to be true. he'd better, she thought. she almost felt he was mocking her for all the silly questions she had written asking him about. she wouldn't have only, well after all she had broken things up, hadn't she, listening to her father and his talk about respect- ability and the source of jake's money? it wasn't any of his ] business. to the west— she had to admit she wondered, she had even told jake she did. she did not want to know though, she was scared to know. jake had always been a bad boy. he never did anything really wrong though. people would not like him if he had. the one you love the best— all at once she was scared, more than she had ever been before, more even than when she was five and fooling around in the closet and the door had closed, trap- ping her in the dark. it was the third time he took georgia out riding that bothered him. it had been at night, and he went out on the highway and really opened the cadillac up. the state patrol had caught them and georgia had been scared, and had never understood how he had gotten out of a ticket, espe- cially with that big one getting so mad. yeh, he had really been mad all right. it was that trashwagon guy again. he was mad because georgia was in there with him, but it wasn't nothing he could do about it. trashwagon wouldn't have said a damn thing if georgia hadn't been there, jake knew damn well he wouldn't. but that wasn't what bothered him, that was incidental. what bothered him was the way he had let georgia pry him open and get him talking about himself. like georgia said, people only talk to each other about un- important things. he knew that was the way it was, yet he had found himself really talking to georgia about things. it didn't pay to talk too much to nobody. that was what was ] much pent-up energy when he was with her, so what was so wrong in that? "hi, jake," georgia called, coming out of the store and getting in the car. "hi, georgia. how you feeling?" "fine, let's drive through the park." georgia's hair looked almost black in the semi-darkness of the car. it had a luster to it, a spark, not like armenta's which was jet black, silky and long. georgia's hair was cut short, heavier, and the luster seemed more golden in texture. "you know you growed up to be quite a looker, kid sister," jake said. "i didn't know brothers paid any attention to the looks of their kid sisters," georgia said. "they don't," jake said. "we can't be the way we used to, can we?" georgia said. "how you mean?" "you know how i mean," georgia said. "yeh," jake said. "i know." "i wonder why?" georgia said. "i guess people can't help but change." "i guess not, it's not that —" "i know, but it's not the same." "no, that's right, it's not," georgia said. "i don't care, it's still sister and brother, only a different kind." she hit jake playfully. the park was filled with people enjoying the pleasant weather before the rains came. "it's nice out,'* georgia said. "yeh, when it gets a little warmer i can drop the top down." "why don't you do it now?" "i drive too fast," jake said. "we'd freeze to death." ] "you got to prove who's the toughest." "it doesn't make sense," georgia said. "that's the only way to think if you ever think about it," jake said. "about what?" "anything," jake said. "you take sports. what kind of sense does it make when you start to think about it?" "how do you mean?" "well, take tennis. you take one little ball, two big pad- dles, and a net. then you wait till a nice warm day and two people chase that little ball all over the court in the hot sun to hit it with a paddle, what kind of sense does that make?" "oh, jake," georgia said. "take golf. you take a little hard ball, place it on a pin, rare back with a club and hit it just as far as you can. then you walk after it, to get a chance to hit it again, and the harder you whack it the longer you got to walk. then when you finally get the ball where you want it, what do you do? you push it in a little hole in the ground. now what kind of sense does that make?" "aw, jake," georgia waved a hand at him. "that's the truth." "you make it sound so ridiculous." "that's the way it is when you start thinking about it. another good example is baseball, now —" "i'll take your word for it," georgia said with a grin. "but that's with sports." "that's with everything," jake said. "such as?" "you name it." "o.k., how about religion. what's so silly about that?" "are you kidding?" "i hope not." georgia laughed. "i mean i heard you play that smart crack on people before." [ "well, i don't know if it quite fits you." "why not?" "i can't see why you would be hoping not." "why?" "well, the immaculate conception is one of those silly things in religion which we were about to talk about." "why?" "'cause a woman's got to have a man in the driving seat, if she's ever going to produce something to keep a man up walking nights." "i don't see how that —" "well, you can see where that applies to you. you have to have a man to be kidding." "oh," georgia said, her voice inflecting slightly. "didn't you know?" "you're the one that seems so sure i don't know." "well, have you?" jake said raising an eyebrow. "have i what?" "been doing any driving lately?" "i've been riding with you." "i mean in your seat." georgia blushed. "i'm not going to tell you." "why?" "it's too personal." "i thought brothers and sisters were supposed to be able to talk about personal things." "would you talk to me about things that personal?" "sure." "well, i'm not going to tell you." "why not?" "you didn't ask me as a brother." "how did i ask you?" "like somebody wanting to do some driving." "i guess that's what it sounded like all right," jake said. ] "that's o.k.," georgia said. "that's what i sounded like too." they looked at each other. "you ready to go home, georgia?" "if you want to take me home." jake shrugged. "jake?" "yeh." "you ever think much about things?" "not unless i can't help it." "i do all the time. i get so confused. i mean when you start trying to think about god, and the world and things like that — i mean my math teacher said you can't think of religion intellectually. you have to accept it on faith just like the basic premises in mathematics." "yeh." "but — i mean, it doesn't make sense." "you sound like somebody else i know." "who?" "a girl named armenta," jake said matter-of-factly. "do you like her?" "why you ask that?" "oh, i dunno. you sound like you might." "i do?" "yes, every time you start to sound very casual about some- thing, it usually means something to you." "you know me real good, don't you, georgia?" "sometimes." he looked at her. "i don't feel like your brother," he said. "you told me that." "i mean it's different." "i know that." "well —" ] you're wondering if they're thinking about doing something to someone else what seems so great that they do to you, and like i say, it's the same thing anyway so what difference should it make, you follow me?" "i'm afraid i don't," georgia said. "well, what i mean is you get a lot restrictions with love and worries and everything which you wouldn't have if you weren't in love, and all you get out of love is the same thing you can get from someone without being in love, but you think you're getting something else because you're in love. see what i mean?" "a little. jake, can i ask you something?" "sure." "i don't know how to put it. do — what i mean is, do colored girls go to bed with somebody just because they like them?" "it depends on how smooth the guy is, you know what i mean?" "uh-huh. i shouldn't have asked you that, should i?" "why not?" jake said, knowing very well what she meant. "i don't know. you know what i mean." "yeh." "jake, our ancestors really messed up the world, didn't they?" "didn't they," jake said. "they're still messing it up too." "yeh. you know something?" "what?" "other side of the fence, those babes, you know?" "you mean do they?" "yeh." "they're about the same way, i guess. everyone says they don't, but they do sometimes." [ "what were you thinking about?" "you're full of a lot of questions, kid sister." "is anything wrong with that?" "some of them might not be so good for you." "i'm three times seven." "you're not." "socially i am," georgia said primly. "since when?" "since i started going riding with you." "if you say so," jake said. "well, what was the line?" "you know that girl you asked me did i like?" "armenta?" "that's the one." "what about her?" "well, you know." "love?" "well, we're supposed to be real tight. we were at one time. she's in school in new york, and — aw, you don't want to hear about it," jake said. georgia looked at him waiting for him to continue. "you want to go out on the highway? i feel like taking a run." "you mean go speeding like you did the last time?" "yeh. you ain't scared are you?" "of course not, i think it's foxy. i mean it's so thrilling and scary." "i thought you said you weren't scared." "i'm not. i mean it's fun being scared. you're going to get a ticket though." "not a chance." "haven't you ever been scared of having an accident?" "naw, you?" ] "uh-huh, that's what makes it so scary and fun." "you know what, georgia? i ain't never been scared of getting hurt doing nothing. i always felt couldn't nothing happen to me, that's funny ain't it?" "yes, how can you feel like that?" "i don't know. you know what? i don't even believe i can die. i know i'm going to one day, but i can't believe it." "i'd be afraid to say that." "why?" "i'd be afraid something would strike me dead for daring to say something like that." "you mean god? you think if there was one he'd care what we said about him?" "let's not talk any more about that, it scares me." "i thought you liked to be scared?" "not like that." georgia shivered. "you know, i bet that's what girls like about you, you seem so sure about everything. you even walk around like a little tin soldier. how do people get like that, jake?" "like what?" "like you." "i don't know. i always felt that way, georgia." "you couldn't have." "as far back as i can remember." "that's why they like you, jake. that's the secret of your success." "that's why i like you," jake said teasing georgia. "you say such nice things about me." "that's why you were the leader of the gang instead of the follower. maybe that's why i told you — that line." she turned from him quickly. i'll be true in my fashion. he felt like he was stabbing himself in the back. it hurt like hell to twist your arm ,[ around that way. but, he knew he might do it. he was capable of doing anything. georgia his sister. pop and mrs. garveli who treated him like a son. who trusted him with georgia like they never trusted any boy. another line, georgia, stronger than ten thousand of those other lines, stronger than ten million, stronger than ten hundred thou- sand zillion — "jake." "huh?" "i was talking to you." "i'm sorry, i wasn't digging." "i was talking about —" "oh, forget about it georgia, it's not worth talking about." the line was drawn, he dare not cross it. he hoped she didn't want him to cross it, but she was a girl and he knew girls. he knew the signs. he had spent his whole life around girls, studied them the way professional baseball pitchers study their delivery. it was his profession. women and money were the only things that mattered in this world. it took some guys a hell of a long time to find that out, but he knew it early, damn early. he wouldn't be running after young girls when he was fifty, he would have burned out by then, he got his now, in his youth, when any respectable man was supposed to get them, but not georgia. after all, what would it prove? nothing, another conquest, so what? "watch out, jake," georgia said, as he almost hit a passing car. jake stopped the car on a lane in the park. "i better stop awhile, until i get my mind back on driving," he said. georgia looked at him strangely, but said nothing. he noticed the way her breasts pushed against her blouse, the almost sleepy way she held her eyes. the sharp nose, high cheek bones, the warm mouth, the full hips pushing against ] something like that," jake said, now beginning to feel cocky. "you know who you owe your job to?" "what the hell you talking about? get out of the car, you're taking a little trip downtown." "you owe your job to a certain guy, you want to keep it, you better lay off me." "what?" the astonished officer said. "you don't believe it, you take me down and we'll see who does what to who. this guy i'm thinking of don't like none of his boys being drug downtown, and he might take care of things like that by kicking you off the force so you don't go around embarrassing him, you dig?" "get out," the officer said, drawing his gun. "have it your way," jake said. "how you know so much about the force?" the police- man suddenly said. "i'm on the payroll just like you, just in another depart- ment, that's all." "you seem kind of young." "you seem kind of old," jake said now more sure than ever. "well, i'll check. i'm taking your license." "o.k. with me." "brother, if you're pulling a fast one, i'll find you if i have to chase you all over hell." jake got out a cigarette and lit it. the cop flushed. "say look, why you have to talk so freely in front of —" he nodded his head toward georgia, talking in a low voice. "you didn't give me any choice," jake said. "well, you better know how to handle it." "if i couldn't, i wouldn't be on the payroll." "well, let me give you a bit of advice. everybody ain't on the payroll." ] "yeh, we tried. we tried, georgia." "i suppose now, i don't suppose we could ever now." "i think i could, georgia. i think —" "until some night when — i'm so ashamed." "georgia, if we ever — i mean if i feel like, or you do, when we do we'll say to each other, time to go home, and then we'll go riding again when we don't feel like that, o.k.?" "do you think we could?" "sure." "o.k." she smiled at him. she suddenly buried her nose in his chest and was his sister again. he knew it. he could feel it. "no hard feelings?" "there never were any hard feelings between us, jake." "no, that's right. you know, georgia, that's why i want to be your brother. you know something about romance? it's like a war. both people are fighting against each other, you know what i mean?" "no." "i mean the stud uses every trick he can think of to get the babe in bed with him, and the babe uses every trick she can think of not to go to bed and keep the stud around at the same time and then get him to go to bed with her when she figures it's time for it." "you say such funny things." "but, it's the truth." "jake, i think i can." "sister?" "yes." "me too." "you can't feel like a sister, silly, you're a boy." "i mean —" "i know what you mean," georgia said. [ "remember that time —?" "which one?" "that time we tied all your hair ribbons on the cat's tail?" georgia laughed. "she looked so funny." "oh, was it a she? i always thought she was a he." "i bet you don't have that trouble now thinking a he is a she." jake laughed. he had crossed that line, but everything had turned out all right. maybe that was the way it had to be done. maybe he had had to cross that line for them to get that old feeling back. "you still want to go out to the high- way?" the thought suddenly hit him, it was a good thing that it had not been trashwagon who had caught them. trashwagon would have shot him. a chill flashed through his body. he was sure of it. "you going speeding on the highway?" "naw," jake said. "i don't think i want to ever go speed- ing again. you know why?" georgia shook her head. "'cause you give me the feeling i was trying to get speed- ing. that's funny, ain't it?" georgia nodded. "i'm glad," she said. jake took the cadillac out on the highway carefully. "i once did this curve doing seventy-five," he said. "that was crazy." "yeh," jake laughed. "yeh, that's what spider said." "jake?" "yeh." "you're in the rackets, aren't you?" "huh?" "that's how you make so much money." he had forgotten all about shooting his fool mouth off back there in the park. he shrugged. ] "jake." "yeh." "i wish you weren't. i guess it's too late now, but i wish you weren't." she shuddered. "why?" "it's so dangerous. why do you always have to do things so dangerous?" "it's not dangerous," jake said. "no more than driving on a highway without a curve in sight." "but, there's a curve somewhere, over the next horizon." "yeh, somewhere." "but, that's what i mean. the guys in the rackets always — oh, jake, i don't want that to happen to you." "you've been looking at too many movies." "life is full of curves too, jake." "yeh, but you just lean into 'em, georgia, just lay with 'em, they straighten out." "oh, jake," georgia squeezed his shoulder. it was a simple curve, not much of that really, and he was driving at a moderate speed. as he was coming out of the curve he saw the big trailer truck, on the other side of the highway, going at least sixty and jamming the air brakes to cut down. "he's waiting a little late," jake said casually. "who?" "that truck. i'd hate to have to wrestle that baby." a car appeared behind the trailer. "that fool's following the truck too close," jake said. "oh!" georgia caught her voice. the car lurched, then skidded crossways on the highway over into jake's lane. "hang on." "can't you stop?" ] little green weekly tabloid gave the city a warning o£ what could develop. this tabloid, the viewer, a scandal sheet about negroes, gave it the right-hand slot on the front page and huge black boldface headlines. inter-racial lovers court death on highway death ended the affair of two teen-aged lovers who — peabody avenue was alive with speculation concerning jake and georgia. the scandal sheet read like a dime-store novel and was just as imaginative. business was quiet in the garveli grocery store. the proprietor, a broken man, drummed his fingers absent-mindedly on the counter and stared vacant-eyed at the empty store. those were the early days, the days before the funeral. out on merchant place henry arnez laid his pipe aside and carefully folded the back sheet of the daily paper. "hey, hey edna," he said to his wife sitting quietly across from him in the living room. "yes, henry." "you remember when you were telling me i didn't have nothing to worry about armenta riding back with that jake adams bird?" "yes, i remember." "well, he had an accident out on sixty-six." "oh," mrs. arnez said. "he didn't get hurt, did he?" she looked at the set expression on her husband's face. "how badly?" "aw, he'll be all right. it doesn't say he's on the critical list, but he killed the girl that was riding with him." "henry, what are you talking about?" "the girl that was with him, she got killed in the wreck. [ she was about the same age as armenta. she was a white girl," mr. arnez fired the accusation at his wife. "oh." "i told you something was wrong about that guy. you'll learn to listen to me one of these days. you still so sorry your daughter's in new york? i knew what i was doing, getting her away from him." "henry, that's no way to talk. you should be sympathetic. i know the boy must feel dreadful about the girl, and he's hurt in the hospital." "but, your youngest is safe in new york. he had a cadil- lac too, a cadillac, did you know that? that's what he smashed up. how do you explain that, huh? nineteen years old with a cadillac. i'm almost three times nineteen and i ain't got one, and i've been working all my life." "i feel so sorry for him," mrs. arnez said. "phapst," exploded mr. arnez. armenta read the letter from her mother telling about jake and the accident, and the white girl. that was georgia, jake had told her how close he and georgia were. she bet everybody was kicking up dirt about it. just because georgia was white, they were saying all kinds of dreadful things about what they did together. people just liked to be evil-minded. jake and georgia weren't anything like that. oh, jake, i just knew something was going to happen. i knew it. if i had been there it would never have happened, or would it? would she have been the one in the car instead of georgia? ] they weren't driving fast, only about forty. the guy behind the trailer truck lost control of his car when he tried to keep from hitting the trailer truck slowing down for the curb. he skidded clear across the other lane where georgia and jake were. jake tried to go around, but there wasn't room enough. the guy said jake saved his life because if he had hit him he wouldn't have had a chance. your boy took it pretty bad about georgia, did you know that, adams?" "yeh." "he said something about a line, it didn't make sense. he blames himself. i wish he wouldn't." "if georgia hadn't been with him." "well, it was like brother and sister." "yeh." "i know that's all it was. they were always like that." "yeh, ever since they was little." "it seems like a dream," pop said choking up. "a silly dream that don't make no sense, no sense at all, georgia — in the ground." "i wish it was." "i hope you don't ever lose your boy —" adams could not say anything, both of them were choked up. he had already lost his boy. he knew that. he had lost him long ago. he couldn't even talk to him when he was lying hurt in a hospital bed. jake had told pop more than he had told him. he hadn't told him anything, just looked at him, not saying anything, but there was hurt in his eyes, hurt for what he had done. maybe that was why he couldn't talk to him about it. but he had talked to pop. "it's funny being without georgia," pop said. he seemed to shrivel up, he could not say any more. he turned slowly and walked away. adams lingered in the cemetery staring at the fresh grave. [ "i don't feel like talking." "your guy is sure smooth. i bet you're in love with him, that's what's wrong with you. no answer, huh? i thought so, i thought that's what was wrong. i bet —" "please, grace." "armenia arnez, you're just snooty, that's what's wrong with you. i've been knowing it all the time. don't think i don't notice how you act all uppity when i talk to you. you're just like all those other high yellow gals with long hair, think you're cute —" "grace." "yeh, think you're cute. well we dark-skinned gals can get a man too." she had to go down to that newsstand and get a home- town paper every day, so she would know what was going on. she knew her parents weren't going to say anything more about it. "yeh, get with that ole light-skinned boy friend of yours. think you so smart." "grace —" "yeh, notice you ain't never gave no dark-skinned boy a tumble, got to be real light to crawl up on you, well —" "grace, shut the hell up before i throttle you!" armenta said hoarsely. grace saw the look in armenta's eyes and backed away. she backed out of the door and slammed it shut. "oh, jake," armenta said. she buried her head in the pillow, but to her surprise she found out she could not cry. ] didn't even drop in. he did not blame them though, he knew why. they were scared by all that newspaper hot air about teen-age gangs and things. he could understand them but he could not understand spider, scar. fugg it, such is life in the big city. man, what he needed was a big eraser to erase that last month and start all over again. he sure wouldn't do the same thing the second time around. the police officers, riding in the car with jake, kidded each other. they paid no attention to him. they locked him up in a cell by himself. he tried to get comfortable on the bunk which was made of a flat metal hard as steel. the bunk would not give to the contours of his body. it was un- comfortable as hell, too uncomfortable to sleep even. he didn't give a damn. the small, black-haired man paced back and forth across the room. he had the kind of eyes they said criminals have, but jake did not see them very often because the little man kept his back to him. "you know what a spot you're in?" he had been saying that forever it seemed to jake though it could not possibly have been any longer than ten minutes. the small man whirled and pointed a rigid finger at jake, his mouth came open, then closed. he turned his back to jake and started pacing again. what the hell is this anyway? "you know what a spot you're in?" don't say a word, not a damn thing, that's what monk said. ] taking all your manhood away, dries up the brain — you know they don't have any women in jail, boy! no kind of women, black or white. what are you going to do about that?" caldonia — "you know what being without a woman does to a man? always been able to get your share, haven't you? well, what are you going to do all those years you spend in prison? you ever hear that joke — masturbation is the dearth of a nation? humph! that's right, sit there not saying a word. get used to time, you're going to have plenty of time to get used to." the pacing back and forth, the little man blurring before his eyes. monk had warned him what it would be like. "a man's pride has always been his downfall. you're kind of young to be making that mistake," the little man said in a weary voice almost as if he felt sorry for jake. jake thrilled to the voice, the voice was destruction and he was invincible. he shifted to a more comfortable position in the chair, forcing the indifferent look to remain on his face. this guy would get tired after a while, then he could go back to the cell where everybody would leave him alone. "you know what a spot you're in? you ready to talk now?" the little man stopped pacing and stood calmly before jake with a look on his face that did more to jake than anything he had said. jake felt like a mouse being played with by a cat. "what good is loyalty? can it erase time? can it give you back the years you spend in prison, can you go to bed with it, breathe it, eat it? can it melt those walls between you and the outside world? i thought you were smart. you would think a guy as young as you in your racket would have to be smart, but you're dumb, you're nothing but a dumb-assed nigger!" jake's stomach knotted up. he held his head up as if he ] because i'm prejudiced. just like i told you, i'm willing to help you get out of it. but if i have to throw you to the wolves to get monk, then that's where you're going. i'd do it no matter what color you were. but a lot of people sitting out in that courtroom aren't going to be like me. they're emotional, they sway to anything if it's odious enough. this isn't mississippi, but it's going to seem like it to you at times in that courtroom." "you dizzy ofay prick," jake hissed. "you're crazy. you're crazy, you're crazy!" the little man could get nothing else out of jake. he called in two guards. they took jake back to his cell. "who's the messenger in this dump?" jake said. "you act like you don't like it here," one of the guards said. "what's the matter, you want to go home?" "you act like you ain't got no home," jake said. "a tough guy." "yeh, most of 'em are limp as dishwater when the d.a. gets through with 'em," the other guard said. "i guess we got a problem child on our hands." "i want to see my lawyer," jake said. "a real problem child." "i want to see my lawyer, i know my rights." "the man knows his rights." "i want to see my lawyer and monk. i want to see monk right away," jake said quietly, very quietly. "who's monk?" "mortimer newhouser," the other guard said. "the mir- acle man, the man who makes manna rain from heaven." "who's the messenger in this dump?" "keep your shirt on boy, you ain't going nowhere, not for a long time." "yeh, you got plenty of time, about ten years i'd say." [ "the d.a.'s riding for governor on your case, boy. he's going to take real good care of you. you're a blessing in dis- guise." jake ignored the guards, drew into himself. he ground his teeth together, longing for just one stick of tea. he wasn't worried. monk would fix it. monk could fix anything. adams to stand trial for rape and nar- cotics possession — r peabody avenue was quiet, waiting for the trial. junkies along welch street, with huddled eyes, crowded out of their hiding places seeking their daily subsistence now extremely difficult to get. now the weather was warm and lazy, sun- light the kind that caught the metal of skate wheels and made them sparkle. it was spring without rain, a pleasant time of year. the courtroom was crowded. the judge sat in the high chair overlooking his domain, his obese body inclosed with- in the dignity of a solemn gown. the judge forced dignity into the courtroom with a quiet voice laden with author- ity. along the front bench the reporters stood ready with loaded cameras. jake was in a daze. he saw and didn't see. he heard with- out any of the words registering. the jury was all one face — white. once he had looked behind him, right into the eyes of his father and pop and mrs. garveli. after that, he kept his eyes to the front. monk had deserted him, monk of all ] people. he couldn't figure that, monk quitting it. monk had turned chicken, deserted him to save his own skin. the calm expression, on jake's face, portraying his indifference, infuriated the pacing d.a., fascinated the jury, and held the courtroom in the grip of shuffling emotions. somewhere in the misty distance the voices of legal machinery in motion registered vaguely on his self-willed shell. "your name, please?" "michael marachy." "do you swear —" such is life in the big city . . . "do you know the defendant?" "i do." "will you tell the court when and under what circum- stances you came to know the defendant?" "well, it was around ten o'clock. i was patrolling the park as usual —" monk can fix anything. "well, like i said, i thought there was something suspicious about that cadillac being parked out there so i went over and flashed my light inside to investigate." "and what did you find, when you flashed your light into the car, the cadillac of the defendant?" "objection, your honor, the phraseology used by the dis- trict attorney is obviously aimed at arousing prejudice to- ward—" "your honor, i —" "objection overruled," the judge said arbitrarily. "when you flashed your light into the defendant's ahumrph, cadillac—" man, i'm busting my cap. easy, scar. my wig is split... "well, they were, they were —" "they were what, mr. marachy? what were they doing?" ] "will you tell the jury who this poor, misunderstood, downtrodden, persecuted —" "objection!" monk can fix anything . . . "who was this man?" "that guy sitting right over there!" flash bulbs explod- ing on the policeman rising from his chair and pointing an accusing finger at jake. this is goodbye, jake, that's what i was trying to tell you all along . . . "order in the court, order!" "your witness." the counsel for the defense walked toward officer marachy with a look of complete disgust upon his face. he looked at the jury as if he were asking them was it necessary to refute the ridiculous accusations brought by the police- man. "now, mr. parakeet —" he paused at the reaction on marachy's face. "that is your name, isn't it?" "marachy, ma-ra-chy." "oh, yes. i most humbly beg your pardon, mr. parakeet, now tell me — oh did i mispronounce your name again? i'm sorry, but tell me, if my client is guilty of committing the act you say he did, why you did not arrest him." "i told you." "oh, you did?" "i told the whole court." "oh, would you mind repeating it again, and i'll promise to pay closer attention this time." "the girl wouldn't prosti — persecute!" the ruffled officer said. "oh, the girl wouldn't persecute?" "prosti — prosecute, she wouldn't prosecute, that's what i said!" ] "just answer the question, mr. marachy." the red-faced officer squirms and wiggles in his chair while a cool, composed appearing jake adams is torn to pieces on the inside. "would you approve of your daughter, your neighbor's daughter or your friend's daughter going out with a negro?" "no." "yet you expect us to believe that you caught jake adams committing a carnal act with georgia garveli and did noth- ing about it?" "well, i explained to you —" "you don't approve of your daughter or your neighbor's daughter associating with negroes and yet you would con- done sexual relations between the races, is that what you would expect us to believe mr. marachy?" "well, no. i mean —" "yet you failed to arrest georgia garveli and jake adams on a misdemeanor charge which you believe in your mind to be rape though you have no tangible evidence to support your suspicions?" "well, i —" "mr. marachy, do you realize what you are saying? you are insisting that you are a negligent officer who fails to carry out his duties, which you may very well be, but when you insist that you would consider the effect an arrest would have on parents who would permit their daughter to carry on ac- tivities you are definitely opposed to, i'm afraid you stretch the credulity of the court beyond the limits of its imagina- tion. now, isn't it true, mr. marachy, that all of these absurd charges are figments of your imagination?" "no! i tell you i caught that guy in the car with that girl!" marachy shouted. "the court is not having a hard time hearing you, mr. he read all about it on a bench in the train station. it was true all right, jake was in real trouble. his face felt tight. he was weak; he felt like someone he had never known. he walked through the huge train station outside to the taxi stand. he was hungry, but could not stand the thought of food. he was tired and sleepy, but he knew he would not be able to go to sleep. it was like someone had locked him up in a room all by himself for about a hundred years. a stud could go crazy like that. "where to, jack?" the cab driver said. "fourteen hundred welch." he did not remember the ride. all he remembered was getting out of the cab and scraping up fare for the driver. arm and arm in intoxicated enthusiasm couples patrolled the bars along welch street. gangs of teen-agers crowded the sidewalk singing boogie- joogie music at the top of their voices. the good ole days . .. a mongrel dog scouted the street, then dashed bravely be- tween weaving cars to cross to the other side. the dog darted into the gangway by booker's pool hall. he wouldn't find nothing to eat around there. molly's looked like it was closed. he wondered what had happened. she had the downest jukebox in town. one of the electric bulbs was out over judiheimer's. that was where spider had — he won- dered if red's clothes were still in there. red was a nice stud, too bad — her name was still in neon over the paradise. he took a deep breath, then plunged inside. the place was not lighted very well and he appreciated that, but when he found a seat the lights up over the mirror, behind the bar, hurt his eyes. he ordered a beer which he didn't touch. people were dancing up on the stage with no daylight between. it was crowded on the stage, but no one seemed to mind. the band ] light, in the dynaflow across the street from the school, shoot- ing the bull with the fellows, looking at the babes with big stockings — "the reason dat white gal got herself killed was 'cause that nig —" the rumble in the courtroom, the groan from the tired overworked judge. "— dat guy was speeding!" that was a lie. that was a damn lie . . . "dat guy was speeding. he was going so fast we didn't have to clock him. well, when he tried to slow down for that curve —" "that's a lie . . . that's a lie!" jake said through clinched teeth. "he killed dat gal!" clint screamed. "dat's what happens when ya don't keep 'em in place. all dey want is ta slick dey hair back, drive a cadillac and get a white —" "objection, your honor!" flash bulbs exploding in a room of ugly faces. the judge sighed wearily and charged clint garth with contempt of court and ordered a recess until nine the following morning. all the way out of the courtroom jake felt eyes turning his way. at times that courtroom is going to seem like mis- sissippi .. . adams calls garth liar — garth testifies he found narcotics on floor of adams' car — ralph jenkins, the tall, slim, dignified appearing counsel [ for the defense, looked at jake inquisitively. "snap out of it, kid." "snap out of what?" the lawyer strolled over to the door and closed it. "look, i've been paid and paid well to acquit you, not defend you, acquit you. you understand that?" "i'll bet." "what's wrong?" "aw, hell, what difference does it make?" "you're feeling sorry for yourself." "naw, i ain't. i ain't feeling one way or the other. i ain't feeling period. i don't care." "well, other people care." "what other people? you think my old man cares, or pop and mrs. garveli having to listen to all that dirt about georgia and me? naw, don't nobody care, not my friends even. don't nobody care but the d.a. and trashwagon and all those studs out to get me." "and why let them do it?" "what's the dif?" "how do you know no one cares?" "aw, you wouldn't understand." "well, i understand this monk —" "the hell with monk, he was a hell of a friend running out —" "is that what's eating you?" "what you mean?" "so you think monk ran out on you. would i be here if he had run out on you? don't you know this town is loaded with feds? don't you know this town is so hot that nothing white is moving in it except sugar, and i mean the real stuff? what did you expect monk to do, stick around and commit suicide?" [ "why didn't you tell me before?" "would it have done any good?" "humans really make a mess of things, don't they?" max- ine said snuggling back up to him. "yeh." they had a good laugh about it. "i was crazy about you in grade school, you didn't even notice, i bet," maxine said rubbing her hands over his shoulders. "sure didn't," scar admitted. somehow that struck them as being funny also. "i'm glad you stayed on your side of the bed." "why?" "if you hadn't i would have always held it against you, you know what i mean?" she said continuing to massage his shoulder. "uh-huh," he said. desire caught scar again, the intensi- fied desire a man feels for a woman he believes he can never get. he twisted in the bed, pulling her to him. he lay awake thinking about it for a long time. it had finally happened. now he had the future all figured out. he would go to college and then turn pro. he knew he could make it, they said he was the greatest football player the school had ever turned out. he had the records to prove it and with maxine believing in him — they would make a great team, he and maxine. maxine had a hard time going to sleep. she knew she could really go for scar. too bad he wouldn't fit into her plans though. too bad, she was waiting for the next guy to come along and offer her that break. scar would never under- stand that, so it was a dead end with them. she was sorry about that, but it couldn't be helped. she was going all the the university of michigan university of michigan libraries, ittis toiiwa weed an original regency book published november copyright, , by clarence l. cooper, jr. all rights reserved. no portion of this book may be reprinted in any form without the written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a critical review for a newspaper, magazine, radio or television presentation. this is a work of fiction in a fictional setting. any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. - for ada weed detroit. and it always seemed to be despite them that you got ahead, or cleared away some of the bigger hurdles. he didn't know—maybe a guy needed them, when he wasn't anything but average, when he couldn't expect any- thing unless something was taken from him against his will: his pride, his money, or something_and he just had to go pass the rules of defeat. something like that. now, this bitch knew that he'd just opened the record shop, that it was the last phase of a new attempt at some- thing, he didn't know what that he needed every crying quarter he could lay his hands on. she knew it, and yet she, with her sonofabitching numbers-playing was here now, sucking him dry, fighting him, choking him, just because he had screwed her a few times. he remembered somebody saying (was it ruckson, with his little mouse face and tough little dreams?) that she, coral, was the kind of woman to be a whore. that kind who lean. not quite but almost. capitalizing on that inner, fleshy, hypnotic thing. all women had it, and she had her nerve, for twenty-eight bucks. "here,” he said, and she took the cash, with her screwing eyes. “i don't know how to thank you, honey." “that's okay. will that be enough?” “oh, sure. you're a real help.” “is that all i am?" he turned up cannonball, in time to hear the climax. but now it all seemed like a lost cause, especially when he thought about them being detroit cats and all. it was getting more and more like that with him, these few years, and he was even able to see it more clearly, what with the broad, standing there, staring at him. man, oh, man, ned thought, calling on that basic thing of himself, the thing that kept refusing him, the thing that would have made it possible for him to tell this bitch to go to hell and she wasn't about to get twenty-eight bucks from him. ... when here she was, stuffing the bread down safely fleshy, hypnot quite but almost, to be a whore. that clarence l. cooper, jr. between her wide breasts, those firm, luscious breasts, that made his mouth want of her. he selected another album and clipped it down on the plate. she's got what she wants, he thought. why doesn't she puli? "thanks a lot, honey.” “that's all right, baby,” he said, and as he said it, he knew what it was she was waiting on, and he said it, so the whole damned thing would be settled: “when will i see ya?” . "i'm not doin anything tonight. burris is workin late at the meat market." "well,” he said, and he remembered the delivery of new albums from the wholesaler, and his one-sided debit, and the christalmighty work he had to do, and even the insides of her near-white thighs and how they would feel. “what time?” he asked, when all the while he knew he wouldn't be able to make it. “what about ten, after you close up?" “that's all right with me. i'll meet you at the same place -ernie's bar." "bye, bye, baby.” “so long, sweetheart.” her hips left the room, and he was reminded of that gray way about her. the next time, he resolved, it won't be a married broad; i've had my share of 'em. yet he knew the fascination of them, the freedom from obligation-his conscious obligation--they gave him. he started the jam to whirling, and found with the needle's knife conte condoli, indecisively somewhere on trumpet: why did they make it sound so threatening, when really it wasn't? when it was really like a prayer. ... yes, that's why he liked married broads; in bed they did things to you that they didn't do to their own husbands. why? he went on, digressing into a subject he "held so little knowledge of. why was it? weed was everybody an animal, like that, black or white, all the same? and the way they seemed to infect a guy! like her: the patent way-again-in which she had sold her. self for twenty-eight bucks. he got up, because night was coming and he wanted to see it. there on the street. it looked like rain, kind of, the dark clouds reflecting themselves on the silver of the big front glass, with the words neatly printed just today: ned's record shop. like that, and it was almost like you could tell. a man didn't need to be god to see those kinds of things. and, as he stared, and as the night came on, he could see himself reflected in the silver, and the world, a short guy, you could say, in the printed sport shirt and the neat clip-on strides, rust-colored, they were. and the black- ness of his face: he couldn't see it, truly, not the straight black lips, or the hunches under the eyes that shone some- times when he got excited or nervous, or the slow rolling of black broad brow. only the eyes were specific. they glistened, small and brown (black in the window-mirror, and white), seeing that black night and coming rain—and he more than ever looked at himself. he saw the neon sign across the street, in green (green made him mad to look at sometimes, he couldn't tell the reason), and the hump of the whore-building, where you could buy a piece now and then, but he wasn't going to, not this evening. he had to work! damn it. and if he couldn't get to coral, which was already paid and bought, how the hell could he get over there? to wanda. actually, if he went, it would only be to see her. man, that girl. he turned up the volume. wanda. wonder why a girl like her would be a whore. wonder. the smoothest skin, the firmest bouncy cans, the rounded clarence l. cooper, jr. a the front do of the shopuld have he locked the front door and turned up ella a little, and went back to the rear of the shop. he hadn't rolled it, and he should have, because it gets away from you so fast when you keep it loose. a shady green, coarse, like tobacco chips almost, but with that feel, that wet feel, clinging to your fingertips, that you couldn't mistake as anything but pot. he dumped it out of the penny papersack on a newspaper, on his table of all work. he moved an album of montovani aside, the kind of music he was getting more call for these days. some people were wising up. in a battered desk, album-piled, he took out his top papers and brought them over to the table. man, this was going to be good. he rolled the joint for action, nothing huge, no bomber, but just a nice joint, one in which the marijuana packed together firmly snug. he guessed he had been thinking of this all day. he closed the curtains to the outside and sprayed the room with glade, until it was smelling too sweet in there almost, and then he made himself comfort- able and lighted the joint, sitting at the table. awareness spoke out: the taste. that was the first thing. even if you've only just smoked a joint, you get that taste again, that, unlike tobacco, is phoenix-like, ever returning. what was it, actually? green, certainly, like winterweeds burning, but with a greenness that is so diffi- cult to imagine. biting? yes. like good tobacco might, like the nose-mouth-taste smell of a dirty burro, so like a brother, at the cracked fountain of a caliente province well. man and sweat, the burning elements of Ņed land's boo, pot, gangster: animal and sweat. hot sun on a waving sea of weed, there in that dry climate, being baked like fine dough. hands picking, pulling, and a bruise bleed- ing green, with that smell, that nothing-else-like-it smell, that lingers in your head and makes you awake, aware and albingers with that his lips tightened about the joint, and he moved his weed head to one side, keeping out that burning smoke rising · from the tip. his reefer bill. above all else, that dulled his enjoyment as he smoked the joint, looking at what was left there, green, on the newspaper, the remains of a full matchbox of weed. very small. money again. how it gets into your high, he thought. and his highness leveled off, due to rise again. so temperamental, boo was, like a bitching woman, changing moods with concomitant mental action. how could he bitch, though? you couldn't do business with anyone more reasonable than ruckson. funny little guy. big dreams. broads ontoppabroads. funny. yeah, ruckson wasn't a bug. look at that: he had never noticed the montovani album really before. look at that lovely bowl-and-cherries white girl. delicious. she made him hungry. he felt himself look- ing at her and wanting to have some action with a woman, coral, doris, wanda. he didn't know what made him think of doris, rising that way. the pottish aftertaste lingered in this mouth. the first thing to do was get those albums straight, if he didn't take all night with it, being as high as he was beginning to be. it was some good boo. ruckson and his happy brazilian. he picked up a copy of jet he had bought somewhere and thrown here on the table. he turned to the centerpage immediately, let his eyes crawl over the half-naked, half- white colored girl pictured there, all her rounded insouci- ance, thinking, if i could get your simple, lovely ass in bed i'd show you a few things. you who dream of being a model for lady clairol or coke. fifty bucks an hour. i'd give you fifty, you devil, you rounded soft woman, and i'd show you for it too. the way he could sink her, he could almost feel it. this wasn't getting anything done, this. just sitting and thinking. why did gangster do you like that? and make clarence l. cooper, jr. you so hungry, so ravening, both for food and the food of woman? how many knew that it was an aphrodisiac?—that was the word. florence, the civil service girl in detroit, had told him that, and, “oh, the way you do it when you're high, ned!” or maybe he was fooling himself, and florence fooling him too, because she smoked such a hell of a lot of pot herself and was an awful liar, and you just couldn't believe it when women told you things like that. he knew he was very high from that joint, and he was very surprised. i came back up, he said inside his mind, a little glad to realize it, because he had been getting set to roll another. doris, what she said, her face, he seemed to see it all again: “the kid don't even know what it is to have a father. seven years old, ned! the other boys at school kid him about it.” and he saw himself again sitting in the leather easy chair, the one he had convinced the manager to put in his room when they changed the lobby furniture. "why don't you get married, dorry?” he had said. "married?" and she looked at him with those eyes, those sometimey eyes, that frightened him at moments. “i don't think i have to go lookin, ned. i don't think any other man owes me anything but you.” - “what is this?” he said. “you just wanna be a germ, hangin onto me for the rest of my life? you're makin this one damned mess! ain't it enough, what i do for ya? i know what it is you want, but you can't have it!” he saw her again in his mind, positively, just as she had been, the light red dress for early summer hugging her slim body—and those tiny breasts with tiny nipples —and the hash-marks of her brow, accusing him behind that yellow-smooth skull and fresh-done blossom of soft red-black hair, and those conniving, trying-to-catch-him, brown eyes. yes, he knew what it was she wanted, and the kid prob- weed ably wanted by now, having listened to her bitch about it all his life. and he wasn't going to give them the only thing he had left. “ned, we wouldn't even have to sleep in the same bed, if you hate me that much.” “hate has nothing to do with it,” he said, in a press, uneasy in his easy chair (and he remembered frank sinatra had sung that somewhere). “you know i couldn't marry you now, even if i wanted to. how the hell could i stand the expense?” "it's your kid, ned,” she droned. “damn it! don't you think i know that?” he shouted. “of all the things i know about you, don't you think i know that best?” “you owe it to him !” . "listen, doris, i owe you what you're gettin-sixty-five bucks a month, from me. and what are you doin? you're spendin that to follow me here from detroit, just blowin it up, tryin to make me do somethin you know i won't do in the first place." her eyes blinked at him, then had a shiny film. “do you know what it's like? no, ned, you don't know what it's like and you don't give a damn. living with my mother and father, livin offa them. and here i am, twenty-five years old. eatin offa old folks!” "stop it!” he snapped out at her. “well, it's true,” she said in a blue, moaning, breaking, last-breath voice. “i'm sittin right in the middle of nothin, ned. i don't belong to anything." “goddamn it, doris,” he said, getting up, “can't you understand that i want my freedom?” then she blazed; her face reddened as she stared at him and mouthed the words: “and i want other kids to stop calling my son a bastard, that's what i want!” of course he knew it was useless to go on, and so did she, after a while. he didn't love her. clarence l. cooper, jr. ing his eyes around redly in his head, but he found himself in an instant, and stood looking down at the table, at the girl in the centerpage of jet. his throat felt warm and dry, and he felt like a beer. but the albums ... and he retraced his steps to his desk, resigned all of a sudden, out of necessity, to something he could no longer avoid. a bell rang, but it wasn't his phone, halting him abruptly as it tanged away in his head. he stood waiting. it was like ground shocks from an explosion, like something he re- membered from another country, and his kid's eyes look- ing on it all, a tiny, closed-mouth people, abjectly opened- faced as they watched all they had be destroyed. korea. ned sat down again, thrust down by the chapel chime. and the faces of those people, that was the important thing about it all. you never know what a man is made of until you see his insides, their rare, purpled redness, and sloshed muck left by a fifty caliber. no. or just a man dying. and i was a kid, ned land thought, seeing it all again, remembering the crying tears a man never loses, always the childish crybaby within from life's inherent anguish. he remembered: black boys dyin! “hit hard on that left flank, ned! you got a rod up yo ass? push that goddamn platoon, ya hear me!” "you don't have to be scared not like me, you don't!” "c'mon, boy, i mean it! this is sarge talkin' to ya! dig them sonsabitchin chinks out! you do what i tell ya! white folks watchin us! we gone show 'em! take that hill!” and they took it. a bell rang. ned land felt his insides churning. it wasn't really so bad, not when you took a good look at it. man, you listen to those sounds in yourself and you'll go crazy! no, you can't listen. this goddamn good weed ... sarge, blacked-faced, shiny like his own hunches under weed . the eyes, but sarge's was perpetual. georgia nigger, tough with georgia-nigger perseverance. a man to be respected, and yet when ned stood over him there, trying to crouch at the same time to keep out of the line of fire, and feeling a chilly, world's-end horror of what he saw was left of sarge, his half-head carried away like that from mortar shrapnel a man who was to be detested, a thing to be loathed, a loamlike mushy feces. oh, lord! with white folks watchin, like a battle royal, ring fulla niggers killin each other! and remember the chink lieutenant, the one who said he'd been educated at oxford and acquired his accent while learning english? and when they flushed the bunker, and brother red, who took over after sarge, with freckles and the long grin, from royal oak, salted it out with his tommy, and they found the fat little looey cowering in a corner near the radio set-up, and the way, when he saw them, he said, “oh, i thought you chaps'd be somewhere in the backlines, shooting craps!" and brother red started to kill him, then saw the guy was doing it on purpose. and didn't. ned land began to laugh, not on his own: the boo made him laugh like that, for no reason. the bell rang once more. warm mud warming boots ankle high, as they moved toward the buddhist church in kwihan, leaning, broken spire from tank fire, but still intact. the sun was red hot, burning, antithesis of the freezing winter of a few days before. slowly moving in that warm mud, with brother red chewing on a dead rice reed, hefting that dirty blas- phemy of steel and explosive lovingly, unleashed passion of the kill like a kiss on his sandy, freckled face. oh, god, the way they killed! easy out. okay. hands high. get 'em up, you punk. he can't understand you. high, i said! he don't dig english, man. the bahe said, the radiod the fat oak, saltarse, with bunker clarence l cooper, jr. hold it, red! don't shoot him! katahkatahkatahkatahkatahkatah. hey, look out! up there, by the bell! red raising tommy; tommy talking. two men in six seconds. katahkatahkatahtah. blood, from up there, splattered down in ned's looking face. the body slumped, lifeless, as though it had always been so, falling as only a body without life can fall. against the bell. and the bell began to ring. they ran and dug in, away from the falling grenade, and they covered up, until they realized it had been a dud. and that had been the last time he had heard that bell, ringing, accusing, cursing, damning all of them, until now, right here in his record shop, in westphalia, michigan.. ned rose, feeling that thing again, that what-the-hell- was-it feeling of loss. a man never got hard, no matter how many tough outer crusts he grew in defense. there always seemed to be a chink somewhere, a little defect, open and suppurating, that drew in the germs which could fester. he looked at what was left of the joint, the roach, and decided to let it ride, being as low as he was. he could utilize it later. again, this thinking that gangster gave him. kill every goddamn one of 'em, red had said. we'd get court martialed if we shot who we'd like to shoot. kill 'em; they're the closest thing to white a black man can kill. and before: “it's crazy, killin this way,” sarge said. "crazy man kills the only thing he got.” ned whirled round his shop, looking frantically for something that did not exist. he closed his eyes, and was high again, thinking about velma, the white wife of ruck- son's happy brazilian, and what he could do with her to help himself forget that he couldn't forget. that integrated army, like a big joke laughing at itself. weed and he remembered, for some reason, that he had hated brother red. that kankill sonofabitch-like god, he was! that smell of creosote and pestilence about him. where was he now? in ford's, chrysler's or one of gm's plants in detroit? sweating the dollars down through his red skin by the hour, all twisted and hunched in a contortion under the body bridges of a plymouth, wrenching against the criminal resistance of new nuts and bolts? and him like god, the red-black bastard! oh, lord, ned said inside, i didn't want to kill that man. please believe me when i say it: that man, that kid, that little almond-eyed boy, only a few years older than david, and the big silly automatic in his two hands, and him prob- ably high off an opium smoke a few minutes ago, and thinking that this was his world, that nobody else counted, not when they defied your reason for existence. this, along with the charge of sweet-tasting ope, still there in his hot mouth, cleansing it with terrified compulsion, then ... a nigger in a foul u. s. infantry uniform, standing there with the m , turning, frightened, and giving way to the squeeze of terror latent in finger .... then a man with a cause killed by a man without one. the way he looked. ned land knew the look of a new baby, all curled and fetal-formed, because he had seen pictures in high school of babies that way, and he knew the close association, that feeling that he was there once, and the thin division of man and babe. then, this dead boy: he was ned land, there, so beau- tiful in spite of the two slugs in his guts, in spite of the mud, and the stink of a body somewhere, and, off to the side, the picturesque block patterns of rice paddies. here, dead, gone, with a smear of mud on his right cheek, like a little kid who had played longer than his mother intended. mother and death, lying there, fetal-formed. the burpgun he carried had flown from the body with the momentum of the m 's slugs, and now stood upright in the mud, like a steel flower, like the stick of surrender, or grave, in some child's game. two duckson's eyes were two gleams that never flick- il ered, and so sure in perspective his hand never faltered. he may have been littler than most men, but on a pool table he was huger than god and twice as mighty. snock. cue ball in the face of the eightball cross-corner. that was the third successive plunk. ruckson stood back on strong bowlegs and faintly smiled around his cigarette at the dark faces hovering tor- soless in pooltable light, and his opponent, black casey from grand rapids, fresh out on a seasonal tour of the midwest and very unhip to the hands that held his fate. that was the way. most pool hustlers got cut down, and casey hadn't become aware that he'd victimized his own bankroll in a subtle, smalltown cross until ruckson's stick of genius began to cut it out from under him, a hundred at a time. the gamekeeper clicked a disc over on the wire line with the tip of a poolstick and said quietly, in ruckson's favor, “three.” casey, a tall, darkskinned man, no longer young, the anxiousness for his fading youth evident in features that were thickly troubled, eyed the smoothness of the last shot- in ball. clarence l. cooper, jr. "yeah, man. it wasn't too late when i found that out, and when i did i got right out and went back where i came from.” his face became shadows, except for the whites of his eyes aš he looked, remembering, to the evening tran- quility of the small town street. “you know one thing? there ain't no dirt in new york. i mean, not dirt like here: somethin you can dig your toe down in and see that it's black or that bugs live in it or that somethin will grow in it. the only dirt new york has is in the center of the tenements and apartments, and you'd never know it was there, passing down the street-unless you lived in one of the rear rooms or apartments. then all you'd see is bastard trees or somebody's face starin at yours from a window. that's what i had,” casey said, “a room on the third floor lookin out at a brick wall and one window where some spic family lived. in the mornin, i woke up to spanish music on the radio. there was another window i couldn't see that was open and had another spanish sta- tion goin. down below me, a bunch of faggots lived, always partyin with the radio turned to rock-and-roll. i got up and went to bed with all this stuff. all night long, you could hear the garbage fallin from windows ... bottles crashin in the catwalks. voices. some screamin-all fightin. here's some nigger callin a broad a mothereff and some broad callin a nigger a mothereff. all night, mr. ruckson. it got to the place where my room was full of the smell of garbage—till the walls kinda taperecorded the spic music and punk musicmand i went to the streets, tryin to find what i couldn't find inside the four walls." ruckson unhappily knew what casey was speaking of, and he sat back to listen, as though paying some sort of special penance. “i went to the streets, tryin to find a little dirt to jam my fingers in,” casey recalled quietly. “but central park was the only place i could find it. and at that time of day, it was gettin dark. i didn't find no dirt, not dirt like i thought about it, not in the way i had come to think about god and dirt together. but i did find green, wild weed around for him to find but because fate knows once he's found it he'll stop lookin, and a man standin in the middle of the road gets in somebody's way, somebody who's got to go on a helluva lot further. me and you, we've passed a half hundred. we know what we want, but we can't stop. that's what we're afraid of, the stoppin. “take ned land, there,” he nodded. “he's close to me not because i mighta been him; he's close because he's everything i could'a been, because he never started lookin -he was smart enough to get scared right at the begin- ning.” "one day he'll have to,” casey said. "maybe. but maybe life'll kill him before that happens.” casey laughed softly. “if you try to interrupt her plan, shell kill you, too. what she does to that land might make you curse, mr. ruckson, but there ain't nothin you can do about it. all a man can do is dream his own dream and stay away from other people, no matter how hard they get shook by the neck." near the edge of town a train hooted a distant whistle. "that's my voice callin,” casey said. “i've been answerin for a long time now, and i guess i'll be answerin it for a long time to come. one day, i'm sure, it'll leave me stand- in in the middle of the road. but i gained sense enough, now, to step out of the path of others who still got a little way to travel.” he stuck out his hand. “i'll be seein you, mr. ruckson-in case we're both goin the same way.” in ruckson's hand, as they shook, were two bills. but casey acted as though he had not noticed and turned to walk with heavy, moderately long strides down the dark- ening street. ruckson watched until the man turned at a far corner, and stood seeing nothingness for a long time after. he finally turned to walk slowly in the opposite direc- tion, pulling the mild evening calm down deeply to his lungs. he did not recall casey's face or the mouth that said them, but the words that belonged only to the big three tt was evening and time for his shift, and he felt it i rising in his throat already, that desire, that something he couldn't beat down for her. and shame. all alone in the big house his father had built, detective cullen could almost imagine a remonstrative voice as he shaved and prepared to leave for work. sometimes he almost seemed to hear the damn thing coming out of the picture of his old man, the preacher. surely, that's whose voice it was if it was anybody's voice at all. he'd been wanting to move out of the house ever since the old man had died ten years before, but there was an aunt maida he'd have to deal with, and a couple of the city fathers, banking brothers, who held the mortgage. he hated the goddamn place. he wiped and looked at his face in the inlaid bathroom mirror and listened to the whiskery water gurgle out of the ancient bowl, and it seemed that the grimy bubbly sounds accompanied the fringes and hollows of his face, which, considering the small head, was so completely out of proportion to the rest of the pudgy body. eighteen rooms and one man. he wiped his face thoroughly dry and brushed his teeth and combed his straight brown hair with water. again, as clarence l. cooper, jr. he thought of her, a voice seemed to chide, but he went right on thinking of her anyway, because what else was there for him to consider in a place like this? creepy damn house. he hadn't gotten over it yet, not even this long. he felt a blush come over his face as he thought of how he slept sometimes with his head under the covers . . . as though he expected to look up some night and see him, the old man, standing over the bed like he used to do when he was a kid, and asking him whether he remembered to say his prayers. even now he said his prayers, just to make sure that the old bastard wouldn't come around checking up. he almost hated the memory of his old man, regretting that he knew little of the soft woman that was his mother before she died. but that old man ... detective cullen came out of the bathroom into his first floor bedroom and began to dress. he wasn't in any special hurry, so he took his time, picking out something to wear. it was all ill-matched, the stuff he chose, but it was neat, and the sport coat was large enough to hide his schmoo belly and the . revolver he was forced to wear. he had never liked guns, and sometimes he faked, wearing only the holster and a lighter plastic replica. in a larger city, of course, you couldn't do that, but here in west- phalia eight policemen were all that was needed to take care of any trouble they were bound to have. chief bel- mont was never finicky about anything, and he particularly gave cullen a lot of elbow room, since he and the preacher had been close friends. the preacher. cullen sat on the bed and closed his eyes tight as he pulled on a sock. actually, he didn't feel like a detective, for he had never stopped feeling like the preacher's son. and this had complications in a job in which you were supposed to be a tough guy, or impressive enough at least to make people respect you as a stern individual. cullen knew he was lucky. in a big city department, he wouldn't have lasted a week. but here in westphalia it was lucky. in stern ind enough clarence l. cooper, jr. before strapping it on, then lighted a cigarette. through his raised front windows he could hear an organ grinder passing, and the music made a pleasantness course through him suddenly, and the smoke from the cigarette gave a good brown smart to his tongue. he passed through the crinoline curtains to the front hall and adjusted his hat in the full length mirror there before going out. he usually felt ambiguously thrilled at this moment, enjoying and deploring the action, remem- bering that his father had done it, and he had seen it done, a million times. then he passed out, locking the door behind him, pulling in the fresh air of nightside deeply. he noted with a slight satisfaction that the grass needed cutting and the picket fence could stand a new coat of paint. he could remember when these things had been done regularly, but he could not remember the last time he had done them. what was nice about westphalia was, it was small and comfy. at thirty-nine, cullen had come to a ledge of life that demanded no interference with routine. the only thing that impaired his sensitivity was the house with the red light in the window, and he didn't count this as a difference, or a bother. it was. it must be. pleasure. peace. the night was wonderful as he walked. “hi, officer cullen." "hi, joe," officer cullen said. he walked briskly to the police station off main street, glad that he was alive and glad, in a way, that the old man was dead. the thing that shook his serenity was bill mullin's face when he came in, and bill came over to him, with a look on his pan that made it look cracked in several places. “hi, cull?” “whatsa matter, bill?” “the chief wants to see us, boy.” thing that the window it was. clarence l. cooper, jr. room where the red light burned. “she'll be out in a min- ute. c'mon in and hava drink.” cullen followed her through. in one corner was a bar, where mama harper seated herself. cullen could never get over the feeling that she stared through him when he came around, but his sense of fear was overshadowed by his sense of authority. it was he who let mama's whorehouse operate undisturbed, and it was wanda who prompted his presence here. in the corner, a stereo phonograph began to play loud, fusion-like jazz, and the various weird sounds cascaded against the sensitivity of his inner ear. “how's the police business, boy?" mama grinned whitely at him from behind the bar. “still arresting,” cullen said, but doubted whether she got the point. “wanna drink?" "not tonight, mama, i'm just startin on my tour. maybe i'll stop around later." "lorraine,” mama hollered, and a svelt brown girl came to stand smiling within the chinese curtains. "tell wanda to hurry,” the big woman said. “she know mr. cullen got his business to tend to." the girl left while cullen sat down. "what's new?” he said. “nothin now," mama said. “but we coulda used you the other night-a trick got bad, and we had to hire a man off the street to get him outta here." “anytime you have trouble,” cullen told her, "you just call the station—the desk sergeant and i are pretty good friends, and he'll send somebody around. don't worry about anything." “i sure appreciate that, boy. c'mon, have a drink. this is on me.” he stood and went over to the bar. “make it bourbon, mama, and a quickie.” she poured and he drank. the music swelled within the weed room. he looked within the black woman's face and found her grinning at him. “wanda'll be along, boy. yes, yes. ain't that right?” he shifted nervously. "that's right, mama.” the curtains parted and wanda stepped in, almost tall in a tight red dress but very wide across the hips, a dark brownskinned woman with big breasts that stood upright and a face as untroubled as ice cream. "hello,” she said. ""h’lo,” cullen said. then, quickly, “wanna see you for a minute." “let's go to my room." “well, i only wanna stay for a minute." “as long as you want is all right with me.” “remember you owe me a dollar for that drink,” mama called out behind him. wanda's room was a green light that permeated the bed and furnishings and warmly entered him. "i just thought i'd stop around,” he said, grinning nerv- ously. she sat on the bed with her beautiful legs apart. "i won- dered why you haven't been around since the last time." “they've got me on special duty, wanda . . . you know i would have been around before now.” "i've missed you," she said, but he could not see her face distinctly in the green glow, and he felt the rising thrill of himself underneath. he went to sit on the bed next to her. “look," he said, finding his words hard to capture. “wanda . . . you know i like you a whole lot.” “you seem like it.” “well, i do, i do! i want you to know that.” “is there something you want to tell me?" “yes. well, yes, there is. there may be a little trouble in town. i want you to keep your ears open.” “is that what you wanted to tell me?” “well, yes,” he said. “i want you to help me all you clarence l. cooper, jr. can, you know what i mean? i just don't want any trouble here in westphalia.” she leaned her face close to his. “what else do you want to tell me?” he could not speak for a long time. “do you want to tell me you've missed me?” “yes, that, too. you know i like to come and see you.” he began to feel awkward. “how much do you like to come see me?" "jesus, wanda, you know how much. i've never lied to you, have i?” "i don't know ..." "listen, you believe it, i've never lied to you. i don't care . . . you know what i don't care about. i think you're swell. well, hell, you know what i mean, i don't come in here to take anything. i have a sense of values, wanda. i know what you do, and you know what i do, but that doesn't keep us from being good friends." “i like you a lot, cullen." “that's the way i feel about you, wanda." they were silent, looking at each other. after a while, she said, “is there something you want me to do for you?" but he felt a voice, and could not answer immediately. “i'm supposed to be on tour, honey." “would you like to stay for a while?” "hell, you know i would, but-" “i won't keep you long." "wanda ..." “yes?” “i want you to know ..." “what do you want me to know?" "i want you to know i think you're a fine person. you know.” "i know that you mean what you're saying.” “well, i don't care what anybody else says, and you don't have to worry about anybody else, you or anybody in this house, not as long as i'm on the force.” weed she made her hand come to his chest and pressed it palm-flat there. "none of us can help who we are,” she said. he touched her hand, and then her arm, then he seized her and kissed her mouth. "you can stay with me if you want to," she said. "i want to,” he breathed heavily. she rose, and he watched as she began to undress, ex- posing the wonders of her smooth body in the green light. her breasts had nipples like the caps of gushers, and her belly was a wonderful, black, inverted pyramid. he held his breath, and she took one of his hands and made it come across one smooth hock of her wide behind. he smelled a quiet perfume emanating from the lower part of her as she stood before him. and then he was breathing hard, grasping her around the hips with both arms and kissing her belly. “i'm yours," she said. “just tell me what you want me to do.” as he undressed, he repressed the shrill, sanctimonious voice of his dead father, aware only of the golden brown gift that lay awaiting him on the green covers. four oris saw the curtains go down in the record shop, and she saw the lights go out eventually. and she stood in the shadows. from where she was, ned couldn't see her, she knew, her hand went to one of her small breasts. oh, a blues was going around through her head, and she couldn't get rid of it, a crying thing, a pleading line, a dazzle of earthy words for a woman. you knows you mine, dear, don't care what you say. i'm gonna win you, on my lucky day. caterpillar daddy, you got yo squeeze on me. gee, gee. that was the way, the way she would round it out. geee, geee, with that deep tone. she had a talent for singing; she even won a couple of amateur contests, just like ella. what she could do with that song. maybe that's why it weed kept going around for her: it wanted to be done. funny how she kept thinking she should do something. funny with david, and ned, even. funny that she should think of being that way, when really, all she wanted was ned. oh, that little black man! you knows you mine, dear. and why she needed to have him so, she didn't know. maybe it was the way some men leave a woman, pulled and stretched, exhausted, worn, used. the way they went into you and dug everything out, then twisted it like wet laundry. after that first time, and even after david, she knew she had to have ned. doris warmed herself in the shadows, waiting. over the night-tight city of westphalia, northern lights seemed to be a blinking part of the sky. slow moving, lazy early summer evening, the turgid moving of summer-struck people on the neoned streets. doris thought everybody looked like they liked everybody else, this evening. only, there was a rain in her heart, and she could almost smell it on the air. and she watched it all avidly, knowing how ned loved to watch the night. ned saying what he said yesterday, he shouldn't have said it. there seemed to be no way of explaining it, the way she felt, with the few scanty words of her mind. she was here, and ned was here, and it was religionlike, like the sanctity of the baptismal, the drowning choke of holy water. almost eight years ago, ned had had her, had made of her, and that was all doris needed, openly exposed to the moving power of the flesh and the heart, pushed on in her actions by some heathen feminine worship of woman's need to be owned, absorbed, by man. oh, how he had wrung her out. again her eyes strayed toward the shop. and she saw a movement at the door across the street. then she hid herself more deeply in the dark. her mind was a heroin haze as she remembered, for she ctity of the baas here, and it rds of her mind weed it was so easy to see why it had to be this way. her song for the world was taken from her, and she could have been immortal, like ella or billie holiday, or even bessie smith; seen paris, or south america, maybe, like josephine baker; or done that real thing for the world -take out the heart and give it-like marian anderson: this was the life of her stolen song, peopled with the throng of love's many-billion children. this she had given to ned land, and because of it she was dead. she had every right to haunt him. though there was much more she couldn't explain—so much that was a tone, a resonance, a triumphant sound of grinding finality: so much, so much. so much that was david, ned, the both of them, and more of herself than she had ever dreamed would be. and why wouldn't he see that? didn't he see that david was her own indelible failure? in everything? oh, lord, god, she could remember when she used to live on cameron street, and that old rickety house there, with the big rats that used to sit at the bottom of the base- ment steps, their eyes gleaming in the dark, looking up at her, defying her to panic them into flight. like they were saying, c'mon. c'mon down here, you, i'll eat your ass off. and right on the corner there was a bar, with a local vocalist, and (doris remembered she had just graduated from sherrard intermediate, still wore the white fluffy thing resplendent about her smooth yellow legs) she used to hear this woman going on with that doing-it, deep, breast- soft voice, late into the night, from her bed by the street window. and it was then she thought: “nothing could make me do anything more than what i should do: like you. nothing could mean more than what you tell me to do." and now she looked over at the shop, wondering at the thing that made her turn from that woman, and her pledge, her eyes hungry with the transference of this great love, five nted came out, the door slow in clicking behind v him. he checked it with a backward hand and con- tinued on. late, and nothing done. nothing but pot smoked, burned up in twisting headbands of nothing but disturbance. still, he carried a joint in his pocket, for later, for the other hours when he would need to be unlike himself. the ashlike sky reminded him of burning coals of weed. that rain was coming, fast. despite the parent sky, the city was dark and impenetrable, like the humps and crevices of a deep cavern. the green light across the street blinked at him as he walked away. the whore shadow on the flecked-coal sky seemed the bent head of a woman. ned paused. what now? his room, with the record album covers plastering the roach homes of the upturned, dirty green wall papers? this much didn't seem to be enough just now. his separate eyes saw the woman's head nod behind him with his going steps. coral? was that what he wanted? yes, that was what he wanted, but not like she would do it, not with her sucking mouth weed ned went up the steep steps, cursing himself, and think- ing what was left after the twenty-eight dollars. but it was too late now, and he wondered how long it had been too late for him. he rang the old cowbells and waited. lorraine came, and she smiled when she saw who he was. "hi, c'mon in." her wide, red whore mouth pursed, o-like, as though she were drawing in on him, as though he were a cigarette. “well, c'mon in, daddy.” he came. “wanda?” she stopped him in the hall, that way she did sometimes, testing him, letting him bump up against her plump buttocks in that tight black dress, letting his loins and thighs rub against her for a long time. “nobody but wanda, huh? what's wanda got?” “nothing special,” he said. “i just can't understand it,” she said, watching him side- ways, her eyes flickering a bit wantonly over her commer- cial mouth, still leaning hard against him. “what wanda can do, i can do,” she assured him, sticking her tongue out a little past her lips. “better?” said ned. "if i have to.” she tore away from him, and it was almost like the parting of two sticky fingers. “wanda's upstairs. she'll be right down." chinese curtains filtered the livingroom light, red from the candle in the front window and the red bulb of the overhead ceiling light. cushions everywhere. mama har- per was behind the bar, big and black, a nightmare female, illumed in the work of her daughters and something blue and funky from miles davis, on the stereo, a long time ago. “hi, boy." "hi, mama.” ned walked over. "i think davis was a young trumpet then; i got the album over at the shop. a man ages in everything, you know, mama?” “that's the truth, boy, you take my word for it,” mama harper said in a voice that was as big as she was. her youngan ages in everydy, you take my big as she w clarence l. cooper, jr., eyes twinkled in the blackness and distortion of her face; her huge breasts were animated under the simple print, bursting about her. “wanna drink, boy?” “i'd like a scotch, but my money's kinda short." “don't worry 'bout nothin," mama said. “you can pay me some other time. you'll be back, boy. you'll be back.” ned noticed again, with fascination, how white her hair was. mama. and she truly was to lorraine and wanda terry, whom he saw at work rarely. and there was denise, who was her daughter too, now a big-time whore in new york, in a mixed call chain. lois, and carla, the white girl, didn't count, since mama picked them up off the street, gave them a meal, now fed from them. and again he marveled at how they, her daughters, all of them, could have come in their beauty from the ghastly wound of mama harper. mama told him once, how they all had different fathers. trick babies. and yet, so all alike, as though one starving man had waxed magical with his hunger and flushed mama harper with his immense vex. ation, and love. and that four were the daughters of love. ned turned from her, as her fat black fingers handed him the glass, and as he could look at her no longer. he sipped, and the whiskey inflamed the marijuana he had smoked a little while before. the room only gradually turned redder, and ned belched an aftertaste of pot. his stomach began to swell a little. he went to sit on the couch. miles was swinging along in a bluesy groove, talking in that funny voice, like an infant crying in the night, twisting away into unheard of things. "now what do i ask you?” mama grinned over at him. “you ask me if that is nice,” ned said. "and what do you say, boy?” "i say i can't explain it, mama. it's too beautiful. i never was no poet or anything." “man is poetry, boy!” she squinted an eye at him across the room, like one light going out, then on again. “what you talkin 'bout?” in that child-chiding way she had. ned smiled, mostly from the boo again. clarence l. cooper, jr. pre-empted her words with a wicked a-minor intro. it sounded like sonny rollins too, on tenor. again, mama opened her mouth, but this time she did not exist for him. he rose to wanda's hand, and stood there, close to her. the music swelled around him as he looked down in her painted face, green with orange, al- most, and her lips so red, so deep and red. “you must be nuts, ned." “why?” he said. “to feel this way.” she shook her head, sad for him. “i don't know, baby.” “you've got me in the wrong boat,” he said over her, smelling the whiskey smell of his breath as it glanced against her face. “when i was a little kid, my old man and my uncle used to fish on belle isle. i was suppose to stay in the boat with my old man and the other kids, but all the time i seemed to get out there in my uncle's boat some way. that's like you.”. “i know what kinda guy you are; don't you try to tell me," she said. her fingers closed on his. “you're makin this hard for both of us.”. "well, get out!" mama harper called to them, aggra- vated. “don't make it hard for me to lissen!” “c'mon,” wanda said softly. "that's a buck for the drink, boy,” mama reminded him. "i won't forget," ned answered behind. in the hall they met lorraine with a streetside trick, a regular customer, like ned, who felt about lorraine, he imagined, the same way he felt about wanda. they bowed their heads with customer politeness. “how's the weather out?” ned said. “rainin now,” the man told him. “you shoulda worn a raincoat or something," wanda told ned. “you'll get wet when you leave.” “maybe it'll be over then,” ned hoped. a piano solo, from the inner room, compounded their attention. weed “c'mon,” wanda said. he followed her into a ground floor room of green light, one shaded window and nice curtains, and that broad, made-up ironing board flat bed. the covers were unwrin- kled. wanda sat, one round firm thigh over another. "you know,” she said, looking up at him, “i been think- in since you were here last week.” "about what?” "about you, mostly. i mean—the nice things you do, ned.” "i hoped you were liking it,” he said, misunderstanding her. “you got a cigarette?” · he gave her one. “it's not so much what you mean, ned. you know what i mean? a woman has a hundred men, two hundred. it's all the same. once in a while, some is better than most, but she tries not to think of that. after it's over, two or three weeks later, she takes off to the doc and lets him clean her button. and it's like none of it ever was.” her eyes sparkled in the green light. “what i'm talkin about is something else, honey.” ned's ear harkened to the sound of her words and the music that was filtering in under the door, through the walls: to him, it seemed like all the places of the earth- her words, the music, his heart beating hard. “you got a light?” she said. he lighted the cigarette for her. “thanks.” she blew out an abundant cloud of blue-green smoke. "i hope you know what i mean.” "i'm tryin to." her eyes looked up at him, and he saw that they were people eyes, with moisture in them, just like his own; and her nose, just above the cleft of her top lip, had film from the warmth of her nostrils. “you're being a sonofabitch, ned!” she burst out in a harsh voice, lowering her head. clarence l. cooper, jr. he dropped to his knees in front of her. "i'm not, baby, please believe me, i'm not.” she raised her eyes and looked at him, found the corners of his face in the green light, traced it lovingly, as though she had tissue paper over a map. "you been smokin reefer, ned. i can always tell; your eyes get red.” “yeah, i sure have." "do you like it that way?”. “it serves,” he said. “will you understand what i say?" “yes, wanda, go on. i know everything you're talkin about.” his hands gripped hers in her soft lap; then her hands came away and went under his coat, around his chest, up his throat to his chin, the hands perfumed, touching on his mouth, a finger feather-brushing the entrance of a nostril; up over his black skin they crawled, to the edges of his eyes, around them, cool palms on the sides of his cheeks, pressing his face inward with sudden intensity, then on to his hair, short and napped, and he felt her nails at his scalp, tearing into it. then she pulled his head into her breasts, mouth and nose within the crevice, as though he were the child that had just sprung from her, and he felt her trembling under his hands, her belly quivering. "ned, understand," she begged, tearing him from her, colored above him with a queer thing that distorted her face and made it look more beautiful. “black man outta no- where, doin this to me,” she made her mouth go over his, grease of her lipstick swelling his mouth with its sweet taste, and her tongue. and she caught bits of his short hair as she pulled away from him, and said, her eyes crying, “you crazy bastard. i love you. do you understand that? isn't that as silly as hell? i'd die for you, ned. ..." outside, in the rain, doris watched the house of joy. weed and the fingers creeped upward, turning the slopes and ridges of her upper thigh and belly, like the members of a practiced caravan. then stopped at the jungle edge of pubic hair. “why don't you let me get some rest?” she said in a tired voice. “that's all you get is rest,” he said. “whadda you mean leave you get some rest?” "oh, burris.” “no, i wanna know just what the hell you mean. rest! what do you need rest for? what do you do around this joint that takes so much outta you that you say you gotta have some rest?" “burris, it's five o'clock in the mornin.” "i know what time it is. don't you think i know? i gotta get outta here in a few minutes and get to work. i know what it means to want some rest. twelve hours a day.” "are you complainin?" she said in a graty voice. "i'm not complainin about anything but the fact that you got to have so much goddamned rest." “now, listen,” she said, rising up on an elbow, “there's a lot of things you don't think about and a lot of things you don't understand. you don't have to live here twenty-four hours a day. you got your meat to chop up, and every other thing you wanna do with it. you got that. now what have i got? burris, i'm a young woman. i'm not gonna be used up the way i've seen other women used up.” now he rose, half sitting. “oh, as long as you're used up by some other man, is that it?” "oh, you're talking crazy as hell ..." “crazy, huh?” he said, his eyes big. "crazy, is that what you think i am? you don't think i know, do you? you don't think i know about him?” "him, who?” she said with big clear eyes. "him!” he exploded. “you know who the hell i'm talkin about! you know good and goddamn well who him is, and don't you try to tell me you don't!” weed she was trying to confuse him; even through his anger, he knew that. he shook his finger at her, like a whip. “you better be goddamned careful what you do from now on, coral, i mean that!” she went out of the room, and the old floor creaked its boards at her barefoot steps. “you better remember that!” he yelled after her. he knew where she was going, just right down the hall, and in a little while he heard the hissing sounds when she released her urine. in their attic rooms above the other sleeping tenants, or those who couldn't sleep because of them, burris. lay spread-eagled in the bed, boiling with a dangerous mad. the clock began to alarm on the bureau, a quarter to six, and he let it ring until it rang down. “why didn't you shut it off?” she said as she came back in. "i just guess you don't know he uses dope;" he said, sitting up on the bed, facing her as she came over to the bureau to take out fresh panties and bra. she turned her head toward him. “who, burris? who uses dope?” the sides of his jaws began to tremble. “that record shop fella, that ned land, that guy who's been getting into your lyin drawers!" “you can just go to hell if you have to talk to me that way!” “oh, don't be so holy with me,” he said, shaking a fist at her. “i know things about him you don't even know!" she slammed a drawer. “goddamn it all right back to god!” "he uses dope,” burris said again. “yeah! reefer. he smokes reefers!” , “i guess you seen him," she hollered at him. “yeah, i seen him!” “don't you tell that goddamn lie, burris, because you know that's all it is!” weed mike, big young italian, bigger than burris, stood look- ing down on him as he opened up the meat market with one of the keys on the ring with the one he had his cadillac key on. “how's everything?” "everything's goin fine, mike.” “let's rake 'em in, boy,” mike said, wide white grin. “that's really what we're gonna do today, mike.” mike became confidential. “listen, kid, i've got some things i've got to take care of. you pull in three hundred behind the meat rack today and i'll give you twenty-five bucks.” "you're throwin your money away,” burris told him. “we'll make that easy." “don't mind about that, burr," mike said. "just make that three hundred for me." one of the white butchers came in. “hi, joe!” mike hollered. “hi, mike!” "rake 'em in today, boy!” "don't you worry, boss." .. burris went over behind the wholesale counter, hung up his coat and hat, then went over to the main counter where he found an unbloodied apron. side meat came in two minutes later, and he had to cut the strip in two, and later carve the carcass crossways. he had begun to work even before opening time at seven-thirty. “i'll give you a hand,” joe said, hair in eyes already, and burris couldn't see why he didn't have it cut. at seven-thirty-four, mike at the checkout, where he could take in the money and flirt with the broads at the same time, burris got his first customer, a bent old negro with a black leather bag. “two pounds of neck bones,” he said in a rickety old voice. burris served, then served two more. eight-forty-five. cullen came in, and burris saw him immediately. it was like that with him about cops. cullen, kind of fat, but kind of handsome in a pudgy clarence l. cooper, jr. way, with a vest that was in style and a sports coat that was completely off and couldn't hide the bulge of small- town thirty-eight, came over casually. burris tensed. “how ya doin, burris?” cullen said in his high voice. “all right,” burris said, wiping the blood from his hands. “been keeping your nose clean?” “like always." “we have to watch you boys on parole, you know." “ask my parole officer, he can tell you." “sure, i already did. i just wondered what." "you wondered what about what?” “what you know about some things," cullen said. “what have you been hearin?” "about a narcotics ring,” cullen said. “i hear west- phalia is a center for detroit.” "i never heard anything about it." cullen tilted his head back and leaned on the white freezer counter. his eyes were gray. “i like westphalia, burris, you know what i mean?” “so do i,” burris said. “that's why i like to know if anything criminal is going on." "i know you do.” “and that's why i'd like you to help me, whenever you hear something wrong is going on in westphalia." he winked. “i don't mean like that cathouse that everybody knows is operatin; that's harmless. a man works hard all week, he's gotta have something like that. you know what i mean?” "sure, i know what you mean." “well,” cullen tipped his hat down. “i'll be seeing ya.” "i'll be seein you, detective cullen." he watched the man walk out. it didn't strike him until after cullen left. then he knew what he should have done. he couldn't understand why he didn't think of it. he still wiped his hands of blood, staring out into the awakening streets. he smiled to himself, remembering seven two kids were dancing outside his shop, brown little i moppets, and he knew they should have been home from school for lunch a long time ago, but he didn't have the heart to make them go away, when they were so happy. grownups paused to watch them dance. - it was music from the loudspeaker outside they danced to. one of the new albums, something swinging by count basie. he came around in front of the counter to watch through the window. the music was that strong, power-packed kind of jazz, one that tore through the clouds of inhibitions in every listening ear and snatched out the common gift of rhythm. and these kids exemplified it. the sun was red in wor- ship, and hot, and their movements became a oneness in the air that was almost tangible. and how big and dominant they were becoming! the one of them with short sleeves and bucked teeth slightly in a child's way, swung around with the slim fury of a jubilant black god. woodwinds blasted out strongly, paving a broad, bam- booed plain in the introduction of a virile young tenor sax. then at the moment they could go no farther, and you had weed to know that these were happy men making happy music, there was a pit of brief silence. the smaller kid fell into this pit, just as though he had stepped from the wing of a winging jet, and when he crumpled downward, ned could barely repress a cry of horror. but it was all in fun, that's what the band said. after the first four measures, the tenor convinced him, and then he saw the kid break, this little kid, like a glider, and come smoothly, arcingly down, like a little brown bird, resting on the big wind of the mellow tenor swinging. and then they met each other, this bucked-toothed kid and the little one, feet flashing in tempered time, like little lights in the daytime. this time, ned did gasp, for it seemed as though they, infrared in the glow of the sun and the happy, joyous music, had moved inexorably together, face to face, and then had seemed to pass right through each other, as though the music were, for them and everyone who watched them, a fifth dimension, where all things, and man especially, were indeed possible. the street, the day, the air, was all left charged by their going. it seemed somehow criminal that they had to go, that the music had to end. it was like seeing something supernatural and being blessed by it. reality was slow in getting back to him. still enchanted, he went to the back of the shop and lighted a joint, and turned the fan on his desk to swinging round, blasting away the smell of weed. it was his first joint of the day, the one that always seems to feel the best. it--the taste of it-made his nose swell inwardly around the sinuses. the green glow was lavender- like on his tongue. the inner sides of his jaws began to feel warm and, as the first flush of highness got through to his brain, were victims of a triggered flow of new saliva. and he sucked in on them. the taste of weed now began to feel thick in his mouth. it burned unevenly as he smoked, and he knew that it was old stuff, stuff picked a year ago maybe, part of a pile the grower and his wholesaler prob- ably had a hard time getting across the border to texas weed n came in the front door. he sniffed, eyes widening in his small skull under the short brim of his black flat-top, and he shook his black head at ned. “man, you can almost smell that on the street. you oughta watch out during business hours," he said. "i'm careful enough,” ned said. ruckson was sharp today, ned could see, especially in his dress. ned guessed he was going out of the city, a dapper little black satchel of connections, and destruction too, when you came right down to it. ruckson's two-colored lips of pink and black combined, pursed like a third orbless eye at ned. "i'm rememberin the first time i met you, kid, at ernie's." “that wasn't so long ago," ned said. "i dug you to be righteous and a kid who knows a little somethin,” ruckson now said in a buzzing voice. “that's why i made myself known to you." ned turned away in growing agitation. “awright! what are you gonna do, preach to me?" "i just don't wanna see you hurt up, kid. it's easy to get hurt. you know how the game is. you been around. a small town like this, you'll get your throat cut by bein careless.” he came over to the counter. “you know what i mean, ned.” “yeah, i know what you mean." he laid the piece by lateef and byrd onto the plate, and set the neeedle in the groove. the shop thundered with a hiatus of young music. he didn't know why, but ruckson worried him. looking at him now, ned felt like a man dissected by the tiny eyes. only once in a while had he met people like ruck- son, those people who, through what it is they are made of or what it is they think, are able to look into other people, as though they are soul-searchers for god. perhaps the feeling was accentuated by boo, but ned could swear that this was so. he tried to keep wanda out of his thoughts and at the same time look ruckson squarely clarence l. cooper, jr. in the face, but this was useless, for his eyes strayed from ruckson's eyes and crawled with their gaze along the bony ridges of upper cheekbone, and a little scar under the eye that ned had never noticed before. "listen,” he told ruckson, “i don't have no dough to day; i can't pay you for the b. you'll have to wait on me.” “that's okay,” ruckson said, and his voice approached croaky proportions: somehow this was a part of him, the voice changing with everything he said, whole sentences, and sometimes just words, like an oriental speaking new- learned english. “i know you're a right kind of fella, ned. one of these days you'll be sittin on top of the world, and you'll remember old ruckson. that's all i ask.” "sure," ned said, “i'll hang you up just like a suit, in mothballs, and i'll take you out some day and think about you." “you really touchy today, kid. what's the beef?” “i don't have any." "c'mon, don't pull my leg. who else you got to talk to outside of me?" "i just feel kind of drugged today, don't ask me why. i guess that's all it is." “what have you been doin for yourself?” "same old thing, tryin to make some dough.” “shop doin okay?” "i’u manage,” ned told him. ruckson rubbed his chin, lighted a cigarette, and looked at ned. “i just wondered how things were going with you, since they were goin with me so well. man, i'm gettin closer and closer to that pad in san francisco, right down- town, with chinese broads for serving girls." “you'll get it, man, i know you will.” ruckson tilted his head at ned. “you know one thing, ned boy, you're the first guy i ever really liked. i mean liked. because i never had no dubs or buddies, real guys to talk to, and here i am fifty and more—much more.” ned laughed and listened to the music. "maybe you think this is bull,” ruckson said, "but it's weed tuinrunus the truth, ned. you're ... man, i don't know how to de- scribe you. you're like me being friends with a nice guy who is dead.” “dead?” "no, no, man, you don't get me. yeah, you're dead, but not dead. do you get me?”, “hell no,” ned said. ruckson spread his long fingers. “ned, you're like a painting. like somethin done a long time ago, like in paris, where i did some time after the first war. or like in a cave i seen there in france.” "a cave? ruck, you're makin so much noise i can't hear the music.” "c'est la vive,” ruckson said in a high, piquant french voice that made his black stature seem foreign, other- worldly. “don't give me that,” ned said. "just give me one good reason why you're here." "to see the beauty of you, boy,” ruckson grinned, “and to ease your jeans a bit.” . “how?" “don't tell me you don't need some money?" “sure, i need some money. where's it comin from? are you gonna loan me, say twenty, for a couple weeks? or fifty would be better." ned was laughing now. ruckson turned around in a quick half circle. "you don't believe me, i can see. take it easy, ned,” he said in parting. . “hey, wait a minute," ned called out. “let me hear some more of this.” "you really interested?” "if you're not kiddin, you know goddamn well i am. i could use some bread right now.” "i thought you might be able to.” ruckson came back over and stood in front of him, and his eyes watched ned for a long time, looking into him with an x-ray force; made ned listen for the close of the lateef-byrd piece. “somethin's worryin ya,” ruckson said, looking close. clarence l. cooper, jr. "no," ned told him, surprised that ruckson said what he was thinking, “nothing's bothering me." "is it doris?” ned almost raised his voice. "no, it's not doris. i told you it wasn't anything." ruckson's voice changed to a deep basso. “it must be wanda, then.” the record ended. ned put on some stan kenton. "i've got a picture of doris,” ruckson said. “you always got pictures of people. they don't mean anything." “no, listen, give this a hearing. doris is an oyster who's growin into a clam and you're a pearl diver. one day you steal that little bit of grit of a marble from her, and there's nothing she can do about it. but she gets another grit, and starts to makin of it, and she starts to grow at the same time, until she's round and big, big as an airplane tire." “i don't want to hear it,” ned told him. “of course you don't.” “what happens then?" like all of ruckson's "pictures," ned couldn't wait to see the last of it. "after she gets big as an airplane tire?” “yeah, that big." ruckson closed his tiny eyes and pursed his lips again. "she goes crunch on your leg when you come back to steal that other grit; she's waitin on you, and her big mouth goes crunch on your leg so you can't get away. she holds you there while yer runnin out of breath.” “i don't know how to swim." “that's okay, it doesn't make no difference,” ruckson grinned. “i just wanted you to see that picture i had.” “you were talkin about money," ned reminded him. "i wasn't kiddin. you can pick up three hundred thurs- day night, if you feel like you can.” ned saw three hundred-dollar bills in his mind. “that much? what would i have to do?" ruckson waited, then said, “make my run for me, to detroit.” . : .- weed “why can't you make it?” “the local fuzz is watchin me, for some reason.” "how much is goin?” “six pounds-fifty bucks for each one, mexicali green —and a can for yourself when you get back here.” ned waited, thinking, and the loud brass clashed against him from the turntable, making it difficult for him to ex- amine all the angles. but this much he did know, and that was wanda, and the things she had said to him, and the violation of his lover's body which had until now seemed of little impor- tance, that he had to end some way. why this intense thinking like a square, he didn't know. wanda had been doing it for most of her life, and it was a certainty that no one could take anything from her now. yet just thinking of her there beneath some man's body in her green-lit room was enough to make the world turn, or simply stop altogether. he jerked at the touch of ruckson's eyes on him, as though the little man were reading his mind. no, he wasn't able to see it. this new thing in ned land, this questing pain unsatisfied that he had to sate. no one else but wanda knew it, and he was sure that she knew it. it was like a dream come suddenly true. all the while he had had wanda, he had never had her at all: and now he had her in truth. it was too much for any one man, and he wished that he were two, so that he could really feel the joy that needed two of him to express itself. "what time thursday?” he said. "you could catch the : p.m. to detroit. i could see you a little while before and give you what you need to have.” “when would i get the three hundred?” “when you get back here. i'll take care of tickets and everything." “where would i meet you?” "at pancho's place. if me and him ain't there, velma'll take care of you.” clarence l. cooper, jr. o " "can i have some time to think it over?” “sure, but today is tuesday. you'll have to think fast, kid. i gotta know by thursday mornin." "i'll let you know by then." ruckson turned to go. “don't worry; it's all safe. you know i know, man: look how close i am to that spot in frisco. chinese girls and a waterpipe full of weed. think it over, ned. the only thing, sometimes a man thinks himself out of safety, you know what i mean? he gets a big break, a chance to do somethin for himself, and he thinks himself out of it. this is a chance for you, kid.” "i'll think it over,” ned told him. “how are ya fixed for weed?” ruckson grinned at him. “i'm okay till tomorrow.” the little man took a little packet from his coat pocket, cellophane, and ned could see the reefer within. “pay me later-or better, take this on account.” “i still haven't decided yet,” ned warned him. "s'okay. i won't lose nothin. well, i'll see you later, kid. i'm on my way downtown to price one of caddy's el- dorados." "i personally go for thunderbird this year." ruckson guffawed. “may the lord give it to ya! so long, ned.” "bye, ruck." and it was just possible that ruckson wasn't lying, that he was on his way downtown to buy a cadillac. you could never tell about a guy like that. why else was he so sharp? ned put the reefer in his pants pocket, exulting at the feel of it and what might be possible because of it. just as he was turning around, doris came in the-shop. her face was blanched and a little frightful. "hello, ned.” he waited, half turning to her. “just thought i'd stop by,” she said. “well, how are ya?” “i'm okay." “how's the kid?” weed / she smiled a little. “he's okay. he's the reason i came over.” "what is it? are you goin back to detroit?” "no, not yet,” she let him know. "i planned to stay for a while. until after thursday, at least." "what happens thursday?” “it's the kid's birthday,” she said. "eight years old, then! doris, i didn't realize how long it had been.” “yeah, it's been eight years,” she said. "eight years," ned echoed. “i was just thinkin, ned...” her eyes were high brown this morning, and she wore a brown, cut-mourning suit. “i thought i'd come over and ask you." “ask me what?" "if you'd come to david's birthday party." ned turned away. “the kid should be at school instead of some goddamned birthday party.”. "well, we're goin right back this week.” "he should still be in school; you shouldn't have brought him up here." she came around him, where her eyes could see his face, her slim, dim body over the counter, like ruckson almost, and he almost said, ruckson, why the hell don't you get away from here? “ned, will you come?” she said. “thursday?” he said. “thursday,” she replied. he was aware that it was all like a conspiracy: ruckson with his gangster and doris with the kid's birthday, and he remembered wanda at the same time. “i don't think i can make it,” he said. “it'll be the last time for a while.” her eyes pleaded at him. “i can't come up here for a while, i won't be able to afford it.” “that'll be just fine," ned said. “... you don't know how happy i would be if you could come, ned. you don't know.” gight e, but dying aed her mouth, sticking to heldn't che began to die when the lights came on. not really die, but dying anyway with that perpetual feeling of living death. she opened her mouth, lying there on the bed. the air was breathless and hot, sticking to her. lorraine came and knocked on the door, but she didn't answer. "wanda?” lorraine said through the door. she closed her mouth. “wanda?” another knock, then walking footsteps away and down the hall, and wanda knew where she was going now. the lights were from the outside, and green, like the one she now switched on in her room. tuesday nights were easy. usually they were, but it didn't seem to begin so easy this evening. she came to the window and stared out on the street. as she looked across to ned's shop, she had an almost overpowering desire for sexual intercourse. she had utterly no idea where it came from, and it wasn't a thing her mind was partial to at the moment. still, the tingle was there, a little capsulated now by her thoughts, and she tried to defy the odd sensations. she felt herself in a slip without any panties, and as she weed if ned would only lift his head, he'd see how wrong it was, and then he could make it all impossible. why had she acted the way she did? it seemed so irrevocable, so irresistibly did she yield to the thing she felt, like that feeling she had a moment ago which impelled her to copu- late immediately. she stood in front of her bed and lit a cigarette from her dressing table. the room began to close in on her, and she almost didn't know it at first. when it saw she was noticing, it stopped the moving inward. she went back to the mirror and sat in front of it. she watched herself smoking the cigarette. and she thought of danny. danny had been her mother's lover, fifteen years ago and more, in a place something like this although they all seemed to be like this place, even since she was a little girl and found out quite early that men stuck it in women. danny had been her mother's lover, she thought again, and perhaps if he hadn't been, she'd be something else right now, maybe even a woman with a husband and children. danny was her mother's lover, and sometimes she watched them loving—so professionally they did it and she knew that danny knew she was watching through the upstairs doors: when, knowing this, he became more ar- dent. then it all became freakish, and her mother and danny became freakish, their bodies, black and yellow, became a wet, cushy merging-in together that produced wild animal cries of passion and the fetid stink of bodies mating, squashed together, monstrously something other than what they were. sometimes they clashed, mama and danny, because she was too old for one thing, and she was becoming im- potent for another, and danny lusted after flesh-that was the other. flesh that he could taste and know with his tongue, flesh that followed after him through the maze of countless animal delights he could devise. she wondered, afterward, whether there had been other weed pened. she could remember little of it, why she had to be like this right now. slave of sale, slave of mama, and now this new slavery to ned land—the worst kind. she remembered the outline on the floor. mama said he was sick. that she took him to a hospital. they would take care of him and he would be all right in a while. but he wasn't coming back there, that sonofabitch. that dirty black bastard. that jelly-roller. and her, wanda, she was getting it right up the ass, like what danny did. and she was going to hoe it. she was going to hump it. she owed it, and she was going to give it. she would never be free now if she ever had before. nobody ever saw him again. and sometimes now, she caught that great black face watching her, as though it suspected that she knew what had actually happened after all, and as though it expected her to tell someone soon—and the fear that it would not be there to stop her. mama would never forget, and neither would wanda. she used to count the men at first, but then she got tired after ninety-something, and it had only taken a little while to get that far. they had a place in brooklyn once, the time she thought she might get away with a fella whose name she couldn't even remember now—a fella something like ned, but not like ned, not what she felt for him. that time she hadn't cared, and she was full up and sick of a lot of old men-she was only using the fella. and mama knew it all the time, but she didn't say a damned thing, not before or after. she was on an ellington kick then, and all you could hear was “take the a train" all the time. mama dared her and won out. when the guy came to see her again, lorraine told him wanda didn't work there anymore, and she made the guy pay ten dollars for a lay so bad he never came back again. that was when denise decided to stay on in new york, when they thought of pennsylvania for a while. denise hated her, wanda, for no reason at all, it seemed. she had promised wanda when they were children, “i'u kill you t when they wanda, foren they were clarence l. cooper, jr. . some day. black bitch,” she could call her, for denise was lighter, with raw bones like a hunky, “i'll kill you some day." she could never understand about denise. for no reason, she had wanted passionately to see her, wanda, dead. from childhood, almost, since denise was only a year older than her—she could remember their coming up to- gether. always, when she got a chance, she would hurt wanda physically. or maybe they all hurt her, she thought, going back over it. all her sisters. but denise more than the others, that she was sure of. denise would jab her with a pin, just to see the blood run. no one else did that, not even lorraine, who hated her too~not to see her blood that way and be glad because they were seeing it, the way denise was glad. it was so unreal, being a whore with sisters who were whores. mama and all the others were dream figures->yes, even the men who would come tonight. it was a realization that she never had before, and it was caused by ned land, the painful reality of him. there had been reality in danny, voluptuous, sucking, stinging reality—but nothing like this, this feeling of pure woman-breath that enveloped her and made her want for the warmth, the strength, the muskiness of a man's arms. no, she could not bare this this yearning for relief. she had to be satisfied, and in so many things she'd never even considered. but she could not afford the risk. not for hershe wasn't thinking about herself. but ned, most of all. she felt guilty in taking this thing from him. he was twenty-seven. wanda began to brush her hair. it was that thick, curly sort of stuff, black, with new grease, soft and warm, alive with depthness, slivering over her fingertips. she let her fingers stroke it and pile it, until it hovered over her face like a great black cloud, catching glimmers of the green light that looked like flashing lightning just beginning, in the mirror. in a few years she would begin to sag. it wouldn't be clarence l. cooper, jr. mag tasted a tobacco chip in her mouth, and she blew it out with a quick neat sputter. she found her pack and lighted another one. the promises she made to him, and he to her: too much was all they said and couldn't fulfill. but didn't she deserve a chance, despite all else? even if it meant ned would destroy himself because of her, sooner or later? she wouldn't have to love him at all, to do that. she was caught, and she couldn't turn or cry out, snagged inexorably. she did love him, she knew that if she could call this thing love: this tearing away at her insides as though she were a jungle animal being disem- boweled by other jungle animals. still alive while they were doing it. that's the way she felt. she felt painted on a wall, like murals she had seen in some of the fine houses she had been within, with some of the many fine men who had done so many unfine, un- manly things to her—just something on the landscape that is alive but the artist and the viewer don't know. just the pain of pain was unbearable. that's what it was: her being torn away from it all by ned land, and him not caring how much he hurt her in his tearing: her screaming with the pleasure of it all the while. mama turned up the volume from the outside, and the music came uninvited into her room, filtering through her with jazzy obnoxiousness. she caught herself waiting and praying. she called her- self the most nasty thing she could think of, but she was glad that the name was probably the sort of woman she was. that sort of a girl with danny. a piece of murder. a stain of blood on the rug somewhere. how could she justify herself to ned? thirty-four. she twisted around, the cheek of her palm coming against her hip, trying to reassure her. she was flesh, and warm, flowing blood from a hurt wound. she had a right clarence l. cooper, jr. ned's place was still open. eight-thirty, and the night becoming blacker. where was she going from here? she had to make up her mind to that, sooner or later. with ned?—thirty-four, and with ned? it was a bet with the odds against her. she could make him love her, if he didn't already. she knew how to treat him, she knew how to touch that tender, re- sponding thing in him: she could find it writhing like a little nerve end and fondle it and squeeze it until he knew that he was a man and nothing else. that she could do, and this much nature and life had given her an ability to do. but when she began to change and he saw it, when he became used to her and knew the days on which her men- strual cycle would begin and end—with that familiarity, and the passing of years—what could she do to keep from dying? especially when the cycle stopped? these things she would never know. this was her gamble. this was her chance to do something right for a change, and not worry what mama had done that night. the knock sounded. she knew she could put it off no longer. she went over and opened the door. lorraine stood there, her face freshly painted. “ned's here,” she said. “thanks,” wanda said, but lorraine didn't go away. “i'd sure like to know what it is you do to ned,” lor- raine said in a soft voice. she came past lorraine into the hall. she was becoming more and more afraid of lorraine. she walked quickly to the livingroom. the stereo blasted out mad, inventive music. the first thing she saw was the big, black, grinning face of her mother. and then she saw ned. r . nine w avid shifted on the kitchen couch. he had on u new shoes his mother had bought. his hair was. combed and his mouth was clean. his eyes were bright and targetlike. he shifted again and scratched his leg. he watched his mother moving about the apartment. she set a dish down on the table, too close to the edge and almost where his birthday cake was. behind david's eyes, a thing began to work, a beautiful, childish thing of pleasure to come, of experimentation and spite at the same time, with a kidlike knowledge that two and two were four even if it didn't seem like they were. it circulated all about in him, like ring around the rosy, and it didn't feel bad, because it wasn't bad to him, not doing what he planned to do: he was what every child is, a careless motion, a comic action that reiterates itself be- cause it is being forced through the groove of the thing that made it. "david!” doris shouted at him, but it was too late. it was like vanilla flavor, the way he did it, creeping over to the table like that, on tiptoes so she wouldn't hear him, and, this way, on tiptoes, reaching out toward the table edge with his little fingers pointing, then, with a quick snip of his forefinger, flicking out against that dish set too clarence l. cooper, jr. she said, “david, come here." he screaked his teeth at her. “david, i won't hurt you, baby." he screaked again. "come here, david. i'm going to tell your father.” “he's not my father.” another screak. "david, don't do that. you know it makes mother's skin crawl." "i didn't mean to knock the old plate off,” he said. “i apologized for it. i said it was an accident.” “sure, it was an accident, baby.” "you just wanna spank me,” he said. “no, i don't, david. i just want you to come here to mother and stop doing your teeth like that.” “i haven't got any birthday presents." "mother's got you some nice presents. just come here, david.” he made his teeth cry. “you don't care anything about me," he said. “nobody but grandmommie and granddaddy do. that's who. that's why i know." he screaked his teeth. "you said a nasty word,” he said. “you said ass." “come here to mother, david.” "you said you would beat my little ass. you got to *promise you won't.” “i promise," doris said. "i don't believe you; you tell stories.” “i'm not tellin a story this time, baby." “if you do spank me,” david said, "i hope you die.” “don't say things like that, david.” “i wanna go home.” "we're goin home, david. come on out, now. c'mon, dave baby.” he wouldn't. “all right then.” she went back into the kitchen. he lay his face against the furnished table top. it felt cool to his cheek. he stretched his hands out, palms down, and they felt cool, too. it felt like the sun had suddenly whyre scream a nasty ther, dar my lit clarence l. cooper, jr. chicken and other stuff in. i guess we'll have to start with. out your father.” she went into the kitchen. he watched her bending to look into the oven. her dress came up a lot. he saw a lot of her. in the front she was nice, with her little breasts—but she wasn't in the back. it was like she wasn't being good. he thought about jesus on the cross, being good. his grandmother took him to a sanctified church, and grandfather went there too. they jumped around and sang. they ran all over. they were happy because of god. the trumpet said it, the guitar said it, the piano said it, the drums too. “grandmommie says we should love jesus,” he said to his mother bending to look into the oven. "yeah, but jesus don't love us,” doris said wearily. "grandmommie said you gotta love him." he knew his mother was getting mad again. “i don't give a damn what your grandmommie says, david.” she came back in. she grabbed him before he could get away. “now, i've got you! i'm gonna beat your ass, david.” he struggled, but she held him, coming around to where he was, and too late he saw the ironing cord she had de- tached from the iron on the board in the kitchen. “you tell jesus to keep you from getting your ass whipped good right now!” doris said. “you're too much for me, david. of all the days i have to pick to show you i'm your mother and you're going to do what i say, it has to be on your birthday. but, david, this is just right!” she came down with the cord, and the electric pain coursed through his thigh and nice new suit. “can jesus save you now?” again, too hard this time, he felt the pain explode within his little flesh. “jesus never gave me what i wanted!” he began to scream; wildly, he lashed his arms and began to punch at her belly. but the cord never stopped, and he began to get frightened with the continuing pain. "your grandmommie's not your mother, david—i am! if i have clarence l. cooper, jr. call me anything like that again, david, i'm gonna try to beat your living brains out!” "your boyfriend said somethin worse; i heard him say it myself. if he can say it, why can't i?” “when did you hear jack say anything like that?” "at grandmommie's house,” he blahhed at her. “grand-, mommie and granddaddy were gone to the show and you thought i was 'sleep, but i heard him ask you why didn't you give him some before they came back.” . she stood up from the table like something had sprung her up, like a jack-in-a-ball that he used to call jack like her boyfriend, that grandmommie bought for him one time. “you!" she shouted at him. he moved out of her reach. “and i watched you while you did it, too!" he made his eyes crosseyed and screaked his teeth at the same time. she became four zig-zaggy people in his sight. the music from the outside swelled around them again. he dragged his plate away from hers and took a potato chip with crosseyes, which was quite a feat, since there were so many of them to choose from. his mother couldn't say anything, he knew, because he knew she knew he was right, and had heard jack say that, then she probably remembered that if he had saw that, he saw what she had to do with that man, with her legs all split open and like a bear's face deep within, and he even saw pink colors, which had terrified him the most. but what he saw then: he knew she didn't want to be thinking that he saw the way they did it, almost like two dogs he had seen do it before, but not from the front like that, the dogs, which made them have to look into each other's face like that, and see the ugliness of each other's face. it didn't seem possible, the way they did it, and, as david had watched, only the movements of the half naked bodies meant anything. they had stopped almost right away after they started. david had wondered why any- thing so important to the two of them should end so quickly: it should go on for a long time, he had thought. weed and that's what doing it was, and this time he wasn't telling a story, for he knew what it was his mother had that jack had wanted. and even the man, his father, wanted. that's why he didn't want him to come, to take what she had to give again. that's why he was screaking his teeth now and looking crosseyed and munching a potato chip all at the same time. his mother couldn't say anything. the music got louder, someone's fingers turning it up. a knock sounded on the door, and doris jerked her head. she went quickly past him to the door. he had to uncross his eyes now to turn and look. he still ate potato chips. he saw the door open and the man standing there, the black man, him, blacker than david, with something in a package under his arm. he looked funny with an open white shirt and the top half of a suit. david didn't like him. he didn't like the way his eyes looked at him, sometimes all blank and guilty-like and red-flecked white in his black face. he didn't like his mouth that opened, like david's own, showing two big teeth, and the way the mouth always looked as though it were going to say something. he didn't like it. he didn't like it because this was his father, because he had to be his father coming here this way, even though david didn't want him to be—and there was a something like jealousy in his big eyes as he watched the look on his mother's face and knew then how important she was. his father came into the room, smiling uncertainly at him. “hi, kid.” david didn't say anything. his mother was taking the package and his coat from his father. his father couldn't watch david all the time, and neither could his mother. he pushed an arm against the birthday cake, which sat too close to the edge anyway. it went over, flipping once, then plopped, candles and all, in pulpy destruction on the floor, and he felt some of it gush against his new pants leg. he looked up at them and their not-understanding faces. “it was an accident,” he said. ten m he night had turned blacker than the inside of ned land's soul. he tried to walk faster, shamed with an unidentifiable demand on himself, impaled on two prongs of his own making. people were beginning to crowd the street, there were lights at the farthest end, but he paid no attention to this. too late he had seen the look on doris' face when he had to go, when she saw that it was really no use and that look had frightened him. s a cloud of black began to form in the outer sky. little green, gray, red, silver lights of the little city worried him as he walked fast down the street. music from the three-penny opera came to his ears. then ahead of him he saw the man with the monkey and the box he wound. he was arguing with another old man as ned approached. they looked spanish, but the language they spoke, interwined with familiar but distorted bits of english, was not. "i'ma tellin you,” they said, and ned watched their fingers waving in the air. "mysa nah,” said one, the one without the box, “my dog, he eat you little man up!” "no dogga, any! pietro kill all; he kill all he meet!” weed "hah!” the other said. "we bet!” “bet! bet!” “bet!” better than living and doing nothing, ned thought, better than anything else. better, as he walked ahead, thinking of what he had to do. he passed the park and lighted a joint. he had finished it, and made a roach in a cigarette, before he got to the other end. he met a patrolman, swinging his stick, doing tricks to amuse himself. ned went on through the night, to where he had to go, with not much time left. the walls of the buildings grouped up against him. he squeezed his way between them, and sometimes they had begun to close on him before he got fully through the little spaces. the weed was doing this, making, everything seem smaller than it was. he was almost crushed by a laundry truck, with two grinning eyes in the night. the buildings rushed by him. his feet touched the other side of the street, and he looked up at the sign. he hesitated, coming down from the other side of the street. across from the brazilian's apart- ment. he felt funny here every time he came, and the only other times he had come, two, were with ruckson. his foot touched the curb edge. it was velma more than anything else. that way she looked at him. that way she stood sometimes. that way she raised her eyes and mocked him. and it was the white- ness of her and the foreignness, that was the other thing. and him trying to deny he wanted her. until wanda, women had tired him out, dragged him down, sucked his blood; they were sucking orifices with lower and higher degrees of inner warmth. if he began an act with one, she usually ended it. yes, this was the way it should be. until wanda. ned stood outside and sucked on another joint, since no one was coming. he was beginning to get afraid. if it weed he raised his fist and let the knuckles fall twice. it took a year for the door to open. a night-latch chain divided her face: ned could see the upper hazel of eyes and a careless, all-night bush of black above the white forehead. below, there was no mouth; it was in shadow. but a pip of light shone on her nose, smooth, like alabaster. the upper part of her bosom through the door watched him with a straight-up smile; it told of velma's heaviness. he nodded his head. the door opened, and he came in behind velma in a spangled black thing, off the shoulders, that made her look too wide on small legs and stilted heels. "c'mon in and have a seat,” she said, ahead of him. he closed the door. “ruckson—" he started. "he ain't here. he won't be back soon. he told me to tell you he'd see you after you got back.” she turned and smiled at him, and this time he could see her full red, laughing-at-him mouth. "i'll take care of you, ned.” he didn't know how to feel, and reefer, at that second, didn't let him. he began to see things that weren't there. he saw her smile at him in an inviting way that couldn't be. he saw her eyes lower, almost a wink—and that gesture she made toward the bottom part of him. ned knew he was higher than he should be. he sat in a little sitting room, just by the door, with web-footed chilean rugs, while she went away. there was a big couch, and a console phono in the corner, from where the maracas and cuban bongos swung out in slamming tempo. he relaxed on the sea of the driving drums and imagined africa for a moment, those thumping jungle sounds that, underneath the skin and blood, pulsed toward the heart and drove the body into black pits of horrors and the freedom of excruciating delights. he listened to the drums. the drums drove on. they spoke of john, a nameless jungle man, they spoke of john and his woman; they spoke of john and his children; they spoke of john and his dying; they spoke of john again, created in his own image. clarence l. cooper, jr. the drums rolled and lubbed at him; they punched his flesh like fists. the drums said ned, ned land. ned ned land ned. ned land said no, because the power was too much all at once, and it was a thing that made him ashamed again, this heathen drumming, that aroused his own jungleness and pulled at the fiber of his body; pushed, crushed, against him, because pot had served to make him aware of this kinship instantly, made him know that he was not removed, however much he thought he was. that this was the source of him, like an exposed nerve. the drums, beat, thudded, bombed away at him. velma came in like a white sacrifice. she held the pack- age in her right hand, held it out to him, a virginlike ges- ture that made ned look her all over. the raciality of them was accented by the drums beating, accusing him, cajoling him into a sort of vengeance. he had never had a white woman before. of all the women he had had. not her. not her of the white and lusty thigh, of pink-tipped tit-not her of what every woman should be. he had known men who had, but not him. he took the package, rising toward her. “wanna drink?" she said. ned looked at his watch. “i've gotta be goin in a little while.” “ah, hell, don't be in such a rush,” velma said. "have i a drink.” "okay,” ned said. she went back out. her butt was almost flat, but it bounced beneath, where he could almost feel his hands were. she turned at the doorway and looked at him as she went out. ned listened to the drums. it was as though they could help him know what to do; they gave him a strange sort of strength; they jogged him with their power. velma came back in with the drinks, with a drink for weed herself, and she was wiggling this time, barefoot, jiggling to the music as she came toward him. "here you go, honey,” she said, and handed him the drink. ned sipped and watched her spread up above him. “you like that music?” she said. “it's pancho's. doesn't it do somethin to ya?” "have you ever been in brazil?” ned asked. she closed her eyes dreamily above her luscious lips. “brazil is nice, ya know, ned? i like it. i dig it. every- body's happy there. sometimes i wonder why i'm here, ya know? when everybody's so happy there? it's a puzzle." "it's probably money," ned answered for her. “a lot of it.” "pancho's got enough already,” she said in a lamenting voice. “he ought to get out.” a drumming thump brought blood to his ears, as though he had suddenly been struck with a folded fist. it even made him reel, then right himself, because he had to, to listen at it again—and again it struck his brain hard. velma danced barefoot. “c'mon, ned honey.” she stretched out a hand to him. “dance with me." ned rose, illogically thinking how hateful the kid was, and went to her. but the way he went to her was not the way she had invited him, and ned came to her a man aroused. and when she saw this, she laughed. he didn't know whether it was a laugh of derision or amusement. whatever it was, she came against him and that part of him. with a thing like fear, he moved away from her. he knew how weak he was with the movement. “get that sirupyness,” she said, her eyes looking up at his mouth, her warm, fat flesh in his hands. “it's like sirup, so smooth. my old man had a sirup farm in canada, with big trees, ned. aw c'mon, ned—dance. it's easy." ned tried to dance with her. “i like to dance with negroes,” she said. “they're not clarence l. cooper, jr. like white, or even pancho, the way he dances. it's like dancing with an animal.” ned tensed against her. “i don't mean like you think,” she said. "it's another kind of being free. that's the way it is.” she wiggled against him with the drums. don't, ned almost said. but it was too late to stop her, and she began to explain what she was trying to say with her body. her body said that they were two people listening to the father of ned land, and she was a white woman who had no business being this close to him because she was white. ned didn't know what made him frightened. he wasn't afraid of pancho, that big-small man, and he didn't care what ruckson would say, with his talk of "the game," or what life ought to be. the father of ned land said, harken to woman. listen to the drums crying, listen to the tale they tell of a thing that has happened a million times before, listen to the silver and gold of living. "pancho had a farm,” she said, in time with the drums. "he used it to grow pot; that's how i met him: through a chicago connection. he used to smoke his good green pot and make a couple of guitar boys and a little drummer kid play for him on the front porch.”. "i bet it was hot,” ned said against her, his voice rising with the words. "it was hot as hell,” she said. “but it was living, ned baby, you believe it. that's where i'd like to live all my life.” . her eyelids seemed purpled yet flame-flecked. ned's bold arm pulled her toward him, and she didn't try to stop him. she looked up at him, while the phono began to shriek. “want a joint?” she said. "i'm already high." "have another.” she came away from him and went into the other room. ned remained to weave with the compulsive sounds of the clarence l. cooper, jr. the windows, the upper sections of which were antique stained glass, so popular in construction during the turn of the century. the steps cascaded down crookedly on either side. he went carefully up the ones to his left and knocked hard on the thick plate glass of the front door. for a long time nothing happened, but when he knocked again a light- clicked on at the landing and, through the faded muslin curtains, he could see a heavy-set woman start a torturous journey downward. "yeah?” she said in a harsh frog's voice, opening the door. “i'm here for ruckson,” he said. “why didn't he come for hisself?” “he said you'd know why if he couldn't make it this time." she stood for a moment longer, looking him over, then she swung the door open for him to enter. “you got some money for me?” “as soon as i take care of ruckson's business,” ned told her. he followed her up the long steep stairs to the top, where they entered a large diningroom, furnished hap- hazardly, it seemed, with discarded relics of past opulence, and a large dining table, where two women sat, one, the eldest, with her head on the butt of a palm, nodding, and the other anxiously intent on his face as he entered. "did you see the whore car when you come in?" she asked him. "i didn't see any cars," he said. she licked her mouth. “it's gettin so, everytime you catch a trick, you have to run five miles after you get the lay over. the goddamn police. the bastard police.” now ned turned to the larger woman, a yellowish, star- ing rock with blue around the portholes of her wide, vein-scarred eyes. her mouth was thin and whitey-like, he thought, and there was too much jaw on either side of her face. weed pad “gimme the cop money and sit down here at the table," she told him in the same harsh voice. ned did as he was told. the big woman went to the rear of the house. he looked at the two women. the one who nodded had not yet opened her eyes, and he figured she had just copped a blow somewhere and could not help nodding under the powerful press of heroin. the other woman turned on him, actually incorporating him in her problem. “you gotta see how it is. do you see? how can i turn a trick with the goddamn whore car runnin up and down all the alleys? but do you think larue will care about that?” she licked her mouth again and crossed her knees, sud- denly noticing the abrased, dirty tops of them. “look at this . . . goddamn ... goddamn! do you know how i did this? please, look, do you know how i did this? runnin- running from the goddamn whore car!” he saw a vapor at the corner of her eye as she whirled on him. “you know how much money i made tonight? nine dollars for three fuggin tricks! but what can i tell larue? i been busted twice already for accostin and the next time i fall i'll have to do a bit but i can't tell him that. what am i supposed to do?” then ned, still one in a realm of tricks, looked about the place and saw it was a trickhouse, where the whores brought their customers. the front room was dimly lit, but there was a rumpled one-sheeted bed there behind a pair of dirty curtains. the rest of the place, a hall he could see, housed doors and, he knew, many other beds like the one in front. "it's like this,” the whore said, and for the first time he saw that her face was smooth and almost bright under the garish makeup, like someone's little sister playing at being a woman—but the eyes: they sent a thrill through him, for he became a part of their pleading with a certain knowledge. “i've had larue for five years. and i been good to him. he's drivin a caddy, and there ain't many whores can say that like that junkie bitch there. all she's clarence l. cooper, jr. got is a ten-year itch from usin stuff all day. but i been good to my daddy, you know, baby? three hundred a week ain't nothin for me to lay on him. that's why i wanna know why he don't understand. oh, goddamn ..." she became intent on her stockings again. “do you know what i mean?" she asked ned pleadingly. he nodded. “five years, and it ain't ever been like this, not this kind of pressure on me, the kind of pressure he's puttin on me, and i never bitch with him about the other broads in the stable, because i know there's not one can touch me, and larue knows it, too. so that's why i don't under- stand.”. the whore who nodded seemed to laugh in her sleep. “what are you laughin at?" said the little sister whore, but the other did not reply, silent and still with head on hand. "that goddamn junkie bitch is out of her mind,” the other said viciously. but not vicious, really, in a vicious way—more a spontaneous self-evaluation. “i try to do my part, you know, baby? do you know ted or nero? i mean, those pimps don't even touch larue—it wasn't the stable put him on his feet that way, it was me. do you under- stand? baby, i been kickin mud for five years, i mean really kickin it, and it seems like he should have a little consider- ation for me!" she began to pout again at the ripped knees of her stockings. then, as ned watched, her face softened and he knew her thoughts were lost to the reality of the moment. "i know i won't have to suffer much longer. larue said so. he said, right after i build this last grand. to the coast. i never been out of this fuggin city, you know that? i feel like i been cooped up all my life with nothin but tricks and next month's car note. but it's gonna be dif- ferent. i deserve somethin, don't i?” he watched her face return to normal, feeling a small chill as he witnessed the relapse. clarence l. cooper, jr. “you know why you're the biggest trick?” said the nod- ding woman. “ 'cause what you're buying don't even exist. at least the trick gets somethin for his money, but you, you whore, you don't get nothin but a promise from some bastard who only wants to work the livin shit outt ya." "you shut up, you hear me?" “ 'cause what?—'cause i'm a junkie?” “yeah, 'cause you're a junkie, that's what, and you couldn't pimp a man if he was blind in both eyes and deaf and dumb besides.” the other woman laughed, slowly, nodding again. “i found the best pimp of all, baby—my senses. just what your lucky larue and all the rest found. when i whore, i whore for my habit; it don't need no cadillac or pretty clothes.” the young whore stood, slamming her hand against the table. “you can't talk with your stinkin mouth! i'm just a whore for right now, just for a minute, and if there's any- body i can trust it's larue. now, who have you got? what have you got, you lousy bitch? you know what they say-once a junkie, always a junkie.” “yeah, honey, you're right,” the nodding whore said, blinking up. "but here's somethin you didn't know: once you're a whore, that's all you'll ever be.” the young whore stood speechless, then turned quickly and went out. ned heard her hard heels clicking sharply on the ancient steps. the nodding whore laughed, and began to nod again. it was a while before the large woman returned, but she brought a package the size of a brick with her and handed it to ned. “be careful,” she warned. "it's hot around here." "i will.” he placed the package in the bag he'd brought along. after he'd been let out, he looked up and down the street both ways, but he saw no sign of the young whore then, as the mass of dead buildings closed in on him twelve tt hadn't taken burris long to make his mind up, after i talking with cullen. there didn't seem to be any other way out of it, not with coral acting the way she was. he closed the shop tonight without stealing a bit of meat and walked down the main spread of street in the direction of ernie's bar. he knew she wouldn't be there, not this early. and, anyway, he wasn't coming. he wasn't coming for a long goddamn time, burris'd see to that. as he walked down the street, he made his long fingers, still blood-grimy from their work of the day, curl into big hard fists, thinking of ned land and wishing. wishing. wishing he could take a cleaver and not release it till ned no longer had a head, like the carcasses on hooks in the freezer at the shop right now. all because of her. prison had made him able to turn his eyes without the use of his head; this he did while he walked, pausing in thought only long enough to glance over at the warm lights of the record shop. but he wasn't there, not where he could see him through the windows. he felt his heart flutter a little. . . well ... it didn't make much difference which day cullen did clarence l. cooper, jr. him, wouldn't we? see, i don't want to hurt your man i could take him in my two hands and kill him. i just want him to leave my woman alone, and i want to help you. i gotta hunch: guys at the poolroom tell me ruck- son's outta reefer. so he's gotta get some, and—”. “you think ned ...?” burris became animated. “suppose he does it for ruck- son, or suppose cullen finds him with some weed? you know what i mean? like i say, i just got a hunch, but suppose we call a shot like that? he wouldn't get much time, and it'd make up for somethin, wouldn't it?” "i don't know ..." “look,” burris said, and his face became a bit fierce. “i think it's better if it did happen like that, because some- thin's happenin to me that'd make me do somethin else that wouldn't be so pretty. you don't want him to get hurt?" “no, please don't hurt him ”. “then let me take care of this ... i just want some peace, peace with coral, and i can't have it with him here in westphalia. you just let me take care of it." "you gotta promise he won't be hurt." “just let me take care of the whole thing." doris stood and smoothed her dress tightly down over her-small breasts. “me and my son are leavin for detroit tonight.” she stopped and her face was confused. “some- times i feel like i'm crazy, like somebody big arranged all this to happen to me. when i go home, i know i'll come back and ... try to see him once before i go. i don't wanna talk to him or anything-i just wanna see him.” "i'll take care of it,” burris said. she drank her beer with a sad flourish. "i'll almost for- get,” she said, and turned to make her way slowly through the doing-riothing crowd, which soon absorbed her from his view. he sat and drank beers for the next thirty minutes, then finally stood himself and went out. at the corner, looking down to where he would have been unable to see a few weed yards further, he picked out doris on the opposite side of the street from ned's shop. he strained to see the lights in the front window of the place, then went on down the street till he came to a public phone. he stopped and dialed the number cullen had given him. “yeah?” a police voice said. “let me speak to mr. cullen.” “this is cullen.” “this is burris, mr. cullen.” “burrisgood boy. what's up?" “will you meet me in an hour, the corner on the south side, near the record shop? i got somethin to tell you." cullen's voice was hesitant now, no longer brewing a police tone. “is it about what we talked about?” “that's right.” “look here, are you sure?” “just meet me in an hour and i'll explain everything' to you.” “okay,” cullen said, “i'll be there." . burris hung the phone up and started home, imagining an odious scent about his body that he had never smelled before or had not noticed: a fear smell that wavered in the night air and accusingly hung about him... he turned off the main street and walked quickly down hill, the heavy business area composeci of a block-long salt mine and two wheel bearing factories that had plunged their tails into the face of a small mountain. he crossed several railroad tracks, thin arms jutting out and into the black bottom of the night sky, to the other side of town. his house was one of a string of others that embraced each other ineffectually, like a group of drunken old men, wobbly in their stance, three stories high. on the other side of the street pavement, wild bushes grew. he stopped and looked up to the top floor of the place they lived in and saw a light was in the window. she was home. he suddenly felt weak as he opened the front door with the key on his ring and started up. clarence l. cooper, jr. when he came in the tiny apartment, she stood in front of the dresser mirror, dressed in a tight sheath from last week's pay, applying lipstick and powder, oblivious of his entrance until he slammed the docr. “oh, goddamn,” she said, "do you have to scare the hell out of me everytime you come in?” "where're you goin?” he said, coming over to stare at her face in the mirror. "out.” “you're not goin anywhere, coral.” “that's what you think.” "no, that's what i mean," he said. "he's not gonna be waitin for you." “who, burris baby?” “you know who i mean—the record shop man." she threw her lipstick on the dresser. “here we go.” "he ain't ever gonna be waitin for you again." “are you crazy?” she said, turning to him. “you got record shop man on the brain, and it's eatin right through." "take those goddamn clothes off, 'cause i mean what i say, coral-you ain't goin out tonight, or any other night.” she stood, eyes simmering. “you get out of my way. i'm so goddamn tired of you, i don't know what to do.” she tried to come around him, but he pushed her back to the chair in front of the mirror. “you listen to me, burris,” she said slowly. "i'm gonna get the hell out of here tonight, one way or another. and i ain't gonna let you push me around, you stupid bastard.” "i'm not gonna let you meet him," he said in a loud voice. “i told you he wasn't gonna be there-tonight or any other night.” “what are you talkin about?” “your record shop man-ned land.” and now he grinned at her. "i told you that dope he was usin would get him in trouble, and you don't know how lucky you are you didn't get mixed up in it.” she stared at him. "what did you do, burris?" weed “yeah,” he said, still grinning at her. “you'd like to know, wouldn't you?” “burris ... what have you done?” “i done what i needed to do a long time ago,” he half hollered at her. “you think i'm gonna be a fool for the rest of my life? you think you can step all over me any damn way you like to, huh? coral, goddamn you, you just think i'm somethin good to play with, but i'll show you and him, too. i made up my mind i'm not gonna be stepped on anymore, and anybody who tries it is gonna get their burly heads caved right in!” “burris—what did you do?” he tapped a hard finger in his chest. “i turned your lover man over got that woman had a baby by him to help me send him off to the big house, to jacktown, that's what i did! i fixed it up so when he sees the sun every day, it'll be twelve o'clock, just comin over the wall—i did it! i gave him three meals and forty cents a day and a movie on sunday—i gave him plenty time to think over what'll happen to him again if he messes with a man like me! now, you just take off that hot-pants dress and whore face and set your tail in the right groove before i cut it off. ned land is your fault, you evil bitch, and i'm not sorry for one thing i did to him!” coral tried to burst past him to the door, but he grabbed her by the arms and sunk his fingers in deeply. “i said you're not goin anywhere, coral, so you just make your mind up to it." "you goddamn fool, you," she snapped at him. “ned land don't want me any more than i want you! and i won't tell no lie-i tried to make him want me.” she twisted in his hands. “let me go! there's nothin you can do to stop me from tellin him what you've done!” “coral, listen to me ..." her eyes blazed at him. “get your hands off me, you lousy pig—you jealous-hearted dog! do you think ned land is the only man in the world? there're others, just like him—and i'll find them, whether it's in westphalia or weed her quiet body for many minutes, looking ahead of him- self and not yet aware of what he had done. then he said, “you'll make me hurt you, coral, i swear to god, you will." amazingly he did not comprehend—his consciousness did not allow him to. he stepped over her body and went to the doorway, remembering his appointment with cullen. "i told you you wasn't goin no where,” he said, but refused to look at her body. “now, damn it, you remem- ber what i said." he did not look. and she lay curled atop; her face a-bulge, but below her torso, her thighs and legs were sexually awry, revealing panties and garter belt and fish-white inner thighs. “now, damn it, you remember,” he said, going out. when he was outside in the night, going to meet the policeman cullen and hating ned land in a way that defied his reason, he looked up at the lighted upper floor where they lived and left these words alive on the empty street: “and you better be home when i get back.” he walked on, then said to himself as an afterthought: "i never loved a woman so much.” while the light in the upper room awaited his return. weed together. we like each other. you know how i like wanda.” “sure, yeah, i know," mama said. “then why, old woman?” his hand came out toward her, with no confirmation of strength. “isn't westphalia a nice place? you know how i treat you and the girls, you know that. then why? why do they have to come here at all?” “don't worry,” mama said. “they're big operators,” cullen said with quiet convic- tion. "i've always been proud of westphalia, old woman. the way we work together. it was like the rest of the world didn't matter, my old man used to say, him being a preach- er. he used to say westphalia was like a terminal with so many people coming and going, they didn't have time to do any harm.” “dope,” mama said, as theme of what she intended to say. “i've seen a lot of dope, boy, black dope you never saw before. i know how you're scared—” “i'm not afraid,” cullen told her unafraidly. “i was a cab’girl on a schooner," mama said. “bet ya never heard of a somethin like that, did ya? i was cab’girl for the englush upper lords, on the way home from india or singapore. ah, boy,” mama sighed, “ahhh, boy. such times i had you'd never think would happen—all them young white fingers a fingerin me 'cause i was black and unusual. and dope!” she winked her white eye at him. “cocaine was their bowls of soup, and as many a hard peter you never saw at one time alone in yer whole life.” cullen sighed too with the vision. “you never been whipped by that salt wind,” mama said, with her creaking mind pulled to the past. “and once in manila, we saw the sharks chop at the pilins, that hungry they was. and all the while the pink gods was sniffin they cocaine and pushin me down to the bottom of the boat. one said it was like doin it to a dog, but i didn't mind, 'cause i knowed how they needed me. you · clarence l. cooper, jr. ain't never seen dope before, you, you boy, like i seen dope in those days." "it's that record shop fella i'm interested in." "ahh," mama propped big white head on fist. "what could i tell yer 'bout him? 'cept he's a bad man." “how do you know he's a bad man?” cullen said. “how do i know the way to make you spout yer last drop?” mama said. "how do i know the sea is a woman, always givin birth? how do i know? i know, that's how i know.” cullen looked impatiently around for wanda. mama poured him another drink. “lissen," mama said, and evil music began to come out of the stereo, balling, brassy, bold. she could see cullen listening and not hearing anything. she made her eyes into tiny slits. “you ever seen a spur tongue cut right off? that's what i got, from the days i was a girl. when you lose that bit, and you have to rape yerself for satisfiedness, that's when you know for sure.” mama raised one huge fist over her head above him, and for a moment it looked as though it would fall and crush out his brains. "i know a war's comin, that's what i know, that's what my black vision tells me i know the evil that makes man live. i know. don't ask me how i know. ask me who is god, and i tell yer bala. this is because i know." cullen's eyes looked at her hard now, frozen. "you ask me 'bout an evil man, and i tell ya.” she looked about her, and for a moment listened to the waning music from the thing in the corner, then she lowered her voice. “he wants to take her way from here." “who?” cullen said. “the little black man,” mama told him, “ned land. he wants to take wanda.” she watched him but couldn't see the little lights in his eyes. "he's gone take her way from me,” she said. “from you." she tried to see his face change with her words, but could not. in the red light it had a whitelike hue. his flesh ck man; she wate's go clarence l. cooper, jr. mama waited until the record clicked again, till she found out what was coming, and at the same time she took a kind of joy from the pain she could feel in cullen. “in the two years since you and the girls, wanda, came here,” he said, "there ain't been no trouble, old woman.” "trouble,” mama said on a deep sea of cellos. "trouble is somethin bein taken away from you, boy, that's what trouble is.” "i've had it on good authority,” cullen said, "that that guy messes around with dope. this guy who told me wouldn't lie. he said he found out from a woman who's been coming to see the record shop guy." "trouble,” mama mumbled. cullen was open because of the whiskey. "listen. can i tell you something? i mean just us two here. nobody but us, and maybe i'll tell you this.” “sure, yeah, boy,” mama said. "what you tells me dies with me.” cullen flattened his hands on the bartop, the fingers whiskey-wiggling yet still possessing sobriety, and mama felt his eyes looking helplessly at her: she knew how a little man could seem enormous and huge. “my daddy was a preacher,” cullen said, while his lips were weak for a moment. “you never had a daddy that was a preacher, so you don't know, old woman.” "i've been locked up before," mama told him. "but this daddy of mine," cullen went on, blending with the sorrowful music, the deep, big-daddy cellos, “was a funny man among men. and he wanted everyone else to be just like him.” mama saw how the carbon couldn't be. "yeah, i got this job,” cullen told her, “but i didn't want it. listen, old woman!” he flared, "you'd better not tell this!” "i won't,” mama assured him, listening to the music, raising her eyes to the highlights, "i won't.” cullen held out his glass. “pour me a drink.” “that's four bucks you owe me,” mama told him, pour- ing. weed "i want to talk with you," he told her. he followed wanda out of the room. mama felt her heart expanding within her. she put one hand on the bartop, then another, then she shoved herself forward with a fat surge of strength. while up above, the red light looked down on her struggles. she reared against the bar, tilting it with her weight; her feet felt caught and swollen against the bottom part. bala good. her body shifted in turbulent coils as she forced her feet to support her; it writhed in blackness and fat and sweat; there was a dying stink from the lower part of it. her body moved slowly, inexorably, sometimes nearly falling to the center of the earth, to the doorway, then the door, then the hall, then down where the green light was burning under the door. except for the swaying of the house, mama was quiet, a great elephant striding soundless, a mammoth con- centration. . beyond the door, she found another door and opened it with a key from the ring pinned onto the breast of the tent that was her dress. mama came through, her heart panting. this was the den of her thoughts, and the out- wardly apparent was a shield on one wall from the krall of a tagai warrior; the boo-boo god, in a squatting manner on the smaller dais: round, chubby, both woman and man, tit, chest, and the crest on forehead that identified the mother of fallatio, the drought her pleasure left. on the platform which was wide as mama, bala grinned down at the gods of excess and orgasm, a red, heavy moun- tain, like mama, sexless and impotent, but practiced wielder of evil's sure, sharp sword. mama lumbered over to the wall and an eyeplace under the wall's tassels. sometimes she had a man make movies from here. she heard the music outside switch to wild bop, and at the same time her fading eyes saw cullen in the green room, kissing wanda all over her body, and going wild: wanda on the bed, almost with him but telling him clarence l. cooper, jr. things he didn't want to hear, her thighs exposed where cullen was kissing them. good bala. mama backed away on trembling legs. she could hear their voices coming. she listened to make out the words. she wasn't afraid, mama wasn't, not about cullen. she backed away and started out of the room. bala good, make them die. with great difficulty and intensity, mama genuflected beneath the statue of bala. when she tried to rise, she found she could not. she let her body collapse to one side until she could get down one arm and push back hard with the other. it took her five minutes to get up, and all the while she heard their voices. when she got to the door, she heard cullen pleading and knew she had to hurry. her legs were happy going back. she found the bar and stool and sat back to listen to dizzy gillespie's "swing low, sweet chariot.” cullen passed so fast, she didn't see him when he left. then a little while later, lorraine let ned in. mama began to pray again.. "hi, boy,” she said, as ned came in. "hi, mama. where's wanda?” "wanda's not here," mama said. ned came over to the bar. "where's she at?" "i don't know. she went away with another trick. lorraine'll tell ya.” lorraine stood in the doorway. “tell 'im, lorraine." "she went away with another guy,” lorraine grinned at him. ned's face became hard. “when did she leave?" "a few hours ago," mama said. "she just called me at the shop a half hour ago," ned said. he watched her closely; mama prayed harder. “where's wanda at, mama? i don't believe what you're trying to tell me." “my girls leave sudden,” mama said. "terry left a week ago, and you didn't know." weed with her miwanda said it: she tried to "i know about wanda," ned said, his voice trembling. "and i know wanda's in this house. please, mama, i don't wanna get upset with you or nobody else around here, but i'm sure gonna raise a lot of hell if you don't come up with her mighty quick.” “i'm right here,” wanda said from the doorway. mama's eyes flickered and fired; she tried to command wanda to silence, but she began to know that she was no longer strong enough, and the fear that came on her then was frightening with the kind of force of energy that plotted an electric storm, or triggered a cataclysm. “you get outta here, ned man!” mama said. “you gone die, you stay around! you gone kill wanda!” she tried to rise and couldn't. “go away before i make you die!” the decision was keen on wanda's face, but she had not packed, and mama noticed this. yet the light in her face denied she needed bags; it was a freedom that made mama push against her fear. “go way, ned land, go way!” now mama made her feet and swelled behind the bar, while ned stood glaring back and full of strength. "i'm takin wanda away from here,” he said. “you can't stop me. i think i could kill somebody who tried to stop me.” "you suck at a whore, you man?” mama bellowed. “you want hyena shit? go, fool, go, go!" wanda came and stood close to ned, for it was best their strength was two against the many strengths of mama. when mama saw the way they were, she made the bar crash over to the floor. the red light flared with a misdi- rected flow of current; the music had a destructive sound. mama's flesh was jammed against mama's flesh as she moved toward them. a slatter of max roach's drums was all that seemed to be. “go way!” mama hahhwrroared, to the introduction clarence l. cooper, jr. ) of an african saxophone, with drums and reed fifes, but nobody heard it. on the outer fringes, with scavenger's eyes, lorraine made herself a part of the room with maddened wishing. ned land tensed to fight the giant coming at him. a trumpet scattered and skittered with a getting-away step. mama bared her strong, blunt-edged eating teeth, coming forward to demolish them and turn them into dung. she would not let it happen, and she knew by the way her flesh moved that it would not happen. beneath her, wanda and ned were as nothing. in her was a thousand black years, in her was the knowledge of a thousand black years, and it made them nothings, little ants, under her ancient feet. but her daughter of sin, set free with the wish to be free, stood forward, shielded ned ineffectually but shield- ing him still, stood forward to receive the rock of ages. and she faced it with a cry of traitorous blood and the genius of fettered flesh. "you forgot to lock the door,” she said through teeth bared like her mother's. “i've killed your god! bala is dead!” mama stopped altogether. her heart began to fail. she rumbled past them to the door. wavering, slamming against the walls, she went down to the room in which she had watched cullen and wanda. on the floor there, bala was a coated insides of green moss growing for ten thousand years, with two little snakes and those that were theirs, that existed on that growth. the phallic cross was there on the inside, and something that was once its truthful pattern. the music drummed away at mama. mama stopped living. she slammed over in the broken mess, making the whole house roll and vibrate, where her black mouth came close to the mouth of the shattered bala, and her tongue came out, white with foam, in another sort of dying supplication. when ned and wanda looked down, shocked, on her weed from the doorway, mama harper was dead. and the record ended outside. but still she laughed out at them from the shadows of the room. clarence l. cooper, jr. monday appeared, green and good like reefer, like the three bills in ned land's pocket. he pulled wanda with him along the lip of the inner circle, looking for an exit. “now," said the man with the dog, a long smile under his wide black mustache. he bent and unleashed the collar, then hooked his fingers under the collar, and held back the snarling beast. it was a sick and angry animal, with teeth that showed all the time, and a fur that was tattered and red and torn, from fighting other animals like itself. under- neath were hard muscles packed into a short frame, and the anxious beating of a heart that loved to kill. the monkey was deep red in the pavilion lights, like brother red had been—(and yet the dog was like brother red, too)—its tail was long and whipping like a cat's. although the dog snarled aggressively, straining against the owner's fingers, the monkey seemed calm and calculat- ing, like a little banker, twiddling his two long thumbs that way. the dog raised itself on haunches, trying to get at the monkey. the monkey squeaked and sat there laughing. littler than the smallest man, it turned beard and eyes up lovingly at the man with the box, demanding a song, it seemed to ned, so that he could dance and laugh at the antics of the other beast. "we fight,” said the monkey's leader. the crowding people hurrawed, and the man with the dog backed away, to give the thing a running start. the man with the box unhooked the box from himself, and bent to the leash of the monkey. but befoze he did, he took a pencil, stubby and thin, from his pocket, then took a pocket knife from his pocket and shriveled down the lead end to a sharp point. then he bent down to the monkey's level and said, “pietro?”, like that, questioning, like asking an older brother to solve a calculus problem. and at the same time, he held out the sharpened pencil for the hairy fingers to grasp. the monkey looked, then grasped fa- miliarly. weed ned felt wanda's hand hard on his arm. when the monkey's man began to wind his box, the hairy half-man rose on two legs and pivoted around, to the tones of “lord he wuz doin her wrong"—then sprung into the air while his master wound on, toward the startled dog which had been released by the other man. ned looked on in horror, still not able to comprehend the portentous form of the dear mama harper. the monkey was in midair. his hand held the sharpened pencil over his head. he held it like a dagger as he flew. and when he landed, the way ned knew he would, with himself facing the butt part of the dog, astride the dog, with his tail lashing securely around the dog's neck, he used the harmless pencil with the plunging certainty of death. the dog yiped with the first downward stroke, which had pierced its anus. it began to go around in a circle, trying to throw the unthrowable monkey from its back. its cries were screams of unmortal terror, and ned felt himself cringe inside with the sound of them. the dog's scream caught a sustained note. it began to run around in mad circles. but the monkey was chopping away, and finally had chopped down to the root of the animal with the bloody pencil. he chopped, and chopped, and chopped. the dog's screams ended; it fell to its side with snap- ping sounds, feet kicking, trying to kick the pain out. it frothed at the mouth and tried to catch the moving-away monkey; its eyes became glazed, like a drunk's. its owner watched it die as the monkey still chopped away, and it seemed as though the monkey chatter was the chatter of blood as he made it fly all about him. some of it got on ned and wanda. the crowd opened up to let them through, but the last they saw was the monkey standing victorious over the dog, bloodily unmarked, and looking down in the dead dog's face as though he were saying, “it was all a game. why weed wasn't him at all, 'cause i couldn't know whether he was good or bad, not knowin him. i saw all this, coral ..." she was silent and listened while he spoke, in a way that he had wished to god for so many times. “like you said, coral honey, it was me, the way i was thinkin—that's what made you, wasn't it?" . he paused in speaking for a long time, but she still did not answer, and he could find no hint of anger on her quiet face. “it's bein locked up, what does it to a man,” he said. “i tried to explain it to you a lot of times, but i couldn't get started or get the right words together. i guess we all locked up, one way or another. even the record shop man's locked up now, so i guess he'd understand, too, what i'm tryin to explain to you.” a tear fell into her face, but she still did not move, and he began to realize she was dead. he looked around and saw them waiting. “all right, burris," mullins said quietly. his conception was so strangely unsettled that he stood almost eagerly. "all right, burris,” mullins said again, as though it were understanding that caused him to agree that everything was truly all right. they led him out in the hall, where the neighbor from below who had called them stood staring opened-mouthed into his wet face, an unbelieving hand clutching at the throat of her old housecoat. "we'll need to see you later today,” mullins told her, but she did not seem to hear as they went down the stairs. outside, the enormity of her death suddenly struck him and he could not stop crying. and the new morning shone as though it were the creator's most remarkable achievement. a dew had come to the outside air. the new morning felt clean and fresh to her, but the dew was really tears in her eyes. clarence l. cooper, jr. across the street she saw a tall yellow man looking over, his head bent down, watching the police car taking her man away, looking like cullen might have looked if he were a tall yellow man looking over, his head bent down. it was as though the music of ned land kept going around inside her head. she walked with a free step in the outside air. • the sweet, slow music of a dead brown trumpet came to her as she approached the shop, loud from the loudspeaker. across the street, in front of the house with the red candle, a hearse pulled off. she saw the man called ruckson waiting within the shop. and with a gash of gesture, with a hand upon her heart to feel that it was still beating, with a new tear like the new morning, a course of weird new current running in her blood, she put her hand on the door and opened it to the inside: in fact, she laughed as she came through, a tinkling thing that ned would have loved and she faced ruckson with an unafraidness she had never known before any man in thirty-four years. "he turned the shop over to me last night,” ruckson said, eyes tight. “i didn't want it, and i told him what he was doin to me-how he was blowin my plans about san francisco.” he looked at her, without the sympathy she ex- pected. “but he blowed a lot of plans, i guess his in- cluded.” she turned to go. . “don't you worry, kid,” he consoled her. “ned'll only do a year--two at most. he ain't got no record; they'll go easy on him. but don't you worry: when he comes back, he'll get everything that belongs to him." "sure,” wanda said, still crying, going out, leaving the door wide, “he'll get everything." the music blared goodbye to her. but it was only good- bye for a little while. she still had the ticket ned land had given her, and his love. they both had tickets on a com- mon trip, would one day meet on their way there. books you can't put down -sent directly to you! regency rb firebug, robert bloch the author of "psycho," with an explosive story of pyro- mania run rampant among the religious cultists. rb gentleman junkie, and other stories of the hung-up generation, by harlan ellison. mr. ballerina, ronn marvin the headline novel of homosexuality in the world of ballet, soon to be an important motion picture. the brain buyers, james sagebiel an ad man who saw it writes of the frenzied rush to self. destruction in the tv quiz show scandals. divide the night, donald honig the twisted life of an inbred family is the smoldering fuse that ignites an entire town into fury. rb memos from purgatory_ten weeks with a teen. age gang; gray horror in new york's infamous tombs. har. lan ellison writes of what he lived. stories by the man nobody knows b. traven, author of "the treasure of the sierra madre," in the first collection of his stories. the torment of the kids, hal ellson the noted author of "duke" writes a hypnotic novel of boys locked away in a municipal limbo. rb weed, clarence l. cooper, jr. no one but a man who has known it with his own flesh could write about this world in this way. rb some will not dÍe, algis budrys what would worldwide disaster really be like? a political ex. pert's novel of how people will react. what mad oracle?, thomas n. scortia a professional rocket scientist indicts missile contract prac- tices in this fictional revelation. rb the man in the water, robert sheckley a great storyteller's tense, masterful serious novel of what makes adventure and what makes heroes. order direct from us. these books are shipped postpaid in sturdy cartons. handling free on orbers of more than two! clearly check desired books send ¢ per book (plus each, handling charge on orders of less than ), check or money order only. | maling address dept. rb- regency books sherman ave. evanston, ill. lames the university of michigan graduate library date due sov oct dan . jan a these low grounds waters edward turpin elulolu adatelse ԱՍԱԼԱՍՍՍՍՍ ntahidi artes scientia library veritas of the mu f michigan iniversity of mig itthonr annummum tiebor daaw hamini illinointihan si queris.pl kis.peninsulamamo m.amznai circumspic uhkusisinaudsutty who huutuulit one doorooo o fami Тq these low grounds these low grounds by waters edward turpin ΛΑΜΠΑΔΙΑ exo inter ΔΩΣΟΥΣΙΝ ΑΛΛΗΛΟΙΣΝ harper do brothers publishers new york london these low grounds copyright, , by harper & brothers printed in the united states of america all rights in this book are reserved. it may not be used for dramatic, motion- or talking-picture purposes without writ- ten authorization from the holder of these rights. nor may the book or part thereof be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission in writ. ing. for information address: harper brothers, east rd street, new york, n. y. / first edition to my mother rebecca henry these low grounds english wattenare - - chapter one o - - ebw artha unbent from the washtub, roused by a frightened clucking, and made hastily for the front lawn. "devilish chicken-stealers!" was her first thought. at the corner of the house the rooster, toby, scurried past, and at the same moment something thudded into martha's middle. she sat down, breathless. facing her, also on the ground, was a man, a dusky mulatto, who blinked foolishly and gave off a strong odor of liquor. martha scowled fiercely. "what you a-doin', a-chasin' mah toby?" she demanded. “is you one dem fug’tives? go 'long wid you befo' ah calls mah missy an' she gits you put in jaill” the man continued to blink stupidly. but his wits were not too dull. even through the fog of whisky he could tell that martha was as good-looking a woman as he had seen in many a day. his connoisseur's eyes took [ ] these low grounds especial note of two provokingly shapely legs revealed to indiscreet advantage. martha jumped up hastily, embarrassed by his stare. "ah done tolt you to git 'long wid you, ain't ah?" she said, impatiently. "ah warn't trying to steal yo' chicken," muttered the man. he erected himself in sections without taking his eyes off martha. “you sho' is purty, gall" martha glared at him, but now the glare was a little forced. “ah ain't axin' you fo' no sweet talk!" she de- clared. "git 'long wid you." the man stood brushing himself, quite at ease. sud- denly he grinned engagingly. "when you's tired bein' mad," he said, "gimme somepn to git clean wid. mah marse'll gimme glory-be efn he catches me like dis." “ah ain't gonna git you nuffin'-nuffin'l" answered martha, struggling to maintain a frown. she'd had time to take in the fellow's good looks. tall and slim-broad shoulders slender waist-aquiline features eyes jet black and yellow flecked. not many men came cut to that pattern. and his clothes didn't look like any clothes she'd seen on baltimore negroes; they reminded her of those worn by joseph, the butler back home on the plantation. he was still grinning. "aw, honey, don't take on so," he said, soothingly. “ah jes' come to town yestiddy from down tidewater way, virginny. " "you-all from virginny?" martha's anger gave way to curiosity. “dat's where missy and me's from. looka [ ] these low grounds yere, man, you ain't tryin' to fool me, is you? what's yo' name?" it had been a time since she'd seen anyone from the tidewater. he breathed easier. “mah name's joe,” he said. “git me somepn to brush wid an' ah'll tell you all 'bout it." martha sped indoors and returned with a whisk broom. "you see," joe began, “ah comes from stanbrough manor " "den you-all's plantation is right next ours," martha interrupted "you means you's one o' ole man owens' people? doggone mah skin! den you must be mis' lucrece's gal dat went away wid 'er when she come north to be a nurse.” "dat's right." joe's excitement mounted. “look yere---you-all know dat marse hugh allen done come up yere jes' fo' to see mis' lucrece?" "so you's his nigger?" "yassah! ah'm his vallay." "why fo' marse hugh want to see mah missy?". martha wanted to know. "her don't have nuffin' to do wid de likes o' him. her's too busy." joe looked wise. "he make like he jes' come up on bizness. but ah knows he ain't fo'got how he use try to be her beau!" "huh!" martha put a world of contempt into the exclamation. [ ] these low grounds “he 'lows he's a-comin' to see her t'night." joe handed the brush to martha and looked at her specu- latively. “how'd you like me to come, too? huh?" martha shrugged. “don't make no diffence to me." joe moved slowly away, then turned. "ah'll be yere--you hear me?" as he gained the walk, martha peered around the corner of the house, her teeth a white streak in the brown of her face. it was spring. joe came that night and other nights in the weeks that followed. one evening martha was hooking lucrece into a new gown. "missy~" she began. “yes, marty?" and as martha seemed not to hear, lucrece repeated: “yes, marty?" "when is marse hugh goin' home, missy?". “do you mean when is hugh going home, or when is joe going home?" parried lucrece. her calm gray eyes were bent quizzically on her maid. martha looked up shyly at her mistress from beneath lowered brows. a smile played across her mistress' serene countenance. "wal, ah did kindah mean dat, too, missy." “they're leaving day after tomorrow," lucrece in- formed her, and turned to leave the room. “missy!” the cry was almost a scream as martha dropped to the floor, sobbing. [ ] these low grounds lucrece knelt beside her. "what's the matter, child? is it-" the question was irrelevant-lucrece knew be- fore martha shook her head affirmatively. “why that's nothing, honey," she comforted. “there's only the two of us, and there's plenty of room for a baby." “but, missy, dat ain't it. ah wants mah chile to have a pappy. ah don't want 'im to be bo'n—'cause de good book done say it ain't right.” “precious much the good book has to do with babies! besides, you can't have joe, honey. you know that.” martha was silent for a moment, drying her eyes. when she looked up at last she was calm, and there was no mistaking the resolution in her voice. "missy, how long ah bin wid you?" lucrece frowned, trying to recall. “why, i don't know exactly, martha. about fourteen years, hasn't it been, since we came to baltimore? why?" martha ignored the question. "has ah ever done wrong sense ah bin wid you?" she continued. “hain't ah always looked atter you? is ah ever axed you fo' nuffin'?" "you've been wonderful, martha. and i appreciate everything." they arose and faced each other, two mature women who had been together since the plantation days of their childhood and youth. "what is it, honey?" asked lucrece, gently. martha replied quietly, in an even voice: "ah wants [ ] these low grounds joe, missy. ah wants to git married. efn you'll buy joe "hugh wouldn't sell him, marty. besides, what do you want with him? he's no good. i can see that plainly." "ah wants him, missy!" martha was stubborn. lucrece's expression of amused impatience changed to one of resignation. “all right. if you can make joe stay, i'll make hugh sell him." iii so lucrece bought joe, and martha got what she wanted. the birth of her child, carrie, was almost si- multaneous with the outbreak of the war. her work called lucrece to the battlefields. then shortly after- ward joe left home blithely with a band of colored volunteers made up of freedmen, and martha was in tears. [ ] chapter two t ucrece came homema lucrece whose hair was iron gray and whose high, thoughtful brow was faintly lined. she had known shiloh and the wilderness. sherman had marched to the sea in spite of stubborn, gallant resistance. grant had haunted rich- mond until harassed lee could no longer bear the misery-ridden faces of his soldiers. western maryland rested easily, at last, from the hoofbeats of “beauty" stewart's phantom cavalry. there had been appomat- tox, and now there was peace. the little house in baltimore, where martha and carrie lived with lucrece, returned to a semblance of order. martha went out to work by the day for wages- this was lucrece's idea; martha saw little reason in it -and during martha's absence lucrece looked after carrie. she could not stand the routine of nursing now - could not bear the faces of the sick. she preferred to [ ] these low grounds spend her time teaching martha's golden sprite of a daughter her letters. joe had not returned. he had not been heard from during several years. at first martha had grieved. but she couldn't do that for long. she had carrie to think of, and the future. the future involved a plan—a way to spend her glittering savings. she was going to buy a house. then she and carrie would have a piece of property like every provident negro who looked ahead. it was a burning ambition. martha realized her ambition before she hoped. for when carrie was eight years old lucrece died. and her will provided that the proceeds from the sale of her own house should go toward a last payment on martha's. so martha and carrie moved into the eastern section of old baltimore where freedmen negroes—those who had earned or been granted their freedom before the war--lived beside newly emancipated negroes in a curi. ously mixed settlement. carrie's teacher had died—a gentle young negro whose pioneer zeal had demanded more than his weak- ling body could perform and carrie and martha were returning from the funeral. as the hired carriage drew up to her house martha saw a man and woman stand- ing on the porch. she stared aghast, then ran forward with a glad cry and threw her arms about the man. [ ] these low grounds "joe!—joel—is it you, honey?" joe grinned complacently—the same joe, a little more dissipated, not so elegantly dressed. “sho, honey. didn't you-all know ah'd be a-comin' home some day?” "lawsy! ah done said all 'long you done bin kilt in de war!” martha hugged him closer. “dey couldn't kill dis yere chile-nossuh!" indicat- ing the woman, he said, “dis yere's mah sister sue.” carrie stood watching, bewildered. she had never known her father. “looka yere, honey_dat ain't our baby, is it?” joe pointed to the child. martha assured him it was. "she sho is purty! come yere to yo' pappy, honey." joe stretched out his arms invitingly. carrie hesitated. she was not sure that she liked this man. however, she sidled up to him and allowed him to kiss her cheek. he smelled just like a man she had come upon one sunday morning in the gutter. "you-all come on inside,” invited martha. “dis yere's mah house,” she added, proudly. "yeah?” exclaimed joe, interestedly. he threw the woman sue a sharp glance which was answered by a casual raising of the eyebrows. “yassuhl" assured martha. “you-all jes' make you'self to home, an' me'n' carrie'll fix up somepn fo' you." she passed into the kitchen, and soon the scent of frying fish spread through the house. joe settled himself beside sue on the sofa. [ ] these low grounds iswe “look yere,” he said, “don't you let on to her you ain't mah sister, see? dis yere's a place fo' us to live, and efn you don't let on, it'll be all right, see?". sue looked at him evilly, but did not answer. joe was not satisfied. “lissen yerel ah gits run outn richmond on 'count o' you messin' wid white men. didn't ah have a good barber shop an’ was makin' good money? ah always kept you in classy style. so now you gots to help me! you hear?" he paused to see what effect this had. sue gave an impatient sniff. "now what we does is dis: ah gwine start a barber shop yere. efn you is mah sister, marty ain't gone mind you stayin', an' you kin git some work to do, see? she don't have to know de diff'rence." sue heard him through absently, her gray-green eyes fixed on a corner of the room, as if the plan of imme- diate action lay there. "whyn't you tell me you was married?” she de- manded, her voice husky with anger. "how come you gits yo'self messed up in richmond, huh?" joe countered. sue stared again into the corner, and came to a de- cision. “lissen. ah gwine stay yere"-she paused as joe brightened—“but ain't gwine be nuffin' 'twixt us! ah gwine git a job_efn ah kin. an' efn ah cain't—wal, ah cain't.” she shrugged indifferently. martha's cheery voice broke into the conversation at this point, calling them to the kitchen. at the table, [ ] these low grounds the question of his belated return. but martha still felt tenderness toward her first and only lover. she went to him. now and hugged him hungrily. “dat's all right, honey. we's gwine start whar we left off, ain't we?". joe cast a glance over her shoulder at sue, but she had left the table with a roll of her eyes and was saun- tering into the parlor, her hips switching in studied nonchalance. joe read “finis” in the movement and re- signedly enveloped martha in his arms. after all, he decided, he might have done worse. iii joe wanted to start his barber shop. it wasn't ambi- tion that urged him to work, nor was it a desire to help martha in meeting living expenses. he missed the gos- sip and the back-room gambling and the chance a bar- ber-shop window afforded to review the passing feminine show. but joe had no money. so he went first to sue. it was two weeks after their coming to baltimore, and in this time sue had bestirred herself—not too vio- lently. but so perverse is fortune, her half-hearted quest had rewarded her with an easy job in a small, pros- perous family. for two days, like the proverbial new broom that sweeps so clean, she did admirably. (she was a good cook, if a bit sloppy.) but on the evening of the second day, a big black sailor, in port for the first time in months, accosted her while she was on her way [ ] these low grounds home from work. she glanced over his huge well-knit frame. a whiff of the liquor tingled into her nostrils. his toothsome grin enticed her. ... the next morn- ing she awoke alone in a dive on the docks. languidly, more out of curiosity than desire to do the right thing, she dressed and approached her place of work, to have the kitchen door opened by an angular swedish woman. "oh! guess ah'm in de wrong place," sue giggled tipsily. "you ban rightl" asserted her successor with an ener- getic slam of the door. thus sue was relieved of the burden of toil. but because she suspected rightly that martha would not understand, she left the house each morning as if she were going to work. there was a “blind pig” some blocks away where she could spend the day idling with the proprietor's wife and drinking what she could get gratis. then, night coming on, she would ply her an- cient trade. she did well. now, listening to joe's request for money, she os- cillated her gray eyes violently. joe's hopes oozed. “lissen, man,” she told him, “ah'm doin' enough keepin' mah mouth shet, ain't ah? what's de mattah wid yo'woman?” with that she flounced off. lacking other alternatives, joe went to martha. she was dubious and said so. but she couldn't resist joe. she loved him. she went, therefore, to max abrams, an immigrant jew, who lived at his place of business in the heart of the negro section. max was something of a phenomenon in the neigh- [ ] these low grounds borhood. he was a short, slightly built man, with def- initely semitic features and eyes that took shrewd ac- count of everything they saw. an accident had left him partially crippled in both legs, but had done nothing to daunt his intrepid spirit. among the negroes he was liked and admired. he was the only white man they knew who permitted them the use of his first name- and this in itself was a cause of wonderment. "vell, marda, wie geht's?" he greeted from the back of his store as he caught sight of martha and carrie making their way through open barrels of flour and sugar. he liked martha. she wasn't lazy and she always paid her bills promptly. “ach! und how ist das schöne mädchen tonight, hein?” he beamed upon carrie, ten- dering her a piece of licorice twist. martha nervously scanned the rolls of cloth against the fly-specked walls. now that she was here, she didn't like the idea of the loan at all. maybe max wouldn't let her have it. this thought, which should have com- forted her, agitated her. joe needed the money. joe must have that shop! joe would make good. joe- joe. ... she wasn't versed in the arts of business, so she came right out with her request. max listened intently, con- sidered this woman, her husband, whom he had esti- mated fairly at first sight. "but, marda,” he cautioned, "wenn your husband- he don't make der gut,” his expressive hands com- pleted the warning. martha's head came up and her gaze did not flinch. [ ] these low grounds at that moment she was like a carven figure in heroic proportions. she said what women in similar situations have said through countless ages: “mah man'll do all right!" max smiled and nodded ruefully. “lieb ist über alles.” his voice was resigned. he became all business. terms were agreed upon (more lenient terms than max's better sense dictated), the mortgage was drawn up, and the money was handed over to martha. then max leaned upon his scarred counter, his shoulders drawn up to their highest, and with a hint of pity watched martha and carrie depart. iv in justice to joe, when he stood for the first time in his starched white coat and freshly creased trousers, he had every intention of making good. and for a while there was substantial promise of success. customers poured in, the best people of the settlement-butlers, hostlers, coachmen, and other domestics. even max ab- rams came to get his hair-cut and shave and add prestige to the establishment; also the reverend e. j. jones, shepherd of shiloh baptist church. soon all the negroes of any means had their private shaving-mugs deposited on the shelves of joe's shop. martha glowed proudly, while the children of the neighbors were glad to be associated with carrie. by the end of the first year half of the debt to max was paid, including the small interest rate required. [ ] these low grounds max was surprised, but made no comment. maybe he had been wrong. joe was industriously applying an after-shave lotion to the fat, shiny-black face of the jamesons' well-fed butler when a surprised voice twanged from the door: “looka yere! efn it ain't ole joel" joe glanced up quickly. exclaiming his delight, he abandoned the fat man's chin and leaped to meet the newcomer. “jake tillery! you yaller son of a - " joe disre garded the no profanity sign on the wall, which had been placed there at the request of the reverend e. j. jones. the man facing joe was of joe's height, slim, and of that mulatto coloring which is described by negroes as "dirty yaller." his eyes were light hazel, his head small and egg-shaped. adorning it was a mat of sandy kinked hair through which ran a razor-made part-a sin- gle canal in an arid waste. the shop loafers, commenting on the elegance and extreme cut of his clothes, opined that he was "dressed out de barrel.” although the man was ugly, it was not this that made him repugnant. there was something else-some indefinable quality of evil that lurked in his slinking movements and empha- sized an unwholesome look of dissipation. he and joe entered into an animated conversation that ignored the jameson butler until that worthy, [ ] these low grounds growing disgruntled, wrenched himself out of the chair like a sulky bear, finished wiping his jowls, replaced his stiff collar and black tie, and stalked out. “so you gots a wife, eh?” jake was saying. “looks like you done struck it rich, man!” "ah'm a-doin' fair-to-middlin',” joe admitted, com- placently. just then a cough caught him. he went to a little cabinet and poured two glasses of liquor. “yere, take one wid me.” “luck to you,” toasted jake, briefly. “hopes you lives fo’ever, an' hopes ah never dies!” responded joe. as they drained their glasses, a tall, thin-faced, dark- brown man came in, dressed in the sober garments of the divine calling. he eyed jake suspiciously and glared reprovingly at joe. "brethren,” his high-pitched voice intoned, "'wine is a mocker, an' strong drink is raging'! brother owens, whyn't you walk in de path more'n you does? hain't ah done tolt you ..." the reverend e. j. jones was just warming to his temperance talk as he divested his frock coat and standing collar. a true child of satan, and not relishing this baptism of verbal holy water, jake signaled to joe that he would return later, and sauntered out. he wasn't interested in morals or souls. not far from the shop he encountered something more to his taste. it was sue. she cruised up the dimly lighted street just as jake turned the corner. he looked likely. she assumed her most enticing manner. need- [ ] these low grounds less to say, jake was open to any promising suggestions. he returned her scrutiny. then he looked again. there was something familiar. where had he seen those weav- ing movements before? sue's simpering, wide-eyed look changed to one of astonishment. “fo’ de lawd's sake! jake!" “yeah,” said jake, laconically. “look yere, honey, what you a’doin' yere?” sue's eyes sparkled as she pressed a hand caressingly against his chest. “klu-kluxers," answered jake, shortly. he was think- ing. sue must be doing well, if her clothes were an in- dication. better sound her first, though. ... "what you doin'? workin'?” he asked. sue grinned. “nope. seem like ah jes' cain't git no job.” she winked knowingly. “but ah’m doin' purty good.” “look yere, baby, ah jes' got in town an' ah'm broke. ah had to use all mah money gittin' 'way from richmond.” his voice became syrupy as he drew the unresisting sue to him. “whar was you goin', honey?" his eyes were half- closed, like a cat's when it has scented a mouse. sue's hands played over his back and arms. she laughed invitingly. "ah reckon ah was a-waitin' to go wid you, honey,' she cooed. “but ah ain't got no money " [ ] these low grounds sue interrupted him to pull up her dress and point significantly to a bulge under her stocking. “keep yo' money, big boy. ah knows you gots some efn dey's any in de world. ah don't want yo' money...." jake grinned as they swung up the street. vi it didn't require much effort on jake's part to per- suade joe to open a gambling-den in the back room of the shop. he would have opened one long ago had it not been for martha. jake put it this way: business was good and joe needed a helper on saturdays. he, jake, had some money with him (chiefly his share of sue's earnings from clients he sent to her), and would buy another bar- ber chair. in return he would receive a percentage of the increased custom. martha listened to the plan with misgivings. she didn't like jake, and she didn't like the way he eyed carrie whenever he came to the house. moreover, joe, since jake's coming, had taken to drinking more heav- ily. still, joe vowed that jake was a good barber and his best friend, and he was out of work. finally mar- tha was prevailed upon. and jake set about putting his ideas into practice. he installed the second barber chair. then he turned his attention to the back room, adding to its furnish- ings a long oblong table covered with green felt, a pair of smaller tables with chairs, and two powerful [ ] these low grounds nickel lamps. to insure privacy—more to be desired than fresh air—he sealed the two windows, but left the door available as a means of hasty exit. the first saturday night passed smoothly. jake whis- pered invitations to a picked group, counseling quiet, and deserted his duties in the front of the shop to act as game-keeper, or cut man, and maintain orderly play. at one o'clock everyone left quietly by the back door. when they had gone the partners entered into finan- cial calculations. within a few hours they had made more money at the game than they had made all day in the shop. “man-dee!” exclaimed the elated joe. jake, hardened gambler that he was, remained calm. “you ain't seed nuffin' yit,” he prophesied. “wait'll you start makin' real money, man. dis yere's chicken feed." even martha was pleased when she was informed next morning of the brisk upturn business had taken. but though she greeted jake more amiably, she still held him at a distance. vii business continued good—so good that there was a tendency to forget the caution to quiet. strange conver- sations drifted from the back room to the customers out front. one saturday the reverend e. j. jones came in for his pre-pulpit shave and hair-cut, his bible under one arm, somber preoccupation veneering his thin, ascetic [ ] these low grounds face. he sat down in the chair next to joe's and relaxed with hands clasped across his narrow chest—a prophet in repose. "whar's yo' pardner?" he inquired. joe wavered nervously from one foot to the other as he clipped his customer's hair. he couldn't afford to let the elder know of the gambling, and he couldn't keep him waiting equally hot fires burned, as it were, at his front and rear. finally he went to the door lead- ing into the den and opened it a crack. there was a low hum of voices mingled with the faint click of dice. then: “come, li'l' bitches, come! hah—you sev'!” sometime in his vanished youth the elder must have watched the dice, for his relaxed frame galvanized im- mediately into action. he leaped from his chair with astonishing swiftness and pointed a long, bony finger at the discomfited joe. "you gots gamblin' back dar!” he declared in a pierc- ing voice. “why fo' you gots it, brothah joe?" and he went on to deliver his best tirade, ending with bristling promises of hell fire and brimstone. then he stalked out of the shop. joe rushed into the back room and drew jake aside. “we gots to stop dis game fo’ tonight!” he panted. “de eldah done found out 'bout it.” jake shook his head. “efn ah stops dat big sam when he got his luck on he sho start somep'n.” joe argued feebly, but jake was firm. he saw money [ ] these low grounds for himself in sight and he was against pampering the pastor in his aversion to gambling. “wal, fo' de lawd's sake, keep 'em quiet!" joe gave way. "efn marty find out 'bout dis, she'll jes' nacherly raise hell, shol" viii ps martha was finding out at that very minute, for the reverend jones had not felt his duty ended with the impromptu sermon to joe. he came upon martha over the washtubs and delivered himself promptly in as scath- ing terms as he could command. when he paused for breath martha was wiping her arms on her apron. "you come wid me!” she said, and there was a men- ace in her voice. but the reverend e. j. jones was not made of the same metal as isaiah, the dauntless prophet. he visioned the treatment he might receive at the hands of the angered gamblers, and that particular brand of martyr- dom held no charm for him. "no, sistah martha, ah ain't gwine wid you. ah'll preach me a sermon dat'll break dat thing up!" so martha was alone when she appeared at the shop door a few minutes later. "hullo, honey,” joe greeted her uneasily. "you ought'n' to come out wid no coat on—you'll git yo' death o' cold." [ ] these low grounds the solicitude was lost on martha. "whar's dat gam- blin' a-goin' on yere?" she demanded, abruptly. she took her stand in the center of the shop, feet braced widely apart, hands gripping her broad hips. this was a martha joe had never seen. he was fright- ened. "whar is it, ah says?" martha's deep voice was dan- gerous. joe did not have to answer. a voice from the back room boomed, “walk, you bitches, walk!” sweat broke out on joe, and it was not caused by heat from the pot-bellied stove. he tried to intercept mar- tha's lunge for the door, but with one sweep of her hand she sent him sprawling. a violent twist and jerk of the knob flung the door open, and martha stood poised on the threshold, like an angry brown goddess about to scatter destruction on her sinful subjects. the effect was instantaneous. hand raised high over his battered, dirty hat, big sam stared at this apparition which had appeared so suddenly. his big eyes popped to their uttermost, and his thick-lipped, open mouth froze on an unspoken command to the dice. the cane with which jake shuf- fled the cubes broke its hopping, anticipatory antics, and lay like a miraculously petrified snake on the green cloth. men forgot their haggling over side bets. the drunken, slobbery-mouthed youth with the consump- tive face and hang-dog expression stopped annoying jake for a free turn at the dice at the expense of the game-keeper. more than a score of eyes, displaying vari- [ ] these low grounds "yeah,” agreed the kneeling jake without looking up. “reckon we bettah count up an' split de kitty, den,” suggested joe. he coughed nervously. jake arose slowly. he arranged the gathered coins into small neat stacks on one of the card-tables along with the square box containing the “cuts.” his eyes fondled them. he passed a caressing hand over them, much in the manner of a father patting the heads of his chil- dren. then he squinted at joe and asked in low, cold tones: “what kitty you talkin' 'bout?" joe licked his dry lips. he had a foreboding that all was not well. words would not come. "you see dat?" jake pointed to the wrecked table. “wal, dat's yo' kitty! yo' woman done bust it an' you gots to pay fo' it! see?" "but dat ain't cost much as dat money, jakel" pro- tested joe. "go haid 'n' take yo’s, den," jake invited, grimly sarcastic. his eyes held the same hateful gleam that had burned at martha. his right hand, like a hydra-headed serpent, glided stealthily toward his hip pocket. joe shivered. he had witnessed that glinting, upward flash of steel once before at richmond, and remembered the bloody aftermath. in his haste to be gone he stum- bled over the door sill. jake shrugged contemptuously, swept the stacks of money into the box, and departed. [ ] these low grounds ix true to his word, the reverend e. j. jones preached a sermon exposing joe's moral failings, and his obedient flock cried their "amens” in vigorous approval. when he was finished joe had lost a great portion of his clientele. and as the days passed other customers— those upon whom martha's fury had descended-drifted over to the barber who was joe's only competitor. mar- tha had not foreseen this effect of her action. idleness settled upon joe and he turned more fre- quently to his bottle. he hadn't even martha's sym- pathy for comfort; contempt was at last eating away her blind love for this weakling. she refused to sleep with him—his slobbering embraces revolted her. one cold night he fell into a drunken stupor and lay in a gutter until martha found him and carried him home. already honeycombed with tuberculosis, he lin- gered two feverish weeks, then a hemorrhage spurted out his life. [ ] chapter three artha spoke to carrie across the dinner table. it was the sunday following joe's burial. "you cain't git off to school dis year, i chile,” she said. carrie's bright eyes dulled. she had set her heart upon going to the institute. martha went on: "we's got to pay our debt. efn we works hard dis year, next year you kin go. warn't fo' dat good-fo’-nuffin' joe you could a-gwine dis year! missy told me dat man warn't no good!” she took car- rie's chin in her roughened hand and lifted it gently. “lissen, chile,” she said, bitterly, “don't nevah let no no-'count man make no fool outn you! ain't no man no-'count! y'ear me?” [ ] these low grounds they made an heroic effort, but after a year bent over their tubs the mortgage was still unpaid. and carrie's hope of attending the institute was little nearer realization. the ceaseless drubbing toil was hardest on carrie, and for hours and days at a stretch the girl would be plunged into the black moods that are the affliction of adolescence. was all her life to be cut to this dreary pattern? was she to go on forever rubbing, rinsing, bluing, ironing, delivering clothes? she saw no other fate in store. and it wasn't fair! it wasn't fair! lucrece had put the thought of schooling into her mind and the young negro teacher had fostered it. she was a good student-bright and quick. she was wasting her- self over endless batches of clothes. so she fretted. spring gave way to summer, summer to autumn, autumn to winter. and each day was hope- lessly like the one just past. then one morning, before the christmas season, she was in the back yard hanging out a basket of clothes when she heard a cry. “carriel carrie” in the kitchen she found martha collapsed beside the ironing-board, on which a sheet was smoking. "mah-arm-honey,” martha panted. “it-ain't carrie took one look at her mother's twisted lips and [ ] these low grounds sped toward the front of the house, where footsteps sounded. fright leaped in her heart. in the dining-room she collided with sue. "lawdy!” sue exclaimed when she saw martha's drawn face. “it acts like mah uncle mark's when he was strick. help me git 'er to de couch,” she directed carrie, "an' den you run git de doctah.” iii sue was in deep conversation with jake in a basement room not far from martha's house. it was jake's new place of business. “look yere," he was saying, "didn't you tell me dat joe tolt martha you was his sistah?” "yeah, but — "nev' mind de but—you jes' stay his sistahl see?” "yeah—but don't dat make me have to take care dat gal, carrie, efn martha dies? ah ain't used to — ” "nev' mind what you's used to! don't you see, you fool?_efn de gal comes to you, so's de house!" jake paused to see what effect this would have. sue slapped her fleshy thigh. "dog-gonel dat's right, ain't it?" she thought a minute. “look yere, martha mo'gaged dat house to set joe up in dat shop. s'posin' dey ain't paid it off?”. "wal, ah was figgerin' dat you an' me could kindah hang together," jake confessed. “ah gots a li'l' pile what ah done made yere—an' dey's mo' comin'. what say, hon'?" [ ] these low grounds smiling her agreement, sue snuggled against him and explored his lean body with plump fingers. jake re- sponded abstractedly but with expertness. then with a kiss, and a pat on a rounded buttock he sent sue on her way and turned to the task of tidying the den. in one corner he spied a slimy pool where some one had unloaded an excess of liquor. “damn pigs!” he exclaimed, disgustedly, as he reached for a pail of sawdust. martha's death profoundly affected a number of people. it left carrie to the questionable protection of sue, with no one to turn to for love and understanding. it gave sue and jake a home to which their wits did not entitle them. incidentally, it afforded the reverend e. j. jones with a theme for one of his most eloquent sermons. martha had not attended church after the night of the gambling-den episode, and this digression from the path of light-according to the reverend jones's interpretation—in all probability contributed directly to her demise. martha was buried beside joe. the sisters of the shining star in the west lodge stood about the fresh mound and chanted “till we meet.” then all took their ways home, to be submerged again in the affairs of their separate lives. it mattered to no one that mar- tha symbolized a link between their present freedom [ ] chapter four n a certain morning during the rainy sea- son between winter and spring—when the fog banks steal up the chesapeake and fall over baltimore with a clinging, dripping embrace-jake awoke out of alcoholic slumber and growled disagreeably. he looked at the clock. seven. hell! he'd slept only five hours! he was about to settle back into his pillow when his attention was caught and held by sue's face, and he bent upon her the gaze a man directs toward a woman of whom he has had too much; an unfavoring, searching scrutiny. what he saw did not tempt him. whisky had swollen the pale-yellow countenance. sleep had flung wide her loose-lipped mouth, display- ing stained teeth that had never known a brush. her hair was a sodden mass. with a jerk of the covers jake revealed her body, but the sight of that ungainly mound of flesh only increased his distaste. his lips curled. he lay back and stared at the ceiling. [ ] these low grounds in two years jake had prospered. his gambling-den had more than made its way—it had cleared the mort- gage on martha's house. the house itself, straying from its original purpose, had proved a lucrative asset, for single rooms were let regularly for the use of transient bawds. jake was pleased with his achievement. but lying in bed this morning he reflected that success entitled him to a woman more pleasing than the one beside him. one thought led to another until in a moment of de- cision he stepped cautiously out of bed and made his way to the door. down the damp, smelly hall he stole, past the corner bedroom where big lil lay with her consort of the night, past another room whose door was open, reveal- ing a state of towering disorder—callie had sneaked out early without paying his percentage of her fee. at a third door he stopped and listened, then exerted a steady pressure. carrie wakened to see jake's evil yellow face so close that twin streams of heat from his distended nostrils pounded against her neck. she did not scream, but her black eyes clouded with hate. jake misinterpreted her calm. "honey,” he whispered. grasping her shoulders, he attempted to kiss her. im- mediately ten fingernails raked his face, leaving livid streaks in their wake, while strong flashing teeth clamped the point of his chin in a painful vise. with one spring a slender brown fury leaped from the bed. [ ] these low grounds “ef you don't git out o’here, ah'll call a'nt sue!" she warned. jake was disconcerted but not convinced; he moved towards the girl, then stood swaying on the balls of his feet while reason battled with liquor and passion. finally his long training over the gaming-table decided in favor of reason. he did not relish facing an aroused sue, and he knew that sue countenanced no liberties with carrie—some obscure motive prompted her to take the rôle of protector very seriously. jake backed quietly to the door and left. carrie sat on the bed and drew the quilt about her shoulders. she knew what jake had wanted. the women and men who came to the house had been a liberal education, and sue on one occasion had informed her bluntly on the functions of sex, concluding with: "so you keep clear o' dese menfolksdey don't mean you no good.” the advice had been unnecessary. carrie was not attracted to the men she saw about her. it was easy, with sue's coöperation, to meet their suggestive smirks with indifference. for carrie was as martha had been. a tidal wave might some day engulf her, but there would be no promiscuous giving. but the moment had come to take stock of her situa- tion. she wanted to get out of all this the filth, the smell of whisky ... everything. she had not forgotten her first bright hopes of school. she wanted to know things—things lucrece and the young teacher had known. she wanted to do things—not just cook and keep this hateful house in a semblance of order. [ ] these low grounds the mirror reflected a pleasing young person of six- teen, slender but not angular, light brown in color. if she gathered her hair into a discreet bun and wore a dress that would conceal the absence of curves, per- haps she would look older. she would try. for carrie had made up her mind. "you goin' to git yo’self a job!” she told her reflec- tion. “efn you wants to go to school, you gots to git out of here and git some money!” the kitchen clock on the shelf said a quarter to eight as she stepped into her slippers and eased noiselessly out of the door. from the alley she turned up the rain- slicked pavement at a rapid pace, unmindful of the puddles beneath her feet. somewhere ahead was a job. mrs. josiah hobarth was having a most disagreeable morning. the fog would have been enough—it always depressed her and brought on an attack of asthma. but in addition to the fog there was gretna. gretna, her hired girl, had calmly left the evening before, after in- forming her: "ole und me, ve ist married to be diese nacht.” mrs. hobarth had pleaded for a few days of grace until she could get some one else, but the girl had been firm. “nein, mum, ole, he ist no vant for me to hire out now. ole, he say dat for him i vork now.” and that had ended the matter. ole, the hack-driver, arrived for gretna's belongings and they departed. and [ ] these low grounds because of them mrs. hobarth was in the kitchen this morning, cranking viciously at the clinker-clogged grate of the stove. it gave at last, but when she attempted to start a fire the damp wood did nothing but smoke. she was dirty and perspiring from her exertions. upstairs, mr. hobarth wanted to know where she had put this shirt and that tie. the good woman could have screamed. it did not appease her to hear a timid knock at the door, accompanied by an equally timid brown face at the window pane. rising impatiently, mrs. hobarth swung the door back so violently that the knob slipped from her hand and dislodged a piece of plaster from the wall. this damage to her newly painted kitchen was the crowning exasperation of the morning. “what do you want?" she almost yelled at the girl on the doorstep. carrie shrank within her cloak and forgot her curtsy. she had had no idea it would be as hard as this! “do you need a girl?" she blurted, in desperation, wide- eyed. a sigh escaped mrs. hobarth. a smile ironed out the wrinkles which irritation had caused. she stepped aside and motioned carrie into the kitchen. "can you cook?" she asked. “yes’m,” answered carrie. her sharp eyes caught the smoke wreathing from between the lids of the stove. she stepped over to it, turned the damper straight with the chimney, and [ ] these low grounds opened the bottom door. ashes seeped from the pile beneath the grate. she shoveled the pile into a pail, then swept up the floor. when she turned back to mrs. hobarth approval was written in every line of that lady's plump florid face. a little smudge on the tip of her nose looked like an isolated polka dot in a pinkish dress. carrie tried to suppress a smile, but failed. “what are you laughing at?" the woman asked, good- humoredly. carrie decided to tell the truth. “yo' nose is black, ma'am,” she answered, as soberly as she could mrs. hobarth bustled hastily to the mirror, and after one look at herself burst into laughter that shook her like so much gelatin. the laughter cleared the air of the last vestige of gloom. “i'm mrs. hobarth. i don't know what sent you- but the lord knows i'm glad you're here! now, if you'll cook breakfast for mr. hobarth and me, we'll have a talk later about you. you'll find things in the cupboard and the pantry. just eggs. and mr. hobarth likes biscuits. can you make them?" "yes'm!” grinned carrie, happily, darting for the pantry. iii that night between sips of whisky sue listened to carrie tell of her job. [ ] these low grounds "huh!” sue grunted. "seems like you'd a stayed yere. you didn't have nuffin' to do but pass a li'l'likker ’round. 'co’se, you suit yo’self. ah promised yo' mammy ah'd look to you. ah done de bes’ ah could. efn you gits tired, you come on home. see?" "you bin real nice, a’nt sue—but ah wants to make enough money to go to school.” sue made a face. “what you want go to school fo'? ain't nuffin' but a waste o' time.” “ah'm goin' to school!" carrie replied, doggedly. “all right-all right! go 'haid!” said sue, placatingly. she dashed off the last few drops of her liquor. “we gwine move from yere,” she went on. “jake says dat meddly mandy dobson talk too much. we gwine down by de docks—jake says bizness bettah. so efn you gwine stay whar you works, you better take yo'clothes wid you tonight.” cheerfully carrie packed her few belongings and went back to the hobarth home. she thought the tie broken that bound her to jake and sue. [ ] these low grounds much more important than any man she had ever seen. besides, there had been instilled in her the conscious- ness of racial difference, and this was not easily shaken. the crisis came one sunday morning, a fortnight after keith's return. he had begged off church, saying he wanted to walk over to the falls. in a short while he stepped through the door of the kitchen. “busy?” he inquired, blithely. carrie looked up, startled, from the potatoes she was peeling. dismay followed swiftly on surprise. she started to rise, then remembered the pan in her lap and sat down again. "ah thought you'd gone to church, mr. keith." “you know why i didn't go?” he asked, leaning against the table. a furnace raged inside him. “p-please don't stay, mr. keith!” carrie's eyes lifted pleadingly to his. the soft beauty of the up-tilted brown face stripped the boy of all his youthful restraints. with a single swift movement of his hand he swept the pan from her lap and jerked carrie to her feet into his arms. he was bending his head to her lips when "keith!” it was like the cracking of an oaken beam. the voice, reverberating across the room, put to flight keith's pas- sion and left him cold and limp. carrie sank weakly into a chair. “go into the parlor, keith!" mr. hobarth's large, fleshy face was aflame. he turned to carrie. “i don't know whose fault it is,” he said. “i don't care. i thought [ ] these low grounds the spirit of martha and left her a prey to all the weak elements that were her heritage from joe. the flame of her ambition, that had struggled so desperately to maintain itself, made one last effort, then died. in such a mood carrie turned into a smelly alley- street that paralleled the waterfront. it was lined on either side by warehouses and stables that frowned down upon the few squalid dwellings, much as children scowl at their enfeebled elders who have lingered too long. from the first of these decrepit houses came the sound of a wheezy reed organ, a guitar and a whisky-cracked soprano—all blended in a doleful tune. the voice was unmistakably sue's. carrie knocked at the weather-washed door, from which the paint was peeling. instantly the discord within stopped. but no one answered the knock. carrie called: “open up, a’nt sue!" there was a pause. the door slid open a trifle, and sue peered out cautiously. through the haze of her liquor she recognized carrie. she swung the door wide, grinning her welcome. in her own way, she had learned to love this child of martha's. “come on in, honey!” she cried. “what you doin' yere? got de day off?” “gimme a drink,” said carrie, shortly, dropping her bundle. “drink? sho. water in de back room, honey." “ah wants likker! likker!” [ ] these low grounds sue blinked her amazement. carrie had never touched whisky, even though it had always been accessible to her. "what's de mattah_” carrie's scowl halted sue's query. "all right, honey . . . all right. ..." she soothed, and staggered through dirty drapes to the back room. carrie deposited her bundle on a chair, sat down and looked about her. the room was about ten by eight feet. the floor was bare, except for two spotty, ragged mats which sprawled like grimy poodles asleep in the sun. the walls, in the more seemly days of their past, had been papered, but now were shedding in patches. as if to offset this evi- dence of deterioration, flies had obligingly dotted the surface with an effect that suggested a pattern. several people, in varying degrees of intoxication, lounged in the chairs along the walls, regarding carrie curiously. a pock-marked, scrawny yellow woman sat in the corner, with one arm flung about the bullish neck of her companion. at the organ was a light-skinned youth, lean and fidgety, with a brown-paper cigarette swinging limply from his mouth. four women, unpaired, after one look at the newcomer, went back to their lusty snor- ing. they were resting for the evening, when men would be coming from the harbored boats in search of diversion. sue brought in a small demijohn of rum and set it on a side-table along with some glasses. [ ] these low grounds “help yo'self, honey—but you bettah go slow, seein's it's yo' first." carrie ignored this counsel, poured a brimming glass- ful and drained it at a gulp; poured another and drank that. sue's eyes rounded in astonishment. “lawsy, chile! you gwine to git drunk sho's you bo’n!” she warned. “it makes me drunk to watch you!" "ah don't care!” carrie avowed, tempestuously. she approached the organist. “play that song ag'in," she ordered. the youth turned readily to the organ and struck from it a few groaning, preliminary chords, then swung into the tune carrie had heard from the street. the bull-necked black man disengaged himself from the skinny arms of the yellow woman and strummed an accompaniment. "sing it, a'nt suel" laughed carrie, crazily. sue caught up the refrain, which told of a certain brown-skin "papa,” for whom a dolorous brown-skin gal was longing. the verses were mere jumbles, liber- ally supplied with obscenity. but the whole wove a rhythmical pattern which beat into carrie's liquored brain until she began to hum along with sue. as she caught the words she sang louder in a deep contralto, and as she sang she swayed her trim hips in time to the music. the guitarist's eyes were dark slits. his yellow companion sulked angrily. heavy boots fell upon the steps outside, the door was jerked open, and jake waved four men into the room. he evinced no surprise at carrie's presence. [ ] these low grounds "mistah hen’y taylor”—he introduced the first man, a black giant with huge, square jaws and incredibly thin lips. the awakened women eyed him appreciatively. "mistah zack wheelah.” that stubby one hunched his shoulders a trifle and grinned. “mistah hank tate an' mistah slim hackins." tate and hackins were too drunk to display any interest and remained placidly blank. jake finished the introductions by turning to the women: "an' dis is jinny.” jinny was chocolate-colored and robust. “andis is kate—” a midgety, faded-yellow jade smiled invitingly; she wasn't choicy. “dis yere's josie.” cynical lips twisted across a color- less face, like a streak of blood on a piece of bleached putty, and hard eyes fixed themselves on the weak-faced hackins. he involuntarily staggered over to her. “an' cassie," jake ended. that squat, black one grinned the width of her broad face. hank scampered to her, like a mouse to a piece of cheese. “who dat?" asked the big man, indicating carrie. before jake could answer, sue confronted the fellow. “dat's mah niece—why?" her tone challenged. the huge man looked at her and looked away. "nuffin',” he said, and strode over to the robust jinny. wheeler, of necessity, took his place with the uncoupled kate. "go on an' sing, carrie,” bade sue. [ ] these low grounds there were times, during the days that followed, when the old urge for an education would revive in carrie; but never to remain for long. too much of her father's spinelessness had been engendered by her first failure. the injustice of the hobarth incident so shad- owed her thinking that it served as an immediate check whenever she considered getting another job. she fon- dled the notion that all the world conspired against her. the notion became an idea and in time a fixed state of mind. a contempt for everything and everybody fastened upon her and soured her. she despised sue for her slov- enliness. to carrie the woman was filth personified. she loathed the seafaring men, their leering faces and lust-flamed eyes. they made her feel naked. some of them would come alone and insist that she sit at their table. sue assured her that she didn't have to if she didn't want to. but carrie derived malicious pleasure from watching them try to make her drunk. she de- vised a scheme by which she increased sue's liquor profits and at the same time rid herself of annoyers. next to the wall under each table she placed a wide- mouthed crock. the first two or three drinks she drank outright—she developed a surprising ability to control her liquor—then when the man became too stupefied to notice, she deposited drink after drink secretly into the crock. the ruse delighted sue. [ ] these low grounds but though she loathed these others, it was jake for whom she had a consuming hatred. she hated the cold precision with which he robbed his less brainy oppo- nents over the crap-table. she hated the swift snakiness of his lean fingers as they curved about the dice. she hated the way he cut quarters, instead of nickels, from the winnings of a half-drunk illiterate. and, above all, she hated and shrank from the assuredness of his stare, which seemed to prophesy that some day she would be his in spite of her antipathy. she answered that stare, however, with a defiant scorn which was heartened by the knowledge that sue's protecting bulk stood between them. thus carrie kept her physical chastity, like a luster- less gem in a setting of corroded metal. she attached no value to it. she simply didn't choose to part with it. then, in about a year and a half, out of the lowlands of maryland's eastern shore came jim prince. [ ] chapter six nummer had carried over greedily into sep- tember; time of hot, sultry days and nights cooled by breezes off the bay; time when farmers from the harvested fields of virginia and maryland come to baltimore town seek- ing buyers. as soon as you saw him, you knew that jim prince was not of an urban breed. his spanking-new clothes, the extreme cut of them, their flashy pattern, the self- conscious manner in which he wore them-all attested his bucolic origin. further evidence was the exagger- ated swagger of his narrow yet powerful shoulders, which sloped as if they were eternally lifting a heavy load. his young cop per-brown face bore the imprint of toil, and the face harmonized with veined, hard hands that were obviously unaccustomed to handling dice. the very curve of the knotty fingers suggested rather a plowshare or hoe. and despite thorough scrubbing, de- [ ] these low grounds n frowned. spite the odor of cheap tonic on his freshly cut hair, he smelled of earth-clean plowed earth. . after a short time spent in jake's gaming-room, jim prince left. clearly, it was no place for one who appre- ciated a dollar, and prince did. he drifted into the front room. two women looked up hopefully as he entered, but he dismissed them with a glance and strode over to carrie, who was absently fingering chords at the organ. she looked at him without interest and returned to her aimless music. nothing daunted, prince leaned against the organ and let his eyes rove leisurely over her head and shoulders. she frowned. "well?" she demanded, peevishly. he grinned, and his grin had an infectious quality. “mah name's prince- jim prince,” he informed her in a twangy, lilting drawl. "everybody titles me prince, though. ah’m from de sho'—east'n sho,' maryland, down to shrewsbury and deerfield way.” he paused, waiting for carrie to exhibit some interest, but the organ wheezed on in unconcern. "mah ole man he sent me to balt'more, 'cause he's poorly, to look attah de wheat- an' corn-sellin'. ah'm jes' 'bout finish now an' thought ah'd have me some spreadin' joy. but dat cat-eyed hound in dar, he done tried to take me fo' a good thing. so ah thought ah'd git out 'fo' ah lose mah haid." he bent confidentially over carrie. “now cain't 'mongst-you help a fellah out what wants a good time?" [ ] these low grounds carrie smiled crookedly as she gave him a hard-eyed stare. "you better go on home, big boy, whilst you still can. these buzzards'll pick you just clean's a bone efn you hang 'round!” why she advised him so, she didn't know. perhaps it was because of his youth; perhaps be- cause of his clean virility-two qualities which the other men lacked. he began to protest: “oh, you don't have to worry 'bout me, honey! ah kin take care mahself, all right. all ah wants is-is " "all you wants," carrie finished for him, with cool bitterness, "is what all the rest of the men wants what comes here! you wants a woman to drink wid an' to sleep wid.” prince was seized with embarrassment. “ah'll drink wid you. but”—carrie looked him straight in the eye—“that's all.” she left the room and returned with a bottle, beckon- ing him to a near-by table. prince took the drink she offered, but sputtered and choked trying to down it. "you ever drink likker befo'?” asked carrie. "no-only thanksgivin' an' christmas an' new year's,” he confessed. "huh!” grunted carrie. "what ah ought to do is make you drunk an' take all yo' money from you! but ah reckon ah'm jes' too chicken-hearted. . . . you git outn here 'fo' some wench takes all you gots!" "you reckon so?” queried prince, already dizzy from his single drink. [ ] these low grounds “yeah, ah reckon so!” declared carrie, emphatically. "one mo' drink an' you ain't able to stand on yo' feet! come on!” “but ah'm all right!" "you better git on a boat an' leave fo' the sho' efn one's goin' tonight!” with that she shoved him out into the alley. he came again the next day. sue was taking her daily nap, and jake was out. it was too early for the other women. “thought you was on yo' way back to the farm?" carrie looked up from the dress she sewed. she was neither glad nor annoyed at seeing him. “rest yo’ bur- den, since you's here," she invited. she motioned him to a chair. prince sat down and stretched his long legs. he grinned his slow, boyish grin, but said nothing. "what's the matter?" asked carrie. “boats stop ru runnin'?" "nope, dey still runnin',” prince assured her. he cut a piece from a plug of tobacco, and thrust it into his mouth, careless of the sharp edge of the knife. "jes' didn't feel like leavin' today," he concluded. "oh, you wants to git robbed anyways!" "ain't nobody gwine rob me," vouchsafed prince, searching for some place to deposit a mouthful of juice. [ ] these low grounds wc. gingerly, with a foot, carrie shoved a filthy cuspidor from beneath a table. "what you come here fo', then?" she asked. “ 'cause ah wanted to see 'mongst-you ag'in,” was his blunt answer. “lissen, big boy, didn't ah tell you nothin' doin', last night? the rest o' these women do that—not me! ah ain't no piece o' meat to buy!” “is ah said anything 'bout dat?” he countered, un- ruffled. “an' who says ah buys?" "huh! that's what they all come here fo’.” "what you stay yere fo' efn you don't like it?" re- torted prince. "where ah goin' to go?" demanded carrie. she put the dress aside and took up the conversation in earnest. “lissen, big boy, ah reckons this place is the only one fo' me. ah was bo'n fo’ bad luck, that's all!" . "luck's in de lawd, an' de devil's in de people," drawled prince, and he spat squarely into the cuspidor. "huh! that's what you think, but ah knows better! lissen.” and carrie sketched the details of her life: her mother's death, its consequences, her failure to keep a job, her longing for an education. prince listened sym- pathetically. "ah ain't got no eddication," he said, “ 'cept'n a year or so. ah kin read an' write an' count. an' mah ole man, he ain't got no l'arnin' a-tall. but he sho is smart. he warn't freed by no white mens a-fightin' fo' him. nossuh!” prince went on to tell how his father had worked seven years for his freedom and five more for [ ] these low grounds that of his wife; how his father had struggled to make his small plot of ground yield, adding more and more land, until now he owned "a purty tol’able farm.” “but de ole man's failin' fast,” jim concluded. “co'se, he allows he kin still keep up—but 'tain't so. he home now 'thout nobody to look attah him. ain't bin no woman in de house since ma died.” despite herself, carrie had become absorbed in the narrative. it lifted jim prince out of the category of all the men she knew and made an individual of him -some one clean and wholesome. she felt belittled be- side him. "it must be nice down there,” she ventured, wistfully, and for the first time she smiled whole-heartedly at him. “ 'mongst-you would like it!” he exclaimed, eagerly. "some o' dese days," he prophesied, “ah'm gwine have one o' de best farms on de sho'.” and carrie could not help but feel that his was no idle boast. “looka yere—uh” he stammered. “looka yere, how'd you like to be down dat way? 'mongst-you don't b’long in no place like dis.” prince indicated the dingy room which even carrie's industry could not much remedy. "do you reckon ah wants to stay here?” came the disconsolate reply. “but where am ah goin'? ah cain't git no job after what happened at the hobarths'.” “ah don't mean fo' you to stay in balt'more," inter- posed jim. "ah means fo' you to go home wid me. we needs a woman 'round de house-me an' pa- " “you means you would-marry me?” carrie cried. [ ] these low grounds "co’se ah means dat!” answered jim, firmly. he leaned forward eagerly. away from the filth and the smell of raw liquor and stale smoke. away from the debauched men and crawl- ing women. away from jake's hateful face and hot eyes, from sue's sloppiness. away—to where she could see clear skies and clean earth, instead of drab gray walls of warehouses and crumbling bricks. ... the picture caught and held her for a moment. then her habitual pessimism blotted it out rudely. "no.... no. . . . it wouldn't work. it mought fo' a while . .. but wouldn't last long. ain't nothin' never goin' to last wid mel guess ah b’longs here." prince pleaded. he coaxed and argued. but carrie remained listlessly determined. finally he arose. "guess ah'll leave tonight on de twelve-'clock boat. good-by.” carrie made no answer. iii the weather had changed overnight. a blustery northeast wind rushed from the bay, sweeping debris before it. it was not a cold wind, but it bore a chill which made the alley-dwellers close their doors. the ragged urchins who usually played about the doorsteps had carried their activities inside. sue was enjoying one of her alcoholic naps. jake puttered about the gaming-table, making minute re- pairs. carrie was at the organ. as she played she [ ] these low grounds hummed softly, thinking of many things of jim prince and his farm and her own dreary lot. suddenly jake's voice purred above her and his fin- gers caressed her shoulders. “you sho' sings purty, gal.” carrie's fingers died on the keys. “take yo’ dirty hands offn mel" she commanded, her voice metallic. jake said nothing, but pressed himself against her back and gripped her firmly. "you hear me?" her voice rose to a higher pitch. “ah'll call a’nt suel". “go 'haid," snickered jake. he held her more tightly. "a'nt suel a'nt suel" called carrie. there was no answer. jake laughed. “go 'haid! holler!” he mocked. carrie struggled to gain her feet and jake shifted his hold to her wrists, twisting them violently. the girl kicked and tried to bite, but without success. she felt herself weakening. "let me gol" she cried. as if that were a signal, a long form hurtled through the door and leapt on jake, while sinewy fingers, like cables, wrapped themselves about the gambler's freckled neck. like a bag from which the contents are pouring, jake sank to his knees, his pale eyes bulging. from across the room, where she had been flung by the impact of the men's bodies, carrie recognized the distorted face of her rescuer, who at the moment seemed intent on killing jake. [ ] these low grounds "jim! jim prince!” she screamed. the great fingers loosened slowly, and jake dropped to the floor. prince picked up the limp form. “show me whar he sleeps-an' git me some likker,” he ordered carrie. carrie led the way upstairs. when he had dumped his burden on the bed, prince took the bottle and poured some of its raw contents into jake's gaping mouth. jake gurgled and spat feebly. "git yo' clothes together,” jim told carrie. "mah clothes?” “git yo' clothes!" his voice snapped. “whar's yo' a’nt?" carrie jerked a thumb at the other bedroom. “she's in there—drunk.” "kin she read?” "a li'l'." “wal, you jes' make a note sayin' you's gone," com- manded prince. “hurry up!” he added, before she could begin to quibble; "it's 'most time fo' de boat!" [ ] chapter seven tt is a low, flat land, the eastern shore of mary- land. it crouches there between the chesapeake on the west and the state of delaware on the east. toward the south the green waters of the atlantic wash lazily-lazily, that is, until one of those north- eastern gales frightens the ocean out of its calm. at such times, gigantic billows blast the frail man-made bul- warks and wipe away, as by the sweep of an angry god's broom, those little clusters of frame houses and hotels which are the sea-shore resorts. and the tidal waters of the choptank, the miles, the shannon, the tred-avon, and others of the rivers, flood the inland towns, driv- ing the population into the upper rooms of their dwell- ings. then the refuse from the outhouses floats in the streets until the waters subside. and the crops of the farmers are ruined, and their live-stock lost. it crouches there, the shore, like a sulking, neglected child, with its scattered hamlets, towns, and villages. [ ] these low grounds some of them have caught the modern spirit; others lie in dull contentment with their lot beneath whatever kind of sky the fates provide. the farmers plow, plant, and reap. the river men snatch their produce from the streams. the canners pack their tomatoes and peas. and natives of all persuasions are born, live, propagate, de- cline, and are buried beneath the low, flat land, in order that their children may take up the thread of life. carrie loved these autumnal lowlands to which prince had brought her. she loved the steady sameness of their flowing fields fringed by pine woods. somehow the mo- notony of the landscape reassured her—gave her a feel- ing of security. she liked, too, the way the sun regulated her life. she arose at dawn, there were so many things to do. there was the fire to be made; breakfast to be cooked; the chickens to be unroosted; the cows to be milked with jim's coaching. at noon, jim and his father would come in from the field, preceded by their eager mules, smelling of the manure they had been spreading. and it was a treat to watch them gobble up the meal she had prepared. after dinner the two men sat on the back porch and chewed their quids—the old man whittling aimlessly, jim scanning his land in contemplation- while carrie washed the dishes and went about her housework. then back to the fields they would go, to return with the sunset and the chickens and the lei. surely plodding cattle. when supper was finished the three of them gathered about the big kitchen stove which roared with pine [ ] these low grounds logs. carrie might read aloud from old newspapers, the bible, or from the one book she had brought with her. jim rarely said much, but schemed silently. the old man was different. he could be lured easily into con- versation, for he loved to talk of the past: scenes and events on the plantation. weddings, christenings, fugi- tive slaves, floggings, deathshe recalled them all as if they had been catalogued within his mind. carrie never tired of listening to him. and she understood why prince was so proud of him. he had known toil. he had faced years of grinding disappointment. he had met life bravely, with a purpose in mind, and he had won his reward. later, when deep night settled, prince would help his father to bed. then after locking the doors and banking the fire, prince and carrie would follow. and in bed, with the feel of prince's arms about her, carrie found contentment. but sunday was red-letter day, when, after morning prayers and a simple breakfast of warmed-up food-the elder prince would allow no cooking on the sabbath- they would attend church. the journey was made in a fringe-topped carriage, in a silence that was rarely broken, for sunday was the day of meditation. carrie, in her best dress of sober gray, sat beside her husband, in store-bought clothes and celluloid collar. the back seat was given entirely to father prince, who always wore the swallow-tail coat that denoted his deaconship. yes, sunday was red-letter day because the church, which nestled on the western extremity of shrewsbury, [ ] these low grounds focused all the social life of the little community. one was made or broken by his standing with other church members, and by the number of church activities in which he engaged. carrie warmed immediately to the kindly welcome that met her from all sides on her first sunday. another week and she had joined the choir. then the minister, discovering that she was a capable reader, appointed her church clerk. a class was given her in the sunday school, and she assisted the organist. as a final crowning recog- nition, the reverend holland's wife saw to it that she entered the charmed circle of the ladies' aid. this last marked a seven-league stride along the social pathway. if some of the sisters begrudged a newcomer such signal favor, carrie was too happy to notice. within the first year of carrie's marriage, old man prince left them to join his wife, and for a time there was a great void in the small family. then young jim came to make welcome and exacting demands on his mother's time. because of the child carrie lost her old haunting fear that her happiness could not endure. and more and more she became a part of prince's life. his ways were her ways; his mode of thought and ambitions hers. [ ] chapter eight tt was near the time of carrie's second child, one evening at the close of the reaping season, when there came a terrific pounding at the door. “mistah jim! mistah jim!” jim hurriedly opened the door to admit a fren- zied woman. "please, mistah jim, save 'im-save mah boy! he's all ah gots!" she careened crazily about the room, whimpering so that little jim crept frightened to his mother's side. "wait!” prince gripped the woman by the shoulders. “now—tell me what's de matter, a'nt hester!" “dey's attah him—ben!” “who's attah him?” prince demanded. “de white mens! he an' mistah will redden had a fuss an' ben struck 'im on de haid wid a wheel-spoke attah mistah will shot 'im in de chest! ah gots all de do's an' windows lock in our house whar ben is. oh, mistah jim-ah b’lieves he dyin'!” [ ] these low grounds prince turned abruptly to the back stairs, and in a minute returned with an old flintlock rifle. there was a look in his eyes that carrie remembered having seen once before—the day he was bent on choking the life from jake. she flung herself upon him. “jim!" but he shook her off and was gone. shortly there was heard the sound of swift hoofbeats. then silence. the old men of shrewsbury will still tell you how jim prince reined his lathered mare to a stop in front of the pool-room that night and rushed into the place like a raging boar; how he mounted the single table at a leap to harangue and plead and storm at the men who stood with up-turned faces-faces that were every shade from deepest black to near-white. some of the men were angry, some sullen, some indifferent—all were fright- ened. none showed the least disposition to act for two centuries of the lash had taken their toll of manhood. “don't 'mongst-you see dat efn we lets 'em lynch ben, dey'll do de same to any of us?" prince shouted at the height of his impassioned speech. he waited for an answer, but none came. only fright took possession of all the faces now. even big george, a known fighter, at whose side the endangered man had worked, said nothing. then jim prince cursed them, with the frenzy of a despairing man. the veins in his face and neck filled, and down his cheeks ran angry tears. "ah'll go by mahself!" he finished, leaping from the table. pelil. [ ] these low grounds they acted then. they closed about him and a crash- ing blow felled him into blackness. on the porch of the prince homestead, a'nt hester and carrie turned haggard faces toward the finger of flame which had suddenly leapt into the sky. from the same direction there came faintly on the wind sharp cries of a human being in agony. the cries were mingled with a babble of hysterical shouting. "dey got' im! dey got 'im!" the words were torn from a'nt hester as she dropped, mercifully uncon- scious, to the floor. had they got jim also? carrie lifted tortured eyes to the sky and prayed while pains of premature labor gripped her. from the lane came slow hoofbeats. and the flame slid downward, losing itself in the jagged top of the pine wood. that grim night in late october changed prince's outlook on life. how he managed to get carrie and her child—born two months before its time-upstairs, he never knew. nor how he revived a’nt hester to a condition of use- fulness and rode for the doctor. but when he had done what had to be done he sank into a fever, to emerge three days later an older, harder man. a path of white directly through the center of his crinkly hair bore wit- [ ] these low grounds ness to the horror which had impressed itself upon his spirit. “how's carrie?” he demanded, and before dr. stevens had a chance to answer: “ah gots to git outn yere-gots to git dat fodder in 'fo' it rain.” “now, now, jim," answered the doctor, quietly. "carrie and the new little lady are coming 'round all right now. and you don't have to worry about the work, either. big george is taking care of that.” “big george!" snarled prince, remembering. “i know, i know," nodded the doctor. "all a damn shamel damn shame!" “dey wouldn't none of 'em help me stop it?" “i know-i know," the older man repeated. then: “listen, prince, it won't do any good for you to get yourself all stirred up again. those men you tried to move the other night they don't speak your language. they're just like the common run of humans—fear is their strongest feeling. you might as well know now, prince, that there is one law your people must learn the meaning of—the law that says that only the strong shall live!” the man of science looked squarely at the man of the soil. “don't mistake me, prince. i don't mean that every man should get himself a club or a gun and go around doing away with whoever he thinks to be his enemy. no, not that. but you've got a farm here-one of the best in the county. that's your strength, prince, if you have the gumption it make it so. understand? ... now you stay in this bed until i tell you to get up!” [ ] these low grounds his words fastened in prince's mind, in a soil already prepared for them, and took root and grew. obsessed by a single idea, the man's character changed. he grew inhuman, suspicious, and nothing could distract him from ceaseless work. there was something almost sym- bolic in his passion to show his independence and self- sufficiency. [ ] chapter nine hen prince had been married four- teen years his material assets might have been listed as follows, in the order of their importance to him: one large well-stocked and produc- ing farm, an accumulation of the land of farmers less astute than himself. farm hands who were so in his debt that payment of their wages was optional. one general merchandise store to which nearly all of the colored population of the town was in debt. one livery stable, patronized by both colored people and whites. one son, who would soon take his apprenticeship on the farm. one wife, who did most of the laundry for the well- to-do white people of the town; she was also midwife, dressmaker, and social leader. [ ] these low grounds the best-looking house in the section to which the negroes had moved from the outskirts of shrewsbury. two daughters who would soon be able to work out as hired girls. this last item was not just to prince's liking. he had never quite forgiven carrie for bringing these female children into the world. he had wanted boys to share the burden of managing the prince estates. further- more, prince had always suspected that evenezer's last minister had had something to do with the fact that little martha bore no resemblance to either blanche or young jim. she was too yellow and she was too frisky. and her hair was straight and luxuriant—the young minister's hair had been of just that quality. about that time, too, carrie had practiced a lot on the church organ. . . . so jim prince put two and two together and arrived at an ugly four. now blanche and jim were different. blanche was serious and steady, and in time would make an excel- lent domestic servant. as for young jim, people were prone to say that his father had “spit 'im out." he looked like his father. he talked like his father. he even walked like his father, and was as shrewd and smart. if prince loved anyone, he loved this son of his. the boy stood before prince in the store one after- noon-slim, nut-brown, with small bright eyes and sharp features. "pa, i'm going to finish school here in the spring. ..." he paused, not knowing how to put it. “i been [ ] these low grounds thinkin'-i mean i'd like to go to the institute next fall.” prince knew where that idea had come from. there had been a brilliant young teacher in town from the institute with a quartet of male singers, and during the week that he held meetings at ebenezer church he had fired the community with his talk of vocational education. but prince had other plans for young jim, who would soon be fifteen and old enough for farm work. seeing that his father was about to speak in disagree- ment, young jim hurried his slow speech. his eyes were shining. “after that i could help you here with the business an' the farm. i'd study hard an' learn every- thing." big jim pointed beyond the window to the turned-up earth. “you see dere?” he questioned. “wal, you gots to dig down in dat 'fo' you kin l'arn 'bout it. ain't no books gonna l'arn you.” then he waved his arm to take in the store and a desk which was a miracle of neatness. "ah didn't l'arn from no books how to do dat, nuthah. you cain't l'arn right from books. dey's all right, mebbe, but efn you wants to l'arn somep’n you gots to do it—an' keep on a-doin' it!" "but, pa, the man said that's what they do at the institute,” countered jim. the light in his eyes was fading. "ah heard 'im speak. but ah don't see no use o' wastin' fo' years down dere, when you kin l'arn right here. 'sides, look at de money it cost.” [ ] these low grounds “but, pa, you can afford it.” “how you know what ah kin affo'd?" demanded prince, testily. “don't you be gittin' uppish jes' 'cause you ain't starvin'. an' don't you lissen to dese no-'count niggahs what figgers ah got heaps. ah says you ain't goin'l ah knows what's best fo' you. ... an' you bet- ter start checkin' dem 'counts." young jim went to his mother to enlist her aid. but carrie, who would gladly have had her own dream real- ized through her son, could not move prince. his word was law and there was no repeal. it had been many years since he had admitted carrie to equal partnership in his life. yet she continued to worship him, remem- bering her deliverance from sue and jake. so when the spring plowing began the boy went under the tutelage of big george, who could turn the deepest and straightest furrow in that section. plow- shares were toothpicks in his giant hands. day after day jim kept pace doggedly, until his muscles hard- ened. but he grew thinner, and through the long sum- mer months of planting and cultivating he had no appetite. dr. stevens, happening by, counseled a change of climate, but prince wouldn't hear of it. the boy was brooding because he couldn't have what he wanted, that was all. work would cure any silly fancy in time. and the father, warped by the passion of a single idea, honestly believed what he said. when the harvest season came young jim was work- ing in a field beside the main turnpike, and for a week he waved good-bys to his classmates who were departing [ ] these low grounds for the institute. he did not complain. for when the spirit is dead, disappointments do not hurt so much. i jim prince had not reckoned all the possibilities of his money-making program. he had not known that galloping consumption has a fertile field in adolescence. now he sat, still and tortured, watching young jim's life go out, and there was nothing he could do about it, though he was the richest colored man in town. old dr. stevens pulled the cover over the disease- ravaged young face. "if you'd taken my advice about sending him away, prince, we might have saved him.” he tried to make his voice matter-of-fact. if he could only teach these colored people to work on an illness in timel ike johnson returned from his second year at the in- stitute to read the resolutions. "in the spring of life, he left us at springtime," he ended. then they buried young jim between his grandparents. [ ] chapter ten tim prince was hard before. now, after young jim's death, he became mean. those who had been jealous of his prosperity grew to hate him. they hated him for his pretense of superiority. they hated him for the way he drove his womenfolk to work for him. they hated him for his grudging aid during the hard times of an economic depression. in truth, it was only his formidable array of power that saved him from violence at the hands of his neighbors. it was hard times which gave prince an unaccustomed leisure, and the leisure induced his thoughts to wander, with the result that he took a mistress. as far as carrie was concerned he had no excuse, for carrie was as comely as when he first saw her. perhaps it was simply the next inevitable step in an aggressive career. work, marriage, success, leisure—then a mistress. many a man might confess to the same sequence of events. his choice was the young widow jones, also a mem- [ ] these low grounds ber of the choir, who had been much in prince's debt since the death of her husband. in the beginning she had employed her wiles—a fetching smile, an inviting roll of her dark eyes, and a coo—to solicit leniency when money payments were due. these overtures from a woman not his wife were too much for prince's male vanity. one thing led to another. then the gossips got busy-across the back fences, in the barber shop, in the pool-room, in the very church pews: “did you hear ...” “ah heard ...” “dey tells me ..." "everybody knows. . ..” for months it went on, and as is usual, carrie had no inkling of it. she was too busy. then like an explosion knowledge of the situation crashed into her consciousness, the ladies' aid society was meeting at the parson- age to see what could be done about that bane of church finances,"current expenses." carrie came late, and paus- ing on the porch for breath-it was mid-july-heard her name, then a gust of laughter. the next words rooted her to the porch floor.. “everybody knows 'bout it 'cep'n' sis' carrie. an' prince, he a deacon, too_an' her a-singin' in de choir right wid de man's wife! lawsy!” this was sister jen- kins, who knew everything as soon as it happened, or was miserable. rachel king spoke up, a mouselike woman whose liaisons even carrie knew about: "did 'mongst-you see dat dress she had on last sunday? dey ain't givin' dem 'way like dat wid times like dey is nossuh! an' po' sis' carrie she ain't had nuffin' new for years!” [ ] these low grounds “dat man o'hern sho keep her nose to de grind- stone,” said sister jenkins. "yass," agreed rachel, "he jes' tryin' to see how much money he kin get. stingiest man in town! worked dat boy o'hisn to death, an' tryin' to do de same to his wife. 'spect he gwine put dat biggest gal to work soon's she gits through wid school. he's a mean man!" carrie was stunned. as they went further into the details of prince's shortcomings, she backed slowly from the door and down the steps. it was a dark night, lighted only by stars. she walked, with no sense of the direction, guided only by the white picket fences which, alternat- ing with honeysuckle-covered wire, bounded the front yards. the honeysuckle gave off its delicate lovely scent but carrie did not notice. one fact throbbed in her brain: jim, her husband, was "runnin'" with a woman. all else they had said counted for nothing. only prince's unfaithfulness held any significance. suddenly the light from the store gleamed into the hot gloom of the night. automatically carrie turned in through the door. the few loafers, leaning against the posts of the entrance, winked meaningfully at each other. "where's mistah jim?” asked carrie of the sober- faced youth behind the counter. at her voice, his sleepy eyes widened, searching her face. "is you got a cold, mis' carrie?” he inquired. "where's mah husband?" repeated carrie, impa- tiently. the clerk started back, stammering: “ 'dee- deed—ah-ah don't know, mis' carrie!” [ ] these low grounds carrie glared at him a moment. then her shoulders slumped and she turned away. out in the night again she took up her aimless walk. it led her home. standing before the white, green-shuttered house, she heard a party of straw-riders go singing by. their gay young voices mocked her. that first summer, she re- membered, she had had her only straw-ride. they had been young then, she and prince. young? why, she was young now-only thirty-four. but your husband's with another woman, came the answering thought, like a persistent imp. she fought it off. maybe they were just talking, back there in the parsonage. of course they were just talk- ing! didn't they gab like that about everybody? they were jealous, that's what it was. they were jealous be- cause she had gotten the man that nearly all of them had set their caps for! but you haven't got him, reminded the imp. i havel—i havel in her bedroom carrie undressed slowly before the mirror, and as she did so she surveyed herself critically, as she had done that morning when she went in search of a job in baltimore. there was the same golden- brown skin. although she was a little stouter, that only lent more pleasing curves to her figure. her hair, loos- ened from its knot, fell in a rich shawl about her shoul- ders. there was nothing to be ashamed of, she decided. a confident smile was on her face as she dimmed the light and lay on the bed, partially covered by the thin sheet. she waited. the reedy calls of crickets darted [ ] these low grounds through the open window. recurrent waves of sweet- ness ascended from the honeysuckle vines. the hours tolled. finally sleep conquered her. once she awoke, conscious of the heat from prince's body. she turned, but his back was to her, and he snored. another woman-got your man! another woman- got your man! another woman-got your man! the hateful refrain thudded through her brain and fell upon her pride with bruising force, second after second, hour after hour. ii prince had immediate evidence of carrie's knowledge of his indiscretion. first, when he awoke next morning -it was the sabbath—he thought it strange to find rumpled sheets but no carrie. then the aroma of bak- ing rolls came from below. that explained it. instead of biscuits, they were having fresh rolls this morning, and carrie had risen early to prepare them. "sho gots de best wife dis side de chesapeake," flashed across his mind, for prince was partial to freshly baked rolls. but with the thought his conscience was unpleas- antly stirred. he recalled what the walls of the widow jones' house had seen as recently as last night. then he dismissed all consideration of the matter to turn over for another nap. he awoke a second time to find blanche insistently shaking him by the shoulder. [ ] these low grounds “mamma says breakfast is ready,” she informed him. "here's yo' hot water fo' yo'shave," and she placed the pitcher on the washstand. prince's elder daughter never addressed him as "papa" when she could avoid it. downstairs, carrie and the girls waited for him to lead the family prayers—a regular sunday-morning cus- tom. carrie did not pray after him this morning, and he sent a surprised glance at her, for always before this she had followed his supplication with one of her own. the girls gave their short, incoherent utterances, after which prince led the lord's prayer. again carrie was silent. at the table she ate little, but watched prince's every movement with a brooding attention. her black eyes, at intervals, concentrated squarely on his face. he felt them bore into him when he bent down to his food. when blanche went upstairs with martha to dress for church, instead of getting immediately into his deacon's garments, prince delayed in the kitchen. “what's de matter, honey?” he inquired. "ain't you feelin' good?” carrie stared at him until his eyes dropped, then turned to the task of clearing the table. she had not uttered a sound. he squinted back at her for an angry moment, and in a flash the realization came that she knew. he made as if to approach her, but, reconsider- ing, hastened to his room. as he dressed himself ab- sently, he pondered the turn affairs had taken. "some hussy's done found out 'bout me an' amy," he decided. a second suspicion tramped the heels of the [ ] these low grounds first. “reckon dat woman's done said somep'n to carrie, herself? dirty strumpit! she better not!” just the same, he'd be wise to speak to amy after church. he won- dered who else knew. helll if one knew, they all knew! “triflin' hounds! all dey gots to do is set 'round an' meddle in somebody else's business! jealous! every damn one of 'em.” his accusation at the moment carried conviction, for the mirror gave him back a handsome figure-slim, incased in the black swallow-tailed suit that was the emblem of his churchly rank. deacon james prince, shrewsbury's leading colored citizen, looked the part. meanwhile, carrie, putting on her grey muslin dress and outmoded straw hat, had reached a conclusion of her own. she resolved to speak to the reverend john- son at the close of the morning services. perhaps he could persuade prince to give up the widow. this hope, rising out of despair, drove some of the gloom from her face, and by the time they had walked to church she was able to summon a front with which to march up the aisle to her place in the choir. they were a little tardy, as became the most distin- guished family of the congregation, and their entrance created a flattering stir. the two girls came first, primly schooled, their stiffly starched frocks of pink and white standing out over their pantaloons like umbrellas. when they were deposited in the pew, prince took his place at the right of the pastor on the rostrum and per- functorily bowed his head in prayer. the unctuous smile of the reverend johnson greeted him with a spe- [ ] these low grounds cial benignity, for was not prince the only wholly sol- vent member of his flock? it happened this morning that the pastor took his text from the incident of the nazarene's writing in the sand. the distressing state of national, international, and local affairs the reverend johnson attributed to the loose and lascivious living of mortals. he listed the vices. then he crowned his message with the thought that current hard times were but writings in the sands by which the almighty let each one know that he was not to be deceived by an outward show of good works. try as he might, prince could not but imagine that all eyes were fastened upon him while the pastor was denouncing the sin of adultery. his reason cast the idea aside. why, he was the only paying member in the church! wasn't he deacon? the minister couldn't be talking about him. nevertheless, immediately after the service prince hurried in search of amy. he had to stop this talk. carrie, on the other hand, had been cheered by the sermon. it bolstered her hope that the minister would throw his moral support toward the solution of her own domestic difficulty. she stopped him as he left the pulpit and told her story, haltingly, head averted. "please, elder,” she ended, “cain't you do somep'n 'bout it?" the elder stroked his chin meditatively. had he known his sermon would precipitate such a situation as this, it never would have been preached. he wasn't [ ] these low grounds a timid man in the pursuit of his divine mission. and he was, essentially, a good man. but for all his conse- cration to his calling, the elder was cautious. he knew of the financial support given the church by prince. it would be unwise to incur the man's enmity, especially in times like these. it would be equally indiscreet to ignore carrie, who was a choir member, a substitute organist, and a powerful financial agent in the ladies' aid. the good cleric was, indeed, in a dilemma. “it's a ticklish situation, sister carrie.” his ministe- rial voice matched his troubled moon-like face. “but for your sake i'll speak with brother prince. maybe it's all just a lot of gossip.” iii the reverend johnson was never quite able to pray away the effects of that brief consultation he had with jim prince the next afternoon. it always brought the jingle of thirty pieces of silver echoing down nearly two thousand years of church history. "brother prince,” he began, after first clearing his throat ceremoniously. prince looked up from his desk where he was mak- ing entries in a large, blue-backed ledger. the sum of the money owed him had aroused him to an ugly frame of mind. he was clearly annoyed by this visitor. “wal?” he demanded. the elder fingered his tie uneasily. this was going to be trying! he coughed again. [ ] these low grounds “wal!” prince repeated, and this time he squinted squarely into the cleric's face. the exclamation acted as a vocal stimulus and the pastor blurted his mission: "er-uh-sister carrie's been telling me you ain't been walking as straight in the path as you used to — prince leaned back in his chair, listening to the coax- ing, pleading tones of righteousness. as he did so, he thumbed the leaves of the ledger until he came to the j's. "brother johnson,” he interrupted. shifting the blue book around so that the elder could see it plainly, he pointed to the total entered under the caption, reverend i. johnson it amounted to fifteen dollars and seventy-five cents. the visitor opened his mouth, shut it again, and gulped. “my son-he's at the institute—and these are hard times, brother prince,” he offered lamely. “when's de interest due on de church mortgage, rev’end?” asked prince, shutting the ledger. again the elder gulped. "well, to tell the truth, brother prince, it's due next week,” he admitted. he mopped his face with a large white handkerchief. “don't worry, rev'end, ah'll take care o' dat," as- sured prince. “now—what was you a-sayin' when you come in, rev'end?” “why—why—nothing, nothing, brother prince.” the words were spoken over the shoulder of the swiftly retreating cleric. ] these low grounds the shack where they stopped was a drab unpainted affair with rags stuffed here and there at broken win- dows. inside was dirt and confusion. guided by a whimpering noise, carrie and the doc- tor went into a farther room where a mulatto girl lay groaning on a soiled, rumpled bed. beside her sat an old hag-like woman, the mother. it was she who was whimpering. "get her out of here, carrie," ordered the doctor. the woman, protesting, accompanied carrie to the kitchen, and while carrie washed kettles and pans and swatted at flies, heaped torrents of abuse on her daugh- ter's betrayer. carrie only half listened. she was think- ing of her own life with prince, and of what her mother martha had said about men, “dey ain't none of 'em worth it." how many women had to learn that for themselves! and now that she had learned, how long could she stand it? how long? ... a little later dr. stevens was washing his hands after a battle that had ended in defeat. "first two we ever lost, carrie,” he said, remorse- fully. “guess i'm getting too old.” “tain't yo’ fault, doc' stevens,” comforted carrie. “they jes' didn't have the right kind o vittals befo' the chile come.” carrie did her best to restore order to the house- no mean task. then on her way home she stopped by at the parsonage to inform the reverend johnson that his services were needed. she did not linger over her message, for recent events had shaken her faith in the [ ] these low grounds brotherhood of christians, and ebenezer church would do without her in the future. jim prince wiped his mouth and pushed himself back from the table. "kin blanche cook tol'able fair?" “why?” countered carrie suspiciously. she'd seen one of the miles' farm-hands come out of the store on her way home from the parsonage the afternoon before. "wal, ah gots a job fo' her, efn she kin cook purty fair." "where's the job?” carrie's eyes narrowed. “out on miles' farm. two dollars a week ain't bad fo' times like dey is — " "she ain't goin'!” carrie's tone was final. she pushed her plate away and resolutely faced her husband across the table. the two girls, on either side of their parents, cringed before the rising storm. they knew what to expect when the big anger vein snaked up the center of prince's forehead, as it did now. "why?" he thundered, half-crouching in his chair. his fingers bit like claws into the table cloth. “she ain't a-goin'!" repeated carrie. her eyes, dead black dots, seemed to recede into the brown mask of her face. “you know why annie burns is dead. them dev'lish men out on miles' would do the same to [ ] these low grounds blanche. you knows it. but she ain't a-goin'--you hear me? she ain't a-goin'!" “huh! jes' 'cause dat gal was frisky wid de mens ain't no reason why blanche got to be," answered prince. “ 'sides, ah’m losin' money every day 'count o’ de drought. ain't no — ”. “that's it! that's it! you wants to work her to death like you did jim! but you ain't a-goin' to do it! you hear me, jim prince? you ain't a-goin' to do it!" car- rie's voice rose to an hysterical scream. then jim prince made the big mistake of his life. “you dirty bitch!" he sprang to his feet, and sent his chair crashing against the wall. “ah brung you down yere from dat whorehouse an' made you what you is a 'spectable woman! an' now you tryin' to tell me how to run mah 'fairs! mind you' own damn business! dat's what you do!” carrie flinched as if from a sudden blow. all the ten- derness, all the gratitude she'd had for this man, withered like grass under a scorching sun. words droned from her, like the wintry winds that moan over the lowlands. “ah don't owe you nothin'-nothin', jim princel ah worked fo' you, didn't ah? ah didn't complain 'cause ah didn't have no clothes like the rest o' the women. an' ah ain't complained when you bin runnin' 'round wid another woman, have ah?” she broke off, sobbing, and sank into her chair. “ah knowed it wouldn't last! ah told you so when you first asked me to come home wid you.” [ ] these low grounds prince was not to be moved by his wife's tears, but her reference to the widow jones infuriated him. he made a second mistake. “you gots a nervel” he snarled. “efn ah is runnin' wid a woman, ah ain't got no bastards by her. an' dat’s mo'n you can say. jes' 'cause ah ain't never said nuffin' 'bout it, you thinks ah don't know. but ah knows you got dat martha by dat rev'end thomas. you dirty - " he stopped short and involuntarily stepped back. a swift change had come over carrie. her head had shot erect. veins stood out on her face like agonized serpents, while little gibbering sounds issued from her twisted lips. she bent forward in her chair, crouched, then advanced slowly upon prince. her whole body was shaking and hot tears streamed down her cheeks. then jim prince made his final mistake. he had never laid an angry hand on carrie, but now he stepped forward and gave her a resounding slap. when he tried to grasp her arms, carrie with a wild scream launched her body headlong into him. the impact caught prince squarely and knocked him breathless. he fell back- ward with a groan, and carrie followed up her advan- tage by slashing her finger nails across his face. her strong teeth imbedded themselves in his throat; her fists rained blows upon his head. when she felt prince grow limp under her, carrie rolled over on her side. as her anger ebbed, fear gripped her. she looked at the still form of her husband. she felt frantically for his heartbeat. nothing! panic- stricken, she leapt to her feet and spun in a circle. her [ ] these low grounds eyes lighted on the girls, who still crouched in their corner. "git mah clothes an' you-all's together, quick!" she gasped. blanche stared at her father but made no move to obey. “git the clothes, ah say!” screamed carrie. blanche made for the doorway leading to the stairs, with the small martha in her wake. carrie rushed out of the house and down the street to the prince livery stable. jim-ed james was cleaning manure from the eight stalls and gossiping with charlie when he sighted car- rie dashing through the wide door. in his astonishment at her disheveled appearance his chew dropped from his mouth and he sidled cautiously out of her path. "hitch me two hosses to that carriagel” she com- manded. “hurry!" for the bewildered black hostler only stood there popping his round eyes stupidly. "wh-what's de matter, mis’ carrie?” he questioned. “gimme them hosses an' that carriage, ah tell you! them two." she pointed out a fine pair of blacks, trim, sleek animals, the pride of prince's stable. "mistah jim he don't-" began jim-ed. "efn you wants to keep yo' job, you better do as ah says!” carrie silenced him. he hunched his shoulders resignedly and soon had the carriage and horses ready. "wimmin sho is quare crittahs!” he commented as [ ] these low grounds carrie and the blacks disappeared through the stable door. "ain't never seed her act like dat befo'l”. “huh! what you care?" rejoined his companion, “she ain't yo's, is she?" iii ss prince came to shortly after carrie left him. his anger had flown and knowledge of his foolishness weighed upon him. "carrie!” he called. hearing movements in the room above, he stumbled into the hall. blanche and martha were coming down- stairs. at sight of her father, blanche dropped a large bundle she carried and it rolled to prince's feet, scat- tering dresses, shoes, and other apparel. “what you doin'?” demanded prince. “mamma told me to get all our clothes together," answered the girl timidly. "what fo'? where's yo' mamma?” "i don't know." galloping hoofbeats drew prince's attention to the street. he saw carrie get out of the buggy and tie the blacks to the horse-head hitching-post. then she rushed into the house, almost colliding with prince. “what you fixin' to do wid dat team?” he greeted her. carrie breathed her relief at seeing him alive but her face hardened. “ah'm goin' away—that's what ah'm fixin' to do!" [ ] these low grounds "you ain't no sich-a-lie! you's mah wife an' ah ain't gwine let you!" “ah ain't askin' you to let me. ah ain't askin' fo' nothin' no mo’ from you!" "you cain't take dem hosses!” cried prince. “ah'll have de sheriff attah you!" "ah'm yo'wife, ain't ah? what's yo's is minel git them clothes, blanche!" prince changed his tactics. “you cain't go an' leave me like dis, honey! you knows ah loves you." "don't you talk to me 'bout love, man!" carrie burst out. “ah'm leavin'l an' them hosses an' that carriage ah counts as pay fo' eighteen years' hard work—an' fo' you not ownin' yo' own chile-an' fo' you a-comin' home from another woman! ah'm leavin', an' efn you tries to stop me ah'll kill you! you hear me? ah'll kill you!” with the bundle in one arm and little martha under the other, carrie stormed out of the door and down to the carriage. blanche followed. attracted by the shouting, a knot of curious neigh- bors had collected, most of them women. carrie turned on them with a laugh. “there he is!” she cried, pointing to prince, who leaned weakly on the porch railing. “there he is. you kin all have 'im now—the biggest man in town!” she cracked the whip and the carriage lurched down the street in a spreading sheet of dust. and the laugh hung insanely on the hot air. [ ] chapter twelve 't was the same jake tillery, except that on this warm sunday afternoon in august he was a very frightened man. the beads of perspiration on his forehead were not alone the product of muscular exertion. if the truth were told, this nattily dressed, middle-aged man—who looked younger—was trying to put as much distance as was possible between himself and something. that was why, every so often, he snatched a look over his left shoulder in the direc- tion of the clump of woods bordering the white shell road that led southward from the thriving town of eastland. after he had rounded a bend about two hun- dred yards from the woods, and there was no sign of pursuit, he collapsed in the meager shade of a scrubby little mulberry tree. while he wiped his face and nursed bruised lips which seemed recently to have come in violent contact with some hard object, he hurled invectives at unnamed in- [ ] these low grounds dividuals. then, having relieved himself to his satisfac- tion on that score, he turned the stream of vituperation upon himself. he was a thus-and-so and a thus-and-so forever. "you must is gittin' ole an' clumsy,” he muttered, “lettin' a country buck ketch you wid three dices! keep on—you gwine have to work yet!” he emphasized the "work” with abhorrence, and at the same time surveyed his well-kept hands, the palms of which were smooth and tender. “reckon you better gone to her'ford an' ketch dat boat to balt'more-guess de coppers done fo’got you now. wish somebody'd come 'long wid a buggy so's ah kin git past dat meetin'-ground. dat man sho want to cut me bad!” he could not have done better had he rubbed alad- din's lamp, for in answer to his wish, a cloud of dust swirled around the next bend in the road, headed in the direction from which he had just come. soon, two dust-laden, black horses, drawing a carriage, trotted up to where he stood waving his arms. “lady, kin you-all give me a lift to town?" he in- quired, politely, of the road-weary carrie. she looked at him distrustfully, then bade him get in. as he clam- bered up beside her, each recognized the other. "jake!” exclaimed carrie, recoiling instinctively. jake stared open-mouthed. “fo’ de lawd's sake, carrie! whar you bin all dese years?" her first notion had been to drive him away. but sur- [ ] these low grounds his yellow, speckled features. he struck out carefully to offer .consolation. it worked. for four days carrie had been meandering blindly about three counties, headed in a northwesterly direction, and she had wanted someone to whom she could talk about her troubles. she had found neither the courage nor the in- clination for more than casual conversation with the hospitable tenant-farmers who had given shelter to her and the two girls. now she poured out the whole story to jake. jake listened, interspersing sympathetic remarks, while his agile mind worked swiftly in an entirely dif- ferent direction. “but whar is you goin'?” he questioned, pointedly. “ah don't know,” she answered. she looked back at the two girls. martha was asleep in blanche's arms, worn out from the inaction of a journey which had had in the beginning every appearance of an outing. the child was constantly fretful now, except when she was asleep, and carrie worried, knowing she was not well. she had to find a place to pass the night. “look yere," offered jake, as the idea he had been pondering took form. "whyn't you come to her'ford wid me? dey say dat's a town what has good pickin's. you an' me kin go there an'git set fo' de winter. dat's when de oyster-shuckers comes to town. dey bin tellin' me dem mens spends dey money like water when de season's busy. we kin start a boardin'-house an' make money hand over fist!" his hazel eyes glowed [ ] these low grounds at the scheme. “ah gots some money, an' you kin sell yo' hosses an' carriage. we kin start on dat. huh?" carrie's brows knitted in suspicious doubt. she hadn't forgotten the jake she had known. jake, divining her meaning, added, quickly: "you don't have to worry 'bout me-we'll jes' be partners.” “ah ain't worried 'bout you," she informed him, a hard quality in her voice. “ah jes' want you to know that you ain't dealin' wid no fooll ah done had one man to take 'vantage o' me, but ain't no mo' goin' to! see? ah'll go in wid you-be yo' partner-until you starts gittin' wrong! an' when you does, we quits! see? now, where's this town?” "turn left in de next road an' keep goin'." jake grinned. “she ain't young no mo',” he told him- self, “but she sho gots her good looks yit." herdford, at present, drowses through the years with a medieval air of disdain for civic progress. but this lit- tle water-locked hamlet was not always so. if you stop along its one paved street-front street, the natives call it-and inquire of any old inhabitant, he will tell you of days when the diminutive eastern sho' town was the seat of the county; how it used to be a center of the oyster-packing industry before milestown, over on the miles river, and deerfield and kent island usurped the honors. he may also point out, with sorrowful pride, the site of the old military academy, now burned [ ] these low grounds down, opposite sam newton's general store. the pub- lic lot, they call it—a grove of maple, hemlock, and walnut trees overlooking the placid ripples of the avondale river. dusty chronicles record that once, in colonial days, herdford was considered a possible site for the city of baltimore. possibly because of disap- pointment that they were passed by, the lowlands re- main rustic, except for the enterprising towns of east- land, shrewsbury, and bainbridge. even today herdford seems to resent that early inter- vention of providence which stole from it the right to be the queen city of old maryland. like a jilted and faded old lady with her hope-chest, it sits there between its two rivers, the avondale and town creek, on a peninsula shaped like a boomerang, dreaming, perhaps, of the glory that might have been its own; spurning the industrial opportunities offered it by capitalists who realize the commercial value of its location. "nope!" says thin-lipped, grizzled kirkland, from the porch of his green-shuttered, colonial cottage facing the meth- odist church. “no-sireel" drawls hallock, and his age- molted eyebrows will meet over the shrewd gray eyes of his highland ancestors, and he'll probably mount his ancient bicycle and pedal down to the town pier to see if his crab-steaming box is full. ole lady nanny crichard will respond in like manner, and others of the landed aristocracy who trace their lineage back to those sturdy scotch-irish and english emigrants that first forded town creek and settled on this curving spot of land. [ ] these low grounds these settlers were a conservative and complacent lot. along back street, that rutted dirt and shell road that faces town creek and parallels front street (the present avenue of the aristocracy) they built their homes after the style of those they had left on the west- ern shore of the chesapeake: two-story houses, some flat- roofed, others with roofs severely triangular. time and the elements have necessitated repairs, but on the whole these buildings remain as they have always been, repre- senting the original architecture of the town. and it is here that the hardy crabbers and oysterers live. some of the emigrants were farmers and created dur- ing the slave era the fertile fields one sees on either side of the ten-mile pike bending westward from eastland to herdford. but it was the combined oyster- and crab- packing industry which ultimately pumped the life's blood through the town's lazy veins. for the products of the rivers offer an all-year occupation. on the whole, though, herdford is a sleepy town- quaint, lazy, smugly self-satisfied; scoffing at the forward strides of its neighbors in order to distract attention from its own dullard ways. iii “here she is,” said jake. he pointed over the field at his right toward a wind- ing river on whose shores could be seen the tops of houses partly hidden by trees. the girls looked curi- ously in the direction of their new home, but carrie was busy - the moment whipping the horses past a [ ] these low grounds stretch of pine woods. the fragrance of the pine eluded her; she noticed only the forest gloom and a ceaseless whispering that struck unpleasantly on her ears. “go back!” the woods seemed to say. “go back!” she ex- perienced a sense of relief when the woods gave way to a field of green sow beans. yet the whisper lingered in her ears. “look out!" jake's voice rasped in her ears. she reined the horses to an abrupt stop. “look at dat." he pointed to an object in the road, a giant cat crouched on its haunches like an image carved in ebony. cold emerald eyes blinked in regal dis- dain at the skittish horses. to carrie, with the sinister command of the woods still echoing, the animal was a thing of menace. jake snapped the spell by clambering down and flick- ing the whip threateningly. the cat arched its back and spat before it relinquished the road. but even when they had driven on its icy eyes followed them forbid- dingly. carrie, looking back, shuddered in sharp fear. "you ain't sup'stishous, is you?" bantered jake. but his tone was false. they had come to the little neck of land which forms a natural bridge of oyster shells between the termina- tion of town creek and a soggy marsh. sailboats snug- gled on the curving shore. a musty odor emanated from the swampy waste. at this point the town abruptly began. “yere comes some colored folks,” said jake. “ah'll ask dem whar we kin git a place to sleep fo' de night.” [ ] these low grounds an old couple approached dressed in their sunday best. the man reminded carrie of father prince. his white beard fringed a kindly weather-beaten face from which his eyes peeped brightly out, like shiny brown marblesage had not found him easy to destroy. he leaned heavily on a gnarled stick. “good attahnoon to you." he lifted an ancient black felt hat from a shiny pate in courtly deference to car- rie, and nodded cordially to jake. the woman smiled and bobbed her knee in a rheumatic curtsy. "speak a leetle loudah," the old man piped in answer to jake's query. "ah'm a leetle deef-bin so fo' goin' on nigh to fo'teen years. an' she”-nodding toward his wife—“cain't hear none a-tall." finally jake made him understand. “oh-'mongst-you wants lodgin'l” he exclaimed. "ah reckons you kin git it down to tilton street. 'mongst- you keeps right down dis yere street 'twell you comes to gus hagen's corner sto'—but you don't turn dar! you keeps on 'twell you comes to de bank an de colored church an' den you sees de public lot right in front o'sam newton's corner sto'. an' you keeps right on past de white chillun's schoolhouse 'twell you gits to a li'l' teeny street—but don't turn dar nuthah, 'cause dat'll take you smack into back alley. so 'mongst-you keep right on 'twell you pass jim pratt's big white house an' right past de post-office-de next street to yo' right is tilton street!" carrie thanked him for his explicit directions and started the horses. · [ ] these low grounds tilton street sloped gently downhill. for the most part it was unshaded-worm-eaten tree stumps testi- fied that the inhabitants had more use for fuel than for beauty, but now and then trees in a front yard marked a family not so pinched by the hard times. the first three houses had some of the airs and graces of those along the main street. they seemed to be striving to hold aloof from the dwellings just below them, which had frankly abandoned all pretence of refinement. carrie brought the dusty blacks to a stop in front of the most superior house on the street—a white-and- green cottage that was like a resplendently attired gen- tleman in a crowd of tramps. there was a demeanor about it at once haughty, condescending, and apolo- getic. two neatly dressed children, a boy and girl of martha's age, stopped their play to stare at the callers. a man, who had a certain cocksureness about him that reminded carrie irritatingly of prince, left the porch and approached the carriage. “ 'mongst-you be strangers in town?" he ventured as an opening. when he was assured that they were, he introduced himself. “mah name's tom winters-cap'n tom, they calls me. is there somep'n ah kin do fo' you?” jake stated their necd. "well, ah tell you,” winters said, after judicious stroking of his sideburns, "you kin put up fo' the night down to foot o' the street wid mis' gussie. that's the only person what takes lodgers this time o' year. you see that big field yonder to that big red house? wal, [ ] these low grounds gussie she live right cross from there. . . . 'mongst- you say you from down to shrewsbury way? ah used to run a barber shop down to deerfield befo' the smallpox broke out there. to be sho, now! an' all mah folks come from down to upper hill. ..." but jake had slyly jerked the reins and the tired horses pulled away before winters could go more deeply into his personal history. iv gussie sat in a creaking chair propped against her dis- reputable shack—a living replica of a mongolian belly- god. to carrie, she looked a little like one of prince's brood sows. she sat there, with a litter of cats and scratching chickens about her, swinging a fan and curs- ing the flies which swarmed about, attracted by the odor which her great fat body gave off. "dam' crabs!" she swore. “makes dese flies light on you same as bees on honey!” she appraised jake with a sweeping scrutiny. carrie she eyed with hostility. "is you mis' gussie?” carrie stepped back a pace to get out of range of the unpleasant odor. the fat woman noticed the movement. "efn you plans to stay in dis town," she said, “you mought's well l'arn to git used to dis yere crab stink, 'cause ain't nuffin' you kin do to git it offn you once you works in 'em.” then she attended to carrie's ques- tion: “yass, ah'm mis' gussie-an' you kin leave off de mis'. what do 'mongst-you want?” Çarrie told her. "wal'," she wheezed, “ah kin put [ ] these low grounds you up fo' de night, but ah ain't sayin' as how it'll be so comf'table. ah warn't 'spectin' nobody befo' oyster season on 'count o' de drought done stopped de cannin'- house from openin' up. you kin stay efn you like. ... you plannin' on shuckin?” she looked dubiously at jake's smooth, slender hands. "we was thinkin' 'bout openin' up a boardin'-house, efn de season's good,” answered jake. gussie turned a shrewd eye on carrie's good looks. "h'm-'mongst-you man an’ wife?" she asked. “no!” replied carrie, emphatically. “oh...." the fat one's tone was a little more cor- dial. “what kind o' a boardin'-house you gwine have?" and she raised a significant eyebrow. "a boardin’-house!" snapped carrie. “all right—all right. ..." with a heave gussie struggled to her feet. at the small doorway of the house she took a sidewise stand, then with the skill of long practice eased herself through. the interior was what one would have expected from a view of the yard. the room they entered was stuffy and low-ceilinged, so small that it seemed some part of gussie must protrude at any moment. the walls had once been whitewashed, but now the surface hung in loose brown patches which occasionally became de- tached and fell to the floor. a multitude of flies buzzed about the remnants of a meal which lay on a dingy table. against one wall was a greasy couch holding the inert form of an under-sized man. gussie delivered a blistering epithet in his direction as she waddled past in search of a bottle and glasses. [ ] these low grounds “drink up, folks,” she invited. “ah'm goin' up to git you-all's rooms ready.” with that she unlatched the door to the flight of narrow stairs and began her labori. ous way upward, attended by a cloud of flies. “come on an' drink,” said jake, already on his second glass. his spirits were nothing dashed by the squalor of the surroundings. this was what he had known with sue. carrie started to refuse, but hesitated. she hadn't had a drink since she left baltimore-nothing stronger than the sweet wine prince kept in the house for festive oc- casions. why should she refuse now? the old life with prince was gone. she was starting all over again ... to be her own boss ... to do just as she pleased. she went to the table and poured a stiff drink. then another. “mamma, can we have some, too?" piped martha. carrie lowered her glass for a moment, but thought: "oh, hell! ah'll do what ah wants! an' efn ah ketch 'em drinkin' ah'll hide 'em good-fashion!” blanche watched her mother in amazement. jake, his eyes ablaze, poured carrie a third drink but did not offer it to her. he was smart. "time you gals was in bed," carrie said, recalling her maternal duties. “do you hear me?" the whisky was rapidly taking possession of her and making her temper short. “yes'm!” blanche pulled martha to the stairs. now carrie began to drink in earnest, in short, quick swallows. [ ] these low grounds “jes' like old times,” jake ventured, lighting the stub of a cigar. "yass,” agreed carrie, absently. she smiled. “never reckoned ah'd see you ag'in, sartin'.” "nope-reckon so. ... you still gamblin', eh?” “a li'l'," jake admitted. “ah calc'lates to make somep'n in dis yere town.” a thought struck him. “look yerel ah ain't seed no signs o' a saloon when we was a-comin' down de street. reckon we could sell likker in de house when we git started? ah could go to balt'more an' git some good stuff. den we could cut it." carrie nodded drunkenly. “ 'course—'course," she assented. gussie came grunting down the stairs. "yo' rooms is ready,” she panted. she gulped a drink, then offered the bottle to carrie. "to ease dat hiccup, honey,” she ex- plained. carrie acted on the suggestion. suddenly the room began to perform crazy antics. now it rocked like the boat had done that night on her way from baltimore with prince. now it whirled like the big ferris wheel at the carnival to which jim had taken her that first summer. finally she sagged forward on the smelly table. from afar off she heard jake tell gussie that he'd take care of her. after that she knew no more. blanche awoke just before dawn to the humming accompaniment of mosquitoes and the fretful activities of bedbugs. sitting up, she peered through the dark- ness for her mother. but the space she had purposely left on the far side of the bed was vacant. [ ] chapter thirteen arrie lost no time in disposing of the horses and carriage, and with the proceeds she bought a house. this was the way it hap- pened: sid hooper, proprietor of the livery stable on front street, saw the blacks and marked the excel- lent condition of the carriage. the sight aroused cov- etous desire. but carrie had not listened in vain to prince's bartering in horseflesh. she drove a hard bar- gain. at first the white man feigned indifference. he said "naw-sirree," and hemmed and hawed. but carrie found his achilles' heel when she threatened to drive to eastland for the sale. “wal,” he finally conceded, “i'll give ye two hun- dred an' fifty dollars an' not a dern cent more!" “mister,” carrie answered, "you don't want them horses an' that buggy—that's sartin'l ah knows ah kin git three hundred easy. so ah reckons ah'll go on over to eastle the turned away. [ ] these low grounds “hold on yere-hold on!” exclaimed hooper. he raked his chin with a nervous hand and drowned a cluster of stable flies beneath a squirt of tobacco juice. "take three hundred-an' i'm a dern ole fool!" carrie paused as if reflecting. she was really de- lighted. “all right-let's git the papers ready," she said with elaborate reluctance. sid hooper eyed this soft-spoken woman probingly. what the devil did she know about a bill o'sale? “looka yere—ye be a stranger in town, ain't ye?" he asked. carrie nodded. “ye goin' to work in oysters?” "ah was reckonin' on runnin' a boardin'-house." "oh ... i see. ..." sid eyed her appraisingly, tak- ing in all her points of beauty. there was not a great deal exposed in those days of ground-sweeping dresses, but even then the practiced eye could discern much. “ye got a house?" "no. ah jes' got in town yestiddy." hooper's face lighted. “yestiddy? h'm. ... looka yere, i got a house-a brick house-down thar jes' offn tilton street. i'll sell it to ye cheap. ye kin have it fo' two hundred an' fifty dollars an' a lease on them grounds for as long's ye like. that'll give ye fifty dollars left out the whole bargain-an' ye cain't do better'n that ef ye go in all the nine counties! what ye say?" carrie looked her incredulity. she had seen the house that morning. it seemed in good condition except for broken windowpanes. and for two hundred and fifty. ... but her appreciation of a good bargain was strong. [ ] these low grounds “ah'll give you two hundred,” she stated, calmly. “what!” hooper sprang from his desk. “ye mean to stand thar an'offer me two hundred dollars for a brick house?" “never mind,” answered carrie, coolly and with a shrug, “jes gimme the money. there's other shacks. ..." hooper wilted. she was too much for him. and, for reasons known throughout the town, he wanted to be rid of that house. if he allowed her to talk to any one ... "all right—all right," he said, and the bargain was closed. so carrie came into possession of the red brick house. but the bargain, that appeared so desirable at first glance, was not altogether satisfactory. big gussie made clear the weakness of the deal. "lawsy, honey!” she exclaimed, when she heard car- rie's news. " 'mongst-you ain't gwine live in dat house?” “how come ah ain't?” carrie wanted to know. “ah bought it!" "lawsy, chile! dat house is ha'nted!” “ha'nted!" jake and carrie exclaimed in one breath. "sho! law-aw-dee! lissen yere. ..." gussie went into a long story, the gist of which was as follows: the old brick house had been built by a tonger (one who gathers oysters by means of long-handled rakes, or tongs) ten years or more ago. he and his wife lived happily there for nearly half a year. then, after two days' search, fellow tongers found the man's bloated, blue-faced body on the far side of the avon- [ ] these low grounds dale. his widow remained in the house for a week following the accident then she suddenly sold it to sid hooper and left town. the house stayed vacant for perhaps six years before lottie turner rented it in a fit of defiance to escape her mother's counseling tongue. some three months later, on a gusty march day, two truant schoolboys spied a bobbing, hairy object under gallion's wharf. it was lottie's water-grayed body. no one dared to occupy the old brick house after that incident. but there was another happening to augment the eerie legend. one dark night tilton street had been startled from its peaceful slumbers by piteous cries of “murder! murder!" in the morning the faint- hearted residents investigated the old brick house, from which the cries had come, and verified their ex- pectations. a tramp lay dead on the porch with blue marks of fingers on his swollen neck. in the pockets of his ragged trousers were found seven pairs of dice; when thrown, all of them turned up "seven" or "eleven.” so for the past three years the old brick house had stood deserted. boys had used its windows for target practice until they yawned like the dark mouths of caves. the natives hurried past it after dark, whistling vociferously. in the early hours before dawn, crabbers and tongers, if possible, traveled another route to their boats lying at the wharves on town creek. the old brick house was a pariah. “ah'm tellin' you,” gussie concluded her sanguinary [ ] these low grounds history, "it's dead bad luck! efn 'mongst-you wants to keep outn trouble, you better not live in dat place!" carrie and jake were visibly shaken. but carrie thought of the money she had spent. two hundred dollars was too large a sum to be sacrificed. "damn de ha'nts!” she exclaimed. a month later, one warm afternoon in september, jake sat on the porch. he was more than satisfied with his lot. he was inclined to be complacent. under carrie's capable hands the house had under- gone a transformation. it was no longer vacant-eyed. the windowpanes had been replaced and now showed bright new curtains. every room had been calcimined and the floors had been scoured until they looked like bread-boards. some second-hand furniture completed the change. from all appearances, the old red brick house was no longer the meeting-place for troubled spirits. but more pleasing to jake than the house was his conquest of carrie. her mature charms were vastly more alluring than her youthful charms had been, and jake fancied himself as the great lover. he did not take into account prince's long neglect. he did not know that to carrie he was but as sweetened hot water when no tea is available. carrie came to the door, a dust-cap protecting her hair, and stood there a moment, surveying him in [ ] these low grounds silence. a small pucker gathered at the bridge of her nose. she spoke softly—too softly: “ah needs some mo' wood, jake." jake started at the sound of her voice, then eased back into his chair. "all right, honey," he said, but there was no honey in his voice. “ah'll cut a li'l' attah while. ..." he set- tled more comfortably on the end of his spine. "ah needs it now," said carrie, still softly. but the pucker deepened. “oh, cain't blanche chop some?" offered jake, plain- tively. he didn't move. this was the proverbial last straw. for the past four weeks she had put up with his sloth. now her leashed feelings broke loose. “lissen yere, man!” she grated through clenched teeth. “efn you thinks you gwine squat 'round this house a-doin' nothin' all the time, you gots another think comin'l this is mah house! you ain't put a red cent in it! now befo' you sleeps in mah house another night, you's gwine to give me some o' that money you said you had when ah picked you up! an' efn you cain't cut a li'l' wood now an' then, you kin git the hell out! an' stay out!" with that, carrie slammed her way back to her work. jake was shocked; so much so that he arose like one who suddenly realizes that the object he sits upon is an intensely hot stove. the ultimatum echoing in his ears, he made a direct line to the back yard and, in the same breath, industriously engaged the wood-pile. the [ ] these low grounds chips flew. but soon his fine flare of energy died and his hazel eyes narrowed rebelliously. his masculine vanity had been bruised. that night after the girls had gone to bed, carrie soothed his injured pride by wiles she had never before exercised. she did it as an experiment. she held no tenderness for jake, but she went through the process of cuddling and caressing as a scientist tests a theory. it sufficed, for jake, completely deceived, handed over nearly all his money into her keeping. carrie was progressing rapidly in ways that would have surprised members of the ebenezer ladies' aid. the obedient wife of jim prince, so soft-spoken and retiring, who had walked so decorously in the conven- tional paths, was disappearing as if by magic. and in her place there was emerging the carrie prince who is still a subject for discussion among the older gossips of herdford. as a property-owner she had credit at all the stores. so she bought silks and calicos from which she cre- ated dresses that aroused waves of jealousy among the feminine population. puffed sleeves exaggerated her magnificently wide shoulders and emphasized in con- trast her slender waistline which sloped into shapely hips; while tight bodices revealed to perfection the ma- ture beauty of her bust. carrie was aware of her good looks and she made the most of them. as she emerged from the sarcophagus of unbecoming garments, her whole demeanor changed. she studied her carriage, un- til her walk became a movement in voluptuous rhythm. [ ] these low grounds there was no obvious switching of the hips, but through suggestion carrie achieved a most telling ef- fect, and her passage down the street was a signal for the turning of heads. one man, in a poetic mood, said she was like "a willow tree when de wind hits it.” the women were less kind. “look at the hussy strut!” they grumbled among themselves. but carrie, holding her head high in the pride of her newly found power, went her oblivious way. iii it required only one visit to gallion's crab-house to decide carrie against picking crabs, and anyone who has done this work will not readily condemn her. it is an odious labor. the crab-house sat on that point of land known as the island, at the juncture of the avondale and town creek. originally a swampy waste caused by the tidal flow, it had been built up to usefulness by an accumu- lation of oyster shells. a neck of soggy land isolated it effectively from the town of herdford proper. gussie went along with carrie in the capacity of guide, and enjoyed her rôle to the full. she was hugely amused when at the door of the crab-house she saw carrie's nose go up in delicate disdain at the over- whelming stench which greeted them. it was no won- der. there is nothing more revolting than the smell of steamed crabs, and the day was hot. “dat stink'll stay right yere 'twell dey starts to [ ] these low grounds shuckin' oysters,” gussie said, cheerfully. “an' ah don't know what's de worst-crabs or oysters." they continued to the wharf, where a large oblong wooden box swung on iron rods and gave off jets of vapor from under a stained sailcloth cover. this was where the crabs were steamed, gussie explained. the steam was supplied from a boiler near by. two boats bobbed just below the wharf's edge, their masts wrapped in their sails and reclining along the gunwales. a red-headed white man and a negro talked and joked as they worked. carrie moved toward the negro to see better what he was doing. as she approached he removed his hat. “ah’m baitin' mah line fo' tomorrow,” he answered her query. then he went on with his task. carrie's first impression was that this was the blackest and the biggest man she had even seen; his teeth the whitest and his eyes the strangest green-gray. moreover, he was the only man in herdford who had looked at her without ogling her. she wanted to know more about him. “what do you use for bait?” she asked, to be saying something. "tripe,” he answered, without looking up. it could have been a rebuff. "why do you throw 'way them pieces?” she pointed to some floating scraps of whitish meat which were being attacked by a cluster of minnows. the suspicion of a smile flickered across his face. "some o' dese crabs," he explained, “dey's like some [ ] these low grounds folkskindah partic'lar 'bout who dey eats attah. so ah changes de bait to please dey appetites.” the smile flashed out frankly for a second and then was smothered. “oh, you's jes' jokin' me!” answered carrie, also smiling. the man looked up long enough to sweep his eyes methodically over her figure and take in the full extent of her beauty. this time his smile flashed approval. "who is you, lady? stranger in town, ain't you?” “mah name's carrie prince. ah bin yere goin' on a month now." “oh—so you's carrie princel" he resumed his work with a finality that checked the rejoinder carrie was about to make. a boat drifted in with more crabs and the black man shoved away from the wharf to make room for the new arrival. carrie turned to gussie. "who's that man, gussie?” carrie nodded to the drifting boat with its solitary occupant. “lew grundy?" asked gussie. “why, he's de head deacon over to winters' meth'dist church. an' he ain't no hypocrite. he don't chew or smoke or drink or mess wid women-leastways ah ain't never seed 'im foolin' 'round. an you ought hear dat man sing an' pray!" "huh! so he's a deacon?" carrie sneered. a wizened little man named tommy dyke—carrie recognized him as the drunk she had seen on gussie's sofa—was busily shoveling the steamed crabs from the box into baskets and rusty boilers which stood about. as if in answer to a signal, more than a score of women [ ] these low grounds and children swarmed out onto the wharf, cursing and jostling each other in their haste to retrieve their recep- tacles. one old woman was almost pushed into the water. “don't you dast tech dat boiler!” an ancient hag screamed. “dat's mah red string on it an' you knows it! you li'l' hussy!" a mulatto with titian hair took a belligerent stand with hands on hips. "huh! you's so old you cain't even tell yo' own things! try to tech itl” she dared. "you young snipper-snaps ain't got no 'spect fo' yo' elders, dat's what?" the old woman complained, sniffling. “ 'spect!" and with that the mulatto snatched up the boiler and disappeared into the crab-house. tommy dyke stood there unmoved by all the clamor. now and then he paused indifferently to mop his bald knob of a head with a filthy bandanna. when he had finished distributing the crabs he righted the steam box and swung a fresh barrel of live crabs into it. carrie peered over the top of the box at the crawling, clawing creatures awaiting a vaporous death. they were making valiant but unsuccessful efforts to climb the smooth sides of the boiler. every time one would secure a precarious foothold a struggling neighbor would pull it back. “dey's jes' like folks,” said a deep voice at carrie's side. “efn one cain't git out, he ain't gwine let another git out." she turned to face lew grundy. again she thought she had never seen a man so big, and was disturbed. [ ] these low grounds "ain't seed you at church,” he observed. the sense of disturbing enchantment which the man's size evoked was shattered now. "ah don't go to church,” said carrie, frigidly, and swayed into the crab-house, exhibiting her newly found grace of deportment. the incessant murmur of voices interspersed by the cracking of knives upon some brittly substance met carrie at the door. she saw gussie's broad, yellow face topping a pile of crabs on one of the center tables. as she stood at gussie's elbow, watching the picking proc- ess, many sidelong glances were cast in her direction. at first the swiftly moving hands of the four women at the table were to carrie a jumbled series of quick stabs and slices. for her benefit, gussie picked one more slowly. she first tore off the obular, pointed back, then picked the meat from its sections. the largest particles she deposited in a separate pan. "dat's de lump meat,” she explained. “taste it." carrie, selecting an extra large one, found it so deli- cious that she rapidly followed it with others. “help yo'self," bade gussie. “you'll git sick of 'em efn you stay yere long enough.” taking a big claw, she continued: “yere's how you git de meat out'n dis.” she brought her knife down with splintering precision. the shell dropped off and disclosed the yellowish-brown muscle. "ain't you scared o' cuttin' yo' hands?” asked carrie. "huh! when you does dis season in an' season out, you don't know what cuttin' yo' hand is." [ ] these low grounds a high soprano began to hum a dragging tune. other voices came to its assistance. “dere is rest fo' de weary- dere is rest fo' de weary- oh, dere's rest fo' de weary- dere is rest fo' mel “on de other side o' jordan- in de green fields o' eden- where de tree o' life is a-bloomin'- dere is rest fo' mel" innumerable verses, improvised by the pickers at differ- ent tables, carried the lyric on and on until it wavered and died. over in a corner, a ray of sunlight fought its way through a splotched window and lighted the re- posed faces of two infants. unmindful of flies and the heat simmering through the tin roof, they slumbered, lulled by the mournful strain. [ ] chapter fourteen ummer broke abruptly about a week after car- rie's explosion to jake. the sun tried to hold its own, but there was clear evidence that fall was no longer to be denied. dropping leaves red- dened and yellowed the public lot and littered the bricks under the arch of maples down front street. wild geese streamed southward over the avondale. one by one the crabbers laid aside their lines and took their tong shafts and rusty rakes to young tom ridgely, the blacksmith, for repairs. fewer and fewer crabs came into the wharves until, on the last day of september, the rival houses on the island and on town pier sent no blasts shrieking to the skies. the crabs would have peace until the following summer. with the crabbing season ended, the oyster season was on, and now the town awoke to full life. for two weeks boats, trains, wagons, and all manner of horse-drawn conveyances brought men and women-sometimes [ ] these low grounds whole families—to swell the colored population. most of the incoming oyster-shuckers were men. they came from virginia and points as far south as north caro lina. and the majority came by way of baltimore on the steamers avalon and talbot. one of these boats touched herdford every night on its way to eastland point, which was the last stop on its route. from monday to friday the vessel slunk into town wharf at about midnight; then, its obligations discharged, departed with expeditious haste. but satur- day night was different. saturday night was jug night. no matter what the weather, when the first blast of the steamer was heard, nearly all the men of the town who had reached their majority would take themselves hurriedly to the wharf. here, in the dim light of the kerosene lamps which perched on the walls of the freight-house, they would wait eagerly for the boat to dock with a great splashing of her side wheels. their patience was rewarded when, after passengers and merchandise had been transferred, the stevedores would march single file down the gangplank, each swing- ing a jug in either hand. the jugs were deposited in the freight-house. then there was a grand rush as the wait- ing men bore down upon the freight agent, who shouted out the names which tagged the necks of the containers. every man eventually was awarded a jug. the greedier ones opened theirs on the spot, slung them over the crooks of their arms and gurgled happily—and as they gurgled the trials of the week washed away. sunday night also was a gala night at the wharf, for [ ] these low grounds after a day of rest the residents of the sleepy village were prime for any diversion that chance or circumstance offered. a queen and her imperial train could not have received more homage than the side-wheeler from bal- timore as she swung around tom's point into the avon- dale from choptank river. idlers from front and til- ton streets dashed headlong to the waterfront. children raced to see who could get to the wharf first. their elders, out for a walk, accelerated their pace. and as the boat came splashing to rest, with a final shrill blast of her whistle, horses reared and pitched, and the more timid watchers clutched at each other in giggling fright. jim tutley, the shipping agent, his magnificently curled mustachios erect, was a paragon of authoritative pride on such occasions. “haul away!” he would bawl after he had slipped the wide nooses of the lead line over stout pilings at each wharf corner. from that moment until the boat's departure, the proceedings took on a certain ritualistic cast. the roustabouts rushed here and there, clearing a space, re- moving a bar-every movement an incident in a pre- arranged plan. then the gangplank was shot over the boat's side, a waist-high railing was attached, and a re- splendent personage in blue uniform advanced to snarl: “all off 'at's goin' off!” first the white passengers disembarked, the women throwing timid glances at the water yawning darkly below. after them came the negro passengers, the oyster-shuckers—swaggering, teeth flashing. freight was [ ] these low grounds unloaded, outgoing freight was hauled aboard. new passengers arrived. the gangplank was withdrawn. a shrill whistle. the waters churned. and in a minute more the steamer had rounded the bend toward east- land point. jim tutley extinguished the lamps and locked the great sliding doors, and once more the wharf was a patch of darkness against the gently swelling river. [ ] chapter fifteen y the middle of october carrie had all of her rooms rented. she would accept only male lodgers, for the women who drifted into herd- ford after the oyster season was in full swing brought memories of a'n sue's bawd-house. they swaggered into carrie's kitchen in their cheap, flashy clothes, and when carrie refused them quarters they switched out saucily and over to gussie's, where there were no restrictions. that fat one had an eye for business. how twelve women could live in her squalid five-room shack was a mystery. but they did, and they brought their landlady handsome remuneration. at thanksgiving time gussie bloomed in new finery, and took occasion to twit carrie for her prudery. "ah don't care,” carrie answered bluntly. “ah ain't goin' to have mah gals a-larning dirt from them hussies. 'sides, ah makes enough from mah likker an' rooms an' board.” [ ] these low grounds jake also protested, only to discover that he had made the wrong move. his stock had never been very high with carrie. she had refused to permit gambling in the house. now she had the opportunity she wanted to tell him what she thought of his carrying-on with a strum- pet across the way. she did so in no uncertain terms, and when she had finished jake knew that his brief reign was over. "you thinks ah'm going to let you run with that nellie gal over to gussie's and then bring yo'self to me? huh! you's jes' as wrong as you kin be. you turns mah stomach, anyways!” she grimaced. “you kin stay yere- but that's all!" jake growled evilly, but said nothing. though carrie's life from this point was irreproach- able, herdford saw what it saw and drew its own con- clusions. it saw men staggering from the red brick house at all hours of the day and night. it saw that carrie was a friend of mis' gussie, a known bawd. it was said that she drank and smoked. it was rumored that by her own admission she was not married to the gambler jake. finally, her good looks and her arrogant walk was proof positive that she was not what she should be. the girls complained that no one would play with them at recess, or sit next to them at sunday school. “never mind,” carrie soothed. “you-all ain't gwine have to stay yere all the time. blanche, you is goin' to the institute next year. an' soon's martha's old enough she's goin' too. don't you mind.” but they did mind. [ ] these low grounds ii about this time little martha became something of a sensation. the women from baltimore had brought a new dance to town—the cake-walk-and nothing would do but carrie and gussie must learn it. a slender girl with short hair, moody black eyes, a reedy soprano, and a gift with the guitar provided music. when she had had three or four drinks gussie's poor shack rang to the sound of a lively tune and strutting feet. gussie's two hundred pounds were a serious liability when the dance called for perilous balancing with knee raised and back parallel with the floor, but carrie mastered the dance's intricacies with a natural grace. one saturday morning as carrie was scrubbing the kitchen floor she missed martha's chatter in the back yard where she had been holding conversation with a stray kitten. she called to blanche, who was upstairs, tidying the lodgers' rooms. "i don't know where she is, mamma," blanche an- swered, “unless she's over to mis' gussie's.” carrie hurried across the crusted road, to be met with a burst of laughter and the strumming of a guitar. "g'on, gall” she heard as she neared the door. “lookit dat li'l' un go!" "walk dat cake, honey! bless yo' heart!” "her kin whip her mammy, sho's yo' bo’n!" there in the center of the room, surrounded by an enthralled audience of men and women, was martha, [ ] these low grounds her braids tossing, her slight body swaying to the rhythms of the cake-walk. every so often little squeals escaped her. carrie had her mouth all fixed to scold the child when, with a final turn around the circle, she bent her pliant back parallel to the floor and strutted right into her mother's skirts. the chastening words died on carrie's lips at the impish gesture. and martha's career as an entertainer began. after this, when gussie had company, the eve- ning wasn't complete until martha had danced at least one cake-walk. iii "larnin' dat chile to dance!" said laura titman to etta curley. “she ought be 'shame' herself!" laura was the portly woman who sold pastries and home-made ice-cream savoring strongly of cornstarch. etta was a slattern, her good looks destroyed by child- bearing and years of drudging over laundry tubs. be- tween them they set the pace for herdford gossip. and they were so generous with their store of information that their opinions were very apt to be shared soon by all their neighbors. [ ] chapter sixteen he good brothers' hall-a magnificent structure of red tin—had had a thorough scouring by the brothers' wives. bunting in many colors draped the ceiling and walls of the assembly-room. the platform was gay with paper streamers in honor of the bainbridge band. long tables of smooth planks mounted on saw-horses and spread with new oilcloth bordered three walls. an inviting smell of fried oysters pervaded the place. it was december, and the annual oyster supper and dance was in full swing. on this occasion the colored people of herdford were the guests of the rival barons of the oyster industry, kirkland and gallion. these gentlemen sat now di- rectly in the center of the table at the end of the room, trying for the moment to cloak their differences in a semblance of good-will. to their right was the rever- end raymond, shepherd of the colored flock. and flank- ing these dignitaries were the foremen and the tongers of the rival houses. those of lesser station sat at the side [ ] these low grounds tables, while some of the younger generation, who were of no station at all, lounged in chairs by the door, im- patiently waiting their turn at table. the usual speeches were delivered-polite and la- bored speeches by the two hosts which combined cajol- ery with flattery, a long-winded speech by gallion's fore- man, bud saunders. then kirkland and gallion slipped thankfully out of the side door and the company, just as thankfully, relaxed for the good time which was the real business of the evening. conversation got louder. laughter rang truer. drink flowed more freely. carrie, who had been persuaded to come by tom bentley, was thoroughly enjoying herself in a new blue velvet gown of her own making. it didn't matter that little groups of buzzing women indicated her with sly nods and a turning up of the nose. the men more than made up for any neglect by their spontaneous at- tentions. for them, gossip simply enhanced her charms. they hung on every word she uttered. they leaped to fill her glass with beer from the barrel at the corner of the stage. they swarmed for dances. there was only one man who had nothing to say to her. that was deacon grundy, who sat at the table opposite her and fastened her relentlessly with his gray- green cats' eyes until she felt them sinking into her flesh. she threw up her chin defiantly, angry that he could put her out of ease, and met his look straight. the suspicion of a smile crossed his dark face, and against her will she smiled in return. just then a shout rang out. [ ] these low grounds “look out! tom bentley's gonna shoot!" the screams of frightened women split the air and there was a mad scramble for doors and windows. some of the company disappeared beneath tables. carrie, pin- ioned between table and wall, looked wildly around for a place to hide, then relaxed in relief. it was a false alarm. tom bentley had a reputation for using his forty- five-caliber pistol on the slightest provocation, so when he rose above bud saunders with his arm upraised, a glinting knife in his great fist, onlookers naturally ex- pected action. but there was no anger on his blunt square-featured face. "ah tells you, bud,” he was roaring, “dem broad creek oysters ain't wort' de trouble it takes to git 'em!” and he brought his huge hand down on the table with a splintering crash. then he flopped into his seat be- side bud and they continued their spluttering but ami- able argument. both were too lager-logged to realize the disturbance they had caused. grinning sheepishly, the guests emerged from hid- ing and drifted back to their places. and now the bain- bridge band, famed in several counties, struck up in earnest. soon the floor was crowded with whirling, laughing couples. there were some, however-staunch church members like cap'n tom winters, etta curley, and laura titman—who regarded dancing in the light of unholy revelry and took their pious ways home. later in the evening carrie had just finished a solo cake-walk when another incident shattered the peaceful [ ] these low grounds gayety of the occasion. daisy had stood all she could of ike's attentions to one of gussie's women. she had put up with the taunts of her friends long enough, and the time had come to exact her dues. swaggering out of the corner where she had been contemplating her desertion, she caught her lover by the shoulder and wrenched him from his dancing partner. in a second the three were the center of a crowd. “ike brown, ah'd like to speak wid you!” standing there, hands on her twitching hips, daisy was a menac- ing figure. "sho, honey," grinned ike, “go right ahead.” a quan- tity of beer had put him in a happy frame of mind. and besides, he enjoyed evidence that his gal was jealous. “what you means by flirtin' wid dis hussy?" “who you callin' a hussy?" demanded callie, and there was that in her manner which welcomed a fight. “look yere, daisy," began ike, placatingly, "tain't no harm fo' me to dance wid callie - " “don't you try to soft-talk me, ike brown!” inter- rupted daisy. she snatched her arm from his grasp and turned again to callie. "yass, you's a hussy! an' ah ain't scared to tell you so, too!” suddenly, from somewhere on her person, daisy flashed an open razor, and with a quick movement spun away from hands reached out to restrain her. her face contorted by a snarl that revealed ugly purple gums, she advanced slowly on the trembling callie. [ ] these low grounds “don't let her cut me!" callie's distended eyes searched wildly for some means of escape. then tom bentley's bellow broke into the hubbub. “drop dat razor or ah'll shoot sho'n hell!” there was no question in anyone's mind but that he would do as he said. daisy dropped the razor, all her bellicosity fled, and turned to the paralyzed ring of spectators. bentley pocketed his gun, then the razor. “take dat gal on home,” he instructed ike. as the two departed meekly arm in arm, bentley offered himself as callie's partner and was accepted. “strike up a tune, jim-ed!” and the dancers once more swung onto the floor, the recent incident wiped from their minds. for something of the like happened at every dance. [ ] chapter seventeen nteen varrie listened in ominous silence to the story of her elder daughter. "what did you say to her?" she interrupted. but blanche was so choked by sobs that she couldn't answer. “oh, stop that cryin'!” carrie commanded, sharply. "you's too soft—that's what you is!" “i told mis' laura i didn't care!" piped martha. nothing seemed to blight martha's spirit. she was made of sterner stuff than her sister. “git me mah coat,” carrie ordered blanche. fifteen minutes later the reverend raymond was in- terrupted in his sabbath meditations by a knock at the door. he stifled his surprise at the sight of carrie, who was the last person he would have expected to call. he had heard much of this woman-a magdalene, if re- ports were true. “come right in, sister prince!" his invitation was kindly, for kindliness was his fundamental trait. this [ ] these low grounds to be on that program as anybody else's! ah gives 'em pennies to put in collection jes'same's the rest!" the pastor stroked his side-burns thoughtfully dur- ing carrie's angry recital. when she was finally lost for words and simply sat there glowering at him, he began to talk in an even, soothing voice. “i'm glad you came to me with this matter, sister prince. i didn't know a thing about it. but you can be sure that the girls will have parts. the superintendent, brother winters, has often spoken of the aptness of your daughters, and i'm quite sure this unpleasant thing was no fault of his. i shall speak to sisters titman and curley at once. your two girls shall have their pieces tomorrow. just tell them to stop past here on their way from school, will you?" he paused. “and, by the way, sister prince, could i extend to you an invitation to come and worship with us some — "ah don't go to no church!" scowled carrie. “oh ... i see,” still quietly. “but surely you will come to hear your girls, won't you?" he fixed his calm eyes on her until she lowered her own. "ah don't ’tend no church,” she reiterated, like a sulky child. when she was gone, the reverend raymond stood at the door in puzzled thought, unmindful of the cold. had he seen tears in her eyes ...? ii . her head held defiantly high, carrie strode into the little church that sunday night before christmas and [ ] these low grounds "amen! amen!" could be heard emphatically from all quarters of the church as the girl took her seat. this was all that carrie wanted. it was all she had come for. she looked triumphantly at etta curley and laura titman as they walked stiffly past, then she gath- ered her daughters and went home. this was the only time that carrie prince attended the church at herdford. ( ) chapter eighteen false spring settled over the lowlands after the holidays. ice that had glazed the surfaces of the avondale and town creek, broke and floated out towards the chop- tank. the bare three inches of yuletide snow thawed into a mixture of shell-and-dirt mud that made the roads wellnigh impassable. it clung to the felt-topped boots of the shuckers as they plowed to and from the rival oyster-houses under the mild mid-after- noon sun. "hey, carrie!” big gussie stood in the road, balanc- ing a quart jar precariously in her hand. carrie poked her head out of her kitchen window. “c'mon an' git some free oysters down to de house. ah jes' seed ole- man gallion a-goin' up de street." carrie joined her presently with her own jar. gussie was full as a tick with gossip, and as they [ ] these low grounds walked along she ladled it out. carrie listened but said nothing. “what's you gonna do attah de shuckin' season's over?” asked gussie when she had drained herself dry of other matters. "season's over in april.” carrie thought a minute. “ah don't know. one thing certain. ah ain't gonna pick no crabs. guess ah'll jes' work 'long easy 'twell ah gits mah house like ah wants it. you can't keep nothin' right wid a lot o' men around!” “ain't it de truth!” agreed gussie, and the conviction in her voice would have done credit to an immaculate housewife. then she launched abruptly into a subject to which she had clearly given considerable thought. “ 'course, 'tain't no 'fair o' mine, but why you let dat nellie gal take yo' man?" carrie stopped in surprise. “what man?” "why, jake. ain't he yo' man?" carrie laughed scornfully. "huh! he ain't no man o' minel ah wouldn't have 'im. but ah knows one thing -efn he don't bring mo' money in fo' his board an' keep, he ain't gonna stay in no house o' mine!" "wal, how-deel” ejaculated gussie between gasps, for the mud was tiring her. “honey, you sho gots dis town fooled!" in a minute when her breath was coming more easily she added: "dey says he was purty good wid de cards an' dice 'twell dey cotched him cheatin' out to tom bentley's last month. nellie says he ain't won none since. guess he's scared, 'cause tom told him he'd blow his head off efn dey cotched 'im ag'in—an' tom'll ( ] these low grounds do dat, too! dat black man sho don't fool wid you none!" "somebody ought to blow his head off!” muttered carrie. “he ain't no good, he ain't! nellie want 'im, she sho kin have 'im, 'cause ah don't!" ii the low-raftered oyster-house was a smelly, sloppy place that would have turned the stomach of the smart people who relished herdford oysters in the metropoli- tan restaurants that were their final destination. four shelf-like, wooden structures, waist-high, ran the length of the room-one on each side, two facing each other down the center. upon them were distributed heaps of muddy oysters. the shuckers (there were women as well as men) stood in narrow, body-width stalls that reached to the top of the shelves. a powerful fellow weaved continually up and down the two aisles with a flat-bottomed barrow-bringing fresh supplies of oysters for the shuckers, carrying off shells that the shuckers had cast aside. the shuckers were skilled laborers but this carrier, by comparison, was a menial of the most inferior order. what he had was strength for a strenuous job. by the dim light struggling through muddy windows carrie made out the tall form of grundy leaning indus- triously over his shucking-board. at the moment he was competing with his neighbor, a wiry little man with the high cheek bones and swarthy coloring that indicated a [ ] these low grounds fusion of indian and negro blood. carrie left gussie to talk with bud saunders and eased over to grundy's side. grundy and the little man were evenly matched but their methods of shucking differed. grundy used the orthodox oyster-knife, a slender, thin steel blade, about the length and a quarter of the index finger, which he gripped in his right hand. his gloved left hand held the oyster on the board. first he would insert the knife, guiding it with a muslin-stalled forefinger. then after a preliminary boring effected with his pliant right wrist there would follow a coördinated twisting of oyster and knife—and a juicy grey oyster lay unshelled, to be flipped into one of two pails at the side of the pile. the actual time of this operation was hardly more than five seconds. · his neighbor's methods required more archaic im- plements a small hammer and a long-handled knife (originally belonging to a table set) which had been filed down until it resembled a hiltless stiletto. with the hammer the little man broke the mouth of the oyster's shell, temporarily jarring open the two halves. then he released the hammer with lightning rapidity, the knife fairly leapt into his hand, and the blade darted like the tongue of an aroused serpent between the two shells. with the same twisting motion grundy practiced he exposed the oyster, and with the same flip he deposited it in its pail. the movements of the two men were flowing rather than jerky—a symphony in muscular coördination- [ ] these low grounds and carrie looked on fascinated. the men were not un- conscious of their audience. finally grundy jabbed his quivering blade into the soggy board at the base of his oyster pile and turned to his opponent with a broad grin. "ah beat you dat time, sam,” he rumbled, good- naturedly. sam shrugged his shoulders and spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the discarded shells at the side of his stall, while he continued to ply his knife and hammer. grundy swung his two pails down from the shelf, disappeared into the packing-room, and returned. carrie was still there. "you sho kin open dem oysters,” she smiled. his gray eyes might have seen her for the first time, but he flashed the whiteness of his teeth. "ain't you never seed no fast shuckin' befo'?” he inquired. "ah ain't never seed no kind o' shuckin',” answered carrie. “whar you bin at?" "ah ain't lived near no water since ah was a li'l' gal," she explained. "you watch me an ah'll show you how it's done,” he promised. he took an oyster leisurely. “you see, oys- ters ain't like humans—dey don't like to open dey mouths ʼless'n dey jes' has to. dat's why dey squeaks an' spits when you sticks 'em wid yo' knife. you gots to twist yo' knife like dis so's to make his jaws tired. [ ] these low grounds see? den you cuts de muscle off'n de bottom shell easy- like so's you don't mess up his guts. see? dar he is—a big 'un. want 'im?" carrie took it gingerly, but in a minute her expres- sion of distaste disappeared and her face broke into its most alluring smile. "will you shuck me this jar full fo' mah supper, mr. grundy?” she asked. “sho! how'd you know mah name?" "oh, ah larned that when ah first come to town. don't you 'member out on the wharf, yonder, an'at the oyster supper?” gray eyes met black eyes, smiled, and looked casually away. the cry of a baby wailed above the buzzing voices and crackling shells. from the side of her husband, felt-booted and mud daubed as was he, a stalwart woman strode to a wooden box by the stove. catching the kicking infant to her breast, she sat down, croon- ing softly. but the child's cries shrilled higher and higher. “hey thar, lew grundy!" called the woman. “sing dat 'go down moses' fo' dis chile; he's a man-chile efn dey ever was one! he don't like no baby song!" coaxing cries came from all quarters: "yeah, lew!" “come on, deacon. we'll help you sing it!" without preliminaries, grundy lifted his head and poured forth the first line in a deeply mellow baritone. he forgot the oysters, and his intensity transmitted it- [ ] these low grounds self to carrie. she found her own mature contralto blending in the refrain. the other shuckers paused in surprise at this duet. a low hum cautiously followed the two leaders. then, like the burst of an organ, all blazed their voices to the rafters as they leapt into the triumphantly hopeful chorus. wailing minor chords were woven instinctively into the simple melody until a vibrant fullness blotted out the drab interior of the smelly place of toil. as the last note slipped away and labor was resumed, grundy beamed on carrie. "you sho kin sing, sister!” he exclaimed. his gray- green eyes glowed. “whyn't you jine de choir?" carrie's smile froze abruptly. “much oblige' fo' shuckin' mah oysters, deacon grundy!” she snatched the jar and turned to go. "hold on!” there was majesty in the boom of his voice. carrie stopped. "wal?" she demanded, impatient at her weakness. his eyes were wholly green now, and she could not drop hers. his face was expressionless, and so low was his tone it was audible only to carrie. "ah didn't go to say nuffin' to rile you. so you didn't have to be so snappish-like ... like some spiled young un!” carrie whirled away with a toss of her head. his gaze followed her weaving body until she passed through the door. and his hands moved more slowly now. [ ] chapter nineteen ans newman, one of the first residents of herdford and long since dead, had been an enterprising young dutchman. a good provider, he had balked at having his fair english wife walk a quarter of a mile for household water to one of the town pumps on front street. so at the back of his house on lower tilton street he had dug a well, which was now the source of water for the colored people of the neighborhood. the present owner was gracious about the general use of the well because it gave him a certain prestige. a wooden framework, about the height of a small child's head, built in a square about the mouth of the well, served to prevent dogs, cats, chickens, and children from falling in. but despite this precautionary structure, at times one found the carcasses of careless animals float- ing on the surface of the water fifteen feet below the ground level. when such accidents occurred, use of the [ ] these low grounds well was suspended until it was drained, or until the villagers tired of going a greater distance for their water. it was here that laura titman and etta curley met, as if by prearrangement, the day following carrie's visit to the oyster-house. laura pulled her pail over the top of the well just as etta creaked around the corner of the newman house. "lawsy, chilel” exclaimed laura, delightedly. “ah was jes' studyin' 'bout you!" etta adjusted her dust-cap with a reddened hand. “ah seed you from mah yard,” she explained. “jes' tryin' to finish up the conklins' wash whilst the weather's mild. mah rheumaticks sho gits bad when ah has to hang out clothes in a cold wind. an' ah knows dis yere warm spell ain't going to last.” laura could hardly conceal her impatience as etta went on with her rambling recital apropos the state of her health and the state of the weather. "... jes' the way it does every year 'bout this time,” etta was droning on. “sap ain' riz in the trees yit.” laura saw a brilliant opportunity and grabbed it. “no-sap ain' riz in the trees,” she agreed, with a lift of her eyebrows to indicate that she could tell more if she were urged. "what you mean?” etta caught at laura's sleeve in her eagerness. "you know, etta, ah ain' nobody to carry no tales ..." laura hedged, tantalizingly. "no indeedy! g'on honey." [ ] these low grounds "... but from what ah hears, deacon grundy done went an’ fell fo’ that carrie prince woman!” etta was spellbound as laura elaborated on a second- hand account of the incident at the oyster-house. she drank in the words like a thirsty hen at a puddle. "you means to tell me," she finally exploded, "that deacon grundy done fell fo' that hussy?" it was too much for etta. she leaned her ungainly length against the house and raised despairing hands toward an en- tirely disinterested sky. “an' him wid a wife an' fo' chilluns 'cross the river!" “it's a shame!" "it sho is!" ii carrie swayed up the street toward the well, a bucket in either hand. she was just in time to see laura scurry- ing off, with etta shuffling at her heels. “buzzards!" she commented. on her return she passed them at laura's gate. the next instant grundy's tall figure swung around a bend in the road. "good-afternoon, mis' prince,” he greeted her. "mought ah help you wid yo’ buckets?” without waiting for her reply, he took both of the pails and stood at her side, smiling. anger and pleasure fought for expression on her face. then with a little shrug, she fell into step with him. [ ] these low grounds carrie went into the parlor, and grundy heard her rustling some paper. she returned with a bottle of whisky. carrie didn't know why she was acting in this strange fashion. but this man with his green-gray eyes sent an unaccountable glow all through her body. “git two glasses from the cupboard there," she directed. grundy remained seated for a moment, studying her. then he did as he was told. the cork popped. the liquor gurgled. “to you,” carrie said, lifting her glass. “to you," repeated the man. they drank. again the liquor gurgled. “to us.” “to us.” they drank. their eyes drew nearer. his arm reached out. iii "cain't figger what's de matter wid lew grundy," sam answered bud saunders. “d-d-dad b-b-blame it!” spluttered the fat foreman. “ah c-cain't f-f-figger it mahself. ain't never knowed him t-t-to l- -lay off - -like he's a-doin' n-n-now. every d-d-day fo' a-a-a whole w-week!" he blinked disgustedly at the pile of untouched oysters in front of grundy's stall. [ ] these low grounds “wal,” opined sam as he deposited a huge wad of tobacco on his mound of shells, “ah ain't never seed him mess wid no woman, but ah'll bet a chew o’ tobaccy dey's a woman in dis!" "what you mean-woman?” said bud, incredulously, forgetting to stammer. "ah ain't sayin' nuffin'," demurred sam, and he lapsed into his customary silence. the object of bud's concern was, at that very mo- ment, quite oblivious to his defection. he was engrossed in calculating the exact number of hairs that lay in black disorder on carrie's pillow. her face smiled serenely up into his. it was a changed face from that with which she confronted the villagers—softer, with a limpid film over the half-closed eyes. they talked quietly, as if not to break the cocoon of deep contentment that had spun itself about them. and as they talked carrie fingered curiously an ovular object that was suspended from lew's neck. "what you doin' with this ole sack?” she asked, and attempted to slip the brass chain over his head. but he was too swift. he caught her hand and pulled it away. "ah ain't never s'posed to take dat off," he said, somberly. “it's a charm.” "huh!” scoffed carrie. "you believe in charms?” she sniffed at it mockingly. "smells like onions to me!" he disregarded her unbelief. “you knows why ah wears dis?" [ ] these low grounds “don't tell me you bin fixed!” she exclaimed, still mocking. “yeah, ah has," replied grundy. he waited patiently for her derisive laughter to subside. "you see mah eyes? ever seed a black man wid eyes like mine?” he thrust his lean face closer. “look at 'em good. what dey make you think 'bout? cat's, eh?" "oh, ah don't care what dey's like!” carrie pulled playfully at his small, well-set ears. she tried to take her eyes from his, but as at the oyster supper, she could not. grundy chuckled a bit ruefully. “you kin say what you wants to, honey, 'bout fixin'. ah sho wish dey warn't nuffin' in it mahself. but ever since ah was a young un ah done had to believe in it, 'cause dat's jes' why mah eyes is like dey is.” his seriousness stifled carrie's laugh. “tell me 'bout it, honey,” she urged. it all began with a quarrel between grundy's mother, nettie, and hannah, one of her best friends. the two were young, unmarried belles of belfort on the north- ern shore of the avondale, just opposite herdford. among the newly freed slaves from points south, there came big tom, a handsome octoroon. his huge frame and melodious bass voice combined with his blue- eyed moodiness to set the hearts of every girl aflutter, but his fancy was initially attracted to hannah, much to nettie's chagrin. however, at church service one moon-ridden night, nettie's nightingale voice, as she sang at his side, evoked a response in big tom. so did her willowy figure and doe-brown eyes. [ ] these low grounds the baby, lewis, named for his grandfather, proved to be a healthy young animal—all reddish-brown, pre- saging that rich, ebon coloring which was his in matur- ity. but to the anguished fright of his mother, he refused to open his eyes. this fact was remarked about the village, and hannah crowed in glee: “hee hee-ah fix you!” she looked for all the world like some famine-racked raven rejoicing over a field of ungarnered grain. when the child's eyes finally did open, nettie shrank in horror. the pupils buried in that round, chubby face were green-gray, like a cat's! in desperation, lest the curse of the gallows also be fulfilled, nettie stole secretly to the hut of black isaac, renowned as a conjurer. beneath the hanging herbs and other mystical impedimenta swinging from the ceiling. nettie told her story. isaac—wrinkled, dried-up, tooth- less—rocked to and fro in his cross-legged position on the floor. then when nettie had concluded he gave a cackle and suggested a bargain. his terms were exor- bitant, but the terrified girl agreed eagerly. after some weird incantations, he produced a small sack and thrust it upon nettie. "you gots to chain dis to he neck—don't never 'low he to take it off long's he live," he instructed. “ah cain't change he eyes, but ah kin stop de hangin'. make he jine church soon's he kin talk. make he pray ever' day. ..." "an' ever since ah kin 'member,” concluded grundy, “ah ain't missed a sunday in church. an' ah ain't never fo'got to wear dis yere bag. an' ah prays ever' day- anyways, up to last week.” [ ] these low grounds “how come you don't pray now?" flared carrie, an- grily. she moved away from him, her brow puckering. "you thinks ah ain't good, don't you. so you cain't pray no mo'.” grundy's head sank moodily to his chest. carrie clutched him by both of his hulking shoulders and shook his face upright. “ah knows you gots a wife an' chilluns 'cross to bel. fort,” she said, with less heat, for his dejection caused tenderness to creep back into her voice. “but didn't you tell me as how yo'wife is allus sickly-like? you gives her yo' money an' goes to see her, don't you? you don't treat her mean, nuthah. you thinks it's a sin fo' us to be together when it's like that?” she embraced him hungrily. not even jim prince had awakened the in- tense feeling she had for grundy, a feeling that burned and was never quenched. her spirit passed quickly to him, and he pressed his face to her bosom. another impulse prompted her: "pray, lewis-pray now," she whispered. grundy lay silent until once more light fingers traced a pattern of warmth upon his face and neck. and then, more softly than he had ever prayed before, a prose- poem flowed from his impassioned lips. in the middle of a dolefully rhythmical line grundy broke off with a dry sob. "ah cain't keep it up!” he cried, and he swept carrie violently to him. “an’ ah don't care, nuthah!” he whis- pered hotly into her ear. carrie smiled, and silence, unbroken, descended. ... [ ] chapter twenty he oyster season flagged toward the end of march, and died during april. the tran- sient oyster-shuckers and their families com- menced their trek homeward and the col- ored census of the town returned to normal. may saw the exodus of herdfordites to the centers of strawberry-picking. strange white men, farmers, came to town and selected their foremen, who in turn can- vassed the colored residents for workers in the berry- patches of queen anne, caroline, somerset, and wico- mico counties. whole families would leave, reducing the population to subnormal until their return in june, a few days before the independence day celebration. with school closed, martha and blanche were home during the day, so grundy and carrie could not meet in the afternoon. nights, jake was a hindrance to their trysts, for most of the men who gambled had left town and nellie had emigrated to fresher fields, so jake spent a great deal of time at the house. ( ] these low grounds balked on all sides, carrie and grundy met in secret —so they thought-at the cove where grundy was mak- ing ready his boat for the crab season. after supper, when the girls were in bed and jake had perched him- self on the front porch with his feet on the railing, carrie would slip noiselessly out of the back door and down a winding path to the cove's calm pocket of water. these hours beneath a soft moon or starred sky, with water lapping the sides of the boat, brought carrie and grundy together in silence as often as in passion. some- times they talked, and their talk ranged widely among things they understood and other things that perplexed them mightily. grundy's conscience, raised on the strict fare of orthodoxy, was a great burden to him. “do you think we's wrong?” he blurted out on one occasion. “what you mean?” parried carrie. “wal,” said the man, uncertainly, "you see—both us is married-an' got chilluns. ain't dat what de good book call a sin—us yere together-jes' same's man an' wife?" "no! no! 'tain't no sin!” protested the woman. “ain't nuthah one o' us wrong!” and she went on plead- ingly: "you cain't stop now, honey, 'cause ah cain't live yere with everybody 'gainst me an’spitin' me 'lessn you's yerel you make it easy. ah don't care what they says 'long's ah has you." the feel of this woman at his side was enough to shut out everything from the man's consciousness: the codes that were the heritage of his people, other codes that [ ] these low grounds had been instilled in them by their masters in bondage and by a religion imposed upon them for more than two centuries. grundy turned to carrie without a word and from that time the subject of their sin was avoided as if by mutual agreement. then one hot and humid june night jake eliminated himself as a hindrance to these two. denied by carrie, without the solace of nellie, and with no gambling to employ his mind, time burdened jake to distraction. on this night he rummaged about the house until he found carrie's cache of liquor, and within a short time he succeeded in dulling the edge of his boredom. down at the river, grundy turned an experienced eye to the clouds shadowing the moon. “look like we's gwine to have a blow," he stated. "reckon ah'd better put out fo' home.” "you better wait 'twell it blows over,” said carrie, anxiously. “you mought meet it halfway 'cross." "sho-but ah gots ileskins," answered grundy. he began to erect his mast. "no! wait!” cried carrie, a shade of fright in her voice. “you kin come up to the house. cain't nobody say nothin' 'bout that." she jumped ashore and pulled him after her. it was one of those electrical tempests that come sud- denly out of nowhere. when they were halfway to the [ ] these low grounds house, the heavens broke into ominous rumblings and jagged streaks of lightning cut across the thirsty land- scape. they rushed up to the back porch. and just then a terror-filled scream pierced a clap of thunder. “it's blanche!" carrie flew to the door. but grundy was swifter. with one bound he was through the kitchen and into the parlor. almost instantly he reappeared, dragging the drunken, cursing jake by the collar. grundy's eyes were emerald flames, his face a frozen mask of fury. carrie had one shuddering glimpse of him as she hurried into the parlor. she found blanche sobbing hysterically. “blanche-is you hurt?" carrie framed the wet face in her hands. “what did he do?” "he called me downstairs, mamma—said he wanted me to make him s-some s-sandwiches,” sobbed blanche. “what did he do?” repeated carrie. “then he grabbed me sudden-like an' commenced to kissin' me. an’ i hollered an' scratched, an' bit him- an' then you-all come.” "is that all?" "yes'm,” blanche assured her. grundy's light tread halted beside them. “ah drove him 'way,” he said, quietly. carrie looked in relief at his face. the eyes were gray now. after carrie had put blanche back to bed she re- joined grundy in the kitchen where he sat drumming the table with his finger-tips. [ ] these low grounds “ah started to kill 'im,” he stated, without emotion. “but ah reckoned you didn't want no trouble." he looked at his big, right fist from which the skin had been knocked at the knuckles. “reckon you need a man boarder fo' de summer?” he asked. "you means yo’self? what'll they say?" “you mean you don't want me?" “no, but ..." “den ah don't care what dey says!" he stated, flatly, and covered her mouth with his to stop further protest. iii beneath its dusty white sheet of heat herdford drowsed through the summer months. but it was not too drowsy to whisper. and the subject of most of its whisperings concerned grundy and his altered position. why, asked the town, did he take up residence with that carrie prince woman? why had he stopped attend- ing church? why was he seen so seldom? and why had jake tillery disappeared? then the town knew, for etta and laura were dili- gent. and the town whispered no more, but talked and nodded its head. by the time autumn had burnished the flat landscape, and the shuckers had made their yearly pilgrimage to the town, the talk had drifted across to belfort. and it came to the ears of lettie, grundy's wife. and she accused him when he went to see her. and they quar- [ ] these low grounds reled. and he left her in tears, swearing never to see her again. iv then crazy hiram came back to town. no one knew what had occurred to rob hiram of his wits, though there were many conjectures. it was only known that he had left the village to try his for- tune in philadelphia two years before carrie prince came to herdford. at that time, he was a gay, stockily built young buck, with a sloping breadth of shoulder and a bullish neck. at work, wheeling smelly barrows of oyster shells to waiting scow-boats, or at leisure, there was always a smile on his jolly face and a song on his lips. for hiram had a gift of music. he could enliven winter evenings in ike thomas's pool-room with his voluntary renditions of popular ballads or old spirit- uals; and no moon-light excursion up the chesapeake was complete unless hiram was there with his smile, his guitar, and his colorful tenor voice. now, at the time of the grundy-carrie prince affair, hiram returned to town, clad in the tattered remnant of a once boisterous checkered suit. no one recognized him at first. it was impossible. his powerful frame had shrunk to the proportions of a sickly stripling. his eyes, that had been so full of zest, stared bloodshot out of the shadow cast by his filthy hat. his lips twisted in a spasmodic grimace, revealing stained fangs of teeth. when he appeared without warning at the pool-room [ ] these low grounds that september night, a hush fell upon the place, still- ing the good-natured banter. he said not a word, but stood for a moment blinking from one to the other. then he shambled into the back room, to emerge with the guitar that had been stored there during his ab- sence. hunching himself on an up-ended box, he tuned the instrument, all the while muttering to himself and shaking his head waggishly. then he played. at first it was a wild discordant confusion of sound, as if the instrument were complaining of its being rudely awakened after a long rest. but the familiar touch soothed it, for gradually out of its wide belly lazed a rhythmical low-down blues accompaniment to the hum of the ghoulish creature on the box. it was mournful; it tingled up the spine in waves; it brought out goose pimples on flesh that a moment before had been smooth and warm. the men, mesmerized, stayed until hiram stopped abruptly and shuffled out into the dark. then they slunk home in pairs. carrie came upon hiram one day when he was being pestered by a band of barefoot boys who fled at her coming. the incident established her as his protector, and on other occasions she had an opportunity to be- friend him, for he had no relatives. he proved to be quite harmless. though he refused to sleep in the house (nobody ever discovered where he slept), he ac- cepted the food carrie gave him. and in return he would run errands for her and bring wash-water from the well on mondays. at times he was annoying. often he would follow her, like a musical fool of an ancient [ ] these low grounds court, strumming his guitar, and measuring the beat to her footfall. this befriending of the miserable hiram was not interpreted as a charitable act by the villagers. super- stitious to an amazing degree, they saw in carrie's asso- ciation with one "strick by de lawd fo' his evil doin's" witchcraft pure and simple. it was something else for carrie to live down. [ ] chapter twenty-one hey said in shrewsbury that jim prince was trying to work himself to death, now that he had no son, nor daughter, nor wife to drive to that fate. as a matter of fact, prince worked to forget. for he was plagued by the realization that he had lost something which he had not wanted to lose. the night of carrie's departure he had gone to amy for solace; but her eager wiles fell upon an unresponsive mood. he had cursed her and left, never to return. to deaden the longings that attacked him, like in- sects that pester a haltered horse, he worked as he had worked in the years before his prosperity. he left the store entirely in the hands of the clerk, and went out to his farm. there, throughout the long fall and winter, he labored at the old tasks—harvesting what the greedy sun had left, stable-cleaning, manure-spreading, fence- mending, hog-killing. in the spring he led the hands [ ] these low grounds at the plowing, harrowing, and planting. from dawn to sunset he toiled mercilessly, until the hands protested and he told them that they were not obliged to keep pace with him. physical tire brought swift sleep, but his dreams were not resting. he grew more lean of body and gaunt of face, until he reminded one of the jim prince whom carrie had known in his youth, except for patches of gray at his temples and that single streak of white up the center of his small head. jim prince straightened from the open hill of pota- toes over which he had been bending. he pushed back the ragged straw hat from his sweating face and squinted sharply at the man who had addressed him. “who be you, stranger?” it was jake, but he depended upon the lapse of years to save him from recognition. for two months and more he had wandered from town to town, waiting for the deep gash above his left eye, a product of grundy's slashing fist, to heal. now he made himself as affable as possible. this man prince was a vital cog in his scheme of revenge a revenge born of a hate that be- came more poisonous with the rising and setting of each day's sun. “ah’m from up to herdford way, suh-up near east- land,” began jake, adopting the twangy drawl of the shoreman. “an'as ah was a-comin' dis way on busi- [ ] these low grounds ness, yo' sister what lives to herdford told me to stop by ap' give 'mongst-you her regards.” "mah sister?” puzzled prince. “sho-ain't she yo’ sister?" asked jake, innocently. “you know—she got two gals - "what kind o' lookin' woman is she?" jim prince gripped jake's arm until that one winced. “she say you mought'n' know her, 'cause you ain't seed her since 'mongst-you was chilluns." "tell me what she look like, man!" prince was fierce in his eagerness. "she's tall, wid long black hair like a injun's, an' " "how ole de gals?" interrupted prince. “oh, one 'bout fo'teen or fifteen, an' de li'l' one she 'bout six, ah reckon." joy broke in a torrent over prince. "yass!" he cried, “dat's mah sister, an' ah'm sho glad you stopped by. come on up to de house an' have a glass o' wine—it's cold." "nope-thanks,” said jake, hastily. “ah gots to be on mah way. ah hopes you comes to herdford some- time. ah knows yo' sister would be glad to see 'mongst- you." he was all the while backing away from prince. “ah'm on mah way over to deerfield so's ah kin git de first boat out fo' balt’more tonight.” with that he set out over the field for the road. prince watched him until he disappeared behind a clump of woods. where had he seen that face before? it had looked strangely familiar. then the thought of seeing carrie again dismissed [ ] these low grounds jake from his mind. so she had taken this means of letting him know that she wanted to see him—that she wanted him to bring her homel she must be ready to forget. in his height of feeling, prince hallooed to one of his hands working in an adjoining field: "come on up to de house—we gwine quit fo' de day!" this was so unprecedented that the announcement had to be repeated. but soon all hands were making eagerly for the cool sanctuary of the farmhouse, be- cause the sun was exceedingly hot. there, they were surprised again. jim prince brought out two gallons of wine from the woodshed and told them to drink their fill. “lawsy!” was the only comment they could make, so great was their astonishment. an hour later, washed and shaved, prince left the care of the farm to big george and hurried northwards behind the fleetest pair of horses the livery-stable boasted. the steeds felt the lash more than once, for jim prince was jubilant. here he had made numerous trips to baltimore in search of his woman, and she was right on the sho' all the time! but that was the way it went. always look in the least likely place for some- thing lost. and on the boat that night, jake tillery turned his face to the east and grinned. iii “carrie!” carrie jerked upright from the oven, startled by that lilting, caressing drawl. there was no mistaking the ( ) these low grounds voice. she had known it for eighteen years. without turning from the stove, she answered him huskily: “jim prince ..." the words fell flatly on the ear like an object without resilience. prince's head sagged, and his partially extended arms dropped to his sides. the muscles at his jaws hunched into hard ridges, then slowly relaxed. jim prince had learned to keep himself well in hand. quietly he moved over to his wife and placed gentle hands on her shoul- ders, but at the touch the shoulders drew shrinkingly upward. the hands were withdrawn. "don't you want to see me, honey?" he asked. carrie swung swiftly about and faced him. and sym- pathy stirred in her at the signs of care and toil which marked him. except for the change of sudden ageing, here was the jim prince who had come to her rescue at a'nt sue's, who had taken her away to a home of her own. her eyes lost some of their cloudy blackness. her face softened perceptibly. “whar's de chilluns?” asked prince. at this question carrie's expression froze again. “what you want to know fo'?" she retaliated. “they ain't yo's, is they?" the thrust hurt. prince looked away, out of the window, where the dust-white road sweltered in the afternoon sun. "cain't you fo’git dat, honey? ah knows now ah was wrong ..." he paused hopefully, but this strange woman would not help him out. she just looked at him, her black eyes cold, cold. “cain't you see ah wants mah [ ] these low grounds chilluns? cain't you see ah needs you?" and he ended his plea as erring males have ended similar pleas since time began: “you knows ah loves you, carrie. ah ain't never loved nobody else." carrie's derisive smile held incredulity and failed to dispel the bleakness from her face. "you wants yo'chilluns!” she mocked. “fo'what? to work 'em to death like you done jim?" prince backed away before her rising voice, but carrie followed him. "you loves mel” she laughed harshly. “you didn't love me when you had me, did you?” “honey - "see that?” she held up a piece of dough. "see that?" she repeated. “wal, ah was jes' like that when ah was wid you. you could o' done anything wid me you wanted to. but ah ain't like that no mo'l now you git out'n mah house, 'cause " martha romped onto the porch and through the door, then stopped short when she saw her father. but blanche, who followed her, ran to him and threw her arms tightly about him. since the night that jake had molested her, a rest- less dissatisfaction had possessed blanche. at the supper table, she would sit in moody silence, speaking curtly only when she was spoken to. any slight criticism brought on a flood of tears which no amount of scold- ing or coaxing could stem. and there were times when carrie thought she detected bitter accusation in the [ ] these low grounds girl's face as her look swung from her mother to grundy. her eyes were moist now as prince held her at arm's- length, a happy little smile brightening his face. "you glad to see yo’ pappy, ain't you, chile?” blanche nodded, but in a second she returned to his arms and burst into one of her sudden spells of crying. prince turned to carrie. “let me take her home wid me?" "oh, papa, please! please take me! please!” blanche begged. "blanche!" ejaculated carrie, and she advanced on the two. but defiance had pulled prince to his full height and he looked unflinchingly into carrie's stormy face. "ah'm gonna take her! ah wouldn't want her efn she didn't want to come—but you can't stop me now! come on, blanche.” it was defeat, and carrie knew it. as father and daughter started toward the door, she stopped them. “blanche, go git yo' clothes." "dat's all right,” interposed prince, "we gwine git a whole new outfit on de way home in eastland. 'tain't too late fo' her to git to de institute, an' ah calc'lated she mought need some new clothes befo' she goes." "institute!” "sho, an' you kin take up anything you wants." he stopped beside carrie, who had sunk wearily into a chair. "ah don't know how you bin livin' yere," he said, [ ] these low grounds “he come fo’ you!" the man kept repeating. "he come fo' you!" "you's hurtin' me, lew!" the light faded from his eyes and he pressed his lips to her neck. “ah didn't mean to, honey,” he whispered, brokenly. “ah wouldn't hurt you fo' nuffin' in de world! ah jes' ain't mahself, dat's all." because she couldn't help herself, she caressed him soothingly, but the fear lingered. "you wouldn't leave me, would you, honey?" he asked. it was a mixture of command, question, and plea. and her reassurance, punctuated with kisses, was suspended somewhere between sincerity and diplomatic acquiescence. it was the beginning of a rift. [ ] chapter twenty-two nce more autumn brought its chill winds and rains to herdford. once more the vil- lage's colored population was swollen by the incoming shuckers. it was a prosper- ous year for messrs. gallion and kirkland, and their prosperity inevitably meant prosperity for carrie and big gussie. every available space in the red brick house was occupied: carrie even put cots in the parlor. and across the street gussie's girls were more desirable than ever. however, carrie's chief pleasure was not derived from the increased business, but from blanche's enthu- siastic letters from the institute. she read them over and over, then spent long afternoons composing her replies, to be accompanied by crisp new dollar bills. “i am going home to see papa for thanksgiving and christmas,” blanche wrote in november. and for the first time, carrie wished she were back in shrewsbury. as thanksgiving approached, the longing grew and [ ] these low grounds showed itself in her preoccupied manner. nothing in- terested her-not even the good brothers' dance at which the bainbridge band would play. at night she lay unresponsive in grundy's arms until he couldn't fail to notice her detachment. only one answer presented itself to her lover, and he became jealous. the jealousy swelled to blind pro- portions, so that a compliment or a casual admiring glance bent in carrie's direction while her boarders sat at meals around the kitchen table would enflame him beyond reason. alone with carrie, he would air his grievances, but with little satisfaction to himself. he succeeded only in wearing her patience to a shred. then when she tried to meet the situation by ignoring his inquisitorial complaints, grundy was infuriated the more. affairs were at this pass when the good reverend raymond bethought himself to hold a revival and purge the town of its sins. was not the year of the cen- tury's birth a gloriously appointed time for the salvag- ing of human souls? to that end he imported the right reverend elijah isaiah brown, an itinerant evan- gelist, and he selected carrie and grundy as two of the more prominent sinners to be reclaimed from hell fire. the elders of the village remember as if it were yes- terday the events of that evangelical harvest at winters m. e. church. old cap'n tom winters, eighty years old now; etta curley, angular as futuristic sculpture; [ ] these low grounds leaving an eight-inch fall of snow and sleet—"a dia- mond-studded cloak of purity," the reverend e. i. brown called it that night in his sermon. singly, and in pairs, and in groups, they came to the meeting. farmer bailey's sleek blacks pranced into the church- yard as if they were going to a fair. two mules jogging cautiously down the slope of market street drew be- hind them a slithering, tinkling sleigh which brought the johnson family, muffled to the ears in woolen scarves and great-coats. up the parallel wagon tracks of shell street the felt boots and heavy shoes of the towns- people trampled the snow and ice—the whited marsh on one side and the field of icicled brush on the other, both deserts of moon-lit pallor. so they came, some to renew their spiritual strength, some to find salvation which had hitherto eluded them. in the company filing up the shelled road was hen'y hooper, the ne'er-do-well. at each step he took, a moan escaped his great chest: "save me, mah lawd! save me, mah lawd!” over and over again he repeated it. for two days and nights now, hen'y had been wrestling with his devil. for two days and nights he had been pleading with the lord. clearly, hen'y hungered and thirsted after righteousness. ... inside the church a resonant hum rode the heated atmosphere, and above the hum was heard a voice half chanting, half singing. at intervals the whole congre- gation, swaying on the hard benches like rows of me- chanical dolls, joined in the refrain: [ ] these low grounds the mourners' bench. and now cap'n ham made a move that went down in the community's unforgotten annals. he rose, pushed his way through the perspiring, hysterical circle, slouched down the aisle and out of the church. there was an instant's silence, for the like had never happened before. laura titman wailed, but the sound only served to speed the erring one on his way. then under the magnetism of the reverend brown's voice, the flock resumed the strenuous work of induct- ing the proclaimed sinners into the fold. about an hour later, they were rewarded when hen'y hooper's eyes glazed like those of one in a trance, and he toppled off the bench. it is said that he frothed at the mouth. but applications of snow to his temples restored him, and in a minute he leaped crazily to his feet, to rage about the aisles like one possessed. "ah’m saved! praise de lawd!” he bellowed in his thunderous voice. “ah’m saved!” at the height of his frenzy his great strength redou- bled itself, and the bear-like embraces he bestowed upon the brothers and sisters terrified those earnest in- struments of god. it was cause for relief when he was finally quieted. encouraged by hooper's conversion, the crowd fo- cused its attention on bentley, who must have taken spark from his seat-mate. he also rose, not in passion, but like the cool gamester he was, and lifted a hand for silence. “brothers and sisters,” he addressed them, "jes' let me go home to fight dis battle wid mahself. efn ah'm a-comin' through, ah wants to come through right!" [ ] these low grounds approving amens greeted this. “ah’m gwine home now an' clean mah house —ah wants to git dat straight first. den ah'm a-comin' back yere tomorrow night an' git mah soul clean!" with that he swung down the aisle and into the cold night. the following night, true to his word, he came-but not as expected. into the hot, steaming church he stalked, brandishing triumphantly a broken table leg. "ah don't need no singin', brethren an' sisters!" he shouted, whirling about like a dervish in order to face his wide-eyed hearers on all sides. “ah done bin re- deemed! see dat?" he shook the table leg. “do you see dat, brothers? do you see dat, sisters?" he was chanting now. "wal-wall wal-wal—wall dat's what ah done to all, brothers to all, sisters to all mah gamblin' tables. oh, yassi mah soul is clean! hallelu- jah! ah met de sperit-met de sperit out dar-out dar in de snow! oh, yass! praise de lawd!" when he had raved at some length in this manner, he collapsed suddenly on a bench, a disheveled sodden heap, panting painfully. tom bentley had lost his wager to cap'n ham. through the space between a slightly raised window and its sill, grundy's gray eyes peered hauntedly at the scene. something within him strove to respond to the familiar stimulus. but to no purpose. the spirit was dead that would have answered. grundy turned from the window with bowed head. [ ] chapter twenty-three ’nt emma wiggins was protesting, in that level voice of hers, against the crop of births expected just before christmas that year. they were in feuchtman's general merchandise store opposite newman's yard -a'nt emma, gussie, and the stout, florid proprietor. "ain't seed so many young uns a-comin' since ah bin helpin' to bring 'em yere," complained a’nt emma. "vell, who's turned fool now?" questioned the grocer tersely as he puttered about filling gussie's order. "shame on you fo' yo'talk!” retorted a’nt emma, tossing her shawl. “it's de lawd's doin's an' you ought'n' to talk like dat!” "humph! the lord's doin's!" “how many comin', mis' emmy?" inquired gussie. she leaned heavily against the counter, still panting from her walk through the snow. "wal, dey's fo' altogedder,” answered a’nt emma, [ ] these low grounds cap'n tom ain't got to know nuffin' 'bout it 'twell he come home-an' den de baby'll be yere." "wal, ah don't know,” said a’nt emma. “ah'll see julie, anyways." so it happened that carrie prince became midwife to julie winters. for julie, long since tired of carry- ing this eighth child of hers, had turned a weary face to a'nt emma's questions, saying that it was of no con- sequence by whose hand the child was delivered. carrie in her pride was at first resolved to be coolly distant toward cap'n tom's wife, but her resolve melted before the welcoming smile of the frail woman. “ah reckon you'll find the place in a kind o’ bad way, mis' prince," apologized julie. “ella does the best she kin, but you cain't 'spect too much from a ten-year- old." ella, julie's oldest daughter twisted her spindly legs in embarrassment until carrie reached out to pat her kindly. “that's all right, honey," she said to the girl, "we'll set things to rights." they did. within a few days the house had under- gone a thorough cleaning, and ella's shyness had given way to friendliness. two days before christmas the baby was born, a girl. then, relieved of her burden, julie grew more com- municative. during the days of her convalescence, she and carrie held long conversations that gradually in- [ ] these low grounds . "ah mé carrie,” creased in intimacy. before this woman's sincerity car- rie's bulwark of aloof pride, built up against the town's accusing eyes, slowly crumbled. "is it so that you an' deacon grundy is livin' to- gether?" asked julie one day. “ 'spose we is?" demanded carrie, defensively. “he ain't got no wife now.” “ah know—but ain't yo' husband livin'?" in reply carrie told julie the whole story. “but you still gots a husband, carrie,” julie insisted when she had finished. “ah married a man, too, an' tom ain't no better'n yo' jim. ah knows even ef him an' etta don't know ah knows." she lifted a hand to stop the remonstrance on carrie's lips. “ah knows an- other thing, too_jes' 'cause a man runs wid a woman don't mean he loves her! 'sides, look what you doin' to deacon grundy. he ain't bin to church in months. you done help him go 'stray, carrie. oh, ah knows it warn't all yo' fault, but jes' the same, 'tain't too late to do the right thing. den you gots to think 'bout yo' chilluns." “but lew is ter'ble jealous, julie,” said carrie. “he told me he cain't do without me now. he says ah'm all he's got left-an' he's all ah got too, now.” “well . . . you suit yo'self, honey,” said julie. better iii a letter from blanche in the night mail added fur- ther weight to julie's persuasive talk. it was postmarked [ ] these low grounds “shrewsbury” and the childishly scrawled first para- graph read: dear mama, i am home with papa for christmas and new year's. i wish you and martha were home with me and papa. it is so long since we saw you all and we miss you very much. papa says he wish you would come home just for a day anyway. i would like to see you before i go back to school. i will be here until the ice breaks in the bay. ... carrie's chin quivered ever so slightly as she refolded the letter and placed it in her bosom. [ ] these low grounds her mouth. grundy stared silently as the liquid warmth poured down her throat. the rise and fall of her larynx seemed to fascinate him. when she had finished finally, she staggered back, and an insane laugh tore from her lips. then she stopped abruptly and swayed toward him, a loose lock of her hair falling across her face. "you cain't stop me! ah'm goin'. ah was comin' back-but now ah ain't! you think ah'm scared o' you? wal, ah was—but ah ain't no mo'l you don't care nothin' 'bout me-nothin'!” she broke into that crazy laugh again. "see this bottle? ah'm a-goin' over to gussie's an git marty. an' whilst ah'm there ah'm a-goin' to spread joy. 'cause this is mah last day in this yere town!” she staggered to the door, where she turned, supporting herself drunkenly. “an' with you!" she finished. her lips writhed about the words. her face was coarse, ugly. grundy sat woodenly, listening to her irregular foot- falls on the frozen ground. the retreating sounds fell like lessening blows of a trip-hammer upon his ears. and long after they had ceased, the blood at his tem- ples continued to throb to a measured beat, until a blind impulse sent him careening out of the hot kitchen. hatless, and with only a ragged, mud-specked sweater between himself and the cold, he struck out aimlessly. in a few minutes he was at the cove where his boat lay in its frozen fastness. several skaters were sitting on it, resting themselves. by this time grundy's swift walk had combined with the liquor to generate an undue [ ] these low grounds amount of warmth. he jerked at the top button of his sweater to loosen it, with a gesture so violent that the button flew off, and following the downward swing of his arm another object struck the ice, then slithered onto a tuft of marsh-grass bordering the shore. "hi thar, deacon!" one of the skaters greeted him as he slid up to the boat. “thought 'mongst-you warn't a-comin' out dis year, sartin.” grundy nodded absently, his eyes fixed on morris' shore, now a barren expanse smudging the eastern horizon. "yere," the man offered. he shook off his skates and handed them to grundy. “take mah skates. ah'm hon- gry as a bear! bin out since mornin' an' ain't et no dinner yit. you kin keep 'em 'twell tomorrow.” and he made for the shore, beating his gloved hands against his sides to warm them. "c'mon, deacon,” urged another, performing a fancy turn, “ain't set mahself ag'in you since last year." “shosho," was grundy's toneless answer, as he me- chanically strapped on the skates. he was graceful in action. his body slanting at just the correct angle, his long legs cut with rhythmical ease over the shiny surface of the ice. the liquor he had drunk, instead of destroying his sense of balance, added a daring abandonment to his movements. he was a skimming, swooping figure of precision. while the other skaters formed an admiring gallery, he went through his repertoire of grape-vines and figure-eights, [ ] these low grounds finishing his exhibition by streaking a clear piece of ice with the spencerian capitals of his name. he might have been alone, for he gave no indication that he heard the applause which greeted him. in a moment he broke through the ring of spectators and coasted to his boat where he took off the skates. then with them swinging from their straps, he strode off the ice, his great lithe form outlined against the sky, like the trunk of a solitary, branchless pine. iii . crazy hiram perched at gussie's side that afternoon and strummed an accompaniment to carrie's singing. the light of the sun through dirty windowpanes fell on his grimacing face and brought out the festered pock marks which gave to the skin the appearance of a frog's back. he looked like a horrid gnome, and he played un- holy music. they were in gussie's parlor. the room was stagnant with the reek of raw whisky and sweating flesh. an obese queen of carnality, gussie sat surveying her court, her body grooved like a bulging sack against the rounds bracing the bottom and arms of her rocker. and as carrie sang one after another the songs she had sung years before at sue's, martha leaned bright-eyed on the arm of gussie's chair, as much at ease as another child would have been with mud pies. to her the loose- lipped faces and drink-sodden bodies about her-loung- [ ] these low grounds ing in chairs, sprawled on the floor against the wall were familiar and right. “let de li'l'un dance," suggested one of gussie's women, a doll-like creature who was curled, like a sleepy kitten, in the adequate lap of bud saunders. "sh-sh-sho, c-c-carrie,” bud struggled to add, “l-l-let 'er c-c-cakewalk!" “g'on, honey,” bade carrie. “mought's well give 'em yo' last dance befo' we leaves from yere." then just as martha's eager little legs were about to swing into the first steps, there was a loud, insistent racket at the kitchen door. “let 'em in, carrie,” gussie directed. carrie lurched into the littered kitchen, flung wide the door, and swayed against it. there stood grundy, big, green-eyed, silent. the veins in his neck and tem- ples were like strands of pulsing rope. "come on homel” his lips had not moved. carrie shrank back, one hand fluttering to her laxed lips. then she lifted her chin defiantly, and her hand dropped. “ah ain't a-comin' nowheres!" she cried. “ah'll come when ah gits ready!” she threw back her head and laughed-an ugly laugh. but as her head came forward again, there was a flash of steel. the laugh gave way to a scream, and the scream in turn was drowned by the single report of a pistol that blazed six inches from her eyes. she collapsed at grundy's feet across the threshold. for a fleeting second he stared at the gaping hole that ( ) these low grounds gushed a scarlet stream. then he wheeled and fled. at the red brick house he snatched up the skates he had left before he made for the river. the sound of the shot had carried far on the still air. hurrying forms passed him, but he had neither eyes nor thought for them. through his hot brain ricocheted the single intelligence: "she's dead! she's dead!” it set the beat for his flying feet. on the ice he bent to fasten his skates, and as he did so his fingers fumbled to his throat and to the chain which hung there. the charm! it was gone! his eyes widened with panic. then the panic closed about him like water about a piece of bait on a crab- line. a dark, oval object on a tuft of grass at his feet! in his eager haste to reach it, he sprawled on his belly and slid. the charm was in his hands. he fondled it. he bab- bled incoherently in his joy. but down to the ice-bound shore swarmed a yelling mob. that spoke of no time to lose. he swung to his feet. in a thrice he was a dark streak on the ice blending with the gathering dusk. and jake had his revenge. iv it was a fitful day of light and shadow that carrie prince was borne up tilton street and away from herd- ford town forever. jim prince was taking her home. and he sat now in ( ) these low grounds the enclosed carriage with his two daughters, his mind extracting bitter and sweet memories from the past to piece with thoughts of the present and the uncertain future. “papa ..." blanche's voice brushed aside the hush. “papa, i'm not going back to school. i'm going to stay home with you an' marty an' the farm." jim prince made no reply. he recognized dimly that a woman, not a child, had spoken; and that she and martha somehow had in their keeping the future that baffled him. behind the little cortège walked crazy hiram, a wan, emaciated figure clad in rags. and as he shambled along he addressed himself conversationally to inani- mate objects he passed. he followed carrie the length of front street and out onto the pike from crosley's bridge until they came to the pine woods where the shadows deepened. there the weird creature stopped, but his bloodshot eyes traveled after the funeral car- riages until they were no more than swaying specks in the white spine his way back to the cubadour play- then he made his way back to the town, strumming his guitar and muttering—a somber troubadour play- ing only wild, eerie blues. [ ] chapter twenty-five tim prince stood upon a grassy knoll in one of his fields and scanned the level farmland which stretched away from him on all sides. he had only this farm now. competition had grown among the merchants of shrewsbury and had borne down upon him. debts owing him after that spell of hard times years before had never been paid, and for some reason—possibly because carrie's death had its mellowing effect—he had been loath to use legal measures against his debtors. (small good such action would have been anyway, for one can- not exact money where there is none.) so, on blanche's advice, he had sold the store, the livery-stable, and the town house. now the sun lent its last energy to crimsoning the blue above prince's pine wood. to his right, next the turnpike, big george still tormented his lazy mules with expert lashes of the reins upon their powerful buttocks as they ripped the plow-blades through the earth. to the left, josh williams slouched beside a drag-harrow. [ ] these low grounds “hey, george! josh!” called prince. “it's time to quit!” descending the knoll, prince followed his men lei- surely between the rows of his strawberry patch, exam- ining each vine as he went along, for this long field was his pride. "strawberries?" he had scoffed to blanche three years before. “humph! they's too much trouble. 'sides, you don't git nuffin' outn 'em fo' a couple o' seasons." yet, here were the strawberries, and the picking sea- son was at hand. it was another indication of the way prince's elder daughter had bent him to her will since that day years before, in the funeral carriage, when the reassuring clasp of her hand had revealed her in a new womanly rôle. he pushed through the turnstile, and made his way to the back porch. here he halted, and grinned at what he saw. "put it back, georgel” blanche was saying. "put it right back!” she stood at the big oilclothed table, one hand poised in the act of arranging the table ware. there was no anger or annoyance in the low notes of her voice, nor in her facial expression. her whole bearing suggested an experienced school teacher repeating a command to an erring pupil for the thousandth time, well aware that it will have to be repeated again and still again. obeying sheepishly, big george slipped a hot biscuit back onto its serving-dish, and slouched into his chair without a word. he had no retort even when josh ( ) these low grounds snickered through the suds at the wash-basin. and it struck jim prince how easily his daughter exacted obe- dience from others. just what was it that made people listen to her? the calm assurance with which she did everything? the determined set of her head? her long, firm-treaded stride? the carriage of her shoulders, so like carrie? jim prince didn't know. he only rec- ognized the commanding confidence with which she swept everything and everybody before her. he nodded his head in satisfaction as he watched her, remembering how he had mourned young jim. for in blanche he had more than a son. sons become men and as often as not leave the homes of their fathers, as most daughters do. but blanche, he was certain, would never leave him. she was as much a part of the home- stead as those twin oaks that stretched their gnarled branches protectingly over the front yard and eaves of the house. his thoughts were interrupted by a halloo from martha and he turned to watch his younger daughter approach. she was like a sleek, high-strung filly as she swung blithely down the lane. before the house a sud- den notion seized her to leap the stagger rails fencing the lane, and throwing back her two long braids of hair, much as a horse tosses its mane, she charged the barrier. she scaled it, with lanky adolescent legs flying, but her dress caught on one of the splintery rails. for a moment she hung there in mid air, clutching wildly at her rear extremity. then the cloth gave way and she sprawled in the furrows of the field. [ ] these low grounds seeing that she was not injured, jim prince burst into guffaws which brought josh, george, and blanche in a rush from the kitchen. martha, the torn remnant of her dress in her hand, stalked stiffly toward the laughing quartette on the porch. but as she drew nearer, the ridiculous situation was too much for her and she joined their shouts of amusement. "you-all sho won't have to drag that part of the field, papa,” she laughed. she threw her strapped books care- lessly onto the porch. “lawsy! i sho did hit that dirt!” "ain't you kind o' draughty, marty?” snickered josh. "you must think you's a buzzard, honey," boomed big george. as always, martha had a pat answer. "george, you know you ain't never seen no buzzard put his wings where i put my hands when he's a-flyin'.” she turned contritely to blanche. “i'm sorry, sis', 'bout this dress. i'll fix it.” "oh, that's all right, honey,” blanche answered through her smiles. “only you hadn't ought to go jumpin' and rippin' like that. you ain't no li'l' gal no mo'. you's goin' to put on long dresses next week when you finishes them studies with 'fessah johnson.” "long dresses!” cried martha in delight. "honest, sis'? you's really goin' to let me put 'em on? and can i put up my hair, too?".. blanche nodded assent as she led the way into the kitchen. martha was her one weak spot and the younger girl knew it. she had only to let her full-bowed lips [ ] these low grounds droop in a certain way and pucker her forehead just so and blanche inevitably weakened. for ten years now, since the death of their mother, blanche had watched over her impulsive sister, loving her pixenish ways, supervising her clothes and behavior, offering comfort- ing arms when martha's childish world went awry. they were utterly different, these daughters of jim prince. blanche was sure, steady, would always swing evenly within her ordained orbit. martha, on the other hand, was capricious and flighty. now she was here, now there. she might in one sudden burst of sponta- neity flash to a dizzy height, then, leaving behind a trail of spent vitality, as suddenly drop to oblivion. her recent attack on the fence, when she left behind the toll of gingham, might be interpreted symbolically. for martha would always pay the price of her effort. [ ] chapter twenty-six it was high noon. the prince berry-patch lay, a tumult of scarlet and green, in ripe readiness for the short picking season. "it's about time they was gittin' yere," said - prince to blanche. they stood expectantly on the back porch, facing the lane. “here they come now!" blanche pointed over the fields to the turnpike where two high farm wagons slowly lurched toward the entrance of the lane. prince nodded. “yep, dat's dem all right. wonder what dey's like. will morris says hisn come from up to kent county way, and dey's sho a moughty tough- lookin' bunch. saw some o' 'em yestiddy." "well, you went all the way to belfort to get yo's. maybe they won't be so bad. reckon we'll get much fo' the berries this year?" " 'bout two dollars a crate. we sho gots a mess o' 'em. maybe you feels like tellin' me how wrong ah was [ ] these low grounds 'bout 'em, eh?” jim prince cocked a humorous eye at his daughter. blanche patted his arm affectionately. “you ain't the only one with a head in this family, mister jim prince," she answered. “yep, reckon not, gal. you sho knows how to figger ahead, all right. jes’ wish marty had a hank’rin' the same way." "oh, she's all right. only thing, she's youngish. she'll get over that after she gets to the institute. 'fessah johnson says she's a bright un in her books.” prince was silent a moment. then he said, "some- times ah thinks you spiles dat young un.” "reckon i do," blanche confessed. “and look like everybody else spiles her, too. she's so purty and- and somep'n. i don't know what 'tis." "wal, you's done de best you could, gal.” jim prince shook his head thoughtfully. "you know, you hadn't ought to turned down 'fessah johnson like you done. he'll make a purty fine husband.” “i cain't be his wife and look after you and marty too,” blanche reminded him. “and i don't know ef i wants to get married. menfolks is — ” she broke off suddenly, seeing the expression on prince's face. “no, i ain't got enough eddication for him. i kin read and write and count all right, but when it comes to talk i jes' fo’gets 'bout grammer and talks like i been used to doin'. ... oh, shucks! i jes' don't love 'im no ways.” [ ] these low grounds before jim prince could reply, martha hailed them from the first wagon. she had taken over the reins from josh and had whipped the mules into a trot. now as she drew up her steeds with a flourish before the gate prince and blanche examined the newcomers. there were thirty or forty of them, men and women -even entire families. like the oyster-shuckers blanche had known in herdford, they were dressed fantastically -the men in last winter's over-all jumpers and the pants to their best suits, with exceedingly high-standing collars, yellow "bulldog" brogue shoes, and wide straw sailers setting off the ensembles. the women, in be- sashed, belaced, bepleated hand-me-downs, were as in- teresting after their fashion. and the luggage was no less strange and varied. tattered valises, carpet bags, suitcases, huge blanketed bundles tied with rope, and overflowing pillow-cases gave these laborers the appear- ance of refugees. a spare, angular man of burnt-brown complexion strode with outstretched hand toward prince. at each step he gave a hitch to his pants with long arms which he held close to his body. he had the bearing of an elderly but still game cock. "howdy, mistah prince,” he began, maneuvering his bulging quid from one cheek to the other. “wal, yere we is, the whole shootin'-match! hope 'mongst-you's got [ ] these low grounds blanche and prince hardly noticed her. they were too concerned with the smiling young chap at her side who towered head and shoulders above even blanche, and her height was that of the average man. ... there was the same magnificently proportioned stature, she was thinking; the same massive muscularity of sweeping shoulders and arms; the same lithe absence of waist. these details were easily observable because the boy, unlike the other pickers, was clad simply in the rough habit of the farm laborer. he was clean, but much patched. blanche, having finished her scrutiny, lifted her eyes slowly until they met jimmy-lew's. then she relaxed, for his eyes were hazel brown. and the roundness of youth still lingered in the smiling dark face beneath his fringy straw hat. "who be yo’ folks, jimmy-lew?" asked blanche. he pointed to a white-haired woman in the depart- ing group who ambled beside two strapping girls and a smaller barefoot boy. all three struggled with giant bundles. “that's mah grandmother an' mah two sisters an' li'l' brother, ma'am,” he said. "where's yo' father and mother?" blanche held her breath. the boy's smile faded. “mah mother died 'bout ten years ago,” he answered, eyes downcast. “mah father died in jail.” jim prince started to speak, but blanche caught his arm. [ ] these low grounds we jes' cain't send 'em away. don't worry 'bout marty. i'll take care o’her-i'll talk to her.” “all right,” said prince, and shook his head. “but dis is one time ah sho thinks you's wrong-sartain!” "wait a minute, papa," said blanche as a sudden thought struck her. “s'posin' you go over to will mor- ris and see ef he needs four mo' pickers?” prince snapped eager fingers. “dog-gone! that's right! he told me no longer'n yestiddy he was short- handed on 'count o' his fo'man didn't bring all de folks he was s'posed to. ah'll go right over an' see 'im.” and he made rapidly for the barn. his face was beaming when he returned an hour later. "it's all right!” he exclaimed as he entered the kitchen. "will says they'll help ’im a lot. ah'll go down to de shanties wid a wagon an' haul 'em right over.” “that's fine!” blanche breathed her relief. “i'll go with you." iii the shanties that prevail in the lowlands of the eastern shore of maryland are flimsy architectural step- children hastily conceived and birthed to shelter the help a farmer must import for his harvest. the oblong shed prince had tossed up to house thirty-odd people was thirty-six feet long by six feet wide; and this was divided into six compartments by planked-wall par- titions. along the back and side walls of each compart- ment were an upper and a lower bunk. and-touch of [ ] these low grounds luxury—there was a floor of rough boards, laid at the insistence of blanche. for the time spent in this crate-like shelter the fam- ily unit would lose its identity, for all the men and boys slept together, all the women and girls. if they were an amicable group, the chores—such as supplying wood for the cook-stoves and filling the communal water barrel—would be divided evenly. if it rained, all would be wetted. if it were hot, all would roast. in every sense of the term, this was a share-and-share-alike existence-even to coping with the vermin that infested the straw of the bunks. following the wagon tracks that circled from the farmhouse, prince and blanche neared the back of the shanties in time to hear a guitar twanging a dance tune. open palms beat a rhythmical accompaniment and mingled with exclamations of approval. the cause was soon apparent, for there, at the corner of the shanties, in the center of admiring timekeepers, was martha ex- ecuting a toe-tangling jig. her newly acquired long dress raised to her knees, her loosened hair flying wildly about her bobbing head, she was lost completely in the dance. jimmy-lew grinned merrily over his instru- ment from a perch on a stove. as the furious finale ended, and the girl tossed back her shower of hair from a radiant wide-eyed face, prince would have lunged forward angrily, but blanche stopped him. “'tain't no use to rile yo’self, papa,” she whispered. "jes' call jeb." for blanche knew her sister well. and she knew that no amount of scolding would quiet her [ ] these low grounds restless feet, for those same feet, five years before, had won a dance contest at a shrewsbury minstrel show. martha was stage-struck. when jeb harmon heard prince's orders—that the grundy family were to be lent to will morris—he was frankly disapproving. "you's losin' fo'o' yo' best pickers,” he stated, flatly. “but ah reckons you knows what you's doin'." as he went off on his distasteful errand, blanche called to martha. [ ] these low grounds squirmed a bit and then blurted: "i'd ruthah-i'd ruthah - " "you'd rather dance and sing," finished her teacher, still smiling. “is that it?" martha's head came up with a quick toss, but she said nothing. ike tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the arms of his chair while he scanned the pretty face opposite his. he said, softly, persuasively: “it's all right, and natural, also, for you to dance and sing, martha. you're young, and you like those things. but it's selfish of you to think as you do. you have abil- ity for better things than just dancing and singing. you've a good mind—if you hadn't one, i wouldn't have bothered to help you as i've done. there is a need ---and there is going to be an even greater one in the future—for young negroes who have had training. right now there is a crying need for trained teach- ers “i don't want to be a teacher!” cried martha, sulking away from his gaze. "you don't have to be a teacher," answered ike, "but it's the best opportunity for a young girl who wants to do a great service for her people — " "huh! there's other girls who want to teach," re- torted martha. “i don't! i don't want to be in no countrified town like this all my life-a-lookin' at the same people, and a-doin' the same things all the time! i don't want to!" "you ought to be ashamed of yourself, martha,” stated ike without raising his voice. “you know the [ ] these low grounds nuthah. ef you didn't want us, whyn't you tell jeb harmon so befo' we come? 'twarn't right ' “is you gwine to git offn mah land?” prince moved forward, gripping the handle of his hoe menacingly. the boy held his ground, and did not flinch when the man almost touched him. "i don't know why you don't want none o' me and mine around,” he said, slowly, “but i reckon it's jes' the same to me ef i do stay away!” and with that he turned and walked off. martha, frowning discontentedly over her father's berry-patch, did not know all this. she only wondered why she had not seen jimmy-lew. and she wondered if he would play with the morris pickers' baseball team, which had challenged the prince pickers to a game this very saturday afternoon. it was to be a prelude to a straw-ride in the evening. iii shrewsbury was enjoying itself at the ball ground. three, four, five, six deep, spectators bordered the field, while others perched on the tops of buggies and the highest rails of hay-wagons. saturday was "grubbin'-up" day and the town was crowded with shoppers who wanted and expected some sort of diversion before they scattered to their homes. martha had left her father and blanche with the stipulation that she would meet them at the general merchandise store on main street. now she squirmed [ ] these low grounds the crowd, now fully aroused by the dramatics tak- ing place, jeered viciously. boos and cat-calls split the air. “take 'im out! take 'im out!” the cry became a chant. but josh placed too much trust in jimmy-lew's seem- ing unreadiness, for as he sent the next ball to the plate, an amazing thing happened. without shouldering his bat, jimmy-lew leaned forward and swung in an arch- ing, upward swipe from the ground. all of his powerful shoulder muscles were in that quick, rhythmical lunge. the white pellet sailed higher, higher, out over the center fielder who had been caught lamentably nap- ping, then plunged into the fallow ground beyond the bounds of the field. jimmy-lew, in the meantime, had started on the circuit of the bases. like some blooded stallion with the bit in his teeth, head high, body al- most at perpendicular, he shot out in strides that fairly devoured the first base line. by the time he rounded the turn at second, the fielder had retrieved the ball. a beautiful throw relayed it to the left fielder. then si- lence smothered the crowd. would jimmy-lew try for a score? martha clenched her hands, her bright eyes widened to their capacity. without knowing what she did, she screamed: “run, jimmy-lew! run!” he may have heard for his legs seemed to draw up a trifle higher at the knees, and his pace quicken. a split second before the ball thudded into the catcher's mitt, he charged across the home plate. [ ] these low grounds now the throng, which a few moments before had clamored for his blood, went mad in admiration. but martha stood wilted and chagrined behind first base, her chin tilted at a disdainful angle. in the last half of the ninth inning jimmy-lew had still made the lone score of the game. the prince team was at bat and skinny was pitching for the morrises. he had hopes of a no-hit, no-run victory. the first man to face him, a little rabbit-like fellow, pranced and capered exasperatingly before the plate until he was presented with a base on balls. not con- tent with this, the pirate, aided by a long hook-slide, took possession of second base at the very next pitch. unnerved at this point, skinny made a wild throw, which, before it was recovered by the catcher, found the base-runner crowing on third. supporters of the prince team, sensing a last-stand rally, whooped up their chatter, which did nothing to calm the harassed pitcher. he had lost all control of the ball, and now eight wild tosses in rapid succession found the poor chap in an agonizing predicament with all of the bases lodging runners who waited only for the crack of the bat to bolt them scoring over the tri- angle in front of the catcher. the din rose deafeningly over the field while the pitcher and the catcher held a hurried consultation. the desperate skinny poised on the mound in a slow wind-up, but the ball barely reached the batter before it dug into the dirt. the next was no better, for it went wide, outside. [ ] these low grounds with bases full, no outs, and two balls on a possible pass for a tying run, skinny dejectedly contemplated the batter before him. it was the same stocky short-stop who had been clouting hot, skidding grounders through- out the game. skinny knew that the only thing that had saved him from humiliation thus far had been his foe's lack of placement. granting that he succeeded in achieving a strike-out, which was obviously doubtful, there were two other batters to follow whose long fouls had been a source of considerable worry. skinny did not relish his position. his nerve was gone—he knew it. and the crowd was unmerciful. he spat out his flavorless quid, said something to big george, and dropped the ball. "time out!” bawled the umpire over the jeers of the crowd. skinny ran over to jimmy-lew and tendered his mitt. "what's the matter?” grinned jimmy-lew. "scared?” "you's got one ball to lose,” said the vanquished pitcher, ignoring the jibe. jimmy-lew's grin widened. “i don't reckon i'll be a-needing of it,” he boasted. and as he walked over to the abdicated mound there was a flaunting confidence about the boy's bearing that abruptly hushed the jeer- ing mob. shrewsbury lads, for many years to come, were to hear of the feat performed by jimmy-lew grundy that day. narrators garnish the legend with extravagant hyperbole and quaint simile, but the facts are these: upon entering the pitcher's box, jimmy-lew threw [ ] these low grounds exactly nine strikes-nine ribbons of sizzling white that streamed waist-high over the platel three bewildered batsmen faced him, and went down. and when the re- port of that last strike resounded from the catcher's mitt, the crowd, with customary fickleness, was at jimmy-lew's feet. iv martha slunk away, half-provoked, half pleased with jimmy-lew's heroics. she had not gone far when a voice stopped her. “how'd you like the game, mis' prince?” martha assumed the role of coquette. “oh ... it was fair to middlin',” she said. "you cain't fool me," chuckled jimmy-lew. “you wanted me fo' to win that game, didn't you?” "oh, did i?" “wal-didn't you?" “whyn't you speak to me?" countered the girl ac- cusingly. “you heard me callin' to you. and you ain't even been near our place since you left!” "i ain't used to goin' places whar i ain't wanted,” re- plied the boy. “what you mean? where ain't you wanted?” martha turned angry sloe eyes on him. “you's usin' that fo' a 'scuse, that all!” young grundy's arm found its way around her waist. “honey," he pleaded, “hope an die yo paw told me to keep offn his land! don't you know why?” [ ] these low grounds no time fo' no gal what runs with married men and them that ain't her eekles. 'sides,” he added, softly, “i ain't a-wantin' nobody but you, no ways." "well”—martha was unconvinced but pleased—“she sho acted like she owned you." “wal—she don't! an' that's that!” they took their time walking. the afternoon sun still lingered, and it was pleasant along the shell road with the town just ahead. within a few rods of the store where jim prince had tied his horse, martha turned to jimmy-lew. “papa don't like you, maybe, but—but i do! and—” she halted, looking at the ground. “jimmy- lew, do you want me to be on that straw-ride?" “course i do!” cried the boy delightedly. “but you said yo' sister " "i'll be on that straw-ride, jimmy-lew!" but you can't go out, martha. blanche don't want you to. i don't carel jimmy-lew'll be there, and so will judy, and ... but josh and big george'll be there, too. they'll tell papa and blanche in the morning, sure's you're born! i don't care! 'sides, they'll be so drunk they won't know who i am. but suppose blanche and papa hear you going out or coming in? [ ] these low grounds they won't. i'll climb out on the limb of the big ap- ple tree in front of my window. and i'll come in the same way. but you hadn't ought to go. blanche said no. i don't care! i don't care! but suppose something happens? you know how much blanche wants you to go to school. you know how much blanche loves you. i don't care! i don't care! you've never been out without blanche before. there might be a fight. you know how these pickers carry on when they get to drinking. jimmy-lew'll be there. i ain't scared. jimmy-lew'll be there. he's strong! here they come now! hear the horses? hear them singing? hear jimmy-lew's guitar a-playin'? but don't go out, marthal don't! i will! i will! ... shucks, i knew it would be easy! "martha!” jimmy-lew jumped down from the straw and lifted her bodily into the wagon. “you did come, didn't you?” the boy was highly elated. "sho,” replied the girl, as if she had done the easiest thing imaginable. “where's judy?” "now there you go!” chided the boy. “she's in town [ ] chapter twenty-eight i he berries thinned and finally vanished in the lowland patches. the season was over and the pickers were leaving for home. and now the shrewsbury shopkeepers rubbed elated hands together, for sales were mount- ting as the scattering pickers indulged in their seasonal spending spree. the proprietor of the town's clothing store, heinrich schroder, was especially gleeful. all the morning of the second saturday in june, and right up to the shriek- ing approach of the afternoon train, the schroders were kept busy. "such a loveliness in the feet, lady," frau schroder would gush. and the teeth of some splay-footed woman picker would gleam in spite of the agonizing pressure of new leather. (one's shoe could come off in the train.) “ach! just like the glove, mein friend!” thus hein- rich, the elder, would convince a new customer who [ ] these low grounds frowned dubiously at a suit. scratching fingers would rake an itchless head. the garment was sold. young heinrich held forth in the haberdashery de- partment. “just like they're wearing in new york,” he blandly informed the men and boys as he displayed a screaming cravat or a candy-striped shirt. the money drawers yawned greedily. the pickers' pockets grew lighter. they had made another season. martha stared gloomily down the hot, dusty road from the farm wagon in which she and josh drove the prince crew to the depot. she wished the wagon's oc- cupants wouldn't chatter so. “wonder ef the weeds done growed up in the back yard. ... "you reckon the crabs is much this year?" "hope a’nt lizzie looked to my chickens whilst i was gone." "stop bein' so fidgety, georgie! i'll smack the taste outn you!" martha wished they would stop chattering. didn't they know jimmy-lew was going away? they were jolting by the pine wood where she had stolen every night except the night it rained last week. . . . she wouldn't climb out by the apple tree any more. jimmy-lew was leaving. she wouldn't have to wait to hear her father's deep snoring, or to hear ike johnson's departing footsteps, before she could go to jimmy-lew. jimmy-lew was leaving. there would be no more soft strumming on the guitar, no more tender [ ] these low grounds whispering from lips so persuasive against her own. jimmy-lew was leaving. they had passed the pine wood. in town, martha eluded blanche and her father to go in search of jimmy-lew. she saw him through the window of schroder's store. my! how nice he looked in his spankin'-new blue serge pants, tan shoes, and white shirt! he saw her and waved for her to come in. no, she shook her head, and signaled that she'd wait for him. he came presently, his discarded clothes in a package under his arm. "couldn't git a whole suit,” he explained sheepishly, after greeting her. he looked wistfully at the suits dis- played in the window. “had to let granny have most my money." "you looks grand, honey!” martha stood off at a lit- tle distance and beamed admiringly. then dissatisfac- tion edged her voice. “i bet you'll do some struttin' when you gits home. bet all yo' sweethearts start to fightin' 'bout you.” "aw now—there you go!” he reproved her. “ain't i done told you you's the only gal i ever liked in my whole life?” martha smiled up at him happily--pacified. they turned into a side street where neither jim prince nor blanche would be likely to find them. then they walked until they found themselves on the white [ ] these low grounds turnpike. finally they came to the pine wood. it was just past one o'clock. the train did not come until three. they had time. ... once more they sat under their pine tree and talked. silly talk. young talk. "sho don't want to leave this place, honey." "i don't want you to, nuthah.” “i bin thinkin'. bet you ain't gonna think 'bout me when you's 'way to school.” "i ain't goin' to think 'bout nothin' else!" the boy made a confession: “i ain't told you nuffin' 'bout it, but i done decided to go to school this winter. they's gonna give night studies to eastland, an' i fig. gered i could 'bout make most o' the classes ef the shuckin' ain't so hard or i ain't 'way on a dredge boat.” he glanced at martha to see how she received this in- formation. she squeezed his hand. "i warn't noways wantin' my wife to know more'n me,” he ended, shyly. martha said nothing, only kissed him in awkward, girlish fashion. and in the silence which followed there was complete forgetfulness of the world near by. iii jim prince and blanche accosted the boy and the girl sternly as they came breathlessly under the shed of the station house. "whar you bin?" demanded prince over the shriek [ ] these low grounds of the approaching train. he seized martha roughly by the shoulder and spun her around to face him. before she could answer, the air was shattered with screams. then horror clamped down upon the crowd. a child had walked onto the tracks in front of the train, and would have perished before the eyes of the paralyzed, witless onlookers had not a lithe body shot forward. the child was thrust to safety, but jimmy-lew was caught beneath the monster engine. martha knew nothing after the horrible sound of brakes grinding [ ] chapter twenty-nine yor her father martha had moody, accusing eyes that said: “your last words to him were harsh. you were unkind to him always.” for blanche she had only silence. day succeeded day, each a meaningless repe- tition except for a visit, every afternoon, to the pine tree that bore the initials “m. p." and "j. l. g."-hers and jimmy-lew's. “ 'tain't no use lettin' it upset you, papa,” said blanche when prince complained of the girl's behavior. “marty'll be gittin' off to school in a few mo' weeks. she's young. she'll get over this." then, one sultry morning late in august fear settled on martha, and grew to panic as the morning pro- gressed. she sat on the porch, tried to calm herself, to think. if she was pregnant—and there had been cause to worry for a week now—something must be done. she [ ] these low grounds thought of girls she knew "gittin' in trouble.” she re- called the sly nods and wagging tongues. she knew what a choice tidbit her own disgrace would be: blanche's humiliation ... her father's grief ... her own un- happy future if she stayed in shrewsbury or was sent away from the institute. if she stayed ... that was a thought! suppose she didn't stay? suppose she ran away? other girls had run away from shrewsbury. minnie thomas . . . sofie lewis ... plenty of girls. that wasn't such a disgrace. martha's head lifted. her jaw set itself in a stubborn line and her childishly soft lips lost their pout. she glanced at the clock in the kitchen. it was ten. she had an hour to catch the short-line train to eastland. and from there . . . she didn't care where she went from there. in furious haste she packed the valise which blanche had purchased preparatory to her going to the institute. this she hid in the back of the buggy. then she went to her father's room, to the bureau where he kept his money. there was forty dollars in all. she thrust twenty- five into the first grown-up pocketbook she had ever had. when she had scrawled a note to blanche and her father and washed her face, she ran out into the fields. blanche was in the potato-patch crushing bugs on the steel of her hoe. tall and comforting she looked, and martha wanted to throw herself into her sister's bared arms. instead she smiled her brightest. "well, honey,” blanche greeted her, relieved to see the child apparently so cheerful, "you looks like yo’self fo' sho! gonna help me git rid o' these here 'tater bugs?” [ ] these low grounds i'd a-had to stay right in shrewsbury all my life- a-lettin' folks talk 'bout me. i won't do it! where you going, marty? i don't know. i don't care! philly, maybe. maybe new york. you don't know anybody in philly or new york, marty! what'll you do when your money's all gone? who's going to look after you when ... leave me be! i'll take care o' myself. there's the train a-blowin' now! you'd better turn back, marty. i won't! i won't! i'm goin' 'way from this town! i'll be all right ... i'll be all right ... iii jim prince plodded his fields, a tired and very wor- ried man, and thought of his daughters. for a week now there had been no word from martha. neither telegrams nor the services of the police had produced a trace of her. martha had vanished as if by magic. to add to his distraction, blanche-usually so calm and self-controlled—had given way completely to her emo- tions. “it's my fault! it's my fault!” she kept repeating. and no words prince could say would comfort her. on the other hand, she appeared to derive more than ordinary comfort from the presence of ike johnson. and the professor was taking advantage of the crisis in the prince family life to make himself useful. he dic- [ ] these low grounds tated telegrams. he fed the chickens. he coaxed blanche from the brink of hysterics. only last night prince had seen ike plant a hurried kiss upon the lips of his elder daughter as the two stood at the swinging gate. and blanche—so her father thought-had not been so sad today. prince had mis- givings. perhaps blanche, too, would leave him, now that the responsibility for martha no longer rested upon her shoulders. prince couldn't rightfully object. the professor was everything a man could wish for in a son-in-law. he was well able to care for a wife. and if a colored high school was built in shrewsbury—there was talk of one-ike's future was pretty well assured. for he was the logical one to be the principal. but what would prince do without blanche? "ah ain't gwine to stand in de way,” he told himself. but he realized suddenly how necessary this daughter had become to the peaceful conduct of his life. ike proceeded with his courtship, not impulsively, but with calm ardor. then one day in autumn prince was invited to listen to the plans the young people had hatched. "an' the school board's made ike the principal of the new high school, papa,” concluded blanche. “so i was thinkin' we could live right here on the farm.” one of jim prince's rare smiles flitted briefly across his face. [ ] chapter thirty artha ventured another glance about the car, this time noting more purpose- fully the faces of her fellow travelers. their utter impersonality was disheart- ening. she shrank once more against the sill of her window, not bothering to wipe away the tears that stole down her cheeks and drifted between her quivering, parted lips. she had to admit it-she was frightened. then diversion boarded the train at claybridge, which is a junction point near the boundary of mary- land and delaware. tired of watching the bustle at the station, martha shifted her worried eyes to the seat across the aisle. at the same time its occupant shifted her position, and a pair of hazel eyes met martha's black ones. it was judy! martha's first impulse was to turn away. but she was too relieved at seeing any familiar face, whether it be- [ ] these low grounds longed to enemy or friend. so she returned judy's gaze with one of curious surprise. judy spoke first. “you-all goin' far?" "philly," replied martha, shortening the name in an effort at nonchalance. but nonchalance fied before judy's incredulous grin as her eyes traveled critically over martha's gingham dress. martha bit her lip and looked away in hot embarrassment. she felt judy slip into the seat beside her. "what's the matter?" judy laid a persuasive hand on martha's shoulder. martha dropped her head and judy smiled know- ingly—a one-sided smile. "who was it— jimmy-lew?" she asked. martha made no answer. "aw, 'tain't yo’ fault, honey,” soothed judy. "what yo' folks do-put you out?” "nol" martha's head shot up defiantly. “i jes' come on 'way befo' they found out.” "oh . .," judy's freckled brow contracted, puzzled. and again: "oh ..." then: “well, what in hell you goin' away fo'?" martha shook her head dumbly. "come on--betcha hongry-let's eat," judy said, brusquely, and reached for a shoe-box from the seat she had vacated. "i don't want none," said martha. "don't be no fool-you gots to eat," answered judy, practically martha took the fried chicken leg proffered her and [ ] these low grounds at the first bite she knew how hungry she was. she al- most snatched a biscuit from judy. “naw, you ain't hongry-much!” mocked judy. when they had made away with the contents of the box, martha asked judy where she was going. "philly. got a a'nt there," replied the girl. “says she got a job fo' me. ef you wants to, you kin stay with us.” to martha this was equivalent to an invitation to heaven, the solution to her most pressing problem. then her face fell. “no, i can't go with you,” she said, gloomily. “yo' a'nt might not like it when she finds out 'bout me." "huh!" judy scoffed. “you must think you's the only gal what ever had a baby without bein' marriedl i gots one-year old-home with my folks. shucks! 'tain't yo' fault jimmy-lew got killed. wouldn't a-mind havin' one o' hisn myself." her smile made martha feel easier. she added: "a’nt liddy ain't been no angel herself! what's yo' name?" martha told her. “all right, marty—it's a go. 'course, now, don't let me make you do nothin' you don't want to do.” “oh, i'll go with you!” exclaimed martha, eagerly. "i can pay yo' a'nt until i get a job.” "don't let that worry you,” said judy, magnani- mously. then she looked martha over critically. “reckon you better change yo' dress ef you got a better one,” she suggested. she smoothed the mail-order gar- ment she wore, and adjusted her hat at a cockier angle. [ ] these low grounds the suit was of gray serge, and she carried it to attrac- tive advantage. judy had that something called “style.” when martha returned to her seat, she had on a blue serge outfit selected, with blanche's help, from mark- son's magazine. it set off her slim figure and soft beauty perfectly. "sho look kind o' good, gal,” said judy, with relief in her voice. she had a horror of appearing countrified, and hadn't relished the thought of being seen with one who fitted that description. to her dying day judy was to stand firmly for what she later termed “class.” the train paused at wilmington and then took up the rattling journey. twilight gathered and the girls grew silent. suddenly martha asked: “why'd you pay any attention to me? i thought you didn't like me on 'count o' - " "jimmy-lew?" finished judy. “i don't hold no hard feelin's long. 'sides, he was just a notion, anyways, to me. that's the way i am. i ain't lovin' no man no mo' -never!” her laugh had a hard edge to it that was unpleasant. "guess i felt sorry fo' you.” she shrugged. broad street station, with its bustling crowds, made martha glad that she was with judy. “porter, sir?" “porter, ma'am?” “kin ah help you, suh?” martha started to relinquish her valise to one of the [ ] these low grounds porters who glided skillfully among the disembarking travelers, but judy pinched her arm. "you ain't got no money to waste on no red-cap, gal,” she stated, out of the wisdom of practical experi- ence. “they spots you ef they thinks you's from the country, 'cause country bucks always tips big so's to make folks think they's what they ain't.” having made this pronouncement on conduct in a big city, judy adjusted her hat on her sandy hair, seized her bag, and weaved ahead, followed meekly by martha. they had hardly passed through the big iron gate when a stoutish woman swooped down on judy and gathered girl, bag, and all into her capacious arms. “a’nt liddy!” gasped judy. “lawdy, gal, you's a woman, sho enough!" a’nt liddy stood off at a little distance to look over her niece. martha felt immediately at ease with this broad- beamed, capable-appearing woman. she liked the pleas- ant cheerfulness of her freckled mulatto face, the amia- bility of her laugh. fiery wisps of hair that showed under a’nt liddy's umbrella-brimmed hat gave a clue to the origin of judy's sandy thatch. a’nt liddy shifted her attention to martha. "who's this here, judy?” there was a friendly twinkle in her gray eyes. "she's my best friend, a'nt liddy,” answered judy, easily. "she's come to philly lookin' fo’ work, too." "well now, that's sho nice," beamed a’nt liddy. "you got folks here, honey?" [ ] these low grounds judy didn't give martha a chance to reply. “oh, i told her she could stay with us, a'nt liddy." "sho, gal, that's right. i gots a room what'll be jes' right fo' you young uns." “an' i thought,” judy rushed on, "seein's how you got a employment office, it'd be easier fo' her to git a job- “sho—sho," agreed a’nt liddy. “don't you worry, chile, i'll be a-lookin' out fo’ both you-all.” she patted martha on the shoulder. “come on, let's git goin'. i gots supper all ready.” she led the way through the station and out the broad street entrance. martha had never seen so many people in one street before in all her life. and the buildings appeared huge. she was silent with amaze- ment and not a little thrilled by the crowds, the noise, and the brilliant lights. she'd heard tales of the won- ders of remote “philly.” now she was actually there! they boarded a crowded street car and rode until a'nt liddy said, “here we is, gals.” then they got off. to martha south street fairly swarmed with colored people-more than she'd ever seen at a fair, or at camp- meetings, or in town grubbin'-up on saturday nights. and there were kitchen smells in abundance, for it was a neighborhood of restaurants. halfway up the block a’nt liddy turned into a door beside a big window which bore the legend: lydia wil- liams-employment bureau. she flung the door wide in a gesture of welcome. "here you is. we's home!" [ ] these low grounds when a’nt liddy had touched a match to a gas jet, martha could see that the place was the essence of cleanliness and order. in one corner to the left stood a roll-top desk with a comfortable armchair designed especially for the accommodation of a'nt liddy's bulk. flanking the walls ran benches, and down the middle of the room were three rows of chairs. the linoleumed floor gleamed. and not a smear marred the surface of the curtained show window. on the wall near the desk was a small box-like contraption with a crank to it. martha guessed it to be a telephone. "sho is got a nice office, a'nt liddy,” commented judy. . “yep-ain't so bad,” agreed the proprietor, compla- cently. “but come on out in the kitchen.” and she bustled through the back door of the office, with the girls close at her heels. in the kitchen martha again witnessed the wonder of light leaping out of a thin pipe. “yeah,” a’nt liddy said, seeing the direction of martha's gaze, “things is a whole lot easier here than they is down home. no water to tote, no lamp chimneys to clean, an'”-her eyes twinkled—“you-all kin take a bath every day, 'stead o' jes' on sat’days." she liked these two. she liked their youthfulness and their eagerness. she had been like that years ago-full of "git up.” but she wondered what was worrying the new young un. she had an idea, but she hoped it wasn't that. well, she wouldn't worry her with too many ques- tions yet-a-while. [ ] these low grounds iii martha lay between the cool, sweet-smelling sheets, enjoying the effects of a bath and vigorous rub-down. how clean she felt! it certainly was different from stoop- ing and standing in one of the wooden washtubs at home. she had been able actually to lie down in mis' liddy's gleaming-white tub. above mis' liddy's hum in the adjoining room she could hear judy splashing. a train whistle blew, and turned her thoughts to jimmy-lew and the folks back home. she hoped they weren't too upset by her disappearance. she still thought she had taken the best step. judy came in, her hair twisted in little sandy tufts about her head, and slipped into bed. through the ceiling above them drifted strains from a piano that had never known an expert tuner. nevertheless, there was a catchy rhythm to the music. mis' liddy thrust her head into the doorway from her room. “that's them theater people up there," she informed them, almost apologetically. “they mought keep up that rumpus right smart o' the night. hope they don't bother you much.” then she vanished. the girls lay listening to the discordant sounds from above. now a soprano was singing and judy started to hum: “tell me, long tall papa, where did you stay las' night? tell me, long tall papa, [ ] these low grounds where did you stay las' night? now, yo' hair's all nappy an' yo'clo'es doan' fit you right!" judy's sinuous body was weaving in the bed as she snapped her fingers toward the ceiling: “aw, sing it, gal!” the voice obligingly continued: “look yere, long tall papa, ef you ain' home to stay, look yere, long tall papa, ef you ain' home to stay, ah's gonna pack mah suitcase an' make mah git-away!” now martha's contralto joined in: “look yere, long tall papa, dis ain' gonna do a-tall! look yere, long tall papa, dis ain' gonna do a-talll an' ef you keeps on a-doin' it ah got 'nothah mule fo' yo' stall!” when the piano and voice above had moaned to a stop, judy looked at martha in surprise. “they told me you could sing, gal!” she exclaimed. “you gots a alto what is a alto, sho 'nuf!”. martha smiled. “you don't sound like no crow yo'- self.” “you know,” said judy, looking at martha specula- tively, “we mought git a job with some show.” her hazel eyes glowed at the prospect. it was the first time martha had seen her animated. for if judy had any feelings, she seldom showed them. everything she did, [ ] these low grounds even walking, was stamped by a pronounced lack of in- terest. cat-like—the adjective suited her. she moved like a cat and she had about as much emotional verve. it was this very quality that was to catch the fancy of theater-goers a few years later. “kin you dance any?" she asked. "sho, a little," was martha's conservative reply. could she dance, indeed! judy was jubilant. but she immediately sobered. "aw, hell!” she groaned. “i clean fo’got." martha knew what judy had forgotten. "well, it won't be too late afterwards." “yeah,” came judy's muffled reply from under the sheets. "yeah-ef you don't git too fat!” her voice was tart. "you ain't fat, is you?" martha flung back. and she returned the sly pinch that judy gave her. [ ] chapter thirty-one i it up! git up from there, you lazy scamps! what in 'ell you tryin' to do? sleep 'twell gab'el blows? git up!" martha and judy sat up in sleepy con- fusion to stare stupidly and a bit fright- ened at mis' liddy. one look at her face, though, was enough to start them giggling. her freckles mingled and separated as great gusts of laughter shook her. she leaned against the wall, clutching the covers she had snatched from them. "you-all-you-all,” she gasped, “must o' thought i was the devil!” judy assumed a frown. “what kind of a way is this to treat yo' niece what's come to stay with you? i'll fix you.” and she flung a pillow at her aunt that caught mis' liddy flush in the face and gave off a shower of feathers. in reply, mis' liddy charged the bed, seized both girls in her strong, [ ] these low grounds freckled arms, and rolled them tightly in the bottom sheet. then she reeled laughing into the kitchen, where breakfast had been noiselessly prepared. after the merry meal was finished, martha took her courage in both hands. “mis' liddy, i–i want to tell you somep'n — mis' liddy interrupted: “i know what you gonna say, honey." her smile seemed to martha to rival the bright softness of a single sunbeam slanting through the kitchen window across the sink's white enamel. “i knows. i reckon i kin jes' 'bout guess why you come 'way from home. i reckon you don't want to go back, nuthah. i ain't tellin' you to go back, and i ain't tellin' you to stay. but i is tellin' you you kin stay here with us long's you wants—an' there ain't gone be no charge. only thing—you gots to do as i says. i'm gonna look to you same's you was my own chile." then, after a moment: “well, what you say, gal?” “yes'm—i mean, thank you, mis' liddy!” martha was tearfully grateful. "well”—mis' liddy's freckles clashed—“that's 'bout that! an' i'll smack the water out'n you ef you don't mind me—see?" now she turned and pounced upon judy. “yo'maw writ an' told me 'bout how you was runnin' with married men!” “why, a'nt liddy!" judy's assumption of injured surprise was perfect. "don't you 'why, a’nt liddy' me!" stormed the big woman. “you's too much like me—i knows you! now [ ] these low grounds sleepy lids, while mis liddy tried to pierce the armor of her nonchalance with last-minute counseling "an' don't you git sassy with mis saadley, puthah. 'member you's workin' fo' her." it was mis liddy's parting shot, and in order to deliver it she had to trail judy from the kitchen table to the front door. judy gave a final yawn. "i needs a winter coat, a’nt liddy. i'm waitin' 'twell gits that befo' i do any sassin'." she winked at martha. "don't let a'nt liddy kill you with work, gal!" and she was off. "lazy, red-headed heifer!” but martha was not deceived. she knew that the exclamation was really a blessing. left to herself, martha went about the business of putting the bedrooms and kitchen to order. then, as soon as she could, she joined mis’ liddy in the office. it was crowded, for monday was a busy day. the benches along the walls were occupied by the men; the chairs down the center of the room, by the women. there was every indication that mis’ liddy was an ex- tremely popular and well-patronized agent. now she looked up from the ledger in which she was making an entry and beckoned martha to the chair be- side the desk. she was engaged with a sloppily dressed woman who slouched at her elbow. "ah'm a-lookin' fo' a sleep-in job, mis' williams," the woman was saying. “somep’n what ain't so hard ... you know. . . . ah ain't bin so well yere lately, mis’ williams. ..." her voice took on a wheedling tone. [ ] these low grounds martha noted the sudden hardening of mis' liddy's jaw as she leaned over the corner of her desk and in a voice that was barely audible said: “you listen to me, nanny johnson! i sent you on a job two weeks agoan' what did you do? you kin cook all right. but mis' laney called me up and give me the devil fo' sendin' you to her! you know why?" mis’ liddy's ears looked like slices of beets to martha. "i'll tell you why! it's 'cause you don't keep yo’self neat an' clean! i wouldn't send you on another job to save you, 'twell you kin show me you means to do better! now you git outn here, an' ef you don't like the way i talks to you, you kin try somebody else's agency! git!” and before the fiery eyes of mis' liddy there was nothing for nanny to do but "git.” mis' liddy turned to martha with a snort and shoved the ledger toward her. “take this down,” she ordered. “'nanny johnson, elmsley alley—no job 'twell she gits clean'!” she scowled at martha. “an' there ain't nothin' to grin 'bout!” she added vehemently. so it went all day. the applicants were of every kind and class: dirty laborers in overalls, primly dressed women who spoke in soft tones and inquired about positions as housekeepers, nurses, and day-workers. time and again mis' liddy proved her judgment of human nature by a terse phrase which summed up her opinion of a person's capabilities, character, and ap- pearance: "lazy-lookin'”—“smart, but looks like she might be flip with the madam”-"neat as a pin, suit job 'twell cm. nanny job martha [ ] these low grounds anybody—" these and other little notes martha scrib- bled beside the names she entered alphabetically in the big, blue-backed book. early in the afternoon there was a breathing-spell for sandwiches and tea. "you mustn't take on 'bout how i talks to you some- times,” said mis' liddy between bites, “but some o' these no-'counts makes me mad'n blazes! there's that nanny johnson-one o' the best cooks in the city—but she ain't got gumption or sense enough to keep clean. when i sends nanny out on a job an' the madam ain't pleased with her, that makes it hard fo' me to send an- other colored woman on that same job. white folks is funny. ef one colored man or woman do somep'n wrong, they takes all colored folks to be the same way. there ain't no sense in it, but they does, an' that's why these furriners is takin' house jobs 'way from us. use to be a time when nothin' but colored had butler an' cook jobs. but ef it keeps on like this we ain't gonna have no kind o' jobs. booker washington says we gotta beat everybody else doin' things ef we wants a chance to do 'em. an' that's right!” martha could not help but believe that there was wisdom in what the big woman said. she had often heard jim prince talk in the same fashion. iii while they were eating supper, judy arrived, and stood scowling in the kitchen doorway. [ ] these low grounds "so!” she blazed. “so you had a nice, easy job fo' me, did you? nothin' hard a-tall! nothin' to do but wash, an' cook, an' serve tea, an'-" a gust of laugh- ter from her aunt interrupted the eloquent sarcasm. "what's so funny 'bout it?" demanded judy. "oh, shet up!” chuckled mis' liddy. “come on an' set down efn you's so tired.” the truth was that judy appeared as fresh as she had been that morning. she flopped into a chair at the table. “here,” she said, placing a parcel before martha. "some nice rice puddin' fo’ dessert. ef you wants to give her some”-she jerked her head in the general direction of her aunt—“suit yo'self.” “look out, marty,” warned mis' liddy, laughingly, “she mought o' tried to pizen mis' smedley." judy wrinkled her nose disdainfully. “now, no foolin', you young heifer,” ordered mis' liddy, "tell me how you likes yo' job. i know it ain't hard 'cause i done worked fo' mis' smedley myself.” “oh, it's all right,” said judy. “tell you the truth i wouldn't mind workin' fo’ her ef it was hard work, 'cause mis' smedley's real nice—an' that baby's cute's he kin be." "well, monday's hardest day on 'count o' washin',” said mis' liddy. “but there ain't but three o' them to cook fo'. ten dollars a week an' board ain't bad. you gits every sunday afternoon off, too, an' every other thursday after breakfast. huh! when i first come to philly, i got ten dollars a month—an’ was glad to git it!” [ ] these low grounds mis' liddy leaned back in her chair and started on her reminiscences. when she got to her favorite passage, "all i had time fo', seem like, was eat, sleep, an' work,” judy winked at martha. “i saw you wink!” mis' liddy exclaimed. “you thinks i'm jokin', but it's the gospel truth! that's why i skimped an' saved so's to have a li'l' somep'n laid up fo' a rainy day. an' that's why i was able to git a part- time job an' go to school at night so's to " "have some puddin', a'nt liddy,” interrupted judy, and she shoved the bowl across the table. mis' liddy caught the hint. “all right, drat you!" she laughed. “guess it ain't no use preachin' to you, noways. you allus done what you wanted, even when you was a li'l' un-an' you growed no better.” "no, a'ntie,” was judy's candid reply, "yo' niece ain't believin' in no kind o work no time! some o' these days yo' niece ain't gonna do too much work, neither-an' she ain't gonna be dead, neither!" and, somehow, neither mis' liddy nor martha doubted her. there was a light in her eyes that told of a spirit that usually got what it wanted. “nope,” she continued, “i can't see this housework, an' never will. the first chance i gits to do somep'n eas- ier fo’ bigger money—i'm gone! i jes' warn't made to wait on nobody. i'm gonna have somebody wait on me one o' these days!” “an' lose yo' soul, tool" exploded mis' liddy. “i mought," agreed judy, slowly, as if pondering the [ ] chapter thirty-two hanksgiving came and went, christmas and new year. then one blustery february day job-seekers who came to mis' liddy's agency had a surprise. for the first time in the-lord-knew-when there was a sign hang- ing at the door which read: “closed until further no- tice.” no amount of ringing at the bell brought a response. and, since it was uncommonly cold, the dis- appointed ones did not linger, but slushed on their various ways through the stinging sleet. the next day the sign had been removed. there was an unusual brightness about mis' liddy's freckled face. and the lusty wails of an infant sounded through the back wall of the office. young jimmy-lew had come. [ ] these low grounds il one week after the birth of martha's son, judy re- ceived a letter which sent her rushing home. her own son was sick. when she returned, eight days later, she was hollow-eyed and shrouded in black and her breath reeked of whisky. she was sobbing out details of her recent experience when her eye was caught by jimmy- lew and she picked him up. "he's mine, now, too!” she told martha, almost fiercely. so from the very beginning jimmy-lew had two women to spoil him. “he'll be so dern sp’iled he'll be rotten," mis' liddy warned martha. but this sage advice was lost. martha was a young mother. martha was working now, as well as judy. this left jimmy-lew to the care of mis' liddy a great part of the day, and that lady saw to it that her spare hours were profitably spent in "unsp'ilin'” him. she had some degree of success. but when night brought the girls home, all disciplinary rules were tossed aside. jimmy-lew grew rapidly into a sturdy, intelligent child whose black eyes and chuckling laugh could cap- tivate even mis’ liddy to the point of sparing the rod on occasion. he knew better than to invade her office during business hours, for several experiments in that direction had brought painful results from mis’ liddy's broad palm. but in the kitchen he could do much as [ ] these low grounds he pleased, and he spent happy hours dissecting the toys with which martha and judy provided him. when he was three years old he asserted himself and passed from the first to the second phase of male life. this was when he objected to aprons. “wanna wear pants! wanna wear pants!” he howled. and not even mis' liddy could force his squirming body into one of the objectionable feminine garments. he wore pants after that, like the boys in the apart- ment above mis' liddy's. and his fond women, seeing him stand swayed back on his stout legs, hands in pockets, and expectancy on his pinkish-brown face, called him their "li'l' man.” [ ] chapter thirty-three hen jimmy-lew was four, martha and judy had their first chance be- fore the footlights. for years they'd danced and sung together in the kitchen for mis' liddy's disinterested and the baby's gleeful inspection. now the ruby thea- ter, a vaudeville house around the corner which they frequented with sam jenkins and his friends, was hav- ing an amateur prize program. sam, who was a waiter and judy's beau and fancied himself a judge of the dance, had persuaded them to do a number. the ruby was under the management of a genial, florid irishman, one patsy o'keefe by name. patsy was an old-timer to the boards. his oft-repeated assertion was that he knew all the headliners among negroes of the theater—the coleman brothers, who'd taken new york by storm with their song-hits and musical com- edies; their co-worker, ross; and even the great black- ( ) these low grounds face comedian, bill wilson. and, faith, since he'd come to make his living among these people, his boast was that he knew them better than they knew themselves. he patronized their restaurants, their saloons, even their bawd-houses. on this evening—which was thursday and the domestics' night off—patsy strutted from the wings and doffed his brown derby, baring a bald dome of a head as he waved the eager audience to silence. “lad-eeez an' gen’man,” he began, importantly. there was a round of applause, punctuated by whis- tles. "the management is anxious to uncover new talent that must be among so large an' enthusiastic an audi- ence. so we have set aside cash prizes from the box-office to reward the winnahs—who will be picked by you- an' you—an' you.” here patsy pointed dramatically to different sections of the theater. after the hand-clapping had died down, patsy fin- ished his speech: "an' now, will the contestants come up to the stage an' pick for the order of their appear- ance in the contest? come one! come all! strike up the band!” the ill-trained orchestra blared forth, and to patsy's coaxing the ambitious ones straggled shyly to the stage to receive a hearty handclasp from the manager and cheers from the audience. "let's go-huh?” whispered judy to martha. they were seated in the middle section of the orchestra. “bet you ain't got nerve ’nuf!” jibed sam. [ ] these low grounds “dare you," chimed in his friend, who had escorted martha. martha rose abruptly and moved toward the aisle. “hey_wait a minute—i'm coming," called judy. the orchestra finished its number and patsy mo- tioned the ten contestants to him with the request that they draw slips of paper from his derby. judy drew fourth position. now patsy pushed them off to the wings to wait their turns. maggie hanks was the first to perform. she waddled out to the front of the stage, a huge ungainly figure whose rolls of fat rebelled at the confining services of cloth and stays. but she had not sung more than half a dozen bars of "the curse of an aching heart" when catcalls and whistles drowned her screech. “git the hook! git the hook!" a huge hook attached to a stout pole shot from the wings and poor maggie was hauled ignominiously out of earshot of her ungrateful public. judy was the only contestant who had the temerity to laugh at this episode. martha and the other aspirants for honors found themselves suddenly very weak in the knees. next came an elocutionist, a timid-appearing youth who looked as if he had just donned long trousers. he managed to stumble through “the face on the bar- room floor" despite torrents of perspiration which poured off his closely sheared head and seriously threat- ened a celluloid collar bearing a diminutive black bow [ ] these low grounds tie. but unfortunately he ended upon a too-dramatic note. when the vagabond of the piece succumbed finally to alcohol and exposure, the young reader suited actions to words, and pitched himself onto the stage. alas! his trousers were meant for gentler motions, and the seams gave in various humiliating places. to the accompaniment of delighted howls from the audience, the hapless one escaped to secluded regions, and with him went the skinny girl who had drawn third place. "here we go!" said judy to martha. patsy had just introduced them as "two charmin' young exponents of the song an' dance." “come on. you ain't scared, is you?” urged the im- patient judy. “y-y-y-yes!" martha fumbled with her handkerchief and looked at judy with frightened eyes. “aw-fo’git it!" and judy almost dragged martha on-stage. the orchestra, at judy's direction, swung into the number the girls had sung their first night at mis’ liddy's. they knew it well. so did the orchestra. this was their kind of music! soon martha forgot her ner- vousness and her husky alto joined judy's vivacious soprano. seized by the rhythm of a tune familiar to them, the audience began to hum, and feet all over the house took up the beat. but it was when judy caught martha's hand and they glided into their dance that the enthusiasm of the audience reached its height. they began with an easy shuffle, the beat of their feet being as the whisk of a ( ] these low grounds broom across a floor in measured time. then the taps became more intricate and pronounced. from two-four time they shifted to a triple beat, followed by four and five taps of heel and toe to the musical bar. each tap was brought out with precision and clearness. “aw, knock them boards, gals!” and “g’on, now!" could be heard from all sections of the house. there was nothing extraordinary about the girls' rou- tine. they had acquired a few of the regular steps known to all tap-dancers. but their performance was a miracle of coöperation—it was as if one brain dictated every movement of the two lithe bodies. as they took their hurried, breathless bows and scam- pered off-stage, the house broke into a roar. for this crowd knew good tap-dancing when they saw it. “we got it, gall” said judy, jubilantly. martha nodded, her eyes shining later patsy came up to congratulate them, and stayed to talk. "say,” he said, after surveying them critically, "you two ain't bad-lookin', neither! how'd ye like a job in a show?" “show!” gasped martha. judy arched her brows at patsy, and then turned half-closed eyes on her partner. “ 'course he said show, honey_don't you think we's good enough? you thinks so, don't you, mister patsy?” her accents dripped syrup. patsy's eyes narrowed speculatively and he grinned. "shure now an' we kin talk it over sometime. ..." “tonight-after the show?" judy asked insinuatingly. [ ] these low grounds when patsy had returned to his duties martha de- manded, sharply: “what you goin' to do, judy?” “git us jobs in a show," was the laconic answer. “but you knows what he wants.” "baby," interrupted judy, “i knows jes' what he wants!” she faced martha with that crooked smile of hers. “listen—ef you thinks i'm gonna sling vittals an’ wash an' scrub all my life, you's crazy! you mought think you's made fo' that, an' you kin have it, ef you wants to. me? i'm tired of it!" ii about four o'clock in the morning, after a disgruntled sam had taken her home, martha bolted from bed and stole into the kitchen. judy was fumbling at the back door. "sh-sh!" cautioned martha as judy came reeling in. “don't wake up jimmy. an' fo' god's sake don't let mis' liddy hear you!" “wha' i care 'bout a’nt liddy? wha' i care?” judy grinned drunkenly and waved a hand in a broad gesture of disdain. “you's in a show, gal! hic! in a show!" and she immediately fell dead asleep in the chair where martha had placed her. this was fortunate, for martha had no trouble in getting the girl to bed. at six o'clock she began to apply · restoratives. a towel soaked with water made icy by the biting october cold brought a muffled howl from the sleeper. [ ] these low grounds "sh-sh-sh, you fooll” whispered martha, and pointed to mis' liddy's door. this effectively sobered judy and she sat up, blinking. “what'd you do last night?” martha demanded, sternly. judy's grin was sickly but triumphant. “got us jobs in a show an' told patsy what a nice man he was.” she swayed languidly to the kitchen, her cotton kimono caught tightly about her waist so that the curving line of her hip was more prominent. "but, judy, you hadn't ought to done that,” protested martha, following her. “done what, honey?”. “you know!" snapped martha, irritated. “oh, you mean that? don't worry none, honey. li'l judy kin take care o herself, an' don't you fo’git it! 'sides,” she added, spluttering over the washbowl, “i don't ever pay fo' nothin' 'twell i gits it-ef i pays then?” and she winked solemnly. martha brightened. “well, when do we git the jobs?". “you know this sol batey we been readin' 'bout, the one that puts on all these colored shows? well, he's gonna open in philly next week fo' a try-out. patsy says he been knowin' him—fact is, they's friends. so patsy says he's gonna see that sol puts a spot in fo' our dance.” “wonder what mis' liddy'll say?" speculated mar- tha, uneasily. judy's shrug was indifferent. “we's both grown, ain't we?" "an' then there's jimmy-lew, too,” continued mar- tha. “i can't leave him.” [ ] these low grounds “oh, you kin leave him with aʼnt liddy,” said judy, confidently. "she'll take care o' him, all right. he ain't no baby now.” “maybe so. ..." martha's voice was doubtful. martha was silent most of the way to the trolley line. “aw, come on," urged judy, "we ain't gone yit. ef i kin grin with this headache i got, you ought to be able to laugh out loud." “i know," said martha, “but i can't leave 'im—i can't! he's too young." suddenly judy had an idea. “i got it! martha, you ain't been home in a time. whyn't you go home an' take jimmy-lew to see yo' folks? you kin leave 'im down on the farm-be better fo’ 'im, too. city ain't no place to raise chilluns, no- how." home! martha turned to judy, suddenly radiant. blanche-papa-big george-josh-the farm—the pine wood. all these had faded from her somehow. she'd had so many other things to think about. “maybe so!” she answered. “but what'll i tell 'em, judy?" "tell 'em the truth. you's yo' own woman now." and judy waved a blithe hand as the girls separated. iii mis' liddy met them at the door. “now don't you git all up in the air, gal,” she said, hastily, to martha. “jimmy-lew's sick. he ain't sick [ ] chapter thirty-four he war, that began so inauspiciously with the assassination of an austrian nobleman, reached across the seas and stirred the slug- gish stream of american industry. a number of the girls martha knew quit their jobs. there was better money to be made in the munitions factories. but martha stayed with the spear- mans. she liked it there well enough with fluttery mrs. spearman and her viking stockbroker husband who was confident that some day he would put across a really big deal and retire. in any case, the only other job she wanted was on the stage. mrs. spearman, apparently, was worried lest the pre- vailing fever of unrest rob her of a good maid, for one day when she gave martha her pay she added an extra bill. "i just wanted to tell you,” she said in her nervous, hesitant manner, "that you've been very satisfactory and that i wouldn't like to lose you. the children have be- [ ] these low grounds come so attached to you. and mr. spearman praises your cooking all the time. he suggested that i raise your wages—if you decide to stay with us—beginning this week.” “but, mrs. spearman,” martha began. she had never expected this. “now, i hope you're not going to tell me that you were thinking of leaving, martha,” mrs. spearman in- terrupted, hastily. "you see, i–i don't like hiring new girls. it upsets me so. really, if the two dollars isn't enough, i'll see that your salary is advanced right along with salaries in general. i do hope you'll stay!" martha decided that it was the part of wisdom to encourage mrs. spearman in her generous humor. so she said cautiously, "well, mrs. spearman, i'm satisfied -if i'm giving good service and you are going to give me more wages.” that, she felt, left the matter open for further adjustment. me so martha remained with the spearmans. and jimmy-lew grew out of babyhood. and the war came closer. for a long time nothing of importance happened. then judy paid a comet visit homema judy who was a genuine trouper, a stylish judy who wore diamonds she explained with a knowing wink, a judy who talked in an unintelligible lingo of the theater and the gay places that made up her world. in an unin made up ^ [ ] these low grounds jimmy-lew's shoulders flinched upwards—not in fear, but in anger at this unprecedented interruption. “comp’ny—aaa—teez!” he hissed, then wheeled slowly to face the cause of the interruption. hardened campaigner that he was, jimmy-lew was guilty this once of knowing awe. he'd seen colored soldiers—heaps of 'em-but this resplendently booted, spurred, braided, and chevroned figure was too much even for the field marshall his eyes grew round with amazement and he returned the newcomer's snappy salute in a daze. “attention!” the man barked. from the field marshal down to the lowest buck pri- vate, little amos, brother of isaiah, there was a stiffen- ing of spines, while roughly-fashioned wooden guns clicked smartly against clamped heels. "shoulder-arms!" the voice acted as a galvanic current; there was an immediate commotion as boyish arms and legs sought to respond. but the action was ragged. “halt!" to the relieved surprise of the company and its com- mander, the face of their self-appointed officer lost its sternness and the man broke into a howl of laughter. discipline took sudden wings. "who showed you kids how to shoulder arms?” he asked, when he could get his breath. "i did. why?" jimmy's voice bristled. his lips shot out in an ugly pout. the generalissimo did not relish ridicule or criticism. [ ] these low grounds “here we are," announced carlton at last. they stood before a three-story red-brick house, flat- roofed. similar houses lined both sides of the street. at the top of the broad marble steps, john swept low before martha in an exaggerated bow. “welcome to the ancestral hall, fair lady!” to his delight, martha executed a demure curtsy and tripped mincingly over the door sill. he led the way up carpeted stairs to a door opening off a balcony; knocked and a faint voice answered. inside the room near a window a patch of white topped the back of a rocker that swayed ever so gently. "that you, son?” the query was low-pitched, but firm, and the voice struck pleasantly on martha's ears. "who's that with you?” "i've brought a friend of mis' liddy's to see you, mom," answered her son, cheerfully. “wait until i turn your chair around.” he did so carefully. "well-how do you like her?” he asked, stepping to martha's side. martha felt the patient eyes upon her, but did not mind. they were friendly, in keeping with the whole of the calm brown face. she saw the lips part in a smile of welcome, while wistfulness settled on the broad fea- tures. a faint nod of approval ended the brief scrutiny. "she's real purty,” said the mother. “what's yo' name, chile? you 'mind me o' my nina now, sho 'nuf. don't she, son?" “her name's martha, moms-martha prince—and she lives over with mis' liddy williams.” [ ) these low grounds tha's interest. "jes' like her picter, she was allus laffin' an' ready fo' a good time. come day, go day." the old lady sighed and finished half to herself: “that's why she's in her grave today, i reckon. take after her pappy's brother, jethro_reg'lar ladies' man, he was—gamblin' an' drinkin' his life 'way.” she seemed to have forgotten her listener. “ain't none o' us left now 'cep’n johnny and me, an' now he's tryin' to keep from tellin' me he's got to go fight in this war." "you knows that?" exlaimed martha before she could check herself. the old woman bent her wise, maternal eyes upon the younger woman and nodded. “ 'course i knows, chile. a mammy allus knows 'bout her chilluns! an' me here par’lized with nobody to be with me cep'n a girl i hires with the money my man left me.” for the first time she grew impatient. “money! hadn't been fo' money my nina mought still be livin'. she wouldn't o' had no time to go foolin' 'round ef she'd o' had to work. an' ef it warn't fo' that money, my son wouldn't have to go to no war. he'd have to stay here an' take care o' his mammy. i prays the lawd'll let 'im come back, honey. but it don't seem like a man's got much chance, the way they fights nowadays. well- the lawd gives an' the lawd takes away. jes' hope, ef you ever has a son, he don't have to go to no war." “who's that talking about war?" demanded johnny from the doorway. “yo' mother an' me was just talkin' 'bout yo' goin' to war,” said martha. seeing john's face fall, she con- [ ] these low grounds when the last “i ain't got long to stay yere” had faded into the shadows of the room, johnny turned to face her. "what's the matter?” asked martha, not quite sure of the meaning of his expression. “do i get a court- martial?" "it was lovely, honey—” began mrs. carlton, but johnny interrupted. “my god, girl! do you know what you're doing? you're throwing away a voice! you're hiding a candle under a bushell you're committing sin every day, keep- ing that voice to yourself! why—the whole world ought to hear it!" martha laughed, partly from pleasure, partly from incredulity. “don't laugh!" “now, johnny, don't take on so," said his mother. "don't you mind him, honey,” she said to martha. "he allus liked music—wanted to take it up, but his pappy's wish was he'd be a lawyer or a doctor." “oh, i don't mind,” said martha. “but you should mind about a voice like yours," persisted johnny. and he worried the subject through supper until mrs. carlton shooed the two of them out of the house for a walk in the park. iii martha was on her knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor and feeling that nothing was worth while because noth- ing could matter any more. it is easy to feel that way [ ] these low grounds when you've tried to slice half your finger off first thing in the morning, and you've burnt the toast to a crisp, and you've answered a commanding buzzer more times than you can count, and you've faced a fretful woman at her bedside with a trayful of food which she declares is unfit for a pig, and you've got two quarelling girls off to school, and the night before you've loved your man for the last time in a don't-know-how-long. for johnny's leave was over and he was off to france. “martha! martha!” martha flinched at the impatience in the voice, but did not lift her head. “ma'am?" she answered, dully. fussy, fluttery mrs. spearman stood in the doorway. “martha, when are you going to finish that floor? have you forgotten i'm entertaining the volunteer patriot workers this afternoon at tea? i don't know what's come over you today. i - " she got no further, for martha had risen, and the expression on her face suggested that she had put on a mask. all the girl's gentleness and smiling good humor had fled. “gimme my pay!” it was a hoarse whisper. “you hear me? gimme my pay!” "why, martha - " "gimme my pay, i said. i don't want to hear nothin'. just gimme my pay." the voice was dull and flat and implacable. "what is the matter?". “sick an' tired o' scrubbin' an' cookin' an' washin'. sick an' tired o' waitin' on folks all day. sick an' tired! [ ] these low grounds every day somep’n's wrong.” martha spoke as if she had given long thought to her grievances. actually, she had never considered them before. “ef it ain't this, it's that. the clothes ain't clean after i wash 'em. the eggs ain't fried right. the livin' room ain't been dusted. i ain't never gonna work in no service no mo'. gimme my money.” when mrs. spearman returned with a hastily scrib- bled check, martha was huddled over the table, sob- bing hysterically. mrs. spearman nodded her head knowingly. nerves! "listen, martha,” she said, “suppose we forget all that's happened.” but martha had gone too far to retreat. "gimme my money." then she reached her hat down from its peg and walked out. iv so eight years after she had left home, martha re- turned, to find her father older, blanche larger in girth and more mature. ike had been drafted into the war, but there were his two boys, booker and paul, who were just the right age for jimmy-lew. it was fun coming home to people who loved you, but when two weeks had passed, martha knew that she could not stay here. in two weeks all experiences had been exchanged. she knew which seasons had been fat for her father, which lean. she had a report of the [ ] these low grounds deaths and marriages, the current and stale gossip of the town. there was nothing more to be discovered. consequently, when a letter arrived from judy, martha was prepared with an answer. "why don't you come to new york?” judy wrote. “i can get you a job in the show i'm going to be in this fall. ..." martha had had a taste of freedom and a wider life. she wanted more. jimmy-lew could stay here and grow up on the farm. so, just as suddenly as she had re- turned, martha went away again. ( ) chapter thirty-six then he first came to his grand- father's, jimmy-lew enjoyed the prestige of a guest. his cousins treated him with deference and listened breathlessly to tales of his life in the city_tales highly spiced with imagination. even his grandfather and aunt gave him a certain special con- sideration. jimmy-lew was still cock-o'-the-walk. with the departure of his mother, however, he be- came a permanent member of the family. booker and paul, growing more familiar, accepted him now as an equal rather than a superior. jimmy-lew was no longer a being from a wonder-world, but their cousin. and jimmy-lew did not like this shrunken interest. an incident occurred to fix his status very firmly. it was a hot, sultry morning after a hot, sultry night. paul was already up and at his chores in the chicken- yard. but booker and jimmy-lew~laggards always— were trying to snatch an extra ten winks of sleep. [ ] these low grounds miss winston, the teacher, could intervene. booker sprang away from the seat, and retired to watch the fray at a safe distance. the room was in an uproar. “ellen! jimmy!" shrieked miss winston. “he kept botherin' mel" sobbed ellen, scowling at her late hero, who stood beside his cousin and sheep- ishly wiped his bleeding face with his shirt sleeve; jimmy-lew, who could lick the spots off'n any boy his size! "what have you to say for yourself, young man?" demanded miss winston, as severely as she could. for this was the principal's nephew. "he hasn't anything to say!" it was miss warner, as- sistant principal, a woman of adamantine qualities. she didn't care whose nephew jimmy-lew was! and jimmy- lew, seeing her frowning mahogany countenance, had an excusable qualm. "i saw it all, miss winston. this young fellow thinks he can do as he pleases around here. but, believe me, he can't. come here, young man!” on the platform, where the two teachers' desks stood like thrones in an audience chamber, jimmy-lew felt the stings of a willow branch vigorously applied. to the disappointment of the other pupils, not a cry escaped him. when miss warner stopped at last, he stood there like a carven image, his black eyes dull spots of slate beneath sweaty curls, his lips a thin taut line. . it was the first time miss warner had met with re- sponse of this sort. what kind of a boy was it who re- fused to be beaten into submission? she was annoyed, and at the same time immensely intrigued. that night [ ) these low grounds iv six years went by on the farm, and they were good years for all three boys. at the end of that time, each one gave clear indication of the mold he would take in maturity. jimmy-lew was brilliant, mercurial, quick of temper, good-looking. above a stubborn chin and willful lips his nose was losing its youthful snubness for the aquiline curves that were lew grundy's. paul was like his father, serious and scholarly and more poised and sagacious at twelve than either jimmy-lew or booker. it was always paul who at the end of the week had a remnant left of his twenty-five-cent allowance. booker for his part held only a forced toleration for the stuff contained in books. he had the kind of mother wit that coins quips and catchy sayings, and this gift was enhanced by a lazy drawling voice and a slow white smile that would break across the ginger brown of his square-cut face. booker belonged to the earth and the earth would hold him. every movement of his powerful young body attested this fact. the war was long since over and ike johnson was back among his beloved books when martha sent for jimmy-lew. she could afford to have him with her now, for she had prospered. the negro weekly journals car. ried full-length semi-nude pictures of the new song-and- dance team of judy and marty—the maryland song- birds and all shrewsbury was agog at the dazzling rise to stage fame of jim prince's younger daughter. ( ) these low grounds you?" but when her father only roared the louder, her eyes filled with tears and she fled to the station house. to his own surprise, jimmy-lew ran after her. it was the first time. and when he had cornered her he could think of nothing adequate to say. a desire to comfort her stirred him vaguely, but he would not for worlds be soft. "aw, what you cryin' 'bout?” he managed, finally. "don't be such a baby!" where was his customary gruffness? in spite of him- self, the edge was gone from his voice. ellen leaned against him and gave way to her grief and humiliation. “i s-stayed up late last night to make you a cake- an' paw h-he makes fun of it-an' you don't like it, an' now booker an' paul'll tell all the rest the boys an' girls-an'— oh, i wish i was dead!" jimmy-lew's hand went up in an awkward, sheepish gesture and patted her shoulder. there was a mournful howl from the approaching train. then, as they sep- arated, the girl reached sudden lips to the boy's. a clumsy, hasty caress, but it widened the boy's dark eyes and set him tingling. a door had opened a crack to a new avenue of experience. "hey, jimmy-lew!" booker stood grinning at them, impish glee stamped on his face. he'd seen! . jimmy-lew made a belligerent move toward the tor- mentor but blanche interrupted. “come on, jimmy-lew! don't fogit to change where i told you—an' keep a watch out fo' yo' mother when you git to the station in new york.” she pulled him ( ] these low grounds after her, talking above her usual calm. "i told the conductor to mind out fo' you. be a good boy, now. an' don't fo’git to write. here's yo' suitcase. tell marty i'll send yo’ things by parcel post.” then they were waving to him from the station shed and the train was puffing under him, gathering speed. his throat closed unpleasantly as the familiar green low- lands slid behind him. [ ] these low grounds “now! watch that boy on this end if you want to see some running. it's a pass.” “pass?” scoffed the other. “how in the devil's a prep- school kid going to throw that wet ball? it's hard to find a guy doing that in the big ten. ... my gawd!” his exclamation stopped conversation for the time being. a big hebrew lad had whipped the ball to the ban- tam quarterback. there was a clash of young bodies meeting and locking. even from the stands one could see the white teeth of the quarterback as he crept back slowly, sure-footedly, like a wary cat at bay. he had no nerves. the charging line of holbrook fought desper- ately to break through his blocking team-mates, while their backfield spread in a four-pointed fan to protect the territory assigned to it. tony was on his goal line now. there was no more time to lose. he knew where to throw. there was a spot thirty yards away. . . . his arm went back, then snapped forward. the ball bulleted in a high arc over the tangled bodies in front of him. then he went down, and a wild roar rolled over the field. elusive as a buck deer, the bronzed giant on the end had slipped through the scramble at the scrimmage line. without so much as a backward glance he sped a straight course down the middle of the field, a hol- brook backfield man at his heels. the time-keeper's gun barked, and as if this were a signal, the runner peered over his shoulder. the ball was about to pass above his head! [ ] these low grounds with a leap that did not break his long, rhythmical stride, he reached out and clutched the oval in the long fingers of his right hand, juggled it a moment, then tucked it in the crook of his arm and continued on his weaving way. ten ... twenty ... thirty ... forty ... fifty ... sixty ... the chalked stripes fled behind him. but his pursuer would not be shaken; in a final lunge he flung his tired body into space and his arms encir- cled the waist of the ball-carrier. but it was too late. bending forward, and with his legs churning the ground, the bronze boy dragged his tackler over the final line. then both collapsed in a puddle of mud. over the tumult of spectators swarming the field, the man at hanlon's side yelled: “say! who is that indian-looking kid? i'll get him a scholarship to - "save your breath, whitby," advised the coach. "he's colored, and he's going to some college down south- in maryland, i think he said.” “but he don't wanta go there, man! why, i'll fix it so he won't have to worry about anything! boy! can he step! does he go in for anything else?" they were making for the locker-rooms. "yeah-yeah," answered jock, wearily, "he's one of the best guards i've seen on a basketball court in many a year. but it's track and football that're his main inter- ests. runs all the dashes, and pretty good broad jumper, too. but you're wasting your time, whitby. i tell you this kid's dead set on going south to college. has some [ ] these low grounds crazy notion about working with his people. good stu- dent, too. graduates this spring." “boy-o-boy! is he a find! wait'll i talk to him.” “yeah-wait!” the staunton dressing-room was a hubbub, with everyone talking above the noise of showers. and per- meating it all was the odor of young sweating bodies. the negro boy stood apart from the others a great- shouldered lean-flanked figure in bronze, toweling his almost hairless skin to a reddish glow. “atta boy, jimmy!” “great goin', kid!” “swell catch, boy!” compliments showered on him as one, then an- other, passed by. the swarthy little quarterback came up to him, stopped, and broke suddenly into a torrent of speech punctuated by latin gesticulations. without a word the big bronze boy picked him up under one arm and started to walk off. “hey, nick,” he called to a black- haired linesman, “turn on that cold shower." "wait—wait a minute, jimmy!” howled the italian. “nick! don't turn it on! aw, ya big bullies—takin' 'vantage of a little guy! i'll tell me big brother!" the room filled with great gusts of heartless laughter, and poor tony had no rescuer. jimmy-lew ruthlessly shoved his captive under the icy water and held him there. tony, however, was not to be subdued. when he was free and rubbing his chilled body briskly with a rough towel, he persisted doggedly, “just the same, it was a helluva catch!” "well, you threw it, didncha?" answered jimmy. [ ] these low grounds “s'posin' it'd been intercepted? good thing it's the last game-coach'd give you hell!” “here he comes now," whispered tony. “he don't look so hot, either." the coach came up with whitby. “sarnocco! what'd i tell you about passing in your own territory? think you're smart, don't you?" han- lon's gray eyes bore into his prize quarterback, then turned on jimmy-lew. “fine catch there, prince. didn't think you could make itbut you did. i don't like such chances, but— well, the game's won and it took nerve. we still have basketball and track ahead, though, so you two see that you stay in training. i know i don't have to tell you, prince. but--no wine, tony!" an aggrieved expression came over tony's face ."aw, coach—tony, he don't drink-a ..." "yeah? not-a much-al" mocked hanlon. he motioned to his companion. “fellows, this is bill whitby, from the mid-west. he's here scouting for material. might mean a chance for scholarships." “how're ya?” the scout gave each a professionally warm handshake, talking rapidly all the while. “great game! great pass, tony-and a fine catch, prince. heard a lot about you two. you both ought to go great out our way. how'd you like to go to state in the fall? fix it so you'd get scholarships and nice jobs on the side. no proselyting, understand. just a big alumnus has established a scholarship fund for good athletes same as they have for good students. ... what say?” he looked expectantly from one to the other. [ ] these low grounds “that's on the level?" asked tony, all eagerness. “sure! sure, boy! here.” whitby pulled a sheaf of papers from his inside coat pocket. “here y'are-look 'em over. how about you, prince?" "nope.” jimmy's voice was as final as it was soft. whitby opened his mouth, but changed his mind. “aw, come on, jimmy," put in tony. “it's a great chance.” “i said no." jimmy's voice was impatient as he bent to lace his shoes. "i told you i was going back to maryland to college. i'm going to be a teacher, and i want to know something about my people down there. besides, i don't need any scholarship.” coach hanlon nudged whitby and the two walked off together. "no use," said hanlon. “just like i told you. you're not the only one. plenty colleges right here in the east have been angling for him. but he always gives the same answer. seems as if he has an uncle teaching down there in maryland somewhere. wants to follow in his foot- steps. in a way, i think he's right. don't really need a scholarship, either. his mother's this singer and dancer, marty prince.” "oh yeah?" exclaimed whitby. "say, she's good! and some looker! saw her in chicago. and did the johnnies go for her!” "yeah, i know. but don't ever let him hear you talking about her! one of the kids came into the gym one day last year when she was playing the capitol with that big colored band. he started raving about her [ ] these low grounds “ha—toneel" the elder sarnocco cried. “i hear you ween-a da champeenship-no? good-a boy!” catching dave and jimmy-lew by the hands, he beamed in turn on them. “ha—jeemee an' daveel good-a boys! i tell mike senici—i tell heem, i say: 'mike, your bambino's team, she no beat-a my bambino's team!’ an' wotta you t'ink? i ween-a da five dollars from mike on da game! hal” and he flourished the green-back triumphantly. “atta boy, pop! where's mom?" “ma-ma? she's in da back. i tell her to make da nize, beeg-a pot da spaghett-weeth a lotta hot sausage! i tell her, i say: 'tonee he bring-a jeemee an' davee home for sup'' hal we celebrate--no?”. the sarnocco kitchen back of the store was spotlessly clean, and smelled deliciously of spaghetti. stout, cheery mrs. sarnocco sat at one end of the table opposite her husband and near the gas-range, where she could promptly replenish any dish that ran low. on either side of the table, distributed between the guests and tony, were pretty olive-skinned angelina and the three younger sarnoccos—maria, rosa, and peter, who ranged in age from three to eight. jimmy-lew had a comfortable sense of well-being as he sat, silent for the most part, amid the clatter of voices and silverware, for at the sarnoccos' eating did not in- terfere with talk and everyone talked at once. these dinners were a custom after every athletic victory, and a relief from the apartment on st street where judy and his mother were endlessly entertaining a lot of chattering stage people. at the sarnoccos' jimmy-lew [ ] chapter thirty-eight urn out that damn light!" martha giggled as judy sat up in bed and scowled. her reddish hair, lighter now than formerly (thanks to a bleaching agent), was a disheveled mass. her lips, still rouged from the night before, curled in their old way. she was as angry as a disturbed setting hen. “that's the sun,” martha informed her. "yeah? well turn it out! what you doing up so early? your old flame must be righteous. what'd he have to say?" "wouldn't you like to know! what'd you do show the 'fay the spots?” “yeah." judy crawled unwillingly from under the covers and sat on the side of the bed. she held her head and groaned. "o -wotta man! tried to drink all the lush in harlem. and every dive we went in he kept talkin' [ ] these low grounds about how he liked up-town, and the laughing jigs, and— aw, he made me sick! come to find out, he's a shoe salesman. and me thinkin' i'd hooked a big- timer! spends his dough, though. . . . c'mon, break down! what'd the sweet man have to say?" "he's coming around this afternoon.” “oh-ho! so that's why you're up so bright and early! don't blame you much, gal—i could go for him myself. looks kind o prosperous.” “anybody with any brains has dough nowdays." “everybody but us! i swear, i don't know where the money goes. do you?" “easy come, easy go," shrugged martha. "what're you kickin' about? ain't we still in the money?" . “yeah. but sometimes i get to thinkin' ..." "oh, well ... i wish jimmy'd be a doctor, though, 'stead of a teacher. they make all the money, from the looks of the cars they ride around in.” “humph!" judy lit a cigarette and made for the hall. after breakfast, she suggested a pick-me-up. "ought to be some o' that bad gin o' mike's in the living-room,” martha said. “let's see. i could stand a shot myself.” the living-room, like the rest of the apartment, spoke of an easy-going, careless existence. it was large enough to hold the necessary furniture and no larger: a divan, several easy chairs, a radio, an upright piano bearing autographed photographs of stage and screen celebrities. the place was not shabby, but liquor stains and ciga- rette burns bore witness to hard usage. [ ] these low grounds “hope none of the bunch come bustin' around to day,” said judy from the comfortable depths of a chair. "seems like they can't find no other place to go when there ain't no rehearsal.” "maybe the rain'll keep 'em away,” suggested martha. she was curled on the divan, looking very small and childish in her blue pajamas. for at thirty-three jim prince's younger daughter still had something of the sprite in her. success in a career that is hard on youth had not robbed her of her little-girlishness. she was more knowing than the child who hung herself on her father's fence, but there were freshness and softness in her beauty still. not like judy. judy was all hard sophistication touched with satirical humor. it was the explanation of their comet-rise to public favor. martha -slim, feminine, wide-eyed, graceful in silver or jade green—was one thing in entertainment. judy-play- ing the male in tails and high hat, with a cigarette drooping from her mouth and a so-tired-of-it-all expres- sion on her face—was something quite different. to gether they were everything. they were "tops." judy was opening the mail. "here's a letter from a'nt liddy,” she said, and started reading aloud: “my dear niece, i take my pen in hand to write these few lines to you and marty. i hope they will find you well. you write so little to your old aunt i have to learn about you from the papers. i see you and marty are still doing all right. i hope you are saving your money because times are not going [ ] these low grounds “how'd you like to stay right here?" martha's eyes were half cloaked as she raised them to his. and he smiled. it made him look incredibly young. ii jimmy-lew accepted the new lodger without com- ment. in a way it was a relief to have a man about the apartment, some one older who took him and his prob- lems seriously. as the months passed, a warm friendship sprang up between the boy and and his mother's lover. he was not deceived about carlton's position in the household. a magnificent diamond which carlton gave martha for christmas, martha's concern when carlton suffered his chronic bronchial trouble during damp weather, the note of affection which underlay their sim- plest gestures toward each other—these and countless other signs gave them away. but jimmy-lew found nothing to condemn in the relationship. carlton was a person of genuinely fine quality, and the influence he exercised over martha was wholly beneficial. martha was drinking and smoking less and taking more time for rest. as a consequence, a certain nervous- ness disappeared from her manner and a zest returned to her work. she was no longer bothered by a cough which kept her periodically under doctor's orders. even the chatter and the harlem news, in their gossip columns, found it worth while to comment upon the new liveliness that had been injected into the routine [ ] these low grounds of the maryland song-birds. particularly, they found much to praise in marty's torch-song numbers. for jimmy-lew, the peak of his senior year at high school was reached the week before easter when he re- turned from the penn relays bearing proudly a gold disc with the figures of four runners in bas-relief. spurred on by carlton to make some unusual gesture in celebration of the victory, everyone went to church easter morning— judy protesting until the last minute that she would do no such thing ... what did they think she was? . . . she needed sleep more than she needed religion ... and further remarks to the same effect. but go she did. never had there been a lovelier easter sunday. never had harlem's three main avenues presented such a pic- turesque riot of color. times were good, everyone was in money and disposed to spend it on finery—whether it was finery bought on th street or finery bought downtown, it was finery just the same—and easter was the traditional time to show it off. laborers and do- mestics, stage folk and bootleggers, students and colored "quality" poured into the churches of their choice, emptied their pockets into the collection-boxes in re- turn for the best religious show of the year, then drifted out and home, satisfied that the time had been, if not profitable, at least well spent. martha and judy-still protesting at the unwarranted exertion-got dinner. carlton and jimmy-lew cleaned up. [ ] these low grounds over the sink, industriously swabbing dishes, carlton returned to the table conversation. “so you're really set on this teaching idea, jimmy?” “i think so, j. c.” “you've a lot of fine ideals locked up in your head, kid. i hope they stay.” john smiled wryly. "had a few myself, once, but ... oh, well! try to keep as many as you can. you'll find it not so easy. life at its best isn't so good, you'll find. ... you're going home to teach, you say?" "yes. i was talking to uncle ike-he's superintendent in our county now—and he says that as soon as i finish my course he'll get me right into the system. and ellen says that she's going to teach down there — ” "oh-ho!" john's brows heightened and he looked quizzically at the boy. “so there's an ellen?" jimmy-lew grinned sheepishly. “yes," he confided. “she's the girl whose hair i used to pull in school.” "and you've decided that you don't want to pull her hair any more?" jimmy-lew grinned again. “she's swell! i saw her last summer when i was home. she's going to the in- stitute. geel i felt right funny meeting her after all these years. felt like a kid beside her-listening to her talk about things i never even had a thought about. they teach 'em a lot of things down there that they don't get in school up here—about negroes, i mean. gee! she makes these girls up here look like - " "she's swell, eh?" finished john. "if i remember rightly, booker t. had his ellen, too. . . . go to it, boy!” [ ] chapter thirty-nine immy-lew was to learn that a fixed goal was an excellent thing to have during four years of col- lege. he entered bolden at the peak of the pros- perous 'twenties, when youth had a right to con- fidence in the future. when he graduated, the country was plunged in a financial depression, and a college degree had lost all its power to impress. in the interval between, old attitudes gave way to new ones more seasoned by experience, and death altered emo- tional ties. with all these changes to contend with, it was good to know exactly what he wanted to do with his life. arriving in baltimore gave him a sense of return- ing home. new york and its hurrying, breathless crowds belonged to tony and dave, but not to jimmy- lew. even when he was enjoying himself he had felt an alien. baltimore-queen city of maryland, busy with its steel mills and markets, famed for its hospital- ity, boasting a modest tower or two in its skyline-was [ ] these low grounds “yes, i'm a freshman," replied jimmy-lew. "why?" he dropped his bag and took the tall one's measure. "well, you'll have to use the back door. we don't allow dogs to come in the same door as upper class- men!" "and who might you be?" demanded the nettled jimmy. "i happen to be an upper classman—'lord' to you, dog! and you're a dog--get me?”. “oh! and supposing i don't want to be a dog? and supposing i don't want to use the back door?" “oh, yeah? wise guy, eh? smart dog! take that!" “that” was a slap in the face too swift for jimmy- lew to dodge. his anger flooded. with one dart of his hand he grabbed the “lord,” yanked him from the steps, and planted a neat upper-cut squarely on his chin. but now the reserves rushed in and bore jimmy-lew to the ground. in a minute, with the most impartial good spirits, they were taking turns thrashing the new- comer with their belts. jimmy-lew put up no struggle but lay low pending the moment of his release. the lousy bullies! he'd show 'em! "all right—that's enough,” the giant called a halt. jimmy-lew slowly gained his feet and faced them, his jaw at a jutting angle. without a word he sprang at the giant, but again the three bore him to the gravel. and again they applied themselves to strapping him lustily. "you got enough, dog?" the stocky boy asked, finally. "we don't want to have to kill you!" [ ] these low grounds lives might be glorious and interesting to you, jimmy len, and you might see it all as a part of the great american scene. but try and do it without the good old uncle tom stuff and see how far you get with it." "you're just like a lot of other college-bred negroes!" growled jimmy-lew. "you're so puffed up with your pseudo-knowledge, complexes, and cynicisms that you can't see yourself as just another american. you've al- ways got to remind yourself that you're an american negro, and that there's nothing glorious in your past, and nothing hopeful in your future. you never think in terms of coming generations." “i'm living now!” stated gladys, flatly. "and there's no use in my kidding myself about how i have to live now! what negroes do after i'm gone won't mean a thing to me. i'll be dead! i want to get something out of life now! and i can't do it worrying about what's going to be. the others can take care of that when they get here. that's the trouble with negroes today — “there you go!” cried jimmy-lew, bitterly. “always talking about 'what's the trouble' like the rest of us and doing nothing about it! you're just selfish.” "oh, let's cut it out, jimmy!” gladys laughed and slid over against him. “we've only a few more days until you graduate. let's forget it. let's just be us.” all of the hard crust of fact and reality was gone from her now. she had softened all over. like this she was irresistible-with her face lifted to his and her left hand slowly creeping about his shoulder. [ ] these low grounds "let's go home," she whispered after a long embrace. and jimmy-lew nodded his assent. vi "... to live so, that when our last deeds shall have been recorded upon the books of our lives, we shall be able to voice a more valiant and a prouder farewell than it is our privilege to speak to you today. dr. leander, members of the faculty and trustee board, fel- low students, parents and friends—the class of bids you good-by, with a firm resolve that your kindly guid- ance, well wishes, and sacrifices shall not have been made in vain.” jimmy's-lew's earnest voice floated over the audience of upturned faces and found a hiding-place in the deep, creek-cut glen beyond. it was the brave voice of youth expressing its premature convictions, hopes, and deter- mination. some who heard him shared his faith and ex- pectation. others were inclined to skepticism. for the day was past when a negro with a college degree was a unique representative of his race, an intellectual oasis in the cultural desert. today he was simply one in thousands. "five thousand of 'em this year," one middle-aged skeptic remarked to his companion as they rose to go at the conclusion of the exercises. "yeah, i know," answered the other. “wonder how many of them'll do their post-grad' work in a railroad station carrying bags.” ( ] chapter forty cow do you like it?" asked ellen. she had come upstairs from her primary department—the same room where she and jimmy-lew had studied under the misses - warner and winston. jimmy-lew turned at his desk in the small, box-like cubicle, his face aglow. "it's great!” he exclaimed. “when i see these kids sitting before me i feel as if all those old slaves were sitting right here with them and watching to see if i'm making a good job of what they prayed for." "you have a great dream, haven't you, jimmy-lew?" ellen's calm voice was quizzical. "surely!” the boy fixed intense eyes upon her. “cer- tainly i have a dream! i see generations unborn " “why not just see these for the present, jimmy-lew?" ellen tempered her practicality with a soft laugh. “i'm going now. are you going with me? it's after four o'clock." ( ) these low grounds “'why so pale and wan, fond lover? prithee, why so pale?'” ellen's merry voice was tinged with malice. she turned off the switch and faced him. “i'm neither pale nor wan,” said jimmy-lew, gruffly. he added more softly: “if you had any sense at all, you'd know i'm rather glad.” ellen bent serious, level eyes on her frowning com- panion. “i suppose,” she said, not without sarcasm, "you're going to tell me that it's for me your heart's been pining. really, you want me to be the balm for your bruised ego." “but " "you needn't think i'm going to play comforting katy.” since there seemed nothing to say, jimmy-lew kissed her-fiercely, hungrily, a little angrily. she struggled for a minute, then gave up. when he released her she sank back weakly against the door of the coupé. “now will you listen?” “yes,” said ellen, her face flaming. “only, don't kiss me like that again, jimmy-lew. it's been so lonely down here . . . and if you don't mean it ..." "it was you i was thinking about when i went to bolden, ellen,” he answered her. "i didn't know then ... exactly. but you talked to me that summer when i came home. i guess it must have been you all along --sort of unconsciously. love's funny like that, isn't it? guess this was what i wanted to do that day in the station when you kissed me good-by and ran away.” "i thought you'd forgotten that,” murmured ellen. [ ] these low grounds and in a minute: "jimmy-lew, don't fool me. don't tell me this now, then change.” all of her woman's prac- ticality was gone. again she was the girl who had waited to walk home with the boy in the dusk of a winter's day. his answer was to draw her gently to him. hard times had made themselves felt in shrewsbury as elsewhere. to jim prince, whom the years had given patience, one more period of depression meant little. he had weathered storms before. he could weather this one. and with his customary stubbornness he refused to part with even an acre of land. sit tight until times were better, was his advice to any who sought it. more and more, now, he was coming to depend upon booker, home from the institute and full of book knowledge of ecnomics and farm management. booker belonged to the land and would stay here in the low grounds. paul, who had never held with farming, was off to new york, to invest his institute learning and small capital of savings in a business of his own. yes, jim prince felt secure in the present, and con- fident of a future which he intrusted gladly to his three grandsons. but his neighbor and friend, jess miles, had not reasoned with the same foresight. when ellen needed money to complete her education, jess sold every foot of land he owned with the exception of the lot on which his house stood not realizing until the [ ] these low grounds transaction was irrevocably concluded that in selling the land he had yielded up his heart and soul. not long afterward, he was stricken with paralysis, and added to his brooding grief over the lost acres was a terror that he would become a burden to ellen. within a month after the beginning of school, he dragged himself labo- riously out of his wheel chair and up the stairs to the bureau which held his pistol. ellen found his great sprawled body when she returned that evening. iii now ellen turned instinctively to jimmy-lew for comfort. and jimmy-lew gave back to her a wealth of tenderness that had never until now found complete expression. they planned to be married in june, be- fore the opening of summer school. in the meanwhile, as they came closer to each other in sympathy, they came closer also in their work. ellen helped jimmy-lew with his lesson plans, for she had the advantage of a year's teaching experience. he helped her from his richer store of academic learning, for he had had four years of college to her three years of normal-school training. out of their collaboration there emerged gradually a scheme for a consolidated school which would serve all the colored children of the county. there would be a modern teaching plant centrally located at shrewsbury, with adequate bus service to insure the attendance of students living in the outlying districts. [ ] these low grounds the plan grew slowly but steadily. at one moment it leapt ahead, urged by jimmy-lew's impetuous vision. the next moment it submitted to the rein of ellen's common sense. ellen could dream as well as jimmy- lew, but her dreams were as a cautious bark following the surging stream of his thought. she was a true prod- uct of the institute, with a mind guided by the orderly hand of discipline. when the plan was perfected to the point where it seemed to them workable, they presented it to ike as superintendent of the county. then for two days they anxiously awaited his verdict. on the third, he called them into his office. they stood breathlessly at his desk. "you two seem to have something worth while here," he said, smiling at their eagerness. “i've been thinking about the same thing for a number of years, but i never sat down to figure it out like this." he ran through their points briefly. “i believe it can be worked, and i'm going to present it to the state supervisor. wait," he cautioned as they joyfully turned to each other. "i can't promise you what his reaction will be. you see these hard times have caused a howl among the tax- payers, and the cost of education is one of the biggest bones of contention.” "but they built a new school for the white children over in deerfield this year ' “i know,” interrupted ike, with a patient smile, “but that's a horse of another color.” “you mean a child of another color!” exclaimed [ ] these low grounds jimmy-lew, bitterly. he broke off as he felt the pres- sure of ellen's fingers on his arm. "i realize that, too, son,” said ike. “but that's the way things are. i've learned that there are more ways of picking a chicken than scalding it. you have to learn those things in life-especially when you're in a posi- tion like mine. now you two let me handle this in my own way. i can't promise you that you'll get your plan through this year. but"-ike smiled again—"there are other years ahead." "well—" began jimmy-lew, but ellen broke in: "thank you very much, mr. johnson," she said, quietly. “i'm sure you'll do all you can. we can wait- can't we, jimmy-lew?" and she pressed his arm once more. jimmy-lew murmured something inaudible and they withdrew. ike sat staring at the door through which they'd passed, his long body slumped into his favorite think- ing position. this boy of martha's was a problem. there was no question but that he was a "natural" as a teacher. that was obvious to anyone who had watched him conduct a class. he had a gift for attracting and holding the interest of students. boys especially idolized him. they knew of his athletic exploits, and because of them were more willing to respect his scholarship. even piggy wright, of the fightin', cuttin', shootin' wrights, held jimmy in awe-and no other wright in ike's remembrance had submitted to a teacher's author- ity. they were a surly, unruly clan, the wrights; all of ( ] these low grounds them, with the exception of piggy's father, ham, had ended their careers in prison. but jimmy had other qualities, ike realized, that were less desirable in a teacher. he had martha's im- petuosity, and he had that forthrightness which bears the stamp of virtue but is too often the cause of embar- rassment. if jimmy took a dislike to some one, he scorned to stoop to polite deceit. at the county teachers' meeting, for instance, it had been very apparent that he had avoided the unpleasant, fishy-eyed, pallid little man who was state supervisor of negro education. and this would never do if he was to get on in the profes- sion. no one knew better than ike johnson the value of diplomacy in the academic life. jimmy, he feared, needed discipline. ... had ike only known it, jimmy-lew was being dis- ciplined that very moment. over at the parsonage, where ellen lived now, he was listening to a piece of calm and reasonable advice, i “you know, honey," ellen was saying, "you must learn to control your feelings more than you do." her eyes were soft with love of this great moody man who was still so much the child. "i guess you're right," he grinned, ruefully. “but- i don't know why it is—when a thing is wrong, to me, it's wrong! and i just say so, if it's a concern of mine." “but you can't do that, jimmy-lew—not in life. that's all well and good in school-sometimes not even there—but when you're dealing with human beings in ( ] these low grounds iv in the gray light of the following morning jimmy- lew nosed the coupé down main street. ellen sat be- side him, looking her best so he thought-in a green swagger suit and a sliver of a brown felt hat. beyond her was booker. "old shrewsbury's getting to be a big town,” jimmy- lew remarked, his mind running back to grammar- school days and the athletic events that were a part of the saturday grubbing-up program. "yep," agreed booker lazily, “but she's going to stand still awhile now. old man depression's got her. the same," he added after a moment's consideration, "as institute's got bolden today." booker had been an ath- lete of no mean reputation himself, and jimmy-lew's antagonist on the gridiron. it pleased him to keep the feud alive. “one more crack like that and you'll get out and walk," jimmy-lew promised him, "one more crack from either of you,” ellen put in, her voice calm as always, "and you'll both walk.” booker retired to his corner of the seat with a great show of meekness. but it wasn't in him to be quiet for long. “did you hear about the trouble at the box factory yesterday?” "no," said jimmy-lew. "what was it?” they were circling the court-house plaza in the mid- [ ] these low grounds moanin'... moanin'... moanin' guitar ... black, thick, labor-roughened fingers ripping the strings into savage harmonies. ... black, liquor-crazed minstrel ... black, poverty-ridden creature ... hard times ... out o' work ... gittin' cold ... an' dey ain' no mo' wood in de shed ... chilluns ain' got no shoes ... nuttin' to eat . . . credit gone ... what i gone do? . . . what i gone do? . .. went to the railroad- laid mah head on the track! went to the railroad laid mah head on the track! got to thinkin' 'bout mah baby- snatched mah dev'lish head back! cryin' how long-is ah got to wait? lawd-lawd-'spect ah bes' hes-a-tatel what i gone do? . . . ain' no mo' work yere in town . . . what i gone do? . . . goddam 'im! ... now come yere purty mamma- set on yo' daddy's kneel now come yere purty mamma- set on yo' daddy's kneel won't you tell me dat you lovin' nobody else but me? cryin' how long-is ah got to wait? lawd-lawd-'spect ah bes' hes-a-tatel 'nothah baby comin' . .. how's i gone feed 'im? ... i gots to have mah money now! ... gots to have it! ... goddam 'im! .... um-um-some mean black snake bin suckin' mah rider's tonguel [ ] these low grounds their women-folk to bargain with the merchants. there was not a black, brown, or yellow face to be seen in all the crowd. and the eyes under slouched hats were steely and the voices were low. "... tell me old man parsons' dyin', jeb.” “they say he ain't come to sence that nigger shot 'im." "sho orter be somep'n done 'bout it-damn niggers is gittin' so they thinks they's much as us." “how come they ain't nobody done got together an' strung 'at nigger up, noways?" “they says he's dyin', too_damn 'is black hide!” "wal, it's a damn shame to let' 'at nigger die in a nice white bed—'at's all i got to say!” “the mayor sent fo' the state troopers to guard the hospital. 'bout twenty of 'em strung 'round it. they say he even sent fo' the militia. reckon they'll be yere in the mornin'." “how'd he shoot ole man parsons anyways?" "went out to the mill 'bout twelve 'clock an' broke in on 'im. they says 'twas 'bout some money parsons owed the nigger. ole parsons drawed a gun an' shot 'im. but the nigger snatched it an' shot parsons in the chest-lung, they says. then the nigger staggers back to his house an' 'is boy an' gal took 'im to the hospital bleedin' like a hog. all happened so quick didn't no- body know 'bout it till they finds old parsons stretched out in 'is office 'bout twenty minutes after. ..." "wal, wait'll them boys from over virginny sho' gits ( ) these low grounds yere. they's a bunch of 'em comin' up in cars, they says. things'll start poppin' then. ...". iii dr. stevens, superintendent and chief surgeon of shrewsbury's newly built hospital, watched with anx- ious eyes the mob that milled in front of the window. for two hours now these madmen had been heckling the group of two dozen troopers stationed at the en- trance. he shuddered, reminded of that night when, as a boy, he had watched his father rush off with fran- tic jim prince, and he had crept trembling into his mother's arms. god! he hoped the governor would hurry those troops. damn depression! it put these people in an ugly frame of mind. there'd been slight clashes already be- tween those laborers from virginia shore and the lower element of negroes here in shrewsbury. parsons had been a bigoted old fool to throw those men out of work. damn it! when would these people come to their senses about their problem! same thing in the school board. they robbed those colored kids and their teachers of the money appropriated for them. then if you said anything about it, you were a nigger-lover! jesus! give them a lousy deal all around and then ex- pect them to grow up to be nice, intelligent, law-abid- ing citizens! dr. will stevens smiled ironically, even while he watched the example of mob mania there before him. hell! half of these men had hated old [ ] these low grounds parsons called him skinflint and miser! and now look at them! look at them in the glare of the torches they bore! women and children, too ... god! “think they'll be able to hold them off, sir?" dr. will turned, startled by the tremulous voice at his side. it was the new nurse, just graduated from training-school. what was her name? ramsey? yes, ramsey. she was white-lipped, and in her starched uni- form looked like a frightened blonde child at a mas querade. “i don't know," he answered, slowly. “that mob's in a nasty mood. how's mr. parsons?” “he's sinking faster-no hope, i'm afraid ... and it's only a matter of minutes now for that man who shot him. but he certainly has vitality, look, doc- tor!” the harried man jerked around to the window and stood fixed in dismay. the mob had charged! it swarmed around the grouped troopers, until it finally hid them from sight. when he could gather his wits to act, the doctor rushed into the corridor, but the foremost of the fren- zied pack completely submerged him before the horri- fied eyes of nurse ramsey. amid screams of the sick, with the attendants scurrying for cover, the pack surged onward to the ward marked “colored," which was at the far end of the passageway. a moment later and the benumbed nurse, who had pulled the unconscious su- perintendent back into his office, saw them drag a nude, inert, black body past the door. an unearthly cry [ ] these low grounds roared through the window and down the corridors, like the hungry voice of some great-throated wild thing. ... nurse ramsey groped blindly for support, then sank limply to the floor beside her superior. it is done. the streets of shrewsbury town are silent once more. the muddy automobiles have rattled away from the curbs, and the shop windows are darkened. the guar- dians of the state law rest on cots in the hospital. down in gatlin's alley shutters are tightly closed. there is no light at any window, neither is there a sound to be heard on the street. but inside one hovel a black woman, large with child, moans her anguish to a silent, brooding boy at her side. and in their miser- ably filthy bed five younger wrights whimper like a litter without its mother. in front of the court-house, now a ghostly pile of white against the moonless night, stand three spread- ing oaks, giving voice to the wind that sighs through their seared leaves. from a twisted and gnarled limb of the middle tree sways a grotesque, charred object, strangely human in shape. the fire beneath it smolders and dies, and there is nothing left but the white symbol of justice looming out of the haunted darkness. ( ) these low grounds retorted jimmy-lew. he sprang to his feet. “come on! see you, moose and chip." booker shrugged to his former opponents, then fol- lowed his cousin and ellen to the coupé. chip looked at moose. "i feel like a heel sitting here,” muttered moose. “let's get a drink,” suggested chip. ii “be careful, jimmy-lew!" ellen glanced hastily at the speedometer. the clock read “sixty.” they were careening around the curves of the phila- delphia pike, and each pressure of jimmy-lew's impa- tient foot shot them forward more recklessly. once or twice they barely avoided head-on collisions. booker looked askance at ellen. but there was no word from the driver. finally booker asked: “just why are you in such a rush to get home?" “you ask me that?" snapped jimmy-lew. "if there are any men in shrewsbury, and we can get there in time, there's not going to be any lynching!" "oh ..." booker slumped in his seat. "well, cuz, if that's your mood, all i can say is, pour it in 'er. i'll kind o' sort o' be around." his voice was quietly deter- mined. "you mean you're going to try to stop it?" asked ellen. her heart skipped a beat when jimmy-lew nodded. “all right-pour it in 'er!” her lips drew ( ] these low grounds thinly over her set teeth, and she tore her eyes from the speedometer. they had fled past elkton and were on the lonely stretch from there to eastland when the motor stuttered and coughed. in vain jimmy-lew pressed on the ac- celerator. all of the pull was gone from the overstrained mechanism. "she's missing," said booker. "spark's shot." “the mechanic at the garage at home said that the spark plugs needed cleaning,” said ellen. they had slowed to a snail's pace. jimmy-lew fretted and fumed. but there was nothing to do but drift until they sighted a garage. the mechanic there took one look and shook his head. “needs cleaning bad,” he said. “i can do the job in about two hours." “two hours!" stormed jimmy-lew. "we'll try to make it like this.” "yes, it's seven-thirty now," said booker. some of jimmy-lew's impatience had crept into his voice. there was a strange light flaring in his narrowed eyes. ellen looked from one to the other of these silent, taut-faced men between whom she was wedged, and tried to still a sudden terror that gripped her. jimmy-lew's taciturn- ity she was used to. but she had never seen booker like this.... four hours later they sputtered into the silent town, the coupé lurching like some drunken thing. booker was the first to mark the peculiar pall that hovered in the very air. the infrequent street lights were power- [ ] these low grounds y thinly over her set teeth, and she was speedometer they had tied past eiksen and was stretch from there to eastland win . he and coughed. in sin fimy w wed celerator. all of that pulis mechanism *sne s tissue d these low grounds less to dispel it. then, as they rounded the half-circle of the court-house plaza, ellen applied the foot brake and pointed. the men's eyes followed her trembling finger to the grimly silent, awful thing that swung in the horror-shrouded dark. iii "it's no use, ellen. ..." it was the friday of the following week. jimmy-lew slumped at the desk in his room, glumly staring at the cracked, worn floor. outside a drizzly rain heightened the gloom of the day. a train crew cursed and called to one another on the siding as a puffing locomotive maneuvered to connect a string of freight-cars. chalk- dusted erasers lay around the borders of the blackboards where they had been carelessly dropped by pupils eager to be gone from this place of discipline. and the atmos- phere hung with that peculiar odor which overcrowded, poorly ventilated schoolrooms carry at the close of the day. every outward indication proclaimed this friday like all other fridays. ellen stood at the door, her tender, troubled gaze fixed on the figure of utter defeat that was jimmy-lew. all week he had avoided meeting her in the building, and at the end of each day he had vanished. now she moved over to his side. "what's no use, dear?" she asked. “i'm going to leave this town," he said, slowly, his eyes averted. “there's no use in my staying. every time ( ] s to my sisters caroline, anna and beatrice fauset ". . . loved long since, and lost awhile." contents page i. the plot ii. the characters iii. teresa's act iv. oliver's act l v. phebe's act vi. curtain i the plot chapter i once, before olivia had attained to that self-absorption and single-mindedness which were to stamp her later life, she had remarked a text in sunday school which had given her considerable pause. it read: "behold how great a matter a little fire kindleth." she had gazed at it with unimaginative and wholly preoccupied concentration, struck for the moment with the solemnity and awfulness inhering in the words. after a few moments' reflection she came to the conclusion—she was nine at the time—that "the little fire" was a match and "the great matter" of course was a great fire. the bible had such a roundabout way of saying things! it is likely that never again in her whole life did she con- sider that text. for it was not many years later that a little fire kindled for her a great matter with which she was destined to combat all her life. but she herself did not know that she was engaged in any struggle nor was she oftener than once even dimly aware of the vastness and extent of the conflagration. the little fire was really kindled by two events. the first took place one glacial january afternoon when a snowball aimed none too adroitly by her small tawny hand found a more direct mark than she anticipated. the girl whom she had hit lived in the same block with her, but had never before spoken to her little colored neighbor. now she comedy: american style turned and called out with raucous fury: "don't you ever hit me again with a snowball, you nasty little nigger!" the other children had been perfectly cognizant of olivia's bronze-brown father with his crisp black hair and his merry eyes. but olivia and her pleasant-spoken mother had been so completely like themselves in appearance that they had not let all the implications creep into their minds. now suddenly awareness came upon them. some with- drew, glancing at her aloofly. others went on with their play apparently oblivious and yet contriving with some show of ostentation to leave her out. but one little girl as nut-brown and as curly-haired as olivia herself, placed a warm tender hand on hers. "olivia," she whispered with an insight far beyond her years, "it doesn't make any dif- ference." olivia could brook neither the insult nor the pity. brush- ing aside her playmate's hand she rushed into the house where she brooded long and bitterly over this awful thing which had happened to her. to be considered different! ... all ignorant as she was of the laws of heredity she knew that her father's original brownness was in some way responsible for her own. . . . he was lying ill then with pneumonia in an adjoining room . . . her mother, wan and pale and drooping with the apprehension entailed upon her by the illimitable love which she bore him, hung mutely, despairingly over him. . . . olivia almost hated them both with a flaring intensity no less violent for the immaturity of the heart which engen- dered it. how could they—how could they have made her colored? how could they lead the merry, careless life that was theirs with this hateful disgrace always upon them? ... a question which she was never able to answer, since the plot neither at nine nor at thirty-nine was she ever able to com- prehend, much less experience, the perfection of rapture which may spring from human relationships. within a month her father had died, their little house- hold was broken up and her mother, suddenly destitute but unresentful, had moved olivia and her slender effects to another massachusetts town in which there was a possi- bility of work in a mill. by chance she found a tiny house skirting an italian neighborhood and sent her daughter to school within the district. and it was thus that the second event added its own contribution to "the great fire." if only a god could have intervened! if he could have set his stern lips to the rosy ear of olivia's new, young and completely unobservant teacher. if he could have said to her with the awful gravity of a god: "refrain from those words, for in them lie pain, death, weariness and utter futility!" but either he was totally dumb or she totally deaf, for as the line was passing her room she called out: "here, that little girl right there, come here a moment." they were all little girls and they were all "right there," so that olivia, for whom the words were intended, kept serenely on. miss baer, continuing in the somewhat raucous voice which she reserved for stupid pupils, called again: "come here, you; that little italian girl, i mean." olivia, now more than ever unsignalled, was blandly pur- suing her way when she felt her two shoulders grasped firmly by the strong polack girl behind her, and found her- self propelled toward the irate instructor. "my goodness me!" exclaimed miss baer. "my goodness me! don't you know enough to come when you're called?" before olivia could open her bewildered mouth the tute- comedy: american style lary polack rushed to her defense. "she's new, teacher; she don't mean nothin'." "wait a moment," said the teacher. "take this note to miss sawyer in room ." unexpectedly she found her- self moved by the aspect of the forlorn little girl in the black dress. "you didn't mind my speaking of your being an italian, did you? you know," said miss baer, whose grand- father under a difficult name ending in ewski was at that moment painfully tilling a field in a far-off town in poland, "you know i think that you italian children are quite as good as us americans. you didn't mind, did you?" she asked again anxiously, for her heart was, at bottom, as kind as her head was empty. olivia, looking at her unblinkingly, assured her with great firmness that she had not minded in the least. she was, she said, proud to be an italian. . over the chocolate soda which had occasioned the note, miss baer discussed the matter with her friend, miss saw- yer. "and you should have seen the change which came over her face when i told her i considered italians just as good as the rest of us americans. i always believe in straighten- ing these things out. poor little tyke!" the poor little tyke could hardly wait for her mother to return from the mill. never a demonstrative child, she surprised her parent from the settled depression, from the almost complete obliviousness to extraneous matters in which long brooding on a happy vanished past had en- veloped her. for a brief moment about her heart she ex- perienced a feeling of warmth. perhaps this cool, small daughter of hers had awakened. perhaps between them there would spring something of the affection of which one the plot reads between mother and child—an affection which as yet olivia had never exhibited. but she was wary. she said nothing. for her daughter, up to this point within her experience, had been like a cun- ningly fashioned instrument without, so to speak, a sound- ing-board. touch it, play on her feelings ever so cleverly, and the response was nil. there was nothing there with which to afford an answer. some inkling of this even in olivia's most childish days had penetrated to the minds of her father and mother. like a picture film a certain memory swept in panorama over mrs. blanchard's mind. for the first time she and her husband had taken a complete "day off from the baby," then a child of four. with another couple who also had left their two children in the care of a kind but none too familiar aunt, they had gone to a beach. all through the lovely drowsy hours the parents had worried. "we shouldn't have left her without either of us, lee," mrs. blanchard had kept repeating. "oh, she'll be all right, janet," he had retorted. but she had known that he was distracted. as the four entered the aunt's house the two little porter children dropped a medley of sticky books, blocks and crackers and with loud cries of "mummy and daddy!" had fallen upon their gratified parents. but olivia had not even turned around. instead she had taken this opportunity to annex a small, brightly colored booklet belonging to the older porter boy. earlier in the day he had fought her and her predatory efforts most doughtily. but now from the coign of his father's shoulder he was coldly indifferent. lee and janet had taken olivia home, laughing—but then they were always doing that—at their own discomfiture. "it appears to me," lee said, glancing at the child sleeping comedy: american style placidly, lying straight and prim in her little bed, "it ap- pears to me that your child isn't so fond of us." for once without laughter janet looked at him. "i'm just wondering, lee, how she can be the child of either one of us. do you know she's never hung around us or clung to us the way that little porter boy clung to his mother to- night." "the more reason why we should cling to each other, then," lee had replied with his ready laughter. but pres- ently in the moments between his trips on the train—he was a graduate of a medical school working as a railroad porter for the money to purchase his equipment—and in those brief interims when they were not completely en- grossed in the wonderment of their perfect companionship, they fell to considering her with a mingling of amazement and wistfulness, of a somewhat wry humor and of no little chagrin. "she's a changeling," lee said and thereafter to them- selves they frequently referred to her as "c." all this and much more was passing through janet blanchard's nimble mind as olivia waited on her with unusual and thoughtful ministrations. "perhaps she is go- ing to be a real daughter," she thought, leaning back in the shabby rocker which olivia had drawn forward for her. she let her weary aching feet relax in the grateful roomi- ness of old and tried slippers, which her daughter had amazingly slipped on for her. a momentary flash of her old whimsicalness returned. "perhaps she's going to become unchanged." for a sad sweet moment she fell to musing on how completely satis- fying and compensating a child of lee should be. there was that girl whom she had met only last week on her way the plot to this soul-destroying mill, a girl who had looked up to greet a rather ordinary woman advancing toward her down the street. "there's my mother!" she had called out in an ecstasy of joy. "oh, moth!" she had cried. "oh, moth!" the sweet intimacy of the little abbreviation had almost brought the tears to janet's eyes. suppose olivia should greet her like that! olivia made the final gesture; she brought her mother the glass of cool tart lemonade which her parched throat so craved. "now," the child thought beneath her unre- vealing exterior, "now she certainly must be rested enough for me to talk to her." she plumped on a stool at her mother's feet. of all the things which janet had hoped her daughter might say she surely had never anticipated this. "mother," said little olivia, "have you ever told anybody in this town we are colored?" "what!" said her mother, startled even out of her initial disappointment. "what are you talking about? no, i've never told anybody i am colored. don't suppose i have to. why?" olivia proceeded carefully, feeling her way. if she couldn't gain her mother's consent or at least her silence, her own dimly worked out plans might be entirely shat- tered. "i don't think anybody around here things we're colored, because nobody knows we're colored. i think, mother," said olivia, struggling with an idea destined to become the cornerstone of many a latter-day cult, "that if you really are one way and people see you another way, then it's just as easy for you to be their way as your way." "well, what about it?" said janet coldly, thinking what an intensely irritating child this was. "i hope you're not getting any silly notions in your head. color doesn't mean » comedy: american style anything, anything at all. it's what you are." she was talking ineptly and knew it. "there are many white people in the world who are no better off than we today. you're too young to understand all this just now, olivia, but you'll find out that you'll have a much better time as a colored girl who eventually will come to know some of the best people of her group than as an ordinary white girl who will always know and go with ordinary white people. "i come of ordinary colored people myself, olivia. i was a maid in a hotel in a summer resort when fortunately i met your dear father. he was working his way through medical school . . . but he would marry me . . . where was i? now he was from a fine family. his father knew men like booker washington and john durham. fellows in school with him are already making names as teachers and doctors and business men. when we got on our feet we were going to boston. we might have remained in moderate circumstances for years, but we could have min- gled always with the best." but neither then nor at any other time did olivia have any taste for such mingling. much of what her mother had said was beyond her, but she could always see the facts which would support the cause of her immediate espousal. so she only said with no slightest trace of the triumphant winner in her tone: "mother, do the people at the mill know you're colored?" "no," said janet shortly. she would have little chance to earn even this pittance, she knew, if her color were guessed at. "well, then," olivia finished, coming to her point, for her clear mind told her no further discussion was necessary, "since the girls, and the teachers too, at school think i'm white, don't you think i'd better be white?" the plot ii chapter ii janet blanchard always traced her determination to marry a second time back to that conversation with her daughter. her heart cried to her not to forget lee. . . . "as though i could," she murmured at night into her fever- ish pillow. but her head told her she could not forever en- dure this awful loneliness which her daughter's presence rendered, paradoxically enough, so palpable. she had no friends and as she was of the type of colored people who look with scorn on what they call with special intention "poor whites," she made no attempt to mingle with the mill-hands about her. as she was always courteous and sufficiently approachable her attitude caused no rancor. indeed, her aloofness, coupled with a certain innate refine- ment, obtained for her respect and at length a measure of appreciation. her work was rapid and accurate and brought with it an annual slight increase which she, with much more in- sight than she had ever shown during her life with lee, placed in a savings bank. she, too, could plan. finally a harassed foreman, noting that she had a way with her with the foreigners by whom the place was overrun and com- menting to himself that here was an "honest-to-god" amer- ican who might be able to get some sense into the heads of these "wops," made her an assistant forewoman. and saw to it that she received not only better hours but an appre- ciable difference in wage. and now, between this mother and daughter a strange contest began—a contest, however, of which only the former was aware. olivia, with little or no thought as to the class of people with whom she was associating, was daily cherish- comedy: american style ing within herself the idea of emerging into a world which knew nothing of color. on the other hand, within her heart janet was nursing the image of the day when she could break with all this sordidness of occupation and peo- ple and return to her own. she would migrate to a college town—to boston or even to cambridge itself. how well, through lee, she knew the type of man that there she might possibly meet. she could picture, as com- pletely as though he were standing before her, the rather serious, slightly over-earnest southerner desperately pursu- ing a belated education. she hoped she would not be ap- portioned by the gods to a type such as that. he might so easily be un-humorous and self-important! of course there were others. men coming back for re- search and graduate work. some of them already with scholarships in pursuit of other scholarships to carry them abroad in their quest for further knowledge. . . . "but such men would hardly glance at me and my ignorance," she told herself with her honest, clear-sighted candor. "lee, darling lee, what shall i do?" for always she communed with him thus, feeling no disloyalty to him in the ideas that she was contemplating. lee, she knew, would be the first to want his girl guarded safe and warm with the strength even of another man's arm. and immediately the answer came to her. she had kept her husband's books—many from his high-school days and all those he had used in his undergraduate college years. everything else, even his clothes, she had sold during those first black weeks, but the books, despite the problem they presented in weight and expense, she had clung to, know- ing how he had cherished them. at night now, not so weary as she had once been, she read, she made notes, she remembered. some remarks of comedy: american style bit of it. and behind and through all that enjoyment was the constant realization that she was not standing still; that certainly she was not the same woman in whose arms poor lee had died and that somehow, somewhere, some- thing was bound to happen. naturally all this activity cured her physical loneliness. yet never had she felt so completely, so spiritually apart as on the day, five years from the date of lee's death, when she and her sullen daughter set out for cambridge to em- bark on her grand adventure. . . . she had had a frightful scene with olivia, who, with that strange undemanding complacency which so distinguished her from both her parents, had been spending five happy years in the company of shop-girls, soda-water jerkers, small seamstresses . . . who were white. janet had met them from time to time, treating them with courtesy and gentleness not only for her daughter's sake and safety but also for the maintenance of her own economic position. she knew—as what colored person thirty years ago did not?—the rancor of the poor small- town white who saw in his negro working competitor only the menace of the wanton interloper. the thought of going again to a colored church, of play- ing a quiet game of whist in a decent colored parlor with its family 'album and what-not; of gradually working one's way into membership of small committees, of receiving the polished, if not always grammatical, gallantries of colored men—all these things bore for janet's imagination the same charm that the sight of fresh water might bear to a ship- wrecked sailor. to olivia, however, all this meant nothing. "but," said janet, "do you really like these people, olivia? or is it the plot just because they are white? and if that is why you're so anxious to remain with them do you mean to tell me you're willing all your life to sail under false pretenses? good heavens, olivia, you wouldn't want to marry one of these rats, would you? why, olivia, think of the decent, kindly cultivated fellows you'll be meeting in boston! the worst of them would be better than that horrid little janska you had here last night." olivia, it appeared, had thought of the young men whom she might meet in boston. "all of them black or brown," she raged, "and all of them looked down on! if you think i want my children to feel toward their father as i felt toward" she stopped then, realizing that she had gone too far. janet finished the sentence for her. "as you felt toward your father! toward lee blanchard, the best and finest man that ever lived!" how horrible this was, she thought, to almost hate one's own child. "listen, olivia. i'm going to boston. i'm going to live there with my own people as completely colored as though i were the color of coal. if you want to stay here and work in the mills—well, you're seventeen, and you may do as you choose. but if you want food and warmth and shelter and decency you'll come with me. and as long as you live under my roof you'll treat my friends—and i mean to have plenty of them, all colored—with respect." olivia did not want to work in the mills. the harvard extension course brought results not listed in the catalogue. it had taught janet her way about cam- bridge; and the intelligence of her answers made her name immediately recognizable to the professor when she went to consult him about her little project of opening a rooming- i comedy: american style house for colored students. the problem of housing them was just sufficiently acute to make her proposition worthy of attention. in the end professor inness allowed her to use his name both in order to obtain a house and as security for credit. "since you're going into this business," he told her wisely, "you might just as well operate on a worthwhile scale. better get yourself some good furniture while you're at it. cheap stuff never pays." she was astounded at his generosity. "but you know nothing about me," she reminded him. "you can't pos- sibly know whether i'm honest or not." "i know you've told me you are a colored woman when you might just as well have let me think you white. that assures me that you may be foolish but you certainly are honest," he told her dryly. after this encounter she thought better of white people. for a time everything worked miraculously and mag- ically just as she had planned it. she found the house, an old-fashioned roomy one with four large bedrooms and three small ones. two of the small ones were next to each other on the second floor. these she took for herself and her daughter. but almost from the start she realized that she would have to abandon her scheme of taking graduate students only. in those days there were probably fewer than a dozen colored graduate students in the whole united states. certainly if there were any at harvard they made no application to her, nor were they sent to her. but the four large double rooms went very quickly. her lodgers were all over age—their entrance into, or their continuance within, college represented to each one of them a definite struggle and sacrifice. but this effort, the plot * this determination to attain an end, brought with it a steadfastness and a reliableness which resulted in tangible benefits for janet. none of these serious, earnest young men would ever cheat her—she could tell that. and if a man fell into arrears she never dunned him. instead she hunted up some extra piece of work for which sooner or later she would have had to call in carpenter or painter and turned it over to the delinquent. in this way she was able to pull through that first difficult semester not only without debt but even with a very slight surplus to her credit. her young men tended the furnace, painted the whole interior of the house, swept the heavy carpets, cleaned windows and jointly and collectively took the place of the best hired man that money could have se- cured. and not one of them after the first week or two ever glanced at, or, apparently, ever thought of olivia. but then olivia herself had a hand in this. on the contrary, it was no unusual thing to find two or three of them grouped about janet in her quaint comfortable parlor in the eve- nings, in those first comfortable relaxing hours of what had been for many of them a tense and gruelling day. on sunday evenings, especially, the boys sought her; sometimes they brought with them the feminine attraction of the moment. occasionally on a stormy new england night almost all of them would be there. janet would play the hymns which most of them, children of praying, god- fearing parents, had heard in their youth; or from time to time she would dash off into a captivating waltz or one of the stirring marches of the day. no matrimonial material here. but janet, happy and comfortable for the first time since her husband's death, i comedy: american style was uncaring. indeed, secretly, she rather rejoiced, since it meant that the memories of lee still held full sway in her heart. all in all a happy six months' interim in her life; a pleasant backwater of usefulness; increasing knowl- edge and comfort where she would, perhaps, spend the rest of her days. the third small room on the top floor was still un- tenanted. janet was pondering the idea of fixing it up as a small private study whither one or even two of her boys could retreat when in need of extra quiet and seclusion. but at the beginning of the second semester professor inness sent her a note which she conned in the quiet of her little room. the bearer, declared her former instructor's concise missive, was an older man who had just come through an intense emotional and spiritual strain. "i think the atmosphere of your house may do something to restore him, mrs. blanchard. i'll esteem it a personal favor if you'll contrive to make room for him. i think he'll be best off by himself." she was not anxious to give up the extra room; she was no longer even anxious for another student, but in the case of professor inness refusal was, of course, impossible. rather slowly she went down to see her caller. "my goodness," she said to herself as soon as, rather lan- guidly, he began to speak, "here's my real southerner!" and at first sight he seemed to run more truly to type than the type itself—so gaunt he was, so serious, even to sadness, so insistent on absolute seclusion and quiet because his work was so important. impishly she ventured a pleasantry or so, but he was in no mood for pleasantries. without de- mur he accepted her terms, informed her that he would move in late that afternoon, asked for a door-key and was the plot * off without further delay to complete his program and to procure his luggage. later in the week she passed him in the hall and on sun- day morning he drifted into her little office, which she had converted from a pantry, and made some trifling inquiry. he was, she found, a man of perhaps thirty-eight, about three years older than herself, of her own general com- plexion, bluish-grey eyes, tall, thin almost to emaciation and with marks of real suffering in his face. it was two months before he joined the boys at her little sunday gathering and even then he brought with him a sense of not so much seeking company as trying to avoid his own. by summer, in spite of the sparseness of the actual words between them, janet began to feel in his pres- ence a certain satisfaction and more than that an actual lack if he were not there. a certain expression in his eyes, the merest turn of one of his brief remarks, a lingering quality about his unwilling withdrawals gave her the be- lief that this satisfaction was felt and returned. when the summer came her boys scattered. they were all of them now sophomores and juniors. all of them elected to return. some of them, obtaining jobs as porters on new england trains or as bell-hops on the big coast- wise steamers, opined that they would be in from time to time to rest during their brief lay-overs. blake, however, made no attempt to leave. in answer to janet's question as to his need for a brief vacation he told of his desire to spend it there in her house in boston if it did not incon- venience her. inevitably the two were drawn together. before long he had told her of his youth, of his ambition to study medicine, of his graduation with distinction from atlanta university. comedy: american style "in those days, janet, i had about me a sense of consecra- tion. i suppose all of us young colored fellows of that day took ourselves too seriously. education was and still is such a novel possession. so although i wanted to come north and study medicine, when a call came for a man to take charge of a new struggling school in a small alabama town i listened to the insistent urging of one of my pro- fessors and went there. "you never saw such benighted people as there were in that town, both black and white. i married a classmate to whom i had become engaged during my junior year and the two of us, heads and hearts high, set out—poor, little puny fools—to attempt a reform at which the angel michael might well have blenched. "the colored people there, poor things, wanted the school because they thought there was necromancy in higher edu- cation. that it would bring palpable and material results. of course a few of them saw beyond that. the white people didn't want the school because they were afraid it might make their 'nigras uppity' and they didn't mean to stand for that. yet they realized the benefit to the town. "well, we were young and brave and dead sure not only that we could succeed but that we were genuine crusaders embarked on a holy cause. i won't burden you with the details, janet. you read the papers. but after fifteen years of heart-breaking work, after seeing a school turn from a little elementary primary institution into an academy of high-school rank—after going about hat in hand half over the country to gain funds with which to construct new buildings—after all this i came home from one of these ex- peditions two years ago to find my school a mass of still smoking ruins; my wife at death's door; all hope of our the plot baby gone; my life's work vanished; and the vandals laugh- ing, jesting, skulking like jackals among the debris." "oh," said janet, "and i thought you were just a self- conscious, belated student. i thought you had no sense of humor. what did you do, ralph? where did you live during those years before you came here? how have you been existing?" "i tell you, janet, i hardly know what i did. my wife and i had about a thousand dollars saved in a bank in new york. and i had, thank god for it, always carried heavy insurances for both her and myself. a classmate of mine spirited me away, helped me collect and bank my insurance and sent word to the professor at atlanta through whom i had first undertaken the building of the school. he was, by the way, an uncle of your professor inness. for two years i've been wandering up and down the country, work- ing at whatever came my way, provided only it induced sufficient weariness. "i've worked on great western farms, on forest reserva- tions, even in mining camps, talking to as few people as possible, making no friends, seeking only sleep and forget- fulness. recently i've felt some slight stirrings of my old desires to be useful. as wretched as i have been i've come across others in still worse condition—though i doubt if any of them had gone through experiences as harrowing as mine. "professor inness' uncle had wound up my affairs in ala- bama. i shall never return there. indeed, my only desire is to stay in this section of the world and to be quietly and unnoticeably useful. and," he finished simply, "i should like very much to be near you." janet looked at him smiling, but with tears in her eyes. "do you think you could learn to laugh?" comedy: american style "i used to be a great hand at it. if i learn again, will you let me stay near you?" "i think so." "for ever and ever?" "for ever and ever. . . . oh, ralph, you won't mind if i keep a little place in my mind, in my heart, for lee? . . . i loved him so ... we were so happy." "my dear girl, of course. ... if we can just help each other not so much to forget the past—as to endure what life has left . . . that would be incalculable. and you might like to know i love you. if you ever love me, will you tell me?" "i love you now." • • • • • many weeks later he asked her: "what about your daugh- ter? you know she's around so little. i see her so rarely. do you think she'll mind our marriage?" janet's face went wry. "ralph, if you could only guess how little she'll mind! i am the least cog in olivia's wheel. she has only one consuming ambition. i suppose she'll hardly know she has a stepfather. but in any event, i think she likes you." "she always speaks to me pleasantly, and i notice that's more than she does to any of the other men in the house except to young christopher cary." "that's because you're the only ones that in any sense fulfill her requirements." "what requirements?" "it's all so silly! olivia is simply hipped on color. she wouldn't speak to her own grandfather on the street, i be- lieve, if he showed color." "absurd!"' "of course, but absurdly truthful!" comedy: american style by the colored presbyterian minister. not even olivia was present. they had made their plans. she would keep up the lodging-house until he should finish his medicine, so as not to deplete his small store of money. then they would take a small house right there in boston and live quietly "and happily too," he told her, "ever after." chapter iii olivia, exactly as her mother had prophesied, said nothing whatever about the marriage. when her mother and new father came home the day of their wed- ding, ralph kissed her and said smiling: "now, olivia, you have a new dad. how do you like that?" and she answered serenely: "very much, i am sure." and extricating herself from his kindly arm she had gone on about her small and intensely secret affairs. also she said very little when during christmas week of the following year the twins, david and janet, made their initial appearance. without expressing any especial affec- tion for the children she did show more interest in them than janet had ever known her to manifest in any one. they were very striking children, with janet's mat white skin, and with their father's thick dark hair and blue eyes. olivia played with them, wheeled them about the narrow twisting streets, and was willing to watch them for hours. she really made a very nice picture in the evenings sitting there, the firelight loitering upon her young, serious face with its great thick mane of chestnut hair. she had a look of distinction, really as of one who had consecrated herself, very young and very completely, to some cause of magni- tude and vitalness. the plot as it happened, all the young men who had engaged rooms when her mother started her initial enterprise were still there. one or two of them, stephens, hall and cary had graduated, but they had remained, the first two to study law, the third to attend medical school. any one of these men would have gladly offered his hand and name to the young woman. olivia was barely twenty now. she was never pretty, but she possessed the comeliness of youth and the lure and provocativeness of extreme aloofness. the three young men took themselves pretty seriously. they realized that a wife of distinction and some culture might help considerably to establish and to round out the niche which each meant to carve out for himself after graduation. of these three cary, perhaps, was the least concerned with himself and with his career from a purely social stand- point. assuredly he meant to succeed, equally assuredly he realized the sacrifice which his parents had made to assist him to stay in school and he meant neither to dis- appoint their expectations, which ran pretty high, nor to permit their self-denial to be in vain. but aside from this he was entirely without the slightly self-righteous attitude which characterized so many young colored people of his day and station. christopher never talked about "my people," never mouthed pompous phrases pertaining to the "good of the race." he was in this respect the forerunner of the modern young colored man who takes his training as a matter of course for himself pri- marily and for the race next. on the other hand, although the color of his skin was actually whiter than olivia's—for except for his rather closely curling, sandy hair he might easily have been taken for the average white american—he was not in the slightest interested in exploits of "passing." he hadn't the remotest american style comedy: concern, really never thought about color except on the rare occasions when there seemed to be some possibility of discrimination at a time and in circumstances which might prove inconvenient or embarrassing. thus in spite of the law if he felt by "laying low" and saying nothing he might avoid not the indignity so much as the discomfort of a "jim crow" car he would certainly with no sense of racial betrayal avail himself of such a fortuitous attribute as his general appearance. yet when one of the southern col- leges sent out an ultimatum that its athletes would counte- nance no competition with colored contestants, cary went to the athletic manager and left no doubts as to his identity. but he made it clear that if he were excluded from the meet with this particular school he could not be expected to put the shot for "fair harvard" on any other occasion. as cary was too good a man to lose, there was no con- test that year with that particular southern school. one thing is certain, it was not olivia's color or rather the lack of it which so intrigued christopher. he knew though that his mother, a staunch "old philadelphian" twice removed from charleston, would approve of such a selec- tion. left to himself he found himself far more attracted to a warmer, more vital type. and that in spite of the fact that, in his day, men of his general appearance were in- clined to choose their mates from a feminine group which almost completely matched them in color. but cary was by instinct the iconoclast. later on when life hardened him and remoulded him he did break through many social and professional precedents. but at this point in his development he either would not or could not think through any but the simplest matters. he was still the child not only of his impulses but of the earliest, most elemental training which he had received from his the plot mother when sex and girls first obtruded themselves on his far from unwilling consciousness. his mother had set forth: "a really nice girl never lets a the lad puzzled him a great deal.) "never bother with a woman who runs after you. if she runs after you, she'll run after other men." "a good woman comes to her husband entirely ignorant. she learns everything direct from her husband." the more completely chris became acquainted with the elementals of biology, physiology and therapeutics, the more he ques- tioned the wisdom of such ignorance, but he supposed that was just the hard luck of being a woman. "you can always tell a good woman because she is so well, certainly olivia lived up to all this dicta. she was cold enough, freezing, in fact! she did not run after him. she gave him no inkling of any liking. and he would lay money on her being completely "ignorant"—only of course a man didn't lay money on his wife! his courtship could never be described as ardent, for there was nothing about olivia's chill aloofness to pique him into ardor. none of the "come-hither" about olivia. . . . but his courting was as persistent as it might be be- tween two people who had almost nothing to say to each other in the house; who met only occasionally on boylston street as they both came in, he from medical school, she from training school in the late afternoon. within four years they had attended together perhaps a half-dozen ath- letic events. yet these last made a far greater impression on olivia's mind than any words of her somewhat lackadaisical lover. man know she likes him.' cold.' » comedy: american style for cary was a great favorite. at any meet he was con- stantly being hailed "h'lo chris!" "hey there, cary, how're you making it?" "wait a minute, cary, i want you to meet miss pennypacker. hazel, this is the guy that ^ played in such good form at the penn relays. do you re- member him?" he was always being asked to dine, to attend banquets, to be present at tryouts; to look over the new batch of athletes who were coming along in the undergraduate schools. olivia thought, mistaking the easy good comrade- ship for something more essential than it could possibly be, that if he wanted to he could keep up such contacts forever. she saw his later professional life a long succession of quasi-social events in which cary remained the lion and the woman who might be his wife would of necessity be a lioness. suddenly to cary's and to her own mother's complete amazement she married him. they would have been still more amazed, completely indeed, taken off their feet, if they had known the course of reasoning which had made her decide to act. it was the twins who turned the trick they were so completely white. olivia had long since broken loose from the idea of a life spent with the soda-jerker, the mill-hand, the small- town clerk. she began to understand her mother's insist- ence that it was important for one's husband to belong to such or such a class. she knew now that it was highly unlikely that she would meet with and marry a white man of cary's education, standing and popularity. certainly not in this section of the country where her affiliations could be so easily traceable. of course she could go away from home where she was the plot unknown. but strange to say she was in no respect the adventuress. whatever she might accomplish toward the fulfillment of this strange desire of hers she expected to be brought about more or less by mere verisimilitude; she did not at this time expect to have much to do with the mar- shalling of events. . . . why not take advantage of what already lay to her hand? cary's friendships, his contacts, the enthusiastic welcomes and greetings which seemed to rain down upon him wher- ever he went. . . . with a background such as this, to what heights might not their children attain? and she as dowager would share all their triumphs, their opportuni- ties, their advantages. they should know from the very beginning, and quite naturally, the desires of which her young life had been balked. . . . she and cary were as fair as her mother and dr. blake. they would have white children. the twins had shown her that. so at last she would obtain her desire. and for that reason and no other she married christopher cary. ii the characters chapter i mrs. olivia blanchard cary glanced out of the window of her pleasant residence in west philadelphia and saw her daughter teresa, her books under her arm, strolling down the street, with two other little girls similarly laden. one of her companions, a very fair blonde with dark blue eyes and gay gilt hair, mrs. cary identified immediately as phebe grant. she was not so sure of the identity of the third youngster. closer inspection revealed to her however the dark brown skin, the piquant features, the sparkling black eyes and the abundant, silky and intensely curly locks of marise davies. mrs. cary frowned. "as often as i've told teresa to keep away from that davies child!" she murmured angrily to herself. she met them at the front door. the countenances of the three children were in striking contrast. teresa's wore a look of apprehension, phebe's of bland indifference, marise's of acute expectancy. "good-afternoon, teresa," olivia said. "good-afternoon children. i'm afraid it's not best for teresa to have so much company today. she gets excited and worn out and it's hard afterwards for her to settle down to her lessons. i don't mind if one of you stays. phebe, suppose you come in and play with her a while, and, marise, you can come back another time." "tomorrow?" asked marise, whose black eyes had never left olivia's face. "well, hardly tomorrow," the woman replied, flushing a comedy: american style little. she really disliked this child. "horrid, little pushing thing," she inwardly apostrophized. but aloud she con- tinued. "hardly tomorrow, but some other day very soon, i am sure. come on in phebe." "no, thank you, mrs. gary," the child answered, pushing back the thick gilt hair which framed her face. "i was with marise first, so i'll go on with her. we were just going to ask you to let teresa come along with us. my mother expects me to be at marise's if i'm not home." she spoke simply, no trace of the avenging angel about her. the two children, hand in hand, backed off the bottom step on which they had been precariously teetering. marise, ignoring olivia completely, waved a slender hand toward teresa. "come on over whenever you can. my mother doesn't mind." from the pavement both looked back once more to wave a careless farewell to their school-mate. "g'bye, treesa!" "treesa!" olivia echoed angrily. "why can't they pro- nounce your name right?" she glanced sharply at her daughter's tear-stained face. "what's the matter, teresa?" the little girl wiped away a tear with the back of her hand. "mamma, why can't i play with marise? of course phebe's all right and i like her very, very much. but i like marise best. she's such fun." her mother sighed. "i have," she thought, "the stupidest children and husband too in the world. why can't they see this thing the way i want it?" not unkindly she took out her handkerchief and wiped the child's eyes. "now, teresa, it isn't worth while going all over this matter again. i don't mind your having phebe here; in fact i rather like phebe. but i don't like to have colored people in the house if we can possibly avoid it." the characters "but, mamma, phebe is colored too." "i know she is but nobody would ever guess it." "they don't have to guess it; she tells it; she stood right up in class and said so." "what nonsense!" olivia countered angrily. "what oc- casion would a girl, looking like her, have to talk about color?" "she didn't say it of her own accord, mamma. the teacher was having a review lesson on races one day and she asked phebe what race she belonged to and phebe said: 'i belong to the black or negro race.'" "what did the teacher say?" "she just giggled at first and then she said: 'well, phebe, we all know that isn't true. don't try to be funny. now tell us what race you do belong to, dear!' and phebe said it all over again. she said: 'i belong to the black or negro race.'" olivia gasped. "silly little thing! the idea of a girl as white as she saying that! what happened then?" "the teacher had her stay after school and phebe showed her the picture of her mother. she wears it in a locket around her throat all the time. and her mother is colored. not black, you know, mamma, but real, real brown. al- most as brown as marise, you know. you should have seen how surprised miss packer was!" in spite of herself her mother was interested. "what did she say then?" "she looked awful queer and asked phebe if she looked like her father and phebe said she looked exactly like him . . . and that he didn't live here and that he was married to someone else. . . . and then miss packer turned kind of red and never said another word. . . . how can phebe's father not be married to her mother, mamma?" comedy: american style "oh, i don't know • . . probably they couldn't get along so they separated. married people often do that. they call it getting a divorce." hurriedly she changed the sub- ject: "did the children act any different to phebe after that?" teresa considered this a moment. "well, you see, mamma, the children don't act any special kind of way to phebe anyway, because phebe don't care anything about them. the only child phebe likes a whole lot in school is marise." "i thought she liked you." "o she does, but not the same way she likes marise. marise is so smart you know. she can think up all the most wonderful things. why she changed her name her- self. it used to be maria. and she said that was all wrong. she said she didn't look like a maria person and she didn't feel like a maria person. . ,. isn't that funny, mamma? and she can sing and play and dance. you never saw any- one dance like her. and she can think up such smart things* to say. i don't see why you don't like her, mamma." "i don't dislike her," her mother retorted in exasperation. "you don't understand these things, yet, teresa. but you will when you're older . . . and you'll be grateful to me. i just don't want you to have marise and people like that around because i don't want you to grow up among folks who live the life that most colored people have to live . . . narrow and stultified and stupid. always pushed in the background . . . out of everything. looked down upon and despised! . . . "teresa, how many times must i tell you these things? you and your father and christopher almost drive me crazy! you're so willfully perverse about it all! here we could all be as white as the whitest people in philadelphia. the characters when we moved in this neighborhood not a soul here but thought we were white! and your father is never happy unless he has some typical negro hanging about. i believe he does it to tease me. and now here you are, all wrapped up in this davies child!" "but, mamma, what difference does it make? and any- way, there's oliver!" ■ • • • • there indeed was oliver. olivia with very little love for her husband, dr. cary, with no enthusiasm, as such, for the institution of matri- mony and with absolutely no urge for the maternal life, had none the less gone cheerfully and willingly into both marriage and motherhood because she believed that through her children she might obtain her heart's desire. she could, she was sure, imbue her offspring with precept and example to such an extent that it would never enter their minds to acknowledge the strain of black blood which in consid- erable dilution would flow through their veins. she could be certain of their color. her twin sister and brother, only two years older than her own children, had proven that. it was worth every one, she felt, of her labor pains not to hold in her arms little teresa, her first-born, —but to gaze on that tiny, unremarkable face and note the white skin, the thick, "good" dark hair which covered the frail skull; to note that the tell-tale half-moons of which she had so often read were conspicuously absent. it seemed to her that the tenuous bonds holding her never so slightly to her group, and its station in america, were perceptibly weakened. every time she appeared in public with the little girl she was presenting the incontestable proof of her white womanhood. . . . and when christopher, the second child was born, she "comedy: american style was not the least fraction worried over the closely curling tendency of his slightly reddish hair. she had known jews with hair much kinkier. time and care would attend to all that. and meanwhile his skin was actually fairer than that of his little sister, his features finer and better chiselled. he had, she felt, a look of "race," by which she meant of course the only race which god, or nature, for hidden, in- scrutable purposes, meant should rule. but she had not reckoned with the children's father. christopher had finally established in his mind the fact of his chaste wife's frigidity. when he fully realized that her much-prized "aloofness," instead of being the insigne of a wealth of feeling, was merely the result of an absolute vacuum of passion, young as he was, he resolved not to kick against the pricks. he had, he told himself, been sold, as many a man before him had; tricked as completely by his deliberate submission to ideals, entirely false to his nature and his desires, as a young girl might be by her first surrender to a passion which her heart tells her is natural, though her mind and breeding might warn, her of its inexpediency. the first of that hardening process which was so to change him did have its inception during this period, but as he had some humor and a sense of justice beyond his years he refused to let the iron enter his soul'. moreover, olivia, though not a "comfortable" house- keeper, was a clean and a considerate one. she really never interfered with his "papers"; she never, even from the be- ginning, troubled him with the delinquencies of the help. and in those days, and for some years to come, she never exceeded the budget which he allowed her. also her obvi- ous willingness, even eagerness, to have children pleased and touched him. in his total ignorance of the plans which the characters f f-v-t c*~czu~ x>i-p^t nestled eternally in the back of her sleek, dark head, he reasoned that a woman so fond of children must by a very natural extension develop eventually a certain tenderness for their father. so he hoped for many things and forgave her much with a somewhat rueful and yet amused indulgence. until he found in her the unalterable determination to carry himself and his children definitely across the narrow border-line of race! this too he at first regarded with some indulgence, but her unimaginative persistence finally irri- tated him. he was too busy to undertake completely the education of the children—he was responsible for their maintenance. but he could let them see his manifest re- spect and liking for many men who had been his boyhood friends and who bore the badge of their mixed blood plainly upon them. he told the children every story he knew about the heroes of the race. olivia would have preferred them to be ignorant of their own remote connection with slavery. but he did strive to make them realize the contrast between their present status and that of their black forebears. he emphasized the racial progress, stressing the brief span of years in which it had been accomplished. and the children, straightforward, serious little things without an ounce of perversity in their make-up, were en- tranced, thrilled. perhaps because they never met with any open expression of prejudice they seemed to find their greatest interest and amusement among the children of their father's friends who most definitely showed color. for a brief while christopher's hero was crispus attucks; teresa's brave sojourner truth. but later, through lack of nourishment, their interest in this phase of history died. comedy: american style when the children were four and a half, and six, respec- tively, olivia found she was going to have another baby. she was really very happy about it with a naivete and a frankness which, dr. cary, as before, found inexpressibly moving and charming. within herself she was making plans. this child should be her very own. she would make her husband believe that she needed a change, she would take the child away and live with him apart for two, three, perhaps for five years. in appearance, in rearing, in beliefs he should be completely, unrelievedly a member of the dominant race. she was a much wiser woman than. she had been six years ago. the prospect made her gay and charming, almost girlish; far younger too than her twenty-eight years, younger indeed it seemed to her hus- band than she had ever been in those remote, so precious years of training. "this one will be a boy," she told big christopher gaily. "he'll be the handsomest and most attractive of us all. and i'll name him after myself. an oliver for your christopher." her prophecy was, except in one respect, absolutely true. she had boasted of the ease with which her children had entered the world. but this one she was confident would outstrip them all. "i'm sure i'll be up very soon, chris," she told her hus- band. she adopted one of her rare moods of coquetry. "and when i do get up, you ought to reward a dutiful wife. how would you like to send her and your baby son on a little trip to england?" her eyes were bright with secrecy. he would, he assured her, do anything, give her anything she wanted within his range. but the unforeseen happened. the baby arrived in due course. "hale and hearty," said his beaming father. there the characters * never was a baby haler and heartier. but olivia did not fare so well. she had one sinking spell after another. for the first time she was unable to nurse her child. she was to meet with no excitement or shock and as the baby was doing very well it was best for her not to be concerned with him for a while. she was to concentrate on recovering her strength. so that it was a full month before the baby was set before her, crowing and laughing and persistently and futilely striking his little hands together. olivia sat up, arms outstretched to receive him. her baby! her eyes stretched wide to behold every fraction of his tiny person. but the expectant smile faded as com- pletely as though an unseen hand had wiped it off. she turned to her husband sharply: "that's not my baby!" but it was her baby. it was a boy, handsomer and more attractive than the other children. he was named oliver. . . . they had been calling him that for a month, her de- lighted children assured her ... his hair was black and soft and curly . . . and he had the exact bronze gold com- plexion of lee blanchard! she had reckoned without her own father! for the first time since she had known the futile anger of her early childhood she slipped into a black, though silent, rage. her early anger had been directed against her father. this later ebullition included both her husband and her helpless little boy. she had no special beliefs about pre- natal influences but she did observe to herself in the dark and tortuous recesses of her mind that if big christopher had not been so decidedly a negrophile, the appearance of their child would have been otherwise. the little fellow was of a remarkable beauty. through one comedy: american style pretext and another olivia contrived not to be seen on the street with him. but the two older children and his father would proudly conduct him anywhere. and wherever he went he attracted attention . . . infinitely more so than his brother and sister had ever earned. added to this was an undeniable charm of manner and of mind. he possessed not only a winning smile and a genuine sweetness of atti- tude and conduct but he was unquestionably of remarkable mental endowment. ... if he had possessed an ounce of self-confidence, or even of the ordinary childish conceit which so often marks the "bright boy," he might easily have become unbearable. but even from babyhood little oliver sensed in himself one lack which early automati- cally destroyed any root of undue self-esteem. he knew he did not have his mother's love. . . . worse than that through some strange childish, unfailing perception he was sure of her active but hidden dislike for him. when he was home olivia fed him with the same food, watched over and satisfied his physical welfare as com- pletely and meticulously as she watched over that of the other members of her household. but she never sought his company, she never took him riding or walking as she did the others, never bestowed on him more than the perfunc- tory kiss of salutation. . . . when people, struck with his appearance and healthy grace, praised him before his face as so often they did, he would turn sometimes toward her thinking dimly that now she must be proud of this fine little boy who was her son. but he never surprised on her countenance a single flash of delight or pride or love. it saddened his childish days. ... as soon as he became old enough to be from under her surveillance olivia saw to it that he spent most of his time with her own mother in boston or with her husband's mother in south philadelphia. the characters in both of these homes he met with the intense affection and generous esteem which his finely keyed little nature so craved. gradually he became able to adjust himself to the inexplicable phenomenon of a mother who not only did not love with especial signal fondness, but who did not love at all, her youngest son. by sheer strength of will he forced himself to steel his brave and loyal heart against this defection and to crush down his pain. his father had some sense of what was happening and in his heart he bore his wife a deep and unyielding dislike. chapter ii £^ ,, a a teresa loved the atmosphere of marise's house. it was not at all like her own. olivia saw to it that the walls were freshly "done over" every year. sometimes a cherished piece of furniture which just suited the curves of your thin growing body would suddenly disappear to be replaced by another intensely new and different and un- comfortable. but in marise's house the decorations were rather dark and worn and indistinguishable; nobody cared if occasionally a small soiled finger traced over a scroll or a twisted design on wall or table cover. the furniture too was old and restful. and in the large old-fashioned sitting- room in the second story back you could make as much noise, laughing, singing, romping as you pleased. years afterward when all the details of her childhood, despite its unsatisfactory character, seemed to merge into a delectable vision, teresa always saved the memory of her sparse visits to marise as the acme of the few enjoyments which life had offered. once in later, listless days she read a line from a poem by claude mackay: comedy: american style "we were so happy, happy, i remember—" it seemed so wonderful that she had ever been truly happy. she especially recalled how on the few hectic (as it seemed to her) afternoons that she had spent at her friend's house, marise's mother, mrs. davies, had come and stood for a few moments in the doorway surveying them all with her wide, jolly smile. "have a good time, children," she would intone. "i want you all to be happy." marise and phebe grant and nicholas campbell and any other children who would be there used to look up and smile with the careless gratitude of familiarity. but teresa would cross over to the billowy dark woman, standing in the doorway exhaling such a sense of comfort with her benisons, and slip her little hand into hers. it seemed so wonderful to the child that marise's mother instead of talking of ambition, or standing or racial su- periority should mention only happiness. • • • • • there were the two weeks when her mother went to chicago to attend a convention of welfare workers. . , . teresa found herself at the davies' home almost every afternoon. . . . there were so many things to talk about; so much to discuss with these girls from whom she felt she would one day be ruthlessly separated. already, though so far off, she could begin to descry fate walling her in . . . away, apart. today marise was to read them her story. she had been working on it for a month. they had not even known the title. marise triumphantly pronounced it aloud: "i was a moonshiner's wife." even phebe, knowing marise as well as she did, was impressed. teresa for her part was com- the characters pletely overwhelmed. how could a girl of thirteen know all these things! the story teemed with bloodshed, terrible threats, gallons of whiskey, strong men, glamorous women, unbridled passion, sharpshooting and the moon! toward the end nicholas campbell lounged in and laughed loud and long at some of the context. "'"leave me alone," he hissed.' go on. marise, you can't say a thing like that!" "what's the reason i can't?" "because there's nothing in that sentence to hiss with. . . . and then that's not the way men talk, not moonshiners anyway. a lot you know about moonshiners. you were a moonshiner's wife! you'd run a mile to get away from one!" "she's using her imagination," teresa interposed, a trifle timidly. she rarely spoke to young campbell, a slender, swarthy youth with hair that curled and waved itself into peaks, so that his head looked sculptured. his skin al- though dark had a reddish tinge; so thin it was, one seemed always to glimpse the hot blood coursing beneath. such a boy, teresa thought, when she pondered on him at all, could probably upset a girl's mind very much. but reso- lutely she kept her thoughts away from him. let him be destined for whom he might. he and his kind, she knew, were not for her. "nicky's right," said phebe, suddenly, stoutly. "of course a girl, especially a girl like us, wouldn't know any- thing about a moonshiner. but, come on, marise, read us the rest of the story. let's see what happens to you. did you shoot your wicked husband, or did you remain his humble slave?" but marise knew, none better, when her great moment . comedy: american style had passed. "i'm tired of reading," she yawned. "let's play theatre." she found costumes for them: for nicholas, a little red velvet jacket, for phebe, trailing white silk with a veil; and red silk again for herself. teresa accepted only a faded garland of flowers; she would be audience, she said. no one demurred; it was at times like this her favorite role. nicholas sang in a breathy, boyish soprano that would soon now be changing. marise played and sang and danced; her voice even at that age was thrilling. already she possessed charm, assur- ance, savoir faire. she was going to be an actress when she grew up, she always declared. her dancing was begin- ning to show something of a professional quality, there was more to it than the spontaneous abandon of a child at play. even with this unexacting audience it was plain that she was doing her best; marise would never be second in any line. she would either excel or withdraw. usually nick's eyes, at times like these, were fastened upon her. and indeed it was to capture his unwilling attention that she performed her graceful antics. between these two there was something half-sensed and deeply hid- den. ... as though his latent masculinity were lying in wait for her ... as though some as yet undeveloped fem- inine quality in herself were luring him, spurring him on and yet evading him. but today, nicholas' attention wavered; it wandered to phebe, flickered once more to marise and returned again to the little blonde girl, lost in the wonder and halo of her bright gilt hair; caught by the mystic chasteness lent her by her swathing, snowy robe and the foamlike, diaphanous aureole with which her veil invested her. phebe did a solo dance. in the fantasy which they were evolving together the characters with an ease born of many spontaneous rehearsals, she was a butterfly. there was about her none of the sinuous vir- tuosity of marise . . . whatever phebe did, she did from a need to express herself, so, and not otherwise. she was a quiet, intense, independent little girl, made up of strange loyalties and predilections and almost as single-minded as olivia cary, the mother of her little playmate, teresa. today, feeling within her the need for light, airy move- ment, she bent all her attention to expressing her concept of not only the motion, but the essential feeling, of the butterfly. she could not have explained to anyone what she was trying to depict; but she knew, it seemed to her, the special thrill which the lovely creature must feel when it knows itself able to yield completely to the caress of light and sun and air ... to feel itself one with the essence of nature. absorbed in this bewildering and yet related con- geries of whirling and dipping and fluttering, she forgot her audience until she looked up to catch the eyes of nicholas fastened upon her with the admiration and aston- ishment which she had sometimes seen in the glances she had occasionally intercepted in their course toward marise. this phenomenon brought her to herself; she subsided blushing and confused. phebe did not want to be an actress. she did want, however, someday to read in the eyes of one man, just such admiration as she had read in the eyes of nicholas . . . only it should be many times intensified. . . . and she hoped the man would be nicholas. mrs. davies appeared with a tray of small, delicious sand- wiches and cakes. she and her husband were caterers, serving the city's most exclusive. "i'm awful busy today," she told her delighted guests, "but i just put my head in to tell you i hope you're all happy." american style comedy: as usual teresa gravitated toward her and, as usual, re- ceived a word and a slight caress. for a fleeting moment mrs. davies put a warm arm about her. "you look a little peaked, honey. eat a lot of them sandwiches and join in and sing and dance with the rest of them. don't let your- self be too quiet, you're only young once, you know." the homely, kindly words lit a glow about the child's chilled, apprehensive heart. riding home in the girard avenue car, she saw visions ahead of her in the misty twi- light and forgot all about olivia's silly plans and her own fears and quakes. she would grow up and have four chil- dren. all of them should be like her little brother oliver and she would be a mother like mrs. davies. ... in her own house her brother christopher greeted her uproari- ously; glad to have someone to serve as auditor of his baseball exploits. . . . presently dr. cary came in and they had dinner, teresa presiding with pride and solicitude. . . . her father produced a little letter from oliver, blotted, but otherwise quite clean and remarkably free of errors. . . . the house was full of a warm cosiness and a sense of home. . . . teresa hoped that her mother would not return for a long time, chapter iii t afternoon nicholas walked home with phebe as stood back to back with each other; his on the main street, hers on the small one with the inevitable philadelphia alley between. they had as a matter of fact met in the alley, each from the vantage of a mother's side as their respective parents bought "fresh delaware porgies." for their houses the characters ///in the handsome little brown boy had stared at the amaz- ing feminine apparition of snow and gilt. he had stared at her so intensely that he scowled and the apparition had retreated behind a broad back. once more within his own domain he asked his mother: "ma, is she a fairy?" mrs. campbell laughed. "no, son. she's a real little girl just like you're a real little boy." "was that her mother?" "i think so, son." son considered. "but, ma, how can that be her mother? she's white, ain't she?" "no, son. she's colored." "but, ma, how can she be?" "well, she just is. lots of colored people look like that. but they're colored right on." "but if she ain't white, why ain't she white? she's whiter than lots of those white girls at our school. what makes her colored and makes those white girls white?" "well, son, i can't tell you that. you'll have to wait till you're grown up. . . . you'll understand those things better then, i think." nicholas spoke with a conviction unwarranted by his years. "i'll never understand that." he was, even at eight, a popular boy, an only child of people well-established in the undertaking business. he was indulged, active and busy with school and play. but he remembered that friday was "fish day" and that his mother sometimes bought porgies in the alley. on the next friday he assisted again at the operation. as the man was counting out the change, mrs. grant ("as she calls her- self," some people said) appeared, accompanied by a wide- eyed phebe. the parents withdrew, the children lingered. comedy: american style "my name's phebe," said the young lady. "i'm nicholas campbell," countered the sturdy young man. "do you put stuff on your hair to make it look like that?" "oo—ooh, no!" exclaimed miss phebe and immediately fled. baffled, nicholas returned to his back yard. presently glancing up he perceived a gay gold head outlined against the window-pane. "come on down to the gate again," he shouted. the window was gently raised and the small girl showed some inclination to parley. "you ain't mad, are you?" she shook her head. "well, come on down to the gate again." immobile she regarded him. "kin i come over? . . . say! ask your ma, kin i come over?" consultation in the remote hinterland of the second story back. then phebe returned, her small chin not far above the window sill. "she says you ask your ma, kin you come over." appeal was made to nicholas' parent. "why, yes, i suppose so," mrs. campbell was somewhat taken back at the sudden turn of affairs. "i never knew you to be inter- ested in any little girl before, nicky. put on a clean collar, son, and wash your hands. . . ." the two children advanced a few steps toward each other. "what you got to play with?" nicky demanded. she hadn't much. "well, say, you come on over to my house. i got a base- ball bat and a teeter-board and some sliced animals and a bean-bag and a lot of things. the characters "say, mis' grant, kin she come over to my house? i'll take care of her." phebe told her mother gravely that she would like to see the sliced animals. • • • • • nicholas, some of the new-found admiration shining in his eyes, reminded her of this as they walked home that afternoon from marise. "you were the funniest little girl, phebe. look, did you know your name meant the sun? . . . let's walk through the park as far as we can. ... so you see phebe's just the name for you. i hope it will always shine." not a bad sentiment for a boy of fourteen. "it should have been given to marise," she said in all sincerity. "she's the only one of us three i guess who'll ever do any shining." "what about you? say, phebe, i never saw anybody dance, i never saw anybody look like you looked this after- noon. you were wonderful, you were a peach. i never saw anybody dance like that. what are you going to do, go on the stage some day?" phebe stared in astonishment. "oh my, no! not for me. i wouldn't have—you know, nick—i wouldn't have the gumption to do that. i can't push myself enough. . . . marise now, she would be just the one. so pretty and smart and all. and she can dance and sing." he frowned a little, pursuing the subject, he knew not why, so intently. "she won't have much chance, you know. i don't think they have colored dancers on the stage much." "oh but i bet they will by the time we all grow up. there's been a few already. and i bet there'll be oodles by the time we're all coming along. if not, then there wouldn't be any chance for me either." comedy: american style "yes, there would too. you could always pass." "oh, but i wouldn't want to." "no, i wouldn't want to either, but what about you? do you think it's so great to be colored?" "why, i don't think anything about it," said phebe, sur- prised. "i think it's all right to be what you are. . . . and then anyway something we have nothing to do with set- tles things for you, don't you think? jews and colored people—they're the people we're always hearing about being persecuted . . . but look at the things you read about in the histories and in the newspapers. there are a lot of other people who have a terrible hard time of it too." "yes, you're right, i guess. . . . but isn't it funny! here you're a white colored girl and here's teresa a white colored girl. and she's half the time trying to be white and you're always crazy about being colored." "i don't think that's teresa's fault, do you? that's her mother. i don't know why she's like that." she was silent a moment. then she added, the hot blood creeping up into her face: "you know, nicky, white people haven't treated my mother very well. perhaps that's why i can't get ex- cited about them." he nodded, feeling himself suddenly very grown-up and protecting. "that's all right, phebe. don't you care." he patted her arm boyishly. "here we are. gosh, i'm hungry! after all those sandwiches i ate, too! here, let me go through your house so i won't have to go around the block." "sure, come on." she saw him through the gate. "g'bye, nicky; maybe i'll see you tomorrow at marise's." "i don't know. maybe you'll see me tonight. shouldn't wonder." the characters chapter iv now they were all in the high school. nicholas was almost ready to graduate. he was a year older than any of the girls. later he would go to college and study medicine. he would do it all right there in the old quaker city. . . . young christopher cary was to be shipped off to a preparatory school in new england. his mother's doings; he was sure of that. she talked about his making contacts! . . . tight-lipped but outwardly calm he talked about it to his father. "it doesn't make any difference whom i meet, dad. i know there are lots of swell white guys. i've met plenty of them. but she can't change me. i'm not going to be white. i'm perfectly satisfied the way i am. dad, can't i stay right here and go off to college somewhere else, later on?" dr. cary hesitated a moment. "i'd keep you here in a moment, chris, but your mother has set her heart on your going away. i know it won't change you any. you've got too much common sense for that. . . ." he placed his hand on the lad's shoulder. "it's really on account of oliver, son, that i want you to go. . , ." "oliver? what's he got to do with it?" his father consumed some time lighting a cigarette and watching the end of it deepen and glow. "you know how she is, chris. . . . you know how she's always been about oliver? .... well, it seems she's set her heart on having you and teresa go off to school. i told her i didn't like it and when i objected she . . . er . . . well, she expressed a willingness to have oliver come home and stay. she said she felt she had sort of neglected him and now with you comedy: american style two off her hands she would make it up to him. . . . well, i thought oliver might like that." "i know he would, dad. . . . that makes it quite differ- ent. all right then, since it's for oliver. . . . but, father, i want to come back to the university of pennsylvania for college and medicine." "i thought you might like harvard, but i'll let you de- cide on that when you're older." "honor bright, dad?" "honor bright. that'll be entirely up to you." christopher, as his father had secretly hoped, explained the matter to teresa. "see, tess, it won't be so bad; you won't mind it so much when you think it's for oliver." his sister looked at him wanly; shook her young head. "i'm glad for oliver, that is if she'll really be nice to him. . . . but she won't be, chris, she just can't bear any dark people . . . she simply doesn't see them. and i think she's mad at oliver for being as brown as he is and daring to be her son! and he's so crazy about her! . . . but anyway oliver and you are boys; you can get out of it all. but i'm a girl and i know myself, chris. i'm not stubborn and i'm not willful. i know it's the end of everything for me. mother's not going to let me rest until i've made some of her old 'contacts' that she's always talking about. ... i know what she's hoping. she thinks either you or i, or both of us, will marry white; and then she'll come and live with us." christopher's eyes showed his astonishment. "you know i never thought of that! she'll never live with me. i'll show her. . . . and i won't marry any of her white girls either." the characters "that's just what i said. but she'll keep after me. . . . chris, do you know," she said solemnly, "i can just feel that i'm going to be awfully unhappy. i can feel it closing in on me." he scoffed at her, but he was impressed. "what nonsense! what's closing in on you?" "life," she said seriously. "i feel like a fly in a spider's web. i know i'm going to be caught and i know i'm going to hang there. i won't have a lot of pain. i'll just live on stupid and dull and unable to stir. hating everything." he considered this, shifting her toilet articles about on her little dressing table. "you don't have to do everything mother says, you know. of course you'll have to now. but when you're older. . . ." "i haven't got the stuff in me to disobey her. and i'm not smart, christopher. ... if i were just someone like marise." "oh, you don't want to be like marise . . . she's a great girl, but not the kind of girl i'd like you to be," said chris- topher, an advocate of conservative sisters. "i thought you liked her, chris!" "i do . . . sort of so-so. you know. but she ain't the girl of my dreams, not by a long shot." "well, anyway i wish i were like her and i wish i looked like her." "she is easy to look at, i'll admit. . . . brace up, sis. we're having our hard times now. ten years from now we'll be on the top of the world." but teresa had her own visions and they included no such lofty station. marise wanted to give her a farewell party. to teresa's immense surprise, olivia was willing for her to go. her comedy: american style mother was bland now because she was going to have mat- ters her own way and because, according to her way of thinking, her life-long project was at last within her range of vision. her daughter had never known her so com- plaisant and so beneficent. teresa was to choose her own dress, material, and style. as a rule her mother dressed her in pastel shades with the thought that in some way this brought out every possible delicacy of coloring and even of feature; refining her and taking away every possible vestige of connection with a cruder race. the result was that teresa usually presented something of. the personality, if not the appearance, of a mouse. the light pinks and blues and tans of her mother's choice dulled the creaminess of her rather thick but perfect mat skin; they killed the sheen and the tone of her soft, abundant chestnut hair. in common with most girls the child felt that she needed warmth; she realized how even the sight of the glowing, gay colors adopted by marise cheered and en- livened her. . . . she chose then a very soft, supple silk of the shade known as burnt orange . . . the blouse was made simply with round girlish neck and baby puff sleeves. a brown velvet girdle, fine and glowing, was to surround her slender waist and for her nice narrow feet there were bronze slippers and cobwebby bronze stockings. . . . phebe, who had a natural gift for sewing, made the dress and indeed bought her own with the money she received for it. teresa never forgot that evening. the time was septem- ber; the weather was soft, melancholy, wistfully sweet. the glow of the summer remained without its heat; evenings were periods of sensuous delight; the air, balmy and scented, afforded the stimulus of wine; stars, twinkling like the characters huge fireflies, seemed as near as the lanterns in the davies' small but perfect backyard. . . . teresa knew that in appearance and feeling she was in perfect harmony with her surroundings. her dress, said a boy, a student at the art school in cherry street, was the incarnation of the season. . . . there were some small, rather hard but perfect, little flowers of the aster variety scattered about in bowls and vases. of these young war- wick thoughtfully selected a tiny nosegay in graduated shades of gold and yellow ... he brought them to her and fastened them into the folds of her glowing girdle. they struck an inspired note of transition between the brown of the girdle and the orange of her dress that made him for the moment surfeit with happiness. "after i've had the pleasure of a couple of dances with you," he told her gravely, "my evening will be complete. i shall just sit down and watch you and that dress until the party is over." afterwards a laughing comparison with phebe and marise disclosed the fact that he had made somewhat simi- lar remarks to them with regard to their dresses of white and red respectively, though he did not bring them flowers. teresa did not mind. . . . usually she did not even share the compliments which other girls took casually as their accepted portion. her joy, her increased and tingling vitality, her complete satisfaction in being openly and without apology with the people she preferred in no wise took from her that quality which she had unconsciously cultivated, of being the in- terested and thoughtful spectator. . . . besides, tonight, she wanted to etch this picture on her mind. she wanted to remember this warmth and gayety and happiness; the rich comedy: american style mingling and contrast of coloring not only in clothing but in faces. ... long afterward for no particular reason she remembered the vividness of marise's nut-brown skin with its hint of red on the cheek-bones beside the pale lemon-clear skin of sylvia raymond. for a moment her brother christo- pher's head with his extraordinarily white skin and his burnt hair was thrust between them as he engaged both girls for succeeding dances. she danced every dance but between the lovely, lively numbers she took particular note of phebe's ethereal fair- ness with her thick straight cap of pale gold hair against the background of nicholas campbell's statuesque dark- ness. . . . later on when she came to know the classics she realized that there was about him a peculiar faun-like quality that would never be held though it might be caught for a day, for a month, for a year, by a woman's obvious devotion. . . . he would need an attraction, as errant, as willful, as pre-emptive as his own, with perhaps more deliberateness, even more selfishness behind it. but this the young girl could not clearly foresee. . . . she only marked the happiness shining so vividly from behind phebe's face and personality and soul, and felt with a cer- tain chilling knowledge about her heart that no one could both know such bliss as that and have it last. but it was great to feel such joy as that, she reflected soberly, dancing through her second engagement with young holland ... a great deal better, her sadly fatalistic sensibilities told her, than to go through life drably, know- ing nothing, feeling less. but on matters such as these she would not allow herself to linger. she danced with nicholas, surrendering herself sensu- the characters ously, consciously to the male charm of him. he was the type that holds his partner lightly but firmly, so closely that a girl's soft shoulder must know faintly the hardness of his own, the steeliness of his arm. instead of revolving dizzily and senselessly, he partly guided her, partly drove her be- fore him, in long forward strides, something on the order of the redowa, an older and statelier mode of dancing. . . . something in all this of the notion of a faun pursuing a nymph, with the latter like the classic maiden of keats' grecian urn forever and tantalizingly out of his reach. thus, unconsciously revealing, nicholas' manner epito- mized the type his real self would be seeking. . . . even though his head might be telling him: "here are happi- ness, peace, sincerity . . . here, here within your grasp! stay with them." . . . but he would not be able to stay. teresa, pursuing determinedly, even under the soft ba- dinage of nicholas' charming voice, her storing up of little pictures to be reviewed another day, noticed the swift, keen look with which her hostess surveyed her chief guest, clasped for the moment in her partner's arms. marise had been rather ostentatiously unobservant of nicholas as long as he was with phebe. now her manner seemed to say: "as long as i ignore this other thing it does not exist. . . . but what is this in- terest in someone else whom he has never noticed before?" teresa recalled then that in all the years she had been coming to play with marise, never once before had she danced with nicholas. indeed beyond his pleasantly fa- miliar: "hello, treese," she could not recall ever having sustained any conversation with him. at the recollection of this she glanced up at him; at the moment he happened to be looking down on her with the intent, engrossed look o comedy: american style which was as much a part of his dancing equipment as his dancing shoes. something in her prompted her to smile into his eyes . . . and immediately he asked her for another dance. "i think i'm engaged," she told him sweetly, "but you may try the fourth from now and if i'm free you may have it." . . . promptly at the fourth he was there to claim her but she gave it to bob allan, who declared aggrievedly that she had cut him all evening. . . . nicholas gave her a look which made the blood come to her face. "i'm sorry you're going away, teresa," he mur- mured. "we might have been great pals!" toward the close of the evening, things began to blur a little; she could not carry away with her all the bright, gay scene. . . . she saw christopher for the third or fourth time dancing with marise, a slow dreaming waltz which mysteriously they seemed to convert into a ritual more than usually sinuous and significant. nicholas drifted over to phebe where she stood, all snow- white and crystal, listening to pete holland's stereotyped compliments. . . . with immediate radiance and confidence she turned to meet his light touch . . . her arms went out in a touching gesture of willingness and satisfaction. . . . you knew she would have danced with him over burning plowshares. . . . later on there was supper . . . such salad! such sand- wiches! superlative cakes! philadelphia ice-cream—the best! slightly heady punch! . . . someone made a speech about teresa's beauty and charm. . . . someone else said she was leaving just as they were all getting to know her better. but when she came back! after all their present loss—who knew?—might be their future gain! at the end marise came up to her—glowing, beautiful as comedy: american style won't be by again for a long time. then we'll ride, over to girard and walk to your house. ... i like to walk along sleeping streets. i wonder," he said whimsically, "if they ever remember the woods and forests they used to be." phebe loved to hear him ramble like this . . . she knew he expected no answer; it was as though he were commun- ing with himself in his own mind . . . how close to him- self he must feel her! "i often think of telegraph poles," he went on, smoking with the negligent languor that she so much admired. "i think it's so hard on them to lose all their lovely, graceful leaves and branches and stand so stark and plain on ugly, city streets." . . . they were on the hill now and the great, ungainly city sprawled before them. ... "i wonder how these fortunate trees in the park feel about it" phebe heard him, not listening. she was thinking no one, just no one in the world looked like nicholas. his hat lay on the bench beside him; his dark face with that apollo-like look, which the sculptured waviness of his hair bestowed upon him, was finely silhouetted against the moonlight with the softness of the black night for an im- mediate background. his careless beauty, his masterfulness made her heart turn over. ... if they were only older! . . . she meant to be a perfect wife, very sweet and true and kind . . . and loyal. she would be very loyal! "a rock," as the hymn said, "in a weary land." everybody had trouble; her mother had taught her to accept it stoically, philosophically. but her mother had told her too: "i didn't mind my trouble so much after you come, little daughter. . . . always you loved yore ole mammy so! ... it don' make much difference about trouble if you has someone who you kin always depend on. . . ." the characters she had pronounced it "depind." . . . so phebe had always been dependable. . . . and that was the quality she would bring some day to nicholas. he had forsaken the telegraph poles and begun to talk of teresa. "i wonder what she's going to be like. . . . wasn't she different tonight? what was it? just her dress, i wonder? she was almost pretty. not really pretty like you or marise . . . but she made you want to look at her and dance with her. . . ." "she was happy," interpreted happy phebe. . . . "but her dress helped a lot. her mother let her get it herself and we picked it out together. it was like her, you know; warm and cool too. . . . and because it made her look the way she ought to look and she liked it, that made her happy. and that made her pretty." "h'm, think you know all about it, don't you, miss?" "i do," said phebe sagely, "know everything about clothes. i can feel it. . . . clothes can do everything to you. . . . you know, nicholas, i'm not really pretty either but i know how to make the most of myself." "fm not going to pay you compliments," he assured her unsmiling. "don't want them." was her heart not already singing with his former spontaneous praise? nicholas was musing again. "i feel, phebe, that after tonight things are going to be different for our little bunch. teresa's gone, christopher's going next year. i've got to go to work this summer. you're coming out of high school. . . . what did you decide to do? teach?" "here comes the car," she reminded him. "i must get home. . . . no, i don't like teaching. . . . my mother sews for mrs. morton rogers; she sent me this coat, nicky; didn't you wonder how i could be so grand? she's taking comedy: american style my mother to florida with her next winter, and she's giv- ing me courses in dress designing this summer and next winter . . . i'm going to look after her daughters' clothes while she's away. ... if she likes me and i make progress, she may set me up. . . . pretty nice?" "can't say i like it so much." nicholas scowled at the two white men opposite them in the car who, he thought, were regarding phebe too intently. "has she ever seen you? she may not like you. lots of white people don't like these white colored people, you know." she nodded gravely. "yes, that is so. i had a teacher in the graded school who couldn't bear me after i told her i was colored." "you certainly are straight about that, aren't you? not a bit like teresa." "i always told you that wasn't teresa's doing. that's her mother's foolishness. come on, nick, we must get off here." as they passed the other two passengers she distinctly heard one of them say: "that certainly is a white girl with that coon!" she hoped nicholas didn't hear them. as they passed through the quiet streets it seemed to her that he was unusually silent. "marise," she said desperately, "marise is going to have the nicest time of anyone. she's always wanted to go to chicago and her father's going to take her there for a graduation present this summer. then in the fall she's to study music and dancing . . . perhaps in new york. i wouldn't be at all surprised," she said, stopping before her unremarkable dwelling, "if she were to go on the stage. marise always gets what she wants." "does she?" he spoke absently. "good-night, phebe. i'll stand here till you lock the door." the characters good-night and he hadn't kissed her! the last time they had been to a party, he had put his arm about her—she could feel it now—and he had bent down to her uplifted, unsuspecting face; had set his lips against hers. the summer evening turned cold. the charm of the party was ashes. mrs. morton rogers, thrifty social registerite, would have been surprised to see her blue velvet cloak a dishevelled careless heap on the floor where a disappointed girl had dropped it in her hurry to bury her face in a friendly pillow. ill teresa's act ill chapter i christie's academy, the prospectus said, catered to a small select group of girls; girls whose parents felt that the contact of young minds with superior and highly cultivated mentalities was more educative than the assimilation of the contents of many volumes. not that learning from books was to be despised. it was simply, the prospectus hinted, that christie's was able to offer more than that. thus while its college preparatory course was surpassed by no other school, parents, who did not intend to give their children more training after they had left these academic walls, would find their offspring still remarkably fitted to join battle with life. this desirable end was wrought by the "contact of young minds with superior and highly cultivated mentalities." in order to further this end, only a few, and highly recom- mended students were admitted each year. dr. cary felt the selectiveness and paucity of numbers, too, was really caused by the certainly unusually high tui- tion and boarding fees. but no other school, it seemed, would suit olivia. teresa was barely consulted on the matter, but since she did not want to leave philadelphia anyway it is possible that one school seemed as good to her as another. olivia did not inform either her husband or her daughter of the precaution which she had taken which had really made her choice of this school unshakeable. on one of her rare visits to her mother and to oliver, she had slipped comedy: american style away from boston and gone just over the state border-line to christie's in new hampshire. she had been delighted with the comparative inaccessibility of the place and with the appearance and type of girl whom she had found there. most of the students were the children of people belong- ing to the upper middle-class; people whose names never appeared in the papers, who took themselves and their posi- tions seriously and sensibly. the men of this group were probably pillars in their respective communities, thoroughly american and for the most part new england american. a few girls were recruited from the west and one or two from the south. when olivia was there, the catalogue contained the names of two girls registered from virginia. by careful questioning she elicited the information that while the school had no objection to foreigners, negroes nor jews, it happened that none had ever registered within their portals. and since the school advertised very little it seemed most improbable that any would apply; although of course you never could tell. • • • • • accordingly teresa was registered at christie's with the understanding that she should enter college under its auspices. it was the acquaintances and "contacts" which teresa should make in college on which her mother based her ultimate hopes. but she was sending her daughter to a preparatory school in order to provide her in the first place with a perfect spring-board from which to make her leap into such college circles as should best further her, or rather olivia's, interest. teresa proved unexpectedly docile. she had to get her education someway, somewhere, she supposed. lots of girls were crazy to get away from home. she would make the best of this. she would be uncomplaining, studious and teresa's act contented. there were two or three sports in which she would like to excel, notably tennis and rowing. . . . perhaps if she kept to herself, made practically no friends under these false pretenses, her mother might give her up as a bad job and when the two years were over she could go comfortably to howard or fisk. all this optimism was engendered in her as a result of marise's party and the definite promises of that young lady and of phebe never to forget her and never to let anyone else take her place. but presently in the charm and novelty of the new life to which she was introduced she forgot all about her inten- tions. the girls, of course, unquestionably accepted her as white; the absence of any other colored girl took away any sense of strain or disloyalty to her own. she herself was totally without either social ambition or the desire to advance herself in any particular. her father's people on his father's side had been in philadelphia long before ; her paternal grandmother had an almost simi-' lar record of family integrity, only changing the milieu to charleston. dr. cary, her father, was finely and ade- quately trained. and the great war had made him almost affluent. her mother was a product of the boston latin school and of a refinement almost overwhelming—teresa thought when she gave the matter any attention. there was little, she recognized, that these students could give her which she did not already possess. the last week in september, the whole month of october passed. teresa was naturally studious and not dull. while never interested in making a record she would have de- spised herself if she had slipped back in her classes. and in spite of her lack of ambition she was beginning to attract attention with her tennis which she played with an ardor quite at variance with her habitual restraint. this interest comedy: american style in sports threw her in touch with some of the more out- standing girls in the school; already her outlook was broad- ening; her mind maturing. she was registered of course with juniors. for some rea- son the girls of her class averaged from eight months to a year older than she and acted accordingly. in order to offset the essential childishness of her own viewpoint she could feel herself cultivating self-confidence and assurance. among these girls, she had no particular chum. young as she was she felt a delicacy about striking up an intimacy based on an implication of falsehood. about her there was never any sense of racial inferiority. if her mother had left her to herself she would have spread casually the fact of her mixed blood to her immediate associates, but even then only as occasion demanded it. and she knew that without any doubt many of these girls would have been her friends; they would have known her absolutely as she was without reserves. . . . marise, for instance, patently colored, was one of the most popular girls ever known in west philadelphia. these new england girls with their orderly decorous minds appealed to her strongly. . . . among them she would have liked to find a comrade. . . . on the other hand the infiltration of such negro blood as flowed in her veins lent to her a warmth and ready friendliness which the yankee girls admired and were ready to welcome. if she could only have been herself, she thought. per- haps later on when she came to know them better, she could entrust her secret to a select few. her very frankness might make them admire her more. . . . again there would always be some who would resent the hoax. and too, she knew that these girls would hardly be able to understand what it was that her mother was evading. . . . teresa's act in this part of the world they would never see her, for instance, subjected to the heartbreak, the worry and dis- crimination which people of her appearance, carefully marked and tagged by public memory, would meet in their communities in the south; or with the deadly insult and indignity which her darker racial kinsmen would encounter anywhere. one girl, however, ellen ware, could not be gainsaid. she was a splendid athlete, a good student, with original somewhat iconoclastic ideas. she liked to talk, and as teresa was both a good and a retentive listener, so that she really knew where you left off, ellen's slightly super- egocentric needs fastened upon her. gradually, teresa, sensing the real and generous self which underlay all this superficial self-expression, grew to be very fond of her. partly because it pleased her immensely, a girl so rarely sought after, to be the preferred chum of one of the wealthi- est, most capable and most influential girls in the school, but still more for another reason. ellen, who talked about everything under the sun, discoursed from time to time on problems of race, color, religion and social preferment. these were a few of her hobbies which really, teresa dis- covered, included everything that could be discussed within the realm of her knowledge under the sun. what she had to say pleased the young philadelphian immensely. "she's all straight on this race business," teresa wrote chris happily. "i'd get her to come home with me christ- mas if i'd only told her about things in the first place. . . . as it is she wants me to go home with her. but i'm not going to do that either. i don't thin\ it's quite the thing. . . . what do you say, chris?" comedy: american style life now, she had to admit, was very pleasant. . . . she loved the cold, hard new hampshire fall, the small in- formal classes, the granite farmer folk of the neighborhood, the simple pieties of many of the girls, the slight formal quality of the frequent teas designed to bring students into "contact with superior minds." christie's, save for these qualities, was very little different in its curriculum from any other good high school ... it was the absence of the continual strain under which she lived at home that endeared this experience. she missed pleasantly her mother's feverishly concentrated ambitions, her father's frustration showing so plainly even through his material success; she felt the falseness of her mother's stand drop away from her and with that the consequent resentment and opposition which she and young christo- pher were so often forced futilely to display. gradually even marise and phebe and nicholas faded into a background of distance and dimness. compared with the cool sexlessness of this life with its quota of sports and games, of lessons, of self-imposed scholastic tasks, of endless debates on what she felt were "real things," marise and her pleasures seemed needlessly exotic, prematurely forced and useless. phebe and her difficult, narrow httle life struck her as pitiful and empty. it seemed to her that she herself was living in a vortex, a pleasantly manageable vortex, of many choices of interest. she felt proudly, immensely, free to make a selection which should carry her off once more into newer, increasingly splendid fields of interest. she was, of course, too young to understand that having once chosen her pursuit or fields of endeavor, her profession or hobby, life would begin to dwindle again until it reached the proportions accepted and endured by most people. comedy: american style around. you know i've never spoken to a negro in my life. i've never seen them anywhere except on the street and in the street cars. i wouldn't know what to say to one." "oh, they're all right," affirmed ida yates. "my mother has a colored cook. she has two children, a little black boy and a little brown girl. and they are the funniest! you ought to see them dance!" "my goodness me!" marian exclaimed. "what would we do with one dancing around here like topsy, and her hair sucking up all over her head!" ellen raised her voice indignantly. "it shouldn't make any difference to us how they look! suppose she should be someone like topsy! it would still be our duty to teach her deportment and cleanliness and neatness. it's our fault that they're here. we brought them." a tall, slender girl with a fine, tanned face had been loll- ing back in a chair listening intently to the others' com- ments, but up to this time saying nothing. now she spoke: "you girls make me sick! how can you be so dumb? you don't suppose the kind of colored girl who would be coming to a school like this would still be in the topsy state, do you? there are all sorts of colored people, just as there are all sorts of us. don't you know that, dumb- bells?" "yes; jennie's right," maud parker replied. "there're a lot of them very fair, almost as white as we; only they have funny hair and their nails are dark, so you can always tell them. well, some of them are quite comfortable. they don't go out to work as servants, you know. and they send their children to school. and then the others are quite dark just as though they had just come from africa. teresa's act and they are the working class." she leaned back, com- fortably satisfied with her disquisition. "how ridiculous!" jennie hastings sat upright. "color's got nothing to do with it. it's simply that some are ambi- tious and some aren't. some get ahead and some don't. just like anybody else. there were lots of colored girls and boys too in my high school. and there was as much difference among them, in proportion to their number, as there was among us." teresa emerged from the daze of bewilderment and as- tonishment into which this conversation had thrown her. "jennie's right," she said. "of course there's as much dif- ference. i've always gone to school with colored girls too. and i've never yet seen one of the pure topsy type; though i suppose there are lots of them. and color has nothing to do with their ambition or success." she thought of marise and phebe. "why, when i was in the graded schools, the prettiest and the most popular girl there was a dark, brown girl; not black, you know, but brown, like—like a young chestnut. her skin was just as thin. you could see the red under it." she paused, wondering if she could ever make them see from a description, the singular beauty of nicholas camp- bell. an afterthought convinced her that she'd better not say anything about colored boys. "and i can tell you something else," she resumed. "there was one girl in that school—very, very blonde, with hair so gold it was almost gilt . . . and she was colored!" "i know," maudie parker abetted her. "you could tell from her finger nails." "i don't know about that," teresa countered. "i never noticed that. no, she stood up in class and said she was colored." comedy: american style "my!" exclaimed ellen ware. "wasn't that fine of her! wasn't she brave! imagine anyone doing a thing like that if she didn't have to! i'd like to know a girl like that. she's got hero blood in her veins!" jennie snorted. "hero nothing! why should it take any courage to acknowledge you are what you are? that girl probably doesn't mind being colored, because, oh, because —how can i make you see? being colored is being her natural self and she can't imagine being any other way. any more than i can imagine being a boy, or a giant, or a scandinavian or what have you!" they were all silent a little, trying to adjust their minds to this entirely revolutionary idea. "and then anyway," marian tilbury appended thought- fully, "she has good blood in her veins. teresa said she looked like white. and of course she's so proud of her white blood that she won't let her black blood pull her down and let her be a coward." "oh lord!" jennie groaned. "you don't think you've got one-half or two-thirds of your veins filled with one kind of blood, do you, and the other filled with another? and that you can let one part of it govern you and the rest not affect you at all? . . . ooo-f, this crazy talk makes me sleepy! . . . i'm going to bed. good-night, terese . . . good-night, gang!" chapter ii teresa could have gone to philadelphia for the christ- mas vacation but she preferred the calmness and the cold of the new hampshire village to the bleak uncertain- ties of home. the thought of her mother's catechism brought back all her timidities and inhibitions. ... it teresa's act would be impossible, she knew from the tone of olivia's letters, to convince her that she had done little or nothing toward gaining a foot-hold in this world that meant so much to her mother. • . . so she stayed at christie's along with jennie hastings and a half-dozen other girls. they skated, they hiked, they played like children in the feathery, drifted snow. two of the "academicians" lived just beyond the township in large farmhouses. they invited the stay-overs out to sit after jolly boisterous sleigh-rides before roaring fireplaces where they toasted pop-corn, listening to tall indian stories as they fell from the lips of oldest inhabitants. a happy, happy season. • • • • • like a flash the winter and summer vacations were over; the girls had returned and school life was on at full tilt. . . . examinations lurked around the corner. . . . some girls were leaving to enter college—although at this time of the year the number was noticeably few. teresa let herself be caught up in the flurry of all these activities, feeling almost that she had never known any other existence, so intensely vivid did she find this. . . . she loved a certain hour late in the dim afternoon when girls might drop into the long drawing-room of one of the residence halls for a cup of tea, a chat, a reflective silence in the embrasure of a deep arm-chair or couch, a bit of music or sometimes, best of all, conversation, desultory but real, with one of the instructors. as in a dream she remembered one particular tea hour. the january day was intensely cold and still, the grey sky lowering so that it seemed, with the deep snow, to shut the little town into an atmosphere and an aura all its own. . . . lights were not on full, curtains were still up, without, a o comedy: american style lazy determined snow-storm beat gently against the window-pane. within the drawing-room figures moved a little dimly in the fire-dusk; girls worn out with "mid- years" relaxed in easy-chairs, faintly, sorrowfully reminis- cent as they reviewed silently, careless or too hurried replies to questions. . . . tonight miss cathcart was the presiding genius. . . . the girls, remembering the prospectus, used occasionally to murmur adolescent but pointed sarcasms on the subject of "contacts with superior mentalities . . ." but they liked miss cathcart. . . . she was young and pretty, but more than pretty. . . . she had the fine broad brow of the idealist and the brave firm mouth of the doer. the sweetness of the mouth, an index of her entire personality, was, you felt, an extra, supernumerary quality ... so much the essential she was worthwhile and acceptable. without any preliminary of "attention, please," she be- gan to talk in her clear, distinctive voice which afforded such a clew to her personal niceness. ... in a moment everybody was listening. "we're going to try an experiment in the school," she told them, "and yet not an experiment, since we are simply planning to proceed along certain lines which have been indicated for years in our charter. . . . you know we are pledged to open our doors to any pupils of approved scholastic and moral training. . . . "a girl, answering to these requirements, has made, or rather her parents have made for her, application to be admitted here. she is colored. she is coming from a group which, i am pretty sure, is essentially no different from our own. but most of us don't know sufficient about her people to be sure of this. ... it doesn't seem to me fair to her to make a special plea for her. ... i am simply asking you to teresa's act reserve judgment until you really know her. . . . she'll be here the first of the term." in the excitement and comment that followed teresa could hear ellen ware: "i'll take her under my wing. i'll see she's treated all right." "you'll give her some hair pomade, won't you, ellen?" asked jennie hastings dryly. "and be sure to warn her not to break out into a cakewalk in chapel." teresa wrote her brother about it and received a warning along with some surprising news. "since you life your old school so much, for pete's sa don't tell mother that a colored girl is coming. she'll yan\ you away so fast. . . . she's simply rabid now about color. . . . christmas wee\ she had a gang of white women there, some old welfare workers to lunch . . . and there's been no holding her since. . . . "she put a mean one over on oliver that day too. the poor \id doesn't feiow it though, which is a lot better for him. . . . i'll be looking after him from now on. . . . (teresa opened her eyes at this and reread the phrase.) i'm going home for good in a few days. . . . your bright little brother managed . . . and i mean managed, ... to fail in all his subjects, sis, so he's being dropped. . . . ain't that something?" february brought the new term and alicia barrett. she was a slender girl, golden brown, with carefully "made" hair, soft and wavy. teresa knew her immediately for what she was, a girl of family, breeding and tradition. she had known a certain sort of prominence too. her father was a judge in chicago; her mother a well-known musician american style comedy: of an earlier day. she was young, she was new, she was of a different milieu. but nothing about this position terrified her or rendered her timid. she was not, of course, rich. but then equally of course, she not only was not poor, but she had never known poverty. yet with the elasticity of the social tenets which her kind observed she numbered among her friends more than one girl who was genuinely poor. but such a girl possessed education, tradition and undeniable breeding. in the midst of this new environment alicia moved freely and easily and with little curiosity. she had always at- tended schools in which there were large numbers of white people and yet her identity had never been lost or over- shadowed. she was a brilliant student; she dressed with a deliberate regard for her coloring; she was perfectly aware of her social background and completely satisfied with it. in a school such as this she had nothing to gain but a superstratum of the much vaunted eastern culture plus the poise which comes from being forced to meet new people and to cope with new conditions. she was really expecting, in , neither blind prejudice nor blind patron- age. and she was quite able to bide her time and await issues. as a result, then, she did not rebuff nor did she accept too gratefully ellen ware's zealous overtures nor did she resent the frankly curious scrutiny of marian tilbury. as a mat- ter of fact she was herself engaged in some not too overt appraisal. from her angle she had nothing to gain from these girls; her whole concern was really with the curricu- lum. but she did hope to live in peace and harmony. she was rather inclined to like jennie hastings' matter- of-fact courtesies and she liked teresa's unobtrusive acts teresa's act of kindness and thoughtfulness, sensing in both these girls attention based on real and spontaneous liking. teresa, especially, felt drawn toward her not so much because of the unsuspected tie of blood secretly binding them as because of her admiration. both proud and sadly envious of alicia's assurance and independence she could not but compare the condition of her new friend with her own. alicia's whole attitude said serenely: "here am i, the best of my kind and i am perfectly satisfied with my kind." thus she arrived at a tie plus ultra at once per- sonally satisfying and completely baffling to all conjectures on superior bloods, racial admixtures, hybridizations and all the sociological and biological generalizations of the day. neither she nor teresa, of course, was consciously aware of this stand. and yet the latter knew that she had behind herself no such pride either of race or of personality as alicia constantly displayed. for oliva's teachings had urged not so much: "be white," as "don't be colored." it was impossible for the child to know esteem for either group. • • • • ■ something very fine and sweet began to grow up between the three girls, the clearly white jennie, the apparently white teresa and the frankly colored alicia. it became natural for them to be found together at work, at play, at study. and if one were missing, then the other two were certain to be in each other's company. but jennie was a senior this term which meant that after january alicia and teresa would see each other almost constantly. by the time of the arrival of the shy new england spring the pair were inseparable. . . . they walked and played tennis and swam; and in the sweet chilly evenings told each comedy: american style other secrets. ... or at least alicia did, for save for her one great mystery, secrets teresa had none. but alicia had many. . . . her brother was to study medicine and she was to become a great bacteriologist. her parents were unaware of this but her brother alex and she wrote reams to each other on the subject. her present training was being given to her with a view of affording her a broad cultural background for an intensive future study of music. and indeed she played already with great accuracy and delicacy but with no special warmth, since her heart had never been in her practice. and then she had been in love! "oh, alicia," said teresa, amazed. "you haven't!" "yes i have . . . more than once! you don't mean to tell me you haven't, tessa!" "believe it or not. i never have." "but, teresa, you must have seen some boy you liked." she couldn't explain, how could she, that not until the night of marise's party had she come in contact with the boys she'd like to know. . . . that the few boys, brothers of uninteresting white girls whom she had met through a falsely stimulated intimacy, had appealed to her in no way. that the only colored boy, nicholas campbell, to whom she had given a second lingering thought, barely, she was sure, remembered her existence. so she laughed and shook her sleek head. "no, i've never known any boy well enough to like him, really, you know. is it such a crime? . . . tell me about your beau. ... is he very handsome?" alicia, for a fleeting moment, dropped her arm about her friend's slender shoulders. "you know, tess, you're such a surprise to me—you're so different from most white girls i've known. usually teresa's act » your folks think that no colored person is good-looking be- cause he isn't white." teresa smiled but was silent thinking once more of nick and his dark splendor. "he isn't my beau any more," alicia resumed. "that's all over now. but it was pretty serious while it lasted. and he's still as good-looking as ever. he's just a little bit darker than i, very dark brown curly hair and dark grey eyes. . . . funny i didn't like the eyes themselves, but i did like the way they looked in his face. . . . you see, tess, you don't know anything about colored people. if you did you'd know of the surprising differences among them in appearance, i mean. . . . you ought to see a lot of colored girls at a party. . . . why it's just like looking at a flock of lovely birds. . . . "don't i make you tired? . . . did you know miss cath- cart gave us fifteen pages of 'le monde oil l'on s'ennuie'? she may be sweet but she certainly can hand out a mean lesson." chapter iii alicia wanted teresa to spend the vacation with her. t "do come, tess. . . . chicago is hot but it's wonder- ful and there's the lake. we've got a big house with a swell porch. . . . and a little shack in a place not far off called 'idlewild.' alex and mother and i go up there week- ends with a bunch. we have the best times! swimming and dancing. and old alex and henry bates—that's that boy i used to go with—getting off such crazy remarks. they're as funny as end-men in a show. . . . colored peo- ple can be so funny, teresa! . . . come along, darling, and teresa's act hope you won't fail to take advantage of your new rela- tionships." m • • • ■ the long trip half way across the continent drew the girls ever more closely together. the immediate effect of this, however, was to fasten upon teresa a sense of guilt. she felt herself burdened, worn down with secrecy. at times she knew hardly whether to laugh or to cry at the two-edged complication which her duplicity had begun to assume. to pretend to caucasians that she was white was one thing; but to pretend it with her best friend, whom she truly loved and who was also colored, was different. on the train many glances of curiosity were directed toward them; toward alicia's air of style and breeding; toward teresa's quiet distinctiveness; toward the still some- what curious sight of a white and colored girl travelling together. of the two alicia was by far the more self- conscious though she made a successful effort to conceal this fact. but her friend's serene, unnoticing demeanor seemed to her worthy of the utmost admiration which she could bestow. in a final burst of appreciation she bestowed on teresa her highest praise. "you really are wonderful, tess. you know if—if only things were different, i wish you and alex would fall in love with each other and marry." "tell me what you mean by 'different'." "if you were only colored." teresa considered. how wonderful it would be to live, act, breathe, be one's very own self. . . . "alicia, darling, can i really trust you? i want so much to tell you . . . but i always have to think of my mother. i'm not white really. . . . i'm colored. i love being colored . . . but mother has always been so set on passing. . . . she was comedy: american style never willing for a colored girl even to come and play with me. . . . she wouldn't even have them work for us." "but she knows you're with me. . . ." "but she doesn't know you're colored. . . ." alicia stared at her, astonished and admiring. "why, teresa, i never thought you had it in you. . . ." the vacation was heavenly. mr. and mrs. barrett were youngish people ardently beloved by their family and usually included in all their doings. the judge was on his vacation and as keen on making the most of it as a youth. both were interested in the plight of teresa. the two elders enjoyed quietly the joke which she was playing on her mother and determined that her good times should have no limit. with real delicacy they pledged themselves not to let her new friends and acquaintances know of the strange conflict in which she had been participating. to them she was frankly a "white colored girl" who struck them at times as being "more white than the average white person." such after all had been the influence of the young girl's earlier training that for a time she found herself no more at home with this large colored group than she had felt with the white group when she first went to christie's. estranged, through lack of interest, from the latter group she was equally estranged, at least, from the first group, by lack of experience. for a little while it seemed as though they did not speak the same language. all her acquaint- ance and intimacy with alicia had been based on the common school-life which they shared. her carefully pre- served secret of those days kept the two of them from building or developing the qualities of sympathy, under- standing, pride, even joy around their common heritage. teresa's act / / so with these new acquaintances. in her compreh of their conversation and intercourse there were oru... strange lacunae, even strange ignorances because teresa was not fully aware of underlying, fundamental causes prompting the conditions which were being discussed. . . . "race topics" interested her without piquing her. dis- cussions of overt acts against negroes, prompted by rank prejudice, left her indignant, as a humanitarian might be indignant, but not disturbed as a member of the mal- treated race should be. emotionally, as far as race was concerned, she was a girl without a country. . . . later on in life it occurred to her that she had been deprived of her racial birthright and that that was as great a cause for tears as any indignity that might befall man. with no conscious volition on her part a metamorphosis had been achieved. she had become, and she would al- ways remain, individual and aloof, never a part of a com- ponent whole. alicia's brother alexander came swimming into her ken. he was as fine looking as alicia but with more distinction, both because he was older and because from his childhood he had carried within himself a great sense of seriousness with regard to his chosen profession. . . . his father would have liked him to enter political life. . . . the older man had found chicago politics a source not only of profit and power but of amusement and lasting in- terest. . . . but his son had other visions. . . . he would be not only a physician with a desirably lucrative prac- tice ... he would be a great healer alleviating the woes of mankind. . . . excepting for his sports, to which he was comedy: american style passionately devoted, he kept this serious attitude toward most of the happenings of life. mrs. barrett had acquainted him with something of teresa's earlier history. it was from herself that her son inherited both his seriousness and his broad outlook. her own sensitiveness divined the impression which the prob- lem of their young guest would leave on alex's mind. and as she wanted the girl to meet, this one summer at least, with all compensatory attentions possible she could, she felt, do nothing better than to turn her over to the wise and delicate ministrations of her boy. all through her life teresa possessed the faculty of awakening in all women, save in her mother paradoxically enough, reactions of the most maternal and tender type. without this special knowledge, alex, who at this point was manifesting practically no interest in girls, would have seen in the young philadelphian only another one of alicia's occasional crushes. . . . but this girl, he quickly divined, was someone different and apart. he had, of course, known many people who consistently or intermittently "passed" either as a matter of desire or as a matter of con- venience. . . . but teresa was the first person in his ken who had so thoroughly rebelled against the deception. . . . other ac- quaintances had carried on this gesture of whiteness with pride, with amusement, with a sense of perpetrating a huge joke. but to this eighteen-year-old girl the process had al- ready brought misery, embarrassment and the hint of fu- ture wretchedness. alexander perhaps was to be the only acquaintance of her whole life who was able to realize how unspeakably distasteful the whole sorry performance was to such a character. . . . he liked america. a year in europe had taught him teresa's act something of the imperfections of most governments. he was not the type of negro to disassociate the value of a creed of race equality from the worth of economic oppor- tunity. ... at twenty-three, being an american of some training and thought and of his national quota of material- ism, he had no doubts as to the desirability of being a tech- nically free, but starving, negro in france or england and a practically free negro living in the northern united states in relative security and comfort. . . . but he did think america might by now try to live up to some of the tall sayings and implications of her found- ers .. . if only there could be some way of showing her the spiritual waste which annually she inflicted on a beauti- ful and deserving group! meanwhile he could help. at first he approached teresa purely, one might say, from the standpoint of spiritual therapeutics. . . . he could be the physician for her wounded soul as completely as later on he hoped to be the physician for many an aching and wounded body. . . . but gradually, as the charming golden days slipped by, his boyish patronage took on the tinge of something deeper. teresa walked with him, played ten- nis, swam, and above all, rowed with him a few times late in the hot summer evenings . . . she strummed inexpertly at "a slim guitar," for so she always thought of the ukelele in her hands; she told him slowly and painfully of her father's baffled efforts to establish himself definitely as a "race man." she spoke of her own and christopher's dis- gust and resentment at having to live a sham . . . which after all got them, in philadelphia at least, exactly no- where. . . . "the neighbors, i'm sure, think we are just what we arc . . . colored people trying to be white . . . they see comedy: american style father's colored patients . . . they've probably seen mother practically driving, when we were children, our little colored friends from the door. . . . now that we're grown up, very few colored people invite us to their houses, ex- cept those folks i'm always talking about, phebe and marise and nick campbell.... you see, we can't ask them back in turn." she was silently trailing her fine creamy hand in the curling water. ... "i don't think that's the reason though . . . there are all sorts of causes, all mixed up. you know how colored people are about passing. . . ." alex, looking at her through a cloud of smoke, nodded, thinking how nice and fine she was and truly different with her slightly bewildered air of a child trying to find her way. "yes, i know. a combination of cooperation and resent- ment. they don't want to cramp your style. yet on the other hand no one likes to think that he just isn't, in your eyes at any rate, good enough for your association." "that's just it." he fell to dreaming how he would take her out of all this; this nice gentle lady who treasured honesty and un- pretentiousness above many apparent advantages. she was restful; as intelligent as alicia, whom he so deeply admired, but not so brilliant. . . . the three of them could live to- gether. she was so young now. within the next two or three years he would tell her about it. . . . meanwhile they must finish school. there would be long revealing letters flashing across the continent from chicago to some place in the east. . . . thus they would become truly acquainted. it would be much more expedient, even kinder, to wait. he might have spared himself his chivalry. teresa had already fallen in love with henry bates. teresa's act chapter iv the old aphorisms are basically sound. first impres- sions are lasting. it would never have occurred to teresa to fall in love with nicholas, certainly not as long as phebe was in the offing. or marise. a little wave of vicarious fear for phebe swept across her whenever she thought of marise and nicky. as she had told alicia when they spoke of love in the dormitory at christie's, she had never been in love. but nick unconsciously (was he really so unconscious of his own power?) had stirred her . . . she had known that the type for her. and here was henry, just as hopelessly, heart- breakingly, attractive, the possessor of that same devastat- ing masculinity, just as he possessed that same combination of color, recklessness, hair, manner which marked nick. it is a combination which belongs to one special type of the american negro of mixed blood, the chestnut brown. and there is no other species of mankind which possesses just that same fatalness of charm except perhaps a certain type of irishmen. such men begin to know their power early. . . . alex was grave, studious, kindly, dependable. henry was carefree, with little interest for anything except his hobbies which might range from engineering to aviation. his kind- ness had about it a carelessness as of one bestowing largess. his emotions were, to say the least, of the school of the will o' the wisp. • . . for all these reasons teresa loved him. with his reckless gayety he represented to her all the good times she had missed during her life. so sincere was she in her obvious admiration, even adoration, that henry, all serenely used as he was to the "falling of frails," went comedy: american style from passive endurance to something warmer, from that degree to a genuine gratitude, from gratitude to a love that not only amazed the scoffing and totally unenvious alicia but even himself. . . . the quality of his feeling surprised least of all its recipient—teresa. love, if it existed at all, should be just like this of henry's—ardent, tender, raptur- ous, laughing. they became engaged. "but of course," said teresa tardily, "my mother will never consent to it." she had never mentioned to henry her great secret which now seemed so trivial. "i know," he agreed sagely. "she'll say you're too young. but time will remedy that. bofe on us has got to get heaps an' heaps mo' education than we has yet, honey." she loved him to relapse into the soft lingo of the southern im- migrant whom he mimicked so perfectly. "by the time i am a full fledged engineer, and that's two years off, you'll be old enough. an aged woman of twenty and a dodder- ing old man of twenty-three. that's old enough for any- body to marry." "two years from now," she mused. "wonder what we'll be like then." "we won't have to wonder, hon. you forget we'll be seeing each other right straight along, watching each other grow. we won't have to ask: 'how high is the baby?' we'll know." he was a student at the massachusetts institute of tech- nology. "i keep forgetting," she said, "that you spend most of your time in the east. ... it doesn't seem possible that you could have been so near me these past two years and i never even knew anything about it." "dumb, i calls it," he acquiesced. "but you see old fate teresa's act knew what was what. so all of a sudden she horned in and brought us together. darn near close job she made of it too. . . . you know i've always worked in the sum- mers, teresa. bell-hop on the big coastwise boats. it was literally touch and go with me as to whether i should take up my old stand this summer. but gosh i was so tired. six years now i've been at this higher education working hard all term and almost all of every summer. so i de- cided to take some time off." "are you glad now?" "i won't say i'm sorry." "coming to see me soon?" "and often," he promised with a whimsical accent on the and. she loved his deliberate negroid inflection from which her mother had so carefully guarded her. for a moment she considered telling him about that strange unreal life of hers in philadelphia with its pain and deception. but after all what was the use? ... it was all over now. there would be just these two years to wait. he would be sure of a position; judge barrett had promised to see to that. all he had to do was to graduate. . . . "which i'll over do," he promised her. they would of course have to marry in secret. probably, since there would be simply no means of converting olivia, they would have to elope. she might of course invoke her grandmother's or even christopher's aid. but on the whole she rather clung, in her secret thoughts, to the idea of keep- ing the project within her own and henry's extremely ca- pable hands. . . . after all she was to have love, excitement, life, experience just like other girls. alicia was not to go back to the east. she was to at- tend northwestern. teresa had already matriculated at comedy: american style smith. but before registering at northampton she would return to philadelphia to spend the last two weeks of her vacation. her mother would shortly be returning and the girl was eager to face her—with this new dear secret locked so tight in her breast. her mother, as christopher had warned her, would probably after this triumphant tour be at the point least consonant with her ideas of motherhood based as they were on pleasant memories of mrs. davies and mrs. barrett. . . . but, preceding all this strain, there would be the pleasant'fortnight spent with her father and christopher and oliver. dear oliver! she told alicia about him, sketching in with some reluctance her mother's neglect. "poor kid," sympathized alicia. "when you come back here to live, teresa, you must bring him with you. then you can make up to him for everything." "i will," her friend vowed warmly. . . . "how good it sounds to hear you say: 'when you come back here to live!' . . . oh, alicia, isn't it too grand? . . . you're sure you don't mind?" "mind what?" "why, about henry and me. . . . you know i never thought once of this when you told me about him back there at christie's. . . . doesn't it all sound 'far away and long ago' now? . . . you said you and he had all broken up." "teresa, don't be silly. you don't know me. when i am through i am absolutely through. not that he isn't a darling. henry is positively the sweetest. but we prob- ably wouldn't remain together five months. too much alike. both selfish, you know, and demanding. while you, old sweetness, you never ask for anything . . . and so you get it all. teresa's act "you were simply made for henry, though i still rise to state that it would have made me much happier if you had fallen for old alex. perhaps you'd have been happier too. . . . but there, taste is taste; and if anybody likes the kind of a man that henery bates is going to be, why, then i say henery bates is just the kind of man for a person like that. . . . only, teresa, i'm warning you don't ever let him get a mad on you. . . ." "why should he get a mad on me? and if he did, what about it?" "well, there's this color business. just don't do it i'm warning you ... at least not until after you get married. that boy is terribly hard-headed . . . the kind that goes rushing off into space . . . once he gets started, with no return ticket." "oh piffle!" said teresa, happily slangy. "you can't scare me. he's not going rushing off into space without me right in his inner pocket." at the train she remembered to ask him about it. "you know i'm awfully in love with you, henry. i've meant everything i've said. . . . you won't ever let anything or anyone come between us?" "i'd like to see them try!" his kisses left her surer of his love than his grammar. comedy: american style chapter v home was strange but everything was delightful. it was even nice to be driving out dingy market street from the west philadelphia station, recalling the torn-up streets with which the city seems eternally cursed. "look, dad, that same heap of dirt and cobble-stones was on that identical corner when i left last september." she had arrived home in the middle of the afternoon. by dinner she had restored to dining- and living-rooms some semblance of their usual orderliness and attractiveness. the boys, and her father too, commented on the table with its flowers and fine linen, and the grand meal which she had prepared with the very real aid of oliver. "thank you, gentlemen, and tomorrow i'll start on your rooms. so look out for papers and secrets! . . . but what became of sally, dad? didn't go to carpathia this sum- mer, did she?" "no," her father retorted, "but your mother went to switzerland. and you had to have some change and your carfare back from chicago. and this rascal," he patted christopher's arm affectionately, "got himself expelled last term and had to go to summer school for make-up work. so your old dad, in order to save somewhere, let sally off for the summer and decided to keep house himself with the help of oliver." he sighed a little wearily. "but it's been mostly oliver, i guess." teresa pushed her chair back slightly and beckoned to the lad. "come here, sugar." oliver rose, tall and fine and beautiful. it seemed to his sister that he was really dazzling, so completely did happi- teresa's act ness and satisfaction transfigure his sensitive face. for all his height and his splendid physical poise he gave an effect of childishness both pleasing and pathetic. it was pleasant to discover a young modern minus the pertness and for- wardness so often apparent in the american child of twelve. on the other hand you realized at once his fearful sensitive- ness to pain. he might eventually even learn to endure it. but his intense stoicism would always be accompanied by keen suffering. he looked down now at teresa, his eyes bright with their apprehension of happiness. "i'm so glad you're home, tess. . . . it's been so long since i've seen you. . . . you're even nicer than i remember." . . . he leant his shapely head, with its thick roughened mane, against her sleek one. he whispered: "i liked you to call me sugar. ... i never heard you say that before, though grandma used to. . . ." he whispered even lower: "will you come in my room and bid me good-night?" "darling, of course i will." how well she understood what lack, what longing, lay back of that request. she thought swiftly to herself. "but things will change for him. . . . i'll change them," she vowed proudly. "mother tried her best to ruin things for me but see how perfect everything is turning out. . . . he'll get a break, too!" • • • ■ • after dinner they sat for a while on the little side porch and later in the living-room. teresa told her father and christopher, her head against oliver perched so happily on the arm of her chair, about her precious summer . . . but said never a word about henry. the two men, legs out- stretched, cigarette in hand, thought in varying degree of consciousness: "this is what home should be like." the elder christopher found himself framing the wish that he teresa's act ioi "yes, she is . . . and i try not to bother her. you know," an expression of wistfulness shadowed the mobile face, "i —i think she likes me better than she used to." "why, darling, she's always liked you! all mothers love their children." "do they? but it always seemed to me that mother was different somehow. not like granny is to david and janet —isn't it funny to have an uncle and aunt as young as they are? granny fussed over me much more than mother does. . . . she doesn't think i'm a baby ... just because i like someone to be nice to me. . . ." "i'm sure mother doesn't think that either, dear. if she said so she was probably joking." he looked a little doubtful at this, then his face bright- ened. "anyway i know how to please her now. we play a sort of game together and she's always nice to me after- wards." "a game?" teresa's face showed her surprise. . . . "yes, you know she likes to entertain those ladies that belong on her committees; she has them here for tea, lots of times. and i play at being the butler and serve the tea for her. ... i have never spilled a drop or broken anything yet." her voice was aghast. "you play at being the butler!" "yes, i put on a white suit and slick my hair back . . . they think i'm japanese or mexican." "and she tells them afterwards what a smart little son she has?" "oh, no! she doesn't tell them anything. you see most of the other ladies have butlers and foreign servants. and mother felt so bad because dad couldn't afford to let her have one. ... so she said if she just had somebody who comedy: american style could make believe for her. . . . she said of course i couldn't ... i was such a baby!" "so now she doesn't think you're such a baby any more?" "no, i don't guess she does. . . . chris doesn't like me to do it though. the first time i did it he was home from boarding-school. and he came in and found me in my suit. . . . he was very angry. i never let him know about it any more. why should he mind my helping mother?" "i don't know, dear." oliver leaned closer. "i'm sure he'd tell you, tess. but that was the reason why he got himself expelled from that school. he said since both mother and dad were so busy he thought he'd better come home and look after me." she slipped on her knees to the side of the bed, her heart shaking. "little boy, can you keep a secret?" "you betcher!" "how'd you like to come and live with me and let me be your mother?" he considered this. one could almost see the thoughts racing behind that candid face. "i'd like it fine. somehow i don't think you'd be so busy with outside people," he added with no intention. "and you're young. you'd understand more about me, wouldn't you? grown-up mothers, i guess, sort of forget." "well, listen. i'm going to be married. in two years. to the nicest boy. and we're going to live far away in chi- cago, where i've just come from, you know. and right away as soon as we get our house fixed, i'll send for you; no, i'll come for you myself. you'll like that, honey?" "will i like it? boy! . . . will i like it! what will your husband do?" "he's studying engineering; but he's just as likely to end up being an aviator." teresa's act "i like that. of course i'll be a musician, but i might just as well," said oliver eclectically, "be a flier too." she went to her room and gazed and gazed at a picture of olivia on her dressing table. presently she picked it up and laid it carefully, face downward, in a drawer. in her heart was a prayer: "god, god don't let me hate her! i mustn't hate my mother, god!" she was so grateful for henry. she could imagine the indignation with which he would greet her tale. and yet he would inject into the whole sorry business a note of humor. . . . she remembered then that she had never ac- quainted him with her mother's obsession nor with the knowledge of her own long-practiced deception. but of course that wouldn't make any real difference. . . . dear henry! to her great relief her mother upon her arrival asked almost no questions about the summer. olivia, indeed, was so taken up with her own experiences . . . her tri- umphs, as she envisaged them . . . that she would have had no ear for her daughter's exploits even if the girl had been inclined to relate them. mrs. cary's european experiences had been of the most ordinary and meager. she had, to start with, gone on a carefully planned tourist trip. not a stop, not a sight varied from the usual. no spontaneous charming little side-trips based on individual predilection. impossible to conceive of anything more horribly cut and dried than olivia's visit to the peace conference. the conference itself was a marvel since it was planned and developed by several of the world's cleverest and most comedy: american style distinguished women. women of brains, of poise, of un- doubted equipment, of great sincerity. their ideas were splendid, their plans of execution rational. save for their tendency to disregard the human equation which itself has no notion of disregarding war—all their suggestions were even feasible. add to this, some extraordinary oratory and the appearance of a score of the greatest publicists and thinkers of the age and one has some concept of the value and merit of the gathering. but none of these things meant anything to olivia. she was indeed unconscious of having assisted at a great femi- nistic gesture. ... it is doubtful if she remembered the blue of lake geneva; the greenness of the confluent rhine; the majesty, even when dimmed by distance, of benignant mont blanc; the charm of twisting streets, the allure of the little restaurant off the beaten path. all she recalled was the cup of tea shared with mrs. bivins of xenia; the time she and the simmons "girls" shopped; their remark when she had tried on the dark blue dress with the red buttons, "which set off your italian coloring, my dear." "you might have thought," she told her unmoved hus- band, "that we had been all girls together." she sighed happily and went off into a secret memory of the luncheon at the hotel des families . . . when dis- approving diana heflin, a native of georgia, u.s.a., sur- veyed, through haughty glasses, two young colored ameri- cans lunching serenely with two equally content white americans. . . . "wouldn't you think?" said the georgian, "that nigras would come to know their place and keep it? i believe as much as anyone else that there should be a place in the sun for everybody; but there are places and places." olivia had risen from her table happily. no one, she teresa's act reflected, could ever put her or any member of her family in his "place." then for a brief annoying second she had thought of oliver. . . . she said nothing of these things to her family. chapter vi the long golden summer drew to its end. in spite of the happiness which it had brought her, teresa was glad to see it go. the strain of living with her mother was almost intolerable. not that olivia was unkind or un- pleasant. she had never been less unfriendly. but her mere presence, the knowledge of her desires and determina- tion, plunged the young girl into a vortex of new decep- tions, petty deceits which sometimes rendered her almost desperate. it was imperative that she keep her engagement to henry a secret—for two years! the time which, even viewed with the eyes of young and impatient lovers, seemed a trifle, stretched off, as olivia advanced upon the scene, into cen- turies. she must not, the young girl reasoned, render her- self in anyway suspect. to this end she planned to listen with more sympathy and attention than she had ever shown to her mother's schemes and plans for the new life opening at college. te- resa was to dress superlatively; she was, within limits, to entertain. olivia had it in mind to ask christopher, senior, to give her a little roadster. nothing like an occasional au- tomobile ride to make people chummy. . . . "besides, it'll bring you invitations to the homes of girls in the vicinity. . . . "very good people live up that way." comedy: american style "but, mother," the girl had said aghast, in spite of her resolutions: "father can't afford all that. my room and board, and chris in college, too! and oliver to be got ready!" "got ready for what?" "well, he's to go off too to some good school sooner or later, isn't he?" olivia favored her daughter with a cool stare. "why should he? you know as well as i, olivia, that oliver hasn't your and christopher's chances. . . . why would your father need to waste money on him? these phila- delphia schools are quite good enough. goodness! that was all you and chris ever said when we began to talk of sending you two off to school." ignoring her daughter's disconcerted silence, she resumed. "i don't need to remind you, teresa, that amherst is just a few miles away. you'll meet plenty of young men. now, teresa, show some sense and spirit and do make the most of this opportunity. you'll live to thank me for it yet. . . . there're many colored girls, as white as you, who would give their eye teeth to have everything made as smooth for them as i am making it for you." "phebe grant wouldn't," teresa observed evenly. "phebe grant wouldn't!" for once her mother's equa- nimity slipped its leash and she showed plainly the ex- asperation which her children's hard-headed stupidity awakened in her. "phebe grant has long since come to her senses. phebe grant is working with a first class modiste on walnut street. she told me herself she was passing. and any- way i've met her twice, no, three times, strolling out spruce street with a young white fellow. the last time i saw her, i simply forced her to introduce him. nash his name is. io comedy: american style "don't make me laugh. why, i'm a runner-up for helen wills! sorry, my boy, promised to go out with oliver." "well, what objections do you have to my going too?" thus constantly, despite the difference in ages, they sur- rounded oliver with the warmth of their love and care. teresa enjoyed strolling with him in fairmount park. she was amazed frequently at the breadth and accuracy of his knowledge, his powers of observation and his memory. the youngster not only knew his way in every direction over the vast tract of land; he knew the names of most of the statues, the history of the park houses. furthermore, he had picked up, first hand, an adequate and practical knowledge of bird-life. interests such as these were the merest of hobbies; his real loves lay along the lines of music, poetry, and aviation. "aviation is poetry, tess," he said gravely. in his boy- ish idiom he explained his meaning. "it's the finest kind of moving around, you know, just as poetry is the finest way of using words." his sister, greatly impressed, spoke to her father. "oliver really is the best of us all, dad. the smartest and the finest. . . . if—if you find it hard to give him the kind of training he should have, you can cut down on me. i won't mind a bit." "that's all right," dr. cary answered, his arm about her. "by the time oliver's ready to try his wings, you'll be through. ... i guess the old man can manage a bit longer. anyway, i'm not going to cut down on my one and only girl . . . except, dear child, i'm afraid i can't give you that roadster your mother is always talking about." "dad, can i depend upon you for that? what would i want with a roadster when it frightens me to run a sewing no comedy: american style this house. i do want mother to be able pretty soon to stop work." "my goodness!" teresa exclaimed, astounded. "why, phebe, you're only a little bit older than me, aren't you? and i have never earned a cent yet. why, you're wonder- ful, wonderful! isn't she, nick?" nick nodded. "a bloated plutocrat, if you ask me. rolls in wealth every day. makes a poor medical student feel just nowhere." but in spite of his complaint his eyes caressed her. "plutocrat nothing! of course you know, tessa, the real plutocrat is going to be marise?" "no, i didn't know. what about marise? i thought from something christopher said that she was a student too, just like the rest of us." "she is a student. but just by accident she got into a production of sol kessler's in new york: 'birds of a feather.' the show as a whole didn't go . . . lasted only about a month. but the part written for marise was marvelous. . . . nick went up to see her. . . ." "chris went up too," the young man interrupted. "i saw him there, though i didn't get any chance to speak to him . . . marise was so entirely surrounded by every kind of man." teresa thought his face clouded a little with an- noyance. . . . "but there was no question about marise's being a whang. . . . she's got something, that girl. . . ." "she certainly got two hundred perfectly good dollars a week," phebe interpolated gaily. . . . "and they're writing something around her now." so they were both successful, marise and phebe, success- ful each in her chosen line. but not more successful, te- resa thought with immense satisfaction, than what she her- self would be. her line was simply to be herself and to comedy: american style "last night i lay dreaming of you, hove, lay dreaming your soft auburn tresses and tender caresses stilled me, and thrilled me and lulled me to rest. . . ." teresa with almost maternal happiness had been watch- ing the too intense rapture on oliver's face. . . . but when nicholas sang she lost track of time and place. she saw only henry that last night in the boat on the shores of lake michigan. she heard him strumming, strumming on his guitar; his gay reckless glance softened with real feeling, his young thrill- ing voice intoning: ". . . i lay dreaming of you, love, lay dreaming. . . in an ecstasy she accepted sandwiches and iced punch. but whether the food consisted of philadelphia scrapple and boiled tea, or whether, after all, it really was nectar and ambrosia, she never knew. ost girls think of college as an objective. it is true ivx. that they hear many times that the four years which they plan to spend there are "in preparation for the realities of life." but such is the stress and storm and strain of the years of high and preparatory schools before they arrive of you, love, lay dreaming" chapter vii teresa's act " at this goal, that very few, save the clearest thinking, con- sider that bright and beautiful interval as anything other than a haven. in teresa's eyes it was neither preparation nor consum- mation. ... it was merely an interim, to be spent by great good luck in pleasant and advantageous circumstances, until the great moment of her life should be reached. she was tremendously excited and happy. . . . on her way up to school she had stopped in boston, ostensibly to visit her grandmother blake and her youthful uncle david and aunt janet. but once there it was tremendously easy to evade them; to spend whole delightful days with henry and more than one heavenly and blissful evening. the time like that other time, two years before when she had first left philadelphia to go to christie's, was septem- ber. . . . the time was the same . . . but was she, could she pos- sibly be the same girl? the weather was warm, but with the tang of a more northern zone ... for the first time she understood what the poets meant when they spoke of the "winy" air. . . . the evenings, spent usually loafing along the charles, were enchanted. useless to tell these young lovers that such days and such nights had always existed in all ages, in all climes, for peo- ple in their glorious plight . . . these hours, they knew, had been made for them alone. . . . henry knew "a fellow in boston who had a little car." with the free masonry of youth the car became henry's at any time, for any occasion which he might require it. . . . it was an awful little car, a very demon of a little car, with strange and unexpected internal failings as frequent and as current as the complaints of a hypochondriac old woman. teresa's act henry? but later her awareness of both student and sub- ject grew apace for the intrinsic value of each itself. . . . but she never lost completely her slight detachment from the life around her. she possessed her mother's single- mindedness without her mother's objective. and the days had to be filled in. one could not go on aimlessly from hour to hour waiting for henry bates to be graduated from the massachusetts institute of tech- nology and for the arrival of nine p.m. on that same day. for they had decided on the very moment of their mar- riage! ... teresa would have sent her trunk on that morning to henry's parents in chicago; she would have only a little handbag. as yet she did not know how the dates of the closing of the two schools would compare. but she meant to eschew everything and meet and marry henry. perhaps they would get on the train and, picking out from the window, some quaint new england town, would descend there and spend the night. "only i'm not sure," quoth henry meditatively, "whether we'll be able to find a hotel to take colored people or not. you never can tell, you know." this was the kind of thing that her mother would hate, teresa recalled vaguely. but she was too enthralled with the thought of herself and henry going off alone without espionage to spend the night somewhere, anywhere. . . . people would never guess that they had just married . . . she would see to that. she would be very matter of fact and reasonable and would scold henry quite audibly about his flannels. he had gone off into gales of laughter when she had told him this. "men don't wear flannels in june, darling little dumb teresa's act " mother—a most understanding woman, if ever there was one—with the real state of affairs. no, it was best for this secret to belong to the two of them alone. . . . but there were other interests, happenings, which made her wonder what life really meant and whether her own existence was as important as she and her mother had made it appear. sometimes she spent a week-end in the home of a school-mate with an entirely unimaginative, placid new england family who took life entirely at its face value; whose members went through the motions of living, she was convinced, in exactly the same fashion and with exactly the same set of reactions, day in and day out, three hundred and sixty-five times in a year. there was the strange and fascinating and bewildering experience of passing three bitter january days, after her own mid-year examinations were over, at the house of a girl whose family was devoted to the teachings of a prophet of a new, religious cult. at least it was a cult of which she herself had never heard before. she was staying in a little half-empty village near the town of dover in maine. . • . all about were leaden sky, ghostly trees and snow as dry and powdery as dust. all day long the wind blew a terrible gale. it soughed in the rattling tree-tops all night. mary giles, her hostess, lived in a great beautiful place; she was a member of a large family, with several rich and idle uncles and aunts. and all day and half of every night the entire giles family discussed the teachings of the new cult. . . . they talked endlessly at table; over unfinished rubbers of bridge and tea in the sullen afternoons; at night before crackling fires in the big living-room. in addition, they discussed familiar things in a combina- tion of which teresa had never dreamed. occasionally their n comedy: american style talk made her think of some new, deeply significant and terrible version of alice in wonderland. . . . someone re- minded the others that nine was the perfect number; some- one else passionately retorted that ten was the perfect digit since on it was based the entire decimal system and it, in turn, was based on the fact that man possessed ten fingers. an elderly uncle was for the abolishing of ten as a unit of measure and all for the introduction of twelve since, he reiterated a dozen times, it was divisible by three, four and six, (the girl was never able to understand why he never mentioned the figure two in this connection.) inexplicably this led to the discussion of the measurements of the pyra- mids, of the solar system, of "british israelites," of mani- festations . . . and threading in and out of the whole be- wildering discussion were frequent allusions and quotations from the sayings of the great prophet. through all the maddening controversy teresa never doubted the sincerity, kindliness and honest conviction of the whole group. amazedly she realized that the placid serenity of mary giles' deportment and attitude was due to her own acceptance of these unfamiliar tenets. chapter viii her adventure with jarvis seely was not so pleasant. she had met him on saturday and sunday over one of the february holidays. she had gone in agatha bur- ton's car to newburyport and jarvis had come up from harvard with phineas burton to spend the same occasion. phineas, in spite of his staid name, was without distinction or poise, a gawky, shy youth most unlike the much vaunted product of his famous school. perhaps that was why he teresa's act " himself had formed such a violent attachment for jarvis. young seely, rather short and square, gave from his very compactness an effect of steadiness and deliberateness, with, however, more than a hint of suppressed fire and emotion. . . . teresa had found him interesting at sight. she could not say whether or not she liked him. . . . her complete absorption in henry left her pretty indifferent to the good qualities of most young men. and she was no person to try her powers in useless experimentation. at night she danced in the square, brightly-lighted parlor with both boys; in the morning she walked with jarvis in the direction of the harbor and, in the grey afternoon, talked with him before the cheerful fire. it was with no unfeigned surprise that she drew back startled from his ardent kiss of farewell. "why, i can't think what you mean! i'm not . . ." he interrupted cynically. "for heaven's sake don't say you're not that kind of a girl!" "well, as it happens, that was just what i was going to say because i'm not!" "you're playing a good game but i've met girls like you before—" "then," she interrupted angrily, "it seems to me it's high time you had learned how to deal with them. i can't imagine what you can be thinking about." turning she left him lowering before the fire. agatha, to whom she related her adventure in indignant amazement, laughed and explained. "you see, he's so beastly rich. his father is sole manufacturer of a bronzing powder, which it seems is immensely important in finish- ing metal articles. your own radiator in philadelphia is probably covered with it . . . jarvis is the only boy in a large family of girls . . . he's horribly spoiled . . . thinks comedy: american style the world is his oyster. i don't know what phiney sees in him." to teresa's amazement he came over to northampton to see her. if she had planned deliberately she could not have chosen a better attitude. she refused absolutely to be alone with him but spent the long cold afternoon at skating and hockey with a half dozen other girls and some young men who had come over from amherst. also she pled a previ- ous engagement so as to avoid dinner with him. in spite of her treatment he came at least three times more and even wrote her letters in which he veiled his arrogance, though probably nothing in the world could ever conceal his assurance. such treatment was bound eventually to cool even his persistence. finally he ceased his unwelcome visits and teresa, who had not even been flattered by his attention, forgot him entirely. the spring vacation was close at hand and the girl was entirely absorbed in the thought of seeing henry again, for she planned as usual to spend the time at her grandmother's. . . . she came back happier than ever. up to this time she and henry had been so completely concerned with the marvel of their mutual discovery and their future plans that except in the field of sports where they had first met they had paid compara- tively little attention to each other's taste and predilections. this time, in addition to making the explorations which so appealed to them both, they had spent the happy week in art galleries, at the opera, at museums. behind his whimsicalness and laughter, henry hid a fine, keen mind remarkably alert to both scientific and social phenomena. it seemed to the young girl that no prospective wife ever glimpsed a brighter or more attractive future than she. teresa's act perhaps it was the mellowness induced by this mood that made her greet young seely with some hint of welcome. he came again to northampton in the late april afternoon; glorious in the last word in sports attire and in a marvel of a roadster. teresa, remembering the little car which henry had borrowed despite its evil reputation from his friend in boston, fell into a gay mood. she was, these days, so happy, so confident, so satisfied with life, that seely stared at her in amazement. they sallied forth in the car ostensibly to gather violets. . . . "but i don't care really where we go," she said. "every- thing is so perfect." it struck her that her companion was rather quiet, his manner constrained. in the direction of holyoke where there was, he insisted, a woods with violets, he drew up on a quiet bypath. april sun and april beauty surrounded them, drenched them. for a moment teresa closed her eyes—to savor more com- pletely the peace and contentment that were upon her. . . . in that moment she felt his hard arm about her, his panting breath on her cheek ... his hot kisses on her unwilling mouth. and she had just told henry, laughing, coquettish, truth- ful, that since their engagement she had kissed no one but him! in a fury she struck at seely. but he held her hands firmly, and laughing, with an ugly light in his eyes, he kissed her deliberately again and again. resistance, she knew, for all her inexperience, would only spur him on to greater indignities. . . . about her the beautiful day turned cold and dark. something hovered above her, indefinable, lowering. comedy: american style "jarvis," she asked weakly, she was genuinely frightened, "what's the matter? what does this mean?" he looked at her, his eyes like black ice. "you know, you almost fooled me, teresa. you seemed to set such store on yourself. you had me thinking maybe here is a real girl, a girl i'd be proud to make my wife . . ." she interrupted him fiercely. "i don't want to be your wife, i . . ." "i don't want you either, now," he said rudely. she could see him framing a further insult. "what i want to know is why should you be so prudish with me ... a girl who runs around with niggers!" so this was what her mother was always talking about. it was from infamies of this sort that she was ever running to cover. . . . teresa's heart turned over within her. she could, she knew, burst into tears; she might easily become violently ill. instead with a tremendous effort she kept herself con- trolled. "i don't know what you mean." "of course you'd say that," he sneered. "you don't mean to deny that you were in boston two weeks ago and that you went to the opera." "i certainly don't mean to deny it." "and that you were with a nigger!" to her own amazement she found she had done two things. in one second with one small, firm hand she had struck his hateful face and in the next she was out of the car on the road. "i didn't slap you for myself," she told him passionately. "i slapped you for my friend. ... if i choose to go out with a colored man who is more of a gentleman than you'll ever be, that is entirely my business, jarvis seely." she took her inadequate handkerchief, rubbed it several teresa's act times over her lips and flaming cheeks, threw it on the ground and stamped on it. "that's what i think of you and your kisses. . . ." she turned. "if you try to overtake me or to molest me in any way, i'll have this town about your ears." it took every penny which she had on her to get back to northampton. once there, shaken and sick, she locked herself up in her little room. . . . white-faced and trem- bling she tried to get herself together physically; her thoughts might wander as they would. she must get some perspective on this thing. for the first time, though still disapproving, she con- ceded her mother's point of view. it was horrible, crush- ing, to be thus despised. why not get away from it? on the other hand there was the general senselessness of it all. suppose agatha burton had known she was colored. probably, since theirs was a friendship founded on mutual tastes, they would still have been friends. she would have been just as welcome a guest at the burton home and would undoubtedly have met jarvis. in that event he would not, in all probability, have made his advances; on the other hand, he would also have failed to show his scorn. . . . what was the catch here? if then she had been her real self she might have been spared this ignominy. . . . but then what was wrong in being colored? whether she, as a white or a black girl, accompanied henry to the opera, he was still a fine man, of the stuff of which america is supposed to be proud. in point of fact with the exception of his skin, he would, with his clear, hard mind, his straight, supple body, his sense of humor, his beauty, have been labelled a typical american. his beauty! must he then, in order to gain universal respect and decent treatment, bleach out all that brightness, comedy: american style that subtlety of coloring which made him in her eyes, at least, an outstanding attraction in the midst of these pale faces? she thought of two fallacies—how her pale skin had kept her free from indignities; how earnestly and de- liberately americans every summer exposed themselves on shore and water to the burning sun in order to obtain the effect which, when natural, they affected so to despise. no, beyond cavil there was something wrong here, only she could not put her finger on it. . . . but of this she was sure; she would not by silent acquiescence, even, lend her small weight toward furthering this iniquitous thing. she would be her own self! of course since she was already accepted as a white girl in college she would not tell her secret now . . . her time here would be so short. but she was through with decep- tion. she thought of the blow which she had planted on jarvis' face . . . for henry, she had said. hereafter she would strike such blows for herself. the world should know her for what she was if she had to wear a placard. swiftly her mood turned into one of revolt at the general idiocy of a scheme which could make such an idea possible. for the first time she fell into a brief passion of sobs and unrestrained laughter, burying her head in her pillow to keep the girl next door from suspecting her hysteria. in that moment she saw brightly and clearly one funda- mental cause for the lagging of colored people in america. this senseless prejudice, this silly scorn, this unwelcome patronage, this tardiness on the part of her country to acknowledge the rights of its citizens ... all these com- bined into a crushing load under which a black man must struggle to get himself upright before he could even at- tempt the ordinary businesses of life. teresa's act chapter ix spring of her second year in college . . . and for teresa her last term. how glorious it all was! . . . she looked with love, minus the anguish of longing, at every dear familiar class-room, at her favorite seat in the library, at dear cherished walks and hideaways. she found herself performing acts of kindness and thoughtfulness, quite at variance with her habitude, for teresa, while al- ways courteous, was usually too completely absorbed in her own plans to mark too clearly the needs of others. oliver, henry, her father alone, struck in her a note of attention. but now, very much as one under sad necessity, begins to temper deliberately with kindness one's actions toward some dear, failing friend, so she shed about her the concrete manifestation of the happiness and hope that so constantly sang within her. "you know," agatha burton said to her one day, "i never thought of you as a sweet girl, before, tessa. but you really are one, you grand old sport!" she could afford to be "sweet" in spite of its saccharine implications which she, in common with the forthright youth of her day, professed to loath. everything was working marvelously. in two of her courses she was to hand in papers—no examinations there. the other finals came early. three days before henry's commencement she would be free to go to boston. there she would make her final preparations. for months she had been saving for this end, not only her pocket money but part of sums which had been sent for her clothes. olivia, in accordance with her own cherished plans, had been very generous along this score and teresa, to her comedy: american style mother's immense satisfaction, had apparently fallen in line with her wishes. what the girl really hoped for was to bring henry a little dowry—the smallest possible of dowries she knew, but enough to tide them over the first few possibly difficult months. anything might slip. one could not expect such unparalleled good luck to go on forever. . . . the break with her mother, she knew, would be absolute. olivia probably would never forgive her for marrying not only a man of henry's color but any colored man at all; she had hoped in teresa's marriage to break away alto- gether from this cruelly marked group. of her father teresa had no fear; he might resent, to a degree, her failure to take him into her confidence and her marriage at such an age. but dad, she knew, would come around. besides he would be delighted with henry. . . . as for christopher and oliver! dear oliver! he was just as anxious for her marriage as she ... for one of his years he had kept her secret with amazing loyalty; yet he had spoken of it to her in every letter. regrettably she had, in order to insure such an uninter- rupted flow of felicity, been obliged to practice some decep- tions. her mother, finally taking note of her persistent trips to boston, began to make some inquiries. in a des- perate effort to lull suspicion, teresa had, with considerable coyness, made mention of phineas burton at harvard. nothing, she knew, could please her mother more than such a possibility. the consummation of a romance with young burton would bring upon her lavish and unre- strained maternal blessings. olivia might even bring herself to the bestowal of some kind of love. . . . she would see nothing of the lad's gawkiness, his red pimpliness, his agonized shyness before teresa's act people. it was true that in every other respect he was most commendable, being gentle, honest and without the horri- ble ruthlessness of so many young men of his day and sta- tion. mrs. cary would be neither disgusted with his physical unattractiveness, nor impressed by his native man- liness. she would see in him only two things, his whiteness and his connection with a privileged group. teresa, her bags packed, her adieus made, left for boston. she had purposely failed to acquaint her grandmother's family with the time of her arrival. only henry knew this. with the exception of one large bag she was leaving everything in the check-room at the station . . . until called for. henry started to pocket the check, but she took it. "you're just as likely to put that suit in the very bottom of your trunk and then where would we be that night? everything i value most, except the clothes i'm going to be married in, is in those bags," she told him happily. "including your flannels, i trust," he bantered. "you know, tess, you sounded just like a wife when you said that. but i loved it." they entered the taxi. his laughing face grew serious and very tender. "you know, darling, i never had any intention of marrying for ages and ages, not until i was a veteran of thirty-five or thereabouts. but as it is," he said, looking amazingly boyish and shamefaced, "i really thank my lucky stars every minute that we're marry- ing now; that we're really going to 'commence' life to- gether. i never saw the sense of calling graduation time 'commencement' before, but i do now. "i don't know about flirting," he went on ruminating. "something tells me you're not much given to that; and something tells me equally that i probably shall do some. but i want you to believe me, tess—i know i'm saying this comedy: american style awkwardly—no girl will ever be able to laugh at you or pity you. i want you to believe that." "i do, oh i do," she assured him radiantly. "i like all you said, henry, but what i like best is what you said about our beginning everything together. you can't imagine how completely my real life is going to begin with you." at the corner of boylston street he left her, thrusting a bill into her hand for fare, darting out of the cab with his dear recklessness. "this evening," he reminded her, "be ready to talk business." her youthful uncle david met her at the door. "hello!" he said, kissing her fondly, "how's my contemporary niece?" "fine and dandy," she told him. "where's gran? i want to say hello to her and plunge right into a tub. . . . whoever said boston is cool in summer?" "no one to my knowledge." he laid a detaining hand on her arm. "hold on a sec, kid. . . . surprise!" "surprise?" her heart fluttered a moment. . . . but of course it couldn't be about henry . . . she had just left him. "what do you mean, surprise?" "h'm! two years of college hasn't affected your diction much!" he came closer, his face growing momentarily serious, for his older sister made little appeal to him. "olivia's here." "mother's here! dave, you can't mean it. here! why, what for?" "she came last night. hope you haven't been up to any- thing, my girl! she's been raving about some egg at har- vard named burton. i think i know him. sort of too bad edition of ichabod crane, but a pretty good sort after you teresa's act know him. he was very nice to me when i was a fresh- man." "you're still a freshman, silly! you're certainly not a sophomore with all those conditions you carry! . . . david, where is she?" "up in the room you always have, waiting for her dear daughter. you'd better spill everything to your uncle david! you don't suppose jane and i believe you're inter- ested in any white boy that ever stepped. and particularly not in that old white boy! . . . and another thing, miss teresa cary, you don't think your aunt janet and i ever believed you were so taken up with museums and art. mu- seums and art with a capital m and a capital a! no, no, my child: et ego in arcadia, or words to that effect." "oh, stop showing off that little latin! . . . dave, this is serious. where's janet?" "your aunt, my dear niece, is probably in her room." "well, i'm going up there. here, you bring my bag! and don't you say one word about my being here to mother before we get this fixed up." janet met her with outstretched arms. "i see," she said maddeningly, "your uncle david's been giving you the works. . . ." "jane, do stop that nonsense. . . . shut the door, dave. . . . whatever do you suppose made her come?" "something tells me you've been laying it on too thick about this burton fellow. who is he, anyhow? just clear matters up a little. of course you never had us completely fooled but a few details wouldn't hurt." "well, i was interested in someone . . . someone here you know. . . ." "so we gathered." "and granny must have mentioned to mother every comedy: american style time i came here. you know how mother is. finally she asked why and i thought the best way to keep her off was to tell her i was interested in some boy at harvard. so i picked out phineas burton because his sister agatha and i are great chums and i have visited them at times at new- buryport. . . ." "you seem to have brought her on instead of off. . . . darling infant she is babbling about taking a place for the summer in the town where your beloved phineas lives and entertaining some of your little school-mates there. she's willing to have dave and me come down for a while since we can both 'get by.' "'but none of your nonsense,' sez she, 'remember!'" teresa was really pale with horror. "can you think of anything worse? i doubt if phineas remembers i exist un- less i'm with agatha." "who's the real one, tessie?" david asked her kindly. "don't call me 'tessie,'" she reminded him irritably. "you two can be the most provoking! thank heaven christopher isn't twins! . . . you've really got to help me. . . . it's henry, henry bates. . . . we're awfully in love. we're going to marry; we're engaged." even yet she could not bring herself to speak of the proposed elopement. janet's eyebrows rose. "engaged! so soon! nice work, my dear. very great dispatch. you might let your old aunt in on your technique. let's see; you met him less than a year ago, didn't you? and you've seen him perhaps six times?" "don't be silly! i met him in chicago that summer after i left christie's. you know, the time mother went to switzerland." "in chicago! what was henry bates doing around the grand white folks?" teresa's act "he wasn't doing anything. i wasn't with any grand white folks. that girl, alicia barrett, isn't white, she is colored, and henry is a friend of her brother's. ... i thought what mother didn't know wouldn't hurt her." the twins broke out into happy laughter. "just a little, old, gay deceiver!" david chuckled. "you know, janey, this is really good. can't you imagine old olivia perishing if she ever finds this out!" "she mustn't ever find it out," teresa intervened fever- ishly. "you've got to help me . . . henry bates is coming to the house to see me tonight . . . he just left me at the corner. janet, you'll have to pretend he's calling to see you. and what's more i'm going to stay right in this room. i'm not going to stay with mother." "right you are. you came in with an awful headache and i've put you to bed. . . . david, my lad, your work is cut out for you. tonight you just must take big sister out while henry visits me and my niece whom i'm chaperon- ing." their incurable nonsense calmed teresa's fears. she al- lowed janet to establish her on the couch while david went to tell olivia that her daughter had come. . . . the youth- ful uncle and aunt left the two together. "who'd have thought little teresa had it in her!" david exulted. "imagine her putting anything like this over on big sis!" janet shook her head. "remember she hasn't put it all over yet, big boy. if she does, all i have to say is 'she's a better man than either you or i, gunga din!'" teresa had shared in david and janet's banter because there was really nothing else to do. no one had ever seen these two serious; whether they ever knew gravity in each other's presence it was impossible to say. . . . for herself comedy: american style she was really definitely, heavily, worried. she had, it was perfectly true, deceived her mother completely with regard to chicago as well as to her engagement to henry. but the success of both these deceptions arose from the fact of her mother's absence from the battlefield. now with her mother on the scene she was losing immediately her sense of assurance, her belief in herself. olivia was the type who, through sheer singleness of purpose and vision, swept every- thing else out of her path; she did not know there were obstacles, so intent was she on cleaving her way to her goal. the young girl remembered an incident of her early childhood. they had had a laundress, a colored woman, who used to come to the cary house for two days a week. she and christopher were little children ... it must have been before oliver was born for after he came they never had colored servants. this laundress used to bring her little boy with her on monday mornings and the two would stay overnight until the work was finished on tuesday. it was no unusual thing for willie to fall foul of his mother's approval. at such times he would come tearing through the lower rooms, his mother, a heavily moving avenging fury on his track; he would stretch out his little hands with a swimming mo- tion as though he were pushing people and things away from him on either side. "out of my way, chillen," he would cry. "out of my way!" olivia was like that, teresa thought, listening to her mother's determined setting aside of every objection which her daughter raised. again and again, the girl pointed out the absurdity, not to mention the bad taste, of her mother's plans. "but, mother, we just can't go to newburyport and thrust ourselves like that on the burtons." teresa's act "you wouldn't be thrusting yourself upon them. how could you be when you've already been so friendly with the daughter?" "and another thing. they are very well to do; not millionaires but used to doing things in very good style. we couldn't keep up with them in any way." "your father could certainly manage to keep things go- ing in the proper manner for two or three months at least, since the results would mean so much. if they're as wealthy as you say, you won't be needing anything from us after you marry." in her embarrassment and shame she could have screamed. the headache, which janet had told her to feign, descended on her malignantly . . . her temples throbbing. "but, mother, you must, you must listen to me! phineas and i are nothing to each other. i can't bear him. it was all a mistake." "oh," said olivia, understandingly. "you've had a quarrel. but that's all right. that can be patched up. you're to go to his commencement?" "he didn't ask me," she sobbed, relieved to find herself speaking the truth in this awful morass of deception. "he's not staying for it himself—the burtons are going to eu- rope." "why didn't you tell me this before, teresa?" her mother queried impatiently. "well, we'll stay here for a few days and then go home." r comedy: american style chapter x rlue to his promise david took his sister out for the evening to a performance of amateur theatricals given by the radcliffe dramatic club. but the respite availed teresa little. so nervous and distraught was she that henry hardly recognized her. he was also considerably disturbed by the continuous entrances and prolonged stays of janet, who seemed unable to remain away from the room in which the two were sitting for more than ten minutes at a time. "what's the matter with her?" he finally demanded with lawful wrath. "i never knew her to act like this before." with some trepidation teresa informed him of her mother's arrival. "you know, i've never told her anything about us, henry. and we're so near the end. i really thought it best to have janet around so that if mother should come in suddenly, it would—sort of seem as though you were calling on her." at this disclosure he was considerably surprised; even naively discomfited. "my goodness me! why shouldn't i be calling on you? she certainly expects you to see some boys, doesn't she? well, what's the matter with me?" here were fresh quicksands, more shoals of disaster. "of course she does, henry. . . . darling, i can hardly talk to you, my head is setting me wild." "of course it is . . . you poor, suffering child." he was immediate contrition. "i've never seen you sick before teresa. it makes you look like an infant. . . . this time next week if you have a headache, i'll be putting you to bed and soothing your fevered brow . . . and pretty soon you'll be feeling all better. . . ." teresa's act * "hey!" said janet, putting her head in the door a mo- ment. "how's tricks? listen, they're just in the middle of that show now. . . . she won't be home for hours. mind if i run down to the drug-store a moment?" she was gone without waiting for an answer. henry, mistaking the look of apprehension on teresa's face for a new twinge of pain, jumped to his feet. "know what i think? that we'd better not wait till next week. you're to go to bed now." . "i guess you're right," she told him feverishly. "i just don't seem able to get myself together tonight." almost too hastily she raised her fevered lips to receive his fare- well kiss. "say," he exclaimed anxiously, "you really are all in. now mind as soon as you let me out, you go straight to bed. but i'll be here tomorrow night. . . . and then the next night will be . . . heaven." for a second they clung in the dim vestibule. ... a key grating in the lock made them start apart as david and olivia entered. the light from the inside hall fell full on henry's startled face. the older woman glanced at him, then at teresa drooping in the shadows and walked into the long parlor. "hello, bates," david said in a clear, carrying voice. "you're leaving? where's janet? oh, is she out? here i'll walk to the corner with you." olivia stopped her daughter on her way upstairs. "was that some friend of janet's, teresa? i can't imagine what your grandmother can be thinking about, letting her asso- ciate with that type of young man." "how'd you happen to come home?" teresa quavered. "oh, david had made a mistake in the date ... so tire- some. i must say he was really sorry about his error. he's comedy: american style usually so scatter-brained. however, i didn't have any- thing else to do. and the trip was very pleasant. he met a couple of his harvard friends in an ice-cream parlor. he wants to take both of us tomorrow night; i'd like you to go along too. you might meet some of them." teresa climbed to her room in silence. the following day found her sufficiently under the weather to make her refusal to venture out at night per- fectly plausible. david, after consulting ostentatiously tickets, clocks and even calendars, started off once more with his older sister to the performance of the dramatic club. "you've got to keep her out this time," janet told him, "even if you have to kidnap her. teresa's almost to pieces. i've never seen anyone so nervous." with the coming of henry, the girl's apprehension wore off, however. he was so happy, so sure that everything would fall into place, that the whole adventure would be perfect. only one little note cast a shadow on the calmness of the evening. "look, tess," he asked her suddenly. "why didn't you introduce me to your mother last night? anyone would think i had the leprosy the way you keep us apart. she couldn't have suspected anything about us just from meet- ing me, could she? i'd really have liked to talk for her a moment ... to expose her to my fatal charm. mothers are supposed to be my specialty." he flashed his winning smile, thinking momentarily of other times, other girls, of moments not so significant as those he had spent with teresa, but still "mighty pleasant," he told himself, "mightee pleasant." teresa stammered something about her headache making her too stupid to know what she was doing. so pitifully teresa's act worried she seemed that he ceased to tease her. "it's all right, darling. plenty of time yet to meet everybody. now you really understand about tomorrow?" they kissed for the last time in that house. . . . when olivia returned the parlor was empty; janet sat reading and yawning over a magazine in the little second-story sitting-room. teresa, she informed her sister, was in bed. one last deception, one final turn of the wheel and all would be over. teresa had arranged for virginia raft, a former christie classmate, to call her up and ask her to spend the day. she would actually go there dressed in her lovely cream suit and lace blouse in which she was to be married. on leaving she would go to henry's commencement and from there to the station where she had left her bags. here she would meet henry, who was to transfer her lug- gage and leave it with his own in the other station. they would then have dinner together, marry at nine, and then, as her lover said, "flee her irate parent to parts unknown." everything worked as by magic. virginia telephoned. . . . there was a momentary hitch there. olivia, hearing of the invitation, wanted to accompany her daughter to virginia's house. "after all i've never met any of your new friends, teresa. her mother and i might have some ac- quaintances in common." it took all of janet's ingenuity to thwart this. neither she nor david had the slightest idea of teresa's plans ex- cept that she wished to attend henry's commencement but they were quite sure that the aforesaid plans did not include olivia. at last the girl was free; she was on the street; she was at virginia's, who amusingly enough had used teresa's visit comedy: american style for a pretext for carrying out certain projects of her own. they were to go shopping, she told her mother without batting an eyelash, then to lunch and the matinee. "look for us when you see us," she ended gaily. her mother was an old-fashioned woman. "i don't like to have you out all day like that by yourselves," she de- murred. "but i suppose each of you can look after the other. now mind, don't get run over." the two young ladies remained together long enough to absorb an ice-cream soda and to discuss the merits and evils of parents. then bidding each other an adieu, with a regard greatly heightened by the prospect of their immedi- ate parting, each went on to her own affairs. • • • • • teresa never forgot that commencement . . . young men, young men, young men! america's finest! the streets teemed with them, with their fine young bodies, their keen fearless faces which never again would be so keen, so fearless; so quickly would life blunt them and tame them. . . . and presently she saw henry starting for the procession. he was surrounded constantly by admiring class-mates, by fellows bringing up parents. "this is henry bates, dad." "good-bye, bates, you old son-of-a-gun!" "say, fella, if you ever come to rochester, just look me up; the latch-string will always be out for you." she had known he must be popular, but she had not thought of his being as popular as this ... it made her so proud! he had caught her eye and waved. . . . within, all through the long ceremony, she caught him beaming at her whenever their glances met. for a while she stopped looking at him so that he could absorb the environment teresa's act i and atmosphere for himself. . . . her husband's com- mencement. his great day! and then suddenly it was over. she was out of the building and into the little restaurant of which he had told her, before the crowd could engulf her. . . . and finally there was the long wait in the station. he had warned her he would be late, there would be so many last odds and ends to arrange. ... but there he was after all, tall and strong and radiant. the handsomest man too, she felt, that she would ever see, except nicholas campbell . . . and she liked him so much more than she could ever like nick; there was a ruthlessness about nicky that might some day tear a girl's—and his own heart—to pieces. . . . but henry was kind. she came toward him, meaning to congratulate him. but he had dropped his bag; before she could say a word he had her in his arms. "teresa, you're so lovely ... so nice, so undeceiving! in that white thing you look just like a bride!" "henry, you mustn't, you mustn't kiss me like that right in the railway station!" "why not? that's what railway stations are for. and anyway what difference does it make? . . . you're going to be my wife, aren't you? it's barely a matter of hours. . . . come on, we'll get your bags and climb into a taxi. . . . talk about kisses! girl you ain't seen nothin' yet!" the bags were forthcoming, a big one and a little one. he carried her large one and his own; she walked beside him with the little one striking him inadvertently on the shin. "gosh!" he said gaily, "you wield a mean weapon. if we'd been married ten»years, i'd say you were doing it on purpose. you wouldn't beat me up, would you, baby?" comedy: american style "darling, i'll always be so soft about you. ... i bet i'll let you get away with murder many times and never be able to do a thing about it." they were turning the corner of a telephone booth. he stopped for a second beside it, placing the bags on the floor. "after that lovely speech, mrs. bates-to-be, how about another little one?" "oh, henry!" she said weakly, happily, yielding. a voice like ice said: "teresa, teresa cary! will you tell me what this means?" bewildered she whirled about, knowing it couldn't be true. but it was! there stood olivia, emerging from the booth, her face actually pale with anger and outrage. "oh, henry," teresa exclaimed, reverting to terrified childhood, "it's mother! henry, i think you'd better go and let me talk to heir." "like hell, i'll go!" he answered surprisingly and braced himself to meet this bugaboo. "you don't think i'm going to run away and leave you to face this, do you? we haven't been doing anything wrong." he turned to mrs. cary. "you asked what this means? well, i'll tell you. it means i love your daughter and she loves me." "nonsense!" said her mother brusquely. "she couldn't love you. . . . why, why, it's just all impossible! teresa, take this bag, if it's yours, and come home with me." "she is not," said henry firmly, "going anywhere unless i go too. i don't know you, mrs. cary, but unless you're very different from most mothers i've met i know you don't want any racket in a place as public as a railway station! "i still can't imagine what there is to get so excited about but whatever it is unless you consent to having me come teresa's act along and explain a few facts to you, you are probably go- ing to be placed in the most embarrassing position of your life." olivia was too good a general not to know when affairs were out of control. "we'll all. get in a taxicab and go to your grandmother's," she ordained, still addressing only teresa. very clearly there were one or two matters on which she'd have to inform this young man. in the long cool parlor the two antagonists faced each other. henry spoke first. "mrs. cary, i'd like formally to ask you for your daughter's hand. i've known her and been engaged to her for two years—ever since i met her in chicago. . . . she is . . . she is utterly lovely. i've never seen anyone else like her. i expect to take care of her all her life and make her a good husband." olivia asked irrelevantly. "how could you have met her in chicago two years ago? where would she ever run across you?" he was taken off his guard. "why shouldn't she run across me? boys and girls meet in chicago just as much as anywhere else." she ignored his flippancy and turned to her daughter. "teresa, i don't understand this. how did you come to meet him at judge barrett's?" henry interrupted her. "i don't seem able to get this straight, mrs. cary. of course she met me at judge bar- rett's. we never speak of the relationship, . . . it's so dis- tant. but as a matter of fact judge barrett's father and my grandfather were remote cousins." "you mean judge barrett is colored! teresa, you've been deceiving your father and me all this time?" "not daddy, mother," she said miserably. "daddy al- ways knew it." comedy: american style chapter xi afterwards everything moved in a whirl. her another packed, bought tickets, cancelled one or two trifling engagements. in her fearful energy she was like a maenad. by morning they were in philadelphia and teresa was in her own room in her own bed. . . . instead of being in some new england hotel in henry's arms, as for two weary years they had planned, she was home . . . nowhere, with life broken off short, with years of emptiness stretching before her or with new plans, new hopes to devise again. oliver, as heart-broken as she, came to comfort her. as young as he was he had dreamed dreams about and within the new life which teresa had promised to build for him. he could not understand how anyone loving his sister, knowing her, could have been willing to leave her. . . . she was afraid to acquaint him with the whole sorry tale . . . afraid of what it might reveal to him of his mother's ruth- lessness, of her terrible obsession; of the insight it might give him of her attitude toward himself. her father was sorry for her, but hurt that she had not given him her confidence. "perhaps if you had let me know, dear, i could have directed you. ... i could have taken off the worst edges. . . . from what you tell me about him he must have been a very fine fellow. but he had the egotism of a boy of his virtues and your mother's scorn and your own willingness to quibble, pricked him like a knife. from what you say he had plenty of friends of both races willing to take him at face value . . . think then how it hurt him to have two people of his very own group to tell him: 'you'd be all right if it weren't for your teresa's act i skin; you'd be just the fellow if you were only a mexi- can. "but, dad, i didn't mean it. i wouldn't change him one bit. it was only that mother took me so off my feet. i was thinking maybe i could make matters easier for both of them. . . ." he sighed heavily. "i don't know what there is about color. i only know you can't discuss it or make rules for it, especially among people of mixed blood in america. • . . it's easier, i believe, in the tropics and in south america. ... i know many a time i've wished i were perfectly black . . . though, like you, i think your henry's type the most attractive that the world produces. . . ." he sighed again, thinking of some lovely creatures, all bronze and gold and fire, whom he had met in his youth. christopher came in and said, "tough luck, kid!" but no one, he informed her, was worth a broken heart. "plenty of other fish in the sea . . . just don't let mother catch on next time. . . . play your cards better. for further direc- tions come to your big brother chris . . . et cet., et cet." as though anything that anyone said could make a real difference! as though anything could alleviate the fact that her hope, her lode-star, her rock, to change the figure, on which she had built the temple of her whole future had been torn awayl . . . where other girls had chosen a profession, a calling which should absorb their interest, which would always af- ford them a shelter in a time of stress and storm, she had banked her all on making a home for herself and henry and oliver, a home in which she could be real and from which she could by example, even more than precept, make clear what her attitude was to be on a certain moot question. comedy: american style she remembered how she had meant to relate to henry, with laughter and perhaps some tears, all her adventures in this nebulous world of near whiteness. how she had hated it, how it had shut out the expression of her true self. she had meant to make clear to him how infinitely she preferred his world, which for all of its limitations imposed from without was yet a free one within. . . . while hers in spite of the eternal advantages, to which olivia was always re- ferring, was within a very morass of secrecy, of deceit. yet whom could her deception really harm? no one actually, physically, for after all white was white. and there was no difference between her and the thousands of white girls with whom now she had associated for years ex- cept the expected differences in shading and coloring. . . . her brain, working with pitiless and untiring clarity and velocity, kept revolving about that last encounter with henry; how up until almost the last moment it never oc- curred to her to modify, in his presence at least, her clear desire to be known frankly and without reserve as a person of mixed blood. but at that second when it all meant so much she had been willing to temporize; she who had never before thought of introducing a foreign element had begun to talk about "passing for mexicans." or rather about henry's passing, because for herself she was still as unrecognizably white as ever. it was as though she had said to henry in a phrase which she had read in one of dubois' flaming essays: "my poor unwhite thing!" if he could chalk over, conceal, explain away that lack of whiteness he too would be acceptable in that holy of holies which she and her kind were elected by foreordination to inhabit. something had given way within her. something had betrayed her. her mind plunging on and on, reviewing teresa's act m the situation through its thousands of cells, fastened on her last talk with jarvis seely; his scorn, his contempt when he spoke of henry, the manner of his branding because of henry's brown skin. . . . that was what had done it, that was what had fashioned a breach in the wall which her own instinctive racial loyalty had tried to set up against the ever encroaching sea of her mother's protestations and revolt. and after all the wall had not been strong enough. it had fallen before the first onslaught. and henry had been hurt, not by her secrecy nor by her deception, which they would have been able to laugh away together after a few days of mutual confidence in their own home. no, he had been pierced, and to the quick, by the fact that she had, by her silly request, shown that she had considered him imperfect in the one respect which he was quite power- less fundamentally to change or even conceal. as soon as her thoughts had reached this point they be- gan all over again. . . . and try as she would she could meet with no relief. . . . finally her whirling mind carried her into a sort of delirium in which for a brief while she was mercifully unaware of her thoughts. her father, examining her with great anxiety before he called in a consultant, pronounced hers a case of old-fash- ioned brain-fever. . . . from this state she emerged wan and pale and meek, perpetually exhausted but without the hateful whirling in her brain. she was interested, how- ever, in no one, in no thing. only oliver could bring to her face the slightest vestige of interest. it was as though something very deep within, something very fundamental, reminded her that she must not entirely fail her little j brother. comedy: american style even olivia finally awakened to some feeling of alarm. for a long time she had refused to give cognizance to te- resa's condition. the entire situation involving henry and her daughter was so foreign to anything her mind had ever conceived that she could not believe its effect on the young people to be anything but on the surface. indeed if te- resa had not so visibly failed before her eyes she would have been able to dismiss the whole episode. . . . no, there was one thing to remember . . . that her daughter was no longer to be trusted. with these two impressions in mind she did approach her husband with a plan. she would accompany her daughter, the following term, to northampton, take a small apartment, if she could find one, and keep house for her. in view of the girl's condition dr. cary acquiesced to this, though he did find himself wincing a bit at the prospect. . . . none knew better than he the heaviness of his wife's hand when she dipped into the family purse. at this stage of her life she was as totally different from the sober economical young girl whom he had married as though she had undergone a complete metamorphosis. fortunately for him teresa intervened here. she would not, she reiterated with all the strength of her weakness, return to college. no argument that her mother could pro- duce sufficed to move her. all she needed to do was to close her eyes and recall those happy, happy days of an- ticipation and waiting. . . . there was not a path, scarcely a brick or a stone about northampton which had not ab- sorbed something of her blissful hopes. . . . the very at- mosphere would speak to her of henry. . . . lying wanly on her pillows she reviewed her tortured, wasted young existence. for twenty-one years, almost a third of her allotted span, she had yielded to her mother's comedy: american style her brothers were delighted. christopher in these few months spent more time home than he had in the whole expanse of the past three years. teresa came to know all his innermost thoughts. dear chris! he was passing through his particular purgatory too. long since, of course, he had thrown off the yoke of his mother's dominance. . . . rarely did he bring colored boys to the house. but by the simple expedient of telling the truth and by follow- ing up his own predilections he made himself welcome in the home of anybody whom he elected to call friend. . . . occasionally on a friday or sunday evening he was host to a small group of fellows banded together through some bond, scholastic or sporting. but as the group was com- posed of members of various races, there was no occasion for deception there. teresa admired his forthrightness; he possessed, it was true, his father's backing, but even without it, he would have acted no otherwise. he did not, he told teresa firmly, intend to have his life all cluttered up with a lot of silly deceits and subterfuges. "if you'd had any grit, you'd have shaken clear of all her old silly ideas too." she never resented his frankness, knowing what prompted his occasional outbursts of irritation. christopher's natural inclination to remain within his own racial group, strong as it was, had been bolstered still more completely by his liking for marise. how or when this had started, she could not tell. only a little while ago, it seemed to her, they had all been children together; teasing, criticising, alternately ignoring or seeking each other. chris, she especially remembered, had made a habit of speaking with a slight disparagement of marise. had it after all been feigned, his sister wondered? . . . her mind went back to that farewell dance just before she had gone teresa's act to christie's. as on a screen she saw again her brother dancing with marise; her lithe sinuous figure, almost blotted out in his tense arms, his thatch of burnished hair drooping over her glorious, vital curls. . . . afterwards they had danced the tango together. . . . teresa had been so amazed for christopher had never been considered adept at dancing. but with marise he had whirled and stamped and postured. . . . whatever conditions in the past, she was in his blood now. he rarely saw her, teresa knew, for she was still in new york. her rare visits to philadelphia were only for the sake of her mother between whom and herself there flourished that complete, perfect undemanding affection which exists occasionally between personalities, totally dif- ferent. . . . she never wrote him letters, only cards with the barest information in her big careless, sprawling hand. . . . "the show is really a success. . . ." "sorry i missed you. . . ." "home tomorrow for a few hours!' teresa could always tell when the boy had received one of these scanty missives. "you see she must care for me, tess, or she wouldn't take time to send me even this, busy as she is." and he would fall to scanning the card anew, to see if he could discern on its chilly surface one word which could be construed into regard or even esteem. teresa, wondered a little sadly if the cary children were doomed to disappointment in this vital longing for love. she was glad oliver was too undeveloped in years and disposition to be involved in such matters. . . . he was so happy these days; just to be in her presence brought him supreme felicity. once thinking idly on the happy days which she had planned for him and henry together, she awoke to the comedy: american style realization that half of her dream had come true. she was at least making a home for oliver. and no amount of native modesty could keep her from acknowledging to herself the constant solace which she was affording her father and older brother. the thought dissipated some of the soreness in her heart. gradually by a signal effort each day she thrust the memory of henry behind her. life was pretty good. and at least there was still the future. chapter xii during all this time olivia withheld her hand. checkmated she was by her daughter's illness, but thwarted, worsted, never. in this pursuit, indeed in any pursuit to which she might have set her hand, she never once thought of the word defeat. ... it was simply not in her vocabulary. . . . teresa had almost eluded her, but the fact remained that she had not. just the fact was sufficient for olivia. the nearness of failure; its touch and go qual- ity never entered her mind. out of the whole mass of happenings she realized only two things . . . first that te- resa was not to be trusted; secondly that she must make her tactics less obvious. as always she went about her own activities. she at- tended her luncheons and teas, her committee meetings in hotel and parish house and the waste spaces of impersonal parlors of some rich woman whom lack of success in life at home had driven to a vaster, less demanding field out- side. she continued to exchange telephone calls, notes and telegrams with women to whom she was known only as an active worker, a chairwoman of some particular sub- committee, a delegate who could always be counted upon teresa's act i to pay her own expenses. . . • and during all this time she said nothing about phineas burton, or the two young am- herst men from whom teresa received an occasional note. nor did she object when her daughter spirited oliver away on the saturday on which she had planned to have him in his white butler's jacket serve tea to the five members of the sub-committee with whom she felt most closely allied. she was not a clever woman but she could bide her time. it was true that she preserved her usual aloofness to such few colored people as came to the house, but she had little trouble there. teresa had literally associated only with phebe and marise and the latter with her tell-tale brownness was a hundred miles away. ... in any event she would never have crossed the cary doorsill, having without one spoken word analyzed even as a child olivia's complex. already by being her heady, vital wayward self, she had crossed thresholds, had received in her own tiny jewel of an apartment, in harlem, personages whom olivia, in order to meet, would cheerfully have thrown away her hope of heaven. . . . mrs. cary rather welcomed teresa's undiminished friend- ship with phebe. back in her mind's eye she still bore the picture of phebe walking trig and chic out spruce street with young llewellyn nash, "social registerite," lounging by her side. . . . impossible to tell what might happen. . . . oliver, happy at home with his father, christopher, te- resa and his precious piano, rarely felt the need of company. . . . when he did he visited the homes of a few under- standing lads, compensating for his own remissness in hos- pitality with invitations to movies, or passes obtained from his father to baseball games. no one in colored philadelphia society ever bore any re- sentment against the cary children. unerringly the blame comedy: american style for their lop-sided social life was placed where it belonged— on their mother. for years they had been without colored servants; they lived in an exclusively white section; but their tastes, failings, leanings, predilections had all been catalogued, revised, brought up to date with astonishing and vigilant precision by colored people whom they had never seen. • • • • • in the spring of that school year, christopher asked te- resa if she would consider some tutoring in beginning french. two of his "buddies, fine fellows, tess," were hopelessly behind. there was a possibility of their being dropped off some team without which it seemed the whole university of pennsylvania would cease to nourish . . . the situation was intolerable. the boys hadn't much money. christopher, ardent sportsman, had remembered, just in the nick of time, his sister's interest and her fine scholastic record in the subject. "how about taking them on, tess, for the sake of old alma mater?" "aren't you getting a bit confused? penn isn't my alma mater, you know. . . . why, yes, i might lend the suffer- ing sailors a little aid. do they know anything at all?" "not even the accents," he answered cheerfully. "i doubt if they could even say 'yes' in french; not if their lives de- pended on it." "but goodness gracious, chris, they must know some- thing" "you'd be surprised. . . ." he rushed to the telephone shouting, as soon as he got his number, some cryptic nick- name: "come on over, dinty, and bring the other visiting firemen. i've fixed it. . . ." they trooped in, four of them. big stocky fellows all teresa's act muscle and brawn. teresa had never done a moment's tutoring in her life. but she knew what these boys needed. "first of all," she asked them, "are you in earnest? be- cause it's simply no go if you aren't." "are we in earnest?" echoed the one they called dinty, a huge white-haired giant. "and how!" they were slow; their preparation in fundamentals pain- fully inadequate. evidently they had never done any real studying at all except to stay in schools in order that they might remain as members of their favorite teams. that was the desire that actuated them now and it was on this desire that teresa most depended. . . . she taught them, as one teaches children, by repetition, by memory tricks, almost, one might say, by pre-digestion. . . . it was useless to give them a page in grammar for their own enlightenment and absorption. but she did accomplish what seemed well nigh the im- possible. everyone of them passed his mid-term examina- tion in this, the subject that he hated and feared most. . . . "some teacher," said buck owens, stopping by the house for one final crow of triumph before entraining to play a monumental game against some rival team in the hinter- land of pennsylvania. "how'd you like to take us on for good, teresa? i know lots of fellows that would pay good money to have a teacher like you." she'd consider it, she told him. . . . the work had taken her out of herself, completely absorbed her. ... it was rather nice to make even the scanty dollars which they had been able to pay. . . . wouldn't it be rather wonderful, she thought to herself, to earn her living in this pleasant way? not only need she be of no additional expense to her father, she could take herself completely off his hands. the house was large; there was an unused room on the comedy: american style third floor which could easily be fitted up with blackboards and charts and maps for teaching. ... if she were at all successful she might at the end of a year introduce phono- graph records for accent and intonation. why she would be a business woman, like phebe and marise! here was a calling right to her hand which she could pursue until she married. . . . marriage! the word brought a wry taste to her mouth. it made her, for one sickening moment, think of henry . . . thus she might have helped him! how far away all that seemed! resolutely she bent to a further consideration of her pro- ject. when christopher came in that afternoon she told him about it—half fearing his hoot of derision at the idea of her setting herself up to be a business woman. he did greet her plan with a shout, but it was with a shout of approval. "say, that's really great! say, that's the best scheme i've heard of yet! and it'll keep you home too, won't it, sis? ... i'm as bad as oliver when you're away." . . . "don't try to softsoap me, my lad. you only say that be- cause i make you extra waffles when you sleep late on sat- urday mornings! how about my missing you when you go off? would all the kings' horses and all the kings' men keep you from going to camp this summer even though it might save me gallons of bitter tears?" he began with typical male defence: "that's differ- ent . . ." then broke off, to stare at her with ludicrous amazement, running his supple, freckled hands through his splendid, burnished hair. she stared back at him. "christopher, don't stand there looking at me like that. what's come over you?" he pushed her back in an arm-chair. "listen, tessie, teresa's act listen to your big brother. . . . what say you get father to let you go abroad this summer to one of those tricky little summer schools in france? not the sorbonne. i imagine from things i've heard fellows say that paris would be too strenuous for you right now, but grenoble or clermont sur ferrand, or dijon or the university of toulouse? there's a good one . . . southern france, hot maybe, but not too far from the sea. . . . then you could come back with one of those cute little certificates and hang it up in your class- room. . . . you really could do it several summers. . . .". "chris, i do believe that's an idea! only i hate to ask dad for money and i hate to leave oliver alone, poor baby!" "j aby nothing! oliver can go with me; time he got some hardness knocked into him anyway. always moon- ing about music and the stars and poetry. i'll make a he- man out of that lad yet. ... as for expense! evidently you don't know that your brother is going to be a counsellor. yes, ma'am, counsellor, that's me. so i won't be asking a thing of dad, not even carfare. he'll be glad to drive us up and come back and get us. or we might even hitch- hike." after their father had come in they discussed it at dinner that night. he would have tried his best to procure the moon for teresa if it would restore to her even a tenth of the fervor and enthusiasm which this scheme seemed to awaken. of course she could go, he told her. "but dad, i hate to ask you for the money." so then they talked it all over again, how they could save here, how the car could be made to hold out another season; how the boys would hitch-hike if their father couldn't find time to drive them up. dr. cary politely asked his wife what she thought of it. a person of very strong tendencies, she turned out to be comedy: american style on this occasion, surprisingly noncommittal. teresa, she thought, should be careful not to overtax her strength. . . . furthermore who knew whether those harum-scarum boys meant what they had said about coming to her for further work, let alone bringing her new pupils. her comments established a new point of departure. if enough pupils turned up to make her consider tutoring as a serious interest for the fall, she would, teresa decided, go away for three months' intensive study and the piece of paper whose importance christopher so emphasized. one could always get a sailing at the last moment, her mother observed. mrs. john sturtevant, who was on the sub-committee of the welfare center of which she was a member, had been talking to her about that only yesterday. mention of mrs. sturtevant, one of the world's doughtiest club-women, chilled momentarily the children's ardor. all of olivia's colleagues being, except in weight, remarkably nebulous creatures with whom the children had, because of their racial proclivities, practically no contact. . . . then oliver began to talk of the joys of camp. he hoped they would have an archery outfit. . . . he wanted to learn to shoot, though he would never, never take aim at a bird; but more than anything else he wanted to be an archer. "archery is the poetry of . . . of . . ." "ballistics," said his father kindly. "of ballistics," oliver repeated rather warily. "pshaw!" said christopher lunging at him. "don't you start any of that poetry business around me. . . . you don't know what you're talking about, and i know it and you know it. . . . trip him, tess. don't let him get away." even dr. cary took part in the young riot which fol- lowed. only olivia was quiet, biding her time. teresa's act i chapter xiii buck and dinty and their other friends of like cog- nomen were, it turned out, in earnest. after the spring vacation they came back straight as a die to teresa, relying, rather pathetically and with no shadow of pre- tense, on the young girl's ability. . . . they brought other young men with them. "she'll get you through," they told the newcomers, owlishly nodding and with great assurance. there were a dozen of them in all. she was surprised herself, not only that she could manage them but at the manner in which her mind began to devise scheme and method both to lighten her work for herself and yet to make it impressive for them. ... by the end of the term her mind was made up. only one boy had failed and he himself had admitted the dubiousness of his state when he first enrolled. . . . three of the remaining eleven passed with considerable credit. . . . her success brought her new life, new determination. she thought again of alicia's in- terest in bacteriology, of marise and her success on the stage, of phebe and her shop. this was great, this was wonderful to be busy, to be useful, to have her mind and her capabilities, hitherto so latent, so unsuspected, stretching out, out. of course she would go abroad. she knew just the value, just the cachet that that fact would lend to her classes. chris had been right there. . . . darling chris! per- haps she could help him . . . there was still a long pull for him through medical school. in that way she could help her father. . . . reviewing the matter with more prac- ticality, she began to see that her business would hardly ex- tend to this point in time to be really effective. . . . but she comedy: american style could help with oliver! that was it, she would educate oliver. she told her father about it. with the special tenderness which he reserved for his only girl he listened to her. "dear child! don't think of it! all i want is for you to be amused and busy!" "amused!" the idea struck her oddly. "why, daddy, how strange! as though amusement were the only thing!" "it's a mighty big thing," he told her gravely, a trifle wearily, it seemed to her, reflecting suddenly how little amusement he had probably known. . . . she put her arm about his neck, rested her slight weight for a moment on his knee. "dr. christopher cary, listen. i am going to educate oliver; no, first i'm going to take care of myself; then i'm going to educate oliver, then lastly, most im- portant, and always, i'm going to amuse you." she thought his face brighter, his shoulders straighter as he left that morning to go on his rounds. "he's still a young man, ... for a father," she said to herself in her room. she calculated a little. "why, he's only forty-six . . . not too old for a good time yet. look at those movie-actors, forty-five and fifty and older, still going strong! well, i'll see he has some fun some of these days. amusement! darned little he's had of it with mother, i know!" • • • • about a week before it was time for her to sail olivia approached her husband with considerable cautiousness. "how does teresa's health strike you now, doctor?" she asked anxiously. "i've been watching her rather closely, and i notice that she tires easily, lies down a good bit. i've been wondering," she added with studied diffidence, "whether it wouldn't be best for you to go with her?" he was shaving, as he so often provokingly did, in front teresa's act of her dressing table . . . she would have all that litter to clear away. me turned a startled face toward her. "i go with her! why, olivia, what are you talking about? ... in the first place i'm not thinking . . . i'm not thinking, i tell you, of letting another man get a thumb-nail hold on my practice. ... i haven't been bothering you or the children about it . . . but good god, don't you ever read the papers? why, the country is in an awful mess. unless i'm greatly mistaken, things are going to strike a new low. and the first class of people to feel it will be your professional man . . . especially your colored professional man. . . . "and anyway suppose i could go. what would i be do- ing fooling around some girls' school, waiting for my daughter to recite her lessons and then go off on a tour of sight-seeing? . . . no, i was in france once, that was enough for me. no decent coffee, or cigarettes . . . and those newspapers! i can't imagine the poorest little old town in texas getting out a paper like some of those i've seen in paris. . . ." he gathered up his shaving imple- ments and barricaded himself in the bath-room. but she had, and she knew it, impressed him. "she is a little more tired and nervous than i realized," he said to his wife that night, taking off his collar and tie and flinging them, as he always did, at the first objective. ... "i watched her this evening. maybe we shouldn't have let her go into this teaching business so hard. . . . listen, olivia, why can't sally put my slippers in the same place? she seems to think she must always play a game with me. . . . "i'm afraid to interfere with her going now; she's set her heart on it so . . . guess you'll have to go with her." olivia kept her voice perfectly expressionless. "i don't comedy: american style see how i can do that, doctor . . . i've halfway promised mrs. john sturtevant to go to los angeles with her to a convention. she's going to take her chauffeur and car. . . . but anyway i doubt very much if teresa would want me to go. . . . but of course i'll have to if you think it best." he said guiltily, busy with his own thoughts: "of course she'll want you to go. i'll fix it." but in his heart he was thinking boyishly: "gosh, if i'd only known about this los angeles business! i'd have got teresa to put off going abroad until the fall and take her and the boys and go bumming in this old car before i turned her in. i'd get pete slocum and we'd do some hunting and fishing and camp wherever we were." well it was too late for all that now. chapter xiv teresa took the news of her mother's going with more equanimity than anyone had expected. sud- denly let down from the excitement and novelty of her pupils she was tired, lonely and dispirited. thoughts which she had deemed forever dismissed came crowding upon her. ... it was june again. . . . this time last year, she and henry had been in the midst of their buoyant plan- ning. . . . she reviewed once more the tragic and foolish dissolution of all for which she had so hoped. . . . strange how com- pletely he who once had so filled her life, had now left it. . . . after long weeks of silence alicia had written . . . several times but she had mentioned young bates only once ... to say that he had gone to panama and that she never teresa's act heard from him. . . . after that she tabooed his name com- pletely. consequently teresa never mentioned it either. im- possible to tell just what stand alicia had taken toward the affair . . . there were so many angles from which henry might have presented it, if indeed in his sorely wounded pride he had discussed the matter at all. . . . teresa remem- bered alexander barrett's remark on this subject. "colored people are funny, you know, about this business of passing." she was tired of her thoughts, tired of her memories, tired to death of her tiredness. . . . she was glad to be get- ting away from it all; glad not to have on her hands either the responsibility of choosing the clothes to take, of packing them, of selecting, refusing, triumphantly accepting a par- ticular stateroom. they sailed on the s.s. paris . . . second class. nothing, no promise, no spoken word from her mother could more completely have allayed the last lurking suspicions which teresa might have entertained concerning the older woman's plans. . . . usually she insisted on every mani- festation of pomp and circumstance which she considered at all consonant with her husband's pocket-book. ... in- stead she herself suggested unexpected economies, "since the two of us are going." also there were suggestions about clothes. it was indeed dr. cary who broached the idea of the purchase of one or two paris frocks for his girl. . . . olivia said she would leave this entirely to teresa. "for myself," she said, "i find french styles greatly over-rated. i think we can do just as well in new york. but unless we run across some real bargains, why buy anything until the fall? teresa has plenty of dresses, nice ones left over from school." comedy: american style which was indeed true. for shopping for the necessities of that lost romance, teresa, planning to be of as little expense as possible to henry, had equipped herself most fully. . . . her illness during the ensuing year had lessened greatly her necessity for new clothes so that she was taking with her on the trip many garments which she had never donned. she liked the sea-trip. she liked the free-masonry which it engendered; she liked to watch the amazing lack of re- straint which young america displays when she gets on, so to speak, her sea-legs. . . . all sorts of people on this boat too besides americans. french people returning with un- restrained joy from perpetually unwelcome exile; south americans, swarthy, wary, a trifle too urbane, asking few questions, listening attentively to the answers, volunteering nothing enlightening about themselves; retiring, when questioned about themselves, into a sudden baffling non- comprehension of english. but mostly the passengers consisted of americans . . . school-teachers travelling for amusement or more school- ing; students; a few business men; a tranquil minister; a couple of weary doctors and their wives; a few musicians who kept the salon wearisome with their ceaseless prac- ticing. there was an impresario too, who, leaning over the rail beside teresa one afternoon, told her that this was his thirty-sixth trip. . . . his initial voyage had been in the steerage, coming, a baby, from russia. . . . often he travelled second-class like this because in this way he dis- covered new talents. people whose paths you would never cross in new york . . . the only city in the world worth considering . . . often let themselves go on shipboard. in teresa's act the early evening he came and sat beside her watching the dances. . . . "that colored girl there," he said, pointing to one of the passengers, "has something attractive about her. i like to watch her dance. but she's too civilized. . . . it's a pity too; she might be another marise, with a little more aban- don, a little more give to her ... if you know what i mean." he watched the girl, an odd expression of min- gled pleasure and regret suffusing his face. "it's too bad, she just misses having . . . that certain something. i don't know what to call it but when colored people do have it they have it as no other people have it, by god!" . . . from his superlative cigar, he flicked an inch of perfect ash. "you said you came from philadelphia . . . guess you've never seen marise. i understand she never dances outside of new york." "why, yes," she began, taken off her guard, "i've seen her ... is she a young girl, perhaps a year or so older than i?" he turned his head and looked at her squarely for per- haps the first time; quiet, conventional young women being out of his line. "i don't know how old she is and that's the god's truth; she might be eighty, so much poise she's got, and she might be eighteen. yes, i guess she is about your age. why?" "because if she is, she probably is a girl i went to school with in philadelphia ... she was a beautiful dancer, even then." he stared at her. "went to school with you! is that a fact? in philadelphia!" he struck his hand on his thigh and broke into ringing laughter. "the little son-of-a-gun! and she gives it out that she's from new orleans, that she never associated with white people, that that's how she's comedy: american style kept her art intact! ain't that something!! . . . and here she's a philadelphian of all things and went to mixed schools!^ "why, it's as hard for a white person in new york to get near her ... it would be harder, i'm telling you, for you to get in and see your little school-mate than it would be for you to meet the prince of wales. . . . she don't see nobody, that girl, but press agents and people recommended by her manager. ain't that good publicity? bet she thought it up herself. . . . well, i wouldn't give her away. she's clever . . . wish i was her manager. i'd put her so far past josephine baker!" they landed at cherbourg and went down to paris by easy stages, olivia proving herself unexpectedly human on the trip. teresa felt her spirits rising with the unbelievable quaintness of places and people; the precious fillip too that came from speaking a foreign language for the first time in the land of its origin, and finding it succeed! "they actually understood me . . . right away" she wrote to her father. "never asked me to repeat or any- thing. . . . i had a little trouble understanding them at first. . . . great scott but they tal\ fasti . . . you should see mother open her eyes at me!" olivia did indeed open her eyes . . . and her mind to a new thought. in paris they stayed briefly . . . teresa did not like it. she could see that it was a great, beautiful city but staying as they did on the avenue de l'opera, near the rue de la paix, she found it too full of the remembered noise and traffic of new york, too cosmopolitan, not enough french and far, far too hot. . . . teresa's act and over everything and everywhere americans, loud- voiced, determined, pushing. . . . they sat in the brilliant afternoon at a table outside of the cafe rue de la paix and teresa met a half-dozen classmates from smith and chris- tie's, accompanied by mothers, fathers, and brothers. there was a grand re-union, plans for endless sight-seeing excur- sions ... "if you can ever make these french understand what you're saying to them ... so dumb! . . ." they could have accepted invitations for a half-dozen teas and teresa could see her mother's interest rising, but she remembered that they had to be in toulouse within the next two days. on the day they left they paid a final visit to the ameri- can express for that most perfect of foreign luxuries, mail from home. these two were amply rewarded. there were letters for both of them; for olivia all sorts of bulky en- velopes containing, teresa divined correctly, a great many circulars, programs, "notices" and what not; all the "litera- ture" on her committees which had accumulated in phila- delphia which oliver had incontinently forwarded here. there was a thin letter too from dr. cary, containing a draft. . . . teresa knew this from the serene look that settled on her mother's face. . . . for herself there were letters from her father, from oliver and a rather thick packet from christopher; and three cards, one from dinty, one from buck and one from sally beseeching her to bring her some of that "cotty face-powder" from paris. teresa decided to postpone the reading of her mail until she should be in her own room. but then in the taxi out- side of morgan and harjes, waiting for her mother to cash the draft, she would, she thought, glance at christopher's letter. something simply must have happened to him to induce him, who rarely sent anything but postal cards, to i comedy: american style pen a letter so long and thick. she slit the envelope to find it contained an enclosure, another envelope in alicia's writ- ing. ... in a moment she had it open. "dear tessa," the letter began, "/ want to tell you about henry—" she stuffed the crackling paper into her bag. at night she locked her door, stretched out on her bed and took out the letter. he was married . . . alicia had told her as tenderly, as kindly as she could. "i wanted you to hear it from me first," her friend said, "for fear you might run across it in the chicago defender." . . . somehow she hadn't thought of that. . . . he had said "—god, you know he said that he hadn't any intention of marrying until he was thirty-five; that he had changed his mind only because he was going to marry me!" and now he was married ... to dolores mendez . . . "she must be cuban or mexican, or something," alicia said succinctly. "we're all so surprised! darling, whatever did you do to him? ... i hope you're completely over him by now, tessa. if you aren't, believe me when i tell you, you have my sympathy from my heart ... i liked him too once, you know. . . . he was a mighty sweet boy. . . ." the old agony surged up anew. . . . she hoped never to see paris again. in the morning there was the hurried dejeuner, which she barely tasted, and the rush to the quai d'orsay. . . . her mother liked to look after such things. she sat in the big empty gare watching the huge french clocks that showed the time from one to twenty-four and thought how silly, how useless, everything was! for no reason at all she thought of mary giles up in the little maine town near dover. she recalled the rich and teresa's act idle uncles and aunts, and their perpetual discussions. how strange she had thought them! but how much wiser for them to be sitting off there beside their tea-tables littered with priceless silver and bric-a-brac and their magazines bordering almost on the occult; discussing the revision of the numerical system . . . how much saner to do these things in their passionless, civilized way than to be sitting here, breaking your heart. she followed her mother into the train. . . . and pres- ently they were dropping down, down across the face of france, past dun-colored limoges, so at variance with its delicate product; down, down till at last at ten o'clock that night they reached toulouse. . . . she was never afterward to be able to reconcile her first impression of that city with her later knowledge; the town was so still, so peaceful, so dream-like under the almost tropical sky. chapter xv toulouse appealed to her as strongly as paris had offended her. for the first time in her life she was satisfied with the town which afforded a background for the school which she was to attend. she liked the narrow twisting streets, the chattering, clattering groups in them; she found herself a little awed by the age of the university buildings, the old decaying cloisters. some day she would stroll through them . . . and re- member henry; she would think and think deliberately of how his bright boyish slang and demeanor would embellish and enliven this old-worldness and she would weep, right there for all the world to see if so she felt minded. until perhaps she dissolved into tears. comedy: american style but today she could do none of these things. she must enroll in the classes of professor gaspard deschamps and of professor etienne leroux. among the group of neophytes whom she met in corridors and halls she had heard their names mentioned again and again. probably their classes would be too crowded, but according to her catalogue they were to give the courses which she would need most to take. the enrollment was intricate; it was confusing and took time . . . but for the services of a rather slender young man who, after eying her and her evident dismay for a few moments, came forward and proffered his help, she might have been there endlessly. . . . he was a pleasant young man; she found it interesting to look at him with his very white clear skin, his serious dark eyes and his small pointed beard which seemed so odd in a man no older than he. in an american of his age she would have thought it an affectation. . . . with some dif- fidence she said a word, a phrase, to him in french and was immediately rewarded by his congratulations. "you really speak very well," he said himself in clear though accented english. . . . she returned the compli- ment; they were like alphonse and gaston, she told her mother later. "perhaps we shall have an opportunity to practice with each other," he told her, "that is if mademoi- selle permits me to see her again." she could not tell whether or not this was a bid for an exchange of names, for a bit of personal history, for a date or what not. hastily recalling all that she had ever heard about the formalities of french people she thought it best to thank him and withdraw. the next morning on entering the class-room where she was expecting to meet professor gaspard deschamps for teresa's act her course in phonetics she was amazed to find herself as- signed to another room and section. there were too many applicants for professor deschamps to handle; he had solved this problem by summarily cutting off the last twenty-five to enroll and handing them over to his esteemed colleague, professor aristide pailleron. slightly annoyed she moved on to the new division to find that the presiding genius was the young man who, the day before, had come to her assistance. . . . after class he asked her to remain for a moment, walked down the cor- ridor with her. . . . "you see we shall have plenty of chance for practice after all, mademoiselle cary (he pronounced it as though it were spelled carrie). by the way, are you just come? tell me where you live and if you are comfortable? how long do you plan to stay?" she told him the name of her hotel. "but my mother thinks she would like a small apartment." "you remain for a long time then?" "no, only for the summer." "ah! you americans who must always be comfortable. i envy you your ability to get what you want. . . . perhaps i can help your mother out ... i know the town well. . . . when can she be seen?" surprised at the business-like turn which the conversation had taken she invited him to have tea with them in the late afternoon. "i shall like that," he said with a smile which invaded his serious eyes. "see, mademoiselle, i am very glad that you and your mother out of all the other cities in our glorious france have selected our toulouse for your sojourn. . . . you must let me show my appreciation by rendering any service possible." comedy: american style pleased, she thanked him with some faint showing of coquetry: "you must have your hands full if you put your- self out for all the american girls as much as you have for me." "i am not putting myself . . . without . . . how did you say that? ... i am not putting myself out for you, pas du tout. i am merely giving myself a great pleasure. if it seems to you too great a favor to accept from a stranger, just think then, mademoiselle, that i am getting an oppor- tunity to learn very good english at first hand from a very good teacher. ... if mademoiselle will permit i will es- cort her as far as the place du capitole and then i will return to my next class." she thought him very charming and told her mother about it. . . . "if he were an american," she said, relapsing for a moment into the gay vernacular of her age, "i'd say he was a very fast worker. as it is he seems just a simple, rather sweet, little man. ... i don't know as he's so little, though," she corrected herself after a moment's reflection . . . "he just seemed small compared with chris. . . ." "and henry," her mind added. she sat inert in her chair reflecting how for several hours she had lost sight of him and the agony which accompanied the thought of him. the realization made her both glad and sorry. her mother continued polishing her nails. ... "i want to go this afternoon to see about some trips to the nearby towns. . . . you ought to make the most of this chance to visit several of these historical places, it seems to me, teresa. . . . but i can be back by five o'clock to give you tea. did you say he was a professor? ... i hope he can find a little apartment for us ... we could entertain a little." she went on avoiding her daughter's eye. "and i'm sure it would be cheaper than this ruinous hotel. ... i was teresa's act i down in the office just now and they were charging a guest for a soap dish she had broken! was she furious!" he was there promptly at five o'clock. he was charmed to meet madame the mother of her so charming daughter. drinking many cups of tea and eating innumerable sand- wiches he talked on many things. he had been born in this very town and he knew the locality well, having left it to go to the war. . . . "but yes, i was in the war, madame, mademoiselle. i am older than you think." he had spent two years in paris perfecting himself as a linguist. he spoke german, english and italian with equal facility, but he preferred teaching his own so-beautiful lan- guage. . . . and he had never been out of france. per- haps he would go one day, far, far away, as far as america maybe to seek his fortune. "i should like," he said, helping himself to cake, "to visit your chicago; to see your red-skins and your bandits." teresa lay back in her chair and laughed. "i never ex- pected to meet a frenchman like you outside of an english novel," she said, "picturing our streets full of indians and men running about with sawed-off shot-guns." he took her amusement in good part. "perhaps you will be kind enough to correct my errors," he said gaily. "i would like to know your country better." yes, he had news about an apartment. he had hesitated to mention it because: "see you, it is the house of the cousin of my aunt." he himself laughed at this. "that sounds, i know, like a sentence in an old-fashioned french exercise book. ... i always have trouble with your apostrophe and s. . . . this cousin has a large house; to be frank she runs a pension, but she has no longer many pensionnaires. you could have * comedy! american style the second floor and could have your meals either in your rooms or down in the general salle a manger. it would afford mademoiselle a more intimate knowledge of french life than she could hope to gain in a hotel." they went to see the rooms in the faubourg matabiau. they consisted of a large sitting-room, two sizable bed- rooms, a small study for teresa and a bath-room for which the water had to be heated at extra cost. teresa fell in love with it at once. the fittings of course were typical. neither she nor her mother would have endured for a moment in america the chenille curtains and table covers, the ginger-bread effect of the furniture. but for the time being the difference was amusing and stimu- lating; it added to the sense of foreignness. they had breakfast served in their rooms but elected to eat in the general dining-room. . . . neither the girl, nor her mother, was completely sur- prised to find aristide pailleron awaiting them there for their first meal. his mother, with whom he lived in his little house was in pau for the summer with their single bonne. sa he had availed himself of his relative's good cooking and hospitality. . . . now if it was agreeable he could be almost constantly at their service. nothing would please him more than to be their guide, their general courier. no one, he was quite sure, could direct them to as many and as fascinating places of interest as he. certainly in this respect he was far from over-rating his prowess. not only was he thoroughly conversant with the history of toulouse but he had the faculty of transforming his knowledge into a real and interesting story. he took them to see the marvellous church of st. sernin, which dates from the third century, and showed them the tombs teresa's act of the early counts of toulouse, making them live again. . . . for successive days they drove along the boulevards allee st. etienne, allee st. michel and the grande allee, and teresa, through the eyes of aristide, was able to re- construct the old city walls whose place the splendid ave- nues had taken. it was he who opened their eyes to the beauties of those fine old renaissance buildings, the hotel bernuy and the hotel d'assezat. olivia stood in the court of the latter structure and listened with an interest which amazed her- self to the tale of clemence isaure and her rich gifts to the academie ... a story recalled to aristide by the sight of her statue. but what the two women liked most were their excur- sions to the horse, wine, and flower markets, conducted on a scale of which they had never dreamed. . . . and afterwards there was the mellow enjoyment to be found in the consumption of the justly famous pastries of toulouse, • eaten in little tea-shops in the surprisingly twisted streets. at times like these the young man's wit and whimsies lent just the fillip to their appetites. . . . only, he made clear in a somewhat shamefaced seance with olivia, he was poor. . . . the war had swept away all their little savings, he-had nothing but his little house which really belonged to chere maman, and his little salary. . . . no, he wanted nothing for his pains, but if madame could arrange for expenses, transportation, meals, etc., on their little excursions . . . about this he seemed quite sincere; driving hard bar- gains with chauffeurs and inn-keepers; figuring out just the correct pourboire; advising them to postpone the pur- chase of this or that trinket or souvenir for the next town comedy: american style where it could be bought at beaucoup meilleur marche. he would jump out and return with his spoils at an in- variably lower price, as happy as though he had achieved a victory of some note. his whimsicalness, his unfailing good humor, his devotion added immensely to what might have been an interesting but slightly monotonous trip. chapter xvi there was no doubt in olivia's mind as to his ulti- mate intentions with regard to teresa. . . . for her- self she was more than satisfied. . . . here there would be no complexities. nothing to make teresa feel that she was abandoning her own . . . her own were not here to be abandoned. and if she clung to her wild ideas of mingling with colored people, here in france they would certainly be acceptable. her mind went on to her own plans. . . . aristide, to be sure, was poor. unless dr. cary came to the rescue te- resa would have to live very simply indeed. she had seen the little house in the faubourg arnaud-bernaud. it was indeed a very little house but it was the kind that ap- pealed to teresa, who thought it "too darling" and who had gone into raptures over its walled garddh, sunnier and larger than any to which she had ever had access in west philadelphia. but in olivia's mind the main thing was, with aristide and teresa in the background, maybe her husband could afford to let her have a little place of her own in one of these exquisite riviera towns, villefranche or juan-les-pins. . . . she could invite mrs. sturtevant over to stay indefi- nitely at her "villa." mrs. sturtevant, a woman of inde- teresa's act pendent means, was acquainted with everybody, simply everybody . . . she had numerous friends who visited the riviera every year. . . . olivia saw herself a gracious hostess, her little house teem- ing with interesting people from america . . . "my son- in-law; he is a professor at the university of toulouse" . . . all of these people would be white . . . she would be white. she could not answer for her daughter, she told aristide. he would have to do his own wooing. but the wooing would have her approval, she told him graciously. oh, yes, and one thing more. her husband, she knew, would never consent to bestowing a dot. . . . but teresa was his only daughter, his favorite child. she was sure there would be many presents. . . . "presents?" aristide echoed dubiously, smoothing back his already sleek hair with long nervous fingers. "of money," olivia went on. "her father would always want her to be comfortable." "yes, yes," he said eagerly, succeeding in keeping the relief out of his voice. "when you spoke of presents i was thinking of duties, which i might not be able to pay . . . they are very high. . . . that would be most em- barrassing." » • • • • teresa listened to him, carefully, a little coolly. cer- tainly she did not love him. certainly he failed to stir in her any of that ardor which she had felt at henry's least touch, his least word. . . . his cool white skin, his long white fingers, chilled her a little and she wished he were taller. . . . but unquestionably he loved her; his nervous- ness, his trembling hands, his reiterated "]e faime," in french and english told her that. teresa's act later they walked in the garden where a nightingale actually sang. . . . she thought: "it's like a dream but a nice one. . . ." chapter xvii rather quickly they settled into an uneventful do- mesticity. she had not known exactly what she had expected; she knew that on her part there was no madness of feeling such as she had felt for henry . . . which should make her every meeting with aristide monumental. but she did anticipate some depth, some over-emphasis of the satisfaction of companionship arising from the mere inti- macy of marriage. . . . true aristide remained whimsical and good-humored; but he was just as good-humored when he failed to please her, when he forgot some trifling request or engagement as he was when everything ran smoothly. . . . he was curious too; at first opening her letters with the utmost sang-froid and affecting a great surprise at her annoyed rebuke. and her mother-in-law, to her dismay, returned from pau the week after her marriage. teresa was surprised to find her a confirmed invalid, almost a cripple, with a shrew- ish, really a waspish tongue. she made constant demands on rose, the maid, on aristide when he was present, and evidently intended to make them now on her new daugh- ter. . . . for one thing she put in a request for the room which aristide and teresa occupied; she had always meant to take it, she said, but had neglected to move! fortunately, rose, the maid, backed up the young wife's wavering reluctance. "she is like that always, madame, whenever there is anything new, she must take it. if you give in to her now, you will have to be doing it forever." i o comedy: american style ... so teresa, to her own surprise, refused very bluntly to make the change and in a few days the whole episode had blown over. but the elder madame pailleron remained peevish, cross and insatiably curious; she must know the price of every purchase, she must feel the texture of every garment which her daughter-in-law donned, and inquire as to its value. aristide was out of the house so much that the young girl through sheer lonelines was forced to keep open house for the american students at the university, for her husband seemed to have almost no friends of his own age. their only other visitors were the old ladies who came to gossip endlessly with madame pailleron and to make inquiries about her son's wife. every time that teresa bestowed a cup of tea on her young acquaintances, she had to expect a tirade of abuse from the older woman on her extravagance. to her surprise her husband, to whom half-laughing she appealed, agreed with his mother. "// ne faut pas gaspil- ler," he said to her sagely. "we've got to economize; you must remember, my terese, that we are not like you other americans, we are poor people." . . . her father sent her from twenty-five to fifty dollars a month which she had been hoping to lay by for the proverbial rainy day. she would use her own money hereafter, she told him. to this he made no reply, but obviously did not like it. his insularity amazed her. she had hoped that he would continue to make many little trips with her, as he had done during her mother's stay. but usually he was unwilling to do this, not merely as at first, she suspected, on account of the expense involved, but because he was literally so content to remain where he was. "why go to this place teresa's act or that?" was his constant query. "on est si bien id & tou- louse." he was not a full professor either at the university, a fact which concerned him not at all. "i am as i am," he would tell her with a touch of his old, but now irritating, whimsicalness. once, though, he was detailed to accompany a group of students to the naval base at toulon, and teresa, to her great delight, went with him. the association with the young folks, the sense of being on a holiday, made her light-hearted and cheerful. she loved the blueness of the sea; the starkness of the little military town impressed and thrilled her; she saw france as the great world power which it was. . . . in spite of his intense insularity pailleron was almost as familiar with the topography of this town on the mediter- ranean as he was with that of his native city. as they dropped down into the department of var and approached toulon, he was able to point out and call by name the great defensive structures of mont faron, fort rouge, fort artigues and fort noire, with its outlook toward the fabled hyeres. he had, of course, the frenchman's indu- bitable dramatic feeling toward these evidences of his coun- try's power. under his impassioned eloquence his little group thrilled visibly. but he was equally at his ease in the quarters where the women were making lace, naming the various patterns and able to tell without aid of notes or book the countries to which the largest quantities would be exported. however, he was at his best when he was proclaiming the military prowess of his beautiful country. ... it seemed to his young wife that his very stature increased as he pointed out to them the grim arsenal on the north side of the petite rade. somehow, his pride became hers too and she teresa's act she did not know what to make of her life. it was so strange, so different from anything she had anticipated. was she to spend it thus forever with her vapid, unimagina- tive man, her scolding mother-in-law, her petty household duties? only rose, hardworking, stupid rose, was kind and sympathetic. when teresa was in the house she tried to have the maid about as much as possible. . . . she thought back over her life. school in philadelphia, at christie's, at smith. she dwelt in some wonder on her mother's ambitions. was this all it was to bring to her, life in this little southern town, bearable only with an ig- norant peasant woman? . . . absurd but true. gradually her expectation of a change died away and she settled down into an existence that was colorless, bleak and futile. i iv oliver's act i i chapter i oliver lived in a double world. but it was a long time before he realized this. if he had understood it earlier, and if, more especially, he had learned the relative merits of each, he might have been spared many a moment of pain, many an hour of bewilderment. it was a long time before it became clear to his childish mind where he belonged, and which was his actual habitat. because of his mother's indifference, he had known, be- fore he was six years old, three widely different homes. in his childish way he had made contrasts and had long since decided which home—by which at that time, he meant en- vironment—he truly preferred. there was the old, big house on eleventh street where dwelt the parents of his father, aaron and rebecca cary. the rooms on the first floor were huge and rather dark. it was always necessary to have a light in the dining-room when one ate, which gave to the rite a sense of special significance and mystery. but upstairs, the rooms, though equally large, were light and sufficiently airy. they were furnished with all sorts of objects which, young as he was, he knew perfectly well belonged to an earlier day, but to a day which was well worth preserving. he loved the life in this house, perhaps because so much of it centered around him. grandfather and grandmother cary loved him with devotion and con- centration; their manifestations of joy and gratitude were unlimited for this little lad who had come so miraculously to liven up their late, declining days. . . . comedy: american style and in addition to their obvious affection, they poured out upon him also, a sort of fierce protective loyalty, as though they were trying to compensate him for something that he was missing—as indeed they were, for they felt very keenly olivia's defection where this last, dark child of hers was concerned. ... in those days of course, oliver was unable to define to himself either the cause of this palpable loyalty, or indeed the feeling itself. . . . he only knew he felt it. • • • • • at his grandmother blake's in boston a different spirit prevailed. in this dwelling there was more liveliness, more fun, more life, though never more love. his uncle david and aunt janet were only two years older than his sister. they treated him exactly as teresa and christopher did, as a baby brother whom they alternately spoiled and "put in his place." , it was through his contact with them that he learned the usages which made it possible for him to take his stand in his own family. and there was a breadth and a brightness about this household, very different from the atmosphere of the old house on eleventh street in philadelphia where there was only a vast, enveloping love and a strange, pal- pitating, invaluable pride. his father's house on thirty-eighth street in west phila- delphia, pleased him least, though it intrigued him most. it was brighter and more modernly furnished than either of his other homes, and yet he knew, even at his tenderest age of discrimination, that it possessed less of the quality of home. there was neither the feeling of affection and indulgence so evident in the dwelling of grandmother cary, nor the vivacity and fun with which dr. blake's busy establishment comedy: american style "pass." but both of these people clung to their own group. neither one of them would have married, nor would they have wanted their sons to marry with negroes of unmixed blood. but that was a purely personal taste manifested only in the matter of marriage. they were both strong "race people" and numbered among their friends many men and women of african strain modified only by the effects of climate and a different civilization. there is no pride so strong, so inflexible, so complacent as the pride of the colored "old philadelphian." aaron cary taught his small grandson that bondsmen who had been enslaved, as africans had been enslaved, need feel no shame. the burden of that was on their enslavers. but when men rose in less than half a century to positions of inde- pendence and of signal success, their children had an an- cestry of which they might well be proud. his own interests were along business lines. he liked to be able to speak of his son, "doctor" christopher cary, but he would have preferred to be able to point to him as a successful business man or even as a smart "philadelphia lawyer." aaron cary liked men who possessed and knew how to exercise native ability. he told oliver about philadelphia families of color who had made the most of this ability. he took him to the churches, st. thomas's; crucifixion; central presbyterian; "cherry st." baptist which was really on christian street; union methodist way up in the fastnesses of north phila- delphia. . . . after service he stood with the little boy on the sidewalk and pointed out to him the descendants of the augustines, the trowers, the dutreuilles, the bapdstes, the allmans, the stephenses, families which had made a spe- cialty of catering and undertaking. . . . he showed him sites of old forgotten undertakings, mr. oliver's act jacob white's school where the children of philadelphia's best colored families had gone and in which a few of them had taught. it was the forerunner of the "separate school" in philadelphia which, while not based on the truest spirit of either brotherhood or the much-vaunted quaker fair- ness, had yet its points. there was too an "institute for colored youth" which he himself had attended—a marvelous school if his descrip- tion were true. . . . he always referred to it with loving familiarity as the "i.c.y." and oliver for years after con- nected it inextricably in his mind with the picture of sleety pavements and slipping pedestrians madly clutching the air. as a climax old aaron saved for the boy the story of his own success; how he had obtained to his father's business; how he had saved time and secured patronage by the ex- pedient of inditing letters written in his distinctive old- fashioned writing to the whole list of his customers, ask- ing them at stated intervals, if they did not want him to come and look over their furniture. ... to his knowledge of upholstering, he had added that of cabinet-making. . . . he had the fine feeling of the negro for family and ca- tered to the very best . . . exclusively. it was known that he had declared himself unable to serve certain groups of nouveaux riches. as a result it gave, through the course of the years, a certain cachet to have it known that one's upholstering was handled by cary and son. he had no son in the business since his only boy, chris- topher, had studied medicine; his assistant was the son of one of his older brothers, a man only ten years younger than himself. this latter had introduced painting into the firm's activities. beyond this old cary refused to go. comedy: american style he thought it best to concentrate in these fields and to give superlative service on every job. as a result he had for years served the same group of families: the drews, the charlemagne cadwaladers, the fultons, the folsoms, the chestnut hill nashes, the browns on north broad street. ... he had withdrawn from the active business now, but his name still remained on the little worn sign in front of the small dark shop on locust street. sometimes with the little boy he would walk around there and inspect a piece of work which had been ordered by mrs. francis drew or mrs. charlemagne cadwalader, ladies as old as he. and from families which had settled in philadelphia, no earlier than his . . . though with less coercion. . . . these two elderly scions met with a touch of distinction and other day politeness which brought them together by a closer margin than their difference in station could possibly interpose between them. oliver was tremendously impressed by all this. he grew to have some of his grandfather's feeling for the cultivation of the inborn talent which was one reason why his father's efforts to interest him in the professions either of medicine or law left him cold. he would be a musician, he told his grandfather, gravely exchanging confidences for the old man's reminiscences, as they roamed through the latter's happy hunting ground, down south street, teeming with unwashed negroes and jews, through ninth street, less picturesque and primitive, down and across to seventh and race where they would sit in franklin square. . . . he would write, not the kind of music one usually heard, not simply a medley of sweet sounds, he explained in his oliver's act i childish terms, but music that told something, that drew pictures, that would make you see all this. he pointed to the forms milling about the vicinity in which they hap- pened to be. if his grandfather was disappointed because oliver showed no disposition to succeed to him, he never mani- fested it. . . . he was consistent. he meant what he said when he remarked that a man should develop his native talent. ... it took money, he knew, to study music. and oliver should have that. he had meant to leave his tidy fortune, which his patrons the folsoms had so carefully in- vested for him, to his son christopher. but he would never, he told his wife, his faded eyes hardening, leave his money to his son for that fool wife of his, olivia, to enjoy. in which rebecca cary heartily seconded him. • • • • • the old man was no scholar. it is doubtful after his graduation from the "i.c.y." if he had ever read any book entirely through except booker washington's "up from slavery." . . . but he did read the newspapers and with- out having formally studied history, he had the historian's comparative sense. and some of this he imparted to his grandson, explaining to the boy that slavery had not been a special curse visited upon a special people. ... it had been a cause to produce an effect, a necessity to permit a certain group of people an opportunity to glimpse and adopt another kind of civili- zation. all this he had gleaned for himself through a practical interpretation of newspapers and of the bible, which he considered a guide to all situations and problems. one other thing too he taught the boy—that greatness knew no race, no color; that real worth was the same the * american style comedy: world over; that it was immediately recognizable and that it was a mark of genuine manhood to know no false shame. at grandmother blake's home in boston he was sub- jected to a more democratic, a more catholic, influence. the members of that family were intense individualists. dr. blake was born so and unconsciously had forced the same role upon his wife janet. . . . the twins had inherited his tendencies. in that household there was little talk of race . . . most people, most events were discussed from a cosmic sense. one heard in the same breath of roland hayes and john mccormack. oliver learned of crispus attucks, as he learned of paul revere, of sojourner truth and susan b. anthony, of burghardt dubois and more- field storey. janet and david rather prided themselves on keeping au courant with modern literature. . . . they read impartially the works of sara teasdale, william rose benet, countee cullen, edna st. vincent millay, langston hughes, elinor wylie. . . . and in this household mrs. blake was just as apt to be entertaining at dinner, white, as colored, guests. in the more purely social functions which the two young people managed, those invited were mainly colored since the blakes, like the older carys, were really in matters of moment, strong "race-people." janet, junior, particularly was in the habit of declaring bluntly that when it came to marriage, no white colored men need apply. "i'm going to marry a man that looks exactly like you, oliver-ducky. not quite so good-looking, he'd be too hard to manage; but you're the type, all right, all right." it was hard to go from the warmth and pride, the bright- ness and breadth of these two households to the frigid sterility of the house on thirty-eighth street in philadel- oliver's act phia. it is possible that if olivia, even while nursing her projects, had bestowed upon her youngest-born the most ordinary of maternal attention he would have elected to stay in these surroundings where he was undoubtedly so dear. . . . but as it was, her coldness, her indifference intrigued and stimulated him. baffled by the chilly riddle of her attitude he had to come back to his real home from time to time to find out what it was all about. chapter ii still most of the time he was happy . . . completely so if he were with his father, or christopher or teresa. it was only in the presence of his mother that he became suddenly discomfited, like an awkward boy who does not know what to do with ungainly hands or feet. . . . but there was nothing ungainly about oliver. he was beauti- fully constructed, he knew it himself, for ever since his babyhood he had heard sung constantly the saga of his grace, his fine looks and his accomplishments. he had no conceit about these matters, accepting them quite casually as one accepts blue eyes or brown. indeed he might never have thought of them with any degree of consciousness, if his mother's behavior had not induced in him such a degree of introspection. his appearance, he thought, could not offend her. there must be some hidden, some inner defect, which age would reveal to him. it could not be said that he was truly living at home until he was about ten, in the year that teresa first went off to christie's. ... by that time he had gathered from the establishments of his two grandfathers a hundred, subtle comedy: american style re-enforcements. his delicately sensuous nature lived for beauty and there were so many places in which beauty might be found, so many ways in which it might be ful- filled. because he was of a family well-educated and of com- fortable means, because also of his grandfather cary's promises for the future, he was able, as few people of any race or class are, to savor daily, consciously, with a whimsi- cal deliberateness, the pleasure of being alive. long before he knew any latin he spied a motto, framed on the wall of his father's office. it read: "mens sana in corpore sano—" he asked his father what it said and big christopher translated. "a sound mind in a sound body. ... it means," he began. but oliver interrupted him. "i know what it means, father." he had always known. the prospect of his life enthralled him. but he was content to live each day. probably the only condition in the future which made him want to leap over the host of intervening days was the thought of the home which teresa had planned to make for him and henry. . . . otherwise there were charming people, there were pleas- antly stimulating lessons, there was the wholesomeness of outdoor sports. there were specially set apart the weary paternalness of his father; the jolly chumminess of his brother christopher, who unlike many brothers never seemed to realize the difference in their years; and there was the sweet, tender steadfastness of teresa. she represented to him all that his nature so craved from his mother and more besides . . . the fulfilment of faith. if teresa were to fail him, he could not, he knew, endure oliver's act life even with all its peculiar zest and lure. . . . but of course to speak of teresa's failing him would be the equiva- lent of speaking of the falling of the heavens. • • • • • at night, and in the early morning too, he liked to lie thinking on these and many things, quite deliberately shut- ting his mother out from his thoughts. ... in the deep quiet places of his mind he could not think about his mother. ... it hurt him too much. . . . but presently at these moments of secret meditation, he found himself un- able too, to think of anything tangible at all. so engrossed was he with the touch of fresh, smooth linen on his young cheek; the alluring warmth of the spot where his tousled hair nested; the virgin coolness of that part of the pillow which he had not yet touched. through the open window strange provocative sounds would stray in; at night a party of revellers speeding through the quiet street ... he tried to picture where they had been, whither they were going to cause them to be so unrestrained. ... in the mornings the sounds were differ- ent; very new and fresh and vaguely hopeful as if every- body were going to have a chance to begin again. what he enjoyed most at these moments, the phenome- non which made him least unwilling to go to bed and most willing to waken, were the lights. at the close of the day they were so different from what they were at its be- ginning. the arc-light on the corner cut out a large square space on his ceiling. . . . against the velvet darkness of the shadowy room it remained there steadfast and immovable. but very early in the morning the daylight came in, whim- sically, fitfully, moving uncertainly and timidly on wall and picture and ceiling ... on his bedspread. . . . now when oliver's act deavor before he could make horn and harp and piano, oboe, clarinet and viol tell to the ear the vision which his eyes had seen. chapter iii but of course there were those chilly spaces, those blank moments when his mother's indifference, her almost obvious dislike, cast their shadows about him. there were moments, especially when he first came home to live, when half harboring in his mind the memory of the constant attention and tenderness of his two sets of grandparents he would rush home from school to seek his mother. she would perhaps be in her room. sally would tell him and he would go thundering up the stairs. "say, mother, i got a hundred in algebra again today." "oliver, you are getting too big a boy to come rushing into my room without knocking on the door. . . ." "i'm so sorry, mother. i'll try not to do it again. . . . but now i'm here, may i stay awhile?" "i suppose so. . . • what was it you wanted to see me about?" well, what was it he wanted to see her about! "i thought you might like to hear how i had done in school today. i was the only one that understood how to transpose the equation without help. the teacher said she was proud of me. she said it twice. she said: 'if every boy would work as intelligently as oliver cary . . .'" he turned his golden appealing face up to her; his face which itself could not show pride until her own had rati- fied his teacher's pronouncement. "that's very nice, oliver." oliver's act want my friends, my friends, those ladies, to think i was the—the mother of a wild indian, do you?" she reduced him as always to a state of abject submis- sion. he knew he had committed no wrong, that her explanation was inadequate, trivial. but he was only a little boy and the sense of filial duty was strong upon him. "i'm sorry, mother." cruelly she followed up her advantage. "and anyway what could you have had so important to tell me that it couldn't wait. those ladies and i were talking on matters of the utmost consequence. . . . why should they have been interrupted by a little boy?" if he had been older he would have known enough to ask her: "what could be of more consequence than a little boy, particularly your own little boy?" one would have expected him with his delicate feelings to betake himself to his room for an orgy of tears and self- pity. but he had long since learned that no tears could wash away the anguish of the wounds which his mother knew so well to inflict. . . . instead he put on his wind- breaker and walked over to mrs. davies. . . . he had not expected to see marise, but amazingly she was home. she was blue, she told him, "but i won't be blue anymore now that you're here, honey. you're a sight for bad eyes." kissing him lightly on his forehead, she brushed back his curling, crisp hair, helped him off with his coat. "look," she said, watching intently his dejected counte- nance, "i couldn't make up my mind whether to eat lunch first or to practice my dance-steps. now that you're here to help me to do both, you shall decide for me." he told her, thinking shyly how grand she was and how he meant some day to marry someone just like her, that he thought it was better to lunch first. comedy: american style her face cleared. "just what i hoped you would say, oliver. i'm so hungry. would you like to watch me get things together?" she did not make the mistake of some horrible older people, always thinking that a boy was a machine to be sent immediately out on an errand. she did not even ask him to unscrew a stubborn lid from a pickle- jar. "i was so afraid," she said, her beautiful hands working so nimbly, "that you might choose the music first . . . you're such an artist." he flushed and stammered. "please don't make fun of me, marise." she turned her lovely face toward him. he had never seen it more serious. "none of us could make fun of you, oliver. . . . everybody in philadelphia, everybody that we know anyway, is waiting for you to do something great." abashed and happy he hid his confusion by eating large quantities of devilled eggs. but his eyes were bright and shining. . . . afterwards she showed him the music for her dance, a rather intricate routine with an especially un- usual accent. . . . he took it and read it through as some- one else might read a manuscript, humming absently a phrase here and there. . . . he had the gift of absolute pitch. . . . then he sat down and played it, his phrasing, his artistry, his perfect touch converting it into a thing of beauty. "it sounds so different when you play it!" marise told him admiringly. then with the same serious intentness which he had shown she began to rehearse. the room was large enough for him to be able to see her every gesture. . . . presently, for the music was simply a repetition of three or four patterns, he was able to give her his undivided attention. oliver's act "you're simply grand, marise," he told her unenviously. "how do you think it would be if i were to play this part very rapidly, and the other very legato. . . . you'd get a chance to try a different step then, wouldn't you?" he stayed there until the dusk fell and she was a little worried but she would not tell him to go. her mother came in, however, and affectionately shooed him home. "time for all boys your age to be thinking about lessons and bed. . . . did marise give you anything to eat?" "oh, yes, mrs. davies." "and you've been here helping her?" "i hope i've been helping her." "and now you're happy?" he hesitated for a moment. "why, yes," he said in sur- prise as though testing his feelings. "i believe i am." "well then, i'm going to tell you good-night." she gave him a motherly hug and kiss. "and mind you stay happy." he went off through the thin tingling november rain, loving them both for their sweet tactfulness. slowly, thoughtfully mrs. davies mounted the stairs, stopping a moment before the sitting-room where her daughter sat at the piano, absently touching a key or two in the soft light. "poor little tyke," she said, "poor little tyke . . . ain't he too pitiful? ... i wish he was my little boy." "i wish to goodness he was," said marise. she went over to a small desk and began to write a note to christopher. • • • • • gradually as one who, in order to get rid of a distasteful object, hides it from sight, so oliver, in sheer self-defense, began to hide from himself the consciousness of his mother's distaste. in the morning he had breakfast with his father, comedy: american style who, this last year, had returned to his former practice of early office hours. . . . it was then time for school which he adored. . . • phila- delphia is in many respects unkind to her colored denizens but, except in the case of the more rabid moving-picture houses, oliver never met with discrimination. . . . there was really something about him which transcended ordi- nary prejudice. . . . like marise in her school-days the boy was the favorite of both his teachers and classmates. there was no position in the miniature polity of the school which might not have been his for the asking. he learned too to refrain from seeking his mother on his return from school. very often she was home, but unless their paths crossed directly he did not bid her even good- day. to his own gently inclined mind, this seemed at first a terrible breach, but she never seemed to notice it. . . . sally, who loved him like a son, preferring him infinitely to the other children whom* she had known much longer, prepared his lunch with more care and thoughtfulness than she arranged mrs. cary's teas for her committee women. . . . after lunch there was his music ... his grandfather had sent him the baby grand which was formerly installed in the house on eleventh street. the piano was in his room, a large one on the third floor. so he was able to practice at his ease. then there were the long letters from christopher and teresa to be read and to be answered. lovely tasks these. at six o'clock his father would come in from his last round and the exquisite evening would set in. he might, he knew it, have been infinitely worse off. and although never once did he in chagrin or bravado say that he did not care if he did not have his mother's love; oliver's act never once did he pretend to himself to be indifferent—yet his mind was sufficiently and maturely enough balanced to tell him that he was an exceedingly fortunate boy, leading save in one respect a singularly blest existence. chapter iv to herself olivia never acknowledged her inade- quacy as a mother. it is doubtful if she was ever even aware of it. strange as it may seem never once did she see oliver's side of the matter, never once was she aware of having withheld from her child his natural heritage. on the contrary she believed that fate had perpetrated on her a very cruel hoax of which oliver was the perpetual re- minder. when he was away from her she was actually able to forget he was hers. but his presence in the house fretted and humiliated her. just as years ago she had felt that christopher was the sign apparent of her white blood, so now she felt that oliver was the totality of that black blood which she so despised. and there was too much of it. in her own eyes it frightened and degraded her to think that within her veins, her arteries, her blood-vessels, coursed enough black blood to produce a child with skin as shadowed as oliver's. as enough water in a vessel absorbs and dissolves a stain, so that eventually one thinks there is nothing there but the liquid itself, so she had been positive that all her negro blood had been wrought by her white blood to a consist- ency as pure, as limpid as that which flowed through the heart of the whitest woman she knew. to her oliver meant shame. he meant more than that; he meant the expression of her failure to be truly white. oliver's act "a house," she said bitterly, "run on the same scale as the houses of all the other women i know." when she talked like this he despised her. he turned a hard gaze upon her. "those other women have husbands who could buy and sell me. john d. sturtevant has a seat on the stock-exchange in new york. he can't conceive of living on a doctor's paltry income." "mrs. berklebach's husband is a doctor." "look at his connections," he said angrily. "the mayor is his brother-in-law and he has three cousins who are aldermen. . . • no use kidding yourself, olivia. it takes wealth to play around with that class of white people. colored folks simply don't handle that amount of money. perhaps they will some day. they seem eventually to get a finger in most pies. but if i had it i wouldn't want to spend it in that manner. trailing about with a lot of peo- ple who would drop you like a hot potato if they knew what you really are." that, he knew perfectly well, would bring an end to the discussion. she did become quiet, but not, as he judged, because she was annoyed at his remarks. only she was thinking that she mustn't try him too far. the household bills this week were bound to be enormous. she was giv- ing three luncheons; they were supposed to be simple; but in her mind the words expanded to "elaborate simplicity." the new tablecloth alone would run into money. . . . sally would be cross at the thought of so much extra cooking and the dishes and all. it would take something to calm her ruffled spirits. ... if she just had a butler! well, she'd just have to hire an extra waiter that was all. she told her husband of her decision. . . . "but i should think you would see, christopher, that it would be cheaper comedy: american style to have a butler of our own. . . • those filipino butlers come very cheap." "what would three people of our tastes be doing with a filipino butler? you talk like a fool, olivia!" about this conversation there was none of the gay badinage with which some couples discuss their expenses. "then you'd be giving more parties to show off your butler. . . ." she said inattentively: "there's oliver's money." grand- father and grandmother cary had recently passed on and the old man true to his promise had left everything to his youngest grandson, naming dr. cary as executor. the boy, however, with the exception of a definite sum set aside for his music and education, was to receive nothing until he was twenty-one. her husband stared at her. "i should think you'd be ashamed to mention him!" turning he left the room. he could not endure the thought of discussing this child. she did not even notice his departure . . . oliver . . . there was a thought! . . . he was coming down the stairs, whistling. she called him. "oliver, come here! here in my room!" the whistling ceased. rather apprehensively he stood on the doorsill of her room. "i—i hope my whistling didn't annoy you, mother." "no, of course not, of course not. come on in the room." still wary he advanced, still standing. probably for the first time in years she looked at him attentively. how tall he was, she thought, surprised. and he was, he really was, just the color of that filipino butler at mrs. berklebach's. in his white shirt-sleeves he was immaculate. she half- closed her eyes, visualizing him in a white linen suit. "oliver," she said, "sit down. i want you to help me." he was surprised, pleasantly so, his senses wanted to tell oliver's act him. but he was a boy who needed few lessons. he kept his pleasure in check. "oliver, i'm going to have a lot of ladies here this week; ladies on my committees, you know. . . . there's a conven- tion going on in philadelphia and i'm on the committee of entertainment. i think you know what it means to me to doit well?" privately he thought her committee meetings rather silly; just a lot of old women gabbing together. he had barely seen them, for when they were there she insisted on his keeping his room or else staying out the entire afternoon. she didn't want any noisy boys about, she had said coldly. . . . once he had peeped over the banisters to see if any of them were pretty, like marise, or jolly, like her mother. a single glance had sufficed and he had retired to his room and his books disgusted and thenceforth incurious. . . . well, he couldn't tell her that. he waited. "i wanted your father to let me get a butler but he says he's unable to do that ... he can't afford it. . . ." under his golden skin he flushed painfully, thinking that she was referring to his little allowance. "but, mother, you know i don't have very much. . . . grandfather said i couldn't spend my money till i was twenty-one. if i had my way you could have it all to get as many butlers as you wanted. . . ." "as though i'd take your money! . . . no, i was wonder- ing if you could help me out ... if you knew some boy . . . if he was tall enough, no one would notice that he was very young . . . about your color. somebody who wasn't awkward . . . and of course he'd have to be very clean. . . ." he said, doubtfully, looking at her with his candid eyes: comedy: american style "there's ted rutherford. he's about my color and my height . . . only i don't think he's so awfully clean." "oh," she said, watching him intently, "that settles him. i couldn't think of an untidy boy." "no, of course you couldn't," he acquiesced warmly. "but i can't think of anyone else. unless . . . unless you'd be willing for me to do it." even as she hesitated she permitted her face to show her relief. "i hardly feel like asking you to do that, oliver. . . . and then what would your father say? but it would help me out a lot if you would. and it would be kind of fun too. . . ." "well then, let me do it, mother! father doesn't have to know." ordinarily he would have been the last person in the world to suggest keeping anything a secret from his father. . . . but it was so wonderful to have that secret with his mother! . . . "you know i'm clean and i'm tall enough and you can tell me every little thing you want me to do. and i'll do it just right." she was a little bit frightened and anxious . . . her half- thought-out plan was almost too successful. "you know, you'd have to take orders, oliver, from the ladies and from —from me—just like somebody really hired." in her heart, hard and containing nothing but her hateful obsession, she had the grace to be ashamed of herself. in his innocence, his trustfulness, he had no idea of what she meant. "that would be all right, mother. i'll probably never see those ladies again. they'll never dream i'm your son." . . . no, she thought, now they would never dream it. she bought him the white linen suit. of his own voli- tion he purchased "congolene" and slicked back his thick, oliver's act wild, curly hair. . . . on these three occasions he waited at table laughing and joking so about it in the kitchen that unwittingly he dispelled sally's surprise and made her take her additional tasks as pleasantly as he. . . . later on in the fall afternoons his mother had a little series of "at homes" and expected and received his help as a matter of course. it was quite a joke between them and made his surface life in the house much more endurable. teresa did not come home for that christmas vacation, but christopher did. he was resolved at first to spend all his time with his brother; there was no end in his mind to the half-formed plans he had in store for him. but when he saw the smile, when he heard the occasional playful word which olivia directed toward the lad a load rolled from his spirit. . . . perhaps after all he need not have taken so seriously the note which marise had sent him two months ago. . . . he began to make plans of his own; plans which did not include oliver. in the late afternoon he came back from a crowded day spent with pete holland, the talliver boys and kid hast- ings. there had been many reminiscences, a few hands of "black jack," a tasty lunch which the talliver boys' mother had provided. ... a small enough price, she considered it, to pay for the knowledge of the presence of her boys in the house, instead of the fearful suspicion that they were on some street corner. they had talked gravely of different brands of cigarettes; of their schools; of their futures; of the season's quota of dances; of some girls. . . . christopher was to see marise that night. she was hav- ing a little party. he would get his bath early; lie around the house a little; maybe the kid would play for him. he walked down girard avenue, noticing the stark trees against the clear winter light; the sky was very blue and comedy: american style deep. the air struck cold against his cheek but his hands and heart were warm. . . . he happened to be one of those people who find phila- delphia perfect. a city of homes, he thought gratefully; he was glad his own home was so quiet and peaceful . . . and pleasant. why, the kid and his mother were doing fine. it was better that he and teresa had cleared out; in that way his mother had come to realize the precious- ness of her younger son. in the dim half-light in the hall he was surprised to see carefully descending the stairs a tall, slender figure carrying a large, rather heavy tray. somebody in a white suit. . . . from above came a babel of voices, evidently his mother was throwing a party; well, he wouldn't be expected at that, thank the lord. . . . she must have hired a waiter; pretty swanky. he looked rather sharply as the man, no, it was a boy, drew closer. he couldn't believe his senses. "oliver! well, for pete's sake, what's all this?" "mother's giving a tea and i was helping her." christopher's eye, travelling over his brother's form, darkened stormily. "in those clothes? just what are you supposed to be doing anyhow? here give me that tray!" oliver yielded, suddenly feeling himself very tired. "it isn't anything really, chris. she wanted a filipino butler and dad said he couldn't afford it. so she told me about it . . ." "and asked you to be the butler!" "no, she didn't ask me," said oliver, not understanding the rage which seemed to have taken possession of his brother. "i offered to do it for her. really i did, chris. . . . you'll have to let me go, they're waiting for more lea. mother won't like it." "there are a lot of other things she won't like either," oliver's act the older boy returned grimly. "here, show me where all this stuff is. . . ." with sally's aid he crowded the tray incontinently with tea, hot water, cakes and sandwiches. he strode into the sitting-room wishing that he were the color of jet and that they could all hear him calling her mother. she paled as she saw him, came forward to meet him. "what's the matter, chris? did anything happen?" "no," he said scornfully. "i just thought the tray was too heavy for that little filipino; so i brought it up." she thought him very distinguished, standing there with his dead white face, his flashing dark eyes, his burnished hair. in his presence too she felt so much more securely white. facing the roomful of women she stood beside him. "ladies, this is my big boy, christopher." mockingly he bowed low, hating them for the stupid traditions of themselves and their kind which had made of his mother a traitor to her own flesh and blood. forgetful of the bath, of the party, of marise, he faced her in her bedroom when they had all gone. "mother," he said, "how could you do this—to oliver of all people!" he repeated the title. "mother! you ought to be called anything but that!" clearly she was frightened. "you won't say anything about this to your father, will you, christopher? after all he was willing. . . . christopher, promise me, you won't tell your father?" he said briefly, irrelevantly: "you've made me despise you! i never expect to know a sadder day than this!" at the close of the holidays he returned to school. but before the coming of february he was back again in phila- delphia. his father and he talked for a long time in the comedy: american style inner office. to his mother he said, meeting her casually in the hall: "i'm home for good, mother. guess you'll have to put up with me. i failed all my examinations and they put me out." chapter v now of a sudden it seemed to oliver all the days of his life were flashing by in an ecstasy of pleasure and excitement. . . . first of all while there were no repetitions of the butler episode, he was established in a secret un- derstanding with his mother. he did not of course under- stand the deeper significance of what she had done. he merely thought that he had performed for her, something which, in his eyes, was very important and which he had loyally kept from his father. then there were the home-comings of christopher and teresa. and the confidence which his sister had bestowed on him alone and the promise that some day soon he would go to live with her and henry in a new place, at the in- auguration of a new life. . . . even when all this was changed and teresa had returned home heartsick and wan, he could not suffer too acutely. . . . he adored his sister; she represented to him not only the perfection of femininity, and tenderness, she was also his rock on which he raised the whole structure of his hopes, his expected joys, his con- fidence. in a curiously shifting world, a world in which one's own mother was different from the accepted pattern, she was the one sure thing. she had not married henry, she had not spirited her small brother off to a new environment. . . . but she had done better than that; she had come back oliver's act to make a real home for him in his old surroundings. you could always depend on teresa. finally his school-life was affording him endless joy. he was reading poetry now with relish and gusto. . . . "the eve of saint agnes," "la belle dame sans merci." he did not care for the "ancient mariner," although rather taken with its simplicity and quaintness, nor was he greatly charmed with the lush deliberate beauty of shelley and ga- briel rossetti. but the "ode on the intimations of immortality" left him speechless with awe and satisfaction. there were whole passages which he could not quite interpret and for which he refused to seek an explanation. life, he rightly judged, would eventually discover all their inner mean- ing . . . and he would read it all his life. what so pleasantly shocked and thrilled him now was the realization of how rightly, with what authenticity, wordsworth had written. the instinctive artistry in the lad did reverence to another artist who had the insight and the genius both to perceive the changing pageantry of the journey from infancy to old age, and the delicacy, the fit- ness of thought and word with which to express it. the beauty of his readings lay about him always. that quite other beauty of people and of places to which he was so receptive carried him by analogy back in his thoughts to this loveliness ... if once he had ever forsaken it. . . . thus constantly he lived in a world made magical by the mingling of rare philosophy enchantingly expressed. even when teresa went to europe, he experienced no pang at the separation. she would be back in three months or less; she would tell him very specially and in detail of her adventures. she would even make him cognizant of her comedy: american style non-adventures so that he would be able to live all oyer again with her the entire journey. . . • for himself he moved in a maze of delight and anticipa- tion at the thought of his summer in camp with christo- pher. . . . his father had decided to drive them up . . . they could easily accomplish the trip in a day and a night . . . three men, oliver proudly thought, relieving each other at the wheel. the camp was situated in new hampshire, not far from the site of some of teresa's visits. . . . there was a shining river both fresh and salt since it flowed directly into the ocean. it wound its way through every variety of ever- green. . . . above it the sky curved deep and clear and blue; time spent on its banks was time enchanted passed in a world too beautiful to be true. oliver, who combined with his artistic leanings the love of the genuine boy for sports, swam, played tennis, hiked and took lessons in target practice. there was no chance for archery here, but he enjoyed with every ounce of him the new experience of combining eye and nerve and finger. in his heart he felt he would never endure to go hunting, but it pleased him to know that if ever he did decide to accompany his father he could prove a finished companion. in the cold nights he wrapped himself in his blankets and thought peacefully and happily of teresa, of his music, of the ode. he did not want even the morrow to hasten on its appointed way, he would not of his own accord sacrifice one hour to arrive more quickly at an expected pleasure. so completely was life just what he would have it be. the news of his sister's marriage did not affect him as it did his father and christopher. he had, even yet, no oliver's act concept of her long struggle; of how complete a capitula- tion this must seem to the two astounded elder men. dr. cary shook his head doubtfully: "i should have fore- seen this. young people so often marry on the rebound. . . . however, we'll just have to wait and see." for it was too late then to change anything, the marriage having been consummated before the letter arrived. christopher, who usually permitted nothing, except his mother's defections, to mar his healthy satisfaction, was un- doubtedly stricken. like many people of mixed blood and of his appearance, he had no very decided racial predilec- tions. his preferences were all based on his own feeling. he felt within him no obligation to identify himself with one race more than the other. he simply liked his own group best. invariably, he spoke, if circumstances permit- ted it, of his racial connections, but merely because he de- tested the rigor and discomfort, no matter how innocently practiced, of deception. in his own eyes he was simply an american man with unusual latitude of choice of associates. . . . his dark blood made it possible for him to range where he would among people of color; his white blood made possible a similar procedure among the others. but his sister, he knew, was not like that. hers was a decided leaning toward a definite, marked connection with colored people. so he feared for her happiness and blamed his mother bitterly for the part which he was sure she had to play in this mesalliance. but of all these thoughts the two elder men made no mention to oliver. • • • • • of course he shared none of their fears and apprehen- sions. to him his sister's marriage meant one chief thing— comedy: american style the new home which she had promised him with herself and husband. he was quite prepared to substitute aristide for henry. the home-life since it was with teresa, could not but be the same. chapter vi afterwards events moved so swiftly. ... as it l. happened dr. cary, in the anguished light of such knowledge as was vouchsafed him, did reconstruct them correctly. but it was months before he could accomplish this and meanwhile his hair silvered, his mien altered, his stature drooped. something within him, up to this time incurably young, died completely; something optimistic never renewed its hope. • • • • • in the late october afternoon oliver, alone in his room and in the house, was playing. often those days he worked on little themes, odd bits of composition, sketches of his musical thoughts ... to be laid away, carefully guarded, perhaps to be assembled one day in something complete and wholly beautiful. sally was out marketing. his father had left at last for his hunting trip. he was to meet pete slocum and two other cronies at front and market. they would cross the river and drive in pete's car through jersey to long island. christopher had accompanied his father as far as the ferry in order to drive the cary car back. with sally's aid the two boys were to keep house until the return of their parents. within the next two weeks olivia was returning from europe and dr. cary would complete his vacation by meeting her in new york. oliver's act with his faculty for savoring to the fullest any new ex- perience, the scheme appealed wonderfully to oliver. this afternoon he was not composing ... he was simply play- ing, reading through his albums, a snatch of chopin, a few phrases of schumann. a long time he lingered over the sweet tunelessness of debussy and his echoes of wind and water. the icy melodiousness of scriabine held him so in thrall . . . the rays of the late autumn sun seemed to lose their warmth. . . . jumping up he wandered to the window and hands in pockets looked down from the height of his room on the little garden which he and sally so sedulously tended. it lay drowsing in the thick swimming haze of autumn. across it the light, his precious light, lay like a benison. . . . on the little rustic table a magazine rested and on the bench beside it his racquet. "i know what i'll do," he said out loud. "i'll make my- self a good big sandwich and eat it out there in the yard. . . ." he looked at the bushes already a little sere; noted again the light. . . . "trailing clouds of glory," he said to himself softly and ran downstairs whistling. on the next flight he remembered his father's final hur- ried words. he had told the boy to take two suits to the cleaners. . . . "better look through them for letters or bills. . . ." "or money," oliver interposed gaily. "and remember, finding's keeping." he might just as well get the clothes together now, he thought; when chris came he'd pile them in the car and run around to the tailor's. . . . his practiced hand moved deftly through the pockets. nothing in the blue suit. now for the grey. of this one the breast pocket contained a comedy: american style telephone bill, a circular with some addresses scribbled on it, and a letter, minus its envelope, from his mother. crossing the room he started to put the papers in the small drawer of his father's chiffonier when his eyes fell on the phrase . . . "if it just weren't for oliver." . . . slowly he closed the drawer and as slowly walked down- stairs. . . . what ... if it weren't for oliver? "well, it's none of my business," he said to himself firmly and went into the pantry. with the thick untidy sandwich of a boy's making, he drifted out into the yard, sat on the bench, opened the magazine. after all he was not so hungry. mechanically he broke off bits of bread and ham; me- chanically he swallowed them. the words swam before him; he had not read them aloud, but they rang in his ears. . . . well, he was going to read the letter eventually, he might just as well do it first as last. . . . the letter was an old one. "just think," he said to him- self, "whatever it is, father's known of it for a month, but i don't know anything about it. and i'm the one whom it concerns." it was a letter full of dissatisfactions, of demands for money, of little regrets, of unfulfilled fancies. then sud- denly his mother began praising the beautiful country of the riviera: "it is too heavenly here for words, christopher. i wish you could see it too. the little towns are like jewels, each one lovelier than the other. . . . yes, i know you're sur- prised to hear me tal\ like that but that's what these places do to you. even their names please, villefranche, beaulieu, cagnes, monte carlo, juan-les-pins. "i li juan-les-pins best . . . and they say property is marvelously cheap there. i'd be willing to live there all oliver's act the rest of my fife. and i bet you would too. there's a nice colony resident the whole year round. "if you and chris would come and settle down over here we could all be as white as we loo\ . . . if it just weren't for oliver. i ow you don't like me to tal\ about this . . . but really, chris, oliver and his unfortunate color has cer- tainly been a mill-stone around our nec\s all our lives. . . . and now that teresa is going to marry her frenchman it would be easy enough for us to establish a pied a terre here. . . . you see my french is coming along too. . . ." with the letter in his hand he went back upstairs, very slowly, very carefully. he was sixteen years old, but no man of sixty-six ever felt so aged, so finished as he. "if it just weren't for oliver." . . . why, of course he had al- ways been in her way, in their way. he flung himself face-downwards across the bed. across his shadowed eyes the kaleidoscope of his life flashed. he saw himself, a tiny child, a baby, at the house of first one grandparent and then another. he remembered vague words, broken whispers, suppressed phrases, which now he translated into pity. all these years they had been pitying him! . . . and there had been his life here in this house with his mother. he could see and understand it now— all so plainly. this was the cause of her dislike, her immutable cold- ness. boy as he was it made him smile with bitter amuse- ment to think how he had tortured himself; how he had tried desperately to make himself all over, hoping to please her. meanwhile of course the thing which he could not change—his color—remained! the only time she had ever been nice to him, had ever spontaneously smiled at him, had been when he had played butler for her . . . when he had been her servant! the comedy: american style christopher could not understand what had happened to him. at first he was greatly worried but finally in the face of the younger boy's repeated denials, he concluded that his abstractedness, his quietness were due either to unanticipated fatigue after a strenuous summer, or, much more likely, to interest in some secret artistic composition. as far as he could see the boy ate, studied and practiced with accustomed regularity. perhaps he did spend a little more time out walking in the park. but he had always been conspicuously fond of that district. teresa's letter came in the last mail of a saturday after- noon, on the day on which dr. cary and olivia were ex- pected home. quickly he put the rather thin envelope in his pocket and went up to his room. . . . his breath came short and fast ... he had not known how much he was depending on this. . . . but of course she would want him to come. his eyes ran quickly over her first phrases, her delight in his letter, the briefness of this reply because she wanted to catch a certain boat. then she wrote: "darling, i'm so sorry i can't do what you want. it is a little early to be talking in this way . . . so soon . . . and i don't want you to tell father. . . . but i'm afraid my marriage is going to be different from what i had expected. perhaps no marriage is what one things it is going to be. but you can't understand that yet. . . . "the funny thing is, oliver, that even before i received your letter i had begun to cast about for ways and means of bringing you over here . . . we could have enjoyed life here so much together. but the one thing that i never meant to come between you and me prevents it. . . . "i have been so foolish. i might have foreseen it. oliver, my husband doesn't /(now i'm colored. perhaps i might comedy: american style sat in the big arm-chair, his hands dangling loosely between his knees. . . . there was something he meant to do. when he could collect his thoughts, he would remem- ber. • . . at last, with a smile, he rose, crossed over to his chif- fonier and took out the pistol with which he had done his target practice this summer. . . . he would like to fall by the window, he thought. . . . christopher, running up, as he heard the shot, found him lying there, the light of the declining day athwart his smiling face. comedy: american style "i wish you'd call me llewellyn!" "it's a nice name, but not for the likes of me to be bandy- ing about. i hopes i knows my place, may it please your worship." she was always mocking him. "my dear, i don't like to hear you talk that way . . . not even in fun." "i'm not talking in fun. i mean what i say. between you and me there is a great gulf fixed, like those people in the bible. do you ever read it?" "that's no great gulf," he returned, suddenly traitorous to his innermost convictions. "i'm rich and you're poor, but. . . ." "you're llewellyn nash, heir to three millions, and i am phebe the poor working-girl. . . . kings and beggar- maids don't consort any more. it does make a difference." she thought of her dark mother. . . . "no matter what you say there's a great gulf . . . two gulfs between us." "i don't know what you mean when you talk that way," he began despairingly. "let's not talk that way, then." she was airy, almost dancing. "here we are at logan square . . . that's as far as you can go. let's sit here and watch the people." silent, he sat beside her watching the play of emotions over her mobile face. for an hour she entertained with gossip about the shop; the stout woman who insisted that she had always worn a thirty-eight. "this model simply must be marked wrong!" . . . there was the thin intensely feminine girl insisting on the most mannish of tweeds. . . . "i won't tell you the names of any of them, except mrs. hendrick harrison. she's so mean about paying her bills. she has a 'little dressmaker' on the side who 'really could turn out any of these models and much more reasonably.'" phebe imitated mrs. harrison's thick suety voice; her phebe's act pompous manner. . . . "and half the time she sends the dresses back again. and i know she has had them copied by the little dressmaker. . . ." he nodded. "yes, mrs. harrison is just like that. she was drinking tea at my mother's not long ago; she was wearing something terrible then which she said came from your place, but i'm sure it didn't." "no, of course it didn't," the girl said indignantly. "she's going to ruin our trade if she keeps that up." she glanced at her little chromium wrist-watch. "goodness gracious! i must go! i have an engagement." he rose, looking at her crossly. "you needn't be so glad to be leaving me!" "but i am glad . . . not to be leaving you, no, not that, never that. you're nice and i like you. only i'm awfully glad to be going where i'm going." for the first time he voiced his secret fear. "a man?" "a man! the world's finest. . . ." "anybody i know?" his voice broke a little. "don't be ridiculous! where would you meet anybody in my world? why, you didn't even go to public school. let's see, what did you tell me? ... tutors, a couple of years in france, moses brown preparatory in provi- dence . . . harvard, oxford, vienna. . . . no, my friend had all his training right here in philadelphia." she remembered the difficulties that colored men in the old quaker city experienced in getting interneships. . . . "he may have to go to new york finally." "what is he, for pity's sake?" "a doctor. he hasn't finished yet. he's at a school up- town." "if you'd tell me the name of the school, i bet i'd be able to go up and pick him out. what's he like?" comedy: american style "like all the things my kind of girl likes best. tall, dark, strong, smart. . . ." "and you're going to marry him?" it was true he hadn't asked her, but she knew. "as sure as shooting. . . . good-bye, mr. nash." chapter ii on a day like this she did not want to be in the sub- way. the market street car set her down at fifty- second street; she purchased some things for lunch in a horn and hardart retail shop. then boarding another car, she sped to parkside avenue and george's hill. and nicholas! he was sitting there, wearing the dark blue suit that she loved so well. his head on his slim firm neck rose sculp- tured, apollo-like from his soft white collar. . . . she was so happy to be with him. "nick, it's grand to be alive!" he caught her hand, kissed her lightly. "i'll say! what do you want to do?" "oh, just anything, as the spirit moves us." "let's eat," he recommended most unspiritually. afterwards they did all the things they always did and in the same order. they rode in the little rattling, rocking park-trolley to strawberry mansion. they boarded the street-car on ridge avenue and dismounted at the wissa- hickon. here in the silvery, unearthly twilight nicholas hired a boat and rowed her along the stream. . . . presently he shipped oars and they drifted awhile. he liked two of his new professors very much. "very human; they are quite unlike hughes and long, phebe's act whom i had in the same subjects last year. always so afraid to give a colored fellow any extra help. . . . i've seen them lend white fellows the most invaluable books; things i couldn't find in any of the stores here even if i could afford them." she was sorry and told him so softly. "i wish it was me, nick! i wish we could change places." "i know you do, phebe, you're so sweet . . . but i'd hate to think of your enduring this kind of thing. it's enough to break many a man's spirit. so many little meannesses, unexpected insults. like the man the week before, demon- strating on pellagra. . . . he was from georgia. after- wards we were all standing around asking questions. he said he'd never seen such an enthusiastic bunch. and holland—he's the only other colored man in my group— asked him a question, a good one. he turned to answer it and when he saw he was colored, damn it, he pulled out his watch and said he'd overstayed his time; he had a din- ner engagement." she laid her soft hand on his arm. "but, nick, just think how wonderful of you, and pete holland too, to struggle on in the face of such difficulties." "well, of course," he said simply, "there's nothing else for us to do, no colored man with an ounce of grit is going to let himself be cheated out of an education by a bunch of crackers." "they're not all like that, though," she reminded him gently. "look how wonderful mrs. morgan rogers has been to me. . . . and you know how grand lots of people have been to marise in new york." he acquiesced, lighting his cigarette. "mrs. rogers is one white woman in a thousand, in a million. but even she advised you not to let anybody know you had negro comedy: american style suppose she meant that i had no business living, that i should have worn a label? "it happened that we were all going to the same place on market street, to a movie. you know how nasty those theaters are down there? they watched me like hawks to find out where i was going to sit. i had been meaning to sit in the balcony, for i didn't have much money that day, but just to spite them i bought a seat in the orchestra. . . . it's a good thing there isn't anything in the idea of the evil eye. ... if looks could kill, your girl-friend wouldn't be here today." "don't i know it? that's one angle of it. but there are aspects, too, of which you don't dream. . . ." he checked himself. "what do you say to our going up into the park and finding a nice cosy bench?" in silence she walked beside him through the night shades; the radiance of an occasional arc-light threw weird shadows across their path, played hide-and-seek in the massed trees and greenness. . . . back from the road they sat where some brittle leaves had drifted near the convenient bench. . . . in a moment, his arm was about her, his kisses on her face and lips. her own arms clung about his hard, broad shoulders. with all her slender strength she held him to her. ... if he would only speak, she thought. yet she loved him, too, for not speaking before he had finished his training; she supposed it really would be much better to wait until he had obtained a footing in his difficult field. for herself she would have been willing to live, half- clothed, half-fed . . . but with love ... in the proverbial garret. but nicholas, she had found out, was unalterably opposed to ideas of this sort. whenever she spoke, as at one time she did frequently, of couples, young friends of hers comedy: american style "you're pretty grand yourself, nicky . . ." she paused, her heart beating thick and fast. "and i think i have found someone able to take care of me. . . ." if he recognized the opening he didn't take it. "good- night, phebe." "good-night, nicholas. . . . when shall i look for you? tomorrow?" "hardly tomorrow. i'll telephone you. . . ." the look of disappointment on her face moved him to say hastily, "per- haps i can manage tomorrow. pretty late though. prob- ably after ten." "oh, that's all right, nick. you know i won't mind. nor mother either. i really believe she looks on you as a son." out of his dark, impassive face, his eyes rested on hers, with tenderness but without self-betrayal. chapter iii up in her own room, she walked, as a girl does, auto- matically to her mirror, glanced unseeingly at her shining hair; at her face, which was shining too. . . . but as she sat down and composed herself to think the radiance faded. what was the matter with nick? not only today, but for many days past? she must think carefully about this matter . . . without sparing herself, without the soft illu- sion of her own desires. . . . had he ever been truly ardent? had she not rather read ardor, passion, fire into his face and bearing because he had been endowed, through no wish of his own, with all the trappings with which one associates romance? phebe's act . • the set of his splendid head on its proud neck, his tall, hard, thin figure, his flat shoulders, the glance of his eye; she envisaged his thickly waving black hair, so closely set, so almost compact that it bore about it the sculptured look of a greek head. all these attributes called for fire, ro- mance, the bestowal of love. she remembered—indeed, she had never forgotten—his first kiss, so spontaneous, so tender, so reverent, and yet so intense . . . certainly he had loved her then. or thought he had. she had always admired him . . . ever since that day when their mothers had bought delaware porgies in the alley. but it was on that kiss that she had built up her assurance of his love; that she had dared to let her own love assume increasingly greater proportions, until now it was the greatest thing in her world . . . more than that, it was a raging fire which had bidden fair to consume her . . . which she hoped one day would consume her with nicholas. but of late she had not been so sure. nicky had come to see her with the accustomed habitude of the years; they had gone to parties together. girls had said: "i suppose you want me to ask nicky for you." they belonged to a fortnightly dancing-class which met with the most commendable regularity; occasionally they attended st. thomas' episcopal church on twelfth street. but best of all there were these lovely afternoons; these precious evenings in the park, at george's hill; the late, still hours in the boat on the wissahickon; the visits with- out formality or stiffness in her house on haverford ave- nue. . . . true, there were days when she did not see him at all; there were enterprises of whose undertaking she had been unaware, until he had acquainted her of them later. there comedy: american style was the time he had taken pete holland's cousin to the alphas' dance and accompanied the talliver girl to the penn relays. and she had not dreamed of his going to see marise and her new show in new york until he had gone and returned. the very fact that he had always told her of these doings had given her a sense of security. as a matter of course, she thought rapturously, he must give her an account of his doings. . . . now suddenly the awful thought pene- trated: did he tell her about his extra-adventures because he knew it was not imperative; casually, as one tells a mere acquaintance, as she herself had told johnny albans the other night of her last trip to atlantic city? certainly there was something behind this constant atti- tude of repression, this wariness, this persistent self-control which seemed to lurk, when they were together, behind his every act. she remembered the night at anna lucas's . . . someone had proposed a kissing game . . . post-office. it had fallen to nicholas' lot to kiss helen taylor. she could see yet the unguarded eagerness of that kiss . . . the same expression had appeared on the countenance of john albans when he in turn had kissed phebe. . . . but that same night in the dimly lit hall, as they were standing all alone, as she had raised her trusting face to his to say good-night, he had just brushed her lips with his own. . . . she had been conscious of a vague disappoint- ment which had been gradually dissipated as she came to realize that he had not released her hand. he must have stood there for fully five minutes holding her soft, slim hand in his clasp so hard and warm and strong. he was not, she was sure, in love with anyone else; certainly he was not at all perturbed by that old story of her ill-starred mother and her faithless father. . . . for one comedy: american style disappointed, but smiling, she promised she would. it took all the taste out of the lovely day. it brought to llewellyn nash the incomparable pleasure of escorting her that night to a concert. young campbell had had his own bad night. when he had left phebe he thought for a moment of wandering about a bit; perhaps he might stumble across one of the talliver boys, shoot a few rounds of pool. . . . but with no conscious volition his mind decided against this . . . there were for him certain confusing thoughts over which he must ponder; there were two or three worries which he must face and if possible, dispel. . . . presently he let him- self into his house on girard avenue, and mounted imme- diately to his room on the third floor. in a deep study and yet with his mind on no particular thing he got into pajamas and slippers, threw himself across the bed. he was worried about his school-work. he was worried about phebe. for a brief instant he thought rather seri- ously of tossing up a coin to see which worry he should consider first, but instinctively his thoughts moved to, fast- ened on the girl. campbell was without false modesty. he knew his points, knew that he was young, handsome and in his world—which was the only one he cared about—attractive. he knew that he could "have a way with women." when he was a young boy he rather looked forward to the coming of his majority. he would, of course, marry eventually, eventually "settle down." but he thought it might be fun to sow a few wild oats, reap even a few tares. however, an experience, while he was still too young, half-thrust on him, half-invited, one summer while he was working at a hotel permeated him with an ineluctable dis- comedy: american style children circulated so cruelly about herself and her dis- traught mother. phebe had always been so brave, so unconcealing, so philosophical about the sordidness from which she had sprung ... he could not, he simply could not, leave her to slighting words and innuendoes; the sneers of certain girls, assured daughters of "old philadelphians"; he would have been even a worse cad than he now found himself to leave her to the machinations of the brothers of those same girls. they would have considered her fair game. he was still in his teens when he recognized just how much protection his constant attendance on phebe lent her. wrapped in the dignity of his own preference and his mother's undoubted liking she had been able to move with assurance and self-forgetfulness across the arena of their little concourse. sometimes even then when he was still too young to understand the later complications and expectations for which he was letting himself in, he used to know a faint warning which urged him to step out of this situation. and then immediately his mind, always so rational, so under- standing, made him see the results. what would their litde world think if, now, any coolness rose between them? that perhaps his mother had disapproved, that the camp- bells had found the fact of phebe's illegitimacy too hard to bear; that the girl had inherited her mother's wild blood and young campbell had virtuously withdrawn? . . . it disgusted him to think on these things; it made him appear so vainglorious, so conceited. and yet these were the facts and these the complications which they had made. now he saw that if at any time he had broken away the results simply must have been happier. . . . phebe would have recovered long since; she would never have allowed phebe's act herself to remain prostrate from the shock of it. inevitably she would have regained her footing, have made new friends. what a conceited ass he'd been to think that he and he only could have raised her to, maintained her in, her present estate. ... or she might have gone off forever into that white world into whose portals she had so easily stepped. but now her feelings were involved. "it's all very well to dissemble your love," she might have misquoted, "but why encourage mine to bloom and blossom when you know you never meant to gather it?" for how could he tell her that during all these days and months and years that he had spent with her, laughing, dancing, swimming, yes, and kissing too, though god knew that wasn't his fault ... he had been in love always, only, passionately, determinedly . . . with marise? yet what else could he tell her, since anything else but the truth must cause that old serpent of humiliation and anguish about her mother raise within her its ugly head? at this point, as always, the baffling situation overcame him. . . . one thing was certain, he must break away. why, tonight the situation had been almost impossible . . . what was it she had said to this young nash? with such innocence she had told him and yet with such obvious intention! .'. . "i warned him," she said, "that i already liked someone else." and again: "i think i've already found someone to take care of me." well, he would get out of it. it meant rejecting a very great, a very perfect love. it meant, too, that he might have to carry locked in his heart for years, the responsibility for a great sorrow, perhaps a great tragedy. . . . but the ruthlessness which teresa so uncannily had recognized, arose within him. he might ruin phebe's life; he might comedy: american style unwittingly be ruining his own. . . . but he wanted marise. through the open windows he looked out from his dark- ened room upon the deeper darkness of the autumn night. ... a tree which he loved so, rustled its leaves mysteri- ously, communed a brief space with his turbulent spirit. he was very weary . . . these seances always left him spent. . . . he had meant to think of some way out of the difficul- ties which were so surrounding his classes in anatomy. . . . professor reading and his obvious dislike . . . the man's attitude of late was beginning to assume proportions of some moment. if he failed, and reading had made it pretty plain that he would fail him ... it meant another term . . . perhaps another school since it would be folly to work again under a man who so clearly and unfairly meant to thwart him. . . . what a snarl life could become! inhaling once more deeply of his cigarette he threw the charred fragment out the window. . . . the sympathetic tree sighed to him once more tenderly. stumbling across his room he fell into bed where sleep covered him immediately like a pall. • • • • m in the morning pete holland called him: "say, nick, i've got those notes you were so crazy about. carter lister lent me his. how'll i get them to you?" in the end they decided to work together that night in campbell's room. nicholas bathed, breakfasted, telephoned to phebe and set off for a gruelling day in the laboratory. • • • • • the notes which holland brought him, remarkably suc- cinct and clear though they were, differed not a whit in quality from those which nicholas had taken. he went phebe's act through them all with the utmost care; comparing them wtih his own; noticing specially any marked difference in diction or emphasis. but invariably the sense was the same. lister and he might have been two halves of the same mind for any difference which appeared in their accounts of the lectures. after a long two hours of steady application nicholas laid down the books and his pen, took out a fresh cigarette, stretched his long legs under his study table. holland some time since had put aside his book and greatly at ease on the roomy couch was perusing the sporting sheet of an old newspaper. "now," said nicholas, "old reading will really have to go out of his way to mark me down on those notes . . . they're as near perfect as they come. . . ." but his face showed his worry. "yet i'll bet good money he'll manage to sock me at that. . . . wonder what he's got against me, pete?" holland cleared his throat; he started to speak; then thinking better of it relaxed into even greater ease, lying flat on his back the better to blow smoke rings. his friend continued scowling. "i wish i could get their point of view. i can't see their logic . . . making it harder for a colored man because he is colored ... a thing he can't help . . . and half the time doesn't want to. remember that professor in that medical college in south philadelphia who held back julia anstey three years ago? she told julia to her face that no colored woman should ever say she had passed her course. "bob anstey told me that julia actually started to kill herself on account of it . . . she had worked so hard and she was in debt up to her neck . . . the thought of another year simply paralyzed her. fact. but she did buck up, comedy: american style "and the last time too i butt into any man's private affairs, i'm telling you," he said to bob anstey, whom he met later at the talliver boys. "i don't think he liked it any too well." nicholas did not like the situation; did not like it at all. holland's narrative added fuel to the smouldering fire of indignation which burned within him when he thought of the inconsistencies of his white fellowman. "not a person in that bunch that would have been willing to accept phebe for white, if they knew her story. and yet all of them ready to burst with resentment because she is of mixed blood and elects to associate with a person of the same combination, only darker." he would go down to the ice-box and see what he could find. "i don't see how i'm going to get that over to read- ing," he thought to himself, trying to keep his feet from clattering too loudly on the stairs. . . . he was taking a bottle of cream out of the ice-box ... his mother would probably be quite provoked to find she'd have to get more of it in the morning. he must try to get down early enough to go to the milk store for her. it was then that the thought struck him . . . holland's story had provided him with a way out of his dilemma with phebe. chapter iv the more he thought of it, the more his mind clung to the idea. it was one, he knew, which for many years had revolved dimly in the back of his head. more than once in phebe's company he had winced under the sur- prised or curious, gaping stares of white people in street- phebe's act cars, or theaters, or parks. it was an ordeal which never failed to arouse within him a perfect fury of rage and ex- asperation. what group of people could there be, he often wondered, within the united states, who were totally unaware that the admixture of whites and blacks had been going on, covertly to say the least, for centuries? how could the most ordinary feat of ratiocination refuse to acknowledge the possibility of a type like phebe as a result of this admix- ture? why should they expect the product of this combination to run to a fixed, immediately recognizable type? and in any event what difference did it make? . . . why should he himself, even, secure in his knowledge, object so to these stares and whispered comments? he could not feel proud of his decision, and yet he won- dered if after all this fatal difference in appearance had not worked its effect upon him during the more conscious stages of his and phebe's acquaintance. this, even more than his love for marise, was the hidden cause of his having stead- fastly refused in his innermost mind to accept phebe as his wife. a man in his marriage sought, he knew, the fulfil- ment of love, of passion, proved possessorship, security of affection. but more than any of these he sought comfort which was the combination of all these qualities and yet an entity apart. well, there it was! in phebe's presence, he was, if sur- rounded by white americans, without comfort. he might, he knew very well, in some sections of the country be sub- jected to open insult ... to possible danger. and the same might be true for phebe. there were, it was true, several cases among people whom he knew where the dif- ference in color and appearance had not proved a deterrent, phebe's act happy in the happiness with which her whole self was suffused even before she awoke. she was not, except where color was concerned, a very sensuous creature. she was entirely lacking in that ability to savor and to enjoy mere mood and perception . . . that ability which so character- ized little oliver cary. . . . but for once she was entirely, objectively aware of her state. it seemed to her a lovely, a most grateful condition that one should be happy, even before he was awake. ... to be somnolent in bliss . . . surely one of the rarest of blessings! and of course she could trace the bliss to its source. to- day was wednesday . . . and nicholas was coming. the thought of it colored and suffused her whole day. because of it she sold enormous quantities of furbelows at ruinous prices; she thought of a new note to add to a dressing gown which changed it from something merely bizarre to a fig- ment of enchantment and indeed sold it. . . . to llewellyn nash, who lunched with her, she talked on such a tide of gayety, exhilaration, complete satisfaction with living, that he felt refreshed as though he had quaffed an elixir. how wonderful it would be to have this lovely, vibrant, gallant creature forever beside one. . . . no need then to go to german baths ... to french watering places. an hour spent with phebe was the equivalent of a combination of ozone, champagne, ambrosia, the waters of the fountain of youth all poured in some classical goblet and mixed and blessed by some beneficent god. at last the lovely, strenuous day was over. in a few hours now, she thought, tripping along the street like some girl in the pictured advertisement of the perfect shoe . . . in a few hours all this heady anticipation would be resolved into realization. tonight it would be nice to stay at home; comedy: american style to talk, to laugh, to have music, to listen to nicholas sing- ing, and talking too, in that resonant voice ... to kiss him good-night. what mattered it if he did not talk of mar- riage as yet, provided only this could last throughout the years? chapter v he had rung the bell; he was in the house; she could hear him talking in his deep grave voice to her mother ... he was always so nice to her mother, treating her with unfeigned deference and respect. from the lodg- er's rooms on the third floor, where to mrs. nixon's surprise she was granting all the requests preferred—new blankets and a rug—she could hear him asking: "where's phebe?" "down in just a moment," her mother said. he must have gone across the room to the piano for presently she heard great music, heard his golden voice, heard the heartbreaking yearning of those universally felt words: "none but the lonely heart. . . ." in her own room she slipped into her white dress, rum- maged among piles of costume jewelry for bright, dark blue beads and bracelets with just a thought of tarnished gold; she ran her nervous fingers through the thick cap of hair which tonight had, beyond question, imprisoned the sun. she was down the stairs; she was beside him. "such a sad song, nicky!" "such a beautiful one, phebe! such a true one!" "true or not, no sadness tonight." obediently he broke into something else, all bright and phebe's act sparkling, with a touch of the gamin and yet sincere. there was a final, haunting line: "love me, hon. that's the only thing that matters!" "that's from marise's show. like it, phebe?" "i adore it. play it again." she took a step or two, snapping her fingers, pirouetting, and twisting her slender body in the modern manner, but always with restraint, even daintiness. he left off his strumming to watch her. "can't dance without music." she gave one final turn, poised in front of him with hands extended toward him. "how do you like my dress?" "it's beautiful," he told her. "and you're beautiful too, phebe." but all beautiful, sweet, glowing as she was, she was still, he realized, not for him. she was delighted that he thought her beautiful. "you're the second person to tell me that today," she confided with- out conceit. "one of those terrible, real philadelphia so- ciety old ladies was in the shop today; you know, the kind that wears a hat like the queen of england—only she doesn't get away with it. ... i tried on a dress for her daughter who's at bar harbor, and she said my face was my fortune. she bought the dress and paid me two hun- dred of the best too." "two hundred dollars!" he whistled. "gosh that's a lot of money for . . ." "a rag," she interrupted him gayly, "to adorn a bone and a hank of hair. a lot of it was pure profit too. getting along, don't you think so, sonny?" "i should say so! what are you going to do with it all?" "well, of course, my expenses are fairly heavy, though comedy: american style not so bad as they were . . . the top floor is rented now and that helps tremendously. and of course madame and i go half and half. but even then," she finished with touching humility, "when you remember how calamitously poor we used to be, i am able to put by quite a lot." "for a rainy day," he appended idly. "no, for you." it was out before she realized it; she was just as astounded as he on hearing those words and then infinitely relieved. impossible to ignore the words; impossible to feign un- awareness of their import. "phebe," he admonished her, distressed and at sea. "you shouldn't say a thing like that, dear. you know how im- possible it would be for me to accept money from you." she said, savoring the delicious intimacy of the moment: "don't you think you're being a little bit too finicky, nick? after all you could pay me back at any time. and—and it would bring everything that much nearer." he was resolved to fight to the last ditch. "bring what that much nearer?" "as though you didn't know!" but very faintly she felt fright. it was unlike nicholas, famed among their crowd as a straight shooting sportsman, to hedge like this. "why, nicky . . . why of course i never meant to bring this sub- ject up. it ... it just popped up of itself . . . didn't it? but after all, isn't it what we've been thinking about all these years?" well, it had come. never in his life, had he believed it could be his lot to feel such a cad. . . . "only," his waver- ing mind warned him, "you'll be much more of a cad if you let her marry you feeling as you do." on this note with no plan of action ready he plunged into the miserable fray. for a second he looked at her, phebe's act penetratingly, sadly. he rose, extended his hand. "will you sit beside me on the sofa awhile, phebe?" "no," she answered, her voice a little shrill with fear. "i'll sit right here." "well," he began, "it would only make matters worse, wouldn't it, if i pretended not to know what is in your mind? . . . we should have had this out long ago, but i kept hoping that we wouldn't have to face this issue, that you would meet and like somebody else. ... i suppose you've been thinking about marriage, phebe?" she nodded; the lump in her throat made it impossible to speak. "i tried my best, phebe, to make it clear to you that i didn't love you, not as a man loves a woman from whom he hopes everything. once or twice, since we've been grown, i went out with other girls to make you see that there could be others. ... i expected you to exercise the same freedom. . . ." "but you saw i never did." "no . . . but i couldn't urge you to be more . . . more catholic so to speak, could i? that would have shown me up as the world's prize conceited ass." she said to him evenly: "what's it really all about, nicky?" he couldn't tell her about marise. considering the casualness of his attentions to the young dancer, it would sound as though he were snatching at a straw. . . . no, he must parade his other reason which after all was just as true. "i'll tell you, phebe. it's about our color. . . ." whatever else she may have been expecting, it was clearly not this. she could only echo stupidly: "color?" "yes, color! i've been meaning to tell you about this for comedy: american style years. but how could i? still even you must have noticed, heard what i mean. . • . haven't you seen people whisper- ing, and staring when we've got into street-cars? white men leering at you and looking daggers at me? white women curling their lips at both of us? i've seen it and i tell you, phebe, i've grown sick and tired of it. . . ." she said in bewilderment: "but, nicky, as long as i don't mind. . . ." "phebe, you must see that in this connection i have to think of myself too ... it puts me in such a false, such an utterly ridiculous position! why, there have been times when i've been taken for your servant. . . ." at this she was plainly aghast, but she said truly and bravely, "i'd be proud to be taken for yours." he went over to her chair then; he dropped to his knees and took her cold hands in his. . . . once, she told herself drearily, this would have seemed the happiest moment in her life . . . now it was ashes. "my dear, i know you think you mean that, but, phebe, we have to take things as they are. ... i remember miss cummings in sunday school, you had her too, do you remember? i recall all those things she used to tell us about love . . . how it is kind, does not vaunt itself . . . and all that sort of thing. . . . "it is a beautiful sentiment, it might work for a day, a month, at a pinch for a year. but for a life-time, to be on account of color, in jeopardy of one's peace of mind, of one's pride, of one's life in some places in this democratic country . . . well, phebe, it simply isn't being done." "but, nicky, you know those things don't happen to the people we know and see. . . ." "only last night i heard of a man whose career may quite comedy: american style "but you take us . . . 'poor colored people,' as old man talliver so often says ... we put up a fight of an- other kind ... we clung to life in the face of the crudest treatment that the country has ever known. we learned new ways, new idioms of speech, new adjustments to climate and food. we even learnt and adapted new ideals of beauty. . . ." "oh," she complained wearily, "what has all this to do with us, nicholas?" "only this. if we loved each other as we should, and married and could make it . . . then that would be o.k., phebe. but to marry knowing that here, right here in philadelphia, you might see me, your husband, exposed any day in your presence, and sometimes, on account of your presence, to the acutest insult, to know yourself able to enter places, restaurants, movies, homes which i could never penetrate ... it would be bound to affect us, phebe. per- haps you'd pity me; perhaps you'd only remain mildly thwarted. . . . but it would be there between us." he hoped never again to see a woman so stricken, so desolated. "dear, don't grieve for me. . . . i'm not worth it. no man is worth it. the whole situation isn't worth the pain it causes. that's why i can't understand a country like this . . . that started out from the beginning to alleviate the natural woes of man . . . pain, sorrow, poverty, caste and all the rest of it, and then went about adding a special little group of woes for us in addition to the ones which every man bears." she rose. "i guess you'll have to go, nicky. . . . i'm des- perately tired. . . . good-night and good-bye." "wait a minute, phebe, don't think i'm hard-hearted. my dear, i thank you with every ounce of me for what comedy: american style countenance of that lad in the elevated ... it was simply impossible for him to know peace in his own home. he must be out and away in the pursuit of something ... or nothing. it was all one to him as long as he was spared the sight of his father's face, which grief had marked so ineffaceably; as long as he could forget that never again would he hear the strains of great music floating down the well of the stairway. never again tease the lad for the choice of the high-sounding words in which at times he couched his ideas. at the corner of fortieth and market he entered a drug store in order to telephone his father. "i won't be home till all hours, dad. tell them not to wait dinner for me." "very well, son. would you like me to wait up?" "no, but i'd like you to go down to the citizens' club and play a game of billiards with doc. slocum. suppose i call him for you and tell him you're coming." "i guess you might do that, christopher. only be sure to make it plain that if i'm not there by eleven he needn't expect me." "all right, father. see you later." he hung up the receiver. "that means he has no intention of going out. . . . poor father!" in five minutes he was at the west philadelphia station. in another five minutes he was on the train, on his way to new york and marise. sitting in the coach, his eyes straining into the flying darkness, he found himself coming to a decision. he would not, he told himself, go through any longer with all this miserable pain and loneliness. he must change his living conditions . . . for himself and for his father. it was nonsense to let life drift on as they were permitting it, waiting for the gods—or for events to shape phebe's act themselves . . . and you. people could be the masters of their fates . . . with just a little care, a little more fore- sight, even a very little telling of the truth oliver might have been with them now. if only they had not been so averse to wounding his feel- ing! how much better to have acquainted the child with his mother's obsession. how infinitely better for him to have held his mother in a certain kind of contempt than for him to go out in that agony of misunderstanding and to plunge his brother, his sister, father into these ineluctable depths of sorrow. . . . olivia would either have been totally unaware of his scorn ... or would even have welcomed it since then, in his effort to evade her, he too would have been working on her side. the train rolled into the huge station in new york; he ate a leisurely dinner in the restaurant, washed up a bit and sauntered, glad of an opportunity to stretch his legs, through the hard effulgence of broadway to the theater where marise was playing. he had not seen her now for six weeks, to such an extent had her indifference on his last visit piqued him. . . . she was better than ever tonight. her voice rose very true and luscious and slightly husky with the huskiness of the professional: "hove me, hon! that's the only thing that matters!" the smooth satin of her skin, dusky and yet glowing like the deep, dark depths of a great crimson dahlia, flashed its allure beneath and above her scanty garment. her lovely shapely legs with their incredibly slender, rounded ankles, rising from red shoes, moved in a maze of intoxi- catingly graceful steps from one end of the great stage to the other. she was the hit of the season, the most fascinat- comedy: american style ting creature, for the moment, in new york. the incom- parable marise! in answer to his note she sent back a scrawl telling him to meet her at the stage entrance immediately after the per- formance. . . . she was there almost as quickly as he; her chauffeur closed the door of her smart little car upon them. it seemed to him as though they had barely exchanged greetings before they were in her large sitting-room in the house which she had taken on one hundred and twen- tieth street. from the doorway she asked him: "how long can you stay, chris?" "i'd better catch the owl-train back, i've a nine o'clock class in the morning." "i'll have peabody send in supper while i'm dressing." but she was back before peabody could complete his change from chauffeur to butler. he was general houseman too and, after wheeling in the table, appeared with an armful of logs with which he had soon built up a creditable fire. "this is the part i like best," marise said, dropping down on a low stool. "pour me some coffee, chris, and forget my poor manners." she found him very good to look at, sitting there in his severe rough suit; she liked his strongly built head with its powerful jaw and its burnished hair. "i didn't see much of you when you were a boy," she reminded him, "but i do remember that your hair was always rough. ... i used to think i'd like to give you something to oil it with." he laughed, not at all displeased with the personal turn of the conversation. "i'll bet you never had a rough strand of hair on your head in your life." "it's a safe bet," she assured him. "when i was a very phebe's act little girl i made as solemn a vow as a little girl knows how to make always to appear at my best." "well, you've certainly kept it. but then you had pretty good material to start with. . . . well, this isn't getting us anywhere. marise, you know why i'm here tonight . . . you understand me when i tell you that it's either my last night or the beginning of many nights. . . . they say faint heart never won fair lady so i suppose it will scarcely help my cause when i tell you that i'm pretty nearly sure it will be my last night." she was pretty sure of it too, but curious enough to want him to continue. "i must confess your resignation seems a little too placid, too ready as it were. is it fair for me to inquire its cause?" "only this. you know i've liked you for a long while, marise. i think i liked you at first not so much for your beauty, though a man values that, as because you had the gift of gayety. . . . we weren't very gay in our household in those days." his face clouded a little remembering other times. "but of late my thoughts have been turning to you be- cause you were the girl i knew best . . . outside of te- resa . . . marise, in my home we are heart-broken, that is my father and i, and only a woman can heal us. ... i am asking you to come and be that woman." she could scarcely believe her ears. "without love?" "with a great deal of love . . . and endless gratitude." "i wouldn't want gratitude from a man . . . from my husband, chris. i'd want something much wilder . . . something that would compel me to give as it would com- pel him to take. . . ." he was surprised to find himself not greatly disap- pointed. "you know you are no more astonished to hear comedy: american style me talk in this way than i am myself," he said after a brief silence. "it always seemed to me that you were a girl to be courted with castanets, with roses and incense. . . . but life has done something to me, marise . . . since oliver's death. many things that once seemed so important . . . among them pure romance . . . now seem less so. only human relationships matter. i am sure that you mean what you say; you deserve beauty in every form; you've earned it. i hope your shining knight comes and sweeps you off your feet. . . . you must forgive me for trying to link you up to the dull existence which is all i can offer you now." she said with kindness: "i don't think it's dull. it might be very sweet. but not for me." "you seem to have a very definite idea, maybe a very definite man in view," he said smiling. . . . "tell me if i hadn't been so . . . frightfully matter of fact . . . might i have had a better chance?" "not recently . . . but for a while the odds were very slightly in your favor." "then you changed your mind?" "i changed my mind. . . . good-bye, christopher." • • • • • she did not tell him all that lay behind that change. there was that morning about three months ago. she was sitting in her room drinking her coffee and reading letters. peabody brought her a card on a tray. she picked it up and read: "mrs. olivia b. cary." surprised and wondering she told the servant to show the visitor in. her surprise was destined to be of short duration, for olivia came directly to the point. "miss davies, i shan't be detaining you long, so i shall be glad to have your un- divided attention for a few minutes. . . ." phebe's act "very well," marise answered. she could not tell when she had felt a situation so completely out of her hands. "i have occasion to believe," olivia resumed at her chilli- est, "that you've been seeing a great deal of my son." "not so often," the girl replied, more at ease. "i believe he does come over to new york . • . more than occasion- ally, he comes to this house but i rarely have any talk with him." "you rarely talk to him!" "no. usually there are so many people here, mrs. cary . . . people my managers think it best for me to see . . . that there are times when i have to content myself with only a word to . . . well, to people like christopher." mrs. cary, looking as though she did not believe a word of this, continued inexorably: "what you say, may or may not be true. i have no man- ner of discovering that. but i can make myself clear . . . on this matter at least ... i hope for your own sake that you are not construing my son's visits into anything seri- ous." marise, lighting a cigarette, and enjoying herself, asked calmly: "did chris ask you to say that to me?" his mother had the grace to flush. "no, he didn't. . . . but i wanted you to know that it would not be at all in keeping with the plans which his father and i have long since cherished. . . ." "to see him married to a woman as dark as i," marise interrupted brutally. "you needn't warn me, mrs. cary. i have no desire to break into your sacred ranks. . . . there's not a colored person in philadelphia who doesn't know in what regard the carys hold people who show color." she called to peabody, who was passing the open phebe's act she smiled wryly. compared with the realities of life the figments of imagination which every night she pre- sented on the stage, faded into nothingness. she had al- ways sought love. what about giving it? if she had loved christopher sufficiently, as well as phebe, she knew, loved nicholas campbell, she might have acceded to his request. she might have brought some beauty and orderliness into his troubled life. . . . confused and inexplicably disap- pointed she sat for a long time shivering in the chilling room. . . . chapter vii saturday afternoon which a mere six months ago was to phebe another name for rapture, now repre- sented to her the lowest depth, the ultimate nadir of bore- dom. she had been known to spend the holiday in the dress-shop, tabulating the old models, inserting new ones, reviewing and recopying their simple accounts. today, however, she had decided to leave the shop at one o'clock. she would walk out chestnut street, treat herself to the green hat and the white gloves which she had noticed at shaftesbury's, go to a movie, perhaps, then home. "and if i feel like it," she said, putting the last dash of powder on her nose before the long mirror, "i'll go with johnny albans to the fortnightly tonight." this was the first time since that night, six months ago when she had bade nicholas campbell good-bye, that she had felt any interest in living. she welcomed these desires which had sprung so spontaneously within her as a sick man might welcome manifestations of returning strength. if she could just hope to recover one tithe of her old joyous- phebe's act well, she knew it was coming ... "i haven't any young man." "i'm sorry for him," he said with no ulterior intention. "but you'll be taking him back again." she was silent. "and you haven't been going about with anyone else?" "no one." "why, phebe, think of what i've missed pottering about florence. perhaps you might have been spending some time with me." "perhaps." "well, of course, it isn't too late for that yet," he said, with some attempt to restrain his rising excitement. "how about me for young-man-in-waiting?" but she knew it wouldn't be the same thing and told him so. "and i think i'd better be going home, mr. nash." "h'm, mr. nash! i don't like that you'll let me bring you out here again, phebe?" "i think i will." they rode back to the city almost in silence. just before entering her door she thought: "i've had a pleasant afternoon and all because i made up my mind in the first place to enjoy myself today and stop moping. . . . i believe i'll go out with johnny tonight . . . maybe i'll feel that much better tomorrow. staying in is simply no good." the fortnightly was quite a function on all occasions. tonight it was rather more so because it was the closing dance of the season. she was glad of this because it gave her an occasion to dress. in accordance with a silent re- solve of hers, to wear as rarely as possible anything which comedy: american style she had worn in the company of campbell, she donned a simple, almost severely cut, black dress. the back was very low, but otherwise the frock clung most lovingly to her figure, as though it could not cling close enough to her slender, supple figure. rhinestones flashed from her ears and arms, and relieved the somberness of her slender black slippers. young albans gasped as she came running down the steps to meet him. "gee, phebe! if you could just see yourself!" "i've been seeing myself, as you call it, for several min- utes. am i all right?" "right as rain. come on, girl, get into the buggy! if you don't knock all the fortnighters dead, i'll eat my hat." his prophecy came reversely true for instead of knocking the members—that is to say the male members of the fort- nightly—dead, the girl galvanized them into action. there was no cutting in at this dance; its formality was one of its chief charms; one of the reasons really for its continued long existence, since membership in a body so correct and distinguished constituted a social cachet. . . . but the black coats and dark heads surrounded phebe so unremittingly that she might just as well have been dancing her way straight down a line of eager suitors. at intermission, as she stood laughing and excited, talk- ing rather breathlessly to young albans, jerry talliver came up, a tall, broad shouldered young man with a thick thatch of burnished hair, close beside him. "no use, no use!" albans cried. "she's engaged to the last note of home sweet home. next time i take this girl to a dance i'm going to engage the fire department to keep the mob back." "i'm not asking for myself," grinned talliver. "i was in the first onslaught and was forced to retreat with heavy phebe's act his intentions toward her she knew were nil. marriage with a girl so far below him in station would never enter that aristocratic head. on the other hand he respected her too much to offer her anything different. here certainly she was on safe, middle ground. the bell rang, pealed violently, but she let it go unan- swered. presently she heard mrs. nixon, her lodger, shuffling downstairs. . . . doubtless she was expecting a visitor. she closed her eyes only to open them again as a loud thump resounded on the door of her room. . . . mrs. nixon handed her an envelope. she tore it open, to note with amazement that it was from christopher cary. he had written to say that unable to find her listed in the telephone directory he had sent her this by messenger. if agreeable to her he would call that afternoon. the boy had instructions to wait for an answer. ft • • • ■ characteristically enough she read nothing into the re- quest except that her resolution, formed the preceding saturday, was bringing results. she had rallied her powers and sallied forth. and behold her days were-filling up once more; her evenings pleasantly occupied. she did not dare go far below the surface lest she discover there shoals, depths on which she might still lose peace of mind. . . . there were moments when the mere thought of nick, a still re- membered gesture, a too completely etched pose of his, could turn her sick and faint. . . . christopher arrived in his father's car, a car not as fresh and up-to-date as former cary cars. the older man had lost his grip. after oliver's death his interest in his work died away; he spent long days in his office, refusing to see patients; the seriousness of his financial plight seemed to impress him not a whit. at one time he roused himself phebe's act "and as a matter of fact i didn't come to your house much. we all used to rush to marise's if we could. i know teresa liked it there . . . and as for me! mrs. davies was always so kind . . . and she gave us such good things to eat. i guess she was really a blessing in disguise to my mother. when i wasn't there i was home, studying or sewing. i never would have got to know anybody if it hadn't been for marise and the campbell boy," she said very casually, "who lived in the house across the alley." "strange how we all got away from each other. i saw campbell in new york, not so long ago. great scott, isn't he someone to look at! i don't know when i'd run across him." she was glad she had mentioned him. christopher wanted her to have dinner with him but she preferred to go home. "for such a long time i was unable to offer my friends hospitality," she said frankly. "it gives me a real thrill to do it now. after supper she played for him; sang a few old ballads in her nice, unpretentious voice. it all combined to make him think of teresa and the kind of evenings they used to spend long ago. refreshed and curiously restored he rose to tell her good- night. "you're a great girl, little phebe. i hope you're going to let me see you often." phebe's act was far from that state now. life had disciplined her so severely. phebe would never allow nash to escort her home. "mother would be miserable," she told him, daringly, laughing, "if she knew i was going about with a rich young man, terribly above my station." her dancing eyes rested on him, taking in the details of his curiously white skin . . . the pallor of aristocracy which certainly lent him dis- tinction; his light, waving rather thin hair so. carefully brushed and parted; his shadow of a mustache. "and she especially would be displeased if she knew you were blond. she doesn't like blond men." this girl's father was blond, he rightly supposed. and undoubtedly had mistreated her mother. it would be like a woman to dislike thereafter the whole type. they were sitting this afternoon on the loggia of his cousin's place in roselands. phebe dressed in white, at ease in a large chair. llewellyn half-reclining on a swing- ing couch. "i can understand about your mother not liking blond men. i like dark ones much better myself. . . . however, that can't be changed. but she doesn't have to worry," he said slowly, thoughtfully, "she doesn't have to worry about my being above your station. do you understand mes phebe, when i say that any station which you might con- sent to enter could not fail to be honored?" she was speechless with surprise. he went on, his pale face whiter than ever with the stress of his feeling. "i can see you're surprised. i'm surprised myself. we nashes are a proud lot and—don't think me a conceited fool, my dear—the very fact that my feeling for you transcends all that i have hitherto thought of my posi- comedy: american style tion, measures the depth of that feeling. it's the one thing that reassures me and makes it plain to me that i am fol- lowing the right course . . . i'm asking you to marry me, phebe grant." "oh, llewellyn . . . i'm sorry. i can't tell you how sorry. but, believe me, i never expected to hear you say those words. if i had i'd have been more careful. . . ." "why," he said, utterly incredulous. "you don't mean to tell me you're refusing me. but, phebe, why, why?" she didn't have to tell him. nothing he could do could prevent her from walking out of his life. she told him so. "but you wouldn't want to leave me broken with regret," he said wisely. "nothing that i've done or said could make me deserve that." "no, you're quite right." she fell to considering, staring past him at the careful, cultivated beauty of the garden which she was now probably seeing for the last time. "i'm not in love with you, llewellyn, though i suppose i might have been very easily. but i do like you immensely. so much so that since i can't do what you . . . think you want . . . return your love, i'm going to do the next best thing. i'm going to make you willing to forget you ever loved me." "you couldn't do that," he said with ardor. but she thought she detected fear in his voice. "before i begin," she continued, "i want to make one thing clear. i owe you a great debt of gratitude which i can never repay. i was miserable, poor, dejected, almost despairing. through no fault of my own i found myself placed in a dilemma, the strangest, i suppose, that any girl ever knew. it's an absolutely artificial dilemma and i sup- pose it could happen only here in america. i wanted to phebe's act get away from the thought of it ... at almost any cost. but i didn't want to hurt anybody." he was sitting upright now, tense, absorbed. "well, then you came along, llewellyn, terribly rich, terribly proud, terribly secure. see, i knew that nothing, no action of mine could affect you, because i was so sure that neither your taste nor your standing would permit you to stoop to me. i thought you were just playing around with me until you should become tired, just as i was plan- ning to play about with you until i had myself in hand again." "phebe," he asked, leaning forward, "in god's name, what are you talking about?" "well," she said, "i've got to tell you. you remember the day you first brought me here, you expressed surprise because i had broken with my young man, as you called him. llewellyn, i didn't break with him, he broke with me. his involuntary start made her smile. "honestly, llewellyn, i didn't think you were as old- fashioned as that. . . . no, he didn't break with me for any of the reasons which ordinarily cause a man to break an engagement. not because, as far as i know, he was in love with anybody else; not because i was faithless. . . . he knew i saw you from time to time, but he never doubted my loyalty; he knew how completely i was centered on him. . . . now can you guess?" "this isn't a game, phebe," he reminded her sternly. "no, you're right, it isn't. well, how can i go on? ... you surprised me very much just now when you said you preferred dark men to blond ones." "what on earth has that got to do with it?" "this friend of mine was dark, very dark." american style comedy: "what was he? an american or an italian?" "see," she said, smiling ruefully, "you'll never guess it. my world and yours simply don't touch. ... i told you once there was a great gulf, two great gulfs fixed between us. but you wouldn't believe me." "you've told me a lot of things, one way or the. other," he interrupted almost rudely. "and now after all i can't tell anything about you. . . . for god's sake, phebe, get on. what about this dark man?" "well, when i said dark, i meant really dark, not in the sense in which the fortune tellers say it. . . . he's colored." there was on his face now undisguised astonishment. there was more than that. palpable disgust. "you mean to tell me you're one of these miserable white women who have traffic with negroes! . . . you ought to be whipped, phebe! and if i could i'd have him strung up. the filthy black brute!" "stop," she said coldly. "i'm a colored woman." every trace of color vanished from that face already so pale. "i won't allow you to travesty yourself like that, phebe. you don't know what you're talking about. you're the whitest white girl i ever saw. you couldn't have black blood in your veins." "i'm probably the whitest colored girl, too, you ever saw," she reminded him whimsically. "for i am colored. my mother is the ordinary brown mulatto type, with rather straight hair. my father was very white, blond with hair so light it was almost white, the color of untinted butter. they call it platinum blond now. i happen to take after my mother in looks, she really was remarkably like me before life took it out of her. but my color is my father's gift." phebe's act silently he reviewed this novel array of facts. "but you said your friend had refused you. that doesn't make sense, phebe. why should he do that?" "because i was too white." "but i thought," he stammered naively, "i—i thought, that is everyone says that negroes* are all of them crazy to marry white people." "this one wasn't," she commented dryly. "he said to be seen with me made him too conspicuous, embarrassed him. he told me of lots of instances where a colored man might meet with' real danger if seen with a woman fair enough to be taken for white." "oh, i don't think that's likely," he objected. "dear llewellyn, have you forgotten that less than five minutes ago you wanted to string him up and air because he had dared to offer attentions to me? welt, i suppose you're a pretty fair example, of how america feels. . . . you know, just because you happen to know i'm colored doesn't make me look any more so than it did an hour ago." there really was nothing to say to that and when she rose a few moments later to pick up her light wrap and arrange her hat he did not restrain her. "you don't have to- drive into the city, you know," she said thoughtfully. "you can drop me at the station and i'll take the train." for a second he glared at her. "i'm not altogether an unmitigated cad, phebe. these disclosures have, i'll con- fess, knocked me a little off my stance. you must give me a chance to pull myself together." "of course," she said, smiling. "and let's sit down for a minute, llewellyn, there's something i want to say. . . . you know, of course, that i realize how complete a surprise all this has been to you. i came near saying how complete comedy: american style a blow. only, i never was able to understand what all the pother was about color until it began to cut away the ground under my own feet. . . . well, i want you to know that i shall forget everything you've said. . . . you see, it isn't as though i'd been expecting to marry you, anyway." he muttered that it was a shame, by god. he blurted out: "you really are white, you know. phebe, why don't you just marry some white man and be through with it?" "what white man?" she asked him smiling. "the last one that asked me seemed willing to forget all about my poverty and my utter lack of position but when he found i was colored! well, it was just too much!" he felt his face burning. "i deserve anything you say. . . . and i can't make any excuse for myself. you are just as lovely, just as charming, just as sweet. . . ." "and don't forget," she interrupted, "just as white. . . ." "yes, just as white as you were when i first met you. but the fact is, phebe, it isn't being done. . . . men in my position simply don't marry colored women. . . ." "american men in any position don't marry colored women, do they? you are the nephew of a great banker. . . . my father was the son of a country grocer, but he thought his position too lofty for him to marry my mother." he said sorrowfully: "try not to be bitter." there was certainly no bitterness in her ringing laughter. "that's the first typically 'white' thing i've heard you say, llewellyn. i'm not bitter. i tell you something must have been left out of my make-up. but it's impossible for me to be impressed with purely artificial, man-made situations. you see, i faced the realities of life so early ... i think only of very elemental things. love, health, food, freedom from poverty, loyalty, courage. they're the only things that count, llewellyn ... i think i've always had courage." phebe's act "i suppose now," he said after they were seated in the car, "you'll have no objection to my driving you home." "none at all. the cat's out of the bag." "won't the neighbors think it strange?" "why should they?" "well, seeing you with a white man." "don't be silly. they won't know whether you're white or colored. there are plenty of colored men just as white as i, you know; i'm not the only white colored person in philadelphia. . . . they are all about you . . . some of them much closer than you dream. ... i didn't answer you truthfully when you asked me why i didn't marry a white man. i could, i suppose, but i just prefer being colored. the best of us are not to be equalled, i'm con- vinced, throughout the world." "you live in a queer world, phebe. i'd like to live in it for a few months and see what it was like." "it's not an easy job. to be a colored man in america . . . and enjoy it, you must be greatly daring, greatly stolid, greatly humorous and greatly sensitive. and at all times a philosopher. . . . good-bye, llewellyn, forget me. i shall certainly forget you." that was in august. september and october passed by with no word, no slightest sign from nash. but she did not greatly care. he had gone with his allurements, his disquieting luxuries, just as the summer had gone with its lush beauties of weather and flower. of course, she did not forget him completely . . . but "pouf" she said, stand- ing before her mirror and blowing a breath off her hand as one would blow a feather. "he came easily; he went easily." she rather admired herself in this mood. comedy: american style very thick oblong package about as long and wide as a large envelope. "a feller dressed like a shofer come to the door . . . and there was a car as big as this house outside, miss grant. guess it's from one of them rich customers of yours." "yes, buttons likely," phebe acquiesced imperturbably. "thanks a lot, mrs. nixon, and when you go out, do close the door very tight." thus admonished there was nothing for the lodger to do but to go out and close the door. phebe strolled over in her wake and turned the key. afterwards she was so glad she had done so. . . . she opened the package, thinking that it was probably candy from johnny, and in a moment the room was adrift with floating money . . . green backs and gold. she went down on her knees and gathered them up . . . five thousand dollars in all. stunned, she read the note. "phebe: cannot forget you. every waging moment since that day we talked last august i have thought of you. want you more than i have ever wanted anything or any- body in my life. on sunday i am going abroad. will you come with me? we will go to tunis first, away from these horrid grey days, and then when the spring comes, my sweet, we'll go wherever you say. "please don't misunderstand the money. i am sending it to buy yourself anything you need, including passage on the lie de france. if you do not care to come, will you give the money to your mother as a token from someone who admires her vicariously. "i really love you, phebe . . . and respect you. i want you to believe this. if you come with me you need never fear any contumely or disrespect either at my hands or at the hands of anyone else. i shall never marry, so no one phebe's act will ever ta precedence over you. and in case of my death you'll find provision made for you in my will. "i'll be home all this evening and tomorrow and will be honored if you call. of course, i'd call you but i find your name not listed ... suppose your customers would worry you to death if you were. well, if you want to, you can dismiss the thought of your customers forever. , ^ "i hope you will ma me happy, phebe. / £ "yours, llewellyn nash. - "p.s. whatever you decide to do i shall always thin\ you the grandest girl in the world." "but not quite grand enough," she said unsmiling, "to be the wife of llewellyn folsom nash, esquire, of chest- nut hill, new york, lenox and paris." she threw the letter with its mixture of arrogance and humility into the little fire . . . not even watching to see it consumed. she gathered up the little heaps of money from the table, from the bed, from the floor, found a small box, in which she arranged it smoothly, neatly, and wrapped and tied the box. . . . for a moment she remained lost in thought, then stepped to the telephone and called johnny albans. he was, as she expected, at the talliver boys. in spite of the cold fury which possessed her, she had to smile, as she pictured the surprise on johnny's freckled face as jerry talliver announced to him that he was wanted on the telephone "by some woman." she could see his in- quisitive nose growing sharper, pointing yet further sky- ward. "johnny albans speaking," he said sharply. "who is this, please." "don't call my name, johnny. it's phebe." "oh, hello! hello! how are you?" comedy: american style "you can do me a great favor. . . ." "name it." she explained about the recalcitrant customer . . . leav- ing for france, who just must have this forgotten portion of her dress. "have you got the car there?" "jerry's got something he calls a car. i can use that. where's it to go?" "to chestnut hill," she replied faintly. "how's zat!" "to chestnut hill." "golly, you did pick a night!" "i know, i'm sorry but it means a lot to me, johnny." "i know it does ... to make you call me. i'm really honored. i'll be right over. zall right if i bring this brute talliver along? he says i can't take his car to unknown places." "i'd be glad for him to come. then the one of you who isn't driving can hold on to this package. . . . don't lose it, johnny. it's worth about $ worth of business to me." "gosh, what is it? the kohinoor?" "well it is ... to her. you know how these rich people are. and listen, johnny, i know she isn't in. so ask for mr. llewellyn nash . . . tell him you have a message from miss phebe grant . . . and put the package right in his hand." young albans assured her she could bet her boots he'd place the doodad right in the johnny's mitt. 'be right over, phebe." in the yard next door grew a large maple tree. it stood close to the dividing fence, which was made of iron rail- ings, and half of its foliage and its shade cast their benison on phebe's yard. it was partly on account of this tree that phebe's act she had decided on this particular house. she never saw it without thinking of nicholas and his fondness for trees. especially, after her great sorrow came upon her, she liked to lie in bed at night to try to descry its tracery against the darkling sky. in the morning it was the first thing her gaze sought upon awaking. . . . but tonight, the graceful, bare branches filled her with a sense of futility, with bitter- ness. for the first time she turned resolutely away, her back toward the window. she thought of nicholas, she thought of llewellyn; she thought of the mother goose book of her childhood days. one of the jingles read: "riddle me, riddle me, reel perhaps you can tell me what this may be!" she was a colored woman loving a colored man. but her skin was too white for him. so he had given her up. . . . she was a white woman, deeply interested in a white man. but for him her blood was too black. so he offered her insult. chapter ix this last encounter with nash left her delicate sensi- bilities sore and wounded. it actually reduced her to a state in which she was sunk in melancholy so deep, so thick ... it was as though she could perceive it, nebulous yet clinging like a fog. her old despair began to close in upon her; she felt helpless and weak; evidently for her, phebe grant, there was no anchorage under the sun. that week mrs. davies came to see her. pleased, yet wondering, phebe came down from her room feeling a strange foreboding. her visitor came to the point immedi- ately. comedy: american style "why," she said in bewilderment, "there's no way, is there, in which i could help you with your medicine?" "no, i don't mean that. . . . my life's work is to try to restore my father. he's a broken man since oliver's death. perhaps you'll let me talk to you about that some day. . . ." she looked into his strained young face. "oh, chris, you've been unhappy. ... i know what it is . . . i've been unhappy too! yes, dear, i'll marry you. i'll help you." "we'll help each other," he said gratefully. they clung together in the shadowed intimacy of the car. they would marry in the late spring and they would find a little house not too far away from the cary homestead because christopher did not want to be too far from his father. it seemed so strange to phebe never to hear him mention his mother with any expression of concern or regard. she had gone with him to see both parents and had been very much struck with the change in dr. cary, whom she re- membered as a big, finely built, even stalwart man. now, although actually as tall as christopher, he seemed curi- ously shrunken and wasted. even new clothes recently cut and fitted hung loosely from his shoulders, his son told her. his fine ruddy whiteness had turned to a greyish, sallow cast, which nothing seemed to alter, and in his eyes was a look of perpetual sadness. "we must see him often," christopher said frequently. "i wish," he added wistfully, "he might live with us." but of course this was impossible as that would mean the including of olivia . . . "with whom i certainly don't want to live," phebe told herself. olivia had scarcely changed at all . . . just a trifle less slender, just the merest thickening of her whole neat figure; comedy: american style friend. or it might be that he would need to spend hours reading up on this baffling case. ... in that event, it helped him, he said, to have phebe near him. there were nights when they woke up, poor tired things, at three o'clock sitting opposite each other in the little study . . . the light at full tilt . . . the prospect of another weary day looming only a few hours ahead. was this all there was to marriage, she wondered ... and thought of the peace and quiet which once were hers when only she and her mother were together. even mrs. nixon's officious ministrations took on a charm seen thus in retro- spect. for over a year she went through this stress and storm, soothing her mother, matching her wits with olivia, sol- acing christopher, nursing his father. ... in any other circumstances she would have been encouraged to mark his obvious improvement. he was stronger, straighter, his color markedly better, his interest in things in general much greater. to no one but phebe, did he ever refer to his losses and then only during the early morning walks. but by this time she herself was too dulled by fatigue and responsibility to care. she found herself wishing for a way out, any way. she, phebe cary, the girl who all her life had welcomed the idea of assisting the man she loved, found herself overwhelmed by the reality of the idea. the climax came one night when after a hectic day she came creeping, or so it seemed to her, home. she had eaten her dinner almost without a word. it took all her strength of will to force her to offer to accompany her father-in-law on his evening stroll. at any other time, she might have experienced a pleasant surprise when he assured her in unusually hearty tones that he could go by himself. "thank you just the same, daughter." phebe's act all she could think of was that now, now she was free to rest her weary feet. ... if only her room were not on the third floor. . • . she would undress completely, don her gown and get into bed. heaven, she knew promised noth- ing sweeter. . . . she pulled the lavender-scented sheet about her young tired shoulders ... in a moment she would be asleep. . . . she heard her mother's indignant voice: "i cain't stand it, no longer, phebe. i jest cain't stand it. today she had some company . . ." "you mean mrs. cary, mother?" phebe tried to struggle against her overwhelming need for sleep. "you know i mean that . . . she-devil. ... she had some of them wite women she's always trailing around after. she brung 'em in en i happened to pass by the parlor door en she sez: 'o there you are, sarah, just bring us a pot of tea, please, on a tray with four cups. i'll tend to every- thing else.'" her daughter was wide enough awake now. "what did you do, mother? you didn't make a scene, i trust." her mother looked at her, her thin face working. "didn't make a scene! i said to her, i stood in the door- way so they could all hear me and i said to her, i said: 'if you want any tea for your poor wite trash you'll have to fix it yo'self!' that's what i told her!" "where is she now, mother?" "gone out and took them with her and she ain't ben back sence. heard her tellin' them that i'd ben in the family a long time and that i was old and had to be indulged. old! i'm a good ten years younger than her!" which was half- way true. phebe felt her head splitting. "i'll talk to her in the morning, mother." phebe's act ° nue because she wants me to have a sanitarium some day. . . . she won't give me a chance to try my strength." he paused to light one of his eternal cigarettes. "i'm a cad to be talking about her. . . . darling, come and have supper with me." she was herself a doctor's wife. "but your appoint- ments?" she asked in surprise. "i have none that i have to keep," he said dryly. "but if i did have them, i'd let them go for you. i've missed you too terribly, phebe, to let you go now that i have you again. come on, let me show you new york." they dined down in greenwich village in a deliberately quaint restaurant. a great many glances were directed toward the pair, but they were glances merely of curiosity or even of admiration for the striking couple, glances with- out an ounce of hostility. phebe, sensitive since nicholas' complaint, remarked on this rather timidly. her companion nodded. "i know," he assented morosely. "it's different here in new york. ... i was an ignorant fool, phebe. . . . although even here there are occasional embarrassments, but then too there are compensations. . . . darling, let me drive you up to van courtlandt park. there is a spot there where i've sat many times to dream of you." she knew she should not go. and yet she yielded; it was too great a temptation to have nicholas, urging her, beg- ging her for her favors. . . . she never knew to what part of the park they drove. all she knew was that at last she was crushed close in his arms, feeling his hot kisses, sensing the ardor of which she had once dreamed. ... it was so sweet to rest against his heart, to know that this man whom she had loved so long, so vainly, now desired her greatly. comedy: american style presently she stirred. "you must take me to my hotel, nick." he groaned. "phebe, how can i ever let you go?" "but, nicholas, i've got to go home." but even as she spoke she had a vision of that home . . . her ailing father- in-law, her tired and sullen mother, her weary, apathetic husband. and last of all olivia with her infuriating, selfish silliness. ... in a sudden gust of repulsion, she sagged against his shoulder. . . . he could actually feel her weak- ening; her moral strength ebbing with her physical. he repeated his question. "i expected," she said, "to attend to a customer in the morning and leave about two o'clock. i'll be in philadelphia at four." "don't go, phebe. don't leave me yet, my darling. . . . if we could only be alone somewhere. where we could talk . . . and kiss each other." she knew the danger of the waters that were rising about her. ... "i don't think that would be wise, nicholas," she told him weakly. . . . but he interrupted her. "that was our whole trouble before. we were too wise ... at least i was. we owe it to ourselves, phebe, we owe it to these miserable years that are stretching before us, to have one memory. . . ." she was too weary physically, too sick at heart to resist him completely. in the end she weakened. a friend of his in san juan hill lived by himself in a tiny apartment. he was in the post office and absent all day. they could meet there, he explained a trifle shame-facedly. . . . the enforced secrecy of the meeting detracted, as it must always, from the anticipation. comedy: american style "it seems she had about seven hundred dollars put away in a bank in new york. how's that for foresight? that's where she is now, by the way; she's getting her passport and everything over there. well, i hope she has a pleasant voyage." "chris, you sound so hard-hearted." "well, she's been hard-hearted enough with us. i made up my mind long ago she shouldn't spoil my life. dad says she shan't either." "how's she going to live over there on seven hundred dollars?" "darling, i tell you, dad's coming back into form. we're getting out a new shingle. like this." he wrote it down for her. dr. christopher fidele cary dr. christopher. blanchard cary "don't it look great? darling we're going to be on the up and up. pretty soon you're going to leave that dress shop too." "oh, don't say that!" "you'll have to quit it, if we have a lot of little carys. . . ." "not such heaps of them ... say about three." "fine. and i hope they all look like you, phebe. ex- cept the first one, i hope he'll be a boy and i want him to look just like . . ." "oliver," she said gently. "yes, i understand, chris. . . . i hope so too. . . . and, christopher, i'll love him to death." "i know you will, darling. you're a sweet girl, phebe, and i want to tell you now a thousand times ... i love you. phebe's act so when i come in tired and sleepy and stupid you'll reach back in your memory and haul one of them out." "darling silly!" she put her arms about him. "hold me tight, chris. don't ever let me get away from you again." "you can bank on that. . . . do you know i had the queerest feeling last night ... or rather this morning be- cause dad kept me up talking until about three ... i kept thinking: maybe i've let her in for too much. maybe she's gone and chucked us for good. and then i remembered how sweet and true and utterly decent you were. and i said to myself: 'not phebe, you chump; she's not that kind.' and i turned right over and went to sleep. . . . love me, darling?" "i adore you, christopher!" he could not understand why she cried when he kissed her. comedy: american style once more. "you might come over to my room for a smoke and a chat." mrs. reynolds, it transpired, was on her way to the little patisserie to buy a croissant or two for her simple morning meal. "if i buy them myself," she said darkly, "i know they're fresh. . . . yes, i don't mind if i do go around to your place, mrs. cary. i haven't anything to do this eve- ning. though really i shouldn't come over to see you . . . i've been there so many times. you really must come to see me next time." olivia knew from long experience that the invitation would never be realized. but that was all right ... as long as she was not to be lonely this evening. they walked down teeming rue sevres, entered the patisserie, then passed the delicatessens with the horrid little stuffed larks, reassembled in the window with their miser- able feathers and their toothpick legs. they turned the corner past the cobbler, in his five-by-six-foot shop, working slowly, painfully under the light of a kerosene lamp. at the far end of la rue romain they entered the courtyard of olivia's pension. past the concierge's rooms, across the yard into the hallway, up the beautiful winding staircase. then they were in olivia's room. she turned on the dim light, which served only to emphasize its shabby neatness. "it gets chilly in paris so early," she complained and built a fire with a few twigs and the fewest possible briquettes. at least it looked cheerful. mrs. reynolds drew up to the fire; rubbed her hands. the electric light softened the contrast between the too youthful vividness of her hennaed hair and her tired dis- illusioned face. seen thus she appeared merely a weary, saddened woman without any of the pride and hardness with which she faced the customers in the shop. curtain "i had a letter from my daughter today," she said proudly. "she always wants me to come home. her stepmother and her father, my husband—well, i don't suppose he's my hus- band now . . . are simply devoted to her. but you know how girls are . . . they always want their mother. . . . she says she can take care of me . . . can give me every- thing i need. but i don't know. i always ask myself: 'can she give me paris, its charm, its freedom?' i'd rather stay here on my own." olivia had by now got together her small largesse, two glasses of sickeningly sweet strop and a few sweet biscuits. mrs. reynolds stopped speaking immediately and picked up one of the biscuits with a hand that trembled very slightly. olivia wondered again if she really got enough to eat. aloud she said: "oh, yes, i know just how you feel. i have a daughter too, in toulouse. she's married to one of the professors at the university there, a brilliant fellow and so charming! my daughter is always writing me to come there and live with them. but i always say young folks should be by themselves. . . . and when my daugh- ter isn't writing me from toulouse, my husband is writing me to come home to philadelphia. i had a letter from him today." mrs. reynolds turned and looked at her. "your husband wrote you! oh, you're not divorced? he isn't married to anybody else?" she asked hoarsely. "my advice to you, mrs. gary, is to go home to him as quickly as possible." "divorced, married?" olivia echoed in genuine surprise. "i should say not. . . . but as to going back just now . . . i'm like you, mrs. reynolds, i love the life and the freedom of paris. it is so broadening to live here. think of the people one meets," said olivia, oblivious to the fact that comedy: american style she had met no one in paris, not a soul, except this woman from connecticut who had a part interest in the world's smallest hairdressing establishment. mrs. reynolds,- suddenly weary, thought she must go. tomorrow she would, she knew, be her old chipper, as- sured self. but tonight it made her sick to see a woman, past middle age, with a home and husband in god's coun- try, pass them up for the fabled freedom of paris. chapter ii after her departure olivia sat ruminating. she had /i a daughter married to a professor at the university of toulouse . . . a brilliant fellow and charming! she had a daughter married to a frenchman who was indifferent, miserly and hardheaded with the cold pitiless logic of the french. she had gone to teresa, so sure of a welcome from both her and aristide, whom surely she had benefited. she found teresa silent, pale, subdued, the ghost of her former self, still wearing dresses taken from the wardrobe which her mother had chosen and bought for her during her last year in college. the dresses had been turned, darned, cleaned and made over, combined in new and bizarre fashions. their only merit was that they were quite large enough. certainly teresa had put on no weight. aristide, furious because those presents of money which olivia had so glibly promised, were no longer forthcoming, refused to give his wife a sou. his mother held the purse- strings and if it were not for odd jobs of sewing which teresa had obtained from american students who once curtain the strop had made her head ache. tomorrow she would stay in bed. or, if she felt better, maybe she would look through her diminishing store of clothes, engage in a little repairing. but in the morning, although the headache was gone, she was too listless to' work. she would, she finally decided, sit by the window in her room and look out at the tangled garden rendered less dreary than usual by the thin watery sunshine, which hovered above it. presently, as she had hoped, the lady who lived across the hall came out accompanied by her son. they sat on a bench together and he began to read to her out of his book. it must have been a very funny story, for they laughed a great deal; once, the mother, resting her dark head against his fair one, looked and laughed long and clearly at some- thing he was pointing to on the printed page. he was a slender, rather tall lad, but young. about the age of oliver in the days when he used to come running up to his mother's room to confide in her about his algebra. finis he unit the in jversi higan. ries.n À mich false measure a novel false m e a su r e a satirical novel of the lives and objectives of upper middle-class negroes by charles a. smyth wick, jr. w the william-frederick press new york to rose harris michael and daryl the characters and the incidents in this book are entirely the product of the author's imagination and have no relation to any person or event in real life. preface for far too long no novel has been written about the lives of upper middle-class negroes. that they even exist is un- known to most whites. this is partially the fault of upper middle-class negroes themselves. they have set themselves apart and are unwilling to socialize with some respectable whites who offer them outstretched hands, because they con- sider these whites below their social level. the existence of this stratum of the negro population is generally known to intellectual whites but not to the public at large. they have been written about in surveys and trea- tises but not in a novel which would have less restricted circulation. for some years i had been formulating in my mind such a novel because i felt it was needed. all classes of other seg- ments of the american population have been fictionalized scores of times. but alas, the preponderance of stories about the negro covers the lowest classes, thereby compounding a myth that all are such. these depictions have wearied me. most publishers seem to think that such stories about ne- groes are the only ones that will sell. i disagree. the people about whom this story is written make up the group from which negro leadership is drawn — whether imposed, elected, or selected. i have felt that this novel would be more realistic if the names of actual towns and schools were used instead of fictitious names, as is sometimes done. springfield was chosen as the setting for joan's early life, and smith as her college, because the former is a typi- cal, medium-sized new england city and the latter is a typical, first-class new england girls' school. none of the characters mentioned has a counterpart known to me. any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. i wish to thank marion morrell, e. mae mccarroll, emma croxen, and robert e. hunter for their indispen- sable encouragement, constructive criticism, and aid during the trying period this story was composed. c.a.s., jr. .it was eight o'clock in the evening in the middle of the week, early in september. before a large mirror in a well- appointed apartment bedroom at th street and edge- combe avenue, a woman in her early thirties was putting the finishing touches to her make-up. she was due to leave for her club meeting in a few minutes. she walked gracefully and casually away from the mirror; then back to it, slowly turning and contemplating herself; she was satisfied with what she observed. joan was about five-six, with an aesthetic distribution of firmly fleshed curves. hers was an extraordinarily fine poitrine counterpoised by an harmoniously sculptured derriire. her waist was slim and her shapely body was sup- ported by exquisitely fashioned thighs and legs. this was a work of art, a body beautiful. joan's face was oval, its skin very fair, without a blemish. the cheeks were round and firm; the mouth was small, full, and provocative. the nose was sharp and well chiseled. her eyes were green, shaded by long lashes. the high forehead was topped by naturally wavy, auburn-colored hair, parted in the middle and hanging to her shoulders. she was wearing a melon-colored, slender skirt of soft wool with a five-inch split up the front. it struck her just below the calves. her blouse was beige lace with ruffles at the neck, her stockings sheer beige, and the shoes high-heeled brown suede with open toes and ankle straps, which accentu- ated her comely legs. she put on her melon-colored, well- tailored, form-fitting suit coat, then a brown felt, close-fitting hat with a brown veil; now the brown gloves, then the brown fur scarf made up of six large, luxurious baum marten skins. finally, she picked up the brown suede bag. joan studied herself in the mirror. she noted the glint in her hair and her fair skin. as she ran the palm of her hand false measure over her trim waist and hip, well pictured by her excellent tailor, she inadvertently smiled at herself and knew that she would be taken for a white person any place she went. after standing before the mirror for a few minutes, she turned slowly and removed the hat, scarf, gloves, and coat, dropping them on one of the twin beds. then she stretched out on the chaise longue. her husband was due any minute. no rush. she didn't want to get to her club meeting too early anyway. a little late, if anything: her entrance would be more spectacular. joan's musing was interrupted by the click of the front door. it was her husband, she knew. when the door opened she heard two voices. whom was her husband bringing in? she jumped up and ran to the mirror, rearranged her hair and retouched her make-up. as she completed a turn before the mirror, viewing her full figure, her husband appeared at the bedroom door. "hello, my darling," he called cheerily. viewing him in the mirror, she responded resonantly, "hi, baby, have a nice day?" he had and wasn't very tired, he replied. he realized she was about to leave for her meeting, but would she have time for a cocktail with him and his friend? someone she had never met? she turned from the mirror and faced him, putting on her most pleasing smile. "of course i will. who is he?" "oh, someone who came by the office on business an hour or so before i left. he's supposed to pick up one of your club members after the meeting tonight." "who, pray tell?" "prudence dunlap." a little surprise in her voice, joan said, "why, she's sup- posed to be my best friend but she hasn't told me she had a new man in town! i phoned her yesterday. she didn't say a word." "that's something you'll have to take up with prudence." clifford farnsworth was an indulgent spouse. he gave joan everything she asked for and some things she didn't. an insurance company executive, his income was above the middle-income group. he could be, and was, more than false measure simply a good provider. clifford was of average height and was conservatively well dressed. his color was light yellow. he was in his late forties and his closely cropped hair was receding and graying at the temples. early in their marriage eight years before, joan had suggested resuming her teach- ing, to occupy her daytime hours, but clifford had forbidden it. in his soft-spoken, refined voice he had told her that he wished his wife to remain at home. because of this attitude on her husband's part, joan devoted her excess energies to social activities, with both a small and a capital s. there were her strictly social activities and her social philanthropic activities. the latter took more of her time than her money. most of her money, provided liberally by her husband, went on her back. "joan," clifford said, "let's go in and meet our guest." she took a last look in the mirror. then, kissing him on the cheek, she took his hand as they went to meet his friend. when they reached the door of the sitting room, the guest arose. joan thought without manifesting it in her features, "gee, he's handsome." he was six feet tall and slender. the ready-made suit fitted him well. his skin was fair, his hair black. he was almost white. "why hasn't prudence told me about this man!" joan smiled to herself. "dick robinson, my wife joan." then the proffered, well-manicured, soft white hand and the "pleased to meet you" — with exaggerated effusion, at the same time the pressing of her husband's fingers. the guest was fascinated by joan. after they exchanged commonplace amenities and then had settled onto chairs, joan realized he was staring at her. not that she objected, but she was afraid her husband might notice. to break his stare, she suggested helping the maid with the drinks. "martinis?" the men agreed. dick's eyes followed her as she moved toward the kitchen. in minutes joan returned, preceded by the maid with the tray of drinks. the maid, emma, was skinny and un- attractive, but she was efficient and had been long in their employ. after serving the drinks she said she would be avail- able for about another forty-five minutes if another round false measure of drinks should be wanted, and then she returned to the kitchen. "i understand you know my friend prudence, mr. robin- son," joan commented as she offered him a glass. "oh, yes, we were schoolmates some years ago at fiske and i've seen her off and on down through the years. i reached her by phone today through your husband and ar- ranged to meet her after her meeting tonight. i've heard she's divorced now. is that true?" "yes," clifford smiled. "about a year ago, and the new york star had a field day airing her and her husband's per- sonal affairs while the court proceedings were going on. however, prudence, who brought the action, won and got substantial alimony." "what does her quondam partner do for a living?" asked the inquisitive guest, thinking of the alimony. joan said, "he's one of harlem's most successful phy- sicians. that is, financially. i don't think he knows too much medicine." then, beaming at her husband, "i'd never call him if my clifford got sick." "what does prudence do? i reached her at a government office." "she's a supervisor at one of the district offices of the state employment service," joan answered. "then she should do all right with her alimony and her salary." clifford laughed. "does that interest you?" "oh, no," the guest explained. "i just wondered whether or not she had sufficient income to maintain her at her ac- customed standards." "tell me," joan broke in, "what brings you to new york and how long do you intend to stay?" robinson replied that he was with the federal security administration and had been working out of the albany office covering rural communities. at his request he had been transferred to new york city. he had been with the social security administration since his release from the army in late . no, he wasn't married and had never been mar- ried. joan thought, "i'll ask prudence why such a handsome and eligible man has never married." he was living at the false measure is theresa hotel but he was looking for an apartment because it was too expensive. but with the housing shortage, particu- larly for middle-income negroes, he expected he might have to remain at the theresa for some time. joan interrupted to say that she had to leave. it was half- past nine and the meeting was to start at eight. they had three more rounds of martinis and joan was beginning to feel hers. she wanted to get out in the air. she gave emma instructions to set out dinner for the two men. dick robinson asked to be shown through the sumptu- ous apartment before she left. "why, of course," joan said. she and clifford led their guest through the six-and-a-half rooms. the entire apartment was carpeted wall to wall. the furniture was modernistic, the living room with sectional pieces, three armchairs, and a huge, circular glass coffee table — plus the correct floor lamps and properly blended pictures on the walls. there were smaller pieces and the oversized television combination. on a table in front of the picture window there was a vase of chrysanthemums. joan loved flowers and they were changed often. there were wall-cover- ing drapes. a library adjoined the living room. there were full bookcases from the floor almost to the ceiling. it con- tained the other usual accouterments — a large library table, deep restful chairs, reading lamps, heavy framed pic- tures on the wall, and some hidden card tables. joan had more use for the room for her card tables than she did for the books. when clifford had the time, he pulled a book from the shelves. there was a master bedroom with twin beds covered in glazed chintz. a wall-covering mirror, floor-to-ceiling and wall-to-wall drapes, chests of drawers, dressing table, and bulging clothes closets redolent of jasmine. and the faint aroma of joan's perfume throughout. the guest room had a three-quarter bed in dark mahog- any with a rose satin bedspread and matching satin draperies, a chest of drawers, and two matching chairs. the maid's room was furnished in maple. the drapes and bedspread were chenille. in the kitchen there was a built-in breakfast nook, and the dining foyer just off the kitchen was furnished in blonde mahogany. false measure following the tour through the apartment, joan insisted she must leave at once. her husband helped her into her suit coat. he stood off and looked at her after she carefully placed her hat, fur scarf, and gloves. he remarked that the large topaz-and-gold earrings (with matching bracelet), pur- chased by him from cartier's, went well with the outfit. robinson agreed enthusiastically. he thought joan the most beautiful woman he had ever met. joan asked for the car keys, planted a quick kiss on clifford's cheek, and bade them goodbye and a pleasant dinner. clifford was to come to the meeting to pick her up in the guest's car. the meeting was at beatrice lynch's, on rd and con- vent. "well, everyone must have arrived," joan thought as she pulled up in her cadillac sedan in front of beatrice's house. she had to drive a block away to find parking space. searching for a space, she picked out the cars of other mem- bers: prudence's chrysler, harriet's packard, veronica's roadmaster, helen's kaiser. a last check of her make-up be- fore locking the car door. beatrice was joan's chief social rival. she was the wife of a judge and their town house was as elaborate as joan's apartment. beatrice was of average height. her hair was blonde, worn in a short feather-cut. blue-eyed and sharp- featured, she was shapely and wore her clothes excellently. hers was a cold refinement. her smile never seemed spon- taneous; it always appeared to be forced. she was a vassar graduate, and now had a nine-year-old son, who attended an exclusive progressive private school on fifth avenue in the sixties. he was the only negro child at the school. joan was vivacious and outgoing with people she knew, provided they were at her social level, whereas beatrice, try as she would, could not affect the sparkle and ebullience joan always possessed. there was no fondness between these two women. joan disliked beatrice and beatrice disliked joan, but they respected each other. each was jealous of the other and they tried to outdo each other in clothes, furnish- ing their homes, their cars, and other manifestations of af- false measure fluence. however, whenever they met, one would think they were the best of long-lost friends, the way they kissed and gushed over each other — and complimented each other on how beautiful and attractive each was. as joan ascended the stone steps to judge lynch's house and rang the bell, she said to herself, "i know i've out- dressed the other women here but i wonder what beatrice is wearing." beatrice, positive it must be joan by this time, answered the bell herself. seeing it was joan through the glass door, she flung the door open and stretched out her arms. the two embraced and exchanged their usual insincere, flattering re- marks. they went from the vestibule into the thickly car- peted hallway with their arms about each other's waists, talking and laughing in high-pitched voices. "i haven't seen you since june," beatrice said. "i heard you spent most of the summer at martha's vineyard." "yes," joan replied. "i sent you a card from the vine- yard when i finally settled there after my canadian tour. i suppose by that time you and your young son were ensconced at your maine summer retreat." "yes, and the judge flew up every weekend. it was lone- some alone in the house during the week. the place is so rambling and isolated. i was afraid at night. i had only one servant, and a female at that." she smiled thoughtfully. "joan, dear, you must come up and spend some time there with me next summer." joan had been told of beatrice's elegant summer place and she knew beatrice just wanted to get her up there so she could show it off and try to make her envious. all right, she'd go. but first she'd do over her house at the vineyard and then invite beatrice there for a week after her visit to maine. "why, bea, darling, i'd just love that," joan bubbled. "you're such an excellent hostess." "joan, you're simply ravishing in that new fall suitl where from?" "tailored woman," joan matter-of-factly replied. "and your dress, bea! where did you find it?" false measure "bergdorf goodman," beatrice replied equally casually. beatrice cut a regal figure in her royal blue, light wool dress with a high neckline and her navy suede shoes. the gold choker drew attention to the delicate neck, and there were matching gold earrings. the meeting was being held on the first floor in two spacious, attractively furnished sitting rooms separated by sliding doors which had been opened to form one huge room about which the twenty-one club members were scattered and engaged in small chatter. beatrice led joan to the door leading off from the hall and when they stepped into the room, with her arm still round joan's waist, she called out in her high, cultured tones, "girls, girls, here is our beauti- ful joan!" all eyes turned toward joan. she smiled prettily, thor- oughly enjoying the attention. some of the girls ran up to her and she hugged them and kissed their cheeks. she moved about the room, shaking hands and embracing others in turn. there were remarks such as joan, you simply look gorgeous . . . joan, you are even more pretty than you were in june, if such were possible . . . you're just a beautiful hussy in your new fall outfit, my dear . . . joan, i just love you, you're so pretty and wear your clothes so well . . . now that you're back, everybody'll have to chain their man . . . and cheerily, / hate you because i can't possibly look as good as you do! the comments blended into joan's favorite harmony. j love you for that. . . you flatter me, sweetheart . . . oh, stop . . . thank you, darling . . . as pretty as you are, you say that to me! the fur piece and hat taken by beatrice, joan seated herself beside prudence, her best friend. of the twenty-odd women in the room there was only one who would not have been taken for white. that one, helen terrence, possessed certain qualities that endeared her to the others neverthe- less. membership in the group required leisure-class man- ners, plus university training, plus what they considered suc- cess, either one's own or one's husband's, and, of course, good looks and smartness in the most modern sense. helen false measure was far from black, but her hue was the same as a quart of milk with a teaspoon of chocolate mixed in — making her color an extremely light brown, not as fair as the other mem- bers'. her nose was small and round, the eyes large and dark, the hair thick and black with deep waves, worn parted in the middle and pulled back to the base of her head. high cheekbones and a small mouth with thin lips gave her the appearance of an american indian, but with trappings the traditional concept of an american indian wouldn't allow. helen was graduated from barnard and had taken a master's degree at columbia. she was a high school teacher. most of the club members were either married or divorced, but helen had never married, not because she didn't have ample suitors, but because of fanatic selectivity. her husband would have to have the correct background, the right train- ing, and a good income, in addition to a certain personality. she hadn't run across an acceptable male yet who wasn't al- ready married to someone else. considering helen's comely face, in addition to the well-formed body that could take the latest styles commendably, and her academic achievements, she was loved by one and all even though she wasn't quite as fair as they. helen knew she cut a pretty figure, and didn't give a damn about the others having lighter skins. further- more, when it came to appearance and background she could match any one of them and outmatch some, so they weren't doing her any favors having her as a member of their club. this was strictly a social club — with a capital s. the meaning of the word "social," as far as they were concerned, gathered together in a group, was what was planned and done in polite and fashionable society for the furtherance of their own enjoyment and pleasure and that of their friends — persons not of their social class and caste to be excluded. they had named their club "the concordians." with the exception of one or two, none was interested in the type of activities designed to sincerely alleviate the conditions of the poor and unfortunate. regarding negroes not in their class, and most were not, they were as disdainful of them as whites. they would appear at charitable affairs and benefits that had high-sounding names and objectives, but only because lending their names and presence gave false measure them one more opportunity to flourish themselves and get publicity, usually in the national negro weekly newspapers and monthly negro magazines. in this group, joan and beatrice each considered herself the social leader, the arbiter, the standard-setter. hence, their rivalry and under-the-surface reciprocal dislike and envy; yet patently, they were the best of friends. joan had been president of the club for almost two years. at the last meeting before summer, beatrice had been elected unani- mously. the term of office was indefinite because they didn't adhere too rigidly to their by-laws, with respect to technical procedure. however, regarding acceptance of new members and admittance of guests at their parties and dances, they zealously complied with unwritten by-laws known to all. there wasn't a striving negro woman in new york, possessing the required unwritten requisites, who didn't want to get into this club. so much so that, if she pos- sessed the light color, good looks, education, and personal achievement, either through herself or her husband, she would fete members of the club, hoping her name would be brought up for admission. those in the club had arrived socially. they had reached a social pinnacle up to which other women strived. they were new york's social dictators. they knew it and acted it. prudence and joan had just launched into a discussion of dick robinson, when beatrice interrupted the general buzz- ing to call the meeting to order. everyone quieted down. beatrice began, "i think the first order of business should be the minutes of our last meeting in early june." she moved to the dividing point between the two sitting rooms, papers in hand, so she could be seen and heard better, haughtily conscious of the fact that she was presiding over the most looked-up-to, respected, and successful group of negro women in new york. and that meant in the united states. she was a little less than supercilious in her tone and manner when, veronica having finished reading the sum- mary of the minutes of the previous meeting with its refer- ences to the dance committee and what they were supposed to do, she asked veronica, who was chairman of the dance committee, for a report. false measure veronica peyton annoyed beatrice. not that veronica didn't possess everything a member of her group ought to possess; because she did, and more than some. veronica was a junior high school teacher, and was forever climbing up those dark, dirty, dingy steps into the filthy slum homes of some of her pupils, taking them gifts when they were ill, al- ways meeting representatives from social agencies in their homes so that conditions she imagined existed could be cor- rected. furthermore, she was always trying to enlist the serv- ices of her friends to collect money for those people — usually low-lifed negroes. she even had the nerve to want you to go around to these slum homes, delivering packages and the like. beatrice didn't mind giving a little donation to these small enterprises of veronica's, but she wasn't going to be climbing any dirty, dark stairways in slum tenements and running the risk of picking up vermin. besides, you might get raped by some of those cut-throat niggers in that area. then, veronica didn't always view an occasion in the proper perspective. there she was in her slacks, well-tailored green gabardine, of course, from wanamaker's where she had a charge account, but slacks nonetheless. this was their first fall get-together and all the girls had come out in their latest finery, new fall suits and dresses, shoes and hats and handbags, as befitted this event. but veronica came in those slacks and a brown three-quarter length box coat, her hands shoved down in the pockets, and without a handbag. and no hat! veronica was standing at the end of the room with both hands pushed down into the pockets of her slacks. she reared her heels at times in narrating the progress they had made in arranging the fall dance. an unruly wisp of her long red hair was continually falling in her face as she gestured with her head. she would brush back the incorrigible strands of hair with the back of her hand, momentarily straighten up and then replace the hand in her pocket. she was wearing a kelly green sweater that blended with her green eyes. she could have posed as a sweater girl for anybody's magazine. she had a round, childlike face with a small nose upturned at the end and a little mouth which always had a smile. her fals£ measure height was a little below average, about five-three, but her contours were better than average. "now girls, you know there are five members of our en- tertainment committee," veronica articulated slowly. "at no time since our last meeting have all five of us been to- gether at one meeting and never the same ones at successive meetings. of course, the intervening summer weeks, with everyone out of town or in and out of town, were responsi- ble for that, not a lack of initiative on anyone's part. as for me, you know i was in france for eight weeks, but since i've been back i've met with two other members of the com- mittee and talked with the others by phone. it seems there's a split in the committee, two against two, with me neutral, as to whether we should have our fall dance uptown or- downtown. two are dead set on having it at the towers, the essex house, the taft, or the waldorf, because it would be more in keeping with who we are and our position as a group. the other two want it at the savoy, if we can get it for a closed dance on that particular friday night, because they say the music is always better and everybody seems to let themselves go and have a much better time. downtown everybody's so reserved; they don't drink as much and try so hard to present the proper picture that they act like a bunch of phonies, and then in the end don't have as much fun as they ought to have, considering the amount of money we put out for our large formal dances. as for me, i agree with the latter group and would rather have the affair at the savoy, if we can get the hall the night we want it, but i thought that rather than cast the deciding vote myself, it ought to be put up to the club as a whole. after that decision is made, we can go to work and arrange the dance. how about a show of hands as to what section of the city you pre- fer for the dance?" there was a chorus of yes's. beatrice was sitting statue-like, with her face cold and immobile, but with her eyes glued to veronica as veronica talked. beatrice frigidly asked, "don't you think others of us ought to be allowed to comment before a vote is taken?" joan melodiously said, "oh, veronica, darling, i too false measure think some of us should be allowed to comment before a vote is taken," and then smiled sweetly. a few of the others nodded their heads. veronica cut her eyes at beatrice and then feigned a haughty attitude, throw- ing her head back and to one side, looking down her nose with her eyes half closed and pursing her lips. she spoke with an english accent, "my dear beatrice, since you raised the question suppose you be the first to comment." without changing her expression and without moving, beatrice said, "as far as i'm concerned this dance should be held downtown. since this is new york city and our group is accepted at the best places, we should get as far away from common niggers as possible, not only this time, but for every affair we have. the savoy is all right, but it's the peasants' and the laborers' hangout and even though they're excluded when we're there i don't like the location and the conno- tation the name savoy has for many people." "i would rather go downtown for our dance too, but not for exactly the same reasons that beatrice does," joan spoke up. "on public nights at the savoy, if you make up a party and contact the manager beforehand, he'll make complete arrangements for you, reserve a box, assign you a waiter, and so forth, and it is possible to enjoy yourself observing the black proletariat enjoying itself. however, i think our dances should always be in a different setting, more in keep- ing with our tastes, even though the common darkies are excluded when we're there and we don't have to mingle with them." excited and irritated, arms akimbo, veronica stormed, "aw, for christ's sake, no matter how great and important and high society you glamorous women think you are, in the eyes of most of white america you're still just a bunch of niggers — in spite of your extensive wardrobes, your good looks, your white faces, your cars, your homes, and your training. as for me, we ought to have the affair at the savoy. our last one in the spring was at the essex house, so why not have this one uptown? furthermore, if most of you were honest with yourselves, you'd admit you prefer having it uptown, but you just want to be damn different and do things most negroes can't do." false measure helen terrence chimed in above others trying to speak. "i agree with veronica." prudence went along with what joan had said. harriet douglas agreed with beatrice. two others said they agreed with beatrice. then three others said they agreed with veronica. so many were speaking at once and others clamor- ing to be heard that beatrice rose austerely and called them to order, saying that veronica had the floor and was conduct- ing the meeting until the discussion of the dance was over. if they wished to speak, raise their hands and wait until recognized by veronica, and don't interrupt another speaker, no matter how much they may disagree. as a compromise, veronica suggested that all formal dis- cussion as to where the dance should be held be closed at that point and they vote on their choice at the next meeting. joan objected. the next meeting was not scheduled for an- other month and since the dance was tentatively set for the first week in november, they might not be able to engage a hall on such short notice. "well, then," veronica said impatiently, "each member call me up within the next couple of days and let me know what her decision is. then i'll pass it on to the full com- mittee and we can go to work." calmly, beatrice interposed, "that's not the proper way to do it, veronica. all members should be present in person at a meeting when such a vote is taken." more ruffled, veronica replied, "am i not to be trusted? do you think i'd give a wrong count?" "i have an idea," prudence said enthusiastically. "why not have a luncheon meeting saturday at one o'clock at flamingo's? everybody should have thought it over by then." on a show of hands there were no dissenters. so the dis- cussion as to what part of the city would be host to the con- cordians and their guests was held in abeyance until satur- day afternoon. the luncheon meeting would afford them another early chance to display their good looks, their attire, and their cars. other minor items having been disposed of, beatrice said the next order of business would be candidates for member- ship, if there were any. they hadn't accepted a candidate for false measure more than two years because they deliberately kept their membership at a fixed number of twenty-three, and nobody ever resigned from this club, except for very very special reasons. about eight months before this meeting, one of the members took up permanent residence in california and resigned. to fill this vacancy, one of the girls had submitted the name of a close friend of many years' standing, a former classmate. the candidate was very promptly blackballed, in secret ballot, by no less than five members. (one thumbs- down was enough to keep her out.) the sponsor was furious at the heavy vote against her friend and challenged the girls to give their reasons. no one spoke up but beatrice and, in doing so, let it be known how she had cast her supposedly secret vote. beatrice forced a smile and in a modulated tone explained, "your candidate may possess some fine attributes as far as you're concerned, but we just don't feel she's what we want in our club. i've heard that before she married her assistant district attorney she kept company with a common bartender for some months. because she's proved herself to be indiscriminate in one important instance and continued it over a long period, we're afraid she may do something even more reprehensible after becoming a member of our club, and we couldn't tolerate that." the sponsor had fumed. "that's not your reason! it's mainly that she's not white-looking enough to suit you. she possesses everything else equivalent to what the others here possess." icily, in a manner unusual for her, joan had said, "that may be true. her color may have something to do with it. after all, all of us are more anglo-saxon than anything else and we must be careful about those with whom we mingle on a social level." joan had let it be known how she had voted. the sponsor had fairly screamed that it would have been more honest for beatrice to say it was the girl's color that was keeping her out rather than mention one of her affairs, because as she well knew there was hardly a woman in "this goddamned, clannish, snobbish club" who hadn't carried on a clandestine affair with some nigger man she wouldn't be seen with publicly because he was below their so-called social false measure waiter and the maid moved about the room, attending to the guests. beatrice went from one group to another, chat- ting. frequently she would call out sternly, "george, some more ham here," or "george, scotch and soda here." joan and prudence moved to a corner love-seat, as far as they could get from the others, and had their heads to- gether, talking in low tones. prudence was laughingly saying to joan, "oh, dick robinson is no boy friend of mine. i've known him for years. we were schoolmates at fisk years ago, you know." joan asked with amazement in her voice, "how could a man with his looks and fairly good income remain single so long?" "well," prudence answered, "i don't believe he wanted to get married. he's still a sort of glamor boy." "hmm!" uttered joan. "interested?" "well, a little. but are you sure he means nothing to you?" hugging joan, prudence said, "of course he doesn't, baby doll. i've got my usual guy coming for me tonight. i just invited dick so he could meet the gang. i haven't laid eyes on him for almost three years. if you get the chance, turn the charm on and see how he reacts." "i won't get the chance tonight," said joan, "because he and clifford will be arriving together." "i tell you what," offered prudence, "come to my house tomorrow night if you can. he'll be there. also my old stand-by john. don't worry about him, though, he won't talk." "i'll arrange to be there, baby!" "tell me, sugar pie," prudence asked, "what's the cur- rent status of the guy who was drooling over you so at martha's vineyard all summer?" "oh, well, he served his temporary purpose and the day emma and i closed the house at the vineyard i told him i didn't want to see him again and not to telephone me in new york." "you know, i suppose, that your having been seen with him so much during those weeks — on the beach, in your false measure the same as having been done. he's highly respected in this town." dick mumbled his thanks. the rest of the men, glasses in hand, were watching a wrestling match on the television set at the end of the room. robert lynch, jr., who should have been in bed hours before, poked his half-blond head into the room where the women were still scattered about. someone spied him and called out, "come here, bob, and give me a hug." bob smiled and displayed the braces on his teeth. he walked over to the lady who had called him and, dignified, submitted to her embrace. others called him and he was introduced to those he didn't know. he bowed, shook hands, yielded to embraces, always exuding the culture and upper-class man- ners that had been instilled in him at home and at the ex- clusive private school. robert was a precocious child, having a natural bent to literature and science, which was encouraged by his father and mother. his literary inclinations were satisfied in his father's extensive library and his propensity for science was spurred by the junior science sets his parents supplied. he was a potentially handsome and lively boy. but he was a lonely child. he had few companions and no close ones. his mother supervised his recreation and kept him from playing with ordinary boys. "you must be discriminating," she would say. "that young man is not in our class, so you can't play with him." the boy whiled away his free hours with his books, his amateur science, and his mother, whom he loved and respected. after he had spoken to all the women present, robert's mother took him by the hand and led him to the door, say- ing, "bob, it's time you were in bed." she kissed him and robert ran off to bed, calling "good night, mother dear," as beatrice, smiling, stood watching him as he ascended the stairs. she was proud of her son. prudence moved over to the baby grand and struck up a popular tune. harriet, standing over her, started singing in a soprano voice. a few of the men were now in the room. everyone stopped to listen. prudence joined in the song as false measure she played, picking up the alto notes and turning her face toward the audience, gesticulating with her head and eyes as she sang. the way they rendered the song they could have been professionals in any theater or night club. then they played a duet with both accompanying in song. they were both good pianists and their voices were harmonious. when- ever they met and there was a piano around they teamed up. they had done it so often they had become proficient at it, to their own and others' enjoyment. the end of each number was greeted with applause. harriet was married to dr. harvey douglas, a dentist whose earnings were high. she was an undergraduate at the university of chicago and he was in the dental school when they met. upon her graduation, they married and settled in new york. at first they lived in the rear of the apartment where he had his office in uptown new york. later, when his practice increased, they took another apartment for liv- ing only and he spread his offices into the other rooms and enlarged his equipment. recently they had built a large ranch house in queens and had moved in just two weeks be- fore this meeting. prudence was to be hostess for the next meeting one month hence, but at harriet's request, they had switched dates so harriet would have an early chance to show off the new house. harriet was affectedly modest and sweet. she had one of those childish voices which seemed more childish than it naturally was. she always wore her straight, dark brown hair parted in the middle, pulled back and done up in a bun on the nape of her neck — to make her girlish round face stand out, she thought. tonight harriet was attired in a youthful, low-necked beige dress with touches of brown, and matching brown pumps. the shade of her outfit was slightly darker than her large, light brown eyes which she used as would a youngster who has just been told she has beautiful large eyes. prudence and harriet had just ended another song when dr. douglas, hat in hand, walked over and ssaid, "c'mon, dear, it's almost midnight and we have quite a ride home." "yes," said harriet to prudence, "we haven't been out there long enough to have gotten used to the 'long voyage home' after an evening in new york. but believe me. false measure prudence, our place is worth the long trip. you'll think so too when you see it," she bragged. near the door, judge lynch had joined beatrice to say good night to the guests. as the women approached to leave, some were heard to ask, "what are you going to wear satur- day?" generally the answer was, "oh, i have something around the house i haven't worn for some time that i'll put on." in fact, not a single one of them would be seen at the saturday afternoon meeting without a new outfit. they knew if they came in something that had ever been seen be- fore they would be picked to pieces. for that reason and be- cause they had to keep up with the joneses, they would have new apparel for saturday. every one of these women had her proper charge ac- counts at new york's better stores and they used them, as their appearance established. a listing of their stores in- cluded bergdorf goodman, tailored woman, franklin simon, lord & taylor, saks fifth avenue, and other stores of similar renown. if they went to another store of lesser fame because of a special sale or a special article they fancied, they would never mention it. they were label-conscious and they couldn't tolerate trade marks inside their garments that didn't indicate purchase at the right stores for those in their class. to make it seem innocent, joan's last words to prudence, as clifford stood by on the sidewalk in front of the lynches', were, "see you after dinner tomorrow night at your house and we can go over those unfinished club matters." "swell," prudence called back, running to her car, knock- kneed like most girls run. "good night, clifford." the principal and the female senior class advisor were not dismayed or disappointed about the girl who was voted "prettiest girl." she was certainly the prettiest girl in the graduating class at springfield high, and probably the most attractive girl they had seen in many classes, and both had been at springfield high for over twenty years. but this girl was a colored girl. they had seen attractive colored girls at their high school before, some of whom were prettier than the traditional white girl voted "prettiest girl." heretofore, the students seemed always to follow a code, not set down, but abided by, which said that no non-white would be elected "prettiest girl," even if she were. for some reason, which the principal and the old maid senior class advisor were trying to figure out, the class didn't adhere to this custom. "joan turner is a pretty and attractive girl, even if she is colored," the dignified principal said to his companion in the privacy of his office. "still have an eye for a pretty girl, haven't you?" the old maid chuckled. straightening up and assuming an august manner, the principal said, "and she's been a good student," studying the card in front of him. "all marks above eighty. and a good many in the nineties." "she has a pleasing personality that sort of draws you to her," the teacher added. "sometimes i have wanted to hug her and kiss her on her cheek when we have been discussing problems that have come up regarding different school organizations with which she's connected. you know, of course, that she has been active in extracurricular activities — the drama club, debating club, art club, and the entertain- ment committee. last year at the junior prom, do you re- member her escort was henry jackson, the manufacturer's son? i don't think he knew at the time that she was a negro. false measure she surely doesn't look it and her parents don't either, so when he went to call for her, that wouldn't have given her away." "yes, i remember seeing them together. i noticed it, but i never said anything about it. subconsciously, i thought he couldn't have been with a more attractive and intelligent girl. besides, she has such a pleasing personality." "there you go again," chortled the teacher. resuming a stern manner, the principal said, "i should like to call to your attention that i have been happily mar- ried now for many years and that there are two children resulting from this union. my only interest in other girls or women is purely aesthetic, the same as you might like to look at beautiful flowers." anne clarke made a wry face. "you know, i have known you for many, many years, dr. grahame. as a young boy and young man you were always interested in good-looking ladies. you grew up chasing teen-agers, you went away to college and returned still chasing, but those a little older. then you married and as far as the public and the school board were concerned you settled down and stopped chasing. but i know better and you know i know better. do you re- member my good friend mary? and what happened? the only difficulty is you've gotten old now so there's nothing for you to do but live the life the public has always thought you lived." and then the principal said in a more ingratiating man- ner, "let's forget my private life and continue with the dis- cussion for which you came. before that, i should like to say this though: why have you never married? as a young- ster you were attractive, your womanhood bloomed, and in your middle age with your white hair and young face you still could have had a man if you had wanted to. even me, only i was already married." he paused. "i do believe, though, pardon my saying so, that you've known a man or two in your life. you couldn't help it — you were too at- tractive and for that reason subjected to so many temp- tations. anyhow, there's one thing i've got to say for you in addition to the fact that you have a well-developed mind. false measure you have managed to stay young along with each succeeding class. they love you for it, come to you with whatever is bothering them, because they know you'll be sympathetic and will understand and advise wisely. yours is an unusual quality, never found in old maid teachers and seldom found in married ones. do you know that i know some ten years ago one of our girls became pregnant, came to you with her problem, and you arranged everything? she had the abortion, was out of school for about a week, returned, and graduated with her class. she went on to college, graduated, married, and now has two children. she's very happy. without your intervention her life might have been ruined. as for me, considering the pedestal on which i sit here in this small town, there would have been nothing for me to do but expel her in disgrace if the matter had been brought to my atten- tion. the board would have stood for nothing less. however, when i learned of it — i won't tell you how — i loved you for it and was proud of you for the way you handled it. the parents, too, would have groveled at your feet for having saved their daughter from shame." miss clarke replied, "i don't know how you learned of that girl's trouble that occurred ten years ago — and i won't ask — but i do know she's making out all right. just one little mistake, so why should her life have been ruined by the puritanical attitudes of many people in this city? as for my personal affairs, whether i've known a man or two is none of your business, my drying-up friend. i've lived a full life, but always discriminating and with an eye to the mores of my group. anyone who lives in a cloister is in no position to advise and guide teen-agers. as to why i've never married, well, briefly let me say this. i've devoted my life to this school and now i guess i'm a little less than married to it. in all my years in this crass town, with but one exception all the eligible men i've met were drips. and that one had to go off and get himself killed in an auto accident. i gave up looking for a worthwhile man in this area years ago. now, let's stop talking about me and get back to joan turner, which is the reason i'm down here in your office in the first place. a re- porter is coming here today to get some background for a piece on joan. the local paper considers it front-page news false measure when a colored girl is selected 'prettiest girl' in her high school graduating class." dr. grahame said, "you know, if any of the students didn't know she's colored, they'll know it now." "well, i'm sure they all know it now, even before her election. in recent months she's been associating with negroes exclusively, outside of school. they're like her, though, of a particular class. that colored dentist's son, the caterer's daughter, the undertaker's daughter, and some others of similar background." "what does her father do?" "for years he's had a barber shop in the colored section in the north end. the family, father, mother, and joan — she's an only child — used to live over the shop. evidently he's a good businessman because two years ago they bought and furnished attractively a new house in pine point. i've been there. an evening with them would in no way indicate they're anything but middle-class whites. they certainly don't look negroid. they're nothing like the traditional concept of what negroes are supposed to be like or how they're supposed to live: not like what you read in books or sociological reports, or the gibberish you see in the movies." "what does joan intend to do after graduation?" "she's going up to smith." "good, she'll do well there. when that local reporter comes i'll refer him to you because you're able to fill him in on detailed questions which i wouldn't be able to answer. about all i can give him is her scholastic record." "all right. buzz me when he gets here." the colored dentist's son, henry, jr., accompanied joan to the senior prom at the hotel kimball. he was sixteen and hadn't yet learned to dance decently, but with joan's guidance they didn't look too bad on the ballroom floor. he was obviously colored. but handsome. otherwise, joan wouldn't have been with him. her parents wouldn't have approved. false measure joan was wearing her first grown-up evening gown. it was pale blue taffeta and flared out from her small waist and rustled. the neckline was low, not too low, and kind to her budding breasts. the sleeves were short and puffed. her slippers were pale blue satin. that afternoon — the appoint- ment was made a week before — she had her first experience with a professional hairdresser. he had one of those french names and had a salon on main street. he had set her natural waves with his experienced hand (feminine, joan thought), added some more, and said when she was leaving, "comb it out just before you leave for your affair." joan's mother had supervised the final touches to her make-up and her hair. she finally said, "nobody could look any better. now go and have a good time." downstairs, her father dropped his evening paper long enough to take her in from head to foot, remark that she certainly looked mighty good, and shake hands with the young man in his first tuxedo; he admonished him to take good care of their only daughter, and hoped they would have a good time. when they arrived at the ballroom there were cries: here comes joan. isn't she positively gorgeous! hair and eyes glistening and with a sparkling smile, her arm looped in henry's, joan traversed the length of the ballroom, nod- ding and shaking hands, and giving a hug now and then. all eyes were on her, and opportunely for her entrance, the band wasn't playing, so she received full attention. they made her get up on the platform and say a few words into the microphone. she concluded, "i have made some friends at springfield high who shall be friends of mine for the rest of my life. springfield high is the best in the united states." her escort was unobtrusively standing on the sidelines. joan had to search for him after her little speech. after all, she did have to give him the first dance and she had granted enough requests to fill her program for the rest of the eve- ning. the males had virtually surrounded her after her speech and at their insistent requests she had filled her book. the prom ended at three and joan had to look for her escort. she should have given him the last dance, but, hell, she didn't know when the final number was coming up and she still hadn't danced with six boys listed in her book. false measure in anything but studies for my first year at smith. after that, and with my feet on the ground, i'll go into other things for which you don't gain credits." talking low and to joan only, with her head bent to joan's ear, miss clarke continued. "i don't know what fi- nancial arrangements have been made for your higher edu- cation, but if you should find yourself running short, don't be reluctant to call on me for aid there too. i know your father is doing well for a small businessman but it's expen- sive to send a girl to one of these women's schools. i'm still unmarried as you know — i'm aware that the students refer to me as 'that modern, understanding old maid' — so my income is good, after teaching and guiding students like you for over a generation. there wouldn't be any difficulty for me to help you. i live in a mortgage-free, rambling house with my retired father and my mother. the only expenses i have now are my clothes." she laughed. "so, there you are, and i know of nothing better i could do with my extra money than help such a fine prospect as you." joan couldn't reply immediately. she put her arm around the teacher's waist and kissed her on her cheek. pensively, she said, "i do love you for your offer, but so far the funds for my college education appear to be secure. i have a wid- owed aunt who's splitting college costs with my father." and then, with spontaneous enthusiasm, "my parents are giving me a party on graduation night. my aunt will be there. would you come, if only for a few minutes?" "of course i will. now you and the rest of this crowd go on home to bed. it's after four!" mrs. turner, dozing in the living room chair, heard the car pull up in front of the house. by the time she reached the door, peered through and made certain it was her little girl, they were on the porch. henry had his hat in hand, mumbl- ing about what a swell evening it had been. joan was smiling sweetly, telling him to be sure and come to the graduation party. her mother opened the door and sleepily asked if they had had a good time. joan replied that it had been a scrumptious evening and swung on her mother's neck, nearly upsetting her. the young man agreed that it had been a false measure fine evening. he bowed good night to mrs. turner, got in the car, and drove around the comer on two wheels. as a young man, on his return from world war i, mr. turner had gone back to hampton institute to complete his course. it was there that he met the meek and demure young lady who later became his wife. they were both from nearby towns in north carolina. when they announced their engagement, their parents advised them to go north where opportunities were better. they picked springfield because mr. turner had an army buddy who lived there and he spoke glowingly of the town. barbering was some- thing mr. turner had learned as a sideline to help him through school but now he would make it his livelihood. with what he and his wife had saved, plus presents from their parents, they set out for springfield. his army buddy had made preliminary arrangements for a place to stay. within five days mr. turner had found a location for his shop in the colored section. he opened his doors for business two weeks after he had set foot in town. his army buddy took a job with him and had been with him ever since. busi- ness had been good from the start and had remained so on through the years. his four-chair shop was a fixture in the neighborhood. at first they lived upstairs over the shop. later he bought the building. he and his wife were con- servative, respected citizens. they were cultured too, they be- lieved. mrs. turner belonged to two book clubs and read the right women's magazines. mr. turner, besides the daily paper, read time and the saturday review of literature. they had had an automobile since they married and each time they turned one in, the next one was more expensive, in accordance with mr. turner's increased earnings and the paying off their bills. they took vacations in the proper faraway places and sent back postcards as proof they were there. the turners had been in springfield not fully two years when their daughter joan was born. she was a beautiful baby, looked like a white child, and had curly blond hair false measure which turned darker as she grew older. she surpassed her personable parents in good looks as she approached early teen age and grew on into adolescence. from the beginning, when joan started kindergarten, and then first grade, her mother commenced selecting her playmates. consideration was chiefly of their appearance — they must be fair, and most assuredly not black — and they were the correct ones, attention having been paid to who their parents were. at a very young age, younger than most girls are taught, and some never, joan started learning from mrs. turner the impera- tiveness of feminine cleanliness and neatness. these early lessons and admonitions stayed with her the rest of her life. there was the daily bath, two when the weather was hot, and clean underclothing without fail every day and for that second bath if she took it. when she was a little tot there were always the daily starched ginghams and the organdies for dress-up occasions. each morning her hair was freshly curled or, if the weather was warm, parted and pulled back with a ribbon. later as a young teen-ager, there were the daily skirt and sweater, or jumper and blouse, or skirt and blouse. her party dresses were usually of pastel taffetas. mrs. turner was always cognizant of the color of joan's hair and eyes and that her clothing must harmonize. summer attire was generally sheer cotton or silk dresses in simple styles, but always the proper color. joan roller-skated, ice-skated, had her bicycle, and was a jitterbug like most normal teen-agers. she bought all the latest swing records. after school her crowd would gather at someone's house and compare the relative merits of benny goodman, the dorsey brothers, artie shaw, count basie, and duke ellington. they would practice the latest steps. mrs. turner always knew at whose house joan was. fre- quently they whiled away some time at one or two popular "sugar bowls" with their soda fountains and juke boxes. joan went to chaperoned teen-age dances on friday and saturday nights. often her mother was one of the chaperones. if mrs. turner wasn't chaperoning, she knew who was. on sundays the whole family, caparisoned in their latest and best, went to the colored episcopal church. mr. turner was one of the wardens. the turners were doting parents. as a child there false measure was no toy that joan wanted for, and as an adolescent she was able to get every accepted fad. when joan was a sopho- more in high school it was time to allow decent, well-be- haved young men to call on her. it was then that she and her mother had their first funda- mental disagreement. joan's first caller was also a high school student who intended to go on to college. he was mannerly, well behaved, and such a good student there was a possibility he might have been awarded a scholarship. but as far as mrs. turner was concerned, he was too dark, and besides, his father was one of those common mill workers. and, to top it off, his mother worked as a domestic on week- ends! she told joan the young man couldn't come again and was cold and rude to him during the visit. joan was furious with her mother. after the caller left, she said she didn't care who his parents were or what they did or did not do for a living. the only things she was concerned with, were his behavior and potentialities. and, she emphasized, he was certainly much better behaved than some of the white-look- ing boys mrs. turner approved of. in addition, he was a good student and a football player on the varsity team too. mrs. turner was adamant. she couldn't draw mr. turner into the conversation because he said, "i make my living off those black niggers you disapprove of and some of them are all right." then he went back to his evening paper. joan had a last word with her mother, cried, and slammed herself in her bedroom. the young man was bewildered at his reception. joan was always so nice to him around school. but that mother of hers! one evening mr. turner came upstairs, ate his dinner, and settled in a chair for an evening's reading when mrs. turner disrupted his composure with the following: "this building has been paid for, hasn't it? we only owe two pay- ments on the car, isn't that right? and we have almost five thousand dollars in the bank, don't we?" mr. turner gave a desultory "yes" to these questions until mrs. turner really sprang one. "i want to get out of this neighborhood, mainly for joan's sake. yours and mine too, only i'm afraid you won't see it immediately." false measure mr. turner, who ordinarily never used profanity before his wife, replied, "you're goddamn right i won't see immedi- ately why we should move from this house!" he eventually did see. although he wasn't completely in accord with his wife's phony (as he called them) reasons for buying another house in an almost completely white neigh- borhood, he finally acquiesced after considerable pressure, applied in stages. her arguments for what she wanted gener- ally centered around joan. "she's getting to be a young lady now," or "i don't like these common niggers looking at my joan when she comes in and out of this house," and "we have enough money now to purchase a house away from your business and joan's friends can come without having to climb stairs over your shop," and finally, "we're successful in a small way, so why not move to the suburbs as everyone else does and have a lawn and the like?" so they bought a rambling three-story house with land around it in pine point. mrs. turner had her flowers to tend and mr. turner had his lawn to cut with a newfangled lawn mower with a gasoline motor. they bought some out- door furniture and joan gave lawn parties, always having both negroes and whites. most of the negroes, the girls at least, looked like whites. when the principal called joan's name in the filled-to- overflowing auditorium, and she walked up the steps and onto the platform, with distinguished visitors seated from end to end, the pleased, proud smiles were spontaneous, not as mechanical as they were for so many others who walked up on the platform that graduation afternoon. she was elegant in her white dress with the full skirt which she deftly lifted on raising her foot for the first step. the brilliance of her smiling, pretty face equaled that of the fresh corsage of red roses at her left breast as she gracefully made her way to the center of the rostrum where the principal was holding her diploma. the energetic applause reached such a pitch by the time she had accepted the diploma and reached the opposite end of the platform that she paused momentarily, deeply moved, and looked at dr. grahame. "what shall i do?" her expression asked. he motioned to her, palm up- raised and pointing to the audience, to ackowledge the ap- false measure plause. that she did with a courtly bow, the skirt of her dress stretched by the fingertips of each hand, the ribboned diploma squeezed in the palm of the right hand, the knee bent low and the head bowed, in the manner of a refined curtsy at a european court. the unrestrained manifestations of approval, joan knew, were because of her far-above-average good looks, her scho- lastic achievements, refinement, popularity, and personality. she had received so much more acclamation than either the valedictorian or the salutatorian. with all this, she was colored and had been chosen "prettiest girl." everybody seemed to adore her. these things flitted through her mind as she descended the steps and she was unable to restrain her emotions. tears ran down her cheeks. the girls arose from the graduates' section and escorted her to the rear where her mother and father, viewing her slight loss of com- posure, had left their seats and were in the aisle waiting for her with open arms. her mother couldn't restrain her feel- ings either, and she too had tears running down her cheeks. she hugged and patted her daughter. "we're so proud of you. everyone recognizes in you the same things we do." mr. turner patted them both and asked them to compose them- selves. temporarily the proceedings had stopped and all eyes were upon them. three seats having been made avail- able by guests graciously moving over, mr. turner guided them in and then sat down beside them. joan, clutching her diploma, did not go back to sit with her classmates. suddenly mrs. turner remembered that photographers were there from local and nearby newspapers. they wanted joan's picture, above all. even the new york newspapers had reported that a colored girl had been elected prettiest in springfield's graduating class. the springfield papers and those in the surrounding towns would probably print her picture on the front page. joan should look her very best. "joan, for god's sake," mrs. turner pleaded, "get yourself together. look at your face. remember, the photographers are here, waiting for you more than anyone else. they told me so." that made joan straighten up. she had forgotten. she excused herself, clambered across her father, left the hall, and false measure went to the girls' room. when she returned she had erased all traces of her tears and was as glowing as ever. all diplo- mas had been issued, the closing speech had been made, and the final song, "alma mater," was being sung. joan was in time to lend her voice to the singing. leaving the school, on the steps and on the sidewalk joan met a barrage of photographers' bulbs and sharp orders from cameramen. turn this way, and turn that way, and hold it, and now, one of the family group, and now, one of you alone, and young lady, don't stand here, and mister, will you please get out of the way! mr. turner immediately withdrew to the background after one picture; mrs. turner withdrew after posing a second time with joan. they both said, "this is joan's day, not ours." the weather happened to be exactly what is hoped for on graduation day. the sky was cloudless and blue, the sun blinding and hot. the glare was increased by the white dresses of the girls standing and darting about the spacious lawn artistically crisscrossed with sidewalks. mr. turner backed up against the fieldstone front of the school to take advantage of the few inches of shade there. his eyes traversed the scene in front of him. he was as proud of his daughter's good looks and achievements as his wife was, but he was more modest. he watched joan posing for pictures, then his eyes wandered to the others. without knowing it, he was comparing her with other girls and finding that she was better looking. the picture-taking over, joan scurried about bidding farewells to students and teachers she might never see again. "what do you plan to do in the fall?" joan would ask while giving a goodbye handshake. oh, i'm going to connecticut college for women, or i'm going to mount holyoke, or i'm going to work, or i'm start- ing a business course in a week and hope to be in somebody's office in the fall, or i'm going up to harvard, or i'm going to wesleyan, or i'm going to williams, or i'm going to be an apprentice to my father in his factory. joan said she was going to smith. some said. gee, you're lucky. others said, write to me and call me when you're in town, and you're a smart girl and you'll do well, and let's false measure visit each other at our schools. the teachers said, "you must visit your alma mater when you're in the city." farewells over, joan ran to her mother and father who had seated themselves in their car, and were contentedly watching joan. mrs. turner was vicariously reveling in joan's popularity and happiness and thought of what she might have been like as a young girl in this new england setting. joan was still nervously excited. she seated herself in the back seat and as her father drove off, her arms and head were hanging out of the window as she waved and called her last adieus. slightly turning his head to the rear after they had gone a block or two and joan had fallen back against the seat with a sigh, mr. turner said, "my child, i think you ought to get into bed and rest yourself before tonight's activities. your nerves need to be quieted, and i think i have something at home to help them along." "anything you say, daddy dear." mr. turner pulled up to the curb in front of their home. their next-door neighbor ran to the car with her brownie camera, insisting that she must have a picture of joan in her graduation dress. joan posed. the housewife went on to complain that she knew joan was having a party that night and she hadn't invited her daughter ruth, who was quite hurt. ruth would graduate next year but she wouldn't be able to go on to college because they didn't have the money. besides, she wasn't as smart as joan, the woman acknowl- edged. her husband was nothing but a skilled, dumb irish lathe hand, she went on, but her ruth loved joan and looked up to her so much. in anticipation of the expected invitation which never came, they had bought ruth her first party dress. would joan please invite her broken-hearted ruth? joan glanced at her parents, standing at the curb. the expressions on their faces indicated "yes, of course." so she threw her arms about the irish housewife's neck and kissed her cheek. "please tell ruth it was an oversight that she wasn't invited and i'll be immensely disappointed if she doesn't come." "you haven't forgotten, i know," the housewife went on. "you and ruth have been rather close since you moved to falsemeasure this neighborhood. it's only lately that you've avoided her. you roller-skated together, you bicycled together, you taught each other the latest dance steps and lent each other your records. i think you understand why she feels injured. now i'll go home and tell her she's expected tonight. don't tell her i said anything to you about it. she's moping in her room right now." with smiling glances at each other but without any com- ments, the turners went into the house. joan flopped down in a plush living room chair, apparently exhausted. her mother sat down opposite, watching her. her father went out back and was stirring around. mrs. turner remarked, "joan, you're emotionally deflated and should lie down before to- night." mr. turner came into the room with a stiff hooker of bourbon in one hand and a water chaser in the other. "drink this right down," he said, "and follow it with the water. it'll quiet your nerves and make you sleep. you're about to be a college lady now so you're old enough for me to offer you a strong drink." joan gulped it down, thinking how, in curious experi- mentation, she had secretly tasted this whisky before. "now go to bed and get some rest," he genially admonished. "the sun is still high, but close the blinds." mrs. turner ushered her daughter upstairs to her room, helped her out of her dress, made her put on a net to pro- tect that hairdo and saw her covered up. by that time the bourbon had done its work. joan's senses were dulled, her eyes were closed. when her mother kissed her forehead say- ing, "have a nice nap," joan, almost inaudibly, murmured, "i will, mother." this night there were caterers. mrs. turner felt it would be too much work for her. besides, her daughter's grad- uation party was an event that should be done up properly. with their paraphernalia, the caterers were at the back door before the turners could finish their evening meal. they hadn't called joan down. they'd let her sleep so she'd be fresh for the evening's activities. chewing a mouthful of food, mrs. turner asked one of the caterer's drivers through false measure the rear screen door, "what are you doing here so early? the affair doesn't start until half-past eight." he replied firmly but respectfully, "listen, lady, i work on a schedule i don't make up. i was told to drop this here stuff off here on my last stop. if it's too early i can't help it. i go to the garage from here. anyway, it's vacuum-packed so nothing will spoil." with that he dropped one of the sev- eral metal containers and he and his helper took off. mr. turner advised his wife to finish her meal and forget the caterers. after a while the waiters would come along and they'd take care of things. if she didn't watch out she'd be as nervously excited as joan was. "do you need a drink?" he playfully asked. "yes, maybe, but after i've finished eating. it'll probably do my nerves some good." the dinner dishes washed, mrs. turner checked the hour and decided to wake up joan. she tiptoed to joan's bedroom, the hall light reflecting in, and softly shook her shoulder. joan sat up with a bound, refreshed. noting the darkness, she asked, "for god's sake, mother, what time is it? why did you let me sleep so long?" "you needed the rest. now come, let's get dressed. the guests will be arriving any moment. maybe i can get your father to bring you up some dinner to eat as you dress. you mustn't start this evening on an empty stomach." mrs. turner stroked her daughter's forehead. joan's toes hit the floor. as she skipped to the shower she called, "tell daddy to put my dinner on the dressing table while i bathe." before mrs. turner got downstairs her husband had ad- mitted some teen-age guests. they had the record player blasting the latest swing and immediately started to jitter- bug. joan heard the music and voices while still under the shower, and said, "i'd better hasten this." mrs. turner greeted the early arrivals, had a few whispered words with mr. turner, and then went back up to make sure that every- thing regarding joan's attire and make-up was perfect. joan had already called down the rear stairs for her mother's as- sistance. joan was in her robe, gulping the food her father had false measure placed on her dressing table. "please, joan, take your time. you'll have indigestion soon enough without swallowing your food whole," mrs. turner said. joan replied, "okay, mother," and tried to slow down, but that music and the youngsters' voices drew her like a magnet. she continued to gulp. when the last mouthtul was gone, mrs. turner directed, "now, go wipe your mouth with your washcloth and come back here in a hurry so's i can get you dressed." "be right back, mother," joan said as she dashed to the bathroom. when she returned her mother had laid out her dress and was picking out underclothing in the bureau drawer. joan had on her dress and her mother was putting the finishing touches to her hair while joan finished her face, when mr. turner came to the door and said that there was a reporter downstairs from one of the new york negro news- papers. he wanted her to pose and give an interview. joan said, "i'll pose, but you can give him the interview. anyway, he's probably read everything about me in the white papers, new york and elsewhere. that's what brought him here." she glanced at her father. he seemed disap- pointed, so she said, "all right, daddy, i'll talk with him and pose for him. but you do the preliminary work." her mother nodded agreement and mr. turner went back downstairs. "listen, sugar pie," mrs. turner said, "i want everything to be perfect before you go downstairs with that newspaperman waiting. he'll snap you before you can bat an eye." "i know, mother." meanwhile, downstairs, more guests had been arriving. the youngsters had filled the living room with themselves, swing music, and dancing. the older folks had been chan- neled into an adjoining sitting room. the caterer's waiters were bustling about, waiting on the older folks buffet style. the youngsters couldn't stop dancing long enough to be bothered about eating and drinking. the adults, largely parents of young bloods present, were being served cock- tails made from mr. turner's private stock and he had gath- ered some old cronies in the kitchen to partake of his ultra- false measure the air and the other held by her partner, hips shaking — her mother caught her ear. "the photographer's waiting for you." joan looked and saw him standing to one side, camera ready, observing her. she called to him, "be with you in a minute," as she was swung out in a fancy, tricky step. a girl dancing near her said, "gosh, joan, i wish i could learn that step. you do it so well." jubilantly and gracefully, joan did the step again and said, "let this guy teach you, he knows it well." then she guided her partner straight to the photographer and ab- ruptly stopped. "well," she said, laughing and panting, "what can i do for you?" "i'm from the metropolitan star," he said. "i was sent up here to get some photos and also an interview. you got quite a spread in the new york white papers and those up this way too. we have to interview you personally for our own story and get our own pictures. do you mind? pardon me if i say your classmates certainly didn't go wrong in selecting you 'prettiest girl.'" mrs. turner had her own ideas as to how joan should pose for the best effect. she interrupted and told the news- man he was to take two photos of joan coming down the stairs and two of her seated in a chair. then he could take as many others as he wished if joan would allow him to. joan agreed with her mother and impatiently said, "c'mon, let's get it over with, we're holding up the party." running to the stairs she asked, "mother, where do you want me to stand?" mrs. turner shut off the record player and shushed the jitterbuggers, telling them to be quiet and sit still at least until the photographing was over so there wouldn't be any distractions. "all right, joan, i'll be there in a minute," and she turned back to a particularly noisy boy, the life-of-the-party type, and sternly but with a smile told him to seat himself and be quiet for the next few minutes. he did sit down and immediately proceeded to pantomime grimaces and gestures to the hand-muffled tittering of the others in the crowded room. false measure mrs. turner placed joan on the stairs, just below the bend and halfway down. "now place your hand on the rail- ing," she said. "hold your skirt in the fingertips of your other hand and put your foot out as though you're about to take a step down. now turn your head toward the photog- rapher and smile." the photographer had been moving about getting joan in focus. mrs. turner said, "we're ready." the photographer said, "now bring that smile back." joan protested, "i can't hold it forever while you move around peering through that thing." just then she glanced over at the pantomimist who had been trying his best to catch her eye. his facial expression made her giggle, and that's when the photographer caught her. he remarked that it would make an excellent candid picture. mrs. turner would have none of that. joan was to pose sedately, with a pleasant smile, no broad grins, and no throaty laughs. she stalked over to the mischief-maker and told him in no uncertain manner that he was to subdue his amateur showmanship until the photographing was over. then she returned to joan, checked her pose, told her to move her head to the left an inch and smile. she turned to the photog- rapher and nodded. the bulb flashed. the newsman re- marked that he was satisfied with both poses. but mrs. turner warned him against printing first without submit- ting it to her for approval. that he promised to do. next mrs. turner sat joan on the piano seat, spread her dress to the right width, had her cross her legs, and raised the skirt to where it was at once dignified and yet displayed her shapely legs. she deftly touched joan's hair, moved her head, and then nodded to the photographer. joan posed for one more picture on the piano seat but said she had had enough when the photographer asked for one of her standing in the doorway between the parlor and the sitting room where the older folks had briefly stopped drinking to watch joan pose. to make him understand she meant what she said, she deliberately walked over to the record player, turned it on, grabbed the nearest boy, and started dancing. the other youngsters followed suit with a bounce and in a moment teen-age swing bedlam reigned false measure again. joan passed her mother and the newsman standing together, and announced above the music, "you two held up my party long enough. and furthermore, mr. newsman, no interview. anything you want to know about me you'll have to get from my dear mother or my darling father." with that, she and her partner swung on off. when they reached the other side of the room, joan gasped on one of her turns and darted to an opposite corner. she was sincerely upset because she hadn't previously noticed tow-headed ruth sitting alone. joan pulled her out of the chair, kissed her, and asked her forgiveness. "joan, i know it wasn't intentional," ruth sympathized. "it's so crowded and you've been so busy." joan gripped ruth's upper arms and looked at her squarely. "why was it necessary for me to send you an en- graved invitation on a silver platter to come to my party?" ruth turned her head and dropped her eyes but couldn't restrain her tears. "joan, you seem to have slipped so far away from me lately. you've become so popular. the pretti- est girl in the senior class. your name in the papers. the pic- tures they took of you, and all these here tonight. in the fall you're going away to school. i'll never get away to school. my people don't have that kind of money and, besides, my father thinks i should go to work and then get married. that'll be the end of me. i'll be settled here for the rest of my life." then, raising her eyes to joan's face, she let her tears show unashamed. "i love you, joan, and want us to be friends always. i felt so bad when you would drive up in your father's car and just wave to me and run in the house. sometimes i called you as you passed my house and you would greet me nicely, but keep on going. do you remember how we used to skate together? and ride our bicycles? how we taught each other the latest dance steps?" she dropped her head on joan's shoulder. "i can't help it, joan, it's the way i feel." joan clasped ruth in her arms. "let's do a couple of the dances we used to do. no, first we must go upstairs and straighten out your face. nobody has noticed us here in the corner, with your tears and my near-tears. they're too busy jitterbugging and my partner's gone off with another false measure dancer." ruth forced a smile as joan pointed him out in the throes of an intricate step. by now the youngsters had the living room floor of mr. turner's house echoing as their feet thumped the floor in time with the groaning swing music. joan said, "let's see if we can get through this crowd." holding ruth by the hand, she snaked their way through the crowd and on up the stairs. joan sat ruth before her mirror and dabbed tissue at her eyes and face. ruth still couldn't hold back her tears. she lowered her head and tiny droplets trickled to the glass- topped dressing table, mingling with spilled powder. for seconds, joan didn't know what to say. she was really fond of ruth, but she had been so busy lately with her senior class activities that she hadn't had any time for ruth. she bent down and put an arm around ruth's waist, rubbing her nose across her cheek. "wherever i go and whatever i do, we'll always be friends and we'll visit each other and write to each other. is that agreed?" ruth nodded without raising her head. still with her head down, ruth muttered that her parents had bought her her first real party dress and she had come close to not having an opportunity to wear it, and her mother — here joan broke in to say that it was certainly a lovely dress and that she looked exceedingly good in it. ruth was not a pretty girl, but she possessed a healthy, attractive face and a well-formed body that carried her blue satin dress favorably, although the dress was perhaps too old for her years. joan placed a hand under ruth's chin and raised her head. "listen, my pal," she said with kindness, "let's once and for all dry up the tears. we must get back downstairs." again she went to work on ruth's face. suddenly she turned and stood motionless. above the music and voices she heard someone being greeted. it wasn't her aunt from columbus who was expected any minute, because the youngsters were saying "good evening" and none of them knew her. it couldn't be another of her friends because the greetings were restrained and dignified. teen-agers didn't greet each other that way at a party. then she heard miss clarke's name. false measure between deliberate forkfuls of food the teacher replied, "your picture's on the front page, my pretty. one they took of you at graduation. it's a good one, i think." joan excitedly called across the room, "daddy, daddy, did you get the evening paper?" "yes, joan, the boy delivered it but i haven't had time to unfold it. it's in the cupboard in the kitchen, if the waiters haven't moved it or messed it up." joan bounded for the kitchen, bumping into a waiter coming through the door with a laden tray that only experi- ence kept him from losing. "where is that paper!" she de- manded, directing the question to nobody in particular, her eyes scanning the kitchen. "what paper?" asked a busy waiter. "the evening paper." "i dunno, lady. i been too busy to be readin'." to his annoyance, she looked through the mess on the table where he was working and found the newspaper under a pile of trays. she broke open the folded paper, and there she was in all her graduation loveliness, occupying a promi- nent spot on the front page. she reflected on her image some moments and remarked out loud, "it is a good photo of me." the waiter nodded agreement without looking up from his work. joan darted from the kitchen, the paper held open in front of her. the waiter she had run into before shook his head and said he was glad he wasn't coming through the door that time. she went past the older folks and into the living room where some of the jitterbugs, exhausted, were sitting about eating. a remnant of die-hards was still dancing. "look, kids," joan invited above the noise, "come see what i've got in the paper." she stood in the middle of the room and they crowded around her as she held the paper before her. gee, joan, you sure look good, and and on the front page too, and you look as good as a movie star, and who's norma shearer compared to that and gee whiz! and hey, let me see too, and will you stop pushing? we'll all see it if you'll wait. joan stood calmly holding the paper while her guests jostled each other for a better view. false measure mr. turner called in from the sitting room, "say, what goes on there? can't we see too?" joan handed the paper to one of the boys and com- manded, "take it to my father. when they're through, the rest of you can see it." the boy obeyed. joan restacked the records, turned on the record player, and grasped ruth's hand. "come on, my sweet, let's get in our dance. it's getting late." not more than ten bars had been played and mr. turner was still proudly passing around the paper, when the door- bell rang. "whoever that is really wants to get in," joan laughed, running to the door. she flung it open and there stood a tall, buxom, white-looking lady, brown-eyed, black- haired, and hatless, with a wardrobe suitcase resting beside one leg and a smaller bag beside the other. joan was on the verge of saying, "yes?" when she recognized aunt agnes, her father's sister. she let out a joyful scream, threw her arms around her aunt's neck, and pulled her in, crying to every- body, "this is my aunt agnes from columbus, ohio." then to the males, "one of you gentlemen bring in my aunt's bags." there was the usual excitement of welcome. aunt agnes commented to her brother, "why your hair hasn't even begun to recede. not thin either, but gray." "who ever heard of a barber getting bald?" laughter. "hold your head down and let me see if you have a half- dollar in the back." she pulled his head down. "ummm, no hair lost there either." more laughter. aunt agnes was introduced to the guests and was then settled in an armchair in the sitting room. joan sat on the arm rest. she was a little tired, aunt agnes said. she had driven from columbus alone. if she hadn't stopped over- night in new york on the last lap and hadn't been delayed there by the stores and the theatres she would have been in springfield much earlier. aunt agnes was a junior high school teacher in the jim crow division of the columbus public school system. "my false measure aunt teaches in columbus," joan said to miss clarke, seated a few feet away. "then we have much in common," miss clarke replied. miss clarke would have taken her for a white person. the same held for most of the others in the room, she remarked to herself, glancing around. they were refined and well- mannered, the same as middle- and upper-class whites. miss clarke and aunt agnes got into a discussion of pedagogy as practiced in the two cities. joan commented occasionally, "is that so?" or "really!" the guests began to leave. joan thanked everyone for having come. finally, all had gone but miss clarke who was still talking methodology, school facilities, and the like with aunt agnes. at mr. turner's urging, miss clarke consented to have a highball. mrs. turner suggested that joan join in with a glass of wine but joan poutingly demurred. her father winked as she exchanged some words with her mother as to her grownup age and the fact that she was now a high school graduate and perfectly capable of "carrying" one strong drink. "didn't i have one this afternoon?" she pleaded. "yes, and it put you right to sleep," her mother retorted. mr. turner slyly fixed joan a stiff ginger ale highball. the toast was to joan and her future academic success. as she said goodbye to joan in the doorway with the family gathered close around, miss clarke said, "write to me often. i'm going to tell the dean you're coming and to keep an eye on you. i know you'll do well, though. you're supposed to." they embraced and she went to her car, all of them standing in the doorway until the starter rattled, the motor fired, and she pulled away waving a last good night. so this was columbus. joan didn't like the town. too much segregation and discrimination which she knew about as some faraway something but hadn't experienced person- ally. in springfield it didn't exist for her and in her previous travels with her parents she had toured the northeast and canada, but never farther south than new york city. there- false measure fore she hadn't met it. her father had said flatly he'd never go south again to visit his relatives. he couldn't stomach jim crow. if his relatives wanted to see him they could come north and he'd welcome them, but they wouldn't see him if they stayed down there waiting for him to visit them. the turners, traveling in strange areas as a family unit alone, never met accommodation problems, due to their nordic appearance; however, a good many of their friends were negroid in appearance and the turners, in visiting com- munities in which segregation prevailed, would be subjected to the same restrictions as their darker accompanying friends in their friends' home town. yet if they went out alone in these same communities, they would be as courteously and obligingly treated as any other strangers. the turners were not interested in "passing" on any long-term or permanent basis, but it was certainly convenient to walk into any restau- rant when you were hungry and be fed, to stop at any road- side stall when you were thirsty and get a soda or beer on a hot summer's day, and to pull up at any hotel after a long day's drive and not be insultingly turned away because your skin was too dark. agnes breckinridge, n£e turner, had brought her niece back to columbus for a summer visit after spending two weeks in springfield with her brother and sister-in-law, whom she hadn't seen for six years. it had been necessary for joan's aunt agnes to return to columbus so soon, even though her school was closed, because she was also a business- woman, and a competent one. without previous warning, john breckinridge had suddenly succumbed after a massive cerebral hemorrhage two years before. with the demise of prohibition he had opened columbus' most fashionable restaurant and bar for gentlemen and ladies of color. it had a shiny front, draw curtains, and blinds. the d&or was conservatively elaborate, with white-clothed tables, a circular bar with contrastingly colored high stools, and was much mirrored. his place was for the best, exclusively, and he meant that. during open hours he kept a well-dressed man on the floor with his eyes always on the door to usher out, by force if necessary, any characters whose appearance and deportment didn't measure up to the standards set for his false measure place. john's place prospered. with columbus' discrimi- nation, there was almost no other place for upper-class ne- groes to go for an evening out. there were one or two ad- ditional places where decent negroes could go, but the atmosphere was far below that of john's place. his place might have been smaller than the finest white restaurants in town, but it was unquestionably no less exquisite than the best. though aunt agnes had no previous business experience, after her husband's death she retained her teaching job and assumed management of the restaurant. what she didn't know, she asked or dug out herself. she trained one of her husband's newer employees and made him manager when- ever she herself wasn't present. her home — a three-story building with two floors rented out — was paid for, and within less than two years she paid off the mortgage on the taxpayer where they had the restaurant. now it was clear sailing and business was good. what else could it be? those who wanted the best either came to her place or they didn't go out. joan and aunt agnes stayed overnight in new york city the first night out as a concession to joan. their hotel was the sherry-netherland, exactly as joan wanted. the next day they spent shopping. joan knew of all the better fifth avenue and madison avenue stores and she wanted to look around in them whether she bought anything or not. aunt agnes, with her round, jolly face with the tiny mouth, pampered the niece she hadn't seen for six years. she promised to buy joan a suit or dress at any store joan chose even though at joan's direction she had sent her two suits and a dress for graduation presents. joan led her aunt straight to tailored woman for a suit and then inveigled her into paying for a dress at bergdorf goodman. "this is fun," thought joan. on previous trips to new york with her parents they had always stayed with friends and it was always the spare room or the day bed. and she had never been able to get to those fashionable stores she'd read so much about in vogue, harper's bazaar, and made- moiselle. "do you have to be the best-dressed girl in smith's fresh- false measure man class?" aunt agnes asked jokingly. "your father and mother bought you more new clothes than you could ever carry for this trip. your uncle henry in atlanta sent you that diamond-studded watch and you had an assortment of new hats and shoes that you had to leave behind. what else in this world could you possibly want!" she laughed. "let's get out of this town before you bankrupt me i your father tells me he made a good driver out of you. we'll leave early in the morning. with the two of us alternating, we can be in columbus around midnight." at little gatherings aunt agnes arranged for joan during her visit, she made certain that her niece became acquainted with the right girls and boys her age. joan soon found out that the young men couldn't take her to the downtown movies and they couldn't drink sodas in the drugstores or have lunch or a sandwich in any columbus restaurants. she complained to her aunt about it. "well, it's something you'll have to get used to and adjust to here," aunt agnes ex- plained. "there are two colored neighborhood theaters you can go to and there's that colored drugstore if you should want some ice cream. of course, if you go out alone or with someone who looks like you, you can go anywhere else you want to." "but this is ohio, not the south," joan said. "yes, i know," sighed her aunt. "i've been living through this for almost twenty years. we've made some advances and got some things corrected but the authorities seem to move so painfully slowly." joan struck up a warm friendship with a girl named prudence, who had also just finished high school and was entering fisk university, in nashville, in the fall. prudence "looked like" joan and the two spent their time in establish- ments verboten to people obviously colored. there were a number of young men in columbus' upper-class group who were light-skinned but not quite light enough, and there were several girls who were fair, but only three or four in their set were absolutely undetectable as negroes, so usually prudence and joan made their sorties downtown un- accompanied by others. at the frequent teen-age gatherings, false measure to the amusement of the others, they would relate where they had been and the gracious service rendered them. in the middle of august, over aunt agnes' protests joan insisted that she must get home and use the next three weeks preparing for school. her "preparing" meant more shop- ping. aunt agnes put her in a roomette on the pennsy and cautioned her not to spend too much time in new york, where she had to change trains. joan had wheedled money from her darling aunt for another dress and some small articles; hence, she pointed out, she would have to be in new york long enough to make those purchases. "i'm going to call springfield tomorrow night at the time you ought to have gotten there and verify it. i'm wiring your mother that you're leaving as soon as this train pulls out." aunt agnes tipped the porter liberally and admonished him to take good care of her niece. she embraced joan and then turned to the teen-agers crowding the roomette and scattered in the corridor of the car and said good-naturedly, "you youngsters get off this train that's about to move." the porter smilingly concurred. in the anteroom the secretary's typewriter had been going tic, tic, tic for several minutes now and joan was sitting nervously kicking her crossed leg. at length she went over to the secretary and asked, "what on earth does dean fergu- son want to see me for?" "search me," the secretary replied without looking up. "you wrote me the note i found in my box so maybe you ought to know something about it," joan said. still without looking up, the secretary said, "miss fergu- son directed me to send you a note to come over here this morning and i did. she's not in the habit of telling me why she wishes to talk to students." "well, i'm missing a class." joan stalked back to her seat. "if you're at the dean's office i'd think you shouldn't be concerned about missing a class," the secretary answered again without raising her eyes. joan gave her a daggered look and resumed kicking her leg, books precariously bal- anced on her lap. after what seemed like hours, dean ferguson appeared at her office door, seeing out a professor with whom she'd been in conference. the professor, squeezing his brief case too high under his arm, and with a funny walk all students think professors have, nodded to joan as he passed. to the dean's engaging "come in, miss turner," joan entered the inner sanctum and the door closed behind them. joan was motioned to a seat at the end of the desk. dean ferguson swung her swivel chair to face joan. any student who had committed a breach and was sent for by a dean or a president or a head of a department or similar official was generally given this combination question and statement, "i suppose you are cognizant of my reason for sending for you," or a variation thereof. since joan had committed no false measure breach, the opening question was, "i suppose, miss turner, you wondered why i sent for you?" "yes, miss ferguson, i did." she laughed. "don't worry. there's nothing wrong." she paused, throwing back her head with the well-groomed, mixed-gray, bobbed hair. "during the summer," dean ferguson continued, "i received a long letter from an old friend and former classmate. among many other things, she introduced me to you. she said she had taught you, that you are very intelligent, that you were very popular in high school, and that you are very pretty. she was right in everything that she said about you "you must be talking about miss clarke. i'm very fond of her." "and she's very fond of you. purposefully, i didn't send for you right after your arrival on the campus, as anne asked me to, because i felt it would be better for you to get your bearings on your own. however, having been made curious, i watched your activities. i see you are a member of the dra- ma club and the debating society, and you were elected presi- dent of the freshman class. in the various social committees you have been very active too. although it hasn't yet been officially announced — i'm giving you some advance in- formation — your academic standing is such that you've made the dean's list. anne said you would make a name for yourself here. keep up the good work!" "thank you, miss ferguson. i'll try," joan said through an appreciative smile. the dean scribbled on a pad. "take this and hurry to your next class. i know you're late." they shook hands and she saw joan to the door. joan ran across the campus on air. joan was sauntering across the campus. she had a two- hour break before her first afternoon class. she halted and turned in response to "joan, joan, wait a minute!" it was her roommate, adrienne, and she caught up with joan, puff- ing. "what in the world did dean ferguson want with you this morning?" she asked. "about what did she talk?" false measure "about me." "what about you?" "oh, nothing of any importance." "listen, my dear," adrienne implored, "please don't keep any secrets from me. we're roommates and the best of friends." linking arms, they started toward their dormitory. joan delayed her reply and as she was on the verge of an- swering, two girls hailed her from the other side of the campus with, "joan, how about the three of us going riding tomorrow morning?" joan thought a second. it was friday and she hadn't made any plans for the weekend. she called back her acceptance. "fine, we'll wake you at eight." joan and adrienne reached the steps of their dorm and joan was hailed again. this time she was reminded she had promised to attend a social given by the sophomore class on saturday. freshmen weren't often invited to sophomore af- fairs. on reaching the stoop, joan was stopped by three girls on the walk below who called her attention to the fact that her presence would be expected at a sunday afternoon social. "will you be on the campus?" they anxiously asked. "there'll be some parents and visitors there," they added. "i think i'll be on the campus, and if so, i'll be there," said joan, and she and adrienne entered the door. joan's and adrienne's room was no different from most at smith. it was a large second-floor front room with two casement windows. there were two single beds with char- treuse spreads and matching window drapes. the wallpaper was yellow and green. each girl had a good-sized desk with a study lamp and an upholstered armchair with a reading lamp beside it. there were hassocks, the inevitable combina- tion radio-and-record player with a pile of records stacked on the floor near it, pictures of their favorite male movie stars on the walls, their family favorites and their current heart-throbs framed on their desks. adrienne's family favor- ites were her father and her brother. joan's were her father, mother, and aunt agnes. the girls dropped their books on littered desks. they opened the windows. it was a warm, sunny day in late may. they threw themselves across their beds, face down, arms false measure folded under their chins, heels kicking in the air. "now, again, tell me what the dean wanted you for this morning," adrienne asked. "oh, that! i thought you had forgotten that." "no chance." "well," joan began slowly, "dean ferguson told me that she was a classmate of a former teacher of mine in spring- field, anne clarke, and miss clarke had written to her be- fore school opened telling her i was coming here and that she had expected me to do well." "you certainly have!" adrienne interposed. joan continued on as though adrienne hadn't spoken. "miss ferguson said she deliberately didn't single me out for a personal talk earlier, as miss clarke had asked, because she wanted me to be on my own as other girls here are. of course she addressed the whole class the first week and sev- eral times since, giving general advice and guidance, as you know because you were always there yourself. i got a good impression of her. didn't you?" "yes, i think she's awfully sweet. and brilliant, too. what else did she say?" "well, she said she'd noted my several campus activities and that my marks have been good. she told me to keep up the good work. that's about all there was to it." "gee, joan, you're such a good student and . . . ." she was interrupted by two girls calling joan from the walk below. joan stuck her head out of the window. they asked her if she would drive to town with them for dinner, the movies, and afterward that small roadhouse where they had that new quartet. joan replied that she had some personal things to do early in the evening and then was eating on the campus. however, if they would wait until after dinner she would gladly join them. they agreed. "we'll leave at eight then?" said joan. "right here in front of your dorm," they said as they went on. joan jumped back on her bed and into her former posi- tion. adrienne had been thoughtfully watching and listening while joan was at the window. she knew who the girls were by their voices, but she hadn't gone to the window because false measure they hadn't invited her, though they knew she was joan's roommate and was probably right there in the room at that moment. the way joan and the girls had greeted each other, their cheerful laughter, their exchanges,* were all so free and genuine and happy. they were fond of each other and liked to be with each other. joan left the window and went back to her bed, adrienne's eyes following her every step of the way. after several moments' silence, joan asked, "what are you so quiet about now?" adrienne sighed. "i'll finish the sentence i started when you were called to the window. maybe i'll say more. if i get wound up i will. if i don't i won't and will save it for some other time." joan had a questioning frown on her forehead. adrienne shifted her position in order to look more di- rectly at her. she continued, "you're so smart, joan, so pretty, and you're so popular. i guess i'm just plain envious, that's all. don't misunderstand that last statement, though. after sharing a room with you for almost a year we've gotten to know each other so well i've fallen in love with you — not in a homosexual sense — but in the sense that i consider you more than a mere friend. i don't see how anybody could be around you any length of time and not fall in love with you. i suppose consider myself envious of you because i wish i could make the marks that you make, i wish my face looked as good as yours, i wish i had a body that could wear clothes as yours can, and i wish i had your personality." joan didn't know exactly what to say or how to say it. "why, adrienne, in all the months we've been together you've never done one single small thing to make me think you were envious of me." "oh, i don't mean envious in a malicious sense. i know / couldn't, and i don't believe anybody could bring herself to do anything petty to annoy or harm you in any way. you'd disarm them with your personality." joan was at a loss. she had noticed that adrienne didn't go out as often as she should and she was seldom specifically sought after. but she hadn't thought it had affected adrienne to this extent. maybe if she, adrienne, had a roommate who false measure wasn't so active and always on the go, it would be better. with her, joan, she was comparing too much and perhaps feeling sorry for herself. joan resolved to listen and say little or nothing. "oh, i know i'm not bad looking," adrienne said. "i have a pretty good figure and have enough clothes and they look all right on me. i'm not phi beta kappa material and far from it, but i'll manage to pass all the courses and get my sheepskin. my personality must be negative. i know i'm no introvert because i do like to be around people. i like to dance, bicycle in groups, swim, and do everything everybody else does, but i'm just not included in things as often as i ought to be. is it that i'm too cold? am i disliked? what do they say about me? do they think i'm a snob? no, it couldn't be that because there're so many here who're in the social register and their parents have more money than mine would have if they lived to be a thousand years old. tell me, joan, what is it?" "adrienne, dear, i haven't heard a single person on this campus make an unfavorable remark about you. and i haven't heard anyone say that someone else said something unfavorable. as to your being cold or aloof, i've never thought so." "do you know, joan, what hurts me most? when we're out on the campus or in the dining hall together, girls will stop you and talk to you about going here or there, this place or that place, driving, swimming, playing tennis, riding, movies, roadhouses, and no one would even think i was pres- ent. they say hello — and then they go on laughing and talking with you, making their private arrangements in- cluding me out. some have even come up here in this room with that attitude. some who think they are campus glamor girls. i imagine half the members in our class know me as joan's roommate and don't even know my name. is there anybody in the whole school who doesn't know your name? oh, i know, you're going to say i should join the drama club or the art club or some other silly club and get in some other activities, but i just don't feel like it." "it might help your ego if you did," said joan. "and you would get to know some of the girls better and they would false measure get to know you." glancing at her watch, joan jumped off the bed. "for some reason, unknown to me, you're excess- ively depressed today. let's cut out this talk and go eat. we'll barely have time before next class." she pulled adri- enne off the bed and halfway down the stairs, before she remembered they'd better take their books for the next class. back up the stairs they went, grabbed their books and were off again, with joan still hurrying adrienne. the richmond baskervilles cut an important figure in their own bailiwick. they weren't social register material, but they held their own in this former confederate strong- hold. there were essential confederate officer ancestors, in- cluding a general. mrs. baskerville was a member of the daughters of the confederacy and had made the right con- tacts, she thought, for admission to the daughters of the american revolution. for some reason, approval of her ap- plication had been delayed aeons. after all, hadn't she been president of the richmond chapter of the daughters of the confederacy? and some of them were members of the d.a.r. anyway, she'd wait a while longer and see. mr. baskerville was president of one of richmond's medium-sized, independent, steel fabricating plants. the factory had been founded by his grandfather and two others on their return from doing battle with the yankees. he was president of the board of education and was connected with civic and charitable organizations. in a restricted section, the family lived in a three-story colonial house with tall, white pillars. it was set back from the street and surrounded by a spacious lawn. there were three negro servants. mr. baskerville had inherited the house and one of the servants from his father. this oldest servant was the son of one of his father's deceased servants. adrienne prepared for college at an exclusive girls' school in suburban richmond. mrs. baskerville had wanted adri- enne to go to sweetbriar, but mr. baskerville wanted her to get a northern finish and polish. "after all," he said, "we southerners may think we're hot stuff, but it's the north false measure where standards are set, and new england at that." so adri- enne went to smith. julius, her brother, likewise prepared at a private school. "there'll be no university of virginia for him," said mr. baskerville. so he went to dartmouth and had been there two years when adrienne started at smith. adrienne had registered, been assigned her room, and was hanging her clothes in one of the walk-in closets, when joan came puffing up the stairs and into the room carrying two bags, her father behind her with two larger ones, and a porter grunting under the weight of one wardrobe trunk to be followed by another. the two girls greeted each other with a smiling "hello," after joan had dropped her bags. they sized each other up with a quick glance from head to foot and then exchanged names and shook hands. mr. turn- er stood holding the bags while one said, "i'm joan turner from springfield, mass," and the other said, "i'm adrienne baskerville from richmond, virginia." mr. turner broke in to ask, "joan, where do you want these heavy bags?" the porter in the doorway, the trunk still on his back, said, "lady, where do you want this trunk?" "over there by the wall and put the other one downstairs beside it. daddy, drop the bags where you are. i'll move them later." joan looked around the room, checking the size of the closets, the chest of drawers, the view from the windows. she sat down at one of the two desks to get the feel of it. adri- enne had been observing and occasionally they swapped a remark as to the color of the wallpaper, closet space, or the view. "oh, i forgot," joan said. "you haven't met my father, adrienne." adrienne walked over to him with outstretched hand. "you girls should be comfortable and happy here," mr. turner said. "the campus and the buildings are beautiful and you have the latest conveniences." "where's the bath?" joan asked. "down the hall to your left," answered adrienne. false measure "wait, daddy, while i go look at it," said joan and rushed off. she returned and her father said, "how was it?" "modern and up-to-date, full of private showers," said joan. mr. turner said he'd better be leaving now that joan was settled. it would be a good two-hour drive back to springfield and he didn't want to start too late. he hadn't expected it to take as long as it did for joan to register and be assigned her room but there were many ahead of her. he had told mrs. turner he'd be back by mid-afternoon and it was then five o'clock. "i knew i'd better get here early in the morning to avoid the ordeal of waiting hours to get registered," said adrienne, "so i got here last night, stayed at a hotel in town, and was in the office to register at eight when they opened. you wouldn't think so, though," she laughed. "i've been five hours trying to get my things put away and the more i do the worse the place looks." joan smiled and looked at clothing hanging out of half- open bureau drawers, scattered over her bed; a mixture of shoes, hats, dresses, and undergarments spilled over from her open bags onto the floor and under the bed. with a handshake, mr. turner bade adrienne goodbye and good luck. joan, swinging on her father's arm to see him to his car, said, "i'll be back in a few minutes, adrienne, and i'll be having your problems." at the head of the stairs they were halted by the porter stumbling up with joan's second trunk. at the car, mr. turner gave joan last-minute instruc- tions. "by all means write to your mother often. she'll be worried if you don't. i think you're grown enough to take good care of yourself, but she still thinks of you as a little girl." there hadn't been any room for mrs. turner to make the trip. the entire back of the car was filled with joan's luggage and boxes. her two trunks had been forwarded by rail. mrs. turner cried when she told joan goodbye. "after i drive off, call your mother and tell her you're safely here and tell her i'm on my way home." false measure "okay, daddy, bye bye," and she watched the car until it was out of sight. mr. turner mused to himself as he rolled down the highway at a good clip. of course that virginia roommate of joan's didn't have the slightest inkling that joan was col- ored. knowing the south as he did, having been born and raised there, he knew what that cracker girl's reaction would be when she found out joan was colored. joan wouldn't hide it, but it just might not come to light for some time. joan hadn't even thought about it. she was like that. to her, adrienne was merely another girl. joan would be able to handle her when adrienne learned it, and he knew she sure- ly would, and soon. he intentionally did not mention his thoughts to joan as they walked to the car because joan might have gotten the impulse to go right back and tell her she was colored and cause confusion and a stink, spoiling joan's first night. but the main reason he said nothing was because he wanted that southern girl to have close contact with his joan so she could learn how much more cultured and ladylike joan was, and undoubtedly smarter too. the only negroes she had ever come in contact with before, he knew, would have been her ignorant servants. it would do her good to get to know somebody like joan. he laughed out loud and mashed down on the accelerator. he had to get home and tell mrs. turner. this was going to be good! adrienne and joan got along famously from the start. when joan returned to her room she looked at her two trunks, her bags, and hat boxes, and decided that maybe they ought to eat first and then get at their unpacking with zest. adrienne was all for it, and they would help each other ar- range their things. yes, of course. (a good way to learn the other's possessions, each thought.) off they went to the din- ing room. adrienne was joan's height but much more slender; too slender, joan thought. her hair was brown, worn in a medi- um bob with hairdresser waves. her sharp-featured face was thinner than it should have been. she wore bangs that came down to her light brown eyes. her figure was passable and her tailor and dressmaker had been benign to it. adrienne had eyed joan minutely. she thought joan had the pret- false measure tiest hair and face she had seen for a long time. she told joan how beautiful her hair was, but said nothing about her face. she also thought, "that figure she has!" but she didn't mention it. joan was conscious of the fact that she had adri- enne bested in all aesthetic areas. in their room after dinner they managed to get every- thing put away, although they realized it would take them several days to get things properly arranged. next, they shoved their beds to new positions and moved their chests of drawers and the desks and the armchairs and their trunks, chattering and giggling as they worked. exhausted, they were satisfied, as they sat on their beds and surveyed the room. their eyes wandered to the drapes and bedspreads. they must be changed. they agreed on the color. at the first opportunity they'd go to town together and jointly pur- chase more suitable ones. adrienne said, "we seem to be so much in accord when it comes to colors and materials and arrangements. and viewing your wardrobe, i would have selected the same garments with little variance." "yes," joan agreed. "we could wear each other's clothes if we were the same size. the materials and styles in your wardrobe, with slight modifications, would suit me per- fectly." lying in their beds after their showers, having a last cigarette, joan said, "there's something missing here." "what?" asked adrienne. "a combination." "yes, that is right, we don't have any music." "i tell you what," joan said, rising on one elbow. "my mother is jealous of my father's trip up here today without her. the car was too crowded to bring her. so i know she'll insist on daddy's bringing her up here within a month. i'll tell her to bring my record player and some of my records." "fine. i'll buy a little portable radio to tide us over until then." as joan was mashing out her cigarette, adrienne said, "you're going to be a good roommate, joan." "i think you will too." they flicked out their lights and sleepily mumbled good night. false measure for the first week or two joan and adrienne were in- separable during the day because they had several classes together and in the evenings they would study together. also, they got new drapes with matching bedspreads and adrienne had bought the temporary portable. they picked stations that played the latest swing music. in their room they'd dance together. joan, who always led, found that adrienne knew only the conventional two-step, fox-trot, and waltz — dancing-school style, without rhythm. she set out to teach her how to jitterbug and she was fairly successful. joan began to take part in extracurricular activities and girls began to seek her out. her time with adrienne, out- side of study hours and mealtimes, became less and less. adri- enne said she wasn't interested in all those extracurricular activities and was content to rest after classes. joan would study during free time in the morning, afternoon, and early evening, and then go dashing off to her clubs and committees. doris henderson, from evanston, lived on the third floor. she became attached to joan. they sat side by side in some classes and joined the drama club together. she was a tall, well-rounded, well-groomed, and attractive blonde from one of chicago's first families. she was frequently at their door seeking joan. if joan wasn't in, she'd go on. adrienne didn't like doris. "who the hell does she think she is?" adri- enne would ask, not expecting an answer from joan. "noth- ing but one of those so-called midwest society belles, hav- ing come to smith to take the campus by storm." then she'd give the southern version of the bronx cheer. joan would say nothing. she liked doris. in the adjoining dormitory there was edwina laurence, the good-looking brunette from bangor, who early became fond of joan and was often at their door looking for her. she, too, would pass on if adrienne said, "no, she's not in. don't know where she is. i'll tell her you were here." if joan were in, the girls would stay to prattle and sometimes dance. and practically all knew the latest steps. they would draw adrienne into their dancing and talking sometimes. once doris asked joan, "what's the matter with that richmond magnolia bitch you live with who has the exag- false measure gerated southern drawl? is she an example of a southern belle?" edwina had said, "how did you ever happen to draw her for a roommate? she gives me a pain where i shouldn't have one." joan always answered, "she's a good kid when you get to know her." she never passed these remarks on to adrienne. she was sorry though; she liked adrienne. the day before the thanksgiving holidays mr. and mrs. turner came up and brought joan's many-times-requested combination and about a hundred records mr. turner packed neatly in a specially made box. they were going to drive her back home for the holidays. they arrived at a quarter past four, minutes after joan's last class. dr. and mrs. frederick williams, springfield friends, had come along for the ride. although light in complexion, they were patent- ly colored. adrienne was in slacks, sprawled out in her armchair reading, when mr. turner tapped on the frame of the open door and asked for joan. adrienne remembered him imme- diately, jumped up, and ran over to shake hands. he in- troduced her to mrs. turner having first had to ask her to give him her last name which he had forgotten. "where's joan?" he asked. "she's showering and will be right in. won't you come in and have a seat?" the turners moved into the room and the williamses, not yet noticed by adrienne, stepped in. she lost the smile on her face and was about to say, "what do you want?" when mr. turner, sitting on the side of joan's bed, said, "come on, fred, sit beside me, my wife can sit in the arm- chair, and yours can sit at the desk." adrienne was frozen, aghast at the easy entrance of the williamses. she couldn't get her mouth closed and no words would come out. standing rigidly a few feet from them, her eyes went from the turners to the williamses, from the wil- liamses to the turners, and back again. she noted they all called each other by their first names, so they must be close friends. mr. turner immediately perceived adrienne's conster- false measure nation. she hadn't yet learned about joan, he was certain now. he spoke up to relieve adrienne's bewilderment. "miss baskerville, i want you to meet joan's godfather and god- mother, dr. and mrs. williams." this only added to her confusion. dr. williams stood up and took a couple of steps toward her and offered his hand. without changing her expression, and by some particularly strong inner impulse, she managed to raise her arm halfway. dr. williams grasped a cold, inflexible hand and sat down. mrs. williams had simply nodded and smiled. adrienne was unable to bring herself to acknowledge the introductions in the conventional manner. outside of the servants, for the first time she had knowingly shaken hands with a negro. mrs. turner, also conscious of adrienne's disconcertion and the reason for it, smiled indulgently and asked her if she would go hurry up joan. adrienne somehow got out a "yes," snapped herself from her stiffened position and ran from the room, her face white and expressionless. when she had gone, dr. williams asked, "what's the matter with her?" mr. and mrs. turner smiled and mr. turner said, "we'll tell you later." adrienne didn't go to hurry joan from the shower. she ran to the stairs and started up. then she turned around and started down. where she was going she didn't know. she just wanted to get away from that room. on the landing she stopped short when this thought struck her: if joan had colored godparents then she must be colored too. and her parents! "well, i will be goddamned," she muttered. holding the railing, she was inching her way down when doris hender- son rushed in the building to get ready to leave for the holi- day weekend. doris took one look at her and said, "what's wrong with you? your face is as white as a ghost's. you look like you either lost your best friend or your boy friend quit you." doris was standing at the bottom of the stairs looking up at adrienne. adrienne didn't answer but continued on down slowly with doris watching her with an inquisitive frown. false measure when she reached the bottom step she fell over on doris* shoulder and burst into tears. doris, who was a sympathetic and good-natured soul, put an arm around her. "there, there, now. it can't be that bad. tell me what it's all about and maybe i can help. i've got to catch a train, but come on up to my room and while i'm bustling about packing, you can tell me what's on your mind." with her arm around adrienne's waist, she started up the stairs with her. tears were streaming and adrienne emitted an occasional quiet sob, followed by a pat and a "there, there, now," from doris. sitting beside adrienne on the arm of the chair, doris took her handkerchief and dried adrienne's face. "cut the sob stuff now, and tell me what it's all about." between sniffles adrienne told doris how she had just learned joan was colored. doris listened attentively until she finished. then she stood up abruptly, her hands on her hips. "so what? is that all that's causing this emotional outburst? anyone would think your world had come to an end. do you know of any finer girl on this campus? do you?" adrienne shook her head, sniffled. "but "but nothing," doris cut her off. "she's one of the finest, if not the finest here. pull yourself together. i've got to dress and pack." doris pulled open a drawer and paused, thinking. she'd go downstairs to say goodbye to joan and meet her folks. joan came rushing in from the shower, her face corus- cating at the sight of her parents and the williamses. she kissed them all and said she'd expected to have been dressed by the time they got there. she snatched her underthings and dress and to get them on, shielded herself from view behind an open closet door. "where's adrienne?" she asked. "i left her here reading when i went to shower." mrs. turner said, "she was here and we thought she had gone to announce our arrival." "joan, joan," someone called at the door and stepped into the room. a tall blonde gave a cheery "good evening" to the visitors and asked where joan was. joan called from behind the door, "hi, doris, i'm here. wait till i get this false measure dress over my head. introduce yourself to my father and mother and dr. and mrs. williams, my godparents." doris shook hands with each and took a seat beside dr. williams. she told them where she was from, how much fun she and joan had together, and what a sweet girl joan was. joan emerged and went to the mirror to arrange her hair and make-up. "i thought you told me you were going to new york for the weekend?" "i am if i don't miss the five o'clock train. there won't be another tonight." "well, you'd better hurry," warned joan. "i suppose i could take a bus, but i hate that ride. i've still got to pack and dress, so making that train almost bor- ders on the impossible." "i tell you what," joan said, "ride with us to springfield where you can get a train coming through from boston nearly every hour. is that all right, daddy?" "sure, if you girls don't mind being crowded." "three in front and three in back and our bags in the trunk," joan said. "thank you, mr. turner," doris said and stood up to go get ready. "hurry," said joan, "i'll be ready in a few minutes." "so will i," rejoined doris, and to the visitors, "see you again in a few minutes." as doris was leaving the room, joan asked, "have you seen adrienne? i'd like to tell her goodbye." doris dismissed the question. "oh, she's up in my room in one of her moods. just let her stay there and brood." doris dressed and packed, and adrienne sat in the chair, looking off into space. dressed, and with her bag in hand, doris told her she could sit as long as she wished. she told her further she was riding as far as springfield with joan and her folks. "what have you planned for the holidays?" she asked. "i'm supposed to meet my brother in boston, but i don't know whether i will or not," adrienne sighed as doris left. through the window adrienne could hear joan and doris engaged in lively conversation interspersed with laugh- ter joined in by the others when they started across the cam- false measure pus toward mr. turner's car. she went to the window and watched. dr. williams was carrying doris' bag and at that moment he was walking beside her and they were enjoying a laugh together. at intervals, the group was stopped by girls and there were introductions and handshakes all around. at one point there were as many as fifteen girls around them. adrienne left the window and started downstairs to her room. she changed her mind and went back and sat down. she had better give them plenty of time to get out on the highway, otherwise joan might come flying back for a for- gotten item and she wasn't in any condition to face joan. she again seated herself in the armchair and continued to brood. half an hour later adrienne went down to her room. certainly they were far out on the highway by now. she wended her way directly to her mirror and turned on the light. she studied her face and run her hands over it, making the flesh taut in successive sections. she looked at her hands, palms up, then palms down. she pushed up her sleeves and regarded her arms, running a hand over first one and then the other. she observed her hair, running her fingers through it, fluffing it out. without hairdressers, hers would be flat and stringy, she knew. she stamped her foot. "damn, i don't understand it," shrieked through her mind. she turned from the mirror and sat down on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees and chin in hands. she got up and closed the door. she wanted to be alone with her reflections. she flopped in an armchair and laid her head back, eyes on the ceiling. "why," she asked herself, "why is it joan's colored, yet her skin is whiter than mine and her hair is nicer and she's prettier than i am — prettier than anybody i know? and her figure and the way she wears her clothes! why didn't joan tell me this? why did i have to find this out this way? why did she hide it from me?" with this realization she sat upright: "but she couldn't have been deliberately trying to deceive me. she told me her parents and some family friends were coming to drive her home today. she knew what the family friends looked like and that i would be here when they came. now i know why, false measure although i didn't ask her why, she turned down my invita- tion to visit me christmas with the terse remark that she didn't like my part of the country. she suggested that i leave richmond early and spend new year's with her in spring- field. if i hadn't found it out today, gosh, i would have found it out then. and then i might have acted like a fool and em- barrassed joan. and my parents! what would they say if they learned i left richmond to visit with a negro family?" she thought of doris' indifference, of joan's wide popu- larity, and the more she thought the more confused she be- came. some of the girls, also from the south, didn't seem to mind. but if they didn't know, they knew it now, with joan walking across the campus with that not black but obviously negro couple. and yet they gathered around joan as they always did and graciously accepted introductions to that negro couple. and the girls were so friendly to the couple. and i bet joan was telling them, 'this is my godfather and godmother,' with them colored and she looking like a white princess. look how indifferent doris was when i told her. riding to springfield with joan. i guess she'll tell her how i acted. maybe i'm a fool. maybe i should have known it be- fore. gosh, i'm from richmond, what'll i do? my parents. my relatives." adrienne put on her casual coat and went out on the campus. when the snappy fall air struck her face, she sensed she had been perspiring and there were droplets of moisture on her temples. she wiped them off with the palm of her hand. not knowing where she was going, she took the first path, shoved her hands into her pockets and started walk- ing with leisured strides. she saw a light in edwina's room. edwina and joan had become close during these first three months at school, so she'd go up and ask edwina if she knew joan was colored. adrienne found edwina dressed and packing without haste. she had her car there and didn't have to rush to make a train. she was going down to hartford for the weekend, she said, and could make it in three hours. "do you plan to stay on the campus for the holidays?" she asked adrienne, noticing the way she was dressed. "i'm supposed to meet my brother in boston but i can't false measure seem to get myself together," adrienne answered exhaling heavily. "what's the matter with you?" edwina asked, snapping shut her bag. "you had the appearance of a wraith when you walked in here." "i don't know, edwina, i guess i'm all mixed up and con- fused," said adrienne. "well, what confused you?" asked edwina. "please don't think i'm an idiot for asking such a ques- tion, but did you know joan is colored?" adrienne asked almost plaintively. "why, of course i did. why? and what's your reason for asking me?" "well, i just learned it this afternoon and it upset me. in a way i guess i'm frustrated. i don't know what to do. i've been so fond of joan." "what do you mean, you don't know what to do?" snapped edwina. "what could you do? and what was the meaning of 'i've been so fond of joan'? do you think for one moment joan would be at a loss for fondness and friends if she lost your fondness? if you read the newspapers you would've known about joan before she got here. i did. on the other hand, i guess they wouldn't have printed it in the papers down where you come from. well, i'll inform you. then i've got to go. she was voted 'prettiest girl' in her graduating class at springfield high, and believe you me she deserved it because she's the prettiest thing around here. she was a brilliant student besides and all the papers in the northeast carried her picture and a write-up. now if you're confused about joan, i advise you to draw up in a shell or leave this school because all of us here love joan. now i must go." she picked up her bag. full of remorse, adrienne said, "there's something i'd like to ask you," and continued on without waiting for ed- wina to ask what it was. "please don't tell joan i've had this talk with you. i really don't want to lose her friendship. it's just that i was raised under such a — i realize now — crazy code. if others can break away from it — and there are many here who have — i guess i can too." "listen, little southern belle," edwina interrupted, false measure "you're not in the confederacy and you'll find no sympathy here for your code, not as it regards joan, anyway. no, i won't say anything to joan. now let's go, i've got a long drive ahead of me." as they left the dormitory, adrienne said, "when joan comes back, i won't say a word to her about this and i hope we can go on living together as we have up to now. if she just doesn't find out how silly i've been today!" "you're in college now, adrienne, where you're sup- posed to be learning how to think for yourself. simply be- cause you were taught certain things while you were grow- ing up, it doesn't mean you continue to live by them after you've found out for yourself that they're wrong. now good night, and go on to boston and enjoy your holiday." "you're so right, edwina. good night, and have a pleas- ant weekend." the cumulation of events since her initial shock had all but erased the traces of her earlier mental ordeal. she ran to a phone booth and put through a call to boston. her brother hadn't checked in at his hotel. she left a message for him that she was leaving in the morning and would ar- rive at noon. she ran across the campus to her dorm. gee, the place was empty! on the walks lampposts cast their bare shadows. not a soul in sight but the watchman. almost everybody had gone. there was only one light burning in her building and that was in her room. she would be alone in that big dormitory tonight. damn, she hadn't eaten din- ner. well, it was too late now. she'd make up for it in the morning. she ran to her room, threw off her coat, and fell across the bed. she smiled wanly, disgusted and ashamed of herself for the way she had acted. she did love joan and hoped joan wouldn't find out how she had reacted. joan missed the last train to northampton on sunday night after thanksgiving. she prevailed upon her father to permit her to drive back to school. she had to leave at six o'clock to make a nine-o'clock class. her mother was down- right opposed to joan's leaving on such a long drive alone false measure at such an ungodly hour. she was all but in tears when mr. turner said, "oh, she'll be okay. dawn will have broken at that time and i'll make certain she locks herself in prior to her starting. before she gets far out on the highway, the sun will be up. she's a good driver. i taught her!" and he winked at joan as mrs. turner stomped up the stairs, say- ing, "i'm going to bed so's i can get up at half past five and see to it that at least my daughter gets started safely and on time." at daybreak mrs. turner too was at the curb when mr. turner confidently slammed the car door shut. joan was at the wheel in slacks and her head was kerchiefed. he mo- tioned to joan to push down the buttons on the doors and confidently waved her on. "get going or you'll be late for your first class," he shouted. joan, taking note of her mother's anxious countenance, called to her above the noise of the warming-up motor, "don't worry, mother, i'll be okay." she blew them an impish kiss and pulled away from the curb. it was a quarter past eight when joan rushed into her room. with not much traffic on the road she had really cov- ered those miles. adrienne was stirring when joan entered the room. she threw her arms around joan's neck, held on, and kissed her. a little too gushy, joan subconsciously thought. then she presented joan with a gold bracelet. "i saw it in filene's and knew it would look good on you," she said. joan thanked her. "it's awfully sweet of you, adri- enne." she wondered about this copious demonstration of affection. doris had not mentioned adrienne's conduct to joan on their ride to springfield and she never did. neither did ed- wina. and joan's parents and the williamses thought it bet- ter not to say anything to her and they never did. before the christmas recess, adrienne's brother julius and a classmate came down for a weekend and stayed at the guest house. adrienne and joan went out with them on foursomes, joan with julius, and he developed a crush on joan. after the weekend he wrote joan several romantic let- ters which she never took the time to answer. reading his letters, she told herself, "he's just a gangling, red-headed false measure drip and i won't encourage him." it never crossed adri- enne's mind to tell him joan was colored. she thought of it once while reading one of julius' letters asking her to tell joan to please write and say whether or not she was inter- ested. adrienne didn't tell him even then. she didn't know what his reaction might be. besides, joan wasn't the least bit interested in him anyhow. on his second letter to her, grumbling about joan's not answering his, she had off- handedly asked joan what she thought of her brother. joan had said, "i think he's very sweet and i like him very much." adrienne knew she was lying. hurrying her dressing this friday evening in preparation to meet the two girls on the walk in front of the dormitory, as she had promised earlier that day, joan remarked, "i can't seem to be on time for anything but classes." "you lead such a busy life," said adrienne, sitting in an armchair watching joan dress. "would you care to come with us tonight?" asked joan. "no," said adrienne without hesitation. "you're just being kind. when they called you to the window to make arrangements, they would have asked me if they wanted me along. edwina's one of them. i caught her voice although her name and the name of the other girl were not called. i don't like edwina or the other girl and they don't like me, so it's mutual!" "oh, adrienne," said joan, turning from the mirror to give her a disapproving look. joan had on a navy blue dress, a gold necklace with turquoise pendant, and matching earrings. her shoes were high-heeled navy blue with white trim. adrienne helped her into her white flannel coat and she picked up her white gloves and navy blue bag. adrienne surveyed her. "as usual you look good, joan." voices came through the open window. "come on, joan, the main feature might go on before we get there." adrienne embraced joan and rubbed her cheek against joan's. "have a good time," she said. false measure joan started through the door, stopped, and turned to adrienne. "will you go riding with me and the others to- morrow morning?" she asked. "maybe," answered adrienne. "i'll let you know when you come in tonight." joan and her two companions returned after one o'clock. edwina was juiced. it was evident that all had been drinking but edwina wasn't carrying hers as well as the others. stum- bling, chattering, and giggling, they climbed to joan's room to play some swing records before bed. adrienne was fast asleep when the three broke into the room with bedlam, turning on the lights and the record player in quick se- quence. edwina snatched the covers from adrienne, who was startled from a deep sleep. her eyes hadn't yet become ac- customed to the light. edwina sat on the side of adrienne's bed and stared at her with a devilish half-grin. adrienne, uncovered in her gown which had worked up to her thighs, raised herself on one elbow and, unsmiling, stared back at edwina. the others were going through the pile of records making selections. edwina's eyes were glistening from too many cocktails. feigning a southern accent, she called, "what ah we gonna do about ah little southern belle? shall we pull 'er outa bed?" she made a move as if to grasp adrienne's legs. adrienne reached for the covers but edwina had purposely sat on them when she pulled them down. "don't do that, edwina," joan said. "she's sleepy and, not being in the mood we're in, wouldn't appreciate any horseplay." adrienne didn't say a word; she was thoroughly irritated but she had enough control to refrain from saying anything that might precipitate an argument. joan pulled edwina by the arm. "let my roommate sleep. sit on my bed," and she guided edwina to her bed. "besides, adrienne's going riding with us tomorrow morn- ing and needs her sleep." "what?" said edwina. "then i'll sleep in the morning." joan gave her a reproachful look but said nothing. the other girl started another set of records and grasped joan by the hand. "let's dance." adrienne pulled the covers over herself, exhaled audibly, false measure and turned over. "you people can play that thing and dance all night if you want to, but please leave me alone." sarcastically, edwina answered, "forgive us, adrienne, dear, we know not what we do." joan danced by edwina and stopped long enough to plead to her in a whisper, "for god's sake, edwina, leave adrienne alone." they danced themselves tired, alternating partners, and then sat close together in a corner of the room and went over what had happened at the roadhouse. it was amusing to them now and they tittered about it. but it wasn't funny when it was happening. the manager of the roadhouse knew they were smith students when they came in and he ushered them to a table up front near the orchestra. they ordered a round of old fashioneds. then another. they struck up a conversation with the orchestra leader, who played the num- bers they asked for. he asked if he could buy them a drink. the three girls looked at each other questioningly. "should we? would it be the right thing to do?" edwina said, "sure," and instead of one round, he bought them two. the girls danced among themselves and never far from their table. two unattached men, one with a cue-ball head, the other a replica of edward g. robinson and apparently of the opinion that he was a modern version of little caesar, came in with lots of fanfare, and noisily ordered champagne after they had been seated several tables away from the girls. they cased the place in two glances and set their eyes on the three unescorted girls. in seconds they were leering. they saw that the orchestra leader had bought them two rounds and noticed the girls raise their glasses to him in thanks. the girls either ignored or didn't see the ges- tures they made to attract their attention. the one with the cue-ball head called his waiter, pressed a bill in his hand, and said, "ask the girls if they'll have a drink on us. cham- pagne." the waiter obliged and received a disdainful "no," in unison, joan not even turning her head to see whom he was talking about. when he reported that the girls refused, the cue-ball said, "who in hell do they think they are?" "i'll see about this," his companion said. he made a bee- false measure line for the girls' table, pulling an empty chair from another table as he went. he slammed this chair down at the girls' table and sat down. "what's the matter we can't buy you girls a drink?" the girls looked down their noses at him and asked him to move or they'd call the manager. intermission was ending and the orchestra leader was on his way back to the stand. he saw something had happened and he heard one of the girls say, "get away from this table at once!" he approached with an inquiring look and the girls asked him if he would make "this thing" get away. the orchestra leader suggested that since the girls didn't want him there, it would be better for him to leave. he jumped up and shoved the orchestra leader across the top of the girls' table. the girls screamed, glasses crashed to the floor. waiters and the manager came running. the bouncer and a waiter hustled the men out. the manager was profuse in his expressions of dismay. his offer to pay for cleaning the liquor-stained dresses was declined. he tendered them food and drink on the house, which they accepted. after all, these were smith college girls and he didn't want them making any complaints about his place. he would get in trouble with the authorities and might lose his license. he did try to run a decent place and keep out the rabble. sometimes, though, these two-bit rack- eteers would come in. there were more drinks on the house. edwina had positively had enough and she was driving. it was decided that joan should drive back. she was carrying hers better. the manager said he would trail them to the school since he didn't know what those two might be up to, considering the type of characters they were. with a husky waiter beside him, he kept up with joan's sixty-five-miles- an-hour clip right to the school entrance. he stood beside his car and saw them running across the campus before he got ready to pull off. seeing a watchman making his rounds, he remarked, "they'll be all right," and started back. the girls enjoyed rehashing the whole episode. "listen," joan said, "we've danced and talked and laughed enough for tonight. i've got to get up early and so do you, edwina, so you two go sleep off those old fashioneds." down the steps the others went; joan looked through the window at false measure them scampering across the campus, edwina lagging be- hind and being pulled along by the hand. adrienne was up when joan opened her eyes and groaned, "oh, my head! daddy told me that on an evening's drinking it's better to drink it straight or mixed with water or sparkling water. you last longer and feel better the next morning. it's the sugar that makes you feel bad, he says." "you better get yourself together if you're going riding. they'll be here for you soon. a warm shower should perk you up." "are you going with us?" joan asked. adrienne's answer was a flat "no," without explanation. joan didn't consider it prudent to insist or comment. edwina was going and she and adrienne disliked each other with a vengeance. besides, edwina had tried so hard to needle adrienne last night, joan remembered. further- more, doris henderson was going too and she and adrienne were forever at loggerheads. no, she'd better leave well enough alone. it wouldn't do for adrienne to be along. it would put a damper on the party. moreover, if she should press adrienne to come along, doris or edwina or both might claim a sudden, acute illness. joan stretched and yawned. "adrienne, i'm sorry about the way we broke in here last night and disturbed you." "forget it, dear," adrienne said. "i knew all of you had had too much and was tolerant of your behavior. as a matter of fact, nobody behaved badly except edwina. you just made noise. she was giving vent to feelings she holds toward me when she's completely sober." "i wish you and edwina weren't so perpetually vexed with each other," joan sighed. "i'm so fond of you both." adrienne bent over and kissed her forehead. "come on, little pretty, get up and get ready. they'll be here for you any minute now." joan bounded out of bed and dashed for the shower, robe and towel trailing. on the outskirts of northampton an old horseman, john, false measure ran a modern stable which was heavily patronized by smith students. although he adjudged his enterprise a fashionable one, with all the necessary trappings, his rental prices were reasonable. for beginners, he had instructors. he also had facilities for the care of other people's horses. some of the girls had their own horses shipped from their homes and cared for at this stable. but most of the girls who rode couldn't afford that luxury. doris was one who could. some frequent riders, like joan, could always arrange with john to hold the horse of their liking if he was notified in ad- vance. doris was responsible for joan's becoming interested in riding. the day doris' horse arrived from chicago, joan was with her when she went to welcome him. joan agreed to doris' suggestion to try out her sprightly horse. accom- panied by an instructor, joan rode horseback for the first time in her life. "this is titillating," she exclaimed later. "i must learn how to do this thing right." from then on, riding was another of her hobbies. she inveigled aunt agnes into paying for an expensive riding habit and made a special trip to new york to have it fitted. aunt agnes sent her the money and advised: "consider this your christmas present, my little niece, and i suppose i'm obliged to split the cost of your riding lessons and, later, horse rentals with your father." accessories were supplied by her father, who shook his head indulgently. "one sure thing, next year can't be as expensive as this because you'll have everything under the sun and you can't wear 'em out that fast." he didn't know. girls like joan didn't wear out clothes. they tired of them after a season. while adrienne was making up her mind whether she was hungry enough to make a break for the dining hall be- fore the doors were closed, three girls, including doris and edwina, were at the threshold inquiring for joan. adrienne, going to her closet for a jacket, said with an air of indiffer- ence, "she's taking a bath, but if you want to come in and sit down, you may." the three, attired in their riding habits, seated themselves around joan's bed, edwina on the bed. edwina, remembering her attitude toward adrienne the false measure night before, was regretful. she whipped joan's bed cover with her riding crop, and extended the dove of peace in asking, "how about going riding with us this morning, adrienne? we'll have lots of fun." adrienne's reply was a curt "no." she buttoned her jacket and went to the door. "make yourselves at home. joan will be back shortly. i have things to do." joan rushed in a moment later and looked at edwina, fresh and ready, and asked, "how did you manage to get up and ready so early, considering your condition when i last saw you?" "you don't know the half of it. i slept it off with ease. and even made breakfast. i bet you didn't." the others laughed. edwina had told them what had happened the night before. joan said, "you're right, i couldn't make breakfast this morning and i'm certainly famished now." putting on a record while joan hurried her dressing, doris said, "that's all right. you can get something to eat. we'll tie up at one of those diners on the highway." while joan was pulling on her brown gabardine jodh- purs, edwina changed the subject to a matter that was on her mind. "what's wrong with that roommate of yours? she acted as though she was annoyed because we came up here after having had a couple of drinks last night. doesn't she realize the year is almost over and we've all passed and it's time for a letdown?" "don't be annoyed with adrienne," joan said. "she's already forgotten about last night." "don't tell me," replied edwina. "i offered her an olive branch. she refused it. there's one certainty, i'll never offer her another. do you know what i did?" "what?" asked joan, halting her dressing for the answer. "i invited that phony to go with us. can you imagine that?" "yes, i can," said joan. "you're fundamentally kind, thoughtful, and decent. adrienne is difficult, but underneath it all she's decent too, and needs people to be kind to her." doris was snapping her fingers to the music, but stopped long enough to say, "joan, even though you've been living two events in joan's junior year stood out in her mind. she was elected to phi beta kappa and she met the man whom she thought she loved. this year she and edwina were roommates. they discussed the possibilities of the man at length, joan's and his harmonious characteristics, his person- ality, and his good looks. they agreed he was the one for joan. the vassar debating team had challenged smith's and invaded northampton in october, . the topic was, "did the munich agreement precipitate the european war?" the smith team took the affirmative. joan opened the constructive argument for her team. after the chairman introduced her, her remarks to the crowded hall that evening were: not only at munich, but before munich in , when the rhine was remilitarized and in when austria was annexed, hitler should have been challenged by the western powers. czechoslovakia had a well-trained and efficient army with high morale at the time of the munich conference. litvinoff, speaking for the russians, had publicly said that russia would honor her treaty with czechoslovakia if eng- land and france would do the same. also, he had pointed out, as members of the league of nations they were morally obligated to go to the aid of the czechs if they should be attacked by germany. if concertedly, england, france, russia, and czechoslovakia had flatly refused hitler's de- mands for the sudetenland and made known their deter- mination to march if he moved into that area, it would have made him take pause. the appeasement policies of cham- berlain for england and daladier for france were a horri- ble manifestation of weakness. their ignoring the russian offer later drove the russians into the arms of the germans and when hitler was ready to make his big move he had no misgivings about his eastern front because his potential russian enemy had been immobilized by treaty. the poor czechs were not even allowed at the meetings where their country was being dismembered. their demands for admit- false measure tance to the parley were pitiful. when the major lines of the territory to be carved out of czechoslovakia had been agreed upon and the matter had been referred to the joint experts for the pin-pointed lines of new jurisdiction, hitler laughed and magnanimously said to chamberlain and daladier, "we won't quibble over a village." the small czech army was alerted and in combat readiness but could not have stood up to the germans alone. along with armies from england, france, and russia, it would have done itself proud. when hitler was ready to move again, the western powers were weaker. they no longer had the well-equipped divisions of the czechs, and the russians were preoccupied with arranging their own protection in the east. earlier this year when hitler took over all the rest of czechoslovakia he knew england and france wouldn't oppose him because of their weakness, both physical and in spirit. not a shot was fired and czechoslovakia was gone. chamberlain uttered some angry words followed by some more by daladier. but that was all. hitler must have chortled. emboldened, the germans followed the conquest of czechoslovakia with the annexation of memel and the alarmed western powers were still inert. the saber-rattling build-up about danzig, and the aggressive war of nerves against poland by the effective german propaganda machine, were telling on the rest of cowering western europe. after his great and noisy prepara- tions and threats followed by his ultimatum to poland, hitler still believed that england and france wouldn't take any counteraction. however, the invasion of poland on the first of september was too much for the british and french to swallow and they reluctantly declared war on germany two days later. in concluding, i should like to say that it should have been obvious to chamberlain and daladier that the bully- ing, expansionist germans' greed would not have been satis- fied by the crumbs they gave them at munich. their armies, allied with the czechs and russians, could have effectively stopped the nazis at that time and probably smashed their growing war machine. when the western powers finally did challenge hitler, they were weaker than they were at munich and the germans were stronger. in september, , the nazis were more contemptuous of the military prowess of england and france, minus effective allies, than they were in september, , and they were ready to defy them, and did, by a major aggressive act. the western pow- ers were unable to ignore this aggression and the result was the start of the present war. it is directly traceable to the capitulation of england and france — at the expense of false measure czechoslovakia — to germany and her ally italy, at the mun- ich four power conference to obtain "peace in our time" in the hope that they had acceded to the "last" of hitler's territorial demands in europe. joan spoke in lively tones. she was either smiling or serious or derisive, as the particular point required. the audience liked the presentation and showed it by its applause. other members of the team enlarged upon joan's re- marks. the vassar team's thesis was that chamberlain's and daladier's capitulation to hitler was mainly to buy time to get ready to face him later in a position of greater strength. in rebuttal speeches the smith team quickly pointed out that at munich the western powers lost their greatest strength, the czech and russian armies. now they were facing the nazis, who had become much stronger since munich, alone. because the western powers were weaker, the germans didn't consider it a great risk to invade poland. the smith team won by the unanimous vote of the judges, who were teachers from both schools. the vassar team had presented its arguments well and an excellent speech had been made by the president, beatrice harrison, a senior. she was a comely, well-formed blonde who, joan thought, was somewhat arrogant in her manner of speaking, the pitch of her voice, and the way she appeared to be look- ing down her nose at people. her delivery was coldly intel- lectual, stilted, and unanimated, but she was well poised. beatrice harrison had taken note of joan. she remarked, "such an extremely attractive girl and she can think and talk like that!" when the debate was over, she offered joan her hand. "that was certainly a good speech you made, miss turner. your argument was well marshaled and you are familiar with the european scene." her smile seemed forced and artificial, not genuine, joan thought. "thank you, miss harrison, but you are in line for some kudos too. no one here made a better speech than you, and your rebuttal was masterful." "thank you, and call me beatrice." 'good. call me joan." false 'measure "are you going to have some refreshments?" beatrice asked. "yes," joan said, picking up her papers. "they're being served over in the dining hall." "let's go together and we can talk." beatrice and joan sat at a table together. beatrice had said that since her group was to stay on the campus overnight she was in no rush. joan smiled. "i have an eight-o'clock class tomorrow morning and i still have some more prepar- ing to do, so i can't linger too long. i'll sit with you and finish my coffee, though." joan told beatrice that she was a junior and had been a member of the debating team, since her freshman year. beatrice had also been a member of vassar's team since her first year. beatrice said her home was in boston and she had chosen vassar rather than mount holyoke, where her father wanted her to go, because two of her favorite high school teachers had influenced her. joan said smith had been her first choice from the time she started high school and her favorite teacher was a smith alumna. they discussed the war in europe, and beatrice said she hoped the united states would remain strictly neutral and take no action that would make it appear the united states was taking sides. an overt act, she said, might get us in the war. joan replied that she certainly didn't want the united states to get into the war at that time, but she felt the united states should give brit- ain and france all the aid possible — arms, munitions, ships — except men, because the nazis and their philosophy should be crushed. they talked of people they knew at other schools. beatrice mentioned a friend at columbia, said he was pretty smart and alert and had visited her in boston. joan stopped the movement of her coffee to her lips in mid-air and with- out being cognizant of it, stared at beatrice. she dropped her eyes, took a slow, thoughtful sip and said, "i know him too. i saw him when i was in new york in august to see the world's fair. he came to see the girl i was staying with. she's a student at barnard." "what's her name?" beatrice asked. "helen terrence." false measure then beatrice stared at joan momentarily without a word. she picked up her sandwich, turned it back and forth as though studying it. "i know helen very well," she said without looking at joan. now the same question was running through each girl's mind. but how to ask it? should it be asked? if asked, use the proper words and turn the sentence nicely so as not to offend. both girls were silent longer than they realized, turn- ing the same question over in their minds. they had scruti- nized each other closely and there wasn't a scintilla of evi- dence. this, coupled with the knowledge that such a ques- tion based on a supposition that was incorrect would be in- sulting to some people, made them further reluctant to ask. ending the brief silence, beatrice swallowed a sip of her coffee, slightly banged the cup in the saucer, said, "what the hell!" to herself and out loud to joan, "are you colored, joan?" they both looked into each other's eyes a second. then joan laughed. "of course i am. are you?" "yes," beatrice laughed with joan. each told the other she had thought so because of the mutual close negro friends they had named, but was afraid to spring the question. they found other mutual acquaintances, and in naming them sometimes beatrice's sudden mirth seemed to be spon- taneous and gay, yet she didn't give joan the impression she was completely unbending. perhaps it wasn't her nature to be otherwise. joan was later leaving beatrice than she had planned and not before she had promised to visit her in boston on a near weekend or the thanksgiving holidays. joan settled for the thanksgiving weekend and was off with a handshake to finish studying for that eight-o'clock class. "i'll write you as a reminder," beatrice called and joan waved as she disappeared through the doorway. joan was standing on the platform when her train pulled slowly into south station wednesday evening. she wore a brown sharkskin suit and a sheared beaver coat thrown cas- false measure ually around her shoulders. her hat was also of sheared beaver made in cossack style. her shoes were brown snake- skin and her bag matched her shoes. beatrice, with a porter standing beside her, spotted joan before the train came to a stop and sent the porter hurrying to help her off. when joan reached the platform, beatrice came up running and they fell into each other's arms. two letters each and a telegram from joan had helped to make them friends. for once, beatrice's conversation semed to be genuinely spirited. she was glad to see joan and to have her as a weekend visitor. she had talked to her parents about joan in detail, and to the select few friends she had invited to her house to meet joan this very night. beatrice slipped her arm in joan's and, hustling along behind the porter, she animatedly told her how well she looked. "i think we'll have a good time this weekend. i've only planned one affair for us, outside of thanksgiving dinner at home of course. that's a small gathering of my friends whom i've invited to come to the house tonight to meet you. whatever we do with the rest of the time will be as you wish. there'll be several choices." "sounds good to me," joan said. "are you hungry?" beatrice asked. "perhaps i am. i haven't thought about food since i learned there wasn't a diner on the train." "that's good. mother told the maid to keep our dinner warm while i came down to meet you." the porter placed joan's bag in the rear of the car and, having been dismissed with a fifty-cent tip from beatrice, took off his hat and bowed, saying, "thank you, miss harri- son." he knew of her as the daughter of a famous colored law- yer. he had heard her father speak. he didn't know whether joan was white or colored, but decided that since miss harri- son was such highfalutin society and went to one of those exclusive white girls' schools, this must be "one of them white society girls." beatrice had come down in her mother's car. they started out for roxbury, and it wasn't long before joan be- came aware that beatrice was an atrocious driver. leaving false measure the station, she ran through two red lights. she drove un- necessarily fast and passed cars so closely it was a miracle she didn't side-swipe them — she couldn't judge distance that well. joan found herself pressing the floor boards when- ever they had a close call. beatrice's expression didn't indi- cate she thought they were close calls at all. "my parents put up an awful howl because i came up here instead of going home for thanksgiving," joan men- tioned. "fortunately my school is near enough to my home for me to have promised to come home a weekend before christmas." "i tell you what," said beatrice, "i'll spend part of the christmas holidays with you if i'm invited, and that ought to even things up." "good! it's a date." beatrice had to jam on her brakes to keep from hitting a man who started crossing as the light changed. joan caught her breath and resolved she'd keep her mouth shut for the rest of the ride: beatrice couldn't drive, much less drive and talk. a fine mist was falling and the roadway was slippery. it was just luck that the car didn't skid, joan thought. "no question about it," beatrice said. "he was crossing against the light. an old goon like that ought to be careful." the harrisons' three-story brick house was moderately imposing, located in a quiet, upper-middle-class neighbor- hood. it was expensively furnished in good taste. in the base- ment there was a playroom with a pool table, bar, card tables, and combination record player. on the first floor there were two sitting rooms, a huge dining room with heavy period furniture, and the kitchen. the master bedroom with its massive set, beatrice's room, the library, and a guest room were on the second floor. the third floor had two guest rooms and the maid's room. one of these rooms had served as beatrice's playroom in earlier years. to the side and rear of the house there was a two-car heated garage. beatrice pulled up in the driveway and called through a side door, "henry, henry, are you there?" from a distance within the house a voice replied, "yes, ma'am!" false measure "come quickly and bring in miss turner's bag," com- manded beatrice. henry was mr. harrison's chauffeur, handyman, butler, and jack-of-all-trades. he had been a fixture in the house- hold since mr. harrison's income had reached the five-figure bracket, which was for a number of years now. henry had watched beatrice grow up. he took it upon himself when she was still a youngster to admonish her to be very selective in choosing her playmates, as if her mother hadn't already in- stilled in her that she, a harrison, couldn't afford to associ- ate and play with anybody's children. henry carried it fur- ther. offspring of parents he considered inferior to the harrisons, he chased from the yard. "henry, meet my friend, miss turner," beatrice said when they ran into him in the back hall. "i've known him a good bit of my life and he spent many watchful hours over me when i was little. didn't you, henry?" "yes, i did, miss harrison, and i enjoyed it. i enjoy seeing the fine young woman you've grown to be, too. i like to think i had some part in it." joan offered her hand. he took it and patted it, respect- fully and avuncularly. "you sure are pretty, just like miss harrison said," he grinned. "miss turner will be our guest for the weekend," beatrice said. "do anything she asks." "yes, miss harrison." "where are mother and father?" "they're both in the front living room." it has been said that two people after years of compatible marriage tend to resemble each other physically. if this were ever true, it was true of mr. and mrs. harrison. they could have passed for brother and sister. joan was immediately struck by this. mr. harrison was tall and solidly built with beginning traces of a protuberant abdomen. his complexion was fair with a tinge of redness at his forehead. his face was round and full but sharp-featured. his penetrating gray eyes had a humorous twinkle. he had a full head of silky white hair which he wore parted on the side. his pince-nez glasses en- hanced his distinguished bearing. when he opened his false measure mouth it was with a harvard accent and when his mouth was closed he looked like a product of harvard — the well- tailored suits, the finished appearance. he was handsome. mrs. harrison was trim and had carefully watched her figure. her mixed gray hair was bobbed with a tapered shingle at the back. she, too, wore hers parted on the side, with the other side long and fluffed-up on top. her com- plexion was white with a little rouge carefully rubbed on each cheek for coloring. she used lipstick sparingly. there were thin lines in her forehead and at the corners of her eyes. those at the corners of her blue-gray eyes deepened into small crow's-feet when she laughed or smiled. she, too, wore pince-nez glasses. they were attached to a chain around her neck. she observed the amenities and accepted customs to the letter. beatrice was the spitting image of her mother. mr. harrison had been a protege" of william lewis, who was graduated from harvard law school at the turn of the century. lewis had been a star football player and was named an all-time ail-american by walter camp. he was the first negro graduate of harvard law school and was later a member of its athletic committee. he was the dean of all negro barristers and became one of the most success- ful lawyers in boston. lewis saw in harrison the makings of a good lawyer and encouraged and helped him. harrison was graduated cum laude from harvard law school and served his apprenticeship as clerk to a suffolk county judge. later he was appointed clerk of the probate court and then he went into private practice. he was notably successful and well known all over the state. in recent years he had wanted to be a judge because of the quieter life, and he had become active in boston politics for that reason. he had been offered a post as chief assistant district attorney which he promptly rejected with mild manifestation of contempt. the job would have entailed a great loss of income and it did not offer prestige commensurate with the eminence he had gained at the bar. boston political leaders, with an eye to the growing colored vote, knew they were eventually going to have to give harrison the judgeship he wanted and merited. in harrison married a good-looking boston school false measure teacher, trained at massachusetts normal school. she con- tinued teaching until harrison's income increased. then she resigned. their only child, beatrice, was born in . beatrice led joan to her mother and father. mrs. harri- son had heard them coming in and put down her crocheting to go meet them. they were at the living room door when she reached them. "so this is joan," she said, and put an arm around her. she stood joan off at arm's length and ex- amined her. "exactly like you said, beatrice," she laughed, the crow's-feet at the corners of her eyes deepening, "and smart, too. come meet beatrice's father," she continued, her arm around joan's waist. mr. harrison was already on his feet and walking toward them, evening newspaper in hand. with a firm handclasp, he said, "we've heard much about you, joan. we hope your stay with us will be pleasant. anything you desire or need, just ask. i imagine beatrice has made arrangements for your social activities." "thank you so much," joan said. "i know joan must be famished," mrs. harrison said. "i'll have daisy put dinner on the table for you two while you show joan to her room, beatrice." "all right, mother." mr. harrison said, "if you girls want a cocktail before you eat, i'll have henry make them up and put them on the table, or bring them up to you. whichever you want." "have him bring them up," beatrice said as she and joan climbed the stairs. mrs. harrison joined the girls at the dinner table for after-dinner coffee and a cigarette. she came into the dining room in time to hear beatrice berating daisy for serving coffee that wasn't hot enough. daisy was one of a series of harrison maids and had been hired since beatrice's last visit home. beatrice was the bane of household servants — except henry. her treatment had them quitting at inopportune times: when mrs. harrison was having afternoon or evening guests, or immediately before dinner was to be prepared. daisy apologized and started back to the kitchen with the two cups of coffee. beatrice called after her, "bring a third false measure cup on your return, one for mother too, but don't come back in here until it's really hot!" mrs. harrison took a seat at the table. "now, beatrice, don't annoy daisy too much. this is the thanksgiving week- end and it would indeed be tragic to be without a maid. you know the inconveniences we've had before with maids leaving when they're needed most." "i know, mother, but some of these stupid colored maids make me sick." "now, my child, daisy's a good cook — the best we've had recently — and a good housekeeper. she's not perfect, but who is? as hard as good maids are to find i was ready to clap hands after she'd been here a week and i felt she would stay. when you've seen more of her you'll think she's all right." "i hope so, mother." "well, please leave her alone for the rest of this week- end." the coffee came piping hot. inserting a cigarette in a long holder, teasing, mrs. harrison asked, "is it hot enough for you now, beatrice?" "yes, mother, but only after a complaint." with mrs. harrison, the girls began discussing their plans. joan said she had set her heart on going to france the next summer, , but with the war going on that was out. mrs. harrison asked joan what she intended to do after graduation. joan said she hadn't thought too much about it. "i guess i'll get married. maybe i'll teach awhile, unless the right guy comes along." "my dear, you won't have any trouble getting a hus- band," mrs. harrison assured her. "yes, but i can't marry just anybody." "the pick of the most promising negro males will be at your command. select a man who's not too bad to look at, has a good trained head on his shoulders, and who can earn you a more than average income," said beatrice. "men like your father aren't found every day," mrs. harrison smiled. "no, but they're around," answered beatrice. "all i've got to do is find one," laughed joan. false measure "if you don't marry right after graduation and want to teach awhile, mr. harrison can get you in one of the high schools here, more than likely the september after you finish," mrs. harrison remarked. "that would be good, joan. i might do that myself," said beatrice. "i'll think about it," said joan. "i still have another year to go and anything might happen." "yes," smiled beatrice, "you might find the right man." joan chuckled. "that may happen, but i'm not going to rush into marriage. and if i don't, i'll probably be sitting on mr. harrison's doorstep pressing him to get me in the school system here." beatrice said that her father wanted her to go to law school but she had made it known a couple of years before that she wasn't enthusiastic about it. mrs. harrison ex- plained that her husband had wanted a son and he had at- tempted to impose on beatrice what he would have expected a son to agree to happily. beatrice asserted, "oh, i could go to harvard and get through but i couldn't stand the rough and tumble of court- room arguments and pleadings. men are better at that. more dramatic, too. i guess i'll marry and have a family, if i run into the right guy." "what do your parents want you to do, joan?" asked mrs. harrison. "they haven't urged me in any direction. they let me make my own decisions. of course, that doesn't mean they haven't or won't make suggestions which i can either accept or reject." "listen!" exclaimed mrs. harrison, looking at her watch. "it's nine o'clock and your young guests will be ar- riving any minute. you girls better go dress." they hadn't started their bath before the doorbell began ringing. "will you girls come on downstairs? almost all the guests are here," mrs. harrison called after a half hour. they had been back and forth in each other's rooms commenting and helping each other dress. joan was seated at beatrice's dressing table and beatrice was putting a par- ticular twist in the back of her hair that she thought would false measure be attractive. then joan sat beatrice down and brushed one side of her hair back over her ear. it was becoming. both girls looked good. they took a final perusal of themselves in the mirror and then said, "let's go down." the record player had been going. now someone was playing the piano and everybody was dancing. joan was in a short-sleeved velveteen dress of a soft rose color. it was cut low, and around her dainty, sensitive neck she wore a gold chain with a sapphire pendant. her earrings matched the pendant. beatrice was wearing a green crepe dress with short sleeves. fastened around her refined and delicate neck was a white gold necklace with an opal pen- dant. the girls exchanged compliments on each other's ex- quisite appearance. they were cognizant of their appealing beauty. arm in arm, joan and beatrice entered the front sitting room. mrs. harrison, who was dancing with one of the young men, spied them. "at long last they're here!" the boys and girls stopped dancing to greet beatrice and be introduced to joan. mr. harrison was leaning on the baby grand watching one of the girls play. beatrice had kept the number of guests down to eight boys and eight girls. they were all there. nobody let pass an invitation from beatrice harrison. mount holyoke, radcliffe, simmons, wellesley, and howard were represented by the girls. the men were from amherst, williams, yale, harvard, dartmouth, lincoln, and howard. every girl there either looked white or was so near white it wasn't easily detected that she wasn't. they were blondes of various shades and brunettes ranging from au- burn-haired to raven-haired. some of the men could be easily identified as negroes, but they were far from black and wouldn't have been there if they were. on rare occasions a dark man might receive an invitation from beatrice. but it would be for an intellectual gathering and he would be there because of some unusual quality or achievement. this night it was strictly a social gathering. joan was introduced to everyone and joined the dancing. they did the jitterbug, but modified and more reserved. there was no longer the complete abandon, the fancy intri- false measure dance and insisted that mr. harrison dance with her before he left. he agreed. then her partner danced with mrs. har- rison, although she said she'd danced enough for one night, considering her age and the fast clip at which youngsters danced nowadays. later, at the door, mr. harrison gave henry instructions to stick around and mix a few more drinks for the youngsters. he had a final word for ronald. "how's that law coming along?" he asked. "fine, so far, mr. harrison." "oh, you'll make it," encouraged mr. harrison. mildred said to ronald, "i'll play once more for you to dance with joan, and then you sit yourself down here and play while i dance." "oke," he said. at the end of the piece joan walked over to ronald, who raised himself from the piano. she said, "the next is ours." leading joan from the piano by the hand, he said to his sister, "play 'tuxedo junction.'" when joan and ronald moved into their dance, she found that this man electrified her. mildred was playing the fox trot perhaps a little slower than it should have been played — maybe by design. ronald was holding her close and she realized she was falling right in with his suggestive movements, movements that couldn't be obvious to others because they were devious and sly, but they caused her to have sensations to a depth she hadn't previously known. she had danced close to men at other times, like everybody else. she had necked, but she had never felt like this before. here was a man she'd never even kissed, had only met a couple of hours ago, she thought, and he had her feeling as though she was going to melt away. she turned over in her mind some of the things girls at school said they had done when they gave in to what they called an overwhelming emotion. she had looked at them askance and averred that no man had ever moved her that much. she could control her emo- tions. with her arm around ronald's neck, her other hand held by him at his chest and seemingly squeezed by him at precisely the right moments, along with his hidden move- ments, they glided across the thickly carpeted floor. joan felt as though she were sailing through clouds. temporarily false measure she was oblivious to the presence of others who were laugh- ing, talking, and commenting on mildred's excellent rendi- tion of this number. joan felt she was breathing hard and made an effort to stop it, but she couldn't. she knew ronald could feel her heaving bosom. when the song ended, her face was flushed and she momentarily let her head drop on his chest. he, knowing, patted her on the back, and led her to the piano. "was that all right?" mildred asked her brother. "fine!" he said, taking her place at the piano and maneu- vering disturbed joan to a seat beside him on the bench. "what'll you have?" he asked mildred. ready with her partner, she answered, "'one o'clock jump,' and see if you can play it like count basie." one would have thought he had been taught it by the count himself. one of the girls swung past and said over her shoulder, "if count basie ever got sick you could substitute for him." joan was sitting motionless, staring at the keys. she hoped no one had looked at her face when her dance with ronald ended, and she hoped no one would notice her discomposure and tremors as she sat there beside him. she tried hard to calm herself, but her barely visible shaking continued. ron- ald leaned over and whispered in her ear, without a break in his song, "just be quiet for a few minutes, my dear. you'll be all right." joan thought she saw a devilish grin on his lips and a dangerous glint in his eyes. "i'll never be caught alone with this guy," she vowed to herself. henry passed by and joan stopped him to whisper, "bring me a double straight scotch." "chaser?" he asked. "don't bother about that." henry was back pronto and the drink he brought was more than a double. joan did away with it quickly in large swallows and in seconds her trembling stopped and her col- oring returned to normal, but now her head was swimming — she was high. ronald finished his song and quietly inquired, "how're you doing?" false measure "fine," she replied and the smile she gave him was a half-intoxicated one. "play another song." "will you sit here with me?" he asked. "yes, i will," she said and refused two requests to dance, not because she preferred to sit with ronald, but because she didn't think her legs would hold her if she tried. mildred rushed over to the piano, shoved her brother over, and said, "let's do this one together." with mildred playing the bass chords, the two went into a lilting tune, joined in by as many voices as could gather around the piano. joan, her head still swimming, sang too. then mildred edged her brother over farther so she could have the play of the whole keyboard, making him al- most force joan off the seat. she swung into "how high the moon." the girls squealed when she started that favorite number. everybody sang. ronald hit a chord now and then. henry made an appearance and said it was last call if any- body wanted anything else. no one did. they had all had enough. even beatrice had had one too many. her eyes were shining and she was laughing more than usual. the guests were beginning to get their coats and drift away, but not be- fore expressing to joan their pleasure at having met her. joan had recovered enough from the last hooker to stand and walk to the door with them, accompanied by beatrice. one girl, roberta jones, a former schoolmate of mil- dred's in high school, indignantly demanded of ronald whether he intended to take her home or was he going to sit at the piano all night. ronald hadn't escorted her to the par- ty but he had been out with her more than with any other boston girl and she considered herself his girl friend. be- sides, she was his sister's closest friend. his attentions to joan had irritated her and she had seen every move the two had made from the time they started their first and only dance. she alone had witnessed joan's reaction to the dance with ronald and wanted to scratch joan's eyes out. mildred had gone for her coat and ronald, alone at the piano, had lapsed into a sentimental ditty. he didn't look up on roberta's de- mand. he kept playing, humming, and swaying, apparently too engrossed to have heard. roberta leaned on the piano glaring at him. mildred returned with her coat on and went false measure to the piano to tell her brother she was leaving, her escort directly behind her. ronald turned to him and offhandedly asked if he would see roberta home. "you'll have to pass her house." he looked at his sister for approval. she raised her eyebrows. "it's all right with me." ronald went back to his song, without a glance at ro- berta. she continued to glare at him. joan came back into the room after bidding some guests good night and sat beside ronald. mildred said, "come on, roberta, let's go." her escorted said, "we'll drive you home, roberta." roberta gave ronald a final angry look, glowered at joan who was unaware of what was going on, and stalked from the room and the house, without a good night to bea- trice or joan. ronald hadn't missed a beat and hadn't raised his head from the keys. mildred and her escort ran after ro- berta, with mildred calling, "roberta, for goodness sake wait a minute and don't be silly." beatrice, who had taken in roberta's final act, walked over to ronald and smiled down at him. "what have you done to roberta?" "nothing," ronald said and ran his fingers up and down the keys. "maybe that's it. she probably wanted you to do some- thing you wouldn't do." "she demanded that i take her home. i didn't escort her here or promise to, and i did or said nothing to make her think i was going to take her home." "you paid her little or no attention tonight but you have devoted so much time to her in the past, that tonight she was first hurt and then angered. a woman scorned, you know," said beatrice and winked at joan who was all ears but said nothing. oliver wilson of dartmouth, and beatrice's special male guest, asked ronald to play one more piece. "then," he suggested, "we'd better shove off." they were the only two guests remaining. ronald moved into "good night, sweetheart," fixed his eyes on joan and began to sing. joan couldn't look into his eyes. they said too many dangerous things. she turned her head and leaned false measure back against him, feeling him swaying with the rhythm of his music. the other two hummed the notes of the song. "come on, let's go," oliver said to ronald. "with joan sitting there beside you you'll play all night." beatrice brought their coats. walking to the door, she slipped her arm in oliver's. ronald put his arm in joan's and pressed it, his fingers drawing her to him. she broke away and went to the door with him at a distance. she wasn't going to be violently disturbed twice in one night by this man. he chuckled and warned, "i'll kiss you yet." "not unless and until i get good and ready," she re- torted. opening the outside door, beatrice said, "oliver, you and ronald are invited for dinner tomorrow if you can make it." "thanks," they said. "we can make it." "on second thought, i should ask joan if she wants to be bothered with you tomorrow, ronald." beatrice smiled. ronald looked at joan and grinned. "may i come, miss turner?" "oh, i'll tolerate you tomorrow if you promise to behave yourself." the earlier evening mist had frozen, leaving a thin film of glassy ice on the marble steps. ronald, saying good night and "i'll see you tomorrow," stepped out without noticing the condition of the step. when his hard leather heel hit the slippery step, it went out from under him and with much clattering and arm-waving, he skidded into mid-air, land- ing on his rump on the sidewalk four steps below. he said, "goddamn!" and sat a couple of seconds and got up brush- ing himself. concerned, beatrice called out to him. "are you hurt, ronald?" "no, i'm all right." joan howled and said, "it serves you right!" oliver had come down the steps gingerly and the two men went on their way, oliver's laughter breaking the early morning stillness. in joan's bed, for nearly two hours, she and beatrice false measure talked. first joan wanted to know more about ronald. next she wanted to know who the girl was who made a minor scene over him. "that was roberta jones," beatrice said. "she's a junior at mount holyoke. she's a boston girl. her father's a phy- sician here." "she's a pretty girl," joan said, "and apparently has a great deal to offer. she shouldn't permit herself to get so wrapped up in one man. there are too many other worth- while men. a little more and she would have disgraced her- self." "she's crazy about ronald and it'll take some time for her to get over it." "why is she so crazy about him?" "well, he's taken her out often. in fact, for the last two years he's been seen with her more than any other girl and i guess he led her to believe he was hers and she was his. she knew all along that he's a glamor boy. he's been that way ever since he was at the latin school." "it's obvious he's been around. and he is a handsome rascal." "he's a smart devil, too," beatrice said. "we used to won- der how he could keep up with his studies, he carried on so. but he does more than keep up. he's always in a top portion of his class. when he was graduated from harvard college, he was in the top tenth of his class. he'll probably finish law school magna cum laude." both girls were thoughtful a moment. "who are his parents and where does he live?" asked joan. "his mother died about ten years ago," beatrice resumed. "his father owns a bar and grill on tremont street and an- other on columbus avenue. besides, he's the biggest policy banker in this area. according to my father, if a reform ad- ministration should get elected and put him out of business, he's piled a lot of money into annuities, hidden bank ac- counts, and paying properties for the benefit of ronald and mildred, both of whom he loves dearly and is proud of. the father is unschooled but could always make a dollar and has high objectives for his children. they live in a sumptuously false measure furnished house two blocks from here. since their mother's death, he has had a middle-aged housekeeper to look after his children, and a maid. ronald and mildred have always had more money than they needed. their father will give them practically anything they ask for. ronald had a car when he was in high school and mildred went off to college in a brand new roadster. considering everything, i think they've kept their heads and turned out to be nice kids." "that's an interesting history," mused joan. "then it's racket money that's sending ronald to harvard and helping to make him as vain as he is." "yes, if you want to put it that way," beatrice answered. "ronald intrigues me," joan admitted, "and i'm afraid of him. or, i should say, i'm afraid of myself with him." "i've heard he can be devastating and irresistible as a lover," beatrice smiled. "i'll see him for the rest of the weekend but i'll hold him at arm's length," joan asserted. "sort of like a child playing with fire. you know it might burn you but you play with it anyway. in case we should go out somewhere and he's along, promise me you won't leave me alone with him. i don't want him to be running me up in any corners i can't escape from." beatrice laughed. "i won't, but after you've seen more of him you'll probably be able to handle him." "i hope so." "i think we ought to get some sleep or we'll hardly wake up in time for dinner," beatrice said. "you're right," joan responded. beatrice jumped out of joan's bed, restored the covers, kissed her on her forehead. "if i wake up first i'll call you, and if you wake up first, call me. good night, dear." "okay. good night, bea." at eleven o'clock, beatrice was up and had showered. she roused joan and told her daisy would be up with a breakfast tray in minutes but she'd have time to shower first if she wanted. joan bounced out of bed and sprinted for the bath. "gee, that coffee and ham smell good," she called. "i'll be back before daisy gets here." daisy came upstairs carrying a large tray with everything false measure from orange juice to ham steaks, eggs, fried potatoes, sliced tomatoes, and her specialty, hot biscuits with melted butter oozing out. the hot dishes were hidden by silver covers. "where do you want this, miss harrison?" "here, in my room," beatrice answered. daisy set the tray down and beatrice immediately checked the individual pots to test the temperature of the coffee. satisfied, she gave daisy a forced smile. "it's all right. thank you." "i put the coffee in the silver pots 'cause it keeps hot long- er," daisy explained and made her exit to beatrice's "okay." joan was slipping her legs into emerald green gabardine lounging slacks when beatrice called to her, "come on, joan, it'll get cold." "in a minute i'll be there." joan put on a high-necked, white silk blouse. then she parted her hair in the middle, combed it straight back, placed a narrow white ribbon underneath it, and tied a bow on top of her head. she slid her feet into toast-colored espadrille casuals. she appraised herself in the mirror and was satisfied. she ran to beatrice's room. "joan, your hair is simply gorgeous this morning," bea- trice gushed. "you're positively bewitching." "flatterer." they both dove into their food, talking while they ate. beatrice was stretched out on her chaise longue wearing green and magenta heavy silk faille lounging pajamas. joan was lying on her stomach across the pink coverlet at the foot of beatrice's bed. "i'd like to have some pajamas exactly like those but i wonder if i'd look as good in them as you do?" joan asked. "you would. probably better." mrs. harrison knocked and entered to "good morning, mother," and "good morning, mrs. harrison." she kissed both girls and asked if they had had a good time last night. "oh, yes," they trilled. as a concession to her daughter, mrs. harrison was wear- ing slacks this morning. beatrice had convinced her that she should stay young along with her. she had the figure and the false measure face, her daughter insisted. she sat on the bed beside joan. "you must have had a good time. i heard the piano and singing until the wee hours." "the person playing in the wee hours was ronald and there were only four of us singing then. the others had gone," beatrice explained. "besides ronald, the other straggler wouldn't have been oliver?" mrs. harrison teased. "oliver has previously shown he has a crush on you, beatrice, so he unquestionably hung around because of you. and now i've got to team up ronald." joan and beatrice looked at each other and smiled. mrs. harrison saw them and gave a knowing laugh. "ah ha, so that's it! you and ronald, joan?" she patted her. suddenly she simulated a serious mien to joan's and beatrice's amuse- ment and asked, "what became of roberta jones? how did she happen to go and leave ronald here? what are you go- ing to do about roberta, joan? i'll wager she looked daggers at you before she left." the girls filled the room with peals of laughter. "mother, you must have been hiding behind the door watching or else you heard us in joan's room before we went to sleep. you've figured everything out so closely." "on my honor, i fell asleep after one of your late songs and the last i saw of anything was when your father and i said good night. but i did hit the nail on the head, didn't i?" the girls gave her a snickering nod. adjusting herself as if to listen to a long, formal report, mrs. harrison said, "let me in on the dirt. i must keep up with the latest gossip." the three women's lively chatter and gay laughter rang in mr. harrison's ears for an hour. he was in the library trying to read. he gave up and decided he'd go to the base- ment and play some pool. he'd need an opponent. henry would be in the kitchen all day helping daisy prepare the turkey and fixings. he'd ask the womenfolk. they should have talked themselves out by now. he knocked on bea- trice's door. "good morning, daddy." false measure efficient bartender but made the drinks too strong. mrs. har- rison held her hand over her glass when ronald offered her a third refill. "i've had enough." his back to the rest, mr. harrison was still glued in front of the radio. every now and then oliver or ronald would yell out, "what's the score?" or, hearing the cheering, "who made the play?" or "how many minutes to play?" mrs. harrison regarded joan and then beatrice. neither could stop laughing, it appeared, and both were talking breathlessly. mrs. harrison decided they'd had enough. she put her arms in joan's and beatrice's and drew them to her. "it's near the end of the last quarter. suppose you girls go and dress for dinner. don't take a warm bath. both of you need a cold shower." they laughed. "daddy and i will enter- tain your young men while you're gone," she added. there was a striking contrast in the girls' demeanor when they came down to dinner. no snickering or small talk. they exuded the decorum usually associated with col- lege upperclasswomen. mrs. harrison noticed the change from forty-five minutes before and remarked to her husband at the opposite end of the table, "maybe it's their dinner dresses. and the cold showers probably helped." he nodded and smiled. ronald and oliver seated their ladies at opposite sides of the table and then sat beside them. mr. harrison looked at beatrice and then at joan. "you girls certainly look good this evening." in a chorus, the others declared their agreement. beatrice was attired in a captivating nile green satin dress with a medium low neck. her necklace was white gold, festooned with five jeweled flowers of pearls and emeralds. her ear- rings were clusters of pearls and emeralds, flower-shaped and matching her necklace. the earrings and necklace had be- longed to her maternal grandmother. joan was fetchingly garbed in an amethyst velvet dress. it was snugly belted, accentuating her small waist and mas- terfully modeled hips. she was wearing a gold necklace. her earrings were gold, set with amethyst stones. daisy had lit four tall red candles on the table and henry was moving from one to another pouring white wine. mr. false measure harrison blessed the table, sharpened his carving knife, and was stretching his arms to go to work on the huge browned turkey in front of him when daisy snapped off the ceiling light. "say, put that light back on," he ordered. "i can't see to do a good job in this dim candlelight. furthermore, i don't want to eat in twilight." mr. harrison asked each what part of the turkey he or she preferred. when he got to ronald, ronald caused a big laugh and some added comments. mr. harrison asked, "light or dark meat, ronald?" "i don't like dark meat and i only take it when there's no light meat around, mr. harrison." everybody laughed. then oliver said, "i never even eat chocolate ice cream." they laughed again and mrs. harrison exclaimed, "oh, oliver, you shouldn't be like that!" joan remarked, "why, i never even drink black coffee." they all laughed again. mr. harrison comforted them, saying, "it's all right, ronald, oliver, and joan, there'll be more than enough of the light meat for you." later ronald said that his sister and father had told him that since he couldn't stay home for thanksgiving dinner they would expect him back after dinner and he was to bring beatrice and joan. mildred had arranged an im- promptu gathering after dinner. beatrice said they had planned nothing special and she would go if joan wanted to. joan nodded and oliver said he was sticking with ronald. while henry and daisy were serving dessert and coffee, the conversation drifted into a discussion of the european war. "the nazis and the russians seem to me to be diamet- rically opposed, economically, politically, and psychologi- cally," ronald observed. "hitler has been ranting against russia and communism since before he became chancel- lor. his book, mein kampf, sets forth that if and when he became leader in germany, russia should be conquered. only a few months ago he made a speech that was widely reported in the world press in which he made known that false measure clams. now the daily worker is spouting a lot of double-talk and they're anti-war. they've even suggested that the brit- ish and french negotiate a settlement with the nazis. get- ting back to the military mission in moscow, the british and french officers sent ostensibly to plan with the russians on a vast scale were low echelon, colonels and the like. that in itself was an affront to the russians. if they had meant business, the staffs would have been headed by generals with broad powers, and colonels and lesser lights as aides. the western powers didn't really intend to come to a joint mili- tary agreement with russia, and that's the reason they sent low-ranking officers. apparently they were sent only as a sop to appease large groups of people in both england and france who were anxious that such joint planning be done. but there were other powerful groups in england and france who were pro-german and pro-italian. they were willing to give the germans and italians whatever they yelled for so long as it didn't encroach upon their empires. the most potent of the germanophile and italophile groups was the so-called cliveden set in england. it had its french counterpart. the cliveden set's views were reflected in gov- ernmental acts. their basic philosophy regarding the ger- mans was that the expansionist nazis should be forced east- ward mainly at russian expense. the munich pact was based on that thinking. two darlings of the cliveden set were von ribbentrop when he was german ambassador and count dino grandi, the italian ambassador. the russians were keenly aware of this desire by the two western powers to force hitler eastward. and when they sent a military mission of low-level officers without any powers to negotiate an agreement, the russians considered it a meaningless gesture and quietly came to an agreement with hitler. they know hitler will break it when it suits his fancy but now they'll have a breathing spell to get ready. without fail, when ger- many fulfills her desires in western europe she'll come to grips with russia." mrs. harrison asked, "do you think the united states should aid britain and france? that would make us non- belligerents. or do you think we should observe strict neu- trality and not aid either side?" false measure "by all means we should help england and france," joan said. "i think so too, joan," ronald agreed. mr. harrison said, "i think president roosevelt is enough of a realist and farsighted enough to plug for a re- vision of our neutrality act so we can aid the allies. it would be an example of enlightened self-interest to do so. in spite of previous cruelties, excesses, and heartless exploita- tion which were part and parcel of their empire-building, i feel that england and france are morally in the right in this present struggle with germany. let's assume that we should deny any help to england and france and that by our not do- ing so it should enable hitler to overrun europe sooner. he would consolidate his gains and then tackle portions of north africa. bear in mind, he is interested in regaining all the colonies and territories taken from germany at ver- sailles, besides world hegemony, by a combination of con- quest and economic freebooting. next he would take on russia. if successful in that venture, allied with japan, the germans could put terrific and unbearable pressures on the united states. it would be difficult for them to invade us, but they would control world markets and stifle our trade. businessmen would cry out to our government to come to some agreement with hitler so they could make money. the government's hand would be forced and along with trade agreements, controlled by germany, would come nazi eco- nomic, political, and social doctrines happily accepted by some here. we as negroes would suffer more because we would be driven out of every type of endeavor but menial tasks. and there would be a rapid acceleration of persecu- tion of the jews." everyone was very thoughtful after this analysis. mr. harrison looked at his watch and turned to mrs. harrison. "have you forgotten, dear, we're supposed to go calling tonight? i think it's time we got going." the young men thanked mrs. harrison for .an excellent dinner. ronald said he thought they should be getting over to his house. he'd promised his sister they'd be there early and it was almost nine. the girls, ronald, and oliver piled false measure tremely difficult, even if one measured up to their require- ments. and what were their requirements? first the women: a fair complexion, good looks, college training, a full ward- robe of the latest styles, and money enough to do the things they liked to do, such as entertain frequently, ride horse- back, have a car of your own or access to one, take in the latest shows, and so on. as for the men, it wasn't impera- tive that they look white or near-white but they had better not be too dark and certainly not black; they had to be at- tractive and college trained and they had to have enough pocket money to entertain the girls as the girls expected to be entertained. young men and women from out of town who met the standards were accepted with open arms. joan was one of these. but there were boston youngsters they had known all their lives whom they would rudely cut and deny admittance to their set even if these youngsters were born with the physical requisites and somehow attained the others. up-and-coming young people clamored for their companion- ship, and they knew it. at rare times a striving girl or boy might be sponsored by one of the social arbiters of their co- terie, by being taken to one of their affairs, and then they would have crashed the circle. there were two or three who could do this and it would be unquestioned. one of these was beatrice, but it was hardly probable she ever would. if one of the arbiters presented someone, the lesser lights in the closed group would say, "if she or he is a friend of so-and- so, she or he can be a friend of mine." if one of the lesser lights sponsored a person, there was a chance that person might be snubbed. how did the arbiters get that way? in addition to possessing all the essential qualities of their group they would be the offspring of successful, college- trained parents and grandparents. they were conceited and revealed their self-esteem by making known to all and sun- dry the achievements of their ancestors, or they maintained an arrogant bearing. ronald came down the steps with his father and there were cries of "hello, mr. gregory." he stopped here and there to say a word of greeting or to shake hands. ronald led his father to meet joan who was sitting on a sofa with beatrice by the front window. false measure beatrice saw them coming and interrupted joan's con- versation. "here comes mr. gregory." joan looked and exulted. "gee, he's handsome! now i see how ronald got that way." mr. gregory reached them, shook hands, and exchanged brief pleasantries with beatrice. then ronald said, "dad, meet joan turner, the prettiest and one of the smartest girls you ever met." they shook hands. joan directed to ronald, "how do you know how smart i am?" "i've heard you talk and furthermore beatrice told me about your achievements at smith before you got here." mr. gregory said, "i don't know or care about the 'smart' part of ronald's statement, but the 'pretty' part is definitely correct; only i would use a stronger word. i would say you're 'fascinating.'" everyone laughed. "joan, how about dancing with dad before he leaves. he only has about fifteen minutes," ronald explained. "it seems to me," joan jested, "that mr. gregory is perfectly capable of making a request of a lady for a dance himself." "will you?" mr. gregory smiled. "of course," joan answered. ronald danced with beatrice. oliver was somewhere in the other room. a lively record was on and all but the bridge players were dancing. mildred ran over and shut off the record player. the dancers stopped and asked her, "what did you do that for?" "because my daddy's dancing and i want him to dance to a song he likes." she sat down at the blonde mahogany grand piano and went into a rhythmic light tune unknown to most. the partners started moving again. "it's a song she composed herself," mr. gregory ex- plained to joan. "i don't think she's put it down on paper yet. i heard her playing it one day and told her i liked it. it is a pretty tune, isn't it?" "it certainly is." mr. gregory led joan back to her seat and said he would have a drink with them before he left. he called the white- false measure coated waiter who was roving about with a tray of drinks. a maid, uniformed in dainty white cap and apron, was pass- ing out plates of food. mildred came over and stood beside her father and brother. the three gregorys drank a toast to joan and beatrice. then mr. gregory had to go. every night, as often as possible, mr. gregory took a look-in at his two bars and grills. then besides, there might be some final checking up to do on his other business, too. he and ronald were the same height, but mr. gregory was picking up middle-age fat. his long, black hair was mixed with gray and was completely white at the temples. he wore a heavy mustache which his barber trimmed and shaped daily. his tailor was one of boston's best and he looked it. he gave the appearance of a prosperous banker or business- man. and he was prosperous. besides a lavish home with servants there were three automobiles: his daughter's, his son's, and his own. he never drove his; one of his many em- ployees always drove him. he kept his business life and his social life completely separate. most of the characters who worked for him or with him in his shady but profitable and protected enterprises he would not permit to set foot in his home. he operated by a rigid code from which he never deviated. years before, he set his sights high for his children, and that meant his home life should be beyond reproach — none of the so-called rabble with whom he did business would be allowed around. socially, he had been accepted by and associated intimately with boston's colored best. of this he was proud. why, he was even on the friendliest terms with mr. harrison, that prominent lawyer, and the lawyer's daughter was friendly with his children. mildred and ronald had certainly not let him down. when they were starting high school, he had told them he had enough money to send them through high school and college and all he wanted them to do was study and make it, so that they wouldn't have it as hard getting started as he did. maybe he had overdone it, buying them cars, too many clothes, and giving them much too much spending money while in school; but their marks were always above average, his money came easy, and he felt he should reward them. why, ronald finished high school in three and a half years and false measure he was now in harvard law school after a fine record at harvard college. the only reason mildred wouldn't be elected to phi beta kappa was that they didn't have a chap- ter at howard. "imagine," he sometimes said to his asso- ciates, "i never finished grammar school, but i've been able to provide the wherewithal for my kids to achieve what they have. they're leaders in one of the most exclusive younger sets in the east. i'm vain about 'em, don't you think i ought to be?" once or twice a year, usually when both children were in town, he would entertain lavishly at home. all of boston's society folk, and they alone, would be there. ronald asked joan to dance. mildred was fingering a good number. joan said, "no indeed." "a guest in my own house and you refuse to dance with me?" said ronald as beatrice chuckled. "i've experienced dancing with you once. that was enough." "you've been dancing with others," ronald pleaded. "they know how to behave themselves and just dance," joan said with finality. "let me show you the house," ronald offered. "you've only seen these two rooms." "if beatrice goes too," replied joan. "i've seen the house," interposed beatrice. "it hasn't changed since i last looked around." "well, if you don't accompany us, i'll sit right here," joan declared. "this rascal will never get me hemmed up in any of those hidden rooms upstairs." pained, ronald asked, "what sort of man do you think i am that you won't allow me to show you our home?" "oh, i'd like to see it all," joan observed, "but not with you alone." "come on, for god's sake, i'll go too," beatrice said. joan found the entire house excessively showy and flashy. they even had another piano in a sitting room on the second floor. it was a concert grand, ivory-colored to fit the decor of the room. the whole house had been extravagantly fur- nished and it was plain that a terrific amount of money had been spent. with a sweep of her arm, joan said to ronald, "i know false measure your father must have spent a pretty penny for all of this." "i guess he did," ronald replied indifferently. walking down one of the wide halls with beatrice in front of them, ronald had slipped his arm around joan's waist. she abruptly pulled away from him. his "for god's sake, i won't harm you," caused beatrice to stop and regard them both with a half-smile. "i know you won't," joan rejoined, "because i won't let you." as soon as they were back downstairs joan danced with oliver. then ronald asked her to dance. she gave him a flat "no," and led him to a seat beside her. he was disturbed and said, "joan, i don't think this funny. i don't know what your purpose is but i do know it isn't proper for a lady to be out with a man where there's music and dancing and for the lady to refuse to dance with him." "ordinarily that would be correct," joan agreed. "but the last time i danced with you your actions weren't what they should have been and i don't propose to go through that again. the next time i dance with you, you'll act like a gentleman." his eyes were entreating. "you're not fair, joan." "well, sit here beside me and we can talk," joan an- swered. "i don't want to talk," he said firmly. "then go on over there and dance with roberta," snapped joan. "you're being impossible, joan," he sighed. but he kept his seat beside her. a young man came over and asked her for a dance. she excused herself and left ronald sitting there. when she re- turned he was still glumly sitting there. she patted his cheek and said, "don't take it so hard, my dear." he gave her a side glance. when ronald drove them home he wore a dejected look and had little to say. joan was enjoying his reaction to the way she was handling him. "don't take it so hard, darling," she cooed. he continued looking ahead and didn't reply. going up the walk to the harrisons' front door, beatrice false measure and oliver were in front of them. joan relented enough to slip her arm in ronald's. then he asked if he could take her to dinner and a show the next day. she answered, "yes, if beatrice goes." he stopped and stood off from her. "what the hell! do you have to have a chaperone every place you go?" she put her hands on her hips and stormed, "no man talks to me like that! who do you think you're talking to, ronald gregory? just for that, i won't go. i don't care who else goes. now, good night." she walked away from him, passing oliver and beatrice, who had stopped and turned around at the sudden outburst behind them. joan had to wait on the top step for beatrice to open the door. ronald approached the bottom step; he had passed by the other two who, amused, had asked, "what's the matter, ronald?" and he had shrugged his shoulders. re- pentant, he said, "joan, i'm sorry. will you forgive me? will you go tomorrow night?" unyielding, joan answered, "i don't know. call me to- morrow and i'll let you know. now good night again." "good night, joan," he muttered and went back down the walk. "i'll wait in the car for you," he told oliver. "you're certainly being hard on ronald," beatrice said when she and joan were upstairs preparing for bed. thoughtfully, joan replied, "no, bea, i'm not being hard on him. i'm just keeping him at a distance." "how long do you propose to keep him at a distance?" "his reactions will determine that. even now i think he understands that i expect to be courted properly — that is, every step of the courtship is to be properly spaced. i just don't rush headlong into an affair." "you're giving him some medicine he undoubtedly hasn't experienced before." "i think you're right there." beatrice added, "it's doing him some good, though, i believe." on friday and saturday night joan and ronald went to dinner and a show, accompanied by beatrice and oliver. ronald was the perfect debonair gentleman and made no false measure she'd be expecting him the next weekend. elated, he squeezed her. she said, "now, now, we're in public." when the train had pulled out of the station and joan had settled herself by the window, she reflected, "underneath her phony veneer beatrice is a warm person and a good companion." false measure suave manners, and harvard accent. soon they were all crowded into edwina's car on their way to a roadhouse. it was a snappy, late fall evening. joan snuggled up to ronald, sitting in the middle next to edwina, who was driving. "i'm cold," she said. he eased his arm over the back of the seat so she could nestle under it. "i wish it would get twice this cold if it takes cold weather to make you less fearful of getting close to me." he patted her shoulder and smiled down at her. edwina flicked on the heater and in a few minutes it was cozy. the roadhouse was small and had a three-piece band. they took a table near the bandstand. after the third round of drinks the four girls and ronald were at home with the members of the band. ronald gave them five dollars and from then on nothing but what they asked for was played. two of the girls got up and danced together. joan told ronald to dance with edwina. she was going to sit this one out. as edwina and ronald glided over the floor, edwina said to ronald, "when we get back to the table ask joan to dance with you." "how did you know there would be any question about joan's dancing with me?" ronald asked, slowing almost to a stop. "let's keep dancing," advised edwina. "she might notice and think we're talking about you and her." they picked up step with the music again and ronald said, "well, answer my question." "joan is one of my best friends and, besides, we're room- mates, so surely you must know we've discussed you. i knew all about you before you got off that train. now when we get back to the table, ask her to dance. if she balks, i'll put in a word. but one thing, you promise me you'll act like the gentleman you are! behave yourself, and dance with her as you are with me!" she smiled at him. ronald danced some pensive steps and then replied, 'how you dance is determined by the cadence of the music." "now don't get technical. you understand me thor- oughly." she laughed. "will you do as i say?" "yes." when the band struck up the next number, ronald took false measure . a sip from his glass and held the glass in his hand turning it around and back as if studying its contents. he leaned over to joan and whispered, “joan, will you please dance with me?" she hesitated. “ronald, those big brown eyes of yours are either soft or devilish or pleading. right now they're plead- ing and it would be cruel of me to say no. come on, let's dance!” edwina smiled. joan and ronald danced through the next three num- bers without a break. joan's face was glowing when they returned to the table. she leaned over and murmured to edwina, “he was the perfect partner. nothing sly. but just being close to him does things to me. not like the night i met him though. i've got everything under control tonight." “good girl," edwina said. during intermission ronald played several piano num- bers, to the delight of everybody in the place. when the band returned, the four girls were gathered around him, singing as he played. at the leader's insistence, he stayed on and played two numbers with the band. joan said they might have one more round before they left. "and one more dance,” ronald said. “while the waiter is bringing the drink,” joan agreed. when ronald asked for the check, joan's three school- mates said they were determined to pay for their own. “four girls on one man isn't fair," they said. ronald would have none of it. he told the waiter not to take their money and paid the check himself. joan drove back. ronald repeatedly admonished her to "take it easy." the girls thought his nervousness was amusing. “we've ridden many miles with joan,” they declared. joan pulled up in front of the guest house. "here you are, safe and sound.” she leaned over and gave him a full kiss on the lips. “see you at nine and show you some of the campus you couldn't see in the dark,” she told him. "we've got another roadhouse to take you to tomorrow night,” doris said. “good night, everybody,” said ronald. “it's been a very pleasant evening." false measure "good night, ronald." "gee, he's a cute guy," joan's friends asserted. ronald and joan breakfasted together the next morning. then they stepped out into the bright sunshine to tour the campus. joan looked him up and down and told him he already looked like a handsome, prosperous lawyer. he was wearing a perfectly fitted box-backed dark blue overcoat, dark gray trousers showing below it. his blue-and-white scarf of a fuzzy wool material was wrapped tightly and formed a v on his chest. his black shoes glistened. his gray homburg had a small tilt, at exactly the right angle. one gray suede glove was off, held by the other. the fresh, close shave had given his full face a pinkish tinge. joan took his arm. "let's start walking. this place isn't as big as harvard but it'll take us a long time to cover every- thing on the campus." they went in and out of the gym, the library, classroom buildings, labs, and lecture halls, crisscrossing the campus. every few feet, whether inside a building or outside, they were stopped by someone joan knew. it meant introducing ronald each time and standing and talking awhile. the girls would turn around and look at ronald when he and joan walked away. they were halted by several professors and instructors and they ran into dean ferguson, who held them for a long conversation. she talked with ronald of people she knew at harvard. she told him they were proud of joan at smith. he said he was proud of her too. then she told joan that her visitor was very attractive. when they were walking off she called them back and reminded joan of her tea on sunday afternoon. "bring mr. gregory," she said. he thanked her but said he would have to leave in mid- afternoon to get back to boston. joan said she would be there. as soon as they left dean ferguson, adrienne hailed them and came running. "where have you been, joan? i haven't seen you since before thanksgiving." "where have you been?" joan asked. "i've been right here." "well, i didn't get back until thursday. i went home false measure the wrong foot, trying to be too much the storybook version of the southern belle and it rubbed the girls the wrong way. i like her a lot, in spite of what others see in her. as room- mates, we got along swell. she's wanted to be closer to me than i've wanted. she's sometimes very dull. my two closest friends, edwina and doris, can't stand her. doris asked her if she knows that ante-bellum days are over. i'll have a prob- lem at christmas. edwina and doris are spending part of the christmas holidays with me and will be there when adrienne comes. she's been trying to visit me for three christmases now so i guess i can't get out of it this time." "i can understand why she likes to be around you. peo- ple like her sometimes like to be around others who are pretty, lively, and popular. they relish the vicarious enjoy- ment they get from being around and watching people like you and knowing what your activities are. she undoubtedly respects your scholastic attainments too. by the way, will you have room enough for another visitor christmas? seems like you have a full house already." "that isn't all. my aunt will be there from columbus and maybe my grandfather. we have a good-sized house, but i can count five holiday guests already." "oh, i can stay at a hotel." "i didn't say you could come yet," joan teased. "well, if i may." "i'll let you know." "before i leave this weekend?" "perhaps." joan walked ronald back to the guest house after lunch. she had some work to prepare for monday and after he left sunday afternoon she'd be at the dean's tea, so she'd better do it this afternoon. ronald welcomed the break, he said, because he had brought along three books that he had to go through before monday morning. he had read some on the train coming over, would read until she was free again, and would finish up on the way back to boston. "see you at six," she told him. when joan got to her room she found edwina and a crowd of girls blaring swing records and dancing. joan stood false measure in the doorway, arms akimbo. "who in hell could study in this bedlam?" they yelled her down. "with a man like that visiting her she's worrying about studying!" one said, "where is he now? we'll go get him and look after him while you're busy." "yes," the others chorused. "it won't do you any good because he's studying too," snapped joan good-naturedly. "my, my, both of them are scholars," the girls howled. edwina interposed, "oh, we'll get him tonight." "over my dead body," joan laughed. "so now you're melting?" edwina asked. "maybe." joan snatched her two books and stormed out. "i'm going to the library, where it's quiet." they all laughed. joan reached the sidewalk in front of the dorm and discovered she had the wrong books. she re- turned to her room and the girls screamed, "that man's got you confused!" joan told them to "shut up and go to hell," to their added mirth, and departed again. after dinner, and following some hours of merriment at the guest house with ronald, the girls and ronald piled into edwina's car and started for a roadhouse thirty miles away. edwina was at the wheel going, but ronald vowed he'd be at the wheel on the return trip because, he said, wom- en drove carelessly enough when completely sober; after a few drinks caution was thrown to the winds. the girls dis- agreed but consented that he drive back. at the roadhouse they managed to get their usual table near the bandstand. the orchestra was a name band with a male crooner. ronald started off by giving ten dollars to the crooner, who put it in the orchestra "pot." from then on their requests were promply honored. doris craftily told the orchestra leader that ronald was an accomplished pianist. during intermission they had ronald on the stand playing and singing through the microphone. then all the girls, with five highballs under their belts, joined him around the piano. when the orchestra returned, the leader kept ronald at the piano and doris sang a solo. the leader announced false measure over the microphone that ronald had been invited to be- come an alternate pianist and featured artist during the summer months. the audience applauded and demanded another number from ronald. he obliged. leaving the bandstand, he told the leader he'd keep his offer under ad- visement. back at the table he stated to the girls that it ap- peared that they seemed to take over every roadhouse or club they went to. doris said that with him along, the entertain- ment they could give was better than most of the corny pro- fessionals could offer. besides, they enjoyed it. ronald danced so often with joan that the other girls, who had been dancing together, objected, and then he was passed around. edwina whispered to joan, "you seem to be dancing with ronald tonight without any problems arising." "i think i've got him under control now," joan an- swered. on the drive back, with ronald at the wheel, joan rested her head on his shoulder and went to sleep. the other girls dozed, too. ronald shouted once, "will you girls wake up and keep me company on this long drive? i might make a wrong turn." they opened their eyes, mumbled, and drifted off again. the same crew was at the station on sunday afternoon to see ronald off. they were bedecked in their afternoon dresses, ready for the dean's tea, after saying goodbye to ronald. they embraced him when the train pulled in. joan kissed him warmly. when he was climbing the steps to his car she asked, "how do you like my school compared to mount holyoke?" "why compared to mount holyoke?" "roberta jones. she's at mount holyoke and i'm sure you must have been there." "yes, i've been there, but believe me, i didn't enjoy it as i've enjoyed this weekend here with you." "at least it's nice to hear you say it," joan answered. the train started moving. "i'll write you tomorrow," he called. "by the way," he remembered, "may i visit you christmas? you promised to tell me today." she nodded coyly but enthusiastically. "of course, silly." false measure on their way to the dean's affair one girl remarked, "he certainly is a swell guy." doris added, kidding, "you'd better be nice to him, joan, we know his address." "oh, you shut up," replied joan pleasantly. the day before christmas, in late afternoon, mr. turner was in northampton to drive his daughter home for the holidays. at joan's direction he had come up alone because she was going to have so many bags there would probably be little room for any other riders. mr. turner looked at the valises, bags, hat boxes, and loose coats he and the porter were supposed to carry to his car. "joan, one would think your vacation is going to last for months. all this stuff. and before you come back you'll buy more. your aunt agnes came in this afternoon and i know you and she will get your heads together." "she's there already?" joan asked, elated. "yes, she flew into new york and took a train to spring- field. your grandfather's there too." "you know, i haven't seen him for about ten years." "he hasn't changed much. you'll remember him. in fact, he hasn't changed a bit, unless it's for the worse." "what do you mean by that, daddy?" "you'll see. c'mon, porter, let's get all these things down- stairs and in the car." doris came in as mr. turner was picking up the last armload. she said she was taking a train to new york in time to make plane connections for chicago. joan told her she'd be expecting her after christmas. she told joan she'd be in springfield with bells on, and edwina, who had left earlier for the drive to bangor, had said definitely that she'd be in springfield the day doris got there. "give my love to your parents. i'll be looking for you." they kissed and doris said, "goodbye, mr. turner. give my love to mrs. turner and tell her we'll try not to make too much noise during our visit." "i'll bet!" mr. turner laughed. false measure on the drive to springfield joan told her father about ronald. it was easier to talk to her father about such things than it was to her mother. he was more frank and under- standing and viewed the conventional taboos in a modern perspective. "i think i love him, or will, if i see much more of him," she confided. "that's a normal procedure, for a young, pretty girl to fall in love," her father assured her. "there are several steps in sequence to a developing love affair. don't run up the steps too rapidly, and don't let him hasten you. when you reach the top step, make certain in your own mind that he wants to and intends to stay there with you and to look down on the others who might be available to him to rush up those same steps faster than you would. i think i'm a modern father, in the sense i understand that when a healthy, lively girl reaches her twentieth year there are certain natural urges that are stimulated when the right male comes along. i think i should emphasize this: be cautious, make him be the same, and i believe you'll be all right. i know you're intelligent and mature enough to understand everything i've said." "daddy, i love you." she kissed his cheek. he wanted to caress his daughter but wouldn't take his eyes off the road. "i finally consented to let him visit me during the holidays. after you've seen him i want you to tell me sincerely what you think of him, that is, as a boy friend for me. will you?" joan asked her father. "i certainly will. and if he's in springfield a few days i'll sound him out in some ways that you couldn't." "thank you, daddy." she slouched in the seat in deep thought. meditatively, not expecting a reply, she said, "you know, daddy, he wrote me three times weekly since he visited me at school. i didn't answer all his letters, i didn't have the time." mr. turner didn't comment. he knew she was rumi- nating. rolling along, mr. turner noticed that joan had been silent for some minutes. he glanced at her and saw that she wasn't dozing but was just in quiet thought with her eyes wide open. he brought her out of her lethargy with, "you're false measure having a lot of guests during the holidays. your mother and i have been making arrangements to accommodate them all. dr. and mrs. williams have promised to take any of the overflow." "that's good," said joan, straightening up. "ronald can stay with them and all the girls can stay with us." "that'll just about make it right, because your grand- father and aunt will take two spare rooms. two of the girls will take another and one girl will have to share your room." "that arrangement will be perfect, daddy." joan sud- denly slapped her hand to her forehead. "oh, my god, i forgot! beatrice is coming from vassar. how did i ever for- get with as nice a weekend as she gave me in boston, thanks- giving? that's one more we've got to arrange for. and i'll wager oliver will come trailing down here after her, and that'll be still another." mr. turner patted her and told her she needn't worry, they'd arrange everything somehow. mrs. turner and aunt agnes had timed mr. turner's trip. at the window, they saw the headlights round the corner; peering into the darkness, they were certain it was their joan when the headlights stopped in front of their door and the outlines of the car were flooded by the street lamp. they ran out into the chill winter night without hats or coats. joan leaped from the car and swung on the necks of both at once, kissing one and then the other. they fairly carried her up the steps and onto the porch, she with arms around their necks and they with theirs around her waist. mr. turner called to them, "say, listen, if everyone takes one or two of these bags and boxes we can get this stuff in- side in a hurry." he had both car doors open and the trunk too, and was placing bags on the sidewalk. hearing the commotion through the open door, grandfather turner had come from the rear and was standing in the doorway. joan fervently embraced him. he took some backward steps to look her up and down. "my, my," he said, "what a change ten years can bring about." false measure mrs. turner and aunt agnes smiled. "you haven't seen anything yet, father." the turners hired a full-time maid for the holiday season. with joan having so many visitors, it would be too much work for mrs. turner. even though aunt agnes was there, since she hired folks to do her housework at home, it couldn't be expected that she'd vigorously jump into house- work and cooking there. the women chatted while joan was served her late dinner at the dining room table. grandpa turner had taken a seat in a chair against the wall and frequently threw in his comments. at one point he threw the women into temporary amazed silence. "joan, you look like, act like, and talk like a high-society white woman. to tell you the truth, you're more refined than those i come in contact with every day and they think they're north carolina's best. they oughta see you." after some deliberation joan said, "they'll never see me in your part of the country. if they want to see me, they'll have to come up this way, to my bailiwick." grandpa said, "now look, granddaughter, the south isn't as bad as you might think it is. it's all right where i am. colored folks just have to stay in their place. i can get along with the white folks." "what place?" joan asked. "and who wants to get along with them the way you do?" "the place white folks cut out for them." joan replied indignantly, "nobody cuts out any place for me or any of my friends and i'm not interested in places and people that do." mrs. turner patted joan's hand. "don't be impatient with your grandfather. he has some ingrained southern ideas." aunt agnes was glowering at him but keeping her tongue. mr. turner came downstairs after carrying up the last of joan's luggage and noticed the strained silence. "what's the matter? why's everybody so quiet?" he asked. nobody answered so he asked, "well?" then aunt agnes answered, "father's again about to go false measure of outsiders are bringing pressure on us for having separate schools," they would say. "with a negro president arguing for the retention of our system the mouths of some of these northern negro and white radicals who are going into court talking about our inferior colored schools and demanding equalization of salaries, might be stilled, or at least blunted." grandpa would persist, "well, why did you have to pick, one so black?" "well, uncle bob, he does have a couple of degrees and if he goes off somewhere making speeches and appearing be- fore state or congressional committees, saying what we want him to say, we don't want any question as to his race. they'll be able to look at him and tell." grandpa would say he was ready to retire because he wasn't in the habit of reporting to negroes and he didn't see why he should start at his age. they would say, "now, bob, don't do that. how do you think this school could be run without you here to keep the colored maintenance men on the ball?" and he would answer, "well, i'll stick around a while longer and see what happens." nobody knew exactly how old grandpa was. he had white hair, a heavy mustache, and was spry for his years. in the louisiana parish where he was born, no bureau of vital statistics existed when his mother brought him into the world. he was taught early by his mother that there were three groups of people in the area: the whites, the dark ne- groes, and the negroes who looked like whites. the latter discriminated against the dark negroes, and the whites dis- criminated against and segregated them both, although some whites would grant the fair negroes a higher status. red- headed, blue-eyed, and freckle-faced, his appearance put him in the latter group. his schooling was meager. as a young man he migrated to north carolina and got the mainte- nance job shortly after the school was founded. he was proud that he looked white and he married a woman just as white- looking as he was. he had two children and he was happy they were white-looking too. his wife died two years after the second child, agnes, was born. he never married again. he sent both of his children to hampton and agnes went false measure from there to ohio state university. grandpa patted him- self on the back for what he had done for his children and he didn't fail to remind them of it from time to time. all his life he had been taking low for "white folks," and was dependent on the white folks' good will. it had become in- grained in him that they were better and that negroes were supposed to be diffident in their presence. however, he con- sidered himself the equal to, if not better than, the most accomplished negro — there wasn't any question about it if the negro was dark. he hadn't yet learned that it took more than plain color alone to make an upper-class negro. that might have been the situation in his day but not today. the prevalent southern feudal notion that unless born with the "right blood" one was inferior and remained so all one's life, achievements notwithstanding, grandpa had accepted with no thought of challenge and had molded his life to fit that pattern. anybody who took exception to his views had an argument on his hands. the difference between grandpa's philosophy and that of his children was that they considered themselves as good as any whites and better than most. grandpa was nothing but a white-looking, fairly literate uncle tom in the eyes of his northern relatives. no longer a chattel slave, he was still a psychological slave. in the station, after beatrice and joan had hugged and kissed and mr. turner had been introduced, he noted two porters waiting for instructions. "i'll be darned! i just got through sweating over a carload of joan's luggage and here you are with another load!" he shook his head. "what in the world do you young women do with so many clothes?" beatrice and joan laughed. "you've got three more female guests coming. am i going to have to go through this every time one of their trains pulls in?" he asked good-naturedly. "no," joan answered. "ronald will be here and we'll make him do it." "is ronald here yet?" beatrice asked. "no, but he'll be in sometime tonight. three of my false measure schoolmates are also coming. but they won't get here until a couple of days after christmas. they'll stay here over new year's and we'll go back to school together." "you'll really have a full house. and do you know oliver said he's coming down? i told him to get in touch with you first, but i bet he comes down with ronald." "that'll be all right. ronald and oliver can stay with dr. and mrs. williams. they said they'll accommodate my overflow guests." "i know them. i met them in boston." mr. turner and grandpa hauled beatrice's bags to her room and joan sat with her while she refreshed herself. while beatrice was being served dinner, mrs. turner, aunt agnes, and joan sat with her and planned sleeping arrange- ments. beatrice would share her room with doris, edwina would sleep with joan, and adrienne would share aunt agnes' room. (joan didn't want adrienne to share a room with doris or edwina. there would be friction enough be- tween them without that.) grandpa was assigned the third- floor dormer room. he had again taken a seat in the back- ground and, puffing on his pipe, was repeatedly interjecting remarks. several times he had said, "yes, ma'am," to bea- trice. joan noticed it and glared at him. she detected diffi- dence in his tone. mr. turner, who was sitting in the next room, had ob- served joan. he got up. "come on, father, let's go in the back and leave the ladies to themselves." grandpa objected. mr. turner said, "there's something back there you like." then grandpa lost no time in getting to the kitchen. "it must be bourbon," joan said. joan and her grandfather were going to lock horns, mr. turner thought, but he wanted to postpone it as long as possible. he'd have to watch grandpa. aunt agnes told beatrice that she would like to have her niece come to see her more often but she had so much trouble getting joan to come out to columbus. for that rea- son, every now and then she had to pick up and come east to see her. "she may be her mother's and father's child, but i consider her half mine." she looked at joan affectionately. false measure "i know she's doing well at school and writes often, but i still like to see her." "aunt agnes, you know i simply can't stand your town and you know why." "yes, i know. maybe beatrice and some of your other friends could come out with you sometime and then you'd enjoy it better," aunt agnes suggested. "that might be fun," beatrice smiled. "it wasn't a lack of companions. i have some good friends out there. it's the prevailing southern attitudes that bother me," joan explained. "yes, i know," sighed aunt agnes. "the evening's getting along and we have a tree to deco- rate," mrs. turner remembered. she had mr. turner and grandpa bring in the tall, full christmas tree. mr. turner had to snip off part of the top so it wouldn't scrape the liv- ing room ceiling and would allow for the electric star. all hands joined in decorating the tree. the two men had made the base of the tree firm in its stand. mrs. turner stood off a few steps and directed the others in placing the decora- tions. grandpa brought in a ladder and mr. turner climbed up to set the star on top. beatrice was standing in a chair. aunt agnes and joan worked from the floor. mr. turner ran grandpa back into the kitchen to the bottle of bourbon and warned him to leave the maid alone. grandpa was an old devil. in the midst of the tree-decorating, ronald arrived. everything was temporarily suspended. joan ran over to him and he held her in his arms, rubbing his cold face against her cheek. "gosh, you're cold," she exclaimed. "i had the window down," he said. "a long trip with the heater on and the windows closed makes me drowsy. besides, it's dangerous." beatrice came over to him and he kissed her cheek. he was all smiles and exuberance. he was introduced to aunt agnes, mrs. turner, and mr. turner, who shook hands with him warmly. hearing the noise of a new entrant, grandpa came from the kitchen. he told ronald he'd better come to false measure the rear with him and get something to warm himself up. ronald said he'd keep the offer in mind. joan asked him about the trip down. he replied it was snowing heavily when he left boston and they would cer- tainly have a white christmas there. oliver? he had wanted to leave with ronald but in deference to his mother's wishes was going to stay in boston until the day after christmas. oliver had told him to ask joan if it would be all right for him to come down and also to make arrangements for him to stay somewhere. joan said that everything had been taken care of; he and oliver would stay at the williamses'. mrs. turner told joan that even though she had alerted dr. and mrs. williams, she had better call them again and tell them ronald was there and would be around later. where was mildred? she was driving up from washington. ronald had talked with her by phone and she was going to stay in new york overnight. she was to leave new york in the morning and would stop in springfield to say hello on her way to boston. their father wanted one of them to be home on christmas day so mildred said she'd drive on through and get there at least by christmas afternoon. mr. gregory had asked ronald to stay until the day after christ- mas, but he wanted to be near joan and his father had under- stood. ronald looked at joan with tender fondness in his eyes and when their eyes met, the turners caught it. they were all sitting in the living room now. grandpa had gone back to his bourbon. the maid had left so mrs. turner said she'd go and fix something for ronald to eat. meanwhile, the others could carry on with the tree. ronald climbed up on the ladder and mr. turner took over mrs. turner's position, directing the placing of decorations. ron- ald promptly dropped a christmas tree ball which shattered when it hit the floor. mr. turner playfully said, "that's the first casualty. young man, if you're too nervous to handle that job you better turn it over to someone who hasn't got somebody here to make them jittery." joan regarded her father out of the corner of her eye and smiled. the others laughed, looking at joan and then up at ronald. he blushed. mrs. turner came in and called ronald. when she had false measure seen him seated she returned to the living room. joan ceased what she was doing to go sit with ronald while he ate. to everybody's loud amusement, mrs. turner said, "come back, young lady, and let's finish this tree. he can be away from you long enough to get some nourishment." joan sheepishly picked up where she had left off. mrs. turner called her aside. "i knew you wouldn't have time to do any christ- mas shopping. i bought some extra inexpensive items on which you can place cards and give to your friends." "mother, you're so sweet and thoughtful," joan whis- pered and hugged her. "i had planned to do some shopping the day after christmas for the girls and ronald." "you still might have to because what i bought, with no particular person in mind, might not satisfy you." "we'll see," said joan. joan and her mother went upstairs to bring down the wrapped gifts which mrs. turner had hidden in a closet. among the extras joan found a combination cigarette case and lighter which would be good for ronald. "mother, didn't you say these extra gifts were inexpen- sive?" joan asked. "i know your tastes and that's what i thought you might consider them." "well, i don't know what you paid for this case but it certainly isn't inexpensive." "i won't tell you either." joan meditated over the gifts. "i believe beatrice brought me something more attractive and costly than these others so i'd better plan to match her gift. i'll tell her hers is coming later. and i've got to buy something for adrienne, doris, and edwina. i know they'll bring me some fancy gifts. then there's the family to shop for. the day after christmas will be busy for me." "suit yourself," mrs. turner said. "now put a card on that one for ronald and let's get these things downstairs." "gee, mother, we need somebody to help us." "oh, come on, it won't hurt you to make two or three trips." mrs. turner supervised placing the gifts under the tree. then artificial snow, cotton, and tinsel were sprinkled on false measure top of everything. they switched off the lights and turned on the blinking christmas tree bulbs, and all stood off and ob- served the fruit of their labor. the glistening, multicolored tree balls, the tinsel and artificial snow gave the tree an ap- pearance of actually having been snowed on, with little drop- lets of melted snow on the fixtures. "that's pretty," they all said. "mother, let's pull back the drapes and raise the blind so it can be seen from the street," joan suggested. "just pull back one side of the drapes and open the blind. that's enough." but joan raised the blind all the way. "let's go out and see how it looks from the street." she and beatrice with their coats around their shoulders, and ronald without his, went out and walked up the block and back to check the appearance from the street. they were satisfied and joan told her mother it looked gorgeous. ron- ald was shivering when they came back in; mr. turner led him to the kitchen and deprived grandpa of the bourbon long enough to give ronald a big drink which he quaffed in one gulp. pleased with the evening's biggest job, mrs. turner pro- posed that they listen to some carols and put on a record. beatrice said that ronald could play and they all could sing. ronald asked mrs. turner if she would rather have live music. "yes, indeed," she answered and shut off the record player. joan opened the piano and stood by while ronald ran his fingers up and down the keys in some trial notes. "nice tone," he said to joan. he shifted his position, checked the foot pedals, and struck up the opening bars of "silent night" in a style that joan had come to know and like so well. she smiled down at him. he stopped and turned to the others. "let's all sing." mrs. turner, aunt agnes, and beatrice went over to the piano and ronald began again. the women's voices joined harmoniously with ronald's. mr. turner was sitting in a chair on the other side of the room. when the first song was over he clapped and said they ought to open the win- false measure dows so the neighbors could hear. ronald went into "noel" and followed that with "hark, the herald angels sing." mr. turner had been humming in his chair at a distance. joan called her father to join them. "you used to sing in the church choir, daddy, so you'll make it sound even better." standing behind ronald, mr. turner lent his rich bass to the women's sopranos and contraltos and ronald's tenor. ronald moved into "adeste fideles." grandpa had been half dozing in the kitchen over his bottle. the melodious notes ringing in his ears brought him to. he felt his way into the living room on unsteady legs and broke into the song with deep-throated dissonance. mr. and mrs. turner ushered him to a chair with the admoni- tion that he was not to spoil the music. joan wanted to know if he thought this was a barroom or a barber shop quartet. ronald said, "don't be harsh with the old man. after all, it is christmas eve." when ronald went into another song, beatrice slipped upstairs and came down with two packages which she placed under the tree. she shook a cautioning finger at joan, who had observed her, telling her she wasn't to touch a thing un- til morning. mrs. turner warned everyone that they weren't to go near the bottom of that tree until christmas morning. mr. turner called to everyone's attention that he had worked part of the day in his shop, had driven to north- ampton and back, and had hauled a lot of luggage, so he was thinking about getting some sleep. but first he would take ronald to dr. williams' house. "one more song," mr. turner said. "name it," said ronald. "'o little town of bethlehem,'" answered mr. turn- er. he liked the way that one sounded so much, he said, "let's do an encore on that one." their coats on, ready to go, he said, "ronald, tomorrow night or any other night you're here, you won't have to leave so early — that will be up to the girls. but since it's late and you don't know the way, i'm the only one who can show you where you're going to sleep." ronald said good night to mrs. turner, aunt agnes, and false measure beatrice. grandpa didn't respond. he was asleep in a chair- ronald and joan clasped hands discreetly and joan asked him to come by early next morning. ronald trailed mr. turner to the williams house. dr. williams answered the bell. "fred," mr. turner said, "here's your house guest, ronald gregory. hope we didn't keep you up waiting. we've been singing carols and the time got away from us." "oh, no," dr. williams smiled, "we just finished our tree and those blinking wreaths you see in the windows the missus put up just two minutes ago. come in, ronald, and make yourself at home. are you coming in for a minute, turner?" "no, fred, i'll see you tomorrow. tell the wife good night and merry christmas." "merry christmas, turner." "see you in the morning, ronald. think you can find your way back without getting lost?" "oh, yes, mr. turner, and thanks again." dr. williams helped ronald bring in his bags. "just put them here in the hall, hang up your coat, and come meet mrs. williams." dr. and mrs. williams lived in a spick-and-span, two- story white fieldstone and frame house which they had had built to order three years before. the entrance was ap- proached by a semi-circular walk which divided off a por- tion of the small lawn into a half-moon. ingress to the walk was at either end of the lot. the house was on a corner and the attached garage exited on the side street. fastened to the wall on each side of the entrance were replicas of old- fashioned gas street lights. there was a shining brass knocker on the front door; when raised, electric current caused chimes to sound off at two locations in the house. the rooms were medium sized and had been furnished with discrim- inatingly modest taste. wall-to-wall carpeting throughout the house gave an added impression of tranquil coziness and comfort. dr. and mrs. williams had no children. a "sleep-out" maid came daily and did all the cooking and cleaning. dr. williams had been practicing dentistry in springfield more false measure than twenty years, since his graduation from columbia university dental school. when he started out, his office was in his home. in five years he had moved his home away from his office to a house he purchased. when it was paid for, he invested in commercial properties and lastly, he and mrs. williams decided they would build a house to their own specifications. mrs. williams had her middle-age stoutness corseted. she wore her long gray hair done up at the back of her head. she had an extra long, prominent, sharp nose. she was soft-voiced and possessed a quiet, refined dignity. her fold- ing glasses hung on a thin gold chain around her neck. dr. williams was stout, half bald, and graying. both were light- complexioned, but not quite so white-looking as many of their friends. when dr. williams walked into the living room with ronald, mrs. williams was surveying the tree she and her husband had just finished decorating. she was touching a branch here and there, moving some tinsel from one place to another, and adjusting a blinking light. dr. williams stood with ronald a few seconds watching her and then said, "meet one of our guests, josephine." she uttered a startled "oh! i didn't even hear you come in." she greeted ronald and told him to make himself com- pletely at home. "where is the other young man?" she asked. "joan told me there would be two." "that's oliver. he won't be down from boston for an- other day or two," ronald explained. "when he gets here we'll be able to take care of him," mrs. williams said. "you see, we don't have any children of our own and we do like to have young folks around, es- pecially at christmas time." she smiled and turned her head toward the tree. ronald thought he detected a trace of wistfulness in her smile. "fred, why don't you show ronald up to his room and help him get his things upstairs. then he can come down and i'll fix him a little snack." she turned to ronald. "i know you must be tired after your drive from boston and false measure then they must have kept you busy at the turners', decorat- ing the tree and all." "no, i'm not particularly tired. we had fun decorating the tree and then i played the piano for the singing of christmas carols." dr. williams pointed to the baby grand and said that neither he nor his wife could play, that it hadn't been touched for a long time. ronald would have to play at least one christmas carol for them even if it was late. but first he was to get settled upstairs, mrs. williams suggested. ronald's room had twin beds and there was a small radio on the night table between. the bedspreads and drapes were in matching soft pastels. there were two chests of drawers and ample closet space. ronald sat in one of the armchairs and his eyes roamed the room. everything was so neat and meticulously cared for, he thought. it all appeared as though it had been moved in that very morning, yet it hadn't. he opened his bags, hung up his suits, and put his shirts and other things in the drawers. then he started downstairs, observing every- thing carefully as he went. there were three bedrooms, a bathroom for two, and the master bedroom with its private bath. how he would like, someday, to have a small home like this of his own, he thought. his father's house was too big and gaudy and overfurnished. everybody he knew had a nice home. but this one was it! not too much and still not too little. . ronald looked in the living room, but the williamses weren't there. he called out, "dr. williams." "out here, ronald," came the doctor's voice. one moved about that house so noiselessly it was impossible to locate a person unless you heard voices, ronald discovered; they were in the kitchen with the swinging door pulled to. there was no way they could have heard him descend the stairs and walk through the house. mrs. williams had prepared a cold snack. when ronald stepped into the modernistic, all-electric kitchen, she said, "sit right down here, ronald, and eat to your heart's content." false measure "i'm not very hungry, mrs. williams. mrs. turner gave me such a large dinner." "do you want something to help your appetite along?" dr. williams inquired. ronald cleared his throat and grinned. "i don't think i'd object, dr. williams." dr. williams went to the basement and came back with a dusty bottle of scotch. while he was gone ronald asked mrs. williams if she minded if he didn't touch a mouthful until he tasted what the doctor had gone after. she told him to take his time if that would make his food taste better. dr. williams dusted off the bottle. when he popped out the cork, ronald said, "ahhh!" "water or soda, ronald?" "soda, please." "are you going to have one, josephine?" "just a little, with lots of ice, and fill it up with soda." "here, ronald, is a glass with ice and there's the soda. you pour your own. i might make it too light for you." "thank you, dr. williams." ronald poured generously. they raised their glasses and ronald said, "to mrs. wil- liams." mrs. williams took a sip and put her glass down. dr. williams told ronald to have another. "you don't waste any time with a drink." ronald refilled his glass and raised it. "to dr. and mrs. williams." that one downed, mrs. williams cautioned him to eat before he drank any more. the williamses sat at the table with ronald as he ate, mrs. williams occasionally sipping her original drink and dr. williams finishing his and pouring another. they talked of school and mutual friends in boston and elsewhere. at length mrs. williams excused herself. then ronald and dr. williams had one more drink together. mrs. williams re- turned and said it was getting later than late but she still wanted to hear ronald play one christmas carol. they moved to the living room and ronald, seating himself at the piano, asked, "what'll it be?" "'silent night,' " mrs. williams replied. false measure ronald rendered the song in his usual expert manner. "that was excellent, ronald. now one more of your own choosing," she said. ronald played "the first noel." "you're better than a whole lot of professionals i've heard," dr. williams beamed. mrs. williams agreed. "but no more tonight. i know ronald's tired." "yes," dr. willams concurred. "let's go to bed." ronald closed the piano and bade his hosts good night. when he returned to his room, ronald saw that his bed had been turned down and a suit of his pajamas laid out on the bed. "what a sweet woman," he mused. those were the things his mother used to do, he reminisced. "so that's what she was doing," he muttered, recalling she had left them alone in the kitchen for a few minutes. a knock on the door awakened ronald in the morning. it was mrs. williams. "just slip on your robe and come down," she said. "we're going to hand out the gifts and open them and would like to have you with us." "fine, mrs. williams, in a minute." ronald went to the bathroom and washed his teeth and face and combed his hair. he looked at his chin in the mir- ror, ran his hand over it. "i'll need a shave, but i guess i'll do for now." he bounded down to the living room. "merry christ- mas!" he called. dr. and mrs. williams were sitting waiting for him. they were both in robes, too. mrs. williams wore a quilted, dark blue satin robe over blue satin pajamas, and mules. she was as impeccably neat as the night before — not a strand of hair out of place. she adjusted her glasses and with polished grace lowered herself to a decorous sitting position on the floor. she picked up two packages under the tree and looked at the names on them. "fred." she held one out for her husband. "ronald." ronald was surprised. "thank you," he stuttered. mrs. williams continued calling out the names on the packages. she piled hers neatly on the floor beside her. those for persons not present, she put aside. dr. williams had so many on the floor in front of him he said it would take him all day to go through them. then mrs. williams called ronald's name again. this time it was a larger package. he blurted out, "gosh, thank you, mrs. williams!" he knew what else she had been doing when she left them alone in the kitchen. when she had passed out all the gifts, she drew her legs false measure up under her. "well, i guess we'd better see what we've re- ceived," she suggested. her packages included everything from stockings to can- dy to women's dainty things to powders and perfumes. dr. williams had received the usual man's christmas collection of ties, socks, shirts, pipes, and tobacco. his wife had given him an expensive smoking jacket. he said he already had one, what was he going to do with another? she informed him that he would wear it. the old one was too worn. there were also slippers, a pen and pen- cil set, a cocktail shaker to replace the one he had broken, plus some glasses to match. "this last one will go well with the basement bar," he said. one of ronald's packages contained a toilet set of men's powder, shaving cream, and soap. the larger one contained two broadcloth shirts. mrs. williams told him that if they didn't fit she would exchange them the following day. "may i kiss you?" ronald asked. "you've been so nice to me. these gifts, and you've never seen me before." she tilted her cheek and he bent down and kissed her. she smiled up at him. dr. williams said he was a friend of the turners, so he was a friend of theirs. they wanted him to feel that it was the same as being home. "joan is our godchild and we love her very much," mrs. williams said. "if you are her boy friend, as i believe you are, we'll have to love you, too." "i have a gift for joan. i want you to look at it and tell me what you think of it," ronald said. he ran up to his room. when he re-entered the room he ripped open the at- tractively wrapped package. "what did you tear it open like that for?" dr. williams asked. "how are you going to present it to her looking like that?" "don't worry, ronald," mrs. williams said, "i'll re- wrap it for you and put a new card on it. let's see what it is." ronald opened the leather jewel box. it contained a wide, heavy gold necklace with a sapphire pendant. mrs. williams turned it over in her hands, held it at a distance false measure appraising it, and then said, "it's a gorgeous gift, ronald, and i know it cost you plenty of money. joan will love it and appreciate it." "let me see that necklace," asked dr. williams, holding out his hand. "you did pay something for this!" "that's joan's birthstone," ronald explained. "she cas- ually mentioned her birthday to someone and i overheard and made it a point to remember it. she'll be surprised that i know her birthdate. believe me, it's the most costly gift i ever bought for a girl. but it's not too costly for joan. noth- ing's too expensive for her." "listen to him," laughed dr. williams. "he's serious." "if he's fond of joan, and this is one indication of it, that's the proper way for him to talk," mrs. williams said. the phone rang. mrs. williams answered. it was joan. "is ronald up yet, aunt josephine?" "yes, he's up and we're all in front of the tree opening christmas presents." "well, we wanted him over here for the same thing." "he'll have to dress and have his breakfast first." "how do you like him?" "he seems to be a fine young man." "i'm beginning to think so too." "you already do, or he wouldn't be here." joan giggled and made an aside remark to beatrice, who was near the phone. "say, aunt josephine, we have two or three gifts around here for you. when are you coming after them?" "today maybe, or tomorrow. we have some things for you, too. when are you coming over for them?" "send them by ronald." "oh, no, darling. you must come after them yourself." "oh, aunt josephine, you're mean. put ronald on the phone and tell uncle fred merry christmas. by the way, beatrice harrison is here from boston. you must see her too." "yes, i remember her and i know her mother and father. here's ronald." "good morning and merry christmas, joan." "same to you, ronald. did you sleep well?" false measure "fine. they've been awfully nice to me." "my aunt josephine and uncle fred are nice people. now you hurry and dress and eat your breakfast and come around here. bea and i have been waiting for you." "how's grandpa this morning?" "i don't know. i only saw him a minute. he's probably in the back working up another jag. last night he was a sight. when daddy came back home he had to verily pry him out of that chair to get him upstairs to bed. and then he was up this morning before anybody. put aunt josephine back on, and you hurry up." "all right, see you soon." "yes, joan?" "are you and uncle fred coming over here today?" "maybe. if so, it'll be in the evening. when are you com- ing by here?" "i'll be over tomorrow." "say merry christmas to everybody for me." "all right. bye now." the maid could be heard moving about in the kitchen. mrs. williams told ronald to let her re-wrap joan's gift and put another card on it. "while i'm doing that, ronald, you'd better dress. break- fast will be ready shortly." when ronald got over to the turners', beatrice and joan were still on the floor in front of the christmas tree in the midst of opened and unopened gifts. joan had on yellow satin pajamas. beatrice's were green. they were both wear- ing coolie coats. standing over them, ronald said, "you ladies look pretty cute this morning." "thanks, ronald, you don't look so bad yourself." joan reached under the tree, picked up a small package, and handed it to ronald. he opened it. "joan, that's very sweet of you. i didn't have one of these. i'll start using it right now." he put the balance of his pack of cigarettes in the case. then he went over to the chair where he had dropped his false measure overcoat, took a package from the pocket, and handed it to joan. "merry christmas from me," he smiled. joan tore open the package excitedly, opened the leather box inside. "oh, ronald, this is beautiful." she fastened the choker pendant around her neck. "look, beatrice." beatrice fingered the pendant. "it is simply exquisite." joan jumped up, kissed ronald, and ran to a mirror. "oh, ronald." and then she was off to show it to her mother, father, aunt agnes, grandpa, and even the maid, in other parts of the house. "see what my boy friend gave me!" the women were enthusiastic. "joan, that is nice. and costly too." her father said, "it looks like he means business." she ran back to the living room and told ronald she was not going to take it off all day, except to bathe, of course. "now come look at my other gifts," she said, taking his arm. she had received a collection of women's dainty gar- ments, expensive lounging pajamas from beatrice, and siz- able checks from her father, grandfather, and aunt agnes. "i should be the happiest girl in the world, and i am," she exulted, hugging beatrice, on the floor beside her. beatrice said she'd better call her parents to wish them a merry christmas. she rounded up mr. and mrs. turner and they and joan exchanged greetings with her parents on the phone. mr. and mrs. harrison were going to new york for part of the holidays and they would stop in springfield for a few hours on the way down. "yes, we'll bring some of your presents," they promised beatrice. the turners' neighbor, mrs. murphy, and her daughter, ruth, called to see joan, the tree, and joan's gifts. when they embraced, joan detected ruth's pregnancy. without any facial revelation of her shock, joan kept up a running conversation and drew ruth down on the floor with her to examine the gifts. but joan was thinking, "what a pity!" ruth had graduated from high school when she was eighteen and the following summer went to work. in jan- uary of the next year she had married a young man who worked with her in the factory. they had lived with his parents first, couldn't get along there, and then had moved in with hers. now she was going to have a baby. "so young," false measure joan thought. "nineteen and her first child. what a shame! she'll take time off to have this baby, recuperate, and then return to work. then she'll become pregnant again and the cycle will repeat itself. poor ruth. still so young and she has seen so little of life." mrs. murphy said, "now, joan, we'll expect you over to look at our tree." "i'll be over," joan promised, "and i'll bring my friends. as soon as beatrice and i put on some street clothes." before noon, joan, beatrice, and ronald were at the murphys' house. mr. murphy, in his galluses and t-shirt, offered them irish whisky. "my christmas present to myself," he said as he pulled the cork. ruth, now coatless and patently with child, brought her young husband into the living room. "i remember you in high school," he said to joan. "i finished a couple of years before you. i was on the basketball team." "i remember you too," joan said. "you played center." "that's right." ruth smiled, looked up at her husband fondly. "i didn't know you then and you weren't interested in me 'cause i was only a lowly freshman." mrs. murphy asked beatrice if she went to school with joan. after beatrice told her where she did go, mrs. mur- phy said, "i knew you were with joan or in some other such school because you look it. you're probably smart too, just like joan. we're fond of joan, and proud of her. she's home so seldom now, we don't get to see her. when they were younger she and my ruth used to be just like that," and she held up two fingers to demonstrate. "ruth has been married almost a year now and joan's just meeting her husband. well, that's the way folks can drift apart, 'specially when one gets married. and joan has different interests. all that college stuff and college friends." joan put her arm around mrs. murphy, took ruth by the hand, drawing ruth to her. "ruth and i will be friends as long as we live," she promised. mr. murphy said, "let's everybody have another drink," and he filled the glasses. ruth's husband took ronald in the false measure rear to have another drink. when they were leaving, mrs. murphy extracted a promise from joan that she would come again during the holidays. "before you go back to college and forget us again," she said. joan, beatrice, and ronald returned from the murphys' house and were taking off their coats when a determined horn out front attracted them to the windows. it was mil- dred. she knew she was at the right house because she had spotted her brother's car when she drove into the street. she and a schoolmate burst into the house. mildred and her friend, margaret, swung on ronald's neck. then mildred kissed joan and beatrice. mr. and mrs. turner, aunt agnes, and grandpa came in and were introduced. ronald said, "meet my lively sister mildred." grandpa added, "pretty, too," lengthening the hand- shake. joan said, "oh, stop, grandpa." and to the others, "my grandfather is such a rascal." mildred and margaret had arrived in new york the night before and had spent the night at margaret's home. they had left new york three hours before pulling up in front of the turner house. mr. turner cautioned her against fast driving. she said she hoped to be in boston by midafternoon because, she kidded, "one of us should be at home on christ- mas day with daddy. since my glamor-boy brother had other plans, it's up to me to get there." she snapped her fingers in her brother's face with "and i will." he laughed and shook his head. mr. turner suggested that everyone have a drink. mildred and margaret said, "by all means. thanks." mrs. turner said they should have something to eat, what with the drive they'd already had and the one in front of them. "could you stay for dinner?" mildred said they couldn't. too much delay. "sandwiches?" "yes, that will be fine." mrs. turner went to make the sandwiches; the maid was too busy with the dinner. grandpa poured drinks, comment- ing, "all these pretty women." dr. and mrs. williams came. joan was all over them and false measure then handed them their gifts. she told mildred she had three more guests arriving and she intended having a party for them. could mildred and margaret get back? yes, indeed, they could. they would remain in boston two or three days. but where would they stay? her house would be full to over- flowing. dr. and mrs. williams offered to put them up. "we have the room and would be glad to have you," they de- clared. "you and uncle fred are the swellest people," joan gushed. mildred, with a wave of her hand and "we'll see you in three days," was off to a spurting start. shaking his head ronald remarked, "if she doesn't make boston in two hours i'll eat my hat. she's a good driver though. she'll be all right." leaving, because their dinner should be ready, dr. and mrs. williams reminded joan that if she wanted her gifts she'd have to come after them. "i'll positively be over tomorrow," she pledged. before dinner, mr. turner made two rounds of mar- tinis. aunt agnes and mrs. turner didn't partake. they were assisting the maid on the home stretch. grandpa said he didn't want any of those fancy northern drinks. give him his straight, and let it be bourbon. so it was. when the after-dinner coffee was served, grandpa poured some of his in his saucer. he remarked, "this coffee's too hot." then he moved the saucer to his lips and drank from it. joan was aghast. she stopped in the middle of a sentence. everyone else pretended not to have seen it. she caught her mother's eye and frowned. her mother dropped her eyes and stirred her coffee. mr. turner and aunt agnes revived the conversation. joan dug into her dessert, thinking, "as though he isn't bad enough, now his table manners. and, besides, he drinks too much." there were christmas radio programs after dinner. everyone became drowsy. the turkey dinner and the drinks were having their effect. the turners and their guests spread around the living room and the sitting room. grand- pa started snoring. ronald nodded. beatrice dropped her head on the back of her chair. mr. turner, mrs. turner, and false measure for it? furthermore, if you ever put any of that stuff in your mouth around here, don't kiss me." "don't bother about it, joan," mrs. turner said. "there's a cigar store near here. i'll show grandpa where it is." she smiled indulgently at grandpa. joan went to steiger's and forbes' and wallace's. for adrienne she picked out a pink silk nightgown; for doris an eggshell nightgown with matching chiffon negligee; for edwina blue satin pajamas and a quilted coolie coat; for beatrice a handmade silk crepe yellow slip trimmed with ecru lace and panties to match; chanel perfume for her mother; satin utility boxes, a complete set, for aunt agnes; pigskin gloves for her father; tobacco, a pipe, and pipe case for grandpa. and she bought two dresses, two hats, and three pairs of shoes for herself. she had spent a pretty piece of change. it didn't matter. santa claus had been kind to her. joan ate lunch and started home with her dresses, hats, shoes, and beatrice's gift in the back of the car. within a few blocks of her house she remembered she was to go to aunt josephine's and she turned in that direction. she pulled up in the driveway at the rear of the house and tried the back door. "that's funny," joan thought. "when the maid's here it's usually open. and the maid ought to be here at this time of day." she walked around to the front and lifted the knocker. no response. she lifted it twice more. ronald came to the door. "hi, ronald." joan walked past him and on into the liv- ing room, removing her coat as she went. she let it fall on the nearest chair. "where's aunt josephine?" "she went out a few minutes ago. she's gone downtown to exchange the shirts she gave me for a larger size and to take care of some other matters. she was expecting you but couldn't wait. i was on my way out myself, on my way to your house. she gave me the key to lock up." "i was downtown shopping. where's the maid?" "help is supposed to get a day off once in a while. i guess the day after christmas is a good one." false measure "oh, i see." joan went over to the tree and, kneeling, began looking for packages with her name on them. "since aunt josephine isn't here i might as well pick them out myself," she said. ronald was in the center of the floor, watching her. after she had scanned them all and found four for herself, she rose to her feet. "pretty tree, isn't it?" "um hum." "you bring the packages," joan said and started for her coat. to get it she had to pass close to ronald. he put out an arm and pulled her to him. "oh, no you don't!" she exclaimed, trying to squirm out of his grasp. " certainly did walk into a trap," she lamented. "it wasn't of my making. it just happened," he said and clasped her tighter. "if you don't let me go i'll scream," she articulated, and squirmed in earnest. she tried to kick but he held her so she couldn't. irritated because she couldn't break his grip, she looked up at him and stormed, "you've had a lot of practice at this business of taking advantage of women, haven't you?" he continued to hold her determinedly, but there was a plaintive look in his eyes. "haven't you?" she demanded. he said nothing. "haven ...?" he pressed his mouth to hers and smothered her repeated question. in the prolonged kiss he could feel her gradually relaxing in his arms. now she began to reciprocate. she pulled her head back and pleaded, "for god's sake, ronald, let me go. don't kiss me that way. i'm afraid." he said nothing, but kissed her passionately again and again. there was no resistance now. he began caressing her, moving his body slowly against hers the way he had the night she met him. she was falling in with these gyrations. her sensations became more intense, more urgent than any she had ever known. her desires became compelling. her face grew crimson, her whole body was burning. false measure "ronald, please, i'm afraid." he guided her across the room and eased her onto a lounge. a tear ran down her cheek. she held his head in both hands, looked into his eyes, and murmured, "i'm scared, ronald." "don't have fears. i'll protect you," he told her softly and kissed her cheek, her lips, her throat. "good god! what are you going to do to me?" she no longer had any will to oppose him. in seconds, she was in ecstasy. so was he. "i knew it would be like this," she murmured. "i ran from it because of my fears. oh, ronald, you're going to make me love you. ronald, ronald, daaaaarling." "joannnnnn, my love." and then complete exhaustion. ronald lay his full length, pressed beside joan on the narrow lounge, panting quietly. his hands formed a pillow and he was gazing at the ceiling. joan's full breasts were heaving rapidly and her heart was throbbing. suddenly her whole body began to quiver and tremble and she began to cry. ronald tried to soothe her. "now, now, joan, don't cry." her soft sobs continued and her trembling seemed to ronald to be increasing. he began to caress her gently. "try to get yourself together, joan, darling. mrs. williams may come home soon and you're in no condition to be seen." joan forced a tearful smile. "it's just an emotional after- math. i've heard of such things. i can't seem to get myself under control." "well, let's not lie here," ronald suggested. "perhaps if you move around a bit you'll regain your composure." rising to a sitting position, she told him, "i might stop trembling, but it'll be many days before i completely regain my equanimity." ronald kissed her tenderly on the cheek and helped her to her feet. she went to the first-floor powder room to put her hair and face in order. ronald was at a window lost in thought when joan called, "ronald, ronald." "yes, baby?" she came into the living room and hopelessly said, "i'm false measure opinion that she was in no condition emotionally to be seen by her family, or anybody else. "your nerves have to be calmed and there's only one way to do it quickly." "how?" "a good stiff drink. maybe two. there's unquestionably some here, but i wouldn't go searching for it. and even if it were where i could see it, i wouldn't want to take the chance of mrs. williams seeing you before you're straight. let's go to a bar. and i'm going to keep you there until your tremors are over. if you have to get tight to do it, okay. i'd prefer taking you home juiced, without involuntary shak- ings, than sober with the shakings. let's go, sweetheart. come on, get into your coat." "i'm in no condition to drive," joan said. "leave your car here. we'll use mine. we'll come back for yours and then maybe you'll be in condition to see mrs. williams." unenthusiastically, joan said, "come on. aunt jose- phine may come before we get going. i'd have a fit if she saw me like this." they found a silver-fronted tavern. it had a long bar and lots of shiny-topped tables in booths. they took a booth where lights were dimmest. as soon as they were seated and before the waiter came, joan started crying again, just tears, no sobs. "for god's sake, joan," ronald pleaded, "not now. we'll be attracting attention." "i'm trying not to," she sniffled, "but i can't help it." she fumbled in her handbag for her handkerchief. he pulled his from his breast pocket and handed it to her. she was drying her eyes when the waiter came. "two double scotches and soda," ronald ordered. "food, sir?" "no." the drinks came and ronald asked, "please, darling, will you drink this down? in two or three swallows if you can. here's to you, the sweetest girl i've ever known," and he raised his glass. she smiled wanly and picked up her glass. she found that false measure if she used one hand, she'd spill the contents, so she held it with both and took a big sip. "don't put it down," ronald said. "take a big drink. that's it." ronald ordered another drink and didn't let her waste any time on that one either. her trembling subsided and gradually disappeared after a third double. then she was depressed. she sat staring in her glass, occasionally twisting it back and forth, sliding it across the slick table top, doodl- ing with spilled drops. ronald tried repeatedly to start a conversation. her replies were monosyllabic and she wouldn't even raise her head. he got up and put some coins in the juke box. the selection of records didn't offer much, but he found two that joan liked. the music didn't rouse her from her lethargy. "now that we've erased the physical manifestations of your psychological reaction, maybe another drink will revive your normally lively spirits," ronald suggested. "how about it?" she acquiesced without looking up. after another double, which ronald also insisted that she drink without much time between sips, joan perked up a little and regained some of her usual vivacity. "ronald, i'm getting high," she said. "we should be going. it's almost six and i've been gone from home all day. beatrice is my guest and i shouldn't have been away from her so long. my mother and aunt agnes probably wonder where i am. i haven't as much as telephoned. i'm over my trembling now but if i keep this up i'll have d.t.'s." she gave ronald a nice smile. "let's get going. but first i must go and check my face and hair. i've recovered sufficiently to do it myself now." at the williams house, aunt josephine told joan she knew she had been there because her gifts were piled up separately and she had seen the car out back. "we went to a tavern and had some drinks," joan said. "ronald was on his way out when i arrived." "you didn't need to do that. there's plenty to drink here." "but we didn't know where it was." false measure "as many times as you've stood at your uncle fred's bar in the basement?" "but ronald wouldn't have wanted to touch uncle fred's whisky if he wasn't here." "ronald's supposed to make himself at home here. he knows that. don't you, ronald?" "yes, mrs. williams." "well, in the future don't you go spending money unnec- essarily in taverns. it's here to be drunk so drink it when you're thirsty." "where's uncle fred?" "he won't be home for another hour or so." "i didn't know what to get him for christmas. or you, for that matter. you people who have everything make it hard for your friends and relatives. any suggestions? i went shopping today but i didn't know what to get for you two." "don't bother about me. i know you love me." she em- braced joan. "but your uncle fred smokes cigars. buy him a few. he received a lot of them for christmas but he'll never have too many. by the way, your mother's waiting dinner for you and ronald. maybe you should start home. besides, you shouldn't have been away from beatrice all day." "i had no idea i'd be gone this long when i left home this morning. i'll call home and tell the folks we'll be along shortly." aunt agnes answered the phone. "where in god's name have you been, joan?" "i'm over at aunt josephine's now. after my shopping tour, ronald and i went to a tavern and had some drinks. we'll be home in minutes. how's beatrice?" "she's all right. we kept her entertained." "put her on." "here she is." "hi, joan." "hi, bea." "i missed you today, dear." "i would have been home hours ago only ronald per- suaded me to go off to a tavern with him. what shall we do after dinner?" false measure "whatever you say." "a movie?" "okay. your mother just told me to tell you to hurry. she's waiting dinner for you and ronald." "all right. bye now." "come on, ronald, let's get home or they'll skin me on sight," joan said. at the door, aunt josephine said, "one of these nights i'm going to keep ronald here to have dinner with us, and you can see him afterward. we think he's a very nice boy." she patted ronald's cheek. the ronald of midafternoon appeared momentarily in joan's mind, but she said, "that's all right, aunt josephine, if you let us know in advance and don't keep him all eve- ning." she was going out the back door, ronald following, when she remembered her gifts. "go get my gifts, ronald. i'll be at the car." aunt josephine switched on the garage lights so that ronald, arms full, could find his way to joan's car. at the car he asked, "joan, are you okay to drive?" "i'll make it. once, in the house, i felt as though i was going to crack up but made every effort to appear normal. how did i do?" "fine, darling. i love you." "do you really, ronald?" "yes, joan, i wouldn't say so if i didn't mean it." she studied his countenance in the dim silence for mo- ments. he appeared to be sincere. aunt josephine called from the back door, "wait a min- ute, joan. i forgot something." she walked over to the car and told joan that uncle fred wanted to give a party for her holiday guests. "gee, that's swell, aunt josephine. i had planned to have one at home but i'll change my plans. i love you and uncle fred." "i know you do. how many do you think you'll have?" joan counted on her fingers. "somewhere between fif- teen and twenty when i add boy friends for the girls." "when do you want the party?" false measure "in two or three days. i'll let you know definitely on that and the number of guests tomorrow or early next day." "that's good. i must get inside. it's cold without a coat." "good night, aunt josephine. do i love you and uncle fred!" "good night, joan. see you later, ronald." "yes, mrs. williams." "ronald, after i back out, you trail me," joan instructed. when joan and ronald got home, mrs. turner asked, "i thought you said you were going to have everything sent except beatrice's gift?" "i did. some of these are gifts from aunt josephine and then there are some things i bought for myself." "it looks as though you bought a whole lot of things for yourself," aunt agnes said good-humoredly. joan shrugged. "will i have time to dress for dinner, mother?" mr. turner cut in to say he was hungry and they had held dinner for her "all this time." if she was going to be much longer, joan could eat when she got ready. "as you wish, daddy," joan murmured and kissed him on his forehead. at dinner, beatrice told joan that oliver had called and said he would arrive the next day. ronald said that if he could wait one more day he might drive down with mildred and margaret. beatrice retorted amiably, "maybe i would rather have him come tomorrow." "excuse me," ronald said pleasantly. "i was only suggest- ing." grandpa told joan that through her mother's good graces he had found a store where they sold chewing tobacco. joan glared at him and reminded him of what she had told him in the morning. mrs. turner told joan that her former teacher, miss clarke, had called. "she said you passed by her in the car this morning and she would like to see you before you go back to school. she also said she knows how well you've been doing at school. the dean told her." "i'll enjoy seeing miss clarke. i'll call her tomorrow morning." false measure conversation was abruptly interrupted a few moments later when aunt agnes ejaculated, "joan! what's the matter with you?" everybody looked in joan's direction. she had suddenly lapsed into a lethargic stare, her eyes fixed on her plate. aunt agnes' question snapped her out of it and she picked up her fork and dipped it in her plate. with maternal con- cern, mrs. turner asked, "are you sick, joan?" "no, mother, i'm all right." mr. turner's look was brief and permeating. he re- sumed his meal without comment. ronald was sitting next to joan. furtively, he reached over and reassuringly squeezed the hand in her lap. grandpa said, "what she needs is some straight bourbon." everyone laughed, including joan, and relaxed conver- sation began again. while joan was dressing for the show, beatrice came into her room and confidentially asked, "was it something con- cerning ronald that was preying on your mind at the dinner table?" joan was silent. "don't be reluctant to talk to me, joan. we're friends." "you're right, beatrice. it was because of ronald. how did you guess it?" she sat on the bed next to beatrice. "when you and ronald came in i noticed an unusual ruddiness in your face which was different from your usual glowing freshness. your efforts at keeping up a running con- versation seemed to be strained. you had been drinking, yes. but this color wouldn't have resulted from drinking." "beatrice, your discernment is penetrating." joan put her head on beatrice's shoulder. "right now it's all i can do to keep from crying." beatrice put a comforting arm around her. "try hard not to. your eyes wouldn't be right when you get downstairs and questions would be asked. whatever your experience today, it was probably new to you. you're undergoing a cruel emotional reaction because subconsciously you feel you violated or came close to violating a moral code. bear this in mind: ronald is a virile, handsome, intelligent young man; you're a luxuriantly healthy, attractive, intelligent girl. when two such compatible persons are thrown to- false measure gether, nature's normal impulses will force the breaching of some of the interdictions of the code by which we live. come on now, finish dressing and let's get to the show." she pulled joan to her feet. "beatrice, you're a darling! you give me strength." joan contemplated herself in the mirror. she was wear- ing a green woolen skirt, beige sweater, white anklets, and brown-and-beige saddle oxfords. she had combed her hair back in loose curls and had put a brown beanie on the back of her head. "i guess i'll do," she said. "you look exactly like a cute little high school girl," beatrice said. "i don't feel like one tonight." "you'll be back to normal in a little while." ronald seated the two girls in the front of his car and climbed in the driver's seat. "with due respect to your good looks, beatrice, there's one thing i must say: joan, tonight you're the prettiest thing i've seen in my life." he kissed her warmly, and she didn't pull away. "i agree with you, ronald," beatrice said. five minutes after they got settled in the movie, joan tapped away a yawn and went to sleep on ronald's shoulder. on the second day after christmas, auburn-haired, cau- casian-looking oliver came in from boston. this day and the next, many of joan's former high school chums were callers. some of them were attending college and others were working. some were married. along with beatrice and the two men, joan found time to return a few of these calls. she was even able to squeeze in an hour's visit with miss clarke after having talked with her by phone. miss clarke promised to stop by and see joan's tree. also she hadn't seen mr. and mrs. turner for a long time and she enjoyed talking with joan's aunt agnes. joan and ronald and beatrice and oliver spent quiet evenings at home for the next two nights. the fourth day after christmas, adrienne arrived from richmond, doris came in from chicago, and edwina drove down from bangor. ronald and joan went to the station to false measure meet adrienne. they had just set down the last of adrienne's large collection of bags in the turner living room when there was a call from the station. doris was in. they set out again. when doris' luggage had been added to the pile, aunt agnes jested, "you girls need one room set aside for your luggage alone." edwina was tooting her horn outside. oliver and ronald unloaded her car. the house was bordering on pandemo- nium. more than a score of women's bags, hat boxes, and coats were scattered over most of the living room. the merry hubbub of the girls' chatter and laughter as they stepped over, sat on, and moved around the obstructions added to the confusion. in due course mrs. turner and aunt agnes calmly began to restore a semblance of order. grandpa hadn't quite reached his alcoholic peak, so they enlisted his aid in getting the luggage upstairs and to the proper rooms after they had managed somehow to draw each of the new- comers aside long enough to point out her belongings. grandpa grumbled that it was too much for him at his age. aunt agnes rejoined, "and your bourbon." they put oliver and ronald to work. ronald said he had never carried as much luggage before in his life. "you want them to dress well and look good, don't you?" asked aunt agnes. "yes," ronald answered. "well, how do you think they'd manage if they didn't put things in bags?" "you have something there." "all right then, let's get them upstairs without further complaints." the girls presented joan with their gifts, which were an expensive assortment of dainties and perfumes. then joan distributed hers to them. there were hugs and extravagant praises all around. exactly what i needed . . . how did you know i wanted this? .. .so beautiful and so practical. at dusk, with much horn-blowing, mildred and mar- garet arrived from boston, and the bedlam which had tem- porarily subsided received two gay sparks that made a new young uproar in the turners' house. mrs. turner tried to false measure and behavior and that he was to go in the back and stay there and not annoy my guests any more. do you know what he said? he said he was used to addressing decent white folks that way all his life and he wasn't going to change. i told him that all my friends were equals, whatever their race, respected each other, and addressed one another in the same way. he said he didn't care whether i liked it or not, but he was going to continue to address the white ones as he had been and the colored ones as he had. then i told him that in accordance with his own code he had made some grievous errors. he said 'how?' then i told him he had been address- ing some negroes as white and vice versa. he demanded to know who was who and i refused to tell him and walked away from him. then he came to the living room door, stood there swaying, and studied everybody in the room from one to the other trying to ascertain who was white and who was colored. undecided and confused, he stumbled in the back and i haven't seen him since." "he's at the kitchen table now," mrs. turner said. "very quiet and with his bottle. i wondered why he was sitting there quietly so long. he usually tries to nettle the maid or anyone else who's out there trying to do something. he hasn't uttered a word for a half hour. i'll speak to your father. maybe he and aunt agnes can do something with him if they can arrange to give him a good talking to before he's had too many drinks. they can't cure him. nobody can. but maybe they can get him to leave you and your friends alone." "mother, as my father's daughter i'm supposed to love his father and i do believe i do. and i know grandpa would do anything for me. but i do wish he had chosen another time to visit us." "i understand, joan." she paused. "your father will be here very soon and i'm going to help get things on the table so we can sit down as soon as he comes in. then you and your crowd won't be delayed too long." "meanwhile, i'll go over to aunt josephine's with mildred and margaret and help get them settled in their room." "all right, dear." false measure aunt josephine welcomed mildred and margaret with her usual gracious open arms. joan had brought ronald along to help with the girls' bags. uncle fred hadn't come home from his office. ronald, in mock seriousness, said he hoped that when this crowd of women got ready to leave they'd hire a flock of porters. he didn't want to go through another day like this. aunt josephine helped the girls hang their things in the closets and arrange others in the bureau drawers. she told joan it was too much of a burden for her mother, caring for such a large crowd; those sleeping at her house should take their meals there too. starting tomorrow that would be all right, joan said, but her mother had made arrangements to feed them all that night. in fact, her mother had really expected to handle everybody for the rest of the holidays. that would never do, aunt josephine said emphatically. she had the help and it would be no problem. so that was settled. while joan and the others were at the williams house, mr. and mrs. harrison, on their way to new york, stopped off. they telephoned the turners, and beatrice and edwina drove down to pick them up. their arms were filled with beatrice's christmas gifts. "we checked our baggage through," mr. harrison said. "we couldn't have handled that and these too." at the house the first group was sitting down to dinner and mr. and mrs. turner tried to get the harrisons to join them. they declined. they only had a two-hour layover and they would eat in the diner on the train. dr. williams was reached at his office. he would drive by to see the harrisons on his way from the office. mrs. turner telephoned mrs. williams and she drove over with the youngsters to say hello to the harrisons. mr. harrison told mr. turner that joan had his house as full of youngsters as beatrice did theirs when she was home on holidays. "not only this house, she's filled up the williams house too," mr. turner said. the young people had their heads together as to what night would be best for the party the williamses were going false measure to give them. the problem was boy friends: how soon they could get there. doris' went to yale and he was at home in pittsburgh. she'd telephone him but he wouldn't be able to get to springfield for a day and a half by rail, and planes weren't dependable because of uncertain weather. edwina's was in new york. he could make it easily. mildred's was in new york, and margaret's was in trenton. they could make it on short notice. adrienne's problem was the greatest. she knew of no one closer than atlanta whom she wished to in- vite. joan went into a huddle with ronald. there was a mutual friend in new rochelle. he'd be all right. they'd call him up. they discussed him with adrienne. "is he handsome?" she asked. "yes, he is," they said. "okay." they called dr. and mrs. williams in on their con- ference. the older folks had been smiling among themselves at the great undertaking the kids were planning. the young- sters asked if new year's eve, two days hence, would be a satisfactory date. indulgently, aunt josephine and uncle fred said new year's eve would be fine. doris ventured the opinion that two days ought to be ample time for the men to cancel any previous engagements and get there on time — even hers, who had to come from pittsburgh, the greatest distance. joan suggested that they call the men that night so they could make their plans. "and be sure and make all these calls collect so they won't be on mrs. turner's bill," edwina warned. mrs. turner said it was a thoughtful gesture. mr. harrison arose. "now that the main issues have been settled, we'd better be getting to the station." edwina, joan, and beatrice were driving them to the sta- tion in edwina's car. beatrice put their gifts in their hands as they were going out the door. mrs. turner advised the three girls to come back promptly because they hadn't had their dinner yet. dr. and mrs. williams were at the door saying "good night, all," when adrienne walked over to them. "i felt that you spoke to me as a member of the group when you came in, and didn't really recognize me," she said. false measure "don't worry. i can take care of him," her father an- swered confidently. beatrice asked mildred to play. for the rest of the evening, the house was jumping. ronald and mildred alternated at the piano, in a friendly, brother-versus-sister rivalry, trying to outplay each other. men being in short supply for the dancing, oliver and ronald were passed around. doris and edwina had resolved between them that they were going to get along with adrienne this holiday. on her side, adrienne had determined to do the same. they danced together, they gossiped and laughed. having come to a truce with doris and edwina, adrienne set about to enjoy herself thoroughly. she sat on the piano seat beside ronald as he played. at times, joan would be on the other side. she liked to dance with oliver and ronald. their dancing was so good, she thought. she danced better when she danced with them. they taught her some steps the girls hadn't been able to teach her. she liked ronald. he was joan's boy friend and he was so nice to her. so cultured, too. she told joan she liked him. "not for myself — he wouldn't like me that way — but because he's your boy friend and goes out of his way to be considerate of me." "he knows you're my friend," joan said. adrienne sat beside mildred as she played. "they gave me piano lessons when i was younger, but my teachers never approached anything like the way you play. they couldn't," adrienne said. mildred demonstrated a few chords and adrienne tried them. they all laughed because adrienne couldn't get the right rhythm. mildred and ronald, as a duet and separately, played college songs, and all gathered around the piano and sang. toward the end of the evening ronald played a special number for doris to do a solo. she performed like an ex- perienced torch singer. the oldsters, sitting about being entertained, joined in the applause. doris said, "ronald and i ought to take a job entertaining somewhere this summer. with him as an accompanist, i'm at my best. we'd be better than many popular professionals." false measure joan hung up. her father was still waiting. "daddy, what do you think of ronald?" mr. turner pondered the question briefly. "i think he's a nice young man. privately, over a drink a couple of nights ago while you were dressing, he and i had a little talk. he's no novice with women and i wouldn't expect any young man of his type to be. he's personable, intelligent, and has money. the women go for that combination. he's been around — not wantonly or lecherously — and he's known his share of women in his class. he told me he had lots of girl friends before he met you and that now he's lost interest in the others." mr. turner paused. "gratuitously, he told me that he loved you. i told him that love was demonstrated more by the way one acts than by what one says and not to be throwing the word 'love' around unless true sentiment was behind it. he agreed with me. said he hadn't 'thrown' the word around. he said that surely he wouldn't tell a girl's father that he loved his daughter if he wasn't sincere. may- be i'm wrong, time will tell, but i'm inclined to believe him." mr. turner heard a bathroom door open. "excuse me, i've got to make this before somebody else does." he made a dash for it. "wait a minute, daddy, i want to kiss you." "not now, later." the bunch arrived and they all piled into two cars and went searching for skates. it took two sports stores to get them all outfitted in the correct skates screwed to special skating shoes. then home to change into clothes more ap- propriate for the ice. ronald borrowed a heavy knitted sweater that belonged to dr. williams and oliver borrowed one of mr. turner's. the girls wore woolen stockings, sweaters and skirts, short coats, and knitted peaked hats topped with little balls they purchased while shopping for skates. then they were off to the ice pond. everybody could skate except adrienne. ronald tried to teach her while the others twirled and raced and cut capers. oliver succeeded ronald. next, joan on one side and doris on the other, guided her across the ice. then beatrice and edwina tried their hand. when the afternoon was over, adrienne was spending more time on her feet than on her posterior and false measure her ankles were less like rubber. "i want to try it again to- morrow," she said. "this is fun." the crowd split up for dinner and to dress. they would reassemble at joan's later. miss clarke was at joan's when she got there, being entertained by aunt agnes and her mother. they embraced and miss clarke told her that springfield high was proud of her. they knew of her ac- complishments at smith. "if it's possible, i do believe you're getting prettier," miss clarke smiled. "stop flattering me, miss clarke," joan said. aunt agnes and her mother beamed. that night the gang went to a movie and afterward to a tavern for some drinks. they were to gather early the next afternoon to go skating again. persistent zeal was demonstrating results: adrienne was gliding around the ice unsupported, by late afternoon their second day at the park. she wasn't very graceful but she managed to keep on her feet. when she returned to school, she vowed, she was going to get out on the ice every day there was some. she was going to keep at this skating until she had it perfected. back at joan's from the ice pond, they found that the first of the five out-of-town men had come — doris' boy friend from pittsburgh. "the man who had to come the greatest distance arrived here first," doris said, giving him a hug. "i left pittsburgh last night on a midnight train, spent a few hours in new york, and came on up," he said. in an hour two telephone calls let them know that three men were at the station — mildred's, margaret's, and edwina's. "stay there," they told them. "we'll come get you." two of the men, mildred's and margaret's, knew each other and had ridden up together. the third, edwina's, was on the same train but didn't know the other two. "we'll pick them up in my car," edwina said. margaret asked, "how are three men with luggage and three of us going to get in one car?" "all right, i'll take mine too," mildred said. "come on, edwina, i'll trail you." false measure everybody's escort had arrived but adrienne's. she said she didn't care if he didn't show up. she knew she'd have a good time anyway. but the three newcomers had barely been introduced when the escort chosen for adrienne drove up. after considerable effort, standing on the steps screaming for silence, joan quieted them to announce the evening's plans. reservations had been made for the men at a hotel. they should go to their hotel, get settled, eat, dress, do what- ever else they had to or wanted to, until it was time to come back for the girls at nine o'clock. mildred and margaret were staying where the party was being held, she told their escorts, and they could go directly there. they elected to come back to joan's first. adrienne's escort said his car was big enough to carry all the five men and their luggage. so away they went for the hotel. joan asked adrienne if the man they selected met with her approval. "do i approve of him?" she asked with feeling. "he's cute, and such a gentleman. when he left he said, til be looking forward to seeing you later, miss baskerville.'" she was pleased. it was past six when mrs. williams telephoned for her charges to come home to their dinner. ronald talked with her and tried to explain that she had enough of a job pre- paring for the party without the additional bother of dinner for the four of them. they planned to eat out. she would have none of that. she would expect the four of them in a few minutes. she had hired extra help so she wouldn't be burdened. joan told them not to disappoint her aunt josephine and hustled them out of the house. "ronald, you and oliver be back here at nine o'clock," she warned. joan and her clan descended on the williamses at ten o'clock on new year's eve. mildred and margaret had been dressed for over an hour but they wouldn't go downstairs until they heard the others arriving. there was a total of fourteen guests. the other twelve came over from joan's in three cars — ronald's, edwina's, and adrienne's escort's. dr. williams met them at the door. leading the file, joan placed a kiss on his cheek as she passed. the fresh aroma of an expensive perfume enveloped her. those who hadn't met uncle fred were introduced and he helped the men hang their coats and the girls' wraps in the guest closet. the down- stairs rooms were soon pervaded with the blended fragrance of high-priced french perfumes. mrs. williams came into the living room and met those she didn't already know. she presented a stately appearance as she acknowledged the intro- ductions in her gentle voice. a silver lining glistened through her black lace gown which had a low-cut bodice and was full skirted. she was wearing a narrow rhinestone belt. her earrings and necklace were diamond and the end of a white chiffon hankerchief was tucked under a diamond bracelet. as were all the other men, dr. williams was wear- ing a tuxedo. he and his wife told them all to have a good time. after all, it was new year's eve. joan put her arm around mrs. williams. "you're very pretty tonight, aunt josephine." "so are you, joan." her eyes rested on joan's necklace. "you know," joan said, fingering the necklace, "this is mother's. so are the earrings and the bracelet." she turned her head to the right and left and then raised the arm with the bracelet. "i've got on a fortune in jewelry tonight. at first mother was reluctant to let me borrow these pieces, but she eventually consented and asked me to please be careful of them. darling mother. daddy gave them to her piece by piece." false measure player was on but at the moment they were more interested in the lift two or three highballs could give than they were in dancing. crowded about the small table, they were drink- ing faster than the waiter could mix. when each couple had finished two or three, boy and girl would move on to the living room and start dancing. mildred and her boy friend were the last to leave the dining room on this first go-round. they too went to the living room and began to dance. ab- ruptly, she broke off her dance, shut off the record player, and called out, "where's ronald?" he was dancing with joan at the far end of the room. "what do you want?" he asked. "i'm going to play. will you follow me?" those who had heard her play said, "good," and clapped their hands. "of course," he answered. "is there anyone else here who can play?" mildred asked, seating herself at the piano. doris told her that her escort did. "fine, the three of us can take turns." to set the atmos- phere mildred struck up "little brown jug," singing as she played. her escort was sitting beside her. the party imme- diately became more lively. dr. williams, circulating among the dancing couples, told them the bar in the basement recreation room was ready for service if anyone cared to go down. if they didn't, they could still be served in the dining room. uncle fred had a well-stocked bar and had engaged a bartender for this night. mildred played several pieces. then she called to ronald, "come on, dear brother, it's your turn now." he hadn't danced with another soul but joan all evening and they hadn't taken a breather. he no longer went out of his way to excite her in their dancing together and she didn't have to tell him to watch his behavior. she wasn't afraid of him any more and occasionally would lay her head on his shoulder. he would hold her close and lower his head to kiss her hair or her forehead. being close to him now only slightly stirred dormant desires, which she could control and keep hidden. whereas before, the stimulation brought false measure on by being close to him and her inability to suppress it, was agitated by his boldness, and she couldn't conceal out- ward manifestations of her intense anxiety. ronald relieved his sister, who stipulated the next two songs he was to play. joan went for drinks for herself and ronald, and then sat on the piano seat beside him. adrienne and her partner came over to joan. "we've been down- stairs at the bar," she said. "it's nice down there. there's a record player and a studio piano." she was swinging on his arm. "let's dance," she said to her escort. joan touched ronald's arm. "adrienne's beginning to get tight. look at the way she's got her arms wrapped around his neck. they seem to be getting along famously." the record player was going in the recreation room. doris shut it off and put her boy friend at the studio piano. he was good. the recreation room — with its spaciousness, card tables, railed bar, smooth linoleum floor, and long win- dow seats — was more in keeping with their developing mood. they all drifted downstairs and stayed there until the break of dawn. midnight approached and dr. and mrs. williams came down with horns, noisemakers, and novelty hats. ronald watched the minutes and then the seconds tick off. he and joan and three other couples were standing at the bar. at the stroke of twelve he took joan in his arms and kissed her fervently. the other couples followed suit. then the din of the noisemakers and the horns. cries of "happy new year!" and the sounds of factory whistles, church bells, auto horns, and train whistles wafted into the room. dr. and mrs. williams had been sitting on a window seat enjoying the youngsters' capers. mildred started play- ing a number and her boy friend danced with mrs. williams. edwina plunked a cap on dr. williams' head, to the glee- ful encouragement of the others, and pulled him up to dance. from then on the youngsters wouldn't let their hosts sit down, until the hosts laughingly threw up their hands. they had had enough. "we're not as young as you are." meanwhile, the waiter had set up a buffet table and had brought down smoked turkey, baked ham, roast beef, hot dishes, and salads. they quieted down to eat. false measure when the music started up again, with doris' boy friend at the piano, ronald said to joan, "i'd like to talk with you seriously. i'll be leaving tomorrow afternoon "this afternoon," joan broke in. "it's after midnight." "all right, this afternoon. don't be technical, joan. i'm talking seriously." "go on." "there's something i'd like to say to you, for your ears alone, and there's no privacy down here." "if we find any privacy it won't be for long. they'll be looking for us." "let's try it. it won't take me long to say what i want to say." "where?" "in the den upstairs." "how are we going to get out of here without being noticed?" "you go first and i'll follow in a minute." "all right." ronald walked to the bar and ordered a double while joan slipped out. he quaffed it in three swallows and started up the steps. "ronald!" somebody called. "what?" it was doris. "you haven't played since we've been down- stairs. come over here and play this piano!" some more voices said, "yes, come on and give us a number!" "all right, i'll be back in five minutes." joan was sitting on a divan, her arms folded and her legs crossed. "well?" she asked when ronald had seated himself beside her. he weighed his words carefully. "joan, i've told you that i love you "yes, but those words might have been the words of a man with a temporary passion. how many other women have you told that?" "none." "it sounds good, but i don't believe you. sex can make men say many things that are nothing more than the utter- false measure ings evoked by a sexual desire, or things said after sexual con- summation." "there is much more to love than just plain sex, joan." "i certainly know that, ronald, and i hope you really do too. don't let your mind inflate an emotion that's a simple biological urge and have you calling it love. love has many facets and sex is only one of them. i'm afraid you're per- mitting sex to overshadow the other elements that make up the compound called love. for you to love me, we should be compatible in many areas." "i've seen enough of you, joan, to know that we are harmonious in several areas, particularly the psychological. i wish to say again that i do love you. my purpose in re- questing you to sit with me apart from the others for a few minutes was not only to repeat to you the three little words, but to ask you if you will wear my ring. will you?" gazing in front of her, arms still folded, she did not turn her head to look at ronald. nor did she reply. following what seemed to ronald an eternity of silence, she said, "please give me a cigarette." he held his opened case before her. she removed one, bent forward, and tapped it deliberately on the coffee table. the case snapped closed and he flicked the lighter. she set- tled back and inhaled long, pensive puffs, the smoke curling from her nose and mouth. ronald didn't break into her tem- porary meditation. he lit himself a cigarette, clicked the case closed, and turned it over and over in his hand awaiting her answer. at length she turned to him. "for you to offer me a ring, ronald, i ought first to have told you that i love you, too. that i haven't done, and honestly couldn't at this mo- ment because i don't know. i would want to be sure. an en- gagement ring, to me, means a definite intention to marry the man who gives it to me. how could i, in fairness to my principles and to the man, promise to marry him if i don't even know that i love him? i'm not as shallow as some girls i've known and have heard about who accept ring after ring, just for the fun of it, with no intention of following through." "when i made up my mind to ask you to accept a ring false measure from me, which is a roundabout way of asking you to marry me, i was certainly aware that you haven't yet professed your love. yet i had hoped you would. it isn't conceit that makes me say that i do believe you love me, but you're un- willing to admit it to yourself or to me. it's the big and little things that people do and don't do that speak their fondness rather than what they proclaim. i know there's not an eli- gible young man in the east who wouldn't give a right arm to have your favor. i know of two, one at harvard, who had expected to be allowed to visit you this christmas, but you turned them down — and perhaps others i don't know about — for the reason that i was here. the very fellow who is here tonight as adrienne's escort had hoped to be your main guy this holiday, but you wouldn't let him come. he got here but under different auspices. and i know you didn't even contact a fellow in boston when you were there for thanksgiving. he knew you'd be at beatrice's and had ex- pected a call from you. after we met you didn't bother to contact him and when he telephoned, you had beatrice tell him you were out. he felt bad about it. he told me, not beatrice. i had nothing to say to him as to why you didn't get in touch with him. in fact, at the time he didn't know we were acquainted. summing up all this and the fact that you've been so thoughtful of me this week, and that you've been exclusively mine, what do you have? i must not fail to mention my weekend at your school. everything was so pleasant and you were such a good companion, it's one of those weekends i'll long remember. conscious of all this, joan, it seems to me that any man who can monopolize as much of your time as i have must be more than a passing fancy. if there was any lingering doubt in my mind that i love you completely, it was resolved the afternoon after christmas." "don't mention that, ronald. i would rather not think of it now." ronald reflectively mashed out his cigarette. he opened his case, offered another to joan, took one himself, held the light for her, lit his own, and put the case in his pocket. he drew deeply, blew some smoke rings. "would you be will- ing to wear my ring as long as you retain your present sen- false measure timents? you could return it when you meet someone whom you care as much for — thereby making a choice difficult — or someone you care more for. if you should return it, even after accepting it on such a liberal basis, i must honestly admit that undoubtedly i would be hurt for a while because i intend to accept the restraints that an engagement imposes. however, i'd understand and get over it." "ronald, you've said many things that are true. it is a fact that i have eliminated some fellows and avoided others so i could be with you. i wouldn't have done it if i weren't fond of you. in truth, i have been putting brakes on myself with you. i've been afraid to let myself go, fearful lest i fall in love with you and later my feelings might be traumatized by your actions. i know you, ronald. you're accustomed to flitting here and there, with this girl and that girl. you've had many girl friends and many are interested in you right now. i wouldn't want to accept a ring from you on such lib- eral conditions as you offer. an engagement to me would be in the traditional concept and the limitations as to other boy friends wouldn't bother me at all. i would love the man to whom i would be engaged, and other men wouldn't in- terest me. that is, not in the same way. i didn't like the word 'restraints' you used regarding an engagement. that implies a desire to do things that an engagement might keep you from doing. if i were engaged, i would have no such desires. no, ronald. i must completely prove to myself that i love you before i accept your ring and i must be sure that you won't be running all over the country with, and after, other girls." "whether you believe it or not, i haven't called on, met, or been out with another girl since we met. and i haven't had any desire to." "this is january, . i couldn't marry you until june, , when i graduate. do you think you could behave your- self from now to then? that's eighteen months. a lot can hap- pen in a year and a half." "i've known all along how long i'd have to wait. for someone worth while, eighteen months is no time to have to wait. i'd wait five years, if necessary." false measure ders. joan said, "come on, gang, let's go home. the sun's coming up." she moved about rousing them. mildred and margaret said they were glad all they had to do was run up- stairs to go to bed. they all thanked dr. and mrs. williams for the best party ever. adrienne gushed. back home, joan found her mother, father, and aunt agnes still up. grandpa was asleep in a chair. they had taken him to mr. turner's club's new year's party where he had imbibed even more than his usual amount of bourbon and had really performed. he had danced both with the women and solo, a great deal of knee-bending in his steps. he had climbed up on the band- stand to sing a number. the family had tried to quiet him down and he became bellicose. to a male friend of the fam- ily who had come to mr. turner's aid, grandpa was heard to say whom he could lick. with difficulty, they brought him home. fagged out, he had dropped in the chair where he was now. mr. turner had attempted to get him upstairs to bed before he lapsed into a deep slumber. he shook grandpa's shoulder and grandpa flayed his arms, as if to fight. "i ain't goin' nowhere," he insisted. mr. turner de- cided to let him be. joan's coterie began scattering their various ways at noon new year's day. none had fully recovered from the night before. ronald and oliver, mildred and margaret had said goodbye to dr. and mrs. williams and had driven around to the turners. it was difficult for the four to decide what would be a nice gift for the williamses as a token of appreciation of their hospitality. the williamses had every- thing. they settled on a set of silver-monogrammed crys- tal glassware. "everybody put in ten dollars," mildred said. "margaret and i will make the purchase in washington and forward it with our four names on it. if it costs more than forty dollars, and it might, you'll hear from us for some more money. now, oliver, you and ronald each give me ten dollars." ronald gave her fifteen, in case it should cost more. margaret and mildred were going to drive straight through to washington, alternating at the wheel. both had early classes next morning. their boy friends were riding false measure embraced her grandfather. "you're a devil, grandpa, but i love you. goodbye." aunt agnes took a morning train to new york and a plane from laguardia to columbus. grand- pa left the next day and the turner household returned to normal. joan did not accept ronald's ring when he visited her at smith the last weekend in february. she told him she hadn't made up her mind. he opened the velvet-lined box with its sparkling solitaire. "i wish you would wear it, joan." she took the box in her hand, studied it, snapped it closed, and handed it back to him. "not yet, ronald. perhaps later." she saw him during easter vacation at beatrice's in bos- ton and in springfield later, and repeatedly refused the ring he always had in his pocket when he was with her. joan had lengthy confabs with edwina, doris, and sometimes adri- enne, as to what she should do. edwina finally said, "you've dropped all your other boy friends and he's the only man you let visit you here on weekends. on vacations you see no one else. what does that mean? it means you love him, so accept his ring." wearing her new phi beta kappa key on a chain around her neck, joan came home at the close of the school year, but to remain only a few days. ronald was in spring- field twenty-four hours after she arrived. they set off to- gether for poughkeepsie for beatrice's commencement exer- cises. it was on this trip that she accepted his ring with a warning that henceforth he was to curtail his activities with other girls. he swore he had done so months before. ronald left poughkeepsie and went on to washington for mildred's graduation. he was due to go to dartmouth for oliver's too. both exercises were scheduled for the same day but he knew his sister would excoriate him if he didn't show his face at her commencement. joan went to springfield, remained a week, and then left for new york where she visited helen terrence for six weeks. ronald followed her to new york. beatrice joined her in new york and the two entrained for chicago and dropped in on doris for two weeks. then on to colum- false measure "did you ever hear of selective service?" ronald in- quired. "my god! have you been called?" "no," ronald explained, "but it can happen any day now." "i don't see why they can't let you finish out your school year before they take you in that old army," joan asserted. "i don't either," doris agreed. ronald pointed out that a local draft board could agree to a temporary deferment, for the completion of a school year or for other reasons. he doubted that his board would. he had talked with the chairman of the board and the chair- man held it to be questionable that ronald's request for deferment to june would be granted. "the chairman seemed to be unnecessarily hostile and, indeed, impatient with me for asking," ronald said. "now i'm sure i'll go as soon as my number comes up." doris asked, "when do you think you'll be called?" "in about six or eight weeks, depending on quotas." doris moaned, "oh, ronald, no. they can't take you from us." she embraced him. "i don't blame you for crying, joan. i could cry too." joan spent thanksgiving in boston with beatrice, and ronald was still around. to appease her parents, she had gone home the previous weekend. at christmas, joan, bea- trice, edwina, mildred, and ronald went to chicago where they visited doris and had a hilariously good time until new year's day. they flew back so those who had to could make classes. ronald remarked that he felt he was enjoying himself on borrowed time. everybody told him to try to for- get it and live freely until he was actually called. friday, the first week in february, ronald received a five-day warning card from his draft board. he would be in the army before the next weekend. on monday or tuesday they would send him his forty-eight-hour notice. mr. greg- ory had pulled some of the strongest political wires in bos- ton to get his son deferred until june. "i know he's got to go sooner or later, and so does he, but, hell, i'd like him to be able to finish this school year," mr. gregory told the political bigwigs. he passed around some money, too. false measure tions; they could vote him down in this instance if they wished, but he would yell to the high heavens, announce to newspapers and in his pulpit that over his opposition they were bringing political favoritism into the draft board. "there'll be no favoritism as long as i'm here," the preacher smirked, banging an enraged fist. "i'll create a nasty mess." "we can't understand why you're so hard on this young man. if you hadn't taken it upon yourself to single-handedly deny his request, this matter wouldn't have come up. we ad- mit that we've been approached. what father wouldn't try to do something for a son in similar circumstances? there's nothing criminal or illegal about granting this young man a deferment until june." puffing, beads of angry sweat on his shiny black fore- head, the man of god bellowed adamantly, "what i said stands! gregory goes as scheduled. if there is no further busi- ness this meeting is adjourned." he slammed his hand on the table and stormed from the room. by the political grapevine the other board members passed on the information that it was only because of the stubborn meanness of the preacher that ronald didn't re- ceive his deferment. they could have outvoted him and granted the deferment, but he would have followed through on his threats and given the public the erroneous impression that all one had to do was have political connections to stay out of the army. when this news reached mr. gregory, he made a beeline for the draft board. he couldn't find the preacher there but did find him in his parish office. the clergyman was sitting behind his desk preparing a sermon on "kindliness" when mr. gregory, his hat on, burst into his office. "why are you persecuting my son?" mr. gregory began without greeting the minister. "what has he or any of us ever done to you? if it weren't for the devil in you my son would be able to complete his school year." "i don't know what you're talking about, mr. gregory, but i would be pleased if you would take off your hat in my office." "goddamn my hat." false measure "if you can't comport yourself as a gentleman, you may get out or i'll call the police." mr. gregory shouted, "call the police and see what hap- pens. whether it's gotten into that thick skull of yours or not, i control the police around here. call them. call them and see what happens. they'll lock you up." he shook his in- dex finger. "you've taken undue advantage of my son because of some temporary power you have and have abused. my son will go in the army as scheduled, but i'll get you if it's my last act on this earth." mr. gregory turned to go. the preacher, not having moved from his chair, assumed his best theological tone. "i know your son will enter the army as scheduled, mr. gregory." he smiled derisively. mr. gregory scowled at him for a moment, snorted, "you black bastard," and stormed out, slamming the door. the friday evening ronald received his five-day warn- ing, he telephoned joan at smith. she lost her voice when he gave her the sad tidings. "ronald," she said when she re- gained her speech, "my darling, my love, my everything, it's too late for me to leave tonight but i'll take the first train out in the morning and i'll be with you tomorrow. call mrs. harrison and tell her i'll be there tomorrow afternoon. i'll wire the time. i don't know how early the train leaves. oh, ronald, i love you! why are they doing this to us?" she burst into tears. ronald attempted to soothe her. "don't cry, joan. it's not all that bad. bad enough, though. we'll live through it. al- ways remember that i love you and, knowing you love me, we'll both be able to face whatever comes our way. it will give us added strength. we're not alone. there are other couples who are going through this same thing and there'll be more." "i know all that, ronald," she sobbed. "i can't be con- cerned about the others. i'm only worried about you and how long you'll be away from me." "now, joan, go to bed and get a good night's rest, and don't forget to wire me. i'll be at the station. good night, sweetheart." "good night, my darling." joan fitfully wept and tossed most of the night. edwina, false measure her roommate again this year, was apprehensive and sat on the side of joan's bed most of the night, trying to assuage her grief. she checked the train time in the morning, got joan up and helped her dress and pack her bag. she re- garded joan's reddened, sleepless eyes and disconsolate ex- pression. "joan, baby, get yourself together. calm yourself. ronald will only be gone a year. all of us are going to miss him and when he comes back we'll pick up where we left off." joan sighed. "i know he's only supposed to be gone a year but i feel that, somehow, something's going to happen and he might be gone more than twelve long months." "we're not at war yet. he'll be back on time. come on, now, let's get to the station." edwina picked up joan's bag. solicitously, edwina asked, "joan, do you think i should make this trip with you? you're not yourself and i'd hold myself responsible if i let you go alone and something happened to you." "you're sweet, edwina. i'll be all right. i promise you i won't shed another tear." the train thundered into the station and screeched to a stop. the two girls hugged and kissed and joan climbed aboard. "give my love to ronald," edwina said. then she went to the telegraph window and wired ronald joan's ar- rival time in boston. mrs. harrison was with ronald to meet joan at the sta- tion. after ronald had greeted joan, mrs. harrison took her in her arms. "my poor little girl's been crying. don't worry about ronald. nothing will happen to him." "but i don't want him away from me so long, mrs. har- rison." "he'll be able to get a pass or furlough every now and then so you two will see each other at intervals. not as often as you would wish, of course. and, if he isn't too far away, maybe you can visit him. next year at this time he'll be get- ting out and you'll be rejoicing." at the harrisons', joan and ronald were together the balance of saturday afternoon and evening and sunday morn- ing and afternoon until train time. they talked of future plans, now that the army had intervened. their marriage false measure would be put off until ronald's discharge. he would have a year and a half to go in his law course, but his father was going to build them a house — "like your aunt josephine's. i love it," ronald said — and defray all expenses until ronald could assume the responsibility himself. mr. and mrs. harrison accompanied ronald and joan to the station. on the platform waiting for joan's train to come in, mr. harrison whispered to his wife, "let's go to the car and wait for ronald so they can be alone these last few minutes. there's no telling when they'll be together again." they bade joan goodbye and invited her to stay with them as often as possible in order to be near ronald if he should be as- signed to a camp near boston. the next thursday, ronald was inducted and sent to camp edwards at cape cod, for basic training. his letters to joan were long and frequent. a furlough was out of the question for some weeks. an occasional overnight pass was the best he could hope for and that wouldn't allow him enough time to get to northampton. after ronald had been away for six weeks, joan went to boston on the week- end, met mr. gregory by arrangement, and they drove to camp edwards. a situation in regard to ronald that hadn't entered joan's head presented itself in bold relief when she and mr. greg- ory arrived at camp and the realization stunned her: segre- gation of negro troops. mr. gregory got directions to ron- ald's outfit at post headquarters. it began slowly to dawn on joan when they were approaching his company after passing through an area populated solely by colored soldiers. at the company orderly room a sergeant sent for ronald. following the lovers' touching greeting and father's and son's warm handshake with a paternal slap on the back, mr. gregory and joan laughed with ronald about his ill-fitting uniform. "what a contrast!" joan said. "this is the first time i've ever seen him that he wasn't nattily dressed." ronald showed them around as much of the camp as he knew. after the company had eaten, the mess sergeant fed ronald and his guests in the mess hall. during the meal joan asked ronald why they had him in a jim crow outfit. ronald told her he was sure she knew that negro soldiers false measure "why, joan," ronald said, "you speak as if you've never seen any negroes before. everybody can't be good-looking." "i know that, ronald. but i've never seen as many blacks together in one place before in my life and i don't like your being here with them." "i don't like being here either, darling — that is, in the army — but being in the army as a buck private isn't milk and honey whether you're with a white or colored organi- zation. i've never seen or been around as many negroes gathered together in one place either, but i've gotten used to it. and some of them are darn nice and intelligent. it's a new experience for me but i'm taking it in stride." "that's the best attitude to have, ronald," his father agreed. when they were leaving the mess hall, ronald intro- duced joan and his father to the mess sergeant. they met his platoon sergeant outside the door. joan accepted the introductions coldly, nodding her head and with an expres- sionless face. while the men exchanged small talk, she indi- cated impatience. out of earshot, ronald patiently chided joan for her stiffness in meeting the men. "my dear, sweet girl," he explained, "this isn't a country club. it's the army. try to look pleasant when you're introduced, even if you don't mean it. don't forget, i've got to live with these fel- lows, even if some of them are what you call common rabble." "ronald, darling, you must attempt to understand me," she pleaded. "i was shocked when i learned you were in a jim crow outfit. i haven't gotten over my surprise and dis- gust. oh, yes, i've been aware that negroes are put in separate outfits, but that they would do that to you, never entered my head. you're so far above any of these men." ronald replied gently, "joan, some of these recruits are on the ball. the noncoms in the cadre are old army men, not very literate, but they're good drill masters." "the noncoms haven't any sense or they wouldn't have been in the army before this emergency," joan argued. ronald took a deep breath. "after some of these recruits have completed their basic training, they'll overshadow the members of the cadre and more than likely take over their false measure "goodbye, my darling." "be a good soldier, son." ronald couldn't get to joan's graduation. he hadn't completed his basic training and wouldn't be granted a fur- lough until he did. he had implored the first sergeant in vain, pointing out that it was his fiance's graduation. in an emergency, such as a death in the family, a furlough would be given, but a graduation wasn't an emergency, and that was that. joan had last seen ronald when he was on a weekend pass in boston in april. his father had given him an elaborate and expensive party, caterers and all. five girls from school had accompanied joan. all boston's younger society set was there. beatrice, the boston high school teacher, was there. mildred, then in graduate school at columbia, came up from new york. oliver, saved from the army by being in medical school, gloated over it to ronald and kidded him about his uniform. adrienne, edwina, and doris were in the group that came with joan. the weekend was full and gay. late sunday night mr. gregory dispatched the girls back to smith in his chauffeur-driven car. they had missed the train that would have put them there on time. simultaneously, ronald in his own car left to make reveille, one of his father's men with him to bring the car back. after graduation joan went home to springfield, where, she told ronald in her letters, she was going to stay all summer. if he should suddenly get some free time he would know she was there waiting for him. in august he visited her on a five-day furlough. he was wearing corporal's stripes and was being shipped to fort riley, kansas, at the end of his furlough. joan was philosophical. for one thing, al- though she couldn't hold back the tears when they said good- bye, wherever they sent him it would be all over in february and then they would be together permanently. in the fall she entered graduate school at harvard and took up resi- dence on the campus. this would keep her busy while ronald was away. false measure other activities in the lobby, but she heard every word that was said. the clerk noted joan's anxiety, as much as she had tried to hide it, and it could have given them away. how- ever, after regarding joan hastily, he soliloquized, "what the hell, the guy's going overseas and whether they are or aren't married, this is their farewell. considering her ethereal beauty and fine apparel coupled with the pertur- bation she's trying to suppress, it's obvious this is the first time she's been in a hotel with a man." the clerk pointed to a line on the registration card and said, "sign here, ser- geant." the suite was elaborately furnished. it consisted of a private bath, bedroom, and sitting room overlooking the park. ronald had asked for a piano. there wasn't one there but before they finished looking through their rooms two hotel servicemen were pushing in a studio model. secure from the eyes of the public, which always includes unseen witnesses, joan's disquiet waned. ronald called room serv- ice. they were going to spend all of these hours together, alone in these rooms. there wasn't anything new york had to offer that they hadn't already seen and they didn't want to be bothered with company or go to see anybody. when the waiter came ronald ordered champagne, scotch, lobster and steak dinners, and all the trimmings. as he named each item he turned to joan to ask if it was okay. she would say, "yes, darling, if it suits you. this is your party." but as he kept ordering, joan interrupted to remind him, "remember, ronald dear, my figure." when the waiter left, ronald said, "before i left cali- fornia dad sent me a large money order. his letter said, 'wherever they send you, if they let you have any time off before they do, here's money to have a last fling. have joan with you if you're not too far away from her.' thank god i wasn't too far away from you. and this is my last fling!" ronald got up and went to the bedroom and opened his bag. "joan, i'm going to get comfortable before dinner. why don't you hang up your clothes and do likewise?" joan didn't answer and ronald went on to the bath, garments on his arm. he returned in minutes, wearing pajamas and a robe. joan was sitting in the same position as false measure when he left. she hadn't even taken off her hat or jacket. she was staring at the floor with faraway, melancholy eyes. ronald stopped short and implored, "joan, what's the matter?" she didn't reply, kept her eyes on the floor. ronald squatted in front of her, took her hands in his. "won't you snap out of it, joan? if you love me as you say you do, you will. i want this evening to be one of complete bliss for both of us. you won't disappoint me, will you?" she toyed with his hands. "ronald, i'm twenty-two years old and a grown woman now, but i'm simply plain bashful in this setting. i'm not even considering leaving; i want to and have wanted to be near you. it was terrible for me all these long months that we've been separated. when we'll have this opportunity again, no one knows. tonight, i real- ize, we must live for the future. and we have no moments to waste. your hours are limited. but give me time to adjust my psychology. if only you had sufficient time for us to get married! my equilibrium wouldn't be off balance." ronald kissed her, raised her to her feet. "my sweet little girl, go hang your clothes and make yourself comfortable. take your time, but don't be too long. our order might come. meanwhile, i'll try out this piano." joan's steps to the bedroom were slow and measured. she picked up her bag, went to the bath, and locked herself in. ronald sat at the piano, tested its tone. "not bad." he struck up a song joan was fond of. then he went into other pieces reminiscent of the many happy hours and days they had enjoyed together. soundlessly, joan came from the bath, stopped in the bedroom to hang her clothes and put down her bag, and crept up behind ronald, who was absorbed in his music and its significance. she stood motionless, directly behind him. the aroma of her fresh perfume seeped into his nostrils and he half turned his head. quickly she put her arms about his neck and held him saying, "i won't let you turn around un- til you tell me you love me." he felt her soft bosom pressed against his back. "i do, i will always." she let him go and he jumped up from the piano bench false measure and stood facing her. his eyes covered her admiringly. there was an expression of shyness on her face and she backed away. "joan," he said, "you look like a little seventeen-year-old girl. your demure mien makes you appear three years younger than that." joan had put on a pink satin nightgown. covering it was a pink chiffon negligee. her hair was combed back and fell in ringlets to her shoulders. a narrow ribbon was tied in a bow on top of her head. ronald walked to her and enfolded her in his arms. she dropped her head on his chest. "bear with me, ronald," she asked, "i'm an extremely modest little girl." "and you're a gorgeous little girl," he amplified. the buzzer sounded. it was the waiter. he wheeled in their oversized order, pulled the table from the wall, and went about setting it up. joan asked ronald, "do you re- member prudence in columbus?" "how could i forget her? the fun all of us had in columbus in — was it ? so much has happened i get the years mixed up." "yes, it was . prudence is married to a doctor and living here in new york now. i told mother i was going to stay with her, so i'd better call her and let her know where i am in case mother or daddy should try to reach me." "not a bad idea." following ebullient greetings and explanations, joan told prudence, "if my folks should call, tell them i've gone out with ronald and will be back. then you call me here." "fine, joan. i understand. give my love to ronald and tell him to come back soon." "i'll see you sometime before noon tomorrow. goodbye, prudence." "goodbye, joan. i'll be on the lookout for you." ronald suggested a scotch highball before dinner. the waiter mixed them. he opened the champagne and replaced it in the iced bucket, made a final survey of the table, and inquired, "anything else?" "not a thing. everything looks fine," ronald answered, looking over the check. it was for a larger amount than the false measure weekly earnings of most skilled workers in those days. ronald paid it and tipped the waiter handsomely. the waiter enthused, "thank you, sergeant. if you should need more ice or if you should want me to open the other bottle of champagne later, or anything else, call room service and give my number." he bowed himself out. joan sat on the piano bench close to ronald after dinner and he played tune following tune that brought back memories to both. some he sang alone, to joan's attentive ears; others they sang together. joan put her hand over her mouth to stifle a full yawn. the heavy meal, the champagne, and the scotch were taking their toll. the yawn was catching. like other women seeing their men off to the wars since time immemorial, in the morning joan said a tearful fare- well to ronald at pennsylvania station. there were mutual professions of everlasting love and earnest promises to be faithful and true. afterward, riding in a cab to prudence's house, joan blushed when she relived in her mind the previ- ous night spent with ronald. in september, , joan was appointed a high school teacher in new york city. she domiciled herself with her longtime friend, prudence. ronald was in england two weeks after he said goodbye to joan. his unit was made part of a regimental combat team and they went in training for operation torch, the invasion of north africa. on november , , in one of the follow-up waves, ronald landed at oran. blackout regulations were strictly enforced. on the night of november , ronald was riding in a jeep on a road heavily traveled by the military, return- ing to his headquarters from a courier mission. the road was barely wide enough for two-lane traffic. the steady military flow of the past few days was much greater than anything contemplated when it was built. deep holes had been worn and the shoulders were pulverized. ronald's driver was good. the unending dim slits of blackout headlights coming to- ward them, scant distance between them and at a rapid clip, could be seen a mile ahead on straight stretches. the faint headlights gave no indication of the size of the vehicle ap- proaching. it was necessary to be on the alert and cut over to the right, frequently swinging all four wheels off the road- way, if the outlines of a wide vehicle could be made out be- fore it was too late. twice ronald's driver said, "damn, that was a near miss," as he swung back on the roadway. he pushed himself forward, close to the wheel, straining his eyes to the darkness in front. the line of vehicles they were in moved alternately be- tween crawls and spurts of speed. the driver was hanging hard upon the thin, red thread of light shining from the tail-light of the truck in front of them. the truck went into a short burst of speed and its taillight became dimmer. ronald's driver pressed his toe down on the gas. he didn't see the truck he was following, then far in front, swerve deeply off the roadway to avoid a head-on collision. they false measure picked up speed. he saw the peeping headlights of an on- coming vehicle. subconsciously, he thought they were a little high, higher than those on the larger trucks. that should have been a warning signal. a mammoth tank retriever, tak- ing up two-thirds of the road, and bearing down on them, loomed into view. its driver felt confidently safe from phys- ical injury caused by road collisions because of the tons of steel surrounding him. his fast, arrogant driving should have been confined to daylight hours. woe befall anyone who didn't get out of his wide path. ronald's driver's re- flexes were keen. he swung the wheel hard and sharply to the right, completely avoiding the tank retriever. but the road shoulder was narrow at this point, and there was an un- fenced, forty-foot steep embankment. the jeep shot out into space. there were two horrible screams. the jeep turned rear over front, landing upside down in the sand below. then there was silence, only the remote sounds of motors going in the opposite direction on the highway above. the driver and assistant driver of the truck directly be- hind the jeep had seen it run off the highway. they stopped in the traffic lane and everything behind started piling up. the two soldiers got out quickly and peered down the em- bankment. they could see nothing in the darkness. one ran over to the truck and came back with a flashlight. the beam of light picked out the upside-down jeep, its front wheels spinning to a slow rest. only one man could be seen. he was lying motionless on his back. one leg appeared to be under the side of the jeep. other soldiers came up from halted vehicles asking what was the matter. when told, sev- eral said, "let's go down there and see what we can do." then they said, "how the hell are we gonna get down there as steep as it is?" the first two said, "we'll try it," and they slid down on their bellies. more followed. those on the roadway played their flashlights on the scene. ronald had been thrown partially clear, landing on his back and right arm, which had cracked in half at the elbow and was held to him by a slim piece of lacerated flesh. the side of the jeep had fallen on his right leg and snapped it off like a pretzel, just below the knee. he was unconscious, bleeding profusely. false measure one soldier listened to his heart. "he's alive, but he won't be alive long bleeding like that." he took off his shirt, ripped two narrow strips from the back, and applied an im- provised tourniquet to ronald's right thigh. another soldier applied one to ronald's arm. somebody was under that jeep. a half dozen hands righted it. the driver had been crushed in a sitting position. his neck and back were broken. he was dead. a call went up to those on the embankment for medics if there were any there. the request was passed back up the roadway. toward the end of the long line of halted traffic there was a medical truck with a driver only. he had one stretcher and nothing else in his truck. he brought up his stretcher and threw it down. where was the nearest hospital? quite a way, but the medical driver's emergency dispensary was only five miles back; he would turn around, if someone would hold up the traffic, and get the guy who was still alive some emergency treatment and then they'd take him on to a hospital. "how the hell are we gonna get these guys up to the road?" one soldier asked. someone answered, "a half mile back it's level and you can walk right onto the road." they put ronald on the stretcher and four men trekked him the half mile where they could climb to the roadway easily. at that point they weren't far from the medic's truck. four other men carried the driver, one each to his legs and arms. the bearers' way was lighted by men carrying flash- lights in front of them and to their rear, guarding against pitfalls. many on the roadway followed along with their flash- lights beamed on them. by the time they placed ronald's driver in the truck, rigor mortis had begun to set in. ronald was carefully placed and covered with a blanket. one of the bearers suddenly said, "hey, we forgot this guy's leg." another answered, "what difference does it make? it's no good to him now. that arm ain't gonna be any good to him either." a score of soldiers stood in the roadway and halted on- coming traffic long enough for the medic's truck to turn false measure around and start to the dispensary with its tragic cargo. the tank retriever had never stopped lumbering along. there was a possibility that the driver didn't even know the griev- ous calamity he had caused. ronald awoke in bed in a base hospital, in full possession of his faculties for the first time in almost three days. he sat up to get his bearings. what had happened wasn't clear to him. at the moment he wasn't in pain. the drugs they had kept him full of to ease his agony and induce sleep, had spent themselves. he shifted his position, sensed his missing leg, and with his right arm automatically reached to touch the top of the covers where his leg would have been. the arm couldn't reach that far. when he realized that his forearm was gone and the upper arm was bandaged from the elbow back, he mumbled inaudibly and fainted on his pillow. the soldier in the next bed had been watching him and called the nurse. then it was more drugs, to bring him to, this time. on the night of the accident, no time had been wasted getting ronald out of the truck and on the examination table in the dispensary. he was unconscious. the surgeon, assisted by a technician, ligated the exposed blood vessels, sutured the laid-bare flesh, and gave him a transfusion. tem- porary medications were applied. the operation was quick. the surgeon felt ronald's pulse. it was steady. "he'll live. we'll let him rest there a while and then send him off to base hospital. call an ambulance. the personnel carrier that brought him here will bounce him around too much." ronald began to stir, gaining consciousness. he muttered unintelligibly, moved his head from side to side, grimaced as if in torment. the technician asked him if he were in pain. ronald didn't answer. he continued muttering. the surgeon observed him for a minute. "he's coming out of it, but he's suffering. they don't always in cases like this. sometimes the shock eliminates the sensations of pain." he injected morphine. "this will take care of him until he gets to the hospital." false measure hours later at the base hospital ronald was given an- other transfusion, followed by three more within the next two days. doses of barbiturates assuaged his suffering and kept him calm, never more than half awake. "no more sedatives," the ward surgeon said on the sec- ond day. "he's physically sound, good heart, lungs, and all. was a healthy, strong chap. i want to see what his mental reaction will be when he discovers his injuries. we'll have to do a little more surgery on that leg and arm in a couple of days. he shouldn't have any more pain but if he seems to be suffering when he wakes up, let me know before you give him anything." the nurse was standing over ronald when he opened his eyes after his fainting spell. she smiled down at him. "how do you feel today, sergeant?" "all right, i guess. there's a lot i don't understand though. what i'm doing here to begin with, and what hap- pened to my leg and arm. can you give me a fill-in?" "sure i can. what i know i got from your history sheet. you were riding along a road somewhere with a driver and the car ran off the road and down an embankment. it turned over, killing your driver and cutting off your leg and arm. you were given first aid by some passing soldiers and taken to a nearby dispensary where you were given emergency treatment. then you were brought here." "how long have i been here?" "you're in your third day." "and my poor driver was killed?" "yes, that's what the report said." "that's tragic. he was a nice guy and a good driver. i remember vaguely now. we were run off the road by a huge approaching vehicle. i didn't make out what in the darkness. i think it was a tank retriever. that's all i remember. it's too bad about my driver." ronald took a deep breath, looked down at the flat spread, held up the stump of his arm. "maybe it would have been better if i had been killed too. i won't be any good to anybody in this condition." "don't say that, sergeant. in two weeks you'll be walking around," the nurse said. she patted his face. false measure "no. i haven't. in fact, they haven't heard from me since i left england, about four weeks ago. my last letters told them they might not hear from me for some days. they've read about the invasion by now and probably assume i was in it." seating herself on the bench beside him, her back to the piano, the nurse said, "you should write and let them know you're here and doing all right." "doing all right?" "i mean inform them you were injured and also that you're recovering." "recovering? i'll never recover." "well, let's say then, you're recuperating or regaining your physical strength. they've got to find it out someday, soon, too, because you'll be going home in a few days. you should prepare them beforehand for your homecoming and what to expect. it will make it easier on both sides." "first of all, i'm right-handed and i've got to train my- self to write with my left hand. but that isn't the reason i haven't written since i've been here. one of the red cross workers offered to write dictated letters for me. you and the other nurses would do it too, i know. it's that i've been so depressed i know it would be conveyed in my correspond- ence. i don't want to worry and upset them more than is necessary. it would make matters worse if the letters came in another person's handwriting." "they could be typed." "i could type out a letter myself with my left hand but i haven't reached the right mental stage yet." "i'll see that a typewriter is made available to you. you're being transferred to an evacuation hospital in a couple of days and from there home on the first boat or plane. if you don't write promptly you might beat your letters home. you will write? right away?" "not today. what i'm going to say i'll have to turn over in my mind all night, so i'll say it properly and cause the least alarm. i'll write in the morning." "your parents?" "my sister. she'll be able to take it better and then pass it on gradually to my father. my mother's dead." false measure "your fiance?" "i'll write her a short note that i'm coming home. i'll ask my sister to fill her in on the details." "how do you feel about your engagement now?" "i'm more confirmed in my conviction that for me to insist she marry me as i am now, would be selfishly cruel. swept by sympathetic emotions she would undoubtedly marry me as soon as i can get enough time off after i get back. but i know she would regret it as time went on and my limitations would become real, breaking through the com- passionate impulses that impelled her into marriage with me. we used to swim, ride horseback and bicycles, play tennis, skate, and dance together. we were good at these things and enjoyed them together. for me, those sprightly pleasures are over. she liked to hear me play. i can no longer do that. all these activities, delightful to both of us, made companionship. companionship is an important part of love. without it there is no love. we were in love. now there is no more of the companionship that caused us to fall in love, so the love is gone, and i don't want anybody to marry me out of pity. about the only part of our love that remains is intellectual compatibility, and that's a far cry from full love." "do you love her?" "that question requires more than a simple yes or no answer." ronald fished a cigarette and packet of matches from the right pocket of his robe. he put the cigarette to his lips and, without being asked, the nurse took the matches from his hand, struck and held one for him. he took two deep draws, exhaled, watched the smoke billow across the room. "love is reciprocating," he continued. "i couldn't love you if you didn't love me. love is a compound. the elements are a male and a female each contributing like amounts. if i say i love you and you don't love me, i am calling something love that isn't love. it might be that i look up to you, or respect you for some particular achieve- ment, or emulate you, or in my mind inflate some segment of love in which we are compatible, such as bare sex, and call it love, but it isn't. since i'm no longer able to reciprocate, i couldn't love my fiancee and she couldn't love me. we false measure were in love. i don't believe any finer example of love ex- isted anywhere or at any time. joan is in love with me as i was, and i am unable to love her as i am. together, the best we could do today would be to reminisce. that would hold us awhile. later, being the lively, vivacious person she is, she would become restless. and what would that mean? it would mean she should have a companion in the areas where she and i wouldn't be compatible. at first she wouldn't. she'd suffer out of respect for my feelings, and i would suffer with her knowing my inability to mitigate her predicament. at length she would become irritable. eventually, known or unknown to me, she would, or should, have a companion to fill out her life. now, in answer to your question: no, i do not love joan. i do love and cherish my memories of our former relationship." the nurse was thoughtfully silent; then she said, "if i were you i wouldn't make an irrevocable decision. you don't know what her attitude will be. she may be unwilling to permit you to break the engagement." "as i said before, she'll want to marry me right away, feeling sorry for me. but as time passes and we talk it over, she'll understand why we shouldn't. and she'll be glad she didn't." "yours is an unusual, yet i must say realistic, approach in such a circumstance. you have a rare unselfishness. some other men i've talked with here, in worse condition than you, expect their loved ones to be waiting for them with open arms, however they return. perhaps it would have been a good thing for them to sit down and analyze their new sit- uation as you have done. they would be able to meet their homecoming problems more easily. and problems there will be." ronald took a framed pocket-size photograph from his robe pocket, handed it to the nurse. "this is my joan." she studied it. "sergeant, she's gorgeous! absolutely beautiful!" she turned to him. "you mean to tell me a girl like this wants to marry you and you would turn her down?" she shook her head. "i don't intend to spoil the memory of our love by mar- rying her and seeing it deteriorate to a level where we would false measure mildred. you're not that good an actress. your nerves will snap if you continue this way." abruptly, she stopped talking and momentarily looked straight at him, her eyes filling and displaying all the warmth that a loving sister has for a brother. tears began to flow in torrents and she buried her head in his chest and sobbed. ronald stroked her hair as she gave vent to her pent-up emotions. she needed that cry. her voice muffled in her brother's chest, she said, "ronald, i tried so hard not to do this. but i couldn't help it." he continued to brush her hair lightly with his hand. "i understand, sis, you're not made of iron. go ahead and have it out." "my darling brother!" she moaned. after a time she raised her head, glanced around the room furtively to see if she had been noticed, took a handkerchief from her purse, and proceeded to dry her face. ronald was silent, his arm about her shoulder. smooth- ing powder on her face, and peering in the compact mirror she held in front of her, she said, "i have so much to tell you. where shall i begin?" "suit yourself. no, begin with dad first, because after you tell me about joan i have some things to say and i would like to learn both of their reactions before i begin talking." "well," mildred commenced, "i received your letter on the morning of the fourth day after you wrote it. they must have sent it air mail. when i read it i very nearly collapsed and it wasn't until late evening that i was in a presentable condition to discuss its contents with anyone else. i called up joan about ten o'clock and told her i wanted to see her as soon as possible. she said she wanted to see me right away too because she had received a strange letter from you. she doesn't live far from me so i was at her house in fifteen min- utes. so much for that part of it. i'll go on to the part about daddy and then come back to joan. "the next morning i telephoned daddy and told him i had to see him very soon. he wanted to know if anything had happened to me or my husband or if i needed money. i told him no, nothing like that. it was that i had a letter from you and wanted to talk with him about it. do you false measure a near date. the president asked daddy if he had anyone in mind he wished to be pastor of the church and daddy said no, and that he didn't give a damn whom they chose so long as they fired their present pastor. the pastor got wind that daddy was in back of his removal and he went by one of daddy's places and tried to see him. daddy refused and sent one of his men out to tell the minister that he ought to go south and take over a country church. that's where he be- longed, not in boston. or else he could get himself a jani- tor's job. "the following sunday, the minister preached his last sermon at that church. daddy telephoned me and told me that the church had a new young minister. the former pas- tor was to be removed from the draft board because he no longer occupied the position in the community that he held when he was appointed. the new pastor will probably take his place." "dad is certainly vindictive," ronald said. "i might have been sent to the pacific and been killed, even if i had been deferred until june, ." mildred took two cigarettes from her bag, put both be- tween her lips in a v-shape, lit them, and handed one to ronald. "chances are," she said, "if you had gone in the army some months later, you would have been sent to of- ficers' school when you completed your basic training and after that you'd have still been in the states training troops. daddy loves you and me and he would go to any lengths, short of murder, to get even with anyone who does us harm. and that preacher was certainly mean to you." "i know dad loves us and that preacher appeared to be unnecessarily hateful to me. why, i don't know. dad surely got even with him but i don't know that i would have gone that far." "well, you know daddy. once he makes up his mind to do something there's no deterring him." she paused. "now let me tell you about joan. you remember i said i went to see joan the night after i received your letter. i had previ- ously talked with her on the phone and she said she had received a strange letter from you. i tried not to, but i sup- pose i showed in my face that i had some grave information false measure with the counsel that he should get a good night's sleep. "lift your spirits, son," he said. "everything's going to be all right. i'll see to that." "i'll do my best, dad, for your sake." ronald went to the orderly sitting at a table at the end of the ward. it was two o'clock. "will you do me a special favor and mail this letter when you go off duty this morn- ing? without fail?" "of course, sergeant. i'll keep it right here in front of me so i won't forget." "thanks a million. it's to my fiancee and i want her to receive it tomorrow." then he said, "i think i'll make a last trip to the bath and turn in for good. good night, corporal." "good night, sergeant." ronald had slowly and neatly printed the letter to joan with his left hand. it was waiting for her when she arrived home from school. she had had an awful day in her classes. she could think of nothing but ronald. she was reluctant to open the letter. he might have said some things to make her feel bad. she sat in an armchair and tore it open. this is what ronald had written: dearest joan: the ronald gregory that you knew, loved you as much as any man could possibly love a woman. and i know you loved him. i earnestly hope that ere long you will meet and marry a man who will love you and make the good husband that the ronald gregory you knew would have made. you deserve no less. try to understand. i have grown weary of this new life. goodbye. fondly, a different ronald joan dropped her hands in her lap despairingly and the letter slipped to the floor. she sat motionlessly staring at the opposite wall. an hour later prudence came in, took one look at her still in the same position, and went over to her. she put her arms around her and said, "come on now, baby. you can't go on like this." false measure thinking he was such a nice, sweet guy that she couldn't hurt him and this thought made her press his arm tighter. cours- ing through his mind was the fact that he had wanted to ask joan to marry him ever since december but he had put it off until what he considered a more propitious time. as previously, reminiscences of ronald abided with her but her mourning now was less acute. each knew the basis of the other's thoughts. they were silent until clifford had seated himself be- hind the wheel and stepped on the starter. the motor idled and he said to joan, standing on the sidewalk close to the side of the car, "i won't come back for two weeks, joan, and by then i hope you will have arrived at your answer." "i will, clifford. drive carefully." during the following days and nights joan gave weighty consideration to clifford's proposal. he wasn't bad to look at, he had plenty of money, he was intelligent, he was kind, thoughtful, and generous. with all that, he still wasn't a ronald. but where would she find another ronald? she could look the country over and not find one. there was the question of age. she was twenty-three and he was thirty-nine. a difference of sixteen years! on second thought, that wasn't too bad, because look what beatrice did. in the summer of , when she was twenty-two, she had married a forty-five- year-old widower, a judge from new york. he was more than old enough to be her father. she couldn't have loved him. she was after security. it almost broke oliver's heart when her engagement was announced and he said he knew beatrice didn't love that old man. the judge was in boston for a bar association meeting and mr. harrison brought him home to dinner. he met beatrice and in three months they were married. beatrice had sent oliver an invitation to the wedding but he didn't go. beatrice didn't care; she knew what she wanted. getting back to clifford, he's surely not old enough to be my father and he probably has more money than the judge .... clifford isn't animated like ronald, but he has a cultured, reserved dignity. he's not as light as ron- ald either but he's certainly far from black. he wouldn't be under consideration if he were. "oh, i should stop comparing him with ronald and false measure accept or reject him on his own merits. now the sex angle: he's so dignified i can't imagine myself enjoying a night in bed with him. another thing, i bet ronald wouldn't have married a 'pig in a poke.' " she laughed to herself. "i should put such vulgar thoughts out of my head." joan discussed clifford with her father. he told her to stop comparing clifford with ronald. at that rate she'd never have a husband because she would never find anybody exactly like ronald. besides, she might be overrating some qualities she thought she found in ronald and was looking for in somebody else. "as you grow older," he said, "your interests change. you associate ronald with the fun you two had as college kids. you don't know how he would have been as a husband. he might have retained his carefree college attitude too long after marriage and you might have become disappointed in him. you're a grown woman now and have been supporting yourself. you're maturing. every time you come home after an absence of months i see it more and more. a woman like you should look for these main things in a prospective husband: does he have as much sense in his head as you have? can he be a good provider? is his dis- position such that you feel you won't be scrapping every other minute after you get under the same roof with him? there are other aspects which are important but you couldn't find them all out until after you get married. and if the man proves lacking in some matters, but meets the main requirements, you make an adjustment to fit the sit- uation. naturally i don't know clifford as well as you do, but he appears to offer the three main requirements. how- ever, the final decision is yours, not mine." joan noticed that her father hadn't mentioned sex but she didn't bring it up. joan admonished her father not to let on that he had advance information if she should say yes to clifford and then clifford should go to him to ask for his daughter's hand. during the third week of july, , the following an- nouncement, beneath a specially posed photo portraying all joan's delicate loveliness, appeared in the local springfield press: false measure announcement has been made by mr. and mrs. g. w. turner of the engagement of their daughter, joan, to clifford farnsworth, son of mr. and mrs. henry farnsworth. an early september wedding has been planned. miss turner is an alumna of smith college and harvard university graduate school, where she re- ceived her master's degree. she is an instructor on the staff of the mitchell high school in new york city. the prospective bridegroom was graduated from the wharton school of finance, university of pennsylvania, and received his master's degree from the harvard university graduate school of business administration. he is vice-president in charge of the new york offices of the alcorn life insurance company. having made up her mind to go ahead and marry clifford after weighing every factor, joan dove into prep- arations for her nuptials with a zest which belied her previ- ous indecision. she took off for new york and ordered her wedding gown and then went on an exuberant shopping spree. the housing shortage brought on by the war was be- ginning to manifest itself in new york but clifford put three real estate agencies to work and a six-and-a-half-room apartment in an exclusive section was found for them. joan was satisfied with the bare apartment's size, location, and potentials when the agency took them to see it. "fix it up as you wish. the sky's the limit," clifford told joan. she sat down with decorators from w. & j. sloane and planned the d£cor and furnishings, some of which were not immedi- ately available. anyway, everything would be in readiness in september before they would return from their honey- moon. this was exciting! she hired a maid who was to be on hand as soon as the apartment was ready. clifford's facto- tum would be around because clifford was giving up his bachelor apartment, or at least he was supposed to. meanwhile, aunt josephine gave joan a linen shower in springfield and prudence gave her a china shower in new false measure york. mrs. harrison cunningly decoyed her to boston citing a bogus, imminent tragedy and joan, apprehensive, walked into a miscellaneous shower. with wedding presents yet to come she already had more gifts than she would be able to get into her apartment. some things would be packed away until the scarcity of building materials eased and clifford could build her the house he had promised. the fourth day of september, two days before the wed- ding, joan's clan began to converge on springfield. the first arrivals were for the rehearsal next day. after the rehearsal joan posed in her wedding gown for commercial photog- raphers, local news photographers, and photographers from the negro newspapers in new york. the wedding was held in the medium-sized red brick episcopal church where mr. turner was one of the wardens. the weather was the kind all brides pray for — balmy and sunshiny. joan was married by the minister who had known her since she was born. as she moved down the aisle on her father's arm to the strains of mendelssohn's wedding march, the radiance and ethereal beauty that only joan turner pos- sessed was accentuated by her exquisite gown of antique ivory lace worn over an ivory satin slip. the sleeves were long and close-fitting. the snug bodice was buttoned up the back by tiny pearly buttons. the billowy, flared skirt had a train three yards long. her long, handmade lace veil was fastened to a tiara of pearls. prudence was the matron of honor. all the bridesmaids were not her closest friends. most of her closest friends were married, but they were there, some with their husbands. all of boston's negro best was there, including mr. (now judge) harrison and mrs. harrison, oliver, and mr. greg- ory. most of new york's negro society was on hand, represented by mildred and her husband, margaret and hers, helen terrence, beatrice and her husband judge lynch, prudence and her husband, and many more. doris was there with her naval officer husband. edwina was there, minus her husband who was in the army overseas. adrienne came up from richmond and her husband, who was in the coast guard, joined her there. other schoolmates at smith, the dean, and some of the professors came. all the close fam- the self-service elevator door opened on the sixth floor. joan stepped off, strolled to the third door to the right, and pushed the button. many were the times she had entered this door, joan mused as she waited. daily, during the year she taught at mitchell high school and frequently since. this was the apartment of her closest friend. she could hear prudence coming to the door and saying to someone, "i guess this is joan." then prudence opened the door and cried out, "hi, joan, you gorgeous thing." they hugged each other, joan bubbling, "hi, you pretty spanish doll." "for once you're on time," prudence said as they walked to the living room. joan's fingers were at her neck unfasten- ing her shoulder wrap when prudence exclaimed, "wait a minute. don't take that off yet. i want to see something." she flicked on a brighter light. "that's new, joan, and it's mar- velous. with all the furs you've got — and i've seen them all — even in the dark i knew this was a new one." it was an expensively elegant russian sable stole. "when did you get it?" casually, joan answered, "today, from clifford. this is our eighth anniversary." "it certainly is, joan. does time fly! clifford is deter- mined that you'll always be new york's best-dressed woman and have everything else you want." she took joan's stole, hat, and gloves, and put them in another room. when she returned, she took a seat beside joan on the lounge and said, "john's in the kitchen mixing us some drinks. before he comes in there's something i want to ask you. copulatively speaking, is clifford still reneging? we talked about it years ago, a few months after your mar- riage and once or twice since, but recently we haven't dis- cussed it and i wondered." joan sighed. "there's no change. clifford realizes we're false measure prudence called to john to hurry in with the drinks. when he had set the tray containing soda, scotch, and a bowl of ice on the cocktail table and exchanged greetings with joan, prudence told him to go in the back with a news- paper and a drink and stay there until she and joan finished talking. "if the bell rings and it's dick robinson, keep him back there with you until i call you." "you certainly do order him around," joan laughingly remarked when john had left the room with a newspaper. "he's like an old shoe," prudence explained. "ever since dunlap and i were divorced, which will be a year next month, john has been my stand-by. always a ready es- cort and takes me anywhere i want to go, theater, shows, and so on. he mentioned marriage to me once and i told him no so sharply he hasn't mentioned it since. he's an architect, has a good income. he's nice, too nice, but after my experi- ence with dr. dunlap i'm not venturing into marriage again soon. but don't let me get started on my problems. continue on with yours, i'll come back to mine." she handed joan a glass. before taking a sip, joan said, "i really wouldn't care if that robinson fellow doesn't show up tonight. when i talk with you about my marriage — i haven't talked with anyone else except a psychiatrist once, and i wouldn't — it depresses me. i wanted with all my heart to have a completely happy marriage and be a good wife, and i tried. god knows i did. to an extent that al- most caused me to have a nervous breakdown." the two women thoughtfully finished their drinks and put their glasses down. prudence went across the room and picked up a pack of cigarettes, took one out, and lit it. then she said, "excuse me, joan, will you have one? i was so busy thinking, i forgot my manners." "no thanks, prudence, i prefer my own." joan took one from her purse. prudence sat down again. "you spoke of a psychiatrist. i didn't know you had been to one." "yes, a long time ago, toward the end of my first year of marriage. i haven't been back since. whenever i have the same symptoms i know what's the matter and don't need a professional diagnosis. i'll return to that. let's revert to mex- false measure charitable organizations which utilized some of my time, and i joined the concordians. clifford took me out often, as he still does, so my days and evenings were rather full and my mind didn't dwell on the inharmonious phase of our mar- riage. nevertheless, i began to become uninterested in my many activities and some days i wouldn't go out. i felt i needed a change — to what, i didn't know. "i thought maybe if i started teaching again it might be a help. i sought clifford's approval but he put his foot down firmly. 'my wife isn't going to work,' he said. 'you can have anything you want, do anything else you wish, but not that.' "my mood didn't improve. it became worse. i began to suffer from insomnia and i lost my appetite. clifford was concerned and he would come in at night and force me to eat, having learned from the maid that i hadn't eaten all day. he would give me a big drink before dinner, expecting it to give me an appetite, and another before retiring to make me sleep. it didn't do any good. i became dull and nervous and irritable. i bawled out my darling maid several times for no reason whatever. she took it good-naturedly, believing i was ill. one night i didn't close my eyes at all. clifford had the doctor there first thing in the morning. he examined me as thoroughly as he could at home and found nothing wrong. he asked me if i had any pains anywhere and i said all i suffered was an occasional headache. "i went to his office and he asked me if i was sleeping and eating better. i told him both were worse. he gave me an exhaustive examination and all the usual tests. when the results of the tests were returned to him, he called me to his office and sat me down for a conference. his first question was, 'is your appetite better and are you sleeping better?' i said no to both. "he said there was absolutely nothing wrong with me, that i was a perfect physical specimen. something was troubling my mind, he said. what it was he didn't know. was i getting along with my husband? he asked. "i said, 'well... yes.' "sensing that i was averse to discussing family intimacies, he said, 'i'm going to refer you to a good psychiatrist. he's more competent to administer the type of therapy you need false measure "when i got up to leave he said there wasn't any use coming back to him unless i brought clifford. it would be a waste of money because he couldn't give me any more advice than he had already given. in brief, i needed a man. suppose he won't come in, i begged. what will i do? in that case you'll have to solve your problem as best you can, he told me. we shook hands and i left his office in a quandary. i never went back because before i could broach the sub- ject to clifford, i learned of his clandestine actions." "how did you find out, joan? we both learned it at ap- proximately the same time. i remember my big-mouthed ex-husband laughingly telling me about it a day or two be- fore i was at your house and you told me." "my maid emma told me. you see, clifford never gave up the apartment he had as a bachelor, although for a long while i thought he had. george, whom you've seen working around my house at times, was hired by clifford about five years before we married. he kept house for clifford and drove for him. he was a chauffeur-butler. after clifford and i were settled in our apartment, george drove for me when- ever i wanted him to, and for clifford. i also used him as a butler whenever i needed him. "it seems george had been drinking heavily one morn- ing he was supposed to drive me downtown shopping. emma came to my room and told me she didn't think i should ride with george that morning because he was drunk. she asked me to take a look at him. i did and told him to go home and sleep it off. when emma went back to the kitchen where he was, he told her that he would rather drive for mr. farns- worth's girl friend than drive for me anyway. he said she wouldn't be afraid to ride with him. he wasn't that drunk. emma was surprised and began to pump him. george was glib. he told her clifford had never given up his bachelor apartment and that he, george, was still living there as care- taker as he had before mr. farnsworth's marriage. he said mr. farnsworth's girl friend lived there and clifford visited the apartment three or four times a week but seldom stayed overnight, only preceding or immediately following an out- of-town trip. you get it, don't you, prudence? i would think false measure drive up here and drop dunlap off and then go on because he would be seen. even you might have seen him. so, he told dunlap he had to make a stop and made the mistake of in- viting dunlap to come along. dunlap noted george un- loading clifford's bags and was somewhat bewildered. up- stairs in the apartment he took the situation in. the girl was there and acted as hostess. clifford, not knowing how talkative dunlap is, asked him not to divulge his knowledge of the hideaway or that he had encountered clifford a day earlier than he was supposed to be in town. dunlap spent the evening with them and came directly home and told me. he didn't tell me about his own activities, but, knowing him as i do now, he undoubtedly called one of his numerous girl friends and had her meet him there. that was the basic reason for our divorce. his many amours and his boldness with them was more than i could stand. at least clifford keeps his hidden. dunlap pointed out clifford's girl friend to me one time. she's attractive and dresses well." "yes, she is," joan acknowledged. "a striking, flaming redhead. i was driving emma to one of her relatives in the bronx and she pointed her out to me. i've recognized her on the street many times since. i'll never forget her. to this day, i've never said anything to clifford about his affair or that i know he never gave up the apartment. the first few days after i discovered it, i was torn between confronting him with the evidence or filing for a divorce without saying a word to him. i was in no mental condition to face him. my remarks would have been too harsh. he was his usual kind, thoughtful, soft-spoken self. i didn't want to hurt him and i knew i would if i opened my mouth. "all during the days i was turning over in my mind what to do or what not to do i made it a point to be out when he came home in the evenings and to come home late in order not to have to talk to him. sometimes he would be out and at other times he would be in bed when i came in. as usual, i would find flowers and other gifts set out in a conspicuous location for me to notice. he would greet me pleasantly, as he customarily did; he gave no appearance of being aware of my further troubled state, in addition to the other, or that i had been out so many evenings during dinner, or my dis- false measure "let them stay there until we're through talking, if it's agreeable to you. soda?" "yes, fill it up. i guess it won't hurt them to stay where they are a little longer." "tell me," prudence asked, "what in the world does clifford think you've been doing about your sex life?" "i don't know, we've never discussed it. our position is about the same as it was before we married, except that now we're under the same roof together and he supports me lavishly." "do you know what i think? clifford looks upon you as his beautiful little goddess. you are just that beautiful. and subconsciously he feels that his divine lady would be defiled by vulgar coitus. he possesses the psychology of the respect- able young swain who courts the good girl not to be be- fouled by sex, and has a bad girl to have fun with. the trag- edy is his having carried this psychology over into his mar- ried life. the taboos and interdictions taught him in his younger days have confused him and rendered him impo- tent insofar as his wife is concerned. he wouldn't admit it in a discussion. it would take a psychiatrist to make him see it. "to him, you're on a pedestal. he wants you to be smartly dressed, have beautiful homes, fine cars, and every- thing else that goes with a woman like you, while he stands off to observe you in various settings proudly soliloquizing, 'that's my gorgeous goddess.' because of his inhibitions he needs an aggressive woman who will brush aside his timidity in sex matters and make up for his missing forwardness. he has such a woman. you're not of that nature. if you should suddenly act as she acts, it would be a terrible blow to him and it would alter his conception of his unsullied goddess." prudence stopped for a moment. her smile was pensive. "do you know if you were to divorce clifford he'd blow his top? he wouldn't be able to take it." "yes, i believe that, prudence. all you've said it true. i haven't wanted for a material thing since we've been mar- ried. in fact, he's forever buying or offering to buy me things i don't need or desire. often reading the newspaper or maga- zines, he'll see a gown, or jewelry, or furs, and he'll call me false measure "beatrice has only one thing that i envy her for. her lovely son. i'll never have any children. some of beatrice's malicious gossip about me has been irritating but i don't hold any animosity toward her. it's up to me to keep her from learning any of my business that she can spread. un- derneath it all, i suppose i still am fond of her and she's fond of me." "to see you two together one would think you were two loving sisters," prudence said. "maybe we should let the men come in now. we've been talking a long time. i must go soon. i'm not in a cheerful mood tonight, so i wouldn't be good company to help you entertain your guests. and i'm not as interested in dick robinson as i was last night. i'll simply tell him i have to go. afterward, you can tell him i'm ill or anything else you wish." "okay, joan. take your time about making up your mind when and if you want to see him again. you may not like him. he'll worry me to contact you but i'll steer him off. now i'll call them." prudence walked to the living room door. "john, you and dick can come in here now." the two men came in and seated themselves, dick after greeting both girls. then john asked what in the world they could have been talking about so long. "a problem that only concerns us two ladies," prudence answered curtly. "now mix us all a drink. joan's time is limited." "only this one for me," joan said, "and then i'll have to leave." "so soon?" dick inquired. "yes. maybe next time all of us will be able to spend more time together. tonight prudence and i had an impor- tant problem to discuss." joan held a brief, innocuous conversation with dick robinson, finished her drink, arose, and bade the men good night. robinson's face showed disappointment. at the front door prudence said, "see you at the meet- ing tomorrow afternoon. what are you going to wear?" "i don't know. hadn't thought about it." joan pushed the elevator button. false measure prudence stood in the doorway. the car came. as joan entered, prudence said, "i bet you'll wear something new." "i bet you do, too." they both tittered. "good night, joan." "good night, prudence. it was nice talking with you to- night. i need to get things off my chest now and then." "i loved it." "i'll park it for you, lady," the liveried doorman said, opening joan's car door when she pulled up in front of the canopy of flamingo's in the east fifties. "i'll send the keys in to your table, lady," he called to joan as she entered the revolving doors. adhering to her rule, joan's arrival was late and spec- tacular. she was enchantingly comely in a honey-beige, heavy silk faille dress, interwoven with threads of gold. the bod- ice, trim at the waist, was cut low with dropped shoulders. her clinging sleeves were bracelet length. the slender skirt sheathed her neat posterior. her elbow-length doeskin gloves were pale green. her ankle-strapped sandals were beige suede and she carried a green suede purse. a pale green felt picture hat, worn slightly back, shaded her face. a pastel mink cape stole draped her shoulders. her necklace was antique gold with matching earrings and bracelet. all the other club members were there when joan en- tered. they were seated at a long banquet table, amidst palms and other large overhanging plants, sipping cocktails. when they spied joan a murmur went up. here comes our beautiful joan. isn't she glamor personified! joan moved from one to the other with her feminine greetings, a pat here, an embrace there, a kiss on a cheek. she took her seat between mildred and margaret. each girl at the table was fashionably dressed and attractive. practically every one of them looked white and the one or two who didn't would have been taken for anything but negroes. they had an- other round of cocktails and then were served their lunch. they gossiped and in small groups debated the issue for which the gathering had been called. at the end of the meal, beatrice, lordly in manner and seemly in her close-fitting hat and veil, rose from her chair in the center of the table and called the meeting to order. she said the meeting would be informal and that they had false measure you are a good deal more than that — i don't know how to express it." joan smiled and nodded and the photographer moved on. she slipped her arm in clifford's. they walked over and took seats at a table with veronica and helen, the two least phony girls in their set. clifford started a conversation in a vein he and joan had covered before from opposite viewpoints. "there is money to be made in these race relations organizations," he said. "that is, by the negro executives. i've been watching them around here this afternoon and thinking what hypocrites they are. my conscience wouldn't permit me to hold the jobs they hold with the philosophy they entertain." joan was taken aback, knowing what his statement might lead to. "clifford, why do you say such things?" she added, "no, let's not go into that. other people may not have the same views and might resent yours." "i know exactly what clifford means," veronica chimed in. "i do too," helen said. joan mildly commanded, "clifford, order me a drink. i can see the direction the conversation is going and i'll need it." clifford signaled a waiter and ordered drinks for every- body. "clifford means," helen explained, "that the so-called leaders of these organizations are not in touch with the common negroes they're supposed to represent. they con- sider themselves better than they are and wouldn't mix with them." "to be a leader, you have to have followers," veronica added. "who follows these guys? i'm glad you said 'so-called' leaders, helen." clifford went on, "the trouble is, these fellows are listened to by responsible, powerful whites as authorities on negro problems, yet they have no contact with the negro mass — and won't. can you imagine him," he pointed to a prominent lawyer, "at a gathering where everybody present was ordinary, rubbing shoulders with them, and listening to their problems?" false measure it would be a long time before they would admit another member to their select group. the meeting over, harriet's husband, in crisp apron and chef's cap, was charcoal-broiling steaks, assisted by a waiter. whatever anyone wanted to drink was handy. the girls gathered in small groups to gossip and converse about what they had done and what they planned to do. there was talk of the ballet, the opera, the theater. one made as many first nights as possible. if not the first night, as soon after the opening as one could. one must be able to say one saw this or that play, opera, ballet, ice-show, and so on. mildred was at the piano. harriet had her well-bred young son by the hand and was leading him about to speak to the girls. like beatrice's son, he attended an exclusive private school. helen was standing under the marquee of the savoy, waiting for her escort to rejoin her after parking his car up the block. she was wearing a heavy crimson strapless gown, with folds of the slim skirt draped on the left side. her coat was sable. it was eleven o'clock on the night of the con- cordians' exclusive dance. veronica, in gold taffeta gown and platina fox wrap, walked up to helen on the arm of her escort. mildred, in a white satin brocade gown, gold sandals, and pearl jewelry, got out of her car and went over to stand with them while her husband parked their car. beatrice, in an ice-blue satin gown, blue satin sandals, diamond jewelry, and a silver-blue mink coat came up to them on her hus- band's arm. along came joan and clifford; joan was attired in a black velvet gown with a snug-fitting strapless bodice. her skirt was long and flaring. her necklace, earrings, and bracelet were diamond, her wedding present from mr. gregory eight years before. her sandals were silver and her black velvet evening bag was rhinestone-studded. her wrap was ermine. others joined the group. police lines held back the gapers on both sides of the entrance, keeping open a path from the curb. there were police at the door with the at- tendant to keep out gate-crashers. just inside, harriet was false measure handing a corsage of gardenias to each club member as she came in. a young negro and his girl, who had planned an eve- ning's dancing at the generally open-to-the-public savoy, came up to the police barrier, saw that the ticket window was closed, observed the fashionably dressed cluster of people under the marquee, and saw some more entering. he took his girl friend's arm. "c'mon, baby, let's go. the dicty folks have the place tonight." two white couples in street clothes, set for an evening's sight-seeing in harlem at the savoy, certain that it was al- ways open to the public, were baffled when they found the ticket window closed; they were brusquely shooed away from the entrance and told that admittance was by invitation only. they took a position behind the police lines and watched the smartly attired women accompanied by courtly men in evening clothes file past, and were more confused. they said, "most of the women are white and fashionable. those who aren't white are fashionable too. so are the men." this was contrary to their stereotyped conception of negroes. one man said, "i'll go over and ask one of those white women in that group how we can get in, if the police don't stop me." he walked around the crowd and out into the street, coming under the marquee from the curb. the two men who had been parking their cars came up, joined their women and the gathering in jolly conversation, and started moving toward the entrance. news photogra- phers' bulbs flashed. beatrice, swinging on her husband's arm, was enjoying a laugh with helen, when she felt someone touch her arm. she turned her head and a strange man said, "lady, could you tell me where i can get an invitation?" beatrice halted, her gay countenance of a second before disappearing, and with all the hauteur and frigid disdain she had at her command, exclaimed, "how dare you speak to me!" judge lynch glowered at him. the man stuttered, "ex- cuse me, lady," and made for his waiting friends. one of the policemen at the door, who recognized on sight every prominent person who approached, apologized false measure to clifford and the judge for their party's having been mo- lested, and added, "i ran them away from here once. now i'll really send them on their way." he went over to the two couples. "i told you once to get away from here! now get going. this is no night for your kind." still bewildered, they withdrew, not yet fully grasping that what they had just witnessed was the same as lower park avenue descending on the savoy. there was no way in the world they or their kind could have been there. joan preceded clifford in the door after he had turned the key. "it was a marvelous affair," she said, "and all the girls looked very good." "you're right. but none looked any better than you, and hardly any as good." "thank you, clifford." "when the girls posed for the club picture i remarked to judge lynch that you wouldn't find a prettier group of women anywhere." clifford sat down and pulled off his shoes. "i'm tired. that was too much dancing for a man my age." "clifford, what are you saying? you're not nearly as old as judge lynch and he spent most of the night on the dance floor." "yes, i know." clifford was asleep when joan had completed her toilette and turned out her night light. she lay awake thinking of her coming schedule. she had to go to chicago for a regional meeting of the naacp. she would look up doris, whom she hadn't seen for over three years. she should answer her last letter tomorrow .... then on to columbus to see aunt agnes. she might not get back for thanksgiving. then on to boston for a few days. she and clifford should be in springfield together christmas day. grandpa would be there and if she didn't see him this trip she might not ever again, because he was aging so. they must be in new york university of michigan the quest of the silver fleecewilliam edward burghardt du bois r the quest of the silver fleece by the same author the souls of black folk eighth edition large lima. fl.so net a. c. mcclurg & co., publishers chicago ' of i almost thou persuadest me to be a fool" [chapter xxix] the quest of the silver fleece a novel by w.e; burghardt doors author of "the souls of black folk" illustrated by h. s. de lay chicago a. c. mcclurg & co. r copyright a. c. mcclurg & co. published october, entered at stationers' hall, london, england i. . fall printing company chlraiui to one whose name may not be written but to whose tireless faith the shaping of these cruder thoughts to forms more fitly perfect is doubt- less due, this finished work is herewith dedicated v j <■ contents v.' i x chapter page i ii iii miss mary taylor iv v vi vii the place of dreams viii mr. harry cresswell ix x mr. tayloe calls . xi the flowering of the fleece xii the promise . xiii mrs. grey gives a dinner xiv xv xvi the great refusal xvii the rape of the fleece . xviii the cotton corner xix the dying of elspeth . xx the weaving of the silver fleece xxi the marriage morning . xxii miss caroline wynn xxiii the training of zora xxiv the education of alwyn xxv the campaign . xxvi congressman cresswell . . , xxvii the vision of zora . contents chapter page xxviii the annunciation . . xxix a master of fate . . xxx the return of zora . xxxi a parting of ways . . xxxii xxxiii the buying of the swamp . xxxrv the return of alwyn . . xxxv the cotton mill . . xxxvi xxxvii . xxxviii illustrations page "bles, almost thou persuadest me to be a fool" frontispiece they together, back in the swamp, shadowed by the foliage, began to fashion the wonderful gar- ment ........ "can it be, bles alwyn," she said, "that you don't know the sort of a girl she is?" . . . "i am not worthy of her," he answered, sinking before her ....... note he who would tell a tale must look toward three ideals: to tell it well, to tell it beautifully, and to tell the truth. the first is the gift of god, the second is the vision of genius, but the third is the reward of honesty. in the quest of the silver fleece there is little, i ween, divine or ingenious; but, at least, i have been honest. in no fact or picture have i consciously set down aught the counterpart of which i have not seen or known; and what- ever the finished picture may lack of completeness, this lack is due now to the story-teller, now to the artist, but never to the herald of the truth. new york city, the author. august , . the quest of the silver fleece chapter i dreams night fell. the red waters of the swamp grew sinister and sullen. the tall pines lost their slimness and stood in wide blurred blotches all across the way, and a great shadowy bird arose, wheeled and melted, murmuring, into the black-green sky. the boy wearily dropped his heavy bundle and stood still, listening as the voice of crickets split the shadows and made the silence audible. a tear wandered down his brown cheek. they were at supper now, he whis- pered — the father and old mother, away back yonder beyond the night. they were far away; they would never be as near as once they had been, for he had stepped into the world. and the cat and old billy — ah, but the world was a lonely thing, so wide and tall and empty! and so bare, so bitter bare! somehow he had never dreamed of the world as lonely before; he had fared forth to beckoning hands and luring, and to the eager hum of human voices, as of some great, swelling music. [ ] . the quest of the silver fleece yet now he was alone; the empty night was closing all about him here in a strange land, and he was afraid. the bundle with his earthly treasure had hung heavy and heavier on his shoulder; his little horde of money was tightly wadded in his sock, and the school lay hid- den somewhere far away in the shadows. he wondered how far it was; he looked and harkened, starting at his own heartbeats, and fearing more and more the long dark fingers of the night. then of a sudden, up from the darkness came music. it was human music, but of a wildness and a weirdness that startled the boy as it fluttered and danced across the dull red waters of the swamp. he hesitated, then im- pelled by some strange power, left the highway and slipped into the forest of the swamp, shrinking, yet fol- lowing the song hungrily and half forgetting his fear. a harsher, shriller note struck in as of many and ruder voices; but above it flew the first sweet music, birdlike, abandoned, and the boy crept closer. the cabin crouched ragged and black at the edge of black waters. an old chimney leaned drunkenly against it, raging with fire and smoke, while through the chinks winked red gleams of warmth and wild cheer. with a revel of shouting and noise, the music suddenly ceased. hoarse staccato cries and peals of laughter shook the old hut, and as the boy stood there peering through the black trees, abruptly the door flew open and a flood of light illumined the wood. amid this mighty halo, as on clouds of flame, a girl was dancing. she was black, and lithe, and tall, and willowy. her garments twined and flew around the deli- cate moulding of her dark, young, half-naked limbs. 'a heavy mass of hair clung motionless to her wide fore- dreams head. her arms twirled and flickered, and body and soul seemed quivering and whirring in the poetry of her motion. as she danced she sang. he heard her voice as be- fore, fluttering like a bird's in the full sweetness of her utter music. it was no tune nor melody, it was just form- less, boundless music. the boy forgot himself and all the world besides. all his darkness was sudden light; dazzled he crept forward, bewildered, fascinated, until with one last wild whirl the elf-girl paused. the crimson light fell full upon the warm and velvet bronze of her face — her midnight eyes were aglow, her full purple lips apart, her half hid bosom panting, and all the music dead. in- voluntarily the boy gave a gasping cry and awoke to swamp and night and fire, while a white face, drawn, red- eyed peering outward from some hidden throng within the cabin. "who 's that? " a harsh voice cried. "where?" "who is it?" and pale crowding faces blurred the light. the boy wheeled blindly and fled in terror stumbling through the swamp, hearing strange sounds and feeling stealthy creeping hands and arms and whispering voices. on he toiled in mad haste, struggling toward the road and losing it until finally beneath the shadows of a mighty oak he sank exhausted. there he lay a while trembling and at last drifted into dreamless sleep. it was morning when he awoke and threw a startled glance upward to the twisted branches of the oak that bent above, sifting down sunshine on his brown face and close- curled hair. slowly he remembered the loneliness, the fear and wild running through the dark. he laughed in the bold courage of day and stretched himself. the quest of the silver fleece then suddenly he bethought him again of that vision of the night — the waving arms and flying limbs of the girl, and her great black eyes looking into the night and calling him. he could hear her now, and hear that wondrous savage music. had it been real? had he dreamed? or had it been some witch-vision of the night, come to tempt and lure him to his undoing? where was that black and flaming cabin? where was the girl — the soul that had called him? she must have been real; she had to live and dance and sing; he must again look into the mystery of her great eyes. and he sat up in sudden determination, and, lo! gazed straight into the very eyes of his dreaming. she sat not four feet from him, leaning against the great tree, her eyes now languorously abstracted, now alert and quizzical with mischief. she seemed but half-clothed, and her warm, dark flesh peeped furtively through the rent gown; her thick, crisp hair was frowsy and rumpled, and the long curves of her bare young arms gleamed in the morning sunshine, glowing with vigor and life. a little mocking smile came and sat upon her lips. "what you run for?" she asked, with dancing mis- chief in her eyes. "because —" he hesitated, and his cheeks grew hot. "i knows," she said, with impish glee, laughing low music. "why?" he challenged, sturdily. "'you was a-feared." he bridled. "well, i reckon you 'd be a-feared if you was caught out in the black dark all alone." "pooh!" she scoffed and hugged her knees. "pooh! i've stayed out all alone heaps o' nights." he looked at her with a curious awe. dreams "i don't believe you," he asserted; but she tossed her head and her eyes grew scornful. "who's a-feared of the dark? i love night." her eyes grew soft. he watched her silently, till, waking from her day- dream, she abruptly asked: "where you from?" "georgia." "where's that?" he looked at her in surprise, but she seemed matter- of-fact. "it's away over yonder," he answered. "behind where the sun comes up?" "oh, no!" "then it ain't so far," she declared. "i knows where the sun rises, and i knows where it sets." she looked up at its gleaming splendor glinting through the leaves, and, noting its height, announced abruptly: "i'se hungry." "so 'm i," answered the boy, fumbling at his bundle; and then, timidly: "will you eat with me?" "yes," she said, and watched him with eager eyes. untying the strips of cloth, he opened his box, and disclosed chicken and biscuits, ham and corn-bread. she clapped her hands in glee. "is there any water near?" he asked. without a word, she bounded up and flitted off like a brown bird, gleaming dull-golden in the sun, glancing in and out among the trees, till she paused above a tiny black pool, and then came tripping and swaying back with hands held cupwise and dripping with cool water. "drink," she cried. obediently he bent over the little hands that seemed so soft and thin. he took a deep the quest of the silver fleece draught; and then to drain the last drop, his hands touched hers and the shock of flesh first meeting flesh startled them both, while the water rained through. a moment their eyes looked deep into each other's — a timid, startled gleam in hers; a wonder in his. then she said dreamily: "we'se known us all our lives, and — before, ain't we?" he hesitated. "ye — es — i reckon," he slowly returned. and then, brightening, he asked gayly: "and we 'll be friends al- ways, won't we?" "yes," she said at last, slowly and solemnly, and an- other brief moment they stood still. then the mischief danced in her eyes, and a song bubbled on her lips. she hopped to the tree. "come — eat!" she cried. and they nestled together amid the big black roots of the oak, laughing and talk- ing while they ate. "what's over there?" he asked pointing northward. "cresswell's big house." "and yonder to the west?" "the school." he started joyfully. "the school! what school?" "old miss' school." "miss smith's school?" "yes." the tone was disdainful. "why, that's where i 'm going. i was a-feared it was a long way off; i must have passed it in the night." "i hate it!" cried the girl, her lips tense. "but i 'll be so near," he explained. "and why do you hate it?" dreams u yes — you 'll be near," she admitted; "that 'll be nice; but —" she glanced westward, and the fierce look faded. soft joy crept to her face again, and she sat once more dreaming. "yon way 's nicest," she said. "why, what's there?" "the swamp," she said mysteriously. "and what's beyond the swamp?" she crouched beside him and whispered in eager, tense tones: "dreams!" he looked at her, puzzled. "dreams? " vaguely,— " dreams? why, dreams ain't — nothing." "oh, yes they is!" she insisted, her eyes flaming in misty radiance as she sat staring beyond the shadows of the swamp. "yes they is! there ain't nothing but dreams — that is, nothing much. "and over yonder behind the swamps is great fields full of dreams, piled high and burning; and right amongst them the sun, when he's tired o' night, whispers and drops red things, 'cept when devils make 'em black." the boy stared at her; he knew not whether to jeer or wonder. "how you know? " he asked at last, skeptically. "promise you won't tell?" "yes," he answered. she cuddled into a little heap, nursing her knees, and answered slowly. "i goes there sometimes. i creeps in 'mongst the dreams; they hangs there like big flowers, dripping dew and sugar and blood — red, red blood. and there's little fairies there that hop about and sing, and devils — great, ugly devils that grabs at you and roasts and eats the quest of the silver fleece you if they gits you; but they do n't git me. some devils is big and white, like ha'nts; some is long and shiny, like creepy, slippery snakes; and some is little and broad and black, and they yells —" the boy was listening in incredulous curiosity, half minded to laugh, half minded to edge away from the black-red radiance of yonder dusky swamp. he glanced furtively backward, and his heart gave a great bound. "some is little and broad and black, and they yells —" chanted the girl. and as she chanted, deep, harsh tones came booming through the forest: "zo-rat zo-ra! o — o — oh, zora!" he saw far behind him, toward the shadows of the swamp, an old woman — short, broad, black and wrinkled, with fangs and pendulous lips and red, wicked eyes. his heart bounded in sudden fear; he wheeled toward the girl, and caught only the uncertain flash of her garments — the wood was silent, and he was alone. he arose, startled, quickly gathered his bundle, and looked around him. the sun was strong and high, the morning fresh and vigorous. stamping one foot angrily, he strode jauntily out of the wood toward the big road. but ever and anon he glanced curiously back. had he seen a haunt? or was the elf-girl real? and then he thought of her words: "we'se known us all our lives." chapter ii the school day was breaking above the white buildings of the negro school and throwing long, low lines of gold in at miss sarah smith's front window. she lay in the stupor of her last morning nap, after a night of harrowing worry. then, even as she partially awoke, she lay still with closed eyes, feeling the shadow of some great burden, yet daring not to rouse herself and recall its exact form; slowly again she drifted toward uncon- sciousness. "bang! bang! bang!" hard knuckles were beating upon the door below. she heard drowsily, and dreamed that it was the nail- ing up of all her doors; but she did not care much, and but feebly warded the blows away, for she was very tired. "bang! bang! bang!" persisted the hard knuckles. she started up, and her eye fell upon a letter lying on her bureau. back she sank with a sigh, and lay star- ing at the ceiling — a gaunt, flat, sad-eyed creature, with wisps of gray hair half-covering her baldness, and a face furrowed with care and gathering years. it was thirty years ago this day, she recalled, since she first came to this broad land of shade and shine in alabama to teach black folks. [ ] the quest of the silver fleece it had been a hard beginning with suspicion and squalor around; with poverty within and without the first white walls of the new school home. yet somehow the struggle then with all its helplessness and disappoint- ment had not seemed so bitter as to-day: then failure meant but little, now it seemed to mean everything; then it meant disappointment to a score of ragged urchins, now it meant two hundred boys and girls, the spirits of a thousand gone before and the hopes of thousands to come. in her imagination the significance of these half dozen gleaming buildings perched aloft seemed porten- tous — big with the destiny not simply of a county and a state, but of a race — a nation — a world. it was god's own cause, and yet — "bang! bang! bang!" again went the hard knuckles down there at the front. miss smith slowly arose, shivering a bit and wonder- ing who could possibly be rapping at that time in the morning. she sniffed the chilling air and was sure she caught some lingering perfume from mrs. vanderpool's gown. she had brought this rich and rare-apparelled lady up here yesterday, because it was more private, and here she had poured forth her needs. she had talked long and in deadly earnest. she had not spoken of the endowment for which she had hoped so desperately dur- ing a quarter of a century — no, only for the five thousand dollars to buy the long needed new land. it was so little .— so little beside what this woman squandered — the insistent knocking was repeated louder than before. "sakes alive," cried miss smith, throwing a shawl about her and leaning out the window. "who is it, and what do you want?" the school « "please, ma'am, i 've come to school," answered a tall black boy with a bundle. "well, why don't you go to the office?" then she saw his face and hesitated. she felt again the old motherly instinct to be the first to welcome the new pupil; a luxury which, in later years, the endless push of details had denied her. "wait!" she cried shortly, and began to dress. a new boy, she mused. yes, every day they straggled in; every day came the call for more, more — this great, growing thirst to know — to do — to be. and yet that woman had sat right here, aloof, imperturbable, listen- ing only courteously. when miss smith finished, she had paused and, flicking her glove,— "my dear miss smith," she had said softly, with a tone that just escaped a drawl — " my dear miss smith, your work is interesting and your faith — marvellous; but, frankly, i cannot make myself believe in it. you are trying to treat these funny little monkeys just as you would your own children — or even mine. it's quite heroic, of course, but it's sheer madness, and i do not feel that i ought to encourage it. i would not mind a thousand or so to train a good cook for the cresswells, or the clean faithful maid for myself — for helene has faults — or indeed deft and tractable laboring-folk for any one; but i'm quite through trying to turn natural servants into masters of me and mine. i — hope i 'm not too blunt; i hope i make myself clear. you know, statistics show —" "drat statistics!" miss smith had flashed impatiently. "these are folks." mrs. vanderpool smiled indulgently. "to be sure," she murmured, "but what sort of folks?" the quest of the silver fleece "god's sort." "oh, well —" but miss smith had the bit in her teeth and could not have stopped. she was paying high for the privilege of talking, but it had to be said. "god's sort, mrs. vanderpool — not the sort that think of the world as arranged for their exclusive benefit and comfort." "well, i do want to count —" miss smith bent forward — not a beautiful pose, but earnest. "i want you to count, and i want to count, too; but i don't want us to be the only ones that count. i want to live in a world where every soul counts — white, black, and yellow — all. that 's what i 'm teaching these chil- dren here — to count, and not to be like dumb, driven cattle. if you don't believe in this, of course you can- not help us." "your spirit is admirable, miss smith," she had said very softly; "i only wish i could feel as you do. good- afternoon," and she had rustled gently down the narrow stairs, leaving an all but imperceptible suggestion of perfume. miss smith could smell it yet as she went down this morning. the breakfast bell jangled. "five thousand dollars," she kept repeating to herself, greeting the teachers ab- sently — " five thousand dollars." and then on the porch she was suddenly aware of the awaiting boy. she eyed him critically: black, fifteen, country-bred, strong, clear- eyed. "well?" she asked in that brusque manner wherewith her natural timidity was wont to mask her kindness. "well, sir?" the school * "i've come to school." "humph — we can't teach boys for nothing." the boy straightened. "i can pay my way," he re- turned. "you mean you can pay what we ask?" "why, yes. ain't that all?" "no. the rest is gathered from the crumbs of dives' table." then he saw the twinkle in her eyes. she laid her hand gently upon his shoulder. "if you don't hurry you 'll be late to breakfast," she said with an air of confidence. "see those boys over there? follow them, and at noon come to the office — wait! what's your name?" "blessed alwyn," he answered, and the passing teach- ers smiled. chapter iii miss mary taylor miss mary taylor did not take a college course for the purpose of teaching negroes. not that she objected to negroes as human beings — quite the contrary. in the debate between the senior societies her defence of the fifteenth amendment had been not only a notable bit of reasoning, but delivered with real enthusiasm. nevertheless, when the end of the summer came and the only opening facing her was the teaching of children at miss smith's experiment in the alabama swamps, it must be frankly confessed that miss taylor was disappointed. her dream had been a post-graduate course at bryn mawr; but that was out of the question until money was earned. she had pictured herself earning this by teach- ing one or two of her " specialties " in some private school near new york or boston, or even in a western college. the south she had not thought of seriously; and yet, knowing of its delightful hospitality and mild climate, she was not averse to charleston or new orleans. but from the offer that came to teach negroes — country negroes, and little ones at that — she shrank, and, in- deed, probably would have refused it out of hand had it not been for her queer brother, john. john taylor, [ ] miss mary taylor who had supported her through college, was interested in cotton. having certain schemes in mind, he had been struck by the fact that the smith school was in the midst of the alabama cotton-belt. "better go," he had counselled, sententiously. "might learn something useful down there." she had been not a little dismayed by the outlook, and had protested against his blunt insistence. "but, john, there's no society — just elementary work •—" john had met this objection with, "humph!" as he left for his office. next day he had returned to the subject. "been looking up tooms county. find some cress- wells there — big plantations — rated at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. some others, too; big cotton county." "you ought to know, john, if i teach negroes i'll scarcely see much of people in my own class." "nonsense! butt in. show off. give 'em your greek — and study cotton. at any rate, i say go." and so, howsoever reluctantly, she had gone. the trial was all she had anticipated, and possibly a bit more. she was a pretty young woman of twenty- three, fair and rather daintily moulded. in favorable surroundings, she would have been an aristocrat and an epicure. here she was teaching dirty children, and the smell of confused odors and bodily perspiration was to her at times unbearable. then there was the fact of their color: it was a fact so insistent, so fatal she almost said at times, that she could not escape it. theoretically she had always treated it with disdainful ease. the quest of the silver fleece "what's the mere color of a human soul's skin," she had cried to a wellesley audience and the audience had applauded with enthusiasm. but here in alabama, brought closely and intimately in touch with these dark skinned children, their color struck her at first with a sort of terror — it seemed ominous and forbidding. she found herself shrinking away and gripping herself lest they should perceive. she could not help but think that in most other things they were as different from her as in color. she groped for new ways to teach colored brains and marshal colored thoughts and the result was puzzling both to teacher and student. with the other teachers she had little commerce. they were in no sense her sort of folk. miss smith represented the older new england of her parents — honest, inscrutable, determined, with a conscience which she worshipped, and utterly un- selfish. she appealed to miss taylor's ruddier and daintier vision but dimly and distantly as some memory of the past. the other teachers were indistinct person- alities, always very busy and very tired, and talking "school-room" with their meals. miss taylor was soon starving for human companionship, for the lighter touches of life and some of its warmth and laughter. she wanted a glance of the new books and periodicals and talk of great philanthropies and reforms. she felt out of the world, shut in and mentally anasmic; great as the " negro problem" might be as a world problem, it looked sordid and small at close range. so for the hundredth time she was thinking to-day, as she walked alone up the lane back of the barn, and then slowly down through the bottoms. she paused a moment and nodded to the two boys at work in a young cotton field. "cotton!" miss mary taylor she paused. she remembered with what interest she had always read of this little thread of the world. she had almost forgotten that it was here within touch and sight. for a moment something of the vision of cotton was mirrored in her mind. the glimmering sea of delicate leaves whispered and murmured before her, stretching away to the northward. she remembered that beyond this little world it stretched on and on — how far she did not know — but on and on in a great trembling sea, and the foam of its mighty waters would one time flood the ends of the earth. she glimpsed all this with parted lips, and then sighed impatiently. there might be a bit of poetry here and there, but most of this place was such desperate prose. she glanced absently at the boys. one was bles alwyn, a tall black lad. ( bles, she mused, — now who would think of naming a boy " blessed," save these incomprehensible creatures! ) her regard shifted to the green stalks and leaves again, and she started to move away. then her new england conscience stepped in. she ought not to pass these students without a word of encouragement or instruction. "cotton is a wonderful thing, is it not, boys?" she said rather primly. the boys touched their hats and murmured something indistinctly. miss taylor did not know much about cotton, but at least one more remark seemed called for. "how long before the stalks will be ready to cut?" she asked carelessly. the farther boy coughed and bles raised his eyes and looked at her; then after a pause he answered slowly. (oh! these people were so slow — now a new england boy would have answered and asked a half-dozen questions in the time.) the quest of the silver fleece "i —i don't know," he faltered. "don't know! well, of all things!" inwardly com- mented miss taylor — " literally born in cotton, and — oh, well," as much as to ask, "what's the use?" she turned again to go. "what is planted over there?" she asked, although she really did n't care. "goobers," answered the smaller boy. "goobers?" uncomprehendingly. "peanuts," bles specified. "oh!" murmured miss taylor. "i see there are none on the vines yet. i suppose, though, it's too early for them." then came the explosion. the smaller boy just snorted with irrepressible laughter and bolted across the fields. and bles — was miss taylor deceived? — or was he chuckling? she reddened, drew herself up, and then, dropping her primness, rippled with laughter. "what is the matter, bles?" she asked. he looked at her with twinkling eyes. "well, you see, miss taylor, it's like this: farming don't seem to be your specialty." the word was often on miss taylor's lips, and she recognized it. despite herself she smiled again. "of course, it isn't — i don't know anything about farming. but what did i say so funny?" bles was now laughing outright. "why, miss taylor! i declare! goobers don't grow on the tops of vines, but underground on the roots — like yams." "is that so?" "yes, and we — we don't pick cotton stalks except for kindling." miss mary taylor i j "i must have been thinking of hemp. but tell me more about cotton." his eyes lighted, for cotton was to him a very real and beautiful thing, and a life-long companion, yet not / . j one whose friendship had been coarsened and killed by heavy toil. he leaned against his hoe and talked half dreamily — where had he learned so well that dream- talk? "we turn up the earth and sow it soon after christmas. then pretty soon there comes a sort of greenness on the black land and it swells and grows and, and — shivers. then stalks shoot up with three or four leaves. that's the way it is now, see? after that we chop out the weak stalks, and the strong ones grow tall and dark, till i think it must be like the ocean — all green and billowy; then come little flecks here and there and the sea is all filled with flowers — flowers like little bells, blue and purple and white." "ah! that must be beautiful," sighed miss taylor, wistfully, sinking to the ground and clasping her hands about her knees. "yes, ma'am. but it's prettiest when the bolls come and swell and burst, and the cotton covers the field like foam, all misty —" she bent wondering over the pale plants. the poetry of the thing began to sing within her, awakening her un- poetic imagination, and she murmured: "the golden fleece — it's the silver fleece!" he harkened. "what's that?" he asked. "have you never heard of the golden fleece, bles?" "no, ma'am," he said eagerly; then glancing up to- ward the cresswell fields, he saw two white men watch- the quest of the silver fleece ing them. he grasped his hoe and started briskly to work. "some time you 'll tell me, please, won't you?" she glanced at her watch in surprise and arose hastily. "yes, with pleasure," she said moving away — at first very fast, and then more and more slowly up the lane, with a puzzled look on her face. she began to realize that in this pleasant little chat the fact of the boy's color had quite escaped her; and what especially puzzled her was that this had not hap- pened before. she had been here four months, and yet every moment up to now she seemed to have been vividly, almost painfully conscious, that she was a white woman talking to black folk. now, for one little half-hour she had been a woman talking to a boy — no, not even that: she had been talking — just talking; there were no per- sons in the conversation, just things — one thing: cotton. she started thinking of cotton — but at once she pulled herself back to the other aspect. always before she had been veiled from these folk: who had put the veil there? had she herself hung it before her soul, or had they hid- den timidly behind its other side? or was it simply a brute fact, regardless of both of them? the longer she thought, the more bewildered she grew. there seemed no analogy that she knew. here was a unique thing, and she climbed to her bedroom and stared at the stars. chapter iv town john taylor had written to his sister. he wanted information, very definite information, about tooms county cotton; about its stores, its people — especially its people. he propounded a dozen questions, sharp, searching questions, and he wanted the answers to- morrow. impossible! thought miss taylor. he had calculated on her getting this letter yesterday, forgetting that their mail was fetched once a day from the town, four miles away. then, too, she did not know all these matters and knew no one who did. did john think she had nothing else to do? and sighing at the thought of to-morrow's drudgery, she determined to consult miss smith in the morning. miss smith suggested a drive to town — bles could take her in the top-buggy after school — and she could consult some of the merchants and business men. she could then write her letter and mail it there; it would be but a day or so late getting to new york. "of course," said miss smith drily, slowly folding her napkin, "of course, the only people here are the cresswells." "oh, yes," said miss taylor invitingly. there was an [ ] the quest of the silver fleece allurement about this all-pervasive name; it held her by a growing fascination and she was anxious for the older woman to amplify. miss smith, however, remained pro- vokingly silent, so miss taylor essayed further. "what sort of people are the cresswells? " she asked. "the old man 's a fool; the young one a rascal; the girl a ninny," was miss smith's succinct and acid classi- fication of the county's first family; adding, as she rose, "but they own us, body and soul." she hurried out of the dining-room without further remark. miss smith was more patient with black folk than with white. the sun was hanging just above the tallest trees of the swamp when miss taylor, weary with the day's work, climbed into the buggy beside bles. they wheeled com- fortably down the road, leaving the sombre swamp, with its black-green, to the right, and heading toward the golden-green of waving cotton fields. miss taylor lay back, listlessly, and drank the soft warm air of the lan- guorous spring. she thought of the golden sheen of the cotton, and the cold. march winds of new england; of her brother who apparently noted nothing of leaves and winds and seasons; and of the mighty cresswells whom miss smith so evidently disliked. suddenly she became aware of her long silence and the silence of the boy. "bles," she began didactically, " where are you from?" he glanced across at her and answered shortly: "georgia, ma'am," and was silent. the girl tried again. "georgia is a large state," — tentatively. "yes, ma'am." "are you going back there when you finish?" "i don't know." "i think you ought to — and work for your people." * town "yes, ma'am." she stopped, puzzled, and looked about. the old horse jogged lazily on, and bles switched him unavailingly. somehow she had missed the way to-day. the veil hung thick, sombre, impenetrable. well, she had done her duty, and slowly she nestled back and watched the far-off green and golden radiance of the cotton. "bles," she said impulsively, "shall i tell you of the golden fleece?" he glanced "at her again. "yes'm, please," he said. she settled herself almost luxuriously, and began the story of jason and the argonauts. the boy remained silent. and when she had finished, he still sat silent, elbow on knee, absently flicking the jogging horse and staring ahead at the horizon. she looked at him doubtfully with some disappointment that his hearing had apparently shared so little of the joy of her telling; and, too, there was mingled a vague sense of having lowered herself to too familiar fellowship with this — this boy. she straightened herself instinctively and thought of some remark that would restore proper rela- tions. she had not found it before he said, slowly: "all yon is jason's." "what?" she asked, puzzled. he pointed with one sweep of his long arm to the quivering mass of green-gold foliage that swept from swamp to horizon. "all yon golden fleece is jason's now," he repeated. "i thought it was — cresswell's," she said. "that's what i mean." she suddenly understood that the story had sunk deeply. the quest of the silver fleece "i am glad to hear you say that," she said methodically, "for jason was a brave adventurer —" "i thought he was a thief." "oh, well — those were other times." "the cresswells are thieves now." miss taylor answered sharply. "bles, i am ashamed to hear you talk so of your neighbors simply because they are white." but bles continued. "this is the black sea," he said, pointing to the dull cabins that crouched here and there upon the earth, with the dark twinkling of their black folk darting out to see the strangers ride by. despite herself miss taylor caught the allegory and half whispered, " lo! the king himself!" as a black man almost rose from the tangled earth at their side. he was tall and thin and sombre-hued, with a carven face and thick gray hair. "your servant, mistress," he said, with a sweeping bow as he strode toward the swamp. miss taylor stopped him, for he looked interesting, and might answer some of her brother's questions. he turned back and stood regarding her with sorrowful eyes and ugly mouth. "do you live about here?" she asked. "i've lived here a hundred years," he answered. she did not believe it; he might be seventy, eighty, or even ninety — indeed, there was about him that indefinable sense of age — some shadow of endless living; but a hundred seemed absurd. "you know the people pretty well, then?" "i knows dem all. i knows most of 'em better dan dey knows demselves. i knows a heap of tings in dis world and in de next." town "this is a great cotton country?" "dey don't raise no cotton now to what dey used to when old gen'rel cresswell fust come from carolina; den it was a bale and a half to the acre on stalks dat looked like young brushwood. dat was cotton." "you know the cresswells, then?" "know dem? i knowed dem afore dey was born." "they are — wealthy people?" "dey rolls in money and dey'se quality, too. no shoddy upstarts dem, but born to purple, lady, born to purple. old gen'ral cresswell had niggers and acres no end back dere in carolina. he brung a part of dem here and here his son, de father of dis colonel cresswell, was born. de son — i knowed him well — he had a tousand niggers and ten tousand acres afore de war." "were they kind to their slaves?" "oh, yaas, yaas, ma'am, dey was careful of de're nig- gers and would n't let de drivers whip 'em much." "and these cresswells to-day?" "oh, dey're quality — high-blooded folks — dey'se lost some land and niggers, but, lordy, nuttin' can buy de cresswells, dey naturally owns de world." "are they honest and kind?" "oh, yaas, ma'am — dey'se good white folks." "good white folk?" "oh, yaas, ma'am — course you knows white folks will be white folks — white folks will be white folks. your servant, ma'am." and the swamp swallowed him. the boy's eyes followed him as he whipped up the horse. "he 's going to elspeth's," he said. "who is he?" "we just call him old pappy — he 's a preacher, and some folks say a conjure man, too." the quest of the silver fleece "and who is elspeth?" "she lives in the swamp — she 's a kind of witch, i reckon, like — like —" "like medea?" "yes — only — i do n't know —" and he grew thoughtful. the road turned now and far away to the eastward rose the first straggling cabins of the town. creeping toward them down the road rolled a dark squat figure. it grew and spread slowly on the horizon until it became a fat old black woman, hooded and aproned, with great round hips and massive bosom. her face was heavy and homely until she looked up and lifted the drooping cheeks, and then kindly old eyes beamed on the young teacher, as she curtsied and cried: "good-evening, honey! good-evening! you sure is pretty dis evening." "why, aunt rachel, how are you?" there was genuine pleasure in the girl's tone. "just tolerable, honey, bless de lord! rumatiz is kind o' bad and aunt rachel ain't so young as she use ter be." "and what brings you to town afoot this time of day?" the face fell again to dull care and the old eyes crept away. she fumbled with her cane. "it's de boys again, honey," she returned solemnly; "dey'se good boys, dey is good to de're old mammy, but dey'se high strung and dey gits fighting and drinking and — and — last saturday night dey got took up again. i'se been to jedge grey — i use to tote him on my knee, honey — i've been to him to plead him not to let 'em go on de gang, 'cause you see, honey," and she stroked the. town girl's sleeve as if pleading with her, too, "you see it done ruins boys to put 'em on de gang." miss taylor tried hard to think of something comfort- ing to say, but words seemed inadequate to cheer the old soul; but after a few moments they rode on, leaving the kind face again beaming and dimpling. and now the country town of toomsville lifted itself above the cotton and corn, fringed with dirty straggling cabins of black folk. the road swung past the iron water- ing trough, turned sharply and, after passing two or three pert cottages and a stately house, old and faded, opened into the wide square. here pulsed the very life and being of the land. yonder great bales of cotton, yellow-white in its soiled sacking, piled in lofty, dusty mountains, lay listening for the train that, twice a day, ran out to the greater world. round about, tied to the well-gnawed hitching rails, were rows of mules — mules with back cloths; mules with saddles; mules hitched to long wagons, buggies, and rickety gigs; mules munching golden ears of corn, and mules drooping their heads in sorrow- ful memory of better days. beyond the cotton warehouse smoked the chimneys of the seed-mill and the cotton-gin; a red livery-stable faced them and all about three sides of the square ran stores; big stores and small wide-windowed, narrow stores. some had old steps above the worn clay side-walks, and some were flush with the ground. all had a general sense of dilapidation — save one, the largest and most im- posing, a three-story brick. this was caldwell's "emporium" ; and here bles stopped and miss taylor entered. mr. caldwell himself hurried forward; and the whole the quest of the silver fleece store, clerks and customers, stood at attention, for miss taylor was yet new to the county. she bought a few trifles and then approached her main business. "my brother wants some information about the county, mr. caldwell, and i am only a teacher, and do not know much about conditions here." "ah! where do you teach?" asked mr. caldwell. he was certain he knew the teachers of all the white schools in the county. miss taylor told him. he stiffened slightly but perceptibly, like a man clicking the buckles of his ready armor, and two townswomen who listened gradually turned their backs, but remained near. "yes — yes," he said, with uncomfortable haste. "any — er — information — of course —" miss tay- lor got out her notes. "the leading land-owners," she began, sorting the notes searchingly, "i should like to know something about them." "well, colonel cresswell is, of course, our greatest landlord — a high-bred gentleman of the old school. he and his son — a worthy successor to the name — hold some fifty thousand acres. they may be considered rep- resentative types. then, mr. maxwell has ten thousand acres and mr. tolliver a thousand." miss taylor wrote rapidly. "and cotton?" she asked. "we raise considerable cotton, but not nearly what we ought to; nigger labor is too worthless." "oh! the negroes are not, then, very efficient?" "efficient!" snorted mr. caldwell; at last she had broached a phase of the problem upon which he could dilate with fervor. "they 're the lowest-down, ornriest — town begging your pardon — good-for-nothing loafers you ever heard of. why, we just have to carry them and care for them like children. look yonder," he pointed across the square to the court-house. it was an old square brick-and-stucco building, sombre and stilted and very dirty. out of it filed a stream of men — some black and shackled; some white and swaggering and liberal with tobacco-juice; some white and shaven and stiff. "court's just out," pursued mr. caldwell, " and them niggers have just been sent to the gang — young ones, too; educated but good for nothing. they 're all that way." miss taylor looked up a little puzzled, and became aware of a battery of eyes and ears. everybody seemed craning and listening, and she felt a sudden embarrass- ment and a sense of half-veiled hostility in the air. with one or two further perfunctory questions, and a hasty expression of thanks, she escaped into the air. the whole square seemed loafing and lolling — the white world perched on stoops and chairs, in doorways and windows; the black world filtering down from doorways to side-walk and curb. the hot, dusty quadrangle stretched in dreary deadness toward the temple of the town, as if doing obeisance to the court-house. down the court-house steps the sheriff, with winchester on shoulder, was bringing the last prisoner — a curly-headed boy with golden face and big brown frightened eyes. "it's one of dunn's boys," said bles. "he's drunk again, and they say he 's been stealing. i expect he was hungry." and they wheeled out of the square. miss taylor was tired, and the hastily scribbled letter which she dropped into the post in passing was not as clearly expressed as she could wish. a great-voiced giant, brown and bearded, drove past s the quest of the silver fleece them, roaring a hymn. he greeted bles with a compre- hensive wave of the hand. "i guess tylor has been paid off," said bles, but miss taylor was too disgusted to answer. further on they overtook a tall young yellow boy walking awkwardly be- side a handsome, bold-faced girl. two white men came riding by. one leered at the girl, and she laughed back, while the yellow boy strode sullenly ahead. as the two white riders approached the buggy one said to the other: "who 's that nigger with?" "one of them nigger teachers." "well, they 'll stop this damn riding around or they 'll hear something," and they rode slowly by. miss taylor felt rather than heard their words, and she was uncomfortable. the sun fell fast; the long shad- ows of the swamp swept soft coolness on the red road. then afar in front a curled cloud of white dust arose and out of it came the sound of galloping horses. "who 's this? " asked miss taylor. "the cresswells, i think; they usually ride to town about this time." but already miss taylor had descried the brown and tawny sides of the speeding horses. "good gracious!" she thought. "the cresswells!" and with it came a sudden desire not to meet them — just then. she glanced toward the swamp. the sun was sift- ing blood-red lances through the trees. a little wagon- road entered the wood and disappeared. miss taylor saw it. "let's see the sunset in the swamp," she said suddenly. on came the galloping horses. bles looked up in surprise, then silently turned into the swamp. the horses flew by, their hoof-beats dying in the distance. a dark green silence lay about them lit by mighty crimson glories be- town yond. miss taylor leaned back and watched it dreamily till a sense of oppression grew on her. the sun was sinking fast. "where does this road come out? " she asked at last. "it does n't come out." "where does it go?" "it goes to elspeth's." "why, we must turn back immediately. i thought —" but bles was already turning. they were approaching the main road again when there came a fluttering as of a great bird beating its wings amid the forest. then a girl, lithe, dark brown, and tall, leaped lightly into the path with greetings on her lips for bles. at the sight of the lady she drew suddenly back and stood motionless regarding miss taylor, searching her with wide black liquid eyes. miss taylor was a little startled. "good — good-evening," she said, straightening her- self. the girl was still silent and the horse stopped. one tense moment pulsed through all the swamp. then the girl, still motionless — still looking miss taylor through and through — said with slow deliberateness: "i hates, you." the teacher in miss taylor strove to rebuke this un- conventional greeting but the woman in her spoke first and asked almost before she knew it — "why?" chapter v zora zora, child of the swamp, was a heathen hoyden of twelve wayward, untrained years. slight, straight, strong, full-blooded, she had dreamed her life away in wilful wandering through her dark and sombre kingdom until she was one with it in all its moods; mis- chievous, secretive, brooding; full of great and awful visions, steeped body and soul in wood-lore. her home was out of doors, the cabin of elspeth her port of call for talking and eating. she had not known, she had scarcely seen, a child of her own age until bles alwyn had fled from her dancing in the night, and she had searched and found him sleeping in the misty morning light. it was to her a strange new thing to see a fellow of like years with her- self, and she gripped him to her soul in wild interest and new curiosity. yet this childish friendship was so new and incomprehensible a thing to her that she did not know how to express it. at first she pounced upon him in mirthful, almost impish glee, teasing and mocking and half scaring him, despite his fifteen years of young manhood. "yes, they is devils down yonder behind the swamp," she would whisper, warningly, when, after the first meet- ing, he had crept back again and again, half fascinated, half amused to greet her; "i'se seen 'em, i'se heard 'em, 'cause my mammy is a witch." [ ] zora the boy would sit and watch her wonderingly as she lay curled along the low branch of the mighty oak, cling- ing with little curved limbs and flying fingers. possessed by the spirit of her vision, she would chant, low-voiced, tremulous, mischievous: "one night a devil come to me on blue fire out of a big red flower that grows in the south swamp; he was tall and big and strong as anything, and when he spoke the trees shook and the stars fell. even mammy was afeared; and it takes a lot to make mammy afeared, 'cause she 's a witch and can conjure. he said, 'i'll come when you die — i 'll come when you die, and take the conjure off you,' and then he went away on a big fire." "shucks!" the boy would say, trying to express scorn- ful disbelief when, in truth, he was awed and doubtful. always he would glance involuntarily back along the path behind him. then her low birdlike laughter would rise and ring through the trees. so passed a year, and there came' the time when her wayward teasing and the almost painful thrill of her tale-telling nettled him and drove him away. for long months he did not meet her, until one day he saw her deep eyes fixed longingly upon him from a thicket in the swamp. he went and greeted her. but she said no word, sitting nested among the greenwood with passion- ate, proud silence, until he had sued long for peace; then in sudden new friendship she had taken his hand and led him through the swamp, showing him all the beauty of her swamp-world — great shadowy oaks and limpid pools, lone, naked trees and sweet flowers; the whispering and flitting of wild things, and the winging of furtive birds. she had dropped the impish mischief of her way, and up from beneath it rose a wistful, visionary tenderness; a the quest of the silver fleece mighty half-confessed, half-concealed, striving for un- known things. he seemed to have found a new friend. and to-day, after he had taken miss taylor home and supped, he came out in the twilight under the new moon and whistled the tremulous note that always brought her. "why did you speak so to miss taylor?" he asked, reproachfully. she considered the matter a moment. "you don't understand," she said. "you can't never understand. i can see right through people. you can't. you never had a witch for a mammy — did you?" "no." "well, then, you see i have to take care of you and see things for you." "zora," he said thoughtfully, "you must learn to read." "what for?" "so that you can read books and know lots of things." "don't white folks make books?" "yes — most of the books." "pooh! i knows more than they do now —- a heap more." "in some ways you do; but they know things that give them power and wealth and make them rule." "no, no. they don't really rule; they just thinks they rule. they just got things, — heavy, dead things. we black folks is got the spirit. we'se lighter and cun- ninger; we fly right through them; we go and come again just as we wants to. black folks is wonderful." he did not understand what she meant; but he knew what he wanted and he tried again. "even if white folks don't know everything they know different things from us, and we ought to know what they know." zora this appealed to her somewhat. "i don't believe they know much," she concluded; "but i 'll learn to read and just see." "it will be hard work," he warned. but he had come prepared for acquiescence. he took a primer from his pocket and, lighting a match, showed her the alphabet. "learn those," he said. "what for?" she asked, looking at the letters disdainfully. "because that's the way," he said, as the light flared and went out. "i don't believe it," she disputed, disappearing in the wood and returning with a pine-knot. they lighted it and its smoky flame threw wavering shadows about. she turned the leaves till she came to a picture which she studied intently. "is this about this?" she asked, pointing alternately to reading and picture. "yes. and if you learn —" "read it," she commanded. he read the page. "again," she said, making him point out each word. then she read it after him, accurately, with more perfect expression. he stared at her. she took the book, and with a nod was gone. it was saturday and dark. she never asked bles to her home — to that mysterious black cabin in mid-swamp. he thought her ashamed of it, and delicately refrained from going. so to-night she slipped away, stopped and listened till she heard his footsteps on the pike, and then flew homeward. presently the old black cabin loomed be- fore her with its wide flapping door. the old woman was bending over the fire, stirring some savory mess, and a yellow girl with a white baby on one arm was placing the quest of the silver fleece dishes on a rickety wooden table when zora suddenly and noiselessly entered the door. "come, is you? i 'lowed victuals would fetch you," grumbled the hag. but zora deigned no answer. she walked placidly to the table, where she took up a handful of cold corn-bread and meat, and then went over and curled up by the fire. elspeth and the girl talked and laughed coarsely, and the night wore on. by and by loud laughter and tramping came from the road — a sound of numerous footsteps. zora listened, leapt to her feet and started to the door. the old crone threw an epithet after her; but she flashed through the lighted doorway and was gone, followed by the oath and shouts from the approaching men. in the hut night fled with wild song and revel, and day dawned again. out from some fastness of the wood crept zora. she stopped and bathed in a pool and combed her close-clung hair, then entered silently to breakfast. thus began in the dark swamp that primal battle with the word. she hated it and despised it, but her pride was in arms, and her one great life friendship in the balance. she fought her way with a dogged persistence that brought word after word of praise and interest from bles. then, once well begun, her busy, eager mind flew with a rapidity that startled; the stories especially she devoured — tales of strange things and countries and men gripped her imagination and clung to her memory. "did n't i tell you there was lots to learn?" he asked once. "i knew it all," she retorted; " every bit. i'se thought it all before; only the little things is different — and i like the little, strange things." zora spring ripened to summer. she was reading well and writing some. "zora," he announced one morning under their forest oak, "you must go to school." she eyed him, surprised. "why?" "you 've found some things worth knowing in this world, haven't you, zora?" "yes," she admitted. "but there are more — many, many more — worlds on worlds of things — you have not dreamed of." she stared at him, open-eyed, and a wonder crept upon her face battling with the old assurance. then she looked down at her bare brown feet and torn gown. "i 've got a little money, zora," he said quickly. but she lifted her head. "i 'll earn mine," she said. , "how? " he asked doubtfully. "i 'll pick cotton." "can you?" "course i can." "it's hard work." she hesitated. u i don't like to work," she mused. "you seej j mammy's pappy was a king's son, and kings don't work. i don't work; mostly i dreams. but i can work, and i will — for the wonder things — and for you." so the summer yellowed and silvered into fall. all the vacation days bles worked on the farm, and zora read and dreamed and studied in the wood, until the land lay white with harvest. then, without warning, she appeared in the cotton-field beside bles, and picked. it was hot, sore work. the sun blazed; her bent and r the quest of the silver fleece untrained back pained, and the soft little hands bled. but no complaint passed her lips; her hands never wavered, and her eyes met his steadily and gravely. she bade him good-night, cheerily, and then stole away to the wood, crouching beneath the great oak, and biting back the groans that trembled on her lips. often, she fell supper- less to sleep, with two great tears creeping down her tired cheeks. when school-time came there was not yet money enough, for cotton-picking was not far advanced. yet zora would take no money from bles, and worked ear- nestly away. meantime there occurred to the boy the momentous question of clothes. had zora thought of them? he feared not. she knew little of clothes and cared less. so one day in town he dropped into caldwell's "emporium" and glanced hesitantly at certain ready-made dresses. one caught his eye. it came from the great easterly mills in new england and was red — a vivid red. the glowing warmth of this cloth of cotton caught the eye of bles, and he bought the gown for a dollar and a half. he carried it to zora in the wood, and unrolled it be- fore her eyes that danced with glad tears. of course, it was long and wide; but he fetched needle and thread and scissors, too. it was a full month after school had begun when they, together back in the swamp, shadowed by the foliage, began to fashion the wonderful garment. at the same time she laid ten dollars of her first hard-earned money in his hands. "you can finish the first year with this money," bless assured her, delighted, "and then next year you must come in to board; because, you see, when you 're educated you won't want to live in the swamp." zora "i wants to live here always." "but not at elspeth's." "no-o — not there, not there." and a troubled ques- tioning trembled in her eyes, but brought no answering thought in his, for he was busy with his plans. "then, you see, zora, if you stay here you 'll need a new house, and you 'll want to learn how to make it beautiful." "yes, a beautiful, great castle here in the swamp," she dreamed; "but," and her face fell, "i can't get money enough to board in; and i don't want to board in — i wants to be free." he looked at her, curled down so earnestly at her puzzling task, and a pity for the more than motherless child swept over him. 'he bent over her, nervously, eagerly, and she laid down her sewing and sat silent and passive with dark, burning eyes. "zora," he said, " i want you to do all this — for me." "i will, if you wants me to," she said quietly, but with something in her voice that made him look half startled into her beautiful eyes and feel a queer flushing in his face. he stretched his hand out and taking hers held it lightly till she quivered and drew away, bending again over her sewing. then a nameless exaltation rose within his heart. "zora," he whispered, " i 've got a plan." "what is it? " she asked, still with bowed head. "listen, till i tell you of the golden fleece." then she too heard the story of jason. breathless she listened, dropping her sewing and leaning forward, eager- eyed. then her face clouded. "do you s'pose mammy's the witch?" she asked dubiously. the quest of the silver fleece "no; she would n't give her own flesh and blood to help the thieving jason." she looked at him searchingly. "yes, she would, too," affirmed the girl, and then she paused, still intently watching him. she was troubled, and again a question eagerly hovered on her lips. but he continued: "then we must escape her," he said gayly. "see! yonder lies the silver fleece spread across the brown back of the world; let's get a bit of it, and hide it here in the swamp, and comb it, and tend it, and make it the beautifullest bit of all. then we can sell it, and send you to school." she sat silently bent forward, turning the picture in her mind. suddenly forgetting her trouble, she bubbled with laughter, and leaping up clapped her hands. "and i knows just the place!" she cried eagerly, look- ing at him with a flash of the old teasing mischief — "down in the heart of the swamp — where dreams and devils lives." up at the school-house miss taylor was musing. she had been invited to spend the summer with mrs. grey at lake george, and such a summer! — silken clothes and dainty food, motoring and golf, well-groomed men and elegant women. she would not have put it in just that way, but the vision came very close to spelling heaven to her mind. not that she would come to it vacant-minded, but rather as a trained woman, starved for companion- ship and wanting something of the beauty and ease of life. she sat dreaming of it here with rows of dark faces before her, and the singsong wail of a little black reader with his head aslant and his patched kneepants. zora the day was warm and languorous, and the last pale mist of the silver fleece peeped in at the windows. she tried to follow the third-reader lesson with her finger, but persistently off she went, dreaming, to some exquisite little parlor with its green and gold, the clink of dainty china and hum of low voices, and the blue lake in the window; she would glance up, the door would open softly and — just here she did glance up, and all the school glanced with her. the drone of the reader hushed. the door opened softly, and upon the threshold stood zora. her small feet and slender ankles were black and bare; her dark,' round, and broad-browed head and strangely beauti- ful face were poised almost defiantly, crowned with a misty mass of waveless hair, and lit by the velvet radiance of two wonderful eyes. and hanging from shoulder to ankle, in formless, clinging folds, blazed the scarlet gown. chapter vi cotton the cry of the naked was sweeping the world. from the peasant toiling in russia, the lady lolling in london, the chieftain burning in africa, and the esquimaux freezing in alaska; from long lines of hungry men, from patient sad-eyed women, from old folk and creeping children went up the cry, "clothes, clothes!" far away the wide black land that belts the south, where miss smith worked and miss taylor drudged and bles and zora dreamed, the dense black land sensed the cry and heard the bound of answering life within the vast dark breast. all that dark earth heaved in mighty travail with the bursting bolls of the cotton while black attendant earth spirits swarmed above, sweating and crooning to its birth pains. after the miracle of the bursting bolls, when the land was brightest with the piled mist of the fleece, and when the cry of the naked was loudest in the mouths of men, a sudden cloud of workers swarmed between the cotton and the naked, spinning and weaving and sewing and carrying the fleece and mining and minting and bringing the silver till the song of service filled the world and the poetry of toil was in the souls of the laborers. yet ever and alway there were tense silent white-faced men moving [ ] cotton in that swarm who felt no poetry and heard no song, and one of these was john taylor. he was tall, thin, cold, and tireless and he moved among the watchers of this world of trade. in the rich wall street officers of grey and easterly, brokers, mr. taylor, as chief and confidential clerk surveyed the world's naked- ness and the supply of cotton to clothe it. the object of his watching was frankly stated to himself and to his world. he purposed going into business neither for his own health nor for the healing or clothing of the peoples but to apply his knowledge of the world's nakedness and of black men's toil in such a way as to bring himself wealth. in this he was but following the teaching of his highest ideal, lately deceased, mr. job grey. mr. grey had so successfully manipulated the cotton market that while black men who made the cotton starved in alabama and white men who bought it froze in siberia, he himself sat — "high on a throne of royal state that far outshone the wealth of ormuz or of ind." notwithstanding this he died eventually, leaving the bur- den of his wealth to his bewildered wife, and his business to the astute mr. easterly; not simply to mr. easterly, but in a sense to his spiritual heir, john taylor. to be sure mr. taylor had but a modest salary and no financial interest in the business, but he had knowledge and business daring — effrontery even — and the determina- tion was fixed in his mind to be a millionaire at no distant date. some cautious fliers on the market gave him enough surplus to send his sister mary through the high school of his country home in new hampshire, and afterward through wellesley college; although just why a woman the quest of the silver fleece should want to go through college was inexplicable to john taylor, and he was still uncertain as to the wisdom of his charity. when she had an offer to teach in the south, john taylor hurried her off for two reasons: he was profoundly interested in the cotton-belt, and there she might be of service to him; and secondly, he had spent all the money on her that he intended to at present, and he wanted her to go to work. as an investment he did not consider mary a success. her letters intimated very strongly her in- tention not to return to miss smith's school; but they also brought information — disjointed and incomplete, to be sure — which mightily interested mr. taylor and sent him to atlases, encyclopaedias, and census-reports. when he went to that little lunch with old mrs. grey he was not sure that he wanted his sister to leave the cotton-belt just yet. after lunch he was sure that he did not want her to leave. the rich mrs. grey was at the crisis of her fortunes. she was an elderly lady, in those uncertain years beyond fifty, and had been left suddenly with more millions than she could easily count. personally she was inclined to spend her money in bettering the world right off, in such ways as might from time to time seem attractive. this course, to her husband's former partner and present ex- ecutor, mr. edward easterly, was not only foolish but wicked, and, incidentally, distinctly unprofitable to him. he had expressed himself strongly to mrs. grey last night at dinner and had reinforced his argument by a pointed letter written this morning. to john taylor mrs. grey's disposal of the income was unbelievable blasphemy against the memory of a mighty man. he did not put this in words to mrs. grey — he "> cotton ' was only head clerk in her late husband's office — but he became watchful and thoughtful. he ate his soup in silence when she descanted on various benevolent schemes. "now, what do you know," she asked finally, " about negroes — about educating them?" mr. taylor over his fish was about to deny all knowledge of any sort on the subject, but all at once he recollected his sister, and a sud- den gleam of light radiated his mental gloom. "have a sister who is — er — devoting herself to teaching them," he said. "is that so!" cried mrs. grey, joyfully. "where is she?" "in tooms county, alabama — in —" mr. taylor consulted a remote mental pocket —" in miss sarah smith's school." "why, how fortunate! i'm so glad i mentioned the matter. you see, miss smith is a sister of a friend of ours, congressman smith of new jersey, and she has just written to me for help; a very touching letter, too, about the poor blacks. my father set great store by blacks and was a leading abolitionist before he died." mr. taylor was thinking fast. yes, the name of con- gressman peter smith was quite familiar. mr. easterly, as chairman of the republican state committee of new jersey, had been compelled to discipline mr. smith pretty severely for certain socialistic votes in the house, and consequently his future career was uncertain. it was im- portant that such a man should not have too much to do with mrs. grey's philanthropies — at least, in his present position. "should like to have you meet and talk with my sister, mrs. grey; she 's a wellesley graduate," said taylor, finally. the quest of the silver fleece mrs. grey was delighted. it was a combination which she felt she needed. here was a college-girl who could direct her philanthropies and her etiquette during the summer. forthwith mary taylor received an intimation from her brother that vast interests depended on her summer vacation. thus it had happened that miss taylor came to lake george for her vacation after the first year at the smith school, and she and miss smith had silently agreed as she left that it would be better for her not to return. but the gods of lower broadway thought otherwise. not that mary taylor did not believe in miss smith's work, she was too honest not to believe in education; but she was sure that this was not her work, and she had not as yet perfected in her own mind any theory of the world into which black folk fitted. she was rather taken back, there- fore, to be regarded as an expert on the problem. first her brother attacked her, not simply on cotton, but, to her great surprise, on negro education; and after listen- ing to her halting uncertain remarks, he suggested to her certain matters which it would be better for her to believe when mrs. grey talked to her. "interested in darkies, you see," he concluded, "and looks to you to tell things. better go easy and suggest a waiting-game before she goes in heavy." "but miss smith needs money —" the new england conscience prompted. john taylor cut in sharply: "we all need money, and i know people who need mrs. grey's more than miss smith does at present." miss taylor found the lake george colony charming. it was not ultra-fashionable, but it had wealth and leisure and some breeding. especially was this true of a cir- cumscribed, rather exclusive, set which centred around cotton the vanderpools of new york and boston. they, or rather mr. vanderpool's connections, were of old dutch new york stock; his father it was who had built the lake george cottage. mrs. vanderpool was a wells of boston, and endured lake george now and then during the summer for her husband's sake, although she regarded it all as rather a joke. this summer promised to be unusually lonesome for her, and she. was meditating a retreat to the massa- chusetts north shore when she chanced to meet mary taylor, at a miscellaneous dinner, and found her inter- esting. she discovered that this young woman knew things, that she could talk books, and that she was rather pretty. to be sure she knew no people, but mrs. vander- pool knew enough to even things. "by the bye, i met some charming alabama people last winter, in montgomery — the cresswells; do you know them?" she asked one day, as they were lounging in wicker chairs on the vanderpool porch. then she an- swered the query herself: "no, of course you could not. it is too bad that your work deprives you of the society of people of your class. now my ideal is a set of negro schools where the white teachers could know the cress- wells." "why, yes —" faltered miss taylor; "but — would n't that be difficult?" "why should it be?" "i mean, would the cresswells approve of educating negroes?" "oh, ' educating'! the word conceals so much. now, i take it the cresswells would object to instructing them in french and in dinner etiquette and tea-gowns, and so, in fact, would i; but teach them how to handle a hoe and the quest of the silver fleece to sew and cook. i have reason to know that people like the cresswells would be delighted." "and with the teachers of it?" "why not? — provided, of course, they were — well, gentlefolk and associated accordingly." "but one must associate with one's pupils." "oh, certainly, certainly; just as one must associate with one's maids and chauffeurs and dressmakers — cor- dially and kindly, but with a difference." "but — but, dear mrs. vanderpool, you would n't want your children trained that way, would you?" "certainly not, my dear. but these are not my chil- dren, they are the children of negroes; we can't quite forget that, can we?" "no, i suppose not," miss taylor admitted, a little helplessly. "but — if seems to me — that's the modern idea of taking culture to the masses." "frankly, then, the modern idea is not my idea; it is too socialistic. and as for culture applied to the masses, you utter a paradox. the masses and work is the truth one must face." "and culture and work?" "quite incompatible, i assure you, my dear." she stretched her silken limbs, lazily, while miss taylor sat silently staring at the waters. just then mrs. grey drove up in her new red motor. up to the time of mary taylor's arrival the acquaint- ance of the vanderpools and mrs. grey had been a matter chiefly of smiling bows. after miss taylor came there had been calls and casual intercourse, to mrs. grey's great gratification and mrs. vanderpool's mingled amusement and annoyance. mrs. grey announced the arrival of the easterlys and john taylor for the week-end. as mrs. the quest of the silver fleece at as many as grey, but a few. it was not, however, simply money that he wanted, but power. the lust of financial dominion had gripped his soul, and he had a vision of a vast trust of cotton manufacturing covering the land. he talked this incessantly into grey, but grey continued to shake his head; the thing was too big for his imagination. he was bent on retiring, and just as he had set the date a year hence he inadvertently died. on the whole, mr. easterly was glad of his partner's definite withdrawal, since he left his capital behind him, until he found his vast plans about to be circumvented by mrs. grey withdrawing this capital from his control. (" to| glvett to niggers and chinamen," he snorted to john taylor, and strode up and down the veranda. john ["aylor removed his coat, lighted a black cigar, and ele- vated his heels. the ladies were in the parlor, where the female easterlys were prostrating themselves before mrs. vanderpool. "just what is your plan?" asked taylor, quite as if he did not know. "why, man, the transfer of a hundred millions of stock would give me control of the cotton-mills of america. think of it! — the biggest trust next to steel." "why not bigger? " asked taylor, imperturbably puf- fing away. mr. easterly eyed him. he had regarded taylor hitherto as a very valuable asset to the business — had relied on his knowledge of routine, his judgment and his honesty; but he detected to-night a new tone in his clerk, something almost authoritative and self-reliant. he paused and smiled at him. "bigger?" but john taylor was dead in earnest. he did not smile. cotton "first, there 's england — and all europe; why not bring them into the trust?" "possibly, later; but first, america. of course, i 've got my eyes on the european situation and feelers out; but such matters are more difficult and slower of adjust- ment over there — so damned much law and gospel." "but there 's another side." "what's that? » "you are planning to combine and control the manu- facture of cotton —" "yes." "but how about your raw material? the steel trust owns its iron mines." "of course — mines could be monopolized and hold the trust up; but our raw material is perfectly safe — farms growing smaller, farms isolated, and we fixing the price. it's a cinch." "are you sure?" taylor surveyed him with a nar- rowed look. «' certain." "i' m not. i 've been looking up things, and there are three points you 'd better study: first, cotton farms are not getting smaller; they're getting bigger almighty fast, and there's a big cotton-land monopoly in sight. second, the banks and wholesale houses in the south can control the cotton output if they work together. third, watch the southern ' farmers' league ' of big landlords." mr. easterly threw away his cigar and sat down. taylor straightened up, switched on the porch light, and took a bundle of papers from his coat pocket. "here are census figures," he said, "commercial re- ports and letters." they pored over them a half hour. then easterly arose. the quest of the silver fleece "there's something in it," he admitted, "but what can we do? what do you propose?" "monopolize the growth as well as the manufacture of cotton, and use the first to club european manufacturers into submission." easterly stared at him. "good lord!" he ejaculated; "you're crazy!" but taylor smiled a slow, thin smile, and put away his papers. easterly continued to stare at his subordinate with a sort of fascination, with the awe that one feels when genius unexpectedly reveals itself from a source hitherto regarded as entirely ordinary. at last he drew a long breath, remarking indefinitely: "i 'll think it over." a stir in the parlor indicated departure. "well, you watch the farmers' league, and note its success and methods," counselled john taylor, his tone and manner unchanged. "then figure what it might do in the hands of — let us say, friends." "who's running it?" "a colonel cresswell is its head, and happens also to be the force behind it. aristocratic family — big planter — near where my sister teaches." "h'm — well, we 'll watch him." "and say," as easterly was turning away, " you know congressman smith?" "i should say i did." "well, mrs. grey seems to be depending on him for advice in distributing some of her charity funds." easterly appeared startled. "she is, is she!" he exclaimed, "but here come the ladies." he went forward at once, but john taylor drew back. he noted mrs. vanderpool, and thought her cotton too thin and pale. the dashing young miss easterly was more to his taste. he intended to have a wife like that one of these days. "mary," said he to his sister as he finally rose to go, "tell me about the cresswells." mary explained to him at length the impossibility of her knowing much about the local white aristocracy of tooms county, and then told him all she had heard. "mrs. grey talked to you much?" "yes." "about darky schools?" "yes." "what does she intend to do?" "i think she will aid miss smith first." "did you suggest anything?" "well, i told her what i thought about cooperating with the local white people." "the cresswells?" "yes — you see mrs. vanderpool knows the cress- wells." "does, eh? good! say, that's a good point. you just bear heavy on it — cooperate with the cresswells." "why, yes. but — you see, john, i don't just know whether one could cooperate with the cresswells or not — one hears such contradictory stories of them. but there must be some other white people —" "stuff! it's the cresswells we want." "well," mary was very dubious, "they are — the most important." r chapter vii the place of dreams when she went south late in september, mary taylor had two definite but allied objects: she was to get all possible business information concerning the cresswells, and she was to induce miss smith to prepare for mrs. grey's benevolence by inter- esting the local whites in her work. the programme attracted miss taylor. she felt in touch, even if dimly and slightly, with great industrial movements, and she felt, too, like a discerning pioneer in philanthropy. both roles she liked. besides, they held, each, certain promises of social prestige, and society, miss taylor argued, one must have even in alabama. bles alwyn met her at the train. he was growing to be a big fine bronze giant, and mary was glad to see him. she especially tried, in the first few weeks of opening school, to glean as much information as possible concerning the community, and particularly the cress- wells. she found the negro youth quicker, surer, and more intelligent in his answers than those she questioned elsewhere, and she gained real enjoyment from her long talks with him. "isn't bles developing splendidly?" she said to miss smith one afternoon. there was an unmistakable note [ ] the place of dreams of enthusiasm in her voice. miss smith slowly closed her letter-file but did not look up. . "yes," she said crisply. "he 's eighteen now — quite a man." "and most interesting to talk with." "h'm — very " — drily. mary was busy with her own thoughts, and she did not notice the other woman's manner. "do you know," she pursued, "i 'm a little afraid of one thing." "so am i." "oh, you 've noted it, too? — his friendship for that impossible girl, zora?" miss smith gave her a searching look. "what of it?" she demanded. "she is so far beneath him." "how so?" "she is a bold, godless thing; i don't understand her." "the two are not quite the same." "of course not; but she is unnaturally forward." "too bright," miss smith amplified. "yes; she knows quite too much. you surely remem- ber that awful scarlet dress? well, all her clothes have arrived, or remained, at a simplicity and vividness that is — well — immodest." "does she think them immodest?" "what she thinks is a problem." "the problem, you mean?" "well, yes." they paused a moment. then miss smith aid slowly: "what i don't understand, i don't judge." "no, but you can't always help seeing and meeting it," laughed miss taylor. the quest of the silver fleece "certainly not. i don't try; i court the meeting and seeing. it is the only way." "well, perhaps, for us — but not for a boy like bles, and a girl like zora." "true; men and women must exercise judgment in their intercourse and " — she glanced sharply at miss taylor — " my dear, you yourself must not forget that bles alwyn is a man." far up the road came a low, long, musical shouting; then with creaking and straining of wagons, four great black mules dashed into sight with twelve bursting bales of yellowish cotton looming and swaying behind. the drivers and helpers were lolling and laughing and sing- ing, but miss taylor did not hear nor see. she had sat suddenly upright; her face had flamed crimson, and then went dead white. "miss — miss smith!" she gasped, overwhelmed with dismay, a picture of wounded pride and consternation. miss smith turned around very methodically and took her hand; but while she spoke the girl merely stared at her in stony silence. "now, dear, don't mean more than i do. i'm an old woman, and i 've seen many things. this is but a little corner of the world, and yet many people pass here in thirty years. the trouble with new teachers who come is, that like you, they cannot see black folk as human. all to them are either impossible zoras, or else lovable blessings. they forget that zora is not to be annihilated, but studied and understood, and that bles is a young man of eighteen and not a clod." "but that he should dare —" mary began breath- lessly. "he has n't dared," miss smith went gently on. "no the place of dreams thought of you but as a teacher has yet entered his dear, simple head. but, my point is simply this: he 's a man, and a human one, and if you keep on making much over him, and talking to him and petting him, he 'll have the right lo interpret your manner in his own way — the same that any young man would." "but — but, he 's a — a —" "a negro. to be sure, he is; and a man in addition. now, dear, don't take this too much to heart; this is not a rebuke, but a clumsy warning. i am simply try- ing to make clear to you why you should be careful. treat poor zora a little more lovingly, and bles a little less warmly. they are just human — but, oh! so human." mary taylor rose up stiffly and mumbled a brief good-night. she went to her room, and sat down in the dark. the mere mention of the thing was to her so preposterous — no, loathsome, she kept repeating. she slowly undressed in the dark, and heard the rum- bling of the cotton wagons as they swayed toward town. the cry of the naked was sweeping the world, and yon- der in the night black men were answering the call. they knew not what or why they answered, but obeyed the irresistible call, with hearts light and song upon their lips — the song of service. they lashed their mules and drank their whiskey, and all night the piled fleece swept by mary taylor's window, flying — flying to that far cry. miss taylor turned uneasily in her bed and jerked the bed-clothes about her ears. "mrs. vanderpool is right," she confided to the night, with something of the awe with which one suddenly com- prehends a hidden oracle; "there must be a difference, always, always! that impudent negro!" tothe quest of the silver fleece all night she dreamed, and all day, — especially when trim and immaculate she sat in her chair and looked down upon fifty dark faces — and upon zora. zora sat thinking. she saw neither miss taylor nor the long straight rows of desks and faces. she heard neither the drone of the spellers nor did she hear miss taylor say, "zora!" she heard and saw none of this. she only heard the prattle of the birds in the wood, far down where the silver fleece would be planted. for the time of cotton-planting was coming; the gray and drizzle of december was past and the hesitation of january. already a certain warmth and glow had stolen into the air, and the swamp was calling its child with low, seductive voice. she knew where the first leaves were bursting, where tiny flowers nestled, and where young living things looked upward to the light and cried and crawled. a wistful longing was stealing into her heart. she wanted to be free. she wanted to run and dance and sing, but bles wanted — "zora!" this time she heard the call, but did not heed it. miss taylor was very tiresome, and was forever doing and saying silly things. so zora paid no attention, but sat still and thought. yes, she would show bles the place that very night; she had kept it secret from him until now, out of perverseness, out of her love of mystery and secrets. but to-night, after school, when he met her on the big road with the clothes, she would take him and show him the chosen spot. soon she was aware that school had been dismissed, and she leisurely gathered up her books and rose. mary taylor regarded her in perplexed despair. oh, these people! mrs. vanderpool was right: culture and — some the place of dreams masses, at least — were not to be linked; and, too, cul- ture and work — were they incompatible? at any rate, culture and this work were. now, there was mrs. vanderpool — she toiled not, neither did she spin, and yet! if all these folk were like poor, stupid, docile jennie it would be simpler, but what earthly sense was there in trying to do anything with a girl like zora, so stupid in some matters, so start- lingly bright in others, and so stubborn in everything? here, she was doing some work twice as well and twice as fast as the class, and other work she would not touch because she " did n't like it." her classification in school was nearly as difficult as her classification in the world, and miss taylor reached up impatiently and removed the gold pin from her stock to adjust it more comfortably when zora sauntered past unseeing, unheeding, with that curious gliding walk which miss taylor called stealthy. she laid the pin on the desk and on sudden impulse spoke again to the girl as she arranged her neck trimmings. "zora," she said evenly, "why did n't you come to class when i called?" "i didn't hear you," said zora, looking at her full- eyed and telling the half-truth easily. miss taylor was sure zora was lying, and she knew that she had lied to her on other occasions. indeed, she had found lying customary in this community, and she had a new england horror of it. she looked at zora disapprovingly, while zora looked at her quite imperson- ally, but steadily. then miss taylor braced herself, mentally, and took the war into africa. "do you ever tell lies, zora?" "yes." "don't you know that is a wicked, bad habit?" the quest of the silver fleece "why?" "because god hates them." "how does you know he does?" zora's tone was still impersonal. "he hates all evil." "but why is lies evil?" "because they make us deceive each other." "is that wrong?" "yes." zora bent forward and looked squarely into miss taylor's blue eyes. miss taylor looked into the velvet blackness of hers and wondered what they veiled. "is it wrong," asked zora, "to make believe you likes people when you don't, when you'se afeared of them and thinks they may rub off and dirty you?" "why — why — yes, if you — if you, deceive." "then you lies sometimes, don't you?" miss taylor stared helplessly at the solemn eyes that seemed to look so deeply into her. "perhaps — i do, zora; i'm sure i don't mean to, and — i hope god will forgive me." zora softened. "oh, i reckon he will if he 's a good god, because he 'd know that lies like that are heaps better than blab- bing the truth right out. only," she added severely, "you mus n't keep saying it's wicked to lie, 'cause it ain't. sometimes i lies," she reflected pensively, "and sometimes i don't — it depends." miss taylor forgot her collar, and fingered the pin on the desk. she felt at once a desperate desire to know this girl better and to establish her own authority. yet how should she do it? she kept toying with the pin, and zora watched her. then miss taylor said, absently: the place of dreams zora, what do you propose to do when you grow up?" zora considered. "think and walk — and rest," she concluded. "i mean, what work?" "work? oh, i sha'n't work. i don't like work do you?" miss taylor winced, wondering if the girl were lying again. she said quickly: "why, yes — that is, i like some kinds of work." "what kinds?" but miss taylor refused to have the matter made personal, as zora had a disconcerting way of pointing all their discussions. "everybody likes some kinds of work," she insisted. "if you like it, it ain't work," declared zora; but mary taylor proceeded around her circumscribed circle: "you might make a good cook, or a maid." , "i hate cooking. what's a maid?" "why, a woman who helps others." "helps folks that they love? i'd like that." "it is not a question of affection," said miss taylor, firmly; "one is paid for it." "i would n't work for pay." "but you 'll have to, child; you 'll have to earn a living." "do you work for pay?" "i work to earn a living." "same thing, i reckon, and it ain't true. living just comes free, like — like sunshine." "stuff! zora, your people must learn to work and work steadily and work hard —" she stopped, for she was sure zora was not listening; the far away look was in ,- the quest of the silver fleece her eyes and they were shining. she was beautiful as she stood there — strangely, almost uncannily, but start- lingly beautiful with her rich dark skin, softly moulded features, and wonderful eyes. "my people? — my people?" she murmured, half to herself. "do you know my people? they don't never work; they plays. ' they is all little, funny dark people. they flies and creeps and crawls, slippery-like; and they cries and calls. ah, my people! my poor little people! they misses me these days, because they is shadowy things that sing and smell and bloom in dark and terrible nights —" miss taylor started up. "zora, i believe you 're crazy!" she cried. but zora was looking at her calmly again. "we'se both crazy, ain't we?" she returned, with a simplicity that left the teacher helpless. miss taylor hurried out, forgetting her pin. zora looked it over leisurely, and tried it on. she decided that she liked it, and putting it in her pocket, went out too. school was out but the sun was still high, as bles hur- ried from the barn up the big road beside the soft shadows of the swamp. his head was busy with new thoughts and his lips were whistling merrily, for to-day zora was to show him the long dreamed of spot for the planting of the silver fleece. he hastened toward the cresswell mansion, and glanced anxiously up the road. at last he saw her coming, swinging down the road, lithe and dark, with the big white basket of clothes poised on her head. "zora," he yodled, and she waved her apron. he eased her burden to the ground and they sat down the place of dreams together, he nervous and eager; she silent, passive, but her eyes restless. bles was full of his plans. "zora," he said, "we 'll make it the finest bale ever raised in tooms; we'll just work it to the inch — just; love it into life." she considered the matter intently. "but," — presently, — " how can we sell it without the cresswells knowing?" "we won't try; we'll just take it to them and give them half, like the other tenants." "but the swamp is mortal thick and hard to clear." "we can do it." zora had sat still, listening; but now, suddenly, she leapt to her feet. "come," she said, "i 'll take the clothes home, then we 'll go " — she glanced at him — " down where the dreams are." and laughing, they hurried on. elspeth stood in the path that wound down to the cottage, and without a word zora dropped the basket at her feet. she turned back; but bles, struck by a thought, paused. the old woman was short, broad, black and wrinkled, with yellow fangs, red hanging lips, and wicked eyes. she leered at them; the boy shrank before it, but stood his ground. "aunt elspeth," he began, "zora and i are going to plant and tend some cotton to pay for her schooling — just the very best cotton we can find — and i heard" — he hesitated, — "i heard you had some wonderful seed." "yes," she mumbled, "i'se got the seed — i'se got it — wonder seed, sowed wid the three spells of obi in the old land ten tousand moons ago. but you could n't plant it," with a sudden shrillness, "it would kill you." the quest of the silver fleece "but —" bless tried to object, but she waved him away. "git the ground — git the ground; dig it — pet it, and we 'll see what we 'll see." and she disappeared. zora was not sure that it had been wise to tell their secret. "i was going to steal the seed," she said. "i knows where it is, and i don't fear conjure." "you must n't steal, zora," said bles, gravely. "why?" zora quickly asked. but before he answered, they both forgot; for their faces were turned toward the wonder of the swamp. the golden sun was pouring floods of glory through the slim black trees, and the mystic sombre pools caught and tossed back the glow in darker, duller crimson. long echoing cries leapt to and fro; silent footsteps crept hither and yonder; and the girl's eyes gleamed with a wild new joy. "the dreams!" she cried. "the dreams!" and leaping ahead, she danced along the shadowed path. he hastened after her, but she flew fast and faster; he fol- lowed, laughing, calling, pleading. he saw her twinkling limbs a-dancing as once he saw them dance in a halo of firelight; but now the fire was the fire of the world. her garments twined and flew in shadowy drapings about the perfect moulding of her young and dark half-naked figure. her heavy hair had burst its fastenings and lay in stiff- ened, straggling masses, bending reluctantly to the breeze, like curled smoke; while all about, the mad, wild singing rose and fell and trembled, till his head whirled. he paused uncertainly at a parting of the paths, crying: "zora! zora!" as for some lost soul. "zora! zora!" echoed the cry, faintly. the place of dreams abruptly the music fell; there came a long slow-grow- ing silence; and then, with a flutter, she was beside him again, laughing in his ears and crying with mocking voice: "is you afeared, honey?" he saw in her eyes sweet yearnings, but could speak nothing. he could only clasp her hand tightly, and again down they raced through the wood. all at once the swamp changed and chilled to a dull grayness; tall, dull trees started down upon the murky waters; and long pendent streamings of moss-like tears dripped from tree to earth. slowly and warily they threaded their way. "are you sure of the path, zora?" he once inquired anxiously. "i could find it asleep," she answered, skipping sure- footed onward. he continued to hold her hand tightly, and his own pace never slackened. around them the gray and death-like wilderness darkened. they felt and saw the cold white mist rising slowly from the ground, and waters growing blacker and broader. at last they came to what seemed the end. silently and dismally the half-dead forest, with its ghostly moss, lowered and darkened, and the black waters spread into a great silent lake of slimy ooze. the dead trunk of a fallen tree lay straight in front, torn and twisted, its top hidden yonder and mingled with impenetrable undergrowth. "where now, zora?" he cried. in a moment she had slipped her hand away and was scrambling upon the tree trunk. the waters yawned murkily below. "careful! careful!" he warned, struggling after her the quest of the silver fleece until she disappeared amid the leaves. he followed eagerly, but cautiously; and all at once found himself confronting a paradise. before them lay a long island, opening to the south, on the black lake, but sheltered north and east by the dense undergrowth of the black swamp and the rampart of dead and living trees. the soil was virgin and black, thickly covered over with a tangle of bushes, vines, and smaller growth all brilliant with early leaves and wild flowers. "a pretty tough proposition for clearing and plough- ing," said bles, with practised eye. but zora eagerly surveyed the prospect. "it's where the dreams lives," she whispered. meantime miss taylor had missed her brooch and searched for it in vain. in the midst of this pursuit the truth occurred to her — zora had stolen it. negroes would steal, everybody said. well, she must and would have the pin, and she started for elspeth's cabin. on the way she met the old woman in the path, but got little satisfaction. elspeth merely grunted ungra- ciously while eying the white woman with suspicion. mary taylor, again alone, sat down at a turn in the path, just out of sight of the house, and waited. soon she saw, with a certain grim satisfaction, zora and bles emerging from the swamp engaged in earnest con- versation. here was an opportunity to overwhelm both with an unforgettable reprimand. she rose before them like a spectral vengeance. "zora, i want my pin." bles started and stared; but zora eyed her calmly with something like disdain. "what pin?" she returned, unmoved. the place of dreams "zora, don't deny that you took my pin from the desk this afternoon," the teacher commanded severely. "i did n't say i did n't take no pin." "persons who will lie and steal will do anything." "why should n't people do anything they wants to?" "and you knew the pin was mine." "i saw you a-wearing of it," admitted zora easily. "then you have stolen it, and you are a thief." still zora appeared to be unimpressed with the heinous- ness of her fault. "did you make that pin?" she asked. "no, but it is mine." "why is it yours?" "because it was given to me." "but you don't need it; you 've got four other prettier ones — i counted." "that makes no difference." "yes it does — folks ain't got no right to things they« don't need." "that makes no difference, zora, and you know it. the pin is mine. you stole it. if you had wanted a pin and asked me i might have given you —" the girl blazed. "i don't want your old gifts," she almost hissed. "you don't own what you don't need and can't use. god owns it and i 'm going to send it back to him." with a swift motion she whipped the pin from her pocket and raised her arm to hurl it into the swamp. bles caught her hand. he caught it lightly and smiled sorrowfully into her eyes. she wavered a moment, then the answering light sprang to her face. dropping the brooch into his hand, she wheeled and fled toward the cabin. the quest of the silver fleece bles handed it silently to miss taylor. mary taylor was beside herself with impatient anger — and anger in- tensified by a conviction of utter helplessness to cope with any strained or unusual situations between herself and these two. "alwyn," she said sharply, "i shall report zora for stealing. and you may report yourself to miss smith to-night for disrespect toward a teacher." chapter viii mr. harry cresswell the cresswells, father and son, were at breakfast. the daughter was taking her coffee and rolls up stairs in bed. "p'sh! i don't like it!" declared harry cresswell, tossing the letter back to his father. "i tell you, it is a damned yankee trick." he was a man of thirty-five, smooth and white, slight, well-bred and masterful. his father, st. john cresswell, was sixty, white-haired, mustached and goateed; a stately, kindly old man with a temper and much family pride. "well, well," he said, his air half preoccupied, half unconcerned, "i suppose so — and yet " — he read the letter again, aloud: "' approaching you as one of the most influential landowners of alabama, on a confidential matter ' — h'm — h'm — ' a combination of capital and power, such as this nation has never seen' —' cotton manufacturers and cotton growers.' . . . well, well! of course, i suppose there 's nothing in it. and yet, harry, my boy, this cotton-growing business is get- ting in a pretty tight pinch. unless relief comes somehow — well, we 'll just have to quit. we simply can't keep the cost of cotton down to a remunerative figure with niggers getting scarcer and dearer. every year i have to pinch [ ] * the quest of the silver fleece 'em closer and closer. i had to pay maxwell two hundred and fifty to get that old darky and his boys turned over to me, and one of the young ones has run away already." harry lighted a cigarette. "we must drive them more. you 're too easy, father; they understand that. by the way, what did that letter say about a 'sister '?" "says he 's got a sister over at the nigger school whom perhaps we know. i suppose he thinks we dine there occasionally." the old man chuckled. "that reminds me, elspeth is sending her girl there." "what's that?" an angry gleam shot into the younger man's eye. "yes. she announced this morning, pert as you please, that she could n't tote clothes any more — she had to study." "damn it! this thing is going too far. we can't keep a maid or a plough-boy on the place because of this devilish school. it's going to ruin the whole labor system. we 've been too mild and decent. i 'm going to put my foot down right here. i 'll make elspeth take that girl out of school if i have to horse-whip her, and i 'll warn the school against further interference with our tenants. here, in less than a week, go two plough- hands — and now this girl." the old man smiled. "you 'll hardly miss any work zora does," he said. "i 'll make her work. she 's giving herself too many damned airs. i know who 's back of this — it's that nigger we saw talking to the white woman in the field the other day." "well, don't work yourself up. the wench don't amount to much anyhow. by the way, though, if you mr. harry cresswell do go to the school it won't hurt to see this taylor's sister and size the family up." "pshaw! i 'm going to give the smith woman such a scare that she 'll keep her hands off our niggers." and harry cresswell rode away. mary taylor had charge of the office that morning, while miss smith, shut up in her bedroom, went labori- ously over her accounts. miss mary suddenly sat up, threw a hasty glance into the glass and felt the back of her belt. it was — it could n't be — surely, it was mr. harry cresswell riding through the gateway on his beautiful white mare. he kicked the gate open rather viciously, did not stop to close it, and rode straight across the lawn. miss taylor noticed his riding breeches and leggings, his white linen and white, clean-cut, high-bred face. such apparitions were few about the country lands. she felt inclined to flutter, but gripped herself. "good-morning," she said, a little stiffly. mr. cresswell halted and stared; then lifting the hat which he had neglected to remove in crossing the hall, he bowed in stately grace. miss taylor was no ordinary picture. her brown hair was almost golden; her dark eyes shone blue; her skin was clear and healthy, and her white dress — happy coincidence! — had been laundered that very morning. her half-suppressed excitement at the sudden duty of welcoming the great aristocrat of the county, gave a piquancy to her prettiness. "the — devil!" commented mr. harry cresswell to himself. but to miss taylor: "i beg pardon — er — miss smith?" "no — i 'm sorry. miss smith is engaged this morn- ing. i am miss taylor." "i cannot share miss taylor's sorrow," returned mr. "- the quest of the silver fleece cresswell gravely, "for i believe i have the honor of some correspondence with miss taylor's brother." mr. cresswell searched for the letter, but did not find it. "oh! has john written you?" she beamed suddenly. "i 'm so glad. it's more than he 's done for me this three-month. i beg your pardon — do sit down — i think you 'll find this one easier. our stock of chairs is limited." it was delightful to have a casual meeting receive this social stamp; the girl was all at once transfigured — ani- mated, glowing, lovely; all of which did not escape the caller's appraising inspection. "there!" said mr. cresswell. "i 've left your gate gaping." "oh, don't mind ... i hope john 's well?" "the truth is," confessed cresswell, "it was a busi- ness matter — cotton, you know." "john is nothing but cotton; i tell him his soul is fibrous." "he mentioned your being here and i thought i 'd drop over and welcome you to the south." "thank you," returned miss taylor, reddening with pleasure despite herself. there was a real sincerity in the tone. all this confirmed so many convictions of hers. "of course, you know how it is in the south," cress- well pursued, the opening having been so easily accom- plished. "i understand perfectly." "my sister would be delighted to meet you, but —" "oh i realize the — difficulties." "perhaps you would n't mind riding by some day — it's embarrassing to suggest this, but, you know —" mr. harry cresswell mary taylor was perfectly self-possessed. "mr. cresswell," she said seriously, "i know very well that it would n't do for your sister to call here, and i sha'n't mind a bit coming by to see her first. i don't believe in standing on stupid ceremony." cresswell thanked her with quiet cordiality, and sug- gested that when he was driving by he might pick her up in his gig some morning. miss taylor expressed her pleasure at the prospect. then the talk wandered to general matters — the rain, the trees, the people round about, and, inevitably — the negro. "oh, by the bye," said mr. cresswell, frowning and hesitating over the recollection of his errand's purpose, "there was one matter " — he paused. miss taylor leant forward, all interest. "i hardly know that i ought to mention it, but your school —" this charming young lady disarmed his truculent spirit, and the usually collected and determined young man was at a loss how to proceed. the girl, however, was obviously impressed and pleased by his evidence of in- terest, whatever its nature; so in a manner vastly dif- ferent from the one he had intended to assume, he continued: "there is a way in which we may be of service to you, and that is by enlightening you upon points concern- ing which the nature of your position — both as teacher and socially — must keep you in the dark. "for instance, all these negroes are, as you know, of wretchedly low morals; but there are a few so depraved that it would be suicidal to take them into this school. we recognize the good you are doing, but we do not want it more than offset by utter lack of discrimination in choosing your material." the quest of the silver fleece "certainly not — have we —" miss mary faltered. this beginning was a bit ominous, wholly unexpected. "there is a girl, zora, who has just entered, who — i must speak candidly — who ought not to be here; i thought it but right to let you know." "thank you, so much. i 'll tell miss smith." mary taylor suddenly felt herself a judge of character. "i suspected that she was — not what she ought to be. be- lieve me, we appreciate your interest." a few more words, and mr. cresswell, after bending courteously over her hand with a deference no new eng- lander had ever shown, was riding away on his white mare. for a while mary taylor sat very quietly. it was like a breath of air from the real world, this hour's chat with a well-bred gentleman. she wondered how she had done her part — had she been too eager and school-girl- ish? had she met this stately ceremony with enough breeding to show that she too was somebody? she pounced upon miss smith the minute that lady entered the office. "miss smith, who do you think has been here?" she burst out enthusiastically. "i saw him on the lawn." there was a suspicious lack of warmth in this brief affirmation. "he was so gracious and kindly, and he knows my brother. and oh, miss smith! we 've got to send that zora right away." "indeed " — the observation was not even interroga- tory. the preceptress of the struggling school for negro children merely evinced patience for the younger woman's fervency. "yes; he says she 's utterly depraved." mr. harry cresswell "said that, did he?" miss smith watched her with tranquil regard. miss taylor paused. "of course, we cannot think of keeping her." miss smith pursed her lips, offering her first expres- sion of opinion. "i guess we 'll worry along with her a little while anyhow," she said. the girl stared at miss smith in honest, if unpardon- able, amazement. "do you mean to say that you are going to keep in this school a girl who not only lies and steals but is positively — immoral?" miss smith smiled, wholly unmoved. "no; but i mean that i am here to learn from those whose ideas of right do not agree with mine, to discover why they differ, and to let them learn of me — so far as i am worthy." mary taylor was not unappreciative of miss smith's stern high-mindedness, but her heart hardened at this, to her, misdirected zeal. echo of the spirit of an older day, miss smith seemed, to her, to be cramped and par- alyzed in an armor of prejudice and sectionalisms. plain-speaking was the only course, and mary, if a little complacent perhaps in her frankness, was sincere in her purpose. "i think, miss smith, you are making a very grave mistake. i regard zora as a very undesirable person from every point of view. i look upon mr. cresswell's visit to-day as almost providential. he came offering an olive branch from the white aristocracy to this work; to bespeak his appreciation and safeguard the future. moreover," and miss taylor's voice gathered firmness despite miss smith's inscrutable eye, "moreover, i have the quest of the silver fleece reason to know that the disposition — indeed, the plan — in certain quarters to help this work materially de- pends very largely on your willingness to meet the ad- vances of the southern whites half way." she paused for a reply or a question. receiving neither, she walked with dignity up the stairs. from her window she could see cresswell's straight shoulders, as he rode toward town, and beyond him a black speck in the road. but she could not see the smile on mr. cresswell's lips, nor did she hear him remark twice, with seeming irrele- vance, "the devil!" the rider, being closer to it, recognized in mary taylor's "black speck" bles alwyn walking toward him rapidly with axe and hoe on shoulder, whistling merrily. they saw each other almost at the same moment and whistle and smile faded. mr. cresswell knew the negro by sight and disliked him. he belonged in his mind to that younger class of half-educated blacks who were im- pudent and disrespectful toward their superiors, not even touching his hat when he met a white man. more- over, he was sure that it was miss taylor with whom this boy had been talking so long and familiarly in the cotton- field last spring — an offence doubly heinous now that he had seen miss taylor. his first impulse was to halt the negro then and there and tell him a few plain truths. but he did not feel quarrelsome at the moment, and there was, after all, nothing very tangible to justify a berating. the fel- low's impudence was sure to increase, and then! so he merely reined his horse to the better part of the foot- path and rode on. bles, too, was thinking. he knew the well-dressed man with his milk-white face and overbearing way. he mr. harry cresswell would expect to be greeted with raised hat but bles bit his lips and pulled down his cap firmly. the axe, too, in some indistinct way felt good in his hand. he saw the horse coming in his pathway and stepping aside in the dust continued on his way, neither looking nor speaking. so they passed each other by, mr. cresswell to town, bles to the swamp, apparently ignorant of each other's very existence. yet, as the space widened between them, each felt a more vindictive anger for the other. how dares the black puppy to ignore a cresswell on the highway? if this went on, the day would surely come when negroes felt no respect or fear whatever for whites? and then — my god! mr. cresswell struck his mare a vicious blow and dashed toward town. the black boy, too, went his way in silent, burning rage. why should he be elbowed into the roadside dust by an insolent bully? why had he not stood his ground? pshaw! all this fine frenzy was useless, and he knew it. the sweat oozed on his forehead. it was n't man against man, or he would have dragged the pale puppy from his horse and rubbed his face in the earth. it was n't even one against many, else how willingly, swing- ing his axe, he would have stood his ground before a mob. no, it was one against a world, a world of power, opin- ion, wealth, opportunity; and he, the one, must cringe and bear in silence lest the world crash about the ears of his people. he slowly plodded on in bitter silence to- ward the swamp. but the day was balmy, the way was beautiful; contempt slowly succeeded anger, and hope soon triumphed over all. for yonder was zora, poised, waiting. and behind her lay the field of dreams. chapter ix the planting zora looked down upon bles, where he stood to his knees in mud. the toil was beyond exhilara- tion— it was sickening weariness and panting despair. the great roots, twined in one unbroken snarl, clung frantically to the black soil. the vines and bushes fought back with thorn and bramble. zora stood wiping the blood from her hands and staring at bles. she saw the long gnarled fingers of the tough little trees and they looked like the fingers of elspeth down there be- neath the earth pulling against the boy. slowly zora forgot her blood and pain. who would win — the witch, or jason? bles looked up and saw the bleeding hands. with a bound he was beside her. "zora!" the cry seemed wrung from his heart by contrition. why had he not known — not seen before! "zora, come right out of this! sit down here and rest." she looked at him unwaveringly; there was no flinch- ing of her spirit. "i sha'n't do it," she said. "you 'se working, and i'se going to work." "but — zora — you 're not used to such work, and i am. you 're tired out." [ ] the planting "so is you," was her reply. he looked himself over ruefully, and dropping his axe, sat down beside her on a great log. silently they con- templated the land; it seemed indeed a hopeless task. then they looked at each other in sudden, unspoken fear of failure. "if we only had a mule!" he sighed. immediately her face lighted and her lips parted, but she said nothing. he presently bounded to his feet. "never mind, zora. to-morrow is saturday, and i 'll work all day. we just will get it done — sometime." his mouth closed with determination. "we won't work any more to-day, then?" cried zora, her eagerness betraying itself despite her efforts to hide it. "you won't," affirmed bles. "but i 've got to do just a little —" but zora was adamant: he was tired; she was tired; they would rest. to-morrow with the rising sun they would begin again. "there 'll be a bright moon to-night," ventured bles. "then i 'll come too," zora announced positively, and he had to promise for her sake to rest. they went up the path together and parted diffidently, he watching her flit away with sorrowful eyes, a little disturbed and puzzled at the burden he had voluntarily assumed, but never dreaming of drawing back. zora did not go far. no sooner did she know herself well out of his sight than she dropped lightly down beside the path, listening intently until the last echo of his footsteps had died away. then, leaving the cabin on her right, and the scene of their toil on her left, she cut straight through the swamp, skirted the big road, and the quest of the silver fleece in a half-hour was in the lower meadows of the cross- well plantations, where the tired stock was being turned out to graze for the night. here, in the shadow of the wood, she lingered. slowly, but with infinite patience, she broke one strand after another of the barbed-wire fencing, watching, the while, the sun grow great and crimson, and die at last in mighty splendor behind the dimmer westward forests. the voices of the hands and hostlers grew fainter and thinner in the distance of purple twilight until the last of them disappeared. silence fell, deep and soft; the silence of a day sinking to sleep. not until then did zora steal forth from her hiding-place. she had chosen her mule long before — a big, black beast, snorting over his pile of corn,— and gliding up to him, she gathered his supper into her skirt, found a stout halter, and fed him sparingly as he followed her. quickly she unfastened the pieces of the fence, led the animal through, and spliced them again; and then, with fox-like caution, she guided her prize through the laby- rinthine windings of the swamp. it was dark and haunt- ing, and ever and again rose lonely night cries. the girl trembled a little, but plodded resolutely on until the dim silver disk of the half-moon began to glimmer through the trees. then she pressed on more swiftly, and fed more scantily, until finally, with the moonlight pour- ing over them at the black lagoon, zora attempted to drive the animal into the still waters; but he gave a loud protesting snort and balked. by subtle temptings she gave him to understand that plenty lay beyond the dark waters, and quickly swinging herself to his back she started to ride him up and down along the edge of the lagoon, petting and whispering to him of good things the planting beyond. slowly her eyes grew wide; she seemed to be riding out of dreamland on some hobgoblin beast. deeper and deeper they penetrated into the dark waters. now they entered the slime; now they stumbled on hidden roots; but deeper and deeper they waded until at last, turning the animal's head with a jerk, and giv- ing him a sharp stroke of the whip, she headed straight for the island. a moment the beast snorted and plunged; higher and higher the black still waters rose round the girl. they crept up her little limbs, swirled round her breasts and gleamed green and slimy along her shoulders. a wild terror gripped her. maybe she was riding the devil's horse, and these were the yawning gates of hell, black and sombre beneath the cold, dead radiance of the moon. she saw again the gnarled and black and claw- like fingers of elspeth gripping and dragging her down. a scream struggled in her breast, her fingers relaxed, and the big beast, stretching his cramped neck, rose in one mighty plunge and planted his feet on the sand of the island. bles, hurrying down in the morning with new tools and new determination, stopped and stared in blank amazement. zora was perched in a tree singing softly and beneath a fat black mule was finishing his breakfast. "zora —" he gasped, "how — how did you do it?" she only smiled and sang a happier measure, pausing only to whisper: "dreams — dreams — it's all dreams here, i tells you." bles frowned and stood irresolute. the song proceeded with less assurance, slower and lower, till it stopped, and the singer dropped to the ground, watching him with the quest of the silver fleece wide eyes. he looked down at her, slight, tired, scratched, but undaunted, striving blindly toward the light with stanch, unfaltering faith. a pity surged in his heart. he put his arm about her shoulders and murmured: "you poor, brave child." and she shivered with joy. all day saturday and part of sunday they worked feverishly. the trees crashed and the stumps groaned and crept up into the air, the brambles blazed and smoked; little frightened animals fled for shelter; and a wide black patch of rich loam broadened and broad- ened till it kissed, on every side but the sheltered east, the black waters of the lagoon. late sunday night the mule again swam the slimy lagoon, and disappeared to- ward the cresswell fields. then bles sat down beside zora, facing the fields, and gravely took her hand. she looked at him in quick, breathless fear. "zora," he said, " sometimes you tell lies, don't you?" "yes," she said slowly; "sometimes." "and, zora, sometimes you steal — you stole the pin from miss taylor, and we stole mr. cresswell's mule for two days." "yes," she said faintly, with a perplexed wrinkle in her brows, " i stole it." "well, zora, i don't want you ever to tell another lie, or ever to take anything that does n't belong to you." she looked at him silently with the shadow of some- thing like terror far back in the depths of her deep eyes. "always — tell — the truth?" she repeated slowly. "yes." her fingers worked nervously. "all the truth?" she asked. the planting he thought a while. "no," said he finally, "it is not necessary always to tell all the truth; but never tell anything that is n't the truth." "never?" "never." "even if it hurts me?" "even if it hurts. god is good, he will not let it hurt much." "he 's a fair god, ain't he?" she mused, scanning the evening sky. "yes — he 's fair, he would n't take advantage of a little girl that did wrong, when she didn't know it was wrong." her face lightened and she held his hands in both hers, and said solemnly as though saying a prayer: "i won't lie any more, and i won't steal — and —" she looked at him in startled wistfulness — he remembered it in after years; but he felt he had preached enough. "and now for the seed! "he interrupted joyously. "and then — the silver fleece!" that night, for the first time, bles entered zora'a home. it was a single low, black room, smoke-shadowed and dirty, with two dingy beds and a gaping fire-place. on one side of the fireplace sat the yellow woman, young, with traces of beauty, holding the white child in her arms; on the other, hugging the blaze, huddled a formless heap, wreathed in coils of tobacco smoke — elspeth, zora's mother. zora said nothing, but glided in and stood in the shadows. "good-evening," said bles cheerily. the woman with the baby alone responded. the quest of the silver fleece "i came for the seed you promised us — the cotton- seed." the hag wheeled and approached him swiftly, grasp- ing his shoulders and twisting her face into his. she was a horrible thing — filthy of breath, dirty, with dribbling mouth and red eyes. her few long black teeth hung loosely like tusks and the folds of fat on her chin curled down on her great neck. bles shuddered and stepped back. "is you afeared, honey?" she whispered. "no," he said sturdily. she chuckled drily. "yes, you is — everybody 's 'feared of old elspeth; but she won't hurt you — you 's got the spell;" and wheeling again, she was back at the fire. "but the seed? " he ventured. she pointed impressively roofward. "the dark of the moon, boy, the dark of the moon — the first dark — at midnight." bles could not wring another word from her; nor did the ancient witch, by word or look, again give the slightest indication that she was aware of his presence. with reluctant farewell, bles turned home. for a space zora watched him, and once she started after him, but came slowly back, and sat by the fire-place. out of the night came voices and laughter, and the sound of wheels and galloping horses. it was not the soft, rollicking laughter of black men, but the keener, more metallic sound of white men's cries, and bles alwyn paused at the edge of the wood, looked back and hesitated, but decided after a moment to go home and to bed. zora, however, leapt to her feet and fled into the night, while the hag screamed after her and cursed. there was the planting tramping of feet on the cabin floor, and loud voices and singing and cursing. "where's zora?" some one yelled, with an oath. "damn it! where is she? i haven't seen her for a year, you old devil." the hag whimpered and snarled. far down in the field of the fleece, zora lay curled beneath a tall dark tree asleep. all night there was coming and going in the cabin; the talk and laughter grew loud and boister- ous, and the red fire glared in the night. the days flew by and the moon darkened. in the swamp, the hidden island lay spaded and bedded, and bles was throwing up a dyke around the edge; zora helped him until he came to the black oak at the western edge. it was a large twisted thing with one low flying limb that curled out across another tree and made a mighty seat above the waters. "don't throw the dirt too high there," she begged; "it 'll bring my seat too near the earth." he looked up. "why, it's a throne," he laughed. "it needs a roof," he whimsically told her when his day's work was done. deftly twisting and intertwining the branches of tree and bush, he wove a canopy of living green that shadowed the curious nest and warded it snugly from wind and water. early next morning bles slipped down and improved the nest; adding foot-rests to make the climbing easy, peep-holes east and west, a bit of carpet over the bark, and on the rough main trunk, a little picture in blue and gold of bougereau's madonna. zora sat hidden and alone in silent ecstasy. bles peeped in — there was not room to the quest of the silver fleece enter: the girl was staring silently at the madonna. she seemed to feel rather than hear his presence, and she in- quired softly: "who's it, bles?" "the mother of god," he answered reverently. "and why does she hold a lily?" "it stands for purity — she was a good woman." "with a baby," zora added slowly. "yes —" said bles, and then more quickly — " it is the christ child — god's baby." "god is the father of all the little babies, ain't he, bles?" "why, yes — yes, of course; only this little baby did n't have any other father." "yes, i know one like that," she said, — and then she added softly: "poor little christ-baby." bles hesitated, and before he found words zora was saying: "how white she is; she 's as white as the lily, bles; but — i 'm sorry she 's white — bles, what's purity — just whiteness?" bles glanced at her awkwardly but she was still star- ing wide-eyed at the picture, and her voice was earnest. she was now so old and again so much a child, an eager questioning child, that there seemed about her innocence something holy. "it means," he stammered, groping for meanings — "it means being good — just as good as a woman knows how." she wheeled quickly toward him and asked him eagerly: "not better — not better than she knows, but just as good, in — lying and stealing and — and everything?" the planting bles smiled. "no — not better than she knows, but just as good." she trembled happily. "i'm — pure," she said, with a strange little breaking voice and gesture. a sob struggled in his throat. "of course you are," he whispered tenderly, hiding her little hands in his. "i — i was so afraid — sometimes — that i was n't," she whispered, lifting up to him her eyes streaming with tears. silently he kissed her lips. from that day on they walked together in a new world. no revealing word was spoken; no vows were given, none asked for; but a new bond held them. she grew older, quieter, taller, he humbler, more tender and reverent, as they toiled together. so the days passed. the sun burned in the heavens; but the silvered glory of the moon grew fainter and fainter and each night it rose later than the night before. then one day zora whispered: "to-night!" bles came to the cabin, and he and zora and elspeth sat silently around the fire-place with its meagre embers. the night was balmy and still; only occasionally a wan- dering breeze searching the hidden places of the swamp, . or the call and song of night birds, jarred the stillness. long they sat, until the silence crept into bles's flesh, and stretching out his hand, he touched zora's, clasp- ing it. after a time the old woman rose and hobbled to a big black chest. out of it she brought an old bag of cotton seed — not the white-green seed which bles had always known, but small, smooth black seeds, which she handled the quest of the silver fleece carefully, dipping her hands deep down and letting them drop through her gnarled fingers. and so again they sat and waited and waited, saying no word. not until the stars of midnight had swung to the zenith did they start down through the swamp. bles sought to guide the old woman, but he found she knew the way better than he did. her shadowy figure darting in and out among the trunks till they crossed the tree bridge, moved ever noiselessly ahead. she motioned the boy and girl away to the thicket at the edge, and stood still and black in the midst of the cleared island. bles slipped his arm protectingly around zora, glancing fearfully about in the darkness. slowly a great cry rose and swept the island. it struck madly and sharply, and then died away to uneasy murmuring. from afar there seemed to come the echo or the answer to the call. the form of elspeth blurred the night dimly far off, almost disappearing, and then growing blacker and larger. they heard the whispering "swish-swish" of falling seed; they felt the heavy tread of a great com- ing body. the form of the old woman suddenly loomed black above them, hovering a moment formless and vast then fading again away, and the "swish-swish" of the falling seed alone rose in the silence of the night. at last all was still. a long silence. then again the air seemed suddenly filled with that great and awful cry; its echoing answer screamed afar and they heard the raucous voice of elspeth beating in their ears: "de seed done sowed! de seed done sowed!" chapter x mr. taylor calls thinking the matter over," said harry cress- well to his father, " i 'm inclined to advise drawing this taylor out a little further." the colonel puffed his cigar and one eye twinkled, the lid of the other being at the moment suggestively lowered. "was she pretty?" he asked; but his son ignored the remark, and the father continued: "i had a telegram from taylor this morning, after you left. he 'll be passing through montgomery the first of next month, and proposes calling." "i 'll wire him to come," said harry, promptly. at this juncture the door opened and a young lady entered. helen cresswell was twenty, small and pretty, with a slightly languid air. outside herself there was little in which she took very great interest, and her in- terest in herself was not absorbing. yet she had a curiously sweet way. her servants liked her and the tenants could count on her spasmodic attentions in time of sickness and trouble. "good-morning," she said, with a soft drawl. she sauntered over to her father, kissed him, and hung over the back of his chair. "did you get that novel for me, harry ?" — expect- antly regarding her brother. [ ] the quest of the silver fleece "i forgot it, sis. but i 'll be going to town again soon." the young lady showed that she was annoyed. "by the bye, sis, there 's a young lady over at the negro school whom i think you 'd like." "black or white?" "a young lady, i said. don't be sarcastic." "i heard you. i did not know whether you were using our language or others'." "she 's really unusual, and seems to understand things. she's planning to call some day — shall you be at home?" "certainly not, harry; you 're crazy." and she strolled out to the porch, exchanged some remarks with a passing servant, and then nestled comfortably into a hammock. she helped herself to a chocolate and called out musically: "pa, are you going to town to-day?" "yes, honey." "can i go?" "i 'm going in an hour or so, and business at the bank will keep me until after lunch." "i don't care, i just must go. i 'm clean out of any- thing to read. and i want to shop and call on dolly's friend — she 's going soon." "all right. can you be ready by eleven?" she considered. "yes — i reckon," she drawled, prettily swinging her foot and watching the tree-tops above the distant swamp. harry cresswell, left alone, rang the bell for the butler. "still thinking of going, are you, sam?" asked cress- well, carelessly, when the servant appeared. he was a young, light-brown boy, his manner obsequious. mr. taylor calls "why, yes, sir — if you can spare me." "spare you, you black rascal! you 're going anyhow. well, you 'll repent it; the north is no place for niggers. see here, i want lunch for two at one o'clock." the directions that followed were explicit and given with a particularity that made sam wonder. "order my trap," he finally directed. cresswell went out on the high-pillared porch until the trap appeared. "oh, harry! i wanted to go in the trap — take me?" coaxed his sister. "sorry, sis, but i 'm going the other way." "i don't believe it," said miss cresswell, easily, as she settled down to another chocolate. cresswell did not take the trouble to reply. miss taylor was on her morning walk when she saw him spinning down the road, and both expressed surprise and pleasure at the meeting. "what a delightful morning!" said the school-teacher, and the glow on her face said even more. "i 'm driving round through the old plantation," he explained; "won't you join me?" "the invitation is tempting," she hesitated; "but i 've got just oodles of work." "what! on saturday?" "saturday is my really busy day, don't you know. i guess i could get off; really, though, i suspect i ought to tell miss smith." he looked a little perplexed; but the direction in which her inclinations lay was quite clear to him. "it — it would be decidedly the proper thing," he murmured, "and we could, of course, invite miss" she saw the difficulty and interrupted him: the quest of the silver fleece "it's quite unnecessary; she 'll think i have simply gone for a long walk." and soon they were speeding down the silent road, breathing the perfume of the pines. now a ride of an early spring morning, in alabama, over a leisurely old plantation road and behind a spirited horse, is an event to be enjoyed. add to this a man bred to be agreeable and outdoing his training, and a pretty girl gay with new-found companionship — all this is apt to make a morning worth remembering. they turned off the highway and passed through long stretches of ploughed and tumbled fields, and other fields brown with the dead ghosts of past years' cotton stand- ing straggling and weather-worn. long, straight, or curling rows of ploughers passed by with steaming, strug- gling mules, with whips snapping and the yodle of work- ers or the sharp guttural growl of overseers as a constant accompaniment. "they 're beginning to plough up the land for the cotton-crop," he explained. "what a wonderful crop it is!" mary had fallen pensive. "yes, indeed — if only we could get decent returns for it." "why, i thought it was a most valuable crop." she turned to him inquiringly. "it is — to negroes and manufacturers, but not to planters." "but why don't the planters do something?" "what can be done with negroes?" his tone was bitter. "we tried to combine against manufacturers in the farmers' league of last winter. my father was president. the pastime cost him fifty thousand dollars." miss taylor was perplexed, but eager. "you must mr. taylor calls correspond with my brother, mr. cresswell," she gravely observed. "i 'm sure he —" before she could finish, an overseer rode up., he began talking abruptly, with a quick side-glance at mary, in which she might have caught a gleam of surprised curiosity. "that old nigger, jim sykes, over on the lower place, sir, ain't showed up again this morning." cresswell nodded. "i 'll drive by and see," he said carelessly. the old man was discovered sitting before his cabin with his head in his hands. he was tall, black, and gaunt, partly bald, with tufted hair. one leg was swathed in rags, and his eyes, as he raised them, wore a cowed and furtive look. "well, uncle jim, why are n't you at work?" called cresswell from the roadside. the old man rose pain- fully to his feet, swayed against the cabin, and clutched off his cap. "it's my leg again, master harry — the leg what i hurt in the gin last fall," he answered, uneasily. cresswell frowned. "it's probably whiskey," he as- sured his companion, in an undertone; then to the man: "you must get to the field to-morrow,"— his habit- ually calm, unfeeling positiveness left no ground for ob- jection; "i cannot support you in idleness, you know." "yes, master harry," the other returned, with con- ciliatory eagerness; "i knows that — i knows it and i ain't shirking. but, master harry, they ain't doing me right 'bout my cabin — i just wants to show you." he got out some dirty papers, and started to hobble for- ward, wincing with pain. mary taylor stirred in her seat under an involuntary impulse to help, but cresswell touched the horse. the quest of the silver fleece "all right, uncle jim," he said; "we 'll look it over to-morrow." they turned presently to where they could see the cresswell oaks waving lazily in the sunlight and the white gleam of the pillared " big house." a pause at the cresswell store, where mr. cresswell entered, afforded mary taylor an opportunity further to extend her fund of information. "do you go to school? " she inquired of the black boy who held the horse, her mien sympathetic and interested. "no, ma'am," he mumbled. "what's your name?" "buddy — use one of aunt rachel's chilluns." "and where do you live, buddy?" "i lives with granny, on de upper place." "well, i 'll see aunt rachel and ask her to send you to school." "won't do no good — she done ast, and mr. cress- well, he say he ain't going to have no more of his niggers —" but mr. cresswell came out just then, and with him a big, fat, and greasy black man, with little eyes and soft wheedling voice. he was following cresswell at the side but just a little behind, hat in hand, head aslant, and talk- ing deferentially. cresswell strode carelessly on, answer- ing him with good-natured tolerance. the black man stopped with humility before the trap and swept a profound obeisance. cresswell glanced up quizzically at miss taylor. "this," he announced, "is jones, the baptist preacher — begging." "ah, lady," — in mellow, unctuous tones — "i don't know what we poor black folks would do without mr. mr. taylor calls cresswell — the lord bless him," said the minister, shov- ing his hand far down into his pocket. shortly afterward they were approaching the cresswell mansion, when the young man reined in the horse. "if you would n't mind," he suggested, "i could in- troduce my sister to you." "i should be delighted," answered miss taylor, readily. when they rolled up to the homestead under its famous oaks the hour was past one. the house was a white ob- long building of two stories. in front was the high pillared porch, semi-circular, extending to the roof with a balcony in the second story. on the right was a broad verandah looking toward a wide lawn, with the main road and the red swamp in the distance. the butler met them, all obeisance. "ask miss helen to come down," said mr. cresswell. sam glanced at him. "miss helen will be dreadful sorry, but she and the colonel have just gone to town — i believe her aunty ain't well." mr. cresswell looked annoyed. "well, well! that's too bad," he said. "but at any rate, have a seat a moment out here on the verandah, miss taylor. and, sam, can't you find us a sandwich and something cool? i could not be so inhospitable as to send you away hungry at this time of day." miss taylor sat down in a comfortable low chair fac- ing the refreshing breeze, and feasted her eyes on the scene. oh, this was life: a smooth green lawn, and beds of flowers, a vista of brown fields, and the dark line of wood beyond. the deft, quiet butler brought out a little table, spread with the whitest of cloths and laid with the the quest of the silver fleece brightest of silver, and " found" a dainty lunch. there was a bit of fried chicken breast, some crisp bacon, browned potatoes, little round beaten biscuit, and rose-colored sherbet with a whiff of wine in it. miss taylor wondered a little at the bounty of southern hospitality; but she was hungry, and she ate heartily, then leaned back dreamily and listened to mr. cresswell's smooth southern r's, adding a word here and there that kept the conversa- tion going and brought a grave smile to his pale lips. at last with a sigh she arose to her feet. "i must go! what shall i tell miss smith! no, no — no carriage; i must walk." of course, however, she could not refuse to let him go at least half-way, ostensibly to tell her of the coming of her brother. he expressed again his disappointment at his sister's absence. somewhat to miss taylor's surprise miss smith said nothing until they were parting for the night, then she asked: "was miss cresswell at home?" mary reddened. "she had been called suddenly to town." "well, my dear, i would n't do it again." the girl was angry. "i 'm not a school-girl, but a grown woman, and ca- pable of caring for myself. moreover, in matter of propriety i do not think you have usually found my ideas too lax — rather the opposite." "there, there, dear; don't be angry. only i think if your brother knew —" "he will know in a very few weeks; he is coming to visit the cresswells." and miss taylor sailed triumph- antly up the stairs. but john taylor was not the man to wait weeks when mr. taylor call a purpose could be accomplished in days or hours. no sooner was harry cresswell's telegram at hand than he hastened back from savannah, struck across country, and the week after his sister's ride found him striding up the carriage-way of the cresswell home. john taylor had prospered since summer. the cotton manufacturers' combine was all but a fact; mr. easterly had discovered that his chief clerk's sense and executive ability were invaluable, and john taylor was slated for a salary in five figures when things should be finally settled, not to mention a generous slice of stock — watery at pres- ent, but warranted to ripen early. while mr. easterly still regarded taylor's larger trust as chimerical, some occurrences of the fall made him take a respectful attitude toward it. just as the final clauses of the combine agreement were to be signed, there appeared a shortage in the cotton-crop, and prices began to soar. the cause was obviously the unexpected success of the new farmers' league among the cotton- growers. mr. easterly found it comparatively easy to overthrow the corner, but the flurry made some of the manufacturers timid, and the trust agreement was post- poned until a year later. this experience and the per- sistence of mr. taylor induced mr. easterly to take a step toward the larger project: he let in some eager out- side capital to the safer manufacturing scheme, and with- drew a corresponding amount of mrs. grey's money. this he put into john taylor's hands to invest in the south in bank stock and industries with the idea of play- ing a part in the financial situation there. "it's a risk, taylor, of course, and we 'll let the old lady take the risk. at the worst it's safer than the damned foolishness she has in mind." the quest of the silver fleece so it happened that john taylor went south to look after large investments and, as mr. easterly expressed it, "to bring back facts, not dreams." his investment matters went quickly and well, and now he turned to his wider and bigger scheme. he wrote the cresswells tenta- tively, expecting no reply, or an evasive one; planning to circle around them, drawing his nets closer, and trying them again later. to his surprise they responded quickly. "humph! hard pressed," he decided, and hurried to them. so it was the week after mary taylor's ride that found him at cresswell's front door, thin, eagle-eyed, fairly well dressed and radiating confidence. "john taylor," he announced to sam, jerkily, thrust- ing out a card. "want to see mr. cresswell; soon as possible." sam made him wait a half-hour, for the sake of dis- cipline, and then brought father and son. "good-morning, mr. cresswell, and mr. cresswell again," said mr. taylor, helping himself to a straight- backed chair. "hope you 'll pardon this unexpected visit. found myself called through montgomery, just after i got your wire; thought i 'd better drop over." at harry's suggestion they moved to the verandah and sat down over whiskey and soda, which taylor re- fused, and plunged into the subject without preliminaries. "i 'm assuming that you gentlemen are in the cotton business for making money. so am i. i see a way in which you and your friends can help me and mine, and clear up more millions than all of us can spend; for this reason i 've hunted you up. this is my scheme. "see here; there are a thousand cotton-mills in this country, half of them in the south, one-fourth in new mr. taylor calls england, and .one-fourth in the middle states. they are capitalized at six hundred million dollars. now let me tell you: we control three hundred and fifty millions of that capitalization. the trust is going through capitaliz- ation at a billion. the only thing that threatens it is child-labor legislation in the south, the tariff, and the con- trol of the supply of cotton. pretty big hindrances, you say. that's so, but look here: we 've got the stock so placed that nothing short of a popular upheaval can send any child labor bill through congress in six years. see? after that we don't care. same thing applies to the tariff. the last bill ran ten years. the present bill will last longer, or i lose my guess — 'specially if smith is in the senate. "well, then, there remains raw cotton. the connec- tion of cotton-raising and its raw material is too close to risk a manufacturing trust that does not include practical control of the raw material. for that reason we 're planning a trust to include the raising and manufactur- ing of cotton in america. then, too, cornering the cotton market here means the whip-hand of the industrial world. gentlemen, it's the biggest idea of the century. it beats steel." colonel cresswell chuckled. "how do you spell that? " he asked. but john taylor was not to be diverted; his thin face was pale, but his gray eyes burned with the fire of a zealot. harry cresswell only smiled dimly and looked interested. "now, again," continued john taylor. "there are a million cotton farms in the south, half run by colored people and half by whites. leave the colored out of ac- count as long as they are disfranchised. the half million f the quest of the silver fleece white farms are owned or controlled by five thousand wholesale merchants and three thousand big landowners, of whom you, colonel cresswell, are among the biggest with your fifty thousand acres. ten banks control these eight thousand people — one of these is the jefferson na- tional of montgomery, of which you are a silent director." colonel cresswell started; this man evidently had in- side information. did he know of the mortgage, too? "don't be alarmed. i 'm safe," taylor assured him. "now, then, if we can get the banks, wholesale merchants, and biggest planters into line we can control the cotton crop." "but," objected harry cresswell, "while the banks and the large merchants may be possibilities, do you know what it means to try to get planters into line?" "yes, i do. and what i don't know you and your father do. colonel cresswell is president of the farmers' league. that's the reason i 'm here. your success last year made you indispensable to our plans." "our success?" laughed colonel cresswell, ruefully, thinking of the fifty thousand dollars lost and the mort- gage to cover it. "yes, sir — success! you did n't know it; we were too careful to allow that; and i say frankly you would n't know it now if we were n't convinced you were too far involved and the league too discouraged to repeat the dose." "now, look here, sir," began colonel cresswell, flush- ing and drawing himself erect. "there, there, colonel cresswell, don't misunderstand me. i 'm a plain man. i 'm playing a big game — a tremendous one. i need you, and i know you need me. i find out about you, and my sources of knowledge are mr. taylor calls wide and unerring. but the knowledge is safe, sir; it's buried. last year when you people curtailed cotton acre- age and warehoused a big chunk of the crop you gave the mill men the scare of their lives. we had a hasty con- ference and the result was that the bottom fell out of your credit." colonel cresswell grew pale. there was a disquieting, relentless element in this unimpassioned man's tone. "you failed," pursued john taylor, "because you could n't get the banks and the big merchants behind you. we 've got 'em behind us — with big chunks of stock and a signed iron-clad agreement. you can wheel the planters into line — will you do it?" john taylor bent forward tense but cool and steel-like. harry cresswell laid his hand on his father's arm and said quietly: "and where do we come in?" "that's business," affirmed john taylor. "you and two hundred and fifty of the biggest planters come in on the ground-floor of the two-billion-dollar all-cotton combine. it can easily mean two million to you in five years." "and the other planters?" "they come in for high-priced cotton until we get our grip." "and then?" the quiet question seemed to invoke a vision for john taylor; the gray eyes took on the faraway look of a seer; the thin, bloodless lips formed a smile in which there was nothing pleasant. "they keep their mouths shut or we squeeze 'em and buy the land. we propose to own the cotton belt of the south." colonel cresswell started indignantly from his seat. the quest of the silver fleece "do you think — by god, sir! — that i 'd betray southern gentlemen to —" but harry's hand and impassive manner restrained him; he cooled as suddenly as he had flared up. "thank you very much, mr. taylor," he concluded; "we 'll consider this matter carefully. you 'll spend the night, of course." "can't possibly — must catch that next train back." "but we must talk further," the colonel insisted. "and then, there 's your sister." "by jove! forgot all about mary." john taylor after a little desultory talk, followed his host up-stairs. the next afternoon john taylor was sitting beside helen cresswell on the porch which overlooked the ter- race, and was, on the whole, thinking less of cotton than he had for several years. to be sure, he was talking cot- ton; but he was doing it mechanically and from long habit, and was really thinking how charming a girl helen cresswell was. she fascinated him. for his sister taylor had a feeling of superiority that was almost contempt. the idea of a woman trying to understand and argue about things men knew! he admired the dashing and handsome miss easterly, but she scared him and made him angrily awkward. this girl, on the other hand, just lounged and listened with an amused smile, or asked the most child-like questions. she required him to wait on her quite as a matter of course — to adjust her pillows, hand her the bon-bons, and hunt for her lost fan. mr. taylor, who had not waited on anybody since his mother died, and not much before, found a quite inexplicable pleasure in these little domesticities. several times he took out his watch and frowned; yet he managed to stay with her quite happily. mr. taylor calls on her part miss cresswell was vastly amused. her acquaintance with men was not wide, but it was thorough so far as her own class was concerned. they were all well-dressed and leisurely, fairly good looking, and they said the same words and did the same things in the same way. they paid her compliments which she did not be- lieve, and they did not expect her to believe. they were charmingly deferential in the matter of dropped hand- kerchiefs, but tyrannical of opinion. they were thought- ful about candy and flowers, but thoughtless about feel- ings and income. altogether they were delightful, but cloying. this man was startlingly different; ungainly and always in a desperate, unaccountable hurry. he knew no pretty speeches, he certainly did not measure up to her standard of breeding, and yet somehow he was a gentleman. all this was new to helen cresswell, and she liked it. meantime the men above-stairs lingered in the colonel's office — the older one perturbed and sputtering, the younger insistent and imperturbable. "the fact is, father," he was saying, "as you your- self have said, one bad crop of cotton would almost ruin us." "but the prospects are good." , "what are prospects in march? no, father, this is the situation — three good crops in succession will wipe off our indebtedness and leave us facing only low prices and a scarcity of niggers; on the other hand —" the father interrupted impatiently. "yes, on the other hand, if we plunge deeper in debt and betray our friends we may come out millionaires or — paupers." "precisely," said harry cresswell, calmly. "now, r the quest of the silver fleece our plan is to take no chances; i propose going north and looking into this matter thoroughly. if he represents money and has money, and if the trust has really got the grip he says it has, why, it's a case of crush or get crushed, and we 'll have to join them on their own terms. if he 's bluffing, or the thing looks weak, we 'll wait." it all ended as matters usually did end, in harry's having his way. he came downstairs, expecting, indeed, rather hoping, to find taylor impatiently striding to and fro, watch in hand; but here he was, ungainly, it might be, but quite docile, drawing the picture of a power-loom for miss cresswell, who seemed really interested. harry silently surveyed them from the door, and his face lighted with a new thought. taylor, espying him, leapt to his feet and hauled out his watch. "well — i — " he began lamely. "no, you were n't either," interrupted harry, with a laugh that was unmistakably cordial and friendly. "you had quite forgotten what you were waiting for — is n't that so, sis?" helen regarded her brother through her veiling lashes: what meant this sudden assumption of warmth and amiability? "no, indeed; he was raging with impatience," she returned. "why, miss cresswell, i — i —" john taylor for- sook social amenities and pulled himself together. "well," shortly, "now for that talk —ready?" and quite forgetting miss cresswell, he bolted into the parlor. "the decision we have come to is this," said harry cresswell. "we are in debt, as you know." "forty-nine thousand, seven hundred and forty-two mr. taylor calls dollars and twelve cents," responded taylor; "in three notes, due in twelve, twenty-four, and thirty-six months, interest at eight per cent, held by —" the colonel snorted his amazement, and harry cress- well cut in: "yes," he calmly admitted; " and with good crops for three years we 'd be all right; good crops even for two years would leave us fairly well off." "you mean it would relieve you of the present stringency and put you face to face with the falling price of cotton and rising wages," was john taylor's dry addendum. "rising price of cotton, you mean," harry corrected. "oh, temporarily," john taylor admitted. "precisely, and thus postpone the decision." "no, mr. cresswell. i 'm offering to let you in on the ground floor — now — not next year, or year after." "mr. taylor, have you any money in this?" "everything i 've got." "well, the thing is this way: if you can prove to us that conditions are as you say, we 're in for it." "good! meet me in new york, say — let's see, this is march tenth — well, may third." young cresswell was thinking rapidly. this man without doubt represented money. he was anxious for an alliance. why? was it all straight, or did the whole move conceal a trick? his eyes strayed to the porch where his pretty sister sat languidly, and then toward the school where the other sister lived. john taylor looked out on the porch, too. they glanced quickly at each other, and each wondered if the other had shared his thought. harry cresswell did not voice his mind for he was not wholly disposed to the quest of the silver fleece welcome what was there; but he could not refrain from saying in tones almost confidential: "you could recommend this deal, then, could you — to your own friends?" "to my own family," asserted john taylor, looking at harry cresswell with sudden interest. but mr. cress- well was staring at the end of his cigar. chapter xi the flowering of the fleece zora," observed miss smith, "it's a great bless- ing not to need spectacles, is n't it?" zora thought that it was; but she was wonder- ing just what spectacles had to do with the complaint she had brought to the office from miss taylor. "i 'm always losing my glasses and they get dirty and — oh, dear! now where is that paper?" zora pointed silently to the complaint. "no, not that — another paper. it must be in my room. don't you want to come up and help me look?" they went up to the clean, bare room, with its white iron bed, its cool, spotless shades and shining windows. zora walked about softly and looked, while miss smith quietly searched on desk and bureau, paying no attention to the girl. for the time being she was silent. "i sometimes wish," she began at length, "i had a bright-eyed girl like you to help me find and place things." zora made no comment. "sometimes bles helps me," added miss smith, guile- fully. zora looked sharply at her. "could i help?" she asked, almost timidly. [ ] the quest of the silver fleece "why, i don't know," — the answer was deliberate. "there are one or two little things perhaps —" placing a hand gently upon zora's shoulder, she pointed out a few odd tasks, and left the girl busily doing them; then she returned to the office, and threw miss taylor's complaint into the waste-basket. for a week or more zora slipped in every day and performed the little tasks that miss smith laid out: she sorted papers, dusted the bureau, hung a curtain; she did not do the things very well, and she broke some china, but she worked earnestly and quickly, and there was no thought of pay. then, too, did not bles praise her with a happy smile, as together, day after day, they stood and watched the black dirt where the silver fleece lay planted? she dreamed and sang over that dark field, and again and again appealed to him: "s'pose it should n't come up after all?" and he would laugh and say that of course it would come up. one day, when zora was helping miss smith in the bedroom, she paused with her arms full of clothes fresh from the laundry. "where shall i put these?" miss smith looked around. "they might go in there," she said, pointing to a door. zora opened it. a tiny bedroom was disclosed, with one broad window looking toward the swamp; white curtains adorned it, and white hangings draped the plain bureau and wash-stand and the little bed. there was a study table, and a small book- shelf holding a few books, all simple and clean. zora paused uncertainly, and surveyed the room. "sometimes when you 're tired and want to be alone you can come up here, zora," said miss smith care- lessly. "no one uses this room." the flowering of the fleece zora caught her breath sharply, but said nothing. the next day miss smith said to her when she came in: "i 'm busy now, dear, but you go up to your little room and read and i 'll call." zora quietly obeyed. an hour later miss smith looked in, then she closed the door lightly and left. another hour flew by before zora hurried down. "i was reading, and i forgot," she said. "it's all right," returned miss smith. "i didn't need you. and any day, after you get all your lessons, i think miss taylor will excuse you and let you go to your room and read." miss taylor, it transpired, was more than glad. day after day bles and zora visited the field; but ever the ground lay an unrelieved black beneath the bright sun, and they would go reluctantly home again. to-day there was much work to be done, and zora labored steadily and eagerly, never pausing, and gaining in deftness and care. in the afternoon bles went to town with the school wagon. a light shower flew up from the south, lingered a while and fled, leaving a fragrance in the air. for a moment zora paused, and her nostrils quivered; then without a word she slipped down-stairs, glided into the swamp, and sped away to the island. she swung across the tree and a low, delighted cry bubbled on her lips. all the rich, black ground was sprinkled with tender green. she bent above the verdant tenderness and kissed it; then she rushed back, bursting into the room. "it's come! it's come! — the silver fleece!" miss smith was startled. "the silver fleece!" she echoed in bewilderment. zora hesitated. it came over her all at once that this the quest of the silver fleece one great all-absorbing thing meant nothing to the gaunt tired-looking woman before her. "would bles care if i told? " she asked doubtfully. "no," miss smith ventured. and then the girl crouched at her feet and told the dream and the story. many factors were involved that were quite foreign to the older woman's nature and train- ing. the recital brought to her new england mind many questions of policy and propriety. and yet, as she looked down upon the dark face, hot with enthusiasm, it all seemed somehow more than right. slowly and lightly miss smith slipped her arm about zora, and nodded and smiled a perfect understanding. they looked out together into the darkening twilight. "it is so late and wet and you 're tired to-night — don't you think you 'd better sleep in your little room?" zora sat still. she thought of the noisy flaming cabin and the dark swamp; but a contrasting thought of the white bed made her timid, and slowly she shook her head. nevertheless miss smith led her to the room. "here are things for you to wear," she pointed out, opening the bureau, "and here is the bath-room." she left the girl standing in the middle of the floor. in time zora came to stay often at miss smith's cot- tage, and to learn new and unknown ways of living and dressing. she still refused to board, for that would cost more than she could pay yet, and she would accept no charity. gradually an undemonstrative friendship sprang up between the pale old gray-haired teacher and the dark young black-haired girl. delicately, too, but gradually, the companionship of bles and zora was guided and regulated. of mornings zora would hurry through her lessons and get excused to fly to the swamp, the flowering of the fleece to work and dream alone. at noon bles would run down, and they would linger until he must hurry back to din- ner. after school he would go again, working while she was busy in miss smith's office, and returning later, would linger awhile to tell zora of his day while she busied herself with her little tasks. saturday mornings they would go to the swamp and work together, and sometimes miss smith, stealing away from curious eyes, would come and sit and talk with them as they toiled. in those days, for these two souls, earth came very near to heaven. both were in the midst of that mighty change from youth to womanhood and manhood. their manner toward each other by degrees grew shyer and more thoughtful. there was less of comradeship, but the little meant more. the rough good fellowship was silently put aside; they no longer lightly clasped hands; and each at times wondered, in painful self-consciousness, if the other cared. then began, too, that long and subtle change wherein a soul, until now unmindful of its wrappings, comes sud- denly to consciousness of body and clothes; when it gropes and tries to adjust one with the other, and through them to give to the inner deeper self, finer and fuller ex- pression. one saw it easily, almost suddenly, in alwyn's sunday suit, vivid neckties, and awkward fads. slower, subtler, but more striking was the change in zora, as she began to earn bits of pin money in the office and to learn to sew. dresses hung straighter; belts served a better purpose; stockings were smoother; under- wear was daintier. then her hair — that great dark mass of immovable infinitely curled hair — began to be subdued and twisted and combed until, with steady pains and study, it lay in thick twisted braids about her velvet the quest of the silver fleece forehead, like some shadowed halo. all this came much more slowly and spasmodically than one tells it. few noticed the change much; none noticed all; and yet there came a night — a student's social — when with a certain suddenness the whole school, teachers and pupils, realized the newness of the girl, and even bles was startled. he had bought her in town, at christmas time, a pair of white satin slippers, partly to test the smallness of her feet on which in younger days he had rallied her, and partly because she had mentioned a possible white dress. they were a cheap, plain pair but dainty, and they fitted well. when the evening came and the students were march- ing and the teachers, save miss smith, were sitting rather primly apart and commenting, she entered the room. she was a little late, and a hush greeted her. one boy, with the inimitable drawl of the race, pushed back his ice- cream and addressed it with a mournful head-shake: "go way, honey, yo' los' yo' tas'e!" the dress was plain and fitted every curving of a healthy girlish form. she paused a moment white-bodied and white-limbed but dark and velvet-armed, her full neck and oval head rising rich and almost black above, with its deep-lighted eyes and crown of silent darkling hair. to some, such a revelation of grace and womanliness in this hoyden, the gentle swelling of lankness to beauty, of lowliness to shy self-poise, was a sudden joy, to others a mere blindness. mary taylor was perplexed and in some indefinite way amazed; and many of the other teachers saw no beauty, only a strangeness that brought a smile. they were such as know beauty by convention only, and find it lip-ringed, hoop-skirted, tattooed, or corsetted, as time and place decree. the flowering of the fleece the change in zora, however, had been neither cat- aclysmic nor revolutionary and it was yet far — very far — from complete. she still ran and romped in the woods, and dreamed her dreams; she still was passionately independent and "queer." tendencies merely had be- come manifest, some dominant. she would, unhindered, develop to a brilliant, sumptuous womanhood; proud, con- quering, full-blooded, and deep bosomed — a passionate mother of men. herein lay all her early wildness and strangeness. herein lay, as yet half hidden, dimly sensed and all unspoken, the power of a mighty all-compelling love for one human soul, and, through it, for all the souls of men. all this lay growing and developing; but as yet she was still a girl, with a new shyness and comeliness and a bold, searching heart. in the field of the silver fleece all her possibilities were beginning to find expression. these new-born green things hidden far down in the swamp, begotten in want and mystery, were to her a living wonderful fairy tale come true. all the latent mother in her brooded over them; all her brilliant fancy wove itself about them. they were her dream-children, and she tended them jeal- ously; they were her hope, and she worshipped them. when the rabbits tried the tender plants she watched hours to drive them off, and catching now and then a pulsing pink-eyed invader, she talked to it earnestly: "brer rabbit — poor little brer rabbit, don't you know you must n't eat zora's cotton? naughty, naughty brer rabbit." and then she would show it where she had gathered piles of fragrant weeds for it and its fellows. the golden green of the first leaves darkened, and the plants sprang forward steadily. never before was such a magnificent beginning, a full month ahead of other cot- the quest of the silver fleece ton. the rain swept down in laughing, bubbling showers, and laved their thirsty souls, and zora held her beating breast day by day lest it rain too long or too heavily. the sun burned fiercely upon the young cotton plants as the spring hastened, and they lifted their heads in darker, wilder luxuriance; for the time of hoeing was at hand. these days were days of alternate hope and doubt with bles alwyn. strength and ambition and inarticulate love were fighting within him. he felt, in the dark thousands of his kind about him, a mighty calling to deeds. he was becoming conscious of the narrowness and straightness of his black world, and red anger flashed in him ever and again as he felt his bonds. his mental horizon was broadening as he prepared for the college of next year; he was faintly grasping the wider, fuller world, and its thoughts and aspirations. but beside and around and above all this, like subtle, permeating ether, was — zora. his feelings for her were not as yet definite, expressed, or grasped; they were rather the atmosphere in which all things occurred and were felt and judged. from an amusing pastime she had come to be a companion and thought-mate; and now, be- yond this, insensibly they were drifting to a silenter, mightier mingling of souls. but drifting, merely — not arrived; going gently, irresistibly, but not yet at the realized goal. he felt all this as the stirring of a mighty force, but knew not what he felt. the teasing of his fellows, the common love-gossip of the school yard, seemed far dif- ferent from his plight. he laughed at it and indignantly denied it. yet he was uncomfortable, restless, unhappy. he fancied zora cared less for his company, and he gave her less, and then was puzzled to find time hanging so the flowering of the fleece empty, so wretchedly empty, on his hands. when they were together in these days they found less to talk about, and had it not been for the silver fleece which in magic wilfulness opened both their mouths, they would have found their companionship little more than a series of awkward silences. yet in their silences, their walks, and their sittings there was a companionship, a glow, a satis- faction, as came to them nowhere else on earth, and they wondered at it. they were both wondering at it this morning as they watched their cotton. it had seemingly bounded forward in a night and it must be hoed forthwith. yet, hoeing was murder — the ruthless cutting away of tenderer plants that the sturdier might thrive the more and grow. "i hate it, bles, don't you?" "hate what?" "killing any of it; it's all so pretty." "but it must be, so that what's left will be prettier, or at least more useful." "but it should n't be so; everything ought to have a chance to be beautiful and useful." "perhaps it ought to be so," admitted bles, "but it is n't." "isn't it so — anywhere?" "i reckon not. death and pain pay for all good things." she hoed away silently, hesitating over the choice of the plants, pondering this world-old truth, saddened by its ruthless cruelty. "death and pain," she murmured; "what a price!" bles leaned on his hoe and considered. it had not occurred to him till now that zora was speaking better and better english: the idioms and errors were dropping the quest of the silver fleece away; they had not utterly departed, however, but came crowding back in moments of excitement. at other times she clothed miss smith's clear-cut, correct speech 'in softer southern accents. she was drifting away from him in some intangible way to an upper world of dress and language and deportment, and the new thought was pain to him. so it was that the fleece rose and spread and grew to its wonderful flowering; and so these two chil- dren grew with it into theirs. zora never forgot how they found the first white flower in that green and billow- ing sea, nor her low cry of pleasure and his gay shout of joy. slowly, wonderfully the flowers spread — white, blue, and purple bells, hiding timidly, blazing luxuriantly amid the velvet leaves; until one day — it was after a southern rain and the sunlight was twinkling through the morning — all the fleece was in flower — a mighty swaying sea, darkling rich and waving, and upon it flecks and stars of white and purple foam. the joy of the two so madly craved expression that they burst into singing; not the wild light song of dancing feet, but a low, sweet melody of her fathers' fathers, whereunto alwyn's own deep voice fell fitly in minor cadence. miss smith and miss taylor, who were sorting the mail, heard them singing as they came up out of the swamp. miss taylor looked at them, then at miss smith. but miss smith sat white and rigid with the first opened letter in her hand. chapter xii the promise miss smith sat with her face buried in her hands while the tears trickled silently through her thin fingers. before her lay the letter, read a dozen times: "old mrs. gray has been to see me, and she has an- nounced her intention of endowing five colored schools, yours being one. she asked if $ , would do it. she has plenty of money, so i told her $ , would be better — $ , apiece. she 's arranging for a board of trust, etc. you 'll probably hear from her soon. you 've been so worried about expenses that i thought i 'd send this word on; i knew you 'd be glad." glad? dear god, how flat the word fell! for thirty years she had sown the seed, planting her life-blood in this work, that had become the marrow of her soul. successful? no, it had not been successful; but it had been human. through yonder doorway had trooped an army of hundreds upon hundreds of bright and dull, light and dark, eager and sullen faces. there had been good and bad, honest and deceptive, frank and furtive. some had caught, kindled and flashed to ambition and achieve- ment; some, glowing dimly, had plodded on in slow, dumb faithful work worth while; and yet others had suddenly ex- [ ] the quest of the silver fleece ploded, hurtling human fragments to heaven and to hell. around this school home, as around the centre of some little universe, had whirled the sorrowful, sordid, laugh- ing, pulsing drama of a world: birth pains, and the stupor of death; hunger and pale murder; the riot of thirst and the orgies of such red and black cabins as elspeth's, crouching in the swamp. she groaned as she read of the extravagances of the world and saw her own vanishing revenues; but the funds continued to dwindle until sarah smith asked herself: "what will become of this school when i die?" with trembling fingers she had sat down to figure how many teachers must be dropped next year, when her brother's letter came, and she slipped to her knees and prayed. mrs. grey's decision was due in no little way to mary taylor's reports. slowly but surely the girl had begun to think that she had found herself in this new world. she would never be attuned to it thoroughly, for she was set for different music. the veil of color and race still hung thickly between her and her pupils; and yet she seemed to see some points of penetration. no one could meet daily a hundred or more of these light-hearted, good-natured children without feeling drawn to them. no one could cross the thresholds of the cabins and not see the old and well-known problems of life and striving. more and more, therefore, the work met miss taylor's approval and she told mrs. grey so. at the same time mary taylor had come to some other definite conclusions: she believed it wrong to encourage the ambitions of these children to any great extent; she believed they should be servants and farmers, content to work under present conditions until those conditions could be changed; and she believed that the local white aristoc- the promise racy, helped by northern philanthropy, should take charge of such gradual changes. these conclusions she did not pretend to have origi- nated; but she adopted them from reading and conver- sation, after hesitating for a year, before such puzzling contradictions as bles alwyn and harry cresswell. for her to conclude to treat bles alwyn as a man despite his color was as impossible as to think mr. cresswell a criminal. some compromise was imperative which would save her the pleasure of mr. cresswell's company and at the same time leave open a way of fulfilling the world's duty to this black boy. she thought she had found this compromise and she wrote mrs. grey suggesting a chain of endowed negro schools under the management of trustees composed of northern business men and local southern whites. mrs. grey acquiesced gladly and an- nounced her plan, eventually writing miss smith of her decision "to second her noble efforts in helping the poor colored people," and she hoped to have the plan under way before next fall. the sharpness of miss smith's joy did not let her dwell on the proposed " board of trust "; of course, it would be a board of friends of the school. she sat in her office looking out across the land. school had closed for the year and bles with the carryall was just taking miss taylor to the train with her trunk and bags. far up the road she could see dotted here and there the little dirty cabins of cresswell's tenants — the cresswell domain that lay like a mighty hand around the school, ready at a word to squeeze its life out. only yonder, to the eastward, lay the way out; the five hun- dred acres of the tolliver plantation, which the school needed so sadly for its farm and community. but the the quest of the silver fleece owner was a hard and ignorant white man, hating "nig- gers " only a shade more than he hated white aristocrats of the cresswell type. he had sold the school its first land to pique the cresswells; but he would not sell any more, she was sure, even now when the promise of wealth faced the school. she lay back and closed her eyes and fell lightly asleep. as she slept an old woman came toiling up the hill northward from the school, and out of the eastward spur of the cresswell barony. she was fat and black, hooded and aproned, with great round head and massive bosom. her face was dull and heavy and homely, her old eyes sorrowful. she moved swiftly, carrying a basket on her arm. opposite her, to the southward, but too far for sight, an old man came out of the lower cress- well place, skirting the swamp. he was tall, black, and gaunt, part bald with tufted hair, and a cowed and furtive look was in his eyes. one leg was crippled, and he hobbled painfully. up the road to the eastward that ran past the school, with the morning sun at his back, strode a young man, yellow, crisp-haired, strong-faced, with darkly knit brows. he greeted bles and the teacher coldly, and moved on in nervous haste. a woman, hurrying out of the westward swamp up the path that led from elspeth's, saw him and shrank back hastily. she turned quickly into the swamp and waited, looking toward the school. the old woman hurried into the back gate just as the old man appeared to the southward on the road. the young man greeted him cordially and they stopped a moment to talk, while the hiding woman watched. "howdy, uncle jim." "howdy, son. hit's hot, ain't it? how is you?" the promise "tolerable, how are you?" "poorly, son, poorly — and worser in mind. i'se goin' up to talk to old miss." "so am i, but i just see aunt rachel going in. we 'd better wait." miss smith started up at the timid knocking, and rubbed her eyes. it was long since she had slept in the daytime and she was annoyed at such laziness. she opened the back door and led the old woman to the office. "now, what have you got there?" she demanded, ey- ing the basket. "just a little chicken fo' you and a few aigs." "oh, you are so thoughtful!" sarah smith's was a grateful heart. "go 'long now — hit ain't a thing." then came a pause, the old woman sliding into the proffered seat, while over her genial, dimpled smile there dropped a dull veil of care. her eyes shifted uneasily. miss smith tried not to notice the change. "well, are you all moved, aunt rachel?" she inquired cheerfully. "no'm, and we ain't gwine to move." "but i thought it was all arranged." "it was," gloomily, "but de ole cunnel, he won't let us go." the listener was instantly sympathetic. "why not?" she asked. "he says we owes him." "but didn't you settle at christmas?" "yas'm; but when he found we was goin' away, he looked up some more debts." "how much?" "i don't know 'zactly — more 'n a hundred dollars. the quest of the silver fleece den de boys done got in dat trouble, and he paid their fines." "what was the trouble?" "well, one was a-gambling, and the other struck the overseer what was a-whippin' him." "whipping him !" — in horrified exclamation, quite as much at aunt rachel's matter-of-fact way of regard- ing the matter as at the deed itself. "yas'm. he did n't do his work right and he whipped him. i speck he needed it." "but he 's a grown man," miss smith urged earnestly. "yas'm; he 's twenty now, and big." "whipped him!" miss smith repeated. "and so you can't leave?" "no'm, he say he 'll sell us out and put us in de chain- gang if we go. the boys is plumb mad, but i'se a-pleadin' with 'em not to do nothin' rash." "but — but i thought they had already started to work a crop on the tolliver place?" "yas'm, dey had; but, you see, dey were arrested, and then cunnel cresswell took 'em and 'lowed they could n't leave his place. op man tolliver was powerful mad." "why, aunt rachel, it's slavery!" cried the lady in dismay. aunt rachel did not offer to dispute her declaration. "yas'm, hit's slavery," she agreed. "i hates it mighty bad, too, 'cause i wanted de little chillens in school; but ,—" the old woman broke down and sobbed. a knocking came at the door; hastily wiping her eyes aunt rachel rose. "i 'll — i 'll see what i can do, aunt rachel — i must do something," murmured miss smith hastily, as the the promise woman departed, and an old black man came limping in. miss smith looked up in surprise. "i begs pardon, mistress — i begs pardon. good- morning. "good-morning —" she hesitated. "sykes — jim sykes — that's me." "yes, i 've heard of you, mr. sykes; you live over south of the swamp." "yes, ma'am, that's me; and i'se got a little shack dar and a bit of land what i'se trying to buy." "of colonel cresswell?" "yas'm, of de cunnel." "and how long have you been buying it?" "going on ten year now; and dat's what i comes to ask you about." "goodness me! and how much have you paid a year?" "i gen'rally pays 'bout three bales of cotton a year." "does he furnish you rations?" "only sugar and coffee and a little meat now and then." "what does it amount to a year?" "i does n't rightly know — but i 'se got some papers here." miss smith looked them over and sighed. it was the same old tale of blind receipts for money "on account" — no items, no balancing. by his help she made out that last year his total bill at cresswell's store was perhaps forty dollars. "an' last year's bill was bigger 'n common 'cause i hurt my leg working at the gin and had to have some medicine." "why, as far as i can see, mr. sykes, you 've paid the quest of the silver fleece cresswell about a thousand dollars in the last ten years. how large is your place?" "about twenty acres." "and what were you to pay for it?" "four hundred." "have you got the deed?" "yes'm, but i ain't finished paying yet; de cunnel say as how i owes him two hundred dollars still, and i can't see it. dat 's why i come over here to talk wid you." "where is the deed?" he handed it to her and her heart sank. it was no deed, but a complicated contract binding the tenant hand and foot to the landlord. she sighed, he watching her eagerly. "i'se getting old," he explained, "and i ain't got no- body to take care of me. i can't work as i once could, and de overseers dey drives me too hard. i wants a little home to die in." miss smith's throat swelled. she could n't tell him that he would never get one at the present rate; she only said: "i 'll — look this up. you come again next satur- day." then sadly she watched the ragged old slave hobble away with his cherished " papers." he greeted the young man at the gate and passed out, while the latter walked briskly up to the door and knocked. "why, how do you do, robert?" "how do you do, miss smith?" "well, are you getting things in shape so as to enter school early next year?" robert looked embarrassed. the promise "that's what i came to tell you, miss smith. mr. cresswell has offered me forty acres of good land." miss smith looked disheartened. "robert, here you are almost finished, and my heart is set on your going to atlanta university and finishing college. with your fine voice and talent for drawing —" a dogged looked settled on robert's young bright face, and the speaker paused. "what's the use, miss smith — what opening is there for a — a nigger with an education?" miss smith was shocked. "why — why, every chance," she protested. "and where there 's none make a chance!" "miss taylor says " — miss smith's heart sank: how often had she heard that deadening phrase in the last year! — " that there 's no use. that farming is the only thing we ought to try to do, and i reckon she thinks there ain't much chance even there." "robert, farming is a noble calling. whether you 're suited to it or not, i don't yet know, but i 'd like nothing better than to see you settled here in a decent home with a family, running a farm. but, robert, farming does n't call for less intelligence than other things; it calls for more. it is because the world thinks any training good enough for a farmer that the southern farmer is to-day practically at the mercy of his keener and more intelli- gent fellows. and of all people, robert, your people need trained intelligence to cope with this problem of farming here. without intelligence and training and some capital it is the wildest nonsense to think you can lead your people out of slavery. look round you." she told him of the visitors. "are they not hard working honest people?" /- the quest of the silver fleece "yes, ma'am." yet they are slaves — dumb driven cattle." but they have no education." "and you have a smattering; therefore are ready to pit yourself against the organized plantation system without capital or experience. robert, you may suc- ceed; you may find your landlord honest and the way clear; but my advice to you is — finish your education, develop your talents, and then come to your life work a full-fledged man and not a half-ignorant boy." "i'll think of it," returned the boy soberly. "i reckon you 're right. i know miss taylor do n't think much of us. but i 'm tired of waiting; i want to get to work." miss smith laid a kindly hand upon his shoulder. "i 've been waiting thirty years, robert," she said, with feeling, and he hung his head. "i wanted to talk about it," he awkwardly responded, turning slowly away. but miss smith stopped him. "robert, where is the land cresswell offers you?" "it's on the tolliver place." "the tolliver place?" "yes, he is going to buy it." miss smith dismissed the boy absently and sat down. the crisis seemed drawing near. she had not dreamed the tolliver place was for sale. the old man must be hard pressed to sell to the cresswells. she started up. why not go see him? perhaps a mortgage on the strength of the endowment? it was dangerous — but — she threw a veil over her hair, and opened the door. a woman stood there, who shrank and cowered, as if the promise used to blows. miss smith eyed her grimly, then slowly stepped back. "come in," she commanded briefly, motioning the woman to a chair. but she stood, a pathetic figure, faded, worn, yet with unmistakable traces of beauty in her golden face and soft brown hair. miss smith contemplated her sadly. here was her most haunting failure, this girl whom she first had seen twelve years ago in her wonderful girlish comeliness. she had struggled and fought for her, but the forces of the devil had triumphed. she caught glimpses of her now and then, but to-day was the first time she had spoken to her for ten years. she saw the tears that gathered but did not fall; then her hands quivered. "bertie," she began brokenly. the girl shivered, but stood aloof. "miss smith," she said. "no —don't talk —i'm bad — but i 've got a little girl, miss smith, ten years old, and — and — i 'm afraid for her; i want you to take her." "i have no place for one so young. and why are you afraid for her?" "the men there are beginning to notice her." "where?" "at elspeth's." "do you stay there now?" "yes." "why?" "he wants me to." "must you do as he wants?" "yes. but i want the child — different." ' the quest of the silver fleece "don't you want to be different?" the woman quivered again but she answered steadily: "no." miss smith sank into a chair and moistened her dry lips. "elspeth's is an awful place," she affirmed solemnly. "yes." "and zora?" "she is not there much now, she stays away." "but if she escapes, why not you?" "she wants to escape." "and you?" "i don't want to." this stubborn depravity was so distressing that sarah smith was at an utter loss what to say or do. "i can do nothing —" she began. "for me," the woman quickly replied; "i don't ask anything; but for the child, — she is n't to blame." the older woman wavered. "won't you try?" pleaded the younger. "yes — i'll try, i'll try; i am trying all the time, but there are more things than my weak strength can do. good-bye." miss smith stood a long time in the doorway, watch- ing the fading figure and vaguely trying to remember what it was that she had started to do, when the sharp staccato step of a mule drew her attention to a rider who stopped at the gate. it was her neighbor, tolliver — a gaunt, yellow-faced white man, ragged, rough, and unkempt; one of the poor whites who had struggled up and failed. he spent no courtesy on the "nigger" teacher, but sat in his saddle and called her to the gate, and she went. "say," he roughly opened up, "i 've got to sell some the promise land, and them damn cresswells are after it. you can have it for five thousand dollars if you git the cash in a week." with a muttered oath he rode abruptly off; but not before she had seen the tears in his eyes. all night sarah smith lay thinking, and all day she thought and dreamed. toward dark she walked slowly out the gate and up the highway toward the cresswell oaks. she had never been within the gates before, and she looked about thoughtfully. the great trees in their regular curving rows must have been planted more than half a century ago. the lawn was well tended and the flowers. yes, there were signs of taste and wealth. "but it was built on a moan," cried miss smith to herself, passionately, and she would not look round any more, but stared straight ahead where she saw old colonel cress- well smoking and reading on the verandah. the colonel saw her, too, and was uneasy, for he knew that miss smith had a sharp tongue and a most dis- concerting method of argument, which he, as a southern gentleman, courteous to all white females, even if they did eat with "niggers," could not properly answer. he received her with courtesy, offered a chair, laid aside his cigar, and essayed some general remarks on cotton weather. but miss smith plunged into her subject: "colonel cresswell, i 'm thinking of raising some money from a mortgage on our school property." the colonel's face involuntarily lighted up. he thought he saw the beginning of the end of an institution which had been a thorn in his flesh ever since tolliver, in a fit of rage, had sold land for a negro school. "h'm," he reflected deprecatingly, wiping his brow. "i need some ready money," she continued, "to keep from curtailing our work." the quest of the silver fleece "indeed?" "i have good prospects in a year or so " — the colonel looked up sharply, but said nothing — " and so i thought of a mortgage." "money is pretty tight," was the colonel's first ob- jection. "the land is worth, you know, at least fifty dollars an acre." "not more than twenty-five dollars, i fear." "why, you wanted seventy-five dollars for poorer land last year! we have two hundred acres." it was not for nothing that this lady had been born in new england. "i would n't reckon it as worth more than five thou- sand dollars," insisted the colonel. "and ten thousand dollars for improvements." but the colonel arose. "you had better talk to the directors of the jefferson bank," he said politely. "they may accommodate you — how much would you want?" "five thousand dollars," miss smith replied. then she hesitated. that would buy the land, to be sure; but money was needed to develop and run it; to install tenants; and then, too, for new teachers. but she said nothing more, and, nodding to his polite bow, departed. colonel cresswell had noticed her hesitation, and thought of it as he settled to his cigar again. bles alwyn arose next morning and examined the sky critically. he feared rain. the season had been quite wet enough, particularly down on the swamp land, and but yesterday bles had viewed his dykes with apprehen- sion for the black pool scowled about them. he dared not think what a long heavy rain might do to the wonderful island of cotton which now stood fully five feet high, with the promise flowers and squares and budding bolls. it might not rain, but the safest thing would be to work at those dykes, so he started for spade and hoe. he heard miss smith call- ing, however. "bles —hitch up!" he was vexed. "are you — in a hurry, miss smith ?" he asked. "yes, i am," she replied, with unmistakable positiveness. he started off, and hesitated. "miss smith, would jim do to drive?" "no," sharply. "i want you particularly." at another time she might have observed his anxiety, but to-day she was agitated. she knew she was taking a crit- ical step. slowly bles hitched up. after all it might not rain, he argued as they jogged toward town. in silence they rode on. bles kept looking at the skies. the south was getting darker and darker. it might rain. it might rain only an hour or so, but, suppose it should rain a day — two days — a week? miss smith was looking at her own skies and despite the promised sunrise they loomed darkly. five thousand was needed for the land and at least another thousand for repairs. two thousand would "buy" a half dozen desirable tenants by paying their debts to their present landlords. then two thousand would be wanted for new teachers and a carpenter shop — ten thousand dollars! it was a great temptation. and yet, once in the hands of these past-masters of debt-manipulation, would her school be safe? suppose, after all, this grey gift — but she caught her breath sharply just as a wet splash of rain struck upon her forehead. no. god could not be '" the quest of the silver fleece so cruel. she pushed her bonnet back: how good and cool the water felt! but on bles as he raised the buggy top it felt hot and fiery. he felt the coming of some great calamity, the end of a dream. this rain might stay for days; it looked like such a downpour; and that would mean the end of the silver fleece; the end of zora's hopes; the end of every- thing. he gulped in despairing anger and hit the staid old horse the smartest tap she had known all summer. "why, bles, what's the matter?" called miss smith, as the horse started forward. he murmured something about getting wet and drew up at the toombsville bank. miss smith was invited politely into the private parlor. she explained her business. the president was there and colonel cresswell and one other local director. "i have come for a mortgage. our land is, as you know, gentlemen, worth at least ten thousand dollars; the buildings cost fifteen thousand dollars; our property is, therefore, conservatively valued at twenty-five thou- sand dollars. now i want to mortgage it for " — she hesitated — " five thousand dollars." colonel cresswell was silent, but the president said: "money is rather scarce just now, miss smith; but it happens that i have ten thousand dollars on hand, which we prefer, however, to loan in one lump sum. now, if the security were ample, i think perhaps you might get this ten thousand dollars." miss smith grew white; it was the sum she wanted. she tried to escape the temptation, yet the larger amount was more than twice as desirable to her as the smaller, and she knew that they knew it. they were trying to tempt her; they wanted as firm a hold on the school prop- erty as possible. and yet, why should she hesitate? it the promise was a risk, but the returns would be enormous — she must do it. besides, there was the endowment; it was certain; yes — she felt forced to close the bargain. "very well," she declared her decision, and they handed her the preliminary papers. she took the pen and glanced at mr. cresswell; he was smiling slightly, but nevertheless she signed her name grimly, in a large round hand, " sarah smith." ' chapter xiii mrs. grey gives a dinner the hon. charles smith, miss sarah's brother, was walking swiftly uptown from mr. easterly's wall street office and his face was pale. at last the cotton combine was to all appearances an assured fact and he was slated for the senate. the price he had paid was high: he was to represent the interests of the new trust and sundry favorable measures were already drafted and reposing in the safe of the combine's legal depart- ment. among others was one relating to child labor, another that would effect certain changes in the tariff, and a proposed law providing for a cotton bale of a shape and dimensions different from the customary — the last constituting a particularly clever artifice which, under the guise of convenience in handling, would neces- sitate the installation of entirely new gin and compress machinery, to be supplied, of course, by the trust. as mr. smith drew near mrs. grey's murray hill residence his face had melted to a cynical smile. after all why should he care? he had tried independence and philanthropy and failed. why should he not be as other men? he had seen many others that very day swallow the golden bait and promise everything. they were gentlemen. why should he pose as better than his fel- [ ] mrs. grey gives a dinner lows? there was young cresswell. did his aristocratic air prevent his succumbing to the lure of millions and promising the influence of his father and the whole farmer's league to the new project? mr. smith snapped his fingers and rang the bell. the door opened softly. the dark woodwork of the old english wains- coting glowed with the crimson flaming of logs in the wide fireplace. there was just the touch of early autumn chill in the air without, that made both the fire and the table with its soft linen, gold and silver plate, and twink- ling glasses a warming, satisfying sight. mrs. grey was a portly woman, inclined to think much of her dinner and her clothes, both of which were al- ways rich and costly. she was not herself a notably intelligent woman; she greatly admired intelligence or whatever looked to her like intelligence in others. her money, too, was to her an ever worrying mystery and surprise, which she found herself always scheming to husband shrewdly and spend philanthropically — a diffi- cult combination. as she awaited her guests she surveyed the table with both satisfaction and disquietude, for her social func- tions were few. to-night there were — she checked them off on her fingers — sir james creighton, the rich eng- lish manufacturer, and lady creighton, mr. and mrs. vanderpool, mr. harry cresswell and his sister, john taylor and his sister, and mr. charles smith, whom the evening papers mentioned as likely to be united states senator from new jersey — a selection of guests that had been determined, unknown to the hostess, by the meeting of cotton interests earlier in the day. mrs. grey's chef was high-priced and efficient, and her butler was the envy of many; consequently, she knew the quest of the silver fleece the dinner would be good. to her intense satisfaction, it was far more than this. it was a most agreeable couple of hours; all save perhaps mr. smith unbent, the english- man especially, and the vanderpools were most gracious; but if the general pleasure was owing to any one person particularly it was to mr. harry cresswell. mrs. grey had met southerners before, but not intimately, and she always had in mind vividly their cruelty to "poor negroes," a subject she made a point of introducing forth- with. she was therefore most agreeably surprised to hear mr. cresswell express himself so cordially as ap- proving of negro education. "why, i thought," said mrs. grey, " that you south- erners rather disapproved — or at least —" mr. cresswell inclined his head courteously. "we southerners, my dear mrs. grey, are responsible for a variety of reputations." and he told an anecdote that set the table laughing. "seriously, though," he continued, "we are not as black as the blacks paint us, although on the whole i prefer that helen should marry — a white man." they all glanced at miss cresswell, who lay softly back in her chair like a white lily, gleaming and bejewelled, her pale face flushing under the scrutiny; mrs. grey was horrified. "why — why the idea!" she sputtered. "why, mr. cresswell, how can you conceive of anything else — no northerner dreams —" mr. cresswell sipped his wine slowly. "no — no — i do not think you do mean that —" he paused and the englishman bent forward. "really, now, you do not mean to say that there is danger of — of amalgamation, do you?" he sang. mrs. grey gives a dinner mr. cresswell explained. no, of course there was no immediate danger; but when people were suddenly thrust beyond their natural station, filled with wild ideas and impossible ambitions, it meant terrible danger to south- ern white women. "but you believe in some education?" asked mary taylor. "i believe in the training of people to their highest capacity." the englishman here heartily seconded him. "but," cresswell added significantly, " capacity differs enormously between races." the vanderpools were sure of this and the english- man, instancing india, became quite eloquent. mrs. grey was mystified, but hardly dared admit it. the general trend of the conversation seemed to be that most indi- viduals needed to be submitted to the sharpest scrutiny before being allowed much education, and as for the "lower races " it was simply criminal to open such use- less opportunities to them. "why, i had a colored servant-girl once," laughed mrs. vanderpool by way of climax, " who spent half her wages in piano lessons." then mary taylor, whose conscience was uncom- fortable, said: "but, mr. cresswell, you surely believe in schools like miss smith's?" "decidedly," returned mr. cresswell, with enthusiasm, "it has done great good." mrs. grey was gratified and murmured something of miss smith's "sacrifice." "positively heroic," added cresswell, avoiding his sister's eyes. "of course," mary taylor hastened to encourage this the quest of the silver fleece turn of the conversation, "there are many points on which miss smith and i disagree, but i think everybody admires her work." mrs. grey wanted particulars. "what did you dis- agree about?" she asked bluntly. "i may be responsible for some of the disagreement," interrupted mr. cresswell, hesitatingly; "i 'm afraid miss smith does not approve of us white southerners." "but you mean to say you can't even advise her?" "oh, no; we can. but — we 're not — er — exactly welcomed. in fact," said cresswell gravely, "the chief criticism i have against your northerners' schools for negroes is, that they not only fail to enlist the sympathy and aid of the best southerners, but even repel it." "that is very wrong — very wrong," commented the englishman warmly, a sentiment in which mrs. grey hastened to agree. "of course," continued cresswell, "i am free to con- fess that i have no personal desire to dabble in philan- thropy, or conduct schools of any kind; my hands are full of other matters." "but it's precisely the advice of such disinterested men that philanthropic work needs," mr. vanderpool urged. "well, i volunteered advice once in this case and i shan't repeat the experiment soon," said cresswell laugh- ing. mrs. grey wanted to hear the incident, but the young man was politely reluctant. mary taylor, how- ever, related the tale of zora to mrs. grey's private ear later. "fortunately," said mr. vanderpool, "northerners and southerners are arriving at a better mutual under- standing on most of these matters." mrs. grey gives a dinner "yes, indeed," cresswell agreed. "after all, they never were far apart, even in slavery days; both sides were honest and sincere." all through the dinner mr. smith had been preoccu- pied and taciturn. now he abruptly shot a glance at cresswell. "i suppose that one was right and one was wrong." "no," said cresswell, "both were right." "i thought the only excuse for fighting was a great right; if right is on neither side or simultaneously on both, then war is not only hell but damnation." mrs. grey looked shocked and mrs. vanderpool smiled. "how about fighting for exercise?" she suggested. "at any rate," said cresswell, "we can all agree on helping these poor victims of our quarrel as far as their limited capacity will allow — and no farther, for that is impossible." very soon after dinner charles smith excused himself. he was not yet inured to the ways of high finance, and the programme of the cotton barons, as unfolded that day, lay heavy on his mind, despite all his philosophy. "i have had a — full day," he explained to mrs. grey. chapter xiv love the rain was sweeping down in great thick winding sheets. the wind screamed in the ancient cresswell oaks and swirled across the swamp in loud, wild gusts. the waters roared and gurgled in the streams, and along the roadside. then, when the wind fell murmuring away, the clouds grew blacker and blacker and rain in long slim columns fell straight from heaven to earth digging itself into the land and throwing back the red mud in angry flashes. so it rained for one long week, and so for seven end- less days bles watched it with leaden heart. he knew the silver fleece — his and zora's — must be ruined. it was the first great sorrow of his life; it was not so much the loss of the cotton itself — but the fantasy, the hopes, the dreams built around it. if it failed, would not they fail? was not this angry beating rain, this dull spiritless drizzle, this wild war of air and earth, but foretaste and prophecy of ruin and discouragement, of the utter futility of striving? but if his own despair was great his pain at the plight of zora made it almost unbearable. he did not see her in these seven days. he pictured her huddled there in the swamp in the cheer- less leaky cabin with worse than no companions. ah! "v [ ] love the swamp, the cruel swamp! it was a fearful place in the rain. its oozing mud and fetid vapors, its cling- ing slimy draperies, — how they twined about the bones of its victims and chilled their hearts. yet here his zora, — his poor disappointed child — was imprisoned. child? he had always called her child — but now in the inward illumination of these dark days he knew her as neither child nor sister nor friend, but as the one woman. the revelation of his love lighted and bright- ened slowly till it flamed like a sunrise over him and left him in burning wonder. he panted to know if she, too, knew, or knew and cared not, or cared and knew not. she was so strange and human a creature. to her all things meant something — nothing was aimless, nothing merely happened. was this rain beating down and back her love for him, or had she never loved? he walked his room, gripping his hands, peering through the misty windows toward the swamp — rain, rain, rain, nothing but rain. the world was water veiled in mists. then of a sudden, at midday, the sun shot out, hot and still; no breath of air stirred; the sky was like blue steel; the earth steamed. bles rushed to the edge of the swamp and stood there irresolute. perhaps — if the water had but drained from the cotton! — it was so strong and tall! but, pshaw! where was the use of imagining? the lagoon had been level with the dykes a week ago; and now? he could almost see the beautiful silver fleece, bedraggled, drowned, and rolling beneath the black lake of slime. he went back to his work, but early in the morning the thought of it lured him again. he must at least see the grave of his hope and zora's, and out of it resurrect new love and strength. perhaps she, too, might be there, waiting, weeping. the quest of the silver fleece strove for her life, with gnarled and creeping fingers; but now at last, weakly, she opened her eyes and ques- tioned. bles, where was he? the silver fleece, how was it? the sun, the swamp? then finding all well, she closed her eyes and slept. after some days they let her sit by the window, and she saw bles pass, but drew back timidly when he looked; and he saw only the flutter of her gown, and waved. at last there came a day when they let her walk down to the porch, and she felt the flickering of her strength again. yet she looked different; her buxom comeliness was spiritualized; her face looked smaller, and her masses of hair, brought low about her ears, heightened her ghostly beauty; her skin was darkly transparent, and her eyes looked out from velvet veils of gloom. for a while she lay in her chair, in happy, dreamy pleasure at sun and bird and tree. bles did not know yet that she was down; but soon he would come searching, for he came each hour, and she pressed her little hands against her breast to still the beating of her heart and the burst- ing wonder of her love. then suddenly a panic seized her. he must not find her here — not here; there was but one place in all the earth for them to meet, and that was yonder in the silver fleece. she rose with a fleeting glance, gathered the shawl round her, then gliding forward, wavering, tremu- lous, slipped across the road and into the swamp. the dark mystery of the swamp swept over her; the place was hers. she had been born within its borders; within its borders she had lived and grown, and within its bor- ders she had met her love. on she hurried until, sweep- ing down to the lagoon and the island, lo! the cotton lay chapter xv revelation harry cresswell was scowling over his breakfast. it was not because his apartment in the new york hotel was not satisfactory, or his breakfast unpalatable; possibly a rather bewilder- ing night in broadway was expressing its influence; but he was satisfied that his ill-temper was due to a para- graph in the morning paper: "it is stated on good authority that the widow of the late multimillionaire, job grey, will announce a large and carefully planned scheme of negro education in the south, and will richly endow schools in south carolina, georgia, alabama, louisiana, and texas." cresswell finally thrust his food away. he knew that mrs. grey helped miss smith's school, and supposed she would continue to do so; with that in mind he had striven to impress her, hoping that she might trust his judg- ment in later years. he had no idea, however, that she meant to endow the school, or entertained wholesale plans for negro education. the knowledge made him suspicious. why had neither mary nor john taylor mentioned this? was there, after all, some "nigger-loving" conspiracy back of the cotton combine? he took his hat and started down-town. [ ] revelation once in john taylor's broadway office, he opened the subject abruptly — the more so perhaps because he felt a resentment against taylor for certain unnamed or partially voiced assumptions. here was a place, how- ever, for speech, and he spoke almost roughly. "taylor, what does this mean?" he thrust the clip- ping at him. "mean? that mrs. grey is going to get rid of some of her surplus cash — is going to endow some nigger schools," taylor drily retorted. "it must be stopped," declared cresswell. the other's brows drew up. "why? " in a surprised tone. "why? why? do you think the plantation sys- tem can be maintained without laborers? do you think there 's the slightest chance of cornering cotton and buy- ing the black belt if the niggers are unwilling to work under present conditions? do you know the man that stands ready to gobble up every inch of cotton land in this country at a price which no trust can hope to rival?" john taylor's interest quickened. "why, no," he returned sharply. "who?" "the black man, whose woolly head is filled with ideas of rising. we 're striving by main force to prevent this, and here come your damned northern philanthropists to plant schools. why, taylor, it 'll knock the cotton trust to hell." "don't get excited," said taylor, judicially. "we 've got things in our hands; it's the grey money, you know, that is back of us." "that's just what confounds me," declared the per- plexed young man. "are you men fools, or rascals? - the quest of the silver fleece don't you see the two schemes can't mix? they 're dead opposite, mutually contradictory, absolutely —" taylor checked him; it was odd to behold harry cresswell so disturbed. "well, wait a moment. let's see. sit down. wish i had a cigar for you, but i don't smoke." "do you happen to have any whiskey handy?" "no, i don't drink." "well, what the devil — oh, well, fire away." "now, see here. we control the grey millions. of course, we 've got to let her play with her income, and that's considerable. her favorite game just now is negro education, and she's planning to go in heavy. her adviser in this line, however, is smith, and he belongs to us." "what smith?" "why, the man who 's going to be senator from new jersey. he has a sister teaching in the south — you know, of course; it's at your home where my sister mary taught." "great scott! is that woman's brother going to spend this money? why, are you daft? see here! american cotton-spinning supremacy is built on cheap cotton; cheap cotton is built on cheap niggers. educating, or rather trying to educate niggers, will make them restless and discontented — that is, scarce and dear as workers. don't you see you're planning to cut off your noses? this smith school, particularly, has nearly ruined our plantation. it's. stuck almost in our front yard; you are planning to put our plough-hands all to studying greek, and at the same time to corner the cotton crop — rot!" john taylor caressed his lean jaw. "new point of view to me; i sort of thought education revelation would improve things in the south," he commented, un- moved. "it would if we ran it." "we?" "yes — we southerners." "um! — i see — there 's light. see here, let's talk to easterly about this." they went into the next office, and after a while got audience with the trust magnate. mr. easterly heard the matter carefully and waved it aside. "oh, that does n't concern us, taylor; let cresswell take care of the whole thing. we ' l see that smith does what cresswell wants." but taylor shook his head. "smith would kick. mrs. grey would get suspicious, and the devil be to pay. this is better. form a big committee of northern business men like yourself — philanthropists like vanderpool, and southerners like cresswell; let them be a sort of negro education steering- committee. we 'll see that on such committee you south- erners get what you want — control of negro education." "that sounds fair. but how about the smith school? my father writes me that they are showing signs of ex- pecting money right off — is that true? if it is, i want it stopped; it will ruin our campaign for the farmers' league." john taylor looked at cresswell. he thought he saw something more than general policy, or even racial prej- udice — something personal — in his vehemence. the smith school was evidently a severe thorn in the flesh of this man. all the more reason for mollifying him. then, too, there was something in his argument. it was not wise to start educating these negroes and getting the quest of the silver fleece them discontented just now. ignorant labor was not ideal, but it was worth too much to employers to lose it now. educated negro labor might be worth more to negroes, but not to the cotton combine. "h'm — well, then —" and john taylor went into a brown study, while cresswell puffed impatiently at a cigarette. "i have it," said taylor. cresswell sat up. "first, let mr. easterly get smith." easterly turned to the telephone. "is that you, smith?" "well, this is easterly . . . yes — how about mrs. grey's education schemes? . . . yes . . . h'm — well, — see here smith, we must go a little easy there . . . oh, no, no, — but to advertise just now a big scheme of negro education would drive the cress- wells, the farmers' league, and the whole business south dead against us. . . . yes, yes indeed; they believe in education all right, but they ain't in for training law- yers and professors just yet . . . no, i don't sup- pose her school is . . . well, then; see here. she 'll be reasonable, won't she, and placate the cresswells? . . . no, i mean run the school to suit their ideas. . . no, no, but in general along the lines which they could approve . . . yes, i thought so ... of course . . . good-bye." "inclined to be a little nasty?" asked taylor. "a little sharp — but tractable. now, mr. cresswell, the thing is in your hands. we 'll get this committee which taylor suggests appointed, and send it on a junket to alabama; you do the rest — see? "who 'll be the committee?" asked cresswell. "name it." mr. cresswell smiled and left. revelation the winter started in severely, and it was easy to fill two private cars with members of the new negro educa- tion board right after thanksgiving. cresswell had worked carefully and with caution. there was mrs. grey, comfortable and beaming, mr. easterly, who thought this a good business opportunity, and his family. mrs. vanderpool liked the south and was amused at the trip, and had induced mr. vanderpool to come by stories of shooting. "ah!" said mr. vanderpool. mr. charles smith and john taylor were both too busy to go, but bronchial trouble induced the rev. dr. boldish of st. faith's rich parish to be one of the party, and at the last moment temple bocombe, the sociolo- gist, consented to join. "awfully busy," he said, "but i 've been reading up on the negro problem since you mentioned the matter to me last week, mr. cresswell, and i think i understand it thoroughly. i may be able to help out." the necessary spice of young womanhood was added to the party by miss taylor and miss cresswell, to- gether with the silent miss boldish. they were a com- fortable and sometimes merry party. dr. boldish pointed out the loafers at the stations, especially the black ones; mr. bocombe counted them and estimated the number of hours of work lost at ten cents an hour. "do they get that — ten cents an hour?" asked miss taylor. "oh, i don't know," replied mr. bocombe; "but sup- pose they do, for instance. that is an average wage to-day." "they look lazy," said mrs. grey. "they are lazy," said mr. cresswell. s the quest of the silver fleece "so am i," added mrs. vanderpool, suppressing a yawn. "it is uninteresting," murmured her husband, prepar- ing for a nap. on the whole the members of the party enjoyed them- selves from the moment they drew out of jersey city to the afternoon when, in four carriages, they rolled be- neath the curious eyes of all toomsville and swept under the shadowed rampart of the swamp. "the christmas" was coming and all the southern world was busy. few people were busier than bles and zora. slowly, wonderfully for them, heaven bent in these dying days of the year and kissed the earth, and the tremor thrilled all lands and seas. everything was good, all things were happy, and these two were happiest of all. out of the shadows and hesitations of childhood they had stepped suddenly into manhood and woman- hood, with firm feet and uplifted heads. all the day that was theirs they worked, picking the silver fleece — picking it tenderly and lovingly from off the brown and spent bodies which had so utterly yielded life and beauty to the full fruition of this long and silken tendril, this white beauty of the cotton. november came and flew, and still the unexhausted field yielded its frothing fruit. to-day seemed doubly glorious, for bles had spoken of their marriage; with twined hands and arms, and lips ever and again seeking their mates, they walked the leafy way. unconscious, rapt, they stepped out into the big road skirting the edge of the swamp. why not? was it not the king's highway? and love was king. so they talked on, unknowing that far up the road the cress- well coaches were wheeling along with precious burdens. revelation in the first carriage were mrs. grey and mrs. vander- pool, mr. cresswell and miss taylor. mrs. vanderpool was lolling luxuriously, but mrs. grey was a little stiff from long travel and sat upright. mr. cresswell looked clean-cut and handsome, and miss taylor seemed com- placent and responsible. the dying of the day soothed them all insensibly. groups of dark little children passed them as they neared the school, staring with wide eyes and greeting timidly. "there seems to be marrying and giving in marriage," laughed mrs. vanderpool. "not very much," said mr. cresswell drily. "well, at least plenty of children." "plenty." "but where are the houses?" asked mrs. grey. "perhaps in the swamp," said mrs. vanderpool lightly, looking up at the sombre trees that lined the left. "they live where they please and do as they please," cresswell explained; to which mrs. vanderpool added: "like other animals." mary taylor opened her lips to rebuke this levity when suddenly the coachman called out and the horses swerved, and the carriage's four occupants faced a young man and a young woman embracing heartily. out through the wood bles and zora had come to the broad red road; playfully he celebrated all her beauty unconscious of time and place. "you are tall and bend like grasses on the swamp," he said. "and yet look up to you," she murmured. "your eyes are darkness dressed in night." "to see you brighter, dear," she said. "your little hands are much too frail for work." the quest of the silver fleece "they must grow larger, then, and soon." "your feet are far too small to travel on." "they 'll travel on to you — that's far enough." "your lips — your full and purple lips — were made alone for kissing, not for words." "they'll do for both." he laughed in utter joy and touched her hair with light caressing hands. "it does not fly with sunlight," she said quickly, with an upward glance. "no," he answered. "it sits and listens to the night." but even as she nestled to him happily there came the harsh thunder of horses' hoofs, beating on their ears. he drew her quickly to him in fear, and the coach lurched and turned, and left them facing four pairs of eyes. miss taylor reddened; mrs. grey looked surprised; mrs. van- derpool smiled; but mr. cresswell darkened with anger. the couple unclasped shamefacedly, and the young man, lifting his hat, started to stammer an apology; but cress- well interrupted him: "keep your — your philandering to the woods, or i shall have you arrested," he said slowly, his face colorless, his lips twitching with anger. "drive on, john." miss taylor felt that her worst suspicions had been confirmed; but mrs. vanderpool was curious as to the cause of cresswell's anger. it was so genuine that it needed explanation. "are kisses illegal here?" she asked before the horses started, turning the battery of her eyes full upon him. but cresswell had himself well in hand. "no," he said. "but the girl is — notorious." on the lovers the words fell like a blow. zora shivered, and a grayish horror mottled the dark burn- revelation ing of her face. bles started in anger, then paused in shivering doubt. what had happened? they knew not; yet involuntarily their hands fell apart; they avoided each other's eyes. "i — i must go now," gasped zora, as the carriage swept away. he did not hold her, he did not offer the farewell kiss, but stood staring at the road as she walked into the swamp. a moment she paused and looked back; then slowly, almost painfully, she took the path back to the field of the fleece, and reaching it after long, long min- utes, began mechanically to pick the cotton. but the cotton glowed crimson in the failing sun. bles walked toward the school. what had happened? he kept asking. and yet he dared not question the awful shape that sat somewhere, cold and still, behind his soul. he heard the hoofs of horses again. it was miss taylor being brought back to the school to greet miss smith and break the news of the coming of the party. he raised his hat. she did not return the greeting, but he found her pausing at the gate. it seemed to her too awful for this foolish fellow thus to throw himself away. she faced him and he flinched as from some descending blow. "bles," she said primly, "have you absolutely no shame?" he braced himself and raised his head proudly. "i am going to marry her; it is no crime." then he noted the expression on her face, and paused. she stepped back, scandalized. "can it be, bles alwyn," she said, "that you don't know the sort of girl she is?" he raised his hands and warded off her words, dumbly, as she turned to go, almost frightened at the havoc she the quest of the silver fleece saw. the heavens flamed scarlet in his eyes and he screamed. "it's a lie! it's a damned lie!" he wheeled about and tore into the swamp. "it's a damned lie!" he shouted to the trees. "/* it? — it it?" chirped the birds. "it's a cruel falsehood!" he moaned. "/* itf — i* it? " whispered the devils within. it seemed to him as though suddenly the world was staggering and faltering about him. the trees bent curiously and strange breathings were upon the breezes. he unbuttoned his collar that he might get more air. a thousand things he had forgotten surged suddenly to life. slower and slower he ran, more and more the thoughts crowded his head. he thought of that first red night and the yelling and singing and wild dancing; he thought of cresswell's bitter words; he thought of zora telling how she stayed out nights; he thought of the little bower that he had built her in the cotton field. a wild fear struggled with his anger, but he kept repeating, "no, no," and then, "at any rate, she will tell me the truth." she had never lied to him; she would not dare; he clenched his hands, murder in his heart. slowly and more slowly he ran. he knew where she was — where she must be, waiting. and yet as he drew near huge hands held him back, and heavy weights clogged his feet. his heart said: "on! quick! she will tell the truth, and all will be well." his mind said: "slow, slow; this is the end." he hurled the thought aside, and crashed through the barrier. she was standing still and listening, with a huge basket of the piled froth of the field upon her head. one long brown arm, tender with curvings, balanced the cotton; the other, poised, balanced the slim swaying body. bend- "can it be, bles alwyn," she said, "/that you don't know the sort of a girl she is?" / revelation ing, she listened, her eyes shining, her lips apart, her bosom fluttering at the well-known step. he burst into her view with the fury of a beast, rend- ing the wood away and trampling the underbrush, reeling and muttering until he saw her. she looked at him. her hands dropped, she stood very still with drawn face, gray- ish-brown, both hands unconsciously out-stretched, and the cotton swaying, while deep down in her eyes, dimly, slowly, a horror lit and grew. he paused a moment, then came slowly onward doggedly, drunkenly, with torn clothes, flying collar, and red eyes. then he paused again, still beyond arm's-length, looking at her with fear- struck eyes. the cotton on her head shivered and dropped in a pure mass of white and silvery snow about her limbs. her hands fell limply and the horror flamed in her wet eyes. he struggled with his voice but it grated and came hoarse and hard from his quivering throat. "zora!" "yes, bles." "you — you told me — you were — pure." she was silent, but her body went all a-tremble. he stepped forward until she could almost touch him; there standing straight and tall he glared down upon her. "answer me," he whispered in a voice hard with its tight held sobs. a misery darkened her face and the light died from her eyes, yet she looked at him bravely and her voice came low and full as from afar. "i asked you what it meant to be pure, bles, and — and you told — and i told you the truth." "what it meant! — what it meant!" he repeated in the low, tense anguish. "but — but, bles —" she faltered; there came an awful pleading in her eyes; her hand groped toward him; the quest of the silver fleece but he stepped slowly back — " but, bles — you said — willingly — you said — if — if she knew —" he thundered back in livid anger: "knew! all women know! you should have died!" sobs were rising and shaking her from head to foot, but she drove them back and gripped her breasts with her hands. "no, bles — no — all girls do not know. i was a child. not since i knew you, bles — never, never since i saw you." "since — since," he groaned — " christ! but be- fore?" "yes, before." "my god!" she knew the end had come. yet she babbled on tremblingly: "he was our master, and all the other girls that gathered there did his will; i — i —" she choked and faltered, and he drew farther away — "i began running away, and they hunted me through the swamps. and then — then i reckon i 'd have gone back and been — as they all are — but you ta bles — you came, and you — you were a new great thing in my life, and — and — yet, i was afraid i was not worthy until you — you said the words. i thought you knew, and i thought that — that purity was just wanting to be pure." he ground his teeth in fury. oh, he was an innocent — a blind baby — the joke and laughing-stock of the country around, with yokels grinning at him and pale- faced devils laughing aloud. the teachers knew; the girls knew; god knew; everybody but he knew — poor blind, deaf mole, stupid jackass that he was. he must run — revelation run away from this world, and far off in some free land beat back this pain. then in sheer weariness the anger died within his soul, leaving but ashes and despair. slowly he turned away, but with a quick motion she stood in his path. "bles," she cried, "how can i grow pure?" he looked at her listlessly. "never — never again," he slowly answered her. dark fear swept her drawn face. "never?" she gasped. pity surged and fought in his breast; but one thought held and burned him. he bent to her fiercely: "who?" he demanded. she pointed toward the cresswell oaks, and he turned away. she did not attempt to stop him again, but dropped her hands and stared drearily up into the clear sky, with its shining worlds. "good-bye, bles," she said slowly. "i thank god he gave you to me — just a little time." she hesitated and waited. there came no word as the man moved slowly away. she stood motionless. then slowly he turned and came back. he laid his hand a moment, lightly, upon her head. "good-bye — zora," he sobbed, and was gone. she did not look up, but knelt there silent, dry-eyed, till the last rustle of his going died in the night. and then, like a waiting storm, the torrent of her grief swept down upon her; she stretched herself upon the black and fleece-strewn earth, and writhed. the great refusal in came this news of mrs. grey's probable conditions. so here it was christmas time, and sarah smith's castles lay almost in ruins about her. the girl moaned in her fitful sleep and miss smith soothed her. poor child! here too was work — a strange strong soul cruelly stricken in her youth. could she be brought back to a useful life? how she needed such a strong, clear-eyed helper in this crisis of her work! would zora make one or would this blow send her to perdition? not if sarah smith could save her, she re- solved, and stared out the window where the pale red dawn was sending its first rays on the white-pillared mansion of the cresswells. mrs. grey saw the light on the columns, too, as she lay lazily in her soft white bed. there was a certain delicious languor in the late lingering fall of alabama that suited her perfectly. then, too, she liked the house and its appointments; there was not, to be sure, all the luxury that she was used to in her new york mansion, but there was a certain finish about it, an elegance and staid old-fashioned hospitality that appealed to her tremendously. mrs. grey's heart warmed to the sight of helen in her moments of spasmodic caring for the sick and afflicted on the estate. no better guardian of her philanthropies could be found than these same cresswells. she must, of course, go over and see dear sarah smith; but really there was not much to say or to look at. the prospects seemed most alluring. later, mr. east- erly talked a while on routine business, saying, as he turned away: "i am more and more impressed, mrs. grey, with your wisdom in placing large investments in the south. with peaceful social conditions the returns will be large." the quest of the silver fleece mrs. grey heard this delicate flattery complacently. she had her streak of thrift, and wanted her business capacity recognized. she listened attentively. "for this reason, i trust you will handle your negro philanthropies judicially, as i know you will. there 's dynamite in this race problem for amateur reformers, but fortunately you have at hand wise and sympathetic advisers in the cresswells." mrs. grey agreed entirely. mary taylor, alone of the committee, took her com- mission so seriously as to be anxious to begin work. "we are to visit the school this morning, you know," she reminded the others, looking at her watch; "i 'm afraid we 're late already." the remark created mild consternation. it seemed that mr. vanderpool had gone hunting and his wife had not yet arisen. dr. boldish was very hoarse, mr. east- erly was going to look over some plantations with colonel cresswell, and mr. bocombe was engrossed in a novel. "clever, but not true to life," he said. finally the clergyman and mr. bocombe, mrs. grey and mrs. vanderpool and miss taylor started for the school, with harry cresswell, about an hour after lunch. the delay and suppressed excitement among the little folks had upset things considerably there, but at the sight of the visitors at the gate miss smith rang the bell. the party came in, laughing and chatting. they greeted miss smith cordially. dr. boldish was begin- ning to tell a good story when a silence fell. the children had gathered, quietly, almost timidly, and before the distinguished company realized it, they turned to meet that battery of four hundred eyes. a human eye is a wonderful thing when it simply waits and watches. the great refusal not one of these little things alone would have been worth more than a glance, but together, they became mighty, portentous. mr. bocombe got out his note-book and wrote furiously therein. dr. boldish, naturally the ap- pointed spokesman, looked helplessly about and whispered to mrs. vanderpool: "what on earth shall i talk about?" "the brotherhood of man?" suggested the lady. "hardly advisable," returned dr. boldish, seriously, "in our friend's presence," — with a glance toward cresswell. then he arose. "my friends," he said, touching his finger-tips and using blank verse in a minor. "this is an auspicious day. you should be thankful for the gifts of the lord. his bounty surrounds you — the trees, the fields, the glorious sun. he gives cotton to clothe you, corn to eat, devoted friends to teach you. be joyful. be good. above all, be thrifty and save your money, and do not complain and whine at your apparent disadvantages. remember that god did not create men equal but un- equal, and set metes and bounds. it is not for us to question the wisdom of the almighty, but to bow humbly to his will. "remember that the slavery of your people was not necessarily a crime. it was a school of work and love. it gave you noble friends, like mr. cresswell here." a restless stirring, and the battery of eyes was turned upon that imperturbable gentleman, as if he were some strange animal. "love and serve them. remember that we get, after all, little education from books; rather in the fields, at the plough and in the kitchen. let your ambition be to serve rather than rule, to be humble followers of the lowly jesus." the great refusal as they walked on. "mr. cresswell expects friends to dinner." "what a magnificent intelligence office," remarked mr. bocombe, " for furnishing servants to the nation. i saw splendid material for cooks and maids." "and plough-boys," added cresswell. "and singers," said mary taylor. "well, now that's j ust my idea," said mrs. grey, "that these schools should furnish trained servants and laborers for the south. is n't that your idea, miss smith?" "not exactly," that lady replied, "or at least i shouldn't put it just that way. my idea is that this school should furnish men and women who can work and earn an honest living, train up families aright, and per- form their duties as fathers, mothers, and citizens." "yes — yes, precisely," said mrs. grey, " that's what i meant." "i think the whites can attend to the duties of citizen- ship without help," observed mr. cresswell. "don't let the blacks meddle in politics," said dr. boldish. "i want to make these children full-fledged men and women, strong, self-reliant, honest, without any 'ifs' and 'ands' to their development," insisted miss smith. "of course, and that is just what mr. cresswell wants. is n't it, mr. cresswell?" asked mrs. grey. "i think i may say yes," mr. cresswell agreed. "i certainly want these people to develop as far as they can, although miss smith and i would differ as to their pos- sibilities. but it is not so much in the general theory of negro education as in its particular applications where our chief differences would lie. i may agree that a boy the quest of the silver fleece should learn higher arithmetic, yet object to his loafing in plough-time. i might want to educate some girls but not girls like zora." mrs. vanderpool glanced at mr. cresswell, smiling to herself. mrs. grey broke in, beaming: "that's just it, dear miss smith, — just it. your heart is good, but you need strong practical advice. you know we weak women are so impractical, as my poor job so often said. now, i 'm going to arrange to endow this school with at least — at least a hundred and fifty thou- sand dollars. one condition is that my friend, mr. cress- well here, and these other gentlemen, including sound northern business men like mr. easterly, shall hold this money in trust, and expend it for your school as they think best." "mr. cresswell would be their local representative?" asked miss smith slowly with white face. "why yes — yes, of course." there was a long, tense silence. then the firm reply, "mrs. grey, i thank you, but i cannot accept your offer." sarah smith's voice was strong, the tremor had left her hands. she had expected something like this, of course; yet when it came — somehow it failed to start. she would not turn over the direction of the school, or the direction of the education of these people, to those who were most opposed to their education. therefore, there was no need to hesitate; there was no need to think the thing over — she had thought it over — and she looked into mrs. grey's eyes and with gathering tears in her own said: "again, i thank you very much, mrs. grey." the great refusal mrs. grey was a picture of the most emphatic surprise, and mr. cresswell moved to the window. mrs. grey looked helplessly at her companions. "but — i don't understand, miss smith — why can't you accept my offer?" "because you ask me to put my school in control of those who do not wish for the best interests of black folk, and in particular i object to mr. cresswell," said miss smith, slowly but very distinctly, "because his relation to the forces of evil in this community has been such that he can direct no school of mine." mrs. vanderpool moved toward the door and mr. cresswell bowing slightly followed. dr. boldish looked indignant and mr. bo- combe dove after his note-book. mary taylor, her head in a whirl, came forward. she felt that in some way she was responsible for this dreadful situation and she wanted desperately to save matters from final disaster. "come," she said, "mrs. grey, we 'll talk this mat- ter over again later. i am sure miss smith does not mean quite all she says — she is tired and nervous. you join the others and don't wait for me and i will be along directly." mrs. grey was only too glad to escape and mr. bocombe got a chance to talk. he drew out his note-book. "awfully interesting," he said, "awfully. now — er — let's see — oh, yes. did you notice how unhealthy the children looked? race is undoubtedly dying out; fact. no hope. weak. no spontaneity either — rather languid, did you notice? yes, and their heads — small and narrow — no brain capacity. they can't concen- trate; notice how some slept when dr. boldish was speak- ing? mr. cresswell says they own almost no land here; think of it? this land was worth only ten dollars an acre the quest of the silver fleece a decade ago, he says. negroes might have bought all and been rich. very shiftless -— and that singing. now, i wonder where they got the music? imitation, of course." and so he rattled on, noting not the silence of the others. as the carriage drove off mary turned to miss smith. "now, miss smith," she began — but miss smith looked at her, and said sternly, " sit down." mary taylor sat down. she had been so used to lectur- ing the older woman that the sudden summoning of her well known sternness against herself took her breath, and she sat awkwardly like the school girl that she was wait- ing for miss smith to speak. she felt suddenly very young and very helpless — she who had so jauntily set out to solve this mighty problem by a waving of her wand. she saw with a swelling of pity the drawn and stricken face of her old friend and she started up. "sit down," repeated miss smith harshly. "mary taylor, you are a fool. you are not foolish, for the foolish learn; you are simply a fool. you will never learn; you have blundered into this life work of mine and well nigh ruined it. whether i can yet save it god alone knows. you have blundered into the lives of two loving children, and sent one wandering aimless on the face of the earth and the other moaning in yonder cham- ber with death in her heart. you are going to marry the man that sought zora's ruin when she was yet a child because you think of his aristocratic pose and preten- sions built on the poverty, crime, and exploitation of six generations of serfs. you 'll marry him and —" but miss taylor leapt to her feet with blazing cheeks. "how dare you?" she screamed, beside herself. "but god in heaven help you if you do," finished miss smith, calmly. chapter xvii the rape of the fleece when slowly from the torpor of ether, one wakens to the misty sense of eternal loss, and there comes the exquisite prick of pain, then one feels in part the horror of the ache when zora wak- ened to the world again. the awakening was the work of days and weeks. at first in sheer exhaustion, physical and mental, she lay and moaned. the sense of loss — of utter loss — lay heavy upon her. something of herself, something dearer than self, was gone from her forever, and an infinite loneliness and silence, as of endless years, settled on her soul. she wished neither food nor words, only to be alone. then gradually the pain of injury stung her when the blood flowed fuller. as miss smith knelt beside her one night to make her simple prayer zora sat suddenly upright, white-swathed, dishevelled, with fury in her midnight eyes. "i want no prayers!" she cried, "i will not pray! he is no god of mine. he is n't fair. he knows and won't tell. he takes advantage of us — he works and fools us." all night miss smith heard mutterings of this bitterness, and the next day the girl walked her room like a tigress,— to and fro, to and fro, all the long day. to- ward night a dumb despair settled upon her. miss smith [ ] the quest of the silver fleece found her sitting by the window gazing blankly toward the swamp. she came to miss smith, slowly, and put her hands upon her shoulders with almost a caress. "you must forgive me," she pleaded plaintively. "i reckon i 've been mighty bad with you, and you always so good to me; but — but, you see — it hurts so." "i know it hurts, dear; i know it does. but men and women must learn to bear hurts in this world." "not hurts like this; they could n't." "yes, even hurts like this. bear and stand straight; be brave. after all, zora, no man is quite worth a wom- an's soul; no love is worth a whole life." zora turned away with a gesture of impatience. "you were born in ice," she retorted, adding a bit more tenderly, "in clear strong ice; but i was born in fire. i live — i love; that's all." and she sat down again, despairingly, and stared at the dull swamp. miss smith stood for a moment and closed her eyes upon a vision. "ice!" she whispered. "my god!" then, at length, she said to zora: "zora, there 's only one way: do something; if you sit thus brooding you 'll go crazy." "do crazy folks forget?" "nonsense, zora!" miss smith ridiculed the girl's fantastic vagaries; her sound common sense rallied to her aid. "they are the people who remember; sane folk for- get. work is the only cure for such pain." "but there 's nothing to do — nothing i want to do — nothing worth doing — now." "the silver fleece?" the girl sat upright. "the silver fleece," she murmured. without further the rape of the fleece word, slowly she arose and walked down the stairs, and out into the swamp. miss smith watched her go; she knew that every step must be the keen prickle of awaken- ing flesh. yet the girl walked steadily on. it was the christmas — not christmas-tide of the north and west, but christmas of the southern south. it was not the festival of the christ child, but a time of noise and frolic and license, the great pay-day of the year when black men lifted their heads from a year's toiling in the earth, and, hat in hand, asked anxiously: "master, what have i earned? have i paid my old debts to you? have i made my clothes and food? have i got a little of the year's wage coming to me?" or, more carelessly and cringingly: "master, gimme a christmas gift." the lords of the soil stood round, gauging their cotton, measuring their men. their stores were crowded, their scales groaned, their gins sang. in the long run public opinion determines all wage, but in more primitive times and places, private opinion, personal judgment of some man in power, determines. the black belt is primitive and the landlord wields the power. "what about johnson? " calls the head clerk. "well, he's a faithful nigger and needs encourage- ment; cancel his debt and give him ten dollars for christ- mas." colonel cresswell glowed, as if he were full of the season's spirit. "and sanders?" "how's his cotton?" "good, and a lot of it." "he 's trying to get away. keep him in debt, but let him draw what he wants." /" the quest of the silver fleece "aunt rachel?" "h 'm, they 're way behind, are n't they? give her a couple of dollars — not a cent more." "jimsykes?" "say, harry, how about that darky, sykes?" called out the colonel. excusing himself from his guests, harry cresswell came into the office. to them this peculiar spectacle of the market place was of unusual interest. they saw its humor and its crowding, its bizarre effects and unwonted pageantry. black giants and pigmies were there; kerchiefed aunties, giggling black girls, saffron beauties, and loafing white men. there were mules and horses and oxen, wagons and buggies and carts; but above all and in all, rushing through, piled and flying, bound and baled — was cotton. cotton was currency; cotton was merchandise; cotton was conversation. all this was "beautiful" to mrs. grey and "unus- ually interesting" to mrs. vanderpool. to mary tay- lor it had the fascination of a puzzle whose other side she had already been partially studying. she was par- ticularly impressed with the joy and abandon of the scene — light laughter, huge guffaws, handshakes, and gossipings. "at all events," she concluded, "this is no oppressed people." and sauntering away from the rest she noted the smiles of an undersized smirking yellow man who hurried by with a handful of dollar bills. at a side entrance liquor was evidently on sale — men were drinking and women, too; some were staggering, others cursing, and yet others singing. then suddenly a man swung around the corner swearing in bitter rage: the rape of the fleece "the damned thieves, they 'se stole a year's work — the white —" but some one called, " hush up, sanders! there 's a white woman." and he threw a startled look at mary and hurried by. she was perplexed and upset and stood hesitating a moment when she heard a well- known voice: "why, miss taylor, i was alarmed for you; you really must be careful about trusting yourself with these half drunken negroes." "would n't it be* better not to give them drink, mr. cresswell?" "and let your neighbor sell them poison at all hours? no, miss taylor." they joined the others, and all were turning toward the carriage when a figure coming down the road attracted them. "quite picturesque," observed mrs. vanderpool, look- ing at the tall, slim girl swaying toward them with a piled basket of white cotton poised lightly on her head. "why," in abrupt recognition, "it is our venus of the roadside, is it not?" mary saw it was zora. just then, too, zora caught sight of them, and for a moment hesitated, then came on; the carriage was in front of the store, and she was bound for the store. a moment mary hesitated, too, and then turned resolutely to greet her. but zora's eyes did not see her. after one look at that sorrow-stricken face, mary turned away. colonel cresswell stood by the door, his hat on, his hands in his pockets. "well, zora, what have you there?" he asked. "cotton, sir." harry cresswell bent over it. "great heavens! look at this cotton!" he ejaculated. the quest of the silver fleece his father approached. the cotton lay in silken hand- fuls, clean and shimmering, with threads full two inches long. the idlers, black and white, clustered round, gaz- ing at it, and fingering it with repeated exclamations of astonishment. "where did this come from?" asked the colonel sharply. he and harry were both eying the girl intently. "i raised it in the swamp," zora replied quietly, in a dead voice. there was no pride of achievement in her manner, no gladness; all that had-flown. "is that all?" "no, sir; i think there 's two bales." "two bales! where is it? how the devil —" the colonel was forgetting his guests, but harry intervened. "you 'll need to get it picked right off," he suggested. "it's all picked, sir." "but where is it?" "if you 'll senh a wagon, sir —" but the colonel hardly waited. "here you, jim, take the big mules and drive like — where's that wench?" but zora was already striding on ahead, and was far up the red road when the great mules galloped into sight and the long whip snapped above their backs. the colonel was still excited. "that cotton must be ours, harry — all of it. and see that none is stolen. we 've got no contract with the wench, so don't dally with her." but harry said firmly, quietly: "it's fine cotton, and she raised it; she must be paid well for it." colonel cress well glanced at him with some- thing between contempt and astonishment on his face. "you go along with the ladies," harry added; "i'll see to this cotton." mary taylor's smile had rewarded the quest of the silver fleece "three thousand pounds," he announced in a careless tone. "yes, that will make about two bales of lint. it "s extra cotton — say fifteen cents a pound — one hundred fifty dollars — seventy-five dollars to you — h 'm." he took a note-book out of his pocket, pushed his hat back on his head, and paused to relight his cigarette. "let's see — your rent and rations —" "elspeth pays no rent," she said slowly, but he did not seem to hear. "your rent and rations with the five years' back debt," — he made a hasty calculation — " will be one hundred dollars. that leaves you twenty-five in our debt. here 's your receipt." the blow had fallen. she did not wince nor cry out. she took the receipt, calmly, and walked out into the dark- ness. they had stolen the silver fleece. what should she do? she never thought of appeal to courts, for colonel cresswell was justice of the peace and his son was bailiff. why had they stolen from her? she knew. she was now penniless, and in a sense helpless. she was now a peon bound to a master's bidding. if elspeth chose to sign a contract of work for her to-mor- row, it would mean slavery, jail, or hounded running away. what would elspeth do? one never knew. zora walked on. an hour ago it seemed that this last blow must have killed her. but now it was different. in- to her first despair had crept, in one fierce moment, grim determination. somewhere in the world sat a great dim injustice which had veiled the light before her young eyes, just as she raised them to the morning. with the veiling, death had come into her heart. and yet, they should not kill her; they should not en- the rape of the fleece slave her. a desperate resolve to find some way up to- ward the light, if not to it, formed itself within her. she would not fall into the pit opening before her. somehow, somewhere lay the way. she must never fall lower; never be utterly despicable in the eyes of the man she had loved. there was no dream of forgiveness, of purifica- tion, of re-kindled love; all these she placed sadly and gently into the dead past. but in awful earnestness, she turned toward the future; struggling blindly, groping in half formed plans for a way. she came thus into the room where sat miss smith, strangely pallid beneath her dusky skin. but there lay a light in her eyes. r s chapter xviii the cotton corner all over the land the cotton had foamed in great white flakes under the winter sun. the silver fleece lay like a mighty mantle across the earth. black men and mules had staggered beneath its burden, while deep songs welled in the hearts of men; for the fleece was goodly and gleaming and soft, and men dreamed of the gold that it would buy. all the roads in the coun- try had been lined with wagons — a million wagons speed- ing to and fro with straining mules and laughing black men, bearing bubbling masses of piled white fleece. the gins were still roaring and spitting flames and smoke — fifty thousand of them in town and vale. then hoarse iron throats were filled with fifteen billion pounds of white-fleeced, black-specked cotton, for the whirling saws to tear out the seed and fling five thousand million pounds of the silken fibre to the press. and there again the black men sang, like dark earth- spirits flitting in twilight; the presses creaked and groaned; closer and closer they pressed the silken fleece. it quivered, trembled, and then lay cramped, dead, and still, in massive, hard, square bundles, tied with iron strings. out fell the heavy bales, thousand upon thou- sand, million upon million, until they settled over the [ ] the cotton corner south like some vast dull-white swarm of birds. colonel cresswell and his son, in these days, had a long and earnest conversation perforated here and there by ex- plosions of the colonel's wrath. the colonel could not understand some things. "they want us to revive the farmers' league?" he fiercely demanded. "yes," harry calmly replied. "and throw the rest of our capital after the fifty thousand dollars we've already lost?" "yes." "and you were fool enough to consent —" "wait, father — and don't get excited. listen. cotton is going up —" "of course it's going up! short crop and big demand —" "cotton is going up, and then it's going to fall." "i don't believe it." "i know it; the trust has got money and credit enough to force it down." "well, what then?" the colonel glared. "then somebody will corner it." "the farmers' league won't stand —" "precisely. the farmers' league can do the corner- ing and hold it for higher prices." "lord, son! if we only could!" groaned the colonel. "we can; we 'll have unlimited credit." "but — but —" stuttered the bewildered colonel, "i don't understand. why should the trust —" "nonsense, father — what's the use of understand- ing. our advantage is plain, and john taylor guar- antees the thing." the quest of the silver fleece "who 's john taylor?" snorted the colonel. "why should we trust him?" "well," said harry slowly, "he wants to marry helen —" his father grew apopletic. "i 'm not saying he will, father; i 'm only saying that he wants to," harry made haste to placate the rising tide of wrath. "no southern gentleman — " began the colonel. but harry shrugged his shoulders. "which is better, to be crushed by the trust or to es- cape at their expense, even if that escape involves unwar- ranted assumptions on the part of one of them? i tell you, father, the code of the southern gentleman won't work in wall street." "and i 'll tell you why — there are no southern gentle- men," growled his father. the silver fleece was golden, for its prices were flying aloft. mr. caldwell told colonel cresswell that he con- fidently expected twelve-cent cotton. "the crop is excellent and small, scarcely ten million bales," he declared. "the price is bound to go up." colonel cresswell was hesitant, even doubtful; the de- mand for cotton at high prices usually fell off rapidly and he had heard rumors of curtailed mill production. while, then, he hoped for high prices he advised the farmers' league to be on guard. mr. caldwell seemed to be right, for cotton rose to ten cents a pound — ten and a half — eleven — and then the south began to see visions and to dream dreams. "yes, my dear," said mr. maxwell, whose lands lay next the cresswells' on the northwest, "yes, if cotton goes to twelve or thirteen cents as seems probable, i the cotton corner think we can begin the new house " — for mrs. max- well's cherished dream was a pillared mansion like the cresswells'. mr. tolliver looked at his house and barns. "well, daughter, if this crop sells at twelve cents, i 'll be on my feet again, and i won't have to sell that land to the nigger school after all. once out of the clutch of the cress- wells — well, i think we can have a coat of paint." and he laughed as he had not laughed in ten years. down in the bottoms west of the swamp a man and woman were figuring painfully on an old slate. he was light brown and she was yellow. "honey," he said tremblingly, "i believe we can do it — if cotton goes to twelve cents, we can pay the mortgage." two miles north of the school an old black woman was shouting and waving her arms. "if cotton goes to twelve cents we can pay out and be free!" and she threw her apron over her head and wept, gathering her chil- dren in her arms. but even as she cried a flash and tremor shook the south. ear away to the north a great spider sat weaving his web. the office looked down from the clouds on lower broadway, and was soft with velvet and leather. swift, silent messengers hurried in and out, and mr. easterly, deciding the time was ripe, called his henchman to him. "taylor, we 're ready — go south." and john taylor rose, shook hands silently, and went. as he entered cresswell's plantation store three days later, a colored woman with a little boy turned sadly away from the counter. "no, aunty," the clerk was telling her, "calico is too the quest of the silver fleece high; can't let you have any till we see how your cotton comes out." "i just wanted a bit; i promised the boy —" "go on, go on — why, mr. taylor!" and the little boy burst into tears while he was hurried out. "tightening up on the tenants?" asked taylor. "yes; these niggers are mighty extravagant. besides, cotton fell a little to-day — eleven to ten and three- fourths; just a flurry, i reckon. had you heard?" mr. taylor said he had heard, and he hurried on. next morning the long shining wires of that great broad- way web trembled and flashed again and cotton went to ten cents. "no house this year, i fear," quoth mr. maxwell, bitterly. the next day nine and a half was the quotation, and men began to look at each other and asked questions. "paper says the crop is larger than the government estimate," said tolliver, and added, "there 'll be no painting this year." he looked toward the smith school and thought of the five thousand dollars waiting; but he hesitated. john taylor had carefully mentioned seven thousand dollars as a price he was willing to pay and "perhaps more." was cresswell back of taylor? tol- liver was suspicious and moved to delay matters. "it's manipulation and speculation in new york," said colonel cresswell, "and the farmers' league must begin operations." the local paper soon had an editorial on "our dis- tinguished fellow citizen, colonel cresswell," and his efforts to revive the farmers' league. it was under- stood that colonel cresswell was risking his whole pri- vate fortune to hold the price of cotton, and some effort the cotton corner seemed to be needed, for cotton dropped to nine cents within a week. swift negotiations ensued, and a meet- ing of the executive committee of the farmers' league was held in montgomery. a system of warehouses and warehouse certificates was proposed. "but that will cost money," responded each of the dozen big landlords who composed the committee; where- upon harry cresswell introduced john taylor, who rep- resented thirty millions of southern bank stock. "i promise you credit to any reasonable amount," said mr. taylor, "i believe in cotton — the present price is abnormal." and mr. taylor knew whereof he spoke, for when he sent a cipher despatch north, cotton dropped to eight and a half. the farmers' league leased three warehouses at savannah, montgomery, and new orleans. then silently the south gripped itself and prepared for battle. men stopped spending, business grew dull, and millions of eyes were glued to the blackboards of the cotton-exchange. tighter and tighter the reins grew on the backs of the black tenants. "miss smith, is yo' got just a drap of coffee to lend me? mr. cresswell won't give me none at the store and i'se just starving for some," said aunt rachel from over the hill. "we won't git free this year, miss smith, not this year," she concluded plaintively. cotton fell to seven and a half cents and the muttered protest became angry denunciation. why was it? who was doing it? harry cresswell went to montgomery. he was get- ting nervous. the thing was too vast. he could not grasp it. it set his head in a whirl. harry cresswell was not a bad man — are there any bad men? he was a man who from the day he first wheedled his black mammy the cotton corner go mad, he hastened again down to the planters' hotel and was quickly ushered to john taylor's room. the place was filled with tobacco smoke. an electric ticker was drumming away in one corner, a telephone ringing on the desk, and messenger boys hovered outside the door and raced to and fro. "well," asked cresswell, maintaining his composure by an effort, "how are things?" "great!" returned taylor. "league holds three million bales and controls five. it's the biggest corner in years." "but how's cotton?" "ticker says six and three-fourths." cresswell sat down abruptly opposite taylor, looking at him fixedly. "that last drop means liabilities of a hundred thou- sand to us," he said slowly. "exactly," taylor blandly admitted. beads of sweat gathered on cresswell's forehead. he looked at the scrawny iron man opposite, who had al- ready forgotten his presence. he ordered whiskey, and taking paper and pencil began to figure, drinking as he figured. slowly the blood crept out of his white face leaving it whiter, and went surging and pounding in his heart. poverty — that was what those figures spelled. poverty — unclothed, wineless poverty, to dig and toil like a "nigger" from morning until night, and to give up horses and carriages and women; that was what they spelled. "how much — farther will it drop? " he asked harshly. taylor did not look up. "can't tell," he said, " ' fraid not much though." he glanced through a telegram. "no — damn it! — out- the quest of the silver fleece side mills are low; they 'll stampede soon. meantime we 'll buy." "but, taylor —" "here are one hundred thousand offered at six and three-fourths." "i tell you, taylor —" cresswell half arose. "done!" cried taylor. "six and one-half," clicked the machine. cresswell arose from his chair by the window and came slowly to the wide flat desk where taylor was work- ing feverishly. he sat down heavily in the chair oppo- site and tried quietly to regain his self-control. the liabilities of the cresswells already amounted to half the value of their property, at a fair market valuation. the cotton for which they had made debts was still falling in value. every fourth of a cent fall meant — he figured it again tremblingly — meant one hundred thousand more of liabilities. if cotton fell to six he had n't a cent on earth. if it stayed there — " my god!" he felt a faint- ness stealing over him but he beat it back and gulped down another glass of fiery liquor. then the one protecting instinct of his clan gripped him. slowly, quietly his hand moved back until it grasped the hilt of the big colt's revolver that was ever with him — his thin white hand became suddenly steady as it slipped the weapon beneath the shadow of the desk. "if it goes to six," he kept murmuring, "we 're ruined — if it goes to six — if —" "tick," sounded the wheel and the sound reverberated like sudden thunder in his ears. his hand was iron, and he raised it slightly. "six," said the wheel — his finger quivered — " and a half." "hell!" yelled taylor. "she 's turned — there 'll be the cotton corner the devil to pay now." a messenger burst in and taylor scowled. "she 's loose in new york — a regular mob in new orleans — and — hark! — by god! there 's something doing here. damn it — i wish we 'd got another million bales. let's see, we 've got —" he figured while the wheel whirred — " — i/ — — %." cresswell listened, staggered to his feet, his face crim- son and his hair wild. "my god, taylor," he gasped, "i 'm — i 'm a half a million ahead — great heavens!" the ticker whirred, " — — i/ — ." then it stopped dead. "exchange closed," said taylor. "we 've cornered the market all right — cornered it — d'ye hear, cress- well? we got over half the crop and we can send prices to the north star — you — why, i figure it you cress- wells are worth at least seven hundred and fifty thousand above liabilities this minute," and john taylor leaned back and lighted a big black cigar. "i 've made a million or so myself," he added reflec- tively. cresswell leaned back in his chair, his face had gone white again, and he spoke slowly to still the tremor in his voice. "i 've gambled — before; i 've gambled on cards and on horses; i 've gambled — for money — and — women — but —" "but not on cotton, hey? well, i don't know about cards and such; but they can't beat cotton." "and say, john taylor, you 're my friend." cress- well stretched his hand across the desk, and as he bent forward the pistol crashed to the floor. chapter xix the dying of elspeth rich! this was the thought that awakened harry cresswell to a sense of endless well-being. rich! no longer the mirage and semblance of wealth, the memory of opulence, the shadow of homage without the substance of power — no; now the wealth was real, cold hard dollars, and in piles. how much? he laughed aloud as he turned on his pillow. what did he care? enough — enough. not less than half a million; per- haps three-quarters of a million; perhaps — was not cotton still rising? — a whole round million! that would mean from twenty-five to fifty thousand a year. great heavens! and he 'd been starving on a bare couple of thousand and trying to keep up appearances! to-day the cresswells were almost millionaires; aye, and he might be married to more millions. he sat up with a start. to-day mary was going north. he had quite forgotten it in the wild excitement of the cotton corner. he had neglected her. of course, there was always the hovering doubt as to whether he really wanted her or not. she had the form and carriage; her beauty, while not startling, was young and fresh and firm. on the other hand there was about her a certain independence that he did not like to associate with wo- "[ ] the quest of the silver fleece mood. he had a woman's premonitions in fulfilling her wishes. his hands, if they touched her, were soft and tender, and yet he gave a curious impression of strength and poise and will. indeed, in all things he was in her eyes a gentleman in the fine old-fashioned aristocracy of the term; her own heart voiced all he did not say, and pleaded for him to her own confusion. and yet, in her heart, lay the awful doubt — and the words kept ringing in her ears!" you will marry this man — but heaven help you if you do!" so it was that on this day when she somehow felt he would speak, his footsteps on the stairs filled her with sudden panic. without a word she slipped behind the pillars and ran down among the oaks and sauntered out upon the big road. he caught the white flutter of her dress, and smiled indulgently as he watched and waited and lightly puffed his cigarette. the morning was splendid with that first delicious languor of the spring which breathes over the southland in february. mary taylor filled her lungs, lifted her arms aloft, and turning, stepped into the deep shadow of the swamp. abruptly the air, the day, the scene about her subtly changed. she felt a closeness and a tremor, a certain brooding terror in the languid sombre winds. the gold of the sunlight faded to a sickly green, and the earth was black and burned. a moment she paused and looked back; she caught the man's silhouette against the tall white pillars of the mansion and she fled deeper into the forest with the hush of death about her, and the silence which is one great voice. slowly, and mysteriously it loomed before her — that squat and darksome cabin which the dying of elspeth seemed so fitly set in the centre of the wilderness, beside its crawling slime. she paused in sudden certainty that there lay the an- swer to her doubts and mistrust. she felt impelled to go forward and ask — what? she did not know, but some- thing to still this war in her bosom. she had seldom seen elspeth; she had never been in her cabin. she had felt an inconquerable aversion for the evil hag; she felt it now, and shivered in the warm breeze. as she came in full view of the door, she paused. on the step of the cabin, framed in the black doorway, stood zora. measured by the squat cabin she seemed in height colossal; slim, straight as a pine, motionless, with one long outstretched arm pointing to where the path swept onward toward the town. it was too far for words but the scene lay strangely clear and sharp-cut in the green mystery of the sun- light. before that motionless, fateful figure crouched a slighter, smaller woman, dishevelled, clutching her breast; she bent and rose — hesitated — seemed to plead; then turning, clasped in passionate embrace the child whose head was hid in zora's gown. next instant she was stag- gering along the path whither zora pointed. slowly the sun was darkened, and plaintive murmur- ings pulsed through the wood. the oppression and fear of the swamp redoubled in mary taylor. zora gave no sign of having seen her. she stood tall and still, and the little golden-haired girl still sobbed in her gown. mary taylor looked up into zora's face, then paused in awe. it was a face she did not know; it was neither the beautifully mischievous face of the girl, nor the pain-stricken face of the woman. it was a face cold and mask-like, regular and comely; clothed in a mighty the quest of the silver fleece calm, yet subtly, masterfully veiling behind itself depths of unfathomed misery and wild revolt. all this lay in its darkness. "good-morning, miss taylor." mary, who was wont to teach this woman — so lately a child — searched in vain for words to address her now. she stood bare-haired and hesitating in the pale green light of the darkened morning. it seemed fit that a deep groan of pain should gather itself from the mysterious depths of the swamp, and drop like a pall on the black portal of the cabin. but it brought mary taylor back to a sense of things, and under a sudden impulse she spoke. "is — is anything the matter? " she asked nervously. "elspeth is sick," replied zora. "is she very sick?" "yes — she has been called," solemnly returned the dark young woman. mary was puzzled. "called?" she repeated vaguely. "we heard the great cry in the night, and elspeth says it is the end." it did not occur to mary taylor to question this mys- ticism; she all at once understood — perhaps read the riddle in the dark, melancholy eyes that so steadily regarded her. "then you can leave the place, zora?" she exclaimed gladly. "yes, i could leave." "and you will." "i don't know." "but the place looks — evil." "it is evil." "and yet you will stay?" the dying of elspeth zora's eyes were now fixed far above the woman's head, and she saw a human face forming itself in the vast rafters of the forest. its eyes were wet with pain and anger. "perhaps," she answered. the child furtively uncovered her face and looked at the stranger. she was blue-eyed and golden-haired. "whose child is this?" queried mary, curiously. zora looked coldly down upon the child. "it is bertie's. her mother is bad. she is gone. i sent her. she and the others like her." "but where have you sent them?" "to hell!" mary taylor started under the shock. impulsively she moved forward with hands that wanted to stretch themselves in appeal. "zora! zora! you must n't go, too!" but the black girl drew proudly back. "i am there," she returned, with unmistakable sim- plicity of absolute conviction. the white woman shrank back. her heart was wrung; she wanted to say more — to explain, to ask to help; there came welling to her lips a flood of things that she would know. but zora's face again was masked. "i must go," she said, before mary could speak. "good-bye." and the dark groaning depths of the cabin swallowed her. with a satisfied smile, harry cresswell had seen the northern girl disappear toward the swamp; for it is significant when maidens run from lovers. but maidens should also come back, and when, after the lapse of many minutes, mary did not reappear, he followed her footsteps to the swamp. the quest of the silver fleece he frowned as he noted the footprints pointing to elspeth's — what did mary taylor want there? a fear started within him, and something else. he was sud- denly aware that he wanted this woman, intensely; at the moment he would have turned heaven and earth to get her. he strode forward and the wood rose darkly green above him. a long, low, distant moan seemed to sound upon the breeze, and after it came mary taylor. he met her with tender solicitude, and she was glad to feel his arm beneath hers. "i 've been searching for you," he said after a silence, "you should not wander here alone — it is dangerous." "why, dangerous?" she asked. "wandering negroes, and even wild beasts, in the forest depths — and malaria — see, you tremble now." "but not from malaria," she slowly returned. he caught an unfamiliar note in his voice, and a wild desire to justify himself before this woman clamored in his heart. with it, too, came a cooler calculating in- tuition that frankness alone would win her now. at all hazards he must win, and he cast the die. "miss taylor," he said, "i want to talk to you — i have wanted to for — a year." he glanced at her: she was white and silent, but she did not tremble. he went on: "i have hesitated because i do not know that i have a right to speak or explain to — to — a good woman." he felt her arm tighten on his and he continued: "you have been to elspeth's cabin; it is an evil place, and has meant evil for this community, and for me. elspeth was my mother's favorite servant and my own mammy. my mother died when i was ten and left me to her tender mercies. she let me have my way and en- the dying of elspeth couraged the bad in me. it's a wonder i escaped total ruin. her cabin became a rendezvous for drinking and carousing. i told my father, but he, in lazy indifference, declared the place no worse than all negro cabins, and did nothing. i ceased my visits. still she tried every lure and set false stories going among the negroes, even when i sought to rescue zora. i tell you this because i know you have heard evil rumors. i have not been a good man — mary; but i love you, and you can make me good." perhaps no other appeal would have stirred mary taylor. she was in many respects an inexperienced girl. but she thought she knew the world; she knew that harry cresswell was not all he should be, and she knew too that many other men were not. moreover, she argued he had not had a fair chance. all the school-ma'am in her leaped to his teaching. what he needed was a su- perior person like herself. she loved him, and she deliberately put her arms about his neck and lifted her face to be kissed. back by the place of the silver fleece they wandered, across the big road, up to the mansion. on the steps stood john taylor and helen cresswell hand in hand and they all smiled at each other. the colonel came out, smiling too, with the paper in his hands. "easterly's right," he beamed, "the stock of the cotton combine —" he paused at the silence and looked up. the smile faded slowly and the red blood mounted to his forehead. anger struggled back of surprise, but before it burst forth silently the colonel turned, and muttering some unintelligible word, went slowly into the house and slammed the door. so for harry cresswell the day burst, flamed, and the quest of the silver fleece waned, and then suddenly went out, leaving him dull and gray; for mary and her brother had gone north, helen had gone to bed, and the colonel was in town. outside the weather was gusty and lowering with a chill in the air. he paced the room fitfully. well, he was happy. or, was he happy? he gnawed his mustache, for already his quick, change- able nature was feeling the rebound from glory to misery. he was a little ashamed of his exaltation; a bit doubtful and uncertain. he had stooped low to this yankee school-ma'am, lower than he had ever stooped to woman. usually, while he played at loving, women grovelled; for was he not a cresswell? would this woman recognize that fact and respect him accordingly? then there was zora; what had she said and hinted to mary? the wench was always eluding and mock- ing him, the black devil! but, pshaw! — he poured him- self a glass of brandy — was he not rich and young? the world was his. his valet knocked. "gentleman is asking if you forgits it's saturday night, sir?" said sam. cresswell walked thoughtfully to the window, swept back the curtain, and looked toward the darkness and the swamp. it lowered threateningly; behind it the night sky was tinged with blood. "no," he said; "i 'm not going." and he shut out the glow. yet he grew more and more restless. the devil danced in his veins and burned in his forehead. his hands shook. he heard a rustle of departing feet beneath his window, then a pause and a faint halloo. "all right," he called, and in a moment went down- the dying of elspeth stairs and out into the night. as he closed the front door there seemed to come faintly up from the swamp a low ululation, like the prolonged cry of some wild bird, or the wail of one's mourning for his dead. within the cabin, elspeth heard. tremblingly, she swayed to her feet, a haggard, awful sight. she mo- tioned zora away, and stretching her hands palms up- ward to the sky, cried with dry and fear-struck gasp: "i'se called! i'se called!" on the bed the child smiled in its dreaming; the red flame of the firelight set the gold to dancing in her hair. zora shrank back into the shadows and listened. then it came. she heard the heavy footsteps crashing through the underbrush — coming, coming, as from the end of the world. she shrank still farther back, and a shadow swept the door. he was a mighty man, black and white-haired, and his eyes were the eyes of death. he bent to enter the door, and then uplifting himself and stretching his great arms, his palms touched the blackened rafters. zora started forward. thick memories of some for- gotten past came piling in upon her. where had she known him? what was he to her? slowly elspeth, with quivering hands, unwound the black and snake-like object that always guarded her breast. without a word, he took it, and again his hands flew heavenward. with a low and fearful moan the old woman lurched sideways, then crashed, like a fallen pine, upon the hearthstone. she lay still — dead. three times the man passed his hands, wave-like, above the dead. three times he murmured, and his eyes burned into the shadows, where the girl trembled. then he turned and went as he had come, his heavy feet crash- the quest of the silver fleece ing through the underbrush, on and on, fainter and fainter, as to the end of the world. zora shook herself from the trance-like horror and passed her hands across her eyes to drive out the night- mare. but, no! there lay the dead upon the hearth with the firelight flashing over her, a bloated, hideous, twisted thing, distorted in the rigor of death. a moment zora looked down upon her mother. she felt the cold body whence the wandering, wrecked soul had passed. she sat down and stared death in the face for the first time. a mighty questioning arose within, a questioning and a yearning. was elspeth now at peace? was death the way — the wide, dark way? she had never thought of it before, and as she thought she crept forward and looked into the fearful face pityingly. "mammy!" she whispered — with bated breath — "mammy elspeth!" out of the night came a whispered answer: "elspeth! elspeth!" zora sprang to her feet, alert, fearful. with a swing of her arm, she pulled the great oaken door to and dropped the bar into its place. over the dead she spread a clean white sheet. into the fire she thrust pine-knots. they glared in vague red, and shadowy brilliance, waving and quivering and throwing up thin swirling columns of black smoke. then standing beside the fireplace with the white, still corpse between her and the door, she took up her awful vigil. there came a low knocking at the door; then silence and footsteps wandering furtively about. the night seemed all footsteps and whispers. there came a louder knock- ing, and a voice: the dying of elspeth "elspeth! elspeth! open the door; it's me." then muttering and wandering noises, and silence again. the child on the bed turned itself, murmuring un- easily in its dreams. and then they came. zora froze, watching the door, wide-eyed, while the fire flamed redder. a loud quick knock at the door — a pause — an oath and a cry. "elspeth! open this door, damn you!" a moment of waiting and then the knocking came again, furious and long continued. outside there was much trampling and swearing. zora did not move; the child slept on. a tugging and dragging, a dull blow that set the cabin quivering; then,— "bang! crack! crash! "— the door wavered, splint- ered, and dropped upon the floor. with a snarl, a crowd of some half-dozen white faces rushed forward, wavered and stopped. the awakened child sat up and stared with wide blue eyes. slowly, with no word, the intruders turned and went silently away, leaving but one late comer who pressed forward. "what damned mummery is this?" he cried, and snatch- ing at the sheet, dragged it from the black distorted countenance of the corpse. he shuddered but for a moment he could not stir. he felt the midnight eyes of the girl — he saw the twisted, oozing mouth of the hag, blue- black and hideous. suddenly back behind there in the darkness a shriek split the night like a sudden flash of flame — a great ringing scream that cracked and swelled and stopped. with one wild effort the man hurled himself out the door and plunged through the darkness. panting and the quest of the silver fleece cursing, he flashed his huge revolver — " bang! bang! bang!" it cracked into the night. the sweat poured from his forehead; the terror of the swamp was upon him. with a struggling and tearing in his throat, he tripped and fell fainting under the silent oaks. chapter xx the weaving of the silver fleece the silver fleece, darkly cloaked and girded, lay in the cotton warehouse of the cresswells, near the store. its silken fibres, cramped and close, shone yellow-white in the sunlight; sadly soiled, yet beautiful. many came to see zora's twin bales, as they lay, handling them and questioning, while colonel cresswell grew proud of his possession. the world was going well with the colonel. freed from money cares, praised for his generalship in the cotton corner, able to entertain sumptuously, he was again a southern gentleman of the older school, and so in his envied element. yet to-day he frowned as he stood poking absently with his cane at the baled fleece. this marriage — or, rather, these marriages — were not to his liking. it was a mesalliance of a sort that pricked him tenderly; it savored grossly of bargain and sale. his neighbors regarded it with disconcerting equanimity. they seemed to think an alliance with north- ern millions an honor for cresswell blood, and the colonel thumped the nearer bale vigorously. his cane slipped along the iron bands suddenly, and the old man lurching forward, clutched in space to save himself and touched a human hand. [ ] the quest of the silver fleece zora, sitting shadowed on the farther bale, drew back her hand quickly at the contact, and started to move away. "who's that?" thundered the colonel, more angry at his involuntary fright than at the intrusion. "here, boys!" but zora had come forward into the space where the sunlight of the wide front doors poured in upon the cotton bales. "it's me, colonel," she said. he glared at her. she was taller and thinner than formerly, darkly transparent of skin, and her dark eyes shone in strange and dusky brilliance. still indignant and surprised, the colonel lifted his voice sharply. "what the devil are you doing here? — sleeping when you ought to be at work! get out! and see here, next week cotton chopping begins — you 'll go to the fields or to the chain-gang. i 'll have no more of your loafing about my place." awaiting no reply, the colonel, already half ashamed of his vehemence, stormed out into the sunlight and climbed upon his bay mare. but zora still stood silent in the shadow of the silver fleece, hearing and yet not hearing. she was searching for the way, groping for the threads of life, seeking al- most wildly to understand the foundations of understand- ing, piteously asking for answer to the puzzle of life. all the while the walls rose straight about her and narrow. to continue in school meant charity, yet she had nowhere to go and nothing to go with. to refuse to work for the cresswells meant trouble for the school and perhaps ar- rest for herself. to work in the fields meant endless toil and a vista that opened upon death. «r« ,, the weaving of the silver fleece like a hunted thing the girl turned and twisted in thought and faced everywhere the blank impossible. cold and dreamlike without, her shut teeth held back seething fires within, and a spirit of revolt that gathered wildness as it grew. above all flew the dream, the phantasy, the memory of the past, the vision of the future. over and over she whispered to herself: "this is not the end; this can not be the end." somehow, somewhere, would come salvation. yet what it would be and what she expected she did not know. she sought the way, but what way and whither she did not know, she dared not dream. one thing alone lay in her wild fancy like a great and\ wonderful fact dragging the dream to earth and anchor- ing it there. that was the silver fleece. like a brood- ing mother, zora had watched it. she knew how the gin had been cleaned for its pressing and how it had been baled apart and carefully covered. she knew how proud colonel cresswell was of it and how daily he had visitors to see it and finger the wide white wound in its side. "yes, sir, grown on my place, by my niggers, sir!" he assured them; and they marvelled. to zora's mind, this beautiful baled fibre was hers; it typified happiness; it was an holy thing which profane hands had stolen. when it came back to her (as come it must, she cried with clenched hands) it would bring happiness; not the great happiness — that was gone forever — but illumination, atonement, and something of the power and the glory. so, involuntarily almost, she haunted the cotton storehouse, flitting like a dark and silent ghost in among the workmen, greeting them with her low musical voice, warding them with the cold majesty ■' the quest of the silver fleece of her eyes; each day afraid of some last parting, each night triumphant — it was still there! the colonel — zora already forgotten — rode up to the cresswell oaks, pondering darkly. it was bad enough to contemplate helen's marriage in distant prospect, but the sudden, almost peremptory desire for marrying at eastertide, a little less than two months away, was absurd. there were "business reasons arising from the presidential campaign in the fall," john taylor had tele- graphed; but there was already too much business in the arrangement to suit the colonel. with harry it was different. indeed it was his own quiet suggestion that made john taylor hurry matters. harry trusted to the novelty of his father's new wealth to make the latter complacent; he himself felt an im- patient longing for the haven of a home. he had been too long untethered. he distrusted himself. the devil within was too fond of taking the bit in his teeth. he would re- member to his dying day one awful shriek in the night, as of a soul tormenting and tormented. he wanted the pro- tection of a good woman, and sometimes against the clear whiteness of her letters so joyous and generous, even if a bit prim and didactic, he saw a vision of himself reflected as he was, and he feared. it was distinctly disconcerting to colonel cresswell to find harry quite in favor of early nuptials, and to learn that the sole objection even in helen's mind was the im- probability of getting a wedding-gown in time. helen had all a child's naive love for beautiful and dainty things, and a wedding-gown from paris had been her life dream. on this point, therefore, there ensued spirited arguments and much correspondence, and both her brother and her lover evinced characteristic interest in the planning. the weaving of the silver fleece said harry: "sis, i 'll cable to paris to-day. they can easily hurry the thing along." helen was delighted; she handed over a telegram just received from john taylor. "send me, express, two bales best cotton you can get." the colonel read the message. rt i don't see the con- nection between this and hurrying up a wedding-gown," he growled. none of them discerned the handwriting of destiny. "neither do i," said harry, who detected yielding in his father's tone. "but we 'd better send him the two prize bales; it will be a fine advertisement of our planta- tion, and evidently he has a surprise in store for us." the colonel affected to hesitate, but next morning the silver fleece went to town. zora watched it go, and her heart swelled and died within her. she walked to town, to the station. she did not see mrs. vanderpool arriving from new orleans; but mrs. vanderpool saw her, and looked curiously at the tall, tragic figure that leaned so dolorously beside the freight car. the bales were loaded into the express car; the train pulled away, its hoarse snorting waking vague echoes in the forest beyond. but to the girl who stood at the end, looking outward to darkness, those echoes roared like the crack of doom. a passing band of contract hands called to her mockingly, and one black giant, laughing loudly, gripped her hand. "come, honey," he shouted, "you 'se a-dreaming! come on, honey!" she turned abruptly and gripped his hand, as one drowning grips anything offered — gripped till he winced. she laughed a loud mirthless laugh, that came pouring like a sob from her deep lungs. the quest of the silver fleece "come on!" she mocked, and joined them. they were a motley crowd, ragged, swaggering, jolly. there were husky, big-limbed youths, and bold-faced, loud-tongued girls. to-morrow they would start up- country to some backwoods barony in the kingdom of cotton, and work till christmas time. to-day was the last in town; there was craftily advanced money in their pockets and riot in their hearts. in the gathering twi- light they marched noisily through the streets; in their midst, wide-eyed and laughing almost hysterically, marched zora. mrs. vanderpool meantime rode thoughtfully out of town toward cresswell oaks. she was returning from witnessing the mardi gras festivities at new orleans and at the urgent invitation of the cresswells had stopped off. she might even stay to the wedding if the new plans matured. mrs. vanderpool was quite upset. her french maid, on whom she had depended absolutely for five years or more, had left her. "i think i want to try a colored maid," she told the cresswells, laughingly, as they drove home. "they have sweet voices and they can't doff their uniform. helene without her cap and apron was often mistaken for a lady, and while i was in new orleans a french confectioner married her under some such delusion. now, have n't you a girl about here who would do?" "no," declared harry decisively, but his sister sug- gested that she might ask miss smith at the colored school. again mrs. vanderpool laughed, but after tea she wandered idly down the road. the sun behind the swamp was crimsoning the world. mrs. vanderpool strolled the weaving of the silver fleece alone to the school, and saw sarah smith. there was no cordiality in the latter's greeting, but when she heard the caller's errand her attention was at once arrested and held. the interests of her charges were always uppermost in her mind. "can't i have the girl zora?" mrs. vanderpool at last inquired. miss smith started, for she was thinking of zora at that very instant. the girl was later than usual, and she was momentarily expecting to see her tall form moving languidly up the walk. she gave mrs. vanderpool a searching look. mrs. vanderpool glanced involuntarily at her gown and smiled as she did it. * "could i trust you with a human soul?" asked miss smith abruptly. mrs. vanderpool looked up quickly. the half mock- ing answer that rose involuntarily to her lips was checked. within, mrs. vanderpool was a little puzzled at herself. why had she asked for this girl? she had felt a strange interest in her — a peculiar human interest since she first saw her and as she saw her again this afternoon. but would she make a satisfactory maid? was it not a rather dangerous experiment? why had she asked for her? she certainly had not intended to when she entered the house. in the silence miss smith continued: "here is a child in whom the fountains of the great deep are suddenly broken up. with peace and care she would find herself, for she is strong. but here there is no peace. slavery of soul and body awaits her and i am powerless to protect her. she must go away. that going away may make or ruin her. she knows nothing of working for wages the quest of the silver fleece and she has not the servant's humility; but she has loyalty and pluck. for one she loves there is nothing she would not do; but she cannot be driven. or rather, if she is driven, it may rouse in her the devil incarnate. she needs not exactly affection — she would almost resent that — but intelligent interest and care. in return for this she will gradually learn to serve and serve loyally. frankly, mrs. vanderpool, i would not have chosen you for this task of human education. indeed, you would have been my last thought — you seem to me — i speak plainly — a worldly woman. yet, perhaps — who can tell? — god has especially set you to this task. at any rate, i have little choice. i am at my wits' end. elspeth, the mother of this child, is not long dead; and here is the girl, beauti- ful, unprotected; and here am i, almost helpless. she is in debt to the cresswells, and they are pressing the claim to her service. take her if you can get her — it is, i fear, her only chance. mind you — if you can persuade her; and that may be impossible." "where is she now?" miss smith glanced out at the darkening landscape, and then at her watch. "i do not know; she 's very late. she 's given to wandering, but usually she is here before this time." "i saw her in town this afternoon," said mrs. vander- pool. "zora? in town?" miss smith rose. "i 'll send her to you to-morrow," she said quietly. mrs. vanderpool had hardly reached the oaks before miss smith was driv- ing toward town. a small cabin on the town's ragged fringe was crowded to suffocation. within arose noisy shouts, loud songs, and raucous laughter; the scraping of a fiddle and whine the weaving of the silver fleece of an accordion. liquor began to appear and happy faces grew red-eyed and sodden as the dances whirled. at the edge of the orgy stood zora, wild-eyed and bewildered, mad with the pain that gripped her heart and hammered in her head, crying in tune with the frenzied music — "the end —the end!" abruptly she recognized a face despite the wreck and ruin of its beauty. "bertie!" she cried as she seized the mother of little emma by the arm. the woman staggered and offered her glass. "drink," she cried, "drink and forget." in a moment zora sprang forward and seized the burn- ing liquid in both hands. a dozen hands clapped a devil's tattoo. a score of voices yelled and laughed. the shriek of the music was drowned beneath the thunder of stamp- ing feet. men reeled to singing women's arms, but above the roar rose the song of the voice of zora — she glided to the middle of the room, standing tip-toed with skirts that curled and turned; she threw back her head, raised the liquor to her lips, paused — and looked into the face of miss smith. a silence fell like a lightning flash on the room as that white face peered in at the door. slowly zora's hands fell and her eyes blinked as though waking from some awful dream. she staggered toward the woman's out- stretched arms. . . . late that night the girl lay close in miss smith's motherly embrace. "i was going to hell!" she whispered, trembling. "why, zora?" asked miss smith calmly. "i could n't find the way — and i wanted to forget." "people in hell don't forget," was the matter-of-fact , , , the quest of the silver fleece comment. "and, zora, what way do you seek? the way where?" zora sat up in bed, and lifted a gray and stricken face. "it's a lie," she cried, with hoarse earnestness, "the way nowhere. there is no way! you know — i want him — i want nothing on earth but him — and him i can't ever have." the older woman drew her down tenderly. "no, zora," she said, "there 's something you want more than him and something you can have!" "what?" asked the wondering girl. "his respect," said sarah smith, "and i know the way." -. chapter xxi the marriage morning mrs. vanderpool watched zora as she came up the path beneath the oaks. "she walks well," she observed. and laying aside her book, she waited with a marked curiosity. the girl's greeting was brief, almost curt, but unin- tentionally so, as one could easily see, for back in her eyes lurked an impatient hunger; she was not thinking of greetings. she murmured a quick word, and stood straight and tall with her eyes squarely on the lady. in the depths of mrs. vanderpool's heart something strange — not new, but very old — stirred. before her stood this tall black girl, quietly returning her look. mrs. vanderpool had a most uncomfortable sense of being judged, of being weighed,— and there arose within her an impulse to self-justification. she smiled and said sweetly, "won't you sit?" but despite all this, her mind seemed leaping backward a thousand years; back to a simpler, primal day when she herself, white, frail, and fettered, stood before the dusky magnificence of some bejewelled barbarian queen and sought to justify herself. she shook off the phantasy,— and yet how well the girl stood. it was not every one that could stand still and well. [ ] the quest of the silver fleece "please sit down," she repeated with her softest charm, not dreaming that outside the school white persons did not ask this girl to sit in their presence. but even this did not move zora. she sat down. there was in her, walking, standing, sitting, a simple directness which mrs. vanderpool sensed and met. "zora, i need some one to help me — to do my hair and serve my coffee, and dress and take care of me. the work will not be hard, and you can travel and see the world and live well. would you like it?" "but i do not know how to do all these things," re- turned zora, slowly. she was thinking rapidly — was this the way? it sounded wonderful. the world, the great mysterious world, that stretched beyond the swamp and into which bles and the silver fleece had gone — did it lead to the way? but if she went there what would she see and do, and would it be possible to become such a woman as miss smith pictured? "what is the world like? " asked zora. mrs. vanderpool smiled. "oh, i meant great active cities and buildings, myriads of people and wonderful sights." "yes — but back of it all, what is it really? what does it look like?" "heavens, child! don't ask. really, it is n't worth while peering back of things. one is sure to be disappointed." "then what's the use of seeing the world?" "why, one must live; and why not be happy?" an- swered mrs. vanderpool, amused, baffled, spurred for the time being from her chronic ennui. "are you.happy?" retorted zora, looking her over carefully, from silken stockings to garden hat. mrs. the marriage morning vanderpool laid aside her little mockery and met the situation bravely. "no," she replied simply. her eyes grew old and tired. involuntarily zora's hand crept out protectingly and lay a moment over the white jewelled fingers. then quickly recovering herself, she started hastily to with- draw it, but the woman's fingers closed around the darker ones, and mrs. vanderpool's eyes became dim, "i need you, zora," she said; and then, seeing the half-formed question, "yes, and you need me; we need each other. in the world lies opportunity, and i will help you." zora rose abruptly, and mrs. vanderpool feared, with a tightening of heart, that she had lost this strangely alluring girl. "i will come to-morrow," said zora. as mrs. vanderpool went in to lunch, reaction and lingering doubts came trooping back. to replace the daintiest of trained experts with the most baffling semi- barbarian, well! "have you hired a maid? " asked helen. "i 've engaged zora," laughed mrs. vanderpool, lightly; " and now i 'm wondering whether i have a jewel or — a white elephant." "probably neither," remarked harry cresswell, drily; but he avoided the lady's inquiring eyes. next morning zora came easily into mrs. vanderpool's life. there was little she knew of her duties, but little, too, that she could not learn with a deftness and divina- tion almost startling. her quietness, her quickness, her young strength, were like a soothing balm to the tired woman of fashion, and within a week she had sunk back contentedly into zora's strong arms. the quest of the silver fleece "it's a jewel," she decided. with this verdict the house agreed. the servants waited on " miss zora " gladly; the men scarcely saw her, and the ladies ran to her for help in all sorts. harry cresswell looked upon this transformation with an amused smile, but the colonel saw in it simply evidence of danger- ous obstinacy in a black girl who hitherto had refused to work. zora had been in the house but a week when a large express package was received from john taylor. its unwrapping brought a cry of pleasure from the ladies. there lay a bolt of silken-like cambric of wondrous fine- ness and lustre, marked: "for the wedding-dress." the explanation accompanied the package, that mary taylor had a similar piece in the north. helen and harry said nothing of the cablegram to the paris tailor, and helen took no steps toward having the cambric dress made, not even when the wedding invitations appeared. "a cresswell married in cotton!" helen was almost in tears lest the paris gown be delayed, and sure enough a cablegram came at last saying that there was little like- lihood of the gown being ready by easter. it would be shipped at the earliest convenience, but it could hardly catch the necessary boat. helen had a good cry, and then came a wild rush to get john taylor's cloth ready. still, helen was querulous. she decided that silk embroidery must embellish the skirt. the dressmaker was in despair. "i have n't a single spare worker," she declared. helen was appealing to mrs. vanderpool. "i can do it," said zora, who was in the room. "do you know how?" asked the dressmaker. "no, but i want to know." the marriage morning mrs. vanderpool gave a satisfied nod. "show her," she said. the dressmaker was on the edge of rebellion. "zora sews beautifully," added mrs. vanderpool. thus the beautiful cloth came to zora's room, and was spread in a glossy cloud over her bed. she trembled at its beauty and felt a vague inner yearning, as if some subtle magic of the woven web were trying to tell her its story. she worked over it faithfully and lovingly in every spare hour and in long nights of dreaming. wilfully she departed from the set pattern and sewed into the cloth something of the beauty in her heart. in new and intri- cate ways, with soft shadowings and coverings, she wove in that white veil her own strange soul, and mrs. vander- pool watched her curiously, but in silence. meantime all things were arranged for a double wedding at cresswell oaks. as john and mary taylor had no suitable home, they were to come down and the two brides to go forth from the cresswell mansion. ac- cordingly the taylors arrived a week before the wedding and the home took on a festive air. even colonel cress- well expanded under the genial influences, and while his head still protested his heart was glad. he had to re- spect john taylor's undoubted ability; and mary taylor was certainly lovely, in spite of that assumption of cleverness of which the colonel could not approve. mary returned to the old scenes with mingled feelings. especially was she startled at seeing zora a member of the household and apparently high in favor. it brought back something of the old uneasiness and suspicion. all this she soon forgot under the cadence of harry cresswell's pleasant voice and the caressing touch of his arm. he seemed handsomer than ever; and he was, for the quest of the silver fleece sleep and temperance and the wooing of a woman had put a tinge in his marble face, smoothed the puffs beneath his eyes, and given him a more distinguished bearing and a firmer hand. and mary taylor was very happy. so was her brother, only differently; he was making money; he was planning to make more, and he had something to pet which seemed to him extraordinarily precious and valuable. taylor eagerly inquired after the cloth, and followed the ladies to zora's room, adjoining mrs. vanderpool's, to see it. it lay uncut and shimmering, covered with dim silken tracery of a delicacy and beauty which brought an exclamation to all lips. "that's what we can do with alabama cotton," cried john taylor in triumph. they turned to him incredulously. "but —" "no * buts ' about it; these are the two bales you sent me, woven with a silk woof." no one particularly noticed that zora had hastily left the room. "i had it done in easterly's new jersey mills according to an old plan of mine. i 'm going to make cloth like that right in this county some day," and he chuckled gayly. but zora was striding up and down the halls, the blood surging in her ears. after they were gone she came back and closed the doors. she dropped on her knees and buried her face in the filmy folds of the silver fleece. "i knew it! i knew it!" she whispered in mingled tears and joy. "it called and i did not understand." it was her talisman new-found; her love come back, her stolen dream come true. now she could face the world; god had turned it straight again. she would go into the world and find — not love, but the thing greater than the marriage morning love. outside the door came voices — the dressmaker's tones, helen's soft drawl, and mrs. vanderpool's finished accents. her face went suddenly gray. the silver fleece was not hers! it belonged— she rose hastily. the door opened and they came in. the cutting must begin at once, they all agreed. "is it ready, zora? " inquired helen. "no," zora quietly answered, "not quite, but to- morrow morning, early." as soon as she was alone again, she sat down and considered. by and by, while the family was at lunch, she folded the silver fleece care- fully and locked it in her new trunk. she would hide it in the swamp. during the afternoon she sent to town for oil-cloth, and bade the black carpenter at miss smith's make a cedar box, tight and tarred. in the morning she prepared mrs. vanderpool's breakfast with unusual care. she was sorry for mrs. vanderpool, and sorry for miss smith. they would not, they could not, understand. what would happen to her? she did not know; she did not care. the silver fleece had returned to her. soon it would be buried in the swamp whence it came. she had no alternative; she must keep it and wait. she heard the dressmaker's voice, and then her step upon the stair. she heard the sound of harry cress- well's buggy, and a scurrying at the front door. on came the dressmaker's footsteps — then her door was un- ceremoniously burst open. helen cresswell stood there radiant; the dressmaker, too, was wreathed in smiles. she carried a big red-sealed bundle. "zora!" cried helen in ecstasy. "it's come!" zora regarded her coldly, and stood at bay. the dressmaker /■ the quest of the silver fleece was ripping and shipping, and soon there lay revealed be- fore them — the paris gown! helen was in raptures, but her conscience pricked her. she appealed to them. "ought i to tell? you see, mary's gown will look miserably common beside it." the dressmaker was voluble. there was really noth- ing to tell; and besides, helen was a cresswell and it was to be expected, and so forth. helen pursed her lips and petulantly tapped the floor with her foot. "but the other gown?" "where is it?" asked the dressmaker, looking about. "it would make a pretty morning-dress —" but helen had taken a sudden dislike to the thought of it. "i don't want it," she declared. "and besides, i have n't room for it in my trunks." of a sudden she leaned down and whispered to zora: "zora, hide it and keep it if you want it. come," to the dressmaker, "i 'm dying to try this on — now. remember, zora — not a word." and all this to zora seemed no surprise: it was the way, and it was opening before her because the talisman lay in her trunk. so at last it came to easter morning. the world was golden with jasmine, and crimson with azalea; down in the darker places gleamed the misty glory of the dog- wood; new cotton shook, glimmered, and blossomed in the black fields, and over all the soft southern sun poured its awakening light of life. there was happiness and hope again in the cabins, and hope and — if not happiness, ambition, in the mansions. zora, almost forgetting the wedding, stood before the mirror. laying aside her dress, she draped her shim- mering cloth about her, dragging her hair down in a the marriage morning heavy mass over ears and neck until she seemed herself a bride. and as she stood there, awed with the mystical union of a dead love and a living new born self, there came drifting in at the window, faintly, the soft sound of far-off marriage music. "'t is thy marriage morning, shining in the sun!" two white and white-swathed brides were coming slowly down the great staircase of cresswell oaks, and two white and black-clothed bridegrooms awaited them. either bridegroom looked gladly at the flow of his sister's garments and almost darkly at his bride's. for helen was decked in parisian splendor, while mary was gowned in the fleece. "'t is thy marriage morning, shining in the sun!" up floated the song of the little dark-faced children, and zora listened. chapter xxii miss caroline wynn bles alwyn was seated in the anteroom of senator smith's office in washington. the sen- ator had not come in yet, and there were others waiting, too. the young man sat in a corner, dreaming. washing- ton was his first great city, and it seemed a never-ending delight — the streets, the buildings, the crowds; the shops, and lights, and noise; the kaleidoscopic panorama of a world's doing, the myriad forms and faces, the talk and laughter of men. it was all wonderful magic to the country boy, and he stretched his arms and filled his lungs and cried: "here i shall live!" especially was he attracted by his own people. they seemed transformed, revivified, changed. some might be mistaken for field hands on a holiday — but not many. others he did not recognize — they seemed strange and alien — sharper, quicker, and at once more overbearing and more unscrupulous. there were yet others — and at the sight of these bles stood straighter and breathed like a man. they were well dressed, and well appearing men and women, who walked upright and looked one in the eye, and seemed like persons of affairs and money. they had arrived — [ ] miss caroline wynn they were men — they filled his mind's ideal — he felt like going up to them and grasping their hands and say- ing, "at last, brother!" ah, it was good to find one's dreams, walking in the light, in flesh and blood. con- tinually such thoughts were surging through his brain, and they were rioting through it again as he sat waiting in senator smith's office. the senator was late this morning; when he came in he glanced at the morning paper before looking over his mail and the list of his callers. "do fools like the amer- ican people deserve salvation?" he sneered, holding off the headlines and glancing at them. "' league beats trust.' . . . 'farmers of south smash effort to bear market . . . send cotton to twelve cents . . . common people triumph.' "a man is induced to bite off his own nose and then to sing a paean of victory. it's nauseating — senseless. there is no earthly use striving for such blockheads; they 'd crucify any saviour." thus half consciously senator smith salved his conscience, while he extracted a certificate of deposit for fifty thousand dollars from his new york mail. he thrust it aside from his secretary's view and looked at his list as he rang the bell: there was representative todd, and somebody named alwyn — no-' body of importance. easterly was due in a half-hour. he would get rid of todd meantime. "poor todd," he mused; "a lamb for the slaughter." but he patiently listened to him plead for party sup- port and influence for his bill to prohibit gambling in futures. "i was warned that it was useless to see you, senator smith, but i would come. i believe in you. frankly, there is a strong group of your old friends and followers the quest of the silver fleece forming against you; they met only last night, but i did not go. won't you take a stand on some of these pro- gressive matters — this bill, or the child labor movement, or low tariff legislation?" mr. smith listened but shook his head. "when the time comes," he announced deliberately, " i shall have something to say on several of these matters. at present i can only say that i cannot support this bill," and mr. todd was ushered out. he met mr. easterly coming in and greeted him effusively. he knew him only as a rich philanthropist, who had helped the neighborhood guild in washington — one of todd's hobbies. easterly greeted smith quietly. "got my letter?" "yes." "here are the three bills. you will go on the finance committee to-morrow; sumdrich is chairman by courtesy, but you 'll have the real power. put the child labor bill first, and we 'll work the press. the tariff will take most of the session, of course. we 'll put the cotton in- spection bill through in the last days of the session — see? i 'm manreuvring to get the southern congressmen into line. . . . oh, one thing. thompson says he's a little worried about the negroes; says there's something more than froth in the talk of a bolt in the northern negro vote. we may have to give them a little extra money and a few more minor offices than usual. talk with thompson; the negroes are sweet on you and he 's going to be the new chairman of the campaign, you know. ever met him?" "yes." "well —so long." miss caroline wynn "just a moment," the statesman stayed the financier. "todd just let fall something of a combination against us in congress — know anything of it?" "not definitely; i heard some rumors. better see if you can run it down. well, i must hurry — good day." while bles alwyn in the outer office was waiting and musing, a lady came in. out of the corner of his eye he caught the curve of her gown, and as she seated herself beside him, the suggestion of a faint perfume. a vague resentment rose in him. colored women would look as well as that, he argued, with the clothes and wealth and training. he paused, however, in his thought: he did not want them like the whites — so cold and formal and pre- cise, without heart or marrow. he started up, for the secretary was speaking to him. "are you the — er — the man who had a letter to the senator?" "yes, sir." "let me see it. oh, yes — he will see you in a moment." bles was returning the letter to his pocket when he heard a voice almost at his ear. "i beg your pardon —" he turned and started. it was the lady next to him, and she was colored! not extremely colored, but un- doubtedly colored, with waving black hair, light brown skin, and the fuller facial curving of the darker world. and yet bles was surprised, for everything else about her — her voice, her bearing, the set of her gown, her gloves and shoes, the whole impression was — bles hes- itated for a word — well, "white." "yes — yes, ma'am," he stammered, becoming sud- denly conscious that the lady had now a second time miss caroline wynn "yes, sir." "and —" "my friend, miss wynn." the senator glanced at miss wynn and she bowed demurely. then he turned to alwyn. "well, mr. alwyn, washington is a bad place to start in the world." bles looked surprised and incredulous. he could con- ceive of no finer starting-place, but he said nothing. "it is a grave," continued the senator, " of ambitions and ideals. you would far better go back to alabama" — pausing and looking at the young man keenly — " but you won't — you won't — not yet, at any rate." and bles shook his head slowly. "no — well, what can i do for you?" "i want work — i 'll do anything." "no, you 'll do one thing — be a clerk, and then if you have the right stuff in you you will throw up that job in a year and start again." "i 'd like at least to try it, sir." "well, i can't help you much there; that's in civil-service, and you must take the examination." "i have, sir." "so? where, and what mark?" "in the treasury department; i got a mark of ninety- three." "what! — and no appointment?" the senator was incredulous. "no, sir; not yet." here miss wynn interposed. "you see, senator," she said, "civil-service rules are not always impervious to race prejudice." the senator frowned. the quest of the silver fleece "do you mean to intimate that mr. alwyn's appoint- ment is held up because he is colored?" "i do." "well — well!" the senator rang for a clerk. "get me the treasury on the telephone." in a moment the bell rang. "i want mr. cole. is that you, mr. cole? good- morning. have you a young man named alwyn on your eligible list? what? yes?" a pause. "indeed? well, why has he no appointment? of course, i know, he 's a negro. yes, i desire it very much — thank you." "you 'll get an appointment to-morrow morning," and the senator rose. "how is my sister?" he asked absently. "she was looking worried, but hopeful of the new en- dowment when i left." the senator held out his hand; bles took it and then remembered. "oh, i beg pardon, but miss wynn wanted a word on another matter." the senator turned to miss wynn. "i am a school-teacher, senator smith, and like all the rest of us i am deeply interested in the appointment of the new school-board." "but you know the district committee attends to those things," said the senator hastily. "and then, too, i believe there is talk of abolishing the school-board and concentrating power in the hands of the superintendent." "precisely," said miss wynn. "and i came to tell you, senator smith, that the interests which are back of this attack upon the schools are no friends of yours." miss wynn extracted from her reticule a typewritten paper. he took the paper and read it intently. then he miss caroline wynn keenly scrutinized the young woman, and she steadily re- turned his regard. "how am i to know this is true?" "follow it up and see." he mused. "where did you get these facts?" he asked suddenly. she smiled. "it is hardly necessary to say." "and yet," he persisted, " if i were sure of its source i would know my ground better and — my obligation to you would be greater." she laughed and glanced toward alwyn. he had moved out of ear-shot and was waiting by the window. "i am a teacher in the m street high school," she said, " and we have some intelligent boys there who work their way through." "yes," said the senator. "some," continued miss wynn, tapping her boot on the carpet, "some — wait on table." the senator slowly put the paper in his pocket. "and now," he said, "miss wynn, what can i do for you?" she looked at him. "if judge haynes is reappointed to the school-board i shall probably continue to teach in the m street high school," she said slowly. the senator made a memorandum and said: "i shall not forget miss wynn — nor her friends." and he bowed, glancing at alwyn. the woman contemplated bles in momentary perplex- ity, then bowing in turn, left. bles followed, debat- ing just what he ought to say, how far he might venture to accompany her, what — but she easily settled it all. miss caroline wynn "people" he knew. he was soon tired of the strange company, and had turned to go home, when he met a newcomer in the doorway. "why, hello, sam! sam stillings!" he exclaimed de- lightedly, and was soon grasping the hand of a slim, well- dressed man of perhaps thirty, with yellow face, curling hair, and shifting eyes. "well, of all things, bles — er — ah — mr. alwyn! thought you were hoeing cotton." bles laughed and continued shaking his hand. he was foolishly glad to see the former cresswell butler, whom he had known but slightly. his face brought back un- uttered things that made his heart beat faster and a yearning surge within him. "i thought you went to chicago," cried bles. "i did, but goin' into politics — having entered the political field, i came here. and you graduated, i sup- pose, and all that?" "no," bles admitted a little sadly, as he told of his coming north, and of senator smith's influence. "but — but how are — all?" abruptly sam hooked his arm into alwyn's and pulled him with him down the street. stillings was a type. up from servility and menial service he was struggling to climb to money and power. he was shrewd, willing to stoop to anything in order to win. the very slights and humiliations of prejudice he turned to his advantage. when he learned all the particulars of alwyn's visit to senator smith and his cordial reception he judged it best to keep in touch with this young man, and he forthwith invited bles to accompany him the next night to the fifteenth street presbyterian church. "you 'll find the best people there," he said; "the the quest of the silver fleece aristocracy. the treble clef gives a concert, and every- body that's anybody will be there." they met again the following evening and proceeded to the church. it was a simple but pleasant auditorium, nearly filled with well-dressed people. during the pro- gramme bles applauded vociferously every number that pleased him, which is to say, every one — and stamped his feet, until he realized that he was attracting consider- able attention to himself. then the entertainment straightway lost all its charm; he grew painfully embar- rassed, and for the remainder of the evening was awk- wardly self-conscious. when all was over, the audience rose leisurely and stood in little knots and eddies, laugh- ing and talking; many moved forward to say a word to the singers and players. stillings stepped aside to a group of men, and bles was left miserably alone. a man came to him, a white-faced man, with slightly curling close gray hair, and high-bred ascetic countenance. "you are a stranger?" he asked pleasantly, and bles liked him. "yes, sir," he answered, and they fell to talking. he discovered that this was the pastor of the church. "do you know no one in town?" » "one or two of my fellow clerks and mr. stillings. oh, yes, i 've met miss wynn." "why, here is miss wynn now." bles turned. she was right behind him, the centre of a group. she turned, slowly, and smiled. "oh!" she uttered twice, but with difference cadence. then something like amusement lurked a moment in her eye, and she quietly presented bles to her friends, while stillings hovered unnoticed in the offing: "miss jones — mr. alwyn of —" she paused a sec- ond — " alabama. miss taylor — mr. alwyn — and," miss caroline wynn with a backward curving of her neck, "mr. teerswell," and so on. mr. teerswell was handsome and indolent, with indecision in his face and a cynical voice. in a moment bles felt the subtle antagonism of the group. he was an intruder. mr. teerswell nodded easily and turned away, continuing his conversation with the ladies. but miss wynn was perverse and interrupted. "i saw you enjoyed the concert, mr. alwyn," she said, and one of the young ladies rippled audibly. bles darkened painfully, realizing that these people must have been just behind him. but he answered frankly: "yes, i did immensely — i hope i did n't disturb you; you see, i 'm not used to hearing such singing." mr. teerswell, compelled to listen, laughed drily. "plantation melodies, i suppose, are more your spe- cialty," he said with a slight cadence. "yes," said bles simply. a slight pause ensued. then came the surprise of the evening for bles alwyn. even his inexperienced eye could discern that miss wynn was very popular, and that most of the men were rivals for her attentions. "mr. alwyn," she said graciously, rising, "i 'm going to trouble you to see me to my door; it's only a block. good-night, all!" she called, but she bowed to mr. teerswell. miss wynn placed her hand lightly on bles's arm, and for a moment he paused. a thrill ran through him as he felt again the weight of a little hand and saw beside him the dark beautiful eyes of a girl. he felt again the warm quiver of her body. then he awoke to the lighted church and the moving, well-dressed throng. the hand on his arm was not so small; but it was well-gloved, and some- how the fancy struck him that it was a cold hand and not always sympathetic in its touch. chapter xxiii the training of zora i did not know the world was so large," remarked zora as she and mrs. vanderpool flew east and northward on the new york-new orleans limited. for a long time the girl had given herself up to the sheer delight of motion. gazing from the window, she com- pared the lands she passed with the lands she knew: not- ing the formation of the cotton; the kind and growth of the trees; the state of the roads. then the comparisons became infinite, endless; the world stretched on and on until it seemed mere distance, and she suddenly realized how vast a thing it was and spoke. mrs. vanderpool was amused. "it's much smaller than one would think," she responded. when they came to atlanta zora stared and wrinkled her brows. it was her first large city. the other towns were replicas of toomsville; strange in number, not in kind; but this was different, and she could not under- stand it. it seemed senseless and unreasonable, and yet so strangely so that she was at a loss to ask questions. she was very solemn as they rode on and night came down with dreams. she awoke in washington to new fairylands and won- ders; the endless going and coming of men; great piles [ ] the training of zora that challenged heaven, and homes crowded on homes till one could not believe that they were full of living things. they rolled by baltimore and philadelphia, and she talked of every-day matters: of the sky which alone stood steadfast amid whirling change; of bits of empty earth that shook themselves here and there loose from their burden of men, and lay naked in the cold shining sunlight. all the while the greater questions were beating and curling and building themselves back in her brain, and above all she was wondering why no one had told her before of all this mighty world. mrs. vanderpool, to whom it seemed too familiar for comment, had said no word; or, if she had spoken, zora's ears had not been tuned to understand; and as they flew toward the tower- ing ramparts of new york, she sat up big with the terror of a new thought: suppose this world were full yet of things she did not know nor dream of? how could she find out? she must know. when finally they were settled in new york and sat high up on the fifth avenue front of the hotel, gradually the inarticulate questioning found words, albeit strange ones. "it reminds me of the swamp," she said. mrs. vanderpool, just returned from a shopping tour, burst into laughter. "it is — but i marvel at your penetration." "i mean, it is moving — always moving." "the swamp seemed to me unearthly still." "yes — yes," cried zora, eagerly, brushing back the rumpled hair; " and so did the city, at first, to me." "still! new york?" "yes. you see, i saw the buildings and forgot the men; and the buildings were so tall and silent against the quest of the silver fleece heaven. and then i came to see the people, and suddenly i knew the city was like the swamp, always restless and changing." - "and more beautiful?" suggested mrs. vanderpool, slipping her arms into her lounging-robe. "oh, no; not nearly so beautiful. and yet — more interesting." then with a puzzled look: "i wonder why?" "perhaps because it's people and not things." "it's people in the swamp," asserted zora, dreamily, smoothing out the pillows of the couch, "' little people,' i call them. the difference is, i think, that there i know how the story will come out; everything is changing, but i know how and why and from what and to what. now here, everything seems to be happening; but what is it that ishappening?" "you must know what has happened, to know what may happen," said mrs. vanderpool. "but how can i know?" "i 'll get you some books to-morrow." "i 'd like to know what it means," wistfully. "it is meaningless." the woman's cynicism was lost upon zora, of course, but it possessed the salutary effect of stimulating the girl's thoughts, encouraging her to dis- cover for herself. "i think' not; so much must mean something," she protested. zora gathered up the clothes and things and shaded the windows, glancing the while down on the street. "everybody is going, going," she murmured. "i wonder where. don't they ever get there?" "few arrive," said mrs. vanderpool. zora softly bent and passed her cool soft hand over her forehead. the training of zora "then why do they go?" "the zest of the search, perhaps." "no," said zora as she noiselessly left the room and closed the door; "no, they are searching for something they have lost. perhaps they, too, are searching for the way," and the tears blinded her eyes. mrs. vanderpool lay in the quiet darkened room with a puzzled smile on her lips. a month ago she had not dreamed that human interest in anybody would take so strong a hold upon her as her liking for zora had done. she was a woman of unusual personal charm, but her own interest and affections were seldom stirred. had she been compelled to earn a living she would have made a success- ful teacher or manipulator of men. as it was, she viewed the human scene with detached and cynical interest. she had no children, few near relations, a husband who went his way and still was a gentleman. essentially mrs. vanderpool was unmoral. she held the code of her social set with sportsmanlike honor; but even beyond this she stooped to no intrigue, because none interested her. she had all the elements of power save the motive for doing anything in particular. for the first time, perhaps, zora gave her life a peculiar human interest. she did not love the girl, but she was intensely interested in her; some of the interest was selfish, for zora was going to be a perfect maid. the girl's language came to be more and more like mrs. vanderpool's; her dress and taste in adornment had been mrs. vanderpool's first care, and it led to a curious training in art and sense of beauty until the lady now and then found herself learner before the quick suggestiveness of zora's mind. when mrs. harry cresswell called a month or so later the talk naturally included mention of zora. mary was the quest of the silver fleece happy and vivacious, and noted the girl's rapid development. "i wonder what i shall make out of her?" queried mrs. vanderpool. "do you know, i believe i could mould her into a lady if she were not black." mary cresswell laughed. "with that hair?" "it has artistic possibilities. you should have seen my hair-dresser's face when i told her to do it up. her face and zora's were a pantomine for the gods. yet it was done. it lay in some great twisted cloud and in that black net gown of mine zora was simply magnificent. her form is perfect, her height is regal, her skin is satin, and my jewels found a resting place at last. jewels, you know, dear, were never meant for white folk. i was tempted to take her to the box at the opera and let new york break its impudent neck." mary was shocked. "but, mrs. vanderpool," she protested, "is it right? is it fair? why should you spoil this black girl and put impossible ideas into her head? you can make her a perfect maid, but she can never be much more in america." "she is a perfect maid now; that's the miracle of it — she 's that deft and quick and quiet and thoughtful! the hotel employees think her perfect; my friends rave — really, i 'm the most blessed of women. but do you know i like the girl? i — well, i think of her future." "it's wrong to treat her as you do. you make her an equal. her room is one of the best and filled with books and bric-a-brac. she sometimes eats with you — is your companion, in fact." "what of it? she loves to read, and i guide her while she keeps me up on the latest stuff. she can talk much bet- ter than many of my friends and then she piques my the quest of the silver fleece still intimate, and the cresswells were bound to him and his interests by strong ties. he bowed as mrs. cress- well left, and then did not beat around the bush because, in this case, he did not know how. "mrs. vanderpool, i need your aid." mrs. vanderpool smiled politely, and murmured some' thing. "we are, you know, in the midst of a rather warm presidential campaign," continued mr. easterly. "yes?" with polite interest. "we are going to win easily, but our majority in con- gress for certain matters will depend on the attitude of southerners and you usually spend the winters in wash- ington. if, now, you could drop a word here and there —" "but why should i?" asked mrs. vanderpool. "mrs. vanderpool, to be frank, i know some excel- lent investments that your influence in this line would help. i take it you 're not so rich but that —" mrs. vanderpool smiled faintly. "really, mr. easterly, i know little about such mat- ters and care less. i have food and clothes. why worry with more?" mr. easterly half expected this and he determined to deliver his last shot on the run. he arose with a dis- appointed air. "of course, mrs. vanderpool, i see how it is: you have plenty and one can't expect your services or in- fluence for nothing. it had occurred to me that your husband might like something political; but i presume not." "something political?" "yes. you see, it's barely possible, for instance, that the training of zora there will be a change in the french ambassadorship. the present ambassador is old and — well, i don't know, but as i say, it's possible. of course though, that may not appeal to you, and i can only beg your good offices in charity if — if you see your way to help us. well, i must be going." "what is — i thought the president appointed ambas- sadors." "to be sure, but we appoint presidents," laughed mr. easterly. "good-day. i shall hope to .see you in wash- ington." "good-day," mrs. vanderpool returned absently. after he had gone she walked slowly to zora's room and opened the door. for a long time "she stood quietly looking in. zora was curled in a chair with a book. she was in dreamland; in a world of books builded thought- fully for her by mrs. vanderpool, and before that by miss smith. her work took but little of her time and left hours for reading and thinking. in that thought- life, more and more her real living centred. hour after hour, day after day, she lay buried, deaf and dumb to all else. her heart cried, up on the world's four corners of the way, and to it came the vision splen- did. she gossiped with old herodotus across the earth to the black and blameless ethiopians; she saw the sculptured glories of phidias marbled amid the splendor of the swamp; she listened to demosthenes and walked the appian way with cornelia — while all new york streamed beneath her window. she saw the drunken goths reel upon rome and heard the careless negroes yodle as they galloped to tooms- ville. paris, she knew,— wonderful, haunting paris: the paris of clovis, and st. louis; of louis the great, and f the quest of the silver fleece napoleon iii; of balzac, and her own dumas. she tasted the mud and comfort of thick old london, and the while wept with jeremiah and sang with deborah, semiramis, and atala. mary of scotland and joan of arc held her dark hands in theirs, and kings lifted up their sceptres. she walked on worlds, and worlds of worlds, and heard there in her little room the tread of armies, the paeans of victory, the breaking of hearts, and the music of the spheres. mrs. vanderpool watched her a while. "zora," she presently broke into the girl's absorption, "how would we like to be ambassador to france?" chapter xxiv the education of alwyn miss caroline wynn of washington had little faith in the world and its people. nor was this wholly her fault. the world had dealt cruelly with the young dreams and youthful ambitions of the girl; partly with its usual heartlessness, partly with that cynical and deadening reserve fund which it has to-day for its darker peoples. the girl had bitterly resented her experiences at first: she was brilliant and well-trained; she had a real talent for sculpture, and had studied considerably; she was sprung from at least three generations of respectable mulattoes, who had left a little competence which yielded her three or four hun- dred dollars a year. furthermore, while not precisely pretty, she was good-looking and interesting, and she had acquired the marks and insignia of good breeding. per- haps she wore her manners just a trifle consciously; perhaps she was a little morbid that she would fail of recognition as a lady. nor was this unnatural: her brown skin invited a different assumption. despite this almost unconscious mental aggressiveness, she was un- usually presentable and always well-gowned and pleasant of speech. yet she found nearly all careers closed to her. at first it seemed accidental, the luck of life. then [ ] the quest of the silver fleece she attributed it to her sex; but at last she was sure that, beyond chance and womanhood, it was the color- line that was hemming her in. once convinced of this, she let her imagination play and saw the line even where it did not exist. with her bit of property and brilliant parts she had had many suitors but they had been refused one after another for reasons she could hardly have explained. for years now tom teerswell had been her escort. whether or not caroline wynn would ever marry him was a perennial subject of speculation among their friends and it usually ended in the verdict that she could not afford it — that it was financially impossible. nevertheless, the two were usually seen in public to- gether, and although she often showed her quiet mastery of the situation, seldom had she snubbed him so openly as at the treble clef concert. teerswell was furious and began to plot vengeance; but miss wynn was attracted by the personality of bles alwyn. southern country negroes were rare in her set, but here was a man of intelligence and keenness coupled with an amazing frankness and modesty, and perceptibly shadowed by sorrow. the combination was, so far as she had observed, both rare and temporary and she was disposed to watch it in this case purely as a matter of intellectual curiosity. at the door of her home, there- fore, after a walk of unusual interest, she said: "i 'm going to have a few friends in next tuesday night; won't you come, mr. alwyn?" and mr. alwyn said that he would. next morning miss wynn rather repented her hasty invitation, but of course nothing could be done now. nothing? well, there was one thing; and she went to the education of alwyn • the telephone. a suggestion to bles that he might profitably extend his acquaintance sent him to a certain tailor shop kept by a friend of hers; a word to the tailor guarded against the least suspicion of intrigue entering bles's head. it turned out quite as miss wynn had designed; mr. grey, the tailor, gave bles some points on dressing, and made him, southern fashion, a frock-coat for dress wear that set off his fine figure. on the night of the gathering at miss wynn's bles dressed with care, hesitating long over a necktie, but at last choosing one which he had recently purchased and which pleased him particularly. he was prompt to the minute and was consequently the first guest; but miss wynn's greeting was so quietly cordial that his embarrassment soon fled. she looked him over at leisure and sighed at his tie; otherwise he was thoroughly presentable according to the strictest washington standard. they sat down and talked of generalities. then an idea occurring to her, she conducted the conversation by devious paths to ties and asked alwyn if he had heard of the fad of collecting ties. he had not, and she showed him a sofa pillow. "your tie quite attracted me," she said; "it would make just the dash of color i need in my new pillow." "you may have it and welcome. i 'll send —" "oh, no! a bird in the hand, you know. i 'll trade with you now for another i have." "done!" the exchange was soon made, miss wynn tying the new one herself and sticking a small carved pin in it. bles slowly sat down again, and after a pause said, "thank you." the education of alwyn uncomfortable feeling of being among strangers. then, too, he missed the loud but hearty good-nature of what he had always called "his people." to be sure, a more experienced observer might have noted a lively, excitable tropical temperament set and cast in a cold northern mould, and yet flashing fire now and then in a sudden anomalous outbursting. but bles missed this; he seemed to have slipped and lost his bearings, and the character- istics of his simple world were rolling curiously about. here stood a black man with a white man's voice, and yonder a white woman with a negro's musical cadences; and yet again, a brown girl with exactly miss cresswell's air, and yonder, miss williams, with zora's wistful wil- fulness. bles was bewildered and silent, and his great undying sorrow sank on his heart with sickening hopeless weight. his hands got in the way, and he found no natural nook in all those wide and tastefully furnished rooms. once he discovered himself standing by a marble statue of a nude woman, and he edged away; then he stumbled over a rug and saved himself only to step on miss jones's silken train. miss jones's smile of pardon was wintry. when he did approach a group and listen, they seemed speaking of things foreign to him — usually of people he did not know, their homes, their doings, their daughters and their fathers. they seemed to know people intimately who lived far away. * you mean the smiths of boston?" asked miss jones. "no, of cleveland. they 're not related." "i heard that mcghee of st. paul will be in the city next week with his daughter." "yes, and the bentleys of chicago." bles passed on. he was disappointed. he was full the quest of the silver fleece of things to say, of mighty matters to discuss; he felt like stopping these people and crying: "ho! what of the morning? how goes the great battle for black men's rights? i have came with messages from the host, to you who guard the mountain tops." apparently they were not discussing or caring about "the problem." he grew disgusted and was edging to- ward the door when he encountered his hostess. "is all well with you, mr. alwyn?" she asked lightly. "no, i 'm not enjoying myself," said bles, truthfully. "delicious! and why not?" he regarded her earnestly. "there are so many things to talk about," he said; "earnest things; things of importance. i — i think when our people — " he hesitated. our? — was our right? but he went on: " when our people meet we ought to talk of our situation, and what to do and —" miss wynn continued to smile. "we 're all talking of it all the time," she said. he looked incredulous. "yes, we are," she insisted. "we veil it a little, and laugh as lightly as we can; but there is only one thought in this room, and that's grave and serious enough to suit even you, and quite your daily topic." "but i don't understand." "ah, there 's the rub. you have n't learned our lan- guage yet. we don't just blurt into the negro prob- lem; that's voted bad form. we leave that to our white friends. we saunter to it sideways, touch it delicately because " — her face became a little graver — " because, you see, it hurts." bles stood thoughtful and abashed. "i — i think i understand," he gravely said at last. the education of alwyn "come here," she said with a sudden turn, and they joined an absorbed group in the midst of a conversa- tion. "— thinking of sending jessie to bryn mawr," bles heard miss jones saying. "could she pass?" "oh, they might think her spanish." "but it's a snobbish place and she would have to give up all her friends." "yes, freddie could scarcely visit —" the rest was lost. "which, being interpreted," whispered miss wynn, "means that bryn mawr draws the color line while we at times surmount it." they moved on to another group. "— splendid draughtsman," a man was saying, "and passed at the head of the crowd; but, of course, he has no chance." "why, it's civil-service, is n't it?" "it is. but what of that? there was watson —" miss wynn did not pause. she whispered: "this is the tale of civil service reform, and how this mighty government gets rid of black men who know too much." "but —" bles tried to protest. "hush," miss wynn commanded and they joined the group about the piano. teerswell, who was speaking, affected not to notice them, and continued: "— i tell you, it's got to come. we must act inde- pendently and not be bought by a few offices." "that's all well enough for you to talk, teerswell; you have no wife and babies dependant on you. why should we who have sacrifice the substance for the shadow?" the quest of the silver fleece "you see, the judge has got the substance," laughed teerswell. "still i insist: divide and conquer." \ "nonsense! unite, and keep." 'bles was puzzled. "they 're talking of the coming campaign," said miss wynn. "what!" exclaimed bles aloud. "you don't mean that any one can advise a black man to vote the demo- cratic ticket?" an elderly man turned to them. "thank you, sir," he said; " that is just my attitude; i fought for my freedom. i know what slavery is; may i forget god when i vote for traitors and slave-holders." the discussion waxed warm and miss wynn turned away and sought miss jones. "come, my dear," she said, "it's 'the problem' again." they sauntered away toward a ring of laughter. the discussion thus begun at miss wynn's did not end there. it was on the eve of the great party conventions, and the next night sam stillings came around to get some crumbs from this assembly of the inner circle, into which alwyn had been so unaccountably snatched, and outside of which, despite his endeavors, stillings lingered and seemed destined to linger. but stillings was a pa- tient, resolute man beneath his deferential exterior, and he saw in bles a stepping stone. so he began to drop in at his lodgings and to-night invited him to the bethel literary. "what's that?" asked bles. "a debating club — oldest in the city; the best people all attend." bles hesitated. he had half made up his mind that this was the proper time to call on miss wynn. he told the education of alwyn stillings so, and told him also of the evening and the discussion. "why, that's the subject up to-night," stillings de- clared, "and miss wynn will be sure to be there. you can make your call later. perhaps you would n't mind taking me when you call." alwyn reached for his hat. when they arrived, the basement of the great church was filling with a throng of men and women. soon the officers and the speaker of the evening appeared. the president was a brown woman who spoke easily and well, and introduced the main speaker. he was a tall, thin, hatchet-faced black man, clean shaven and well dressed, a lawyer by profession. his theme was " the democratic party and the negro." his argument was cool, carefully reasoned, and plausible. he was evidently feeling for the sympathy of his audience, and while they were not en- thusiastic, they warmed to him gradually and he certainly was strongly impressing them. bles was thinking. he sat in the back of the hall, tense, alert, nervous. as the speaker progressed a white man came in and sat down beside him. he was spectacled, with bushy eyebrows and a sleepy look. but he did not sleep. he was very observant. "who 's speaking? " he asked bles, and bles told him. then he inquired about one or two other persons. bles could not inform him, but stillings could and did. still- ings seemed willing to devote considerable time to him. bless forgot the man. he was almost crouching for a spring, and no sooner had the speaker, with a really fine apostrophe to independence and reason in voting, sat down, than bles was on his feet, walking forward. his form was commanding, his voice deep and musical, and his earnestness terribly evident. he hardly waited for the quest of the silver fleece recognition from the slightly astonished president, but fairly burst into speech. "i am from alabama," he began earnestly, "and i know the democratic party." then he told of govern- ment and conditions in the black belt, of the lying, op- pression, and helplessness of the sodden black masses; then, turning, he reminded them of the history of slav- ery. finally, he pointed to lincoln's picture and to sumner's and mentioned other white friends. "and, my brothers, they are not all dead yet. the gentleman spoke of senator smith and blamed and ridi- culed him. i know senator smith but slightly, but i do know his sister well." dropping to simple narrative, he told of miss smith and of his coming to school; and if his audience felt the great depth of emotion that welled beneath his quiet, almost hesitating, address, it was not simply because of what he did say, but because, too, of the unspoken story that lay too deep for words. he spoke for nearly an hour, and when he stopped, for a moment his hearers sighed and then sprang into a whirlwind of applause. they shouted, clapped, and waved while he sat in blank amazement, and was with difficulty forced to the rostrum to bow again and again. the spectacled white man leaned over to stillings. "who is he?" he asked. stillings told him. the man noted the name and went quietly out. miss wynn sat lost in thought, and teerswell beside her fumed. she was not easily moved, but that speech had moved her. if he could thus stir men and not be him- self swayed, she mused, he would be — invincible. but to-night he was moved as greatly as his hearers had been, and that was dangerous. if his intense belief happened the education of alwyn to be popular, all right; but if not? she frowned. he was worth watching, she concluded; quite worth watch- ing, and perhaps worth guiding. when alwyn accompanied her home that night, miss wynn set herself to know him better for she suspected that he might be a coming man. the best preliminary to her purpose was, she knew, to speak frankly of her- self, and that she did. she told him of her youth and training, her ambitions, her disappointments. quite un- consciously her cynicism crept to the fore, until in word and tone she had almost scoffed at many things that alwyn held true and dear. the touch was too light, the meaning too elusive, for alwyn to grasp always the point of attack; but somehow he got the distant impression that miss wynn had little faith in truth and goodness and love. vaguely shocked he grew so silent that she noticed it and concluded she had said too much. but he pursued the subject. "surely there must be many friends of our race willing to stand for the right and sacrifice for it?" she laughed unpleasantly, almost mockingly. "where?" "well — there 's miss smith." "she gets a salary, does n't she?" "a very small one." "about as large as she could earn north, i don't doubt." "but the unselfish work she does — the utter sacri- fice?" "oh, well, we 'll omit alabama, and admit the excep- tion." "well, here, in washington — there 's your friend, the judge, who has befriended you so, as you admit." « the quest of the silver fleece she laughed again. "you remember our visit to senator smith?" "yes." "well, it got the judge his reappointment to the school board." "he deserved it, did n't he?" "i deserved it," she said luxuriously, hugging her knee and smiling; "you see, his appointment meant mine." "well, what of it —didn't —" "listen," she cut in a little sharply. "once a young brown girl, with boundless faith in white folks, went to a judge's office to ask for an appointment which she de- served. there was no one there. the benign old judge with his saintly face and white hair suggested that she lay aside her wraps and spend the afternoon." bles arose to his feet. "what — what did you do?" he asked. "sit down — there 's a good boy." i said: 'judge, a friend is expecting me at two,' it was then half-past one, 'would i not best telephone? '" "' step right into the booth,' said the judge, quite indulgently." miss wynn leaned back, and bles felt his heart sinking; but he said nothing. "and then," she continued, "i telephoned the judge's wife that he was anxious to see her on a matter of urgent business; namely, my appointment." she gazed reflectively out of the window. "you should have seen his face when i told him," she concluded. "i was appointed." but bles asked coldly: "why didn't you have him arrested?" "for what? and suppose i had?" bles threw out his arms helplessly. the education of alwyn "oh! it is n't as bad as that all over the world, is it?" "it's worse," affirmed miss wynn, quietly positive. "and you are still friendly with him?" "what would you have? i use the world; i did not make it; i did not choose it. he is the world. through him i earn my bread and butter. i have shown him his place. shall i try in addition to reform? shall i make him an enemy? i have neither time nor inclination. shall i resign and beg, or go tilting at windmills? if he were the only one it would be different; but they 're all alike." her face grew hard. "have i shocked you?" she said as they went toward the door. "no," he answered slowly. "but i still — believe in the world." "you are young yet, my friend," she lightly replied. "and besides, that good miss smith has gone and grafted a new england conscience on a tropical heart, and — dear me! — but it's a gorgeous misfit. good-bye — come again." she bowed him graciously out, and paused to take the mail from the box. there was, among many others, a letter from senator smith. chapter xxv the campaign mr. easterly sat in mrs. vanderpool's apart- ments in the new willard, washington, drinking tea. his hostess was saying rather carelessly: "do you know, mr. vanderpool has developed a quite unaccountable liking for the idea of being ambassador to france?" "dear me!" mildly exclaimed mr. easterly, helping himself liberally to cakes. "i do hope the thing can be managed, but —" "what are the difficulties?" mrs. vanderpool inter- rupted. "well, first and foremost, the difficulty of electing our man." "i thought that a foregone conclusion." "it was. but do you know that we !re encountering opposition from the most unexpected source?" the lady was receptive, and the speaker concluded: "the negroes." "the negroes!" "yes. there are five hundred thousand or more black voters in pivotal northern states, you know, and they 're in revolt. in a close election the negroes of new york, ohio, indiana, and illinois choose the president." [ ] the campaign "what's the matter?" "well, business interests have driven our party to make friends with the south. the south has disfran- chised negroes and lynched a few. the darkies say we 've deserted them." mrs. vanderpool laughed. "what extraordinary penetration," she cried. "at any rate," said mr. easterly, drily, "mr. van- derpool's first step toward paris lies in getting the northern negroes to vote the republican ticket. after that the way is clear." mrs. vanderpool mused. "i don't suppose you know any one who is acquainted with any number of these northern darkies?" con- tinued mr. easterly. "not on my calling-list," said mrs. vanderpool, and then she added more thoughtfully: "there 's a young clerk in the treasury department named alwyn who has brains. he 's just from the south, and i happened to read of him this morning — see here." mr. easterly read an account of the speech at the bethel literary. "we 'll look this young man up," he decided; "he may help. of course, mrs. vanderpool, we 'll probably win; we can buy these negroes off with a little money and a few small offices; then if you will use your influence for the party with the southerners, i can confidently predict from four to eight years' sojourn in paris." mrs. vanderpool smiled and called her maid as mr. easterly went. "zora!" she had to call twice, for zora, with widened eyes, was reading the washington post. meantime in the office of senator smith, toward which the quest of the silver fleece mr. easterly was making his way, several members of the national republican campaign committee had been closeted the day before. "now, about the niggers," the chairman had asked; "how much more boodle do they want?" "that's what's bothering us," announced a member; "it is n't the boodle crowd that's hollering, but a new set, and i don't understand them; i don't know what they represent, nor just how influential they are." "what can i do to help you? " asked senator smith. "this. you are here at washington with these ne- gro office-holders at your back. find out for us just what this revolt is, how far it goes, and what good men we can get to swing the darkies into line — see?" "very good," the senator acquiesced. he called in a spectacled man with bushy eyebrows and a sleepy look. "i want you to work the negro political situation," directed the senator, "and bring me all the data you can get. personally, i 'm at sea. i don't understand the negro of to-day at all; he puzzles me; he doesn't fit any of my categories, and i suspect that i don't fit his. see what you can find out." the man went out, and the senator turned to his desk, then paused and smiled. one day, not long since, he had met a colored person who personified his perplex- ity concerning negroes; she was a lady, yet she was black — that is, brown; she was educated, even cultured, yet she taught negroes; she was quiet, astute, quick and diplomatic — everything, in fact, that "negroes" were not supposed to be; and yet she was a "negro." she had given him valuable information which he had sought in vain elsewhere, and the event proved it correct. suppose he asked caroline wynn to help him in this the campaign * case? it would certainly do no harm and it might elect a republican president. he wrote a short letter with his own hand and sent it to post. miss wynn read the letter after alwyn's departure with a distinct thrill which was something of a luxury for her. evidently she was coming to her kingdom. the republican boss was turning to her for confidential in- formation. "what do the colored people want, and who can best influence them in this campaign?" she curled up on the ottoman and considered. the first part of the query did not bother her. "whatever they want they won't get," she said de- cisively. but as to the man or men who could influence them to believe that they were getting, or about to get, what they wanted — there was a question. one by one she considered the men she knew, and, by a process of elimi- nation, finally arrived at bles alwyn. why not take this young man in hand and make a negro leader of him — a protagonist of ten millions? it would not be unpleasant. but could she do it? would he be amenable to her training and become worldly wise? she flattered herself that he would, and yet — there was a certain steadfast look in the depths of his eyes that might prove to be sheer stubbornness. at any rate, who was better? there was a fellow, stillings, whom alwyn had introduced and whom she had heard of. now he was a politician — but nothing else. she dismissed him. of course, there was the older set of office-holders and round- ers. but she was determined to pick a new man. he was worth trying, at any rate; she knew none other with the same build, the brains, the gifts, the adorable youth. /" the quest of the silver fleece very good. she wrote two letters, and then curled up to her novel and candy. next day senator smith held miss wynn's letter un- opened in his hand when mr. easterly entered. they talked of the campaign and various matters, until at last easterly said: "say, there 's a negro clerk in the treasury named alwyn." "i know him — i had him appointed." "good. he may help us. have you seen this?" the senator read the clipping. "i had n't noticed it — but here 's my agent." the spectacled man entered with a mass of documents. he had papers, posters, programmes, and letters. "the situation is this," he said. "a small group of educated negroes are trying to induce the rest to punish the republican party for not protecting them. these men are not politicians, nor popular leaders, but they have influence and are using it. the old-style negro politicians are no match for them, and the crowd of office- holders are rather bewildered. strong measures are needed. educated men of earnestness and ability might stem the tide. and i believe i know one such man. he spoke at a big meeting last night at the metropolitan church. his name is alwyn." senator smith listened as he opened the letter from caroline wynn. then he started. "well! " he ejaculated, looking quickly up at easterly. "this is positively uncanny. from three separate sources the name of alwyn pops up. looks like a mascot. call up the treasury. let's have him up when the sub-com- mittee meets to-morrow." the campaign bles alwyn hurried up to senator smith's office, hop- ing to hear something about the school; perhaps even about — but he stopped with a sigh, and sat down in the ante-room. he was kept waiting a few moments while senator smith, the chairman, and one other member of the sub-committee had a word. "now, i don't know the young man, mind you," said the senator; "but he 's strongly recommended." "what shall we offer him?" asked the chairman. "try him at twenty-five dollars a speech. if he balks, raise to fifty dollars, but not more." they summoned the young man. the chairman pro- duced cigars. "i don't smoke," said bles apologetically. "well, we have n't anything to drink," said the chair- man. but senator smith broke in, taking up at once the paramount interest. "mr. alwyn, as you know, the democrats are making an effort to get the negro vote in this campaign. now, i know the disadvantages and wrongs which black men in this land are suffering. i believe the republicans ought to do more to defend them, and i 'm satisfied they will; but i doubt if the way to get negro rights is to vote for those who took them away." "i agree with you perfectly," said bles. "i understand you do, and that you made an unusually fine speech on the subject the other night." "thank you, sir." this was a good deal more than bles had expected, and he was embarrassed. "well, now, we think you 're just the man to take the stump during september and october and convince the colored people of their real interests." the campaign put under personal influence. the negro papers were quietly subsidized, and they began to ridicule and reproach the new leaders. as the fall progressed, mass-meetings were held in washington and the small towns. larger and larger ones were projected, and more and more alwyn was pushed to the front. he was developing into a most effective speaker. he had the voice, the presence, the ideas, and above all he was intensely in earnest. there were other colored orators with voice, presence, and eloquence; but their people knew their record and discounted them. alwyn was new, clear, and sincere, and the black folk hung on his words. large and larger crowds greeted him until he was the central figure in a half dozen great negro mass-meet- ings in the chief cities of the country, culminating in new york the night before election. perhaps the secret news- paper work, the personal advice of employers and friends, and the liberal distribution of cash, would have delivered a large part of the negro vote to the republican candi- date. perhaps — but there was a doubt. with the work of alwyn, however, all doubt disappeared, and there was little reason for denying that the new president walked into the white house through the instrumentality of an unknown georgia negro, little past his majority. this is what senator smith said to mr. easterly; what miss wynn said to herself; and it was what mrs. vander- pool remarked to zora as zora was combing her hair on the wednesday after election. zora murmured an indistinct response. as already something of the beauty of the world had found question and answer in her soul, and as she began to realize how the world had waxed old in thought and stature, so now in their last days a sense of the power of men, as set over the quest of the silver fleece against the immensity and force of their surroundings, became real to her. she had begun to read of the lives and doing of those called great, and in her mind a plan was forming. she saw herself standing dim within the shadows, directing the growing power of a man: a man who would be great as the world counted greatness, rich, high in position, powerful — wonderful because his face was black. he would never see her; never know how she worked and planned, save perhaps at last, in that supreme moment as she passed, her soul would cry to his, " redeemed!" and he would understand. all this she was thinking and weaving; not clearly and definitely, but in great blurred clouds of thoughts of things as she said slowly: "he should have a great position for this." "why, certainly," mrs. vanderpool agreed, and then curiously: "what?" zora considered. "negroes," she said, " have been reg- isters of the treasury, and recorders of deeds here in washington, and douglas was marshal; but i want bless —" she paused and started again. "those are not great enough for mr. alwyn; he should have an office so important that negroes would not think of leaving their party again." mrs. vanderpool took pains to repeat zora's words to mr. easterly. he considered the matter. "in one sense, it's good advice," he admitted; "but there 's the south to reckon with. i 'll think it over and speak to the president. oh, yes; i 'm going to mention france at the same time." mrs. vanderpool smiled and leaned back in her car- riage. she noted with considerable interest the young colored woman who was watching her from the sidewalk: the quest of the silver fleece "your friends, mr. alwyn," he said, adjusting his glasses, "have a rather high opinion of you. here now is stillings, who helped on the campaign. he suggests an eighteen-hundred-dollar clerkship for you." the senator glanced up keenly and omitted to state what stillings suggested for himself. alwyn was visibly grateful as well as surprised. "i — i hoped," he began hesitatingly, "that perhaps i might get a promotion, but i had not thought of a first-class clerkship." "h'm." senator smith leaned back and twiddled his thumbs, staring at alwyn until the hot blood darkened his cheeks. then bles sat up and stared politely but steadily back. the senator's eyes dropped and he put out his hand for the second note. "now, your friend, miss wynn " — alwyn started — "is even more ambitious." he handed her letter to the young man, and pointed out the words. "of course, senator," bles read, "we expect mr. alwyn to be the next register of the treasury." bles looked up in amazement, but the senator reached for a third letter. the room was very still. at last he found it. "this," he announced quietly, "is from a man of great power and influence, who has the ear of the new president." he smoothed out the letter, paused briefly, then read aloud: "' it has been suggested to me by ' " — the senator did not read the name; if he had "mrs. vanderpool" would have meant little to alwyn — " ' it has been suggested to me by blank that the future allegiance of the negro vote to the republican party might be insured by giving to some prominent negro a high political position — for instance, treasurer of the united states' — salary, six the campaign thousand dollars," interpolated senator smith — " ' and that alwyn would be a popular and safe appointment for that position.'" the senator did not read the concluding sentence, which ran: "think this over; we can't touch political conditions in the south; perhaps this sop will do." for a long time alwyn sat motionless, while the senator said nothing. then the young man rose unsteadily. "i don't think i quite grasp all this," he said as he shook hands. "i 'll think it over," and he went out. when caroline wynn heard of that extraordinary con- versation her amazement knew no bounds. yet alwyn ventured to voice doubts: "i 'm not fitted for either of those high offices; there are many others who deserve more, and i don't some- how like the idea of seeming to have worked hard in the campaign simply for money or fortune. you see, i talked against that very thing." miss wynn's eyes widened. "well, what else —" she began and then changed. "mr. alwyn, the line between virtue and foolishness is dim and wavering, and i should hate to see you lost in that marshy borderland. by a streak of extraordinary luck you have gained the political leadership of negroes in america. here 's your chance to lead your people, and here you stand blinking and hesitating. be a man!" alwyn straightened up and felt his doubts going. the evening passed very pleasantly. "i 'm going to have a little dinner for you," said miss wynn finally, and alwyn grew hot with pleasure. he turned to her suddenly and said: "why, i 'm rather — black." she expressed no sur- prise but said reflectively: the quest of the silver fleece "you are dark." "and i 've been given to understand that miss wynn and her set rather — well, preferred the lighter shades of colored folk." miss wynn laughed lightly. "my parents did," she said simply. "no dark man ever entered their house; they were simply copying the white world. now i, as a matter of esthetic beauty, prefer your brown-velvet color to a jaundiced yellow, or even an uncertain cream; but the world does n't." "the world?" "yes, the world; and especially america. one may be chinese, spaniard, even indian — anything white or dirty white in this land, and demand decent treatment; but to be negro or darkening toward it unmistakably means perpetual handicap and crucifixion." "why not, then, admit that you draw the color-line?" "because i don't; but the world does. i am not preju- diced as my parents were, but i am foresighted. indeed, it is a deep ethical query, is it not, how far one has the right to bear black children to the world in the land of the free and the home of the brave. is it fair — to the children?" "yes, it is!" he cried vehemently. "the more to take up the fight, the surer the victory." she laughed at his earnestness. "you are refreshing," she said. "well, we 'll dine next tuesday, and we 'll have the cream of our world to meet you." he knew that this was a great triumph. it flattered his vanity. after all, he was entering this higher dark world whose existence had piqued and puzzled him so long. he glanced at miss wynn beside him there in the dimly the campaign lighted parlor: she looked so aloof and unapproachable, so handsome and so elegant. he thought how she would complete a house — such a home as his prospective four or six thousand dollars a year could easily purchase. she saw him surveying her, and she smiled at him. "i find but one fault with you," she said. he stammered for a pretty speech, but did not find it before she continued: "yes — you are so delightfully primitive; you will not use the world as it is but insist on acting as if it were something else." "i am not sure i understand." "well, there is the wife of my judge: she is a fact in my world; in yours she is a problem to be stated, straightened, and solved. if she had come to you, as she did to me yesterday, with her theory that all that south- ern negroes needed was to learn how to make good serv- ants and lay brick —" "i should have shown her —" bles tried to interject. "nothing of the sort. you would have tried to show her and would have failed miserably. she has n't learned anything in twenty years." "but surely you didn't join her in advocating that ten million people be menials?" "oh, no; i simply listened." "well, there was no harm in that; i believe in silence at times." "ah! but i did not listen like a log, but positively and eloquently; with a nod, a half-formed word, a comment begun, which she finished." bles frowned. "as a result," continued miss wynn, "i have a check for five hundred dollars to finish our cooking-school and the quest of the silver fleece buy a cast of minerva for the assembly-room. more than that, i have now a wealthy friend. she thinks me an un- usually clever person who, by a process of thought not un- like her own, has arrived at very similar conclusions." "but — but," objected bles, "if the time spent cajol- ing fools were used in convincing the honest and upright, think how much we would gain." "very little. the honest and upright are a sad minor- ity. most of these white folk — believe me, boy," she said caressingly,—" are fools and knaves: they don't want truth or progress; they want to keep niggers down." "i don't believe it; there are scores, thousands, per- haps millions such, i admit; but the average american loves justice and right, and he is the one to whom i appeal with frankness and truth. great heavens! don't you love to be frank and open?" she narrowed her eyelids. "yes, sometimes i do; once i was; but it's a luxury few of us negroes can afford. then, too, i insist that it's jolly to fool them." "don't you hate the deception?" she chuckled and put her head to one side. "at first i did; but, do you know, now i believe i prefer it." he looked so horrified that she burst out laughing. he laughed too. she was a puzzle to him. he kept think- ing what a mistress of a mansion she would make. "why do you say these things?" he asked suddenly. "because i want you to do well here in washington." "general philanthropy?" "no, special." her eyes were bright with meaning. "then you care — for me?" "yes." the campaign he bent forward and cast the die. "enough to marry me?" she answered very calmly and certainly: "yes." he leaned toward her. and then between him and her lips rose a dark and shadowy face; two great storm- swept eyes looked into his out of a world of infinite pain, and he dropped his head in hesitation and shame, and kissed her hand. miss wynn thought him delightfully bashful. chapter xxvi congressman cresswell the election of harry cresswell to congress was a very simple matter. the colonel and his son drove to town and consulted the judge; together they summoned the sheriff and the local member of the state legislature. "i think it's about time that we cresswells asked for a little of the political pie," the colonel smilingly opened. "well, what do you want? " asked the judge. "harry wants to go to congress." the judge hesitated. "we 'd half promised that to caldwell," he objected. "it will be a little costly this year, too," suggested the sheriff, tentatively. "about how much?" asked the colonel. "at least five thousand," said the legislator. the colonel said nothing. he simply wrote a check and the matter was settled. in the fall harry cresswell was declared elected. there were four hundred and sev- enty-two votes cast but the sheriff added a cipher. he said it would look better. early december found the cresswells domiciled in a small house in du pont circle, washington. they had an automobile and four servants, and the house was fur- [ ] the quest of the silver fleece ington, the election over and congress in session, it really seemed time for work and life to begin in dead earnest, and new england mary was dreaming mighty dreams and golden futures. but harry apparently was as content as ever with do- ing nothing. he arose at ten, dined at seven, and went to bed between midnight and sunrise. there were some com- mittee meetings and much mail, but mary was admitted to knowledge of none of these. the obvious step, of course, would be to set him at work; but from this under- taking mary unconsciously recoiled. she had already recognized that while her tastes and her husband's were mostly alike, they were also strikingly different in many respects. they agreed in the daintiness of things, the elegance of detail; but they did not agree always as to the things themselves. given the picture, they would choose the same frame — but they would not choose the same picture. they liked the same voice, but not the same song; the same company, but not the same conver- sation. of course, mary reflected, frowning at the flowers — of course, this must always be so when two human beings are thrown into new and intimate associa- tion. in time they would grow to sweet communion; only, she hoped the communion would be on tastes nearer hers than those he sometimes manifested. she turned impatiently from the window with a feeling of loneliness. but why lonely? she idly fingered a new book on the table and then put it down sharply. there had been several attempts at reading aloud between them some evenings ago, and this book reminded her of them. she had bought jane addams' "newer ideals of peace," and he had yawned over it undisguisedly. then he had brought this novel, and — well, she had balked at the s the quest of the silver fleece but it was no caller. it was simply some one named stillings to see mr. cresswell she went down to see him — he might be a constituent — and found a smirky brown man, very apologetic. "you don't know me — does you, mrs. cresswell?" said stillings. he knew when it was diplomatic to forget his grammar and assume his dialect. "why — no." "you remember i worked for mr. harry and served you-all lunch one day." "oh, yes — why, yes! i remember now very well." "well, i wants to see mr. harry very much; could i wait in the back hall?" mary started to have him wait in the front hall, but she thought better of it and had him shown back. less than an hour later her husband entered and she went quickly to him. he looked worn and white and tired, but he laughed her concern lightly off. "i 'll be in earlier to-night," he declared. "is the congressional business very heavy?" he laughed so hilariously that she felt uncomfortable, which he observed. "oh, no," he answered deftly; "not very." and as they moved toward the dining-room mary changed the subject. "oh," she exclaimed, suddenly remembering. "there is a man — a colored man — waiting to see you in the back hall, but i guess he can wait until after lunch. they ate leisurely. "there 'e going to be racing out at the park this evening," said harry,"want to go?" "i was going to hear an art lecture at the club," mary returned, and grew thoughtful; for here walked her ghost a congressman cresswell again. of course, the club was an affair with more of gossip than of intellectual effort, but to-day, largely through her own suggestion, an art teacher of european reputation was going to lecture, and mary preferred it to the company of the race track. and — just as cer- tainly — her husband did n't. "don't forget the man, dear," she reminded him; but he was buried in his paper, frowning. "look at that," he said finally. she glanced at the head-lines — " prominent negro politician candidate for high office at hands of new administration. b. alwyn of alabama." "why, it's bles!" she said, her face lighting as his darkened. "an impudent negro," he voiced his disgust. "if they must appoint darkies why can't they get tractable ones like my nigger stillings." "stillings?" she repeated. "why, he 's the man that's waiting." "sam, is it? used to be one of our servants — you remember? wants to borrow more money, i presume." he went down-stairs, after first helping himself to a glass of whiskey, and then gallantly kissing his wife. mrs. cresswell was more unsatisfied than usual. she could not help feeling that mr. cresswell was treating her about as he treated his wine — as an indulgence; a loved one, a regular one, but somehow not as the reality and prose of life, unless — she started at the thought — his life was all indulgence. having nothing else to do, she went out and paraded the streets, watching the people who were happy enough to be busy. cresswell and stillings had a long conference, and when stillings hastened away he could not forbear cutting ,- the quest of the silver fleece a discreet pigeon-wing as he rounded the corner. he had been promised the backing of the whole southern delega- tion in his schemes. that night teerswell called on him in his modest lodgings, where over hot whiskey and water they talked. "the damned southern upstart," growled teerswell, forgetting stillings' birth-place. "do you mean to say he's actually slated for the place?" "he 's sure of it, unless something turns up." "well, who'd have dreamed it?" teerswell mixed another stiff dram. "and that is n't all," came sam stillings' unctuous voice. teerswell glanced at him. "what else?" he asked, pausing with the steaming drink poised aloft. "if i 'm not mistaken, alwyn intends to marry miss wynn." "you lie!" the other suddenly yelled with an oath, overturning his tumbler and striding across the floor. "do you suppose she 'd look at that black —" "well, see here," said the astute stillings, checking the details upon his fingers. "they visit senator smith's together; he takes her home from the treble clef; they say he talked to nobody else at her party; she recom- mends him for the campaign —" "what!" teerswell again exploded. but stillings continued smoothly: "oh, i have ways of finding things out. she corre- sponds with him during the campaign; she asks smith to make him register; and he calls on her every night." teerswell sat down limply. "i see," he groaned. "it's all up. she 's jilted me — and i — and i —" -. the quest of the silver fleece "like it? why, great jehoshaphat! i'd marry carrie — but how can i help you?" "this way. i want to be better known among in- fluential negroes. you introduce me and let me make myself solid. especially i must get in miss wynn's set so that both of us can watch her and alwyn, and make her friends ours." "i 'll do it — shake!" and stillings put his oily hand into teerswell's nervous grip. "now, here," stillings went on, "you stow all that jealousy and heavy tragedy. treat alwyn well and call on miss wynn as usual — see?" "it's a hard pill —but all right." "leave the rest to me; i 'm hand in glove with alwyn. i 'll put stuff into him that 'll make him wave the bloody shirt at the next meeting of the bethel literary — see? then i'll go to cresswell and say, ' dangerous nigger —, just as i told you.' he 'll begin to move things. you see? cresswell is in with smith — both directors in the big cotton combine — and smith will call alwyn down. then we 'll think further." "stillings, you look like a fool, but you 're a genius." and teerswell fairly hugged him. a few more details settled, and some more whiskey consumed, and teerswell went home at midnight in high spirits. stillings looked into the glass and scowled. "look like a fool, do i?" he mused. "well, i ain't!" congressman cresswell was stirred to his first political activity by the hint given him through stillings. he not only had a strong personal dislike for alwyn, but he re- garded the promise to him of a high office as a menace to the south. the second speech which alwyn made at the bethel congressman cresswell literary was, as stillings foresaw, a reply to the sting- ing criticisms of certain colored papers engineered by teerswell, who said that alwyn had been bribed to remain loyal to the republicans by a six thousand dollar office. alwyn had been cut to the quick, and his reply was a straight out defence of negro rights and a call to the re- publican party to redeem its pledges. caroline wynn, seeing the rocks for which her political craft was headed, adroitly steered several newspaper re- ports into the waste basket, but stillings saw to it that a circumstantial account was in the colored american, and that a copy of this paper was in congressman cresswell's hands. cresswell lost no time in calling on senator smith and pointing out to him that bles alwyn was a dangerous negro: seeking social equality, hating white people, and scheming to make trouble. he was too young and heady. it would be fatal to give such a man office and influence; fatal for the development of the south, and bad for the cotton combine. senator smith was unconvinced. alwyn struck him as a well-balanced fellow, and he thought he deserved the office. he would, however, warn him to make no further speeches like that of last night. cresswell mentioned stillings as a good, inoffensive negro who knew his place and could be kept track of. "stillings is a good man," admitted smith; "but alwyn is better. however, i 'll bear what you say in mind." cresswell found mr. easterly in mrs. vanderpool's parlor, and that gentleman was annoyed at the news. "i especially picked out this alwyn because he was southern and tractable, and seemed to have sense enough to know how to say well what we wanted to say." the quest of the silver fleece "when, as a matter of fact," drawled mrs. vander- pool, "he was simply honest." "the south won't stand it," cresswell decisively affirmed. "well —" began mr. easterly. "see here," interrupted mrs. vanderpool. "i 'm in- terested in alwyn; in fact, an honest man in politics, even if he is black, piques my curiosity. give him a \ chance and i 'll warrant he 'll develop all the desirable traits of a first class office-holder." easterly hesitated. "we must not offend the south, and we must placate the negroes," he said. "the right sort of negro — one like stillings — ap- pointed to a reasonable position, would do both," opined cresswell. "it evidently did n't," mrs. vanderpool interjected. cresswell arose. "i tell you, mr. easterly, i object: — it must n't go through." he took his leave. mrs. vanderpool did not readily give up her plea for alwyn, and bade zora get mr. smith on the telephone for discussion. "well," reported easterly, hanging up the. receiver, "we may land him. it seems that he is engaged to a washington school-teacher, and smith says she has him well in hand. she's a pretty shrewd proposition, and understands that alwyn's only chance now lies in keep- ing his mouth shut. we may land him," he repeated. "engaged!" gasped mrs. vanderpool. zora quietly closed the door. chapter xxvii the vision of zora how zora found the little church she never knew; but somehow, in the long dark wanderings which she had fallen into the habit of taking at night- fall, she stood one evening before it. it looked warm, and she was cold. it was full of her people, and she was very, very lonely. she sat in a back seat, and saw with un- seeing eyes. she said again, as she had said to herself a hundred times, that it was all right and just what she had expected. what else could she have dreamed? that he should ever marry her was beyond possibility; that had been settled long since — there where the tall, dark pines, wan with the shades of evening, cast their haunt- ing shadows across the silver fleece and half hid the blood-washed west. after that he would marry some one else, of course; some good and pure woman who would help and uplift and serve him. she had dreamed that she would help — unknown, un- seen — and perhaps she had helped a little through mrs. vanderpool. it was all right, and yet why so suddenly had the threads of life let go? why was she drifting in vast waters; in uncharted wastes of sea? why was the puzzle of life suddenly so intricate when but a little week ago she was reading it, and its beauty and wisdom and < [ ] the quest of the silver fleece power were thrilling her delighted hands? could it be possible that all unconsciously she had dared dream a forbidden dream? no, she had always rejected it. when no one else had the right; when no one thought; when no one cared, she had hovered over his soul as some dark guardian angel; but now, now somebody else was receiv- ing his gratitude. it was all right, she supposed; but she, the outcast child of the swamp, what was there for her to do in the great world — her, the burden of whose sin — . but then came the voice of the preacher: "behold the lamb of god, that taketh aicay the sin of the world." she found herself all at once intently listening. she had been to church many times before, but under the ser- mons and ceremonies she had always sat coldly inert. in the south the cries, contortions, and religious frenzy left her mind untouched; she did not laugh or mock, she simply sat and watched and wondered. at the north, in the white churches, she enjoyed the beauty of wall, win- dow, and hymn, liked the voice and surplice of the preacher; but his words had no reference to anything in which she was interested. here suddenly came an earnest voice addressed, by singular chance, to her of all the world. she listened, bending forward, her eyes glued to the speaker's lips and letting no word drop. he had the build and look of the fanatic: thin to emaciation; brown; brilliant-eyed; his words snapped in nervous energy and rang in awful earnestness. "life is sin, and sin is sorrow. sorrow is born of selfishness and self-seeking — our own good, our own happiness, our own glory. as if any one of us were worth a life! no, never. a single self as an end is, and ought the vision of zora to be, disappointment; it is too low; it is nothing. only in a whole world of selves, infinite, endless, eternal world on worlds of selves — only in their vast good is true sal- vation. the good of others is our true good; work for others; not for your salvation, but the salvation of the world." the audience gave a low uneasy groan and the minister in whose pulpit the stranger preached stirred uneasily. but he went on tensely, with flying words: "unselfishness is sacrifice — jesus was supreme sac- rifice." ("amen," screamed a voice.) "in your dark lives," he cried, "who is the king of glory? sacrifice. lift up your heads, then, ye gates of prejudice and hate, and let the king of glory come in. forget yourselves and your petty wants, and behold your starving people. the wail of black millions sweeps the air — east and west they cry, help! help! are you dumb? are you blind? do you dance and laugh, and hear and see not? the cry of death is in the air; they murder, burn, and maim us!" ("oh — oh —" moaned the people swaying in their seats.) "when we cry they mock us; they ruin our women and debauch our children — what shall we do? "behold the lamb of god that taketh away sin. be- hold the supreme sacrifice that makes us clean. give up your pleasures; give up your wants; give up all to the weak and wretched of our people. go down to pharaoh and smite him in god's name. go down to the south where we writhe. strive — work — build — hew — lead — inspire! god calls. will you hear? come to jesus. the harvest is waiting. who will cry: 'here am i, send me!'" zora rose and walked up the aisle; she knelt before the altar and answered the call: "here am i — send me." and then she walked out. above her sailed the same the quest of the silver fleece great stars; around her hummed the same hoarse city; but within her soul sang some new song of peace. "what is the matter, zora?" mrs. vanderpool in- quired, for she seemed to see in the girl's face and car- riage some subtle change; something that seemed to tell how out of the dream had stepped the dreamer into the realness of things; how suddenly the seeker saw; how to the wanderer, the way was opened. just how she sensed this mrs. vanderpool could not have explained, nor could zora. was there a change, sudden, cataclysmic? no. there were to come in future days all the old doubts and shiverings, the old restless cry: "it is all right — all right!" but more and more, above the doubt and beyond the unrest, rose the great end, the mighty ideal, that flickered and wavered, but ever grew and waxed strong, until it became possible, and through it all things else were possible. thus from the grave of youth and love, amid the soft, low singing of dark and bowed worshippers, the angel of the resur- rection rolled away the stone. "what is the matter, zora?" mrs. vanderpool repeated. zora looked up, almost happily — standing poised on her feet as if to tell of strength and purpose. "i have found the way," she cried joyously. mrs. vanderpool gave her a long searching look. "where have you been?" she asked. "i 've been waiting." "i 'm sorry — but i 've been — converted." and she told her story. "pshaw, zora!" mrs. vanderpool uttered impatiently. "he 's a fakir." the vision of zora "maybe," said zora serenely and quietly; "but he brought the word." "zora, don't talk cant; it is n't worthy of your intelligence." "it was more than intelligent — it was true." "zora — listen, child! you were wrought up to-night, nervous — wild. you were happy to meet your people, and where he said one word you supplied two. what you attribute to him is the voice of your own soul." but zora merely smiled. "all you say may be true. but what does it matter? i know one thing, like the man in the bible: 'whereas i was blind now i see.'" mrs. vanderpool gave a little helpless gesture. "and what shall you do?" she asked. "i 'm going back south to work for my people." "when?" the old careworn look stole across mrs. vanderpool's features. zora came gently forward and slipped her arms lov- ingly about the other woman's neck. "not right off," she said gently; "not until i learn more. i hate to leave you, but — it calls!" mrs. vanderpool held the dark girl close and began craftily: "you see, zora, the more you know the more you can do." "yes." "and if you are determined i will see that you are taught. you must know settlement-work and reform movements; not simply here but —" she hesitated — "in england — in france." "will it take long? " zora asked, smoothing the lady's hair. the quest of the silver fleece mrs. vanderpool considered. "no — five years is not long; it is all too short." "five years: it is very long; but there is a great deal to learn. must i study five years?" mrs. vanderpool threw back her head. "zora, i am selfish i know, but five years truly is none too long. then, too, zora, we have work to do in that time." "what?" "there is alwyn's career," and mrs. vanderpool looked into zora's eyes. the girl did not shrink, but she paused. "yes," she said slowly, "we must help him." "and after he rises —" "he will marry." "whom?" "the woman he loves," returned zora, quietly. "yes — that is best," sighed mrs. vanderpool. "but how shall we help him?" "make him treasurer of the united states without sacrificing his manhood or betraying his people." "i can do that," said mrs. vanderpool slowly. "it will cost something," said zora. "i will do it," was the lady's firm assurance. zora kissed her. the next afternoon mrs. cresswell went down to a white social settlement of which congressman todd had spoken, where a meeting of the civic club was to be held. she had come painfully to realize that if she was to have a career she must make it for herself. the plain, un- welcome truth was that her husband had no great inter- ests in life in which she could find permanent pleasure. companionship and love there was and, she told herself, the vision of zora always would be; but in some respects their lives must flow in two streams. last night, for the second time, she had irritated him; he had spoken almost harshly to her, and she knew she must brood or work to-day. and so she hunted work, eagerly. she felt the atmosphere the moment she entered. there were carelessly gowned women and men smart and shabby, but none of them were thinking of clothes nor even of one another. they had great deeds in mind; they were scanning the earth; they were toiling for men. the same grim excitement that sends smaller souls hunting for birds and rabbits and lions, had sent them hunting the enemies of mankind: they were bent to the chase, scenting the game, knowing the infinite meaning of their hunt and the glory of victory. mary cresswell had listened but a half hour before her world seemed so small and sordid and narrow, so trivial, that a sense of shame spread over her. these people were not only earnest, but expert. they acknowledged the need of mr. todd's educational bill. "but the republicans are going to side-track it; i have that on the best authority," said one. "true; but can't we force them to it?" "only by political power, and they 've just won a campaign." "they won it by negro votes, and the negro who se- cured the votes is eager for this bill; he's a fine, honest fellow." "very well; work with him; and when we can be of real service let us know. meantime, this child labor bill is different. it's bound to pass. both parties are back of it, and public opinion is aroused. now our work is to force amendments enough to make the bill effective." the quest of the silver fleece discussion followed; not flamboyant and declamatory, but tense, staccato, pointed. mrs. cresswell found her- self taking part. someone mentioned her name, and one or two glances of interest and even curiosity were thrown her way. congressmen's wives were rare at the civic club. congressman todd urged mrs. cresswell to stay after the discussion and attend a meeting of the managers and workers of the washington social settlements. "have you many settlements?" she inquired. "three in all — two white and one colored." "and will they all be represented?" "yes, of course, mrs. cresswell. if you object to meeting the colored people —" mrs. cresswell blushed. "no, indeed," she answered; "i used to teach colored people." she watched this new group gather: a business man, two fashionable ladies, three college girls, a gray-haired colored woman, and a young spectacled brown man, and then, to her surprise, mrs. vanderpool and zora. zora was scarcely seated when that strange sixth sense of hers told her that something had happened, and it needed, but a side-glance from mrs. vanderpool to indi- cate what it was. she sat with folded hands and the old dreamy look in her eyes. in one moment she lived it all again — the red cabin, the moving oak, the sowing of the fleece, and its fearful reaping. and now, when she turned her head, she would see the woman who was to marry bles alwyn. she had often dreamed of her, and had set a high ideal. she wanted her to be handsome, well dressed, earnest and good. she felt a sort of personal proprietor- the vision of zora ship in her, and when at last the quickened pulse died to its regular healthy beat, she turned and looked and knew. caroline wynn deemed it a part of the white world's education to participate in meetings like this; doing so was not pleasant, but it appealed to her cynicism and mocking sense of pleasure. she always roused hostility as she entered: her gown was too handsome, her gloves too spotless, her air had hauteur enough to be almost impudent in the opinion of most white people. then gradually her intelligence, her cool wit and self-posses- sion, would conquer and she would go gracefully out leaving a rather bewildered audience behind. she sat to- day with her dark gold profile toward zora, and the girl looked and was glad. she was such a woman she would have bles marry. she was glad, and she choked back the sob that struggled and fought in her throat. the meeting never got beyond a certain constraint. the congressman made an excellent speech; there were various sets of figures read by the workers; and miss wynn added a touch of spice by several pertinent ques- tions and comments. then, as the meeting broke up and mrs. cresswell came forward to speak to zora, mrs. vanderpool managed to find herself near miss wynn and to be introduced. they exchanged a few polite phrases, fencing delicately to test the other's wrist and interest. they touched on the weather, and settlement work; but miss wynn did not propose to be stranded on the negro problem. "i suppose the next bit of excitement will be the in- auguration," she said to mrs. vanderpool "i understand it will be unusually elaborate," re- turned mrs. vanderpool, a little surprised at the turn. the quest of the silver fleece then she added pleasantly: "i think i shall see it through, from speech to ball." "yes, i do usually," miss wynn asserted, adjusting her furs. mrs. vanderpool was further surprised. did colored people attend the ball? "we sorely need a national ball-room," she said. "is n't the census building wretched?" "i do not know," smiled miss wynn. "oh, i thought you said —" "i meant our ball." "oh!" said mrs. vanderpool in turn. "oh!" here a thought came. of course, the colored people had their own ball; she remembered having heard about it. why not send zora? she plunged in: "miss wynn, i have a maid — such an intelligent girl; i do wish she could attend your ball —" seeing her blunder, she paused. miss wynn was coolly buttoning her glove. "yes," she acknowledged politely, " few of us can af- ford maids, and therefore we do not usually arrange for them; but i think we can have your protegee look on from the gallery. good-afternoon." as mrs. vanderpool drove home she related the talk to zora. zora was silent at first. then she said de- liberately: "miss wynn was right." "why, zora!" "did helene attend the ball four years ago?" "but, zora, must you folk ape our nonsense as well as our sense?" "you force us to," said zora. chapter xxviii the annunciation the new president had been inaugurated. beneath the creamy pile of the old capitol, and facing the new library, he had stood aloft and looked down on a waving sea of faces — black-coated, jostling, eager- eyed fellow creatures. they had watched his lips move, had scanned eagerly his dress and the gowned and dec- orated dignitaries beside him; and then, with blare of band and prancing of horses, he had been whirled down the dip and curve of that long avenue, with its medley of meanness and thrift and hurry and wealth, until, swing- ing sharply, the dim walls of the white house rose before him. he entered with a sigh. then the vast welter of humanity dissolved and streamed hither and thither, gaping and laughing until night, when thousands poured into the red barn of the census shack and entered the artificial fairyland within. the president walked through, smiling; the senators pro- tected their friends in the crush; and harry cresswell led his wife to a little oasis of southern ladies and gentlemen. "this is democracy for you," said he, wiping his brow. from a whirling eddy mrs. vanderpool waved at them, and they rescued her. "i think i am ready to go," she gasped. "did you ever!" i [ ] the quest of the silver fleece "come," cresswell invited. but just then the crowd pushed them apart and shot them along, and mrs. cress- well found herself clinging to her husband amid two great whirling variegated throngs of driving, white-faced people. the band crashed and blared; the people laughed and pushed; and with rhythmic sound and swing the mighty throng was dancing. it took much effort, but at last the cresswell party es- caped and rolled off in their carriages. they swept into the avenue and out again, then up th street, where, turning for some street obstruction, they passed a throng of carriages on a cross street. "it's the other ball," cried mrs. vanderpool, and amid laughter she added, " let's go!" it was — the other ball. for washington is itself, and something else besides. along beside it ever runs that dark and haunting echo; that shadowy world-in-world with its accusing silence, its emphatic self-sufficiency. mrs. cresswell at first demurred. she thought of els- peth's cabin: the dirt, the smell, the squalor: of course, this would be different; but — well, mrs. cresswell had little inclination for slumming. she was interested in the under-world, but intellectually, not by personal contact. she did not know that this was a side-world, not an under- world. yet the imposing building did not look sordid. "hired? " asked some one. "no, owned." "indeed!" then there was a hitch. "tickets?" "where can we buy them?" "not on sale," was the curt reply. "actually exclusive!" sneered cresswell, for he could the annunciation not imagine any one unwelcome at a negro ball. then he bethought himself of sam stillings and sent for him. in a few minutes he had a dozen complimentary tickets in his hand. they entered the balcony and sat down. mary cress- well leaned forward. it was interesting. beneath her was an ordinary pretty ball — flowered, silked, and rib- boned; with swaying whirling figures, music, and laughter, and all the human fun of gayety and converse. and then she was impressed with the fact that this was no ordinary scene; it was, on the contrary, most extraordinary. there was a black man waltzing with a white woman — no, she was not white, for mary caught the cream and curl of the girl as she swept past: but there was a white man (was he white?) and a black woman. the color of the scene was wonderful. the hard human white seemed to glow and live and run a mad gamut of the spectrum, from morn till night, from white to black; through red and sombre browns, pale and brilliant yellows, dead and liv- ing blacks. through her opera-glasses mary scanned their hair; she noted everything from the infinitely twisted, crackled, dead, and grayish-black to the piled mass of red golden sunlight. her eyes went dreaming; there below was the gathering of the worlds. she saw types of all nations and all lands swirling beneath her in hu- man brotherhood, and a great wonder shook her. they seemed so happy. surely, this was no nether world; it was upper earth, and — her husband beckoned; he had been laughing incontinently. he saw nothing but a crowd of queer looking people doing things they were not made to do and appearing absurdly happy over it. it irritated him unreasonably. the annunciation down from new york. he and the inner circle went over matters carefully. "we need the political strength of the south," said easterly; "not only in framing national legislation in our own interests, but always in state laws. particularly, we must get them into line to offset todd's foolishness. the child labor bill must either go through unamended or be killed. the cotton inspection bill — our chief meas- ure — must be slipped through quietly by southern votes, while in the tariff mix-up we must take good care of cotton. "now, on the other hand, we are offending the south- erners in three ways: todd's revived blair bill is too good a thing for niggers; the south is clamoring for a first class embassy appointment; and the president's nomina- tion of alwyn as treasurer will raise a howl from virginia to texas." "there is some strong influence back of alwyn," said senator smith; "not only are the negroes enthused, but the president has daily letters from prominent whites." "the strong influence is named vanderpool," easterly drily remarked. "she 's playing a bigger political game than i laid out for her. that's the devil with women: they can't concentrate: they get too damned many side issues. now, i offered her husband the french ambassa- dorship provided she 'd help keep the southerners feel- ing good toward us. she's hand in glove with the southerners, all right; but she wants not only her hus- band's appointment but this darkey's too." "but that's been decided, has n't it?" put in smith. "yes," grumbled easterly; "but it makes it hard al- ready. at any rate, the educational bill must be killed right off. no more talk; no more consideration — kill the annunciation "what is todd's bill? " asked harry cresswell, dark- ening. smith, surprised, got out a copy and explained. cress- well interrupted before he was half through. "don't you see," he said angrily, "that that will ruin our plans for the cotton combine?" "yes, i do," replied smith; "but it will not do the immediate harm that the amended child labor bill will do." "what's that?" demanded cresswell, frowning again. senator smith regarded him again: was cresswell play- ing a shrewd game? "why," he said at length, " are n't you promoting it?" "no," was the reply. "never heard of it." "but," senator smith began, and paused. he turned and took up a circular issued by the civic club, giving a careful account of their endeavors to amend and pass the child labor bill. cresswell read it, then threw it aside. "nonsense!" he indignantly repudiated the measure. "that will never do; it's as bad as the education bill." "but your wife is encouraging it and we thought you were back of it." cresswell stared in blank amazement. "my wife!" he gasped. then he bethought himself. "it's a mistake," he supplemented; " mrs. cresswell gave them no authority to sign her name." "she 's been very active," smith persisted, "and nat- urally we were all anxious." cresswell bit his lip. "i shall speak to her; she does not realize what use they are making of her passing interest." he hurried away, and senator smith felt a bit sorry the quest of the silver fleece for mrs. cresswell when he recalled the expression on her husband's face. mary cresswell did not get home until nearly dinner time; then she came in glowing with enthusiasm. her work had received special commendation that afternoon, and she had been asked to take the chairmanship of the committee on publicity. finding that her husband was at home, she determined to tell him — it was so good to be doing something worth while. perhaps, too, he might be made to show some interest. she thought of mr. and mrs. todd and the old dream glowed faintly again. cresswell looked at her as she entered the library where he was waiting and smoking. she was rumpled and muddy, with flying hair and thick walking shoes and the air of bustle and vigor which had crept into her blood this last month. truly, her cheeks were glowing and her eyes bright, but he disapproved. softness and daintiness, silk and lace and glimmering flesh, belonged to women in his mind, and he despised amazons and "business" women. he received her kiss coldly, and mary's heart sank. she essayed some gay greeting, but he interrupted her. "what's this stuff about the civic club?" he began sharply. "stuff?" she queried, blankly. "that's what i said." "i 'm sure i do n't know," she answered stiffly. "i belong to the civic club, and have been working with it." "why didn't you tell me?" his resentment grew as he proceeded. "i did not think you were interested." "did n't you know that this child labor business was opposed to my interests?" the annunciation "dear, i did not dream it. it's a republican bill, to be sure; but you seemed very friendly with senator smith, who introduced it. we were simply trying to improve it." "suppose we did n't want it improved." "that's what some said; but i did not believe such — deception." the blood rushed to cresswell's face. "well, you will drop this bill and the civic club from now on." "why?" "because i say so," he retorted explosively, too angry to explain further. she looked at him — a long, fixed, penetrating look which revealed more than she had ever seen before, then turned away and went slowly up-stairs. she did not come down to dinner, and in the evening the doctor was called. cresswell drooped a bit after eating, hesitated, and reflected. he had acted too cavalierly in this civic club mess, he concluded, and yet he would not back down. he 'd go see her and pet her a bit, but be firm. he opened her boudoir door gently, and she stood before him radiant, clothed in silk and lace, her hair loosened. he paused, astonished. but she threw her- self upon his neck, with a joyful, half hysterical cry. "i will give it all up — everything! willingly, will- ingly!" her voice dropped abruptly to a tremulous whisper. "oh, harry! i — i am to be the mother of a child!" chapter xxix a master of fate there is not the slightest doubt, miss wynn," senator smith was saying, "but that the schools of the district will be reorganized." "and the board of education abolished?" she added. "yes. the power will be delegated to a single white superintendent." the vertical line in caroline wynn's forehead became pronounced. "whose work is this, senator?" she asked. "well, there are, of course, various parties back of the change: the ' outs,' the reformers, the whole tendency to concentrate responsibility, and so on. but, frankly, the deciding factor was the demand of the south." "is there anything in washington that the south does not already own?" senator smith smiled thinly. "not much," drily; "but we own the south." "and part of the price is putting the colored schools of the district in the hands of a southern man and de- priving us of all voice in their control?" "precisely, miss wynn. but you 'd be surprised to know that it was the negroes themselves who stirred the south to this demand." [ ] the quest of the silver fleece "yes." "now, the party has dropped the bill for good, and alwyn does n't like it. if he should attack the party —" "but he would n't," cried miss wynn with a start that belied her conviction. "did you know that he is to be invited to make the principal address to the graduates of the colored high- school?" "but " she objected, " they have selected bishop john- son; i —" "i know you did," laughed the senator, "but the judge got orders from higher up." "shrewd mr. teerswell," remarked miss wynn, sagely. "shrewd mr. stillings," the senator corrected; "but perhaps too shrewd. suppose mr. alwyn should take this occasion to make a thorough defence of the party?" "but —will he?" "that's where you come in," senator smith pointed out, rising, " and the real reason of this interview. we 're depending on you to pull the party out of an awkward hole," and he shook hands with his caller. miss wynn walked slowly up pennsylvania avenue with a smile on her face. "i did not give him the credit," she declared, repeat- ing it; "i did not give him the credit. here i was, playing an alluring game on the side, and my dear tom transforms it into a struggle for bread and butter; for of course, if the board of education goes, i lose my place." she lifted her head and stared along the avenue. a bitterness dawned in her eyes. the whole street was a living insult to her. here she was, an american girl by birth and breeding, a daughter of citizens who had fought and bled and worked for a dozen generations a master of fate on this soil; yet if she stepped into this hotel to rest, even with full purse, she would be politely refused accommo- dation. should she attempt to go into this picture show she would be denied entrance. she was thirsty with the walk; but at yonder fountain the clerk would roughly refuse to serve her. it was lunch time; there was no place within a mile where she was allowed to eat. the revolt deepened within her. beyond these known and definite discriminations lay the unknown and hovering. in yonder store nothing hindered the clerk from being exceptionally pert; on yonder street-car the conductor might reserve his politeness for white folk; this police- man's business was to keep black and brown people in their places. all this caroline wynn thought of, and then smiled. this was the thing poor blind bles was trying to at- tack by "appeals" for "justice." nonsense! does one "appeal" to the red-eyed beast that throttles him? no. he composes himself, looks death in the eye, and speaks softly, on the chance. whereupon miss wynn composed herself, waved gayly at a passing acquaintance, and matched some ribbons in a department store. the clerk was new and anxious to sell. meantime her brain was busy. she had a hard task before her. alwyn's absurd conscience and quixotic ideas were difficult to cope with. after his last indiscreet talk she had ventured deftly to remonstrate, and she well remembered the conversation. "was n't what i said true?" he had asked. "perfectly. is that an excuse for saying it?" "the facts ought to be known." "yes, but ought you to tell them?" "if not i, who?" the quest of the silver fleece "some one who is less useful elsewhere, and whom i like less." "carrie," he had been intensely earnest. "i want to do the best thing, but i 'm puzzled. i wonder if i 'm sell- ing my birthright for six thousand dollars?" "in case of doubt, do it." "but there 's the doubt: i may convert; i may open the eyes of the blind; i may start a crusade for negro rights." "don't believe it; it's useless; we'll never get our rights in this land." "you don't believe that! " he had ejaculated, shocked. well, she must begin again. as she had hoped, he was waiting for her when she reached home. she wel- comed him cordially, made a little music for him, and served tea. "bles," she said, "the opposition has been laying a pretty shrewd trap for you." "what?" he asked absently. "they are going to have you chosen as high school commencement orator." "me? stuff!" "you — and not stuff, but 'education' will be your natural theme. indeed, they have so engineered it that the party chiefs expect from you a defence of their dropping of the educational bill." "what!" "yes, and probably your nomination will come before the speech and confirmation after." bles walked the floor excitedly for a while and then sat down and smiled. "it was a shrewd move," he said; "but i think i thank them for it." a master of fate "i don't. but still, "' 't is the sport to see the engineer hoist by his own petar.'" bles mused and she watched him covertly. suddenly she leaned over. "moreover," she said, " about that same date i 'm lia- ble to lose my position as teacher." he looked at her quickly, and she explained the com- ing revolution in school management. he did not discuss the matter, and she was equally reticent; but when he entered the doors of his lodging- place and, gathering his mail, slowly mounted the stairs, there came the battle of his life. he knew it and he tried to wage it coolly and with method. he arrayed the arguments side by side: on this side lay success; the greatest office ever held by a negro in america — greater than douglass or bruce or lynch had held — a landmark, a living example and inspiration. a man owed the world success; there were plenty who could fail and stumble and give multiple excuses. should he be one? he viewed the other side. what must he pay for success? aye, face it boldly — what? mechanically he searched for his mail and undid the latest number of the colored american. he was sure the answer stood there in teerswell's biting vulgar english. and there it was, with a cartoon: his master's voice alwyn is ordered to eat his words or get out watch him do it gracefully the republican leaders, etc. he threw down his paper, and the hot blood sang in his ears. the sickening thought was that it was true. if the quest of the silver fleece ered on her lips. was it possible that the price of alwyn's manhood would be her husband's appointment to paris? and if it were? "i 'll do what i can," she said graciously; "but i am afraid that will not be much." miss wynn hesitated. she had not succeeded even in guessing the source of mrs. vanderpool's interest in alwyn, and without that her appeal was but blind grop- ing. she stopped on her way to the door to admire a bronze statuette and find time to think. "you are interested in bronzes?" asked mrs. van- derpool. "oh, no; i 'm far too poor. but i 've dabbled a bit in sculpture." "indeed?" mrs. vanderpool revealed a mild interest, and miss wynn was compelled to depart with little en- lightenment. on the way up town she concluded that there was but one chance of success: she must write alwyn's speech. with characteristic decision she began her plans at once. "what will you say in your speech?" she asked him that night as he rose to go. he looked at her and she wavered slightly under his black eyes. the fight was becoming a little too desper- ate even for her steady nerves. "you would not like me to act dishonestly, would you?" he asked. "no," she involuntarily replied, regretting the word the moment she had uttered it. he gave her one of his rare sweet smiles, and, rising, before she realized his intent, he had kissed her hands and was gone. she asked herself why she had been so foolish; and a master of fate yet, somehow, sitting there alone in the firelight, she felt glad for once that she had risen above intrigue. then she sighed and smiled, and began to plot anew. teerswell dropped in later and brought his friend, stillings. they found their hostess gay and entertaining. miss wynn gathered books about her, and in the days of april and may she and alwyn read up on education. he marvelled at the subtlety of her mind, and she at the relentlessness of his. they were very near each other during these days, and yet there was ever something be- tween them: a vision to him of dark and pleading eyes that he constantly saw beside her cool, keen glance. and he to her was always two men: one man above men, whom she could respect but would not marry, and one man like all men, whom she would marry but could not respect. his devotion to an ideal which she thought so utterly unpractical, aroused keen curiosity and admiration. she was sure he would fail in the end, and she wanted him to fail; and somehow, somewhere back beyond herself, her better self longed to find herself defeated; to see this mind stand firm on principle, under circumstances where she believed men never stood. deep within her she discovered at times a passionate longing to believe in somebody; yet she found herself bending every energy to pull this man down to the level of time-servers, and even as she failed, feeling something like contempt for his stubbornness. the great day came. he had her notes, her sugges- tions, her hints, but she had no intimation of what he would finally say. "will you come to hear me?" he asked. "no," she murmured. the quest of the silver fleece "that is best," he said, and then he added slowly, "i would not like you ever to despise me." she answered sharply: "i want to despise you!" did he understand? she was not sure. she was sorry she had said it; but she meant it fiercely. then he left her, for it was already four in the afternoon and he spoke at eight. in the morning she came down early, despite some dawdling over her toilet. she brought the morning paper into the dining-room and sat down with it, sipping her coffee. she leaned back and looked leisurely at the head- ings. there was nothing on the front page but a divorce, a revolution, and a new trust. she took another sip of her coffee, and turned the page. there it was, " colored high schools close — vicious attack on republican party by negro orator." she laid the paper aside and slowly finished her coffee. a few minutes later she went to her desk and sat there so long that she started at hearing the clock strike nine. the day passed. when she came home from school she bought an evening paper. she was not surprised to learn that the senate had rejected alwyn's nomination; that samuel stillings had been nominated and confirmed as register of the treasury, and that mr. tom teers- well was to be his assistant. also the bill reorganizing the school board had passed. she wrote two notes and posted them as she went out to walk. when she reached home stillings was there, and they talked earnestly. the bell rang violently. teerswell rushed in. "well, carrie!" he cried eagerly. "well, tom," she responded, giving him a languid hand. stillings rose and departed. teerswell nodded and said: a master of fate "well, what do you think of last night?" "a great speech, i hear." "a fool speech — that speech cost him, i calculate, between twenty-four and forty-eight thousand dollars." "possibly he 's satisfied with his bargain." "possibly. are you?" "with his bargain?" quickly. "yes." "no," he pressed her, "with your bargain?" "what bargain?" she parried. "to marry him." "oh, no; that's off." "is it off?" cried teerswell delightedly. "good! it was foolish from the first — that black country —" "gently," miss wynn checked him. "i 'm not yet over the habit." "come. see what i 've bought. you know i have a salary now." he produced a ring with a small diamond cluster. "how pretty!" she said, taking it and looking at it. then she handed it back. he laughed gayly. "it's yours, carrie. you 're going to marry me." she looked at him queerly. "am i? but i 've got another ring already," she said. "oh, send alwyn's back." "i have. this is still another." and uncovering her hand she showed a ring with a large and beautiful dia- mond. he rose. "whose is that?" he demanded apprehen- sively. "mine —" her eyes met his. "but who gave it to you?" "mr. stillings," was the soft reply. the quest of the silver fleece he stared at her helplessly. "i — i — don't under- stand!" he stammered. "well, to be brief, i 'm engaged to mr. stillings." "what! to that flat-headed —" "no," she coolly interrupted, "to the register of the treasury." the man was too dumbfounded, too overwhelmed for coherent speech. "but — but — come; why in god's name — will you throw yourself away on — on such a — you're joking — you —" she motioned him to a chair. he obeyed like one in a trance. "now, tom, be calm. when i was a baby i loved you, but that is long ago. to-day, tom, you 're an insufferable cad and i — well, i 'm too much like you to have two of us in the same family." "but, stillings!" he burst forth, almost in tears. "the snake — what is he?" "nearly as bad as you, i 'll admit; but he has four thousand a year and sense enough to keep it. in truth, i need it; for, thanks to your political activity, my own position is gone." "but he'sa — a damned rascal!" wounded self-con- ceit was now getting the upper hand. she laughed. "i think he is. but he 's such an exceptional rascal; he appeals to me. you know, tom, we 're all more or less rascally — except one." "except who?" he asked quickly. "bles alwyn." "the fool!" "yes," she slowly agreed. "bles alwyn, the fool — chapter xxx the return of zora i never realized before just what a lie meant," said zora. the paper in mrs. vanderpool's hands fell quickly quickly to her lap, and she gazed across the toilet-table. as she gazed that odd mirage of other days haunted her again. she did not seem to see her maid, nor the white and satin morning-room. she saw, with some long inner sight, a vast hall with mighty pillars; a smooth, marbled floor and a great throng whose silent eyes looked curiously upon her. strange carven beasts gazed on from a setting of rich, barbaric splendor and she herself — the liar — lay in rags before the gold and ivory of that lofty throne whereon sat zora. the foolish phantasy passed with the second of time that brought it, and mrs. vanderpool's eyes dropped again to her paper, to those lines,— "the president has sent the following nominations to the senate . . . to be ambassador to france, john vanderpool, esq." the first feeling of triumph thrilled faintly again un- til the low voice of zora startled her. it was so low and calm, it came as though journeying from great distances and weary with travel. [ ] the return of zora "when you leave for the summer." mrs. vanderpool looked out upon the beautiful city. she was a little surprised at herself. she had found herself willing to sacrifice almost anything for zora. no living soul had ever raised in her so deep an affection, and yet she knew now that, although the cost was great, she was willing to sacrifice zora for paris. after all, it was not too late; a rapid ride even now might secure high office for alwyn and make cresswell ambassador. it would be difficult but possible. but she had not the slightest inclination to attempt it, and she said aloud, half mockingly: "you are right, zora. i promised — and — i lied. liars have no place in heaven and heaven is doubtless a beautiful place — but oh, zora! you have n't seen paris!" two months later they parted simply, knowing well it was forever. mrs. vanderpool wrote a check. "use this in your work," she said. "miss smith asked for it long ago. it is — my campaign contribution." zora smiled and thanked her. as she put the sealed envelope in her trunk her hand came in contact with a long untouched package. zora took it out silently and opened it and the beauty of it lightened the room. "it is the silver fleece," said zora, and mrs. van- derpool kissed her and went. zora walked alone to the vaulted station. she did not try to buy a pullman ticket, although the journey was thirty-six hours. she knew it would be difficult if not impossible and she preferred to share the lot of her peo- ple. once on the foremost car, she leaned back and looked. the car seemed clean and comfortable but strangely short. then she realized that half of it was the return of zora forward through the car as through a thoroughfare. they talked loudly and laughed and joked, and if they did not smoke they carried their lighted cigars. at her they stared and made comments, and one of them came and lounged almost over her seat, inquiring where she was going. she did not reply; she neither looked nor stirred, but kept whispering to herself with something like awe: "this is what they must endure — my poor people!" at lynchburg a newsboy boarded the train with his wares. the conductor had already appropriated two seats for himself, and the newsboy routed out two colored passengers, and usurped two other seats. then he began to be especially annoying. he joked and wrestled with the porter, and on every occasion pushed his wares at zora, insisting on her buying. "ain't,you got no money?" he asked. "where you going?" "say," he whispered another time, "don't you want to buy these gold spectacles? i found 'em and i dassen't sell 'em open, see? they 're worth ten dollars — take 'em for a dollar." zora sat still, keeping her eyes on the window; but her hands worked nervously, and when he threw a book with a picture of a man and half-dressed woman directly under her eyes, she took it and dropped it out of the window. the boy started to storm and demanded pay, while the conductor glared at her; but a white man in the conductor's seat whispered something, and the row sud- denly stopped. a gang of colored section hands got on, dirty and loud. they sprawled about and smoked, drank, and the quest of the silver fleece bought candy and cheap gewgaws. they eyed her respectfully, and with one of them she talked a little as he awkwardly fingered his cap. as the day wore on zora found herself strangely weary. it was not simply the unpleasant things that kept hap- pening, but the continued apprehension of unknown pos- sibilities. then, too, she began to realize that she had had nothing to eat. travelling with mrs. vanderpool there was always a dainty lunch to be had at call. she did not expect this, but she asked the porter: "do you know where i can get a lunch?" "search me," he answered, lounging into a seat. "ain't no chance betwixt here and danville as i knows on." zora viewed her plight with a certain dismay — twelve hours without food! how foolish of her not to have thought of this. the hours passed. she turned desper- ately to the gruff conductor. "could i buy a lunch from the dining-car?" she inquired. "no," was the curt reply. she made herself as comfortable as she could, and tried to put the matter from her mind. she remembered how, forgotten years ago, she had often gone a day without eat- ing and thought little of it. night came slowly, and she fell to dreaming until the cry came, " charlotte! change cars!" she scrambled out. there was no step to the platform, her bag was heavy, and the porter was busy helping the white folks to alight. she saw a dingy lunch- room marked " colored," but she had no time to go to it for her train was ready. there was another colored porter on this, and he was very polite and affable. the return of zora "yes, miss; certainly i 'll fetch you a lunch — plenty of time." and he did. it did not look clean but zora was ravenous. the white smoker now had few occupants, but the white train crew proceeded to use the colored coach as a lounging-room and slccping-car. there was no passen- ger except zora. they took off their coats, stretched themselves on the seats, and exchanged jokes; but zora was too tired to notice much, and she was dozing wearily when she felt a touch on the arm and found the porter in the seat beside her with his arm thrown familiarly behind her along the top of the back. she rose abruptly to her feet and he started up. "i beg pardon," he said, grinning. zora sat slowly down as he got up and left. she de- termined to sleep no more. yet a vast vision sank on her weary spirit — the vision of a dark cloud that dropped and dropped upon her, and lay as lead along her straining shoulders. she must lift it, she knew, though it were big as a world, and she put her strength to it and groaned as the porter cried in the ghostly morning light: "atlanta! all change!" away yonder at the school near toomsville, miss smith sat waiting for the coming of zora, absently attending the duties of the office. dark little heads and hands bobbed by and soft voices called: "miss smith, i wants a penny pencil." "miss smith, is yo' got a speller fo' ten cents?" "miss smith, mammy say please lemme come to school this week and she 'll sho' pay sata'day." yet the little voices that summoned her back to earth were less clamorous than in other years, for the school /-' the quest of the silver fleece was far from full, and miss smith observed the falling off with grave eyes. this condition was patently the result of the cotton corner and the subsequent manipula- tion. when cotton rose, the tenants had already sold their cotton; when cotton fell the landlords squeezed the rations and lowered the wages. when cotton rose again, up went the new spring rent contracts. so it was that the bewildered black serf dawdled in listless inability to understand. the cresswells in their new wealth, the max- wells and tollivers in the new pinch of poverty, stretched long arms to gather in the tenants and their children. excuse after excuse came to the school. "i can't send the chilluns dis term, miss smith; dey has to work." "mr. cresswell won't allow will to go to school this term." "mr. tolliver done put sam in the field." and so miss smith contemplated many empty desks. slowly a sort of fatal inaction seized her. the school went on; daily the dark little cloud of scholars rose up from hill and vale and settled in the white buildings; the hum of voices and the busy movements of industrious teachers filled the day; the office work went on methodi- cally; but back of it all miss smith sat half hopeless. it cost five thousand a year to run the school, and this sum she raised with increasingly greater difficulty. extra and heart-straining effort had been needed to raise the eight hundred dollars additional for interest money on the mort- gage last year. next year it might have to come out of the regular income and thus cut off two teachers. beyond all this the raising of ten thousand dollars to satisfy the mortgage seemed simply impossible, and miss smith sat in fatal resignation, awaiting the coming day. the return of zora "it's the lord's work. i 've done what i could. i guess if he wants it to go on, he 'll find a way. and if he does n't —" she looked off across the swamp and was silent. then came zora's letter, simple and brief, but breath- ing youth and strength of purpose. miss smith seized upon it as an omen of salvation. in vain her shrewd new england reason asked: "what can a half-taught blacky girl do in this wilderness?" her heart answered back: "what is impossible to youth and resolution?" let the shabbiness increase; let the debts pile up; let the board- ers complain and the teachers gossip — zora was com- ing. and somehow she and zora would find a way. and zora came just as the sun threw its last crimson through the black swamp; came and gathered the frail and white-haired woman in her arms; and they wept to- gether. long and low they talked, far into the soft southern night; sitting shaded beneath the stars, while nearby blinked the drowsy lights of the girls' dormitory. at last miss smith said, rising stiffly: "i forgot to ask about mrs. vanderpool. how is she, and where?" zora murmured some answer; but as she went to bed in her little white room she sat wondering sadly. where was the poor spoiled woman? who was putting her to bed and smoothing the pillow? who was caring for her, and what was she doing? and zora strained her eyes northward through the night. at this moment, mrs. vanderpool, rising from a gala dinner in the brilliant drawing-room of her lake george mansion, was reading the evening paper which her husband had put into her hands. with startled eyes she caught the impudent headlines: r the quest of the silver fleece vanderpool dropped senate refuses to confirm todd insurgents muster enough votes to defeat confirmation of president's nominee rumored revenge for machine's defeat of child labor bill amendment. the paper trembled in her jewelled hands. she glanced down the column. "todd asks: who is vanderpool, anyhow? what did he ever do? he is known only as a selfish millionaire who thinks more of horses than of men." carelessly mrs. vanderpool threw the paper to the floor and bit her lips as the angry blood dyed her face. "they shall confirm him," she whispered, "if i have to mortgage my immortal soul!" and she rang up long distance on the telephone. chapter xxxi a parting of ways was the child born dead?" "worse than dead!" somehow, somewhere, mary cresswell had heard these words; long, long, ago, down there in the great pain-swept shadows of utter agony, where earth seemed slipping its moorings; and now, to-day, she lay repeat- ing them mechanically, grasping vaguely at their mean- ing. long she had wrestled with them as they twisted and turned and knotted themselves, and she worked and toiled so hard as she lay there to make the thing clear — to understand. "was the child born dead?" "worse than dead!" then faint and fainter whisperings: what could be worse than death? she had tried to ask the grey old doctor, but he soothed her like a child each day and left her ly- ing there. to-day she was stronger, and for the first time sitting up, looking listlessly out across the world — a queer world. why had they not let her see the child — just one look at its little dead face? that would have been something. and again, as the doctor cheerily turned to go, she sought to repeat the old question. he looked at her sharply, then interrupted, saying kindly: [ ] the quest of the silver fleece "there, now; you 've been dreaming. you must rest quietly now." and with a nod he passed into the other room to talk with her husband. she was not satisfied. she had not been dreaming. she would tell harry to ask him — she did not often see her husband, but she must ask him now and she arose unsteadily and swayed noiselessly across the floor. a moment she leaned against the door, then opened it slightly. from the other side the words came distinctly and clearly: "— other children, doctor?" "you must have no other children, mr. cresswell." "why?" "because the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children unto the third and fourth generation." slowly, softly, she crept away. her mind seemed very clear. and she began a long journey to reach her win- dow and chair — a long, long journey; but at last she sank into the chair again and sat dry-eyed, wondering who had conceived this world and made it, and why. a long time afterward she found herself lying in bed, awake, conscious, clear-minded. yet she thought as little as possible, for that little was pain; but she listened gladly, for without she heard the solemn beating of the sea, the mighty rhythmic beating of the sea. long days she lay, and sat and walked beside those vast and speak- ing waters, till at last she knew their voice and they spoke to her and the sea-calm soothed her soul. for one brief moment of her life she saw herself clearly: a well-meaning woman, ambitious, but curiously narrow; not willing to work long for the vision, but leaping at it rashly, blindly, with a deep-seated sense of duty which she made a source of offence by preening and parading a parting of ways s it, and forcing it to ill-timed notice. she saw that she had looked on her husband as a means not an end. she had wished to absorb him and his work for her own glory. she had idealized for her own uses a very human man whose life had been full of sin and fault. she must atone. no sooner, in this brief moment, did she see herself honestly than her old habits swept her on tumultuously. no ordinary atonement would do. the sacrifice must be vast; the world must stand in wonder before this clever woman sinking her soul in another and raising him by sheer will to the highest. so after six endless months mary cresswell walked into, her washington home again. she knew she had changed in appearance, but she had forgotten to note how much until she saw the stare — almost the recoil — of her hus- band, the muttered exclamation, the studied, almost over- done welcome. then she went up to her mirror and looked long, and knew. she was strong; she felt well; but she was slight, al- most scrawny, and her beauty was gone forever. it had been of that blonde white-and-pink type that fades in a flash, and its going left her body flattened and angular, her skin drawn and dead white, her eyes sunken. from the radiant girl whom cresswell had met three years earlier the change was startling, and yet the contrast seemed even greater than it was, for her glory then had been her abundant and almost golden hair. now that hair was faded, and falling so fast that at last the doctor advised her to cut it short. this left her ill-shaped head exposed and emphasized the sunken hollows of her face. she knew that she was changed but she did not quite realize how changed, until now as she stood and gazed. yet she did not hesitate but from that moment set the quest of the silver fleece herself to her new life task. characteristically, she started dramatically and largely. she was to make her life an endless sacrifice; she was to revivify the manhood in harry cresswell, and all this for no return, no partnership of soul — all was to be complete sacrifice and sinking of soul in soul. if mary cresswell had attempted less she would have accomplished more. as it was, she began well; she went to work tactfully, seeming to note no change in his man- ner toward her; but his manner had changed. he was studiously, scrupulously polite in private, and in public devoted; but there was no feeling, no passion, no love. the polished shell of his clan reflected conventional light even more carefully than formerly because the shell was cold and empty. there were no little flashes of anger now, no poutings nor sweet reconciliations. life ran very smoothly and courteously; and while she did not try to regain the affection, she strove to enthrall his intellect. she supplied a sub-committee upon which he was serving — not directly, but through him — with figures, with reports, books, and papers, so that he received special commenda- tions; a praise that piqued as well as pleased him, be- cause it implied a certain surprise that he was able to do it. "the damned yankees!" he sneered. "they think they 've got the brains of the nation." "why not make a speech on the subject?" she sug- gested. he laughed. the matter under discussion was the cotton-goods schedule of the new tariff bill, about which really he knew a little; his wife placed every tempta- tion to knowledge before him, even inspiring senator smith to ask him to defend that schedule against the low- a parting of ways tariff advocate. mary cresswell worked with redoubled energy, and for nearly a week harry staid at home nights and studied. thanks to his wife the speech was unusually informing and well put, and the fact that a prominent free-trader spoke the same afternoon gave it publicity, while mr. easterly saw to the press despatches. cresswell subscribed to a clipping-bureau and tasted the sweets of dawning notoriety, and mrs. cresswell ar- ranged a select dinner-party which included a cabinet officer, a foreign ambassador, two millionaires, and the leading southern congressmen. the talk came around to the failure of the senate to confirm mr. vanderpool, and it was generally assumed that the president would not force the issue. who, then, should be nominated? there were several suggestions, but the knot of southern congressmen about mrs. cresswell declared emphatically that it must be a southerner. not since the war had a prominent south- erner represented america at a first-class foreign court; it was shameful; the time was ripe for change. but who? here opinions differed widely. nearly every one men- tioned a candidate, and those who did not seemed to refrain from motives of personal modesty. mary cresswell sped her departing guests with a dis- tinct purpose in mind. she must make herself leader of the southern set in washington and concentrate its whole force on the appointment of harry cresswell as ambassador to france. quick reward and promotion were essential to harry's success. he was not one to keep up the strain of effort a long time. unless, then, tangible results came and came quickly, he was liable to relapse into old habits. therefore he must succeed and succeed at once. she would have preferred a less orna- the quest of the silver fleece mental position than the ambassadorship, but there were no other openings. the alabama senators were firmly seated for at least four years and the governorship had been carefully arranged for. a term of four years abroad, however, might bring harry cresswell back in time for greater advancement. at any rate, it was the only tangi- ble offering, and mary cresswell silently determined to work for it. here it was that she made her mistake. it was one thing for her to be a tactful hostess, pleasing her hus- band and his guests; it was another for her to aim openly at social leadership and political influence. she had at first all the insignia of success. her dinners became of real political significance and her husband figured more and more as a leading southerner. the result was two- fold. cresswell, on the one hand, with his usual selfish- ness, took his rising popularity as a matter of course and as the fruits of his own work; he was rising, he was making valuable speeches, he was becoming a social power, and his only handicap was his plain and over-ambitious wife. but on the other hand mrs. cresswell forgot two pitfalls: the cleft between the old southern aristocracy and the pushing new southerners; and above all, her own northern birth and presumably pro-negro sympathies. what mrs. cresswell forgot mrs. vanderpool sensed unerringly. she had heard with uneasiness of cresswell's renewed candidacy for the paris ambassadorship, and she set herself to block it. she had worked hard. the presi- dent stood ready to send her husband's appointment again to the senate whenever easterly could assure him of fav- orable action. easterly had long and satisfactory inter- views with several senators, while the todd insurgents were losing heart at the prospect of choosing between a parting of ways vanderpool and cresswell. at present four southern votes were needed to confirm vanderpool; but if they could not be had, easterly declared it would be good politics to nominate cresswell and give him republican support. manifestly, then, mrs. vanderpool's task was to discredit the cresswells with the southerners. it was not a work to her liking, but the die was cast and she refused to contemplate defeat. the result was that while mrs. cresswell was giving large and brilliant parties to the whole southern con- tingent, mrs. vanderpool was engineering exclusive din- ners where old new york met stately charleston and gossiped interestingly. on such occasions it was hinted not once, but many times, that the cresswells were well enough, but who was that upstart wife who presumed to take social precedence? it was not, however, until mrs. cresswell's plan for an all-southern art exhibit in washington that mrs. vanderpool, in a flash of inspiration, saw her chance. in the annual exhibit of the corcoran art gallery, a south- ern girl had nearly won first prize over a western man. the concensus of southern opinion was that the judg- ment had been unfair, and mrs. cresswell was convinced of this. with quick intuition she suggested a southern exhibit with such social prestige back of it as to impress the country. the proposal caught the imagination of the southern set. none suspected a possible intrusion of the eternal race issue for no negroes were allowed in the corcoran exhibit or school. this mrs. vanderpool easily ascer- tained and a certain sense of justice combined in a curious way with her political intrigue to bring about the undoing of mary cresswell. the quest of the silver fleece mrs. vanderpool's very first cautious inquiries by way of the back stairs brought gratifying response — for did not all black washington know well of the work in sculpture done by mrs. samuel stillings, nee wynn? mrs. vanderpool remembered mrs. stillings perfectly, and she walked, that evening, through unobtrusive thor- oughfares and called on mrs. stillings. had mrs. still- ings heard of the new art movement? did she intend to exhibit? mrs. stillings did not intend to exhibit as she was sure she would not be welcome. she had had a bust accepted by the corcoran art gallery once, and when they found she was colored they returned it. but if she were especially invited? that would make a difference, al- though even then the line would be drawn somehow. "would it not be worth a fight?" suggested mrs. vanderpool with a little heightening of color in her pale cheek. "perhaps," said mrs. stillings, as she brought out some specimens of her work. mrs. vanderpool was both ashamed and grateful. with money and leisure mrs. stillings had been able to get in new york and boston the training she had been denied in washington on account of her color. the things she exhibited really had merit and one curiously original group appealed to mrs. vanderpool tremen- dously. "send it," she counseled with strangely contradictory feelings of enthusiasm, and added: "enter it under the name of wynn." in addition to the general invitations to the art ex- hibit numbers of special ones were issued to promising southern amateurs who had never exhibited. for these a prize of a long-term scholarship and other smaller prizes the quest of the silver fleece deserving creature. she would call on her immediately, and by an offer of abundant help induce her to withdraw quietly. entering her motor, she drove near the address and then proceeded on foot. the street was a prominent one, the block one of the best, the house almost pretentious. she glanced at her memorandum again to see if she was mistaken. perhaps the woman was a domestic; probably she was, for the name on the door was stillings. it oc- curred to her that she had heard that name before — but where? she looked again at her memorandum and at the house. she rang the bell, asking the trim black maid: "is there a person named caroline wynn living in this house?" the girl smiled and hesitated. "yes, ma'am," she finally replied. "won't you come in?" she was shown into the parlor, where she sat down. the room was most interesting, furnished in unimpeach- able taste. a few good pictures were on the walls, and mrs. cresswell was examining one when she heard the swish of silken skirts. a lady with gold brown face and straight hair stood before her with pleasant smile. where had mrs. cresswell seen her before? she tried to remem- ber, but could not. "you wished to see — caroline wynn?" "yes." "what can i do for you?" mrs. cresswell groped for her proper cue, but the brown lady merely offered a chair and sat down silently. mrs. cresswell's perplexity increased. she had been planning to descend graciously but authoritatively upon some shrinking girl, but this woman not only seemed to assume a parting of ways equality but actually looked it. from a rapid survey, mrs. cresswell saw a black silk stocking, a bit of lace, a tailor-made gown, and a head with two full black eyes that waited in calmly polite expectancy. something had to be said. "i — er — came; that is, i believe you sent a group to the art exhibit?" "yes." "it was good — very good." miss wynn said nothing, but sat calmly looking at her visitor. mrs. cresswell felt irritated. "of course," she managed to continue, "we are very sorry that we cannot receive it." "indeed? i understood it had taken the first prize." mrs. cresswell was aghast. who had rushed the news to this woman? she realized that there were depths to this matter that she did not understand and her irritation increased. "you know that we could not give the prize to a — negro." "why not?" "that is quite immaterial. social equality cannot be forced. at the same time i recognize the injustice, and i have come to say that if you will withdraw your exhibit you will be given a scholarship in a boston school." "i do not wish it." "well, what do you want?" "i was not aware that i had asked for anything." mrs. cresswell felt herself getting angry. "why did you send your exhibit when you knew it was not wanted?" "because you asked me to." "we did not ask for colored people." .-■ the quest of the silver fleece "you asked all southern-born persons. i am a per- son and i am southern born. moreover, you sent me a personal letter." mrs. cresswell was sure that this was a lie and was thoroughly incensed. "you cannot have the prize," she almost snapped. "if you will withdraw i will pay you any reasonable sum." "thank you. i do not want money; i want justice." mrs. cresswell arose and her face was white. "that is the trouble with you negroes: you wish to get above your places and force yourselves where you are not wanted. it does no good, it only makes trouble and enemies." mrs. cresswell stopped, for the colored wo- man had gone quietly out of the room and in a moment the maid entered and stood ready. mrs. cresswell walked slowly to the door and stepped out. then she turned. "what does miss wynn do for a living?" the girl tittered. "she used to teach school but she don't do nothing now. she 's just married; her husband is mr. stillings, register of the treasury." mrs. cresswell saw light as she turned to go down the steps. there was but one resource — she must keep the matter out of the newspapers, and see stillings, whom she now remembered well. "i beg pardon, does the miss wynn live here who got the prize in the art exhibition?" mrs. cresswell turned in amazement. it was evidently a reporter, and the maid was admitting him. the news would reach the papers and be blazoned to-morrow. slowly she sought her motor and fell wearily back on its cushions. a parting of ways "where to, madame?" asked the chauffeur. "i don't care," returned madame; so the chauffeur took her home. she walked slowly up the stairs. all her carefully laid plans seemed about to be thwarted and her castles were leaning toward ruin. yet all was not lost, if her husband continued to be- lieve in her. if, as she feared, he should suspect her on account of this negro woman, and quarrel with her — but he must not. this very night, before the morning papers came out, she must explain. he must see; he must appreciate her efforts. she rushed into her dressing-room and called her maid. contrary to her puritan notions, she frankly sought to beautify herself. she remembered that it was the an- niversary of her coming to this house. she got out her wedding-dress, and although it hung loosely, the maid draped the silver fleece beautifully about her. she heard her husband enter and come up-stairs. quickly finishing her toilet, she hurried down to arrange the flowers, for they were alone that night. the tele- phone rang. she knew it would ring up-stairs in his room, but she usually answered it for he disliked to. she raised the receiver and started to speak when she realized that she had broken into the midst of a conversation. "— committee won't meet to-night, harry." "so? all right. anything on?" "yes — big spree at nell's. will you go?" "sure thing; you know me! what time?" "meet us at the willard by nine. s'long." "good-bye." she slowly, half guiltily, replaced the receiver. she had not meant to listen, but now to her desperate longing the quest of the silver fleece to keep him home was added a new motive. where was "nell's "? what was " nell's "? what was — and there was fear in her heart. at dinner she tried all her powers on him. she had his favorite dishes; she mixed his salad and selected his wine; she talked interestingly, and lis- tened sympathetically, to him. he looked at her with more attention. her cheeks were more brilliant, for she had touched them with rouge. her eyes flashed; but he glanced furtively at her short hair. she saw the act; but still she strove until he was content and laughing; then coming round back of his chair, she placed her arms about his neck. "harry, will you do me a favor?" "why, yes — if —" "it is something i want very, very much." "well, all right, if— » "harry, i feel a little — hysterical to-night, and — you will not refuse me, will you, harry?" standing there, she saw the tableau in her own mind, and it looked strange. she was afraid of herself. she knew that she would do something foolish if she did not win this battle. she felt that overpowering fanaticism back within her raging restlessly. if she was not careful — "but what is it you want? " asked her husband. "i don't want you to go out to-night." he laughed awkwardly. "nonsense, girl! the sub-committee on the cotton schedule meets to-night — very important; otherwise —" she shuddered at the smooth lie and clasped him closer, putting her cheek to his. "harry," she pleaded, "just this once — for me." he disengaged himself, half impatiently, and rose, a parting of ways glancing at the clock. it was nearly nine. a feeling of desperation came over her. "harry," she asked again as he slipped on his coat. "don't be foolish," he growled. "just this once — harry — i —" but the door banged to, and he was gone. she stood looking at the closed door a moment. some- thing in her head was ready to snap. she went to the rack and taking his long heavy overcoat slipped it on. it nearly touched the floor. she seized a soft broad- brimmed hat and umbrella and walked out. just what she meant to do she did not know, but somehow she must save her husband and herself from evil. she hurried to the willard hotel and watched, walking up and down the op- posite sidewalk. a woman brushed by her and looked her in the face. "hell! i thought you was a man," she said. "is this a new gag?" mrs. cresswell looked down at herself involuntarily and smiled wanly. she did look like a man, with her hat and coat and short hair. the woman peered at her doubtingly. she was, as mrs. cresswell noticed, a young woman, once pretty, perhaps, and a little over-dressed. "are you walking?" she asked. "what do you mean?" asked mrs. cresswell, and then in a moment it flashed upon her. she took the woman's arm and walked with her. suddenly she stopped. "where's —nell's?" the woman frowned. "oh, that's a swell place," she said, "senators and millionaires. too high for us to fly." mrs. cresswell winced. "but where is it?" she asked. "we 'll walk by it if you want to." the quest of the silver fleece and mary cresswell walked in another world. up from the ground of the drowsy city rose pale gray forms; pale, flushed, and brilliant, in silken rags. up and down they passed, to and fro, looking and gliding like sheeted ghosts; now dodging policemen, now accosting them familiarly. "hello, elise," growled one big blue-coat. "hello, jack." "what's this?" and he peered at mrs. cresswell, who shrank back. "friend of mine. all right." a horror crept over mary cresswell: where had she lived that she had seen so little before? what was wash- ington, and what was this fine, tall, quiet residence? was this — " nell's "? "yes, this is it — good-bye — i must — "wait — what is your name?" "i have n't any name," answered the woman sus- piciously. "well — pardon me! here!" and she thrust a bill into the woman's hand. the girl stared. "well, you 're a queer one! thanks. guess i 'll turn in." mary cresswell turned to see her husband and his com- panions ascending the steps of the quiet mansion. she stood uncertainly and looked at the opening and closing door. then a policeman came by and looked at her. "come, move on," he brusquely ordered. her vacilla- tion promptly vanished, and she resolutely mounted the steps. she put out her hand to ring, but the door flew silently open and a man-servant stood looking at her. "i have some friends here," she said, speaking coarsely. "you will have to be introduced," said the man. she a parting of ways hesitated and started to turn away. thrusting her hand in her pocket it closed upon her husband's card-case. she presented a card. it worked a rapid transformation in the servant's manner, which did not escape her. "come in," he invited her. she did not stop at the outstretched arm of the cloak- man, but glided quickly up the stairs toward a vision of handsome women and strains of music. harry cresswell was sitting opposite and bending over an impudent blue- and-blonde beauty. mary slipped straight across to him and leaned across the table. the hat fell off, but she let it go. "harry!" she tried to say as he looked up. then the table swayed gently to and fro; the room bowed and whirled about; the voices grew fainter and fainter — all the world receded suddenly far away. she extended her hands languidly, then, feeling so utterly tired, let her eyelids drop and fell asleep. she awoke with a start, in her own bed. she was phys- ically exhausted but her mind was clear. she must go down and meet him at breakfast and talk frankly with him. she would let bygones be bygones. she would ex- plain that she had followed him to save him, not to betray him. she would point out the great career before him if only he would be a man; she would show him that they had not failed. for herself she asked nothing, only his word, his confidence, his promise to try. after his first start of surprise at seeing her at the table, cresswell uttered nothing immediately save the commonplaces of greeting. he mentioned one or two bits of news from the paper, upon which she commented while dawdling over her egg. when the servant went out and closed the door, she paused a moment considering whether the quest of the silver fleece she flitted, till gradually the black folk came to know her and, in silent deference to some subtle difference, they gave her the title of white folk, calling her " miss " zorn, to-day, more than ever before, zora sensed the vast unorganized power in this mass, and her mind was leap- ing here and there, scheming and testing, when voices ar- rested her. it was a desolate bit of the cresswell manor, a tiny cabin, new-boarded and bare, in front of it a blazing bon- fire. a white man was tossing into the flames different household articles — a feather bed, a bedstead, two rickety chairs. a young, boyish fellow, golden-faced and curly, stood with clenched fists, while a woman with tear- stained eyes clung to him. the white man raised a cradle to dash it into the flames; the woman cried, and the yellow man raised his arm threateningly. but zora's hand was on his shoulder. "what's the matter, rob?" she asked. "they 're selling us out," he muttered savagely. "millie 's been sick since the last baby died, and i had to neglect my crop to tend her and the other little ones — i did n't make much. they 've took my mule, now they 're burning my things to make me sign a contract and be a slave. but by —" "there, rob, let millie come with me — we 'll see miss smith. we must get land to rent and arrange somehow." the mother sobbed, "the cradle — was baby's!" with an oath the white man dashed the cradle into the fire, and the red flame spurted aloft. the crimson fire flashed in zora's eyes as she passed the overseer. "well, nigger, what are you going to do about it?" he growled insolently. zora's way zora's eyelids drooped, her upper lip quivered. "nothing," she answered softly. "but i hope your soul will burn in hell forever and forever." they proceeded down the plantation road, but zora could not speak. she pushed them slowly on, and turned aside to let the anger, the impotent, futile anger, rage itself out. alone in the great broad spaces, she knew she could fight it down, and come back again, cool and in calm and deadly earnest, to lead these children to the light. the sorrow in her heart was new and strange; not sor- row for herself, for of that she had tasted the uttermost; but the vast vicarious suffering for the evil of the world. the tumult and war within her fled, and a sense of help- lessness sent the hot tears streaming down her cheeks. she longed for rest; but the last plantation was yet to be passed. far off she heard the yodle of the gangs of peons. she hesitated, looking for some way of escape: if she passed them she would see something — she always saw something — that would send the red blood whirling madly. "here, you! — loafing again, damn you!" she saw the black whip writhe and curl across the shoulders of the plough-boy. the boy crouched and snarled, and again the whip hissed and cracked. zora stood rigid and gray. "my god!" her silent soul was shrieking within, "why does n't the coward —" and then the "coward" did. the whip was whirring in the air again; but it never fell. a jagged stone in the boy's hand struck true, and the overseer plunged with a grunt into the black furrow. in blank dismay, zora came back to her senses. the quest of the silver fleece "poor child!" she gasped, as she saw the boy flying in wild terror over the fields, with hue and cry behind him. "poor child! — running to the penitentiary — to shame and hunger and damnation!" she remembered the rector in mrs. vanderpool's library, and his question that revealed unfathomable depths of ignorance: "really, now, how do you account for the distressing increase in crime among your people?" she swung into the great road trembling with the woe of the world in her eyes. cruelty, poverty, and crime she had looked in the face that morning, and the hurt of it held her heart pinched and quivering. a moment the mists in her eyes shut out the shadows of the swamp, and the roaring in her ears made a silence of the world. before she found herself again she dimly saw a couple sauntering along the road, but she hardly noticed their white faces until the little voice of the girl, raised timidly, greeted her. "howdy, zora." zora looked. the girl was emma, and beside her, smiling, stood a half-grown white man. it was emma, ber- tie's child; and yet it was not, for in the child of other days zora saw for the first time the dawning woman. and she saw, too, the white man. suddenly the horror of the swamp was upon her. she swept between the couple like a gust, gripping the child's arm till she paled and almost whimpered. "i — i was just going on an errand for miss smith!" she cried. looking down into her soul, zora discerned its in- nocence and the fright shining in the child's eyes. her own eyes softened, her grip became a caress, but her heart was hard. zora's way the young man laughed awkwardly and strolled away. zora looked back at him and the paramount mission of her life formed itself in her mind. she would protect this girl; she would protect all black girls. she would make it possible for these poor beasts of burden to be decent in their toil. out of protection of womanhood as the central thought, she must build ramparts against cruelty, pov- erty, and crime. all this in turn — but now and first, the innocent girlhood of this daughter of shame must be res- cued from the devil. it was her duty, her heritage. she must offer this unsullied soul up unto god in mighty atonement — but how? here now was no protection. already lustful eyes were in wait, and the child was too ignorant to protect herself. she must be sent to board- ing-school, somewhere far away; but the money? god! it was money, money, always money. then she stopped suddenly, thrilled with the recollection of mrs. vander- pool's check. she dismissed the girl with a kiss, and stood still a moment considering. money to send emma off to school; money to buy a school farm; money to "buy " tenants to live on it; money to furnish them rations; money — she went straight to miss smith. "miss smith, how much money have you?" miss smith's hand trembled a bit. ah, that splendid strength of young womanhood — if only she herself had it! but perhaps zora was the chosen one. she reached up and took down a well-worn book. "zora," she said slowly, "i' ve been going to tell you ever since you came, but i had n't the courage. zora," miss smith hesitated and gripped the book with thin white fingers, "i 'm afraid — i almost know that this school is doomed." the quest of the silver fleece there lay a silence in the room while the two women stared into each other's souls with startled eyes. swal- lowing hard, miss smith spoke. "when i thought the endowment sure, i mortgaged the school in order to buy tolliver's land. the endow- ment failed, as you know, because — perhaps i was too stubborn." but zora's eyes snapped " no!" and miss smith con- tinued: "i borrowed ten thousand dollars. then i tried to get the land, but tolliver kept putting me off, and finally i learned that colonel cresswell had bought it. it seems that tolliver got caught tight in the cotton corner, and that cresswell, through john taylor, offered him twice what he had agreed to sell to me for, and he took it. i don't suppose taylor knew what he was doing; i hope he did n't. "well, there i was with ten thousand dollars idle on my hands, paying ten per cent on it and getting less than three per cent. i tried to get the bank to take the money back, but they refused. then i was tempted — and fell." she paused, and zora took both her hands in her own. "you see," continued miss smith, "just as soon as the announcement of the prospective endowment was sent broadcast by the press, the donations from the north fell off. letter after letter came from old friends of the school full of congratulations, but no money. i ought to have cut down the teaching force to the barest minimum, and gone north begging — but i could n't. i guess my courage was gone. i knew how i 'd have to explain and plead, and i just could not. so i used the ten thousand dollars to pay its own interest and help run the school. zora's way already it's half gone, and when the rest goes then will come the end." without, the great red sun paused a moment over the edge of the swamp, and the long, low cry of night birds broke sadly on the twilight silence. zora sat stroking the lined hands. "not the end," she spoke confidently. "it cannot end like this. i 've got a little money that mrs. vanderpool gave me, and somehow we must get more. perhaps i might go north and — beg." she shivered. then she sat up resolutely and turned to the book. "let's go over matters carefully," she proposed. together they counted and calculated. "the balance is four thousand seven hundred and ninety-eight dollars," said miss smith. "yes, and then there 's mrs. vanderpool's check." "how much is that?" zora paused; she did not know. in her world there was little calculation of money. credit and not cash is the cur- rency of the black belt. she had been pleased to receive the check, but she had not examined it. "i really don't know," she presently confessed. "i think it was one thousand dollars; but i was so hurried in leaving that i did n't look carefully," and the wild thought surged in her, suppose it was more! she ran into the other room and plunged into her trunk; beneath the clothes, beneath the beauty of the silver fleece, till her fingers clutched and tore the en- velope. a little choking cry burst from her throat, her knees trembled so that she was obliged to sit down. in her fingers fluttered a check for — ten thousand dollars! -- the quest of the silver fleece it was not until the next day that the two women were sufficiently composed to talk matters over sanely. "what is your plan?" asked zora. "to put the money in a northern savings bank at three per cent interest; to supply the rest of the interest, and the deficit in the running expenses, from our balance, and to send you north to beg." zora shook her head. "it won't do," she objected, "i 'd make a poor beggar; i don't know human nature well enough, and i can't talk to rich white folks the way they expect us to talk." "it would n't be hypocrisy, zora; you would be serving in a great cause. if you don't go, i —" "wait! you sha'n't go. if any one goes it must be me. but let's think it out: we pay off the mortgage, we get enough to run the school as it has been run. then what? there will still be slavery and oppression all around us. the children will be kept in the cotton fields; the men will be cheated, and the women — " zora paused and her eyes grew hard. she began again rapidly: "we must have land — our own farm with our own tenants — to be the beginning of a free community." miss smith threw up her hands impatiently. "but sakes alive! where, zora? where can we get land, with cress well owning every inch and bound to destroy us?" zora sat hugging her knees and staring out the win- dow toward the sombre ramparts of the swamp. in her eyes lay slumbering the madness of long ago; in her brain danced all the dreams and visions of childhood. "i 'm thinking," she murmured, "of buying the swamp." chapter xxxiii the buying of the swamp it's a shame," asserted john taylor with something like real feeling. he was spending sunday with his father-in-law, and both, over their after-dinner cigars, were gazing thoughtfully at the swamp. "what's a shame?" asked colonel cresswell. "to see all that timber and prime cotton-land going to waste. don't you remember those fine bales of cotton that came out of there several seasons ago?" the colonel smoked placidly. "you can't get it cleared," he said. "but couldn't you hire some good workers?" "niggers won't work. now if we had italians we might do it." "yes, and in a few years they 'd own the country." "that's right; so there we are. there 's only one way to get that swamp cleared." "how?" "sell it to some fool darkey." "sell it? it 's too valuable to sell." "that's just it. you don't understand. the only way to get decent work out of some niggers is to let them believe they 're buying land. in nine cases out of ten he works hard a while and then throws up the job. we get back our land and he makes good wages for his work." [ ] the quest of the silver fleece "but in the tenth case — suppose he should stick to it?" "oh," — easily, "we could get rid of him when we want to. white people rule here." john taylor frowned and looked a little puzzled. he was no moralist, but he had his code and he did not under- stand colonel cresswell. as a matter of fact, colonel cresswell was an honest man. in most matters of com- merce between men he was punctilious to a degree almost annoying to taylor. but there was one part of the world which his code of honor did not cover, and he saw no incongruity in the omission. the uninitiated cannot easily picture to himself the mental attitude of a former slave- holder toward property in the hands of a negro. such property belonged of right to the master, if the master needed it; and since ridiculous laws safeguarded the prop- erty, it was perfectly permissible to circumvent such laws. no negro starved on the cresswell place, neither did any accumulate property. colonel cresswell saw to both matters. as the colonel and john taylor were thus conferring, zora appeared, coming up the walk. "who 's that? " asked the colonel shading his eyes. "it's zora — the girl who went north with mrs. van- derpool," taylor enlightened him. "back, is she? too trifling to stick to a job, and full of northern nonsense," growled the colonel. "even got a northern walk — i thought for a moment she was a lady." neither of the gentlemen ever dreamed how long, how hard, how heart-wringing was that walk from the gate up the winding way beneath their careless gaze. it was not the coming of the thoughtless, careless girl of five the quest of the silver fleece "oh, no, sir. i thought it might cost as much as twenty-five dollars." "but you 've only got a thousand dollars." "yes, sir; i thought i might pay that down and then pay the rest from the crops." "who 's going to work on the place?" zora named a number of the steadiest tenants to whom she had spoken. "they owe me a lot of money," said the colonel. "we 'd try to pay that, too." colonel cresswell considered. there was absolutely no risk. the cost of the land, the back debts of the tenants — no possible crops could pay for them. then there was the chance of getting the swamp cleared for almost nothing. "how 's the school getting on?" he asked suddenly. "very poorly," answered zora sadly. "you know it's mortgaged, and miss smith has had to use the mort- gage money for yearly expenses." the colonel smiled grimly. "it will cost you fifty dollars an acre," he said finally. zora looked disappointed and figured out the matter slowly. "that would be one thousand down and nine thousand to pay —" "with interest," said cresswell. zora shook her head doubtfully. "what would the interest be?" she asked. "ten per cent." she stood silent a moment and colonel cresswell spoke up: "it's the best land about here and about the only land you can buy — i would n't sell it to anybody else." she still hesitated. the buying of the swamp "the trouble is, you see, colonel cresswell, the price is high and the interest heavy. and after all i may not be able to get as many tenants as i 'd need. i think though, i 'd try it if — if i could be sure you 'd treat me fairly, and that i 'd get the land if i paid for it." colonel cresswell reddened a little, and john taylor looked away. "well, if you don't want to undertake it, all right." zora looked thoughtfully across the field — "mr. maxwell has a bit of land," she began medita- tively. "worked out, and not worth five dollars an acre!" snapped the colonel. but he did not propose to hand maxwell a thousand dollars. "now, see here, i 'll treat you as well as anybody, and you know it." "i believe so, sir," acknowledged zora in a tone that brought a sudden keen glance from taylor; but her face was a mask. "i reckon i 'll make the bargain." "all right. bring the money and we 'll fix the thing up." "the money is here," said zora, taking an envelope out of her bosom. "well, leave it here, and i 'll see to it." "but you see, sir, miss smith is so methodical; she expects some papers or receipts." "well, it's too late to-night." "possibly you could sign a sort of receipt and later —" cresswell laughed. "well, write one," he indulgently assented. and zora wrote. when zora left colonel cresswell's about noon that sunday she knew her work had just begun, and she walked swiftly along the country roads, calling here and there. would uncle isaac help her build a log home? the quest of the silver fleece would the boys help her some time to clear some swamp land? would rob become a tenant when she asked? for this was the idle time of the year. crops were laid by and planting had not yet begun. this too was the time of big church meetings. she knew that in her part of the country on that day the black population, man, woman, and child, were gathered in great'groups; all day they had been gathering, stream- ing in snake-like lines along the country roads, in well- brushed, brilliant attire, half fantastic, half crude. down where the toomsville-montgomery highway dipped to the stream that fed the cresswell swamp squatted a square barn that slept through day and weeks in dull indiffer- ence. but on the first sunday it woke to sudden mighty life. the voices of men and children mingled with the snorting of animals and the cracking of whips. then came the long drone and sing-song of the preacher with its sharp wilder climaxes and the answering "amens " and screams of the worshippers. this was the shrine of the baptists — shrine and oracle, centre and source of inspiration — and hither zora hurried. the preacher was jones, a big man, fat, black, and greasy, with little eyes, unctuous voice, and three manners: his white folks manner, soft, humble, wheedling; his black folks manner, voluble, important, condescending; and above all, his pulpit manner, loud, wild, and strong. he was about to don this latter cloak when zora approached with a request briefly to address the congregation. remem- bering some former snubs, his manner was lordly. "i does n't see," he returned reflectively, wiping his brows, "as how i can rightly spare you any time; the brethren is a-gettin' mighty onpatient to hear me." he pulled down his cuffs, regarding her doubtfully. the quest of the silver fleece felt the wild yearning to help them beating in her ears and blinding her eyes. "oh, my people!" she almost sobbed. "my own peo- ple, i am not asking you to help others; i am pleading with you to help yourselves. rescue your own flesh and blood — free yourselves — free yourselves!" and from the swaying sobbing hundreds burst a great "amen!" the minister's dusky face grew more and more sombre, and the angry sweat started on his brow. he felt him- self hoaxed and cheated, and he meant to have his revenge. two hundred men and women rose and pledged themselves to help zora; and when she turned with overflowing heart to thank the preacher he had left the platform, and she found him in the yard whispering darkly with two deacons. she realized her mistake, and promised to retrieve it dur- ing the week; but the week was full of planning and journeying and talking. saturday dawned cool and clear. she had dinner pre- pared for cooking in the yard: sweet potatoes, hoe-cake, and buttermilk, and a hog to be barbecued. everything was ready by eight o'clock in the morning. emma and two other girl helpers were on the tip-toe of expectancy. nine o'clock came and no one with it. ten o'clock came, and eleven. high noon found zora peering down the high- way under her shaking hand, but no soul in sight. she tried to think it out: what could have happened? her people were slow, tardy, but they would not thus forget her and disappoint her without some great cause. she sent the girls home at dusk and then seated herself misera- bly under the great oak; then at last one half-grown boy hurried by. "i wanted to come, miss zora, but i was afeared. preacher jones has been talking everywhere against you. the buying of the swamp he says your mother was a voodoo woman and that you don't believe in god, and the deacons voted that the mem- bers must n't help you." "and do the people believe that?" she asked in con- sternation. "they just don't know what to say. they don't 'zactly believe it, but they has to 'low that you didn't say much 'bout religion when you talked. you ain't been near big meetin' — and — and — you ain't saved." he hurried on. zora leaned her head back wearily, watching the laced black branches where the star-light flickered through — as coldly still and immovable as she had watched them from those gnarled roots all her life — and she murmured bitterly the world-old question of despair: "what's the use?" it seemed to her that every breeze and branch was instinct with sympathy, and murmuring, "what's the use?" she wondered vaguely why, and as she won- dered, she knew. for yonder where the black earth of the swamp heaved in a formless mound she felt the black arms of elspeth rising from the sod — gigantic, mighty. they stole to- ward her with stealthy hands and claw-like talons. they clutched at her skirts. she froze and could not move. down, down she slipped toward the black slime of the swamp, and the air about was horror — down, down, till the chilly waters stung her knees; and then with one grip she seized the oak, while the great hand of elspeth twisted and tore her soul. faint, afar, nearer and nearer and ever mightier, rose a song of mystic melody. she heard its human voice and sought to cry aloud. she strove again and again with that gripping, twisting pain — that awful hand — until the shriek came and she awoke. the quest of the silver fleece she lay panting and sweating across the bent and broken roots of the oak. the hand of elspeth was gone but the song was still there. she rose trembling and listened. it was the singing of the big meeting in the church far away. she had forgotten this religious re- vival in her days of hurried preparation, and the preacher had used her absence and apparent indifference against her and her work. the hand of elspeth was reaching from the grave to pull her back; but she was no longer dreaming now. drawing her shawl about her, she hur- ried down the highway. the meeting had overflowed the church and spread to the edge of the swamp. the tops of young trees had been bent down and interlaced to form a covering and benches twined to their trunks. thus a low and wide cathedral, all green and silver in the star-light, lay packed with a living mass of black folk. flaming pine torches burned above the devotees; the rhythm of their stamping, the shout of their voices, and the wild music of their singing shook the night. four hundred people fell upon their knees when the huge black preacher, uncoated, red-eyed, frenzied, stretched his long arms to heaven. zora saw the throng from afar, and hesitated. after all, she knew little of this strange faith of theirs — had little belief in its mummery. she herself had been brought up almost without religion save some few mystic remnants of a half- forgotten heathen cult. the little she had seen of religious observance had not moved her greatly, save once yonder in washington. there she found god after a searching that had seared her soul; but he had simply pointed the way, and the way was human. humanity was near and real. she loved it. but if she talked again of mere men would these devotees listen? the buying of the swamp already the minister had spied her tall form and feared her power. he set his powerful voice and the frenzy of his hearers to crush her. "who is dis what talks of doing the lord's work for him? what does de good book say? take no thought 'bout de morrow. why is you trying to make dis ole world better? i spits on the world! come out from it. seek jesus. heaven is my home! is it yo's?" "yes," groaned the multitude. his arm shot out and he pointed straight at zora. "beware the ebil one!" he shouted, and the multitude moaned. "beware of dem dat calls ebil good. beware of dem dat worships debbils; the debbils dat crawl; de debbils what forgits god." "help him, lord!" cried the multitude. zora stepped into the circle of light. a hush fell on the throng; the preacher paused a moment, then started boldly forward with upraised hands. then a curious thing happened. a sharp cry arose far off down toward the swamp and the sound of great footsteps coming, com- ing as from the end of the world; there swelled a rhyth- mical chanting, wilder and more primitive than song. on, on it came, until it swung into sight. an old man led the band — tall, massive, with tufted gray hair and wrinkled leathery skin, and his eyes were the eyes of death. he reached the circle of light, and zora started: once before she had seen that old man. the singing stopped but he came straight on till he reached zora's side and then he whirled and spoke. the words leaped and flew from his lips as he lashed the throng with bitter fury. he said what zora wanted to say with two great differences: first, he spoke their religious language and spoke it with absolute confidence the buying of the swamp "follow me!" he shouted. and, singing and chanting, the throng poured out upon the black highway, waving their torches. zora knew his intention. with a half-dozen of younger onlookers she unhitched teams and rode across the land, calling at the cabins. before sunrise, tools were in the swamp, axes and saws and hammers. the noise of prayer and singing filled the sabbath dawn. the news of the great revival spread, and men and women came pouring in. then of a sudden the uproar stopped, and the ringing of axes and grating of saws and tugging of mules was heard. the forest trembled as by some mighty magic, swaying and falling with crash on crash. huge bonfires blazed and crackled, until at last a wide black scar ap- peared in the thick south side of the swamp, which wid- ened and widened to full twenty acres. the sun rose higher and higher till it blazed at high noon. the workers dropped their tools. the aroma of coffee and roasting meat rose in the dim cool shade. with ravenous appetites the dark, half-famished throng fell upon the food, and then in utter weariness stretched them- selves and slept: lying along the earth like huge bronze earth-spirits, sitting against trees, curled in dense bushes. and zora sat above them on a high rich-scented pile of logs. her senses slept save her sleepless eyes. amid a silence she saw in the little grove that still stood, the cabin of elspeth tremble, sigh, and disappear, and with it flew some spirit of evil. then she looked down to the new edge of the swamp, by the old lagoon, and saw bles alwyn standing there. it seemed very natural; and closing her eyes, she fell asleep. the return of alwyn white people had such troubles; yet, he reflected, why not? they, too, were human. "i suppose you hear from the school?" he ventured after a pause. "why, yes — not directly — but zora used to speak of it." bles looked up quickly. "zora?" "yes. didn't you see her while she was here? she has gone back now." then the gate opened, the crowd surged through, sweep- ing them apart, and next moment he was alone. alwyn turned slowly away. he forgot the friend he was to meet. he forgot everything but the field of the silver fleece. it rose shadowy there in the pale con- course, swaying in ghostly breezes. the purple of its flowers mingled with the silver radiance of tendrils that trembled across the hurrying throng, like threads of mists along low hills. in its midst rose a dark, slim, and quiver- ing form. she had been here — here in washington! why had he not known? what was she doing? "she has gone back now " — back to the sun and the swamp, back to the burden. why should not he go back, too? he walked on thinking. he had failed. his apparent success had been too sudden, too overwhelming, and when he had faced the crisis his hand had trembled. he had chosen the right — but the right was ineffective, impotent, al- most ludicrous. it left him shorn, powerless, and in moral revolt. the world had suddenly left him, as the vision of carrie wynn had left him, alone, a mere clerk, an insignificant cog in the great grinding wheel of humdrum drudgery. his chance to do and thereby to be had not come. the quest of the silver fleece he thought of zora again. why not go back to the south where she had gone? he shuddered as one who sees before him a cold black pool whither his path leads. to face the proscription, the insult, the lawless hate of the south again — never! and yet he went home and sat down and wrote a long letter to miss smith. the reply that came after some delay was almost curt. it answered few of his questions, argued with none of his doubts, and made no mention of zora. yes, there was need of a manager for the new farm and settlement. she was not sure whether alwyn could do the work or not. the salary was meagre and the work hard. if he wished it, he must decide immediately. two weeks later found alwyn on the train facing southward in the jim crow car. how he had decided to go back south he did not know. in fact, he had not de- cided. he had sat helpless and inactive in the grip of great and shadowed hands, and the thing was as yet incomprehensible. and so it was that the vision zora saw in the swamp had been real enough, and alwyn felt strangely disappointed that she had given no sign of greeting on recognition. in other ways, too, zora, when he met her, was to him a new creature. she came to him frankly and greeted him, her gladness shining in her eyes, yet looking noth- ing more than gladness and saying nothing more. just what he had expected was hard to say; but he had left her on her knees in the dirt with outstretched hands, and somehow he had expected to return to some correspond- ing mental attitude. the physical change of these three years was marvellous. the girl was the woman, well- rounded and poised, tall, straight, and quick. and with this went mental change: a self-mastery; a veiling of the the quest of the silver fleece play-ground, and all day the music of children's glad crooning and the singing of girls went echoing and tremb- ling through the trees, as they played and sewed and washed and worked. from the cresswells and the maxwells and others came loads of clothes for washing and mending. the tollivcr girls had simple dresses made, embroidery was ordered from town, and soon there would be the gardens and cotton fields. mrs. cresswell would saunter down of mornings. sometimes she would talk to the big girls and play with the children; sometimes she would sit hidden in the forest, listening and glimpsing and thinking, think- ing, till her head whirled and the world danced red be- fore her eyes. to-day she rose wearily, for it was near noon, and started home. she saw alwyn swing along the road to the school dining-room where he had charge of the students at the noonday meal. alwyn wanted mrs. cresswell's judgment and advice. he was growing doubtful of his own estimate of women. evidently something about his standards was wrong; con- sequently he made opportunities to talk with mrs. cress- well when she was about, hoping she would bring up the subject of zora of her own accord. but she did not. she was too full of her own cares and troubles, and she was only too glad of willing and sympathetic ears into which to pour her thoughts. miss smith soon began to look on these conversations with some uneasiness. black men and white women cannot talk together casually in the south and she did not know how far the north had put notions in alwyn's head. to-day both met each other almost eagerly. mrs. cresswell had just had a bit of news which only he would fully appreciate. the quest of the silver fleece her brain. alwyn noticed nothing. he thanked her cordially and hurried toward the dining-hall, meeting colonel cresswell on horseback just as he turned into the school gate. mary cresswell walked slowly on, flushing and paling by turns. could it be that this negro had dared to mis- understand her — had presumed? she reviewed her con- duct. perhaps she had been indiscreet in thus making a confidant of him in her trouble. she had thought of him as a boy — an old student, a sort of confidential servant; but what had he thought? she remembered miss smith's warning of years before — and he had been north since and acquired northern notions of freedom and equality. she bit her lip cruelly. yet, she mused, she was herself to blame. she had unwittingly made the intimacy and he was but a negro, looking on every white woman as a goddess and ready to fawn at the slightest encouragement. there had been no one else here to confide in. she could not tell miss smith her troubles, although she knew miss smith must suspect. harry cresswell, apparently, had written nothing home of their quarrel. all the neighbors behaved as if her excuse of ill-health were sufficient to account for her return south to escape the rigors of a northern winter. alwyn, and alwyn alone, really knew. well, it was her blindness, and she must right it quietly and quickly with hard ruthless plainness. she blushed again at the shame of it; then she began to excuse. after all, which was worse — a cresswell or an alwyn? it was no sin that alwyn had done; it was simply ignorant presumption, and she must correct him firmly, but gently, like a child. what a crazy muddle the world was! she thought of harry cresswell and the tale he told her in the quest of the silver fleece unusual and strange for him — too inhuman, as mary cresswell judged humanity. she glanced out from her seat on the upper verandah over the front porch and saw alwyn coming. where should she receive him? on the porch and have mr. maxwell ride up? in the parlor and have the servants astounded and talking? if she took him up to her own sitting-room the servants would think he was doing some work or fetching something for the school. she greeted him briefly and asked him in. "good-afternoon, bles " — using his first name to show him his place, and then inwardly recoiling at its note of familiarity. she preceded him up-stairs to the sitting-room, where, leaving the door ajar, she seated herself on the opposite side of the room and waited. he fidgeted, then spoke rapidly. "mrs. cresswell — this is a personal affair." she reddened angrily. "a love affair " — she paled with something like fear — " and i " — she started to speak, but could not — "i want to know what you think about zora?" "about zora!" she gasped weakly. the sudden re- action, the revulsion of her agitated feelings, left her breathless. "about zora. you know i loved her dearly as a boy — how dearly i have only just begun to realize: i ve been wondering if i understood — if i was n't —" mrs. cresswell got angrily to her feet. "you have come here to speak to me of that — that — " she choked, and bles thought his worst fears realized. "mary, mary!" colonel cresswell's voice broke sud- denly in upon them. with a start of fear mrs. cress- well rushed out into the hall and closed the door. "mary, has that alwyn nigger been here this after- the quest of the silver fleece and alwyn emerge calmly from a room, carrying a basket full of clothes. colonel cresswell stared at them, and zora instinctively put up her hand and fastened her dress at the throat. the colonel scowled, for it was all clear to him now. "look here," he angrily opened upon them, "if you niggers want to meet around keep out of this house; here after i 'll send the clothes down. by god, if you want to make love go to the swamp!" he stamped down the stairs while an ashy paleness stole beneath the dark-red bronze of zora's face. they walked silently down the road together — the old familiar road. alwyn was staring moodily ahead. "we must get married — before christmas, zora," he presently avowed, not looking at her. he felt the basket pause and he glanced up. her dark eyes were full upon him and he saw something in their depths that brought him to himself and made him realize his blunder. "zora!" he stammered, " forgive me! willyou marry me?" she looked at him calmly with infinite compassion. but her reply was uttered unhesitatingly; distinct, direct, "no, bles." chapter xxxv the cotton mill the people of toomsville started in their beds and listened. a new song was rising on the air: a harsh, low, murmuring croon that shook the village ranged around its old square of dilapidated stores. it was not a song of joy; it was not a song of sorrow; it was not a song at all, perhaps, but a con- fused whizzing and murmuring, as of a thousand ill- tuned, busy voices. some of the listeners wondered; but most of the town cried joyfully, "it's the new cotton- mill!" john taylor's head teemed with new schemes. the mill trust of the north was at last a fact. the small mills had not been able to buy cotton when it was low because cresswell was cornering it in the name of the farmers' league; now that it was high they could not afford to, and many surrendered to the trust. "next thing," wrote taylor to easterly, "is to re- duce cost of production. too much goes in wages. gradually transfer mills south." easterly argued that the labor was too unskilled in the south and that to send northern spinners down would spread labor troubles. taylor replied briefly: "never fear; we 'll scare them with a vision of niggers in the mills!" [ ] the quest of the silver fleece colonel cresswell was not so easily won over to the new scheme. in the first place he was angry because the school, which he had come to regard as on its last legs, somehow still continued to flourish. the ten-thousand- dollar mortgage had but three more years, and that would end all; but he had hoped for a crash even earlier. instead of this, miss smith was cheerfully expanding the work, hiring new teachers, and especially she had brought to help her two young negroes whom he suspected. colonel cresswell had prevented the tolliver land sale, only to be inveigled himself into zora's scheme which now began to worry him. he must evict zora's tenants as soon as the crops were planted and harvested. there was nothing unjust about such a course, he argued, for negroes any- way were too lazy and shiftless to buy the land. they would not, they could not, work without driving. all this he imparted to john taylor, to which that gentle- man listened carefully. "h'm, i see," he owned. "and i know the way out." "how?" "a cotton mill in toomsville." "what's that got to do with it?" "bring in whites." "but i don't want poor white trash; i 'd sooner have niggers." "now, see here," argued taylor, "you can't have everything you want — day 's gone by for aristocracy of old kind. you must have neighbors: choose, then, white or black. i say white." "but they 'll rule us — out-vote us — marry our daughters," warmly objected the colonel. "some of them may — most of them won't. a few of them with brains will help us rule the rest with money. the cotton mill s quences. i wish it was possible to be a southerner and a christian and an honest man, to treat niggers and dagoes and white trash like men, and be big enough to say, ' to hell with consequences!'" colonel cresswell stared at his neighbor, speechless with bewilderment and outraged traditions. such un- believable heresy from a northerner or a negro would have been natural; but from a southerner whose father had owned five hundred slaves — it was incredible! the other landlords scarcely listened; they were dogged and impatient and they could suggest no remedy. they could only blame the mill for their troubles. john taylor left the conference blithely. "no," he said to the committee from the new mill-workers' union. "can't raise wages, gentlemen, and can't lessen hours. mill is just started and not yet paying expenses. you 're getting better wages than you ever got. if you don't want to work, quit. there are plenty of others, white and black, who want your jobs." the mention of black people as competitors for wages was like a red rag to a bull. the laborers got together and at the next election they made a clean sweep, judge, sheriff, two members of the legislature, and the registrars of votes. undoubtedly the following year they would capture harry cresswell's seat in congress. the result was curious. from two sides, from land- lord and white laborer, came renewed oppression of black men. the laborers found that their political power gave them little economic advantage as long as the threaten- ing cloud of negro competition loomed ahead. there was some talk of a strike, but colton, the new sheriff, dis- couraged it. "i tell you, boys, where the trouble lies: it's the nig- the quest of the silver fleece gers. they live on nothing and take any kind of treat- ment, and they keep wages down. if you strike, they 'll get your jobs, sure. we 'll just have to grin and bear it a while, but get back at the darkies whenever you can. i 'll stick 'em into the chain-gang every chance i get" on the other hand, inspired by fright, the grip of the landlords on the black serfs closed with steadily increas- ing firmness. they saw one class rising from beneath them to power, and they tightened the chains on the other. matters simmered on in this way, and the only party wholly satisfied with conditions was john taylor and the few young southerners who saw through his eyes. he was making money. the landlords, on the contrary, were losing power and prestige, and their farm labor, de- spite strenuous efforts, was drifting to town attracted by new and incidental work and higher wages. the mill- hands were more and more overworked and underpaid, and hated the negroes for it in accordance with their leaders' directions. at the same time the oppressed blacks and scowling mill hands could not help recurring again and again to the same inarticulate thought which no one was brave enough to voice. once, however, it came out flatly. it was when zora, crowding into the village court-house to see if she could not help aunt rachel's accused boy, found herself beside a gaunt, overworked white woman. the woman was struggling with a crippled child and zora, turning, lifted him carefully for the weak mother, who thanked her half timidly. "that mill'« about killed him," she said. at this juncture the manacled boy was led into court, and the woman suddenly turned again to zora. the cotton mill dog-like faith, asking no reward, and for what he gave in reverence to them, he took back in contempt for his fel- lows — " niggers!" he applied the epithet with more contempt than the colonel himself could express. to the negroes he was a "white folk's nigger," to be despised and feared. to him colonel cresswell gave a few pregnant direc- tions. then he rode to town, and told taylor again of his fears of a labor movement which would include whites and blacks. taylor could not see any great danger. "of course," he conceded, " they 'll eventually get to- gether; their interests are identical. i 'll admit it's our game to delay this as long possible." "it must be delayed forever, sir." "can't be," was the terse response. "but even if they do ally themselves, our way is easy: separate the leaders, the talented, the pushers, of both races from their masses, and through them rule the rest by money." but colonel cresswell shook his head. "it's precisely these leaders of the negroes that we must crush," he in- sisted. taylor looked puzzled. "i thought it was the lazy, shiftless, and criminal negroes, you feared?" "hang it, no! we can deal with them; we 've got whips, chain-gangs, and — mobs, if need be — no, it's the negro who wants to climb up that we 've got to beat to his knees." taylor could not follow this reasoning. he believed in an aristocracy of talent alone, and secretly despised colonel cresswell's pretensions of birth. if a man had ability and push taylor was willing and anxious to open the way for him, even though he were black. the caste way of thinking in the south, both as applied to poor the quest of the silver fleece whites and to negroes, he simply could not understand. the weak and the ignorant of all races he despised and had no patience with them. "but others — a man 's a man, isn't he?" he persisted. but colonel cresswell replied: "no, never, if he 's black, and not always when he 's white," and he stalked away. zora sensed fully the situation. she did not anticipate any immediate understanding with the laboring whites, but she knew that eventually it would be inevitable. meantime the negro must strengthen himself and bring to the alliance as much independent economic strength as possible. for the development of her plans she needed bles alwyn's constant cooperation. he was business manager of the school and was doing well, but she wanted to point out to him the larger field. so long as she was uncertain of his attitude toward her, it was difficult to act; but now, since the flash of the imminent tragedy at cresswell oaks had cleared the air, with all its hurt a frank understanding had been made possible. the very next day zora chose to show bles over her new home and grounds, and to speak frankly to him. they looked at the land, examined the proposed farm sites, and viewed the living-room and dormitory in the house. "you have n't seen my den," said zora. "no." "miss smith is in there now; she often hides there. come." he went into the large central house and into the living- room, then out on the porch, beyond which lay the kitchen. but to the left, and at the end of the porch, was a small building. it was ceiled in dark yellow pine, the quest of the silver fleece revolutionized. she was proposing to him a plan of wide scope — a bold regeneration of the land. it was a plan carefully studied out, long thought of and read about. he was asked to be co-worker — nay, in a sense to be a follower, for he was ignorant of much. he hesitated. then all at once a sense of his utter unworthiness overwhelmed him. who was he to stand and judge this unselfish woman? who was he to falter when she called? a sense of his smallness and narrow- ness, of his priggish blindness, rose like a mockery in his soul. one thing alone held him back: he was not un- willing to be simply human, a learner and a follower; but would he as such ever command the love and respect of this new and inexplicable woman? would not comrade- ship on the basis of the new friendship which she insisted on, be the death of love and thoughts of love? thus he hesitated, knowing that his duty lay clear. in her direst need he had deserted her. he had left her to go to destruction and expected that she would. by a superhuman miracle she had risen and seated herself above him. she was working; here was work to be done. he was asked to help; he would help. if it killed his old and new-born dream of love, well and good; it was his punishment. yet the sacrifice, the readjustment was hard; he grew to it gradually, inwardly revolting, feeling always a great longing to take this woman and make her nestle in his arms as she used to; catching himself again and again on the point of speaking to her and urging, yet ever again holding himself back and bowing in silent respect to the dignity of her life. only now and then, when their eyes met suddenly or unthinkingly, a great kindling flash of the cotton mill flame seemed struggling behind showers of tears, until in a moment she smiled or spoke, and then the dropping veil left only the frank open glance, unwavering, soft, kind, but nothing more. then alwyn would go wearily away, vexed or disappointed, or merely sad, and both would turn to their work again. the land "how do, miss zora — mr. alwyn, i sure is glad to see you, sir. well, if there ain't aunt rachel! looking as young as ever. and higgins, you scamp — ah, mr. sanders — well, gentlemen and ladies, this sure is gwint to be a good cotton season. i remember —" and he ran on endlessly, now to this one, now to that, now to all, his lit- tle eyes all the while dancing insinuatingly here and there. about nine o'clock a buggy drove up and carter and simpson came in — carter, a silent, strong-faced, brown laborer, who listened and looked, and simpson, a worried nervous man, who sat still with difficulty and commenced many sentences, but did not finish them. alwyn looked at his watch and at zora, but she gave no sign until they heard a rollicking song outside and tylor burst into the room. he was nearly seven feet high and broad-shoul- dered, yellow, with curling hair and laughing brown eyes. he was chewing an enormous quid of tobacco, the juice of which he distributed generously, and had had just liquor enough to make him jolly. his entrance was a breeze and a roar. alwyn then undertook to explain the land scheme. "it is the best land in the county —" "when it's cl'ared," interrupted johnson, and simp- son looked alarmed. "it is partially cleared," continued alwyn, "and our plan is to sell off small twenty-acre farms —" "you can't do nothing on twenty acres —" began johnson, but tylor laid his huge hand right over his mouth and said briefly: "shut up!" alwyn started again: "we shall sell a few twenty- acre farms but keep one central plantation of one hun- dred acres for the school. here miss zora will carry on the quest of the silver fleece her work and the school will run a model farm with your help. we want to centre here agencies to make life bet- ter. we want all sorts of industries; we want a little hospital with a resident physician and two or three nurses; we want a cooperative store for buying supplies; we want a cotton-gin and saw-mill, and in the future other things. this land here, as i have said, is the richest around. we want to keep this hundred acres for the public good, and not sell it. we are going to deed it to a board of trustees, and those trustees are to be chosen from the ones who buy the small farms." "who 's going to get what's made on this land?" asked sanders. "all of us. it is going first to pay for the land, then to support the home and the school, and then to furnish capital for industries." johnson snickered. "you mean youse gwine to git yo' livin' off it?" "yes," answered alwyn; "but i 'm going to work for it." "who's gwine —" began simpson, but stopped helplessly. "who 's going to tend this land?" asked the practical carter. "all of us. each man is going to promise us so many days' work a year, and we 're going to ask others to help — the women and girls and school children — they will all help." "can you put trust in that sort of help?" "we can when once the community learns that it pays." "does you own the land?" asked johnson suddenly. "no; we 're buying it, and it's part paid for already." the discussion became general. zora moved about the land "see here," he thundered, handing the lawyer the no- tice of the injunction. "see the judge," began the lawyer, and then re- membered, as he was often forced to do these days, who was judge. he inquired carefully into the case and examined the papers. then he said: "colonel cresswell, who drew this contract of sale?" "the black girl did." "impossible!" "she certainly did — wrote it in my presence." "well, it's mighty well done." "you mean it will stand in law?" "it certainly will. there 's but one way to break it, and that's to allege misunderstanding on your part." cresswell winced. it was not pleasant to go into open court and acknowledge himself over-reached by a negro; but several thousand dollars in cotton and land were at stake. "go ahead," he concurred. "you can depend on taylor, of course?" added the lawyer. "of course," answered cresswell. "but why prolong the thing?" "you see, she 's got your cotton tied by injunction." "i don't see how she did it." "easy enough: this judge is the poor white you op- posed in the last primary." within a week the case was called, and they filed into the court-room. cress well's lawyer saw only this black woman — no other lawyer or sign of one appeared to rep- resent her. the place soon filled with a lazy, tobacco- chewing throng of white men. a few blacks whispered in the land white man's financial necessities. taylor, on the other hand, had a horror of a lie, never drank nor played games of chance, but his whole life was speculation and in the business game he was utterly ruthless and respected no one. such men could never thoroughly understand each other. to cresswell a man who had cheated the whole south out of millions by a series of misrepresentations ought to regard this little falsehood as nothing. meantime colonel cresswell's lawyer was on his feet, and he adopted his most irritating and contemptuous manner. "this nigger wench wrote out some illegible stuff and colonel cresswell signed it to get rid of her. we are not going to question the legality of the form — that's neither here nor there. the point is, mr. cresswell never intended — never dreamed of selling this wench land right in front of his door. he meant to rent her the land and sign a receipt for rent paid in advance. i will not worry your honor by a long argument to prove this, but just call one of the witnesses well known to you — mr. john taylor of the toomsville mills." taylor looked toward the door and then slowly took the stand. "mr. taylor," said the lawyer carelessly, "were you present at this transaction?" "yea." "did you see colonel cresswell sign this paper?" "yes.m "well, did he intend so far as you know to sign such a paper?" "i do not know his intentions." "did he say he meant to sign such a contract?" taylor hesitated. the quest of the silver fleece "yes," he finally answered. colonel cresswell looked up in amazement and the lawyer dropped his glasses. "i — i don't think you perhaps understood me, mr. taylor," he gasped. "i — er — meant to ask if colonel cresswell, in signing this paper, meant to sign a contract to sell this wench two hundred acres of land?" "he said he did," reiterated taylor. "although i ought to add that he did not think the girl would ever be able to pay. if he had thought she would pay, i don't think he would have signed the paper." colonel cresswell went red, then pale, and leaning for- ward before the whole court, he hurled: "you damned scoundrel!" the judge rapped for order and fidgeted in his seat. there was some confusion and snickering in the court- room. finally the judge plucked up courage: "the defendant is ordered to deliver this cotton to zora cresswell," he directed. the raging of colonel cresswell's anger now turned against john taylor as well as the negroes. wind of the estrangement flew over town quickly. the poor whites saw a chance to win taylor's influence and the sheriff approached him cautiously. taylor paid him slight courtesy. he was irritated with this devilish negro problem; he was making money; his wife and babies were enjoying life, and here was this fool trial to upset mat- ters. but the sheriff talked. "the thing i 'm afraid of," he said, " is that cresswell and his gang will swing in the niggers on us." "how do you mean?" "let 'em vote." "but they 'd have to read and write." the land "sure!" "well, then," said taylor, " it might be a good thing." colton eyed him suspiciously. "you 'd let a nigger vote?" "why, yes, if he had sense enough." "there ain't no nigger got sense." "oh, pshaw!" taylor ej aculated, walking away. the sheriff was angry and mistrustful. he believed he had discovered a deep-laid scheme of the aristocrats to cultivate friendliness between whites and blacks, and then use black voters to crush the whites. such a course was, in colton's mind, dangerous, monstrous, and unnatural; it must be stopped at all hazards. he began to whisper among his friends. one or two meetings were held, and the flame of racial prejudice was studiously fanned. the atmosphere of the town and country quickly be- gan to change. whatever little beginnings of friendship and understanding had arisen now quickly disappeared. the town of a saturday no longer belonged to a happy, careless crowd of black peasants, but the black folk found themselves elbowed to the gutter, while ugly quarrels flashed here and there with a quick arrest of the negroes. colonel cresswell made a sudden resolve. he sent for the sheriff and received him at the oaks, in his most re- spectable style, filling him with good food, and warming him with good liquor. "colton," he asked, "are you sending any of your white children to the nigger school yet?" "what!" yelled colton. the colonel laughed, frankly telling colton john taylor's philosophy on the race problem,— his willingness to let negroes vote; his threat to let blacks and whites the quest of the silver fleece work together; his contempt for the officials elected by the people. "candidly, colton," he concluded, "i believe in aris- tocracy. i can't think it right or wise to replace the old aristocracy by new and untried blood." and in a sudden outburst — " but, by god, sir! i 'm a white man, and i place the lowest white man ever created above the highest darkey ever thought of. this yankee, taylor, is a nig- ger-lover. he ' secretly encouraging and helping them. you saw what he did to me, and i 'm warning you in time." colton's glass dropped. "i thought it was you that was corralling the niggers against us," he exclaimed. the colonel reddened. "i don't count all white men my equals, i admit," he returned with dignity, "but i know the difference between a white man and a nigger." colton stretched out his massive hand. "put it there, sir," said he; "i misjudged you, colonel cresswell i 'm a southerner, and i honor the old aristocracy you rep- resent. i 'm going to join with you to crush this yankee and put the niggers in their places. they are getting impudent around here; they need a lesson and, by gad! they 'll get one they 'll remember." "now, see here, colton, — nothing rash," the colonel charged him, warningly. "do n't stir up needless trouble; but — well, things must change." colton rose and shook his head. "the niggers need a lesson," he muttered as he un- steadily bade his host good-bye. cresswell watched him uncomfortably as he rode away, and again a feeling of doubt stirred within him. what new force was he loosen- the land ing against his black folk — his own black folk, who had lived about him and his fathers nigh three hundred years? he saw the huge form of the sheriff loom like an evil spirit a moment on the rise of the road and sink into the night. he turned slowly to his cheerless house shuddering as he entered the uninviting portals. the quest of the silver fleece passions that were leaping and gathering and burning in the eyes of yonder caged and desperate black men. but his hands were tied —- manacled. one desperate struggle, a whirl of blood, and the whole world would rise to crush him and his people. the white operator in yonder town had but to flash the news, "negroes killing whites," to bring all the country, all the state, all the nation, to red vengeance. it mattered not what the provocation, what the desperate cause. the door suddenly opened behind him and he wheeled around. "zora!" he whispered. "bles," she answered softly, and they went silently in to their people. all at once, from floor to roof, the whole school-house was lighted up, save a dark window here and there. then some one slipped out into the darkness and soon watch- fire after watch-fire flickered and flamed in the night, and then burned vividly, sending up sparks and black smoke. thus ringed with flaming silence, the school lay at the edge of the great, black swamp and waited. owls hooted in the forest. afar the shriek of the montgomery train was heard across the night, mingling with the wail of a wakeful babe; and then redoubled silence. the men be- came restless, and johnson began to edge away toward the lower <hi.ll. alwyn was watching him when a faint noise came to him on the eastern breeze — a low, rumbling murmur. it died away, and rose again; then a distant gun-shot woke the echoes. "they 're coming!" he cried. standing back in the shadow of a front window, he waited. slowly, intermit- tently, the murmuring swelled, till it grew distinguishable as yelling, cursing, and singing, intermingled with the the quest of the silver fleece "hark!" stealthy steps were approaching, a glint of steel flashed behind the fire lights. each band mistook the other for the armed negroes, and the leaders yelled in vain; human power can not stay the dashing torrent of fear-inspired human panic. whirling, the mob fled till it struck the road in two confused, surging masses. then in quick frenzy, shots flew; three men threw up their hands and tumbled limply in the dust, while the main body rushed pellmell toward town. at early dawn, when the men relaxed from the strain of the night's vigil, alwyn briefly counselled them: " hide your guns." "why? " blustered rob. "have n't i a right to have a gun?" "yes, you have, rob; but do n't be foolish — hide it. we 've not heard the last of this." but rob tossed his head belligerently. in town, rumor spread like wildfire. a body of peace- ful whites passing through the black settlement had been fired on from ambush, and six killed — no, three killed — no, one killed and two severely wounded. "the thing must n't stop here," shouted sheriff col- ton; "these niggers must have a lesson." and before nine next morning fully half the grown members of the same mob, now sworn in as deputies, rode with him to search the settlement. they tramped insolently through the school grounds, but there was no shred of evidence until they came to rob's cabin and found his gun. they tied his hands behind him and marched him toward town. but before the mob arrived the night before, johnson feeling that his safety lay in informing the white folks, had crawled with his gun into the swamp. in the morn- the mob ing he peered out as the cavalcade approached, and not knowing what had happened, he recognized colton, the sheriff, and signalled to him cautiously. in a moment a dozen men were on him, and he appealed and explained in vain — the gun was damning evidence. the voices of rob's wife and children could be heard behind the two men as they were hurried along at a dog trot. the town poured out to greet them — " the murder- ers! the murderers! kill the niggers!" and they came on with a rush. the sheriff turned and disappeared in the rear. there was a great cloud of dust, a cry and a wild scramble, as the white and angry faces of men and boys gleamed a moment and faded. a hundred or more shots rang out; then slowly and silently, the mass of women and men were sucked into the streets of the town, leaving but black eddies on the corners to throw backward glances toward the bare, tower- ing pine where swung two red and awful things. the pale boy-face of one, with soft brown eyes glared up sightless to the sun; the dead, leathered bronze of the other was carved in piteous terror. atonement "worse and better," he replied, smiling cynically. then suddenly he announced: "i 've made my will." "why — why —" she stammered. "why?" sharply. "because i 'm going to die." she said nothing. he smiled and continued: "i 've got it all fixed. harry was in a tight place — gambling as usual — and i gave him a lump sum in lieu of all claims. then i gave john taylor — you need n't look. i sent for him. he's a damned scoundrel; but he won't lie, and i needed him. i willed his children all the rest except two or three legacies. one was one hun- dred thousand dollars for you —" "oh, father!" she cried. "i don't deserve it." "i reckon two years with harry was worth about that much," he returned grimly. "then there's an- other gift of two hundred thousand dollars and this house and plantation. whom do you think that's for?" "helen?" "helen!" he raised his hand in threatening anger. "i might rot here for all she cares. no — no — but then — i 'll not tell you — i — ah —" a spasm of pain shot across his face, and he lay back white and still. abruptly he sat up again and peered down the oaks. "hush!" he gasped. "who 's that?" "i don't know — it's a girl — i —" he gripped her till she winced. "my god — it walks — like my wife — i tell you — she held her head so — who is it?" he half rose. "oh, father, it's nobody but emma — little emma — bertie's child — the mulatto girl. she 's a nurse now, and i asked to have her come and attend you." "oh," he said, "oh —" he looked at the girl cu- the quest of the silver fleece riously. "come here." he peered into her white young face. "do you know me?" the girl shrank away from him. "yes, sir." "what do you do?" "i teach and nurse at the school." "good! well, i 'm going to give you some money — do you know why?" a flash of self-consciousness passed over the girl's face; she looked at him with her wide blue eyes. "yes, grandfather," she faltered. mrs. cresswell rose to her feet; but the old man slowly dropped the girl's hand and lay back in his chair, with lips half smiling. "grandfather," he repeated softly, he closed his eyes a space and then opened them. a tremor shivered in his limbs as he stared darkly at. the swamp. "hark!" he cried harshly. "do you hear the bodies creaking on the limbs? it's rob and johnson. i did it —i —" suddenly he rose and stood erect and his wild eyes stricken with death stared full upon emma. slowly and thickly he spoke, working his trembling hands. "nell — nell! is it you, little wife, come back to accuse me? ah, nell, don't shrink! i know — i have sinned against the light and the blood of your poor black people is red on these old hands. no, don't put your clean white hands upon me, nell, till i wash mine. i 'll do it, nell; i 'll atone. i 'm a cresswell yet, nell, a cresswell and a gen —" he swayed. vainly he strug- gled for the word. the shudder of death shook his soul, and he passed. a week after the funeral of colonel cresswell, john atonement taylor drove out to the school and was closeted with miss smith. his sister, installed once again for a few days in her old room at the school, understood that he was conferring about emma's legacy, and she was glad. she was more and more convinced that the marriage of emma and bles was the best possible solution of many difficulties. she had asked emma once if she liked bles, and emma had replied in her innocent way, "oh, so much." as for bles, he was often saying what a dear child emma was. neither perhaps realized yet that this was love, but it needed, mrs. cresswell was sure, only the lightning-flash, and they would know. and who could furnish that illumination better than zora, the calm, methodical zora, who knew them so well? as for herself, once she had accomplished the mar- riage and paid the mortgage on the school out of her legacy, she would go abroad and in travel seek forget- fulness and healing. there had been no formal divorce, and so far as she was concerned there never would be; but the separation from her husband and america would be forever. her brother came out of the office, nodded casually, for they had little intercourse these days, and rode away. she rushed in to miss smith and found her sitting there — straight, upright, composed in all save that the tears were streaming down her face and she was making no effort to stop them. "why— miss smith!" she faltered. miss smith pointed to a paper. mrs. cresswell picked it up curiously. it was an official notification to the trustees of the smith school of a legacy of two hundred thousand dollars together with the cresswell house and the quest of the silver fleece plantation. mrs. cresswell sat down in open-mouthed as- tonishment. twice she tried to speak, but there were so many things to say that she could not choose. "tell zora," miss smith at last managed to say. zora was dreaming again. somehow, the old dream- life, with its glorious phantasies, had come silently back, richer and sweeter than ever. there was no tangible reason why, and yet to-day she had shut herself in her den. searching down in the depths of her trunk, she drew forth that filmy cloud of white — silk-bordered and half finished to a gown. why were her eyes wet to-day and her mind on the silver fleece? it was an anni- versary, and perhaps she still remembered that moment, that supreme moment before the mob. she half slipped on, half wound about her, the white cloud of cloth, stand- ing with parted lips, looking into the long mirror and gleaming in the fading day like midnight gowned in mists and stars. abruptly there came a peremptory knocking at the door. "zora! zora!" sounded mrs. cresswell's voice. for- getting her informal attire, she opened the door, fearing some mishap. mrs. cresswell poured out the news. zora received it in such motionless silence that mary wondered at her want of feeling. at last, however, she said happily to zora: "well, the battle 's over, is n't it?" "no, it's just begun." "just begun?" echoed mary in amazement. "think of the servile black folk, the half awakened restless whites, the fat land waiting for the harvest, the masses panting to know — why, the battle is scarcely even begun." "yes, i guess that's so," mary began to comprehend. "we 'll thank god it has begun, though." "i am not worthy of her," he answered, sinking before her * the university of michigan graduate library date due zd / | apr imqiftm i&fe ini ii b feb kf* uversity braries the white band the white band a novel by carter brooke jones funk & wagnalls company, new york j wh copyright © by carter brooke jones the white band library of congress catalog card number: - printed in the united states of america grad engl / to the memory of my father, carter helm jones the white b a n d dut what was the lowdown? people asked. why, really, underneath all the bunk, was joe duffield retiring from poli- tics? here he was, at the age of forty-eight, in his very prime, you could say, leaving the united states senate after one term. most people who gave much thought to such things prob- ably felt that the honorable joseph duffield's announcement was a cover-up for something else. he was a figure in politics, and not just in the state; no doubt of that. before going to the senate, he had served three terms in the house of representa- tives. he had achieved a certain prominence as a congress- man, but the senate had given him a much greater opportunity for displaying his particular gifts: a flair for old-time oratory rare these days even in the most oracular of legislative bodies; a native shrewdness which could cut into the heart of an issue and expose it in harmony with his own peculiar logic; sharp- the white band ness at repartee, at give-and-take on the floor. most people liked him, regardless of whether they always agreed with him. he had a youthful face, good-looking enough for most pur- poses, a well-knit figure, an affable personality. why should he step out, or at least sidetrack himself at the threshold, you might say, of a notable career? the senator had issued a statement explaining that he had served in congress twelve years and that he felt he had con- tributed what little he could to the welfare of his state and the country. his private affairs required his attention; he could give them little time when he had to be in washington most of the year. he didn't feel he could settle down to a lifetime of office-holding, or until somebody beat him at the polls. it was, contrary to what most people thought, a finan- cial sacrifice to serve in congress. the salary might sound large, but when the constant claims against it were considered it actually was small. a man had his children to educate, his future to think of. he would always be humbly grateful to the people of his district and of the entire state for so honor- ing him, for trusting him to represent them in the nation's capital. he was sure that in someone like john byroad-mr. duffield's favored candidate among several who had expressed a willingness to succeed him—the people would find a senator who not only would carry on his, mr. duffield's, work, but would advance it. some of his more cynical constituents asked what joe duf- field was up to. a few even suggested that maybe he'd got himself into some sort of jam in washington. it was typical of senator duffield that his statement had been both truthful and disingenuous. it was private business that was depriving the senate of his services (beyond any question he could have been reelected), but the particular business would be a well-guarded secret for some time—until the white band he and his new associates thought the moment propitious to make it known. on a day in late summer, while riverport waited somno- lently for cooler weather, joseph duffield and three of these associates were having another in the series of conferences which had occupied them from time to time since late spring. this time they were meeting in an upper suite at the bradley hotel. the rooms were air-conditioned, and the men relaxed comfortably from the heat of the street as the afternoon dragged on. senator duffield looked from one to another, not staring but, with casual glances, studying them as they talked. at the moment he was listening; beyond a nod or a noncommittal “i see” he had little to say. “the way i look at it,” henry caldwell was saying, “we can't let any grass grow under us. there are other outfits horning in on this fight. i hear the klan's starting up again.” dave beckett said, “i agree with you entirely. we have to push off in a big way.” duffield lit a fresh cigar, pulled down his tie, opened his soft collar, and settled back in the big soft chair. he con- trasted the two young men, both of pleasant appearance, well- groomed, adequately educated, but differing, naturally, in temperament and taste, in capacity. he'd known both since they were small boys, watched them grow up, for riverport, until just a few years ago, had been a much smaller city; you knew almost everyone when he was a youth. now that it was a leading metropolis of the deep south, a distribution center for trade, if still not too important industrially, every- thing was different; you passed crowds of strangers on the the white band downtown streets instead of spotting somebody you knew every few steps. he had the feeling that hank caldwell, blond and chubby at thirty-four, still a junior executive in his father's construc- tion firm, though probably drawing a good salary, was incurably lazy. the way he talked, the way he sat, more espe- cially the way he moved, denoted almost a horror of energy. the senator wondered how hank had ever managed to be- come a lieutenant-commander in the late war. he must have found somewhere the power to show a burst of activity now and then. but hank had his points: he was affable, disarm- ingly easygoing, made friends, and came from a family that packed plenty of influence in the state. hank picked up the phone. “what'll you fellows have?” the senator wanted bourbon and water, the others tom collinses. dave beckett proffered his cigarettes around and lit one “i think joe should announce his new position-at once. how do you feel about it, joe?” duffield delayed his answer. not that he hadn't reflected on it often in recent weeks; not that he was in much doubt. but he had a trick of waiting a moment or two before reply- ing to a cogent question. he had found that in political give- -and-take it confused opponents or hecklers, whether out in the hustings or on the floor of congress. the device was hardly applicable here with these men he had known for years, but it had grown into a habit, and sometimes he found himself pausing similarly when sarah, his wife, asked some simple question. dave beckett, only three or four years older than hank, was much the stronger character. he was a tall, dark young man, well put together. he was junior member of a good law firm and already had something of a reputation as a trial law- the white band yer. he was quiet, didn't as a rule have a lot to say unless something that concerned him came up, but you felt strength in his firm handshake, a reserve capacity in the way he looked at you over his slow smile. but duffield wondered what dave was like underneath his polished manners and his detached, even aloof, outward personality. it was hard to say. there was no reason to question his integrity, to doubt his candor, and yet there was something about him, some elusive impres- sion ... well, no matter. years in politics made a man too cynical, too ready to doubt everybody. “i've given it prayerful consideration," said the senator. the others laughed. “my inclination is to announce it at once. as you know, the only thing that held me back was that i was still in the senate, and while congress was in session i felt it would give my enemies—and i've got some good ones -another chance to blast me and perhaps impair my useful- ness during the short time that remained till the end of my term. now ... well, it's true that i haven't resigned, just announced i won't run again, and that my term doesn't run out until the end of the year, but the session's over, and it's extremely doubtful that we'll be called into special session. i don't see that it matters, so far as i'm concerned, whether i announce my new connection now or at the end of the year." the fourth man, who had kept an attentive silence, spoke. "it makes a hell of a lot of difference to us, joe. we've got to get going. the klan's being revived, in some form or other, and these citizens' councils, whatever they are. ... we've got to get going big before they beat us to it.” “i can see that,” duffield agreed. the fourth man was considerably older than the others. he was one of those men whose age is hard to guess. he might be anywhere from the beginning to the far side of middle age. actually he was fifty-six. damon quiller was a the white band small, desiccated-looking man, with a voice that somehow suggested attics and brittle, dusty mementos. the drinks came. they waited while the bellboy distrib- uted them. hank paid him, and he left. joe duffield leaned toward the small man. “we'll announce any way you want to do it.” "splendid,” said damon quiller. he laughed. he had a way of laughing dryly, when there was nothing funny, and keeping a straight face, or perhaps smiling just a little, when somebody told a joke. the senator had known quiller almost as long as he could remember. joe had no doubt of his attitude toward this adroit lawyer, whose reputation was mixed, to put it charitably; who preferred to work behind the scenes, to settle rather than go to trial, to ... "fix" was probably the word. you couldn't trust him. yet he was a successful man in his field: criminal cases and the shabbier types of lawsuits, such as certain di- vorces which other lawyers wouldn't touch. there was no question of his value to this organization. he had been an of- ficer of the old white band when it flourished in the middle twenties; he knew how such an outfit should be run. you couldn't always pick your associates. joe reflected that he'd had to work closely in washington and at home, for party harmony or other cogent reasons, with men he wouldn't be- lieve on oath. you simply accepted such contacts as inevitable in politics. you went ahead and worked with such men; you watched them too, saw that they didn't slip over fast ones on you. “swell,” said hank caldwell, “now we can go to town.” "i'll be around,” duffield explained, “most of the time. of course i'll still have to fly up to washington now and then, for two or three days maybe. loose ends to tie up, things to handle, even when we're not in session. i suppose i could the white band have stepped out entirely, resigned as of a day certain, as we lawyers say, and let the governor appoint somebody to serve ad interim. but it didn't seem the best thing to do. i had some things on the fire; i wanted to round out my term. i delayed announcing my retirement as long as possible. it was only fair to give my would-be successors time to qualify and fight it out." “we haven't wasted much time,” dave beckett observed. “reactivated the white band the middle of may, almost as soon as the supreme court's decision came down. since then we've been busy organizing. and we're really moving, let me tell you." duffield laughed. “reactivated. sounds like something out of the pentagon.” “i was at the pentagon a while,” dave recalled. “too long.” he had been a lieutenant-colonel in something, joe remembered, probably air intelligence. they were quiet a moment, and the sound of traffic floated up thinly to the closed windows of their eighth-floor suite. joe sipped his highball. he remembered hearing of the white band in the twenties, along with the klan, the silver shirts, and other such groups. the white band had quietly faded during the depression, like a lot of other things, though, he learned from quiller, it had never been officially disbanded. well, he wouldn't have had anything to do with it in the twenties, when demagogues were conjuring up phony issues. now there was a real issue. moreover, if they got the jump on the other outfits, there'd be a pile of money in it, more than you could ever make as a senator. “we were hot stuff back in the coolidge-hoover era,” damon quiller added. “we had them joining so fast we could hardly keep up with them with an adding machine.” tere • the white band “what did you do?” the senator asked. “i mean you per- sonally.” “i was known as grand counsellor. which meant i was general counsel. we'd have kept right on if the bottom hadn't dropped out of everything. the slump, roosevelt the lesser, all those new deal subsidies to cotton- and tobacco- growers, the government promising everybody the world. naturally our members were confused, and lots of them dropped out. others didn't even have the five bucks a year for dues.” “we'd figured,” beckett put in, that damon would func- tion in the same capacity in the new-i should say revived- band.” "sure,” said duffield. he wondered whether damon would do. the man's reputation among lawyers was not too savory, and yet no one had ever gotten enough on him to start disbarment proceedings; he was clever enough to avoid such an extremity. “i don't care much what i do,” damon said. “i have enough law practice to keep me fairly busy, but i want to do what i can to get this thing whirling again.” “i think you should be-counsellor, or whatever we'll call it,” joe said casually. “you see,” damon added, "it'll be different this time. in- stead of ... well, demonstrating and asserting our strength in-er-other ways, we'll probably be going into court a lot in an effort to stop this insanity. injunctions, writs of manda- mus, what have you. in the old days we avoided courts as much as we could. times do change.” “will we,” hank caldwell asked, “be able to intervene as an organization in these various moves to thwart what our yankee friends call the law of the land? i don't know too much law." “i don't see why not,” damon replied. “that red outfit the white band ii in the north, the american civil liberties union, is always doing it. an organization can intervene in such a proceeding, as amicus curiae, or what have you. or it can initiate.” hank finished his drink. “i see.” “we've been enrolling at a great rate,” dave added. “we've got chapters in five states already. so far we've de- ferred doing much, other than putting out a few pamphlets and issuing a few statements. it was obvious nothing much would happen until fall, until the schools opened. we needed a big name on top. now we've got that.” joe laughed. “nothing can stop us now.” joe looked at his wrist watch. “fine. i've got an appoint- ment. i'll see you fellows soon, any time. we'll go into details as they come up. by the way, i want to see whatever announcement you cook up.” “naturally,” dave said. “we thought you'd want to write a statement and put it out over your signature.” “that's a good idea.” joe stood up, putting on his jacket. “we thought if you were ready we'd release the news in the two sunday papers in riverport and for sunday papers elsewhere, because there'll be interest in it a lot of other places.” "i'll write out a statement tomorrow,” joe promised, “and get it over to you.” “that's the stuff.” joe paused in the doorway. “what's my title to be?”. “my thought,” said damon quiller, “is that we'd keep the old titles. you'll be grand protector. can you think of a better name?” “not at the moment. it sounds okay.” senator duffield waved his hand to the three men and stepped into the corridor, closing the door quietly behind him. ci he next saturday morning, in dave beckett's private office, they went over the brief announcement they had pre- pared for the papers-dave, joe duffield, hank caldwell, and damon quiller. joe had written the part quoting him, and the four men had collaborated on the rest. they'd put out a teaser the previous day in the form of a story which the two local papers had carried: the revived white band was to hold a rally at memorial hall saturday night at which an important announcement would be made. this was the announcement, which the chairman of the meet- ing would read and joe would amplify in an address. “the kickoff,” hank commented. joe wondered if they'd get a crowd. “you needn't worry," said dave, pulling some dodgers out of a drawer. “these have been scattered all over town and into surrounding towns like millrace. there'll be a mob, unless i'm all wet.” the white band joe picked up one of the dodgers. it was headlined: do you want desegregation forced on you? should colored and white children go to school together? where is this federal interference leading? what can we do about it? these questions will be squarely faced at a mass meeting at memorial hall at : saturday night, august . notable speakers and an important announcement. don't miss this timely meeting. admission free. everybody invited. auspices: the white band. joe laughed. “this ought to fetch 'em.” damon chuckled in a way that suggested the rustling of dry leaves. “if i know riverport.” “it'll get us a lot of new members,” hank caldwell sug- gested. “i'm having doc whimsett set up a table in back to take applications,” damon disclosed. “who's doc whimsett?” joe asked. "a friend of mine. a good guy. he'll be useful in the organization." joe stuffed a dodger and a copy of the statement into his pocket. "be seeing you fellows around.” he got up. “we deliberately left your name out of the dodger and the preliminary story,” dave explained. “have to leave some element of surprise for the meeting and the story in the sun- day papers.” “i think it was good timing,” joe reflected. “i've always found in politics that you've got to space out your publicity, me the white band not tell everything at once. you shoot your wad, and the rest is anticlimax.” “we might have drawn a bigger crowd if we'd announced you were to speak,” dave conceded, “but the papers would have guessed you were affiliating yourself with the white band and that would have dampened the sunday story pretty well. as it is, i think we'll have a crowd, and if i'm not mistaken, the papers, maybe even the press associations, will have reporters at the meeting. the issue is red-hot right now -national news.” "by the way,” damon quiller added, “we'll need a press agent." “you mean full time?” hank asked. "sure. it's important.” dave said they'd take that up in due course. joe said sure, good idea, adding, “we can complete our organization in the next week or two. we'll need lots of help if memberships pour in at the rate they should. i'll be running along. unless there's something else to take up at the moment. see you around eight tonight.” it was a stifling night. memorial hall, a civic enterprise dedicated to the memory of riverport soldiers lost in world war i, dated back to the days when air conditioning was a new marvel, and the city had never gotten around to putting in a cooling system. the auditorium, a handsome structure of yankee limestone (indiana), selected over the protests of those who wanted marble from neighboring georgia, rarely was rented in summer. the singers, pianists, orchestras, and ballets always came in winter. but there were fans, and the outer and side doors had been propped open, so it was, as somebody remarked audibly while the audience quieted for the white band auditorium.” there was scattering laughter and some ap- plause. the chairman grinned. “well, i take it most of you have heard what the supreme court did back in may.” there were derisive murmurs. “i thought you had. our grand- daddies had hoped back in eighteen sixty-five that the war between the states was over. but we see we was wrong. they're invadin' the poor old south again. trying to dictate to us how we'll live our daily lives. now they want us to send our children to school with the nigger children.” he paused for the hooting to subside. “now we can be driven just so far. and no farther. the same spirit that characterized our grandfathers at manassas, and fredericks- burg, and chancellorsville, and chickamauga is not dead. at least i don't think it is. what can we do? hell and plenty!" laughter, applause. “as a great american once said, we've just begun to fight.” he paused. “now this mass meeting," he went on more slowly, “is under the auspices of an organization called the white band. it is not a new organization. some of you older riverportians remember it back in the twenties and early thirties. it was dedicated, not to causing trouble, as its enemies always charged, but to serving the interests of the white race. it sort of died out, because it didn't seem to be needed so much. some of its aims at least had been accomplished. now, as it turns out, it's needed more than ever, and it's come to life. like lazarus, it's been raised from the dead.” there was laughter. “and it's a-gonta try its utmost to solve-in a legal and peaceful way, we hope-this new problem our friends up north have thrust upon us. ... now i want to read you a brief announcement which you're hearing for the first time. you'll find it in your morning paper. i quote: “ 'the white band is pleased to announce that pursuant to reorganization plans which have been under way for several the white band might have passed for white, so light was his skin-might have been what is called in harlem a “passee”—but, as a matter of fact, he rarely impersonated the ruling race, and then only when it was expedient to accomplish something. he preferred to stay with his own people. he was dressed quietly but well, in dark tropicals. he was a well-built man on the youngish side of middle age, his thick, dark hair graying at the edges. his features were nearly caucasian, his nose almost classical in its symmetry. he leaned over the balcony railing. he saw a handsome man who looked younger than his forty-eight years-a slim, athletic figure, perhaps five-eleven, with a winning smile and a deceptive air of candor. he had a way of pausing for rhetorical effect, his smile sometimes expanding into a grin. he also had a few gestures, never overdone, which conveyed emphasis here and there. but the man and his oratorical tricks were an old story to ned tarver. not only had he seen joe duffield many times during his years in congress, but he had talked to him often. they had, in fact, been friends, of a sort, ever since they were classmates at the georgetown law school in washington. so this was it. ned tarver had wondered, like a lot of other people, why the senator was quitting-in full career, you might say. he had met joe duffield on f street, in washing- ton's downtown shopping district, only the other day, and asked him what it was all about. joe had only smiled mysteri- ously and said he didn't want to stay in congress the rest of his life; he wanted to make some money, provide for his family, his future. a phrase from the announcement flashed back: “... serving without salary.” what the hell? but ned tarver laughed inaudibly to himself. he thought he knew. joe, standing before the mike with long-practiced poise, delivering his speech with his customary suavity, was saying: lo the white band han “i feel that at this momentous point in her history i can better serve the south out of congress than in it.” the boys in the gallery, in their late teens or early twenties, whistled through their teeth or shouted. one called down, “atta boy, joe!” they did not notice the quiet, attentive man in the corner. "i believe,” senator duffield added, "that this fine organi- zation, the white band, will be able to help you and others like you all over the south. help you with the legal, moral, and social problems inherent in the supreme court's unfor- tunate decision. mind you—and i emphasize this point,” he paused with a characteristic side-thrust of his right arm, “we will never encourage or condone lawlessness or violence in any form. the south is a god-fearing, law-abiding section of the country. oh, some of our more exuberant citizens may get a little out of hand now and then, perhaps rough up some- body, but in this we're no different from any other section of the country. and i may say our highest judicial tribunal is encouraging lawlessness when it undertakes to dictate to us, to overthrow some of our long-standing customs, to tell us with whom we and our children shall associate on an intimate basis.” he stopped for the applause to subside. “friends, we've had our problems cut out for us, ever since some of our ancestors were misguided enough to bring in slaves. and did you know, by the way, that new england was the first to run slave ships? it's a fact, though they've always looked down their noses at us. but never mind that. i started to say we've had our difficulties, and we've tried to cope with them sanely. i don't say we always succeeded, but we've tried, and on the whole i think we've done pretty well.” high above him ned tarver grinned. nice going, joe. i knew you when ... but never mind. d at th h. white ba no the white band “we had, living side by side, two races—races superficially much alike, but actually differing in many ways, in different stages of development. our nigras have done exceedingly well considering that a few generations ago they were slaves and, before that, african tribesmen. nobody deplores slavery more than i. it was wrong morally and a bad thing in every way. but you and i had nothing to do with it. we inherited freed nigras, many thousands of them. now i'm no afro- phobiac.” the speaker laughed. “that's a six-bit word i picked up at princeton or georgetown or somewhere. i mean i'm not obsessed with a fear of colored blood, of a dark pig- mentation. i'm no professional nigra-baiter. my close friends know i've always been friendly with them, tried to help them all i could. "but i realize that although certain individuals have soared into prominence in the arts and sciences, in the professions, the race as a whole still has a long way to go. educationally, morally, in manners, in general culture, the average still is pretty primitive.” i don't grant it, mused ned tarver, but assuming it's true, whose fault is it? “but that's to be expected, and nigras deserve great credit for doing as well as they did.” considering their white friends, tarver added. “now, friends and neighbors, this is obvious to you, but i repeat it-for the record, as lawyers say. we have found, through years of bitter experiences, that our two races get along better, live in greater peace and prosperity, living their separate lives. each has, on the whole, its own way of life, and it's much better for them to be apart. segregation has become a dirty word to northern radicals, but we've found that it works pretty well. i'm not saying it's an ideal arrange- ment. few things are ideal in this imperfect world. and yet the white band it's the best solution to a practical problem, a duality of races which has been with us for nearly a century. we've found that segregation in most places-schools, restaurants, theaters, playgrounds-works best. and we intend to continue that policy!” applause swelled into cheers. ned tarver, peering down from his perch below the rafters, clapped his hands in mock approval. a boy near him, his voice lost in the raucous demon- stration, shouted: “tell 'em to go screw theirselves!” when the audience had quieted, joe duffield asked: “does that mean we're going to tell the supreme court-well, in effect, to go to hell?”. "sure, tell 'em,” somebody yelled. joe laughed. “well, we may feel like it, but, after all, it's the supreme law of the land, and we're good, law-abiding americans. no, we're not defying the supreme court. but we have many remedies left, legal and otherwise, and by the ‘otherwise' i don't mean violence. even the court, which is so stacked against us, said we should be given time to work this out.” he had emphasized the last three words, and he added: “well, we'll work it out.” laughter and applause. “how? you may ask. the supreme court has spoken, and it's supposed to be the last word. well, i can tell you the states have not entirely surrendered their sovereignty despite the new deal supreme court with which we're afflicted. i don't think the founding fathers of this republic intended for any branch of the government to oppress any substantial number of the people, whether that branch is executive, legis- lative, or judicial. you can be sure this state and our sister states will solve this problem and solve it without surrendering to the anti-south clique which seems to be in the saddle in washington. our best legal minds are at work on the prob- lem, and you can offer odds to anyone who wants to wager u c the white band that they'll come up with a solution-or several solutions- which will add up to maintaining our sovereignty and our way of life.” he paused and glanced up at the top gallery, but saw only a blur of faces on the front row. “our state legislators are not asleep, and i can assure you this: you can send your children to school week after next without any fear that they'll be required to share their classrooms, perhaps even their desks, with colored children.” spirited applause swelled as it traveled over the hall, like a wave gathering size and force. “but where does organization, the white band, come in? i'll tell you, neighbors, where it comes in. it plans to help the state legislatures and the people to solve this pressing problem, to help wherever it can. we stand ready to offer legal aid where it is needed-and it will be needed-and to hold meetings and discuss measures; in short, to do what we can—and i think we can do a great deal -to protect you folks, who are busy with your jobs and your homes and can't be expected to have the necessary time to devote to this urgent matter. the white band is an old fraternal order, started in nineteen twenty-two. it has always been devoted to the best ideals, the finest aims of southerners and those from other sections who are interested in protecting the purity of the white race, in preserving pure americans from the encroachments of alien cultures. “this issue, thrust at our vitals by a judicial whim, a doc- trinaire constitutional conception, has revived the white band overnight. it has become again a vital force throughout the south. you'll see. we invite men of good moral character, citizens of standing and repute—and we don't want any other kind-to join this fine fraternal order. we charge a reasonable initiation fee and moderate dues. we have to. the fight we face will involve heavy expenses, and we have to meet them the white band some way. we invite the men in this audience who are in- terested to sign application blanks which you'll find at a desk in the rear of this auditorium. the application will not commit you in any way, but you'll receive an invitation to a meeting in your area, at which the order will be explained in more detail. if then you want to join, we'll be delighted to have you—if you measure up to the sort of man we want. and we won't take just anybody. for you good ladies there may be an auxiliary or something of the sort. i hope so. “now a personal word, and i close. i felt that i should get into this fight, do what i could to help preserve our south as it has been, as our fathers and grandfathers knew it. i've done what i could for you in the senate.” "you've done it, joe!” a voice shouted. “thank you, friend. well, i've always tried. but there's not much the senate or the house of representatives can do about a decision of the supreme court. oh, we could amend the constitution, but, as you know, that's a slow process. i felt i should get out on the firing line. i felt my state was menaced as clearly as it was the day my grandfather enlisted in eighteen sixty-one and went off to join joe wheeler's cavalry. it seemed to me the white band was the answer to a prayer. the gentlemen who were leading the movement to revive it invited me to join them, in fact to take the top post. i couldn't do that and stay in the senate-it wouldn't have been right. so i'm relinquishing my seat in the senate at the end of my term to give full time to this movement, at least for a while, after the first of the year. i'm serving without salary as a civic and patriotic duty. “this will be a long, hard fight. it won't be won even three years from now, but it can be lost in the first skirmish if we're not courageous and vigilant. i know we can count on every one of you and thousands like you in a dozen states. the white band i'm grateful to all of you for coming out this sultry night. thank you each and every one.” the senator sat down to a noisy outburst of adulation. ned tarver made his way down the two long flights of steps unno- ticed. in an eddy of the surging crowd in the lobby a line of men waited to be signed up at the table where a thickset man presided. tarver resisted a vagrant impulse to line up with them, hand in his name, sign up. it wouldn't do. some- body, sooner or later, might recognize him, and his usefulness on this mission would be ended. as he left the auditorium, the heat of the streets, cooked in the sun all day, steamed on, as a dish removed from the stove continues to exude steam. at a side street he turned out of the laughing, chattering crowd and walked down a lonely stretch of mean shops for two blocks. he paused at a three-story brick building. there was an electric sign, “hotel,” and below it in smaller letters, “for colored." oe duffield took off the coat of his tropical suit, a green- ish weave, and unknotted a tie of matching green stripes. his dacron shirt was plastered against him with sweat. with an exclamation of discomfort and weariness, he started taking off the limp shirt. his wife, sarah, stood in the doorway of his room. "hot work, wasn't it,” she said. “you can say that again. when'll our progressive city air condition that gaudy hall?” “some vagrant january,” she said. sarah loved to use unusual adjectives, and phrases which might sound strained or inapplicable came to her readily. this quaint practice had charmed him in their early years together; now it merely annoyed him. he used to tell her she was a poet, and she did write verses then, not very good ones. now he said nothing, or turned away impatiently when she came the white band out with what she imagined to be an original way of putting things. a faded beauty still clung to her, and she was far too young to be losing her looks, yet she no longer had that breath- taking loveliness compounded of a rare touch of natural color on her cheeks, the symmetry of a wide mouth, an unobtrusive nose, and big dark eyes. her cheeks were puffed with too many drinks, and her trim figure had been lost; she bulged in the middle. her dark brown hair was graying, not unbe- comingly. “the rednecks were in good form,” she commented. “i've heard you do better." “my speech,” he explained, annoyed, "was on the informa- tive side. i wasn't trying to be eloquent. and they were not all rednecks. there were some pretty high-grade people in that audience." she had gone, to his surprise; out of curiosity. he had offered her a seat on the platform-there were other women there—but she had preferred to sit in the audience. “but one thing i don't understand,” she added. “that part of the statement in which you affirmed that you'd serve with- out salary. i thought you said ..." “i thought you understood,” he said wearily. “but i guess i didn't explain too clearly. there'll be profits, big ones.” “and you'll share in them.” “naturally.” “you didn't tell them that." “and why should i have?” “oh. well, i didn't think you were going into this as an idealistic gesture.” “maybe in a way i am.” she laughed. “maybe. well, good night.” “good night.” the white band he was aware of her clinging reddish dressing gown as she went to her room across the hall. once he would have found it and her alluring. no more. they were friendly, most of the time, but their separate rooms attested a changed relationship. they had, as the victorian novelists said, drifted apart. he wondered whether ted, his sixteen-year-old son, was home, but he was too tired to find out. probably not. and it was doubtful that he had bothered to go to the meeting. their daughter, sally, whose formal name, of course, was sarah, was a more stable sort; she'd given them very little worry. and she was prettier, he reflected, as he got into the shower, than her mother ever was. at the moment sally was visiting a girl friend up in north carolina. in a few weeks she'd be going back for her junior year at bryn mawr. cooled and tingling pleasantly from the lightly applied towel, he got into his silk summer pajamas and stepped back into his bedroom. he went to an open window. a nice breeze was stirring through the tall pines of their place on the edge of town. duffields, a colonial house standing on a hill over dogwood road, was charming, if old-fashioned. they'd moved here eight years ago, at a cost beyond his means, and it would take him another ten years to pay for the place, unless the white band. ... well, there were possibilities. he started, gratefully, for bed. joe duffield was at the law office he had kept in riverport throughout his years in congress. he had maintained what he called a lukewarm practice, which he left largely to his color- less but learned partner, will belforth. then, too, it was desirable for a member of congress to have an office in his home town, a place to meet his constituents and the state's cm the white band more important politicians when congress was not in session. the new professional tower, in which they had a corner suite just below the top floor, the twentieth, was air-con- ditioned, a triumph of modernistic architecture, with setbacks every five stories, soaring (for riverport) into a graceful spire. he was settled back in his swivel chair, the morning after the meeting, with nothing special to do. he had gone through the mail and dictated answers to the few letters that required them. his secretary, a tall girl with cornsilk hair, opened the door. “there's a gentleman to see you. a mr.-carver, i believe. he says he's an old friend of yours, and just dropped in.” “carver? i don't remember him. probably i know him, though. god, a man can't remember the names of all his constituents, though he must always pretend to. show him in.” a moment later ned tarver walked in, cool-looking in a fancy brown weave of seersucker. joe stood. “why, ned tarver! i'll be good and god- damned. my girl said 'carver.'” “they usually get it wrong.” they shook hands. “how are you, joe? you're looking fine.” “never felt better. sit down.” they talked a moment of riverport and the weather, which can be taken for granted in the deep south and needs no comment. then tarver said: “i was at your meeting last night.” joe smiled. “well ..." he hardly knew what to say. ned laughed. “that was your white-collar speech, joe. you didn't say a word about nigger rapists or our smelly neighbors.” "now, ned..." the white band “but i will say, joe, there was always more class to you than your stone-age ideas would indicate. you used to be able to argue against the federal lynching bill in congress cending to the vituperative levels of a bilbo or a huey long.” “thank you, ned, my old college pal.” “we had a lot of fun in those days, joe.” “we sure did. cigarette?” "i don't mind. thanks. but in those days, senator, you didn't have the ... shall i say 'extreme' views about the inter- racial situation you now entertain.” “well, ned, i don't know that i've changed so much. but when you get into politics in the south ..." “i know, i understand, and i won't try to embarrass you.” joe looked out the window over the skyline. quite a me- tropolis riverport was becoming. the cherokee river cut gleaming through the city, twisting in the sun like molten metal. “what brings you here, ned? if you care to tell me.” "i do—that's why i came in, one reason-i'm always glad to see an old friend. i'm general counsel for this new organi- zation, the league for racial justice.” “i've heard of it,” joe mused. “what is it?” “just what it purports to be.” "i see. i suppose the segregation issue-or should i call it the desegregation issue-brings you down here." “naturally.” ned tapped his cigarette reflectively on the big brass ashtray on joe's desk. “i suppose, joe, this thing will get into the courts in various ways. i'm just hoping we can avoid hysteria and violence, on both sides." “i'm with you there, ned.” "i'm sure you are. but what about this white band?". "well, it's agin you, naturally. you know the attitude of southerners-of perhaps ninety percent of them. they don't the white band want desegregation-integration-whatever you want to call it. they're determined not to have it.” ned raised his hands and dropped them. “but what can they do? the supreme court has spoken.” “and how! well, you know as a lawyer there are many lines of legal attack, even when your last remedy seems ex- hausted.” "i suppose so. i got a new trial for a boy in washington who was about to go to the hot seat. i got it after the supreme court had refused to review his case.” “there you are. and the various state legislatures are dis- cussing plans to, to ..." "nullify." joe laughed. “if you want to call it that.” “i don't want to pry into your business, joe, but is this white band a secret society?” “yes, to an extent. i think we'll carry on the formalities it used back in the twenties: white masks when appearing in public, if there should be parades or demonstration, and they'd be to attract recruits, raise money maybe-it costs a lot to fight through the courts." “a sort of ku klux?” "no, that's not my understanding. we don't plan to in- timidate anybody or to make threats.” "i see.” ned wondered if joe was sincere in saying that. you couldn't be sure. he was too enmeshed in southern poli- tics to be trusted any longer. there had been a time, when they were both very young ... “how," joe asked, “did your outfit happen to spring up? i thought the n.a.a.c.p. was looking after the interests of the nigras.” “it's doing its share and more, but we were set up particu- larly to handle the legal end, to advise our people, to try to the white band smooth out situations where there is serious tension, as i'm afraid there will be in a lot of places. we're a small organi- zation, financed by subscriptions and by some substantial gifts from northern liberals.” "i hope,” said joe, “the commies don't horn in on this thing.” ned's face tensed, but he controlled an instinctive wave of anger. “they always do. but our outfit is pro-american and anti-red. they'll call us reds, they have already. everything that is against the status quo is called red sooner or later." "i know. i'm not accusing you of reddishness. i was simply thinking. the reds always show up in times of stress and cause trouble if they can.” “that's perfectly true, and it's something we both have to guard against.” they were silent a moment, then ned said, “i thought since you and i were heads of two organizations in the middle of this thing, naturally on opposite sides, we might sort of ease things where we could. for instance, if we get into court, we could stipulate facts here and there and maybe save drag- ging in a lot of witnesses and perhaps engendering local hatred or fanning it.” "i'm with you there. i'll do what i can. i won't be going into court personally. but i'll introduce you to our general counsel, and i'm sure he'll cooperate wherever it seems feasi- ble.” "fine." joe thought of something else. “look, ned, are you going to advise colored parents to send their children to white schools.” “it's what the supreme court said they were to do.” ned laughed. “but, no, we won't advise any such thing as a mass movement-it would simply cause trouble. in some individual the white band instances we may have to. after all, we too may decide to make a test case or two, in the interest of enforcing the law.” “i see.” joe's serious expression relaxed into a grin. “look, ned, why don't we go out and have a drink? it's a little early in the day, but we can have coffee, coke, anything you like.” “that's nice of you, joe. but somebody might recognize me, and that would ruin your career.” joe laughed. “that i doubt. anyway, it would be a hell of a note if i couldn't have a cup of coffee or a mug of beer with an old friend.” ned leaned over the desk reflectively. “there was a time when you and i more or less agreed this was all a lot of non- sense." "i know.” joe looked around and lowered his voice, as if afraid someone was eavesdropping. “entre nous, ned, i haven't changed so much. i think, down deep, interracial contacts are a matter of congeniality, not color or blood. god, they'd shoot me if they heard me say this. ..." "i'll never tell.” “you want to know the truth? i wouldn't really mind if my children went to school with colored children. didn't i sit right beside you as we heard professor blaisdell expound the law of contracts?” "sure, and didn't we trot down the half block to the courts together to listen in and get practical knowledge of pro- cedure?” "we did, often." “and didn't you and i and rafferty and that tall swede- larsen?-go to that speak nights and settle the problems of the universe?” "sure." "well,” joe added, “as you know, i've been in the middle the white band ass of southern politics for some years. you can't be elected constable if you entertain such views. then, too, ned, you yankees oversimplify the whole problem.” “we yankees. merciful god! you forget i was brought up in alabama?" “so you were. but you've been away a long time. it's one thing for two people or four people of common interests but different races and perhaps different colors to associate so- cially. it's another thing to force a mass integration of two races when their average levels of culture are so different, their divergence so pronounced, their prejudices against each other so bitter. it's bound to come. but it can't be forced all at once by edict.” ned turned away thoughtfully. “i realize the difficulties, joe. but just the same we've got to try, and hope it will work out.” he stood up. “well, it's nice to talk to you, joe, and i'll be seeing you around.” “good.” they shook hands and the visitor left. v ned tarver pushed through the revolving doors and turned down dogwood street, the main thoroughfare, and it re- minded him of entering the steamroom in the turkish bath in harlem he patronized occasionally. well, new york could be hot too, very much like this some days. suddenly aware of intense thirst, he spotted a tavern, and impulsively went in. he twisted himself into a high chair at the bar. no one challenged him. he ordered a beer, and glanced at himself in the mirror back of the bottles. his fea- tures were as caucasian as the bartender's or those of any of the half-dozen men at the bar. there were one or two with complexions as dark as his. the white band he drained the beer without pause and ordered another. the intense humidity had given him a terrific thirst. poor old joe. a successful man, to be sure, and no doubt happy. or was he happy, or even content? that was hard to say. a lot of men would consider a seat in the senate the apex of their ambition. but joe. . . . and now he'd gone into this-well, it couldn't be, in the final analysis, anything but a hate society, however joe and his associates gilded it. ned thought of joe as he had been twenty-five years ago. a brilliant youth, crackling with potentialities. he'd gone to law school with a university degree, an education more on the classical than the more popular practical side ... liberal arts: languages, philosophy. afterward his law degree, and postgraduate courses in london and paris. a young man equipped to lead the south instead of following it, and yet he was ending, like so many others, nowhere. down the bar two men in slacks and sport shirts, middle- aged men who probably were artisans of some sort, were dis- cussing the big issue. "... but what the hell can they do?” “they can send federal troops down if they wanta.” “they ain't a-gonta do that?" “i'd like to know why the hell not? what's to stop 'em?" “think they want another war, like back in 'sixty-four when sherman come down here?” “they wouldn't care a damn." “they ain't soldiers enough to force us to send our kids to school with niggers.” “i think you're right. they'd hafta de-tail a corporal's guard to every family. i know i'd a damned sight druther my kids grew up not knowin' how to read and write and add a column of figures than have 'em go to school with a lot of were me niggers.” the white band w “me too.” the other laughed. “next they'll be saying i gotta have niggers in to dinner once a week.” “i wouldn't be surprised none at what they'd do.” ned drained his second beer and left. he walked two blocks and waited for a bus. he knew riverport. he had been here often, the first time when he was eleven, or maybe barely twelve, and he had worked for a grocer in an interim between schools. boarding the bus, he instinctively started to the back, where negro patrons were supposed to sit. they could, if there were enough of them, fill the seats toward the front, half-way at least, though the drivers always saw that there were seats reserved for white passengers who might get on. but he took a vacant seat near the front, and no one bothered him. when in the south he usually followed the routine devised for his race; it was best not to tempt providence or whatever it was that controlled fate. he was in a perverse mood today, no doubt about it. there was always the chance that somebody would recognize him. last year he had delivered the com- mencement address at carwell college, to which he was on his way at this moment, and recently a weekly news maga- zine had written him up rather extensively, with a picture. oh, well. the campus, quite pretty with its rows of poplars and the taller pines in back, the ivy-subdued brick buildings, was quiet. a few students of the summer school were passing, but the big rush wouldn't be on for three weeks, when the regu- lar session started. in the outer office of the president's suite the secretary, a dark, pretty girl, recognized him. “how are you, mr. tar- ver? dr. jameson will be right with you. sit down, won't you." the white band “thank you.” in a few minutes he was ushered into the inner office, where a tall, thin, black man greeted him with a warm handshake. “good to see you, ned. you're looking well.” “bearing up quite nicely, thanks. and you?” "i do very well considering my age and burdens.” dr. jameson laughed. he was a ph.d. from cornell, who had specialized in soil chemistry, and he had devised some im- proved fertilizing formulas and some new crop-rotating pro- cedures. “sit down, ned. lunch'll be ready in a little while.” "thank you. i hope i'm not putting you to any trouble.” “on the contrary, it's only a pleasure. how's your fam- ily?” “quite well. nell's giving a one-man-i should say, one- woman-show soon at some little gallery down in the village.” “your wife's really got it, hasn't she?” “they say she has. i'm no judge of painting, and i suppose i'd be a prejudiced critic. my oldest boy's in the army. he's in germany at the moment. he got a commission.” “good for him.” “as long as he doesn't come south.” they both laughed. “he got through columbia before the army took him," ned added. “your family well?” “all quite well. jim, that's my youngest boy, is doing re- search in physics for the government. nuclear. all quite hush.” “fine." “i believe it's in the peaceful use of nuclear energy, though he can't say too much about it. i hope so. how's your mis- sion going?” “just starting, so i don't know. i had a talk with joe duf- field this morning.” vernm the white band "joe duffield? oh, i believe you told me once you and he were more or less friends.” “we are. we went to georgetown law together." "you did? well, i'll be damned. i see he's taking over that white band. it was revived recently. one of the most vicious of those secret societies that flourished in the twenties. well, it's too bad. i once had hopes of joe duffield.” “we all had.” “they all end up the same way down here. what did he have to say?" "the usual thing. of course he denied the white band would be used for intimidation or violence." “that has a familiar ring,” said the educator. “they always deny it. when the ku klux was reborn nearly forty years ago, they said it was merely a fraternal order-of course for white, gentile protestants. but what are your plans? what about the league for racial justice?” “we're moving along, doctor, sort of feeling our way. but the schools open in two weeks, and we hope to make a few test cases, get the ball to rolling, you might say.' “the supreme court,” dr. jameson reflected, “agreed to allow a reasonable time to put its ruling into effect. i suppose some of our southern white friends will construe that as any- where from twenty-five years to a century.” ned laughed. “i don't doubt it. and i don't want to pre- cipitate trouble. there's enough of it on the horizon already. but we felt, our board of directors, that we ought to test the thing in some way, at least make a formal showing of com- plying with the court's order, and let the federal courts con- strue the meaning of “reasonable.' we can't let it lapse by default.” "i think you're on the right track, ned. it shouldn't cause trouble-though you never know. let some negro children tips o the white band apply for admission to a public school. of course they'll be turned down, with one excuse or another, and then you can apply for mandamus or certiorari or whatever you always call it." “exactly." “what you wrote me about baynesville ..." “yes?” "it might do very well. it's a typical mill town, and the negro grade school there is particularly bad. the building is unsanitary and about to fall apart, and the school is pitifully understaffed. the old gag about separate but comparable fa- cilities is ludicrous at baynesville, as it is in many places. the white schools there are new and quite good.” “we heard the situation was pretty bad there." baynesville was only twenty miles from riverport. ned recalled it vaguely as a little county seat, with the usual brick courthouse presiding over the usual square. since then some big textile mills had moved down from new england. he picked up a glass paperweight from the educator's uncluttered desk. it was a pretty thing, with marine fossils seeming to grow in depths at its bottom. dr. jameson glanced at a ship's chronometer on the wall. “i'm sure lunch is ready. suppose we start.” oe duffield tossed the morning paper on the dining-room table indignantly. “harry holmes,” he said, “you might know." sarah took a sip of her cooled-off coffee. “he's always been against you, hasn't he?” “he's against everything,” joe said, “except his own brand of enlightenment-what he regards as the liberal attitude to- ward the south. look at this editorial!” “let's see it.” sarah, cool-looking in a thin, blue lounging robe, picked up the paper and read: , apparently the white band, one of the better hate socie- ties of the lamented ' 's, is being revived in a big way to combat this dreadful scourge of integration in the schools. the announced head of it is none other than our retiring (although that's not quite the word) junior senator, the hon. joseph duffield. between pious platitudes at a meeting the white band at which he ended the breathless public suspense over his im- mediate future, he explained that he was serving this fine secret society without salary. we have no reason to doubt the word of a man who is still a senator of the united states. probably he is serving without salary. but then ... let us express the hope that he is not sacrificing too much for the welfare of his beloved south. “personally he's not a bad guy," joe commented. “but he's obsessed with the idea that he and a few other editors-god knows they are few enough-can change the south's think- ing. he'll hurt the dispatch, cause subscriptions to be can- celed; worse, the paper'll lose advertising. but harry's the kind who would rather be right than make a living. he's nuts." “wasn't such a trait once considered rather noble?” sarah asked. joe put down his coffee cup. “no doubt. still is, perhaps. but this is a practical world. and if you're in public life- and editors as well as politicians are-you can get only so far ahead of public opinion. you've got to consider what people, most people, think, even if you regard them as a lot of dolts.” “tra-la-la,” said sarah, “but why is the south worked up into such a zither?” “dither.” “as you like. but why? this thing'll be worked out no doubt. most things are, i've found. a way out's usually found, sooner or later.” "no doubt,” joe said indifferently. “but you're from the north, sarah, and, though you've been down here a long time, you can't yet see through southern eyes.” "i'm afraid i don't want to," she retorted. “the south's the white band the dark young man was in a good humor. “we've jumped into this thing at just the right time, joe. it's going like fury. hank and i have had to hire a dozen clerks to take care of the mail-the checks, the membership certificates. we've got thousands of new members in five states." “great.” joe, leaning over dave's desk, flicked the ashes from his cigarette. “i guess the ten bucks initiation hasn't scared many off.” "no. my god, it's what the white band charged back in the twenties, and prices have gone up about three hundred percent since.” “i know, but it still sounds like a spot of money to many men. and the dues. we fixed them at twenty dollars a year, didn't we?” “yeah, payable quarterly. five bucks every three months won't hurt anybody. only the poorest whites-sharecroppers and migratory workers-will stay out.” "we don't want them anyway,” said joe. “what good would they be? we'll have their support anyway, for what- ever it's worth.” "sure.” “there's something," joe reflected, "called the citizens' councils started over in mississippi and reported spreading. it has our aim-well, the aim of almost everybody in the south-to preserve the white race, if you want to simplify, although at the moment the issue is only schools.” "i know about them,” dave beckett said. “fats gilliam was over on the ole miss campus last week, and he told me all about them.” “who's fats gilliam?” “why, joe, you mean to say you don't remember the coach at baynesville state teachers, the onetime all-amer- ican guard at state u?” the white band "of course! sometimes i can't remember my mother's maiden name.” a picture of an enormous man with a loud chuckle took shape. there were many gilliams around this country. they pronounced it gill-um. “what did he say?”. "simply that it's no competitor of ours, except we're all working for the same end. it's not a fraternal or secret order like ours. it's composed of rotarians, kiwanians, what have you; leading citizens in most towns. they simply meet and pass resolutions and petition the legislatures and so on. the white band will be much more-effective." “fats gilliam is with us?” “decidedly. i think he was the first man to join at baynes- ville. hank and i were thinking of bringing him into the in- ner council, making him an officer. that is, if you approve.” "sure, anything you want.” “he has a lot of friends, a lot of influence, especially in the younger crowd, the men we particularly want. but what i wanted to tell you today was something else. one of my spies,” dave beckett laughed, "brought me word that the nigras are fixing to make the first test of this new ruling, if you want to call it a ruling-i call it a piece of legislation by the supreme court-anyway that they're planning to test it over at baynesville.” “is that so?” “yeah. they claim baynesville has one of the worst col- ored schools in the state and a high school that's substandard.” “certainly they're not up to what we've given them in riv- erport.” "no. and i hear an afro lawyer named ned tarver is in riverport and is going down there to make trouble when the schools open.” “i'm not surprised. i know ned. in fact, i saw him yes- terday.” the white band "you saw him?” “sure, he came up to my office. we talked over the situ- ation a little.” “you knew him before?” "i knew him around washington,” joe said vaguely. “not a bad guy. quite brilliant." “oh, they have them,” dave conceded. “i've known them. remember, i went to school up north, like you did. sure, their leaders are as well-educated as we are, some better than most of us, and they should know better. but they come down here and stir up the poor morons on the farms and in the towns and only cause them trouble.” “that's true. but what can you do?” "nothing,” said dave significantly, “but meet each situa- tion as it happens.” “i suppose they'll go into federal court and ask certiorari, and we'll have damon quiller there to oppose them, and if the judge grants them relief, we'll appeal on one ground or another, although the basic question appears to have been settled.” dave looked up with a small, sardonic smile. “that's about how the legal end of it will shape up." joe changed the subject. “how are plans for headquarters coming?” “oh, i'm glad you asked. we've got a chance to lease the whole top floor of the darby building at dogwood and henry. a very nice building." “i know.” "we want you to meet there with us within the next few days to go over the deal. we feel we can't do much better, but you must be satisfied, joe.” “i'll be glad to meet with you. call me. if i'm not in, the white band leave word with my secretary. i'll be running along. every- thing looks fine-super, in fact.” “i'll say." joe, trying to ignore the discomfort of the steamy street, reflecting how much like washington riverport could be, found vague but impressive figures flashing through his mind. why, if this thing went as it should, as it promised to, he'd be a rich man in a year; they'd all be-dave, and hank, and damon, and perhaps one or two others who would be cut in. with thousands coming in, week after week, the money would pile up. their overhead wouldn't be much, as such things went. maybe he'd have enough in six months to pull out. this was nothing he wanted for a permanent connec- tion. he needed money. and he'd have it. more than he could make as a senator in thirty years. in washington you never had enough: you had to maintain a decent home, if you were a senator, entertain a certain amount. it took a wealthy man to get by. he returned the greetings of two men who called, "hello, senator.” he hadn't the slightest idea who they were. when he, his family-of course he included them in everything, even if sarah was strange and distant these days, more interested in the next drink than in him-when they accumulated enough, and it shouldn't be long, he could think about re- suming his political career ... if he still wanted it. they'd be electing a new governor in two years, and that might be a better stepping-stone even than senator: you were closer to your own state. then, too, he wouldn't be at all surprised if a new party was organized in the south, better, more effective than the dixiecrats of 'fifty-two, a split-off from the liberal democrats of the north. and who was better fitted to lead them? oh, he had no political illusions. he knew such a candidate couldn't be elected, any more than strom thur- n the white band mond could, and yet, if the movement were south-wide, more cohesive, more determined, more intelligent, the presidential candidate would come out of the campaign with a prestige the leaders, the manipulators, north and south, would have to reckon with. a man had to plan ahead. he turned into a side street and soon came to the old brown mansion that housed the cherokee club. he pushed into its spacious, cool, hushed rooms, sat down in the main lounge, and rang for a drink before lunch. larry holmes was bent over his battered desk reading the editorial-page galley proofs. he was sixty-seven and looked older-a veteran who had started on the dispatch as a copy boy in the days when the first roosevelt was president, and the automobile was a stared-at novelty, and you could buy a substantial lunch for fifteen cents. this rickety three- story building, which you entered down a little street that was no more than an alley off forrest square, actually was the paper's third home, though it looked as if it might have been the original building. the dispatch dated back to eighteen seventy-one, when sherman's march was still a fresh memory and a federal provost guard prowled the streets at night. but now the owners had drawn plans for a resplendent new building. the editor wondered if he'd live or his job would last long enough to work in the new place. he didn't own any of the paper; he was still only a salaried employee. he was aware of a figure looming in the doorway, though the white band it had approached noiselessly. john braden always loomed; he was that sort of well-filled-out, bulgy-jawed man, whose age must be around fifty, though he never mentioned it. john braden was the principal owner of the chain of papers which had bought the dispatch five years ago. everything, harry holmes reflected, tended to chains these days: newspapers, hotels, groceries, even drugstores. "don't let me interrupt you, harry,” said john braden. “oh, that's all right, john, i was just going over these proofs. no hurry. there's time for them. have a seat.” "thanks." the owner pulled up an uncomfortable straight chair and lit his half-smoked cigar. his cigars were always going out. he'd forget them, then suddenly remember them. he had been in town several days, so that harry holmes was not surprised to see him again. this, he sensed, was to be a conference; the other meetings had been merely to pass the time of day. “how are things going, harry?” john, who looked vocif- erous and blustery, was surprisingly soft-spoken, and yet he never failed to make his points. "all right, i guess, john. no particular complaints. this segregation thing has got us all worried.” “that's one thing i wanted to speak to you about.” “yes?” john braden puffed on his revived cigar. “your editorial about joe duffield was clever. i had to laugh.” harry knew that his employer had not brought up the editorial to compli- ment him, and he waited. “but don't you think," the owner added, with an obvious striving after tact, “that you went a little far?” “maybe.” harry, a small man who seemed to shrink as the years piled on him, ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. “after all, joe is a very popular man.” the white band "no doubt of that.” “i think you were entirely right in everything you-im- plied,” braden went on. “but an editorial like that might hurt us, cost us subscribers, even advertisers. i hear this white band is going great, really taking on proportions.” "i don't doubt it.” “and the segregation thing is a red-hot issue, as you know. when the court's decision was announced, this paper sup- ported it, although you were tactful in what you said: they couldn't expect too much from the south all at once, but it had to come. we were right of course. remember, harry, i'm a yankee, and i don't see much wrong with desegregating the schools, but i realize most southerners do, and we've got to get along with them. we've got that paper in florida too, though jack beamer is not as liberal as you are, harry, and he hopped all over the court, and i let him alone, just as i let you alone. and i'm not trying to tell you what to do now. you're the editor, and i believe strongly in local management of our papers. and yet ... well, we can't go too far in an- tagonizing the people who are our bread and butter. i don't need to labor that point, harry. you've been a newspaper- man a damned sight longer than i have, and you're one of the best editors we have.” “thank you.” there was no sarcasm in the editor's tone, though a measure of it in what he felt. twenty years ago he'd have said get somebody else, i can't be a half-way editor. but now-where could he get another job at his age? and how could he and his wife get along on the pension they'd prob- ably dole out to him, though the children were grown, mar- ried, scattered, making their own way? but how could you compromise with principle, with what you felt to be right? "i just thought,” john braden went on, “that you might sort of tone things down, at least until things simmer down. the white band i suppose there'll be some sort of compromise—there generally is in situations like this." "i wonder.” harry smoothed back what was left of his hair. "i've heard some pretty harsh things said about the dispatch the last few days,” braden added. “of course i'm not for spineless, do-nothing papers. nobody has any respect for them. just the same, i've wondered, harry, what made you so -so liberal. you were born down in this country and grew up, i suppose, with the prejudices of the region.” "i did. my father was a kid soldier in the confederacy. he was at chickamauga and atlanta and in some other bat- tles. i absorbed most of his feelings when i was young. it was only later that i began to think for myself. i'm not sure what it was. i remember we were desperately poor. my brothers and sisters, five of them, and my father trying to make a go of a country store. the boys had to drop out of school when they were in their teens. then my father died, and my mother tried to run the store, but there wasn't much in it, and she had to sell out for what she could get. we had a small farm, but everything brought so little it was hardly worth holding out. i went up to riverport-i was around seventeen-and got on here as a copy boy. i stayed. i became a reporter. but you don't want a biography of me. you're wondering how a southerner who grew up just after recon- struction got the ideas i seem to have.” harry holmes paused and filled his caked old pipe, a straight briar. he lighted it carefully and took a few puffs. “i used to see the nigras, especially in the country, trying to scrab a living in those days, and they were worse off than we were, though some of them were more efficient farmers. they were still held in a sort of economic slavery. very few of them could afford much of an education, and their schools in the white band those days, where there were any at all, were one-room shacks. i'd know boys who tried desperately to better them- selves. there are some good nigra colleges in the south- tuskegee, morehouse in atlanta, carwell right here in river- port-but it was hard for boys to qualify for these colleges, and harder to work their way through when they could make the grade. and even when they did, what was there for them afterward? i've seen young men with b.a.'s, even m.a.'s, become waiters or janitors because there was nothing else for them. there were not enough teaching jobs. oh, they could go north. but there wasn't much for them there, unless they became lawyers or doctors, and they couldn't all go into those professions.” “harry,” john braden interposed, “every kid has that prob- lem, white, black, or green, whatever his color or anteced- ents.” “to an extent, john, but the negroes”-suddenly he pro- nounced the name as northerners and westerners do—“have a tougher time. down here they can't vote except at general elections. you know how much a general election counts in the south. they can't vote at democratic primaries, which decide who will rule them. they have no voice in their gov- ernment. they are segregated in every way: at theaters, res- taurants, station waiting-rooms, drinking fountains, toilets. either they're citizens or they're not. let's be honest and call them a servile class without rights or else give them full citi- zenship. i can't see making somebody half a citizen.” john held his half-smoked cigar, which had gone out, and looked away at the scrounged-up plaster on the far wall. he said nothing. “another thing,” harry added. “i'm against segregation because of its effect on the white people.” "the white people?” the white band the boy who was twenty-five before he knew white girls did it. well, they bring to their marriages a sense of guilt and an appalling lack of understanding. but i didn't mean to make a speech. sorry, john.” "it's all been very interesting.” john braden got up. “and instructive. you've got logic on your side. but these people -you could never persuade them.” "i don't expect to.” "well, don't worry too much about what i said. just give it some thought.” “i will, john.” “will you lunch with me tomorrow, harry? there'll be a couple of other men there, men you know-will hardin and jefferson smith.” “i'll be glad to. thank you.” “we'll meet at the cherokee club. at one. i'm leaving tomorrow night.” they shook hands. braden left, and harry went back to his galleys. daynesville was in process of turning from a country town into a city. on courthouse square, a fine new steel-and- brick office building of eight stories was flanked on one side by a seventy-year-old livery stable, converted with a mini- mum of effort into an auto repair shop; on the other side by wallen's market, a rickety old frame building. across the square, the new city library, of limestone, stood next to the old travellers' hotel, a rambling frame structure which had decayed into a cheap rooming house. the new stone-and- brick baynesville hotel, a block off the square, towered ten stories. there was a new residential suburb, where executives of the textile mills transplanted from new england (because of cheap labor and accessibility to raw cotton) had built their expensive homes. the baynesville country club had one of the state's sportiest golf courses. but there was one section of the fast-growing httle city which had changed hardly at all-the area, roughly eight square blocks, known as niggertown. it was a haphazard col- lection of wooden houses, some in fair preservation, others mere hovels, with sagging roofs and crumpling joints. there were, on the fringes, some brick houses which had been solid the white band “i understand, but you don't know these white folks around here. where was you brought up, mr. ned?” “over in alabama.” “golly, you ought to know. i bet you didn't talk outa turn over there. but you've lived up north a long time.” “i went north when i was seventeen.” “maybe you've forgotten how it was when you was a little shaver.” “no, jack, i haven't forgotten.” “well, you can't get away with nothing out of the way. you best go along in the regular way, and keep your mouf shut and speak when you're spoken to. i wouldn't have my job three days iffen i was to mess in this school thing." he drove a truck for one of the mills. tarver stood up. “i don't want to cause you any trouble, jack. but the only way we'll get anywhere in this fight, even if the supreme court has decided it, is to keep putting the pressure on them.” jack dornin laughed. “well, let somebody else put the pressure on. not me. i knows when i'm well off.” “think it over. and thanks just the same.” ned started down the street, with a backward wave. it was a mild day, with a haze on the pine hills that surrounded the town and a hint of autumn in the air. it was hard to break through the shell which fear, compli- ance, and indifference had formed in these people. he didn't blame them for not wanting to stick their necks out. the whites would retaliate, undoubtedly. but what could you do? you couldn't let the decision languish by default. well, the lawyer, goodwin, had offered to take his two children over to the white school and ask to have them enrolled. and smith, the colored undertaker, was willing to proffer his eight- year-old girl any time. probably he could get others. one the white band was enough to make a test case, but he had wanted a score: a large number would make a more impressive petition. or would it matter? the books were full of important decisions in which a single citizen had been upheld in some plea. be- sides, the court had acted. this would merely constitute defiance, contempt of court. it was time to act. the schools had opened two weeks ago, and nothing had yet happened. he had planned to make a test the opening day, but there was so much confusion and so much delay in obtaining volunteers that he hadn't yet been able to prepare the papers and go into court. he didn't feel that the delay greatly mattered; perhaps it would strengthen their cause to have allowed the white schools more time to prepare for integration ... which not one was doing, none south of a border state. well, he'd stop in at one more house, just for luck. he selected one of the least inviting places, a sagging old house which was little more than a shack. integration, disintegra- tion, he thought as he knocked. after some time a nervous little woman opened the door a crack. “what is it, please?” “could i speak to you a minute?” she looked at him suspiciously. it was the old story. he looked too much like a white man; it was hard to get them to believe he was one of them. sometimes he wished for a skin like coal. “is your husband around?” she opened the door a little wider. “i haven't got a hus- band. i'm a widow.” “oh, do you have children?” “yassah, three.” “could we sit here on the porch a minute and talk? it's about the children.” she came out then. "well, sit down, mister.” she remained standing. one pillar of the porch was gone, and a corner of the white band the roof which it had supported had lurched forward until it looked as if it might tumble over any time. he sat on a broken kitchen chair. “what ages are your children?” “nine, eleven, twelve. . . . if you're the truant officer, they're all in school, up at spread creek, and they goes regu- lar–i sees to that.” he laughed. “i'm nothing like that. i represent the league for racial justice.” she stared at him. “what mought that be?” “well, it's an organization to try to get full citizenship rights for the colored people. i'm colored, just like you.” she studied him. “you don't much look it." “i know, but i am. wouldn't you like to have your chil- dren go to a better school?” the little woman's eyes flashed. “i shore would. it ain't that the teacher's not okay at spread creek. but last year seven, maybe eight chillun come down with the typhoid fever, and i was scared sick my chillun would get it. so was the other mothers. we figured it come from the well they gets drinkin' water. the health officer tested it, says it warn't that. i don't know. he said it mought be the milk. he raised hell-closed up one dairy till it got rid of some cows. i don't think he'd've bothered much except he was afraid t'would spread to white folks. they got it stopped, though, wherever it was a-comin' from.” “that was a worry all right. you've got outdoor toilets at the spread creek school?” “oh, shore.” “you've heard about the supreme court, how it's held negro children were entitled to go to white schools?” “i heard about it; so did the white people. i heard plenty talk, too. i'm a charwoman at the new ho-tel. i heard 'em the white band sayin' ain't none of their chillun gonta go to school with nig- ger chillun.” “that's what they say, but the courts feel differently, and what the courts say goes." “maybe. i ain't sayin' one way or the other.” “if you'd be willing to cooperate with us, to help us to the extent of just taking your children to the white school and offering to enroll them ...” he explained how they had to test the issue. to his surprise she said, “shore. i ain't got nothin' to lose.” but suddenly she eyed him suspiciously. “how do i know you're not a white man tryin' git me into a jam?”. he laughed softly. “i guess you'll just have to take my word for it. of course i've got papers to prove who i am, if you'd like to ..." he reached into his inside pocket, but she held up a re- straining hand. “never mind. somehow or other i believe you. and i'll do what you say." he took down her name and the names of her children. the next night ned tarver had dinner at the home of tom goodwin, the lawyer. the goodwins lived in one of the new houses on the bel- ton street edge of niggertown. tom, who had a good prac- tice, as much as he could handle, had built this bungalow. it had a carefully tended, sloping lawn, on the fringes of which ran the flower garden that was tom's particular pride. tom, an open-faced brown man with an infectious grin, had studied law at a state university in the north. his wife, youthful and pretty, with a complexion like cream, had gone to howard university in washington. she had under-furnished rather than over-furnished the house, with a taste that ran to spare, the white band blond, modern furniture. there were a few prints of cézanne and gauguin. ned and tom were at the flat desk in a corner of the living room going over the petition they had drawn up earlier in the day in tom's office. ella goodwin sat at the small piano playing a chopin nocturne in a pianissimo that was a mere breath of sound. "if i'm disturbing you two ...” she paused. “not at all,” ned assured her. "i love it. you can really play, ella.” "thank you, ned. i had a good teacher, but i don't prac- tice the way i used to, and i can't play much any more.” “i must,” ned retorted, “ask the court to rule out that statement as obviously untrue.” they all laughed. the two children, the girl twelve and the boy nine, were in another corner going over their school books. the two lawyers bent over their papers. “of course," ned observed, “if our clients are admitted to the white school, we won't need this.” tom goodwin laughed hard. “you can be funny. know any more good ones? well, we'll have the evidence for a prima facie case by tomorrow night.” ella began playing again, very softly. it was a mild eve- ning, half summer, half autumn, and through the screen door a faint background chorus of crickets drifted in. suddenly there was another sound, vague at first, then definite ... the music of a band. it was swelling, approaching. they all went out on the porch. the band was coming up belton street, through the middle of niggertown. “what could that be?" tom wondered. "the colored elks maybe. they hang on a parade every now and then.” e- the white band "it's 'the stars and stripes forever they're playing,” ned remarked, “though their tempo is a little ragged.” “it certainly is,” ella agreed. the band finished the number, and the drums rolled a beat for hundreds of marching men. as the procession neared the "nice” part of belton street the drums beat a flourish, and the band launched into “year of jubilo.” ella shuddered and laughed. “did you hear that trumpet? brother! was it ever flat.” the van of the parade approached. the short autumnal twilight was fading into darkness, but the marchers carried flares—a relic of the torchlight political parades of two gen- erations ago—and the watchers could see them well and read their banners. the color-bearers in front carried an american flag, and beside it an enormous white placard which flared out in the wind, flaunting its words: the fraternal and benevolent order of the white band the bandsmen and all the men who marched behind them wore white masks across their faces, from their foreheads to the tips of their noses, with holes for their eyes. there were placards along the line. the first one said: colored friends, stay in your place and all will be well “well, i'll be damned,” ned remarked softly. “i know that fat guy,” said tom goodwin, pointing. “he's duffendorf, the grocer. you couldn't mistake that bulge.” “they don't really disguise themselves much,” said ella. the white band “it's not like the klan,” said ned. “those hoods and night- gowns really hid them.” the second banner said: white schools for white children! a third proclaimed: colored citizens, you've got your schools stay in them . . . . . . or else! another paraphrased kipling: white is white and black is black and never the twain shall meet "i don't know what duffendorf would do without the negro trade," tom said. "he's right in the middle of nigger- town. i wonder where the great joe duffield is. suppose he's marching there somewhere?” "oh, he wouldn't take part in a thing like that,” ned was sure. "he's too exalted?” “yes.” there were other placards. the white band an association for the advancement of white people and: supremi ake votice supreme court, take notice! a mongrel south-never! the white band later: colored brothers, if you don't like the white south, go north or go back to africa a marcher called up to the group on the porch, “can you boys read them signs?” they laughed and nodded. “be goddam sure you read 'em, then.” “maybe," tom murmured, “i'd have been happier if i hadn't learned to read.” "that could well be," ned conceded. the last marchers passed, and the music faded into the dis- tance. the gathering night quieted again, and the small, stri- dent nocturne of insects floated back on the mild air. "i get the impression,” said tom goodwin, lighting a cigar, "that they're trying to intimidate us niggers.” "you get the damnedest ideas.” ned gestured down the ill-lit street. “i'm just afraid that the few i lined up will back out now.” tom blew a smoke ring. “i know two that won't.” “i'm sure of that. but the others ..." “we'll see." belton street and the other streets of niggertown were strangely deserted. there were no raucous groups of chil- dren; even the porches and stoops, where families habitually lounged about, were empty. doors were closed, shades drawn, and dim streaks of light came from the silent houses. own wo ere qor so ea oe duffield looked over the luxurious corner suite re- served for the grand protector of the white band. it looked too pretty to be used, he remarked to dave beckett and hank caldwell as they conducted him on a tour of the headquarters, the entire sixteenth floor of the darby building. joe's desk was long, low, glass-topped, and the furniture was on the modernistic side, though the large chairs, uphol- stered in some sort of cream-colored material, looked com- fortable, which was more than you could say for most of this neo stuff. the other offices looked equally sharp, and joe remarked that the furnishings must have cost a pretty penny. well, yes, the young men agreed, but dave pointed out that you had to make an appearance with an organization that al- most overnight had attained south-wide scope. they looked out one of joe's large windows. the view was magnificent. the skyline of riverport stretched about them, quite metropolitan these days; the cherokee river the white band wound lazily through outer sections of the city; in the dis- tance, steep little pine-thick hills formed the horizon. the day was warm, though it was late september, but air condi- tioning made the offices a temperate sixty-eight degrees. the morning dispatch was spread over joe's desk; other- wise the desk was empty. his secretary, who would occupy the outer office, had yet to be installed. at the end of the year, when he ceased to be a senator, he would close his other office. “quite a ride they gave the parade in baynesville,” said hank, glancing at the front page of the dispatch. joe nodded. “yeah.” “the gazette'll play it down,” hank predicted. the afternoon paper, the only other daily in riverport, was owned by henry calhoun gaines, the aging newspaper mag- nate. it was a comparatively new paper, and for years it had been trying, with little success, to win advertising away from the eighty-year-old dispatch. “gaines is in for gains,” hank punned. “harry holmes will cost the dispatch plenty if he's allowed to continue his fight on segregation.” gaines encouraged his papers to go along with local senti- ment, whatever it appeared to be. the gazette was careful never to offend what it took to be the prevailing opinion on any issue. it had avoided editorial discussion of the supreme court edict, and confined itself to reporting the news growing out of it, doing this colorlessly enough to annoy no one. "harry,” joe remarked, "is a dedicated liberal. but i can't see braden letting him get away with this. braden is a busi- nessman. he doesn't care a single damn about issues.” the dispatch had an inside page of pictures of the parade, the work of a staff photographer. several of the placards were shown. the three men studied the pictures. e the white band а joe turned to his two younger colleagues. “what effect do you think such a parade has? to cause more trouble?” “on the contrary,” dave said quickly. “i think it may pre- vent trouble. it'll show the niggers we mean business, and by 'we' i don't mean merely the white band but the whole white community. i wouldn't be surprised if the nigra families who had decided to petition the court dropped out." “intimidated?” “if you want to call it that. but maybe it's actually a move toward peace. if the coloreds get to running into court and agitating this thing in other ways maybe, you know there'll be trouble sooner or later, and the white band won't start it." “if the issue isn't tested there, it'll be tested somewhere else,” joe observed. “sure,” hank agreed, “but baynesville is shaping up as a battleground.” dave wondered why. "several factors,” hank explained. “the mills. a concen- tration of nigra and white wage-earners, rivals in a way, and the fact that the colored schools are pretty bad. ned tarver has gone there to file the first test case. there's a lawyer there named tom goodwin who is district representative of the n.a.a.c.p. he's in on the fight. i've heard a couple of organizers from the international friends of labor are due there any minute.” “what in the hell's the international friends of labor?” dave demanded. "i know that outfit,” joe explained. “a commie front if there ever was one. it's on the attorney general's list. our subversive control committee found out ..." he was interrupted by the phone. he picked it up. “yes? this is duffield. yes, yes. just a moment." the white band joe held his hand over the speaker. “it's somebody named blanship. says he's head of the chapter in baynesville." “that's right,” dave said. “wants me to address a mass meeting saturday night. what do you fellows think?” “okay, i'd say,” dave replied. "fine,” hank added. joe returned to the phone. “yes, mr. blanship. i'd be glad to do it. sure, i'll be down, some time late in the afternoon. thanks, i'll be glad to. dinner at six-thirty, meeting at eight- thirty. fine. thanks a lot. good-by.” “this is wednesday,” dave mused. “things'll pick up fast down there." “they'll actually have to file their proceeding in federal court here," joe reflected. “yes,” said dave, “but, as it happens, judge hurben will be sitting at baynesville next week-you know, he has a cir- cuit-and if he cares to he may hear the case there." "well, it does look like baynesville will be the center of the hurricane for a while,” joe commented. “of course, other towns will be in the picture. other tests will be brought. but baynesville may set a precedent at that.” hank caldwell, who was grand recorder and so recipient of all membership lists and of national headquarters' share of initiation fees and dues, poked dave's arm. “there are a lot of angles to this thing and a lot of organizations horning in on it, on one side or the other, but the white band'll hold its own. we have nine thousand new members in the last week. by the way, one of our largest chapters is at baynesville. joe laughed softly in a way he had when he was pleased. "good, good. everything looks fine.” “for the white race,” dave added, with a cynical laugh, "and for us.” the coach, puffing into his office under the gym, took off his sweater, slacks, and cleated shoes, and put on a tweed suit. he was a huge man, but not merely fat; he bulged with mus- cles; even his ample stomach could have withstood a powerful blow. his face was symmetrically broad, so that he was not bad-looking, but his eyes were disproportionately small, with a piggish look when he narrowed them to glare at someone the tall young man who edged in apologetically was tim o'hearn, star halfback and team captain, a senior whose grades never caused anyone the slightest worry; he'd made phi beta kappa in his junior year. "mind if i come in a minute, mr. gill-um?” “come right in, tim. sit down, if you can find a seat. there. this place is a mess. anything bothering you?” "nothing about the team, sir.” he looked at the framed football pictures on the wall, some dating back to fats gilliam's undergraduate days at state u. “it's just that ... the white band well, coach, do you know anything about the white band?” “something, sure. why do you ask? you interested in it?” “i don't know. a man on the campus asked me to join. he couldn't tell me a lot about it except it's against integration.” gilliam tapped a cigarette on his desk. “well, tim, it's a good outfit. i don't mind telling you i'm in it, though its rolls are supposed to be more or less secret.” “i don't think integration can possibly work, at least not in the south, coach, but i'm opposed to force and intimidation. i hope we don't have any trouble.” "the white band's not for force, tim. we're trying to prevent it by convincing the niggers and everybody else con- cerned that integration won't work, and they'd better forget the whole thing. after all, if the niggers don't try to enroll in our schools, the thing'll be a dead letter after a while.” “that's right.” the young man paused and studied a tro- phy in a glass case over the coach's desk. “i heard a nigra is going to try to enroll here.” "you mean in some baynesville school or at state teach- se o ers?” “at teachers." “that's interesting. where'd you hear that?” “it's just a ... well, a sort of rumor around the campus. maybe nothing to it. there was talk around the phi-o house.” “i'm not surprised,” said fats gilliam. “there's hell being cooked up right here in town. some radicals are down from the north agitating the niggers. all hell's liable to pop. well, one thing i am confident of. doc davison won't let a nigger in. doc's a good old conservative. he thinks the new deal went too far, made the federal government too powerful, in fact changed our whole form of government. i agree.” tim o'hearn was silent, and the coach went on, “if you're the white band interested in the white band, why not come to our meeting saturday night? we're having a mass meeting that's not se- cret, open to everybody. joe duffield will be the principal speaker.” “he's a smart guy," tim conceded. "i'll say. i'd like to get you and some more of our campus leaders in the white band. you have to be twenty-one, but the seniors ..." “i'm twenty-three.” “yeah. well, come out saturday night. odd fellows' hall. be an overflow, i expect; probably have to put loudspeakers outside. come early and get a seat.” "i think i will,” tim said, "and thanks for the information, coach.” “don't mention it.” at that moment, in the office of the president of the state teachers college, dr. davison was talking to the dean of the faculty, dr. rowen. both men were turning gray, and their hair had thinned considerably. dr. rowen was a spare, as- cetic-looking man, with a quiet voice. the president, robustly built, more hearty in manner, was talking. "so if he applies, i'll admit him, and let nature take its course.” dr. rowen laughed. his laugh too was thin. “the trou- ble is, bill, nature won't take its course; the demagogues will take theirs, and we'll be in for turmoil, i'm afraid.” dr. davison put down the paperweight he'd been playing with. “so be it. i can't help it." “it's not that you're not right,” the dean went on. “you are.” "it's a simple matter of justice,” the president added. "i'm the white band ever against a lot of this leftist stuff. you know that. i don't be- lieve in taxing wealth out of existence. i didn't believe in expanding the federal government until it became the mon- strosity it is today. there's a lot of this liberal junk i don't believe in. i've never tried to conceal that. but i still believe in justice. if this fellow comes here and is qualified-and i understand he has the very best grades from the colored high at riverport, which is the best colored high school in the state, and one of our best, white or colored-why, i intend to admit him, that's all. and i hope the board of trustees will back me up.” “i think they will.” “mind you, jim, i'm not sure integration in general will ever work. it'll be tough in some of those mississippi towns, for instance, where the nigras outnumber the whites three or four to one. but on this level of education it's different, as i see it. and, after all, what harm can one colored student do among three thousand white students?" “they'll argue,” said the dean, “that once you open the door they'll pour in.” “but that's not true. not many are qualified, and not many will want to come here. most of our nigras who want to go to college prefer to go north, where they can get into almost any school if they have the grades.” “i've no doubt this fellow is being put up to it by the radi- cals.” “probably. but still, i have no right to assume anything if he's qualified. look at it this way. he's a citizen, he has the requisite grades, he's entitled to enter state teachers if he wants to. right is right.” “naturally, but still ..." the dean rose. “i've got to be going.” the white band “see you tomorrow, jim. i intend to put this before the trustees. if it happens, as i'm reliably informed it will.” “good. and i hope we get by with it.” “we will.” “maybe,” said dr. rowen dubiously, waving a small, veined hand in parting. ven wav a st joe duffield returned home quite early that afternoon, around three o'clock, partly because he had nothing more to do downtown, and partly because the day was cool and pleas- ant, and he thought he might take sarah, ted too if he were around, out to the country club for supper. he could get in nine holes, cool off, have a couple of drinks, maybe, and, if sarah stayed reasonably sober, a pleasant evening. ted, as it happened, was in the back yard playing with har- rigan, the irish setter. at sixteen, ted was at a stage where he was too tall for the rest of his body. he had, as aunt martha, their ancient servitor said, shot up like a ol' beanpole. his thin frame was approaching six feet, but it would fill out; he would be, in a year or two, a well-proportioned boy. meanwhile he seemed all legs and arms. he ran the dashes for the high school track team, and he was stronger than he looked. joe duffield stood in the kitchen doorway. it was martha's evening off, and the big kitchen was scrubbed and ordered. “ 'lo, ted. where's your mother?”. ted looked up, his arm still around the panting red dog. “taking a nap, i guess, dad.” the limber-jointed boy ac- companied his words with a half-smile and what might be a wink. his father was annoyed, but said nothing. ted had known his mother's hardly secret failing for a long time. the white band how could you fool a child of even average intelligence? and ted had never been lacking in perception. "i thought,” joe duffield added, "we might all go out to the country club for supper." “swell,” said ted. “i'd like a swim. i guess mommy'll be stirring in a little while. say, dad...” the boy paused as if undecided whether to say what had reached his tongue. “well?” his father smiled encouragingly “ben peterson-he's a senior and pretty smug-well, at school today he was sneering around about the white band.” “what did he say?” “he said it was a lynching, whipping outfit, like the old ku klux klan. i said you wouldn't be connected with it if it was anything like that. he said he wasn't so sure. i told him i was, and asked him did he want to make something of it. it seemed like he did, but johnny weston-he's president of the student council-stepped up and made us break it up.” joe duffield grinned. “thanks for coming to my defense, but i don't want you getting into fights about the white band.” ted stood up. he was wearing slacks and a t-shirt. “i hear ben's father's a radical. he's high up in some union, and he's going around telling people integration is coming and we might as well accept it.” “that so? well, there are people who think so.” “gosh, sis is bad enough; she got a lot of funny ideas off at school.” ted's father laughed. sally was going through a slightly radical stage. a lot of young people did; it didn't, as he saw it, matter. perhaps it was a good indication: that she did her own thinking, and didn't echo the clichés of others. though the liberals too had their clichés. “i bet i never go to school with niggers,” ted duffield said. the white band "you probably won't have to, ted, unless you go north to college; then you'll probably encounter them.” “i'm going to princeton,” ted proclaimed. “you won't run into many there, a few.” “it's different anyway in college,” ted pondered. “there wouldn't be many. i don't suppose they'd bother you any. but if they came into riverport high they'd be all over the place and ..." "joe!” the voice came from upstairs. joe duffield re- treated into the kitchen. “yes, sarah?” she floated downstairs in a blue duster, fresh from a cold shower, and she seemed all right. good. “got any plans for tonight, joe?” on thursdays they often went out to dinner, though sometimes sarah, if she were in the mood, fixed them a supper. "hello, dear. i thought we might go out to the country club. how do you feel about that?” “suits me fine," she said. she swallowed as if she had a bad taste in her mouth, and her eyes were reddened, but she was certainly sober. he went upstairs to change into white linens. he had a cold shower, and shaved lightly again, though he didn't par- ticularly need it. what, he wondered, had happened to sarah ... perhaps he should say, to sarah and him? there had been a time, nearly twenty years ago, when they had both been delighted with life and with each other. was it his fault? was it anyone's, least of all sarah's? no woman in her right senses, no man, would deliberately choose to become an alcoholic. some peo- ple were constitutionally unfit to drink at all. they couldn't, as the saying went, hold it, and yet it was almost impossible for them to leave it alone. liquor had never been a problem in his life. he could stay away from it, days at a time, and the white band not miss it particularly, unless others around him were drink- ing and it became a social thing. who was it said, i drink to make my friends bearable. was it huneker? worthy of him, anyway. or mencken. twenty years ago, when he was serving his first term in the state legislature and had gone to washington on a legal mission, he had met mencken at a party. they had got to talking in a corner behind some palms, drinks in their hands. he couldn't remember what they'd talked about at first, the south perhaps, but mencken had said, “you don't sound much like a rising young statesman from the bible belt.” he, joe, had been outspoken-well, within reason. he was politically ambitious, but in those days he hadn't altogether submerged his cynical doubt of popular ideas, his opinion of the prevail- ing political parties. their talk had ended with an invitation to attend a soirée a few nights later at a german restaurant in baltimore. he remembered mencken's saying, “the music will be bad, but the food will be good.” what a time he'd had with mencken and a few of his friends, getting pleasantly drunk, eating sauerbraten and apple strudel, listening to an ensemble including two fiddles and a flute, with mencken at the piano. what he'd give for such an evening now! there was no one like that around, no one he knew, here or in washington. his evening with mencken had been followed by corre- spondence. at mencken's suggestion, he had written an arti- cle on the state of politics in the south for the american mercury-necessarily under a pseudonym, and it had caused quite a stir, since the author obviously was a southerner. two or three editorials had made reference to fouling one's nest. whose nest had you a better right to foul? that time in washington he'd looked up an old friend. one ned tarver. they'd dined at a downtown restaurant. the white band ned had offered to take him to what he called a black-and-tan joint, but had explained, “you'd be embarrassed there, a white man among so many niggers. me, i won't be embarrassed at all at the occidental.” well, you'd never know to look at ned ... the tar brush. what was it? what did it matter? they'd had a grand time that night talking over the sad state of the world. what had happened, among other things, to their friendship? now, with this thing, what the papers called an explosive issue, ding, they were enemies, in a way, though he'd always liked and admired ned. sarah's voice floated up. “joe! you about ready?” “in two shakes,” he called back. the white band ivy had spread across the front wall, giving the old build- ing a certain academic charm and hiding the signs of decay. the interior more clearly revealed the struggle against ob- solescence. the floors sagged in places, and there were holes in corridor corners through which rats had emerged on certain terrifying occasions. the desks were carved up and colorless. the plumbing in the toilets was always getting out of order. teachers considered it a sort of assignment to siberia to be sent to the taylor school. and yet, to some of the negro families living on adjacent streets this old school seemed luxurious. compared to the school their children had to attend, spread creek up on the hill, taylor was the latest in design and equipment. if segre- gation were removed, there was every logical reason why their children, at least those living on the near side of niggertown, should go to taylor, though there were few mothers and fathers who dared believe this revolutionary measure would ever come about. most of them had heard of the supreme court decision, but it meant little to them. it was something said up north to which nobody living down south would pay any mind. on this wednesday morning in september, hazy and cool, with even a touch of chill in the air that blew in from the pine hills, a small, strange procession approached taylor school. there were six children and five adults. all were negroes. there were three mothers and two men unrelated to the children. these were lawyers, namely ned tarver and tom goodwin. the children ranged in age from seven to eleven; four were boys. the children, comprehending little of what was at issue, skipped along, restrained from too much exuberance by their mothers. the adults were serious, talking, when they did, quietly. the white band wer rs c at the time the little parade reached the school, the pupils were ranged about the yard awaiting the starting bell. the white children paid no attention to the negroes at first, think- ing they were merely passing, but when they started up the walk toward the building the pupils stared, struck suddenly silent in their amazement. they could not believe what they were seeing. the negro children, aware now of intense curiosity and growing hostility, hesitated as they started up the walk, but their mothers caught their arms and urged them on gently. "it's all right, mamie lou, ain't nobody goin' hurt you... come on, joe. white chillun ain't studyin' you. ..." one of the older boys in the yard whistled shrilly through his teeth. some big boys beside him, eighth-graders, began to laugh jeeringly. one shouted, “nigger, nigger, never die! please tell us the reason why!” another remembered an old song his mother used to sing: “nigger child bowlegged; he walk too soon." at that moment the school bell clanged, and the pupils instinctively began lining up. but some of the older boys continued to laugh raucously and call insults. then the prin- cipal, a thin young man who always looked harassed, even when things were tranquil, appeared on the steps. “quiet, quiet!” he ordered. “line up as usual. what's the matter with you boys? i don't want to hear any more noise. what's this all about anyway?” then he saw the small procession of negroes and paused. his children lined up obediently and marched into the school- house. the principal waited on the steps to receive the dele- gation. he did not ask them in, but stood on the third step, with a stubborn expression, as if ready to defend the school single-handed. "what is it?” he asked. the white band an ned tarver spoke. “my name's tarver. i represent the league for racial justice. this is tom goodwin, a member of the bar, and these are the mothers of these schoolchildren. they all live nearby, within this area, and these children want to enroll in taylor school.” the principal, after pausing to find words, said, “but aren't they already enrolled in the spread creek school probably?” “yes,” ned explained, “but they want to transfer here. it's nearer their homes. the supreme court ..." “i know,” said the principal. “but there's nothing i can do. no arrangements have been made ... yet. the board told me not to accept any–any nigras at present. there's nothing i can do." "could i ask your name?” ned inquired. “deever-james deever.” the young man pulled out an immaculate handkerchief and swished it around his face. he looked away. "just for the record,” said ned tarver, “i hand you a list of the names of these proffered pupils. they are all residents of the state and county and live within the school district. i understand you refuse to enroll them.” james deever took the paper from ned and held it gingerly but did not look at it. “there's nothing else i can do. i can't enroll them, as of the moment, anyway. i haven't the author- ity.” “i see. well, that's all. thank you, mr. deever." “don't mention it.” the principal laughed nervously and turned back up the steps. ned paused. “unless you think of anything else we should do, tom?" but the lawyer smiled and said, “no, ned, you handled it admirably. and i'd rather you had. after all, i live here, however much i want to do.” the white band ned signaled to the others, and they followed him out to the street. william davison, ph.d. (harvard), never called himself doctor. the title, he felt, was honorary and should be re- served for doctors of medicine. but virtually everybody else called him doctor except his intimates, who called him bill. he was a plain man, hearty, with a good appetite, who liked a highball before dinner, who put on few airs. students in- stinctively liked him; they could come to him with their problems. he was easy to talk to, and his secretary, who had her instructions, rarely shunted them to someone else when the curricular or extra-curricular perplexity was substantial. he was talking at this moment to a prospective student, one who was about to enroll. the student was a negro, quite dark, tall, with fine, regular features. his name, he had ex- plained, was jack taylor. he was eighteen, and had gradu- ated from dunbar high school in riverport. dr. davison had asked him to sit down, and called him jack, not that he would have gagged at mister, but he customarily called his students by their first names—he found it put them more at their ease. jack sat on the edge of the chair, a little nervous but deter- mined. “i've got all my credits here,” he explained, touching a thin briefcase. “i–i got all a's my senior year.” "i've heard of your record, jack.” the president of baynes- ville state teachers college swung about in his chair, a mannerism of his. “it's a very commendable record. i'm sure you're fully qualified.” jack taylor waited for the president to go on, and dr. davison asked, “so you want to be a teacher?” “yes, sir, i do." the white band the president looked at the youth quizzically. “why do you want to be a teacher, jack?" jack did not hesitate more than a moment. “because, dr. davison, it appeals to me as a career. i feel-this may sound like i'm taking myself pretty seriously, but i don't mean it that way-i feel i can do a lot of good among my own peo- ple if i'm properly prepared to teach. i'm sure that i can get what i need here." dr. davison swung back toward his desk. “a most com- mendable attitude, jack. i'm sure it's no whim, that you've thought about it a long time.” "yes, sir, i have.” dr. davison was reviewing in his mind the meeting of the board of trustees the previous afternoon. he had hardly known what to expect. he knew the trustees fairly well, though there were three new ones he knew only by reputa- tion. they were a fairly progressive, open-minded little group, for this state, and yet a break in the old, moss-covered wall of segregation was something only an occasional southerner could contemplate without a shudder. yet they had voted, four to three, to take no action. this meant a victory for him. the idea was, as those who backed him pointed out, that this was an administrative matter which it was his re- sponsibility to decide, not theirs. true, it was also a matter of policy, a new, trail-breaking racial policy, and yet if they chose to view it as an administrative matter, that was all right with him. he hadn't sought support so much as a definition of where he stood. he hadn't wanted to defy the board of trustees; he could hardly do that, he'd better have resigned first. the president swung back to face his visitor. “well, jack, i'm going to let you enroll.” s er the white band s "i'm most grateful, dr. davison, and i'll try to be worthy of your trust in me.” “i'm sure you will. ... i suppose you've thought about- well, the difficulties of your position here, at least at first.” jack taylor smiled. “indeed i have, doctor. naturally. i suppose i'm the first negro ever to enroll here." “i believe you are.” "well, dr. davison, if they'll just give me a chance, i'm sure i'll show them it's not so bad having a negro in some of their classes. i won't-i won't try to mess in any of their social activities. if they'll just let me alone, i'll be as-as ..." “unobtrusive?” dr. davison suggested. “that's the word, doctor. as unobtrusive as possible.” "well, we'll see how it works out. and i'm thinking only of your happiness. i don't care whether they like it or not, the others. but if they'll just give us a chance, i'm sure it'll work out beautifully. it's mostly an idea they've grown up with, this color bar, nothing based on anything substantial.” he swung back to his desk, pulled a pen out of its holder and wrote on a memorandum pad. “now if you'll just take this to the registrar's office, room .” jack taylor got up and took the memorandum. “dr. davison, i don't know how to thank you.” “you don't need to, jack; it's something i'm glad to do. and i wish you every success, here and later in life.” they shook hands. ed tarver opened the letter which the bellboy had just handed him. who knew that he was stopping at baynesville's only "colored” hotel? tom goodwin, but tom would phone. he had told his family to write him general delivery; he had not known where he would stay. tom had a guest room and had wanted him, but he had decided he'd be better off at the hotel, bad as it was; he'd be more independent. nice as the goodwins were, he'd have to shape his hours to suit their habits. it was not that he was temperamental about such things, but he preferred to be free to come and go as the moment indicated. he couldn't be bound by any routine. the envelope had been typewritten, addressed, “ned tar- ver, cotton hotel.” the letter too was typewritten-even the signature. he read: is listen, nigger, you better get going. go back to harlem and mind your own business, don't mess in ours. this is the white band fair warning. next time it won't be a warning. it will be something much worse. the white men of baynesville. he had a good laugh at the signature. he seemed to see all the white men of the busy textile town grouped as in a gigantic football huddle, all pressing forward to help dictate this letter. probably two or three men, the worse for several drinks, had contrived it. he thought of taking it to the police but dismissed this idea as useless. they'd tell him sure, they'u investigate, but after he left they'd enjoy a laugh with the desk sergeant: somebody had scared that nigger, but good. they'd agree with whoever sent the note. no, there was no point in even keeping it; there was nothing by which to iden- tify anybody. as he lit a cigarette, he held the match to an edge of the letter and to a corner of the envelope. he dropped the burning paper in the ashtray and watched it blaze into a charred heap. he went into the dark bathroom and pulled on the light by its dangling string. a big cockroach looked up at him from the rim of the tinny old tub. he got a slipper and dis- patched the repulsive crawler. maybe it too was entitled to live, but he couldn't stomach the thing; it suggested filth, squalor. in new york this place would have rated somewhere between a fourth-rate hotel and a flophouse. they did make an effort to keep it clean, but the rooms had needed doing over for so long the plaster was flaking off. the plumbing was uncertain, or perhaps you should say it was certain not to work as it should; you had to coax it, and you were lucky if it did not break down entirely. oh, well. what did you expect for your color? he stretched out on the bed, with its frayed blue spread. he picked up a magazine, but quickly put it down. he closed the white band opened his eyes to the clawed-out, color-drained plaster of the room. he had dozed. jack taylor sat in the president's private office. seated around him were the president, dr. davison, the dean, dr. rowen, and roger clay, registrar of the state teachers col- lege. jack was trembling, not altogether from fear, but from a mixture of terror, rage, and sheer astonishment. he had the normal boy's fear of violence, and yet mingled with this emotion was a stubborn quality-you could call it courage- which had enabled him to go through many situations he would have preferred to avoid. somehow the other reactions outweighed the fear. it is the sort of emotional formula that allows a youth to push on into battle, though terrified by awareness that at any moment he may lose his life. a window over the campus was half open to the mild september afternoon. from the campus came the heavy, throbbing sound that can be either a turbulent stream or a throng of people in scattered talk. “of course there are some students,” said the registrar, “but i saw a lot of young men i've never seen on the campus, they're from town, young men and older men.” roger clay was a short, portly man, on the young side of middle age, who looked as if he should always have a pipe stuck in his teeth, and, in fact, he often had. "i know,” dr. davison agreed, “i think the town fellows are the ringleaders. they've stirred up the students.” “some students,” dr. rowen added, his thin voice almost a whisper, “are all too ready to be stirred up.” jack taylor felt he should say something. “i–i just went to classes, like i was supposed to.” was the white band c “nobody blames you,” said the president. “you went about the campus minding your own business.” “when i left chemistry,” the dark-skinned young man re- called, “i was going to english, and all of a sudden there was a crowd around me, sort of escorting me along and making jeering remarks, some worse than that.” “i know,” dr. davison said soothingly. “i know. we've got to figure out what to do. i've sent for the police.' “i don't want to cause trouble,” jack taylor said. the president made a gesture intended to convey: never mind, it's not your fault. they were all silent for a moment while the sinister murmur of angry male voices throbbed on the perfectly trimmed lawn below the open window. then a rock cracked against the window, splintering a section of it, sending a little shower of glass into the room. the four men dodged instinctively, though none of the particles of glass fell near them. the dean said something that might have been, “god damn it!” president davison got up. he walked resolutely through the door of his office, into the wide front corridor and through the spacious front door, followed, a little reluctantly, by the dean and the registrar. dr. davison stood on the front steps, facing the murmurous crowd. “those of you who are students are to disperse at once. go to your classes or wherever you are due at this hour. go! this is an order to the students. if you don't obey, you risk expulsion from the school.” there was a slow, half-defiant movement away from the thick cluster of men in front of the administration building. students began drifting away, sluggishly at first, then a little faster as they disengaged themselves from the mob. but a core of men, most of them older, though some were high- school students, stood where they were. school studenta ost of them older the won the mob. but the white band “as for you others,” said the president, "you have no busi- ness on the campus. i'm asking you to leave. i've sent for the police, and they'll know how to deal with you if you persist in staying.” "nigger-lover!" shouted a man in coveralls. another called, “send the nigger out! we'll take care of him. we'll end all this. we know he's in there.” dr. davison did not reply. he stood his ground, looking anxiously over the heads of the scores of men who stood laughing jeeringly and shouting unintelligible comments. finally there was a noise of sirens, and two prowl cars crowded with police sped up the road to the administration building. the cars swung dizzily to a stop below the porch, and the police jumped out. a captain, one of the two on the baynesville force, was in charge. he talked to dr. davison. the captain gave the men their orders, and fourteen police- men began closing in on the crowd. the officer, a trim, youngish man who wore war decorations, kept calling, “all right, fellows, break it up, break it up! let's get going.” with a sullen sluggishness the men allowed themselves to be pressed backward. slowly their close formation broke, melted into segments, and the segments began drifting back across the long lawn and so, in thin trickles of muttering men, out of the college grounds. the three officials returned to the president's room, where jack taylor waited fidgeting in his chair. “those town fellows,” said dr. davison, “are the trouble- makers. they've gone now, thanks to the police, and maybe we won't have any more trouble.” "i hope not,” dean rowen said dubiously. the president turned to jack taylor. “i think you can go back to classes now." the white band or vou jack taylor got up with a harassed smile. “whatever you say, sir.” dr. davison touched the youth's arm reassuringly. “but if you have any more trouble, come right back here and let me know.” “yes, sir.” jack taylor left the administration building, walking as one might walk into battle. that friday afternoon, when the class in methods was over, tim o'hearn left the education building and started across the campus. tim was a good-looking fellow, tall and slim, with a face that seemed always clean and fresh. he was football captain and a campus leader, a young man whom faculty members pointed out to illustrate their contention that a man could be both an athlete and a first-rate student. the excitement of the late morning had faded; the campus was normal, with clusters of boys and girls standing about and lone students going their separate ways. he had come to college with a vague idea that he might become a teacher. anyway, he had been offered an athletic scholarship, and this was an unexpected bonanza. his family, farmers in one of the most sparsely settled counties in the state, never had much money. true, he had been a football star in high school, but gale county high was so obscure in scho- lastic athletics, had so little material, that its teams lost most of their games, and rarely rated more than a line in the big papers. it was just a lucky break that caused him to be noticed at all by scouts from the colleges. in his senior year they had the best team they'd had in maybe twenty years, and they got a chance to play riverport high in riverport in one of the the white band play-off games for the state championship. of course they lost, but the score was fairly close, and he managed to make two touchdowns, one on a spectacular open-field run of seventy yards, and none other than fats gilliam went to see him afterward in the locker room under the grandstand and told him they'd like to have him at baynesville teachers. it was the only offer he had, and he accepted eagerly. now, he reflected as he left class, he doubted that he would ever teach. two pro clubs were after him, and he'd had two offers to coach at high schools and one to become an assistant coach at a college in north carolina. he hadn't accepted any of them yet; he hadn't decided whether he wanted to devote the next few years or more to football. but even if he quit football, he didn't have to teach; there were many oppor- tunities in business, and he thought occasionally that he might study law. if he did he could perhaps make his way putting in part time on some coaching staff. tim o'hearn turned a corner of the baynes building, and almost collided with the new negro student. there was no one else around, and jack taylor paused with a diffident smile. "hello,” he said. tim, brought up among sequestered farmers, one of whose social axioms was “a nigger stays in his place or else,” was about to pass with a cold look, a disdainful shrug. why had this fellow insisted on enrolling and causing a lot of trouble? but something about jack taylor's appearance and his shy effort to be friendly melted the campus hero, who, after all, was never inclined to feel, as his father would have said, bigger than his britches. “hello,” tim said, stopping. “gee, it's a big place,” jack taylor added. “kind of hard to find your way around at first.” "i guess so,” tim agreed. the white band jack laughed. “right now i'm lost. where's the science building?” tim pointed. “see that long building jutting out at the edge of those pines?” "sure.” "well, turn left around that building, and you'll see a big stone building in front of it. that's science.” “thanks a lot.” “okay.” jack taylor walked on. tim watched the negro student's receding figure. not a bad guy. a hell of a fuss over one dark-skinned student. what difference did it make? how would it hurt anyone? still you had to be careful. if this segregation thing really went through, became widespread, the south wouldn't be the south any more. in some towns, not in his little county seat certainly, the negro students would outnumber the whites. his father used to say, "give a nigger an inch, and he'll take an ell.” whatever an ell was. maybe this white band would figure a way out of a very tough situation. anyway he'd go to the public meeting to- morrow night, see what they had to say. he didn't want to see violence. it was bad all around, bad for the white people too. he thought of his church. it didn't think much of seg- regation. but what did they know in rome about the prob- lems of the southern united states? maybe they knew more than you'd think; there was a lot of wisdom in the vatican. his father could never agree with the church in its attitude that all souls were alike, whatever the color of their bodies. his father and his mother were good catholics too. the family used to drive twenty miles in the old ford pickup every sunday to go to mass at the nearest church, st. ve- ronica's in hillsdale. and sometimes there would be a few w the white band negroes worshiping with them, perhaps a few seats away. negro protestants had their own churches; they were not welcome in white protestant churches. tim o'hearn, swinging his briefcase, trudged on. it was a muddled, messy thing, this racial question. ihat same friday afternoon federal judge james darcy had been listening to arguments in the trim little courtroom on the second floor of the baynesville post office building. a judge sat here three or four times a year, or as often as might be necessary, on his rounds of the judicial circuit. the rest of the time the courtroom, with its dark mahogany furnishings and the gilt eagle over the bench, seldom was used. usually it was david hurben, the regular district judge, who presided, but he was tied up in riverport on an in- terminable water-rights case, and judge darcy had been sent from florida to hear this and other cases which otherwise would have been delayed indefinitely. judge darcy was a small but somehow impressive man, and, with this thick black hair, unsprinkled with gray, looked younger than his fifty-two years. the black robes of a fed- eral judge the people saw only when this court was in session, for in this state, as through most of the south, judges of the white band state courts wore business suits, attesting to the distrust of southerners for ritual and vestments, whether ecclesiastical or juridical. these arguments were concerned with the legal and com- mon-sense aspects of the new desegregation ruling. the facts had been stipulated: that negro pupils had tried to enroll in the taylor school and had been refused. the supreme court, in a supplementary finding, had held that segregation in the public schools should be ended “with all deliberate speed.” well, what was deliberate speed? this was the crux of the present discussion, though no doubt the state and its friends, including the white band, would think of other ob- jections when this defense, a mere delaying tactic, was paid out. ned tarver and tom goodwin, each speaking briefly, had contended that deliberate speed meant a reasonable time to prepare for such a change. surely, there had been time enough since the supreme court handed down its decision in may. were not four months long enough to move with deliberate speed to comply with the law? they'd had the spring and summer to prepare the people for this change, to make the necessary adjustment in physical equipment. wasn't it time now to carry out the law? would the community, the state, the south be better prepared four months or a year hence? damon quiller, appearing for the white band as amicus curiae, argued that deliberate speed could mean something else entirely. it could mean enforcing the edict when a com- munity was ready for it. “if the supreme court had wanted this done at once,” said damon quiller, a bent, wizened figure with a rasping voice, “it surely would have said so. the term “deliberate' placed it within the discretion of the judge, who has a right to consider . the white band whether a particular community is ready for such a stupen- dous change in the historic customs of the south.” even a year would not be too long to come within the meaning of all deliberate speed, the white band's counsel insisted. the state's attorney general already had argued at some length along somewhat similar lines. he cited a case in which obedience to a court mandate had been delayed for more than a year because of uncontrollable physical barriers, and an appellate court had held there was no deliberate evasion and the respondent was unable to prevent the conditions which thwarted compliance. the attorney general represented the baynesville superintendent of schools, and offered to present evidence in support of his contention that there were cogent reasons, among them lack of physical equipment to expand the white schools and no funds for the purpose, why the decision could not be carried out at this time. judge darcy said no evidence would be necessary at present. as damon quiller sat down ned tarver rose. “does your honor care to hear further from us?” “i don't think so," judge darcy said. “i'm ready to rule.” he leaned forward over the bench. “there can be no doubt, i think, that in the specific question raised here, the refusal of the school authorities to allow negro pupils to enroll in the taylor school, mandamus should issue. it is strictly in ac- cordance with the ruling of the supreme court. however, the court set no time for the ruling to apply; in fact, it implied a certain latitude in stating that the schools should proceed with all deliberate speed. and what, as counsel have asked, is deliberate speed? it could be interpreted in more than one way. it is, it seems to me, a matter for the discretion of the court. the phrase is not one that may be weighed on scales or measured according to some formula. the white band “i realize the difficulties involved, here and in most places in the south. and yet i must take notice that four months have elapsed since the decision-four months in which those in charge of our public schools had time to prepare. i am also aware, as the attorney general reminded us, that this state has a law requiring segregation of the races in the public schools. and yet i must hold that the constitutional inter- pretation of the supreme court supersedes any state law. “coming to the immediate question before us, i doubt that baynesville will be any more ready for desegregation a year hence than it is today. however, i do not wish to be ar- bitrary in a situation which is admittedly difficult.” the judge picked up a pen from a silver penholder and put it down. the crowd that filled the benches and stood close- pressed against the back wall waited tensely. "i shall hold that within two months of this date, or on the nearest school day appropriate, the baynesville school board must begin putting this measure into effect.” the attorney general, a tall young man, was on his feet. “we ask an exception to this ruling and announce our in- tention to appeal it.” “exception noted,” said judge darcy. “this court will adjourn until ten o'clock tomorrow morning.” a deputy marshal repeated that court was adjourned, and the crowd began pushing out through the double doors. in the vanguard was the bulky figure of jake (fats) gilliam. he plucked at a friend as they reached the corridor. “the son of a bitch. but what can you expect?” “they'll all rule the same way," the friend said. “we'll have the last word,” fats gilliam retorted. “you wait and see.” the white band v when the football coach got back to his office under the gym he found a stranger waiting for him. since it was a white man, who said his name was graham, fats gilliam shook hands and pulled out a chair. the visitor sat down. graham was dressed sloppily, his sport shirt open at the collar, but his clothes, worsteds which needed pressing, were of good quality. he was a large, slouchy man. his nose had been broken, and this gave him a tough look. fats wondered if he was an old teachers athlete. but he was not, it turned out; he was from new york and a stranger in these parts, he said. he lit a cigarette that the coach proffered, spilled ashes on his trousers, and half brushed them off with a flick of a heavy hand. he spoke with what fats gilliam imagined was a brooklyn accent. “i represent the international friends of labor." “yeah?” the massive coach reflected. “whatever that is.” "what its name implies,” said graham. “we try to help the laboring man everywhere, and we're in a number of countries.” “what are you doing here?” gilliam asked. “this desegre- gation thing?” "not altogether.” graham grinned, exposing broken and missing teeth. “naturally we don't agree with you folks on the issue.” "i reckon not,” gilliam conceded. “if you people would stay home and leave us alone, we'd be better off.” graham pulled at his cigarette, leaving it in his mouth, so that the long ash began falling on him. he did not answer directly. “we're interested in organizing and protecting the workers all we can. we want them to go into the regular, established unions, not in any special one of ours.” “what's all that got to do with me?" the coach demanded. the white band again the visitor replied indirectly. "above all, we want to prevent trouble over this segregation thing, because trouble always makes it tough for the working man, black or white." “who's not a working man?” fats countered. “even i work, though some folks don't believe it.” he pointed to a blackboard, where he had been drafting some intricate plays. "i don't doubt it.” graham laughed. “maybe there should be a union for football coaches." “not a bad idea.” “you may wonder why i came to you.” “i've just wondered that,” fats gilliam said. “well, mr. gilliam, i heard you were high up in the white band.” the coach leaned forward. “maybe. so what?” “the white band, so it says at least, wants to keep things in hand and prevent trouble. well, i'm sorry to say there's trouble impending, and it doesn't all come, as you might ex- pect, from you people who are trying to prevent integration.” “that so?” fats' small eyes narrowed skeptically. “yeah. in fact, some of your tougher colored citizens are sore and looking for trouble.” “then they'll sure-god get it,” the coach said. “i know.” graham made a pretense of flicking the ashes off his shirt and trousers. “but i can tell you this. some of them have bought guns and switch-blade knives.” gilliam looked his visitor up and down with a thin smile. “maybe. but you'll pardon me if i'm a bit skeptical. we've had very little trouble with our niggers. they've stayed pretty well in their place, gone their own way while we went ours. of course this school thing has upset everybody, and some of you birds from the north have come down and stirred the niggers up and made things worse." "on the contrary, i'm trying to prevent trouble,” graham as are the white band insisted. “i felt that a little prevention would be a lot better than a more drastic cure.” “i still don't see why you came to me.” “you will. do you know bearcat turner, the ex-prize fighter?” "just to speak to,” the coach said. "he was damned good in his day. fought champions, though he never held a title, and i thought he was robbed of one fight for the welter title.” "yeah. well, he's a ringleader of this group that's arming.” “well,” said fats gilliam, "he's punch-drunk, hardly re- sponsible. he goes around talking to himself. anybody could lead him into anything." “that's just it,” graham explained. “and he still has a lot of influence in what you call niggertown. many of them still think he's a hero. but do you know who's stirring up the more irresponsible element among the negroes? well, i'll tell you. it's a guy named ned tarver, a lawyer from harlem, who represents something called the league for racial justice." “i just heard him spouting off in federal court, telling us all what to do, minding our business.” the coach looked away with an angry tightening of his lips. “i'm not surprised at what you say.” "he's the one,” graham went on. “he told some of those fellows the white band was planning to tar and feather the families of those that tried to put kids in the white school.” “first i heard of that.” gilliam laughed. “might be a good idea.” “this guy tarver worked on bearcat turner, knowing he still has a following even though he's a goof-ball, just like a bale of marijuana. tarver told bearcat a white man was fix- ing to beat him up. bearcat thinks he can still fight, and he has his pride. he told his friend that if them chalk-faced cd, the white band bastards was looking for trouble they'd sure as hell find it. my point is, though, that if you fellows could-well, persuade ned tarver to beat it, go away and mind his own business, those fellows would probably bury their guns and knives and forget their plans to fight somebody. he keeps stirring them up.” fats gilliam looked at the floor reflectively, then straight into the eyes of graham. “sounds reasonable. i believe you've got a point. i'll see what i can do. i knew all along that guy tarver was not down here for any good. a nigger that looks like a white man, or almost, and goes into court and tries to bully us with writs-well, you can expect most anything." graham put his burned-down cigarette in an ashtray on the coach's desk, looking at it as if it were his first glimpse of such a contraption. “you might have heard of me too?” he laughed, exposing his wolfish assortment of irregular teeth. “yeah? in what connection?” “ever hear of patsy grogan?” “i remember him, sure. fought mickey walker for the middleweight championship, damned near beat him too.” “that was me.” “no kidding?” gilliam studied his caller's limber, slouchy frame. he did look the part. "grogan. well, i'm damned.” “my real name was a long polish name. never mind it. i fought under the name of grogan. people thought i was irish. that was a good one. i had sense enough to quit while i had all my buttons, or most of them. now i go under the name of graham. as shakespeare said, what's in a name?” “quite a lot sometimes. but it makes no never mind to me what you call yourself. grogan. well. he was a first-rate fighter. i saw him-you-fight once. somebody named brick the white band teven, something like that. at newark. a long time ago. i was a kid.” “brick blevin. that was an easy one. ended in the fifth.” “i remember. i'll never forget how fast you feinted with your left and crossed your right to that guy's jaw. he hadn't stirred when the count was over.” “i was good then. but a man's a sucker to go into that racket. he generally ends up broke and punch-drunk too." “when i was a lot younger," gilliam recalled, “and weighed a lot less”-he slapped at his paunch-“a manager wanted to add me to his stable, but i couldn't see it.” “you were wise. well, to go back to this difficulty, you know i wouldn't be surprised, from what i've heard around new york, if this league for racial justice wasn't a com- mie front.” “i don't doubt it for a minute.” graham stood, and fats gilliam said, “thanks for coming in-patsy.” they both laughed. “don't mention it,” said graham, “i wouldn't like to see rioting and people hurt, maybe killed. do what you can.” "don't worry-i will.” “and keep me out of it. i mean let your informant remain confidential.” "sure, i understand.” the men shook hands, and graham slouched out. an hour later ned tarver was leaving his hotel when a white man stepped up to him. “my name's graham,” he ex- plained. “could i speak to you a minute?” “of course," ned said, “right here?” “maybe we could walk a little,” graham suggested. the white band “okay.” they started down a side street toward the center of nig- gertown. graham said, “i represent the international friends of labor. i'm down here on the same mission you are, to try to see that the law's enforced.” ned tarver waited for graham to go on, and he said, “of course, mr. tarver, your organization and the n.a.a.c.p. are taking care of the legal end. our role would be superfluous in that direction. but we're interested in working through the unions, what few they have in the south. you know how badly they're organized down here, how many workers be- long to no union at all.” “yes, i know," ned said. “naturally we'll all depend on the courts to see that the edict of the supreme court is obeyed. however, it's going to be tough to enforce even a court order-we all know that. in the i.f.l, we've felt that the strike also would be a powerful weapon against defiance of the law-that is, if we could ever get it organized.” “i suppose it would be," ned said. “i wanted to give you my background,” graham explained. “but what i came to you about right now-of course i'm ready to help you in any way you say—but what i asked you to take this little walk for was to give you a friendly warning. there's trouble coming-plenty, i'm afraid.” “yes?” “you bet. i have some confidential sources through the i.f.l. i'm told on good authority that this white band's get- ting ready to get even with the families that tried to put their kids in the white school.” “that so?” “you can take it from me. i know what i'm saying. i've the white band heard, and it's not just gossip, that they're going to burn their houses.” ned tarver blew out his breath in a half-whistle. “it doesn't seem possible. all the parents did was try to carry out the law, as laid down by our highest court." “i know all that. but what southerner gives a good god- dam for that. not many." “i'm afraid you're right. but anything that barbarous ..." “prejudice, hatred ..." “but if your information is correct, what can we do? go to the police? a waste of time.” "sure. i don't say all the cops are for lynch law or are corrupt. but i doubt they'd spend much time guarding nig- gertown.” graham added, with deliberation, “my advice, for whatever it's worth—and i guess i'm presumptuous to offer advice to a good lawyer like you-what i'd do is to warn those families, even advise them to arm themselves.” “i'd never do that,” said ned. “that would mean terrible trouble; it could anyway." “you know best,” graham replied. “they've got it in for certain negroes besides, i mean besides the ones that tried to integrate their children. one is bearcat turner.” ned laughed. “i've known bearcat for years. he's harm- less. he's not all there-he's punch-drunk. nobody pays much attention to anything he says.” "just the same, they're threatening to get him and some of his pals. it seems bearcat's been doing a lot of talking, threat- ening to beat up some of those white men that come along these streets waving their banners and threatening negroes." “he does a lot of talking. it means absolutely nothing. i don't think he'd hurt a bumblebee.” “some of those fellows don't know or don't make any distinction. i know bearcat's off the beam. i know him. i've the white band se lze seen him fight.” graham laughed. “i used to be a prize fighter myself.” "you don't talk much like those i've known.” they turned a corner and paused while some negroes passed. the afternoon was waning in sparkling sunlight, brac- ingly cool; unusual for a september day in the deep south. graham laughed. “look at gene tunney. seriously, i got hold of myself when i quit the racket. and i was only twenty-two. i went to night school and studied english and economics and even some philosophy. i didn't want to be a half-illiterate goof all my life. i qualified for white-collar jobs. i was a shipping clerk, later a bookkeeper; i even be- came an office manager.” “good for you.” “better than staying in the fight racket and becoming ... well, like poor bearcat turner.” "sure.” ned stopped and looked around. there was no one in sight. the quiet street, with its decayed houses, seemed to slumber under the benign, fading sun. "well, i'm grateful to you, mr. ...". “graham.” “mr. graham. sorry. i've heard of the international friends of labor. what does it do mostly?” "well, we try to organize the workers, encourage them to join their appropriate unions. we also sometimes provide counsel for oppressed people, like negroes in the south, who are charged with crimes of which they may be entirely inno- cent, and who have no means of employing counsel and have to take whatever green young lawyers the court may appoint. we see that evidence in their behalf is collected-all that.” "i see.” ned smiled. “i believe you're on the attorney general's list.” the white band graham laughed. “sure, what outfit isn't that tries to help those without money or influence.” "is it that bad?” “i honestly think so, mr. tarver. mccarthyism in action.” “anyway, thanks for your warning.” “don't mention it. and if there's anything i can do, i hope you'll let me know. i can be reached through sam brady. he's secretary of the international textile workers. they have an office in the benton building. you know, right off the square.” "i know where it is." "a pitifully small union-here. but it's growing. all this takes time and patience. the workers down here, white and colored, have been so thoroughly intimidated that most of them are afraid to join a union. but that situation'll pass.” "sure. well, thank you, mr. graham.” “yours truly, mr. tarver. so long." they shook hands. graham, turning away from ned tarver, started back to- ward the center of town. he paused at a negro pool hall and looked through one of the plate-glass windows. he caught the eyes of an undersized negro, who sat at a table in the front bar draining a glass of beer. graham made a beckoning gesture, and the negro finished his beer and slowly rose and shuffled out. graham walked ahead for a way, then waited for the man to catch up. “hello, johnson, how're things?” “okay, graham. some of those guys are getting stirred up plenty.” johnson was a slender, five-foot-six mulatto, who was apt to walk with his head bent forward, as if constantly ponder- ing something. he was rather flashy in a corduroy sport coat and neat gray slacks, with the collar of his sport shirt tucked the white band outside his coat collar. his yellow shoes were glistening. his hands were not rough, like those of the negroes around, but immaculate, with neatly trimmed nails. “of course three-fourths of 'em are chicken,” he told gra- ham. “but some of the rest are plenty tough. they've got switch-blades, and i know of at least a dozen who are toting guns.” “good, comrade,” said graham, giving the term a derisive inflection. “the more trouble there is, the better they'll like it.” “that i know.” johnson added, “last night i won twelve bucks in a crap game." “don't take all their money, or they'll start working on you.” “of that also i'm aware, mr. graham.” "well, look, johnson, keep up the good work. tell 'em the white band's out to get them, organizing a raiding party, all that. and i want you to work specifically on bearcat turner. they've already heard he's talking his head off.” johnson gestured as if swatting a fly. “why pick on poor old bearcat? everybody know he's bugs.” “never mind that. he'll stir up some of the other morons. remember, he's still something of a hero in niggertown. some of them haven't sense enough to know he's a psycho.” “niggertown! i'm surprised at you, sir,” said johnson with mock-injured dignity. “can you mean negrotown?” "no, baynesville wouldn't know what you meant. act your age, johnson, and get busy." “that i'll do, exalted sir.” e enator duffield was guest at a dinner which leaders of the baynesville chapter of the white band had proffered at the resplendent new ten-story baynesville hotel. there were thirty at the long table in the banquet room, among them some surprisingly substantial men, including a banker, a de- partment-store manager, two lawyers, and the principal of a school. there were to be no speeches, for within two hours the big public meeting advertised for this saturday night would be under way, and there would be plenty of speaking. this was an informal get-together, as jay blanship, protector of the chapter, pointed out. jay blanship sat at the senator's right. he was a big, paunchy man with a genial grin. he owned the city's leading hardware store. at this moment, as negro waiters took away the hors d'oeuvres and brought in the soup, he was leaning forward and talking to joe duffield in a confidential tone that even the man on his right could not hear. iio the white band "some of those niggers,” jay blanship was saying, “tried to buy guns in my store. you know, i have a fine line of guns. of course my clerks wouldn't sell them to niggers. told 'em they'd have to have permits. i believe they did sell a couple of shotguns. they use them hunting, and we can hardly refuse them, but if there's any rush on shotguns i'll clamp down on them, too—at least until the tension eases.” “quite right,” joe said. “not many of them could afford to buy revolvers and especially shotguns,” the merchant added. “shotguns are costly these days, and nigger families that hunt keep them for generations. what i wondered about was, how could ten or fifteen of them all at once have the money to buy guns? in other words, who's advancing them money? not any of our loan sharks, you can bet.” “i could hazard a guess,” said joe. “so could i, senator. some of these yankee red outfits. but you can't prove a thing.” “no, you can't,” joe conceded. “they're slick. but i don't doubt they're down here, in one form or another.” jay blanship sipped his wine. “doubt! i know it, senator. that ned tarver, a nigger lawyer from harlem, represents something called the league for racial justice, and he had the gall to bring this court action that just came up.” “yes, tarver.” joe picked up a fork and put it down. “of course i'm against him on this, and i wish he hadn't come down here, but i doubt he's a red.” blanship looked a little shocked. “but how can you know, senator? they'll deny it with their last breath.” “naturally i can't know," said joe duffield, “but as it happens i've known the fellow for years, and, as misguided as he may be on this issue, i doubt that he's a commie.” the white band iii senco “i suppose,” jay blanship hazarded, “a man in national politics encounters all sorts." "sure.” "and this tarver might as well be a red for all practical purposes.” again blanship lowered his voice and talked into the senator's right ear."“you know, it's getting to be a dangerous situation in our niggertown. a small minority, of course—the few niggers who think they're tough guys-and i've been told tarver is stirring them up.” “that so?” “yes, and there's a local character who's leading the dinges astray. a former prize fighter called bearcat turner.” "i've heard of him,” joe said. “i believe he was quite a fighter in his day.” "topnotch, senator. but he's punch-drunk, pretty well off his nut, and the sad part of it is he still has influence in niggertown. the more intelligent pay no attention to any- thing he says, but some of the others, the scum around nigger taverns and pool halls, hang on every crazy word he says. and a bird like tarver stirs him up, and he stirs up others. at least that's the way the story comes to me.” "i see.” joe pondered this. he could not believe that ned tarver would fan violence. he'd never been that sort. he was primarily a lawyer, an advocate, and the courts were his arena for settling disputes, always had been, but it was in- evitable that he'd be blamed for any trouble that broke out in baynesville. blanship turned back to his food, and a man down the table asked, “what did you think of judge darcy's decision, senator?” "about what i expected,” joe said. a man across the table observed, “we're lucky it wasn't the regular judge, hurben. he was tied up with a long- the white band winded water-rights case at riverport, and they sent darcy from florida. hurben's from michigan, and he'd probably have held desegregation must go into effect tomorrow. he thinks we're not half nice enough to our nee-groes.” there was laughter. someone else asked, “how's teachers college coming out with that nigger?” “there'll be more trouble, you wait and see,” said the man seated next down the table. “it's unfortunate,” joe duffield commented, "that it should have happened right at this time. there's trouble enough over the primary schools.” “that nigger jack taylor was planted,” blanship was posi- tive, "you can offer odds on that. more commie manipula- tions.” there were murmurs of assent. someone far down the table said, “i'm surprised at doc davison and the trustees too. if you can't rely on your own people ..." a loud-voiced man in the center of the long table said, “we'll get davison. he'll be looking for a job. up north, too.” laughter and approbative comments answered. again blanship leaned over to joe. “i've heard a little group of those tough niggers have planned to beat up any white man who ventures into niggertown at night. i've even heard they plotted to burn down taylor school.” “we can only hope there'll be no trouble,” joe said. “and avoid precipitating it ourselves.” “oh, sure.” “the police ..." “they've been alerted, senator. they've been told what i just told you. they're watchful. but it's damned near im- possible to get any information out of niggertown. even the more intelligent niggers, those that don't want trouble, the white band are afraid to talk to white men, and the stool-pigeons the cops always have planted are deathly afraid of bearcat and his crowd.” “that's the way it's always been,” joe reflected. tim o'hearn had come early, as coach gilliam had sug- gested, and edged into an aisle seat near the front. it was well he had followed this advice, for the city auditorium, a fine, commodious hall located in the new limestone city library, soon filled, and others began pressing in and lining the walls. long before the meeting began the hall was jammed and the police would allow no more to enter, and a mobile truck with a loudspeaker was testing outside, where a sizable crowd was gathering. a drum-and-bugle corps from the white veterans' league, something which had been organized in the wake of the supreme court decision, was on the stage entertaining the audience. a drill team went through some close-order maneu- vers to the blaring of the bugles and the loud pounding of the drums. then the musicians played “the campbells are com- ing.” when this was over, some wit in the crowd shouted, “can the lucky strikes be far behind?” there was laughter. the musicians and the drill team marched off the stage, and a score of men took their places, filling the chairs behind the speaker's stand. jay blanship's ample figure stood at the microphone. he was applauded, and he held up a hand for silence, which gradually settled over the crowd. a sizable number of women mingled with the predominantly male audience. “greetings, townsmen and friends," said the hardware mer- chant. “i'm glad a few of you accepted our invitation to come out and talk over some of our problems together." he the white band w waited for the laughter to subside. “if that fine drum-and- bugle corps will give us an a-or is it a b-sharp? i wouldn't know-we'll all sing the first verse of ‘america.'” they sang the stanza lustily. "now then,” the chairman said, "we'll get down to busi- ness. i'm not going to take up your time. we have eminent speakers whom i know you are eager to hear. i just want to say a few words. first, a word from your sponsor.” they laughed. “i see a lot of men out there who are valued mem- bers of the white band. others who sit or stand before me -and i wish there were seats for all; we'll get a bigger hall the next time the supreme court hands down a carpetbag decision-others who sit out there are eligible, fine men i know or should know, and we hope many of you will join our fine fraternal order. but some of you, perhaps a good many, may not know too much about the white band. well, i want to tell you—and any of you that disapprove of this had better not make application to join-we represent the white race, the white race in the south, and in the north and west too. you might be surprised if you knew how many members we have already in indiana, iowa, and nebraska, even in oregon.” jay blanship paused. “the colored race has its organiza- tions-some, i suspect, more red than black-and we feel that we're entitled to ours. we have nothing against nigras. the good nigra, and most of them are that, i'm glad to testify, never had a better friend than the white southerner. our friends up north hardly understand that. they think because we don't take them home to dinner and invite their sons to marry our daughters we hate them, we treat them like so much dirt. i don't need to tell you what a lie that is. i'm sure many of our best nigras don't want to see desegregation in our schools. they prefer their own schools, just as they prefer their the white band theaters and dance halls and restaurants. they have their own life; we have ours. or perhaps i should say we had.” he stopped for jeering laughter to fade. “the white band is frankly for the continuance of the segregated schools we've had for generations. does that shock you? i didn't think so. we're for maintaining the integrity, the purity of the white race, for the protection of our fine, pure womanhood from dangers which i need not mention, for the protection of our children, the new generation, from influences that would like to make the south a region of mongrel people, of various colors and god knows what habits, a sort of mexico.” ramon fernandez, one of the few mexican émigrés in baynesville, winced. he sat in back with his wife, maria. they had a small shop. it sold mexican novelties, which ramon brought in laboriously from mexico twice a year, a trip he and maria made in their light pickup truck. blanship's voice, ample like his body, soared through the microphone and was carried to the now sizable crowd clus- tered outdoors. “so if you're not for white supremacy, don't bother with us-you'll find us a waste of time. otherwise, if you're for our primary aim, the preservation of the white race, we don't care whether you're a democrat or a repub- lican, or what your religion is. i must add, though, that our catholic friends have shown a strange disregard of what hap- pens to our race. at least their hierarchy, their bosses have. and if you're a catholic you've got to do what the priest, the bishop, ultimately the head man, the pope, says. you can't even question it. if you don't mind them, they'll hand you out a thousand years in purgatory as calmly as our good friend, judge davis, would give a drunk thirty days." there was laughter, and tim o'hearn felt his face flushing. “they may even give you life in hell, which is worse than life in our state prison-farm, i'm told. well, the catholic ace. at least you've gothe pope, say, the white band bishop of this diocese has ordered desegregation in the parochial schools, which puts him in the same class with justice warren. i'm sure many good southern white catho- lics don't approve-in fact i know of some families who are withdrawing their children from parochial schools, but i'm sorry for them. they'll catch hell, and i don't mean that figuratively.” the speaker waited for raucous laughter to subside. “so i'm afraid catholics wouldn't be very happy in the white band. the pope might excommunicate them, which means that when you depart this life you get no help from the church, you're strictly on your own. they wouldn't be happy with us unless, perchance, they gave up their foreign religion, which has always been unsuited to america, and become good methodists or baptists or presbyterians. we'd welcome them. i've been asked whether we take jews. the answer is sure, if they'll take us, which is doubtful. we'll take anyone who is for us and who is of good moral char- acter. unfortunately, most jews seem to be against us. i don't quite know why. i'm sure they'll be welcome in israel if they don't like our american ways. but most of them prefer to stay here and snipe at us. i suppose it's no accident that when the f.b.i. cracks down on some communist group or individual, they nearly always have jewish names. have you noticed that? i thought you had. “i don't doubt,” blanship added, “that most of these funny outfits who have shown up down here to try to run our business for us-you've heard of the national association for the advancement of colored people, but did you ever hear of the league for racial justice or the international friends of labor?-i don't doubt most of those stab-by-day and fly- by-night organizations are financed by red jew money in the white band i do want to thank you all for your obvious and manifest interest in the white band and its mission of trying to pre- serve ... i won't say the southern way of life, i'll say the white way of life. i could add, and perhaps would if it wouldn't be lacking in tact, the white, american, protestant christian way of life. as our chairman told you, this pro- gram is appealing to an astonishing number of our northern and western friends, who are joining the white band in droves. “this fear of a mongrel america is no lurid imagining of demagogues. it has a solid basis. our eloquent fellow citizen, jay blanship, referred to mexico, not in criticism, i'm sure, but merely explaining what happened when the spaniards intermarried with indians, nigras, some chinese, and god knows what else. in spain itself the moors, who came in centuries ago, stayed to merge themselves with the caucasian spaniards, and as a result we have the predominantly dark spaniards of today. india might have had a race of pure aryans today. what happened? ghenghis khan and other oriental conquerors came through and left their mark. to- day we have a mongrel race in india, of various kinds and numerous tongues, many as dark-skinned as our nigras- hordes pitifully underprivileged, who turn too readily-and who can blame them?-to leaders who have fallen under the spell of the red fallacy. “in congress we've tried to discourage any widespread im- migration from the orient. not because we look down on japanese, chinese, or malayans, and not merely because china has gone red-i have no doubt millions of helpless, inarticulate chinese would like to escape the communist yoke-but because we fear the racial heritage a horde of in- coming orientals would leave our children and our children's children. proud races who let down the bars to intermarriage the white band have waned in power and prestige as their blood deteriorated through the intermingling of inferior people. let's listen to the voice of history, my dear friends, and tighten our lines, preserve our racial integrity at any cost.” joe paused for applause, which rippled across the hall. “some of our yankee friends say it's a long way from mingling the races in school to intermarriage. but is it? ever since reconstruction we southerners have been getting along fine with our nigra friends and helpers. the two races lived, ate, went to school, traveled, and had their amusements sepa- rately. was that so terrible? nobody seemed to think so until the agitators in the north, the busybodies who called themselves liberals and took on various other convenient labels, began to move in on us and tell us how we should live. "well, say we accept desegregation in the schools. we won't, you can bet your last dime, but only for the sake of argument. we'll assume our schools are half or more colored. in some places, because of the balance of population, they'll be three-fourths colored, one-fourth white. well, what's next? the supreme court has already held that segregation in common carriers-trains, buses, planes—is unconstitutional. what's next? i predict that next they'll hold our state laws against miscegenation, against the marriage of white and colored people, unconstitutional. then you'll have a certain number of low-down white people—i'm sorry to say we have them; probably you'll find them everywhere except in heaven, for which we're not ready yet-a certain number of our white people will marry nigras. gradually the number of such marriages will increase. slowly, but with the relentless prog- ress of a stone worn away by a waterfall or a tree dying because its roots have withered, we'll have a different south, an inferior south, a south where white faces will be rare, but skins ranging from coal black to a dirty, shaded white cic the white band i will be prevalent. the south we love, the south our fathers loved and our grandfathers fought for, will be as dead as a crumbled splinter from a marble column dug from the ruins of babylon. a pure white family will be as rare as a pure spanish strain in mexico or in spain herself. do you want that?” “no, no!” they shouted. “i didn't think so. and friends, we won't have it. never!” senator duffield closed his address with a plea for able- bodied men of good character, men who wanted to preserve the south their grandfathers fought for at chancellorsville and chickamauga and a hundred other battlefields, to join the white band. a dozen recorders would be on hand at the doors to take applications. as the speaker of the evening, who had been briefer than the rest, but more pungent, more to the point, made his way slowly down the center aisle, his progress was interrupted constantly by reaching hands, by phrases like “thanks, senator” or, more familiar, “you got 'em told, joe.” these personal greetings followed a prolonged ovation as he closed his address. the warmth of this reception, the affection in which he seemed to be held by these people and thousands like them over the state, made joe duffield wonder, not for the first time, if he had not made a mistake in quitting-well, sidetracking himself from-politics at this time. was the white band worth it? he doubted it; then he thought of the fabulous profits promised, and he felt sure he hadn't made the wrong decision. he could be independent for life if this would last for even a year. his share.... in the slowly dissolving crowd he looked closely into a familiar face, and sharp, merry eyes looked back at him. he and ned tarver exchanged grins. tim o'hearn, pressed slowly toward an exit, passed close i the white band to a desk at which a man from the white band was enrolling new members. he passed by the waiting line as quickly as he could, and was pushed into the cool night, where knots of men still stood talking about the meeting. he wouldn't, he reflected, give two cents for the other speakers, with their appeals to prejudice and bigotry, but this fellow duffield had something. his speech had been on a higher plane: no personalities, no talk of violence or attacks on a man's religion. and, from what little he knew of history, joe duffield was right. he had outlined the broad issue they faced. not that he, tim o'hearn, would ever join the white band, not in a thousand years, but there was something about the senator, a warmth, a friendliness, which drew him to the man; an authoritative way, a way of saying only what he must know to be true, that you had to respect. joe duffield was glad that sarah hadn't accepted his half- hearted invitation to come down here. there would have been no point in her coming, and you never knew when she would allow herself to get plastered (there was always the opportunity), and, moreover, it wouldn't have worked out at all; the dinner, for example, was strictly stag, and the meeting would have bored her. he was escorted now to a little party at jay blanship’s house, to which they drove in the merchant's glistening new cadillac. the house, one of baynesville's more imposing resi- dences, had some modernistic touches. it was built in a sort of modified ranch style-two stories in the middle and one story on either side-and boasted an all-glass sun parlor. there were many picture windows. joe had left his car in a garage downtown. he was going on to some other towns the white band re- to the south tomorrow, where appointments with local white band leaders had been made for him. the blanship house was in a plush suburban development called fenner's acres, because it was owned by an operator named fenner. jay explained that the owners had a strict covenant forbidding the sale of property in the area to any- one they did not approve. the development would be re- stricted, he need hardly say, to white american christians, though it would be possible to sell to an immigrant or a for- eigner if he were the right sort. for instance, there was that fellow pelletier, who lived in the druid grove section. he was a high-class frenchman whose father was said to have been a count. jay was aware that the supreme court had held such covenants unconstitutional. "but they haven't got around to taking us into court down here,” he added, “and i don't think they will." joe laughed. “why not?” “well, we have other methods, even if the courts held against us, which i suppose they'd have to do. i don't mean running an interloper off with a gun, either. there are more subtle ways which may occur to you, senator, such as ostra- cism, which nobody ever enjoyed and probably nobody ever will, and even certain—what some people might call boy- cotts; certain of us can exert certain pressures here and there, on the country club, even on tradesmen. i venture to say that anyone who slipped in here through subterfuge, proxy, which he'd have to do because fenner wouldn't sell to any- one we disapproved—any interloper would be glad in a few months to sell and get away.” “i see your point,” said joe thoughtfully. “that new deal supreme court,” said jay, “why, it's getting so the law forbids you to choose your neighbors and ean the white band see friends. i wouldn't be surprised to see a ruling that you have to entertain a nigger at dinner at least once a week." joe laughed as they entered the house. they were met by mrs. blanship, a small, jolly woman who showed a big dimple when she laughed. she said it was an honor and a pleasure to welcome the senator, and she regretted that he couldn't stay overnight. joe thanked her, and explained that he was stay- ing at the hotel because he had to make a very early start in the morning: several towns to visit during the day. she asked about the meeting. she added that the three children seemed to have sensed excitement around town; she'd had a hard time getting them to bed. other cars began arriving, and men, some accompanied by their wives, drifted in. drinks were served in the spacious living-room. because of the women, the white band was hardly mentioned, and the general situation was alluded to only occasionally. the talk was more general. these people, baynesville's upper crust, were well mannered, polite, some of them quite amusing. joe was hardly surprised to learn, in the course of the evening, that jay blanship was a graduate of the state university, and that most of the other men had been to college. and yet they were, he reflected, as adamant about segregation as the least-educated, the most ill-informed rednecks. it was a way of thinking, a way of life, not con- fined to any social stratum. of course there were exceptions, southerners who thought the south as a whole was all wrong on the racial issue. he thought, inevitably, of the editor, harry holmes, with whom he had a pleasant acquaintance. harry used to look at him with a little smile which, joe felt guiltily, seemed to say, “i'm on to you. i know. and i don't blame you altogether. i know how it is. i even realize that you know better." did he know better? once, surely. but he'd been in the white band politics so long, and repeated the expected clichés so often, that he had come to believe them ... almost. “you're in a brown study, senator,” objected a very pretty girl. "well,” he said, “such is the study of the moment-brown or black or yellow.” she laughed shrilly. "you're a card, senator. i'm mrs. james hamby. my husband spoke just before you did; he's principal of the redfern school.” “of course.” he added gallantly, “i'd say offhand that he's a very lucky man.” in the course of the evening joe took more drinks than he really wanted. not more than he could carry-he rarely did that. perhaps, once in a great while, at an alumni meeting of one of his various schools or a reunion of his fraternity. sarah would have enjoyed this part of his visit to baynesville, and he was damned glad she hadn't come. she'd probably have left walking uncertainly, and then when he showed his displeasure-he should be more patient; she actually couldn't help it any more-she'd have gone into one of her rages and denounced him for some of the affairs he had had with women and others which he'd never had but wouldn't have minded having and perhaps had tried unsuccessfully to have. dave bentley, one of the young businessmen, who, he pointed out, had to drive slap through the town anyway, since he lived on the other side, took joe back to the hotel. in his pleasant corner room on the ninth floor he stood at the window, which he had opened a little way. it was a mild night, vaguely suggesting autumn. the little city scattered an intricate pattern of lights. there were dark patches in the residential areas. most people had gone to bed. he undressed, fished his pajamas out of the suitcase, and went to bed. he read a news magazine for a while, then, feel- the white band ing drowsy, pushed off the bed light. but he didn't sleep for a long time. sometimes when he took a good many drinks, the effect was not soporific but livening. at such times he wanted to walk and walk or else talk and talk to someone congenial. now he could only think. his thoughts moved jerkily, in erratic circles. then they settled on one episode. he was a sophomore at princeton, and he was home for the summer vacation. he poked around home for several weeks. his parents had a rambling victorian house in what was then a desirable residential area of riverport, but years later, after people had moved farther and farther out, became an area of shops and automobile agencies. somehow he always remem- bered that summer better than others of the period, others that blurred into an indistinct pattern after the years. he didn't know why this summer stuck out in the tricky scheme of memory; there was no dramatic event, no special reason. his father was a lawyer, a reserved gentleman of forty-five then, with a genteel civil practice and an unblemished repu- tation for probity and for unselfish service in any plan for civic improvement which he happened to approve. he was an independent sort, who thought for himself and could not be counted on to go along with prevailing opinion about any- thing. he could be crusty, even pugnacious when it came to his convictions. he was taller than joe, too thin, with rather an ascetic face, and sometimes in winter he developed a chronic cough, which impelled his wife to persuade him to go down to pass christian or corpus christi for two or three weeks. joe's sister, four years older, was married by then, and lived in nashville. his only brother was still a high-school boy. his mother, a good-looking, energetic woman, who put on weight as she got older, saw that aunt martha made him the white band cherry pies and other things he liked. she was essentially a practical woman, and, though she was fairly well read, he could rarely remember her discussing abstractions or even political philosophies. not so his father. john duffield liked nothing better than a philosophical or a literary or even a musical (he knew music) parley. joe could remember, as a little boy, evenings when his father would entertain four or five men, and his mother would appear only to greet them and see that the house-boy, ben, served the drinks. joe would peek in and hear scraps of talk behind fragrant wreaths of cigar smoke until his mother pulled him back. those men would be the cream of the city's intellectuals, perhaps a college professor or two, a doctor, maybe another lawyer or an engi- neer or one of riverport's handful of recognized poets or novelists. but that summer his father went with him for a week's visit to john duffield's brother grady, who was twelve years older than john. grady had turned over an established mer- cantile business to his sons, and retired to a place in the mountains on the northern border of the state, a craggy spot with a gorgeous view of a range of the blue ridge, a stream fuming past his front gate. the fishing and hunting were excellent; it was a summer paradise for a young man of twenty. grady was no intellectual, though he was an ex- tremely shrewd, well-informed man, and he and john would never discuss the differences between hegel and schopenhauer and nietzsche, or the greek playwrights, or debussy and the new atonalists, or the writers of the day, dreiser and sher- wood anderson and the more agile fitzgerald. instead they'd talk about (and deplore) coolidge, and wonder whether woodrow wilson had been tragically thwarted or merely was an ambitious failure, and perhaps discuss the necessity for diversifying crops if the south were to prosper in the future. the white band grady's views were more conventional. john avoided dis- cussing with his brother what then was called the negro problem, for john had some daring views which annoyed his brother, and john was punctilious to a point: he was a guest, even if his host happened to be his brother, and one didn't offend one's host, though there were rare occasions when john forgot and there was a torrid argument. grady duffield lived in what he called his mountain lodge most of the long summer, with only two servants for com- pany, a negro couple who had worked for the family for many years. his wife was dead. one circumstance which made that summer memorable to joe was nothing more than a long walk over a mountain path which he took with his father. uncle grady had gone to the nearest town in the ford to get supplies. joe could recall, many years later, details of that hike: the hickory stick his father swung as they followed the path, the woolen shirt, open at the neck, which his father wore. sometimes they almost lost the path as it plunged into a thicket and thistles clutched them and stuck to them. they rested on some big rocks at a point where the path looked into a canyon hundreds of feet deep. the path was carpeted with pine needles, and the air was fragrant with several species of evergreens. some of the fellows he knew at college didn't believe in anything, he was telling his father, not in god or democracy or any of the prevailing ideas. “that's a phase they're passing through,” john duffield said. “they'Îl settle down to believing in something." he laughed. “even if it's anarchy or pantheism or yoga. mean- while this skepticism, this distrust of everything, is a good thing for them. gets them to thinking, which is all too rare in our incredibly prosperous country. our minds wither as our cunning at making money increases.” the white band “they quote nietzsche and upton sinclair and mencken," joe said. and his father said, “good antidotes for harding and coolidge and brisbane and eddie guest.” then he told his father of the time he and three other fellows went one evening to a tavern a couple of miles from the campus and solved the enigmas of the universe over needled beer. the point of this episode was that one of the boys, a friend of a student, was a negro. could his father imagine that! “yes,” his father said, “my imagination is capable of ab- sorbing that circumstance quite easily.” “i never thought,” joe confessed, “that i'd be sitting there taking drinks at the table with a nigger." “i'm glad you did,” said john duffield. “you are!” “i am indeed. do you good. i hope you didn't feel em- barrassed, or if you did you didn't show it, or make him feel that you were condescending." “somehow," joe said, “i wasn't embarrassed at all. it was strange for a southern boy who'd never run into such a thing, but it seemed natural. and, do you know, that nigra boy was as well read, had as good a mind as any of us.” “i'm not surprised.” his father hefted his stick and smiled. he had a sweet smile. “you know, son,” he added, "it's time the south was forgetting the war between the states and reconstruction. some day we'll have to revise our attitude toward nigras. we're all people together. they happen to be a little darker. if you had been born an african or an east indian, a white face would have seemed as different, as alien to you, as a dark skin does to us. our nigras are rising rapidly. they've been held back by slavery, first physical slavery, then economic slavery. they'll come along; they may even the white band surpass us. even today, individuals among them are equal to our best, in any line you can name.” joe explained to his father that since that evening he had felt differently toward negroes. “and a damned good thing," his father said. “and i hope that if you become a lawyer, as you threaten to do, no matter what i say, you'll try, whenever you can, to see that nigras get equal justice.” “oh, i will,” he promised. “the philosophy of the rednecks,” john duffield added, “if you can dignify it with such a revered term, is as dead as the worship of moloch, though they'll never admit it-not in our time.” this little talk had flowed back across his mind many times through the intervening twenty-eight years, as distinct as if it had occurred last week. other incidents, other discussions, which had seemed more important, were lost in the vast and fragmentary record of the years. memory was strange. on lhings had gone smoothly since friday on the campus of the baynesville teachers college, and dr. davison was elated. it showed you could obey the law, at least begin integration, without interference except from a hoodlum element you'd expect to cause trouble. put down the hoodlums—and that was a task to which the police were equal—and the more responsible people, most of the student body, would soon get used to the idea. after all, what was one negro student? how could he annoy anyone, especially a quiet, manly fellow like jack taylor, who'd never flaunt himself, intrude where he wasn't wanted. there'd be others, of course, but never many, not in this college. but dr. davison had reckoned too soon. he had under- estimated not only the determination, the perseverance of the town element he despised, but the inherent prejudice of the students-or most of them. these persons were simply wait- ing, marshaling their forces. the white band monday afternoon jack taylor left a freshman assembly in the college auditorium. it was a meeting at which professor hanley, who taught economics and sociology, had delivered his customary address to the new students, spoken to them of the aims and hopes of this college, and thrown out some practical hints on how they could adjust themselves and get along with the faculty and their fellow students. the well-built negro student, lithe, darkly handsome, was smiling over some of the amusing things professor hanley had said. jack taylor swung his strapped books and whistled a snatch of a popular tune as he started across the campus. no- body seemed to notice him, or to be aware that he was a pointed-at, resented alien. young men and girls were drifting along the paths that cut through the lush grass. it was a mellow day, warm, but the fierce heat of summer was tem- pered by the approaching autumn. you expected to smell wood smoke even if you didn't. jack taylor was dressed a little more formally than most of the students. he wore a well-cut blue worsted and a tie with his white shirt, and he had added a blue sweater vest against the expected chill of the evening. he was a little too warm. he'd leave the sweater behind at his room in the town tomorrow, perhaps wear a sport shirt open at the neck, as many students did. he wore tan moccasins with thick rubber soles. as he turned away from the science building he came abruptly on a waiting crowd. there must have been a hun- dred men. many of them were students, the rest were towns- men of the type who had demonstrated their hatred in front of the administration building friday. they must have plotted his course for the afternoon, knowing he would go to the freshman assembly and also aware of his probable path as he left the campus, for the moment they spotted him they a the white band and running down the legs of his new blue worsted suit. another egg struck him in the forehead, its contents oozing down his face. “you dirty bastards,” he sobbed. “i'll fight any one of you. dirty, rotten ... c-cowards.” from somewhere came a rock. it clipped a corner of jack taylor's forehead, and blood began running down his face, mingling with the odorous yolk of the egg. at that moment three faculty members, attracted by the clamor, came running out of the science building. a tall, athletic, young physics instructor shouted, “stop it! stop it! the police'll be here in a minute. they'll take care of you. get out, get out!” the chant was altered. “nigger-lover, nigger-lover, nigger- lover ...” "you goddam cowards!” the young teacher yelled back. “one fellow! all you picking on him!” jeeringly the crowd defied him, but its ranks broke slowly, began moving back, thinning, slowly melting. none of them wanted to tangle with the police-not, at least, without muster- ing reinforcements. · the television hadn't been working right-its picture kept blurring—but harry holmes worked with it patiently, turn- ing the built-in antenna this way and that, touching the bright- ener. at last he had a clear picture. there was president davison, standing in his office at the baynesville teachers college, being interviewed by a nationally-known commen- tator of the air, working from a portable transmission set. “there it is,” harry holmes said to his wife. “you've got a good picture, dear.” louise holmes settled back in the chair she liked, which had a stiff back. harry the white band hated the chair: he liked one with a soft, yielding back, on which he could stretch out on the back of his thin neck. his wife was a rather large, motherly-looking woman, with a face still young, especially when she laughed. she was a well- padded contrast to her husband, who, as she used to say in urging him to eat well (it never made any difference in his weight whether he did or not), would be blown away by a good gust of wind. the commentator was saying, “dr. davison, would you have been willing to keep jack taylor, this negro student, despite the unpleasant, i might say brutal, demonstration against him?” "absolutely,” said the president. “i urged him to stay, and yet i don't blame him for his decision to leave. it was a situa- tion nobody would have wanted to face.” "if he had decided to stay on,” the newsman added, “how would you have protected him?” “the police ... or, if they'd have proved inadequate, i'd have asked the governor to send the national guard.” “do you think governor james would have consented to send them?” “i have no way of knowing,” dr. davison replied. “i didn't ask him.” "do you feel, dr. davison, that integration will ever work in the south–i mean in colleges, with which you are particu- larly concerned?" the educator paused, then said firmly, “i think it will- both in colleges and other schools, primary and secondary, grammar schools and high schools. it may take quite a while for southerners, at least in some sections, to get used to the idea, but i'm convinced they will in time. some places, espe- cially in border states, but i mean places predominantly south- the white band ern in their outlook, already have effected desegregation or are planning to do so shortly.” the commentator paused. “and now we have here in dr. davison's office the young man who has been the storm cen- ter of this experiment on the campus of the state teachers college. i want to introduce jack taylor.” the camera turned to jack taylor, who stood, nervous but determined. he had on a gray suit; all traces of his experi- ences had vanished except for a small scar high on his fore- head. “now, jack, will you tell us why, in the first place, you decided to enroll at baynesville. there were colored colleges where you could have taken the teacher's course.” jack's voice was too low at first, but he raised it a little, and it came out clearly. “it's true, mr. gray, i could have gone to a negro college, and we have some fine ones in the south, or i could have gone north. my idea was it would be good for me to go to college with white students, get to know them better, get their-well, their point of view. it would broaden my outlook, maybe help me as a teacher. i even thought, this may sound a little crazy-i thought it might be a good thing for the white students to go to school with a few ne- groes. it might sort of help to make a better feeling between the races. i was evidently wrong, but that's what i thought.” "it has been suggested, jack, and this suggestion has been pretty widespread in certain circles, that you were persuaded to enroll by certain ‘influences'-influences from up north somewhere, maybe communist or anyway radical influences." "that's not true at all,” said jack. “nobody influenced me. i don't know any communists, or if i do, they haven't told me they're communists and no one else has. it was my own idea. of course i talked it over with my parents and with a few friends." the white band "i see. and i suppose that last demonstration against you, where they threw things at you and even injured you, de- cided you to withdraw.” jack taylor smiled a little grimly. “certainly nobody would want to stay anywhere after a thing like that had been done to him. but it wasn't that altogether. dr. davison prom- ised me every protection if i'd stay. but, aside from being attacked in the middle of the campus,and of course i didn't want to let myself in for that again-aside from that, it didn't seem right to upset a whole college for just one student. it would have been a pretty selfish attitude. if i'd realized what would happen, i'd never have gone there.” the commentator said, “a very commendable spirit, jack. is there anything you want to add?” "only this, mr. gray. i want to thank not only dr. davi- son and the dean of the college and other faculty members who stood by me, i also want to thank some of the students who were kind to me and others who at least accepted me without making any trouble.” “and what are your plans now, jack?” “well, i haven't decided. i may go north to school. i've been offered one scholarship in a fine college. not entirely because of what happened at baynesville, but i had a pretty good record in high school.” "i understand you had. and thank you, jack taylor, for coming here and explaining your own point of view to the television audience. and thank you very much, dr. davison, for talking to us and for allowing us to set up our portable news television in your office. and, jack, i wish you the best of luck." the camera turned once more from dr. davison to the student. “thank you, mr. gray,” jack said. the picture flickered off. the white band it was early afternoon, and harry holmes got his hat, kissed his wife on the cheek, got out the six-year-old pontiac, and started for the office. he had always been sensitive to trends and happenings, whether in his own life or in national or world affairs. he didn't pretend to any special prescience, but he could-and often his colleagues and the readers of his editorials had noticed this-divine conclusions from premises which did not always point too directly to what eventually occurred. now, as he drove from his pleasant, thirty-year-old home on the edge of town into the pulsing traffic of downtown riverport, he felt a misgiving, a personal feeling that was ominous. well, he decided, it took no gazer into crystal balls to sense what was in the wind. at his shabby office he filled and lighted his pipe and sat down to the galleys which had been laid there. he went through them and found the leading editorial for tomorrow morning. it was about the baynesville college episode, and it was pretty severe, he conceded, but only one in a series of editorials, all discussing what he called the baynesville attitude. somebody, probably durbin, the managing editor, had laid a marked copy of a new york paper on the side of his desk. it was open to an editorial page on which one of his editorials had been reprinted, with due credit to the riverport dis- patch. he glanced at the page, turned back to the galley. he read the lead editorial for errors, marked a few, then sat con- templating it for a while. he reread several times the final paragraph: presumably baynesville is proud of itself. this is not to imply that there are not individual citizens who deplore what has happened. but the town as a whole, our thriving neigh- bor twenty miles to the south, whose enterprise and hospi- the white band tality we have always admired, has done nothing toward punishing the cowardly mob responsible for this outrage, nor has it taken any steps, so far as we are aware, toward preventing the recurrence of such incidents if any negro student again should enter the college. it was, to all outward appearance, whatever the secret differences of opinion, one town against one young man. this was, it seems, an inof- fensive young man, who went quietly about his duties as a student, trying unobtrusively to begin acquiring a college education, to learn in particular how to be a teacher. but his complexion happened to be a shade darker than that of any other student. and so the town, including much of the campus, rose against him, set out bravely to wage war against him. he lost. may we expect that the leaders of the valiant force that took the offensive against him will receive some sort of civic decoration for their courage? he had commended highly, in earlier paragraphs, dr. davi- son and the board of trustees for ignoring public prejudice and following the law. this final paragraph was about the town, its attitude. who had denounced this attitude, its translation into action? no one publicly. no public official, no clergyman, no educator-none but dr. davison, who un- doubtedly was in for a bad time. there were many ways he could be harassed, professionally and personally. harry holmes' pipe had gone out. he relit it. he could tone down the last paragraph. it was pretty strong. but why should he? to hell with them! and he included the editors who wrote in apologia of the baynesville episode and those who deplored it timidly, like frightened rabbits deploring the existence of foxes. he no longer gave a damn. his neighbor, fred heiman, could cut him. so what? fred was scant loss. even the cool nods of some at the cherokee club he could absorb without the white band serious concern. he had loyal friends who would stick by him to the end-whatever the end might be. he sat for a while with the galley in his hand, then hur- riedly went over the others, and took them all to the city room, where he gave them to a copy boy to take to the com- posing room. he returned to his office, and another boy brought him mail. he went over the letters, weeding out the handouts, laying them aside. on the bottom was a small letter on crisp stationery, marked personal. it was from john braden. it was brief. dear harry: the dispatch, as you undoubtedly know, is losing circu- lation. worse, it is losing advertising. i have just been ad- vised that one of your largest advertisers, brill's department store, has refused to renew its contract. i understand it is going to give all its advertising to the gazette. i think it's a fair conclusion that your editorial policy in regard to de- · segregation has caused this defection and the other losses. i suggested when i saw you recently that you at least be more tactful, tone down your views somewhat. but you have pre- ferred to go your own way. in fact, your editorials recently have been more fiery than ever. i now must insist that you curb your feelings and try to placate some of our outraged advertisers and readers. you may be right in everything you've written, but, after all, we are running our newspapers for profit, like any other busi- ness-or we would like to. with kindest personal regards ... harry holmes sat staring at the letter. his teeth were clenched on his pipe, but it had gone out, and he did not relight it. son the pool hall on the downtown edge of niggertown was well filled. the bar in front was busy serving draft beer, bottled beer, and an occasional coke. in back, watching a fifty-point straight pool game for ten dollars, was the short, dapper mulatto called johnson. he nudged a fat man stand- ing at the wall beside him. "i'll bet you a dollar,” he said, “the tall one wins.” “i ain't interested,” the other man said. “it don't make no never mind to me who wins. they both pretty good, though.” he looked at johnson suspiciously, perhaps because of his careful english. “they are that,” johnson conceded. “i ain't bad myself”- he had remembered to use ain't, though he could, when called on, make a speech in excellent english—“but i don't think i could whup either one.” he was proud of himself for remem- bering the way “whip” was pronounced down here by ne- groes and a good many whites. the white band “he won't make that side-pocket shot,” said the fat man. “bet you two bucks he does.” the fat man turned away in disgust. always wanting to bet. but the shorter player did make the shot. there were murmurs of greeting to someone who shuffled along the side wall from the front. he was not a tall man, perhaps five-eight, but his shoulders were broad. his face was lined, thin, almost haggard, but he had an affable grin which contradicted the worry his face expressed in repose. he was trimly dressed in a checked suit, with a tan sport shirt. he walked with a peculiar, almost stumbling gait. he was only in his early forties, but he looked much older because his thick hair, which was smooth, not at all kinky, was white. the fat man joined the chorus, "hey, there, bearcat. how's the boy?” "fine, fine, thank you all.” he shuffled back until he stood near johnson and the fat man, watching the pool game. “never seen you playing pool, bearcat,” johnson said. “ever play?” "nope.” bearcat turner reflected. “i did once, though. i was pretty good.” “i bet you was.” “yep, pretty good. i coulda beat them two bums." "i'm sure you could.” bearcat's small, active eyes looked johnson over. “you a stranger, friend? can't remember your name.” “johnson. i ain't exactly a stranger, but i been away a long time. up no’th, work ... wu’kin'." “what you wu'k at?” bearcat asked, his eyes still roving over johnson. "oh, anything, bearcat. railroads, shops.” “i been up no’th a lot,” said bearcat. “my best fights was up there. madison square garden, lots of good clubs.” the white band “i know. you were a crackerjack. they'd pay plenty to see you.” “i'm still good,” said bearcat. “of course you are.” “my manager,” bearcat grinned, suddenly looking much younger, “he's linin' up some fights. i'm gonta make a come- back. all i want's a chance at that title again.” "you'll take it too,” johnson said. “you think so?” bearcat asked, as pleased as if some expert had picked him to win a crucial bout. “i know it, bearcat.” johnson noted that the fat man had left, and there was no one standing near them. “you know what i was telling you the other day, bearcat, 'bout the white folks uptown?” bearcat stared at johnson, suspicious again. “what white folks?” "you know, this school thing." “i don't know nothin' about no schools,” bearcat mumbled. “i heard talk about colored chillun goin' to white schools. didn't make no sense to me. never been done.” “i know, bearcat, but ..." johnson leaned forward and lowered his voice, “there's been trouble, a lot of trouble, on the campus-you know, up there where the college is, and the white men blame all us niggers.” "i ain't done nothin',” bearcat pointed out. “i know you haven't, but some way the white men blame you for everything that happens here in niggertown.” the fighter looked up, with a baleful glint in his small eyes. “i don't have no trouble with white folks. they been nice to me. when i fust started fightin' they made up a pu’se here, and they sent me no’th to fight. i got on in a prelim in the garden. they been mighty good to me.” "i know,” said johnson patiently. “i don't mean them. but the white band they're just certain white men got it in for you, blame you for trouble, want to beat you up. i know. i got friends up- town tell me. ever hear of the white band?" “white band-white band? i don't know no white band. what is it?” “it's a secret society, like the sons of ham.” bearcat muttered darkly to himself, then said, “sons of ham don't do nobody no harm. he'p you effen they can.” "i know, i know, bearcat. but the white band's out to get negroes, make it tough for all of us." “how's ’at?” "they're sore because a few of us tried to get into white schools." bearcat puffed out his lips in a scornful exclamation. “i ain't studyin' no white schools. i ain't got no trouble with white folks.” “i know you haven't. but, bearcat, there's a few after you, not all the white folks, just a few bad ones. they're saying they'll beat you up.” bearcat's expression changed. a hard, stubborn look came into his small eyes. “ain't nobody gonta beat up bearcat turner. i fought plenty white men.' “i know you did.” “whupped plenty too." "sure you did.” bearcat fumbled for a cigarette, but johnson beat him to it, whipping out a pack and proffering one. “i ain't never seen the man i'm afeerd of, black or white. they better stay away from me.” suddenly he danced into a fighting stance, his left fist out, his feet moving with pitiful sluggishness. “an' if this ain't enough,” he held out a clenched fist, “i got more.” he pulled a switch-blade from his pocket. the white band "i know you can take care of yourself. but there'll be a bunch of them.” "i got friends," said bearcat scornfully, "some o' them can fight too. one of 'em's k. o. smith. he's a comer. light- weight.” “i know. i just wanted to warn you, so you and your friends wouldn't be tricked, surprised.” ignoring the last statement, bearcat said: “i shoulda been welter champ. i beat that guy ... rav ... raviola ... naw, that ain't it." “tony ravini,” johnson suggested. “that's it. they robbed me, them chalk-faced bastids. i beat him, beat him good.” “everybody knows that, bearcat. it was crooked, framed, you didn't have a chance." "you right, jackson, you right, you know a thing or two." with his winning, youthful grin, he nodded, and slapped johnson on the arm admiringly. "but them white folks 'at's against me. i dunno.” suddenly he motioned to two men standing nearer the front. they approached obediently. “good-by, stranger. see you later." johnson knew it was time to leave, and he moved toward the front. the two men joined bearcat, and the three went to the back of the room. soon several other men drifted back and mingled with them. the little group, heads together, talked in low tones. the white men, an even dozen, sat around drinks in one of the few suites the baynesville hotel boasted: bedroom, living- room, bath, small balcony. night was coming on quite cool, and someone closed the wide-open window. the white band a man in shirtsleeves, with his coat draped over his chair, ad- dressed the huge man who sat in one of the two armchairs, filling it, almost obliterating it with his bulk. “think you can beat auburn, fats?” the coach looked up with his fat man's false joviality and chuckled. he had, underneath, a mean disposition, as his teams and persons who crossed him always found out. “i doubt it like hell, sam. their line's too tough. i doubt if we can crack it.” "but you can pass,” another man suggested. “who have we got this fall that can pass?” fats gilliam countered. “tim o'hearn's fair, but he's a better open-field runner. jack hotchkiss graduated. he was the best passer we've had in years. could pitch a football like you can throw a baseball.” “wasn't he a honey!” the talk lagged, and fats gilliam took a long sip of his highball and cleared his throat. “well, fellows, let's get to the business at hand. the reason i asked you fellows to meet me here, as you probably guessed, was to discuss what the papers like to call this explosive issue. explosive's not a bad word. from what i hear, it's liable to explode in our faces any time.” the others murmured appropriately. “that so?” “what do you know?” but sam carruthers, a strong, thick-haired young man, a machinist, said, “i thought it had done exploded. up on the campus.” "oh, that....” gilliam laughed. “well, we won that one. they were not all white bandsmen either. we just sort of guided things. i guess that'll hold old davey a while. he'll think a long time before he allows another nigger to matricu- late. that's the way to do it, put the fear of god into them. now we settled that in short order, and no one really hurt n the white band either. that nigger got mussed up a little ... he was lucky, at that. we could have taken him out and ..." fats drew his right index finger across his throat and made a clucking sound. the others laughed. “i've picked you guys,” he added, “because i know you all. i've known most of you for years. i was in the war with a couple of you.” (he didn't weigh so much then, and he man- aged to slip by the doctors, as he used to say, and get a com- mission.) “i know i can depend on you fellows. we're all bandsmen, but i thought we might form a sort of unofficial ... i don't know what we could call it. execution squad?” he laughed. “well, i don't think we'll have to execute any- body. but we sure can scare hell out of a few if necessary, and we can beat the bejesus out of a couple if it seems indi- cated.” the others murmured approvingly and listened. fats gil- liam went on, “i've heard some things straight from the feed- box. i'm not just trying to stir up trouble. these commies are down here getting the niggers all hot and bothered, those that'll listen, the dumber, the more illiterate ones. a fellow came to see me, a white man. he was a radical, no doubt of that, some sort of union organizer; by the way, he was once a big-time prize fighter. any of you remember patsy gro- gan?” all looked blank except bill whitney, one of the older men in the group-he was a little past forty-and he said, “sure, i remember him. he was plenty good.” he told them about the ex-pugilist who now went under the name of graham, and what graham had told him. “the niggers-those that'll listen-are being stirred up by this nigger that looks almost white, this ned tarver, who represents something-a commie outfit, if you ask me-called the league for racial justice.” they knew. he was the guy who brought the court action. the white band and now if niggers were arming themselves with guns and switch-blades, whatever they could get . . “tarver," the big coach added, “is what we educated bas- tards call an agent provocateur.” two of the others understood; the rest looked baffled. gil- liam explained: “that's some bastard who stirs up trouble, tells one side lies about the other side and vice versa. hitler's gestapo used to bait the kikes that way, and then, when the poor devils would arm themselves maybe, they'd be slaugh- tered for conspiring to revolt or something." “when the two months is up,” said carruthers, “they'll try to get into that taylor school and probably others.” someone pointed out that judge darcy's decision had been appealed. “that won't make no never mind,” said ben blackwell, a tall man with a bulbous nose. he was manager of a garage and repair shop. “he'll be upheld. the supreme court's done spoken.” "sure,” fats gilliam agreed, “but meanwhile we can't let any grass grow under us.' the youngest in the group, blake mcleod, a bank teller, who was twenty-four and looked about nineteen, asked, “what do we do now, fats?”. the coach started by recalling what graham had told him about bearcat turner and his pals. "but bearcat's nuts,” young mcleod interrupted. “he's not responsible. he goes around talking to himself. he still thinks he's going to be champ.” “that's just it,” fats said, “bearcat's easy to work on. a psycho can be harmless until somebody rubs him the wrong way, then he can be mean as hell. that's bearcat. he's punch-drunk all right, but he was a fighter and a damned good one, and he nurses a sense of injustice. he feels that white the white band men robbed him of the welter title and also of most of his profits in the ring.” "i think he's right about that,” ben blackwell said. "sure, he's right,” fats conceded. “it's a rotten, crooked game. and bearcat was always a good nigger, who gave his best in the ring. but lately he's run into bad company. some of those niggers he hangs out with are tough guys; they wouldn't mind a scrimmage any time. most of our niggers don't want trouble, but there's a few that would just as soon start a race riot as not. i wouldn't want to see bearcat get hurt-the poor devil, as we all know, is not quite compos mentis (goofy to you, my friends) but we may have to put him away a while till this thing blows over, maybe send him up to bannister, just for a while. they'd take good care of him and keep him out of trouble.” bannister was a state men- tal hospital. "looks to me,” said sam carruthers, squaring his thick shoulders, “as if this tarver was the guy who'd ought to be told the facts of life.” "you catch it,” gilliam said. “and there's a nigger he's thick with, tom goodwin, the lawyer.” “i know him," said a thin man. "he's always watched his step. i never knew him to speak out of turn." "he's clever enough not t)," fats gilliam said, “but i notice he was in court with tarver, speaking his piece, telling his betters what to do. so he needs a working-over too. tarver's a stranger in baynesville. lives up in harlem. in style, i'll bet you. but tom goodwin knows the local niggers and could steer tarver right. goddam commie bastards!” blake mcleod lowered his voice. “tom goodwin borrows money from us. there's ways ... of course i'm not an officer of the bank, but ..." fats reached over and nudged the young man, hurting his the white band ribs with a playful poke. “that's one way. but i think more direct action is needed.” “so do i,” ben carruthers said. “what do we do?” someone asked. “bring it up at the next meeting of the white band?” fats gilliam pondered that while the others silently sipped their drinks and pulled at their cigarettes or cigars. “the white band's doing a lot of good,” he said. “but we had a big demonstration, a parade. if we brought it up formally, they'd chew it over. some are opposed to what they call vio- lence. so am i. but i believe in beating the other fellow to the punch. if you see he's going to throw one at your jaw, block it and cross your right real fast. i suppose the white band can't officially-well, take people out and talk to them real earnestly.” he laughed, and the others joined in. “joe duffield's a swell guy and smart as they make 'em, but he's still a senator, and even as an ex-senator he'll have to maintain a certain dignity. he can't come out for teaching these bas- tards the only way they understand. the yankee liberals who have got our government by the balls would be taking out injunctions or what have you against the band, trying to sup- press it, if we gave them half a chance. no, i think the-well, direct action must be taken by little groups like this, secret cells within the band, to borrow a commie term. i propose that we twelve form a little secret order of our own. we're still good americans, good bandsmen, good southerners, but we'll be helping the cause, doing what's necessary. we'll keep the white band off the hook. now do you guys agree with me? speak up, tell me what you think.” a lot of voices clamored to be heard. they were all ap- proving, at least in substance. the men talked, in soft tones, for a long time, making their wer the white band ned tarver, flicking the ashes of his cigarette into a gaily carved mexican ashtray, said, “by the way, tom, have you run across a guy named graham, a white man, who's down here, so he says, to organize the textile workers, or get a lot more of them into the union.” “i've heard of him," said tom. “represents something called ... i forget.” “the international friends of labor." “whatever that is.” “he claims it's only interested in organizing workers and bettering their working conditions. i believe it's on the at- torney general's list. that doesn't mean much.” "no," tom agreed, “a lot of well-meaning organizations that are not red at all are on that list.” "well, anyway,” ned went on, “he waylaid me as i left my hotel and walked with me a way. mysterious fellow. says he used to be a prize fighter. he seems to have brushed up a pretty fair education since he left the ring. he wanted to warn me. he'd been tipped off we were in for real trouble here in niggertown. he said those white bandsmen were fixing”-now and then ned lapsed into an alabama colloquial- ism, despite all his education="to retaliate, get even with those who tried to enter children in the white school. threat- ening to burn houses, god knows what else." “how did he learn all this?” tom wondered. “he couldn't tell me, or didn't. confidential sources.” “it may be.” tom puffed on his cigar reflectively. ella's eyes widened in sudden fright. “i wouldn't put it past some of 'em. if they could intimidate us into ignoring the mandate of the courts and going ahead as we've always done, with our children in negro schools ..." “i suppose that's the general idea. but they'd put them- the white band selves so clearly in the wrong. i credit at least their leaders with more subtlety.” tom goodwin laughed. “subtlety has never been the strong point of the klan or of any of its imitators.” "it may be a long time before we'll be in a position to ... well, try to enforce the law. their appeal ..." "i have some doubt,” tom said, "whether judge darcy will stay execution of his order pending appeal. we'll ask that he not do so." “naturally. that's a possibility i hadn't thought about. they'll get absolutely nowhere with an appeal, and they know it-it's just a delaying tactic.” "did you tell the police what graham told you?” ned shook his head. “what's the use? they might make a pretense of patrolling this neighborhood more heavily, most of the cops hoping all the time somebody would burn a few houses-show these goddam uppity niggers who is still boss around here." tom laughed, but ella didn't. she glanced around the liv- ing-room she had furnished with such pride, decorated with such care, and looked at the front door, thinking of the flow- ers twining about the porch and in the front yard which were tom's special interest. there was a touch of terror in her eyes, but she managed to smile reassuringly at her husband. sua delaying tachu cesham told youicht make a ned tarver took the self-service elevator to the third floor and went to his room. a paper was attached to his door with a thumbtack. he took it into the room, groped for the light button, found it, and lighted the room meagerly with an in- adequate bulb. the sheet was legal-sized paper of good quality, the kind once called foolscap. some words were type- written on it: the white band you have exactly a week (seven days) to get out of town. if you are not gone by then—- a crude skull-and-crossbones design had been drawn at the bottom of the page. on an impulse, he stuck the paper in a coat pocket, left his room, and pushed the elevator button. at the hotel desk he asked a sleepy night clerk if a white man had asked for him and maybe gone up to his room. the night clerk, a forlorn-faced negro with graying hair who looked as if he were always on the verge of finding- or missing-something, said, “ain't no white man been in here, least not while i was on duty.” “what time do you come on?” “six o'clock.” "it might have been a colored man," ned reflected. “who- ever it was left a note for me pinned to my door." "i can't keep track of the colored folks comes in here,” the clerk said sadly. “they's strange ones staying here, and some- times friends drops in to see them. i don't know half of 'em.” “naturally. well, thanks. i just wondered. whoever wrote the note forgot to sign it.” the clerk laughed, but his eyes still were sad. “and you can't figure from the note who it was?” “that's it. good night.” “ 'night, mr. tarver.” no, ned felt, as he returned to his room, it wasn't likely to have been a negro. still, you never knew. not all the ne- groes, even in a town on the make like baynesville, could read and write, and whoever wrote the note might have given it to an illiterate negro to pin on his door, slipping him fifty cents or a dollar. there were even literate negroes who were not too loyal to their race, but he didn't want to think of them. the white band he didn't burn this note, but left it in his pocket--for the time being. he placed his coat on a hanger in the tiny closet, put on his bedroom slippers, lit a cigarette and walked slowly up and down. he wasn't sleepy at all. it wasn't just the note, but many other things that pulled at his mind for attention. he was inclined to think the note was a bluff or the work of a crackpot. if the white band had a flogging squad-and he couldn't imagine joe duffield's standing for any such vio- lence, if he knew of it-would it be likely to advertise its plans with threatening notes? of course this might be a bunch of young hoodlums not associated with anything. the white band would be blamed not only for the excesses of its indi- vidual members, but for any other rough stuff in a town where it had a chapter. it could expect that. why a man as astute as joe duffield wanted to jeopardize his reputation- what was left of it-in such a dubious enterprise ... ned thought he knew the answer: money. perhaps power, too, was part of the answer. ned's wife had written this week urging him to come home as soon as he felt he could. he liked to think of nell as she sat at her easel, perhaps on the palisades across the hudson, or somewhere on long island where the surf broke, anywhere that happened to appeal to her. she never made any to-do over her art. it was just something she did, without pose or fuss. she used to laugh over the arty parties they sometimes went to-people who, as she said, made such a production of dab- bling in the fine arts, as if no one else had ever thought of it. they had been married twenty-four years, and it seemed to him that nell got prettier as she entered her forties. she was part cuban, and she had the dark appeal and the rich com- plexion of some latin women, yet she was still slim; she'd never be gross and prematurely aged, as some latin women na neve som wonnen got. the white band obviously nell was worried about him, though she under- stated in her letter what she evidently felt, not wanting to challenge his duty. if she knew the restive atmosphere of this town, if she were aware of the two personal threats, and the looks he got as he walked the main drag, she'd worry a lot more. she'd implore him to leave, duty be damned. but he couldn't see himself leaving at this stage, with his job half done. baynesville was a test-a test for him as well as a test of national policy. he had to stay and do his part toward giving integration a fair chance. it wasn't a pleasant assign- ment, but he couldn't plead surprise. he'd known what it would be when he came down here. he thought of his older son, carlos, named for nell's cu- ban-negro, spanish-speaking father. carlos, a little darker- unmistakably a negro, unlike his father-was in the army, stationed in germany. he was a first lieutenant-an officer and a gentleman, north of the mason-dixon line. the other boy, bill, was still in high school. he wanted to be a lawyer like his father. heaven forbid that bill should get himself into anything like this. if bill did take up law, he'd advise the boy to stick to simple court practice: damage suits and mur- der or assault cases, no messing around with race relations. ned ground out the stub of his cigarette in a cracked glass ashtray and began to undress. over a Е. Н. rs the next morning ned pushed, reluctantly, hesitantly, into the square, stone city hall, and went along a corridor until he came to a sign over a wide-open door: police headquarters. he spoke to the sergeant on duty, explaining his mission. "i think you'd better see lieutenant wendell,” the ser- geant said. "okay." the white band e “that door over there. go right in. he's there." lieutenant wendell, it turned out, was chief of detectives --head of a force that numbered all of fifteen men. he was a short, thickset man, probably around forty, with a hard, poker face. “i'm ned tarver. i represent ..." “yes, i know who you are,” lieutenant wendell said. “what can i do for you, tarver?” the officer did not ask his visitor to sit down. ned tarver handed over the note. “this was stuck on the door of my hotel room last night.” wendell studied the note silently, then looked up, betray- ing nothing of whatever he felt. “some crank maybe. i don't know. it might be a real threat for all i know. it's hard for us to control these hotheads. we haven't a large force, not as large as we ought to have the way baynesville's grown.” ned laughed a little. “i don't expect you to furnish me with a bodyguard, lieutenant. i just thought i'd tell you, for whatever it was worth.” “we'll do what we can,” said wendell. “want to leave that with me?” “sure, i don't want it." “anonymous letter-writers—there's not much way to trace them.” "i know.” "but let me know if you hear anything else. we don't want trouble.” lieutenant wendell suddenly smiled, an ex- pression of which he had not seemed capable. “look, tarver, it's not my business to advise you what to do. but you know the feeling around this town. it came out on the campus last week. you've been in court and won your case. why don't you clear out? somebody may be laying for you, some crowd maybe. it's better not to be here when a bunch like the white band that starts moving in. we can't guarantee you protection. we try to patrol the town, but we can't be everywhere.” ned smiled back. “i appreciate your difficulties, lieutenant. i don't feel i can go at this time. i feel that i must stay until this thing is decided one way or the other. it's hanging in the air right now, despite judge darcy's decision. i was retained by this organization, and they'll expect me to stay until the issue is settled or at least further clarified. and i have to file an appeal brief, all that.” “okay, tarver, it's up to you.” the plainclothes officer turned away brusquely. “thanks, lieutenant.” ned left. this, he mused, had been a waste of time and effort. but at least the town's law-enforcement arm couldn't accuse him of ignoring it, of failing to cooperate by report- ing such hints of violence as came to him. he hadn't relayed graham's warning, but the cops would have laughed at that. oe duffield settled at the window of a rear seat in the plane and looked down at the diminishing landscape as they gained altitude. he had been summoned to washington by the clerk of the committee on freight and cargo rates in interstate commerce. it had never been a committee that enthralled him, though he realized its importance. and why hadn't they shortened its name when they streamlined con- gressional committees some years back? but nobody ever used the full name, given to it some time back in the eighteen-seventies when river traffic was as important as rail shipping and air travel was still a theme for science fiction. it was called simply the rates committee, in newspapers and in the senate cloak room. they'd held extensive hearings on a proposed bill revising the rate structure, or rather the principles behind it—actually the interstate commerce commission scheduled freight tariffs in detail-and now they had to meet in executive session to go the white band had an uncanny way of learning things about him without (and he never suspected her of this) prying or shadowing him. well, what did it matter, if she knew or not? their marriage was pretty well over as an intimate thing, even as a congenial companionship. it was a clear autumn day, and the blue ridge was spread below them, looking, from the high altitude they had attained, like a vast relief map of thickly wooded toy hills. it was as if you could jump from ridge to ridge, from peak to peak. the whole world must look thus to the all-seeing eyes of god. if there was a god. there must be something. a flash of mundane indignation touched him as he thought of some clippings he went over just before he left his office. they were sent by his clipping bureau. several big papers, including the left-wing liberal washington post, the new deal new york times and the nosy st. louis post-dispatch had discussed the white band in connection with the regret- table disorders on the campus of baynesville teachers college and the decision of judge darcy. all these papers and a couple of others had wondered how a man who was still a member of the united states senate could feel that he could with decency and propriety head this white band-an organi- zation dedicated to defeating the law as laid down by the supreme court, if not, in clandestine practice, to worse things. hell! but what did he care what they said? still, it was getting under his skin, and he was receiving some strange looks, even from those members of that exclusive club, the senate, who were still around during the congressional recess, coming in and out of washington for committee hearings or personal reasons. maybe he should ... but he wouldn't be bullied into doing anything. he patted the inside of his coat pocket, where his billfold contained a check hank caldwell had handed him yesterday: the white band e more she pretended to look angry. “no romantic lies, joe. i know damned well it was something else.” “well, dear, i had to have an excuse." “to get away. i see. our great man is held in thralldom.” “not exactly, but ..." “yes, i know. well, what was the excuse?” “oh, a dull committee meeting.” “the committee on subversive activities?” “nothing that exciting. the committee”-he paused for breath—“on freight and cargo rates in interstate commerce.” “no!” “but yes. do you think i'd have bothered with that if it hadn't been for you?” “that's sweet, darling. and i'm glad you find me more interesting than the committee on ... whatever the hell it is, i haven't that good a memory.” they had more martinis, then joe asked, “where would you like to eat?” “oh, anywhere. you name it.” “any suggestion?” she pondered. he had never seen her lovelier, her mid- night hair, her eyes, almost as dark, her latin complexion, shading into a dark blue dinner dress, sliced sharply in the neck and back. “there's a new place, a french restaurant, the boul miche, just off connecticut, l or m, i think. i haven't been there, but i hear it's good.” "fine. let's try it.” while she was out putting the final touches to her com- plexion, he looked around the familiar apartment. how did she keep it in such flawless order? nobody had servants these days, nobody but the very rich. but she was reported to have received a handsome settlement when her last marriage was dissolved-her husband had been what the gossip writers called the white band “you don't seem exactly the type, darling,” she conceded. “and yet it must be a problem, keeping those—what do you call 'em-crackers?-keeping them in line." “crackers, rednecks, hillbillies, sandlice ... what have you, i suppose it will be. but what we're trying to do is use strictly legal means to fight this thing, to preach peaceful ways and condemn violence, but i suppose-well, i suppose the boys will get out of hand now and then, it's inevitable. the su- preme court and all the liberals back of it should have thought of that.” “but, joe, would the sun stand still or the north star fall if negro children did go to school with white children?”. “it's happening in some places.” “you know what i mean, everywhere, all over the south in particular.” he laughed. “well, abstractly it's a debatable point. but actually the south will never accept it, the vast majority of southerners-not in our time.” “i suppose not.” the driver pulled up in front of the restaurant, and they went under an awning over the sidewalk down to a basement room of subdued lights and friendly nooks. he was glad when myra dropped the subject. it was hard for her to understand: she had been brought up in nebraska. the food was excellent, and the wine they had with the poule de maison, a bordeaux blanc, was excellent. they lingered over the coffee, and he was squeezing the hand she had thrown out in a typical gesture when a tall, gaunt man in evening clothes came by their booth and glanced in. the man gave him a glacial nod and walked out. “just who was that?” she asked. “do you owe him money? he acted like it.” “no, i don't think he'd lend his mother ten bucks. that to the white band is senator livingston, who happens to be dean of the senate by reason of having fooled his constituents longer than any of us." “well, he got a good look at us.” “so what?” “wally blake will crack down on us again in his column.” “i'll crack down on wally blake if i ever catch up with him. that's not his name, you know, and not many people seem to know who he really is. he sneaks around protected by the anonymity of his own name, whatever it is.” "well, i dare say he's not senator livingston.” they left the restaurant laughing. there was a chill in the air, unusual for late september in washington. back at the apartment myra dug up a bottle of b. & b., and they sat sipping it and watching television for a while. when he took her in his arms, in earnest this time, she was inclined at first to stiffen, even to push him away. “what's the matter?” he asked. she did not reply, but, in the end, she surrendered and went to her dressing-room; she came back wearing a purple robe and rolled the bed out from its hidden nook. but she made him leave shortly after one, explaining that an old school friend was in town and was coming by in the morning, she didn't know how early, and they were doing the town together. he returned to his hotel glowing with the delight their lovemaking always gave him, regretting they couldn't make a night of it, regretting that he didn't see her oftener. no one else, no one in his whole life, had carried quite this physical appeal, and this, in turn, was based on many things, for no physical attraction ever stood alone, uncomplicated by the other attributes that made up a woman. the bar in the hotel was still open, and he went in and had u the white band there'd been other affairs, of course, over the years, but none that meant quite what his-his liaison (that was a hell of a word to use!) with myra had meant. his memories merged into the beginning of a dream. cio as he dressed carefully the next night for his television ap- pearance he regretted that he'd accepted the invitation. there was no sense in it. he wasn't running for anything. he was to be the guest—the victim-on a network program called “interview of the week.” those newspapermen (and women) would be laying for him, trying to catch him off base. why had he said yes? if he did well he'd help the white band-perhaps. but it was hard, as he knew from his years in politics, to emerge unscarred from a hostile audi- ence. it would be like running a gantlet. oh, well, hell, he was no novice. half an hour later the cameras focused on him as he sat, flawlessly groomed, darkly handsome, youthful, looking far more assured than he felt. the moderator, who was as bad as any of them, an astute fellow named ben griffin, was say- ing, “we're glad to welcome you as our guest, senator duffield. i'll call first on the correspondent at my right, charles west of the new york ...” “senator duffield, what is the real object of the white band?” joe smiled as the spotlight caught him. "just those we've announced, charlie. to help preserve our way of life in the south, the way we've been living for generations." charlie west bored in. “does your way of life involve keeping the negroes down?”. “no, charlie, it does not. we want them to have the advantages we have-decent housing, education, all the rest. the white band it does mean a certain separation of the races-segregation, if you please. we've found that the two races get along better going their separate ways.” “but the supreme court doesn't agree with you.” "it seems not.” joe laughed a little. “we're not trying to ignore or overrule the supreme court. but we feel that the school decision was not a valid interpretation of the federal constitution.” "if the supreme court can't interpret it, who can?” charlie west demanded. joe smiled and spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. “i don't know. i do know that the states have certain inherent rights, which this supreme court has ignored. i also know that the court, as constituted at various periods, has made a number of different rulings concerning negroes, ever since the dred scott decision. it might be that fifteen or twenty years from now the supreme court will view the school- segregation issue in a new light.” “and meanwhile the south intends to defy the court?” “that's hardly correct, charlie. but we feel that there are remedies within the decision. some states are threatening to close the public schools. i don't know what the supreme court could do about that. i'm not aware of any constitutional provision or federal law requiring a state to maintain public schools.” the moderator turned to another correspondent, a small, sharp-eyed young man named bixby. “senator, how much is the white band paying you?” bixby asked. joe suppressed an angry reaction. he might have antici- pated the question. “as i announced, i'm serving without nr salary." the white band “that's not what i asked, senator. i asked what you were getting.” "i have no guarantee of anything,” joe said carefully. “my expenses, i presume, and whatever else they may choose to vote me for my services.” “well, didn't you try to convey the impression you were serving the cause for nothing?”. “oh, i don't think so, ed. i said 'without salary.'” “what have you gotten out of it so far?” “that,” joe replied, an edge of temper slipping into his voice, “is a personal matter." “i see.” bixby turned away with a satisfied smile. next on the panel was a woman, a small, fiery person named roberta hays. “why,” she demanded, “do you stay in the senate when you head an organization dedicated to ignoring the constitution as interpreted by our highest court?” “i have announced,” said joe blandly, “that i will retire from the senate at the end of my term, which is the end of this year, three months hence.” “but you're still a senator," roberta hays went on wasp- ishly. she represented a string of small western papers. “i am, technically.” “technically! aren't you here to attend a meeting of a senate committee?” “that's true.” “well, if you're not still an active senator then i'm the queen of sheba.” they all laughed, and ben griffin, the moderator, said, “a number of instances of violence have been attributed to the white band, senator. what have you to say about that?” “we are against violence, ben. we're doing all we can to settle this problem, or compromise it, peacefully. i wouldn't go into any organization that espoused or condoned violence. the white band people. he'd often had drinks at the national press club with ben griffin and charlie west and ed bixby. it was their job, the policy of their papers, to make him look like a fool if they could. he didn't think they'd succeeded, at least not altogether. but he wasn't too happy as he went down in the elevator. he had a date with myra connell later that night. his broadcast was through at nine o'clock, and she had told him to come by when he was free; never mind supper, she was dining elsewhere. even if he was a little late it was all right; she wanted to talk to him. there had been a note in her voice he didn't like, and he worried as the cab carried him up connecticut to her apart- ment. she greeted him with her youthful grin and kissed him- more perfunctorily than usual, it seemed to him. he wanted to slide in beside her on the chaise longue, but she pointed to the overstuffed chair which men always liked because it fitted their backs. “sit there, joe. i want to talk to you. drink?” "i wouldn't mind,” he said. she got scotch and soda for them both. he didn't like scotch-few southerners did, truthfully-and she knew it, but he made no objection and sipped at his highball. “joe,” she said abruptly, as if afraid she wouldn't say it un- less she blurted it out, “i'm getting married again.” “married!” he felt the sort of shock that tingles through the body when you dive into cold water. “yes, joe dear, married.” "well...." he got hold of himself. “who is the-fortu- nate guy?” “nobody you know, dear; at least i don't think so. phil kammerer. he's navy-a captain. his last marriage didn't quite turn out. i'm one up on him.” the white band on joe drained his drink, making an involuntary grimace over the smoky taste he'd never liked. “do you love him, myra?” she looked at him with an impish grin. “who said any- thing about love? i was speaking of marriage. but i am very fond of phil. he's one of the grandest guys i ever knew.” joe mustered himself for the proper comment. “i hope you'll be very happy, myra.” “thank you, dear, and i'm sure you mean it.” “i suppose," he added, “i suppose this means ... well, the end of what we've had.” she smiled, a little sadly. “i'm afraid so, joe. i'm going to try hard to make a go of this, and i'm going to play fair. it's the only way.” "i suppose so. i'll miss you like-like hell and damnation.” she laughed. “am i like hell and damnation? but don't look so stricken, joe. you've been married all these several years i was seeing you-occasionally.” "i know," he reflected. “but it was different. i wasn't really married, except legally-especially after i met you." “that's sweet, joe. but every man who ever strays from the marriage bed has a situation that's different. his situation is always unique.” joe laughed in spite of the melancholy that gnawed at him. “i guess you're right. his wife never understands him.” “at least you were original enough not ever to have said that." “i'm afraid,” joe added, “sarah's always understood me, only too well.” “well, you'll work it out, joe. don't take this too hard. you'll meet someone else if you and sarah never make up.” the smile faded, and she looked serious, almost solemn. “joe, the years are piling up, and i've got to make one more try for some sort of security, and i don't mean financial security- the white band votiv m- i haven't had to worry much about that-but a lasting com- panionship, somebody who would be a buffer against the world. i just can't go on alone.” “i understand,” he said. he thought he did. “well, i guess i'll be going.” she leaned over and kissed him. "you're a darling, joe, and you've given me happiness, if only at times-sporadically, you might say. i haven't a single regret. i'm glad, i'll always be, that we had ... what we had.” “thanks, darling.” in a moment he had gone ... out of her life. by ten the next morning he was at his office on capitol hill. it was a dark, gusty day, with rain coming in spurts at hour intervals. his office force, once numbering five-about aver- age, for a senator-had dwindled to miss chapline, a mellowed spinster with a soft voice, pretty in a faded way. they went over the mail. she looked up from her daily calendar pad. “oh, senator, mr. smith, the clerk of the subversive control subcommittee, wants you to call as soon as you can." he picked up the phone. what now? miss chapline heard him say, “yes, jim. yes. is that so? right away, huh? i didn't know.... i see. well, sure, i suppose so. i'll let you know. i may miss the first one. i've got something lined up, but i'll let you know. thanks, jim.” joe duffield put down the phone with an angry clang. “i'll be damned,” he said. “the chairman has arranged a series of hearings for this fall. in chicago, st. louis, san francisco, god knows where else. whatever got into him.” "you'll attend them?” she asked. “i don't know," he said, harassed. “i'm supposed to. they'll the white band be important, at least they'll be calculated to give old lock- ridge a lot of publicity. i just don't know. i've got a lot of things on the fire.” she moved unobtrusively to the outer office and her desk. he stared down at his bare desk. he thought of the day he took over this office, almost six years ago. by then he was thoroughly used to the hill; he had been in the house three terms. and yet the senate was different. it was a step up- ward. there were members of the house, only sena- tors. you never heard the terms "upper house” and “lower house” among members of congress, and yet the newspapers and the public thought of them this way. a senator was some- body; representatives, congressmen, were a dime a dozen in washington-or so he had felt once. the day he took his seat had been a high point in his life. old senator preston, the senior senator from his state, had escorted him down the aisle. “i present the junior senator from--mr. duffield,” and formally presented him to the senate. there were other exciting days during the six years: debates on the floor, battles in committees, meetings outside, politics, policies, disputes, cocktail parties without end, trips to europe to investigate this or that, hearings in various american cities, hurried trips to riverport, interminable conferences, political and legislative. and now it was all over. he'd tossed it away. for what? he thought of the turmoil which the white band must in- evitably drag along its path, like a bulldozer picking up sand, gravel, all the debris of the earth. he had a moment of sharp regret. more than once in his life he'd made a wrong decision. then he touched his inside pocket, where the check still reposed, awaiting deposit to his account in riverport. there'd be other checks, a lot of them. what the hell. he wouldn't worry. he knew what he was doing. the white band but these subversion hearings. they wouldn't be pleasant for him. people would be asking him, tacitly if not articu- lately, if the white band too wasn't subversive. he'd be embarrassed. the papers would continue to hound him. he could duck the hearings. then they'd say he was still a senator but dodged his duties, put in all his time on this dubi- ous organization. hell and damnation! he was sick of it. what did a few months matter? he'd taken the dice, thrown them; now he'd abide by his throw. he pushed the buzzer at his desk, and miss chapline re- turned. “get your pad please, alice.” he dictated a letter. there were two originals and copies for the press. the originals went to governor james and to the secretary of the senate. the letter was his resignation, effective at once. let the governor appoint whom he would-he, joe, didn't give a damn. james was a screwball. let him name somebody like colonel hutchins for the honor. they were close. the colonel was as crazy as grandmother's quilt, but he couldn't do the state much harm in three months, and the election would be held in five weeks to choose whoever would take over in january well, now it was the white band or nothing. he'd dived in all the way. at least he wouldn't have to worry about his dual role for the next three months, his duty as a senator and the demands of the white band. he was through with washington, at least for a time. now that myra was lost to him, he didn't give a damn if he saw the place again. he'd had it. when he signed the letter, twice, and went out to luncheon, he was humming “la donna è mobile.” most appropriate that it should come into his head, he decided. well, at least, in the white band resigning from the senate, he was shedding half of what stu- dents of the psyche called a dichotomy. it was around three in the afternoon when the plane glided into riverport. the airport was eight miles from the center of town, but he hadn't wired or called to ask sarah to meet him. he'd take a limousine. there were six other passengers in the big car, and they were dropped at various places, mostly downtown hotels, on the way to the north end and duffields. the weather had turned warm again-it must have been around eighty-much warmer than washington was at the moment. he felt uncomfortable in his thick, dark worsted. he held his topcoat in his lap. somehow the muggy warmth in the air made you feel that you were in the tropics, and it never would turn cool again. in front of his place he paid off the driver, absently added a tip that caused the man in dark uniform and black boots to exclaim, “why, thank you, sir, thank you very much.” many trees straggled across duffields. he'd never liked the formality of perfect hedges and avenues of trees, but had always pre- ferred the rugged disorder of, say, his uncle's place in the blue ridge. if you were going in for nature, why make it fit man's ideas of measured conformity? now the maples and the beeches and the two sycamores were turning yellow and red, orange and russet. it seemed strangely incongruous on such a warm day, as if snow had suddenly started falling in august. the pines and cedars in back provided a basic green for the picture. he climbed the ascending walk, with its series of two and three steps. he put down his suitcase and briefcase and let himself in with his latchkey. the house was silent. he called out, but no one answered. ted wasn't in the back yard fool- the white band ing around with the dog. at the instant he decided everyone was out, sarah appeared from nowhere-actually from some- where in back-moving with the silent grace of a cat. she kissed him effusively, releasing a breath like an old, empty whiskey barrel. she stepped back and surveyed him. “well, darling, how'd it go?” “all right, i suppose.” “you should have had a nice time in washington,” she added, “without me around to inhibit you.” “now, sarah ..." she laughed with heavy sarcasm. “how's your girl friend?” he tried to laugh, but succeeded in making only an ambigu- ous sound. “which one?” “which one! that's rich.” she laughed. “my casanova! i mean the love of your life-at the moment, the one that columnist wrote up.” “that son of a bitch. ... well, i haven't got any girl friend, much as that'll disappoint you, no love of my life.” sarah replied with raucous laughter. “do you think i'm a complete fool? don't you think i know why you went up there?” “oh, hell.” he picked up his luggage, started up the stairs. he stopped and faced her. he had intended to break it more gently, but let her take it. “well, sarah duffield, you're no longer married to a senator.” "i'm ... what? what the hell do you mean? did you file suit for divorce?” “no, i resigned from the senate.” her eyes aared like two jets abruptly ignited. “you did what?" “you heard me. i resigned as a senator, or from being a senator, have it your own way.” lov the white band “but you'd already announced you were-were retiring at the end of your term, in a couple months or so.” “i know, but i decided i should step down at once. my resignation is effective immediately.” “in god's name, why?" she demanded. he spoke softly. “it seemed best, sarah. all of them, at least all my enemies, were sniping at me because i was trying to carry on as head of the white band and be a senator too. hearings are coming up that will last all fall and which i'm supposed to attend. i not only haven't time for them but they'd be embarrassing, to put it mildly. people would keep saying ...” "oh, the hell with people,” she broke in. “i suppose i should be very proud to be wife of the grand mogul, what- ever it is, of the white band? jesus christ!” “i don't think you'll turn down any of the checks which will accrue from that job,” he said. “what checks? i haven't seen any. you-you fourflusher. you might'a got somewhere in-in politics, but you preferred to be a big grasshopper in a little pond.” “do you call an organization that already has two hundred thousand members in fifteen states-one that's growing by leaps and bounds-a little pond?” she turned away, her once-lovely face looking red and bloated. “what do i care. you make my ...". her voice trailed off in a string of obscenities. leaving his luggage on the steps, he went out the front door and slammed it behind him. he saw that the car was in the garage, but he didn't feel like bothering with it. he descended to the curb and hailed a taxi returning from the north-end suburban area. “the cherokee club,” he told the driver. the white band their thinking that. though we didn't have a goddam thing to do with it, we'd have done it if we'd thought of it and could have put it over. no, what strikes me as so funny is the ... ah ... 'secular' press, the daily papers and the fascist speakers all giving the party due credit. they didn't believe taylor when he said on tv nobody put him up to it. i don't know all his connections, but i think he was speaking the exact truth. i think it was his idea.” “it couldn't have worked out better-for us.” “how's project bearcat coming?”. johnson took two quick, reflective puffs, keeping the ciga- rette in his mouth. “fine. couldn't be better. bearcat, the poor devil, and about fifteen, sixteen of his pals have actually formed a sort of vigilante group, if you can imagine that.” “i can. i have a well-developed imagination." "they're all armed with something a few with guns, the rest with switch-blades or blackjacks. they've worked them- selves up to the point where they have patrols, three or four of them, guarding niggertown at night, and they have signals, whistles. if white men come over bent on trouble, they'll get quite a reception, believe you me." “splendid. well, i've got to see ned tarver.” ned tarver, going to his room in the late afternoon, opened the letter from his wife which the clerk had just handed him. dearest ned, it seems a long time you've been gone, though i realize it has been less than three weeks. can't you run back for a few days while things are dull, just simmering, as you say? you could fly, and that would give you the maximum of time at home. i haven't heard from carlos since the letter i sent you. bill is fine. oh, i sold that scene of the hudson at the white band dawn from the palisades. for $ . your wife might yet prove a profitable investment. ... darling, i worry about you. you tell me everything's under control, there's nothing to worry about, things are quiet and all that, but i wonder if you're not just trying to ease my mind. i read of outbreaks of violence here and there. i know what they must think of anybody trying to do his duty as a lawyer and an advocate, as you are. i know you are fearless; you've proved that more than once. but don't take foolish chances; think of your family. not that i don't appreciate the fine work you are doing, and i know it's a gesture of idealism-you could make more prosecuting a damage suit, or even defending some hood. do take care of yourself-that's my prayer. all love, nell the phone rang. the clerk said a gentleman named graham, a white man, wanted to see him. graham? oh, sure. “tell him i'll be right down-no, tell him to come up to my room.” ned wondered, momentarily, whether he had been fool- hardy. how did he know the man actually was graham? it might be that anonymous letter-writer. there was a soft knock, and ned opened the door a crack. there stood graham, broken nose, irregular teeth, ambiguous grin. ned opened the door wide. “come in, mr. graham. have a seat. smoke?” “thanks.” graham sat down in the one comfortable chair and lit the cigarette. "sorry i haven't a drink,” ned added. “come to see me in harlem, and i promise to have one." graham laughed and spilled ashes on his rumpled gray slacks. “i may drop in on you at that.” ned, seated on the bed, waited for his visitor to go on. the white band graham began, tentatively, “well, mr. tarver, the truth is i'm kind of worried about you.” "worried about me?” ned looked at graham, wondering what was back of the ready, noncommittal grin, the shifty eyes. “yes, worried. you've been threatened, haven't you?” “maybe. it's what you can expect when you're on the un- popular side." "don't i know it though!" graham laughed. “i've found it out in my work with labor. some places i go they ask me how'd i like to swing in the breeze with a rope around my neck, or walk around with my guts exposed to the four winds.” “i suppose,” said ned, “we have to expect and discount such things." "sometimes.” the grin faded from graham's face, and he turned on a serious look. “sometimes they mean it. you've received two written threats, haven't you?” "how did you know that?” ned looked steadily at graham. “me? oh, i have, as i told you before, ways of learning things-what you might call sources of information.” "perhaps the police?” ned suggested. graham laughed. “oh, hell, no. the fact is i'm allergic to cops, and i don't agree very well with them. we sort of avoid one another. well, i'd hate to see anything bad happen to you, tarver, and so i've brought you something you may find a friend in need." "you've ..." “yeah.” graham reached inside his coat and extracted a . -automatic from a holster that hung over his shoulder. he laid the gun on the bed. “this is for you, my friend. and the white band you may need it. careful, it's loaded. and i have some extra cartridges." “i don't want it,” ned said quietly. “thanks. i appreciate your thoughtfulness. but i don't want it. i'm not down here for this." graham slapped a heavy fist into a palm. “oh, come down, ned. you don't want to be carried off, abducted, taken for a ride maybe, without being able to put up a struggle." “no, but what good would a gun do? they'd simply kill me and claim self-defense. there'll be more than one if they come after me—maybe fifteen or twenty or more. i can't fight them all, even with a gun.” “no, but you sure as hell can give them pause. listen, ned, guys like that are chicken. i never saw one that wasn't. pull a gun on any ten of them and mean it, and they'll back out every time. i know. i've had the experience. now it's not easy for a colored man to buy a gun in this town at the moment. they won't sell you one. you don't look colored, but everybody in town's got you spotted by now, so they'd never sell you one.” ned got up, walked to the window and turned back. “but i don't want one, mr. graham.” "i know you don't, but you should have one-for pro- tection. listen, it's not only those threats i know you've received, but i have another tip. some of the white band boys are planning to get you. i think you're in real danger. that's no bull. it's fact.” “well, i'm not going to foment trouble by going around with a gun in my pocket. what if a cop should stop and search me? he'd say i was about to put on a race riot. they'd send me up for carrying a gun, and my whole mission here would be a flop.” “maybe i could even get you a license to carry that gun.” the white band graham took the indicated seat. "sorry about saturday's game, coach.” “oh, that. well, sometimes they catch you first of the season before you've had a chance to shake out the kinks. we'll do all right, i think. what's on your mind?” “more of the same.” graham laughed. “bearcat turner's gang has formed a sort of-well, vigilante committee, you might say." the big man whirled around on his swivel chair. “well i'll be good goddamned. what do you mean—'vigilante'?”. "well, coach, they've formed themselves into small squads, and they patrol niggertown armed, some with guns, others with switch-blades or blackjacks. they're really out courting trouble. i'm told too that ned tarver's going around with a gun in his pocket.” “so that's it. and they say we're always the ones that start trouble! well, i'll take care of this. i mean i'll talk to the police, see what can be done. thanks for your help-patsy.” graham laughed and shook hands with the grim-faced coach. when he had gone gilliam picked up the phone. he dialed a number. “could i speak to mr. carruthers? yeah. okay. . . . sam? this is jake gilliam. fine. how're you? say, sam, think you could get the boys together for me, say tomorrow night or next night? i'm so damned busy i won't get time. sure, i've got some dope for them. call me back, sam, will you? fine." gilliam put the receiver back in its nest. he sat staring at his desk, at the paper on which he had been writing some tentative line-ups. a mild elation at the prospect of excite- ment, of punishing someone, was succeeded by a suffusing rage. goddam niggers! his hatred for negroes dated back to a day when he was in grade school. he was a fat little boy then; it was not until later that he got hard and strong and the white band excelled in all athletics. he and some of the fellows were on their way home from school when they encountered several negro boys. he had taunted one of them, a skinny runt in ragged clothes. the runt had turned on him and hit him. “let 'em fight," the others had yelled, and they formed a ring. jake (he was called fats or fatso even then) waded in to teach the little nigger a lesson-teach him proper respect for white boys. but the scrawny black boy moved his fists fast and sure, hitting so often fats couldn't get set to hit back. in a little while his nose was bleeding, his eyes were blacked, and there were lumps all over his face. he was thoroughly beaten, and finally the negro boys helped pull off the ragged piece of fury. the white boys razzed him all the way home. let a nigger beat him up! couldn't whup a nigger! he had determined on that humiliating day so long ago that he'd give them the worst of it every chance he got. the white band se neatly handwritten letters addressed “dr. and mrs. william p. davison.” she took them. she recognized some of the handwriting: old friends, women she'd known several years at least. but she wondered. it was the davisons' turn to entertain next week a group of seven or eight couples they called the supper club. they met at each other's homes once a month, in rotation. after cock- tails and supper they played bridge or had a musical evening or an evening of discussion. she had an idea all these notes were from members of their little club. but why the formal- ity? they were all on easy terms, and usually they phoned: they'd be along, thanks a lot, or they were so sorry they had to be in riverport or were going to florida. as it happened there was only one faculty couple in the group, and they had already phoned that they were coming. eva davison opened the first letter. it was strangely formal: ... regret very much that we will be unable to accept your kind invitation. ... it was signed “sincerely, josephine cranston.” jo and wilbur cranston. wilbur was president of the baynesville national bank. the other letters were all in identical language, as if they had been copied from a form. they were from other mem- bers of the supper club. “... regret very much that we will be unable to accept your kind invitation. ..." no explanation; no personal word. and these friends were on a first-name basis. mr. cranston was wilbur to the group, and dr. davison was bill, she was eva. these notes were addressed, “dear dr. and mrs. davison.” without a word she passed them over to her husband, and the white band t turtle laughed apologetically. “oh, i forgot. course you wouldn't go.” their beer came, and they kidded with the waitress, who sparred back at them. the hardware clerk said, “they won't be in a hurry to have another nigger at teachers, my way of thinking.” “i reckon they did sort of get told,” hefty said casually. when they had finished the fresh bottles, the other football player, joe boehmer, an end, interrupted a crossfire of talk about nothing in particular. “say, i got an idea!” hefty brown laughed. “that i'd have to hear. what is this idea you think you got?” boehmer leaned over the table. “let's go down to nigger- town, walk around a little.” why? they wanted to know. “oh, we might have some fun,” said boehmer cryptically. “i don't want no dark meat,” turtle said. “not that,” boehmer explained. “i hear there's niggers roaming around, sort of patrolling niggertown, like. they think they're tough.” “they ain't half tough,” said hefty. “course, if you guys are afraid of a fight,” boehmer sug- gested. they disclaimed that. “who's scared? ... i'm not afraid of no black son of a bitch. ... we got a right to take a walk on a public street, i guess. ... we won't start nothin', but if they do...." they left change for the waitress and started out. the night was cool and blazing with stars, but they did not look above the neon lights. “i've got a switch-blade,” turtle con- fided. it turned out that the other soda jerk and the hardware clerk also carried these weapons. the white band "i got this,” said hefty, holding up a heavy fist. “it gen- erally looks after me.” "i don't need no switch-blade either,” boehmer assured them. they entered niggertown on a dark, still street. the street was empty. it was nearing ten o'clock, and the only sugges- tion of life was what you imagined behind the soft lights in the seamy houses. they walked three blocks, and met no one. “aw, let's go back," said turtle, “this here's a false alarm.” then at a corner they almost collided with a small group of colored men, perhaps six or seven. bearcat turner was in personal command. “whar you white boys goin'?” he demanded. “what's it to you, uncle?” hefty retorted, catching in the street light a patch of gray hair. he didn't know bearcat. “i bet i make you say uncle,” bearcat came back. “you think so?” hefty stepped back in a fighting pose. bearcat laughed. “you clumsy white boy. i could teach you a lot." “want to try?" hefty challenged. the other white boys clustered around him, and those with switch-blades held them in their pockets ready to draw. the negroes stood close to bearcat, awaiting his orders. they too had been taking on drinks, beer or whiskey, against the chill of the night, and none much cared whether or not there was trouble. the white boys had never heard of bearcat turner, or, if some of them had, none recognized him. to them he was just another nigger trying to act tough. “you ain't got no business down here messin' around with us,” one of the other negroes put in. “we'll go wherever we goddam please,” said boehmer, taking a step forward. none the white band one of the negroes behind bearcat pulled a blackjack and swung it gently at his side. turtle saw the blackjack and drew his switch-blade, snap- ping it open and holding it menacingly above his shoulder. so intent had the two groups been that none had heard approaching footsteps. now a man stopped and took in the situation. he hesitated, then squared his shoulders and stepped close to the hostile groups. “what's the trouble?” he asked, raising his voice to give it the color of authority, without which he knew they wouldn't listen to him. they stared at him, the negro with the black- jack still swinging it easily, turtle still holding his switch- blade high, ready for use. they didn't know him, or didn't recognize him. he was a white man; at least he looked like one in the dim path of the corner light. he might be a cop; there was something about him, perhaps his assurance, that suggested the law, or at least some authority. arcat muttered to himself, then spoke up. “they got no business down here. we gonta show 'em, too.” hefty brown said, “we wasn't doing nothing, just walking along, and they stopped us and asked us where we was going. they got no right ...” the stranger did not let him finish. “look,” he said, taking in the poised blackjack and the readied switch-blade, “you fellows haven't really got any grievance against one another. neither crowd has done a thing to the other. it's just a little misunderstanding. now look. if you go ahead and fight, what'll happen? some of you'll get hurt. it won't matter which side wins, some of you'll be hurt, and hurt bad. knives and blackjacks, and some of you may have guns for all i know. what's the sense in that? getting hurt, going to the hospital, maybe some of you to the morgue, all for nothing. forget it, no the white band spectacles, and a ready smile. "how are you, tom?” he asked pleasantly. “i'm fine, mr. haynes." “what can i do for you?” tom goodwin pulled out his billfold and extracted a notice. “it's just that this note is due, mr. haynes. i thought i'd pay a hundred on it and ask you to renew it.” the executive vice president took the notice and studied it. “just a minute, tom.' mr. haynes went down the row of officers' desks and con- ferred with the cashier and with another vice president. then he went into the president's private office. in a little while he emerged and resumed his seat. he seemed to regret what he had to say. “i'm sorry, tom, but we can't renew this note.” tom goodwin looked stricken. “but why not, mr. haynes? my credit's always been good here. i've always looked after my notes promptly, always paid something on them and paid them off within a reasonable time. what's wrong?” "i'm sorry, tom, but the officers of this bank don't feel that they can renew it, so it will have to be paid in full.” “but i haven't got the money, mr. haynes. i had no idea ..." bailey haynes shrugged. “i don't know how you'll man- age, tom. but there's nothing we can do." “but i don't see what i've done to ..." but it occurred to him what he had done, and he was suddenly silent. he had never supposed that such a thing could go this far, invade a transaction which was entirely business, break off a well-estab- lished credit. it seemed incredible. how far could prejudice, hatred, retaliation go? the lawyer stood up. “i think i do understand,” he said stiffly. the white band mr. haynes looked embarrassed. “good-by, tom,” he said. tom goodwin went out with worry gnawing at him like an insidious pain. where would he get the money? would they levy on his furniture? what would they do? ella would be worried sick. he hated to tell her, but he had to. dr. and mrs. davison stood against the wall, watching the other dancers. the band, an elaborate eleven-piece affair, baynesville's best, was playing a carioca. the davisons had danced three times. there were always men eager to dance with eva, and her husband usually danced with the wives of their closest friends. but no one came near them. a few bowed distantly as they passed. the ballroom of the baynesville country club was decorated with all the trappings of autumn: pumpkins, bright- tinted leaves, corn shucks, gourds fluttering flamboyant streamers. the floor was well filled, and another little crowd was clustered around the punch bowl. eva leaned over to bill davison, her laugh strained. “wall- flower.” bill said nothing. he was studying the dancers. the num- ber ended, there was perfunctory applause, and some of the dancers drifted to the punch bowl; others stood about chat- ting till the next dance. arriving at a sudden decision, he excused himself from eva, and, as the band tuned up for a fresh number, he approached thelma hutchinson, wife of the town's leading realtor. “good evening, thelma." “how'do, dr. davison,” she said coldly. “may i have this dance?" thelma hutchinson, a bosomy, handsome woman on the near side of middle age, molded into a brown velvet evening gown, stared at bill davison as if he were somebody she ought the white band sol to know but could not quite place. “i'm sorry, dr. davison,” she said crisply, “it's taken.” “then a later one?” he suggested. “all taken,” she said. “i see. thank you.” he turned away, chuckling to him- self. eva still stood against the wall, alone. when her husband rejoined her she said, “i guess you're a wallflower too.” "so it seems.” bill davison glanced at his wife in impersonal appraisal. she looked gorgeous, he thought, in the sky-blue gown; there was not a prettier woman there. they were all spiting them- selves. but suddenly a figure disentangled itself from the knot at the punch bowl and came swiftly toward them. it paused in front of eva davison. “am i in time to ask you for this dance?" “you are,” she said, “thank you.” eva whirled away in the arms of harry davis, who was said by the mothers of unmarried girls to be just about the most completely eligible bachelor in town. in his early forties, he was easy for the girls to look at. also-and more to the point-he was reputed to be wealthy. he headed a baynesville link with wall street, the local branch of stowe & hanson, members, new york stock exchange. harry davis was a marvelous dancer, eva reflected. she said in his ear, “i should have turned you down. you'll catch whatever it is i've got.” he laughed. “i know what's going on-the goddam nar- row-minded ..." “so you took pity on me?” “not at all, damn it; it's because i'm proud to be seen with you. you're the best-looking gal here." the white band “thank you, sir.” the davisons left early, but not so early that it would appear they were running away. many had left before they did. in the car they were silent half the way home. then bill davison said, “i was wondering ..." “what, dear?” “well, whether that college in pennsylvania, claybank, has found a president. you know, they offered me the job just a few weeks ago.” “you might find out,” she said. “we might like it. you said it was up in the mountains, somewhere near the new york border. sounds like a pretty spot.” "it's a good college too.” he paused and added more em- phatically: “not that i'll let a lot of dimwits who don't think, but only take their prejudices out for air-i won't let them run me out. but my staying might hurt this college.” “i hadn't thought of that,” she said. "i wouldn't want to hurt this college,” he added. “of course not.” he turned into their driveway. e'll need,” dave beckett was saying, “about a dozen more file clerks and general utility people. this office is being inundated with paper work.” “is that bad?” hank caldwell asked. “i'd say it was damned good,” said dave. “it means about a hundred new memberships a day, sometimes more. we call them applications, but that's a mere formality. the local chapters decide." the two young men sat in dave's office in the executive suite on the top floor. hank went to one of the windows. the skyline of riverport was dimmed by fog, which hid the river except for patches here and there, making it look like a series of lakes. “the main thing,” said hank, “is for 'em to send us our share of the check or cash that accompanies each application." dave laughed. he changed the subject. “you know, hank, joe is worried about these little outbreaks of trouble here and . the white band there. i call them little because none has been really serious. he's more worried than i am.” "the white band,” hank pointed out, “is sure to get blamed every time somebody gets a black eye. i don't give a damn, except that we can't afford to be known as the tar-and- feathers boys." “naturally not,” dave agreed. “we're hated by enough people now-yankee liberals and southern do-gooders and bleeding hearts. so we've got to watch our step. they could make a lot of trouble for us.” hank recalled, “as grand recorder, i have to write most of the policy letters, and joe's made me write several calling down some chapters pretty sharply, telling protectors they had better watch their step and try to keep order in their towns, even if they are not directly responsible for recent trouble. joe never asks to see the letters, and i generally tone them down a little. hell, we wouldn't want to lose any chap- ters.” “you're so right,” said dave. he caught hank's arm, pulled him closer and lowered his voice. “joe's worried about his own reputation. he's not out of politics, not by a damn sight." the door opened and joe duffield pushed in. “what's new, boys?” they disclaimed knowledge of anything in particular. but dave thought of something. “now that you're no longer a senator, joe, can't we book you for more speeches here and there? you're our most effective organizing aid.” joe lit a cigarette. “thank you, and i'm at your service. it's a relief to have washington off my back. i never knew when i'd have to go winging up there, or else attend to some bothersome thing down here for my dear constituents. i was splitting myself in two, and i should have foreseen how it the white band would be and resigned in the summer. well, it's done now, and i can devote myself to advancing our cause." dave said, “swell,” and hank added, “we're all set now.” "well, i guess i'll go in and open my mail. if you need me, i'll be in my little hideaway." joe left, retreating to his spacious corner suite. the mail was piled on his desk. he shuffled it over. not one letter looked interesting. he stepped over to the windows and looked down on the fog-haunted city. the air was chill and clammy, and the office felt pleasantly warm. the committee from an organization long forgotten, the independent citizens' association, had come to his home that night, in the spring of . he was unmarried then, only three years out of georgetown law, and he still lived with his mother. his father had been dead several years. his mother had ushered the men into the parlor and left. he walked in and shook hands with each of them and waited, puzzled, for them to explain their mission. they wanted him to run for district attorney. it seemed absurd. he was, he felt, too young, too inexperienced. but they didn't think so; they thought he was a comer and said so; they had heard him speak, some had observed him in the courtroom. they wanted somebody young and unencum- bered with political and god knew what other alliances. old tom maxwell had had the job four terms; that was long enough. besides, he didn't care how he administered the office. he was a bully. he was devoted to obtaining con- victions for the record, not to doing justice. there was more than a sniff of suspicion that he was tied in with a crooked ring of bondsmen and gamblers and bootleggers, though no- body had been able to get enough evidence to go before the the white band grand jury. he, joe, could feel free to do what he thought was right. they wanted somebody young and progressive; they were sick of weary old politicians. furthermore, they could command a lot of support. in the end, he succumbed. he ran. he was brimful of ideas and ideals. he promised the people to do his utmost to see that justice was administered, regardless of who was convicted, who exonerated. he wasn't out to send people to jail; he was there to see that people got a square deal, insofar as a prosecutor could. ... “i don't care, friends, what a man's color is, what his antecedents, whether his people were born here or came from the old country to establish themselves in a freer land. they'll all get the same deal. i don't care whether a man has wealth and influence, if i think he's guilty he'll be prosecuted to the limit of the law. i don't care whether a man's a poor negro without a friend, if i think he's innocent i'll move to exonerate him, to turn him loose....” old tom maxwell had a gay time. “my youthful oppo- nent, no doubt in his inexperience and innocence, is prom- ising you something he calls justice. what is justice? when a guilty man asks for justice, he means turn him a-loose. ..." (he stuck to redneck idiom, which made him more popular.) “i don't prosecute or persecute poor, downtrodden niggers. but i do make it red-hot for bad niggers-for those who steal you blind, for some who would rape your daughters if they got a chance, if they dared. i don't protect people of influ- ence, as my youthful opponent calls them. what is a person of influence? i don't know what young duffield means, but i take it to mean a person who is looked up to, who influences others because he has accomplished something in the world, earned the respect of his neighbors and friends. such people, i've observed, don't often go wrong. certainly i'd take the the white band testimony of such a person against a nigger or a poor white who nobody knew and who was probably too lazy to learn his letters. i don't know whether my baby-faced opponent would or not. the way he talks maybe he'd prefer to take the word of a nigger or some poor white that blew in from god knows where after robbing heaven knows what hen- roost. ... another thing, neighbors: our fine young friend is soft-pedaling it-he didn't mention it in any of his speeches --but he went to law school at a college named georgetown. i don't know's you folks know what georgetown university is. well, it's a university at washington city run by jesuits, a roman catholic order. i haven't time to go into the jesuits, but i might say they're known far and wide for their devious ways. no telling what kind of law the jesuits taught our young friend. no wonder he took up for foreigners. remem- ber, the catholic church is a foreign outfit. ..." the klan denounced young joe duffield, asked its members to reelect district attorney maxwell. the independent citizens' association turned out to have less influence than it had hoped for. joe lost by a landslide. but he learned a lesson that he never forgot. for a short time he played with the idea of abandoning politics at the threshold. then, a few years later, he was tempted to run for the legislature. he was very careful what he said. and peo- ple had forgotten all about his sad race for district attorney. this time he won. he never lost another election. sally duffield had come home to pack for bryn mawr. she was getting things out of the fragrant cedar chest in which she kept her winter outfits when her father's strong steps the white band ascended the stairs. she ran out and kissed him. “hi, dad.” “hello, pet.” at twenty, joe reflected, his daughter reminded him of sarah when he first met her, that summer he graduated from law school and was down at virginia beach for ten days. sarah was never quite so pretty, but she'd had the same big, dark eyes which widened so provocatively when she was amused, the same natural touch of color in her cheeks. sally's nose and mouth were better proportioned, more symmetrical. but it was more in the total effect that you found beauty; if you had to analyze it, you lost it-like a lot of other things. "how was no'th c’lina?” he asked. “no’th c’lina was very fine,” she said. “especially the part where i was, the mountings.' "have a good time?” “grand. come in a minute, dad. you won't interfere with the trying process of packing." she caught his hand and pulled him into her room. she wore a cream duster. dresses, coats, and sweaters were strewn about the bed and the chairs. a nearly empty trunk awaited her selections. she bustled about. “how've you been, dad?” “oh, fine.” “i think,” she said, touching his hair and cheeks, "you did just right in resigning from the senate. you couldn't carry on up there, even temporarily, and still ... of course i'm not happy over this white band, but you already know that." he said nothing, and she went on, “but i'm sure, dad, all this talk of violence ... i know you'd never countenance anything like that.” "you're right, pet, never.” “but how can you stop it?” “we'll stop it, at least so far as the white band as an the white band that plush place in the mountains that they call a rest home, not a sanitarium?” “i doubt it, but if she did she'd probably start in again soon after she came out. you've got to want to quit.” “i know. poor dad, it's a terrible worry for you.” she put her arms around him, smoothed his thick, dark hair. “i think i'll go up and see her,” he said. "see how she is.” “okay. oh, dad, i felt bad too when you quit the senate. i was so proud of you as a senator, if i didn't always agree with you. after all, i reckon a southern senator or congress- man can go only so far.” “that's just it,” he said. “but i'll be back in politics one of these days. you'll see.” “i hope so. you've got a positive genius for politics.” “thanks, pet.” it was still daylight, but sarah had darkened her room as if the light hurt her. she lay on her back on top of the neatly made bed, enveloped in her purple bathrobe. she looked up at him with widening eyes. "hello, joe.” "feel better, sarah dear?” “i feel like hell,” she said in a grating voice. “oh, joe, i'm sorry i gave you such a bad time the other day. remorse has hung over me like a fog at dawn.” he laughed. “forget it, sarah. anything i can do for you?” "i can't think of anything, unless it's another drink.” “if you need it, you'll get it,” he said. “what would you prefer?" "anything. what difference does it make to an alcoholic?” she was remorseful: she rarely admitted her addiction. he the white band ran downstairs, mixed a palatable drink of gin and grapefruit juice, and took it up to her. she sipped it gratefully. he took advantage of her mood. “look, sarah dear, how'd you like to go up to the mountains to recuperate?” “that would be nice. ... oh, you mean the blue ridge rest home. no, i wouldn't. absolutely not.” she had turned angry. “okay, okay, dear. it was just a suggestion.” “i'll recuperate right here,” she said, mollified. “you'll see.” “sure, you will. try to rest now. i'll see you later this evening.” she caught his arm, pulled him close and kissed him "you're sweet, joe, and so patient with me. i don't deserve it. i know i'm as difficult as—as a problem in calculus.” he laughed, extricated himself gently, and left her. lim o'hearn was dressing for the harvest festival prom. it was held in the gym, which was always gaudy with autumn leaves (sometimes they had to send up to the mountains for them, so slow were the leaves around here to turn), pumpkins, and autumn flowers. his roommate at the phi-o house, jack talley, was looking for his black tie. jack was one of those boys who can never find what they need urgently at the moment. “it was in this drawer,” he said, “i know damn well.” “hell, i didn't take it,” said tim, “and i doubt if any of the other guys did.” “i wouldn't put it past any of them,” jack talley said, “if he happened to need it.” tim fished in the second drawer, which was his, and drew out his hand triumphantly. “there it is! what'd i tell you? you must have stuck it here. i'm not hoarding black ties.” jack talley laughed and reached for the tie. “thanks, i the white band don't see how ...” he was a slight but well-muscled youth. he was on the track team, ran the dashes up to the . phi o bragged that it had more letter men than any frat on the campus. it probably was true, so what? eggy (for egg- head) prentice had commented. he was the chapter's intel- lectual. he knew what music the three strausses had written, and bach was more than a name to him. he played the piano quite well, and planned to teach music and compose. he had even read proust and thomas wolfe, or said he had. he hadn't made a thing except the glee club and the school orchestra, but his fraternity brothers forgave him. it looked well for the chapter to have at least one highbrow. jack talley said, as he adjusted the restored tie, “i thought this integration thing had died down, but i heard something today.” “what?" tim o'hearn asked. "well, i heard there was some vigilante stuff brewing." "what do you mean, vigilante?” the football captain stared in the mirror to see that his collar and tie were just so. "well, there's a guy named bundy i know. we went through high school together. he works for a real estate out- fit. his boss is in the white band, and bill bundy overheard him telling another bandsman about it. seems a bunch of them are all set to take some niggers out and work them over. those niggers, he gathered, are agitators, causing a lot of this trouble.” “i didn't know there was any trouble,” tim said, “except what happened on the campus.” “how about all this court stuff?”. “well, you could expect that after the supreme court ...” “goddam niggers,” said jack talley. “it's not only the court stuff. i heard things were boiling in niggertown, jigs going around armed.” the white band “that so?” "sure. maybe if they work over a couple of the leaders it'll put the fear of christ in the rest." “maybe.” tim said indifferently. “i guess it's time to go.” they were going in tim's car. “we'll stop at the sig house and pick up your girl, then drop by the delta house and get mine. we should have arranged to have gals in the same sorority.” “i was gone on a delta,” jack recalled, “but she tossed me for some dumb, beefy football player.” tim laughed. “it wasn't me." "you're not beefy. this bird plays somewhere in the line.” “i'm just dumb.” “well, at times.” in the exhilaration of dancing and making a little innocent love to lou purcell behind the gym, tim o'hearn didn't give the racial situation another thought until he and jack talley deposited their girls at their respective sorority houses and returned, well after midnight, to the phi-o house. it was a gorgeous october night, chill enough to suggest autumn, with high moon spilling its silver-golden glow over the campus. jack went in, but tim lingered on the porch to savor the quiet, mysterious night. the dry tone of insects came from the hedge. the night had a grassy, piney smell, and his thoughts turned back to lou. eggy prentice loomed out of the half-light and climbed the porch. he wore a light topcoat open over his evening clothes. “hi, tim." "hi. have a good time?” “so-so. i had a better time after i found a guy with a flask, and we slipped out around the boiler room and had us a few." the white band “of course he wasn't. same goes for most nigras. but i didn't bring up this thing just to moralize. i started to say we've got two ardent white bandsmen right here in the house." "i think i know who they are.” “you probably do. well, another fellow on the campus i know real well-he told me something that gave me pause. he was talking to fats gilliam. fats has some national office in the band, i understand. this friend of mine, this student, is a bandsman. he told fats he heard there was trouble brewing in niggertown. fats said he knew it, but he didn't think it would last long, that some fellows were going to take a couple of the leaders out and teach them the facts of life. i don't doubt that's what'll happen too.” "did fats say he was in on it?” "fats didn't say. but i wouldn't put it past him.” “he surely couldn't afford, in his position ...” "maybe he'll sit back and let some other goons do the work,” eggy prentice suggested. "could be. as i say, i'm not won over to integration, but i'm not for that sort of thing. i'm for peaceful opposition.” “there's no such thing,” eggy prentice said bitterly. he got up. “guess i'll turn in.” “ 'night.” tim o'hearn sat on for a while, vaguely aware that he was chilled but unaccountably reluctant to enter the house and go to bed as he should. the thin sounds of the night were shattered now and then by the raucous starting of a car or the distant snort of a diesel or the laughter of homeward- heading revelers. well, it was none of his business what the white band did or any of its members. but he couldn't help seeing jack taylor as he stood that day hesitating in the labyrinth of campus buildings, reluctant to ask his way. the white band tim hadn't seen any of the rioting, but he had heard about it from witnesses and read long accounts of it in the river- port papers. (the baynesville daily news had dismissed it with a few colorless paragraphs.) every time he thought of it, he felt indignant. it seemed to him that even from that momentary contact he knew jack taylor. the boy, he was sure, would never intrude, never push himself on anybody. what did it matter if his skin was dark? well, jack taylor was out of whatever it was that simmered in town; he'd gone, far away probably. but what were they like, the ones some bandsmen would teach what they called the facts of life? were they as innocuous, as polite and in- conspicuous as jack had been? who could say? it didn't matter what they were like; they were human beings with bodies and souls, just like everybody else. tim got up, opened and closed the door softly, climbed to his room. jack talley was in his bed asleep. tim undressed silently. before he got into bed he knelt and said an “our father” and a “hail mary.” then he added, “oh god, give me guidance. is this any of my business? should i ignore it or do something about it? what could i do, anyway?" no answer came into his mind. ned tarver had been at tom goodwin's house. tom, bless his hospitable heart, had insisted on dinner there, and ella had remarked that ned was part of the family now, so it wasn't like entertaining a guest. afterward the two lawyers had gone over their appeal brief, which was neatly typed and stapled between covers. tom would file it in federal court tomorrow. they couldn't find anything wrong with it or think of anything to add. tom goodwin said he wanted a walk-too many hours in the white band his office poring over documents—and he went back to the hotel with ned. on the way they stopped and had a couple of beers. they had both heard disquieting rumors about trouble im- pending. “i can't put my finger on it,” tom said. “i sort of sense it. oh, i heard things. i've heard bearcat turner and some of his friends were patrolling niggertown armed with various things. i've heard the white band was planning summary justice for some of us. probably you and i head the list.” “i've heard all that,” said ned, draining his glass. “but i discount it. you know, i've had two threats. two notes. i told you. the last one said i had one week to get out of town. that was nearly three weeks ago. i'm still here, and nobody's bothered me yet, beyond a few hard looks. i can take them.” tom laughed. “if looks could kill, a lot of us would be long in our graves.” then tom told of his experience at the bank. he had confided in no one except ella, but he thought ned should know. "so that's the sort of thing we're up against.” ned whistled. “gee, i never thought it would come to that. and they're simply spiting themselves, cutting off busi- ness, perhaps in a small way with you, but it might spread. i'm sure you were a good credit risk.” “i always thought so. i was never turned down before.” “what lengths they won't go to...." they finished their beer. tom left ned at the entrance to his hotel, saying he'd see him in a few days. tom had to go to birmingham tomorrow to plead a case. ned's room seemed stuffy, and he opened a window wide and stood by it, tasting the cold night. it was almost novem- ber, and autumn had set in definitely at last. why not fly back to new york for a few days, now that the white band he d phone the airlinlaybe he could get meeting the brief was finished? he longed to see nell, and to get away from baynesville even for a short time; the place was getting on his nerves. he did have to be here most of the time to see what would happen from day to day, to report to his organization, perhaps to visit other towns. but there was nothing to compel him to remain here every moment. well, tomorrow night he'd promised to speak at a meeting of the toussaint elks' club. maybe he could get away the next day. he'd phone the airline at riverport tomorrow about a seat. he closed the window; the room was getting cold. an old compartment of his life suddenly flew open. it was the summer he was seventeen. he was a senior at dunbar high school, making his way by working in old bianchi's grocery as messenger boy-janitor-handy man. bianchi was a kindly old man who had come over from naples in his youth. he had no prejudice against negroes, but he had lived in the south a long time. he knew the score. one day, when there were no customers and bianchi and ned were just standing around, the old man talked to him about his life. "you plan go north to college, eh, ned?”. "yes, sir, i do.” “what you wan' be, lawyer, doctor maybe?” “maybe a lawyer, i'm not sure." “good for you, but she's hard to do, make your way like that, you being colored. i got nothing against coloreds, noth- ing in my book, but lotsa people they have. i never know why. they same as anybody else with me, good and bad, mean and kind. but i live in new york some years after i come over from the old country. see? i knew negroes been to college, got-what you call it?-degrees. and working in-a restaurants-waiters. or maybe janitors-apartment houses. see? they can't get started in-a better jobs. tv the white band mo ve “look, ned. you do better stay right here. when you get outa high school i make you my assistant. you wrap packages, ring up-a cash. i give you more money. you save maybe. one these days i retire, sell out. you maybe buy me out, eh? we right on edga darktown, we got mostly colored people now. you run grocery for coloreds. you do all right, maybe get rich, eh? do lot-a better'n me, eh?” he thanked bianchi. he was touched by the old man's interest in him. he'd think it over. but he didn't have to think about it much. ever since his grammar-school years, the later ones, he'd felt a compulsion to push on, to go to college at any cost, to get somewhere. he'd known all along it wouldn't be easy. a negro was born with two strikes on him. still, he had that third chance. he could only try to make the most of it. ake (fats) gilliam put away some diagrams in the top drawer of his desk. practice had ended an hour ago; it was completely dark, and the strong light hanging over the desk did not fully illuminate the cluttered office under the gym. there were dark corners revealing ambiguous shapes, which actually were hunting boots, a worn sport coat, discarded shoes, and boxes containing a miscellany of old athletic equip- ment. the coach stood at the mirror, studying his thick face with its small, piggish eyes. he didn't need a shave. what if he did? that bunch wouldn't notice. there'd be no dames around. he thought of his wife. a nice morsel she'd been when he married her and no mistake. but she'd developed shrewish traits. she was the worst nagger he'd ever imagined. why did he do this, and why didn't he do that? why did he leave his clothes and his hunting things around to clutter up the house? the white band “we're going in two sections, will. i'll have the first one, and we'll pick up one guest near the nigger elks' hall. he's speaking there. we'll be waiting when the meeting's over, not right in front of the hall, of course. the other section- and i'll ask you to join that-it'll meet with the rest of us in payne's pool hall about eight o'clock. you'll be hosts to the other guest.” “where'll we find this other jig?” “be careful what you say,” fats gilliam cut in. “you're talking through a switchboard. your guest probably will be at the same meeting. that's very likely. but in case he's not, he'll undoubtedly be at home, and you can pick him up there. bill dade'll be in charge of your section, and he has the address. you won't have any trouble locating the other guest.” "i see. i'll be at payne's on time.” “we're meeting, both cars, out beyond ben's tavern on the spread creek road. but bill has full instructions, what you're to wear, so on. i suggest you call him tonight or in the morning.” “i'll do that. thanks, fats. sorry i can't make it tonight. see you tomorrow.” “so long.” the coach put down the phone, lighted a cigarette, and again switched off the light. he left his office, making sure the spring lock had secured the door. he pushed into the brisk autumn night, got into his car, which was parked in a corner of the athletic field, and drove toward the center of town. tim o'hearn stood frozen against a wall of the athletic association building, just under a window of the coach's office. now he took a deep breath of relief as he saw fats' the white band car leaving the grounds. he had heard everything fats said over the phone. it was clear enough, especially after what he'd heard at the frat, what was to happen tomorrow night. tim had come to see the coach to offer him a play he'd thought up since last practice-a variation on the fake forward, quick lateral. but after hearing the coach answer the phone, tim, for some reason he couldn't quite understand, had slipped along the brick wall under the window and listened. it was no credit to him to do such a thing, he knew, but he felt impelled to. after he'd heard, he'd been afraid to waylay fats and tell him about the play. the coach would sense that he'd been eavesdropping, would probably have read it in his face. so he stood rooted to the spot until fats left. now that he knew, what should he do? forget it? might as well, for all the good he could do. he didn't know any of the others involved, didn't know the victims chosen, but assumed they were negro leaders in this fight against segre- gation. should he go to fats, when he could get hold of him? he knew what would happen. the coach would deny it, laugh at him and tell him not to be ridiculous, not to make a horse's ass out of himself. they were simply going out on a party. he'd misunderstood some harmless joke he might have said over the phone. no, he'd get nowhere with fats. but he might frighten the big bully into dropping the project. after all he, tim, had incriminating evidence which wouldn't sound well before a grand jury, the coach's own words. if they went through with this thing, mr. gilliam's overheard words could come back to haunt him. but who cared about evidence in this segregation fight? who cared what was done to niggers or who did it? fats would simply deny it, say he'd never said any such thing to anybody. it would be his word against the coach's. fats would make it so tough for him-a coach knew how-that he'd have to quit football. then fats would spread it around the white band the campus that tim was a nigger-lover and had tried to pin a false charge on him because he was sore at the coach over a personal misunderstanding involving football. maybe this tim o'hearn whom the frosh looked up to with awe would end up a campus pariah. stranger things had happened. maybe he'd better just forget the whole thing. after all, it wasn't his affair. it was doubtful if he could stop it anyway. tim, his hands in the pockets of his heavy sport coat, started back across the athletic field. but how could he forget? the thing would gnaw at him all night; he wouldn't sleep. after all, for better or worse, he had a conscience. it must be better not to have one. conscience makes cowards of us all. in more ways than one. he thought of some negro like jack taylor taken out, beaten, maybe killed, for all he knew. integration might be a bad thing, but so was mobbing, savage cruelty. no, he couldn't forget. but there was no use bring- ing fats gilliam into it at all; that would get him nowhere. nobody would believe him. still, there must be some other way. the police? surely they didn't want a thing like this to happen, to give the town another black eye. what had happened on the campus was bad enough. what cops did he know? not many: some traffic cops, a couple of plain ones that pounded beats. they wouldn't do a thing, except maybe refer him to higher au- thority. should he go to doc davison? but what could even doc do? tim didn't know the chief of police, steve bannock, but maybe he'd take a chance and walk in on him. that would be better than fooling around with somebody who had no authority. n tim said to the desk sergeant, “i'm tim o'hearn. i'm a student at teachers and ..." the white band “don't you think i know you, tim?” said the sergeant. “you think i haven't seen you play? i seen you make that seventy-yard run against state u last year. that was the prettiest run ever i see.” “thanks. i wanted to see the chief, mr. bannock, if i could.” “oh, sure, tim. his office is right around the corridor to your right. can't miss it. he'll see you, i'm sure, if he's still around, and i think he is.” “thanks a lot.” the chief had an outer office where a girl presided. but when he told her his name and she relayed it to the inner office, he was promptly asked to step in. a handsome, gray- haired man in his early fifties got up from his desk. he wore a trim gray uniform with a gold badge. “so you're tim o'hearn? i think i'd have recognized you from seeing you play, though i don't think i ever saw you close up.” steve bannock held out his hand, and tim shook it. the chief said, "sit down, mr. o'hearn. it's a pleasure to meet you. going to lick l.s.u. saturday?” "i doubt it, sir, but we'll give it the old try.” "i know that. what can i do for you? somebody break in the frat house?” "not that, chief, this time. i thought i'd pass on something i heard-on the very best authority.” the chief leaned forward and waited for tim to go on. “it's about this segregation or desegregation thing, chief. i understand some nigras mixed up in it are going to be picked up near the elks' tomorrow night and ... i don't know what's to be done to them, but nothing good, you can bet.” “that so?” steve bannock looked across at tim, his light manner gone. “who are they planning to work on?” "i wish i knew, chief-i'd tell you." the white band "well, who's mixed up in this?” “i don't know that. i realize my information is pretty vague, but it comes straight from the feedbox.” "how did you hear it?” the chief pressed. “who told you?” “it was-well, confidential,” tim explained. “i'm not try- ing to hold out on you, chief, but i simply can't tell where i got the dope, but i believe it absolutely. i'm satisfied it's going to happen, or i wouldn't have come to you with it." chief bannock looked perplexed. “you don't leave me much to go on, tim. i know how it is when somebody tells you something in confidence, swears you to secrecy. we get lots of confidential tips, and sometimes they're very helpful. but in a case like this ... well, we don't know who's fixing to do what to who. all we can do is look out for trouble and hope it doesn't happen. we've heard a lot of things about this situation, and all the tips have been duds so far, except what happened on the campus, and that was pretty well expected. i've heard the niggers had an armed patrol roaming around niggertown, and some white men were all set to burn down half the place, but you can't put your finger on anything. one of their leaders—the niggers', i mean-has received threats, but nothing's come of it. anyway, thanks for coming in, tim, and if you decide you can tell me more about what you've heard, come in again. if i'm not here, call me at home. i don't want to see any more trouble than we've had, but i wish these agitators would go home and leave our niggers alone. we get along with 'em.” "okay, chief.” "all we can do meanwhile is be on the lookout. good luck saturday, tim.” “thanks a lot, chief.” tim left city hall. it was almost dinner time, cold and quite the white band dark, and people were leaving their stores and offices and streaming homeward. he paused at the street curb, in front of his car, wondering what else he should do. why had he protected fats? because he was afraid of the coach? not physically-he could never recall being afraid of anyone physically, and it had cost him some lickings when he was smaller-but afraid of the coach's influence, overpowered by his reputation. the man was known nationally for the teams he'd turned out at this comparatively obscure college. well, that was part of it-the man's prominence. he, tim, was a big shot only on the campus, and what would that amount to when it would be his word against coach gilliam's? if only he had some proof, if someone else had overheard the phone talk. could he, possibly, have been mistaken, could the “party” fats had talked about have been less sinister than he thought? if it were merely a drinking party, they wouldn't be calling at the nigger elks’ for a guest. and then there was fats' sharp warning to whomever he was talking to, not to forget they were talking through a switchboard. that hadn't indicated any innocent purpose. then there was the tied-in report that had come, separately, from two of his frat brothers. it all added up. but he felt that he had made himself look idiotic to the chief. how could even someone who sincerely wanted to prevent trouble act on anything so vague? well, at least the police must know who the colored leaders were, and they could guard them. but would they? he doubted it. in his mind tim asked the holy ghost for guidance. but he already knew what he had to do. he got in his car, drove a few blocks, and stopped at a filling station. “fill her up,” he directed. the white band october. i don't think those gals do any work. they just pose around and act like college students.” “you're mistaken, son,” said joe, “they do work. the stand- ards at a school like bryn mawr are very high.” “she'll be here three weeks for christmas, i bet you.” “i hope so,” said sarah. “the yuletide flows in but once a year.” ignoring his wife's rather pathetic effort to turn and twist phrases, a practice at which she was more adept years ago, when she used to write some fairly creditable lyrics, joe said, “ted, you'll be glad to get your holidays when you're off at college. you'll find it's not all fun, that you have to work.” "well, at a boys' college,” ted insisted. they had finished their dessert and were lingering over coffee. the muffled, musical sound of the doorbell brought martha's quick steps from the kitchen to the front hall. they heard her talking, a man's voice answering. they were quiet, and martha said, “well, come in, i'll see. he's still at dinner.” the door was closed, and martha appeared. “senator, they's a young man calling. says his name's o'hearn, i think it is. says it's real terribly important to see you. i told him you was at dinner and ...". joe got up. “o'hearn? i don't know anybody by that name. but maybe i do. when you're in politics you can't remember half the people you're supposed to know. i'll see him, martha.” “i'll bet he wants something," sarah commented. “they always do. but he's nervy to come to your home at this hour. i wouldn't see him.” “well, i will,” said joe quietly. “it may be important.” he found a supple young man wearing woolen slacks and a heavy sport jacket, with a muffler dangling around his neck. the white band he was seated uncomfortably on the edge of a bench in the front hallway. he got up. “i'm sorry to disturb you, senator." “that's all right,” said joe. “what can i do for you?” "i'm tim o'hearn. i'm a student, a senior at baynesville teachers college.” the name meant nothing to joe. he did not keep up with football as he once had. “i have something important to tell you,” tim added, a little diffidently. “i wouldn't have bothered you if i hadn't thought ..." "come in here,” joe said, pointing into the small reception room on the left, which rarely was used except for storing wraps at parties. “sit down.” “thanks.” tim went on, hesitantly at first, gaining assur- ance as he continued. “i heard you speak, senator, at that big meeting in baynesville last month. it was a fine speech, and i was glad to hear you say the white band wasn't for violence or trouble, but for-well, peaceful opposition.” joe nodded, and waited for the young man to go on. “i've always admired you, senator, and i haven't come to ask for a thing. i simply didn't know who else to go to. i understand, and i've got it pretty straight, that some men, and i'm told some of them are in the white band, are fixing to take some nigras out tomorrow night and work them over.” "what nigras?” joe asked. “that i don't know, senator, but i'd assume they're leaders in this integration fight, maybe outsiders who came down to push for it. i don't know. i didn't hear any names men- tioned.” “well, mr. o'hearn, who are the fellows planning this thing?" tim hesitated. he was close to blurting out fats' name. the white band that made you trust him and want to tell him what you felt you should withhold. impulsively tim said, “i'm going to tell you who it was, against my better judgment. it was fats gilliam, our football coach.” “fats?” joe's eyes widened with incredulity. “yes, and please, senator, don't tell him or anyone i was the one told you. it would put me in a very tough spot.” “i'll protect you,” joe promised, and tim knew that he would. "i'm on the football team,” tim explained. “and i had some business with coach late this afternoon, less than three hours ago-it was almost dark then. i was starting into his office when i heard him talking on the phone. i suppose i should have walked away, but i didn't. i listened.” he told joe duffield what he had heard. joe expelled his breath in a half-whistle. “christ! it doesn't seem possible fats gilliam would be that dumb. don't you think you might have misunderstood a word here and there, or that maybe fats was kidding? he's an awful kidder." "i know, senator. i couldn't believe it at first, and i tried not to, but then ..." he stressed the reference to the nigger elks' and fats' caution to his friend to remember he was talk- ing through a switchboard. tim added, “it only confirmed what i heard last weekend from two fellows at my frat house. two guys told me separately they heard this—this flogging party or whatever it is had been set up.” “it does sound like something's up, all right,” joe mused. "i'm certainly grateful to you for coming to me. i don't want to see such a thing happen any more than you do. even if i condoned violence like that, which i don't, it would be a bad thing for the white band; it would hurt us a lot. we don't the white band want to be known as a bunch of night-riders and floggers. we're not. some individuals who belong..." "i know, senator. i went to the chief of police at baynes- ville, steve bannock. but i was afraid to mention fats' name. it's just my word against his—i haven't any proof that i'm telling the truth-and he'll deny it from now till judgment day. i know that. i didn't intend to tell you who i over- heard; it just sort of slipped out.” joe smiled. “i know. and don't worry. nobody will ever know who told me. and i'll certainly look into it on my own hook, take steps to see that such a thing, whatever they planned, doesn't happen. thank you again, tim. have you had dinner?” “yes, i have,” tim lied. “and i must get back.” they shook hands, and joe opened the front door. tim got in his car and started his twenty-mile ride back to baynesville. joe found sarah and ted in the living room. sarah asked, “what'd he want? how much?” “nothing," said joe. “he's from baynesville. just some- thing about the white band. nothing important.” “oh, the white band.” and she added, “well, it could've waited till morning. he could have gone to your office.” "i suppose so,” joe said. joe had to go to a civic meeting. he had promised to drop in and “say a word.” but he left early. the chairman thanked joe for coming and giving them the benefit of his counsel and explained that senator duffield had to leave because of an- other appointment. there was no appointment, but joe was glad to get away by nine-thirty. he got into his car, and instead of heading home drove around cherokee boulevard and slowly through evergreen vas arou the white band park. the night was almost cold, at least by contrast with the hot september and early october days, and the spiced breath of pines and spruces was heady. he met few cars. his first impulse had been to phone fats gilliam and ask what the hell was going on. but fats wouldn't fall for that. if fats was in it, it was some secret project, perhaps within but not officially of the band. the successful coach was too adroit to stick his thick neck out too far. he'd never admit anything. besides, fats would be here in the morning, pre- sumably, for the board meeting. he could say whatever he decided to say to him then. he knew steve bannock, the chief of police. this tim o'hearn had already spoken to the chief. true, he hadn't told him much. maybe he, joe, would call steve too; he'd have more influence than tim. perhaps the chief would throw a bodyguard around ned tarver and whomever else the hoodlums might have marked for discipline. ned would have to be at the head of the list: he was the spearhead of the baynesville drive for integration. no matter what ned had done-and he'd done nothing he hadn't a legal right and duty to do, whatever your views on desegregation-joe couldn't even think of allowing anything bad to happen to him. if he could prevent it. but of course he could! what the hell was getting into him? the board meeting was at ten o'clock. shortly before nine joe hurried to his office at white band headquarters. he didn't want to make the call at home. he had his secretary get the baynesville police chief. “steve, this is joe duffield.” “hello, senator, how are you?” "fine, thanks.” the white band “we'll sure miss you in the senate, but of course you're doing another important job.” “yes. look, steve, i hear there's trouble in the wind down there. i've got a tip to the effect that a whipping party is all set to pounce on some nigras–i don't know who-tonight.” steve bannock said, “thanks, senator. nice of you to call me. matter of fact, we've heard the same thing, and we're doing what we can to be on guard. the fact is, joe, these tips have been going around ever since the supreme court handed us this dose. we've heard all kind of rumors, and nothing much has happened, outside of that thing on the campus, and we couldn't very well stop that-we couldn't put every officer we had out at the college, and that's what it would've taken.” joe said, "i know." “we'll have a patrol in niggertown tonight. that's about all we can do." “if anything happens,” joe added, "the white band'll be blamed.” “i know the position you're in. but personally, senator, i wish to hell these fancy niggers who came down here to run this integration thing-í don't know how many there are, but i know of several—i wish to god they'd go home and mind their own business. if it wasn't for them, most of our jigs would forget there was ever any supreme court ruling, and some of them never knew about it until they were told.” there was a pause, then joe said, “steve, of course you know ned tarver?” “naturally. i'd be a pretty dumb policeman if i didn't. he's their leader.” "well, look, steve, as a personal favor to me, will you sort of keep an eye on him tomorrow night-i mean, have some of your men look out for him? i understand he's the chief the white band target of this vigilante outfit, whoever and whatever it is.” “he naturally would be if there's such a thing afoot. he's been warned a couple times. he came to us once about it. but he's been here quite a while, and not a thing's happened to him yet. sure, joe, i'll do what i can. he's been asking for it, but i happen to be on the side of law and order, and i know you are too.” “thanks, steve. i'll let you know if i hear anything more specific.” "be sure to do that, senator. thanks a lot for calling.” joe put down the receiver. it was obvious that steve bannock didn't care much what happened to ned or to any of the others, but the chief couldn't ignore this threat. if there was more violence, it would reflect on the police, and northern liberals and radicals would raise hell; even some southerners would. there'd be investigations; maybe the f.b.i. would come down. all this steve had sense enough to know. he'd try to prevent trouble, however he felt about it. the board members straggled in, and it was nearly ten- thirty before joe could start the meeting. fats gilliam was one of the last to arrive. he came in panting from his hurry to get over from the parking lot. “sorry,” he said, “i seemed to get behind all the slow trucks in the country. it's a short ride, but it sure can seem like a long one.” he chuckled. jake gilliam was grand instructor of the order, and his duties were rather vague, but he put out propaganda for the chapters and prepared material for the publicity man they had recently hired. hank caldwell read a number of communications from local protectors, outlining problems of organization and pro- cedure and telling of plans for parades and oyster roasts and excursions. the white band dave beckett reported on the state of memberships and finances. the organization, as he said, was rolling along at an amazing rate. "i'm for these parades,” said fats gilliam. “i think they put the fear of christ in the niggers. just a bunch of men going by with white masks over their faces and carrying a few banners has a salutary effect. when the ku klux was organized after the war between the states, it didn't have to do a lot of killing and flogging to stop the niggers from taking over. just to see them parading by in their white sheets and white hoods scared most of those niggers so they almost turned white. some of those black boys thought they were hants.” he laughed. “they're a little more sophisticated now,” dave pointed out, “even the most ignorant of them.” “that's true,” fats conceded, "but a parade of masked men puts the fear of jesus in them just the same.” “parades are all right,” joe said, "if we don't carry incendi- ary banners, threatening people. that would put us on the spot. we'd be blamed directly then for anything anybody in the community did. they could prove that at least we in- spired violence." there were murmurs of assent. the meeting was largely routine. it lasted a little over an hour. as it broke up, joe leaned over and touched fats' arm. “could you come to my office a minute, fats?” “sure, joe.” joe shut the door of his inner office, had fats gilliam take one of the big chairs, and offered him a cigarette. the coach so covered the chair that it was hardly visible; his pounds might have been suspended in space. joe pulled over his desk chair. “fats, i hear there's trouble impending at baynesville.” the white band fats chuckled, but without mirth. “there's been trouble impending there ever since the supreme court acted, but nothing to amount to anything's happened, and i don't think much will.” “i heard it pretty straight,” joe added, "that some white men were planning to take some niggers out and work them over.” “could be,” said fats. “but it's the first i've heard of it. we've heard all sorts of things, though. i know there's a bunch of nigger hoodlums been running around niggertown armed with switch-blades and guns-whatever they could get hold of-looking for trouble. i wouldn't be surprised if there's a fight there some night. some of our tough kids might take ’em on. maybe that's what you heard.” “but you don't know anything about it?” joe looked straight into the big man's small eyes, and they narrowed into a porcine glare. ""only what i've told you." “you don't know of any plans to take anybody out?”. "no. but they wouldn't be apt to tell me. some of the men in the band wanted to take direct action and run some of these agitators out of town. i told them the band had to stay out of that sort of thing. we couldn't afford to get mixed up in it.” "you were right,” joe said. “i don't want anybody in the band pulling any vigilante stuff, and you can tell them all that for me.” “they already know it,” the coach said. “you said it in your baynesville speech, and you've said it other times. no, if there's anything stirring, it's not the band. i don't know what some individuals might be up to. i can't keep track of everybody in town.” ott trom the pool hall, johnson saw graham slouching up the street, and the small, sporty negro slipped out of the place, unobtrusively, as he did everything. maybe graham had tried to catch his friend's eye, and johnson had failed to feel it. he always said he could feel anyone looking at him. "hi,” johnson greeted. "hi.” “what's up?" the untidy ex-pugilist sucked on his cigarette. “i gather tonight's the night.” "so i hear,” johnson said. “big doings.” “that's all we need,” said graham, "something big-what the lawyers call an overt act. you know ..." "i know what an overt act is,” johnson explained patiently. “i've even read some law, though i'm not qualified for prac- tice-not yet.” "it's all we need,” graham repeated. “and i'll sign up a the white band hundred members. not here, necessarily. but the locale doesn't matter; it's the numbers we want." “quite right, the numbers.” johnson lowered his voice, although there was no one in sight. “i understand mr. tarver's the candidate who's to be initiated.” graham dropped ashes on his shirt and trousers and brushed some of them off. “so i hear. i don't want anything bad to happen to mr. tarver, but, after all, our cause ...' "sure. bien compris.” “dominus nobiscum,” graham added. "i'm sure he is,” said johnson. they laughed, and johnson said, “the only hitch is, word has sort of got out, i hear, and there may be some cops on hand.” graham uttered a disdainful obscenity. “baynesville cops? they couldn't get out of their own way.” “maybe not, but the law, as they say, is the law, and per- haps the vengeance committee will take fright.” “well, it should be warned.” "exactly." "i'll attend to that.” “i'm sure you will. meanwhile, unless i can help, i'll return to my den of iniquity. i stand to make twenty, thirty bucks.” “more craps?” “nope, they've sort of got on to my influence over the bones. but i've still got 'em thinking that as a pool-player i'm an in-and-outer, liable to blow his important shots. so i figure i cash in on that, hein?” “well, watch your step.” “that i'll do.” they parted, graham throwing back a canine grin. the afternoon was fading before its brief time because of a fog on w the white band "properly segregated?” “quite properly. listen, nell dearest, i was going to sur- prise you, but i'll let you in on a secret. i'm aying back home tomorrow, for a few days.” her voice broke a little. “oh, wonderful, ned, i was hop- ing you'd come home soon.” "i've got a reservation,” he explained. “it's an afternoon flight. i'm due in new york at seven o'clock.” “i can hardly wait to see you. is it international or la guardia?” “la guardia, i think.” “i'll check, and i'll be there with the car.” “grand. sold any more paintings?”. “not yet. give me time.” “remember, i'm depending on you. i'm thinking of aban- doning the law and living on the proceeds of your art.” she laughed. “i'm afraid you'd be mighty hungry some- times. gee, i've missed you, even more than the time you were in texas on that long case.” “i've missed you a huge lot too, darling.” "well, i won't keep you. i suppose you're getting ready for your speech.” “more or less. i was just dressing.” “are they treating you all right?” "sure. so far i've got no complaint. they haven't given me the keys to the city yet, but, after all, they think i'm a commie, and so i can't blame them.” “well, take care.” “you bet i will." "and i'll see you tomorrow." “tomorrow." her voice faded, and he hung up. he brushed the coat of his blue suit, the only extra suit he'd brought. the white band every dissenter, he reflected, was a commie to the con- formist, the reactionary, the person who distrusted all ideas advanced since the turn of the century. so, on the other hand, to the commie or fellow traveler everyone else was a fascist or a dirty capitalist. this mania for labeling everybody ... he thought of that winter in new york when he'd been unmoored, adrift, lost, wondering what to believe and how to live. it must have been 'thirty-one. the depression had seized the country. the jobless, many of them homeless and hungry, were wandering the hard, merciless streets of manhattan and the bronx. he was out of law school and admitted to the bar, but his practice was somewhere in a future he couldn't really hope for. he'd opened an office, put up his name, but nobody retained him; if anyone wanted to, it was for free or for some vague promise to pay later. he was married, he had nell, and he was desperately afraid he couldn't support her. he worked when he could, at anything, laborer, salesman, chauffeur. he had to make something. there was that fellow he ran into in a speakeasy. wasn't his name ballard? something like that-it had been so long. ballard, if that was his name, was a white man, hanging around the streets of harlem, friendly with negroes, who were in- clined to distrust him, wondering what he wanted. ballard asked him one night to go to a house in a distant part of the city, meet some friends. they took the subway down to union square, then cut into the village and climbed three flights to an attic apartment, which had a living room whose walls were closely pressed by the rafters. the place, bright- ened with some modern prints, was rather attractive, but still a cold-water flat in january, drafty, ill-heated by a coal stove. there were perhaps fifteen sprawled on the few chairs and on the floor, men and women. one was a negro, another an east indian. they were drinking from a gallon jug of red the white band wine. the talk was stimulating, flashing back and forth about everything under heaven. there were no set dissertations on the economic situation, but a general assumption that capi- talistic democracy was all through, which even hoover and mellon had begun to realize. when he and ballard had left and were walking toward the subway, ballard said that at least half the people there be- longed to the party, and others were interested. why not? where else could the average pushed-around sap turn? that winter ned saw bread lines. he saw men with no- where to sleep crouching in the heat expelled from street gratings. he saw veterans of the world war, toasted by a grateful country thirteen years ago, selling apples and shoe- laces. he wondered if communism wasn't the answer. he went to some meetings, met some minor leaders. he signed nothing, but he listened closely. at one conference he heard his friend ballard get a dressing-down for assuming the re- sponsibility of doing something or other without permission. he heard others receive similar scoldings from bush-league commissars. there was always that attitude: we don't ask you, we tell you, and you do what we say or else. it was like the army: you don't think, we think and you obey. he decided that if this outfit ever got the power here it had in russia it would dictate every last act of every citizen. it would be worse than any defect which the present system had or was likely to develop. no, it wasn't for him. he'd string along with what we had, however imperfect. after all, he felt, most of the things which caused depressions could be avoided, probably, with safeguards and changes which wouldn't upset the entire foundation of this government. he dropped ballard and the others. he stuck it out, doing the best he could, though it wasn't easy. in time things got the white band better. in time he was able to practice law, to make a decent living. and now they called him a red. fats gilliam was eating dinner with sam carruthers, ben blackwell, and blake mcleod in a rear booth at the central café. nobody seemed to be noticing them. they not only spoke quietly but were extremely guarded in what they said. “somebody's tipped it off,” the coach was saying. he fin- ished his highball and attacked his soup. “some son of a bitch. i wish i knew who.” sam carruthers said, “it wasn't any of us, i could reasonably take an oath to that. i've known most of the fellows longer than you have, fats-most of my life. they wouldn't..." “i don't suspect any of them,” gilliam said firmly. “i picked out the bandsmen i could trust most when i started this-this little sideshow. it's just that fellows inadvertently let remarks fall, or maybe tell their wives too much, and if any woman keeps a secret it's only long enough to decide who she'll tell it to.” the thick-haired, big-shouldered young machinist laughed. “i guess you're right, fats. it's hard even with a dozen men or so in on something to seal it up so's nobody can stick a wedge in.” blake mcleod, the boyish bank teller, said, “i'm sure i've kept my lips buttoned. i haven't even hinted anything." ben blackwell, tall, with a beak of a nose, leaned forward. “me neither. what do we do now?” "i'll tell you in a minute,” said fats. “patience. but i un- derstand there'll be cops around.” "cops!” ben blackwell said scornfully. “steve bannock was in yesterday to get a wash and grease-job, and he said he the white band wa vas was sick of hearing about niggertown and what-all was liable to happen on one side or the other. he said he was tired of people coming to him with mysterious tips. said he thought it was all a lot of crap, but then he had to take no- tice, spread more of his small force around where there might be trouble, or he'd be in for criticism. so you see, he don't take it very seriously.” fats leaned over the table and spoke just above a whisper. "it even got to joe.” “the senator?” blake mcleod asked incredulously. “the same. he hopped on me about it, up in riverport this morning. somebody must have told him i was in on it, what- ever it was. i don't think he really knew a thing, but some- body had handed him one of those feedbox tips. jesus. you'd think it was a racetrack.” “what'd he say?” ben blackwell asked “oh, nothing much except what he felt he had to say. we were to understand the band wasn't in for things like that. i didn't get sore. he's on the spot. he's gotta take that atti- tude. he doesn't want to see our fine fraternal order all messed up. who does? i told him sure, he was right, and i had told the band here we must stay out of everything that wasn't strictly legal and peaceful.” he gave one of his pro- fessional chuckles. ben blackwell, the auto repair manager, repeated, “what do we do now? postpone it?” fats softened his voice again, no easy feat for him-he could speak across a football field without a megaphone-and the men at the table could barely hear him. “what do we do? i'll tell you. we'll join the others at ricky payne's pool hall at a quarter to eight. the four of us will get a pool table if we can and be playing. the others'll drift in and look on, and we'll manage to sift out complete instructions. i don't believe the white band in postponing something you've decided on-that is, unless it's absolutely necessary. we'll see how things shape up and govern ourselves accordingly. even if our friend is escorted back to his hotel, we might call on him later. there are ways ... without embarrassing identifications. by the way, his room looks out on a fire escape.” sam carruthers let out a low whistle. “i bet we manage some way.” “it's an even-money bet,” said fats. “but i don't want to say any more here. i've got it pretty well thought out, what each detachment is to do under the circumstances, but it'll be a whole lot safer to announce the line-up at ricky's. won't be anybody snooping around. nobody'll think a thing about some guys playing pool and others looking on and chewing the fat here and there. i've told the others to meet us there. that's all set. and the two cars are gassed up, and even the license plates ... but i better shut my big mouth, even if i have got the soft pedal over it.” they laughed. they ate in silence for a while. then ben blackwell said how about the game saturday, and fats said, “must you bring that up?" and they laughed again. the white band down at the fresh-lit streets and the luminous buildings rising like irregular peaks. suddenly he missed washington. not the great, drawn-out small town, with its endless mausoleums, its greco-roman temples, but his official life, with its varied demands, its un- expected turns, its exciting moments. he felt a pang for his lost senatorship, the power and prestige he had tossed away on an impulse. no, it was more than an impulse; he had given weeks of thought to it, decided that this was his big chance to make some money, to become independent. or did anyone ever become independent? wouldn't there always be obliga- tions of one sort or another, compounded of duty or affection, of inescapable necessity, holding you down, preventing you from doing half you could maybe afford to do? he thought, with a more acute sense of loss, of myra con- nell. the hell with the senatorship-he could run for office again any time he wanted-but he wouldn't find another myra. she wasn't just another pretty, susceptible girl who was out for a good time if she liked you. she was a subtle, complex personality he'd hardly begun to know after all the times he'd seen her. all at once, he wanted to know her fully, not her body-he knew that-but her mind, her emotions, her tastes, her feelings about things. a woman's body was, a man found out when he had known it, only a small part of her, although at first nothing else seemed to matter. there were, he sup- posed, men who never cared about anything else, but they were men without perception, without imagination. he saw myra as he'd seen her a hundred times, her dark hair swept up or aung back, lending charm to the beauty of her face. she'd be laughing over some angle of something they'd thought of-they found the same things funny, liked the same music, the same sort of paintings. he'd found their secret hours together delicious, but he'd never bothered much en the white band lynchings-they were extremely rare these days-without a federal law policing the states below the mason-dixon line. the new deal had done a lot of good, but it had been car- ried just about far enough; we needed not more but less socialism. so far as foreign policy went, he realized the world wasn't what it was a hundred years ago, when a country was a self-contained entity (he'd said that, but it had come out “a spot on the map off by itself,” which probably was better, even for a reader who had barely passed the fourth grade). he didn't think he'd missed a political platitude. how else could you satisfy your lords and masters, the voters? he hadn't served two terms in the state legislature and three terms in the house of representatives without learning something. at the time of the magazine interview he had been elated over winning. naturally it had been a democratic primary- general elections were only a formality in the deep south- and he had defeated two formidable opponents, a result by no means certain at any time during the campaign. he had, sur- prisingly, received a clear plurality, so that no runoff would be necessary. sure, he was riding high the day the crew from events came. he poured them drinks, and they toasted him and he toasted their magazine for child-minds. but the very next week, looking at his pictures in the maga- zine (excellent photographs) and reading what was written around them, his delight was clouded. not by anything on the two large pages devoted to duffield, but by his own melancholy reflections. was he a success? in one way, he certainly was. not every aspiring politician made the senate, and to gain admittance to that exclusive club at his age was an achievement that had startled even him. and yet, if he was a success, it was at the expense of ... well, whatever made up a man's inmost self. he'd grown up, gradually emancipating himself from certain prejudices, cer- the white band w tain taboos, with the help of his father and of a few enlight- ened fellow-students (among them, of course, ned tarver!). by the time he finished law school and began to practice law in riverport he felt that he had, in a way, a mission, though he didn't think of it as anything so pretentious. he saw himself as a southerner freed from a slavery as complete in its way as the physical bondage that once shackled negroes: prejudices, inflexible ideas, most of them untrue. despite his father, and some other dissenting voice now and then, it had been hard to shake off the tribal beliefs all about him in his boyhood, like the idea that white persons were ordained by god to be superior and run things and especially to see that their inferiors, whose skin was darker, stayed in their place. other kids knew more than your old man; he was just an old crank with peculiar notions. even some of their public-school teachers told them that while it was all right to play with colored boys and it was never right to be unjust to them, it should be borne in mind that they belonged to a lower racial and social order, so that white boys should never go too far, never give these dark ones the idea that they were as good as white people. but he had come a long way from that. as a young lawyer just starting out he had determined to do what he could, with- out being a zealot and antagonizing everybody, to spread tolerance, undermine prejudice. he'd said things quietly, when he could, and nobody had been too stirred up against him; after all, you could still discuss ideas in the deep south, so long as you didn't try to put into effect anything too revolutionary. he had defended, without fee, several home- less and wandering negroes charged with various crimes, had even gotten one acquitted. they could, of course, have asked for court-appointed counsel, but the chances were their de- fense would have been perfunctory, and he had put every- the white band thing he had into it. nobody had criticized him for that. anybody who had noticed such obscure trials had merely thought he was gaining experience. it was only when he ran that time for district attorney and told the people publicly how he felt that they slapped him down. if he could have stayed out of politics ... but somehow politics kept luring him until it seduced him into running for the legislature, and he knew then that if he wanted to win he had to hold his tongue, manage to leave the impression that he was for home, mother, and white supremacy, and advance things that no one quarreled with seriously, such as good roads, better schools, more parks. but during his years of success in politics this practice of suppressing what he really felt and saying what was popular or at least innocuous hardened into a habit. it had to. other- wise you couldn't go anywhere in southern politics, and he had determined to go as high as he could. why settle for anything small like the legislature, or even the national house? well, he reflected that week as he got used to the certainty that he would sit in the senate, a senator was powerful, he could say and do things lesser political breeds dared not. he was elected for six years, while a representative had to face his constituents every two years. perhaps in the senate he'd recover his voice, his own voice. but he found, as the weeks in washington passed into months, the months into years, he no longer cared ... much. he could be progressive, liberal about foreign policy or trade agreements or development of natural resources, or federal- aid highways or something else that meant little to rednecks, if he remembered to do nothing that would seem to advance racial equality, or give immigrants too much of a break, or otherwise upset the hold his people had on percent white protestant americanism. ici the old, bruised desk, looking as if it had been tossed about a wharf, dropped, and picked up in some game played by gigantic longshoremen, yielded old letters, notes, stray memo- randa in close-stuffed profusion as harry holmes delved into it. the trouble was, he reflected, he could no longer even remember to whom most of these long-guarded fragments referred, what they concerned, why he had saved them, be- yond a cluttering habit of sticking away everything-letters he meant to answer and never did; notes to remember to do this or that at a certain time, which hadn't helped if these things had faded from his memory; memos informing him of some new style of make-up or heads which had been abandoned years ago; torn-off pieces of copy paper reminding him to call persons with names that now meant nothing to him. oh, well. there was no sense in going over them. he knew he would find little, if anything, of present importance. he began unpacking the pigeonholes and dumping their con- the white band tents into the high wastebasket. the old-fashioned roll-top desk, which hadn't been rolled down in many years, also had odd corners and unsuspected crannies jammed with meaning- less papers. the drawers likewise were crammed until some wouldn't open. it was a job even if he just pulled everything out with not so much as a glance. the new editor, warren ashley, came in with some galley proofs and sat on one of the stiff chairs. he was a dynamic man of forty-five, with a thick neck and a generous middle. he would be fat before he was fifty if he didn't watch what he ate and drank, which he probably wouldn't. warren ashley regarded the old editor with the smiling tolerance of a man still young enough to doubt that he would ever be an old man who was through. “that's a job, isn't it?” he said pleasantly. “i had to do the same thing before i left my cubbyhole in chicago.” he had been sent down by john braden from the mother” paper of the chain. riverport and the south were enigmas to him; he had asked a hundred questions in the three days he'd been here. but he had his orders, quite specifically, and he meant to carry them out. the coach had sent him in from the bench, instructing him what plays to call. harry holmes laughed a little. “i hope they'll get you a new desk.” warren ashley laughed in response. “but i think i'd like that desk. it must be fairly haunted by old events, traditions.” “i suppose it is.” the new editor picked out a galley and handed it to the old editor. “i'd like you to see what i wrote about this. see if you think it's okay." harry holmes wanted to laugh, but didn't. what possible difference could it make what he thought? he took the galley gravely and read: the white band william davison, who is leaving his post as president of the state teachers college at baynesville, will be missed. he has made many friends, in the state and throughout the south. he brought to the position an excellent background of education and experience, and in the ten years he has been at baynesville he has built up the enrollment and bettered the faculty and, with the cooperation of the legislature, enlarged the facilities and equipment of this important institution. it is unfortunate that dr. davison's final days at the college were disrupted by the turmoil which followed the enroll- ment of a negro student. the president's judgment in con- senting to this radical departure from custom and tradition might be questioned, but we are sure no one could question his honesty in believing this was his duty. many, perhaps most, southerners probably felt that he should at least have waited until such a move was forced on him. in view of the general attack on his judgment, it probably is true that his usefulness at baynesville was hopelessly impaired and that he was wise in his decision to resign. no doubt he will be hap- pier, considering these regrettable circumstances, at his new post in pennsylvania. his friends wish him success there. harry holmes handed back the galley without comment. “think it's okay?” warren ashley asked. “sure, warren, it's fine.” “it won't offend anybody?” "i'm sure it won't,” the old editor said. what would he have written? well, it didn't matter. "you see,” the new editor added, “john braden's anxious to ... well, placate the die-hards, the more rabid river- portians. we ...” “i suppose,” the old man broke in, “he told you i'd just about wrecked the paper." warren ashley laughed. “not exactly, harry. he did say us the white band you were ... well, in rebellion against unreconstructed rebels.” “that's a mouthful.” “i'm a yankee,” the younger man hastened to say, "and it's new to me, all this boiling up over a few darkies in the schools. i've read a lot of your recent editorials, and i'd be inclined to agree with them all, but john feels ..." “i know how he feels.” “and you've got to go along with the guy who's paying the bills, whatever your personal opinions.” “evidently,” harry holmes agreed. “i suppose, anyway,” warren ashley added, "that you're tired out and ready to enjoy yourself.” the old editor looked away. “i should be.” warren ashley pulled out a cigar case and proffered it, but the old man thanked him, pointing to his pipe which lay on its side like a discarded memento among the clutter of others on the desk. the new editor picked out a cigar, bit off the end, and lit it carefully. "i guess you'll be heading for florida soon.” “maybe. my wife likes it. i don't care so much for it. too much gilt and bunk for me. but my wife likes it, so i reckon we'll go, for a while anyway." warren ashley laughed and looked at his wrist watch. "excuse me, harry. there's an editorial conference, and i'm supposed to sit in.” "sure. see you later." harry holmes turned back to the desk and resumed shov- eling the old papers into the tall wastebasket, which already was half full. he'd thought of tearing up these forgotten scraps of the past, but what was the use? who would ever bother to decipher them? and what if someone did? he doubted that there was anything mildly diverting in them. the white band he felt a passing regret that his life had been so uneventful, so free from even a touch of scandal. if he had it to do over, he'd be damned if he wouldn't ... but he doubted that he would. his revolts against the choking pressure of mass opinion had been all mental. his editorials. who gave a whoop in hell about them now? he'd deliberately signed his own journalistic death warrant. he had, as the boys in the city room would put it, been asking for it. but what else could he have done? he could have compromised, let an absentee owner in a distant city dictate his policies, what he wrote. after all, it was this absent landlord's paper, not his. john braden could advocate obeisance to the moon goddess, or telling internal revenue to go to hell when income taxes came due, or driving at night without headlights, or anything he damn well pleased. but how could you be an editor and write what you didn't believe? easily. most editors did. even if they owned their papers, they felt the bruising pressure of what was called "public opinion,” which was a cliché meaning mass prejudice, the idées fixes of unthought-out thought, of impressions un- challenged. it was all the more credit to the few editors who did their own thinking, who led instead of following. suddenly he was proud to have been part of that little company for a while, grateful of the opportunity to have led for a time, in his own halting way. even his wife thought him a quixotic fool, though she'd never say so; her affection for him was too deep. perhaps he was. he didn't care one single damn. he was humming a gay tune off-key as he retrieved his pipe, which he'd been about to sweep into the wastebasket with a hillock of papers. he sang on as he filled the pipe and lit it. the white band eggy prentice hesitated. then he said, “sure i'll go along. what time do we go?” “oh, probably around seven-thirty, eight, maybe.” “oke.” and eggy added, “i'll bet all seven of our pledges against two deke pledges that the place is as quiet as a mill- pond.” “i hope so," tim said. “ordinarily i don't mind seeing a little excitement, but this time ... “i get you.” eggy returned to his magazine, and tim went upstairs to stretch out on his bed a couple of minutes before it was time to go to bailey hall for supper at the training table. “you're slipping,” laughed sam carruthers as fats gilliam aubbed an easy shot. “could be,” said fats, who was paying small attention to the game of pool which he and sam and ben blackwell and blake mcleod were playing. six other men slouched about looking on. fats had been right. none of the other pool- players or hangers-on gave them the slightest heed. it was too familiar a scene to attract suspicion or even the interest of the kibitzers. even those at other tables who recognized fats probably felt, well, a coach is a busy guy these days. he's gotta relax some with his friends. fats called out softly, “bill.” bill dade, a muscular young man who was a foreman at the cherokee iron works, came to the table as fats pretended to measure a shot with his eyes. the big coach spoke very quietly. no one beyond the table could have heard, but the others in their crowd were close enough to hear. “look, bill, here's the line-up. you know what my car's to do. grab tarver if we can without the white band running down a dozen cops. if we can't make it after the meeting, we'll get together later out on spread creek road and plan how we can maybe grab him at the hotel later. your car's to try to get goodwin if you possibly can. but you wait around a while-you can drive slow back and forth—and see if we succeed. if we don't, we give up the other project, for the moment anyway, because it's more important to get the buttinsky from harlem. we can always get the other one, any time. if you see we've given up trying to get him from outside the nigger hall or on his way back to the hotel, you drive around and meet us on spread creek road at the place we picked out before, just beyond the little bridge over that ravine-you know, a mile or so beyond the city limits. if, on the other hand, you see us drive off with him-and i think you'll be able to see what's going on by trailing us-you carry out the original plan. if goodwin's at the meeting, just trail him along till you find a quiet spot-he'll have four good blocks, and he'll surely walk—and then pull him in. if you don't spot him at all, and we've got our man, you drive to the other guy's house and get him there; chances are he'll be home. and when we've got 'em both, we'll meet just as we planned.” fats paused. he thought of something else. “oh, if your man should go along with ours to his hotel-and that's possible, they're pretty thick, those two niggers-you'll know what to do. if cops are around, or too many passers-by, we won't try it, of course. we'll drive on. but if the two should be alone, it'll be easy to get them both at the same time, one for my car, one for yours. any questions?” “i guess not,” said bill dade tentatively, and fats knew the young man was thinking up a further observation. bill had burly shoulders and a slim waist-he was the athletic type- and his lips habitually were pressed together in a grim ex- were e the white band or pression, even during his lighter moments. “it's just this, fats,” he said, “if there are a bunch of cops, as you think likely, it won't look so good, two cars trailing along as if they was about to start a race riot or something." “but we won't trail along,” fats explained patiently. “i'll roll along, about ten miles an hour, and maybe park somewhere a few minutes, in some spot where nobody'll notice, and then maybe roll around the block slowly. and you can trail me without seeming to, just stay a couple hundred yards behind. i don't think we'll attract any attention. and we'll stay out of the way entirely till the niggers begin tumbling out of their elks' hall. you forget, too, bill, that hanley street is a thoroughfare which happens to pass through niggertown. it's a straight shot from courthouse square to the mobile turnpike.” “okay,” bill dade said, still a little doubtful of their strategy. “lots of cars pass back and forth on hanley all the time. you know that.” “i s'pose so," bill conceded. “i guess it'll work." “sure it will,” fats assured him. “it's not like it was a side street where not many cars go. i'll drive and stay in the car. not that i'm trying to get out of the tough jobs, but somehow i figure people would recognize me, false face or not. i can't imagine why.” they all laughed. “well, anyone else any questions?” the others made negative sounds. “then we're all set," said fats. “i don't figure that nigger meeting'll be over before ten, but we'll be around at nine-thirty just in case it breaks up early. now, sam, it's your shot, and i've sewed you up but good.” “i hope you haven't,” sam said. the white band fats had put the package containing the special masks under his hat on the rack. there would be only ten of them, five for each car. the other two of their little club-within-a-club that sam car- ruthers had named the dirty dozen were unavoidably absent. one was out of town, the other home sick. fats thought it was just as well. ten would fit better into the plan than twelve. for one thing, the cars would be less crowded. but he wouldn't have wanted to cut down the number arbitrarily. none of them would voluntarily have missed the fun. the hall was well filled. it was attractive, ned tarver thought, very creditable for an organization that couldn't have much money. the walls had been done over recently in a cream finish, and the place was clean and neat as a cellophaned package. seated on the stage, he looked down at the dark faces, of various shades and expressions, some half-smiling, others looking up with solemn earnestness. he heard but didn't listen to the other speakers, because what they had to say little concerned him: announcements about the toussaint elks, committee reports, plans for a barbecue and dance in the hall next month for the benefit of old or disabled elks. it had become a cliché to speak of his people as a happy race. they were, it was said, always laughing. true, at least to an extent. but laughter could hide as well as exult. there was often about their faces in repose, beneath the mask of everyday expressions, a deep sadness. perhaps it went far back into their turbulent, tragic history; perhaps it told the story down to the present, when their lives were still held within spiked walls. ... what was there about negroes that made so many white people fear and distrust them, want to keep them on the other the white band side of the fence? it couldn't be altogether their color. dark people from india and asia, people often darker than most negroes, were accepted socially, considered of exotic interest. a good many g. i.'s had married japanese girls—a race far more alien than the descendants of african slaves generated through white dalliances, brought up in recent generations to do the same things white americans did, to like the same things. nobody got much exercised over japanese brides, though some undoubtedly disapproved. it must be a deep-seated, unrecognized sense of guilt. guilt for what their great-grandfathers, themselves descendants of more ruthless traders, had accepted and clung to, a past that white southerners of today had been forced, reluctantly, to repudiate, to disclaim. many northerners, too, resented the negroes, particularly if they lived or worked among them. after all, slavery had been accepted, if not practiced, for a long time in the north. they too were guilty, so they too were angry. as for the immigrants who came after slavery had been ended, no doubt they were not sorry to find people whom even they, poor and harassed as they were, could look down on. there was-you couldn't get away from it-a certain obli- gation to do something for these freed (probably too soon) niggers. you often resented whomever you felt forced to help. why couldn't they have gone back to africa, gone anywhere, not stayed around to flaunt their black and yellow and brown faces at their betters and demand white men's jobs, even a chance to get educated and compete with white folks in business and in the professions? yes, you could see the genesis of a lot of resentment, but you couldn't make them, the white people, see that they were not actuated by any rational compulsion (however more simply you might put an the white band it), but were nursing a tribal taboo which their witch doctors, their politicians, their leaders, encouraged. he did listen to the entertainment. there was a soprano with a too-shrill voice, a tenor of real quality, a pianist, a boy of sixteen or so, who had a true gift, who played two chopin waltzes with understanding and a touch of poetry. this tall boy with long arms and thin, tapering fingers should get some- where. the chairman introduced ned. he had planned to speak briefly-the program had been rather long—but he had come to the hall hardly knowing what he would say. he was think- ing, as he uttered the usual opening amenities, what he would tell them. then it came to him what he should stress. “your chairman, dr. simpson, has explained to you why i'm here, though i'm sure most of you already knew. we negroes have no desire to throw the south into turmoil, de- spite substantial opinion to the contrary. and yet we have felt, many of us, for a long time that desegregation of the schools, integration if you like, was a necessary step not only toward a fairer, more equal educational opportunity for us, but also toward better race relations. that may sound strange to you, in view of the noticeable lack of enthusiasm with which this move has been received. however, i firmly be- lieve that if it is given a fair trial, integration will be a means of better understanding between the two races. if the white people could get to know us at closer range, they wouldn't find us so bad, after all. and it wouldn't hurt us either to know more of the white people. we'd find out, i'm sure, that they are not all hard-hearted, arrogant, and eager to keep us from the better things in life. the french have a saying which means that to know all is to forgive all. like most sayings, that one is not altogether true, but there's a lot of truth in it.” the white band he paused, and looking over the rows of earnest, upturned faces, he added, “of course, individually we've always had understanding, even affection between the races. hardly one of us but knows some white man or woman who has done innumerable kind things for him or perhaps for his family. and we've reciprocated. we've helped to bring up their children. we used to drive and look after their horses when they were the means of getting around; now we drive their cars. there is already as close a relationship as there could be between children in a schoolroom. but mass opinion al- ways lags behind individual knowledge and belief. sometimes it's necessary to pass a law before that vague and yet tangible thing, mass opinion, can catch up with what you and i have known for a long time. “another thing i want to mention. you've heard it said communists are behind this thing. i wouldn't know. i'm not one.” they laughed. “i dare say they are, particularly behind the opposition it has aroused. for they thrive on tur- moil. but one angle i want to point out to you, and remember it if anyone comes along trying to sign you up for the party or trying to tell you our democracy is a failure. this decision of the supreme court decreeing an end to segregation in the schools was handed down in the regular order of our demo- cratic government. the case went to the highest court in a routine way and was decided there as any other case is. it was not the act of revolutionaries, nor did it result from the sudden seizure of power by some clique. no, it was an ex- pression of our democracy. “one thing more i want to add. i'm simply repeating what's obvious, what's evident to you all, when i say that unfortu- nately the feelings stirred up by the desegregation decision have made a tense situation all over the south, particularly here in baynesville, probably because it happened to be the the white band ce v u tmost sca find on a jury or coming out of a show or watching an ex- cavation for a building. at the order of the riverport chapter's instructor, they raised their right arms and repeated after him, “i pledge myself solemnly to rededicate myself to god and country and the white race. i promise to obey the lawful orders of the officers of the white band. i pledge allegiance to the flag of my country and to the white race and agree to do my utmost to advance the cause of both.” a little ambiguous, joe reflected. another officer of the chapter came around with a tray of the beautifully wrought masks. the cloth must be satin. the recruits put them on and formed a platoon in front of the others. they were happy; they'd been swallowed by a secret organization, and joe imagined he could see self-con- sciousness and obsequiousness melting into the anonymity of the order, to be replaced by a new courage. there were several speeches by officers of the two chapters in the suburban areas. they were dull, droning talks, filled with platitudes about our glorious heritage and the threats of inferior races and alien radical influences. joe stopped listen- ing. he was thinking of his early days in the senate-the brief time he imagined that he might step out and be his own man. the war had ended less than four years before, and the senate chamber was clamorous with discussions about the new u. n., reconversion, inflation, and other postwar com- plexities. he tried to face these problems with a lofty posture -idealistic, above regional or even partisan considerations. but the south, his own state, kept intruding. it was fine when they got on federal-aid highways or federal aid to schools, perennial subjects which everybody was for, at least in princi- ple. but then somebody would drag up that old, beaten-up anti-lynching bill, which kept returning in slightly different the white band . they talked football a while. then they were self-con- sciously quiet. sam opened the second quart and passed it around and they got lively again. somebody told a dirty story, which reminded someone else about the traveling man and ... it was some time before they ran out of stories. nobody was showing the liquor too much, but all of them felt bolder, more ready to carry out their plans, especially blake mcleod, the youngest, who, until he got four or five drinks, had been walking about nervously. ner ned tarver came out of the colored elks' hall with a lot of others. the officers of the lodge shook hands with them. the exalted ruler offered to drive him to his hotel, but ned explained that it was only four blocks, and he'd sleep better for a little walk. then ned noticed a cluster of police around the entrance. a captain spotted ned and pointed him out to two police- men. they approached the lawyer. one of them said, “you tarver?” “that's right.” “mind if we ..." at that moment there were cries up the street, in the opposite direction. only four or five houses away flames suddenly swept from a roof. everyone, including the policemen who had been about to guard ned, ran toward the burning house. ned, left alone, hesitated, then followed the crowd. he had gone only a few steps when a car stopped. three men got out. ned hardly noticed them; he assumed they were going to the fire. but, without a word or an instant's warning, he felt an arm circle his neck. he had no time for an outcry. he tried to struggle, but the powerful arm shut off his breath. the white band another man seized his legs. they lifted him off his feet, car- ried him to the car, thrust him in. on the floor of the car he still tried to fight, to call out. but one of the men quickly circled his face with a gag ... adhesive tape. he was held down, helpless. he heard the door slam. the car started up, gathered speed. he'd had a confused impression of grotesque faces-animals, a leering clown. masks, he realized as he lay helplessly on the floor of the back seat. no one, no passer-by, no hanger-on from the meeting, had seen the incident. they had all run to the fire. in a little while a big crowd was pressed around the side- walk and street in front of the blazing house. the fire must have been burning quite a while before it was discovered. no one saw it when it was a small glow in a back room. no one saw an undersized negro run from the back, climb a fence, and escape down an alley. the scream of sirens announced fire engines, summoned by radio from a police prowl car. the twelve policemen who had been on duty outside the elks' hall pushed back the crowd. “get back, get back, watch yourself, liable to get hurt." six fire-fighting trucks dashed up. hose was spun out, at- tached, and firemen ran toward the crackling, smoke-fogged house. the place was all in flames by now. it was too late to save it. but the firemen could and did prevent the fire from spreading. negroes who lived in adjoining houses had run out in terror, some in their night clothing. “ 'twas empty'," a negro told the police captain. "ain't nobody lived there sence las' year. house 'bout to fall apart.” others confirmed this fact. then the captain remembered the white band "that's good. the old dump, what you can see of it, doesn't look like it's much loss.” a police sergeant touched their arms lightly. “please get back, fellows. that front wall's tippin' over, and there'll be sparks from here to hell.” the two students retreated. the crowd, pushed by the police, began edging back, faster when those on the outer fringes realized the danger. tim and eggy slipped through to the far side of the back- ward-surging negroes. there was a house set back on an elevation from the street, and they climbed up the three steps from the sidewalk and stood in the yard. they could see fine now. the big hoses were being played on the houses on either side of the fire. this prevented sparks from taking hold. a little knot of negroes, perhaps six or seven, climbed up beside the white students in the yard. eggy was watching the fire, and tim, noticing them, turned away, thinking they had come for a better look. he didn't notice the approach of a well-built negro, not tall, hatless, with a young face and gray hair. “what you white boys doin' here?” he demanded. the students turned around. “same as you,” eggy said. “watching the fire.” “maybe you done set it off,” said the negro, stepping closer. “oh, you're crazy,” tim o'hearn said. “we just happened to be passing.” “i'se crazy, is i?” the negro stepped closer, and his com- panions gathered around him. the leader gave prentice a shove. infuriated, tim jumped forward and swung his left fist swiftly. it landed solidly on the negro's face, and he staggered back into the arms of his followers. they surged about the two students. tim's fists moved fast, landing here the white band “what people have blamed the white band?” he countered. "well, doctor gavin.” he was president of a negro college; you'd expect him to blame them. “and harry holmes.” "i thought harry had retired,” joe said. “he has, but he's editor emeritus, and a figure around here.” "sure.” “and payne foster.” payne foster was a leading southern liberal. he wrote on economic and sociological subjects for learned journals. "it's the first i've heard of it,” joe said. “i can tell you this. i'm sure the white band didn't do it. our policy is strictly against violence. however, i intend to make my own investi- gation of ... whatever happened down there. if any bands- men are involved, they'll soon cease to be bandsmen. we can't control all the hoodlums on the fringes of this—this ten- sion between the races. i can say this: we'll help the au- thorities in every way we can to control the more lawless elements and keep order." “thanks, senator. that's fine.” joe hurried back to the hall. he took dave and hank off in a corner and told them what had happened. “i think i'd better go down there right away,” he said. “get the band off the hook. see what the situation is. want to go along, dave?” “sure, i'll go,” dave agreed. “want me too?” hank asked. “you'd better stay and hold things down at headquarters,” joe said. “of course the trouble's probably exaggerated, but you'll get plenty of queries. and you know what to tell them.' “i know." dave and joe went to the office in back of the hall and the white band tarver were at law school. that night ned had asked him to go somewhere. “i want you to meet somebody.” they went along u street, in the heart of a negro district, down a side street and up to ned's small apartment. a woman, an older woman, was waiting there. “this is my mother,” ned explained. “ma, this is joe duf- field. i've told you a lot about him.” joe had felt a shock. somehow he had thought of ned's mother as light-skinned, almost, if not quite, as white as ned. here was a dark yellow woman. it didn't seem possible that she was ned's mother. but she was a handsome woman, with fine, regular features, a winning smile. she glistened as if scrubbed, and a faint perfume surrounded her. she had on a pretty blue coat-suit, which ned no doubt had bought her. joe held out his hand, and ned's mother shook it firmly. "it's shore nice to meet you, mr. duffield. anyone 'at's been as good to my boy as i know you have. do sit down, mr. joe.” he sat. she still stood, and he got up. “sit down, please, mrs. tarver.” finally she sat down on the edge of a chair, looking uncom- fortable. "my name's liz,” she said. “all right, liz then. your boy's a credit to you.” she laughed a little sadly. “ain't no credit to me, mr. joe. he done it all hisself. and it warn’t easy, i know that. we never had much back home, but of all the chillun, ned he was just dee-termined to get someplace.” "he will,” joe assured her. “he has already." ned went to the tiny kitchen to make coffee and fix sand- wiches. liz tarver turned away. when she looked back at joe there were tears in her eyes, though she was smiling. “if other white folks had been as good to him as you have, mr. the white band joe, 'twouldn't have been half the job it's been, him gettin' an education an' all.” "i haven't really helped him any,” joe said. “he's done it all himself. but i'm proud to be his friend." he had been ... once. dave beckett touched his arm. “watch yourself, joe. we're inside baynesville, and you're still driving like a dervish. we don't want to start out by getting ourselves put in the pokey." joe reduced the speed to thirty, and they rolled along a silent street that led to courthouse square. the white band they returned to the living room. ella had kept the chil- dren quiet, telling them it was all a game and the men would leave directly. she spoke to them calmly, though her voice was trembling. “you believe me now? will you go now, so we can go back to sleep?” "i guess so," bill dade replied. “but we'll be back, gal, don't think we won't. we'll find him.” doc had tossed away a smoked-down cigarette. it landed, unnoticed, in a curtain. a moment later the curtain flared up. ella screamed. “water, water,” she cried, “get water!” but it was too late to think about a pitcher or a bucket of water. the flame licked across to the curtain of the adjoining window. the woodwork caught. the fire swept upward, enveloping the whole side of the living room. ella caught the children, pulled them out of the room and onto the front porch. "let's get the hell out of here,” bill dade shouted. the men ran out to their car and jumped in. ella stood on the porch, helpless. she saw the whole living room blazing, the house darkened with stifling smoke, the fire spreading to the back, urged by a stiff draft from the open door. she stood in shocked despair, watching the fire destroy the house they had furnished with such delight. there'd been no time to save anything, not one of the little treasures they had accumu- lated patiently, one at a time. the smoke drove them off the porch. holding little ella with one hand, hamp with the other, ella ran screaming to the nearest house. bill dade turned the car around, headed for the mobile turnpike. “we can't fool with tryin' to meet fats,” he ex- plained, pushing the accelerator. “before you know it the street'll be crawlin' with cops and firemen. i know a place the white band torn down; it was about to fall in. the firemen smelt kerosene in the ruins, in back, and they figure somebody set the fire. they couldn't save the house, but they did prevent the fire from spreading. down the street a fight broke out between a couple of white boys, students at the college, and some nig- gers. what it was all about i haven't been able to find out. but one of the boys was hurt pretty bad, and he was promi- nent. tim o'hearn. he got stabbed in the chest with a switch-blade. his condition is reported serious.” “he's a football player, isn't he?” joe asked. “a football player! don't you keep up with our athletes, senator? he's one of the best in the south. an outstanding back. may make all-american this year, if this don't stop him. didn't you read about that seventy-yard run he made against alabama last saturday?” “i'm afraid,” joe explained, “i don't follow football so closely any more. i certainly used to. i'm sorry he was hurt. what was he doing in niggertown?” "he tells me,” chief bannock said, “he and his friend had just run to the fire, and were watching it from a little distance when these niggers jumped them. i believe him. he wouldn't hardly have gone into niggertown looking for trouble with just one other guy, and that one no athlete but a sort of book- worm, i hear. i'm holding four niggers. one of them is bear- cat turner, the former prize fighter. some of those niggers had switch-blades, and a couple of guns were found on the ground of this yard where the fight took place.” the chief swished his handkerchief across his face. “that's all there was to it. there wasn't any riot. god almighty! the dispatch sent three reporters and two photographers, and they're still cruising around, thinking we've suppressed something. the a. p. and the u. p. sent men from their riverport bureaus. three new york papers and two chicago eau a rope held his arms tightly to his sides, and, with the adhesive sealing his mouth, ned tarver was helpless. there was no use trying to struggle or shout. three men sat over him, one resting his feet against ned's back. he breathed with some difficulty, for the adhesive touched the lower part of his nostrils. he lay on the floor of the back seat and felt the car riding smoothly, apparently not too fast. the three men in back and the two in front were silent except for a few muttered com- ments between the driver and the man beside him, apparently about where to turn, which road to take. there was no use even trying to think. he could only wait and dread and hope something would intervene to save him from whatever these men planned. he felt the car jolt over a bump, then travel less smoothly. it seemed to go in and out of ruts. it obviously had turned into a dirt road in indifferent condition. he had on his over- the white band coat, and he wasn't cold, although the air that swished in from the front was sharp. the car jolted over the bad road, slowly, carefully, for maybe ten minutes. it stopped, and there was low-voiced talk back and forth among several of the men. the driver said, “just ahead,” and they jolted a little further, then turned again. the side road actually was smoother. they went along it a short way and stopped. all the men got out. the three in back stood by their door. one called, “all right, boy, get out.” he got up, with some difficulty, since he couldn't move his arms. one of the men helped him out, and he stood blinking in the car lights. the five men gathered about him wore their absurd halloween masks. he had a glimpse of thick woods all about, and in the distance he heard a stream, a quiet night voice. the air filtered through the woods was cold and touched with fragrance. the big man with a clown's face-thin, yellow hair, long nose, leering grin of hideous teeth-gave an order which ned could not understand. but the two men close to him unfas- tened the rope binding his arms against his sides. then they ripped off the adhesive circling his face, taking, he felt, some of the skin. he stood free, ungagged, but the five men were close around him. it would have been folly to try to get away. he could have called for help. who would hear him in this wild spot? there was not a sound except the faint noise of a small wind brushing fallen leaves and the purring of the stream. if he fought or tried a break, probably he'd be hurt worse than they planned to hurt him. so he stood and waited, suppressing a stifling fear, unable somehow to believe that anything bad would happen to him. the men seemed to be waiting too-for something. they the white band s. jesus, it hurts like hell. let's get the hell out of here. sam, you drive. i can't.” they helped the big man into the back seat, where he set- tled down, groaning and cursing. “wonder what happened to bill dade?” ben blackwell asked. “i don't know,” fats spoke with difficulty. “further-more -i don't-give a good goddam. i'm sure they didn't-get tom goodwin-or they'd-been out here with him. something happened to-to stop 'em. but what the hell do we care? we took care of tarver but-good.” “should we have left him there?” blake mcleod wondered. “why the bejesus not? he'll-he'll come to in a couple of hours, though the last guy i hit didn't come to for three hours. he'll-find-oh, christ!- find his way back. he's lucky we didn't-string him up.” sam carruthers drove as fast as he could over the deep- rutted road. when they got to the highway, he let the car spurt forward. there wasn't any danger now. nobody could pin a thing on them. but fats gilliam, for all his groaning, was thinking hard. as they approached the city he said, “look-you guys. take me up to my-my apartment, and all of you-come along.” “but don't you need to see a doctor?” blake mcleod asked. “shut up,” fats snapped. “i'm gonta see a doctor. but first we-we gotta make it look good. don't you-you damn fools ever use your heads? now slow down, sam, and go into town -a roundabout way-i'll tell you where to turn-goddam, my back hurts. i'll tell you each turn-to make.” under his direction, sam drove around back streets, slowly, and then rolled down the street to fats' apartment house. no one was in sight. this had been baynesville's first modern the white band apartment house. six stories, with all the gadgets, and it was still one of the best in town. they parked in front and got into the building without meeting any one. they piled into the self-service elevator and went to the fourth floor. fats found his key and gave it to sam to insert-it was hard for fats to bend over. they entered the apartment very quietly, as fats had directed, and got the lights on. it was a pleasant, bedroom-living room apartment, with larger rooms than you found in the newer apartment houses. the living room was lined with football pictures, the mantel with golf and skeet-shooting and football trophies. fats settled down on a sofa, still moaning that his back was killing him. but he wasn't in too much pain to give directions. “look, you guys—but first, you, sam, look in the cupboard in-oh, god!-the kitchen. you'll find liquor there. for christ's sake get me a drink-quick.” sam did as he was told, and emerged with a whiskey bottle, an empty glass, and a glass of water. fats poured out a quar- ter of a waterglass, tossed it off, and chased it with water. “help yourself, fellows. goddam, that jig's got a kick like a mule.” the bottle of bourbon was almost full, and they found more glasses and helped themselves. blake mcleod poured a drink the size of fats' and drank it straight. fats, his pain numbed for the moment by the whiskey, gave more orders. “look, you guys, you'll find a card table in that closet over there. get it out, set it up. you-you'll find cards and poker chips in the drawer of that desk on the other side. get them. put them-oh, jesus!-stack chips around, and cards. get down some-some ashtrays from the mantel.” “god,” ben blackwell objected, "you ain't gonta start no poker game now?” the white band “don't be a damn fool, ben, any more’n you can help. no, we're not. just fix it like i said, and-ouch!-put some chairs around.” they bustled around, setting up the table, arranging the cards and chips. then, at fats' direction, they put their smoked-down cigarettes in ashtrays on the corners of the table, so that the air was filled with stale smoke. "good,” said fats. “now, listen. try to get it through your heads if you can. we-we've been-jesus! -playing cards here-all evening. see? i got up to change that overhead light. it-it was burnt out, and i slipped and fell-on my side -against that coffee table. see how sharp its edges are? get it? nobody-nobody will ever know the difference. we gotta have an alibi. that son of a bitch's liable sic the f.b.i., god knows who else on us. so nebody's al-already spread something about me, i wish i knew who. so this'll fix us up fine. everybody understand?” they said they did. "good,” fats went on. “if any of you forgets where we were all evening, and makes-damnation!-a crack out of the way, i'll personally cut his throat. got it? okay. now then, you sam, you've still got most of–jesus!-most of your senses, such as they are. you phone doc hurley. hurley, james a. he's surgeon for the team. best man in town on-on trau- matic surgery.” “traum what?" asked til wheeler. til, a wizened, hard- faced man, the oldest in the little group, seldom spoke. he'd said almost nothing all evening, but you could depend on him. he'd sat on ned tarver's legs while fats wielded his belt. “traumatic, tilford. means surgery for conditions involv- ing injuries, as distinct from-goddam it!—from those involv- ing sickness, like appendicitis or stomach ulcers." sam carruthers found the number and phoned. there was the white band a long delay, then they dimly heard a man's voice answering. sam explained what had happened and hung up. “he'll be over as quick as he can throw some clothes on and get his car out of the garage.” “thanks,” said fats. “now-god, it hurts to breathe-you, blake. you've-you've been to college, though i don't know what good it did you. you go by the news office and tell 'em what happened to me. i'm sure doc'll take me to the hospital. it's—it's bad.” “me go by the paper?” young blake mcleod shuddered. “yes, just tell 'em what we-we've agreed on-i mean, what happened. it's better to give it to them that way than have it leak out. that goddam tarver. next time i'll strangle him and dump him in the-olgoochi swamp. jez!” blake took another drink. "all right then, fats, if you like. but they'll ask me a lot of questions.' “so what? can't you answer 'em? good god! it's simple as a straight end run. we played cards. i had a fall. sam, you go with him, see he doesn't get himself balled up, add a word where-ooh!-you have to.” ben blackwell pulled out his handkerchief and dropped a souvenir which he'd forgotten that he picked up. he looked at it. must be tarver's lodge pin. he held it out to the others, laughing. “the sons and daughters of i will arise?” he suggested. fats blinked over at the pin. he was in heavy pain again. he did not bother to tell ben that it was a phi beta kappa key. ben put it back in his pocket. the doorbell buzzed. the doctor. the white band and the read-out head said: two houses burned in negro area football star hurt in rioting desegregation leader missing he read the account over rolls and coffee. there was noth- ing he didn't know. he looked at the local paper. it had the same story, but played down and written more conservatively. he went back to the room. dave was astir. joe gave him the papers, and dave sleepily read the accounts. “well, joe, what do we do now?" joe, pacing the room smoking, paused. “i don't know. wait, i suppose. i have a hunch something worse has hap- pened.” “maybe not.” “i wouldn't offer odds either way. i think i'll go back to headquarters and stick around a while. might be something new. you join me there when you've had breakfast.” "sure.” dave, in his undershirt and shorts, went into the bathroom to shave with the set they had picked up at an all-night drugstore. they'd come away from riverport with- out anything; they hadn't wanted to take time to go by their homes and pack bags. the morning was sharp but clear; the sun, struggling up through mist, would bring a fine, temperate day. joe walked briskly the three blocks to the city hall. steve bannock was home getting some sleep. a lieutenant wendell, chief of detectives, was in charge. he was a short, broad man with a hard, expressionless face. “yes, senator. i've heard you speak, a number of times. things are quiet in niggertown, not a sign of trouble since the fire at the goodwins was put out. no, the house is dam- the white band joe glared at the coroner. the doctor went over to the basket, lifted back one side of the cover. “his name is ned tarver,” joe said. “did he maybe work for you once?” the coroner asked. joe, controlling his voice with difficulty, said, “he never worked for me. he is a nigra, though he's an important man. he was. he was a lawyer, general counsel for the league for racial justice.” "oh, that.” dr. koester spread his hands in an ambiguous gesture. “the desegregation thing." “yes.” the line of ned tarver's jaw was blue, the right side. otherwise his face was unmarked. his eyes were slightly open, as if he were musing over something he had seen. there was no expression of pain or anguish on his face, but a strangely peaceful look, as if he had found sudden surcease from the hard struggle, the turmoil, the frustrations he had fought through all his life. his voice shaky, joe said, “i'd advise you, doctor, to make a thorough examination. there'll be hell to pay when his friends in the north learn what's happened.” the coroner nodded. “i don't doubt it. and i'll do that. thank you, senator.” joe turned away, left the morgue. on the street he stopped to light a cigarette. this, then, was the end of all ned's dreams, all his hard work, his persistence against heavy odds, his long, brave journey to escape the fate he was born into, the fetch-and-carry life of the cabin between the cotton patch and the pines. a slab in the morgue. it was, eventually, the end of every man, but not in this dreadful way, this violent early thwarting of all he had become and all he hoped to be. joe turned to self-blame. it was his fault. he could have prevented it if he had acted more decisively. but what could the white band “i believe you told me once that you knew him.” "i didn't tell you how well i knew him. we were in law school together-close friends, too. i admired him. i still do ... did. i don't care if he was a nigger, or whether you or anyone else likes it.” the dark young man laughed. “you should know i'm not that kind of a bigot, joe. i don't care. i went to school up north too. i sometimes met nigras at parties and places. it didn't bother me. i could imagine being much more congenial with some than with a lot of white men i've known.” joe did not respond directly. he said, “i didn't tell you or hank, because it was pretty vague, but i was tipped off to this.” "to what?” dave finished his whiskey sour. “you mean that something would happen to tarver?” "his name wasn't mentioned, but i was tipped that a bunch of goons planned to work over some leaders of the integration fight. wouldn't he be first on the list?” “i guess so.” “i heard, too, who was leading the bunch.” “you did? who?" joe lowered his voice and leaned across the table. “fats gilliam.” . "fats! hell, he wouldn't be that big a fool. i've known fats a long time, and he never struck me as dumb. besides, he couldn't have done it!" “why?” “because he's in the hospital.” "since when? he was at our board meeting yesterday morning.” "i know. i just heard about this. he and some fellows were playing poker at his apartment last night, and he got up on a chair to fix a light, and he fell against a table. he may have a the white band ruptured kidney. they don't know how bad it is, last i heard.” "when did they take him to the hospital?” “i don't know, joe, maybe one or two o'clock this morn- ing.” “and his friends were with him when he was hurt?” “of course—they were still playing. there were four fel- lows with him. they called the doctor, and the doctor carted him off to the hospital and shot him full of dope. he was in a lot of pain.” joe laughed mirthlessly. “i see. well, he's got an alibi you couldn't break with a sledge-hammer, however he was actually hurt. those guys would swear they were with him all eve- ning.” “of course. i assume so.” "i reckon you're right, dave; he's not dumb.” “but if you heard he was in for such a thing,” dave sug- gested, “why didn't you ..." “the information,” joe explained, "was a little vague. i don't think it would hold up in court. i couldn't accuse him. i talked to him after our meeting. i went as far as i could without accusing him. i told him i'd heard there was trouble impending. i made it more specific. i told him i understood some nigras in baynesville were to be taken out and worked over. he said he hadn't heard anything about it. he was sure no bandsmen would do such a thing. of course you couldn't control all the young hoodlums. ... the goddam hypocrite!” “maybe he wasn't in on it. maybe your information was phony, or let's say mistaken. he could have been doing just what he and those other guys say he was-playing cards all evening at his apartment. he does have poker parties. i sat in on one once. they took everything but my shorts.” dave beckoned to the bartender for another round. “well, the white band we'll have to put out some kind of statement. tarver's friends in the north will raise hell.” "it's your baby now," joe said. "what do you mean?” “what do you think? that i'm through with the white band.” dave leaned over the table, touched joe's arm. “now wait a minute, joe. the band had nothing to do with this.” “how do i know? i wouldn't take one to eight there were no bandsmen in on it. at least an organization like ours is an excuse for all sorts of violence, provides a cloak of safe ano- nymity for men who are ordinarily too cowardly to do what they'd like to do.” “look, joe,” dave said earnestly, “we need you. you've provided the big name we needed to help put us over.” “then you can get another sucker,” joe retorted. "we want you,” dave rushed on. “you're the ideal grand protector. nobody's ever successfully attacked your charac- ter, your integrity. everybody knows you're against lynch- ing, flogging, any sort of violence. this horrible thing won't reflect on you.” “it won't do me any good. besides, i don't want anything more to do with this desegregation thing, with something that's cost the life of a man like ned tarver.” “it's a tragic thing, i'll grant you,” dave admitted. “but remember, it probably would have happened if there hadn't been any white band.” "that may be. but we'll be blamed. we're the big secret society fighting integration. do you think the papers in the north'll discriminate, pause over such niceties as whether some bandsmen did it on their own or some chapter author- ized it by resolution? you'll hear plenty from capitol hill too.” the white band “it might help us actually to tighten up on the chapters,” dave argued. “tell 'em they'll be held responsible for vio- lence in their areas. but after all, we couldn't control every man in ..." "i've heard that till it nauseates me.” dave had another whiskey sour. joe waved away another drink. dave lowered his voice. “you haven't done anything to be ashamed of. and if you get out now you'll be passing up ... well, the opportunity of a lifetime. such a chance won't come again. it's not as if you had to scuttle your con- science to go along with this movement. nobody's ever asked you to condone or wink at the tendencies of the more sadistic rednecks and crackers and hillbillies." joe did not reply. the dark young man thought of some- thing else. “here's an angle maybe you haven't considered, joe. if you quit now it will be admitting, in effect, that you think the white band was to blame, that you want to get out from under. you can stay and insist it was innocent.” “at least,” joe said, “in quitting i'll be repudiating all such goddam cowardly forms of vengeance, this and others prob- ably to come.” dave paused and said, “just promise me one thing, joe. we've known each other a long time. you were a sort of hero of mine when i was in school and you first went to con- gress, riverport's brilliant young political leader.” joe laughed. “a hell of a hero you picked.” “anyway we've been friends a long time. promise me this much, joe, promise an old friend. that you'll wait until to- morrow before you do anything, issue any statement. sleep over it.” “i don't have to sleep over some things." “no, but promise me anyway.” “i'm going back to riverport,” joe hedged. il consenso the white band “okay. go home and think it over carefully. it won't matter if nothing's done one way or the other for twenty-four hours. then i'll see you in riverport." “all right,” joe said wearily. “i'll grant you that much, dave. but i think i'll come back here tomorrow, see what's been done. for the moment i've had enough of this horrible little town. i'll be back to see what's been done in the way of investigation, though anyone's a sap to think steve bannock and his small-town cops could get anywhere even if they wanted to, or that a sheriff's office filled with political semi- pros would make a move. you stick around, dave, see what you can find out. i'll meet you right here in this tavern at ten-thirty tomorrow morning." “good. and think it over from all angles, joe.” "i'll do that, dave, though i don't see what i can think of that i haven't thought of already.” they got up. dave paid the bill, and they left the tavern. the white band wizard, that guy. he says he'll get me through without an operation. at first he didn't know. he kept me doped up all yesterday, but the pain's about gone. he says it's clearing it- self up. i guess i'm lucky. it wasn't a serious break in the kidney-more of a bruise, i think, though i'm not too clear about what happened.” “it was tough, having a fall like that.” dave sat down. fats chuckled. “and i'd been winning all evening. the others were crabbing, like losers always do, and i said i guessed i was just lucky. then the light burned out, and i got up to fix it and ... blooey, i fell and hit my side on that table. jesus, how it hurt!” “i'll bet.” “any more excitement around town?” dave said everything was quiet, had been since that last fire. hardly a soul on the streets last night. “it's too bad about that nigger tarver,” fats said carefully. “yeah. joe's all upset about it.” dave didn't tell fats that joe was resolved to quit; no use spreading that until there was no chance he might change his mind. fats crushed out his cigarette in an ashtray. “joe's a good guy, good as they come, and he has as much actual ability as anybody in that senate, but he's soft in some ways, in some ways a bleeding heart. he worries too much.” “maybe.” "i'm sure that bunch, whoever took tarver out, didn't in- tend to kill him.” fats caught himself. “i mean, my theory is they gave him a hiding, and some way he got hurt worse than they intended. that's just my theory. naturally, i don't know what happened. but it looks to me like if they'd in- tended to kill him they'd have just strung him up or shot him full of holes. see what i mean?” some the white band va use “yeah, but the effect was the same, whatever they in- tended.” "sure. well, it looks like georgia tech and maybe ole miss-we've got to play 'em both-have tried to put a jinx on the team. i get knocked out, and then my bright and particu- lar star, tim o'hearn, gets sent here. he's on the next floor.” “i understand,” dave said, “he's getting along fine." “yeah, i heard this morning he'd be out in a week and maybe back in uniform in another week. he was just lucky. you know, i heard there was trouble brewing in niggertown. i was tipped. i heard some niggers were going around with switch-blades and guns and blackjacks. well, it turned out they were.” "from what i hear,” said dave, “that boy, your backfield star, wasn't doing a thing. he and another boy were just watching the fire, the first one, where that vacant house burned up.” “i'm sure that's true,” fats said. “tim wouldn't bother anybody. i know the boy. those tough niggers just jumped him, for nothing at all. you know, i was just thinking. yan- kees and nigger-loving southerners start out to tell us what we're to do. well, they ain't doing so well at it." “what do you mean, fats?”. "well, take doc davison. he had a nice job as president of our college for ten years. where is he now? not here. he's someplace in pennsylvania, having to get adjusted to a new job. why? because he undertook to do some integrating on his own. take harry holmes, the great editor. where's he? out, retired, fini. he won't write any more editorials telling us what a bunch of bastards we all are for not wanting to live with a swarm of smelly niggers. and tarver, coming down here from harlem to try to force us to run our schools the way they think we ought to, and stirring up our local the white band of his life. but he hadn't been able to bring himself to divorce (and she wouldn't take the initiative) or simply clear out and leave her. there had been his political career to consider. but now ... well, what had he decided about the white band? he found that he didn't know. nobody could think straight with someone carrying on as she had all evening. he could have gone out, but he was too tired, too dispirited, and he simply sat and took it, trying to calm her, which was like trying to quiet an electrical storm. he hadn't mentioned his dilemma to her. what was the use? at such times she was concerned only with her own irrational problems, her chaotic thoughts. as well talk back to a record-player. he lit a cigarette, saw the dawn brightening the foliage in back of the house. but he had decided once. with finality, he thought. in such a situation your first conclusion was gen- erally the wisest. then dave had started in on him, trying with his beguiling sophistries to change his mind. there was no logical reason for changing it. he saw ned tarver lying in the morgue basket like worn- out clothing placed in a hamper to be discarded. he wouldn't bother the south any more, and the south wouldn't bother him. in the north, even among some of the more thoughtful southerners, he would be a martyr. but how many rednecks were thinking: serves him right, goddam uppity nigger. it didn't matter to ned what anyone thought. praise and hatred were alike to him. to thy high requiem become a sod. he wondered if ned were somewhere, looking, listening. it was hard to get away from some conception of eternity, even if you didn't believe in it. at least it was comforting. ception of eternity the white band it was agonizing to think of something as unique as a human soul decaying as the body decayed. but it was, after all, part of the body, inseparable from it. the grass withereth the flower fadeth ... nothing lasted. but the word of our god endureth forever. ... that's what it said. who knew? the simple could believe. but let's be practical. the white band ... perhaps it was, in a technical sense, innocent. but was it in the larger sense? other men would be beaten, some killed, before this issue was settled one way or another, or merely forgotten. could the white band be blamed? yes and no. his successor might wink at violence, if not encourage it. even if officially it con- tinued to insist it was for lawful resistance (and could there be lawful resistance when the law had spoken its final word?), men would be encouraged and incited by the anonymous, protective masks to do, alone or in little groups, what they'd be afraid to do without the tacit force of that collective cour- age. no, if he stayed he'd feel that in a way he was condoning the fate of ned tarver. well, what would he do now? he went to the bathroom, began shaving. he could practice law. but he'd abandoned his riverport practice when he went to congress, or almost so. it would be better to set up in washington, where he knew the ropes. but the only lucrative practice there was as a lobbyist of a sort: your clients were corporations or associations, and you went the white band politics, especially southern politics—but there had been com- pensations. he had been successful, achieved more in a few years than many men accomplished all their lives. he had been honored, looked up to, he had his position. why should he keep downgrading himself, attacking himself for losing aims, dreams, ideals, which had dropped by the wayside, one at a time, inevitably? there was no sense in it. he was just being a damned fool. but still he didn't know what he'd do. he'd have to de- cide once and for all in two or three hours. right now he wanted coffee more than anything-several cups. ou joe drove into baynesville at twenty minutes to ten. he had fifty minutes to kill before meeting dave. he rejected a glancing thought of going by the hotel. the time of the ap- pointment was soon enough. besides, dave might have gone home last night. the incongruity of their rendezvous in baynesville sud- denly amused joe. they could just as well have met at their offices in riverport, or anywhere else. he recalled that when he had suggested the place he had felt that he wanted to return to baynesville to see what was going on, if anything more had happened, if there was any pretense of an investigation. all this he probably could have learned as well in riverport. there was a conspiratorial air about their meeting here, as if they had some dark secret to discuss. well, in a way they had. the morning was crisp, with the sun fighting through an early mist and slowly driving it away. cars and buses felt their way into courthouse square, discharging men and as a s the white band women who did not have to be at their offices or shops very early. the town looked busy and tranquil. he drove slowly out of the square, down two blocks, and found himself in front of the baynesville general hospital, a new, square, brick-and-stone building of five stories which covered a whole block. on an impulse he parked and went in. he asked the young woman at the information desk how two patients were getting along, mr. jake gilliam and mr. tim o'hearn. both, she said, were doing fine. "did you want to see mr. gilliam?" she asked. “no,” he said, “but i'd like to see mr. o'hearn if i could.” “go right up. it's the third floor, . the elevators are straight ahead.” “thank you very much.” he found tim o'hearn seated on an armchair, in a pale- blue bathrobe. his color was good, he did not look at all sick, and he leaned forward in the chair in an attitude that reminded joe of a prize fighter on his stool eager for the bell to ring. it was what hospitals call a semi-private room, but the second bed was unoccupied. tim grinned and got to his feet. “why, senator duffield! gee, it's nice of you to come to see me.” “don't stand up,” joe said. “take it easy. i'm glad to see you so well.” “oh, i feel fine, senator. i think they should let me go, but they're keeping me a few days longer. i guess i was lucky.” "i understand you were.” joe pulled up a small chair and sat down. the young man looked away, suddenly serious. “senator, it turned out just as i was afraid-that man getting lynched, those fires. i feel like some way i should have been able to prevent it, with what i knew.” the white band “i've felt the same way,” joe confessed. “and i did what i could-at least, all i felt i could at the time. i went to the police chief, steve bannock, and to others. i even talked to ... our friend, but i didn't feel that i could directly accuse him. after all, what you heard..." “i'm still willing," tim interrupted, “to tell what i told you to the grand jury or the prosecuting attorney or anyone who'd do anything about it.” "i know you are,” said joe, “but it would do no good. for one thing, our friend has an airtight alibi.” "i read in the paper how he was hurt. how he was sup- posed to have been hurt. i still think maybe ..." “well, we don't know, tim, but he has four witnesses. you can't get around that. we'll have to forget ... what was our little secret, yours and mine. even if he didn't have this alibi, i'm compelled to say, tim, i don't think your evidence would hold up in court.” "i don't suppose it would. i don't know much about courts.” joe laughed. “the less you know the better." “but, senator, the way it happened ... wasn't it just like i told you, that fellow tarver at the nigger elks', everything? of course i didn't know who they meant.” “that's true, tim.” “but we can't prove anything?” “that's the whole difficulty, tim.” the student recalled, “i've read every paper i could get hold of. do you think maybe those guys in halloween masks that burned the nigger lawyer's house were the same ones that killed this ned tarver?" "it could be,” joe reflected. “how can anyone know?" “they might've had him trussed up in their car all the time." "it's possible.” the white band "i'm not for desegregation, integration, whatever you want to call it,” tim added, “but i've always hated bullies. only cowards would gang up on somebody.” “you're right, tim.” “and this ned tarver, he was an educated nigra, a lawyer, wasn't he?" “highly educated, a very able man.” tim turned to something else. “you know, senator, i didn't do a thing to get that switch-blade in my gullet. eg–tom prentice and i were just watching the fire when those niggers jumped us. i'll never know why.” “i believe you, tim.” "we decided we'd drop down to niggertown and see if there was any excitement, see if there was anything to what we'd both heard was going to happen.” “that's natural enough.” they paused, and joe started to get up, but settled back when he saw that tim had something more to say. “they say i can play football in ten days or two weeks. that would get me in our three biggest games. but i think i'm through with football.” joe leaned forward. “why, tim?" “i don't want any part of that big lug any more. i don't care how many witnesses he has, i'll always think ... well, the thing is just too pat, the way he tells it.” joe did not answer directly. he turned away reflectively, then said, “tim, it's not my business to advise you. that's a matter for your own conscience, even your own taste. but i do feel you'd be making a mistake to quit. you wouldn't be spiting the coach alone. you'd be taking it out on the whole campus, on the students, the alumni, all the friends of the col- lege who trust you to do your best. it would cripple the team of universie the libra contending forces he cut the ropes that bound her, and she sank upon the ground again. (see page .) contending forces a romance illustrative of negro life north and south by pauline e. hopkins with illustrations and cover design by r. emmett owen “ the civility of no race can be perfect whilst another race is degraded.” emerson. boston, mass. the colored co-operative publishing co. park square reprinted by mnemosyne publishing co., inc. miami, florida h p copyright, , by pauline e. hopkins, copyright, , by r. s. elliott. all rights reserved. first mnemosyne reprinting reprinted from a copy in the fisk university library negro collection. copyright © mnemosyne publishing co., inc. miami, florida library of congress catalog card number: - printed in the united states of america - dedication. to tbe friends of bumanity evergwbere otter tbiš bumble tribute written by one of a proscribed race. contents. pagb • . . . . . chapter i. a retrospect of the past . ii. the days “ before the war" iii. " coming events cast their shadows before” iv. the tragedy . v. ma smith's lodging-house vi. ma smith's lodging-house - concluded vii. friendship viii. the sewing-circle ix. “ love took up the harp of life" x. the fair xi. the fair concluded. xii. a colored politician xiii. the american colored league . xiv. luke sawyer speaks to the league. xv. will smith's defense of his race . xvi. john langley consults madam frances xvii. the canterbury club dinner xviii. what easter sunday brought xix. the bitter arrow xx. mother-love . xxi. after many days xxii. “so he bringeth them into their desired haven' . . . list of illustrations. pagb he cut the ropes that bound her, and she sank upon the ground again (page ) frontispiece. pollock stood a little apart, gazing in amazement at the scene before him . . . dora threw herself on her knees beside her mother's chair “ broke open the doors, seized my father, and hung him to the nearest tree" . he saw what appeared to be a field of ice and snow, vast and unbroken . . . "go! go! will you go?" interrupted sappho “ everybody was a-lookin' an' a-gappin' at us *there before his blinded vision stood the realization of his dream preface. in giving this little romance expression in print, i am not actuated by a desire for noto- riety or for profit, but to do all that i can in an humble way to raise the stigma of degra- dation from my race. while i make no apology for my somewhat abrupt and daring venture within the wide field of romantic literature, i ask the kind in- dulgence of the generous public for the many crudities which i know appear in the work, and their approval of whatever may impress them as being of value to the negro race and to the world at large. the colored race has historians, lecturers, ministers, poets, judges and lawyers,- men of brilliant intellects who have arrested the favor- able attention of this busy, energetic nation. but, after all, it is the simple, homely tale, unassumingly told, which cements the bond of brotherhood among all classes and all com- plexions. fiction is of great value to any people as a preserver of manners and customs — religious, political and social. it is a record of growth preface. and development from generation to genera- tion. no one will do this for us; we must ourselves develop the men and women who will faithfully portray the inmost thoughts and feelings of the negro with all the fire and romance which lie dormant in our history, land, as yet, unrecognized by writers of the anglo-saxon race. the incidents portrayed in the early chap- ters of the book actually occurred. ample proof of this may be found in the archives of the courthouse at newberne, n. c., and at the national seat of government, washing- ton, d. c. in these days of mob violence, when lynch- law is raising its head like a venomous mon- ster, more particularly in the southern portion of the great american republic, the retrospec- tive mind will dwell upon the history of the past, seeking there a solution of these mon- strous outbreaks under a government founded upon the greatest and brightest of principles for the elevation of mankind. while we ponder the philosophy of cause and effect, the world is horrified by a fresh outbreak, and the shocked mind wonders that in this — the brightest epoch of the christian era – such things are. mob-law is nothing new. southern senti- preface. ment has not been changed; the old ideas close in analogy to the spirit of the buccaneers, who formed in many instances the first settlers of the southland, still prevail, and break forth clothed in new forms to force the whole re- public to an acceptance of its principles. "rule or ruin" is the motto which is com- mitting the most beautiful portion of our glorious country to a cruel revival of piratical methods; and, finally, to the introduction of anarchy. is this not so? let us compare the happenings of one hundred – two hundred years ago, with those of today. the difference between then and now, if any there be, is so slight as to be scarcely worth mentioning. the atrocity of the acts committed one hun- dred years ago are duplicated today, when slavery is supposed no longer to exist. i have tried to tell an impartial story, leaving it to the reader to draw conclusions. i have tried to portray our hard struggles here in the north to obtain a respectable living and a partial education. i have presented both sides of the dark picture lynching and concubi- nage — truthfully and without vituperation, pleading for that justice of heart and mind for my people which the anglo-saxon in america never withholds from suffering hu- manity. - preface. in chapter xiii. i have used for the ad- dress of the hon. herbert clapp the state- ments and accusations made against the negro by ex-governor northen of georgia, in his memorable address before the congrega- tional club at tremont temple, boston, mass., may , . in chapter xv. i have made will smith's argument in answer to the hon. herbert clapp a combination of the best points made by well-known public speakers in the united states — white and black - in defense of the negro. i feel my own deficien- cies too strongly to attempt original composi- tion on this subject at this crisis in the history of the negro in the united states. i have introduced enough of the exquisitely droll humor peculiar to the negro (a work like this would not be complete without it) to give a bright touch to an otherwise gruesome subject. the author. contending forces. chapter i. a retrospect of the past. we wait beneath the furnace-blast the pangs of transformation; not painlessly doth god recast and mould anew the nation. hot burns the fire where wrongs expire; nor spares the hand that from the land uproots the ancient evil. -). g. whittier. in the early part of the year the agita- tion of the inhabitants of great britain over the increasing horrors of the slave trade car- ried on in the west indian possessions of the empire was about reaching a climax. every day the terrible things done to slaves were becoming public talk, until the best english humanitarians, searching for light upon the subject, became sick at heart over the dis- coveries that they made and were led to declare the principle: “the air of england is too pure for any slave to breathe.” contending forces. history to go back a little way in the romantic history of the emancipation of the slaves in the islands will not take much time, and will, i hope, be as instructive as interesting. tales of the abuses of the slaves, with all the sick. ening details, had reached the quaker commu- nity as early as , and that tender-hearted people looked about themselves to see what steps they could take to ameliorate the con- dition of the negroes in the west indies, and to discourage the continuation of the trade along the african coast. thomas clarkson, a student at cambridge, was drawn into writing a prize essay on the subject, and became so interested that he allied himself with the quakers and investigated the subject for himself, thereby confirming his own belief, “that providence had never made that to be wise that was immoral; and that the slave trade was as impolitic as it was unjust.” after strenuous efforts by mr. pitt and mr. fox, parliament became interested and insti. tuted an inquiry into the abuses of the slave trade. finally, mr. wilberforce was drawn into the controversy, and for sixteen years waged an incessant warfare against the plant- ers, meeting with defeat in his plans for ten consecutive years; but finally, in , he was successful, and the slave trade was abolished. a retrospect of the past. these assailants of the slave trade had promi- ised not to try to abolish slavery; but in a short time they learned that the trade was still car- ried on in ships sailing under the protection of false flags. tales of the cruelties practiced upon the helpless chattels were continually reaching the ears of the british public, some of them such as to sicken the most cold-hearted and indifferent. for instance: causing a child to whip his mother until the blood ran; if a slave looked his master in the face, his limbs were broken; women in the first stages of their accouchement, upon refusing to work, were placed in the treadmill, where terrible things happened, too dreadful to relate. through the efforts of granville sharpe, the chairman of the london committee, lord stanley, minister of the colonies, introduced into the house of commons his bill for eman- cipation. lord stanley's bill proposed gradual eman- cipation, and was the best thing those men of wisdom could devise. earnestly devoted to their task, they sought to wipe from the fair escutcheon of the empire the awful blot which was upon it. by the adoption of the bill great britain not only liberated a people from the cruelties of their masters, but at the same time took an important step forward in the onward contendig forces. march of progress, which the most enlightened nations are unconsciously forced to make by the great law of advancement; “ for the civility of no race can be perfect whilst another race is degraded.” in this bill of gradual emancipation certain conditions were proposed. all slaves were entitled to be known as apprenticed laborers, and to acquire thereby all the rights and privi- leges of freemen. “these conditions were that prædials should owe three-fourths of the profits of their labors to their masters for six years, and the non-prædials for four years. the other fourth of the apprentice's time was to be his own, which he might sell to his master or to other persons; and at the end of the term of years fixed, he should be free.” in the winter of , when these important changes in the life of the negro in the west indies were pending, many planters were fol. lowing the course of events with great anxiety. many feared that in the end their slaves would be taken from them without recompense, and thereby render •them and their families destitute. among these planters was the family of charles montfort, of the island of bermuda. bermuda's fifteen square miles of arca laus six hundred miles from the nearest american a retrospect of the past. coast. delightful is this land, formed from coral reefs, flat and fertile, which to the eye appears as but a pin point upon the ocean's broad bosom, one of “a thousand islands in a tropic sca." once bermuda was second only to virginia in its importance as a british colony; once it held the carrying trade of the new world; once was known as the “gibraltar of the atlantic," although its history has been that of a simple and peaceful people. its importance to the mother country as a military and naval station has drawn the paternal bonds of inter- est closer as the years have flown by. indeed, great britain has been kind to the colonists of this favored island from its infancy, sheltering and shielding them so carefully that the iron hand of the master has never shown beneath the velvet glove. so bermuda has always been intensely british, - intensely loyal. today, at the beginning of the new century, bermuda presents itself, outside of its importance as a military station for a great power, as a vast sanatorium for the benefit of invalids. a tem- perate climate, limpid rivers, the balmy fra- grance and freshness of the air, no winter, - nature changing only in the tints of its foliage, - have contributed to its renown as a health- giving region; and thus shakespeare's magic contending forces, island of prospero and miranda has become, indeed, to the traveler the spot of earth uncurst, to show how all things were created first. mr. montfort was the owner of about seven hundred slaves. he was well known as an exporter of tobacco, sugar, coffee, onions and other products so easily grown in that salu- brious climate, from which he received large returns. he was neither a cruel man, nor an avaricious one; but like all men in commercial life, or traders doing business in their own productions, he lost sight of the individual right or wrong of the matter, or we might say with more truth, that he perverted right to be what was conducive to his own interests, and felt that by owning slaves he did no man a wrong, since it was the common practice of those all about him, and he had been accus- tomed to this peculiar institution all his life. indeed, slavery never reached its lowest depths in this beautiful island; but a desire for england's horior and greatness had become a passion with the inhabitants, and restrained the planters from committing the ferocious acts of brutality so commonly practiced by the spaniards. in many cases african blood had become diluted from amalgamation with the a retrospect of the past. higher race, and many of these “colored ” people became rich planters or business men (themselves owning slaves) through the favors heaped upon them by their white parents. this being the case, there might even have been a strain of african blood polluting the fair stream of montfort's vitality, or even his wife's, which fact would not have caused him one instant's uneasiness. moreover, he was a good master, and felt that while he housed his slaves well, fed them with the best of food suited to their occupations and the climate, and did not cruelly beat them, they fared better with him than they would have with another, perhaps, or even if they held property themselves. the speeches of mr. pitt, mr. burke and others, together with the general trend of pub- lic sentiment as expressed through the medium of the british press, had now begun to make an impression upon some of the more humane of the planters on this island, and among them was mr. montfort. uneasiness now took the place of his former security; thought would obtrude itself upon him, and in the quiet hours of the night this man fought out the battle which conscience waged within him, and right prevailed to the extent of his deciding that he would free his slaves, but in his own contending forces, way. he determined to leave bermuda, and after settling in some other land, he would gradually free his slaves without impoverishing himself; bestow on each one a piece of land, and finally, with easy conscience, he would retire to england, and there lead the happy life of an english gentleman of fortune. with this end in view, being a man of affairs and well acquainted with the whole of the american continent, he naturally turned his eyes towards the united states, where the institution flourished, and the people had not yet actually awakened to the folly and wicked- ness exemplified in the enslavement of their fellow-beings. for reasons which were never known, he finally made choice of newbern, n. c., for a home. sunday was and is the high holiday in all tropical climes.. on that day the slave forgot his bonds. it was noon; the early service of the church of england was ended. the clergyman of the parish had accompanied charles montfort home. mrs. montfort was visiting friends, so the two gentlemen dined alone. the clergyman was rather glad that he had the opportunity of seeing mr. montfort alone, and had used all his powers of persua- sion to turn him from his proposed exodus. it was of no avail, as the good man soon found; a retrospect of tiie past. and with a sigh, he finally took his hat and prepared to leave. both stood outside the house upon the broad walk beneath the shade of the fragrant cedars and the fruitful tamarind trees. the silence of deep feeling was between these two men. the clergyman could only remember the reverence he had always received, and the loving service given him by this family. montfort thought with pain of the holy minis- trations of this silver-haired man, who had pro- nounced the solemn words that bound him to his gentle wife, had baptized his children, and (tenderest act of all) had buried the little daughter whose grave was yonder, beneath the flowering trees in the churchyard. yes, it was sad to part and leave all these tender ties of friendship behind. “the bishop will come himself, charles, to persuade you that this is a dangerous step you are about to take,” finally the good man said, breaking the silence. "why dangerous? is it any more so for me than for those who left england to build a home here in the wilderness ? " “ different, very different. the mother hand was still over them, even in these wilds. out there," and he pointed in the direction of the bay, “they tell me that for all their boasted freedom, the liberty of england is not found, a retrospect of the past. beautiful, indeed; and i will confess that it grows dearer as the time for my departure draws near," answered montfort. “i will walk with you,” he continued, as the clergyman turned in the direction of the road. as they passed through the wide entrance gates a negro woman was weeding her little garden; her pickaninny was astride her back, spurring his mother as a rider his horse. the woman and the child looked up and smiled at the master and his guest, and the woman put the child on the ground and stood upright to bob a queer little courtesy. they walked along in silence until they reached the plaza. my son, will you not be persuaded ? ' “ father, i have made up my mind firmly, after due consideration. i believe it is for the best.” they paused a moment at the square; then the holy man said solemnly, as he raised his hand in benediction: “if it then be for the best, which god grant it may be, i pray the good father of us all to keep you in safety and in perfect peace.” he turned and disappeared in the crowd. charles montfort was immediately sur- rounded by his friends, who greeted him joy- ously, for he was a genial man and had endeared himself greatly to his neighbors. contending forces. “still determined to leave us, charles ? " inquired one. “yes, for the good of myself and family. how can we submit tamely to the loss of our patrimonies without an effort to reimburse our- selves when a friendly land invites us to share its hospitality ? “there is truth in your argument for all who, like you, charles, have a large venture in slaves. thank heaven i am so poor that a change of laws will not affect me," said one. “where a man's treasure is, there also is his heart. it is nature. almost you persuade me, charles, to do likewise,” remarked another. “as i have told you, i will retain my patri- mony and free my slaves, too, by this venture in the united states under a more liberal govern- ment than ours." “ah! charles,” remarked another listener, "you forget the real difference between our government and that of the united states. and then the social laws are so different. you will never be able to accustom yourself to the habits of a republic. do you not remember the planters from georgia and carolina who fought for good king george, and were stanch royal- ists? they retired to the bahamas when our cause was lost in the american colonies. my brother has just returned from a trip there. he a retrospect of the past. tells strange tales of their surprise at many things we do here. i fear it is but a cold wel- come you will receive from men of their class.” “certainly,” replied montfort, “i shall try to be a good subject or citizen of whatever country i may be compelled to reside in for a long or short time.” “but surely you will not expose your wife to the inconveniencies of life in that country,” said another. “she has had her choice, but prefers hard- ships with me to life without me," proudly returned montfort. “a willful man must have his way,” mur- mured one who had not yet spoken," and i will give you three months to stay in the land of savages before you will be returning to us bag and baggage." well,” laughed montford, "we shall see.” twilight had fallen now, and montfort bared his head to the refreshing sea breeze which flut- tered every leaf. when he bade his friends good night, finally, and started on his homeward walk, the arguments of the good clergyman and of his friends were present in his har- assed mind, and he wondered if he were doing wrong not to be prevailed upon to yield to the opinions of nthers. once he almost determined that he would give it all up and remain in this contending forces. land of love and beauty. to collect his scat. tered thoughts and calm his mind he turned toward the bay, and stood upon the beach, still allowing the breeze to play about his heated temples. never before had he appreciated his home so much as now, when he contrasted it with the comparative barrenness of the new spot he had chosen. the water was alive with marine creatures; the sea aflame. the air was full of light-giving insects, incessantly moving, which illumined the darkness and gave life to every inanimate object. over all the moon and stars were set in the cloudless deep-blue sky of coming night. alas! his good angel fled with the darkness, and morning found him more determined than ever to go on with his project. when it became generally known in ber- muda that charles montfort had decided to leave the place of his birth and establish him- self in a foreign land, many friends gathered about him and advised him to reconsider his determination. montfort laughingly invited them to join him in his new venture, and then earnestly pointed out to them the dangers which threatened their fortunes. he painted his plans in glowing colors, and ended by promising them that in less than twenty-five years he would land in england, a retired a retrospect of the past. planter, his former slaves free and happy, and he himself rich and honored. having an immense amount of property to transport, it happened that mr. montfort was compelled to make two trips to newbern before he removed his family to their new home; but after much energetic work and many difficul- ties, the little family looked through blinding tears at the receding shores of what had been a happy home. a week later a noble ship stood off the shores of north carolina. on the deck was charles montfort; his wife hung upon his arm; beside the devoted couple were charles, jr., named for his father, and jesse, the young darling of his mother's heart. silently they gazed upon the fair scene before them, each longing for the land so recently left behind them, though no word of regret was spoken. contending forces chapter ji. the days before the war." o freedom! thou art not as poets dream, a fair young girl with light and delicate limbs, thy birthright was not given by human hands: thou wert twinborn with inan. the shores of pamlico sound presented a motley crowd of slaves, overseers, owners of vessels, and a phantasmagoric landscape very charming to eyes unaccustomed to such scenes. it was near the noon siesta. in the harbor lay three or four vessels ready to be loaded with their freight of rice, tobacco or cotton. the sun poured its level rays straight down upon the heads of all. a band of slaves sang in a musical monotone, and kept time to the music of their song as they unloaded a barge that had just arrived : turn dat han' spike roun' an' roun', hol' hard, honey; hol' hard, honey. brack man tote de buckra's load, hol' hard, honey; hol' hard, honey neber 'fo' seed a nigger like you, hol' hard, honey; hol' hard, honey. allers tinkin' 'bout yer ol' brack sue, holhard, honey; hol' hard, honey. the days before the war.” ef i was an alligater what'd i do? hol' hard, honey ; hol' hard, honey. run 'way wid ol' brack sue, hol' hard, honey; hol hard, honey. massa ketch yer, what'd he do? hi, hi, honey; hi, hi, honey. cut yer back an' ol' brack sue's, he, he, honey; he, he, honey. i cuss massa 'hin' de fence, hol' hard, honey ; hol' hard, honey. massa don'hyar make no differyence, hol' hard, honey; hol' hard, honey. turn dat han’ spike roun' an' roun’, hol' hard, honey ; hol' hard, honey. brack man tote de buckra's load, hol' hard, honey ; hol' hard, honey. as the refrain died away the bell for the noon rest sounded faintly in the distance, grad- ually drawing nearer, and again their rich and plaintive voices blended together in sweet cadences as they finished placing the heavy load to the satisfaction of their drivers : hark, dat merry, purty bell go jing-a-lingle, jing-a-lingle, jingle bell, jing-a-lingle, jing-a-lingle, jing-a-lingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell. contending forces. even so sang the children of israel in their captivity, as they sat by the rivers of babylon awaiting deliverance. just now a ship, which had some time since appeared as a dark spot on the horizon, turned her majestic prow and steered for the entrance to the sound. immediately the pilot boat in the harbor put out to her. everyone on the shore became eagerly intent upon the strange ship, and they watched the pilot climb aboard with all the interest which usually attends the slightest cause for excitement in a small com- munity. the ship came on very slowly, for there was little wind, under topsail, jib and foresail, the british flag at the peak and the american flag at the fore. the people on shore could see the captain standing by the pilot, the anchor ready to be dropped, and the bowsprit shrouds loose. but now their interest was divided with a new arrival. a man on horseback rode down to the shaky wooden platform which served as a land- ing place for passengers; behind him, at a re- spectful distance, rode a white-haired mulatto. the man leaped from his horse and threw his reins to the slave, signaled a couple of negroes in a boat, jumped into it as they, obedient to his sign, pulled alongside the wharf, and was rowed swiftly out to the advancing ship, which the days before the war." was now making considerable headway toward the shore. among the idlers on the wharf was one whom everyone addressed as bill. he was large, or rather burly, carried a rawhide in his hand, and from his air of authority toward them, was evi- dently the overseer of the gang of slaves who were loading the tobacco barge. from out the crowd a man who had been sitting idly on a bale of cotton moved toward him. “ holloa, bill,” he said, addressing the owner of the rawhide. howdy, hank”; returned bill, surveying the other curiously, “whar in time did you drap from?” hank did not reply directly. he shifted the tobacco quid in his mouth from one cheek to the other, then with a nod of the head toward the approaching vessel, asked: “whar's she from?" “hain't been in town lately, i reckon, or you'd know all about the ‘island queen' from bermudy. planter named montfort on her. he's movin' his niggers here to caroliny; gittin' too hot fer him back thar,” replied bill, with a backward jerk of his thumb in the supposed direction of bermuda. “how's things up yer way?" “fair, fair to middlin', bill; thar's been some talk 'bout a risin' among the niggers, and so we contending forces. jes tuk a few o'them an' strun 'em up fer a eggs- ample to the res'. i tell you, bill, we jes don't spec' to hav' no foolin' 'bout this yer question of who's on top as regards a gentleman's own- ing his niggers, an' whomsoeveder goes ter foolin' with that ar pertickler pint o' discus- shun is gwine ter be made a eggsample of, even ef it's a white man. didn'hyar nuthin' 'bout a circus up our way, did yer?” bill scratched his chin and shook his head in the negative. wall, 'twas this here way: jed powers, you ʼmember dan powers' jed, don' yer? dan thet was tarred an' feathered fer selling good likely whiskey ter niggers ? bill nodded in the affirmative.“ jed powers wuz seed walkin' with jimison's wench violy. be blowed ef he wasn't gittin' ready ter cut an’run ter canidy with her!” “don'b'lieve yer, durned ef i do,” said bill. fact! be durned ef it ain't jes so.” “wall! of all the onnat'rall cusses!” but his wurst offense, in gineral, wuz thet he wuz meanin'fer to marry her!” hank paused in his narrative to allow a full appre- ciation of his statement to be impressed upon bill's mind. “wus an' wus!” groaned the latter. what is we comin' to, by thunder! i allays took jed the days before the war.” to be a decen' sort o' cuss, too. what's the committee doin' 'bout it?” “wall, we sot out to stop thet fun, anyhow. we got him after a hot chase, an' we put him in jail; an' las' week we guy him his trial. jedge sentenced him to fifty lashes an' hangin' by the neck untell he wuz dead. but some- how or nuther folks is gittin' squeamish. jedge don'durst to hang him; he'll jes guv him the fifty lashes an'a talkin' to on the immoralty o' his acts an’ ways. jedge tol him he wuz young an' had a chance to 'pent from the desolute ways o' his youth, of which his wurst failin' wuz a-wantin' to marry niggers, leastwise he'd end in hell, shure. jedge tol'him everythin' 'cordin' ter law an' jestice. we wuz calkerlatin' ter have a celebrashun to which all the leading citizens o'this county would 'a' been bid, but, o' course, not havin' the hangin' sort o'took the ginger out o' the whole business.” “i hain't a doubt o' yer horsepertality in case o' the event, hank; we's allays got along mighty comf'table tergether," replied bill, nod- ding an emphatic approval of all that hank had said. the whole speech had been liberally punctuated with copious floods of tobacco juice, which formed a small river between the two men. best thing i know of down our way,” said contending forces. bill, after they had taken another good look at the ship, “the best thing i know of was a raffle over ter jellison's auction-rooms. a raffle's a great thing fer pickin up bargains in niggers an' horses. this pertickler one was fer a bay horse, a new light buggy an' harness, an'a mulatto gal sal. the whole thing wuz wurth fifteen hundred dollars, an' we had fifteen hundred chances at a dollar a head. highest throw took first choice; lowest, the remainder. winners to pay twenty dollars each fer refresh- ments.” “leetle bit selfish o' you, bill, ter keep all thet to yerself,” said hank, giving bill a re- proachful glance. “ mabby so, mabby so. but you won't lose nuthin', hank, ef i can help yer in the footur. 'pears like some one wuz a-tellin' me,” he con- tinued reflectively, “thet yer wuz a-wurkin' fer the county 'bout thet time fer board an' clo's.” “be durned ef i wuzn't,” replied hank with great candor. shot at a free nigger an' killed brady's dog pete. ef it'd been the nigger i'd happened ter kill, hit would 'a' been all right; but bein' 'twas a bluded hound thet had tred hundreds o' runaways, it wuz anuther question; an' not havin' the muney ter pay a fine, an' brady bein' purty mad, why in i went fer a munth." the days before the war.” “wall, as i was a-sayin', ter perceed, by a lucky chance it wuz my fust choice, an' i choose the gal. i knowed she wuz a fust-class breeder an' my muney wuz shure fer a hun- dred per cent on her.” " i swear ter gosh, but yer right, bill; mate her with the right sort an' you's got yer own muney. both men now turned their attention to the advancing ship. i see ol' pollock's got 'em in tow," re- marked hank reflectively, after a moment's silence. “ans pollock's as crafty as can be. no 'fense meant, yer know; seems he's yer boss still; mean cuss ef he's rich's a jedge”; he con- tinued, “s'pose they've got a heap o' money, too." “can't say as to thet,” replied bill, "but they bought pollock's ol' place, an' it looks as though money might be plenty the way every- thing has been fixed up fer the missis.” the noon hours were now over, and a great deal of confusion reigned, caused by the arrival of a ship in port with so rich a man as mr. montfort aboard. the two friends became separated in the ensuing bustle which attended the landing of the party. during the preced- ing conversation a carriage and teams for transporting the baggage and slaves had drawn contending forces. up alongside the shore; and as mr. montfort stepped on the rickety wharf and assisted his wife to do the same, a murmur of involuntary admiration ran through the motley crowd of rough white men and ignorant slaves. grace montfort was a dream of beauty even among beautiful women. tall and slender; her form was willowy, although perfectly molded. her complexion was creamy in its whiteness, of the tint of the camellia; her hair, a rich golden brown, fell in rippling masses far below the waist line; brown eyes, large and soft as those seen in the fawn; heavy black eye- brows marking a high white forehead, and features as clearly cut as a cameo, completed a most lovely type of southern beauty. the two children followed their mother closely. they were sturdy boys, who resem- bled her in the beauty of their features; and in jesse, the baby, a still greater resemblance could be traced, because the hair had been allowed to remain in long, soft curls. so they came ashore to their new homé, obsequiously waited upon by mr. pollock, and lovingly attended by their numerous slaves. in an instant the family was seated in the waiting vehicle; and before the spectators could fully realize the beauty and elegance of the new- comers, they were whirled away, and the car. riage was lost in a cloud of dust, the days before the war.” hank davis and bill sampson met once more before they left the wharf. “ef they hain't got an overseer, i'm goin' to 'ply fer the job”; said hank,“ never seed sich a booty in my life.” bill sampson scratched his head meditatively: "strikes me, hank, thet thet ar female's got a black streak in her somewhar." hank stared at bill a moment, as though he thought he had suddenly lost his senses; then he burst into a loud guffaw. “ you git out, bill sampson." wall, maybe,” said bill, “ maybe so. thar's too much cream color in the face and too little blud seen under the skin fer a genooine white 'ooman. you can't tell nothin' 'bout these britishers; they're allers squeamish 'bout thar nigger brats; yas, sah, very squeamish. i've hern tell that they think nuthin of ejcatin' thar black brats, and freein' 'em, an' makin' 'em rich." “you go to the devil”; returned hank, as he moved away, “you're wus' nan ol' nigger, allers seein' a possum up a tree; an’’taint no possum 'tall, - nuthin' but er skunk.” apologists tell us as an excuse for the bar- barous practice of slavery, that it was a god- like institution for the spread of the gospel of the meek and lowly carpenter's son, and that contending forces. the african savage brought to these shores in chains was a most favored being. such may be the thoughts of the careless and superficial mind; but when we survey the flotsam and jetsam left from the wreck of the civil war, we can deceive ourselves no longer; we must confess that the natural laws which govern individuals and communities never relax in their operation. the fruit of slavery was poisonous and bitter; let us rejoice that it no longer exists. coming events cast shadows.” chapter iii. coming events cast their shadows before.” in sooth i know not why i am so sad: it wearies me ; you say it wearies you ; but how i caught it, found it, or came by it, what stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, i am to learn ; and such a wantwit sadness makes of me that i have much ado to know myself. - merchant of venice. smooth the old pollock homestead was an exquisite spot. the house was a long, low, rambling structure, consisting of many large, airy rooms inside, and ornamented without by piazzas sup- ported by huge pillars. immense trees shaded the driveway and embowered the stately white mansion. gay parterres of flowers ornamented the rolling lawn, which divided the great house from the negro quarters which were pictur- esquely visible at a convenient distance from it. within the house mr. montfort had gathered all the treasures which could possibly add to the comfort and pleasure of his lovely wife. beautiful rugs covered the floors, fine paintings adorned the walls, gleaming statuary flashed upon one from dd nooks and corners. in the contending forces. library music had found a home in the most comfortable corner of the room. on a table one might find a volume of goethe in the original; on the grand piano the score of a then-popular opera; while a magnificent harp, standing near, hinted of musical talents highly cultivated. business had prospered with montfort; his crops flourished; but a nameless trouble seemed to be halting upon the threshold of the home he loved, and to threaten those whom he cherished so fondly. the first year of residence in newbern had been very pleasant for the montforts. society, such as it was, opened its arms to the family and voted the highly cultured wife and cherub children great additions. the house was a favorite resort for all the young people of the neighborhood. mrs. montfort had been edu- cated in england, and had brought with her to the provincial families with whom she now associated all the refinements of the old world. having great wealth for the times, she had always been indulged in every whim by the doting bachelor uncle who had made her his heiress, but who had died soon after her marriage to charles montfort. as grace montfort, she found again the love her uncle had delighted to lavish upon his adopted child. coming events cast shadows.” possessed of a bright, joyous nature, she liked nothing better than to gather about her the young men and women of the neighborhood and make life pleasant for them; and they in turn learned from her customs and refinements which otherwise might never have come their way. everyone voted her the dearest and most beautiful woman they had ever known, and all would have gone merry as a marriage- bell, but (if it were not for the buts and ifs of this life, what a pleasant place the world would be) into this paradise of good feelings and admiration came anson pollock with his bitter envy and his unlawful love, and finally with his determination to possess the lovely grace montfort at all hazards. gradually the friendly relations of the neigh- bors turned to coldness and reserve. it was whispered about that montfort was about to free his slaves. this in itself was a dangerous doctrine at that time in that part of the world, and a man suspected of entertaining ideas of freedom for slaves must either change his tac- tics or his residence, or else forfeit life and property. then again, bill sampson's words to hank davis had somehow found a voice, and the suspicion of negro blood in the veins of mrs. montfort was a deathblow to a proud spirit and social aspirations. these two seri- contending forces. ous charges had spread abroad like wildfire. it was a hot morning, a very hot morning in early summer. there had been no rain for some time. mrs. montfort lay in a hammock outside the breakfast-room windows. lucy, her maid, was mending lace and children's garments a short distance away. lucy was mrs. montfort's foster sister; both were born on the same day. their relations had always been those of inseparable friends rather than of mistress and slave. "no rain today, lucy. i never used to mind the heat at home (this with a sigh). how fair it must be over the blue waters of the bay; i can almost 'smell the cedars outside the entrance gates." “yas, miss grace” (to lucy her mistress was always “ miss grace"), “i do feel sort o' squeamish myself sometimes when i tink of the gals all dancin' sundays in the square; but reckon we'll git used ter these people here arter a-while; leastwise, i hope so." mrs. montfort did not reply, and her maid noticed, as she glanced anxiously at her mis- tress, that a frown was on her face. lucy sighed. “ miss grace" had been noted once for her sunny, cheerful temper. now all was changed. beyond the rolling lawn fields of cotton coming events cast siiadows." could be seen, the leaves twisting in the heat and the steady glare of the sun. zigzag fences separated the cotton from fields of corn ; away in the distance dim aisles of pine trees stretched their dark arms towards the heavens, their dark foliage suggestive of cool shadows and quiet glades. the road wound in and out among the pines, through a woodland, and terminated in the highway just visible from the piazza. inside the long, open windows little jesse played at building houses with the bags of golden eagles that his father kept in a drawer of his escritoire. “grace, grace, lucy,” called the child, “my houses won't stay up; come in and help me." just then a group appeared coming around a corner of an outbuilding. two men walked beside a pony, astride whose back sat master charles. as they approached the house the gentlemen swept off their wide-brimmed hats in a gallant salute to mrs. montfort, which she returned by rising from her recumbent position and dropping a low courtesy. the gentlemen were mr. montfort and mr. pollock. jesse, hearing the pony's feet, came out the window and ran down the piazza steps to his father, who, as charles sprang to the ground, lifted the excited child to the pony's back. mrs. montfort watched the approach of the little procession contending forces. with a pleased smile. she made a fair picture in her elaborately embroidered white morning robe, her beautiful hair arranged in drooping curls at the sides of her head, as was the fashion of the time. see me, mama grace,” cried jesse, as he clapped his little hands, and dug the heels of his tiny-slippered feet into the pony's side, in imitation of his father on horseback. as montfort watched him, the picture of his last sunday in bermuda arose before him: the little negro child astride his mother's back, spurring her like a rider his horse; and in his ears rang the pleasant voice of his silver- haired pastor. at the piazza steps he called a servant to take away the pony, and turned to enter the house, followed by mr. pollock, with jesse in his arms and charles by his side. jesse kept up an incessant chatter. they passed through the breakfast-room, where montfort placed the child upon the floor. “charles, help me build my houses !” he cried, attracted to his late employment at sight of the golden eagles. “see, papa, all my houses tumble down. charles' houses don't fall down, but mine always do. come and help me, charles.” " you are not patient enough, my son,” re- plied the father, smiling down upon his petu- pollock stood a little al’art, (azing is amazemeyt at the scexe before him. ( coming events cast siiadows." lance. “you must be patient and persevere, and after awhile you will be able to make your houses stand. isn't that right, mr. pollock ?” pollock stood a little apart, gazing in amaze- ment at the scene before him. golden eagles given to a child to play with was a little beyond him. he made no direct reply to mr. mont- fort's remark, and if the latter had been an observant man, he might have been a bit puz- zled at the expression on his face. but charles montfort was ingenuousness itself, seeing in no man an enemy. anson pollock was his oppo- site; his ruling passion was covetousness. his eyes were fairly dazzled by the sight of the gold so carelessly strewing the floor. it positively took away his breath. come, pollock, we will talk over those mat- ters in my study," said montfort presently. “my son,” he added, as he paused at the doorway, “ be careful not to lose your ducats. they are your portion to pay your college bills when you cross the ocean to finish your education." "going to send him abroad to study?” care- lessly inquired pollock. “oh, yes; america's all right for me, but bonny england for my boys.' anson pollock, whom charles montfort had chosen for his friend, was a man of dashing appearance. he carried his years jauntily, and contendixg forces. had a good opinion of himself where women were concerned. he was made much of by the ladies in the vicinity because of his wealth. it mattered not that his wife had died myste- riously. rumor said his ill treatment and infi- delity had driven her to suicide; it had even been whispered that he had not hesitated to whip her by proxy through his overseer, bill sampson, in the same way he did his slaves ; but rumor is a lying jade. nevertheless, his fair speech, auburn curls and deep-blue eyes, so falsely smiling, won his way, and mr. pollock was the popular ladies' man of two counties. he had showered mrs. montfort with as- siduous attention since her arrival three years before, but he soon found that he made no headway. once he dared to tell her of his pas- sion — that from the first moment he saw her aboard the “ island queen ” he had been mad- dened by her beauty. "why do you tell me this ? ” she cried, in angry amazement at his daring. “am i so careless of my husband's honor that his friends feel at liberty to insult me?” granted that i overstep the bounds of friendship in speaking thus to you, but it is from no lack of respect; rather the deed of one who risks all upon one throw of the dice. have mercy, i pray you, and grant me your friendship – your love." coming events cast shadows." then grace montfort said, while her eyes blazed with wrath: “mr. pollock, we are strangers here, my husband and i. he trusts you, and i have no wish to disturb that trust; but if you ever address such words to me again, i shall let mr. montfort know the kind of man you are. i promise you that he will know how to deal with you." this conversa- tion had taken place one night at a grand fête, where grace had been the belle of the assem- bly; they were in the conservatory at the time. anson pollock was not accustomed to having his advances received in this way by any woman whom he elected to honor with his admiration. as the indignant woman swept back to the ballroom, he stood and watched her with an evil look, which meant no good. after that they met as usual, but pollock had never ventured to speak to her again of love. out- wardly he was the same suave, genial gentle- man, but within his breast was a living fire of hatred. the two men became faster friends than ever. mrs. montfort was pleased to have it so; they had so few friends in this alien land; she felt so lonely, so helpless. she dreaded making enemies. it was but the lull before the storm. when the study door had closed behind the two men, mr. montfort dropped his pleasant, coxtendixg forces. careless manner and faced mr. pollock with an anxious face. " pollock,” he began abruptly, “i'm worried.” "what about ? ” asked pollock, turning from the window, where he seemed to be viewing the landscape. “ have you heard the rumors about my wife being of african descent?” montfort asked, coming very close to pollock, as though afraid the very air would hear him. “there are threats, too, against my life because of my desire to free my slaves." “nonsense!” exclaimed pollock. “i have heard the rumors about mrs. montfort, but that is nothing – nothing but the malice of some malicious, jealous woman. as for the threats against your life, how can you think of such things a second time. you are among the most chivalrous people on the face of the earth, who will protect you in your home.' ” montfort stood a moment before his friend, gazing at him earnestly; then he said: “ pol- lock, if anything happens to me, i want you to promise me to help my wife and babies to get back to bermuda.” why, what can happen, man; you are nervous without a cause." “ in that safe," continued montfort, not heed- ing the interruption, “you will find money and comixg events cast shadow's." deeds; promise me that you will save them for my family." i promise; but it is all nonsense." " i shall hold you to your promise,” replied montfort solemnly. the committee on public safety generally met once a month. they had a chairman, but no one knew his identity save a chosen few of the committee. indeed very little was known positively, as to the identity of any of the members; certainly no one would ever have suspected the elegant anson pollock of being connected with such an organization. on this particular evening - bill sampson lounged by the jefferson house on the lookout for some of his friends. anson pollock sat on the broad steps, evidently on the watch for some one, too. “hi, bill !” he called, as the latter came in sight. "holloa ! want me?" returned bill; and at a nod from his employer, he followed him through the entrance to a small back room, generally used for the meetings of the committee. anything new for the committee to- night?" asked pollock, as he lounged over the back of a chair. bill took a seat on the edge of the table and began cutting circles in the air with his rawhide. bill sampson was a char- acter in his way. one could not imagine new- contending forces. bern without bill, and no one could possibly imagine bill without his rawhide. wall, mabby, mabby; depends on what you call wurk. somebody," with a sly glance at pollock from beneath his bushy eyebrows, “somebody's been circlatin' a r'port about a fren' o' yourn. well,” replied pollock sharply. looks like we'd treed a 'possum, sho.” “ well.” "somebody says how's montfort's slaves is wurkin' fur part pay; leastways, every mother's son o' them'll be free inside o' five years.” 'anything else?” “we kin' o' thought that'd do fer a spell. he's done nuff in that ar to convict him an' buy his halter. thet'll do fer one pint.” but that don't cover the case. what luck have you had in spreading the other report?” wall,” said bill, as he shot a copious draught of tobacco juice over the sanded floor, “mos' the fellers think it a pity 'bout mis' montfort. blamed nice 'ooman. she's been mighty good to jeff peterson's fam'ly, an' jeff he feels mighty uncomf'table 'bout hurtin' on her, durned ef he don'." you and jeff want to do your duty,” replied pollock. “no matter about sentiment. influence is great with certain people, and if coming events cast shadows.” niggers are tolerated in any way, it will end in weakening the law, and then good-by to our institutions." course, course; we 'tend ter do our duty; yas, sir, our whol duty; but it beats all nater 'bout mis' montfort. i knowed she wuz mixed the minute i seed her, but 'ain't nuff to 'tract 'tention." he paused a moment, and then said with a sigh: “well, cap'n, what's yer orders ?” pollock saw that the man's sympathy was more than half enlisted on the woman's side, and with arch diplomacy changed his tactics. he handed bill a cigar, saying, “we may as well make ourselves comfortable"; and before the latter had fairly begun to enjoy the fragrant weed, had called for whiskey and was pressing him to help himself. under its stimulating influence bill soon lost what slight scruples he had felt, and was as eager for the downfall of the unfortunate family as his patron. “well, bill," continued pollock, “the first thing to be done is to put montfort out of the way; then it will be plain sailing. the next question is: who will do that job?” "reckon i know jes' the man- a man o'the right sperrit, who'll be glad to serve his coun- try fer a reasun'ble consideration. an' thet remin's me, how much o' the property is to be resarved fer you?” contending forces. “ the boys may have what they can get of it; i don't care for any part of the spoils; all i want is the mother and the children.” " jes' so; wall, now, seein's i understan' the case jes' as you want it, i'll lay low, set the boys on; you keep shady an' stan' ready the min- ute the mine's fired. i ain't got a cuss agin montfort myself, but the institootion must be respected. sure thar's plenty o' whiskey an' stuff in the cellur? 'twould look kin' o' mean in montfort not to have a full cellur. it's a big job, an' the boys'll be thirsty." with this, the two worthies arose from their seats and saun- tered through the door and up to the bar. a day or two after the foregoing, hank davis, true to his word, formally applied to mr. mont- fort for the position of overseer on his planta- tion. “what made you think that i wanted an overseer?” asked montfort, as he pushed his hat off his face a little farther and eyed the petitioner critically, mentally vowing that he would never place even a horse in the power of such an ill-favored, beastly looking fellow. " wall, most southern gentlemen don't keer ter have a nigger overseer. it spiles 'em; they gives themselves airs, an' git sot up in thar idees. thought mabby you, bein' a stranger, mightn't know our ways. you see, it's jes' coming events cast shadows." hyar, we have certain rules in this commoonity that we all mus' 'bide by ef we want t'void trouble.” as hank ventured this last remark in a cautious manner, he scraped the gravel of the walk with one foot while he slyly noted the reception of his venture by an upward cast of his eye. charles montfort looked at him a moment with a slumbering wrath before he asked with dangerous coolness : “what do i understand by what you have just said, mr. davis ? do you mean to insinuate that a man cannot do as he will with his own property ? ” wall, no; not eggsactly; but it's jes' hyar, to speak plainly as 'tween fren’s,” replied hank, as he shifted his tobacco to the other side of his mouth, “the plain fac' is: i want the job of drivin' yer niggers, an' you'll want me to keep the commoonity fren’ly to yer now it's got out thet yer a-gwine ter set the gang free byme by." charles montfort possessed one character- istic of the west indian to a marked degree, and that was a bad temper under just provo- cation. without more ado he seized the offending hank by the collar, and with his riding whip, which he carried in his hand, he administered a sound flogging to the offender. as he released him, he said: "when you leave my grounds, don't you ever set your foot inside contending forces. the gates again, or it will be the worse for you. hank said nothing as he raised himself from the ground where the irate man had thrown him, but as he turned to leave the place he looked at mr. montfort; and even in his wrath at the insolence of such a mongrel cur, as he mentally styled davis, charles montfort felt a shudder of real physical fear pass over him for a moment. surprised at himself, he turned to enter the house, dismissing the whole incident as a piece of impudence which he had done well to chastise. taking it all in all, mr. montfort was not feeling very happy on this june morning, as he sat upon the piazza thinking over the late encounter. an hour passed swiftly away; still the master of the house continued his medita- tions; but now he had changed his seat for a thoughtful promenade up and down the broad piazza. finally he said softly to himself: “yes, that is just what i will do; i'll send gracie and the little fellows home for awhile on a visit, and there they shall stay until i know just what the trouble is here about the slaves, and certain insinuations concerning my family are cleared up.” when a man makes up his mind that he has solved a difficult problem that has worried him, he generally has an air of relief which coming events cast shadows." is the more pathetic, that in nine cases out of ten he does not believe that his remedy will prove effective, although he fancies that he so believes. when hank davis left mr. montfort he moved slowly down the sun-baked road, nurs- ing his wrath and swearing vengeance. noth- ing but the life of the man who had inflicted such an insult upon him could wipe it out. he had received the same treatment that he had given hundreds of his associates, until his name and presence had become a terror in the county where he resided. hitherto he had given his orders and they had been obeyed; but here was a man, a comparative stranger, for whom he considered that he had been willing to do a great kindness, for a consideration, and not only had he met with a refusal of his request but at the same time had received personal violence of a character that was most galling to the spirit of any free-born south- ern man - an ordinary cowhiding, such as he would mete out to his slave. as he thought more and more about the matter he grew more, and more filled with a desire for vengeance,- not the ordinary kind, but something extraor- dinary. as he gradually turned over in his mind schemes for the undoing of the mont- forts, he was accosted by the voice of bill contending forces. sampson, calling to him from across the fields. bill was overseeing the harvesting of a great field of cotton, and the voices of the slaves could be heard droning out their weird and plaintive notes, as they sought by song move- ment to lighten the monotony of their heavy tasks and bring solace to their sad hearts. some, in their simple ignorance, may not have known why they were sad, but, like the captive bird, their hearts longed for that which was ever the birthright of man - property in him . self. crushed out of sight for many years, the seed of desire for all those things which make a man, and sweeten toil, was struggling ever toward the light of civilization denied to these poor, ignorant, enslaved souls. hank sat down on a log by the wayside and beckoned bill over to him. the latter came slowly across the field and seated himself astride one end of the log. “howdy, hank”; “howdy, bill,” passed in greeting between the two cronies. "'pears like to me, hank, yer a-lookin' pale," remarked bill, as he trailed his whip backward and forward in the dust. hank could stand it no longer; and with a terrible imprecation, he unfolded to his friend his tale of woe and insult. bill listened with eager curiosity, and a satisfied, knowing look coming events cast shadows.” might have been seen to settle about the cor- ners of his eyes and mouth. “wall, wall," said he, "these ar' great times when a d-west ingy half-white nigger can raise his hand agin a white man. be yer hurt much, hank ?" some in my body, but more in my feelin's.” “what ar' we a-comin'to? i tell you, hank, it is 'bout time sumthin' was done.” "that's all well enough to talk,” replied hank, " but what kin a man do agin the money thet thet feller's got to back him up? i cayn't see a handle on him.” “wall,” replied bill, “ i kin." “you kin !” exclaimed hank, while a slow smile of derision covered his face ;" wall, i'd jes? like to know how." "yer kin laugh, hank davis, but it's a fac'. 'taint goin' to be no hard job, nuther, to git all thet money, all them purty trinkets and fine furniture, and the seven hundred niggers in our pockets ef” — (and here he paused as though to give emphasis to his words) “ef we wurks the thing right.” “damn it all, man, why don't yer let out?” demanded hank, as he rose excitedly from his seat on the log. “i'm the man to help on any- thin' agin thet man, an' yer knows it. no need of yer bein' so infernal aggravatin' 'bout tellin' me." contending forces. bill laughed at his companion's excitement. “easy thar, easy, hank. this ar' a mighty titlish job, but we kin wurk it - we kin wurk it. fust place, yer see montfort's brought them slaves o'hisn hyar and don't tend to keep 'em only 'bout ten years, and then every one o' them will have bought hisself, accordin' to the laws thet ar' governin' them over to the west indies. now, yer know ther's a bad eggsample to set befo' the niggers roun' this town. eny way, we's goin' to think so,” drawled bill, with an expressive wink at his friend. “it's a law of the united states that ef eny man is caught creatin' dissatisfacshun among the slaves he desarves death, and death he gits. now, this ar montfort has been causin' trouble fer us by his eggsample. every nigger roun* hyar knows all 'bout his 'rangements fer givin' his slaves thar freedom, and i tell yer, hank, its causin' dissatisfacshun 'mong all our slaves. an' then the money, honey, the money! sech sights of it all done up in little shammy-skin bags, an' thet boy jesse settin' on the floor amoosin' hisself buildin' houses with them gold eagles !” hank listened to his companion's words with open mouth. as the latter finished he said, with a look of admiration : “wall, i'll be d-d! now, look a-hyar, bill sampson, yer needn't tell me thet all thet yer have just unfolded to me is coming events cast shadows.” yer own idees, 'cause yer could no more hev got them thoughts through yer thick head than i could. some one's been fixin' yer up. out with it now, an' tell me the whole thing. ef we's goin' inter this business, we's got to be square on the deal with our fren's. who's the bottom o'this thing?” bill produced a plug of tobacco, offered his friend a chew and took one himself. “what i'm tellin' yer, hank, is 'tween fren's,” said he, chewing and crossing his legs. " jes' so," replied hank. i wuz tellin' yer the 'riginater o' this plan, or i wuz about to.” bill paused to spit out some of his tobacco juice on the ground, so that it would not overflow the tank, so to speak, and run out of each corner of his mouth. “ beats all nater, hank, how a man'll git dead set onter a piece o' caliker." "meanin' by that, bill, that ans pollock's got set on some gal.” ' fact!” said bill, with a wink. “who's ? ” asked hank. it mote be mis' montfort herself, hank.” sho, you don' say, re'lly,” said hank, with a wicked look. “don'blame him, blamed ef i do. but thet's all the good it'll do him.” bill cut the air into imaginary circles with his whip, and without taking any notice of his contending forces. friend, continued: “as i was sayin', ans pollock, he says ter me, bill, thet's a dooced purty 'ooman o' montfort's,' an' i tol him what i thought 'bout her havin' black blud in her somewhar. · mabby,' says he, 'mabby.' an' then he says, kin' o' generous like, 'i'd take the 'ooman an' the two brats, an' the boys might hev the slaves, an' the money, an' the fixin's in the house.' i tol him i knew the boys 'd stan' by him in enything he might do to rid a peace- ful neighborhood of sech a disturbin' critter as montfort. i tol him i thought yer would be 'bout the very match to light on montfort, so he wouldn't give us eny more trouble. an' so we've been waitin' fer the business ter 'velop itself good an' ripe, an' i jes' think this 'tack o' montfort's on yer will 'bout do the business fer the whole o' them. “ bill,” said hank davis, as he held out his hand to his friend, “we's allers been .pardners, an' i reckon we allers will be." - nelengahon the tragedy. chapter iv. the tragedy. thus man devotes his brother, and destroys him; and worse than all, and most to be deplored chains him, and tasks him and exacts his sweat with stripes that mercy, with a bleeding heart, weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast. cowper. “ kismet," says the oriental, when unac- countable evils beset his path; “ it is fate," says the anglo-saxon, under like circumstances: but fate is the will of providence after all. nature avenges herself upon us for every law violated in the mad rush for wealth or position or per- sonal comfort where the rights of others of the human family are not respected. if charles montfort had been contented to accept the rulings of the english parliament, and had allowed his human property to come under the new laws just made for its government, although poorer in the end, he would have spared him- self and family all the horrors which were to follow his selfish flight to save that property. the sun rose clear and resplendent a few mornings later. on this particular morning nature outdid herself. there was a blending together of all the sweet forces - odorous air, contending forces. golden sunshine, musical sounds from bird and from bush; it was pure happiness to feel the life- blood leaping in one's veins; to feel the marvel- ous joy of living. eight o'clock was the usual breakfast hour for the montforts. the family had just assem- bled at the table; aunt cindy had brought in the great silver coffee urn and placed it beside mrs. montfort. mr. montfort had set- tled himself in his chair with a weekly paper, for in this rural neighborhood a newspaper once in a week was a great luxury, when his attention was caught by the sound of hoofbeats of several horses on the road. mrs. montfort, with usual southern hospitality, looked over her well-appointed board to make sure that all was in order for dispensing those creature comforts so dear to the entertainer and the entertained. the hoofbeats drew nearer and paused on the graveled walk. montfort hastened to the door, while mrs. montfort turned toward the entrance of the breakfast-room with a pleasant smile of welcome on her lips. she heard a number of voices speaking together in an ex- cited jumble, then a shot, followed by a heavy fall. little jesse ran from his station by his mother's side through one of the long win- dows opening upon the piazza. she heard his the tragedy. scream of “papa, papa!” and then again the jumble of excited voices. with little charles clinging to her skirts she stumbled blindly to the entrance and faced the crowd of angry men, headed by anson pollock. hank davis had done his work well, and charles montfort lay dead with a bullet in his brain, sped by an un- seen hand. mrs. montfort's arms were grasped by rude hands, and she was forcibly drawn out upon the veranda, where in the sunlight of the beautiful morning she saw the body of her husband lying face downward. she was dimly conscious of hearing the cries of frightened slaves mingled with the screams of her chil- dren. through it all she realized but two things that the lifeless object lying there so still was the body of her husband, and that the sensual face of anson pollock, whom she had grown to loathe and fear, was gloating over her agony, devilish in its triumph. then she lost consciousness. as she lay upon the green sward, oblivious to thought and feeling, supported by her weep- ing maid, who had been ordered to care for her mistress by mr. pollock, hank davis came and stood for a moment looking down upon the unconscious woman. suddenly an evil smile lighted up his countenance. he looked around, but saw nothing of anson pollock, who had contending forces. disappeared within the house, searching for money and papers in the safe. now was his time. this woman's husband had flogged him - he would have a sweet revenge. those lily-like limbs, the tender alesh that had never known aught but the touch of love, should feel the lash as he had. he called to bill sampson to help lift her; and despite the prayers and tears of the poor slave girl who followed her beloved mistress until sampson knocked her senseless with the butt end of his rawhide, they bore the hapless lady to the whipping post. she revived as they reached the spot; and when she realized the fate in store for her, the sweet woman's strong soul failed her. she uttered a wild cry of agony as the rough hand of hank davis was laid upon her to tear her garments from her shrinking shoulders. “ charles, my husband, save me!” she cried, and fell fainting upon the ground. there was none to answer the heartrending appeal. he who would have shed his heart's best blood for er, lay cold in death. she was soon restored to consciousness, for hank's savage instinct for revenge would only be appeased by the victim's full realization of her sufferings. she was bound to the whipping post as the victim to the stake, and lashed with rawhides the tragedy. th . ulatus alternately by the two strong, savage men. hank davis drew first blood by reason of his wrongs at mr. montfort's hands. with all his mighty strength he brought the lash down upon the frail and shrinking form. o god! was there none to rescue her! the air whistled as the snaky leather thong curled and writhed in its rapid, vengeful descent. a shriek from the victim -a spurt of blood that spattered the torturer -- a long, raw gash across a tender, white back. hank gazed at the cut with critical satisfaction, as he compared its depth with the skin and blood that encased the long, tapering lash. it was now bill's turn. “i'll go you one better,” he said, as he sighted the distance and exact place to make his mark with mathematical precision, at the same time shifting his tobacco from the right to the left cheek. again the rawhide whistled through the air, falling across the other cut squarely in the center. another shriek, a stifled sob, a long-drawn quivering sigh - then the deep still- ness of unconsciousness. again and again was the outrage repeated. fainting fit followed fainting fit. the blood stood in a pool about her feet. when hank davis had satiated his vengeful thirst he cut the ropes which bound her, and she sank upon the ground again - unconscious contending forces. bleeding, friendless, alone. lucy had hidden in the smokehouse with the two children, that they might not witness their mother's agony. meantime, the committee on public safety, instigated by anson pollock to put down an imaginary insurrection (having no existence but in his own mind, and supposed to have originated with the slaves of charles montfort) and to legalize the looting of the house, took possession of the mansion. soon the crowd had stripped it of its furniture and all the articles of value. the house itself was fired, and grace montfort again became conscious of her misery in time to see the dead body of her husband flung amid the burning rafters of his dwelling. two and two the slaves were handcuffed together to be driven to the market place. mrs. montfort, secured to her maid, was placed in a wagon with her two children; and so the miserable woman was driven away from her outraged home. in those old days, if accused of aiding slaves in a revolt, a white man stood no more chance than a negro accused of the same crime. he forfeited life and property. this power of the law anson pollock had invoked; and to add to the devilishness of the plot, had used bill sampson's suggestion of black blood in mrs. montfort, to further his scheme for possessing tiie tragedy. the beautiful woman. so the two children and their mother fell to the lot of anson pollock as his portion of the spoils. shortly after these events grace montfort disappeared and was never seen again. the waters of pamlico sound tell of sweet oblivion for the broken- hearted found within their soft embrace. after the loss of their mother the two lads clung very closely to each other. so many changes had come to them, such desperate, bloody scenes had dazed their brains and ter- rified them, that even the loss of their mother seemed but in keeping with the rest. bewil- derment at so much sorrow, the numbness of black despair was ever with them. pollock's rage was terrible when he learned that mrs. montfort had destroyed herself. he grew morose and unsociable, so that his society was no longer sought in the county. he seemed to have a superstitious fear of the chil- dren, and for a long time would not tolerate them in his presence. it was common talk among the slaves that mrs. montfort " walked," weeping and wringing her hands, night after night about the plantation. but wonder could go no farther when pol- lock elected to take lucy in the place he had designed for mrs. montfort. god's mysteries are past man's understanding; and thus the contending forces. poor black girl became his instrument to tem- per the wind to the shorn lambs. night after night she stole away to the little attic under the eaves laden with dainties to tempt the appetite of the children. for hours she would sit hush- ing jesse's sobs upon her ample breast, and speaking words of comfort in her poor, blind way to charles. when a year had dragged its slow length past, a stranger in the town stopped bill sampson on the street one day and asked him if he knew where he could hire a likely boy to go with him into the woods for a few days and help arrange specimens of the quartz in that locality. he was looking up the minerals in that section for speculators, he said. bill prom- ised to get him a boy, and asked pollock's per- mission for charles to go with the man. “i don't care what you do with him, only keep him away from me. i'll sell him south soon," said pollock. so it happened that charles went every day for a month with the mineralogist. the lad's appearance, education and refinement puzzled the man for a time, until he learned the tragic story. charles,” said he, a few weeks later, “i am about to leave this part of the country. i don't want to leave you here. do you think mr. the tragedy. pollock could be induced to part with you?” “o sir!” cried charles, throwing himself at the gentleman's feet, "for the love of god buy me and my little brother. if you will only take us to bermuda, some one there will pay you back. my father had money there; we have friends there. o sir, for the love of god!” the man looked at the weeping boy as through a mist. he had a tender heart. "i will tell you something, charles,” said he kindly, as he raised the lad and drew him to a seat beside him on the grass, with his arm ten- derly enfolding the child. "i am an english- man, but it will not do to have that fact known here, for then i would be powerless to help you. anson pollock would never sell you to me if he knew that fact. i have been trying to buy you and jesse, but pollock wants to keep the boy for a valet. he intends to sell you south ; you are too old to forget, and he fears you. now i propose to buy you; and as soon as possible i shall take you to bermuda, collect the proofs there concerning your family, and then go to england, invoke the power of the home government, and demand jesse's free- dom and indemnity from the united states government for all the outrages perpetrated against your family. can you keep this secret, and will you try and be patient until i can accomplish my purpose ?” contending forces. "i will do anything you say," replied the boy humbly, “but i hate to leave jesse. o mama, mama, my beautiful mama!" and with a burst of grief he cast himself upon the velvet turf. the mineralogist lost no time in completing the purchase of charles, and in a few days they left the town. then little jesse, the petted darling of a luxurious home, found himself alone in the power of anson pollock. he must wait upon him obsequiously by day, and be ready to answer his call at any hour of the night. under his enemy's eye by day and night, hopeless, utterly alone upon the wide waste of waters which represented his life. oh, how black, boundless, trackless, was the un- known future to this unfortunate child! once, after his brother was sold, he resisted his mas- ter— rebelled with all his puny strength. he was severely flogged. that night he slept in the lonely cabin kept as a sort of prison for refractory slaves. not a sigh disturbed the silence of the night as he lay in pain, gazing up at the stars which shone so peacefully through the dilapidated roof. he thought himself de- lirious, or was it indeed possible that god had taken compassion on his loneliness and allowed the comfort and help of communion with the dead! he saw his murdered father and mother. the tragedy. hand in hand they passed and repassed over the gaping holes in the roof of the hut. his father's noble, loving face smiled upon him; his mother's curls moved in the faint breeze, while her loving glance seemed to say: “courage, courage, we are ever near you.” "father, grace, speak to me!” he shrieked in agony. then he seemed to feel their actual presence, tangible though viewless, beside him in the hut. calmness came to him, and a change grand to see in that slight frame. uncon- sciously he asked the question: "how long must i endure before i join you in heaven?” it seemed to him that he was answered: “many days, and even years; but fear not, we will never leave thee." after that night jesse's childhood appeared to slip from him, and he became a man in thought. he studied his master, and matched low cunning with lofty determination. he rebelled no more, was silent, not provoking anson pollock's wrath. the time seemed long and dreary waiting for the freedom he had resolved to have; still he was patient. sometimes at night, when rolled in his blanket on the hard floor, he would weep over the pain- ful past. then he would feel the touch of a tiny hand upon his eyelids. it was his mother's contendixg forces. hand; he knew it to be so. then he would lose himself in sweet dreams and awaken in the morning refreshed and comforted. so the years rolled on until he was sixteen. mean- time, nothing was heard from charles and his supposed friend. jesse had made up his mind that charles was either dead or else lost to him forever. jesse. was now a man in stature, though still slender, with the saine haughty bearing and distinguished appearance that had marked his father. anson pollock, upon whom age and the memory of dreadful crimes were making fearful inroads, began to look up to the boy and lean upon him for aid in his various plans for making money. he had spoken to him of making him the overseer, in place of bill samp- son, and had even hinted at his taking a mate. then jesse knew that his probation was nearly that spring pollock, as was the common practice among planters, made out passes for jesse and sent him to new york in charge of a vessel filled with produce, and charged to bring back necessary merchandise for use on the plantation. pollock thought the boy still too young to venture to leave him. indeed jesse had no such idea when he started on his trip to the north. when the vessel reached new york, jesse performed all the necessary duties over. tiie tragedy. disposed of the produce, and reloaded the ship for its homeward voyage. the night be- fore they were to sail he sat on the wharf watching the crews of other vessels making ready for departure. his mind was engrossed with thoughts of charles. he feared some evil had befallen him. at any rate,” he said to himself, “i shall never see him again. and must i remain in servitude ? can i do nothing to help myself, since all hope is gone in that direction ?” just then a group of men paused in front of him. they did not know he was a slave. “will you give passage to two on board your vessel? you are bound for newbern in the morning, aren't you? we'll pay you what you charge,” said one of the group respectfully. speak to the cap'n,” called out a man standing near; “that's nuthin' but a nigger you're talkin' to.” “well," said the one who had first addressed him, "you're a likely boy, anyhow; who do you belong to?” jesse arose from his seat, white with passion, and said to the man: “i am no man's prop- erty; i belong to jesus christ!” the ques- tion had answered itself. when the vessel sailed the next morning, jesse was far on his road to boston. contending forces. traveling then was done by stage, and was a slow process; but about a week later he stood beside the stone wall that enclosed the historic boston common, and as he watched the cows chewing their peaceful cuds and inhaled deep draughts of freedom's air, he vowed to die rather than return to anson pollock. he found work in boston. it mattered not that it was menial work; he was happy. but fate or providence was not done with him yet. one day he received word that anson pollock was on his way to boston in search of him. again he made a hurried journey. this time to exeter, n. h. in his character of a fugitive slave, the lad had from the first cast his lot with the colored people of the commu- nity, and when he left boston he was directed to see mr. whitfield, a negro in exeter, who could and would help the fugitive. late one afternoon, just before tea time, a comely black woman stood in her long, low- raftered kitchen preparing supper before the open fireplace. there was every indication of plenty in the homely furnishings. as the woman passed rapidly from the cupboard to the table she would touch with her foot the rockers of the little red cradle which stood in the center of the floor. the baby in it was crying in a fretful way. “oh, hush, lizzie,” tiie tragedy. > every minute. said the mother; "don't be so cross. there came a low rap at the open door, and in answer to her “come in,” jesse stepped into the room. “is mr. whitfield in ?" he asked, as he doffed his hat respectfully. ' no," was the reply, “but i expect him sit down, won't you? he'll soon be in to his supper, i guess." mrs. whitfield thought him a white man, come on business with her husband. “a hand- some lad," she thought. jesse seated himself; and then as the child continued to cry, said: 'shall i rock the cradle for you, ma'am ? the child seems fretful." fifteen years later jesse married elizabeth whitfield, the baby he had rocked to sleep the first night of his arrival in exeter. by her he had a large family. thus he was absorbed into that unfortunate race, of whom it is said that a man had better be born dead than to come into the world as part and parcel of it. contending forces. chapter v. ma smith's lodging-house. let not ambition mock their useful toil, their homely joys, and destiny obscure; nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile the short and simple annals of the poor. -gray. “thank heaven that is done,” said dora, as she sat down wearily in her mother's large rocker in the cosy kitchen. she had been upstairs the best portion of the day preparing a room for an expected lodger. there had been windows to wash, paint to clean, a car- pet to tack down, curtains to hang and furni- ture to place in position - in short, the thousand and one things to do that are essential to the comfort of the lodger and the good reputation of the house. “are you very tired, daughter?” queried her mother, as she glanced with loving pride at the graceful figure before her, at the smooth bands of dark brown hair, now a little ruffled and dis- ordered, and at the delicate brown face, now somewhat puckered and out of sorts from weariness. ma smith's lodging-house. “well, not very tired, mummy dear; only this continual scrub and dig is not always the cheerful work we would like to think it. stili i don't care as long as the house pays." the mother sighed as she asked: “did you give her the front or back square?” “oh, i gave her the front square after all. she's too beautiful for that dreary back room. i know that it is not business to let a good- paying room go under our usual price, but she's a 'steady'; she has the best of references. father andrew gives her the best of charac- ters, and so i'll chance getting my money back out of the next cross-grained old bachelor who comes along. see how mercenary i am getting to be since i undertook to direct the fortunes of a lodging-house”; and with a gay laugh the daughter jumped from her seat, every trace of fatigue gone, and grasping her mother about the waist, whirled her around the room to the accompaniment of a sweet, shrill whistle of the latest popular waltz. in the midst of the frolic there came a loud ring of the doorbell, and placing her panting and protesting mother in the rocker just vacated, she vanished; and soon her voice was heard above, as she directed the placing of the luggage of the expected lodger. the smith family consisted of the mother, daughter and son. a few years before the s coxtending forces. opening of our story the father had died, leav- ing a delicate wife, a young daughter, and a son just ready to enter college ; also a house in a respectable part of the south end of boston, mass., with a heavy mortgage upon it. like many colored men living in large cities, his life had been a continual struggle with pov- erty and hard work, combined with a desire for advancement for his children, and a clean, self- respecting citizenship for himself. smith was a free-born southern negro - a virginian. his father had bought himself, and married a free woman. after the birth of henry his mother died; and when his father married again, his aunts brought him to the city of new bedford, where he had imbibed, along with copious draughts of salt air, an unwavering desire for all the blessings of liberty, and strong notions that a man must depend upon himself in great measure and carve out his own fortune to the best of his ability with such tools as god had furnished him. henry smith's early manhood was spent upon the sea; and when he at last settled in boston, he could converse about foreign ports and countries with the ease and familiarity of personal knowledge. possessed of very little education, yet he concealed the fact admirably under a naturally intelligent manner. soon ma smith's lodging-house. after he ceased to follow the sea he married a handsome mulattress from new hampshire, and with her help saved a small sum of money enough to make the first payment on a home; then began the struggle of their lives. the masses of the negro race find for employ- ment only the most laborious work at the scanti- est remuneration. a man, though a skilled mechanic, has the door of the shop closed in his face here among the descendants of the liberty-loving puritans. the foreign element who come to the shores of america soon learn that there is a class which is called its inferior, and will not work in this or that business if "niggers” are hired; and the master or owner, being neither able nor willing to secure enough of the despised class to fill the places of the white laborers, acquiesces in the general de- mand, and the poor negro finds himself banned in almost every kind of employment. henry smith had his ambitions; but like all of his meek race, he would not or at least had no desire to contend with the force of prejudice, and quietly took up his little business of repair- ing old clothes in the same patient spirit of the jew “old clo'” vender or pawnbroker. two children were born to this worthy couple — william jesse montfort and dora grace montfort. when willie was seventeen coxtending forces. and dora twelve their father sickened and died. thenceforth the burden of the support of the little family fell upon the mother. willie was preparing to enter college, but he cheerfully gave up his plans and secured a place as bell- boy in one of the fashionable hostelries with which boston abounds; and soon by his at- tention to business, his gentlemanly manners, and intelligent understanding of all that was required of him, made himself invaluable to his employers. twenty dollars a month with board and "tips" was a very respectable show- ing for a lad of seventeen, and willie felt him- self repaid when he saw the great help and comfort his small earnings gave to his dear mother. dora was kept at her studies until she was graduated from the high school. mean- time mrs. smith, or "ma" smith, as she was called by all the young people of her ac- quaintance, increased their income by letting furnished rooms. the mother and daughter shared the same sleeping-room, and will de- clared himself in favor of an attic chamber as being the least desirable for renting purposes. there he established himself in a very com- fortable nest, furnished after the fashion dear to all young fellows' hearts, with everything “ handy." the only occasions upon which will and' dora were known to quarrel were the ma smith's lodging-house. weekly cleaning days, when the latter would insist on "tidying up will's room." then shoes were moved from the mantel and the blacking brushes from the top of the dressing- case; collars, cuffs and ties were placed in their proper receptacles, and garments hung in the clothespress. then will would scold a good deal because he “couldn't find things,” but by the next morning he would have them handy” again. many lodgers were obtained through will's acquaintance with young men at the hotel where he worked, and very soon the mother was able to see that the debt upon the home which she hoped to leave her children, was slowly but surely disappearing. deep in her heart was the cherished hope that when the mortgage was paid willie would be free to choose a profession; but they never men- tioned among themselves the hope which was cherished in each breast. as the years rolled slowly by the children saw that their mother could not do as much as formerly; and so by degrees, after dora had finished school, the burden of the care of the house fell upon her strong young shoulders, and found her taking full charge, and proving herself to be a woman of ability and the best of managers, husbanding their small income to the best advantage. contending forces. with about every avenue for business closed against them, it is surprising that so many families of color manage to live as well as they do and to educate their children and give them a few of the refinements of living, — such as cul- tivating a musical talent, gratifying a penchant for languages, or for carving, or for any of the arts of a higher civilization, so common among the whites, but supposed to be beyond the reach of a race just released from a degrading bondage. whatever grace or accomplishment may be the order of the hour, it is copied or practiced among some portion of the colored population. we may well ask ourselves how this is done. among the white americans who perform domestic or personal service, how rare it is to meet the brilliant genius of a frederick douglass; but with this people it is a common occurrence to find a genius in a profession, trade, or invention, evolved from the rude nurturing received at the hands of a poor father and mother engaged in the lowliest of service, who see not the nobility of their sacri- fices in the delight afforded them in watching the unfolding of the bud of promise in their offspring. from the bosom of the earth we take the diamond; pearls from the depth of the sea; from the lowliest walks of life we cull the hope of a future life beyond the perplexing ma smith's lodgi.xg-holse. questions of this present existence. why should we wonder or question, then, when we see the steady advance of a race overriding the barriers set by prejudice and injustice? man has said that from lack of means and social caste the negro shall remain in a position of serfdom all his days, but the mighty working of cause and effect, the mighty unexpected re- sults of the law of evolution, seem to point to a different solution of the negro question than any worked out by the most fertile brain of the highly cultured caucasian. then again, we do not allow for the infusion of white blood, which became pretty generally distributed in the inferior black race during the existence of slavery. some of this blood, too, was the best in the country. combinations of plants, or trees, or of any productive living thing, some- times generate rare specimens of the plant or tree; why not, then, of the genus homo? surely the negro race must be productive of some valuable specimens, if only from the infusion which amalgamation with a superior race must eventually bring. this is a mighty question. today, with all the heated discussions of tariff reform, the parity of gold and silver, the hoard- ing of giant sums of money by trusts and com- binations, still the negro question will not "down"; it is the most important, the mightiest contending forces. in the land, and is quietly assuming greater proportions as it forges its way to the front to take its place shortly as the gravest question in the councils of the nation. when dora returned to the kitchen her mother had about finished the preparations for supper. the short winter afternoon had dropped into early twilight. every alternate night was will smith's early night home from the hotel, and the little family always managed to have an inviting tea and to pass a cheerful evening together. lately another person had attached himself to the smiths; a fellow-waiter with will had finally worked himself into the profession of law, and having established him- self in business in a down-town office, had put his admiration for dora into words, and it was understood that in due course of time they would marry. dora lighted the lamps, drew the curtains, and looked about the cosy kitchen with a satis- faction which might well be pardoned, for even in palatial homes a more inviting nest could not be found. the table was carefully spread with a nicely ironed cloth of spotless white, red-bordered napkins lay at each plate, a good quality of plated silverware mingled with the plain, inexpensive white ware in which the meal was to be served. ma smith, in her neat ma smith's lodging-house. calico dress and long white apron, busied her- self in making the tea and coffee and seeing that the delicate muffins were browned to just the right turn, while dora busied herself in putting the finishing touches to a house dress for her mother. well, dora,” said her mother, as she bustled about the room, “does the young woman seem pleased with your arrangements ? i am sure she ought to after all the labor you spent on that room." she says she is greatly pleased with every- thing. say, ma, she's got a typewriter, and she says she picks up a good living at home with it. talk about your beauties ! my, but she's the prettiest creature i ever saw! expect all the men in this house will be crazy “ i over her.” “yes, dear," replied her mother with a quiet laugh; "you don't want john making eyes at her, do you?" dora laughed as she said: “ i'd just drop john p. langley if i thought he admired any woman more than he did me. but really, ma, you won't be able to keep from loving her; she has the sweetest and saddest face i ever saw. i have read of the woman with a story written on her face, but i never believed it anything but a fairy tale. you'll believe me when you see her and talk with her."'. contending forces. there are the boys,” said her mother, as the sound of voices reached their ears, together with the closing of the front door and great stamping of feet to brush away the snow. the next moment the door opened, and two young men entered the cheerful room, and with jest and laugh bade the two women good evening. will smith was tall and finely formed, with features almost perfectly chiseled, and a com- plexion the color of an almond shell. his hair was black and curly, with just a tinge of crisp- ness to denote the existence of negro blood. his eyes were dark and piercing as an eagle's. ladies of high position followed his tall form with admiring glances as he moved about his duties at the hotel, and wondered that so much manly beauty should be wasted upon an inferior race. john langley, his companion, was shorter in stature and very fair in complexion. his hair was dark and had no indication of negro blood in its waves; his features were of the caucasian cut. he possessed a gentle refinement of manner, apt to take well with the opposite sex; but to a reader of character, the strong man- hood and honesty of purpose which existed in will smith were lacking in john langley. he was a north carolinian- a descendant of slaves and southern “crackers.” we might call this ma smith's lodging-house. a bad mixture - the combination of the worst features of a dominant race with an enslaved race; and in some measure john langley would bear out the unfavorable supposition upon close acquaintance. many of his young friends did not care for him because he de- veloped a revengeful trait of character. he liked his ease, and enjoyed indulging himself in every luxury that his modest means would allow. he had, moreover, a carefully concealed strain of sensuality in his nature, which as yet had never been aroused to an overindulgence in illegitimate and questionable pleasures; and with it all he had a mercenary streak, which made love of money his great passion. he possessed great political acumen and was strong in debate, which attracted a certain class of politicians around him. these attributes, combined with the practice of his profession, might eventually make or mar his fortunes in the untried future that stretched before him. seated at the pleasant tea table, the gay laugh and jolly joke went round, and even ma smith forgot her years and contributed her share of mirth to the general good time. “talking about funny things happening," said ma smith, “your grandfather, will, was a comical genius. you know that i have told you there were fourteen in our family — all contending forces. girls, and very near each other in age. when your aunts, fanny and lottie, began to receive company there was a great time to keep it from father for awhile. mother was heart and hand with the girls and wanted to see them have a pleasant time, but father did not like it. your grandfather worked hard and at night was very tired, so the dear old man would go to bed soon after his supper and pipe. then was the girls' time. a fire was made in the parlor, which was at the front of the house, a good distance away from father's room, and by the time the young man arrived to make his call the old gentleman was generally sound asleep. one night, however, things did not work so well. in those days we had large open fireplaces; stoves did not come in until i was about five years old. i can see that low-ceiled parlor now with its brick hearth and brass andirons holding the glowing logs, the flames crackling and shooting upward, the firelight dancing and shining on the little cupboard doors on each side of the chimney. there was a rag carpet on the floor – your grandmother made her own carpets from rags; and our floors were covered with large handmade rag mats, for no housekeeper was counted much who did not have a large supply of such things. there were china figures on the mantel, and vases ma smith's lodging-house. filled with golden-rod gathered the summer before. the furniture was mahogany, polished until you could see your face in any part of it. there was a red cloth on the table which stood between the two windows, and in the center of it was a large astral lamp trimmed about the edges with long crystal pendants, which we children called diamonds. we thought noth- ing could be more elegant than that lamp. it was a wedding present to your grandmother.” “ did you have kerosene in those days, ma?” asked dora. “lord bless you, no; we burned whale oil or sperm oil in that lamp. poor people used candles. your grandmother used to save her fat and clarify it and mix it with beeswax to harden it, and we made our candles every week as regularly as we did the family cooking. sometimes there was danger of the supply of oil giving out in the stores, and then oil cost a great deal of money; that never lasted long, however, and in a few weeks some new bed- ford whaler would be in port with a large cargo of whale oil, and then there would be a big supply selling cheap." “i don't see how you got along without stoves and things,” observed dora ; " baking day must have been a terror.” "we had tin kitchens and dutch ovens. we never had any trouble." contending forces. “what's a tin kitchen ?” asked john. it's an oven made of tin, for roasting meat. it stood on four legs about a foot from the floor, and had a place for a charcoal fire at the back, and a chimney to carry off the smoke. the front fastened by a hasp to the back and could be let down to put the food on the little grate inside. it was a very convenient arrangement, and i wish i had one this minute. a dutch oven was very much like our iron kettles which we use for boiling; there was a grate inside to hold the food.” " it must have been a great nuisance keeping house under such circumstances.” “well, what became of the young man that particular evening, ma?” chimed in will. “this night father was restless and did not retire with his usual promptness, and we had only just got him out of the way when the expected caller arrived. however, everything went on very well, and you may be sure that there was much peeping and giggling on the part of the half-grown sisters who were denied the great privilege of the parlor and company as yet. your grandmother sat in the kitchen knitting and trying to keep the younger chil- dren in order, when to her consternation the door opened and in walked father. elizabeth,' said he, 'i hear a man's voice in the parlor. ma smith's lodging-house. what's the trouble?' poor mother tried to explain, and murmured something about a gentleman calling on fanny. 'a man,' roared father, 'calling on my daughter!' and the first thing we knew, he seized the bucket of water from the kitchen dresser — we had wells in those days, and a bucket of water always stood on the dresser - and started for the parlor and flung the door open. without speaking to the astonished occupants of the room, he stalked to the fireplace and deliberately poured the water upon the blazing wood; then he turned to the caller and said: “young man, if you have a home, go to it; this is no half-way house for the accommodation of young squirts. fanny,' he said, turning to your aunt, ‘you go to bed, and don't let this thing occur again. the young man left as quickly as possible, and poor fanny retired to her room greatly mortified.” “ that's good discipline for girls,” said john with a laugh. “if we had more fathers after that stamp, we fellows would get better wives.” and we girls better husbands,” chimed in dora. “still, i pity poor aunt fanny.” “the fellow wasn't much or he'd have stuck, and not been driven off that way. i'd have made the old gentleman like me in spite of himself if i had meant business," said will. “oh, by the by, did your new lodger come, dora?” contending forces. “yes; and, will, i never met anyone so beautiful in all my life. you'll be fascinated when you meet her.” “ that's you all over, dora; all your swans generally turn out geese. i'll bet you a new pair of easter gloves that she's a rank old maid with false teeth, bald head, hair on her upper lip” all right, will smith, all right. just wait until you see her! i'll wager a new pair of embroidered silk suspenders that you're over head and ears in love with her long before that time.” “ i'll hold the stakes,” cried john. they rose from the table now, and john said, with a tender glance at dora : “ i thought some one would enjoy seeing the ‘old homestead.' it's at the boston theatre tonight; don't you want to go, dora?” dora's eyes sparkled as he held the two tickets before her. “get your things on, dora; you've just time to reach the theatre before the curtain rises,” said her brother. in a little while the house was quiet, and the mother and son settled down to the enjoyment of a quiet evening together. ma smith's lodging-house, chapter vi. ma smith's lodging-house.- concluded. the gray day darkened into night, ... made hoary with the swarm and whirl-dance of the blinding storm, as zigzag wavering to and fro, crossed and recrossed the winged snow. - whittibr. february drew slowly to a close. boston had lain for the past three or four days in the grasp of the snow king. at no. d street each tenant seemed content to keep within the bounds of his or her small domain, literally “frozed up," as mrs. ophelia davis expressed it. no one had seen much of the new lodger. she passed in and out each morning with a package of work in her hand; and all day long, from nine in the morning until late at night sometimes, the click of the typewriter could be heard coming from the “first front-square,” which interpreted meant the front room on the second floor. dora had been very neighborly and had called on miss clark frequently. there was a great fascination for her about the quiet, self-possessed woman. she did not, as a rule, care much for girl friendships, holding contending forces. that a close intimacy between two of the same sex was more than likely to end disastrously for one or the other. but sappho clark seemed to fill a long-felt want in her life, and she had from the first a perfect trust in the beautiful girl. mrs. smith had furnished her rooms sub- stantially and well, but there had been no attempt at decoration. the first time dora entered the room after sappho had settled her- self in it, she was struck at the alteration in its appearance. the iron bedstead and the wash- ing utensils were completely hidden by drapery curtains of dark-blue denim, beautifully em- broidered in white floss; a cover of the same material was thrown over the small table between the windows; plain white muslin draperies hid the unsightly but serviceable yellow shades at the windows; her desk and typewriter occu- pied the center of the room, and a couch had been improvised from two packing-cases and a spring, covered with denim and piled high with cushions; two good steel engravings com- pleted a very inviting interior. “how pretty you have made it,” observed dora, looking curiously around the room. sappho came and stood beside her, and the two girls smiled at each other in a glow of mutual interest, and became fast friends at once. ma smith's lodging-house. “ i always carry these things with me in my travels, and i find that i can make myself very comfortable in a short time with their help.” “i wish you would show me how to do this embroidery,” said dora, as she lifted the edge of the denim curtain before the toilet stand and critically examined it. “ this is beautifully done. where did you learn ? " "i will teach you with pleasure,” replied sappho; but dora noticed that she did not tell her where she had learned. "do you like your work -- is it hard ? " asked dora, as she idly wandered from one object to another in the pretty room, pausing beside the desk to glance admiringly at a pile of neatly written sheets, just taken from the machine. "oh, i like the work very well. sometimes the dictator is obtuse, or long-winded, or thinks that the writer ought to do his thinking for him as well as the corrections; then it is not pleasant work. but, generally speaking, i pre- fer it to most anything that i know of. do sit down,” she continued, pushing a chair toward dora. “ this man receiveth sinners," read dora from a pamphlet on the desk, as she turned to accept the offered chair. “i see that is your illuminated text for the day. are you a chris- tian?” then she saw an ivory crucifix sus- ma smith's lodging-house. ioi “not i, indeed; i have always felt a great curiosity to know the reason why each indi- vidual woman loses character and standing in the eyes of the world. i believe that we would hang our heads in shame at having the temer- ity to judge a fallen sister, could we but know the circumstances attending many such cases. and, after all we may do or say,” continued the girl softly, “the best of us, who have lived the purest lives on earth that mortal can conceive, find at last that our only hope lies in the words of that text-'this man receiveth sinners.'” “ you are a dear little preacher,” said sappho gently, as she looked at dora from two wet eyes; “and if our race ever amounts to any- thing in this world, it will be because such women as you are raised up to save us.” dora laughed and said, as she rose from her seat: “ i think i am forgetting my errand.” and making an elaborate bow, she continued: “if it please your royal highness, i present to you the compliments of the occupants of no. d street, with the request that you will honor us on sunday evening, at half after seven, in the parlor of the worthy landlady of said house, where an informal reception will be held to further the better acquaintance of miss sappho clark with her fellow-occupants of said house. jivunioit ju alijojainit, jhi contending forces. music during the evening. refreshments at nine sharp; after which, you are all expected to retire to your rooms like virtuous citizens.” “ i herewith most gratefully accept your kind invitation,” replied sappho, with a deep courtesy. “ta, ta, then, until sunday night. i sha'n't see you before that. i shall be lost for the re- mainder of the week 'getting ready for com- ypany'”; and dora, with a gay laugh, ran lightly down the stairs. mrs. smith, after many trials, found that her house contained respectable though unlet- tered people, who possessed kindly hearts and honesty of purpose in a greater degree than one generally finds in a lodging-house. her great desire, then, was to make them as happy together as possible, and to this end she had dora institute musical evenings or reception nights, that her tenants might have a better opportunity of becoming acquainted with each other. she argued, logically enough, that those who were inclined to stray from right paths would be influenced either in favor of upright conduct or else shamed into an acceptance of the right. it soon became noised about that very pleasant times were enjoyed in that house; and that a sick lodger had been nursed back to health, instead of being hustled into the ma smithi's lodging-liouse. hospital ambulance at the first sign of sickness. it was also whispered that to enjoy these privi- leges one must be “pretty nice,” or as some expressed it: "you've got to be high-toned to get in there.” the result, however, justified mrs. smith's judgment, and rooms were always hard to get at no. d street. saturday was a busy day for dora and her mother. at these little gatherings mrs. smith always gave her guests plenty of good home- made cake, sandwiches, hot chocolate, and on very special occasions, ice cream or sherbet. sunday night there was to be ice cream in honor of the new lodger. “good things to eat,” said ma smith, as she industriously beat eggs, sugar and butter together in a large yellow bowl, "good things to eat make a man respect himself and look up in the world. you can't feel that you are nobody all the time if once in a while you eat the same quality of food that a millionaire does." dora lighted the lamps all over the house on sunday night as soon as it fell dark. in the parlor there was a handsome piano lamp, which was only used on special occasions; it was lighted, and threw a soft, warm glow over the neat woolen carpet, the modest furniture and few ornaments. in a corner stood dora's piano, given her on her sixteenth birthday by the tiniversitv ac antiinant innenro contending forces. her brother. very soon after seven o'clock the guests began to drop in; and as dora and her mother were busy still over a few last prep- arations, willand john volunteered to act as the reception committee. the first comers were the two occupants of the basement rooms, – those which would have answered for the dining-room and kitchen of a moderately well-to-do family living in this class of house. mrs. ophelia davis and mrs. sarah ann white were friends of long standing. they were both born in far-away louisiana, had been raised on neighboring plantations, and together had sought the blessings of liberty in the north at the close of the war. mrs. davis had always been a first-class cook, while mrs. white tempted fortune as a second-girl. as their ideas of life and living enlarged, and they saw the possibilities of enjoying some comfort in a home, they began to think of establishing themselves where they could real- ize this blessing, and finally hit upon the idea of going into partnership in a laundry. after looking about them for a suitable situation for such a project, their choice finally fell upon mrs. smith's house, because of her known re- spectability, and because they could there come in contact with brighter intellects than their own; for, strange to say, it is a very hopeless ma smith's lodging-house. case when a colored man or woman does not respect intelligence and good position. yas, sis'r smith," said mrs. ophelia davis the day she and sarah ann white went to engage the rooms; “yas'm, i'm tired o'livin' in white folkses' kitchens. yas'm, thar's lots o' talk 'bout servant gals not bein' as good as enybody else, specially cooks. yas’m, i kin git my five dollars a week with enyone; but ef you puts on a decent dress to go to church with a-sunday afternoon, the mistis is a-won- derin' how you kin 'ford sech style and you nuthin' but a cook in her kitchen. yas'm, i've got a silk dress, two of 'em, an'a lace shawl an' a gold watch and chain. people wants ter know how'd i git 'em. i come by 'em hones', i did. yas'm, when my ol' mistis left her great big house an' all that good stuff — silver an' things-a-layin' thar fer enyone to pick up thet had sense 'nough to know a good thing an’git it ahead of enybody else, i jes' said to myself: “'phelia, chile, now's yer time!' yas'm, i feathered my nes', i jes' did. sarah ann, you 'member that time, honey, an' how skeered we was fer fear some o' them union sojers would ketch us. you stuffed yerself with greenbacks, but, honey, i took clo's, too." “bless gawd, sis'r 'phelia," replied her friend, with a chuckle and a great shaking of her fat dutuut vuitiuinn ju ansÖjnini hi contending forces. sides; "bless gawd, i disremember how much i did took in that ar pile; but lord love yer, honey, i'se got some o' that money yet.” . the two women engaged the rooms and prospered in their enterprise. the clothes under their deft fingers seemed to gain an added prettiness. they became the style; and no young bride on the back bay felt that she was complete unless “the first-class new orleans laundry” placed the finishing polish on the dainty lingerie of her wedding finery. tonight mrs. davis wore the famous black silk dress and gold watch and chain of ante bellum days, and mrs. white was gay in, a bright blue silk skirt and rose-colored silk shirt- waist. she said that she did not believe in any of your gloomy colors; for her part, she'd be dead soon enough and have a long time enough to stay“ moulderin' inter clay, without buryin' herself befo' it was time." the next arrival was the young student preacher from the "first square-back.” he was due at a prayer meet- ing; but when the time came for him to go there, he peeped over the banister and caught sight of dora aitting back and forth in the entries, and then a whiff of ma smith's famous white cake was borne temptingly to his nos- trils and banished the last scruple. he satis- fied his conscience by hugging to his breast ma smith's lodging-house. the idea that his presence was necessary to give the festivities the religious air which was needed for sunday evening. in his prince albert coat and high white stock and tie he entered the parlor early, so that proper decorum might be maintained. two dressmakers from the “second-front and back” now appeared and were made very welcome by the family; and then sappho entered. her dress was plain black, with white chiffon at the neck and wrists, and on her breast a large bunch of “ jack” roses was fastened. with modest self-possession she moved to mrs. smith's side, and soon found herself being pre- sented to the occupants of the parlor. for a moment or two there was an unbroken hush in the room. tall and fair, with hair of a golden cast, aquiline nose, rosebud mouth, soft brown eyes veiled by long, dark lashes which swept her cheek, just now covered with a deli- cate rose flush, she burst upon them — a com- bination of “queen rose and lily in one.” lord,” said ophelia davis to her friend sarah ann, “i haven't see enything look like thet chile since i lef' home.” that's the truth, 'phelia," replied sarah ann; "that's somethin' god made, honey; thar ain't nothin' like thet growed outside o’ loosyannie." tos contendixg forces. “ miss clark," said mrs.. davis, during a lull in the conversation, “i presume you're from loosyannie?" “my mother was born in new orleans," replied the girl. "i knowed it," cried mrs. white, as she triumphantly glanced around the room. “ol’ new orleans blood will tell on itself any. where. these col-blooded yankees can't raise nuthin' that looks like thet chile ; no, 'ndeed!” two or three of the young friends of the family who lived in the neighborhood had now arrived, and the conversation became very ani- mated. then it was announced that a literary and musical programme had been provided. dora played an opening piece, which was a medley of moody and sankey hymns; will sang “palm branches "in a musical baritone voice; john contributed a poem, and two young friends gave the duet from “il trovatore." after a little persuasion sappho rendered the “chariot race " from “ ben hur" in true dra- matic style, and breathing so much of the stage that the rev. tommy james, the young theo- logian, felt that possibly he might have made a mistake in going into such hilarious company on the sabbath. “now," said mrs. ophelia davis, “i'm goin' to sing 'suwanee river.' none o' yer high- ma smith's lodging-house. falutin' things can tech that song. dora accompanied her, and soon the air was filled with mrs. davis' ambitious attempts to imi- tate an operatic artist singing that good old- time song. with much wheezing and puffing – for the singer was neither slender nor young - and many would-be fascinating jumps and groans, presumed to be trills and runs, she finished, to the relief of the company. her friend, mrs. white, looked at her with great approval, and immediately informed them that 'phelia made a great impression the sunday before at tremont temple. the whole congregation was to sing 'where's my wandering boy.'- 'phelia had no paper to see the words, - not as thet made eny matter, 'cause 'phelia can't read nohow, — an' the gentleman next us on the other side, he gave 'phelia a paper thet he had. the man wanted ter be perlite. well, 'phelia was thet flattered thet she jes' let herself go, an' thet man never sung another note, he was so 'sprised. after the second verse 'phelia saw the distrac- tion she was makin', an' she says to me, says she: 'how's thet, sarah ann?'an' i says to her: 'that's out o' sight, phelia !' you jes'ought ter seen them white folks look! they was paralyzed! why, you could hear 'phelia clean above the orgin!” iio contending forces. meantime the young people in the room had gathered in a little knot, and were discussing many questions of the day and their effect upon the colored people. during a pause in the music the last remark made by john langley was distinctly hcard : “ yes, i must admit that our people are improving in their dress, in their looks and in their manners.” “what's that, john langley? " asked mrs. davis, as she leaned forward to catch the words of the speaker; "colored people improvin'in ther manners ? . i should think they was! don't yer fool yerself 'bout thet, now, will yer? the other night sarah ann and me was goin' down to beacon street to 'liver some goods, an' the car was crowded with people, an' thar was a pile o'young colored folks on it from the west end. some o' them was a-standin' up in thet car, an' every onct in a while i noticed thet a passenger'd squirm as ef suthin' had hit him. finally i got so mad i jes' couldn't see along with sech antics from them critters a-disgracin' theirselves and the whole o' the res' o the colored population, an' i jes' elbowed myself into thet crowd o'young jades — what's thet (as will murmured something under his breath), was they gals ? yas, they was; young jades, every one o' them! now what do yer think they was a-doin'?" she asked, as she swept her gaze over the company. ii contending forces, bounds of propriety with her in his manner. the pleasant word and jest were free from all coquetry: john was dumb before so much beauty and wit. will was so blinded by her charms that he was scarcely conscious of what he was doing; but not a word or movement of hers was lost to him. dora watched the tea table smilingly. she loved to see her friends enjoy themselves. it never occurred to her to be jealous of the attention given sappho by her brother and john langley. presently there were many pleasant compli. ments passed on the enjoyable evening which had so quickly flown, and each gentleman pro- posed a toast, which was drunk in a cup of hot chocolate; and as the clock struck ten, they all joined hands and united in singing “auld lang syne" and “praise god, from whom all bless- ings flow.” the evening was over; the lights were out; but up in john's attic chamber the two young men smoked a social cigar before separating for the night. they were silent for some time, and then will said: "miss clark is a very beautiful woman; don't you think so, john?" well,” replied john, “beauty is not the word to describe her. she's a stunner, and no mistake," ma smith's lodging-house. john went to bed; but will sat by the fire a longer time than usual, thinking thoughts which had never before troubled his young manhood; and, unconsciously, one face face ---- the face of sappho clark - formed the background of his thoughts. udutuu anuntuitv qualijojminit jhi contendixg forces. chapter vii. friendship. what is so great as friendship? the only reward of virtue is virtue: the only way to have a friend is to be one. – embrson. after that evening the two girls were much together. sappho's beauty appealed strongly to dora's artistic nature; but hidden beneath the classic outlines of the face, the graceful symmetry of the form, and the dainty coloring of the skin, dora's shrewd common sense and womanly intuition discovered a character of sterling worth — bold, strong and ennobling; while into sappho's lonely self-suppressed life the energetic little yankee girl swept like a healthful, strengthening breeze. care was for- gotten; there was new joy in living. it was the southern girl's first experience of northern life. true, the seductive skies of her nativity had a potent hold upon her affections, but truth demanded her to recognize the superi- ority of the vigorous activity in the life all about her. the negro, while held in contempt by many, yet reflected the spirit of his sur- roundings in his upright carriage, his fearless- ness in advancing his opinions, his self-reliance, his anxiety to obtain payine employment that friendship. would give to his family some few of the advan- tages enjoyed by the more favored classes of citizens, his love of liberty, which in its inten- sity recalled the memory of new england men who had counted all worldly gain as nothing if demanding the sacrifice of even one of the great principles of freedom. it was a new view of the possibilities and probabilities which the future might open to her people. long she struggled with thoughts which represented to her but vaguely a life beyond anything of which she had ever dreamed. sappho generally carried her work home in the morning, but ten o'clock would find her seated at her desk and ready to begin her task anew. some days she was unoccupied; but this did not happen very frequently. these free days were the gala days of her existence, when under dora's guidance she explored various points of interest, and learned from observation the great plan of life as practiced in an intelli- gent, liberty-loving community. here in the free air of new england's freest city, sappho drank great draughts of freedom's subtle elixir. dora was interested and amused in watching the changes on the mirror-like face of her friend whenever her attention was arrested by a new phenomenon. it was strange to see this girl, resembling nothing so much as a lily www.uusi vuittuitv ju alijojninit jhi coxtending forces. ise bo in its beautiful purity, shrink from entering a place of public resort for fear of insult. it was difficult to convince her that she might enter a restaurant frequented by educated whites and meet with nothing but the greatest courtesy; that she might take part in the glorious service at fashionable trinity and be received with punctilious politeness. to this woman, denied association with the vast sources of information, which are heirlooms to the lowliest inhabitant of boston, the noble piles, which represented the halls of learning, and the massive grandeur of the library, free to all, seemed to invite her to a full participation in their intellectual joys. she had seen nothing like them. statuary, paintings, sculptures, - all appealed to her beauty-loving nature. the hidden springs of spirituality were satisfied and at rest, claiming kinship with the great minds of the past, whose never-dying works breathed perennial life in the atmosphere of the quiet halls. now was the beginning of the storm season in new england, and on stormy days the two girls would sit before the fire in sappho's room and talk of the many things dear to women, while they embroidered or stitched. so they sat one cold, snowy day. the storm had started the afternoon before and had raged with unceasing fury all night, – -snow and rain friendship. which the increasing cold quickly turned into cutting sleet. morning had brought relief from the high winds, and the temperature had moderated somewhat; but the snow still fell steadily, drifting into huge piles, which made the streets impassable. it was the first great storm sappho had seen. it was impossible for her to leave home, so she begged dora to pass the day with her and play “company,” like the children. dora was nothing loathe; and as soon as her morning duties were finished, she told her mother that she was going visiting and would not be at home until tea time. by eleven o'clock they had locked the door of sappho's room to keep out all intruders, had mended the fire until the little stove gave out a delicious warmth, and had drawn the window curtains close to keep out stray currents of air. sappho's couch was drawn close beside the stove, while dora's small person was most cosily bestowed in her favorite rocking- chair. it was a very convenient stove that sappho had in her room. the ornamental top could be turned back on its movable hinge, and there was a flat stove cover ready to hold any vessel and heat its contents to just the right tempera- ture. sappho was prouder of that stove than a daughter of fortune would have been of the the tiniversitv ac aainian vinn. contending forces. it was most expensive silver chafing-dish. very near lunch time, so the top was turned back, and the little copper teakettle was begin- ning to sing its welcome song. dora had placed a small, round table between the couch and the rocker. a service for two was set out in dainty china dishes, cream and sugar look- ing doubly tempting as it gleamed and glis- tened in the delicate ware. one plate was piled with thinly cut slices of bread and butter, another held slices of pink ham. sappho lay back among her cushions, lazily stretching her little slippered feet toward the warm stove, where the fire burned so cheerily and glowed so invitingly as it shone through the isinglass door. she folded her arms above her head and turned an admiring gaze on the brown face of her friend, who swayed gently back and forth in her rocking-chair, her feet on a hassock, and a scarlet afghan wrapped about her knees. dora was telling sappho all about her engagement to john langley and their plans for the future. "i think you will be happy, dora, if you love him. all things are possible if love is the foundation stone,” said sappho, after a slight pause, as she nestled among her pillows. dora was sitting bolt upright with the usual busi- ness-like look upon her face. friendship. “ i like him well enough to marry him, but i don't believe there's enough sentiment in me to make love a great passion, such as we read of in books. do you believe marriage is the beautiful state it is painted by writers ?" why, yes,” laughed sappho; “i wouldn't believe anything else for your sake, my little brownie." “no joking, sappho; this is dead earnest. don't you ever expect to marry, and don't you speculate about the pros and cons and the maybes and perhapses of the situation?" asked dora, as she filled the cups with steaming cocoa and passed one to her friend. "dora, you little gourmand, what have you got in the refrigerator?” a box ingeniously nailed to the window seat outside, and filled with shelves, and having a substantial door, was the ice-box, or refrigerator, where sappho kept materials handy for a quick lunch. dora closed the window and returned quickly to her seat, placing a glass dish on the table as she did so. " it's only part of a cream pie that ma had left last night. i thought it would help out nicely with our lunch." what, again!” said sappho significantly. that's the fourth time this week, and here it is but friday. you'll be as fat as a seal, and vodi v uity u alisoninit hi ili utiliuillit til din limundili cg i contending forces. sappe dora then john p. won't want you at any price. take warning, and depart from the error of your ways before it is too late.” dora laughed guiltily and said, as she drew a box from her apron pocket: “well, here are john's chocolate bonbons that he brought last night. i suppose you won't want me to touch them, for fear of getting fat.” sappho shook her head in mock despair. and your teeth, your beautiful white teeth, where will they be shortly if you persist in eat- ing a pound of bonbons every day? think of your fate, dora, and pause in your reckless career forty inches about the waist and only scraggy snags to show me when you grin!” “thank heaven i'll never come to that while there's a dentist in the city of boston! i'll eat all the bonbons i want in spite of you, sappho, and if you don't hurry i'll eat your slice of cream pie, too." at this dire threat there ensued a scramble for the pie, mingled with peals of merry laughter, until all rosy and sparkling, sappho emerged from the fray with the dish containing her share of the dainty held high in the air. presently lunch was over, and they resumed their old positions, prepared to “take comfort." “you haven't answered my question yet, sappho." friendship. i “to tell you the truth, i had forgotten your remark, dora; what was it?” “i suspect that is a bit of a fib to keep me from teasing you about getting married. what i want to know is: do you ever mean to marry, or are you going to pine in single blessedness on my hands and be a bachelor-maid to the end?" well,” replied sappho, with a comical twist to her face, “in the words of unc' gulliver, ‘i mote, an' then agin i moten't.'” “what troubles me is having a man bother- ing around. now i tell john p. that i'm busy, or something like that, and i'm rid of him; but after you marry a man, he's on your hands for good and all. i'm wondering if my love could stand the test.” “that's queer talk for an engaged girl, with a fine, handsome fellow to court her. why, dora, ‘i'm s'prised at yer!'" laughed sappho gaily. “i'm not ashamed of john p.'s appearance in company; he looks all right; but when one is terribly in love one is supposed to want the dear object always near; but matches, - love matches, - my child, turn out so badly that a girl hesitates to 'git jined to eny man fer betterer or worserer,' as dr. peters says. then i get tired of a man so soon! (this with a doleful the miniversitv ac aainutia innen i contending forces. sigh.) i dread to think of being tied to john for good and all; i know i'll be sick of him inside of a week. i do despair of ever being like other girls.” sappho laughed outright at the woe-begone countenance before her. " it is generally the other way: the men get tired of us first. a woman loves one man, and is true to him through all eternity." “that's just what makes me feel so unsexed, so to speak; i like john's looks. he's the style among all the girls in our set. i like to know that i can claim him before them all. it's fun to see 'em fluttering around him, kindly trying put my nose out of joint. i must say that i feel real comfortable to spoil sport by walk- ing off with him just when they think they've got things running as they wish. yes, it's real comfortable to know that they're all as jealous as can be. but for all that, i know i'll get tired of him.” “let us hope not, if you have really made up your mind to marry him. dora, sometimes i am afraid that you mean what you say. i notice that you call him “john p.: what's the p for?” " pollock — john pollock langley. his grandfather was his father's master, and pollock was his name," sang dora, as she rocked gently friendship. to and fro. “now, there's arthur lewis," she continued; "he's jolly.fun. he isn't a fasci- nator, or anything of that sort; he's just good.” “who is he?” asked sappho, with languid interest. “properly speaking, he's dr. arthur lewis. we were children together, although he is five years older than i. he's a fine scholar and a great business man. he has a large industrial school in louisiana. he's gone up in the world, i tell you, since we made mud pies on the back doorsteps; but i never think of him except as old arthur, who used to drag me to school on his sled." there was a gleam of fun in sappho's eyes, as she said demurely: “you seem to know all about him. was he ever a lover of yours ?” “lover! no, indeed!” dora flushed vividly under her brown skin. “the idea of arthur as my lover is too absurd.” "excuse me, dear, for my mistake,” said sappho mischievously. “i didn't know but that he might be the mysterious link which would join love, marriage and the necessary man in a harmonious whole." "well,” said dora, after a slight pause, blush- ing furiously, “ i don't say he wouldn't like the rôle. you'll see him soon; he's coming to boston on business in a few weeks. oh, we've the tiniversitv ac airlinan innan. i contending forces. jo. levi had rare times together.” she sighed and smiled, lost for the moment in pleasant mem- ories. sappho smiled, too, in sympathy with her mood. ah, yes; i think i understand. poor john!" “ john's all right. don't shed any tears over him,” said dora testily. they sat awhile in silence, listening to the sound of the whirling frozen flakes wind-driven against the window panes. it was scarce three o'clock, but dark- ness was beginning to envelop the city, and it was already a pleasant twilight in the room. tell me about dr. lewis and his work, dora,” said sappho presently. “do you know, he interests me exceedingly.” “i don't really understand arthur's hobbies, but i believe that he is supposed to be doing a great work in the black belt. his argument is, as i understand it, that industrial education and the exclusion of politics will cure all our race troubles." “i doubt it,” returned sappho quickly, with an impatient toss of the head. “that reasoning might be practically illustrated with benefit to us for a few years in the south, but to my mind would not effect a permanent cure for race troubles if we are willing to admit that human nature is the same in us as in others. contending forces. might catch just the expression that lighted her eyes and glowed in a bright color upon her cheeks. “i predict some fun when you and arthur meet. i'll just start you both out some night, and you'll be spitting at each other like two cats inside of five minutes. arthur thinks that women should be seen and not heard, whère politics is under discussion.” “insufferable prig !” exclaimed sappho, with snapping eyes. 'oh, no, he isn't; arthur's all right. but you see he is living south; his work is there, and he must keep in with the whites of the section where his work lies, or all he has accom- plished will go for naught, and perhaps his life might be forfeited, too." "i see. the mess of pottage and the birth- right." bless you! not so bad as that; but money makes the mare go," returned dora, with a wink at her friend, and a shrewd business look on her bright little yankee face. “i say to you, as arthur says to me when i tell him what i think of his system: 'if you want honey, you must have money. i don't know anything about politics, as i said before, but my opinion won't cost you anything: when we can say that lots of our men are as rich as jews, there'll be friendship. i no question about the franchise, and my idea is that arthur 'll be one of the jews." “oh!" exclaimed sappho disgustedly, as she resumed her lounging position. “sappho, how did you come to take up stenography? i should have thought you would have preferred teaching.” “ i had to live, my dear; i could not teach school, because my education does not include a college course. i could not do housework, because my constitution is naturally weak.” it was noticeable in these confidential chats that sappho never spoke of her early life. dora had confided to her friend every event of importance that had occurred in her young life; and, in harmless gossip, had related the history of all the friends who visited the house intimately; but all this had begot no like un- burdening to eager ears of the early history of her friend. wonderful to relate, however, dora did not resent this reserve, which she could see was studied. it spoke well for the sincerity of the love that had taken root in her heart for sappho, that it subdued her inquisitiveness, and she gladly accepted her friendship without asking troublesome questions. “ how did you finally succeed in getting work? i have always heard that it was very difficult for colored girls to find employment the miniversitv ac aachinaat innen contending forces. را بر in offices where your class of work is required." “and so it is, my dear. i sometimes think that if i lose the work i am on, i shall not try for another position. i shall never forget the day i started out to find work: the first place that i visited was all right until the man found i was colored; then he said that his wife wanted a nurse girl, and he had no doubt she would be glad to hire me, for i looked good-tempered. at the second place where i ventured to in- trude the proprietor said: 'yes; we want a stenographer, but we've no work for your kind.' however, that was preferable to the insulting familiarity which some men assumed. it was dreadful! i don't like to think about it. father andrew induced the man for whom i am work- ing to employ me. i do not interfere with the other help, because i take my work home; many of the other clerks have never seen me, and so the proprietor runs no risk of being bothered with complaints from them. he treats me very well, too." “i have heard many girls tell much the same tale about other lines of business," said dora. "it makes me content to do the work of this house, and not complain.” “ you ought to thank god every day for such a refuge as you have in your home.” “i cannot understand people. here in the friendship. < north we are allowed every privilège. there seems to be no prejudice until we seek-employ- ment; then every door is closed against us. can you explain this ?” “no, i cannot; to my way of thinking the whole thing is a chinese puzzle.” bless my soul! just look at that clock!” exclaimed dora, as she scrambled to her feet and began gathering up her scattered property. “five o'clock, and tea to get. sappho, you've been lazy enough for one day. come down.. stairs and help me get tea. the boys will be here in no time, as hungry as bears." piloted by dora, sappho became well ac- quainted with ancient landmarks of peculiar interest to the colored people. they visited the home for aged women on m street, and read and sang to the occupants. they visited st. monica's hospital, and carried clothes, flowers, and a little money saved from the cost of contemplated easter finery. they scattered brightness along with charitable acts wherever a case of want was brought to their attention. dora had accepted the position of organist for a prominent colored church in the city. there was a small salary attached to the place, which she was glad to receive. sappho usually went with her to choir rehearsals, and sitting in the shadows, well hidden from view, would the tiniversity oc aamiinan inn. contending forces. think over the romantic history of the fine old edifice. the building, so the story ran, was the place of worship of a rich, white baptist con- gregation in the years preceding the emancipa- tion. negroes were allowed in the galleries only. believing this color-bar to be a stigma on the house of god, a few of the members protested, but finding their warnings unheeded, withdrew from the church, and finally found a sabbath home in an old building long used as a theatre. these people prospered, and grew rich and powerful; colored people were alway's welcome in the congregation. the society in the old church, left to itself, had at last been glad to sell the building to its present occu- pants. thus the despised people, who were not allowed a seat outside of the galleries, now owned and occupied the scene of their former humiliation. it was a solemn and wonderful dispensation of providence, and filled the girl's heart with strong emotion. during these evenings, when she waited for the close of the rehearsals, she became ac- quainted with many odd specimens of the race: men of brain and thought, but of unique ex- pression and filled with quaint humor. one of these characters was known as dr. abraham peters, doctor peters was a well-read man, greatly interested in scientific research, but friendsiiip. who had lacked the opportunity to obtain information in his youth. he had been a slave when a boy, a few years before the civil war. now he was the church janitor, and to eke out his scanty income kept a little boot- black stand just around the corner from the church, and knowing something of medicine and nursing the sick, had advertised himself as a magnetic physician. he displayed much skill in practice, and had acquired something of a local reputation. doctor peters and sap- pho were good friends, and he brought out all his store of knowledge, proudly displaying it for her approval. "you see, miss sappho, i've knocked 'bout the worl' some consid’ble,” he said one night, in his soft southern tones and quaint northern- ized dialect, as they sat in the cosy vestry wait- ing for the close of the rehearsal. “ben po'rer than eny chuch mouse. but i've saved some- thin', an' i know the worl'. perhaps you's int'rest'd 'nuff in an ole man to want to hear how i come to 'vertis myself as a magnifyin' doctor, an' where i picked it up, eh?” “yes," replied sappho, “i certainly am inter- ested in your story." well, while they're caterwaulin' on that easter anthem in ten flats, i reckon i'll have time to tell you all 'bout it. fust i knowed the tiniversitv ac airliinaat innenin tiadaai niha ja tii*nin contending forces. 'bout magnetics was brought to my 'tention down home. some people said i had the evil eye, an' some said it was only a strong eye, but be that homsomever, it was a bad eye, an''a terror ter watermilyun thieves when it was my watch on the chickun houses. magnifyin' an' hoodooin' is 'bout the same thing down thar, tho' sense the 'srender mos' all ol’-time doin's is done 'way. 'bout the time i realized that i had this power i had 'sperinced ruligeon, an' had been jestified an' concentrated, so that i got the blessin’. them days, too, i was a-sottin' out to court my susie (that's my wife), an' all the young fellers 'roun’the county was a-sprucin’ up to her jes' like crows 'roun' carr'on. sun- day was the day i had mos' on my mind, 'cause they'd ride up an' hitch thar mules in a line all along the ole man's fence (you see he had right smart prop'ty, an' i spec' that had a mighty drawin' infloonce on some of them shif'less fel- lers who hadn't nuff skonsh to start thar own mule team up a hill), an' thar they'd sot like so many buzzards, waitin' fer a chance to sly susie off to chuch under my nose. i had ter wurk lively, i tell you; susie was kin' o' skittish an' res'less, an' it was fus' come, fus' sarved, with her, bein' she had her choice. well, jes' at the time i got the blessin' i got the insurance that susie was gwine ter have me. all the fellers friendsiiip. i was satisfied but possum tooit. possum an' me was boys together, an' we'd both run each other purty hard strivin' to come through fust at the mourner's bench as well as to git the gal. possum was beat when he found i had a full hand and had swept the pot.” “oomhoo!” laughed brother jones, who was an interested listener to doctor peters' story. “oomhoo, brother peters; done guv yerself 'way. what you know 'bout ‘full hands an' pots ?” who give himself 'way, brother jones? ever hear me say ise better'n enybody else in this chuch? i'm er man, sah, i'm er man! ise done truspassed on the flesh-pots of egypt as much as eny other man. don't yer 'oomhoo' me, brother jones, no sah !” “tech a sore place, brother peters, tech a sore place,” laughed the brother as he walked away, his shoulders shaking like great mounds of jelly. it was some minutes before doctor peters could recover his equilibrium and go on with his tale. “possum tooit was so mad an' disapinted that he finally challenged me to fight a jewel. i wasn't in no state of mind to be killed by any of his hoodoo tricks, possum bein' an export at puttin' spells an' sech like on enybody fer from twenty-five cents up to five dollars; neither the tiniversitv ac amintimaal innen avhhii nihiwa jn *in t i contending forces. did i want susie to think i was 'fraid of possum tooit. so thar i was 'tween a hawk an'a buz- zard. well, i accepted the challenge, an' bein' the defendant in the matter, of course, i had the choice of weapins, an' i choose rifles. we kep' mighty secret 'bout the 'rangements, an' met at moonrise on a field jes' back of the graveyard. the seconds measured off ten spaces after we'd shooken hands, an' we each stepped to our places. tho' it was a solemn 'casion, i wasn't skeered, but possum was a rollin' up the whites of his eyes, an' you could hear his teeth chatter worse than dried corn shuks. ike watkins was head second, an' he stood 'tween us, holdin' his red bandanna in his han' waitin' to say the word. 'gemplemen, is you ready?' he says. “let her go, ike,' says i. * take aim,' says he, an' i pinted the rifle at possum, an' callin' up all the power in me i threw it along the body of the gun plumb 'tween possum's eyes jes' above the bridge of his nose. an' that was a fair target, 'cause the bridge of possum's nose was a miracle fer size. possum gave a yell when he felt the strength of that eye, that would a splut yer year-pan in two. an' in two seconds he was in the worst alpaca fit you ever seen. the seconds acknowl- cdged me the victor by a reckless invention of providence, they bein' aware that the adversary friendsiiil'. wasn't hit by nary bullet, the rities bein' loaded with salt fer fear of mischief. possuim owned up like a man that i was more powerful than him, because of the sufernatral strength in my hower bad eye. "well, i kep'on prayin' fer mo' faith until i got the power in my hands, an' by lavin'em on a sick pusson i could 'lectrocute 'em instantly; an'thar bad feelin's would disappear. people got the notion i could pray a pusson right out the grave, an' my fame spread abroad until i began charging fer my services, explainin' to my patients that the dead might be raised, but not fer nuthin', after which i seed a fallin' off in my poperlarity. business bein' purty brief jes' then, i took susie an' moved up norf, an' went ter cookin' on a steamboat. i've done mos' everythin' in this worl', honey, as i tol' you, to git an hones' livin' without stealin' it. an' i dunno,” added the old man reflectively, as he stroked the gray, stubby fringe on his chin, “ i dunno as i'm eny too good of i got pushed real hard to help myself out; humans is humans, an' i've seen many a well-'tentioned feller settin' in the caboose when times was hard, an' the mule mortgaged for full value to three men at once to buy meal an' bread, an' hog an' hominy, an' terbaccer. but mos' in ginerally, i've got along without silin' my hands the tiniversitv nc alinliinaat inn.no . ahhii nihiua! jn cuin contending forces. with other people's prop'ty. well, honey, they gave me fifteen dollars a munf an' found, fer bein' head cook, an' i paid ten dollars a munf house rent out of that. things was purty brief, purty brief. times was more an’ more spuri- ous, an' it was work yer wits, abraham peters, to git a livin'. i jes' didn't know whicher way to turn, one day i got a telegraph at the other end of the route that the baby was dead an' no money to pay the undertaker, an' the ole 'ooman sick in the bed from worryin'. the lord jes' seemed to pour his blessin' down on us in a house full o' chillun. after susie'd had twenty i used to pray the lord to stop blessin' us that way, 'cause he could see fer himself that too many blessins was a gittin' to be a nuisance. i cooked the dinner myself that day, bein' the other cook was ashore, an' you believe me, i sung an' i prayed an' i wrastled fer help in that ole steamboat kitchen down behin' my bigges' brass biler where i was kivered from pryin' eyes. all of a suddint i felt the power, an' the lord spoke to me an' he said: 'git up, abra- ham peters, an' go out an' hoodoo the fust man you meet. bless yo, chile, i riz up in a hurry an' started out, not knowin' no more than nuthin' what was meant by that. fust man i saw when i got on deck was the cap'n; i went friendship. up to him, an' i smiled. i must have been a purty picture with my face all grease an' tears. i says, not thinkin' what wurds i was goin' ter utter: ‘mornin', cap'n; how's yer corporosity seem to segashiate?' cap'n he roared; you could a heard him holler up to boston. he slapped me on the back, an' says he: ‘abe peters, that's the gol darndest thing i ever heard.' with that he hauled out a five-dollar bill an' gave me, an' walked off laughin' fit to kill hisself. by night i had twenty dollars in my pocket, an' everybody on the boat was a callin' me 'corporosity segashiate.' i've used that hoodoo ever since, an' i ain't found nary white gempleman can seem to git 'way from it without showing the color of his money. “one of the owners of the boat took a great liking to me, an' he says to me one day, says he: ‘abe, how'd you like to wurk ashore so you could be nearer your family an' git better pay?' 'like it?' says i. ' if you don't want to pulverize me, don' make me no sech an offer.' he laughed a bit, an' then he says: “i've got a big buildin' up washington street, an' i want a trusty man to keep it clean an' look after the tenants. i'll give you ten dollars a week.' "i took off my cap, an' i truly bowed down to that man, an' i says: 'the lord's been a wurkin' on yer heart, mr. pierson.' maybe the tiniversitv ac aminaat innen tinvaat nihiutal jo tim*in tin contending forces. he has,' says he;'anyholli you can pack up an' go ashore next trip: pour place'll be waitin' fer yer.' fust thing i knowed i was a bossin' a big job of janitorin. mos' of the people in the buildin' was christian science. after they'd got a little bit acquainted with me they found out the power i had in my hands fer lavin' on. 'twant long before i was a pickin'up right smart nussin' nights. don't suppose you know much 'bout this science business, do you?" sappho confessed her ignorance. “ christian science is a faith-cure; that is, it's usin' yer brains an trainin' 'em to know that there's nuthin' 'tall the matter with you ef you only think there ain't. they argify that all sickness is a mistake, 'cause it's 'maginary: i don't b'lieve that, though, cause i had the rheumatism while i was there, an' the doctors started in to cure me by prayin' an' wurkin' on my body through my spirit, an' it warn't no more good than muthin' tall. i've got as much faith as eny livin' man, but rheumatism is one o them things that'll convince you agin' your will; it will draw speech out of a deef mute an make a blind man see, when them pains is a grindin' inter your bones an' jints worse than a saw cuttin' thro' knots in a cord wood stick. i'm free to say that curin' my mind didn't have no effect on my pain, an' i jes' kep' on seein' friendship. blue blazes an' swearin' like mad. i'll 'low that faith can move mountains, faith, as lectle as a mustard seed, an' that's mighty small. ef you b’lieve you'll get what you wants an' asks fer, that's faith. that's good; that's all right. trouble is we don't b'licve it 'cordin' to scripter. we git mad when our prayers ain't answered, not thinkin' it's 'cause we ain't got horse sense nuff to use discrection in puttin' our faith on subjects that is approvin' to the lord, an' will fit in with his own idees 'bout runnin' the busi- ness of the universe. an' that's where faith- cure is weak, 'cause it's comin' in 'junction with god. faith-cure won't operate on any man where it was preordinated that a pretickler man was to die with a pretickler complaint. no'm, we ain't up to comin' in 'junction with the lord's business. there's a number of grand diversions to christian science. there's hypnism an' pessimism an' a number of other isms, but they all bear the same way — a sort of applostic healin' of sickness. the doctors kept after me 'bout my gifts of healin', an' very kindly showed me wherein i could make an hones' dollar, an' business bein' business i finally determined to adop' magnifyin' as a perfeshun. i've been in the business nigh upon ten years now, an' i've picked up as good a livin' as any colored gempleman who has wurked a sight vrvui i vullvini zu aujojainit jhi shimvhali nyiuam in ulmaniin rir (ovtexdixg forces. harder an' had to take piles o’ unregenerate sass from his boss." that night they walked home together after the rehearsal: the four young people — dora and john, sappho and will. some one of the choir boy's walking ahead of them was singing in a sweet, high tenor voice the refrain of an old love song: “couldst thou but know how much i love thee." it suited will's mood, and voiced his dream exquisitely. across the heavens the northern lights streamed in radi- ance. meteors bright and shooting stars added to the beauty of the night. the moon, at its full, shed the light of day about them. the wind whispered amidst the leafless branches of the huge old trees on the common and pub- lic garden as they passed them on their home- ward way. once will took her hand in his; she let it stay a moment while she made an incoherent little speech about clouds and trees. will said nothing. it was not time yet, he told himself. he would wait a little longer. the sewing-circle. chapter viii. the sewing-circle. where village statesmen talked with looks profound, imagination fondly stoops to trace the parlor splendors of that festive place. yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, these simple blessings of the lowly train; to me more dear, one native charm than all the gloss of art. - goldsmith. ma smith was a member of the church re- ferred to in the last chapter, the most promi- nent one of color in new england. it was situated in the heart of the west end, and was a very valuable piece of property. every winter this church gave many entertainments to aid in paying off the mortgage, which at this time amounted to about eight thousand dollars. mrs. smith, as the chairman of the board of stewardesses, was inaugurating a fair - one that should eclipse anything of a similar nature ever attempted by the colored people, and numerous sewing-circles were being held among the members all over the city. parlor entertainments where an admission fee of ten cents was collected from every patron, were wivu i nwuitiuitv ju adsojainit jai mvhan ahdium jn unanin contending forces. also greatly in vogue, and the money thus obtained was put into a fund to defray the ex- pense of purchasing eatables and decorations, and paying for the printing of tickets, circu- lars, etc., for the fair. the strongest forces of the colored people in the vicinity were to com- bine and lend their aid in making a supreme effort to clear this magnificent property. boston contains a number of well-to-do fami- lies of color whose tax-bills show a most com- fortable return each year to the city treasury. strange as it may seem, these well-to-do people, in goodly numbers, distribute themselves and their children among the various episcopal churches with which the city abounds, the gov- ernment of which holds out the welcome hand to the brother in black, who is drawn to unite his fortunes with the members of this particu- lar denomination. it may be true that the beautiful ritual of the church is responsible in some measure for this. colored people are nothing if not beauty-lovers, and for such a people the grandeur of the service has great attractions. but in justice to this church one must acknowledge that it has been instrumental in doing much toward helping this race to help itself, along the lines of brotherly interest. these people were well represented within the precincts of mrs. smith's pretty parlor one tite sewing-circle. afternoon, all desirous of lending their aid to help along the great project. as we have said, mrs. smith occupied the back parlor of the house as her chamber, and within this room the matrons had assembled to take charge of the cutting out of different gar- ments; and here, too, the sewing machine was placed ready for use. in the parlor proper all the young ladies were seated ready to perform any service which might be required of them in the way of putting garments together. by two o'clock all the members of the sew- ing-circle were in their places. the parlor was crowded. mrs. willis, the brilliant widow of a bright negro politician, had charge of the girls, and after the sewing had been given out the first business of the meeting was to go over events of interest to the negro race which had transpired during the week throughout the country. these facts had been previously tab- ulated upon a blackboard which was placed upon an easel, and occupied a conspicuous position in the room. each one was supposed to contribute anything of interest that she had read or heard in that time for the benefit of all. after these points had been gone over, mrs. willis gave a talk upon some topic of interest. at six o'clock tea was to be served in the kitchen, the company taking refreshment in the tiniversitv ac aloitinaat innenr. sinthai aimduo jn unmanın contending forces. squads of five. at eight o'clock all unfinished work would be folded and packed away in the convenient little boston bag, to be finished at home, and the male friends of the various ladies were expected to put in an appearance. music and recitations were to be enjoyed for two hours, ice cream and cake being sold for the benefit of the cause. mrs. willis was a good example of a class of women of color that came into existence at the close of the civil war. she was not a rara avis, but one of many possibilities which the future will develop from among the colored women of new england. every city, or town from maine to new york has its mrs. willis. keen in her analysis of human nature, most people realized, after a short acquaintance, in which they ran the gamut of emotions from strong attraction to repulsion, that she had sifted them thoroughly, while they had gained nothing in return. shrewd in business mat- ters, many a subtle business man had been worsted by her apparent womanly weakness and charming simplicity. with little money, she yet contrived to live in quiet elegance, even-including the little journeys from place to place, so adroitly managed as to increase her influence at home and her fame abroad. well-read and thoroughly conversant with all the sewing-circle. current topics, she impressed one as having been' liberally educated and polished by travel, whereas a high-school course more than cov- ered all her opportunities. even today it is erroneously believed that all racial development among colored people has taken place since emancipation. it is im- possible of belief for some, that little circles of educated men and women of color have existed since the revolutionary war. some of these people were born free, some have lost the memory of servitude in the dim past; a greater number by far were recruited from the ener- getic slaves of the south, who toiled when they should have slept, for the money that pur- chased their freedom, or else they boldly took the rights which man denied. mrs. willis was one from among these classes. the history of her descent could not be traced, but somewhere, somehow, a strain of white blood had filtered through the african stream. at sixty odd she was vigorous, well-preserved, broad and com- fortable in appearance, with an aureole of white hair crowning a pleasant face. she had loved her husband with a love ambi- tious for his advancement. his foot on the stairs mounting to the two-room tenement which constituted their home in the early years of married life, had sent a thrill to her very the miniversitv ne aaninan inn.nic. all villiuiflur full m . lla l coxtending forces. heart as she sat sewing baby clothes for the always expected addition to the family. but twenty years make a difference in all our lives. it brought many changes to the colored people of new england - social and business changes. politics had become the open sesame for the ambitious negro. a seat in the legislature then was not a dream to this man, urged by the loving woman behind him. other offices of trust were quickly offered him when his worth became known. he grasped his oppor- tunity; grew richer, more polished, less social, and the family broadened out and overflowed from old familiar “ west end " environments across the river charles into the aristocratic suburbs of cambridge. death comes to us all. money, the sinews of living and social stand- ing, she did not possess upon her husband's death. therefore she was forced to begin a weary pilgrimage a hunt for the means to help her breast the social tide. the best open- ing, she decided after looking carefully about her, was in the great cause of the evolution of true womanhood in the work of the “ woman question " as embodied in marriage and suf- frage. she could talk dashingly on many themes, for which she had received much ap- plause in by-gone days, when in private life she had held forth in the drawing-room of some tite sewing-circle. back bay philanthropist who sought to use her talents as an attraction for a worthy chari- table object, the discovery of a rare species of versatility in the negro character being a sure drawing-card. it was her boast that she had made the fortunes of her family and settled her children well in life. the advancement of the colored woman should be the new problem in the woman question that should float her upon its tide into the prosperity she desired. and she succeeded well in her plans: con- ceived in selfishness, they yet bore glorious fruit in the formation of clubs of colored women banded together for charity, for study, for every reason under god's glorious heavens that can better the condition of mankind. trivialities are not to be despised. inborn love implanted in a woman's heart for a luxu- rious, esthetic home life, running on well-oiled wheels amid flowers, sunshine, books and price- less pamphlets, easy chairs and french gowns, may be the means of developing a paderewski or freeing a race from servitude. it was amus- ing to watch the way in which she governed societies and held her position. in her hands committees were as wax, and loud murmurings against the tyranny of her rule died down to judicious whispers. if a vote went contrary to her desires, it was in her absence. thus the tiniversity nc alipiinaat innanir il viitlajill ur wiiloilan i ikwalilu contending forces. she became the pivot about which all the social me. w.lil and intellectual life of the colored people of her section revolved. no one had yet been found with the temerity to contest her position, which, like a title of nobility, bade fair to descend to her children. it was thought that she might be eclipsed by the younger and more brilliant women students on the strength of their alma mater, but she still held her own by sheer force of will-power and indomitable pluck. the subject of the talk at this meeting was: “ the place which the virtuous woman occupies in upbuilding a race.” after a few explanatory remarks, mrs. willis said: “i am particularly anxious that you should think upon this matter seriously, because of its intrinsic value to all of us as race women. i am not less anxious because you represent the coming factors of our race. shortly, you must fill the positions now occupied by your mothers, and it will rest with you and your children to refute the charges brought against us as to our moral irresponsibility, and the tow moral stand- ard maintained by us in comparison with other races. “did i understand you to say that the negro woman in her native state is truly a virtuous woman ?” asked sappho, who had been very silent during the bustle attending the opening of the meeting. the sewing-circle. " travelers tell us that the native african woman is impregnable in her virtue," replied mrs. willis. “so we have sacrificed that attribute in order to acquire civilization," chimed in dora. “no, not ‘sacrificed,' but pushed one side by the force of circumstances. let us thank god that it is an essential attribute peculiar to us a racial characteristic which is slumbering but not lost," replied mrs. willis. “but let us not forget the definition of virtue -'strength to do the right thing under all temptations.' our ideas of virtue are too narrow. we confine them to that conduct which is ruled by our animal passions alone. it goes deeper than that - general excellence in every duty of life is what we may call virtue." “do you think, then, that negro women will be held responsible for all the lack of virtue that is being laid to their charge today? i mean, do you think that god will hold us responsible for the illegitimacy with which our race has been obliged, as it were, to flood the world? ” asked sappho. " i believe that we shall not be held responsi- ble for wrongs which we have unconsciously committed, or which we have committed under compulsion. we are virtuous or non-virtuous only when we have a choice under temptation. www.uus i divuliivity ju alijgjainit jai yavha!! niwa! jn isminin it contending forces, we cannot by any means apply the word to a little child who has never been exposed to temptation, nor to the supreme being 'who cannot be tempted with evil.' so with the african brought to these shores against his will — the state of morality which implies will- power on his part does not exist, therefore he is not a responsible being. the sin and its punishment lies with the person consciously false to his knowledge of right. from this we deduce the truism that the civility of no race is perfect whilst another race is degraded.'” “i shall never forget my feelings,” chimed in anna stevens, a school teacher of a very studi- ous temperament, “at certain remarks made by the rev. john thomas at one of his noonday lectures in the temple. he was speaking on different races,' and had in his vigorous style been sweeping his audience with him at a high elevation of thought which was dazzling to the faculties, and almost impossible to follow in some points. suddenly he touched upon the negro, and with impressive gesture and lowered voice thanked god that the mulatto race was dying out, because it was a mongrel mixture which combined the worst elements of two races. lo, the poor mulatto! despised by the blacks of his own race, scorned by the whites! let him go out and hang himself !” c the sewing-circle. in her indignation anna forgot the scissors, and bit her thread off viciously with her little white teeth. mrs. willis smiled as she said calmly : “my dear anna, i would not worry about the fate of the mulatto, for the fate of the mulatto will be the fate of the entire race. did you never think that today the black race on this conti- nent has developed into a race of mulattoes?" why, mrs. willis !" came in a chorus of voices. “yes," continued mrs. willis, still smiling. “ it is an incontrovertible truth that there is no such thing as an unmixed black on the american continent. just bear in mind that we cannot tell by a person's complexion whether he be dark or light in blood, for by the work- ing of the natural laws the white father and black mother produce the mulatto offspring : the black father and white mother the mulatto offspring also, while the black father and quail- roon mother produce the black child, which to the eye alone alone is a child of unmixed black blood. i will venture to say that out of a hundred apparently pure black men not one will be able to trace an unmixed flow of african blood since landing upon these shores! what an unhappy example of the frailty of all human intellects, when such a man and scholar as the liniversity oc alioliinaa innenr. . virkilvili ur vilmigan libraries ha hur contending forces. doctor thomas could so far allow his preju- dices to dominate his better judgment as to add one straw to the burden which is popularly supposed to rest upon the unhappy mulattoes of a despised race,” finished the lady, with a dangerous flash of her large dark eyes. mrs. willis,” said dora, with a scornful little laugh, “i am not unhappy, and i am a mulatto. i just enjoy my life, and i don't want to die before my time comes, either. there are lots of good things left on earth to be en- joyed even by mulattoes, and i want my share." “yes, my dear; and i hope you may all live and take comfort in the proper joys of your lives. while we are all content to accept life, and enjoy it along the lines which god has laid down for us as individuals as well as a race, we shall be happy and get the best out of life. now, let me close this talk by asking you to remember one maxim written of your race by a good man: "happiness and social position are not to be gained by pushing.' let the world, by its need of us along certain lines, and our intrinsic fitness for these lines, push us into the niche which god has prepared for us. so shall our lives be beautified and our race raised in the civilization of the future as we grow away from all these prejudices which have been the instruments of our advancement the sewing-circle. race. according to the intention of an all-seeing om- nipotence, from the beginning. never mind our poverty, ignorance, and the slights and injuries which we bear at the hands of a higher with the thought ever before us of what the master suffered to raise all humanity to its present degree of prosperity and intelligence, let us cultivate, while we go about our daily tasks, no matter how inferior they may seem to us, beauty of the soul and mind, which being transmitted to our children by the law of hered- ity, shall improve the race by eliminating im- morality from our midst and raising morality and virtue to their true place. thirty-five years of liberty have made us a new people. the marks of servitude and oppression are dropping slowly from us; let us hasten the transformation of the body by the nobility of the soul.” the lininpocity c nantinnenina . hiiii liivisi ur wiiiiinilu i vila .. for of the soul the body form doth take, for soul is form and doth the body make, quoted dora. yes,” said mrs. willis with a smile, “that is the idea exactly, and well expressed. now i hope that through the coming week you will think of what we have talked about this after- noon, for it is of the very first importance to all people, but particularly so to young folks." contending forces. sappho, who had been thoughtfully embroid- ering pansies on white linen, now leaned back in her chair for a moment and said: “mrs. willis, there is one thing which puzzles me - how are we to overcome the nature which is given us? i mean how can we eliminate pas- sion from our lives, and emerge into the purity which marked the life of christ? so many of us desire purity and think to have found it, but in a moment of passion, or under the pressure of circumstances which we cannot control, we commit some horrid sin, and the taint of it sticks and will not leave us, and we grow to loathe ourselves." “ passion, my dear miss clark, is a state in which the will lies dormant, and all other desires become subservient to one. enthusi- asm for any one object or duty may become a passion. i believe that in some degree passion may be beneficial, but we must guard ourselves against a sinful growth of any appetite. all work of whatever character, as i look at it, needs a certain amount of absorbing interest to become successful, and it is here that the christian life gains its greatest glory in teach- ing us how to keep ourselves from abusing any of our human attributes. we are not held responsible for compulsory sin, only for the sin that is pleasant to our thoughts and palatable the sewing-circle. to our appetites. all desires and hopes with which we are endowed are good in the sight of god, only it is left for us to discover their right uses. do i cover your ground ? ” “yes and no," replied sappho; “but perhaps at some future time you will be good enough to talk with me personally upon this subject.” “dear child, sit here by me. it is a blessing to look at you. beauty like yours is inspiring. you seem to be troubled; what is it? if i can comfort or strengthen, it is all i ask.” she pressed the girl's hand in hers and drew her into a secluded corner. for a moment the flood-gates of suppressed feeling flew open in the girl's heart, and she longed to lean her head on that motherly breast and unburden her sorrows there. “mrs. willis, i am troubled greatly," she said at length. “i am so sorry; tell me, my love, what it is all about." just as the barriers of sappho's reserve seemed about to be swept away, there followed, almost instantly, a wave of repulsion toward this woman and her effusiveness, so forced and insincere. sappho was very impressionable, and yielded readily to the influence which fell like a cold shadow between them. she drew back as from an abyss suddenly beheld stretch- ing before her. vryui i i viiiviri ju aljÖjainiÍ, jhi allt viiiiiiiuiii üſ viiuiiitii iiiiiiiii coxtending forces. “on second thoughts, i think i ought to correct my remarks. it is not really trouble, but more a desire to confirm me in my own ideas.” “well, if you feel you are right, dear girl, stand for the uplifting of the race and woman- hood. do not shrink from duty.” " it was simply a thought raised by your remarks on morality. i once knew a woman who had sinned. no one in the community in which she lived knew it but herself. she mar- ried a man who would have despised her had he known her story; but as it is, she is looked upon as a pattern of virtue for all women." “and then what?” asked mrs. willis, with a searching glance at the fair face beside her. ought she not to have told her husband before marriage? was it not her duty to have thrown herself upon his clemency?” “i think not,” replied mrs. willis dryly. “see here, my dear, i am a practical woman of the world, and i think your young woman builded wiser than she knew. i am of the opinion that most men are like the lower ani- mals in many things — they don't always know what is for their best good. if the husband had been left to himself, he probably would not have married the one woman in the world best fitted to be his wife. i think in her case she did her duty." the sewing-circle. ed “ah, that word 'duty.' what is our duty ?” queried the girl, with a sad droop to the sensi- tive mouth. it is so hard to know our duty. we are told that all hidden things shall be revealed. must repented and atoned-for sin rise at last to be our curse ? " " here is a point, dear girl. god does not look upon the constitution of sin as we do. his judgment is not ours; ours is finite, his infinite. your duty is not to be morbid, think- ing these thoughts that have puzzled older heads than yours. your duty is, also, to be happy and bright for the good of those about you. just blossom like the flowers, have faith and trust." at this point the entrance of the men made an interruption, and mrs. willis disappeared in a crowd of other matrons. sappho was impressed in spite of herself, by the woman's words. she sat buried in deep thought. there was evidently more in this woman than appeared upon the surface. with all the centuries of civilization and culture that have come to this grand old world, no man has yet been found able to trace the windings of god's inscrutable ways. there are men and women whose seeming uselessness fit perfectly into the warp and woof of destiny's web. all things work together for good. the tiniversity oc hominant inninir. ve contending forces. supper being over, the elderly people began to leave. it was understood that after nine o'clock the night belonged to the young people. a committee had been formed from among them to plan for their enjoyment, and they con- sulted with ma smith, in the kitchen, as to the best plan of procedure. “ the case is this," said the chairman, who was also the church chorister: "ma smith has bought four gallons of ice cream, to be sold for the benefit of this fair. it's got to go, and it rests with us to devise ways and means of get- ting rid of it." “get up a dance,” suggested sam washing- ton, a young fellow who was the life of all social functions. " dance!" exclaimed ma smith, “not in this house." the choir-master surreptitiously kicked sam on the shins, as he said soothingly: “under the circumstances i see no other way, as we've got to sell the cream, and there's no harm in dancing, anyway.” “you ain't going to object to our dancing, are you, ma? it's all old fogyism about danc- ing being a sin," chimed in sam. “oh, but my son, i've been a church member over thirty years, a consistent christian, and i never was up before the board for behavior un- the sewing-circle. becoming a professor. think of the disgrace on me if the church took it up," she expostu- lated tearfully. “ look here, ma, the deacons and ministers are all fooling you. it's the style for church members to go to the theatre and the circus, to balls and everything you can mention. why, i've seen our own pastor up to see the black crook, and laughing like all possessed at the sights. fact!” why, samuel !” said ma smith, “how can you stand there and tell me such awful stories?” “not a bit of a story," declared the brazen- faced sam, “it's as true as gospel. i'll find out what seat the minister gets next june when the circus comes into town, and i'll get a seat for you right behind him. if you've never been to the circus, ma, and to see the seven-headed lady and the dancing mokes, you ought to go as soon as possible. think of the fun you're missing." "oh!" groaned the good woman in holy hor- ror, “how you do go on. “but that ain't nothing to the ice cream," continued sam, “and them girls in there have got to be warmed up, or the cream will be left, and there won't be a thing doing when the committee calls for the money.” “that's so," replied ma smith, beginning to weaken in her opposition. www.uusi vuliiviti ju aujojminii jhi sinhom nihoiu!!!! o !!!nin! it ” contending forces. “well, mother,” said will, who had been an amused listener to the dialogue, “ we'll have the dance, and it shall be my dance for my com- pany. no one shall trouble you; you will have nothing to do with it.” “well, if you say so, willie, it's all right,” replied his mother with a fond smile; "you are master in this house." in the meantime the furniture in the parlors had been moved out by other members of the committee, and in one corner a set of whist- players were enjoying themselves at ten cents a head for a thirty-minute game, which ended at the stroke of a small silver bell, their places being taken by others. already it was getting very warm in the crowded rooms. the doors leading into the entry had been thrown open, and couples were finding seats in convenient nooks waiting for dancing to begin. the girls were thinking of ice cream. rev. tommy james gravitated toward mrs. davis's corner. she had not gone out with the other matrons. "i enjoy a real good time as much as any- body, children,” she said; "and when it comes to dancing, you can't lose your aunt hannah.” the reverend tommy was always at his ease with mrs. davis. she led him along paths which caused him no embarrassment. the sewing-circle. he knew that she looked up to him because of his education and his clerical dignity. on his side, he admired her rugged common-sense, which put him at his ease, and banished the last atom of his “ladylike " bashfulness. early in the winter he had been brought to realize the nature of his feeling for mrs. davis, by seeing brother silas hamm, recently left a widower, and having ten children, making a decided stampede in the widow's direction. reverend tommy was grieved. to be sure, she was old enough to be his mother, but she had many good points to be considered. she was a good worker, experienced in married life and ways of making a man comfortable. then her savings must be considered. when tommy reached this last point he always felt sure that she was the most desirable woman in the world for a young minister. he felt hopeful tonight, because he had seen brother hamm and his bride in church the sunday before. mrs. davis opened the conversation by speaking of the bride and groom. “ hamm and his bride looked mighty com- futble in chuch sunday, didn't they?” “he did. i'm glad he's settled again. it is not good for man to be alone.” “ 'deed i'm glad, too." “ you — well, well, i'm real glad to hear you •-•-• vai + + vildiff tƯ fiiiiiiiiiii đi simhan aino!uoia! !!!!!!!! !!! say it." contending forces. " what for? ” asked the widow coyly, looking down and playing with her fan. “i—i didn't know how you and brother hamni stood.” stood! well, i never.” “i thought brother hamm had been trying to get you,” whispered tommy, sitting closer and putting his arm across the back of her chair. “ law suz, mr. jeems, how nervous you does make me. do take yer arm away, everybody'll be a-lookin' at yer, honey. i'm 'sprised at yer thinkin' i'd look at hamm an' all them chillun. massy knows what the 'ooman he's got's gwine to do with 'em.” but she looked so mild and smiling that tommy went into the seventh heaven of delight, and so lost his head that when he heard the call “ another couple wanted here!" he took mrs. davis on his arm and stood up on the floor, forgetful of the fact that he was within a few months of his ordination. a good- natured matron not connected with the church had volunteered to supply the lack of an orches- tra. waltzing was soon in full blast, and the demand on the ice-cream cans was filling ma smith's heart with joy, tempered with inward stings of conscience and fear of the steward's board. dora was dancing assiduously and eat- ing ice cream at john's expense, he meantime the sewing-circle. saying that if she kept on she would turn into a frozen dainty, to say nothing of a frost in his pocketbook. dora declared that it was for the good of the cause, and he'd “just got to stand it.” she was wildly happy because of the tender familiarity between her brother and her friend. a long-stemmed rose that will wore in his but- ton-hole had been transferred to sappho's cor- sage. dora smiled as she caught the half-puzzled, half-wondering expression on her mother's face. it was approaching twelve o'clock when it was proposed to wind up the festivities with the good old “virginy” reel. sam washing- ton was the caller, and did his work with the fancy touch peculiar to a poetic southern tem- perament. he was shrewd and good-natured, and a bit of a wag. he knew all the secret sighings of the ladies and their attendant swains. a lively girl whom everyone called jinny,” remarked to sam, referring to the fact that sam was on probation: “your class-leader won't recommend you to the board for mem- bership after tonight.” now, jinny,” replied sam, stopping in his business of arranging couples, “don't make yourself obnoxious bringing up unpleasant sub- jects. i'll take my medicine like a man when the time comes; but i'd bust, sho, if i didn't git loose tonight. i'm in good company, too,” he the tiniveositv oc !!!!inaat inni viime viiiiiiuiii iii iviiiiiiiii & contending forces. grinned, nodding toward reverend tommy and mrs. davis, who were just taking their places on the floor. “if this is good for tommy, it is good enough for me." all reserve was broken down the instant the familiar strains of the virginia reel were heard. the dance was soon in full swing - an up-and- down, dead-in-earnest seeking for a good time, and a determination to have it if it was to be got. it was a vehement rhythmic thump, thump, thumpity thump, with a great stamping of the feet and cutting of the pigeon wing. sam had provided himself with the lively jinny for a partner, and was cutting grotesque juba figures in the pauses of the music, to the delight of the company. his partner, in wild vivacity, fairly vied with him in his efforts at doing the hoe- down and the heel-and-toe. not to be out. done, the rev. tommy james and mrs. davis scored great hits in cutting pigeon wings and in reviving forgotten beauties of the "walk- 'round.” tommy“ allowed” he hadn't enjoyed himself so much since he came up north. “yes,” said sam, “this beats the cake-walk all holler. now then, one more turn and we're done. forward on the head; balance yer part- ner; swing the next gent; swing that lady. now swing yer rose, yer pretty rose, yer yaller rose of texas. all promenade.” tiie sewing-circle. everybody declared it had been a wonderful evening. “thank the lord it's over,” said ma smith to mrs. sarah ann white, who was helping her in the kitchen. "well,” said the latter, pausing in her work with her arms akimbo, “sech sights as i've seen tonight i never would have believed. 'phelia davis, what ought ter be a mother in jeru- salem, kickin' up her heels in your parlor like a colt in a corn-field; and that tommy jeems, no more fittin' fer a minister than a suckin' babe, a-traipsin' after her like a balc!-headed rooster.” the siniversitv ac ahipuinaal inn.nir vi viriiiiiviii vi viiulitan libraries contending forces, chapter ix. love took up the harp of life.” love took up the glass of time, and turn'd it in his glowing hands; every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. love took up the harp of life, and smote on all the chords with might. - tennyson. will smith sat the next evening in his room trying to engage his mind and chain his wan- dering thoughts upon an important prize thesis. as a brilliant philosophical student destined to shine in the future in the world of science, he had been requested to become a competitor for the prize. ever and anon his attention wavered, and finally he threw his books and papers to one side with a sigh, and rising to his feet paced the floor impatiently. two soft eyes looked into his; the low music of a gentle voice seemed all about him. “pshaw!” he exclaimed impatiently, “ i have laughed at others only to become more of a drivelling idiot than any of the men i have ridiculed. i never thought mere beauty in a woman could move me so.” the smile induced by pleasant thoughts lingered on his face as he threw himself upon his couch and tried to bring order out of the chaos of his thoughts. love took up the harp of life.” smith's hopes were all for a finishing course at college, and then a course in philosophy at some good german university. philosophy was a mania with him. in vain had bishops and clergymen of all denominations warned him that his mania might become a passion, which would draw him from a right conception of the word, and dull his appreciation of the beauties of revelation. will contended that religion and the natural laws were not antagonistic, and that being convinced and thoroughly grounded in his faith, he but discovered fresh evidence of infinite perfection in the doctrine of his master when he sought to expand his faculties and illuminate his mind by seeking a clearer per- ception of the interesting relation which weak humanity bears to the glorious mysteries of life and the grandeurs of creation. he laughed at the idea of latin and greek being above the caliber of the negro and likely to unfit him for the business of bread-getting in the peculiar position in life to which the negro, as maintained by some, was destined from the beginning. with him latin and greek repre- sented but tools which he used to unlock the storehouse of knowledge. the development of his race was a matter of first importance to his mind. the only way to bring the best faculties of the negro to their full fruition, he ine iiniviewsity oc aicinaat inns vain viiiiiiiuiii iii iiidiinit liisi:i: love took up the harp of life. .” " ar as the unconquerable, saw her chains fall from him as lightly as a cobweb is brushed away. what had come to him now at the glance of a soft, fawn-like eye, the touch of a hand, a caressing smile, the sound of a sweet voice? sappho had been with them two months, but will felt that he must have known her for years. sud- denly he passed from youth to manhood, and realized man's destiny. he had assisted his mother and sister with happy pride, but now the desire to shield, to protect, to love one being supremely above all others, rose and surged within him with a mighty strength. although love had come to smith like a flood sweeping all barriers before it, yet the very strength of his desire for her love but served to restrain decided action. he approached the desired end slowly and carefully, not to defeat his own plans. he was well aware that sap- pho's nature was a rare one, dwelling much upon lonely heights, the home of extraordi- nary moral sensitiveness and high intellectual development. again he saw her advancing toward him in the mazes of the dance: her hand lay in his; her soft hair brushed his face; her sweet breath came to him from smiling rose-leaf lips, and intoxicated his senses. “the starlike beauty of immortal eyes," fringed by long, curling lashes, flashed at him ine !inivepsity oc aoin a a inn. பட பாடdfl ur miniteutitule "love took up tue harp of life. was singing in a fine baritone voice a verse of an old song: of all the days that are in the week, i dearly love but one day. that is the day that comes between saturday and monday. for then i dress all in my best and roam with my dear sally; she's the darling of my heart, and she lives in our alley. she pushed the door open and entered. her cheeks were glowing from her walk in the brac- ing morning air, but her face assumed a serious, questioning look as she discovered will just finishing up his self-imposed morning task. he gave an extra flourish to the brushes to cover his confusion and annoyance, and kept right on polishing off the little heater with his dubious-looking black cloths well filled with stove polish. “well !” she exclaimed. "good morning,” returned will, with a busi- nesslike flourish of nis cloth, as, having finished the stove, he proceeded to touch up the bright piece of zinc under it. “how will she take it?” he asked himself. *well !" she repeated. quite well, thank you,” said will, this time with a quizzical grin on his face. the piniosiv och! oinaat inn sinn alim piiiiiiiuiii vi vini diisürü im asili contending forces. “i had no idea you were the fireman, mr. smith.” “no? in the words of doctor peters, 'i do mos' anythin' in the wurl, honey, to git an hones' livin' without stealin' it.'” will had donned one of his mother's ample kitchen aprons for the protection of his cloth- ing. the bib was pinned well up in front across the broad expanse of shirt bosom; the ample folds of the apron-skirt enveloped his limbs to his ankles; the long strings, crossed in the back, met in front in a huge bow-knot. there was a streak of smut across one eye, and the side of his nose was polished to perfection. the picture was too much for sappho, and peal after peal of laughter shook her slight frame. “oh, mr. smith,” she said, when she could find breath,“ you do look so funny!” "“ 'twas ever thus from childhood's hour,'” quoted will, marching up to the mirror to sur- vey his beauty spots; “i do look rather fetch- ing,” he continued, with a confidential smile at his laughing companion. “do you do this every day?” asked sapp! suddenly sobering down. “do what every day?” "why, make my fire?” * it's not your fire any more than anyone else's fire.” love took up the harp of life." ' i'm very sorry.” sorry! sorry about what? it isn't a crime, is it, for a man to make a fire for his women folks?" “ but i'm not your 'women folks.'' “look hcre," said will in an aggrieved tone, balancing a hod of ashes in one hand and a pile of stove brushes in the other, “are we going to quarrel ? ” “there is no reason why we should if we agree,” said sappho, smiling gravely. that means that we shan't quarrel if i agree to whatever you are going to propose. what is it you want to say?” he asked, becoming grave in his turn. "is it that i have behaved unmanly in visiting your room in your absence? why cavil about a little thing of that sort ? i do this for you as i would for dora.” oh, if you look at it that way"- she. be- gan, a trifle confused by his apparent uncon- sciousness. “how else ought i to look at it?” “ how horrid you are.” “ horrid! i don't see what i've said that is so very dreadful.” “ you speak so well so cross." “ i speak like a man talking to a silly girl.” “now you are rude again; calling me names.' children must be kept in their places," he said banteringly. the inners!!! innimira ikil visitiiuiii iii ivitimiiniu i ikwiwit contending forces. " you're making fun of me." “of course i am. what do you expect?” “but you mustn't make my fire again.” “i am sorry you found it out; i didn't intend you to know it." "i can't pay for having the work done, and it is not proper for you to do it; there is no reason why you should do such work for me.” “suppose we play you are my other sister; that will make it all right, won't it? "no," came firmly from sappho's lips; "no more fires." “see here, i've hit it! play i'm your father.” “ridiculous!" “what, neither brother nor father? how'd it do to imagine that you're my mother ? you can't find fault with that, surely.” “ how silly you are.” “no likee me for sonny?" queried will, with a sad shake of his head. “ if you don't leave this room instantly, wil- liam smith, i'll call your mother,” replied sap- pho, laughing in spite of herself. the best play, though, would be sweet- hearts,” he continued, as though she had not spoken. “sweethearts !” “yes, sweethearts; and i believe i could win the game, too, in spite of your reserve." “love took up the tarp of life." “ you must be very sure of your power, young man. you need a lesson in diffidence.” he held her gaze for a moment, and there was so much earnestness in the persistent dark eyes that she blushed furiously. he turned and abruptly left the room. no more was said about the fire, but will continued to perform common everyday duties for her the same as for his sister. she did her part, too. many an evening he found her helping dora, darning socks or replacing lost buttons. will's manner had changed toward her from that day; from easy familiarity it changed to a mixture of timid reserve and marked deference. sappho noticed it, but somehow she liked it better. it spoke to her silently of tender, sacred thoughts. to- night he thought of the scene just pictured, as he sat there in his room. she and none other should be his wife — god willing. in another part of the house ma smith sat before the fire in her chamber and meditated on many things. the knitting with which the busy hands were always engaged when at lei- sure, dropped in her lap, and lay there unheeded. she thought of the incident of sappho and the rose of the night before, and the merry, teasing look that had flashed out at her for one instant from dora's laughing eyes. could it be pos- sible that she was about to lose her son? dora's the tiniveunity al ah nilinn i inn.. viin viiiiiiiuiii vi miltigan libraries contending forces. engagement to john langley had been a source of great satisfaction to her; the old-fashioned notion was still strong within her that it was the right destiny for girls to marry, and that the only cause for a mother to grieve in the idea of marriage for her daughter was the awful chance of that daughter's remaining single. the girl's life should be lost in that of the wife and mother. such an end to maidenhood was a happy achievement for the girl and a glory to her family. but with her boy it was different. he was her first-born, and memory was busy tonight with the past. her will with a wife! herself a grandmother ! to renew at this age the joys which had been hers when first he lay within her arms soft morsel of humanity, with sweet brown face and melting black eyes that mirrored themselves within the citadel of her heart. ma smith had known much sorrow in her life. she could tell you of hard times when it seemed that the combined efforts of her husband and herself would not avail to keep the wolf from the door. she knew what it was to bake and brew, to mend and make over, to minister to the needs of childhood with increasing maternal cares near at hand. with all this, the offered work which added a few dollars to their little store was always gladly accepted. but she would love took up the harp of life.” tell you also that she would not have given one hour of those days, with all their privations, for the happiness that she enjoyed when in the privacy of a humble home she counted her precious jewels "- an honest husband and two beautiful children. “yes,” she was wont to say, “we had a hard time, and sometimes the waters of affliction seemed about to sweep us from our foothold, but somehow just when everything was darkest we could see the light of prosperity shining through the clouds, and we would take courage, bless the lord, and keep on struggling.” tonight she lived those struggles over again, and tried to imagine what it would be to have another share the love and reverence of the idolized son. at first it seemed that she could not endure the thought; but then she remem- bered how happy she had been in her married life, and prayed the lord to deliver her from selfish desires. who was she to stand in the way of her son's happiness -a son whom she loved? sappho clark was beautiful; she be- lieved her to be a girl of exemplary conduct. sappho was always deferential to her, giving to the elder woman the gentle deference which, coming from youth, is so dear to those advanced in years. so with a heart overflowing with love, and filled with kind and tender thoughts, (h+ investoy al **!!! a inn. a aiiim piiiiiiuiii ii iiitiii ürü iiki adil alt contexding forces. it was no mystery where the pretty old face had caught its added charm of heavenly bright- ness. so dora found her when she returned from spending the evening with some young friends. “why, mummy dear, i declare you are grow- ing younger and handsomer every day. we girls must look to our laurels if you keep on growing so pretty." · well, my love, i have been thinking of your father tonight, and how happy we were when you and will were wee tots.” dora knew well what had set her mother thinking. she appreciated her feelings. she knew that her mother had always felt that no woman could be good enough for will's wife. she felt instinctively that her mother had faced the difficulty alone that evening and conquered it, effacing herself and her desires for the hap- piness of her son. with her usual impulsive- ness dora threw herself on her knees beside her mother's chair, and drawing her face down to her, kissed the wrinkled brow and smoothed the soft white hair. mummy, dear,” she said, “you have made up your mind to give him up to sappho if things turn out that way?” “yes, my dear,” replied her mother, with her hand upon the dark braids beside her. “i will dora sapho dora threw herself on tier knees beside her mother's chair. contending forces. "ma,” said dora after a silence, “why is it that southern colored people seem to be so prejudiced against the northern colored people? i always fancied that we were all in the same boat, and that mere accidental tocafity was not to be considered.” * that is true, my dear; but it must be that you imagine the prejudice to exist that you mention; surely we have outgrown such ideas, as a race, by this time.” dora shook her head obstinately. “i fancied that the wilsons slighted me tonight, and that they would have been better pleased if john had chosen a southern girl.” “you are over-sensitive, dora.” dora did not reply, and after a moment's silence continued: “john said that he had not met a decent-looking woman who was northern-born, and that when he did see a pretty colored girl on the street he knew with- out asking that she was a southerner." " that was rather thoughtless in john, but i don't think he meant to hurt your feelings, daughter." "i cannot imagine what has got into him lately; he's not like himself. oh, i do wish i was handsome like sappho clark! all the men are wild over her.” “well, my dear, you don't harbor hard feel- “love took up the tiarľof life." ings against sappho on that account, do you? that would not be like you, dora, and would grieve me very much." “sappho is the best and dearest girl on carth, and i only hope that w'ill may be so lucky as to marry her. and, mummy; i hope will will speak to her right off, so as to get the matter straightened out; there won't be a blessed man left to us girls if she remains single long." her mother smiled. daughter, i want to say just a word to you about our conversation : don't allow jealousy to lurk in your heart; don't brood over unkind words; cast them from you. and i would have you remember, also, that sectional prejudice has always been fostered by the southern whites among the negroes to stifle natural feelings of brotherly love among us. dissension means disunion. carry these thoughts always in your mind, and act accordingly. do not allow yourself to be made unhappy. iiiiiviii viiviiuiihiliknl kids meanwhile on the floor above them sappho turned restlessly on her pillow, thinking of a noble head and bright dark eyes. she knew that will smith loved her. what woman does not feel the subtle intertwining of a kindred spirit linked to her own by the decree of des- tiny, long years, perhaps, before either restless contending forces. soul has entered upon its earthly pilgrimage. she was not happy in her knowledge. under cover of the friendly darkness she gave up the long struggle for self-control, and indulged in the grief that she knew was hers for all eternity. oh, for death, the solitude of the grave and self-forgetfulness. "what have i done, what have i done to suffer thus ? to give up all joy, and have only misery for all my life. i love this man; i know it now! i want his love, his care, his protec- tion. i want him through life and beyond the grave, we two as one — my husband. oh, my god, help me, help me!” heavy sobs shook her frame. broken exclamations fell from her lips. “i cannot! it must not be! so good, so noble! oh, the happiness of home and love! must i be shut from them forever?" far into the night the agony of sobs con- tinued. at last with a murmured prayer for help she fell asleep. the fair. chapter x. the fair. “ boisterous jest and humor unrefined, that leave, though rough, no painful sting behind; warm social joys surround the negro's cot. no ennui clouds, no coming cares annoy, nor wants nor sorrows check the negro's joy." o the days went on apace at no. d street, but a spirit of restlessness seemed to pervade the atmosphere; expectancy was on tiptoe. everyone was absorbed in preparations for the fair. such a time had not been known for years among the colored people. every avail- able individual was pressed into the service. naturally many factions had arisen, and a fierce but friendly rivalry divided the different societies within the church. some of these were none too cordial to the outsiders who had joined them, and whom they dubbed in derision "the colored ." " i'd jes' like to know," said sister mary jane robinson, with a hand on each hip, “i'd jes' like to know who asked the ' ' fer eny o' thar help? i've been a member hyar fer more'n thurty years, and this chuch has lived with- out 'em.” this was one morning directly after ini wirii liiviſi ini tiimit imadili contending forces. service, while the good sisters were waiting for class to begin. as the fair was the all-absorb- ing topic at present, conversation naturally ended in going over all the interesting details connected with it. “lor', sis' robberson, what mortal diffur- unce does it make as long as the chuch gits the money? the mo' helpers we has the easier it makes it fer we-uns," replied sister scott, as she endeavored to pour oil on the troubled waters. sister robinson was a veritable fire- brand; she spoke first and thought afterwards. “ thar's that mrs. willis with her high chuch' notions," continued sister robinson. “sister smith has made her presidunt of the fine arts and fancy work department. warn't eny o'the members o' this chuch good enough, an’ they didn't know enough, did they, to 'tend to that bisiness! thar's that pianner an' that silver set an' that ar gold watch an' chain that's goin' to be voted fer. ef that stuff don't be lef' right hyar in this chuch thar's gwine ter be trouble. an'as fer that dimon' pin that's to go to the one who sells the most admission tickets — well, now, ef the hard wurkin' sisters o'this chuch what swets over the washtub earnin' an' hones' livin' don't desarve it, then what's the matter? yas, i wants ter know what's the matter ?” here the irate woman sawed the fair. the air with hand and arm as she laid down the law on the back of the nearest settee. by this time a group of sisters attracted by her loud tones had gathered around, anxious to learn what the trouble could be. “well, honey,” said one meek-looking woman, "don't le's borry trouble. the way the com- mittee has fixed the bisness i cayn't see how thar can be eny monkeyin' with the votin' or sellin' o' the tickets. i do declar', my dear, i think the right ones will git the prizes." “i'm a-doin' my level best,” said another sis- ter with hands hard and horny with toil, “ i'm a-doin' my level best to git that dimon' pin fer my mandy. i've got william vanderbilt and charles sumner astor gould and the twins all out sellin' tickets 'mong my white people. an' ' i tell you, sisters, you's all goin' to have a hard time to git 'way with yer aunt hanner jackson this time.” the family surname was jackson, but mrs. jackson liked to name her children for all the celebrities that she heard of, and sometimes it made a bewildering combination when one found that william vanderbilt was represented by a sprightly little negro boy with crispy hair and beadlike black eyes. “that silver service is jes' my size," here chimed in another sister, “an' it's goin' hard iti visi imi iuiii u wiiitiii iui ikiwe contending forces. with anyone what tries to git it 'way from me; i'm sellin' tickets to beat the ban. i've done picked out a sideboard fer it down to osgood's. i can git it fer a dollar down an'a dollar a week, an' expec' to have it ef it takes me all the summer an' winter ter pay fer it.” “ talkin' 'bout the prizes, ain't yer ? " spoke up another sister who had just joined the group, “thet gold watch an' chain is jes' what jim anderson wants. “jim,' i says to him, 'thar's yer chance fer a good easy way ter git yer a watch.' he's jes' raisin' heaven an' earth a-git- tin' votes fer hisself.” “ hope you all won't be disapinted,” here sister robinson broke in again, “but ef yer listens to me you'll watch them high-toned col- ored folks you all's been gittin' ter help yer. they never come 'roun' people that they don't hold on a 'quality with theirselves 'thout it means suthin' these ejecated folks is allers lookin' to make suthin'. most o' them's too lazy to wurk. they wouldn't tech a flatiron or a washtub with a ten-foot pole, an' they'd ruther live on dried codfish fer a month than to do their own scrubbing. ef eny o'them white- folksey colored ladies gits them prizes, i'm goin' fer to take out my letter, an' put my wurk into some chuch what will presheate it; you hyar me!” the fair. ( # re #n d “now sisters,” chimed in the meek one again, “none o' yer ain't said a word 'bout tryin' to git one o' the prizes fer yer pastor. i do think that's a leetle bit selfish in us. s'pose we give him the pianny." hump!” grunted sister robinson," when i jined this chuch i jined the meetin'-house an' not the minister! i reckon he kin jes' look out fer hisself; 'sides he's got a orgin an' don't need a pianny. he gits his cellery, don't he?” she queried, as she glared at the group about her. taking their silence for consent she con- tinued in a firm voice: “he's too much every- thin' to everybody, an' that wife o' hisn is too white fer me. i used ter be takin' fresh eggs an' ham an' chickuns out to that house all the time, but resuntly i'se been reasunin' with my- self, an' i camed to the conclusion that i won't do it no mo'. can't tell what is the matter with these colored men; a good wholesome-lookin' colored woman with kinkey hair don't stan’ no livin' chance ter git a decen'-lookin' man fer a husban', an' i fer one am a-settin' my face agin them men." purty much so, purty much so !" came from various ones in the group. “lord knows, sis' robberson,” said sister scott,“ may be you is right; an' ef thar's eny monkeyin' goin' on we's all goin' ter s'port yer in whatever yer thinks is the bes' course.” h din liiviti dic will til i ikki ad contending forces. “ all right,” replied sister robinson, consid- crably mollified by this concession. “i'll jes' take good care thet none o' us gits imposed on. phelia davis an' sarah ann white has got charge o' the 'fectionery table an' the salads, but cf i don' knock 'em silly with roast pig, corn dodgers an' biled cabbage, then i'm a sinner!" sister robinson walked away, followed by a number of admiring satellites. sister scott and sister jackson were left alone. “good lawd!” said sister scott to sister jackson, “good lawd! 'mandy jackson, did you hear mary jane robberson talk? thar ain't nuthin' the matter with her, only she's 'fraid thet somebody's gwine ter hol' the money- draw fastened agin her. i tell yer them ' ' folks she's runnin' 'll keep a close watch on her an' how much money she takes in at the 'old southern dinner-table,' you hyar me!” “an' i fer one am glad of it,” replied sister jackson. mary jane robberson thinks she owns this chuch an' everyone in it sence mr. jacobs lef' john robberson thet five hundred dollars, an' they bo't thet house out o' town.” “ bless yer soul, honey, thet's jes' so. i never see what a little posterity makes some people have a swell head. i tell yer, honey, we'd bet- ter all o' us keep our eye on the money-draw. the fair. when folks gits to buyin' houses- um, chile, watch 'em!” on monday evening the fair opened. at five o'clock in the morning all the women who could get there made their appearance at the church, where the janitor was waiting to receive them. the first floor of the building contained a large lecture-room, three class-rooms, the pas- tor's study, a dining-room and a kitchen. each chairman of a committee had a certain space assigned to her by ma smith; then that com- mittee took charge and proceeded to beautify the spot and arrange their wares for inspection. ice cream, oysters, salads and temperance drinks were to be served in a fairy-like grotto formed by grouping evergreen trees together. among the trees small tables were to be set, making a charming solitude à deux. electricity, cun- ningly concealed in rose-colored shades, was to furnish the lighting. pretty girl-waiters, in white dresses and fancy caps, completed a fas- cinating picture. this section was under the immediate direction of mrs. ophelia davis and mrs. sarah ann white. you hear me, sarah ann," said ophelia davis to her friend,“ you hear me, that mary jane robberson means trouble. she's down on the aristocracy; she don't 'tend to give the vi villiintuiti uf michigan libraries contending forces. minister a show over them prizes, an' you an' me's got to keep a whip han' over her some- how. the minister's goin' to git a new suit o'clo's out o' this, an' you an'me's gwine to have thet pianny! lord knows whether there'll be one brick o'this chuch lef' on another when this fair is done, but she ain't gwine ter walk on me, you hyar me. i'm a-studyin' fer her, an'ef she runs up agin me thar'll be trouble." meanwhile mrs. robinson and her coterie stood around and looked at the unique ideas for a fair which had been developed, and won- dered how it was that the “ ” people and their followers always had such a happy knack of getting everything just right. her commit- tee had intended to have nothing but a plain dining-room, but after seeing the gorgeous dis- play made by mrs. davis and mrs. white, a hurried meeting was called to consult about ways and means of defeating the enemy. all the other women stopped their work, too, and came to admire the effects gained by the intro- duction of the lights and the tête-à-tête tables. “a very happy thought,” said mrs. willis, as she glanced approvingly about her. “where did you get the idea ? ” “i got it up to mis' mason's when molly mason was merried.” the fair. “that's where you lived so long, wasn't it, mrs. davis ?” asked one of the girls, as she paused a moment in her work of arranging festoons of evergreens, and stood back to note the effect. “i lived there an' nowhere else the first fif- teen years i was up north,” replied mrs. davis proudly. “ were they very wealthy? do you ever see them nowadays ? ” asked mrs. willis. “mis' mason was wurth her millions, an' molly was her only chile,” replied mrs. davis, now fairly launched on her favorite subject. the mason wedding” had passed into a proverb among the young people who were acquainted with mrs. davis. “you see, when molly was merried, mis' mason took it into her head to have a caterer from boston do the work of feeding the guests. she was livin'in worcester then. even the servants were in- vited to the weddin'. she had a house that matched her money, you may jes' reckon, and the whole o her lawn was used fer feeding an' fer dancin'. there were two acres o' lan' nuthin' but lawn, an' all among the trees you could see little tables set out an' plenty o'lan- terns, although in the dancin' pavilion they jes' connected a gas-pipe with the main one, an' had the place lit with gas jes' as ef you was in the house." iul vititliui ur vilnigan libraries contending forces. = ܬܵܐ . “you ought to ask them to contribute to the fair, and help you out with your table,” remarked mrs. willis, mrs. davis cocked her head on one side and said, with a knowing wink at mrs. willis: “now, ain't yer talkin', honey, an' mebe i ain't writ to her an' tol' her all 'bout mary jane rob- berson! jes' yer hol' on, chile, tell yer sees me paralyze her.” “did you go to the wedding, mrs. davis ?” asked sappho, who, being something of a stranger, did not know all the little points about the wedding. " who, me ? " exclaimed mrs. davis; “yes'm, i jes' did! lor', chile, but mis’ mason's a lady borned; she don't know how to be like some o' yer northern people. sho! these ladies up here are so 'fraid thet the black 'll rub off. down south the big white folks has nussed so meny black mammies thet they don' know nuthin' else fer their chillun. it don' matter how black you is ef yer willin' to keep in the mud. up here it's diffurunt; you can do all right and live all right, but don't put yer han' on a white man or woman, or they 'll have a fit fer fear the black 'll rub off." i suppose you went to the wedding dressed to kill,” said one of the girls. “lor', chile, i had to have a new light silk lim the fair. 'levens, an' i didn't want ter insult yer.' 'insult linn fer that, i tell yer. an' sech a time as i had when i went to git me a pair o' paten' leather shoes. clorindy, gal,” she called to a young woman who was placing trees in position, “what kin' o' way do you call that to put them trees? you ain't got a bit o' eye fer bein' an artis', your ferpendicler is all crooked. bring me a cheer thar, some one o' you gals, and let me fix thet tree right.” having straightened out the matter of the trees, she returned panting and puffing to the refreshment bar. as i was sayin', the man said he didn't hev a shoe in the shop thet would fit me. i tol' him i knowed better; he jes' said thet 'cause i was a colored 'ooman. then he went to the show-window and took out a pair, an' tol' me to set down an' he'd try 'em on me an' see ef they'd do, an’ ef they would i might have 'em, an'he'd git another pair thet 'd do fer signs jes' as well as them. i tol' him i didn't care a bit ef they was signs; why didn't he trot 'em out when i asked him fer 'em fust? 'well,' he says, 'they's number shimhÄnt ahoiu im in uimmanin nuthin',' says i,' as long as i can git 'em on.' they fitted me all right, only they kin' o' cramped me across my bunyon. i always has a hard time with that dratted bunyon o'mine. i managed to wear 'em, though i'm free to say thet i never felt as though i got my muney out contending forces. o' the plagy things. as i was sayin', i was cook, an' the second girl was colored, too; we jes' hired an open barush to drive to the chuch in – i b'lieve in doin' things right - an' i tell you the white folks was dumb when we druve up that night to the chuch do' an' stepped out o'the kerrige onto the strip o' carpet under the yawnin', fer all the worl' jes' like quality. we got 'long all right tell we struck the entry, then sally kin' o' hung back when she saw a big usher lookin' fer all the worl' like a picter-book, standin' ther an' tellin' us to wait our turn to be seated in the fambly pew. yes, 'ndeed ! bless yer soul, mis' mason had done put us into one o' the fambly pews! i'm used to them sort o' things myself, but yer see, sally she's kin' o' low-down corn-shucker, not used to nothin' 'tall, an' i kep' my eye onto her; i could see it inter her face thet she intended to give me the slip an' bolt an' hide herself. oh, mis' davis,' says she, 'has we got to walk all the way up thet aisle with one o' them white gemplemen?' 'yes, sally, we has, an' it won't kill us nuther to be like live gentry fer onct in our lives.' jes' then one o' them made fer me, an' i only had time to whisper: ‘brace up, sally, an' be a 'ooman,' when i foun' myself walkin' up the aisle on thet white man's arm, as big as cuffy, an'a-sweatin' to beat the ban',' the fair. what became of sally? " asked sappho. bless yer soul, miss sappho, when she sawed me go she jes' broke an' run down them steps plum inter the street, an' made tracks fer the house all dressed as she was in white shef- ong, an' when i got back thar she was a-standin' up in the middle o' the kitchen floor grinnin' like a chessy cat. * mis' davis,' says she, ‘mis' davis, i wouldn't a-walked up thet chuch aisle with thet white gempleman fer a thousan' dol- lars, 'deed'n i wouldn't.' i was so mad with thet fool gal thet i jes' itched ter spank her well. how we to 'vance eny ef we don't 'brace our 'tunities, i'd like ter know?” all the committees worked willingly, and soon every one of the departments had been provided with appropriate enclosures like quaint pictures set in exquisite frames. the bare walls disappeared, and the whole place burst into beauty bewildering enough to draw the money from the pockets of the spectators who would come with the evening to help a worthy charity. mrs. robinson, with her "old-fashioned busy bees," as they called themselves, had hur- riedly decorated the dining-room with american flags and christian endeavor banners. the long, white-covered tables looked very inviting, and the motherly women in black dresses, white aprons and bandanna handkerchiefs tied into sawan ingin tinnin m contending forces. fantastic head-coverings, added another charm which their soft southern accent completed. late in the afternoon the tired workers exam- ined the results of their labors with much satisfaction. the fair coxcluded. chapter xi. the fair.- concluded. in feasts maturing busy hands appear, and jest and laugh assail the ready ear.” on monday evening at p.m. the doors of the fair were opened. in the center of the hall the prize piano was advantageously placed; and dora, as the organist of the church, dis- played its merits in a few well-chosen numbers. there were selections given also by a banjo, guitar and mandolin club of local reputation. cozily ensconced behind a bower of tropical plants and flowers they discoursed popular selections in a manner which displayed most favorably the really fine musical ability which each one of them possessed. in another cor- ner of the hall, under a tent which represented an indian lodge, was a great and mysterious attraction: madam frances, spiritualistic sooth- sayer and marvellous mind-reader, had offered her services to the committee, and would send out bulletins, at so much a letter, on subjects supposed to be unknown to all the world but the persons themselves. the young people were in a futter over this particular feature, the men no less so than the women. who could sixuân aihoiuou in !! itin ans the fair concluded. hwan aihduonia spells and charms being put upon unpleasant neighbors; wonderful stories of lizards being taken from the leg or arm of an enemy, placed there by the arts of the voodoo doctor and cured by the same gifted party. but if we no- tice, these wonderful and terrorizing acts were never perpetrated against the inhuman master or mistress of the isolated plantation, never upon enemies wearing a white skin, but always upon the humble associate and brother in bond- age. be these things true or false, the negro no longer holds the distinction of being the only race that believes in the pretensions of those who claim to be able to look into the future with mesmerized sight favored by hidden pow- ers, that have a knowledge of coming events. in these days of palmistry, phrenology, card- reading, mind-reading, lucky pigs, rabbit's feet worn on the watch-chain for luck, and four- leaved clover encased in crystal and silver for the same reason, who shall say that the negro has not lost his monopoly of one great racial characteristic? madam frances was supposed to be skilled in the occult arts which were once the glory of the freshly imported african. wonderful tales were told of her ability to foretell the future. her services were of great value to the managers of the fair, for her fame had been in contending forces. rumored abroad, through the members of the church, and it was popularly reported that some of the richest people in the city would visit the fair, if for nothing but to test the ability of this woman. and as one gazed upon her he might be pardoned for thinking that within that dark house, moulded upon symmetrical lines, and appearing as though cut from purest ebony, albeit somewhat thin and spare, as became one past the meridian of life and now upon the road leading downward into the shadows of the last valley through which we must pass on our outward journey toward the spheres of celestial light, dwelt a rare mind. how did she look ? “i knew a princess; she was old, crisp-haired, flat-featured, with a look such as no dainty pen of gold would write of in a fairy book. her face was like the sphinx's face, to me, touched with vast patience, desert grace, and lonesome, brooding mystery. nothing of loveliest loveliness this strange, sad princess seemed to lack; majestic with her calm distress she was, and beautiful, though black.” the fair concluded. a quaint conceit which gave great pleasure to the children, big and little, was the pretty great-nephew of the seeress who, dressed in costume, represented mercury and carried mes- sages to the fortunate ones remembered by the mystic powers of futurity. alphonse was a beautiful boy about eight years old, with golden curls and dark blue eyes that looked out on life, from beneath their sweeping lashes with a glance all too melancholy for one of his tender years. there are children who seem to have been born with the shadows of life heavy upon them. so it was with little alphonse. he passed from groups of merry young people and pleasant elders who, attracted by the beauty of the weird child, sought to beguile him with soft caress and loving touch; he would stand quietly waiting until the speaker had finished his ques- tion, would answer carefully, and suffer the caresses as though accepting them as a part of his duty, and would return to the tent and his aunt, evincing no desire for the frolic and fun which belongs to the golden days of childhood. many influential whites were present in order to display their philanthropic interest in the welfare of the colored people. they gazed with surprise upon the child, and could not be convinced when told that he was a negro, and identified by ties of blood with the blackest vi mui numit lidrario: contendixg forces. men and women in the crowded company. in a distant corner sappho sat keeping a strict account of the moneys received. occasionally she would leave her seat and mingle with the crowd. gowned in a pure white china silk with a bunch of her favorite jacks in her corsage, she moved “a daughter of the gods divinely fair." and many a thought came into the heart of one learned doctor as he gazed on the child and the beautiful girl, and then upon faces ebony-hued but bright and sparkling with the light of freedom and intelligence. in that moment a cloud passed from before his mental vision, and he beheld in all its hideousness the can kering sore which is eating into the heart of republican principles and stamping the lie upon the constitution. expediency and right must go hand in hand. there is no room for compromise. sappho was tired, and one of the young girls in her bible class, noticing the weariness of her attitude, insisted upon assuming the duties of cashier for an hour. she gladly availed herself of the girl's offer, and turned with a sigh of relief to find a secluded seat where she could watch unobserved the passing of the gay throng. as she turned a hand was laid gently on her arm, and will smith's gay voice sounded in her ear: “whither away, fair lady?” the fair concluded. wirvinum ldr sappho smiled back into the debonair face as she replied : “ just to the fairy grotto to rest a while.”. “i will accompany thee, fair queen,” hummed will, as he drew her hand within his arm and moved slowly through the crowd toward the refreshment room. no more was said until they reached the spot; then will seated her at one of the most secluded tables, placing him- self upon the opposite side. “lord love yer, sarah ann, jes' see that couple !” said mrs. davis to mrs. white. “ef that ain't a match then no matter! see him look at her! i'se goin' to wait on them myself; an’ sarah ann, you keep these young squirts busy in some other corner; there ain't nobody goin' ter spile sport ef i can help it.” mrs. davis bustled over to the young people and literally beamed upon them. “good even- ing; now mr. smith, what be you an' miss sappho goin' to have? you see i've jes' camed over to wait on yer myself.” good evening, mrs. davis; you are looking as bright and charming as a rose. how are the refreshments going? “ charmin'!” responded mrs. davis, secretly delighted at the compliment. 'shamed to talk like that to an oľ' 'ooman ? you young fellers gits worse every day. jes' " ain't you contending forces. see miss sappho lafin' at you! well, thank god, we's doin' well tonight, took in a pile o' money so fur. mary jane robberson thinks she's goin' to down me in this here refreshment room, but jes' you wait 'tel friday night!” “what about friday night?" asked sappho. “nuthin', only i've got a big s'prise waitin' fer mary jane robberson.” “ friday will be a mighty unlucky day for sister robinson, eh?” laughed will. “thar won't be a thing doin' fer her, honey, you'll see. i'se gwine ter paralize her!” “ i'll bet my money on you every time, mrs. davis,” laughed will. “i have every confidence in your business sagacity. i feel sorry for sister robinson." “she'll need yer sorrow,” replied mrs. davis. mary jane robberson's jealous, an' when people gits jealous they can't do the bes' thing in the bes' place. i ain't jealous o' nobody, an' l'se jes' settin' back here watchin' her kill her- sef, as cool as a sittin' hen. i had a letter from mis’ mason, an' she says as how she's goin' ter stan' by me. you know what that means, don' yer, honey? oysters, coffee, ice cream and cake fer two," she murmured, repeating will's order. “my head's level, thar ain't a thing the matter with it," she finished, as she turned to execute the order. the fair concluded. hivi tunit luna a silence fell between the two as they sat within the shadow of the trees, content to be with each other. will was happy to have the privilege of feasting his eyes upon the lovely face opposite him, which dimpled and blushed in such a charming manner beneath his glance. never before had she seemed to abandon her- self so completely to the influence of his pas- sion; but tonight she laid aside her coldness and seemed ready to accept the homage which he was longing to lay at her feet. the girl felt it. “why,” she asked herself, “why should i always walk in the shadow of a crime for which i am in no way to blame? why deny myself all the pleasures of a home and love with such a man as he who will offer me the noblest herit- age of woman?” the more she thought the stronger became her resolve not to fight against fate, but to accept the goods the gods provided without question. she would rise above maddening fears, penance for involuntary wrongs, the sack- cloth and ashes of her life, and be as other women, who loved and were beloved. so she smiled on will bewitchingly; sallies of wit and fun flashed from her pretty lips in a way which was as fascinating as bewildering. will knew her to be well educated, but had never in the fair concluded. john langley has acted tonight, i'd stay at home.” “do you remember how his message read?” asked her brother. “yes,” said dora, “it was something like this: “he who expects gain shall lose. be faithful to the object of your choice, or merit the fate reserved for fickleness and deceit.'' can't blame him for feeling wrathy over such a fortune as that, can you, lewis ? ” asked will, turning to his sister's companion. gad, no!” replied the doctor. “if he would only prove unfaithful to the object of his choice' how happy some other fellow might be.” dora looked at her companion with scorn on her countenance. “i just think i hate you sometimes, arthur lewis !” she exclaimed, as she turned to leave the room. “oh, i say, dora, do have something before you go,” urged the unlucky fellow, as he fol- lowed his angry companion toward the door. "no, i won't have anything. i do believe you just love to see john langley quarrel with me, but it won't do you a bit of good, arthur lewis, not a bit." as they vanished from sight will turned to sappho and said: “dora and john worry me, miss clark; i fear that there is trouble ahead contending forces. for my little sister if she marries him, and i could find it in my heart to wish that her choice had fallen on lewis. he is a thor- oughly good and capable man, and loves the girl devotedly." “let us hope that all things may turn out for the best,” replied sappho. "i don't know why i should worry you with this, miss clark,” said will, as he turned toward her with a light in his eyes which a man gives to but one woman in the world. “miss clark - sappho - ah, here you are.” this time it was john langley who had broken in upon the lovers. he came up to them smiling, polished, bland. sappho wondered why she had never noticed how very disagreeable john langley's smile was. she shuddered a bit as he drew nearer to them. behind him walked the little mercury, and in his hand he held a white missive just drawn from the small black velvet bag which hung at his side. mercury wanted to find you, miss clark, and as i had a message for you from your mother, will, i ventured to interrupt your ear- nest conversation. i hope i don't intrude. he bowed with easy grace to sappho and bade her good evening, at the same time taking the chair which will vacated as he rose to go to his mother, the fair concluded. “thank you, john. no, you do not intrude. miss clark, i shall see you again shortly, i hope. i would very much like to finish our conversation.” sappho bowed and he turned away. she followed the retreating figure with her eyes; john watched her jealously, and the child stood and watched them both. finally with a sigh she opened the note, but before reading it turned to murmur a gentle apology to langley. “oh, never mind me," he returned pleas- antly; "if you get such a mongrel mixture as the one sent to me, i shan't envy you the pleas- ure you'll get out of it.” " it wasn't pleasant, i remember. dora told us about it.” pleasant ! a regular death's head at a feast, i call it. do read yours, miss clark, and see if you haven't something better.” “let me see: the mysterious stars bespeak for you better luck than you have already had. harassed and perplexed by fickle fortune, love shall find a way. “ bravo !” cried john. but how could it be otherwise? if the same blood which inaugu- rated the trojan wars, of which fair helen was the object, still runs in the veins of the gods of love and fortune, they could not resist the in- fluence of so much youth and beauty as we are blessed with here tonight.” contending forces. and what shall i say in reply to so gallant a speech, mr. langley? to my way of think- ing, such words should be uttered to one alone. you must have forgotten dora.” sappho turned to the waiting child and drew him into her lap. because a man is engaged to one girl does that spoil all the pleasure which lies in meet- ing others? one woman can never tie my wandering fancy; my heart is large enough to appreciate the charms of the fair sex wherever discovered. dora don't like it, i know, but she'll get used to it after we are married,” he said, recklessly. sappho kissed the child on her lap, and plac- ing the postage for her letter in his hand, told him to run away. “truly, mr. langley, you appear in a new light. why do you tell your thoughts to me, who am dora's friend? i do not wish to hear them." there was a mocking smile on his face as he turned to her from watching the child. * Α pretty boy that. his is beauty of a rare kind. do you know, i fancy that he resembles you.” really, mr. langley, you grow very strange in your conversation. i shall have to beg you to excuse me,” and with a haughty little bow she left the place: john watched her departure with a slight the fair concluded. smile on his face. “oh, beauty is the wine of life, fair woman, for me," he hummed beneath his moustache. the smile was still on his face as he ordered a cup of coffee and proceeded to drink it leisurely. the fair had been very popular, and most successful from a business point of view. the week was now drawing to a close. the com- munity was on the qui vive over the rivalry between mrs. robinson and mrs. davis. racy developments were looked for on the closing night. every woman had ranged herself on one side or the other, and not a few of the men had been led by their vigorous wives to declare themselves for a chosen leader. friday night was to end the sale of votes on the prizes. saturday was to be devoted to counting up the votes, so that at nine o'clock that night the successful winners could be an- nounced. the pastor was asked to allow the fair to run another week, but he declined em- phatically, saying that so many controversies had grown out of it that another week would seriously deplete his membership and bring disaster upon the cause of religion. so that idea was abandoned. wednesday mrs. robin- son was ahead on the piano but behind on the dining-room receipts. thursday night mrs. contending forces. davis was ahead on the piano but behind on the receipts in the refreshment room. so luck auctuated until the rivals found themselves neck and neck, so to speak, at eight o'clock on friday night. anyone who had watched mrs. robinson would have noticed that her face wore a satisfied smirk which told that she anticipated an easy victory, and the knowing ones of her satellites told each other that “sis' robberson was all right.” mrs. davis viewed the action of her rival with stolid countenance, from which the envoys of the other side, who stood about trying to catch a word to repeat to their champion, could gain no comfort. to her trusted henchmen she whispered : “ jes' you watch me keep 'em guessin' i'm a-goin' to show 'em, shortly, that the 'race am not to the swif'er nor the battle to the stron'er, but to her what enjureth untel the end.'” as half-past seven approached various savory smells could be traced to the "old southern dining-room,” but above all the enticing scents which were ever introduced to aggravate the palate of the lover of good living, the knowing ones could trace the odor of a rare and tempt- ing dainty — the opossum! yes, mrs. robinson had conspired with her southern friends and received a tempting animal direct from the the fair concluded. "old dominion," and on this eventful night she stood in the middle of the dining-room trium- phantly directing the placing of the dish upon the main table, which was carefully arranged with covers laid for twenty-five persons. the ordinary patrons of the room were turned from the door, and even the pastor was not allowed to enter, being told that the dining-room had been engaged for an hour by a private party. at eight o'clock a message was brought to her by a lad stationed at the outside entrance to the vestry, and mrs. robinson immediately hurried to the door to receive a sleigh-load of young white ladies and gentlemen who had come from among the wealthy people of the city, for whom mrs. robinson was a faithful servant, to help her triumph over her enemies. with head thrown back and held very high, and satisfac- tion beaming from her countenance, the good sister marched in at the head of the company like a successful warrior on his return from victory. the assembled company made way, gazing with awe upon so many representatives of wealth and influence. then they were lost within the sacred precincts of the dining-room, into which mrs. robinson ushered them. the pastor was sent for presently, and attended by the most prominent trustee on the board, he waited upon the guests who had so honored his bil mein $ .my the fair concluded. oughly angry. ' you-alls havin' yer hallelujah meetin' too soon. don' holler 'tell yer knows what yer hollerin' 'bout. i ain't beat tell nine o'clock sharp, when the polls is closed.” “five minutes is all you's got, anyhow. can't change much in five minutes,” laughed another. just at this moment a messenger boy made his way from the door and was conducted to the judges' seat. he handed them an envelope which upon being opened was seen to contain two bits of paper. " please step this way, mrs. davis, and make your mark for value received,” called out one of the judges. mrs. davis was escorted to the table by a curious crowd, anxious to know the meaning of this latest sensation. the judge stood up after she had signed, and said: “ ladies and gentle- men, knowing the interest that you take in all that relates to the two ladies who are rival candidates for the piano, and also for the ten dollars for the largest amount taken at a re- freshment table, i beg leave to state that one hundred and fifty dollars have been contributed by mrs. mason and mrs. molly mason farn- ham, to be used for buying votes in the favor of mrs. davis in the contest for the piano, and to swell the receipts at her refreshment tables. contending forces. as i hold my watch in my hand it is now one minute of the closing hour of the polls. any more votes?” he paused and looked around. “no more? then i have the honor of informing you that the polls are closed. no more tickets can be bought, and i may as well say right here that sister davis will have the most votes ; she'll stand at least five hundred ahead. now i propose that we give that we give three cheers for sister davis." and they were given with a will, led by the pastor, who stood upon a chair and swung his bandanna handkerchief wildly in the air. mrs. davis was greatly excited. “sis' rob- berson's got me, has she? beat, am i? how 'bout it, honeys, how 'bout it?” sister mary jane robinson was carried home sick in a herdic. the next night brought a great crowd to see the distribution of the prizes. the fun waxed warmer and warmer as each name was called. when young 'mandy jackson was called to receive the diamond pin, her twin brothers turned handsprings in the aisle, and yelled out: “hi, 'mandy, yer a peach! we-uns did the bis- ness fer yer, yer bet.” sister susanna johnson received the much- coveted silver set, and thought with pride of the handsome sideboard, and made up her mind アーク ​ the fair concluded. then and there to give the stewardess board such a tea as they had not had for many a day, before another week rolled over her head. jim anderson walked up to the judges' stand feeling very bashful and with a fearful grin on his face, when his name was called for the gold watch and chain. “wet it, jim! wet it!” cried one of his friends. "set 'em up, ol' man!” roared another, as jim returned to his seat. “ don't be 'shamed; do the right thing by the boys." jim anderson was angry. he was a trustee, and was looked up to by all the young members as an exemplary christian. jim made up his mind not to stand it, and he paused on the way to his seat and offered to take the speaker and set him up” by standing him on his head if he'd only come out where he could get at him, “makin' a fool o' him right out in chuch.” this stopped the fun in that direction, for jim was a beef-lugger at the "big" market, and they had a wholesome regard for his muscle. but when mrs. davis was called for the piano and the ten dollars, the excitement broke out with renewed vigor: "speech! speech!” re- sounded from all over the hall. “you must say a word to your friends, sister," said the pastor. then she stood up. contending forces. will you “friends, i'm much oblivigated to yer fer makin' all this noise over me, but bein' a lone- some ol' 'ooman, an' with no ejkation, i cayn't make no speech. i'll jes' say thar's nuthin' mean 'bout me. i don' feel good 'cause some o'us is took sick 'long o'all this. now, pastor, i want yer to take this ten dollars over to sis' robberson an' tell her we's quits, an' i fergive her fer all her mean feelin's to me. do it?" the pastor promised, and for a while pande- monium reigned. and after that the pastor could not forbear saying a few words about how good it was “to dwell together in brotherly love." sister sarah ann white said “the brothers had nuthin' to do with it, it was ophelia davis an' nobody else." mrs. davis, true to her word, had not for- gotten the pastor; and all the women, mindful of the feeling engendered by mrs. robinson against him, had secretly gone about among the “ ," and money enough had been con- tributed to buy him a fine new sunday suit, made up in the latest clerical fashion. after all the prizes had been presented, the women formed in a body, and headed by ma smith, marched up to the judges' seats and presented him with the result of their good feelings. so everybody was made happy. the fair concluded. it was estimated that the proceeds of the fair exceeded the eight thousand dollars hoped for, and no church had more sincere cause to rejoice on the next easter sunday than the body of people comprising the church on x street, who on that memorable day consecrated anew to god their house of worship free from all encumbrances, contending forces. chapter xii. a colored politician. o, that estates, degrees and offices were not derived corruptly, and that clear honor were purchased by the merit of the wearer! how many then should cover that stand bare ! how many be commanded that command ! merchant of venice. john langley occupied an office in the busi- ness portion of the city among the most reliable lawyers in the profession. he held that asso- ciation with success would in the end bring the desired quality to any one. he had never been moved by a generous heart-impulse in his whole life. actual need found no pity dwell- ing in his breast. the comfortable home which the thrift of smith had founded and the industry of the family had fostered to pros- perity, influenced his devotion to dora to an extent which if realized by her would have led to his instant dismissal by that impetuous young lady. according to his way of thinking, the wife ought to contribute as much to the expenses of the household, by having a com- fortable nest-egg before marriage, as the hus- band. he listened to the romantic story of the montfort family with eagerness, and while a colored politician. regarding it as a fanciful creation of the mind, yet he felt that he must look it up and be very sure that a dollar could not be gained from it, before he marked it in his mind as valueless. he meditated on the subject constantly, but with the shrewdness characteristic of his nature, carefully concealed his thoughts from every one. he had no idea where he should begin to unravel this great mystery of family connections lost within the fog-banks of life in london, but he intended to try. langley's nature was the natural product of such an institution as slavery. natural in- . stinct for good had been perverted by a mixture of "cracker" blood of the lowest type on his father's side with whatever god-saving quality that might have been loaned the negro by pitying nature. this blood, while it gave him the pleasant features of the caucasian race, vitiated his moral nature and left it stranded high and dry on the shore of blind ignorance, and there he seemed content to dwell, supinely self-satisfied with the narrow boundary of the horizon of his mental vision. he remembered little of his parentage, but what had most impressed him was that some- where in the dim past a woman, presumably his mother, had boasted that through her he was a direct descendant of the north carolina contending forces. pollocks. so he clung to the name, and called himself john pollock langley. neither the smiths nor he connected his name in any way with the montfort story; it was a mere coincidence. if taken in his first state, fresh from the woods and streams of his nativity, the negro be subjected to the saving influences of the christian home where freedom and happiness, education and morality abound, the anglo- saxon would lose the main arguments which he uses against the black brother; rather would he bow humbly in recognition of the ebony- hued miniature of god. subject the anglo- saxon to the whip and scourge, grind the iron heel of oppression in his face until all resem- blance to the human family is lost in the degradation of the brute, take from wives and mothers the sacredness and protection of home in the time before birth, when moral and intel- lectual development are most dependent upon pre-natal influences for the advancement of generations to come; join to all this the un- controlled bestial passions of humanity, and what have you? classic features and a godlike mind ? no! rather the lineaments of hideous despair, fearful and hopeless as the angel forms that fell from heaven to the black gulf of impenetrable hell. contending forces. cries of agony. we think the negroes of this section have been taught a salutary lesson.- torchlight. the american colored league was made up of leading colored men all over new england. these men were in communication with the colored people in every section of the country, for there is no community of colored people so remote that a branch of the great national league of american colored men cannot be found within easy reach of all. to the boston branch of this society the people of all sections of the country look for aid and comfort, not because of any acknowledged superiority of its members, but solely on account of the advan- tages which they are supposed to enjoy under the beneficent rulings of the grand old com- monwealtḥ of massachusetts. we do not claim for massachusetts, in her policy toward the negroes within her gates, freedom from prejudice or error. there is prejudice enough, heaven knows, prejudice which is fed every day by fresh arrivals from the south and by inter- marriage between southern women and the sons of massachusetts. but massachusetts is noted for being willing to see fair play: she hears the complaints of the negro, and listens with attention to the accusations of the south- ern whites, weighs the one against the other, and, naturally enough, the scales tip in favor d contending forces. when they waited on him and asked him to give the office work to two worthy representa- tives of their race, and pointed out to him that it was his duty so to do as a leading man of influence among them. some of the commit- tee were unkind enough to say that they be- lieved that langley was as prejudiced toward black people as any anglo-saxon ; but as he denied it most emphatically, there was nothing more to be said about the matter, though many colored men voted him a “sneak” in private, and had a watchful eye on all his movements. usually john had no difficulty in fixing his attention on the humdrum routine of the office, but today his thoughts wandered. sappho clark had touched a vein in his nature which was a revelation to himself. sensuality was prominent in the phrenological development of his head, although no one of his associates would have called him a libertine. neverthe- less, there it lurked ready to assert itself when conditions were ripe to call it into action. sap- pho represented the necessary conditions. her beauty intoxicated him; her friendlessness did not appeal to his manliness, because, as we have intimated, that was an unknown quality in the makeup of this man. her coldness urged him on; and jealousy, the argus-eyed attendant of love, and its counterfeit - infatuation a colored politician. warned him that will's love was returned, and made him impatient to force upon her an acceptance of his own devotion, at whatever cost. he did not contemplate marriage, be- cause he intended to marry dora for mercenary reasons. but to his mind that was no obstacle to the consummation and lifelong duration of an illicit love. he had detected in sappho's personality a coldness more in accordance with the disposition of women of the north than with that of one born beneath the smiling skies of the languorous southland. where, with such a face and complexion, had she imbibed a moral character so strong and self-reliant as her conduct had shown her to possess ? not by inheritance, if he read the signs aright. then, he argued, if she had acquired that stately, cold, dispassionate bearing by force of habit only, the time would surely come when unex- pectedly the true nature would reassert itself. ah, he could wait! meantime he could watch for opportunities to coax the unwilling bird within the net. "gentleman to see you, sir,” announced the office boy, laying a card on the table before him. langley glanced at the card and then said: "show the gentleman in, and remember i'm 'engaged' to anyone who calls while he is here.” as the boy left the room he thought contending forces. to himself: “i wonder what brings the hon. herbert clapp here today. something un- common, i warrant." langley arose to receive his visitor with an easy grace which was a distinguishing point in his personality. men would tell you privately keen, far-sighted politicians — that they be- lieved langley to be “tricky,” but that he had such a pleasant way with him that you would give in to him when you knew, within your own mind, that he would “do" you out of a case in court or a hundred dollars with the suavity of a lord chesterfield; or as one politician expressed it: “ he has such a d oily way with him that a man forgets to 'fire' him until it is too late.” he received his guest with empressement, bade him good-morning in a cordial voice, seated him in the easiest chair which the cozy office contained, and, before his hat had fairly reached a resting-place, had produced a box of fine cigars, and made him comfortable. deuced pleasant office you have here, langley,” remarked the visitor as he lit a fra- grant havana and proceeded to enjoy himself man-fashion. “oh, it isn't bad,” replied langley, “though if my practice allowed it i would be glad to take more commodious quarters." john had helped himself to a cigar, and was now contemplating a colored politician. the ceiling through rings of curling smoke. apparently he watched a belated fly trail its body slowly over the white space, but really his mind was alert and watchful to find a clue as to the nature of the business which had caused this man to call upon him. mr. clapp had visited him twice before since he had been in business, and each time his call had brought substantial profit, in a political way, to his little bank account. “horrible thing, this latest case of lynching," mr. clapp remarked after an interval of silent enjoyment. yes," replied john, “pretty bad. isn't it most time for the administration to take it up? you can't expect us to stand this sort of thing always, and not strike back.” "what'd you gain by doing that?” ques- tioned mr. clapp. “i'll tell you,” replied john, looking earnestly at his visitor, “ there are thirty-five thousand of us in this state alone. we can be organized, if the work is done by the right ones and in the right way. we can help start a new party, if nothing more.” "that won't do any good, john, we can down you. colored people won't stick together; and then where'd you be?” “we'd stick all right if once we got started," returned john doggedly. contending forces. “no you wouldn't; you're so confoundedly jealous of honors. each one of you wants all there is for himself, and you never know when to get off, individually. we white men know this, and it is easy to upset your plans.” “i know that there is a great deal of truth in what you say, but that won't always be the case with us; we are growing away from it more and more every day; and with the missionary work that the league is doing, we expect to fight you one of these days, and knock the party clear over the ropes. “you'll never do it!" declared mr. clapp. “ time will tell you don't expect to suc- ceed in keeping us out of employment, shoved in a corner to starve and to be burnt alive, with- out getting square sometime, do you? there would be some satisfaction in throwing you fellows out and putting others in, if a new party is the outcome of the issue, and seeing some of you, who have your pockets filled with the sala- ries which the government has heaped upon you, shoved out of a job and your vast schemes for growing richer, at the expense of the lives of just such poor unfortunates as the negroes you are allowing the south to burn in order to keep in power, blown to the devil. we can at least do that much." “i didn't expect such talk from you, langley," a colored politician. said mr. clapp, his lips tightening in a tense line about the mouth. “i suppose not. i've always been pliable, like the rest of the race. things are changing.” “ the dollar will fetch you every time, john." not this time, anyhow," was the dogged reply. pshaw! you people are standing in your own light.” “yes, i think we are. been doing the same old thing for the last thirty-five years. "what do you mean?” demanded mr. clapp, growing white with suppressed passion. “ is that a reflection ?" “don't lose your temper, colonel; the man who gets mad always gets the worst of it,” re- plied john blandly. “i want to ask you a ques- tion: did you ever hear of such a thing as a man being robbed and murdered in the house of his friends ?” he looked mr. clapp squarely in the eye. the latter shifted uneasily in his seat. "that's what's been done to my people.” well, you can't complain ; you've had all you're worth.” “had all we're worth! yes, you give us a bootblack stand in the corridor of the state house, and think we are placated.” "you can't expect anything more until you contending forces. have earned it. besides, you're incompetent to fill any higher position. i have had a num- ber of your best men tried in clerical positions, and you always fail to compete favorably with an ordinary white clerk. you can't ask the people to pay for ignorant incompetents." “ ha, ha, ha!” laughed john, as he lay back in his chair and winked at the colonel, “ that's a good one! what do you think i've been doing since i've been in the law business in this city? why, the greenest ward-heeler knows that neither a white nor black man is competent to fill an office if the heads of the department where he is employed wish to get rid of him. the civil service is a good thing, but even that can't save a man from becoming incompetent when his resignation is desired by any one in authority. that's no argument at all. and as for our earning our rights didn't earn them at wagner and fort fisher and at fort pillow; we haven't held the casting vote, and floated you from poverty into afflu- ence." "but the south, man!” exclaimed the colonel, pounding the table before him with his fists until the dust sprang from the covers of the volumes lying there," the south has rights as well as you. they are white men, man; you can't expect us to leave them out. we contending forces. “threats do not frighten me, colonel; nearly nineteen hundred years ago christ sat at sup- per with his friends, and one of them, with a kiss still warm on his lips, betrayed him to crucifixion. what have we to expect from our friends?” “now, look here, langley, don't say hard things, and don't get mad. i will admit every word that you say. it is all true, dit!” he exclaimed as he arose to his feet and began walking up and down the floor with rapid strides. “i imagine i should feel even worse than you do if i were one of your race, but you see things are as they are, and why not make the best of a bad matter? your people can't help themselves. if you rose in the south and appealed to arms you would soon be extermi. nated; for of course the south is our brother, and in an uprising of that sort, the national arms would necessarily be directed against the ' rioters,' as they would be termed. individu- ally, i might feel the justice of your cause; oth- ers might feel with me; but expediency would make me fight against you. and that brings me to my errand here today. it is the duty of every one of us to wait for justice, and not to countenance excitement and bloodshed. i assure you upon my honor as a man, that if the colored people are only patient for a while contending forces. you just make up your mind to one thing: we're coming high this time. it's going to cost you something; yes, sir, right smart.” “ i tell you, langley, we have a hard fight to give your people even the little that they do get. it's your duty to listen to reason in this matter. what do you want, anyhow?” “we want our men given something beside boot-blacking in the employment of the state. we want our girls given a chance as clerks; that's what we want. anything unreasonable in that?” “no; that isn't unreasonable, but dit all, man, other employees would 'kick.'' "let 'em 'kick.' turn 'em out and get others; the civil service lists are always full.” john faced the angry man with grim determi- nation on every feature. he thought to him- self: “the colonel wants something done, and he might as well know that it's going to take a good thing to get me on his side.” “all right! i see what's the matter with you; you want to fight!” exclaimed the angry colonel. “ all right! be pig-headed; don't listen to reason; plunge the country into a race war in spite of all we've done for you, especially for your leaders; and when your race is exterminated, put the blame where it belongs. i wash my hands of the whole busi- ness!” a colored politician. oh,” replied john, with a conciliatory air, " i don't want to see bloodshed any more than you do, and i am just as ready to accept amicable terms for my race as you are to offer them. i only want to convince you that we can do something if conditions are right.” “ you're all right, john, my boy,” returned clapp, as he slapped langley on the back, apparently very ready to grasp the olive-branch of peace; "you stick to the party and the party 'll stick to you. we don't want to quar- rel, do we? “no, that won't pay,” said john. each man now resumed the seat which he had vacated under the excitement of the moment, helped himself to another cigar, and again con- templated the ceiling through rings of smoke. john noticed that the fly had made the circuit of the ceiling, and was moving toward him from the opposite side of the room. after a moment's silence the colonel said: “your folks are going to have a meeting about this last atrocious affair, aren't they?' “yes; i was just looking over the list of speakers as you came in.” “i suppose they're pretty mad?' yes; pretty hot.” by the way, langley, your name is up for the place of city solicitor, to fill the vacancy contending forces, made by the death of calvin. i suppose you'll accept it if you pull it off ? " this was the first that john had heard about any such place being offered to him, but he took it as a matter of course, and his eyes sparkled as he replied: “that would suit me to a t.” that settles it, then; it's a go. now i tell you what you do,” he continued between the puffs of fragrant smoke; "you hold that meet- ing down among your people to a calm level. don't let your fire-eaters like judge watson raise the devil of a row, and throw dirt on the party. you keep that end down and i'll work the papers." “just so,” replied john. how's the city election going down your way, anyhow?" asked the colonel, after a few more explicit directions to langley concerning the work he would have him do. “pretty fair. some of the voters want to take their own heads, but they can be managed.” “well, here's an order on the committee for money waiting to be used in your district in an emergency. draw when you need it.” then he arose from his chair to take his leave. mighty good cigars you keep, john.” help yourself, colonel, help yourself.” the hon. herbert clapp graciously took a is a colored politician. half-dozen and stored them away in a capacious coat pocket. after a few more commonplace remarks langley accompanied his visitor to the door, they shook hands, and the interview was ended. contexding forces. chapter xiii. the american colored league. shall tongues be mute when deeds are wrought which well might shame extremest hell? shall pity's bosom cease to swell? shall honor bleed? — shall truth succumb? shall pen and press and soul be dumb? no;- by each spot of haunted ground where freedom weeps her children's fall, by plymouth's rock and bunker's mound, by griswold's stained and shattered wall, by warren's ghost, by langdon's shade, by all the memories of our dead ! by their enlarging souls, which burst the bands and fetters round them set, by the free pilgrim spirit nursed within our inmost bosoms, yet, by all above, around, below, be ours the indignant answer, — no! whittier. when judge watson, the president of the league, reached his office on that eventful march morning, he found his desk deluged with telegrams from all over the country. from the south the cry was: “can nothing be done?” “where is massachusetts ? has our old friend been turned against us at last? ” “for god's sake help us!” “ how long, o the american colored league. lord, how long !” “let the voice of the league be heard from every city, town and vil- lage in the union. speak, and let our voices be heard !" such were the messages that compelled the hoary-haired veteran of a hundred anti-slavery meetings to crush back the sobs which arose in his throat as he, too, reiterated the cry of an afflicted people: “how long, o lord, how long!” that day the executive committee of the league met and asked themselves what could be done. “nothing," was the final deci- sion after debating the question, “but to agi- tate.” this plan they proceeded to put into execution. notices were sent all over new england of a gigantic public meeting to be held at the church on x street, on the tues- day evening following. the press, with one or two exceptions, sided either openly or secretly against the negroes, north and south. “ah, ah!” they cried, “see how the negro abuses the great privileges which we have bestowed in view of this fact, the league decided that a conservative white man should be asked to address the meeting, along with men imbued with the old abolition spirit, and in this way each side could have a chance to represent the subject as seen from its point of view. “let us, once and for all, look at the upon him.” . contending forces. question dispassionately; if the fault be ours, let us acknowledge it like men, and seek to amend it; if it belongs to others, may god help them to do right.” the excitement among the colored people was intense: prayers were held in all the churches the sunday preceding. telegrams were received from the branches of the league all over the state that delegates would repre- sent them. the meeting would be a great expression of public opinion. dr. arthur lewis was head of a large edu- cational institution in the south devoted to the welfare of the negroes. every year he visited the city, and assisted by a quartette of singers, who were also members of the school, collected large sums of money from the best class of philanthropic citizens, who gave to the negro not only because they believed he was wronged, but also because they believed that in great measure his elevation would remove the stigma under which the southern white labored. for the loyal white man there would be no greater joy in life than to see his poetic dream of superiority to all other governments realized in the "land of the free and the home of the brave.” he knows that this can never be while the negro question keeps up the line of demar- kation which marks the division of the north the american colored league. from the south. true and loyal son of his country, he would sacrifice any race, any prin- ciple, to bring about this much-desired consum- mation ; so he contributes his money to build up manufacturing interests at the south to his own material disadvantage in the north: to develop uncultivated land there, and to edu- cate the negro with the hope that in the gen- eral advance the latter question may be buried from public notice, if not obliterated. delusive hope that grasps at shadows ! that momentous tuesday evening rolled quickly round. the committee asked that the meeting should open at half-past seven, on account of the time needed by the speakers, and long before the hour appointed the large edifice was filled to overflowing. and what a crowd! they came from towns remote, from the farm, from domestic service in the homes of wealth and from among the lowly ones who earn a scanty living with scrubbing-brush and pail. doctor, lawyer, politician, mechanic - every class sent its representative there to help protest against the wrongs of down-trodden manhood. the platform was heavily draped in ameri. can flags supplemented by wide bands of mourn- ing. pictures of the anti-slavery apostles peered out at the audience from the folds of contending forces. the national colors. speakers and representa- tive citizens were seated upon the platform, and visiting delegates occupied seats in close prox- imity. the choir had volunteered its services, and, after a prayer by the pastor, rendered mrs. julia ward howe's “ battle hymn of the re- public” in masterly style. in listening to the martial strains the pulse of the vast concourse of people was strained with excitement and expectation. the stillness was intense as the gray-haired president of the league and chair- man of the meeting arose in his seat and pass- ing to the desk, rapped for order. “fellow-citizens and men and women of my race: the occasion for this meeting is one of great solemnity. forty years ago, when as a young man i sat at the feet of sumner, phillips, garrison, pillsbury, charles lenox remond, nell, robert morris, fred douglas and all the mighty host of anti-slavery fathers, we thought that with the abolishment of slavery the black man's destiny would be accomplished, and fixed beyond a peradventure. today a condition of affairs confronts us that they never foresaw: the systematic destruction of the negro by every device which the fury of enlightened malevolence can invent. in whatever direction we turn, the clouds hang dark and threatening. this new birth of the black race is a mighty the american colored league. agony. god help us in our struggle for liberty and manhood! agitation and eternal vigilance in the formation of public opinion were the weapons which broke the power of the slave- holder and gave us emancipation. i recom- mend these methods to you today, knowing their value in the past. «• up then and act! thy courage wake! combat intrigue, injustice, tyranny, and in thine efforts god will be with thee.'” he then called upon the hon. herbert clapp, as a representative of the party and of the sen- timent of the best white people of the country, to address the meeting. the political contingent gave him a hearty welcome as he moved with stately tread to the front of the platform. he said: “the topic to be discussed is a very serious one, and i feel deeply how incompetent i am to deal with it, how incompetent most of us are to attempt the solution of the question before us. as as a white man looking upon the south as my brother, and desiring to see the wel. fare of that section secured along with the rights of the brother in black, i feel the respon- sibility which rests upon me tonight to be fair and just, impartial to both sides in what i may say. i ask you tonight as rational people to contending forces. look at this question from both points of view; to be calm and logical; to be willing, as just men of intelligence and judgment, to see and acknowledge wrong wherever you find it among your own people, and to be willing to consult as to the best method of procedure to rectify mistakes which if corrected may lead to an amicable adjustment of all difficulties in the south. as a friend of both sides, i ask you to do this. “i am not here to apologize for the south; she has her ills and her sins. what section has not? let us thank god that sectionalism is dead. “now, then, let us try to appreciate the relations of the negro at the south. all his- tory shows that two races, approaching in any degree equality in numbers, cannot live to- gether unless intermarriage takes place or the one is dependent and in some sense subject to the other. miscegenation by law will never take place in the south. no matter how much we people of the north may differ with our brothers of the south, this point will always remain fixed. miscegenation, then, being out of the question, nothing remains for the negro but to be dominated by the white man there. i hold that the negro in american civilization is a problem of a vast deal more import than the american colored league. we are inclined to believe. the problem is national, not sectional. the sin of slavery was the sin of the nation, and that sin stands before us today full of menace, full of peril to the whole people. the southern brother claims, and with some justice i think you will allow, that under the influence of scalawags and car- pet-baggers, mostly composed of unprincipled northern white men, the negro has opposed, politically, everything that he thinks the white man wants. upon this subject prof. h. m. brown, a negro and member of the faculty of hampton institute, says : ‘the greatest enemy to the negro and the greatest obstacle to his progress is the politician, and the negro poli- tician is the worst of all.' "you cannot deny that the well-behaved negro has the respect of the community in which he lives at the south. witness the death of a highly respected negro in georgia a short time ago. he never dabbled in politics, and his death was deplored by white and black alike. in thirty years forty per cent of the illiteracy at the south among the colored peo- ple has disappeared, due no doubt to environ- ment and emulation of the whites. all kinds of employment, trades, professions, etc., are open to the negro at the south, and you know that counts for a great deal. here at the north the contending forces. pressure is so great from the white laborer that we are forced, to some extent, to bar against the colored brother. i am ashamed to say it; but let us state the case truthfully, if at all. “to come to the case in hand, i wish it to be distinctly understood that i am absolutely opposed to mob law. but there is an un- written law, not peculiar to any section, which demands the quickest execution, in the quickest way, of the fiend who robs a virtuous woman of her honor to gratify his hellish diabolism. human nature is the same throughout the civilized world. if in return for all the benefits conferred upon the negro at the south, which i have enumerated previously, they give us the heinous crime of rape, what shall we say y? where find excuses for such ingratitude? surely as men we must have sympathy for the pure and virtuous woman who carries with her a living shame, in a living death, in a life all too long for its miseries, if it lasts but for a day.” as he finished and returned to his seat, a sigh like a broken moan seemed to come from the very heart of the multitude, but not a movement broke the stillness. the hon. herbert clapp felt that his part of the exer- cises was a failure. after à pause, the chair- man introduced doctor lewis as a leading contending forces. or scheme that may suggest itself to the wily brain of the unscrupulous politician. these men are dangerous to the peace of the com- munity, and it is such men who commit the deeds of violence with which the country is horrified at short intervals. if we cannot reach these men individually, we hope to reach their children. thus we have planned that with the aid of our universities we shall at length root out evil and ignorance, and in the future give our race a clean, pure citizenship. as our friend has stated - politics is the bane of the negro's existence. those of us who eschew that subject, let matters of government take care of themselves, while we look out for our own individual or collective advancement, find no difficulty in living at the south in peace and harmony with our neighbors. if we are patient, docile, harmless, we may expect to see that prosperity for which we long, in the years to come, if not for ourselves then for our children. i am an optimist in regard to the future. i have great hopes of the better class of southern people themselves. “let us remember that the south was more conquered than persuaded. the confederates did not surrender their convictions with their swords. immediately after the war henry w. grady would have been looked upon as a mon- the american colored league. strosity. it was a severe blow to the south when the slave gained his liberty. as the south gains wealth and resources i think that the problem will grow less difficult. it is the idea of the negro holding political preferment that is so hard for the north and south to swallow. but if we give them time and do not hurry them, they will grow gradually accus- tomed to the new era. convince the south that we do not want social equality, neither do) we wish to rule. we want nothing but our god-given rights as men. "i believe in the humanizing influence of the dollar judiciously expended for educational advantages, 'holding it better and wiser to tend the weeds in the garden than to water the exotic in the window. we should strive to obtain the education of the industrial school, seeking there our level, content to abide there, leaving to the white man the superiority of brain and intellect which hundreds of years have de- veloped.” he ceased speaking and sat down amid mur- murs of applause, mingled with disapprobation. some among the audience began to grow rest- less. was this what they came to hear-an apology, almost an eulogy upon the course pur- sued by the south toward the negro? other speakers - white and colored — followed; then contending forces. the chairman introduced our friend john lang- ley. he came to the front of the platform with his usual graceful bearing. he was well known among the people, especially the younger con- tingent, and was received with liberal applause. “my friends," he said, “i shall not detain you with any lengthy remarks upon the situa- tion, because there are speakers to follow me. i am glad of the opportunity to say what i think about lynch law: it is a terrible thing to contemplate. the crime which provokes it is still more terrible, to my thinking. i utter no eulogy upon the position of the south toward the negro, neither do i harbor undue resentment for the grievous wrongs which i feel they have, in some measure, heaped upon i am willing to leave the punishment of criminals, the suppression of mob violence, with the national government, being convinced that in good time the government so trusted will acquit itself with equity toward my race. you have listened to the speeches made by our friend, the hon. herbert clapp, and our brother, dr. arthur lewis, upon whose word we can implicitly rely, because he works, lives, and moves among the very happenings of which we know nothing save by reading. it is dis- cretion to act coolly, calmly and deliberately; to look at all sides of a question before we us. the american colored league. jump at conclusions. i can see nothing to be gained, if, as we have been advised, we took up arms in defense of our rights of citizenship. extermination would speedily follow. let us not invite destruction. but we have oppor- tunities of advancement. let us seize them. let us await the issue of events with patience, trusting in the fealty of our party leaders, put- ting faith in their sagacity to push our claims and redress whatever grievances we may have, at a seasonable time. we thoroughly under- stand the attitude of the whites. let us not offend the class upon whom we depend for employment and assistance in times of emer- gencies. by so doing, if we cannot have amity we can have peace.” contending forces. chapter xiv. luke sawyer speaks to the league. my ear is pained, my soul is sick with every day's report of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled. there is no flesh in man's obdurate heart; it does not feel for man: the natural bond of brotherhood is severed as the flax that falls asunder at the touch of fire. he finds his fellow guilty of a skin not colored like his own; and, having power to enforce the wrong for such a worthy cause, dooms and devotes him as a lawful prey. cowper. scarcely had the speaker taken his seat amid suppressed murmurs of discontent, when a tall, gaunt man of very black complexion arose in his seat among the delegates, and in a sonorous bass voice uttered the solemn protest of patrick henry, so famous in history: “gen- tlemen may cry 'peace! peace!' but there is no peace!” in an instant confusion reigned. women fluttered their handkerchiefs, and above waves of applause and cheers could be heard cries of “ hear, hear!” “platform! platform!” the chairman rapped for order, and when he could make himself heard, asked the delegate to come sawyer speaks to the league. م ر to the platform; another speaker was waiting, but the audience would be glad to hear anything he might have to say. as he passed up the aisle and mounted the steps of the rostrum, the people saw a man of majestic frame, rugged physique and immense muscular development. his face was kindly, but withal bore the marks of superior intelligence, shrewdness and great strength of character. he might have been a cromwell, a robespierre, a lincoln. men of his physiological development - when white — mould humanity, and leave their own charac- teristics engraved upon the pages of the history of their times. “friends," said he, when he stood before them, “ i come from williamstown, in the west- ern part of this state, to be a delegate at this meeting. here are my credentials to show that i am in good standing in the league where i belong. (he handed his papers to the chair- man.) i want to impress that fact upon the minds of this assembly, because i am going to tell you some awful facts before i get through.” he paused, and with his handkerchief wiped the tears and perspiration from his face. “friends, i am thirty years old and look fifty. i want to tell you why this is so. i want to tell you what brought me here. i want to tell the gentlemen who have spoken here tonight ! broke open the doors, seized my father, and hung him to the nearest tree. sawyer speaks to the league. continued to trade with him, and it seemed that the other man would be compelled to give up. about this time father received threaten- ing letters ordering him to move, and saying that in case he did not do as ordered he would lose his life. mother was frightened, and ad- vised father to get out of the place, but he, anxious to save some part of his hard earnings, waited to sell his stock and houses before seek- ing a home elsewhere. one night a posse of men came to our house and began smoking us out. you don't know anything about that up here, do you? well, you'll get there if things keep on as they're going. my father had arms. he raised the window of his sleeping-room and fired into the mob of cowardly hounds. thor- oughly enraged, they broke open the doors back and front, seized my father and hung him to the nearest tree, whipped my mother and sister, and otherwise abused them so that they died next day. my brothers were twins, still so small that they were but babes. the mob took them by the heels and dashed their brains out against the walls of the house! then they burned the house. i saw all this, and frenzied with horror, half-dead with fright, crept into the woods to die. i was found there by a colored planter named beaubean, who lived in the next township. he pitied me and took me home. contending forces. that, gentlemen, was my first experience of lynching. do you think it is possible to preach 'peace' to a man like me ?” the house was filled with the cries and groans of the audience. sobs shook the women, while the men drank in the words of the speaker with darkening brows and hands which involun- tarily clinched themselves in sympathy with his words. “ but that is not the only story i can tell. here's another. i will tell it to you, and you can digest it at your leisure. “ monsieur beaubean was an educated man, descended from a very wealthy family. his father had been his owner. when the father died he left to his son, born of a black mother, an equal share of the estate along with his legitimate heirs. they made no objections, so he got it. "monsieur beaubean had married a quadroon woman of great beauty — louisany abounds in handsome women of color; they had two chil- dren, a boy and a girl. she was three years old when i went to live with them. i remained in the family twelve years. i learned many things there; along with the trade of black- smithing i learned to esteem myself as a man. “i cannot describe to you the beauty and loveliness of that child. as a boy i worshipped sawyer speaks to the league. her, and as a man i loved her; not with the hope of ever having a return of the feeling she had aroused in me, but as a faithful dog that would lay down his life for those who shel- ter and care for him, so i felt to beaubean's family, and especially to that child. when mabelle, as we called her, was old enough, she was sent to the colored sisters' school in the city of new orleans. it was my pleasant duty to drive her into the city each day and go for her at night. * monsieur beaubean had a half-brother - a white man — who was very wealthy and stood very high in politics. in fact, he was in the state senate. he was very warm in his expres- sions of friendship for the family, and especially so in his assumption of relationship. i noticed that he seemed extremely fond of mabelle. one day, after she had passed her fourteenth birthday, she had a holiday from school, and went with some schoolfellows to visit a com- panion who lived in the city. they returned at night without her, saying that she went into a store with monsieur beaubean's brother, and they had not seen her since. “can you imagine what a night was passed by that family? no, you cannot, unless you have been through the same experience. the father went in one direction and i in another. all contending forces. night long we searched the city streets; nothing could be heard of her. finally we went to police headquarters and secured the services of a detective. after three wecks of incessant searching we found her a prisoner in a house of the vilest character in the lowest portion of the city of new orleans - a poor, ruined, half- crazed creature in whom it was almost impos- sible to trace a resemblance to the beautiful pet of our household. these arms bore her forth from that vile den and restored her to a broken- hearted parent. i think that i must have gone mad. if i had had the man there then that committed the crime (he raised one gaunt arm above his head, and standing in that atti- tude seemed the embodiment of vengeance) i would have taken him by the throat and shaken him (he hissed the words through clinched teeth), shaken him as a dog would a rat until he was dead ! dead! dead! we took her home, but i believe that her father was a madman from the time he placed his eyes upon her until he was murdered. and who do you think had done this foul crime? why, the father's half-brother, uncle of the victim! "crazed with grief, monsieur beaubean faced his brother and accused him of his crime. well,' said he, 'whatever damage i have done i am willing to pay for. but your child is no sawyer speaks to the league. better than her mother or her grandmnother. what does a woman of mixed blood, or any negress, for that matter, know of virtue? it is my belief that they were a direct creation by god to be the pleasant companions of men of my race. now, i am willing to give you a thousand dollars and call it square.' he handed monsieur beaubean a roll of bills as he spoke. beaubean seized them and hurled them into the villain's face with these words: 'i leave you to carry my case into the federal courts and appeal for justice.' unhappy man! that night his house was mobbed. the crowd surrounded the building after firing it, and as an inmate would show his head at a window in the struggle to escape from the burning building, someone would pick him off. so it went all that night. i seized mabelle and wrapped her in a her in a blanket. watching my chance i stole from the house after the fire was well under way, and miraculously reached a place of safety. i took mabelle to the colored convent at new orleans, and left her there in the care of the sisters. there she died when her child was born!” as the speaker stood silently contemplating his weeping, grief-convulsed audience, a woman was borne from the auditorium in a fainting condition. john langley from his seat on the contendixg forces. platform leaned over and asked an usher who the lady was. “miss sappho clark," was his reply. amid universal silence, the silence which comes from feeling too deep for outward expres- sion, the speaker concluded: “a tax too heavy placed on tea and things like that, niade the american colonies go to go to war with great britain to get their liberty. i ask you what you think the american colonies would have done if they had suffered as we have suffered and are still suffering ? “ mr. chairman, gentlemen call for peace, and i reply: ‘peace if possible; justice at any rate.' where is there peace for men like me? when the grave has closed over me and my memories, i shall have peace. “ under such conditions as i have described, contentment, amity - call it by what name you will — is impossible; justice alone remains to us.” will smith's defense of his race. chapter xv. will smith's defense of his race. thank god for the token! thank god that one man as a free man has spoken! - whittier. ) someone at this moment began to sing that grand old hymn, ever new and consoling: “jesus, lover of my soul, let me to thy bosom fly, while the nearer waters roll, while the tempest still is nigh." when quiet once more reigned, amid intense silence the chairman arose and introduced mr. william smith as the last speaker of the evening. tremendous applause greeted him, for he was known to be an able and eloquent debater, "friends," he said, “i shall not attempt a lengthy and discursive argument; i shall simply try to answer some of the arguments which have been advanced by other speakers. i have no doubt that they have spoken their honest convictions. now let us look at the other side of the question. “we know that the negro question is the most important issue in the affairs of the will smith's defense of his race. man will tell you that of all politicians the negro is the vilest, ignoring the fact that for corrupt politics no race ever can or ever will excel the venality of a certain class of whites. let us, for the sake of illustration, glance at the position of the irish element in politics. they come to this country poor, unlettered, despised. fifty years ago pat was as little welcome at the north as the negro at the south. what has changed the status of his citizenship? politics. the irishman domi- nates politics at the north, and there is no gift within the power of the government that does not feel his influence. i remember a story i heard once of an irishman just landed at castle garden. a friend met him, and as they walked up the street said to him: 'well, pat, you are just in time to vote for the city govern- ment election.' 'begorra,' replied pat, “an' is it a guvimint they have here? sure, thin, i'll vote agin it.' the irish vote, then, is massed at certain strategic points in the north, and its power is feared and respected. the result has been a rapid and dazzling advance all along the ave- nues of education and wealth in this country for that incisive race. to the negro alone politics shall bring no fruit. “to the defense of slavery in the past, and contending forces. the inhuman treatment of the negro in the present, the south has consecrated her best energies. literature, politics, theology, history have been ransacked and perverted to prove the hopeless inferiority of the negro and the design of god that he should serve by right of color and physique. she has convinced no one but herself. bitterer than double-distilled gall was the federal success which brought negro emancipation, domination and supremacy. “ disfranchisement is what is wanted by the south. disfranchise the negro and the south will be content. he, as the weaker race, can soon be crowded out. many solutions of the question of negro domination have been advanced; among them the deportation of the negro to africa has been most warmly advocated by public men all over the country. they argue that in this way the prophecy of the bible will soonest be ful- filled; that 'ethiopia shall stretch forth her hand and princes shall come out of egypt.' “ the late henry grady told us that in the wise and humane administration, in the lift- ing the slave to heights of which he had not dreamed in his savage home, and giving him a happiness he has not yet found in freedom our fathers (southern men) left their sons a saving and excellent heritage (slavery). an- will smiti's defense of his race. other man, also a southerner, has told us : 'in education and industrial progress this race has accomplished more than it could have achieved in centuries in different environment, without the aid of the whites. the negro has needed the example as well as the aid of the white man. in sections where the colored population is massed and removed from con- tact with the whites, the negro has retrograded. segregate the colored population and you take away the object-lesson.' here, then, is the testimony of two intellectual white men as to the dependence of the negro upon his proxim- ity to the whites for a continuance of what advancement he has made since the abolish- ment of slavery. is such a race as this fit at the present time to carry enlightenment into a savage and barbarous country? can the blind lead the blind? would not the negro gradu- ally fall into the same habits of ignorance and savagery from which the white slave-trader so humanely rescued him when he transported him into the blissful lap of american slavery? the negro cannot be deported. " it is being argued that the negro is receiv. ing education beyond his needs or his capacity. in short, that a negro highly educated is a negro spoiled. i agree with the gentleman on the other side that education alone will not contending forces. ܪ produce a good citizen. but, of those who would curtail his endeavors to reach the highest that may be opened to him, i would ask: of what use has education been to you in the upbuilding of the social and political structure which you designate the united states of america? what are the uses of education anyhow? “to those who know the constitution of the brain as the organ of the moral and intellectual powers of man, education is of the highest importance in the formation of the character of the individual, the race, the government, the social life of any community under heaven. the objects presented to the mind by educa- tion stimulate in the same manner that the physical elements of nature do the nerves and muscles - they afford the faculties scope for action. education is knowledge of nature in all its departments. the moment the mind discovers its own constitution and discerns the importance of the natural laws, the great advan- tage of moral and intellectual cultivation as a means of invigorating the brain and mental faculties, and of directing the conduct in obedi- ence to the laws of god and man, is apparent, . it is important that the negro should not be hampered in his search after knowledge if we would eliminate from his nature any tendency will smith's defense of his race. toward vice that he may be thought to possess, and which has been largely increased by what he has imbibed from the example and the close, immoral association which often existed between the master and the slave. from my own obser- vation i should say that in this country today the science of man's whole nature - animal, moral and intellectual — was never more re- quired to guide him than at present, when he seems to wield a giant's power, and in the application of it to display the selfish ignorance of an overgrown child. “we come now to the crime of rape, with which the negro is accused. for the sake of argument, we will allow that in one case out of a hundred the negro is guilty of the crime with which he is charged ; in the other ninety- nine cases the white man gratifies his lust, either of passion or vengeance. none of us will ever forget the tales told us tonight by luke sawyer; the wanton passions he revealed and which it has taken centuries of white civilization to develop, disclosing a dire hell to which the common crime of the untutored negro is as white as alabaster. and it is from such men as these that the appeal comes for protection for woman's virtue! do such ex- amples as these render the negro gentle and pacific? no; he sees himself traveling for will smith's defense of his race. !! hood of the enfranchised black. rape is the crime which appeals most strongly to the heart of the home life. merciful god! irony of ironies! the men who created the mulatto race, who recruit its ranks year after year by the very means which they invoked lynch law to suppress, bewailing the sorrows of violated womanhood! “no; it is not rape. if the negro votes, he is shot; if he marries a white woman, he is shot; if he accumulates property, he is shot or lynched he is a pariah whom the national govern- ment cannot defend. but if he defends himself and his home, then is heard the tread of march- ing feet as the federal troops move south ward to quell a 'race riot.' the south declares that she is no worse than the north, and that the north would do the same under like provocation. perhaps so, if the offender were a negro. take the case of christie warden and frank almy, which occurred in new hampshire only a few years ago. where could a more atrocious crime be perpetrated? the refinement of intellectual pursuits, the elegancies of social intercourse, were the attributes which went to make up the personnel of the most brutal murderer that ever disgraced the history of crime. centuries of culture and civilization were combined in his make-up. the community where the girl lived contending forces. and was respected and beloved did not lynch the brute. the white heat of passion led men to lay aside all pursuits for days in order to hunt the criminal from his hiding-place. new hampshire justice gave him counsel and every means to defend himself from the penalty of his horrid crime. that was in the north ! “ human nature is the same in everything. the characteristic traits of the master will be found in his dog. black, devilish, brutal as they may picture the negro to be, he but reflects the nature of his environments. he is the hyde who torments the dr. jekyll of the white man's refined civilization ! my friends, it is going to take time to straighten out this problem ; it will only be done by the formation of public opinion. brute force will not accomplish anything. we must agitate. as the anti-slavery apostles went everywhere, preaching the word fifty years before emancipation, so must we do to-day. appeal for the justice of our cause to every civilized nation under the heavens. lift our. selves upward and forward in this great march of life until ethiopia shall indeed stretch forth her hand, and princes shall come out of egypt. when he had finished there was not a dry eye in that vast audience. every heart followed the words of the pastor as with broken utter- will smith's defense of his race. ance he invoked the divine blessing upon the meeting just ended. slowly they dispersed to their homes, filled with thoughts that burn but cannot be spoken. the papers said next day that a very inter- esting meeting occurred the night before at the church on x street. contending forces. chapter xvi. john langley consults madam frances. macbeth.- tell me, thou unknown power, first witch.— he knows thy thought: hear his speech but say thou nought. macbeth.- whate'er thou art, for thy good caution thanks; but one word more,- first witch.- he will not be commanded: here's another, more potent than the first. macbeth. many things troubled john langley. the fact that dora and he seemed to have lost the close relationship which had distinguished the first period of their engagement, and that she now studiously avoided him and accepted with alacrity all the attention which her childhood's lover so ardently showered upon her, did not disturb him so much as the utter indifference of sappho clark. how to bend her to his will was the thought which absorbed his waking hours and haunted him even in sleep. she should not escape him; on that he was deter- mined. this morning as he walked down town to his office he turned over various plans in his mind, and finally determined to go that very day and consult madam frances, who had been langley consults madam frances. voted such a tremendous success at the fair which had just closed. john believed that the seeress could help him, and he was not so polished and refined as to hesitate to use such means to accomplish an end. when he reached the office he noticed that an invitation to a dinner given that very even- ing by the canterbury club lay upon the desk; in his absorption in other things he had for- gotten the dinner. he pushed his work at the court house to a quick finish and retraced his steps to the office, and telling the boy that he would not return before three o'clock, hurried toward the quarter of the city in which the fortune-teller lived. j. street is in the very heart of what is called the “ negro quarter" of the west end; it is also popularly known among colored people as "the hill.” here madam frances lived in a small ten-foot wooden building which she hired. “ the hill" has been the scene of many stir- ring incidents in the peculiar history of the colored people. on the j. street side the old st. paul's baptist church is situated. this historic old building was the first church the colored people owned in massachusetts. there were five brothers - black men — bear. ing the name of paul, who were educated in contending forces. england in the reign of george iii. one of them - thomas - determined to return to england and beg for funds to build a colored church in america. he was well received and his mission was successful. twenty years ago an old negress - a centenarian – was living who had herself picked up bricks in the streets of boston in the early morning, and carried them to the spot where the building was being erected. she did this because although too poor to give money toward furthering the enterprise, she felt that she must contribute in some way to the erection of this first.colored house of worship in this part of the country. this same woman remembered seeing thomas paul bring into the church a large bandanna handkerchief filled with the english gold he had begged abroad, the first sunday the build- ing was used for worship. st. paul's church became the sacred edifice where the desire for freedom was fostered in the heart of the negro. there such men as garrison and phillips defied the vengeance of howling mobs that thirsted for the lives of the negro champions. o glorious times! who can think of them without a quicker heart-throb and a wildly fluttering pulse? o honored men! o happy dead, gone to receive the reward promised to all who do the work of the master! langley consults madan frances. as we read of the deeds of such men the question will obtrude itself: is it the fore- ordained destiny of some to achieve greatness? and if not foreordained, would these same great ones remain inert and impotent like the mediocre majority ? many of us strive to do what we can, but our efforts do not seem to amount to much. in the present emergency which confronts us as a race, no leader has yet pressed forward to take command, as in those glorious old days; no sumner to receive upon his precious body the stripes intended for the poor, downtrodden black man. “ god rest us all we know not what we are ! what nature wills, not what we wish, are we.” let us press forward and take courage and do the little that we can, leaving the rest to god. the hand of the divine architect will fit each life into its own niche, to form an intricate whole of preconceived beauty. near the head of g. and p. streets stands the well-known twelfth baptist church, a split from st. paul's, and world renowned under its beloved pastor and founder, leonard grimes. just across the way, on p. street, was the home of the venerable and honored lewis hayden. the history of massachusetts is forever linked with that of the anti-slavery movement, and the langley consults madam frances. sally, and" — then the door was closed. john started to his feet in great excitement. surely he knew that voice! again the door must have swung open, for he caught the words of the conversation distinctly: “there is no need for him to know — let him continue to think" - he heard no more. again the door closed. it must have been fully five minutes that he stood intently listening, but nothing more re- warded him. suddenly the door opened and shut and then he heard the quick, light footfall of a woman and the frou-frou of silken skirts, together with a delicate perfume that he recog- nized. he drew back as far as possible behind the shelter of the door, and then as he judged from the sound that she was upon the stairs, he ventured from his hiding place, and finding the entry clear, peered over the banisters just in time to catch a full view of the beautiful face of sappho clark. as she passed out she had dropped her handkerchief; john picked it up; there in the corner were her initials: “s. c.” he returned to his seat in the bare little room, holding the delicately scented piece of cambric in his hand with the feeling of a man who is on the verge of discovering something of importance to himself. he was confused and uncertain in his thoughts, but when he could command himself sufficiently to reason, langley consults madam frances. shiver. he could feel the blood recede from his face under the excitement of the moment and grow cold in his veins. cold in his veins. “heaven above!” he whispered, “it cannot be possible that what i suspect is true that child - his resemblance to her — this woman the child's great-aunt and also sappho's aunt — the secrecy!".. as he sat there engrossed in speculation the maid who had answered his ring came into the room to tell him that the madam would see him. he still held the handkerchief in his hand, and said as he held it toward the girl : “the lady who just went out dropped it. i think she called madam frances 'aunt sally.' “oh, yes," replied the girl, as she took it from him. “i will give it to madam. miss clark comes here a great deal. she is madam frances's niece." john's thoughts were in a whirl as he followed the girl to the door of the room sappho had just quitted. why had he never heard of this relationship before? he was quite certain that the smiths knew nothing of it, or he would have heard it spoken of about the house or at the fair. there was a mystery, then, about her. just at this point he awoke to a realiza- tion of the fact that he was within a darkened it took a moment for his eyes to become accustomed to the semi-twilight of the apart- room. contending forces. ment, and then he seated himself in a chair beside a small table which the girl pointed out to him before she left the room, and which was evidently intended for visitors. “ how do you do?" said a voice, and turning in the direction from whence it came he beheld the wrinkled, black face, and gaudily turbaned head of madam frances. as he returned her greeting another voice said: “how d'y do? lord love ye, how d'y do ?” then he saw that a large green parrot was perched on the back of the chair in which madam frances was seated. on the table beside him was a silver dish holding two large sea-green stones, in the depths of which one could easily trace the outlines of white coral islands, birds, beasts and reptiles. corner of the room was a large screen covered with unbleached cotton. the table beside madam frances held a curious instrument which resembled a ship's compass, and on its surface the signs of the zodiac came and went at the will of the seeress. many curious things were in this darkened room, and no matter how much one might wish to disbelieve the power of this woman to foretell the future, he could not fail to be impressed with the surroundings. and, after all, our surroundings influence our lives and characters as much as fate, destiny or any supernatural agency. in one langley consults madam frances. property madam frances held out her hand for her fee, and as he laid a silver dollar across her palm, she said : “ she will escape you, and you will lose the other one, too. better stop now, and keep the one you hold.” “keep the one you hold, fool, fool, fool!" screamed the parrot's shrill voice. " you come to me for advice about certain property that you would like to get. there is money all about you, piles of it. you will meet one soon who will tell you something of importance concerning a large sum of money. you say you did not come here to find that out. but it is here, and the dial does not lie." she pointed to the face of the compass-like instrument before her. john felt very uncom- fortable as the old woman peered at him from eyes which, while they seemed almost sightless, yet impressed one as being able to pierce the secrets of the soul. there are three things you wish to ask about," she continued. “look on the screen and behold the answer to a question." john looked toward the screen and saw what appeared to be dim shadows forming there, which gradually took on the shape of a banquet table, and seated around it was a company of men, among whom he recognized himself and contending forces. his friends william smith and doctor lewis. when you are at that table, in the company of those men, you shall have the answer to one of the questions you would ask me. look again,” she said, and john saw to his amaze- ment that the cloth of which the screen was made had resumed its color, and another shad- owy outline was beginning to form. as he gazed in wonder the outlines took shape before his astonished eyes, and he saw the altar of a church. before a priest a man and woman knelt in bridal dress. the man placed a ring upon the woman's finger. as the picture faded the faces of the couple were turned toward him for one moment, and he recognized sappho clark and will smith. “look again,” said the voice of the seeress. he did so, and saw before him a noble ship; on her deck stood a man and a woman. the picture faded before he could distinguish the features of either party. “these are all i am permitted to show you now," said madam frances. “these pictures contain the answers to your questions." “do i understand them to mean that i shall be defeated in my plans ? that i shall not enjoy a part of the wealth which you see about me?" “ you will be defeated, and you will not enjoy contending forces. “for a pretty face,” croaked the parrot, rous- ing himself from a nap as john left the room. as he descended the stairs the words of the parrot followed him: fools, fools; all men are fools for a pretty face!” john cursed his own folly in seeking the for- tune-teller's aid as he went slowly back to his office, puzzling over the things he had seen and heard. he was a well-read man, and tried to account for these strange things. he knew from reading, the mediumistic powers of all created things; he knew something of the won- derful agencies of electricity and magnetism. the appliances in the room had suggested magnetism as the medium; "yet,” he argued, the same phenomena might have been pro- duced by the power of hypnotism.” he knew enough of the latter to practice it in a way for the amusement of his young friends, but had thought himself impervious to its influence. but with all his reasoning he could not con- vince himself that there was not an intelli- gence - invisible and intangible — that had presented to him those soul-disturbing mani- festations. the canterbury club dinner. chapter xvii. the canterbury club dinner. ill fares the land to hastening ills a prey, where wealth accumulates and men decay. goldsmith. jag the canterbury club of boston, which held its annual dinner on this particular evening, was composed of the flower of boston's literary savans. at the rooms of the club men deep in scientific research touched elbows with the advanced theological scholar and the political economist. side by side with the vital ques- tions of the hour in the world of progress — wireless telegraphy, the philosophy of trusts, the rise and fall of monarchies, the restoration of greek art, the philosophy of lynching was beginning to engage the attention of two hemi- spheres, and information was eagerly sought from every reliable source. now it happened that the remarkable ability of smith in dealing with the acknowledged difficulties of the question had been spoken of to some of the members by the hon. herbert clapp, the president of the club. it had already entertained doctor lewis, on account of his great work as an educator among his people, contending forces. and john langley because he was an impor- tant factor in his line, doing the work neces- sary to the life of any organization interested in active politics with which men of a delicate moral susceptibility could not be approached. it was voted to invite young smith to this din- ner as a fresh and interesting specimen of the negro. many fat contributions found their way annually into the treasury of the african school of industrial and agricultural develop- ment, which was under the able management of doctor lewis, through the influence of this club. he had accomplished great things; had made himself the center of this terrible human tragedy in the heart of the black belt, where the college was situated; but the deadly antag- onism of the south made even his iron-hearted stoicism bow to its tyrannical decrees, insomuch that he had been forced to compromise, and the educational advantages allowed the pupils had been curtailed to suit the views of those who placed a low estimate on the ability of the negro, in spite of the many bright examples of superior intellectual endowments which exist among them. such ideas as doctor lewis set forth in his many brilliant speeches in behalf of his people were logical, and showed a mind capable of grasping the needs of the moment - an infinity of powerful thought under a tyran- nous self-suppression. the canterbury club dinner. “one man's meat is another man's poison." the colored people north of mason and dixon's line are conspicuous for their advancement along all the lines which are distinctive features in the formation of the polished exterior of the good citizen of such a republic as ours. among the best circles of this community are found the highest types of intellectual, moral, religious and social improvement. improvement. what becomes of such a class as this when hampered by rules and laws made to fit the needs of the black belt? laws of life and living which cannot be forced, and ought not to be forced, upon the large class of colored citizens who embody within themselves the highest development of american citizenship? we believe that the spirit of fair play is not yet dead in our beloved country. we believe that there still exists be- neath the seething cauldron of prejudice with which the south would deluge the advance of the negro, brave hearts that will answer the cry of distress with patriotic alacrity, and these same brave hearts will demand for every black face, north and south, the fullest opportunity to develop whatever is best within him. the young men had planned to go together. their entrance created a diversion; the english member of parliament who was the guestof honor contending forces. was much surprised, although too well-bred to show it. certainly they were fine specimens of the genus homo, whose physique demanded more than a passing glance of admiration. curious thoughts came to mr. withington, the english guest; certain truths which, if appli- cable to england, seemed doubly so to this country, so new and untried, as it were, in the changes and subtle uncertainties of govern- ment and revolutions: “and a proud yeomanry, its country's pride when once destroyed can never be supplied." will the republic learn the value of the black children of her adoption when it is too late? the presence of these young negroes was generally received as a pleasant innovation among that company. there was a senator from alabama present among the invited guests, and for a moment he felt his color rise and all the peculiar feelings of his section pro- test and clamor to make themselves heard when he found that he must perforce be brought into social contact with the despised ex-slave repre- sentatives. but he remembered, in time to save himself from ridicule, that he was in mas- sachusetts. “what matter?” was his inward thought, “ some day we shall change all this.” the canterbury club dinner. the first course was about over before will had a chance to look about him. he did not feel at all overpowered by the grandeur dis- played. the great room with its high walls and ceiling of magnificently carved mahogany, the massive brass chandeliers, composed of hundreds of tiny electric lights which threw their sparkling rays upon the exquisitely ap- pointed table, with the priceless ware in which the meal was served, the heavy scent of roses which perfumed the air, the silent waiters glid- ing in and out among the guests,- all seemed the fantastic creation of a dream. his neighbor happened to be mr. withing- ton; his vis-a-vis, a noted editor; farther down the table he recognized a foreign secretary of legation; and so on. conversation soon became general; flashes of wit, satire, and dis- cussions of rare value to the student - a sump- tuous feast of good things. above the click of glasses he caught snatches of conversation : “you may search through science and find no evidence of the presence of god in the uni- verse," declared the sharp, decisive voice of a free-thinker, who was plunged in the midst of an argument with a noted theologian of the episcopal faith. will listened intently for the answer. it came instantly: “ how could it be otherwise ? god has a contending forces. subjective existence to man; therefore man must get outside of himself to know god; in fact, man must die to attain god." “ah, there you go, with your mythological argument! you cover the clear statement of a fact with a veil of mysticism.” “very true; but what is the soul, mentality, existence itself, but a living mysticism?” re- plied the clergyman. the whole room had becom interested by this time, and watched the play of cultured thought and keen argument with great relish. " it is only when the subjective part of man exists as a distinct entity, then, that you think the presence of god is made clear to him?" “yes,” replied the clergyman; “for the final end of man is the beginning of spirituality, or the true knowledge of god.” “ah, but if we let reason speak, we find the flaws in your theory, and your ground becomes untenable. i look forward to the day which coming years shall usher in, when all the dis- coveries which are being made each year, and the general diffusion of scientific knowledge, shall revolutionize thought, and place god and man on an entirely different plane from that which they now occupy. “and what is this reason or thought which you feel will do so much ? it is but a loan from the canterbury club dinner. the almighty, whose existence you affect to doubt. man has no title to the property until he has permission to hold it eternally.” “and then ?" “he must have satisfied the almighty that he is worthy." presently will plunged into the conversation, impelled thereto by a certain philosophical ref- erence with which he was familiar, and which he had studied with great interest. " what do you think of reason and religion, mr. smith ?” asked the free-thinker, impressed with the intelligence of his comments. “are you one with the rest of your race in believing all this talk of spirituality ?” “i believe that reason and religion must act together to discover the perfect power and glory of god,” replied will modestly. (all eyes were for the moment bent upon him.) “there is perfect harmony between them; and it is our own shortsightedness which causes us to doubt.” “do you not believe that by seeking knowl- edge, and dedicating life to the welfare of man- kind and obedience to god in our several vocations, our best faculties will be gratified? wealth, fame, health, and all other good things will flow in a stream, and our delight remain permanent?" asked doctor lewis at this stage of the argument. the canterburt club divxer. liberty by petty pilfering or an overflow of re- ligious enthusiasm, but the negro has changed, whether you realize it or not; times. have will changed, and the negro with them." there was a murmur of applause as he finished speaking. "well," returned the southerner, “we will grant that some of you are making progress, but you cannot claim that as a race you are capable of becoming such examples of matt- hood as you and your friends. to most of you the mystery of government will always remain a mystery; and the hope of assimilating many things which are second nature to the white man, will never become a reality to your race." “i believe that the same rules which govern all races will be applicable to mine,” returned will. "if men are rude and foolish, down they must go. when at last in any race a new principle appears, an idea, that conserves it. ideas only save races. if the black man is feeble and impotent, unimportant to the exist- ing races — not on a parity with the best races, the black man must serve and be exterminated. but, if he carries within his bosom the element of a new and coming civilization, he will sur- vive and play his part.” hear, hear!” cried the foreign secretary of legation, applauding vigorously, delighted at contending forces. race. the strong, combative style in which the brave young fellow met the ancient enemy of his no race is hopelessly lost to the world of progress that produces such manly speci- mens within fifty years of emancipation.” “england is troubled over the fact that the two races do not mix, and to all appearances never will,” now joined in mr. withington. "there seems to be no common ground be- tween them; they cannot live together har- moniously. can you, gentlemen, explain this to me? i should like to carry back with me, when i return, a clear realization of the facts in the case as viewed by each party to the question. that is part of my mission in this country.” " it is true,” said doctor lewis, "that our condition is alarming to a degree. over ten thousand graves made since the war by mob violence, are dotting the south, and of these ninety per cent are the graves of black men." “you do not get these facts abroad because newspaper reports are doctored by local south- ern writers who participate in the lynchings. free speech and public discussions are not allowed. in the south you must think and speak as the mob dictates," here chimed in john langley. “but surely you have constitutional equity the canterbury club dinner. before the law? you can gain redress from the federal government?” "constitutional equity is a political fiction,” laughed will. reconstruction is a failure, then?” asked mr. withington. reconstruction is not a failure, although the whole south will tell you so, and the north is being persuaded to so believe; the negro was the living force which rent asunder the old methods of the slave-holding states and brought them out into the healthful light of decent, god-fearing living. but they are trying to take all the credit for the good we may have done them, from us. the lines are drawn more sharply than before the emancipation. con- stitutional amendments are dead letters; the ballot-box is nil,” replied will. "all of which goes to show that race is stronger than law," broke in the southerner. “rather that barbarism is superior to civil. ization.” “what about the crime of rape ?” asked mr. withington. “in nine cases out of ten,” replied lewis, " you will find that the negro is guiltless of this awful crime. it is brought forward to alienate the sympathy of all decent men from us. it is a crime that strikes the home ties, and as such contending forces. is the most deadly weapon that has yet been used against us. we invite investigation in this direction, and you will then find that it is not a characteristic of the black man, although it is of the white man of the south.” “you cannot prove your assertions !” ex- claimed the southerner, white with passion. “ i can.” “name a case." john thomas of georgia." “he was guilty, and deserved his fate. you, gentlemen, must have heard the story of the atrocities committed by that man. the wo- man's husband was brutally murdered and she was assaulted. we made the fate of the black devil a terrible example for the rest of his kind in georgia." “do you not know that that story has been proven false all through? it was this way, gentlemen : after the man thomas was lynched, the colored people were convinced of his innocence. a sum of money was raised by subscription to hire the services of a reputable detective to investigate the matter. he visited the scene of the alleged crime, and it was found that thomas worked for cragen on his farm. thomas heard that his mother was sick, and wished to visit her; having no money, he applied to cragen for his pay. this enraged tiie canterbury club dinner. the latter, and he drew his revolver to shoot the negro. quick as a flash thomas seized an axe which happened to be lying near, and struck cragen, killing him instantly. he then fled to the woods. mrs. cragen says that thomas did not assault her; she never saw him.” “ and for defending himself they lynched him?” said mr. withington, with a look on his face which expressed incredulous astonish- ment, combined with disgust. “ yes; that was the detective's report, given under oath. what the man suffered at the hands of the lynchers could only be equalled by the sufferings of the martyrs of nero's time. if every case of negro lynching could be inves- tigated, we should discover fearful discrepancies between the story of the mob and the real truth." that does not prove that white men are ravishers," said the southerner, returning to the charge. "oh,” replied will, with a significant shrug of the shoulders, “take the representatives of my race who are with you tonight. how did we get our complexions, soft curls and regular features ? our ancestors were black, flat-feat- ured, and had many other racial marks. your race does not intermarry with negroes, does contending forces. it? that being the case, the answer is self- evident." “do you not think, then, that under the cir. cumstances the government ought to assist the negro to leave the country?” asked mr. with- ington. "never!” cried will, with glowing counte- nance, “never! here where we have been so outrageously maligned, let us refute the charge like men !" that sounds well,” said the southerner with a sneer,“ but how will you do it?” by using the methods of the south,” replied will quickly; "create sentiment for the race and against its detractors.” “and if you get nothing else out of it, the agitators will do a good business and fill their pockets with money." agitation will do much,” said will calmly, unruffled by the other's display of anger. “ it gave us freedom; it will give us manhood. the peace, dignity and honor of this nation rises or falls with the negro. frederic douglas once said: 'ultimately this nation will be composite. there is a strong demand - a growing demand for a government capa- ble of protecting all its citizens - rich and poor, white and black — alike.' the causes for such a government still exist. it remains to be seen if the prophecy will be fulfilled.” the canterbury club dinner. one of the founders of the american acad- emy at rome was present, and conversation now turned upon the development of ameri- can talent in art. the political aspect of great britain in south africa and the complications likely to arise therefrom was another interest- ing topic, but under it all the sentiment ex- pressed and the words spoken by the repre- sentatives of an humble race that night lingered in the heart of each scholar and thinker who had heard them. will had a pressing engagement, and was obliged to excuse himself to the president of the club. he withdrew as quietly as possible. those nearest him shook him warmly by the hand, and told him that they hoped to hear from him again, and soon, on the same interest- ing topic. mr. withington now attached himself to john langley for the remainder of the evening, seem- ing well pleased to find himself in such com- pany. as they bade each other good-night at the close of the festivities he said to john, as he placed his card in his hand: “i leave tomorrow for canada, on business connected with the home office. i may never return to this country, but i want you to be- lieve that i am deeply interested in the welfare of your people. write to me whatever comes coxtendixg forces, up of importance to the race, and i will do what i can to make sentiment in my own coun- try for you, and as far as money will go, you shall have the benefit of the help it will give.” john bade him good-by, and even his con- servative heart was warmed by contact with so good a man. after he had reached his room he took the card from his pocket, and before putting it in a place of safety read the address: charles montfort-withington, m. p. blankshire, england. for a long time he sat there staring at the card in his hand. where had he heard that name before ? “charles montfort!” why, it was the family name of mrs. smith! instantly the words of madam frances came to his mind, and a great light seemed to illumine his thoughts: “when you are at that table in the company of those men, you shall have the answer to one of the questions you would ask me.” how often he had listened to the story told by ma smith with an incredulous smile. it had seemed to him the idle boasting of a mind entering its dotage. charles montfort !- and from england! heavens! if there should be truth in this fairy tale ! what easter sunday brought. chapter xviii. what easter sunday brought. 'twas easter sunday. the full-blossomed trees filled all the air with fragrance and with joy. · longfellow the days passed very quietly at no. d street. the excitement occasioned by the fair, and the extraordinary agitation which had attended the meeting of the american colored league, had somewhat abated. softer thoughts and feelings had taken possession of the pub- lic mind, for it was very near to the celebration of easter. the two girls, dora and sappho, felt restrained in their intercourse because, although by tacit consent nothing was said of john's treacherous condurt toward dora, each knew that the other had discovered it. dora felt aggrieved and ill-treated; and who could blame her? doctor lewis was drawn into the trouble through his attachment to dora. he pitied her injured feelings; he knew that if she were free and he offered her his love, it would be accepted, and he was not too proud to have done this if it had been an honorable act. he knew that it would not be an honorable act to contending forces. ask her to break her promise to langley at this stage of the drama, but within his heart hope grew stronger each day. he saw that john was hopelessly infatuated with sappho; he saw dora knew this and resented the wrong done herself, although as yet she could hardly put her thoughts into words. day-dreams began to break in upon the dull monotony of his methodical existence; he watched the signs of growing discontent with all a lover's impatience to grasp the happiness which he felt would, after a time, be his. he was willing to work, to wait, to serve, if only he might claim her love at last. oh,the nobleness of a good man's love! if women would but prize it, how many more happy homes we should see, and how much brighter the world and life would be. toward langley he was savage; and then, too, he was puzzled. one night they were all invited to attend a reception given at the house of a friend. he was with dora and john. dora addressed a remark to john, and receiving no answer, turned to look in his face for the reason. his gaze was fixed upon sappho, who was sur- rounded by every eligible man in the house. and such a look! love - hatred -tenderness - the gamut of passion was disclosed by the look bent upon the. unconscious girl before what easter sunday brought. them. dora shuddered as if a chill had struck her, and turning to lewis held a cold and trembling little hand appealingly toward him. he took it gladly into his firm and loving clasp, and tenderly asked her if she would like to go home. she grasped the offer instantly with evident relief. she left john's side to seek the ladies' dressing-room for her wraps; he, absorbed in thoughts of sappho, did not miss her presence. lewis sent word to will that he was taking dora home because she was feeling very tired. he apologized to the host- ess, engineered all the delicate details of social life with neatness and dispatch, and met the harassed girl at the foot of the staircase, ready to lead her home without arousing disagreeable comment. " what does the beggar mean?” he asked himself more than once that night. “he does not seem inclined to give dora up, and yet he is completely gone 'over the other one." but, like a prudent man, he said nothing; he kept his own counsel and watched. since the meeting at which sappho had fainted, the girl had grown more silent and depressed. people said: “yes, she is beau- tiful, but so cold and silent." she and will had scarcely spoken since the night of the fair, but each felt and knew that contending forces. it would be but a short time before the story of their love must be settled for good and all. so the days crept by and brought the crisis of these lives, so strangely interwoven. easter sunday fell early in april that year. the city had donned its gayest attire to wel- come the return of the celebration of christ's triumphal resurrection. the morning service was ended. the exultant organ peals, the glo- rious strains of hymns of victory poured forth by highly trained voices in hundreds of aug. mented church choirs all over the city, still seemed to vibrate upon the listening air even after the churches had given up their crowds of worshippers. sappho had been to the mis- sion church of st. augustine, on p. street, at the west end. here the good fathers of the mission of st. john had reared a church, and elected to bend their efforts particularly to the salvation and upraising of the poorest of god's children. this church, with its beautiful silver chimes, given by a wealthy boston woman in commemoration of the life and services of the lamented bishop brooks, is destined to stand for ages as a memorial of the deeds of philan- thropy which have always been a distinguish. ing feature of the true spirit of massachusetts. the sound of the bells lingered with her like contending forces. upon the advancing figure of the girl he loved he felt his heart swell within him, and tender thrills of joy filled his soul, too full for utter- ance. he noticed that she wore a bunch of violets today, instead of her favorite jacks. they were more in keeping with the sentiment of the day. there they rested in a splendid cluster upon her breast – modest and beauti. fully fragrant. “as sweet as a violet herself,' he thought, as he murmured to himself: “the breeze runs riot with thy charms, o faint, delicious, springtime violet!" as a man will smith was not ashamed of the passion which consumed him. an honor. able love has its own subtle charm. now was his opportunity! the almost deserted paths were secure from intrusion. she was not in- different to him; today should end suspense. he would have her answer. sappho caught sight of him directly she entered the path. she hesitated — turned - then stood still, as if conscious of his resolu- tion. he saw her hesitation, and read her thoughts by virtue of that harmony which is love's perfection. he arose and stood before her, hat in hand. his apparent coolness and self-possession did what he intended it should: restored her calmness; and when she placed contending forces. and jacob loved rachel; and said, i will serve thee seven years for thy younger daugh- ter,'” quoted will softly, as he looked at the gentle face and downcast eyes beside him. sappho said nothing, but gazed intently at the landscape with unseeing eyes, as she nervously clasped and unclasped her delicately gloved hands. suddenly she felt one small hand drawn within a strong, warm clasp. “ there are shadows on your face; why are they there? you think all kinds of sad thoughts. tell them to me, sappho.” “nay,” she said at length, “why should i? they are not clear even to myself. you would not understand my vagaries. why should you be bothered with them?" “ because, sappho, my beautiful one, my darling, i love you — surely you know it - i have loved you from the first moment that i saw you. be my wife, my blessing.” she did not answer; her face had grown very white. “have i frightened you? do not think me cruel, sappho; you do not know how much i love you. she was still silent, but another look satisfied him that she was not angry. the gloved hand stopped fluttering, and lay quietly within his clasp. what easter sunday brought. "you do not think me presumptuous ? you are not angry? tell me that you love me.” "wait one moment,” she said; and then he saw that she was trembling violently. “don't you care for me a little ?” he asked anxiously, “or have i been living in a fool's paradise the past two months ? " “ i do care for you,” she whispered, in a voice so low that only a lover could have heard it. “ah!” he cried impetuously; "then i will never let you go!” “ah, will, i wonder if it is right for me to love you, or to allow you to love me?” “most decidedly it is right. why do you doubt?” "you have known me such a short time," she protested. " i know that you are the dearest girl in all the world to me," he replied, holding her hand still more tightly clasped. “you are mine now, and nothing shall part us. i shall always re- member this day as the happiest of my life. you do not know how dearly i love you." "i shall know if you persist in telling me so often,” she said, smiling at his impetuosity. “ heaven bless you, sappho, my dearest. i shall never tire of ringing the changes on love." "why should you care so much for me?” she asked wistfully. "i have no family - no friends - no money' contending forces. “i have family enough for both of us,” he returned quickly. “my mother loves you, my sister adores you; what more is there to be desired ?" “ but there are things which you ought to know — things connected with the past “i do not care for the past,” he broke in; "all i ask is that you love me above all other men, as i adore you above all other women." she was carried away by the vehemence of his wooing. all obstacles seemed, indeed, but trifles before this all-absorbing, passionate, eager warmth of youth's first love. poor soul! poor starved and storm-beaten heart! some- thing of life that was dead leaped again into existence and loosened the icy hand that had for years locked up the fountain of youthful joy. she felt drawn out of herself as she looked into the eyes of love and met the luminous light which transfigured the face of her lover. “ ask me no more; thy fate and mine are sealed : i strove against the stream and all in vain ; let the great river take me in the main : no more, dear love, for at a touch i yield; ask me no more." silently she turned to him and placed the other hand within his clasp, and burst into a tempest of weeping. what easter sunday brought. sappho!” he cried, in a transport of delight, as he tried to dry her tears; “ my darling, my wife!" o happy easter day! they sat there a long time in heart com- munion, reviewing the history of their short acquaintance, and the wonderful thing that had happened to them. they planned that sappho should stay with will's mother while he went abroad, and then when his course was finished they would be married immediately upon his return. they would keep their sweet secret a little while. they could not share this hal- lowed day with others. it was consecrated and holy to them because of its dear association with the hidden stream of their united lives. john langley was returning from an errand down town, and attracted by the beauty of the morning, determined to cross the garden on his way to the south end. suddenly, beneath the trees he espied the lovers. he paused a moment. they were so much absorbed in each other that they had not seen him. he turned aside into a path which ran very near to them on one side, and paused beneath the shadow of some friendly trees where he was secure from observation and could watch their movements unseen, contending forces. the happy light on will's expressive counte- nance did not escape him; he noted, too, the shy happiness and deep, tender love which shone in sappho's eyes. his heart was on fire with hot, jealous rage, and he resolved that their marriage should never take place. he was not sure of sappho's past, but he would try a bold maneuvre and trust to luck. he would accuse her as though certain of the facts. if that did not work, he would try some other game. he who had laughed at love without money, found himself even contemplating the sacrifice of one for the other, if dishonest means should not succeed in winning her. he watched them for a time, and then, judging by their movements that they were about to leave the spot, turned reluctantly away, planning ways and means of bringing his schemes to a successful issue. sappho had been taking her meals with the family lately, but tonight she excused herself from dinner on the plea of a headache. will had gone back to the hotel. "headache must be a great cosmetic," said dora slyly. she had seen that will and sappho returned from morning church together and from certain signs had drawn her own conclusions about how matters stood between what easter sunday brought. them. “i never remember seeing you look better or more beautiful than you do tonight.” sappho laughed joyously as she ran lightly up the stairs to her room. tomorrow they would know her secret. she glanced at her mirror as she passed it. where was the usually pale, sad face that it reflected ? they called her cold and proud. what would the world say if it could see that brilliant, vivid, flashing beauty that the mirror gave back to her astonished gaze? truly love was a wonderful cosmetic. she sank into the inviting willow rocker, and for a while gave herself up to the happiness which was so intense as to be almost painful. there was no thought of evil mingled with the joy that wrapped her round about. no forebodings assailed her; the intoxication of the moment was complete. she was lost in dreamland as she sat there thinking of her lover. will had said to her: “i am not a man to hold love lightly; it is no jest with me. my love is the one woman in the whole world to me above all others. shall love you living and dying, and be true to you in life and death.” the words rang in her ears like sweetest music. there were extra services at all the colored churches that night, because owing to the fact that most of the worshippers were employed as i contending forces. domestic servants, evening was the only time convenient for their employers to spare their services. she heard the outer door close upon one after another until the house settled down to the perfect quiet of solitude. she then arose from her seat and proceeded to change her street attire for a pale blue cash- mere house dress with delicate ecru lace at the throat and wrists. she hummed strains of the gloria heard that morning in church as she stood before the glass and took the pins from her hair. the shining coil of burnished gold fell almost to her feet. so she stood with the brushes poised in air as the door opened softly and john langley came quickly into her room. thus they stood for a brief second of time: she colorless with amazement and fear; he overwhelmed with the exquisiteness of the picture before him. the brushes falling from her hands broke the silence. anger flamed in her eyes. "i did not hear you knock, mr. langley; what can i do for you?” his face was pale, his eyes wavering and bloodshot; his whole expression indicated a terrible determination. the almost insulting coldness of her tone exasperated him, "i did not knock,” he replied, as he stepped into the room. “you do not offer me a seat," he sneered, as he sat down on the couch. what easter sunday brought. “this is hardly the time or place for parlor civilities,” she replied significantly. “do you not know that the house is empty ?” “i do; and as i wish to speak with you privately, and as this is my only chance, i will not let it slip me,” said john. really! i cannot understand what private business you can have with me,” returned sappho haughtily; “but if it be so, pray state the nature of it as quickly as possible.” “i will," he replied. he paused a moment, as if collecting his forces. “you and will seem to have come to an understanding, judg- ing by what i saw on the public garden this morning,” he said finally. sappho flushed warmly as she replied: " and in what way does that concern you?” the girl looked so beautiful and spirited that he longed to crush her with the weight of his surmises. " will smith is a very proud man as well as a very just man. his pride of family is his besetting sin. do you think that it will be for his best interest to marry you ?” he asked significantly “and why should it not be?” questioned the girl haughtily, although a hand of ice seemed closing about her heart. “ you can best answer that question,” was the guarded reply. contending forces. “mr. langley, your intrusion into my private apartment is unpardonable; your innuendoes are still more so. if you have anything to say, please say it; if not, let us close this remark- able interview." she moved toward the door as if to open it. in an instant he seized her arm and stopped her. “do not be rash. it is better for you to listen to me and not arouse my enmity. thave seen luke sawyer, and i know your secret - mabelle beaubean ! the attack was so sudden she did not think of defending herself. he had never in his life seen emotion so terrible depicted upon the human countenance as her face presented at that moment. she shrank from him with shivering dread, beating the air with both hands, as though in her agony she warded off the approach of some gruesome apparition. "not that name - not that name !" she gasped, as she turned her beautiful, ghastly face from side to side, as though seeking air. she seemed about to faint. then she sank upon the floor and literally grovelled there, her face hidden by the long hair which enveloped her like a veil. john was nonplussed at the perfect success of his plot; he was exultant. the terror of the girl was awful to behold. surely he had she must turn to him for help. her now. contending forces. “doubtless you mean it in kindness," replied the girl wearily, “and i thank you, but i can never marry anyone but will.” “marriage !” exclaimed john, “who spoke of marriage? ambitious men do not marry women with stories like yours ! ” at last the murder was out — his meaning clear! for one moment sappho was speechless with disgust. " infamous villain!" she said at length, "you abuse my forlorn condition. leave me! never till this moment have i realized the depths of my degradation !" “i go at your command,” said john. “i give you one week to think over what i have said. at the end of that time” “go! go! will you go?" interrupted sappho, pointing to the door with queenly dignity. with a low bow john langley passed out and closed the door behind him. sappho turned the key in the lock and sank upon the couch overcome with the horror of her situation. nervous spasms shook her frame as she mentally measured the abyss of social ostracism and disgrace which confronted her. a thunderbolt from a clear sky had shattered her hopes and dashed the cup of happiness from her lips. heartrending sobs of anguish "go! (;n! wilt, you go?" interrupted) sappio. what easter sunday brought. mingled with passionate appeals to heaven for mercy, tore her frame as she contemplated this sudden overthrow of her dreams of a bright future. the quiet which had attended her life since she had settled in boston was rudely inter- rupted, and the ruin which threatened her was the more stupendous because unlooked for in the direction from which it came. she got up at length, and going to the dress- ing-table, began mechanically to collect her jewelry. she caught sight of her face in the glass. what a change from the glowing beauty of one short hour ago! she looked at the pale, drawn countenance with scorn. “men call me beautiful,” she murmured bitterly; "what has beauty been to me but a curse ? ” she heard the closing of doors and the voices of the returned church-goers. could it be pos- sible that she was the same happy girl whose smiling face had been given back from the mir- ror so radiantly a short hour ago ? she heard the front door close again. it was will's step upon the stair. he paused at her door a moment, and then passed on to the floor above. how often she had listened for that familiar tread. her heart kept repeating: “never again - never again.' two hours later deep silence had fallen upon the house. a form attired in black, closely contending forces. veiled, and carrying a traveling bag, passed from no. d street into the night, boarded an electric car, and was swallowed up in the heart of the metropolis. will in his room had fallen into his first sleep when he thought he heard the sound of noise- less footsteps in the hall. he listened a moment, and then concluded that he was mis- taken. who could be moving through the house at that hour? no, he was mistaken. his thoughts were all with sappho. he lived over again the words and scenes of the morn- ing. he heard the clocks strike twelve, one, two; then he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. the bitter arrow. chapter xix. the bitter arrow. o, breaking heart that will not break, oriana ! o, pale, pale face so sweet and meek, oriana! -tennyson. the next morning found the household early astir. it is a rule in hotels that a “late watch," as it is called, exempts the employee from an early appearance for duty the next morning. on these mornings will breakfasted with his mother and sister. since sappho had boarded with them this humble meal had become a feast to him. he arose very early on this eventful mon- day morning and hurried down the stairs, burst- ing to impart his good news to the sympathetic ears of his loved ones. he entered the kitchen just as dora was laying the cloth for breakfast. “what in the world brings you down so early? ” she asked in a surprised tone as he entered the room. oh, i couldn't stay in bed this morning of all others,” he said, as he kissed her lightly on the cheek; “i am too happy.” the bitter arrow. yes, dora, dear,” replied the voice of ma smith, “just a minute!” oh, hurry, hurry, mummie; it won't keep.” “yes, yes, you excitable child; what is it?" nothing wrong with your brother” – she stopped as she caught sight of his smiling face. he went up to her and took her in his strong young arms he was an affectionate son. “nothing wrong, mummie dear, but your boy is very happy. will you have sappho for a second daughter?” gladly, my son,” replied his mother; and then she sank upon a chair, overcome as she comprehended the full meaning of his words. "why do you cry, mother dear, if the idea is not unpleasant to you?” asked will, some- what alarmed by her tears. “oh, will, my boy, you will not let this new love cause you to forget the love of your old mother?" "never!” cried will, as he pressed his lips to the sweet old face. “i would not be worthy of happiness could i be so ungrateful.” " don't mind mother, will; she cries on principle, because it is the proper thing for weddings and funerals. isn't that so, mummie mine?” laughed dora, as she wiped a suspi. cious moisture from her own eyes. “but what keeps sappho so late? she's gen- contending forces. erally down by this time,” she continued, with a glance at the little swiss clock on the mantel. i'm going up stairs after the laggard, and have it out with her for keeping such news to herself. i know she's bashful.” dora sprang up the stairs with a bound, and paused outside the door to rap. receiving no answer she rapped again, and then tried the handle of the door. it yielded to her touch, and then she noticed that the key was on the outside. she threw the door open with a vague sense of something unusual in such a proceed- ing. the room was empty. she paused a mo- ment in bewilderment as she glanced about her, and then saw the bed undisturbed in its snowy smoothness. thoroughly alarmed now, she ran to the head of the stairs and called her brother. wondering what could be the trouble, will hurried from the kitchen, closely followed by his mother. upstairs they found dora standing in the middle of the room with a frightened face. "i found the key on the outside, the door unlocked. she is not here; and see, the bed has not been slept in; the closet door is open; some of her clothing is gone, and all her jewelry.” will stood beside her, gazing about the cozy nest with troubled eyes, the bitter arrow. “when did you see her last ?” he asked finally. “at dinner yesterday; she complained of a headache, and went to her room to lie down.” “she was here at half-past eleven, when i came in, for i saw a light in her window as i came down the street." “well, children, there is nothing to worry about,” said mrs. smith; "she has probably gone out and will return shortly. there can't be any great mystery about her absence.” just then the door-bell rang. “there she is now," said will, as he bounded down the stairs in answer to the summons. the two women stood expectant, waiting for the sound of her voice. they heard nothing but the closing of the door and will's steps returning. presently he stood before them with a letter in his hand. “ it is for me,” he said, in answer to their looks of inquiry. “i think it is from sappho.” his face was ashen; his hands trembled. he turned the square package over once- again — then mechanically, as in a dream, he tore the envelope open. the anxious women watched him as he ran his eyes rapidly over the written page, and then with a groan sank into a chair. what is it, will? what has happened ? coxtendixg forces. cried his mother and sister with one voice. great drops of perspiration stood upon his forehead. “o my god!” was his reply to the agonized entreaties of the two women. he threw his arms upon the desk beside him and dropped his head upon them. the letter fell upon the floor. mrs. smith was a great sufferer from nery- ous weakness. seeing her son's unhappiness, she began to tremble and sob hysterically. dora was badly frightened; but knowing that she must be calm for all their sakes, said: “mother, calm yourself. do you not see that will needs help?” she closed the open door to keep out curious intruders who might possibly be about, and then she picked up the letter. “read it!" groaned will; “i can never tell you." dora read it aloud: will: when you receive this i shall be far away. what i am writing to you i ought to have told your family long ago. it must forever stand between us and marriage. you remember the story told the night of the public meeting of the league by luke sawyer — the night i fainted ? i am the unfortunate mabelle beaubean! i did not die. the good sisters gave out that story the bitter arrow. man a woman. in order to destroy my identity. madam frances is my grand-aunt. the boy alphonse is my child! o my god! how can i live and write these words ? john langley came to my room tonight, after every- one was at church. he has found out my story, and has offered me the greatest insult that a can give he has made me realize how much such a marriage with me would injure you. disgrace shall never touch you or yours through me. forgive me for deceiving you — for loving you ; it is all the wrong that i have done you. o love my love — how can i give you up? you will never know the bitterness of the step i am taking! sappho. mrs. smith shuddered as she listened to the words being read. could it be possible that this strange, unexpected confession had come from the beautiful girl they knew so well? dora was weeping bitterly when she finished; so was her mother. they sat there stunned into silence. every pulse beat at fever-heat in will's body. his nerves were strained almost beyond endurance; they were a thousand needle-points of pain. how could he bear this terrible news that had come to him! luke sawyer's story was written before his eyes in letters of fire. he saw with acute clairvoyant sight the beautiful child - the brutal captor- the horrid surroundings of the vile den to which he had consigned her - her struggles within contending forces. the brutal grasp - all the sickening details of that horrible violation of chastity were mir- rored within his brain. time could never eradicate them. god of heaven! how could he bear to think that his beautiful sappho — his pure girl-love, had been subjected to such brutality! and then the child! agony of agonies! he could not suffer more and live! there was something awe-inspiring in his great affliction to the women who loved him. dismal silence had seized upon them all. then a sob - dreadful to hear – broke from will. he staggered across the room and fell on his knees by his mother's side and buried his face in the folds of her dress. it was a way he had in early childhood when anything dis- tressed him. then his mother comforted him as in childhood days – his head upon her ten- der breast — her dear wrinkled hands, as if in blessing, resting upon his grief-stricken brow. at length dora broke the silence. oh, that poor, miserable girl! think of her sufferings — of the weight of the secret she carried with her. what a crucifixion for a proud spirit like hers! this terrible curse of slavery! shall we never lose the sting of deg- radation? think of john, too! how did he find it out? what a heartless scamp he must be! i confess the whole thing is an enigma to me.” the bitter arrow. "to think she should believe us capable of feeling anything for her but sympathy! you must find her, will, and bring her back home,” said ma smith. yes, mother; but any girl would act as she has. think of her humiliation to be obliged to own such a story to her lover! i do not won- der that she turned a coward and fed. but will will find her, never fear.” will had regained something of self-control. but what a change had come to that debo- nair countenance! dora's heart ached as she looked at him. he arose from his knees by his mother's side and stood a moment as if bewildered. “i am going to hire the best detective in the city to find her. but first i will settle with john langley,” he said at last. “give him this !” cried dora, snatching her engagement ring from her finger. “tell him i hope never to see his face again.” poor little sister. must you suffer, too?” “don't pity me, will!” she exclaimed with flashing eyes. “i am well rid of such a man. will kissed them both solemnly and went out. the two women, left alone, went softly about the pretty room folding away the scattered articles of wearing apparel, which they watered the bitter arrow. fortunately it happened that it was an hour when the inmates of no. d street were busy attending to their various vocations. no one need know more of sappho's disappear- ance than the family felt to tell. they made one exception to this resolve. it was about ten o'clock when doctor lewis called. the mother and daughter were just sitting down to the meal so sadly interrupted. in answer to questions asked in friendly solicitude because of their troubled looks, the whole miserable story came out. “it is fortunate that i happened in," he said, when he had heard all they could tell him. “i will go right down to langley's office. it is useless to allow more trouble to grow out of this unhappy affair. those men must not meet alone.” amazed, startled, dumbfounded at this romance in real life, he hurried away toward the business portion of the city. but under his anxiety to serve his friends, who could blame him if thoughts of the broken engage- ment and all that it meant to him would intrude upon him? his heart kept singing : “free to be won - free to be won." john had risen early and left the house before any one was astir. he could not sleep. contending forces. up and down the deserted streets he paced, gazing at the silent stars and baring his head to the cold, refreshing breeze of the april morn- ing haunted - tormented - conscience not yet sufficiently seared to commit so mean an act without regret, would be heard. what if the girl should defy him - expose him! he cursed his own folly, her beauty, his own infatu- ation. turn as he would, he could not shut out the beautiful, despairing face. “and there rises ever a passionate cry from underneath in the darkened land" there is something magical in the mystery of night and the shadows of early dawn. then the mystery of creation and our own hidden nature seem to be revealed faintly to our dull sensibilities. the soul beholds itself all un- adorned as it must stand before almighty god. he raised his eyes to heaven and there beheld the beauty of myriad stars and undiscovered worlds bespangling the firmament. never before had he noticed their sublimity. by the tremulous half-light of the early dawn his deed of the night before appeared despicable - devilish. for a time his head dropped in shame before the accusations of his soul. there came dimly to his beclouded faculties a realization of the possibilities of a life which might have been his under opposite conditions the bitter arrow. n john. langley :inna story from those in which he was born. events of his childhood in the south came to him through the mist of years. he saw himself a half-starved beggar in the city streets, a deserted child claiming kindred with none, allowed a shelter in a poor negro cabin for charity's sake, begging his bread from the generous passer-by. somehow he had learned his letters. then he became ambitious to learn more. he heard talk of a country to the north which seemed to his childish imagina- tion a fairyland. he determined to go there; so he started on his wearisome journey at an age when the loving mother trembles to have her darling exposed to the perils of the busy streets without a strong hand to guide him through its dangers. all his capital was in his nimble baby feet. he charmed coin from the people wherever he went by his expert danc- ing. he could do the breakdown and many intricate shuffles in a way that delighted his audiences. when he reached the north he managed to buy a bootblack's outfit; then he worked his way into a hotel kitchen. he went on from one thing to another, always keeping the one end in view — to acquire an education. he had prospered. he had accomplished the acquisition of knowledge at the expense of the non-development of every moral faculty. contending forces. he did not realize that he was a responsible being, or that morality was obligatory upon him. with him, might was right. this man was what he was through the faults of others. if there be truth in the assertion that we create ourselves in the life we live on earth, the sphere that makes our heaven or hell within the illim- itable realms of futurity, then it may be that the pitying eye of heaven sees the struggles of these irresponsible ones of earth who are monuments of man's inhumanity to man, and sends a warn- ing, pleading voice along the dim, resounding aisles of self-communion. it is a law of the all-wise that nemesis shall walk beside us in every wrong that we commit. for joy we pay, for sorrow, too, and also for the ill we do. we call the recoil which comes from evil-doing, retribution, which being the fruit of evil, is co- existent with it. john had given no thought to the needs of his soul in his pursuit of wealth and position. tonight he had the feeling that he had given all for nothing; that in his blind, egotistical seeking for his own gratification he had overstepped the bounds, and that retribu- tion would put a check upon his desires. that night his better angel triumphed, and he resolved that he would apologize to sappho, make up with dora, and tell will all his sur- mises about mr. withington. but when day- contending forces. has your love for dora turned to hate, that you can deliberately humiliate the girl you have wished to make your wife, as you have her?" john's courage seemed to have deserted him. he stood before smith like the culprit that he was. “of what do you accuse me?” he cried at length, in desperation. “ does not your conscience answer? if not, read that,” and will handed him sappho's letter. john took it, and even as his hand grasped the sheet of paper he began to turn over in his mind a way out of this dilemma. as he fin- ished reading it his mind was made up. he returned it to will with a shrug of his shoulders and a smile more significant than words. the ashen face of his friend should have warned him. “i did not intend to humiliate dora, for men do many like things which never come to the ears of the woman they call wife. accidentally i learned miss clark's story. i also learned by observation that there were other stories just as piquante. you will thank me when you know all. she is beautiful. what would you have? am i different from other men who have made like proposals to a fille de joie?” the bitter arrow. scarcely had the words passed his lips when will was upon him. "you miserable, lying hound!” he shouted, beside himself with rage and grief. he grasped john by the throat. again the door opened, and doctor lewis ran toward the struggling figures. "will! john! are you both mad? do you want to create a public scandal ?” he suc- ceeded in separating them, and then threw him. self between them. so they stood panting and glaring at each other like angry beasts. 'take me out of this, then!" cried will,“ or i won't answer for myself! here is your ring!” he took the ring dora had given him, and threw it at langley 'i will give you until tonight to get your luggage out of my house. if you are there tomorrow morning, i will shoot you like the cur you are. doctor lewis drew him from the room. the door closed. thus they who had been friends for years parted. john stood there alone in his silent office, look- ing out on the dreary vista of brick walls and the network of wires, in awful solitude with his thoughts of the past and his blank future. the sun of prosperity had set on him forever – he felt it - knew it. his own hand had wrought this ruin to himself. said his heart and con- science. contending forces. chapter xx. mother-love. what is it to die? to leave all disappointment, care and sorrow, to icave all falsehood, treachery and unkindness, all ignominy, suffering and despair, and be at rest forever! o dull heart, be of good cheer! when thou shalt cease to beat, then shalt thou cease to suffer and complain! -longfellow. meantime sappho had descended from the car at the corner of arlington and boylston streets on that eventful easter night; she en- tered the garden, and impelled by an uncon- trollable impulse, walked again through the paths where a few hours before she had known so much happiness. she knew no fear; the darkness concealed her. again she sat upon the seat where she had passed the brightest moments of her life. a neighboring clock struck one. it was then the first hour of a new day — the dawn for her of fresh misery. a cold, sharp wind struck her with chilling force; she shivered, but still sat there buried in hope- less despair. fearful indeed is the plan of existence which mother-love. rules our mortality. innocent or guilty, our deeds done in the flesh pursue us with relent- less vigor unto the end of life. sometimes the rough winds of adversity are tempered to the shorn lamb who is not responsible for acts which are forced upon him ; god in infinite wis- dom and justice remits the severity of our suf- ferings; but the tracings still remain upon the sands of life — we bind up the wounds — they heal, but the scars remain. sappho possessed a brilliant mind and reso- lute character. if she had been a religious devotee she would have been as devout and as fervid as a disciple of old. if a sinner, the queen of them all. she had strength of will enough for a dozen women, which, if ever started on the wrong road, would be difficult to redirect into the paths of right. she had suf- fered much in meekness, but now dumb rage awoke her passions. for a time the spirit of revenge held full sway in the outraged heart. revenge was all she craved; she shivered at the dark thoughts which came to her. venge” whispered the swaying branches of the trees above her head — “revenge" seemed whispered in the chilling winds about her -- revenge upon her seducer and upon the man who had dashed the cup of happiness from her lips and most wantonly insulted her in her “re- mother-love. might have been directed to her. at length she reached the door of madam frances's house. all was dark. no light, no welcome. so was her life made dark and desolate by the curse of slavery. she rang the bell twice with a strong hand; presently she saw the faint gleam from a lamp through the sidelights, and then her aunt's familiar voice asked: “who is there?" “it is i, sappho; open the door, aunt sally." she heard the click of the key as it turned in the lock, and in another moment she stood within the entry facing her aunt's curious, frightened face. in another moment she dropped her weary frame in a chair in the reception room. sappho told her aunt the whole story. the elder woman was nonplussed and startled; she had not counted that any one would be able to identify her niece with poor, unfortunate mabelle beaubean. they sat there for a long time going over the situation, and consulting about what was best to be done. sappho told her aunt that she was determined to take the boy with her in future. madam frances said nothing, for she saw that her niece was determined. “i must leave boston ; that is clear,” said sappho. “certainly, that will be best for a while," replied her aunt. " but you must remember contending forces. that it is always darkest just before the dawn." “i shall return to new orleans and lose my- self in that city. i shall get work there, and my case will not be noticed, because it is not uncommon. in time i shall forget.” “as soon as you are settled there i will join you with the boy. i will continue to tell for- tunes, and we shall live very happily, no doubt. i shall not be here long; my sands are almost run, but i should like to see you safe and happy before i go. but remember what i say to you now, sappho child: in doing your duty, happi- ness will come to you, the greater and more abiding for the trouble which has preceded it.”. "perhaps so," replied sappho; “but, aunt sally, i shall take the boy with me tomorrow when i leave for the south. i will never part with him again on earth.” "well, my dear child, i see no necessity for you to become a martyr in order to do your duty. however, do as you think best. now go and try to get a little rest.” “here is one of my mother's diamond rings; take it, aunt sally, and sell it for me. i have no money.” the old woman took the ring, and sappho went into the small side-room where alphonse slept. she undressed and lay down beside the boy, but not to sleep. she gazed on the inno- motiier-love. a long spell of low fever ensued, but to sap- pho in her weakness the rest and comfort that came to her harassed mind was like sun and shade in a grassy glade of perfect peace. the nuns were greatly interested in her, and con- cluded that she was as good as pretty, “she is like the angels in the pieture of the crucifixion, so sweet and sad. she has more tears in her heart than in her eyes." “she is not of our faith," said another, “but we will do our best for her, as the mother says: le bon dieu knows best." it was evening in new orleans. the streets, the great arteries of a crowded metropolis, were lighted by the glare of myriad gas-lamps, thus dispelling the darkness like artificial suns. the roll of vehicles blended with the other sounds, the hum of millions rising in a confused roar above the housetops and mingling with the clouds of evening. in a small, bare room sappho lay, at the end of a long corridor. the rays from a lamp out- side the room came faintly in, dispelling the semi-darkness. the light from the soft south- ern moon gleamed faintly through the windows, making the room like the cloisters of heavenly mansions. to that quiet haven of rest the turmoil and bustle of life did not reach. there contending forces. her sufferings. alphonse was expanding like a flower beneath the influence of his mother's love and devotion. he was her consolation. late one afternoon she sat on the terrace, a book in her lap, her thoughts far away. alphonse brought her a bunch of roses. the child looked at her earnestly a moment, and then said: “mamma, why are you always so sad when you sit on the terrace alone?' “i am not sad, alphonse,” she replied, kiss- ing him on his forehead. oh, yes, you are. when i am a big man i shall find the tall, handsome gentleman who gave you flowers at the fair.” “why, alphonse !" “ have i said anything wrong, mamma?” he asked anxiously. "not wrong, my child, but mamma prefers that you never speak of the past to anyone.” "i will do just as you say, mamma sappho!” he cried, impetuously throwing his arms about her neck in a bearlike hug. somewhat startled by the child's precocious- ness, she sat there after he left her, watching the red sun slowly dropping out of sight in the west. the peaceful stillness of approaching darkness rested on the landscape. she heard a step and turned to perceive monsieur louis, votiek-love. who seated himself beside her on the rustic settee. "we shall have a thunder shower before morning; see how heavy the clouds are hang- ing." “i have been watching them,” replied sappho. “miss clark, how long have you been with us ?” he asked abruptly. "a few months more than two years. why, monsieur louis?" “ you have been happy ? " he asked, ignoring her question. " happier than i can say.” “do not let what i am about to say distress you; but i want you to make me your confidant and tell me all your sad story, not from idle curiosity, but because i have grown to love you and the boy." “oh, monsieur!" was all sappho could say. then he spoke again. she had only a con- fused idea of his words, but his meaning was clearly written in her heart. “my child," he said gravely, taking her hand, "i am an old man, experienced in the ways of the world. i have seen and understood more of your story than i have seemed to. my heart yearns for you and the child. i am old and selfish, perhaps, but i offer you a home for yourself and the boy, an honorable name, and after many days. she smoothed down her long white apron as she murmured to herself: "'phelia, whar is you?” she was evidently embarrassed. after thinking a moment she continued : now, 'bout this house. what are you goin' to do with it?" “we haven't concluded yet what we will do with it. i'm going south with dora until will finishes at heidelberg; then, after he has settled upon his future field of work, i am to live with him.” "exactly so. then i s'pose .you'll be willin' to rent the house ef you git a good tenant?” “ yes; i suppose so." now, sis’smith, i want to ask you ef you've eny ejections to my takin'it?” certainly no objections; but isn't it a great responsibility for a woman alone in the world ? " asked mrs. smith, greatly surprised. mrs. davis smoothed the folds of her ample white apron nervously — coughed – stammered blushed. “well, truth is, sis' smith, you know people make changes in this life; fac' truth, indeed, ma'm, we's always changin', an' i'm thinkin' o' changin' to double harness fer a while.” “i want to know!" exclaimed ma smith, now properly astonished and interested. “and who is the happy man?" after many days. tinued, retiring with graceful discretion from the contest. “no; he's goin' to graduate. the society he's been preaching fer sundays is goin' to give him their church, and i'll keep the laundry a-goin' an' rent rooms." ' i'm sure i'll be very glad to let you have the house. i don't know anyone i'd rather let it to.” "then that's settled," said mrs. davis, with a sigh of relief. “i thought you'd say that. now, you see, all yer ol' lodgers can keep their rooms, an' it will seem jes' like home to them. mr. jeemes is that fond o' me tell sarah ann calls me an ol' fool, an' says all he wants is my money, and a right smert 'ooman to work fer him. i telled sarah ann, ‘go git a man fer yourself an' quit bein' jealous.' she says to me, 'i will, an' it won't be a boy jes' turned twenty- one.' sarah ann an' me'll have to part after i'm merried, she's that jealous.” mrs. davis had regained all her good humor, and was very complacent over ma smith's evident interest in her story. “ now that would be a pity, after you've been together so long,” remarked the latter. “she's got to drop sayin' ticklish things to me. a 'ooman's got a right to git merried, ain't she?” mrs. davis was now fairly started contending forces. on a congenial subject, and her words flowed in a torrent. “mr. jeemes says he knows the lord sent me fer to be a helpmeet to him, an' i dassay he's right. sarah ann says my money's the helpmeet’ he's after, an' somebody to cook good vittals to suit his pellet. but i know better; he's a godly man ef he ain't much to look at.” “how did you happen to take a fancy to each other?” “lord, he's sech a good critter! the first i noticed was the night you had that swaree here last winter. some o' the men got to talkin' 'bout 'ooman bein' the weaker vessel, an' sub- jugatin' theirself to be led by men an' not go prespirin' after work an' sech likes which be- longs to men. mr. jeemes he held to it thet 'ooman's all right to ejecate herself even to be a minister, fer no man could be suferior to 'ooman, 'cause she was his rib. an' ever sence that i kin' o' thought what a shame it was fer a man to be minus one o' his ribs all along o' ’ooman, untell i made up my mind thet ef jeemes wanted me he could have back his lost rib. all this spring he's been a-ridin' me on his bike down in the kitchen every day after we got through washin' an' had cleaned up, so i could go ridin' with him in the fens an' all everyrody was a lookin' in a gaappin' at us.'' after vant days, out o' town this summer. after i'd learnt, one day he came in with a beautiful bike an' saddle. the nex' day we was ter ride ter the park. i hed on my new pale blue bicycle suit with a pink shirtwaist an'a white sailer hat an' tan- colored shoes an' gloves. i tell you i looked some! mr. jeemes had on a black suit with a gray linen duster, an' he did look extinguished in his beaver hat an' that white choker an' tie o'hisn which i must say i do admire. we got along purty well. everybody was a-lookin'an' a-gappin' at us. sarah ann says it was 'cause we looked like a couple o'jay birds stuffed. “we got along all right untell we was a-comin' down a hill. mr. jeemes was a-coastin', an' the tail o' that linen duster o'hisn was a-sailin' out behin' like a flag floppin'in an east wind. the fust thing i knowed he was a-stickin' fast head fust into a pile o' sand where they was makin' mortar to build a cellar, an' me on top o' him ! wasn't it a mercy thet we wasn't stuck in the mortar? jeemes is purty black, but he was a white man when he got out o'thet san' heap. as fer me, i tore my gloves, los' my hat, an' busted a new pair o' corsets right off me. be- sides thet, i nearly swallered my upper teeth, an' i lost my bangs. they picked me up an' carried me into a house they was a-buildin', an' give me a chance to fix myself up a bit. contexding forces. but i 'clar to you them corsets was no good never after thet; an' it cost me ten dollars to fix thet upper set o' teeth so i could wear 'em agin ; i never have seen them bangs sence. “we was thet done up that jeemes sent fer a kerridge to bring us home; an' fifty dol- lars won't excuse the damages to them bikes. comin' home an' settin' so close together, be- side the trouble we'd had makin' us feel kin' o' tender o each other, jeemes put his arm 'roun' me - an' i don' see how ever in time he did it, bein' the corsets warn't no good, an'me 'bou: as small as a bag o' taters -- he put his arm 'roun' me, he did, an' he says, says he: ‘le's git merried, 'phelia!' i was thet stonished an' set back you could heve knocked me down with a feather, an' was thet weak from bein'overcamed by my feelin' thet all i remember was thet i fell on his neck like the patrihawks did in the bible where they tell 'bout abraham, isaac an' jacob, shem, ham, meshack an' 'bednego you 'member how the minister tol' us all 'bout that in the skripter lesson las' sunday night, don't you? i ain't got no 'bility fer readin', but i's got a mem'ry, thank gawd. as i was a-sayin', i jes' fell onto his neck, an' i says to him: “mr. jeemes, ef you want yer rib, i'm her.' thet's the way it camed 'bout, an' we's yoin' ter be merried purty soon, 'though sarah contending forces. sat there dreaming. months afterward she looked back upon that day, and remembered with wonder her own tranquility. “ the supreme hours unnoted come.'. she heard the door-bell ring, but it did not disturb her reverie. there was a knock at the door of the room where she was sitting. then the door opened, and mrs. davis ushered in a tall, elegant white man of distinguished ad- dress, and about her own age. mrs. davis closed the door behind him and vanished. “mrs. smith, i presume?" he said in a pleas- ant voice as he advanced toward her. it was a voice of rare carrying power - deep, rich, musical, and had moved the house of com- mons to enthusiasm on more than one memo- rable occasion in the politics of great britain. yes,” she replied, rising from her seat. i called to see mr. wl'illiam smith, and i dislike to be disappointed. will he be at home he handed her his card as he finished speaking, and she read the inscription : charles montfort-withington, blankshire, england. pray be seated, mr. withington," she said, as she placed a chair for her visitor. “i am william's mother; he will be in very soon." soon?" after many days. mr. withington thanked her, and having seated himself, glided easily into conversation; at the same time his keen eye noted his sur- roundings. nothing in the quiet, unpreten- tious, shaded room escaped him. the large glass bowl of flowers — sweet peas and nastur- tiums predominating - filled the room with fragrance; there were three or four water-color paintings set in simple frames — pictures of rural scenes. the few choice pieces of china and bric-a-brac which adorned the mantel, the open piano, the general good taste, even elegance of the apartment, appealed strongly to the artis- tic sense of the cultured gentleman who had been reared in the luxury of ample wealth. mrs. smith herself was a revelation to him. by what art of necromancy had such a distin- guished woman been evolved from among the brutalized aftermath of slavery? “ i had the pleasure of meeting your son and conversing with him at the annual dinner of the canterbury club in february last. i was much impressed with his views on the condi- tion of the negroes in this country. being interested in every phase of racial development which bears upon the science of political econ- omy, i felt that after my canadian business was settled i would try and meet him again. i intended to write and ask him to meet me at contending forces. assure you that the letters of jesse montfort to his brother charles are still in existence! they are preserved as a sacred legacy, together with a sworn statement of the main facts as we know them, in this remarkable case. your uncle charles married his rescuer's daughter, and as is the custom among old english families where the name would become extinct upon the mar- riage of the only child — a daughter - he as- sumed the name of withington in conjunction jyith his own. the united states government was sued by withington, sr., and he recovered , one hundred thousand dollars damages for charles, but no trace of jesse could be found the money is held for him or his heirs by the government. i can furnish you the necessary proof upon my return to england. tell me not that the time of miracles has departed! is not this a direct intervention of the hand of providence that we, so widely separated, should at last become known to each other?” he paused, overcome by emotion. mrs. smith wept quietly. broken words of praise to god — of joy - of sorrow for the dead - of hope for the future - passed her lips from time to time. ah! who can paint such a scene? finally mr. withington embraced them both his kinswoman and will, his kinsman. “be assured that i shall bend every effort to contending forces. past history of each family. these were days of happiness to the newly found relatives days fraught with wise lessons to himself. he was the best of friends with dora; indeed, he was a man who inspired confidence and love. very soon he was the recipient of the story of all her recent trials with john, and poor will's unhappy love episode. he approved dora's choice in doctor lewis, and had the latter's promise to take her across to europe at the earliest opportunity. for will he had a strong man's sympathy, and encouraged him to hope that all might yet be well. so potent was his hopefulness that will brightened perceptibly and became more like his old ambitious self, to the great delight of his mother and sister. he in his turn told them the story of charles montfort: how his benefactor had returned to america in the hope of finding and rescuing jesse, after establishing the boys' claim to the estate of their murdered father. he found that the child had disappeared, leaving no trace be- hind him. how charles had rejoiced over the later discovery of his brother, and how he had grieved over the final estrangement. then on the eve of his departure for america to person- ally search jesse out, he was stricken with paralysis, and remained a helpless invalid until his death. meantime the business of establish- contending forces. atrocious crime. she lived for years as the mistress of anson pollock, and knew that he tracked jesse to boston, where he lost all trace of him. the day we visited her it was pathetic to hear her grieve over the children; one would have thought them still helpless little ones. my dear mother, this woman is but another evidence of the all-powerful hand of the almighty — this poor, decrepit, half-blind centenarian is lucy, grace montfort's foster- sister and maid ! the granddaughter is married, and her husband and children are here. when the civil war ended they deter- mined to settle in bermuda, and here they have lived ever since in a cottage which is almost a but, supporting them- selves by selling sugar-cane in small sticks — the same as our candy-shops sell sticks of candy to the children – and other products of their garden, in the market-place. prepare yourself for another surprise. the youngest woman had a child while in slavery, by anson pollock, jr., a grandnephew of old anson pollock, whom we all have so much reason to remember. the poor woman seems much distressed over this boy, who, it appears, was taken from her when he was but six months old, and sold with many others to a man who farmed negro babies for the market. she asked me if i had ever in my distant home met a young man called john pollock langley. he is her son ! i gave her an evasive answer, and told her i would inquire about such a person, and let her know the result. i shall write john these facts. he can use his own pleasure then about claiming his relatives. how fortunate the estrangement which resulted in breaking the engagement between john and after mavy days. dora. i never could have tolerated the idea of a descendant of the montforts being united in the close relation of marriage with one of the villainous and unscrupulous pollocks. let us thank god for another mercy. mr. withington feels as i do. he has invested some money in a small annuity for our humble friends, - enough to keep them from want. the nobility of this man is something remarkable. we sail from here for home by the next steamer, so we shall be in time for the wedding. your loving son, will. p. s. - i reopen this letter to tell you of the death of lucy; old age the cause. after she learned that i was jesse's grandson, and heard the story of his life, with the renewed intelligence often vouchsafed to those just upon the border of the happy land, her prayer was : let thy servant depart in peace.” how soon her prayer was answered. will. " now in the last beautiful days of october dora became the wife of doctor lewis, and went with him to his far-off southern home to assist him in the upbuilding of their race. and what a wedding it was! the skies were fair and bright. the romantic story of the smith family had become noised about, and as it was a church wedding the sacred edifice was crowded to suffocation. doctor lewis was well and favorably known, and that was of additional interest to the spectators. the small girls who formed dora's class in sunday-school, dressed contending forces. in white, preceded the pretty bride, strewing flowers in her path. then the bride followed on the arm of her brother, doctor lewis meet- ing them at the altar, where he had been accom- panied by the ushers. dora would have no bridesmaids. gowned in the simplest white muslin frock she stood and solemnly plighted her vows to the man of her choice. they were a striking couple: she serious, he so grave and steadfast. so it should be, taking up a new life, with its endless need of forbearance, trust, and mutual affection. each knew that with one all was not yet given with the abandonment of perfect love. each felt, too, the deep waters that surrounded will - the shadow of a tragedy that lay about his life. what wonder that an unusual solemnity en- folded this couple as they took their vows upon them. but it was a solemnity that quiets, soothes and strengthens. as the bride came down the aisle on her hus. band's arm at the conclusion of the ceremony, she caught for one instant the full gaze of john langley. she never forgot that look; so full of despair and unhappiness. she said nothing about it to husband or brother, but it haunted her for many an hour. well, well, it was over, and they passed out to the carriage, and thence to the house. after many days. there was a great reception after the cere- mony; but just before dora left her room to take her place with the receiving party, a pack- age was placed in her hand. she opened it, and found it a jewel-box containing a heavy gold bracelet set with pearls, which outlined a deli- cate vine of pansies traced about the golden band. no note or card was attached — noth- ing but her name and the date of the marriage. dora locked it away with her many gifts, amid painful thoughts; she knew instinctively that john was the giver. a week later the happy couple left boston, accompanied by mrs. smith, followed by the heartfelt good wishes of all who knew them, for their future prosperity. so with fair skies and favorable winds they entered upon the untried sea of matrimony. the case of smith vs. the united states did not come to a public trial; it was heard privately before a court composed of the judges of the supreme court of the united states. the english heirs had received their portion years before; the government only awaited the pro- duction of the necessary proofs to establish the identity of mrs. smith beyond a peradventure. detectives went over the ground carefully. the records of real estate transfers, chattels, etc., were all found intact among the files of the contending forces. changed, and had the same kindly expression, although there lurked within their hazel depths a sadness which in repose became absolute mournfulness. the ambition of his life was the establish- ment of a school which should embrace every known department of science, where the negro youth of ability and genius could enter without money and without price. this was his pet scheme for the future. no wife or child would ever be his, he told himself; but he would be a father to the youth of his race. thus he mused and planned until one day there came a letter from his sister saying that his mother's health was very much broken, and that she longed for the presence of her boy. will packed up, and april found him in the united states once more, at the home of his sister in new orleans. thoughts of sappho were seldom far from him; he thought of her as one gone to the land of delight – purified by her sufferings here. the first night that he passed on board ship he had dreamed of her. he dreamed that he stood in a grand cathedral, and listened to strains of delicious melody chanted by an invisi- ble choir. christe eleison, kyrie eleison, floated to his ears, and the glad strains of the gloria. presently upon the altar before him appeared a vision of the virgin and child, but the face. into their desired have.v. of the mother was sappho's, the child by her side was the little alphonse. he tried to reach her in vain. she smiled and beckoned him on as she receded at his approach; then he awoke. his dream haunted him. he interpreted it as a promise that they should be united in heaven. the meeting with his mother and sister and the renewal of old ties somewhat deadened painful memories, until reawakened when he heard them call his sister's beautiful child “sappho." the home to which doctor lewis had taken his bride was very beautiful. one passed from the highway down a long avenue framed by majestic palms, and so upon the college campus which was surrounded by dormitories built of substantial brick. doctor lewis's house was a fine brick cottage, plentifully supplied with porches and piazzas. its framework was a suc- cession of terraces planted with gorgeous beds of flowers indigenous to the southern clime. the long french windows stood open to catch the soft breezes of april. this house and the numerous dormitories, museums, the chapel, and buildings which held lecture-rooms and class-rooms, were all built by the pupils of the school. the students made the brick which entered into the composition of the various buildings; the carpenter shop, carriage and into their desired havex. doctor lewis's pupils and the neighboring schools with eagerness. he acquainted him- self thoroughly for future reference, with the curriculum of academical life as conducted along the lines pertaining to negro education. after gaining a clear insight into it all, he said to doctor lewis : “i hold that a man to gain true self-respect and independence must not be hampered in any way by prejudice. i would remove my school far from such influences." "where would your choice fall for the estab- lishment of such a paradise ?” asked doctor lewis with a smile. there are places enough in the world. one could easily find such an environment abroad. there across the water, associated on equal terms with men of the highest culture, the negro shall give physical utterance to the splendid possibilities which are within him.” “chimerical and quixotic," returned doctor lewis with a shake of the head. “it can't be done." “i shall try it, nevertheless, and leave the results i hope for to the leveling hand of time.” if ever a doubt of dora's happiness had troubled will's thoughts, it was dispelled now that he saw her a contented young matron, her into their desired iiaven. "no," replied will.“ arthur has promised to accompany me there, but something always intervenes." “ don't miss it on sunday morning. the easter service is divine." . the convent of the holy family was founded in by three good women, in the very heart of the stronghold of slavery, and under the most depressing influences. there is but one other mother-house and novitiate for colored women in the united states, and that is in the city of baltimore. the service held in the chapel by the sisterhood of the holy family on easter morning is famous throughout the south. easter is easter the world over, and the earth seems to take on an added beauty in honor of the day. but easter in new orleans is something to dream of, and defies description. will's thoughts were solemn ones, and mingled with pain, for was not this the anni- versary of his greatest joy and his most bitter sorrow. he walked toward the chapel through silent streets filled with earnest worshippers on the way to early mass. it was a familiar sight to will, who had passed so many months in catholic countries. morn was breaking in the east; the air was filled with the faint sounds contending forces. of returning life; the sweet odor of the mag- nolia, mingled with a thousand other subtle perfumes, intoxicated the senses. the sun had not yet risen as he glided quietly into the church and took a seat in a secluded corner, to watch the entry of the congregation. until easter morning the pictures of christ, mary and joseph were veiled, but now the statues had emerged from their concealment in indication of the spiritual change in us which was wrought by the coming forth of christ from the tomb. tapers glowed and flowers bloomed everywhere. the sisters stood with their dark faces uplifted in the full light which fell from the stained glass windows, making a picture long to be remembered. the stillness, the coolness, the swiftly moving, silent figures, the slanting rays of sunlight growing higher and higher, seemed to calm the troubled spirit of the man, and to impress his very soul with the greatness and glory of pure religious devo- tion. involuntarily his thoughts were wafted upward in solemn supplication to the father of all good. he saw the entrance of the convent boarders, the orphan girls, the orphan boys and the nov- ices, still in an exalted state of religious enthu- siasm. all in the crowded edifice were on their knees now, listening to the intonations contending forces. bell, and sent his card to the mother superior by a novice in the regulation black dress and white bonnet. she bade him enter, and left him in a bare room overlooking a paved court, where groups of children could be seen at play. he stood there with his back to the door, buried in deep thought and filled with misgivings. suddenly a door opened behind him and a voice said: “i will bring him back tomorrow, sister.” surely he knew that voice! he turned, and there before his blinded vision stood the realiza- tion of his dream, holding the boy by the hand ! one swift glance showed him that she was in street attire; that she was not a member of the order. she saw and recognized him at the same instant. with a mighty cry of joy and thanks- giving he clasped her in his arms. “o, that 'twere possible, after long grief and pain, to find the arms of my true love round me once again ! ” sappho was welcomed right royally by doc- tor lewis, dora and her mother, as one risen from the dead; tears, smiles, kisses greeted her. it seemed that they would never be able to control their emotion. then she told them titere before tits bluded vision stood tie realization of its dreams. into their desired haven. of her alight to new orleans with the child, of the death of the old fortune-teller, and her own employment as a governess in the family of the wealthy colored planter in opelausus, and the placing of the boy with the sisters. she in her turn listened with wonder to the fairylike tale of the wealth that had come to her lover's family. late that afternoon she sat once again in close heart communion with her lover. each had much to tell. seated beside her on the sofa, will folded her closely to his heart again with one deep, heavy sob which attested the man's suppressed anguish. "oh,” he said, at last, "it has been like a hideous nightmare since i read that letter which you sent me. i can scarcely believe in the blessed reality that i hold you safe in my arms once more.' she put back the clustering curls from his brow, noting with pain the many white hairs which threaded those raven locks. she laid her cheek against his as she said: "i know only too well all you have gone through.” "why did you leave me, sappho? had you no confidence in my love for you? how meanly you must have judged me if you contending forces, thought me capable of holding you responsi- ble for the monstrous wrong committed against you." ah, will; i had suffered so much at the hands of selfish men! can you wonder that i mistrusted you, and felt that you would only despise me when you knew all ?” then he told her of his interview with john langley, holding back nothing but the insult- ing insinuations. “but, dearest, the detectives were at the con- vent; they even interviewed luke sawyer. poor fellow, he was completely overcome when he found that you were alive, and he dropped his work and devoted months to trac- ing your whereabouts in this very city. how you have managed to hide yourself, and dora living right here in new orleans with you, is the mystery.” “yes; but it is an easy matter to become lost in a great city like this. you must remember that i kept away from every familiar spot; even the sisters in the convent had been changed, so that there was no one to remember me, the former mother superior having died. when i was strong enough to go about, you had ceased searching for me." “and all this secrecy was for what?" asked will reproachfully coxtending forces. thought it!” then will supplemented it with the romantic history of his family, and his life since sappho's aight. the old gentleman lis- tened entranced. “it is indeed a fairy tale of love and chivalry such as we read of only in books,” he said at last with a long-drawn breath. then he told them many interesting tales of slave life and its complications as he had known them. it was nearly midnight when will left, promising to return the next day and complete arrangements for a wedding which was to take place immediately. monsieur louis insisted that he should furnish the wedding dress and breakfast, and be allowed to give the bride away. so a second easter day closed on happy love - a love sanctified and purified by suf- fering. john langley, soon after dora's marriage and the acquisition of fortune to the smith family, suddenly gave up his business, and started off with the first daring adventurers who were allured from home by the dazzling promise of immense fortunes to be dug out of the earth in the new eldorado -- the klondike gold-fields. john was unhappy. he was willing to admit that he had viewed things in a false light, and consequently had made a mess of his own into their desired haven. happiness. he still retained an ardent enthusi- asm for his profession, but he needed a change. he would divert his mind from his recent dis- appointments by travel in strange lands, and after he had acquired a large fortune he would settle down to the practice of law and do good among his fellows as a sort of atonement for his early mistakes. he placed his business in the hands of his partner, first making a will, in which he bequeathed to his mother's family in bermuda the savings he would leave in the bank, in case he did not return. “i only make this will for form's sake,” said he to his partner, as he gave it into the latter's keeping. “i'll be back here inside of two years and dazzle you with my wealth.” he joined a party made up of hardy eastern men, and they started on their journey with bright anticipations of a golden future. after many adventures and much suffering they reached the goal, only to find galint famine awaiting them with gruesome countenance. day by day the cold increased; day by day the stock of provisions dwindled. each morning they counted up the dead. one morning it was five; the next, fifteen. ten only remained alive out of a party of thirty, and these so weak as to be unable to remove the bodies from the com- mon cabin. john learned to pray then: “may contending forces. the lord, in his infinite mercy, come to our rescue.” one morning seven more bodies lay close together in the bunks. it was plain then that a few hours would end the sufferings of the re- mainder. the last spark of fire had gone out. two biscuits and a quart of water was all the sustenance left. delirium seized upon all but john. he felt sick at heart. he prayed “god's will be done!” all that night a heavy galo blew, and before morning two more poor souls went out into space. john was then alone, the last survivor of thirty gallant men. he dragged his body outside the door and away from the charnel-house. “let me die under the open sky, with the moon and stars for company. he told himself that the old fortune-teller had been right in her prediction: the field of ice and snow which had been shown to him stretched before him in dreary, unbroken silence. over- head unknown constellations looked down upon his misery; the moon, cold, large, and spectral, poured an intense yet dreary light upon the scene. he recalled the deep wisdom of lessons he had recently learned – the philosophy of life and death, assurance of the soul's individuality, and the worthlessness of this earthly clay tene- ment. he thought of his newly found mother, into their desired haven, whom he had been ashamed to acknowledge. his sight failed, his limbs lost their feeling, his heart was nearly pulseless — it was death. “o god! receive my soul. dear, dear mother”- the child of sunny climes folded himself more closely in his blankets for the last time, and slept to wake no more on earth. so the dawn of easter sunday found him. that undisci. plined soul went forth to wander in celestial spheres, there to continue the salutary lessons begun on earth, under the guidance of god's angels, who minister to the needs of the immor. tal soul. not many months after a merry party might have been seen upon the deck of a cunarder bound for europe. it consisted of doctor lewis, dora, little sappho, ma smith, will, sappho-now will's wife-and little alphonse. they were all going to make the long-promised visit to mr. withington. sappho was happy in contemplating the life of promise which was before her. will was the noblest of men. alphonse was to him as his own child. united by love, chastened by sor- row and self-sacrifice, he and she planned to work together to bring joy to hearts crushed by despair. they stood upon the deck that night long contending forces. after the others had retired to their staterooms, watching the receding shores with hearts filled with emotion too deep for words. my wife, my life. o, we will walk this world yoked in all exercise of noble end, and so through those dark gates across the wild that no man knows. lay thy sweet hands in mine and trust to me." university of michigan quicksand of mic versity . unive "thly an si libral higan of mica brari oclaino hiv quick sand quicks and the negro in unusual fiction nigger heaven by carl van vechten the autobiography of an ex-coloured man by james weldon johnson the fire in the flint by walter f, white flight by walter f. white latterday symphony by romer wilson uicks and by nella larsen new york & london alfred · a · knopf ima : : copyright i by alfred a. knopf, inc. manufactured in the united states of america for e. s. i. quicks and my old man died in a fine big house. my ma died in a shack. i wonder where i'm gonna die, being neither white nor black? langston hughes english whiteniny - - quicks and one p pa helga crane sat alone in her room, which . at that hour, eight in the evening, was in soft gloom. only a single reading lamp, dimmed by a great black and red shade, made a pool of light on the blue chinese carpet, on the bright covers of the books which she had taken down from their long shelves, on the white pages of the opened one selected, on the shin- ing brass bowl crowded with many-colored nasturtiums beside her on the low table, - and on the oriental silk which covered the stool at her slim feet. it was a comfortable room, furnished with rare and intensely personal taste, flooded with southern sun in the day, but shadowy just then with the drawn curtains and single shaded light. large, too. so large that the spot where helga sat was a small oasis in a desert of darkness. and eerily quiet. but that . a quicks and was what she liked after her taxing day's work, after the hard classes, in which she gave will- ingly and unsparingly of herself with no ap- parent return. she loved this tranquillity, this quiet, following the fret and strain of the long hours spent among fellow members of a care- lessly unkind and gossiping faculty, following the strenuous rigidity of conduct required in this huge educational community of which she was an insignificant part. this was her rest, this intentional isolation for a short while in the evening, this little time in her own attrac- tive room with her own books. to the rapping of other teachers, bearing fresh scandals, or seeking information, or other more concrete fa- vors, or merely talk, at that hour helga crane never opened her door. an observer would have thought her well fitted to that framing of light and shade. a slight girl of twenty-two years, with narrow, sloping shoulders and delicate, but well-turned, arms and legs, she had, none the less, an air of quicks and radiant, careless health. in vivid green and gold negligee and glistening brocaded mules, deep sunk in the big high-backed chair, against whose dark tapestry her sharply cut face, with skin like yellow satin, was distinctly outlined, she was—to use a hackneyed word-attractive. black, very broad brows over soft, yet pene- trating, dark eyes, and a pretty mouth, whose sensitive and sensuous lips had a slight ques- tioning petulance and a tiny dissatisfied droop, were the features on which the observer's at- tention would fasten; though her nose was good, her ears delicately chiseled, and her curly blue-black hair plentiful and always stray- ing in a little wayward, delightful way. just then it was tumbled, falling unrestrained about her face and on to her shoulders. helga crane tried not to think of her work and the school as she sat there. ever since her arrival in naxos she had striven to keep these ends of the days from the intrusion of irritating thoughts and worries. usually she correr quicks and ne was successful. but not this evening. of the books which she had taken from their places she had decided on marmaduke pickthall's saïd the fisherman. she wanted forgetful- ness, complete mental relaxation, rest from thought of any kind. for the day had been more than usually crowded with distasteful encoun- ters and stupid perversities. the sultry hot southern spring had left her strangely tired, and a little unnerved. and annoying beyond all other happenings had been that affair of the noon period, now again thrusting itself on her already irritated mind. she had counted on a few spare minutes in which to indulge in the sweet pleasure of a bath and a fresh, cool change of clothing. and instead her luncheon time had been shortened, as had that of everyone else, and immediately after the hurried gulping down of a heavy hot meal the hundreds of students and teachers had been herded into the sun-baked chapel to listen to the banal, the patronizing, and even the in- quicks and : * {. пу sulting remarks of one of the renowned white preachers of the state. helga shuddered a little as she recalled some of the statements made by that holy white man of god to the black folk sitting so respect- fully before him. this was, he had told them with obvious sectional pride, the finest school for negroes anywhere in the country, north or south; in voice of fact, it was better even than a great many schools for white children. and he had dared any northerner to come south and after look- ing upon this great institution to say that the southerner mistreated the negro. and he had said that if all negroes would only take a leaf out of the book of naxos and conduct them- selves in the manner of the naxos products, there would be no race problem, because naxos negroes knew what was expected of them. they had good sense and they had good taste. they knew enough to stay in their places, and that, said the preacher, showed good taste. he so e n ase quick sand spoke of his great admiration for the negro race, no other race in so short a time had made so much progress, but he had urgently besought them to know when and where to stop. he hoped, he sincerely hoped, that they wouldn't become avaricious and grasping, thinking only of adding to their earthly goods, for that would be a sin in the sight of almighty god. and then he had spoken of contentment, embellishing his words with scriptural quotations and pointing out to them that it was their duty to be satisfied in the estate to which they had been called, hewers of wood and drawers of water. and then he had prayed. sitting there in her room, long hours after, helga again felt a surge of hot anger and seething resentment. and again it subsided in amazement at the memory of the consider- able applause which had greeted the speaker just before he had asked his god's blessing upon them. the south. naxos. negro education. vers quicks and suddenly she hated them all. strange, too, for this was the thing which she had ardently de- sired to share in, to be a part of this monument to one man's genius and vision. she pinned a scrap of paper about the bulb under the lamp's shade, for, having discarded her book in the certainty that in such a mood even saïd and his audacious villainy could not charm her, she wanted an even more soothing darkness. she yished it were vacation, so that she might get away for a time. “no, forever!” she said aloud. the minutes gathered into hours, but inabilir still she sat motionless, a disdainful smile or an art angry frown passing now and then across her face. somewhere in the room a little clock ticked time away. somewhere outside, a whippoor- will wailed. evening died. a sweet smell of early southern flowers rushed in on a newly- risen breeze which suddenly parted the thin silk curtains at the opened windows. a slender, frail glass vase fell from the sill with a tingling brun mith of cha xusus instabilimin nerimon's * the pot is tenon le point . quicks and crash, but helga crane did not shift her posi- tion. and the night grew cooler, and older. cm at last she stirred, uncertainly, but with an overpowering desire for action of some sort. men a second she hesitated, then rose abruptly and pressed the electric switch with determined firmness, flooding suddenly the shadowy room with a white glare of light. next she made a quick nervous tour to the end of the long room, paused a moment before the old bow-legged secretary that held with almost articulate pro- test her school-teacher paraphernalia of drab books and papers. frantically helga crane clutched at the lot and then flung them vio- lently, scornfully toward the wastebasket. it received a part, allowing the rest to spill un- tidily over the floor. the girl smiled ironically, seeing in the mess a simile of her own earnest endeavor to inculcate knowledge into her indif- ferent classes. yes, it was like that; a few of the ideas which she tried to put into the minds behind ic n- quicks and waren those baffling ebony, bronze, and gold faces reached their destination. the others were left scattered about. and, like the gay, indifferent wastebasket, it wasn't their fault. no, it wasn't the fault of those minds back of the diverse colored faces. it was, rather, the fault of the method, the general idea behind the system. like her own hurried shot at the basket, the aim was bad, the material drab and badly pre- pared for its purpose. this great community, she thought, was no longer a school. it had grown into a ma- chine. it was now a show place in the black belt, exemplification of the white man's magnanim. ity, refutation of the black man's inefficiency. chile life had died out of it. it was, helga decided, now only a big knife with cruelly sharp edges ? ruthlessly cutting all to a pattern, the white man's pattern. teachers as well as students were subjected to the paring process, for it tol- erated no innovations, no individualisms. ideas it rejected, and looked with open hostility on sban fficiency. criticija еdgеѕ impr : white (..! see quick sand w one and all who had the temerity to offer a sug- gestion or ever so mildly express a disapproval. enthusiasm, spontaneity, if not actually sup- pressed, were at least openly regretted as unladylike or ungentlemanly qualities. the place was smug and fat with self-satisfaction. a peculiar characteristic trait, cold, slowly accumulated unreason in which all values were distorted or else ceased to exist, had with surprising ferociousness shaken the bulwarks of that self-restraint which was also, curiously, a part of her nature. and now that it had waned as quickly as it had risen, she smiled again, and this time the smile held a faint amusement, which wiped away the little hardness which had congealed her lovely face. nevertheless she was nyx soothed by the impetuous discharge of violence, and a sigh of relief came from her. she said aloud, quietly, dispassionately: "well, i'm through with that,” and, shutting off the hard, bright blaze of the overhead lights, went back to her chair and settled down ΙΟ een for months fighting cepat. w nella moncler it hat the adrian yum. anusiplaced un- ithe quicks and with an odd gesture of sudden soft collapse, like a person who had been for months fighting the devil and then unexpectedly had turned u p round and agreed to do his bidding. w eniem, helga crane had taught in naxos for the almost two years, at first with the keen joy ola' and zest of those immature people who have beetle! dreamed dreams of doing good to their fellow umykieli men. but gradually this zest was blotted out, ". giving place to a deep hatred for the trivial - !!! hypocrisies and careless cruelties which were, unintentionally perhaps, a part of the naxos policy of uplift. yet she had continued to try not only to teach, but to befriend those happy? singing children, whose charm and distinctive- ness the school was so surely ready to destroy. instinctively helga was aware that their smil- ing submissiveness covered many poignant heartaches and perhaps much secret contempt for their instructors. but she was powerless. in naxos between teacher and student, between condescending authority and smoldering re- berita t nes i nity submissive dynamics of qunnin are promjenest as us hati quicks and grid sentment, the gulf was too great, and too few had tried to cross it. it couldn't be spanned by one sympathetic teacher. it was useless to offer her atom of friendship, which under the exist- ing conditions was neither wanted nor under- stood. wondering of nayos nor was the general atmosphere of naxos, its air of self-rightness and intolerant dislike of difference, the best of mediums for a pretty, solitary girl with no family connections. helga's essentially likable and charming per- sonality was smudged out. she had felt this for a long time. now she faced with determination that other truth which she had refused to for- mulate in her thoughts, the fact that she was ut. terly unfitted for teaching, even for mere exist- ence, in naxos. she was a failure here. she had, she conceded now, been silly, obstinate, to per- sist for so long. a failure. therefore, no need, no use, to stay longer. suddenly she longed for immediate departure. how good, she thought, to go now, tonight i-and frowned to remem- i quicks and ber how impossible that would be. "the digni- taries,” she said, "are not in their offices, and there will be yards and yards of red tape to un- wind, gigantic, impressive spools of it.” and there was james vayle to be told, and much-needed money to be got. james, she decided, had better be told at once. she looked at the clock racing indifferently on. no, too late. it would have to be tomorrow. she hated to admit that money was the most serious difficulty. knowing full well that it was important, she nevertheless rebelled at the unalterable truth that it could influence her ac- tions, block her desires. a sordid necessity to be grappled with. with helga it was almost a superstition that to concede to money its im- portance magnified its power. still, in spite of her reluctance and distaste, her financial situa- tion would have to be faced, and plans made, if she were to get away from naxos with anything like the haste which she now so ardently de- sired. ws quicks and most of her earnings had gone into clothes, into books, into the furnishings of the room which held her. all her life helga crane had loved and longed for nice things. indeed, it was this craving, this urge for beauty which had helped to bring her into disfavor in naxos—"pride” and “vanity" her detractors called it. the sum owing to her by the school would just a little more than buy her ticket back to chicago. it was too near the end of the school term to hope to get teaching-work any- where. if she couldn't find something else, she would have to ask uncle peter for a loan. uncle peter was, she knew, the one relative who thought kindly, or even calmly, of her. her step-father, her step-brothers and sisters, and the numerous cousins, aunts, and other uncles could not be even remotely considered. she laughed a little, scornfully, reflecting that the antagonism was mutual, or, perhaps, just a trifle keener on her side than on theirs. they quicks and feared and hated her. she pitied and despised them. uncle peter was different. in his con- temptuous way he was fond of her. her beauti- ful, unhappy mother had been his favorite sis- ter. even so, helga crane knew that he would be more likely to help her because her need would strengthen his oft-repeated conviction that because of her negro blood she would never amount to anything, than from motives of affection or loving memory. this knowledge, in its present aspect of truth, irritated her to an astonishing degree. she regarded uncle peter almost vindictively, although always he had been extraordinarily generous with her and she fully intended to ask his assistance. “a beggar,” she thought ruefully, "cannot expect to choose.” returning to james vayle, her thoughts took on the frigidity of complete determination. her resolution to end her stay in naxos would of course inevitably end her engagement to james. she had been engaged to him since her first semester there, when both had been new quicks and workers, and both were lonely. together they had discussed their work and problems in ad- justment, and had drifted into a closer rela- tionship. bitterly she reflected that james had speedily and with entire ease fitted into his niche. he was now completely "naturalized,” as they used laughingly to call it. helga, on the other hand, had never quite achieved the unmis- takable naxos mold, would never achieve it, in spite of much trying. she could neither con... sene form, nor be happy in her unconformity. this she saw clearly now, and with cold anger at all the past futile effort. what a wastel how pa- thetically she had struggled in those first months and with what small success. a lack somewhere. always she had considered it a lack of understanding on the part of the com- munity, but in her present new revolt she re- alized that the fault had been partly hers. a lack of acquiescence. she hadn't really wanted to be made over. this thought bred a sense of henne to have to bickare quicks and shame, a feeling of ironical disillusion. evi- dently there were parts of her she couldn't be proud of. the revealing picture of her past striving was too humiliating. it was as if she had deliberately planned to steal an ugly thing, for which she had no desire, and had been found out. ironically she visualized the discomfort of james vayle. how her maladjustment had bothered him! she had a faint notion that it was behind his ready assent to her suggestion anent a longer engagement than, originally, they had planned. he was liked and approved of in naxos and loathed the idea that the girl he was to marry couldn't manage to win liking and approval also. instinctively helga had known that secretly he had placed the blame upon her. how right he had been! certainly his attitude had gradually changed, though he still gave her his attentions. naxos pleased him and he had become content with life as it was lived there. quicks and no longer lonely, he was now one of the com- munity and so beyond the need or the desire to discuss its affairs and its failings with an out- sider. she was, she knew, in a queer indefinite way, a disturbing factor. she knew too that a something held him, a something against which he was powerless. the idea that she was in but one nameless way necessary to him filled her with a sensation amounting almost to shame. and yet his mute helplessness against that an- cient appeal by which she held him pleased her and fed her vanity—gave her a feeling of power. at the same time she shrank away from it, subtly aware of possibilities she herself couldn't predict. helga's own feelings defeated inquiry, but honestly confronted, all pretense brushed aside, the dominant one, she suspected, was relief. at least, she felt no regret that tomor- row would mark the end of any claim she had upon him. the surety that the meeting would i quick sand be a clash annoyed her, for she had no talent for quarreling—when possible she preferred to flee. that was all. the family of james vayle, in near-by atlanta, would be glad. they had never liked the engagement, had never liked helga crane. her own lack of family disconcerted them. no family. that was the crux of the whole matter. for helga, it accounted for everything, her failure here in naxos, her former loneliness in nashville. it even accounted for her engage- ment to james. negro society, she had learned, was as complicated. and as rigid in its ramifica- tions as the highest strata of white society. if you couldn't prove your ancestry and connec- tions, you were tolerated, but you didn't "be- long." you could be queer, or even attractive, or bad, or brilliant, or even love beauty and such nonsense if you were a rankin, or a les- lie, or a scoville; in other words, if you had a family. but if you were just plain helga crane, quicks and ous of whom nobody had ever heard, it was pre- sumptuous of you to be anything but inconspicu- ous and conformable. to relinquish james vayle would most certainly be social suicide, for the vayles were people of consequence. the fact that they were a "first family' had been one of james's at- tractions for the obscure helga. she had wanted social background, but-she had not imagined that it could be so stuffy. she made a quick movement of impa- tience and stood up. as she did so, the room whirled about her in an impish, hateful way. familiar objects seemed suddenly unhappily distant. faintness closed about her like a vise. she swayed, her small, slender hands gripping the chair arms for support. in a moment the faintness receded, leaving in its wake a sharp resentment at the trick which her strained nerves had played upon her. and after a mo- ment's rest she got hurriedly into bed, leaving her room disorderly for the first time. . ii quicks and books and papers scattered about the floor, fragile stockings and underthings and the startling green and gold negligee dripping about on chairs and stool, met the encounter of the amazed eyes of the girl who came in the morn- ing to awaken helga crane. i quicks and two as she woke in the morning unrefreshed and with that feeling of half-terrified apprehension peculiar to christmas and birthday mornings. a long moment she lay puzzling under the sun streaming in a golden flow through the yellow curtains. then her mind returned to the night before. she had decided to leave naxos. that was it. sharply she began to probe her deci- sion. reviewing the situation carefully, frankly, she felt no wish to change her resolution. ex- cept—that it would be inconvenient. much as she wanted to shake the dust of the place from her feet forever, she realized that there would be difficulties. red tape. james vayle. money, other work. regretfully she was forced to ac- knowledge that it would be vastly better to wait until june, the close of the school year. not so quicks and asa ht, . !! long, really. half of march, april, may, some of june. surely she could endure for that much longer conditions which she had borne for nearly two years. by an effort of will, her will, it could be done. but this reflection, sensible, expedient, though it was, did not reconcile her. to remain !!!! seemed too hard. could she do it? was it pos- sible in the present rebellious state of her feel. ings? the uneasy sense of being engaged with some formidable antagonist, nameless and un- understood, startled her. it wasn't, she was sud- denly aware, merely the school and its ways and its decorous stupid people that oppressed her. there was something else, some other more ruthless force, a quality within herself, which was frustrating her, had always frustrated her, kept her from getting the things she had wanted. still wanted. but just what did she want? barring a desire for material security, gracious ways of living, a profusion of lovely clothes, and a quicks and goodly share of envious admiration, helga crane didn't know, couldn't tell. but there was, she knew, something else. happiness, she sup- posed. whatever that might be. what, exactly, she wondered, was happiness. very positively she wanted it. yet her conception of it had no tangibility. she couldn't define it, isolate it, and contemplate it as she could some other abstract things. hatred, for instance. or kindness. the strident ringing of a bell some- where in the building brought back the fierce resentment of the night. it crystallized her wavering determination. from long habit her biscuit-coloured feet had slipped mechanically out from under the covers at the bell's first unkind jangle. leisurely she drew them back and her cold anger vanished as she decided that, now, it didn't at all matter if she failed to appear at the monotonous distasteful breakfast which was provided for her by the school as part of her wages. quicks and in the corridor beyond her door was a medley of noises incident to the rising and pre- paring for the day at the same hour of many schoolgirls—foolish giggling, indistinguishable snatches of merry conversation, distant gurgle of running water, patter of slippered feet, low- pitched singing, good-natured admonitions to hurry, slamming of doors, clatter of various un- namable articles, and—suddenly—calamitous silence. helga ducked her head under the covers in the vain attempt to shut out what she knew would fill the pregnant silence—the sharp sar- castic voice of the dormitory matron. it came. “well! even if every last one of you did come from homes where you'weren't taught any manners, you might at least try to pretend that you're capable of learning some here, now that you have the opportunity. who slammed the shower-baths door?” silence. "well, you needn't trouble to answer. quicks and it's rude, as all of you know. but it's just as well, because none of you can tell the truth. now hurry up. don't let me hear of a single one of you being late for breakfast. if i do there'll be extra work for everybody on satur- day. and please at least try to act like ladies and not like savages from the backwoods." on her side of the door, helga was wondering if it had ever occurred to the lean and desiccated miss macgooden that most of her charges had actually come from the back- woods. quite recently too. miss macgooden, humorless, prim, ugly, with a face like dried leather, prided herself on being a "lady" from one of the best families—an uncle had been a congressman in the period of the reconstruc- tion. she was therefore, helga crane reflected, perhaps unable to perceive that the inducement to act like a lady, her own acrimonious example, was slight, if not altogether negative. and thinking on miss macgooden's "ladyness," helga grinned a little as she remembered that quicks and one's expressed reason for never having mar- ried, or intending to marry. there were, so she had been given to understand, things in the matrimonial state that were of necessity en- entirely too repulsive for a lady of delicate and sensitive nature to submit to. soon the forcibly shut-off noises began to be heard again, as the evidently vanishing image of miss macgooden evaporated from the short memories of the ladies-in-making. preparations for the intake of the day's quota of learning went on again. almost naturally. "so much for that!” said helga, getting herself out of bed. she walked to the window and stood looking down into the great quadrangle below, at the multitude of students streaming from the six big dormitories which, two each, flanked three of its sides, and assembling into neat pha- lanxes preparatory to marching in military or- der to the sorry breakfast in jones hall on the fourth side. here and there a male member of quick sand the faculty, important and resplendent in the regalia of an army officer, would pause in his prancing or strutting, to jerk a negligent or offending student into the proper attitude or place. the massed phalanxes increased in size and number, blotting out pavements, bare earth, and grass. and about it all was a de- pressing silence, a sullenness almost, until with a horrible abruptness the waiting band blared into “the star spangled banner.” the goose- step began. left, right. left, right. forward! march! the automatons moved. the squares disintegrated into fours. into twos. disap- peared into the gaping doors of jones hall. after the last pair of marchers had entered, the huge doors were closed. a few unlucky late- comers, apparently already discouraged, tugged half-heartedly at the knobs, and finding, as they had evidently expected, that they were in- deed barred out, turned resignedly away. helga crane turned away from the window, a shadow dimming the pale amber quicks and loveliness of her face. seven o'clock it was now. at twelve those children who by some accident had been a little minute or two late would have their first meal after five hours of work and so- called education. discipline, it was called. there came a light knocking on her door. "come in," invited helga unenthusias- tically. the door opened to admit margaret creighton, another teacher in the english de- partment and to helga the most congenial member of the whole naxos faculty. margaret, she felt, appreciated her. seeing helga still in night robe seated on the bedside in a mass of cushions, idly dangling a mule across bare toes like one with all the time in the world before her, she ex- claimed in dismay: "helga crane, do you know what time it is ? why, it's long after half past seven. the students—". “yes, i know," said helga defiantly, "the students are coming out from breakfast, quicks and well, let them. i, for one, wish that there was some way that they could forever stay out from the poisonous stuff thrown at them, liter- ally thrown at them, margaret creighton, for food. poor things." margaret laughed. “that's just ridicu- lous sentiment, helga, and you know it. but you haven't had any breakfast, yourself. jim vayle asked if you were sick. of course nobody knew. you never tell anybody anything about yourself. i said i'd look in on you." "thanks awfully,” helga responded, indifferently. she was watching the sunlight dis- solve from thick orange into pale yellow. slowly it crept across the room, wiping out in its path the morning shadows. she wasn't in- terested in what the other was saying. "if you don't hurry, you'll be late to your first class. can i help you?" margaret offered uncertainly. she was a little afraid of helga. nearly everyone was. “no. thanks all the same.” then quicks and quickly in another, warmer tone: "i do mean it. thanks, a thousand times, margaret. i'm really awfully grateful, but—you see, it's like this, i'm not going to be late to my class. i'm not going to be there at all.”. · the visiting girl, standing in relief, like old walnut against the buff-colored wall, darted a quick glance at helga. plainly she was curi- ous. but she only said formally: "oh, then you are sick.” for something there was about helga which discouraged questionings. no, helga' wasn't sick. not physically. she was merely disgusted. fed up with naxos. if that could be called sickness. the truth was that she had made up her mind to leave. that very day. she could no longer abide being con- nected with a place of shame, lies, hypocrisy, cruelty, servility, and snobbishness. "it ought,” she concluded, "to be shut down by law." “but, helga, you can't go now. not in the middle of the term.” the kindly margaret was distressed. quicks and porter dynamics “but i can. and i am. today." "they'll never let you,” prophesied margaret. "they can't stop me. trains leave here for civilization every day. all that's needed is money,” helga pointed out. “yes, of course. everybody knows that. mil what i mean is that you'll only hurt yourself in your profession. they won't give you a ref- erence if you jump up and leave like this now. at this time of the year. you'll be put on the black list. and you'll find it hard to get another teaching-job. naxos has enormous influence in the south. better wait till school closes.” "heaven forbid," answered helga fer- vently, "that i should ever again want work anywhere in the south! i hate it.” and fell silent, wondering for the hundredth time just what form of vanity it was that had induced an intelligent girl like margaret creighton to turn what was probably nice live crinkly hair, perfectly suited to her smooth dark skin and - (klist quicks and agreeable round features, into a dead straight, greasy, ugly mass. looking up from her watch, margaret said: "well, i've really got to run, or i'll be late myself. and since i'm staying— better think it over, helga. there's no place like naxos, you know. pretty good salaries, decent rooms, plenty of men, and all that. ta-ta.” the door slid to behind her. but in another moment it opened. she was back. “i do wish you'd stay. it's nice having you here, helga. we all think so. even the dead ones. we need a few decorations to brighten our sad lives.” and again she was gone. helga was unmoved. she was no longer concerned with what anyone in naxos might think of her, for she was now in love with the piquancy of leaving. automatically her fingers adjusted the chinese-looking pillows on the low couch that served for her bed. her mind was busy with plans for departure. packing, money, trains, and could she get a berth? . quick sand three vas c on one side of the long, white, hot sand road that split the flat green, there was a little shade, for it was bordered with trees. helga crane walked there so that the sun could not so easily get at her. as she went slowly across the empty campus she was conscious of a vague tenderness for the scene spread out before her. it was so incredibly lovely, so appealing, and so facile. the trees in their spring beauty sent through her restive mind a sharp thrill of pleas- ure. seductive, charming, and beckoning as cities were, they had not this easy unhuman loveliness. the trees, she thought, on city ave- nues and boulevards, in city parks and gardens, were tamed, held prisoners in a surrounding maze of human beings. here they were free. it was human beings who were prisoners. it was too bad. in the midst of all this radiant oldini poser w quicks and life. they weren't, she knew, even conscious of its presence. perhaps there was too much of it, and therefore it was less than nothing. in response to her insistent demand she had been told that dr. anderson could give her twenty minutes at eleven o'clock. well, she supposed that she could say all that she had to say in twenty minutes, though she resented being limited. twenty minutes. in naxos, she was as unimportant as that. he was a new man, this principal, for whom helga remembered feeling unaccountably sorry, when last september he had first been appointed to naxos as its head. for some reason she had liked him, although she had seen little of him; he was so frequently away on publicity and money-raising tours. and as yet he had made but few and slight changes in the running of the school. now she was a little irritated at finding herself wondering just how she was going to tell him of her decision. what did it matter to him? why should she mind if quicks and it did? but there returned to her that indistinct sense of sympathy for the remote silent man with the tired gray eyes, and she wondered again by what fluke of fate such a man, ap- parently a humane and understanding person, had chanced into the command of this cruel educational machine. suddenly, her own resolve loomed as an almost direct unkindness. this in- creased her annoyance and discomfort. a sense of defeat, of being cheated of justification, closed down on her. absurd! she arrived at the administration build- ing in a mild rage, as unreasonable as it was futile, but once inside she had a sudden attack of nerves at the prospect of traversing that great outer room which was the workplace of some twenty odd people. this was a disease from which helga had suffered at intervals all her life, and it was a point of honor, almost, with her never to give way to it. so, instead of turning away, as she felt inclined, she walked on, outwardly indifferent. half-way quick sand down the long aisle which divided the room, the principal's secretary, a huge black man, surged toward her. "good-morning, miss crane, dr. an- derson will see you in a few moments. sit down right here." she felt the inquiry in the shuttered eyes. for some reason this dissipated her self-con- sciousness and restored her poise. thanking him, she seated herself, really careless now of the glances of the stenographers, book-keepers, clerks. their curiosity and slightly veiled hos- tility no longer touched her. her coming de- parture had released her from the need for conciliation which had irked her for so long. it was pleasant to helga crane to be able to sit calmly looking out of the window on to the smooth lawn, where a few leaves quite prema- turely fallen dotted the grass, for once uncaring whether the frock which she wore roused dis- approval or envy. turning from the window, her gaze ze quick sand a wandered contemptuously over the dull attire of the women workers. drab colors, mostly navy blue, black, brown, unrelieved, save for a scrap of white or tan about the hands and necks. fragments of a speech made by the dean of women floated through her thoughts—“bright colors are vulgar”—“black, gray, brown, and navy blue are the most becoming colors for colored people”—“dark-complected people shouldn't wear yellow, or green or red."- the dean was a woman from one of the "first families”—a great “race" woman; she, helga crane, a despised mulatto, but something intui- tive, some unanalyzed driving spirit of loyalty to the inherent racial need for gorgeousness told her that bright colours were fitting and that dark-complexioned people should wear yel- low, green, and red. black, brown, and gray were ruinous to them, actually destroyed the luminous tones lurking in their dusky skins. one of the loveliest sights helga had ever seen had been a sooty black girl decked out in a flam- quicks and ing orange dress, which a horrified matron had next day consigned to the dyer. why, she won- dered, didn't someone write a plea for color? these people yapped loudly of race, of race consciousness, of race pride, and yet sup- pressed its most delightful manifestations, love of color, joy of rhythmic motion, naïve, spon- taneous laughter. harmony, radiance, and sim- plicity, all the essentials of spiritual beauty in the race they had marked for destruction. she came back to her own problems. clothes had been one of her difficulties in naxos. helga crane loved clothes, elaborate ones. nevertheless, she had tried not to offend. but with small success, for, although she had affected the deceptively simple variety, the hawk eyes of dean and matrons had detected the subtle difference from their own irre- proachably conventional garments. too, they felt that the colors were queer; dark purples, royal blues, rich greens, deep reds, in soft, luxurious woolens, or heavy, clinging silks. and : quicks and is & ney the trimmings—when helga used them at all -seemed to them odd. old laces, strange em- broideries, dim brocades. her faultless, slim shoes made them uncomfortable and her small plain hats seemed to them positively indecent. helga smiled inwardly at the thought that whenever there was an evening affair for the faculty, the dear ladies probably held their breaths until she had made her appearance. they existed in constant fear that she might turn out in an evening dress. the proper eve- ning wear in naxos was afternoon attire. and one could, if one wished, garnish the hair with flowers. quick, muted footfalls sounded. the secretary had returned. "dr. anderson will see you now, miss crane." she rose, followed, and was ushered into the guarded sanctum, without having de- cided just what she was to say. for a moment she felt behind her the open doorway and then quick sand, the gentle impact of its closing. before her at a great desk her eyes picked out the figure of a man, at first blurred slightly in outline in that dimmer light. at his “miss crane ?” her lips formed for speech, but no sound came. she was aware of inward confusion. for her the situation seemed charged, unaccountably, with strangeness and something very like hysteria. an almost overpowering desire to laugh seized her. then, miraculously, a complete ease, such as she had never known in naxos, possessed her. she smiled, nodded in answer to his ques- salutation, and with a gracious “thank you” dropped into the chair which he indicated. she looked at him frankly now, this man still young, thirty-five perhaps, and found it easy to go on in the vein of a simple statement. "dr. anderson, i'm sorry to have to confess that i've failed in my job here. i've made up my mind to leave. today.” a short, almost imperceptible silence, then a deep voice of peculiarly pleasing reso- quick sand nance, asking gently: “you don't like naxos, miss crane?" she evaded. “naxos, the place? yes, i like it. who wouldn't like it? it's so beauti- ful. but —well—i don't seem to fit here." the man smiled, just a little. “the school? you don't like the school?" the words burst from her. "no, i don't like it. i hate it !". “why?” the question was detached, too detached. in the girl blazed a desire to wound. there he sat, staring dreamily out of the win- dow, blatantly unconcerned with her or her an- swer. well, she'd tell him. she pronounced each word with deliberate slowness. "well, for one thing, i hate hypocrisy. i hate cruelty to students, and to teachers who can't fight back. i hate backbiting, and sneak- ing, and petty jealousy. naxos ? it's hardly a place at all. it's more like some loathsome, venomous disease. ugh! everybody spending quicks and his time in a malicious hunting for the weak- nesses of others, spying, grudging, scratching." "i see. and you don't think it might help to cure us, to have someone who doesn't approve of these things stay with us? even just one person, miss crane ?”. she wondered if this last was irony. she suspected it was humor and so ignored the half- pleading note in his voice. “no, i don't! it doesn't do the disease any good. only irritates it. and it makes me unhappy, dissatisfied. it isn't pleasant to be al- ways made to appear in the wrong, even when i know i'm right.” his gaze was on her now, searching. "queer,” she thought, “how some brown people have gray eyes. gives them a strange, unex- pected appearance. a little frightening." the man said, kindly: "ah, you're un- happy. and for the reasons you've stated ?” “yes, partly. then, too, the people here don't like me. they don't think i'm in the spirit quicks and of the work. and i'm not, not if it means sup- pression of individuality and beauty." “and does it?" "well, it seems to work out that way.” “how old are you, miss crane ?" she resented this, but she told him, speaking with what curtness she could command only the bare figure: "twenty-three." "twenty-three. i see. some day you'll learn that lies, injustice, and hypocrisy are a part of every ordinary community. most people achieve a sort of protective immunity, a kind of callousness, toward them. if they didn't, they couldn't endure. i think there's less of these evils here than in most places, but because we're trying to do such a big thing, to aim so high, the ugly things show more, they irk some of us more. service is like clean white linen, even the tiniest speck shows.” he went on, explaining, amplifying, pleading. helga crane was silent, feeling a mys- tifying yearning which sang and throbbed in quicks and her. she felt again that urge for service, not now for her people, but for this man who was talking so earnestly of his work, his plans, his hopes. an insistent need to be a part of them sprang in her. with compunction tweaking at her heart for even having entertained the no- tion of deserting him, she resolved not only to remain until june, but to return next year. she was shamed, yet stirred. it was not sacrifice she felt now, but actual desire to stay, and to come back next year. he came, at last, to the end of the long speech, only part of which she had heard. “you see, you understand ?” he urged. “yes, oh yes, i do." “what we need is more people like you, people with a sense of values, and proportion, an appreciation of the rarer things of life. you have something to give which we badly need here in naxos. you mustn't desert us, miss crane." she nodded, silent. he had won her. she quick sand knew that she would stay. “it's an elusive some- thing," he went on. "perhaps i can best explain it by the use of that trite phrase, 'you're a lady.' you have dignity and breeding." at these words turmoil rose again in helga crane. the intricate pattern of the rug which she had been studying escaped her. the shamed feeling which had been her penance evaporated. only a lacerated pride remained. she took firm hold of the chair arms to still the trembling of her fingers. "if you're speaking of family, dr. an- derson, why, i haven't any. i was born in a chicago slum." the man chose his words, carefully he thought. “that doesn't at all matter, miss crane. financial, economic circumstances can't destroy tendencies inherited from good stock. you yourself prove that!” concerned with her own angry thoughts, which scurried here and there like trapped rats, helga missed the import of his words. quicks and her own words, her answer, fell like drops of hail. “the joke is on you, dr. anderson. my father was a gambler who deserted my mother, a white immigrant. it is even uncertain that they were married. as i said at first, i don't be- long here. i shall be leaving at once. this after- noon. good-morning." quicks and four long, soft white clouds, clouds like shreds of incredibly fine cotton, streaked the blue of the early evening sky. over the aying landscape hung a very faint mist, disturbed now and then by a languid breeze. but no coolness invaded the heat of the train rushing north. the open windows of the stuffy day coach, where helga crane sat with others of her race, seemed only to intensify her discomfort. her head ached with a steady pounding pain. this, added to her wounds of the spirit, made traveling some- thing little short of a medieval torture. desper- ately she was trying to right the confusion in her mind. the temper of the morning's inter- view rose before her like an ugly mutilated creature crawling horribly over the flying landscape of her thoughts. it was no use. the ugly thing pressed down on her, held her, quicks and leaning back, she tried to doze as others were doing. the futility of her effort exasperated her. just what had happened to her there in that cool dim room under the quizzical gaze of those piercing gray eyes ? whatever it was had been so powerful, so compelling, that but for a few chance words she would still be in naxos. and why had she permitted herself to be jolted into a rage so fierce, so illogical, so disastrous, that now after it was spent she sat despondent, sunk in shameful contrition? as she reviewed the manner of her departure from his presence, it seemed increasingly rude. she didn't, she told herself, after all, like this dr. anderson. he was too controlled, too sure of himself and others. she detested cool, perfectly controlled people. well, it didn't matter. he didn't matter. but she could not put him from her mind. she set it down to annoy- ance because of the cold discourtesy of her ab- rupt action. she disliked rudeness in anyone. quicks and she had outraged her own pride, and she had terribly wronged her mother by her in- sidious implication. why? her thoughts lin- gered with her mother, long dead. a fair scan- dinavian girl in love with life, with love, with passion, dreaming, and risking all in one blind surrender. a cruel sacrifice. in forgetting all but love she had forgotten, or had perhaps never known, that some things the world never for- gives. but as helga knew, she had remem- bered, or had learned in suffering and longing all the rest of her life. her daughter hoped she had been happy, happy beyond most human creatures, in the little time it had lasted, the little time before that gay suave scoundrel, helga's father, had left her. but helga crane doubted it. how could she have been? a girl gently bred, fresh from an older, more polished civilization, flung into poverty, sordidness, and dissipation. she visualized her now, sad, cold, and—yes, remote. the tragic cruelties of the a ve quick sand years had left her a little pathetic, a little hard, and a little unapproachable. that second marriage, to a man of her own race, but not of her own kind—so pas- sionately, so instinctively resented by helga even at the trivial age of six-she now under- stood as a grievous necessity. even foolish, despised women must have food and clothing; even unloved little negro girls must be some- how provided for. memory, flown back to those years following the marriage, dealt her torturing stabs. before her rose the pictures of her mother's careful management to avoid those ugly scarifying quarrels which even at this far-off time caused an uncontrollable shudder, her own childish self-effacement, the savage unkindness of her stepbrothers and sisters, and the jealous, malicious hatred of her mother's husband. summers, winters, years, passing in one long, changeless stretch of aching misery of soul. her mother's death, when helga was quicks and fifteen. her rescue by uncle peter, who had sent her to school, a school for negroes, where for the first time she could breathe freely, where she discovered that because one was dark, one was not necessarily loathsome, and could, therefore, consider oneself without re- pulsion. six years. she had been happy there, as happy as a child unused to happiness dared be. there had been always a feeling of strangeness, vof outsideness, and one of holding her breath for fear that it wouldn't last. it hadn't. it had dwindled gradually into eclipse of painful iso- lation. as she grew older, she became gradually aware of a difference between herself and the girls about her. they had mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters of whom they spoke fre- quently, and who sometimes visited them. they went home for the vacations which helga spent in the city where the school was located. they visited each other and knew many of the same people. discontent for which there was no rem- quick sand edy crept upon her, and she was glad almost when these most peaceful years which she had yet known came to their end. she had been happier, but still horribly lonely. she had looked forward with pleasant expectancy to working in naxos when the chance came. and now this! what was it that stood in her way? helga crane couldn't explain it, put a name to it. she had tried in the early afternoon in her gentle but staccato talk with james vayle. even to herself her explanation had sounded inane and insufficient; no wonder james had been impatient and unbelieving. dur- ing their brief and unsatisfactory conversation she had had an odd feeling that he felt some- how cheated. and more than once she had been aware of a suggestion of suspicion in his atti- tude, a feeling that he was being duped, that he suspected her of some hidden purpose which he was attempting to discover. well, that was over. she would never be married to james vayle now. it flashed quicks and upon her that, even had she remained in naxos, she would never have been married to him. she couldn't have married him. gradu- ally, too, there stole into her thoughts of him a curious sensation of repugnance, for which shem was at a loss to account. it was new, something unfelt before. certainly she had never loved him overwhelmingly, not, for example, as her mother must have loved her father, but she had liked him, and she had expected to love him, after their marriage. people generally did love then, she imagined. no, she had not loved james, but she had wanted to. acute nausea rose in her as she recalled the slight quivering of his lips sometimes when her hands had unex- pectedly touched his; the throbbing vein in his forehead on a gay day when they had wan- dered off alone across the low hills and she had allowed him frequent kisses under the shelter of some low-hanging willows. now she shiv- ered a little, even in the hot train, as if she had suddenly come out from a warm scented place quicks and into cool, clear air. she must have been mad, she thought; but she couldn't tell why she thought so. this, too, bothered her. laughing conversation buzzed about her. across the aisle a bronze baby, with bright staring eyes, began a fretful whining, which its young mother essayed to silence by a low droning croon. in the seat just beyond, a black and tan young pair were absorbed in the eating of a cold fried chicken, audibly crunch- ing the ends of the crisp, browned bones. a lit- tle distance away a tired laborer slept noisily. near him two children dropped the peelings of oranges and bananas on the already soiled floor. the smell of stale food and ancient tobacco irritated helga like a physical pain. a man, a white man, strode through the packed car and spat twice, once in the exact centre of the dingy door panel, and once into the receptacle which held the drinking-water. instantly helga be- came aware of stinging thirst. her eyes sought the small watch at her wrist. ten hours to chi- quick sand her as unsucces cago. would she be lucky enough to prevail upon the conductor to let her occupy a berth, or would she have to remain here all night, without sleep, without food, without drink, and with that disgusting door panel to which her purposely averted eyes were constantly, invol- untarily straying ? r first effort was unsuccessful. an ill-natured "no, you know you can't," was the answer to her inquiry. but farther on along the road, there was a change of men. her rebuff had made her reluctant to try again, but the entry of a farmer carrying a basket containing live chickens, which he deposited on the seat "(the only vacant one) beside her, strength- ened her weakened courage. timidly, she ap- proached the new conductor, an elderly gray- mustached man of pleasant appearance, who subjected her to a keen, appraising look, and then promised to see what could be done. she thanked him, gratefully, and went back to her shared seat, to wait anxiously. after half an an quicks and hour he returned, saying he could "fix her up,” there was a section she could have, adding: “it'll cost you ten dollars.” she murmured: "all right. thank you.” it was twice the price, and she needed every penny, but she knew she was fortunate to get it even at that, and so was very thankful, as she followed his tall, loping figure out of that car and through seemingly endless others, and at last into one where she could rest a little. she undressed and lay down, her thoughts still busy with the morning's encoun- ter. why hadn't she grasped his meaning? why, if she had said so much, hadn't she said more about herself and her mother? he would, she was sure, have understood, even sympa- thized. why had she lost her temper and given way to angry half-truths ?— angry half- truths- angry half- quicksan d five gray chicago seethed, surged, and scurried about her. helga shivered a little, drawing her light coat closer. she had forgotten how cold march could be under the pale skies of the north. but she liked it, this blustering wind. she would even have welcomed snow, for it would more clearly have marked the contrast between this freedom and the cage which naxos had been to her. not but what it was marked plainly enough by the noise, the dash, the crowds. helga crane, who had been born in this dirty, mad, hurrying city, had no home here. she had not even any friends here. it would have to be, she decided, the young women's christian association. “oh dear! the uplift. poor, poor colored people. well, no use stew- ing about it. i'll get a taxi to take me out, bag quicks a n d and baggage, 'then i'll have a hot bath and a really good meal, peep into the shops—mustn't buy anything and then for uncle peter. guess i won't phone. more effective if i surprise him." it was late, very late, almost evening, when finally helga turned her steps northward, in the direction of uncle peter's home. she had put it off as long as she could, for she detested her errand. the fact that that one day had shown her its acute necessity did not decrease her distaste. as she approached the north side, the distaste grew. arrived at last at the familiar door of the old stone house, her confidence in uncle peter's welcome deserted her. she gave the bell a timid push and then de- cided to turn away, to go back to her room and phone, or, better yet, to write. but before she could retreat, the door was opened by a strange red-faced maid, dressed primly in black and white. this increased helga's mistrust. where, she wondered, was the ancient rose, who had, quicks and ever since she could remember, served her uncle. the hostile "well?” of this new sery- ant forcibly recalled the reason for her pres- ence there. she said firmly: "mr. nilssen, please.” "mr. nilssen's not in,” was the pert retort. “will you see mrs. nilssen ?”. helga was startled. “mrs. nilssen! i beg your pardon, did you say mrs. nilssen ?" "i did," answered the maid shortly, be- ginning to close the door. “what is it, ida ?” a woman's soft voice sounded from within. "someone for mr. nilssen, m'am.” the girl looked embarrassed. in helga's face the blood rose in a deep-red stain. she explained: “helga crane, his niece." "she says she's his niece, m'am.” "well, have her come in." there was no escape. she stood in the sc quicks and large reception hall, and was annoyed to find herself actually trembling. a woman, tall, ex- quisitely gowned, with shining gray hair piled high, came forward murmuring in a puzzled voice: "his niece, did you say?". “yes, helga crane. my mother was his sister, karen nilssen. i've been away. i didn't know uncle peter had married.” sensitive to atmosphere, helga had felt at once the latent antagonism in the woman's manner. "oh, yes! i remember about you now. i'd forgotten for a moment. well, he isn't ex- actly your uncle, is he? your mother wasn't married, was she? i mean, to your father?” "i—i don't know,” stammered the girl, feeling pushed down to the uttermost depths of ignominy. “of course she wasn't.” the clear, low voice held a positive note. “mr. nilssen has been very kind to you, supported you, sent you to school. but you mustn't expect anything else. and you mustn't come here any more. it- mar quicks and well, frankly, it isn't convenient. i'm sure an intelligent girl like yourself can understand that.” “of course,” helga agreed, coldly, freezingly, but her lips quivered. she wanted to get away as quickly as possible. she reached the door. there was a second of complete silence, then mrs. nilssen's voice, a little agi- tated: “and please remember that my husband is not your uncle. no indeed! why, that, that would make me your aunt! he's not—". but at last the knob had turned in helga's fumbling hand. she gave a little un- premeditated laugh and slipped out. when she was in the street, she ran. her only impulse was to get as far away from her uncle's house, and this woman, his wife, who so plainly wished to dissociate herself from the outrage of her very existence. she was torn with mad fright, an emotion against which she knew but two weapons: to kick and scream, or to flee. the day had lengthened. it was evening quicks and and much colder, but helga crane was un- conscious of any change, so shaken she was and burning. the wind cut her like a knife, but she did not feel it. she ceased her frantic running, aware at last of the curious glances of passers- by. at one spot, for a moment less frequented than others, she stopped to give heed to her disordered appearance. here a man, well groomed and pleasant-spoken, accosted her. on such occasions she was wont to reply scath- ingly, but, tonight, his pale caucasian face struck her breaking faculties as too droll. laughing harshly, she threw at him the words: "you're not my uncle." he retired in haste, probably thinking her drunk, or possibly a little mad. night fell, while helga crane in the rushing swiftness of a roaring elevated train sat numb. it was as if all the bogies and goblins that had beset her unloved, unloving, and un- happy childhood had come to life with tenfold power to hurt and frighten. for the wound was quicks and deeper in that her long freedom from their presence had rendered her the more vulner- able. worst of all was the fact that under the stinging hurt she understood and sympathized with mrs. nilssen's point of view, as always she had been able to understand her mother's, her stepfather's, and his children's points of view. she saw herself for an obscene sore in all their lives, at all costs to be hidden. she under- stood, even while she resented. it would have been easier if she had not. later in the bare silence of her tiny room she remembered the unaccomplished ob- ject of her visit. money. characteristically, while admitting its necessity, and even its un- 'deniable desirability, she dismissed its impor- tance. its elusive quality she had as yet never known. she would find work of some kind. per- haps the library. the idea clung. yes, certainly the library. she knew books and loved them. she stood intently looking down into the glimmering street, far below, swarming quicks and with people, merging into little eddies and dis- engaging themselves to pursue their own indi- vidual ways. a few minutes later she stood in the doorway, drawn by an uncontrollable desire to mingle with the crowd. the purple sky showed tremulous clouds piled up, drifting here and there with a sort of endless lack of purpose. very like the myriad human beings pressing hurriedly on. looking at these, helga caught herself wondering who they were, what they did, and of what they thought. what was passing behind those dark molds of flesh. did they really think at all? yet, as she stepped out into the moving multi-colored crowd, there came to her a queer feeling of enthusiasm, as if she were tasting some agreeable, exotic food- sweetbreads, smothered with truffles and mush- rooms—perhaps. and, oddly enough, she felt, too, that she had come home. she, helga crane, who had no home. e . quicks and six helga woke to the sound of rain. the day was leaden gray, and misty black, and dullish white. she was not surprised, the night had promised it. she made a little frown, remem- bering that it was today that she was to search for work. she dressed herself carefully, in the plainest garments she possessed, a suit of fine blue twill faultlessly tailored, from whose left pocket peeped a gay kerchief, an unadorned, heavy silk blouse, a small, smart, fawn-colored hat, and slim, brown oxfords, and chose a brown umbrella. in a near-by street she sought out an appealing little restaurant, which she had noted in her last night's ramble through the neighborhood, for the thick cups and the queer dark silver of the young women's christian association distressed her. quick sand after a slight breakfast she made her way to the library, that ugly gray building, where was housed much knowledge and a lit- tle wisdom, on interminable shelves. the friendly person at the desk in the hall bestowed on her a kindly smile when helga stated her business and asked for directions. "the corridor to your left, then the sec- ond door to your right,” she was told. outside the indicated door, for half a second she hesitated, then braced herself and went in. in less than a quarter of an hour she came out, in surprised disappointment. "library training”—“civil service”—“library school" – "classification" "cataloguing” — “training class"—"examination”—“probation period”-aitted through her mind. "how erudite they must be!" she re- marked sarcastically to herself, and ignored the smiling curiosity of the desk person as she went through the hall to the street. for a long mo- ment she stood on the high stone steps above quicks and the avenue, then shrugged her shoulders and stepped down. it was a disappointment, but of course there were other things. she would find something else. but what? teaching, even sub- stitute teaching, was hopeless now, in march. she had no business training, and the shops didn't employ colored clerks or sales-people, not even the smaller ones. she couldn't sew, she couldn't cook. well, she could do housework, or wait on table, for a short time at least. un- til she got a little money together. with this thought she remembered that the young women's christian association maintained an employment agency. "of course, the very thing!” she ex- claimed, aloud. “i'll go straight back.” but, though the day was still drear, rain had ceased to fall, and helga, instead of re- turning, spent hours in aimless strolling about the hustling streets of the loop district. when at last she did retrace her steps, the business day had ended, and the employment office was quicks and sat scattered about on the long rows of chairs. some were plainly uninterested, others wore an air of acute expectancy, which disturbed helga. behind a desk two alert young women, both wearing a superior air, were busy writ- ing upon and filing countless white cards. now and then one stopped to answer the telephone. “y. w. c. a. employment. ... yes. ... spell it, please. . . . sleep in or out? thirty dollars ? ... thank you, i'll send one right over." : or, “i'm awfully sorry, we haven't anybody right now, but i'll send you the first one that comes in.” their manners were obtrusively busi- ness-like, but they ignored the already embar- rassed helga. diffidently she approached the desk. the darker of the two looked up and turned on a little smile. “yes ?” she inquired. "i wonder if you can help me? i want work," helga stated simply. quicks and “maybe. what kind ? have you refer- ences ?” helga explained. she was a teacher. a graduate of devon. had been teaching in naxos. the girl was not interested. “our kind of work wouldn't do for you," she kept repeat- ing at the end of each of helga's statements. “domestic mostly." when helga said that she was willing to accept work of any kind, a slight, almost im- perceptible change crept into her manner and her perfunctory smile disappeared. she re- peated her question about the reference. on learning that helga had none, she said sharply, finally: “i'm sorry, but we never send out help without references.” with a feeling that she had been slapped, helga crane hurried out. after some lunch she sought out an employment agency on state street. an hour passed in patient sitting. then came her turn to be interviewed. she' quicks and said, simply, that she wanted work, work of any kind. a competent young woman, whose eyes stared frog-like from great tortoise-shell- rimmed glasses, regarded her with an apprais- ing look and asked for her history, past and present, not forgetting the “references.” helga told her that she was a graduate of devon, had taught in naxos. but even before she ar- rived at the explanation of the lack of refer- ences, the other's interest in her had faded. "i'm sorry, but we have nothing that you would be interested in,” she said and mo- tioned to the next seeker, who immediately came forward, proffering several much worn papers. “references," thought helga, resent- fully, bitterly, as she went out the door into the crowded garish street in search of another agency, where her visit was equally vain. . days of this sort of thing. weeks of it. and of the futile scanning and answering of newspaper advertisements. she traversed acres quicks and of streets, but it seemed that in that whole en- ergetic place nobody wanted her services. at least not the kind that she offered. a few men, both white and black, offered her money, but the price of the money was too dear. helga crane did not feel inclined to pay it. she began to feel terrified and lost. and she was a little hungry too, for her small money was dwindling and she felt the need to econo- mize somehow. food was the easiest. in the midst of her search for work she felt horribly lonely too. this sense of loneli- ness increased, it grew to appalling propor- tions, encompassing her, shutting her off from all of life around her. devastated she was, and always on the verge of weeping. it made her feel small and insignificant that in all the climb- ing massed city no one cared one whit about her. helga crane was not religious. she took nothing on trust. nevertheless on sundays she attended the very fashionable, very high quicks and services in the negro episcopal church on michigan avenue. she hoped that some good christian would speak to her, invite her to re- turn, or inquire kindly if she was a stranger in the city. none did, and she became bitter, dis- trusting religion more than ever. she was her. self unconscious of that faint hint of offishness which hung about her and repelled advances, an arrogance that stirred in people a peculiar irritation. they noticed her, admired her clothes, but that was all, for the self-sufficient uninterested manner adopted instinctively as a protective measure for her acute sensitiveness, in her child days, still clung to her. an agitated feeling of disaster closed in on her, tightened. then, one afternoon, com- ing in from the discouraging round of agencies and the vain answering of newspaper wants to the stark neatness of her room, she found between door and sill a small folded note. spreading it open, she read: quicks and mis Ś crane: please come into the employment office as soon as you return. ida ross helga spent some time in the contem- plation of this note. she was afraid to hope. its possibilities made her feel a little hyster- ical. finally, after removing the dirt of the dusty streets, she went down, down to that room where she had first felt the smallness of her commercial value. subsequent failures had augmented her feeling of incompetence, but she resented the fact that these clerks were evi- dently aware of her unsuccess. it required all the pride and indifferent hauteur she could sum- mon to support her in their presence. her addi- tional arrogance passed unnoticed by those for whom it was assumed. they were interested only in the business for which they had sum- moned her, that of procuring a traveling-com- quicks and e panion for a lecturing female on her way to a convention. “she wants," miss ross told helga, "someone intelligent, someone who can help her get her speeches in order on the train. we thought of you right away. of course, it isn't permanent. she'll pay your expenses and there'll be twenty-five dollars besides. she leaves tomorrow. here's her address. you're to go to see her at five o'clock. it's after four now. i'll phone that you're on your way.” the presumptuousness of their cer- tainty that she would snatch at the opportunity galled helga. she became aware of a desire to be disagreeable. the inclination to fling the address of the lecturing female in their face stirred in her, but she remembered the lone five- dollar bill in the rare old tapestry purse swing- ing from her arm. she couldn't afford anger. so she thanked them very politely and set out for the home of mrs. hayes-rore on grand boulevard, knowing full well that she intended quick sand to take the job, if the lecturing one would take her. twenty-five dollars was not to be looked at with nose in air when one was the owner of but five. and meals—meals for four days at least. mrs. hayes-rore proved to be a plump lemon-colored woman with badly straightened hair and dirty finger-nails. her direct, pene- trating gaze was somewhat formidable. note- book in hand, she gave helga the impression of having risen early for consultation with other harassed authorities on the race problem, and having been in conference on the subject all day. evidently, she had had little time or thought for the careful donning of the five- years-behind-the-mode garments which covered her, and which even in their youth could hardly have fitted or suited her. she had a tart person- ality, and prying. she approved of helga, after asking her endless questions about her educa- tion and her opinions on the race problem, none of which she was permitted to answer, for mrs. quicks and hayes-rore either went on to the next or an- swered the question herself by remarking: “not that it matters, if you can only do what i want done, and the girls at the 'y' said that you could. i'm on the board of managers, and i know they wouldn't send me anybody who wasn't all right.” after this had been repeated twice in a booming, oratorical voice, helga felt that the association secretaries had taken an awful chance in sending a person about whom they knew as little as they did about her. “yes, i'm sure you'll do. i don't really need ideas, i've plenty of my own. it's just a matter of getting someone to help me get my speeches in order, correct and condense them, you know. i leave at eleven in the morning. can you be ready by then? ... that's good. bet- ter be here at nine. now, don't disappoint me. i'm depending on you.” as she stepped into the street and made her way skillfully through the impassioned quicks and human traffic, helga reviewed the plan which she had formed, while in the lecturing one's presence, to remain in new york. there would be twenty-five dollars, and perhaps the amount of her return ticket. enough for a start. surely she could get work there. everybody did. any- way, she would have a reference. with her decision she felt reborn. she began happily to paint the future in vivid col. ors. the world had changed to silver, and life ceased to be a struggle and became a gay ad- venture. even the advertisements in the shop windows seemed to shine with radiance. curious about mrs. hayes-rore, on her return to the “y” she went into the employ- ment office, ostensibly to thank the girls and to report that that important woman would take her. was there, she inquired, anything that she needed to know? mrs. hayes-rore had appeared to put such faith in their recom- mendation of her that she felt almost obliged quicks and to give satisfaction. and she added: "i didn't get much chance to ask questions. she seemed -er-busy." both the girls laughed. helga laughed with them, surprised that she hadn't perceived before how really likable they were. "we'll be through here in ten minutes. if you're not busy, come in and have your sup- per with us and we'll tell you about her,” prom- ised miss ross. quicks and se v en having finally turned her attention to helga crane, fortune now seemed determined to smile, to make amends for her shameful neglect. one had, helga decided, only to touch the right button, to press the right spring, in order to attract the jade's notice. for helga that spring had been mrs. hayes-rore. ever afterwards on recalling that day on which with wellnigh empty purse and apprehensive heart she had made her way from the young women's christian association to the grand boulevard home of mrs. hayes- rore, always she wondered at her own lack of astuteness in not seeing in the woman someone who by a few words was to have a part in the shaping of her life. the husband of mrs. hayes-rore had at one time been a dark thread in the soiled quicks and fabric of chicago's south side politics, who, departing this life hurriedly and unexpectedly and a little mysteriously, and somewhat before the whole of his suddenly acquired wealth had had time to vanish, had left his widow comfort- ably established with money and some of that prestige which in negro circles had been his. all this helga had learned from the secretaries at the “y.” and from numerous remarks dropped by mrs. hayes-rore herself she was able to fill in the details more or less ade- quately. on the train that carried them to new york, helga had made short work of correct- ing and condensing the speeches, which mrs. hayes-rore as a prominent “race" woman and an authority on the problem was to deliver be- fore several meetings of the annual convention of the negro women's league of clubs, con- vening the next week in new york. these speeches proved to be merely patchworks of others' speeches and opinions. helga had heard quicks and other lecturers say the same things in devon and again in naxos. ideas, phrases, and even whole sentences and paragraphs were lifted bodily from previous orations and published works of wendell phillips, frederick douglass, booker t. washington, and other doctors of the race's ills. for variety mrs. hayes-rore had seasoned hers with a peppery dash of du bois and a few vinegary statements of her own. aside from these it was, helga reflected, the same old thing. but mrs. hayes-rore was to her, after the first short, awkward period, interesting. her dark eyes, bright and investigating, had, helga noted, a humorous gleam, and some- thing in the way she held her untidy head gave the impression of a cat watching its prey so that when she struck, if she so decided, the blow would be unerringly effective. helga, looking up from a last reading of the speeches, was aware that she was being studied. her em- ployer sat leaning back, the tips of her fingers quicks and pressed together, her head a bit on one side, her small inquisitive eyes boring into the girl before her. and as the train hurled itself franti- cally toward smoke-infested newark, she de- cided to strike. "now tell me," she commanded, “how is it that a nice girl like you can rush off on a wildgoose chase like this at a moment's notice. i should think your people'd object, or'd make inquiries, or something." at that command helga crane could not help sliding down her eyes to hide the anger that had risen in them. was she to be forever explaining her people—or lack of them? but she said courteously enough, even managing a hard little smile: "well you see, mrs. hayes- rore, i haven't any people. there's only me, so i can do as i please.” “ha!” said mrs. hayes-rore. terrific, thought helga crane, the power of that sound from the lips of this woman. how, she wondered, had she suc- quick sand ac- ceeded in investing it with so much incredulity. "if you didn't have people, you wouldn't be living. everybody has people, miss crane. everybody." "i haven't, mrs. hayes-rore.” mrs. hayes-rore screwed up her eyes. "well, that's mighty mysterious, and i detest mysteries.” she shrugged, and into those eyes there now came with alarming quickness an ac- cusing criticism. "it isn't,” helga said defensively, "a mystery. it's a fact and a mighty unpleasant one. inconvenient too," and she laughed a little, not wishing to cry. her tormentor, in sudden embarrass- ment, turned her sharp eyes to the window. she seemed intent on the miles of red clay slid- ing past. after a moment, however, she asked gently: “you wouldn't like to tell me about it, would you? it seems to bother you. and i'm interested in girls.” annoyed, but still hanging, for the sake quicks and of the twenty-five dollars, to her self-control, helga gave her head a little toss and aung out her hands in a helpless, beaten way. then she shrugged. what did it matter? "oh, well, if you really want to know. i assure you, it's nothing interesting. or nasty,” she added maliciously. "it's just plain horrid. for me.” and she began mockingly to relate her story. but as she went on, again she had that sore sensation of revolt, and again the torment which she had gone through loomed before her as something brutal and undeserved. passion- ately, tearfully, incoherently, the final words tumbled from her quivering petulant lips. the other woman still looked out of the window, apparently so interested in the outer aspect of the drab sections of the jersey manu- facturing city through which they were passing that, the better to see, she had now so turned her head that only an ear and a small portion of cheek were visible. during the little pause that followed . quicks and helga's recital, the faces of the two women, which had been bare, seemed to harden. it was almost as if they had slipped on masks. the girl wished to hide her turbulent feeling and to appear indifferent to mrs. hayes-rore's opin- ion of her story. the woman felt that the story, dealing as it did with race intermingling and possibly adultery, was beyond definite discus- sion. for among black people, as among white people, it is tacitly understood that these things are not mentioned—and therefore they do not exist. sliding adroitly out from under the precarious subject to a safer, more decent one, mrs. hayes-rore asked helga what she was thinking of doing when she got back to chi- cago. had she anything in mind ? helga, it appeared, hadn't. the truth was she had been thinking of staying in new york. maybe she could find something there. everybody seemed to. at least she could make the attempt. quicks and ous reas w mrs. hayes-rore sighed, for no obvi- ous reason. “um, maybe i can help you. i know people in new york. do you?” "no." "new york's the lonesomest place in the world if you don't know anybody." "it couldn't possibly be worse than chi- cago,” said helga savagely, giving the table support a violent kick. they were running into the shadow of the tunnel. mrs. hayes-rore murmured thoughtfully: “you'd better come uptown and stay with me a few days. i may need you. something may turn up." it was one of those vicious mornings, windy and bright. there seemed to helga, as they emerged from the depths of the vast sta- tion, to be a whirling malice in the sharp air of this shining city. mrs. hayes-rore's words about its terrible loneliness shot through her mind. she felt its aggressive unfriendliness. even the great buildings, the flying cabs, and quicks and the swirling crowds seemed manifestations of purposed malevolence. and for that first short minute she was awed and frightened and in- clined to turn back to that other city, which, though not kind, was yet not strange. this new york seemed somehow more appalling, more scornful, in some inexplicable way even more terrible and uncaring than chicago. threatening almost. ugly. yes, perhaps she'd better turn back. . the feeling passed, escaped in the sur- prise of what mrs. hayes-rore was saying. her oratorical voice boomed above the city's roar. “i suppose i ought really to have phoned anne from the station. about you, i mean. well, it doesn't matter. she's got plenty of room. lives alone in a big house, which is something negroes in new york don't do. they fill 'em up with lodgers usually. but anne's funny. nice, though. you'll like her, and it will be good for you to know her if you're going to stay in new york. she's a quicks and “they're not being made," contradicted mrs. hayes-rore. "i intended to let them have the money anyway, and i'll tell mr. dar- ling so—after he takes you. they ought to be glad to get you. colored organizations always need more brains as well as more money. don't worry. and don't thank me again. you haven't got the job yet, you know.” there was a little silence, during which helga gave herself up to the distraction of watching the strange city and the strange crowds, trying hard to put out of her mind the vision of an easier future which her compan- ion's words had conjured up; for, as had been pointed out, it was, as yet, only a possibility. turning out of the park into the broad thoroughfare of lenox avenue, mrs. hayes- rore said in a too carefully casual manner: “and, by the way, i wouldn't mention that my people are white, if i were you. colored people won't understand it, and after all it's your own business. when you've lived as long as i have, ii , quicks and you'll know that what others don't know can't hurt you. i'll just tell anne that you're a friend of mine whose mother's dead. that'll place you well enough and it's all true. i never tell lies. she can fill in the gaps to suit herself and any- one else curious enough to ask.” "thanks,” helga said again. and so great was her gratitude that she reached out and took her new friend's slightly soiled hand in one of her own fastidious ones, and retained it until their cab turned into a pleasant tree- lined street and came to a halt before one of the dignified houses in the center of the block. here they got out. in after years helga crane had only to close her eyes to see herself standing appre- hensively in the small cream-colored hall, the floor of which was covered with deep silver- hued carpet; to see mrs. hayes-rore pecking the cheek of the tall slim creature beautifully dressed in a cool green tailored frock; to hear herself being introduced to "my niece, mrs. quicks and grey" as "miss crane, a little friend of mine whose mother's died, and i think perhaps a while in new york will be good for her”; to feel her hand grasped in quick sympathy, and to hear anne grey's pleasant voice, with its faint note of wistfulness, saying: “i'm so sorry, and i'm glad aunt jeanette brought you here. did you have a good trip? i'm sure you must be worn out. i'll have lillie take you right up.” and to feel like a criminal. quick sand eight a year thick with various adventures had sped by since that spring day on which helga crane had set out away from chicago's indifferent unkindness for new york in the company of mrs. hayes-rore. new york she had found not so unkind, not so unfriendly, not so indif- ferent. there she had been happy, and secured work, had made acquaintances and another friend. again she had had that strange trans- forming experience, this time not so fleetingly, that magic sense of having come home. harlem, teeming black harlem, had welcomed her and lulled her into something that was, she was certain, peace and contentment. the request and recommendation of mrs. hayes-rore had been sufficient for her to obtain work with the insurance company in which that energetic woman was interested. quicks and nev never returned to the uncomfortable subject of her mother's death so intentionally men- tioned on their first meeting by mrs. hayes- rore, beyond a tremulous brief: “you won't talk to me about it, will you? i can't bear the thought of death. nobody ever talks to me about it. my husband, you know." this helga discovered to be true. later, when she knew anne better, she suspected that it was a bit of a pose assumed for the purpose of doing away with the necessity of speaking regretfully of a husband who had been perhaps not too greatly loved. after the first pleasant weeks, feeling that her obligation to anne was already too great, helga began to look about for a perma- nent place to live. it was, she found, difficult. she eschewed the “y” as too bare, impersonal, and restrictive. nor did furnished rooms or the idea of a solitary or a shared apartment appeal to her. so she rejoiced when one day anne, looking up from her book, said lightly: "helga, quicks and since you're going to be in new york, why don't you stay here with me? i don't usually take people. it's too disrupting. still, it is sort of pleasant having somebody in the house and i don't seem to mind you. you don't bore me, or bother me. if you'd like to stay— think it over.” helga didn't, of course, require to think it over, because lodgment in anne's home was in complete accord with what she designated as her "æsthetic sense.” even helga crane approved of anne's house and the fur- nishings which so admirably graced the big cream-colored rooms. beds with long, tapering posts to which tremendous age lent dignity and interest, bonneted old highboys, tables that might be by duncan phyfe, rare spindle-legged chairs, and others whose ladder backs grace- fully climbed the delicate wall panels. these historic things mingled harmoniously and com- fortably with brass-bound chinese tea-chests, luxurious deep chairs and davenports, tiny quicks and tables of gay color, a lacquered jade-green set- tee with gleaming black satin cushions, lustrous eastern rugs, ancient copper, japanese prints, some fine etchings, a profusion of precious bric- a-brac, and endless shelves filled with books. anne grey herself was, as helga ex- pressed it, “almost too good to be true.” thirty, maybe, brownly beautiful, she had the face of a golden madonna, grave and calm and sweet, with shining black hair and eyes. she carried herself as queens are reputed to bear themselves, and probably do not. her manners were as agreeably gentle as her own soft name. she possessed an impeccably fastidious taste in clothes, knowing what suited her and wear- ing it with an air of unconscious assurance. the unusual thing, a native new yorker, she was also a person of distinction, financially in- dependent, well connected and much sought after. and she was interesting, an odd confu- sion of wit and intense earnestness; a vivid and remarkable person. yes, undoubtedly, anne quick sand ma near, she asked only indifference. no, not at all did she crave, from those pale and powerful people, awareness. sinister folk, she considered them, who had stolen her birthright. their past contribution to her life, which had been but shame and grief, she had hidden away from brown folk in a locked closet, "never," she told herself, “to be reopened.” some day she intended to marry one of those alluring brown or yellow men who danced attendance on her. already financially success- ful, any one of them could give to her the things which she had now come to desire, a home like anne's, cars of expensive makes such as lined the avenue, clothes and furs from bendel's and revillon frères', servants, and leisure. always her forehead wrinkled in dis- taste whenever, involuntarily, which was some- how frequently, her mind turned on the specula- tive gray eyes and visionary uplifting plans of dr. anderson. that other, james vayle, had quicks and slipped absolutely from her consciousness. of him she never thought. helga crane meant, now, to have a home and perhaps laughing, appealing dark-eyed children in harlem. her existence was bounded by central park, fifth avenue, st. nicholas park, and one hundred and forty-fifth street. not at all a narrow life, as negroes live it, as helga crane knew it. everything was there, vice and goodness, sad- ness and gayety, ignorance and wisdom, ugli- ness and beauty, poverty and richness. and it seemed to her that somehow of goodness, gay- ety, wisdom, and beauty always there was a lit- tle more than of vice, sadness, ignorance, and ugliness. it was only riches that did not quite transcend poverty. “but,” said helga crane, “what of that? money isn't everything. it isn't even the half of everything. and here we have so much else—and by ourselves. it's only outside of harlem among those others that money really counts for everything." ioi quicks and in the actuality of the pleasant present and the delightful vision of an agreeable future she was contented, and happy. she did not analyze this contentment, this happiness, but vaguely, without putting it into words or even so tangible a thing as a thought, she knew it sprang from a sense of freedom, a release from the feeling of smallness which had hedged her in, first during her sorry, unchildlike childhood among hostile white folk in chicago, and later during her uncomfortable sojourn among snob- bish black folk in naxos. io quicks and nine lane s. but it didn't last, this happiness of helga crane's. little by little the signs of spring ap- peared, but strangely the enchantment of the season, so enthusiastically, so lavishly greeted by the gay dwellers of harlem, filled her only with restlessness. somewhere, within her, in a deep recess, crouched discontent. she began to lose confidence in the fullness of her life, the glow began to fade from her conception of it. as the days multiplied, her need of something, something vaguely familiar, but which she could not put a name to and hold for definite ex- amination, became almost intolerable. she went through moments of overwhelming anguish. she felt shut in, trapped. "perhaps i'm tired, need a tonic, or something,” she reflected. so she consulted a physician, who, after a long, quicks and solemn examination, said that there was noth- ing wrong, nothing at all. “a change of scene, perhaps for a week or so, or a few days away from work,” would put her straight most likely. helga tried this, tried them both, but it was no good. all interest had gone out of liv- ing. nothing seemed any good. she became a little frightened, and then shocked to discover that, for some unknown reason, it was of her- self she was afraid. spring grew into summer, languidly at first, then flauntingly. without awareness on her part, helga crane began to draw away from those contacts which had so delighted her. more and more she made lonely excursions to places outside of harlem. a sensation of estrangement and isolation encompassed her. as the days became hotter and the streets more swarming, a kind of repulsion came upon her. she recoiled in aversion from the sight of the grinning faces and from the sound of the easy laughter of all these people who strolled, aim- quicks and lessly now, it seemed, up and down the avenues. not only did the crowds of nameless folk on the street annoy her, she began also actually to dislike her friends. . even the gentle anne distressed her. perhaps because anne was obsessed by the race problem and fed her obsession. she frequented all the meetings of protest, subscribed to all the complaining magazines, and read all the lurid newspapers spewed out by the negro yellow press. she talked, wept, and ground her teeth dramatically about the wrongs and shames of her race. at times she lashed her fury to sur- prising heights for one by nature so placid and gentle. and, though she would not, even to her- self, have admitted it, she reveled in this orgy of protest. "social equality," "equal opportunity for all,” were her slogans, often and emphatic- ally repeated. anne preached these things and honestly thought that she believed them, but she considered it an affront to the race, and to quicks and all the vari-colored peoples that made lenox and seventh avenues the rich spectacles which they were, for any negro to receive on terms of equality any white person. “to me,” asserted anne grey, "the most wretched negro prostitute that walks one hundred and thirty-fifth street is more than any president of these united states, not ex- cepting abraham lincoln.” but she turned up her finely carved nose at their lusty churches, their picturesque parades, their naïve clowning on the streets. she would not have desired or even have been willing to live in any section outside the black belt, and she would have re- fused scornfully, had they been tendered, any invitation from white folk. she hated white people with a deep and burning hatred, with the kind of hatred which, finding itself held in sufficiently numerous groups, was capable some day, on some great provocation, of bursting into dangerously malignant flames. but she aped their clothes, their man- quicks and ners, and their gracious ways of living. while proclaiming loudly the undiluted good of all things negro, she yet disliked the songs, the dances, and the softly blurred speech of the race. toward these things she showed only a dis- dainful contempt, tinged sometimes with a faint amusement. like the despised people of the white race, she preferred pavlova to florence mills, john mccormack to taylor gordon, walter hampden to paul robeson. theoretic- ally, however, she stood for the immediate ad- vancement of all things negroid, and was in revolt against social inequality. helga had been entertained by this racial ardor in one so little affected by racial prejudice as anne, and by her inconsistencies. but suddenly these things irked her with a great irksomeness and she wanted to be free of this constant prattling of the incongruities, the in- justices, the stupidities, the viciousness of white people. it stirred memories, probed hidden wounds, whose poignant ache bred in her sur- re quicks and prising oppression and corroded the fabric of her quietism. sometimes it took all her self- control to keep from tossing sarcastically at anne ibsen's remark about there being as- suredly something very wrong with the drains, but after all there were other parts of the edi- fice. . it was at this period of restiveness that helga met again dr. anderson. she was gone, unwillingly, to a meeting, a health meeting, held in a large church—as were most of harlem's uplift activities—as a substitute for her em- ployer, mr. darling. making her tardy arrival during a tedious discourse by a pompous saffron- hued physician, she was led by the irritated usher, whom she had roused from a nap in which he had been pleasantly freed from the intricacies of negro health statistics, to a very front seat. complete silence ensued while she subsided into her chair. the offended doctor looked at the ceiling, at the floor, and accusingly at helga, quicks and r ra and finally continued his lengthy discourse. when at last he had ended and helga had dared to remove her eyes from his sweating face and look about, she saw with a sudden thrill that robert anderson was among her nearest neighbors. a peculiar, not wholly dis- agreeable, quiver ran down her spine. she felt an odd little faintness. the blood rushed to her face. she tried to jeer at herself for being so moved by the encounter. he, meanwhile, she observed, watched her gravely. and having caught her attention, he smiled a little and nodded. when all who so desired had spouted to their hearts' content—if to little purpose—and the meeting was finally over, anderson detached himself from the circle of admiring friends and acquaintances that had gathered around him and caught up with helga half-way down the long aisle leading out to fresher air. "i wondered if you were really going quicks and to cut me. i see you were,” he began, with that half-quizzical smile which she remembered so well. she laughed. “oh, i didn't think you'd remember me." then she added: "pleasantly, i mean.” the man laughed too. but they couldn't talk yet. people kept breaking in on them. at last, however, they were at the door, and then he suggested that they share a taxi "for the sake of a little breeze.” helga assented. constraint fell upon them when they emerged into the hot street, made seemingly hotter by a low-hanging golden moon and the hundreds of blazing electric lights. for a mo- ment, before hailing a taxi, they stood together looking at the slow moving mass of perspiring human beings. neither spoke, but helga was conscious of the man's steady gaze. the promi- nent gray eyes were fixed upon her, studying her, appraising her. many times since turning her back on naxos she had in fancy rehearsed this en iio quick sand scene, this re-encounter. now she found that rehearsal helped not at all. it was so abso- lutely different from anything that she had imagined. in the open taxi they talked of imper- sonal things, books, places, the fascination of new york, of harlem. but underneath the ex- change of small talk lay another conversation of which helga crane was sharply aware. she was aware, too, of a strange ill-defined emotion, a vague yearning rising within her. and she experienced a sensation of consternation and keen regret when with a lurching jerk the cab pulled up before the house in one hundred and thirty-ninth street. so soon, she thought. but she held out her hand calmly, coolly. cordially she asked him to call some time. “it is,” she said, “a pleasure to renew our ac- quaintance.” was it, she was wondering, merely an acquaintance? he responded seriously that he too thought it a pleasure, and added: "you haven't iii quicks and their next meeting, so that it was long before drowsiness advanced upon her. when he did call, sunday, three days later, she put him off on anne and went out, pleading an engagement, which until then she had not meant to keep. until the very moment of his entrance she had had no intention of running away, but something, some imp of con- tumacy, drove her from his presence, though she longed to stay. again abruptly had come the uncontrollable wish to wound. later, with a sense of helplessness and inevitability, she realized that the weapon which she had chosen had been a boomerang, for she herself had felt the keen disappointment of the denial. better to have stayed and hurled polite sarcasms at him. she might then at least have had the joy of seeing him wince. in this spirit she made her way to the corner and turned into seventh avenue. the warmth of the sun, though gentle on that after- noon, had nevertheless kissed the street into quick sand marvelous light and color. now and then, greet- ing an acquaintance, or stopping to chat with a friend, helga was all the time seeing its soft shining brightness on the buildings along its sides or on the gleaming bronze, gold, and cop- per faces of its promenaders. and another vision, too, came haunting helga crane; level gray eyes set down in a brown face which stared out at her, coolly, quizzically, disturbingly. and she was not happy. the tea to which she had so suddenly made up her mind to go she found boring be- yond endurance, insipid drinks, dull conversa- tion, stupid men. the aimless talk glanced from john wellinger's lawsuit for discrimina- tion because of race against a downtown · restaurant and the advantages of living in europe, especially in france, to the significance, if any, of the garvey movement. then it sped to a favorite negro dancer who had just then secured a foothold on the stage of a current white musical comedy, to other shows, to a new quicks and book touching on negroes. thence to costumes for a coming masquerade dance, to a new jazz song, to yvette dawson's engagement to a boston lawyer who had seen her one night at a party and proposed to her the next day at noon. then back again to racial discrimination. why, helga wondered, with unreason- ing exasperation, didn't they find something else to talk of? why must the race problem always creep in? she refused to go on to another gathering. it would, she thought, be simply the same old thing. on her arrival home she was more dis- appointed than she cared to admit to find the house in darkness and even anne gone off some- where. she would have liked that night to have talked with anne. get her opinion of dr. anderson. anne it was who the next day told her that he had given up his work in naxos; or rather that naxos had given him up. he had been too liberal, too lenient, for education as i quicks and it was inflicted in naxos. now he was per- manently in new york, employed as welfare worker by some big manufacturing concern, which gave employment to hundreds of negro men. “uplift,” sniffed helga contemptuously, and aled before the onslaught of anne's ha- rangue on the needs and ills of the race. i quicks and t en with the waning summer the acute sensitive- ness of helga crane's frayed nerves grew keener. there were days when the mere sight of the serene tan and brown faces about her stung her like a personal insult. the care-free quality of their laughter roused in her the desire to scream at them: "fools, fools! stupid fools!” this passionate and unreasoning pro- test gained in intensity, swallowing up all else like some dense fog. life became for her only a hateful place where one lived in intimacy with people one would not have chosen had one been given choice. it was, too, an excruciating agony. she was continually out of temper. anne, thank the gods! was away, but her nearing return filled helga with dismay. arriving at work one sultry day, hot and dispirited, she found waiting a letter, a letter quicks and from uncle peter. it had originally been sent to naxos, and from there it had made the journey back to chicago to the young women's chris- tian association, and then to mrs. hayes-rore. that busy woman had at last found time be- tween conventions and lectures to readdress it and had sent it on to new york. four months, at least, it had been on its travels. helga felt no curiosity as to its contents, only annoyance at the long delay, as she ripped open the thin edge of the envelope, and for a space sat star- ing at the peculiar foreign script of her uncle. sheridan road chicago, ill. dear helga : it is now over a year since you made your unfortunate call here. it was unfor- tunate for us all, you, mrs. nilssen, and myself. but of course you couldn't know. i blame myself. i should have written you of my marriage. i quicks and beside the brief, friendly, but none the less final, letter there was a check for five thou- sand dollars. helga crane's first feeling was one of unreality. this changed almost imme- diately into one of relief, of liberation. it was stronger than the mere security from present financial worry which the check promised. money as money was still not very important to helga. but later, while on an errand in the big general office of the society, her puzzled be- wilderment fied. here the inscrutability of the dozen or more brown faces, all cast from the same indefinite mold, and so like her own, seemed pressing forward against her. abruptly it flashed upon her that the harrowing irrita- tion of the past weeks was a smoldering hatred. then, she was overcome by another, so actual, so sharp, so horribly painful, that for- ever afterwards she preferred to forget it. it was as if she were shut up, boxed up, with hundreds of her race, closed up with that some- thing in the racial character which had always i quicks and been, to her, inexplicable, alien. why, she de- manded in fierce rebellion, should she be yoked, to these despised black folk? back in the privacy of her own cubicle, self-loathing came upon her. "they're my own people, my own people,” she kept repeating over and over to herself. it was no good. the feeling would not be routed. "i can't go on like this,” she said to herself. "i simply can't.” there were footsteps. panic seized her. she'd have to get out. she terribly needed to. snatching hat and purse, she hurried to the narrow door, saying in a forced, steady voice, as it opened to reveal her employer: “mr. dar- ling, i'm sorry, but i've got to go out. please, may i be excused ?” at his courteous “certainly, certainly. and don't hurry. it's much too hot,” helga crane had the grace to feel ashamed, but there was no softening of her determination. the necessity for being alone was too urgent. she hated him and all the others too much. i i quicks and outside, rain had begun to fall. she walked bare-headed, bitter with self-reproach. but she rejoiced too. she didn't, in spite of her racial markings, belong to these dark segregated people. she was different. she felt it. it wasn't merely a matter of color. it was something broader, deeper, that made folk kin. and now she was free. she would take uncle peter's money and advice and revisit her aunt in copenhagen. fleeting pleasant mem- ories of her childhood visit there flew through her excited mind. she had been only eight, yet she had enjoyed the interest and the admiration which her unfamiliar color and dark curly hair, strange to those pink, white, and gold people, had evoked. quite clearly now she recalled that her aunt katrina had begged for her to be al- lowed to remain. why, she wondered, hadn't her mother consented? to helga it seemed that it would have been the solution to all their problems, her mother's, her stepfather's, her own. i quicks and at home in the cool dimness of the big chintz-hung living-room, clad only in a futter- ing thing of green chiffon, she gave herself up to day-dreams of a happy future in copenhagen, where there were no negroes, no problems, no prejudice, until she remembered with perturba- tion that this was the day of anne's return from her vacation at the sea-shore. worse. there was a dinner-party in her honor that very night. helga sighed. she'd have to go. she couldn't possibly get out of a dinner-party for anne, even though she felt that such an event on a hot night was little short of an outrage. nothing but a sense of obligation to anne kept her from pleading a splitting headache as an excuse for remaining quietly at home. her mind trailed off to the highly im- portant matter of clothes. what should she wear? white? no, everybody would, because it was hot. green? she shook her head, anne would be sure to. the blue thing. reluctantly she decided against it; she loved it, but she had w luse quicks and worn it too often. there was that cobwebby black net touched with orange, which she had bought last spring in a fit of extravagance and never worn, because on getting it home both she and anne had considered it too décolleté, and too outré. anne's words: “there's not enough of it, and what there is gives you the air of something about to fly," came back to her, and she smiled as she decided that she would certainly wear the black net. for her it would be a symbol. she was about to fly. she busied herself with some absurdly expensive roses which she had ordered sent in, spending an interminable time in their arrange- ment. at last she was satisfied with their appro- priateness in some blue chinese jars of great age. anne did have such lovely things, she thought, as she began conscientiously to prepare for her return, although there was really little to do; lillie seemed to have done everything. but helga dusted the tops of the books, placed the magazines in ordered carelessness, re- i quicks and dressed anne's bed in fresh-smelling sheets of cool linen, and laid out her best pale-yellow pajamas of crêpe de chine. finally she set out two tall green glasses and made a great pitcher of lemonade, leaving only the ginger-ale and claret to be added on anne's arrival. she was a little conscience-stricken, so she wanted to be particularly nice to anne, who had been so kind to her when first she came to new york, a for- lorn friendless creature. yes, she was grateful to anne; but, just the same, she meant to go. at once. her preparations over, she went back to the carved chair from which the thought of anne's home-coming had drawn her. character- istically she writhed at the idea of telling anne of her impending departure and shirked the problem of evolving a plausible and inoffensive excuse for its suddenness. “that,” she decided lazily, "will have to look out for itself; i can't be bothered just now. it's too hot.” she began to make plans and to dream quicks and delightful dreams of change, of life somewhere else. some place where at last she would be permanently satisfied. her anticipatory thoughts waltzed and eddied about to the sweet silent music of change. with rapture almost, she let herself drop into the blissful sensation of vis- ualizing herself in different, strange places, among approving and admiring people, where she would be appreciated, and understood. quicks and quarreling cats, cackling phonographs, raucous laughter, complaining motor-horns, low sing- ing, mingled in the familiar medley that is harlem. black figures, white figures, little forms, big forms, small groups, large groups, sauntered, or hurried by. it was gay, grotesque, and a little weird. helga crane felt singularly apart from it all. entering the waiting door- way, they descended through a furtive, narrow passage, into a vast subterranean room. helga smiled, thinking that this was one of those places characterized by the righteous as a hell. a glare of light struck her eyes, a blare of jazz split her ears. for a moment every- thing seemed to be spinning round; even she felt that she was circling aimlessly, as she fol- lowed with the others the black giant who led them to a small table, where, when they were seated, their knees and elbows touched. helga wondered that the waiter, indefinitely carved out of ebony, did not smile as he wrote their order-"four bottles of white rock, four i quicks and bottles of ginger-ale.” bahl anne giggled, the others smiled and openly exchanged knowing glances, and under the tables flat glass bottles were extracted from the women's evening scarfs and small silver flasks drawn from the men's hip pockets. in a little moment she grew accus- tomed to the smoke and din. they danced, ambling lazily to a croon- ing melody, or violently twisting their bodies, like whirling leaves, to' a sudden streaming rhythm, or shaking themselves ecstatically to a thumping of unseen tomtoms. for the while, helga was oblivious of the reek of flesh, smoke, and alcohol, oblivious of the oblivion of other gyrating pairs, oblivious of the color, the noise, and the grand distorted childishness of it all. she was drugged, lifted, sustained, by the ex- traordinary music, blown out, ripped out, beaten out, by the joyous, wild, murky orchestra. the essence of life seemed bodily motion. and when suddenly the music died, she dragged herself back to the present with a conscious effort; and quicks and a shameful certainty that not only had she been in the jungle, but that she had enjoyed it, began to taunt her. she hardened her determination to get away. she wasn't, she told herself, a jungle creature. she cloaked herself in a faint disgust as she watched the entertainers throw themselves about to the bursts of syncopated jangle, and when the time came again for the patrons to dance, she declined. her rejected partner excused himself and sought an acquaint- ance a few tables removed. helga sat looking curiously about her as the buzz of conversation ceased, strangled by the savage strains of music, and the crowd became a swirling mass. for the hundredth time she marveled at the gradations within this oppressed race of hers. a dozen shades slid by. there was sooty black, shiny black, taupe, mahogany, bronze, copper, gold, orange, yellow, peach, ivory, pinky white, pastry white. there was yellow hair, brown hair, black hair; straight hair, straightened hair, curly hair, crinkly hair, woolly hair. she saw black eyes quicks and in white faces, brown eyes in yellow faces, gray eyes in brown faces, blue eyes in tan faces. africa, europe, perhaps with a pinch of asia, in a fantastic motley of ugliness and beauty, semi-barbaric, sophisticated, exotic, were here. but she was blind to its charm, purposely aloof and a little contemptuous, and soon her interest in the moving mosaic waned. she had discovered dr. anderson sit- ting at a table on the far side of the room, with a girl in a shivering apricot frock. seriously he returned her tiny bow. she met his eyes, gravely smiling, then blushed, furiously, and averted her own. but they went back immediately to the girl beside him, who sat indifferently sipping a colorless liquid from a high glass, or puffing a precariously hanging cigarette. across dozens of tables, littered with corks, with ashes, with shriveled sandwiches, through slits in the sway- ing mob, helga crane studied her. . she was pale, with a peculiar, almost deathlike pallor. the brilliantly red, softly curv. quicks and ing mouth was somehow sorrowful. her pitch- black eyes, a little aslant, were veiled by long, drooping lashes and surmounted by broad brows, which seemed like black smears. the short dark hair was brushed severely back from the wide forehead. the extreme décolleté of her simple apricot dress showed a skin of unusual color, a delicate, creamy hue, with golden tones. "almost like an alabaster," thought helga. bang! again the music died. the mov- ing mass broke, separated. the others returned. anne had rage in her eyes. her voice trembled as she took helga aside to whisper: "there's your dr. anderson over there, with audrey denney." “yes, i saw him. she's lovely. who is she?” "she's audrey denney, as i said, and she lives downtown. west twenty-second street. hasn't much use for harlem any more. it's a wonder she hasn't some white man hang- ing about. the disgusting creature! i wonder quicks and how she inveigled anderson? but that's aud- rey! if there is any desirable man about, trust her to attach him. she ought to be ostracized.” “why?" asked helga curiously, noting at the same time that three of the men in their own party had deserted and were now congre- gated about the offending miss denney. "because she goes about with white people," came anne's indignant answer, "and they know she's colored.” "i'm afraid i don't quite see, anne. would it be all right if they didn't know she was colored ?" “now, don't be nasty, helga. you know very well what i mean." anne's voice was shaking. helga didn't see, and she was greatly interested, but she decided to let it go. she didn't want to quarrel with anne, not now, when she had that guilty feeling about leaving her. but anne was off on her favorite subject, race. and it seemed, too, that audrey denney was to her particularly obnoxious. quick sand “why, she gives parties for white and colored people together. and she goes to white people's parties. it's worse than disgusting, it's positively obscene.” "oh, come, anne, you haven't been to any of the parties, i know, so how can you be so positive about the matter?” "no, but i've heard about them. i know people who've been." "friends of yours, anne?" anne admitted that they were, some of them. "well, then, they can't be so bad. i mean, if your friends sometimes go, can they? just what goes on that's so terrible?” “why, they drink, for one thing. quan- tities, they say." “so do we, at the parties here in har- lem," helga responded. an idiotic impulse seized her to leave the place, anne's presence, then, forever. but of course she couldn't. it would be foolish, and so ugly. quicks and “and the white men dance with the colored women. now you know, helga crane, that can mean only one thing." anne's voice was trembling with cold hatred. as she ended, she made a little clicking noise with her tongue, indicating an abhorrence too great for words. "don't the colored men dance with the white women, or do they sit about, impolitely, while the other men dance with their women?” inquired helga very softly, and with a slow- ness approaching almost to insolence. anne's insinuations were too revolting. she had a slightly sickish feeling, and a flash of anger touched her. she mastered it and ignored anne's inadequate answer. “it's the principle of the thing that i object to. you can't get round the fact that her behavior is outrageous, treacherous, in fact. that's what's the matter with the negro race. they won't stick together. she certainly ought to be ostracized. i've nothing but contempt for her, as has every other self-respecting negro." quick sand the other women and the lone man left to them—helga's own escort—all seemingly agreed with anne. at any rate, they didn't pro- test. helga gave it up. she felt that it would be useless to tell them that what she felt for the beautiful, calm, cool girl who had the as- surance, the courage, so placidly to ignore racial barriers and give her attention to people, was not contempt, but envious admiration. so she remained silent, watching the girl. at the next first sound of music dr. anderson rose. languidly the girl followed his movement, a faint smile parting her sorrow- ful lips at some remark he made. her long, slender body swayed with an eager pulsing mo- tion. she danced with grace and abandon, gravely, yet with obvious pleasure, her legs, her hips, her back, all swaying gently, swung by that wild music from the heart of the jungle. helga turned her glance to dr. anderson. her disinterested curiosity passed. while she still felt for the girl envious admiration, that feel- quicks and twelve helga crane felt no regret as the cliff-like towers faded. the sight thrilled her as beauty, grandeur, of any kind always did, but that was all. the liner drew out from churning slate- colored waters of the river into the open sea. the small seething ripples on the water's sur- face became little waves. it was evening. in the western sky was a pink and mauve light, which faded gradually into a soft gray-blue ob- scurity. leaning against the railing, helga stared into the approaching night, glad to be at last alone, free of that great superfluity of hu- man beings, yellow, brown, and black, which, as the torrid summer burnt to its close, had so oppressed her. no, she hadn't belonged there. of her attempt to emerge from that inherent aloneness which was part of her very being, quicks and only dullness had come, dullness and a great aversion. almost at once it was time for dinner. somewhere a bell sounded. she turned and with buoyant steps went down. already she had be- gun to feel happier. just for a moment, outside the dining-salon, she hesitated, assailed with a tiny uneasiness which passed as quickly as it had come. she entered softly, unobtrusively. and, after all, she had had her little fear for nothing. the purser, a man grown old in the service of the scandinavian-american line, re- membered her as the little dark girl who had crossed with her mother years ago, and so she must sit at his table. helga liked that. it put her at her ease and made her feel important. everyone was kind in the delightful days which followed, and her first shyness under the politely curious glances of turquoise eyes of her fellow travelers soon slid from her. the old forgotten danish of her childhood began to come, awkwardly at first, from her quicks and lips, under their agreeable tutelage. evidently they were interested, curious, and perhaps a little amused about this negro girl on her way to denmark alone. helga was a good sailor, and mostly the weather was lovely with the serene calm of the lingering september summer, under whose sky the sea was smooth, like a length of watered silk, unruffled by the stir of any wind. but even the two rough days found her on deck, reveling like a released bird in her re- turned feeling of happiness and freedom, that blessed sense of belonging to herself alone and not to a race. again, she had put the past be- hind her with an ease which astonished even herself. only the figure of dr. anderson ob- truded itself with surprising vividness to irk her because she could get no meaning from that keen sensation of covetous exasperation that had so surprisingly risen within her on the night of the cabaret party. this question helga crane recognized as not entirely new; it was quicks and se but a revival of the puzzlement experienced when she had fled so abruptly from naxos more than a year before. with the recollection of that previous flight and subsequent half- questioning a dim disturbing notion came to her. she wasn't, she couldn't be, in love with the man. it was a thought too humiliating, and so quickly dismissed. nonsense! sheer non- sense! when one is in love, one strives to please. never, she decided, had she made an effort to be pleasing to dr. anderson. on the contrary, she had always tried, deliberately, to irritate him. she was, she told herself, a senti- mental fool. nevertheless, the thought of love stayed with her, not prominent, definite; but shadowy, incoherent. and in a remote corner of her con- sciousness lurked the memory of dr. ander- son's serious smile and gravely musical voice. on the last morning helga rose at dawn, a dawn outside old copenhagen. she lay lazily in her long chair watching the feeble quicks and there in the crowd below, would have no dif- ficulty in singling her out. but—had she been met? when she descended the gangplank she was still uncertain and was trying to decide on a plan of procedure in the event that she had not. a telegram before she went through the customs ? telephone? a taxi ? but, again, she had all her fears and questionings for nothing. a smart woman in olive-green came toward her at once. and, even in the fervent gladness of her relief, helga took in the carelessly trailing purple scarf and cor- rect black hat that completed the perfection of her aunt's costume, and had time to feel her- self a little shabbily dressed. for it was her aunt; helga saw that at once, the resemblance to her own mother was unmistakable. there was the same long nose, the same beaming blue eyes, the same straying pale-brown hair so like sparkling beer. and the tall man with the fierce mustache who followed carrying hat and stick must be herr dahl, aunt katrina's husband, quicks and how gracious he was in his welcome, and how anxious to air his faulty english, now that her aunt had finished kissing her and exclaimed in danish: "little helga! little helga! good- ness! but how you have grown!” laughter from all three. "welcome to denmark, to copenhagen, to our home," said the new uncle in queer, proud, oratorical english. and to helga's smiling, grateful “thank you,” he returned: "your trunks? your checks?” also in english, and then lapsed into danish. "where in the world are the fishers? we must hurry the customs." almost immediately they were joined by a breathless couple, a young gray-haired man and a fair, tiny, doll-like woman. it de- veloped that they had lived in england for some years and so spoke english, real english, well. they were both breathless, all apologies and explanations. "so early!" sputtered the man, herr i quick sand fisher, “we inquired last night and they said nine. it was only by accident that we called again this morning to be sure. well, you can imagine the rush we were in when they said eight! and of course we had trouble in finding a cab. one always does if one is late.” all this in danish. then to helga in english: “you see, i was especially asked to come because fru dahl didn't know if you remembered your dan- ish, and your uncle's english-well—" more laughter. at last, the customs having been hur- ried and a cab secured, they were off, with much chatter, through the toy-like streets, weaving perilously in and out among the swarms of bicycles. it had begun, a new life for helga crane. quicks and thirteen : she liked it, this new life. for a time it blotted from her mind all else. she took to luxury as the proverbial duck to water. and she took to admiration and attention even more eagerly. it was pleasant to wake on that first afternoon, after the insisted-upon nap, with that sensation of lavish contentment and well-being enjoyed only by impecunious sybarites waking in the houses of the rich. but there was some- thing more than mere contentment and well- being. to helga crane it was the realization of a dream that she had dreamed persistently ever since she was old enough to remember such vague things as day-dreams and long- ings. always she had wanted, not money, but the things which money could give, leisure, at- tention, beautiful surroundings. things. things. things. quicks and another knocking. aunt katrina en- tered, smiling at helga's quick, lithe spring from the bed. they were going out to tea, she informed helga. what, the girl inquired, did one wear to tea in copenhagen, meanwhile glancing at her aunt's dark purple dress and bringing forth a severely plain blue crêpe frock. but no! it seemed that that wouldn't at all do. "too sober," pronounced fru dahl. "haven't you something lively, something bright?” and, noting helga's puzzled glance at her own subdued costume, she explained laughingly: "oh, i'm an old married lady, and a dane. but you, you're young. and you're a foreigner, and different. you must have bright things to set off the color of your lovely brown skin. striking things, exotic things. you must make an impression.” "i've only these,” said helga crane, timidly displaying her wardrobe on couch and chairs. "of course i intend to buy here. i didn't want to bring over too much that might be useless." quicks and chinese red dressing-gown in which helga had wrapped herself when at last the fitting was over, “suits you. tomorrow we'll shop. maybe we can get something that color. that black and orange thing there is good too, but too high. what a prim american maiden you are, helga, to hide such a fine back and shoulders. your feet are nice too, but you ought to have higher heels and buckles.” left alone, helga began to wonder. she was dubious, too, and not a little resent- ful. certainly she loved color with a passion that perhaps only negroes and gypsies know. but she had a deep faith in the perfection of her own taste, and no mind to be bedecked in flaunting flashy things. still—she had to admit that fru dahl was right about the dressing- gown. it did suit her. perhaps an evening dress. and she knew that she had lovely shoulders, and her feet were nice. when she was dressed in the shining black taffeta with its bizarre trimmings of pur- quicks and across the pavement from the shop to the wait- ing motor. this feeling was intensified by the many pedestrians who stopped to stare at the queer dark creature, strange to their city. her reddened, but both herr and fru dahl seemed oblivious of the stares or the audi- ble whispers in which helga made out the one frequently recurring word “sorte," which she recognized as the danish word for “black." her aunt katrina merely remarked: “a high color becomes you, helga. per- haps tonight a little rouge-" to which her husband nodded in agreement and stroked his mustache meditatively. helga crane said nothing. they were pleased with the success she was at the tea, or rather the coffee—for no tea was served-and later at dinner. helga her- self felt like nothing so much as some new and strange species of pet dog being proudly ex- hibited. everyone was very polite and very quicks and friendly, but she felt the massed curiosity and interest, so discreetly hidden under the polite greetings. the very atmosphere was tense with it. “as if i had horns, or three legs," she thought. she was really nervous and a little terrified, but managed to present an outward smiling composure. this was assisted by the fact that it was taken for granted that she knew nothing or very little of the language. so she had only to bow and look pleasant. herr and fru dahl did the talking, answered the questions. she came away from the coffee feel- ing that she had acquitted herself well in the first skirmish. and, in spite of the mental strain, she had enjoyed her prominence. if the afternoon had been a strain, the evening was something more. it was more ex- citing too. marie had indeed "cut down" the prized green velvet, until, as helga put it, it was “practically nothing but a skirt.” she was thankful for the barbaric bracelets, for the dangling ear-rings, for the beads about her quicks and jo neck. she was even thankful for the rouge on her burning cheeks and for the very powder on her back. no other woman in the stately pale-blue room was so greatly exposed. but she liked the small murmur of wonder and ad- miration which rose when uncle poul brought her in. she liked the compliments in the men's eyes as they bent over her hand. she liked the subtle half-understood flattery of her dinner partners. the women too were kind, feeling no need for jealousy. to them this girl, this helga crane, this mysterious niece of the dahls, was not to be reckoned seriously in their scheme of things. true, she was attractive, unusual, in an exotic, almost savage way, but she wasn't one of them. she didn't at all count. near the end of the evening, as helga sat effectively posed on a red satin sofa, the center of an admiring group, replying to ques- tions about america and her trip over, in halt- ing, inadequate danish, there came a shifting of the curious interest away from herself. fol- quicks and lowing the others' eyes, she saw that there had entered the room a tallish man with a flying mane of reddish blond hair. he was wearing a great black cape, which swung gracefully from his huge shoulders, and in his long, nervous hand he held a wide soft hat. an artist, helga decided at once, taking in the broad streaming tie. but how affected! how theatrical! with fru dahl he came forward and was presented. “herr olsen, herr axel ol- sen.” to helga crane that meant nothing. the man, however, interested her. for an im- perceptible second he bent over her hand. after that he looked intently at her for what seemed to her an incredibly rude length of time from under his heavy drooping lids. at last, remov- ing his stare of startled satisfaction, he wagged his leonine head approvingly. “yes, you're right. she's amazing. marvelous,” he muttered. everyone else in the room was deliber- ately not staring. about helga there sputtered mov- quicks and her personally? she, helga crane, who almost all her life had looked after herself, was she now to be looked after by aunt katrina and her husband? it didn't seem real. it was late, very late, when finally she climbed into the great bed after having received an auntly kiss. she lay long awake reviewing the events of the crowded day. she was happy again. happiness covered her like the lovely quilts under which she rested. she was mysti- fied too. her aunt's words came back to her. "you're young and a foreigner and—and dif- ferent.” just what did that mean, she won- dered. did it mean that the difference was to be stressed, accented? helga wasn't so sure that she liked that. hitherto all her efforts had been toward similarity to those about her. “how odd,” she thought sleepily, “and how different from america !" quicks and crane. her dark, alien appearance was to most people an astonishment. some stared surrepti- tiously, some openly, and some stopped dead in front of her in order more fully to profit by their stares. “den sorte” dropped freely, au- dibly, from many lips. the time came when she grew used to the stares of the population. and the time came when the population of copenhagen grew used to her outlandish presence and ceased to stare. but at the end of that first day it was with thankfulness that she returned to the sheltering walls of the house on maria kirkplads. they were followed by numerous pack- ages, whose contents all had been selected or suggested by olsen and paid for by aunt ka- trina. helga had only to wear them. when they were opened and the things spread out upon the sedate furnishings of her chamber, they made a rather startling array. it was al- most in a mood of rebellion that helga faced the fantastic collection of garments incongru- quicks and ously laid out in the quaint, stiff, pale old room. there were batik dresses in which mingled in- digo, orange, green, vermilion, and black; dresses of velvet and chiffon in screaming col- ors, blood-red, sulphur-yellow, sea-green; and one black and white thing in striking combina- tion. there was a black manila shawl strewn with great scarlet and lemon flowers, a leopard- skin coat, a glittering opera-cape. there were turban-like' hats of metallic silks, feathers and furs, strange jewelry, enameled or set with odd semi-precious stones, a nauseous eastern per- fume, shoes with dangerously high heels. grad- ually helga's perturbation subsided in the un- usual pleasure of having so many new and ex- pensive clothes at one time. she began to feel a little excited, incited. incited. that was it, the guiding prin- ciple of her life in copenhagen. she was incited to make an impression, a voluptuous impres- sion. she was incited to inflame attention and admiration. she was dressed for it, subtly quicks and s one in the so-called poor sections there was none of that untidiness and squalor which she re- membered as the accompaniment of poverty in chicago, new york, and the southern cities of america. here the door-steps were always white from constant scrubbings, the women neat, and the children washed and provided with whole clothing. here were no tatters and rags, no beggars. but, then, begging, she learned, was an offense punishable by law. in- deed, it was unnecessary in a country where everyone considered it a duty somehow to sup- port himself and his family by honest work; or, if misfortune and illness came upon one, every- one else, including the state, felt bound to give assistance, a lift on the road to the regaining of independence. after the initial shyness and consterna- tion at the sensation caused by her strange presence had worn off, helga spent hours driv- ing or walking about the city, at first in the protecting company of uncle poul or aunt quick sand katrina or both, or sometimes axel olsen. but later, when she had become a little familiar with the city, and its inhabitants a little used to her, and when she had learned to cross the streets in safety, dodging successfully the in- numerable bicycles like a true copenhagener, she went often alone, loitering on the long bridge which spanned the placid lakes, or watch- ing the pageant of the blue-clad, sprucely tail- ored soldiers in the daily parade at amielen- borg palace, or in the historic vicinity of the long, low-lying exchange, a picturesque struc- ture in picturesque surroundings, skirting as it did the great canal, which always was alive with many small boats, flying broad white sails and pressing close on the huge ruined pile of the palace of christiansborg. there was also the gammelstrand, the congregating-place of the venders of fish, where daily was enacted a spir- ited and interesting scene between sellers and buyers, and where helga's appearance always roused lively and audible, but friendly, interest, quicks and long after she became in other parts of the city an accepted curiosity. here it was that one day an old countrywoman asked her to what man- ner of mankind she belonged and at helga's re- plying: "i'm a negro,” had become indignant, retorting angrily that, just because she was old and a countrywoman she could not be so easily fooled, for she knew as well as everyone else that negroes were black and had woolly hair. against all this walking the dahls had at first uttered mild protest. “but, aunt dear, i have to walk, or i'll get fat,” helga asserted. “i've never, never in all my life, eaten so much.” for the accepted style of entertainment in copenhagen seemed to be a round of dinner- parties, at which it was customary for the host- ess to tax the full capacity not only of her dining-room, but of her guests as well. helga enjoyed these dinner-parties, as they were usu- ally spirited affairs, the conversation brilliant and witty, often in several languages. and al- quicks and mo ways she came in for a goodly measure of flat- tering attention and admiration. there were, too, those popular after- noon gatherings for the express purpose of drinking coffee together, where between much talk, interesting talk, one sipped the strong and steaming beverage from exquisite cups fash- ioned of royal danish porcelain and partook of an infinite variety of rich cakes and smørre- brød. this smørrebrød, dainty sandwiches of an endless and tempting array, was distinctly a danish institution. often helga wondered just how many of these delicious sandwiches she had consumed since setting foot on denmark's soil. always, wherever food was served, appeared the inevitable smørrebrød, in the home of the dahls, in every other home that she visited, in hotels, in restaurants. at first she had missed, a little, danc- ing, for, though excellent dancers, the danes seemed not to care a great deal for that pas- time, which so delightfully combines exercise quicks and bust and pleasure. but in the winter there was skat- ing, solitary, or in gay groups. helga liked this sport, though she was not very good at it. there were, however, always plenty of efficient and willing men to instruct and to guide her over the glittering ice. one could, too, wear such attractive skating-things. but mostly it was with axel olsen that her thoughts were occupied. brilliant, bored, elegant, urbane, cynical, worldly, he was a type entirely new to helga crane, familiar only, and that but little, with the restricted society of american negroes. she was aware, too, that this amusing, if conceited, man was interested in her. they were, because he was painting her, much together. helga spent long mornings in the eccentric studio opposite the folkemuseum, and olsen came often to the dahl home, where, as helga and the man himself knew, he was something more than welcome. but in spite of his expressed interest and even delight in her exotic appearance, in spite of his constant at- quicks and са ma tendance upon her, he gave no sign of the more personal kind of concern which encouraged by aunt katrina's mild insinuations and uncle poul's subtle questionings—she had tried to se- cure. was it, she wondered, race that kept him silent, held him back. helga crane frowned on this thought, putting it furiously from her, be- cause it disturbed her sense of security and per- manence in her new life, pricked her self-assur- ance. nevertheless she was startled when on a pleasant afternoon while drinking coffee in the hotel vivili, aunt katrina mentioned, al- most casually, the desirability of helga's mak- ing a good marriage. "marriage, aunt dear!" "marriage,” firmly repeated her aunt, helping herself to another anchovy and olive sandwich. “you are," she pointed out, "twenty- five.” "oh, aunt, i couldn't! i mean, there's nobody here for me to marry.” in spite of her. quicks and fru dahl thoughtfully lit a cigarette. eventually, after a satisfactory glow had mani- fested itself, she announced: "because your mother was a fool. yes, she was! if she'd come home after she married, or after you were born, or even after your father-er-went off like that, it would have been different. if even she'd left you when she was here. but why in the world she should have married again, and a per- son like that, i can't see. she wanted to keep you, she insisted on it, even over his protest, i think. she loved you so much, she said.and so she made you unhappy. mothers, i suppose, are like that. selfish. and karen was always stupid. if you've got any brains at all they came from your father.” into this helga would not enter. be- cause of its obvious partial truths she felt the need for disguising caution. with a detachment that amazed herself she asked if aunt katrina didn't think, really, that miscegenation was wrong, in fact as well as principle. quicks and "don't," was her aunt's reply, “be a fool too, helga. we don't think of those things here. not in connection with individuals, at least.” and almost immediately she inquired: “did you give herr olsen my message about dinner tonight?” “yes, aunt.” helga was cross, and try- ing not to show it. “he's coming?" “yes, aunt,” with precise politeness. “what about him?" "i don't know. what about him?" “he likes you ?” "i don't know. how can i tell that?” helga asked with irritating reserve, her con- centrated attention on the selection of a sand- wich. she had a feeling of nakedness. outrage. now fru dahl was annoyed and showed it. “what nonsense! of course you know. any girl does,” and her satin-covered foot tapped, a little impatiently, the old tiled floor. "really, i don't know, aunt," helga quick sand to responded in a strange voice, a strange manner, coldly formal, levelly courteous. then suddenly contrite, she added: "honestly, i don't. i can't tell a thing about him," and fell into a little silence. “not a thing,” she repeated. but the phrase, though audible, was addressed to no one. to herself. she looked out into the amazing order- liness of the street. instinctively she wanted to combat this searching into the one thing which, here, surrounded by all other things which for so long she had so positively wanted, made her a little afraid. started vague premonitions. fru dahl regarded her intently. it would be, she remarked with a return of her outward casualness, by far the best of all pos- sibilities. particularly desirable. she touched helga's hand with her fingers in a little af. fectionate gesture. very lightly. helga crane didn't immediately reply. there was, she knew, so much reason—from one viewpoint-in her aunt's statement. she . quicks and before turning to greet fru fischer she said quietly, meaningly: "or else stop wasting your time, helga." helga crane said: "ah, fru fischer. it's good to see you.” she meant it. her whole body was tense with suppressed indignation. burning inside like the confined fire of a hot furnace. she was so harassed that she smiled in self-protection. and suddenly she was oddly cold. an intimation of things distant, but none the less disturbing, oppressed her with a faintly sick feeling. like a heavy weight, a stone weight, just where, she knew, was her stomach. fru fischer was late. as usual. she apol- ogized profusely. also as usual. and, yes, she would have some coffee. and some smørrebrød. though she must say that the coffee here at the vivili was atrocious. simply atrocious. "i don't see how you stand it.” and the place was getting so common, always so many bolsheviks and japs and things. and she didn't—"begging your pardon, helga”—like that hideous amer- quicks and ican music they were forever playing, even if it was considered very smart. “give me," she said, “the good old-fashioned danish melodies of gade and heise. which reminds me, herr olsen says that nielsen's “helios” is being performed with great success just now in eng- land. but i suppose you know all about it, helga. he's already told you. what?” this last was accompanied with an arch and insinu- ating smile. a shrug moved helga crane's shoul- ders. strange she'd never before noticed what a positively disagreeable woman fru fischer was. stupid, too. quicks and fifteen well into helga's second year in denmark, came an indefinite discontent. not clear, but vague, like a storm gathering far on the hori- zon. it was long before she would admit that she was less happy than she had been during her first year in copenhagen, but she knew that it was so. and this subconscious knowledge added to her growing restlessness and little mental insecurity. she desired ardently to com- bat this wearing down of her satisfaction with her life, with herself. but she didn't know how. frankly the question came to this: what was the matter with her? was there, without her knowing it, some peculiar lack in her ? ab- surd. but she began to have a feeling of dis- couragement and hopelessness. why couldn't she be happy, content, somewhere? other peo- ple managed, somehow, to be. to put it plainly, quick sand go back to america, where they hated negroes! to america, where negroes were not people. to america, where negroes were: allowed to be beggars only, of life, of happi- ness, of security. to america, where everything had been taken from those dark ones, liberty, respect, even the labor of their hands. to america, where if one had negro blood, one mustn't expect money, education, or, sometimes, even work whereby one might earn bread. per- haps she was wrong to bother about it now that she was so far away. helga couldn't, however, help it. never could she recall the shames and often the absolute horrors of the black man's existence in america without the quickening of her heart's beating and a sensation of disturb- ing nausea. it was too awful. the sense of dread of it was almost a tangible thing in her throat. and certainly she wouldn't go back for any such idiotic reason as anne's getting mar- ried to that offensive robert anderson. anne ol quicks and was really too amusing. just why, she won- dered, and how had it come about that he was being married to anne. and why did anne, who had so much more than so many others— more than enough-want anderson too? why couldn't she— "i think,” she told herself, "i'd better stop. it's none of my business. i don't care in the least. besides,” she added irrele- vantly, “i hate such nonsensical soul-searching." one night not long after the arrival of anne's letter with its curious news, helga went with olsen and some other young folk to the great circus, a vaudeville house, in search of amusement on a rare off night. after sitting through several numbers they reluctantly ar- rived at the conclusion that the whole enter- tainment was dull, unutterably dull, and appar- ently without alleviation, and so not to be borne. they were reaching for their wraps when out upon the stage pranced two black men, american negroes undoubtedly, for as they danced and cavorted, they sang in the quicks and but later, when she was alone, it be- came quite clear to her that all along they had divined its presence, had known that in her was something, some characteristic, different from any that they themselves possessed. else why had they decked her out as they had? why subtly indicated that she was different? and they hadn't despised it. no, they had admired it, rated it as a precious thing, a thing to be enhanced, preserved. why? she, helga crane, didn't admire it. she suspected that no negroes, no americans, did. else why their constant slavish imitation of traits not their own? why their constant begging to be considered as exact copies of other people ? even the enlightened, the intelligent ones demanded nothing more. they were all beggars like the motley crowd in the old nursery rhyme: hark! hark! the dogs do bark. the beggars are coming to town. quicks and some in rags, some in tags, and some in velvet gowns. the incident left her profoundly dis- quieted. her old unhappy questioning mood came again upon her, insidiously stealing away more of the contentment from her transformed existence. but she returned again and again to the circus, always alone, gazing intently and sol- emnly at the gesticulating black figures, an iron- ical and silently speculative spectator. for she knew that into her plan for her life had thrust itself a suspensive conflict in which were fused doubts, rebellion, expediency, and urgent long- ings. it was at this time that axel olsen asked her to marry him. and now helga crane was surprised. it was a thing that at one time she had much wanted, had tried to bring about, and had at last relinquished as impossible of quick sa n d achievement. not so much because of its ap- parent hopelessness as because of a feeling, intangible almost, that, excited and pleased as he was with her, her origin a little repelled him, and that, prompted by some impulse of racial antagonism, he had retreated into the fastness of a protecting habit of self-ridicule. a mor- dantly personal pride and sensitiveness deterred helga from further efforts at incitation. true, he had made, one morning, while holding his brush poised for a last, a very last stroke on the portrait, one admirably draped suggestion, speaking seemingly to the pictured face. had he insinuated marriage, or something less—and easier? or had he paid her only a rather florid compliment, in somewhat dubious taste? helga, who had not at the time been quite sure, had remained silent, striving to ap- pear unhearing. later, having thought it over, she flayed herself for a fool. it wasn't, she should have known, in the manner of axel olsen to pay quicks and florid compliments in questionable taste. and had it been marriage that he had meant, he would, of course, have done the proper thing. he wouldn't have stopped-or, rather, have begun—by making his wishes known to her when there was uncle poul to be formally con- sulted. she had been, she told herself, insulted. and a goodly measure of contempt and wari- ness was added to her interest in the man. she was able, however, to feel a gratifying sense of elation in the remembrance that she had been silent, ostensibly unaware of his utterance, and therefore, as far as he knew, not affronted. this simplified things. it did away with the quandary in which the confession to the dahls of such a happening would have involved her, for she couldn't be sure that they, too, might not put it down to the difference of her ancestry. and she could still go attended by him, and envied by others, to openings in kon- igen's nytorv, to showings at the royal acad- emy or charlottenborg's palace. he could still nawal quicks and now. she was too amazed to discover suddenly how intensely she disliked him, disliked the shape of his head, the mop of his hair, the line of his nose, the tones of his voice, the nervous grace of his long fingers; disliked even the very look of his irreproachable clothes. and for some inexplicable reason, she was a little fright- ened and embarrassed, so that when he had fin- ished speaking, for a short space there was only stillness in the small room, into which aunt katrina had tactfully had him shown. even thor, the enormous persian, curled on the window ledge in the feeble late afternoon sun, had rested for the moment from his in- cessant purring under helga's idly stroking fingers. helga, her slight agitation vanished, told him that she was surprised. his offer was, she said, unexpected. quite. a little sardonically, olsen interrupted her. he smiled too. “but of course i expected surprise. it is, is it not, the proper thing? and quicks and always you are proper, frøkken helga, al- ways." helga, who had a stripped, naked feel- ing under his direct glance, drew herself up stiffly. herr olsen needn't, she told him, be sarcastic. she was surprised. he must under- stand that she was being quite sincere, quite truthful about that. really, she hadn't expected him to do her so great an honor. he made a little impatient gesture. why, then, had she refused, ignored, his other, earlier suggestion ? at that helga crane took a deep in- dignant breath and was again, this time for an almost imperceptible second, silent. she had, then, been correct in her deduction. her sen- suous, petulant mouth hardened. that he should so frankly—so insolently, it seemed to her-admit his outrageous meaning was too much. she said, coldly: "because, herr olsen, in my country the men, of my race, at least, don't make such suggestions to decent girls. quick sand and thinking that you were a gentleman, in- troduced to me by my aunt, i chose to think myself mistaken, to give you the benefit of the doubt." “very commendable, my helga—and wise. now you have your reward. now i offer you marriage.” “thanks,” she answered, "thanks, aw- fully." "yes," and he reached for her slim cream hand, now lying quiet on thor's broad orange and black back. helga let it lie in his large pink one, noting their contrast. “yes, be- cause i, poor artist that i am, cannot hold out against the deliberate lure of you. you disturb me. the longing for you does harm to my work. you creep into my brain and madden me," and he kissed the small ivory hand. quite decorously, helga thought, for one so mad- dened that he was driven, against his inclina- tion, to offer her marriage. but immediately, in extenuation, her mind leapt to the admirable i quicks and casualness of aunt katrina's expressed desire for this very thing, and recalled the unruffled calm of uncle poul under any and all circum- stances. it was, as she had long ago decided, security. balance. “but,” the man before her was saying, "for me it will be an experience. it may be that with you, helga, for wife, i will become great. immortal. who knows? i didn't want to love you, but i had to. that is the truth. i make of myself a present to you. for love." his voice held a theatrical note. at the same time he moved forward putting out his arms. his hands touched air. for helga had moved back. in- stantly he dropped his arms and took a step away, repelled by something suddenly wild in her face and manner. sitting down, he passed a hand over his face with a quick, graceful ges- ture. tameness returned to helga crane. her ironic gaze rested on the face of axel olsen, his leonine head, his broad nosem ma quicks and "broader than my own"—his bushy eyebrows, surmounting thick, drooping lids, which hid, she knew, sullen blue eyes. he stirred sharply, shak- ing off his momentary disconcertion. in his assured, despotic way he went on: “you know, helga, you are a contradiction. you have been, i suspect, corrupted by the good fru dahl, which is perhaps as well. who knows? you have the warm impulsive nature of the women of africa, but, my lovely, you have, i fear, the soul of a prostitute. you sell yourself to the highest buyer. i should of course be happy that it is i. and i am.” he stopped, contemplating her, lost apparently, for the sec- ond, in pleasant thoughts of the future. to helga he seemed to be the most dis- tant, the most unreal figure in the world. she suppressed a ridiculous impulse to laugh. the effort sobered her. abruptly she was aware that in the end, in some way, she would pay for this hour. a quick brief fear ran through her, leav- ing in its wake a sense of impending calamity. ес. quicks and she wondered if for this she would pay all that she'd had. and, suddenly, she didn't at all care. she said, lightly, but firmly: “but you see, herr olsen, i'm not for sale. not to you. not to any white man. i don't at all care to be owned. even by you.” the drooping lids lifted. the look in the blue eyes was, helga thought, like the sur- prised stare of a puzzled baby. he hadn't at all grasped her meaning. she proceeded, deliberately: "i think you don't understand me. what i'm trying to say is this, i don't want you. i wouldn't under any circumstances marry you," and since she was, as she put it, being brutally frank, she added: "now." he turned a little away from her, his face white but composed, and looked down into the gathering shadows in the little park before the house. at last he spoke, in a queer frozen voice: "you refuse me?" quicks and “yes,” helga repeated with intentional carelessness. “i refuse you." the man's full upper lip trembled. he wiped his forehead, where the gold hair was now lying flat and pale and lusterless. his eyes still avoided the girl in the high-backed chair before him. helga felt a shiver of compunction. for an instant she regretted that she had not been a little kinder. but wasn't it after all the greatest kindness to be cruel ? but more gently, less indifferently, she said: “you see, i couldn't marry a white man. i simply couldn't. it isn't just you, not just personal, you understand. it's deeper, broader than that. it's racial. some day maybe you'll be glad. we can't tell, you know; if we were married, you might come to be ashamed of me, to hate me, to hate all dark people. my mother did that." "i have offered you marriage, helga crane, and you answer me with some 'strange talk of race and shame. what nonsense is this?" helga let that pass because she couldn't, ma quicks and she felt, explain. it would be too difficult, too mortifying. she had no words which could ade- quately, and without laceration to her pride, convey to him the pitfalls into which very easily they might step. “i might,” she said, "have con- sidered it once—when i first came. but you, hoping for a more informal arrangement, waited too long. you missed the moment. i had time to think. now i couldn't. nothing is worth the risk. we might come to hate each other. i've been through it, or something like it. i know. i couldn't do it. and i'm glad." rising, she held out her hand, relieved that he was still silent. "good afternoon," she said formally. "it has been a great honor—" “a tragedy," he corrected, barely touch- ing her hand with his moist finger-tips. "why?" helga countered, and for an instant felt as if something sinister and inter- necine flew back and forth between them like' poison. "i mean,” he said, and quite solemnly, quicks and "that though i don't entirely understand you, yet in a way i do too. and—” he hesitated. went on. "i think that my picture of you is, after all, the true helga crane. therefore—a tragedy. for someone. for me? perhaps.” "oh, the picture!" helga lifted her shoulders in a little impatient motion. ceremoniously axel olsen bowed him- self out, leaving her grateful for the urbanity which permitted them to part without too much awkwardness. no other man, she thought, of her acquaintance could have managed it so well—except, perhaps, robert anderson. "i'm glad,” she declared to herself in another moment, "that i refused him. and,” she added honestly, “i'm glad that i had the chance. he took it awfully well, though—for a tragedy.” and she made a tiny frown. the picture—she had never quite, in spite of her deep interest in him, and her desire for his admiration and approval, forgiven ol- quicks and but no, i don't like that picture. it looks bad, wicked. begging your pardon, frøkken.” "thanks, marie, i don't like it either." yes, anyone with half an eye could see that it wasn't she. quicks and sixteen glad though the dahls may have been that their niece had had the chance of refusing the hand of axel olsen, they were anything but glad that she had taken that chance. very plainly they said so, and quite firmly they pointed out to her the advisability of retrieving the opportunity, if, indeed, such a thing were possible. but it wasn't, even had helga been so inclined, for, they were to learn from the columns of politikken, axel olsen had gone off suddenly to some queer place in the balkans. to rest, the newspapers said. to get frøkken crane out of his mind, the gossips said. life in the dahl ménage went on, smoothly as before, but not so pleasantly. the combined disappointment and sense of guilt of the dahls and helga colored everything. though she had resolved not to think that quicks and odd or unkind of you or him. come now, helga, it isn't this foolishness about race. not here in denmark. you've never spoken of it before. it can't be just that. you're too sensible. it must be something else. i wish you'd try to explain. you don't perhaps like olsen ?” helga had been silent, thinking what a severe wrench to herr dahl's ideas of decency was this conversation. for he had an almost fanatic regard for reticence, and a peculiar shrinking from what he looked upon as inde- cent exposure of the emotions. “just what is it, helga ?” he asked again, because the pause had grown awkward, for him. "i can't explain any better than i have,” she had begun tremulously, "it's just some- thing—something deep down inside of me,” and had turned away to hide a face convulsed by threatening tears. but that, uncle poul had remarked with quicks and a reasonableness that was wasted on the miser- able girl before him, was nonsense, pure non- sense. with a shaking sigh and a frantic dab at her eyes, in which had come a despairing look, she had agreed that perhaps it was fool- ish, but she couldn't help it. “can't you, won't you understand, uncle poul?" she begged, with a pleading look at the kindly worldly man who at that moment had been thinking that this strange exotic niece of his wife's was indeed charming. he didn't blame olsen for taking it rather hard. the thought passed. she was weeping. with no effort at restraint. charming, yes. but insufficiently civilized. impulsive. imprudent. selfish. “try, helga, to control yourself," he had urged gently. he detested tears. “if it dis- tresses you so, we won't talk of it again. you, of course, must do as you yourself wish. both your aunt and i want only that you should be quick sand happy.” he had wanted to make an end of this fruitless wet conversation. helga had made another little dab at her face with the scrap of lace and raised shin- ing eyes to his face. she had said, with sincere regret: “you've been marvelous to me, you and aunt katrina. angelic. i don't want to seem ungrateful. i'd do anything for you, any. thing in the world but this." herr dahl had shrugged. a little sar- donically he had smiled. he had refrained from pointing out that this was the only thing she could do for them, the only thing that they had asked of her. he had been too glad to be through with the uncomfortable discussion. so life went on. dinners, coffees, theaters, pictures, music, clothes. more din- ners, coffees, theaters, clothes, music. and that nagging aching for america increased. aug- mented by the uncomfortableness of aunt ka- trina's and uncle poul's disappointment with her, that tormenting nostalgia grew to an un- quick sand bearable weight. as spring came on with many gracious tokens of following summer, she found her thoughts straying with increasing frequency to anne's letter and to harlem, its dirty streets, swollen now, in the warmer weather, with dark, gay humanity. until recently she had had no faintest wish ever to see america again. now she began to welcome the thought of a return. only a visit, of course. just to see, to prove to herself that there was nothing there for her. to dem- onstrate the absurdity of even thinking that there could be. and to relieve the slight tension here. maybe when she came back- her definite decision to go was arrived at with almost bewildering suddenness. it was after a concert at which dvorák's “new world symphony” had been wonderfully rendered. those wailing undertones of "swing low, sweet chariot” were too poignantly familiar. they struck into her longing heart and cut away her weakening defenses. she knew at least quick sand what it was that had lurked formless and un- designated these many weeks in the back of her troubled mind. incompleteness. "i'm homesick, not for america, but for negroes. that's the trouble." for the first time helga crane felt sympathy rather than contempt and hatred for that father, who so often and so angrily she had blamed for his desertion of her mother. she understood, now, his rejection, his repudi- ation, of the formal calm her mother had repre- sented. she understood his yearning, his in- tolerable need for the inexhaustible humor and the incessant hope of his own kind, his need for those things, not material, indigenous to all negro environments. she understood and could sympathize with his facile surrender to the irresistible ties of race, now that they dragged at her own heart. and as she attended par- ties, the theater, the opera, and mingled with people on the streets, meeting only pale seri- ious faces when she longed for brown laugh- co quicks and ing ones, she was able to forgive him. also, it was as if in this understanding and forgiving she had come upon knowledge of almost sacred importance. without demur, opposition, or recrimi- nation herr and fru dahl accepted helga's de- cision to go back to america. she had expected that they would be glad and relieved. it was agreeable to discover that she had done them less than justice. they were, in spite of their extreme worldliness, very fond of her, and would, as they declared, miss her greatly. and they did want her to come back to them, as they repeatedly insisted. secretly they felt as she did, that perhaps when she returned— so it was agreed upon that it was only for a brief visit, "for your friend's wedding,” and that she was to return in the early fall. the last day came. the last good-byes were said. helga began to regret that she was leaving. why couldn't she have two lives, or why couldn't she be satisfied in one place? quicks and now that she was actually off, she felt heavy at heart. already she looked back with infinite regret at the two years in the country which had given her so much, of pride, of happiness, of wealth, and of beauty. bells rang. the gangplank was hoisted. the dark strip of water widened. the running figures of friends suddenly grown very dear grew smaller, blurred into a whole, and van- ished. tears rose in helga crane's eyes, fear in her heart. good-bye denmark! good-bye. good- bye! quicks and sec had wanted her to stay. after writing for her to come, too. pleasantly unaware was helga that anne, more silently wise than herself, more de- termined, more selfish, and less inclined to leave anything to chance, understood perfectly that in a large measure it was the voice of robert anderson's inexorable conscience that had been the chief factor in bringing about her second marriage-his ascetic protest against the sensuous, the physical. anne had perceived that the decorous surface of her new husband's mind regarded helga crane with that intellec- tual and ästhetic appreciation which attractive and intelligent women would always draw from him, but that underneath that well-managed sec- tion, in a more lawless place where she herself never hoped or desired to enter, was another, a vagrant primitive groping toward something shocking and frightening to the cold asceticism of his reason. anne knew also that though she herself was lovely-more beautiful than helga i i quicks and ---and interesting, with her he had not to strug- gle against that nameless and to him shameful impulse, that sheer delight, which ran through his nerves at mere proximity to helga. and anne intended that her marriage should be a success. she intended that her husband should be happy. she was sure that it could be managed by tact and a little cleverness on her own part. she was truly fond of helga, but seeing how she had grown more charming, more aware of her power, anne wasn't so sure that her sin- cere and urgent request to come over for her wedding hadn't been a mistake. she was, how- ever, certain of herself. she could look out for her husband. she could carry out what she considered her obligation to him, keep him un- disturbed, unhumiliated. it was impossible that she could fail. unthinkable. helga, on her part, had been glad to get back to new york. how glad, or why, she did not truly realize. and though she sincerely meant to keep her promise to aunt katrina and quick's and uncle poul and return to copenhagen, summer, september, october, slid by and she made no move to go. her uttermost intention had been a six or eight weeks' visit, but the feverish rush of new york, the comic tragedy of harlem, still held her. as time went on, she became a little bored, a little restless, but she stayed on. something of that wild surge of gladness that had swept her on the day when with anne and anderson she had again found herself sur- rounded by hundreds, thousands, of dark-eyed brown folk remained with her. these were her people. nothing, she had come to understand now, could ever change that. strange that she had never truly valued this kinship until dis- tance had shown her its worth. how absurd she had been to think that another country, other people, could liberate her from the ties which bound her forever to these mysterious, these terrible, these fascinating, these lovable, dark hordes. ties that were of the spirit. ties not only superficially entangled with mere out- quicks and line of features or color of skin. deeper. much deeper than either of these. thankful for the appeasement of that loneliness which had again tormented her like a fury, she gave herself up to the miraculous joyousness of harlem. the easement which its heedless abandon brought to her was a real, a very definite thing. she liked the sharp con- trast to her pretentious stately life in copen- hagen. it was as if she had passed from the heavy solemnity of a church service to a gor- geous care-free revel. not that she intended to remain. no. helga crane couldn't, she told herself and others, live in america. in spite of its glamour, existence in america, even in harlem, was for negroes too cramped, too uncertain, too cruel; i something not to be endured for a lifetime if one could escape; something demanding a cour- age greater than was in her. no. she couldn't stay. nor, she saw now, could she remain away. leaving, she would have to come back. quicks and anderson- why not she? it would serve anne right if she married a white man. but she knew in her soul that she wouldn't. “because i'm a fool,” she said bitterly. quicks and eighteen one november evening, impregnated still with the kindly warmth of the dead indian summer, helga crane was leisurely dressing in pleasant anticipation of the party to which she had been asked for that night. it was always amusing at the tavenors'. their house was large and com- fortable, the food and music always of the best, and the type of entertainment always un- expected and brilliant. the drinks, too, were sure to be safe. and helga, since her return, was more than ever popular at parties. her courageous clothes attracted attention, and her deliberate lure—as olsen had called it-held it. her life in copenhagen had taught her to expect and accept admiration as her due. this attitude, she found, was as effective in new york as across the sea. it was, in fact, even more so. and it ven more quick sand nes the fact that helga knew that anne disap- proved of her. without words anne had man- aged to make that evident. in her opinion, helga had lived too long among the enemy, the detestable pale faces. she understood them too well, was too tolerant of their ignorant stupid- ities. if they had been latins, anne might con- ceivably have forgiven the disloyalty. but nor- dics ! lynchers! it was too traitorous. helga smiled a little, understanding anne's bitter- ness and hate, and a little of its cause. it was of a piece with that of those she so virulently hated. fear. and then she sighed a little, for she regretted the waning of anne's friend- ship. but, in view of diverging courses of their lives, she felt that even its complete extinction would leave her undevastated. not that she wasn't still grateful to anne for many things. it was only that she had other things now. and there would, forever, be robert anderson between them. a nuisance. shutting them off from their previous confident companionship quicks and na a and understanding. “and anyway,” she said again, aloud, "he's nobody much to have mar- ried. anybody could have married him. any- . body. if a person wanted only to be married if it had been somebody like olsen- that would be different something to crow over, perhaps.” the party was even more interesting than helga had expected. helen, mrs. ta- venor, had given vent to a malicious glee, and had invited representatives of several opposing harlem political and social factions, including the west indian, and abandoned them help- lessly to each other. helga's obserying eyes picked out several great and near-great sulking or obviously trying hard not to sulk in widely separated places in the big rooms. there were present, also, a few white people, to the open disapproval or discomfort of anne and several others. there too, poised, serene, certain, sur- rounded by masculine black and white, was au- drey denney. quicks and “do you know, helen,” helga con- fided, “i've never met miss denney. i wish you'd introduce me. not this minute. later, when you can manage it. not somer-appar- ently by request, you know.” helen tavenor laughed. “no, you wouldn't have met her, living as you did with anne grey. anderson, i mean. she's anne's particular pet aversion. the mere sight of audrey is enough to send her into a frenzy for a week. it's too bad, too, because audrey's an awfully interesting person and anne's said some pretty awful things about her. you'll like her, helga.” helga nodded. “yes, i expect to. and i know about anne. one night—" she stopped, for across the room she saw, with a stab of sur- prise, james vayle. “where, helen did you get him?" "oh, that? that's something the cat brought in. don't ask which one. he came with somebody, i don't remember who. i think he's quicks and shocked to death. isn't he lovely? the dear baby. i was going to introduce him to audrey and tell her to do a good job of vamping on him as soon as i could remember the darling's name, or when it got noisy enough so he wouldn't hear what i called him. but you'll do just as well. don't tell me you know him!” helga made a little nod. “welll and i sup- pose you met him at some shockingly wicked place in europe. that's always the way with those innocent-looking men.” not quite. i met him ages ago in naxos. we were engaged to be married. nice, isn't he? his name's vayle. james vayle." “nice,” said helen throwing out her hands in a characteristic dramatic gesture-she had beautiful hands and arms—"is exactly the word. mind if i run off? i've got somebody here who's going to sing. not spirituals. and i haven't the faintest notion where he's got to. the cellar, i'll bet.” james vayle hadn't, helga decided, quicks and he was, she saw, getting himself together. "it's only another way of saying that everybody, al- most, some time sooner or later comes to har- lem, even you." he laughed. “yes, i guess that is true enough. i didn't come to stay, though.” and then he was grave, his earnest eyes searchingly upon her. "well, anyway, you're here now, so let's find a quiet corner if that's possible, where we can talk. i want to hear all about you." for a moment he hung back and a glint of mischief shone in helga's eyes. "i see," she said, "you're just the same. however, you needn't be anxious. this isn't naxos, you know. nobody's watching us, or if they are, they don't care a bit what we do.” at that he flushed a little, protested a little, and followed her. and when at last they had found seats in another room, not so crowded, he said: "i didn't expect to see you here. i thought you were still abroad." quicks and "i still maintain that they nearly all come back here eventually to live.” "that's because they can't help it,” helga crane said firmly. “money, you know.” "perhaps, i'm not so sure. i was in the war. of course, that's not really living over there, but i saw the country and the difference in treatment. but, i can tell you, i was pretty darn glad to get back. all the fellows were." he shook his head solemnly. “i don't think any- thing, money or lack of money, keeps us here. if it was only that, if we really wanted to leave, we'd go all right. no, it's something else, some- thing deeper than that." “and just what do you think it is ?” "i'm afraid it's hard to explain, but i suppose it's just that we like to be together. i simply can't imagine living forever away from colored people.” a suspicion of a frown drew helga's brows. she threw out rather tartly: "i'm a negro too, you know." quicks and "well, helga, you were always a little different, a little dissatisfied, though i don't pretend to understand you at all. i never did," he said a little wistfully. and helga, who was beginning to feel that the conversation had taken an impersonal and disappointing tone, was reassured and gave him her most sympathetic smile and said almost gently: “and now let's talk about you. you're still at naxos ?" “yes i'm still there. i'm assistant prin- cipal now.” plainly it was a cause for enthusiastic congratulation, but helga could only manage a tepid “how nice !" naxos was to her too re- mote, too unimportant. she did not even hate it now. how long, she asked, would james be in new york? he couldn't say. business, important business for the school, had brought him. it was, he said, another tone creeping into his quicks and guests: “and i don't like that sort of thing. in fact i detest it.” "why?” helga was striving hard to be casual in her manner. james vayle, it was evident, was begin- ning to be angry. it was also evident that helga crane's question had embarrassed him. but he seized the bull by the horns and said: "you know as well as i do, helga, that it's the colored girls these men come up here to see. they wouldn't think of bringing their wives.” and he blushed furiously at his own implica- tion. the blush restored helga's good temper. james was really too funny. “that,” she said softly, “is hugh wentworth, the novelist, you know.” and she indicated a tall olive-skinned girl being whirled about to the streaming music in the arms of a towering black man. “and that is his wife. she isn't colored, as you've probably been think- ing. and now let's change the subject again." "all right! and this time let's talk quicks and later she had to go upstairs to pin up a place in the hem of her dress which had caught on a sharp chair corner. she finished the temporary repair and stepped out into the hall, and somehow, she never quite knew exactly just how, into the arms of robert anderson. she drew back and looked up smiling to offer an apology. and then it happened. he stooped and kissed her, a long kiss, holding her close. she fought against him with all her might. then, strangely, all power seemed to ebb away, and a long-hidden, half-understood desire welled up in her with the suddenness of a dream. helga crane's own arms went up about the man's neck. when she drew away, consciously con- fused and embarrassed, everything seemed to have changed in a space of time which she knew to have been only seconds. sudden anger seized her. she pushed him indignantly aside and with a little pat for her hair and dress went slowly down to the others. quicks and sa incomprehensible experience of last night. she still liked her in the same degree and in the same manner. she still felt slightly annoyed with her. she still did not envy her marriage. with anderson. by some mysterious process the emotional upheaval which had racked her had left all the rocks of her existence unmoved. out- wardly nothing had changed. days, weeks, passed; outwardly serene; inwardly tumultous. helga met dr. anderson at the social affairs to which often they were both asked. sometimes she danced with him, always in perfect silence. she couldn't, she ab- solutely couldn't, speak a word to him when they were thus alone together, for at such times lassitude encompassed her; the emotion which had gripped her retreated, leaving a strange tranquillity, troubled only by a soft stir of de- sire. and shamed by his silence, his apparent forgetting, always after these dances she tried desperately to persuade herself to believe what she wanted to believe: that it had not hap- quicks and he hesitated a second and then said quickly: “why, yes, that's all right.” "eight o'clock ?” “eight o'clock,” he agreed. eight o'clock tomorrow came. helga crane never forgot it. she had carried away from yesterday's meeting a feeling of increas- ing elation. it had seemed to her that she hadn't been so happy, so exalted, in years, if ever. all night, all day, she had mentally prepared her- self for the coming consummation; physically too, spending hours before the mirror. eight o'clock had come at last and with it dr. anderson. only then had uneasiness come upon her and a feeling of fear for pos- sible exposure. for helga crane wasn't, after all, a rebel from society, negro society. it did mean something to her. she had no wish to stand alone. but these late fears were over- whelmed by the hardiness of insistent desire; and she had got herself down to the hotel's small reception room. mean quicks and contrition or apology, helga crane had gone out of the room and upstairs. she had, she told herself, been per- fectly justified in slapping dr. anderson, but she was not convinced. so she had tried hard to make herself very drunk in order that sleep might come to her, but had managed only to make herself very sick. not even the memory of how all living had left his face, which had gone a taupe gray hue, or the despairing way in which he had lifted his head and let it drop, or the trembling hands which he had pressed into his pockets, brought her any scrap of comfort. she had ruined everything. ruined it because she had been so silly as to close her eyes to all indica- tions that pointed to the fact that no matter what the intensity of his feelings or desires might be, he was not the sort of man who would for any reason give up one particle of his own good opinion of himself. not even for her. not quicks and even though he knew that she had wanted so terribly something special from him. something special. and now she had forfeited it forever. forever. helga had an instantaneous shocking perception of what for- ever meant. and then, like a flash, it was gone, leaving an endless stretch of dreary years be- fore her appalled vision. quicks and direct refusal of the offering. whatever out- come she had expected, it had been something else than this, this mortification, this feeling of ridicule and self-loathing, this knowledge that she had deluded herself. it was all, she told her- self, as unpleasant as possible. almost she wished she could die. not quite. it wasn't that she was afraid of death, which had, she thought, its picturesque aspects. it was rather that she knew she would not die. and death, after the debacle, would but in- tensify its absurdity. also, it would reduce her, helga crane, to unimportance, to nothingness. even in her unhappy present state, that did not appeal to her. gradually, reluctantly, she began to know that the blow to her self-esteem, the certainty of having proved herself a silly fool, was perhaps the severest hurt which she had suffered. it was her self-assurance that had gone down in the crash. after all, what dr. anderson thought didn't matter. she could escape from the discomfort of his knowing gray quicks and eyes. but she couldn't escape from sure knowl- edge that she had made a fool of herself. this angered her further and she struck the wall with her hands and jumped up and began hastily to dress herself. she couldn't go on with the analysis. it was too hard. why bother, when she could add nothing to the obvious fact that she had been a fool ? "i can't stay in this room any longer. i must get out or i'll choke.” her self- knowledge had increased her anguish. dis- tracted, agitated, incapable of containing her- self, she tore open drawers and closets trying desperately to take some interest in the selec- tion of her apparel. it was evening and still raining. in the streets, unusually deserted, the electric lights cast dull glows. helga crane, walking rapidly, aimlessly, could decide on no definite destina- tion. she had not thought to take umbrella or even rubbers. rain and wind whipped cruelly about her, drenching her garments and chill- quick sand gutter. so, though she was very tired and very weak, she dragged herself up and succeeded finally in making her way to the store whose blurred light she had marked for her destina- tion. she had opened the door and had en- tered before she was aware that, inside, people were singing a song which she was conscious of having heard years ago–hundreds of years it seemed. repeated over and over, she made out the words: ... showers of blessings, showers of blessings ... she was conscious too of a hundred pairs of eyes upon her as she stood there, drenched and disheveled, at the door of this improvised meeting-house. ... showers of blessings ... the appropriateness of the song, with its constant reference to showers, the ridic- quicks and ее dainful, as she sat there, listening to the preacher praying for her soul. but though she was contemptuous, she was being too well en- tertained to leave. and it was, at least, warm and dry. so she stayed, listening to the fervent exhortation to god to save her and to the zealous shoutings and groanings of the con- gregation. particularly she was interested in the writhings and weepings of the feminine portion, which seemed to predominate. little by little the performance took on an almost v bacchic vehemence. behind her, before her, beside her, frenzied women gesticulated, screamed, wept, and tottered to the praying of the preacher, which had gradually become a cadenced chant. when at last he ended, another took up the plea in the same moaning chant, and then another. it went on and on without pause with the persistence of some unconquer- able faith exalted beyond time and reality. fascinated, helga crane watched until there crept upon her an indistinct horror of an quicks and unknown world. she felt herself in the presence of a nameless people, observing rites of a re- mote obscure origin. the faces of the men and women took on the aspect of a dim vision. "this,” she whispered to herself, “is terrible. i must get out of here.” but the horror held her. she remained motionless, watching, as if she lacked the strength to leave the place-foul, vile, and terrible, with its mixture of breaths, its contact of bodies, its concerted convulsions, all in wild appeal for a single soul. her soul. and as helga watched and listened, gradually a curious influence penetrated her; she felt an echo of the weird orgy resound in her own heart; she felt herself possessed by the same madness; she too felt a brutal desire to shout and to sling herself about. frightened at the strength of the obsession, she gathered her- self for one last effort to escape, but vainly. in rising, weakness and nausea from last night's unsuccessful attempt to make herself drunk overcame her. she had eaten nothing since quicks and yesterday. she fell forward against the crude railing which enclosed the little platform. for a single moment she remained there in silent stillness, because she was afraid she was going to be sick. and in that moment she was lost- or saved. the yelling figures about her pressed forward, closing her in on all sides. maddened, she grasped at the railing, and with no previous intention began to yell like one insane, drown- ing every other clamor, while torrents of tears streamed down her face. she was unconscious of the words she uttered, or their meaning: “oh god, mercy, mercy. have mercy on me!" but she repeated them over and over. from those about her came a thunder- clap of joy. arms were stretched toward her with savage frenzy. the women dragged them- selves upon their knees or crawled over the floor like reptiles, sobbing and pulling their hair and tearing off their clothing. those who succeeded in getting near to her leaned forward to encourage the unfortunate sister, dropping quick sand twenty-one on leaving the mission helga crane had started straight back to her room at the hotel. with her had gone the fattish yellow man who had sat beside her. he had introduced himself as the reverend mr. pleasant green in prof- fering his escort for which helga had been grateful because she had still felt a little dizzy and much exhausted. so great had been this physical weariness that as she had walked be- side him, without attention to his verbose in- formation about his own "field," as he called it, she had been seized with a hateful feeling of vertigo and obliged to lay firm hold on his arm to keep herself from falling. the weakness had passed as suddenly as it had come. silently they had walked on. and gradually helga had re- called that the man beside her had himself swayed slightly at their close encounter, and quick sand mon that frantically for a fleeting moment he had gripped at a protruding fence railing. that man! was it possible ? as easy as that? instantly across her still half-hypnotized consciousness little burning darts of fancy had shot themselves. no. she couldn't. it would be too awful. just the same, what or who was there to hold her back? nothing. simply noth- ing. nobody. nobody at all. her searching mind had become in a moment quite clear. she cast at the man a specu- lative glance, aware that for a tiny space she had looked into his mind, a mind striving to be calm. a mind that was certain that it was secure because it was concerned only with things of the soul, spiritual things, which to him meant religious things. but actually a mind by habit at home amongst the mere material aspect of things, and at that moment consumed by some longing for the ecstasy that might lurk behind the gleam of her cheek, the flying wave of her hair, the pressure of her slim fingers on his se quicks and nal heavy arm. an instant's flashing vision it had been and it was gone at once. escaped in the aching of her own senses and the sudden dis- turbing fear that she herself had perhaps missed the supreme secret of life. after all, there was nothing to hold her back. nobody to care. she stopped sharply, shocked at what she was on the verge of con- sidering. appalled at where it might lead her. the man-what was his name?-think- ing that she was almost about to fall again, had reached out his arms to her. helga crane had deliberately stopped thinking. she had only. smiled, a faint provocative smile, and pressed her fingers deep into his arms until a wild look had come into his slightly bloodshot eyes. the next morning she lay for a long while, scarcely breathing, while she reviewed the happenings of the night before. curious. she couldn't be sure that it wasn't religion that had made her feel so utterly different from dread- ful yesterday. and gradually she became a quicks and little sad, because she realized that with every hour she would get a little farther away from this soothing haziness, this rest from her long trouble of body and of spirit; back into the clear bareness of her own small life and being, from which happiness and serenity always faded just as they had shaped themselves. and slowly bitterness crept into her soul. because, she thought, all i've ever had in life has been things except just this one time. at that she closed her eyes, for even remembrance caused her to shiver a little. things, she realized, hadn't been, weren't, enough for her. she'd have to have something else besides. it all came back to that old question of happiness. surely this was it. just for a fleeting moment helga crane, her eyes watching the wind scattering the gray- white clouds and so clearing a speck of blue sky, questioned her ability to retain, to bear, this happiness at such cost as she must pay for it. there was, she knew, no getting round that. quicks and ture like that, hold out against her? if she pretended to distress? to fear? to remorse? he couldn't. it would be useless for him even to try. she screwed up her face into a little grin, remembering that even if protestations were to fail, there were other ways. and, too, there was god. quicks and twenty-two and so in the confusion of seductive repent- ance helga crane was married to the grand- iloquent reverend mr. pleasant green, that rattish yellow man, who had so kindly, so unc- tuously, proffered his escort to her hotel on the memorable night of her conversion. with him she willingly, even eagerly, left the sins and temptations of new york behind her to, as he put it, “labor in the vineyard of the lord" in the tiny alabama town where he was pastor to a scattered and primitive flock. and where, as the wife of the preacher, she was a person of relative importance. only relative. helga did not hate him, the town, or the people. no. not for a long time. as always, at first the novelty of the thing, the change, fascinated her. there was a recurrence of the feeling that now, at last, she quicks and her young joy and zest for the uplifting of her fellow men came back to her. she meant to subdue the cleanly scrubbed ugliness of her own surroundings to soft inoffensive beauty, and to help the other women to do likewise. too, she would help them with their clothes, tactfully point out that sunbonnets, no matter how gay, and aprons, no matter how frilly, were not quite the proper things for sunday church wear. there would be a sewing circle. she visualized herself instructing the children, who seemed most of the time to run wild, in ways of gentler deportment. she was anxious to be a true help. mate, for in her heart was a feeling of obliga- tion, of humble gratitude. in her ardor and sincerity helga even made some small beginnings. true, she was not very successful in this matter of innovations. when she went about to try to interest the women in what she considered more appropriate clothing and in inexpensive ways of improving their homes according to her ideas of beauty, h vas quicks and of magnificent amazon proportions and bold shining eyes of jet-like hardness. a person of awesome appearance. all chains, strings of beads, jingling bracelets, flying ribbons, feathery neck-pieces, and flowery hats. clementine was inclined to treat helga with an only partially concealed contemptuousness, considering her a poor thing without style, and without proper understanding of the worth and greatness of the man, clementine's own adored pastor, whom helga had somehow had the astounding good luck to marry. clementine's admiration of the reverend mr. pleasant green was open. helga was at first astonished. until she learned that there was really no reason why it should be concealed. everybody was aware of it. be- sides, open adoration was the prerogative, the almost religious duty, of the female portion of the flock. if this unhidden and exaggerated approval contributed to his already oversized pomposity, so much the better. it was what they expected, liked, wanted. the greater his own quick sand wonder of life, of love, and of god's goodness. for the preacher, her husband, she had a feeling of gratitude, amounting almost to sin. beyond that, she thought of him not at all. but she was not conscious that she had shut him out from her mind. besides, what need to think of him? he was there. she was at peace, and secure. surely their two lives were one, and the companionship in the lord's grace so per- fect that to think about it would be tempting providence. she had done with soul-searching. what did it matter that he consumed his food, even the softest varieties, audibly? what did it matter that, though he did no work with his hands, not even in the garden, his finger- nails were always rimmed with black? what did it matter that he failed to wash his fat body, or to shift his clothing, as often as helga her- self did? there were things that more than out- weighed these. in the certainty of his goodness, his righteousness, his holiness, helga somehow overcame her first disgust at the odor of sweat quicks and and stale garments. she was even able to be unaware of it. herself, helga had come to look upon as a finicky, showy thing of unneces- sary prejudices and fripperies. and when she sat in the dreary structure, which had once been a stable belonging to the estate of a wealthy horse-racing man and about which the odor of manure still clung, now the church and social center of the negroes of the town, and heard him expound with verbal extravagance the gospel of blood and love, of hell and heaven, of fire and gold streets, pounding with clenched fists the frail table before him or shaking those fists in the faces of the congregation like direct personal threats, or pacing wildly back and forth and even sometimes shedding great tears as he besought them to repent, she was, she told herself, proud and gratified that he be- longed to her. in some strange way she was able to ignore the atmosphere of self-satisfaction which poured from him like gas from a leaking pipe. quicks and been, deferentially kind and incredulously proud of her—and verbally encouraging. helga tried not to see that he had rather lost any personal interest in her, except for the short spaces be- tween the times when she was preparing for or recovering from childbirth. she shut her eyes to the fact that his encouragement had become a little platitudinous, limited mostly to “the lord will look out for you,” “we must accept what god sends,” or “my mother had nine children and was thankful for every one.” if she was inclined to wonder a little just how they were to manage with another child on the way, he would point out to her that her doubt and uncertainty were a stupendous in- gratitude. had not the good god saved her soul from hell-fire and eternal damnation ? had he not in his great kindness given her three small lives to raise up for his glory? had he not showered her with numerous other mercies (evidently too numerous to be named sepa- rately) ? quicks and “thanks, sary,” she said, rising in re- treat from the coffee, "you've done me a world of good. i'm really going to try to be more patient.” so, though with growing yearning she longed for the great ordinary things of life, hunger, sleep, freedom from pain, she resigned herself to the doing without them. the pos- sibility of alleviating her burdens by a greater faith became lodged in her mind. she gave her. self up to it. it did help. and the beauty of leaning on the wisdom of god, of trusting, gave to her a queer sort of satisfaction. faith was really quite easy. one had only to yield. to ask no questions. the more weary, the more weak, she became, the easier it was. her re- ligion was to her a kind of protective coloring, shielding her from the cruel light of an un- bearable reality. this utter yielding in faith to what had been sent her found her favor, too, in the eyes of her neighbors. her husband's flock began to u quicks and approve and commend this submission and humility to a superior wisdom. the womenfolk spoke more kindly and more affectionately of the preacher's northern wife. "pore mis' green, wid all dem small chilluns at once. she suah do hab it ha'd. an' she don' nebah com- plains an' frets no mo'e. jes' trus' in de lawd lak de good book say. mighty sweet lil' 'oman too." helga didn't bother much about the preparations for the coming child. actually and metaphorically she bowed her head before god, trusting in him to see her through. secretly she was glad that she had not to worry about her- self or anything. it was a relief to be able to put the entire responsibility on someone else. quicks and a long time somewhere in that delightful bor- derland on the edge of unconsciousness, an en- chanted and blissful place where peace and in- credible quiet encompassed her. after weeks she grew better, returned to earth, set her reluctant feet to the hard path of life again. "well, here you are!" announced miss hartley in her slightly harsh voice one after- noon just before the fall of evening. she had for some time been standing at the bedside gaz- ing down at helga with an intent speculative look. “yes,” helga agreed in a thin little voice, "i'm back.” the truth was that she had been back for some hours. purposely she had lain silent and still, wanting to linger forever in that serene haven, that effortless calm where nothing was expected of her. there she could watch the figures of the past drift by. there was her mother, whom she had loved from a distance and finally so scornfully blamed, who quick sand the scorched melon-patch, ruined because helga had been ill so long and unable to tend it, were confirmation of that. “the lord be praised,” he said, and came forward. it was distinctly disagreeable. it was even more disagreeable to feel his moist hand on hers. a cold shiver brushed over her. she closed her eyes. obstinately and with all her small strength she drew her hand away from him. hid it far down under the bed- covering, and turned her face away to hide a grimace of unconquerable aversion. she cared nothing, at that moment, for his hurt surprise. she knew only that, in the hideous agony that for interminable hours-no, centuries-she had borne, the luster of religion had vanished; that revulsion had come upon her; that she hated this man. between them the vastness of the universe had come. miss hartley, all-seeing and instantly aware of a situation, as she had been quite aware that her patient had been conscious for quicks and some time before she herself had announced the fact, intervened, saying firmly: “i think it might be better if you didn't try to talk to her now. she's terribly sick and weak yet. she's still got some fever and we mustn't excite her or she's liable to slip back. and we don't want that, do we?” no, the man, her husband, responded, they didn't want that. reluctantly he went from the room with a last look at helga, who was lying on her back with one frail, pale hand under her small head, her curly black hair scat- tered loose on the pillow. she regarded him from behind dropped lids. the day was hot, her breasts were covered only by a nightgown of filmy crêpe, a relic of prematrimonial days, which had slipped from one carved shoulder. he alinched. helga's petulant lip curled, for she well knew that this fresh reminder of her desirability was like the flick of a whip. miss hartley carefully closed the door after the retreating husband. “it's time," she quicks and "... for to this day the women bring down doves to the altar as their vic- tims....!" helga closed her eyes. "... africa and asia have already enriched us with a considerable number of gods. ...» miss hartley looked up. helga had slipped into slumber while the superbly ironic ending which she had so desired to hear was yet a long way off. a dull tale, was miss hart- ley's opinion, as she curiously turned the pages to see how it turned out. “jesus? ... jesus—of nazareth? i cannot call him to mind.'" "huh! she muttered, puzzled. "silly.” and closed the book. quick sand i blunted the perceptions. robbed life of its crudest truths. especially it had its uses for the poor—and the blacks. for the blacks. the negroes. and this, helga decided, was what ailed the whole negro race in america, this fatuous belief in the white man's god, this childlike trust in full compensation for all woes and privations in "kingdom come.” sary jones's absolute conviction, "in de nex' worl' we's all recompense'," came back to her. and ten million souls were as sure of it as was sary. how the white man's god must laugh at the great joke he had played on them ! bound them to slavery, then to poverty and insult, and made them bear it unresistingly, uncomplainingly al- most, by sweet promises of mansions in the sky by and by. "pie in the sky," helga said aloud de- risively, forgetting for the moment miss hart- ley's brisk presence, and so was a little startled at hearing her voice from the adjoining room quick sand satisfaction, of asphyxiation. something like it she had experienced before. in naxos. in new york. in copenhagen. this differed only in de- gree. and it was of the present and therefore seemingly more reasonable. the other re- vulsions were of the past, and now less ex- plainable. the thought of her husband roused in her a deep and contemptuous hatred. at his every approach she had forcibly to subdue a furious inclination to scream out in protest. shame, too, swept over her at every thought of her marriage. marriage. this sacred thing of which parsons and other christian folk ranted so sanctimoniously, how immoral-according to their own standards—it could be! but helga felt also a modicum of pity for him, as for one already abandoned. she meant to leave him. and it was, she had to concede, all of her own doing, this marriage. nevertheless, she hated him. the neighbors and churchfolk came in y of m the un chigan ullo to raries * - /۶۶۶ a story of texas cattle and oil the tin box a story of texas cattle and oil by jerome aredell williams vantage press • new york washington • chicago · hollywood grad whаччі: first edition copyright, , by jerome aredell williams published by vantage press, inc. west st street, new york , n.y. manufactured in the united states of america grad dive - - chapter one although it was no larger than a woman's hand, a little tin box was destined to play a tremendously im- portant role in the life and love of june meredith, as it plunged violently over the cliff and into the stream, two hun- dred feet below. sinking momentarily, it shot back to the sur- face and quickly floated away on the swiftly flowing waters of the partly dry mountain stream. dodging here a log, and there a protruding rock-with which the bed of the small stream was studded-plunging over falls, bumping against the rugged sides of the mountains, it floated day and night. finally emerging from the mountainous terrain, it floated into the flat, brushy country where recent heavy rains had turned the small tributaries into raging streams. riding the crest of these flood waters, the little box was buffeted by float- ing debris, finally to be whirled out of the swiftly flowing current and picked up by backwaters that overflowed into a stagnant lagoon where it came to rest behind a grassy knoll when the rains ceased and the flood waters receded. now, let us go back for a moment to the origin of the little box, and its importance in june's life. for a long moment, june meredith stared at the contract that lay on the table before her. a feeling of hopelessness came over her as, with fingers that trembled slightly, she reached for the pen. with a sigh of resignation, she signed the two copies and shoved them across the desk. with a smile of satisfaction, robert chandler, president and sole owner of a real estate and development company that bore his name, reached for the papers. after signing them and affixing his seal of office, the stocky, clean-shaven, slightly the tin box graying executive handed one copy to june, and placed the other in a drawer of his desk. with a quick motion of her hand, june threw her blond curls over her shoulders and rose from her chair. wade lucas, the squat, freckled cowboy-ranch owner and neighbor of june's who had accompanied her to the realtor's office, noted the expression of despair on the dimpled, childish face, as she turned to him and said: “let's be going, wade." signing contracts was a new experience for june. having been reared a carefree child of the range, she had spent most of the twenty years of her life astride her cow ponies, by her father's side. she knew nothing of responsibilities until the tragic death of her parents placed the burden of running a large ranch directly upon her slender shoulders. “you don't seem so happy over the signing of that contract, june,” wade remarked as they got into their car and started for home. “no, wade. i'm not at all happy," she replied. “in fact, should i ever be forced to yield to the terms of that agreement, i would just about be ruined.” “that's serious.” wade was deeply concerned. “how did you happen to get tied up like that? would you tell me some- thing about it? "it's a long story, wade,” she said, as her thoughts went back to the drouth years of the early 's, when the first link had been forged in a chain of circumstances that had culmi- nated in her being coerced into signing the contract. june's father, tom meredith, of the fourth generation of merediths to own the historic old meredith ranch, with its thousands of acres of verdant grazing lands and its thousands of head of purebred cattle, had been hard hit by this severe west texas drouth. because of the scant rainfall during that period, much of the rich valley land that had formerly grown grass and other vegetation with such abundance had become arid wasteland and was being blown away by the dust storms which plagued that section. a story of texas cattle and oil for the first time since the founding of the ranch by the meredith pioneers, many years ago, tom meredith had been forced to mortgage the old landmark, to obtain money to buy feed and drill additional water wells in an attempt to sustain his fine herds until the rains (which threatened each day) would fall, and relieve the situation. but the clouds came and went, and the situation became more desperate each day as additional hundreds of acres of grazing lands wilted in the blistering sun. to make matters worse, the mortgage, which had been re- newed twice, was due for the third time. the real estate com- pany that held the lien had been advised by an oil company of the possibility that there might be oil on the ranch. they were, therefore, anxious to get the land and were threatening to foreclose. it was during this desperate situation that tom meredith said to his wife at the breakfast table one morning: “ann, it looks like we're going to be forced to sell some of the cattle to lift the mortgage on our home.” “what did the company say when you asked them for a re- newal yesterday?” his wife asked anxiously. “said they couldn't stand another renewal; that they had given me two already, and that i shouldn't expect another, also, that they would have to protect their investment by fore- closing if i don't meet the notes.” "that doesn't seem fair, tom,” his wife complained. “i know of several people who have had their notes extended from time to time by that company. why should they be so anxious to take our home without giving us an equal chance?” "i can't understand it,” her husband said. "there are peo- ple right around here who are not even keeping up the inter- est on their notes, and they are not being foreclosed. for the past several months, they have given me every reason to be- lieve that they were expecting to extend my notes. and now, to about face so suddenly, when i have so little time left, is beyond me. “i tried to reason with them,” he continued. "told them the tin box that my cattle were not ready for market, and to sell them at this time would mean to sacrifice them. i tried to explain to them that should a rain fall within the next ten days or within a couple of weeks, my cattle would pick up to the extent that i wouldn't have to sell so many of them to meet my obliga- tions.” “did you tell them about those men who have been testing out those oil instruments on some of the ranches around here?” “yes. but they give very little credence to anything those fellows say. they say there is no such thing as being able to locate oil from the top of the ground; that the only real test is the drill, and that it is too expensive to risk at this time, here. they said that so far as oil is concerned, we might as well for- get about that.” “what can we do?” his wife looked at him inquiringly. “there is only one thing left for us to do. if we are to save our home-which also means the saving of most of our live- stock-we will have to pick out the best of our herd and send them to market.” “had you thought of trying to borrow the money from some of the ranchers around here?” “yes, i had. but they all face about the same situation that we do. i've talked to several of them during the past few weeks, to see if any of them had that much cash. i talked to hiram lucas in town yesterday, but he said he couldn't pos- sibly raise that much cash. he said he thought wade might have it. but since june so coldly turned down wade's proposal of marriage, i'd hate like blazes to approach him for a loan.” “no, i wouldn't mention it to wade. not if there is any other way to get the money," his wife agreed. “it was in anticipation of just such an emergency that for the past several months i've been picking up my best steers and putting them in the three-mile pasture, where i can get them on short notice. i've got about six hundred head of the best ones in the herd in that pasture now. and i'm sure they will bring more than the twenty thousand dollars i owe. i told a story of texas cattle and oil chandler yesterday that i have enough choice steers in that pasture to take care of the mortgage. and if they wouldn't, i'd sell every hoof and horn i own before i'd let him take my home. i figure those steers should bring around thirty-five dol- lars each." "when do you plan to sell them?” "well, i've got until friday before he can file suit for fore- closure. so i'm going to start jack and the boys out tomorrow to bring them in. with the two trucks, i can haul forty head to the yards at a load and make three loads a day. that'll give me five days to get them on the market. and i'm sure they will be sold as fast as i can get them in there. "in the meantime, i'm going in, perhaps tomorrow, and ar- range with randall scott to take care of the sales as fast as they come in. the last ones will be on the market wednesday morning, and thursday, which will be the last day before our days of grace expire, i'll go in, pay off the mortgage and get my papers. "i want to go in with you, tom,” his wife said. “i want to get a few things that we've been needing so long for the house. and i also want to witness the clearing of our home.” "all right, ann. i was just going to ask you if you didn't want to go along." chapter two for more than a month, ol scouts of the bluge oil corporation, one of the largest oil companies doing business in the state, had been prospecting on the ranch. the company's laboratory had started elaborate tests of sample cores of earth brought in by the field operators, had made a thorough study of charts obtained from instruments used in the tin box the tests, and sent a report of their findings to the executive office of the company, when one of the executives called on robert chandler, in his office on the second floor of the chan- dler building, a three-story office building on the main street of the little mountain town of labesia. “good morning, robert,” jim robertson, president of the bluge oil corporation, said as he entered the real estate office. “good morning, jim,” the realtor greeted him, smiling. “sit down.” robertson drew up a chair to the end of the desk. “i have some very interesting news for you,” he began. “we have just finished the analysis of the core samples taken from the meredith ranch and the study of the charts brought in by our field crews, so i am ready to make a final report that the prospects for an oil field of major potentialities on the ranch are very flattering. these charts," he continued, as he un- rolled half a dozen charts and maps and spread them out on the desk, “were made on widely scattered locations of the ranch, and practically every test proved extremely encourag- ing. i am willing to gamble that on the meredith ranch will be discovered one of the greatest and most productive oil fields in the entire state.” “well, i'll say that's interesting news.” chandler beamed. “do you think you'd be willing to gamble on a test if, say, i owned it?” "i'm ready to locate and proceed with a thorough test any time the papers can be drawn and executed,” the oil executive assured him. “at about what depth do you think oil might be found there?” chandler asked. "very shallow. i'd say that the first pay sand should be found not deeper than nine hundred to a thousand feet.” “then that should make wildcatting extremely economical -as wildcatting goes—and take a great deal of risk out of the venture," the realtor surmised. “yes, such prospects are very attractive to oil producers. when did you see tom meredith?” the tin box dollars per acre bonus alone will amount to almost twenty-five times what the ranch is costing you. and besides,” robertson continued, “you will be getting twenty-five thousand acres of good, rich gulf coast land that in itself may be worth a for- tune.” “yes, i'll admit your offer sounds pretty good. but we'll go into further detail if and when i get possession of the ranch,” chandler said. when jim robertson left the realtor's office, chandler turned and gazed out the window in the direction of the mere- dith ranch. “i'll name my own terms, once i'm in possession of that gold mine,” he mused with a throaty laugh. “i've always wanted to be in a position to dictate terms to these big boys, and now that i'm going to get that chance, don't think, jim robertson, that you or anyone else is going to say what you'll give me. you're going to ask me for terms." placing his feet upon the window sill, he leaned back in his swivel chair and, with his thumbs stuck in the armholes of his vest, closed his eyes and allowed his imagination to soar to exalted heights as he mused: “robert chandler. real estate broker, oil magnate with a capital o. guess that'll make these big boys who said i'd never make a go of this business sit up and take notice.” it was a beautiful fall morning in the mountainous section of west texas. although no rain had fallen since spring, yet the air was pregnant with a crisp, penetrating tang that seemed to imbue nature with new life. everywhere the ranch- ers were busy getting in their feed, and redistributing their livestock to the best advantage, in preparation for the antici- pated hard winter months ahead.. tom meredith had arisen at four o'clock-his usual hour- and after having given his foreman jack doyle (“uncle jack,” as he was affectionately called by everyone in that area) final instructions on just what herds to gather (from which the steers that were to be sold would be selected), was in his car and on his way to the stockyards at labesia. he was in a sul- len, defiant mood as he drove over the treacherous mountain a story of texas cattle and oil road with its many sharp turns and steep grades, as it par- alleled sawaya creek, a partly dry mountain stream. “that scoundrel may think he'll take my home, but he'll never do it as long as there's life in my body," he said to himself. his troubled thoughts drifted to a huge, crudely fashioned cross, constructed of rocks, in the front yard of the meredith ranch home. that cross was a shrine to the many generations of the meredith family. and a legend was connected with it that every meredith related with pride. josiah meredith, a tennessee farm boy, so the legend went, was seized with a wanderlust. leaving his beloved tennessee hills, he drifted to texas, where he volunteered to join the army of stout-hearted pioneers, who were fighting desperately to wrest their free- dom from the mexican government. after the victorious bat- tle of san jacinto, where texas' independence was born, he again sought adventure. purchasing a horse from a rancher near the battle grounds, he set off across the prairie. arriving at indianola a few weeks later, he joined up with a wagon train, bound for mexico, through san antonio. at san an- tonio he bade adieu to the wagoners, and headed in the gen- eral direction of california. after more than a month of travel, he came upon a spot that was so beautiful and arresting that he stopped. turning in his saddle, he viewed the panorama before him. the spot where he stood was a clearing of about five acres. situated on a general slope, it was encircled by giant oak trees that grew in such a perfect circle they might have been planted by man. a hundred yards to the west, a lazy brooklet trickled peacefully along, between banks of wooded grandeur, from which there rose a beautiful valley to meet a chain of forest-covered foothills a mile away. a mountain range be- yond cut off his further view to the west. some miles to the south, the terrain began a gentle ascent to a plateau rimmed by a continuation of the range of mountains that cut off his view to the west. to the north, a vast expanse of wooded valleys, hills and towering mountains extended as far as the eye could see. it the tin box was early fall, and various shades of yellow, red and brown intermingled with the green foliage. the place seemed to abound with game, for as he sat there on his horse, a flock of wild turkeys that were feeding on nuts and berries along the brook became inquisitive, and approached within a few feet of the intruder before wandering off across the stream, while herds of deer could be seen grazing in the valleys. “this,” said josiah to himself, “is my eden, the end to my wanderings.” dismounting, he gathered rocks together, and with them fash- ioned a huge cross. kneeling at the foot of the cross, he implored almighty god to bless this spot, and to give him the strength and cour- age to make this his home. and that it might always be a home for the meredith generations. arising, he mounted and reined his horse in the direction from which he had come. retracing his route, he marked the trail by the hills, streams and trees, drawing a map on a sheet of paper, that he might be able to find it again. at the end of each day's journey, he cut a number on a tree. and if there were no trees near, he would gather rocks and with them fashion a number, thus indicating the number of days he had traveled on his return. back in tennessee, he told his childhood sweetheart of the wonderful new world he had found in the west and asked her to join him in a pioneering adventure to this land of enchant- ment. she consented; in the following spring they were mar- ried, and started back to texas together. finally arriving, they built their home near the cross of rocks, which became a shrine. and as each succeeding generation came into posses- sion of the ranch, they knelt at the cross and beseeched al- mighty god to help them to carry out the wishes of josiah meredith. tom meredith recalled the “legend of the cross” as he thought: “to think that as long as this ranch has stood in the name of meredith, a name that has always meant honor and leadership in the community, that i, of the fourth generation a story of texas cattle and oil to call it my home, must suffer the humiliation of sacrificing this family heirloom. never! never!” he shouted aloud. when the rancher reached the commission house of ran- dall scott and company, to which he consigned all his live- stock, it was yet early. because of the continued drouth, and the dust storms that had already started to blow, many of the ranchers were anticipating an unusually hard time in keeping their herds together and averting heavy losses during the com- ing months. many of them had obtained loans on their land or livestock, and as their notes came due, in an effort to econo- mize in the upkeep of their ranches during the winter, were rushing their cattle-those that had withstood the drouth in fair shape-to market. the offices and sales pens of the various commission com- panies doing business at the labesia stock yards were bee- hives of activity. many buyers of other cities and states, having heard of such unusual bargains to be found at that yard because of the emergency, were there to take advantage of the situation, and to buy and ship to their places these drouth cattle, to be fed and marketed later, when conditions had improved and the flow of cattle to market been checked. “good morning, randall,” the rancher called to randall scott, a cattle broker who sat at a desk busily going over some business transactions of the day before. “why, good morning, tom.” scott, a tall, lean suntanned middle-aged ex-rancher, whose spurred boots were as much a part of his dress as his shirt or trousers, showed surprise as he arose to shake the rancher's hand. “what brings you to town so early this morning?” "oh, just felt like taking an early morning ride,” the rancher replied. “ah, come now, tom. this is entirely too early for you to be here unless you're having something brought in. you're always busy around the ranch at this time of morning.” look- ing straight into the rancher's eyes, scott continued: “tom, you look worried. come, tell me what's on your mind. some- thing's bothering you.” the tin box “yes, you're right,” the rancher admitted. “something is bothering me, randall. i haven't been able to sleep for nights.” “that serious?” scott was deeply concerned. “why, i never knew you to worry like that, tom. what's the nature of your troubles?” “my ranch.” “your ranch? i don't understand,” scott was puzzled. “randall, i've never told you this,” the rancher said soberly, "but i'm about to lose my ranch.” “what did you say, tom?” scott asked in amazement. “do you mean it?” “yes, i do. as i said, i've never told anyone except my wife, not even my daughter june. "i borrowed twenty thousand dollars on my ranch three years ago, to pay taxes and buy feed to try and save my cattle until enough rain fell to bring the range back to normal. i hoped to be able to take care of the notes as they came due by selling off some of the cattle as they rounded into shape. but, because of the prolonged drouth, they have been in no shape to sell, and i have hesitated to sacrifice them, except a few head at a time now and then, to meet the interest on the notes and take care of the upkeep of the ranch. “i've had the notes renewed twice, and i went the other day to see about having them renewed a third time, but there was nothing doing. said they would have to have their money, or would be forced to foreclose.” “i'm sorry to hear that,” scott said sympathetically. “who holds the lien on your ranch?” “robert chandler.” "i see. and he wouldn't give you a third renewal? why, i've known him to renew notes half a dozen times.” "so have i. and that's why i went to him for the loan, in- stead of the government. i figured he'd give me every chance to pay off the mortgage if conditions got serious with me. but for some reason he seems anxious for his money." “you know, tom,” scott said as he leaned back and clasped a story of texas cattle and oil his hands behind his head, “for some reason, i've never liked that fellow.” “oh, chandler's all right. after all, it was his money i bor- rowed. and i guess he needs it. he's given me a pretty fair chance to pay off the lien, and of course, it's not his fault that it hasn't rained.” “yes, of course that's the business way to look at it. but per- sonally, i've just never been able to like him. i don't know, but sometimes you meet a man and for some unexplainable reason you just can't like him. not that he has done anything to you, you just don't trust him. there is something about him that doesn't appeal to you, and that's the way it is with me about him. “i don't know of anything he's ever done that wouldn't stand investigation, but i've always felt that if given a chance (where he thought he might get away with it), he wouldn't be above taking advantage of a situation. what do you intend to do about the situation, tom?” “there's only one thing i can do; sell enough of my cattle to take care of it.” “but that means to sacrifice them, tom. cattle are way down and dropping every day. unless your cattle are in mighty good condition, you'd have to sell many a head to bring you twenty thousand dollars," scott warned him. “the market seems active enough this morning, randall. and cattle usually bring a fair price on an active market such as this,” the rancher argued. “while, generally speaking, that is true, yet you'd be sur- prised to know at what prices some of these cattle are chang- ing hands,” scott said. “suppose we walk down to the sales pens for a few minutes,” scott suggested. “we might be able to witness the sale of some of these cattle.” the sales yards where livestock was received, bought and sold was a rambling affair covering about ten acres and con- sisting of many stock pens of various sizes ranging from small ones that would hold from one to four head up to much larger mighty gopwenty thousaactive enough on an activ the tin box ones built to accommodate, without crowding, a hundred head or more. scattered throughout the yards were the scales on which the livestock was weighed. and the entire setup was criss- crossed by a system of corridors or runways, through which the animals were moved from one pen to another or to the scales. along one side of the yards was a long receiving platform up to which a number of trucks were backed, discharging their loads of livestock, while on another side were several carloads of cattle sidetracked on a spur, waiting to be unloaded. when the two men reached the yards, business was in full sway. cattle and other livestock were being moved from every section of the yards to the scales, after salesmen and buyers had agreed on prices. the din of lowing cows and bawling calves made conversa- tion difficult. as the men reached the first runway near the spur, a herd of mixed cattle was being driven up a ramp and into a railway car. one large bull refused to take the ramp, and turned and charged one of the handlers. the stockman, always wary and alert when handling cattle, sprang to the fence, where he held on with one hand while he gave the animal a sharp rap across the nose with a staff he carried in the other. "that's one thing about these brahmans," scott remarked, "they may be as gentle and docile as lambs, ordinarily. but once you get them aroused, they'll charge anything in sight.” “yes, they're fine cattle, but very mean at times,” the rancher replied. as the men reached the sales pens of randall scott and company, several buyers were looking over a pen of a hun- dred choice steers. a salesman was endeavoring to sell the entire lot to a buyer who seemed particularly interested in them but was unable to agree on a price. “that's felix hob- son, buyer for a large kansas firm,” scott informed the rancher. “he started buying at this yard only about a month ago. he usually pays a little more than the market quotation. a story of texas cattle and oil suppose we step up a little closer,” scott suggested. “maybe we can hear what he's offering on those steers.” “yes, i know that prices are dropping, mr. hobson,” the salesman argued, “but these are choice steers. there are not many steers like these coming to the market these days. these steers should bring not less than three and a half to four cents per pound.” "three or four cents,” meredith said in a low voice. “do you think that salesman will let those steers go for as little as four cents?” "i think he'll take less than that,” scott replied. “they are choice steers, all right,” the buyer agreed, “and it's a pity that such animals are not bringing much more than four cents. but as you know, the market on choice steers is only two cents. however, i'm willing to go a little above the market, and give you two and a half cents, but that's my limit.” “well, all right, mr. hobson,” the salesman said. “you're getting a bargain." “oh, mr. hobson,” scott called as the buyer and salesman turned away from the pen, “i want you to meet a friend of mine, tom meredith. tom, this is felix hobson.” greetings were exchanged. “mr. meredith is a breeder of fine cattle. his ranch is out twelve miles north of here.” “do you mean the tom meredith who is known all over the country for his fine herds?” hobson asked. "yes. mr. meredith has an enviable record as a breeder of some of the finest thoroughbred cattle to be found anywhere,” scott said. “do you have anything on the yards this morning?” the buyer asked. "no, nothing this morning,” meredith replied. “tom is expecting to have quite a herd on the yard within the next few days. i'll let you know just what day he'll start to send them in,” scott told the buyer. “good, and i'll be here if it is at all possible,” hobson said. “you see, tom," the broker said when they were again in his office, "in a situation such as confronts us now, because the tin box of the drouth and the resultant shortage of feed, many of the ranchers, like you, are forced to sacrifice their stock to meet some emergency. anything sold under such circumstances is always bought at a bargain, and it is such cases that these buy- ers are looking for now. i'll tell you right now that they are looking for bargains only. when are you expecting to send your cattle in?” "i expect to send the first ones in saturday. using my two trucks, i can put a hundred and twenty head in here each day for five days. that will be six hundred head. and stretching them over a period of five days, i figure you can get a better price on them than you could if they were sold in one lot.” “yes, without doubt. but get them in within the week, be- cause the way prices are dropping, there's no telling where they'll be by another week.” for six months, jack doyle and his cowhands had worked the mountains and valleys of the vast meredith ranch, picking up the best steers to be found, and putting them in the three- mile" pasture—so called because of its distance from the ranch home-where they would be available on short notice in just such an emergency. and it was from these cattle that tom meredith had instructed the foreman to bring enough to the pens for a day's hauling, just before leaving for labesia that 'morning. doyle had sent some of his men on ahead, and as he fol- lowed on half an hour later, he met two of the men returning at a stiff gallop. stopping when they met the foreman, they held a brief conference, then turned and rode hurriedly back, while the foreman reined his horse around and hurried back to the ranch, and to the telephone. meredith and scott had just completed arrangements for handling the cattle as they were brought in, and the rancher had arisen from his chair and started to leave the office to return to the ranch, when the telephone rang. “is this the scott commission company?" came the excited voice of uncle jack, in answer to scott's hello. “yes.” a story of texas cattle and oil - erer “is mr. meredith there?” “yes, just a moment. it's jack. he wants to talk to you, tom," scott said as he handed the receiver to meredith. “wonder what he wants,” the rancher asked curiously. "don't know. sounds like he's excited.” "hello, tack?” the rancher spoke into the mouthpiece. “yes, mr. meredith. somebody has driven all those steers out of the three-mile pasture.” "what's that?” the rancher asked excitedly. "somebody has let the fence down and taken horses and scattered those steers everywhere. come on out as soon as you can. i've got the boys rounding up what we can find.” “all right, jack, i'll be right out." "something wrong, tom?” scott asked as the rancher hung up the receiver. *"yes, there is. jack says that somebody has let those steers out that i had planned to sell.” “that's strange. who do you suppose did it?” "i have no idea. i can't understand why anyone would want to interfere with them.” “you didn't, by any chance, mention having those steers in that pasture, to chandler, did you?" randall asked as if sus- pecting something. “why, yes, i did. when he refused to renew my mortgage, i remarked that if it came to the worst, that i had enough choice steers in that pasture to take care of the debt. you don't think he had anything to do with it, do you?” meredith asked, seemingly much perturbed. “does he know the location of your three-mile pasture?" “yes, he does. when i first made application for the loan, he came out, and i showed him most of the ranch, including that pasture.” "well, then i'm afraid to say. but i wouldn't put it above him. since he's acting so differently in your case from what he's been known to do in extending leniency to others who have borrowed money from him and have gotten behind with their notes, it may be that he's got something up his sleeve the tin box vallca, that you don't know about. since this has happened, you're going to have to change your plans. how long do you think it will take to regather those steers?” "it depends on how badly they're scattered.” “if what you tell me is true, then we're going to have to work in a hurry, because we haven't much time left to beat that deadline,” scott warned. “that's right, and i was just thinking about that. it'll take at least three days to get them together again. i may have to take anything i can find, if they're badly scattered. and three days would make it thursday, just one day before the dead- line.” “in that case, you would have to sell many more head than the six hundred planned. and that would be an awful sacrifice at this time,” scott said. “yes, it will. i'm going to get on out there and see how many we can get back together," the rancher said as he started for the door. "how about getting them to the yards?” scott asked. "you can't haul that many cattle with two trucks in one day.” "that's right. that's another problem. can you get me some trucks around here?” “yes, i think so. i think i can get the phillips' line. they have eight large trucks. and with your two, we should get them here in plenty of time. i'll have them at your ranch early thursday morning." tom meredith lost no time getting back to the ranch. uncle jack, with two saddled horses already loaded into a light truck, was waiting. driving to the three-mile pasture, they drove along the public road that skirted the fence for some distance until they came to the spot where a truck had turned off, and across the fence, apparently the night before. about a hundred yards beyond where the road came in to parallel the fence was a gate. driving through the gate, uncle jack and the rancher unloaded the horses, and rode back to where the truck had entered the pasture the previous night. a story of texas as cattle and oil taking up the trail, they followed it a short distance to where it had stopped and unloaded three horses, in a clump of trees. as they followed the horses' tracks, inspection showed that where they came upon the bedded cattle, they fanned out and started the entire herd moving. driving them more than two miles, they let down another fence that separated the three-mile pasture from the “wild mountain" pasture of twenty thousand acres, noted for its almost complete inac- cessibility because of the wildness and roughness of the ter- rain. the night had been clear, with a full moon, and when the marauders crossed the fence with the cattle, apparently they gave them a scare, because for the next hundred yards or more the hoofprints were of running horses and cattle scattering in all directions among the rocks and undergrowth. “it beats me,” meredith said, as they sat on their horses, looking at the scattered hoof prints. “can't see who would do a thing like that. evidently they didn't want to steal them, because they brought them here and gave them a scare. looks like pure meanness. i don't believe i've got any enemies around here.” "i don't think it was anyone that belongs around here,” uncle jack said, “because all the ranchers around here know where the gates are. and whoever it was missed both gates by only a few hundred yards. it was somebody that has been over the place once or twice, or someone who had been directed how to go.” "that does sound logical,” the rancher agreed. cowboy yells, and the sharp rap of quirts on leather chaps gave evidence that some of the riders were beating the bushes a short distance away. and in a few minutes five of the cow- hands came out of the brush driving about seventy-five head of steers before them. meredith and doyle galloped out to meet them, and gave them a hand in getting the cattle through the gate. “did you see any more of them?” the boss asked, when the men had closed the gate behind the steers. the tin box “yes, sir, we saw a good many more, but they were scattered all through the brush," one of the men replied. "it'll take every bit of a week's hard riding to get the rest of them steers out of them catclaw thickets,” the foreman said. “yes, i suppose it will, and i haven't got a week to spare,” the rancher said thoughtfully. “i think the best thing for us to do is to put all hands in here and work all the steers we can out of the brush tomorrow, and the next day we'll work the valley pasture to make up what we're short.” with an early start, and hard riding the following day, the men succeeded in recovering about half the steers from the mountain pasture, and the next day was spent working the valley pasture, from which enough cattle were gathered to make up nine hundred head, which meredith felt should bring more than enough to take care of the lien. at the suggestion of uncle jack, the cattle were put into a three-hundred-acre pasture that was kept for saddle horses, only a mile from the ranch house. “i tell you, mr. meredith," the foreman said, as the gate was closed behind the herd, “i believe it would be a good idea to let some of the boys stand guard around these cattle tonight. of course, there might not be any danger of any of 'em gettin' out, but i believe we'd all sleep a lot better if we knew they were safe.” "i think that's a mighty fine idea, jack,” meredith agreed, “because i certainly don't want them to get out again; i'd just about be ruined if they did.” “i'll take two or three of the boys and come back down here right after dark, and kind of lay along near the fence, where we can see anybody that comes along the road. and about midnight, some of the other boys can come down and relieve us,” the foreman suggested. the first part of the night, with uncle jack and three of the boys standing watch, passed without incident. and promptly at midnight uncle jim, one of the oldest hands on the ranch, arrived with three men to take over, the first watch returning to the bunkhouse. uncle jim's watch split up in pairs, a quarter of a mile a story of texas cattle and oil apart. hiding their horses in the woods nearby, the men con- cealed themselves behind the trees or rocks near the fence. uncle jim, with forest adams, took the post farthest from the ranch house. the two men talked an hour or more before getting drowsy. it was about two o'clock when adams thought he heard a car slowing down about a hundred yards from where they were concealed. uncle jim was sound asleep, snor- ing loudly. knowing how quick he was to get excited when awakened suddenly, adams decided not to disturb him until he was sure his hunch was well founded. he didn't have long to wait, however. a full moon in a cloudless sky lit up the road almost like day. peering around the large rock behind which he was con- cealed, adams saw a truck pull off the road and stop at the fence. in the bed of the truck, he could see the heads of three horses. three men got out of the truck and started to work at the fence. in a few minutes, two of the men stood on the slackened wire while the third started walking off towards a clump of trees followed by the truck, driven by a fourth man. when the truck had crossed over the wire, the two men started walking along behind it. adams waited until the two men had gotten about fifty yards from the fence before he shook uncle jim by the shoul- der. “wake up, jim," he said in a low voice. “huh?” uncle jim said sleepily. “wake up!” adams shook him violently, “there's a truck driving into the pasture.” "a truck? where? where?” he said loudly, as he jumped up. adams pulled him back down behind the rock. the two men following the truck heard the voice and stopped mo- mentarily, then started to run toward the truck. uncle jim by this time was wide awake. “halt!” he shouted, pulling his . from the holster. he fired when the men failed to stop. the driver heard the shot and immediately speeded up and started to turn the truck around. the man walking in front of the truck ran back, jumped upon the running board a story of texas cattle and oil ate neighborhood the following day revealed nothing that might indicate who the men were. long before daybreak the following morning the meredith ranch was astir, and by sunup the men had moved the cattle to be sold from the pasture to the pens. a batch of about a hundred head was cut into the chute pen, and all was in readi- ness to start loading when the trucks would arrive. . “you know, mr. meredith,” uncle jack began in his lazy, droll way of speaking, as they stood looking through the fence at the cattle, “it's a doggone shame to sell these cattle now. they're in no shape for market. they've got no weight nor quality.” “i know that, jack. but under the circumstances, i've just got to sell some of them. and considering what they've come through, they're in pretty fair shape.” “what i mean by no quality, mr. meredith, take that black angus steer over there, for example, the one right behind that muley cow, nearest the chute gate," uncle jack ex- plained, as he pointed out a gaunt, black steer of the angus breed-a fine specimen, had he been in good flesh. “if that steer was fat, he'd bring you at least nine or ten cents a pound if he could be held until this rush of cattle to market is over or slows down some, and things get back to normal. that steer would weigh twelve hundred pounds, but in the shape he's in now, he won't pull over eight hundred, and the way they say prices are dropping at the yards now, i'm willing to lay you a month's pay, he won't bring more than three or four cents at the most; a loss of around seventy-five or seventy-six dollars on the one steer. now multiply that,” uncle jack con- tinued, “by the eight hundred and fifty or nine hundred head you're going to send in, and you've got a loss of around-well, let's see,” he said as he studied for a moment, trying to calcu- late some figure reasonably close to what the loss would be. then pulling off his hat, ran his fingers through his hair as he said: “well, you've got a terrible loss.” “yes, i've figured that. but when you've got to do some- thing, you've just got to do it. i've tried to think of some way the tin box to avoid this sacrifice, but i'm at my wit's end,” meredith said. the sun was only a few minutes high when the first truck came into sight, followed closely by others, eight in all. giant red trucks, capable of carrying almost unbelievable loads up the steep mountain grades, and with bodies built on them in which twenty-five to thirty head of grown cattle could be hauled in comfort. as soon as the first truck arrived, it swung around and backed up to the loading platform. in the meantime, the cow- boys had cut from the main herd a batch of twenty-five grown cattle to make up the first load. these were rushed through the chute and up the ramp into the truck. as fast as one truck was loaded and pulled away on its way to the stockyards, another pulled in, the chute gates were raised and another bunch of twenty-five or thirty that had been cut from the main herd were cut through the chute and were on their way to market. by fast work and co-operation on the part of the cowboys and truck drivers, the last of the nine hundred head were in the trucks and on their way to market by two-thirty in the afternoon. tom meredith climbed into his car and, ac- companied by uncle jack, trailed the last truck to the yards. randall scott had notified all the big cattle buyers who customarily bought at that yard that the choicest of the mere- dith herds would be put on the auction block that afternoon and must be sold. by three o'clock, there were buyers from all parts of the state and as far away as chicago around the pens into which the cattle were being unloaded. shortly after three o'clock, the last truckload pulled up to the platform, the end gates were unlatched and slid aside and the last of the nine hundred head had joined those that had been brought in earlier. preparations were about complete for the auctioneer-who had been brought from the stockyards at chicago and was known wherever livestock was sold in large quantities-to take the stand. buyers were beginning to mill around restlessly as time grew near for the sale. although the cattle were gaunt, they were an impressive a story of texas cattle and oil herd showing a strain of expert breeding for which the mere- dith ranch had been famous for generations. it had been decided and agreed upon between meredith and scott that the cattle would be sold in a lump. two things made this imperative: first, they must be sold as quickly as possible, so that the rancher would be assured of the money, as the following day would be the last day of grace. after that, chandler could not be compelled to accept payment on the notes if he wished to foreclose. second, by selling them in one bunch, only those buyers would be induced to bid on them whose checks would be instantly honored without question. as this was a case of emergency, every precaution was taken to avoid any hitch that might result in failure to procure the money to pay off the indebtedness and save the ranch. as clem johnson, the auctioneer, took the stand, a hush fell over the buyers who were crowded as close to the stand as space would permit. “gentlemen," he began, "we have in these pens today a herd of nine hundred head of mixed cattle -steers and cows-from the meredith ranch, a few miles out north of here. it will not be necessary for me to tell you of the quality of these cattle. a glance at the pens will reveal to you the many years of constant effort and success of the meredith generations in building a line of purebred cattle, that for years have been known throughout the state, and wherever cattle are raised, as one of the finest herds of purebred cattle to be found anywhere in this country. these cattle look gaunt and thin because of the severe drouth of the past few years-so do all the rest of the cattle in this section. but that in no way detracts from their value as stockers and feeders. put these cattle where they can get plenty of good grass and water, and in two months' time you won't recognize them as the same bunch. now these cattle are going to be sold this afternoon. and when i say 'sold' i don't mean that they are going to be given away. i am now ready to receive bids on these cattle. what do i hear?" instantly the buyers went into action. shouts of "i'll pay one and a half," "i'll pay one and three quarters,” “i bid two the tin box cents," and so on, came from the group of buyers. above these bids could be heard the steady drone of the auctioneer's chant: “one and three, one and three. who'll make it two? who'll make it two cents a pound for this herd of purebred cattle from the famous meredith ranch?” "two cents,” came from a bidder near the back of the group. "i hear two, i hear two. who'll make it two and a quarter? who'll give two and a quarter cents?" “two and a quarter,” came from wade lucas, a neighbor- ing rancher. competition in the bidding was keen until it reached two and three quarters, and there it stalled. mere- dith and scott were standing together near the auctioneer's stand. “looks like it has stuck at two and three-quarters, tom,” scott remarked as he looked at the rancher, who seemed to be lost in his thoughts. "oh-yes. what did you say, randall?” “i said that it looks like it has hung up on two and three- quarter cents,” the broker repeated. “is that all they are offering?” he asked in puzzled surprise. “that's all so far.” the auctioneer continued his steady drone: “two and three, two and three-quarter cents. do i hear three? two and three once, two and three twice." “three cents,” came from the buyer of a large kansas cattle brokerage firm. "three cents, three cents, i'm offered three cents a pound. who'll make it three and a quarter? do i hear three and a quarter? are you through, gentlemen? three cents once, three cents twice, all done? sold for three cents a pound to mr. felix hobson of kansas.” “do you think three cents will bring enough to clear my ranch, randall?" the rancher asked uneasily. “yes, i'm sure it will, and some over,” the broker assured him. “i sure hope it does. i had hoped for at least three and a a story of texas cattle and oil half, but i guess i'll have to be satisfied with what i can get as long as it puts me out of debt." the morning following the auction found the rancher and his wife up unusually early. after a light breakfast, he pro- ceeded to look after his usual business around the ranch, while his wife busied herself with the housework and getting ready for the city. it was somewhat of a thrill for her as she did not go to town very often. and today the trip meant more to her than usual. for not only did it mean a chance to look around, but she had planned to buy some things for the house with some of the money, provided there was any left after the debt had been paid. and most important of all, she would be present and witness the cancelation of the lien on her home that had caused her so many sleepless nights during the last three years. and for tom meredith, this was to be the day of days. a day that would transfer the ranch from the red to the black side of the ledger; a day that would return to his mind that state of tranquility, security and freedom from worry that he had enjoyed up until three years ago. a day when he could return from the city to a debt-free home. then too, there had been talk around the ranch of a new car to replace the present one, which had given such faithful service during the past eight years, and which he felt was not so safe on the dangerous mountain roads. it had been worked over time and again by the ranch hands, and even now, its brakes needed relining, which he planned to have done when he had the more impor- tant business out of the way. still another reason for wanting a more modern automo- bile was that their only child, june, who had finished school the past term, was home. besides wanting her to have a car in which she could feel safe to drive on the roads, her parents wanted her car to rate on a par with the automobiles of any of the girls of the city. so it had virtually been decided that after the purchase of the household goods planned for the day, the next thing to be considered was a new automobile. it was with a feeling of satisfaction, of a day to be well spent the tin box that tom meredith and his wife ann (leaving june with her aunt harriet, a buxom spinster of some sixty years and the sister of tom meredith) climbed into their car and started for the stockyards at labesia, where he planned to pick up the check for the cattle sold the day before. it was an unusually still morning for late fall in that section of west texas. the humidity was low and the heat stifling as they drove along, carefully picking their way over some of the rougher, more treacherous parts of the road. “i'll be so glad, tom, if we can get a new car,” ann meredith said to her husband. “i'll feel so much safer for june on these danger- ous roads. i don't see why the county or the state doesn't do something to make this road safer for people to travel. look down the side of the mountain, there, a sheer drop of at least two hundred feet to the bed of the creek. if a car ever got out of control at a place like that, there would be nothing except almighty god that could save you. and that's not the only bad place. there are many, some of them worse than that.” “yes, that's true, ann. but this road isn't traveled by so many people, and of course the county or the state, or the federal government can't afford to go to a lot of expense to fix up a road unless it is traveled by a large number of people, more than travel this road. you know, it takes a lot of money to build a road around among these mountains," meredith said. “yes, i suppose that's true. i hope there'll be nothing in the way that might upset our plans to pay off the debt and get it off our minds,” his wife said thoughtfully. “of course there won't,” her husband assured her. “mr. hobson, who bought the cattle, is known all over this country. his check is honored without question anywhere. all that had to be done was to weigh the cattle, then multiply the gross weight by three cents a pound, and they had already started to weigh them when i left the yards yesterday. “you'd be surprised, ann, to see how some of those cattle weighed. some of those cows that i had figured wouldn't weigh more than seven hundred pounds, were pulling eight a story of texas cattle and oil hundred, and more. and at three cents per pound, i believe we'll have enough left after the debt is paid to tide us over nicely this winter.” "three cents a pound,” mrs. meredith said, as if talking to herself. “three cents a pound for purebred cattle. i remem- ber when you sold the same breed of cattle for ten, even twelve cents. three cents a pound. it's hard to believe.” when the rancher and his wife reached the broker's office, randall scott was not in, but came in a few minutes later. “good morning, tom. oh! good morning, mrs. meredith, you're looking fine this morning,"scott commented. "good morning, mr. scott. yes, i'm feeling very well this morning. how are mrs. scott and the children?” “just fine. say, you should see how those kids have grown since we moved to town. you'd hardly know them. why don't you and tom sell out the ranch and move to town, mrs. mere- dith? i'm sure you and june would like it here, and tom could come right in here with me. i'm doing very well as it is, and with tom in here with me, he knows so many of the ranchers in this section, i'm sure we would do a mighty big business," randall suggested earnestly. "oh, i could never do that,” promptly replied mrs. mere- dith. “i could never get used to city ways, and i know tom would be plumb uneasy here in town. and besides, there is the old home that has been in the family for so long. i know tom would never be the one to part with it." "yes, i know how you feel about the ranch. parting with the old landmark would be like losing one of the family,” scott said. “it looked for a while like we were going to lose one of the family," the rancher broke in with a chuckle. "well, tom, i'm sure you and mrs. meredith are anxious to know how the sale of the cattle came out. i believe you're going to get a pleasant surprise. those cattle outweighed any- thing i've ever seen, for the condition they were in. mr. hob- son laughingly remarked that you must have fed them cement before sending them in. your check, minus all expenses, comes salu, the tin box to twenty-three thousand three hundred and thirty-six dollars, and seventy-eight cents, and here you are, sir.” , tom meredith reached for the check with trembling fing- ers. “thank god, and thank you, randall,” he said as he placed the check in his billfold. “and now, mr. robert chan- dler, i've got business to settle with you," he added, with a defiant, determined look in his eyes. chapter three the weather was showing signs of change when the rancher and his wife left randall scott's office. clouds had begun to form in the north, and were becoming more dense each minute. already the leaves on the trees had begun to sway and flutter with a slight breeze that had begun to stir. “looks like we're going to have a change in the weather,” mrs. meredith remarked as they climbed into their car. “yes, it looks so,” her husband replied. “looks like a norther may blow up,” her husband said as he turned his eyes searchingly toward the north. “we may have an early, hard winter. i would like to see this heat relieved, but i kind of hate to see the northers because of the dust. and i'm afraid the dust storms are going to be unusually severe this year, because of the extremely dry summer.” "i hope the norther stays off until we get back home. i don't particularly relish driving that road in a dust storm," his wife said, looking toward the north uneasily. "oh, i hardly think it will come before we get back home,” the rancher said reassuringly. robert chandler was alone in his office when the rancher and his wife entered, about two o'clock in the afternoon. a story of texas cattle and oil chandler had expected tom meredith earlier in the week, and as the days passed and he failed to show up with the money, chandler grew more hopeful each day that he would not be able to raise it. he wanted the ranch worse than any- thing else, and as the days of grace grew to a close so that foreclosure proceedings could be instituted, he became de- fiant, and determined that if there was any way, fair or foul, that he could get possession of the coveted property, he would not hesitate to push it to the limit. so, it was while he was in this covetous mood, with his back to the door and his feet on the window sill, gazing hopefully out the window in the di- rection of the meredith ranch, that the merediths entered. “good evening, mr. chandler," tom meredith said. chan- dler started, then wheeled around in his swivel chair to face the one man in all the world he had hoped he would not face that day. a sarcastic half-grin came over his face as he spoke. “why good evening, folks,” he said hesitatingly. “i'd begun to think i wouldn't see you today.” “oh, yes, we're here, and ready to do business,” the rancher asserted. “the heck you say! you mean that you're ready to pay me that twenty thousand dollars?” (chandler was hoping against hope that the rancher had come with a plea for leniency, perhaps with a small part of the payment which he had already made up in his mind that he would not accept. only the full twenty thousand dollars would be accepted, and that only if no way around it could be found. he had figured that to raise twenty thousand dollars would be next to impossible for any rancher in that section at that time. so it was with a mixed expression of defiance and anxiety that he faced the merediths.) "that's just what i mean,” the rancher assured him as he reached into his pocket for his billfold and handed chandler a check. “now i'll just endorse this check to you, and you can give me your check for thirty-three hundred and thirty-six dollars.” chandler reached for the check with hallucinations of a the tin box murder shooting through his evil mind. scrutinizing the check closely, desperately trying to think of some way by which the transaction might be delayed past the zero hour, he thumbed it nervously, then turned it over and looked at the blank side, and glanced at the clock on the wall. in a flash, he thought he saw a way by which the settlement might yet be avoided. the banks will be closing in another twenty minutes, he thought. the check being drawn on an out of town bank, he will hardly be able to cash it today, he reasoned. then looking up at the rancher, he said: “why, this is not your personal check. who is this felix hobson?" (to make sure there would be no chance for delay in the transaction, scott had had felix hobson make the check payable to tom meredith instead of to the commission company, feeling that because of the widely known business activities of felix hobson for the kansas firm, his check would be instantly honored, even above the check of the commission company.) “why, mr. hobson is the man who bought my cattle yesterday,” the rancher replied, a puz- zled expression on his face. “well, i don't know him; never heard of him before,” chan- dler said as he continued to finger the check. “why, mr. hobson is one of the most widely known cattle dealers in this country. his check is good at any bank,” mere- dith argued. “maybe so, but i don't know him. i may be a poor business man, but i'm not chump enough to accept his check for twenty-three thousand dollars and give you my check for thirty-three hundred dollars on it. our agreement calls for a cash settlement by five o'clock this evening, and that is the only settlement i'll make,” he asserted as he pitched the check back across the desk and busied himself with other papers. tom meredith was bewildered. it was obvious that chan- dler was deliberately trying to avoid a settlement. randall scott's words of a few days before, expressing his opinion of chandler, rang in the rancher's ears. “what are you going to do, tom?" his wife asked as they reluctantly walked out of the office. a story of texas cattle and oil “i don't know what to do,” he replied. mrs. meredith looked at her husband anxiously. "it looks to me like mr. chandler don't want to accept payment,” she said. “it's very plain that he doesn't,” the puzzled rancher re- plied, as he searched his brain for some explanation for chan- dler's strange actions. “chandler, for some strange reason, is deliberately trying to put off the releasing of the mortgage until after five o'clock. then he can foreclose and take our home. if we both leave his office, he may go away and not return in time to transact this business. now you go back in that office and stay there with him. i'm going to see what i can do.” mrs. meredith turned and went back into the office, while her husband went out upon the street. when tom meredith reached the sidewalk, a perceptible change had taken place in the weather. it was apparent that a norther was coming, and that it would not be long before it would be upon them. already a yellowish haze, forerunner of a duststorm, was hanging over the streets. the rancher looked at his watch. it was fifteen minutes past two o'clock. the banks would be closing in another fifteen minutes. he would have to work fast. standing for a moment, he looked up, then down the street. then stepping from the curb, he crossed to the other side. the morrison state bank, an institution with which he had done business in more prosperous years, was just a block away. walking into the bank, he stepped up to one of the tellers. “good evening, mr. wilkes," he said. “why, good evening, mr. meredith. where have you been keeping yourself? it's been some time since i've seen you in here." “well, i haven't had occasion to visit any of the banks very often for the past few years. we ranchers have been so hard hit by the continued drouth that i suppose that if the banks had to depend on us to stay in business, they'd all be closing. say, mr. wilkes, i'm up against a problem, and i wonder if you can help me.” the tin box “i'll do what i can, mr. meredith. what is it you want me to do?” "it's this check,” he said as he handed the hobson check to the teller. “you see, i owe robert chandler practically all of it, but he refuses to accept the check, and insists on a settle- ment in cash, and i've got only until five o'clock to get it. after that, he will have the right to foreclose and take my ranch. i wonder if you would cash it for me.” the teller took the check and looked at it closely. “that's a pretty big check, mr. meredith,” he observed. “you don't have an account with us at this time, do you?” “no, i don't.” “well, i'm afraid,” the teller said regretfully, as he handed the check back to the rancher, “i won't be able to do anything for you. you see, it is drawn on an out-of-town bank, and given by a man who has no account here, and whom this bank does not know. were it a small check, we might be able to help you. but on a check that size, we could not possibly take the risk. i'm sorry, mr. meredith,” the teller said as he reached for a deposit slip offered by another depositor. leaving the bank, meredith stepped into a drugstore, where he sought a telephone booth. dropping a nickel into the slot, he called randall scott's office. scott picked up the receiver when his phone rang. “scott commission company,” he said. “hello, randall?” it was the voice of tom meredith. "yes, tom.” "listen, randall, i'm in trouble. that doggone skunk chandler is trying to take the advantage of me. he is trying to put off the settlement until it is too late. i don't know what to do.” "how can he do that? you've got the check from felix hob- son to make the payment with, haven't you?” “yes.” the rancher then explained to scott what had taken place in chandler's office a few minutes before. "i see. you remember what i told you about my feelings towards chandler, the other day, don't you?” w can he do that? with, haven't you?**t what had taken a story of texas cattle and oil “yes, and i realize now that you had the right hunch,” the rancher said. “i tell you what you do, tom,” scott suggested, “where are you now?” "i'm at the wilson pharmacy,” the rancher said. “well, you stay around there until i call you back.” randall scott replaced the receiver on its cradle, then lifted it again and dialed a number. after completing this call, he rang the wilson pharmacy, where meredith was awaiting the call. “tom, take that check over to the city national bank and ask for mr. cockrell, the cashier. explain to him as you did to me. i think he will fix you up." it was only a few minutes before closing time when the rancher stepped into the bank. mr. cockrell's desk was pointed out to him by a teller. “sit down, mr. meredith,” the cashier greeted him with a smile and a handshake. “i hear you are having a little trouble." “yes, i am.” the rancher explained to the cashier the trou- ble he had had in trying to make the settlement. “i see,” the cashier said when meredith had finished. “let me see that check. uh huh. felix hobson. stockmen and farmer's national bank, kansas city," he read in an under- tone. "why, i can't see why chandler wouldn't accept that check. felix hobson's checks are good anywhere. however, we'll fix that up all right. mr. scott tells me that he wants the cash, that cash is the only settlement he'll take.” "yes, that's right,” the rancher confirmed. “then if it's cash he wants, the cash he shall have,” the cashier mused. “now suppose i give you twenty one-thou- sand dollar notes, and a check on the bank for the remaining thirty-three hundred dollars.” “that will be all right, mr. cockrell, but suppose you give me the twenty thousand in cash, and a receipt for the deposit of the rest,” the rancher suggested. “that'll be fine. and we will be mighty proud to have you as a patron of this bank.” the tin box pressing a button, the bank executive summoned a messen- ger, who, after being instructed and given some papers, went away and returned in a short while with a small package which he handed to the cashier. opening the package, mr. cockrell counted out twenty one-thousand dollar notes which, together with an account book showing a deposit of thirty- three hundred and thirty-six dollars and seventy-eight cents and a book of blank checks, he handed to the rancher, who signed a receipt for the money. the banker asked if he wanted a guard to accompany him to the realtor's office. “no, thank you, mr. cockrell. it's just two blocks down the street, and i don't think anyone will hold me up between here and there." "well, let us hope they don't, anyway,” the cashier smiled as he shook the rancher's hand. when tom meredith stepped out of the bank, the norther had struck. the wind had already attained a velocity of twenty to twenty-five miles an hour, creating a dust storm that from all indications would be a severe one. the clouds of yellowish silt were rolling in, covering everything with grit. people on all sides were closing their doors and lowering their windows in an effort to keep it out. visibility already had been reduced to about two blocks. the rancher hurried to chandler's office, where he found the realtor sullen and defiant. he did not look up as meredith approached his desk. “well, i'm ready for the settlement,” the rancher asserted. “have you got the cash?” chandler looked up. -"yes,” the rancher replied in a firm voice. "all right, let me have it,” he demanded. “where are the papers, the mortgage i signed?” meredith asked. “my attorney has them in his office.” "well, get him over here with them. i want to get this thing settled so i can get home before this storm gets much worse." chandler lifted the receiver and dialed the office of jules bromberg. then replacing the receiver, he said: “they say at ey has them in with them. i wa gets much of jules the tin box “i suppose you're right. we'd better keep driving. i guess i'm just a little more nervous than usual.” they were approaching a particularly dangerous section of the road. the narrow road, at that point, had been carved out of the side of the mountain, and was barely wide enough for cars to pass. there was a slight incline for a few feet leading from the road, then an almost sheer drop for two hundred feet or more, to the rock-strewn bottom of the partly dry stream that ran parallel with the road, which curved sharply around the mountain side. they had just reached this spot when suddenly around the curve, and right upon them, appeared the lights of another car. meredith swerved his car sharply to avert a collision. his wife, in a highly nervous state, screamed and threw her arms around him, hampering his chances of pulling the car back onto the road. he tried to shake her off, but she clung des- perately to him. the front wheels of the car struck the incline. not being able to use his arms freely to steer the car, he re- sorted to the brakes. the car was picking up momentum on the sloping mountain side. in desperation, he stamped on the brakes, but the faulty brakes failed to hold. frantically, he tried to fight free of his wife, pleading with her to release him that he might yet stop the car, but she only clung tighter. and then-the dull, sickening thud of steel against stone, as the car hurtled end over end down the side of the mountain, to come to rest badly battered and partly sub- merged in the stream below. the driver of the other car, which was occupied by three men, looking in his rearview mirror, saw the meredith car plunge from the road. stopping the car, the men quickly found a place where they climbed down to the car. mrs. meredith had been thrown clear of the car as it plummeted down the side of the mountain, and had landed on a ledge, while her husband, being caught in the wreckage, was carried to a watery death in the car. when the men reached the rancher's wife she was breath- ing heavily. horribly broken, she was mortally injured. as the tin box well-known residents of that section, and that if they had any papers with them, they were very likely to be in the car and, of course, ruined, he began to inspect very diligently the course of the plunge, pointing out to those who came near him just where the car left the road and went over the precipice. he seemed greatly interested in the course taken by the car, going over it foot by foot until he reached the cliff, and trying to show anyone who seemed interested how the tragedy might have been averted. retracing his steps from the edge of the cliff, he scrambled down the side of the mountain at the nearest possible descent to the water's edge, where he made a minute inspection of the ground near the partly submerged automobile. having satisfied himself that the receipt was in the car and ruined by water, he returned to his office and sat down to collect his thoughts, and to determine the best way to proceed with the foreclosure, which he felt that he would now be safe in filing. however, there was the possibility that the receipt, if found, might be deciphered even though water-soaked. so he decided that, for the time being at least, he would just sit and watch developments. chapter four tune and aunt harriet were greatly shocked by the tragic accident. a few days after the burial, randall scott, who had looked after all arrangements, called at the ranch. aunt harriet and june were sitting on the front porch. "i came out to see if i can be of any assistance,” he said as he came upon the porch. "thank you, mr. scott,” june said, “i'm very glad you came. a story of texas cattle and oil i want to thank you for doing so much for us in arranging the funeral details.” “i was mighty glad to help,” he said. “mr. scott,” june began slowly, seemingly endeavoring to find words that would not offend, yet would clearly reveal her feelings towards the funeral arrangements. “i do not wish to appear ungrateful, but it seems to me that the entire arrange- ments were rather unpretentious or, may i say, cheap for a man of my father's standing. don't you think so?” “i'm awfully sorry, june, if the arrangements were unsatis- factory. but knowing your father and mother as i did, how extremely modest they were and that they never cared for anything elaborate, i felt that they would have wanted it that way.” “i'm sorry if i have offended you, mr. scott,” june apolo- gized. “i didn't mean to.” “not at all,” he smiled, reassuringly, “i'm glad you men- tioned it. by the way, june, there's a business matter that if you haven't attended to already, i believe should be looked after right away,” he suggested. june listened closely as he continued: “a few days before your father's death, he told me about a financial obligation he had to meet, in the form of a mortgage on his ranch. he-" “a mortgage?” june interrupted in surprised alarm, “you mean a mortgage on this ranch, our home?” “yes,” scott replied. "father never told me about any indebtedness on the place. and of course, i never asked him. i just took it for granted that he had sufficient means to meet his obligations." "it came as quite a surprise and shock to me, too,” scott said. “of course," june said, “i realized that the ranch hasn't been any too prosperous during the past few years because of the drouth, but i never dreamed of anything so drastic. did you know about it, aunt harriet?” "only a few days ago," aunt harriet replied. “that was the reason your father sold those cattle.” the tin box “i was about to suggest,” scott continued, “that you go in and talk with mr. cockrell, cashier at the city national bank, and find out how your father's account stands there. and then” “but father did all his business with the morrison state bank," june said. "not for some time," scott informed her. "and then i believe i would see mr. robert chandler, president of the chandler real estate and development company,” scott con- tinued. “he held the mortgage against your father's ranch. i feel sure that your father paid off the lien, as that was his purpose in going to town that day. but as no papers were found on him, i believe it will be a good idea to talk to mr. chandler, to be sure.” “thank you so much, mr. scott. i'll go to town first thing in the morning.” june's first stop was at the city national bank. she asked for mr. cockrell, and was shown to his office by a messenger. the cashier greeted the two women. “won't you sit down?” he smiled. “i am june meredith,” june said as she sat down, "and this is my aunt, miss harriet meredith.” "you are the daughter of tom meredith,” the cashier said. “yes, i am.” “may i offer my condolences, miss meredith?” “thank you, mr. cockrell." “that was an awful accident, a terrible tragedy," he said sympathetically. “i talked with your father on the day of the accident, and he seemed so happy that he would be able to clear his ranch of debt. and just to think that such a thing could happen. i suppose i was one of the last persons to talk with him before he went over to mr. chandler's office to pay off the mortgage. he was in a big hurry to get home before the dust storm got too severe.” “did he cash the check for the full amount?” june asked. “no, he took only enough to satisfy the mortgage which a story of texas cattle and oil was, i believe, twenty thousand dollars. the rest he left here on deposit.” “did he get an account book, or anything to show the de- posit?” “yes, i gave him an account book showing the full deposit, also a check book. i understand that there were no papers found on him.” “no, there were no papers in his pockets,” june replied. “possibly he left them with mr. chandler. i believe i would see mr. chandler as soon as possible,” the cashier suggested. “i am going there now," june said as she and aunt harriet rose to leave. robert chandler was sitting at his desk, in deep thought, when the two women entered his office. his conscience was bothering him, and he had begun to worry. he couldn't de- cide whether to institute foreclosure proceedings at once, or to await further developments. the car was still in the stream, and might contain evidence that could cause him a great deal of trouble, should it be found after he had foreclosed on the ranch or attempted to do so. so he had about decided to play a waiting game and let june make the first move. “good morning. are you mr. robert chandler?” june said as they entered the office. “why-er-yes.” chandler sprang to his feet. he was deeply impressed with june's youthful beauty. although in his early fifties, chandler had never married. yet he had a profound weakness for women. and as june stood before him, dressed in deep mourning, he was quick to notice the blond curls that fell about her shoulders, the round, dimpled, childish face, from which rouge was conspicuously absent, the slender, pointed fingers of well-kept hands. “what can i do for you?” he stammered. "i'm june meredith, and this is my aunt harriet.” "oh, yes. won't you sit down?” "i'm trying to learn something of my father tom mere- dith's activities on the day of his death,” june said. the tin box “i'll be glad to tell you all i can, miss meredith,” chandler replied. "i have talked with mr. scott, who attended to the sale of my father's cattle, and to mr. cockrell of the city national bank. my father paid off the lien on his ranch on the day he met his death, didn't he?” she asked "your father came here that evening with a check signed by a felix hobson, and drawn on an out-of-town bank. the check was for more than the amount of the lien, and mr. meredith suggested that he endorse the check to me, and that i give him my personal check for the difference, which was more than three thousand dollars," chandler explained. “this i refused to do, acting on my rights to demand a settlement in cash as is specified in our agreement. of course, i would gladly have accepted your father's personal check for any amount. but i felt that there was too great a risk in putting out twenty- three thousand dollars on a signature i didn't know. so mr. meredith left my office, and returned in about thirty minutes, bringing the twenty thousand dollars in cash. “unfortunately, the papers pertaining to the transaction were all in the hands of my attorney, and he was out of the city that day. naturally your father wanted all papers when he paid the lien, so we agreed that he would come in and complete the payment the following day. and, too, the dust storm was getting worse every minute, and mrs. meredith seemed very nervous and anxious to get home," he explained. "then he must have had the money with him when he went over the cliff,” june surmised. “i understand there were no papers of any kind in his pock- ets. do you suppose the money and other papers, if he had any on him at the time, could be still in the car?” chandler asked. "that's the only place they could be. there was nothing found at the scene of the accident,” june informed him. “do you plan to have the car removed from the water and searched?” chandler was curiously interested. “i suppose i'll have to. that's the only way i can get the the tin box right of foreclosure now that the way is clear, aren't you?” "i've got a time set for that,” chandler replied as he turned and looked out the window. “but i thought you were anxious to get possession so we can close our deal and get busy,” robertson protested. “i haven't made a deal with anybody concerning that ranch yet,” chandler retorted. robertson sat for a moment in deep thought. “that was certainly a bad accident, wasn't it?" he said, eying chandler coyly. “pretty bad,” chandler said as he picked up and started to open a letter that had come in the morning mail. “you know,” he continued, “ever since tom meredith was killed, these oil companies have been worrying me to death, wanting to know when i expect to take possession of that ranch, and wanting the first chance at leasing it,” he said after he had read the letter. “no money or papers were ever found after the accident, i understand,” robertson said, pretending to ignore chan- dler's last remark. “i've often wondered what became of them." "so have i," chandler retorted. “he could have lost the money, or spent it. i understand that they were figuring on buying a new car, and other things.” “you know,” robertson took the offensive, “that was a pe- culiar coincidence.” “what was so peculiar about it? anybody is likely to have an accident, especially in one of these dust storms." “that's true. but what i mean by peculiar is there being only the two cars on that section of the road and that they should meet at that particular spot, the most treacherous spot on the entire road.” “what are you driving at, jim? do you mean to insinuate that i—" "i don't mean to insinuate anything," robertson snapped. “well, be more explicit in your conjectures,” chandler warned. a story of texas cattle and oil “i know a man who is a close friend of one of the men that was in the other car. kind of underworld characters, i believe he said they were," robertson remarked, looking past chan- dler and out the window. “yeah? well i don't know any of them,” chandler replied curtly as he started to look through another stack of mail. “well, when you've started foreclosure proceedings, i'll come back and talk with you about the lease,” the oil executive said as he rose to leave. "all right. i'll let you know when i'm ready for you.” it was about a month after the accident when robert chan- dler, with his attorney jules bromberg called at the meredith ranch. aunt harriet met them at the door, invited them into the living room, and then went out to find june, who was looking after some business about the ranch. “that crook chandler and another man are here to see you,” she told june. “oh!” june started nervously. “tell them i'll be right in," she said as she started to her room to change her dress. “good morning,” june said as she entered the door wearing a freshly laundered blue house dress, with white collar and cuffs. her beautiful, childish face beamed beneath her curly, blond locks dangling about her shoulders. “good morning, miss meredith.” chandler sprang to his feet, his mouth open, charmed by the image of beauty before him. “this is mr. bromberg, my attorney,” he said. brom- berg, who was about forty years old, was squat, with curly, black hair. he had a wide mouth with thin lips, and a long, pointed nose. he was nattily dressed in a gray business suit. "how do you do?” he said as he rose and bowed. june offered her hand. . "you are charming this morning,” chandler said, still charmed by the girls innocent beauty. “thank you, mr. chandler.” june smiled graciously. "miss meredith, i hardly know how to begin," chandler said, pressing the tips of his outstretched fingers together and picking his words slowly and carefully. “i have news for you which you may have expected and which may, at first, be un- the tin box pleasant and somewhat of a shock.” june listened attentively, expressing deep concern, as chandler continued: “because the mortgage on your ranch has not been paid, and as you have made no further effort to pay to safeguard my invest- ment i will be forced to foreclose.” june gasped in surprise. she had been expecting some kind of approach for settlement from chandler, but hadn't ex- pected anything so drastic. “do you mean that you are going to take my home away from me, knowing the position i'm in, and after my father made every effort to pay you, on the day of his death?” june asked in astonishment. "that is about the substance of it, miss meredith. of course, it's very unpleasant to me, i assure you, but business is busi- ness, and unless one protects his investments, he cannot hope to remain in business," he said. “i have only about three thousand dollars, left me by my father. i am willing to pay you that to avert a foreclosure until i can sell more of my father's cattle to pay you the full amount,” june said. "i'm sorry, miss meredith. but i have waited so long for your father to settle this debt that i find it impossible to wait any longer.” “but what am i to do?” june pleaded anxiously. “with winter almost here and the cattle to look after, and i have so little money and no place to go. how am i to get through the winter?" "you won't have to worry about that for some time, miss meredith. you can stay right here until the winter is over, and by that time i may have a very attractive proposition to offer you. i am negotiating for a tract of fine ranch land down near the gulf coast that i might let you in on at a bargain,” he said. "and in the meantime, you can rest assured that you will not be disturbed until after the winter months are over.” “but how much will i have to pay to stay here?” june asked. “not one penny. i realize your predicament and am anxious to do everything within my power to help you." "i don't believe he is such a bad sort, after all," aunt har- a story of texas cattle and oil riet, who had stood in the doorway during the conversation, said when the men had gone. “he may be all right." feeling secure in his belief that the receipt had been thrown into the water and possibly mashed into the mud by the car, where it would never be found, or that perhaps it had floated away into oblivion, chandler felt that the way was now clear for instituting foreclosure proceedings against the estate, and that he was well on his way to becoming one of the country's wealthiest men. robert chandler was of the vain type, craving immense wealth, and distinctive notability. to be known as one of the country's richest citizens was not enough for him. he craved prominence and leadership in other fields besides real estate and oil. he had long dreamed of being a rancher of the first water, a cattle king. he felt that the title of cattle baron, an- nexed to those of real estate broker and oil magnate (which he felt were already within his grasp) would give him the de- sired prominence. although he had seen very few of the meredith purebred cattle, he had heard enough about them to be convinced that they were among the finest in the country, and he wanted those herds. he would soon be ready to play his trump card- to bid for those cattle through the trickery which he had used so well in the past. a few days after chandler's visit to the meredith ranch with his attorney, june was notified of the suit for foreclosure. since she had no money or grounds upon which to contest the suit, it was decided in chandler's favor, and he gained posses- sion of the coveted estate. and the title to the vast meredith ranch, heirloom of generations of merediths, passed into the name and into the keeping of robert chandler. a short while after the foreclosure, jim robertson again called on chandler in his office. “jim, i told you i'd let you know when i was ready for you,” chandler snapped some- what heatedly as the oil executive came into his office. “oh, well,” robertson said, with a shrug of his shoulders, the tin box e v "i thought there would be no harm in dropping in for a little friendly chat.” “no, no, no harm done, but i'm pretty busy this morning.” "not too busy to talk with an old friend, are you, robert?" jim said with a sly wink. “you didn't seem to be so busy when i came in. looked to me like you were taking a nap." “maybe i was. but that doesn't signify that i haven't plenty of work to do. what do you want, jim?" chandler asked sternly. “well, robert,” jim said slowly, “i see by the papers that you have taken possession of the meredith ranch, and i thought perhaps you had forgotten to call me.” “no, i haven't forgotten you. i'm just not ready to go into any business deal with you yet. besides, i may want to nego- tiate with somebody else; maybe get a better offer on that lease.” “listen, chandler.” (jim robertson assumed a firm, busi- ness-like attitude, and it was obvious that he was irked at chandler's endeavor to forestall any attempt to bring him to terms.) “my company, at your request, went on that property under false pretenses and spent thousands of dollars sounding out the possibilities of finding oil there. we made our report to you with the verbal agreement that we were to get the lease if and when you got possession of the ranch. now we are ex- pecting you to stick to your part of the agreement." “i've had a better offer than you made me, jim. and as we have no signed agreement, i'm seriously considering accept- ing that offer,” chandler said defiantly. “what have you been offered?” "i've been offered a bonus of ten dollars an acre. you of- fered me five, and that waste land down near the gulf coast. now there is nothing in the world i can do with that land. i've got more land now than i need, and any more would be just that much more to pay taxes on." “chandler,” robertson said, stiffening, "i don't do busi- ness with men whose word is not dependable. i didn't figure that it would be necessary to have an agreement signed before the tin box he knew that any evidence in these men's hands would enable them to apply greater pressure for bigger pay checks for their silence, which, since he had become a respectable citizen, was indeed golden. and he knew that anything in these men's possession was for sale, even that receipt-if they had it. robertson was watching the reaction closely. chandler had not spoken either to affirm or deny these inferences. and his silence was more convincing to jim robertson than all the words he could have spoken. “now, i'm not interested,” rob- ertson continued, “in the papers or the money, whichever it was that tom meredith had on him at the time of his death. i'm only interested in securing a lease on the meredith prop- erty. the rest i can forget about.” chandler was in a quandary. he wanted to be free to bar- gain with as many companies as he could, to exact every penny he could for a lease on the valuable property. yet he could not afford to make new enemies. he would have to play ball with jim robertson and he must in some way investigate the new angle. hot flashes shot through his body, and beads of perspiration appeared on his arms and forehead as for the first time in his life he felt himself cornered. feeling that this was the psychological moment to feign an abrupt end to the conference, robertson rose to leave. “well, i'm getting back to the office,” he said. “what's the hurry, jim? sit down,” chandler insisted. "i see you are very busy, so i don't want to take your time.” “oh, what i have to do can wait." robertson knew he had the whip hand. he knew nothing about the meredith accident, its cause, or the men who were responsible for it, that was not public knowledge. he was playing a hunch, and was getting results beyond his fondest hopes. he was now beginning to believe that the accident was premeditated, and that chandler knew more about it than he had admitted. “jim," chandler said as he faced jim robertson squarely, “i would like to know what became of that check book and account book that meredith got from the a story of texas cattle and oil bank on the day of his death. no doubt the money is with them, wherever they are. you told me some time ago that you knew a personal friend of one of the men that caused the wreck. do you think you can get that information for me?" “yes, i think so. but before i put myself to any trouble, i must be assured of an agreement on the lease.” "all right. i'll make up a lease right now," chandler said as he started to place paper in his typewriter. “no,” robertson interrupted, “but here's what you can do: give me a signed statement, showing the terms of the lease, and i will have it transferred to our regular form. in the mean- time, i'll give you my check for fifty thousand dollars earnest money, and will pay you the balance of the bonus when the lease is signed, and the twenty-five thousand acres of gulf coast land transferred." “all right, jim.” chandler wrote out a copy and handed it to robertson, who looked it over closely. both men then signed the two copies, and robertson stuck one copy in his coat pocket and rose to leave. "be sure and get that information for me as soon as you can, jim,” chandler called as robertson left the office. "oh, yes. right away,” robertson said. chapter six routine on the meredith ranch went on as usual, as the remainder of the winter passed. because of the scarcity of funds, and the fact that she would have to vacate in the spring, june was forced to economize in every possible way. she began by discharging some of the help around the place, keeping only as many as uncle jack thought would be the tin box absolutely necessary to attend to the ranch work through the winter. chandler was a frequent visitor at the ranch. sometimes he brought friends, but more often he came out alone. he went for horseback rides over parts of the ranch, and june, being an expert horsewoman, often rode with him. besides wanting to do everything possible to retain the good will and favor of chandler-her position made that nec- essary-she thought he was genuinely interested in her wel- fare and was being especially nice to her for sympathetic rea- sons. and, too, she had begun to like him and to look forward with pleasant anticipation to his increasingly frequent visits. winter had broken early that year, and although there had been some severe cold snaps and some snow, the cattle on the meredith ranch had wintered well, with but few lost because of the cold. as march came in, and the spring grass began to shoot up, uncle jack took his cowhands and began moving the cattle from the feed pens and winter pastures, to the grazing lands farther away, just as had been done all through the years. on a beautiful morning in early march, chandler called at the ranch house unusually early. however, everyone was up and about his duty. aunt harriet met him at the door. “good morning, miss meredith,” chandler greeted her in a very pleasant manner. * "good morning, mr. chandler. my, but you are out early this morning.” “yes. it is such a beautiful morning that i just couldn't resist the temptation for an early morning ride. where's june?" “oh, she's around here some place. come in while i go see if i can find her.” “thank you. if you don't mind, i think i'll just sit out here in the swing. this early morning air is so invigorating out here in the country.” chandler took a seat in the porch swing while aunt harriet went to look for june. this is something for which i have a story of texas cattle and oil ' always longed, he thought as he sat idly swinging to and fro, a nice ranch home where i can come and rest, away from the turmoil of a busy world. a place where i can bring my friends (those who can see eye to eye with me, and are willing to listen) and here plan my business deals without being inter- rupted by busy-bodies. he looked out across the valley where a herd of cattle was grazing on the short green grass. to keep it like this, he thought, to keep these cattle on the ranch just as they are, and my cup of gratitude will be running over and my life com- plete. “good morning, mr. chandler,” june awoke him from his dreams. “good morning, miss meredith. i'm so glad to see you look- ing so well this morning,” he said as he rose and bowed low. “thank you. what brings you out so early?” june asked curiously. “it is such a splendid day i couldn't resist coming out and perhaps taking an early ride. would you favor me by taking an early morning jaunt with me?” “yes, i'll be delighted. but i haven't had my breakfast yet. won't you have breakfast with us? it's just about ready." june nodded her head towards the dining room. "thank you.” chandler followed her into the dining room, where aunt harriet had added an extra cover for him. the three of them sat down to enjoy an early morning breakfast, while horses were being saddled for chandler and june. chandler had bought a fine, gaited saddle horse, which he kept at the ranch. june, as usual, rode one of the many cow ponies. “we are going out to enjoy some of this crisp air and beau- tiful scenery on the meredith ranch this morning and maybe talk over a little business,” chandler explained as breakfast progressed. “what is the nature of the business, may i ask?” aunt har- riet inquired. “pertaining to cattle. you see, i want to be of every assist- the tin box ance to miss meredith in deciding what disposition to make of her cattle, when she must decide on some course," chandler explained. "does she have to decide right away?” aunt harriet ex- pressed concern. "oh no,” he quickly assured her. “you know i told you, miss meredith, that you need not worry as there would be no change made right away. and of course, robert chandler's word is as good as his bond. but inevitably, as you must real- ize, something must be done sooner or later. and i've always found it to be a good policy to be prepared by anticipating events that might occur.” “mr. chandler is right, aunt harriet,” june said. “we all know that you and i can't stay here forever. it was very con- siderate of him to permit us to stay here through the winter. and we mustn't impose on his good graces by expecting him to allow us to remain here indefinitely.” the cool, invigorating air was sweet with the perfume of currant blossoms as june and chandler mounted their horses and rode away from the ranch house. the sun was just peep- ing over a clump of trees that stood in meredith gap, a pass between two high hills overlooking the ranch house. it was a typical spring morning in mountainous west texas. birds were singing everywhere, seemingly glad to welcome the spring after the long winter months. spider webs of every description were spread on the grass or hung from the low tree limbs by the thousands. and the dewdrops collected on them, flashing their changing colors in the rays of the sun-purple, yellow, green-resembled mil- lions of tiny diamonds on all sides as they rode down into a beautiful valley, a short distance from the house, where june had played since a child. large herds of the meredith pureblood cattle were grazing there, paying no attention to the riders. june, with her khaki riding habit, leather boots, and large cowboy hat set off by her curly blond locks and dimpled cheeks, was an imposing picture that would have made any man's heart waver. a story of texas cattle and oil skirting the valley for a short distance, they came to a rocky knoll near a large tree. “suppose we dismount here, and talk awhile," chandler suggested. "all right,” she replied with a laugh. chandler dismounted, and started around to assist her as she sprang to the ground with a laugh, just as he reached her side. “you are beautiful, june,” he said as he looked at her admiringly. “so lithe and young, so full of life and the joy of living." some of the cattle, upon seeing the riders dismount, be- came frightened and trotted off to a safe distance, stood for a moment with heads held high, then started to circle the riders until they got them in the wind, sniffed for a moment then moved off slowly and resumed grazing. “you know, june-you don't mind my calling you june, do you? calling you miss meredith is so formal; seems to put such a distance between us.” “that's perfectly all right. i like for people to call me june," she replied with an alluring smile. “as i was going to say,” he continued, as they walked over and sat on the knoll, “i sometimes envy people like you, who seem so gay and full of life, with so much to live for. i never had the means nor the opportunity to enjoy my younger days. “being reared in a tenement house, surrounded by the worst environment that the big city had to offer, with no parents to direct or look after me (being taken in charge when a baby by an old woman who hoped to use me in her business of pilfering), i came up the hard way. “every morning when i awoke on the pallet of filthy straw, sacks and old discarded clothing that i was able to get hold of, piled in a corner of the low tenement attic-where i was sur- rounded by every conceivable piece of rubbish gathered from the streets and gutters—it was just the beginning of another day. no different from the day before, or the day to follow, as far as i could see. "just another day in which i would be forced to battle for bread if i was to survive. a day in which my lying down that night on the filthy pallet with hardly enough to eat, or with the tin box the pangs of hunger gnawing at my soul so that i could not sleep, depended on whether i might be able to sneak into a grocery store and, while the storekeeper was busy waiting on customers, grab an apple out of the box and bite a piece out of it before the clerk saw me and threw something at me. just another day in the procession of misery in which my very existence depended on my being able to outwit or outsteal many others in the same deplorable circumstances. it was simply a case of 'get what you could, in any way you could get iť. or if we were lucky, we might be able to feign a fight just as a fruit peddler came along, upsetting his cart and making away with enough of the fruit partly to appease the pangs of hunger. "these early lessons,” he went on, "learned from hard knocks, imbued within me and in many other unfortunates like me a deep hatred for society and all the things for which it stands. "being denied those things which others enjoyed, there was cultivated within me a will to destroy those things; to cause others to suffer by being deprived of those things which i was denied.” june listened with sympathetic understanding. “you have indeed had an unpleasant life, mr. chandler,” she said, “but since you have become one upon whom fortune has smiled, a prominent, leading citizen of the community, with means to obtain anything you might desire, how do you feel towards society, and the things for which it stands?” she asked. "as i said, i'm afraid my early lessons have been indelibly stamped on my character, and that urge to ‘get anything in any way you can get iť keeps bobbing up." “don't you try to fight against it?” “yes, very hard,” he said thoughtfully. “sometimes i think that if i had a home and a family, children to play with and to guide, that my mind might be taken away from the daily task of trying to wrest something from a cold, heartless world.” having excited june's emotions, chandler reasoned that he had won her sympathy and confidence, and he was now ready a story of texas cattle and oil to try on the unsuspecting girl a carefully planned piece of master strategy, that of entering into some kind of transaction by which he could get control of the meredith cattle. "sometimes i reminisce over my early life and get all ex- cited,” he said. “but sometimes one has to tell his troubles, things that are burdening his heart, to someone he feels he can trust, and in whom he has confidence.” “i'm glad you have confidence enough in me, mr. chandler, to have given me the inside story of your early life,” june said. “just call me robert. i like that so much better.” "all right, robert,” june said with a sly laugh. “shall we be riding?” he suggested. “when you're ready.” they mounted and struck off at a brisk canter across the valley and up over a narrow path that led across the hills. reaching the summit of one of the highest peaks, they stopped. the hills from that point gave a commanding view of the ranch house, lying so peaceful in the valley below. as june looked down upon this familiar scene, memories of her childhood crowded into her mind; memories of the days when she had not a worry or care, of the days when her home was safe, she thought, for all time to come. of the days when her father was considered one of the wealthiest men in that part of the country, and from all indications, would remain so. as those memories came vividly back to her, she turned her head from chandler, and touching her horse, started back down the path. tears were trickling down her cheeks as she rode ahead so he could not see her face. when he finally rode abreast of her, she had dried her eyes, but they were still red. “you've been crying, june. what's the matter?” he asked. "oh, nothing,” she replied. “i suppose i just have weak moments, maybe thinking about what you have just told me about your early life.” “i'm so sorry. i didn't mean to arouse your sympathies,” he apologized. "i guess i'm rather tenderhearted. memories sometimes a story of texas cattle and oil "about six hundred miles, i'd say." “how much do you want an acre for it, and how could i pay for it?” june inquired. “the price would be very reasonable to you. and if you should be interested, i'm sure a way could be found by which you can obtain possession of it with very little trouble.” “i greatly appreciate that, mr. chan-er robert,” june said with a twinkle in her eye. “won't you come in?" she in- vited, when they had dismounted back at the ranch house. “no, thank you, june. i'll be getting on back to the city. give that matter about the gulf coast land some thought. and if you care to, within the next few days we'll go down and look it over,” he said as he walked away towards his car. when chandler reached his office, jim robertson was waiting for him. “good morning, robert. i've been waiting around here for the past hour. you must have forgotten our appointment,” he said, somewhat irritated. “no, i hadn't exactly forgotten it. i've been out to my ranch for a little fresh air, and miss meredith and i took a horseback ride. the time passed so quickly, that i didn't realize it.” "well, that's fine,” robertson said with sarcasm. "how are you getting along with june?” "what do you mean, jim?" chandler asked, a tone of re- sentment ringing in his voice. “oh, nothing. perhaps i should have asked how you are getting along with your ranch.” "now that sounds better; makes more sense,” chandler said, softening somewhat. “i've got these lease papers all ready to be signed,” the oil company president said. after carefully looking over the lease, chandler pronounced it satisfactory, and it was signed by the two men. “when do you expect to get busy out there?” chandler inquired. “oh, perhaps in a month or two.” "a month or two! why, i thought you could hardly wait to get a lease on the place,” chandler protested. “i want some the tin box action out there. i want to know what i've got. i may have just a white elephant on my hands.” “no, i hardly think that. i hope not, anyway. you know that to start a wildcat for oil in an unexplored territory, where the terrain is as rough as the meredith ranch, requires time to make preparations. however, i'll get at it just as soon as pos- sible.” it was several days later, while june and uncle jack were riding among the cattle, that uncle jack inquired: “what about that place down near the gulf coast that this feller mr. chandler is going to take you to look at, miss june?” “i don't know yet, uncle jack; won't know until i see it.” "how are you going to buy it, if it suits you?” he asked curiously. "i can't answer that either. mr. chandler said that if it suited me, there is a way by which i can get possession of it without much trouble. i'm leaving that worry to him.” “i'd do a little worrying myself if i were you, miss june. i've seen a right smart, and i've met all kinds of people, but i ain't never seen nobody that was so all fired anxious to help some- body they just met.” “what do you mean, uncle jack? why, mr. chandler is the finest kind of a gentleman. he has been so kind and con- siderate of me ever since my parents died, doing everything he can to make things easy for me. and you know as well as i that we are staying here now solely on his mercies. how can you think that he doesn't mean weli?” “i hope you'll excuse me, miss june. maybe i oughtn't to have said what i did after all he has done for you. but i can't help thinking that if he is so interested in your welfare and wants to be so nice to you, why did he foreclose and take your home and refuse to give you a chance to sell some of your cattle to pay off the mortgage, like you offered to do?” “it was only a matter of business. he explained that. after all, he had renewed the mortgage twice, and we couldn't ex- pect him to go on renewing it forever.” a story of texas cattle and oil "i guess you're right. i'm sorry i said anything," uncle jack apologized. "i'm grateful for the interest you have in my welfare,” june assured him. it was one morning in early april that an automobile bear- ing three men drove up to the meredith ranch. uncle jack met them at the corral gates. “how do you do? this is the meredith ranch, i believe," one of the trio asked. “yes. what can i do for you gentlemen?” the foreman drawled. “we are field officials of the bluge oil corporation,” the speaker explained, “and we came out this morning to look over the property to decide where to locate our first wildcat.” “wildcat?” the old foreman stood, his eyes blinking as he looked the official in the eyes. “you want to locate a wildcat?” “perhaps you don't understand," the man laughed. “we are going to pick out a spot on which to drill our first oil well, or 'wildcat,' as it is known to the oil industry.” for a long moment uncle jack was speechless, his eyes blinking faster, his mouth open. “jumping junebugs,” he said when he had recovered from the shock sufficiently to speak. "you mean you're going to dig for oil here on this place?" he sputtered. “that's right,” the spokesman assured him. “well, i'll be darned. mister, you'd better go up to the house there and see miss june. she's the boss 'round here.” “all right. say, how about getting some horses to ride? mr. chandler said we could get horses here.” "well, you'd better see miss june. mr. chandler has one horse here, and i guess maybe miss june'll let you have two more.” "thanks,” the official said as the trio drove on towards the house. aunt harriet was hoeing around some flowers near the front gate as the men drove up. “good morning. i would like to see miss june meredith,” the spokesman said as he raised his hat. june was on the back the tin box porch, but came around to the front when she heard the car stop. “are you miss june meredith?” the official asked as the men raised their hats. “yes, i am.” "we are officials of the oil company that is going to develop this property," the man explained. “i don't understand,” june replied, puzzled. “i don't own this place any more. it belongs to mr. robert chandler, a real estate man in labesia.” “yes, i know.” “does he know about this?” june asked with mounting curiosity. "oh, yes. he told us to talk with you before proceeding to spot a location, as he didn't want to disturb you any more than was necessary with our work.” "i see. how long has mr. chandler known about this?” "oh, he's known about it for some time. you see, my com- pany secured the lease from him last fall.” “last fall!” june asked in astonishment. “why, he only took the place away from me in december.” “Ķes, i know. but we were ready to close the deal as soon as he took possession.” “strange that he never said anything about that to me," she complained. “mr. chandler said that we might get some horses from you to ride. we are not going far.” “oh, yes, yes, of course. just wait here a minute and i'll have my foreman get them ready for you.” the men stood around while june went down to the corrals to locate the foreman. “uncle jack,” she called. “yes, miss june. here i am, 'round here at the saddle house.”.. "uncle tack,” flustered and bewildered, june spoke in whis- pered tones when she had found him, “these men are from an oil company, and were sent out here by mr. chandler to select a location to drill an oil well.” “yes’m,” the foreman replied as he curried off the horses a story of texas cattle and oil for the men to ride. “they stopped here and talked to me, and i figured you'd lend 'em the horses, so i went ahead and caught'em." “that was right, uncle jack, but i don't understand this whole thing. they say mr. chandler knows about this, and has known about it since last fall, and that he was ready to lease the place to them when he foreclosed.” “that ain't so hard to understand, miss june,” the wise old rancher replied. "but for an oil company to risk spending a lot of money prospecting for oil. they always make tests to find out if there is likely to be oil beneath the surface before staking a loca- tion for a well. “with the precision instruments that have been perfected,” she explained, “they can almost be assured if there is oil beneath the surface. i can't understand why they would risk drilling a wildcat well here without making some kind of test.” “it all comes very clear to me, miss june. since those men talked to me a few minutes ago, i've been doing some think- ing. you remember when those men were out here with those trucks last september? you know they told your father that they were considering putting in some kind of an irrigation project somewhere below here, and if your father would let them put down some wells here on the ranch, they would build a dam over there on that dry creek, and your father's cattle would be sure to get plenty of good water the year round? well, they were making them tests then." june remembered those silvery painted trucks that stayed on the ranch for more than a month, drilling shallow holes, and moving from one spot to another to “test the depth of the water.” "i'm beginning to see, uncle jack," june said after a long moment's thought, “beginning to see the whole thing. and why mr. chandler was so anxious to get possession of the ranch without allowing me a final chance to pay off the lien and save my home.” the horses were saddled and led to where the men were the tin box waiting near the house. “all right, gentlemen, here you are,” uncle jack said as he handed the reins of a horse to each man. “these horses are not wild, are they, mister? i don't feel like getting thrown off this morning," one of the men said as he awkwardly prepared to mount. “no. you'll find 'em gentle as lambs,” the foreman assured them. the men rode away from the house and across the valley to the hills. june sought aunt harriet as soon as she could get back to the house. “what did they want?” aunt harriet asked in a gruff voice as june came up to where she was sitting on the back porch shelling corn for the chickens. june explained all she could of what uncle jack had reminded her about the trucks that came on the ranch to "test for water.” “the dirty crook. i knew there was something crooked about that slink- ing scoundrel,” she blurted. "he knew all along that there was oil here. that's why he was in such a hurry to take this place. just as i told you, june, if you'd had that scoundrel's office searched, you'd have found those papers of your fa- ther's.” "it's too late now, aunt harriet. we mustn't let on that we suspect anything at this time," june cautioned. “yes, i know. but it's going to be mighty hard for me to hold my tongue the next time i see him. i'd just love to give him a tongue-lashing, a piece of my mind." “i feel the same way, aunt harriet. but we can't afford to say too much," june said. a few days before the arrival of the machinery for putting down the first wildcat, robert chandler called at the ranch. as usual, he was met by aunt harriet who, try as she might, could not conceal her feeling of resentment towards him for the “dirty tactics” she thought he had used in obtaining pos- session of the ranch. "how do you do, aunt harriet. where's,” "i'm miss meredith, if you don't mind,” she snapped. “oh, why, of course. i'humbly beg your pardon,” he apolo- gized, bowing low. “where's miss june?” a story of texas cattle and oil "she's about here some place. i haven't time to hunt her.” june heard the exchange of words and came to the door. “good morning, miss meredith,” chandler spoke, raising his hat. “june, please,” she reassured him with a smile. “well then, june it shall be. i was at a loss to know just how to address you, since your aunt seemed to become offended when i addressed her in my usual way.” “you'll have to overlook aunt harriet, as she's somewhat upset over unexpected developments here on the ranch,” june explained. "you mean the prospective oil development?” “yes.” "i meant to tell you about that, but upon second thought i thought it best to refrain from disturbing your peace of mind as long as possible,” he explained. “it came as a great shock to me," june said. “i never dreamed that anyone would risk money prospecting for oil on this place,” she said, looking chandler straight in the eyes. “well, these oil companies will risk almost anything in hopes of finding the black gold. somehow or other they got it into their heads that there might be oil here, so they started worrying me to let them make a try for it. i had nothing to lose, so i told them to go ahead,” he explained. “when do you expect them to start operations?" june asked. “most any time now. i'm expecting the derrick and machin- ery for putting down the first hole to arrive any day.” “i see they have driven a stake at the edge of the valley, down there. my father always seemed to have a hunch that there might be oil there. but he was never able to interest any of the oil companies enough for them to look it over,” june said dejectedly. “yes, sometimes it's mighty hard to get them interested. then again they'll worry you to death to get a lease on your land. i suppose it's just their way of doing business," chandler said as he started back to his car. the tin box chapter seven . it was in early may that the bluge oil corporation began moving in their equipment for drilling their first wildcat oil well on the meredith ranch. the starting of this well was destined to set in motion a chain of events that would mean so much, yet so little to robert chandler; a well that meant so little, yet would mean so much to june meredith. the five flatcars loaded with the derrick, boilers, drilling machinery, drill stem and casing, were set on the nearest sid- ing, twelve miles from the meredith ranch. the steel derrick was first unloaded, carted to the location, and set up in short order. then the heavy boilers, three of them, were unloaded onto eight-wheel wagons and, drawn by sixteen horses each, began their precarious journey over the dangerous mountain road. reaching the location without mishap, they were unloaded near the derrick. while the crew was connecting up the boil- ers, the giant steam pumps (mudhogs, as they are known to the oil-field roughneck) arrived, and then the last load of drill stem and casing were unloaded on pipe-racks that had been built by the derrick crew. by this time all machinery had been put in place and con- nected up, and all was in readiness to make the test for the black gold that the precision instruments had indicated lay beneath the surface of the vast ranch. then came the moment when all was in readiness to "spud in," and the first bit was screwed onto the drill stem. this was indeed a momentous occasion, and a thrill for robert chandler, who was on hand early to watch the begin- a story of texas cattle and oil ning of what he hoped would be the fulfillment of his dreams. the well was located at the edge of the valley that skirted a high, tree-covered hill, half a mile from the ranch house. there was a clearing that extended from the house to the foot of the hill, through which the derrick could be seen. aunt harriet, june and uncle jack doyle stood together on the back porch of their home that morning, the only home that any of them had ever known, the home that they all felt was yet rightfully theirs. it was a still morning in the middle of may when, as they stood there, the first sounds of the drill- ing machinery reached their ears. as they gazed towards the rig, clouds of white steam rose from the boilers and from the steam engine that operated the rotary and was silhouetted against the dark green foliage of the trees on the hillside beyond. june turned her head as she wiped away a tear that was stealing down her cheek. memories of her childhood were crowding into her mind in profusion. it was just about that spot where the derrick stood that she used as a starting point to race her pony to the house when she was a mere slip of a girl. it was near that spot that she had lassoed and dragged to death the timber wolf after chasing him across the valley on her favorite cow pony rex. event after event followed in quick succession in which that spot marked an important happening in her childhood. she was happy then and felt secure, never dreaming that in the very near future she must undergo the sacrifices and heart- aches that were now her lot. aunt harriet was grim. she too could remember events about the valley, even more numerous than could june, for she too had been brought up there. uncle jack, the old ranch foreman, was heartbroken. his grandfather started working for the meredith pioneers many years ago. and down through the generations, the name of doyle had been synonymous with that of meredith. many doyles had grown up on the meredith ranch, to drift away and become top hands on ranches throughout the cow coun- the tin box try, but all through the years there remained a doyle as fore- man of the meredith ranch. "it's a plumb shame, miss june,” he said as he noticed the faraway look in june's eyes, “to see how these dirty crooks go about beating honest people out of their homes." “yes, it is, uncle jack," june said, “but i suppose that's the way many of them get rich.” "it ain't going to do him no good, mark my words,” aunt harriet prophesied. “the dirty scoundrel ought to be hung up by the heels and smoked.” the three stood silent for a moment as the steady clang of the drilling machinery came to them across the still valley. then, turning away, each went in pursuit of the day's work. the drilling of this first wildcat was tough from the begin- ning. numerous breakdowns of the drilling rig were en- countered. besides the rocky formation being exceedingly tough, which required a frequent change of bits, the crews were plagued with loose boulders which often dropped into the hole when the drill stem was withdrawn. after a month of drilling in a tough formation, at eleven hundred feet, the drill passed through several feet of shale and onto another rock. after grinding away at this rock for several days, it passed into a soft formation. the drilling crews had been watching the slushpits closely for several days for any signs of oil, as it was getting down to about the depth that the testing devices indicated that oil might be present. “i believe we've got something here," pete sour, driller on the four p.m. to midnight shift remarked as he observed glob- ules of oil appearing on the “returns.” “i believe we'd better pull out and take a core and see what we've struck,” he said as the drill dropped rapidly for several feet. the “kelly joint” was unscrewed from the drill stem, and set aside, then slim, the derrickman climbed to the tripple board to handle the elevator at that end. the bail of the eleva- tor was then hooked to the traveling-block and the clamp was securely fastened to the drill stem. the dinkey (steam en- a story of texas cattle and oil gine) then began its laborious task of drawing out the string of pipe. after the bit was removed, the core barrel was screwed onto the drill stem and lowered into the hole. when it was pulled out, it contained several feet of heavily saturated oil sand. chandler, who was watching the well closely, was on hand when the core was taken. jumping in his car, he started for labesia. as he was passing the ranch house, he saw june in the front yard. slamming on the brakes, he skidded to a screeching stop. “i've got it, june, i've got it!” he shouted wildly. “you've got what, robert?" she asked curiously. "robert? er-umph, don't you think ‘mr. chandler' would be more appropriate? it would sound more dignified, i'm sure.” this abrupt change in his manner towards june com- pletely unarmed her. for a moment she was chagrined. “all right then, mr. chandler, what is it you've got?” she asked with a tinge of sarcasm. “oill oill can't you understand? oill” he gestured wildly. "i've struck it rich! it's going to be a gusher! i'll bet there's a hundred feet of oil sand in that well.” june was stunned, speechless for a long moment. finally she seemed to realize what he had said. “so you've struck oil. my father always thought it was there,” she said. feeling that there was a possibility of making a well, sour ordered the tubing run. then began the job of “washing in.” the well showed strong gas pressure, forcing the water back against the pressure of the pumps several times, and the fire- man had to increase the pump pressure to hold the gas in check. “you'll have to watch her pretty close,” sour said to sam bottomly, driller on the graveyard shift, as he came on duty. “she's been acting up on me. that back pressure is plenty strong.” bottomly knew from the strained chug, chug of the powerful mudhogs that they were working against tre- mendous pressure. suddenly the gas pressure ceased and the globules of oil disappeared from the returns. “must have been just a gas pocket,” bottomly observed. “go up, jerry,” he said the tin box top where it watched the spectacle from the safety of the branches. the colt, awakened by the conflagration, ran to its mother and lay close against her shoulder as she took off across the valley. at the ranch, the saddle horses in the corral ran to the far- thest corner, where they stood closely huddled, with their ears pricked, and watched the fire intently, while the milk cows, separated from their calves for the night, mooed uneasily. both aunt harriet and june, as well as most of the men on the ranch, were awakened by the blowout. having slipped on their robes, the two women were standing on the back porch looking towards the well when the gas became ignited. sev- eral of the men hurriedly donned their clothing and went for the well in a run. the fire by this time was burning furiously. as the earth continued to crater, the derrick had again assumed its upright position and stood defiantly, enveloped by the yellow flames of the burning gas amid the red flames of the burning oil that sent great billows of grayish-black smoke rolling and twisting heavenward to form a dark path across the starlit sky. as the intense heat of the burning gas continued to eat at the heavy beams and girders, the derrick rocked crazily from side to side. and as the earth continued to cave, it lurched to a dangerous angle, the heavy crownblock falling and burying it- self in the oil-soaked ground, leaving the derrick held by a guywire silhouetted grotesquely against the grayish-black smoke. holding this position for a moment, it seemed to go into convulsions, to shudder from top to bottom like a living thing in its death agonies. and as the supporting beams yielded to the terrific heat, it settled-a mass of warped, twisted steel. the men who had gone over to the well hurried back to tell aunt harriet and june what had happened. “it seems that the devil has taken charge here, since chandler took our home,” aunt harriet said. when news of the blazing gasser reached labesia, it cre- ened tied bedste to a story of texas cattle and oil ated an excitement such as had never been seen in that west texas cow town. the local weekly newspaper ran an extra with a picture of a burning oil well, and screaming headlines that covered most of the front page, announcing the discov- ery of oil on the meredith ranch. excitement soared to fever heat. oill the magic word was on every tongue, and was the chief topic of interest wherever two or more persons of that section met. oil! the “liquid gold” that had done so much towards alleviating hard times in other sections of texas and had been such a boon to the great state generally, had been found in west texas. at last the dry, arid “dust bowl” had been blessed with something that neither drouth nor dust could affect. now the ranchers who had been so hard pressed during the past few years be- cause of the unprecedented drouth could pay off their debts and have enough left to put them on easy street for the rest of their lives. it wasn't long before the oil entourage began to move in. every train, every bus, every automobile brought them in. the roads were crowded with every conceivable contraption of transportation. even hitchhikers, men and women, were thumbing their way to the pot of gold supposed to lie at the foot of every rainbow that is anchored in an oilfield town. the one small hotel was soon filled to capacity, as was every available room. accommodations were at a premium. business in the little town grew by leaps and bounds. small grocery stores, barber shops, restaurants, machine shops, and even small hotels (with their bevy of blondes and brunettes, ready to welcome the roughnecks after pay day) seemed to spring up like mushrooms overnight. oil brokerage houses, and headquarters for many of the major oil companies, were established in every building that could be rented or bought. most of the big companies, many of which had been watching the wildcat closely, lost no time in getting their scouts in the field in an effort to sew up every available lease. ranchers were awakened at all hours of the night by oil the tin box scouts from the oil companies or those dealing in leases, and offered bonuses in attractive, sometimes fabulous figures, to induce them to sign on the dotted line. for experience had taught those in the oil game that to make money in an oil boom, one must work fast. leases changed hands often, sometimes a half dozen times in a day. and at each sale, a handsome profit was realized. many of the ranchers, some of whom had not paid their taxes or the interest on their mortgages for years, hurried to the banks to borrow money, that they might clear their debts and be enabled to handle their property to the best advant- age. the oil companies began immediately to rush rigs and other equipment into the oil field, and the rather short siding on the railroad at labesia, which heretofore had been ample to serve the ranchers for shipping out their cattle and to serve the little town in general, now found itself inadequate to take care of the suddenly increased business of the oil field. the siding was filled with cars that were being unloaded day and night. and many cars were carried on to nearby towns and spotted until space was available at labesia. the unloading and transporting of the machinery from labesia to the meredith oil field went on day and night. every production company that was fortunate enough to secure a lease within a dozen miles of the discovery well was anxious to get set up and start drilling. the roughnecks worked in a frenzy to get the machinery placed as soon as it arrived on lo- cation. heavy rains that had fallen during the winter and early spring had turned many of the ordinarily dry spots into quag. mires. and men sweated and swore as they mercilessly applied long cruel whips to the backs and sides of their teams, twelve or sixteen straining horses or mules to the hitch, as they swung them in a half circle from right to left to right and back again in an effort to “break out” the eight-wheel wagons that became bogged down to their axles with the heavy ma- chinery. the tin box found, which as she reasoned could in no way benefit her. her worries bore heavily on her mind. she realized that now, since the discovery of oil on the ranch, she must vacate, as the oil company was already making use of parts of the ranch home for the storing of machinery and as living quarters for their men. she had no idea what she was going to do, or what she could do. chandler stopped in one morning on his way to the oil field for a little chat with june and aunt harriet. "good morning, june,” he called as she came in from the garden. “just thought i'd stop in for a little chat.” “i'm glad you did,” june replied. “how are you getting along with your oil field?” “oh, just fine. we are expecting to bring in two more today or tomorrow, just as soon as we can complete facilities for taking care of the oil,” he said. “it must be a wonderful feeling to know that you are secure and have no worries, mr. chandler. a few years ago i enjoyed that feeling of security; it seemed that nothing could happen that could in any way threaten my peace of mind and cause me to worry.” “well, all of us have our worries at some time in our lives. you were carefree and happy in your childhood. now, in your maturity, you are experiencing some of life's worries, while in my childhood days, i never knew a moment of happi- ness. now, i feel that my worries are over. i suppose that's a way that nature has of putting the lives of us mortals on a parity,” he said. "maybe so. but i can't understand why nature should over- balance the scales against me," june moaned bitterly. "perhaps that's just the way you look at it. who knows but that some day you'll have oil wells, and be just as secure as i am today?” “mr. chandler, i've been wanting to talk to you about my cattle. i realize that i can't stay here and impose on you for- ever, so i would like to come to some definite decision as to their disposition." a story of texas cattle and oil "have you given any thought to the proposition i men- tioned to you some time ago?” he asked." “yes, and i am anxious to learn something about it.” "well, i can tell you in a very few words just what i have in mind. in the transaction with the bluge oil corporation that has a lease on part of this ranch, i accepted a tract of twenty-five thousand acres down near the gulf coast as a part of the bonus i received for this lease. as i told you before, it has a beautiful stream that traverses it, almost cutting it in half. most of it is good grazing land. now here is what i am willing to do. “of course, the land has no mineral value, so the company transferred it to me in fee. i am willing to sell you the west half of that tract, twelve and a half thousand acres together with all mineral rights, for five dollars an acre, which would amount to only sixty-two thousand five hundred dollars. you would have to make a very small down payment, say two thou- sand dollars. you can do that, can't you?” he asked. “yes, i suppose i could,” june replied hesitatingly. “very well, then," he continued. “the division fence, sepa- rating your half from mine, i will build at my own expense. it will traverse the tract from north to south. the river will be wholly on the east half, although in several places it will run parallel with and very close to the fence. “on the west side of the tract there is sometimes a scarcity of water, i understand. there are numerous small lakes, or ponds that ordinarily hold water. but in case of a severe drouth, all stock must depend on the river for water. there are several ravines and some small lagoons that could be dammed and would hold water for long periods after an over- flow. or water could be pumped into them from the river in an emergency. i will also embody in the contract that i will drill on your land, at my expense, ten water wells, making diligent effort to procure fresh water. of course, just to make it a business deal, i will have to have security. so you might, if you have nothing else to offer, just give me a lien on your cattle. and in the meantime, if you want to leave your cattle the tin box “i realize that,” uncle jack agreed, “but sometimes we lose by trying to save. but i guess he'll do the right thing. i hope so, anyway." the afternoon of the following day found june, aunt har- riet and robert chandler well on their way to avera. the rather slow train left labesia at two o'clock and was due to reach avera at seven the next morning. aunt harriet, as usual, was very much peeved and fretting over the breaking of her rest and, as she referred to it, "traips- ing all over the country on some wild-goose chase.” june was deeply thoughtful as the train rolled along, while chandler's thoughts were divided between his scheme to get the meredith cattle, and the fear that something might go wrong at his oil field while he was away. since jim robertson had informed chandler that he was unable to get anything definite on the three men involved in the meredith accident, chandler felt that they could not have taken the papers, so he therefore no longer worried over the probability that they would ever be found. at seven o'clock the following morning, the train pulled into avera. the trio got off and sought the small hotel, where they had breakfast. after breakfast, june and chandler went in search of the livery stable, while aunt harriet stayed at the hotel to try and catch a wink of sleep after all night on that “rattletrap” which had done neither her rheumatism nor her temperament any good. as they entered the livery stable office door, the proprietor, a tall, lanky texan, with a handle-bar moustache and a heavy coat of tan acquired from many years of exposure on the cattle range, was sitting at his desk. he rose, doffed his hat and spoke. “good morning, folks. what can i do for you this morning?” "i'm mr. chandler. real estate and oil man from west texas. and this is miss meredith," chandler said. “well, i'm mighty glad to meet you both,” the proprietor said as he reached for chandler's hand. “ain't often i have the opportunity to shake hands with a oil man. i been readin' a story of texas cattle and oil right smart 'bout that oil field they found up there on that meredith ranch. say, you don't happen to be no kin to that tom meredith that lost that ranch, do you, miss?” “yes, that was my father,” june replied. “well, i swan. that was a terrible thing. i understand that none of the money or the papers that your father was supposed to have had on him, was ever found.” “yes, that's right. we never found any record of any busi- ness transacted by my father that day.” “that's too bad. then you lost your ranch, and they found oil on it.” “yes," june said. chandler stood listening with growing discomfort and un- easiness. “we came here to rent a couple of saddle horses to go out and look over some land i own a short distance out of town," he interrupted. “some saddle horses? well now, let's see," the proprietor said thoughtfully as he twisted his moustache. “i don't bring my horses in from the pasture before around ten o'clock; sel- dom i have a call for a horse before that time. but i'll tell you what i've got here. i've got two horses that a couple of fellows were supposed to ride yesterday evening, but didn't ited; got some racing blood in him, and is a mighty fast horse. the other is just a ordinary stable horse. if you want 'em, you can have 'em.” “how much do you charge for your horses?" chandler asked. “oh, i rent'em all day for three dollars apiece.” “where can we see them?” june asked. “right back here, ma'am.” the proprietor led the way to the back of the stable where the horses were in their stalls. “now, here is the frisky one,” he said as he stopped before a beautiful brown horse, whose long, well-muscled legs and thighs and trim neck gave evidence that a great deal of racing blood flowed in his veins. “just as gentle as a cat,” he said as the tin box he stroked the trim neck and lifted one of the animals hind feet. “yes, i see he's gentle, all right,” june said as she stood ad- miring the beautiful animal. “you being the daughter of tom meredith, i know you can handle a horse," the proprietor said with a knowing smile. “yes, i suppose i can handle him all right. that is, if mr. chandler here doesn't want to ride him.” june smiled pleas- antly as she looked at chandler. i "no, i'll take the other one,” he said. “you have a trailer here that you can load the horses into, haven't you?” he in- quired. “oh, yes. and there's a garage right next door whe can rent a car if you don't have your car with you.” “that's fine. now how soon can you have them ready?" "oh, 'bout half an hour.” “now you make all arrangements for the car and every- thing, and have them around to the hotel as soon as you can,” chandler ordered as they left the stable. in less than half an hour, a car pulling a trailer into which the two horses were loaded stopped in front of the hotel. aunt harriet, june and chandler got in, and told the driver to drive them to the patton tract. the patton tract, as it was familiarly known in that section, was a semiwooded, semiprairie tract of twenty-five thousand acres, through which the beautiful sawaya river flowed. the eastern half of it was more or less open prairie land, and it was on this part, near the center of the tract, that the river flowed. the western half was more or less hilly and contained no water save a few shallow ponds and marshes that usually went dry during a drouth of any duration. the tract was under grazing lease to a stock man, cyrus johnson, who had a few sheds and a bunkhouse built on it near the river. on the morning that the car pulled away from the hotel, carrying the trio to inspect the land, the foreman of the johnson ranch, which adjoined the patton tract on the south, walked down to the corrals where bill shearn, a hand- a story of texas cattle and oil some, fearless young man of twenty-three years, tall, erect and weighing a hundred and ninety pounds, had just tossed his lariat over the head of one of the broncs that stood closely huddled in a corner of the catch-pen. bill was one of the top cowhands of the johnson ranch, whose duty it was to ride pasture. “say, bill,” the foreman called as bill pulled the spirited bronc away from the herd. “bill, ramón was riding near the cow sheds over on the patton tract yesterday, and said he saw a horse with a piece of barbed wire hung in his tail. he said it was cutting up his sides pretty bad when he switched his tail and had his sides all bloody. ramón said that he made a run at him, but the horse was too fast; he couldn't catch him. you'd better go over that way this morning and look for him before the flies blow him. ride a horse that can catch him.” bill thought for a moment as he brushed back his black hair, and wiped his clean-shaven face with his red bandana. "i guess i'd better ride old gotch, if i've got to catch a horse this morning,” he said as he pulled the rope off the horse he had caught. old gotch, a long-legged, heavy, powerfully muscled red- roan horse, was exceptionally fleet for a horse of his weight. he acquired the name “gotch” because of the condition of his right ear, the end of which was dropped by gotch ticks ? when he was a colt. “and say, bill,” the foreman called as bill mounted," you know that the lease on that patton tract is just about up, and i understand that it has been sold to an oil man up at labesia. i also learn that he is coming down here sometime soon to look it over. so kinda keep your eyes open while you're over there, and see if you can see any indication of them having been there yet.” “all right,” the cowboy said as he reined gotch in the direc- tion of the cowsheds on the patton tract. the car carrying the trio and pulling the trailer rolled up to the bunkhouse. june and chandler got out of the car, while aunt harriet decided she would just sit a minute before get- ting out. the driver dropped the trailer gate and backed the the tin box horses out. after he had tightened the cinches, he handed the reins of the brown horse to june and offered to assist her to mount. but she swung up before he could reach her. “i see you are used to getting on a horse,” he commented. “yes, i have ridden some,” she smiled. "mr. brown, the stable owner, told me that he didn't think to tell you that sometimes this horse shies at things on the ground, and to watch him," the driver cautioned june. "thank you,” she said reassuringly, “i think i can handle him all right.” the driver walked around looking among the sheds, while aunt harriet remained in the car, as she didn't want to be bitten by one of those rattlesnakes that she had been told were six feet long and were so plentiful around here. chandler and june rode for more than two hours, covering a great deal of the land, stopping occasionally to view the sur- rounding country from some particularly advantageous point. chandler had pointed out to june, as nearly as he could guess, just about where the fence would be built that would separate her half from his. june seemed to be favorably impressed and said she thought she would like the place. they were returning to the car and were riding along a cow trail that led between two small knolls. june was in the lead and had just reached a spot where the trail made a sharp turn around a large rock when suddenly, right under the nose of her horse, a large rattlesnake whirred and sprang at the horse's leg. the horse became badly frightened. he suddenly stopped, wheeled and bolted, almost with the same motion. so swift and sudden were his actions that june, taken by sur- prise, was almost thrown off. she screamed and managed to pull herself back into the saddle, but she had dropped the short reins. the horse by this time was crazy with fright. running with head high, he was gaining speed with every bound, and was heading towards the river, only a quarter of a mile away. the short reins were dangling from the bits, just out of june's reach as she leaned as far as she could over on the neck of the a story of texas cattle and oil animal, in a desperate attempt to recover them. chandler, on the slower horse, was galloping along clinging to the pommel and yelling “whoa! whoa!” bill shearn had just ridden upon a bunch of wild horses and, seeing one that answered the description of the one with the wire in his tail, rode around them to inspect the bronc at closer range. “yep, that must be him, gotch,” he said as he stroked the neck of his mount. “sore sides, dried blood and all. but he's lost the wire. looks like we're out of luck so far as horse rop- ing goes today.” he had just started to move on towards the river when he heard the shrill scream of a woman, followed by the clatter of flying hoofs. “that sounds like a runaway, gotch," he said as he pulled up on the reins. “i wonder who on earth would be out here.” gotch stopped and, pricking up his ears, turned his head in the direction from which the sounds were coming. then suddenly, from out of the hills, only a few hundred feet from them, shot a horse, racing madly towards a high bluff on the bank of the river, with a woman trying desperately to re- cover the reins. “this looks like a job for us, gotch," bill said as he leaned forward in the saddle, and the powerful horse was off in a flash. bill recognized the stable horse instantly, and realized it was no ordinary horse he had to overtake. reining his horse towards a spot between the runaway horse and the river, he hoped to turn the horse, so that he might have a longer run in which to catch him. but the flying horse beat him to the spot by only a few feet, and continued on towards the river. it then became a horse race, with the stable horse not only running from fright but also responding to his racing instinct to beat the other horse to the wire. for a hundred yards it was a hard race, with the nose of gotch at the flank of the other, and although bill urged gotch on with his spurs, he was unable to gain enough to grab the reins, or to pull june from the saddle. the river was looming up, little more than a hundred yards the tin box away. and over the tall grass and weeds, june could see its murky waters on the far side. she closed her eyes and prayed as the madly racing horse seemed to bring the river rapidly to her. there was a sheer drop of more than twenty feet to the water, at the point to which the horse was heading. and bill knew that the tall grass and weeds would prevent the horse from seeing the bluff in time to avoid what would probably be a death plunge for both horse and rider. he realized that something must be done, and done quickly. calling to june to hold tight, he took down his lariat. with this rope, bill had “crossed up” many heavy steers. but he knew that the combined weight of horse and rider, and the short distance in which he would have to stop, would be the most severe strain to which it had been put. and he could only hope that it would stand this, its crucial test. making a small loop, he whirled it once or twice over his head, then gave it a toss. as the loop settled over the head of the racing horse, bill gave it a quick jerk as he didn't want it to slip too far down on the animal's neck. the cowboy kept his horse going for a few feet after the rope began to tighten, not taking the chance of letting the powerful gotch "set up” to resist the sudden pull that would come against the saddle, were he to stop suddenly. “tight,” he said to his horse as he pulled up lightly on the reins and as the stable horse began to wheeze and slacken his speed. gotch shied slightly to one side and dug in. the rope sang as the strain of the weight of the horse came against it and stopped. the frightened horse stood trembling on the edge of the bluff. june's face was milky white as she tried to speak. “you've saved my life,” she finally said. “just sit quietly a minute, ma'am, till i get him away from the bluff,” bill said with an assuring smile. “i've got him now.” taking up as much slack as the rope would permit, shearn turned his horse and pulled the other away from the bluff. then, turning gotch to face the stable horse again, he took up the rope until he could touch the nose of the trembling horse. a story of texas cattle and oil "edward shearn. they called him ed.” “i've heard my father speak of him many times. he often wondered what became of him.” "he drifted off down here and went to work on the johnson ranch. died about five years ago. why are you buying this land, with all the land you have up there? getting over- stocked?” "no. i've lost my ranch,” june said remorsefully. “you did? how did that happen?” june related in a few words just what had taken place. “and you say this man chandler took your place?" “yes. that's why i'll have to move my cattle.” aunt harriet climbed out of the car when she saw the three approaching. "what happened?" she asked when she saw that june was riding a different horse. june introduced bill shearn, then told about the runaway, putting stress on the heroic part the cowboy played in saving her life. “god sent you out here this morning, young man," aunt harriet averred. “and where was the gallant mr. chandler all this time?” she asked in a tone of mockery. "oh, he was behind, hollering for help. his horse couldn't keep up with mine,” june explained as she looked at chandler with a sly laugh. “no, my old plug couldn't do any better than a gallop," he said. bill exchanged saddles and helped the driver load the two horses back into the trailer. “well, i'll be riding along. i'm glad to have met you all,” he said as he raised his hat and started to ride away. "we'd be glad if you would come up to labesia and visit us sometime,” june said, as he touched his spurs to gotch. “thanks. maybe i can,” he said as he rode off. the tin box chapter eight the two oil wells that chandler had ex- pected had been washed in, and were now in production. the oil was being run into storage tanks, pending the completion of a pipeline from the field to the railroad. everyone felt that with the pipeline completed so that oil could be loaded out in tank cars the real boom would get under way. the bluge oil corporation had sublet several tracts of the half of the ranch on which it held a lease to various oil opera- tors, and already there were many new drilling rigs ready to spud in. robert chandler was a busy man. he felt an air of impor- tance, of responsibility for the success of the meredith oil field, as it had been named. early morning and late evening found him somewhere in the field. occasionally he stopped by the ranch house to talk with june. one day in the early summer he stopped by. june had just got in from a ride among her cattle. “well, june," he said, “i thought i would stop by this morning and see what we can do about your cattle. i don't think we should put it off any longer.” “yes, i want to know just what i'm to do,” june replied. “when can you get them together so we can get some kind of a line-up on them?” he asked. “i am going to brand next week. that should be a good time.” uncle jack had everything in readiness for the spring roundup and branding, and early the following monday morning the meredith outfit, together with a dozen extra a story of texas cattle and oil hands borrowed from adjoining ranches, started out with in- structions from uncle jack to “bring in everything." for a week, men moved from section to section of the vast ranch, working from daylight till dark gathering the herds from the mountains and valleys. at the end of the week, they felt that every head had been accounted for. as the cattle were gathered, they were put in the valley pasture near the place where the first oil well was drilled. on the morning that the branding was to get under way, chan- dler was on hand early. saddling his horse, he rode out to where the cattle were being “loose-herded” by a dozen cow- boys. there was an extra heavy crop of unusually fine calves to be branded. as the work got under way, a half dozen of the best rope hands were kept busy riding through the herd, rop- ing and dragging the calves near the fire, where they were after four days of hard work, the branding was finished, and the herd carried to the pens where they were run through the chutes and counted by chandler and uncle jack, the count being a few more than eight thousand head, all told. the cattle were kept under herd while june and chandler reached an agreement on the contract that chandler's at- torney had drawn. the agreement said in part “that robert chandler did sell and convey to june meredith, the west half of the patton tract of twenty-five thousand acres, near avera, texas, the price to be paid by june being five dollars per acre, or a total of sixty-two thousand, five hundred dollars.” june was to make an initial payment of two thousand dollars, and to have immediate possession. the yearly payment of ten thousand dollars was to be made as security, june would give a blanket lien on "all the cattle she owned.” she would be at liberty to move the cattle if she desired, or if asked to do so by chandler. but under no cir- cumstances would she be allowed to sell or otherwise dispose of them without the approval and consent of chandler. the tin box “and uncle jack doyle is still with you. i've heard my father speak of him many times. he was foreman for your father when i was born, so they say. “i'm going to try and get a layoff for a few days some time this fall. and if i do, i shall take advantage of your kind invitation. in the meantime, please accept my thanks for your letter. sincerely, william (bill) shearn." june treasured this letter from bill shearn highly. not only was she indebted to him for her rescue, but she had experi- enced a feeling of admiration for him when first she had a chance to look at him after the runaway. tall, erect and strong, he impressed her as being one of the handsomest men she had ever met. in helping her from the saddle, he had given her a sense of security the instant he touched her arm. she felt that she would be willing to trust her life in his hands. and it was with pleasant anticipation that she began to look for- ward to the visit that she felt sure he would make. shortly after signing the agreement with june, chandler called at the office of the bluge oil corporation. “say, jim," he addressed the president, you've got a water-well drilling outfit, haven't you?” “why, yes. why?” he asked curiously. chandler explained his part of the agreement with june, specifying the drilling of the water wells. “i've started on the fence, and i want to get the wells down so i'll be through with my part of the agreement,” he said. “do you want me to put down the wells?” robertson asked. “yes. what'll you charge me?” “oh, i don't know. i'll make it reasonable, though.” “when can you get started?” “any time you're ready." "at about what depth can water be found down there in the coast country?" chandler asked. “usually sufficient water for cattle can be found in that a story of texas cattle and oil section anywhere from forty to eighty feet. but i believe if i were you, and wanted to assure miss meredith of plenty of water for her cattle the year 'round, i'd figure on going down at least a hundred and fifty feet,” robertson suggested. "how long will it take to do that job?” “with the drilling outfit i'll send, we should put down a well in a day. and not more than three days at the longest.” "well, suppose you send the outfit down there next week,” chandler suggested. it was about the middle of july that a well crew, with a rig capable of drilling to a depth of several hundred feet, was dispatched to avera by the bluge oil corporation. the rig was unloaded from the flatcar and carted out to the patton tract, where it was set up and operations begun at once. the crew worked diligently, testing each location that had been marked for the wells. as each test was completed, the casing was driven below the surface, capped and sealed. on the log of each well was written: "brackish. unfit for livestock.” in a month, the crew had drilled the number of tests agreed upon, and made a final report to the company. a few days after receiving the report, robertson called on chandler. “robert, i have some startling reports relative to the water wells we've drilled on that land,” he told chandler. “startling in what way?” chandler asked curiously. the oil official then explained to chandler, and showed him the logs of the wells. "well, i'll be-" chandler said in astonishment. “now that brings on more complications." “i can't see why that should complicate matters,” robert- son disagreed. “you have a lien on the land and the cattle, and you tell me the girl can't sell anything without your ap- proval. then how is she ever to pay the land out if you don't approve the sale of her cattle? looks like a cut-and-dried case to me.” "of course," chandler said thoughtfully, “it wouldn't com- plicate matters to look at it from a strictly business stand- the tin box point. but after all, june is a fine young girl, so i'd hate to just clamp right down on her and take everything she's got without pretending to give her a chance. "of course, i know and you know there is no way in the world for her to pay for that land so long as i hold a lien on her only source of income. i've got plenty of time, and a set time to close in on her, that is if she doesn't get saucy and force me to do it sooner.” “then how are you going to arrange to get water, since you've obligated yourself to see that she gets plenty for her stock?” "oh, well, i'm not compelled to get water. my agreement calls for a diligent effort, and that i have already made.” “but you know," robertson protested, “she has your word, and you could never convince her that she can't get fresh water. because after all, there are water wells on all the ranches around there.” "i'll tell you what i can do." chandler thought for a min- ute. “i can build a lane from her land to the river so her cattle can get water until we can see further." “that should work all right,” robertson agreed. “now back to the wells. what do you want me to do about the problem this discovery has created?” "i don't know. we're all pretty busy right now. so i don't think it would be a good idea to take on anything more. that business can wait,” chandler decided “that's what i thought,” robertson agreed, "but i didn't know what you would want to do about it. you'd better not let anyone tinker with those wells. the crew drove the casings below the surface, capped and sealed them, and spread clay over and around them, to look as if the holes were abandoned. and as long as nobody gets nosey and starts to investigate, everything will be all right,” robertson warned. “i'll see that nobody disturbs them,” chandler assured him. although june had economized in every possible way, she found herself faced with mounting indebtedness and a rapidly dwindling bank account at the city national bank. the ex- a story of texas cattle and oil inc pense of operating a large ranch for more than a ye gether with the expense incurred by the death of her parents, had taken a heavy toll of the small amount of cash left by her father. her agreement with chandler specified a down payment of two thousand dollars on the land at avera. but realizing that such a payment would impose an almost insurmountable obstacle on her in meeting other and more urgent expenses, she prevailed upon him to accept half that amount. this he reluctantly agreed to do, with the understanding that she would not be given possession until the other half was paid, and that to be at the earliest possible moment. after more than a year, however, she not only had been unable to pay the remaining thousand dollars, but ran greatly behind with her pasture rent. confident she would not be able to meet these payments, and wishing to appear lenient (since he reasoned he had noth- ing to lose by allowing conditions to remain as they were), chandler bided his time to strike, and take not only the land he had sold her, but the cattle as well. these financial worries bore heavily on june's mind. “i can't see how we are to make ends meet much longer, aunt har- riet,” she worried as she pondered her almost depleted cash balance and growing indebtedness. “i don't know anyone from whom i might borrow enough money to release the mortgage on my cattle.” "have you tried wade lucas?" aunt harriet asked. “no, i'd hate to ask him," she complained. "he couldn't do anything but say no. and you know how crazy he's always been about you. he might lend you the money." "that's just it. he might come with another proposal of marriage. “well, you wouldn't have to accept it,” aunt harriet argued. "no, of course i wouldn't have to accept him, but-well, i believe i'll see him. maybe he will help me," she decided. ome the tin box in answer to june's summons, wade drove up to the mere- dith ranch the following day. greeting him warmly, june ushered him into the living room. “i'm glad you came over, wade," she said. “i want to talk to you about my contract with mr. chandler.” june then explained to him her financial dif- ficulties, and asked him to lend her enough money to re- lease the mortgage on her cattle, that she might handle them as she saw fit. “may i see your contract?” he asked. after studying the document carefully, he said, “why, june, you haven't got anything here. the mortgage on your cattle is so tied up with the purchase of that land down on the coast, that you can't pay one without paying the other. and that land isn't worth what you're paying for it. "i've got it on reliable authority that that oil company acquired that whole patton tract for a dollar an acre, and then sold you half of it for five dollars. i don't believe anybody will lend you five times what that land is worth.” “then, you wouldn't lend me any money on this contract?” she asked. “no. of course, as far as lending you money is concerned, i'll lend you every dollar you want on your word of honor. but i won't lend money on that contract. i'm sorry, june." wade sat for a long moment as if in deep thought. “why don't you marry me, june, and forget about this whole thing? you know i've always loved you, and will do anything to make you happy,” he proposed. “do i have to give you my answer now, wade?” she asked after a moment's hesitation. “n- - . but-" “you see, wade," june interrupted, “i'm not sure that i have the kind of love for you that i want to give my husband. when i marry, i want to love my husband with an all-consum- ing love, a feeling born of love for its own sake. not a mere gesture, born of the necessity of self-preservation, as would be the case if i were to marry you at this time.” a story of texas cattle and oil “i'm sorry you see it that way, june. i'm sure, even if you don't love me now, you would soon learn to love me, once we were married. however, if that's the way you feel, i suppose there's nothing i can do about it. but i won't give up hope, he sighed. “i do love you, wade, as a gentleman, and a friend of many years' standing. but i'm sure you understand. you wouldn't want a girl to marry you just to save her face.” “no, i suppose not. but what i'm concerned about, june, is that you're going to fool around until it's too late, then be put off this place with nothing and nowhere to go," he prophesied. “that may be. but i know that my father could never rest in his grave if i deserted what he worked so hard to build up without trying to save it. i may lose it, but not without a fight,” she said. "if i could just get you to see things as i see them," he argued. “as my wife, all worries for you and aunt harriet would be over. there could be only happiness and a guarantee of security for you for the rest of your life," he pleaded. "none of us can be too certain of our security, wade," she quickly responded. “not so long ago i felt the same way. felt that as the daughter of tom meredith, i would forever be secure and free from worries of any kind. but today i realize the fallacy of that dream and find myself wholly dependent and at the mercy of a man i despise, and who i know will sooner or later evict me from my home.' “i'm sorry, june,” he said sympathetically, “i didn't mean to revive unpleasant memories." "that's perfectly all right. sometimes i believe it's good for one to be forced to face realities.” “well, if you need money at any time, june, just let me know," he said as he rose to leave. “thank you, wade.” it was late summer that bill shearn, while in avera one day, received another letter from june, which read: the tin box “dear mr. shearn: your letter of june twentieth found me anxiously awaiting a reply. i am glad to learn that you might ar- range for a few days off this fall, and will visit us. “we are having our annual rodeo and fat stock show here at labesia, from september tenth to the twelfth in- clusive. i understand there will be some very valuable prizes offered, which means that there will be very keen competition. we have a rule here that only members of the association may participate, but any member may invite guests to compete in the name of his ranch. “i wish you could come up and compete in the name of the meredith ranch. we would all enjoy it, and i know you would get a big kick out of it. “we have a wonderful bunch of boys here, and i'm sure you'd enjoy being with us. so try and arrange to do so. "hoping to receive a favorable reply, i am, sincerely yours, june meredith.” shearn folded the letter and stuck it in his jacket pocket. "a rodeo,” he said to himself. “that sounds mighty interesting. don't know but what i'd like to get in on that.” bill was a keen lover of horses and anything pertaining to horse performances. he loved sports and keen competition, and was considered one of the best cowhands in the coast country. being an expert with a rope and a rider who had few equals, he rarely missed a chance to take part in any rodeo that was held in the coast section, within reasonable distance of the johnson ranch. “let's see,” he thought. “today is the twentieth of august. that will give me about two weeks to get limbered up and arrange to get off.” when he reached the ranch, he sought the foreman right away. “you say you want to get off on the fifth for about ten days?” the foreman asked when bill had spoken to him. “why, yes, i think we can arrange it. but where are you going?” a story of texas cattle and oil "i got a letter from miss meredith this morning, and she says there is going to be a rodeo up at labesia, starting on the tenth and lasting for three days. she asked if i wouldn't like to get in on it with her outfit,” shearn replied. "now look out, bill,” the foreman cautioned him good- naturedly. "i believe you're getting kind of sweet on that meredith girl. first thing you know, you'll be leaving us and going up there to take charge of her ranch, and maybe throw poor old jack doyle out of a job. that's the second letter you've got from her, ain't it?” “yes, but it's nothing like that, pete. although she's a mighty nice gal, and mighty pretty, i'm in no way getting sentimental over her. you see, i'd like to see what that part of the country looks like, and see the place where i was born, bill explained. "i know, bill. i was just kiddin'. but do you think you could have any luck with them meredith horses? you don't know anything about them,” the foreman warned. "oh, i guess i can handle 'em all right. i know there must be some good horses on a ranch that size.” “yes, i'm sure there is. but you know how it is with the men in an outfit. they always pick the best horses for themselves (of course, you can't blame them for that) and a stranger coming in that way would have to take what's left. and i'm afraid you couldn't make a very good showing under such conditions. i think you'd better take some horses with you, at least three, anyway. we don't want you to let the coast country down.” "i sure appreciate that, pete. and you can just bet i'll never let you down,” bill said determinedly. “that's fine, bill. of course you're going to meet some mighty tough competition up there in that west texas coun- try. they say there are no better punchers made than those around that part of the country," the foreman said. “yes, i know they're plenty tough, but i'll do my best.” the next two weeks were busy ones for bill. although he rode and roped as part of his daily routine, yet he felt that a the tin box little extra practice would stand him in good stead in a case of extremely keen competition. so he practiced diligently, as he not only wanted to make a good showing for his section of the state, but, more important to him, he wanted to give a good performance as an invited guest of june meredith. a few days before the annual rodeo was slated to start at labesia, bill shearn loaded his horses into a small cattle truck, and headed towards the west texas cow town, pulling up at the corrals on the meredith ranch two days later. he got out, kicked and stretched his legs, and went back to speak to the horses. “well, here we are,” he said as he stroked the shoulder of one of the horses. “pretty place, ain't it? june was busy washing the breakfast dishes when she looked out the kitchen window and saw the truck. and when bill got out, she instantly recognized him. she came in a half run to meet him, drying her hands on her apron as she came. "well, this is indeed a pleasant surprise," she said as she offered her hand. "thank you. i'm mighty glad to get here. sure was a long, dusty trip,” he commented. "when did you leave avera?” “about ten o'clock day before yesterday. i had to drive so slow after i hit the mountains.” “yes, it's mean driving, and very dangerous in places,” june said thoughtfully, as her thoughts went back to the tragic death of her parents. “you sure have a pretty place here, miss meredith,” bill said. “yes, i did have a pretty place,” june said remorsefully. "oh, yes. i understand.” "oh, you've brought some horses to help me out. isn't that wonderful!” she exclaimed in childish glee. “yes, ma'am. i don't feel that they're as good as your horses, but i know them better.” “come and carry them around to the stable.” bill climbed into the truck, and june jumped in beside him. “i guess you've a story of texas cattle and oil got some mighty good hands with your outfit, miss meredith,” he said. “yes, we have some very good boys. most of them were reared here, or have been with us for a long time," she replied. “i imagine there's some keen competition in the rodeos pulled off around here,” he said. “yes, sometimes the events are keenly contested. but you need have no fear. i don't believe any of then can beat you roping,” she said earnestly. “well, i'm not so sure about that,” he said with concern. “uncle jack,” june called to the old foreman as they drove into the horse lot. “here's bill-er, i mean mr. shearn.” “why didn't you let it go like you first said it?” bill rep- rimanded her. “i did want to, but i didn't know if you would like it.” "i'd like it better that way; makes me feel more at home.” "all right, bill,” she smiled. “uncle jack, meet bill shearn,” june introduced them when uncle jack came up. the men shook hands. “this is the young man to whom i owe my life,” she said as she looked admiringly at bill. “we are mighty proud of you, mr. shearn. from what miss june tells us, she had a mighty close call down there in your part of the country.” “yes, she did," was bill's only comment. “let's take your horses out,” the foreman suggested. “oh!” june exclaimed, “there's my horse, the horse that saved my life!” she ran up and threw her arms around gotch's neck and gave him a big kiss on the nose. “yes, i brought gotch along. he's a pretty good horse, one of the best we've got,” bill commented. “you can put them right here in this pen. plenty of shade and water here. and you'll find some feed in that crib,” uncle jack told bill. "thanks,” bill said as he pulled the halters off the horses. the horses lay down and wallowed, then got up, shook them- selves violently, and went to the trough for water. "i guess they're kinda dry. i only watered’em once yesterday,” he said. the tin box "miss june tells me that you are one of ed shearn's boys,” uncle jack remarked. “yes, that's right,” bill said. “why, i knew your father for years. he worked here for mr. meredith for a long time. and if i'm not mistaken, you were born here." “yes, that's what my father said. well, i'm mighty glad to see my birthplace.” “come, let's go up to the house,” june said as she started away, “i know you must be tired and hungry after that long trip." bill washed up and ate the hearty breakfast that june pre- pared for him. “i'm sure you must want to lie down and rest awhile after so long a drive," june said when bill had finished breakfast, “but before you do, come and let me show you around the place.” while bill was being shown around the place by june, chandler drove up. “good morning, june,” he said. “oh, i see we have our cowboy hero with us this morning,” he added sar- castically. bill bit his lip as june gave him a cautioning glance. “yes, mr. shearn came up to take part in our rodeo this week.” "well, if he's in as good trim as he was when we first met him, he should have no trouble taking first prize,” chandler remarked lightly. “i'm sure that we all hope he is," was june's curt reply. "well, june,” chandler began hesitatingly, you know that your third monthly pasturage fee is due today. and that, added to the seven hundred dollars that you owe for the pre- vious two months, leave you owing me one thousand and fifty dollars on pasturage alone. add that to the thousand dollars you've never paid on the down payment on the land at avera, and you owe me two thousand and fifty dollars. are you ready to meet those payments this morning?” “why, no, i'm not,” she replied, leading him away from bill. “you see, mr. chandler, the only way i have to pay you is by selling my cattle. and i'm afraid they aren't in as good condition as they should be to bring a top price. and as you a story of texas cattle and oil won't permit me to sell any of them until you think they're ready, i don't have the money today." "well, do you think you can raise five hundred dollars of it? i will accept that until you can do better." “could you wait on me until a little later, about the four- teenth, mr. chandler? you see, mr. shearn is here, and i wouldn't want him to know of my financial embarrassment," she pleaded. "yes, i guess i can, june. but i'll expect some kind of settle- ment soon,” he warned. although june had led chandler a few steps away from bill, who pretended not to be listening, he had heard most of the conversation; enough, at least, to tell him that she was in financial difficulties. when chandler had gone, and he had an opportunity to get away from june, he sought uncle jack, who was doing some work on a windmill down by the pens. “listen, uncle jack. you don't mind if i call you uncle jack, do you?" he asked. “why, no, son, i'd rather like it,” uncle jack said with a twinkle in his eye. “what kind of a man is this fellow chandler?” bill asked curiously. “why, i don't know. we've just known him around here for a short while, since he took the place away from miss june. why do you ask?” "i was up at the house with miss meredith awhile ago, when he came to her and asked her about paying pasture fees. she tried to coax him away out of hearing, but i couldn't help hearing some of their conversation. seems, from what i could hear, she owes him around a thousand dollars rent, and he won't let her sell any cattle so she can pay him. do you know anything about that?” “yes, i do, son,” uncle jack replied confidentially. “of course you know miss june wouldn't want you to know any- thing about this, but i think it's such a shame, i'm going to tell you anyway. now whatever you do, don't say anything to her about what i'm going to tell you,” uncle jack continued. the tin box "i think chandler's a skunk, if you want my opinion of him. i think he's crookeder than a barrel of snakes.” “that was the first impression i got of him. but what makes you think he's crooked?” bill asked. “because i've never been satisfied as to the circumstances surrounding the death of june's parents.” uncle jack then went on to tell of the tragedy that resulted in the death of tom and ann meredith. bill listened very at- tentively while uncle jack related what he knew. “that was peculiar," bill said when uncle jack had fin- ished. “were the three men who were responsiốle for the ac- cident ever suspected of robbing the bodies?” "yes, they were questioned by the sheriff, but they had no papers on them, and there was no proof that they took any- thing." "now, coming back to the money miss meredith owes him for pasturage. it looks like a well-planned scheme to take her cattle,” bill said. "yes, that's what i'm thinking. i warned miss june about signing that contract; told her she ought to have a lawyer pass on it, but she didn't have much money. and then again, we're staying here on his kindness. so there wasn't much else she could do." “do you think he would try to take her cattle if she failed to pay that pasture rent?” bill asked, deeply concerned. "in my opinion, there's nothing he wouldn't do,” uncle jack asserted. “what kind of an outfit do you have here?” bill asked. "as good as there is in these parts," uncle jack replied proudly. “how much prize money is there at stake for the rodeo?” “more than five thousand dollars," uncle jack said, looking at the young man questioningly. “why do you ask?” bill then went into a low, earnest conversation with uncle jack. that night, every cowhand on the meredith ranch was requested to meet in the bunkhouse at midnight. after intro- ducing bill to the men as a guest of the meredith ranch who a story of texas cattle and oil would compete in the rodeo, uncle jack disclosed the reason for the meeting. “men,” he said, “i want each of you to pledge that you will do your best.” each man then rose and, with a grim, determined expression on his face, walked up and sealed his pledge with a handshake with uncle jack and bill shearn. when bill left june to seek uncle jack, she went into the house and called wade lucas on the phone. “wade, i'm des- perately in need of two thousand dollars by the fourteenth of this month. that will be next tuesday. do you think you can let me have it?” “what is the occasion, june?” he asked. “mr. chandler is pressing me for payments i can't make," she explained. “i see,” wade said after a moment's hesitation. “yes, i think i can let you have it. i'll call you on the thirteenth. in the meantime, you may rest assured you will get it." "thank you so much, wade," she said as she hung up the receiver. chapter nine the annual fat stock show and rodeo held at labesia each fall was a three-day affair, and was an event to which the cream of the outfits of that entire section of the state looked forward with eager anticipation. the finest live- stock of the surrounding country was brought to the fair grounds, and put on exhibition, as well as the choicest farm products grown in that region. there were prizes amounting to thousands of dollars awarded each year for the best displays. but the event in which there was the most interest and the keenest competition was the rodeo, held in the afternoon of each day. the tin box that section of west texas being given over chiefly to cat- tle-raising, there were some very large cattle ranches, and some very fine outfits; each was very jealous of the reputation of its ranch, and wanted it to be known as the best. there were always some very spectacular and courageous displays of horsemanship and ability on the part of the cowboys. and this year was to be no exception. it was a rule of the labesia fat stock show and rodeo as- sociation, that the ranches of the outfits participating in the rodeo furnished the horses, but the prize money won by the contestants in competition was their own. although chandler had made every effort to thwart june's plans, she had succeeded in placing some of her finest pure- blood cattle on exhibition. the meredith herds were always blue-ribbon winners in one or more divisions, and this year they were as good as ever or better. and june was in hopes that they would bring her much-needed cash. the labesia fair grounds, where the stock show and rodeo were held each year, was about a mile from the small town. it was a beautiful valley of about two hundred acres. on the north and east, a range of hills formed a semicircle halfway around the valley, their sheer walls forming a natural enclo- sure. on the south and west of the valley, a mountain stream, sawaya creek, emerged from the hills and ran in a semicircle, thus completing the enclosure except for a space of two hun- dred yards where the stream veered away from the hills, leav- ing a pass through which the valley was entered. the fair grounds and stock pens were built in the pass. across the stream, and farther to the south, a wooded slope followed the general outline of the creek and extended to a range of foothills some three miles away. competition was unusually keen this year. rains that had fallen during the late winter had caused an abundance of early spring grass, and frequent spring showers had kept it growing until the ranges were in splendid shape, and the cattle were in better flesh generally than they had been in several years. since the death of june's father, wade felt that he should a story of texas cattle and oil exhibit a greater interest in june's welfare than that of a family friend. feeling that sometime, perhaps in the near future, they would be married, he felt a sense of responsibility in seeing that her interests were protected. this being the first year that she was burdened with the responsibility of the circle-bar's participation in the rodeo, wade felt that he should be of all possible aid to her. so, on the opening day of the show, he called by early in the forenoon on his way to the fairgrounds. all preparations for the participation of the circle-bar out- fit in the rodeo and fat stock show had been completed by june and uncle jack the day before. bill had loaded his horses in his truck and stopped by on his way to the fairgrounds to pick up june, when wade drove up. “good morning, june,” he said. "oh, hello, wade. shake hands with mr. shearn. this is mr. lucas, mr. shearn.” june introduced the two men, who shook hands warmly. “mr. shearn is the gentleman you've heard me talk so much about, that i met while down at avera,” she said. “miss meredith tells me,” wade said, looking admiringly at bill, “that was a pretty lucky throw you made at that horse." “yes, it was,” bill said, “and just in the nick of time.” “you must be a pretty good rope hand,” wade surmised. "oh, fair, i guess,” bill replied. “wade is one of the top rope hands of this section,” june said, smiling at wade. “he has won first money in the steer tiedown for the last four years, i believe. hasn't it been four years straight, wade?” “yes, i believe it has,” wade admitted, with an air of pride. “that's interesting,” bill remarked. “i like to work in a rodeo with good men.” “going in this morning, june?” wade asked. “yes, a little later.” “i guess i'll just wait for you,” he said. “no, wade. i wouldn't want to detain you.” “it won't be any trouble, june,” he assured her. the tin box "thank you, wade. i'll come on in a short while with mr. shearn. he is my participating guest, and i feel that i should show him the courtesy of accompanying him to the fair- grounds. i'm sure you understand, wade,” she said. "all right, if that's the way you want it, june,” he sighed dejectedly. “and mr. shearn is going to compete with your outfit. perhaps we can lay a little side bet, mr. shearn.” "maybe,” bill said unconcernedly. “on what event?" "take your choice," wade said with a sarcastic, cutting glance. “and for the amount, make it for whatever you think you can stand. i'll cover every penny you can beg, borrow or steal,” he said as he climbed into his car and drove away. “hmmm. wade seems to be upset,” june observed. “i never knew him to make such a cutting challenge to anyone." “perhaps he's disappointed because you didn't go in with him,” bill said. "perhaps so. but that's no reason for being so rude and in- sulting.” the opening day of the fair found a large crowd on hand. since oil had been found at labesia, there had been a steady influx of oil field workers and their families, and others who usually flock to a newly discovered oil field. the population had almost doubled within a year, as an oil field town. money was plentiful, as was evidenced by the many side bets made on the rodeo contestants. the usual rodeo events were spread out, in this particular rodeo, over the three-day period. each day saw new events that were not contested on either of the other days. on the first day, the calf roping, goat roping and wild cow milking events were held. promptly at two thirty, the parade of the cowboys and cowgirls got under way around the fair grounds. the circle-bar (as the meredith ranch was widely known) had several men slated to compete in each event. the second day saw the steer bulldogging, steer riding and wild mare milking contests, while the third day was always reserved for the big events-bronc busting, and the roping and tying of heavy steers. a story of texas cattle and oil fit, who had drawn fifth place on the card, had placed third in time, and wade lucas, son of the cattle king tyrus lucas, who was known throughout the west as peerless at steer rop- ing, was away out in front, his time being just three seconds short of the world record for roping and tying a three-year-old steer. nine of the contestants having competed, the announce- ment came over the loud speaker: "for the last contestant on the program, we have bill shearn, of avera, down near the gulf coast. as i told you yesterday and the day before, mr. shearn is competing as a guest of the meredith ranch. he will ride his own horse, however.” "that's that cow puncher from the coast country, that took first money in the calf roping, ain't it?" one of the lucas clan remarked to another. “yeah, he's all right on roping calves,” the second puncher replied, “but from the showing he made bulldogging that steer, he ain't so hot when it comes to handling this heavy stuff. with the time wade made, i don't figure we've got any worry about him.” there was silence as bill, astride the magnificently pro- portioned horse gotch, took his place beside the chute gate out of which the steer would come. the animal was extremely nervous, walking around in the small pen, his chin rubbing along the panel fence, and charg- ing anyone who came near the pen. uncle jack spoke to sam harris as the two stood watching every move made by bill or the steer. “well, looks like it's up to him, now," uncle jack remarked. “that time turned in by young lucas is going to be mighty hard to beat.” “yes, that was within a few seconds of the world's record," sam replied. “i'm afraid we've lost this money," he continued, “bill seems to have a pretty good-looking horse there, but i don't think he'll have much luck with that long-legged steer. too bad that jim got sick at the very time we need him most. we might have had a chance with him.” remarket; well, looks watching everume jack spoke to larg- the tin box ing a broad grua «what's he doing that his horse.” bill had "yes, i hate it on account of miss june,” uncle jack sighed. “i was depending on this event.” “say, cowboy,” nathan miller, one of the oldest punchers on the lucas outfit, started to heckle bill, “why don't you just call it a day, and forfeit this event? there ain't no chance for you to beat that time wade made.” "yeah," another member of the lucas team blurted, "that horse is going to give out trying to catch that steer.” bill took the ribbing goodnaturedly, his only response be- ing a broad grin as he sat complacently awaiting the opening of the chute gate. “what's he doing there now?” sam harris was excited. “he's pulling the bridle off his horse.” bill had leaned over, unfastened the throatlatch and slipped the bridle off the horse's head. calling two men from the meredith crew, he instructed them to hold their hands over gotch's eyes. “i'll be goldurned,” uncle jack spoke disgustedly, “i hope he's not going to try some fancy stuff and ruin what little chance he would have.” the crowd was awed as they watched this act. never before had they seen a horse ridden in a roping contest without a bridle, and all were eager to see just how the horse would per- form. june was thrilled beyond words. she felt confident that bill knew what he was doing, even if he chose to rope off bare- back. a sigh of relieved suspense went up from the crowd when the gate was opened and the steer came out. stopping mo- mentarily to dip his horns at a couple of cowboys, who im- mediately took to the fence, he raised his head and with long bounds headed for the brush across the creek. gotch stirred nervously as the sounds of running feet reached his ears. he tried to free his head from the men who were holding their hands over his eyes but quieted down, how- ever, when spoken to by bill. with his lariat coiled and fastened to the saddle by the lariat strap, bill's every move was of extreme confidence. when the steer had reached the hundred yard flag, the field a story of texas cattle and oil it, the the animal sed over his hont of the steer. judge raised the white flag and the men turned gotch loose. in an instant the horse had spotted the fleeing steer and, with ears laid back, charged after him. before anyone could realize it, the great horse was swiftly bearing down upon the flying steer. the animal swerved sharply to one side, but too late; bill's noose had settled over his horns. with a deft flip of his hand, bill laid his lariat down in front of the steer, the animals front feet passing over it. almost with the same motion that bill cast the noose, he swung from the saddle. the riderless horse veered to a side, turned to face the steer and braced himself against the pull of the rope. the steer went high into the air when he reached the end of the rope. turning a half- flip, he landed on his back with such force that he was com- pletely stunned. bill was on him in an instant, tying him and raising his hands quickly. a great shout went up from the crowd when the time keeper announced bill's time as five seconds faster than the time made by wade, and a new world record. when bill rode back to the pens, he was pulled from his saddle and carried upon the shoulders of the men of the circle- bar, while june rushed from the stands and, with tears of joy streaming down her cheeks, threw her arms around the neck of the great horse and kissed him on the nose again and again. the following morning, june told uncle jack that she wanted all the men of the ranch to be her guests at dinner that night, in appreciation of the way they had upheld the reputation of the circle-bar in general, and to show their ap- preciation to bill shearn in particular, who for the first time had brought the honors of the steer-roping contest to the meredith ranch. “aunt harriet, you'll be around near the house most of today, won't you?” june asked as they were removing the breakfast dishes from the table. “why, yes. why do you ask, june?” “wade is coming by to lend me some money to pay mr. chandler. he said he would call before he came, and i don't want to miss the call,” she explained. reputation pill shearn in pansteer-roping the tin box “i see. i'll be in hearing distance of the phone if he calls,” aunt harriet said. june busied herself out around the stables and corrals most of the morning, looking after her stock that was being re- turned from the fair grounds and coming in every so often to inquire if wade had called. it was about one o'clock in the afternoon that she began to worry about the delayed call. “i wonder why wade doesn't call,” she worried. “are you sure he's going to let you have the money?" aunt harrietasked somewhat doubtfully. “why, er, yes. that is, i'm reasonably sure of it. i don't think he'd lead me to believe so if he had no intention of keeping his promise.” it was four o'clock when june again inquired about the call. "i don't know what to think,” she worried. “i don't know what i'll do if he doesn't lend me the money. mr. chandler is expecting his pasture fee, and the balance of the note that is past due. and i don't have anything like that much money. i think i'll call him." upon calling the lucas ranch, june was informed that wade had left that morning for his ranch at avera. she quickly became despondent. “i don't know what i'll do now," she said despairingly. “i had depended so much on his help- ing me. i don't know what mr. chandler will say when i can't pay him all his money." “you haven't said or done anything to make wade angry, have you, june?” aunt harriet asked. "no, not that i know of. unless he became offended when i went to the fair grounds with bill, the other day. but i can't believe he'd take that seriously. i explained to him, and i'm sure he understood. i can't believe he'd be that stupid.” at eight o'clock that evening, dinner had been served the cowboys. aunt harriet sat at the foot of the long table, june occupied the hostess' seat with bill occupying the seat of the guest of honor, and uncle jack sitting on june's right. with dinner finished, june rose to speak. “boys,” she began, a story of texas cattle and oil “it is with a heart full of gratitude and thankfulness that i am honored to serve you here tonight. you have more than upheld the good reputation of the meredith name in com- petition and true sportsmanship. and you have gone even further by setting a new world record in one of the events.” a round of applause interrupted her after that statement. continuing, she said: “each and every one of you crowned himself with glory in the particular event in which he took part. i want right here-and i'm sure every man of the ranch will join me-to give a special vote of thanks to mr. william shearn, our special guest, for his magnificent performance in the name of our ranch. “i am happy to tell you that our cattle won more than a thousand dollars in prizes. i don't wish to appear remorseful,” her eyes were filling with tears as she fought to control her emotions-“but as most of you know, this may be the last time this outfit will compete in the meredith name. however, we won't go into that as i would not want to burden anyone else with my worries. “in closing my little talk to you, i want to thank each and every one of you from the bottom of my heart for your per- formance in the rodeo, and for the way you have stood by me since the death of my parents.” tears trickled down her cheeks as she defiantly threw her head back and sat down. uncle jack then rose and called on bill shearn for a few words. bill rose slowly and awkwardly. “i feel honored,” he said, “to have had the opportunity and the privilege of work- ing with such a fine bunch of men as i find here on the mere- dith ranch. and i want to congratulate miss meredith on her good fortune in keeping such men, who are not only true sportsmen in the truest sense of the word, but are each and everyone tops in their profession. “if i, in my feeble effort,” he continued, “have contributed anything worth mentioning to add to the laurels won by the men of the circle-bar, then i am glad, and sorry that i could not do more.” as bill started to sit down, sam harris called to him, “say, bill, me and everybody else, i believe, is curious the tin box to know why you pulled the bridle off your horse yesterday. was that some kind of a stunt?” "no, sam,” bill replied earnestly, “i never stunt, and i most certainly would not on so serious an occasion. you see, gotch is a very nervous horse, high-strung and wanting to go all the time. in roping, where the contestant is allowed to break with the steer, i don't pull the bridle off him, but under the rules you have here-which also apply in many other rodeos,giving the animal a hundred-yard jump, the horse would have to be held. and to restrain him with the bit up- sets him. that's why i blindfold him.” uncle jack then rose, and turning to june, said: “miss june, i have a duty to perform that has been thrust upon me by bill and the boys of the ranch. i don't know just how you will feel, but to make the boys happy, we all want you to say you'll do what we ask. will you do it?” “anything i can. i don't believe you'd ask me to do anything you know i can't do.” "that's fine," uncle jack smiled. “the prize money won by the boys of the ranch, including side bets made by several of them, amounts to eighteen hundred dollars. mr. shearn made some side bets with wade lucas on the steer roping, which, with the prize money he won, brought his winnings up to a thousand dollars. that brings the total up to twenty- eight hundred dollars.” uncle jack drew a roll of bills from his pocket and held it in his hand. “the boys all collected their money today, and have turned it over to me. now, miss june, we all know your circumstances. mr. shearn overheard your conversation with robert chandler the other day. there's not a man in this outfit that wouldn't give his right arm for you. so it will make us all mighty happy if you will accept this money.” uncle jack took june's hand and placed the roll of bills in it. june jumped to her feet quickly, and tried to put the money back in his hand. “why, uncle jack," she seemed terribly upset, “i couldn't do that! i can't take these boys' money that they've worked so hard for. i appre- ciate” june's voice was drowned out by cries from the men: a story of texas cattle and oil "we don't want it! we won't have it! we were fighting for you!” and so on. with tears streaming down her cheeks, june agreed to accept the money only after the men had promised her that she could return it when she got “on her feet.” the love and loyalty of "her boys," as she affectionately called them, for her in this her hour of distress, unleashed her emo- tions. burying her face in her hands, she sobbed bitterly. “now, miss june, don't try to say anything more.” uncle jack tried to console her as he placed his arm affectionately about her shoulders. many a bandana was pulled from a pocket and dabbed at the moist eyes of a range-hardened cow- boy. because they all knew that with the mortgage she had signed, only by a miracle could she hope to save her cattle or the land she had bought. the following morning, bill had loaded his horses into his truck and was preparing to leave, and june was standing by the truck talking to him when chandler drove up. “well, june,” he said without the customary greeting, "have you got my money?" “yes. i'll go and get it for you. wait just a moment, mr. shearn,” she said as she started for the house. returning, she counted out to chandler the pasture fees and the thousand dollars she owed on the down payment on the gulf coast land, and received a receipt for the payment. “looks like you've had a lot of luck somewhere," chandler remarked as he placed the money in a small wallet. “yes. through the kindness of mr. shearn and the boys on the ranch, who gave me all the money they won in prizes,” she told him. "well, june,” chandler said, “i'm sorry to inform you that my efforts to get a water well on that land at avera have failed. i have fulfilled my obligations; i have made diligent effort, so i consider my part of the agreement fulfilled.” "how am i to water my cattle when i take them down there?” june asked, very much concerned. “that is not my worry," he snapped. “mr. shearn has helped the tin box you so much in the past, maybe he can help you get water for your cattle.” “has your drilling outfit moved from down there?” bill asked. “yes. all through.” “if they gave up those wells, why didn't they pull the cas- ings?” bill looked chandler straight in the eye. “why-uh-er they did pull the casings. what makes you think they didn't?” he stammered. “because i was riding over there just before i came up here, and i uncovered two of the places they had drilled, and i found that they had driven the casings just below the surface and had capped and sealed them.” chandler flew into a rage. “what business did you have nos- ing around those wells? you stay away from around there, or june is going to regret it,” he warned. “furthermore, this is my ranch, and when you leave here this time, don't ever let me catch you around here again.” “mr. shearn is my guest. you can't insult him like that,” june asserted. "you keep out of this, june,” chandler warned. “remem- ber, it is because of my sympathy that you are here. i can put you off this place any time i want to." “don't say anything to him, miss meredith,” bill cautioned her. chandler started his car and drove away towards the oil field, leaving june and bill standing in silence. "he seems to think he has you at his mercy,” bill remarked questioningly. “yes, he has,” june replied ruefully. “you see, mr. shearn, after my parents were killed, and there was nothing left to show that father had paid the debt on our home, mr. chandler took advantage of me and foreclosed, despite my pleadings for a little more time so i could arrange to avert the foreclo- sure. when he took the ranch, that threw aunt harriet and me out of a home, and deprived me of a place for my cattle. knowing this, he then took further advantage by selling me the land at avera and taking a lien on my cattle as security, a story of texas cattle and oil with a clause in our agreement that prevents me from selling any of the cattle without his approval and consent.” “how did you let him get you tied up like that?” bill asked. “it all happened so suddenly, i didn't have time to think. and thinking wouldn't have done much good anyway. be- cause, as i said a moment ago, i was out of a home for myself and cattle and was therefore obligated to him and completely at his mercy.” “didn't any of your neighbors offer to help you?” bill in- quired. “my neighbors at that time were in about the same fix as i was. most of them were in debt and in fear of losing their own homes. of course, since oil has been found here, many of them have become wealthy, and some have offered to help me if a way could be found that their money could be protected. but the contract he holds makes it impossible for anyone to help me, and no one knows that better than robert chandler, who seems to have plotted to take everything i have.” june turned her head to wipe away a tear. “i'm awfully sorry to hear that, miss meredith. i didn't know there was a man living who was low enough to take advantage of the circumstances of which you were a victim, for his own gain,” bill said angrily. "neither did i,” june said remorsefully. "he was so nice and considerate of our welfare following the tragedy. he wanted to do everything to help us. he seemed so fair that i trusted him to write the agreement concerning the land at avera and my cattle, feeling that he would do nothing that would be to my disadvantage.” “he no doubt had it all mapped out, to get not only your ranch, but your cattle as well. i hope some day you'll have the opportunity to give him back some of the medicine he's forc- ing you to take now,” bill said in a tone of revenge. “that hardly seems possible," june said despondently. “well, i guess i'd better be moving. i've got a long drive ahead of me,” bill said as he climbed into the truck. “mr. shearn, i feel that i can never repay you for all you the tin box have done for me. i shall always owe you a debt of gratitude," she said as she offered her hand. bill took it between his own for a moment. “i'm glad for anything i can do to help you. you have my address, and any time i can be of help, don't fail to let me know. good-bye, miss meredith,” he said as he moved off slowly. "thank you. good-bye, mr. shearn.” chapter ten a madly jealous heart was savagely pound- ing in the bosom of wade lucas as he drove away from the circle-bar ranch on the opening day of the livestock show and rodeo. his feelings wounded by june's refusal to accom- pany him to the fair grounds on opening day, as she had done for years, he was beginning to awaken to the realization that there could be another man in june's life. having been child- hood sweethearts and almost constant companions since they were children, they accepted each other as their proper es- corts, and as it was a generally accepted conclusion in that section that such companionship should lead to matrimony, wade could not picture anyone as a rival for june's affections. june had told him of her thrilling experience at avera and her rescue by bill. and to wade it seemed she rather liked to talk about it. and now, since meeting bill, he could not blame her for what he called a temporary infatuation, for he reluctantly admitted to himself a secret admiration for the handsome cowboy. being confident that he had few if any peers as an all-round cowboy in that section of west texas (and it must be ad- mitted that the west texas cowboy is as good as they come), the tin box home. his gang had read in the newspapers about his remark- able feat in the rodeo, and were waiting to give him a gala welcome home. cyrus johnson, owner of the ranch, was the first to greet him. “well, bill, we are all mighty proud of you. i knew you were good, but i would never have believed that you or anyone else from the gulf coast could go up there and win out over those west texas cowboys. they have the reputation of being the best in the country.” "thanks, boss,” bill said with an appreciative smile. "i was glad that i was able to uphold the reputation of the gulf coast country, and i think i had a great deal of luck, too, in drawing a very wild steer, one that could really run. you know that kind is made to order for gotch," he said, giving credit to his favorite horse. “yes, i know. the faster they run, the better gotch likes them. tell me, how is june meredith getting along since the death of her parents?” the rancher inquired. “not so good, mr. johnson,” bill replied despairingly. “she is really up against it, and stands a good chance of losing everything she has. that fellow chandler who took her ranch pretends to be allowing her to stay there through sympathy. but i believe he is after her cattle. then i think he will put her off the place with nothing." “is that so? why do you think that?” the rancher seemed deeply concerned. bill then told him what he had learned from june and uncle jack while at the ranch. “why, the dirty scoundrel,” johnson blurted when bill had finished. “i'm glad you went up there, bill,” he added after a moment's thought. about two weeks after bill's visit to labesia, june received a letter from avera, in a handwriting that was not familiar to her. opening the letter, she first glanced at the signature. it was signed, cyrus johnson. the letter read: “dear miss meredith: i trust you will forgive this very unconventional act on my part, of writing to offer aid to an absolute stranger. a story of texas cattle and oil but bill shearn, who has just returned home from a visit to your ranch, has told me some things that i regret very much to learn about the trouble you are having with that fellow chandler. although you do not know me per- sonally, yet your father and i were the best of friends. we grew up together. your father, tom meredith, once did me a great favor. and had it not been for him, i would not be where i am today. i was in a predicament very much like-as i understand-the one you find your- self in now. he came to my aid and helped me. he would never allow me to return this favor, and i haven't been able to catch him in a position where i could force him to accept it. now, since he has gone, i feel that the least i can do is to offer my assistance to his daughter, who has been placed in a like position. "i understand that you are in no position to meet the next payment on the land you have contracted to buy- and which i have under lease here at avera. if you will accept a favor from an old friend of your father, i will be glad to lend you enough money, without interest or se- curity, to meet this note. if you will accept this offer, write me, and i will have bill run me up there. sincerely yours, cyrus johnson.” when june had finished reading the letter, she carried it out to aunt harriet, who was working in the garden. “aunt harriet,” she called as she approached the older woman. aunt harriet straightened up and peered over her glasses at her niece. “i have just received this letter from mr. cyrus john- son, you know, the man that mr. shearn works for down at avera. he is offering to help me. here, you read the letter,” she said as she handed the unfolded letter to her aunt. “offering to help you? what did you say the man's name is,” she asked. “cyrus johnson,” june repeated. "i wonder if that's the cyrus johnson who lived here so a story of texas cattle and oil johnson, a tall, portly man with gray hair and moustache, and a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes, as he took both her hands in his and stood surveying her from head to foot. “you haven't changed a bit since i last saw you more than forty years ago," he remarked in his humorous, good-natured style. “you haven't changed either, cyrus, except that you've got- ten considerably heavier around the middle," aunt harriet said. "you aren't so streamlined yourself,” he retorted, which brought a hearty laugh. “and this is june,” he said as, turning to her, he took both her hands in his and, holding them at arm's length, gazed long and searchingly into her face. “so much like your mother when she was your age,” he observed in a fatherly tone. “blond hair, round, dimpled face, eyes blue as the skies, and your father's high, broad forehead. looking at you, i can see the two of them." bill had stood back while his boss was being greeted by aunt harriet and june. “i'm so glad to see you,” june said as she held out her hands to bill, while aunt harriet and cyrus started walking towards the porch. “i've thought of you so often, and all the nice things you have done for me. seems that i am getting further in your debt.” “don't mention it, miss meredith. i'm glad to do anything i can.” “won't you come into the house?” june said. “i know you both must be very tired after that long drive. when did you leave avera?” “we left about ten o'clock yesterday morning; stopped over- night with a friend of mr. johnson's, about halfway here. left there early this morning, "bill replied. "you made good time, considering the mountainous terrain on this end of the trip,” june commented. “june, take them into the front room while i go and pre- pare supper. i know they must be famished," aunt harriet directed as june and bill reached the porch where the two older people stood talking. the tin box “won't you come in, gentlemen?” june said as she led the way into the large living room. "it has been more than forty years since i sat in this room," cyrus johnson said as he glanced about the room, noting the antique furniture, the enlarged portraits of the meredith pioneers perched on easels, large paintings of vast herds of cattle, the roundup, the rodeo, and other phases of ranch life that adorned the high walls. “but it seems only yesterday. my, my! how i remember the pleasant hours i've spent sitting here talking with your mother and father. seems that i spent as much time here with them as i did at my own place, up near town.” “yes, i've heard mother and father speak of you so much, mr. johnson,” june said, “but i never thought i'd have the opportunity to meet you. father said that you had moved down near the gulf coast somewhere, and that he had lost track of you.” “yes, i sold my ranch here and bought up a lot of that cheap land down at avera. there was nothing much down there then; not much water for my cattle except during the winter months. and we had to haul our home water supplies from the river by ox team, until we could put down some wells. i had pretty tough going for several years; like to have lost all i had, and i believe i would have had it not been for your father.” "funny how things have changed down there since that time,” bill said. “i've heard lots of the old-timers tell of the trouble they had getting water for their cattle years ago. now we have overflows quite often.” "oh, jack," aunt harriet called to the old foreman as he rode by the yard on his way to the corrals. “get down and go into the parlor and see who's in there.” uncle jack dismounted, threw the reins over the saddle- horn and gave his horse a slap on the hip. the horse went in a trot for the corrals, while uncle jack went into the house. “well, you old son-of-a-gun!” he exclaimed as he recognized cyrus johnson who sat facing the door. a story of texas cattle and oil “well, bless my buttons if it ain't jack doyle!” johnson said as he rushed across the room into uncle jack's arms. “i never dreamed i'd see you again, jack. how have you been getting along?” “oh, i've been doing all right, cyrus. how have you been getting along? they tell me you've got a mighty fine layout down in the coast country. martha and me talk about you a great deal at times, and have often wondered if you were still alive.” “did you say martha?” cyrus asked sheepishly. “yes, my wife, martha. you knew her. martha thompson.” “did you marry martha thompson? where is she?” "down at the house, there by the old sorghum mill. come and go down there with me. i know she'll die with surprise when she sees you. you come too, bill. that is if,” uncle jack cast a sheepish glance at june. “he can go with you,” june blushingly replied. “i'll go out and help aunt harriet with dinner.” “now, jack, don't you keep cyrus and mr. shearn down there too long. we'll have supper ready in about thirty min- utes,” aunt harriet called to the old foreman, when she saw the three men leaving together. “i won't keep them long. i'm taking cyrus down to surprise martha.” “yes, i know she's going to be surprised. and jack, you and martha come up and sit and talk awhile tonight when you get through at home.” "i'd already figured on that, harriet,” uncle jack replied. martha doyle was very much surprised when her husband came to the kitchen door, accompanied by two men. “martha, know who this is?” uncle jack asked as his wife came out on the back porch. one glance at cyrus johnson, and her mem- ory traveled back over the years. “well, of all people, cyrus johnson. i thought jack slipped something into that mixture he fixed for my headache awhile ago. now i'm seeing things.” “how are you, martha? my, my, but you're looking well,” cyrus commented. the tin box “looks sort of like she did forty years ago, don't she, cyrus?" uncle jack said. “yes, and just as sweet,” cyrus retorted. they all laughed when martha recalled how cyrus used to “cut around her until jack beat his time. “those were the good old days,” cyrus laughed in his jovial, good-natured way. they were reminiscing over old times when june spoke: “aunt martha, i hate to take your company away, but aunt harriet has dinner ready.” "oh, june, we didn't see you. that's all right, honey, you just take them right on, and jack and i will be up after a while.” june and the two men started for the house. june and bill lagged behind, and cyrus understandingly said: “you young lovebirds take your time. i'm going to eat harriet out of house and home.” “isn't he nice? so jolly and good-natured. i just love him,” june remarked as the older man walked away from them. when the group had finished dinner and talked for a short while, johnson suggested that they proceed with the business that was the purpose of his trip. “now, june,” he began, “i would like for you to tell me just what your obligations and your arrangements are with mr. chandler.” june proceeded to give a general explanation, interrupted occasionally by aunt harriet, who insisted that she give the most minute details, of events as they occurred from the time of the accident that claimed the lives of her parents, including the signing of the contract giving chandler a lien on her cattle. "have you a copy of the contract, june?” he asked. “yes, i'll get it for you.” she went into her room and soon returned with the contract. moving her chair closer to him, she unfolded the document and placed it before him. uncle cyrus (as he had instructed june to call him) put on his glasses and started to read the instrument. as he continued to read, the expression on his face began to change, first from the tin box chandler took undue advantage of miss meredith in having her sign such a contract? i believe any court would take into consideration the state of her mind at that particular time- having just gone through a most trying ordeal, having had no experience in transacting such business matters, and not hav- ing benefit of counsel other than chandler's attorney, who was definitely working in behalf of his client. i don't believe she was capable of safeguarding her own interest. of course, as far as the foreclosure of the ranch is concerned,” he con- tinued, “there is nothing that can be done about that, as the time had expired, and he had every legal right to take the property. but as for the lien on the cattle, i believe that should it ever be brought before a court, the agreement would be invalidated.” “i don't know how that would work out, bill,” johnson replied thoughtfully. “of course, such a case could be brought up only on the state of the plaintiff's mind at the time she signed the agreement. and of course, it would be left to the judge or jury to say. but i do know one thing. if i were on a jury, and such a case should come before me, i would fight tooth and nail to have such a contract invalidated. “how much are you behind in your payments, june?” he inquired. "five thousand dollars; just the note that was due last week on the land. you see, through the kindness of mr. shearn and my own boys, i was able to pay the pasturage fee up to the first of last month. also, the thousand dollars i owed on the initial payment on the land at avera.” “did you say “through the kindness of mr. shearn?' do you mean bill, here?” johnson asked curiously. “why, yes. didn't he tell you? mr. shearn and my boys here at the ranch loaned me all the money they won in the rodeo, which enabled me to take care of my overdue obligations.” “well, he has never said anything to me about that; too modest i suppose,” he said as he looked at bill with a smile of approval. "it was no more than anyone would have done,” bill said. the tin box riet, aunt martha and uncle jack each gave their respective versions of the accident. “i have never been able to understand it,” cyrus johnson said. “from the account of the accident, as i read it in the papers, i have never been able to make head or tail of it. it has always seemed to me that there is something missing- something lost or misplaced of which no one is aware, and that must be found before the mystery that shrouds the case can be cleared up. “i understand that tom was given the cash at the bank, and left there, presumably for chandler's office, to relieve the mortgage." “yes, that's what mr. cockrell, the cashier of the bank, told us," aunt harriet said. “and chandler admitted that tom came back to his office with the money. but he said that they agreed that he was to come back the next day to complete the transaction, as chandler's lawyer was out of town, and the papers were locked up in his safe.” "that doesn't sound right to me,” cyrus said doubtfully. “tom meredith was too good a business man to have acted so stupidly. knowing that was the last day of grace, he would never have left that office without having made some definite disposition of that mortgage. or if he was unable to make a settlement that evening, he would have demanded an exten- sion of time in black and white. and i don't believe he would have left town with that much money on him.” “that's the way we felt about it," uncle jack agreed. “but we searched all around the scene of the accident thoroughly, even each side of the stream for a mile down. and we dragged the bottom, thinking that if he had any money or papers on him, they might have got wet and sunk to the bottom. we even thought at one time that he might have left the money with someone else after leaving chandler's office, and that after he died, that person just kept silent about it.” “that's possible, but i don't believe any of tom's friends would have kept the money and allowed june to lose the a story of texas cattle and oil ranch. i will always believe there is a hidden mystery about it, and that some day, in some way, it will be found." ; as june and bill reached the porch on this still autumn evening, the activities of the oil field were evident in every direction. a hundred yards from the ranch house, down just back of the corrals, the main road leading into the oil field was being traveled by a continuous stream of wagon teams, trucks and automobiles that never seemed to stop day or night. lighted derricks, with strings of lights extending from the floor to the crown-block, more than a hundred feet from the ground, were dotting the valleys and mountain sides as far as the eye could see. gas flares gave an eerie aspect to the sur- roundings as they loomed out of the darkness in every direc- tion. the clang, clang of the drilling machinery became so noisy at times that conversation was almost impossible. the puff, puff of the powerful mudhogs was deafening as they forced the mud and water through thousands of feet of drill stem to the bit that was twisting its way down, down, down, probing into the very bowels of the earth in its search for liquid gold. the young couple sat down in the swing, and after a few minutes of conversation, june, who on bill's previous visit had been so jolly and conversational, tonight fell into a strange silence. as she sat there peering at the gas flares through the darkness, she realized for the first time how helpless she was. she had thought that the contract she had signed giving chandler a blanket lien on her cattle was only, as his at- torney had explained to her, to protect her. and only when uncle cyrus had read and explained the contract to her, did she awaken to the fact that she had signed away her right to control her own cattle, and had placed herself entirely at his mercy. so engrossed was she in her thoughts that she forgot for the time being that bill was beside her; she snapped to attention with a start when she realized that he was saying something to her. “you must forgive me, mr. shearn. i didn't mean to be nversation, juunal, tonight there through th the tin box impolite. i must have been dreaming. would you repeat what you were saying?” she apologized. “why, er-yes. yes, of course,” bill stammered. “i said that there is so much noise here, i don't see how you can sleep.” “i can't sleep at times,” she replied, with a trace of emotion. "sometimes i lie awake at night listening to the noise from the oil field and recalling what my father used to say. he used to read descriptions of the ground, sand mounds and other surface marks that are sometimes indicative of oil, and often talked with geologists about the prospects of oil being found around here. he always believed it was here, and used to say to me: ‘june, sometime we are going to have an oil well right here in our back door. then all our troubles and worries will be over.' well, we've got the oil well in our back door all right but it has only meant more troubles and worries for me.” bill made no reply, but he thought deeply. here was this beautiful young woman, in the flower of her youth, having her charm, her youth, her very life crushed by this ruthless tyrant in his greed for wealth and more wealth. how helpless she seemed, and so little he could do for her! how small, how unimportant, how insignificant he must seem to her! he wished for the moment that he could disappear, that he was not sitting beside her in the swing. it was with great relief that he heard chairs being moved, and the approach of the older people to the porch. “well, bill,” uncle cyrus said as he, uncle jack and aunt martha doyle paused at the steps, "we'd better be going so we can get some sleep. we've got a hard drive ahead of us tomorrow. aunt martha had prepared sleeping quarters for the guests, and when they had gone, aunt harriet and june went back into the house. june did not fall asleep immediately upon retiring, but lay awake pondering her future course of action and searching for a solution to her problems. the money that uncle cyrus would give her in the morning would be used to pay the note past due, but what about the subsequent notes, she worried. what about the payments that would be due in late winter a story of texas cattle and oil when her cattle would be in no condition for market? what about the rest of the notes that would follow in such rapid succession until the land at avera was paid for? suppose chandler should take advantage of the clause in the contract-as uncle cyrus predicted he would-that gave him virtual control of her cattle, and should refuse to permit them to be sold, even though they were fat? the contract she had signed gave him every right to do so. then, since she had no other source of income, how was she to meet her obliga- tions at all? although she was accepting the money from uncle cyrus as a loan, she could not, would not continue to accept charity. that was certain. these unsolvable problems, rushing con- fusedly through her brain, created a fog through which she could not see, just as the dust storms to which she had become so accustomed. weary and tired from trying to think, she finally fell asleep. a six o'clock whistle in the oil field awoke her with a start the next morning. dressing hurriedly, she went out into the kitchen where aunt harriet had breakfast about ready. "good morning, aunt harriet. i overslept myself,” she said, as the older woman looked up. “good morning, june. you didn't sleep so well last night. i could hear you all through the night, rolling and tumbling in your bed. that young man must have spoken some very endearing words of love to you last night,” aunt harriet said, with a twinkle in her eye. “no, aunt harriet,” june said slowly, “not that. last night i realized for the first time how insecure and helpless we are here.” after a good night's rest and an early breakfast with jack and martha, uncle cyrus and bill were ready to start back home. stopping by the house to tell aunt harriet and june good-bye, they drove on to labesia. leaving the little moun- tain town, they drove on home, stopping one night with friends. several days after uncle cyrus’ visit to the meredith ranch, the tin box june stopped chandler as he passed the house on his way to the oil field. “good morning, june. what's on your mind this morning?” he inquired. “i want to give you a check for the payment on the land at avera, that was due a few days ago," she said as she handed him a check. “oh!” he gasped in surprised disappointment. “where did you raise this money?” “mr. johnson, an old friend of my father's down at avera, loaned it to me." “what security did you give him?” he asked uneasily. “none. he wanted no security.” “i see,” he said as he started to drive away. "you seem to have made quite a hit down there.” “i'll take a receipt, if you don't mind," she reminded him. “why, yes. i like to have forgotten,” he said as he wrote out and handed her a receipt. for the next few days, robert chandler did some very serious thinking. he was puzzled. when he first approached june about the land deal, he felt that she would never make the first payment on the land or pasturage on the cattle. but now, through what seemed to him to be pure luck, she had met all obligations with comparative ease. he wanted that land at avera back. although he had charged june five times as much as the oil company had paid for it, yet, to judge from the report of the water-well contractor, the land was worth more than the land of the meredith ranch. with the development of this land, he surmised, he would become one of the country's wealthiest men. his boyhood dream of some day becoming a tycoon of finance, a money power, would be fulfilled. but suppose this lucky girl should continue to meet the notes until all the payments had been made, he thought. no, she couldn't do that. he'd see that she didn't. he still had a trick up his sleeve. he'd resort to the trick he had relied on so successfully in the past, that of gaining people's confidence, and inducing them to become negligent about meeting their obligations to him, and then the tin box turn out all right. she was almost out of money, and there were the long, hard winter months coming on. she surmised that since chandler had shown a change of heart, she would be able to handle her cattle without interference from him, and as she had about eight hundred choice steers that would be ready for market in early spring, she felt that she could live without being so cramped for feed for her livestock, and household necessities for aunt harriet and herself. so she went to the city national bank in labesia and borrowed enough money to carry her through the winter and until such time as she figured her steers could be marketed, giving as security, her one-fourth undivided interest in her cattle. as winter set in and the first northers of the season began to blow, there was much activity on the meredith ranch. be- cause of the lack of cash, june had not been able to store suf- ficient feed for her livestock. but now, with the money bor- rowed from the bank, she lost no time in seeing that there was ample feed for all the stock that would not be able to for- age enough to sustain themselves through the winter. trucks of the ranch were kept busy far into the night haul- ing hay and grain until all of the bins and lofts were well filled. she was particularly anxious that the cattle to be marketed in the spring should be well fed. for it was upon these she was depending to pay off the two notes that would be coming due in the fall of the coming year, the money borrowed from the bank and other bills, such as her account at the grocer's, and her employees, who were being paid only a small part of their monthly wage. the winter that year was unusually severe and kept the ten men, to which june had been compelled to cut her force, ex- tremely busy looking after the poor stock. because she had not obtained the money to purchase feed before the winter had set in, her losses from the severe weather were heavier than usual. however, those that were fed in time came through in fine condition, and began to round out in early spring, and by all indications would be in fine flesh by market time. a story of texas cattle and oil there was ever-increasing activity in the oil field through the winter months. robert chandler, having made somewhat of a study of the oil game and being guided to some extent by his attorney, was wise enough to map off in sections the half of the ranch not under lease to the bluge oil corporation. by leasing the various blocks to different companies, he created keen drilling competition. so spring found the field in full blast. chandler was a very busy man, spending much of his time in the oil field, as well as in his real estate office in town. he seldom stopped at the ranch house while passing. sometimes he would call out a cheerful “hello” to june and aunt harriet. sometimes he would pass them without so much as raising his head. june reasoned that he had so much important business on his mind that he had no time to think of them while pass- ing. aunt harriet contended, however, that it was a bad sign. with the limited funds left by her father getting precari- ously low, june was again faced with a financial problem in which she could not see her way out. although her creditors, the merchants from whom she purchased food and other sup- plies for the ranch, were sympathetic and uncomplaining, she realized that some effort must be made to meet at least some part of her mounting obligations. and too, her person- nel at home, the men who looked after the cattle and other chores that came up daily around a large ranch, although they too realized her predicament, and refrained from ever men- tioning money matters, she felt that they needed every penny she owed them. it was worry over this situation that prompted her to speak to her aunt as they were finishing breakfast one morning. “aunt harriet, i've been worrying a great deal about my obligations, and about the agreement i signed with mr. chan- dler concerning my cattle. he has been acting so strange to- wards us lately, and it's getting so near time to sell the cattle i've fed all winter. i certainly don't want him to be in an un- friendly mood when he has to approve of their sale. i don't the tin box know what i'd do, should he interfere with me,” she said thoughtfully. "i'm so desperately in need of money that i've about de- cided on a course. however, i want your advice.” aunt har- riet listened attentively as june continued: “you remember that shortly after the death of father and mother, mr. chan- dler told me that should i ever decide to seek employment, there would be a job for me in his office. i think i'll men- tion it to him the next time he stops in.” "well, june." aunt harriet thought long before continuing, "of course i know we are up against it here, and i know your parents would never have thought of allowing you to accept such a job, much less to seek it, but as you say, we are badly in need of funds, so i can see no harm in such a move." "i'm glad you see it that way, aunt harriet. i'll remind him of it the next time he stops in." june didn't have long to wait. seeing her in the front yard the following morning, chandler stopped in on his way to the oil field. it was a beautiful morning, typical of spring in that part of west texas. chandler was out early, and seemed in a happier mood than she had seen him for some time. “good morning, good morning, june,” he said, raising his hat high above his head, a broad grin on his face. “isn't this a beautiful morning?” he said as he took a panoramic view of the surrounding landscape. “you just can't beat west texas for beauty in the spring.” “you seem very happy this morning, mr. chandler," june said, managing a faint smile. “happy? why shouldn't i be happy? why shouldn't every- body be happy on a beautiful spring morning?” he beamed. “with the trees budding, flowers blooming, birds singing, everything imbued with new life. it's time for the world to be happy and sing. i feel like i'm sitting on top of the world this morning." "sorry i can't share your happiness,” june said dejectedly. “i used to be happy when the outlook for me looked bright. a story of texas cattle and oil but now it seems my whole future is clouded. i'm never able to see any sunshine." “you talk like you're blue, june,” he said feigning surprise. “come on, snap out of it. you shouldn't be discouraged. you have youth, beauty, everything to make you laugh and be gay. "god never meant for any of us to be discouraged or blue. of course, sometimes our vision becomes so clouded by our earthly worries and cares that we can't see the bright things in life, but remember this: the sun is always shining if we will only open our hearts and minds so that it can shine into our lives," he said with seriousness. “i wish i could see it that way," june moaned. “you must see it that way, june. you must see life as that bird up there sees it,” pointing up, he directed june's atten- tion to a mockingbird perched on a bare limb at the top of a large cottonwood tree. the bird was warbling as if to burst its throat. as they watched, it would fly straight up into the sky and come down again to the same spot, never ceasing for a moment to fill the air with sweet notes from a happy little throat. “we would do well to take a lesson from that bird," chandler said. “no doubt many times during the cold, bleak months that have just passed that bird went hungry, and was not able to find enough food to keep his little body warm. but was he blue because he couldn't see any good coming his way? no. nature guided him. his instinct told him that this beau- tiful day was coming and to be ready to enjoy it when it came. and that's just what he's doing.” they stood and watched the bird as it flew to a higher limb on another tree. “i sometimes believe," chandler continued, "that if man would forget his ill-gotten gains and seek the love and guidance of god, god would reveal to him the many good things in store for him, and that all this fighting, lying and stealing from each other the things that belong to god would cease in the human race," he said thoughtfully. “i suppose we do worry too much over conditions that are beyond our control,” june said. “yes, i'm sure we do. and i believe we would all be a lot metimes bar.gotten gains him the many the tin box better off if we would take a new grip on ourselves, and seek to find out what god would have us do. well, i guess i'd better be getting along," he said as he turned to leave. “oh, just a moment, mr. chandler,” june said hesitatingly. then reminding him of the offer he once made, she asked, “does that offer still stand?” chandler was obviously surprised and very much pleased at june's inquiry. “you bet it does, june, any time you want it.” “i need it now. i'm running pretty low on funds, and i have some obligations to meet. i can't see my way out without help." “now, don't you worry about obligations, june,” the de- lighted chandler smiled. “just tell me when you want to come to work, and i'll take care of all those obligations." “oh, i can take care of them if i have a job.” “very well. just as you like. and i will see to it that you are paid enough to meet not only your obligations, but will have enough to do whatever you want beside.” “what would that job pay?” june asked excitedly. "how will a hundred dollars per week do to start with?” chandler smiled. "a hundred dollars a week?” june asked in astonishment. “why i wouldn't expect to get that much. i never knew that secretaries were paid that much money." “they aren't, generally, but a good one is worth it. and when we get better acquainted, the sky will be the limit.” june was visibly puzzled at this generous offer on the part of chandler, and could think of no protest as he continued: “i know you're under financial strain, june, and i've wanted to help you for a long time. but you've never given me the opportunity. a hundred a week is what it will be if you want the job. and i'll arrange a nice place for you to stay in town.” june thought for a long moment before she spoke. “i want the job, all right. but i'll have to talk with aunt harriet be- fore i can accept it." “all right. suppose you talk it over, and let me know when i come out in the morning. a story of texas cattle and oil “that's an awful lot of money to pay a secretary, june,” aunt harriet said when june told her about the offer chan- dler had made. “that man's up to no good. mark my words.” “yes, i know the offer seems unreasonable, but as i need the money so badly, i think i should accept it. i can take care of myself.” “all right, june. but you watch every move that snake ? makes, because that's just what i believe he is, a snake in the grass,” aunt harriet cautioned. chandler had arranged with friends of his in labesia for accommodations for june; she declined, however, and ac- cepted the invitation of mrs. scott, the cattle broker's wife, to stop with them while in the city. she liked her position and enjoyed working for robert chandler, who seemed over anx- ious to please her and make things as pleasant for her as pos- sible. the one small florist in labesia was given a standing order to see that a fresh bouquet of the most expensive flowers the shop could get was on june's desk each morning before she arrived for work. and a box of the finest chocolates carried by the labesia pharmacy was delivered to her home each evening after office hours, as ordered by chandler. chandler lived at the hotel, and often took june to lunch or dinner with him in the dining room there. things were begin- ning to brighten up a bit for her, the first rays of sunshine she had been able to see since the death of her parents. each week she applied the greater part of her salary to the retirement of her indebtedness to her creditors in labesia, or to paying up the back salaries of some of the men on the ranch. “if i can just keep this job long enough,” she thought, “i can clear the debt on my cattle and meet all my other obligations." it was at about this time that chandler approached her one afternoon. “june,” he said, “there are some things i would like to go over with you, if you will have dinner with me at the hotel tonight.” “why, yes, mr. chandler,” she agreed. the tin box "everything is ready for you, mr. chandler," the clerk in- formed him as he and june walked into the hotel lobby that evening. “all right, we'll go right up,” he replied. june was puzzled at this reply, and wondered if she had heard correctly. “this way, june," chandler said as he started for the stair- way instead of the dining room. "where are you going, mr. chandler?” she asked. “up to my apartment. i'm having dinner served to us up there tonight. we can have more privacy, so we can talk,” he explained. "i can see no reason why we can't talk in the dining room," june protested. “we have in the past." “yes, i know. but people are always staring at you in the dining room. i like privacy sometimes,” he argued as they stood at the foot of the stairs. “let them stare,” june said firmly. "no, mr. chandler. i won't go up to your apartment.” “very well, june, if that's the way you feel about it, we'll be served in the dining room." the meal was not an enjoyable one. hardly a word was spoken, as each seemed to sense what was in the other's mind. "it's only two blocks home, mr. chandler,” june said when they reached the sidewalk, and chandler started towards his car. “and i believe i'd prefer to walk-alone.” “what are you doing coming home alone, june?” mrs. scott asked as june came up on the porch. “where's mr. chan- dler?” “i left him at the hotel.” june then explained chandler's actions a short time before. "i've been looking for something like that,” mrs. scott as- serted, “and if i were you, june, i'd quit right now.” “i can't afford to quit now, mrs. scott. i'm just beginning to see my way clear. i can continue working for him and still keep him in his place,” june assured them. “i hope you can, june, but i don't like his actions tonight," mrs. scott said. s. a story of texas cattle and oil the cordial relations that had existed between employer and employee at chandler's office since june started to work were visibly strained during the following week. hardly a word, except on strictly business matters, was spoken. june was cognizant of this, and endeavored to be as pleasant and agreeable as chandler would allow. she sensed that he was not pleased and was in a generally hostile mood. however, because of her financial circumstances, she was determined to hold on to her job, if it were at all possible. it was on saturday afternoon that he called her into his private office. “june,” he said, “i just wanted to tell you that i'm going to have to dispense with your services.” june was upset. she had hoped that the unpleasant situation would straighten itself out without such drastic actions on the part of chandler. “why, what's the matter, mr. chandler? hasn't my work pleased you?" she asked. “yes, your work is all right,” he admitted. “then why am i being discharged?” . “frankly, our relationship hasn't been as pleasant during the past few days as i would like. there seems to have been a slight misunderstanding between us.” "if i've done anything to offend you, i'm sorry,” she said anxiously. “of course, i realize that my services are not worth the salary you're paying me. but i need the work so desper- ately, i would be willing to work for much less than my pres- ent salary,” she pleaded. "no, i'm afraid i won't need you any longer, as miss win- born will be here to take her old job back monday. so you can consider our business associations terminated.” when june reached her room at the scott home that after- noon, she was despondent. since she had been working for chandler, she had begun to see a way out-a ray of sunshine through the black clouds of despair that had hung so heavily over her life for more than a year. except for the one incident at the hotel, chandler had always conducted himself as a gentleman when in her pres- ence. and she liked to be around him, to be associated with a story of texas cattle and oil “you may do as you think best. of course, i'm not thinking of any personal danger. and if you want to continue here, i'll see that you get every possible protection,” scott assured her. “i've notified chicago p blice of the threat, and they're looking up this tony perelli.” june decided that for the safety of both scott and herself it would be best for her to resign her position. and so again she found herself with mounting debts and no income. a few days after the call from chicago, the police of that city reported that they had no tony perelli listed on their records, but upon checking the records of a large eastern city, they found that a few years back there was a gang boss of that name who operated a bootleg liquor and narcotic trade on the east side, but that when the prohibition act was repealed, he had disappeared, and was presumed to be dead. the person making the call no doubt used the name of perelli to instill fear into the hearts of his victims. chapter eleven two of the vaqueros on the johnson ranch at avera, returning from riding pasture one evening, reported to their foreman that they had found some strange cattle on the ranch, near the lucas pasture fence. “they are black angus cattle," juan ramírez said, “and have a circle-bar brand on the left hip. i don't know any brand like that around here." “neither do i," the foreman said. “how many did you see?” “we counted twelve cows and calves,” josé gonzales said. “and you say they had a circle-bar brand on their left hip?” “yes.” juan squatted down and drew the brand-a bar within a circle-on the ground with his finger. bill, who had just unsaddled his horse, walked over and looked at the brand. the tin box see man "have you seen that brand anywhere, bill?” the foreman asked. “yes. that's miss june meredith's brand, up at labesia." “miss meredith, at labesia?” the foreman was puzzled. “yes. and the black angus is her breed of cattle, bill re- plied. “wonder what they're doing down here, and in our pas- ture?" the foreman asked curiously. "i'm wondering myself,” bill said. “i'd like to have a look at those cattle.” "you'd better ride over that way in the morning, bill, and see what you can find out,” the foreman said. bill pondered far into the night over what the mexican cow- boys had found. from their description of the cattle and the brand, there could be no doubt that they were from the mere- dith herd. but how? why? what were they doing at avera? and in the johnson pasture? this was what puzzled bill. june had never said anything to him about moving any of her cattle to avera. and he felt that she would have, had she planned such a move. and he had heard of no one at avera having bought any of the meredith cattle. bright and early the next morning, bill was riding the lucas pasture fence. just about where the mexican cowboys had re- ported seeing the stray cattle the evening before, bill came upon them; twelve cows and calves. inspecting them closely, he was convinced they were from the meredith ranch. after riding the division fence for some distance, to see if it had been let down to drive the cattle in, he returned to the ranch. “did you see those cattle?" the foreman asked. “yes." "do you think they are meredith cattle?” “yes. there's no doubt about that,” bill said. "how, and why, do you figure they got into our pasture?” the foreman asked. “i have no idea,”bill said. “i can't figure it out.” “bill,” the foreman looked searchingly at the cowboy, “we a story of texas cattle and oil won't say anything to mr. johnson about this yet. we'll just keep our eyes open and see if we can't solve this mystery." several days after the stray cattle were found on the john- son ranch at avera, two of the fence riders, sam harris and jim buckley, of the meredith ranch at labesia, stopped to look over a herd of grazing cattle in a valley at the foot of a mountain. “there's a big, old white-faced black cow that usu- ally runs with this bunch that i haven't seen for several days,” harris said to his partner as they rode through the feeding cattle. “i remember her because she's got a roan calf, an odd combination.” “yes, i remember that cow. she's got one of the best calves in the herd,” jim replied. “i don't believe i've seen her lately, either. and since you've mentioned her, there's another cow that i don't believe i've seen for some time. she's a young cow, about three years old, black, and with horns that set out and back. she also has a good calf.” "i guess they're around here in these bushes some place, or maybe they have gotten into some of the other pastures. let's take a little look around before we go in,” harris suggested. the men rode for about thirty minutes, looking over the cattle that were familiar to them on this range. “you know, there are several head that i miss out of this bunch,” jim said as the men rode through the herd. “we'll ask jack or roy tonight. maybe they've seen them over in the east fork, or mountain pastures.” inquiry around the bunk house that night failed to reveal any trace of the missing cattle. “sam, i'll tell you what you'd better do," uncle tack said, when informed of the cattle being missing. “you and jim ride that pasture good tomorrow. take two more men with you so you can give it a pretty good going over." hard riding by the four men the following day failed to locate any of the missing cattle. “we'll take the crew tomor- row, and throw all the cattle in that section together. it could be that they've been overlooked,” the foreman said. daylight the following morning found a crew of ten men the tin box riding the west fork pasture from which the cattle was miss- ing. and by three o'clock that afternoon, they had pretty well combed that area, and had thrown the cattle-a few more than a thousand head-together in an opening near the foot of a mountain. “now, sam," uncle jack said, “you and jim look through these cattle closely, and see if you can locate the cows you miss.” for more than an hour, the two men crossed and criss- crossed through the herd until they were confident that they had seen, individually, every animal there. “they are not here, uncle jack,” sam reported as he rode out of the herd to uncle jack who was helping to loose-herd the cattle. “i miss at least a dozen cows, most of them with their calves.” “that's funny,” uncle jack said, puzzled. “maybe they're in some of the other pastures. tomorrow we'll ride the east fork pasture, and then the mountain pasture. we'll keep on till we've covered every foot of ground they could possibly be on. we'll either find them or we'll know they've been stolen. i haven't heard of any cattle-rustlers around here lately.” “neither have i,” harris said. for the next ten days, uncle jack and his cowboys were in the saddle from early morning till late at night, riding pasture, throwing together and inspecting the herds that ranged the various areas of the vast ranch. “i can't see where on earth they can be," uncle jack said as they came in to the ranch one evening. “we've covered every herd on the ranch, and we ain't found hair nor hide of 'em yet.” "i've been trying to think of some place they could be. but it seems to me we've been everywhere i can think of,” sam said. “do you think we ought to tell miss june?” jim buckley suggested. "no, i don't believe we should just yet,” uncle jack advised. “not until we're positive they're gone. to tell her might cause her to worry, and there's a possibility they might show up yet. however,” he continued, “i believe we ought to in- quire among the neighbors, especially the lucas ranch, as the a story of texas cattle and oil cattle have a way of getting away. in fact, such an occurrence is the reason for my call.” “i don't understand. what do you mean?” chandler was curious. "i understand,” wade continued, “that you have a lien on all the cattle owned by miss june meredith.” “yes, i hold a mortgage on her cattle," chandler confirmed. “well, i think it only fair as one cattle man to another prospective cattle owner, to tell you that i dropped by the meredith ranch this morning on my way to town, and learned that some of june's cattle are being missed off the ranch.” “what!” chandler straightened up and leaned forward across the desk, very much excited. “do you mean those cattle are being stolen off my ranch? how did you find out?” wade then told him about the inquiry made by the cowboy, and of his conversation with uncle jack that morning. “i'll go right out there and look into this. i'll get to the bottom of it, and if there's anything crooked going on, i'll—” “there may not be anything to it," wade interrupted. “i'm just telling you what i heard, so you might keep your eyes open. you know we've had visitors recently from the coast country that no one here knows much about. and it could be that those cattle are finding their way down towards avera.” “i thought that cowpunching romeo had something up his sleeve besides coming here to take part in a rodeo. i'll bet you anything that," “now, let's not be too hasty to pin suspicion on anyone. if what you're thinking is true-and i'm thinking the same thing --he'd have to have help, possibly from someone on the ranch.” “do you think that old man jack doyle could be mixed up in this? or possibly june?" chandler eyed wade anxiously. "i wouldn't say,” wade said thoughtfully. “i'll tell you what. as you may know, i own a ranch joining that of old cyrus johnson, boss of that cow puncher who was up here. next week, i'm shipping some cattle down there, and i'll keep an eye open while i'm down there. i may learn some- the tin box thing. and in the meantime, if i were you, i'd keep my eyes open, and my mouth shut," wade suggested. after resigning her position with the cattle company, june returned to the ranch, and again assumed active control. the steers that had been fed through the winter would soon be ready for market, and she started to think about seeking a buyer for them and also of how to handle them best without interference from chandler. she reasoned that if she could get an unusually good offer for them before mentioning the sale to chandler, he would be less apt to object to the sale. it was at about this time that one day early in june a car came up the road past the corrals and turned in at the ranch house. a middle-aged man wearing the conventional cow- boy's garb got out and stood for a moment beside the car. he was tall, and had a heavy coat of tan. he looked about him for a moment, then walked to the house and up on the porch. aunt harriet met him at the door. "good morning, ma'am,” he greeted her as he raised his hat. “i'm felix hobson, cattle buyer. i would like to see miss june meredith.” “i'm her aunt," the older woman replied. "i understand that your niece has a fine bunch of fed steers that are about ready for market. i'd like to see them. i might be able to take them off her hands," he said. “won't you come in, mr. hobson?" aunt harriet said as she opened the door wider and stepped aside. “thank you." “now, you just have a seat while i go and call june.” in a few minutes june came in. after introducing himself, he said, “i heard about your steers, so i took the liberty of coming out and asking you to permit me to make you an offer on them.” "i'm glad you came, mr. hobson. i have about eight hun- dred head of threes and fours that will be ready for market about the middle of the month,” she said. "have you had any offers on them yet?” he asked. a story of texas cattle and oil “no, i haven't told anyone about them. how did you learn?” she asked. “from mr. scott, at the stock yards. you see, i bought some cattle from your father, more than a year ago. and i was asking mr. scott if you were going to sell any cattle this year. he told me that you had fed a bunch through the winter, and he figured they were about ready for market. are they where i might see them, miss meredith?” “yes, they are in a pasture, right off from the oil field there." “how can i get to them? can i drive?” “yes, you can drive, but it's a little rough for a car. i have some horses up, if you would prefer to go horseback," june suggested. thank you, that will be much better,” he agreed. “have you anyone you might send along to show me the way?” “uncle jack, my foreman, will go with you. if you will excuse me, i'll go down to the stable and tell him.” "why can't i just go along with you, and we can go from there after helping june into his car, hobson drove down to the corrals where some of the men were roaching up a bunch of the cow ponies. “uncle jack!” she called as she and hobson walked up to the “catch pen." the foreman came out to meet them. after introducing the men, june said, “uncle jack, mr. hobson wants to look at those fed steers. will you show them to him?” “why, yes, sure,” uncle jack replied. “are you the mr. hobson that bought them circle-bar cattle at the stockyards more than a year ago?" uncle jack asked. “yes, i bought those cattle, and a mighty fine bunch they turned out to be," the buyer said. "well, you're going to see a bunch of steers now that are far better than anything you got in that herd.” the foreman nodded his head convincingly. “i wouldn't be a bit surprised," hobson said, a smile of pleasant anticipation on his face. the tin box hundred pounds average. why, aunt harriet, that will make them bring me more than a hundred thousand dollars. “that will enable me not only to pay mr. chandler all i owe him and clear the land i bought, but it will also release my cattle from his control. and too, i will have enough to pay back the money i borrowed from the bank, pay my bills at the grocers, pay my boys here what i've been owing them so long, and still have money left. “i tell you, aunt harriet, that money i borrowed to feed those steers was the best investment i could have made.” aunt harriet did not seem to share june's enthusiasm over such bright prospects. “you know, june, you've got to get chandler's consent before you can sell those steers," she re- minded the girl. “yes, i know, aunt harriet,” she said thoughtfully, her joy of a moment before fading rapidly. “but i know he won't object to that offer. he couldn't. nobody could be that mean,” she said pleadingly. “i'll see him when he comes out in the morning.” “i only hope he doesn't block the deal,” aunt harriet said despairingly. the calling of june's attention to the terms of the contract put her in a quandary. so much depended upon the sale of those cattle going through. not only would it enable her to pay all her bills, but would also give her a good credit rating at the bank. it seemed that her future hinged on the consum- mation of this deal. she tried to dismiss from her thoughts any idea of chan- dler's objecting in any way. she kept saying to herself: he won't stop this sale, he can't, i won't let him. yet that clause in the contract, which gave him virtual control of all her cattle and the last word in anything pertaining to their disposal, persisted in coming before her. she slept very little that night, lying awake most of the night trying to devise some means by which she might over- ride any objections he might make. she thought about what bill shearn had said about the weakness of the contract. sup- a story of texas cattle and oil pose she should ask the courts to declare the instrument in- valid on the grounds that bill had suggested. she had no money with which to fight chandler, and suppose the court should decide against her, and declare the contract valid. what would she do then? no, the court proceedings were out. she would tell him she was going to sell, and that was all there was to it. she felt confident he could find no ground upon which to base an objection. although chandler usually came out around ten o'clock each morning, june began looking for him long before that hour. she stayed on the front porch, and each car that came in sight going into the oil field she was sure was his car. long before ten o'clock she had given him up, fearing he would not come out at all that day. along about his usual time, she saw a car approaching that she instantly recognized as the chandler automobile. she sprang from the swing and ran down near the corrals, where the road passed nearest the house. chandler seemed in a great hurry that morning. speeding up his car after he had passed over the cattle-guard at the corrals, he was driving faster than usual when he reached the spot where june stood. her heart was pounding wildly as she called and beckoned him to stop. slamming on the brakes, he came to a screeching, skidding stop, several yards past her, waiting there until she ran up to the car. “good morning, mr. chandler,” she greeted him with an uneasy smile. “good morning, june.” chandler spoke with a tone that seemed to chill her through. “mr. chandler, i would like to talk to you a few minutes if you have the time to spare,” she said in a pleading voice. “i'm a very busy man, june. but i guess i can spare a min- ute to hear what you've got to say. what do you want to see me about?” “well,” she hesitated, as if afraid to speak, “you know that the payment on my land at avera and the pasturage on my cattle will be due in about a week. and i want to pay back the money i borrowed from the bank. and i have some other bills the tin box eva i must pay. and my boys haven't been paid in several months. and—” “come to the point, june,” he snapped impatiently, "i'm in a hurry." "well,” she continued, as she nervously picked at her finger nails, “my steers are in fine condition now, and mr. hobson was out to look at them yesterday, and offered me a good price on them so i'm going to sell. i just wanted to inform you." “how much did he offer you?" chandler asked. “ten cents at the pens.” "ten cents is not enough. and besides, those steers are in no shape for market now," he said curtly. “but, mr. chandler, mr. hobson is offering me two cents above the best market quotations, and i've got to sell them,” she argued. “no, june, i've got an interest in those cattle, and i don't intend to see them given away. and furthermore, you might inform mr. hobson that those steers can be sold only when i say, and tell him when he wants to buy any of the meredith cattle, to see me first.” “but how am i to pay you, mr. chandler? you know i have no other way to get any money,” she pleaded, tears trickling down her cheeks. “that's not my business. perhaps your cowboy friend mr. shearn can again come to your aid. he's helped you so much in the past,” he retorted sarcastically. after a moment's silence, june said: “i understand that should our agreement be brought before a court, it might be nullified.” “what do you mean?” he asked, coming suddenly to atten- tion. “on what grounds?” “that i was in no condition, mentally, to safeguard my own best interest when i signed it,” she explained with growing confidence. “who told you that?” he demanded. "mr. shearn, for one.” “i see. so he's been buttin' into my business again," he said a story of texas cattle and oil angrily. “well, let me tell you something. regardless of what your cowboy romeo says, that contract is legal. it was drawn by mr. bromberg, a licensed, practicing attorney, who ex- plained it to you. you signed it with your eyes open, and in full possession of all your faculties. so you can just forget about any court,” he snapped. “well, i've got more important things to do than to sit here and listen to you rant,” he said as he started his motor and drove off. with clinched fists and quivering lips, june stood and watched chandler drive off towards the oil field. then she turned and started walking towards the house-slowly, at first, then faster, until she was almost in a run when she stepped upon the porch. without saying anything to aunt harriet, who was standing near the porch, she rushed into her room and slammed the door behind her. after hesitating momen- tarily, aunt harriet followed. june was lying across the bed, sobbing bitterly, when her aunt slowly opened the door. “what's the matter, june? what did chandler say to you?" she inquired anxiously. "he's the most despicable, hateful, meanest man i've ever seen. i hate him,” she cried. “but what did he say? what did he do?" aunt harriet de- manded. june then told her of the conversation with him. “just as i suspected he would do," aunt harriet commented when june had finished. “what am i to do, aunt harriet? can't he see what he's doing to me? does he want to force me to beg on the streets? hasn't he a heart at all?" she sobbed. when chandler drove away from june, he was gloating over his competency as a shrewd business man. he knew that if he blocked the sale of the cattle, she could not retain the land at avera. and to recover this land, with its rich poten- tialities, would make him the money power he had always dreamed of being. as he drove past cattle that were grazing near the road, his mind soared to new heights of ecstasy. sir robert chandler, a story of texas cattle and oil he wants to start dividing the cattle early monday morning, and wants to get all my boys to help him. will you work with him?” “why, sure, miss june, if you want me to.” "he said he could get plenty of help without you all, but he would use my men to help me out,” she said. "don't you believe that, miss june. that scoundrel couldn't get a real cowhand nowhere in this country to help him steal your cattle," uncle jack asserted, “but i believe it will be a good idea for us to do the work, so we can look out for your interest.” “yes, i thought about that too. then you will have all the boys ready early monday morning?” “yes, miss june," uncle jack said. chandler was at the ranch early on the following monday morning. stopping his car under a large oak tree near the cattle guard, he walked on to the corrals where the men were busy saddling their horses. he was bedecked in complete cow- boy garb-ten-gallon hat, rawhide chaps, duck jacket, and high-heeled boots with silver-roweled spurs; a red bandana handkerchief tied around his neck completed his dress. “you look like a real cowboy this morning, mr. chandler, one of the boys commented. "well, i might have to be a cowpuncher one of these days," he jokingly replied. “if one of you boys will saddle my horse, we'll get going.” “how'll we work this division?” uncle jack asked as they rode away from the corrals. “i was just going to ask you for a suggestion," chandler replied. "well, i believe the best way would be to work a section at a time. bring out everything as we go along, and dump them in this three-thousand-acre pasture here, near the pens. then when we've got 'em all, we'll start counting them through the chutes. “and i think it would be a good idea to cut miss june's eight hundred head of fed steers out before we start cutting, the tin box that miscalves goinc curth animale can let themates, so they won't be jostled around so much. then we can cut your twenty-four hundred head of the first through the chutes, as your three-fourths of that count. then we can let them run wild, switching out every fourth animal to miss june, cows with suckling calves going as one animal.” “that might work. we'll see when we get them all to- gether,” chandler said. because of the rough, mountainous terrain, cattle driving was slow and difficult. the men worked hard for weeks, comb- ing every foot of the vast ranch to be sure they would overlook none of the cattle. uncle jack had instructed the men to "comb every inch of the ranch with a fine tooth comb” because, as he explained, it was apparent that sooner or later june must give up the ranch and move her cattle elsewhere. and any cattle overlooked and not counted would fall to chandler. so the boys made sure that all cattle were gathered for the count. after weeks of strenuous riding, uncle jack was satisfied that all cattle were accounted for, and preparations were made for the count and division. the stock pens on the meredith ranch were an expansive, rambling array of pens of various sizes, and were built on the slope of a beautiful wooded hill, where there was an abun- dance of shade. along the edge of the slope ran a small creek or ravine from which the terrain rose gradually to a chain of foothills a mile away. to assist with the division, uncle jack had obtained several hands from the lucas ranch, which lay several miles beyond the foothills. before the count began, chandler rode up to uncle jack and said “doyle, i believe we'd better count all these cattle through the chutes before we start dividing them. i'd like to get a look at them, and know just how many there are.” "all right, mr. chandler. but it will just mean double work and expense.” “well, i don't mind the expense, and as you fellows have nothing else to do, i'm sure you don't mind the extra work. it might help june out more." a story of texas cattle and oil when all was in readiness for the count, some of the men were detailed to bring the cattle in from the pasture in small herds to keep the pens full, while the rest of the hands, in- cluding chandler and uncle jack, kept them moving in a steady stream through the chutes, and out into a smaller pas- ture. chandler and uncle jack did the counting, chandler using a small counting gadget, and uncle jack keeping the count in his mind, cutting a notch on the fence with his pocket knife for each hundred head counted. the men stopped at irregular intervals to compare their counts. when all had been counted, there was a difference of four head. uncle jack made the count eighty-four hundred and four head, while chandler made it exactly eighty-four hundred. after some argument, rather than make a recount, uncle jack suggested that they toss a coin for the four head. chandler agreed, and uncle jack won. the count settled, the men began to make ready for the division. june had not ridden with the men while the cattle were being gathered, but now she had donned her purple corduroy riding suit, black hat, boots and leather chaps, sad- dled her favorite cow pony beaver (a beautiful blaze-faced sorrel with flax mane and tail), and was riding at uncle jack's side. "well, i guess we're about ready to begin cutting 'em back through the chutes to divide 'em," uncle jack said to chan- dler as the latter rode up to where he and june were sitting on their horses. “i don't think i want them run through the chutes for divi- sion,” chandler stated. “i want them scattered out where i can see them.” “but it will take an awfully long time to cut them in the open,” uncle jack said. "well, i'm paying for it. and as long as i don't kick, i can't see any reason why you should,” chandler replied curtly. “all right, it's your money," uncle jack retorted. “i think i still have a few cattle in this herd, mr. chandler," the tin box june protested, “and i think we should have something to say about how they're divided.” “but you must realize, june, that by far the greater part of them belong to me. so i believe i should have first say about the division. now what about your cattle?” he asked. “i would suggest that you cut yours away from mine, and leave them in this five-hundred-acre pasture, where they won't get mixed up again. and where you can get at them quick, should you want to move them.” "all right, but this is a rather small pasture for the two thousand head i'll have left. and besides, there isn't much grass in it,” she protested. "oh, i think it will take care of them all right. there's more grass in here than you think,” he said unconcernedly as he rode off. there was an expression of perplexity on june's face as she looked at uncle jack. “looks bad to me, miss june," uncle jack said. “looks like he's got something up his sleeve. why, this pasture won't take care of them cattle. they'll have it eat as clean as your hand in three days.” “i know that,” june said despairingly. “maybe i can get him to let me use that three-thousand-acre pasture on the ridge also.” "i suppose we're about ready to start cutting them,” chan- dler said as he rode back to where june and uncle jack were still sitting. “we'll just loose-herd them here, and i'll ride through the herd and point out the ones to cut out for june." "ain't we just going to cut 'em as they come, till we've cut out june's part?” uncle jack asked, with growing concern. “no, i'll show you what ones to cut for her,” he snapped. "now, if you will ride with me, i'm ready to start pointing them out.” the foreman detailed some of the men to keep the cattle loose-herded, and others, working in pairs, to cut out and drive through a gate into a smaller pasture those pointed out by chandler. two men stood guard at the gate to prevent a story of texas cattle and oil those driven through from coming back to mix with the main herd, while chandler and uncle jack rode through the herd together. june made herself generally useful, sometimes rid- ing herd, sometimes helping to hold the gate. it was apparent from the first old cow pointed out by chan- dler, that his intentions was to cut all the undesirables into june's herd. he had cut out a large number of the worst of the bunch, when one of the fed steers drifted out of the main herd, near june. she cut in behind him and ran him into the bunch being cut to her. immediately chandler rode out of the herd yelling: “no, no, don't cut that steer out. i want that steer.” “but this is one of my fed steers, mr. chandler,” she pro- tested uneasily. the rest of the men stood still. “yes, i know that. but remember, my agreement with you says that i am to be the sole judge of what i am to take,” he said as he rode around the animal and started to drive him back into the main herd. “do you mean that you are going to take my cattle that i borrowed money on all i have left, to feed?” she asked, be- wildered. “i am only taking what is due me under the terms of our agreement. you see, june, this is a business world, in which we must all keep our eyes open,” he said. “you knew what was in the contract you signed. no one asked you—at least i didn't -to feed those steers, and you should not have done so unless you saw your way clear to meet your obligations. i'm sorry, june, but those steers are among those i'm going to select," he said as he drove the animal back into the herd. june was dazed. she had about reached the point where she expected almost anything of chandler, but she would not per- mit herself to believe he would resort to anything like this. what was she to do? with chandler apparently determined to take everything she had depended on to pay her debts, it seemed that the fight to retain any of her father's wealth, anything of what the meredith pioneers had worked so long and hard for, was slipping out of her control, out of the mere- the tin box dith name—and she was powerless to do anything about it. so deep was she in her thoughts that she had not seen, or realized that uncle jack had ridden up and was speaking to her. “has he the right to take them fed steers, miss june?” he was asking. “why-uh-er-yes, uncle jack. i didn't know you were standing there." “i told you, miss june, you should have had a lawyer look over that contract before you signed it,” he reminded her. “yes, i realize it now. but at the time, i was half crazy. as you know, i had so little money after mother and father were killed, that i needed every penny i could save to try and carry me through. and too, mr. chandler seemed so considerate of my predicament and so anxious to help me in every way he could that i trusted him implicitly, not dreaming he was lur- ing me on to get what little i had left," she said remorsefully. “what are you going to do?" uncle jack asked. "i don't know. i can't think. there's nothing i can do but to accept the culls and undesirables he sees fit to give me. i'm going to the house, uncle jack. maybe i can think,” she said as she reined her pony around and slowly rode away. the dividing of the cattle went on for days, with chandler weighing each animal against the herd, to be sure that the best would be left in the chandler cut. he even separated suckling calves from their mothers when one suited him and the other did not. june rode out only occasionally, usually remaining a few minutes to look over the sorry lot that was being cut to her. one day while she was riding around the herd, toby, her prize-winning pet bull, came out of the herd near one of the men, who immediately chased him into june's cut. toby was a blue-ribbon animal that june had entered in the fat stock show for the past three years, and had won as many first prizes. seeing this animal being driven into june's herd, chandler came riding out in a gallop, demanding that he be cut back. “won't you let me keep toby, mr. chandler?" june begged. several of the men turned their attention to the conversation; a story of texas cattle and oil means son some came riding up to listen. “i'll give you two of any of the others for him." "no. i want that bull,” he demanded. "would you take four of the others? toby means so much to me. i raised him as a pet. i can handle him.” by this time, uncle jack had ridden up and was listening to june's pleas. “no, i wouldn't take a dozen of the others for him,” chandler asserted. “that's a prize bull. i've had my eyes on him for some time. bring him back out of that herd, jack,” he demanded. "i won't do it,” the old foreman asserted defiantly. “i always try to do as i'm told by the people i work for. but there comes a time when i or any other decent man refuses to obey orders. and i want to tell you here and now that i refuse to obey orders from any low, filthy skunk who will take advantage of a defenseless girl as you have taken advantage of miss june.” “very well, mr. doyle,” chandler said sarcastically, as he started to ride towards the bull, “i'll cut him back myself.” uncle jim, one of the oldest men on the meredith ranch, a giant of a man, with long white whiskers and a handle-bar moustache, had ridden up and was listening. when chandler started to ride around the bull, uncle jim started to uncoil his lariat threateningly. "if he starts to drive that bull back out of that herd, i'll rope him off that horse and drag him till he won't be fit to feed to the cats,” he said, his lean jaws set, his eyes flashing fire. “no, uncle jim," june said as she placed her hand consol- ingly on his forearm, “we mustn't resort to violence. it would do no good.” chandler evidently heard the threat, as he turned his horse and rode back into the main herd. june, seeing this and wish- ing to avoid any incident that might arouse chandler's ire, lest he put her off the place with nowhere to go with her part of the cattle, said, “i'll bring him back, mr. chandler.” she rode out to where toby had stopped and was knocking horns with one of the old bulls that had been cut into her herd. a story of texas cattle and oil chapter twelve you find out had feared, c'eves blinkingan doyle to least fifty wade hurried to chandler's office immedi- ately upon his return from avera. “come in, mr. lucas," chandler greeted him. “i've been expecting you. what did you find out?” he said in rapid-fire order. “just as i had feared.” wade affirmed his suspicions. chan- dler, his mouth open, his eyes blinking, looked the cowman in the eyes as wade continued: “old man doyle told me that he had missed about a dozen head, but i counted at least fifty near my division fence. and there's no telling how many more there are in that johnson pasture.” "have you seen june or doyle since you came back?” chan- dler asked anxiously. “no, i just got in a few minutes ago. i came straight here, because i thought you ought to know where the cattle are." "i can't tell you how much i appreciate this information, mr. lucas. who would you say is doing this stealing? do you think that cowpuncher from down there is taking them? or do you think junë is disposing of them through him?" chandler asked. “i'd hate to think june is mixed up in it. and yet, i wouldn't be surprised if she is sending them down there to him," wade said. “now that you know the cattle are being stolen, what are you going to do about it?” he asked concernedly. "i'll see june when i go out there in the morning, and see what she's got to say about those cattle,” chandler replied. "i believe when she finds out that i know what's going on, she'll talk. and it will be much easier to get a case against this bill shearn for receiving stolen cattle.” the day following wade's report to chandler on the stolen the tin box cattle, felix hobson called at the meredith ranch. june was standing at the yard gate when he drove up. “good morning, miss meredith,” he said, raising his hat. june greeted him with a friendly smle. “i hadn't heard from you, so i thought i'd drive out and see if you are still in the notion of selling me those steers," he said. “i'm afraid i haven't many steers to sell you, mr. hobson,” june said despairingly. "do you mean that you have sold them already?” he said in surprise. june then explained events leading up to the foreclosure. "then when i couldn't meet the notes, he foreclosed and took three-fourths of my cattle. all the best ones,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. "oh, no! he couldn't have done a thing like that,” hobson said disgustedly. “where are the ones you retained?” "they're down below the pens in a small pasture." “do you want to sell them?” he said. “yes, if they suit you.” “can we drive to them?” “yes.” “well, if you'll send someone with me to show me where they are, i'll take a look at them.” "i'll go with you,” june said. the herd had already begun to show the effects of being overstocked. there was not sufficient grass, and as sorry a lot as they were when they were confined to this small pasture, they had fallen off considerably. it was indeed a sorry lot that june had to offer for sale. old bulls that were past their usefulness; old cows that were too old to be fattened, cattle with broken hips or legs; many of them had broken horns or broken or bobbed tails. big-bellied calves, known as “dogies” or “grass-guts” to stockmen. this was what june had to offer. these were what robert chan- dler had seen fit to toss to june out of her father's cattle, known far and near as the “blue-ribbon” herd of west texas. hobson sat speechless as he looked at this bunch of scabs. a story of texas cattle and oil the color came and went in his face as he bit his lips. finally he spoke. “miss meredith,” he said, “i have been around a great deal. i have bought and sold cattle all over this country for a great many years, and have naturally seen some pretty raw deals handed people. but in all my experience, i've never seen as low, dirty a crime perpetrated against anyone as has been handed you. why, you don't have anything there for which a buyer could make you an offer. where is this man chandler?” the buyer asked "he's out in the oil field somewhere; he comes out every morning to look after his wells,” june replied. “i'm sorry, miss meredith, but you have nothing left that i can use," he said as he drove away after driving june back home. as chandler passed the ranch house after making his rounds of the oil fields, he saw a man dressed in cowboy garb talking with june. thinking that it might be someone inter- ested in cattle, he stopped and waited down by the cattle guard near the corrals. as hobson passed on his way out, he was hailed by chandler, who after introducing himself stated, "i saw you talking with miss meredith as i passed the house a few minutes ago, and i thought you might be someone inter- ested in cattle.” “yes, i was. i buy cattle for the mid-west cattle brokerage company,” hobson explained. “i see," chandler smiled in pleasant anticipation. “it was lucky for me that i stopped. i believe you are the gentleman that made miss meredith a very attractive offer on some steers a short time ago." “yes, i made miss meredith an offer," hobson replied curtly. “well, i suppose she told you that i am now in possession of those cattle. i am willing to sell them to you at the same price you offered her.” “i was interested in them, mr. chandler, but i'm not any longer.” the tin box es "why not? they're in better flesh now than when you made her the offer.” "that, i do not doubt. but that does not change my at- titude towards the cattle.” “may i ask, then,” chandler said curiously, “why you have changed your mind?” “yes, and i'm glad to tell you," hobson replied sharply. “when i made miss meredith an offer of ten cents, i under- stood that she was hard pressed for money with which to meet her obligations to you, and to pay other bills she owed. i also wanted to encourage her, lone girl that she is, in making such a valiant fight to salvage what she could of her father's wrecked estate. “i knew the steers would not only pay her immediate in- debtedness to you and to others, but would also give her some money over. money to buy things that i'm sure she, like all other young women, needs. money that would give her a feel- ing of security and independence, a feeling that i doubt she has had since her parents' death. “but now, since you have so ruthlessly destroyed any pos- sibility of her ever enjoying such security by your actions in taking all her best cattle, thus depriving her of any appreci- able source of income, i've lost all interest in the meredith cattle.” “it was strictly a business transaction, you know," chandler shot back. “we are all grown, and supposed to be capable of safeguarding our own interest.” "i'll grant you that,” the buyer retorted, “but there is a limit to business-a dividing line where business stops, and decency begins. and it seems to me that, for some reason best known to yourself, you have ignored and completely obliter- ated this line in exercising your legal right to take those cattle from this girl.” "well, the steers are for sale. and if you don't want them, i'm certainly not begging you or anyone else to buy them. the cattle are fat and are choice steers, and i anticipate no a story of texas cattle and oil difficulty in getting rid of them,” chandler stated in rising tones. “my firm, mr. chandler, is one of the largest buyers of livestock in this country,” hobson stated firmly, “and i be- lieve we exert at least some influence on the cattle business. i want to tell you here and now that i shall use every bit of influence at my command, and the prestige of my firm, to block the sale of those steers. i offered miss meredith ten cents per pound for those cattle. but i wouldn't buy them from you for two cents,” the buyer asserted as he drove away. chandler stood for a moment as if in deep thought. then, climbing into his car, he turned around and drove back to the house. june was standing in the back yard, talking to aunt harriet when he drove up. “oh, june,” he called, “i'd like to speak to you." “good morning, mr. chandler,” june spoke in as agreeable a voice as she could manage. “june, what did you tell that cattle buyer that just left here? he seemed to be all up in the air because i foreclosed on those cattle when you couldn't meet your payments.” “why, i didn't tell him anything, mr. chandler, except that i didn't own the cattle he wanted any more,” she replied uneasily. "well, he spoke some pretty sharp words to me, words i didn't like. he seemed to know a great deal about your busi- ness affairs, and intimated that he thought i took advantage of you, because i carried through a strictly business transac- tion. "now, i tell you, june, i don't take advantage of anybody. i think i've been pretty nice to you, permitting you to stay here when i should have thrown you off when i was forced to foreclose on this ranch, more than a year ago. and—” “of course you have, mr. chandler. and i appreciate it,” june said pleadingly. “it doesn't seem that you do from what you must have told him. and another thing. i overheard some threatening re- marks made against me by some of your men the other day, the tin box i mea ima and i'm getting to the place that i'm actually afraid to come here to my own ranch. and worst of all, you have started stealing my cattle and sending them to that romeo of yours at avera." june gasped in bewilderment. “what do you mean, mr. chandler?” "you know very well what i mean," chandler stormed angrily. “you have sent more than fifty head of my cattle to avera, to be disposed of by bill shearn." · june was dumbfounded by this accusation. for a long mo- ment she did not speak. “what are you talking about, mr. chandler? i haven't sent any cattle to avera, or anywhere else. what makes you think i have?” "because your neighbor, mr. lucas, has just returned from there, and he told me that he had counted more than fifty head of circle-bar cattle near his fence.” “wade lucas told you that?” she stammered. "yes. and i'm goin' to look into this, and have that cow- puncher arrested for cattle theft. "i've about come to the conclusion, june," he continued, "that the best thing for all of us, is for you and your whole outfit to get off the place while i have a few cattle left. and i am here and now giving you notice to vacate at the earliest possible moment. the sooner, the better. you'll receive an official notice from my attorney's office to that effect." chan- dler turned, hurried to his car and drove away. june stood staring blankly across the valley to the hills be- yond. hills, that as a child, always seemed enchanted with beauty and hope for her. but now, even though she looked in the same direction, she did not see them. turning slowly around, she walked in a daze into the kitchen where aunt harriet had started to prepare lunch. seating herself in a chair, she laid her head down on her outstretched arm on the table. aunt harriet walked over and, placing her arm tenderly about the girls shoulder, asked: “what's the matter, june? what did mr. chandler say?" a story of texas cattle and oil “he gave me notice to get off the place,” june replied de- spondently. "gave you notice to get off?” aunt harriet murmured, seemingly unable to understand. “he said i would receive an official notice from his attor- ney." “did he set any time limit?" aunt harriet was greatly per- turbed. "no, but i suppose the notice will inform me.” "well, we'll have a few days after we receive the notice. what are you going to do?" aunt harriet asked. "i don't know. as june and her aunt were discussing the situation, wade lucas drove up to the front gate. getting out of his car, he walked on into the kitchen. “june," he said, “uncle jack told me some time ago that some of your cattle were gone from your pasture that adjoins mine. i have just returned from avera where i saw with my own eyes at least fifty head of your cattle on cyrus johnson's ranch, near my fence. i just wanted to tell you so you'd know where they are." “are you sure they're circle-bar cattle, wade?” june asked, greatly puzzled. “yes, i'm quite sure of it. i personally inspected the brands on several of them.” "how do you suppose they got there?” aunt harriet asked curiously. "i didn't know any of our cattle were missing until mr. chandler told me a few minutes ago," june said. “uncle jack hasn't told you?" wade asked in surprise, “why, he told me more than a month ago. he thought they might have gotten into my pastures.” "that's strange," june said. “maybe he didn't want to disturb you with it,” aunt har- riet surmised. “maybe he thought he would find them.” uncle jack was just riding into the corrals when he saw wade's car. thinking there might be some news of impor- tance, perhaps pertaining to the lost cattle, he rode on up to the tin box the house. “i'm so glad you came, uncle jack.” june seemed relieved. “mr. chandler told me a few minutes ago that some of our cattle are gone. and wade has just said that he has located them at avera, on uncle cyrus' ranch. you didn't tell me those cattle were missing.” “no, i didn't, miss june," the old foreman said slowly. "i didn't want to worry you with it, and i thought we might run upon them. you say you have located them at avera, wade?" he asked. “yes, about fifty head or more.” "i wonder how they could have gotten away down there,” uncle jack asked thoughtfully. “i haven't any idea," wade said. “unless someone from down there came up here for the purpose of spotting them.” "there hasn't been anyone here from down there except cyrus johnson and bill shearn," aunt harriet said. ""well, i know they had nothing to do with it.” june spoke heatedly. “i wouldn't be too sure of that, june," wade said. “of course, i wouldn't say that mr. johnson had anything to do with it or even knows about it. but i wouldn't vouch for bill shearn.” “it does seem a little strange," aunt harriet said thought- fully, “that that young man would come all the way up here, more than six hundred miles, just to take part in a rodeo. un- less he had some other object in view.” “but you don't think bill had anything to do with it, do you, uncle jack?" june asked pleadingly. "i'd hate to think so, miss june. bill seemed like such a fine young man. oh, of course, i did hear him say he'd give anything to get a start of this breed of cattle. but naturally i thought at the time that he was just admiring them. but now, i don't know.” uncle jack shook his head doubtfully. “'beware of the easy stranger,' i've always said," aunt har- riet quoted. "i wouldn't believe bill shearn stole my cattle unless i actually saw him take them. and then i wouldn't believe it. itu but you don't thinked pleadingly; comed like such : a story of texas cattle and oil i'd have to have more proof,” june asserted. “and besides, how could he have gotten them down there?” “i suppose you know that he stopped in labesia on his way home and was seen talking to jake simmons,” wade informed her. “take simmons? is he around here again?” “yes. seems that he hit town at about the same time shearn did,” wade said. “well, june, i'll be driving on. i'll pick up those cattle the next time i'm shipping anything from down there. that is, if you want me to.” "i'll let you know," june said. bill shearn had just ridden into a pen near the saddle house on the johnson ranch, after looking over a new herd of circle- bar cattle, including some very fat steers he had found near the lucas fence that morning, when he saw an automobile, which he recognized as that of the sheriff, approaching. “good morning, bill,” the sheriff called a greeting. "good morning, sheriff. what brings you out this way?” “you, bill.” “me?” bill took the sheriff's statement as a joke. "you couldn't use me, sheriff. your jail wouldn't hold me.” “seriously, bill, this is not a joke. i have a warrant here for your arrest.” bill couldn't take the sheriff seriously, as he looked at him with a broad grin. "i've just received an order from the sheriff's office at la- besia,” the sheriff continued, “ordering your arrest for the theft of circle-bar cattle.” “who preferred those charges?” bill asked. "a robert chandler. know him?” “yes, i know him. he's the rat that took miss meredith's ranch away from her. let me tell some of the boys where i'm going.” “certainly, go right ahead," the sheriff said as he climbed back into his car. in a few minutes, bill came back accompanied by his fore- man. · the tin box bill figured that the men must have a car hidden, with possibly one or more confederates waiting. he knew that he would be at a disadvantage in facing a part of the gang with- out knowing where the others were, so he hurried on. well concealed in a thicket, near the place he thought they might be hidden, he saw an automobile. using the same tree under which the car stood as a blind, he crept close enough to observe a third man sitting at the steering wheel. “put up your hands and keep quiet,” bill commanded. the man made a move towards his coat pocket as he turned his head and saw bill standing beside the car. seeing that he was covered, the bandit raised his hands. bill then opened the car door and took an automatic pistol from the man's pocket. then, open- ing the rear door, he climbed into the automobile, keeping his revolver pressed against the man's back. he searched the driver and the car thoroughly, then got out, closed the door and stood close beside it, keeping his gun on the driver. “now, move over and spread both arms out along the back of the seat and look this way. don't look towards the road." in a few minutes, the two men came back to the car. ob- serving the position of the driver, one of them remarked: “tony must be 'sleep." "yeah. a fine place to take a nap,” the other commented. "hey, wake up,” the first man said as they neared the car. peeping through the panel of the rear door as the men ap- proached, bill saw them put their guns in their coat pockets. at that moment, he stepped from behind the automobile. “all right, you cowards, reach for the sky. one false move and i'll blow you in two,” he commanded. as the men raised their hands, bill ordered: “now you there, closest to the car, keep your right hand up, and with your left hand reach into your coat pocket where i saw you put that gun. pull it out and drop it.” when the first man had obeyed his order, he ad- dressed the second bandit: “now you,” he nodded to the sec- ond man. as this bandit fumbled for his gun, the first man made a quick grab for the gun he had dropped to the ground a shot rang out from bill's trusty . , and the automatic flew a story of texas cattle and oil sotch neigheders to his lips nariyer out of the several feet out from under the bandit's fingers. “try another trick like that, and i'll pull higher,” bill said as he looked at the man with a sarcastic smile. the other man then nervously dropped his gun to the ground. bill then backed the two men away, picked up their guns and put them in his pockets. he then searched the men for any other weapons they might have concealed. finding none, he ordered the driver out of the car. bill then placed his fingers to his lips and blew a long, shrill whistle. gotch neighed a quarter mile away, then came at a run. bill called to him as the hoofbeats came nearer, and the horse came on into the underbrush, and stopped at bill's side. taking his lariat from his saddle, bill tossed it to one of the men. “all right, you two,” he nodded to two of the gun- men, “back up together. tie them good and tight, driver. give them about five feet of slack between them.” bill then tied the third man to the other two, allowing about the same amount of slack. he then fashioned a loop in the end of the lariat, and placed it over the horn of the saddle. “get going,' he ordered, when he had mounted. “get going where?" one of the gunmen snarled. “to the ranch,” bill snapped. "how do i know where the ranch is?” “you seem to know this country pretty well,” bill retorted, “at least you seem to know just about what route i usually take back to the ranch. now get going or i'll drag you in." as the gunmen started walking, bill observed that one of them, the driver, walked with a bad limp. instantly his mind flashed back to what he had been told by uncle jim, while at the meredith ranch. uncle jim had related that during the gun fight with the bandits who tried to liberate the cattle the night before they were to be marketed, one of the men fell and was dragged into the truck by a confederate. uncle jim thought he had been shot in the leg, as he rose and fell a second time before being helped by his companions. bill had a thousand thoughts in a few seconds. he wondered if there could be any connection between the two incidents. the tin box they had walked only a few steps when they drew closer together, and began to converse in low tones. “i gave you bums enough rope for you to walk apart,” bill warned, and i mean for you to spread out. i don't want to have to shoot you apart, because this horse is afraid of a shot, and i might not be able to hold him.” it was apparent from one glance at the powerful animal that he could drag the three of them as easily as if they were a small calf. realizing that to be dragged over the brushy, rocky ground with their hands tied behind them would be a horrible death, they spread out, and made no further attempt to talk. as they came to the spot where bill's hat had been shot from his head, he ordered one of the gun- men to pick up the hat, and back up to him. bill placed the hat on his head, and again they started along the road. the cowhands at the ranch had just washed up and were standing around near the mess hall, awaiting the sound of the dishpan which would summon them to dinner, when shorty exclaimed: “say, what'n the world is that bill's bringing yonder?” the men looked down the road to where bill was approaching, a quarter of a mile away. ed kenzie (slim, to the rest of the men) shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “i know'd i oughtn't of drank that stuff on a empty stomach,” he remarked dryly, as he saw bill coming in, driving the men before him. the men all walked out by the bunkhouse to meet bill, and the cook, who had just finished putting dinner on the table, came to the door. “say, bill,” called shorty, “where'd you get them maver- icks?” "down the road by the collier motts,” bill replied as he dismounted, leaving the rope tied to the horn of the saddle. “say, mister,” one of the bandits asked uneasily, “you ain't going to leave us tied to that damned horse like that, are you?” by this time, all the cowboys were standing in a circle around the trio, who were cowering in the middle of the group. "bill, you'd better take that rope off gotch,” slim warned, "before he gets scared and drags these dogies till you can't find enough of 'em to bury.” a story of texas cattle and oil “all right. tie them to the fence there, slim, while i run up to the house and call the sheriff,” bill said, as he started towards the ranch house. “hey, wait a minute, bill,” shorty called. “tell us some- thing about these coyotes. what'd you catch 'em doing, skin- ning a cow?” "no, not quite that bad. they tried to rub me out. see that?” bill took off his hat and stuck a finger through a hole in the crown. “they ruined a twenty-dollar hat for me. and look at that nick in the horn of my saddle.” “gol-l-e-e!” shorty exclaimed, “looks like they were trying to mark your ears. who are they?” “don't know,” bill replied, somewhat puzzled, “never saw them before.” “but why were they after you? do you think they could have mistaken you for somebody else?” “can't answer that either. but i've got my suspicions, and i don't think they mistook me for someone else,” bill said thoughtfully. “you all better come on and get your dinner before it gets cold,” the cook said as he started back to the kitchen. "stay here and take care of them, shorty, while i go and call the sheriff,” bill said as he again started away. “what do you want me to do with 'em,” shorty asked, "brand'em?” “i don't care what you do with them. just so you don't put my brand on them,” bill called back. ""which one of you can dance?” shorty asked, as he toyed with his . . “i gotta get something out of this. it's worth something to sit here and look at you.” in a short while, the sheriff and a deputy arrived at the ranch and, handcuffing the three, carried them to avera where they were placed in jail, charged with attempted murder. they had been in jail hardly an hour when anthony sto- nelli, who seemed to be the leader, called the sheriff to his cell. “say, sheriff, i want to get in touch with robert chandler, up at labesia,” he requested. the tin box “robert chandler?” the sheriff asked in surprise. “do you mean that robert chandler who owns that big ranch and oil field at labesia?" “yeah, that's the one,” the gunman replied. “do you know him very well?” the sheriff asked curiously. "that's none of your business!” the bandit snapped. “you just put in a long distance call for him, collect.” "all right. your name's anthony stonelli, i believe.” “yeah, that'll do.” the sheriff put in the call, and in a few minutes had chan- dler on the wire. he then handed the phone to the gunman, and on his private hook-up listened to the conversation. "hello, chandler?” the bandit asked. “yes." “listen, chandler, i'm in the jug down here at avera. come down here and get me out.” “how'd you get in jail this time?" chandler asked. "had a little slip-up, see.” “oh, i see. well, i can't come down there now, i'm too busy. i'll send bromberg." “o.k. i don't care who you send, just so i get out of here,” the gunman growled. when chandler was through talking with stonelli, he called his attorney, telling him to hurry over to his office. when the attorney arrived, they went into a hurried conference. “brom- berg, i want you to go down to avera right away and see about getting stonelli and those other two bums out of jail.” “stonelli? what's he doing down there?” the lawyer seemed very much surprised. “i don't know. he rang me and asked me to come and get him out. just said he had a little slip-up. i don't want to be seen having any dealings with him; might not look so good.” "when do you want me to go?” bromberg asked. “right away." the following day found bromberg at the jail in avera. after a long conference with the three men and with the district attorney, he called chandler. “say, chandler,” he a story of texas cattle and oil called somewhat excitedly, “these bums are in jail on a serious charge-attempted murder. and i'm unable to get them out. stonelli wants you to come down here. says you know about it.” “i don't want to get mixed up in this thing, bromberg,” chandler protested. “if you can't get them out, i'm sure i can't.” “well, they're pretty nasty, chandler. and they say that you, with your influence, can get them out. so i believe if i were you, to keep things as quiet as possible, and to keep this from going too far, i'd come on down here,” bromberg warned. “let's see. today is tuesday. tell them i'll be down there thursday morning,” chandler protestingly agreed. “and you stay there until i come.” "all right,” the lawyer said. chapter thirteen june, in the meantime, had arranged a thirty-day extension on her note at the bank, and her next step was to go to avera to determine whether she could, in the short time remaining before she would be put off the ranch, find a way to get water for her cattle, should she ship them there. also, she wanted to investigate wade lucas' report that there were a number of her cattle at avera. and to see what, if anything, bill shearn knew about it. so she decided to leave labesia on wednesday afternoon so as to arrive at avera thursday morning. she wired uncle cyrus to meet the seven o'clock train. on wednesday morning, she told uncle jack to tell all the the tin box boys she would like to talk to them. so, before beginning the day's work, all the cowhands gathered on the back porch. “boys,” she said, as she came out the kitchen door. she rested her hands on the back of a chair behind which she was stand- ing, before she continued: “i call you boys because you are all so dear to me. it might be more appropriate to call you brothers, as that is the way each of you seems to me. “i want to talk with you about our position here. as all of you know, we are no longer in possession here, or even in control of our home. and i have been told by mr. chandler, both verbally and by a written order from his attorney, to va- cate at the earliest possible moment. “as you know, i have very little left. when my cattle were taken from me by mr. chandler, he left me nothing i could sell to get the money i need so badly. i allowed myself to be led into a trap by mr. chandler, and i thought he would give me a chance to pull out. i borrowed money last fall on what cattle i thought i would have left, when and if they were divided, to buy feed for the past winter. and since he has taken all of those i had depended on, it has about left me at the end of my rope.” the men listened very closely, and some seemed nervous and irritated as june continued: “i owe a note at the bank, which mr. cockrell was kind enough to extend for thirty days. i owe bills for food which i cannot pay, and i owe each of you several months' back pay. “i want to thank you all for the way you have so loyally stood by me. not one of you has left, or even threatened to leave me, although you knew i could not pay you. i know some of you have been offered better jobs on some of the ranches around here. i love each and every one of you for your loyalty. i–” ""there isn't a man here who is going to leave you, miss june, as long as you have a hoof left," interrupted uncle jack. “am i right, boys?” “sure, you're right,” chorused the men. “as long as we can get a little grub, we intend to stick by you." a story of texas cattle and oil “that's awfully sweet of you,” june said, fighting hard to control her emotions. “but it looks like we won't be able to get food much longer. and i think it is only fair to you to tell you that if you are offered another job, don't hesitate to accept it on my account, because i don't know how much longer i'll be here." the men stirred restlessly as june continued: “i'm leaving by train this evening for avera. if i find that i can get water on the land i'm trying to buy down there for my cattle, i may move and try to start all over. but if i can't, about the only thing left for me to do is to sell out what i have left for what i can get, pay what i can on my debts, and take aunt harriet and go to town and hunt a job.' slowly the men filed away from the house in twos and threes, talking in low tones as they went back to the corrals to saddle their horses for the day's work. there was hardly an eye or a cheek, weather-hardened as they were from a life of roughing it on the range, that was not moistened by a tear of sympathy for june, their junė, for every man in that outfit loved her. most of the men had been brought up on the ranch, and had known her since birth. and it was a sullen, defiant, re- vengeful group of men that strayed into the catch-pen where the horses were huddled in a corner. the men didn't lasso their mounts right away, but stood around in pairs and small groups. they were restless, and did not remain for long in one place, but kept moving. some sat on the top rail of the corral fence or leaned against it. some sat on their haunches, while others showed their resentment by such gestures as kicking the fence, or picking up stones and casting them at trees and other objects near the corrals. threats against chandler were grave and outspoken. “boys, i'm sixty-five years old, and i've tried to be a peaceable, law- abiding citizen all my life.” it was uncle jack speaking, as he stood leaning against the door of the saddle house, the heel of his boot resting over the doorsill. the rest of the men gathered around him as he continued: “i have always tried to do the the tin box right thing by every man, and have always believed that re- gardless of what might happen, the law should be allowed to take its course. but i have about changed my mind. “whenever a low, dirty skunk like robert chandler can take advantage of an unsuspecting, defenseless girl, like he has taken the advantage of miss june, and still be smart enough to stay out of reach of the law, then i'm for taking the law in my own hands and giving him some of his own medicine. i've-" uncle jack was interrupted by shouts of “now you're talk- ing! me too! we're with you!” from the group. “i've known miss june from the day she was born,” uncle jack continued, “and i know there is not a sweeter, more lovable, kinder-hearted girl in the whole world. i don't believe she knows how to say an unkind word or do an unkind deed. and to let a dirty city slicker like that scoundrel beat her out of her home and cattle, and put her to begging on the city's streets while he rolls in luxury on what is rightfully hers, i'd be ashamed to call myself a man if i stood for it. “now, i don't want you boys to get into any trouble. so i've planned to deal with this rat myself. i–” again he was interrupted by the men: “no, no, you can't do that, uncle jack! we've got to get in on this. we want some of the satisfac- tion of dealing with this crook, too." "all right, boys, if you insist, i'll have to change my plans, and let you in. now here's what we'll do.” the men gathered in close around uncle jack while he outlined to them the part each was to play in avenging the wrongs he felt had been perpetrated against june. “now, we want to understand every move thoroughly, so there will be no slip-up,” uncle jack told the group. “harry, you'll go to town early that morning, and trail him out. and when he gets to that big tree there on the right, about half a mile be- fore he reaches 'death-drop,' the place where june's parents were forced over that cliff, you'll pass him, and give the signal to tom and charlie who will be waiting just this side, in the the tin box water in those wells mr. chandler had bored on my land.” “i see,” bromberg said thoughtfully. “and may i ask what brings you here?” june asked curi- ously. "oh, yes-yes. i came down on business, too; came down to look after some friends of mr. chandler's that got into a little trouble.” “nothing serious, i hope,” june said, with concern. “oh, no, nothing serious," he assured her. "where is mr. chandler?” june asked. "he's supposed to be here this morning. that's why i met this train. i suppose now he'll come by plane," the lawyer said. “well, it has been a pleasure to talk with you, miss meredith, and to have met you, mr. johnson. good-bye,” he said, raising his hat as he turned to leave. “i wonder if those friends of chandler's he spoke of are the same three who are in jail for shooting at bill the other day," uncle cyrus remarked as they climbed into their car. “shooting at billl when? where?” june asked excitedly. uncle cyrus then told her about the incident. “i'll bet they are the ones,” june said. “trying to get mr. shearn out of the way for fear he would try to help me get my cattle back.” “i wouldn't doubt it one bit,” uncle cyrus agreed. “you didn't, by any chance, mention to chandler what bill said about the legality of the contract with chandler, did you?” “yes, i did,” june replied regretfully. “when he threatened to foreclose, thinking that i might deter him by raising a ques- tion as to his legal right to enforce the agreement, i told him that i didn't believe the contract would be upheld by a court. he asked me who had been talking to me, and i told him that mr. shearn, for one, had said so." “that explains the whole thing," uncle cyrus was con- vinced. “chandler no doubt got scared that bill would look into it and, believing himself that no court would uphold such an agreement, tried to stop it before it got started by getting bill out of the way.” a story of texas cattle and oil “who were the men? did bill know them?” “no, he says he has never seen them before. nobody around here remembers having seen them.” “i'd like to get a look at them," june said thoughtfully. “i'd like to see if they're the ones that forced my parents off the side of that mountain to their death.” "well, when you start back home, we'll go by the jail so you can see them,” uncle cyrus suggested. when they reached the ranch, it was about eight o'clock. mrs. johnson had prepared breakfast, and when they had eaten, june lay down for a few minutes' rest, while bill sad- dled horses for the trip to the wells. bill took a small wrench, which he carried in his saddle pocket. it was about nine-thirty when they reached one of the wells, which was about three miles from the johnson home. "well, here's the first one they drilled,” bill said as they dis- mounted. “see how carefully they cut the pipe off, re-threaded and capped it, then spread the dirt all round and over it to look as though it had been abandoned?” bill said as he scraped the dirt from the top of the pipe. “yes, i see. strange they would do a thing like that. i won- der why?” june seemed puzzled. “i don't know. unless they struck something in these wells that they don't want you to know about.” upon close examination, the cap on the end of the pipe was found to have been set with a hardening paste. and although bill pulled on the short wrench with all his strength, he could not move it! “i should have brought a larger wrench, but i had no idea the cap would be screwed on so tight. this leads me to be- lieve more strongly than ever that they don't mean for anyone to go into these wells.” bill shook his head. “well, there's only one thing to do: go back to the ranch and get a larger wrench,” he said. “don't you think that some of the other wells might be opened more easily?” june suggested. "perhaps so, but i doubt it. if they meant for them not to the tin box be disturbed, you can be pretty sure they fixed them all about the same.” looking up, bill saw two vaqueros of the ranch riding by a short distance away. whistling to attract their attention, he beckoned to them. the mexican cowboys struck up a gallop and rode over. “miss meredith, this is juan ramírez, and josé gonzales, two of our best men,” bill said as the men dismounted. “how do you do?” june smiled, as the men doffed their sombreros and bowed low. "juan, do you know where that large stillson wrench is in the tool house at the ranch?” bill asked. “i don't know. maybe so me find,” juan replied. "you don't know, do you, josé?” "no, me no see.” “miss meredith, you won't mind if i leave you here with these two boys while i gallop back to the ranch and get a larger wrench, will you?” bill asked apologetically. "why, no, of course not,” june said as she looked at the two men with a kindly smile. "i won't be gone long," bill said as he mounted his horse and rode away at a gallop. when chandler arrived in avera on the eight o'clock plane, he was met by bromberg. “i didn't know how you were com- ing, so i met the seven o'clock train this morning," the lawyer said, as chandler stepped off the plane. "that rattletrap is too slow and uncomfortable for me. when i travel, i demand speed and comfort,” chandler boasted. “of course, while the trains that run between the larger cities are, as a rule, the last word in comfortable travel, yet some of these ‘dinkies' that run away off here in the woods, a man's as tired when he gets off as he would be if he'd walked.” “yes, i guess you're right,” bromberg agreed. “by the way, it might have been a lucky coincidence that i met that train. your friend miss meredith came in on it.” "you mean june?" chandler was perturbed. a story of texas cattle and oil “well, stonelli, what happened this time?” chandler asked the gunman in low tones as he sat down on the bunk beside him. "had a little slip-up. this bloke was too smart for us,” the gangster replied. “how did it happen?” stonelli explained in detail what had happened in the at- tempted assassination of bill shearn. “a fine mess you've made of it,” chandler said disgustedly. “i've a good mind to leave you in here. maybe the next time you're sent out on a job, you'll do it right.” “what do you mean, leave us in here? i don't want to rot in this hick jail.” “it would have been better if that cowpuncher had killed all three of you. then we wouldn't have had all this trouble," chandler asserted. “if he'd killed us, you'd have been in the clear. things don't happen that way, chandler,” stonelli retorted with contempt. “well, i'm not going to a lot of trouble to get you out,” chandler asserted. the gangster looked at him with a con- temptuous smile. “if you know what's good for you, chandler, you'll get us out of here,” he warned. “maybe by taking this rap, you'll learn to take better aim," chandler sneered. “perhaps you'll have time to do a little target practice while you're doing a stretch. this is the first chance i've had to get rid of you rats in twenty years, and i don't think i'm passing it up," chandler said as he rose to leave. “i'll feel much safer with you bums doing time than i do with you out.” "you know, chandler, there's several of the boys that would like to know where you are. and i think the law might be interested,” stonelli sneered. “don't worry. you'll not get a chance to tell them. and besides, who'd take your word against mine? i'm a rich man, a useful citizen, an asset to the community, while you are just don't think i'm to get rid of you wat stretch. this is the the tin box three would-be murderers.” he gloated as he called: “all right, sheriff. we're ready to go now.” "listen, chandler," the gunman said in a low voice, “i'm warning you. if you don't get us out of here, you'll wish you had. i think the sheriff would be interested in knowing who sent us down here.” “you have no proof,” chandler challenged. the sheriff was coming to open the door, so the men said nothing more. “do you think he meant what he said about leaving us in here?” one of the gunmen asked uneasily. "don't worry. chandler knows better than to double-cross me,"stonelli boasted. “do you mean to leave them in jail?” bromberg asked when he and chandler had reached the street. "sure, their word's no good against mine," chandler as- serted with confidence. “no, i guess not,” the lawyer said thoughtfully. "not so long as something doesn't backfire on you, anyway. “nothing's going to backfire on me," chandler boasted. “i measure every step before i take it. and furthermore, i've got all i want. that is, i will have when i get back that land i sold june." “do you think you'll get that back?” bromberg asked. “i'm sure of it. why, there's no way on earth for that girl to pay for it-not with the way you fixed that contract," chan- dler laughed as he gave the attorney a hearty slap on the back. "i thought it was about time i got a little credit for some- thing,” the attorney smiled. while chandler and bromberg were waiting for a cab, an automobile that was hurrying by braked to a screeching, skid- ding stop, then backed up to where the two men were stand- ing. "good morning, mr. chandler,” wade lucas said. “good morning, mr. lucas.” chandler beamed. “i'm surprised to run into you down here,” wade remarked. “it is a small world, isn't it?" chandler said. “what brings you down here?” a story of texas cattle and oil "i shipped some cattle here a day or two ago. and may i ask what brings you here?” wade inquired. “i came down to look over a part of that land i own down here, the patton tract,” chandler explained. “we were just waiting for a cab to carry us out there." “why, i'm going out to my ranch. it joins a part of your land. jump in, and i'll take you out there. i'm coming back in time to take the eleven o'clock plane back home.” “that's fine. i'm catching that plane also,” chandler said. "this is charlie wilkerson, foreman of my ranch down here,” wade introduced his foreman. “charlie, this is mr. robert chandler, cattle and oil man from labesia." greetings were exchanged. “you know mr. bromberg, my attorney, here,” chandler said. "oh, yes, i've met him,” wade said. “we may get to see some of those cattle of yours, in the johnson pasture," wade said as the four men drove off. “yes, i'd like to get a look at them. with you and your foreman as witnesses, i should be able to work up a good case against that cow thief.” as the men neared the cowsheds on the patton tract, they observed june and the two vaqueros bending over some ob- ject. “there's june now," chandler exclaimed excitedly. “tampering with one of those wells. can't you speed up, charlie? i want to stop her before she goes too far.” bill had been gone for some time when june, restless and anxious to know if she would be able to get water, suggested that the two vaqueros make an effort to unscrew the cap with the small wrench. juan picked up the wrench, and made a try at it. “it's too tight,” he said. josé, however, while looking around, found the piece of casing that had been cut off and thrown away when the well was sealed. slipping this piece of pipe (which was about two feet long) over the end of the wrench to give greater leverage, both the men began to pull together. “i believe it slipped a little that time," june, who the tin box was sa was watching closely, said as she thought she saw the cap move. “all together, now,” said juan, as the two of them made another pull. “there it comes!” june exclaimed triumphantly, as the cap began to unscrew easily. “i knew we could do it.” “who is that car?” asked josé as he stopped working and looked towards an automobile that was approaching at high speed, only a short distance away. “i don't know who that is,” juan replied as the three stood watching the approaching car. “get away from that well,” shouted robert chandler as he jumped out of the car before it came to a stop and came run- ning up to the group. “what are you doing there? vamoose, you hombres.” “what do you mean, ordering these men away?" june de- manded defiantly. “i mean that they are not going to open that well,” chan- dler asserted. “you've no right to interfere with these wells. this is my land,” she stormed. “not until it's paid for,” chandler asserted. “give me that wrench, juan, i'll open it myself,” she said in a firm voice, as the mexican handed her the wrench. “no, you won't,” chandler said, as he grasped her arm and tried to wrest the wrench from her. as bill was hurrying back to june and the two mexican cowboys, after he had found the larger wrench, he met beno martínez-a vaquero who had been assigned to keep close watch on the division fence between the lucas and johnson pastures, to catch anyone who might be slipping cattle across the fence-coming at a stiff gallop. “come quick, bill,” he said "there's a big truck with cattle backing up to the fence.” the two returned to where a large cattle truck of the lucas ranch had backed up to the fence, and had let down, over the fence, a cleverly designed endgate that made a perfect ramp for loading or unloading cattle over a fence. stopping behind the tin box it. i was trying to get her to give me the wrench so i could open it for her, as i didn't believe she was strong enough to unscrew a cap that was on it, when her cow-punching friend down there, à bill shearn i believe his name is, came riding up, and she made him jump on me and beat me up," chandler explained. “june did that?" the sheriff asked rather doubtfully. “that doesn't sound like june meredith.” “well, she did, all right. and to think how nice i've been to that girl, allowing her to stay out there when i should have thrown her off the place," he growled. “but this time, she's gone a little too far. sheriff, i want you to get her and her whole outfit off my ranch. give her, or her aunt, notice to vacate at once." “but you'll have to give them some time to get off,” the sheriff informed him. “you can't just put them off without giving them time to find a place to go.” "i gave them, through my attorney, a written notice some time ago to vacate at the earliest possible moment, and to be ready to vacate on a moment's notice," chandler told the of- ficer. “oh, well, if you have already notified them, then there is nothing left for them to do but get off," the sheriff said. “i'll make out a writ of eviction, and you can sign it, and i'll go right out and serve it.” "if you won't mind, sheriff, i'd like to go out with you," chandler said. “why, sure, be glad to have you along, mr. chandler.” sheriff wright, accompanied by robert chandler, drove up to the old ranch home of the meredith generations, about three o'clock that afternoon. aunt harriet as usual was putter- ing around in the yard. some of the ranch hands were taking it easy for the afternoon, loitering around the bunkhouse and the corrals, while others were riding into and away from the ranch. uncle jack was just saddling a horse, to ride over to the mountain pasture, when he saw the sheriff and chandler drive a story of texas cattle and oil by the corrals on their way to the house. “oh, oh!” he said to himself, “that don't look good.” so instead of going away, he rode leisurely on up to the front gate, where the sheriff and chandler were talking to aunt harriet. "good evening, harriet,” the sheriff said, as she came around from back of the house. chandler did not speak. “good evening, sheriff wright, good evening, mr. chan- dler,” she said with a friendly smile. “june’s not here, is she?” he asked knowingly. “why, no, sheriff. june left for avera yesterday afternoon. what's wrong?" she asked uneasily. "harriet, i have a writ here that is very painful for me to serve. but i'm sure you understand that as an officer of the law i must perform my duty. mr. chandler here has signed this eviction order, giving you twenty-four hours to get off the place.” "twenty-four hours?” aunt harriet was dazed. “why, june won't be back for several days, and i don't know what to do. what's happened, mr. chandler, that causes you to order us off so suddenly?” chandler repeated what he had told the sheriff a short time before. "there must be some mistake," she protested, “i never knew june to act like that.” "well, she did. and i want you to be off this place by three o'clock tomorrow,” chandler said. “what can we do, jack?" aunt harriet asked as she turned to uncle jack, who was leaning against the fence. “i don't know. we'll have to figure out something. i'll ride over to the lucas ranch and see if we can put the cattle in one of their pastures until miss june gets back," uncle jack said. "i'll write wade a note, and tell him what's happened over here, and maybe he'll let us stay over there for a day or two,” aunt harriet said. “all right,” uncle jack said, as he started back to the cor- ral. “i'll go tell the boys to round up the cattle where we can get at them handily.” the tin box "what's the matter, uncle jack?” asked one of the several men who crowded around him when he walked hurriedly up to the bunkhouse. “get all the men together, and put all of miss june's cattle in that horse pasture, where we can get at them first thing in the morning. chandler has ordered us off this place by three o'clock tomorrow evening,” the old foreman told them. “and listen, boys,” he added solemnly, "we go through with our plans tomorrow morning.” chapter fourteen chandler's threat to have the sheriff kick her off his ranch within twenty-four hours, was still ringing in june's ears as she, bill shearn and the two mexican cowboys stood in silence and watched the automobile carrying chan- dler, wade and bromberg back to the airport in avera disap- pear around a bend in the dim road. she felt sure that he would carry out this threat. she had felt for a long time that he wanted her to move off the place, but he seemed to lack the nerve, or a plausible reason for ordering her off. but now, since the fight with bill, she felt that he would consider this incident a justifiable excuse to order the sheriff to act. “well, that's that,” she finally said, still looking towards the spot where the automobile had faded from view. “do you really think he will go through with it?” bill asked with deep concern. “yes, i'm sure of it now," she replied regretfully. "i'm awfully sorry, miss meredith,” bill apologized, “i shouldn't have lost my temper.” “it's all right, mr. shearn. it had to come sooner or later, and i love you for what you did. i would have done it long the tin box since they have turned out like this, it seems that things are getting worse for me.” “doesn't your contract with chandler give you the privilege of using water from the river?” bill inquired thoughtfully, “seems that i remember hearing mr. johnson read something like that when he was reading your contract, the night we were at your home.” “yes, it does give me that privilege, but how could i get the water over on my land? i would have to dig tanks and find some way to get the water into them. and i have neither the time nor money to do that.” “there are some low places, or lagoons as we call them, that lie along near the river in places. some of them are real close to the river. and at times, when the river overflows, they run full and hold water for a long time,” bill said. “it is only about half a mile to the river, and if you think it worthwhile, we can ride down there. maybe we can figure out something,” he suggested. “well, i guess it can do no harm,” june agreed. “i can't leave for home before tonight, anyway." june and bill mounted their horses and started towards the river, while the two vaqueros rode off into the brush in the opposite direction. to june, it seemed that all was lost. although she agreed to ride down and investigate the possibilities of getting water from the river, she did so more to please bill, and show her appreciation for the assistance he had given her, and the inter- est he had shown in her welfare. in her mind, she had fully decided to carry out the plans she had formed before she left labesia-to salvage what she could from what chandler had left her, then take aunt har- riet and seek employment in the city. just what kind of work she would seek, she did not know. it depended to a great extent on how much she would be able to salvage from her father's wrecked estate. she had about de- cided to call felix hobson when she returned to labesia, and see if he would make her an offer on the sorry bunch of culls the tin box and stood looking over a small lagoon some distance from the river. “up a little farther, there's a much larger one, and it's closer to the river. shall we ride on and take a look at it?” “yes, i suppose so," june replied halfheartedly. the river bottomlands were heavily wooded along the half mile that lay between the first lagoon inspected, and the one to which they were headed. pecan, live oak, pen oak, catclaw and many other varieties of trees and bushes grew in profu- sion along the generally steep bank of the river. “now, this place is much better than the other,” bill said as they came to an opening of about an acre in area. this place was somewhat lower than the surrounding ter- rain, and was covered with salt grass and “coffeebushes.” the lagoon was made up of many small ponds or “pockets,” and was pocked with the hoof-prints of cattle. the soil was heavily alkaline. the river at this point turned at a sharp angle from east to south, to parallel the division fence, and it was at the elbow of this angle that the lagoon was located. “it's larger and nearer the river,” bill observed. “this is about the first place to overflow when the river gets up. you could rig up a pump here, and lift water from the river to keep the place full. it's large enough to supply your cattle for a long time, once it is filled.” “i would have to have a gasoline engine and some pipe, wouldn't i?" she asked. “mr. johnson has a gasoline engine at the house that we're not using. and we have plenty of pipe. i'm sure he'd be glad to let you have it, and i'll rig it up for you,” bill suggested. “i hate to be so much bother to you and uncle cyrus,” june complained. "no bother at all. we're glad to do what we can to help.” “about how far would you call it to the river?” she asked. "about a hundred yards i imagine. i'll step it off and see," bill said as he dismounted and began to count steps towards the river. “whew!” he grimaced, as he grabbed his foot. “what's the matter?” june inquired anxiously. a story of texas cattle and oil “i stepped on something that pivoted; liked to have sprained my ankle,” he said as he worked his foot from side to side. then reaching down, he picked up out of the silt and rubbish left by the overflows, a small tin box. “what have you found there, a fortune?” june asked jok- ingly. “don't know. it's so rusty, i can't open it,” he said as he tried to raise the cover, which was hinged on one side. “oh well, there's nothing in it anyway,” he said as he shook it to see if it contained anything, then tossed it some distance away. “now nobody else is going to sprain an ankle on it.” bill proceeded to step off the distance to the water. “just about two hundred and ninety feet,” he said. “that will be easy to rig up, if you care to try it." "i'll think it over between here and the ranch,” she said as she started to ride off. bill took a moment to tighten his saddle cinch before mounting. then, striking up a gallop to overtake june, one of gotch's feet struck the tin box he had tossed away a moment before, knocking the cover loose, and revealing some papers held securely to the side by two small metal clamps. “whoa, gotch," bill said as he dismounted. then, picking up the box, he examined it closely. the small tin box, no larger than a woman's hand, held two small black books, and an envelope. using his pocket knife, bill released the clamps, which were stuck with rust, and lifted out one of the books. june by this time had stopped and was looking back at bill. “miss meredith!” he called ex- citedly, “don't you have a city national bank at your home?” "why, yes. but don't try to tell me you've found our bank in that small box," she kidded bill. “here's a check book in this box, from that bank,” bill said, holding up the book as june rode slowly back to him. “a check book?” june was puzzled. “i don't understand. what would a check book from labesia be doing in a box away down here, more than six hundred miles away?" bill took out the second small book as june came riding up. the tin box “here!” he was more excited now. "take a look at this,” he said, holding up the second book, “wasn't your father's name tom meredith?” he asked as he looked in the bank account book. “yes, let me see that,” she said as she sprang from her horse and stood beside him. the name “tom meredith” was written in the book, and it showed a deposit of thirty-three hundred dollars. “why, that was the amount my father deposited in that bank the day he was killed.” june was more excited now than bill. “here, let's see what's in this envelope," bill said as he started to remove it from the box. “i'll have to cut it loose; it's rusted to the box,” he said as he started to run the blade of his pocket knife very carefully between the envelope and the box to avoid tearing it. june stood watching his every movement. she was greatly excited, and becoming extremely nervous. she had been told by the cashier of the bank that her father had in his posses- sion when he left the bank on the day of his death a check book, and an account book showing a deposit of thirty-three hundred dollars. these were never found, but their descrip- tion tallied with the books found in the tin box. she had how- ever, no knowledge of any other papers that might have been in his possession on that day. she tried to make herself believe that the books were au- thentic; that they were the ones given to her father at the bank. but how could they have gotten there? the whole thing was vague and incomprehensible to her. she stood leaning against bill's arm, trembling with excite- ment and anticipation. with trembling fingers, she made in- voluntary attempts to grab the envelope before bill could get it cut loose. what did the envelope contain? that was the question that raced through her mind. perhaps some message that would disclose the activities of the last hours of her fa- ther's life? or maybe the twenty one-thousand dollar notes that the banker said her father carried from the bank, or some- thing that would lead to their whereabouts. a story of texas cattle and oil anticipation, hope, fear of disappointment were racing through her brain when, after what seemed to her an eternity, bill finally pulled the envelope from the box. “you'd better let me open it, miss meredith. you are nervous, and might tear something valuable,” bill said. running the knife blade very carefully along the edge of the envelope, he opened it and pulled out a small piece of paper-a receipt from an old receipt book. as june leaned on bill's arm for support, they read together: “received of tom meredith, twenty thousand dollars, cash (twenty one-thou- sand-dollar notes), in full payment of mortgage held by my company on his ranch, twelve miles north of labesia, texas. i hold no further claim on this ranch, or anything else belong- ing to tom meredith.” signed, robert chandler. they looked at each other in silence. then bill observed that there was a notation on the other side. turning the receipt over, they read: “due to the absence of my attorney from the city, who has all the papers pertaining to this transaction in his office, i cannot deliver the mortgage papers today, but will release them to tom meredith or his representatives upon the return of my attorney to his office.” again their eyes met questioningly. finally bill spoke: “what do you make of it?” he asked. "it's beyond me. i can't understand it. do you suppose someone is playing a joke on me?" she asked, as she looked anxiously into bill's eyes for an answer. "no. the box has been there too long to think that. and besides, there was only one bank account book issued in your father's name that day, and that one was issued to him. so he must have lost it. "i believe it is slowly coming to me, just about what hap- pened,” bill said, as he tried to reconstruct from the evidence in hand and from what he had learned about the case from uncle jack while on the two visits to the meredith ranch. june listened attentively, as bill pieced together a plausible story. “when your father went to town to pay the lien, chandler the tin box knew it was the last day on which the mortgage could be paid without a renewal. so he pretended that his attorney was out of town, and that the mortgage papers were in the attorney's office. your father paid chandler the cash, and chandler gave him the receipt, and hoped that in some way it might be destroyed. there was no other record of the payment. “just how mr. meredith got hold of this box, i don't know. perhaps he bought it, or might even have picked it up. but however it was, it was an act of providence that caused him to put these papers in it. “when your father's car was forced off the cliff,” he con- tinued, “and landed in the creek, this box floated out of the car and down the stream-which must be the same sawaya river-before those men could get down to the car.” "i think i'm beginning to understand,” june said, tears com- ing into her eyes. "at about that time, and for some time after," bill said, "we were having heavy rains and floods all over this coast country, which put all the streams out of banks. and it so happened that this box floated down here about that time, and was brought by the backwaters into this lagoon, where the receding waters left it.” “i remember,” june said slowly, as if not certain just what she wanted to say, “since you've been talking, that one of the men who reached mother before she died said she spoke only two words, 'tin box.'” "she was trying to tell them about the receipt,” bill said thoughtfully. “if i am not dreaming, and this receipt is genuine, does that mean that the ranch is still mine?” june asked, when she had regained her composure. "that's just what it means. and it also means that a mr. robert chandler is in for a peck of trouble, as the receipt proves definitely that he took your home by fraud.” “oh, if i could only get back home before he puts aunt harriet and my boys and my stock off the place. when does the next train leave here for labesia?” she inquired anxiously. a story of texas cattle and oil "ten o'clock this evening,” bill said, “and it doesn't reach labesia until around eleven o'clock tomorrow.” “there's no telling what will happen by that time,” june lamented. “is there no plane out before that time?” "no. the transport that stops at labesia leaves here at eleven o'clock.” bill looked at his watch. “it has been gone half an hour.” “if there was any way to get there,” she said. suddenly bill's face lit up with excitement as he thought of a solution. “i've got it!” he exclaimed. “the plane." "but the plane has gone,” she reminded him. “no, i don't mean that. i mean the speed plane, my boss's plane. we didn't tell you we have a plane, did we?” "no, you didn't.” “come on, get on your horse. we haven't a minute to lose,” bill shouted wildly, as he started to assist her to mount. but she had swung into the saddle before he could reach her. “mr. johnson is leaving for the cattlemen's convention at san an- tonio sometime this morning. i hope we can get back to the ranch before he takes off.” they were more than three miles from the ranch, and they rode like wild. the little speed plane, with shorty at the controls, had just hopped off, and was circling for altitude when shorty, looking over the side, said: “there's bill and miss meredith waving good-bye to us.” “yes,” uncle cyrus said as he waved back to them. still circling, shorty looked down again, “they're still wav- ing. looks like bill is beckoning to us with his hat.” “we'd better land,” uncle cyrus suggested. “it may be that there is something wrong; something important." shorty circled the plane again, then started to nose down. bill jumped from his horse and, followed closely by june, was at the side of the plane when it taxied to a stop. “mr. meredith paid off that mortgage before he died,” bill shouted excitedly, as the boss stepped from the plane. the tin box "what do you mean, bill? you're all excited. what's hap- pened?" “i mean that we've found proof that mr. meredith paid chandler that money.” uncle cyrus looked at him curiously. “look, here's a receipt showing it.” bill opened the box and handed him the receipt. "where did you get this?” the boss asked somewhat skepti- cally. bill gave a detailed account of the incidents that had happened in such rapid-fire order during the past few hours that uncle cyrus was dumbfounded. “well,” he said, “i'm pretty old, but i've never seen any- thing like this before. do you think this is genuine? maybe it's a hoax. let's see. i've got chandler's signature on that check i gave june last fall. let me get it and compare the signature with this one.” he went into the house, and in a moment was back with the canceled check. holding them close together, he scrutinized them closely. “that's the same handwriting, all right,” he said. “well, that dirty scoundrel. of all the low tricks i've ever heard of to rob somebody of his property, this takes the cake. do you think he will put you off the place, june?” “i'm pretty sure he will, unless i can get there to stop him.” “bill, why don't you take this plane and fly her up there? shorty and i can go to san antonio in the car," yrus suggested. "i'll be glad to, if she wants to go that way,” bill replied. “oh, thank you so much, uncle cyrus.” june threw her arms around his neck and gave him a big kiss. "climb in, miss meredith, while i run and get my pilot's license,” bill said as he took off in a run for the bunkhouse. "if i could only realize that i'm not dreaming,” june said as uncle cyrus adjusted a parachute on her while she stood by the plane. "well, i guess we're ready to go,” bill said as he climbed into the cockpit. “it's now twelve o'clock. we should make it there by three.” a story of texas cattle and oil “the transport lands there at two," june said. “we'll get there an hour after chandler does.” “i hope you get out to your place just in time to catch him ordering harriet off the place," uncle cyrus said wistfully. the little red speed plane banked beautifully against the clear blue of a texas noonday sky. then, circling the ranch twice, it pointed its shiny nose in the direction of labesia. june and bill sat silent as the plane glided gracefully over the broken terrain below. the hum of the plane's motor seemed to sing a song of relief, of hope and courage to june's troubled mind. as she looked down at the earth passing so swiftly beneath them, her courage mounted with each passing mile. events of the last few hours sped by in her mind, in fantastic confusion. the hope of finding water available, the fight between bill and chandler, the cowardly attempt by wade lucas to kill bill without warning. the disappointment at finding the wells unfit for use, and the last ray of hope seeming to have fled with that discovery, and then-the finding of the tin box. to her, it all seemed so unreal, so like a beautiful dream that precedes a horribly disappointing awakening. “if it's only true," she thought. she pressed harder on the tin box that she held in such a firm grip. so hard that it made her fingers ache. “yes, that part of it, at least, was real,” she thought. what would happen to chandler? what would he do when confronted with proof of his fraud? the questions passed be- fore her mind in rapid confusion as they neared labesia. maintaining a speed of approximately two hundred miles an hour, they landed at the airport a few minutes after three o'clock. bill hailed a cab, “to the sheriff's office, driver, and step on it,” he ordered. "beautiful day for a wedding,” the driver remarked sheep- ishly, as he suspected them of having eloped. "and just as beautiful for other business," bill retorted. instructing the driver to wait, bill, followed closely by june, started up the walk to the sheriff's office, bill walking with the tin box long strides, while june resorted to a half-trot in her efforts to keep up. "good evening, sir. is the sheriff in?” he inquired. “good evening-oh, good evening, miss meredith. i didn't recognize you,” the deputy at the window remarked. “good evening, mr. smith," june said. “we want to see the sheriff.” “why, he's not in right now," the deputy said hesitatingly. "i believe he's gone out towards your ranch. someone told me you left yesterday for your place down at avera. you must have come back on the transport," the deputy remarked “no, mr. shearn flew me back in a private plane," june explained. d'oh, i see. then that red plane i saw circling the airport a few minutes ago must have been your plane." “yes, it was. how long has the sheriff been gone?” “just about thirty minutes. mr. chandler went with him.” "miss meredith wants to file a complaint against mr. chan- dler,” bill broke in, “charging him with depriving her of her property by fraud.” “why, what do you mean?” the officer asked. “have you proof of this charge?” “yes, i think we have.” bill took the receipt from the box and presented it, telling the officer just what had happened. the officer looked at the paper closely, “well, i'll be," he said as he handed the receipt back to bill. “i'll make out a warrant for his arrest, and if you'll go on out there, you may catch him and the sheriff before they leave there. if you do, just hand this to the sheriff. but if you miss them, i'll give this duplicate copy to the sheriff when he comes back in. i hope you'll get out there in time to avoid any unnecessary in- convenience to yourself, miss meredith.” “thank you, mr. smith,” june said as they left the office. “back to the airport, and hurry, driver,” bill said as they stepped into the waiting cab. back at the airport they climbed into the plane, and in a few minutes were circling the ranch for a place to land. the tin box in a business world. every man must watch out for his own interest.” the plane landed in the valley near the first oil well that was drilled on the meredith ranch, then started taxying to- wards the corrals, stopping about a hundred yards from the house. june and bill jumped out and came hurrying towards the sheriff's car. “why, that's june,” the sheriff said, as he and chandler got out of the car. “yes, and that's that bully shearn with her. where did they get a plane to come here? i left them down yonder, around eleven o'clock,” chandler said, apparently nervous. “seem to be in a big hurry," the sheriff observed. "i guess they hurried here to beg for mercy, but they'll get no mercy from me,” he said as he rubbed his swollen face. "and i want you to be off this place by three o'clock tomor- row," he reminded aunt harriet in a voice loud enough that june might hear. june stopped and placed her arms about aunt harriet, while bill kept on to the sheriff's car. “just a minute before you carry out that order, sheriff,” bill said firmly. “and mr. chandler, i think it's you who is going to need mercy. sher- iff, i have a warrant here, issued by your office a few minutes ago, for this man's arrest.” bill handed the warrant to the sheriff who read it over a second time before looking up. “you -you mean mr. chandler?” he stammered. "yes, that's who i mean,” bill assured him. “do you have proof of this charge?” the officer was puz- zled. chandler’s face began to turn pale. it was apparent that he was greatly perturbed. bill opened the small box he held in his hand, and drew from it a small piece of paper, which he started to hand to the sheriff. chandler, always wary and on the alert, and conscious of the possibilities that the receipt might be found, recognized it instantly. like a flash, he jerked the paper from bill's hand, and tried to put it in his mouth. bill, however, on the alert for any trick chandler might try a story of texas cattle and oil p . to pull, was too quick. he seized chandler's wrist and gave it a sharp twist, throwing him heavily to the ground. “do you want to break my arm?” chandler yelled in pain. "i ought to break your neck,” bill snarled through clenched teeth, as with the knuckle of his forefinger he bored hard into the back of chandler's hand, forcing him to release the death- like grip he held on the receipt. handing the paper to the sheriff, he held chandler se- curely while explaining to the sheriff the circumstances sur- rounding the recovery of the receipt. “that's a lie-a forgery,” chandler shouted, peering out from under bill's arm. “that's just a trick that june and this cowpuncher have concocted so she can stay here a little longer. but she'll not get away with it.” “the finding of the check book and the bank account book which tom meredith was known to have had with him the day he met his death, mr. chandler, seems to indicate-to me at least-that this receipt is genuine,” the sheriff argued. “i believe i have your signature here on this eviction warrant. i'll compare it with the one on this receipt.” "there's no use doing that. it's a forgery, i tell you,” chan- dler contended. “looks the same to me," the sheriff said as he held the two pieces of paper close together. “but if you contend it's a for- gery, then i'll have to hold you until these two signatures are studied and passed on by the handwriting experts of my of- fice. do you still say this receipt is a forgery?” “well, no, i confess," chandler admitted reluctantly. "then tom meredith did pay you the twenty thousand dollars, and clear his ranch of the mortgage before he died?” the sheriff said. “yes.” “yet you foreclosed and took the place because june could find no proof of it?” “yes. after mr. meredith was killed, and the receipt was not found, i knew there was no other proof of the payment. i wanted the ranch because i knew there was oil here. the the tin box “yes,” replied uncle jack. “the boys seldom ride him ex- cept to show off when some of them feel extra good.” "i see. what's the occasion this evening?” the man asked. “oh, they're celebrating june-er, miss meredith getting her ranch back.” "miss meredith getting her ranch back?” he asked. “what do you mean?” "she found out that chandler beat her out of it; found proof that her father paid off the mortgage chandler held on his ranch the day he was killed.” “do you mean that miss meredith has in her possession proof that her father paid mr. chandler the money he owed on the ranch before he met his death? and that the ranch has never legally belonged to mr. chandler?” mr. ross, field superintendant for the bluge oil corporation, so phrased his question that there could be no mistake in its meaning. “that's right,” uncle jack replied rather unconcernedly, without taking his eyes off the horse and rider. “does mr. chandler know about it?” “yes, he was here with the sheriff when miss meredith flew back from avera bringing the proof with her.” uncle jack then explained briefly to ross what he had learned about the matter. “where is mr. chandler now?” mr. ross inquired anx- iously. "on his way to jail in custody of the sheriff,” uncle jack informed him. ross jumped back in his car, turned it around and drove hurriedly back to the company's field office. “hello! hello! jim?” he called excitedly, when he had been connected with the company's office in labesia. “yes, what's the excitement?” robertson asked. “listen, jim, you've got to get out here quick. everything's all torn up,” he shouted incoherently. “what do you mean?” robertson asked. ross then repeated what uncle jack had told him. "are you sure that's what he meant? you stay there until i a story of texas cattle and oil call the sheriff's office and check that. because if that's true, there isn't a valid lease in that oil field.” robertson called the sheriff, who verified what uncle jack had said. jim robertson lost no time in getting out to the ranch. he was met down by the corrals by ross. after a hurried confer- ence, they drove on to the house, where they were in confer- ence with june, aunt harriet and bill for more than an hour. late that afternoon, june told uncle jack to tell all the men they were to be her guests at dinner that evening, to celebrate the repossession of their home, and to honor bill shearn for the many things he had done for them. at the dinner table that evening, june and bill were obliged to take turns in relating over and over to the men, who seemed unable to understand, just how they chanced to find the small box containing the papers. “i just can't understand how such a thing could happen,” uncle jack said, as he seemed in deep thought. “just to think, the very man that robbed you of your home sold you the land on which you found proof of the fraud. i don't believe any book of fiction could be written that could come up to that. it just doesn't seem possible.” “i can hardly believe it myself,” ſune said. “i keep fearing i'll awake and find it all a dream. “mr. robertson was out this afternoon," she continued, "and assured me that his company is at my service, to do everything they can to assist me in rehabilitating myself. and incidentally, he told me some things about my interest in the oil field that i know all of you will be glad to hear. "among other things, he said that the finding of the receipt given to my father by mr. chandler proved that i was fraudu- lently dispossessed, and naturally all my property, including the cattle taken from me, is automatically restored to me. and that every lease on the meredith properties becomes invalid. he also said that i will receive all royalties and bonuses that have been paid to mr. chandler, amounting to well over a million dollars.” at this, the men almost raised the roof with their cowboy the tin box yells and cheers. when they were again quiet, june contin- ued: “mr. robertson further told me that as his company had given the land at avera to mr. chandler as part payment of the bonus on this lease, the entire twenty-five thousand acres becomes mine. and that if i don't want it, he will take it off my hands, paying me twice as much per acre as i contracted to pay mr. chandler. he is to stop by within the next few days for my decision. “and now, i want to thank every one of you for the way you have stood by me. you have been swell. there have been times during the past few months when clouds seemed so thick and black over my future that it seemed the sun would never break through. but some of you were always at my side with words of encouragement that seemed to make things a little brighter, and helped me to carry on. and i want you all to know that i shall never forget. “we are honored to have with us tonight as our guest mr. william shearn, a young man who has helped us on many occasions, and in many ways. since meeting mr. shearn, and because of his two previous visits with us, we have all learned to love him. and we all hope that hereafter he will visit us often." “mr. shearn," aunt harriet said as the men were preparing to leave for the bunk house, “you may occupy our guest room tonight if you like.” "thank you very much, miss meredith, but if you don't mind, i'd feel a great deal more at home with some of the boys, that is, if they'll let me sleep on the floor or some place with them,” bill said, looking from one to another of the men. “you can stay with me," quickly replied one. “take my bed,” another insisted. “he's going to stay with me.” it seemed that every man was talking at the same time. “you're all late," put in uncle jack. “martha has already fixed for him to stay with us tonight.” “well, mr. shearn, you'll have breakfast with us in the morning, won't you?" aunt harriet asked. "i'll be glad to,” bill replied. the tin box god who determines the destiny of us earthly mortals, i'd be convinced this morning that there is a living god. “we have a lot to be thankful for this morning," uncle jack continued, “not only for the fact that a great wrong has been righted, and june has been spared an ordeal that might have wrecked her life. not only that we have been enabled to keep our jobs, but i am thankful most of all that god has so guided the footsteps of all who had a part in this drama, that restitution has been brought about without our hands being stained with human blood. i want to forget that part of it.” uncle jim was looking at the ground as the old foreman talked. he said nothing, but nodded his head slowly. the men were in the catch-pens before daylight. they stooped low to catch the outline of their horses' heads silhou- etted against the purple-tinged horizon, that they might cast their lariats and lead their mounts away from the herd of closely huddled cow ponies, crowded together in a corner of the pen. uncle jack gave instructions for the day's work: “we've got to turn all these cattle together, and let these cows and calves that chandler separated find each other. it's been more than a month, but most of the cows can be brought back to milk, and we won't have so many dogies to feed this win- ter.” up at the ranch house, aunt harriet and june had breakfast prepared when bill came in, and they sat down to eat by lamplight. "how did you rest last night after so much activity crowded into so short a time yesterday, mr. shearn?” aunt harriet inquired. “i rested fine. you've got a fine lot of men here, miss mere- dith. they all seem so friendly, and so devoted to you and your niece.” “yes, they're a fine bunch of men. most of them were raised right here on the ranch, and have been here all their lives,” aunt harriet replied. “if we just had you here, things would be perfect,” june said, looking wistfully into bill's eyes. a story of texas cattle and oil "yes, why don't you come back and help us get things straightened out?” aunt harriet suggested. “cyrus can spare you for a little while.” "perhaps i can. i would like to be of any assistance i can," he said. as june and bill had to be in the court room at ten o'clock, they decided that she would fly into labesia with him, while one of the men would proceed to town in the car to bring her back, as bill planned to start for home as soon as the examining trial for chandler was over. shortly after nine o'clock, bill started warming up his mo- tor, leaving it running while he walked up to the house to see when june would be ready. “come in, bill," june called as she heard his footsteps. “well, i don't suppose i'll be seeing you much now, miss meredith,” bill said as he sat down in the porch swing, fum- bling with his hat nervously. “yes, you will. you are going to see me so much now, that you'll get tired looking at me,” june said. “i'll never get tired looking at you,” he replied sl “well, i guess i'm about ready,“ june said. "i'll go and bring the plane nearer the house,” bill said as he started off the porch. “come into the living room for a moment before you go," june invited hesitatingly. bill walked in to where she was standing in the center of the room. she walked over and took him by the hand. “i just want to say good-bye here, before we part in labesia,” she said as she drew him close to her, lifting her face invitingly to his. for a moment, bill was confused. although he loved june secretly, he had not hoped or dreamed of her love in re- turn. however, his emotions quickly overcame his timidity and, holding her closely in his arms, he planted kiss after kiss on her lips. “oh, darling, i love you so much,” he said. “i've loved you since i first saw you. but i've been afraid to even hope for your love." "i've loved you from the time you took me in your arms off the tin box that runaway horse, bill,” she said. “i've needed you ever since. and now i need you more than ever.” “i understand, darling, and i'll do everything in my power to help you and to make you happy.” june and bill landed at the airport in labesia shortly be- fore ten o'clock. charlie was waiting in june's car, and drove them to the court house, where chandler was given a pre- liminary hearing and remanded to jail. after the hearing, june and charlie drove bill back to the airport. june decided, after leaving the airport, that she would do some shopping before starting home. stopping her car in front of one of the larger stores, she and charlie were looking at a window display when they overheard part of a conversation between two cowmen who were walking hurriedly along the sidewalk in the direction of zack wilson's saloon, which was just around the corner. “i understand that wade lucas is gunning for him,” they heard one cowman remark. “yes," replied the other, “wade's in zack's place now. and if that's where he went, there's likely to be some fireworks—” june and charlie exchanged puzzled glances as the men passed out of hearing. “i wonder who they were talking about,” june said uneasily. “i haven't any idea, unless they were talking about bill, and we left him at the airport,” charlie said. “let's drive around that way," june suggested. charlie parked the car a few doors from zack wilson's saloon. just as they were getting out, a shot rang out from inside the saloon, followed instantly by a second shot, as men came pouring out the door. when bill had got out of june's car at the airport, he started up the motor of his plane, then went into the office, leaving the motor idling. he asked a clerk if he had seen wade that morning, and was told that wade had driven past the air- port about thirty minutes before, going in the direction of zack's place. bill wanted to talk to wade about the cattle that were being “pastured” on the johnson ranch at avera. think- the tin box “yes, i believe they are somewhat heavier,” june said. “i'm very much elated over the fact that you got them back before mr. chandler could dispose of them. and i believe i can best show it by raising my offer on them,” he said. “mr. hobson, i would consider myself ungrateful indeed if, after the consideration you have shown me, i should accept a higher price from you. no, i couldn't do that. you offered me ten cents a pound when they were not worth that much. if you want them at that price now, or even at a lower figure, they're yours. but not one cent higher,” she said. “then suppose we say ten cents,” the buyer said. "whenever you want them,” june assured him. jim robertson stopped in a few days later to see what june had decided about the land at avera. “i tell you, miss mere- dith, you don't need all that land,” he argued. “why, you've got more land than you can look after right here. i'm offering to take it off your hands more as a favor to you than for any personal gain,” he pointed out. "well, i haven't given it much thought, i've been so busy," june said. “but i don't see where i need it. you may stop by in about ten days, and i will have decided.” "thank you, miss meredith. i'll bring along my attorney, with all necessary papers to close the deal." “very well. i'll see at that time,” june replied. because the chain of events and incidents that had hap- pened in such rapid sequence during the past few days had proven so disastrous to robert chandler, the three gunmen in jail at avera had been forgotten. still unable to procure bond, stonelli was restlessly pacing his cell when the sheriff handed him a newspaper through the bars. “i see a news arti- cle here that says your friend robert chandler, up at labesia, was arrested the other day,” the sheriff said. "yeah? what's the trouble?" the gunman asked. “you'll see it in there.” stonelli read the article a second time. “i always hoped they'd find that receipt,” he muttered with grim satisfaction. "so he'll leave us to rot in this joint, will he? i been wanting a story of texas cattle and oil to get a chance at that dirty rat. i'll see if i can't help him rot in jail. i hope i can send him to the roaster," he snarled through clenched teeth. "pretty serious charge,” the sheriff remarked when he came back for the paper. "yeah, but not near as serious as it's going to be," stonelli asserted. “sheriff, i want to talk to the district attorney. i've got something to tell him that i think will be mighty' inter- estin'.” the sheriff rang the district attorney's office, and that of- ficial was closeted with stonelli at the jail in a very few min- utes. “will you sign an affidavit that what you've told me is true?” the district attorney asked. “i'll be glad to, d.a. i hope i can send that dirty, double- crossing rat to the hot seat," the gunman snarled. the district attorney then went to the sheriff's office, wrote out an affidavit and returned to stonelli's cell. with the sheriff as a witness, the prisoner then signed the document. the charge against chandler at labesia was then changed from possessing the meredith properties by fraud to a charge of accessory before the fact in the death of tom meredith. during the ten days following jim robertson's conference with june relative to the disposition of her land at avera, she gave the matter considerable thought. “it is more a liability than an asset,” she thought. “so far down there, and i don't need it. so what can i gain by keeping it?” she had about decided to dispose of it when robertson, with his attorney, drove up to the ranch one afternoon. june was in her office when they came. “good evening, miss meredith,” robertson raised his hat. “this is my attorney, mr. selzman.” june greeted the attorney with a smile. “i believe it has been about ten days since we talked about your land at avera,” he re- minded her. "have you decided to let me take that land off your hands?” "i've given it some thought, and i can't see where it can be of much use to me. as you say, it's of no use except for the tin box grazing, and i don't want to start another ranch, so i've about decided to sell," june said. “i thought you'd see it that way, miss meredith,” robertson said, with much satisfaction. “now, mr. selzman has all the necessary papers made out transferring the property to me. you can just sign this deed, and i have the check for two hun- dred fifty thousand dollars made out to you." june took the deed and started to read it before signing. “jim has just come in with the mail, june," aunt harriet said as she came to the door and handed june a packet of letters. "excuse me a moment, gentlemen,” she said as she stopped reading the deed to glance through the mail. one letter she opened and started to read. "pardon me, miss meredith, but mr. selzman has some very important business to attend to back at his office, and we would greatly appreciate it if you would sign the deed so he can get back as quickly as possible,” robertson said anxiously. “just a moment, please," june said as she continued to read. the letter was from bill, and she had reached a part which read: “-i hope i haven't been too inquisitive, or taken too much authority, but i became curious to know why chandler objected to your opening those wells, so i took some water from one and had it analyzed. here is the chemist's report: ‘from the amount of sulphur contained in this water, it is indicated that somewhere in this area lies the greatest sulphur formation yet discovered-please don't think i'm meddling in your affairs, i only thought you might be interested in know- ing-” so that's why mr. chandler so strenuously objected to my opening those wells, she thought, and that's why these men are so anxious to take the land off my hands. looking up, she said firmly, “gentlemen, i've changed my mind. i don't care to sell.” since no amount of reasoning or persuasion could change her decision-not even a suggestion by the lawyer to double the amount of the offer-the men left her office. a story of texas cattle and oil "i wonder who that letter was from?” the lawyer remarked as they climbed into the car. “must have been from that beau brummel boy friend of hers down at avera. that guy's a pain in the neck, robertson commented. "there ought to be something done about him," the lawyer said. “evidently that's what stonelli and his mob thought, and look what happened to them,” robertson reminded him. chapter sixteen robert chandler had come to labesia sev- eral years before, from where, no one seemed to know. he had plenty of money to lend to the hard-pressed ranchers and soon became a leading figure in the community. he never cared to talk of his past life, and, when pressed for any history pertaining to himself, was evasive and changed the subject at the first opportunity. the people of labesia soon learned that he was sensitive on that subject, so, as long as he was in a position to help them when they needed help, they refrained from any men- tion of the past and let it go at that. but now, since it had been proved definitely that he had fraudulently dispossessed june meredith, daughter of one of the wealthiest and most highly respected pioneer families of that section, of her land and cattle and, to add to that, the fact that he stood accused of plotting the death of her parents, the community, and that entire section of west texas for miles around, was up in arms. not only were they determined to see that justice was done, but a new and malevolent attitude to- the tin box ward him had been assumed. and it was hoped that the trial would bring out something of his past life. by the skillful maneuvering of bromberg, several post- ponements had been obtained. but a day was finally set for the trial. on the morning on which the trial began, the courtroom of judge maddox was filled to capacity. both bromberg and horace stevens, prosecuting attorney, announced they were ready. bill shearn had come up from avera for the trial and was sitting with june and aunt harriet near the desk of the prosecuting attorney. uncle jack and most of the other men from the ranch found seats farther back. there were several character witnesses to be called by each side. among the first to be called by the prosecution was ran- dall scott, who testified concerning the sale of the meredith cattle to pay off the indebtedness of the ranch, and the move- ments of tom meredith, so far as he knew, on the day of his death. the next witness to take the stand was mr. cockrell, who told of the part he had taken in the transaction involving the payment of the mortgage. he also identified the check and account books found by june and bill as the ones given tom meredith on the day of his death. the second day of the trial found the courtroom again packed. each witness was examined and cross-examined by the prosecution and defense. several witnesses had testified when the prosecution sprang a surprise. “will anthony sto- nelli take the stand?" stevens called. stonelli, who had turned state's evidence, and had agreed to testify against chandler, was brought out of an anteroom by a deputy. he took an oath before taking the stand. a gasp of surprise was reflected on chandler's face as he and his attorney exchanged quick glances and went into a hurried, whispered conference. the expression on their faces revealed that they were bewildered and alarmed. “what is your name?” horace stevens asked. “stonelli, anthony stonelli,” the witness replied. a story of texas cattle and oil “do you know the defendant in this case, robert chan- dler?” “yes.” "how long have you known him?” "oh, 'bout twenty years." the audience was extremely quiet, many leaning forward, intensely interested as the prosecuting attorney continued: “where were you on the evening of october twentieth, nine- teen hundred thirty-four?” "here in labesia.” "did you see the defendant on that day?” "yeah, i saw him." “tell the court just what happened on that afternoon,” the attorney said. “i was in the pool room back of mickie's bar, shooting a game of pool with two of my pals when mike came back there and told me that somebody wanted me on the phone.” “and you answered the telephone call, of course?” “yeah." “who wanted to talk to you?” “robert chandler.” “what did he want?” the prosecuting attorney asked. “he told me to come up to his office.” “tell the court what happened from that time on,” stevens said. "when i got up to his office, he was walking the floor. and—” "by 'walking the floor,' you mean that he seemed worried, and continued to move from one place to another. is that right?" stevens interrupted. “yeah, that's right. he asked me," the witness continued, "where the other two boys were.” “what other two boys did he mean?” "oh, just two pals of mine.” "go on,” the prosecutor ordered. “when i told him the boys were out in the car, he said, ‘good, i've got a job for you to do.' when i asked him what the job was, he said he didn't want nobody bumped off.' the tin box then he asked me if i knew tom meredith. i said i thought i did. then he told me what kind of a car he was driving, in case i didn't know him. 'he just left here a minute ago,'chan- dler said. 'he's hardly got to the edge of town yet, going out the mountain road,' he told me.” the witness continued his testimony: “ 'today is the last day he had to pay off the mort- gage i hold on his ranch. he came in here a few minutes ago and forced me, at the point of a gun, to write him a receipt for twenty thousand dollars. i want that receipt.' “why don't you send the sheriff after him?" i asked. “ 'because i don't want the sheriff to know about this. i'll handle it in my own way,' he said. “now he's got the twenty thousand dollars and the receipt on him. you stop him some- where on that road and get that receipt. you can have the money.' “did he give you specific instructions for holding up mr. meredith?” stevens asked. “he just told me to be careful and not let him get a good look at me,” stonelli replied. “what did you do after leaving the defendant's office?” “i went back to the car and told the other boys about the job.” “did you then go after mr. meredith?” stevens asked. “yeah.” “tell the court what happened out on that road." "the dust storm was gettin' so bad that we couldn't see but a little ways, so we drove slow, only 'bout fifty miles an hour. when we got 'bout six miles out of town, we saw them just a little ways ahead. “the road was narrow and bad there, so we figured that if we tried to force them off to the side, they might go over. so we decided to pass them, go 'bout a mile down the road and turn 'round and meet them where there's a wide flat, just before you get to that narrow curve 'round the mountain." “at about what speed would you say they were driving when you passed them?” the attorney asked. "i'd say twenty-five miles," stonelli replied. , the tin box stonelli. staring the witness straight in the eye for a moment, he asked, “stonelli, weren't you brought here from avera, where you are being held on a charge of attempted murder?” “yeah,” stonelli said with a snarl, "hired by that double- crossing chandler, to bump off bill shearn.” in an instant the courtroom was in a furor. bromberg was shouting at stonelli to answer questions only, and shouts of condemnation and threats of revenge against chandler came from the audience. the defendant sat slumped over in his chair, not daring to look up, as the judge grabbed his gavel and pounded the desk for order. “another outburst like that and i'll have this room cleared," he warned. bromberg's face was red, and he was obviously confused as he addressed the bench when order had been restored. “your honor, i request that the added testimony of the witness be stricken from the record as irrelevant, and prejudicial to this case.” "request granted,” judge maddox ruled. then, addressing the witness, he said: "you will confine your testimony to an- swering the questions asked by the attorneys." bromberg, a short, stout man, pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, and mopped at his brow. then he abruptly ended his cross-examination with “that's all.” in presenting the case for the defense, bromberg endeav- ored to picture chandler as an asset to the community, an honest, upright, straightforward citizen who had come up the hard way. by his extraordinary business judgment, his loyalty and unselfish devotion to those he could call his friends, and his strict adherence to the golden rule, he had built for himself an enviable reputation, and one without blemish. and he had, by fair dealings with his fellowman, acquired enough of this world's goods to tide him over in his declining years. “but now,” bromberg roared, “through no fault of his own, it seems that fate has stepped in and interrupted the tranquillity of a beautiful life. and not only does he stand an excellent chance a story of texas cattle and oil of losing all that he has toiled and sacrificed for so many years, but the long, bony finger of suspicion and accusation has been pointed at him in an effort to besmirch his good name by connecting him with a dastardly crime of which he knows nothing. “you will, gentlemen of the jury,” the attorney pleaded, "in all honesty to the heretofore unblemished reputation of this upright and honorable citizen, and in honesty to your- selves as jurors, find the defendant robert chandler not guilty.” in his closing argument, the prosecuting attorney pictured the defendant as a low, cowardly, conniving person, who would stop at nothing to achieve his aims. “this man,” the attorney said, “was aware of the fact that the meredith ranch lands were rich in oil, and he was determined to have it by fair means or foul, even to planning the deliberate murder of tom and ann meredith, so that he would have only the inexperi- enced daughter to deal with. “and it is your duty, gentlemen of the jury," the attorney concluded, “to guarantee against further marauding upon the lands and cattle of honest people by this wolf in sheep's cloth- ing, to assess the full penalty of the law.” the prosecuting and defense attorneys having presented their respective versions of the case, judge maddox read his charge to the jury, which was in part: “since it has been defi- nitely shown by the state's own witness that the tragic death of tom and ann meredith was a result of miscalculation on the part of the witness and his accomplices, therefore, the deaths could not have been premeditated, so must be de- clared accidental.” the jury then retired for deliberation. it was twelve thirty, and bill suggested to june and aunt harriet that they all go out to the hotel for lunch, while awaiting the verdict of the jury. "you children run along," aunt harriet said, “i'm not hun- gry. i'll stay here." the tin box through the advice of her attorney, she hired competent help to look after her interest in the oil field. several of the men of the ranch were given these jobs. june seemed to enjoy her work, accomplishing with ease her daily tasks of business transactions from morning till night. being suddenly thrown into contact with big business, she took it in stride, and seemed to get a thrill out of matching wits and business judgment with oil scouts and others who came to see her on business matters. before the tragic event that claimed the lives of her parents, she had never known responsibility. she was practically reared astride a horse by her father's side, and grew up a happy, carefree child of the range, with riding as her hobby and her father's herds of pure-blood cattle, her pride. her father did not burden her young life with financial worries; consequently, she knew nothing of the economic strain under which he labored during the drouth years. and then, the tragedy and the dark days that followed had trans- formed her overnight from a happy, carefree girl to a mature woman burdened with sorrow and responsibilities. then, there was the matter of romance. she had never been in love. of course, during her childhood, she blushed pro- fusely when certain of the boys on the ranch, or some of the neighbors' boys near her age came to visit. that was only natural. and while away at college, she liked, and was the recipient of many courtesies from certain of the young men. but not until she met bill, with his sympathy and understanding, and his endeavor to be of all possible assistance to her, did she awake to the realization of real love. now she knew what love meant, and that she had found real love. she found time for an occasional visit over the weekend, down to her place at avera to “visit uncle cyrus” as she liked to express it. one day a representative of a sulphur company came to the ranch to obtain permission to explore the land at avera for sulphur. june referred him to her attorney, who made the rol a story of texas cattle and oil "at one time east side gang boss and racketeer, was found dead in an attic room of a dilapidated, four-story rooming house in the slums of the east side, on a pallet of filthy rags. this room was said to be the same room he occupied when a boy. “perelli had been missed for several days from his usual haunts along the wharves, where he eked out an existence by mooching among the seamen coming ashore, or salvaging among the garbage cans along the street. investigating police found his emaciated body in the dingy room, for which he managed to pay thirty cents a week. he had been dead several days," the article continued. "perelli (or robert chandler, as he was more recently known) had had a checkered career. born in a criminal in- stitution of an unwed mother, he was taken when a baby by ‘granny,' an old woman who claimed to operate an orphan- age but in reality operated a school of crime, teaching the boys and girls given into her keeping the art of petty thievery. "perelli was an apt student, and soon became an expert. until the age of seven, he-like the ten other waifs in the old woman's charge-believed she was his mother. through some older boys, however, at that age he learned the truth, and ran away. "he became connected with a gang of hoodlums much older than himself who established their abode in an attic room- said to be the room in which he died-and made their living by pillaging fruit stands, bakeries, grocery stores and any other places near the docks that offered a chance for a quick lift and getaway. "perelli,” the article said, "was more ambitious than the older boys of the gang, and showed a tendency towards want- ing to earn something honestly. so he started selling papers on the streets during the day, while continuing to work with the gang by night. later he attended night school two nights a week. he was the only member of the gang who could read and write, so he was looked upon as a leader by the other boys, and soon became the boss. the tin box “when prohibition was instituted, he formed his gang into a mob, and declared himself king of the illicit liquor and narcotics trade of the east side, engaging in many gun battles with rival mobs that tried to muscle in on his territory. “perelli reaped a rich harvest from his liquor and narcotics trade and, when the prohibition act was repealed, sought legitimate channels into which to invest his money. “several small business ventures in the east proved unsuc- cessful, so he drifted westward, stopping at labesia, where, under an assumed name, he opened a real estate office. “striking the town with plenty of ready cash," the article went on, “when the ranchers were hard pressed because of the drought and dust storms, he was hailed as a godsend to the community, and was accepted and welcomed without very much investigation into his past life. “he loaned money freely on the land and cattle of the ranchers, one of the loans being on the ranch of one tom meredith. during the tenure of this loan, oil scouts of a major oil company began exploring around labesia, and through a clever ruse' (with the knowledge of chandler, as he had be- come known) succeeded in exploring the meredith ranch, which they found to contain rich oil lands, and which later became one of the country's most prolific oil fields—”. the article went on to relate in detail all the events lead- ing up to the foreclosure of the meredith land and cattle, the attempted murder of bill shearn, the finding of the receipt, and the turning of state's evidence by stonelli. the article continued: “the leader of the trio, stonelli (who, with his two pals, is now serving a long sentence for attempted murder), sent for the district attorney and turned state's evidence. chandler, however, was freed of the charge of accessory before the fact in the death of tom meredith, and was released from custody. but upon additional information furnished by stonelli he was rearrested before leaving the courtroom and extradited to his former home town to stand trial for the murder several years before of a rival gang leader. “as no proof could be established connecting him with this a story of texas cattle and oil crime, he was cleared of this charge also. he was, however, left penniless and broken in health and spirit. “friendless, and forsaken by his former associates of the un- derworld, he was never able to rehabilitate himself. drifting back to the east side, he sold papers on the streets, but was not successful at this, so finally resorted to obtaining his living from the garbage cans along the street. because he was missed by those who saw him on his daily rounds, an investigation was made by police, which resulted in the finding of his body. "his remains lay in a morgue for several weeks, while au- thorities searched vainly for relatives or friends who might claim it. finally it was interred in potter's field. and ironi- cally,” the article concluded, “the only token of friendship, of grief-a huge wreath of lilies of the valley—to accompany the remains to a pauper’s grave, bore a card on which was the name june ( meredith) shearn.” university of michigan c confessions of a negro preacher confessions of a negro preacher the canterbury press chicago cvi copyright by the canterbury press in u. . a. ud great britain printed in united state* of america h« " <- hit** ~ . . contents chaptll l in the white folks' yard ' *' ii. andrew shaver * iii. the first sermon * * * * * iv. the girl on the train * ' '' v. out on the harvest landscape vi. with his pen in his hand ' ' - vii. a poetic visitor viii. the glad blaze of the fire ' '' ix. the girl in the elevator * ' '' x. mrs. hester * ' * * * * * * xi. prayed with him xii. shrieking down the road' * '' xiii. looked upon a poet' ' ' ' '' xiv. markeet xv. brother holcomb * * * * * * xvi. his strange perfume xvii. a bible lying on the grass ''' xviii. a man without emotion ''' xix. two notable men * * * ' * * xx. a keen investor xxi. the essence of a visitor ' * *' xxii. a pencil scrawl xxiii. brushed off a bug xxiv. another interview * * * * * * xxv. in brother simon's church * '' xxvi. conclusion ' * * * * * ' - confesssions confessions negro preacher chapter i. in the white folks' yard t was born on a plantation where my grandfather had been a slave. it was said that i was the blackest of ten children, brought forth and reared in a cabin at the corner of the yard, a pathway leading to the "big house," the name by which the master's dwelling, though it may not have been much larger than a hut, was known. my grandfather's master, however, lived in a mighty castle, it seemed to me, for one of my early bits of information was that it contained five rooms. about it there was a grove of cedar trees wherein blue jays and yellowhammers made their home in winter, heralding with loud rapture the first christmas morn' ing that i can recall. our "white fo'ks" were, i know, typical of the qual' ity families of the state of georgia. the man who but for the lincoln edict of freedom, would have been my master was one of the first prohibition candidates to confessions of a negro preacher receive the reward of office, going proudly to the leg' islative hall where he made so effective a speech on unjust taxation that he was mentioned as a possible governor of the commonwealth. at this time i was a "good chunk of a nigger," as the saying went, and though i did not call him "mars john," except when i might solicit an especial favor, yet there lingered in the air a convincing breath that he was my master, nor was he ever disposed to convince me otherwise. he was well into maturity while i was yet but little more than a child; and in a measure regarding me as a piece of property out of which he had been cheated, he felt that i was nearer to him than the average creature of my color. sometimes he would deign to give unto me his opinions. "i hear that you are going to school and that you are trying to talk like a white boy. but remember that the lord made you a nigger and that you can never get away from that fact." ah, and how bitterly i had realized it! the first prayer i ever improvised was that the lord might turn me into a white child. out of my bed in the dark of a moonless night i crept to offer this petition. in the cold ashes of the big fireplace i knelt and prayed, and so deep was my faith that suddenly i felt that i was white. through my veins a cooler blood was flowing and i rejoiced in the truth that no longer could i be re proached for being a negro. i could hear my mother confessions of a negro preacher gently breathing in her sleep, and now a sadness came upon me: i was white but she was to remain black. would it be asking too much of the lord to whiten her skin too, i wondered! yes, i was afraid so, but i would love my mother just as much as if she were of the hue of the lily. two of my brothers were living in the cabin, but they were roysterers, caring nothing as to whether they were white or black; nor made it any difference to me as to my father, a man of not much account i was made to know, bench'legged and called a guinea nigger. i must withdraw from close association with brothers, married sisters and of even my father, but i would continue to sit in my mother's lap and to love her, for never was there a more blessed saint. back to bed i crept, my heart singing, "bleeged ter de lawd," a hymn; slept in happy dreaming, sprang up with the coming of daylight to tell mother that i should always love her though i might marry the pret' tiest white girl in the neighborhood. my brothers snorted and father, turning about from kindling a fire, cried out: "shet dat black mouf ur de white fo'ks hang you ter er tree." "fo* w'y da wan' hang me w'n ah's white ez da is?" mother had begun to croon a hymn, a habit with her when trouble began to brew, and one of my broth' era, snatching up a fragment of mirror, brought it to confessions of a negro preacher me and told me to look at myself. i did, looked, shud' dered, swore an oath that i had heard the "guinea nig' ger" employ, and was an atheist until the love of my mother brought me back to faith. in her sweet and celestial ignorance she had a veneration for learning. how she acquired it i could never learn: it was born within her. she loved the music of words, and would make them melodious in her imitation of the educated white woman whom she had heard talk at meetings often held in the "big house." of all her children, though the blackest, i was her favorite; and i can rc call that away back in my toddling infancy she im' pressed upon me the value of education. that i should be a preacher was her ambition. "git it out'n yo' haid that you kin eber be white," she would say to me when we were alone. "de book, it say dat de eferopian kain't change de color o' his skin an' dat de leopard kain't git rid o' his spots. but de eferopian what you is one kin drink from de cup o' larnin' whut de lawd may offer, an' dat's whut you mus' do." on one occasion my father came upon the scene and scolded her for putting foolishness into my head. "whut you tell him gwine git him inter trouble," he warned her. "de white fo'ks b'lebes dat de mos' dan' gersome thing in de world is er edycated nigger, an' dat de bes' thing da kin do fur him is ter hang him up. de bes' thing fur dis boy is ter work." confessions of a negro preacher thus was i made to know that education, that some thing which distinguishes the white man, was not for me. but the yearning to be like the white boy was born in my soul. it was not an imitation; it was an in' spired ambition, and it seems to have been known of me by mother before i recognized it within myself. my grandfather lived well into my life. he was a sage. in showy sentiment of his having been a slave on the place "mars john" built for him a neat cottage among the trees. the old man was a cobbler. his work room he termed the "parlor," and herein he would sit and labor, seeing quite as effectively with the tips of his fingers as with his eyes; sit and tell stories to the children, white and black, gathered about him. he not only believed in ghosts but had talked with them, the ghosts keeping up with him as he ran. after a time he found that it was of no use to run from them, so he often engaged them in converse as he sat on a log in the woods. the spirit of his grandfather who had been brought in chains from africa, told him that the ne- groes, all of them, would be freed and that one day a negro would own a bank. this was the highest func tion to which any human being could aspire. gran'' dad knew that it was the negro's sense of humor and his emotional love of tune that had kept him from be coming desperate or insane. out of melody came the resigned conviction that the lord may have imposed slavery in punishment committed by the black man confessions of a negro preacher along about the time when noah's grape vine sprouted. but the lord would forgive the negro and give unto him a bank, and the angels would smile when the white man came to implore the loan of money. that the negro should eventually be a great lawyer, president of the country, all came out of the fact that he was to stand behind an array of money put up in packages. the old fellow loved the sound of big words but be lieved that education sapped the tree of character. there was no record to show that the old prophets had lazied away their time with books in school. solomon, the wisest of men, had not gone to a college such as "mars john" attended. therefore, whenever i spoke my yearning for what i would now term culture, the old man would seek to frown me into a state of hu' mility. "you pray ter de lawd an' he gib you all de wis' dom you need," he would advise me. "you'se yeard me speak o' er gal named ann dat i once wuz in lub wid. i had two wives on de plantations at de time, but i put 'em er side fur her. but whut she do? she tuck up wid er nigger dat had worked 'roun' er col' lege till he could write big wid er goose pen an' po'k' berry ink. den whut? he 'gins ter write wid black ink, forged er check an' da sent him ter de penny tenchy." i protested that the negro preachers, the best of them, could read and write, but the old man always confessions of a negro preacher gave to me a warning shake of the head. "dat mout be but you kain't be er preacher. yo' lips is thick but not thick er nuff. ah'se noticed dat de gospel it comes best w'en it bubbles frum thick lips. den it peer ter hab mo' tune ter it." from these talks i would return to my mother, bowed with grief. and then, god bless her soul, her angelic spirit lifted my leaden heart. "neber mine, honey, you gwine ter school jes de same. yo' lips is plenty thick fur er preachers. de good book ez, it is read ter me, doan say notion' bout thick lips. yo' gran'daddy has de cuis notions o' de age dat has come on him. an' he talk er bout thick lips ter praise his' se'f. you git de books inter yo' haid an' da'll take kere ' yo' lips all right. er school fur de culled chil' lun has jes been started at de cross roads, an' ah gwine ter see ter it dat you one o' de fust dat git inter de house." thus she settled it that i was to go to school. the teacher was a white man from kansas, a country which we imagined was a land lying remotely beyond the seas. he was tall, what we called rawboned, and must have been as brave as caesar. the white men ignored him except as to a warning that if he dis' cussed with his pupils the politics of the neighborhood, his neck would be made to answer. the first feature of his learning was to us the harshness of his accent. but there was music in his mind, a harmony, and we confessions of a negro preacher listened to its rhapsodies. from the first day he arv peared to take an interest in me. perhaps it was prompted by a question i put to him: "if i learn the book will my soul be white like bob thayer's?" vividly do i at this moment see his smile. "who is bob thayer, and why is his soul whiter than yours?" "he is a white boy and his father owns a bank. once he spoke to me and it made me proud. then i dug some fish worms for him and told him i would go along to bait his hook. he laughed and said he'd bet i'd spit on the hook after i'd baited it. i replied that i would, for my grandfather said that was the way to attract the fish." the kansas man looked closely at me. "you seem to speak less in dialect than the others. have you been closely associated with white children?" "no, but i listen to them when i hear them talk and remember what they say. it is tune to me." i spoke more in dialect than i here set down, but the teacher had noted a difference between my talk and the talk, for instance, of gabe smith, and therein lay a soothing flattery. gabe was a nappy head that benched with me, a desk in front of us. he had been whipped by a gardener for stealing watermelons; and i recol' lect that a sympathetic white man came forward and gave him twentyfive cents together with the humor' ous assurance that a boy who wouldn't steal a water- melon was not only a hypocrite, but would steal the confessions of a negro preacher money appropriated for a pauper's funeral. one day just after recess when we had seen a mayday proces' sion of white girls marching in a laughing swirl down the road, gabe whispered to me: "one deze days i gwine git me er white gal." and i often wondered if i was inspired when i answered him: "fse heard white boys say dat the black gal is better 'cause her kiss got more juice in it." poor old animal gabe. years afterward, with trembling hands i held a newspaper to read that he had been tied to a stake and burnt. chapter ii. andrew shaver /"\ ur teacher was, as many a man has found himself to be, an educated failure. he had learned the gra- cious nonessentials of life, but the vital forces of sue cess were beyond his grasp. this i know now, but then in that sprouting seed time of my mind, i imag- ined him a power holding himself in willful subjection, thinking to serve god by humbly giving his talents toward the help of the negro. to me as i advanced, he was the master of every literary grace, but now i know that he was but an echo. one day he came home with me to see my mother. he told her that it was his desire to talk with the maternal parent of so bright and apt a boy. she flinched at his accent, but soon was charmed with his commendation of me. thus he began: "your son, madam" she cut him off with an exultant cry: "oh, i dreamed dat one deze days i gwine be called madam." smiling upon her innocence he continued: "i do not see why you should not be so addressed. the lord must know that in this narrow world of yours you confessions of a negro preacher have performed your duty. you have ambition for your son, and that is a mother's divine inspiration. your buoyant heart" "keep up dem big words, mistah; da's music ter me. now he looked puzzled. "i did not realize that i was speaking big words. it is not music but ideas that i wish to convey. i came to talk to you about the future of your boy and i trust that you may not only catch my tune but my meaning. i am a man of expc rience, acquired and you might say inherited. my grandfather was one of the first men to espouse the cause of john brown and to offer him his life." she knitted her brow over the name john brown. he saw that she had not caught his meaning and in as simple phrases as he could employ, he explained to her that brown had not only inspired lincoln, but even' tually the entire north. tears came to her eyes when vaguely she recalled that the pioneer emancipator had been hanged, and wiping them away with her apron, she said: "but you wuz gwine ter talk ter me 'bout my po' little boy." "little boy now, madam, but he is not to remain as such, and my word for it, not always to be pitied as being poor. he has a soul." "yas, sah, dat whut de book say tz da has read it ter me." confessions of a negro preacher "perhaps, however, they have not read to you that your son is far beyond the ordinary youth. i warrant that not in this community is there a white boy with so keen a zest for learning, which means that he is to make his mark in life." "ez er preacher o' de lawd's word," she interjected. "yes, it may come to that. and my advice is that every effort be made to send him after a while to a school of higher learning, a college." "den, mistah, ah mout not be able ter un'erstan' whut he say, but ah'd be proud o' him an' die er praisin' o' de lawd." and when the years had passed she died praising the lord. from the room wherein she was breathing out her short hour of existence she banished all except me, and holding my hands she lay, looking into my eyes, the film of death curtaining her own. i wish that i could put her look into words. i know that it would be a hymn set to melody by the heart throbs of the saviour. she died almost alone in her old and decay ing log cabin, but nearly every negro in the broad' spreading community attended her funeral, and fring' ing the black throng were white ladies who loved her, yea, and little girls with their pink and yet saddened cheeks, all of them remembering the lovable and saint- like qualities of the poor old black creature whom they were lowering into the ground it may be seen before i have progressed very far into confessions of a negro preacher these, my reminiscences, that i must be careful in the use of names, but i hesitate not to give the name of my kansas teacher, andrew shaver. he took me by the hand to lead me from the funeral nor did he turn from me when he observed that several white men were look' ing at him. i understood and sought to withdraw my hand, glancing a warning up at him; but he smiled down upon me, and spoke low of tone: "don't be afraid, my poor boy. they are ignorant louts." "i am not afraid, sir, for myself." "but afraid for me. you are a brave and unselfish little fellow." in gratitude for these words i could have knelt at his feet and i believe that i should have done so had he not kept so tight a grip of my hand. after a time we came to a place where our pathways diverged. he turned from me and had walked a short distance, leav ing me standing still, when he faced about and spoke: "you must not go back to that lonely cabin. its walls are hung with grief, and the fireplace is but a tomb. come, you must go with me." i stood with bowed head, unable to speak; and by the hand he took me again and led me to the place that he called his home. as he had been banished from all association with the whites he lived in a hut, neigh' bored with negroes. he had termed it a hut, built as it was of sticks and clay, but it was covered with confessions of a negro preacher vines, with flowers blooming on the top of its stack chimney, and to me it was a temple. it was portioned off into three small rooms, one containing his books, a mighty assembly it seemed to me, but now i know that they could have been loaded upon a push cart. my apartment was a mere kennel, but from it i could look into the library, the white man's mystery of learning and superiority; and i recall, or rather i can still see myself lying on a cornhusk couch holding out my hands toward those tomes of promise, believing that should i ever master them i might not be only a banker but a preacher moving strong men to tears. not more than three steps from us stood aunt silvy's cabin. having had as many as six husbands it was her boast that she knew "mistah nigger." she and my mother had been associated somewhat, but i could not have termed them sisters without a disagree ment. i remember having heard my mother tell her that so bountiful a harvest of marriage surely did not please the lord; but silvy had her wits about her, de daring that she had not woven a hundredth part as many family ties as solomon; and besides she had kept two of her husbands out of the penitentiary, saving all except one from being hanged. in my new home i was gradually relieved of the heaviness of sorrow. ambition is more sinewy than grief; it is stronger and more enduring because it builds while grief can do naught save to molder. old silvy confessions of a negro preacher could not have put it into words but shrewdly she ob- served it all, for once when at table shaver was giving me bits of learning, she said to him: "you puts me in mine o' er pusson er feedin bits o' candy ter er puppy, settin' him up wid er false appe tite. she believed that it was dangerous for a negro to sip the honey from the blossoms of books, the lord having designed for him a coarser food, and more than once she told me that if i were her son she would take a plow line and larrup satan's nonsense out of me. she was a widow and was too old now to marry again, so the lord told her, she affirmed; but once when a negro preacher, looking for a ham'hock and hoecake, came along she brightened her eyes at him and wruv kled him a smile. a few days later she was married in our church, the husband preaching to us after the ceremony. three days later, sunday, we were sitting beneath our broad'spreading tree, the preacher with his back toward the yard gate, when along the road came a yellow woman carrying a big black'snake whip in her hand. the bride arose as the wayfarer came into the yard, the preacher getting up too, but not quickly enough to avoid the lash of the whip, whirled by this saffron fury. she cornered him where the henhouse and corncrib joined and whipped him until he dropped upon his knees and begged for mercy. she tied the long cracker of the whip about his neck and led him confessions of a negro preachbr away; and aunt silvy, after looking at them as they departed, turned about with a sigh. "ah thought dar wuz suthin' wraung wid dat nigger an' ah only mar- ried him on 'spicion." gently my teacher rebuked me for laughing. "you may smile at your own distress but never at the dis- tress of others," he said. "come, let us walk down the road, and in our strolling, forget as best we may the weaknesses of humanity." he was given to long seasons of silence, thinking with his brow wrinkled. once he told me that he was seeking to look into his own soul, which, i have long since learned, is a way that we have of flattering our' selves. we urge that we are on the crest of a thrilling discovery, but time passes and we yawn. now he walked leaning forward, looking down upon human nature. "boy, do you know what marriage is, both white and black?" i strove to inquire as to why there should be any difference between black and white marriages, and in' tercepting me he said: "you mean intermarriage among blacks and whites?" "no, sir, i mean" i could proceed no further. "oh, you mean mar' riage as an idealism." i knew not the meaning of the word, but i said, "yes sir, that is what i mean." confessions of a negro preacher "well, boy, grow up and let it alone. in nine cases out of ten it is a disappointment. we marry what we conceive to be a painting and soon find it to be a crude photograph. a poverty'stricken woman may love her child, but it is almost impossible for her to love her hus' band. woman loves strength rather than weakness, and she cannot but look upon poverty as a weakness: i ought to know." i asked him whether he had a wife living, and he answered: "living, yes, but dead to me. i married a wild'briar rose of the plains. she told me that she would endure all things and conditions for my sake. she said, and taught me to believe when she said it, that a kiss was of more worth than money, two souls meeting. and within a month's time she left me and went with a man whose oil wells were spouting." "but are all women like she was?" i asked. "boy, i am forced to say that i believe so." "no, sir," i cried. "my mother would not have left my father." "ah, but perhaps your mother was more than woman: from what i have heard of her she was truly a saint." two white ladies, horseback, came slowly cantering toward us, one of them giving to me a sharp but not unkindly look, and a moment later i heard her say to her companion: "that black boy has remarkable fea' tures. his nose is not negro, but egyptian." confessions of a negro preacher "a woman made pedantic by recent travel," my teacher said, and i requested of him to explain the word which he proceeded to do, though my mind was not on his explanation but upon what the gentle lady had said of me; and when the teacher was not looking i put my hand to my nose and felt of it proudly; and that night in bed i lay thanking the lord for my nose, but gratitude came near to sobbing when i touched my wooly head, the skull of a negro. chapter iii. the first sermon "vto galley slave ever worked harder than i was wont to do in the season of summer when the school was closed except to the hogs that would root open the door and force their way into my temple of hope. but a greater calamity was in waiting; some recreant set it afire one night and in the morning i stood looking into the smouldering ashes of my dreams. in church the negroes raised a lamentation, a wail that soon spread out among the whites, and blessed be their souls, a committee of sympathetic ladies took up a subscription and built for us a better house, a palace it seemed to me. shaver was away on his vacation, in kansas, and with much labor and not without help i wrote to him not to dwell upon our loss but to exult over our new endowment. when he returned in early autumn he took me by the hand and told me that my pen would after a while be facile enough to write a learned mes- sage. one of the boys laughed, thinking it some sort of joke, but i bowed my grateful acknowledgements and said unto myself that i would make it one of the aims of my early life to cuff that boy for making me confessions of a negro preacher the object of his ridicule; and a few days later we fought and though i conquered him it was not without the bloodying of the nose that the gentle lady on the horse had complimented. shaver and i were still housed together in old silvys yard and took our meals together at table though the teacher had been repeatedly warned that lowering him' self to eat with a nigger would get him into trouble. once at breakfast he asked me as to how much money i had saved from my summer's work. i brought him my treasure and he counted it, more than sixty dollars, and he praised me for my thrift. "boy, i can see you entering college. and as advice can never be given too early, i am going to begin now. you will hear it said that in the future everything will resolve itself into science, and in a measure this may be true, but if i were you i would not devote myself to scientific courses. to be frank with you, the negro has not a scientific mind. in this line he surely could not raise himself above the white man. but there is something which has not been done and which it has often struck me that you can eventually do. mark me. the negro has brought forth no epic, not even a novel, characteristic of his race. along this line i believe that you can do something distinctive and i counsel you to make it the aim of your education, indeed, of your life. i see by your countenance that you would interrupt me. this is because that you are too young and un' confessions of a negro preacher trained to comprehend. your determination to study for the ministry instead of detracting would fit into the plan. let your study be to know the apt use and mean' ing of words. nearly every negro has the endowment of music, and in poetry, in character, even in philoso- phy there is music. i will write this down for you as i go along. it is the music rather than the truth set forth in philosophy that has caught the majority of the white races, and much more effectively this would be with the negroes. and if this be somewhat true with regard to philosophy, how much more strikingly true it is with preaching. yes, i shall write it all down for you. religion would kill itself with pure logic. logic is deadly poison to the miracle. so, don't study logic. blink at what men term reason and sing the melody of the gospel. whenever an educated preacher essays the logical he has sidetracked himself from all bibical texts. wait, now, i am still writing it down. from the pulpit one sex stir is worth a thousand appeals to the mind. this is why nearly all effective hymns are sex odes. here, take this paper and put it away. from time to time i may give you a number of such bits. is there any question you wish to ask?" "yes, sir. what college would you advise me to go to?" "i don't know at this moment. it must be figured out. it would take too much technical and special study, and that of a useless sort, to prepare you for the confessions of a negro preacher most of the colleges in the north. let me see: i have it, boy, booker washington's seat of useful learning. and now, work and study with that in mind." "but would you advise me to be learned and a preacher?" i asked, the image of my mother vivid in my mind. "that on my part demands explanation," he replied, his countenance seeming to resolve itself into a net' work of entangling thought. "we may say that the most of the effective and religionteforming preachers have not been of the learned kind, depending as they did upon a sort of inspiration, but to me the more learning the more inspiration, not of a vulgar complex' ion, but of a higher character. the most forcible of all preachers is the educated man who knows how to hide his education from the ignorant and reveal it to the thoughtful. therefore, like the shrewd politician, be ignorant with the ignorant and wise with the wise. wait, let me put that down." i can see now that much of his pleasure in life, if indeed he found in it any pleasure at all, came from an experimentation with his own mind. once in my crude way i asked him as to what had been his ambition, and before answering me he gathered up his pad and pencil. "boy, i was born to write a great epic. this was whispered to me long before i knew the meaning of the word. there have been epics of wars on earth, in heaven, and an epic of the tortures of hades, but never confessions of a negro preacher an epic of the human heart, which means god's heart. the new testament touches upon it but does not make of it a poetic whole. this completion was laid out for me; and one of these days when you turn about from entering the palatial church which your genius has reared, you will for a moment contemplate the mon- ument erected to me, the poet of the heart." in a flash i could see my church, his monument standing near it, and it seemed that the tears that came into my eyes made it all the brighter, without a dark shadow to dim it. on the monument was a statue of gold, harvesting the rays of the sun, and standing about me in the marble portal of my temple were handsome women giving unto me the worship of their eyes. i may not have realized it at the time but now i know from reading the scribbled scraps that he gave to me that his opinions often fell into crisscross ways. never, though, did he lose faith in the ultimate victory of his epic forces, a conquering squad marching toward achievement. often at night, with the wind blowing through the cracks and flurrying our lamp, with the kettlcdrum tat'too on the clap'board roof, he would draw up to the table and snatch up his pen and ink it to begin in answer to the call of a sudden inspiration, but never a word of his poem did i see him set in scroll. always he halted and sometimes with a mocking blot on his paper. "boy," he would say, "the moment has not quite confessions of a negro preacher come. even the old prophets were many a time twitched before they were heaved forward into their work. a false inspiration is like a sprout that comes up prematurely in the spring of the year, a food for jeering frost. it shall not be thus with me. hear me, boy: the saints and their followers in the middle ages were not wholly in error with regard to their belief in demons and evil spirts. and if those demons and evil spirits existed then they also exist now in this our day of cynicism. yes, we are often tempted by the imps of impulse into wrong thinking and wrong doing. guard against it, my pupil." "would you advise me not to preach when i feel that i want to preach?" i remember to have asked of him. "oh, don't misunderstand me. i would advise you not to misinterpret a mere prompting for the urge of strength. wait until you are not inclined to con and to shape your utterances and then liberate them. one true inspiration is worth more than a hundred cool' browed statements." "but would the evil spirits urge me to preach?" i recall that he reached over and put his hand upon my nappy head. "it always delights our enemy to see us do a thing botchingly. go from me now for i be lieve that i am called to begin my poem." i left him as he gathered his pen with a determined grasp, went out into the windy dark to stumble about confessions of a negro preacher the yard, but finally to halt down near the pen wherein aunt silvy kept her pigs. here i halted and looked upward. a rift in the clouds revealed a glint of the new moon, a gleaming fish in dark waters, i painted it in my fancy; and dropping my hat on the ground, i turned to the pigs with my first sermon. my teacher had read to me that saints had preached to fishes, to lions, and had converted them. then why should not i, in my aspiring humility, preach to hogs? in the depth of my humbleness i called them brethren; i told an old barrow that was wont to break out and ravage the garden that he must mend his ways; i spoke sooth' ing words to a motherly old sow that always grunted tenderly when her young ones were mercilessly milking her. to my utterance came words which i must have heard before but which now were new to me, and with the intoxication of verb'wine of my own pressing, i shouted my censures against the ways of this worn and wicked world. i resolved a trough into a mourner's bench and exhorted the unconverted of my hearers to kneel before it and to beg forgiveness of their sins; i sang a hymn that i had heard my mother sing. from the old sow there came a responsive grunt, and the gar' den'ravishing barrow twitched his crooked tail, the moon glinting it, and rebelliously sought the solitude of a corner of the pen, to mock me. i told him that his days were numbered here upon earth, and that satan was waiting for him. a moonbeam fell upon his confessions of a negro preacher frothy mouth to reveal a beady sneer, and in my resent- ment i was tempted to hurl a stone at him, indeed, had turned about to seek one when there stood my teacher, a darkened statue with folded arms. "the barrow has conquered you," he said. if a negro's blush makes him darker i must at that moment have been blacker than a coal'pit. chapter iv. the girl on the train ghaver took me silently by the arm and led me to- ward the house. upon entering the room he mo- tioned me toward a chair, and sat down near the table. i saw his hand reached out for the writing pad, and i fancied that inspiration must be making a map of his countenance, for in it appeared lines that i had not seen before. i asked him whether he wished to be alone, and it seemed that his thought'furrows were smoothing out as he answered: "no. a bird flew into my ken but it has escaped. ha, but i shall catch him yet and make him flutter. boy, let me tell you that you preached a good sermon, and as i listened i fancied that i stood upon a briar tangled crest of the middle ages. let me make my meaning clear." he then proceeded to paint for me the world's age of almost hopeless night, when a man with a smack of learning was looked upon as a wizard and was in dan- ger of being pelted with stones. "ha, but eloquence which often is but the music of ignorance, was ever soothing; and the gospel was thought to be divinely confessions of a negro preacher effective whether preached unto man or jackal." "and when i grow up would you advise me to preach to jackals?" "yes, but don't misunderstand me. i want that you should be learned, in a word way, but warn you against all scientific inquiry. whitcsheet a thought in the clean habiliments of culture and you make a ghost for the negro. wait a moment and let me set that down for you." he scribbled upon his pad, smiled his satisfaction, reading it over and over, and began again to search his mind for a vagrant thought. "boy, i wish that i could make myself as clear as a dewdrop, ah, and even then the sun would dazzle my meaning. i have heard you singing to yourself and i know that you love and are moved by music. this is in accord with your race, for music, no matter how sublime, is still a barbaric emc tion. a man might know every note in every opera and have no more of creative thought than a phono- graph record. but i am wandering off from what i had intended to say. now listen: take your course at tuskegee, when the time shall come, hide your edu- cation and with fingers that appear awkwardly to fum- ble, play upon the rude banjo of the negro soul. and there is another thing that you ought to attempt, and that is to write a real negro novel. it may have been attempted but it has never been done. dunbar wrote verses and some of them skillfully, after the manner of confessions of a negro preacher i whitcomb riley; but he brought forth no striking ne gro character. the white writers who have sought to portray the negro have contented themselves with amusing peculiarities or pathetic exaggerations. do not satisfy yourself with making him humorous and kindly, but boil out the beast juice so hot within him that it stews him defiantly from the white man's notion of civilization. boy, if i talk too much in figures it is because of the barbarian still rife within me, the poetic spirit which one day is to bring forth my epic. but i can be practical: apollo could put aside his lyre to feed a cow. and thus am i moved to offer this bit of almost immediate advice: come with me to kansas when vacation falls. you are strong enough to work in the harvest fields, and there you can earn more money in one summer than you could during three sea' sons here at home. travel would broaden you and good wages would give to you a feeling of independence." "mr. shaver, i would go anywhere with you. i would follow you like a dog." he put his hand on my head, and so much at this moment did i feel like a faithful dog that had he wliis* tled to me and "muched" me i would have licked his hand so eager was i to learn all that my books could im* part that i was wont to view with grief the coming of the vacation season, but now that i was to travel in far off countries i would have winged the passing days confessions of a negro preacher with swiftness. this pleased my teacher when he had observed it. "it will be a fine thing for you, student," he said, and i was thrilled that instead of calling me boy he had employed the flattering title of student. "among the whites in kansas you will be a sort of astonishment," he continued. "don't infer, however, that you will find no negroes there. of late there has been an exodus of them from the south, but you will stand out distinctive." i was flattered but had misgivings. "why so?" i asked of him. "because you are notable not only as a negro boy but would be so even were you white. you have the barbarism of poetry within your soul. barbarism of poetry would make a professor smile, because in the weakness of his learning, his text books, he does not realize that the foundational truth of poetry is a nature made rock and not a man fashioned brick. but all wise men know that after what may be termed the third state of barbarism all inspired prophets have lan' guished and died. the seer comes from the desert or the thicket." "i thought i was to be a preacher rather than a poet," i replied. "the preacher and the poet should be the same, my student, and fitted for one you become the other." "but you said that i was to write a novel of my confessions of a negro preacher ing a bit of candle i lighted it and placed it upon the hearth, the altar of my love and devotion. i recall that an owl was hooting in a tree not far off, but whether he was jeering or encouraging my new adven' ture into life i could not determine. upon the hearth i knelt and reaching into the fireplace i gathered up a handful of ashes and sprinkled my head with the sacred dust. no creature, even approaching death, ever gave unto jesus a more humbled soul. it was here that i had prayed to be turned into a white boy, and here had come the sudden exultation of an answered prayer. then had followed the jeering of my brothers and the truth that i was marked with eternal blackness of skin. and would this my later and saner prayer blow away upon the mocking wind? but what was my saner prayer? that i might conquer racial prejudices and become a great man. then came the truth that this was ambition and not humbleness, but i could not peti' tion that ambition might be taken from me. on the morrow and for the first time in my life i climbed aboard a railway train. not permitted to ride with shaver i sat forward with the negroes. this was the law of the south, and though my master sniffed at it, one word in censure of it would have cost him a broken bone or perhaps his life. an old man turned from his reminiscences of the time when he was a slave to ask me whither i was going, and when i told him, his toothless mouth whistled surprise that i was going so confessions of a negro preacher far. another negro spoke up with the information that kansas was not so far and that folks had been known to visit there and return. his youngest daugh' ter had gone to a place near topeka to visit her mar' ried sister and had come home with a half white child only three months old, and this, too, without having gone through the ceremony of marriage. the tooth' less old negro laughed and offered the opinion that the daughter might have acquired the white child without having left her native neighborhood. shaver brought me food from the eating houses along the way, and at bedtime he peeped in upon me to see that i was comfortably couched on a seat all to myself. when we got out of the black belt he and i rode together, and it was with pleasure that i saw the white children playing up and down the aisle. an ad' venturous girl, handsome and with candle'flame hair twirled about her ears, invited me to romp with her. she laughed, touched my cheek and with her finger rubbed her white dress to see whether it would leave a black mark, laughed her rollicking mischief and chal' . lenged me to catch her. i looked at shaver, and when in an amused way he had nodded his consent, i caught her and was thrilled to see my black nail'grabs enringed with her golden curls. her mother, hearing her laugh, looked up from a book and harshed at her with north' era accent: "julia, go over there and sit down. you ought to confessions of a negro preacher be ashamed of yourself playing with that dirty nigger." "madam," impulse forced me to speak, "i am a nc gro but i am not dirty." "but you are so funny," spoke julia, in no wise humbled by her mothers rebuke. "and mamma, look at his big black eyes." "hush and sit down, i tell you. you don't see those other girls playing with him." "but they don't know what's funny," julia insisted, and then turned to me. "what's your name, black thing?" just at this moment a man evidently acquainted with the ways of the south, spoke to me: "you go over there and keep quiet. do you hear what i say? and if you cut any more capers i'll sprawl you on the floor." "it was not his fault, sir," shaver gently interposed. "the little girl urged him to play with her." "it was out of her innocence that she did it," the man retorted. "and may it not have been his innocence, too, sir?" "look here, are you taking the part of a nigger boy against a white girl? where's the conductor. this fellow ought to be put off the train." the girl's mother spoke up: "oh, what's the use in making so much to do over it? no harm has been done. boy, here's a dime for you," she said, fumbling with her purse. "no, i thank you," i declared myself with a bow. confessions of a negro preacher "give the money to your own child." "yes," julia cried, clapping her hands. "and we'll buy some peanuts, won't we, blackie?" "julia," said her mother, ceasing to fumble with her purse, "i told you to go over there and sit down." soon she got off at a station, the little girl throwing back a smile at me. i was young, yea, and religious, but when dozing night had come, old hot'hoofed satan pranced with me in my dreams. chapter five out on the harvest landscape j_jow beautiful to me was that mighty territory of wheat, a yellowed ocean gently billowing. here and there on a knoll, an island i pictured it, an ambitious flower held high its head, purple in the sunshine. far away in the broad road a dust cloud told of a wagon with its team of mules, and at a station, a horse ridden in from the plains and tied to a rack, broke his bridle and snorted his terror as he sped away. the land of freedom! and while i was enraptured with the sea of wheat i missed the woods of my native state, and spoke of it when shaver questioned me. "but you must know," he said, "that the prophets did not come from the wooded lands but from the desert. the lord most inspires us when we are in lonely and desolate places. if isaiah had lived in the woods he might have contented himself with being a rail splitter." "lincoln was a rail splitter," i interposed, and at this he winced. "yes, but lincoln was not a prophet: he was a statesman, experimenting with the foibles of man. confessions of a negro preacher measure failed in my work. i have been the means of many a conversion; i have dedicated many a negro church, only to be convinced that there is something else other than religion that the negro needs. who is more religious than the white trash of the south? and how much better off are the white trash now than they were a hundred years ago? i beg your par' don but you are putting error into this boy's head. sir, the most profound bit of wisdom ever addressed to the negro was the injunction of booker t. washington when he told him to stick to the farm. i take it, sir, that you are a school teacher." "yes, i instruct as i follow the pathway leading up to my predestined climax." we were halting at a station and as the preacher gathered up his bag to get off, he turned to me: "the white man's god is money. get it as honestly as you conveniently can and you'll be inspired enough. good day." i suspected that shaver would break out in a tirade against him, and was rather astonished when he said: "that fellow is no fool. he has intelligence but has never been inspired. don't let what he said dis- courage you shaver's home was in a village where the hoofs of the buffalo had marked the ground in sport and in sudden frenzy. his weather'beaten house had been closed during his absence, and now we opened it up to confessions of a negro preacher air it and to dust off the bedclothes. it was not much better than aunt silvy's home, but it was a shack of freedom and this meant much to me, especially when i contemplated his collection of books, at fewest a hun' dred, and some of them so heavy that i knew they must be profound. two nights after his return he invited a number of the neighbors to a social gathering. they came, whites with a sprinkling of blacks, and i could see that no outward distinction was made. one wo man of much flesh made as if to take me on her lap, flesh'dogged humor on her part, and the company laughed, the slim girls clapping their hands. among the company was a mulatto girl about my age, and it seemed that her lips were constantly inviting me to kiss them; and when i was showing to her a book which doubtless she could not have spelled her way through, i told her that her mouth must be as sweet as wild plumb jelly. "i ain't never eat none," she said, and that was the extent of the impression that i had made. she called the books fool things that ought to be thrown out, and asked me if i could dance. for her mind i had a con' tempt, but her mouth continued sweet, and my hot blood, young as i was, told me that if ever i got a chance i would take a sip at it. shaver called me, pre sen ted me to a lady teacher in a local school, a frail thing who coughed her learning. she termed me a pretty fellow, a perfect moor but for the nap on my confessions of a negro preacher head, which made me resolve to straighten out my kinks. it seemed that we were destined to come into con' stant contact with preachers; and on the day after our social gathering, in came the rev. mr. simpson, a neighbor who with strength of character and mental impressiveness was wont to draw the largest congrega' tion in the town. he was tall, thin, and at first gave to me the impression of physical hunger rather than a gift for satisfying a spiritual longing. i hung bashfully about while shaver told him of the ebon prodegy that he had discovered away down in rural georgia, and clearing his throat to invite my attention, mr. simpson gave me a smile. in one respect he had, i discovered, the inclination of the early apostles in that he expressed his fondness for fishing; and when in answer to an inquiry i told him that i had never caught a fish, hav ing no desire in that way, he called me an unnatural boy. while we were talking, and he not without a certain sort of pleasantry, a cat with a mouse in her mouth ran into the room. up she tossed her prey, caught it gently between her teeth, rolled over on the floor with it, pretending to let it get away, but always reached forth to bring it back into merciless captivity when it had thought itself free of her. after a time she killed it and went away to enjoy her snack. "what could be a better example of cruelty?" the preacher expressed himself. "she let that poor mouse believe that he had got away and then brought him confessions of a negro preacher shudders to be taken with the instrument of the pen." "and are you training your negro prodegy to catch at it and take it down for you?" "since you have mentioned it, such is sometimes my hope. how are you getting along with your work, brother simpson?" "fairly. my people recently gave me not a flat' tering but yet an assuring increase in salary. i was in much need of a horse, and a newcomer hearing of it presented me with a sorrel that is good for buggy and saddle. i suppose you heard of my daughter's marriage?" "yes, incidentally." "yes, ella is now a married woman, strange as it may seem to me. she and her husband are now living with us. clyde is a promising fellow, and—" "but does he keep his promises?" shaver interposed. the preacher scratched his head. "well, he hasn't made any except to affirm that he will go to work as soon as he can get a job." "let him go to the harvest fields and work along with my student. i am afraid, sir, that your son'in' law, like the average young man of today, is inclined to be of no account." this i give to illustrate the atmosphere in which i now found myself. on the morrow i went forth into the fields, the sun broiling hotter than i had ever felt it in georgia, but i was to get more pay than i had confessions of a negro preacher ever received, a man's wages, and this upheaved a prayer within me. within two weeks time i had to move with the harvest farther north, and now i could not return at night to my master's house. the camp where i lodged was composed of negroes and whites; outlandish creatures, some of the latter. one whom they termed a bohunk, whatever that may imply, tent' ed with me, his cot along side my own; and one night after we had been paid off, i caught him stealthily rummaging for my wages. i spoke, sprang up, and gripping my arm he jabbered that he would kill me if i gave him away. i sat up during the rest of the night, and felt none too strong in the field on the following day; and when night was come, i got me a sandstone from the sluggish stream near by and gave the thief to understand that i would crush his head should he ad' venture further in his attempt at thievery. he showed me his dirk and grinned, and going forth i slept in the dewladen weeds. on the following day i made bold to tell the boss about the miscreant and had the satisfaction to see him whipped out of the camp, his dirk serving him a very poor turn. a week later we moved our camp. we set it up on a sunday, and in the night i walked out to muse over the many things that shaver had said to me. upon returning, and just before reaching my tent, i saw a shadow lurking about. the bohunk, i felt; and i dodged about to make sure. yes, it was he, confessions of a negro preacher waiting for me, and forward he leaped, steel gleaming in his grasp. but caution had preserved my sandstone weapon, and at him i threw it, and down he fell, al' most at my feet. i raised a cry, and soon there came the flashing of lights, the negroes gathering about me when they saw that one of their own color was in trouble. i had struck the fellow in the breast and now he lay panting. we stretched him out in the weeds and left him for dead but with the coming of the sun we found that he was gone. now it was heavy on my conscience that i must have killed a human being, even though in self defence, and i prayed that it might not be true. the negroes congratulated me, sought to flatter me with the assurance that he had undoubtedly staggered off and died, perhaps had fallen into the stream, and the boss bade me cheer up as i had brought about a good riddance. soon we learned that the de generate had gone to a village to lodge a charge of attempted murder, and that having been recognized as a housebreaker, had been sent to jail for trial. i never heard what finally became of him. i spent all of one sunday writing to shaver, giving him a full, not to say a proud account of my close escape, and this is a part of his letter to me: "i con' gratulate you, my brave student. you are able to take care of yourself, and this is a comfort to me. and it reminds me that last night, sitting here alone, i felt the mood coming on and had reached for my pen when confessions of a negro preacher i heard some miscreant prowling about the house. it may have been a man, perhaps only a dog, but the wretched thing whatever it was, ruined the mood of my inspiration. it will come back, however, and with achieving result, perhaps during a thunder storm when the cloud'curtains shall be ripped by lightning and burnt up like dried grass, the wind'rows of the heavens. ah, genius, thou mighty womb, conceiving and smoth- ering thy impetuous offspring! you have heard me speak of blind tom, the most astonishing musical prodegy that this world has known, black, sightless and to those who attempted to talk with him, a mouth' frothing idiot; but when first he touched the keys of a piano, melody, the songs of birds rippled from his fingers. and now, my student, i believe that in the music of words you are to be a blind tom. it is of no need for me to caution you to be careful of your earn- ings, looking toward your future instruction, for care and economy are parts of the virtue of your inspired undertaking. when the last sheaf of your northward harvest shall have been bound, hasten back to me, and spending a brief season in study, we will toward the south where lies our real work. "a bit of good luck has lately come to me. a society woman of topeka wrote a book. having in some way heard of me, she came to our village, bringing with her the manuscript for me secretly to revise. i was not much interested until she brightened me with the prom' confessions of a negro preacher ise of five hundred dollars. ha, and i was shrewd enough to know that the less we revise, the more we please the author. alexander pope tattered the poem of a powerful man at court and lost his friendship. so i straightened out a few of the lady's most awkward twists and received one hundred dollars in bonus. to your religious mind this may seem trickery, and so was it looked upon as a shifting trick when jesus handed back the coin with the injunction that it be rendered unto caesar. i am looking forward toward the time of your return." to me his letter was as profound a piece of wisdom as man had written, and bound in a wallet with my wages i kept it, not less of value than hard earned money itself. and as we worked up toward omaha, a wild and tempestuous city i was told, i banked my treasure in my bosom, tied about my body with a lea' ther string. one saturday night we went into the city with the prospect of remaining therein until monday morning, when we were to cross the river and slowly slant up through iowa into the dakotas. it was the biggest town that i had ever entered. in the electric lights of the streets there appeared to be a wild and dangerous whirl, but gay to fearless maidens who grooping in drugstores, laughed their love of adventure. a railway station was our domicile, but i wandered off from it, stealing glimpses of life, but not without peril, for ruffian boys sighting me, threw stones at me and confessions of a negro preacher gave me chase back to my quarters. negro boys in the south would not have been so brutal toward a stranger, and this set me to think that it was the white as well as the black race in this country that was in christian need of reformation. on benches about me lay motley immigrants, some of them in appearance a disgrace to humanity. i recall a poor woman, ragged and with hair that looked as if it had been stewed in a pot, trying to give suck to her almost famishing twins. this was more than i could stand, and grabbing a twentyfive cent piece out of my pocket i asked the woman if she would please accept of it. the poor creature may not have caught the meaning of my words but she snatched at the money and lugging her off' spring, ran to the newscounter where bits of food were for sale. on a bench neighboring the hard seat where i was to doze out the night lolled a lowbrowed fellow, with a sprinkling of grey in the bristles about his jaw. he had seen me give money to the woman, and now he gazed at me, evil in every line of his countenance. "how much did you give her?" "a quarter." "give me one. i'm as hungry as she is." it did not require a trip north to tell me what he wanted. a thirst for liquor is not geographic. "come, out with it," he demanded. i drew back from him and was about to appeal for protection when one of our confessions of a negro preacher harvest negroes, a big fellow as strong as jack johnson, came forward, with an assuring laugh, so characteristic of our race. "what he tryin' do, rob you? look heah, whoeber you is, pusson," he added speaking to the aggressor, "it hab been mas' two hours sense i hit er white man, an' my fist 'bout ter go ter sleep. is you gwine be de means o' wakin' it up? boy, lay back dar on de bench an' go ter sleep. ah take kere o' dis pusson." chapter vi with his pen in his hand t was not sorry when the cool winds in north dakota brought the wheat season to a close; and now i turned toward kansas to join shaver. his gentle soul shone through his countenance when he grasped my hand. late we sat by the fire that night, master having much to tell me. on the day before he had come near setting down the first words of his epic, the fruitful instant having been blasted by the mawling of a cat, lecherous on the fence. it was the beast that had played with the mouse, he told me, and swore an oath that led me to believe that he would have shot the miscreant had a gun been within his reach. "but the inspired moment is becoming more and more vivid," he said. "it dodges, yes, like a butterfly; but one day it will tiptoe upon the flower of my mind to sip, and then "he looked at me, smiling. "your life's ambition will be reached," i supplied. "yes. it is not that i am enamored of fame, my student. it is that i wish to realize a predestined achievement. you have had quite a time." "yes," and i related my experiences. "it all fits you confessions of a negro preacher for your work," he assured me. "well, as our train leaves early, let us to bed" fond memories greeted my return. in the old yard, in the twilight, i could hear my mother's spirit sing' ing, and into the cabin i went again to kneel at the hearthstone and to sprinkle ashes upon my head. aunt silvy was much interested to know that i had saved my money, but she warned shaver that he must not turn me into a miser. "dar ain' nothin' mo' unnat'ral den er stingy nigger," she said, speaking to him, "an' you mus' look out dat you doan do dat. ah neber needed er new caliker dress mo' den ah does at dis minit, but ah doan know who gwine git it fur me." i knew, and got it for her and her old orbs that had looked out over the drag of so many years gave me their gratitude. school opened on the second day after our arrival and my thirsty mind gulped in eager' ness. as time wore along shaver would give me an occasional book not included in systematized study and thus was my mind led out into broader ways. i can now see that he gave me nothing that might lead me from simple faith; but one night when i had gone to bed, leaving him in converse with a man from the north, i heard him express views that were startling to me. "all religions, like toy balloons, when blown too long must burst," he said. "but isn't it true that all nations lose their civiliza' tion when they lose their religion, no matter what form confessions of a negro preacher of religion it may be?" the visitor asked. "ah, and it may be true that all religions must have a foundational stone of ignorance. but there is such a condition as intelligent ignorance, lettered ignorance, you might say." into worried sleep i sank, and on the morrow i asked him as to what he had meant, and he laughed in his gentle manner and told me that i must not put myself in the way to be pricked with the splinters of thought. two days later he brought me bunyans fervid allegory and with it my soul was illuminated. how those days come back to me! time flew. during four seasons i labored as a migrating harvester, and i was now grown to be a big fellow, but was pleased more than once to hear it said that i was not awkward. vanity lives long, and recalling what the gentle lady on the horse had said, i was proud to possess an egyptian rather than a negro nose. but i have since learned that the egyptians were not distinguished for their noses, being rather thick and spreading of nostril, but that took not from me the happy recollection of the gentle lady. within me it was grief to see my master's health declining. in the night he was wont to cough, and often i would steal to his bedside when i heard his labored breathing. one night i found him with pad and pen, a dim lamp burning on a table beside him. i was about to sneak back when he spoke: confessions of a negro preacher "that is all right, my student. you did not frighten my inspiration away. it was only one of its whimsical threats, but one of these times it will come and linger happily with me. sit down, please, i wish to talk to you. i can see by your distress that you do not believe i am to live long. there now, don't let it sink your breast. one sunken breast between us is enough. what, so big a fellow and giving way to tears? brace yourself, for i shall be more than willing to go when i have taken down my epic, and i assure you that i shall not go before then. in after years when the world is proclaiming my sylabic glory, you will, while recalling me with affection, remember me as the strangest creature that ever came within your touch. and then as the years fly to the roost of eternity, you may be known as the strangest negro that any one has known. in this we are brothers and i knew it the first moment i saw you. within a short time you will go to booker washington's house of experiment. i may be much weakened but i shall be here to welcome you at the close of your first season. beyond that is all mist. but the air will be clear to you, and through the sunshine i desire you to walk, my epic in your hand, and when you have read it over and over in memory of me, i enjoin you to take it to some publisher and have it brought forth. at first its sale will be slow, all im- mortal art being slow of recognition, but there will come a day when man will be ashamed not to confessions of a negro preacher acknowledge it; and with the financial proceeds, build you a monument to me, here at the corner of old silvy's yard where it shall mock those who have cast vile looks upon me. now put out my lamp and go back to bed." when broad day flashed i was glad to hear him up and stirring. not for a long time had he felt better, he told me, and aunt silvy noticed his improvement and told him that a mess of chitterlings which she had prepared would surely bring him back to health what was known among us as old fashioned consumption has ever been a mocking disease, a cat playing with a mouse. one morning shaver awoke me with his singing of a bawdy song, and when i hastened to him, thinking that he must have lost his mind, i found him sitting up in bed, holding in his hand not his pen, his pad, but the photograph of a half naked woman. "student, i am lecherous," he boldy spoke. "ha, you must know that no one is more salacious than a consumptive: it is nature striving to reproduce before it be too late. and so you leave me today. it is not necessary for me to tell you to be a good boy and mind your book, you being more than inclined that way. but you are no longer a boy, my student. you are physically fitted for the prize ring." "better than i shall ever be mentally fitted for a preacher," i replied. "don't you believe it," he said, taking another look confessions of a negro preacher at the photograph of the half naked woman. "the pulpit, however, requires physical strength and agility as well as any mental finesse. once i saw billy sunday box with the devil, and the mighty congregation instead of laughing at so grotesque a performance, flew into frenzied enthusiasm. demosthenes said that there could be no impressive oratory without action, and i charge you to bear this in mind. and now i am going to say something which among the unthinking would brand me a beast: in your preaching throw yourself into artful sex poses: out of sex comes all religions." "not the religion of jesus," i told him. "that is a point we shall not discuss" as to the impressiveness of booker washington's establishment i was disappointed. to me it was more of an industrial shop than a house of learning. i can now see that it was his aim to render the negro self' supporting and efficient; i now know that he felt it to be impossible that the negro man could ever stand on a parity with the white man in intellectual life. he was half white himself and his two bloods consulted one with the other. upon my saying to him that it was the aim of my life to preach, he told me that i would make a good blacksmith. to my dormitory i went in blighted discouragement, but when i met him on the following day he spoke graciously to me, led out my mind as we strolled about the grounds, telling confessions of a negro preacher me that he had just received from a man named shaver a most remarkable letter concerning me. "so, if you are determined to be a preacher, i shall do all i can to further your ambition." i told him of my mother, of her saintly life, of her eyes looking into the heart of jesus as she passed away; and this shrewd man of the world, the companion of statesmen looked at me, his eyes dimmed with the dew of sympathy. within a few days there came a sort of visiting committee, several congressmen and what we conceived to be the mighty minds of the senate, ben tillman of south carolina among them. i was determined to sneak crumbs from the feast and i hung about, eager to catch every word. for the most part their talk was light with comment upon current happenings. they spent more of their time in the shops and the fields than in the library, but retrieved some of their frivolity when they acknowledged that booker washington was doing a notable work. i shall note the talk i caught as i hung about a corner of a veranda, sheltered by a vine. mint juleps had made their tradi' tional round, promoting freedom of expression. till' man, sipping, said that the negro would always remain negro no matter how much of book knowledge might be jammed into his head. "now booker t., you know that you are no more entitled to the name of washington than to the name of christ. wait a moment: i am talking to the white confessions of a negro preacher man within you and not to the negro. as a white man you are doing something, but i can take a rabbit's foot, make a few passes at the negro part of you and back you off a bluff into the river, white, negro and ab." this stung me, but washington laughed pleasantly. "senator," he said, "the white part of me might have burnt witches at salem but the negro part never would have assassinated lincoln. now i must agree that the negro has his place and may never be in a natural atmosphere when he gets out of it. i know that he does not invent a machine nor devise a code of moral ethics." "then you acknowledge that he was put here as a hewer of wood and a drawer of water." "yes; but can anything be more essential than wood that keeps man from freezing and water that keeps him from dying of thirst?" "senator," spoke a congressman, "i think that he is rather putting it over on you." as i saw tillman drinking with washington i wondered why he would have drawn back in a shudder from eating with him. .... upon returning home after the close of my schol- astic season i found that shaver, no longer indulging his fondness for a long and meditative walk, confined his strolling within the narrow scope of the door yard. he was standing with his arms rested on the fence as confessions of a negro preacher i came down the road, and forward he came, tottered to meet me, his exertion making him cough. i took his frail hand and pressed it to my bosom, aunt silvy sing' ing a hymn in measure with the action. "ha, booker washington tells me in a letter that you are distinguishing yourself," said my master, leaning on my arm as we walked toward the cabin door. "i haven't been idle," i assured him; and when i had seated him in his rocking chair, my heart at grief to see him so frail, he smiled and told me that never had his inspiration been so vital as on the night before when he had come near writing the first sentence of his immortal work. as shaver was not able to go to kansas, i decided to take up some sort of summer work in our neighborhood and found it, a plow hand in a field. a tent revivalist came along, and a section of seats was apportioned to the negroes. a tall, grave man who bore the degree of doctor was the leader and i expected to hear him burst forth in a torrent of eloquence, but instead of buoying us on the tide of emotion he juggled cold phrases in denunciation of the degeneracy of the day. one night when i had arrayed myself in vanity cloth, the finest clothes that i had ever donned, i approached him with a request: "would you let me, a student of the gospel, stand on your platform and address the negroes?" he looked at me from head to foot, measured me, and confessions of a negro preacher with cool lips thus gave unto me his answer: "i am a northern man and must be careful not to offend my white brethren of the south." "but your white brethren are not offended by the negroes seated over there. then why should it give offence if i should humbly speak a few words?" one of the promoters of the meeting, a southerner, was standing near. "brother let him talk. it will be all right." with a few cool sentences the evangelist introduced me, and the negroes, thus flattered, broke forth in song, and before the hymn was ended my mind was teeming with emotional phrases hot from the furnace. i bellowed a hallelujah of the heart, believing in my soul that i was to help my people, and when i had hushed, they arose with a shout and came with a rush to head me off as i left the tent. one old man cried out that i was a joshua doing the battle of the lord. this was well enough and fed my pride and then something happened that brought a rewarding thrill, the impetuous act of a mulatto girl. leaping, she threw her arms about my neck and bit my willing lips. her eyes flashed her fire, and nature, the beast within me, pressed her to my heart. other women separated us, the girl's mother chiding her, but i stole a chance to find out from her where she might be found, and the following day i found her. of her i said noth' ing to shaver until i had been housed alone with her and then i told him in humiliation, confessing my error. confessions of a negro preacher playfully he took up his photograph of the half naked woman and tossed it to me. "student, we are the illigitimate children of lustful satan." ( "but oh," i groveled, "am i always to be such? what has become of my religion? where is my faith?" "take it not so seriously. look upon it as a matter of nature. remember that reproductive passion within man is older than any religion." "but religion, if it be the true sort, ought to be a restraint," i said, and my master's assumed pleasantry of a laugh ended in a cough. on a towel that he kept lying near him he wiped his mouth, looked to see if there were the stain of blood, and remarked: "mumps have been more potent in the restraint of passion than all religions combined." "master, you surely don't believe that. didn't the religion of the old saints restrain passion?" "in a way, yes," he answered. "but in my opinion they did not become saints in practice until the animal within them had begun to die. in your case it was not your fault, though it may have been your error. i am acquainted and somewhat intimately with the woman who entrapped you, and instead of wronging her you served her a grateful turn. she is a nymphomaniac." "i don't understand, master." he explained the meaning of the word and smiled upon me as i gazed upon him. "student, i am im' confessions of a negro preacher proving. i feel it in my bellows," and he touched his breast. "the doctor gave me but little hope yester' day, but he did not foresee the change the current has taken. blessed be the moment, student, my inspiration has come. give me my pad and ink the pen for me, please." he snatched, and upon the pad he wrote one word —"god "and died with his pen in his hand. chapter vii. a poetic visitor tn a coiner of old silvy's yard we buried him, the *~ strangest creature that i shall ever meet. the under' taker was the only white man at the funeral, but the negroes thronged about the grave to sing a hymn and to pray. let me not wander beyond a belief in im' mortality. let me believe as i have dreamed that a celestial angel has plucked a feathered pen from her wing and that with it he will write his epic of the heart. my master left a will, making me his heir. there was not much of money to bequeath, but his books in silvy's house and his library in kansas fell to me. to tuskegee i returned, saddened and repentant. in the night, in the rain i walked forth to pray that god might smother the lustful beast within me, and i sang in the woods as i felt that my prayer had been answered. upon my academic days of preparation i shall not dwell. i received my sacred charge to preach, and was told by old silvy when i returned home that the books stacked in my room were going to make a sinner man of me. and now i set my voice to answer tunefully to a call. my neighborhood had an efficient preacher, confessions of a negro preacher a methodist by pursuasion, and to seek his place was not brotherly, and yet i should not have been grieved had it been suddenly discovered that he was too old. surely he was too old for the nymphomaniac whose company i shunned, muttering a prayer the while. one sunday the old preacher let me take his pulpit preach' ers who are tired are often generous in this way. we knelt together and then he sat back to give me my fer' vent fling. but it was not fervent. there came unto me no inspiration and i pecked about for words, the recourse and the dullness of systematized study. my hearers yawned. hitting upon a platitude of faith i would shout it with uplifted finger trembling in the air. i resorted to numerous phazes of trickery, but they yawned. i saw the yellow nymph sitting off to the left, stared at her but she would not give me her eyes; and when the services had come to an end i thought to avoid her, but that was not put upon me for she flitted out of the house, throwing back at me, i thought, a look of contempt. the old preacher came up to me and was much pleased with the sermon, he said, and perhaps he was, seeing how it had been received by his congrega' tion. i went home discouraged, and instead of taking down a learned book i caught up old bunyan and with him sought to make my mind childlike and supersti' tious. a few days later i received a call to take a church in a small town about fifty miles away, and thither i confessions of a negro preacher carted my belongings. the church was new, painted white, and gleamed in the sunshine as i drew unto it to preach my initial sermon. the congregation ap- peared to be prosperous, three or four of the old fel- lows in shimmering plug hats, and many of the younger women gowned in licentious invitation. but why should my mind be constantly on such evils when in my soul i had prayed so fervendy to be cleansed of them? it is cool blood that pecks about for words: hot blood plunges, and into the waters of my text i leaped foaming the waves with my splashing. soon up arose the compliant groans of "amen," and it was a warming glory unto my heart to see the women weaving in rhythmic trance. the brethren pressed forward to take me by the hand, and some of them inconsiderate of the women who showed that they were passionately eager to touch my flesh. it was almost spontaneously projected that a revival must be launched within a few days, and it was, hundreds of wayward feet coming out of the broad road to tread in faith the narrow path. our series of meetings lasted for nearly a month and brought more than a hundred new members into the fold. it was now almost assured that i should attain to success in my apostolic life and it was manifest that i was of much concern among women who had mar' riageable daughters on their hands. the men, too, spoke their desire to see me respectably settled in life, confessions of a negro preacher be slowed down almost unto weakness; and then with sweat upon my brow i mused that weakness promotes not virtue but more of weakness, that virtue is the power to hold in check a rampant strength. homeward i returned, feeling that my supplicating prayers had been answered. and now i was more determined than ever before to be a credit to my race. i would show unto the white man that the negro might have a true sublimity of soul, for before my eyes there arose a prospect to dazzle me: i would write a novel; i would reach back into slavery but would not dwell long upon the days of servitude; i would portray the industrial, religious and intellectual characters of the negro of today. shaver could not advise me, but he had left to me a part of his mind, his books, and i would now read them not merely to stimulate my mind but for a practical purpose. here i had the classic fiction of our tongue, pages glowing in variant colors, characters leaping out of mist into clear and convinc ing reality. i would not make of my hero an amusing vagrant nor seek to endow him too much with a home spun philosophy; i would create him reflective of his race and his day. but the glory of it all would be a saint, my mother. only those who have given themselves over to the joy of what we term inspiration can know the ecstasy of such an ambition. hours resolve themselves into minutes and days into expanded dreams. toward my confessions of a negro preacher church i neglected no duty, but was happiest when my work in the meeting house was done that i might shut myself up among the figures that pressed forward for a place in my story. sometimes i would shut them out and give myself over to the reading of a new book, a sentence from a well'known writer having fastened itself upon me, "read in your own line." but i was grieved to know that some of the most ill written novels were accorded the largest sale. truth of type is put aside and sex expression exalted. it was notable, too, that the boldest of these books were written by women, some of them maidens stepping freshly forth from school to sip forbidden juices and to feel upon their rosy ankles the scratch of the wild briar. this set me toward a determination to make my story pure. i would have a girl as fresh as the flowers she gathered, and my hero should love her with a lofty and romantic devotion. one day while i was at work a white man called at my house. the caretaker of my lodge, a negress, told him that i was busy, but having heard her i opened the door and bade the visitor a welcome to my literary quarters. he told me that he was a newspaper man from memphis and that his name was mike sulley. his manner and the poetic expression of his eyes were impressive and soon we entered upon easy and hu' morous talk. "i have heard of your eloquent sermons," he said. confessions of a negro preacher "thank you, sir. you compliment me with your report and flatter me with your call." during this time he had cast an occasional glance at my manuscript, somewhat scattered on my table. "you must be writing a long sermon," he remarked. "no, sir. for my preaching i depend upon the in' spiration of the moment. i am writing a novel." "so?" and now he was interested. "may i take a look at it?" i gathered up a number of pages and handed them to him and shrewdly noted his countenance as he read. vanity is quick to leap toward an encouragement, and i fancied that i saw him read certain sentences over and over to get the full texture of their meaning. after a time he turned to me: "i should give it as my judgment that you are doing a remarkable piece of work. you have acquired an easy, not to say graceful style, such as requires years of diligent practice. who was your teacher?" "a man you never heard of, a genius who wasted his mind with so full a feeding that he killed his inspira' tion." "i don't know that i gather," he remarked, smiling. i gave a brief sketch of andrew shaver and saw in my visitor's countenance the expression of newly awak' ened interest. "poor fellow, i can sympathize with him," he said. "your sympathy for him is more than casual," i confessions of a negro preacher remarked. "yes, vital, you might say. for years i have been writing current slop when my soul lamented that i could not give myself over to an inspiration longing for expression, since my early childhood, a conviction. i sent poems to the magazines and got them back, with never a word of encouragement. finally i brought out a small volume at my own expense, worked over time to pay the printer, sent copies to reviewers and received gibes and sneers for my pains. and now i am forced to go back to the slops of journalism." "but must it be slop?" i asked him. "is it not true that some of the greatest minds have touched upon journalism? from addison to kipling many of the most successful essayists and novelists have written for the newspapers." "true, yes; but this does not seem to have entered into the consciousness of even the critic on the newspaper. ever ready at his command is the word journalist, and he never fails to employ it when he knows that the writer of a novel or a poem has been connected with a newspaper. and now as to the object of my visit. as you doubtless know the newspapers have begun to speak of you as a remarkable evangelist. a writer in the atlanta constitution recently referred to you as a black dwight l. moody. i expect to go him one better and to tell the readers of an eastern magazine how it was that you have been slated for fame. now tell me confessions of a negro preacher about your life." it seemed that a new sun more glowing than the old had arisen. i could see great multitudes, white and black, coming toward me with the tribute of praise. whether or not i was to accomplish real good did not picture itself in my mind. my thirsty soul panted for the sweet drunk' en ess of fame. my visitor told me that he would speak of my writ' ing a novel of my race, and i gave him a photograph of myself, my hand so trembling that the cardboard fell to the floor as i reached forth to hand it to him. after a time, given to musing, the herald of my notoriety then remarked: "i am a northern man, have been in the south only a short time and am not acquainted with negro charac ter; but i have read that the black man is more given to the fragments of fancy than to sustained imagination, and to this i attributed the fact that the negro has not written a revealing novel." i had heard this verged upon so often that i was not stung. "yes, but alexander dumas possessed the most creative and interweaving imagination of all the sons of france and this may have been due to the generative heat of the negro blood within him." "oh, i am not seeking to detract from the negro's mind," he laughed. "i was engaging in only a specula' tion. by the way i shall send to you a volume of my confessions of a negro preacher poems." a poet to give me his poems! more flattery, and i discovered that he was becoming handsomer as i gazed upon him. we talked during more than an hour and when he took his leave i went with him out to the gate, shook hands with him and gazed after him until he turned a corner of the street. back to my writing i went but my heart was so full of darling vanities that i could not work; and in the night i dreamed that i saw my picture in a magazine put forth by rich and cultured white men. within two weeks time the volume of poems came, and by the light of my lamp i sat down to read them. the verse was free, outlawish at times it seemed. why had he not written as naturally as he had talked to me? nowhere in any of the verses was there a truthful image; everywhere was the strain for the startling. his landscapes were all of them gullied, his hilltops barren, his valleys grey with dead grass. i would read a line and listen for an echoing music but it did not come. and in the ache of disappointment i put the book aside. chapter viii the glad blaze of the fire ong i waited for the coming of the magazine, but it did not come. my friend had no doubt written a sketch, but like his poems, it had been returned to him. my disappointment though keen at first did not lengthen for i found a thrilling comfort in my own work. in my dreams my heroine would sing to me, and i could hear my hero, now turned preacher, melody his persuasive cadences. one rainy day when my housekeeper found it too wet for work in her garden i was requested to read to her the first chapters of my story. her name was mima. she was a tall, yellowish creature and in proof that she was not ignorant it was her boast that during one of her first lessons of widowhood she had departed sud' denly to live with a man in st. louis, a "cullud genep man" that drove a hack. there she had gone to shows, had seen john bunny in motion pictures and was there fore capable to pronounce upon my work. i was disappointed that she was not more taken with my opening sentences, descriptive of scenes with which she must be familiar, and when i paused to give her a confessions of a negro preacher chance to say a word she looked at me and put the question: "and what else?" i presented my heroine and at the conclusion she said: "w'y, dat 'pears like me. wall, thank you so much, but fur me dar's work ter be done." out she went leaving me disgusted with her ignor' ance. literary vanity may be apportioned into particles as small as fly specks, and one of these specks was a trust that she might on the following day ask for more, having slept with my project in her mind; but the days passed and she did not mention it except one morning to say that i must be tired with fooling away so much of my time. i shall not forget the night when the last word of my story had been written. several neighbors had called, among them a woman who urged the beauty and the qualifications of her marriageable daughter, and it was a strain to keep from breaking forth in impatience. it was midnight and now i seized my pen. ah, how much easier it was for me to write than for poor old andrew shaver. and when the narrative was done i read aloud to his spirit the last chapter. closing my eyes i sat listening for his comment, knowing that looking over my shoulder he had read all that had come before; and now came his words clear and distinct: "my student, you have not only lifted a reproach from your people but you make me proud that i was your teacher." in my close keeping was a list of publishers, and soon confessions of a negro preacher there was sent from our town the most precious regis' tered package that was ever entrusted to uncle sam. i heard the whistle of the engine that drew it away and caught the last sound of the bell as the train sped toward that mighty mystery, the metropolis of the east. the morrow was sunday and i preached to a large congrc gation, several white men and women being present, and i remember saying to myself, "fame, more than religion, can break the bonds of racial prejudice." the white visitors came up to me, the negroes giving place for them; and one of the women dressed in the extreme of fashion, remarked: "some preacher, i want to tell you;" and how well i knew that she had "never fed of the dainties bred of a book." she made as if she would walk out of the house with me, but a man restrained her, and ducking me a smiling good'bye she hastened away. one of the men lingered to have with me an important word. he drew me off from the throng leaving me to shape the direction we were to take. "praise unless it results in money is a wasted com' modity," he remarked. "but consciousness of doing one's duty is worth more than money or fame," i told him and felt within me that i was a hypocrite. "many a man has tried to feel that way but was finally forced to change his tune," he remarked, giving me a sidewise glance. confessions of a negro preacher "that may be true, sir, but as yet i have had but a narrow experience of life." "then it is time to broaden it. i am connected with a lecture bureau in the north and i believe that i can put you in the way of making money. you would go on the platform as a curiosity, and curiosity will draw larger crowds than all the learning in the world. people like eloquence but they hate learning, and if you feel you would care to go on the platform we can make it to your financial interest. and understand that some of the biggest preachers in the country stand upon our call, not only preachers but men known as statesmen. are you open to a proposition?" "no, not now. i can't leave my church just at this time." it was not that i hesitated to leave my church; it was that i should stay close to my town to hear the enraptured report of my publishers. we were now come to our yard fence, and at the gate i asked him in, but he declined. "no, i simply wanted to talk to you about going out on the platform, but if you aren't interested i have nothing further to say. understand that this is an opportunity for you. as you doubtless are aware your name is not yet well known, except in your own neighborhood." "how much would you be willing to give me?" "well, i tell you, we can get any number of well confessions of a negro preacher known preachers for one hundred a week and expenses, but as you'd be a curiosity we'd give you a hundred and fifty and traveling expenses." "if money flatters i ought to be tickled, but i expect to make a fortune within the next two years. under' stand, however, that monied fortune is not my aim. i want only money enough to enable me to develop my mind with study and travel." "i take it then that you have made an investment." "yes, not in stocks but in a mine." "what mine, may i ask?" "the mine of my brain. i have written a book, a novel of my race. and i am never boastful but i believe that it will startle our literary world." the fellow actually laughed. "why, don't you know that the public would never believe that a negro could write a novel worth reading? i don't believe you have made a very happy investment. when will the book be out?" "now very soon. it is in the hands of the publisher." "easier to place it there than to place it in the hands of the public." "he went away and i looked after him, sorry for his ignorance. he was from the north but he had not so much confidence in the ability of the negro as was the inheritance of the old time southerner who had sat enraptured with the recitals of bre'er rabbit and bre'er fox, as pure inventions as were ever conceived by confessions of a negro preacher aesop, and which, retold by the white man had become famous. i had heard these stories long before i had read a line from joel chandler harris. but the negro received no credit for them; and now this white man from the north would take me on a lecture tour, not that i might have a thought, but that i might be as a monkey imitating the tricks of man how slow were the days and how drawn out the nights! why had not the publishers telegraphed to me their congratulations? why had i not seen in the news' papers the headline. "a negro genius has been found." a month had passed when one morning i received notice that there was a package for me at the post office. my knees were not steady as i walked toward the place. surely the publishers had not returned my man' uscript. they were men looking for novelty and i had sent it to them. could it be that they were in such haste as to have sent to me the proof sheets? i was not now to be long in doubt. it was my book returned and my heart bled as i walked home with it beneath my arm. mima was standing in the door. "whut you got, er present fur me?" "no, a millstone," i answered as i passed into my room. i tore off the covering, gasping for some word of encouragement, but there was no letter of explana' tion, just the printed words, "sorry, but not available." in a letter i had told them that i was a negro, and this was all the encouragement which their narrow and confessions of a negro preacher "er man doan tell his sweetha't ter run erlong. he say come erlong." at this moment i was thankful for the voice of a garrulous neighbor, an old woman who always began loudly to talk as soon as she came into the yard. mima snatched another kiss and hastened off, and again i sat down inwardly to groan. i might have lost my money, my degreed right to preach the gospel, and could have found some text in the holy book to comfort me, but neither texts from sacred writ nor proverbs from philos' ophy could touch me now. at my bedside i knelt and prayed, not that some other publisher might take my book and with its success make mine enemy grieve, but that i might be cured of ambition, my inherited disease. morning came with a sprout of hope. some other publisher would take my book and make me rich and famous. i hastened through breakfast, pleased to observe and to feel that mima had recovered somewhat from the heat of the night before. i wrote a letter emphasizing the fact that i was a negro, the first in america who had written a novel to portray truthfully the characteristics of his race, and was so pleased with this bit of advocacy that i read it over several times. there was almost a defiant vigor in my stride as i walked toward the post office, and when i returned there was a growing leaf on my sprout of hope. out in the yard beneath a tree mima was doing the house hold washing. her sleeves were rolled up and her confessions of a negro preacher. yellow arms appeared graceful as the shifting sunlight glinted them. drawing near to her i spoke. "beautiful morning, sweetheart." she turned about and looked at me, wringing the suds from her hands. "night is de time fur de sweet' hea't, an' not in de sunshine. de truf is you dun had you' chance and you flung it erway. go on now erbout you biznez." .... a month, and again i walked from the post' office with a frozen hope beneath my arm. along with the rejection slip the publishers enclosed an estimate from one of their hired readers, expressing the opinion that the book must have been written by a white man masking as a negro. in my bitterness i could have cut that man's throat and sanctified the knife by wiping it on a leaf torn from the new testament. a few days of moping in despair and then another sprouting hope. to another publisher and with another letter. i then preached a sermon with hope as my text, and old folk whose hope one would think had all of it long since been buried, came up to tell me that i had renewed their interests in life. and when that night in my room alone a strange belief came to take a strong hold upon me, that i had not, in humiliation, approached near enough to jesus. it was only to reward my vanity that i had implored his help; and with my head bowed over the hearth i prayed to christ and to my mother to strip me of ambition. and yet i could feel that had it confessions of a negro preacher not been for ambition the world would have never arisen out of savagery, intellectual ambition such as possessed me and made of me its slave. i pictured myself preaching to the hogs in aunt silvy's pen and wished that i might again be as simple, and yet, even then it was ambition back again came my manuscript and now i walked forth into the woods, not to pray but to curse the earth and all that it possessed. well could i understand why men committed suicide, ah, but not black negroes. whenever a negro ended his life with his own hand it was a streak of white blood that prompted the act; and i recalled having heard my humorous old grandfather say that it was rare a negro had a trouble that a din' ner of pork chops could not cure. and what was this? a new sprout? yes. now i would send my story to a magazine and have it pub' lished as a serial. i sent it and in due time it came back with a kindly letter. "you may be a negro as you say, but it would seem that a negro so close to the soil would be simpler in his style. it is not that you are given to the use of big words, but you write somewhat after the manner of a professor. now we must print what the people want, and in all ages that is what has made literature. critics do not make a book immortal. wisdom in slang is more potent than wisdom in plati' tude. let us hear from you again." he did not hear from me again. in my soul i cursed confessions of a negro preacher him and did not call upon the lord to forgive me. it was a cool night and with the fire crackling i sat beside my hearth. from mima's quarters came a song and the strumming of a banjo. a negro man was with her, a foppish waiter from a city. my manuscript lay open before me and taking it up with a shudder i began to read it. yes, the words were simple, but here and there i found too many traces of andrew shaver's mind. he had schooled me with the white man's classics, he had helped me to deplore that i had the simple and believing soul of the negro. after all, though, i had striven to write the romantic annals of a race once enslaved. i had not caught the barbarism that would have made my work original. and now an impluse came upon me. i took up all of the sheets, so labored over and interlined, smoothed them out, pressed them to my aching heart and laid them upon the fire. the blaze leaped up, glad of the food. i heard the banjo strumming. i saw my work blacken, blacker than the negro; and catching up a handful of smut, i sprinkled it on my head. chapter ix the gnu. in the elevator tvtewspapers came out with an announcement that robert g. ingersoll was soon to lecture in atlanta on the "mistakes of moses." i was in a humor to listen to flaws picked in the annals of the almighty. i had read ingersolts nominating speech in a national convention and had been much taken not with his logic but with the power of his eloquence. atlanta was not far distant, and one evening i found myself traversing its busy streets. the lecture was to be given in the opera house, the gallery open to negroes and to vagabonds who had the price, and thither i went up into the dusty loft. the house was far short of being crowded. inger' soll's party affiliation, his atheism and especially his atti' tude toward the negro denied to him the admiration of the south. there was no music to herald the orator's approach, just an occasional cough and rather a mild clapping of hands as he came out upon the stage. i had expected to see a mighty giant, but he was rather short and somewhat inclined toward obesity. he looked out over the audience and before speaking a word gave a chuckle as if he were preparing to enjoy himself. soon confessions of a negro preacher i forgot everything, swinging as i was in the grape vine loops of his rhetoric. i know now that his style was too measured for prose, that he often thought more of rhythm than of strength; but i was enraptured, coming down out of the place with my mind teeming with his figures. now it came upon me that i would give more than my railway fare home for a talk with him, and straightway i went to the piedmont hotel, bold to request an interview. but this must be man' aged adroitly. i had heard of the proprietor of the pied' mont, an east tennesseean named parrot. it was said that he would leave his own dining room, where epi' cures sat nibbling, to go down into the negro quarter and to eat a dinner of turnip greens and corn meal dumplings. it was this that gave me encouragement, and telling a brass'buttoned boy that i wished to see mr. parrot i waited at the door of the lobby. soon he came, a man of pleasant and friendly bearing; and when i told him of my mission he laughed. "well, i reckon he'd rather talk to a nigger than a white man." on a card i wrote this message: "colonel ingersoll, have you the time to talk for a few moments to a negro preacher?" down came word that the great man would see me. the elevator was operated by a negro girl, pretty with a touch of paint, and she grinned at me, firing me somewhat. confessions of a negro preacher "ah bet youse er preacher," she said as we were going up. v • "how did you know? by my clothes?" "no, by dat nippy eye o' yourn." i made as if to chuck her beneath the chin and she giggled at me as i stepped out of the elevator. ingersolts door was open, several men standing to take their leave, and waiting until they were gone i tapped and was bade to enter. the orator was standing. he came toward me with his hand held out, shook with me; and when after the manner of my training i had dropped my hat on the floor, he took it up and placed it on a table. "sit down," he bade me. to do this i was somewhat loath, but he gestured courteously and i sat down. "colonel, i heard your lecture." "yes, and you a preacher, and survived," he laughed. "i not only survived but i fear that in a way i was strengthened." he looked at me in astonishment. "fear that you were strengthened?" "yes, in a skepticism that sometimes enters my mind." "are you afraid of truth?" "no sir," i told him, "but sometimes i am afraid that i may mistake error for truth. i know in my soul that the bible is the word of god, and yet you almost make me question it. do you believe, colonel ingersoll, that it would be right to take from the negro his simple confessions of a negro preacher faith?" "perhaps not, and so it sometimes seems a cruelty to take from the child his faith in santa claus. but neither the infant nor the negro can always be a credulous child. you have come to me frankly, and i do not wish to project an uneasiness into your mind, but i must say to you that a personal god is just as impossible as per' sonal nature." "but may it not be true, sir," said i, "that behind nature there is power?" "nothing can be behind nature and surely not a personal power." "but don't you put chance behind nature? don't you believe that the earth came out of chance?" "you assume to give my meaning, very well. then let us take a view of chance whatever it may be and term it more in accord with probability than the creative word of a being who lived in darkness during countless ages and then commanded that there be light. i beg your pardon but such discussions and especially with a preacher never advance us beyond assertion and denial. just now you asked if i would take away the negro's simple faith. if a pleasure be innocent i would rob no man of it. but belief in a revengeful god is not innocent. it is not innocent to look upon blood as the cordial of the soul." he hesitated, looking at me, and i said to him: "you may stagger my faith and yet not weaken it. you smile confessions of a negro preacher at a christian's simpleness when he says he believes in the god'inspired book, but is not a sneering disbelief a sort of unbolstered arrogance?" "i am pleased to know that you do not hesitate to say what you think. it may be that every belief and every disbelief is a sort of arrogance. but before we go further let me say that such discussions are almost con' stant with me. next to getting a murderer ready for the gallows the average preacher would rather hold an argument with me. more than one divine schooled into belief that god had called him to preach has sent to me a written prayer in which he implored the lord if he should find it convenient, to save my soul. how did you happen to become a preacher?" he laughed. "was it because you wanted to keep out of work?" "no, sir, i labored like a galley slave that i might get into the ministry. my mother was a saint. i know that the lord inspired her and i believe that she inspired me. "you seem to have been carefully taught the use of words. i suppose you went to booker washington's school." "yes, sir, but i found no such teacher there as came to me when i was only a child. andrew shaver—" "what!" ingersoll interrupted. "andrew shaver! for a time he lived in my town of peoria, preached scholarship whenever he could get any one to listen, tried to take orders for a cigar house, and finally got a confessions of a negro preacher there was merriment, music, dancing. soon i learned that my housekeeper had been taken to wife by the foppish waiter. he came forward and held out his hand as if he expected a tip, and there was a tip, not to him but to me when mima stole a chance to whisper in my ear: "ah offered mahse,f ter you but you didn' 'pear ter hab no manhood in you." on the following day she told me that she and the fop were to live in birmingham, but that i might keep my room, furnished as it was. this was not ill news. in a spirit of trustful humiliation that came unto me just before getting off the train, i conceived the notion to write perhaps a whole volume of prayers. i could not recall that any negro had ever written prayers and thus was i to engage in producing a novelty. the lord no doubt had naught to do with the production of a book of fiction but surely he would help me to compose a volume of humble supplication. in the night i took up my saddened and neglected pen and proceeded with this new composition. but i found that the bitterness of disappointed ambition was still in my heart. i got down to pray, upsetting my ink as i did so, and i remember that i termed the black fluid ambition's sop. i com' pleted one prayer, finishing it with numerous correc tions and went to bed; but in my dreams that elevator girl with painted lips came to dance before me. she knelt at my feet, and gathering her in my arms i kissed myself awake. confessions of a negro preacher it was imperative that i should have a housekeeper, or at least to employ some one to look after my meals. i gave this out to the congregation and soon there came many applicants. i trust that the lord gave me credit for one virtue, that of removing temptation by selecting an old, wrinkled woman. chapter x mrs. hester j^ow i enter upon a part of my recital that i recall with a shudder. one day when i was sitting with my prayerful pen in hand four white ladies called, glib with greeting, and at once i knew by their accent that they were from the north. one woman, mrs.margu' rite hester, spoke the object of this flattering invasion. she was young, plump and with a voluptuous smile. her hair was of a golden hue, so thrilling to a negro, with a sea'depth blue of eye, and with lips that must have whispered entrancement to the man who had won her love. but i could see that with all of her physical charm she was a woman of inbred and cultivated refine ment. "we are members of the w. c. t. u.," she said, when she had introduced herself and her associates. "we have come to the south and i believe for a noble purpose, that of helping the colored people." "please say negroes, madam. it is easier and more truthfully expressive. i have never heard booker wash' ington speak of colored people. he did not regard the name negro as a reproach any more than asiatic or confessions of a negro preacher european." she smiled at me and turned to her friends. "ah. ladies, you see that we are fortunate in having to deal with a sensible man. and now, reverend, as to our visit. we are going to establish a mission where shall be taught religion in its original purity. we had not settled upon the exact locality until we heard you preach the other night, and then we decided to build it here." "yes, we have," the other ladies chimed and i bowed my grateful acknowledgements. "ladies, you honor me. it is my constant prayer that i may do something to help my race." "you are surely doing it," said mrs. hester. "you are proving that the colored man—i beg your pardon, the negro," she added, smiling — "proving that the negro has an eloquent soul." when the other women had ceased to laugh, which they did pleasantly, i remarked: "madam, some of the most eloquent of men have been barbarians. what i am trying to bring out is that the negro when given the opportunity may be just as progressive in the ways of civilization as the white man." up spoke an oldish woman, mrs. conner: "i don't see why he shouldn't be. the negro is one of god's creatures, endowed with an immortal soul, and souls have no color." "you are apt in estimate," i told her, and mrs hester confessions of a negro preacher spoke: "you surely prove mrs. conner's statement when you show us how well you have mastered the use of words." "madam, my use of words may mean but little, and if i have an easy and meaningful use of them i confess to have been taught by a white man." "but you couldn't have been taught if you hadn't been receptive. my husband, mr. hester, was a preach' er, a powerful speaker, but he never ceased to lament his lapses from the strict rules of grammar. and yet he was a man of learning. in the broadness of his religious faith he placed the negro on an equal moral footing with the white man. he did acknowledge, however, that the negro had not yet succeeded in mastering his animal emotions." "and neither has the white man," i told her. "when we completely kill the animal within us we shall have become too anemic not alone for the enjoyments but for the ordinary affairs of life." "oh, how i wish mr. hester could have heard you talk. he would have enjoyed you so much." there fell a pause and then i asked of mrs. hester: "how are you to go about the establishment of your mission? and may i ask as to what is to be its direct object?" "it is our aim to create a school, unique in its way, a school in no wise industrial but a cultural institute confessions of a negro preacher where the negroe's mind, and especially his religious mind, may be developed. it may be said that our aim is over altruistic, but i don't think so. this will require quite a liberal sum of money, but this we hope to collect and with your assistance, reverend," she added, giving to me a smile that made glad the warm blood within me. she continued when i had bowed to her: "we find that the white people in this state of georgia are not ungenerous toward our project. in fact we have discovered that they do not hate the negroes. but what i can't understand is this: i heard a lady in macon say that she loved her tawney maid, and yet she would not sit down and dine with her. i can't under' stand that." "it is something, madam, that no one reared in the north can comprehend. i have known white boys that would have risked their lives to fight for me, and yet if i had suggested that i sit at table with them they would have been outraged to the point of stabbing me." "i confess that i can't understand it," said mrs. con' ner, and the beautiful mrs. hester declared it to be a foolish inconsistency. "but getting closer to business we must insist upon your immediate help," she said. "we request you to make the circuit of the neighboring towns to lecture in favor of our project. i will act as your manager." "that would be most flattering to me, madam, but discretion would suggest a man." confessions of a negro preacher "why so? don't you believe me capable?" into her marvelous eyes there came the shadowed expression of disappointment, rendering me quick to say: "oh, capable? more than sure enough, but you must remember that you are in the south and that to go about with a negro not your servant would be worse for you than a disgrace." "what nonsense," she deplored. "can't the people of the south be sensible of a truth? must the color of the negro constantly blind their eyes toward the color of all justice? you go with me under my management and i will take all the blame." "that would not show as courage but as a sort of social desperation, madam. now i am more than will- ing to enter into your plan but must insist upon care not to offend the social rule. the money you expect to raise would come mostly from the white folk. it does not require a broad and experienced mind to decide that as even big business must be discreet, little business must at least be careful." then came a genuinely feminine indorsement for one of the ladies cheerily spoke up, "i think he's really cute." this brought merriment, a spirit ever ready among the ladies to put business aside, and then a concession on the part of mrs. hester. "no doubt, reverend, what you say is true. we will employ a man to act as manager, but i shall appear occasionally to see that confessions of a negro preacher everything goes smoothly." "well, as that is all settled we might as well enjoy ourselves," said the woman who had termed me cute. "just as well," mrs. hester acknowledged, bowing to me. "i understand that you went to atlanta to hear ingersoll, the infidel, lecture on the 'mistakes of moses.' do you think that you were benefited by it?" "madam, i was surely not harmed. ingersoll is a poet, and whatever else king david might have been, he was a bard. in many ways the poet may go wrong but whithin his soul there is inspiration, the truest love of god." mrs. hester smiled upon me. "i am more than will' ing to pardon much in a poet. but after all, what is the ultimate hope of poetry?" "i am not schooled enough to say, madam, but i should think that the truest hope of the youthful poet is finally to become the aged philosopher." "i keep on telling you he is cute," spoke my defender, good humoring us; but mrs. hester, determined upon at least an occasional air of seriousness, said that cute ness might make a moment pleasant but never solve a problem. "but do you believe that any man was ever profound if he refused to accept the gospel of jesus?" "madam, there must surely have been profound men before the name of jesus had been spoken. but i freely confess myself when i say that in my consciousness of life there is but one glorified wisdom, and that is confessions of a negro preacher wrapped about a cross." "then of course no atheist can be a man of glorified wisdom," said mrs. hester. "well, ladies, i suppose we might as well be going. of course there are minor details that must be arranged, reverend, but we can do that at almost any time. if any idea occurs to you that you think ought to be discussed, you can find me almost any time over at the hotel. so glad to have met you and am so much encouraged. good'bye for the present." i shook hands with them all, walked out to the gate with them, spry in my vanity. as they were chatting and laughing themselves away, one of them looked back and "cuted" me with a parting glance. she had more than once flattered me, but it was not upon her that my mind was now to dwell, but upon mrs. hester. chapter xi prayed with him t\own humbly to write my book of prayer i settled myself, poured out my inky supplications, sought to summon abnegating ferver, but i could not banish from my mind the bedizened image of mrs. hester. i pictured the cross on calvary, saw miscreants casting for the seamless garment of christ, but dancing on tip- toe among the dice was that woman, noting not her dainty tread but giving to me her eyes. that this was the art of satan i sorely felt, and i knew that he laughed when strong within me my blood was made to bubble. why could not the gospel in which i firmly believed, quiet my soul and make me gentle? must i ever be an emotional hypocrite? i wondered as to how many men had ever made an honest search into their own bosoms. would it not be frank in me to say that man was more nearly the creation of the devil than of god? must i wait for sex'destroying age to render me a true follow er of the nazarene? young lambs could not be parted from lechery, the avon poet made a brutish man to say, then what could be expected of the goat full grown? in our neighborhood there lived a very wise white confessions of a negro preacher preacher, and after a night of almost fruitless prayer i called on him. he received me kindly and although a man of the south, invited me to a chair in his library. i sat down and after a few moments of silence he said that i looked as if i might be in distress. "yea, verily," i bibled him. "i have spent a night of prayer and i fear without avail." "have you committed a crime that moved you to pray so long?" he asked, his eyes upon me. "not a crime within the reach of the law, but a crime of desire, one that our master would condemn." then to him i made a full confession, and i do not believe that any human being had ever looked upon me in so sympathetic an interest. "poor soul," he said, "in your prayer for virtue you were virtuous. not many ministers would be so frank and i honor you for it. we all know that more than other men the preacher is tempted. that he sometimes yields and falls is an unfor tunate truth. and did you come to me because you have heard that once i was arraigned for trial in open court." i was astonished. "no, sir. of that trial i was wholly ignorant." "well, i was tried and acquitted by twelve jurymen. but there was a thirteenth juryman and he did not acquit me." he bowed and touched his bosom and i knew that he meant himself. "reverend sir, you may trust me to hold in sacred confidence what you have said to me. and now do you confessions of a negro preacher feel that you have been forgiven?" i added, pointing upward. "yes, the adam within me." "may i be bold to ask a question?" he nodded his permission. "have you succeeded by prayer in keeping —her image out of your mind?" "her image now does not reproach me. i last saw her in her shroud. but let us remember that if there were no transgression there could be no repentance and that without repentance we could not feel the tenderest mercy of the saviour." i went away conscious that i had found a kindred weakness but not a sustaining strength one afternoon, a few days later, i called on mrs. hester. it was only in the lobby that i could meet her, and to stand in her presence while we talked. she told me that she had written a number of letters and had received gracious answers. "our agent is to go forth at once to arrange for the dates and i have settled upon a man to act as your manager. you may receive a call from him at any time." and now her dazzling smile. "did any one ever tell you that you have a sort of classic face? you can't imagine what i said to mrs. conner. i called you an ebon athenian. don't look about so. no one is listening to us. yes, that is what i said to her, and believe it, too. how i wish mr. hester could have known you." "how long has your husband been dead?" i asked. 'two years," she answered with a sigh. "oh, and confessions of a negro preacher the time has been long. he did not believe that any distinction ought to be drawn between the white man and the negro. he said that it was climate that made the difference in the color of the skin, but that climate could make no difference in the color of the soul." here her handkerchief fell to the floor and i caught it up and held it forth with a bow. "oh, no, i wish you would keep it. won't you?" i could see that it was trickery, but why should a handsome white woman play such tricks with a negro? i went away, the handkerchief in my hand, and along the road i sniffed its sweetness. perhaps after all she possessed a broad and generous soul and that her atti' tude toward me was wholly innocent. was it not within god's province to create purity? yes, i would believe so, and yet the sweetness of that handkerchief bespoke the slyness of satan. the scent of the dainty rag had banished from my mind all memory of the preacher who had confessed to me, but now i could feel again his presence, as i looked across a valley toward his house on a knoll. i must have come upon him at a time when the apostle within him condemned the man. along toward evening my manager called, a member of the y. m. c. a. he soon informed me. he was slick haired and smirk faced, typical of his institution, i thought, and never had i held it in high esteem; and i recall that shaver once said to me, "boy, once i owed the 'v for a week of lodging and though i was stricken confessions of a negro preacher with poverty, the collector gibed me until i paid it. they call themselves christians, but had jesus been of the order he would have put the roman coin into his pocket." my manager told me he was from iowa where a negro who behaved himself was as good as a white man. "as a white man who hadn't," i replied to test his sense of humor. he knew not whether to smile or to sniffle, but com' promising between the two he said that no matter where he might live, a negro could be just as honest as any one else, "and surely just as religious," he added. "yes," he went on, "and when i was a student at drake university i had for a time a negro room mate and i want to tell you he was some scholar. i don't know whatever became of him." "that is the trouble with scholars," i replied. "we rarely know what becomes of them." "yes, that's no lie. now let's see: when will you be ready to start out?" "as soon as the dates can be arranged." "all right, and i believe we'll do a good business. mrs. hester's got a good head on her. i suppose you've notice that." "i have noticed that it sits with grace upon her shapely shoulders." "good. oh, you are there when it comes to that." we talked during more than an hour, and when he had gone away i could not recall any definite arrangc confessions of a negro preacher ments except that he was to receive a liberal percentage of the money that might come our way now in the night i humbled myself down to work upon my prayer book. prayer book by a negro. yes, that would be a novelty. and i caught my pen in the act of telling the lord that i was a negro. was i striving to make a pride of my racial inferiority? not so, for there was no inferiority except in the stupid and unlet' tered egotism of the white man. next morning plunkett, my manager, called and told me that our first date was only three days removed, on the following thursday. "now we don't want to show them how smart we are, but to show ourselves the best way to collect," he said, revealing more of keenness as he approached the "hold up." i thought that in his caution against learning there was a sly thrust at me, deeming me somewhat of the pedant, and i resented it. "mr. plunkett, have no fear that i am going out to air my scholarship. the lord knows that i am in no wise a scholar. i am a man who has studied and who has read somewhat," waving my hand toward shaver's books, "but i know that i can never become a sage." "maybe not, whatever that is, but it is just like this: we are out for a purpose and that purpose is to get the money. not for ourselves, you understand, but for the establishment of our mission. i have heard it said and i believe it that you would be quite a man if you were a little more practical. and this morning i came near having a row with a school man here who said that you confessions of a negro preacher were a parrot taught by a white outcast from the north." "there was much truth in what he said/' i acknowl' edged, looking toward the unfinished manuscript of my prayer book. "ah, but that mustn't get out. it would hurt us. have you done any shaping as to what you are going to say in your addresses?" evidently he was afraid of foolish breaks on my part. "yes, i am going to lay stress on the need of the negro; i am going to show how that he may be made a better and a more successful citizen." "that's all right and i believe it will fetch 'em. well, i've got a lot of work to do and must be moving along." i shall not dwell upon my work in this new field. the white people gave generously. upon a mat' ter of sentiment the man of the south is not close of pocket. one night in a town that aspired to be a city i was told that billy sunday was registered at the leading hotel. my heart leaped at the thought of a talk with him and i spoke to plunkett. "that would be a good thing and i think it can be easily arranged. of course he can't come down here to this wagon yard, so i'll have to make arrangements for you to meet him at the hotel. don't look so scared. he won't hesitate to meet you. he knows how to handle a crowd better than any man in the country and we might get some effective pointers from him. i'll go confessions of a negro preacher right now and see what can be done." wherein i was quartered was in truth a wagon yard, and my window looked out upon a corral where mules bit at one another. were these mules in their way the servants of the lord? many a one of their breed had been freighted with bibles, laboring toward the top of a frontier mountain. yes, they were servants of the lord, and yet how viciously some of them would wheel about and kick at a feeder from the same trough. but had not even ministers, feeders from the trough of the gospel, kicked in deadly hate, one at another? but i must not think of such things. i must think humbly of my prayer book. plunkett soon returned with the news that sunday would be pleased to see me. a cheerful voice bade me come in and upon entering the room i found the evan' gelist strapping a valise. his wife was with him, and before proceeding further let me say that i have never met a more gracious woman. her face was sweet in kindliness and her voice was the music of sympathy. after she had spoken a few words which made my heart glad, she withdrew, and sunday, after washing his hands, came smiling toward me. "your manager tells me that you are out to get money for the establishment of a mission where true religion and the right sort of education may be provided for the people of your color. good work. sit down." "i have heard of you so much, mr. sunday, have read that—" confessions of a negro preacher "that i am out after the money," he broke in, smil' ing. "well, i do get it. and what then? is it ever used as a political slush fund? not much. and there is another thing that has been brought against me. some of the preachers have charged me with being a clown in the pulpit. what am i to do, stand up there and yawn? they tell me of the meekness of the gospel, but i want to say that the work of spreading the gospel can be made too meek. the devil isn't meek, and we've got to fight the devil, and you let a christian start in to fight meekly and you'll see where he lands. yes, sir, if the devil fights with fire, we've got to use the same method." "mr. sunday, what do you think of the future of the negro race? that is what most interests me." he had arisen and was walking up and down the room. toward me he turned with a penetrative look. "you might just as well ask me as to what i think of the future of the white race. we are all the children of god and therefore have the same destiny." "i mean toward the attainment of an enlightened state." "my dear sir, there is no enlightened state without a christian state. and as christ died to save the negro as well as the white man i see no difference. if you regard material wealth as enlightenment, of course there may for centuries exist a difference between the two races. there are a few negroes who have shown a moneymaking faculty, some of them bankers, a few confessions of a negro preacher lawyers and physicians, but the average negro is not inclined that way. the thing for the negro to do is to improve himself morally and religiously. i take it that you have been carefully educated, and may i ask you whether it has improved your religious attitude? hasn't your education somewhat stimulated you toward a belief in evolution? i find that to be true of the white man and i should think it equally a fact with the negro." "mr. sunday, i cannot deny but that at times i have wondered as to the truth of evolution. at times, sir, i may have looked upon it in a sort of fear." "see here, whenever i meet a man with what is called advanced education i am almost tempted to disbelieve in the immaculate birth of the saviour. do you believe in a personal god?" "i pray, sir, that my belief in a personal god may become stronger." "ha, then you pray that you may become better acquainted with your own soul. do away with a per' sonal god and you wipe out all life and all eternity. god is the personal image of all humanity. god spoke, and the impersonal cannot speak. god walked in the garden and adam saw him. if god is not personal jesus was not personal, and if jesus was not, neither are we. and now let me tell you that the most dangerous error man can commit is to let the books written by the enemies of god stultify his mind. as you have no doubt heard and as you can doubtless confessions of a negro preacher see, i am not what you might call an educated man. i was a sinner called to repentance; and if i were offered all the wisdom ever possessed by man in exchange for my simple faith, i would scorn it." he stood before me, young and an athlete, and bow' ing my head low i said to him: "mr. sunday, please pray for me." "on your knees," he commanded, and down upon our knees we sank, and he prayed fervently that the lord might bring back to me my mother's faith; and when we arose he took me by the hand, his eyes bright, and told me to go my way, a child. and so i left him, my negro soul possessing me once more; and during three days i lived, a dependant lamb, pouring forth my warm and emotional appeal, unselfishly glad to see new men and women come forward with their contri' butions to our worthy cause. then, one night, i saw mrs. hester sitting in the midst of my congregation. upon her i did not dare to dwell my eyes; i pretended not to see her, but at the close of my oration she came forward with her hand held out. "oh, we are so proud of the work you are doing," she said. "and we have about decided to give to the mission your name. aren't you glad to see me?" she asked, stealing the chance to whisper. i was thrilled but not glad. her bright eyes stabbed at my faith, while in my heart arose this thought: "oh that within you there might be a drop of negro blood to taint the white and to make you mine." as quietly confessions of a negro preacher as i could i told her that i was greatly pleased, and felt that she enjoyed the slavery in which she held me. i knew that side by side we could not walk along the street, and she knew it too, having now been in the southland long enough to learn. but she could see me in my mule lot domicile where there was biting and the flying of hoofs in the air. she came and on a bench in a sort of corridor we sat, the negroes standing aloof, with now and then a wise old mamma to give us a suspicious squint. "i am so glad to know that you have not forgotten me." "ah, mrs. hester, who could suffer so complete a mind blight as to forget you?" "oh, you are a true poet. why don't you write poetry?" "i am—the poetry of prayer, writing it at night; the saints, setting their breath to music, breathe upon me." she made as if to touch my hand, but a negro woman was squinting. "why do they watch me so? do they think i came here to steal something? well our mission will cure them of that. mr. plunkett tells me that you are very easy to get along with." "madam, it is easy enough for a negro, keeping in his place, to get along with a white man." "but surely he does not seek to assert his white supremacy. he is not well enough educated for that." "madam, in such matters education is a thistle down." confessions of a negro preacher "oh, i just know you can write poetry. what do you think of our modern verse?" "in the sky at night there is no new sublimity, nor in a sunrise a glory not discovered until now. the school has not improved upon the poetry of the bible." "no, that is true enough. but there may be new estimates of the bible, in a poetic way, i mean. but i want to talk business. how much money do you suppose we have succeeded in collecting?" "with the money part, madam, i have not been perhaps as much concerned as i should. during the most of the time since i came out i have devoted my thought to prayer. just a few days ago billy sunday prayed with me." "well, surely he is broad enough to feel that it didn't hurt him. he is a marvelous man, and has made many an old miser shake mildewed coin out of his sock." this figure must have been of sudden birth for she laughed at it, the music of her voice echoing throughout the place. "and that is what you can do," she said. "mr. plunkett is much impressed with you, and you know that he used to be with the salvation army." "madam, i knew that he had been trained in the ways of getting money." in this remark she saw no shade of reproach. "oh, yes, and we are going to find him very useful. you leave here tomorrow morning, i understand." "yes, we have collected here about all we can. you confessions of a negro preacher know that i must not wholly neglect my church: i must run in at least once a week." "now, don't let that worry you. i have made arrangements for a minister to take your place, a yellow gentleman from mobile, and quite a scholar he is, i be lieve he told me. but of course no one could really take your place, reverend," and she gave me her eyes. "but i haven't told you how much we have succeeded in raising. can't you make a guess?" "not an accurate one, i am afraid." "well, we have nearly four thousand dollars. what do you think of that?" i could not tell her at once what i thought of it. to me the sum was vast. i had in my possession about six hundred dollars, saved and left me by shaver, and i had begun to look upon myself as a selected possessor of worldly goods. no, i could hardly grasp at the sig' nificance of four thousand dollars. she came to my relief. "oh, but it is not enormous. it is not yet more than a third part of enough to build our mission house. but well raise enough, never fear." i did not fear and told her so. and again she gave me her blood'dancing smile, the witch. her heart, though, must be thoroughly good, i mused. she was working in an unselfish cause. mrs. conner was the treasurer. "and a mighty careful accountant," mrs. hester told me. "why, she used to keep books for the singer sewing machine company, and i understand chapter xii. shrieking down the road when our canvassing season came to an end we found ourselves to -be possessed of nearly twelve thou- sand dollars, enough to give our establishment an ample start. to me this was in a way a conquest, but i did not desire to be merely an eloquent collector. to become known throughout the land, to do something to lift my people was my soul's yearnings. toward this, however, i was not progressing. yes, there was my book of prayer. that surely was a progress. but to do effective work on it i must be in a humbly softened mood. i must believe so devoudy in a personal god as to feel his enwrapping presence, a mood which we cannot summon at will though we grovel on our knees for it. occasionally it would come and always in the hush of night, and then my quill seemed glad to write, and in truth it was a quill, plucked from a neighboring gander. shaver had told me that scarcely anything of worth had been written since man had begun to ink his words with a sliver of steel, and to me it seemed that a prayer must be smoother and more effective quilled out upon a page of foolscap: yes, for all con' nected with this work must be humble, pen and paper, confessions of a negro preacher therefore i had purchased foolscap, when i might have smiled at myself to reflect that the fool is rarely humble. i had read books of prayer, some of them written in the early fervor of the english church, but i found that they gave unto me no inspirational incentive. i found, too, that i must put behind me the most of my shaver schooling and turn to my mother's cabin, the ashes in the fire place. one night a horned owl hooted near my house, and i formed a prayer as a hoot at sin, and at man's desire for fame, the most original prayer ever conceived, i told myself. over and over i read it, chanted it as a hymn, imitating the hoarse voice of the owl; and in my fervor i thanked the lord that he had so endowed me . "ah, beat, mr. white man," i remember to have said to myself. i went to my bed hoot' ing, and then came the image of learned shaver, frost' ing my newly budded faith. thus it was that i engaged in constant conflict with myself. one evening i saw my book of prayer completed. the sun was smouldering in a bed of crimson clouds. it was such an evening as gives the delicate tint to the cheek of a ripening peach. now had i truly conquered the beast within me. there might come skirmishes but the warfare with myself was done. a tap at my door, i opened it, and there in the fading light was a brighter light, the smile of mrs. hester. "i have only a short time to stay," she said as she came into the room. "mr. plunkett will call for me. oh, what a lot of writing you have done. may i confessions of a negro preacher look at it?" "it would be interesting only when you are in the mood for it," i said to her. "it is prayer." "oh, that ought to be interesting at all times. it is the spirit of prayer that keeps our world alive." but i noticed that her interest flitted at once from my work. she sat down and i saw a bit of dainty lace on her bosom rise and fall with her breathing. "i have been busy today with an architect," she said. "he is drawing plans for our structure, and it warms my heart to think that it is all due to you." "no, madam, i was only a talker. you did the work." "i'm sure it is kind of you to say so. but really the better i know you the more i marvel at the gifts that nature has bestowed upon you." "you flatter me, but do not compliment nature." "compliment nature? i congratulate her. and really when i am away from you and seek to recall your feaures, you don't look black to me, and i have thought i saw your soul, proving to me that there is no difference between the soul of the negro and the white man." . "that may be, mrs. hester, and yet if a test should come it would not take you more than the hundredth part of a second to see and feel the difference." "really, reverend, i dont know what you mean." "i mean if a negro should ask you to marry him your white blood would fly up in resentment." confessions of a negro preacher into her eyes i gazed. she did not wince. "that is something which i do not forecast. but if i loved him i—" "ah, but could you love him?" "desdemona loved othello, and she was as fair as a lily." "true, mrs. hester^but this was the tragic romance of a poet. but in america, in the south, desdemona would not have flaunted her handkerchief in the face of a rigorous prejudice. she would not have consen' ted to be the wife of the moor." "perhaps not the wife, and yet would have loved him." i gazed at her. "and would she have yielded to the demands of that love?" she bowed her head and whispered one word: "per- haps." into my soul flew back the beast, and bounding from my chair i caught her in my arms. one moment of ecstacy, her lips; and then a shriek that seemed to pierce the heavens. struggling herself free of my embrace she rushed shrieking from the house, and down the road she ran, shrieking. for a moment i stood to curse my self, and then my negro instinct shot me through the brain. i knew what must happen within a brief time. i knew that up would rise the mob, and biding no time for explanation on my part, burn me at the stake. i snatched a drawer open, grabbed what money i dos' sessed, and ran as only one who fears the fire can run, confessions of a negro preacher in terror. down the road i heard the woman, still shrieking; and now there came a roar. the ever ready mob was swarming. i ran across the road, through vacant spaces and entered a wood on a hill; and here i lay down behind a log. reflection is sometimes as swift as fear, and now i could see it all: that heartless creature with trickery had tempted me, and i, a weak' ling beast, had tottered and fallen. and then a thought which i fancied might be saner, that she was enamored of me physically, sex in a passion for contrast, but that in one moment revulsion had come to frighten her with shame. i was afraid to venture forth from my hiding place, and it was with gratitude i remembered that in the neighborhood there were no blood hounds. but what was that light shooting skyward? my house had been set afire. peeping from behind the logs i could see the mob, tough creatures, worse than blood hounds, ever charmed with the chase for a negro's life. the house was constructed of boards and soon burned down, leaving a darkness as terrorizing as the blasting light. i heard horses galloping the road, and when quiet had fallen i stole from my place of refuge, cross' ing roadways as quickly as i could, seeking the thick woods. when daylight came i hid in a jungle to wait again for night. the active flurry had no doubt sub' sided but i knew that a deadly warrant must be out in search of me. how worse than desolate it is to be com' panioned with a strickened mind. in my hiding place i sought to pray, but how could i give myself to god confessions of a negro preacher when the devil so possessed me? prayer? had not my book of prayer been consumed with fire? were all my efforts here on this distorting earth to end in ashes? my novel, once the fondest hopes that i shall ever cherish, had gone to the stake, and now my rhythmic supplications unto god had been blown away with a blast. ah, old fireplace in my mother's cabin, what an altar of martyrdom thou hast ever been! night, and onward i wandered, being sure of only one direction, that it pointed away from my church. by this time i was faint with hunger, but i was afraid to approach a house, not knowing whether it might be inhabited by whites or negroes. sometimes i would approach near enough to peep, dogs snarling and bark' ing, and sometimes i was forced to run as fast as my weakened legs could carry me, discovering through a firelighted window the face of a white man. i knew that in a negro household i should be protected, held as a secret, and that no offer of reward could tempt the darky to betray me. i had gone a long distance without seeing a light, along a narrow road, and turn- ing the sharp elbow of projecting woods, i saw a fire flame playing upon a window. it was too dark to see the house, just the flame, rising and falling. in my caution, i was about to turn away, when up arose a hymn, rude but sweet; and i knew that i had halted at a negro's home. approaching gently i waited until the hymn was hushed, and then tapped on the door. a voice set to music sweeter than a hymn confessions of a negro preacher bade me enter, and i did so, and there were the singers, a large negro woman and two boys nearly grown. "come right in mistah. dave, gib de generman er seat up nex de fiah. de night sorter chilly." "lord bless you for your kindness," i said; and approaching me and without the least suspicion, she held out her hand. "you's welcome, sah. is you had yo' supper?" "no, mother, and i am desperately hungry." "wall, you come ter de right place, mistah. fur supper we had er monstus chicken pie, mo' den twice ez much ez we could eat; an' i say ter my husban, i does, 'mebbe de lawd will sen' some hungry pusson ter eat de res' o' it. mah husban' he jes gone ober ter see er man bout doin' some haulin,' but will be back putty soon. git de table ready, boys, an' fetch out dat big dish o' chicken." there is many an old gentleman and many an old lady of the south who at the most sacred altar ever reared, would take a tender oath that never on this earth has there been a heart more possessed of the christ love of sympathy than the heart of the negro mammy. to her many a tribute has been paid, by poet, the sculptor and the writer of immortal song, and if there be no heaven for merely the just, there ought to be one for her holy sake. it was not long before her husband came, an oldish man but strong and with a disposition ever to laugh. let me call him tom, and apply to his wife the name by confessions of a negro preacher perished. at the end of a furrow, near the road, i was turning my mule about when two men rode up and halted at the fence. "how long have you been here?" one of them in' quired. "bawned heah, sah," i boldly lied. "i mean have you been hear every day within the past few days?" "yas, sah, am' been offe'n de place." "haven't seen anything of a runaway nigger preach' er, have you, the one that tried to outrage a white woman?" "naw, sah. but i kain't look at er pusson an' tell dat he er preacher an' dat he try ter outrage." "i reckon that's right," and laughing, the two men rode on their way. among the white folk in the neighborhood not much heed was paid to the coming or going of a negro, and tom gave it out that i, his brother's son, dissatisfied with a brief sojourn in the north, had come back to my native land. nothing in a negro can more please a white georgian than the fact that he has gone to the north and has found it not to his liking. not many black faces were so fertile as mine in the growth of a beard, and i let the jet bristles grow, kink' ing about my jaws. with tom and his family i re mained about six months, and then as fear subsided i began to grow restless. long before this, and indeed not long after my coming, i had been enlightened by a news' confessions of a negro preacher paper which one of the boys brought to me. in a black'headed recital of my violent depravity i was charged not only with an attempt to outrage a white woman but that i had run away with twelve thousand dollars contributed toward the building of a negro mission. how clear now was it all. mrs. hester's sweetness toward me, the mission itself, all a trick to get money and shared in by plunkett and mrs. conner. some of the women were no doubt honest, but mrs. hester and mrs. conner were surely not members of the woman's christian temperance union. more and more restless i grew as the slow days lagged toward the sunset, and one morning i told my protective family that in the night i was going away. the woman wept. she said that the white folk would surely find out and tie me to the stake. "i think not, mammy," i told her. "i can go north and there i shall be free." i took a tearful leave of them and set out, still dressed in my workman garb, but i shuddered at the thought of going to a railway station to take a train; and besides one day while walking along the road, a man who had got out of his buggy to tinker with a wheel, gave me a suspicious look. upon getting away from him i changed my course. at night i found an ever ready welcome at some negro's house, but kept my secret bosomed deep within myself. and then one morning a plan arose. i would make my way to atlanta and there confessions of a negro preacher in its thickly peopled negro quarter find safety looking toward a journey northward in the great mart of atlanta i was completely lost. i had never before seen such towering structures; cloud high, some of them appeared, a new spurt in architec' ture since i had held my interview with bob ingersoll. inquiry directed me to a negro boarding house, where suspicion demanded that i pay for a week in advance. behind me i had left the childlike faith of rural life. soon i got work in a stonecutter's yard and in all my speech exercised a care to employ the broadest negro dialect for it had been cast abroad that the outrageous negro preacher, so deserving of the fire, was aptly spoken and a man of learning. to a railway station i went three times, but my courage always failed me when i looked in at a policeman who seemed to scan every negro that approached the ticket window. one even' ing i saw in a newspaper that the outrageous preacher had been sighted in birmingham and that the officers of the law were hot on his trail now am i about to enter upon something that requires exceeding care. my desire is to be just to whites as well as to negroes. if at this moment i should pray, i would not pray for fame but for a sense of impartial right. i look back upon an awful time, a massacre of negroes. i do not say the negro was blameless, for surely he was not, but many a blameless one was called upon to suffer death. it was charged and no doubt with truth, that two negroes who had committed brutal confessions of a negro preacher crimes against white women were secreted and protec ted by the sentiment of a whole district of their color. the whites demanded that these criminals be surren' dered. the negroes protested and many of them in strictest truth that they knew neither the identity nor the whereabouts of the fugitives. this angered the gathering mobs of white men and the massacre began. i had heard the gathering forces of the whirlwind, but had given but slight attention, having noted so many threats of storm that ended in a gentle breeze, except in my own obsessing and still painful memory; so in my narrowness i was not concerned with vague rumors, nor even with threatening gestures in the streets. my day's work was done and i was sitting on the veranda of my boarding house. i had observed the sunset, gridironed with clouds. a chamber woman had sought to flirt with me, telling me after a look of comic modesty that my beard was so attractive that she would like to stroke it. she was fetching in looks but the beast within me was dozing. heartless trickery had made me its victim. the annoying chamber maid again appeared. "did you see dat perlice gennerman dat wuz heah jes now? 'cose you didn't caze you doan look at nuffin, not eben er lady. but dat perlice gennerman he say dar gwine be trouble ef we all didn' gib up de niggers dat 'mitted de crime." "please go away and leave me alone. i want to confessions of a negro preacher lous. in a corner of the hallway i found charred kind' ling where a fire had been started and extinguished, and further along, the corpse of a half grown boy. from a window i could see policemen walking up and down the now quieted street, with only one sound to reach me, the mournful tolling of the bell in a negro church let me not linger to draw upon this season of terror. let me blur its ghastly features. disgraced history records it. let the white, the black american strive to expel it from his mind. but this i must set down. a careful estimate has it that more than three hundred bodies of negroes were put in pickle by the medical col' leges for leisurely dissection, the playthings of science. chapter xiii he dark age of terror came suddenly to an end. the light of the law arose. but i did not return to work in the stonecutter's yard. boldly i bought a railway ticket for indianapolis and set out on a memor ' able journey, feeling that as a preacher my voice was forever hushed, but budding a hope that i might fit myself for the bar, having heard that as attorneys sev' eral negroes in the north had attained distinction. crossing the ohio river i rode among the white folk, was permitted to go even into the dining car at meal time. i had never aspired toward the equality of eating with a white man who might be as unacquainted with the books i had read as i was with the language in which the lord conversed with adam. my ambition had been that the white man might be compelled to ac knowledge that my mind was as fruitful a garden patch of nature as the mind of the caucasian. and then flashed before that mind the dazzling image of mrs. hester. i am honest enough, yea, animal enough to confess a regret, that i did not possess her, she villain as i now know her to have been. i have not given her real name, and if she be now on earth and should chance upon these, my memoirs, let her blush, if she confessions of a negro preacher can on the train i talked with a lawyer. he was a northern man, born in massachusetts, he told me, but did not give me much encouragement toward taking up the study of the law. "why don't you study for the ministry?" he inquired. "the great day of the emotional lawyer is gone." "and do you mean that i must be emotional?" "well, to be frank with you i must say that the negro has not yet arisen out of that state." "neither has the poet," i said to him. "very true. but there is as much difference between a poet and a lawyer as between warm water and an icicle. and to go further toward frankness let me say that the negro has not a legal mind. i might say that there are whole races of white people who have not, either. i believe that you would make an effective preacher, of the billy sunday order. in the pulpit you could play sensational baseball." "i am sorry, sir, that you have such an opinion of me as to believe that i could be only sensational." he looked at me. "religion is only sensation." "sir," i said, "you wrong the spirit that created the world and which has preserved it. you slander your mother's belief." "hardly," he said with a laugh. "my mother was an educated woman, and held it against the lord that in all nations he did not make woman the equal of man." confessions of a negro preacher this fellow disturbed me and i was pleased when he got off the train. although i was admitted to the dining car yet i occupied a table alone, men and women shying at me, though i took pride in the neatness of my dress, having bought a suit of new clothes just before leaving atlanta. taking my second meal on the train, having just sat down, i looked up to see an impressive man coming toward my table. i knew that he was a preach' er and i gave him an inviting look. he halted and sat down opposite me. "i see that you are not from the south," i said pleasantly. "no," he spoke smiling, "i am a new englander." "and a minister i take it." "yes, a congregationalist. are you of the cloth?" i did not wish to lie to him. "yes, of a homespun cloth," i answered. "i have held forth in the meth' odist pulpit." "ah, and i do not remember ever to have met a colored congregationalist. your people seem to be more nearly allied to the emotional order of faith." . there it was again, the negro's emotion. i was growing weary of it, but within myself i was forced to acknowledge that it was true. "sir," said i, "if you have but little emotion you must, you and your people, take pride in the belief that you have superior reason." "well, we have been charged with being too meta' physical." confessions of a negro preacher 'tending toward evolution?" i asked. "well, we, the most of us or at least many of the best educated among us, accept evolution." "and god at the same time?" "surely. evolution does not deny god." "but it denies jesus," i insisted. he gave his order and i waited for him to lead off with another opinion, but looking out, he spoke of the weather. "god's weather or evolutions weather?" i asked, and frowning somewhat he said: "dark brother, i see that you are trying to entrap me." "i beg your pardon, not at all. i am casting for enlightenment." "very good," he smiled. "adhere to your faith. i recall having heard my father relate a conversation between henry ward beecher and fred douglas, dur' ing which the great preacher said that there was noth' ing sadder than a negro who had begun to question his faith. i trust that you have never questioned yours." "unfortunately i have, and suffered for it, not through any act that i might have committed but that it seemed to dim in my mind the vision of my mother; and i pray that the lord will ever let my mothers religion be good enough for me." "well put," he said, and then after a few moments, "but if every man's religion had been good enough there would have been no cross on calvary. are you much acquainted in the north?" confessions of a negro preacher "no, sir, i am here as an experiment." "on earth as an experiment," he replied. "is man god's experiment?" i asked. "yes, and to the degree that god once repented that he had created him." "then what is to become of us all?" "continue to serve god's experimental purposes," he said. "my dear sir, i would rather not believe so. i believe in fundamental redemption." "and so does the backwoodsman, but he does little toward the advancement of civilization." "then, sir," said i, "you have no faith in christ." "oh, yes but have ceased to preach his immaculate conception. study and reflection reveal to me the natur' al but nothing beyond." "but have books and observation revealed to you what the natural is and how it came about? can you account for a sprout coming up out of the ground? can you hold to your ear a tiny egg and hear the song of the mocking bird? you cannot, but the song is in that egg." 
 \ "you talk in quite a remarkable way," he compli' mented me. "you are perhaps the most educated negro i have ever met. have you ever wooed the muses?" "i have written prayers and have sung them." "and were your musical petitions answered?" "i believe that they saved my life," i told him recall' ing the time when i lay in an agony of fear beneath the confessions of a negro preacher bed. another silence and then i remarked: "i should think that you might have been suspected of heresy." he smiled. "i was, and my church split. but let not that trial come to you. hold to your faith." "when so learned a man as you seeks to weaken it?" "perhaps i was testing it." i arose, bowed to him and ended our acquaintance. learned, yes, but why did i not hold him in higher respect? because he had eaten with me, a negro. . . . indianapolis was to me a wilderness. it held beauty, a circle centered with a monument; in its broad and unprejudiced view it promised every man a living if he was skillful and industrious. but i saw at once that in this fresh atmosphere man must make himself useful. and this i was determined to do. i knew that waiters in hotels often found their jobs remunerative, and looking for a position of this sort i called at the bates house. the clerk referred me to the head waiter, a tall, grave, yellow man, dignified of gait and with a touch of sanctimony in his countenance. it did not require much of insight to gather from him the notion that ke was of the church. a few words brought it out that he needed another waiter, but he hesitated, leading me to believe that there was a hitch somewhere, and there was, my beard. he said that it was not usual for waiters to wear whiskers and asked me if i would mind shaving them off. this was requiring too much, the surrender of a safeguard against recognition, i believed. confessions of a negro preacher "i don't see why my beard should be resented on the part of the public," i told him, and then after another look at the touch of sanctimony in his countenance: "bearded men foretold the coming of the saviour, and bearded apostles spread the gospel." that caught him. "well, you might trim it a bit. have you got a dress suit?" "no, but i can get one within half an hour, i should think." "all right. come back at about five o'clock. you can room here." "quick and easy," i mused as i turned away. i remem' bered to have heard a man who was acquainted with the quirks of this life remark that if you want to get a swallowtail low in cost go to a pawn shop. thither i went; to three places, and finally found what i sought. the headwaiter met me rather graciously for one in so superior a position, and at once assigned me to my work, requiring agility with a small degree of common sense. my bed room was in a basement and none too free from dampness. while i was arraying myself for the first move of my new campaign of life, an honor fell to me, a call from the headwaiter. he told me that his father, chef during many years at the leading hotel in mobile, was honored with an immense funeral and that a white evangelist, a southerner, had preached over his remains, a distinction rarely enjoyed by a colored gentleman in dixie. this was intended, no doubt to lead up to a question: confessions of a negro preacher "didn't yau run away from atlanta to keep from having your head shot off?" this startled me somewhat, but my presence of mind demanded that i should lie to him: "no, i am from texas." "i took you to be a preacher runnin' for your life," he said. "but you are a preacher, ain't you?" "i have pondered over a text." "that's what i lowed. well, as the sayin' goes, we niggers have got to stick together." he appeared to be kindly of heart and i liked him. he told me that his mother, an octaroon, was a very remarkable woman, and that his sister had made her marks of credit as a teacher in one of the public schools in indianapolis. "and after roomin' here for a few days if you don't like your quarters you can come out and live at our house, and not at a high cost, either." to this i agreed, thanking him for his interest in me, and proceeded to make myself ready for my first evening of service in a line so new to me. the work was easy, mostly a matter of memory, and i rather enjoyed it, but tittering at myself to think that i was waiting on white men and women not so far removed from the bogs of ignorance as i, pupil of andrew shaver. it must have been on the following day when nick, the head waiter, told me that james whitcomb riley and a party of friends were to dine with us. he saw that i was keen in interest. "and i'll have them seated at one of your tables," he confessions of a negro preacher said. i thanked him so feelingly that he seemed pleased with my gratitude. i had read and loved riley's poems. shaver had told me that the indiana bard was only a home poet, a neighborhood singer, and that all great masters of verse must be masters of the universal mind and heart. this had raised an issue between us. i told him that the heart of the crossroads was as universal as the heart of the capitol, and he compli- mented me for my comparison but maintained that riley had failed when he attempted the majestic, the same as burns had failed when he addressed himself to society. "society itself is a failure when compared with the human heart," were my words that came back to me now, standing near the door, waiting for the first glimpse of the poet. he came in laughing, holding a companion by the arm. in his appearance i was disap' pointed, being as he was rather small and slightly stooped. his party consisted of four, two men and two women, all cheered, and by something more than good news, it seemed to me. one of the ladies was quite a well'known singer, the other a speaker campaigning for universal suffrage. as to the poet's male companion i gathered that he had achieved success in business. my ear'traps i set keen of trigger to catch every word that the poet might utter, but for the most part the ladies did the talking, and i waited. business at leisure is ever ready to talk, success in any line claiming that privilege, and this man was not shy. "jim, who is going to be the next president?" confessions of a negro preacher "well, really i haven't decided," riley laughed, and the singer clapped her hands encoring for another remark. "but as you doubtless know i am not inter' ested in politics." "what are you mostly interested in?" inquired the woman campaigner. and quick was the poet's answer: "in a wonder as to how the lord could have created so much stupidity." "indeed?" spoke the campaigner, raising her eye brows. "yes, for one would think that the creator is endeared of the commonplace. "look at nature, beauty nearly everywhere, hills, valleys, rivers, lakes and that mighty eternity of water, the ocean. then look at the human family, dull in the plod of business except when it goes to war and then brutal in slaughter." "if you think business is dull," spoke the commer' cial man, "you just take a peep in at the stock exchange in new york or the board of trade in chicago. there you'll find the keenest minds in the world." "almost rivaling the minds at a poker table," said riley, and again the singer clapped her hands. now the campaigner: "you gentlemen forget statesmanship. lincoln did not find man dull nor did he give himself to the flurry of a stock market i was called from the table to serve another party; actors and actresses holding forth at the opera house, i gathered. to me their talk was jargon until one of confessions of a negro preacher them, a man of estimation, i thought, began to speak of joseph jefferson. "a man not of parts but of one part only," he said. "but for this we cannot place him in other than the almost universal position of man, one artistic part in life, the other parts all of them mediocre. isn't that riley over there?" some one answered that it was. "a home, sweet home singer," he said. "you couldn't put a line of it on the stage, but it is the best rube verse ever written. and for that matter we might say that the rube stuff in shakespeare has out' lived time, when the high'flown bluster of byron has perished." this man impressed me and i asked the head waiter whether he knew his name. he did not and i was disappointed. now i returned to the poet's table and hung about, to pick up the crumbs of wisdom that fell and hopeful i might sneak a crust. it seemed that the talk had turned to the subject of education. "there is more of over than of under training," said riley. "many a man has been educated away from success. text books are snak'slimed with failure. the gospel has educated itself into pedantic unbelief." had he looked at me he might have seen me cringe. back to me flew the talk that i had held with the preach' er, dining with him; and i quaked to think that every thing i heard was to remind me that i might stagger from my faith. i had listened to a poet and an actor and had not learned over much. chapter xiv markeet n a car going out toward nick's home, to make my habitation there, i recalled the talk at the two ta' bles, rendered not much wiser, it was true, and yet to be noted down among my experiences. once shaver told me that if he possessed a memory such as mine he could conquer the world, but thus far my memory had not served me a vital turn. the headwaiter lived in rather a roomy cottage, sur' rounded by a garden and a paling fence. the mother came forward rather graciously, but lost it all when she said, even though with a laugh, "my but you are black." i told her that i was of pure blood, gibing at the white crossing in her family. she was lighter than her son, and with long grey hair as straight as wires tightly stretched. she laughed at my gibe and bade me sit down and make myself comfortable. "oh, i like 'em black, they are so genuine," she said. "my son nick tells me that you are a scholar and we like this for we have tried to educate ourselves. markeet, my daughter, is the pride of all our stock. nick has no doubt told you about her." confessions of a negro preacher thing higher than anything i can possibly reach. once in the night i prayed to god to make me white, and so strong was my simple faith that i believed my prayer answered; and then suffered there in the darkness to think that my mother, the purest saint of this earth, must remain black." markeet's mother had been stirring about. now she halted and with a serious look regarded me: "and so did you remain black?" she said. "it was weak of you to offer such a prayer." "yes, and the most fervent of prayers come from the weak." "yes, that's true," she admitted. "but we ought not to think so even if it be true," said her daughter. and now her eyes were fixed upon me. "do you know what i am going to call you?" "by his name," said her mother. "no, i am going to call him cato. you remind me of the sturdy roman." "oh, she will give you book talk," said her mother. "in that line she can put it all over the most of the white women i have ever met, but surely she has gone to school enough. well, i must see about getting a bite to eat." she withdrew to the kitchen. nick was out in the yard, standing with his arms on the gate. markeet spoke: "do you like the theatre?" i must have flinched. "i can't say, miss. i have read dramas but i have never seen a play." confessions of a negro preacher having to go early to my work i did not see her the next morning, and when i returned rather late at night she had company. a week passed before i had another chance for a private talk with her. it was my day off and i spent the afternoon at the house, longing for her. the old woman told me that many opportunities of marriage had come her daughter's way, and this i felt as keenly as a hound scenting the lair of a fox. "but i don't want her to get married until the right man comes along," said the mother. "marriages are made and unmade so easily these days that they don't seem to amount to much. have you ever married?" "no, madam. i have been as careful as you wish your daughter to be." she laughed. "i should think the twist of your black beard would have caught some woman long before this. markeet is doing very well teaching, but i'd rather see her well married and settled down. there is a man coming to see her and they say he has all sorts of money. he is a widower with three children but i tell her he may have money enough to offset all that." this woman had not only educated herself out of her negro dialect, if indeed she ever spoke in that musi' cal way, but had taken up the view of most mothers concerning their daughters and marriage. but i resent' ed it. "i should think," said i, "that you would prefer to see your fair daughter happily rather than financially married." confessions of a negro preacher she sniffed. "oh, i haven't time to argue that point, but i want to tell you that love finds itself a cripple when the money's gone. now don't talk to me: i know all about it." "i am not going to argue, madam, but i trust that you will let me ask this question: does your daughter hold your view?" "i don't know anything about holding views. she's sensible, i'll tell you that." off she went stirring about her household affairs, and i took up a book to wait for markeet's coming. the book was a sex rotter of the day, written by a woman and jargoned with the cramp colic of slang. i remember that once my attention had been called to a whole chap- ter in hugo, slang as its subject, but hugo made it leap with vitality. with this girl author, however, it was an infantile paralysis. markeet came in while i sat reading the book. "daintier than a moth. i did not hear you," i said. "were you listening?" she asked, easing herself down into a rocking chair. "yes, for the thrill of your footsteps." "now, cato, i don't need always to be flattered. be natural, won't you?" "yes, but what is more natural than a negro in the awe of admiration?" "as a boy in my school might say, cut that stuff and be natural. do you know that you have told me very little about yourself?" confessions of a negro preacher "in your presence my mind is not on myself." "oh, we shall never get anywhere this way, cato. you are a study to me, and i should like so much to know all about you. tell me about your education." she seemed sincere and i told her, and she gave me not only the heed of her ears but rewarded me with her eyes. "and you feel yourself more indebted to the white man shaver than to the negro washington," she said. "yes, booker spoke to my mind but shaver walked hand in hand with my soul." "cato, i don't see how the white man walked so close to your soul and left in it a taint of doubt. you may not realize it but he put ratsbane in the faith born of your mother. you try to convince me that you are a fundamentalist but you show me that there are times when you are almost an evolutionist. is that why you quit the pulpit?" i had told her too much and now it was up to me to lie or to make a full confession. i lied. "i did not quit for any want of faith but feared that i had not been truly called." "and did a woman have anything to do with it?" she asked. woman, always woman. "no negro woman has ever had a strong hold on me, and you may readily believe that a white woman would not cast my shallow pool for even a nibble." "vague but interesting," she laughed. "but you confessions of a negro preacher haven't told me why you aren't preaching. from what you say i gather that surely you have never been disap' pointed in love. is it possible that your warm nature and your poetic mind can so escape the intuitive search of woman?" "and you say this, so moving me with your mind? let me tell you and in all frankness that in mind you are vastly above all other women i have met. and surely you don't read such books as this?" and i held up the novel i had been deploring. "it is mother's book. she bought it." "but have you read it?" she smiled. "i looked in, looked out and then looked back again." "and what hope can there be for purity and grace of expression when you would read such a book? is it that the beast is in us all?" "beast? what beast?" she asked. i was betraying myself and i sought to change my tone. she listened to my threadbare ethics, smiling but calling me hypocrite with her eyes, and from one trite saying to another i winced and squirmed. her mother came into the room. "what are you two gossiping about now?" she inquired, and markeet answered her: "we were talking about the soul." "about the soul? i heard you say something about a beast. you don't call the soul a beast, do you?" "yes, madam, the soul that wanders off from god," confessions of a negro preacher i said. "but whose soul is wandering off from god? mine isn't, i know. i go to church every sunday, and mar' keet with me the most of the time. but the question is now what did i do with my pocket book? there's not much in it but i want to know where it is just the same. there it is over on the lounge. now who threw my book on the floor?" "madam, i let it fall by accident," i replied, handing it to her. "now who's coming in at the gate? markeet, it's mr. moffett." now i was to face the petitioner for markeet's hand. he came in, a tall and rawboned fellow, and of the color of a frosted dock leaf. markeet met him graciously and presented me. he took my hand with a "how are ye?" but did not say that he was glad to meet me, in which i conceived that he played not the part of the hypocrite. he had made his mark in a lunch counter way i was given to understand, having devised a dish of hog knuckles and sauerkraut that appealed to the glutton. he was native to the north and was as ignorant as the average citizen. markeet's mother gave me a look which i knew to be a writ of ouster, and up the narrow stairs i went to my room. soon i heard footsteps and then a tapping at my door. in came the mother. she said that she hoped i might say nothing to make her daughter think less of the worthy wooer. she had observed that markeet paid confessions of a negro preacher much heed to what i had to offer in the way of opinion, and she hoped that my estimate of moffet might be fair. i could not tell her that i scorned the fellows line of barter. for labor in its truest sense i have ever had a high regard, for the man that makes something, for the digger of a trench or the man of bristled arm who neatly fits a shoe to the hoof of a horse; but for certain buying and selling, i must have been born with a sort of contempt, engendered of the atmosphere of the plan' tation where the gentleman saw his prosperity dewed by nature, peep up out of the soil. "but what do you think of him?" markeet's mother asked. "oh, he may be all right," i confusedly answered. "may be! i tell you he is. he could buy us all and sell us." "and then pick hog gristle out of his teeth," i said. like a hen she fluttered at me. "now look here, don't you try to stand against him. and before we go any further let me say that i don't want a black grand child creeping about my floor. oh, i'm out and out when it comes to that. now don't say that you haven't tried to make love to her. i heard you talking about soul and all that sort of thing. soul nothing. we've got to have a living on this earth." "madam, i beg your pardon. i have not spoken a word of love to your daughter. i would not presume to lay a claim at her feet. in every respect she is far above confessions of a negro preacher "well, i'm glad you feel that way, but keep it up." she was an outspoken thing and i was not urgent that she remain long in my room; and when she was gone i strained my ear to catch the words spoken down in the room of courtship, but i heard naught save a laugh now and then from markeet. out to the gate she walked with moffet and there they stood, talking; and angered because i could not hear what was said, i fumed and peeped through the window. at dinner markeet was so bright and so cheerful that i was sure she must have reached a decision, per' haps given her consent to a marriage which i could look upon only with horror. nick came shortly after dinner and when he inquired of his sister whether she had received a call from moffet, his mother gave him a significant look, and i thought, cast a meaningful glance at me. why was it that i could never be cleared from trouble? why was my bosom a rebellious ground wherein warfare was continuously waged? i looked at the young woman and gave an inward groan of ac- knowledgement that i would give my life to possess her, as a husband, yea, as a beast. and now nick said something that brought back the past to jibe me. he told us that the negroes were preparing for a great revi- val within the near future, having been granted the largest church in the city. "if i may be fortunate to repeat the past and to stand before that meeting i will preach to markeet as once i preached when the wanton girl ran to me and bit my lips," i mused; and conscience confessions of a negro preacher whispering, asked me whether i would always turn the gospel for my advantage, throbbing it with sex, a lop- eared hound in heat; and answering not my conscience i looked at markeet. we were now in the sitting room, she in the rocking chair, with a tawdry necklace lying snakelike in her lap. the ever restless mother was busying about, picking up things aimlessly and putting them down, trying, it seemed, to overtake her mind. nick was continuing to talk about the great meeting. his sister gave me a flash-light look. "wouldn't you like to go?" "yes, i am always ready to hear the gospel." "and to preach it?" she asked. her mother had taken up a pinkish cushion from the lounge and was patting it into daintier shape. "any one that can ought always to be willing to preach," she said. "markeet's father was a minister." "and nick's father too?" i was impertinent enough to inquire. "i was married twice," she said, patting the cushion down upon the lounge; and to myself i whispered, "yes married twice and more than thrice associated." "what are you thinking about now, cato?" this from the young woman. "your face is a blackboard and sometimes you almost chalk your thoughts upon it." "if it were a screen and my heart's image thrown upon it there woud be the picture of another calvary and another crucifixion, i sometimes think." markeet's mother turned upon me. "why are you confessions of a negro preacher always thinking about yourself? good lord, ain't there other things to think of. by the way, i am expecting a visit from my sister that lives in mobile, and i'm afraid that we'll have to ask you to vacate your room." this was a deadener and i looked at markeet. she sat rippling her necklace. "did you hear what i said?" the mother spoke. "yes, madam, and i am ready to take my leave at any moment. ever since i can recollect i have been forced to face an urgent call." markeet reached over and dropped her necklace on the table. "cato, we shall wait until my aunt comes. she is always coming and never does." this made me bold. "will you take a walk with me?" i asked. she arose. "yes, i need the exercise." as we were going out i glanced back and saw the old lady reproach me with a look. outside we were in the first dim twilight. was it the girl's breathing that so stilled and softened the air? there was no bowered lover's lane to stroll, but a quiet street, with children playing; and i saw a boy catch up a handful of dust, throw it upward and stand to let it settle down upon his head. back to me flew on holy wings the old fireplace and the ashes. "there is nothing dirtier than a boy," said markeet. "quit that, you little rascal." the boy laughed and ran away and we walked onward for a time in silence. "your mother didn't like confessions of a negro preacher the notion of our walking out together," i spoke, and markeet laughed and with a pluck at my arms as if her ankle had turned, threatening to throw her. "but it didn't seem to make much difference with you, cato." "nor with you, i was glad to see. may i ask you an impertinent question?" "certainly. impertinent questions are always the most interesting. well?" she had not turned loose my arm. "are you going to be moffet's wife?" she let go my arm. "are you?" i insisted. "who told you i was to be his wife?" "you didn't, and therefore i am asking you. surely you can't love him, you, perhaps the best educated woman i ever met." she shifted. "my education came out of my own mental industry, but perhaps the incentive was a matter of inheritance. my father was one of the ablest of preachers, a white man. i shall save you the trouble of asking whether he was my mother's husband. he was not. yes, i am of the forest, a wood's colt, as the racehorse men would say. are you grateful for my frankness?" "yes, i am. but you have not answered my question. are you going to marry that man?" "the man marries, the woman is married," she said, the school teacher speaking. "oh, no purist quibbling, please. do you love the confessions of a negro preacher brute?" "brute?" but she could not restrain her laughter. "who called him a brute?" "i did." "but not to his face. haven't you heard that he has money? and is the acquisition of money more of a brutish than of a philosophic instinct? didn't the athenian peripatetics have money out at interest?" "markeet, every thing you say assures me that you could not love him. your going to his home would be culture housing in a pigsty." "thank you. but didn't you tell me that once you preached to pigs, and perhaps your best sermon?" "yes, i told you that, but—" "and are again to preach to pigs," she broke in upon me. "i shall arrange it that you address the big meet' ing. no, not all pigs, but the big sermon is caught up and enjoyed by the advanced ape." "markeet, you are the most astonishing creature that i have ever seen. and within you there must be divine talent. what is it?" "the instinct of rebellion against everything. you may think that you have encountered much to disgust you with life, but i have had more. every inspiration i have ever had has been smothered with failure. i tried the stage but was told that i couldn't act. my soul was buoyed with the ambition to sing, but they told me that i shrieked. so they sentenced me to the hum'drum of confessions of a negro preacher school teaching. and now do you blame me for being as i am, a rebel?" "ah, and suppose the rebel might marry that ven- der of rotten cabbage. what then?" "the rebel might smother him and flaunt with his money." "markeet, please don't talk that way. you crush me. girl, i have enshrined you." "is that to be taken as worship when i know that you humanized a lot of hogs and preached to them. cato, we are two riddles seeking to solve each other. here you are, black, and i almost white, but both termed negroes. you have been educated beyond a negro's commonsense, and i am a lettered failure. we both are travesties. i do not believe your moral nature is strong, and mine, i feel, if tempted too far might be weak. perhaps our minds and our natures are of the wrong race and the wrong age. perhaps we are the mocking children of another era, of the past or mayhap the future." "then let us love, markeet." close beside her i felt for her hand but she with' drew it from me. "cato, i have told moffet that i consent to be his wife." now it was my ankle that threatened to turn. "and you are going to give unto that brute your maiden self?" • "i did not say that," and now her laugh was cold confessions of a negro preacher and cynical. "pardon me, markeet, but must i infer that you are not—a maiden?" "you may infer what your thoughts inspire, but you must know that, born as i was, i am not rocking in a cradle of innocence. we have gone far enough. let us go back." "no, let us keep on and walk throughout life together." "and leave my mother? we have both been foolish in our talk. believe as little as you can of what i have said." "believe as little as i may, you have broken my heart." "and cato, you have been called upon so often to mend it that now you may easier patch it with your skill and experience. brush what i have said out of your mind. but listen now and be a man." "that is asking too much. you would crush my gentler self and arouse the beast within me" "no, you brute, you must not touch me. i see that i have been too frank." "markeet, let me kneel here in the dark and pray you to forgive me." "it was my fault and i forgive you," she said. confessions of a negro preacher "there you compare me ill, for the trick dog forgets all trickery when his neighbor dog, a female, comes toward him scented with a sudden heat." she looked at me a long time, not scornfully but seeming to search me. "you are the strangest human being i ever saw, and for a negro you are astounding. you could not have learned all of your oddity of expres' sion from that school teacher. you must have been born a sort of freak, and would be just as astonishing as a white man as you are a negro; in some respects, i mean. you are at once a philosopher and an ape. one moment you are a preacher and the next, the sort of dog you spoke of just now. i won't ask you to be natural, for doubtless all these phases are natural with you. but i find that i must protect myself against you." "ha, goddess," i spoke almost in a cry, "touch me with reformation." she smiled at me. "no, i shall not sit close enough to touch you." "mistrusting your passion, markeet?" "why do you presume that i have passion and why are you arrogant enough to think that you could arouse it? please put out of your mind the thought that you have power over me. you must know that a woman's passion, unlike the passion of a man, is aroused only by love." "how do you know so much about the passion of a man? do you get your sex wisdom from books written confessions of a negro preacher by girls shrewdly guessing? or perhaps you yourself are one of the shrewd guessers. a man does not have to guess, he knows. i have met a few women in my time and not always innocently, i must confess; and some of those women showed that their passion was just as natural as mine." markeet's mother came into the room and i felt that she had been listening. "they tell me that the revival meeting is going to start off great," she said. "well, its time for one in this town." "and i am going to see to it that cato delivers one of the first sermons," said markeet. "he could preach about women, no doubt," the old lady replied. "a text, madam, in which all men might be inter' ested," i spoke. "but markeet, i hope you are not jok' ing, for nothing would please me more than to preach to that crowd" soon came the time. how the girl managed to arrange it i have never sought to find out, but one sun* day afternoon, when the meeting had been in progress during several days, the loud voice of a fervent negro preacher requested me to come to the platform. more than once i had restrained an impulse to arise and to shout forth the glad tidings of redemption, for i felt that i at last had been redeemed. i had prayed my old faith back into my soul, and had seen the beast within me cringe and wither and die. up i sprang buoyantly confessions of a negro preacher to my newly born importance. our family journied home together, and on the street car our talk was not of the affairs of casual life but of religion. toward me the old lady was completely changed. she gave me to know that the pouring out of my soul had more than overjoyed her; she had not thought it lay within me to know so much of christ. more than once on our way home markeet revealed to me the tears that dewed her eyes; and now on the seat beside me her hand was near my own but i did not seek to touch it. "you are a wonder," she whispered to me. "who is it that would not give his white skin for your illuminat' ing mind?" .... in a trance i went to bed that night, thankful even in my sleep that i had made a conquest, and upon going down the stairs while yet the early sun was low, i was rejoiced to see markeet with the morning paper flut' tering in her hand, for i knew that she was reading the gracious print of my victory. and there it was with my picture. had not the old lady been present the girl would have let me kiss her, i believed, the sweetest reward that could have fallen to my eloquence. numerous persons called at the hotel to see the waiter who so suddenly had proved himself a wonder, the mayor himself halting as he came out of the bar room, to speak to me. that night my performance was more than repeated, markeet happiest among the immense throng, and this time i stole her hand as home confessions of a negro preacher installed, though it was understood that i was to assist in the work of the revival until the close of the big meeting. i had preached several times in my own church when at the close of a sermon came a gentle man, tall blond of type, polished of manner, a preacher i knew and a white man free of prejudice toward the negro race. his name was walter holcomb, he told me, and did not hesitate to add reverend. soon it devel' oped that he wished to hold with me a serious talk on business. the preacher's cultivated placidity of coun- tenance is ever broken when he uses the word "busi' ness." his attempt at practical seriousness results in a frown, which the rev. holcomb now gave me. "i have a proposition to make to you that will mean much to us both," he said. "i am staying temporarily at the hotel english. would you mind going there with me?" i gladly went with him to his room, flattered every instant, and housed with him i sat, waiting for him to spread his plan. this he was not long in doing. "now, my dark brother, i am a methodist, free from the hardening and i sometimes fancy the almost heart' less tenets of calvin, yet i cannot but feel that you and i are destined to combine and to do a notable work. i have a project that will require somewhat of financing, but this can all be arranged. we can go to the smaller communities, set up a gospel tent for a week at a time and reap—well, a harvest of good. i am not seeking to make the gathering of money my aim, but as you and confessions of a negro preacher every intelligent man must know, money is the circu' lating blood of our civilization. we may scorn it in words but must have it in act. meetings conducted by a white man and a negro would be a sort of apostolic novelty, and in this way we might bring about a better understanding between the two races. does it appeal to "yes, surely; but what am i to do with my people here—a congregation that has given to me such spon' taneous confidence? i can't run away and leave my charge." "surely not. but in a way you can take your charge with you. i have talked to brother harris of the immense amount of good you might do, and he agrees to release you within two months from now, having it understood that your church here is always ready to welcome your return." "you are a quick worker, brother holcomb." "i trust so. the slow worker in our field enters upon either a conscious or an unconscious compromise with satan. brother harris will hold a financial interest with us. now of course it must be in your mind to ask me something about myself. i believe that i have an abil' ity, you might say, a genius for revival work. but not until now has the proper opportunity come my way. like you i am young and vigorous, and i believe that like you i am a moving orator. what do you think of the project?" confessions of a negro preacher "with it heart and soul, brother holcomb." we arose and shook hands. it is known that to the white man the negro often has an offensive odor. but the white man is not wont to consider that to the negro he has a smell not always agreeable. holcomb gave off a peculiar scent, not offensive, but a strange perfume, such as i had never sniffed before. i remember that the negroes used to wet themselves with a sort of cologne which soon gave off the scent of musk, blending with a natural perspiration; and this man's scent was a musk of his own making, not like other perfumes, bringing back the past, but a smell that seemed to trend toward the future, a foolish fancy, no doubt, but i could not keep from holding it. as he had led me to believe him a student i asked him whether he had formed an estimate of the negro, not as a problem in this country, but as a race of human beings. "yes, and i see that i must be frank with you," he replied. "and i am not one who believes that what we term higher education is good for the negro. of all men the negro has the most spontaneous laugh; that is, the negro free from what we term culture. but educate him, touch him with the charred stick of metaphysics, and his music is gone. he has ever been eloquent because he is musical." "i had hoped, sir, that the negro might be something else.v i answered. confessions of a negro preacher "well, what would you have him become? an astronomer, big business organizer, inventor? these he shows no premonition of becoming. you may say that he has not had the time. but the negro is as old, per' haps older than the white man. when the aryans migrated into india they found a race of negroes. they were the original settlers of the country. a race of negroes mixed with a lighter race and out of it came the egyptian." "you give me but little hope," i said and must have spoken sadly for he quickly replied: "oh, yes, the hope of happiness, something which the white man has not yet wholly attained. the negro has a soul." "and a beast within him," my memory prompted me to speak. "my dear brother, not more of negro than of white inheritance. we may not only believe that the serpent tempted eve but that he bit her. all this, however has nothing to do with the work we shall soon have in hand. in my nature there is no jealousy, and mark me, i am going to make you famous." i left him, the scent of him, that strange odor in my nostrils, nor was i depressed with what he had said about the negro. his promise to make me famous thrilled my soul. confessions of a negro preacher to sing and had been disappointed. i should think that the gospel tent would give you the long deferred oppor' tunity. i hear it tapping at your door." she was interested. "cato, i know that i can sing." "i know, markeet, that you loo\ a hymn." "no flattery, please," and then after a pause: "but mother might object. she has her heart set on my mar' riage with moffett." "lord, but i had forgotten him," i cringed. "have you promised to be his wife?" "yes. but i am tempted to break it." "for fame?" i asked. "well, it might be for more than that." i sprang out of my chair. "do you mean that you could requite my tempest of love with at least a breeze?" "sit down, cato, and be natural in act and i hope in words. you always fly off so furiously. your school' teacher, the white man, must have been a cyclone. don't you know that he taught you to warp words?" "no. his aim was to teach me to smooth them. i was born with an ardent nature. but to the point: you know that i love you. you know that i would give my life for you. you must know that when i look at you a devil and an angel dance within me. markeet, with that restaurant negro you could but lead a dull exis' tence. his only fire is in his cooking stove. mine is in my heart." "please let me think, cato." confessions of a negro preacher "must you think before you can tell me that you return my love?" "perhaps not, but we must sometimes think in order to know what to do with love." "then you acknowledge that you really love me!" i cried, now on my feet again. "sit down, please." "i will not sit down until you have told me." "and if i tell you? then what." "i'll ravish you with kisses." "you shall do nothing of the sort. any woman admires passion when she herself excites it, but you scare me. wipe that fierce look out of your eyes. stop wiping. you make it worse. i just don't know what to do." "but you know what you feel toward me." "yes, cato, and i love you." now she was in my arms, yielding to my kisses. it seemed that i had been famishing and was now at a feast. she did not fight me off but mingled with me, and within me i felt a glory surging, no ashes of a burnt prayerbook, no ambitious novel flaming in a fireplace, but the achievement of a panting soul. "there now, sweetheart, mother might come." "let her come and your brother too, and all the world. glory be to the lord." when the old lady came the girl and i were far enough apart, but the mother's quick eye saw some confessions of a negro preacher thing that i could not hide. "you have been making love to my daughter." "madam, nature made love to her, and i but follow nature." "of all the men i ever met you are the strangest," she said, and with a want of resentment that to me was pleasing. "well, if she doesn't care for moffett that's all there is to it," she declared herself. "i am religious, it is true, but i have never wanted a preacher for a son' in'law, and especially one as black as you are." "mother," markeet spoke up, "he is at least genuine while you and i are mixed, tainted, at least. i love him better than if he were as white as snow." "well, now, my dear, i'm not reproaching him for being black. what i want to feel is whether or not he is to make you a good husband, and preachers are not noted for that, you know." "how should i know," she laughed, giving me a delightful wink. "i've never had one for a husband, that is certain." "well, we must make the best of it," said the old lady. "the minute this man came into the house i knew that something was going to happen. now don't tell me about his education, for education is not a irv- ing, and besides, it is unnatural for a black negro to have a white education. your father used to say that. well, make your arrangements and we'll do the best we confessions of a negro preacher. one day about a week later brother holcomb came out to see me. he said that to take proper advantage of the season it would be necessary for us to defer our project for three months, by which time he and brother harris would have the tent and all details well in hand. our territory was to be northward, where the rigors of winter had made the people serious minded; and he proceeded to point out that the soft air of southern climes, italy, spain, rendered religion a sort of luxury while the chill air of england and germany made faith more devout. this was a theory that meant little to me. all i wanted now of brother holcomb was a chance to pour out my emotions. while we were talking markeet came in and i presented her. he looked at her in astonishment as well he might, her beauty sparkling as she met him, and when without embarrass' ment i told him that soon she was to be my wife, he looked at her and then at me noting the contrast between us, i well knew. "i congratulate you both." he said. "and when is the event to be?" "one week from tonight," i answered. "ha," he smiled, "you are not losing much time, i take it, and for that i congratulate you again." i told him that markeet, being a singer, was going along with us, and to this he offered no objection, either bluntly or with shrewdness; but he said that he should like to hear her sing. this was something which confessions of a negro preacher i had not heard, and i urged her, though that was not necessary; she was willing enough. we had no piano but in the room there was an old'fashioned melodeon, and through it she wheezed a tune and sang, and to me in a voice but little short of divine. you may convince a woman that she is not handsome, that she has a medio' cre mind, but a woman with a notion that she can sing is as immovable as a mountain. brother holcomb seemed to be much pleased with her voice. he said that it had volume, which was true, and that it would reach the heart of the sinner looking toward repentance, which i was more than ready to believe. holcomb remained for dinner, eating with me as if i had been a brother of the flesh as well of the spirit, and though this did not add to my respect for him, i was thankful for his well'secreted condescension. after dinner markeet sang again, an old love song; but the preacher lead her back to the tunes of the repentant bench. the old hymns had never been to me so sweet as when she sang them, and in holcomb's eye there were tears, a proof of his tender and religious soul. "i don't know when i have spent so delightful a time," he said when he arose to take his leave. "and may we invite you to our wedding and expect from you more than one visit when we have been set- tled in our home?" markeet put gently to him; and tak- ing her hand and bending over it as if he were tempted to touch it with his lips, he assured her that it was a confessions of a negro preacher pleasure in store for him. when he was gone markeet turned to me. "what are you sniffing at cato?" "at his peculiar scent, his perfume. don't you smell it?" "no, and you smell only your imagination." in selecting a sort of parsonage for our home it was my desire to find one resembling as nearly as might be the one most to remind me of my old preacher refuge in georgia. a log hut such as shaver and i lived in would have delighted me, but had i been able to find it, an obstacle would have arisen, markeet's repugnance toward living like "white trash." she told me that for a long time in mobile she had not been the maid but the companion of an aristocratic young woman. this woman was unhandsome enough to have been told that surely she could write character fiction. to this work she devoted herself for a long time, but with even mar' keet's artistic help had not succeeded in winning a pub- lisher. "i really believe it was because her taste was too fine," said the girl who so soon was to become my wife. it was evening and we were walking the quiet street, recalling a stroll which now seemed so long ago. "right along here is where i was so frank with you," she said. "yes, when i felt for your sake i would have stabbed the heart of the world and let out its ocean of blood." confessions of a negro preacher "dear old cato, always extravagant," she laughed, nudging close beside me. "but i wouldn't have you otherwise, my dear. and i have to smile when i think of what an ignorant woman said about you the other day. she said you would be the prize nigger at a state fair. now as to that house, we might better take it, for a time at least. it is near the church, is not too large and can be easily kept." "for the most part it must keep itself, markeet. we shall be out on our tented bridal tour." "yes, that is true, and i feel that we are to have a delightful time." "at least a fruitful time for our modest gospel," i replied, thinking of the good to be done, and of the free will offering toward our financial ease. markeet began to laugh. i playfully pulled at her. "you are tickled, but 'wharfo?' says the darkie." "oh, nothing much, just a foolish thought." "foolish thoughts like foolish girls are sometimes pretty. out with it." "oh i was just wondering which you would rather see, coming toward you, a brace of repentant sinners or a hat well lined with greenbacks." "well as for the sinners i might politely and sympa' thetically tell them to take their time but as for the greenbacks let them hasten a bit." "cato, how close you can get to the truth when you seek only to be pleasant. but really i want to feel that confessions of a negro preacher we are to do good on our gospel tour." "and you couldn't guess what feature of it most appeals to me. it is that our animated work will keep you warm toward your husband." "i don't understand, cato." it was dusk and about her i slipped my arm. "my love, it is because the mourners' bench is a furnace where passion flows in white heat, molten." chapter xvii a bible lying on the grass "^tot alone the choir but the entire congregation broke forth in song. the beautiful creature was my own, the soul of the song they were singing, and although several girls came up and made bold to kiss me, i did not taste the passion of their lips, tame com' pared with a feast awaiting "love satisfied is a moral imbecile," i recalled that shaver once had said, forgotten during years but now recurrent in my mind. was it true? let me not think that it was. markeet's mother came over and made herself handy about the house. she removed a rug and scrubbed the floor. she made sud'bubbles gleam in our sitting room and then sat down to bore me with her complaint of weariness. holcomb came early to visit us, his mind bent upon our business stretching far toward the north' west. "idealism and especially religious idealism is ennobling," he said, calling me cato after the manner of my wife. "but we must have the coin. every now and then the home of a successful evangelist is pointed out to me, and why shouldn't we have pleasant and confessions of a negro preacher attractive homes? the servant is worthy of his hire, you know." "that is a consoling text," i assured him. and look' ing at my wife so graceful and so fair, he said: "and why shouldn't you wear silks? i have seen the word of the lord clasped with gold. the poverty stricken gospel has been put aside. we have now entered upon the gospel of prosperity. we do not deem it too much of a luxury if a preacher loves and finds his love requit' ed. the day of reward so long deferred is at hand. the richest man in the world is religious. the most poverty stricken may be ah atheist. but before our audiences, cato, we must keep this quiet. we shall solicit, but humbly and in the name of the lord. and behind the scenes we must carefully count the contents of the hat. mrs. cato, am i too practical?" "no indeed, brother holcomb," markeet quickly spoke. "we can be practical and yet have a worthy end in view." "a sensible woman, i say. and cato, we must name an object, though we solicit in the name of the lord; so, i have thought out this plan and have discussed it with brother harris. let it be known that we are work- ing to establish mission churches for the negroes throughout the south." to this i brought forward the objection that every community in the south had a negro church. "and besides, brother holcomb we shall not be telling the confessions of a negro preacher truth." "why not? when we have fairly compensated our- selves we can devote the remainder of the money toward the building of negro churches, can't we? the plan is simple and honest enough, i should think. broth' er harris approves of it." to me this plan seemed far from honest and i told him so but he appealed again to markeet and with effect. she said that she had helped in many charities and that they all held something up the sleeve. so i was thus enforced to give my reluctant consent, becom' ing more and more reconciled toward the project and especially after i had held a conference with brother harris. and now it seemed that what i needed most was to be alone and to commune with myself. it was evening and markeet with her mother had gone to con' gratulate a neighbor woman who had presented the world with a set of yellow twins. i sat slowly rocking with a thought, my chair creeking a sarcasm, now and then i fancied; and my thought was that my ambition was dead. for me there must be no more aspiring van' ity, no novel, no book of prayers. i would seek simply a contented life, see children grow up about me and in old age mumble my reminiscences. but if only this, why had i been born with such sinewy longings? was it that i had not so yearned to startle people as to bring astonishment unto myself? markeet returned while i was still at the bar in rigor' confessions of a negro preacher ous examination. she told me that the twins were as cute as they could be, but when i asked her whether she would like to be so prolific a mother she frowned. "cato, i don't wish to be a mother at all." "but you are going to be." "not if there's any potency in skillful devices," she answered. "there are enough children in the world now, you well know, and why should we be called upon to add to the world's unhappiness? oh, you may say that the lord expects you to rear a child, but he doesn't, anything of the sort. would you like for a boy to inherit your disappointed ambitions? don't talk to me about having children." she surely did not appear motherly as she stood look' ing at me. her cheeks were pink and her lips were touched with red. no, i would put it out of my mind that there was a suggestion of the bawd about her my associates were men of their word and promptly we set forth on our tour. markeet's mother came down to the railway station with us. it was not in her nature to shed many tears, but she managed to squeeze out a few. she told me that i must be patient with her daughter and pardon her frailties. i responded that if she had any frailties they were still beyond the frontier of my discovery. "we are all frail," she said, drying her eyes. hol' comb spoke: "not necessarily, madam. it is now con' confessions of a negro preacher scious strength rather than conscious frailty that must shape our course." brother harris bustled about sometimes searching his pockets often with a railway ticket between his teeth. how well it was to have so active a manager! he told me not to attempt to grasp at details, that my part lay wide from the material, and for this arose my gratitude, for if there be anything on this earth which my nature calls upon me to despise it is the measles of small business breaking out upon me. holcomb, how ever, was more practical. soon i observed that he was much given to talk about what he termed facts. i can stand all sorts of speculation, upon the flood or sampson tying fire to tails of foxes, but somehow i shudder when a preacher begins to insist upon facts. to me one parable in the new testament is of more worth than all the dates of history. and no matter what date may have been set down, some close figurer will dispute it. how delightful it was to speed in a parlor car, mar' keet beside me. brother harris rode forward where he might boldly smoke his pipe, and sometimes upon look' ing at holcmob i suspected that he would like to take a whiff of perhaps a drink if the bottle were passing. in his seat opposite us he was continuously searching mag' azines, making a note on an envelope now and then, and once when in making a notation his countenance seemed to leap, i fancied that he had plucked a nettle with which he might sting the current sin of the day. confessions of a negro preacher harris paid our dining car expenses, and to me it was a pleasure not to fumble for money. "a concert company?" the head waiter asked of him: "yes, singing the choruses of the lord." "oh, a religious organisation. well, we haven't enough religion these days, they tell me. i haven't time to go to church, you know." "but you have time to pray," holcomb suggested. "yes, time for that all right enough." "and without having a contribution box thrust under your nose," spoke up a grim old fellow who sat near. holcomb looked at him. "and yet i suppose you would put your name on a campaign scroll and dig up money for politics. but political money is often satan's fund, sir, i would have you to know." "yes, that may be true, too. but how about all the money that gypsy smith grabs off? over in my town of omaha some time ago they made up an extra purse of about fifteen thousand dollars and presented it to him." "sir, he was worthy of his hire." "you bet he thought so," said the old fellow as he got up to go. yellow harris smiled but holcomb spoke in the white heat of rebuke: "ha, representative of that class of old fools that are trying to railroad the world to hell. nine chances to one that he made his money by misrepresentation or perhaps by thievery. these are the men we have to fight, cato." confessions of a negro preacher "or rather the men we must persuade," i replied. "right" said harris. thus i set forth the atmosphere into which we were entering. it was america, rude but free, and with ever a sneer toward the modern methods of gos' pel. constantly i heard that the human family ought to return to simple faith, and yet every effort in that way was scoffed at, nor could i feel that within my heart i was unselfishly sincere. i felt that i was to be produc' tive of good, yes; and yet i knew that it was money which for the most part spurred me on. i wanted to see markeet the mistress of a bright home, the perfume of the vines about the door mingling their sweet breath with the breath of an evening cradle song; and then would come a twitch, for she had almost sworn against the rearing of a child. the want of proper advertising was the hitch in our first town. this aroused harris to the need of a press agent, and quickly he employed one, an experienced man who had outlived the reporter's activity but who knew the newspaper world. our project so appealed to him that he was willing to enter upon his part of it on a percentage basis, and shrewd harris knew that this would stimulate his energies. a tent is always attractive. dogs pay no attention to the rearing of a house, but when they observe the setting up of a tent they gather about it to play, feeling some sort of game is afoot. the dogs gave us a wel' come, their enthusiasm breaking out in an occasional confessions of a negro preacher fight; and the mayor of the town, a man who could almost speak english, started us off with an initial jab' ber. holcomb devoted his first talk mainly to me. he told of the depth of my soul, religious by nature and by training, eulogized my mind which he said was a melody unto the lord. and as i listened i mused: "perhaps i have been wont to misjudge you. selfishness cannot hold a place in a heart so generous. hereafter i shall have more faith in you, and find no complaint against the strange and peculiar scent you always bring with you." how well he had played to make me elo- quent. the audience, cool at first, began to glow, and though there was but a sprinkling of negroes, burst out in a hymn of gracious applause. there was to be no hint of an offering until the final night and then it must be driven, our object being plainly set forth. one glorious diabetic sang out that he would give a thousand dollars. women came forward, eager to subscribe; and a minister stationed at the town, prayed an extra hun- dred from a rancher who had never been known to help a worthy enterprise. at the next stand for a week we did even better, our press man having done his work, and while our expenses were heavier than we had forseen, yet our collections assured us of a successful season. markeet's singing was delightful. the press agent printed it that she had turned down many an offer from the big opera companies, so unselfishly was she determined to give confessions of a negro preacher her voice to christ. it was ever a promising joy to me to hear her singing among the warm seekers for salva' tion for i knew that later she would be ardent within my hot embraces how different was old georgia from these scandina' vian communities. but i have naught to say in disfavor of the swedes, the norwegians, the danes. they are among the most genuine folk of the earth; but may the lord deliver me from a neighborhood tainted with the russian, this strange creature, wild without enthusi' asm. he does not seem to enter upon ideas but is ever ready to fly into a fury against a prevailing order. the old joke has it that the irishman is ever against the gov ernment, but the average russian seems to me to be against himself. shaver had at one time been much taken with russian literature, but in it i could see naught but misery. in north dakota we gave up a town because it was largely surrounded by russians. their greek church looked with contempt upon our simple worship, a priest of their order had told us. they were above all superstition and yet it was known that they would seal their window at night, knowing that evil spirits rode upon the darkened air. holcomb kept up his flattery of me in every town, making of me a saint of eloquence. once i told markeet that i was afraid he was going too far, and she turned about from combing her hair, put her arms about my neck and whispered something. confessions of a negro preacher is that you rarely if ever repeat. with me i must give a talk four or five times before i can make it effective." i had observed that holcomb like nearly all preachers was either a sly or an unconscious thief of images, a gobbler of figures of speech, and nearly always marring them with big words. sometimes he would rephrase a parable from jesus, giving to it a modern interpretation, he said, but i could but feel that he always marred it. but when i asked him if it might be well with me to modernize he shook his head. "no cato, stick to your simple eloquence. the ladies like it. oh, yes, the men, too. but business men are sus- picious of eloquence. with them it is the bunk of the promoter. it is the boast of business that it uses but few words. leave the hard facts to me, cato." i sought to assemble some of his hard facts and to put an estimate upon them, but it seemed that they were but distorted and scrambled. i now know that what i really sought was a valuation of his moral character. i soon had discovered within him a trait so common with his color and a singular phase we must admit; no not singu' lax but peculiar, as peculiar as the scent that attended him, but even now i wonder whether i can set it forth. it is this: the white man is ready to acknowledge that the negro may be endowed with almost prophetic insight, with a genius for apt expression, for the free gifts of nature, but the white man is ever determined chapter xviii a man without emotion "vtow trending southward we crossed stretches of land where i had labored as a harvester. my mind found a calm in hovering over that time and i was wont to dream that soon i should see shaver, feeling that in kansas he was waiting for me. our affairs were prosper' ous, but whenever i hinted upon the establishment of negro missions, holcomb seemed ever to flinch. "you know that it is our avowed purpose," i told him. "yes, surely; but not until we have paid the servant for his hire." "oh, it is all right with me," i confessed. "i am will- ing that the negro should wait while we assure our- selves of money enough to meet present necessities." "that is the proper way to view it, cato. look at the good we have done. look at the numbers we have added to local churches. the other night a man told me that he had been reading ingersoll until he was an avowed atheist, but that your eloquence had so painted the cross that he could see it and that now he had decided to join the flock." confessions of a negro preacher it is a preacher's habit to tell of a conversation that never occurred, of an accident that never happened. that sort of lying is one of the privileged graces of the pulpit; and yet i was flattered, feeling a new warmth within me taking the place of a chill now growing old. perhaps in many ways i had misjudged the man. no doubt i had misunderstood his silence when on the train he and i would ride for hours with never a word after i had felt that an outburst on my part had been rebuked with a grunt. no doubt but that his mind was a busy workshop. and for one thing i was forced to give him credit, his attitude toward markeet. his eyes told me that it was only by restraint that he did not prove himself lecherous, but toward her he was always considerate in action and in look. i wondered whether she would give him encouragement and knowing that she would not, i muttered a curse against my negro suspicion. for the most part how gentle she was toward me except when we were alone and then she met my passionate embraces, ever thrilling me with improvisa' tions divinely her own, i fancied. rarely was she jeal' ous. but when one night after i had come off the plat- form a blondish young thing with not more than eight words of english at her command hung about me and pressed my hand to her bosom at parting, markeet gave me a frown which i tried to smile off but failed; and when we had reached our room she did not as was her wont throw herself at me with kisses and sweet laugh' confessions of a negro preacher cross mark. now i would not wait so long. "what's on your mind, brother holcomb?" "oh, nothing in particular. a very fervent meeting last night." "yes, and were the contributions good?" "yes, i presume so. er—what i wanted to say, how ever, is that we shall have to be careful. in some of these communities a negro is a novelty, and the white women, you understand may not know exactly how to treat him. now for instance that young creature last night. she was no doubt perfectly innocent, but it didn't look very well." "no, not to eyes seeking flaws." "don't misunderstand me, brother cato. to me it was of no consequence whatever, except to the degree that it was an annoyance to—to your good wife, let me say. it hurt her, as she no doubt has made known to you." "she surely did, brother holcomb, and perhaps by your advice." "come, man, don't do that. hold yourself. you know very well that i should deplore a quarrel between you. why, brother, i am deeply attached to you both. you have impressed me more than any other man i ever met, and to your fair wife i give a brother love." "i couldn't wish it to be more, sir." "now there you go again. more! how could it be more? cato, suspicion is not a good companion for the confessions of a negro preacher cross." 'true, brother holcomb," and i took him by the hand how swiftly the season was sobering, the russet mood of the year approaching. soon i should have to return to my charge in indiana, a quiet life; but with markeet all life must be a daily and a nightly happiness. thus was i musing when harris joined me. "we can't go over the same territory twice," he said, "but there is still a big scope of country left, you know. there's all of the pacific coast yet." "and we ought to collect money enough to build quite a number of missions." said i. "a number of what? oh, missions, yes. we'll get down to that in good time." harris had no more notion of establishing a mission than he had of rearing a monument to judas, and i must confess that project was now dim with me but i felt it my duty to remind myself of it. holcomb liked to talk to farmers about prices. i did not suppose that he ever risked a penny in speculation, and yet he would read stock exchange reports with eagerness. once i asked him whether he regretted that he had not devoted himself to business. "i can't term it a regret when my heart and soul are bound up in apostolic work," he answered. "but i have made somewhat of a study of economics, just as most americans do either consciously or unconsciously. i confessions of a negro preacher should like to live free from money care. that must now be my ultimate hope. unlike you, cato, i cannot look towards the rewards of love. i had my romance and she was as pure a being as ever existed. when we had lived together nearly four years she passed away, with her frail arms about my neck; and i then knew that never could i love again. they may tell you that reli' gion is closely allied with sex, but not so with me. to me, cato, there is no sex." my sex would deem him a liar but my religion bade me trust him one day we had to wait a long time at a railway crossing not far from sioux falls. tired mothers walked up and down with fretful babies. rude boys playing about a water cooler tried to splash one another. in came a man whom i took to be a luth- eran minister. he expelled the rude boys and spoke comforting words to the tired mothers. then he gave attention to me. "i heard you preach last night," he said. i bowed to him. "i trust that you were not disap- pointed." "not having anticipated, i could not well have been. but i must say that i was astonished. your emotions are very strong." "my emotions, sir, are fed by my faith." "and in that," he smiled, "there should be no over feeding. i take it that your dish of faith is not new, that it must have been a favored article of diet in your confessions of a negro preacher family." "sir, my mother was a saint." "then let us hope that education on your part may never unsaint her. it may not be true that the lord chooses the foolish to confound the wise, but we do know that a sort of over education mystifies intelli' gence. and i have read that this is strangely true with those of your color." there it was again, color, the negro. "what you read, sir, may have been purely speculation of a white man feeling his superiority over the negro. it may be true that culture sinks into decay while barbarism flourishes, but culture with the negro is still an almost untried experiment. time alone must determine whether or not he can equal the white man. one might think that such discussions are new when in truth they have been going on for ages." near by stood a tall man, listening. i had noted him, and it seemed to me that his pale countenance must be incapable of expressing an emotion. he came nearer and slightly bowed. "gentlemen i trust that you may not think it rude if i say a word. there is just as much hope for the negro in all walks of life as for the white man. but it does not lie in what you might call education but in an enlightenment older than all alphabets. it will make the negro and the white man brothers." "and you term it an enlightenment?" i inquired. confessions of a negro preacher "undoubtedly an enlightenment. and what is that enlightenment? science." here the lutheran took it up. "but i am given to understand that the negro's mind does not lend itself to scientific study or experimentation." the unemotional man came near unto smiling. "the science which i mean, the only true science, depends not for a moment upon experimentation. to be per' fectly plain with you let me say that i mean christian science. have you ever given it a thought?" he added, addressing me. the lutheran was sniffing, and brother holcomb, standing off took a step nearer as if moved by the impulse of resentful disgust. the scientist repeated his question. "i have never been prepared to think about it, sir. i have tried at times to read myself toward an acquain' tance with it, but could never find a modicum of com' mon sense in anything printed about it. i have looked into your foundational book, science and health, only to ride on a wild mare through the dark, a star glim' mering, a ray of piercing light, and then a ditch. your theory would establish belief without emotion. with you conviction must be calm. you would not as jesus did, cry out in his last hour. you say that everything is love, and yet god so hated the world that he would destroy it. but i shall not presume to tell you of your faith. what i want to know is how can the negro confessions of a negro preacher gather such benefits from it?" the lutheran sniffed. brother holcomb took two steps nearer. the scientist actually smiled. "the brotherhood of science is the brotherhood of perfect love, which means flawless equality. the scientist, put' ting aside all physical blemish, would obliterate all color. he would see naught save spirit and spirit could have a hunch back as reasonably as a black skin. now, i accept you as a brother, but—", "and so do i, sir" holcomb broke in. "yes sir, nor does it require a cold'blooded jargon to convince him of the fact." the scientist threatened to laugh but turned it into a dry cough. "well, let us calmly look into it. i was at your meeting last night and i must say that you and your dark brother work in effective unison. and although it was his eloquence that brought forth the money, you posed in a cool logic that proclaimed your superiority over him. wait a moment. this was so natural on your part that it was in no wise assumed. i could see that his mind was superior to yours, not in cold calculations, but in expressiveness. then in what lay your superiority? it was purely racial; and this is what science would wipe out. and let me make this statement, sir: if the world should turn to science it would mean the end of war." holcomb was in a rage but held himself fairly well. "the end of war? by the eternal heavens it would confessions of a negro preacher mean the established senility of man. don't talk to me. i have looked into your petrified forest where never a dove sings her song. i have seen a mother smile upon the agony of her child and tell it that there was no such thing as pain. jesus was the god of suffering and of sorrow. your faith would have had him love himself off the cross. and now you would convert our black brother by telling him the worst bunk that the ages have been called upon to record.,' "i beg your pardon," said the scientist, "but it was far from my intention to raise a controversy. but since you have been so plain, let me say something that was plain to me last night: that you are working your black brother. nor was i the only one that noticed it." holcomb's fury was breaking its bonds when mar' keet sprang from her seat and came toward us. "oh, gentlemen, do have some sense of shame. standing here in a public place and about to get into a fight over religion! cato, i should think you would drop down on your knees in humiliation." "not while the others are standing, my dear," i told her. "and why should i be the first to show humilia- tion? because i am a negro? this would prove as true what the scientist has said. besides, i was seeking information and caught no glimpse of a coming quarrel. please reserve some of your censure for brother hol' comb." holcomb bowed to her. "yes, madam, perhaps i confessions of a negro preacher deserve it. but really this man who calls himself a scientist was insulting." markeet looked at the scientist and now he smiled. "madam, i did not intend to be. i was moved by the thought of the great good your husband could do in the field of real love. science never forges a link to chain a slave. science knocks off all fetters and liberates the soul. and begging your pardon, there must have been a liberalizing touch of science within you when you looked beyond color and found a soul." it was now markeet's turn to smile. "i thank you so much, sir. do you live in this part of the country?" "no, madam, i am out lecturing for our cause." "i should like so much to hear you. and you may be wrong but i believe you are sincere. cato, this gen' tleman took your part. why don't you shake hands with him?" i did, and while holcomb looked on with a snarl. now came the train, markeet and the scientist sitting together, leaving me to rub elbows with brooding hol' comb. "a woman is always the first to take up with a fool cult that comes along," he said, casting, i thought, at the scientist. "he's got bunk if any one ever had it. insulting, too." "well, i don't believe he intends to be," i replied. "no, i suppose not when he went out of his way to speak in your favor and against me. he knew he was a liar when he said i felt myself above you. i was mad confessions of a negro preacher enough to have knocked his head off." "i am given to think, brother holcomb, that you ought to have more patience." "ha, and peter ought to have had more patience when he drew his sword, i suppose." "well, jesus thought so. he told him to put it up." "ha, but afterward he told him to sell raiment to buy a sword. and if such fellows cross my path very often tll sell my raiment, tell you that. now just look at markeet, pouring his ear full. she doesn't talk that way to—us, cato." to us! why the deuce did he say us? "i mean to me," he quickly added. when the scientist had got off at a station i took his place beside markeet. i gave to her ample time but she did not pour words into my ear. she sat slowly turning the pages of a magazine, lingering to look upon a wanton, half naked in the arms of a lowbrowed brute. "well, your friend's gone," i said. "your friend too, cato." "but he didn't say that you ought to be proud that you won me, markeet." "of course not. why should he say that?" "i don't know that he should. but didn't he say that i ought to be proud to have won you, handsome and almost white." "no, didn't even hint at such a thing. but he did say that we ought to be proud of each other. funny doc confessions of a negro preacher trine he has, isn't it?" "i can't say that it's funny. it seems to be deeply serious." for a time she mused and then remarked: "i read a life of that mrs. eddy woman in a magazine quite a while ago. and as i recall, it didn't give a very flat' tering account of her. it said that she neglected her children." "yes, but didn't deny that she had them, markeet." "now, cato, that's a dig at me and you needn't sit up here and say it isn't. is it that you want children because you are so fond of mottled colors?" "and is it that you wouldn't mind having children by a white man, markeet?" i looked about at holcomb and markeet's gaze traced my own. chapter xix two notable men "^tpon reaching marshalltown,iowa, we found rath' er an embarrassing kink in our affairs. a big chau' tauqua meeting was listed for the week of our setup. we could not go forward for that would mean derange' ment in other places, so we decided to rest during seven days, nor of this was i sorry, having labored hard; and a fountain with half of its water shut off is not less potent than jaded eloquence. the chautauqua program promised that we were during the week to hear from several men of national importance, and to listen to voices that had won distinct places in opera. the first night brought a great out' pouring, tradesmen and farmers, all of them bearing the countenances of keen interest. there were reserved seats down in front, and i was pleased to find that com- ing forward with the extra dime, i might sit beside the judge of a circuit court. i was enraptured with the music but for the moral and political tirades i cared naught. one afternoon, out upon the platform came as genial and as pleasant a looking gentleman as i had ever seen, warren g. harding. his subject was, if i confessions of a negro preacher recall correctly, the necessity for the combination of capital/ in lucid sentences he began to set forth his views, and it was not more than three minutes before i heard it whispered, "employed by the trusts." what he said was true, that railways, constructed by a combi' nation of capital, made the farm out there more valu- able, but the farmer said no, that it was the farm that made the railroad rich. seated where i might look about and well observe, i saw that there were groups here and there that were antagonistic to the speaker, and he knew it instantly. it aemed that he would put forth feelers to touch coun' tenances and if he saw them inclined to flinch, he would instantly modify his statement, trim it nicely and with an apt pleasantry jolly the entire audience. whenever he found that the majority sided largely with him, he made his utterance bolder, and "without the fear of successful contradiction," shout an aphorism of his pol' itical creed. he had pleasantry rather than humor, and was shy of figures of speech except those that were rocked in the same cradle and swopped nursing bottles with american democracy. at the close of his speech not many of his hearers gathered about him and these were mostly oldish ladies who, not knowing what he had said, were pleased to offer their congratulations. boldly i approached him and extended my hand. he grasped it and giving me a straight look in the eyes, said that he was pleased to meet me. i asked him confessions of a negro preacher whether he could spare a few moments of his time, and with a good humored laugh he responded: "as much as you want." upon reaching the hotel he made no hesitation of inviting me to his room. i drew back, for a woman had stepped forward, but the pleasant man laughed courage into me and presented me to mrs. harding. if i am at all a judge of women that woman had a great heart. her voice was soft, her every attitude a mother tender' ness. after a few words she withdrew to the writing room, leaving me with the future president. at this time he might have had a skyward ambition in politics, but i do not believe he had ever looked upon himself as a probable master of the white house. of politics i could have confessed a library of ignorance, but in him i saw not a shapely sapling in a presidential grove. he may have been physically as brave as hotspur, but i could but feel that he was morally timid. nor would i have accepted his judgment of men. he thought mckinley to have been one of our greatest statesmen, and this estimate came no doubt from kindred temper' ament. any one, however, could see that harding's heart was warm and always beating for a friend. "i have never been inclined to rave over jefferson," he said. "i admire him, yes; but it seems that he was too lax in all of his notions of government. if hamilton could have given him a few touches he would have been a really great man." confessions of a negro preacher any politician can talk politics, hiding the mind oftener than revealing it, so with this thought prompting me i tried to get a nonpartisan glimpse of this man's intellectual mechanism. "sir," said i, "with all respect to our white house and our senate chamber, let me bring up a reminder of what a historian said, that in no age had the greatest minds lent themselves to politics." "that historian didn't know what he was talking about," harding replied. "where would the world be today if it hadn't been for political minds? i suppose lincoln made a mistake in not shutting himself up and writing a book on law. that historian was writing through his hat. i take it that you are a preacher." "yes, sir, and sometimes after vagrant reading i find a flaw in my faith and then with prayer seek to glow it with nazarene love." with fresh interest in his eyes he looked at me. "well, you certainly know how to express yourself. did you go through one of the big colleges?" briefly i gave a sketch of my education and harding listened though he yawned my story short. he was not interested in education, there being for him only one horse to ride, the nag of politics. "why haven't you looked into politics as well as religion when they both go together?" he inquired. "because, that until of late i lived in the south." "ah, i see. but times may change." confessions of a negro preacher i explained that i was engaged with a tent show of the persuasive gospel and he told me he would willingly subscribe ten dollars, but i declined his money, feeling that he had none too much of it. and when time had flown, how this talk came back to me, a headline bellowing the news that he had been nominated for the presidency. now there came before that audience at marshalltown a man of different type, a student orator, a preacher who used words not only for their sound but for their strength, samuel parks cadman, with his sub- ject, "the puritan in two worlds." i sat rapt before him in the strictest of attention. he was not what might be termed eloquent. his manner was too even and restrained, never addressing himself to the mediocre but to the intelligent, and though his subject was not new to him, he would use a word, reject it and employ a simpler and more convincing one. in scholar' ship there may be a pretense but not hypocrisy. the learned are ever sincere and it seemed to me that this man's ideas flowed out of a well of deep conviction. markeet, beside me, was inclined to fidgit about, and upon her arm i laid a gentle restraint, but she flinched from it and whispered, "oh, don't touch me. i don't care anything about the puritan who swopped rum for slaves. you may stay here and talk to him if you want to but i am going back to the hotel." soon i discovered that cadman was an englishman confessions of a negro preacher and not disposed to bubble. he took my hand, making no difference between me and the white man that came forward to shake with him; and i remember that one old fellow, a preacher i could see, was quick with a never-foiling question: "doctor, what is the matter with the church?" "you mean what is the matter with some of the people. the church is built upon a rock." i got a chance to request a brief interview and he granted it. several men went up with us to his room, but as they asked only commonplace questions, he an* swered them in a conventional way; and when they were gone i turned upon the learned man and asked him as to what he thought of the negro. "the negro? why he presents no more of a prob lem than is presented by the white man. in his rude state he is a child of nature, a savage; and so is the white man. trace him back and he ate his brother. so did the white man. his soul is the same as the soul of the white man and that is the point that ought to be most interesting to you." "but you have no doubt heard and read, doctor, that the negro is not capable of employing the benefits of higher education." "the highest education that any one can acquire is the development of the soul. there is more of vital wisdom in one sentence from jesus than in all the uni' versities ever reared by man." confessions of a negro preacher "and yet, doctor, i can sec that the greatest pleasure of your life lies within the leaves of man's books. and you cannot help but make of religion among the puri' tans, a sort of glorified fanaticism." "i am sorry, sir, that i gave you that impression. the puritan at times no doubt had an overwrought ferver, but i should not call it fanaticism." "doctor, like you i had to dig for my education. you dug yours out of a coal mine; i dug mine out of the cotton field. and it seems to me that all education, no matter how acquired, prompts an inquiry into matters that old'time religion would have shied at or scorned. but there are certain phases of speculative science that we cannot or rather should not dodge. and this leads me to the question: what do you think of evolution?" "my dark brother, no matter how much you may seek to expand your mind into territories that are wild rather than fruitful, you will find in after years that faith is worth more than all wisdom." "but unless faith be of wisdom it is not of the lord." he looked at me, up and down as a tailor would look in estimating the amount of cloth for a suit of clothes. "you will pardon my frankness but if you are going into anthropology you might better take up darwin and put aside jesus." "i take it then, doctor, that you reject evolution." "as an established fact, yes; as an interesting theory, no. but i don't see why evolution should so much con' confessions of a negro preacher cern you, a negro, when the religion of christ favors you as much as it does the white man, something which the law of this land does not, i assure you. stick to your bible and leave evolution to bald headed scientists." i bade him good night and went to my room, feeling that had i been a white instead of a black brother in the lord this brooklyn preacher would have given me a more liberal view of his own mind concerning evolu- tion markeet was lying in bed, reading an insult to in' telligence, the romance of a cowboy, sexing a princess into flaming love for him. "i thought you would never come," she said. "what have you been doing all this while?" "oh, trying to get dr. cadman's ideas on evolution." "you simp! did you think he would give them to you? don't you know that his bread and butter depend more on his expressed belief than on his edu' cation?" "no, i must not believe that." "oh, and you must always go along dodging the truth because your religion tells you to. i am getting sick of it." "i should think so dear, when you read such books as you've got as a bedfellow." "it's the eternal talk about religion that puts me to bed with such books. lord, enough to put a woman to bed with an ape. one would think that religion had chapter xx a keen investor ^^ur season closed at a small town neighboring the ozarks, in missouri. when a man shuts his fingers upon every possible penny he consoles himself by declaring that he has done the best he could. such was the attitude of brother harris. he reminded holcomb and me that rimes were not of the best and spoke hope fully of a tour slated for the pacific coast. i was witt- ing. my part of the season's earnings amounted to a goodly sum, more than four thousand dollars, a for' tune; and in the night when the fall winds were blow- ing. i got down on my knees to return thanks unto god, but shame fell upon me, the conviction that i was an imposter; and then i groveled for divine forgiveness. i was alone in my room, but fearing that some one might be spying upon me i got up and looked about. i heard markeet and holcomb singing in the parlor of the hotel. down i went to join them, but as i neared the door i heard some one say, "oh, but really he is too black to come in here. it might cause a scandal in this part of the country, you know." i drew back. the hotel was operated by a northern confessions of a negro preacher man, otherwise i should not have been permitted to register with my wife, a woman as white as snow com' pared with me. i approached the parlor door. "come in," holcomb bade me, and i entered. a man and a woman arose and without a word stalked forth, their heads high. holcomb laughed but markeet fumed. "cato, if you were a man you would follow that fellow and knock his head off." "no, markeet. i don't blame him so much as i do us, for coming with our project so far south." "it was a mistake," said holcomb. "harris ought to have known better but he is of the north. well, we'll get out tomorrow morning" what a pleasure to ride swiftly homeward, with markeet sitting beside me. the landscape held the sut' prise of continuous beauty, with here and there a touch of red in the woods, dame autumnal nature, daubing her cheeks. i touched markeet attentive to it all and she said: "yes and that reminds me of many things i must buy when i get home. men may keep up all right but women run down on the road. travel frays them out, such travel as ours has been. i don't mind travel' ing if i feel that i am going somewhere and not from one country town to another. and this reminds me that we now have money enough for a tour of europe. and i warrant you would raise a sensation in england, cato." "i suppose so, and then would come the eternal confessions of a negro preacher to walk was playing "i spy," and gave many a peep at markeet. she reached forth and caught him up, kissed him fondly and hugged him to her bosom. the little fellow looked at her, reached up and touched her face and laughed. i asked my wife if she would not find joy in being mother to such a child and she ans' wered: "yes, cato, such a child as this. but it wouldn't be like this one you know," and in imitation of the little fellow she touched my face. "and yet, markeet, you would advise me to forget that i am a negro. why don't you forget it?" "you won't let me," she laughed and kissed the boy. his mother called him and he ran away, and reaching her he turned about and pointed at me. holcomb came over and turning a seat, sat opposite us. was it in shame of me that his skin appeared to become more blondish? was it in pride of his light hair that in my presence he so often combed it? "are you going to remain for a time in indianapolis or have you a charge in some other city?" i inquired. "well, i haven't any special charge, cato. i was just thinking of some way that i might invest my earn' ings. the word earnings made me cringe. where there has been misrepresentation no earnings can be honest, i not only knew in my mind but felt in my heart. "a preacher must live, you know" said brother confessions of a negro preacher holcomb. "yes," he added, "and we are as much entitled to some of the luxuries of life as are the sue cessful thieves of trade. several times i have hit close to prosperity, once in real estate. i went into it in a flurry, made a quick shift or two and cashed in about twenty thousand. but i couldn't keep out and lost it all. i did the same thing in oil. but the next time i shall be wiser." "we always are," i told him. "cato," spoke markeet, "don't try to discourage him. he is looking toward business, and i wish you had more of a business mind." "no, business would spoil our eloquent brother," was holcomb's smiling comment. "look here holcomb, and you, too, markeet, i am sick of being made a constant exception when anything of a practical nature comes up. grant to me one recog- nition, please, that i am a human being." "oh, surely a human being and sometimes a very touchy one," said my wife." but you are aware," she added, "that you don't know and don't seem to be able to learn anything about business. why not let brother holcomb invest your money for you. he has had exper' ience." "not on your life," i slanged her. "he knows how to talk for money, as all evangelists do, but when it comes to business judgement i don't see why there should be much of difference between him and me." confessions of a negro preacher your mockery by adding that with them a woman is as safe as she desires to be. i want to tell you, cato, that no man could be truer to virtue than i was to my wife. and i would make oath, sir, that i am true to her memory." "which means, i suppose, that you are a good judge of an oil well." markeet almost bit at me. "now none of your sar- casm, cato. brother holcomb is trying his best to help you. he feels that it is his duty. and hasn't he? didn't he project this profitable tour? hasn't he made you more money than you ever had before? this ought to prove something to you, but it doesn't seem that it has." holcomb roached his hair at me and so keenly did i feel the rebuke of it that i broke forth in rebellion. "yes, the tour has been profitable, and why? because brother holcomb shouted the platitudes of billy sun' day's saw dust trail? no, but because of the astonish' ing eloquence of a nigger. but i beg your pardon, brother holcomb." his hair had fallen out of its roach. "oh, don't stop cato. speak your mind." "i spoke a foolish impulse, brother. my mind is of truer estimate. ah, the first call. let's go into the din' ing car." chapter xxi the essence of a visitor tpvery ruffle had been smoothed before we reached indianapolis. i had begged brother holcomb's par- don, and with his arm on my shoulder he had forgiven me. but i had not agreed that he might invest my money. markeet, too, when i had talked with her alone, had turned somewhat toward my view, and to brother harris, the business man, i had spoken. "you'll be a fool if you do," was his reply and i knew that the hard' fisted old fellow was sincere in his estimate. how pleasant it was to be again at home, among my books. gradually i had almost regathered a library, not the volumns with shaver's endeared marks upon them, but in the correct and generous spread of "every man's library." my classic companions were housed well up beneath our modest roof, and here i could sit in com' parative freedom from annoyance while markeet enter' tained visitors in the sitting room. her mother was joy ous in gratitude of the hundred dollars i gave her, gowned herself anew and cooked our turkey on thanks' giving day. my congregation warmed me with welcome, in confessions of a negro preacher new rugs and must stay here to see them put down properly. you go and reap all the honor you can and accept my share of it. and don't fail to have them take up a special collection for you. why, they don't for a moment suppose you would come for nothing, do they?" i did not urge her. in truth i wanted to be alone. there are times when we desire a rest from even the sweetest of embraces. there are times when love itself lapses towards a vacation markeet went with me to the station and it seemed that passengers hastening through the gates halted to look upon her as she wrapped me about the neck with her fond and graceful arms; indeed i heard a rural lout snicker a disgraceful comment: "wow! she's caught a black sheep." yes, i wanted to get away but when markeet had come with me upon the train and was ready to give me her parting kiss, i was somewhat loathe to speed away from her. "now don't worry, sweetheart," she sought to soothe me. "everything will be all right and you'll be so glad to see me when you get back. mother says she will come over and stay with me while you are gone, and she and i are going to perform such miracles that you'll hardly recognize the old place when you return. good- bye, and may the lord bless you." sweet creature, i was flying from her, but not for confessions of a negro preacher kept his horse in the lead. ah, shavers books, you put too much of questioning in my head. and must there ever be a guerrilla war between the broadened mind and the love of jesus? no, i would not believe it. an abandoned ice house had been turned into a sort of tabernacle, and it was herein that our meeting was held. it required many a century for sawdust to become religious, to soften a trail toward redemption. here we had it in plenty, raked and smoothed for the foot of the sinner. billy himself, gazing at it through a microscope could not have found fault with its qual' ity, pine from michigan and white oak from the hills of kentucky. groans are the effective applause of a sermon. one groan from a sinner is worth more than a dozen amens from the deacon's bench. the shriek of a mother is an arrow shot into the scaley hide of satan. i had not spoken a dozen sentences before i was assured of sue cess. nothing is more potent than stock phrases warped and i warped them. i saw the smiling countenance of my host, the jockey. he saw coin in the tears about him. his comforting staff was the rod to which the contribu' tion box was attached. the success of my sermon pleased me but i was not thrilled. the young women who pressed forward to breathe in my face, stirred not now the sex beast with' in me. the hungry monster had been stalmed. a preacher accompanied me to the home of my confessions of a negro preacher jockey. he was'two thirds black but thoroughly har' vardiied. this meant that in simple religion he was a hypocrite. to me he admitted that he had read hobbes. our host spoke up that he once knew a jockey named hobbes and that he won a race at nashville. but he was not religious and at memphis his horse fell with him and forever put him out of the running. i asked the preacher as to what he thought of evolu' tion, and after looking at our host, he answered that so'called science held many theories that could not be proved. smilingly he told us that he was known as the yankee nigger, having been born in vermont. i told him that once i heard ben tillman say that he could take a rabbit s foot and with it back booker washing' ton into the river. 'tillman made capital of his own narrowness," he said. "his strength lay in the rude wit of ignorance. i don't suppose that he told of his fondness in secret for negro women. it is known that a half drunken yel' low girl once raised a laugh by rushing up to him and calling him her benny." "have you ever met mr. watterson?" i asked, my nearness to louisville prompting the question. "i have talked with him in his stuffy office. he is able, powerful in the stimulating of a herd following, but he is a disappointed man, not politically but in a more artistic way. it was his ambition to be a novelist after the manner of thackery. and it was this feeling confessions of a negro preacher of art within him that now gives to his editorials so delightful a touch." "what have you sought to do other than preach?" i inquired, feeling that so wise a man must be urged by ambition. he laughed. "i wanted to be a prize fighter. now let me tell you, brother, you may educate a man's mind but you cannot educate his blood. solomon was more than educated; he was wise. but his numerous wives and concubines prove him to have been the most lust' ful of men. the palace of the mind is too often a bawdy house." "and yet the negro is censured for the beast that is within him," i replied. "yes, and for the same reason the white man might blame himself. but it is no doubt true that the negro is still closer to nature than is the white man." "then what can we do about it?" "smile indifference upon it, that's all. after hear' ing you preach i make no marvel that you should be concerned. you have a quick flow of primitive inspu? ation. i have not. i am much older than you, and have been schooled into creed discussion. men yawn when i preach my doctrinal sermons. you are simple, and my advice to you is to keep yourself such. an over' educated negro has in a way banished himself. he expounds theories but cannot invent them." "and has the love of the lord cooled toward him?" confessions of a negro preacher i asked. "our degree of love tempers the love of the lord. but i must bid you good night. let me say that i enjoyed your sermon. keep to the simple faith. good' bye." yes, it might be better to keep my faith simple, and as there is nothing more primitive than a desire for gain i dropped to the jockey a hint as to the chances of a special donation in my favor, whereupon he told me that the money end of the meeting must be well guard' ed lest the public bring forward an accusation of avar' ice. but i should be well remembered, he assured me. on the last night a collection would be taken and a check for my part of it sent to me. . . . now was there enough of separation from markeet, and i began to dream of her, the charm of her nestle beside me. in my daytime musings i could see her, hear her singing as she stirred about the room. it was her habit to bolt the front door at night no matter how securely i locked it, and i could hear her footsteps on the stairs, coming toward me. it was true that some times her temper was wont to flare at me, but i felt that her love for me had never cooled, nor should it since she was still a bride. some women are brides until they become mothers, i fancied, and then i indulged the hope that markeet might not too long remember her bridal veil, depriving the cradle. to myself i now admit that after finding a rule confessions of a negro preacher against special donation for me, my eloquence felt a cooling breeze. and so much was i influenced by it that i begged for a shortening of my stay. when this had been granted i snatched the first train and soon was speeding homeward. it was near unto midnight when i reached indianapolis, then called the negro heaven; and surely it was the city holiest to my heart. some noted politician had arrived and a brass band was play- ing in the station. in my eagerness i took a cab, and was not resentful of the bouncing i got so long as i was bouncing toward markeet. in her room, our room sweetened with new memories, a dim light was burn' ing; and up the front steps i ran and hammered on the door for i well knew that it was bolted and that my key would serve but a fruitless turn. was she asleep that she did not flit down the stairs to meet me? harder i hammered the door and then i heard her coming." "who is it?" she called. "a traveler hungry for his home," i answered. back shot the bolt, the door flew wide and she was in my arms. she was not light but in my eager strength i carried her up the stairs, into the room and playfully threw her upon the bed; and in her drowsy dreaminess how beautiful she was. "you have been gone an age," she said, smoothing a pillow for me; and upon my knees i dropped and bowed to pray. but up i sprang with with a cry. "why cato, what on earth's the matter." confessions of a negro preacher for me. i did not doubt the existence of god but bullied myself in enmity against him. i told him that it was of but little wonder that he had consented to the mur* der of his innocent son. and had he not brought forth mockery against me at every turn of my life? a white man would have denied his existence, ingersoll would have smiled at the flimsy fabric of such a fable. but i, a negro, was compelled to believe. compelled by what? superstition? but why should superstition be stronger within me, educated, than within a white man, ignorant. having forgotten to take a car i was wan* dering about but instinctively drawing nearer to the habitation of a dog that had bitten me. his hydrophoe bic tooth had set me mad. ha, i would pull out his hair, take it to markeet and with it stuff her bosom. holcomb was not at home, had been away during three or four nights, his landlady told me. perhaps i had left him hidden in my own house. if any thought could have added to my madness this would have frothed me. back toward home i hastened, speeding in a cab. i tried the door and it was unlocked, unbolted, and i sprang up the steps and into the room. markeet was gone. on the table i found a penciled scrawl. "i have gone away, you black boar. did you think i could continue to love you, a beast? i love the man you would murder. i will go with him to the end of the world. he stands beside me as i write. i leave to you my contempt, and he leaves the message of per' confessions of a negro preacher fume." i sat down, and oh, how i longed for my mothers cabin. how i longed to put my head into the ashes, to eat them! and then this thought came to me: who are the most religious? the stricken. the serene face of the christian scientist arose before me. what would he do in so staggering a condition? could divine love sooth his mortal agony? "oh, let me pray!" i cried, opening a closet and dropping upon my knees. into the darkness i crept, and then i came out upright and swearing, with the scent of holcomb smothering me. after putting upon myself as much of calm as i could i went over to the home of markeet's mother. she answered my ring at the door, looked at me and drew back. "why, what's the matter? you look like a black ghost if there could be such a thing." i told her. the poor thing wept for she really had a heart. she stood there and wept, wiping her eyes on her apron. when she had quieted somewhat and had sat down i gave her markeet's note, and reading it, she tore it into bits and threw them on the floor. "poor man, i don't know what to say." "you can't say anything, mother." "don't call me mother, please. don't do that. oh, i couldn't have believed it of her. and just dunk of i confessions of a negro preacher what her education has amounted to. i'd rather she had not been able to read. oh, the lord have mercy on us." "but he hasn't had mercy on us, madam. he has mocked us." "oh, you musn't say that. he knows best and we must bow to his will." "and let me say frankly, madam, that i am tired of his will." "merciful heavens, man, you musn't say that. the lightning will strike you." "i wish it would." "oh, how can you feel that way? i know it is enough to drive you mad but you musn't feel that way. it was the devil's work, i just know it was." "but why should the devil be so much stronger than god? the devil can have no power except that god grants it to him, and god granting it stands in with him. madam, i have been forced almost to believe that religion is a sort of slavery and that the church is a shop where the chains are forged." "cato, in your shame and agony you must not for' get jesus." "no, and i must not forget that he upbraided god for deserting him. and now as for me, i don't know which way to turn. if i could find that wolf i would choke him to death and go singing to the scaffold. and if i thought that the god of vengeance would assist me, i'd get down on my knees and lick the dust from his confessions of a negro preacher feet. how can i explain to my congregation? how can i ever preach again?" "poor man, you won't have to explain to the congre- gation. they'll soon know all about it and sip it up like molasses, they will. but if i were you td go to brother harris and tell him all about it. by the way, she didn't grab your money, did she?" "no, that is safe in the bank. but i wish she had taken it and my life at the same time." "cato, you are not the only sufferer. think of my shame and the humiliation of her brother. lord, lord, what is this world coming to! brace yourself up, now, and go to see brother harris." i took her advice. on the way i calmed myself some what but i was as bitter as gall. the sunshine was a dazzling sneer .... i found harris sitting at his desk casting up his accounts. and they must have been to his satisfaction for he greeted me pleasantly. i began at once to relate my distressful story, brief almost unto an exclamation; and the old man arose quickly out of bis chair and walked up and down the room in silence, sat down, reached over and took my hand. "brother it is time for us to pray." "no, not feeling as i do. there is no prayer within my heart." "you musn't feel that way." "ho, brother harris, if i can feel as i would, then there is no use in prayer. at best it is hypnotism." confessions of a negro preacher "brother," he said, "even that is better than atheism. let us pray." with him i got down on my knees and he prayed aloud, my heart rebelling against it, and when we arose i was calm but cold. "what am i to do, brother har- ris? must i speak my distress from the pulpit?" "no, don't mention it. the newspapers will do the speaking. it is better to have the straight of it printed, m have a reporter sent out to interview you." "no. in a way it can be kept quiet and anyway it is not a very startling piece of news for the public, only something that happens every day, and this time with a slight variation, a sort of evangelical theft." "i tell you that you must not feel that way. it will ruin our business." "it is already ruined as far as i am concerned," i replied. "bitterness is but a bad exhorter and would win only sneers for the contribution box. and this thought prompts me to resign my charges and to go off somewhere and labor in other lines." "no, put that out of your head. there's no place where you could do better, and besides we are going to make that pacific coast tour. those westerners are lib- eral, you know. the eagle never shrieks with their pinching. your wife has torn herself out of your heart, so if i were you i'd put her out of my mind. bad, yes, but such things happen every day. why, i could see that there was a love affair between them. but i didn't confessions of a negro preacher yet the god who favored him would command that i should temper my words with gentleness. from the old book i turned to the new, and now came the words of mercy. i could see the saviour as he spoke, his brow so smooth and yet so cast with sorrow. upon me it seemed he bent his eyes, tearful in their sympathy; and into the dark of my closet i crept and prayed when came the time for my first sermon after my heart'crush i looked out over the congregation and felt that the gossips had been busy. a preacher scandal swells the crowd, and on this occasion i could but feel that it was jeering flattery. a pupit orator acquainted with books talks learnedly when his mind wanders. ponderously he prates while thinking of something to say. with broken wing my bird of eloquence fluttered to the ground. men were inclined to yawn, and young women, disappointed of bosom'heaving thrill, took forth their paint to bawd their lips. harris came up to me. "cato, you did all right considering. i'll go out home with you." on the car he said but little, satisfying himself with the humming of a tune, but when we were seated in my dust'gathering home he was glib over his western pro- ject. "i've had a long and most interesting talk with that minneapolis preacher," he said. "and what i want to tell you is that he's right there every time. hell be out here to see you within half an hour or so. i didn't confessions of a negro preacher want him to hear you preach today, knowing that you wouldn't be at your best. his name is wellsby." "but brother harris, it seems to me that you are inclined to rush our western jaunt." "my dear cato, the trouble with the gospel is that it has been too slow. good news ought to be swift, and fd like to know what better news there is than the news of the gospel. get back your eloquence and we'll rip things, i tell you. this time we'll have our press agent from the start and make things hum. but i heard some thing that i don't like. i heard that you are going out to look for holcomb." "i have never said so, harris, couldn't know where to look, but i wish to the lord i may come across him." "why, what would you do?" "do? i'd break every bone in his hide." "oh, no, cato, that would muss things up horribly." "would for him i assure you, harris." "yes, and for us too. it would ruin our trip. why man, everybody has trouble. dosn't the bible tell us we are of few days and full of trouble? markeet did'nt get her hands on your money and you ought to be thankful for that. and now i'll tell you something but you need'nt say anything about it. my wife got tangled up with a man." "with a preacher?" i asked. "of course. i mean yes. i caught 'em and we had quite a time over it. but she was so sorry and repentent confessions of a negro preacher that i took her back. since then she has behaved her' self. so you see what forgiveness does. wellsby hasn't wasted any time. i see him coming." my new visitor was as typical a parson as i have ever seen. his countenance bore the look of a persistent effort to put forth a holiness of expression. his words came through the thin split of a sad smile. they were as soft as pats of butter falling on the floor. i knew that he was trying to fool me and this was the first amusement that had come my way since my cal- amity. "brother harris tells me that a goodly harvest is waiting for us away out toward the edges of our com*- try," he said. "i feel it, too, for i know that all terri' tones are the territories of our lord and master. even in the desert the gospel has been fruitful." "have you done much of evangelical work?" i inquired. "well, my sickle has not been wholly idle. once i was assistant to gypsy smith, in several cities. pardon me, brother, but i hear that a sorrow has fallen upon you. really now, i am sorry i mentioned it." i had got out of my chair and had turned from him. but i faced about and standing, spoke: "yes, satan entered my household." "and brother, he entered eden also." "by permission of the lord," my cynicism prompted me to reply. some men knit their brows. with wells- confessions of a negro preacher hand he believes that you ought to resign your present charge. he will be out today and bring with him a handsome singer from st. louis. she has been in opera but was converted by billy sunday and has quit the stage." this was the only interesting thing that he had said. but why should a young woman singer no matter how handsome, hold any attraction for me? harris came and with him the young woman, an old maid with a long and corded neck. her nose was thin and her eyes, close together, seemed to be sighting down it. i doubted that she had been in opera but was in no wise astonished that she should have been converted. at once she invited a friendly familiarity, and requested that i call her jenny. ah, but when she sang she astonished me. where markeet was wont to hover, jenny falconed her voice in graceful flight. the beast within me lamented that she was not better looking, and reprovingly i felt that i had not prayed enough. jenny told me that she was of french extrac tion and that therefore she had not been born with pre judice against the negro, and now as i viewed her i could have sworn that she was better looking. yes, and i could condone the stretching cords in her neck as she turned her head. "i see that you have quite a number of books," she remarked. "only a few but cherished," i told her. confessions of a negro preacher "cato, i could wish that they were a trifle more sor- rowful. prosperity and a disposition to laugh do not combine to form a good atmosphere for a religious revival. for the most part these people would rather dance than pray." "david danced," i told him. "and jesus wept," he replied. something within me resented it when he spoke the name of jesus. "oh, there is something i have in mind to speak to you about," he said. "hope you won't feel offended for i think it my duty to speak about it, and shall always welcome anything of the like from you. it's this, cato: this forenoon i saw you sitting here reading a cheap novel." "cheap indeed," i responded. "i found it lying here, and it cost me nothing whatever." jenny laughed, but wellsby was inclined to frown. "please don't shift out from under my meaning. it is all right to be seen with a newspaper or a magazine but not a novel. it would indicate that your mind is bent upon the frivolous things of the earth." 'then our main study should be of appearances, eh?" "now, i don't mean that, brother cato." "don't mean that in all things i must be a hypocrite? that's liberal enough. but i want to tell you that even hypocrisy becomes tiresome . god, but td like to go back to a cotton field and be natural." confessions of a negro preacher old man soon found out something for himself. our local preacher had inveigled him into a sort of national pawn shop speculation and beat him out of five or six thousand. and brother, let me tell you this: i don't believe all ministers to be shady, but i'm giving you a truth when i say that every preacher that has gone into politics has proved himself a crook. and who would trust a preacher in business? damned if i would." the big fellow had summoned an audience. wellsby looked from one man to another and for inspiration settled upon an old fellow with whiskers. whiskers are wagged sagely but rarely in doubt as to the holy worth of religion. beards are akin to the seers and the prophets. wellsby spoke: "what you have just said, brother of the flesh, has been spoken myriads of times in the slums and the troughs of iniquity. you resound an echo and would have your hearers believe it an opinion based upon your own observation. when you say that you declined to become a preacher you may tell the truth, but surely it was not virtue that restrained you. if you were philosopher enough to take it i would explain that had it not been for the christian religion the world would have gone to hell ages ago. and what is it, sir, which to this day stands as recruiting officer for the pulpit? mother love, sir." "i was expecting you to get to that bosh," said the fat man. "and i suppose," he added, pointing his gourd confessions of a negro preacher said about money. what we wanted were the prayers of the people, hymn messages unto the throne. my time came, and standing there i could not banish from my mind the fat fellow with his gourd pipe. no man fumbling ever found a musical word, a word of persu- asion; and harris who sat behind me on the platform, raked me with a whisper, "get down to it, man." i could drip but soon found i could not pour. but after a while the congregation began to lean forward, and an old man whose head shook as he sought to rest it on his cane, cried me an amen. at the close the women came to me, the men hanging back. one frail dame proceeded to tell me that throughout the neighborhood she had made a reputation reading the psalms, and that for a slight compensation she would go along with us. "wellsby told you that they were too infernally happy," said harris, as we went toward our quarters. "but we'll fix 'em when we get down into california. we'll talk about earthquakes." along toward the end of our stay somewhat of inter' est was awakened but there was no enthusiasm, no big bank notes wet with tears. "dry quarters and halves," said harris. our next stand was somewhat better though nothing to glee over. wellsby improved in his talk, having been advised by harris to devote it mainly toward the praise of my simple inspiration. one or two towns in oregon proved fair, reviving our hope. lord, if the early gospel had depended upon money it would confessions of a negro preacher a powerful sermon. i knelt at my bed side and begged the lord to make me a child. but would child'like faith permit me to collect money in a way that was tainted with fraud? wellsby did good work, but he was ever ready for an argument, seeming especially primed when on a train among men who might guess but who did not know his business. it seems to me that men of meek countc nances are ever the most ready to engage in verbal fisti- cuffs, and i recall hearing a very old lady, referring to a young woman, remark that she looked sweet enough to be a hellion at home. harris was gloomy. the flesh of a baby is not more sensitive to the touch of a briar than what we call business acumen is to an adverse financial breeze. for hours he would sit, glooming over his accounts. one day on a train he took wellsby to task. "talk jesus when he told 'em to sell what they had and give the money to the poor. and for the love of the lord don't talk politics. god don't care anything about politics. the bible doesn't tell us to vote but to give. stress that point. why some of these fellows are so ungodly as to grin when the hat is passed over to them. i tell you we've got to take in the money or this thing will go by the board. and cato, get in as many weepy strains as you can." tediously we drifted down into california. what we gained in one town we often lost in another, and chapter xxiv another interview ivid in my mind is santa rosa. after three disapc pointments i was granted an interview with luther burbank. i met him in his modest home. he was frail and rather shy of manner, but his eyes were brave. he looked at me as if admiring my strength and kindly invited me to sit down. hard was it for me to realize that i was in the presence of so great a man. after a few moments of general talk i asked whether many preachers called on him, and he laughed softly. "yes, quiet a number. the other day there was one out here, and he told me that i was an enemy of the lord, inasmuch as i sought to disarrange his plans. he said that if the lord had wanted a thomless cactus he would have created one. 'how about the mule?'' i inquired. 'the mule is a cross, you know.' this question did not in the least disconcert him. 'and that is the reason the mule is so vicious,' he said. the mule will kick his best friend. no one can cite an instance where the mule has shown any gratitude. the mule, sir, is a product of the devil with the connivance of man. and sir, one of these days, you will be taken to confessions of a negro preacher task for the work you are doing. nature is the daughter of god and you are trying to debase her/ to me this was more welcome than the inquiry, so often put, as to whether i have ever studied botany." "but mr. burbank, i have called in profound res' pect," said i. "to me, sir, no matter what your relig- ious belief may be, you are illustrating the infinite artistry of god. whenever i meet a profound man there is a question that i cannot keep down: do you believe in evolution?" "as firmly as i believe that i was born. everything teaches it. now i find fault with no man's religion; i grant to him the right to believe as his mind dictates, but i mu t insist upon a like privilege. as for me, i can find no foundation for any superstitious belief, and to me religion and superstition are the same." "mr. burbank, you surely do not call a belief in jesus a superstitution." "the belief in his immaculate conception? yes. that he was worthy of love, of worship, i do not question. so was socrates, but the greek philosopher would have smiled at the notion of his own immaculate conception. you are a preacher with the revival tent over yonder. you have an aim in view. so have i. in the honesty of my purpose reposes my faith. upon my purpose let the light be thrown. you have a purpose, had it when that tent was put up. are you willing that the light should be thrown upon it? do you ever, in your own confessions of a negxo preacher "i don't deny the purity of love." i told her. "but love is purer in its longings than in its achievements, it would seem." "oh, cato, you are getting to be an atheist, and mr. wellsby says that there's nothing sadder than a negro skeptic. i know you have gone through with enough to embitter your heart, but you ought to have some little consideration for other people. love is older than the law, but the law says that we shall not get married just at this time. but when the lord has put it into our hearts to love, why should man's cruel law put its heel upon us? brother harris understands and is not offended, so why should you be?" "oh, i don't care. within me at times there is a sex beast as big as goliath, and i confess, as nearly every man in health could, if he were honest enough, that i surrender to him; but it riles me when wellsby prates in censure of my talking with thinkers concerning the affairs of the mind." "cato, it would be well for you to let the mind take care of itself while you pay more attention to your soul. i told you that i am of french extraction and that i have no prejudice against the negro, but i do believe that a negro can go too far in his imitation of the white man. "i grant you. and when we imitate him most we are often at our worst. now let me be frank to say that i don't care if you sleep with wellsby every night and confessions of a negro preacher nap with him in the afternoon. all i ask of him is to let my mind alone." she left me and soon afterward wellsby came over and smiled himself down beside me. "cato, you must know that i hold your mind in high respect. i believe you to be a genius." this wiped out the stain of all he had ever said to me. tell crushed ambition that it is inspired by genius and you pour balm upon the soul. i thought of my novel, of my book of prayer, and i took him by the hand. "forgive me, please." "nothing to forgive, my dear brother. and now let me speak a truth: i believe that within you there lives and throbs a mighty poem, the epic of your race. preach, yes; but do not neglect that poem. it will be translated into all languages and make you famous throughtout the world." i could have hugged him to my heart. looking over toward jenny i caught the light of her smile. how handsome she was, her hair in ringlets about her brow. to our last town we came, and i felt that my career as a revivalist was entering upon its close. but i was not low in spirit for within me roses were budding, the words of wellsby. generous man, he would guard my simple faith from dulling rusts, knowing that faith is behind all creative force. about harris, however, there was naught to inspire encouragement. but what did he know of the mind and its creative union with the chapter xxv in brother simon's church ^^hen i reached die jungles of chicago the air was heavy with depressing mist. down into those deep canyons it did not seem that the sun had ever shone. i fancy that some mighty seer had preached the religion of hurry and that these people all had been converted. some of them, i felt, could not have told why they were in haste, except that it might be to rush from one disappointment to another. the grave yards are replete with the dust of men who never had time to play, to think, to sing a song; and vanity prompted me to ask of myself a question: would these people halt to read my epic? yes, and gladly, wellsby would have told me; and jenny, now so sweet and handsome, would have given to me the bright assurance of her eyes. with the letter given to me by harris i made my way over to the west side, to call on the negro lawyer. i found him in his dingy office. he was an impressive man, a mulatto, and unlike a negro, with quick words that popped like a whip. it was said that even among the shrewdest of white lawyers he could well hold his ground, and that not only negroes but white criminals employed him. confessions of a negro preacher stand for hours, gazing out upon the rapids of a life so new to them. the younger men found employment in the stock yards, not only employment but the enmity of foreigners who looked upon the negro as an invader. in washington park, not far away, i lolled beneath the trees, inviting my epic to enthrall me; and sometimes in doubtful moments i wondered whether fate had taken up the cruel notion to play with me, as with poor old andrew shaver. to the negro lawyer i sent my address, and waited. in our neighborhood, off from the boulevard, was a darky church and thither i went to hear a doctrinal sermon, an attempt to split hairs with a dull knife. the preacher was almost as dark as i, but his words were as characterless as a coin with the date and the letter- ing worn off. at the close of his sermon i went forward to greet him, lied that i liked his talk; and almost yawn- ing he replied that he had prepared it with much care. i told him that i was a preacher of his faith and he gave me a second look. "where have you been preaching?" "through the country as a revivalist." "one of the warm boys, eh?" and now he laughed. "well, it is not work that calls for chilliness. i sup- pose you have revivals here in your church." "oh, yes. our people can't get along without them, you know. but i am not much fitted for it. i have been too much of a student." confessions of a negro preacher "but we can't study the tears out of conversion. repentance calls for weeping." "yes, in a way," he agreed. "but tears should not hold us from keeping strong the bulwarks of our faith. we must be prepared for attack." i was itching to preach for i knew that his people were tired of doctrine, and i dropped him a hint but, as the saying goes, he ducked it one morning there came a letter from markeet's mother. "my daughter has come back," she said. "i was sitting here alone, thinking about washing the win- dow curtains when she came up to the door and asked if she might come in. i never was so surprised in my life. she looked tired but she wasn't weeping, i can tell you. i put my arms about her and must have whimpered for she spoke right out and said if i were going to cry she'd go away. i told her to sit down and i'd get her a bite to eat. she said she wan't hungry, and kept looking about as if she expected to find you there, and her mind was on you for she said, 'what has become of him?' i told her where you were, and to try her out i remarked that you were waiting for her to come back to you, and i hate to tell you what she said but i must. she said, 'what, that beast?' just like that; and i told her that you were a man of the lord and she must not call you a beast. then she said that no bull in a pasture was ever further from the lord. so it seems that you won't be called on to take confessions of a negro preacher her back. i asked her what had become of that wretch holcomb, and she told me that he had gone away and she didn't know where. now we have talked every thing over and she is going to try to get a school some where; and i should think that now she is better fitted than ever since she has traveled in europe." i tore the letter into bits and threw the scraps out of the window to poison the air, i mused unto my revengeful and unforgiving self. now it came to me that it had been a long time since i had prayed for the regenerating love of jesus, and kneeling, i supplicated for faith; and arising i inquired of myself, "what is faith?" and forthwith arose the answer, "believing without proof." for a time i walked up and down the boulevard, an atheist. i told god that if he did exist the negro ought to hate him for his unjust discrimination. where were the mansions that the negro had been able to rear? and those little happy heads, playing beneath those nurtured trees, what was to be their future? ah, my epic, it would balm them in the years to come. it would make them proud that their skins were black. but atheism could not write it. my soul must grovel back to the old fireplace and repent amid the ashes. no, satan inspires shrewdness but never a great poem. he can give unto himself many natures, but never the nature of a child, and in imaginative invention the great poet of fancy and of the heart, must be close to his confessions of a negro preacher are going to conduct it what do you say brother simon?" even envy is cautious, not to say compliant, in the presence of the source of its income, and brother simon remarked that the same thought had occurred to him. my feet were light as i walked toward home, not far away. as i entered the portals of the mansion some one called me and looking about i saw the lady of the house coming up the steps. i had met her often and especially when my bills were due, and to me she had given but slight attention, being somewhat lighter of skin than i, but now she bubbled, telling me that i had made her soul get right up and dance. she gave me a hug, pressing her bosom against me, and then i remem- bered that she was a widow. confessions of a negro preacher vision of the brutish police driving our innocent and astonished people out of the house. the picture would hang before me and clog my inspiration." "perhaps so," he agreed. "but you must know that hereabouts there are no outlying negro churches. the negro population here is not suburban. you came from texas. did trouble beset you there?" i must lie or make a full confession. i lied. "no, i fancied that i had outgrown my surroundings." "ah, i know what that means, having with my study and reflection found myself in that condition more than once." when he was gone i mused that in life nothing can be less interesting than educated mediocrity, in which i sought to compliment myself. now it was that i must cast about for something to do. i thought of the subscription book publisher whom wellsby had mentioned and resolved to call upon him. if he should have a book appealing to the taste of the negroes i might sell it among them. i found the man a brusk fellow, quick to get to a point in business. he told me that wellsby would no doubt prove to be an efficient man; and when i said to him that i fancied i could sell his books, he gave to me a closer inspection. he had a book, just out, that would address itself to the mind of the colored man, and he brought it forth, a bulky volume, brass'clasped and entitled, "a tramp through the holy land." it was pictured with old confessions of a negro preacher wells and camds, old buildings ready to fall and goats on crumbling walls. our arrangements were soon made. the prospectus was an easy patter and could be readily grasped. so out i went a book agent. the first man i called on in my new capacity was the negro lawyer. without looking at my repository of holy knowledge he subscribed, paying me ten dollars. "you are very kind," i said. "yes, and somewhat busy. by the way, i'll give you a word of introduction to one of the keenest laywers in america." he scribbled on a scrap of paper, and going out i looked at it and read the name and address of clarence darrow. i went immediately out to his place of resi' dence, hoping to catch him as night was approaching. he lived just off the midway, near jackson park, and so high up that when he went home he was out of town. at the door i handed in my note of commendation and was soon admitted into his library, to wait until he finished with his dinner. i looked about me, not upon works of plastic art, but upon the assembled wisdom of the ages, a mountain range of books. with dignified but kindly greeting he entered the room. to me his countenance bore a sort of daniel webster expression. "subscription book, eh? well, we'll get to that pretty soon. first i wish to say that it is well for a negro to offer books to the white man. he is in need of them, having in this city so recently disgraced himself with confessions of a negro preacher you groveled more the policeman might not have hit you with his pistol. did you ever- hear from the ortho- dox pulpit a sermon on justice? i never have. have you ever heard a sermon in which the people were told that the greatest progress of man lay in thought? i never have. did you ever know of a pulpit that didn't shudder at thought? i never did. in order to be a sue cess must civilization be a continuous he? when is the preacher most happily in his element? when he is talking to some poor wretch that is going to be hanged. the despair of the criminal is soothing syrup to the preacher. is it not his training to despise happiness? when he sees little children playing doesn't he warn than not to go to hell?" "mr. darrow, i cannot vie with you in shrewd say ings; but i may make bold to tell you that with all your intellectual prosperity you stand in the need of prayer.'" "ah, that i stand in need of telling god that he ought to change his mind. i must call god's attention to something that he has neglected." "no, but you must show to god your humble heart, mr. darrow." "show it to him? why, how could i hide it from an all'searching vision? now i would not rob you of your faith if i could be made to see that what you term your faith is of any good to you. my advice is, cultivate the mind and the soul will take care of itself. the church puts a premium upon compliant dullness. god, the /confessions of a negro preacher take the easiest job you can get. and you'd be a fool to let anything like conscience enter into it. no negro had anything to do with the cause of this war; it is a white man's scrap. ha, and suppose the negro goes over from america and shows himself the bravest man in the field: will the honor of it serve him here at home? will they, even in chicago, one of the freest of cities, permit him to go in bathing along with white toughs and chippies? i guess not." the negro lawyer's advice was not hard to follow. i sought and obtained a chaplaincy in a negro regi' ment. it seemed that i was to preach patriotism, with an incidental reference to the lord. religion and war, i conceived, fit in well, one with the other: the army of the lord, the soldier of the cross. it was interesting to live in a camp. it reminded me pleasantly of the time' when i tented with the harvesters. even the most ignor- ant negroes vield readily to discipline and to drill; and it was not ions before our regiment appeared to be fitted for the front. now came the sea voyage, a horn' eric delight. we did not land upon the french but the english coast, and it seemed an answer to prayer when i was granted a three days* sojourn in london. in westminister abbey there reposes not the dust of a negro, and only one reminder of an american poet, but in this crypt of melodious glory i thanked god for the souls he had created to sing earth nearer unto the gates of heaven. .... confessions of a negro preacher goodhumored gentleman, who seemed ever ready to laugh. "i wouldn't go into your confessional but should like to tell you something in confidence," said i. "go to it," he smiled. "it is very serious, father." it winced me somewhat to say father, but i said it. "proceed, brother," and now his countenance was serious. briefly i told him of the breaking up of my home, coming swiftly down to my hunting for holcomb. "so, i have revealed to you, father, the murder that is with- in my heart. i have tried to pray it out, but it seems to get blacker and fixed more firmly. what must i do?" from his bosom he took out a cross. "have you for- gotten calvary?" he asked. "i must have, but try not to." "but you must know that the heart of religion is forgiveness. suppose that you were sitting here this moment, knowing that you had shed the blood of that man. would it be a satisfaction unto you? would you not implore christ to forgive you? what compen' sation can vengeance find with the blood of murder on its hands? when murder has been done, revenge dies the death of despair. let christ put it out of your soul and let your heart ever afterward bow in gratitude unto the saviour." he said not a word about his creed. he was a plulos' confessions of a negro preacher belief that a negro wrote it; indeed, i myself am skepti' cal. to me it would seem that some disappointed white man has done the work, and has done it well in places, i admit. the negro mind, as in class i have had oppor- tunity to look into it, is neither creative nor speculative. even at its best it is imitative, and granting that this work was done wholly by a negro it is but an imitation of homer and his imitators. asking as you do my advice, i must say that i do not believe that you would find the publication of this book at all to your profit." i sat immovable and in silence. "here are several other reports," said the publisher, heartless toward my grief. "i have read enough, sir." "but here's one that strikes me as being rather to the point. he says that the only poems that get anywhere these days are short and snappy. free verse, i believe they call it. well, if you fall down on one thing i should think you can pick up with another, so how about the egyptian book? ready to take hold ot it?" with my insulted epic beneath my arm i went home. should i accept, the verdict of the professor, himself an imitator and in the affairs of life a failure? no. i would send my poem to publishers of repute. and with this determination another hope was strong within me. months dragged by, and i was sitting in my room one evening when the landlady brought to me a package, hateful unto my sight. it was the final straw, confessions of a nbgro preacher as the white man says, imitating the arab; and poor camel thirsting for the drink of achievement, i sank down upon the sand. two days i waited for the revival of hope but its head was weary and its heart was lead. in my room was an ornamental grate about whose bright fire there may have been many an ambitious longing in the earlier days of a big town's throbbing growth. during many years it had no doubt been cold but i would warm it with a blaze; and i placed my epic and applied a lighted match. upward leaped the blaze, and then there came a fluttering and a distressful cry, chimney swallows singed out of their home. thus three times had i set fire to my vain ambition, my novel, my prayer book, my epic; and within my drooping heart i felt that poor old andrew shaver had been better off, dying with his confident pen in hand. ******** ambition gone, but now arose fair judgment. i pur' chased a small farm in a state bordering the south, and i live in a log house not unlike old sflvy's cabin. i have done what would purify and strengthen the white man's civilization: i have returned to the soil. my wife, almost as dark as her husband, is of the woods, the fields; and within my home i hear an old'time cradle rocking, and a mother's voice sweetly singing to a child. university of michigan a toryo- \dorothy canfield oscar micheaux university libraries tes scientia veri mewdaisytonysiii sia physio rgeon b's place real browns awabeale al un parlors the story of dorothy stanfield - ---- she had lived for three years in a state of perpetual dis- traction, never knowing a day of peace or happiness-until she met walter le baron, with whom she had fallen in love! the story o dorothy stanfieli based on a great insurance swindle – and a woman! a novel by oscar miche aux author of “the case of mrs. wingate” book supply company publishers morningside avenue new york m st copyright, by oscar miche aux all rights reserved no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission of the author. other novels by the same author the case of mrs. wingate nazi activity inside black america; the wealthy mrs. wingate and beautiful bertha schultz, negro nazi spy! a powerful psychological novel, involving a hush-hush subject! the wind from nowhere the unforgettable story of martin eden, young negro builder of an agricultural empire in the dakota wilderness, wherein he alone was black, and a beautiful and mysterious girl to make this the strangest love story ever told! set up and electrotyped. published printed in the united states of america - to mary j. whose faith and confidence in the writer has always been a source of inspiration. m st no part o w nazi activi. and beauti psych the unfors of an ag he alone w patterns and “thou shalt not” in a democratic and free country america is a “free country," has always been, and everybod: living in it is hoping that it will continue so. up to this time freedom of speech has been advocated and everybody is supposed to enjoy this freedom. one may say or write anything they feel inspired, or disposed to; and may publish and sell it, if there is any demand for it, and nobody dares interfere. this is exactly what mr. oscar micheaux, author of the story of dorothy stanfield, and two other recent novels, is doing, and he seems to be getting along very well. only one negro other than mr. micheaux is making a living from his writings. nobody has sought to interfere with his efforts and he has no complaints as far as general reaction is concerned. yet, with respect to certain activities relating to the negro, the matter of freedom of action, at least, has a big question mark. take, for instance, the negro's role in the movies at the present time. for two years or more, due to his agitation for better and more dignified roles, except for a menial part now and then, in which he is required to roll his eyes, say all lines in dialect, and in short, be stupid and funny, he has been practically barred from the screen! with regard to the radio, this is repeated and he is confined, except as a guest artist now and then, to the same limited roles. when he sings, the songs are usually confined to spirituals and hymns. as regards literature, it would seem that he enjoys a wider range of thought and activity. except in the novels by oscar micheaux, however, he is never shown as a contemporary amer- ican citizen, talking as most colored people have long been speak- ing, in plain and simple english. in the matter of romance, he seems presumed not to have any whatsoever. just about every hot by or about negroes that is published, hower, is widely review in all publications, many at great leading characters in the order of appearance dorothy stanfield whose story it is that we have to tell walter le baron who fell in love with her bob martin who tells him her story frank knight a negro author, who married a white woman connie austin who had lots to say lonnie spellman charged with raping a white woman mrs. janie stribling wealthy society matron, who made the charge arnold walton police commissioner, the city of new york isadore zacarrio a jew, who was murdered cleo "scarface” johnson negro, who killed and robbed him n. d. stanfield a swindler junius brown an undertaker sam jackson stanfield's stooge dr. harold vaughn a wealthy negro, and dorothy stanfield's father lawrence van revel wealthy planter and banker lizzie o'neal his negress concubine time: today, yesterday, tomorrow. place: memphis and new york length, and most times very favorably-except those by mr. micheaux, which have outsold all other books by negro authors during the past five years with two single exceptions. why do his books sell so well? because when mr. micheaux writes he has a story to tell; the kind obviously, that the average reader likes and enjoys reading—but we wish to explain why his books have not been reviewed as the public has a right to expect. we will attempt to explain by citing a parallel. since long before the civil war, and up to this day, hundreds of novels have featured as the main theme, colored women, mostly beautiful ones, as the concubines of white men, from which associa- tion through the years has sprung hundreds of thousands of mul- attoes, and nobody seems to think anything about it! books of the kind are reviewed in about the same ratio as other books. one of the most successful—if not the most successful novel of , retold this same old, old story, except that it pictured the colored girl in this instance as not only beautiful, but highly educated and refined. that book was reviewed in about every newspaper and magazine that reviews books the country over-and in most, very favorably. in none of these books, however, is the white man ever shown as marrying the colored girl. in fact, he is not even expected to! now we will try to explain what we mean by "patterns” and “thou shalt not.” early in , a novel called the case of mrs. wingate, of which mr. micheaux is the author, was published and promptly "caught on” and has been a best seller ever since. yet per cent of the daily newspapers and magazines that received copies for review, ignored the book and made no mention of even having received it. a few gave fine reviews and praised the book highly. the reason for this silence was obvious to both the author and his publishers. it was simply because mr. micheaux dared reverse the old order, and recited in his book the case, based on fact, of a wealthy and aristocratic, but passionate, white girl who fell in love with a negro youth who was struggling in school. she went to his assistance and financed his education-clear up to a ph.d. as i from harvard, and when her millionaire white husband was accic ently killed, she promptly married her colored lover. being plain and frank about it, such stories are against th “pattern” as designed for negroes and writers pretty well under stand that “thou shalt not” write such books, which should end the matter, especially when most publishers keep studiously away from bringing out such literature. but let's get down to facts! it so happens that during the past few years, and particularly since the rise of communism in america, there has been an in- creased amount of race-mixing, mostly between white women and colored men—so much so, in fact, that it has become alarming to the better class of negroes, who are wondering just how far it is likely to go. this is a fact—and the practice is increasing right here in our own america! the fact that the press, in the matter of reviewing books, chooses to ignore it, because, no doubt, they do not like the idea, and by their silence with regard to mr. mich- eaux's books, tacitly condemn them just because the author dares touch upon the subject, has not lessened or decreased the practice, so what? race-mixing is not the theme of mr. micheaux's novels by any means, notwithstanding that here and there and now and then it happens to occupy a part in the development of his plots. the practice, as stated, is going on all over the north and is the subject of conversation and debate among negroes the country over. so why does the great american press condemn mr. micheaux's books just because he chooses to portray the facts to some degree as they exist? this is democracy and "freedom of speech” – with a penalty! we have brought this up more to answer so many queries from readers who have expressed a desire to know why they so rarely see a review of the books when they are so popular among readers and sell so well. by which it seems apparent that not all white americans share the view of most reviewers and ignore the br just because they may or may not like the idea of race-mis the leading characters in the order of appearance dorothy stanfield whose story it is that we have to tell walter le baron who fell in love with her bob martin who tells him her story frank knight a negro author, who married a white woman connie austin who had lots to say lonnie spellman charged with raping a white woman mrs. janie stribling wealthy society matron, who made the charge arnold walton police commissioner, the city of new york isadore zacarrio a jew, who was murdered cleo "scarface” johnson negro, who killed and robbed him n. d. stanfield a swindler junius brown an undertaker sam jackson stanfield's stooge dr. harold vaughn a wealthy negro, and dorothy stanfield's father lawrence van revel wealthy planter and banker lizzie o'neal his negress concubine time: today, yesterday, tomorrow. place: memphis and new york patterns and "thou shalt not" in a democratic and free country america is a “free country," has always been, and everybody living in it is hoping that it will continue so. up to this time, freedom of speech has been advocated and everybody is supposed to enjoy this freedom. one may say or write anything they feel inspired, or disposed to; and may publish and sell it, if there is any demand for it, and nobody dares interfere. this is exactly what mr. oscar micheaux, author of the story of dorothy stanfield, and two other recent novels, is doing, and he seems to be getting along very well. only one negro other than mr. micheaux is making a living from his writings. nobody has sought to interfere with his efforts and he has no complaints as far as general reaction is concerned. yet, with respect to certain activities relating to the negro, the matter of freedom of action, at least, has a big question mark. take, for instance, the negro's role in the movies at the present time. for two years or more, due to his agitation for better and more dignified roles, except for a menial part now and then, in which he is required to roll his eyes, say all lines in dialect, and in short, be stupid and funny, he has been practically barred from the screen! with regard to the radio, this is repeated and he is confined, except as a guest artist now and then, to the same limited roles. when he sings, the songs are usually confined to spirituals and hymns. as regards literature, it would seem that he enjoys a wider range of thought and activity. except in the novels by oscar micheaux, however, he is never shown as a contemporary amer- ican citizen, talking as most colored people have long been speak- ing, in plain and simple english. in the matter of romance, he seems presumed not to have any whatsoever. just about every book by or about negroes that is published, however, is widely reviewed in all publications, many at great length, and most times very favorably–except those by mr. micheaux, which have outsold all other books by negro authors during the past five years with two single exceptions. why do his books sell so well? because when mr. micheaux writes he has a story to tell; the kind obviously, that the average reader likes and enjoys reading—but we wish to explain why his books have not been reviewed as the public has a right to expect. we will attempt to explain by citing a parallel. since long before the civil war, and up to this day, hundreds of novels have featured as the main theme, colored women, mostly beautiful ones, as the concubines of white men, from which associa- tion through the years has sprung hundreds of thousands of mul- attoes, and nobody seems to think anything about it! books of the kind are reviewed in about the same ratio as other books. one of the most successful—if not the most successful novel of , retold this same old, old story, except that it pictured the colored girl in this instance as not only beautiful, but highly educated and refined. that book was reviewed in about every newspaper and magazine that reviews books the country over—and in most, very favorably. in none of these books, however, is the white man ever shown as marrying the colored girl. in fact, he is not even expected to! now we will try to explain what we mean by "patterns" and "thou shalt not.” early in , a novel called the case of mrs. wingate, of which mr. micheaux is the author, was published and promptly "caught on” and has been a best seller ever since. yet per cent of the daily newspapers and magazines that received copies for review, ignored the book and made no mention of even having received it. a few gave fine reviews and praised the book highly. the reason for this silence was obvious to both the author and his publishers. it was simply because mr. micheaux dared reverse the old order, and recited in his book the case, based on fact, of a wealthy and aristocratic, but passionate, white girl who fell in love with a negro youth who was struggling in school. she went to his assistance and financed his education-clear up to a ph.d. from harvard, and when her millionaire white husband was accid- ently killed, she promptly married her colored lover. being plain and frank about it, such stories are against the "pattern” as designed for negroes and writers pretty well under- stand that “thou shalt not” write such books, which should end the matter, especially when most publishers keep studiously away from bringing out such literature. but let's get down to facts! it so happens that during the past few years, and particularly since the rise of communism in america, there has been an in- creased amount of race-mixing, mostly between white women and colored men—so much so, in fact, that it has become alarming to the better class of negroes, who are wondering just how far it is likely to go. this is a fact—and the practice is increasing right here in our own america! the fact that the press, in the matter of reviewing books, chooses to ignore it, because, no doubt, they do not like the idea, and by their silence with regard to mr. mich- eaux's books, tacitly condemn them just because the author dares touch upon the subject, has not lessened or decreased the practice, so what? race-mixing is not the theme of mr. micheaux's novels by any means, notwithstanding that here and there and now and then it happens to occupy a part in the development of his plots. the practice, as stated, is going on all over the north and is the subject of conversation and debate among negroes the country over. so why does the great american press condemn mr. micheaux's books just because he chooses to portray the facts to some degree as they exist? this is democracy and "freedom of speech” — with a penalty! we have brought this up more to answer so many queries from readers who have expressed a desire to know why they so rarely see a review of the books when they are so popular among readers and sell so well. by which it seems apparent that not all white americans share the view of most reviewers and ignore the books just because they may or may not like the idea of race-mixing. the publishers this novel is fiction and intended as such, it does not refer to real characters, or to actual events. any likeness to characters either living or dead is purely coincidental. the story of dorothy stanfield chapter orothy stanfield finished the note she had been try- ing to write for several days, picked up a blotter, dried the ink, spread the paper before her and read aloud (but to herself) what she had written: mr. sidney wyeth publisher monmouth street new york, n. y. dear mr. wyeth: herewith the memoranda i promised to send you. if you decide to use it, i would be very grateful if you'd change my name, his name, the names of all the people who make up the characters in this drama of a woman's unhappy soul, also the names of the places where it all took place. it may require considerable work to whip it into readable shape and make it of interest, notwithstanding the sordid and ugly facts. as i view it, it would make a more interesting story if you'd begin it when i met him, then go back to the beginning, bring it up to that day and continue then to the end of my diary. . you have my consent, if you publish it, to alter and amend; add to, take away, do as you think best about it, only please—oh please in whatever you show or say, try to forgive the doctor for the sins of his iniquity. sadly, dorothy stanfield she paused on finishing the note and reflected briefly. then she frowned. she had frowned about the same thing before. it was the end of the diary. it did not end—just stopped; and the reason the story of dorothy stanfield was obvious. the story she had told had not ended. “will it ever end?” she asked herself. yes it would. "all things end,” adolf hitler had said, long before the war he started in europe ended. he said that-even it would end some day; that all wars had ended before somehow. and that war, the greatest of all since the beginning of time, had finally ended. all the world knew how. then how would her story end? she shook her head sadly and sighed as she put the note she had just written away. she decided not to send it then, but to go get in her car and drive somewhere-anywhere, but to go away. it was sunday and a beautiful day. she had risen early that morning, dressed, planning to write the note, fold the diary and send both away to new york. she estimated that it would take two days to reach new york; but to be sure that the matter got out of memphis, the present setting of our story, she planned to take both to the station and put them in the mail car herself. she sighed again, with an inward expression of determination, a determination born of tragedy, for dorothy stanfield's experience since that fatal day three years before when satan stepped into her life and twisted it all out of proportion, had taught her about trag- edy, and what it was to be unhappy. she went outside and got into her car, backed it out of the small garage and turned east into south parkway, the street on which she resided. she headed toward beale avenue for a gas station oper- ated by two colored men, where she maintained an account. she had decided by now to drive to a distant city to visit a friend and re- turn to memphis that night. at about this same moment, walter le baron, of new york, a man whom we will meet again in our story, got into his car in front of the small dolphin hotel, drove two blocks west, turned into san- gamon avenue and headed also for beale street, the name by which it was known by everybody who knew anything about memphis itself. heading south he turned into beale street and after a few blocks, pulled into the same gas station for which dorothy stanfield, the story of dorothy stanfield who lived much farther away, was headed. he had his tank filled, backed away from the pump and off to one side where some black boys proceeded to wipe off the dust and shine the car. he got out, crossed to a couple who had driven into the station in the meantime, and was delighted on coming up to the car to find that he knew the occupants. after a cheerful greeting he started to talk about mat- ters that interested them, when he was attracted by a large open coupé, which was driven into the station by a woman, who, as we know, was none other than dorothy stanfield. after a few parting words, his friends drove away, and le baron was in the act of starting back to his car, expecting to drive back down beale street to a theatre to meet another friend, when, in some strange manner, he was attracted by the woman who had just driven into the station. dorothy turned as the attendant, after greeting her, said: “how many please?” she was looking in the rear view mirror at the moment, and was in the act of powdering her nose. as she did so, her eyes caught a silhouette of le baron, standing perhaps fifty feet away, gazing at her curiously. her curiosity aroused, she forgot for the moment the attendant standing beside her, until he coughed. quickly she re- laxed, smiled and turned to him. "fill it, please." “thank you, mrs. stanfield,” he replied affably, and proceeded to take down the hose, remove the cap and start the flow of gasoline. i.istening to it pouring into the tank, mrs. stanfield dared another look through the mirror at the tall stranger, standing gazing across at her. it rather amused her and she smiled. shortly, however, as if having decided on something else, the stranger moved and was quickly out of focus. she did not turn to look at him but she knew by the sound of his footsteps that he was coming in her direction. two seconds later he stood beside the car, but for the moment said nothing. knowing that he was there, she pretended to busy herself at something and waited for him to speak. the story ry canfield oti of dorothy stanfield "pardon, madam," he presently ventured to say. she turned to look at him casually, nodded slightly and replied, rather informally: “how do you do?” “your face,” he began, looking at her closely, and this embar- rassed her somewhat, "seems—er, rather familiar.” “does it?" she asked, and glanced at him curiously but said no more. "it does,” he answered, still gazing at her as if trying to recall where, if ever, he had seen her before. after a pause he sighed audibly. “well,” she said, “where?” "i don't know, madam. i can't seem to recall; but your face is that familiar. it must have been somewhere, i'm sure.” “this is rather amusing,” she ventured sarcastically. "it must seem so to you, i fear,” he said and was plainly an- noyed by his inability to recollect. "i guess i'll have to admit that i must be mistaken.” “i'm quite sure you are. i've never seen you before in my life.” "i'm sorry,” he said meekly and moved as if to turn away. for some unexplained reason, however, dorothy suddenly realized that she didn't want him to. she tried quickly to think of an excuse to keep him there, to hear him say something else. then, with a slight sbrug of the shoulders, walter le baron turned and decided to see it through. "were you ever in—mississippi?” · “who lives in memphis who hasn't been,” she said and decided to continue to be sarcastic. "on the way here," he resumed thoughtfully, or perhaps reflec- tively, “i stopped in canton, just north of jackson." his eyes were downcast now, and he seemed to be speaking more to himself than to her. through, he presently raised his eyes and looked hard at her and she felt that she had to say something. "i have a brother there,” she said. immediately he perked up and snapping his fingers, cried: "a doctor?" the story of dorothy stanfield she nodded in the affirmative. "then that was it!” again she looked up at him, this time more curiously. “what do you mean?” “he looks just like you. or, i'd say, you look just like him." for the first time dorothy stanfield was forced to smile and as she did so, also relaxed her austerity. it was true. everybody who knew both of them had been saying the same thing since they were kids. “you're younger," he said now. “yes,” she admitted, "i'm younger." “i hope you understand now and can forgive me.” "i guess i'll have to," she said and for the second time, found herself smiling up at him. he smiled too as he looked down at her. dorothy stanfield was not the prettiest girl in memphis, as most men view girls, but she was very attractive. as he looked at her, he guessed that she was, perhaps, five or six years his junior. she had a round face, a protruding chin—which he liked, a wealth of coarse, brindle-like hair which covered her round head and spread to and over her shoulders. she seemed, in addition to her brown skin, a bit tanned and he gathered that she spent considerable time out of doors, perhaps driving that fine car in which she was seated, around the country. her eyes, while full and rounded like her face, carried two defi- nite expressions. they were passionate, so passionate that they tended to tempt men; and, for the moment, they seemed to tempt him. yet he could see that she was not thinking that way at all. . but behind this subtle something there was sadness in the eyes, which seemed to draw him irresistibly to her. what was it, he found himself wondering. during these brief and fleeting seconds she sat gazing out before her while he remained silent. presently, she looked up at him, a question in her eyes. they seemed to ask who he was. he shifted and smiled apologetically. then taking from his pocket folder a card upon which the name walter le baron was the story of dorothy stanfield printed, he handed it to her. she took it and looked at it, as he went on to explain. “that is my card, and i'm from new york.” "oh, new york?" she repeated, studying his name on the card. it was getting warm, and he unbuttoned the coat of his palm beach suit. he looked again down at her; at her rounded breasts which seemed to extend straight out and not hang down. from the way she relaxed, he didn't think she wore a girdle. her teaties rose and fell as she breathed and seemed to add to the subtle passion in her face. he guessed that she weighed about pounds. “that section away uptown that they call harlem,” he was say- ing. she smiled tolerantly, took her eyes off the card and glanced up at him, he thought, somewhat teasingly "do all the colored people in new york live in harlem?" she asked, although having been to new york, she knew that was not true. "oh, no,” he replied hastily. "by no means. there are , , perhaps even more, who reside across the river in brook- lyn alone.” “really?” she asked, innocently. "across the harlem river, just above harlem, at least , more live in the bronx.” “is that so?” “quite a large number live farther downtown, in lower man- hattan-in fact, negroes live all over new york; in about every borough.” “so interesting.” “but the most of us, it is admitted, do live in harlem-black harlem, we call it.”. "just how do you mean, 'black harlem?!” she asked now, tan- talizingly. “because the most up there—are black?”. “i think you are playing with me now," he said, seeming to catch on somewhat. "well,” she said sighing, "what am i supposed to do, now that you have said so much? faint, fall out or cry?” the story of dorothy stanfield “oh, please," he pleaded sincerely. "don't misunderstand me. i assure you that i am not a flirt, a-nonentity or a play boy.” “then what are you?" she threw at him pointedly. he hesi- tated before making reply-or even trying to, during which she glanced up at him, a question in her eyes. “i'm afraid you'd hardly believe me if i told you." “and why not?” “i—i don't know, but for the present i'm just plain walter le baron.” “so?” “to be quite frank and honest about it, madam, you have aroused my interest. seems rather strange just why. but i am in- terested in you." "indeed," she cried and looked up at him rather coldly now. “are you in the habit of becoming interested in—strange women? women whom you don't know? whom you have never seen before?” "i'm so sorry," he said kindly. “sorry for what?”. “for the way you chose to misunderstand me.” “what do you expect?” “nothing, i guess. still, that does not change the fact that i am strangely interested in you.” “and you do not even know me.” “you said you were dr. vaughn's sister. i met and became very friendly with him in canton.” “that is at least in your favor.” "thank you." “what were you doing in canton?” "just passed through on my way here. stopped over a few hours and that was when and how i happened to meet your brother.” “that doesn't explain why you met him. there must have been a-more definite reason." “there was.” "thank you. we now seem to be getting somewhere." the story of dorothy stanfield td “i'm pleased.” “thank you,” she said. “what did you speak to my brother about?” "i was making some inquiries. but we are getting away from the subject that drew me over here to speak to you." "oh, that drew you over here to speak to me. what was that?” "that's what i don't quite understand. meanwhile, might i ask, since it has gone this far, your name?” she glanced up at him curiously, shrugged her shoulders uncertainly, then countered: "you said you met my brother. you quoted his name correctly. isn't that enough?" "it might be, in fact it will have to be, but my interest in you happens to be much deeper.” he paused briefly and lowered his eyes momentarily, then raising them, glanced at her, she thought, a bit oddly. “you don't care to-tell me?” glancing up at him, she presently relaxed and shrugged her shoulders. “oh, i don't mind,” she said resignedly. “my name is dorothy." "a pretty name," he exclaimed, cheerfully. she felt momen- tarily flattered, glanced up at him kindly and smiled. “you think so?" "i'm sure of it. it fits you beautifully." “you do say such nice things." "i'm glad to hear you say that. what's your last name?” “stanfield.” “o-o-h!” he cried. “that is more interesting still. dorothy stanfield. sounds romantic." "you flatter me,” she said, and the blood flushed to her face. she was somehow pleased far more than she was willing to admit-even to herself. "i don't exactly mean to,” he said, and she knew he meant it. she was enjoying talking to him, hearing him talk to her; but all she said to his last words was a simple: "no?” “i do not. what attracted me," he continued, again looking at her searchingly. “was something in your face.” again she looked the story of dorothy stanfield up at him and quickly, but this time she didn't smile. her face wore an expression of curiosity. “what something in my face?” she said and forced an unen- thusiastic smile. “yes, it is true. there is something infinite in your face.” “infinite?” “more. something tragic, perhaps, something hidden." “you're getting into deep water,” she offered now. “something strange and mysterious.” "not only in deep water now but strange waters." yet what he had said caused her to feel strangely disturbed. she decided to try defiance. she felt that would bluff him, make him pause and hesi- tate, not feel so sure about that something in her face.** "i don't believe you.” that was her counterattack. she glanced up at him to see what effect it had on him, if any. “i'm sorry,” he said simply. “but that does not alter what i see.” why was he so persistent? there was something in her face, all right, but it was her secret, and she resented him, a stranger, daring to claim that he saw it. even the people who knew her well, had not said such things. “well,” she said to herself, sighing in- wardly. "i've got to see it through now. he can't get away with such a bold idea." "is that why, you a stranger, have been looking at me so hard?” "i guess so." there he was again. just as calm about it as he could be, she thought. he was saying something else. “there is something about you, in your face-or perhaps it is in your eyes, that has aroused my curiosity. in fact,” he went on more firmly, “stirred it from the beginning; and now it has me that curious to know more about you." "that is rather odd,” she said a bit thoughtfully. "odd and un- usual, and i don't understand.” paused to glance up at him quickly. "perhaps you can make it a bit more clear.” she was looking at him frankly now. "i don't know if i can. i believe, however, that if you'll tell me more about yourself, or at least answer a few simple questions, in- the story of dorothy stanfield nocent questions, i might be able to understand somewhat better what i see.” "you wouldn't happen to be a-clairvoyant?" “decidedly not.” “i'm glad you are not,” she said and sighed relievedly. "i'm not interested in having my fortune told, my future read. in fact, i'd rather not be told anything about my future.” "i can assure you that i am in no way related to fortune tellers.” he smiled while saying this, to indicate, perhaps, how ridiculous the idea. “then what do you want to know?" “well,” he said, pausing briefly, and looked down at her search- ingly, and then continued: “are you—," then breaking off so suddenly that she started and looked quickly up into his face. “what?". "a miss or a mrs.? you must be married, of course?" "no," she said, shaking her head negatively and not looking at him, keeping her eyes straight before her. he hesitated for a moment and was at a loss as to how to proceed. “single, then?" "no," she said and again shook her head—all the while, how- ever, refusing to look at him, her eyes straight ahead, seemingly looking at nothing. "not married, not single,” he was saying. then tried again, a trifle uncertainly. "a widow then?” "no," she said in that same tone, again shaking her head, eyes still straight before her. he was in deeper water than ever now and that something which had aroused his curiosity at the outset was propelling him into still deeper water. however strange it all seemed, it only increased his conviction that this woman was the victim of some strange tragedy in her life, a tragedy or misfortune or an experience so intricate, that she was not going to divulge any of it at this moment, regard- less of how hard he pressed her. she turned now to look up at him the story of dorothy stanfield ever since he voiced his suspicions. “go on,” she said presently, pretending to be amused. "i'm listening." "when you drove up and stopped at this pump and turned to glance across at me, i was abruptly made conscious of this fact. i was sure i saw something in your face. i felt something." "what,” she interrupted him to say, "for instance?” she af- fected to regard it all as just one big joke. “you're laughing at me,” he said, a bit resentfully, then con- tinued persistently; as persistently as ever. “nevertheless, i'm positive by this time that what i saw was something; something that has happened to you.” “you are very interesting,” she said and meant it; but from the way she said it he didn't believe her. "i do not, of course, know you well enough even by now to go delving into your private life, but, i repeat, your face carries a story—something terrible has happened in your life, somewhere, sometime; and it happened to you when it did. what i am curious to know is, what was it?” she laughed openly now, a laugh she did not mean; but he thought she did and bit his lip in vexation. “you may try to laugh it off," he said, his face serious in spite of her pretended derision. “but i'd be willing to lay a bet that i am right, anyhow.” “what?” she asked, breaking off abruptly in her pretended laughter. "i'm going to find out what it is.” he nodded his head up and down as he made this assertion—and suddenly dorothy's face be- came honestly serious for a moment. then through it she pretend- ed another smile and went on, tentatively: "and how, may i ask?” unknown of course to him, dorothy was really annoyed and at last on the anxious seat. it had gone further than she anticipated. she would have liked to become angry but somehow she couldn't bring herself to do so. the man's face, his expression-everything about him seemed so honest. and the story of dorothy stanfield then for a moment she quit trying to be so hard—in her thoughts towards him anyhow. she looked up at him, straight into his eyes, and she could find nothing there to justify her conduct toward him. she decided to be entirely human for a moment, and to experience how that would feel. "he must be a nice man,” she said to herself. if he was de- termined to inquire further about her, she might be tempted to tell him some of the things she had set down in her diary. oh, if he could only read what she had written in that memoranda of her soul; the sorrows-yes, the agonies, he would feel sorry for her, she was sure. her diary was unfinished. was it possible that she might add to it this meeting with him, and some of the many things he had said; some of the many questions he had asked? while she was thinking all these things, he had become momen- tarily silent. her curiosity had by now become most intense. “just how do you propose to find out more about me, mr. le baron?” she asked. he started, as if his mind had been on some- thing far away. "oh, pardon me!” he cried, stiffening. "how? oh, yes. i'll tell you." "please do,” she said, guardedly. “i have a contact man here who teaches in the colored high school.” “oh, you have?” "i have, miss stanfield. you'll excuse me for using the word ‘miss,' for you might, of course, be a “mrs.' ”. "i might,” she said and forced a smile through her anxiety. “per- haps he's a fortune teller?" "he's a mathematician.” "in one of our local high schools?” she asked. he glanced at her curiously. “do you have more than one?” “two,” she said. "oh, two?” “yes, two. so which one? i might happen to know him." the story of dorothy stanfield “in the booker t. washington.” “then i'm sure that i must know him.” “i'm quite sure you do. his name is bob.” “you'll have to tell me more. i know many roberts." “martin is the rest of his name. bob martin.” “is that so?” she decided not to let him know that she knew martin. but she was thinking—and fast. "please believe me when i say that i have no malicious designs in finding out. in fact, i cannot honestly tell you why i have be- come so curious about you. it is strangely beyond me." “then who can?" "nobody. yet, i confess that i am so interested in finding out what happened to you that it has me very perturbed. perhaps you know bob? he seems to know about all the people of our group in memphis who amount to anything, and it takes only one glance at. you for me to conclude that he must know you—perhaps well. which, of course, is only my conjecture.” dorothy by now was really disturbed. she felt it was about time to extricate herself from what was about to become an em- barassing situation. for answer she just smiled up at him in that peculiar noncommittal way, he thought, and then touched the starter. he moved back a step. "well, i'm glad to have met you, mr. le baron,” she said and to his surprise, offered her hand. he took it gladly and noted with pleasure that it was both soft and warm and it thrilled him. sud- denly he raised it to his lips and kissed it. “i hope you believe all i've said, and won't go away disliking me.” "i won't dislike you, mr. le baron,” and her voice sounded strangely warm and tender, and sincere. she had both hands on the steering wheel, her foot on the accelerator. the motor was running silently, but he could tell that it was by the easy throbbing of the car. she was preparing to shove off. "it was pleasant to meet you,” she said warmly. the motor was louder now and the big car was trembling as if with eagerness the story of dorothy stanfield to plunge ahead and away. both had to talk louder to be heard above its trembling roaring. "i—hope bob martin will tell you what you seem so anxious to know, what you are so anxious to find out, and i'm sure he will,” she called out, the big car fairly dancing with energy, anxious it seemed to plunge ahead and be gone. with a sort of sad smile, which suddenly enveloped her face, she called: "good-bye,” and released the brakes. the car dashed forward and into the street, where she turned to bow again. in that moment walter le baron felt strangely sorry for her. “i'll bet she's a good woman. just got a bad break, that's all.” she swung the car to the right now, seemed to release its pent- up energy—and it was gone. walter le baron stood there, watching it until it reached what seemed the end of the street, then turning left, disappeared. he turned and walked slowly across to where his car was parked and got into it, where he paused to think of that strange woman who had come into his life as if from nowhere. would he ever see her again? unable to decide, he shook his head sadly and started his motor. he went forward a few yards, then turned left into beale street, and started for the new daisy theatre where he was due soon to meet bob martin. as he rolled down beale street toward main, he kept thinking about the woman who had aroused more in him than any woman had in all the years of his life. the story of dorothy stanfield negro crooks from chicago or detroit,” who she had heard, trav- eled around the country in fine cars; and who specialized, she had also heard, in making love to gullible women; smart negroes with a racket. "no," she went on, shaking her head. "he can't be a racketeer, either. he didn't have that kind of air. then what is he and who is he?” she sighed—then recoiled violently as she thought about something else, which frightened her. during a visit she had made to chicago a few years before, cer- tain handsome, well cared for negroes had been pointed out to her, and her friends had told her what they did; that they were pimps, and that most of them were supported by women, white women, who sold their bodies to do so; sold their bodies to the highest bid- ders, and gave those men most of the money they made that way. cold sweat broke out all over her as she reckoned this pos- sibility. those men, she recalled, also drove around in fine cars and specialized in making love to nice women. could walter le baron be associated with this kind of a life? the more she thought about it, the more imaginative she seemed to become. she recalled that while she had been visiting in chicago, some girls with whom she became acquainted, had just returned from a vacation on the pacific coast, during which they had spent a week in seattle, and lurid were the stories they told about handsome colored men they met out there during that week. they talked about these men, referring to them as "business men.” when she inquired what kind of business they were in, the girls smiled and said they were “service commissioners." this all seemed vague to her, and when she asked for more details as to their business, she had been told it was "funny” business. later they told her frankly just what kind of business the men were engaged in; that each one had a "stable," which was more confusing than ever. they told her that that was the term used in seattle in referring to them, and that a "stable” meant a group of sporting women, mostly white, who had consented to share a certain man. the man's business then was to send men to see them, get the story of dorothy stanfield them out of jail when they got locked up and to "love" them when it got around to that. they told her that in seattle, the women had found that one woman could hardly make enough to support a man in the proper style of the underworld, and that they would then get together, two or three, mostly three of them, and divide their earnings with a single man who it was understood would look after them. they wanted the men that they gave their "love" and money to, to look prosperous, have plenty of good clothes, a good car in which they could ride them around and make a good showing, etc., etc. these men were, of course, idle most of the time, which permitted them to meet visitors in seattle and entertain them, and if the men they met were agreeable and had the proper funds, they would introduce them to some "nice” girls, who would “take care” of any social needs desired, etc., etc. by the time dorothy recalled all these lurid stories, she was on the verge of going home and back to bed—and then she thought of something le baron had said, and she was so relieved when she did that she again started talking to herself. "he said he knew bob martin; that bob martin was his con- tact man, and that—he was going to see bob martin and ask him about me! oh, great goodness,” she exclaimed so loud that she looked around and wondered if anybody passing by heard her. and then in a subdued tone, she went on: "let me get to bob martin-quick. before walter le baron can see and talk to him!” yes, that is what she would do. in fact, she now recalled, that is what she had started out to do when she left the gas station; but in the intensity of her own thoughts, had forgotten it, yet was driving in the direction of bob martin's house all the while. to get there, she had to go by a detour. she turned off south parkway at loomis avenue and drove three blocks east, then five blocks south, and found herself back on south parkway again. having decided definitely now as to procedure, she settled into a calmer mood and dared think of le baron in the way she wanted the story of dorothy stanfield to. he couldn't, she realized by now, be one of those awful me they had told her about and whom she had thought about, and bi bob martin's friend. perking up then with a new thought, she would be able to find out from bob more about him and perhaps what he did. in the meantime, it pleased her as she drove along to think of him as a nice fellow, which he gave every impression of be- ing. tall and handsome and intelligent, but not pretty. she was afraid of pretty men. most of the men, who had been pointed out to her in chicago as being taken care of by women, the most pros- perous looking ones, were being kept by land ladies, and they were mostly pretty. as she recalled many of those she had met and known in the past, few were up to what a man ought to be, but that was not always their fault. the women simply wouldn't let them be. so many silly women would paw over them; make passes upon passes ar them. many would not only go the limit to try to attract them so as to get sweet with them, but would go beyond the limit-far beyond all decent and respectable limits. so she had put pretty men out of her area of interest. yet she did admire handsome men; and walter le baron, even during the brief time she had talked to him, she could see was handsome. add- ed to that, he was tall, yet not too tall. he had pleasant but de- termined eyes. he wore his hair which was thick and coarse and rather stiff, as she recalled, in an attractive pompadour. but what she liked best of all about walter le baron, as she remembered him now, was the fact that he was interesting, the most enduring quality that a man could possess. when a man is interesting, she recalled, a woman did not soon tire of him. with time and as you know them longer and better, they usually became more interesting. she was speeding down south parkway now at about thirty miles an hour. the air, although warm, seemed cool and was indeed pleasant as she braced it. she was feeling good—happy, in fact, at peace with all the world. then suddenly she heard some one blow a horn vigorously. on looking up, who should she see coming along the street, although in the opposite direction, but bob martin the story of dorothy stanfield himself, driving perhaps toward beale street—and worst of all, it flashed through her mind, to possibly meet walter le baron who would promptly jump on him and find out all about herself! shades of moses! she took her foot off the accelerator and jammed it on the brakes, meanwhile blowing her horn vigorously for all it was worth for bob to stop, and motioning with her free hand. he caught on immediately and was able to stop his car before she could stop her own. promptly he backed up to be even with her, permitting them to talk across the street to each other. “just the person i want to see,” she called loudly enough for him to hear above the noise of cars, passing them both ways. “yeah?” he replied, looking at her curiously. “was driving out to your place to see you." "you were? what for?” "something very important-most important." “really?” “yes, really! if you can manage it, please turn round and fol- low me to my home. i'll talk to you there. will you come?” “a gentlemen couldn't refuse to oblige a lady, especially a lady looking so charming and beautiful as you are looking this morning." "quit kidding, bob. turn round this minute and follow me to my house. i'll go on ahead.” “right-o,” cried bob as he looked round and started to turn his car. dorothy drove on ahead, glancing back over her shoulder oc- casionally to see if he was following her. she was frightened- even at the thought of the possibility of his going on to the theatre on beale street where she knew he was originally headed for and there running into walter le baron and learning all about her be- fore she herself had a chance to talk with him. reaching her home she drove her car into the garage, whose door she had left open a half hour before, beckoning bob to park his car in front of the house. she got out of the car hurriedly, closed the garage door and as hurriedly locked it, then hastened around to the front of the house in time to meet bob. she crossed the story of dorothy stanfield the sidewalk to where he paused to wait for her. looking rather hard at her, and wonderingly, he cried: “what's the excitement about all of a sudden, anyhow, dor- othy?” and he continued to regard her curiously. "come in the house or up on the porch,” she said, waving her hand in that direction. she turned in and crossed the yard and stepped up on the porch, turning to face him as he paused. "want to come inside,” she said, “or shall we sit—there?” point- ing toward a swinging seat that hung suspended from the ceiling of the porch. "i think we'll be more comfortable out here,” he said as he turned toward the swinging seat. “very well,” dorothy replied, “take a seat, please, but excuse me for a few minutes while i go inside and freshen up a bit," and she made a motion toward her face. martin turned back to look at her and, smiling, replied: "okay, dorothy. take your time. i'll wait." “thank you, bob,” she replied sweetly. “but don't stay too long,” he called as she opened the front door, and he crossed to the swing and seated himself. “you've got me all hot and bothered. i'm curious to know what this is that you want to see me about all of a sudden." “tell you all about it in a few minutes. just be patient,” she cried, as she entered the house and disappeared. martin smiled as he listened to her footsteps going upstairs inside, then turned to look out into busy south parkway, where an almost endless line of cars were speeding up and down the street. while bob martin waited for dorothy, he glanced at his watch and frowned. he was thinking about walter le baron, who had arrived in memphis the night before, had called on him at the new daisy theatre and had made an appointment to meet him at the theatre the next morning, which was now. he was on the way to meet him, as we have seen, but met dorothy and was impelled to turn back and talk with her, which would make him late for his meeting with le baron. the story of dorothy stanfield meantime, le baron had arrived at the theatre at the ap- pointed time. he did not see bob's car out front as he had expected, but he was a few minutes late himself, and was thinking so intently about the girl he had just met, that he didn't mind. if bob were late, it would give him that much longer to think about dorothy, and to prepare a line of questions to ask martin concerning her. after parking his car, le baron looked up and down the street, which was still somewhat deserted, and he understood, because negroes always chose sunday to catch up on rest and sleep. he went into the theatre where a porter was sweeping the floor (the theatre would not open for an hour or more yet) and told him to tell martin when he came that he was across the street in the pan- ama ice cream parlor. he then crossed the street and paused on the sidewalk a moment outside the ice cream parlor, to look up and down beale street, and think of how the public at large thought of it. as he paused, his attention was attracted by a negro who seemed to be on his way to a job somewhere. he was dressed in ill fitting clothing, a hat, for instance, that looked like he had begged it from some body, a coat from somebody else, trousers from some- one else and shoes, all run over at the heels with slits cut in the front to air his corns. the negro was singing a song that one might hear on beale street at such a time, and it amused le baron as he listened to it as the negro went shuffling by. it ran: “at fo'o'clock, the door was locked, whores all gone to bed. then the pimps came in all filled with ging and these were the words they said: ha-ha mah little angie, gimme yo tongue, gimme yo tongue. ha-ha mah little angie, gimme yo’ tongue, gimme yo' tongue. ef yuh want tu hab dat funny feelin' jes prop yo' knees up t'ward the ceilin' and dats what makes mah baby fat." le baron smiled as the negro shuffled on down the street and towards his porter job somewhere. “beale street,” he said and the story of dorothy stanfield sighing, shook his head and entered the ice cream parlor, sprawle upon a stool and called for a chocolate malted milk. while the gir was preparing it, his thoughts reverted to dorothy. he partook oj the malted milk slowly when it was served, and continued to think and wonder about the woman that he had met, and who had him thinking about her so much that he hoped bob would soon put in an appearance so that he could begin to delve into that life of mystery her face presented. there was a movement at dorothy's house on south parkway in the meantime. when bob martin, still a bit impatient, frowning a trifle, looked up, dorothy, trying to smile through her perturba- tion, came out of the house, crossed the porch as he rose to his feet, and sat down in the swing. smiling, he looked down at her and saw clearly that she was somewhat upset. he sat down beside her. "i'll come right to the point, bob, for i can see that you are a bit annoyed at having a plan, perhaps, upset by having to turn around and come to talk with me. now isn't that so, bob?" "well, yes,” said bob, slowly. "but you have something on your mind, dorothy, and i guess my appointment will have to wait," and bob martin smiled amiably. "thank you, bob. meanwhile, just where were you going, anyhow?" he glanced at her quickly before answering, to find her looking straight at him. she had a suspicion that he was headed for the theatre, and to meet walter le baron, but of course, woman-like, she didn't let on. "to the new daisy theatre, dorothy. i take care of their books, you know." "i understand,” she said and nodded. "but you were not on your way there to take care of any books this morning, were you, bob?" again he glanced quickly across at her, to find her looking so straight at him that he couldn't tell a white lie. “no, dorothy," he admitted with a little sheepish smile. "not the story of dorothy stanfield to check into any books today. but why are you asking me these questions? you said you wanted to talk to me about something im- portant. are these questions important? what's up, anyhow?” “oh, nothing in particular,” she said with feigned carelessness. "i was on my way to the theatre to meet a friend of mine from new york,” bob explained now, and glanced at his watch. she looked down at hers, too, and then up at him kindly. "and i'm making you late," she said, apologetically. "i'm so sorry.” "well,” bob began, slowly. "he'll wait. in fact, there is noth- ing else that he can do. i saw him last night and he told me that he was here on most important business. naturally then, he'll have to wait. when i see him, i'll explain why i am late.” “you will?” she suggested, oddly. again he glanced at her, curiously. "you're acting, might i say, -bit-strange this morning, dorothy!” he turned in his seat to look at her more closely, studied her for a moment. she shrugged her shoulders with feigned carelessness and replied with abandon: “oh, you just think that, bob.” he shook his head doubtfully, relaxed patiently and waited. “you haven't told me who this friend of yours is, bob. i didn't know you had any friends in new york,” she went on, feeling him out. “walter le baron is his name. i've known him for a long time,” bob replied carelessly. “is that so?” “yes,” said bob. "he's been in memphis before." “really?" “oh, yes. you see he's a—" and then he broke off suddenly, recalling abruptly that le baron had especially warned him not to say why he was in memphis; and he had promised zealously not to divulge anything about the reason for his being in the city. mean- while, dorothy was immediately on the anxious seat. she was taut the story of dorothy stanfield now with anxiety. leaning forward therefore she asked bob, evenly: "a—what, bob?” he glanced again at her, frowned slightly, then shook his head negatively, as he replied: : "i can't tell you, dorothy. i've promised not to say anything about why he's here." she was looking hard at him now, but he refrained from meet- ing her gaze. "now is that nice?” dorothy asked, petulantly. "a promise is a promise, dear. if you extracted one from me, would you think it just the proper thing for me to disregard it?” "well, no,” she admitted, sinking back in her seat and trying to think of some other way to learn more about this walter le baron. she was particularly anxious to find out if he might possibly be a racketeer or a man of the underworld. she simply had to find out more about him, since she couldn't get him out of her thoughts. "you are still curious, from the way you are acting,” said bob, studying her again and carefully. "suppose that you try telling me something. why, for instance, you wanted to see me. you still haven't got around to that. you did want to see and talk with me about something, did you not?” “why, of course, bob. i do want to talk to you and what i want to talk about is important. in fact, i am anxious to take it up with you,” and then she paused. she wasn't exactly prepared to admit that she had met and talked with walter le baron-not yet, anyhow. "then why are you so anxious about walter le baron of new york, whom you've never seen or met?” dorothy started and almost gave herself away. bob was more suspicious now than ever -s suspicious that he dared lay a hand on her arm, and to look her squarely in the eyes. she sighed. the game was up and she knew it. so with a little shrug of her shoulders she turned to him at last frankly. “because it is—he that i want to talk about." bob started and jumped to his feet, turned and standing over the story of dorothy stanfield her, looked hard at her. she remained seated and looked up at him, her eyes meeting his calmly. “about him?” bob exclaimed, excitedly. “you mean, about walter le baron?” he then, as if to be sure, started to describe him. she laid a hand on him, rose to her feet, reseated him, then sitting down again beside him, went on, still calmly. “there, there, bob, dear. i'm talking about the same person that you are talking about, walter le baron, tall, rather handsome, but not a pretty man as most of our girls are wont to describe hand- some men.” “well, of all people,” sighed bob, astounded. he took out his handkerchief, removed his straw hat, laid it on something nearby and wiped from his forehead the perspiration which had suddenly burst forth. "surprised?” dorothy ventured, a trifle playfully. “i'm dumbfounded”, said bob. “why?" dorothy asked, mischievously. "he just arrived late yesterday afternoon, took me off to one side after the greeting and, after swearing me to secrecy, told me that he was here on a most important mission which he promised to tell me all about this morning, but asked me not to say anything about it or him to anybody in the meantime.” "well, what about it?” dorothy wanted to know. “what about it?" exclaimed bob, incredulously. “what about it, you ask me, after what you've just said?” “oh, i see,” said dorothy, nodding her head up and down. "now that i have met him, you feel that he has told me something, eh?” “what else can i think?”. “then drop any suspicions that you may have had in your mind,” said dorothy with a positive air. bob paused to look at her oddly. “just what do you mean, anyhow?" “that he hasn't told me anything, either-not a single thing about himself or anything you are thinking and trying to talk about, the story of dorothy stanfield except that he said he was from new york.” “and he didn't tell you—anything else?” “not a single thing, bob.” he shook his head and appeared bewildered. dorothy laid a hand on his wrist. “then what did he talk about?” “take it easy, bob, and ask me some more questions. there's something on your mind now. i can see it-or better still, feel it. for your benefit, it is what he did talk about that caused me to stop you and ask you to turn round and come back here to talk to me.” "you're propelling me into deeper water, dorothy. but what you've just said, although confusing, is making it a bit clearer, so go on,” and he turned to her. "just where did you meet him and how and when?” "i'll answer the last question first." "please answer it any way you want to, only answer is all i ask, before i become more confused.” "take it easy, bob, and be patient. i'm going to tell you all about it.” "then why don't you get started?” she looked at him and the expression on his face amused her. she laughed outright, where- upon he frowned deeply and shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "all right, dear bob, all right. i met him at lee's gas station, just before i passed you on my way here.” “oh,” he exclaimed. “how?” "he was there for service, on his way, perhaps, to meet you at the new daisy." he looked at her in greater surprise. "but he didn't say that he was. he said, in fact, little about himself, and before i go on, i want to ask you a question or two about him." “about him? you heard me say that—". “yes, i heard what you said and i'm not going to ask you to divulge anything told you in confidence. i want to know, bob, the story of dorothy stanfield what mr. le baron does? if you don't want to say, then you can at least tell me this much.” “what much, dorothy?". "is he a gambler, a racketeer or a-kept man?” bob recoiled violently, his mouth open, his eyes, too. “good gracious alive, no! what ever gave you such an idea, anyhow?" "it—wasn't exactly an idea. after meeting and talking with him, and because he seemed not to want to talk about himself or what he is doing in memphis, it was a fear." "a fear? what do you mean?” “well, driving around in a fine car, apparently prosperous and free, i–i didn't know, bob, frankly i didn't know, just what to think. you say, however, that he is not any of those things i just suggested?” "by no means, no, dorothy. absolutely not. his is a high and honored profession, but for certain reasons which he explained, and which are completely and entirely obvious to me, his mission here is confidential and will have to remain so until he tells you himself, if there is any occasion for him to do so. now what?” he finished and looked at her with a question in his eyes. she emitted a sigh of relief. she was happy to think that at least that much was off her mind. she could go on thinking of him now as she best liked to. "now what did he talk about?” bob asked, and she was ready to answer, and did so, frankly. “me," she replied, simply. "you!” he echoed and seemed more confused than ever. "he was there when i arrived,” she went on, gazing into space, thoughtfully. “he was there, talking to the williams." "lon williams?" “and his wife.” “what about?” “dear bob,” she said, turning to him, "how would i know? he was just talking to them. you said that he had been in memphis before. perhaps he knew them as he does you." the story of dorothy stanfield “did you know that the williams run a-whorehouse?” she started, turned to him. “i wonder if he knows it, also?”. "i've heard something about them being in a shady business. perhaps that's why the idea that he might be connected in some way with the underworld entered my mind as i thought about him.” “williams has some other business, a pressing shop and that is where, i recall now, le baron met him. in fact, i introduced him to williams and while we were talking, mrs. williams came up. no, le baron doesn't know that they're in the lowdown business, too.” "i'm glad that he doesn't. did you say that he-was-a- gentleman?” bob hadn't said and dorothy knew that he hadn't. she was still feeling him out. bob spoke up in defense of his friend promptly, however. "oh, very much of a gentleman. a high class gentleman, intel- ligent, and i think, rather well-to-do as we negroes go, of course.” “isn't that fine,” cried dorothy and she unconsciously clasped her hands. "now i can get back to what he talked about.” "i sure wish you would,” said bob. "i'm still curious to know how he met you." "well, getting back to the williams' again. then there was nothing in his talking to them when i drove in that would in any way associate him in their connection? i mean, in their lowdown business?" “oh, no. having met them before, and knowing them, when he drove into the gas station and saw them there, it was natural that he would go over and greet them and no doubt shake hands with them.” "i'm glad to hear that. our people, so many of them at least, can't seem to make any money otherwise than via a crap game or some other form of lowdown business, as you call it, that i am relieved to hear of a man, like him for instance, being in something that we can appreciate, although i still don't know what that is. i'm willing to take your word about his character, however, so that is that. the story of dorothy stanfield "now, trying to get back to what he talked to me about, and how he came to meet me. that's why i stopped you on the street and asked you to come here." he turned to look at her and she could see by his expression, that he still didn't know what she was talking about. she turned now and meeting his gaze, smiled and said: “i can see that it is all still very confusing to you." “yes, dorothy. but confusing isn't half of it. it is next to baffling.” she laughed at this. "you have us both on the spot, now, bob, but we can't admit it,” she said, and was tantalizing with it. “at the moment you perhaps have me tagged as a flirt, and him as a play boy." "from the way you talk and continue to beat around the bush, i'm almost inclined to think something like that.” “until you understand more about the circumstances.” “circumstances? what circumstances? you didn't say any- thing about circumstances in the beginning. what now?”. "i'm coming to that. please be patient. you haven't given me time.” “if you were not such a lovely person, i'd be getting most im- patient. well, i have been patient, you'll have to admit. now go ahead.” "meanwhile, please respect both of us until you have heard more. if you go to thinking the wrong thing about him and me, then you put me at a disadvantage, a serious disadvantage, and i won't like that,” she finished, poutingly. “you win, dear dorothy. i'll quit trying to guess and just listen while you tell me,” “ all about it. i will,” she declared, "and here goes.” bob was silent, attentively so. furthermore he was both cur- ious and anxious. : "he was, as i've started to say, in lee's gas station when i drove in and up to the pump. i was on my way to visit dr. bur- ton and his wife at forest city, over in arkansas.” bob turned to look at her and she returned his look calmly. the story of dorothy stanfield “after i drove in and ordered my tank filled, the williams', whom he was talking to when i drove by them, drove away. while the man was filling my tank, through my rear view mirror i saw this man turn and look at me. a moment later, be seemed to start. at least i could see very clearly that his interest was aroused." "and?” “after a pause he crossed to my car and spoke." "to you?” “to me." "spoke to you, then what?". 'yes, spoke to me, told me who he was and gave me his card." “rather unusual.” “rather, but i'm coming is that, ton" “go on. i'm listening to every word.” "well, he said that my face was familiar." "you're going deeper. by and by you'll sink and disappear altogether." “still a trifle suspicious?” "perhaps.” “you will let me tell you more?” “i'll let you tell me everything," he said. “i was saying that he said my face was familiar.” "why did he say that? had you ever seen him before?” "when you've heard more, you'll understand.” "i give up.” "he couldn't remember ever having mot me, however, and ad- mitted after some words that he was mistaken. still he didn't seem satisfied.” "it's all very bewildering,” said bob. "not when i tell you some more.” “why don't you?" “because you keep interrupting me,” she said, complainingly. “i promise not to again.” “then i'll go on.” she paused and sighed and, raising her vanity mirror, glanced the story of dorothy stanfield “so he didn't tell you anything about why he was making inquiries of your brother?” "no. what he then talked about was me.” “you?” bob repeated, pointing a finger and looking at her. why about you?". “he said he saw something in my face ..." "in your face,” repeated bob in surprise. “yes, bob. in my face. he said it carried a-story.” “you seem to be talking in riddles. what did he mean?” “that's why i asked you to come here and why i want you to talk with me.” “about what?" she was silent and when he turned to look at her he found her looking hard at him. "you mean," said bob, pointing a finger at her. “what happened to me. that was what he saw, bob, and what aroused his curiosity.” "all this is very strange,” bob commented, thoughtfully. “that is why i wanted to talk to you. he not only said my face carried a story, but went on and insisted that something had happened to me and that it was written in my eyes and all over my face.” : "ridiculous!” exclaimed bob. “i'm not so sure, bob. now look at me closely,” she said, turn- ing so that he could look straight into her eyes. “straight into my eyes, bob, and tell me what, if anything, you see.”. "oh, come, dorothy,” he cried, deprecatingly. “this is more than ridiculous." "please look at me and tell me if you see it, too, bob,” she said to him and her tone was both a request and a command. with a shrug of resignation, he obeyed her, and then started! his face became serious, and he paused to look away, thoughtfully. meanwhile, she relaxed, her eyes on him as if she was convinced that he had seen something, too. "well,” he began, hesitatingly. the story of dorothy stanfield "you saw something, too, didn't you, bcb?” she cried nervously, anxiously. "when you looked closely, you saw what he said he saw, he, a stranger. i had never seen or heard of him up to that moment yet he insisted that my face carried a story, a strange and tragic story, and nothing i could say, do or argue to the contrary would change him. moreover—" and then she broke off suddenly and paused, biting her lip in vexation. bob was looking at her and be became anxious. "what's the matter, dorothy?” he asked. she raised her eyes and looked at him. "he—said that—that he was going to ask you to tell him,- tell him what had happened to me.” she paused and lowered her eyes pitifully, and immediately his heart went out to her. "oh, no, dorothy. not that.” she was weeping now and paus- ing to find a handkerchief, she went on: “oh, bob, i've been trying so hard to forget—to blot out as much as i could that awful nightmare. and now, along comes an entire stranger and all but tells me that i can't forget; that i'll never forget. oh, bob, must that thing haunt me, follow me like a gray ghost to—my grave?” "but he can't go asking me about what happened to you. that is not like walter le baron. i've known him for years! he's a gentleman. he wouldn't go asking me to tell him something about you if you didn't want him to. i'm sure he wouldn't.” “that's where the trouble lies, bob. don't you understand?" “understand what, dorothy?” “that i couldn't admit to him that anything had happened to me?" "oh, i see now," said bob, and didn't for the moment seem to know what to do or what to think. "he is not sure that he is right, and is waiting down at the theatre right now to ask you all about me and find out. and i-i don't want him to know, bob. i don't want anybody that doesn't know what happened, to find out.” the story of dorothy stanfield bob rose to his feet and walked across the porch and paused at the edge to look out into south parkway thoughtfully. dorothy remained seated. after a time, he turned to look at her, still thoughtful. dorothy dried her tears and rising to her feet, walked over to him and faced him squarely. “you—won't-tell him, bob, maybe?” he did not answer then. he did not even meet her eyes, but turned his away and walked back to the swing and sat down. she stood and looked at him, but presently crossed to him and sat down again. even after she sat down, bob martin didn't look at her, for he was thinking hard and deeply. he was clearly and distinctly on the spot. if walter le baron asked him about dorothy stanfield, he would have to tell him something. how much? he didn't want to tell him anything now. he liked dorothy and respected her character too much to wish in any way to injure her. at last, with a sigh, he turned back to her to find her waiting and looking up at him anxiously. “you've put me on the spot, dorothy. in an embarrassing position.” “that is why i've been so anxious, bob. i realize that you've got to tell mr. le baron something, if he asks you—and he's going to ask you all about it even before he tells you what he is here for. i've a feeling that to know my story, what happened to me and all that goes with it, is for the present more important to him than his reason for being in memphis." "possibly not,” said bob, as if trying to appease her feelings. i may be able to—put him off, tell him enough to satisfy him, but not all. perhaps” she cut him off promptly by shaking her head in the negative. "no, you won't be able to get off that easily. i got well enough acquainted with him in the few minutes we talked to see that he is not a man to go part of the way. if he is at all interested, it's all the way or nothing with him—and he'll make you tell him my the story of dorothy stanfield whole story; the story i pray to god every day, sometimes almost every hour in the day, might be forgotten. but it can't be. besides, you're not the only person in memphis who knows what happened. it is possible that others might tell him now that his curiosity is aroused, even if you don't. but being closer to him, his good friend in whom he plans to entrust confidential informa- tion regarding his visit here, he'll naturally look to hear it from you.” at this point bob's face brightened with an idea. after a moment he turned to her with this new idea lighting up his counte. nance, "but listen, dorothy. even if he forces me to tell him, that shouldn't exactly lower you in his estimation. walter le baron is a broadminded person. if i am forced to tell him, as you insist, you're in the clear. you haven't done anything; it wasn't you who did those awful things. so how could he, after he has heard the story, think less well of you?” “but i don't want him to know it—that is, just now. i-i- oh, bob," she cried, and seemed so hopeless for the moment. "i don't know why i don't want him to know it. i've just met the man; he's a stranger to me, i to him.” “then why are you carrying on like this about a stranger?” he said, looking at her with a new light in his eyes. without rais- ing her eyes or looking up, she shook her head hopelessly. bob continued to look at her. “dorothy?" he called now, and she had to raise her eyes to his to answer. "something's happened to you.” “what do you mean, bob?" she asked in some surprise. “you—like this man." “why, bob!” she exclaimed, affecting indignance. “that's what's the matter, dorothy. in some strange way, which you can't admit-even to yourself, you've become strangely interested in this man and i'll know when he asks about you, whe- ther he isn't affected the same way about you." the story of dorothy stanfield “bob martin, you're presumptuous!” she cried, indignantly. he shook his head and dared smile just a little. "of course you won't admit it-even to yourself. but you feel something, something that's got you all excited, and you wouldn't be that way if you were not in some way affected.” “you'll be saying, if you keep on, that i've fallen in love with him.” "i didn't want to go that far, but since you've suggested it, that may be the right word. you've fallen in love with this man on sight and now you're afraid of dark shadows of a bitter past, an unhappy past.” "i'm sure it is not all that, but i will admit that meeting him has left a strange and peculiar impression on me.” “and you dislike to think how he might feel when he hears this terrible story of your life. i'm sorry for you dorothy.” "i thank you bob. i wish telling him could at least be post- poned.” at this, bob started, possessed by a new idea. “that is an idea,” he said, thoughtfully. she looked up at him hopefully. "just what do you mean, bob?” "i might be able to do that when he asks me about you, that is, put it off for a while.” “then please do that, bob. i wouldn't think of liking anybody -even if i dared to, you know that. but i've suffered so much from thinking about this tragedy in my life, day in, day out, week in, week out, month in, month out, year in, year out, until at times i feel i must lose my mind-go completely insane.” "take it easy, dorothy," he said, laying a hand on her lower arm. “i'm sorry for you, too, and everybody i know who's acquainted with the whole scandal, and all that went with it during those terrible weeks, that not only did you not have anything to do with what happened, but that you didn't even know what was going on." "i felt that something unusual and unethical was going on and during the time, appealed to my brother. but we were all helpless the story of dorothy stanfield to change anything. but why go into all that? it happened, and all colored memphis and much of white memphis knows what happened. meanwhile, we were discussing walter le baron. what do you propose to do? how do you propose to postpone tell- ing him? you'll have to promise something." turning to her, there was a question in his eyes. “what do you want me to do, dorothy? what do you pro- pose?” she paused and was thoughtful a moment. presently she looked up. "if you could manage to put it off until just before he leaves town, then tell him, providing that by that time he is still curious to know.” "he'd still be curious to know-if he stayed here a year even. i know le baron. it's dollars to doughnuts that he's liking you, too. well, if that is so and feeling as he does that you're the victim of a misfortune, due to nothing that you did or are responsible for, he'll be sorry, after he has heard the story, for you; and if he's liking you, he'll be more sorry as the days go by and he'll want to be good to you; he'll want to do what he can to make you happy." while he talked, dorothy was thinking deeply. suddenly seiz- ing on an idea, she turned to him and grasped his arm. “yes?” he asked, turning to her anxiously. "i was on my way to forest city when this thing happened. why don't you go down and meet him and—and bring him here and let us all drive out to forest city?” "great!” exclaimed bob. “a fine idea. i'd like to go somewhere for the day myself. a great idea.” "then he wouldn't have a chance to expect you to tell him my story." "of course not. that would make it easy for me to postpone telling him. added to that, if he had a chance to find out what a fine person you are, it would please him, make him respect you that much more.” “you're flattering me, bob,” she said coyly. "i'm doing nothing of the kind, dorothy, and you know it. the story of dorothy stanfield everybody knows that you're a fine girl. it was not your fault that this awful thing happened to you.” "i'm not asking any sympathy, bob. i can take it. i've been taking it on the chin ever since and haven't squawked, have i?” "no, you haven't, dorothy. that's a fine girl and the more reason why you should have some sort of break. so it's a deal. i'll go down and meet le baron. i'll stall over the books; but as quickly as i see him, i'll tell him that i want him to meet some- body.” “but,” she began, with an objection. "leave it to me, honey. i'm capable of doing some planning, and by the time i get back here with him, everything will be fixed just right. we'll put you in the middle—i mean, on the seat, of course, where you'll be close to this man who has so suddenly cap- tured your imagination. you'll have a chance to talk with him and possibly you will become friends. at least you'll get better acquainted. the drive to forest city will thrill us all. i'll wire the doctor there that we are on the way. they'll have a fine dinner waiting for us by the time we reach there and everything will be hunky dory.” "oh, bob, you're a darling,” cried dorothy, completely relaxed, and she threw her arms about him and kissed his cheek with a loud smack. a few minutes later, bob martin was sailing down south park- way on his way to beale street to meet walter le baron. chapter chapter iit t then bob martin reached the theatre, he spied walter le baron walking up and down the sidewalk in front, impatiently. even before le baron saw him, martin had prepared himself to counter, albeit pleasantly, what he knew he would meet. le baron did not see bob until the latter had stopped. hearing the car stop, he unconsciously turned to see who was in it—and just in time to catch bob smiling, as he got out of the car and slammed the heavy door. "bob martin!” cried le baron, rather loudly. "you old son- of-a-gun!” "all right, le baron, all right,” cried bob, coming forward apologetically, with extended hand. "i'm late, i admit, and i know you're ready to bite my head off, but just take it easy." "i've been taking it hard for a whole hour, trying to find some way to use up the time since you were due to meet me here.” they were in front of the theatre, which had just opened, and a few people were straggling in. bob took and led le baron to the edge of the sidewalk where they would not be noticed so readily and patting him on the shoulder, went on soothingly: "i know, old man, i know, and i apologize for being late. i was on my way here when i—well, something happened.” he paused to feel for words with which to continue. le baron glanced at his car, then turned back to him. “what's the matter? did you get a-flat, or what did happen?” "nothing that you are thinking about,” bob said evasively. le baron turned to look at him quickly, suspiciously, but before he the story of dorothy stanfield. all means » out it.” it. but could follow up what he had started to say, he thought of dorothy. "something happened to me on the way down here, too,” he said, nodding his head up and down seriously, which of course bob martin understood, notwithstanding his look of surprise and sympathy. “really?" "the most amazing experience i ever had.” "now isn't that interesting," cried bob shifting. "i want to tell you all about it.” said le baron, raising a hand. “it happened, in fact, in a gas station.” "in a gas station?" repeated bob, innocently. "but what could happen in a gas station that would interest anybody?” "plenty this morning," cried le baron, insistently. "and it happened to me! as soon as we can go somewhere and be comfor- table, i want to tell you all about it.” "you must, by all means,” cried bob, earnestly. "i'm anxious to hear it. but right now we've got to get busy preparing to drive out to forest city." "forest city?" repeated le baron, blankly and in surprise. “what do you mean, driving out to forest city?” “sure! for a good time.” “when did you decide to do this?" inquired le baron, taken aback, his smile gone. "you didn't say anything about it last night.” “and neither did you say anything last night about this—this gas station experience you just came up with.”. "no, but i didn't know last night,” argued le baron, a trifle embarrassed, "that i was going to run into what i did." “and neither did i know last night that i was going to be driving to forest city today. in fact, i hadn't the least idea of it until an hour ago, when on the way down here to meet you, i de- cided to do so. so you see how things can happen; unseen things, unthought-of things." “yes, indeed. that is possible," agreed le baron, scratching his head thoughtfully. the story of dorothy stanfield “but what i'm talking about happened for the best. it means a nice cool drive of about fifty miles over into arkansas and a call on a very successful doctor of our group.” "a doctor?" "i should have said 'dentist,' for that is what he is, not a medical doctor.” "i think i've heard of him,” said le baron, reflectively. "i've been telling you about him for years. every time i've seen you. he's the most successful negro practitioner we have in this section of the country." "indeed! i'm sure i'd like to meet him, but i hadn't planned on doing so today. -". "a chance to enjoy a fine sunday—away from this beale street heat," said bob, laying a hand on his shoulder and patting it. “this damn street's a false alarm. it's been publicized so long that people who read about it imagine there must be something strange and mysterious about it.” “they picture it as being the original negro thoroughfare. picture it as being almost everything but what it actually is,” said le baron, and then stopping, perked up with a recollection. mean- while, bob was talking. "it's a mess, i mean many of the negroes who pass up and down it. when you see them as i do, every day and come sunday, too, you get mighty tired of it—and many of the bums and whores and hustlers, who travel this way,” bob went on, with a frown on his face. "but we're not interested in beale street this morning," avowed bob, "further than that i agreed to meet you here" " an hour ago,” declared le baron, shaking his head. "don't leave that out.” martin laughed good naturedly, which seemed to relax the tension and le baron seemed in a mood to consider doing what bob had asked him to do. “yes, old dear,” agreed bob, patting le baron on the shoulder again, consolingly, and letting his hand rest there for a moment. the story of dorothy stanfield "but what i want to tell you is, that we are not going out there alone.” he paused as he finished and smiled and winked. le baron started, then turned upon him quickly. "now you come up with more surprises. what do you mean 'not alone'?” "just what i say, brother. you don't suppose i'd be so excited about a trip with just you and me—not that that wouldn't be highly agreeable; but it happens that we're carrying a very lovely person with us. a lady, to be exact.” "oh, a lady," cried le baron, and he smiled. "i might have known that there was more to this sudden decision to go to arkan- sas. a lady, eh? who is the girl friend?” bob shook his head deprecatingly, whereupon le baron's smile grew bigger. "oh, the other girl, eh? you're not cheating on the regular one?" "nope. no cheating, sir! this lady is a very good friend, but not the girl friend. i had to go by her house on the way down here. it was there and then that we decided to drive to forest city and to take you along." "well,” said le baron, with a sigh, and somewhat reflectively. "i wish it could be a certain lady that i met at the gas station. the way i feel about her, i'd like to ride with her from here to kansas city!" "now you're talking in riddles. whom are you referring to, anyhow?” tested bob, looking as innocent as a babe. “i'm talking about the most extraordinary woman i ever met. it is what happened to me in the gas station this morning that i want to talk to you about.” “why do you want to talk to me about her?”. “because i want to find out something about her. a whole lot about her, in fact. that was why i was so impatient when you came up. i've been on the impatient seat ever since i met her. you see i told her, when she seemed unwilling to divulge what i asked her, and what i am most interested in knowing, that i was the story of dorothy stanfield going to ask you about her, about something peculiar that i could see in her face, her eyes—her everything!” "seems that you have gone in for something,” said bob, looking at his watch. "well, if we're going to forest city, and that is my promise and my anxious desire, then we've got to get going.” mean- time, he paused to raise his eyes and look up and down the street. “my car is parked over there,” explained le baron, knowing that was what martin was thinking about and looking for so intently. "shall we use it?” and le baron broke off and paused. "mine," said bob. “i'm more used to it. you get yours and drive to the hotel. i'll follow. at the hotel you park your car and then get into mine. we'll drive by my house first, for i want to change clothes, then we'll drive to the lady's house, pick her up, cross the big bridge and on into arkansas." "okay, old man, if that's the way you want it. my only regret is that the lady you're taking is not the one i met this morning at the gas station.” "don't be too disappointed,” said bob, with an irony that le baron did not catch as he started across the street to his own car. “i think you're going to like this one, too." he smiled ironically as he watched le baron get into his car, and smiled once he was beneath the steering wheel and paused to look up and call across the street, where bob was now getting into his. "that was the only woman i've met in years who has really interested me. disturbed is a better word. i'll be thinking about her all the way out to forest city and back, and i'm afraid you and your lady friend are liable to have a dull guest for your little trip. but i'll give up until we get back from arkansas, so here goes!” thereupon he started the motor and stepped on the gas. instantly his car shot up beale street. he turned at the first corner to the right, followed by bob martin, and a few seconds later drew into the parking lot maintained by the dolphin hotel, at which he was stopping. he got out of the car and came back to bob martin. the story of dorothy stanfield "since you say we're taking a lady, you'll have to wait on me while i go upstairs and adjust myself a bit. i won't take long," he said and smiled. “please don't be long," said bob. "i never take long to do anything," said le baron, turning now toward the hotel. “not even to meet a lady, a strange lady," and le baron turned back and winked. “you know, bob,” he turned back to say now, and he intended it as a joke, but there was a peculiar irony in his voice as he said it. "i've always said that when and if i ever fall really and truly in love, it will be right quick.” he smiled again and thought about dorothy. bob thought about her, too, and smiled also. but bob martin was not smiling about what le baron said. with a hop, skip and a jump, walter le baron disappeared into the hotel. chapterchapter v t rue to his promise, le baron did not stay partic- ularly long upstairs in his room, but returned, smiling and cheerful in a surprisingly short time. that was a great relief to bob, for he was anxious to be out and on his way to forest city before it got too warm. knowing as le baron did not, that he would soon meet the woman whom le baron was so excited about, he was also anxious to get that done and over with as quickly as possible. “so you're taking me to meet a lady? still not your lady friend,” said le baron, getting into the seat beside bob and slam- ming the heavy door behind him. "the lady is a friend of mine; and i didn't say that she was not,” corrected martin, sagaciously, careful indeed not to give le baron any inkling as to the lady's identity. "i'd give a hundred bucks, if purchasing were possible, if it could be the girl i met at the gas station this morning, that we were taking along with us." “you seem to be rather enamored of a lady you've just met- and so unceremoniously,” ventured martin, glancing at him and smiling. "but what a lady!” exclaimed le baron, closing his eyes and daring to dream of dorothy for a moment. opening his eyes and sighing reflectively, he continued: “i'm sure you'd feel as i do about her had you met her under similar circumstances.” "perhaps," commented martin. “well, you're going to meet a fine lady in a few minutes now; a lady, i venture to say, that € the story of dorothy stanfield you will like," and again he glanced at le baron, sideways and out of the corner of his eye. le baron's eyes were half closed and he was still thinking about dorothy, so was not immediately aware of what bob was talking about. coming back to himself all of a sudden, he turned to bob and started. "did you say something, bob? he inquired. “i said that you're going to meet a fine lady very shortly." “so you said. yes, i heard you. i remember now," said le baron, absentmindedly. “but you were thinking so intently about this mysterious lady of the gas station, that you didn't understand just what i said or what i meant.” “maybe not,” le baron went on, still absentmindedly. "i guess that was it.” he looked around him at this point. they were nearing dorothy's house and he seemed to be trying to connect past events. "i seem to remember this section somehow.” “you should remember it. i drove you through it the last time you were in memphis.” le baron listened, continued to look around, his brow clouded in his effort to remember. "it seems you said something about a lady living somewhere here about; a lady who had a strange and unusual experience.” "i don't quite remember saying that,” said bob, knowing that he was lying, as he drew to a stop in front of dorothy's house. le baron stared hard at the house. "seems you said something about this being the house," mused le baron, his brow more clouded now than ever. “quit trying to recall something lost in the past and come with me and meet the lady.” going around the car to the side on which le baron was seated, still gazing hard at the house, still trying to remember. bob swung the door open. le baron stepped from the car, his mind still trying to fathom what bob had said to him once out of the past. bob closed the door behind him, and catching up with chapter chapter iv t rue to his promise, le baron did not stay partic- ularly long upstairs in his room, but returned, smiling and cheerful in a surprisingly short time. that was a great relief to bob, for he was anxious to be out and on his way to forest city before it got too warm. knowing as le baron did not, that he would soon meet the woman whom le baron was so excited about, he was also anxious to get that done and over with as quickly as possible. “so you're taking me to meet a lady? still not your lady friend," said le baron, getting into the seat beside bob and slam- ming the heavy door behind him. “the lady is a friend of mine; and i didn't say that she was not,” corrected martin, sagaciously, careful indeed not to give le baron any inkling as to the lady's identity. "i'd give a hundred bucks, if purchasing were possible, if it could be the girl i met at the gas station this morning, that we were taking along with us." “you seem to be rather enamored of a lady you've just met- and so unceremoniously,” ventured martin, glancing at him and smiling. "but what a lady!” exclaimed le baron, closing his eyes and daring to dream of dorothy for a moment. opening his eyes and sighing reflectively, he continued: “i'm sure you'd feel as i do about her had you met her under similar circumstances.” "perhaps,” commented martin. “well, you're going to meet a fine lady in a few minutes now; a lady, i venture to say, that stanfield en to recover an. so the door, which die a bang, however, mes over, it seemed pre smiling as bob b e whereat dorothy met before," extens it eagerly and dared t rather more than s othy helped him out, ca y relaxed by now lying nobly. "now he went on, turnin my friend, and ha have also been so also supremely hape and he has been an here on the porch, s ob: that mr. le bar. something—about mean, a lot. v so anxious abou teal embarrassr upon the story of dorothy stanfield le baron, who had gone ahead toward the house, passed him and led the way across the sidewalk and onto the walkway that led to dorothy's porch. meanwhile, dorothy had dressed with infinite care to meet le baron again and had parked herself in an easy chair by a front window where she could look out onto south parkway and await their coming. so as quickly as they came in sight and she caught a glimpse of le baron sitting and gazing hard at the house, his brow contracted, she rose quickly to her feet in a nervous dither and was watching them from that moment on until they stepped upon the porch, crossed it and rang her bell. although she had been following their every move from the time they hove into sight and had listened to every step and hence knew when they would reach her front door and would ring the bell, she nevertheless started almost violently and had to catch her breath when she actually heard the bell. she calmed her nerves with a great effort, and after a moment of further effort at stilling the violent beating of her heart, she strolled toward the door, already open but with the screen door closed. she walked up to the screen door and looked out at them with restrained calm. upon seeing her face, it was walter le baron who started abruptly, raising his hand and opening his mouth and eyes so wide that for a moment he was speechless. meanwhile, maintaining her self-control with practiced effort, dorothy unhooked the latch that held the screen door, as she cried: “hello, bob! so you're back.” she pushed the screen door open and bob caught and opened it wider, as, smiling at her, he said: “yes, dorothy, i'm back and i've brought a friend with me.” “so i see,” said dorothy softly, bowing respectfully toward le baron, who was still standing, his mouth agape, staring at her as if she were an apparition, all of which was beginning to amuse her. "please step cutside in the cool shade of your porch and meet him, dorothy." the story of dorothy stanfield by this time le baron, having begun to recover and to get control of himself, bowed astutely. dorothy stepped outside and bob let the door, which he had been holding open, close. it did so with a bang, however, and the other two started quickly. but after it was over, it seemed to cause them to relax their tension and both were smiling as bob began: “mrs. stanfield, i want you to ” whereat dorothy cut him off with: “i think the gentleman and i have met before," extending her small hand toward le baron, who took it eagerly and dared to hold it for a moment. “yes,” echoed le baron, breathing it rather more than speaking it. “we met early this morning,” dorothy helped him out, “in a—" “—gas station,” said le baron, fully relaxed by now and so happy that he had to restrain his feelings. “in a gas station?” echoed bob, lying nobly. “now this is interesting. do you mean to tell me," he went on, turning to le baron, “that this is the lady you met, my friend, and have been saying so much about, and whom you have also been so anxious about?” dorothy was flattered now, and was also supremely happy over what bob revealed. "so he has been talking about me, and he has been anxious,” she was saying to herself, as she stood there on the porch, smiling up at him. then aloud and turning to bob: “why bob, do you mean to tell me that mr. le baron re- membered meeting me and that he has said something—about me?" “something?” exclaimed bob. “you mean, a lot. why, i was hardly able to get him here, he has been so anxious about that sirange lady whom he met in the gas station.” "now, bob,” exclaimed le baron with real embarrassment. “you shculdn't say all that." “and why not?” bob wanted to know, turning upon him. the story of dorothy stanfield “what you've been saying was so fine that i think the lady ought to know at least a little about it.” "i want to know all about it!” dorothy exclaimed, clasping her hands and so thrilled that she had completely forgotten the role she had affected toward him two hours before. "so go ahead, bob, tell me all about it-please do!" she cried, clasping her hands estatically. "more about it on our way to dr. burton's in forest city,” said bob with decision. “if we're going to drive there we need to get started—and now!” and he shifted, turning to dorothy, who turned to face him now and answered his inquiry even before it was spoken. “i'm ready, gentlemen. i've always sensed that it annoyed men to be kept waiting. so since we'd agreed to drive out there, i got dressed, made some lemonade, which i have put into the thermos, and if neither of you'll be sitting down, i'll go inside and get it, then, presto!” and she raised and snapped her fingers dra- matically. bob reopened the screen door. with a gesture of ecstasy, which brought an expression of joy to the features of both men, dorothy dashed inside and within less than a minute, returned with a large thermos, wrapped in a bath towel, closed the heavy door behind her, shook it to see that it was securely locked, then, walking between the two men, crossed to the car at the curbing, where she was helped into the center of the wide seat by bob, who then turned and motioned for le baron to get in on her right side, slammed the door and went around and got in on the drivers' side. seated, he looked around at them a moment, then touched the starter, stepped on the gas and away they rolled, out into and down south parkway. "well,” ventured le baron, daring to look down at dorothy, who was close by him and who dared look up into his face with a smile. "to think that i've been praying ever since bob told me about going to forest city and taking a lady with us, that the lady should turn out to be you.” the story of dorothy stanfield she smiled sweetly and the bloodustad to her cheeks and she was forced to lower her eyes for a moment, but raised them quickly, smiled up at him again also sweetly and said: “and now, you're not angry that it turned out to beid" "i'm so happy that i feel like getting out and runmng as fast as this car is rolling.” "oh, mr. le baron," she cried joyfully. "no!” “but, miss dorothy, yes!” cut in bob and winked at both. “but he only felt like running as fast as the car is rolling. he couldn't, of course, possibly do so! but seated so close to you, i know he is pleased—very pleased," and he winked again at both, meaningly. this made the blood rush to the cheeks of both and caused both to lower their eyes for the moment, but not for long, as both were too happy to miss for a moment the pleasure it was giving them to be together. "i must confess that he has spoken the truth, even if he did choose to say what he did," admitted le baron, and his eyes were very soft as he looked at her. "i'm very glad to be told that i'm not in the way,” she said and lowered her eyes for the moment. "you're in the way to make this the most pleasant trip, i'm sure, that i've ever taken,” said le baron, earnestly. “oh, mr. le baron, you're trying to flatter me now," said dorothy, coyly. “i'm trying to do nothing of the kind, my dear lady. i wanted su much to see you again. words are inadequate to say how much i wanted to do so." "that is very kind of you i'm sure,” said dorothy happily. for the moment they seemed to have forgotten bob, who was keep- ing his eyes before him. they were approaching the great bridge which spanned the mighty mississippi, that would take them across into arkansas; and for the moment he was agreeable to letting them carry on the conversation alone, which they did. it was very formal talk in the beginning. in two minutes they were alone on the bridge and looking down into the muddy waters of the great chapter chapter iv rue to his promise, le baron did not stay partic- ularly long upstairs in his room, but returned, smiling and cheerful in a surprisingly short time. that was a great relief to bob, for he was anxious to be out and on his way to forest city before it got too warm. knowing as le baron did not, that he would soon meet the woman whom le baron was so excited about, he was also anxious to get that done and over with as quickly as possible. "so you're taking me to meet a lady? still not your lady friend,” said le baron, getting into the seat beside bob and slam- ming the heavy door behind him. "the lady is a friend of mine; and i didn't say that she was not,” corrected martin, sagaciously, careful indeed not to give le baron any inkling as to the lady's identity. "i'd give a hundred bucks, if purchasing were possible, if it could be the girl i met at the gas station this morning, that we were taking along with us." “you seem to be rather enamored of a lady you've just met- and so unceremoniously,” ventured martin, glancing at him and smiling. “but what a lady!” exclaimed le baron, closing his eyes and daring to dream of dorothy for a moment. opening his eyes and sighing reflectively, he continued: “i'm sure you'd feel as i do about her had you met her under similar circumstances." "perhaps," commented martin. “well, you're going to meet a fine lady in a few minutes now; a lady, i venture to say, that the story of dorothy stanfield you will like," and again he glanced at le baron, sideways and out of the corner of his eye. le baron's eyes were half closed and he was still thinking about dorothy, so was not immediately aware of what bob was talking about. coming back to himself all of a sudden, he turned to bob and started. “did you say something, bob? he inquired. "i said that you're going to meet a fine lady very shortly." “so you said. yes, i heard you. i remember now," said le baron, absentmindedly. "but you were thinking so intently about this mysterious lady of the gas station, that you didn't understand just what i said or what i meant.” "maybe not,” le baron went on, still absentmindedly. "i guess that was it.” he looked around him at this point. they were nearing dorothy's house and he seemed to be trying to connect past events. "i seem to remember this section somehow." "you should remember it. i drove you through it the last time you were in memphis.” le baron listened, continued to look around, his brow clouded in his effort to remember. "it seems you said something about a lady living somewhere here about; a lady who had a strange and unusual experience." “i don't quite remember saying that,” said bob, knowing that he was lying, as he drew to a stop in front of dorothy's house. le baron stared hard at the house. "seems you said something about this being the house," mused le baron, his brow more clouded now than ever. “quit trying to recall something lost in the past and come with me and meet the lady.” going around the car to the side on which le baron was seated, still gazing hard at the house, still trying to remember. bob swung the door open. le baron stepped from the car, his mind still trying to fathom what bob had said to him once out of the past. bob closed the door behind him, and catching up with the story of dorothy stanfield le baron, who had gone ahead toward the house, passed him and led the way across the sidewalk and onto the walkway that led to dorothy's porch. meanwhile, dorothy had dressed with infinite care to meet le baron again and had parked herself in an easy chair by a front window where she could look out onto south parkway and await their coming. so as quickly as they came in sight and she caught a glimpse of le baron sitting and gazing hard at the house, his brow contracted, she rose quickly to her feet in a nervous dither and was watching them from that moment on until they stepped upon the porch, crossed it and rang her bell. although she had been following their every move from the time they hove into sight and had listened to every step and hence knew when they would reach her front door and would ring the bell, she nevertheless started almost violently and had to catch her breath when she actually heard the bell. she calmed her nerves with a great effort, and after a moment of further effort at stilling the violent beating of her heart, she strolled toward the door, already open but with the screen door closed. she walked up to the screen door and looked out at them with restrained calm. upon seeing her face, it was walter le baron who started abruptly, raising his hand and opening his mouth and eyes so wide that for a moment he was speechless. meanwhile, maintaining her self-control with practiced effort, dorothy unhooked the latch that held the screen door, as she cried: “hello, bob! so you're back.” she pushed the screen door open and bob caught and opened it wider, as, smiling at her, he said: “yes, dorothy, i'm back and i've brought a friend with me." “so i see,” said dorothy softly, bowing respectfully toward le baron, who was still standing, his mouth agape, staring at her as if she were an apparition, all of which was beginning to amuse her. "please step cutside in the cool shade of your porch and meet him, dorothy.” the story of dorothy stanfield by this time le baron, having begun to recover and to get control of himself, bowed astutely. dorothy stepped outside and bob let the door, which he had been holding open, close. it did so with a bang, however, and the other two started quickly. but after it was over, it seemed to cause them to relax their tension and both were smiling as bob began: "mrs. stanfield, i want you to" whereat dorothy cut him off with: "i think the gentleman and i have met before," extending her small hand toward le baron, who took it eagerly and dared to hold it for a moment. "yes," echoed le baron, breathing it rather more than speaking “we met early this morning,” dorothy helped him out, “in a—" “-gas station," said le baron, fully relaxed by now and so happy that he had to restrain his feelings. "in a gas station?" echoed bob, lying nobly. "now this is interesting. do you mean to tell me,” he went on, turning to le baron, "that this is the lady you met, my friend, and have been saying so much about, and whom you have also been so anxious about?” dorothy was flattered now, and was also supremely happy over what bob revealed. . "so he has been talking about me, and he has been anxious,” she was saying to herself, as she stood there on the porch, smiling up at him. then aloud and turning to bob: "why bob, do you mean to tell me that mr. le baron re- membered meeting me and that he has said something—about me?” “something?” exclaimed bob. “you mean, a lot. why, i was hardly able to get him here, he has been so anxious about that strange lady whom he met in the gas station.” “now, bob,” exclaimed le baron with real embarrassment. "you shculdn't say all that.” "and why not?” bob wanted to know, turning upon him. the story of dorothy stanfield “what you've been saying was so fine that i think the lady ought to know at least a little about it." "i want to know all about it!" dorothy exclaimed, clasping her hands and so thrilled that she had completely forgotten the role she had affected toward him two hours before. "so go ahead, bob, tell me all about it-please do!” she cried, clasping her hands estatically. "more about it on our way to dr. burton's in forest city," said bob with decision. "if we're going to drive there we need to get started—and now!” and he shifted, turning to dorothy, who turned to face him now and answered his inquiry even before it was spoken. "i'm ready, gentlemen. i've always sensed that it annoyed men to be kept waiting. so since we'd agreed to drive out there, i got dressed, made some lemonade, which i have put into the thermos, and if neither of you'll be sitting down, i'll go inside and get it, then, presto!” and she raised and snapped her fingers dra- matically. bob reopened the screen door. with a gesture of ecstasy, which brought an expression of joy to the features of both men, dorothy dashed inside and within less than a minute, returned with a large thermos, wrapped in a bath towel, closed the heavy door behind her, shook it to see that it was securely locked, then, walking between the two men, crossed to the car at the curbing, where she was helped into the center of the wide seat by bob, who then turned and motioned for le baron to get in on her right side, slammed the door and went around and got in on the drivers' side. seated, he looked around at them a moment, then touched the starter, stepped on the gas and away they rolled, out into and down south parkway. "well," ventured le baron, daring to look down at dorothy, who was close by him and who dared look up into his face with a smile. "to think that i've been praying ever since bob told me about going to forest city and taking a lady with us, that the lady should turn out to be you." the story of dorothy stanfield she smiled sweetly and the blood clustrad to her cheeks and she was forced to lower her eyes for a moment, but raised them quickly, smiled up at him again also sweetly and said: “and now, you're not angry that it turned out to bem?” "i'm so happy that i feel like getting out and running as fast as this car is rolling." “oh, mr. le baron," she cried joyfully. "no!” “but, miss dorothy, yes!” cut in bob and winked at both. "but he only felt like running as fast as the car is rolling. he couldn't, of course, possibly do so! but seated so close to you, i know he is pleased—very pleased,” and he winked again at both, meaningly. this made the blood rush to the cheeks of both and caused both to lower their eyes for the moment, but not for long, as both were too happy to miss for a moment the pleasure it was giving them to be together. "i must confess that he has spoken the truth, even if he did choose to say what he did,” admitted le baron, and his eyes were very soft as he looked at her. "i'm very glad to be told that i'm not in the way,” she said and lowered her eyes for the moment. "you're in the way to make this the most pleasant trip, i'm sure, that i've ever taken,” said le baron, earnestly. "oh, mr. le baron, you're trying to flatter me now," said dorothy, coyly. "i'm trying to do nothing of the kind, my dear lady. i wanted so much to see you again. words are inadequate to say how much i wanted to do so." “that is very kind of you i'm sure,” said dorothy happily. for the moment they seemed to have forgotten bob, who was keep- ing his eyes before him. they were approaching the great bridge which spanned the mighty mississippi, that would take them across into arkansas; and for the moment he was agreeable to letting them carry on the conversation alone, which they did. it was very formal talk in the beginning. in two minutes they were alone on the bridge and looking down into the muddy waters of the great the story of dorothy stanfield river below. le baron turned to dorothy, who was looking out over the bridge on his side and who turned to meet his eyes. “can you see the river?" “not so well, but it doesn't matter. i drive across this bridge so often and i've been looking at that river for so long that—" “_you're quite used to it.” "quite," smiled dorothy and then laughed. “but please con- tinue to look at it,” she said, and made a motion toward it with her hand. "after all, the river from way up here is interesting.” "i've crossed it many times, also,” said le baron. “all the way from new orleans to st. paul. but i still find it interesting to look down on every time i cross it, regardless where." "i'm sure you do,” said dorothy, appreciatively. she hoped he would keep on talking, for she was interested. anything that would throw more light on this man, reveal more about him in whom she found herself so tremendously interested, was what she wanted to talk about. -“yes,” said le baron, gazing down at the waters below, thought- fully, and then raising his eyes to make a survey of the river above, he then turned to look back at memphis on its east bank behind them now as they spun towards the arkansas side. "but as i said, i never tire of looking at it, studying it. it seems always to fire my imagination when i think of where it starts away up north in lake itasca, and of all the territory it passes through to disappear into the gulf of mexico below new orleans.” “you're a very interesting man, mr. le baron,” commented dorothy, her face more serious now as she looked at him. he smiled at this but said nothing. "you travel a great deal, perhaps?” “a very great deal, miss dorothy." for some reason he preferred to call her "miss dorothy'' rather than "mrs. stanfield,” and it seemed to please her for some reason that she couldn't fully understand. from what she had the story of dorothy stanfield said, or had not said that morning, calling her “miss dorothy” seemed to please him better. “that is very interesting,” dorothy said now, gazing a moment into an open space before them. “i've always longed to travel- but then i suppose most everyone would like to.” “have you been out of memphis often?” he asked her now. "not so often,” she said, shaking her head. they were leaving the main span of the bridge now, and with the river behind them, were coming onto the long approach on the arkansas side. while the bridge had no approach on the tennes- see side, but started right off the bank, there was a long stretch of swamp on the arkansas side. le baron remembered crossing that same bridge years before; and he recalled his constant won- derment at the ability of the long wooden trestle to carry such heavy traffic to and from the bridge. arkansas had taken advantage of the long stretch of unemploy- ment of a few years before and the state had persuaded the federal government to fill the full length of that long trestle with dirt, which feat interested and fascinated le baron. “the first time i crossed this bridge, and for many times thereafter, it was over a long, rickety trestle across these swamps," he said, looking out over the vast swamp lands beyond as he talked. "all the south,” said dorothy, “during the depression and the period of the wpa and a long time after, persuaded the govern- ment to make almost endless improvements which we now enjoy; and this long grade is one of them.” “smart move on the part of the politicians of the state of arkan- sas, if you ask me," commented le baron. "it's made the south a much better place in which to live,” said dorothy with a note of pride in her voice. "you come over here quite often?” inquired le baron. “quite often, mr. le baron. i somehow prefer coming here, rather than driving down into mississippi.” "mississippi, or i should say, the white people of mississippi, are so mean, i don't wonder. it makes me rather unhappy when i the story of dorothy stanfield think about it. then, on the other hand, i imagine that crossing the bridge tends to make driving out of the city somewhat thrilling. at least more so than just driving down a plain highway as you do when you drive down into mississippi.” "perhaps,” she said. “the fact is,” and then she paused abruptly. he turned his eyes to look at her, curiously, wonderingly. "please go on," he invited. “you started to say something that is perhaps connected with coming over here?” she lowered her eyes, a trifle embarrassed for a moment, then relaxing, went on: “i started to say that when i met you at the gas station i was on my way over here." “really?” he asked with a pleasant smile, as if at having her recall their meeting. she nodded and he thought, looked very cute. still he knew it was correct and that she was telling the truth. "then you-changed your mind?". “yes, i changed my mind,” she lowered her eyes and the blood flushed to her face. "probably bob was the cause if it,” he suggested and glanced across at bob, whose eyes were on the paved highway ahead, with- out seemingly any regard to them. "oh, no," she cried and shook her pretty head. “then what did cause you to change your mind?” he wanted to know. he had put the question to her pointedly. her eyes were turned away when she heard this. she then dared turn and look up at him somewhat sideways. “can't you guess?” she asked, her eyes a bit coquettish. le baron looked hard at her and then knew that it was meeting him that had changed it. but he realized also in the same moment that he dare not say that it had. "i'm afraid i can't,” he lied, affecting absolute innocence. her face fell and she realized in the same moment that she could not tell him either. "were you coming over here to call on this,” he paused and tried to recall the name of the person whom they were going to see. the story of dorothy stanfield “_dr. burton?" dorothy shook her head and closed her eyes momentarily as if to try shut out the lie she had told. she had started out to call on dr. and mrs. burton, she knew full well, but for reasons of her own, she wished him to think otherwise. "i have many friends over here,” she said simply. "naturally, living in memphis, so nearby, you would have,” he supplied at this point. “do you happen to know this—dr. burton?" "oh, yes,” she said quickly. “most everybody who's in the know in memphis is acquainted with dr. burton.” "really?” “one of the richest negroes in arkansas," said martin, getting back into the conversation after a long silence, but with his eyes on the road ahead of them. "i believe” said le baron, "that you said he was " "za dentist,” said bob. “yes, i did. he has the biggest practice, i daresay, of any other dentist in arkansas.” “negro practice.” “no,” bob said, protestingly. 'of any dentist. his practice, incidently, is eighty-five percent white." “what do you mean?” said le baron, not seeming to under- stand bob's statement. “i thought you said he was a negro dentist?” "i don't remember saying just what kind, but of course, he is a negro.” "then what do you mean by saying that his practice is eighty- five percent white?” “just what i said.” "i can't seem to get onto what you're talking about.”! “i've made it as plain as i know how," said bob calmly. “do you mean to tell me that this dr. burton, a colored dentist, has eightly-five percent white practice, over here—in arkansas?” “yes, mr. le baron," interposed dorothy. “that is why he is so successful—and rich!” "rich?" inquired le baron, obviously astonished. “and not just 'nigger-rich,' either," added bob, keeping his the story of dorothy stanfield eyes on the paved road down which they were rolling. "oh, yes, mr. le baron,” said dorothy, her breast swelling with pride for her dear south. "he is just what bob is telling you. and he is a fine man into the bargain." "a negro," repeated le baron, still doubtful. "a nice-looking negro, but a negro just the same.” “i'll be glad to meet him, and to talk to him.” "and he'll be glad to meet you, too, and to listen to you and tell you how it all happened," said bob. “you see,” said dorothy, using her hands to gesture a bit. “he draws his practice from all over this section of arkansas. white people who have good cars, mostly, and who don't mind driving a few extra miles to secure the service they want. and when i say white people, i mean white ladies and gentlemen, not negro- hating crackers.” "i'm glad,” said le baron, listening to every word. “go ahead, tell me more about him. i'm always interested in hearing about successful negroes. we need so many more than we have.” “he is very much like my father,” said dorothy, turning to bob. "don't you think so, bob?" "i've been thinking so for a long time," replied bob, who turned to glance at le baron, momentarily. "and what kind of a man is your father, miss dorothy?” le baron turned to ask her now. "i think he is a very fine man, mr. le baron," said dorothy with pride but also with modesty, as she turned to look at bob as if for approval of what she had just said. "and a very successful man. said to be the most practical race man in memphis," added bob. “what is your father's name?" inquired le baron, turning to look at dorothy. dr. harold vaughn," dorothy informed him, whereupon le baroa started, turned and looked at her now a bit searchingly. “do you mean the dr. harold vaughn, head of your big negro the story of dorothy stanfield insurance company?” dorothy and bob turned to glance at him now in surprise. "yes,” she replied, and then was joined by bob, who turned to glance across at him. “how'd you know?” they inquired simul- taneously. "i'm talking about the chairman of the board of the company," said le baron, as if he doubted the dr. vaughn they were talking about. “yes,” said bob. “that's her father.” immediately le baron turned to look at dorothy again, but out of different eyes. • "dr. vaughn, your father," he said, directing his eyes and the speech to her, his eyes open now with admiration of her. she lowered her eyes modestly. “well, as our people say when they're surprised, 'i never.'” "this lady comes of fine stock, le baron, if you don't happen to know it. the very best negro stock in all memphis" “if she's dr. vaughn's daughter, she'd have to,” cried le baron, and again he looked hard at her. then he began to wonder. he thought of a man he had met a long, long time before, who was also at the head of a very large insurance company at the time, and who had a daughter also, equally as striking and more beautiful than the girl sitting beside him. but that man's daughter, in spite of a careful raising and years spent at one of the finest girls' school, where she had been sent for training, was a bad girl. just plain and simply bad. now as he looked at dorothy anew out of strange and dubious eyes, he was thinking of that girl; that her father was successful and kind everything a man could reasonably expect to be or have made himself. yet his beautiful daughter had chosen, of her own volition, to be just plain and simply bad. was it possible, he was thinking now, that dorothy might be bad in some strange and mysterious way like that man's daughter was; and was what he saw in her face, or at least thought he saw, but which had for the present passed out of his mind, mean she had gotten into trouble due to being a bad girl? he sighed, unheard, and lowered his eyes to think, forgetting the story of dorothy stanfield about dorothy in the meantime. she was looking at him and wondering what had suddenly come over him. she could not, of course, know what was on his mind or what he was thinking about. in truth, at that very moment walter le baron was praying silently that she was not like the other girl that he had known.. while it all came and went during the period of a few moments, what walter le baron thought during those moments would take many pages to explain. among the things he thought, was a ques- tion, asked of himself. was it going to be his misfortune to begin to like a girl, as he had fallen to liking dorothy, only to end up with finding out, when he got around to hearing the story bob martin would in due time have to tell him, that she was a no- gooder? "if i am beginning to like her, will i have to start out by for- giving her the sins of her earlier girlhood?" he didn't like the forgiving kind of love. he felt that sensible and thoughtful people shouldn't do things they had to ask later forgiveness for having done. no amount of forgiveness had changed dr. story's daughter. she had continued bad and foolish during those years he knew her, and while he had neither seen nor heard of her for years, he could safely conculde that she was still bad and that some men some- where, were perhaps still falling in love with her and still forgiving her, wherever that might be, for the sins of her commission. again le baron sighed; and when dorothy heard him sigh and looked up into his eyes, which for the moment were downcast, she was concerned. she touched him and said: “what is the matter, mr. le baron? are you feeling-bad?” he started almost abruptly and turned to meet her gaze. in that moment he seemed to look directly into her soul through her up- turned eyes and something seemed to tell him that he was mis- taken if he was thinking that dorothy stanfield was a vain and foolish and in the end, a bad girl, for she was not. his look at her now, was a bit odd. doubt and fear were strug- gling with something in him more subtle and commanding than he the story of dorothy stanfield had ever experienced. what was this something he was asking himself. “the matter,” he repeated, absently, albeit quickly. "the matter with—what?" "with you, mr. le baron," she said kindly. "i was looking at you. there was a sad and far-away look in your eyes. you must have been thinking of something that happened a long time ago; or was it about somebody, perhaps? anyway, there seemed to be something the matter, for you sighed and seemed-a bit unhappy. are you—ill?” "no, oh, no; i'm not ill at all, miss dorothy. in fact, i never felt better in my life," and coming out of his reverie, he was him- self again. “and you said that i seemed—ill?” “you most assuredly did.” "i'm surprised. i must have been thinking—about something." “about something?" she repeated, kindly. "i wish i could understand what about,” she said, a question in her eyes. she wished that he would tell her. "i'm afraid you couldn't very well understand,” he tried to as- sure her. "besides, it would take so many words to explain—even to try to explain.” “was it as serious as—all that?” "i regret to admit that it was.” "and you don't care to say what it was about?” "it was so far away from what we were talking about, and would take a lot of words—so many words—and in the end, it would still be as far away from what we were talking about as ever," he argued, knowing that he was not thinking about trying to explain it to her. “what were we talking about anyhow?" she inquired, and was forced to laugh a bit. he smiled, was thoughtful a moment; then perked up and looked at her. "a very interesting subject,” he said. “your father." vd tas the story of dorothy stanfield "oh, yes,” she cried, then smiling, relaxed. “my father. you seemed to have been admiring him.” “i admire him very much. i've even met him but i'm sure he wouldn't remember me.” "i wouldn't say that. my father is a very practical man." "i agree with you. reminds me very much of the late booker t. washington, whom my father, who passed away last year, used to admire and talk so much about.” "i've heard that said of my father, too; that he was a disciple of dr. washington's philosophy of common sense." “who believed and insisted on our people actually doing some- thing and not just getting an education—then talking about it," said bob. “which reminds me of a book i read not so long ago,” said dorothy, thoughtfully. "there was something like that in a book by sidney wyeth,” said le baron. "by sidney wyeth," echoed dorothy, looking at him quickly. “the book i'm talking about was by sidney wyeth. the home- steader was the name of the book.” "a corking good story, if you ask me,” said le baron, warmly. “built around a young colored fellow who went into the dakota wilderness and there, under terrible and difficult circumstances, succeeded in building an agricultureal empire.” “oh, i loved that book,” cried dorothy, clasping her hands. "have you read the other one? the one about the white woman who fell in love and got mixed up with a negro, and in the end married him?" "i surely did,” cried dorothy enthusiastically, and then she thought about her diary, and the note, too, that she had been in the act of sending to that same sidney wyeth in new york that morning. she decided to direct the conversation, if she could manage to do so, away from her father to some other channel which might, after some trend, lead to her and give him a chance to ask her more about herself. so she turned to le baron and decided the story of dorothy stanfield to ask him more about wyeth's books. "would you happen to know-sidney wyeth?” “very well and for a long time. i think bob must know him, too.” turned to bob now, he called louder: "bob, you must know sidney wyeth, don't you?” "surely i do. been knowing him a long time. i also knew frank knight, author of nature's child and black narcissus, when he was in memphis while a boy." “you do,” cried dorothy, both surprised and amazed. "and you've never told me anything about it?”. “but dorothy,” bob went on “i don't think i ever had occasion to say anything about knowing them to you." “you must have noticed that i have the books of both of them at home in my library.” "i may have, but a lot of homes i go into in memphis have both sidney wyeth's and frank knight's books, and others as well, in theirs." "of course,” she admitted and was more relaxed. then thinking of something new, she sat quickly erect, and turning to walter le baron, went on: "speaking of frank knight and his books, how do you like them?" le baron was thoughtful a moment. "i thought both very interesting.” “only interesting?”. "well, i don't altogether like his pattern, but i suppose that it was, to some degree, laid out by his publishers. sidney wyeth seems to be about the only negro engaged in writing fiction, who is free and independent in what he writes.” "i agree with you; and as far as the negroes are concerned, they like wyeth's books better.” "he is about the only negro author who writes about us colored people as we are living and thinking today; about the only writer who puts the love and the romance of our lives into his stories. i wonder how the white people take to them?” the story of dorothy stanfield . . . : "from what i've learned,” said le baron, slowly, thoughtfully, the white people themselves react to his books, more or less in the same manner as we negroes do; but the publishers and the review- ers can't see the way he writes. although they are looking at the modern negro everyday as we are, they have the race couched in a groove and seek to keep him in that groove as much as they can.” “that's what i think, too,” said dorothy. “meanwhile, i understand that knight is married to a white woman. that's something i can't quite understand—especially when you read his books where he attempts to show how badly white people are in- clined to treat negroes. it seems that he preaches one kind of philosophy and practices another. what do you think of his marry- ing a white woman anyhow?” "well, i don't know just what to say,” said le baron, and hesitated thoughtfully. dorothy looked at him; and then something that she hadn't thought of at all occurred to her. she wondered if le baron was married—then started. she hadn't thought of that. now sup- posing he was married, with her gone off on a tangent of dreams about him. he might be, and worse still, supposing that he was, which should serve to drive those dreams out of her right quick and most serious of all, possibly to a white woman! of a sudden she was in a nervous quandary. she was more- she was frightened! bob, who had been silent during the last part of her conversation with le baron, now turned to glance at her and clearly noted the fear and anxiety in her face. “what's the matter, kid?” he said, carelessly. "oh, nothing,” she lied. as she viewed it, there was nothing left for her to say. "you're lying,” said bob in a low voice. “why, bob!” she exclaimed, affecting indignation. bob laughed. “bet i can guess.” "all right, mr. smarty. guess." “not until mr. le baron puts his fingers in his ears. i don't the story of dorothy stanfield want him to hear!” glancing across at le baron, who thereupon stuck a forefinger in each ear, smiling as he did so. “go ahead,” he cried. “i can't even hear myself now.” bob leaned over and into dorothy's ear: “you're wondering if he's married?”. she shrugged her shoulders, said nothing, but listened anxiously. "well, he isn't, so forget that." he paused to smile, then went on: "happy now?" she nodded her head in child-like fashion, and he relaxed, see- ing that she was calm and composed, then looked over at le baron, whose eyes were on the road ahead. "all right, le baron,” he called, loudly, making something of a gesture. we've exchanged our secrets. everything's all right.” le baron obeyed, sighed, turned to look at them, then focused his eyes on her and smiled when he observed that she had relaxed. "a big secret. some day i'm going to ask my boy," pointing to bob, "what it was all about.” . "you were talking about frank knight, the writer" "_who is married to a white woman,” said dorothy, fearless and relieved now, and liking him more than ever. she seemed to hear herself saying, i'm going to fall in love with you, walter le baron. maybe i am already in love with you, only i don't want to admit it yet, even to myself. “about frank knight, who is married to a white woman,” she began. “yes,” said bob martin. “married to a white woman. his last book ended with him leaving memphis for chicago. from the tone of that story, there seems to be more of it that he has yet to tell. in all he has written, he intimated nothing about negroes marrying white women, while sidney wyeth doesn't hesitate to express his opinion on the matter and he makes it part of his stories.” “he could, because he's married to a colored girl.” "i like him for that. i'm sure that most of our group who know . the story of dorothy stanfield about both of these cases, must like him for marrying in his own race.” "his first book, if you recall, told the story of a colored boy who sacrificed a great love because he thought the girl he was in love with was a white girl.” "it made a fine and beautiful story, which ended well when he found out that she was not a white girl after all.” “then he married her." “i loved the story so much that when i heard more about frank knight being married to a white woman, i read it again. why is it, mr. le baron, that when negroes in the north get up in life, the first thing they seem to think about and want is to go off and marry some old white woman?” "some of those who're doing that come from down south," he said, and glanced at her and bob, who turned to look at him oddly. “frank knight, who claimed to have suffered so much abuse from white people, was born in mississippi, and went from memphis to chicago," and walter le baron smiled as both started, and looked guilty. "well, one thing is true. they don't attempt to play with them down here. they know they wouldn't live very long if they did,” at which all laughed. “which ever negroes are up to it, and there seems to be a very large number that are playing the game right there in your new york,” said dorothy, on the verge of anger. turning to look at him and apparently annoyed because he had not expressed a more concerned conviction about it, she went on: “you don't seem to be so concerned about it. you're not plan- ning to do so, too, are you? at least thinking about it, perhaps?” she pointed this question at him directly, and watched his face to see what effect it had on him. "i am not,” declared le baron, promptly. "in fact, personally i'm opposed to negroes marrying white women, under the circum- stances, as they seem to be doing lately, and that includes frank knight, too.” the story of dorothy stanfield "i'm glad to hear you say that,” said dorothy, and breathed a sigh of relief. “and now, since you intimate that you are not going with nor planning, by what you say, on marrying a white woman, we can talk more freely about it-express our honest opinions.” 'i think, however, that every person has a right to marry whom- ever it pleases him to choose —even if this comes to a negro marry- ing a white person,” said le baron. “but i for one, would never let myself go off and fall in love with any white woman, even if she encouraged me to do so. i speak only for myself in that regard, however.” "but don't you feel, mr. le baron,” interjected dorothy, "with so many of our men whose names get before the public marrying white women, that sooner or later it is going to come to the atten- tion, if it hasn't done so already, of such men as the two senators from mississippi, for instance, and that they may ultimately use these facts to prove their contention that the negro is desirous of social equality?” "i've never fully understood what is meant by 'social equality' as the south talks about it as regards us. but in regards to this intermarriage, it seems to be confined largely to negro men marry- ing white women, and in the case of frank knight, for instance, because he is the most publicized member of our group from the standpoint of a writer, i'm surprised that it has not been picked up and exploited all ready.” “they sure crucified jack johnson for marrying white women,” sighed bob, making a sharp turn in the road at that point. "i talked with johnson just before leaving new york,” said le baron, "and he told me that they were still at it; that he has been persecuted by both negroes and whites ever since he married the first white woman.” “the first?” exclaimed dorothy, looking at le baron. "how many has he married, anyhow?" "he's married to the third one now," said le baron. bob martin smiled. the story of dorothy stanfield “i think i shall go north—and marry me a white woman,” said bob chidingly, and glanced at dorothy, who was taking it all most seriously. she was in no mood to joke about it, so turning to bob, she cried: "and bring her back to memphis to—” " get himself hanged to the first tree,” and both he and le' baron laughed. "they wouldn't use that much time to kill you,” said dorothy. “they'd shoot you on sight like they did larry phelps, you remem- ber him, for daring to get into his car beside one." "they trapped him," said bob. "he'd been friendly with this white dame for a long time. the police got wise to it and laid a trap, then waited and—”. "—the negro stepped right into it—and they rubbed him out so quickly that he hardly knew what struck him.” dorothy was warmed up to the subject of interracial marriage condemnation, and had more to say about it, so went on, her face intent with what she was talking about. "what i would like to know is, what prompted frank knight, after all his bitter and unfortunate experiences, as related in both his books, to up and marry a white woman, anyhow?” "he's married to a jewess,” said le baron. "well, they're considered to be white, aren't they?” dorothy wanted to know. “oh, of course," said le baron, hastily. “weren't we good enough? if he—and all those other negroes, mostly around new york it seems—if they had to have a white woman for a wife, aren't there plenty 'white' colored women for them to marry? we have plenty of them—even in memphis, as white as the whitest woman back there, so what?”. "i'm afraid you'll have to ask the men who are doing it,” said le baron, smiling. dorothy was obviously quite wrought up about it. “if you ask me, i believe there are a whole lot of negro men who just want to marry a white woman and when they get up in the story of dorothy stanfield the free north, and have the chance, they take advantage of it.” "there is another angle to it also," said le baron after a moment's thought. "and what is that angle? meantime, how is it that while all the negro men up there are grabbing white wives, some white men don't take to themselves a negro woman for a wife? they steal around the back doors to see them enough all right, but i don't hear or read anything about any well-known white man marrying any colored woman. do you?” she was directing all questions at le baron, seeming to shoulder him with the responsibility of answering them. he turned to look at her. “i hear that a few white men have married colored women. in fact, i know one or two that have colored wives.” “but you know many negro men who have white wives, and know of a great many more that are married to them, don't you?” "i suppose you're right,” admitted le baron. “no, you haven't heard and you won't be hearing of it. it is all going to get to the attention of negro-hating southern politi- cians in due time and i hope they will expose these so called prominent negro men of ours to the point that our group will turn around and ostracize them as the white people do. these white wives are not taking their negro husbands around to meet their friends nor their brothers or sisters, their mothers nor their fathers, are they?” not waiting for le baron to answer, she continued: “you know they're not. in fact, i bet when they marry a nigger-excuse me,” she broke off to say, apologetically, "i mean, of course, 'negro,' they go into exile-even from their own parents and brothers and sisters.” "how about it, le baron?” called martin, from the other side of the car. both of them were looking at le baron, who returned their gaze, and shaking his head, replied: “listen, both of you. you are questioning me so intently about black marrying white, just like i had something to do with it.” the story of dorothy stanfield “oh, i'm sorry," cried dorothy, patting his hand. "we didn't mean to be so-insistent. of course you had nothing to do with it and i'm sorry," she said, kindly. "now please go on with what you started to say.” "i was simply going to say that i am no authority for these negroes who have and are choosing white wives. i do feel, how- ever, that i am acquainted with what did recently in part lead up to the practice.” “what source?” said dorothy, and pointed her question at him seriously. “take frank knight's case, for instance." "that's a good one to discuss,” said dorothy, and turned toward him more than she had before. “how'd he get into such a thing? because he wanted to? i hate that nigger-negro, for it; but go on, mr. le baron, and tell me why he did it?” "this is my personal opinion of how it got started. being a per- sonal opinion, it might be in error; but here is how i surmise it happened. i'm sorry that you and a million or more other race men and women can't ask him yourselves.” "well, confine it in this case to your personal opinion,” said bob. “that'll be enough for us," seeming to be by this time as greatly interested as dorothy, who struck him playfully and impa- tiently, insisting that he air his opinion regarding the best known and the most read of negro writers. the only one, other than sidney wyeth, who had built up and owned his publishnig outlet, who could boast of making his living from the sale of what he was writing. "i am basing my theory largely on what knight has written in his books. at the end of his last book, he tells of how he left for chicago. in nature's child, he indicated that he had an awfully hard time after reaching chicago and during the depression. in a series of two articles that were published in a magazine a few months before the appearance of his last book, he told of how he tried to become a communist.” “he is a communist, isn't he?" the story of dorothy stanfield “that's what i've been told,” interposed bob, from his side of the car. “he was a communist, yes,” said le baron. “what do you mean by he was when he is?" argued dorothy, a frown on her face. “take it easy, dear one—if i may call you 'dear,'” he said and dared lay a hand on hers. she smiled and relaxed, the blood flaming in her cheeks. "perhaps i'm taking it too seriously,” she said and smiled up at le baron sincerely. "please go on and tell us what you started to. i'll try to quit interrupting.” "he, according to his books, had an awfully hard time on reach- ing chicago.” then aside, and digressing from what he had started to say, le baron went on: "i think that is one of the reasons the white people like to read his books. sidney wyeth told me that it is so easy for white people to picture a negro as unfortunate and hard up. it seems to be the condition they expect to find the negro submerged in- poverty and misery. but they can't seem to very fully appreciate the conventional and educated negro. he just doesn't seem real to them, and for that reason they discourage negroes in pictures, on the stage and over the radio in contemporary roles, living a normal, ordered and prosperous american life—but getting back to frank knight. "in new york and chicago and in and around most of the large cities, during the depression, they set up a federal theatre organization, which was directly connected with the writers project. as i am told, and in part from what i know, these groups got to- gether, and promptly developed into communist leanings. they went in so strong for communism that the government had to abandon both projects before they planned to, due to the fact that the very actors and writers that they were attempting to help, through communism, got to planning how to overthrow our ways of life and the government decided that if they must, they wouldn't get any further opportunity on its pay, so the projects in the story of dorothy stanfield "oh, i'm sorry," cried dorothy, patting his hand. "we didn't mean to be so-insistent. of course you had nothing to do with it and i'm sorry," she said, kindly. "now please go on with what you started to say." "i was simply going to say that i am no authority for these negroes who have and are choosing white wives. i do feel, how- ever, that i am acquainted with what did recently in part lead up to the practice.” what source?" said dorothy, and pointed her question at him seriously. "take frank knighi's case, for instance." «that's a good one discuss," said dorothy, and turned toward him more than she had beiore. "how'd he get into such a thing? because he wanted ? i hate that nigger-negro, for it; but go on, mr. lraron, and tell me why he did it?" "this is my personal opinion of how it got started. being a per- sana) apinion, it might be in error; but here is how i surmise it humanod. i'm sorry that you and a milion or more other race men and women can't ask him yourselves." well, cantine it in this case to your personal opinion." sait bob. that 'il ne mnough for us," seeming to be br this time as pra intend a dorothy, who such him plant and mos tinn: İstİng thint air his oninion regarding the dasi t ) ama the most ad ni nard wtas. the only one, oches sidney pivech, who had built u mnd owned his publishnis cum the zuie un ni muting his firing from the sale of wila de was woling "] an sing my theory largely it. whu knigh: hat mit his hands. a ent ens los hat, he mis ni hoh eis incap. tater s hiu hi indiziec iha: hr hat ar. it hari im u nching chicagt ane during the heart i a r i ran nudishat ir mada e * min's bing im tretax las n nahi talt. tier lett tenmus" iruns si de but a women, ne that :: ," said at way at i dorothy. s possible ," said le managed hers, and - book, to s ambitious, und of what -, too,” sug- i and party sht happened wat he wanted, and chy, with a pout on her les who've been marrying cance. that negro wanted possessed ambition, even as more ambitious to of our group, else he sously." the story of dorothy stanfield new york, i happen to know, were closed down abruptly, and these ambitious groups were left to get along the best way they could. "in the midst of these hard times, harder than he wrote of hav- ing had in the south before he left, emerged frank knight.” "not harder,” suggested dorothy. “it couldn't have been much harder." “the difference in chicago, dear,” he said, and again the blood flushed to dorothy's face. somehow calling her "dear” seemed to fit his speech exactly, and she found herself liking to hear him address her, using the word. “as i started to say, in chicago knight was free. he didn't have to bow and kowtow to white men, call them ‘mister' if he didn't want to, or pretend that he was happy or try to please them as he had been forced to do before leaving the south.” "oh, i see what you mean now, and understand it better,“ ex- claimed dorothy, clasping her hands. "please do go on.” "you recall at what length he wrote of having to go hungry. that was a revelation, and aroused no end of sympathy for him in his book. well, there were a lot of people going hungry after he arrived in chicago during that awful depression and before better relief arrangements had been completed and set up. and from what knight has written, he was among them. well, hunger breeds discontent, and communism—the american kind at least, thrives on discontent; and knight, it seems, got mixed up with commun- ism, along with a lot of other hungry negroes and whites, and there the seeds of communism in his heart i imagine, were born. i imagine that during this period he met this jewish girl, whom i've heard was a communist leader.” “we're told that most jews at heart are communists,” said bob. "they charge them with being so many adverse things that it is hard to tell, although it is my personal opinion that jews, as a group, are communist-minded.” “what about the negro?" inquired dorothy at this point. le baron turned to look at her, then smiled. the story of dorothy stanfield “if the negro is anything politically, he's a republican, but a great many of these men that have been marrying white women, decided for the time that it was going on, to play any game that would keep them eating and getting them a little money " “_and permit them to court and marry a white woman,” said dorothy. “you think so?” from bob. “that's what i've been told. it may not have been that way at all, but let's assume that it was." “yes, yes, of course. it seems very logical.” said dorothy. “please go on.” "poverty and discontent and there they were. it is possible that an interest in common began to develop. in fact,” said le baron, “i've been told that it was this jewish girl who managed to bring his ambition to write to the attention of the publishers, and succeeded in getting the book club who later chose his book, to read the galley proofs. being jewish she was naturally ambitious, and would understand something about the business end of what ever she was attempting.” "did you say that she was perhaps a communist, too,” sug- gested dorothy. “i said i heard that she was a communist leader and party worker.” “so you think, then, that that is how frank knight happened to marry a white woman?” asked dorothy. “that is my opinion. it may have been that he wanted, and was trying to be grateful.” "grateful, your foot!” exclaimed dorothy, with a pout on her lips. "he was just like all other negroes who've been marrying white women every time they had a chance. that negro wanted to marry this girl because she was white." “well, according to his last book, he possessed ambition, even from childhood. it is apparent that he was more ambitious to succeed in some way than most boys and girls of our group, else he wouldn't have been trying to write anything seriously." . the story of dorothy stanfield "you don't have an over amount of confidence in most of us-- at least it seems that way,” said dorothy. “we haven't much in ourselves. you know that,” countered le baron. "the height of ambition among the masses of negroes, educated or otherwise, is to get a job, the best we can with what we know and have to offer. so the jewish girl whom knight finally married, was perhaps willing to go along with him, and make the most of what was, at the time no doubt, mighty hopeless conditions. we must consider that at such a time, it was not frank knight, author of two 'best-sellers,' then, but frank knight, a nobody, struggling to make a living and merely hoping to get somewhere by and by. she was closer to him at that time than anybody else —than his own mother, even. she perhaps understood his needs, his sorrows, his misfortunes-possibly, perhaps, his hunger, and all that. at such a time and under such conditions, a man could, without much effort, learn to love a woman who was kind to him- even if she was white." "and especially if he wanted to do so,” said dorothy, almost vehemently. "take it from me, i'll always believe that the negro wanted to, and that's all there is to it. well, he's got her, and i understand that they have a child, so it's for keeps now. mean- while, how does he spend his time? you know him, i suppose.” "no," said le baron, shaking his head. "i do not. i've never even seen him.” "indeed! and both of you right there in new york!” “there's a lot of people among the seven million in new york whom i don't know and whom i have never seen or met.” "but you said that you know sidney wyeth?”. "i do and so do a lot of other people, including our friend, bob, away out here in memphis!” “but why should both of you know mr. wyeth and neither of you know this frank knight?” “one reason is that sidney wyeth is married to a girl of our own race. they live in harlem and go around among negroes, are seen walking and riding up and down the streets of harlem. when the story of dorothy stanfield you marry a white woman you sort of go into retirement, as it were. you can't go around among and associate with white people, and you're very much afraid that if you attempt to take her out among negroes, she may be insulted by colored women, who, like you, don't go in for their men marrying white women at all, and who, from the way they talk, are liable to jump on her at the least ex- cuse and tear her hair out and mess the poor thing up in every way they can think of," whereupon all three laughed loudly. "another reason in addition to what mr. le baron has just said, dorothy, is that sidney wyeth as i know him," said bob, "is a very connmonplace person, whose business as a motion picture producer for over twenty years took him all over the country, repeatedly, year after year. hence he met and mixed with every- body who had any connection with negro theatres, everywhere negro theatres are located. whatever the conditions or circum- stances that existed to cause knight to marry a white girl, as mr. le baron has also explained, when he did so, he went into involun- tary exile as almost every negro does when he marries a white woman-at least as far as she is concerned.” “correctly said, bob,” agreed le baron. "you've summed up in a few sentences, the situation correctly. wyeth is an intense race man; and while he can and does criticize the negro in his books far more seriously than frank knight does, if this applies to wyeth, he is for his people at all times, regardless the circum- stances. knight is never seen in harlem.” "no?" "i've never seen him there and i haven't heard anybody else say that he has ever met or seen him in harlem.” "well, i never!” exclaimed dorothy indignantly. "i hate him more than ever now!”. "you mustn't say that, dear," complained le baron. "how can you hate the man when you haven't ever seen him or met him, either? you're in no position to know or judge the man, and we may all be right, and still there's the possibilty that we may be wrong." im- the story anfield ry roth ( of dorothy stanfield “oh, i'm sorry," cried dorothy, patting his hand. “we didn't mean to be so-insistent. of course you had nothing to do with it and i'm sorry,” she said, kindly. "now please go on with what you started to say." "i was simply going to say that i am no authority for these negroes who have and are choosing white wives. i do feel, how- ever, that i am acquainted with what did recently in part lead up to the practice.” "what source?” said dorothy, and pointed her question at him seriously. "take frank knight's case, for instance.” “that's a good one to discuss,” said dorothy, and turned toward him more than she had before. “how'd he get into such a thing? because he wanted to? i hate that nigger-negro, for it; but go on, mr. le baron, and tell me why he did it?" “this is my personal opinion of how it got started. being a per- sonal opinion, it might be in error; but here is how i surmise it happened. i'm sorry that you and a million or more other race men and women can't ask him yourselves.” "well, confine it in this case to your personal opinion," said bob. “that'll be enough for us," seeming to be by this time as greatly interested as dorothy, who struck him playfully and impa- tiently, insisting that he air his opinion regarding the best known and the most read of negro writers. the only one, other than sidney wyeth, who had built up and owned his publishnig outlet, who could boast of making his living from the sale of what he was writing. "i am basing my theory largely on what knight has written in his books. at the end of his last book, he tells of how he left for chicago. in nature's child, he indicated that he had an awfully hard time after reaching chicago and during the depression. in a series of two articles that were published in a magazine a few months before the appearance of his last book, he told of how he tried to become a communist.” “he is a communist, isn't he?" the story of dorothy stanfield “that's what i've been told,” interposed bob, from his side of the car. "he was a communist, yes,” said le baron. : "what do you mean by he was when he is?” argued dorothy, a frown on her face. "take it easy, dear one—if i may call you 'dear,'” he said and dared lay a hand on hers. she smiled and relaxed, the blood flaming in her cheeks. "perhaps i'm taking it too seriously,” she said and smiled up at le baron sincerely. "please go on and tell us what you started to. i'll try to quit interrupting.” "he, according to his books, had an awfully hard time on reach- ing chicago.” then aside, and digressing from what he had started to say, le baron went on: “i think that is one of the reasons the white people like to read his books. sidney wyeth told me that it is so easy for white people to picture a negro as unfortunate and hard up. it seems to be the condition they expect to find the negro submerged in- poverty and misery. but they can't seem to very fully appreciate the conventional and educated negro. he just doesn't seem real to them, and for that reason they discourage negroes in pictures, on the stage and over the radio in contemporary roles, living a normal, ordered and prosperous american life—but getting back to frank knight. "in new york and chicago and in and around most of the large cities, during the depression, they set up a federal theatre organization, which was directly connected with the writers project. as i am told, and in part from what i know, these groups got to- gether, and promptly developed into communist leanings. they went in so strong for communism that the government had to abandon both projects before they planned to, due to the fact that the very actors and writers that they were attempting to help, through communism, got to planning how to overthrow our ways of life and the government decided that if they must, they wouldn't get any further opportunity on its pay, so the projects in the story of dorothy stanfield new york, i happen to know, were closed down abruptly, and these ambitious groups were left to get along the best way they could. "in the midst of these hard times, harder than he wrote of hav- ing had in the south before he left, emerged frank knight.” “not harder," suggested dorothy. "it couldn't have been much harder." “the difference in chicago, dear,” he said, and again the blood flushed to dorothy's face. somehow calling her "dear” seemed to fit his speech exactly, and she found herself liking to hear him address her, using the word. “as i started to say, in chicago knight was free. he didn't have to bow and kowtow to white men, call them ‘mister' if he didn't want to, or pretend that he was happy or try to please them as he had been forced to do before leaving the south.” "oh, i see what you mean now, and understand it better,“ ex- claimed dorothy, clasping her hands. "please do go on.” "you recall at what length he wrote of having to go hungry. that was a revelation, and aroused no end of sympathy for him in his book. well, there were a lot of people going hungry after he arrived in chicago during that awful depression and before better relief arrangements had been completed and set up. and from what knight has written, he was among them. well, hunger breeds discontent, and communism—the american kind at least, thrives on discontent; and knight, it seems, got mixed up with commun- ism, along with a lot of other hungry negroes and whites, and there the seeds of communism in his heart i imagine, were born. i imagine that during this period he met this jewish girl, whom i've heard was a communist leader.” “we're told that most jews at heart are communists,” said bob. “they charge them with being so many adverse things that it is hard to tell, although it is my personal opinion that jews, as a group, are communist-minded.” “what about the negro?” inquired dorothy at this point. le baron turned to look at her, then smiled. the story of dorothy stanfield "if the negro is anything politically, he's a republican, but a great many of these men that have been marrying white women, decided for the time that it was going on, to play any game that would keep them eating and getting them a little money" “—and permit them to court and marry a white woman,” said dorothy. “you think so?” from bob. “that's what i've been told. it may not have been that way at all, but let's assume that it was.” “yes, yes, of course. it seems very logical.” said dorothy. “please go on." "poverty and discontent and there they were. it is possible that an interest in common began to develop. in fact," said le baron, “i've been told that it was this jewish girl who managed to bring his ambition to write to the attention of the publishers, and succeeded in getting the book club who later chose his book, to read the galley proofs. being jewish she was naturally ambitious, and would understand something about the business end of what ever she was attempting.” "did you say that she was perhaps a communist, too,” sug- gested dorothy. “i said i heard that she was a communist leader and party worker.” “so you think, then, that that is how frank knight happened to marry a white woman?" asked dorothy. "that is my opinion. it may have been that he wanted, and was trying to be grateful.” “grateful, your foot!” exclaimed dorothy, with a pout on her lips. "he was just like all other negroes who've been marrying white women every time they had a chance. that negro wanted to marry this girl because she was white." "well, according to his last book, he possessed ambition, even from childhood. it is apparent that he was more ambitious to succeed in some way than most boys and girls of our group, else he wouldn't have been trying to write anything seriously.” the story of dorothy stanfield "you don't have an over amount of confidence in most of us- at least it seems that way,” said dorothy. “we haven't much in ourselves. you know that,” countered le baron. "the height of ambition among the masses of negroes, educated or otherwise, is to get a job, the best we can with what we know and have to offer. so the jewish girl whom knight finally married, was perhaps willing to go along with him, and make the most of what was, at the time no doubt, mighty hopeless conditions. we must consider that at such a time, it was not frank knight, author of two 'best-sellers,' then, but frank knight, a nobody, struggling to make a living and merely hoping to get somewhere by and by. she was closer to him at that time than anybody else —than his own mother, even. she perhaps understood his needs, his sorrows, his misfortunes—possibly, perhaps, his hunger, and all that. at such a time and under such conditions, a man could, without much effort, learn to love a woman who was kind to him- even if she was white.” “and especially if he wanted to do so,” said dorothy, almost vehemently. "take it from me, i'll always believe that the negro wanted to, and that's all there is to it. well, he's got her, and i understand that they have a child, so it's for keeps now. mean- while, how does he spend his time? you know him, i suppose.” "no," said le baron, shaking his head. “i do not. i've never even seen him." "indeed! and both of you right there in new york!” “there's a lot of people among the seven million in new york whom i don't know and whom i have never seen or met.” “but you said that you know sidney wyeth?” "i do and so do a lot of other people, including our friend, bob, away out here in memphis!" "but why should both of you know mr. wyeth and neither of you know this frank knight?" “one reason is that sidney wyeth is married to a girl of our own race. they live in harlem and go around among negroes, are seen walking and riding up and down the streets of harlem. when the story of dorothy stanfield you marry a white woman you sort of go into retirement, as it were. you can't go around among and associate with white people, and you're very much afraid that if you attempt to take her out among negroes, she may be insulted by colored women, who, like you, don't go in for their men marrying white women at all, and who, from the way they talk, are liable to jump on her at the least ex- cuse and tear her hair out and mess the poor thing up in every way they can think of,” whereupon all three laughed loudly. "another reason in addition to what mr. le baron has just said, dorothy, is that sidney wyeth as i know him,” said bob, "is a very connmonplace person, whose business as a motion picture producer for over twenty years took him all over the country, repeatedly, year after year. hence he met and mixed with every- body who had any connection with negro theatres, everywhere negro theatres are located. whatever the conditions or circum- stances that existed to cause knight to marry a white girl, as mr. le baron has also explained, when he did so, he went into involun- tary exile as almost every negro does when he marries a white woman—at least as far as she is concerned.” “correctly said, bob,” agreed le baron. “you've summed up in a few sentences, the situation correctly. wyeth is an intense race man; and while he can and does criticize the negro in his books far more seriously than frank knight does, if this applies to wyeth, he is for his people at all times, regardless the circum- stances. knight is never seen in harlem.” “no?" “i've never seen him there and i haven't heard anybody else say that he has ever met or seen him in harlem.” “well, i never!” exclaimed dorothy indignantly. "i hate him more than ever now!” “you mustn't say that, dear," complained le baron. "how can you hate the man when you haven't ever seen him or met him, either? you're in no position to know or judge the man, and we may all be right, and still there's the possibilty that we may be wrong.” the story of dorothy stanfield "he married a white woman, didn't he? well, that's wrong as far as i'm concerned and is going to stay wrong in my mind now and for all time. i'll never forgive him for doing so—never! i hate any negro that treks off and marries a white woman. i can see no excuse for doing so, any more than they can seem to find it necessary, the white men, i mean, for going around and marrying colored women, which even you admit that they rarely ever do. they manage to get along, the white men, without marrying negro women. so any effort to justify a lot of negro men running off and marrying white women, doesn't get to first base with me. all of them that do it just want to and any effort to show how circum- stances brought it about, is all just so much piffle to me.” “gee, but you are sure hard on our poor men,” said le baron, amusedly, shaking his head. “take knight's case, for instance," she went on, protestingly. "he may have been poor and even had to miss some meals around the time he married her. well, he isn't the only negro that's been poor. there's hundreds of thousands that still are and always will be; poor, hungry and wretched. no white woman wants them, even if they are poor, too. the man has to want the woman he marries. i'll stick to that.” "in that respect," agreed le baron, "you're right, but—". “_but, nothing!” exclaimed dorothy. "he's a big-time writer now, isn't he? the best known and perhaps the most prosperous, or should be, that our race has ever produced. now if he had mar- ried a nice colored girl, he would be seen in and around harlem the same as paul robeson and sidney wyeth, joe louis and others of our better folk. and look, had he done that like these other race men, what a credit he would be to our group, our struggling and unfortunate group. answer that if you can—please!” "i still agree with you, young lady,” said le baron and smiled tolerantly. "the wife of a successful author like him is something we do not have, all because he had to slip off and marry a white woman. a colored wife would have been a leader up there in harlem and a the story of dorothy stanfield great influence in the lives of a lot of young colored people. both of them could be a great inspiration to them. as he took up writnig and became successful, so might others do if they could have met him and known him as they do robeson and others.” "just look," cut in bob at this point, "what the success of joe louis meant toward inspiring other ambitious negro fighters to great and sensational success.” "the negro fighter just about dominates the fight game, and has for ten years, or ever since louis started laying them on the floor and standing over them while they were counted out, all be- cause they saw louis do it and believed they could emulate his action—and they did. we all know that,” said le baron, warmly. all three swelled with pride at this. "but if louis had gone off and married some old white woman like jack johnson did and hadn't cared if negroes liked it or not, they'd have disliked it so much that they would not have been trying to emulate him as they have been trying to emulate louis," cried bob. “but with knight marrying a white woman and going off and hiding away like you intimate that he has done, and never meeting any of his race, he is no inspiration to his race at all and cannot be an example to inspire any other negro trying to write anything," said dorothy, vehemently. “that's what i mean by the act he has committed. our people have been held down and kicked around for so long that they have almost no confidence in each other. “but if one of us, so fortunate as to rise above the masses as knight by his writing has done, and then when up, as robeson and louis and wyeth have risen, turn around and lend others a help- ing hand, there are certainly a great many who would try to prove themselves worthy and work hard to do more than they are trying to,” said dorothy. "now you say that his wife is a jewess. so he has at last come into the money. “the few thousands of dollars that he is making would have, with a colored wife, meant a whole lot to colored people and they the story of dorothy stanfield would be talking about it from one end of the country to the other. i'll bet that i'm not the only colored woman that feels as i do about this whole thing." "no, miss dorothy, you are not. but there is some consolation in connection with knight's marriage. after they have been mar- ried ten more years and are still together, their child will have broken down much of our prejudice against his marriage." "how so?” she wanted to know. “the child will have to associate with colored children. it will bring them into the parents' home, and the child will finally take the mother into the homes of her colored playmates, where, in time, the old prejudice will gradually be forgotten. however, being a jewess, if she continues her religion, (which she may have gotten away from, i wouldn't know) then even this will not open negro homes to her and knight may continue a social exile for god knows how long. had she been a protestant or a catholic, the child or children would be the cause of ending this exile when they become large enough to play with other children and bring them home to meet their mother. soon the negro churches would take the mother in and in due time what he has done and has all negro america talking about it, the most of them, the women especially, condemning him, would become history and soon everybody will have forgotten it." "well,” said bob, adjusting himself. “we are entering the out- skirts of forest city and in less than three minutes we should be greeting the good doctor burton and his wife and their friends, all colored people, thank heaven, and there will be nobody to be em- barrassed or have to hide when we arrive,” whereupon all laughed and le baron and dorothy adjusted themselves, preparatory to ending their trip as best they could. “that means we must end our debate on the intermarriage of races and its results,” said le baron, and all laughed again. "i've certainly enjoyed the debate, if you must call it that, bob,” said dorothy, smiling across at him, then turning to le baron, went on, warmly: the story of dorothy stanfield "and, oh, mr. le baron, i can't find words to express how much i have enjoyed talking to you. i hope you don't think i am hot tempered and disagreeable because of the way i have expressed myself regarding frank knight. i admit that i am deeply pre- judiced against our men marrying white women under any circum- stances, and am afraid i'll continue that way, regardless. other- wise, i'm willing at least to try to be agreeable.” “i believe you,” said le baron, and dared pat her hand. "i've enjoyed this trip from memphis talking and listening to you and bob, and i have a feeling that we'll have another debate on our way back to memphis tonight.” “but let it be about something else. i want to forget about our negro men marrying white women because it makes me angry when i think about it and when anybody is angry, they're bound to be disagreeable, regardless of their desire to be agreeable in about everything else.” "it's a deal,” exclaimed le baron, and held his hand out to dorothy. she took it and both laughed and had a peculiar thrill as they held hands for a moment. "i don't mind confessing, now that it is over, that what we have talked about for the past half hour, although i have enjoyed the interest it has given me, was not what i had planned to talk about when we left memphis at all,” said le baron, and there was a little frown on his face as he completed his speech. turning to look at him curiously, dorothy said: what would you rather have talked about, or what had you planned to, mr. le baron?” he turned and met her eyes squarely, then smiling, patted her hand again and said: “you." chapter forest city is a beautiful town of about ten r thousand inhabitants, about half way between memphis and - little rock. it lies in a fertile valley which swings out in all directions and incorporates some of the finest cotton lands in all arkansas. the citizens of the city boast that they are the most liberal minded in arkansas, as well as the most prosperous and progressive. forest city was founded and named after the confederate general forest of civil war days, who is credited with originating the first klu klux klan, which none of the citizens of forest city, however, boast of, or even tell you anything about. “we have long since gotten away from all that,” they will tell you, and from all appearances they have and forest city is a delightful little town to live in or even to visit. its liberal spirit and healthy sentiment were attested to, among other things, by the fact that dr. burton, dentist, and a negro, had his office in the center of its thriving business district, upstairs over one of the leading banks in the town, with a practice, as dorothy and martin had told le baron, which was not only white, but consisted mostly of the best white people in forest city and also the best from many smaller towns around forest city, with some coming as far away as helena—some from little rock, even, a fact that the doctor was proud to the point of boasting about! they said that his popularity was due to the fact that doctor bur- ton knew how to treat everybody, and did that very thing. after serving his guests to a fine dinner, he drove them to his the story of dorothy stanfield office. the place was air conditioned and contained a switch board, at which, during business hours, an attractive colored girl received and switched calls. the doctor employed three hygienic dental assistants, had two superb waiting rooms, which his guests assumed were used, one for colored patients, the other for white ones. he had installed three of the finest dental chairs that le baron thought he had ever seen-in short, le baron referred to it many times afterward, as the finest dental office he had ever seen before or since. dr. burton was what negroes refer to very commonly and often as a "race man,” but he didn't go in for condemnation of the white race as a whole as is done by so many northern negroes. he was one of forest city's most highly respected citizens—and proud of it! he was surprised, then greatly pleased, to find walter le baron, a northern born, raised and educated negro, as sympathetic with regard to the south, who, while condemning the white enemies of the negro, on the other hand was greatly pleased and actually given to admiring the white people who were trying to treat the negro decently. “i argue, doctor, all over the north that in many respects, the southern white man is more tolerant of the negro's faults and fail- ures, which they all agree are many, than are the northern white people; and on the whole is a better friend of the negro. many of my people in the north deride this expressed opinion and refute -or at least try to, all that i say.” "one of the many reasons they cannot understand this is be- cause so few of our people in the north are in industry, agriculture, trade and commerce and hence never have occasion to borrow money,” said the doctor. “that's it exactly. not being engaged in one of these various lines, they are unable to appreciate the fact that almost everywhere down south, a colored man can walk into about any bank and if he is known to be of good character, can borrow money—about all the money he needs to expedite the success of his efforts,” observed le baron. the story of dorothy stanfield "i have heard with surprise that it is difficult for a negro to borrow money in the north,” said the doctor. “why, that is about the least of our worries down here. even the negro barber in this town, if he is respected and of good character, can borrow from the banks, likewise any man or woman of our group can bor- row money, often with little or no security. character is the thing by which they evaluate us, then assist us accordingly.” “that is what i tell them when they go running the south down because of what bilbo and senator eastland and congressman rankin say, all of them from mississippi. but as we understand, the northern negro thinks only of the privilege of eating, and then in only a few of the big northern cities, in a white restaurant, rid- ing in the same seat, if necessary, on the busses or street cars, and attending the same school as the white person,”said le baron. "which just about ends his ‘privileges," " said the doctor. “we are sorry and i know that many of the white people down here are, that the social and political situation which exists is like it is; and many would be glad to change it. but the poor whites, who are the ones that hate the negro so viciously and do everything they can to humiliate and hold him back, are, unfortunately, in the voting majority; and they, in a large measure, are responsible for most of the acts that humiliate and embarrass us." “we are humiliated and embarrassed to a very large degree all over these united states," said le baron, with a shrug of his shoulders. "so what?” and they both laughed, and turned their thoughts and conversation into other channels. the doctor walked le baron around a few blocks of the city near where he lived, showing him properties that he owned and other nice residences which negroes lived in and owned, and went cn to say, among other things: "now with regard to the matter of residential segregation. in the north, an educated negro with a good job, which often just happens and is not due to anything he has done in the way of effort in particular, often purchases, when he can, and moves into a section far removed from where other negroes live. in many cases the story of dorothy stanfield you can appreciate what he has done and the man's desire to live in a neighborhood where his children can grow up in an environ- met better than the one he moved away from. “unfortunately, however, some other negro, not always as up to the moral standard with him, emulates his move and buys near him. in due time the white people move out and the negro moves in and in due time it becomes a negro neighborhood, and too often then, neglect sets in on the part of the negro. in the course of time the negro who started the exodus into the 'white' section, moves away and into another white section, if he can buy or rent, and in due time, hatred and animosities follow and in such cases the northern white people grow to hate the negro worse than the so-called negro-hating white southerners do. “that is rarely the case down south. we negroes open up a respectable section and force all negroes in that section to keep their property up, abstain from loud and noisy conduct and in due time we have an 'aristocratic' negro section and avoid the animosi- ties that have ruined many cities for negroes in the north." when they returned to the doctor's house, le baron's eyes fell on dorothy, standing by a hedge looking out over the town at nothing in particular. as he looked at her she seemed lonely and he was anxious to walk over to her and talk. the doctor seemed to sense the situation, and pointing to her, said: "dorothy seems rather lonely, standing over there,” he said and he paused, looked at his watch, then went on: “bob and i have some matters that we've wanted to go over together for some time, and now is our chance.” he turned to look at dorothy again, who didn't seem to be aware that she was the object of their discussion. "why not take bob's car, or mine for that matter, and drive her out to my farm? she knows the way and will gladly show you, i'm sure. mrs. burton is due at church very shortly, so supposing you entertain dorothy? she's a fine girl,” he said, patting le baron on the shoulder. "i've known her since she was a kid. her dad and i are the best of friends, so you go over and make her stay the story of dorothy stanfield out here pleasant and agreeable, won't you?” “why, i'll be glad to, doctor," cried le baron, happily, for it was just what he wanted to do. he had been hoping for some excuse to be near her so that he could talk to her. now the good doctor had made that possible by inviting him to go for a drive, which was what he wanted—and badly so, to do. after excusing himself, the doctor went into the house where he found bob, chinning with the doctor's wife and children, while le baron crossed to dorothy by the hedge and greeted her. "oh, dear," she cried, turning to face him. "how you fright- ened me! i didn't hear you approaching.” “i wanted to surprise you,” he said, taking her by the arm. "well,” she replied, not drawing it away, “i'm rather pleased to be. what is on your mind?” “you, as usual,” he said playfully, but meant it. “oh, mr. le baron,” she cried, deprecatingly. "you insist on flattering me." “the doctor suggested that i drive you out to his farm for a change. do you want to go?" “that was very fine of him. i don't mind, if you care to go.” “i was raised on a farm, and have always been in love with farm life. i'm raring to go.” “then what are we waiting for,” she said, and smiling, she took his arm. they were glad of the thought to be again alone together. then suddenly the smile left her face, and she hesitated, then paused. he turned to look at her askance. “are you quite sure that you want to-be alone with me, mr. le baron?” and when she looked up at him and he met her eyes, there seemed to be a bit of fear and sorrow in her look. his heart went out to her promptly, and immediately he was curious to know why she had spoken as she did. he squeezed her hand that was holding his arm reassuringly. “i am positive that i want to, dorothy—i mean, miss dorothy." “you can call me by my first name—that is, if you wish to," she said kindly. she was wondering if they went out to the farm the story of dorothy stanfield alone, whether or not le baron would again press her with ques- tions about herself, and thinking especially of that subtle something he had said he saw in her eyes. then, to herself, and in a mood of defiance, she decided that if he did, she would press him by insisting that he also tell her more about himself. "i will call you by your first name only when we are alone,” le baron said as they walked across to bob martin's car. “when in the presence of others, bob, even, i'll greet you formally.” "that is very sweet of you—walter.” she spoke the last word haltingly, and then sighed a bit as if she was relieved. as if to attest her trust in him, she squeezed his arm just a little, and then relaxed. when they reached the car and before he helped her onto the seat, he paused and turned to look at her, his face serious and as if with a purpose. “you're going to continue a woman of mystery until i've learned why that sorrow is in your face—but i am not going to press you to answer any more questions which you'd rather not, perhaps, answer tonight. meanwhile,” he went on, turning toward the car now, "the doctor said that i could drive either bob's car or his, so i'll drive bob's, providing he has left the key in the switch.” he turned now to see if it was and turned back to her with a smile and a nod of his head to indicate that it was. he helped her onto the seat, then went around and got in on the driver's side, turned to her before touching the starter and said: "the doctor said you'd know the way. do you?” “oh, yes, walter,” she cried, joyfully. “of course i do. just drive out into the street, turn right and then i'll show you." "i presume,” said le baron, “that when they hear the car, the doctor will tell bob that he told me to take the car and that we are driving out to his farm and bob will understand.” "i'm sure he will,” said dorothy. "he's a rather understanding chap.” “he is that,” said le baron, touching the starter, and stepping the story of dorothy stanfield resumed, “on the way over here—that is, to forest city," she went on now, her face expressing curiousity. “my action? what action, dear?” “your action, just before i asked you if you were ill?” “oh,” he cried, and smiled. "that was not important." “for some strange reason,” she said, “i think it was. i wish you'd tell me what it was you thought about that made you act that way." "it wouldn't be appropriate, dorothy, but i promise this: when i know you better, and i am hoping that that will be before i leave memphis, i will tell you. all right?”. “yes,” she sighed. “i hope you will before you leave memphis, but i'd be happier if you'd tell me now." “you think you would—but you wouldn't.” “how do you know?” she asked. “i just know. you'll have to wait and i'll be glad to tell you. if i fail to do so after we are better acquainted, which means after i have been told what happened to you, i will be glad to tell you.” "then maybe you will at the same time tell me more about yourself,” she said, solicitously. "perhaps.” “why can't you tell me now?” “you'll understand better why when i do,” he said, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “we're nearing the doctor's farm." “yes?” “see the buildings, a group of buildings, and the large gate opening this side of them?” “surely.” “well, turn in there." “okay.” a few seconds later they turned in at the open gate and ap- proached the house and barn. a lane swerved off to the right, and went below the buildings. dorothy's eyes were on this lane. in the story of dorotey stanfield side, le baron slowed down and came to a stop. looking up at the house. “there is no one there. our folks are church minded. it is sunday and they are all at church—they stay in church or near it from eleven in the morning until the preacher has gotten all, or at least most, of their money sunday night." both laughed. le baron looked around, wondering just what to do. dorothy sensed what he was thinking about. "there is a beautiful stream, a creek that itows across this lane about three hundred yards below here. there is no bridge and we just drive across the creek. the water is shallow, perhaps a foot and a half deep. large oak trees repose on the banks of the creek, shade it and make a very beautiful setting, if you were making pictures." "let's drive down to it, okay?" “surely. i often stop my car in the middle of the stream, which is about twenty feet wide. if we stand there awhile, the fish will gather and you can see them. you won't be able to get out of the car, unless you want to get your feet wet," and she laughed. "here we go," he said, jovially, and stepped on the gas. the lane led through a field of very fine cotton, the white bowls of which seemed to glisten in the bright moonlight. “isn't it beautiful?" said le baron. “so beautiful. i'm surprised that you like cotton." “and why?” he said and turned to her in surprise. they were nearing the creek and he slowed the car down to walking speed. "because most northern colored people don't. they seem to think that they are expected to pick it." "it is fun, great fun," cried le baron, “picking cotton.” the car was barely moving and slid easily down into the creek at this point. the waters were as clear as crystal and the shadows of the moon through the leaves of the great oaks cast fascinating shadows on the water. le baron brought the car to a stop midway in the stream, looked down on the water and thrilled to the beauty of the scene. the story of dorothy stanfield “we won't need to get out and wet our feet,” he said. “we'll sit here and look at this beautiful scenery. it is magnificent," and walter le baron continued to thrill at the sight of it all. dorothy, of course, agreed with him—then suddenly caught his arm and cried, pointing her finger as she did so: “look! the fishes!” le baron turned his eyes in the direction she was pointing, and there they were. dozens of fish, from two to ten inches long, all kinds of the fresh water kind. “isn't that wonderful,” he cried, simply fascinated by the sight of them. "and so many! my, this would be grand fishing." "and how. when we come to spend the weekend, we bring nets and scoop up all we want. we throw the small ones back, of course." "i've never watched such a thrilling scene—hundreds of them now. i wish,” he said, abruptly, turning toward her, "we had something to feed them. it would be fun then, sure enough.” dorothy was thoughtful, then reaching up, opened the glove compartment, looked in, then let escape a child-like cry of joy. “here it is! crackers! i thought bob might have had some- thing like this in his car.” she withdrew a box, half filled with uneeda biscuit. “say,” cried le baron. “this is a treat!” he took some crackers and rolled same between his palms until they were a mass of crumbs. "now we will feed them and watch them fight for the crumbs.” this he proceeded to do and they were duly thrilled to see the fish rush and fight for the crumbs. both laughed gleefully. “isn't this great fun?” he cried, turning to her. “isn't it!" she cried enthusiastically. in leaning over her to see the fish, which could be seen better from the side on which she was sitting due to a spot of moonlight that found its way through the branches of the great oaks and fell upon the clear, running water, making the fish very visible, he touched and pushed somewhat against her. to see better the the story of dorothy stanfield ioi little silent performance going on below, he had to place his arm about her waist. both became suddenly conscious of an intimate and greater thrill. seemingly unconscious of his action, his arm tightened about her waist, and as she turned to look at him, both of their breaths came short-and the next moment he kissed her upturned lips. they seemed to live a thousand years in that one brief moment as the kiss lingered for less than perhaps three seconds, but in their impassioned souls, it seemed to have been ages. she was the first to recover somewhat and tried to draw away, but there wasn't sufficient room to move far. she dared then to look into his eyes, helplessly, and to murmur, just before breaking into tears. “oh, walter," she cried, truly frightened. "you've spoiled everything!” and finding her handkerchief, started to cry. his arm about her waist tightened until she was forced to raise her tear-filled eyes to look at him again and again he kissed her, this time twice. she turned away now and was pitiful in what she said. "oh, mr. le baron. you're—making me hate myself," and fell to weeping without restraint. "i'm sorry, dorothy, dear, for i know how you feel. but you have not been weak as you feel that you have, so try not to accuse yourself further. as for me—well, i couldn't help it, that's all." “but why did you do it?” she cried. “and we were getting along so well, too. oh,” she cried louder, “i hate myself!”. he tried to comfort her, but it seemed of little use, and she con- tinued to weep. his arm held her close in spite of her weeping and he could feel her heart beating excitedly. "i'm sorry, darling," he said, his emotion pent up and about to overflow too, by this time. “i am honest in what i say, dear." "all i know is that you have spoiled what was promising to be a delightful friendship—a beautiful friendship,” she protested be- tween her sobs. “i did it because i love you, dorothy, just love you and noth- ing i try will change that feeling." “shame on you to say such things at such a time! you make the story of dorothy stanfield it worse. first,” she raised her eyes to protest, "you shame me by doing what you did, now you make me lose respect for you by declaring that you—love me." "i stick to what i've said. i did it because i love you, dor- othy. i've never loved any woman half as much as i love you, believe it or not.” "i wish you would hush,” she said now, as she tried to dry her eyes. “i am not asking anything, sweetheart. simply telling you again and again that i did it because i love you, and i want to kiss you again, dear.” "never!” vehemently. she had forgotten about his arm being around her waist, so she loosed a hand and took it from around her. "let's go back to forest city," she said as she did so. by now, her sobbing had subsided somewhat. "as soon as i have said what is on my mind, dorothy," he said kindly. "what is on your mind?” she repeated, raising and turning now to face him. for answer he caught her suddenly to him and kissed her many times before she could begin to resist. "well, such conduct!” and without another word she raised a hand and smacked his face, resoundingly, so hard, in fact, that it brought tears to his eyes. he did not complain, just let the tears fall and looked sad. "oh,” she cried. “i didn't mean to-hurt you.” the tears continued to flow from his eyes and his face was sadder. she re- laxed now and before she knew it, had raised and placed her arms about him, and weeping, she cried: "oh, darling walter, forgive me, please forgive me.” still he did not answer. "please, darling, say that you forgive me and say something—anything!” "i love you dorothy. i shall always love you, whether i have the right to or not.” the story of dorothy stanfield “oh, i would like to believe you, walter, but i don't dare to; i have no right to.” “which does not change the way i feel. nothing you can say or do will change the way i feel toward you. i simply love you, dorothy, that's all." "oh, walter, please don't keep on talking like that.” "i will continue to love you and i am willing to wait—years if necessary, for at this time i have the feeling that you are in some strange way involved. i don't think that you are free.” “what about yourself?” she said, looking at him. "i am free, dorothy." "but you have intimated repeatedly that there is some reason why you can't tell me why you are in memphis." “there is, dorothy,” he said quietly. "but it is not because cf any woman nor possibly anything that you can guess. i must simply ask you to trust me and believe in me. i shall not fail you." “you're so wonderful, walter,” she cried, beginning to weep again, this time on his shoulder. "so wonderful—and so good!” "thank you, dear,” he said, still quietly. “my love for you is a great love, a noble love, an unselfish love. a love that inspired me to trust you, to believe in you—and to wait!” she dared look up into his eyes now, and hers too were tender with love that she was afraid to admit. he encircled her waist again with both arms and kissed her passionately, and she did not resist, nor draw away this time. finally, for some reason that she could not understand, she drew him close now and kissed him. "i_trust you, walter." “and you love me, too, don't you dorothy?” she fell to weeping again but nodded her head in assent as she did so. again he embraced her and again he kissed her. at length, he patted her shoulder, which caused her to shudder slightly from her own emotion. “we will keep our love all to ourselves for the present, dorothy. we won't let anybody know what has happened. we will be care- fully formal; for, you understand, dear, hardly anybody would the story of dorothy stanfield believe us, or feel that it was possible for two people to meet and actually fall in love, all in a single day. yet i know that we are in love and feeling as i do, that part is settled, other than indulging that love. “but with your consent, we agree not to say anything about it, perhaps until you are free, however long that may be. i am will- ing as i have already said, to wait and all the while i am waiting i will continue to love you dearly and do all i know how to com- fort you. i want you to trust me, too, dorothy, and consent after we return to memphis, to let bob tell me your story. i am sure -feel sure, at least, that you had nothing to do with what hap- . pened to you and i am telling you now that when i have heard it i will continue to believe in you and to love and comfort you.” "oh, walter," she cried, fully relaxed by now. "you're so good and i will always believe in and trust you. i wish i could tell you what happened to me, but something did. i will admit that much. bob knows all about it, and i will tell him to give you the story—just as it all happened. maybe you will hate me after you have heard it, but that will not alter the way i feel about you. you have given me more happiness during the last few minutes than i have ever had in my life, and even if you turn away after hearing my story, i will always feel grateful for the happiness you have given me this day.” she paused and sighing, took his hand and patted it, then she kissed it and sighed again, deeply. "it has all happened so suddenly that you frightened me and i - even struck you—and hard!” thereupon she paused to place each hand on his cheek and cupping his chin, kissed him passionately. “you will believe and always feel, darling, that i didn't mean it. i was not angry—just frightened, walter, by the strange force you have brought to and wielded over me," and she kissed him again and then again. holding her close, and with both fully relaxed, their backs against the seat, he went on: “you're the sweetest girl that ever lived—and i know that you are a nice girl, dorothy. i will tell you now, dear, what made me the story of dorothy stanfield hesitate and wonder this morning.” "oh, you will, walter?" she cried, taking his hand and fondling it. "please do, darling. i was sure it was something.” “when bob spoke about your father, i thought of a great man is our race who had a daughter, beautiful like you but who was a bad girl, dorothy, and for a moment i pictured the possibility that you might be like her.” “oh, walter,” she cried, her eyes wide in surprise. "how could you picture me like that?” "i didn't quite picture you like that. i considered and envis- ioned the possibility of your being like that.” "you said you saw a story in my face, my eyes. there is a story which i have admitted, and so, of course, you were right. but when you saw what you did, dear walter, did i, at the same time, look like i might be—a bad girl?” "no, you did not, dorothy. but you have a-pardon me for saying so, you do have a passion in your face, that something which makes men liable to try to intrude upon you." “you seem possessed, walter, with a gift of second sight. i've been told the same thing all my life, and my dear mother was afraid for me through all the years i was in school and even after. yet, i am not a bad girl, walter, and i have never been. i can tell you that in all sincerity; and when you've heard the story of what happened to me, bob will tell you, notwithstanding every- thing that happened, that i have never, never been a bad girl, walter.” “i know you haven't, dorothy. i've been feeling all day, that you have not been and are not now; and now that we know and admit that we love each other, i'll think no more about it. let's exchange a sweet kiss, relaxed and without restraint, and then we'll go.” “oh, walter, dear,” she cried, with a deep sigh of great happi- ness. “i could never refuse you anything.” thereupon she raised her arms and folded them around his neck and they exchanged, not one kiss, but perhaps a dozen. at the story of dorothy stanfield length he started the motor, backed out of the stream, turned the car around, and a moment later they were on their way back to forest city. "how long do you plan to be in memphis, walter?” she in- quired, as they drove back towards forest city. “that is indefinite, dorothy. at this time, i really can't say. i may be able to tell you in a day or two, however.” "i see,” she said thoughtfully. “well, please let me know as quickly as you can, walter.” she then took his arm and nestled closer. “very well, dear,” she said and sighed happily. both slumped into silence then, and said no more between there and forest city. chapter chapter vi tt was early the next night, after they returned to memphis, when bob martin got around to telling walter le baron the story of dorothy stanfield, which le baron was so anxious to hear. they were alone in bob's house, where they had brought some beer and wine and a bottle of whiskey and sandwiches, too, when they sat down in the parlor and bob started to tell walter le baron the story of the girl le baron had fallen in love with, as we know, on sight. but before going into that, which will take many pages, let us return to new york, where walter le baron lived, and find out more about him; who he was and what he was, and what he was doing in memphis, regarding which he had sworn bob to secrecy and didn't wish to tell more about, even to the girl he had fallen for and loved so dearly. walter le baron was an investigator, better called a detective, and had been since he was old enough to know what it was all about, for the simple reason that his father before him had, for over forty years, operated and had been known during his lifetime as new york's ace negro detective. walter had worked out of his father's office ever since the elder le baron resigned from the william j. burns detective agency and set up an office of his own, and had then taken walter in as his chief assistant. the year before his father had passed away and walter con- tinued the office, and before leaving new york on the mission on the story of dorothy stanfield which we met him in memphis, he had only recently returned to new york from four months in the carribbean, where he had finally caught up with and brought back to new york, a negro master-mind criminal, which story does not concern the one which we have set out to tell. the third morning following walter's return to new york and the delivery to the police department of the master-mind who had terrorized park avenue by the most daring thefts ever conceived, his telephone rang and the call was switched to him in his private office on downtown fifth avenue. "hello, walter,” she said, for it was a “she” on the other end, and he was glad that it was. "hello, connie," he replied. “how do you do?” "i'm fine, walter. and how is your good health after such a long, long absence from our fair city?” "i feel like a bull moose,” he said. “are you well, connie?” “quite well, walter. so is jim, so you needn't ask me how he is.” walter laughed. “dear old jim,” he said, more to himself than to her. “what did you say, walter?" she called. "oh, nothing. i was sort of talking to myself.” “what were you talking to yourself about? is that what has been happening to you while you've been away? gone to talking to yourself?” and it was connie who laughed this time. “maybe so, connie, but i'm still rational. i think i'll still be safe to run around the streets, free for awhile yet," whereat both laughed. "i'm coming downtown, walter, and that is why i called you. to see if you were in and if you plan to still be in your office around, say, about four o'clock?” "i guess so, connie,” he called back. "been away so long that nobody seems to be seeking me thus far. guess i'll find some- thing by and by, however.” “there's something that may put you to work again right the story of dorothy stanfield quick, and that is what i am coming down to your office to talk to you about. so when i've finished the little shopping i've plan- ned, i'll drop in on you and tell you then what's on my mind.” “do you really have something on your mind, connie? and if you've been trying to think, aren't you beginning to feel sleepy?” “what do you mean, walter, beginning to feel sleepy?” “they say that when one of us has something on his or her mind and tries to think, they get the headache, which puts them to sleep,” said walter and he laughed. connie caught the joke and joined in. "oh, walter. there you go as usual, running your race down.” "now, now, connie, you know 'tis said that when a negro tries to think, it is often customary for him to fall asleep; and when he awakens, he's forgotten all that he was trying to think about," and again walter laughed, this time uproariously and again connie was moved to join him. "all right, walter, you old dear. have it your way. i'll get even with you for the jokes you're playing on me this afternoon when i call to see you. meantime, while it is on my mind, have you heard whether sidney wyeth's new book has been published yet or not?” "i haven't been back long enough to hear anything about books, or much of anything else. has he written something new?" "oh, yes, and i hear it is very good.” "indeed! well, i've read his other books and so i'll be inter- ested in hearing more about anything new he has written.” "i was talking with his secretary the other day and she says that he really went to town with this new one." "i thought his other two were very good. i read them both." "so did i. i like his pattern." "i, too. he's about the only writer who seems to write accord- ing to our negro way of thinking.” “isn't it so! all the others seem to be trying to write to please white people,” said walter, thoughtfully. “and how!” replied connie. “and that pattern is, among other iio the story of dorothy stanfield ways about us, to play up the good old mammies, talking in dialect and being nice to white folks, calling even the children 'massie and missus'." “i get so sick of that stuff! in fact,” walter went on, feel- ingly, "i don't read it.” "neither do i,” replied connie. “they have us set in a groove; and in every situation we appear, whether in the movies, over the radio or on the stage, it's invariably the same old thing." “they seem to deliberately confine us,” said walter, his tone still very indignant, "over the radio at least, to singing spirituals and hymns, preaching some old crazy sermon or otherwise acting the fool.” "are you telling the truth, walter, and how! and they still seem to be able to find some negroes who are fool enough to do it! i'd like to drown a few of those darkies!” “yes," observed walter; "but i don't feel angry towards those who do it, as others of our group seem inclined to feel. after all, these poor devils that play such roles, have to make a living, and often they are very well paid for—" " playing the fool,” connie said, cutting him off. “well, i'm going to inquire if wyeth's new book is out when i get downtown and if it is, i'm going to purchase a copy. i like the way he writes about us.” "he's the only one who seems to dare write about the present day, intelligent negro." “he portrays us only as we are, and as we go about our every- day lives in the normal and respectable way, so why do the white publishers and reviewers object to that?” "i know why they tried to ignore the last book he wrote, the one that was selling so well when i left these shores,” said le baron. "it's still selling well—more now than when you went away,” said connie, swelling with indignant pride. "he pictured a passionate white girl who was dying for sexual intercourse, but afraid to run around with white boys to get satis- fied, when she saw a handsome negro boy who looked good to her. the story of dorothy stanfield iii she began to make passes at him and before it was all over, she had practically seduced him.” "yes, i know all about it, as i've read the book twice—and it is a long one, you know." “i don't need to say more, but i am going to. i want to ex- plain why the reviewers quietly ignored the book. said nothing about it, for to have tried to criticize that angle, would have brought it to the public for discussion and debate—and the book would have triumphed over all criticism and objections. but getting back to what i was trying to say. “the white girl grew to a woman, married a millionaire, but while married to her white husband, actually fell in love with kermit early, the colored youth whom she had known while a girl. she finally conceived a child by him and was planning to divorce her millionaire husband when he was accidently killed; so divorce was not necessary and later she married her colored lover. “that's what gets them. he committed, in their eyes, an un- forgivable sin, so they decided to quietly ignore even receipt of the book at most newspaper offices, and perhaps hoped thereby to kill at the source, by silence.” "and did they fail,” laughed connie. “i'll say they did, for it is selling in spite of any effort on their part to crucify his product at the source." "it was all right for passion, by a southern white woman, to tell the story of a beautiful and highly educated colored girl being the concubine of a white man, without any thought of ultimate mar- riage, for that is the understood pattern in america, especially down south, and they read, reviewed and raved about it for more than a year, but when wyeth was bold enough to play the picture in reverse, he committed, in their eyesight, an unpardonable breach of trust because he went entirely contrary to 'pattern'.” “i've heard,” said connie, “that the reviewers treated him shabbily, yet they attempt to palaver us with deceit by writing long reviews about some old negro books that nobody almost would ever buy and read, which is all just sap to perhaps still our criticism the story of dorothy stanfield about the way they've tried to treat wyeth's book. well, they haven't succeeded, but if they failed, we can give wyeth most of the credit for their failure by the fact that he has built up and controls his publishing outlet, so they can't keep him from bring- ing forth any kind of story he wants to write—and the people buy the books when they appear, and that's the secret of his success.” "if it wasn't for wyeth and his financial capacity, in addition to being able and knowing how to write,” said connie, "we present day negro women would get no kind of play at all, and i think the least we can do is to be grateful to him.” “the race is. when they buy his books as you say they are doing, that's the best way to express their gratitude to an author." "no doubt,” said connie. “but remember this, while we are talking about it. far more white people are buying his books than colored, i know that to be a fact.” "i understand that, too, connie. there are almost ten times as many white people to do this, and with a higher standard of intelligence and so much more wealth, we can appreciate that if they bought it at all, far more would have to be doing so than our group.” "of course, walter, of course,” connie called understandingly. "well, i'll always have a good word for mr. wyeth, for he glorifies the colored woman, writes her into romance and beauty and other things along the lines white writers shower on their women. has it ever occurred to you that we have never, and still are not, except for the little spreads in colored papers, been pictured or written about in a way that we have a right to want to be pictured and written about?” “oh, yes," he called back, quickly. "i understand what you mean." "of course you do,” said connie. “we are shown by white writers, more or less, first, as we've talked about, as the good old black mammy, being nice to white children. if not that, and if given any credit for being beautiful, then it is as the concubine of some white man like in passion, for instance." the story of dorothy stanfield "of course," said he, agreeing with her. "with never any dialogue or hint about marrying. either that or as a whore, running a house in the lowdown sections, mostly, of course, for white men.” "if not that,” said walter, taking the play away from her for the moment, "we're the illegitimate offspring of a white man by a high yaller, who hates negroes and is trying to 'pass' for white and is willing to go any limit the white people might seem to de- mand to pass for white like peola in imitation of life, for instance.” “i hear they are reviving that picture,” said connie. “reissuing it, you mean. yes, they are. it is playing at some second-run house downtown now," said walter. "how'd you like it, anyhow?” "oh, it was a good picture. i saw it three times. i'm planning to look at it again, since it was years ago when i saw it before, when it first came out. how'd you like it?” "i thought it was most interesting, too,” said walter. "it was one of the most successful box-office attractions of that period and it has been wondered why they didn't make any more like it." "i've wondered why they have not, myself,” said connie. "then i can tell you why,” said walter. "please do, by all means." “the south put the quietus on any more of the kind.” "what do you mean?”. “the south told them that they would let them play that one in the theatres down there, since they had gone to the expense of making it, but not to make any more like it.” "i still don't understand,” said connie, curiously, "what you are trying to tell me.” "if you'll keep quiet i'll do so." “very well, walter, i promise.” “the south notified the producers that with peola in the picture being shown desirous of being white, and as bright as she was, the example might inspire their nearly-white negroes to go to barging the story of dorothy stanfield in, passing themselves off as white in white society and elsewhere, so to send no more like it down south for showing.” “so that was it, eh?” said connie, derisively. “that was the import. the fact that no producer has dared to venture anything else along that line is a self-evident fact that something was done to discourage any other pictures along that line. by which, you understand, that we are on the pan when it comes to showing us as other than the good old harmless darkey, being frightened by ghosts, laughing, acting a fool and otherwise playing harmless roles that are neither inspiring or demonstrate that we are in any way free and intelligent like other americans.” “that shows just where we stand in the eyes of our good white people in america,” connie cried, indignantly. "meanwhile, if i don't hang up and get off this telephone, i won't be able to come downtown at all.” "i'll say you won't,” laughed walter. "well, old dear, i'll wait for you,” and still laughing, listened as she called: “okay, sweet boy. i'll be seeing you." shortly after four o'clock, connie appeared at le baron's office and dared to embrace and kiss him. "say, now, you aren't cheating on somebody, are you?” he said, laughing. “of course i'm not. i'm simply glad to see you and that you are back. i'd have kissed you had jim been present.” "well, we won't quarrel about it. i might be kissing you later," and he winked at her. she smiled tolerantly. “you're still rather easy on the eyes, connie,” he said, raising the window and moving a comfortable chair over by it. “sit there,” he said, waving a hand towards it. “it's cooler and more comfortable.” “thank you, walter,” she said and, taking it, made herself comfortable. turning towards him, she looked him up and down for a moment, carefully. “you're looking well. a bit tanned.” the story of dorothy stanfield “is that a hint to get rid of it-i mean the tan?" "oh, no! i wasn't thinking about it,” she said. “you're not vain and never have been. how'd you enjoy your trip to the islands?” "it wasn't exactly an occasion for enjoyment." “of course not. pardon me,” she said. "yet, i did rather enjoy it. it's beautiful down there. all the islands are beautiful.” "i'd bet,” she said. "are there lots of negroes down there?” "most all the people down there are negroes—and i mean negroes—black!” she laughed. “we have quite a large sampling of them right up here in harlem," and connie laughed again and le baron joined her. "you mean the west indians, of course.” "the monkeys,” said connie, and continued to laugh. le baron smiled a bit. “you shouldn't call them that, connie." “and why not?” “because if it wasn't for the west indian negroes, our showing from a business standpoint would be away below par—much below what you might think it is. it is the west indian negro on the whole, who is doing the most for negro business." “i hadn't thought of that,” said connie. “i'm sorry. i won't use the term again." “please remember not to. i am not, of course, a west indian, so i have no interest in particular as to what you call them. only, i don't think it is what we ought to do—play them down." "i agree with you, and the subject is closed.” “getting back to my trip, and the people down there. there are some bright negroes among them. they don't mix very freely with the dark ones, however.” "so i've heard. a sort of caste system.” “and what a system. the bright ones are the aristocrats of the islands—but enough about the west indies," and he moved his chair closer to connie. the story of dorothy stanfield "what's this you want to talk to me about, anyhow?" “oh, yes,” she cried, withdrawing a newspaper from her bag. it was not that day's paper, and it aroused his curiousity. he watched her as she unfolded and spread it out, handed it to him, pointing out an article that covered most of the page. white woman charges that negro raped her! judge nelson of mamaroneck to hear the case! “now what's this?” he cried, and lifted the paper closer to his eyes and studied it carefully. "you're looking at what it says," she said, and shrugged her shoulders. "mamaroneck, new york," he read aloud and started. "what does this mean, anyhow. negro rapes a white woman in mamar- oneck! sounds fishy to me.” "it is fishy," she declared, indignantly. "but they are trying the negro on her charges, and judge nelson is hearing the testi- mony in mamaroneck now. jim's on the case for the defense and has sent me to ask you to come up tomorrow, when they are putting the negro on the stand, and he would like you to listen to the testimony. he feels that if it is fishy, you may be in a position, by listening to the testimony tomorrow, to help him in some way later." "naturally. i'll be glad to go up there tomorrow and listen to the evidence, and if it is as he suspects, will be glad to help him in any way i can.” "i was up yesterday when she took the stand. my interest is aroused and i'm curious about it. jim feels that the woman is lying. as stated, she was on the stand yesterday, and in the cross examination, they got her all mixed up and she took recourse to the usual thing, tears." “woman's defense and greatest weapon,” observed le baron. “you may keep the paper and read and digest what the article says. meanwhile, if you can come by tonight, i want you to discuss it with jim.” the story of dorothy stanfield “i'll do that, connie,” he said. "i listened to her testimony carefully all the while she was on the stand and it is my opinion that she only told a part of the story.” “what's the position of the man who she claims raped her?” inquired le baron, resting the paper on his lap and looking at her. “between you and me and the four walls of this room, he im- pressed me as a no-gooder; but i'm sure he didn't rape her as she's trying to make the court believe." "what's the negro's occupation-meaning, what does he do?” “he works for her, chauffeur and house-man.” "oh, no!” "oh, yes," she cried, and nodded her head meaningly. “and she charges him with raping her?" “that's what they're trying him for. i want you to be sure and go up there tomorrow and listen to the testimony with your own ears." "i shall certainly do so. now where did you say that he's being tried?” and walter reached for a pencil and pad. “you drive by my apartment in the morning,” said connie, rising to her feet, preparatory to leaving. "ring the bell three times. i want to go with you and i'll be waiting.” “at what time?" he said, following her to the door. "promptly at nine. eat something before you come.” she paused now and turned back to him before opening the door. “the trial resumes at ten o'clock in the morning, and we should get there and find seats by nine-thirty, no later. i'll ask jim to prepare a spot for us, and he will, but we must be there when the court opens so that we won't miss anything." “of course,” he said, and opening the door for her, she turned and left the office. chapter chapter vit the court room at mamaroneck was alive and astir when connie and le baron arrived, which was fully a half hour before the trial was scheduled to begin. the many white women, by arriving early, had beat the colored women, who came from new york and other nearby points, to the seats. however, le baron and connie, at jim austin's request, were ushered into seats up near the front and a few minutes after they entered, the doors were closed and no others were permitted to enter. the audience was tense with anxiety. it was the kind of a trial that women, and the passionate-minded, were deeply inter- ested in, and it was being covered by all the leading newspapers, and read about by millions who were following the trial closely and its every movement. in the south when a negro is charged with raping a white woman, if he by any device managed to live long enough and was fortunate enough to get a trial, few negroes would ever try to enter the court, and guards and soldiers even would be standing guard at every door and around the court house. in the trial we are about to witness in part, the case of a negro man being tried for the alleged raping of a white woman, a society matron even, there was no kind of a demonstration, nor were there any guards on duty other than the regular routine main- tained by the court. le baron whispered this fact to connie and both after looking around, expressed delight that justice could be meted out to a the story of dorothy stanfield negro, regardless of the crime with which he was charged. the plaintiff, a beautiful white society matron by the name of stribling, was not in court that day, so would not be able to listen to the negro's testimony in rebuttal to her own, given from the stand the day before. lonnie spellman, her house-man and chauffeur, was ordered to take the stand immediately after court convened, which he did, and after being duly sworn, began his testimony in answer to his counsel by the following words: "it was all her fault,” he began. he was a very attractive brown-skinned man, about years of age. the prosecutor was obviously out to convict him, on what he claimed was “mrs. strib- ling's voluntary surrender.” "by her ways and from her action,” he protested, as the lawyer tried to confuse him, “i was left no other choice.” in dramatic contrast to mrs. stribling's tearful and agitated account of repeated rape and other physical abuses, the colored man stolidly asserted that the slender blonde had invited his em- braces. he insisted that she surrendered herself as soon as she was assured that their tryst would not be interrupted. over and over again he denied, both to his attorneys, jim austin and a jew by the name of heinman, and later in answer to the cool questions of the prosecutor, that he had used any bonds on mrs. stribling, any gags, any threats or force of any kind. according to his testimony, there was only one actual encounter- and that took place in her car in the garage of her mamaroneck home. mrs. stribling, testifying before the presiding judge, carl nel- son, and the jury the day previous, described three attacks. they were committed, she said, after she had been overpowered, choked and menaced with a knife. police witnesses recalled that she told them of four such attacks when they questioned her in the hospital after spellman's arrested attempt to drown her in the city reservoir. speaking rapidly and in an accent that at times became a mumble, spellman described the events which occurred from the ma the story of dorothy stanfield moment he went to mrs. stribling's room about ten o'clock on the night regarding which she had testified. questioned by heinman, he told of returning from a short trip to white plains. q. “after you returned and saw mrs. stribling's car in the garage, what did you do?” a. “i went to her room and knocked on her door. it was ajar. she called and said that she was in the bathroom. she said: "what do you want?' i said: 'i want to speak to you about some money.'" q. "what did she say?". a. "she said: 'wait a little while and i'll be out.'” q. “so you waited?” a. "yes, sir. i waited at the door, ten or fifteen minutes, then she came out." q. "how was she dressed?" a. "when mrs. stribling came out, she had on a robe-it had a cord around it—and some slippers." q. “go on from there." a. “she said: 'i'll see what i can do for you.' she then went between the bed and the door and got her purse, talking all the time. she said, 'i've got $ . .' then she added in a soft and inviting voice, smiling up at me oddly as she did so, 'you can have anything i've got,' and she stopped and smiled at me in that odd and inviting manner. then she came up and gave me the $ . and held my hand after doing so, and squeezed it.” q. “then what happened?" a. "i said to her, 'i thank you very much,' and i smiled back at her because she had kept smiling and pushing against me. she was so close to me now that i put my arms around her and she relaxed against my body completely, and leaning over, i kissed her and she kissed me back. she said then softly, 'you've been very nice, lonnie,' and smiled up at me in a way that made me all nervous and anxious, and i said, 'you've been pretty nice yourself. she smiled; and leaning over hid her face on my the story of dorothy stanfield i shoulder and rubbed it about, playfully. then raising her eyes, looked up at me and repeated: 'didn't you understand what i meant, lonnie? i said that you can have anything i've got,' and lowered her eyes and hid them again on my shoulder and put an arm about me. i said, 'i'd been hoping you'd say that. well, i'd like to be with you.'”. q. “what did mrs. stribling say then?” a. "she said, 'it'll be all right—if you promise you'll never say anything about it.' i said, 'i promise. i won't ever say any- thing. what about you?' she hesitated, thought for a moment and then, without raising her eyes to look at me, said: 'i want to, but i'm afraid i can't afford to.'” q. “then what did you say?" a. "i said, 'well, if that's the way you feel about it, okay.'” q. “then what happened?” a. "she left me and went and sat down on the side of the bed. she then motioned for me to come over and sit down beside her." q. "did you?” a. "i did; and we talked for a long time. vicki, the dog, meanwhile, came in the room and when he saw me sitting there beside his mistress, he growled and then began to bark. he kept looking at me as if he didn't like me and kept on barking." the people in the courtroom laughed at this, uproariously. the judge rapped his gavel for order. the laughter finally died down but snickering kept up. q. “what did you then do?” a." "i didn't do anything but she flung her hand toward vicki and told the dog to 'shut up, but he kept on looking at me and kept on barking. she reached and, taking off one of her slippers, threw ii at him. vicki howled and ran out of the room, but turned around when he got in the hall and standing there, looked at me and growled. mrs. stribling became very angry at him and cried out loud, very loud, 'goddamn that dog!' then coming back to me, laid her hand on my arm. i was standing up then. “go make the story of dorothy stanfield the little sonofabitch hush. i went into the hall and coaxed vicki down the hall a few steps and returning to the room, shut the door but it did not close tight. a moment later he came back and we could hear him outside, whining. then he scratched the door with his paws. 'get away from that door,' she called. you dirty little sonofabitch. do you hear?' she cried out loud. the dog quit scratching the door, but whined pitifully, and that kept mrs. stribling angry. she was very annoyed. she kept looking toward the dog through the door, her face frowned up. presently the dog jumped against the door and pushed it open and came back into the room, looked up at me and went to barking again. she had sat down again in the meanwhile, but jumped to her feet now, and glaring at vicki, cried 'well i'll be goddamned! why, you dirty, ragged little sonofabitch, if you don't get out of this room and quit bothering me, i'll find something and kill you!' then she looked around for something to throw at him again, but the dog howled and ran out of the room." q. "did he stay out that time?” a. "i don't quite remember; but mrs. stribling paused by the dresser and i got up and walked over by her and said: 'well, what are we going to do?' she looked around and said: 'we can't do anything here on account of that goddamned little dog, looking up and barking at us all the while.'” q. “then what happened?" a. "i suggested that we go downstairs to the garage." q. “what did she say?" a. “she was thoughtful a moment and then said, 'all right. step out into the hall and wait there while i put some clothes on.'» q. “what did you say, or do?” a. "i said 'all right and stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind me. vicki, the dog, was out there and he looked up at me and growled again. she heard him and opened the door a bit (i think she was naked and undressed as i could see her shoulder and one of her teaties) just as vicki started barking the story of dorothy stanfield again,' presently he hushed. she glared at him angrily and then to me she said: 'if the little bastard starts barking again, kick his goddamned brains out.'” q. "did the dog start barking again?” a. "no, sir. he seemed to understand what she had said and, whining pitifully, crawled down the hall to where it turned and after he was out of sight i looked away. a moment later, however, i heard a movement and looking around, saw him peep- ing at me from around the corner and whining some more.” at this point the courtroom, through which endless tittering had been going on all the time spellman was testifying about what the dog did, could not seem to restrain itself longer and broke into loud laughter. it was several minutes before order could be re- stored. in fact, the people kept laughing until judge nelson told them that if they didn't hush he'd order the courtroom cleared. the crowd hushed then and when it was quiet again, counsel resumed questioning spellman. q. "did you use any threats or force on her.' a. "i did not,” spellman said, shaking his head negatively. q. “did you choke her in the hall when she came out, as she testified that you did?” a. "no, i did not. before she came out, however, she cracked the door while she was dressing and the dog had quieted down, and she smiled at me and winked and opened the door wide enough for me to see one of her teaties again. presently she was dressed (she only had a robe on, but put her heavy coat on over the robe) and came outside and looking up at me, smiled, and raising her lips, said, 'kiss me?'. i obliged her and we started down the hall. when we turned the corner, there was vicki, looking up at us and he began to growl. that made her angry all over again. she pointed her finger at him and cried: ‘you shaggy little sonofabitch! if you open your goddamned mouth and bark again, i'll cut your heart out. now come here to me! the dog came crawling up to her and whining and i was afraid he'd start barking again, and the story of dorothy stanfield said to her: 'if he starts barking again he's liable to wake matilda up.'" he turned to the judge then and explained that matilda was the colored girl he was living with and that she was mrs. stribling's cook, and that he didn't want her to know what was going on; for she was jealous and liked to fight, and that she might mess him- and mrs. stribling, too—all up. the courtroom again broke into uproarious laughter. before the judge could seem to think, he was seen to smile a bit, then dropping it as quickly, he rapped loudly for order. the people quit laughing and turned their eyes back to spellman. q. "was there any screaming?" a. "no, she didnt 'scream.” the lawyer then picked up and read from mrs. stribling's testi- mony in which she declared that he forced her to give him her jewels. he then looked straight at spellman and went on: q. "did she give you her jewels?”. a. "no, she did not.” spellman shook his head as he an- swered. q. “what happened?" a. "she coaxed vicki back into the room and kicked at him and he whined and ran under the bed. she pointed her finger in that direction and said: 'if you bark again while i'm downstairs, i'll come back here and throw you out the window.'” q: “what floor was the apartment located on?" a. "the tenth." the courtroom laughed again, and again the judge rapped for order. q. “go on with your testimony." a. “we got on the elevator (it was a self-operating one) and went downstairs. there was a parlor down there. nobody was in it and she took me in there, looked around to see if anybody was around. when convinced that we were alone and nobody could hear, she sat down and patted the seat beside her for me to sit beside her. i said, 'what's the matter?' she looked at me a bit the story of dorothy stanfield queerly, and then with a little frown as if from anxiety, she said: now you're sure you're not going to hurt me?' i assured her that i would not; that i'd be very careful." q. “what did she do then?” a. “she hesitated a little longer and seemed a bit uneasy, but finally got up and after asking me to assure her again that i'd be careful and not hurt her, followed me outside and into the garage.” q. “then what did you do?” a. "we got into the back seat of the big car.” q. "did you tie her up and carry her into the car as she testified that you did?” a. "i did not. by the time we got to the garage, mrs. strib- ling was so anxious that she grabbed me and almost pulled me onto the back seat of the car with her. the only thing that seemed to worry mrs. stribling, was that her husband might find out; and she didn't want that to happen.” the negro went on then to tell how they became sexually in- timate after that; and how she kept insisting that he take her to a quiet rooming house or hotel in harlem. he said that he finally found a quiet place and that he took her there many times. .q. "how do you account for her changing and declaring that you raped her?” a. "she told me after we had made several visits to the hotel in harlem, that her husband was getting suspicious; but that he couldn't satisfy her any more and that she was frightened. she said that she had a fine husband who was taking good care of her and that she had been getting along all right until she started go- ing out with me; and that now everything was different. she said: 'i'm afraid i'll have to do something about it.'” he then gave his version of the attempted drowning which mrs. stribling had also charged him with. under the prodding of his attorney, spellman told of how they drove onto the crowded boston post road and then turned into westchester avenue, towards the story of dorothy stanfield white plains. twice they parked by the roadside and had sexual intercourse each time they stopped. q. "what happened near the reservoir?” a. “as i got to the filling station nearby, she said: 'let me out. before that she'd been silent a long time, as if she was think- ing up something." q. "when you pulled off on the side of the road after that was it at her request?” a. “yes, sir.” q. “then what?" a. “i unlatched the door-reached over her to do so—and she got out and walked away and up the road toward the reservoir.” q. “then what?" a. “when she didn't come back, i drove ahead and caught up with her. i said: "what's wrong?' she said: 'you've ruined me. i'm afraid i'm going to have a baby; and if i do, it will be a dark baby and may look like you. then my husband will discover that i've been cheating on him. i'm going to kill myself. i was frightened and got out of the car and tried to plead with her, but she pulled away and went up the bank of the reservoir and waded a short distance out into the water." q. "did you push her in? she has testified that you did." " a. "i did not. i stood on the bank and pleaded with her to come out; that she was acting foolish, and that if she was going to have a baby, i knew a doctor down in harlem who'd get rid of it for her.” q. "did you throw rocks at her while she was in the water, as she also testified?” “i did not." q. "did you tear any of her clothing? she left a torn dress there, and said that you did it!” a. "i did not. if she left or brought a torn dress here, she tore it herself and then said i did it. maybe she did that." the attorney paused to display a torn gray dress which she had brought to court; it had been entered as exhibit a. the story of dorothy stanfield q. “she testified that you made her write a ransom note. did you?” a. “there was nothing said about ransom notes during our entire association. mrs. stribling made up all that she has testified to in order to show her husband that she has not been unfaithful.” the prosecutor rose to his feet and objected to this, setting forth that what spellman had said was merely his opinion. the trial dragged on through several days and was witnessed by the usual morbid crowd, mostly women. at the end of it, how- ever, the jury returned a verdict of “not guilty”, which was later discussed at some length. it was admitted by many of the jurors after they had been dismissed, that a white woman on the jury had insisted on acquittal before the deliberations started, on the grounds that mrs. strib- ling's whole accusation was a big lie. she said: "i'm a woman and no man-not even my own husband could rape me, under the circumstances that she set forth, if i didn't want him to." judge nelson dismissed the case and spellman was duly freed. mrs. austin's statement to le baron was later proven to be correct, when she said that in her opinion, spellman was a no- gooder, for less than two years later, both spellman and his com- mon-law wife were sent to the penitentiary for robbing a new em- ployer who had trusted them and given them a good job to help them. chapter chapter vitt tour hundred nine edgecombe avenue is prob- r ably the best-known single address in harlem. it is so familiar to every negro living in and around new york that few persons take the trouble to say “edgecombe.” just " ." it is one of the tallest buildings in harlem. it is located on a hill, high up in that section called "sugar hill,” near the inter- section of edgecombe avenue and th street, and can be seen from almost every part of new york's great black belt. it is a fine, well-built structure, owned and managed by neg- roes—in this case, a group of west indian colored men, experienced in the management and ownership of property. added to what has already been said about " ," it is a popular address, where probably more people live than in any other single building in harlem. high up in a penthouse atop , dwelt connie austin and her husband, jim. our story has wandered to this address and now it enters the seven-room apartment of connie austin, where a party is being held, and where many of the best-known and most prosperous col- ored people of harlem have been invited, including walter le baron. a guest trickled in occasionally, and among them was a friend by the name of annie bolden. “mrs. florence early, better known, or more commonly known as mrs. wingate, i should say,” connie was telling her guest, "has been invited and i am expecting her." “you mean," replied her guest in some surprise, her eyes dilat- the story of dorothy stanfield ing a bit, “that mrs. florence wingate-early, the white woman who's married to a colored man?” “yes,” replied mrs. austin calmly, nodding her head. "have you ever met her?" "lord, no, honey. i ain't never met, and i don't want to meet, no white woman married to any niggah. -" "ssh!” cautioned mrs. austin, raising a finger and glancing around her. “you must not use such words, dear. don't you understand that as a race it is time we quit calling each other by that word, even among ourselves? you must say “colored' or at the worst, 'negro: now promise me to try to remember that from now on, will you?” her guest, somewhat embarrassed, nodded her head agreeably as she promised to try to. "now go on, dear, with what you started to say,” connie said. “well," resumed her guest, being careful to select her words and not use the offensive term again and perhaps before she was aware of doing so. “i started to say that i don't know if i am anxious to. there's too many negro men marrying white women lately in new york to suit me. i confess that i don't like it, and am rather surprised that you have invited one of them, or some of them, perhaps, to your party. i repeat, i don't like it and i never will. no white people would invite her and a negro hus- band to any party of theirs and you know it.” "i must agree with your last sentence. we all. understand how the white people feel about their white women marrying negro men. they will have none of it, as far as they are concerned. in the case of mrs. wingate, however, the circumstances, i assure you, are quite different. i can appreciate how you feel, all right, but her case is an exception.” “what kind of an exception? she's a white woman, isn't she?” “of course, but mrs. wingate is a very rich woman, under- stand?" "oh! well,” her guest went on now more slowly, and thought- fully, “that could make some difference. yes, it could,” the story of dorothy stanfield “yes, dear,” mrs. austin continued. “it does make a differ- ence, a very great difference. we negroes are so poor as a whole that if one of us got a chance and slipped off and married a white woman with plenty of money like mrs. wingate has, then we can consider accepting them into our circle. i am sure you'll agree with me, graciously.” : mrs. austin paused to smile and bow to another guest in even- ing clothes who entered, then turning back to the other, went on: "aside from the things i've just said, however, mrs. wingate is a fine lady, refined and dignified, and a very kind person.” “that's what i've heard, but i thought it was just talk. how'd she come to get mixed up with us, anyhow?” again mrs. austin glanced about her. some other people were near and taking the guest by the arm, she led her over by a win- dow, turned to glance around them again, and, satisfied that she would not be overheard, went on in a subdued tone: “this is confidential, annie.” “confidential, honey? fine. you can tell me all about it. i. promise i won't tell nobody." “you mean you won't tell “anybody,' dear, not nobody,” cor- rected mrs. austin, patiently. “of course, honey, of course," replied annie quickly. "i'm trying to improve my speech, and i promise as you asked me, to be very careful from now on. now go on, deah.” annie bolden was a good, kindly woman from down south who had been a cook in a very well-to-do white family when she met and fell to liking john bolden, a west indian with ambition. john bolden saved his money. and encouraged annie to do likewise on the promise that if she did, he would consider marrying her. annie was rather insulted, but john bolden was a steady man, worked hard, kept away from liquor, numbers, dice and horses, and annie began to like him and also began to obey him. in due time john married her and before long bought an apart- ment in harlem whose rents he collected, moved in and before long had bought another and still another. he then went into the the story of dorothy stanfield real estate business and in due time had succeeded and now his wife was considered among the "best" people of harlem, the best people with money. many of the people who called themselves the "best" in harlem, are confined to teachers and others with the better jobs and they set themselves up as "better” without any- body's leave or consent. connie austin was a smart matron. she didn't take those without money overly serious, but when they were close to the money, connie reckoned as to how she might be able to use them sooner or later in some way, or in jim's way, hence mrs. bolden's presence at her party. "yes, annie, i want you to meet mrs. wingate if and when she comes, for if you can just swallow your prejudice about negroes marrying white women, i think you'll like her.” "i'll try to do as you ask for your sake, honey, but i still don't like the idea of so many of these old uppity men of ours marrying white women.” "there aren't so many doing it. we just hear about those who do and talk about it and that makes it seem like more are doing so than there actually are. but i agree with you that more are doing so than there ought to be and i hope the white people don't get wise to it sooner or later and go to talking about it. if they do they may hurt us in other ways.” “and you say that this mrs. wingate is nice?” “oh, sweet." “and she wasn't no—whore when he married her?” “gracious, no, annie!” exclaimed mrs. austin, shocked. she looked hard at annie and went on: “what ever made you think anything like that?” “aw, i dunno,” sighed annie, sort of bewildered. “but most of the white women that married colored men when i was a girl, were whores. often landladies, who were hard to satisfy, so i've heard, and took up with a negro to be completely satisfied and by and by married them.” connie laughed, then shook her head. "you can think of the most-ridiculous things, annie. indeed the story of dorothy stanfield you can, but you were all wrong as regards to mrs. wingate, and that is what i called you over here to explain.” “then she wasn't one, huh?” “by no means, annie. she was an aristocrat. descended from an old, rich, slave-owning family in georgia. she was a widow when kermit early married her. her first husband, from whom she inherited her great wealth, was a textile millionaire of atlanta. i understand that the marriage was not a happy one.” “no? what was the matter?” connie shrugged her shoulders and her expression was odd. “they tell me that he was well, funny.” "aw! one of them things, huh?” “that's what i've been told." "just how funny?" “completely. not built like other men, if you understand what i mean.” "i begin to see through it all now. and that's how she hap- pened to get mixed up with us?”. "i suppose so," and connie shrugged her shoulders again and smiled. mrs. bolden nodded her head, then grinned. "so she had to have satisfaction—and it took a negro to see that she got it,” and annie bolden broke into laughter. mrs. austin, restraining her inclination to laugh with her, looked around and raised her hand to her lips for silence. "they have three beautiful children, i mean she and kermit early have and seem to be very happy together.” “looks like the negro was able to satisfy her all right,” where- upon both laughed. "now, now, annie. that's a matter between a man and a wife. all i know is that she seems to love him dearly and i'm sure he loves her, so that is that. but getting back to what i started to explain about our men marrying white women, and that the women were not all sporting white girls." the story of dorothy stanfield then how come them getting so mixed up with ne- "no? groes?" “through communism." "oh, yes?” "surel” cried mrs. austin. "haven't you seen them milling around harlem? they've been doing so for years." “come to think of it,” said mrs. bolden after reflection, "i have. when you meet them, the white men are always with the colored women; the colored men with the white girls. yes, i've seen them together round harlem. lots of times. what's new york coming to, anyhow?” “that's what's going on." “negroes are a mess. i wonder if they stand for anything, anyhow?" “sometimes i'm very dubious about it,” observed mrs. austin. "just look how they went for roosevelt.” “well, not as bad as all that. most of the negroes voted for roosevelt, i know," said mrs. bolden. “what about the negroes? why were they so strong for him?" mrs. austin smiled and winked. "he handed out some relief checks during the depression, and they were never able, it seems, to get over it. roosevelt was a very good man, but he was too busy to even think much about negroes, and jim says, there is no record of where he did anything for negroes in particular, unless you want to call handing out relief checks during the depression, something. he didn't pick out the negroes to hand them to—they were sent to everybody who was in distress, or claimed to be; but the negroes seemed to think that it was for them in particular. anyway, they went all out for the man—and put the south in the saddle in washington, and now they are belly-aching and afraid that the southern poli- ticians in the saddle in washington are out to put them in their places.'" "i think mrs. roosevelt had more to do with causing our group to go so all out for him the last time than he himself,” said mrs. the story of dorothy stanfield mrs. austin paused to look at the watch on her wrist, then turned her eyes toward the door. "well, darling annie,” she said, “my guests are now arriving in large numbers and i've really got to break this up and leave you," and she patted her forearm, and turned to go. “just one more thing before you leave me, dear,” cried annie, with something obviously on her mind. "since you say that you've invited this mrs. wingate, what about this writer, frank knight? did you invite him? i'd like to see what he looks like. i've seen pictures of him and read his books of course, but i haven't seen anybody who says they have ever seen him. will he and his white wife be here tonight, also?” "no, annie, i didn't invite him, because i don't know him and have met nobody else in harlem that seems to. they all know of him, of course, but that's as far as it goes.” “afraid to bring his white wife out among us spooks, huh?” "i'm sure i wouldn't know! but i do know that not many of the white women married to negroes seem to venture out among us colored people. i think they're afraid to.” “of the way, perhaps, that colored women will look at them. personally, i've never met one of these women, so i'll be glad to meet this mrs. wingate, if and when she comes, thank you. i've so often wondered what they do and where they take them after they marry them. people, especially white people, look at a colored man when he's with a white woman so hard that it would frighten me—that is, when they dare go out in public together. so i wonder what they do for social intercourse? they certainly can't go parading them around among white people.” "oh, no!” exclaimed connie. “they don't even expect to- but you've got to excuse me now. some important people have just arrived, by the way people are flocking around them.” she paused after turning, to look over toward the door before leaving. then, perking up happily, she turned back to annie, with a broad smile. "it's sidney wyeth and his wife. i invited them, too." she the story of dorothy stanfield leaned closer to annie now and in a sort of undertone, said: "if you want to look at a pretty woman, come with me and meet wyeth's wife, bertha. not only the most beautiful race woman in new york, but she's also among the nicest.” taking annie by the arm, she led her across the room and toward where sidney wyeth and his wife had paused and were shaking hands with many of the guests who seemed to know them. while the above was going on, walter le baron, dressed in a dinner jacket and other attire that went with it, was walking slowly back and forth on the cool porch of the penthouse, sur- rounded by several men of his race, smoking and talking. le baron was answering questions regarding the negro master-mind criminal he had finally run down and captured in port of spain, trinidad, just off the coast of northern south america, where the master-mind was about to take a plane for rio de janeiro. at this point, an athletically built man, also a detective but employed by the city, came up to him, called him off to one side and said: "been trying to get in touch with you ever since you got back.” "yeah?” replied le baron, after shaking his hand and then looking at him curiously. “what's up?" "plenty! the commissioner wants to see you.” "you mean walton?” "not la guardia. he isn't the mayor any longer," at which both laughed. "he was a good one, though,” said le baron. "everybody gives him that credit, but he got his politics twisted, and after going all out for roosevelt while he lived, when the old man kicked off and he came back to dewey for endorsement, dewey threw him out on his can!” and again both men laughed, this time uproariously. le baron took anderson, the city detective who had brought him the message, or who had a message for him, off to where they could look down on the lights of harlem below, and making them- selves comfortable, turned to anderson for more information. “so walton wants to see me, eh?” the story of dorothy stanfield “nobody else. walton himself, at his office downtown.” "well, this must be something of importance, when the police commissioner of the city of new york sends for somebody to come and see him. what does he want to see me about?" "got an important case he wants to put you on. a murder case. took place while you were away.” “a murder case, huh? who's been up to mischief now?" anderson shrugged his shoulders. “go down and see walton soon-very soon. it's most im- portant." "humph!” grunted le baron, thoughtfully, shifting his position at the same time. presently, turning to anderson, said: "i'll see him." "thanks, le baron. i'll tell him that i found you, and that you'll come down.” anderson then turned and walked away. le baron then walked over to the edge of the pent-house porch and looked down on the polo grounds below. a night baseball game was in progress and he could see, from where he stood, most of the game; but it was too far away to tell one team from the other. at that moment jim austin walked up, tapped him on the shoulder and said: "connie wants to see you inside. do you mind?” “of course not, jim. not at all. i'll go with you." “okay, le baron,” and taking his arm, austin led him across the porch and into the parlor where connie was standing, talking to three people, one of whom was a white woman. as they came up, connie turned to meet him and smiling, took his hand and swinging him around, began: “mrs. wingate-i mean mrs. early, pardon me, please." "oh, that is all right, mrs. austin,” mrs. wingate said, ob- viously completely agreeable. "i understand. no apologies are necessary. please go on and introduce me to the gentleman.” “meet mr. walter le baron." "how do you do, mr. le baron,” mrs. wingate spoke first and extended her hand. the story of dorothy stanfield “glad to meet you, mrs. early," le baron said, taking the soft hand. "mr. le baron,” mrs. austin went on to explain, "is our ace detective. we're proud of him," and she turned admiring eyes on walter, who accepted the compliment paid him, graciously. "i've heard a great deal about you, mrs. early,” walter le baron said as he loosed her hand. “but the people seem to insist on calling you mrs. wingate.” "that is perfectly all right, mr. le baron, and, incidentally, i've heard a great deal about you—all about how you captured the master-mind thief who had been terrorizing park avenue.” she smiled appreciatively, then seeming to think of something, turned to sidney wyeth, who had been talking to his wife in a near under- tone while le baron was being introduced to mrs. wingate. "perhaps you know mr. wyeth,” said mrs. wingate, and looked from one to the other momentarily. "for a long time, thank you,” le baron said, turning to wyeth now and offering his hand, which wyeth took with a smile. "how do you do, old timer?” "fine, le baron,” said wyeth, happy to see him again. "i've heard how you brought home the bacon. you always do." le baron dismissed this compliment with a swing away of his hand, deprecatingly. “as long as i've known you and as well, i don't believe you've ever met the wife.” he turned to mrs. wyeth now, who had stood by patiently waiting until they got around to her. "i'm flattered at meeting mr. le baron,” said bertha, giving him her small hand. as he accepted the introduction, he was ani- mated by her great beauty which had been the talk of harlem ever since wyeth married her and began to take her around among his friends. "i imagine you've been well, mrs. wyeth,” said le baron, still looking at her and inwardly marveling at her beauty. "oh, very well, mr. le baron." and then looking him up and down a moment, smiled. “you look the picture of health so i the story of dorothy stanfield feel that it would be superfluous to ask concerning your health,” said bertha and smiled and blushed, causing the dimples on her cheeks to stand out prominently as she did so. "we are now serving lunch," said mrs. austin, returning to the group at this point. “so won't all of you please come into the dining room?" this brought an agreeable smile to all present. wyeth's wife took his arm and started away. mrs. wingate, who had not brought her husband, kermit, turned and gave le baron an inviting smile, whereupon he offered her his arm and together they followed the others into the dining room. chapter chapter ix talter le baron called the commissioner's secretary the next morning to say that he had received the com- missioner's message; and that he would be happy to call whenever the commissioner would care to talk with him. "he is ready and anxious to talk with you any time, mr. le baron, that you can get here. he is most anxious to see you and has been for a long time. what time shall i tell him that you will be here?”, said the secretary, and waited for his reply. le baron consulted the watch on his wrist. “in one hour," he replied. “i'll tell the commissioner,” the secretary said, "and he'll be waiting, mr. le baron. is that all for the present?” "that is all, thank you,” replied le baron, and hung up. he rose to his feet, was thoughtful for a moment, and then said to himself: "must be something when the busy commissioner is willing to drop everything and talk to me. well,” he sighed, slapping his thigh, “i'll get a bite to eat and go right down and see what it's all about." the commissioner rose from his desk as le baron, about an hour later, was ushered into his office by the secretary. the com- missioner came forward with outstretched hand to greet le baron, with: "where'n hell have you been for months, le baron?" he cried, as he grasped the detective's hand, impulsively. the story of dorothy stanfield le baron, while they still stood, told him in a few words where he had been, which the commissioner knew but seemed to want to hear a little more about from le baron's own lips. "take a seat over there where i can look at you and tell you why i am so anxious to see and talk with you,” said walton, point- ing to a comfortable chair beside his large desk. after they seated themselves and the commissioner had offered him a smoke from a box of fine cigars, he said: "well, i want to compliment you on your delivery of one of the cleverest thieves that ever struck the town, and it makes me more anxious than ever to put you on another case equally, if not more baffling. this case, in addition to a murder, had robbery as a motive.” “that last case is closed, sealed and delivered, commissioner, so whatever it is you want to talk to me about, i'm here to hear it, so shoot.” “well, to begin with, this murder and robbery happened four months ago. to be exact, almost before you got started on your journey to the carribbean from which you've just returned.” "four months ago, whew!” exclaimed le baron, with a deep frown. "if the killer has run away, which i presume he has, his trail is as cold as ice! why the delay, i'm certainly not the only detective in new york? why have you waited so long?" “we haven't waited, and there's the rub,” said the commis- sioner, a deep frown on his face now. “we had men on the case immediately after the discovery of the body of the murdered man, which body had been placed in a trunk and sent by express to a blind address in richmond, virginia, where it remained for some time unclaimed and was finally re- turned by the express company to new york,” said walton, his face serious and still wearing a deep frown. le baron adjusted his position and regarded walton with great seriousness. "humph! the plot thickens. go on, please.” “in fact,” the commissioner went on, earnestly, “we had men on the case before the body was returned; yes, as soon as we the story of dorothy stanfield “what about leonard?” “oh, haven't you heard about leonard?” cried the commis- sioner abruptly, as if surprised. "heard what? i've been back less than a week. i haven't heard anything. what are you talking about, anyhow?" “leonard has been suspended.” "suspended!” echoed le baron, sitting up, plainly surprised. “what are you telling me?" "that leonard, called new york's ace negro detective for years and years, who has killed six men of his race—and got decorated for doing so instead of being condemned, as he should have been, was caught in his own net—and i had to suspend him!” “great goodness!” le baron exclaimed, as if shocked. “a most unusual procedure, but i had to do it,” the com- missioner said, as if regretting it. after a pause, and an expression of regret, the commissioner went on: "i knew that leonard was not what he was cracked up to be- knew it for a long time. i also knew that far from being a hero, as your colored paper up in harlem had played him up as, that he was a crook, a plain, simple and unvarnished crook. a worse crook, in fact, than the men whom he had killed and instead of being tried and sent up like any other criminal, as he should have been, he managed in some way to get decorated for doing so.” the commissioner paused and sighed and shook his head, sadly. "i retained-actually did retain him in spite of all this, for in spite of all he did that would have gone against any other man of the force, leonard managed to get away with it, and instead of getting what was coming to him sooner, i had to grant a raise in his salary against my own convictions, but i'm sorry. i dislike passing the buck; but looking back on it, i think i must have been unduly influenced by all the praise showered on him by that big colored paper in harlem, which insisted on heroizing him to the skies, publishing sensational tales about his exploits in crimin- ology—the work of some writer's fertile imagination, no doubt. but i suspect, in the end, it was all inspired by leonard himself. the story of dorothy stanfield anyway, from the way this paper played him up, you'd have thought that he was the finest man on our force or anywhere else.” "i've always felt that leonard would trip himself, somewhere and somehow, by and by,” observed le baron, thoughtfully and with a shrug of his shoulders. “i've known personally for years that he was not what that paper you refer to had him cracked up as being. he was, in truth, one of the biggest racketeers in har- lem. tell me, what did he do to finally trip himself?” “among other forms of racketeering on the side, he was one of the most active men in collecting protection up there." “protection?” "protection from dozens of girls, hustling all over harlem- by his permission." “go away!” “additionally, my investigators reported to me that he was operating some three or four gambling houses on his own. but what tripped him finally was a case that gained considerable notor- iety while you were away, so you perhaps didn't hear much, if anything, about it.” "i'm sure i haven't heard," said le baron. “a white hustling girl rolled a contractor for ten grand-got away with it, since the man she stole it from never made any charge nor came forward to claim or recover the money, but took his loss like a great many guilty guys who steal out and cheat on their wives, should,” and the commissioner paused to smile. “the girl, as is usually the case, had a pimp to whom she was giving the money she managed to get hold of in any kind of way, and in her case, the pimp this time was a negro. leonard found out about what had happened and immediately ran the girl down, after digging into the record and found where she had forfeited a $ . bail and promptly went after her.” "sounds like leonard's old tricks all right,” smiled le baron, shaking his head and smiling understandingly. "he dug her up somewhere there in harlem and threatened to arrest her and lock her up if she didn't take him to her pimp and the story of dorothy stanfield make him give him some of the money. frightened, as any hust- ling woman is liable to be when threatened with being thrown into the hoosegow again, she told him that he was in paterson, new jersey. “leonard grabbed a taxi and taking her with him, lit out for paterson. after milling around, all over the colored section, they finally corraled the pimp in a tavern. "leonard, they told me, hauled him outside and threw him into the taxi, which he seemed to use as his office for the shake-down. he demanded $ , or he would throw both in jail, and file a charge against them.” "in jersey-far out of his jurisdiction?” said le baron, in surprise. “in new jersey, and i should say out of our jurisdiction-away out of it—but that was leonard, you know. ruthless to the nth degree. meantime, i imagine both of them were frightened stiff and afraid to stand on their constitutional rights. anway, the pimp finally dished him out a grand — and leonard pulled his trump card, and what he was sure would protect him when and if it ever became necessary, by bringing them both back to new york. once on this side of the river he was, of course, back in his jurisdiction and they were in his hands." "smart boy," and le baron laughed. "in his anxiety and excitement to find and corral the pair, leonard slipped one cog, only a single one, but when that happens machinery often has its gears stripped and that is what happened in this case.” "sounds like a nick carter detective story." "he forgot to register in at his precinct at four-thirty, the dead-line, and before going over to new jersey.” "ah!” said le baron, nodding his head understandingly. "but after he had shaken the girl and her pimp down for the thousand and was satisfied, leonard remembered and as quickly as he got back across the river, he rushed to his station and regis- tered in-at eleven p. m., instead of having done so, as stated, at the story of dorothy stanfield banks downtown was the owner of the properties where he col- lected the rents. "by representing himself as only the agent, zacarrio could, and did, manage to exact harder terms and could and did insist that all rentals be paid when due, promptly. being only the agent the tenants understood that he could grant no favors, so he was able to keep all rentals paid right up to date. actually, while regarded as merely an ordinary rent collector, zacarrio was in truth wealthy. “now it happens that since his murder it is to the especial interest of his relatives that his murderer be apprehended; and they have offered a substantial reward and, through influence, have persuaded the state to add to this substantial sum that they are offering, and if you should be fortunate enough to apprehend the killer, there'll be a lot of money waiting for you when it is all over, and this man rests securely in prison, which would make it well worth your while.” “was there anybody close enough to this—". "-johnson is his name. cleo johnson, and he had not been working at the building long. from what we've been able to find out, he was a sort of drifter; and having killed and robbed zacar- rio, he promptly left his job and no trace of him or his where- abouts has been found to this date. but in regard to persons who met and became acquainted with him while he worked up there, there's the engineer of the building, who is still working there, who can, i am sure, give you about all the information regarding johnson that can be secured. as explained, johnson, it seems, did not live in new york, but had simply drifted into town from some where, perhaps down south; and as also stated, promptly continued on his way again, but with perhaps a lot of cash, the real amount of which we have no exact record, other than that it actually was in the thousands." "well,” le baron began, after a moment of thoug'it. “you said that he shipped the body in a trunk to some address in rich- mond, virginia?” “it was a fake address and the person to whom he consigned the story of dorothy stanfield "just what i say. you liye in new york. you know jews and how they treat you. work you to death and pay you only as much as they have to. thank god for the unions. they make jews pay off,” and williams laughed, gleefully. “were you-on good terms with zacarrio?" “oh, yes. the best.” "i wondered,” said le baron, thoughtfully. “why?” “by what you said-'one of the worst ' i'm quoting you, you understand?” "oh, sure," replied williams readily. he did not seem in any way perturbed by le baron's suspicion. le baron concluded then and there that williams was a talkative negro-liked to hear him- self talk. "you also knew cleo johnson, who has been charged with murdering zacarrio?” "of course. i was working here with him at the time." "how long did you know johnson?” "since he took the superintendent's job here at the building." "and how long was that?” "well, he was here three months.”' "and how long was that before the murder?" "about three months. i mean that he was here three months before he disappeared, which was two days after zacarrio disap- peared! "you know positively that he killed zacarrio?" "i do not. but the police say he did, and i feel quite sure that they were right. he disappeared the next day after he had me help him load the trunk which contained the body, onto the express wagon to be shipped to richmond, virginia.” “so you helped him ". "_put the trunk on the express wagon. i also helped him and the express man carry the trunk from johnson's room, which was down here in the basement.” he paused and pointed to the room. “both the express man and i remarked about the trunk. we the story of dorothy stanfield wondered at the time about it being so heavy." “you hadn't any suspicion that it contained zacarrio's body?” “oh, none whatever. had we suspected" “-i understand," said le baron, cutting him off. “you wouldn't have helped him or had anything to do with it. more- over, you'd have called the police.” “that's exactly what i'd have did," said williams indignantly. "had you ever seen johnson before he took the job?" "no. the first time i saw him was when zacarrio brought him down to this basement and, introducing him to me, told me that he was the new superintendant; and that he hoped we'd get along." “had there been any other superintendants on the job since you started working here?” "perhaps a dozen during the past two years. no one of them ever stayed very long.” "why?” inquired le baron, pausing to look straight at him. williams shrugged his shoulders a bit contemptously. “i said at the beginning that zacarrio was one of the worst." “that doesn't explain about why so many superintendants.” "one of the reasons he couldn't keep superintendants was that he was very short when it came to putting out. in other words he didn't like to pay what any man's work was worth.” "and this is why you account for nobody staying long on the job, eh?" "he was not only about the tightest jew in the bronx, but he'd work you to death if you'd stand for it.” "did the jew work you hard?”. “and how! the worst about it, this one never wanted to pay you much for it.” "did you know that zacarrio owned the building?” "i did and i didn't.” “what do you mean by that?” said le baron, watching him closely. for some reason for which he could not account, he was curious about williams. the story of dorothy stanfield “he said too much about just being the agent and then kept on being the agent. i was skeptical, and then suspicious, and then i concluded that he was more than the agent; but as long as i got my money, and i made the rascal pay me, i allowed that it was none of my business, so didn't think so much about it. then he did own the building, eh?" “and several others around here.” “the dirty, lying little sonofabitch!” “why are you so bitter regarding zacarrio?" “because he was such a cheap chiseler!" "well, he's dead and buried and i'm here to see what you know about johnson who, it has been concluded, due to his dis- appearance, committed the act.” "i'm glad that somebody had the nerve to kill the dirty little bastard!” “that's a very harsh remark to make, williams. if you talked that way to the other men who've been here to investigate this tragedy, i'm surprised that you weren't arrested and held, at least as an accessory after the fact." "i know when to talk. you're a negro like myself. we un- derstand what it's all about when we talk to each other. i would never talk to any white man as i have to you." "thanks for the compliment. i feel sure you hadn't anything to do with killing zacarrio." "of course i didn't. i hope you don't think i did." “i'm sure you didn't, but you must be careful how you talk.: don't be so vindictive because you didn't seem to like him. now getting back to johnson. i don't want to see you get into trouble by talking too much.” “thank you, mr. le baron," said williams, gratefully. "i, promise to be more careful in the future. now you were asking me?" “i've got to ask you a lot of questions about this murder, williams.” "i'll be glad to tell you all i know," said williams. the story of dorothy stanfiel! "thank you, williams; and if you've decided to be more care, ful of how you talk, we'll go on from here." "go ahead and shoot all the questions at me that you can think of. when i can answer, i'll tell you, and when i don't know, i'll also tell you.” "fine, williams. stick to that and we'll get somewhere." "okay, mr. le baron.” “the first question now. was johnson married?” "no," said williams, shaking his head. "at least i never met any woman that said she was his wife. yet he introduced a lot of women to me, i mean, one at the time, that he called 'wife,'" and williams laughed. le baron understood and smiled. "you're getting into deep water, williams. what did you mean by what you just said?”. “that cleo johnson was a ladies' man.” "meaning, that he liked the ladies.” “and how! had a different 'wife' while he was here, almost every week," and williams laughed. “and that was one of his weaknesses?" "just one. he had others.” “what others, for instance?" “gambling." “gambling, eh? in just what form?" "about all the forms—from dice and cards and kelly pool to race horses and baseball pools." "a sucker?" “yes—and, no.” “what do you mean by that?" “he was a sucker because he was a gambler and woman-crazy; but he knew how to gamble. in fact, he knew too well.” “that's an unusual assertion. make it plainer?” "well, starting out with pool. he could beat anybody, any- time and anywhere, at playing it. he knew every shot that had ever been invented and how to make it.” "you mean 'conceived,' but they mean the same thing," ob- the story of dorothy stanfield served le baron. "so he was what might be referred to as a pool expert?" "he was all that and a lot more." "now what do you mean?". "i mean that not only was he a pool expert, but he could do anything with dice that was doable and what he wanted to.” "i still don't get what you're talking about. what do you mean by 'doing anything with dice that he wanted to?'”. “well, he was a master of the soft roll, if you know what i mean?” “i've heard of it." "he could, on a pool table, or a carpet, the ground or anything soft, take the dice, throw them out and when he made a point, could come right back and make it over again when he got ready. you know what that means?". "that he could clean out any crap-shooters he got into a game with.” "exactly, and that is what he would do; had been doing for i don't know how long." “very interesting. what else could he do that was unusual?” “he wasn't so bad at the hard roll, but not as expert as he was with the soft roll.” “you mean that he could make a point on the side walk, an unclothed table or anything hard, too.” "exactly that." “then why did he, a master of all you've said, have to be worka ing as a janitor?" "because they would get on to him before long, and nobody would play with him." “oh, i see! so he would have to, say, 'keep moving.' am i right?" “right!” "now i begin to understand, but go on. tell me more about his habits.” "well, he told me after he started working here, that that was the story of dorothy stanfield what had happened to him-right down there in harlem with all the negroes that are down there." “you mean that it got around to all the crap-shooters, even, in harlem that he couldn't be beat?” "in harlem and brooklyn, perhaps in jamaica, too. anyway, he got down and out and took this janitor job to make enough to keep on eating.” "it would seem that with being such an expert, he'd have made a lot of money, and would have had something until he could, per- haps, make another town.” “that was it. i said that he was a sucker for good-looking dames. liked to dress them up and ride them around, and you know what that costs. they kept him broke.” "of course. so broke and short of money to eat, that he had to take this job. is that it?". "that's how he happened to come here. he was a good worker when he had to work, though, and wasn't lazy; and zacarrio, when he found this out, became rather fond of him.” “and that is how he came to meet zacarrio?" “that was how. another thing, johnson was too smart to hustle on his boss, so he never asked zacarrio for money before pay day as most negroes are given to doing.” "he didn't draw in advance, eh? what influence on zacarrio did that have?” "plenty! as i told you, zacarrio was tight and didn't like to put out. when he found out that he could talk to johnson about money and not be panned for an advance, he became very chummy with johnson." “what happened then?” "zacarrio loved money better than a hungry negro loves chicken, and even liked to play with it, for i have seen him doing so. well, johnson found out all about this, too; flattered him about what a fine man he was and that the people all had him wrong, and that he liked to work for a businessman.” "very interesting.” the story of dorothy stanfield "zacarrio then began to show him his money; told him often how much he had in the safe, and when he went to the bank and even showed him large sums and let him hold it for a moment.” “so zacarrio, it seems, was a bit of a sucker himself.” "as regards johnson, yes, or maybe it was johnson. he was smart. he was also clever. he thought things out in advance- far in advance. while nobody saw him kill zacarrio on that fatal night, just before xmas, he planned to do so when zacarrio leaned over to put the money in the safe.” "on what day in the week exactly, did he kill zacarrio?” in- quired le baron, carefully. "i just said that it was on friday night. a strange thing, too,” said williams, the last sentence more to himself than to le baron. "strange how?" williams looked up quickly, and started, then relaxed into a smile. "i was thinking how it all took place, and how well johnson planned it. he sure planned it well." "explain about the planning?" "johnson planned to kill zacarrio on the iast friday in the month, which was when he had found out by zacarrio talking so freely to him, that he would have the most money in that safe.” again williams paused to think, and leaving le baron anxious, looked up when he spoke, and went on: "i mean that he planned down to the minute when to kill zac- arrio, as i figured it out later. but before he killed the man, he also planned to dispose of the body. accordingly, he called the express company and told them to pick a trunk up at this address on saturday. he did this on thursday, the day before he stabbed zacarrio in the back while he was leaning over to put the collections in the safe.” he paused to look at le baron. "i suppose they told you how zacarrio was killed?” “they said he was stabbed. they didn't say where." “well, it was in the back with a switch blade knife, with a three-inch blade. went between his shoulder blades, right into : the story of dorothy stanfield the heart. but getting back to how johnson planned it. "i saw zacarrio come in from collecting rents. it was about six p. m. it was cold, and he was shivering when he entered his little office, which didn't have any heat connected. johnson had placed an electric heater in there and when zacarrio came in and found the place warm, he was delighted and felt very grateful to- wards johnson for what he said was 'so thoughtful and he actually gave johnson a dollar,” and williams paused to chuckle as he re- called it; the irony of it. zacarrio giving anybody a whole dollar. suddenly he burst out laughing and loudly. le baron looked at him curiously. "i was laughing when i recalled zacarrio's giving johnson a dollar. he thought he was being mighty grateful. i would give a dollar to have seen johnson at that moment. with a long, new switch blade, waiting for zaccario to open up and talk," williams went on. “and that's exactly what zaccario did. all flushed with delight and gratitude because when he came in out of the cold, shivering, johnson had been thoughtful enough in the meantime to make a fire so that he could warm up and be comfortable. "he invited johnson to sit down. i overheard this, for i hap- pened to be working near the office. as i look back on its i imagine johnson picked his seat; sat down where it would be easy when zacarrio finally got to his feet and crossed from his dirty little desk on one side of the room, to walk across the room and open the safe. johnson was sitting where he would be directly behind zacarrio when he did so; and where he could rise to his feet quietly and with one or two steps, be standing right over zac- arrio as he leaned over to put the collections in the safe. "johnson must have had all this planned, for he had tɔ stab him while in that particular position in order to kill him while his back was turned, so when he staggered as he would, backward, he would fall right into johnson's arms; so that johnson, careful no doubt to avoid getting any blood on his clothing, could just swing him about and lay him on a couch where he must have left him until later that night when he carried him from the office to the story of dorothy stanfield his room and stashed the body in the trunk and locked the trunk." he paused at this point to look straight at le baron, who had lis- tened to his recitation carefully and followed him closely. “what i just said is only my theory. all i actually know is that zacarrio and johnson were laughing and talking in the office, and that zacarrio was counting his collections and johnson was sitting on the chair across the room near the safe. so i have figured, that that was the way he killed the poor jew." "did johnson leave the building that friday night, if you re- call it?” "i doubt it, but i wouldn't know because that was my night off, and i went out and took my girl to a show. johnson was in his room when i came back, so i feel sure he didn't go out, but while i was absent, it gave him a chance to take zacarrio's body from the office to his room, and clean his clothes up and perhaps burn those he had on when he killed zacarrio." "it was late when i came in, but i recall very clearly that johnson was still up and busy doing something in his room. i was sleepy, so i didn't knock on his door or do any chinning with him and i'm glad i didn't. i might have discovered something- and johnson might have killed me to cover his crime. “the express man came the next day. i helped him to carry the trunk, which was heavier than a trunk like that ought to be, but other than wondering why it was so heavy, i never thought any more about it. “johnson got up sunday morning and took care of his duties, such as pulling the garbage and a few other things. then he went to his room, packed his things in a suitcase, waited until i was out of sight and then slipped quietly out. that was the last time i saw him, and, as far as i know, anybody else around new york, and that is all i know,” said williams, except one thing.” “what thing, williams?" le baron wanted to know. “during his, johnson's career, somewhere and at sometime, somebody took a swipe at his throat and left a scar that he'll carry to his grave. it started on his left ear which it split near the the story of dorothy stanfield lower tip, then curved downward toward the throat, but—". " missed the jugular, perhaps," said le baron, cutting him off and smiling. "i guess that's so. if it hadn't, he-” “-wouldn't have been here to kill zacarrio,” and again le baron smiled, this time wisely. “the reason i'm mentioning this,” williams went on thought- fully, "is so that you can spot him if and when you find him.” “well?" "i didn't tell any of the white cops who came to question me about it, so none of them was ever the wiser." "well, williams,” le baron said, smiling on the other grate- fully. "if that's the case, i know better now what to look for.” "you're the only one i've told about it.” “thank you again. if i capture cleo, i'll come back here when i return and hand you over some of the reward." “thank you, le baron.” at his room that night, walter le baron checked through the information williams had given him. he made careful mental note of what williams had told him regarding johnson's mastery of pool playing and dice shooting. le baron then concluded that if he went after johnson, it would be necessary to check all the pool halls in every town he visited; and dig up and find the crap- shooters. in that way, somewhere, he might be able to pick up johnson's trail, and run him to earth, somewhere, sometime. so concluding, he went to bed with plans to call on arnold walton, commissioner of police for the city of new york the next morning. . + . chapter chapter xt ell, le baron," the commissioner said, after both were seated comfortably in his large office in downtown new york, “what did you find out?” "oh, enough i suppose to make a try; but i may have to travel many, many miles, before i catch up with the man, if at all. he's had so much time to get far away. if he has left the country, we might as well kiss the possibility of capturing him at all, good-bye.” "do you think he may have left the country?” said walton, anxiously. "i mean, gone somewhere abroad?” the thought was disturbing to the commissioner; he leaned forward and his expres- sion showed him to be very uneasy. "i hardly think so," said le baron, calmly. "going abroad would hardly suggest itself to this kind of a man. at least that is my opinion." "well, your opinion in this instance is far better than mine. then you think that he may still be in the united states? down south somewhere, perhaps?” queried the commissioner, a bit more at ease. "i feel quite sure that he is. at least that is what i'm count- ing on; that he is somewhere down south, which is where i'm plan- ning to go to look for him.” "very well, then, le baron. how do you plan to look for him?" the commissioner was watching le baron closely, whose eyes were downcast in thought and when he raised them he let escape a little sigh. the commissioner became anxious again. the story of dorothy stanfield "i've got to look for and pick up his trail and i guess i'll start checking ca him in richmond, though i doubt very much if he would stop there, when he thinks of having made shipment of the body to a blind address there. however, i shall begin to make inquiries there, although i don't expect any results until i have gotten far south of richmond. i have a feeling that he would feel safer at a greater distance from new york.” “yes?” said the commissioner when le baron paused, and lowered his eyes again in thought. le baron, on hearing him, came out of his temporary reverie, and looked up at him. "once i pick up his trail, i will then feel more confident that sooner or later i'll catch up with him somewhere," said le baron and paused again and lowered his eyes in thought. "go on,” interposed the commissioner, anxiously. "i'm listen- ing, following everything you're saying, and plan to say.” “when and if ever i pick up his trail, by which i mean, find •that he has been in a town, i'll be able to start to work." “what do you mean by that?” walton wanted to know. “that i'll have to check on every pool-hall where negroes hang out-and play a lot of it and do some betting in order to be in position to inquire of those who hang around if this man was ever there." “why have you got to do that?" "because i've learned that he is the best pool-player that ever picked up a cue. betting men at pool was one of the ways he made a living before taking this job and killing zacarrio and stealing his money. he might not need to play pool for money to keep going, but once a pool-player, as i view it, always one. so i'm going to visit every pool-hall as i've said, in every town; pool-halls where colored men hang out and play.” "you've perhaps got something there. were you able to get a photograph of the guy anywhere? our men weren't and that handicapped them badly.” "no, he didn't leave any photographs around to make him easier to.find, but the engineer williams up there where he worked and the story of dorothy stanfield committed the murder, gave me a very good description." “that's good. what did he look like, anyhow, and was he a young man, middle-aged or what? i can't imagine that he was an old man." "in his early thirties, he was brown-skinned, about five feet ten inches tall, a fairly good head of hair, negro kind of hair which would make him popular with the women, whom, i under- stand, he has a crush for making, but the most identifying thing about him, and which will be most helpful to me in locating him without a photograph, is a mark on his face.” “a mark, eh? that's good,” cried the commissioner. “what kind of a mark?” "somewhere during his perhaps hectic career, a man or a woman of his race, no doubt, took a swipe at him with a razor. he was cutting for his throat, and he carries a mark that begins just above the left ear, which it split, and runs down his neck, curving 'inder the rear of the left jaw bone, which indicates that whoever put it there a long time ago, was making for his throat but no doubt missed the jugular, otherwise cleo johnson wouldn't have been here four months ago to kill and rob isadore zacarrio." "le baron, you're a brick! i can see how important a scar like you describe will be in helping you to get a line on him, once you pick up his trail as you've suggested. go on, give me all the ideas you have.” "with a description of him set in my mind, just visiting pool halls, engaging in pool games and making bets so that i can get that kind of information i'm looking for, is not half of what i've got to do, oh, no, it is not going to be half that easy!” “now what are you talking about?" “the guy's ace-in-the-hole is his ability to master dice.” “master dice? whatever can you be thinking of?” le baron smiled, and digressed to explain what he meant. "you'd have to be a negro to understand these dice-shooting terms, commissioner. you've perhaps never heard of the 'hard roll and the 'soft roll' in the matter of shooting dice, have you?” the story of dorothy stanfield the commissioner shook his head, and said: “no. those are new terms to me. what do they mean?” "to throw any point you've made, after making the point, or seven or eleven right off, if you want to.” "ah, i don't believe it! i've always contended that dice are the most honest of all games of chance. i've never heard of these 'rolls' as you call them.” "still there are men who have trained until they are able to make points when and if they want to, just as i've explained, and i've been told that cleo johnson is master of both the hard and the soft roll, and that he is an expert at the soft roll, which is by far more popular.” "well, wonders will never cease i guess," sighed the commis- sioner, then turning to le baron, he looked at him seriously, and said: "and you say that he is a gambler along the lines you've just described, too? and if so, what does that mean to you?” "it means that in addition to checking in all the pool-halls that negroes frequent in every town i visit, i've also got to look up all the dice-shooters, find out where they play—then play with them and 'get well enough acquainted to inquire if any such char- acter has been there and cleaned them out.” "damned interesting! i can see that you know your business. but that'll take a lot of time; mean a lot of embarrassing work to a man like you. you're very much of an exceptional negro, which you perhaps already know.” "oh, i don't know. but if i am it is up to me to prove it by picking up cleo johnson's trail somewhere before i get too old to 'smell,' and walter le baron laughed heartily, and the commis- sioner joined him. then smiling, jokingly, he turned to le baron and said: "but you can shoot craps, le baron?” "it's the simplest game in the world to learn. that easy!" and he snapped his fingers. "personally, i don't care for gambling -don't even indulge in poker; but i know how. it has been neces- the story of dorothy stanfield sary in my work to learn about a great many things in which i'm not particularly interested. but if i find cleo johnson i may have to search through the alleys even, of no end of towns." “that's tough, and i'm sorry.” “oh, i won't mind. you see, if i could have gotten on the case sooner, i might not have had to look so far. in his case, being a sharper, he can't stay in one place very long." "and why?” “because they get on to him and talk about him and they won't play with him, forcing him to keep moving.'” · "le baron you're a genius! you haven't left anything undone.” “there's plenty i won't be able to foresee, and i am not a genius. i'm simply a fairly well-informed negro who knows same- thing about negro psychology and that's all.” at this le baron rose to his feet, but the commissioner waved him back. "sit there while i have the cashier draw you an expense draft. i can see that trying to run dawn cleo johnson is going to cost something, and i don't want lack of funds to impede your work in any way.” thereupon the commissioner called the cashier and had a draft for $ , drawn in favor of walter le baron. "before it runs out, just wire me for more, and i'll see that it is sent, promptly.” le baron did not pick up cleo johnson's trail in richmond and was not, of course, disappointed, as he did not expect to. how- ever, he canvassed every pool-hall in the town, engaged in no end of crap games, won and lost and took it all good-naturedly and with infinite patience, since he was aware that it might be a long, long time before the perhaps flset johnson would be located. he drove to norfolk and crossed over to newport news, then swinging down into north carolina, he made all that state's larger towns and in winston-salem he got his first information. cleo johnson had once lived there, and the crap-shooters remembered him as the boy who could do more with a pair of bones, than any man who ever lived—but cleo johnson had not been in winston- the story of dorothy stanfield salem in years, so le baron drove on to charlotte, but nobody knew him there or had seen him. he knew then that he'd not pick up anything before he reached atlanta, if there, at best. a few hours later he rolled into atlanta, found quarters in a negro hotel, and the next morning, which happened to be a satur- day, he began to canvass that thriving town which he always liked. in a pool hall on decatur street, he got his first information regarding the fugitive. yes, cleo johnson had been in atlanta, he was told, almost four months before. all the crap-shooters and kelly-pool players had met him—to their sorrow, and said they'd never forget that man with the scar on his face. as le baron expected, after cleaning out one group or set after another, as far as he was able to learn, cleo johnson had left town and it occurred to walter le baron that he might, to get out of the january cold, drift on down florida way, so he left atlanta in less than a week and found himself late one night in. jackson- ville where on ashley street and state and davis, he met many who had seen johnson and remembered him well, too well if they had tried to engage him in a game. le baron sighed with relief. this was getting on, he thought, and with a sigh of relief, went to bed that night with higher hopes. what interested him most during his continued search the next day, was the fact, as told him, that johnson had fallen for a glamour girl on duval street and they gave le baron both her name and address. promptly le baron maneuvered to meet her, and succeeded. while waiting for her, he wandered over to the, mantle—and there reposing on a small easel, was a picture of cleo himself! he ascertained during his visit with the girl, who was one beau- tiful thing, with all the glamour any man, out for a good time, could hardly keep from falling for, the address of the studio where johnson had posed for the picture, which he probably had made in order to give her a copy. she gave it to him readily, and le baron, after excusing himself, drove promptly to the same and had the photographer make six prints for him. the story of dorothy stanfield he returned to call on the girl then and had a long talk with her. she told le baron that johnson was a "good spender," and admitted in a joking way that she might have liked him better, but for that old "ugly scar" on his face which spoiled his good looks. "added to this,” she went on to tell le baron, "he was so jealous that he became a nuisance." “a man couldn't help being jealous of anybody who looks like you," le baron told her, jokingly. "aw, gwan', mister," she replied and smiled at him as if she liked it. "i think i could like somebody better that looks like you," and she lowered her eyes again and then raised them coquet- tishly. “what became of him? did you break his heart and then send him away?”. "aw, naw," she said, using her eyes and her movements ef- fectively. “i didn't send him away. he just went away because he got mad when he ran into another of my boy friends here one day when he came. as i said, he was just too jealous to get along with. you know," she went on, making obvious passes at le baron, in the way she was doing, “a girl don't just have one fellow. he might go away, or fall for some other girl, then it'd leave a poor girl all by herself and she'd be so lonely," whereupon she moved closer to le baron and laid a hand on his. "where did he go?” "i don't know—that is, exactly; but he wanted me to go with him to birmingham and kept talking about it all the while he was here." "and why didn't you go with him if he wanted you to?" "i was sorta 'fraid of him! that awful scar on his face showed that he might be bad, and men like that might get jealous and kill a poor little girl like me,” thereupon she moved up against le baron and put an arm about him and looking up at him, said: "why don't you put your arms around mem-and kiss me? i haven't said you can't.” and she raised her lips. le baron was the story of dorothy stanfield in a crack, and was wondering how he was going to get out of it. but just at that moment there was a knock at the door, and swear- ing almost out loud, the girl moved away and presently got to her feet and went to answer it. it happened to be one of her "other” boy friends and le baron had an excuse to leave, but she extracted a promise that he'd "come back” and he was allowed to leave. the next morning he left jacksonville early for birmingham where he arrived late the same afternoon and before he had signed in for a room, found that johnson had been there three months before, had repeated on cleaning up the town from the standpoint of pool-playing and crap-shooting. johnson had stayed in birmingham most of a month, as far as le baron was able to ascertain, and had met and played around with another glamour girl there, who told le baron that she thought he went to new orleans because he had wanted her to go with him. “that cut on his face, however, was enough for me. i became convinced that he was a bad niggah when he got mad, and he might, during such a time, put one like it on meemight even kill me," she said, and shook her head. "birmingham's a bad town if you don't know it, i mean the niggahs here, and every week end they's a lot of girls gets killed for foolin' aroun' with some negro who might be jealous like he was, so i got out of going to n' o'leans with him and i'm glad of it,” she said. in due time le baron found himself at rampart and canal streets in new orleans where he drove to the astoria negro hotel, and met beansie, who was in business and ran the hotel—and the usual crap-game in the back room. beansie told le baron all about johnson, as he became well acquainted with him, and said that johnson spent most of his time in the creole district below canal street where he'd perhaps fallen for a creole girl, as he had seen him with her several times, when he brought her to the astoria to dine. "he didn't get so far with his racket here, for there's plenty of the story of dorothy stanfield negroes who master both the soft roll and the hard roll in new orleans and have been doing it so long, until they smell a soft or hard roller before he begins to stink, so he drifted on away and i haven't seen hiri since.” "out toward houston, perhaps," said le baron, suggestively. "i don't think so. most guys like him go north towards mem- phis and chicago," said beansie, and then offered to treat le baron to a drink, which le baron accepted. the next day le baron drove north, stopping in jackson, mis- sissippi and canton, then drove on north to memphis where we met him, as set forth early in our story, and to where we now return for the story of dorothy stanfield. chapter ly tt was late when bob martin, dorothy and walter le baron reached memphis that sunday night on which they returned from forest city and all three were too sleepy to do anything at all but let dorothy cut of the car when they reached her home. walter, of course, got out of the car and walked with dorothy across the sidewalk and up the walkway to her door. there he shock her hand, which he squeezed warmly, and she re- turned the squeeze and thrilled to his touch. he then went back to the car, crawled in beside bob who drove him directly to the dolphin hotel. there, a few minutes later, he crawled into bed and was soon fast asleep. not so with dorothy stanfield, however. immediately after she entered her home and the door had closed behind walter le baron, she rushed to her room, took off her clothes and put on a robe and kimmono. she then went back downstairs to her library and living room, took a seat at her secretary, found her diary and turned to the page where she had tried to end it. pick- ing up her pen, for she felt strangely inspired, sleep appeared far, far away. she raised her eyes, sighed deeply but happily, dipped the pen in ink, lowered her eyes and started the writing of a new chapter. after dating it, she wrote: i am happy that i did not close this memorandum as i have long been trying to do. i have somehow felt, and strangely so, that the end was not yet, and i know now that i was right! there is still no end to what i am to record, but tonight i will attempt to set down another and a new chapter from this drama of my strange, and, until today, unhappy life. this time, however, it is not of misery and hopeless de- the story of dorothy stanfield finition of which i shall write. it is of a great and beautiful happiness, and, in spite of that nightmare in my closet, i am, for the first time in my life, happy. strangely and supremely happy-ob, how happy! it all happened so suddenly until it is still hard for me to convince myself that it is true or real, and that it is all not just a strange and fantastic dream, from which i will suddenly awaken and face again that bitter, miserable and unhappy existence which has been my lot for three long and awful years! but it is all so, regardless of the fact that it happened so suddenly! it is hard for even me to believe that it is possible to meet a man and fall madly in love with him in one day! it just doesn't seem possible. yet that is exactly what has happened to me. yes, it has happened, and i am, after all the tragedies, the scandals, the sordid, bitter hopelessness that has been my lot, actually in love; in love as i have never been in my life before and with one whom i feel is the most wonderful man i have ever met or known! so tall, so straight, dark, strong-willed and dignified—a genuine gentleman, the kind i didn't know that our race possessed! i know that he is an honest man, brave and resolute and true as steel and i trust him above all else. oh, what a won- derful thing it is to feel as i now do! i want to pray and give thanks to him on high, who decreed that this should come to me at this point in my previously unhappy life! you know my secret, dear lord and i ask you to guide me and help me to be strong and teach me how to labor and to wait. for somewhere and somehow in the days to come, all that has been in error and is still so terribly in error that i cannot even hope when it will all end, please guide me correctly. meanwhile, that terrible and indefinite nightmare which has enveloped me and has been holding me in a peculiar thraldom of unhappiness and misery, must battle now with a new and the story of dorothy stanfield strange force. the love and protection and confidence of the brave and resolute man whom fate decreed that i should this day meet. this morning he walked up beside my car, coming as if from nowhere; and standing there, he looked at me and his eyes must have fathomed to the bottom of my soul! i am sure that his eyes saw clear through me. standing looking strangely down upon me, he told me that he saw something in my face; that there was a story of unhappiness and misery and bitterness behind a shield of make-believe which i have tried to put forth. i tried to resent his boldness, and i re- sisted it. i tried to make myself believe that he was uppish and impertinent-even impudent! i tried hard to dissuade him, even to defy him. but i am conscious now—in truth i was even then, that i was fooling myself—but i was not fool- ing him! i knew in my heart that the words i said to him were not true but plain lies. i was afraid to believe or acknowledge that within five minutes after he crossed to my car and looked at me so oddly, so strangely, that i was in love with the man, hopelessly and desperately in love with him! i could not, of course, understand then that that peculiar something which i was feeling was love. i'm sure that he did not, either. yet, i was soon to know that what i felt and what he told me later, that he also felt, was that great and glorious thing called love. god help me! i cannot longer help or control myself! it is that great love which we are both now enjoying! you know, dear lord, how long it has been since i gave up even hoping that i would ever be happy-could be happy, . and as i write these lines it still seems a little vague and in- definite, even to me! i know that i have no right, in view of this cloud hanging over my life, to hope for anything. i may never be free in my soul to accept anything but the mis- ery and unhappiness that has been my lot for so long. yet, i find myself daring to believe, because of meeting him, and the story of dorothy stanfield having him hold me in his arms and kiss my passionate lips, that there will come a day when i can partake of the glories of that great and tender love. i know that my future is as indefinite as judgment day; and that i may never, until the end of my life, be free. yet i simply, as of today, refuse to believe it. i feel like defying it; calling it a lie! i am daring to believe, just as surely as there is a god above us, that there will come a day of judgment and i am possessed with a peculiar confidence that soon, somehow and in some strange and mysterious way, this man will come to me and take me and marry me and love me and call me his dear wife, and take me in his arms and love me as i have so always wanted to love and be loved-forever! i was sure that, above all else, when he said that he was going to investigate my past life, find out what had happened to me to make me like he found me, that i didn't want him delving into that tragedy in my life. i felt that, or tried to feel at least, that he, a stranger, had no right to be so bold and so impertinent as to go prying into the secrets that were my misfortune, and i tried to be angry with him. i felt that i had a right to be angry. so i left him standing there in the gas station, looking after me sadly—just like he had been badly hurt-yet was he not? i drove away, but before i was out of his sight i was sorry and wanted to go back and tell him i was, but i couldn't then! it would have left me bad in the sight of his eyes. instead, and trying to be brave, i drove straight to the man's house whom he had told me that he was going to ask to tell him the story of my life that sad, futile and hopeless life, with all its tragedy, sorrow and unhappiness. i was in a mental panic until i met bob martin on the street, driving toward beale street to meet and tell him, when my loved one asked him for that awful story. not realizing that i had just met and talked with him, bob would have told him everything, without knowing what a great wrong he was do- the story of dorothy stanfield ing to me. then he would not have brought him on a surprise visit to my door where he was so shocked to find me that for a time he was speechless. my plan had worked. bob had not given him any chance or time to find out anything about me, before, sitting there on the way to forest city, close by his side he had a chance to study me, talk to me, listen to me and learn that i was not a bad woman as he might have feared, had bob told him my story in advance of my becoming better acquainted with him, and permitting him to judge me in my true light and as i really am-or at least am trying to be. and now, as the hand on the clock before me nears the hour of midnight, i am anxious for him to be told by our good friend, bob, all of the things that happened to me. strange, yes, but it is true. i not only want bob to tell him everything, but i am anxious for him to do so. i shall not be happy now until i know that bob has told him all-everything from be- ginning to the end. my fear when i realized that i was in love with him and that i wanted him as i had never before wanted anything, was that he, after bob martin had told him my story, would hate and despise me; and would never want to see me again. now i know that i was mistaken! he will want me and he will come to me, just as quickly as he has heard it. god bless him! my own sweet, beloved one! it is late now, hence i will close this chapter and retire to dream of my walter. tomorrow is another day and i feel that i will hear from him. i shall be waiting with a loving and anxious heart, any words he may want to say to me. until then, sleep peacefully, dear walter! and when you think of me, please remember that i will be loving you always -and always! tenderly. dorothy the story of dorothy stanfield + such a late house wirus, fearing some curious. she h as dorothy closed the diary with a happy sigh and started to rise, her telephone rang. she started, then paused and looked at it a bit wonderingly before lifting it. who could be calling her at such a hour? she thought. she presently picked up the receiver and called: "hello!” her voice was soft and mellow because she was happy and there was hope in her heart for the first time for such a long time; so long in fact, that she frankly disliked to count it up. "hello, dorothy,” came bob's voice from the other end. “why, bob!” she exclaimed in surprise. "you?” “yes, dorothy, bob. are you surprised?”. “why, of course i am, bob! what ever possessed you to call me at such a late hour?” she was suddenly anxious, fearing some invisible something. her heart beat faster and she was strangely curious. she hoped nothing had happened to le baron. she didn't realize that when she answered, her voice was so soft and tender, that bob noticed it right off. "i wanted to talk to you, dorothy, but have been hesitating to call since it is so late. however, since i couldn't seem to get what i am thinking about off my mind until i talked with you, i decided to be bold, take a chance of angering you, and call.” "i could never be angry with you, bob, if you woke me up out of a peaceful sleep, even. but since i had not retired, it is per- fectly all right and i am glad you called me." "well, that being the case, i won't feel that i am annoying you. i suspect that you are still up because you've been thinking about somebody you met today ..." "why, bob,” she cried, the blood flushing to her cheeks, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself! whom would i be thinking of?” "now, now, dorothy," he chided, kindly. "you know whom you were thinking of. i don't need to tell you," and he laughed softly. "oh, bob, how can you!” and the blood again flushed to her cheeks and she could feel them burning. the story of dorothy stanfield “what i called to talk to you about, dorothy, is what we talked about this morning before we started for forest city." “before we started to forest city?" she inquired, uncertainly. "well, we talked of many things as i recall it, bob. you wouldn't happen to mean mr. le baron, would you?" "i'm not talking about his mother, whom i never met. don't know if he has one, even. i'm talking about my friend, walter le baron." "all right, bob. we had a fine day together, mr. le baron and you and little me. so what?" "you asked me if i could think up some way of getting out of telling him about you. i observed that the two of you seemed to get along so well together that it would be a travesty, in a way to spoil it. so i got to thinking when i came home and was by myself for awhile, and have called you to tell you that i have thought of a way to keep from telling him. how does that sound to your pretty ears, heh?" “well, bob. i'm not so sure now that i do not want you to." "you're not so sure about it? say, girlie, what's been over- taking you. yesterday morning, you,” “-yes, i understand, bob. but that was yesterday. it is now the morning after. yesterday, it was what i thought i didn't want you to do, but this morning,” “-this morning? what?" "i have changed my mind about it." . “dorothy! i can hardly believe it is you talking. yet i know your voice and i know it is you. first you come up with 'what you thought you wanted, and now you're trying to tell me that you've changed your mind. exactly what do you mean, anyhow, dorothy?” “that i don't mind if you do.” "don't mind if i do? why, dorothy, what's the matter? are you—angry at my friend? i thought you and he were getting along splendidly, and was convinced and hence decided to call you and tell you about my plan to avoid telling him about what hap- the story of dorothy stanfield pened to you altogether.” “that is awfully sweet of you, bob, i am sure, and i want to thank you kindly. i am not angry with mr. le baron. in fact, i've become very fond of him.” “then why is it that you don't care any longer if i do tell him? as stated, you were so anxious yesterday that i not do so, that you rushed out, almost in a panic to see me and beg me not to tell him." “yes, i remember full well, bob, but that was then.” "then? now what do you mean?” "that i have changed my mind entirely about what i thought i didn't want you to do, but now, instead of not wanting you to, i do want you to tell him. not only tell him—but tell him everything and at the earliest possible opportunity!” "dorothy, dorothy, what ever are you talking about? will you please try to explain to me when and why you have reached such an-inglorious decision?" "a woman is subject to changing her mind, bob. you under- stand that, don't you, dear?” “of course, but you women, you women! man will never seem to know you well enough to understand you altogether. when i left you, you seemed to be liking the man. have you considered what effect telling him this story might have upon him? he might not understand and might not, also, accept it as i have planned to tell it to him. “i have known you too long, and favorably, to go and take a chance of saying something with my big mouth that might hurt you in the eyes of one of the finest men our race has produced." "thank you, bob,” she said, patiently. "you may continue.” "i know, as does everybody else that knows about it, that you are as innocent of any wrongdoing in the scandal as a child. still the circumstances involved in the whole thing are so mitigatingly peculiar that after thinking it over during the day, i decided that it would be to your best interest if i did not tell him. and now the story of dorothy stanfield you order me to tell him; which means, i presume, everything, do you understand, everything!” "that is exactly what i want you to do; tell him the whole story from beginning to end, icaving out nothing! i repeat, tell him everything, do you understand?” “well, dorothy, from the way you talk you seem to mean it and i have no alternative but to do as you've asked me to, which means everything." “everything, bob. and please remember-everything!” "good night, dorothy," he said, in a voice that was both be- wildered and uncertain. “good night, bob, and sleep well.” she heard him laugh ironically as he hung up. with another deep and happy sigh, as she thought again of walter, she started to rise to her feet when the phone rang again -and she started, almost violently this time. she sat back down again and looked at the phone as if in wonder if it was true; that somebody else was calling her. it rang again and again she started, but there was no mistaking this time. somebody was trying to get her. she reached out, picked up the receiver, looked at her watch, as she did so, fearing the clock before her might be wrong, but turned and called softly, but in a somewhat surprised voice. it was now far past midnight. “hello?” “hello," somebody said, a bit hesitantly, but not so hesitantly that she failed to recognize the voice. “walter!” she exclaimed, as if surprised but happily. “yes, dear, it is i and i want to apologize for calling you at such a late hour.” “that is all right, darling,” she said and then giggled. “why are you laughing, sweetheart,” he said, and seemed a bit confused. “you did laugh, didn't you, dorothy?” “i giggled, walter, like a stupid idiot; but i was laughing at myself. at myself calling you ‘darling.'” whereupon she laughed again, this time freely, he caught on promptly, and joined her, the story of dorothy stanfield "i'm glad you did, sweetheart," walter said. "was it because you are no longer accustomed to calling a man ‘darling?' » "perhaps so, walter. i don't fully account for my-boldness. or maybe you caught me off guard-me using such endearing terms must have surprised you some. it did me," and dorothy laughed again. on his end, le baron smiled, and then he, a strong-willed man, became suddenly and strangely emotional. “oh, dearest dorothy, you're so sweet and i'll be glad to hear you call me by any name, or you may use any term which it may please you to use, dear.” "oh, you do say such nice things, walter. i'm afraid you're going to make me love you more and more. i am almost helpless when i talk to you." “i went to bed when i got to the hotel. i was so sleepy and there are times when i get that way that i go, it seems, almost crazy; and nothing but to tumble quickly into bed will cure me. so i went to bed and in less than two minutes i was sound asleep; i slept hard—and then you must have come stealing into my dreams. i awakened suddenly, but not before i heard myself calling 'dor- othy, dorothy,' and i was greatly excited and sat up quickly. when i looked at my watch, i was surprised! i had slept barely an hour! then, dear dorothy, i got to thinking of you, about all that happened yesterday, thinking over and over, and i decided to take a chance and call you. but i was afraid to awaken you- i remembered that i don't like anybody to awaken me when i am sleeping soundly and peacefully. but i became desperate and bold! it just seemed that i had to do it-call you. then, to my surprise, when you answered so quickly, i don't feel that you could have been asleep.” "i was not, precious,” she said, so happy that she felt she would never sleep again; didn't care at that moment if she did not, lest she miss some of the delight and joy it was giving her to talk to him. "i didn't get to explain all about the call. i called as quickly as i could get to the telephone across the room, but when i dialed the story of dorothy stanfield your number, i got the busy signal and i was surprised and won- dered. i hung up and then dialed again, fearing that i might have gotten the wrong number. the line was still busy, so i hung up and waited awhile and when i called this time i got you. is it possible that you were talking to someone else in the meanwhile?" “yes, dear, some one was talking to me. it was bob. i hadn't retired, because well, i guess i'll have to admit to you, and it is to you only, dear, that i keep a diary, in which i have recorded all that has happened of importance in my life for a long time. yesterday morning i tried to close the diary, but i failed as i have failed before. it just didn't seem to end; there seemed to be more that was to go into it. "well, there was. for when i shut the book yesterday morn- ing and started over into arkansas, i met you in the gas station ... by which you can understand that there was more to be set down. so when you left me at the door, instead of going on to bed as i would otherwise have done, i undressed to be more comfortable, put on my robe and came downstairs to the secretary and wrote another chapter, the longest of all, for more had happened in my life yesterday than ever before. “i had just finished it and was rising when the phone rang and i was surprised, and thought somebody had the wrong number. when i lifted the receiver to my ear, i got another surprise, for it was bob martin.” “oh, bob?” he said, and waited. she could see that he was curious, but that he would not ask her why. "yes, walter, bob. he wanted to ask me something, and was so on the anxious seat about it that he called me up." “oh. i'm glad now that i didn't call you sooner, for i know that i would have been intruding as i was afraid at the beginning that i would. meanwhile, what i called to tell you, dorothy, is that i have decided not to ask bob to tell me your story. i love you so much, darling, and i am so happy to feel that i have at last met the 'one woman,' that i don't want to be told anything about what happened to you before i met you. so i thought it inight please you if i'd call and tell you so. is that all right, dear?” the story of dorothy stanfield "it would have been all right just after i met you. but since then, walter, we both know that everything has changed since. yet, i want to thank you for having so decided, darling; but i have just told bob-who called me to tell me that he had thought up a plan not to tell you—that now i want him to tell ou, walter; to tell you the whole story-everything, dear.” "but dorothy, my precious,” he cried in shocked surprise. "i am no longer interested in hearing the story of your involve- ment! i am so happy just to have you; to know that i love you so much, and to feel that you love me just as much in return; and that i would be glad to stay on here in memphis indefinitely, if it wasn't that i am here on an important assignment and my duty is to see it through. i want you to know, my precious dorothy, that i want only to love you and to continue loving you until i die! nothing that happened in your life before i met you, yesterday, is of any interest to me, for i trust you, dear. as i feel now, there- fore, i'm sure that i prefer not to hear anything about any mis- fortune that ever befell you." “again i want to thank you, walter, for being so fine and noble, and to be willing to trust me so; but i must insist that you ask bob martin to tell you my story, and to insist that he tell you as i myself have just gotten through insisting that he do.” "but dorothy,” he began, persistently. "if you love me as you say you do, dear walter, and as i know that i do love you, please arrange with bob and sit down and listen while he tells you what i have asked him to tell you. now, will you, darling?" “if that is what you want, dorothy, i can't refuse you anything. you know that by now, don't you, dear?” “yes, walter, and i can't find words to explain how happy it has made me. i believe everything you say and i trust you even more. but you must listen to bob when he tells you what hap- pened to me; that's what i want you to do, darling." “oh, precious," he called, appealingly. “must you insist? all i want right soon is to see you again; and i want to just as quickly as it is conventionally possible to do so. i would like to before i the story of dorothy stanfield have to listen to bob. may i drive out, say, this afternoon and take you to a show? they have a good picture at the new daisy. i missed it in new york, so i would like to catch it here. and that being the case, i'd like to have you sitting there beside me, while i look at it, and listen to the story. will you go, darling?" “why of course i will, walter; and i'll be glad to be near you, too. i can't, from the way i feel toward you now dear, refuse you anything." "darling," cried le baron. “you make me so happy! i will be at your house around two o'clock, sweetheart.” "i'll be dressed and waiting for you, walter." "and after we've seen the show, i want you to have dinner with me. i'll order it prepared for five o'clock, the very first thing i do when i arise this morning. will you have dinner with me, also, darling?" "of course i will, walter. i'll be glad to. what else do you want me to do, darling?” “to think of me and to continue to think of me as much as i am going to think of you, and that will be, constantly." she laughed and called back: "that's what i've been doing ever since you left me at the door. it is hardly possible for me to think of you any more. i am think- ing, and will continue to think of you always, walter-always!” "well, precious, it is really late now, and i must let you go to bed and sleep well so that we will be rested and in position to get the most out of being together today. when i take you home, after we have dined, i'll drive out to bob's and listen to that old story that you now insist on—if by then you still want me to hear it.” "i want you to hear it, walter, and i will continue to want you to hear it after we have had dinner. i not only want you to hear it, but i'll keep on insisting that you do, otherwise i'll be angry and try not to continue loving you the way i do." she said the words with such warmth, that he could not mistake the feeling behind them, and when he finally hung up and both retired, they were the happiest two persons in all memphis. chapter chapter xitÍ t alter le baron arrived at dorothy's cottage on south parkway fifteen minutes before the time at which they were to start for the theatre; but he found her dressed and waiting for him. she invited him inside and he was pleased as he stood in the middle of the parlor and surveyed her little home. she then showed him through it. the house consisted of seven rooms, three upstairs and four down. when they were coming downstairs she was a few steps ahead of him, when he paused to look back upstairs, turning partly around as he did so. she paused when she reached the floor below and turning, looked up at him and called him. he turned to look at her and she started and screamed suddenly and so violently that he became fright- ened; and hurrying down to the foot of the stairway, he placed an arm about her waist and looked into her eyes anxiously. "yes, darling," he cried, holding her close and looking into her eyes, "what is the matter?”. she had closed her eyes, for in that moment dorothy stanfield recalled one of the most fearful situations in that life of hers, which is part and parcel of the story we are about to tell. more than three years before, another man had paused at about the same spot as today walter le baron had, to look down at her. she knew then that she would never, until the longest day she lived, forget. "oh, nothing, dear," she replied quickly, upon regaining her mental equilibrium, and led the way back into the parlor. he followed her and sat her down on a sofa near a window, which he the story of dorothy stanfield scr raised. he then turned and sat down beside her. "what frightened you, dear? i was sure that i heard you scream, when i paused to look around and up at the top of the stair? i thought i heard something behind me," at which dorothy started again, and her eyes opened and she seemed to strain to hear something, as if from far away. le baron said nothing, but just looked at her and wondered. he could not understand in that moment that dorothy stan- field was hearing something, a tragic thing like a ghost out of the past. she remained taut for a few seconds, then forcing the mem- ory of that tragic thing out of her past, from her memory, she gradually relaxed and turned to him with a wan smile on her face, a forced smile, as it were, but dorothy stanfield was doing her best under circumstances from which, when we come to that mo- ment in her past life, we will appreciate more fully her present circumstances. "i'm sorry, walter," she said with affected calm, “but i-i guess that l-must have become frightened at something. yet,” she ad- mitted, before he had a chance to ask her at what, “i don't know what." "i'm sorry, dear, and i won't say any more about it.” it oc- curred to walter le baron then, that dorothy had thought of some tragedy, perhaps out of the past, which had suggested itself to her when he paused to look back while on the stair, and when he thought he heard something. he paused in what he was trying to think about and reflected a moment. he had heard something, he felt sure; something akin, he thought to a heavy sigh or a groan. yet it could not have been, for she had just shown him every room in the house, all of which were empty. there was apparently no- body in the house but them. then from where had come that sound he heard? he was baffled, shook his head unnoticed by dorothy, sighed unheard and for the present, gave it up and turned to the girl by his side that he loved. he decided to try to cheer her up. perhaps she needed it. that something in her past life was rising up now the story of dorothy stanfield before him and parading, it seemed, like a gray ghost. was it because dorothy stanfield knew it; and was it because that some- thing that she insisted he let bob martin tell him, was so serious that it caused her to start violently at times and become frightened? "i guess i was mistaken, darling; i mean, about the noise i thought i heard from up there," and he pointed back at where he was standing when she had screamed, even though not so loud. "please dear, just try to forget it—at least until bob tells you -that story, then you will, perhaps, understand better. you did hear me scream, for something passed over me when you paused up there and i looked up and saw you. it caused me to start and scream before i could help it. please try to forget it, for it will not be long now before you will understand everything, including the way i-just acted. oh, walter," and she covered her eyes and when he placed an arm about her, she leaned on him, helplessly. "poor darling," he said kindly and pressed her to him. he could hear her heart beating against his side. he knew then that that something was troubling her more than she was willing to admit. she was unhappy, he knew now, and if he loved her as he was feeling, he must then dedicate himself to comforting her. he could imagine that hers had perhaps been a life of hell while that strange experience was going on. .."yours was a deep trouble, dorothy, a serious and tragic inci- dent and it is following down through your life, day by day and haunting you. you need a strong man's love, darling—someone to protect and comfort you." walter le baron didn't realize-even then, how truly he was speaking. the tragedy in dorothy stanfield's life, which he was soon to hear, was a serious one; and she seemed and looked years older than she really was, as a result of it. . after she had rested a few moments, safely in his embrace, she felt much better and she was stronger. she closed her eyes for a moment and pictured him being close to her always; because she needed his protecting arm, his calm self-control. indeed, she thought, as she rested there in humble and happy peace, walter the story of dorothy stanfield le baron must be a strong and resolute man. and walter le baron, as he held her close and was supremely happy for the opportunity, even if it did just happen, was doing some thinking, too. dorothy stanfield was now his responsibility, for he loved her more than he thought he would ever love any woman. in fact, as he thought of it now, he knew he had never thought it possible to love anybody half that much. and anything that even tended to frighten or disturb her, was his concern. he found himself praying silently for that future day when he could come to her and take her all for his own, to guide and protect. as he continued to hold her close to his heart there on the couch where they were seated, his mind revolved around the in- cident of a moment or so before, when she had screamed, low and even soft, but in which a note of strange terror was mingled. it must, he continued to think, have been because in that moment something about those stairs, near the top of which he was stand- ing, had brought back a tragic moment in her life; a moment so tragic and long-to-be-remembered, that she forgot all else in that brief moment and screamed out in fear. "oh, dorothy,''he said now. "the more i am with you, the more i realize how much you need me. this strange something which you insist that bob martin tell me is a part of why you became suddenly frightened to the point of crying out. and it is bringing me more and more to realize that as quickly, if and when this stumbling block that is due to keep us apart, can be removed, you must become my wife; so that i may watch over and protect you, darling, for you need it so much.” “oh, thank you, walter,” she said gratefully, and in so saying he could see that she was trying to cast off the strange spell in which she had just been enveloped. "i do need you, dear. i need you so much," and she turned her head and raised her lips and he kissed her long and passionately. "and you promise to be my wife, dear, when and if you be- come free from this—this which i can see you fear so much?” she nodded her head without saying anything. her eyes were the story of dorothy stanfield downcast, but he lifted her chin and kissed her again and she let the kiss linger a moment. "i do want you for my wife, dorothy, and it is that day that i am looking forward to and hoping will not be so long." she embraced him now, and began to weep and held him closer. "i realize that i may have to wait a long time. if it was only for a day, it would seem long to me; but i know that it will be much longer. perhaps months—even years, who knows. but i will try always to understand, sweetheart, and be willing to wait.” "i would be glad to be your wife, walter, but i have no right at this time to talk about such a thing. that is one of the things that bas me so worried. i find myself suddenly in love with you, like a god-send from heaven who sailed down upon me all of a sudden and who has enveloped me, body and soul, and so com- pletely that i am strangely frightened. yet, i love you so much, dear, that it seems cruel and unkind to tell you not to hope too much that we may soon be able to take each other for man and wife. i am not free, walter, without turning traitor to myself, even to listen to words of love from you-or from any other man. but dear," and she paused to nestle closer to him, to enjoy a breathless moment of warmth from his body so close to hers. "you have overwhelmed me with such a great love, and i am so captivated by it, that i am no longer myself. i am yours, walter, and if you were not the fine and honest man you are, but was what i inclined at the outset to fear, you could be my downfall -after all the struggle i have put forth to be strong and brave, and thought until i met you yesterday, that i had succeeded. i am yours, dear heart, regardless of how much i feel impelled to tell you that it might be a long, long time if you wait. perhaps you might even be waiting in vain!” "i shall not wait in vain, dorothy," he said, and there was a tone of such self-confidence in his voice that moved her strangely -and anew! "i feel peculiarly sure on that point; as if i had been assured by some mysterious power from above. i feel that i will not have to wait as long as you fear; and because you the story of dorothy stanfield feel that way, you hesitate to relax into a quiet calm and self-con- fidence! i want you at least to try to, dorothy. but as i feel toward you, dear, i could wait forever!” “oh, walter, i have become so helpless in your hands. you seem to exert a peculiar power over me. is that the power of love, dear? if it is, i can understand why love has so much in- fluence in the lives of people. “that is why, i am sure, that i want bob to hurry and tell you all about what happened to me. i am now so anxious for you to know, that i would be tempted to tell you myself, but i don't want you to hear it from me. i will feel so much better if you hear it from some other, then you will perhaps get a better angle of both sides. at best, most of us are inclined to be overly con- scious of ourselves. if somebody else tells you, i will like that better." “i still won't care if i don't hear it, unless you want me to.” “you see, walter,” she said, and was more calm than she had been since he entered the house, “it is like living under a sort of cloud. as much as we love each other, and as completely as we are in full agreement about, it seems at this time, everything, in the months to come if you had to still guess about this something, you could hardly help becoming confused at times; at other times be forced onto the anxious seat, and i don't want it to be that way. if you know all about what happened and how it happened, you won't, at least, go to being anxious about it in the future and to 'guessing' and all that, which can confuse anybody, even with the best intentions in the world. now do you understand why i want you to hear the story?” "yes, dear, i do, and it will be as you wish it. i'll drive out to bob's house, after i bring you back here from dinner, and i'll ask bob to tell me, just as you have requested.” "thank you, darling," and dorothy sighed with distinct relief. "meanwhile, if we're going to the theatre anytime soon, it seems that we'd better be going.” le baron consulted his watch. the story of dorothy stanfield . “we still have thirty minutes before the nain picture starts. i am not interested in looking at either the serial or the comedy- even the cartoons, although i can sometimes tolerate them.” "how about the news reel?” "i don't think the negroes who attend the theatre go much out for news reels, so i doubt if they even run them, except something special now and then. but getting back to the time, it will take us five minutes to ride to the theatre, five minutes to get seated and five minutes to wait for the feature to start. there are fifteen minutes left for me to love my darling,'' and so saying, he lifted her bodily and sat her upon one knee. “why, walter!” she cried, but could say no more for the mo- ment, for he was showering her face, her lips, her eyes and her hands, even, with warm, passionate kisses! "walter! walter!” she cried when he paused for a moment to look into her eyes. "oh, walter! you mustn't! what will become of me with you showering so much affection on me? what will i do when you-go away?” "i don't know, darling. i am not thinking now of the time when i will have to go away. i am thinking only of you, my dorothy, the sweetest girl in all the world!”—and he did the embracing and the kissing all over again. "oh, dear," she sighed, when he paused again. "i-i really don't know what i will do when you are no longer here. your love is driving me all but insane." "a sweet insanity, darling. wouldn't it be a glorious thing if one had to go insane, to do so in the arms of one you love as much as i do you?" "oh, you terrible boy! but of course it would!” and kissing him quickly of her own volition, she laughed cheerfully. “and now, precious,” she said, relaxing into a moment of soberness, "just how long do you plan to be in memphis, anyhow? you have never said.” "no, dorothy, for i do not know. but now since fate has brought us to this great love, which has thrown everything else the story of dorothy stanfield for the time being, it seems, out of kilter, i will use up the few minutes we have left to tell you who i am, and why i am in memphis.” "oh, walter, really?” she exclaimed, greatly excited. “yes, darling, i will. i believe when i tell you, that you will understand and appreciate now, why i couldn't sooner, and why when i tell you, that you must keep it in the strictest of con- fidence.” "oh, i will, walter. you believe that i will, don't you dear?”, "i would not offer to tell you if i did not trust you—and, im- plicitly, dear. i am thinking of you as i would a dear wife, whom a man can hardly be happy with until he has told her his business. husbands even boast to their wives, i've observed, and a loving wife flatters him and often makes him a hero in her own eyes, while nobody else has ever thought about him or takes him serious- ly," whereupon he laughed and she joined him. "i guess what you say is true, darling. it is one of the many ways that a man and a woman, mutually suited to each other, find and add to their happiness.” "it is a wonderful thing, when you come to analyze it, isn't it, darling? how two people can mean so much to each other when properly suited and who share, more or less, the same points of view." "i agree with you completely, walter. but you don't have to tell me what you are doing in memphis, and who you are until you are ready to.” "i want to, dorothy. i want to tell you about myself and why i am here because i think we know each other well enough now for you to know; and especially since you are insisting on me lis- tening to the story about you, and which you didn't seem to want me to know when i met you.” dorothy laughed at this, and kissed his cheek, playfully.. "it is so sweet for you to confide in me, walter. it makes me feel closer to you." "and that is exactly how i want you to feel, dorothy. my the story of dorothy stanfield secrets from now on are your secrets, dear, and after bob tells me your story, i want you to share everything about yourself with me. will you wish to, honey?". "i will want to. i will be glad to tell you everything that hap- pens in my life, that might be of interest to you, walter." "now about myself. i'm an investigator, dear. in other words, they call me a detective, and i am here on the trail of, and in quest of a murderer, by the name of cleo johnson, whom i am due and wish to arrest and take back to new york. he killed a man and robbed him of a large sum of money, and i have traced him right up to memphis.” "oh, you have, walter? ard that is what you do? trail bad men who break the law? you are a detective?" “yes, dear, a detective." "i have been trying to decide in my mind just what you were, ever since i realized that i was liking you. and now you have told me. a detective. gee, that must be exciting—yet, if you are trailing a–killer, it is perhaps dangerous, too?” "it involves bodily risks, yes, and sometimes it is exciting.” "only sometimes, walter? it must be exciting all the time, as i view it.” he laughed at her anxiety, but she did not. she was looking at him, and now she spoke. “this man you seek? if he saw you first and knew you, he might" "there, there, dear," he said, patting her arm. "you're. draw- ing on your imagination. you make me think that you've perhaps been reading nick carter and old sleuth,” and he laughed and patted her arm again. dorothy blushed, and then admitted: "i did—when i was a child. also about old king brady and the james boys, on the missouri; and i also read of pinkerton, whom i've been told was a real detective." "he was, dear, and a good one. he founded the pinkerton detective agency in chicago, a long, long time ago.” “that must be interesting. whom do you work for?” "myself, sweetheart. i have my own agency," the story of dorothy stanfield "how fine! but i should have known you would have." “why so?” "because oh, i don't exactly know why; but you simply do not impress me as being the kind of man to take orders from others.” “but i do take orders, dear. i am here on somebody's order." "well, i'd bet that they solicited your services, and that you are independent of any direct orders, and are on your own. never- theless, that is not here nor there. you say that you are here in search of a murderer?”. “yes; have been trailing him ever since i left new york, two months ago.” "indeed! tell me more about it?" walter looked at his watch, but she interrupted with: "oh, let the old show go hang! i'm more interested in you and what you are talking about than in all the pictures ever made!” for ten minutes she had been sitting on his knee, which was warm, though harder than the soft sofa. she got up now and, after shaking her skirt, sat down beside him again on the sofa, her face toward him, all interest and attention on what he was about to say. "now go on. we can talk here until we are ready to go to dinner, if we want to, and then we can go from dinner to the show. is that all right, dear?”. “more than right, darling. i'd rather stay here and talk to you. i have a great deal that i want to talk to you about." “now kiss me again,” she said, "then go on.” he obliged her and went on, but before he had gotten far, she again interrupted. “just a moment. you say that you trailed the murderer into memphis? well, what happened, or has happened?” "you," he said, and smiled. dorothy looked bewildered. she didn't catch the joke. then she looked at him, askance. “me?" she asked, pointing a finger at herself. "exactly!” he said. then bringing his free hand over, he laid . the story of dorothy stanfield it on hers, which was already on top of his other, her other hand under it, he went on to explain: "i arrived here late saturday from canton, mississippi, where i met your brother, understand?” she nodded her head in the affirmative. "and that is what you were asking my brother about?” "i was told in jackson to stop over in canton and look your brother up. johnson, i learned, had stayed in jackson a few days and cleaned out all the gamblers there, and he might have spent a day or so in canton, on his way north to memphis. so i stop- ped in canton and i looked your brother up and told him that i wanted to know who controlled the underworld in the negro sec- tion; that i wanted to learn if an escaped killer from new york had been there!" "and did he tell you, or send you to whom you were interested in seeing?” "he did, and i promptly looked the man up that he referred me to. the man told me, after i showed him johnson's picture, that he had been there and stayed around canton a couple of days; and that he then continued on northward, presumably to memphis. so i struck out for memphis, of course." “then you arrived here perhaps the same night?” “that's it, dear. i arrived here late saturday, put up at the hotel and then got in touch with our friend, bob." "everything is clear now," she said, and was deeply interested. "and what about bob? did you tell him why you were here?”. "i did, and i asked him to say nothing about it.” "he is keeping it a secret, for i asked him who you were when i met him on the parkway after i left you at the gas station, where i had him stop and turn and come back to my house. i wanted to talk to him before he had a chance to meet and talk to you again. he refused to tell me who you were or what you were doing in memphis. he said it was confidential and not to ask him any more about it. we then talked about you and planned to- gether how to take you with us over to forest city, in which way the story of dorothy stanfield you wouldn't have a chance to ask him to tell you what i, then, felt sure i didn't want you to know. now the cat is out of the bag and you know the rest.” "which is that you captivated me, and i fell in love with you, and" "-i as equally in love with you.” he embraced her then and they exchanged a kiss, and smiling, continued with what they were talking about. “after you saw bob saturday, what did you do then? start looking for your man?" "it was too late, besides i was tired. driving long distances through this southern heat, had exhausted me somewhat. at least i didn't feel like looking for any crooks that night, so took a bath and went to bed. bob and i agreed to meet at the theatre, where i was to go over matters with him, and lay plans to canvass the town. i am not far behind my man now, and it is possible that he may be right here in memphis. i hope he is, for if so, i don't intend for him to go any further. i'll take him back to new york with me from here." "he's a dangerous man. if he sees you first, he's liable to shoot you,” said dorothy, her face anxious with concern about him. "i know it.” he felt her tremble and when he raised his eyes, he saw that she was nervous and inclined to be frightened. “i have the advantage however, for i have his picture. he doesn't have mine." walter le baron paused now to show dorothy a photograph of cleo johnson which he had in his inside coat pocket. gracious,” she cried, taking it and studying it closely. "what a desperate looking character! killing is written all over his face.” "perhaps,” said le baron, "but it's the scar that gives him that criminal and desperate look. he would be a fairly nice look- ing fellow if it was not for that. now look at his picture again," and le baron withdrew his hand and laid it over the scar, the story of dorothy stanfield “see the difference?" “yes. a great difference," she said, nodding her head. “that scar makes him a dead give-away. they've all remem- bered him, since i picked up his trail, by that scar." "i can see why they would.” “happily, they didn't have a photograph of him in new york -i mean that it is fortunate for me, perhaps, for without it they had no way to trace him. he didn't seem to have any criminal record anywhere, therefore left no photographs. i picked up the ones i have in jacksonville, florida, where i learned he had gotten sweet with a girl and she told me where he had them made, so i had the photographer make up six prints for me. so i have john- son's number. i'll catch up with him before i return to new york. i feel confident about it now." "i'm sure you will, dear, but i'm very much afraid about you. i'm sure that this man will not hesitate to shoot you on sight.” "i expect anything like that, but remember, he doesn't know me. this scar on his face points him out to me, so i have that advantage, at least." dorothy sighed, and looked at him out of tender eyes. "please be careful, dear." he patted her hand reassuringly. “when you got up yesterday morning, you started out to meet bob,” she said, "and—”. “_met you instead,” whereupon both laughed and exchanged an embrace. "so instead of doing what i set out to do yesterday, i met and fell in love with you—and here i am.” and he laughed at the irony of it. "oh, i'm so sorry if i am delaying your work, dear," she began, anxiously and apologetically. "no, no, sweetheart. i have lost only today. i will listen to bob tell me about what happened to you tonight, then, tomorrow morning i will pick up where i left off and go on from there, meantime.” the story of dorothy stanfield “yes, dear?" "if this man happens to still be in memphis as i have said, he was in jackson and canton just a month ago—and someone tips him off that there's a man from new york here, looking for him, he'd ”. "-run away quickly, of course,” said dorothy. “you are go- ing to ask me, now that i understand the full import of your mis- sion, to be careful not to divulge what you've just told me—and that means, to anybody. i understand fully, darling, and you can rest assured that i will keep my mouth shut. i'm not given much to blabbing anyhow." “i believe you, honey. and now," he said, rising to his feet, "what about a nice little drive around town before we go to dinner?" "surely, darling,” she said, smiling up at him, girl-like, and then rose to her feet, looked up at him again and marveled at him being so much taller. after another fond embrace and the usual by now, exchange of kisses, they left the house, went outside, got into his car and started on a sight-seeing tour of memphis under her direction but with him driving. when they sat down at dinner two hours later, they had pretty well covered all the important sections of the city, the story of dorothy stanfield crowd out to see them whenever they were shown in memphis. i saw one of his at the metropolitan theatre once while i was visit- ing chicago, and there were even larger crowds there to see them. bob told me that when they showed them in memphis it was neces- sary to play them twice as long as they played white pictures- often the most popular ones. so why was it unprofitable for him to produce them?" "i think you will have to talk to mr. wyeth about that. not being in the business, i have only my opinion and what he himself told me." "is that so? i'm sorry to hear that,” she said and was deeply concerned. "his pictures were like his books, interesting and so true to negro life.” "they were that,” said le baron, "and almost all our group are sorry that he is not producing them any more. he gives us a good novel at the rate of about one a year, however, so that is something to be thankful for, at least.” “a whole lot. i read everything he writes—and just as quickly as he writes it and i can get hold of it. i have his new book," and she paused to look toward her bookcase, off to one side of the room. she rose and going over to it, picked out the copy of the book, brought it back and handed it to him. he took it and read the blurb on the inside flap of the jacket, then ventured further into the book, pausing to examine the title page and frontispiece, which was printed in full color. "have you observed that there is more to his books, more in the way they are gotten up, with beauty and care, not counting the interest in the pages, than in most books?” "indeed i have,” said dorothy, "and we have discussed this fact. it is the consensus of opinion, race opinion here in memphis, at least, that he is interested and appreciative of the way his people like his books—i don't know how the white people take to thera or what they think about them—and he wants to please his readers and feels they are entitled to all he can consistently give them for their money.” the story of dorothy Štanfield “wyeth is a most appreciative sort of person and his books are popular; and they are growing more so every day. he has devel- oped and owns his publishing outlet you know, so makes far more money from the sale of same, than he would if some of the big white publishers were distributing for him on a royalty basis.” “i'm so glad to hear that,” said dorothy, "then he is probably making some money from his writings? more, perhaps, than he was on the pictures?" "much more, so he told me. and he doesn't have to endure so many headaches, any more, which he also assured me.” “what did he mean by that?" "he meant that it seemed impossible for him to get enough cash together at any one time to make one or two pictures, as he did, outright; and so he would have to go out and interest other people to the point of putting up some money to complete the pictures." "that was hard on him, i imagine,” said dorothy, with obvious interest, and sympathetically. “under those circumstances and conditions, they would intrude themselves and claim ownership of the pictures, regardless how much of his own money he had put into them.” "but why would he do such a thing?" "he said that he had to do so in order to finish the pictures and get them on the market.” “but with them owning them," "oh, they would have a contract; and he was protected by this -at least to some degree.” "oh, i see,” she said and relaxed her tension somewhat. "he was forced by the terms of the contract, however, to work like a dog; and if anything happened to him before he had played a picture very thoroughly in all the colored houses, they were ready to trip him and take his pictures away from him. in time, they finally forced him to quit,” said le baron, with a regrettable sigh. “that was the sensible thing to do; but i'm sorry that he had u be do such put into thedules, regard intrude the story of dorothy stanfield to do it; and i am sure that the most of our race who frequent movies must be sorry also. well,” dorothy went on, "you say that he is doing much better for himself in the book business?” "oh, much better! he is like a new man. the worry and anxiety, not to mention the endless hard work, that he had to put up with, were breaking down his health and aging him prematurely. meanwhile, he married a very fine girl, and that has helped him considerably." “whom did he marry? i heard that he had,” and she regarded him wonderingly. "he married a girl by the name of bertha schultz. she was born in germany, of a negro father and a prussian mother. fact is, she had been in the country less than a year when he married her, although she had spent several years in this country while younger, and therefore spoke english fluently. but i've gotten entirely away from what i started to say,” he said, apologetically. "yes, dear,” she said, with a happy smile. "but about every- thing you say seems to be interesting, so i'm glad to listen to you, whatever it is that you choose to talk about. why not go on and tell me about this girl? i'm interested.” before going on he paused to look at her and to study her a moment. she returned his gaze, askance. "you remind me of her somewhat,” he said, still studying her. "oh, nonsense, dear!”, she said, deprecatingly. “i've heard that she's a very beautiful woman." "she is. i met her a few nights before leaving new york." "you did!” exclaimed dorothy. "how and where?” “at a party some friends of mine were giving. i also met that mrs. early, a white woman, who was a mrs. wingate before she married kermit early, a colored man. she's a white woman, in case you hadn't heard." "i have heard. another white woman married to a negro, eh? how did this one happen?”. "her previous husband, who was a white man, was a million- aire.” the story ry rothy stanfield anfield of dorothy "a millionaire? then what possessed her to give up that- and marry a negro?” "she was a widow. her white husband was killed, and left her a very wealthy woman.” "this seems to be a-rather unusual case?” "very much so," said le baron. "they seem to rather like her in harlem. among other philanthropic activities, she has set up and maintains an institution for the salvation of delinquent ne- gro children. she built a first-class place for them in new york city, and still another building up on the hudson where she takes them at alternate intervals during the spring, summer and fall." "indeed!” exclaimed dorothy, in some surprise. "that is very much in her favor. did you say that she was rather popular among the negroes?” “very popular, so i'm told. her attitude towards negroes is very much different than that of most of the white women in new york, and other places, married to colored men. she seems, so i have been further told, to have resigned herself-even before marriage, to being content with negro life, so has thrown herself into it and what goes with being a white woman, married to a negro, which, of course, means that she had to give up all her white friends and previous associates—even most of her relations, when she came over to live among negroes with a colored man, so seems to be making the most of it. she and early have three children now.” "that should settle her for a life among negroes completely." dorothy observed. “what about frank knight? were he and his white wife at the party?” "no. my friends said that they had never met knight, or his white wife, and added that knight was rarely, if ever, seen in harlem. seems to have bought this girl to whom he is married, a home somewhere in brooklyn and to have withdrawn from any activity among negroes altogether, as far as i have been able to learn,” said le baron. “i wonder if he is going to continue to write about white people the story of dorothy stanfield as he has done in the past showing about all of them to be the meanest people ever, when it comes to negroes, that can be con- ceived?" “i'm sure i don't know, dear. i've never met or even seen him.” "i wonder if showing white people up, as he does in his writ- ings, as being so mean and heartless regarding negroes, is his idea of a better association among the races; and if he means that by negroes marrying white, as he has done, is the proper way to a solution?" le baron smiled; dorothy frowned. he turned to her and went on: "you're sure hard on knight, aren't you?” and he continued to smile, playfully. "i sure am—and on all other negro men who marry white women! i suppose that since she is so rich, and also so kind to negroes with her wealth, that this mrs. wingate can be excepted. but hers is perhaps the only case of its kind in the whole lot of them. meanwhile, i'll admit that i am hard on them and intend, as far as i'm concerned, to keep on being hard on all negro men who marry white women.” she paused at this point to look at him, as she recalled what she had asked him to explain. . “you didn't finish telling me about this girl of german extrac- tion that mr. wyeth married, you said that i reminded you some- what of her. i said that she was very beautiful. i am not, so please go on and tell me about her-more about her,” said dorothy. "you are beautiful, dorothy-certainly in my eyes," said le baron, warmly, and squeezed her hand. dorothy's cheeks flushed and she liked what he said. "but the comparison that i was going to explain about is in your eyes. her eyes seemed inclined, as i talked to her at that party, like yours, to be sad.” “has she had trouble, too?" "now that you speak of it,” he said abruptly, turning to her more animated than before. "i know why her eyes were sad. it's more the story of dorothy stanfield on account of her brother, who brought her to america with him when he came. he was an ardent nazi, who got into trouble, and that is why, i recall now, that her eyes were that sad.” "what happened to her brother?” walter le baron paused thoughtfully for a moment and dor- othy turned to look at him, a question in her eyes and on her kips. "looks like i've talked myself into some trouble,” he said and sighed a bit. she regarded him curiously now, and went on: “what do you mean?" le baron shrugged his shoulders. he disliked to go into what he now had to explain. finally he went on as if with resignation. "it seems that this bertha, and her brother, had been very thoroughly educated before leaving germany for new york, and that adolf hitler had something to do with helping them to get the kind of education they had. anyway, her brother, whose name was heinrich, had spent some time in new york before, where he had met and become very friendly with kermit early. "early, it seems, after mrs. wingate fell in love with him and while her white husband was still living, had been put through school on mrs. wingate's money, having finished at harvard, with a ph.d., degree. well, it seems that early turned out to be very much over-educated, could find nothing that he liked to do, so turned radical, and when he met heinrich schultz, who was a nazi agent, he had become associated with nazi activities in america, and was connected with a subversive group here, so after he met schultz, they developed a sort of interest in common, agreed to organize a spy ring and report america's pro-war activities to ger- many, and did so. "the fbi knew that something fishy was going on, and had a suspicion it was being directed by somebody in harlem; and that there was a leak somewhere, by the great number of ships that were being sunk off our east coast, shortly after the outbreak of the war in . as usual they put white men on the job, and they combed harlem but could not locate the leak, and where the in- formation was coming from. the story of dorothy stanfield "it had been going on a long time when it was brought to the attention of a man named walton, commissioner of police for the city of new york, who promptly contacted me, and persuaded the fbi to enlist my services as an investigator, and i went to work on the case. "it didn't take me long to find out where the leak was, and which i soon traced to heinrich schultz, who, by operating from harlem and being of negro extraction, had been able to work al- most at ease without being either suspected or molested. but before i had gotten very far with my investigation and was alle to lay a hand on schultz, the government withdrew all tanker service from the western atlantic and the gulf of mexico, and had cut sailing of merchant vessels to the west indies, mexico and south america to the bone. they were sending such ships as went under convoy, which reduced the sinkings, and schultz and his gang, the head of whom was one dr. gustave von barwig, who was operating from argentina, had sort of scattered. "mysterious train wrecks began to happen out around chicago, so i was sent to check on the why of them and so on. shortly after i arrived in chicago, the papers carried a sensational story about a bomb exploding in mid-air west of boone, iowa, and all indications pointed to the bomb having been thrown from the rear car of the pacific coast limited, which was carrying high officials of the government west to a secret meeting in san francisco. "i was sent to boone and after investigation i was told that a fine-looking young colored man had been seen in boone before and after this strange bomb explosion. i knew immediately that it was schultz, as the description fitted him perfectly. i returned to chicago and began to look for him. "two weeks went by and i finally managed to contact a private car porter who, after some urging, told me all about how schultz left the bomb in his locker (he was in charge of the private car which was carrying these high government officers) and that he discovered it purely by accident and threw it out of the car as the train was crossing the coon river west of boone; and of how it the story of dorothy stanfield exploded before it reached the water. he explained to me that he was afraid to say anything about it for fear of being locked up and suspected of being associated with the group of subversive agents. he told me all about how schultz had inveigled him into the whole thing but assured me that he was innocent of any bad intentions-confessed, and i believed him, that he had no idea that schultz was a spy and that he had told schultz in answer to quiz- zing, that he knew he had no right to tell, all about the private party. "with what he told me, i promptly went after schultz for good and all the nazi agents that were associated with him, including von barwig. while this was going on, germany surrendered, and schultz and all his gang were arrested and returned to germany for trial as war criminals.” “what was schultz's sister doing while all this was going on?”, asked dorothy. “she had met and fallen in love with wyeth, and seemed to be running out on her associates and then they found out." "oh, yes? then what happened?” "they called her downtown to von barwig's headquarters in one of the big hotels—and ordered her to assassinate mrs. roose- velt when she came to the golden gate ballroom in harlem to speak to a group of negroes." "no!” exclaimed dorothy. “but she didn't, did she?” le baron looked at her and smiled. "mrs. roosevelt was still living more than a year later, so evi- dently the girl did not succeed in her mission, or the mission that was forced on her." "oh, good! gee, but this is so interesting,” cried dorothy, clasping her hands. “go on, tell me some more-all that hap- pened, please!" "i've heard that sidney wyeth was watching her; knew that it was not her wish or desire, but that she was forced to try to assassinate mrs. roosevelt by those she was associated with. any- way, wyeth was trailing her and he caught her just as she was with- the story of dorothy stanfield "a night for love, dorothy," and then be kissed her again quickly. "well," he said, "i guess i'll have to go and listen to this story which is the cause of your dilemma and unhappiness, but tomorrow, dear, i'll be back.” "maybe you won't want to come back after you hear what bob has to tell you,” she said and her eyes seemed more sad than ever. "nothing that bob, or anybody else, tells me will ever stop me from loving you, dorothy, always and always. nothing and never! you believe me, don't you, dear?” "i believe anything you say to me, walter, anything, dear!” for which he kissed her again, and then both sighed. "i want you to know, and to feel while i'm at bob's and until i see you some time tomorrow, that we, you and i, dorothy, are together in spirit even when i am absent from you. i have only to close my eyes and imagine i see you; imagine that you are near me, to get a wonderful thrill,” he said, holding her again closely to his heart. "dearest walter,” she said, not raising her eyes but holding him close. "you make me so happy that i simply don't know what to do," and now she started weeping, and he had to comfort her a full minute before he was able to go on. "please go now, walter,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks unchecked. “just leave me alone to weep until i have cried myself to sleep. i love you so much, darling, that i just can't seem to help it, but i can't stand you near me any more tonight. so please go, dear heart, and come back to me tomorrow.” walter le baron tore himself away from the girl he loved then, and crossed the porch and the walkway and hurriedly got into his car, started the motor, and turned for one last look at her. she was lingering in the door, looking sadly out at him. he waved a hand at her and she waved back, and then his car rolled out into south parkway and away into the night. she presently closed the door, and turning, went slowly up her stairs and to bed. chapter xv tt all began, i might say," bob martin was saying to wal- ter le baron in his home a half hour after walter had left dorothy, "out on the old simmons plantation, northeast of memphis, when dorothy was not much more than a child and still in school.” “on the simmons plantation?" le baron repeated, curiously. "i thought—" "i have the floor, my worthy," said bob, cutting him off and waving a hand in his direction, but with a smile. "whatever you may have thought, i've been out to the planta- tion many and many a time. my father before me used to go out there while he was still living; and as i tell you this story, i'll have occasion to bring my father into the early part of it, which you will soon hear; but which i admit at this time, however, is aside from dorothy's story, yet is part and parcel of what hap- pened on the whole.” “go ahead," said le baron. "i'm listening with both ears wide open and i'm keenly interested. i hadn't intended to inter- rupt you, and i won't delay the telling of the story for an ex- planation.” "dr. vaughn, whose father had started a small family fortune in downtown memphis, in a barber shop for white people, shortly after the civil war, was a serious minded negro and a successful one. one of the few race men in the entire united states whose fortune did not start from a crap game, a saloon, a policy game or from running whorehouses, where passionate and beautiful colored the story of dorothy stanfield girls sold their bodies to white men, with the result that one negro, as did happen during that period, might profit and ultimately ac- cumulate wealth from the proceeds of dozens of girl's shame." "most negro fortunes, i regret to say, all over these united states, got started just that way,” said walter le baron, with an unhappy shaking of his head. "but you were telling me about dr. vaughn's father, dorothy's grandfather, and how he got started, so please go on.” “the vaughn fortune, i started out to say, did not get its start that way, but in a legitimate way and continued legitimate until a man named n. d. stanfield got into it, which is in reality the story that i have to tell.” “stanfield, eh?," interrupted le baron, looking at him curiously. is that, then, where dorothy got the name?” “yes, but to tell you about that now would put me away ahead of the story, and i'm sure you want to hear it from the beginning and something about the events that led up to the climax which exploded like an atomic bomb and left destruction in its wake. "as i was telling you, it all began out at this plantation which dr. vaughn had purchased from an old veteran of the civil war by the name of simmons, a big name in memphis for generations. many people around here recall old colonel simmons, who at one time, it is said, owned more than a thousand slaves and lived on a high hill overlooking the mississippi river on the plantation, in one of the finest houses ever built in the state of tennessee. the house still stands by the grace of dr. vaughn, dorothy's proud father, as a reminder of a brave white man, who nevertheless fought and died on the battlefield of chickamauga, to continue slavery in the united states, although more for principle and state rights than with thought of continuing slavery. “the slave village, which dr. vaughn has also maintained, is one of the historical places where visitors to memphis are welcome to visit and get a view of how real slavery existed in those feudal days. i'm going to drive you out to look at it before you leave memphis this time,” bob said, digressing for a moment from the the story of dorothy stanfield ii story he was telling. “the doctor does, at intervals, institute such improvements as are necessary for the benefit of his tenants who live in the quarters still, and work for him on the plantation which extends for more than two miles along the banks of the river and three miles back from the same at its deepest section. "i cannot say, of course, just how the family meeting that took place one afternoon at the plantation was conducted; and the reason that i know as much about it as i do is because on that afternoon, a committee of which my father was a member, came to see dr. vaughn just before he was to call his wife and children together to discuss family policy. "our people, in keeping with the fever that swept the south- land back in the days of booker t. washington, and which had also enveloped the negroes of memphis, were anxious, as they were doing all over the south, to establish a bank, which was to be located down there on beale street. in fact, they had been ex- ploiting the idea for weeks and had plans pretty well in hand to get the bank going, and had, without his knowledge or consent, in- cluded the doctor in their scheme for the opening of the institution. "so they had made an appointment to interview the doctor with a view to applying for a charter and getting the bank started. "dr. vaughn met them at the door and invited them inside. my father told me that it was a warm afternoon, but that a cool breeze from the mississippi river was blowing over the area. there was a magnificient lawn behind which the plantation man- sion reposed, and which you will admire when you see it,” bob paused to look at le baron and explain. “this great lawn has many of the largest and finest oaks you ever saw, most of them known to be more than years old, and the shade from those grand old oaks was tempting and inviting. my father explained that a fine lawn set reposed beneath the shade of those oaks, so the committee decided that they could tell the doctor of their plans in more comfort out there, than inside on such a warm day. “accordingly, they suggested that they meet out there, and, of the story of dorothy stanfield course, the doctor consented, and a few minutes later they gath- ered to face the doctor and proceeded to lay before him what they had done up to that time to plan the bank and its personnel. bob martin went on to tell the following story. "now doctor," the chairman of the committee began, “we haven't brought this to your attention before, for knowing that you are a great race man, we have been devoting our efforts to organization and to getting other men of our group to come in and invest some money who were not as completely race-minded as you, but now we are about down to cases, and ready to lay every- thing before you and get your reaction, and we hope, enlist your co-operation.” the doctor listened to all of this respectfully, nodding his head at intervals to indicate that he was following them and under- stood what they were talking about. "we have,” bob's father went on to explain, "persuaded pro- fessor ledbetter, principal of the booker t. washington high school, to consent to act as cashier, and reverend simms, pastor of the big metropolitan baptist church, to be our president. now we have called on you, whom everybody considers to be the leading race citizen of memphis, to be the chairman of the board.” it was now dr. vaughn's turn at last to commit himself, which after a thoughtful pause, he proceeded to do. "now gentlemen," the doctor began, “i have listened to you, and naturally i have been interested in hearing about your efforts to start a colored bank which deserves all the assistance myself and every other race citizen can give. i am in sympathy with the spirit behind the effort. we do need something to assist and en- courage more negroes to go into business; to develop into agri- culture on a larger scale and to become a part of industry and to engage on a far wider scale in industrial and commercial enterprise. we need these things, among other reasons, as an avocation, in- stead of just continuing to depend on white people for everything, including giving us jobs in their enterprises." “the committee, as you can appreciate,” smiled bob, turning the story of dorothy stanfield to le baron, "swallowed all he had said, hook, line and sinker.” “but gentlemen," doctor vaughn went on, “i'm afraid you have overlooked with all your planning for the bank, several im- portant angles.” "what angles, doctor?” bob's father rose to his feet to ask. for some reason, he was suddenly on the anxious seat regarding dr. vaughn. “well, regarding the conduct of the bank as a whole. i repeat, we need more activity in the lines i have just mentioned, and banks are essential to the furtherance of agricultural, industrial and commercial enterprise. but banking is an advance stage of business, and is not conducted in an off-handed manner as many of you seem to think. take, for instance, the officers of the large banks in memphis, conducted by white people, and elsewhere for that matter. the men responsible to the public in those institutions have practically grown up in the banks. they have had their training sort of handed down to them through generations, often through their father and their father's father, who founded the banks, many, long before the civil war. they have learned through long years of experience what may, and often does, happen through and over a span of years. they know there may come wars and depressions; storms and floods-in short, hundreds of things which a man must know or be told by somebody who does know, that may happen to involve the banks existence over a period of years. “these are but a few of the many things that few negroes understand because they have never had a chance to learn about them. now take the man whom you have selected for your cash- ier, for instance, and whose duties would be to lend the money so the bank could make operating expenses and a profit." "professor ledbetter has been to school,” bob martin's father rose to his feet and proceeded to explain, cutting dr. vaughn's speech off as he did so. "he has been to schools, many schools, and has graduated from college; he is the principal of our high school, has a lot of education and is supposed to know—just about every- thing." the story of dorothy stanfield “ridiculous!” cried dr. vaughn, with an expression of disgust. “been to school, graduated from college, teaches school and is sup- posed to know everything! no man knows everything! and with due respect to the principal of our high school, and what education he does have, which from an academic standpoint i presume to be considerable. but from the standpoint of being a cashier in a bank and lending people's money, he knows exactly nothing!” "doctor vaughn!” exclaimed bob martin's father, jumping to his feet in a state of excitement, bordering on indignation. the other members of the committee nodded their approval, all of which, however, had no effect on the doctor, who sat, waiting patiently for what their chairman had jumped to his feet to say. martin's father, however, seemed as suddenly to forget what he had taken the floor to say, and stammered instead. dr. vaughn raised a silencing hand which brought immediate quiet, and all present turned their faces to listen to what he had still to say. “what i said about professor ledbetter stands! but that is not all that i am going to say by any means. for the moment, i return to professor ledbetter for your benefit, and give you my experienced reaction to him. "the man is nothing but a schoolteacher, fortunate enough to get the job of principal of one of our high schools by the grace of his academic diplomas, and the degrees he has acquired; but as a businessman, which the cashier of any bank is certainly supposed to be, he has had no kind of experience whatsoever! and as to lending money, he wouldn't know how to start going about it! a cashier of a bank must have more than just education. that is one of the great and major failures of our race! we seem to think that all we've got to do to be successful, is just to acquire an education. acquire more degrees and more degrees and end up with so many that as far as the world of living and getting along in a capitalistic nation is concerned, we know exactly nothing! "professor ledbetter is one of this group. his father was a preacher, who sold religion as his stock-in-trade! he was honest and ambitious and did the best he knew how. he sent his son the story of dorothy stanfield through high school, then on to college, and after he had been duly graduated from both, he sent him again to take a post grad- uate course in english, and he acquired some more degrees. but he never for one day, like the majority of negroes all over the united states, thought a thing about teaching him to make money! as a result, you have one of these 'successful men of our group; successful without money, or any likelihood of ever getting any! “and now you come to this meeting all enthused over making him the cashier of your bank, which he would have to attend to on the side. whatever he knows, be it little or much, i'd be will- ing to wager that he has no intentions of giving up his job as · principal of the booker t. washington high school! another successful race man—without money! we are the only group in all america to assume success without money. as a result, and of our seeming ability not to be able to make any, like all the other groups in america, whenever one of us happens to be ap- pointed or placed in a position of trust and responsibility whereby we might help the others, but where it might be more profitable to somebody else that we not be helped, one of these 'successful and educated leaders sells us down the river and to the higest bidder- and that is one of the many ways our group is exploited_and shamefully!" the doctor had found his stride, and seemed to enjoy expound- ing the philosophy of common sense to his listeners, so after a short ironical laugh, he went on firmly: "you advise me that reverend simms, a preacher, has con- sented to be the president of your bank. being the president of a bank sounds big and illustrious, but it carries with it a still greater responsibility. as president of your bank, reverend simms would be supposed to be responsible for the actions of your cashier, and the success or failure in lending the depositors money, so that the bank could make a profit, which is the object of every bank's existence. "professor ledbetter never borrowed a dollar from any bank to build anything with the exception of the house he lives in. i the story of dorothy stanfield happen to be the endorser of the note upon which he borrowed that particular money. if he were incapable of lending money sensibly, he is still less capable of repaying a loan, for i have to keep after him continually to meet his monthly curtailments of that note. the only way i have been able to keep from having to pay it myself thus far, is by threatening him continually, when he defaults and doesn't want to pay, is to threaten to tell his super- intendent about it, and frighten him with the fear of losing his job. professor ledbetter, like too many of our group, doesn't understand the very least thing about financial responsibility and does not inspire any one, by his conduct, to feel that he is ever going to learn-and he thinks nothing about it! “this, then, is the man whose consent you boast of having secured to act as the cashier of your proposed bank, and who would mess the funds up so completely that he would perhaps be indicted in less than a year for violation of the banking laws and misappropriation of funds, or probably for about all the other offenses that could be committed in connection with operating a bank. "as for poor reverend simms, like professor ledbetter's father, and most preachers, black and white for that matter, has been trained, and has trained himself only in the art of selling religion. in banking, the matter of delivery of goods is a most important factor. about the only thing reverend simms has ever delivered was a sermon, and as the president of a bank he'd perhaps make a good head-waiter in a livery barn,” whereupon all present were compelled to laugh, in spite of the seriousness of their positions. “my, dr. vaughn. you surprise us!” bob's father cried. “we certainly didn't expect this from you. we thought—". "just what did you think, anyhow? or did you actually do any real thinking before you went plunging into something that none of you know anything about whatsoever?” the committee for the first time made no answer and due to their silence, dr. vaughn went on: “the fact is, gentlemen, we are not ready to go into the bank- the story of dorothy stanfield ing business yet. those of you who are honest and of good char- acter, can borrow, and do borrow what money you need from che white banks, who have plenty money to lend, and who know how to lend it. your ambition to have a bank is due more to your ambition to be connected with such an institution, and because it sounds big and appeals to most of your varities. you have not thought of or considered the possible results of such efforts. the results would soon be chaos and just another contribution, after you closed, to more loss of confidence in our people regarding our honesty and ability to do business. “we need to build up production of goods that the public needs and must have, and in that way, provide some jobs that we have for so long looked to the white man to provide us with, and so much of everything else that we would be handicapped to be without. when we reach that stage in our racial and economic development, with other things to go along with it we might ul- timately be able to operate and maintain a bank successfully. at this time i can't help but regard the idea as only a grand illusion on your part which is almost sure to end up as a grand delusion. "what i would like to see, and would be quite willing to assist, financially, in helping to bring to development would be a series of products from corn, cotton and cotton seed, peanuts and sweet potatoes, products for food and for wear, to build to where you could show and convince the public that you were serious and might get somewhere. this is something to think about; some- thing that would provide jobs for our people and that would return interest on investments, instead of jumping headlong into something that you know hardly a single thing about, but which idea has you flattered, and which you think will make all of you seem big in the eyes of your friends and acquaintances.” "by the time the doctor had gone that far, my father told me,” said bob, "they were all so discouraged that there was hardly any argument left in them. dr. vaughn had unwittingly con- vinced all against their will; and when they left, the plan to start a bank had cooled so completely that that set forgot all about it the story of dorothy stanfield and gave back the money that they had already collected.” "but another group did start a bank soon after, didn't they?" said le baron, reflectively. he recalled that when he first visited memphis there were some negro banks. "oh, yes!” exclaimed bob. “negro memphis was determined to have colored banks whether dr. vaughn approved the idea or not, and with the results you well know!” "i don't remember the details of what happened,” said le baron. “give them to me now, please, before you go on with the story.” “they started two banks, and for a time seemed to be doing very well--and then it happened! both went down, and they didn't need any depression, to carry them down, as you also well know," said bob. “you mean, they went down before the depression?" “long before." “what was the immediate cause?” “bad banking. they didn't know what they were doing.” "were any of them indicted in connection with the failures?” inquired le baron. “the president of one, the largest one, incidentally, and who was our leading undertaker, and who knew all about burying the dead, escaped going to prison because he convinced the judge be- fore whom he was being tried, that he took the office only as a gesture, and because being the president of a bank sounded big to him. the white people knew that the negro was telling the truth and forgave the ignorant sap and let him off with a rep- rimand." “and the other bank's personnel? seems that i remember the president of that one.” “you did know him. his name was jackson. well, poor jackson was not let off so easily. when the examiners closed his bank, he made the mistake of running away. they caught him and brought him back, tried him-and gave him three years! “that just about cooled banking ambitions on the part of ne- the story of dorothy stanfield groes in memphis. they don't even talk about starting one any more. fortunately, the white banks are very considerate with re- gard to those of the race who are entitled to credit, and they get all the money they need to run such business as we have, and which requires bank credit. "but getting back to dorothy, dear girl," said bob solemnly and with something akin to a sigh. "i have talked clear away from her, so i'll try to pick up where i left off. as i tell you this story, you may also use your imagination, in which way you will be able to conceive much that went on, and which i couldn't have seen going on, or have heard or been told about. dorothy cold me much of what went on later, but i hope you can use your imag- ination and picture much of the inside story while i tell you about the outside." we now pick up where the committee of colored men had just left, and doctor vaughn returned to the plantation house where his wife and children, including dorothy, were waiting for him. the fact is, doctor vaughn had been in the act of discussing policy with his family when the committee called, and had natur- ally been delayed in what he started out to do, so after he bid them the time of day, he went forthwith into his house where he was met at the front door by his wife. mrs. vaughn, to whom he had been married since he was not much more than a boy, had raised several children and they were a proud and happy family. but events were in a short while to change the whole course, al- most, of their lives. “the children are waiting for us in the library," said mrs. vaughn as he walked in the door, "so if you have completed your business with the men who seem to have just left, you can now perhaps, sit down and get this matter about the children over with.” "i am ready, margaret,” he said and kissed her. she led the way to the library where the children were gathered and a few minutes later were designing policy with regards to their children's future. the story of dorothy stanfield "we will start with you, arthur, because you are the oldest. we would like someone to carry on your father's work,” said mrs. vaughn, “so we would like to send you to a business college, since you have finished your literary training and are prepared to help your father with his insurance business, providing this meets with your approval and appreciation.” dr. vaughn, in addition to owning and operating the old sim- mons plantation, was also head of one of the largest insurance companies for negroes in the south. arthur, who was very much like his father, was completely agreeable to what they had planned for him, so they passed on to the next son in line. “now as regards you, harold,” said dr. vaughn, turning to their next son, who was named after him. “would you care to study medicine? i would like you to, and have you become a doctor, harold; but if it is not your ambition or desire, then tell us what is your wish. we want you to be satisfied.” "i should like to become a doctor, father. to become one has always been my ambition.” "i thought so, and that pleases your mother and me,” the doc- tor went on, the expression on both his and mrs. vaughn's faces indicating that they were satisfied. “well, what school would you like to go to to take it up? we would like you to attend yale, my alma mater." "i should like to go there also, father,” replied harold, jr. and he, too, seemed pleased. "then that is settled; and both your mother and i are pleased." all then turned their eyes upon the youngest son, jennifer, and smiled. jennifer smiled, too. they were all thinking the same thing. "i am already doing mine," smiled jennifer. "so as to my future, it seems to have been settled already. one more year at the big agricultural college at ames, iowa, and i should return to memphis a full-fledged and master farmer and planter." “you do like farming, don't you, jennifer?" inquired mrs. the story of dorothy stanfield vaughn, a trifle anxious. she was thinking of other negro boys; boys she had known while a small girl. mrs. vaughn was born on a farm and liked it, but she recalled with anxiety that few young negroes had liked farming when she was a girl. and when their parents passed on they usually got rid of it and ended sooner or later by wasting what they got for it, if they hadn't lost it before it got that far, via foreclosure or a mortgage, in some dream or impractical effort in town—and sometimes they just blew the pro- ceeds from the farm in! "i love it," cried jennifer, enthusiastically, which caused both the doctor and mrs. vaughn to breathe a sigh of relief. "i guess all of you know that i have developed what is said to be the finest herd of cattle around memphis, and do i like feeding steers!” “there is such good money in feeding steers, son,” said the doctor, beaming, and continued to smile as he thought of the sub- stantial balance they carried at the union & planters national bank of memphis. "we should in whatever we do, my children, think of the profit side of our efforts, whether in cash or in other things. however you may feel about being successful, i don't want any of you to go to doing so because of acquiring a great deal of education, and just teaching school or being appointed to a job slightly better. i am thoroughly disgusted with negroes being regarded as success- ful, who have no money or material wealth to show as a result. we are the only group in america who claims to be successful without money. that is not an enduring success, and as far as your mother and i are concerned, we don't consider it any success at all. if negroes could in some manner be brought to see and understand that to be successful in the american way, it nieans that somewhere and at sometime along their line of life, they must learn to make money. that is the only way to ultimately get somewhere—and to stay there after you arrive! “but almost ever since the negro has been free and acquiring some degree of education, nobody seems to have told him that to demonstrate the benefits of his literary training, he had to ultim- the story of dorothy stanfield ataely learn how to make and keep some money. success again without money-just that much piffle!” and dr. vaughn snapped his fingers in disgust. "the farm is paying, and paying well, harold. it is a highly profitable investment, and it is our hope that it will continue the property of our family indefinitely. i am hopeful that neither you nor your children or your children's children, will ever make the mistake of selling it. it is, and has been for a long time, the best- paying investment we possess, far better and more profitable than the insurance company. so i am glad to hear you say, jennifer that farming is pleasing to you." "i'm crazy about it, father! with the completion of my course at ames, i will be ready to extend our activities in all forms of stock raising and cotton culture and the raising of hybrid corn." "speaking of corn raising,” mrs. vaughn interposed here, “when your father and i were first married and we managed to produce fifty bushels of corn to the acre, it was the talk of the community! now you've succeeded, by this hybrid process, in raising more now and then, than one hundred bushels to the acre, with an average yield, in good soil, of course, of from sixty bushels to eighty bushels to the acre—and it has your father and me just tickled pink! i wish it were possible to return half the negroes in the united states to the farm!” “where he could not be held back by the prejudices he com- plains of and about,” said dr. vaughn, feelingly, “and where he would be free!” "but the negro, unfortunately,” said arthur, "doesn't see it that way. as quickly, often, as he can mortgage or dispose of the farm his parents died and left him, he lights out for town where more electric lights are shining; lights that he had nothing to do with developing and building, and where" "_he starts promptly downward to the dogs and ends up in jail or on the chain-gang. but enough about negroes!” cried the doctor, and all turned their eyes upon dorothy, their only sister and daughter, and of whom all were very fond. the blood flushed the story of dorothy stanfield “old tall, dark eyes, good hair and handsome thompson—and you all but went nuts about him—and he didn't have two ounces of brains!” and her brother laughed, hilariously. the others smiled and looked at dorothy, who promptly broke into tears. "oh, mama, make jennifer hush,” she whimpered, and hid her eyes on her mother's shoulder. "now, jennifer,” mrs. vaughn admonished. “you've said quite enough about your sister! she's a darling daughter to us, and sister to you, and you must be nice to her, even if she does prefer handsome boys." “why, mama, you too!” exclaimed dorothy, shocked, and turned now to her father and went into tears again. “there, there!” cried jennifer pointing a finger at her, tanta- lizingly, "even mama is forced to agree with me. you know that you're a sucker for good-looking boys and your crying proves it?" "now, son,” said the doctor, raising a hand. "let up on the razz and leave dorothy to your mother. she knows best." "but, father, you know that more than half of the good-looking colored boys are no good. they can't be because so many silly girls—like my sister there, won't let them be! they pull at and paw over them and—even give them their little money, when they have any, so what can be expected?”. "well, jennifer,” smiled dr. vaughn, turning to look straight at him. “you can't say too much about good-looking boys—at least against them. just look in the mirror at yourself, for instance," and it was the doctor's turn to laugh this time. "there, there, smarty,” cried dorothysitting straight and getting back into the argument. "you're good-looking yourself, and you know it. and there's a lot of girls who are ready to be sweet with you, and you know that, too." "oh, i'm not so much,” said jennifer, deprecatingly. “just a fair-looking kid." “but almost all the girls in our set make eyes at you." "and where do they get with it? nowhere! for i'm too busy wrestling with bulls and helping bed down sows to have a litter of the story of dorothy stanfield pigs and doing a thousand and other things out on the farm to notice if they are. i wouldn't mind your being nice to these handsome fellows, if they were hustlers, with a definite objective in life toward which they were working, but you know and i know and mama and papa both know, that the girls spoil almost all negro boys who happen to have good hair and also happen to be tall and handsome. it's more their fault than the man's; but if a man has no objective toward which he is striving seriously enough to resist a lot of silly and nonsensical girls making passes at him, then he ought to come to a bad end as so many do." "what do you mean, come to a bad end?” dorothy wanted to know. "i mean that some gals get jealous and kill them—and that's happening in memphis—and often, too. and they also kill, very often, some other girl who seems to be in the boy's favor more than she.” "well,” said dorothy, flippantly. “when i get married i'm going to prove how wrong you are about me as far as that's con- cerned!” "now what are you talking about?” said jennifer. "i'm not going to marry any pretty man. i'm going to choose just a plain one. now remember when i do, what i've said." "now, now, my children,” mrs. vaughn interposed at this point. “girls don't just deliberately select the kind of men they ultimately marry. that is something that just happens. it might turn out that dorothy may meet and fall in love with a handsome man, or a plain man, or some other kind, who knows? when that time comes, i hope she will know what's best for her and will do the sensible thing. but all this talk about marrying and the kind of man she is going to marry is both idle and premature. dorothy is due to spend the next two years completing her education at vassar, where she will be leaving for now very shortly. until she returns, after completing this, please forget what you are now arguing about and be nice to your sister. she is our only daughter and your only sister and you both love each other, and i am sure the story of dorothy stanfield that after she has grown up and finished her schooling, she will want to please her brothers and her father and mother by making a sensible and suitable marriage. so don't razz her any more and make her cry. that ends the meeting, and let's all get busy." so saying, mrs. vaughn rose from the table, followed by the others, and all went about their duties. our story now jumps two years and returns to the plantation home of the vaughns. dorothy had spent the two years at vassar, had been duly graduated in the studies she had taken and returned to her home, seemingly more beautiful than ever, due, no doubt, to fine training and the environment she had encountered at that fine girls' school. she was a trifle stouter, and the obvious passion that was al- ways in her face, and which was inclined to make boys single her out and try to persuade her to depart from the straight and narrow path, had developed along with her general growing-up. at first sight of her, after her return, both her mother and her father were inwardly frightened. "harold, dear,” said mrs. vaughn to the doctor, the first time they were alone together after her return, and they had spent the evening talking and listening to dorothy while, like girls who have been away to school, and to vassar of all schools, she held the stage and thrilled and pleased her parents, especially her mother, with what she talked about. “i'm afraid about our child.” "i share your fear, margaret,” the doctor agreed, his face serious. "i'm afraid if she's persuaded by some boy, most likely a hand- some one, she may—oh, doctor, i'm just afraid, that's all!" "i see that handsome carter thompson is back in memphis. he's appearing in person at the new daisy theatre, which has just opened. saw nellie hodge parading him up and down beale street yesterday, and as jennifer used to say, 'pawing and making over him, just like he had been sent to beale street, straight from heaven without any stopovers on the way down." the story of dorothy stanfield “and now with dorothy all excited over graduating from vassar and he, with his soft, silky hair, olive-brown complexion, slender form and six feet two, i imagine he'll be driving up here in mr. wyeth's car, as he used to, to take her sailing around the country.” "fine cars like the one i saw him in down on beale street, are mighty conducive—and convenient for the game of persuasion,” said the doctor, and his face was downright grave with anxiety concerning his beautiful daughter. “there seems to be one alternative," said mrs. vaughn, thought- fully, and then straightened her dress, as if she had decided on the alternative. “what alternative, margaret?” "select, or try to select, a logical man and throw them together often enough and long enough to make marriage a logical thing- then try to persuade her to marry him as soon as conveniently pos- sible. i'd simply die if our only daughter had to tell me by and by that she was pregnant." "and if she goes riding over into arkansas, or down into mis- sissippi with the likes of carter thompson in that dazzling zephyr of sidney wyeth's, whom he is working for, she'll be coming up in due time with an armful of baby all right. i'm afraid for her yet we may both be wrong about the child,” he said, with a ray of hope in his voice. "they charged me with looking the same way, when i was a girl, if you remember, doctor, and mrs. vaughn smiled at the recollection. “i think it was all that passion that i saw in your face, mar- garet, that tempted me to marry you as quickly as i did.” "especially when i refused to let you run your hand up under my dress," and mrs. vaughn looked at him chidingly. "it's not so!” the doctor declared stoutly. "i never even wanted to persuade any girl. i was too serious minded and bent so ardently on what i planned to do.” "all very true, but i haven't forgotten what you tried to do. i shall always insist that it was my failure to let you do so that the story of dorothy stanfield persuaded you to propose and take me off and marry me while we were hardly more than kids.” “i still insist that i had no desire to try to persuade you before we married.” "well, that's all past and gone so long ago, dear, that it is hardly worthwhile debating. we married young and have lived a full and happy life. our greatest concern now," mrs. vaughn went on to say, "is about our daughter, dorothy. i feel like i would just want to die if anything happened to her-and you know how much of this is always happening to nice girls in memphis." "happening to so-called nice girls everywhere. there's many men who wouldn't want to persuade any girl to risk her character through illicit intercourse, and every one of our sons are like that. fine boys and we have every reason to be proud of them, thank god.” “yes, harold, thank god. now let's see what we can do about protecting dorothy." “we mustn't be too severe, margaret. after all, the child is young and is certainly entitled to have some girlhood before we go pushing her into marriage and above all, perhaps, to some man she may not be in love with.” "i've seen so many girls go to the bad, under the illusion that they were 'in love,' that i am doubtful if all—or many, even, are sure they know what love really means. colored girls especially, are so vain about it when it comes to somebody who looks like this carter thompson. is it possible for so many girls to think they are in love with somebody like him, when they are all looking right over the heads of many well-worthwhile men who would work for them and make them good husbands? i still believe in love and truly hope that we will be fortunaate enough to find a man that dorothy can and will fall in love with, for it is only when you love a person that you will be kind and considerate, and go along with them. otherwise, one is inclined to be so impatient with every- thing they do and about it that we just drive such people away from us and out of our lives.” the story of dokothy stanfield “still i say that we must not be too hard on the child,” said the doctor, insistently. “true, dear, very true, and that is exactly what i'd like for her to have; but there is so much passion, written all over the child's face, in her every movement. i feel convinced that if we risk leaving her to go around as she pleases, free, single and dis- engaged, she faces an uncertain and dangerous future. i believe the child is still a virgin and i want to feel that she is going to continue as one." “well," said the doctor, resignedly. “whom have you in mind?" “there are two or three young men that i rather admire, who belong to her set, two of them in your insurance office. the one i admire most of all is old doctor carter's son.” "beryl, eh? well, beryl is steady and he will finish his medical course next year and we will be making room for him in the medical examination department of the company. he should be acceptable to her, providing he can be induced to take the same view as regards her.” “if not, either one of the other boys would be acceptable,” said mrs. vaughn and paused thoughtfully. “what are you thinking about?" "about dorothy's coming-out party. i will send these boys and their parents an invitation, among the others that i will be sending out. that ought to provide the necessary opportunity to throw them together.” "well,” said the doctor, sighing sleepily, "that seems to be about all you can do to start with in the business of match-making. meanwhile, i'm sleepy, wife, and you know that when i get that way" "_there's nothing but to usher you right off to bed. so i'll go in and get it ready.” so saying, mrs. vaughn rose to her feet and went about her nightly duty, leaving the doctor yawning, and trying to keep his eyes open wide enough to find his way to his room when she did call him. chapter xvi tt was two weeks later when mrs. vaughn and the doc- tor stood on the large porch of their country home, a full moon lighting up the outside and the waters of the mighty mississippi less than a hundred yards away, flowing lazily by, and received the many guests whom they had invited to meet their lovely daugh- ter, recently graduated from vassar college. dorothy stood be- side them, in fact, between them a part of the time, shook hands with the guests as they arrived, and smiled graciously. among the guests, were the three boys mrs. vaughn had selected, their sisters and their mothers and their fathers, all of whom responded to the invitations. all renewed their previous acquaintance with dor- othy. the boys proceeded to mix with the other guests until dorothy should be free, which they presumed, would be after most of the guests had arrived. among the invited guests at the vaughn's party, was one pro- fessor issh, principal of the lenoir, tennessee county training school. not far from the school but in an adjoining county, lived a friend of issh's, by the name of stanfield. he was the principal of a small rural school with four teachers. nathan dent stanfield was his full name, but he had not been invited. in fact, the vaughns did not, until the night of dorothy's coming out party know that n. d. stanfield existed. naturally, if they did not know him, they had not, of course, sent him an invitation. but professor issh knew him, and stanfield. because of what issh called at times, his peculiar idiosyncrasies and due to the fact that he rather admired stanfield. had persuaded stanfield to "come the story of dorothy stanfield each other. turning finally to the others, the doctor spoke first. "professor issh! where did you find such a-specimen?”, and turning to issh, all but laughed out loud. "where?” mrs. vaughn repeated, and without exercising any effort at restraint, actually laughed out loud. “why," began issh, a trifle embarrassed. “of course,” he went on apologetically, “i brought him with me on my own re- sponsibility; but—" “oh, that is all right about bringing him, professor. in fact,” the doctor went on to explain, “i'm rather glad that you did. it is because he is soutterly peculiar that he attracted—and inter- ested me, and that is what i meant, also what mrs. vaughn meant, too, i daresay." still laughing, mrs. vaughn acquiesced. "where did you find him?” mrs. vaughn asked, and suddenly catching the humor of the moment, issh joined with them, and then pausing: "does he seem all that strange?" "not only strange, professor," chimed mrs. vaughn, “the man is actually—peculiar!” “we're all mature and ordinary people, issh,” said the doctor, his face flushed with humor. “but is he a-normal man, meaning, if you don't catch my drift, rational? in short, sane?” “now, now, doctor," protested issh. “i can't let you say that about a very fine fellow without protesting. professor stan- field is a splendid fellow, and, in many ways he is—brilliant!” “perhaps that accounts for his—peculiarities," ventured mrs. vaughn, after finding and placing her glasses on her nose. mean- while. let us turn to stanfield himself, and dorothy with whom he was dancing, which fact seemed to be giving him the greatest de- light. "your dancing is as graceful as your face is beautiful; as your figure is correct, miss vaughn,” he was saying. the blood rushed to dorothy's cheeks and she smiled as she acknowledged the com- pliment. "why, thank you, professor stanfield,” she replied, shylv. the story of dorothy stanfield “you're not a bad dancer yourself,” and dorothy smiled up at the professor sweetly. "oh, i'm as rusty as an old nail,” he said, deprecatingly, never- theless smiling down into her face solicitously. “to be truthful, i haven't danced for years." "i think you do fine," smiled dorothy, and looked up at him. she was trying to understand him better; trying to fathom the depths of those strange and peculiar gray-brown eyes. "what do you do. professor?” she inquired now as they circled around the floor. "i'm the principal of a small training school in massac county, just across the county line from where professor issh teaches.” "oh, you are?” dorothy commented. “do you—like it?” "not at all, no! decidedly no," he cried impatiently. "i'm surprised at myself. i should have done more by now, gone places, become some sort of a cog in the wheel of progress. frankly and honestly, i'm ashamed of myself.” “but why should you be?” cried dorothy, sympathetically. “after all, the principal of a training school is something, and i don't think it is bad at all. how many teachers do you have assisting you?" "only three. isn't that a predicament for a man like me to be in?” “why a predicament? i see nothing wrong about it. what kind of a man are you, anyhow?" she asked and looked up into his eyes with an inquiry in hers. "for answer, i'll cite a parallel.” “a parallel? what do you mean?” “take you now," he said, permitting his eyes to linger in hers for a moment, "and your family. all successful, gone places, have something. that is what i mean. that is what i ought to have done; what i ought to do.” "i don't agree with your point of view exactly,” said dorothy, surprised at her ability to argue. “but if that's the way you feel about it, why not make a try at it?” she stopped now to again the story of dorothy stanfield look up into his odd looking eyes, and to wonder. she was curious as to just how to take him. “i've been thinking of it for a long time,” he said, thought- fully. "i think i need some kind of force to inspire me—to uproot me; to get me out of a groove into which i seem to have fallen.” "i think some nice girl might be able to do that,” she said, not thinking about herself in any way, but he misunderstood her —perhaps he wanted to. as explained, dorothy was joking and merely trying to be agreeable. "a nice girl, yes, i agree with you,” he said, smiling all over. "i get the drift. that is what i need, miss. some nice pretty girl-like you, miss dorothy, for instance.” "oh, you flatter me, professor stanfield. i didn't mean by what i suggested—that is, i wasn't thinking about myself at all. i'm sorry.” "but why not you?” he cried, his peculiar eyes wide open now and gazing down into hers with a strange exhilaration. “i imagine that you could inspire any man to do his best.” "well,” she said, a bit hesitatingly, lowering her eyes as she did. “i'd like to feel that i could. on the other hand,” and she paused briefly and raised her eyes to his, “you must have some tender, loving and beautiful girl who would be glad to give you the proper inspiration, i am sure." she felt somewhat relieved. but he was still looking down at her in that peculiar way; eyes flashing a strange fire. she found herself held as if in some odd thraldom. she tried to force a smile in the meantime, and then took recourse to boldness and dared meet his flashing eyes squarely. "i am already daring to hope, miss vaughn, that you will be the girl who will ultimately inspire me to a higher plane of thought and action—and effort." "i'm afraid that i am hardly capable, professor stanfield. i understand, of course, that you only mean to flatter me," she said, anxious now to extricate herself from what seemed by this time to threaten to become an embarrassing predicament. the story of dorothy stanfield "i'm surprised—and incidentally, after the way you put it, flattered. now what is there about me, really, to talk about, anyhow?” there was an intermission at this point and the orchestra stop- ped playing. she turned to start back across the platform and to her parents whom she had left standing on the porch. but before she had fully turned, he caught her arm and on looking up at him, she was forced to smile to be agreeable. “why not be seated for a few minutes over there," he said, pointing to the settee on the lawn, "on that comfortable seat, where we may continue what we were talking about? yes?” it was going further than she had intended it to go even wanted it to go, but there was about him something so subtle and cunning, as it were, that she found herself unable to resist. and before she was aware of it, she was letting him lead her down the platform steps and across to the settee on the lawn. on the porch of their home, her mother and father, surrounded by guests during the most of the time that she had danced with the professor, turned now to look across at her, and were surprised to see her being led away. "picking up where we left off,” the professor was saying, after they were comfortably seated. “could there be anything more interesting to talk about, and to talk to, than one of our girls who has just been graduated from the great vassar college?” "oh, there are lots of girls graduating from vassar every year. many graduated with me. there will be even more to graduate next year, and the next and the next.” “very true, i know; but not colored girls." “well, that may be true. not so many of our girls could afford it, but i consider having graduated from there, as just that much more routine.” “that is because your father is wealthy, miss vaughn, and you have been raised in the finest environment. an environment far beyond the possibility of the most of us. that has, perhaps, caused you to become accustomed to big things; so much accus- the story of dorothy stanfield tomed to them that you consider many privileges just plain routine. as regards myself, i have not been nearly so fortunate.” anxious to avoid hearing herself praised and flattered, just because her father was a wealthy and successful man, dorothy quickly grasped the opportunity to change the conversation. “where were you raised, professor stanfield?” stanfield shrugged his shoulders without much show of pride. "in the backwoods of alabama, miss vaughn. the son of a jack-legged preacher. by which you see, i sprung from just about nothing." stanfield lowered his eyes sadly for a moment; seemed to be sorry for himself. dorothy saw and realized it. she laid a consoling hand on his. promptly he raised his eyes to hers. “there is nothing discrediting about that. our greatest race leader, booker t. washington, my father tells me, sprung from less than that. he didn't know who his father was, even.” "in spite of starting as if from nowhere, miss vaughn,” stan- field went on earnestly, “i plan, nevertheless, to go places. i'm determined to go places and i refuse to wait another day to get started doing so.” dorothy looked at him, sort of studied him and found herself admiring the spirit behind his expression. yet, there was some- thing about the man that she couldn't fully understand. was it because in some way, she did not trust the man? she shook this feeling off with an effort, and decided to stay there and listen to him. she had never met a man thus far who seemed so spirited. she was old enough and experienced enough to know that a man had to possess more than just a desire, to surmount obstacles and get somewhere in the world. her father had preached that phil- osophy to his family since she could remember—and she hadn't forgot it. “as i look at you, miss dorothy," she heard the professor saying now, "i feel something in me saying: 'now is the time to start. if you hope for the privilege of even knowing this beautiful and talented girl,' meaning you," he said and nodded his head toward her, "you've got to start now and go somewhere, do some- the story of dorothy stanfield thing—be something!” on the wide porch, looking across the lawn at their daughter, seated listening to that strange sort of man, mrs. vaughn and the doctor turned to listen to professor issh who was talking. "stanfield never had much of a chance, doctor and mrs. vaughn. but he has made the most of what opportunities he has had. i have confidence, however, that he will, in due time, do things." “just what are his plans to do these things, issh?” inquired the doctor a bit coldly. he was often a cold-blooded man when listening to what any negro planned to do. his confidence in his race had not been strengthened by fifty years of contact with them—and what so many had failed to do. he was willing, how- ever, to at least hope that they might do better. "i don't catch the drift altogether, doctor,” said issh. "you intimated that this very odd sort of person, planned to do something. just what did you mean, issh? does this 'plan- ning to do things, mean to just get another job, teaching perhaps, in a better school, getting a few more dollars monthly?”. “i'm sure he means to do better than that,” defended issh, who wasn't so sure himself just what stanfield planned to do. “teaching school seems to be about the limit to which our educated people in the south reach." "you're very much mistaken about stanfield. i'm frank to say, or admit, however, that insofar as i know, his plans are still a bit indefinite." doctor vaughn smiled, laconically. "he talks a great deal about chemistry, and the possibilities of alchemy,” said issh, thoughtfully, then raised his eyes to glance across at stanfield who was engaged and talking so earnestly to dorothy and making gestures with his hand that they all wondered. "sounds like the dreams of a counterfeiter.” “why, doctor vaughn!” exclaimed issh a trifle indignantly. “i certainly didn't mean anything like that!” "i was only joking, issh. counterfeiting is slightly out of our s the story of dorothy stanfield “he then showered dorothy with his attention, proposing to her every time he saw her, and over the telephone just about every day, disregarding her repeated no's and no's. meanwhile, dor- othy had taken up teaching, held a position in the same high school in which i teach, and had not married. about this time, however, she seemed to be growing tired of teaching and was in a mood, i think, to marry, but to that infinite man who so often fails ever to show up in a colored girl's life. "near her, all the while, however, was stanfield, assuring her repeatedly of his fidelity and desire to make her his wife and by and by, persuaded her to consent to marry him.” “what did her parents think of him by this time?” inquired le baron, with keen interest and curiousity. "i don't exactly know, but i think they left it to her. after all, stanfield had shown that he was ambitious; he was a full-fledged doctor now, had set up practice and could at least make a claim. anyway, they must have consented and gave dorothy a very nice wedding a few weeks later, out there in that plantation house." pausing briefly, as if connecting events, bob took another sip at his drink and presently went on: "they went to chicago on their honeymoon and on reaching chicago, according to what she told a friend when they returned, she was tempted to leave him and return to her parents alone.” "what do you mean?” “the negro was crazy." “you mean—that he was~" “_not one of those things, but almost as bad in another way." "you're getting down into her troubles now," observed le baron. “i haven't even started." “go away! what happened?" "i'd rather not repeat what she told this friend when they returned. i only felt sorry for her—for any girl who was putting up with what she had to or bring disgrace on a proud family. but i'll by-pass all that, other than to say that when they returned to the story of dorothy stanfield memphis, she begged her parents to put in for an annulment. they dissuaded her, and she tried it longer. "well, shortly after their return to memphis, some of the things that were to shake negro memphis end to end, began to happen. "at that time there were too many negro doctors in mem- phis, as well as elsewhere, i suppose," said bob, reflectively. “the conditions were even worse in chicago, washington, new york and many other places. many in memphis were having it good and hard. stanfield was among the worst of the hard up ones. his practice was almost nil, and dorothy went back to teaching that fall, refusing to accept aid from her parents, who were urging her to let them help out. meanwhile, stanfield began his drift from the permissable ethics of a doctor. he began the practice of abortion.” le baron started and shook his head, sadly. "for a time then, he did so well that he built that house out there where dorothy is living. dorothy kept on teaching, how- ever, and didn't know how stanfield was suddenly making so much money. the inevitable had in due time to happen, however. “a girl died, but before she passed, she told her people that stanfield had killed her, trying to throw a child. it got out then, what stanfield was doing, and the news traveled fast, as bad news always does. “stanfield was indicted, and went to trial shortly after-the first scandal in the vaughn family. dorothy couldn't stand the disgrace and face her fellow teachers daily, so resigned her position at school and stayed hid away in that house. stanfield was found guilty, the case was so completely against him; but the murder was confined to negroes. you can do almost anything in mem- phis and get away with it, so long as you don't kill or injure a white person. they don't do much with any negro for just killing a negro or negroes. so since the girl who died as a result of an illegal operation, performed by stanfield, was a colored girl, the judge let stanfield off with a heavy fine and a censure, and a warn- the story of dorothy stanfield ing that if he was ever caught performing further illegal opera- tions, and was brought before him, he would give him life. “this exposure and the resultant scandal, drove most of the decent practice that stanfield had built up, away, and he was left with but two alternatives: to continue the practice of abortion and take a chance, or find something else or another way to make some money. he did,” bob said and paused and smiled. le baron looked up with renewed interest. "among the many others, there was a negro undertaker in memphis by the name of brown, junius brown was his full name. his parlors were located on the ground floor at beale and fourth street. doctor stanfield's office was upstairs, directly above brown's funeral parlors. naturally, doctor stanfield knew brown-in fact, they were friends, a doctor and an undertaker, so near to each other, had to have some interests in common. they had. "there was so much competition in the funeral business in memphis, that not all with signs over a store building reading funeral parlors' were prospering. among those not doing so well was brown. as stated, brown and stanfield knew each other, having exchanged some business at divers times, so it was not unusual for each to pass some time with the other. “on this particular day, they had been to the country. a farmer living a few miles south of memphis was ill. he hadn't heard about the scandal connecting stanfield with abortion, so had sent for him as he had been doing for most of a year. knowing that the patient's death was inevitable-just a matter of days, stanfield took brown with him with a view to 'putting the brother away when the time came. "he did not, of course, on introducing brown to the patient explain that brown was an undertaker. he just said: 'shake hands with mr. brown. brown was a good mortician, even if business was not so good—but he was a still better actor. he held the brother's hand and looked down at him sympathetically and told him, lying of course, that he would be all right in a few the story of dorothy stanfield days—meaning that he would be dead, and that he would come for his body—and just to 'pray' and place his trust in god. then brown, right there before the patient's eyes, shed a few tears, offered a supplication, and when he and stanfield got into stan- field's car after leaving the patient, he was still looking sad, turned to look back at the lingering brother, and figured that he would be coming back there within the week. "he sighed deeply, looked sad, and stanfield stepped on the gas and they started back to memphis. "due to what happened later, we will just imagine what passed between brown and the doctor on the way back to memphis that day," said bob. accordingly, we will just visualize the events that follow. "well, brown, how's business anyhow?” stanfield inquired, his eyes on the paved highway ahead. he didn't even look around and into brown's face — but he knew the answer before brown spoke. "rotten, doc.” brown turned and glanced back at the house they had just left, as good as to imply, "but it'll pick up in a few days—a little, anyhow.” doctor stanfield understood why he turned to look back at his patient's house and smiled to himself while brown was doing so. brown was talking again. "niggers seem to be in splendid health now-a-days." as he finished, he glanced back at the house they had just left again, and doctor stanfield smiled to himself again as he noted the action. "not enough of 'em dying for my business, so it's rotten. so rotten it stinks! how's yours?" stanfield shrugged his shoulders, and replied: "not so good, brown, not so good.” brown glanced across at him, did some thinking, then ven- tured, suggestively: “kinda 'fraid to 'play round' since that case, eh?” “oh, i don't know,” stanfield replied, carelessly. "yes you do, nigger," said brown, bluntly, and laughed. the story of dorothy stanfield "don't be crude, brown,” said stanfield with a deep frown, his eyes on the highway down which they were rolling. "after all i am a doctor, and doctors are not supposed to speak in such crude terms. please try to respect me that much. we'll get along better if you do.” “ 'scuse me, doctor," brown said, apologetically. "i'm glad you beat the rap at that, doc. i was afraid they were going to send you up. and that wouldn't have been so good. there's some negroes that don't like you so well in memphis, especially after you built that fine house out there on south parkway and are able to ride around in a fine car like this—and possess such a beautiful wife.” doctor stanfield frowned invisibly on hearing his wife men- tioned. his wife wasn't taking things so well. stayed at home, almost never going out. brown was talking again, so doctor stanfield had to take his mind off of his wife to listen to what brown was saying. "if they had sent you away—for only a year even, they'd have taken your license to practice away, and a lot of negroes would have shouted for joy. they ain't been so fond of you since you stepped in and married old doctor vaughn's pretty daughter. dorothy was considered the biggest catch in black memphis. she could have married just about anybody she cared to pick. i often wonder why she married you ..." “i'm not interested in what you're talking about, brown. in fact, i'd rather not talk about that at all.” "beg pardon, doc. i'm sorry. what do you want to talk about?" “we were talking about business. i asked you how you were doing?” “and i said that my business was rotten. i ain't making any money." “too bad, brown,” and the doctor shook his head as if he was sorry for brown. brown turned and looked at him; studied him for a moment. the story of dorothy stanfield “what do you mean by 'too bad?' anyhow? come on cut, say what's on your mind and quit hinting at something." "was i hinting at something, brown?” and for the first time since leaving his patient's bedside, stanfield turned to look straight at brown out of those peculiar eyes. brown started and tried to meet the gaze that stanfield turned on him for only a brief mo- ment, but which seemed to stab clear through him. “this is one strange nigger,” brown said to himself. "i wonder what's on his mind, anyhow?" doctor stanfield, among the many other arts he possessed, knew how to be sarcastic, and his tone in the question he had just repeated to brown was most sarcastic. "aw, gwan man,” cried brown, baffled, as it were, "and get down to earth. you know i ain't educated to use big words like you. now why are you asking me questions, anyhow?” said brown and dared look straight at the doctor who was aware of how brown was doing and what he was trying to think. the doc- tor kept his eyes on the road, not turning to look any other way. "i was thinking, brown,” he said and turned and glanced at brown out the corner of his eye, which glance spoke more than words—yet said nothing. "thinking? well, being a doctor, you can do something like that. if you was an ordinary darky like me” “tut, tut, brown!” exclaimed the doctor, chidingly. “there you go again! just like an ignorant negro. you ought to know that i don't like hearing you or anybody else using the word ‘darky.'” “all right, doc, all right. when i'm in the company of one of you confounded negro doctors, i've got to be that careful and almost select every word to use before i speak. you make me forget. what the hell were we talking about, anyhow?" “about your business, brown, which you said was bad,” stan- field reminded him. "oh, yeh. and i asked you why you was asking—" “_'were', brown, please.” the story of dorothy stanfield “confound it, man!” exclaimed brown, impatiently. "can't i talk like i know how without you forever correcting me?" "go ahead, brown. i promise not to correct you again." “all right, then,” said brown, with a frown. “i wanted to know why you were asking me about my business, and seemed to be so interested. then you said that you were thinking.' i said that i thought you could do something like that because you were educated. i started then to say that if you was an ordinary negro like me, and you tried to do much thinking, you'd fall asleep and when you woke up, you'd have forgotten what you was trying to think about. now what were you thinking about, anyhow?” “of a way that you and i might make some extra money." “oh!” cried brown, perking with a new interest. "how you and me might make some extra money, eh?” “yes, brown, some extra money." “mm. this sounds interesting.” brown paused to look straight at stanfield who did not turn to meet his gaze, but kept his eyes on the road ahead, driving carefully as he did so. now brown was doing some thinking-and some remembering. he was wondering before committing himself, if the plan doctor stanfield had in mind whereby they were to make some extra money, involved the kind of risk the doctor had gotten out of. he admired the doctor, and had in talking about him, said: "he's a smart nigger.” yet no sooner had he said it on other occasions, but that he could have added a word of suspicion and doubt. well, he could at least listen to this plan the doctor had in mind whereby they might make some extra money. he didn't have to go in on it if he didn't want to. so glancing across at the calm and unruffled stanfield, who was always, as he recalled their past acquaintance, calm and unruffled, he asked him, a bit anxiously but calmly: “how?" it was fully thirty seconds before the doctor answered, but it seemed to brown to be thirty minutes, he was that anxious. he began to wonder if the doctor heard him and was about to repeat the question, but louder, when stanfield, not deigning to look at the story of dorothy stanfield him, replied: “we're coming to a cross road. down that cross road as you know, about five miles, perhaps, there's a small lake with some cool shade trees all around it. i'm going to turn right, into that cross road when we arrive and drive down to the lake. when we get there and relax by the banks of the little lake, i'll tell you what's on my mind, brown.” brown was strangely relieved; so pleased that he spoke up promptly: "okeh by me, doc. i'm always open to a proposition that promises to make some money. i sure need to,” and with a deep and happy sigh, he relaxed into patience as the doctor swung the car to the right and they rolled onto the crossroac and headed for the lake, five or six miles away. an hour later brown and stanfield rose to their feet from an old log beside the lake upon which they had sat while stanfield outlined that "plan" to make some extra money. brown was perspiring. brown was known as a perspiring man when he was excited. and junius brown was very much excited at the moment. so he was perspiring “most much”—and very freely. before saying another word they walked over to the car, then turning, they leaned their backs against it. withdrawing a large handkerchief from a hip pocket, brown wiped the perspiration from his forehead and spoke. "dangerous, man." "what do you mean, dangerous," said stanfield. he knew it was dangerous but his was a show of bluff—for brown's benefit! "dangerous as hell,” said brown, and wiped the perspiration again. "ah!” exclaimed stanfield, with more bluff. he was a master at control, and in spite of the obvious danger of the plan he had outlined, he was trying to play the dangerous to their freedom side of it down-for brown's benefit. "not so dangerous, brown. it's the thought about doing it that's got you frightened." the story of dorothy stanfield "i still say that it's dangerous. they sent two nigger under- takers up from atlanta, for pulling that self-same thing. i know what i'm talking about. regardless what we do, it will still be risky and dangerous if and when it's done, regardless.". "i don't agree with you,” argued stanfield. his face was an- noyed as he opened the door of the car to let brown get in, and after closing the door, went around on the driver's side and got in. brown was busy wiping perspiration while he did this, and was annoyed at sweating so much. the fact is, brown was more ex- cited at the moment than he'd ever been. his acting was confined largely to pretended weeping over a corpse — for the relatives' benefit. now he was up against something requiring cold nerve, proper, and it was making him perspire as he had never perspired before. stanfield did not start the motor at once, but sat there looking at brown, wiping the sweat from his brow and wondering if he was going to be able to persuade him to take the chance. • stanfield was somewhat on the anxious seat about it himself, for he needed money. it had cost him plenty in high-powered legal talent to beat the abortion rap, and it had about cleaned out most of his cash. he was afraid to return to the practice, so had concocted this new scheme with a view to picking up something very quick. it required that he be allied with some undertaker, and, knowing brown and that he was hard up, had selected him as the medium through which to work his new scheme. so he was very much annoyed while sitting there, waiting on a black negro to get through perspiring and get down to business. was he coming in or was he not? that is what doctor stanfield wanted to know, but he had to wait until brown committed him- self one way or the other. stanfield, to say the least, was an impatient man. in the prac- tice of abortion through which he had made a lot of money—and right quick, he had worked alone, so was free to act when and as it pleased him. he liked that way of operating—but now he was confronted with a proposition that required the active co-operation the story of dorothy stanfield of an experienced undertaker—and with sufficient nerve to do what he was ordered to do. he was thinking of this as he sat looking at the worried and frightened brown. finally, with some resignation and a little sigh, he could wait no longer, so inquired as calmly as he could bring himself to: "so you won't go in for it?" "i said it was dangerous, man, and i stick to what i said. i'm still thinking about those two brothers who pulled it in at- lanta and who are still reposing at the state prison farm in millidge- ville, georgia, for their trouble. it's dangerous, damned dangerous; as dangerous as hell.” “oh, the hell with it!” exclaimed stanfield, his patience ex- hausted. he touched the starter and stepped on the accelerator. a few minutes later they were speeding down the highway on their way back to beale street in memphis. three days went by and stanfield was temporarily stymied. he had not seen brown, although his parlors were just below his office, and he wondered if he was still considering what he had proposed. stanfield was sitting idly in his private office, wearing a white smock, his feet resting on the edge of his operating table. he had just about decided to write brown out of his scheme of things and turn to some other plan to make that extra money when he heard a light knock on his outer door. a moment later somebody pushed the door open softly, and he turned to see who it was and the black face of brown appeared. pushing his head far enough in- side for the doctor to see who it was, and to also observe that he was perspiring, brown nodded and turned to glance around. stan- field, on a sudden impulse was conscious of anger. he started to tell brown to vamoose. on second thought he changed his mind and getting to his feet, stood there and called across the room: “come in." brown ventured inside, stealthily, closed the door, paused after a couple of steps to look around in that same stealthy-like manner, and then turning his eyes back to the doctor, inquired: the story of dorothy stanfield "are we-alone?” “yes,” replied the doctor, and then with a bold lie, went on: “but i've been very busy all the morning.” brown knew he was lying and wanted to tell him so, but brown had something more important on his mind. so he crossed stanfield's reception room, and entered the doctor's office and operating room and paused, after closing the reception room door, leading into the doctor's office behind him. "well,” said the doctor, gruffly. “take a seat and quit look- ing around like a frightened rabbit, and tell mc what's on your mind." “be patient, doc. i only wanted to be sure that we were alone -all alone, that's all.” "well, we are. i guess i ought to know." “of course," said brown. “of course," and withdrawing his handkerchief, wiped some more perspiration. stanfield stood look- ing at him, then shook his head from side to side, amusingly. "you sure are one perspiring man! i can't recall ever having seen you when you weren't sweating all over like a roustabout. well, i asked you to sit down, so park your buttocks on that chair,” and doctor stanfield shoved it closer to brown. brown sat down and let the sweat stand on his temples for a moment like a lot of little pimples. stanfield walked out of the office, crossed the reception room and locked the outside door from the inside. he returned to his private office and after closing that door, sat down on his swivel chair and turned to face brown, who could not stand the sweat falling down on his shirt longer, so raised his hand holding his kerchief and mopped it, smiling a bit embarrassed as he did so. “well, brown," stanfield began. “what's on your mind by now?" brown paused to look around the room again carefully, as if by instinct, before answering. then, as if convinced to his own satisfaction that they were alone, turned and looking at stanfield oddly before speaking, began: the story of dorothy stanfield "i've got a big funeral coming off sunday ..." “is that so?” said stanfield, his face for the first time since brown entered, showing interest. "who are you burying?” “old man moses ..." "mm. i heard he had died. pretty well fixed, wasn't he?” "had good inshoance. i've seen the policy ...” “yes?" "yeah ..." "how much is his folks spending on the funeral?” "about a thousand—maybe ..." "maybe, what?” "aw, about a thousan'. we'll leave the maybe out.” "that's better. just about how much is the casket costing?” "around five hundred.” "it's always ‘about' and 'around and etc. you're pretty vague and indefinite, brown. i wonder if you can be trusted—very far?" "i wouldn't be calling here to see you—after what we talked about out there — you know where and when, if i couldn't be trusted.” “oh, all right. you understand, of course, that you need a smart associate when it comes to something like what i planned. i expect-and know, of course, that you're going to get yours. that's you, brown. but what about me? it's my idea. now after all expenses have been deducted, including yours which are liberal i know, how much do i come in for? what'll be my cut? i'll take most of the responsibility.” "what do you mean about you taking most of the responsibility? you ain't taking none. i'm the goat from beginning to end. but i 'lows that i should have a smart dar- negro as a standby. that's you.” "how much will my cut be? we can go into the details later. how much do i get, brown?” “about a hundred and a ha'f.” “about again. why can't you ever be definite about any- thing, and leave out the vagueness and the indefinition?” the story of dorothy stanfield me "a hundred an'a ha'f, doc.” "all right. then it's a hundred and fifty dollars for me. very well, i'm on. you say that the funeral is-sunday?” “sunday, two p. m.” "very well then. i'll work out all the details and make the thing air tight. in short, i'll do all the thinking. don't you go trying to do any and get balled up. i'll attend to all that. go ahead with all arrangements, and be sure to see me saturday.” "all right, doctor,” brown said, rising to his feet as if relieved and glad that that much was over. stanfield walked over and opened the door, with brown follow- ing. he crossed the reception room, unlocked the door opening into the hallway and brown left the office, taking out his handker- chief as he went down the hall to wipe the perspiration from his forehead and the back of his head and his fat, black neck as he reached the stairway and started downstairs, and disappeared. chapter xvii the right reverend joshua simpson, pastor of the antioch baptist church, of memphis, preached old man - moses' funeral on sunday and had many people weeping before it was over, including undertaker brown, who wept more profusely than moses' widow and children did. old man moses had a $ , policy in doctor vaughn's insurance company, and belonged to many secret orders, all of whom contributed to give him one of the biggest funerals that memphis had seen for some time. the relatives insisted, since it was the last thing that could be done for brother moses, he should be given a good funeral, and agreed with undertaker brown that he should be put away "right!” undertaker brown, few seemed to think about at the time, was making a very good profit on “putting brother moses away right.” n. d. stanfield attended the funeral, merely as a spectator, but viewed what went on very carefully. it was a beautiful day and the country was inviting, and many followed old man moses to his last resting place, far back from the highway in kidd's cemetery, to the family plot on a sort of knoll. there was considerable weeping at the grave, before they began to shovel the dirt on top of brother moses' body and junius brown climaxed the success of the funeral by a near-collapse at the grave. he didn't altogether faint, but it looked like he was going to by the sudden burst of tears, and the brothers and sisters gathered around to comfort and console brother brown whom they said was "so sympathetic.” the story of dorothy stanfield that was late sunday afternoon. the people left the cemetery and returned to their homes, leaving poor old brother moses alone out there in kidd's cemetery to rest in peace forever more. but was he to? let us now see what happened. it was early autumn, and time for boys to go squirrel and rabbit hunting, including going out at night to hunt opossum and raccoon. some boys, returning from hunting opossum the next night, which was a monday, reported to their parents that they had seen a wagon, drawn by two horses, all in black, driving toward kidd cemetery by a back road, late that night. they said it frightened them and after one look, they ran away, but that they heard the horses and wagon turn into kidd cemetery, they were sure. they declared that it must have been a "hant,” and doubted if they would ever go near any cemetery to hunt opossum again—espe- cially at night, unless some grown person was with them. in spite of being frightened, they decided to go back, after running away, and at a safe distance, see what became of the "hant.” they reported seeing some men digging a grave to bury some- body in, but that instead of lowering a body into the grave, they took something out of the grave. but only for a moment. in fact, just long enough to turn the casket over. they swore they saw a dark object fall out of the casket the men turned over, and that they heard a dull thud from the bottom of the grave as the dark object landed in the pine box below. that was enough, and almost frightened out of their wits, they turned and ran again- this time all the way to their homes on the outskirts of memphis. "now, brown,” doctor stanfield said in his office on beale street the next day, after brown came upstairs to give him his "cut.” “after showing you how to make some much needed extra money, you start off by lying to me and cheating.” brown registered indignation, or at least he tried to. his eyes flashed from long practice and he opened his big mouth to start the story of dorothy stanfield lying again, but the words died on his lips as he turned to find stanfield staring hard at him out of those strange gray eyes, which seemed to bore clear through him and froze the new lie on his lips. brown now turned to the next thing in a lying negro's vocabulary-alibi. "well, doc, it's lak this. i may have to keep that casket three months before i dare offer it to another customer, before i succeed in selling it." "another lie, brown. that's three lies you've told in con- nection with this deal already. i happen to know that you're re- serving sale of it until my patient on the jonesboro road dies. and as his attending physician, i know, and have told you, that he'll be dead in less than a week.” brown tried to be indignant. he had actually forgotten lie number one. "now what are you talking about, doctor?” "that i have figured everything out to the penny, and i'm entitled to twice as much as you agreed to pay me for my cut, or $ . however, i won't stage a big argument. i'll settle for two and a half.” "for heaven sake, doctor! you want it all.” “rats, brown! i told you that i had figured everything out to a penny. do you want to see the figures?" brown didn't like figures any too much. he usually did his calculating on his fingers, and he had it all figured out, too. he had figured that doctor stanfield would jump him for more, so he came prepared to pay him $ and call it a day, but hadn't plan- ned on forking over $ . however, he reckoned, because of the confidential nature of the transaction, that he could stand another fifty, so replied, with a shrug of his shoulders: "oh, all right, doc. i'll send you a check for two fifty," and turning started toward the door. doctor stanfield stopped him, with a shake of the head. brown was surprised and paused, won- deringly. "please bring, not send, especially by mail, $ , and in cash the story of dorothy stanfield i don't want any checks in connection with a transaction like this to possibly pop up later and have one shoved before my eyes as exhibit a or b or as an exhibit at all, get what i mean?”. with another shrug of the shoulders, brown brought forth a large handkerchief and began to wipe perspiration. "all right then, i'll bring the cash,” he said glumly, and again started toward the door. the doctor followed and in the door he said: “and remember, brown. i'm letting you off cheap.” this seemed to anger brown, and he paused and whirled around with: “what do you call, cheap? two and a half cheap. you're crazy! you're just shaking me down for an extra hundred be- cause you're a shrewd negro and know that you can.” without another word, brown turned and left, leaving stanfield standing looking after him with a cunning smile on his face. “recoveries were fair,” bob said, after a brief pause. "but not enough to satisfy stanfield, who was both ambitious to get into big money, in addition to which he was also greedy. not merely ambitious to get into big money but determined to do so. the fact that memphis had become a mecca for funeral associa- tions, added to the drag on business by the smaller fellows like brown. at least two to three big white insurance companies had muscled over into the negro end of it, through some colored under- taker whom they usually bought out and if he was any good, put him in charge of their negro office as manager, and they were offering to bury negroes so cheap that expensive funerals were becoming a thing of the past. meanwhile, stanfield, who had always been chemically minded, stepped up greater research, and was near to developing a formula that we will get to later. i'd call it a new card up his sleeve,” said bob. “this was inspired to some degree, perhaps, by meeting two white insurance agents, and getting very well acquainted with them. these two former insurance collectors had been recently discharged by the metropolitan for stealing. the story of dorothy stanfield “as stated, they managed to learn about doctor stanfield, pos- sibly through his indictment and trial for abortion. anyway, they made the doctor's acquaintance and called on him several times before the doctor was inclined to listen to them seriously. listen- ing to the trial later, their conversation at the time they agreed to work together ran about like this, i imagine." "there are more than a thousand people in memphis, doctor, who permit their insurance policies to lapse each year," said grimes, the agent, who acted as spokesman during their transac- tions which followed, although his partner, mcdonald, had much to say later. "i don't doubt it,” doctor stanfield replied. “what about it?” “we can pick out and reinstate as many of those lapsed policies as we want toand without the insured knowing anything about it,” said grimes with a cunning expression in his half-closed eyes. “i'm listening," said the doctor, with his usual calm. “go on.” “we then proceed to pay the premiums for say, as many as two to four months ..." "and then what happens?” “the insured dies.” grimes put an emphasis on “dies.” “do they actually die?” "hell, no!" “this is very interesting," observed the doctor. "go on. as i said, i'm listening.” “they won't and don't need to know anything about it,” said grimes. “then what?" “a licensed physician signs a death certificate ..." "and?" “we collect the insurance." “oh, we?” “well,” replied grimes in reply to the 'we' as emphasized by the doctor, “it's our idea. we plan to set up the system. we will have to select the 'insured.?” “and what am i supposed to do?” the story of dorothy stanfield "you finance the premiums, select the doctors to sign the death certificates and work with the undertakers." “to bury somebody still living, not dead at all?" “well,” said grimes, again shrugging his shoulders. “that is where we need a smart associate. getting a licensed physician, two or three or even four or five is our stumbling block. we've reckoned as to how you could manage this, and also about the undertakers.” "in plain words," declared doctor stanfield, "it's simply a racket.” "i guess that's what we'll have to call it,” replied grimes with a sigh. "pretty certain to land everybody in the penitentiary connected with it, if it is discovered.” grimes shrugged his shoulders again. “well, i guess i'll have to admit that it will. but i've learned lots of ways to get around the dangerous angles. i helped engineer something like it in cincinnati a few years ago.” “how'd you come out?”. again grimes shrugged his shoulders and admitted: "had to do three years at the ohio state at columbus." “and now you have a plan to have us all do a few years at the tennessee state," and as serious and as grave as it was, they were all forced to laugh. “that's how, what and where i learned what i know," assured grimes. "i can avoid the mistakes we made up there. i have it all figured out.” doctor stanfield rose to his feet, his face thoughtful. the men followed suit, but their faces were anxious. the doctor walked across to the door and they followed him. at the door doctor stanfield paused and turning back to them, said: "it's dangerous. still, i'll think about it.” grimes and mcdonald thanked him and left. doctor stan- field returned to his office, adjusted some matters, then after leav- ing the office, went downstairs, got into his car and drove into the story of dorothy stanfield the country, to the small lake, south of memphis, where he could seem to think more clearly. when he returned to his home on south parkway later that afternoon, he had made up his mind.' “i'll take a flyer at it,” he told grimes and mcdonald, when they called at his office a day or two later. they were cheered, and said so. "but not exactly and altogether in the way you laid out.” the two men nodded, which was a question. doctor stanfield pro- ceeded to enlighten them. "i can get three other physicians to sign death certificates, along with myself, which'll make four. i can also get an under- taker to 'bury' the corpses." “our ears are open, doctor. just how have you figured it all out?” “well,” said the doctor. “there's a whole lot to be worked out according to the way i have checked it.” “i agree with you,” said grimes. “but i think i'd better tell you at the outset, just how i think the money should be split-i mean, the take.” “that's what we're anxious to hear.” “the doctors want per cent for each certificate they sign, for their share." “should be fair enough." “the undertakers have got to be taken care of.” "naturally.” "somebody's got to lay out a lot of money on premiums, and this has got to be laid out fully a month or more before we spring a death.” “that's right.” “all of which amounts to quite an investment." “we still agree with you." "you expect me to manage this finance?” “that's our idea. we wouldn't be able to.” "in fact, all you do is to dig up the names and addresses of lapsed policy holders and proceed to get their policies reinstated.” . : the story of dorothy stanfield "a lot of intricate work. we can't afford to make mistakes, understand?” “i do. well, i'll assume the major responsibilities and cut you in for per cent of all the collections.” grimes looked at mcdonald. mcdonald looked back at grimes ard nodded his head in acceptance. grimes turned back to doctor stanfield. “we accept your offer, doctor." “thank you. now that is settled, leaving all the details and proceedure to be worked out.” “so we start from there,” said grimes. “now i'll explain about my plan. i have for a long time been interested in chemical research.” “chemical research? what has that to do with this deal?”. "plenty. i have just about developed a formula that will per- mit me to bury a human being alive, let him stay buried for ten hours and then dig him up, still alive.” the men started, and rose to their feet as if in horror. “say, doctor,” cried grimes. "we're serious about this thing. what is the joke, anyhow?" doctor stanfield waved them back to their seats. “sit down and listen to what i have to say." doctor stanfield then went on to lay his plan before them in detail. "instead of burying brick bats, sawdust, cement and etc., i propose to develop a stooge, a live human being whom we will make up as any kind of person we want, and whom we decide to have 'die' at a prescribed time. we will lay this stooge out and have him play at being dead. we will advise the insurance company where the body is, and expect their adjuster to come and view it. with that and a death certificate, duly signed by a licensed phy- sician, we will encounter little, if any difficulty in collecting the insured's money." “w-h-e-w!” exclaimed grimes and his partner in chorus. “you have been doing some planning!” the story of dorothy stanfield "not only play at being dead, but we will send him to the cemetery now and then and—bury him!” again the two insurance thieves jumped to their feet, with an exclamation of fright and horror. “what?” they cried. the doctor, as in the past, was cool and collected. he waved them back to their seats, but it was two frightened men who sat back down again. "i'll explain," said the doctor, and calmly poured all three drinks and drank his and seemed to enjoy it before going on. he then offered each cigars and cigarettes, a light, lit his, sat back down and smoked for fully two minutes before resuming his ex- planation. "as i've told you, i've always been interested in chemistry, and have been studying it for a long time to devise an oxygen con- tent that will permit me to bury a human being alive and dig them up hours later, still alive and unharmed or uninjured for their experience.” again the two men started, and almost as violently as before, looked at each other, sighed, but remained seated, knowing that the doctor would order them back if they rose up. the doctor looked at each and smiled. "don't be so frightened. i am not planning to ask either of you to act as guinea pigs,” and laughed again. the others laughed too, when they realized that he was not planning to bury either of them. "i have my guinea pig angle all thought out and planned, too. just burying brick bats, sawdust and cement, is, to my way of thinking, entirely insufficient. we must lay a live person out now and then to look like a corpse. i have the man in mind, for this purpose. an actor who knows how to make up and make down. he also knows how to keep his mouth shut.” “with regard to policies and risks, we don't have to confine our efforts to lapsed policies, you know, doctor.” “what do you mean by that?” “we can and will insure some lamp posts, some mailboxes, and the story of dorothy stanfield a few trees even,” said grimes, which caused the doctor to look across at him a bit sharply. "i'm not joking. we can do it. i know how—and get away with it.” “seems rather far-fetched to me," observed the doctor with a frown on his face. “new agents, finding it hard to get anybody to insure, and on a salary from their companies, have done it often—wrote up lamp- posts, mailboxes, a tree now and then, all of which, of course, must have addresses." “when they write them a letter, then what?” “i know how to have it received. they never know the dif- ference.” the doctor shook his head, and they could see that he was thumbs down on taking such risks. "i am interested in the stooge angle at the moment. this man that i have in mind can make himself up as any character we choose: black man, yellow man, brown woman, yellow woman- old man, young man, boy or girl. any kind of corpse we order. sometimes he'll even have whiskers.” this brought a huge laugh. the doctor even had to smile. the doctor then went into detail and explained all about his plan in connection with burying a man alive; of how he had worked out a way for the man, while buried, always with the box deeper than the coffin was high so as to permit the stooge to push the lid of the coffin upward and be able to touch the top of the pine box with his hands; of how he had planned a flash light to be placed at the foot of the corpse, out of sight, along with an auger, which the stooge could use to bore a hole through the top of the coffin box. then a contraption something like a slender periscope which could be shoved upward through the loose dirt and a bicycle pump whereby the stooge could then pump air down into his coffin and get along very comfortably until the men were sent to dig him up. grimes and mcdonald were inclined to be dubious about it, but the story of dorothy stanfield not the doctor, who had it all thought out and the only thing he was anxious about was the stooge. the man for the purpose was in memphis for he had met him two or three times, and moreover, he was in need and the doctor had helped him out on occasion. now since the matter had de. veloped to the stage it had, he had been thinking and planning a job for jackson, which was his name. he was better known, however, as just plain sam. years before, or during the last three years that stanfield had studied medicine in nashville, jackson had often befriended him. stanfield was fond of motion pictures but was too short of money to pay even cents to get into the bijou theatre. sam, who worked at this theatre, had met and become acquainted with him, and used to tell stanfield of his past experiences in and off the stage and in the end would slip stanfield into the theatre through a side door. this had gone on, as stated, during stanfield's last three years at meharry, and stanfield had told jackson that he hoped someday to repay him. as it now stood, sam jackson had drifted into memphis, and was not doing well and the doctor as he recalled him, felt sure that he could persuade sam to act as stooge for which he would be well paid. having so decided, after grimes and mcdonald left the office, stanfield went down on beale street and proceeded to look for sam jackson. the story of dorothy stanfield night. he stood and watched sam a moment before speaking. doctor stanfield bowed to sam when he caught his eye and beckoned him to follow and left the gambling table and went into the front part of the tavern, where he paused and greeted sam cheerfully when he came up. "well, sam, how're you doing?" "bad, doctor stanfield. good and bad. i ain't had no luck since i 'rived in memphis.”. "that's too bad, sam,” said doctor stanfield with a sympathetic frown. "i'm sorry to hear that.” "just to prove how bad things is, i ain't eat since yistidy," and sam looked at the steaming pig feet, sweet potatoes and collard greens on the lunch counter nearby. the hint was sufficient and doctor stanfield saw his chance to inveigle sam into his scheme of things, then and there. "why, sam, why do you punish your stomach like that when you know that my office is right up the street on the corner?” "well, doctor, you've thrown me a piece of change almost every time you've seen me since i been heah. didn't jes' lak tu ride a free hoss' tu death.” "tut, tut, sam,” cried the doctor, deprecatingly, laying a kindly hand on sam's shoulder. “i haven't forgot what you did for me in nashville during those three hard years not long ago. now just park yourself on a stool at that lunch counter and eat all you can hold.” he turned now and beckoned to the man who ran it. "jim, give sam, here, all he can eat and take it out of that," whereupon he threw a dollar on the counter. "if there's anything left when he gets through, just give it to him, see?" "sho' sho', doctuh stanfield, sho' sho',” cried jim, and bustled forward and met sam with a smile as he clambered on to a stool to fill his stomach for the first time since he got stranded across the river. doctor stanfield walked up beside sam, with his most dignified professional air, and said: "sorry, sam, but since i am so very busy at the office, i'll the story of dorothy stanfield have to leave you now," and shook sam's hand and started away. after two steps he paused and came back to sam, a frown on his face. "i'll be idle for a few minutes in about a half hour, sam. if you're not busy, run by the office in half an hour. i'll be free then and would like to talk about old times for a few minutes." naturally sam was greatly flattered, and glad to get close enough to the doctor to ask him for the price of a meal at another time. at the appointed moment, there was a knock on doctor stan- field's door. sam was duly admitted, and for a half hour the doctor listened to him recite his simple tales of past adventures. “now, sam, i'm about to go into an unusual undertaking,” he said, his face serious. "a strange and mysterious undertaking, sam, and i'm thinking about asking you to help me out.” "you mean that—you might have a job for me, doctor?" the doctor looked at him a moment before answering. in that moment those calm, boring gray eyes looked clear through sam jackson and made him feel awed. he hesitated and tried to return the strange gaze. “yes, sam,” the doctor replied in a still more strange voice that all but frightened sam. he could not speak for a moment but seemed held in a peculiar thralldom. "yes, sam," he repeated, oddly, sam thought. "i do have a job for you. a good job, sam; a job in which you may make a very great deal of money, providing—" and then he broke off and looked straight at sam, those masterful eyes boring seemingly right through sam, who heard himself answering in a weird sort of voice; words he wasn't entirely aware that he was saying. "_providing? providing—what, doctor stanfield?” doctor stanfield was still gazing at him; straight into his eyes, and sam was wondering if he was being hypnotized. "you can keep your mouth shut, sam ..." "mah mouf shet? sho i can do dat, doctuh stanfield. i've always been with you. you know that." the story of dorothy stanfield "yes, sam, i know you have. this job i am planning for you is the best you've ever had a chance to have. it is strictly confi- dential work, however. nobody must know what it is all about. and, nobody will ever know, if you keep your mouth shut and just do what i say, do you understand, sam?”. "ob 'cose i does, doctuh. youah mah friend. i'd lak to be yo' friend. i'll be glad to do anything to oblige you." "anything, sam?" sam was bewildered, he wondered just what doctor stanfield was hinting at; and why he was so insistent about him keeping his mouth shut. the doctor was talking again now. "well, i've got to go now, sam. meanwhile, where are you staying?” sam answered with a shrug of his shoulders and a grin which was self-explanatory. "you don't have a room? i understand, and, of course, i'm sorry.” “yessuh.” “well, i'm going to advance you enough for a room—but on second thought, i'm going to take you to a room, sam.” “aw, doc,” sam cried. "i" “that is all right, sam, my boy! i'm your good friend. you didn't need to be living like you've been when you had a good friend like me so near. i'll take you to a room and pay for it for one week, maybe longer. i want you to take a hot bath, clean yourself up so that you can sleep well. i'll give you breakfast money, and tomorrow morning, i'll drive by the room and take you down on main street and buy you some clothes. . i don't want to see a friend of mine looking like a bum and going hungry. now, sam,” he concluded, rising to his feet. "are you ready to go to the room?” the doctor's reason for suddenly deciding to take sam to the room where he would, of course, pay for it, was because he doubted sam's will power. he remembered that sam was addicted to dice; that back in nashville when he would come to the bijou theatre the story of dorothy stanfield and didn't find sam where he was supposed to be, he soon learned where to look for him—around behind the theatre in a crap game. often the ante was only a few pennies, but he had not forgotten how fond sam was of rolling them; and he decided that it would be safer to take sam to a room and pay for it himself than to ad- vance sam the money and take a chance of sam finding one and paying for it. for sam might decide, all of a sudden, while passing t. b.'s emporium, that he felt lucky, take the money into the back room—and be pretty sure of losing it, then laying around sleeping on a bench and coming up the next morning tired and hungry, soiled and unfit to listen to the proposition he had in mind for him. moreover, if sam was to play the stooge, the doctor wanted him to stay somewhere he wouldn't have a chance to talk so easily, so freely. every intelligent and practical negro knows the ten- dency of most negroes to talk. doctor stanfield then thought of the motion pictures that had been made with colored casts; and of how the producers on the pacific coast, when they started mak. ing them, and upon investigation found, or were told, of how negroes liked gang pictures, and proceeded to try make them. during the years that sidney wyeth made negro pictures, he had never made any gang pictures in the sense that the pacific coast producers did, because sidney wyeth being a negro, knew that a negro was not a gangster in the sense that other nationalities were; gangsters who are supposed to bump somebody off—"rub” them out, as it were, after which they usually go about their busi- ness, perhaps to a cabaret and have a good time—but that they never "talked”. he recalled that even when the "gang” got a feeling that one or the other might be planning to talk, that he was usually in turn, "bumped” off and nobody ever knew who did it. and doctor stanfield knew as just about every other negro knows, that few negroes could be depended on not to "talk." he was likely to tell about it in the first pool hall argument he got into—if for no other reason than to seem bad, and a tougher guy than the other negroes. so his one concern regarding sam now the story of dorothy stanfield was if he could depend on him to keep his mouth shut. when they reached beale street after leaving the office, stan- field paused suddenly and abruptly, and turned to sam so quickly that sam bumped into him, and grinning, offered an apology. "i just happened to think, sam, now that your belly is full of pig feet and sweet potatoes, whether you wouldn't like a big stiff drink of good liquor before going to the room?” the doctor waited, more anxious now than for a long time. sam's reply would determine largely if they would be able to go along together, for if by any chance sam didn't happen to drink, and he recalled that he had never seen him drink, or even smell liquor on his breath, it would make all the difference. so the doctor awaited his reply anxiously. "naw, doctuh. ah'm sorry, but as big a fool as i have often been, i ain't nevuh took to drinking—unless you call drinking a coke, now and then, drinking.” "is that so?” “you cain't remembuh eve seein' me drink, can yuh, doctuh?” "now that i come to think of it, i haven't, sam. still there's no harm in taking a little whiskey now and then. if you don't want a drink at the bar, what about a-half pint to take to your room?" "that might be all right, providin' ah' turned up sick, other- wise, ef yuh jes' must buy me something tu drink, i'd lak some coca cola tu take wid us.” "i'll buy you as many as you want, sam.” doctor stanfield paused to run his hand into his pocket, withdrew a half dollar, and tossing it to sam, said: "run across the street and get six bottles. i'll have the lady where i'm taking you to let you put them on ice and you can have a cool coke whenever you feel thirsty." sam ran across the street and made the purchase, and upon returning, offered the doctor the change. "keep it, sam,” replied the doctor and sam didn't know how much the other was relieved. if sam stayed sober, he could per- haps depend on him not running off at his big mouth. stanfield the story of dorothy stanfield smiled with strange satisfaction then, and crossing to his car, in- vited sam into the front seat beside him and drove him to a room on the corner of floyd avenue and fry's alley where an old woman that he knew, and attended, free, lived. "now, aunt caroline,” he said, after he had greeted her and introduced sam, "i've brought you a good roomer who will stay with you for—perhaps some time.” “tanke, doctor stanfield,” replied aunt caroline. "if you'll tell me how much you are charging for the room, auntie, i'll pay you something in advance.” “tanke, doctuh. de room will be $ . a week.” "and with breakfast thrown in, aunt caroline, how much?” aunt caroline figured on her fingers a moment, then raising her eyes: “dat'll be fo’ fifty, doctuh." stanfield gave her a ten dollar bill. "he wants a bath at least twice a week, auntie, so keep the extra money for baths. all right, auntie?” “god bless yuh, doctuh stanfield.” “that's all right, auntie.” he thought for a moment, then turning to aunt caroline, he went on: "sam here, mother, and i are going to have some important business together shortly, so i'm depending on you to look after him. please see that he goes to bed early like a good boy, sleeps well and always give him a good breakfast, before he leaves the house each morning, see?”. doctor stanfield had always been a solicitous sort of person, and he knew how to make people like him. added to his great personality and ability to work wonders with his eyes, he captivated sam and aunt caroline completely. both were flattered when he, a great doctor, condescended to even talk to people like them. so when doctor stanfield drove away that night, he left two happy people behind him who were willing and glad to do just about anything he might ask them to. the story of dorothy stanfield doctor stanfield drove by at ten o'clock the next morning and picking up sam, who was waiting for him, drove down on main street as he had promised and bought sam two suits, shirts, under- wear, hat and shoes. when they returned to aunt caroline's, sam was almost weeping with gratitude. "youah doin' too much fo me, doctuh,” he said with tears in his eyes. he wanted to ask the doctor why he was doing so much, but was afraid to. he had looked at the doctor at times and wondered just what it was all about. white people, sam also observed, meant no more to the doctor than negroes. he seemed to dominate everybody he met, and they promptly became solicitous. "now sam, after you have started to work, and are making enough to do so, i'll expect you to reimburse me for these—ad- vances i'm making.” “ob cose, doctuh, ob cose,” cried sam, glad the doctor said what he did. it made him feel easier. "i'll be glad to pay you for all you are doing for me, doctuh. i-don't 'zactly know why you are, but since you has done it, all i can do at this time is to jes' tank yuh.” sam shed some tears this time, and the doctor pretended not to see it. "now that we are alone, sam," the doctor said, his face very sober. he looked out into the sitting room. aunt caroline was out in the back yard hanging clothes on the line that she had washed that morning, which the doctor was careful to observe, so with a smile of satisfaction, he took a seat, pointed to one near and sam sat down and turned to face him. "now, sam, i'm on a big deal, and i want you to listen very closely." “sho, doctuh, sho, sho.” "rich white people have always exploited negroes, sam.” sam didn't know just what he was driving at, but every negro is willing to admit that white people have exploited negroes. this is always a subject on which they can all agree—and promptly! “dey sho' have, doctuh. been robbin' us eveh since we been the story of dorothy stanfield free. hit's a shame.” “they were robbing us before we were free, sam. they owned us before and worked us as slaves for two hundred years, beat us, prostituted our women and paid us nothing." "ain't hit so!” "i've got a chance to get even with the bastards, sam, and i want you to help me.” "i sho' will, doctuhef i can. ah'll be glad to.” the doctor then went on to explain his plan to "get even” and how he, sam, was to play an important part in the deal. "you will be paid from $ to $ for laying out and playing dead, and after we get started, you'll be required to make up as any person we want you to imitate. i had you in mind for this role, for i always thought you were a great actor, and a master in the art of make-up, and when i saw a chance in the way i have out- lined, i considered that you were about the only man who could play this stooge role as i want it played.” of course sam felt flattered, and agreed to all the doctor out- lined, although he didn't dwell on the coffin end of it at much length, since few negroes like coffins, but he was with the doctor in all he wanted him to do. the doctor did not say anything at the time, about his plan to "bury” the stooge now and then, feeling that it was best to go easy with what sam had to do and then after they started opera- tions, they could later persuade sam to consent. he presently left sam, telling him that he would get in touch with him later at his office, drove to his home, had his lunch, and then drove to his office where he called up grimes and told him and mcdonald to meet him at his office early that evening, where he would try to have sam and they could go further into the matter under discussion. the foursome met in stanfield's private office late that after- noon, and the doctor explained the plans and that sam had con- sented to play stooge and all were cheerful as the doctor led them downstairs to brown's establishment when through, and back to the story of dorothy stanfield the mortuary where two corpses were reposing. the atmosphere seemed suddenly to chill at the sight of the stiffs, and especially with sam. corpses had always fired his imagination — and an innate desire to keep as far away from such sights as he con- veniently could. but he restrained his impulse, and hoped the meeting down there would be over shortly, and decided to see the deal through, although he knew that he would have been much happier if the doctor could have given him another kind of job. he stood while the others seated themselves, and cast an anx- ious eye in the direction of the dead bodies now and then and let escape an unheard sigh, and as stated, looked forward to the mo- ment when the meeting would be over and he could stroll over to t. b.'s as a diversion. “sit down, sam,” stanfield said and pushed a chair near him. when he pointed to the corpses and told sam that he was simply to act like that, sam had difficulty restraining the desire to spring to his feet and rush out of the place. “now, sam, i didn't explain it this morning, as i didn't want you to have too much to think about, but to make our little dead seem real, we will have to bury you once in awhile." this time sam could restrain his impulse to do something and say something no longer. so springing to his feet, his mouth flew open and words came before he could make any effort to hold them back. "bury me alive? say, men, what is you all talkin' 'bout, anyhow?" he was very much excited and grimes and mcdonald, who could appreciate his fright, more than the doctor, developed a fear that he would not do it. "sit down, sam," the doctor said, calmly, waving at him with an air as if being buried alive was no more than just sitting there, listening to him talk about it. “just take it easy and listen until i get through.” sam sat down, and glanced down at his new suit and began to realize now why the doctor had been so kind. he apparently the story of dorothy stanfield had a card up his sleeve in being so. now he was beginning to lay his cards on the table and sam would have to see it through, or go on record as a quitter and an ingrate. he sighed aloud and said to himself as the doctor passed a package of cigarettes around and followed it up with his lighter. "nothin' doin', gentlemen, nothin' doin', not me, naw, naw!” sam actually said nothing, however, but listened in cold fear as the doctor explained all about it. meanwhile, grimes and mc- donald watched sam's reaction; studied the changing expression on his face, glanced at each other and when the meeting ended and sam was permitted to leave, they were confident he would not return. “well, doctor,” said grimes after sam left the place, shaking his head. “you scared that man almost to death with what you talked about. it looks like a cold deck to me.” "oh, i'm not so sure about it.” “what do you mean?” “that i know sam; i know negroes. i admit that he was scared stiff at the idea, and if he had another job, or could get one even, it would be another story. but he hasn't and—well, he'll be back.” “i'd like to lay a bet that he won't.” "i don't want to take your money, but never you mind. in due time we'll see sam again, because he'll be back.” when sam left the three men, he was in a state of terror. he felt that he simply had to do something to get it off his mind. he paused on the sidewalk in front of brown's place, looked at a coffin displayed in the window and read the sign, “complete funeral for $ ”, and turned away and shuddered. he turned as a crowd of men who had just been paid, turned into t. b.'s place, and knew that they would end up around the dice table very shortly. he felt in his pockets. he withdrew five one dollar bills —the money doctor stanfield had advanced him, in addition to all the other things he had done for him. he shook his head, sadly, but he had to do it-go into t. b.'s place and take a chance with the story of dorothy stanfield it. whatever the outcome, he knew it would take his mind off what he was thinking about—and he wanted to forget it just as long as he could. so he went into t. b.'s place. the men who had just entered were lingering at the bar, drinking and being sociable. when he paused, those who worked there gathered around him to admire. his new clothes. this brought sam back to himself, and he looked down at himself and swelled with a new pride. “won't you-join us, brother?” said one. “i'm just buying.” sam thanked him and took a cigar. they looked at him in surprise. - "sam doesn't drink, men,” the bartender said, by way of ex- planation. “his specialty is dice. he's the crap-shootin'est man in memphis,” the bartender said and laughed, hilariously. sam smiled. "oh, dice,” cried the men at the bar in chorus. “then he talks our language! what about a little game now-right now?" one of them cried. sam shrugged his shoulders, by way of consent. “well, what are we waiting for?” cried another and led the way toward the rear, followed by the others, including sam. the game got under way forthwith, and sam chanced a dollar, winning three straight bets without a break. he shot it all—and won, and within thirty minutes was fifty dollars winner. at this point a big, black, burly negro pushed up to the crowded table, for by this time considerable of a crowd had gathered, and everybody was intensely interested. they called him klondike, and he was known to be disagreeable when he lost. in short, he was known to be a poor loser. sam had won some of the money that klondike, a few minutes later found himself the loser of, and while sam's winnings up to this point had reached seventy-five dollars, klondike began to get disagreeable. sam, dressed in a new outfit from head to foot, and with a pile of one dollar bills in his hand, around which he kept a ten spot as a wrapper, was feeling his oats, and didn't want to be bothered. the story of dorothy stanfield he paused and looked at his winnings and thought that if that kept up, he might decide to try to get out of the new job he had promised to take. he decided to coast along for awhile, how- ever, shooting only a dollar and if he lost a few times, to just slip quietly out of the game. the dice finally got around to him again and picking them up, he rattled them a few times, blew his breath on them, then paused, threw a dollar and a nickel on the table and cried: "shoot a dollar!” the five cent piece represented the house's cut. he was promptly faded, and after he was covered, blew his breath on the dice and let them roll! "seben ah 'leben," he cried, as the red dice went bouncing and jumping across the long pool table. the big burly klondike, who was standing directly facing him at the other end of the table, reached a big hand out and caught them. this always angers a player, who as often feels that he might have made a winning point had the dice not been caught. klondike glared at sam and held the dice a moment, then glanced at them and threw them back to sam, with the words: "ah don't lak no niggah blowin' his bref on dice dat ah'm bettin' he can't make,” and glared at sam again as sam paused before throwing the dice again. sam glared back at him, and it was easily seen that no love was lost between the two. sam picked them up, blew on them again, perhaps unconsciously and from force of habit. he then talked to the dice, calling them pet names, then rattling them, did the curve that only negroes seem to know how to do, and threw the berries, bouncing and tumbling across the long table again, crying as he did so: “seben ah leben!”—and again klondike reached out his big black hand and caught them! "goddamned black sonofabitch!” sam cried, and struck the table resoundingly with his closed fist. klondike smiled and threw the dice back with the words: "i jes' lef’ bumin’ham. a niggah with putty haiuh and a big scar on his face, wha' some darkey tried to cut his throat, did jes' the story of dorothy stanfield aught them bouncine with hate lak you looks lak you'se tryin' tu do—and cleaned eve' niggah in bumin'ham! he cleaned out eve body down daiuh, so i don't intend to stand heah and see you repeat on him, niggah. now tho'm agin'." sam picked up the dice, restraining his anger with effort, looked up, glared at the big klondike with hate in both his eyes and his heart, and threw them bouncing across the table again—and again klondike caught them. he threw them back to sam and smiled as though it pleased him to taunt sam. "well,” said sam, trying to control his anger, "dat's the las' time you can ketch them with yo' big black paw, so heah goes 'n ah daiuh's yuh to lay a hand on 'em agin'." he threw the bouncers and they turned up eleven, which tickled sam and made klondike glare darkly. sam doubled his bet and a few minutes later his winnings had reached $ . then something happened within. he decided to shoot it all. the house and those who still had something left, lost two minutes or more cover- ing him, but finally managed to, and taking off his coat, for sam by this time was very warm and perspiring freely. a man beside him held his coat and the situation was by now, very tense. sam went through all the motions known to crapology, before he finally loosed the honies and they started for the other end of the table, with everybody's eyes on them as sam cried, loud and excitedly: “seben ah 'leben!” klondike caught the dice, and made everybody present, by doing so, very angry. twice again with the same excitement attendant, sam threw the dominos and twice again klondike caught them, and grinned as he threw them back again. "playin' with my hund'ed dolluhs! ef i lose, niggah, i swear that i'll cut yo’ black hea't out!” sam meant it, but it took more than that to frighten klondike, whom everybody feared, because he was so much bigger than anybody else. but sam didn't have to cut klondike's heart out that time- the story of dorothy stanfield for he made a point and after three rolls, it turned up again and sam lost all self control. in short, and as they talked about it later—he went clean crazy! “shoot it all!” he cried, and again the house had to come to the assistance of those playing with him to cover, this time, twice the size of the bet before, or $ . in fact, they had to go and get t. b. before they were finally able to cover it. during the while he waited, dressed in his new clothes, and standing there at the head of the table, sam was envied by about everybody present and was the biggest negro, while it lasted, on beale street. he glanced at klondike in the meantime, and by the expression on his face, dared klondike to catch them the next time. the expression awed klondike, and he dropped back a step. sam knew he didn't dare catch the dice again. besides, t. b. had gotten into it now, and everybody feared t. b. as the bet was being covered, and the dealer was counting all the money involved, some negro who lived around the corner on fourth street, came shuffling by an open window at the rear of t. b.'s, going, no doubt, for a can of beer, singing an old song that everybody present knew, and paid little attention to as the negro sang it. "i thought i heard somebody say, dirty butt, stinkey butt take it away, aw yuh dirty butt, stinkey butt take it away.” the bet was faded, the money was all down, the big show was on! everybody present waited with bated breath. sam suddenly developed nervousness. it came to him, all of a sudden that he had acted foolishly. he should have bet only half of his winnings and if he lost, could still have left the place with money enough to last for a month—even longer, perhaps. but the bets were down; his "shoot it all” was covered, he had to throw the dice. with eyes starry, and his fingers trembling, the story of dorothy stanfield while all those looking on noticed and exchanged expressions, he laid the dice on the table and rubbed his hands across them, finally picking them up and raising the dice high above his head, began to talk to them. his voice seemed hollow and incoherent. he grew more nervous, but with all eyes on him, he at last resorted to cold abandon and after stalling a moment or two longer, he swung his hand far out, then brought it forward in a well-timed curve, and with a last word for them to “bring home the bacon," let them roll! they went dancing away from him like little red devils, bent upon a disastrous mission. he raised his eyes and hoped klondike would catch them this time, but klondike sulked and wished him bad luck, but didn't raise a hand. both dice bounced clear across the table, struck up against the cushion at the other end, and rebounded. one turned face up, six, while the other seemed caught in a spin, turned and balanced on one corner for a fleeting second, then settled close by the other end and lay there, still and silent-but registered the sad news—six! six—and craps! the onlookers relaxed, and big t. b. smiled as the dealer handed him a hand filled with bills. four hundred dollars, which included the five dollars even, that sam had started with. the crowd was silent and licked out their tongues with envy as big t. b. smiled across at sam, and turning, left the room, leaving sam staggered and bewildered. sam turned, managed to put his coat on and tried to walk over by the window for a breath of air, since the place seemed to have grown suddenly warm-almost suf- focating! at the window he looked out into the alley and was hardly aware of the approach of the negro who had passed it, going the other way, just a few minutes before. he was totally unaware of sam, on the inside, no doubt, who was bewildered and feeling strange-stupified! but bozo, which was his name, had his can of ice-cold beer and was returning to a little shack on the alley off fourth street, happy and carefree and singing another verse from the low-down song. the story of dorothy stanfield “then ah thought ah hea'd somebody shout, open up the window and let the funk blow out, aw yuh dirty butt, stinkey butt, take it away, aw yuh dirty butt, stinkey butt, take it away!” sam looked at him as he shuffled by, thinking how happy he was—all because of a can of beer, while he, because of a sudden fit of uncontrollable insanity, had gone off the button, “shot it all” and lost $ that he had won in less than an hour. lost it all, including his pitiful five dollars the doctor had given him to eat on for, perhaps, two or three days. what would he do, he asked himself. then through his clouded and thumping brain, he recalled that he had been in conference with doctor stanfield and two white men. he had got excused for a few minutes, upon his promise to return. he had got excused to let the fear out of himself, at sight of and because of being so near to two corpses. now he found him- self anxious to get away from the scene of a real disaster to his promising fortunes, and the fact that what he had left had upset him with so much fear, to return to the mortuary, might serve to make him forget his losses. thereupon he turned and walked, staggering slightly, from the place, across the room, through the tavern and onto the street where he paused and removed his hat as if to get back to himself. as he stood there, his attention was attracted to a group of negroes, sitting in an old car, parked just across the sidewalk from where he stood, who were laughing and talking, as one re- lated the experiences of another, perhaps a pal or companion. “ole corn-bread was sho' funny," he was saying. "the way he acted, ah taught sumpin' had happened to him.” "dey had," said another. "say's you. i hadn't seen him fo' a long time ontel dat day. wonduh wha' 'es been?” "in jail,” the other answered, without a smile. the others turned to look at him. “in jail?” asked the first speaker. “what fo’?" the story of dorothy stanfield “winkin' at a white 'oman." they all laughed. even sam, with all that he was worrying about, had to smile. "gwan',” cried one, as if regarding it as a joke, yet curious. “winkin' at a white 'oman? i don't b’lieve it. winkin' at a white 'oman. corn-bread knowed bettuh dan dat. is you sho' dat's what dey locked him up 'bout?” “ah wuz in jedge fuquay's co't when 'e sentenced 'im." “well ah'll be jiggered! whut wuz corn-bread's alibi; his 'scuse?” "said he had a twitchin' in one ob his eyes.” again all laughed and struck each other. it was beale street stuff completely, and sam had grown so much amused until he had forgotten his losses of a few minutes before. "what did de jedge say tu dat?”. "said: “ah'm givin' you thu'ty days to git ovuh hit. thu'ty days on de chain gang to git ovuh dat twitchin' ob de eye, and de next time you git hit, remembuh ef you'se brought befo' me agin, ah'll gib you ah yeah. niggahs should look de udder way when ah white lady passes. so remember dat, niggah!'" they laughed again, uproariously and sam recalled where he had started for, so turning, entered brown's undertaking parlors. during sam jackson's absence, which seemed much longer than it actually was, grimes had risen from his chair to walk the floor impatiently. he presently paused, turned to face the doctor, who sat at his desk, drawing away at a cigar calmly. "looks like you were mistaken about the fellow this time, doctor.” the doctor grunted noncommittally. "if he went to a dice game," ventured mcdonald, “and hap- pened to win, he'll sure not come back. have you thought about that; that he might win? sometimes they do, you know, and then—" "_they can't quit. they never do. but just calm your nerves and take it easy. sam may win, but in the end he's sure to lose, and when he does, he'll come back," said doctor stanfield, and the story of dorothy stanfield smiled like one who knew what he was talking about. as we know, sam had won, but duly lost, and when they heard a knock on doctor stanfield's office door, all knew that sam had come back. doctor stanfield glanced across at the others and smiled lacon- ically. grimes and his partner started, looked at each other, nod- ded their heads as if to admit that doctor stanfield was right- had been right all along, and concluded to weigh anything he said seriously, in the future, when he made a prophecy for most of the time anyhow, he knew what he was talking about. as sam came in, and thought as he did, of how he had sky- rocketed into big money, and then dropped back to nothing, all in the period of a half hour, he looked sheepish and mighty small. he decided to be very humble, try to do as he was told and trust to doctor stanfield. "well, sam,” stanfield said, regarding him with a smile around the corners of his mouth. “you've come back?” “yessuh, doctuh stanfield,” sam lied very humbly. "ah got through with what i went out to do, and ah'm back.” as he fin- ished, he looked around at the white men and grinned. doctor stanfield grinned, too, but with another meaning. "you mean that you 'shot it all once too often, sam, and in due time got broke," said doctor stanfield, and both the white men and himself broke into laughter. "now that you have, perhaps, won and lost, are you ready to go back downstairs so that we can put on a little demonstration as we had planned?" "well, yassuh,” sam said, "but" then broke off and hesitated. "yes, sam, but. but what, sam?” “couldn't we-talk about it up heah, the same as — down- staiuhs?" "why, yes, sam," doctor stanfield replied. “we could, but there's a few things we'd like to-try out, and are better prepared to do so downstairs than up here, understand?” “yassuh,” sam said, trying to swallow, but suddenly found the story of dorothy stanfield that doctor stanfield meant what he said, and decided not to do anything very soon to anger the doctor and cause him to become impatient. sam proved, after entering t. b.'s place, that he could be conservative-especially after losing two hundred dollars that he had won quickly and so easily. he pushed himself on a stool at the lunch counter and, ate worth of food, which left him exactly fifteen cents. through, he went back to the dice table, got into the game somehow,-and quit ten minutes later, after running it up to ten dollars. to his own surprise, he left the place, walked straight to aunt caroline's and went to bed. chapter xix tow doctuh, 'n you white fo’ks, explain tu me agin' jes' what it is you all wants me tu do," sam jackson said, with an effort at bravery when he met with them the next afternoon. "well, the first thing we are telling you, is that in whatever we do or even talk about, sam, you must remember to keep your mouth shut," the doctor warned, his face serious almost to a threat in the way he looked at sam. sam understood, and nodded his head to indicate that he did, as he replied: "ah knows how to keep mine shet all right. ah show knows how." his tone was reassuring and the doctor was satisfied, but added. "be sure that you do, sam. now, in regards to what we were going to talk about, you didn't give us much chance yesterday to explain. you stalled around," said the doctor, "and finally ran out on us after first one excuse and then another. now we hope you'll just take it easy and listen and when you have, you'll see that just because you're supposed to lay stretched out in a coffin for an hour or two now and then, playing at being dead, isn't very hard to do at all.” they had all been standing, including grimes and mcdonald, as the doctor talked. now as he paused, and looked around, he said: "meanwhile, sit down, sam, and you, grimes and mcdonald, too, all of you sit down and let's get down to business." all became seated, after arranging their chairs so that all were facing sam, who was necessary and essential as we understand the story of dorothy stanfield and when you're ready to lay down in it for a few minutes, i'll place the formula inside, with the coffin right out here on the floor. i want you to step over here now and get in the coffin." . “get in a coffin an' i ain't daid?” sam cried, again springing to his feet excitedly. grimes and mcdonald smiled, in spite of the anxiety on their faces. sam shook his head very doubtfully. the doctor frowned and all smiles promptly disappeared. all were beginning strangely to fear doctor stanfield. no one could seem to become accustomed to his strange and peculiar eyes, when he flashed them on a person. "as i was saying, sam. after you get in the receptacle," the doctor was trying for a name to call the coffin other than it was, for the mention of the word seemed to have a chilling effect on sam, "and lay down, i place the oxygen at the foot and close the lid. since the receptacle is air-tight, you will get no air while inside. you will be breathing oxygen alone, sam, and that is what you can do for many hours without employing the other way, which i haven't been allowed to explain up to this point.” “yes, i understands what you're explaining all right, doctor," he said, walking over beside the doctor and pausing. "but i'm frank to tell you in front that i don't lak the idea. i jes' don't lak the idea of being buried while i'm still alive." "please let me finish explaining what is to be done, before you go to getting scared, sam," and the doctor showed a bit of im- patience. “our whole scheme depends on you being strong willed and i've done just about everything to convince you that i am honest and sincere as regards you, sam. so why do you keep threatening to let me down?" "ah'm sorry, doctuh. i ain't goin' tu let yuh down. ah wouldn't think about it. you is my bes' friend and ah knows hit. now go ahead," and sam tried hard to show that he could be brave. “very well!” the doctor resumed. "now we'll assume that you are inside," and the doctor laid a hand on the coffin, and went on: "inside, you are imagining that you are dead." the story of dorothy stanfield “imagining that ah's daid? does ah keep breathin'?” the others laughed, whereupon the doctor turned on them with a huge frown and they shut up promptly. “when you stop breathing, sam, you will be dead, actually dead," and the doctor had to smile at his own humor. "but that don't happen,” said sam. i jes' make out lak ah’m daid?" “that's right, sam. you just make out like you're dead." "aw, that's all right,” said sam, with an expression of relief on his face. "i won't mind jes' making out lak ah’m daid. go ahead.” "all right, sam. now you're dead,” the doctor resumed. sam started, and his eyes opened wide. looking at him, the doctor was compelled to smile. “we then close the lid, which hasn't any lock. i want you to stay in there until you count to five hundred.” “count tu five hundred! i cain't. think of something easier.” "then stay in there for half an hour.” “how'm ah goin' know when the ha'f houh is up?" “well, stay in there until we open it; until we raise the lid,” the doctor explained. sam nodded his head understandingly. "now," the doctor said, walking across the room and picking up a vial, and returning to the coffin and sam standing beside it. “we're ready for the demonstration.” doctor stanfield now opened the lid of the coffin, and leaned over to look inside. sam moved back a step, a frown on his face. the doctor looked up and tried to frown, but it was half a smile. “step up beside the thing, sam.” sam moved up and looked inside a bit gingerly. “get in,” the doctor said, and waved his hand toward it after moving back a step as if to give sam more room to do so. sam looked into it again and frowned. “sam," the doctor repeated, his hand over the open coffin. “get in the receptacle and close the lid behind you. as i've said, it is air-tight. i will place my chemical formula inside. when the story of dorothy Štanfield you close the lid, after i place it there, it will start to work. you will find that you can breathe as comfortably inside as you are breathing now. we will go back to the office, remain a half hour, then come back and raise the lid." again sam looked in the coffin, frowned and shaking his head, replied: “naw. i'm afraid. i ain't never figu'd on gittin' in no coffin myself. i plan to die of old age and then be put into a coffin by somebody else." "please, sam," argued the doctor, holding back his impatience with effort. “all you have to do while in there, if you must get out because you are frightened, is to push the lid up and get out. but don't do that, please, unless you can no longer breathe. now will you try it, sam-please?”. sam sighed, but finally permitted them to help him get in the coffin where he sat up, then laid down, then sat quickly up again. "ah don't lak this kinda job and never will,” he said, as he sat there. "take it easy, sam," the doctor said, "and just try it. lie down again, make yourself comfortable and close your eyes.” "i may lay down and close mah eyes,” said sam, wryly, “but i'll never be comfortable in a coffin ontel ah won't know ah’m in it." presently, after looking around gingerly, sam laid down again, but again rose to a sitting posture, quickly. "i don't feel right when i lay down, even," and then with a big shrug of his shouders, went on: “but dammit tu hell, i've promised to go along wid yuh and ah'm goin' tuh see it through." sam laid down then and called: “close the lid!” they obeyed him. in two seconds, however, sam pushed it up and sat up again. “i wanna get out, men!” he said and started to cry. “i jes' cain't go through wid a thing lak dis—ah jes' cain't!” stanfield laid a hand on his shoulder consolingly, and smiled at him. sam was not looking in his face, else he might have de- the story of dorothy stanfield tected a cunning smile around the corners of the doctor's mouth. “now lay down again, sam, please.” sam looked up at him, frowned, and after another shrug of his shoulders, laid back down again. doctor stanfield brought the lid down gently—but the moment it was closed, he quickly turned the latch, and stepped back and smiled. they could hear sam calling out and beating his hands against the top of the coffin. grimes and mcdonald, plainly disturbed, stepped forward but paused as the doctor turned to look at them, a sneer on his face as he cried: "damn fool!” he turned his eyes back to the coffin, while sam kept on calling for them to let him out and beating his hands against the top of the coffin. “i'll leave you in there for thirty minutes as i said i would.” he turned back to the men, and beckoning with a jerk of his right hand, said, short and abrupt: “come on!” he turned and started away, the white men followed, but grimes after a couple of steps, paused and turned back toward the coffin, where they could still hear sam crying to be let out and pounding. grimes' face was very uneasy. “do you—think we should-leave him there, doctor?” "sure!” said the doctor, firmly, a frown on his face. “it's perfectly safe! i've tried it with myself in the coffin a half dozen times. the negro is just scared. he'll be all right in thirty minutes-in ten times that much longer. i know what i'm doing, so what the hell!” he turned and over his shoulder called back: “come on!” and went out the back way, followed by the others, and up a flight of stairs and entered his office from the rear. when they returned after forty minutes, the white men were seriously on the anxious seat. not with doctor stanfield. he was as calm and undisturbed as a cucumber. he unlatched the lid, opened the coffin and grimes and mcdonald started, their jaws dropping, goose flesh rising up all over their bodies. sam lay there, as silent as a tomb. the doctor in the meantime, as the story of dorothy stanfield calm as ever, leaned over him and listened, then smiled, rose up and beckoned to them. they came forward, leaned over and could hear sam breathing normally. the white men were smiling as they rose again and looking at the doctor, joined in his smile. “asleep,” said stanfield. “what did i tell you?” he reached into the coffin and brought forth the small tray containing the formula, looked at it carefully, then smiling with satisfaction, turned to the men. "enough to keep him breathing comfortably from six to eight hours!” he paused and was briefly thoughtful, then perking with a new thought, turned to the men. “suppose we let him sleep awhile longer?” “okay by us,” replied grimes, as if speaking for both. "i'll close the lid but won't latch it. if he wakes before we return-say,” and he paused to consult his watch on his wrist. “in two hours, he can just push the lid up and get out.” "a good idea, doctor," said mcdonald, enthusiastically. grimes, still smiling, gave his consent by a nod. the doctor let the lid down, but did not latch it, and the trio left and went back upstairs by the back stair again. once in the office, to pass the time, the doctor suggested a game of cards, and they fell to playing after the doctor found a deck of cards and shuffled them. the card game, started by betting a dime, had grown to bet- ting dollars at the end of three hours, and all forgot about sam, sleeping in the coffin below, when they were interrupted by a knock on the door. all started abruptly and promptly thought of sam. “damn!” cried grimes, looking at his watch. “we forgot all about sam. he might be dead!” at this point the knock was repeated and doctor stanfield, with his usual calm, called: “come in!” the door was pushed open-and in it stood sam. “why, sam!” the doctor exclaimed, rising to his feet, he went the story of dorothy stanfield around the table and crossed to sam, standing in the door. he laid a hand on sam's shoulder and shook him. sam smiled broadly, no worse, obviously, for his experience, which cheered the doctor, who turned back to the white men. "well, men, here's our sam, as sound and well as ever." he slapped sam on the shoulder, smiled at him, and went on: “come on in, sam—and tell us how you feel.” sam walked in, the doctor closed the door behind him and turned and found a chair for sam and sat him down upon it. “well, sam. how do you feel by now?" “all right, gene’mens. i must have fell off tu sleep. what time is it anyhow?”. “time you went downstairs to t. b.'s and had some pig's feet and sweet potatoes, sam. you've slept nearly four hours." "come to think of it, ah does feel a little hongry," and sam felt of his stomach. “glad to hear that you are, sam,” grimes said and handed him a half dollar. “tanke, boss,” sam said, appreciatively, pocketing the coin. "now what does you all want me to do?”. "nothing at all, sam," doctor stanfield said, rising to his feet, happy in the satisfaction that his experiment had turned out so well. “just take a stroll down beale street and have a good time—shoot a little craps if you want to, or at least until you lose this dollar,” and stanfield handed him a dollar bill. as sam reached the door, the doctor was possessed with a new thought, raised his hand. “just a minute, sam, and then you may go." sam turned to face him, curiously. "are you convinced now that my formula is safe; that it can take care of you fine until we return to the cemetery and dig you up?" “y-e-s,” sam said, a trifle hesitantly, a frown of anxiety de- veloping. “only does you all have to—actually bury me?” “that will be necessary now and then, sam; but not often. the story of dorothy stanfield we want to make our play seem real, understand?”. "well, all right," sam said, slowly. then bracing, he stood erect as if with an air of bravado. “i'll try it-once, anyhow.” immediately the others were relieved and were promptly enthu- siastic. they gathered around him and shook his hand. "that's the way to talk, sam. that makes you one of us, to share in some real money that we expect to make. now go on out and have a good time, but remember always and be sure, sam, to keep that mouth of yours shut tight, always, sam. don't talk; don't get confidential with anybody—not even your girl friend, get me, sam?" "ah got yuh, doc, and you can depend on me. ah understands eve'thing.” when sam at last turned and left the office, the men were convinced that they could depend on and trust sam, and all breathed a deep sigh of relief. chapter chapter xx octor stanfield and his associates waited five weeks before staging their first “death,” that of an old woman. "she” carried a thousand dollar policy in one of the big white insurance companies. doctor stanfield signed this death certificate and planned to sign at least two more before turning to one of the other doctors he had succeeded in inveigling into the scheme, and who needed the money badly enough, he knew, to sign anything that would bring them some. they reported that the body was at brown's undertaking parlors. sam made himself up as an old woman and they laid him out in brown's dead room, where the adjuster came, took a look at the "corpse,” expressed satisfaction, recommended payment of the claim and in a few days doctor stanfield and his associates split the take, and everybody was tickled pink, including sam, who promptly lost his down in t. b.'s and was waiting and anxious to be laid out again, and declared to himself that he would not act a fool again. he always said the same thing after he was broke, but let us turn to more important phases in connection with the swindle. "brown,” stanfield said, his feet on the side of his desk in his private office, while he swayed back comfortably in his swivel chair. “i think it will be advisable for you to contact some of the other undertakers that are not doing so well, with a view to buying them out and opening up a branch or two.” this pleased brown, who sat reared back in another comfort- able chair by the window, where he could look down into beale - the story of dorothy stanfield street when he wanted to. he was smoking a fat cigar and for once since he had become acquainted with doctor stanfield, he was not perspiring. it was because, perhaps, that brown was free of any worries, with a good outlook, in view of how well the first act went off, and with the bright hope of making much more. "i agree with you, doctor.” “as i view it, it might not look so good for you to so suddenly begin getting a great number of funerals. might arouse suspicion, understand?" "sho' do, doc. it's jes' what we should do, and i have in mind the man to contact, right off. in fact, two uv'm.” “memphis has so many negro undertakers.” "three-fourths of whom are so hard up that they would go in for anything in order to get a funeral now and then and make a little money." “whoever you have in mind, brown, understand this: they must get a funeral now and then, or, putting some of these deaths through their parlor will also look suspicious. meanwhile, whom do you have in mind?” "jeff watkins, out in east memphis for one. he'd be glad to sell out and—cheap, too." "i don't doubt it. he just about has no business at all. who else can you consider?”. "well, there's jenkins and company, which means jenkins himself. he is also the company." stanfield was thoughtful a moment, then turned to brown. "do you think we could trust the darkey?” "i've known jenkins for a long time. i think we would be safe to trust him. he is not inclined to talk much. that's the kind of associates we must select.” "you said a mouthful, junius." "i'll go see him, and feel him out if you want me to,” brown said, blowing a mouthful of sweet smoke into the air. "then do that, brown,” the doctor said, putting his feet on the floor and rising, standing and stretching himself. “bring the story of dorothy stanfield them around to see me, or i'll go out and see them. the purpose is, to feel the negro out, see if he can be trusted to keep his mouth shut. even with that, i intend to impress upon the minds of everyone, that if he talks and gets us messed up, that they are an accessory after the fact and will be charged in the same propor- tion with us.” “they must not talk, that's the main thing not to do,” said brown. “if they look like they want to, i'm for taking the bas- tards for a ride. in other words, put'm on the spot, take'm for a ride and shoot'm through the head! that's what the dagoes do." "you've been going to see gang pictures at the palace theatre. the ideas you get from pictures are no good-except to thrill and excite you,” and the doctor smiled and, walking over to a window, looked down into beale street. "i'm pretty sure we can trust jenkins. i'm willing to take the risk, as far as i'm concerned, anyhow. i'm not so sure about watkins.” “then we'll buy his place outright and you can, along with jenkins, if we get together, look after all three places. that should be enough for a while.” “well, all right, contact him and let me know." brown rose up, crossed to the door and went out. as brown went down the hall on his way out, he passed doctor thurston, apparently on his way to stanfield's office. he was wearing a deep frown and seemed so preoccupied that he did not notice brown until brown paused and called his name, whereupon he started suddenly, and, brown thought, looked frightened. “oh, brown, you!” he said, after throwing off his preoccupation. “yes, me, thurston. looks like you're worried. what's got you looking that way, anyhow?" doctor thurston looked surprised. "do i seem worried, brown?” "like you had lost your mammy." thurston laughed, but behind it brown could see that he was worried. then it occurred to him that thurston might be one of the story of dorothy stanfield the doctors stanfield had arranged with to sign death certificates. thereupon brown patted thurston on the shoulder and lied glibly: “i was just joking, doctor. you never looked better in your life. so long," he ended and slapped thurston on the shoulder. "i'll see you the next time.” laughing broadly, brown went on downstairs and about his business. five minutes later, seated facing doctor stanfield across his desk, thurston began: “well, stanfield, i've been waiting to hear from you,” and waited to hear what the other had to say. “we got started, thurston,” stanfield said. “understand that you had a funeral ... how'd things go?” “went off all right, thurston. as smooth as satin.” “good! how much insurance did you have her in for?”. “a grand, thurston," and doctor stanfield held up one finger. "in moving-picture language, that means a thousand dollars, am i right, stanfield?” “that's right, doctor." "gee! but that's great! looks like you're in to make some dough.” "perhaps,” said stanfield. his face was serious, and he frowned a bit as he went on: "i've had to spend a lot of money before we were able to get started, however. got to have half a dozen funerals before i will be able to see any clear money." "i agree with you. looks like a way out, however—for a while at least.” doctor stanfield frowned. he didn't like to hear it implied that it might not last. at the present time, he was satisfied, and visualized keeping it that way. "what do you mean by 'for a little while,' doctor?” the doctor shrugged his shoulders and was sorry that he had said it. it seemed to demonstrate a lack of confidence, and he . the story of dorothy stanfield . realized that in saying it as and when he did, he had made a mistake. but he had and knew that now he'd have to make the best of it. "oh, nothing in particular, stanfield, so forget it. i guess it was because it was new and when or until we become accustomed to something new, we tend to unconsciously doubt its possibilities.” doctor thurston then, after a brief pause, ventured: “when do you think you'll get around to me?” doctor stanfield looked up thoughtfully, and checked on his plans, mentally. "well, let me see, doctor. i had planned to sign the first three certificates myself. i've signed one already. we are plan- ning to try two next week, after which i'll let you sign one." "i'll be glad when you can, doctor. i confess to being rather hard up and could use some cash mighty handily. you couldn't, perhaps, permit me to sign for one of those you say you've planned for next week?" "next week,” doctor stanfield repeated. “i'll try to do that, thurston. we are only carrying a five hundred dollar policy on each of those next week, however.” "i see,” replied thurston, doing some mental calculating. “that will mean—" "about one hundred dollars, allowing for the premiums that we've already paid and other charges, then splitting the net at say, about four hundred dollars to us, and a hundred to you." "sounds fair enough,” doctor thurston agreed. "meanwhile, i wonder.” stanfield started and looked up quickly. "wonder, doctor?” the matter was already giving doctor stanfield a slight case of nerves. he was ever on the alert for something, even the least thing—an unusual suggestion, for instance, was causing him to start abruptly. "you were wondering-about-what, thurston?” doctor thurston looked at him quickly, since he noted a bit of alarm in stanfield's voice. he smiled pleasantly and replied: “oh, nothing in particular, doctor. i was merely wondering the story of dorothy stanfield if you could manage and advance to me, say, of about twenty-five dollars? i need money so badly and such an amount would help me a lot.” doctor stanfield relaxed happily, glad that it was not some- thing more serious, and running his hand in his pocket, withdrew a large roll of bills that caused, doctor thurston at the sight of it, to open his eyes wide in surprise. he envied doctor stanfield, whom he had always considered shrewd, notwithstanding the trouble his erstwhile shrewdness had got him into. doctor stan- field peeled off twenty-five dollars and passed it over to him care- lessly, with an: "oh, sure, thurston. glad to be able to help you out." "thank you, doctor stanfield,” cried doctor thurston, grate- fully, picking up the bills, glancing at same for a moment happily, then putting them in his pocket. “that's very fine of you and i am profoundly grateful. in fact, you just about saved my life, in a way.” both laughed and rose to their feet. they crossed to the door and when thurston stepped outside and went down the hall, he little realized that he had put his neck into a noose that might someday tighten around it. doctor stanfield stood in his door and watched him out of sight, and then smiled with a peculiar satis- faction as he closed the door and turned back to his desk. a few minutes later, sam came by to "borrow" a few dol- lars. he had been duly paid, as stated above, for his first act, which he had pulled off with complete satisfaction, and the doctor smiled as he handed him five dollars, but as he recalled that he had paid him a substantial sum the day before, a frown replaced the smile and he pointed to a chair and implied that sam sit down. sam obeyed. "i wish you'd keep away from shooting craps so much and losing all your money so quickly, sam. i'm afraid it'll start you to drinking before it is all over; and when you start to drinking, you're liable to start to talking, and i wouldn't like that at all." "i promise to from now on, doctuh,” sam agreed readily. the story of dorothy stanfield "you give promises too freely for me to depend entirely on your keeping them. i do hope you'll try to keep them. a promise given freely is liable to be broken just as freely," and the doctor forced a smile through his frown. "you'se mah friend, doctuh stanfield. you bought me these nice suits and dressed me up, i couldn't let you down, unduhstand?” "we'll be having another 'funeral soon, sam,” he said, and smiled as he watched sam start, then relax when he remembered what it was all about. "oh, yeh, doc, sho', sho',” he replied forcing a laugh. "ah keeps fo’gittin'." "you must start to remembering, sam. try to remember that a good actor never misses his cue; is always there waiting when the curtain goes up, and never lets his audience down." this was all to flatter sam, who swallowed it hook, line and sinker. sam swelled with pride, and watching him out of half closed eyes, the doctor smiled. "you can count on me being johnnie-on-the-spot!” sam said. “we may have to 'bury' you the next time, sam," the doctor said, watching closely to observe how he reacted to the news. sam started in earnest this time, his eyes opened wide and his face went cold with sudden fear, and when he tried to swallow, found that his throat was as dry as cotton. "take it easy, sam," the doctor said calmly, soothingly. "have you been forgetting again so quickly?" sam forced himself to relax, but found it most difficult to seem enthusiastic. "naw, ob cose not, doc. ob cose not. guess ah did fugit, howevah. ah’m sorry." “you're 'dying next week in st. louis, sam.” “what!" “and they will be shipping your 'body' to the brown under- taking parlors in memphis for burial. the next day after it arrives here, we plan to 'bury' you out in kidd's cemetery." “great goodness alive!” sam exclaimed, and leaned against the wall for support, shivering all over the while. doctor stanfield the story of dorothy stanfield if we went holding your funeral at night. so we will have to stand by the current rule and bury you as late in the afternoon as it might be appropriate. as quickly as it becomes dark, we will send the men and rescue you, however, sam," the doctor said, carelessly—just as though it was no more than a visit to the park. “rescue," sam mumbled to himself as the doctor rose to his feet, and sam knew that the interview was at an end. “well, i'm rather busy this afternoon, sam, so you'll have to excuse me now. i'll see you early next week,” he concluded as he crossed to the door. they left the office then, the doctor going downstairs and getting into his car and driving toward home. sam lingered on the sidewalk idly for a moment, then turning, he left beale street and strolled down fourth for a block where he paused, still unaware of where he was going, if anywhere. as he stood there, the voice of a woman, familiar to him, came to his ears. he listened closely. the woman was singing an old beale street song: “you may be a todolo shaker, but all i want is your hard labor, i'm satisfied, good grindin' gwine tu bring you back, good grindin' gwine tu bring you back." sam started! that voice was familiar to him all right. he walked a few steps and paused at the entrance to the house and looked up. a pair of steps were before him and he went up these steps and paused at the top to listen and see where the woman was, or in which room the voice came from. as he did so, the voice came floating into his ears again from a room on the right, down the hall through the open door in front of which he was standing. "ef yuh want tu sleep wid me, yuh'll have to sign yo' name wid de bailiff lee, ah’m satisfied, good grindingwine tu bring yuh back, good grindin' gwine tu bring yuh back.” the next moment sam went running down the hall, crying out: "lucy, oh, lucy, gal!” the story of dorothy stanfield the woman stopped singing and crossing to the door, looked out, her eyes wide with excitement. "sam jackson!” she cried. "come heah tu me, yuh ugly rascal!” the next moment they had embraced, and a few minutes later sam was sitting by an open window, he and lucy, while each talked of old times when they had been on eph williams' "silas green from noo o'leans” show together. walter le baron interrupted bob's telling of the story when he referred to doctor thurston. "pardon me, bob, for interrupting the telling of the most inter- esting story i've ever heard; but you referred to a doctor thurs- ton,” he said, reflectively. “does he happen, as far as you might know, to have a-sister? quite a highly educated girl, who calls herself an anthropologist?” "he had a sister, and the one you refer to is she,” bob replied, looking at him a bit wonderingly. “what do you mean by 'he had' anyhow?" "i think i should have said that she had a brother." “i still don't understand what you mean?” "because doctor thurston has since died.” “died? you mean that he is-dead?”. “that's what i said,” bob replied. "sad case, but if i pause here to tell you how and why he died, i'll be away ahead of the story i'm telling you. in a few minutes, however, i'll reach it and then you'll understand better.” "all right, bob,” le baron said. "i'll wait until you get to it, but i know this sister-sort of went with her for awhile, once upon a time.” “you did?” and bob turned to him with a smile. "what happened?” “oh, nothing in particular. it's quite a long story itself. i met her and a girl friend of hers in washington, years ago, when i was, of course, much younger and she was just about the same the story of dorothy stanfield age. she was attending howard university, studying journalism- that is, she was majoring in journalism. she was a brilliant girl, or i should say, that she had a brilliant mind and i found her very interesting from the start. in due time the other girl and she both graduated. the other girl was studying dentistry.' "ora was this thurston girl's name. the other girl's uncle, who had gone to great expense to put her through dental college, set her up—that is, he outfitted her, and she set up dental practice in pittsburgh, where i saw her a few times before she gave it up out there and came to new york and resumed her practice. "meanwhile, ora continued to come to new york, and we went around together and i rather liked her because the girl was so smart.” “so that was a love affair of yours, eh, or developed into one?" le baron shook his head in the negative. “as far as i was concerned, it never got beyond the 'i like you very much' stage; but some years later she told me that i was the only man she ever loved-after she had married three hus- bands, however," and le baron paused to laugh. bob joined him. "she's been here,” bob said. "i wouldn't be surprised. she developed into an adventuress, and i haven't seen her for years. but getting back to where i left off. the first man she married was a student, whom i met. and who seemed dizzy. it must have been a dream affair for it didn't last long, though i don't recall just how long it did last, however. anyway, in due time she freed herself of it and took on another and that was next to the last time i recall seeing her and talking to her. it must have been then, instead of after, she mar- ried the third time, that she talked to me. she didn't stay with the second one any longer than she had the first one. when i talked with her and asked her why she was changing husbands so rapidly, she shrugged her shoulders and said that i ought to know why. i professed ignorance, for i was in fact, ignorant and didn't know what she was talking about. "well,' she then told me, 'be- cause i was in love with neither.' i said, 'why did you marry the story of dorothy stanfield them?' she said, 'because of you. i never loved any man but you, walter.'' le baron broke off to laugh at this. bob seemed surprised. “why are you laughing?” he wanted to know. “because the girl was like a great many of our group who go to school, acquiring one degree after another and continue to stay in and out of school over a long period of years—many, until they actually get old. this girl, whom i actually admired during the early years of our acquaintance, had by that time let herself de- velop temperament, and was on the way to a controlled insanity- in short, she was by that time, crazy, yet sane. i wasn't in love with her because i've always tried to understand and appreciate what might happen if one let themselves become mixed up with an overeducated person, and a temperamental one. i don't like this temperamentalism on the part of negroes. it isn't worth- while, for as i see it, all of us need to learn more about developing and producing something that might make a profit and some money first, for we are, as a race, so confounded poor that nobody envies any of us, nor respects us. "in ora's case, she had, along with thousands of others of that ilk, become too educated. they are forever dreaming of doing something so great it staggers their imagination and makes them unfit, then many take up communism or resort to some other crazy ideology, and then the biggest thing they do is to try to persuade somebody to give them some money for some insane illusion, all the while, think they are succeeding, and talk about their success; success without money. we negroes seem to be about the only group to claim success without making any money, without even learning how to make any, yet regard ourselves as successful and call themselves successful. and that is what, among other things, happened to ora. i didn't hear, but i imagine that she must have become communistic along with so many other negroes that are calling themselves communists, and for two purposes, more or less, only." bob laughed, took a sip at his drink. le baron, with a humor- the story of dorothy stanfield ous smile, did likewise. “two purposes mostly,” said bob, with a smile. "name them?” "first, to get some money. second, the men at least, to go north, and possibly marry a white woman.” "do you think that is the reason why so many negro men have been marrying white women lately?”. “that is, to my way of thinking, the biggest reason,” le baion said. "negroes do not know the fundamentals of communism, whatever they are. this much i do know, however, and which is, that communism thrives best on hard luck and discontent. a large share of our people who thought at the outset that they could educate themselves by staying in school, majoring in first one ideol- ogy and then another, into success, and found after having acquired all the education they could crowd into their heads, that it did not fit them to make any money, the possession of which they found to be so necessary to one's daily needs and conveniences. so they turned to communism where they found plenty of others who would agree with their charge that something about our government was wrong, including the people that are administering it. one of the first things advocated then is that it is a 'free country' and that nobody should be restrained from doing what they wanted to. communism is filled with women, and since all know that inter- marriage of races in america is somewhat forbidden, and frowned on, this seems to have been another reason that so many desired to break it up. the whites start out by calling their colored asso- ciates 'brother' and 'sister and it seems to me, that the whites, knowing that a negro does not always feel comfortable in the presence of white people socially, set out to convince the negroes, that all the old traditions are wrong and in error, including the forbidding of marriage between the races. they then, advocate the intermarriage of races which seems to have, at the present time, and in the north at least, gotten out of control—but i have talked clear away from what i started to tell, and which was about ora,” and le baron laughed as he paused. - “what you've been talking about and explaining, has been the story of dorothy stanfield most interesting to me. go on, tell me all about it,” bob said. “the reason i brought the subject up was, that when you kept speaking about doctor thurston, i recalled that ora and i were friends, and before she went off on this tangent of marriage, and other things, we had some interest in common, and something else i'll have to tell you about, before i get through. she would ask me when i returned to new york and ran into or called on her, and told her that i had been in memphis, if i had called on her brother while there. as you know, i rarely get off beale street, or very far from it when i'm here. so i never got to even inquire about her brother much less to go call on him.” "he lived in east memphis and kept his office there,” bob interrupted to explain, "and that, perhaps, is why you never met him. east memphis is a long way out, and i know that i never took you out there." "she always asked if i had seen him and grew to sort of em- barrass me about it. but the singular part of it was, that i had decided to look him up this time for sure, so that i could tell her when and if i ever happen to see her again, that i had called on her brother. now to be told that the man is dead! i'm so sorry.” “died as the result of what i am talking about. i'll explain all about it when i get to that part of the story. i've got lots to tell you before we get that far, however, meanwhile, i'm interested in what happened to this sister, now that we are on that subject. i understand that she finally turned to writing. is that so?” "she surely did. wrote five books, all within a few years, and one of the biggest publishers brought them out.” "well, that should have made her some money. did it?" "i don't know, but i don't think the books did. i don't really know what happened to ora during the last few years. i do know, however, that she went into the business of acquiring scholarships, awards and into so many ways of getting money to live on from white people that her life and career and entire existence has be- come a mystery to me. when i was talking with sidney wyeth, about her, and about the books she had written, he told me that the story of dorothy stanfield none ever got out of the first edition, which means that they did not sell well. the last i heard of her, she was said to be living with some rich white family in hollywood but that didn't last, either, for she has been back in new york since. so i really don't know what became of ora, and that is all. and now, please go on with the story that you were telling me, thank you." chapter chapter xxi am jackson had played at being dead the week be- fore, and played the part so successfully, that he rather liked it and at this time didn't seem to mind playing the role again and again-if it could be confined to just laying there in a coffin, made up as first one person, then another, man or woman, for a few people to look at. then, after not more than two or three hours of display, being pushed off the floor into the dead room and permitted to get out of the coffin, which they would then fill with brickbats, old cement and sawdust and then haul the same off to a cemetery and bury it. but the thought of having to remain in the coffin or casket, be taken to the cemetery, for it was the plan of doctor stanfield and his associates, to place the coffin in a hearse and after hauling him to the cemetery, where they would have a preacher to read his, or her. as the case may be. last rites and then to be actually lowered six feet into a grave, and after the lid of the coffin box was pushed down on top of the coffin, to hear the first dirt thrown in. after a few shovels full had been dumped on top of the lid of the pine box, sam could not, of course. hear any more. he had to just imagine the rest. for he was given a watch and was told not to move out of a laving position for one hour. other than to use his flashlight to see that an hour had passed, since he was lowered into 'his grave.' every precaution was taken to safeguard him, so that he could be returned as quickly as possible to "die" again and be "buried” again, and again, but he kept an ear open on this first time he the story of dorothy stanfield then finding his pump, smiled happily when he felt the cool air from above come pouring down and he breathed it. “so far, so good,” sam said to himself, and knew then that everything was going off according to plan, and all that was left to be anxious about was for the men to come around seven-thirty and dig him out. he then found the food, a whole fried chicken, cut into pieces, and a half of a sweet potato pie, six nice biscuits that simply melted in his mouth and sam ate his full. there was cold iced tea in the thermos, and when sam had eaten all this, lo and behold, thanks to his friend, the thoughtful doctor, he found an arty magazine, filled from start to finish with the pictures of nude women, pretty women, young women-great! sam then decided that if this went off all right, as it seemed to thus far be going, he wouldn't kick thereafter, for he was paid so much more for this kind of act. the doctor had said: “you see, sam, when we actually bury you, it is so much safer. we have plenty witnesses to testify that they saw you buried, -all "just in case.” with his belly filled and passion temporarily cooled after going through and through the book of art, sam fell off to sleep and was awakened suddenly by a voice, coming down through his periscope. “hey down thaiuh!” he sat up and listened, strangely bewildered as he looked around, for he had forgotten where he was. "hey, down thaiuh, sam!" the voice from above repeated. “why don't yuh ansuh?" still sam was bewildered and not sure. it sounded like the voice of lige renfro. he listened again. he heard the voice again, but which seemed to be directed at somebody else. "ah wonduhs 'f the niggah's daid?” "he mought be," said the voice of another. sam by now was fully awake and had become aware of where he was and what it was all about. so he was amused, being at the same time relieved, and listened at the others talk, and what they the story of dorothy stanfield "take it easy, sister, dear," arthur said consolingly, or trying to be consoling. he knew that dorothy was worried; that she lived in a state of worry and anxiety, and he was sorry for her. "it must be about the-doctor then?" she said slowly, know- ing before he could answer that it was. “yes, dorothy. it is about something connected with the doc- tor's activities, i fear. meanwhile, are you very busy?" “no, arthur. i'm not busy. why?” “because i'd like for you to come down to the office." “very well, brother. what time do you want me to?" "if you're not busy as you say, i'd like for you to come right away. it is most important that i see you and talk to you. "you can't tell me over the phone, arthur?" “oh, i'd rather not, dear. decidedly not.” “very well, arthur. i'll be down as quickly as i can dress," and both hung up. dorothy paused before rising to her feet. her heart was beating fast and she was afraid. she felt sure that it was about something relating to the doctor's activities, which were, and had always been since he started his new racket, shrouded in mystery. she didn't know how he was making so much money, only knew that he was and that was all. but she knew that it must be something she had been dreading; and was sure would come to light some day. and now arthur was no doubt going to tell her something that would cause her to worry more than before. she sighed deeply and turned to go to her room upstairs where she would dress and go down and see her brother and hear what this something im- portant that he had to talk to her about, was. just as she reached the foot of the stairway, she heard a key turn in the lock, and since only her husband had a key to the house other than herself, she knew that it must be he. she paused and stood facing the door as it was pushed open and the doctor walked in. at that distance she saw that he had been drinking, a habit he had taken up since he started into this new and mysterious way of making money–much money. the story of dorothy stanfield he swayed a bit as he turned to close the door and with a frown on her face, she crossed to meet him, and to assist him, which seemed necessary. “why, doctor," she cried. “you home so soon? i wasn't ex- pecting you. has something happened?" "no, no, dear," he said a bit thickly, "just felt a bit tired and thought i'd come home and have a nap." "that was very thoughtful of you, dear. you need it, i know, for you haven't been sleeping so well of late. in fact, for quite awhile,” she said, as she recalled many long and restless nights on his part. "oh, it is all right, nothing serious, not at all.” "i'm sure there is something on your mind, doctor. has been for a long time and i've all but pleaded with you to tell me, but you just won't. why don't you tell me now?" "nothing on my mind but money, dorothy. nothing but money. i'm trying to get rich like your people are, and that's taxing my energy, my mentality.” as he finished, he started across the hall for the stairway, but staggered, after swaying so danger- ously that she rushed to his side and caught him by the arm. she led him across the room to the foot of the stairway, where he paused and caught the banister, and paused, it seemed, as if to rest. she withdrew her hand and turned to face him more squarely, whereupon he drew a deep breath and let it out and the stench of liquor on his breath almost felled her. she turned her face away and her frown was deep. "oh, doctor," she cried, complainingly, "you've been drinking again." he knew that she didn't like him to drink and had complained about it every time she smelled it on his breath. “just a nip, honey. just a few drops to steady my nerves. besides, it'll help me to get off to sleep." as he finished, he swung his case to the left hand, leaving his right free to help him by holding onto the banister to get upstairs. he always carried his case, though she knew that he had not attended a patient since the story of dorothy stanfield she couldn't remember when. “i hope it will,” she said, “but i wish you wouldn't drink so much. patients become afraid of you when they smell whiskey on your breath.” “t'hell with patients!” he cried, abruptly. "damned broken niggers, haven't got anything to pay a doctor with. t'hell with all of them! i'm making plenty of money without having to call on the buzzards! t'hell with all of them!” he exclaimed, and swung his hand around in a gesture of contempt. “why, doctor!" he turned, his face torn with sudden and contemptuous anger, and looked at her a moment, swaying as he did so. presently he decided to continue on up to his room, and gath- ered himself for something of an effort and started. she stepped forward and raised her hand to help him. "i'll help you,” she said, as she laid her hand on his arm. he shook his arm free and with some effort stood straight and erect. "don't need any help! i'm not drunk as you seem to think! just a little tired, that's all.” with another effort, and swinging his kit wide, he started up the stairs while she stood where she was and watched him, ner- vously, her heart in her throat. she felt sure he would fall before he reached the top and when he was about half way up and had begun to sway, dangerously, she screamed and taking hold of her skirts she started up. he paused, turned to look down at her, and raised a commanding hand, crying: "stop, dorothy! i won't have you helping me like i was a drunken man! tell you i'm all right, so stand where you are, or go away. you screamed like you thought i was going to fall. i'm not going to. i keep telling you that i'm all right.” "oh, doctor,” she pleaded, pitifully, "please let me help you -steady you. don't try another step by yourself. i'm afraid you'll fall and hurt yourself.” so saying she again started up to him, but he turned suddenly and again raising his hand command- ingly, cried dramatically: the story of dorothy stanfield “stay where you are, dorothy! go back to the foot of the stairs and remain there! i'll show you that i can take care of myself.” thereupon he straightened himself, stood erect like a soldier for a moment. she retreated to the bottom of the stairway as she had been ordered by him to do, and waited anxiously. she was afraid of him and had always been since their honeymoon trip to chicago, when he had begun a performance which had never ended. "listen, dear,” she said, “i want to come upstairs to dress. there is something i want to tell you, too, so won't you let me come now, assist you, and when we get to the top, i'll tell you what it is?” “tell me something? why didn't you do so when i came in?” "because you—frightened me so by your-condition,” she said, hesitatingly. “tell you i'm all right. you can tell me what it is from where you are standing, or wait until i have reached the top. then i'll listen. now what is it you want to tell me?". “go on upstairs and i'll come up there then and tell you.” “you've got me curious now to know what it is. tell me right now," and he turned so that he could face her, albeit sideways. "i wanted to tell you that i just had a call from my brother, arthur, down at the insurance office.” "ah!” exclaimed the doctor, then paused briefly, and thought- fully. “what did he want?" he finished his question carefully, and waited for her to answer. "didn't say-in fact, he wouldn't say what he wanted to talk to me about over the telephone. just asked me to come down to the office." "i see,” the doctor said, slowly, and again he was thoughtful. “it didn't happen to be about me?" "it might be,” she said—and then on second thought, she i called that her brother had said that it was about the doct “come to think of it, i think he said that it was somethin- you; or perhaps about something you were doing. i_" the story of dorothy stanfield she paused, and broke off abruptly, for the doctor had started suddenly, and seeming to become angry, started upstairs again and had almost reached the top when he swayed, swung around while dorothy screamed, caught out wildly for the banister, swung again, entirely out of balance by now, and with a loud scream, he fell, and came tumbling back downstairs towards her. she screamed as he came tumbling down and had to get out of the way, for he seemed to be falling all over the stairs, finally landing at the foot of them with a dull thud. frightened out of her wits, dorothy fell on her knees and bent over him and lifted him in her arms to a sitting posture, while he lay there, looking faint and as if he might be dead. "oh, dear, dear,” she was crying. “i was afraid this would happen! oh, darling! are you-hurt?” "my-my heart, dorothy,” he said, faintly. "i-i have an awful pain over my heart." he slumped then and became silent. she was afraid that he was dead now for sure. he had lost con- sciousness completely and she was terribly frightened. with much effort, she dragged him into the parlor and onto the sofa, and was relieved somewhat to notice that he was still breathing. she hurried to the cabinet and found some whiskey, which she kept in the house for medicinal purposes, but for a long time the doctor had been drinking it for other purposes. she was glad that some was left, however, and holding his head in her arms, forced some down his throat. after an anxious moment or two, she saw him open his eyes weakly and listen. he then called her name. "i'm here, darling,” she said, quickly, bending closer and fan- ning his face with something she picked up. "how do you feel?” he raised a hand and placed it over his heart, and said: “my heart, it is paining me. i-i can hardly-breathe, it's paining so. please call doctor thurston, dear. tell him to- come at once-important." she left him and hurried to the telephone in the hall. pickirg up the receiver, she was trying hard to think of doctor thurston's the story of dorothy stanfield phone number without having to look it up in the directory. she wasn't successful, but did know the company's telephone number and thinking of it, decided to call her brother. by the time the girl at the switchboard replied, she decided to talk to her brother about it. upon hearing arthur's voice, she was very anxious and excited. “oh, arthur, this is dorothy!" “yes, dear, i hear you,” replied arthur from the other end. “you seem excited. has something happened to you?” “not to me, arthur, but to the doctor.” “what! and where?" “right here in the house, arthur. he came home right after i finished talking to you and” lowered her voice to a whisper—"oh, arthur. he was intoxicated! he started upstairs to his room. i wanted to help him but—he wouldn't let me. near the top, he tried to argue when i said that i had to go down and see you, became angry, and before he could do anything, lost his balance and fell downstairs.” "great goodness!” cried arthur. “did he hurt himself badly?” “i don't know, arthur. i managed to get him into the parlor where he is now lying on the sofa. he is complaining about his heart. says it is paining him badly, and asked me to send for doctor thurston.” "doctor thurston! why, doctor thurston lives away out in east memphis, and has his office there, too! he could be dead, if he is very ill, before doctor thurston could get there." “that's what i fear. what shall i do?” "i'll call our doctor, right here in the building. i'm sure he's in. wait a moment, and hold on while i buzz him." doctor blackburn, who had asked dorothy to marry him years before, had asked her many times, and who was now the company's chief medical examiner, was fortunately in, and expressed anxiety to serve dorothy in her present predicament. less than thirty minutes later therefore, doctor blackburn, in company with dorothy's brother, drove up before the house and the story of dorothy stanfield know his handwriting, his signature?" he paused and showed it to her. she looked at it and started. it was nathan's signature without a doubt. arthur paused and waited, while dorothy shook her head as if to give up. "as unpleasant as this is, it is not all," arthur was saying now and dorothy looked up at him, helplessly. "by which, dear, it didn't start yesterday but has been going on for some time. well, as i started to say, about a year ago we paid a claim. later, one of our agents went to new york on his vacation. on his return to memphis, he swore that he saw the deceased in new york, sound and well—and talked to him as i did to this other 'dead' man in evansville. he made the same kind of report; that the policy had lapsed, and that he had never had it reinstated.” "and had somebody, a doctor, signed a death certificate in that case, too?” asked dorothy. “yes," replied arthur. i remember it very well. doctor thurston's signature was on that certificate of death." “and not nathan's?”. "no, but i have a peculiar feeling about the whole thing.” “just what do you mean by that, arthur?”. “that there's an insurance swindling ring, operating possibly out of memphis. i have a suspicion that nathan's mixed up in it.” "oh, he couldn't be, arthur! else i'd know something about it." “are you sure that you would, dear? has your husband con- fided in you as to why and how he is making so much money?” dorothy hesitated, and arthur knew by that that he hadn't. “of course he hasn't, dear. nathan is entirely too shrewd to go letting you know or even find out how he happens to be making so much money." "so much money, arthur?” “yes, dorothy. didn't you know that he has been making a mighty lot of money for-almost two years; and that he has a lot of money?” "well, i know that he has been doing very well, but he has not the story of dorothy stanfield told me that he's making a lot of money. how would you know that he is?” "it was brought to my attention some time ago. i learned that he was handling a lot of money. in fact, and in confidence, the teller at the bank at which we carry one of our accounts, tipped me off as to what was going on. the teller asked me just how he could be making so much. my interest was inspired, of course, by the fact of his being married to you. "well, i made an investigation, a quiet one, of course, and it revealed that he has more cash in the memphis banksif not in other cities—than any negro, i venture, in all memphis.” “oh, arthur,” she cried. “i'm sure you must be mistaken. if he had so much money, he would have been sure to tell me some. thing about it.” "i'm sorry, dot, but everything i've told you is so, but i'm worried, also. this something, whatever it is that's going on, can't last much longer. somewhere, somehow and sometime, somebody is going to get wise and do something, say something, and the bottom is going to suddenly fall out of the entire swindle, for that is the only way he could be making so much money." "oh, lordy me," sighed dorothy. "i've been afraid of some- thing for a long time and have lived in a state of fear and anxiety almost ever since i married nathan." "i know it, sister, and it worries the entire family. i don't know what it is all going to come to, but you might as well resign yourself to the fact that it is going to end up before long. it can't miss doing so.” “what can i do?”. arthur shook his head as hopelessly. “i don't know, dorothy. to be frank and truthful, i simply do not know." dorothy was thoughtful a moment. suddenly she perked with an idea, arthur looked at her hopefully. "i know," she cried. “i'll wait up for the doctor tonight and i'll tell him about what took place here today, and i'll ask him to chapter chapter xxi n verybody connected with doctor stanfield's insur- n ance swindling ring had made money, including sam, who had invested his in dice shooting, pretty girls and had the flashiest car in memphis. a large roll-back top, which he kept folded back with a decorated cover, along with every gadget that had ever been conceived for automobiles, made his car the show of beale street-and sam was fond of showing it. this continued display on sam's part had long since become a source of annoyance to doctor stanfield, and he was trying to think up some way of stopping, or bringing it to an end. addi- tionally he discovered that one of the men whose work was to bury sam and dig him up, was willing to play stooge, a quiet man who neither drank nor gambled, and who was willing to "die" much cheaper than sam who had become conscious of his potential value in the racket and had been upping his cut until he was getting far more than stanfield had ever intended paying him. three weeks after he fell downstairs at his home, which had not left him in the best frame of mind doctor stanfield was stand- ing by his window, looking down on beale street and the negroes moving up and down it, and of others idling about. he could see from his window, the entrance to t. b.'s joint, where sam invested a large share of what he was milking doctor stanfield for, in dice. the front on beale street contained a tavern, while in the rear was the dice table, which earned t. b. by far and over his bigest profit. as he stood there trying to think some way to get rid of the story of dorothy stanfield it all to the dealer, who proceeded to count it. "shoot it all, goddam it tu hell!” “you's covered sam,” cried the dealer. "let 'um roll!” sam worked over the dice harder, finally threw them, tumbling and bouncing again, and when they stopped the negroes shrieked: “two sixes!”-craps again, and sam in disgust, struck the table so hard that it shook. “goddam sonofabitchin' luck!”. negroes standing around and dividing his money gleefully, smiled and got ready to fade him again—but sam was broke! in less than five minutes he had been stripped clean! he paused to think and started. turning away, he paused to turn to the dealer, with: "i'll be back.” turned then and taking long strides, left the place. doctor stanfield opened the door of his private office and beck- oned to brown, who promptly joined him. inside he walked up to brown with: "i've thought of a way to get rid of sam.” "yeh?” junius brown became uneasy. "how?" doctor stanfield walked over to him and began whispering something in his ear, whereupon brown started violently, and pulled away a step. “aw, naw, doc. not that!" "it's no worse than what we've been doing ever since we started. sam's just another nigger. one gone doesn't mean a thing, more or less.” brown was sweating now, because brown was fright- ened; he was so frightened he was nervous. he went to a chair and sat down on it, weakly. he found a kerchief and removing his big hat, began wiping perspiration that seemed to flow more freely now than it ever had before. "one crooked thing leads to another, all becoming bolder and more crooked as we go deeper and deeper into the mires of hell." brown, still perspiring freely, got to his feet and started walking the floor. the story of dorothy stanfield “take it easy, brown, take it easy, old boy. it's not as bad as you are making it.” “you can think up the darndest schemes that i ever heard of. your father must surely have been born of the devil himself.” stanfield tried to laugh it off. brown continued to walk the floor. "i can't sleep at night no more," brown was saying as he walked the floor, back and forth. “my wife notices it and keeps pestering me with 'what's the matter, junius? what's the matter? ... you've got something on your mind? what's the matter, junius? why don't you tell me? i'm your wife. you can trust me. please tell me what's the matter, junius. great heavens, man," he cried, raising his large arms helplessly. "you're driving me crazy-crazy!”. stanfield stood looking at him and shaking his head, deploringly. “lord, heavens! you make me wish that i'd never gone in on this thing! you've made me sorry that i ever let you persuade me. i don't have any peace of mind any more at all, no peace of mind." "take it easy, brown. we've made a lot of money, and we've got it saved. resting in plenty of banks. think of that." “yes, but what good does it do when i'm worried half the time and scared stiff the rest? in time you'll bury me, and i'll be dead when you do so, honestly dead." “take it easy, old boy," dr. stanfield said, walking up to him and patting him on the shoulder. "come along with me on this and when it's over i promise to quit-get out of it.” “that's what you started saying a year ago. the next will be the last, but it hasn't been. i was ready to quit then, i've been ready to quit ever since, but i can't because of you. i'm up to my ears in it and it'll only be when you decide to actually get out, that i can. i don't believe you'll ever quit until they catch us and send us away." at this point there was a knock on the door, and both men stopped and turned to look at the door, anxiously. “who's there?” the doctor called presently. from outside the story of dorothy stanfield kept upping your cut until there isn't much left for us. still, we haven't kicked, have we? so try to go easy with us. we're just two poor negroes, like you sam, working hard and trying to get along. we're not getting much out of these jobs, lately, sam.” “how much is you gettin' outa this one tonight?” "only five hundred sam, and it's our biggest for a long time. now figure it out for yourself.” sam relaxed, but having deter- mined to go back across the street to t. b.'s game and clean the negroes who had beat him so quickly, sam figured he'd have to be a little hard this time. “well,” sam said, slowly, “i'll go easier de next time; but i gotta have two hundred bucks now." “w-h-e-w!” exclaimed stanfield. “umph-umph-umph!” “ah jes' gotta have it, doc. ah gotta.” “soon, sam, you'll just demand it all.” “ah understan', doc,” sam went on earnestly. "while ah gotta have two hundred now, ah'll die de next time fo' a hund'ed.” the doctor was shaking his head, ruefully, but pulled a roll of bills out of his pocket, paused and looked at sam. “sam, you're going to break it all up. i'll give you the two hundred now, but you've got to promise to die the next time for nothing, is that agreeable?” sam said it was. “and be buried, including,” said the doctor. sam frowned. he had never let himself get used to being buried, but there before him stood doctor stanfield with $ in cash, which he was ready to count out and give to him—then back to t. b.'s sam would go, and break every negro who had just taken his money a few min- utes before. the next time was the "next time”—but now was now. “ah agrees, doctor stanfield.” stanfield turned to brown and said: "you're a witness to his promise, brown?” brown nodded in the affirmative. “all right, sam, it's a deal and here's your two hundred." the doctor courted him out $ . sam was tickled pink, smiled all over and kept thanking him until the story of dorothy stanfield we are supposed to go and dig that darkey up; but understand, brown, we won't be digging the bastard up! we're going to let him stay there and rot and stink, the black sonofabitch!” the doctor paused to laugh again, long and idiotically. brown looked at him as though he felt sorry for him, and presently, shaking his head, he opened the door and left. chapter ) chapter xxii am jackson made himself up carefully that afternoon. he had been advised that he was to play the part of an important person, a doctor who had died in a distant city. they had him insured in one of the major insurance com- panies for five thousand dollars. they gave sam a photograph to work by, for he had made up before for the insurance adjuster's benefit. the adjuster had looked at his face, examined the certi- ficate, found everything in order and ordered the company to pay the claim. so doctor stanfield had received the check that morning and was holding the funeral that afternoon. as sam lay stretched out in an attractive casket this time, those who came to see him all remarked about how natural he looked. "just like he was laying there asleep,” everybody who saw him told their friends. on the way to the cemetery a strange thought entered sam's mind all of a sudden, and disturbed him so that he trembled. "sup- posing one of these times they decided not to dig me up?" the thought made him tremble and he was half tempted, when they took the casket out at the graveyard and the preacher read those lines over him, to cry out. but sam didn't get a chance to do anything, for there was no preacher at the grave to read over him, he neither heard anybody around, simply felt himself being lifted out of the hearse, carried to the grave and immediately lowered into it, the top pushed down on top of the box, and then heard the dirt being shoveled on top of him, until the top was covered and he heard no more. the story of dorothy stanfield “as ye sow," he appealed now to the lord above. “so ye shall reap.” sam looked down at the chemical that was burning and which always kept air in his lungs until they came to dig him up. as he did so, he started again. it was a smaller amount than before, and he groaned. doctor stanfield had forgot nothing in his plan to be rid of him. in the meantime, let us return to the office where doctor stan- field was to meet junius brown and go with him to the party that his wife was putting on in his honor at home. brown was there waiting as the doctor walked in, wearing tails, a cape, standing collar, and regulation bow tie; his face even powdered for the occasion. but brown was wearing the same clothes he had on that afternoon. the doctor was surprised, and then frowned. "say, brown, what's this? why aren't you dressed for the party? in evening clothes as i asked you to wear? you can't come to my wife's party looking like that,” and he pointed at him. “why haven't you dressed for the occasion, brown?” "because i'm not going.” "not going?” the doctor cried, amazed. “that's it. i'm not going, doctor, because " “because? because what?” “i'm going out to the cemetery and dig that man up, that's why i'm not going!” brown stuck his jaw out defiantly. "why, you fool! you goddanned black fool! you'll do noth- ing of the kind!” the doctor swore vehemently. “but i will, and you won't be able to stop me!” “don't be so sure about that. but come, enough of this. now let's get down to common sense.” "i am down to common sense and my common decency tells me to go dig that man up. if you've got to kill him, why, take a gun and shoot him down and tell the law that he threatened you; that you killed him to keep him from killing you. these crackers don't do much with a negro for just killing another negro, it's when they dare attack a white man is when they get rough with the story of dorothy stanfield you. but to kill a man the way you've planned this, is more than i can stand.” "brown, don't be a fool,” the doctor argued, temporizingly. “that negro is in our way. sooner or later he's going to spoil our game and perhaps mess us up. we've got to get rid of him. i've attended to that in a way we'll never hear from him again. now you, of all men, pop up here with some fool sentiment in your head and propose to spoil it all.” “that may be all true according to your way of thinking, and especially of doing. but i been thinking about it ever since i left you, and my mind is made up. i'm going out there and save that man and you nor anybody else is going to stop me!” so saying he turned to go. when his back was to stanfield and he was starting to go, he heard stanfield say: "oh, won't i?” then withdrawing a small revolver from some pocket stanfield let him have it, three times! brown gasped, turned, looked at doctor stanfield helplessly out of his dying eyes, then closing them, slumped to the floor, dead. stanfield walked over, looked at him, raised his eyes to think, and then smiled as he recalled that brown had paused and turned to face him when he spoke and the shots he fired entered brown's body from the front. his alibi was already perfect. he would call the police station and tell them when they came that sam tackson had shot brown in an argument over money. they would look for sam jackson, whom of course they wouldn't find. smil ing calmly, stanfield turned and then paused. he decided suddenly to go on to the party-and say nothing about what he had done, go to bed afterward, enjoy a good night's sleep and let somebody else find the body the next morning. in due time he could offer his alibi, and everything would be all right. so deciding, doctor stanfield turned and going outside, looked around, was relieved to see that nobody was in sight. smiling then, he got into the car and drove to his home where dorothy was giving a party in his honor. lucy jackson, the name she went by since it was presumed the story of dorotuy stanfield that she was married to sam jackson, had retired early that night. she had worked hard all day, washing clothes in the white folks' laundry, and had returned home tired. sleeping hard, she dreamed of something, something so exciting that she woke suddenly and sat up, perspiring, and looked around her. she turned and looked at the spot where she often found sam sleeping, but sam wasn't there. she thought of the chippies, and grunted with jealousy and lay back down again. but lucy couldn't sleep. she was strangely worried. she heard an old clock tick-tocking near and turned to look at it. it was time sam was home if he was coming. she lay there for several minutes, during which everything seemed strange and vague. she presently got up and walked around the room in her bare feet, but she couldn't for all she tried, throw off a peculiar feeling that had settled over her. then she started as something occurred to her. "slim thomas and lige renfro! they live up the alley not far. i'll put my clothes on and go up there and ask them about sam. they ought tu know.” so saying, lucy got into her clothes, talking to herself tbe while. she thought about the dream that had awakened her. "dere was something funny 'bout dat dream. it was so real!” she shook her head. "sam's been messin' roun', makin' a lot of money an' throwin’ hit away. it wasn't hones' money, and de lawd don'lak ugly, and what sam's been doin' ain' hones'. ef you do wrong and keep on doin' wrong and won't stop to pray, de lawd gwine take a hand, and when de lawd is mad, he gwine to punish you sho'." she finally left the little house in fry's alley, and headed for slim thomas and lige renfro, who lived together less than two blocks away in the same alley. arriving there a few minutes later, she knocked on the door thrre times before getting any response. finally she heard some- body turn over, listen and then set up, light a lamp and call out: "who dat?" “hits me, lige, lucy. lemme in." the story of dorothy stanfield after some moving around inside, a pair of bare feet shuffled toward the door, where they paused and the door was opened, and lige looked out. lucy entered, and by her excitement they re- alized something was wrong. “git up, slim,” called lige. slim was awake, but sleepy, but sat up. “what's the mattuh, gal,” said lige. “what you doin' up dis late?" "it's about sam. he ain' come home.” lige started, thought a moment, then looked at her. “how come?” “he jes' ain' come home, dats all.” “is dat so?” after a thought, “ 'scuse me. lemme talk tu slim.” he crossed over to slim, who had his feet on the floor and was curious. lige bent over him, talked in a whisper. "sam ain't come home. doctor stanfield said dey would go and dig him up. he ain' nevuh dug him up befo'. what you think?" “i dunno, lige. i dunno what to think.” "i has a 'spicion, slim. i ain' never trusted doctuh stanfield too much. i ain' nevuh laked his eye.” “me, neidder," said slim. “does you reckon dat he's plan- ing tu git rid ob sam by not diggin' 'im up?" "he mought be. who knows. meantime, lucy's heah and she's worried. supposin' we git du truck and drive out thaiuh and see what's happened?” “ah’m wid yuh. but don't tell lucy. send heh home. ef we saves sam we'll brung him to heh." "okeh, slim.” lige turned around and went back to poor lucy who was weeping now. he laid a hand on her shoulder and patted it. "daiuh, daiuh, lucy, chile. don' cry no mo. me an' slim gwine look fo' sam. ef he's 'live we'll brung him back.” "god'll bless you, lige, and slim, too. sam's been messin' roun' and i ain' been able to get him tu pray. you know, de lawd the story of dorothy stanfield “yes, dorothy. i'm sure they will. you'll probably hear from the warden tomorrow." "i hope i will. and how do you feel by now, walter ...?” “sort of bewildered, dorothy. but it's about you that i am most cr.ncerned, dear.” "i'm glad i'll try to be brave.” “you are brave dorothy. you've been a brave girl for a long time. i know that now. i won't talk longer, dear. at such a grave time, i think it best that you be left alone for awhile. i'll call again tomorrow." “please do, walter. i'll be expecting to hear from you.” “i sha!) not tail you, dear. good night.” "good night, walter.” walter le baion was sleeping peacefully when about eight o' clock the next morning, he was awakened by a boy, yelling loudly: extra' extra! all about the sensational murder on the outskirts of memphis! wuxtra! le baron sat up and listened while the boy went on, repeating his efforts to take advantage of a murder and sell papers. cur- iously, le baron got up, crossed to the telephone and called the hotel office. the clerk answered, and after greeting him, le baron said: “purchase one of those extras and bring it up to me, please." “yes, mr. le baron. i'll do so at once,” the clerk said and after hanging up, went to the door and called the boy, bought a copy, looked at the headlines, and then brought the paper upstairs to le baron. answering the knock on his door, le baron apologized for having the clerk bring it up. "you didn't have to do this, if the bell boy wasn't around, mr. anthony," he said. “meanwhile, step inside until i can find you a couple of cigars for your trouble." "oh, that'll be all right, mr. le baron. i don't mind. the boy the story infiel ryc oti of dorothy stanfield had gone on an errand, so there was nobody to bring it up but me, but” “-i am curious to know what the boy was making all that noise about, so i am most thankful. meanwhile, here's a couple of good cigars, so smoke them with my compliments." "well, if you insist, thank you and good morning.” anthony left the room and went back to the office. le baron went back to bed. it was broad daylight, so he flattened the paper and proceeded to read what the murder, if there had been one, was all about, and became interested at once, as he read: lawrence van revel, wealthy planter and banker, slain! found dead in bed at his plantation residence by a servant shortly after midnight! police report that he had been shot to death in bed. colored housekeeper also murdered by the same killer, no doubt, whom the police believe to be a depraved negro, bent on robbery, but who was frightened away before he was able to steal anything of value! a motorcycle patrolman dragnet has been spread over the whole county! le baron lowered the paper and paused thoughtfully. then, turning his eyes back to the article, he read on: police report that killer escaped, perhaps into the hills to the east of memphis. a group of farmers are reported organizing a posse to surround and go into the hills where the negro is presumed to be in hiding. armed with rifles and shotguns, it is feared that the negro will be shot on sight, or lynched if he is captured before the sheriff or his deputies can reach him to prevent it! le baron adjusted his head on the pillow, laid the paper down and did some more thinking. he was free now to continue his search for cleo johnson, which had been, as we know, interrupted, the story of dorothy stanfield neglected and delayed for two days as a result of meeting dorothy stanfield in the gas station, and the circumstances that followed the meeting after some further thought, he decided to drive out to bob martin's in the meantime, and if martin was not overly busy to take bob with him and drive out to the scene of the murder. so deciding, he called martin and was not surprised on getting him, to be told that he had read all about it also and was curious to know more. he insisted, however, on driving down to the hotel in his car and picking le baron up there and then driving out to the plantation, which bob seemed to know about as well as ex- actly where it was that the banker had been murdered, as well as the woman referred to, to try to get to the bottom of it. "there's something funny about the whole thing," said bob. “i don't mean the murder of van revel, whom i have seen often, but about the woman. i don't think the papers have printed the whole truth-or at least, haven't given all the details in connection with her death.” “you don't think so, bob?” "i am almost certain they have not. the report regarding her murder, if you've thought about it, is rather vague and indefinite. furthermore, they did not print her name. if we may be per- mitted to view her body, or if i can learn her name, even, which of course we will be able to find out very shortly, i bet i'll be able to put two and two together and it will add up to more than what is before me in this paper." “i've had the same feeling," said le baron, “but wanted to get your reaction before telling you how i felt about it.” "well, get ready, better steal a bite of breakfast before i get there, as i am having some coffee and doughnuts before i leave, and i'll pick you up in half an hour." "okay, bob. i'll be ready and waiting when you arrive." both men hung up and a half hour later le baron, sitting on the porch of the hotel, saw bob coming before he got there and went out and met him, got into the car and they drove away. the story of dorothy stanfield on the way to van revel's plantation, le baron turned to bob, and picked up where they had left off in their conversation over the telephone. "have you an opinion as to why he killed the housekeeper, too, bob?" "if they'd only gave her name, i think i could have laid a finger on just why, but until i learn who she was i can only conjecture.” "i guess we might as well wait until we get there and find out more about the whole murder. meanwhile, i wonder who the negro is that did the killing. the paper didn't give any descrip- tion, so i guess we'll have to wait until we get there before we can find out more about that, too.” “van revel was one of the richest men in memphis,” bob finally said as they neared the plantation. “in addition to owning and operating several plantations, the most of which he acquired by foreclosure, he was also president, or chairman of the board, perhaps, of one of the biggest banks in memphis, and of all the south.” by this time they were in sight of the magnificent plantation house which was perched on a hill, surrounded by stately old oaks on a forty-acre lawn, well kept and beautiful, with the mansion, with mighty pillars, rising high up, clear across the front, reposing about a quarter of a mile from the highway which it overlooked. they were stopped near the entrance by a state policeman and told that no visitors were permitted, except newspaper men and policemen. they asked the name of the woman who was murdered, but the officer said he hadn't heard. bob backed his car up, turned around and started back to town. the officer did tell him that the bodies had been removed, however, and gave the name of the undertaker where van revel's body had been taken, but didn't know which negro undertaker got the body of the woman. "i'll soon find out where it is,” bob said, as they started back down the highway toward memphis, "for i'll drive around to all the story of dorothy stanfield the big ones immediately we get back. it'll probably be at the dixie funeral house, because that is owned by one of the big white associations uptown, two of which control all the white under- taking business in town. so they would naturally send her body to one of the negro establishments owned by them.” "naturally,” said le baron. they had gone about half a mile when they met an old colored man who looked like a farm hand and they stopped him and asked him a few questions. “hello, uncle,” bob said. "howdy, gene'men's,” he replied, cordially, and seemed glad to stop and appeared desirous of exchanging words. "how is bo'f of you all tuday?" “we're very well, uncle. hope your health is good.” “ah'm jes' tolable, suh. yes suh, jes' tolable." “that's good, uncle. glad to hear it,” said bob. "do you -happen to work somewhere hereabout?” “yassuh. ah wo’ks at de van revel plantation." “is that so?” le baron said, and was immediately all interest. “yassuh,” the old negro went on, "i's been workin' dare a long time." "that's interesting, uncle," bob said, then turned to le baron, who nudged him. "then you were, perhaps, well acquainted with the-murdered man?” “yassuh,” he replied promptly. “well, well,” bob said and looked at le baron. “knowed his pappy befo' him, and his pappy's pappy befo' him. ah wo’ked fo' dem, too." "indeed! that's very interesting, uncle," bob said, smiling on the old man. le baron's face was serious and he was thinking deeply. raising his head presently, he inquired: "did van revel have a family, uncle?” “sure did. seven children, and a wife." 'a real family." the story of dorothy Śtanfield of the best negro sections in memphis. the house sat behind a lawn, about forty feet from the sidewalk, had all the appearance, from the outside, of being well kept, and was perhaps well furnished on the inside. the lawn seemed to have been mowed only a day or two before. to one side, in the rear, there was a small but attractive garage, with a paved runway from the street to it. the runway gave the appearance of having been used, possibly re- cently. to avoid attracting any attention, in view of what had just happened the night before, they drove on by the house, surveying all that has been described above carefully as they rolled slowly by, and stopped in front of the house next door and parked the car. they got out, stepped upon the sidewalk and stood there, studying the bungalow at that distance and talking about the place. presently, they heard a door open, and turned to see a man come out of the house in front of which they were standing. bob smiled after a moment as if in recognition, but not before the man paused at the edge of the porch and called: "hey, bob! what are you doing out here? turned detective?” “oh, hello ransom,” bob cried, raising his hand and waving at the other.” “come upon the porch, set down and rest yourself, you old rascal," ransom called back jovially. bob took le baron by the arm, and led him up the walkway to ransom's porch, where ransom shook hands with him, both smiling, and then introduced le baron. after they were comfort. ably seated, bob turned to ransom and began to talk. we can surmise about what. “so somebody killed your beautiful neighbor, ransom?" "shot the hell out of her, along with van revel. such a tragedy! it shocked the whole neighborhood.” “that's too bad-to have to go out like that—all of a sudden. too bad,” bob repeated and shook his head deploringly. “yes and no,” ransom observed casually, whereupon both men turned to look at him. the story of dorothy stanfield negro woman; the most beautiful of negro women." "now about the man suspected of killing her and van revel, too,” observed le baron, guardedly. "that was a sort of counterplot,” said ransom and smiled as if it amused him. “what kind of a counterplot?” inquired le baron, listening to every word ransom spoke, carefully, and unnoticed by ransom. watching him closely. "that she was playing both ends against the middle.” “you incline to talk in riddles, ransom," said bob with a bit of a frown, due to his anxiety to learn something about the woman's murderer quicker. “make it plainer, please.” "well, she was van revel's concubine and had been for years, for one thing." "which is an old, old story—as old as the south itself,” said bob with a shrug of his shoulders. "of course," admitted ransom. “rich white men, beautiful colored women." "but getting back to the killer, or the man suspected of killing her, and van revel, of course. it is charged that he was a negro. what do you know, if anything, about him?”. it was ransom who shrugged his shoulders this time, and went on to draw his answer out, the men thought, unnecessarily. "i have little respect for colored women who take a white man's money and permit him to keep them. they know from the beginning that no white man dares marry themthey don't expect the white man to do so, so i'd like to kick every one of them straight down to hell! that's what i think of them.” “but we haven't asked you what you thought of such women, ransom. we asked if you knew anything about the negro who is charged with killing the woman we are talking about." "i understand what you are talking about, exactly what you are talking about, but if you want to find out what i can tell you, propose to tell it in the way it pleases me to do so.” “go ahead and tell it in your own way, mr. ransom,” said le the story of dorothy stanfield baron and waved his hand toward bob martin to keep quiet. “knowing that her white man has no thought of marrying her, the colored 'kept woman' usually finds and proceeds to go with some negro on the side, and gives bim the most of her 'love,' and often the money the white man gives her." “usually some pimp," snorted bob, with contempt. "most times,” said ransom. “had she been going with some negro on the side?" inquired le baron, pointedly. “oh, sure!” exclaimed ransom. “you'd hardly expect a good- looking bitch like her, not to have at least one darky on the side. before this last negro came along, there were five or sis spooks running after her.” "getting more interesting," observed le baron, crossing his legs and relaxing to listen to a long preamble by ransom. "in regards to this 'last' negro you just referred to, ransom,” said bob. "was he a pimp, too?" ransom shook his head. "i don't think so," replied ransom, and again shook his head. “then what?" "didn't know so much about him," said ransom. "now, mr. ransom, this man that you are referring to, is he the one, in your opinion, that did the killing?" "i feel sure that he did.” “now, this is getting closer to what we want to know," said le baron. "what we're trying to find out." "if he wasn't a pimp, then what was he; what did he do?” bob asked, and waited for ransom to reply, ansiously. le baren was more anxious. "i was told that he was a gambler, and a pool shark.” both le baron and bob started, almost recoiled in a new es- citement, and looked at each other, then turned their eyes back to ransom, who was talking again. "they say the nigger (we called him scarface, due to an ugly scar on the left side of his face) was the greatest pool expert that the story of dorothy stanfield sending some dirty nigger around here, asking me questions and trying to find out about her and what she was doing, understand?" “ah, i understand now!” cried bob, shaking his head, then looking across at le baron, cried: “understand what he means, walter?" "oh, surely. he's talking about stool pigeons." "exactly," said bob. “dirty bastards, stool pigeoning for a white man, keeping one of their own women!” ransom became angry as he recalled it. "i swore to kill the next sonofabitch that came here trying to find out something. and that's why i acted as i did. i'm sorry of course, but just a few moments longer at the way you were going, and i'd have rushed into the house, got my shotgun and blown hell out of you." le baron and bob laughed uproariously, in which ransom, still laboring from the excitement he had been under, was forced to join them. "well, men, i'm glad everything is cleared up and that mr. le baron is a real detective and a high class man. now may we go on from here? i assure you i'm not liable to go off half-cocked any more.” "that's all right, mr. ransom, and you expressed both mar- tin's and my sentiments. i wouldn't have blamed you at all for w what you wanted to do. please go on with your story." "let me have the photograph again. i want to study it,” said ransom. le baron obliged him. "the same negro. where did you get the photographs any- how? in new york? from the police department?” le baron shook his head. "no, and it is somewhat fortunate that i did not. if they'd had his picture, i might not have been put on the case and been running into all the excitement you are giving me by what you are saying. as to the photograph, i got it in jacksonville, florida." "from away down there? how come?" the story of dorothy stanfield le baron related how. “come to think of it, you've got the inside on the memphis police. some negro out there, according to the papers, spotted this guy, but only, perhaps from a distance and didn't evidently see this scar on his face, else the papers would have said something about it. of course, if he's hidden back in those hills as the papers say, they've got to find him by and by and when they do" "_but he is not hid away in any hills, ransom,” said le baron, and ransom turned to look at him in surprise. "my guess is that this man is on his way north somewhere right now, but let's get back to where we were. you were looking at the photograph and saying something. well, what?" this from walter le baron. "looks like some negro took a slash at his throat with a switch blade or a razor," ransom said, studying the photograph again. "it might have been a woman," suggested le baron. "i wouldn't, of course, know.” "of course not, of course not,” said ransom, hastily. "but they no doubt missed the jugular, which they were slash- ing at." “they didn't understand anything about any jugular, only knew that they were making for his throat and just missed killing him perhaps, that's all,” laughed bob. "otherwise he wouldn't have been here to kill van revel and this woman,” le baron added with a grimace. “just about when did he start going with this lizzie, as they called her?” bob asked. "oh, about a month ago, more or less," ransom replied. le baron did some calculating. the length of time corresponded with his other notes on johnson's movements. "did you get acquainted with him during the time he was coming to see her?” bob interjected at this point. "oh, yes. she introduced him to me. i noticed that cut on his face then and said to myself that 'here's a bad nigger and some spook took a swipe at him and left his sign.'” all three the story of dorothy stanfield laughed at him. “and you saw him over there only a few hours before van revel drove by and picked her up? where was johnson, which was his real name, if you didn't happen to know, at that time?" "he had gone downtown, but you refer to him as johnson. that was not the name he was called when she introduced him to me.” "no?” "oh, no. she called him 'elliott, mr. elliott, and called him by that name when she introduced him to me." "an alias, no doubt,” bob suggested, looking at le baron, who nodded. "of which he no doubt had plenty," said le baron and mo- tioned ransom to go on. "did he seem to have money, mr. ransom?” bob asked at this point. “oh, plenty! wore the best clothes, diamonds everywhere.” “big shot,” smiled bob, amused. "he killed a man and robbed him of fifteen thousand dollars before he left new york, where i took up his trail,” said le baron, his face serious. ransom looked up with renewed interest. “and you have trailed him right up to memphis?? “right into memphis, mr. ransom, but i'm afraid he's gotten away. i'll probably have to pick it up again, this time out of memphis.” "and you don't think he's hid away in the hills, as the paper said?” "this killer was too shrewd to go into any hills for the white people to look for and run him down, and, perhaps lynch him. he's gone north is my guess, but there's a lot more i want to find out before i go fishing for his new trail.” “you don't think that he might head south again?" suggested bob. "no killer would ever head south, a negro killer especially," said le baron, shaking his head. "nor east or west. he's headed the story of dorothy stanfield "all of which makes what happened a very logical thing." "exactly!” exclaimed ransom. "now, returning to the murder, what is your opinion as re- gards it?” ransom started, looked across at the house next door, then turning back to the men, went on to explain something which seemed to have just occurred to him. "there's a girl over there," he said, pointing to the house next door. "she's lizzie o'neal's niece. she stays with her aunt and came there this afternoon. she's frightened and in hiding. she doesn't want to be taken downtown, perhaps locked up and have a lot of cracker police questioning her. she asked me not to tell anybody she was there, but she has a room there and knows more about this thing than anybody else. i'll tell you all i know, but she was in the house when the shooting took place, said she heard it and the row that preceded it, so you can get the whole lowdown from her. but just leave her be until i've told you what i know up to the time.” “very well. now we go back to this lizzie and elliott, whom you say had dinner together before van revel came along and picked her up." "they did. i could see them at the table in the dining room which is the big room right across the fence," and ransom pointed to a room. bob and le baron looked and could see the dining room table and a sideboard and china closet through the window. "right after they finished their dinner, elliott helped her clear the table and wash the dishes, for i could see them in the kitchen which is behind the dining room. this through, elliott came out of the house, got into the car and drove away. about a half hour later i heard a car drive up and stop and on going to the window and looking out, i saw van revel get out of the car and, crossing the yard, enter the house. about a half hour later he came out followed by lizzie. they got into the car and drove away.” "did she have on her mink coat?” "no," replied ransom. "i particularly noticed that she did the story of dorothy stanfield not. i couldn't see at this distance, of course, if she was wearing her diamonds, but doubt if she was. i don't think she let van revel see her wearing any of the clothes and diamonds elliott gave her. he may have not known about the car, being a rich and busy man, but some of his stool pigeons, however, might have told him, though i wouldn't know that. now that is all that i know until later, except to advise that elliott returned around midnight, for he drove up in the car after i had gone to bed. but was not asleep and had my light burning. "the fact is that, after going into the house and not finding lizzie home, and on looking over here and seeing my lights still on, he came over and asked me about her.” "what did you tell him," asked le baron. "it was no concern of mine, and i told him the truth; that she had gone away with van revel. it seemed to anger him, for he frowned, but thanked me and went on back to the house, turned the lights out, locked the door, went out, got into the car and drove away. now if you want to,” said ransom, “i suggest that you let me go over and get the girl, bring her over here, but we will go in the house first-in fact, i'll let you in before i go for her, and i'll bring her back. she told me a plenty, so i'd like you to hear the story from her own lips. she trusts me, so won't be afraid, perhaps to tell you what happened, especially if i tell her that you're all right.” "fine, ransom," cried le baron, rising. all stood then and bob said: “we'll be nice to the kid, so assure her about that.” "sure," cried ransom, and led them inside and seated them. he left then and they saw him cross to the other side, go around to the back, and a few minutes later saw him come down the back steps, followed by the girl. bob went back to the rear and opened the door, since he could see ransom was going to enter from the rear. a few moments later all three came into the parlor from the the story of dorothy stanfield heard her crack the door. he turned now and sat up, his eyes on the door. she closed it quickly. "lizzie!” he called, loudly. “is that you?" outside, lizzie laid a hand on her lips and raised her finger for silence. elliott had grown angrier. he refused to be quiet any longer. he shoved lizzie aside so hard that she fell to the floor and van revel, on hearing her, jumped out of bed, after crying: "what the hell's going on around here?”. he was wearing a nightgown, and in it he strode across to the door, arriving there just as elliott pushed it open and started in, to meet van revel face to face. van revel paused, his eyes flashed, his mouth flew open, but he was so shocked at the sight of the angry elliott that he stopped dead still, unable for a moment to speak. elliott glared at him. “what the hell?” van revel finally managed to say, then looked past elliott to where lizzie was rising from the floor. his mouth still open in shocked surprise, he turned his eyes back to elliott, and found his voice again. “lizzie! what does this mean? this damned nigger here?” “oh, mr. van revell” lizzie cried and started toward him. elliott with one quick blow, a sort of uppercut, floored her again, and she tumbled backward to the floor, kicking up her heels, with her nightie, all that she had on, flying up around her shoulders, exposing her entire body to her teaties. but neither man noticed it, they were so intent on glaring at each other. “why, you goddamned black, scarfaced nigger, ” van revel began and started toward elliott, who with a well directed blow, cracked him, squarely on the button, and backward and down went van revel, kicking up his heels and exposing all he had also, as he tumbled. for a moment he was stunned and lay there, breath- ing hard. meanwhile, lizzie had got up and now on her feet, dashed past elliott who caught at her but not well enough to hold her as she dashed past him and fell on her knees beside van revel, crying: the story of dorothy stanfield what, and his courage had returned. he had been frightened, but with lizzie saying what she did, his nerve had also returned. “well, you cheap nigger, hasn't she said enough? enough for you to turn around and leave here before i get a gun and shoot the (word used censored by the author) out of you?” "naw, i'm not through,” declared elliott, calmly. "i'm not through with either of you. i'm just restraining myself until you and her get through talking, so go on and talk, you old bastard—” " why you sassy nigger!” cried van revel, cutting off elliott's speech and making a move toward him. lizzie held him back, but cried: "not now, mr. van revel! wait until the scarfaced sonofa- bitch gets through running off at the mouth, then take care of him, and i'll help you." “go on, both of you bastards—". “_ don't call us bastards! remember, you're talking to a white man, a rich white man, and i'm his sweety!” and she turned to embrace van revel again but desisted and turned quickly to- ward elliott as she heard his voice, sharp and quick! "stop it, you dirty whore!” "well, i never!” cried lizzie, then turned to van revel. “get your gun, mr. van revel and shoot this nigger-shoot him quick and let's be rid of him!” van revel, flaming with anger, started to turn, but elliott's voice, sharp and keen and sizzling with anger, halted his move. he turned to face the enraged elliott again: “listen, you two! a white man and his dirty nigger wench!” “why!” “shut up, slut!” cried elliott, whose tone and expression by now were sufficiently threatening to begin to awe the others. "neither one of you are going to leave this room alive, get what i mean?" the others started, and their mouths opened wide. “i'm letting you live a while longer, only to listen to you talk; to learn more about your treachery." the story of dorothy stanfield heard her crack the door. he turned now and sat up, his eyes on the door. she closed it quickly. "lizzie!” he called, loudly. “is that you?”. outside, lizzie laid a hand on her lips and raised her finger for silence. elliott had grown angrier. he refused to be quiet any longer. he shoved lizzie aside so hard that she fell to the floor and van revel, on hearing her, jumped out of bed, after crying: “what the hell's going on around here?”. he was wearing a nightgown, and in it he strode across to the door, arriving there just as elliott pushed it open and started in, to meet van revel face to face. van revel paused, his eyes flashed, his mouth flew open, but he was so shocked at the sight of the angry elliott that he stopped dead still, unable for a moment to speak. elliott glared at him. “what the hell?” van revel finally managed to say, then looked past elliott to where lizzie was rising from the floor. his mouth still open in shocked surprise, he turned his eyes back to elliott, and found his voice again. “lizzie! what does this mean? this damned nigger here?” “oh, mr. van revel!” lizzie cried and started toward him. elliott with one quick blow, a sort of uppercut, floored her again, and she tumbled backward to the floor, kicking up her heels, with her nightie, all that she had on, flying up around her shoulders, exposing her entire body to her teaties. but neither man noticed it, they were so intent on glaring at each other. “why, you goddamned black, scarfaced nigger, ” van revel began and started toward elliott, who with a well directed blow, cracked him, squarely on the button, and backward and down went van revel, kicking up his heels and exposing all he had also, as he tumbled. for a moment he was stunned and lay there, breath- ing hard. meanwhile, lizzie had got up and now on her feet, dashed past elliott who caught at her but not well enough to hold her as she dashed past him and fell on her knees beside van revel, crying: the story of dorothy stanfield "shut up!” declared johnson, his anger about out of control. "i don't want to hear any more! i've made up my mind!” and johnson gripped the handle of his revolver in his hip pocket. lizzie leaned close to van revel's ear and whispered, "get your gun and shoot him! it's under the pillow. i put it there. he hasn't any gun. he's just bluffing.” van revel, excited by now beyond control and his face flaming with anger, nodded, and cleo, standing facing them smiled enigma- tically. while lizzie didn't think it, cleo had overheard every word distinctly, and waited prepared to fire the first shot. he was watching both, and especially van revel as he turned, and made a step toward the bed. lizzie stood smiling at cleo con- lemptibly, a distinct sheer on her face. johnson was watching van revel and let him get to the bed and even reach his hand under the pillow when he cried, loudly and sharply: "stop, van revel! don't move a single nerve, for i have you covered!” van revel started, and turned to look into the muzzle of a . automatic pointed straight at him, menacingly. lizzie started and opened her mouth wide in surprise. then her eyes narrowed and she relaxed, became taut, preparatory to making a dash for johnson and grabbing his trigger hand. but johnson sensed what she was planning. “no you don't, bitch! instead, just go around the bed, on this side,” and he pointed out the direction. "i_” "shut up and do what i say—and get doing it quick! mean- while, i'm watching you van revel, and if you try to get that gun beneath the pillow, i'll let you have it so quick that you won't know what struck you." lizzie went meekly around the bed and paused about halfway to look back at him. “keep going, and get in the bed on the side that you were when i knocked on the door at the beginning." “but, henry, darling,” she began, whimperingly. the sight of the story of dorothy stanfield. cleo, actually holding a desperate-looking pistol on them, had changed her completely. she realized, perhaps too late, that she had gone too far. • “now get into bed, both of you, just like you were awhile ago.” they hesitated, but when he shook the gun at them menac- ingly, they obeyed quickly, albeit embarassedly. "lay down in the bed, pull the covers up as you would nor- mally." they obeyed, both watching him the while. “put your arm around her neck, van revel, like you would your wife if you loved her, or better still, as you did when you got into the bed awhile ago! i want you to go out of the world like you've been living in it, loving and passionately fond of each other, a white man and a treacherous, lying and deceitful nigger wench!" “what do you mean, henry?" lizzie dared to say, and then shut quickly up. "shut up, bitch! i'm doing the talking, and it's too bad for you. you might have avoided this had you not been so 'sassy,' as he put it.” “what do you mean, henry, dear?" again cleo laughed, and again that hollow, cold and derisive laugh. “ 'henry, dear,'” he repeated, mockingly. “gee, playing around for years with a rich guy like van revel there, must have made a bitch like you nervy! well, i'll get on with what i started to say.” “what was that?” from lizzie. “when i came, i of course knew what you were doing out here; but i was going to try to forget it; to tell you to go to the bathroom and wash your dirty (word used censored by the author) then i was going to drive you home, beat hell out of you and take you away, away tonight, on north toward chicago and try to be good to you. you're certainly one pretty wench, as he chooses to call you,” and he pointed to van revel, lying there, too the story of dorothy Štanfield frightened to move or do anything. "and it's too bad you've got to go out like this. there's a lot of excitement in that body of yours yet for some more white men--and fool negroes like me!” he said the last words fast and sharp, and his jaw snapped—then he suddenly started to cough, and took his eyes off them for a moment-- just long enough for lizzie to sit up, reach down, get a slipper and hurl it at him, striking him full in the face. “quick, mr. van revel, get your gun!" van revel sat up quickly, started for it, while lizzie reaching beneath the bed got her other slipper, hurled it at cleo, but missed! cleo had ducked, and now van revel had his revolver, but was so nervous and frightened that his aim was bad; he pulled the trigger- but the bullet went wild and missed! the next moment cleo had managed to stand up straight, and with perfect aim, straight at van revel, pulled the trigger of his automatic twice, the sound reverberating through the big house loudly. lizzie screamed, which woke the servants in the outside quarters, and then cleo turned the gun on her, as van revel sank back dying, with the blood spurting from his mouth and nose and ears! seeming angrier than before, his eyes standing out like sharp blue diamonds, johnson aimed the gun straight at lizzie and pulled the trigger three times! lizzie, with a final gasp, sank back upon the pillow, dead! johnson looked around quickly, backed up, turned and looked around him and listened. he could hear frightened negroes down- stairs and out in the yard around the house. he turned, found the backstairs which he had come up a few minutes before, and fled. we now return to helen, lizzie's niece, with bob, le baron and ransom, listening excitedly to her narration of how cleo johnson killed her aunt and lawrence van revel at the plantation house the night before. “i heard mr. elliott open the back door and then heard it slammed. a moment later i heard the car he drove up in, start, and on icoking out the window. saw it dash out into the drive way the story of dorothy stanfield and disappear toward the highway, and then i didn't hear any more," said helen, so excited she had to pause and look around at the men vaguely. “now, now, that's quite enough, helen,' said ransom kindly, in which bob and le baron concurred. “but shouldn't i tell you what happened after mr. elliott left?” helen said, looking from first one to the other. the men exchanged expressions. “what do you think, mr. le baron?” ransom asked, looking at walter, who in turn looked at helen. "do you feel like telling the rest of it, helen?" "i think i ought to." “we were afraid that the ordeal you went through and just told us of overhearing, might have exhausted you. if you feel all right, however, you may proceed.” "i feel all right now.” "then you may go on if you like, dear,” said le baron and smiled at her. she returned the smile and continued: "a few minutes after mr. elliott fled, the house was swarming with servants and field hands, all peeping into the room where mr. van revel and aunt lizzie lay in a puddle of blood. oh, it was an awful sight!” and helen paused to shut out the sight which she had just visualized. ransom advanced and laid a hand on her shoulder. "oh, my poor auntie! her face was so covered with blood that i didn't recognize her. while i was looking at her, somebody laid a sheet over the faces of both. then somebody said: 'why don't someone call the police?' nobody said anything, but they all turned and looked at me. i knew where the phone was. it was downstairs but there was a connecting phone on a table be- side the bed, next to where mr. van revel lay. i didn't want to use it, and, knowing where the main phone was downstairs, i said: 'i'll call them, and i went downstairs. i picked up the receiver and when the operator answered i told her that there had been a murder at mr. van revel's plantation; that mr. van revel and tee stoki of drotex stanfeld my auntie had been killed. she asked me to hold the telephone and that she would call me back jew moments later a man called and asked me what happened. i told him. he said not to tonda fine bodies, and to wait right there. "abort a half hom izter several motorcycle poñcemen rode up and crowded into the house and ordered in all into the parlor. they didn't see me, so i went back upstairs and md in my room. i listened closely and oorld hear everything that went on "about an hour later, men drove up and said they were from the press, and at almost the same time, other men drove up and said they were from the coroder's oboe, and had the coroner with them. it was all exciting and it weet on von der light and then most of them went away and i slipped out the back way and went down to the highway and caught a bus for memphis. * "did they question the servants and the others who were gath- ered in the parlor. helen?" inquired le baron calmly. "oh yes, sir! they questioned almost everybody but me. is i told you, they didn't know where i ras because i was hid.” "how did the colored help reply?" "well, most of them had not seen anything, for they had all come up after mr. elliott left. . some said they saw a man run away, and that they thought it was a strange colored man." "nobody, however, described the man who actually did it?" "i don't think any of them saw his face. i was nearer it than anybody else, and i only caught a glimpse of him when he came up the stairs before it all started.” “very well, helen, we thank you. meanwhile, just remain here while we go in another room and decide what to do." le baron rose and the others followed. he beckoned them to follow him into an adjoining room. "now ransom, we've got all the information we need. all that needs be done now is just to keep quiet about everything don't talk, and to keep the sweet little child from having to answer possibly a lot of questions from policemen and newspaper men, who'll show up sooner or later, why not keep her here with the story of dorothy stanfield was over by the window looking down at the house next door, and since he insisted on carrying on so, i got up in my pajamas and walked over by the window and lookied out. as i did so, this man got out of the car which he had parked in the driveway and crossing, went into the house by the back way. i saw the lights go on and stood there and watched the house until he came out, turning off the lights before doing so. when he came out, he had her fur coat and other matter, including her diamonds, which i will explain about later. anyway, he had the fur coat and other matter, including a suitcase and bag. he came out of the house, locked the door behind him, crossed back to the car, got in and backed out of the driveway. he turned and went up the street which was the last i saw of him." "and that was all?". “about him, but this morning, about : , her sister came running over here and knocked on the door excitedly. after letting her in, she told me that somebody had gotten into the house, stolen her sister's fur coat and took her car; had also taken several dresses and her sister's diamonds, which were locked in a case, but that they had taken the case and all. while we were standing and she was telling me about it, a boy came along the street crying 'extra.' i stopped him and bought a paper-and there in big head- lines, was an account of the murder and the death of her sister. she was overcome, but i comforted her the best i could and finally managed to get her back over there, and just as i was about to leave, little helen came in, frightened out of her wits, and told us all about it." "well, that is that,” said le baron and rose to his feet. the others followed and they walked to the edge of the porch where they paused again. le baron turned back to ransom with another iriquiry. "if he went that way, it looks like he must have been headed for the big bridge across the mississippi, don't you think?". “that street leads you almost straight to it,” acknowledged pansom, and bob confirmed it. the story of dorothy stanfield and disappear toward the highway, and then i didn't hear any more,” said helen, so excited she had to pause and look around at the men vaguely. "now, now, that's quite enough, helen," said ransom kindly, in which bob and le baron concurred. “but shouldn't i tell you what happened after mr. elliott left?” helen said, looking from first one to the other. the men exchanged expressions. "what do you think, mr. le baron?” ransom asked, looking at walter, who in turn looked at helen. "do you feel like telling the rest of it, helen?” "i think i ought to." "we were afraid that the ordeal you went through and just told us of overhearing, might have exhausted you. if you feel all right, however, you may proceed.” "i feel all right now.” "then you may go on if you like, dear,” said le baron and smiled at her. she returned the smile and continued: "a few minutes after mr. elliott fled, the house was swarming with servants and field hands, all peeping into the room where mr. van revel and aunt lizzie lay in a puddle of blood. oh, it was an awful sight!” and helen paused to shut out the sight which she had just visualized. ransom advanced and laid a hand on her shoulder. "oh, my poor auntie! her face was so covered with blood that i didn't recognize her. while i was looking at her, somebody laid a sheet over the faces of both. then somebody said: 'why don't someone call the police?' nobody said anything, but they all turned and looked at me. i knew where the phone was. it was downstairs but there was a connecting phone on a table be- side the bed, next to where mr. van revel lay. i didn't want to use it, and, knowing where the main phone was downstairs, i said: 'i'll call them, and i went downstairs. i picked up the receiver and when the operator answered i told her that there had been a murder at mr. van revel's plantation; that mr. van revel and chapter chapter xxv fter bob martin dropped walter le baron at the dolphin hotel and drove on to his home or south park- way, le baron went into a huddle with himself. accord- ing to his calculations, if cleo johnson headed north toward st. louis and chicago, and crossed over into arkansas to do so, which is the most popular auto bridge route north out of memphis, then he would have crossed the big bridge between three a. m. and five a. m. that morning. the first thing to check on then would be to find out what time the collectors of tolls at the bridge's entrance, which was on the tennessee side, changed watches. he got into his car forthwith then, and drove out to the bridge, got out and went up to the toll station where he was told that there were three shifts; and that the man who came on at midnight would be relieved at eight the following morning. returning to the hotel he purchased an evening paper, which also carried a headline account of van revel's murder, and that of lizzie o'neal, but in keeping with what had already appeared in the morning paper, did not refer to her as van revel's concu- bine, nor say that she had been found in bed with van revel when the bodies were discovered. they did not even indicate in any way that van revel was intimate with the woman. much space was devoted to the group of farmers who had organized a posse and were scouring the hills in search of the killer, all of which caused walter le baron to smile. it was with quiet satisfaction that le baron saw no account or description of the murderer, further than to say that it was a the story of dorothy stanfield negro. so walter le baron sighed with his quiet satisfaction and decided that since no one reported seeing johnson, and there being no description given of the killer in either of the memphis papers, he could inquire anywhere regarding johnson without arousing sus- picion. thereupon he decided to return to the toll station at the big bridge shortly after midnight and find out if johnson had crossed as he felt he had. while johnson would have more than a twenty-four hour start, since le baron did not plan to leave memphis until the following morning or even later, he knew that he was at last on the heels of his man and could hope to catch up with him somewhere, in st. louis or chicago, though most likely in chicago proper where johnson would probably remain after he arrived for an indefinite period. that over, his plans laid, the balance of the afternoon and evening were open, free and clear--and then he thought of dor- othy and sighed happily! promptly, therefore, he got in touch with her by telephone. "hello, darling,” he said, after hearing her voice from the other cnd. "hello," she called back, and seemed happy and excited on hearing his voice. "oh, walter, where have you been all day? i've been so anxious regarding you—and your safety.” “most busy, sweetheart. so busy that i couldn't even pause long enough to call you.” . "i thought that it was, perhaps, something like that, but i did expect a call from you," she said, poutingly. “i stayed in the house all day, waiting for and looking for a call from you.” “that's a darling, dorothy, dear, and i'm sorry that i didn't pause and divert from what i was doing long enough to call you. please accept an apology now, dear.” "no apology is necessary, walter. duty is first and i can imagine how important time has been for you today. you gave up your work to-entertain me a whole day longer than you should have, so i am satisfied regarding that. i just missed you all day, and of course, i was longing to see you—and incidentally, anxious the story of dorothy stanfield was over by the window looking down at the house next door, and since he insisted on carrying on so, i got up in my pajamas and walked over by the window and lookied out. as i did so, this man got out of the car which he had parked in the driveway and crossing, went into the house by the back way. i saw the lights go on and stood there and watched the house until he came out, turning off the lights before doing so. when he came out, he had her fur coat and other matter, including her diamonds. which i will explain about later. anyway, he had the fur coat and other matter, including a suitcase and bag. he came out of the house, locked the door behind him, crossed back to the car, got in and backed out of the driveway. he turned and went up the street which was the last i saw of him.” "and that was all?” "about him, but this morning, about : , her sister came running over here and knocked on the door excitedly. after letting her in, she told me that somebody had gotten into the house, stolen her sister's fur coat and took her car; had also taken several dresses and her sister's diamonds, which were locked in a case, but that they had taken the case and all. while we were standing and she was telling me about it, a boy came along the street crying 'extra.' i stopped him and bought a paper-and there in big head- lines, was an account of the murder and the death of her sister. she was overcome, but i comforted her the best i could and finally managed to get her back over there, and just as i was about to leave, little helen came in, frightened out of her wits, and told us all about it.” "well, that is that,” said le baron and rose to his feet. the others followed and they walked to the edge of the porch where they paused again. le baron turned back to ransom with another ir:quiry. "if he went that way, it looks like he must have been headed for the big bridge across the mississippi, don't you think?”. "that street leads you almost straight to it," acknowledged pansom, and bob confirmed it. chapter chapter xxv fter bob martin dropped walter le baron at the dolphin hotel and drove on to his home on south park- · way, le baron went into a huddle with himself. accord- ing to his calculations, if cleo johnson headed north toward st. louis and chicago, and crossed over into arkansas to do so, which is the most popular auto bridge route north out of memphis, then he would have crossed the big bridge between three a. m. and five a. m. that morning. the first thing to check on then would be to find out what time the collectors of tolls at the bridge's entrance, which was on the tennessee side, changed watches. he got into his car forthwith then, and drove out to the bridge, got out and went up to the toll station where he was told that there were three shifts; and that the man who came on at midnight would be relieved at eight the following morning. returning to the hotel he purchased an evening paper, which also carried a headline account of van revel's murder, and that of lizzie o'neal, but in keeping with what had already appeared in the morning paper, did not refer to her as van revel's concu- bine, nor say that she had been found in bed with van revel when the bodies were discovered. they did not even indicate in any way that van revel was intimate with the woman. much space was devoted to the group of farmers who had organized a posse and were scouring the hills in search of the killer, all of which caused walter le baron to smile. it was with quiet satisfaction that le baron saw no account or description of the murderer, further than to say that it was a on the story of dorothy stanfield “where, walter?". “yes, dear. you see, he was wanted for the murder of isadore zacarrio before he left new york, where a fifteen thousand dollar reward has been offered also for his capture and delivery. a con- viction of course will be forthcoming. since i left new york with plans to capture him and take him back there, and since he mur- dered and robbed zacarrio before he killed van revel and lizzie o'neal, i would rather, if fortunate enough to catch him, return him to new york than to bring him back here." "so?" “well, i just feel that new york is entitled to him before mem- phis, that is all. if they had gotten a picture of him here, or had secured one in new york, with all that scar on his left cheek, he would have been picked up long ago.” "i'll bet,” said dorothy. “but with his picture and a complete description of him, i almost feel that i know johr-on, so you can appreciate how anxious i am to pick his trail up and run him to earth just as quickly as possible, after which i could return to memphis, marry the love- liest girl in all the world and get ready for a life of happiness," so saying, he caught and squeezed both hands, which squeeze she returned as warmly. he leaned forward now, and they exchanged a kiss across the table. “not afraid of me like you were last night?” “oh, darling, no,” she cried as the blood flushed to her cheeks. "i wasn't exactly afraid of you then.” “no?" “i was afraid of myself. i was afraid to admit-even to my- self, that it was possible to meet a man and fall so madly in love with him, as i had with you, all in one day.” “and yet you had. you had because i had also fallen so madly in love with you." “love is strangely mutual, and that's what makes it so sweet," and she smiled up at him happily, and squeezed his hands again and again. he leaned across the table, and they exchanged an- the story of dorothy stanfield he waited and she paused and continued to look up into his face with a greater trust, it seemed, even, than she had before. he knew and she also knew, that she was only playing when she an- swered, but both were enjoying the play. “how much do you love me, walter?”. he gazed into her eyes, which twinkled, but pleased him, and she seemed to belong to him more than before, as he did so. “i could just about eat you, darling, if to love you more were possible;" and closing his eyes, they found each other's lips and the kiss exchanged was long and endearing. “and now i will ask you the question you just asked me, walter. are you quite sure that you love me as much as i do you, sweetheart?” "i couldn't love you more; i wouldn't even know how to start trying. my great effort, and what is worrying me, until i have run a desperate criminal to earth is, if i can get you off my mind long enough to concentrate on my search. i'm liable to fall, as i have fallen since meeting you, into a state of mooning about you to the point that i might forget for a time, what i am out to do." on hearing this, the smile died in her eyes and the same was replaced by sudden fear! she became taut, sat straight up, and cried, excitedly: "oh, walter, you must not do that! please, darling, what would happen to me if--if that desperado should see you first, conceive that you were a detective and after him—and shoot you before you could do anything or make any move to protect your- self?” “there, there, darling! i said that i felt like forgetting every- thing and thinking only of you-but that didn't mean that i am going to that i am even liable to." “you know, walter," she went on in that same anxious and excited manner, "you don't just belong to walter le baron any longer. you belong to dorothy stanfield and when you leave me to go north after this very bad man, i will be praying and waiting and longing for you, in due time, to come back to me, darling. the story of dorothy stanfield please think of that, while you're thinking of me, too, darling.” "bless your dear heart, dorothy,” he said and drew her to him and kissed her passionately. he held her close and patted her shoulders and felt her breast, rising and falling as she breathed against his. after relaxing, and holding his hands and playing with them unconsciously, she went on: "please, walter, stay on guard all the time and force yourself to forget me as much as you can, for from the time you leave memphis on, i shall start and continue on the anxious seat every day, just about every hour in the day regarding your safety. please let us agree, or at least promise me, that you will try to write me every day. just make it a part of your routine to send me some kind of message. i will be happy to just receive even a word, like, if no more, just 'walter. remember, that will relieve me greatly, but send something, darling, every day. will you try to, walter?” “i shall do even more than that, darling. i will send you a telegram every day, so that you will know that i am safe and well the same day you get it.” "oh, walter, my beloved," she cried, throwing her arms about him, “that will be just too wonderful for words!” she kissed him then, many times. "so prepare from tonight, dear heart, to look for a message, and not be afraid when it arrives and before you open it, and think it means—anything about death.” he paused to laugh and she laughed also, for both were thinking the same thing; that telegrams might mean a death. it seemed to lessen their tension, and permitted him to relax and turn and look at the clock in the panel before them. “gracious!” he cried. "it is after eleven!” "time we were starting back," she said, and turned to face forward, then looked up at him, as he touched the starter and stepped on the gas. “i'll say!" the great motor was throbbing now, and upon looking down, him with walter, my he the story of dorothy stanfield tc that effect. he left the office satisfied, but also left several anx- ious and even jealous memphis officers, who had a feeling that if van revel's murderer was finally captured, it was most likely that walter le baron would be the man who would do it. le baron went back to the hotel, paid his bill, checked out, got into his car, drove by dorothy's and kissed her and bid her good- bye, then struck out for st. louis, crossing the big bridge to the arkansas side, then turned northward for st. louis, where he ar- rived about nine o'clock that night. having been to st. louis, he knew where all the hotels that negroes frequented were located. he drove around to several before checking in, but was finally rewarded with the information he was seeking at a hotel located at jefferson avenue and th street. he was advised that johnson had spent the previous night at that hotel, but had checked out early that morning. presumably for chicago, although he hadn't said where. he wired dorothy regarding the information he had secured, and that he was spending the night in st. louis and would drive on through to chicago the next day, and would wire her again on arrival there, then he went to bed. he enjoyed a good night's sleep, partook of a delightful break- fast and then swung down the river a few blocks and crossed the free bridge across into east st. louis, illinois, turned left into highway , and headed for chicago via springfield where he gassed, had lunch, made some inquiries, and smiled with satis- faction when told in reply to his question, that johnson had passed through springfield the day before. furthermore, johnson had had lunch at the same place he dined, and left and drove north on , which would be for chicago as he suspected. le baron knew that johnson would not stop short of chicago, but reckoned that he might not be as easily found there, since the negro section of chicago is about the largest from the standpoint of square miles of any city in the united states, though new york city has a larger negro population. so after his arrival there, he estimated that he might have to put in a lot of hard work, driving the story of dorothy stanfield around the negro section before possibly picking up johnson's trail. he put in the entire first day, following the night of his arrival, driving from one hotel to another throughout the great negro section on the south side, but failed to pick up any trace of john- son. the next day he drove to the north side and made a canvass there, and from there to the west side, which has a large colored population, with the same results, no johnson had been seen or heard of anywhere! yet he felt positive that johnson was in the city, and might have gotten wise that it would be safer to stop in a private home; that the hotels might be canvassed by detectives in a search for him, since the murder of van revel was something that would perhaps bring about a long and concentrated search for him. operating on a hunch, later, le baron started to contact pool halls, hundreds of which were operating on the south side, and he knew it would take days to call on all of them, and if he failed to pick up johnson's trail at any, then it would be still harder for him to get anywhere, seeking out crap-shooters and the thousands of places they were likely to engage in it. three days went by and still he picked up no trace of john- son. he decided to take an out-of-town flyer. pickings might be easier for johnson in his profession in the towns around chicago. accordingly, he drove to and canvassed gary, indiana, then drove north, canvassed evanston, then on to milwaukee, wisconsin- still no trace of cleo johnson, easily recognizable by the scar on his face, anywhere! he began to get anxious about him. where had the negro hidden himself? he wrote dorothy a long letter and told her of his thus far, ill luck, but that he still felt sure that johnson was in chicago, and that he would start on a new round of the pool halls, since johnson usually began his gambling operations from pool halls, where he met men given to shooting craps and le baron had learned that it was at pool halls that one could find out more about where to the stopy of dorothy stanfield reached for the second one. it was a tense situation, for both were disturbed and annoyed by the cursing, and scrambling and shrieking going on in the rear, and were tempted to look for a moment at least in that direction, for if any had guns, they might start shooting back there—which would be just too bad! however, each evidently decided that he had to take that chance, and to look after his own safety for the gun of the man facing him, was uppermost. accordingly, they continued to ex- change shots at intervals, with johnson hoping that he could get le baron, and make his escape by the front way before outside police help would come to le baron's assistance. and while he was trying to think himself out of a desperate situation, le baron was doing some thinking, too. as stated, his ambition was to take johnson alive, but if not-dead, of course. but he was thinking fast, of a way to take him alive first. he was squatting behind one end of the large and heavy table, the bottom of which he could see reached within a foot of the floor upon which it rested. he estimated that if he could fire a shot under the table and strike johnson in the foot, he might lose pos- session of his gun long enough for him to rush forward and go into action with him at close quarters. it was a long chance and a risky one, but he knew that he had to do something before he would have to reload, and which might give cleo his chance. accordingly, he fired a shot across the table to detract atten- tion and heard johnson duck low to avoid taking it-and then in a flash, le baron dropped on one knee, looked under the table, saw johnson's feet on the floor and the lower half of his buttocks and knew that he was squatting. taking careful aim, he pulled the trigger, the gun barked and the bullet went straight into john- son's foot and he screamed, fell over, lost possession of his re- volver, which le baron heard slide away, and he bounded to his feet like a tiger, rushed around the table and jumped on top of johnson who was writhing in pain, overpowered him for a moment and got the handcuffs on one wrist before johnson could recover, and realize what was going on! but before le baron could get the stopy of dorothy stanfield reached for the second one. it was a tense situation, for both were disturbed and annoyed by the cursing, and scrambling and shrieking going on in the rear, and were tempted to look for a moment at least in that direction, for if any had guns, they might start shooting back there—which would be just too bad! however, each evidently decided that he had to take that chance, and to look after his own safety for the gun of the man facing him, was uppermost. accordingly, they continued to ex- change shots at intervals, with johnson hoping that he could get le baron, and make his escape by the front way before outside police help would come to le baron's assistance. and while he was trying to think himself out of a desperate situation, le baron was doing some thinking, too. as stated, his ambition was to take johnson alive, but if not-dead, of course. but he was thinking fast, of a way to take him alive first. he was squatting behind one end of the large and heavy table, the bottom of which he could see reached within a foot of the floor upon which it rested. he estimated that if he could fire a shot under the table and strike johnson in the foot, he might lose pos- session of his gun long enough for him to rush forward and go into action with him at close quarters. it was a long chance and a risky one, but he knew that he had to do something before he would have to reload, and which might give cleo his chance. accordingly, he fired a shot across the table to detract atten- tion and heard johnson duck low to avoid taking it—and then in a flash, le baron dropped on one knee, looked under the table, saw johnson's feet on the floor and the lower half of his buttocks and knew that he was squatting. taking careful aim, he pulled the trigger, the gun barked and the bullet went straight into john- son's foot and he screamed, fell over, lost possession of his re- volver, which le baron heard slide away, and he bounded to his feet like a tiger, rushed around the table and jumped on top of johnson who was writhing in pain, overpowered him for a moment and got the handcuffs on one wrist before johnson could recover, and realize what was going on! but before le baron could get the story of dorothy stanfield happy! she read the telegram over and over again to be sure that it meant what it said, and that her anxiety over the safety of the man she loved, was at an end, and she could relax at last into the calm and peace of their romance and await the day when he would return to memphis, or when he would send for her, and they could be happy. she wrote a telegram to him, rewrote it several times, then called it to the western union office over the telephone, and retired to rest and think of him without anything to restrain her great love any longer. dorothy stanfield was so greatly relieved and happy at the sudden turn of events, that she remained in bed for many hours and continued to think of walter le baron. the last barrier to their marriage and future happiness had been removed by the cap- ture and arrest of the desperado, cleo johnson in chicago, whom le baron had trailed over most of the south. first, out of the north into the south, then out of the south back into the north again. but because of which, however, she might have never met him in the gas station on beale street that sunday morning. it was all, as she looked back on it, so strange, so unusual! as she continued to relive her past with stanfield, she recalled when and how unhappiness and disappointment began-on their boneymoon trip to chicago! never had she been able to erase that trip—and of his almost insane performance that first night in a pullman berth on their way north! she recalled how, on their arrival in chicago and after registering in at the vincennes hotel, that the first thing she did was to sit down and write her parents, begging them in a long letter, to come and get her, and to apply for an annulment of the marriage forthwith! had they done as she asked them to, years of bitter misery and unhappiness that she later suffered, could not have happened. nevertheless, she had never faulted them for persuading her to try it longer. then came his first arrest—and disgrace-chargeri with the crime of abortion! the trial then, and of his acquittal, due in a large share to his smart, jewish lawyer, leo bernstein; r r i* v e r george books by george w. lee beale street: where the blues river george river george by y" george wf lee the macaulay company new york copyright, , by the macaulay company printed in the united states of america river george chapter i the train came slowly to a stop at the little wooden station of holly rock, and puffed restlessly as though it were really only hesitating here out of neces- sity and was bent on expressing the engineer's impa- tience to be on his way. the platform was deserted save for an old colored man who stood looking anxiously down the line of coaches to the car "for colored only." he was a squat figured man, yet this was less because he was actually short than that his breadth seemed to reduce his height, making him seem shorter than he really was. about his chin and upper lip a fringe of graying beard and mustache framed the fullness of his mouth which drooped a little at the corners as though it had become used to expressing sorrow. he wore no coat and the coarse blue shirt was patched and faded. over it was tightly stretched the one remaining mem- ber of a pair of suspenders supporting the coarse work- ing pants, patched in the knees and the seat. surmount- ing his head was an old felt hat, the brim long twisted out of shape, and the peak, formed by the end of the crease in front, worn through in a ragged hole. the station agent, seemingly as surprised at the train stopping here as the engine seemed restless to be on its way, came out of the waiting room and looked ques- tioningly at the colored man. io river george "howdy, uncle. you expecting somebody?" he asked in a friendly voice. "aaron comin' in on this train," the other replied quietly. "all filled up with college talk, i suppose?" the sta- tion agent said, but the colored man made no reply. the white man was feeling really friendly and, with no desire to offend the other, thrust one more remark across the gap which separated them, changing the subject lest it be left on an unpleasant note. "how's old henry this morning?" he asked. "po'ly," the colored man said quietly. "he cain't las'." "sorry to hear it," the white man answered but his concern was less than his curiosity. he, too, watched closely as a tall, strong negro boy, with great, clumping feet, and long, ape-like arms, hurried down the steps of the jim crow car holding a worn canvas-covered carry-all of the type known in the early years of this century as a telescope, and walked quickly to meet the older negro. deep anxiety was written on the face of the younger man, a face that was as black as had been that of his great-grandfather brought to america as a slave from africa. although he was actually in his twenty-fifth year, an intelligent white person looking at him for the first time might have guessed that he was seven- teen or thirty-five, for the ageless lineaments of the negro race were upon him, the lost searching bright look of his eyes; the fullness of his lips; the depth of seriousness in his mouth, which was yet loose as if from laughter; the gangling length of his arms; the looseness river george of his hurried gait; the complete and unmarred rhythm of every movement which his body made as it crossed the platform. his full six feet of height still further dwarfed the figure of the man beside him. for aaron george, the boy, was as broad and as heavily boned and muscled as the other, yet had this increasing height to combine in making of him the figure of a large and powerful man. the two men did not shake hands but, almost before either had spoken, started, as if by common consent, toward the street where a mule stood waiting hitched to an ordinary spring farm wagon. the younger man looked searchingly into the face of the older and asked the question which had been torturing him all the way along the hot dusty ride. "how's pa, uncle am?" amity george looked pityingly at his nephew. "it don't 'peah that we know much about it, aaron," he said softly. restraint gone for the moment, the younger man grasped his arm. "you telling me true, uncle am?" he asked. "he ain't dead is he?" "no boy," the other answered sorrowfully shaking his head. "i'm tellin' yo' only what god loves, the naked truth. we don' know how bad off he is. the doctor don' like his looks but he ain't daid yet." silently they climbed over the wheel to the hard seat of the spring wagon but when amity george took up the two ends of rope, which served as reins, aaron reached for them. river george "let me drive ol' sal, uncle am," he said. "seems like i haven't had anything in my hands for a long time felt so good as these pieces of rope." the older man's lips parted in a brief smile. "mus' be yo' don' like the feel of pencils and books in dose hands, aaron?" he asked. "it isn't that—" the boy paused and looked ahead down the road over the bouncing back of the jogging mule. "college is fine. i suppose it's the best thing that ever happened to me. ain't ever a day there i don' stop and think how grateful i am to pa an' ma." he paused again. it was strange how there beside his uncle amity, sitting up in the high seat behind old sally, his speech wanted to drop back into the musical irregularities of his childhood. three years of college had changed it markedly, just as they had changed his clothing from an outfit very similar to that which his uncle wore to this brown store, suit, in need of pressing now, which hung on his huge frame awkwardly as if ill at ease, and this white shirt, soiled now by his trip, and the too large but uncomfortable collar and the somewhat gaudy tie at his throat. he looked slowly down at the palm of one hand and moved his fingers stiffly, tensing and flexing them. "i got big hands, uncle am," he said slowly. "they always were used to doing hard work when i was a boy. sometimes they seem a little lost when all they can get hold of is a book, and then it's good to get hold of these pieces of rope back of old sally. but there's some- thing else, too." river george he was thinking how good it was, even with the terror in his heart at the thought that his father might be dying, to be back here with his people, thinking how much more at ease he felt here than in the halls and classrooms of the college from which he had hurried to his father's bedside, thinking, that if needs must be, he could stay here with them happily, yet feeling in his heart too a great surge of that hope which every intelli- gent, sensitive, negro knows at some time in his life— the hope that through education, through meeting and grasping truth, his race could be set free from a bitter bondage which did not end with the signing of the emancipation proclamation. old sally, never slackening her slow jogging trot, was turning off the road now of her own accord, going surely without wavering, along the path her feet had trod for many years up to the door of a little ram- shackle barn which stood feet away from a house that was no larger nor less shabby. dropping the reins and leaving his telescope behind him in his eagerness, aaron jumped from the spring seat over the wheel and ran to the door of the house from which his mother was coming with an eagerness equal to his own. she was a large woman, whose age would have been even more difficult to guess than aaron's and in her fine round face struggled the conflict of her joy at the sight of her son and her grief at the fore-knowledge of her husband's death. with a little cry of happiness, he put his arms around her and, stooping his powerful body in a grotesque curve, he laid his head for a moment upon her large breast. river george "ma!" he cried. for a moment she held him thus, then taking his shoulders in her two powerful hands, hands which knew well the feel of a hoe and plow-handle, she raised his head gently and held him from her at arms' length, her eyes filled with tender gladness too great to be dimmed by her sorrow. "yo' make my eyes rich, son," she said. for a moment, the boy rested his hand hard against one of the work roughened hands on his shoulder with- out speaking, his own eyes bright with unshed tears. "how's pa?" he asked briefly, his voice none too steady. her eyes filled with pain at his words but neither they nor her answer evaded the question or the fact which she had already faced and accepted in the depths of her heart and mind, which had suffered too long from reality to attempt now to make any substitute for it. "he's about to cross ovah, son," she said. her voice was scarcely above a whisper and filled with sorrow but there was no horror in it, no fear, only the calm acceptance of the fact that death, as well as life, is the common lot of man. together they went into the house. there were only two rooms here, the kitchen with its worn old stove, the top of which sagged a little above the fire-box, and the bedroom beyond it. over the stove in the kitchen hung a great skillet, flanked by half a dozen pans shining from their many scourings with wood-ashes. across the room from the stove stood river george is a home-made pine table. there was no cloth on it, but like the pans, the top was clean and bright from fre- quent, repeated scrubbings. three kitchen chairs, two of them without backs, stood near the table on a floor as spotless as the rest of the room, and in a corner was a little stand. on it stood a pail of cold spring water. above the stand on the wall were three home made shelves, which held the little stock of store dishes that were the pride of hannah george's heart. as aaron entered the door, this room which he knew so well seemed to embrace him and bring him peace. but he didn't pause here. without a word, he hurried through the low door into the bedroom beyond, where his father lay dying. for a moment, unable to speak, the boy towered over the silent man lying there and the other, in that state of dim consciousness which, for the desperately ill, is a softening of the way through the gate of death, did not sense his presence. then with a little moan of sorrow which he couldn't restrain, aaron dropped on his knees by the bedside and took in his own the knotted hand which lay on the covers. "pa!" he cried. slowly the older man's eyes opened as if with a weari- ness too great for even the effort of lifting the lids, and the lines in his lips softened in welcome. "yo' here, aaron?" he asked weakly. "i tol ' yo' ma not to bothuh to sen' fo' yo'." "she didn't send, pa," aaron defended her. "uncle am wrote and told me. i wouldn't want to be any- where else with you sick, pa. i'm going to help ma river george yo' might sing something now while i can still heah yo'.» "what shall i sing, pa?" "might sing 'fare thee well,' aaron, i alius did like it. my mammy used to sing dat song." aaron's eyes closed against the insistent tears which forced themselves under his lids, and for a moment he knelt there silently fighting to regain control of his voice. then he began to sing softly in a rich baritone voice. his mother, coming noiselessly through the door, stood beside him and then kneeling, waited quietly, her head on the bed close to the hand of her husband, as their son's rich, deep voice laid a blanket of comforting sound over them. oh, fare thee well, my brother, fare thee well, by the grace of god for vse gwinen home. vse gwinen home, my lord, vse gwinen home; marse jesus give me a little broom, for to sweep my heart clean; sweep 'em clean by the grace of god and the glory in my soul! when he had finished, the older man was breathing quietly as though asleep. for a moment aaron watched, then leaning closer to his mother he put his arm about her shoulders and kissed lightly the back of her bowed head before he rose and tip-toed from the room leaving them alone with each other for this unfathomable parting. chapter ii aron george stood on a little hill looking over ii the wide fields of beaver dam plantation, the home of his childhood, the place in which he had learned those first slow truths about life in a world in which his black skin had made him different from his white masters. gray dusk was settling over the fields and the little patch of timber to the east. above him the first stars were glimmering and there was a cool sweet per- fume in the air as if the earth itself, parched from the long sunburned day, had breathed a fragrant sigh as the sun descended. below him, in the cottage where his father lay dead, the voices of his friends were raised in song. aaron knew, for he had just left them, that the little bedroom was crowded with the sorrowing neigh- bors, that the kitchen was likewise filled, and from where he stood he could see a little group outside the opened door, leaning against the door casing, their heads bowed, their voices chanting with the rest. his own lips moved slightly as he listened, but no sound came to join the monotonous rhythm of the song that was floating up from the house. death ain' yo' got no shame, shame, death ain' yo' got no shame, shame. river george over and over the same words in the same melody, the same monotonous wailing rhythm. at the focal point of sound in the heart of that sorrowing group, he knew that his mother knelt at the bedside of the man whose life she had shared shoulder to shoulder with perfect loyalty and devotion for years. but he knew, too, that she was not weeping now. her tears had been shed in that moment when she had felt the cold hand of death brushing her own face as it rushed by her to touch her husband. she would not weep again, but her voice, as strong as the rest, would continue all night long to join the others in song. now the song, dropped first by one voice and then another, gradually tapered off into silence and there was no sound anywhere in the world for the moment save the barking of a dog down the road at another cottage similar to that below him which housed death. then a single voice from the group below was lifted in the first line of another song, a song full of power and triumph, a song before whose magnificence terror fled, leaving only awe and a sense of the greatness of this messenger who had visited them. the sperit said i want yo' for to go down death, easy! want you go down death, easy! i want yo' go down death, easy! and bring my servant home. go down death! go down! preach my glory and my mighty name; river george / want yo' go down! i want yo' go down! and bring my servant home! many times as a child aaron had listened to these meetings held beside the cold, still form of one whose spirit had fled and then they had only stimulated a sense of wonder and mystery in him for he had not known the deep meaning of grief. now, with sorrow lying like a heavy hand on his heart, he saw the true meaning of these songs which were less expression of pain than of welcome, less a complaint against the bitterness of loss than a formal greeting to do proper honor to a distinguished and mighty guest. loving life more fully and vibrantly than the less vital race of white men who were their masters, his people had learned as none other to look forward with certainty to the eventual coming of one more powerful than they, more powerful even than their white overlords, more powerful than life itself. and they knew that he de- served honor and were prepared to give it. death to them was more than a fact, it was a personality, one whose might stimulated worship even more than his weaker brother life. and they knew too, that although he brought pain for those whom he ignored, to the one for whom he had come he brought release from pain and a final peace. his father more than any one he had ever known, unless it was his mother, deserved that peace. aaron could not mourn for him now. he could only, with the rest, bow his head in honor to the one who had brought release to this good man and hope that his own strength river george little recourse against wrong to the negroes was, never- theless, administered with kindliness and an underlying sense of justice. but since king had sold the plantation, the negroes had been in as sorry a state as their ancestors had been under slavery. for a long time it had troubled aaron, while he had felt happy and secure himself in the friendly confines of college walls, to think of his father and mother and friends at home suffering under the yoke imposed by the new owner. in college he learned a great many things besides dates in history and reactions in test-tubes of the chemical laboratory, and one of them, the thing which had impressed him more deeply than anything else, was that in the breasts of good men whether white or colored there burned a passionate love for democracy and justice. he had learned that among his own people and among members of the white race which had en- slaved his people there were individuals who believed in the possibilities that the negro race would eventually stand shoulder to shoulder with the white, each con- tributing of his ability to a common struggle for the freedom of the entire suffering human race. and he learned too that the constitution of the great land of which he was a citizen formulated, in no uncertain terms, the principle of free and equal status for every person in that land and set up a machinery of law to protect that freedom. aaron stood looking over the fields, his back turned to the house from which there came to him the con- tinuous throbbing melodies of the songs which were river george greeting death. now they were singing the danville chariot. swing low sweet chariot pray let me enter in. i don' want to stay heah no longah. he walked slowly away down the road, leaving the sounds which went with death behind him. tomorrow he would help carry on his shoulder the rough pine box which enclosed his father's body, leading the slow wail- ing march to the group of willows where, with his own hands that day, aaron had dug the grave in the spot where his father had asked him to. he walked more rapidly now, with each step leaving the singing farther behind until only the strongest notes reached him. but so strongly had it entered his heart and mind during the long hours through which it had gone on that he found his lips moving in keeping with the songs al- though no sound came from them and in his mind the words and music furnished an obbligato to his troubled thoughts. oh graveyard oh graveyard i'm walkin' thru' de graveyard lay dis body down! through the haunting minor melody of the song surged a deep note of triumph, almost of joy, and he remembered another less known graveyard song, in which at the very moment of its most poignant expres- sion of the realization of death surged a frank note of praise. river george oh we take this po' body and we carry it to the graveyard and we lay it in de grave. hallelujah! he thought tenderly that there was cause for all who had loved his father to give praise for the release which had come to him. he had been a good man, a strong man, a wise man. he had taken life as it had come, without complaint and without making too great de- mands of anyone or of anything. he had been loyal to his friends and to all who had treated him fairly. he had cherished, for all his life, a great hope for the triumph of goodness and right, had lived cheerfully in squalor and looked forward to the day when his son aaron, or aaron's son, or that great host of on-coming young afro-americans would lead his people to a better day. aaron remembered how the last time he had been home he had talked with his father about the deplorable state of the share-cropper and, with the enthusiasm of youth, had proposed that he go and make serious com- plaints to the new white owner. but his father had only sighed and said: "aint no use complainin' boy. might as well talk to a old rattle snake as talk to dat mistuh tyler. caint do anythin' with a man like dat. things was bettah when we had mr. king an' dey'll be bettah again some- time." "but there are laws," aaron had said angrily. "you're being cheated." his father had shook his head sadly. when he spoke there was a deep note of old wisdom in his voice. river george "laws aint for colored," he said slowly. "far as i can see aint much good for white men either. we used to get along all right without thinkin' bout law." "but that was because mr. klingman obeyed the law," aaron protested. "if the new owner won't the court will make him." his father shook his head again slowly. "mistuh king was jes a good man," he went on, "an' dat settles hit. all de nigguhs liked him a heap too. dere nevuh was a time on dis place when dey didn't hab all de hands dey wanted." "mebbe dat was because he made you de straw-boss," hannah said, jestingly. "since mistuh king give up his place de nigguhs can't do lak dey ustah, 'cause dis mistah tyler dat took hit ovah ain't nuthin' but po' white trash, and mistuh tuhnuh done got as bad as he is." sam turner had been the agent for the owners of beaver dam plantation for many years. he was a thick- set, red-faced man, with a sardonic scowl playing about the corners of his mouth. he wore a six-shooter buckled around his waist, a habit he had acquired when he was a convict driver on the parchman prison farm. the old negroes used to say: "he's hell-a-mile ef y'uh don' keep up wid yo' wuk, but he don' pay no tenshun tuh yuh and he don't try to drive yuh ef yuh make him a good crop." for many years sam turner had lived alone in a white-painted house on the banks of the beaver dam. no white woman was ever known to enter the door of his strange living quarters. "wanta be in the center river george of things" was the reason he gave for not living up at the plantation headquarters, where the farm manager and the bookkeepers and their families lived, but the old negroes said he wanted to live where he could get drunk every night and sleep with a negro gal. but neither whiskey nor women kept sam turner from rising early and riding the turn-rows. during the cotton-picking season, he would ride up and down the field crying to the slow tenant farmers: "hurry with that cotton, you nigguhs; winter's just over the hill. them thar boles are busting open three times faster than you kin pick 'em. after while they'll be rolling on the ground. get the wimmen folks and the chillun out heah, we need everybody to pull these cotton boles in the field." the field hands would listen to his storming and work faster. none ever got up courage enough to talk back to him when he was in such an ugly mood. so long as he was round storming and cursing, the tenants bent forward and snatched at the cotton boles until their fingers bled, but as soon as he rode away and vanished over the hill, the tall cotton stalks no longer trembled from the touch of busy hands. some of the tenants found the nearest tree and stretched out on the ground, their bronze legs and arms gleaming in the sun, while those that remained moved lazily through the field, bending their backs, snatching at the boles here and there and then straightening up to join in a song. aaron shook his head sadly as he walked along. what could he do for these people against the combination of river george a man like turner, a man like crawford and the whole tradition of black subjugation which had ruled the agricultural south since the day when the first slave-ship had landed on its shore to pour a host of strong muscled cringing black men and women from its stinking hold. he paused sharply as his feet encountered fresh dug earth. without intent, without taking any conscious direction, he had walked to his father's newly made grave. with a sudden cry of anguish, he flung himself onto the ground burying his hands in the warm, loose earth, letting his forehead touch it, sobbing with deep wrenching sobs, releasing some of the emotion which his restraint since coming home had bottled up within him, facing bitterly the task which he knew in his heart he must undertake and which he knew equally well would be futile. from far off came the moving sound of song. i know moonlight i know starlight i'm walking through de starlight lay this body down! river george "what you want, boy?" he asked. "i wants ter get a paih of licenses. i'se gwiner get married." the clerk pulled out an application and started to write. "what's her name?" the clerk questioned. "her name is er— ah, er "and do pop scratched his head in profound meditation, but the name of his promised bride just would not come forth. "don't you know the name of the girl you gonna marry?" the clerk looked up, puzzled. "nawsuh, i sho' done cleah fo'got huh name," he scratched his head again. "cain't ah git de license widout her name?" "nope, you got to give her name," the clerk smiled. do pop had to ride all the way back home to get his bride's name and the wedding was postponed for two days. so, when he came through on the lord's side, he found very little encouragement at home. lucy just eyed him suspiciously and had nothing to say. he shuffled off down the road from the praying ground, wringing his hands and pausing in front of the roadside cabins long enough to cry out his convictions, his voice booming through the night: "i'se so glad i'se been saved. i got jesus! i got jesus! i feel de spirit movin' in me! jesus done whispuhed strange things tuh me! i feel it way down deep!" aunt lizzie, one of the mothers of the mt. zion church, was sitting on her steps, pulling away at her pipe, when do pop came down the big road. o river george "come heah, son," she called, "an' tell yo' aun' lizzie all 'bout hit." "wal," began do pop, "i wuz prayin' las' night ovuh dar in de woods, w'en i heahs a voice whispuhing through de trees, sayin': 'seek an' ye shall fin'; knock an' de do' shall be opened; ask and hit shall be given—' and den i looks up at de skies and i seed a vision. i seed uh man in a cha'iot, wid clouds wrapped all roun' hit. hit wuz pulled by two milk-white hosses, dat jes' pranced tru de skies. de man in de cha'iot had uh crown on his head, wid stahs shinin' in hit. wen he look down and p'inted his finguh at me, the lightnin' shot frum his finguh tips and i jes' fell faintin' on de ground! wen i wakes up i heah de same voice, whislin' through de trees, sayin'; 'git up, do pop, go fo'th and tell de good news!'" "son, y' sho' got de right kin' o' 'ligion," murmured aunt lizzie, as she mopped her eyes with an end of her faded cotton skirt. early the next sunday morning a train of fifty wagons carried do pop and the rest of the converts and church members to the sunflower river. it had rained the night before and the swollen stream offered great danger for a baptizing, so all the other candidates agreed to wait until the water abated before being bap- tized. but do pop refused to put it off any longer and, after a lengthy argument, the services began, with the rev. john smith and deacon andrews officiating. then the crowd shuddered and drew in their breath— for do pop had slipped from the hands of the reverend and the deacon. the swift current caught him up and river george carried him far down stream before he was able to swim ashore. when do pop came back, crying in a shrill voice: "de debil tried to take me away from god, but i'se done conquered him," the crowd received this with something akin to worship and do pop became the hero of mount zion. but in the midst of their shouting, on the shore of the river, a sudden silence fell on the outskirts of the group as aaron george entered it. he had been taking a sunday morning walk and his desire for companion- ship and his interest in the people of whom he was a part had led him to do pop's baptizing. he had origin- ally intended to stay away because he had found, to his surprise and pain, that he was not accepted now with the same free spirit of comradeship which had marked his relations with his friends before he went to college. the eyes of the plantation were upon him. the whites were curious and resentful, as they always were of a negro who tried to become educated, and the negroes, shy before his new speech and store clothes, were re- serving judgment. aaron pushed his way through the crowd until he stood beside do pop. he laid an arm across the other's shoulder and smiled at him in friendship, while the others looked on, wondering how this boy, who had grown up among them, living their life and following their customs, only to go away from them and be changed by education, would now fit into a baptisin'. "ol' devil sure couldn't ever keep you down, could he do pop?" aaron asked. * * river george do pop looked at him with shining, hysterical eyes. "i tuk urn by de throat an' push um under!" he cried. "hallelujah! i been into de sea!" the rest of the crowd, less abashed now, since aaron had broken the spell of restraint his presence had brought upon them, were moaning their praises, and the boy, eager to be a part of them and make them feel his friendliness, took up the line from do pop's cry. throwing back his head he lifted his fine voice and began to sing. halle-e-lu-jah, and a halle-e-lujah! a woman beside him cried, "praise jesus!" and the whole crowd joined the song. halle-e-lujah, lord, i've been down into de seal yes i've been to de sea an' i've done been tried, been down into de sea! yes i've done been tried in jesus' name, been down into de sea! halle-e-lujah! and a halle-e-lujah! halle-e-lujah, lord, i've been down into de sea! aaron watched their faces as they sang, his strong voice still leading them, and a great wave of affection and pity swept over him. here they were happy. here they could come, down by the river side, down into the river george valley of their souls, and, lifting their voices to their gentle god forget the fact that they were cheated, year after year, of the fruit of their toil. to be sure the worship of other gods stirred deeply in the souls of many of them, gods which were older than the god of the new testament, gods which had been born in the depths of africa, fierce and unruly spirits who were still placated in secret voodoo meetings. but here, by the side of the flood-swollen river, they besought gentle jesus, and were like lovely children, their faces lifted skyward in hope and praise. the song swelled on to greater and more joyous heights. why don' yo' mourners rise an' tell— been down into de sea! de glories of emmanuel? been down into de sea! halle-e-lujah! an' a halle-e-lujah! halle-e-lujah, lord! i been down into de sea! the song was coming to a close now and here and there the members of the group were talking to each other. george knew that they were talking about him and wondered what they were saying. but when he heard one old woman saying in a low voice, "dere's one boy dat learnin' ain' spoilt," he smiled with pleasure. he looked about at the friendly faces there and his heart was light with happiness. he knew that he had changed. he knew that, never again so long as he lived, would he be the care-free river george unthinking boy who had left these people three years before to go to college, knew that he could not accept their trials, the unfair treatment of the white owners of the plantation, their pennilessness, the spiritual abuse which was accorded them by the whites, with the calm and silent resignation which they showed. but if they would take him back as one of them, let him be a part of their life, perhaps there would be a way in which he could use whatever college had given him for them as well as for himself. he remembered poignantly the charge his father had given from his death-bed. "you've got learning now, the same as a white man. take care yo' use it right!" could there be any better way for him to use it than here, among his people, helping them? the reverend john smith, eager to be home and dry his wet feet and legs, pushed through the crowd and extended his large wet hand to george. "glad tu see yuh heah, boy," he beamed. "yuh done growed up a heap since yuh been off yonder tuh dat big school. i hopes yuh git along all right' roun' heah." "i hope so too," aaron said. "don't see any reason why i shouldn't, do you?" "i ain' sayin' dat yuh wont, but yuh gottuh be sho tuh turn de lef cheek when dey hits yuh on de right one, 'cause de white folks done changed 'roun' heah. dey done got purty bad since mr. king done give up dis place. so i reckkon yuh—" the minister paused for a moment and then his deep religious zeal swayed him . . . "well yuh ain' got tuh pay no 'tention to dare meanness. bes' tuh love 'em dat's all. jes' love 'em dats river george hatin' yuh. got tuh love 'em so much dat dey'll stop hatin' yuh an' start tuh lovin' yuh." aaron watched the minister amble off down the road and then, leaving the now thinning crowd, he turned and followed a trail through the fields. spring lay like a great calm sea over the land, and, moved by the beauty of the song he had just joined in singing, he felt the benediction of its baptism. in the woods, heavily laden vines of white roses filled the air with sweetness. he climbed a little hill and paused to look at the broad acres which stretched away before him, the land which had nurtured his infancy and childhood, the land to which he had come back, now, of necessity, but with a calm feeling of belonging to it. farther than the eye could reach the green fields of young cotton and corn stretched to beyond the horizon —five thousand acres of greenness, dotted with the little cabins of the negroes who toiled and sweat that these green plants bear shining white bolls of cotton and gleaming yellow ears of corn. corn and cotton, cotton and corn, to go through the gin and the meal mill and turn a bright yellow stream of gold into the purses of the owners while the men and women of whose labor the gold was fruit must content themselves with a bit of meal for bread, a bit of sowbelly, and a little molasses to sweeten their mouths. share and share alike was the spoken rule, half to the workers, and half to the owners of the land, but not one in a hundred of the negroes could read or write, to say nothing of figuring, and george knew (as they all did in their hearts) that they were habitually cheated in their settlements. river george he knew for instance that the old mule, sally, whom his father had cherished for years, had, for all these years, figured in the accounts of the owner with old henry george. every year, when the settlement was made there had been little or nothing coming to henry, and every year the bookkeeper had made the aging man a small advance against the mule, so that henry had never really known whether the animal belonged rightfully to himself or to the plantation. he looked away across the sunshine flooded fields and tried to put unpleasant speculation out of his mind but the words of the minister hung heavily in his ears. he was afraid that if the reverend smith and his like kept waiting for love to sway the white owners to decency, his people would all rot in their graves with waiting. chapter iv the next morning he left the house early to go to the plantation store. he walked thoughtfully down the path from the door, looking at the young cotton plants which thrust their heads through the ground up to the very door of the cottage. in the old days of mr. king's reign, there had been a little lawn here, and just over there a little kitchen garden which had been tended by his mother's loving and capable hands, and had furnished enough fresh vegetables to keep them well supplied. but since mr. tyler had taken over the plantation he had forced all the negroes to do away with their gardens, planting every available foot of soil to cotton or corn, and forcing them to buy all of their food stuff at the plantation store, at prices which included exhorbitant profits. approaching the store he saw frank harding, son of one of the white overseers, lolling in the shade. at his feet a hound dog lifted himself, grunted a friendly greeting, and thumped his tail against the ground. be- hind them the negro porter sat supported by an oak tree, his head thrown back against the broad trunk, sleeping peacefully. it was the first time aaron had happened to en- counter the white boy since returning from college and he was genuinely glad to see him. although frank river george was several years younger than he, they had been play- mates and close friends as children. aaron went forward eagerly, his hand extended. "hello, frank," he grinned. the other looked insolently at the extended hand and made no move to take it. "what kind o' damned way is this y'got of speaking to a white man?" he asked. "i'm mister harding to you, and don't you forget it!" rising, he deliberately turned his back to george and walked away, followed by the dejected form of the hound. but the latter, more friendly than his master, paused a moment to push an inviting nose under aaron's hand, asking for an affec- tionate pat. aaron stood silently for a moment, looking down at the hand which the white boy had refused and the hound accepted. then, as he had done in the wagon beside his uncle amity, he tensed and flexed the fingers, but there was a spasmodic movement in them now. these powerful hands, instinctively extended in friend- liness to all the world—what if the whole world refused them? perhaps there was something other than friend- liness in them he turned and went silently into the store where he bought a pair of overalls and a pair of work shoes, to be charged against his account and deducted from the value of his cotton crop when it was ginned. he noticed the coldness and unfriendliness of the white clerks, who showed clearly their resentment of a negro who had the temerity to appear among them with an education. ° river george here was his place. he would at least find out what could be done, what could be expected. he would have a talk with the agent. he turned to his work. there were some holes to be repaired in the floor of the cotton house. he climbed into the building with a bundle of shingles and boards on his back. he squeezed into the door with his load and dropped it on the floor. great beads of sweat rolled down his face. he began to repair the broken places, finally threw the hammer in a corner, moved over to the door and stood there for a moment mopping his face with a red bandanna, when suddenly he spied the plantation agent riding toward him. this was the chance, he thought, to talk. white folks talked more freely when others were not around. "howdy, boy?" the agent's voice was full of con- descension. "how are you, mr. turner?" replied george. he spoke courteously though inwardly he felt the quick thrust of irritation and annoyance he always felt when white men addressed him this way. "if this weather keeps up we gonna have a good crop this year, if the dam' bollweevil don't eat it up." the agent pulled out a cob pipe and dipped its bowl into a package of cut plug tobacco, lighted it and puffed lazily. george gazed at him thoughtfully and began to toy with a button on his shirt, pushing it in and out the buttonhole, and when he did speak, it was very gravely. "mr. turner, i was just thinking about you. just thinking about talking to you about the way things are river george around here now. everything's so changed, and— and" "what about it then?" turner eyed him suspiciously. "it's kinda hard to tell you. wouldn't like to be mis- understood." he paused. "misunderstood about what?" the agent was growing impatient now. "just this. the croppers never seem able to get any- where. no matter how hard they work or how good a crop they make, they never seem to have anything coming to them in the fall. and now they can't even have their gardens. couldn't you say something to mr. tyler to make things a bit easier for us?" for a long moment the agent looked at george in surprised and angry silence. then he answered. "you talk pretty damn smart to be a nigger. what the hell are you driving at anyway?" george suffered for a moment under the agent's cold stare. then he went on, stammering a little as he spoke, "well, i—i mean just this, mr. turner. each family on the place raises from one to twenty-five bales of cotton every year, but when settlement time rolls around, even though they have purchased only a little side-meat and corn meal with an occasional sack of flour at the plan- tation store, the book-keeper has just about the same reply for every one, 'you get nothing this year'—or 'in the hole fifty or a hundred dollars.' i was just won- dering if something couldn't be done about it." "i figured from the first day you came back you ain't got no business around here." turner's voice was that of an accusing enemy. "you talk too much about things river george the world but give me jesus.' they have the right to their lodges so long as they say nothing in them but a lot of mystic nonsense. they have the right to their homes, but the white man can invade them and get away with it. why won't you admit it's the way it is? you were the agent of mr. king before he sold the place and moved to indian mound. he saw it then. it's true that he kept the prices of food stuffs high and charged thirty per cent interest, but there was always something coming to those who made enough cotton to more than settle their accounts." for a moment the agent stared at him without speaking. never had this white man heard a negro talk so fearlessly, or say so frankly what was in his mind. had aaron been one of the typical field negroes, trying to express those same thoughts in the halting, ungram- matical speech of the illiterate, turner would have known what to do. he would have knocked him down and gone away, knowing that the matter would end there. but he was confused by aaron's clear, direct statement. his instinctive reactions were thwarted by this speech which came from a coal black face yet sounded like the talk of a white man. when he spoke it was in the disgruntled tone of a man who is losing an argument yet has might on his side. "well, it's different now," he said. "the man who bets five hundred dollars on two mules that might die and a nigger who might loaf on the job, against the bollweevil and drought, got a slim chance of making much money." for a long time the farm boss sat on his horse, puffing river george his pipe, and was silent. aaron could see that some con- flict was seething in his mind, and a spot of fear settled down over his own. had he talked too much? suppose the rider were to spread a report among other white people of the community that aaron was trying to organize the negroes against them? if they felt it strongly enough, aaron knew what would happen. there would be a hundred men with rifles around his cabin before midnight. there was some chance to make an individual listen to reason, but there was no weapon against a mob, filled with rage and hatred. at last the agent spoke as if he had made a decision. he removed his pipe from his mouth and gazed sternly down at aaron, a deep, red flush covering his face. "see here," he ejaculated, and this time his tone was kindlier, though still gruff, "your education has just about made a fool of you and your fool notions are apt to get you into more trouble than you'll ever get out of. you need horse whipping right now. but your old dad, uncle henry was my friend. he lived here on this place most of his life. he was a good nigger and tended to his own business, and you better thank god that you're his boy, because that's the only reason i'm letting you off. i'm not going to make any trouble for you this time. i don't give a damn about you; it's your old dad i'm thinking about. but if you plan to live here you'd better keep your mouth shut." he paused, and then added, "the banks and landowners done put too much money out on these crops to stand for you running around here shooting off your mouth and trying to ruin it for them. if they find out you river george got such damn notions in your head they'll smash you in no time." he wheeled his horse and, without looking back, galloped off down the turn row. aaron watched him ride away, a strange hot fear playing up and down his spine, and a bitter sense of failure clouding his mind. he heard a step at the corner of the cotton house and, turning, saw do pop coming toward him, shaking his head sadly, his hands trembling slightly. "hello, do pop," aaron said, but his voice was dispirited. "where'd you come from?" "yuh gwine fool 'roun' heah an' git yuhself kilt, talkin' to white folks like dat," do pop whined. "i heah'd whut yuh said. yuh goin' fin' yuhself a heap o' trouble, boy." "where were you?" aaron said. "down in de ol' fiel' pullin' corn. i was jus' comin' up when i heahed yuh talkin' trouble. i didn' want no part o' dat, so i staid back of de cotton house and listened. yuh gotta be careful, boy." "well, something's got to be done," aaron answered. "we can't go on like this." "whut kin you do, when you is wukin' fuh de white folks? you gotta do whut dey say do." "but, do pop," aaron protested, "are you satisfied when you get nothing for what you do and pay double for what you get? look at uncle am. he made twelve bales of cotton last year. all he bought from the plan- tation store was about sixty dollars worth. he had an additional cash allowance of sixty dollars, yet his twelve bales of cotton were taken away from him, together river george with two hundred and fifty bushels of corn and when he went up for settlement, he was told that he came out fifty dollars in the hole." "well," said do pop, shaking his head, "i ain' made nuthin' an' i don' speck nuthin' tell i dies. i jes' wu'k and pray. de preachah say we gwine get ouah's up yonduh, where dere ain' no wu'k, wheah de streets is all gold an' dey feeds you wid milk an' honey." "you satisfied to wait till you die for everything?" aaron asked angrily. "yeh, but de white folks always take care ob de niggers," do pop said. "dem yeahs when de flood waters come down de river yonder and cover dis heah delta, and de white folks is losin' all dey money, de niggers is still eatin' an' sleepin'." "yes, but eating and sleeping isn't enough," aaron said slowly. "all de nigger gwine git dis side o' ressurection, an' ain' no use makin' trouble tryin' to git more." do pop spat and shuffled off while aaron watched him. so even do pop, the rollicking, chicken-stealing, carefree, comfort-loving one, would be against him! river george lightning always had plenty of whiskey on hand at these saturday night breakdowns. he ordered it from a shipping house across the river. there was moonshine, too. it came from lightning's still, which no revenue man had ever been able to find in its nest deep down in the swamp. the still smoke curled up above the tree tops, but the revenue men passing along the big road couldn't see it. the faint hissing sound of water boiling in the big vat was like the whisper of the pines; and the stuff that lightning carried in big cans to his cabin on saturday night had the power of a mule's hind leg. aaron rose slowly to his feet and looked through the door where his mother was giving the kitchen a final "reddin' up" for the night. "think i'll go down to lightnin's, ma," he called. "mind yuh don't get in no trouble," she called back to him. plainly, she too had worried about him, since he had returned from college with a new speech and new ideas. he walked slowly down the road and turned in toward the squat double shanty and past it to the barn where lanterns hung from the wall and half a dozen negroes were shooting craps on a plain pine table. an authoritative voice cut through the bantering talk of the players as they crooned to their dice. "quit chokin' dem dice, nigger! let 'em roll!" a tall, black, man with a bullet shaped head and dancing eyes, was lightning, with a voice which spoke authoritatively. aaron turned from the barn and surveyed the o river george boisterous crowd in the yard. they stood in ever-shift- ing groups, shouting back and forth at each other, the moonlight falling fitfully on their faces through the trees. their voices already showed the effects of light- ning's raw liquor. most of them had lived for generations on beaver dam. they knew but little of the customs and habits of the outside world. during the six week-days they rose at dawn and made their way to the fields. they hitched their mules to the plows and moved slowly up and down, row after row, pushing their plow-shares deep and turning up the fresh, brown earth, or laboring with the hoe, chopping up the rank weeds that grew much faster than the cotton. sometimes they sang. often they would lift their faces, dripping with sweat and look up at the sun, as if pleading with it to have mercy on them, but at all times their movements were in perfect rhythm because when the songs died on their lips, they echoed in their hearts. it was their way of taking the pain from their labors. when the big bell at the plantation store clanged for the noon hour, those whose fields were not far away returned to their cabins for lunch, but those who worked in distant fields carried their lunches with them and spent the noon hour lunching and dozing under the nearest tree, until the measured beats of the plan- tation bell called them back to their labors. when the sun went down and twilight crept over the silent fields, they trudged wearily down the road to their cabins, where man and beast found relief from toil and heat, but not from the swarms of mosquitoes river george that infested the night. even the smoke from rags which they burned in old tin pans, never drove the insects completely away, but the negroes had more persistence than the mosquitoes. they would sit out in the yard in the black night grateful for the pleasant breeze which swept across them from over beaver dam. in july the crops were laid by. in september, the cotton picking began. during the short winter months they sat around their fires, roasted potatoes or gathered at one of the many cabins, buried deep in the cotton fields, to laugh and talk. on saturday night they just had to play; whiskey was cheap at the breakdowns. the music was smoking, red-hot. dancing couples pressed their throbbing bodies close together and it was easy to find someone to join one in light-hearted sin. but those who lived in the fear of god waited for their happiness until sunday when they went to church and prayed to their god to wash them "whiter than snow." and some managed to squeeze a double portion of joy from every weekend by sinning at the breakdowns on saturday night, and praying for forgiveness at church on sunday morning. a sudden shout interrupted aaron's revery. "who gwine call de fighuhs?" "taint nobody kin call em lack vince. "when dat nigger cries, 'han's up, circle lef, yuh kin heah him a mile away." "well i'se gwine dance on de head," dave johnson was none too pleased with vince's popularity. "damn ef dats so," another shouted. "fse gwine * river george dance on de head, an' dave johnson gwine dance on de foot." "i be damned ef yuh do." "i be damned ef i don't." there was a moment's silence in which aaron edged closer to the dispute. dave johnson was not accepting defeat graciously. "look er heah, vince, whar all dese putty gals com' fum dats round heah tuhnight?" dave's eyes followed two girls who passed close by. "some uv dem come fum yonder at los' lake, an' some uv dem is town gals out tuh catch suckers fum de section gang an' de levy camp. but de puttiest ones com' fum round heah. i knows all dem—" he chuckled softly—"cause i done kept com'any wid more uv dem den anybody on de beaver dam." "look out dar, som'body gwiner heah yuh tuhreckly. you don't think yuh don' kept com'any wid more den i is, do yuh, vince?" "sho, i is. i don' tol' yuh." "well, i'se gwiner show yuh. yuh jest stan' rat whar yuh is an' eveyone dat pass dat yuh done kep' com'any wid, yuh jest clear up youh throat, an' i'se gwiner do de same." there was a moment of waiting and then three girls came by giggling. vince shot a swift glance in their direction, then cleared his throat three times. "which one?" dave asked glaring at him. "all three uv dem," a broad grin spread over dave's face. river george "but de one in de middle is my steady." "caint help dat." dave lifted his arm. a razor flashed in the moon- light. the crowd began to scatter. aaron pressed for- ward; his fingers grasped at the uplifted arm, gripping it about the wrist. the razor fell to the ground. "why be so quick with your razor?" asked aaron. "vince has done nothing to you. i heard the argument. you know he didn't mean what he said about your girl. he was smiling all the time." the two men glared at each other across aaron's separating arm, saying nothing. aaron smiled imperson- ally at both of them. "fooling, weren't you, vince?" for a moment vince's eyes shot fire, then they dropped and he looked at the toe of his right foot as it dug restlessly into the ground. "sure," he said, "i was jes' foolin'." aaron dropped johnson's arm and they all turned to the house from which the music of a banjo, guitar, and mouth organ issued, punctuated by the beating of a drum. the band had struck up the first dance. as if one body the crowd surged to the door and aaron went with them, carried along as much by the great shout which had arisen from them as by their physical move- ment. a little man with a shining black face was singing. 'sense me, people, i don' mean no harm, i jes' dropped by to sing yuh a song. tell my ma, tell my pa, river george / got good potatoes an' i raise dem all mahself; tell everybody in the neighborhood, got good potatoes, and not green tomatoes, an' i raise dem all myself! as his song ended the music of the band reached a stronger tempo. a dozen girls, dressed in cotton skirts that clung closely to their supple bodies, sashayed out on the floor, followed closely by their male companions. they reached the center of the room and then the men slow-dragged away, while the girls danced in place, their arms thrown wide apart; they stomped their feet and moved their undulating hips, augur-like in rhythm with the music. one of the girls, whose graceful, seductive move- ments had caught aaron's eye at once, suddenly saw him watching her and, with a sudden fling of her body she threw herself more furiously than ever into the dance, her eyes flashing at him. she was tree-top tall. her long legs made aaron think of the beauty of a race horse. her hair curled darkly about the deep ivory of her face. her lips were soft; her eyes wide; her forehead high. "who is she?" aaron asked lightning, who had left the crap game in the barn now that the dancing had begun. "who yuh mean? dat long tall yallah gal shakin' it like a cannon ball over dar?" "yeah," aaron said. "the swell looking one." lightning looked at him closely. "name's ada green," he said slowly. "lives down de road not far from heah. aint nevah seen her at river george one of dese breakdowns befoah. she jes' stay to herself all de time. folks say she too yallah to be niggah 'oman an' she got too much niggah in huh to be white folks, so she aint got no race 'tall, 'peah lak to me. the women folks is whisperin' mighty bad things 'bout huh." aaron was gazing so intently at the girl when she danced close by again, that he paid no attention to lightning's innuendo. he watched her and felt the insistent call of her deep, soft eyes and voluptuous body. she had apparently come alone. he meant to see that she did not go home alone. the little bald man was singing again. come along, little chillun, come along, while de moon am shinin' bright, get on bo'd down de riveh flow, gonna raise a ruckus tonight. some folks say dat a preacher won't steal, but i caught three in mah co'n fed'. one had a bushel, one had a peck, one had a co'n fiel' 'roun' his neck. if you want to git to heaven, ah tell you what to do, jes' grease yuh foot in mutton stew, if de debbil get at yuh, wid a slippery han' jes' ooze right ovah in de promised lan'. the song stopped and there was a momentary lull in the dancing. aaron, trying to appear nonchalant and not too much in a hurry, worked his way through the crowd toward the spot where he had last seen ada, but, once on the other side of the room, he found that she was nowhere to be seen. it was strange, he thought, that it should suddenly matter. he had never seen the girl i river george before, and, up to the moment when he had seen her, girls had been the last thing on his mind. he had been thinking too much of his own problems and the ques- tions which his argument with the riding boss had created to be worrying about the fact that there was no woman in his life. now though, as he looked about him and saw no sign of her, he felt a quick sense of loss, a feeling of depression, as if something precious which he had found, something on which he had counted, had been taken from him. he quickly pushed through the crowd again toward the door of the shanty and hurried out. for a moment his eyes, accustomed to the light on the dance floor, could distinguish nothing, then he saw her, winding her way in the bright moonlight past the wagons and buggies which stood in the yard. as he watched she sat in the grass and took off her shoes and stockings. quickly he left the door and hurried toward her, reach- ing her just as she stood up and set her bare feet into the dust of the road. "you aren't going home so early are you?" he asked. she looked up at him in surprise, and then looked back toward the house as if afraid of watching eyes. without speaking, she hurried her pace, but this only further increased aaron's feeling that he must be with her, must know her, must penetrate the deep warmth that lay behind those eyes. "mind if i walk with you?" he asked. "i only live fo' houses down," she said non-commit- ally. her voice was rich and deep and filled his ears with river george music. without asking further for consent, he fell into step beside her. "i could carry your shoes," he said, and, taking them from her, put them under his arm. she did not answer him at once, but again looked at him with that slow half fearful surprise he had seen in her face when he had first come up to her. "i guess dat's de fust time in my life anybody wanted tuh carry sumpin fo' me," she said at last slowly. for a long way they walked in silence. as much as he had wanted to see her and become acquainted with her, aaron found himself made suddenly shy by her direct simplicity. her cabin was close upon them when he spoke again. "my name's aaron george," he said. "mine's ada green," she said. "ain' seen you before." "i haven't seen you either," aaron answered. "i thought i knew everyone around here. you been here long?" "'bout three years," ada answered. there was sadness in her voice as if the memory of those years hurt her. "but i don't go 'roun' much." her words ended abruptly, harshly, as though she didn't want to talk about it. they had reached the yard of her cottage now and he handed her the shoes and stockings. "i t'anks yuh for comin' home wid me," she said shyly, and before he could answer, she ran into the house. for a moment aaron watched the door behind which she had disappeared. then he turned slowly and started river george the walk back down the road, all sense of weariness and discouragement gone. his step was light and his lips parted in a happy grin. from the breakdown he could hear the little bald-headed man singing another song. take yo' fingahs off her, don' yuh dare tub touch her, yuh know dat she belongs to me. way down youndab in de delta land, i got a gal dat's sweet as she kin be. take yo' fingahs off it, don' yuh dare to touch it, yuh know dat it belongs tub me— i said yuh know dat it belongs tub me! chapter vi aaron woke the next morning with an unex- - plained feeling of well-being and eagerness. al- though it was sunday and he would do no work that day, the habit of early rising which he had formed during his month on the beaver dam plantation, was too strong to be evaded. he rose, stretched himself and started to the kitchen, vaguely thinking that something fine was about to happen, something which would make him happy, but he couldn't remember what it was. then he thought of ada and smiled with pleasure while a strange little tremor ran through his body. he went to the door and looked across the fields to the east, where the upper rim of the sun shone red above the cottonwood trees. he drew a deep breath, holding it for a moment as if to preserve the perfume of jasmine blossoms which came to him through the dew-sweet morning air. his eyes seemed to be looking through the cottonwoods, focussing on a point beyond them where ada's cabin stood, securely hidden from the eyes of his body, but vivid to his eager mind. was she up yet, he wondered? was she bending over the stove in her little kitchen, as his mother was behind him? was she walking from stove to table now maybe, on her pretty little bare feet, saving her shoes for the saturday night breakdowns? river george he laughed, a low musical note in his throat. his mother turned in surprise from the stove. "what yoll laughing 'bout so early dis mornin'?" she asked pleasantly. "don' know, ma. because i'm happy i guess." he spoke in the easy, slurred accents of his childhood, as though nothing had come between that and this day to put newly used, unaccustomed consonants into his words. "i was thinkin' how nice the poplars look and how sweet the jasmine smells." his mother looked at him closely, her keen eyes and understanding heart sensing that a change had come over him since the day before. "yo hab a good time at de breakdown las' night?" she asked. "sure i did!" he laughed easily. "people there from all 'round. mus' been most a hundred, i guess." "yo' ain' been drink dat lightnin's likker, is yo?" her voice was worried. george laughed. "no ma. didn' tech a drap. yo got no cause to worry." "lots a 'omans dere?" hannah pursued the matter relentlessly and aaron, suddenly on his guard found himself speaking as he had done at college. "oh sure, ma, quite a few. why do you ask?" "jes' wonderin', dat's all. who was dey?" "oh you know. the regular crowd, i suppose. the brittain girls were there and that sue who used to work in mr. king's house when she was a little girl. remem- ber her? she's grown up now. and there were some river george girls from lost lake and some from holly rock. and there was a girl named ada green. you know her?" he looked down and stopped, embarrassed at the enthusiasm in his own voice. but he had said enough for the sharp ears of hannah. so that was it! she trudged heavily back to the stove to take up the smok- ing piece of sow-belly, while deep in her throat rose a wordless rumbling of discontent and annoyance. it was like far distant thunder, rising, threatening, but it did not form itself into words until aaron had spoken. "what's the matter, ma? what you making such noises for? have i said anything wrong?" "yo bes' stay away fum dat ada," she growled, and clamped her mouth tight shut again, while she poured a cup of coffee for him, the vehemence in her mind reflecting itself in a lurch of the tin coffee pot which spilled a steaming blob of liquid onto the table. "why, ma? she was awfully nice. i couldn't see anything wrong with her." "yo heahed me!" she slashed savagely into a pan of corn bread, digging out huge chunks to set beside his coffee and sow-belly. "i ain' scandalizin' no 'oman's name, not even ef it's befoah my own son. but yo bes' stay 'way fum dat ada. dat's all dey is to dat, son." try as he would he could get no more out of her. all day he wondered about it, as he walked about the sixty acres which had been allotted to his father to farm, planning his next week's work. he had taken a course in soil chemistry in college and now he was applying what he had learned. even the short month in which he had worked showed the results of the fertilization river george he had given the land. and the swampy ten acres, which had never grown anything but weeds before, blossomed now as a result of his ditching and draining. it had always been regarded as waste land before, fit only for rabbit hunting during the short winter, but aaron had learned that swamp bottoms were the richest land in the world. once you controlled the water, and limed the land to neutralize its acids, you could draw on the rich plant food which countless years of rotting vegeta- tion had left behind and grow finer crops than any- where on the uplands. that evening, as he sat at the table with his mother over their supper he was quiet and thoughtful. "somethin' troublin' yo aaron?" his mother asked. "no ma," he said. "that is, it aint trouble yet. i was thinking that we'd probably have a fine crop this year." "spec' we will, son," she said warmly. "sho ought to de way yo is workin'. sometimes it peahs to me like yo tryin' work yo'self into de grave." "i've been thinking," he said slowly. "it doesn't seem to matter how much or how little work you do here, if all i hear is so. you come out about the same at the end of the year. but i was thinking that maybe if we got a specially good crop—surely we'd get a little money on it. and if we saved, maybe in a year or so we could get a little farm of our own across the dam where we wouldn't have to give everything we make to the white men at the store." his mother looked up, startled by the intensity in his voice as he spoke of the owners. river george "don' yo go raisin' ruckus wid dem white folks, boy," she said. "won't get nobody nuthin' but trouble." "don't worry, ma," he said smiling, and rose from his chair. to the east the poplar trees were straight, finely etched lines against the grey of evening, the faintest tinge of red at their tops showing that the sky in the west still glowed with the fire of the sun, which had already set. aaron looked at them for a moment, gazing through and beyond them, as he had done when first he had set his foot in this doorway that morning. "think i'll walk a bit, ma," he said quietly. "wha yo goin' aaron?" "just walk down the road a piece. i might pull up at lightnin's a minute." his mother sighed. she knew full well that light- ning's would not be his ultimate destination, but he was a man now, and the head of this house, and it would not be seemly for her to tell him where he might and might not go. "min' you fin' no trouble," she called after him sharply. he walked slowly along the road to the east until the poplar trees were between him and the house, and then, almost without any consciousness of it, he quick- ened his pace. as he came abreast of lightning's shanty, he saw the older man sitting on the porch smoking. as aaron came nearer the other's head raised in friendly greeting. "evenin' boy," he called. "evenin' nigger!" it was strange how these two river george forms of address, so irritating in the mouths of white folks should express simple friendliness when two negroes used them to pass the time of day. "whut yoll set yo' foot in de road fo' dis time o' night?" lightning asked. "just going down the road a piece," aaron answered. "ain' goin' down along dat ada green, is yuh?" lightning lowered his voice slightly. "'cause if yo' is yoll'd be bettah smokin' heah on my porch." it was the sort of thing that might be spoken in jest, but there was no humor in lightning's voice. aaron wondered about it, but dismissed it with a friendly laugh and went on. what did they mean? there was something lightning had said the night before, and the things his mother had said this morning. but he was too eager now to spend any energy on wondering long about innuendoes. as he came within sight of ada's cottage, he saw her sitting in front of her door, gazing off into the distance. but before he had reached her she had risen and, with- out a backward look, walked hurriedly down the road away from him. he followed eagerly, wondering whether she had seen him, but she walked so fast that he could not catch up with her until after they had turned a bend in the road, and ada, leaving the road itself, had found her way along the side of a little creek and well into a grove of trees which grew on both sides it. here her pace slowed and aaron, breathing heavily from the last hundred yards which he had covered in a run, overtook her. river george thrown back against her hands, her breasts high and close against the light fabric of her dress, her head back, her lips parted. aaron looked and was lost in the surge of blind desire which swept over him. to touch her! to let the palms of his hands rest on the smooth flesh of her legs, the rounded softness of her breasts! she felt his desire in the tenseness of his body beside her, heard it in the labored breath which struggled through his lips, and looked at him with direct, challenging eyes. "whut foh yuh look like dat?" she asked. "whut yuh wan' say?" for answer he caught her into his arms, wordlessly, and so fiercely that she was swept from the slight support her hands gave her. together they fell full length to the ground, his arms tight about her, his chest crushed against her firm breasts. slowly, pressing closely against his body, her arms encircled him and, when his mouth sought hers, her hot, savage, kiss was ready for him, her teeth stabbing hard against his lips. chapter vii hannah george wrung the last sock out with powerful wrists and flung it into the market basket which stood beside her, mumbling incoherent sounds. a soft-voiced inquisitive hen, who know from life-long observation that she would get only gentleness from this animate mountain of black flesh, slowly walked to the basket, clucking softly to the half-grown brood of chicks which followed her. craning her neck over the edge of the basket she pecked tentatively at the wet clothes, and looked questioningly up at hannah, who turned, with waving, outspread hands. "git 'long, fool," the woman cried. "cain' eat ole' cloe's. yuh'll be peckin' holes in dem turreckly!" surprised at the suddenness of the admonition, the hen fluttered away and then, regaining her dignity, clucked briskly to her family in a tone of haughty in- jury, and stalked off. hannah lifted her apron absently and dried her hands on it, looking out over the sun-drenched fields to where aaron was hoeing corn, hoeing like mad, yet with a song on his lips. "lawd hab mussy," she said and, groaning, stooped to lift her basket and carry it to the clothes line. a month before, when she did her washing, her voice was raised as happily in song as aaron's own was river george now and as hers had always been on every bright monday when she stood under the burning southern sun and felt the joyous stimulation of hot soapsuds and wet clothes on her hands. but for the past three weeks doom had seemed to her to be settling over all of them. it had been three weeks since aaron had gone to the saturday night breakdown at lightning's, three weeks since he had lost that thoughtful, detached air which he had brought back from college with him, and had gone about with a smile for everybody and an almost constant song issuing from his throat, three weeks since his habit of evening walks had settled suddenly upon him, since he had begun saying, directly after he had finished his supper, "think i'll walk a piece, ma," and had left the house to come in at mid- night or later. "reckon i'll hab tuh tell um," she sighed. "ain' nevah so long's i live scandalize no 'oman's name befo', nieder interfered wid no man's business, but dis trouble too heavy foh to carry wid my mout' shet. ef i seed a rattle snake comin' up behin' um i'd tell um. i got tuh tell um dis." she hung the clothes over the line and went on into the house, stepping carefully to avoid the little chickens whose mother she had so recently driven from the clothes basket. the old hen was now peacefully strut- ting about the kitchen floor, clucking to her family and pecking here and there at any small object which looked interesting. "git 'long out a heah, fool," hannah shouted. "yuh river george oughta know bettah dan come in my kitchen when i'se studyin' about somethin'." but the old hen, wise in the ways of her mistress, only shied a little to one side and took up her futile search again, this time behind the stove. when supper time came she thought she was ready for him. but he came in so eagerly, seeming so fresh even after the hard day's work he had done, that she had not the heart to spoil his happiness just yet. she would let him have one more evening in his suddenly found paradise before she would shatter it with her words and, she hoped, save him. at any rate he would be in no danger tonight. he finished his supper quickly, eagerly, and rose. "guess i'll walk up the road a piece, ma," he said. "min' yo fin' no trouble, son," she said. he swung up the road with long easy steps, the eager happiness in his heart finding voice in a low humming melody. it was early yet. it would be an hour before dark, an hour before the time when he was to meet ada at the spot of green grass in the woods beside the creek. she had never asked him to come to her cabin, and once when he had done so without asking, she had hurriedly led him away and told him not to come there again. he had wondered about that, but stilled the insistent questioning in his mind by remembering her explana- tion—that the cabin was shabby and she did not want him to see it until she was able to pretty it for him. later, some time, he was to come. he thought of this now and wondered whether, if he were to go there early river george like this, maybe just before she was ready to go to meet him in the woods, she would be angry. but the doubt in his mind withheld him. perhaps there was some other reason—some better reason than that—some worse rea- son. he would stop and talk with lightning awhile, waiting for the interminable minutes to pass until he could meet her in the woods. he had taken a liking to this wild-hearted man with the dramatic reputation. there was something dauntless and steadfast about him, something which made aaron feel as though he were a man to be depended upon. he found him, as usual, smoking a cob pipe before his door, and sat beside him. they talked of the crops, of the weather, of the fight which had well-nigh dis- rupted the last saturday night breakdown when vince and dave johnson had come together in earnest at last. though their razors had been taken away from them, johnson was still nursing a jaw which was badly swollen at the point where vince's fist had hit it. then a moment of silence fell between them, broken at last by lightning whose remark seemed irrelevant. "heah fred smith comin' back tomorrow," he said slowly. "didn' know he'd been away," aaron answered with- out interest. smith was the postmaster at heathman, a mean-faced, mean souled white man who was avoided as much as possible by all the negroes. "been ovah at sugah creek 'bout a mont'," light- ning said slowly. "ef he nevah come back it'd be too soon." aaron was silent. with the rest of the negroes he river george * shared dislike for smith but, following the philosophy of his race he could see nothing to worry about so long as he stayed away from the white man. lightning looked at him narrowly. "mought be yuh won' be goin' to see ada so much after tomorrow?" he asked slowly. "why not?" aaron asked quickly. he had never said that he was going to see ada, but it was obvious that lightning would know. "mought be healthieh ef yuh stayed 'way fum dare aftah fred smith come back, dat's all." aaron looked up quickly, pain, surprise, and anger struggling in his face. within him a cold leaden weight seemed to fill his chest and choke him. he could not mistake lightning's friendly intent, could not possibly misunderstand that lightning was trying to help him, not wanting to hurt him, and, regardless of the repu- tation the other had for violence, aaron had found him kindly at heart, never eager to pick a quarrel. for a moment he sat there in silence then, rising without a word, he walked rapidly away toward the creek and the place of his rendezvous with ada. she was waiting there when he came, stretched out on the grass, her head pillowed in her back-flung hands, staring silently up into the branches of the trees, etched like lace against the star-lit sky. so quietly did he come that she did not hear him and, for a moment he paused, not a dozen feet away from her and gazed with tortured desire at the slim graceful lines of her body against the grass, and the dark cloud of her hair. her body was without motion, quiet with the com- river george plctely abandoned relaxation of a wild thing, all anima- tion gone for the moment. yet in its perfect repose lay the implications of swiftness. even at this distance from her he could feel, as though it were an actual, touchable aura which surrounded her, the vitality which his hands and lips could stimulate, the swift surging of life within her which leaped to meet his love and desire for her. he felt the tug of her being at his vitals. his hands burned with their need to touch her, his arms were heavy with their desire to embrace her. but through his heart rushed the swift blade of lightning's words. could it be that she had been giving this loveliness, this surging vitality which belonged to him, to a white man, to one whose return made her totally lost to him? one of his own kind he could fight, but if she belonged to a white man, he knew that their love was madness. with a tortured cry he stumbled over the little stretch of grass between them and sank weakly to the ground beside her, burying his face in the fragrant warmth of her breast, and gained a momentary peace as he felt the strong immediate response of her arms, holding him savagely close to her as though against a force which was trying to pull him away. she spoke no word for a moment, but shifted her position slightly so that, without letting his head leave her she could hold her own above it, kissing the back of his neck in a gesture which was all gentleness and all passion. when she spoke it was in a low throaty murmur which caressed and comforted him. "yuh lak tuh sca' me comin' up sudden lak dat," she said. "whut de mattah, aaron? yuh grievin' 'bout river george sumpin." it was not a question, but a statement. his tortured heart, beating against her body, was as volu- ble as though he had cried his pain in words. aaron sat up slowly, but he did not kiss her. "it aint nothin'." he said. "i've just been too hungry for you, i guess." but he made no move toward her and through her own heart swept bitter terror. then he had heard! for a long time they sat in silence, staring at the night- blanketed ground before them, unconscious of the musical sounds of the creek which ran at their feet. it was aaron who broke the silence at last, and when he did it was in the stiff speech of the white man which he had brought back with him from college, the speech which he had never used with ada since they had become lovers. "i want to ask you something, ada," he said slowly. "do you belong to anybody else?" now it was out, and she could not stay at this dis- tance from him, could not bear the cold wide barrier which his words had suddenly thrown up between them. she would die, here, now, lying at his feet, if his thoughts and cold college words banished her utterly like this. there was no life for her in the world without his love, no spot which held any warmth for her body or food for her spirit, unless he were there loving her, touching her with his body, giving her life with his devotion to her. with an anguished cry she threw her- self toward him, her head resting heavily against his thighs, her hands clinging desperately to his waist, and aaron, moved beyond all possibility of words, yet find- river george for the threat which hung over them both with terrify- ing insistence. it was after midnight when he walked the dark road to his home, his heart heavy. after that first discussion he and ada had said no more about it, but had lain there in the dark, clinging desperately to each other, saying little. still aaron would not admit the literal truth. after all no one had said anything definite. perhaps it was all in the past. perhaps lightning and his mother thought of ada simply as soiled baggage unfit for him. if she actually belonged to a white man now his eyes stared into the dark with horror as he thought of it! he was surprised to see a light still burning in the kitchen and walking in, found his mother sitting in a rocker, sucking on the reed of her cob pipe. "you still up, ma?" he asked in surprise. his voice was heavy and tired. she looked up and saw the lean hardness of his face in the lamp-light, the face of a man, and her heart swelled with her pride of him. "jes' waitin' fer yuh to come in," she said. "sump'n i got tuh say to yuh, son." he sank heavily into a chair sighing. "guess i know whut it is, ma," he said sadly. "yuh been keepin' comp'ny wid ada," she said. it was a statement of fact which did not ask for confir- mation or denial and aaron waited in silence through the pause which followed it. "does yuh love her, boy?" he looked at her, his eyes warm and eager and full river george of pain in the lamplight, his lips half opened to speak. but no sound came from them. nor was any necessary. he had answered more plainly than any words could have done. "lord hab mussy!" his mother moaned and her body swayed slowly, mournfully, back and forth, the rockers of the chair following, making a creaking accompani- ment to her grief. "what do you mean, ma?" he evaded. "is it so ter- rible for a man to love a woman?" she could not look at him at once, hearing the pain in his voice, but neither could she turn away from her duty, nor carry it out with averted eyes. her face full of pity she looked up again, directly at him, as she delivered the words which doomed his happiness. "i simply means dat she's a white man's 'oman," his mother said. "she belong tuh mister fred smith, de postmaster yonder at holley rock—an' you is got to let her 'lone, dat's all." "but ma" "hit ain' no but to dat, son," his mother said. "you kin let her alone or you kin look for trouble. an' she ain't wort' de trouble!" she rose, picked up the lamp and went across the narrow hall into her room. and aaron sat there, slumped down in his chair, gazing into the darkness of the room about him. chapter viii aaron swung his plow out of the ground as old - sally, the mule, turned the end of the row, stopped and looked back at him speculatively. it was an unvary- ing principle with sally to stop at the end of a row. in the old days, when henry or hannah alone had driven her at the plow, they had seemed glad to have her, and had always joined her in a brief rest before starting the new row. but aaron was different. like as not he would only urge her on again before she had even a chance to relax that left front ankle which had bothered her ever since she had slipped and wrenched it years before. still it was always worth a try. sometimes even aaron forgot. she looked narrowly at him over her shoulder, her long pointed ears straight back, and when she saw him lean on the plow handle, looking away into space, she sighed heavily with relief, swung her eyes front again, letting her head drop down between her knees, and shifted her weight happily to her right foot, letting her left front ankle flex deliciously, the hoof loose against the ground, with no weight on it. aaron gazed moodily to the east, beyond the poplar trees, his thoughts carrying him far beyond ada's cabin, even, to the other side of the river where, in his hopes and plans, he had picked a little farm to which he and his mother might go, and to which he could bring ada « river george later. it was the only solution that he could see to the thing which was hanging over all of them with its terrorizing threat. for he had not given up ada as his mother had told him he must do. he had studied it all out, sitting there that night a month before, sitting in the dark after his mother had confirmed his worst fears. he knew that, if ada was still fred smith's woman, he was courting disaster to see her, yet he felt powerless. he loved her so much that he did not question the circum- stances which had thrown her into smith's power. he knew that she did not love the white man, knew that there could be no love for any other man but himself in that passionate body and soul which gave themselves so utterly to him. whatever the outward aspects, what- ever fred smith and the world thought, ada was the woman of aaron george and nothing could change that. they had never talked about it again, but their nightly meetings had become desperate greedy inter- ludes for both of them, as though, each time they met, they were meeting for the last time on earth, seizing, in their joint panic, a little more life from the very jaws of death. and their accustomed point of meeting, the grassy slope by the side of the creek, which had at first seemed a bower created for the privacy of lovers, now became a hiding place, to which they crept by different routes, with hunted looks in their eyes and fear in their hearts. sometimes she came to him very late—long after their appointed hour, and on these nights aaron would hold her miserably and tenderly river george in his arms, while she wept with her head on his breast. he never made love to her on nights like this. one night she had not come at all and he had passed her darkened cabin long after midnight with the hot desire for the throat of fred smith stinging his great hands. yet they never spoke of it. nor had his mother mentioned it directly again. but it was in her constant worried glances at him, in the silence which oppressed them both when they were together, in the slow, monotonous creak of the rocking chair in which she swayed mournfully back and forth when her day's work was over. and once she had mentioned it indirectly when aaron was leaving the house one evening. "min' yuh tak care prowlin' aroun' de woods at night," she said. "yuh cain' tell who gwine see yuh." "i'll be careful, ma," aaron answered gravely, and the look which passed between them was full of pain and love. . he stirred impatiently behind his plow, straightening suddenly, and urged sally forward. at the end of the row he found the white riding boss, turner, waiting on his horse surveying the crop approvingly. "howdy, boy," the white man called. "you've got a fine lookin' crop heah. old henry never raised a crop like this." "yes sir, it'd better be," george answered grimly. "aim tuh make some real money this year." he was thinking of the little farm across the river, the promised land which would set him and his mother and ada free. the white man looked at him speculatively. there ' river george was nothing wrong in what the boy had said, yet turner never could be quite sure what was going on in the mind behind aaron's words. it sounded omi- nously as though he were already thinking of the fall settlement, already girding himself for an argument. wheeling his horse, the agent galloped off down the row without a word. aaron looked wearily to the west. the sun still showed its rim above the western ridge, but he was unaccountably tired. he had been feeling that way for weeks now. he sighed, and turned the mule out of the row. she looked around at him, not sure that he had meant to turn her head toward the barn and then, when she felt no restraining pull at the line, her ears went up and her stride lengthened, as she started off, plow and all, so that aaron had to call to her to stop while he unhitched her. then, springing to her back, he let her carry him from the field. rounding a little grove of trees he was surprised to see his mother, trudging toward him, apparently on her way to the fields which he had just left. she stopped when she saw him and waited for sally to bring him alongside her. "jes' comin' down tuh tell yuh dat i lef yo' suppah on de table. ise gwine set my feets in de road." she looked away from him as she spoke, unwilling to meet his eyes. "where you going, ma?" he asked anxiously. he knew his mother well enough to know that she did not take a walk without a definite errand, and that unless river george the errand were something she had rather not talk about she would say directly what it was. "jes' gwine a little piece down de road." she looked evasively across the swaying fields of cotton. "mought pull up at ada's house. ain' zactly know whuh i is gwine yet." she turned, without waiting for his comment, and trudged across the field toward the big road which led past lightning's house and up to ada's muttering to herself, those queer little thundering noises which seldom became words. as her feet stirred the dust of the road, she became briefly articulate. "hit's sumpin us is got tuh face 'oman to 'oman," she said aloud, "an' hit don' mattah who is right an' who is wrong. we is got to face it now, befo' us run up agin sumpin dat nieder one of us will be able to face an' live down." she found ada bending over the stove, preparing her supper. the girl looked up in surprise, and a cloud of fear swept across her face, but she greeted the older woman with friendliness and hannah entered the kitchen and sat down. "i'se glad to see yuh, ma'm," ada said, but her face showed no evidence of happiness. her eyes were bright with her fright, like those of an animal wearied of pursuit. hannah looked about the room critically. she had not expected to see the house so neat and clean, nor the girl herself so quiet or so appealing. in her heart she had resisted hate for this girl and had pictured her as a brazen, hard-souled woman of sin. what she saw was river george a lovely, lonely, frightened child, and her compassion went out to her. but she set herself against the instinct to take ada in her arms, and her voice was stern when she spoke. "ada, i come to talk to yuh 'bout aaron," she said gravely. "i jes' got tuh talk wid yuh." "yes'm mrs. george," the girl said in a low voice, and her eyes grew wider with the fear in them, but she did not evade the other. "he's in trouble, ada," hannah went on, "an' i come tuh yuh fer yo' help, cause yuh's de on'y one kin help. so dat's de reason i come 'long heah. i figgered yuh an' me could hab a li'l understandin' like, 'oman to 'oman." "i guess i knows what yuh want," ada said, her voice scarcely above a whisper. her hands dropped helplessly to her sides and she faced the older woman. "yuh wants us to stop keepin' compa'ny don' yuh?" her voice rose in a hysterical hopeless cry. "yuh mean we cain' go on lovin' each other. yuh mean we got tuh stop, we got tuh give each other up. yuh mean you know 'bout fred smith an' we got tuh stop lessen he fin' out." for a moment hannah was silent, twisting her hands together, her eyes down, her heart torn with pity for ada. when she spoke it was very quietly and there was infinite sadness in her voice. "yeh, dat's whut yoll will hab tuh do." for an instant, ada didn't move. a wild fierce light burned in her eyes and ran, in a streak of sudden scarlet along her cheek bones. her gaze left the room and wan- river george dered through the door and out across the dusk-dark fields, as a caged bird might look toward a forest, while her body twitched spasmodically. "no!" she cried suddenly, with a vehemence which startled hannah. "i won't give him up! i love him an' he loves me. i want him and he wants me—no! i won't" the old woman glanced up at the younger woman's face. then she rose quietly. "den hit means death fer aaron," she said, without altering her tone. "'cause fred smith ain' de kind to share his women wid a nigger ef he know 'bout hit." "wait a minute, mrs. george," ada cried. "sit down —don't go! yuh know i don' wan' him in trouble. i didn't mean i'd do anythin' to hurt him. i just meant i couldn' bear to lose him. i cain' give him up! he's in my blood lak fiah an' in my heart lak a song. we loves one another an' we wants to go on lovin' one another. we wants to go on and on an' on, an' on! we just wants to be left alone so we can be happy." "dat mought be so, but de way yuh is doin' is jes' gittin' him in er deat' trap, an' you knows dat jes' as well as i does. i seen too much of what comes uv dis kind uv trouble," she continued, "an' aaron's all i'se got in de world! i jes' cain' stan' it ef he gits kilt, so i'se come heah to beg you on mah knees to let him be, and tell me dat you ain't gwine see him no mo!" she looked at ada closely, resentment flooding her eyes. "hit ain' so much i'm askin' of yuh ada. yo've had yo' fill o' men. it ain' as though aaron was de fust river george or las'. yuh got a white man now. ef yuh have tuh run back to cullud whyn' yuh pick somebody mo' worthies, lak dat dave johnson. don' much mattah den. but aaron's good. yuh ain' got no call takin' him down. ef things was differen'" she was interrupted by a moaning cry from the girl who had flung herself on her knees and buried her face in hannah's lap. "have mercy, please ma'm, mrs. george," she pleaded. "i ain' been dis way 'cause i wanted to be. i didn' hab much tuh eat when fred smith wanted me an' he tuk care o' me. den when aaron came along, i was sorry for everything i done. i wished i'd starved rudder den tak off fred, 'cause i love aaron an' ef i lose him i'll jes' die. i kinda thought we could go 'way fum heah where nobody wouldn' know us. won' you please jes' give us a chance?" hannah's arms were soothing her gently now, her hands stroking her hair and patting her back tenderly. "i don't lak to cause you no misery, ada, but you knows as well as i does dat yuh cain't git loose from dat postmaster so easy as dat. when yuh gits in a t'ing lak dat, yuh jest cain't git out ob it lak talkin' about it. why don't yuh git out ob dis mess yuh is in, den dar will be time for yuh tuh keep company wid aaron." for a long time the girl lay with her head in hannah's lap, sobbing fitfully. finally her weeping stopped and she lay there quietly for a bit, as though reluctant to relinquish the maternal tenderness which she felt in spite of the harsh edict of the other. finally hannah spoke again. river george $ "i ain' objectin' to yuh, ada. when yuh gits rid o' dat fred smith an' yuh an' aaron still loves each othah, i be proud to tak yuh lak a daughter den, an' fo'git all dat come befo'." the girl raised her head and her eyes were clear and steady as she looked up into the face of the older woman. "i t'anks yuh fer dat, mrs. george," she said quietly. "i'll tell him tonight." hannah rose with a sigh and turned her face to the door. "den i'll be goin', ada." she went out the door and started off slowly down the road, her heart easier. ada looked like a girl who would keep her word. turning to look back, she saw the girl standing motionless in the door against the light of the kitchen lamp. seeing the older woman turn, and interpreting it as a further gesture of friendliness, ada sprang from the doorway and ran quickly down the path after her, her bare feet pattering pleasantly on the ground. reaching hannah, she put her two young arms about her and swiftly kissed the withered cheek of the older woman. then, without a word, she turned and sped back to the house and into the kitchen without looking back. "i declar!" hannah muttered. "she ain' no bad 'oman 'tall. she ain' nuthin' but jes' a sweet chile!" she shook her head slowly, and a low rumbling sound rose in her throat, an imprecation without words, directed against mr. fred smith, against the white race as a whole, and the universe in general, as she shuffled on through the night. chapter ix by august aaron's fields were white with cotton which gleamed in the sunshine like fields of snow. he knew that it was a better crop than any his father had ever raised there, better than any for miles around, and a grim look of satisfaction filled his eyes whenever he looked at it. you could not beat the white man with your fists or with words, but perhaps this was a way. he thought bitterly of the long weeks which had been barren of all but work. work, and eat, and sleep, sleep and eat and work, day followed day broken only by his hope for the future. since the night when his mother had talked with ada, aaron had not taken his evening walk down the dusty road to the creek, and into the woods to the grassy trysting place. ada had told him that night, with dignity and firmness that she would not see him again until she had settled once and for all with fred smith and all danger of interference from him was past. "yo' mudder is right, aaron," she had said sadly. "we all t'ree knows it. ain't nuttin to be done 'bout it 'til we knows we ain' got him to wory about. i curse de day i met him an' hate myself for evah takin' up wid him, but i didn' know den dare was anybody in de worl' lak you. now hits done an' i got tuh undo as si river george was ready for him. at noon the bookkeeper left the store to go to his lunch and aaron watched him with growing resentment as he walked by with complete unconcern. he was away for three hours and when he came back one of his friends was waiting for him so that aaron had to sit again and watch while the book- keeper and his white friend spent an hour in gossip, paying no attention to the waiting black man who had come on business. it was after : before the bookkeeper finally called aaron in. by this time the latter's resentment had resolved itself into a deep bitter silence. he was furi- ously angry and passionately determined to restrain himself from any violent word or act. he stood silently before the other's desk, still waiting while the book- keeper slowly glanced over a page of figures before him. finally, the white man looked up with a leer on his face that was intended to be a smile. "well, boy," he said, "you're in fine shape to make some money next year. that crop of yours pays up all of your father's debts and pays for the mule." aaron started involuntarily. he knew that actually, henry had paid for the mule five or six times over in settlements like this. "you mean to say that pa still owed something on old sally?" he asked. his voice was low and restrained but there was a deep note of anger in it which made the other avert his eyes. "sure he did," the bookkeeper said. "didn't he tell you about it? he made a poor crop last year and we o river george \ erect and motionless, the muscles of his mighty arms as tense as coiled springs. when he spoke his voice had sunk lower and each syllable was clipped short through his labored breath. "i ain't intimating anything, mr. martin," he said, slowly. "only if your figures are fair, there's no reason why you should mind my seeing them. any man has a right to an accounting for his work." for a moment the two men glared at each other, eye against eye, and then the white man, unable to face the angry, accusing stare of the other, let his eyes drop to aaron's throat where his pulse was visibly beating. "who the hell are you to tell me what your rights are? get out of here and if you want that $ . ad- vance come back tomorrow when you can talk more civil." george turned and stared sullenly out the window for a moment, fighting hard to control the resentment that flamed through him. he had expected from the beginning that he would be cheated out of a part of his due, but that his entire crop would be taken away from him this way, in payment for debts, the existence of which he greatly doubted, was almost more than he could bear calmly. in the dark recesses of his mind a beautiful vision and a hope suddenly crumbled. unless he did something, unless he found some way to change the circumstances, which had enslaved his father all of his life, he would have no more freedom than the older man had had. his education would count for nothing and even the little farm, which he had envisioned as a home for his mother, himself, and ada, would be simply * river george forget it so long as he lived. wearily he rose to his feet and without another word went to bed. the next morning he was astride sally again and on his way, but this time not to holly rock. his mother had said that it was no use for a colored man to fight white men unless he had other white men fighting for him. aaron knew that he would never ask a white man to fight for him but he could ask one to help him. so he was on his way to indian mound to see mr. king, an idea surging through his tired mind, a plan which might still save his cherished dream. he found the old master of beaver dam plantation sitting on the broad veranda of his house, as erect and fine as one of the beautiful white columns which supported the veranda roof. he was not surprised to see aaron george riding up on his mule. in the twenty-five years during which he had owned the plantation the negroes had come to love him and trust him. although he had accepted the paternalistic traditions of the south toward his negroes as incontrovertibly as the truths of the old testament, within the frame of those traditions he had treated them with kindliness and fairness. he had never driven them but on days when he felt like going to the fields he would just ride down the turn-rows, basking in their smiling greetings and often say aloud so they could hear him, "i've got the best niggers and the best crop in the delta bottoms." when he had sold the plantation and moved to indian mound he had not forgotten his negroes, and it was a common occurrence for one of them, perplexed by a question too difficult for him to decide, or in river george trouble with the white folks, or needing something he could not get for himself, to come to him for help. as aaron dismounted and walked up to the porch, the elderly white man smiled a friendly greeting to him. "good morning, aaron," he said. "i'm glad to see you, my boy." it was strange how his tone and the simple addition of the possessive pronoun took the sting out of that hated word "boy." "thank you, sir," aaron said, standing before him with his hat in his hand. "i thought perhaps i might come and ask you for help." "glad to have you," king said. "sit down." aaron looked at him with gratitude in his eyes. to be sure, it was a simple unostentatious courtesy for one man to ask another to be seated, but to have a white man in the south ask a negro to sit down was so rare an occurrence that aaron felt a sudden burst of affec- tion for this man who, for twenty-five years, had been his father's master. "thank you, sir," he said again, and seated himself on the top step. "did you have a good crop, aaron?" the white man asked. "ginned ten bales, mr. king," the boy answered proudly. "you don't say," the other cried. "that's more than henry ever made on that piece." "yes, sir," aaron answered, "but" the unspoken words hung between them in the silence that followed. aaron had decided, before he river george came, that he would not mention to mr. king what had happened at the settlement the day before. a matter of pride was involved. if there was any fighting to do he would do it for himself. he was determined to keep his conversation with the white man to its primary purpose, and john king, sensing what was going on in the boy's mind, did not ask for elaboration. he knew too well what went on at the yearly settlements and, although he had a great deal of sympathy for the negroes and felt that tyler had carried things a bit too far, he was not eager to seem to set himself against his own race for the sake of a negro in a land where all tradition was violently against such a course. "i was thinking, mr. king," aaron went on, "that now the farm work is over for a spell, i'd like to get a job in town. i'm strong and can work hard and i could do the work that has to be done on the plantation at night when i get home. i thought maybe you could help me find a job." the white man looked at him with admiration. it was seldom that any negro wanted to do more than he had to, he thought. "why i reckon i can, aaron," he said with easy good nature. "your father, henry, was one of the best workers i ever saw and you look to me like you was following right in his foot-steps. you wait here while i go in and make a telephone call and i'll see if i can't fix that up for you right now." he rose and went into the house. in a few minutes he was back, a broad smile on his face. « river george in disgust. "he ain' doin' nobody any good. shall i get him throwed out?" aaron smiled at his friend's seriousness. "oh he's harmless, lightning. why worry about him?" "i don' noways trust him," lightning said slowly, looking across the group to where do pop was nerv- ously arguing with vince sims. "he got too much psalm singin' for de mean look dat's in his eyes." "oh forget it, lightning," aaron said, "the more we have the better." lightning shrugged his shoulders briefly. "whatever yo' say, aaron, yo' is de brains of dis outfit." he turned and led the way into the hall and the group followed him. when they were all assembled, lightning held up his hand for silence. "yuh knows what we's heah fo'," he said solemnly and aaron felt a sudden thrill of pride as he saw the dignified seriousness of the group. "i ain't much on dis 'splainin' bizness, so, i'se gwine tuhn dis meetin' ovah tuh bruddah george." "yuh ain't gwine open dis meetin' widout a prayah, is yuh?" do pop asked of lightning. "ef yuh is, yuh gwine be a failure at de start. dis is de lawd's bizness, an' yuh got tuh talk tuh de lawd an' git him heah 'fo' yuh staht." lightning suppressed an instinctive snort of disgust and turned questioningly to aaron. aaron shrugged his shoulders briefly and signified consent, whereupon lightning faced do pop. "well i guess yo' knows more abou' dat bizness dan river george i do, bruddah do pop," he said. "i bin too busy thinkin' 'bout men's bizness to be much concerned wid de lord's. fiah away ef yo' wants to." clearing his throat, do pop took off his hat and glared at the other men until they too removed theirs. then he bowed his head solemnly and clasping his hands together, held them rigidly under his chin, while his voice rose in a loud chant. "oh lord we come befoah thee in sin an' humility. weep my bruddahs and sistahs, weep. let de watah flow and wash de sin out of our souls. we know we cain' hide ouah sin from yo', oh god. no doah is t'ick enough. no crack in de eart' is large enough. no shadow in de night is dark enough to keep yo' all seein' eye from penetratin'. we jes' got to come out in de open and confess it and trus' in yo'. de sinner kin stray away to de ends of de eart' but de debbil will follow em. blessed are de ones dat come back an' confess dey sins dey ownselves 'cause ef de debbil brings dem back dey gonna be damned. some day when time is no moh, some day when de stars begin to fall, some day when de moon turns to blood, some day when de light goes out ob de stars an' all de worl' is in darkness, gabriel gonna step out of de clouds wid de trumpet of doom. he gonna blow it so loud dat he'll wake up de dead and all de sinners, and all de hypocrites, an' all de back-biters an' all dose as is too lazy to wuk hard in de fiel's, dey all gonna have to come back to wheah dey sinned and in der distress dey gonna cry to de mountains to fall on dem. oh god we know we cain' dodge yo'. yo' so tall we cain' go ovah yo', so large we ioo river george cain' go 'roun' yo' . yo' hold de seas in yo' hand. yo' speak peace to de storm. you point yo' fingahs at de troubled watahs and dey stan' still. we ask yo' to bless dis meetin' and bring us de light to see de error of our ways. amen." the negroes shuffled restlessly and, sighing with re- lief that the ordeal was over, put on their hats and looked expectantly at lightning. without any further preliminaries he beckoned aaron to his place before them. "i now gonna turn dis meetin' ovah to aaron george," lightning said slowly and backed away to join the rest of the group. aaron stood for a moment looking at them, longing passionately for wisdom and eloquence with which to speak wisely. the faint glow from an oil-lamp fell on their faces accentuating with dark shadows their gaunt, sharp features grooved with wrinkles. finally he spoke in a low dignified voice which was full of gravity and concern. "what i say to you here tonight may cause me to be ordered off this plantation and you to be thrown out of your houses; but you asked me to come here, and i'm gonna talk to you from the bottom of my heart. "when my father died, i came back here determined to earn enough money to buy a little farm where my old mother could live in comfort the rest of her life. i wanted to help you also when i discovered the plight you were in. my father left nothing when he died, so i've had to work the land on shares just as he did and river george ioi just as you are doing now. i'm suffering just as you are from the system of these new owners. their plan of dealing with us means nothing less than starvation and death. they furnish the house, the land, the mules and the plows, while we put the cotton in the ground, culti- vate it and pick it. we are supposed to receive half of the returns on our crop, and the owners are supposed to furnish us with food and supplies until settlement time at the end of the season. but the settlement brings us nothing. we are fortunate if we get out of our work enough to pay for the corn-meal, side-meat and molasses we eat during the year. now, when you get the oppor- tunity to do a little work in town, you find out at last that you are capable of earning a decent living. "i'm glad that something has opened your eyes. this however is no solution of our problem. if we could get the right kind of settlement and long time contracts, we would be encouraged to look after these farms as if they were our own." he paused, wiped the perspiration from his face and then continued. "i would like to have expressions from some of you brethren on this question." there was a long silence. aaron sat down to wait. finally, do pop rose and began speaking slowly: "dis am a pretty tickless question dat yuh is talkin' 'bout now. it's liable tuh make a heap uv troubl'. dare ain't much good dat kin com' out uv a sit'ation whar de niggers dun got too lazy tuh say 'git-up' to de mules dat dey is plowin', an' de white folks dun got too mean tuh go tuh de debil. de niggers is jes got tuh men' dare ways an' wuk lak dey wuked when river george mr. king had dis place. an' dese white folks got tuh drop all dese slavery notions 'fore de lawd gwine put his han's on dis place. de lawd ain't please' wid de niggers, nurther is he pleas' wid de white folks. dat's how com' he sen's all dese floods to dis delta lan'; an' ef dis t'ing keeps up, he's gwine sen' a flood one uv dese days lack he sunt in noah's time; an' dare ain't gwine be nobody lef but de right'ous. what we needs tuh do is tuh pray fur de lawd tuh bring dese white folks bak tuh de rock o' salvation an' den pray to de lawd agin tuh put som' 'lectwicity in de lazy bones uv dese niggers so dey kin take holt uv de blessings when dey comes. dis ani' no time fur niggers tuh be talkin' 'bout zisting de white folks. it's jes gwine git a lot uv dem lynched. "when god gits ready, he's gwine give dem a sign, jes lack he give it tuh moses in de burning bush." the crowd stirred uneasily at do pop's words. light- ning rose quickly to his feet. he looked at aaron and then around at do pop. "some niggers is too scared an' too lazy fuh any use," he said. "dey don' want no change a'tall. we got a right tuh know what we gittin' fuh our cotton when we carry it up dar to de gin. an' we ain't doin' nuthin' 'ginst de lawd nurther de white folks cause we try tuh git our half uv what de crop brings. i been on dis place might nigh thurty years, an' i ain' made nuthin' since mr. king sold it. i jes gits deeper in debt eve'y yeah. now, i'se tiad uv dem cheating me out uv my money," he shouted. "i ain't no hog dat dey kin feed an' make me satisfied while dey take all de money fuh de crop. river george now ef dis heah cheatin' ever gwiner be stopped, who's gwiner stop hit ef we don' complain? hit's alrigh' tuh 'pend on de lawd, but de lawd want yuh tuh do somethin' fuh yuhself." lightning sat down. the crowd nodded their heads in approval of his speech. but it was growing late and they were becoming restless. unless something was done quickly, all would be lost, aaron thought. he rose and lifted his hands for silence. "i have worked out a partial plan," he said. "first, i suggest that you appoint a committee composed of three of the oldest tenants on the place to go up to heathman and take up with the landowners the whole question of settlement. if the owners are willing to give us consideration, we will then name one of our group to keep the accounts of those who are unable to read and write, so they will know what's coming to them before they go up for settlement at the end of the season." the group, ready by now to follow any lead which lightning and aaron took, quickly agreed. and although aaron had suggested appointing three of the oldest tenants on the plantation, his name was the first to be called for the committee and against his protest he was unanimously elected as chairman and asked to select his other two members. without hesitation he asked lightning and vince sims to work with him and the meeting was dismissed. as lightning and aaron left the hall, do pop was still haranguing some of the others, waving his hands and expostulating. io river george "dat nigger ain't nevah gonna do nobody any good," lightning said, and spat disgustedly into the road. "i looks at him an' i wondah why dey bothahed tuh fight de civil war." chapter xi throughout the cabins on the beaver dam plantation, uneasiness was spreading. it showed itself in the silence which oppressed the evening air that was wont to be filled with song and laughter; in the little groups which clustered here and there in the door- yards, inevitably divided into two camps relentlessly opposing each other, arguing about something which worried them all; in the down-cast eyes and worried faces of the negroes when they met white folks on the road. the population of beaver dam, which had gone along for generations as one body of hard-working, poverty-stricken negroes, was now obviously split into factions, one consisting of those who applauded all that had been said and planned at the meeting at the hall of the sons and daughters of the rising sun and were willing to lend moral support at least to the accom- plishment of those plans, the other group made up of the reactionaries who shook their heads, sadly declaring that no good could ever come of it and counselling silence and caution. how the news had got around, no one seemed to know. those who had attended the meeting had agreed steadfastly that all which had been said there would be kept within the knowledge of the original group until after the committee had had its interview with river george as a matter of fact, his meeting with aaron had come about as a result of a daily attempt to bring it about for three days. for weeks the white group who ran the plantation had viewed with annoyance the exo- dus of the negroes from the plantation to jobs in town, knowing well that knowledge of the wages they could earn in town would soon open the eyes of many of them to the futility of work on the plantation. when news of the meeting had reached the white ears, dismay had turned to fury and they decided to move swiftly against the man whom they knew instinctively to be the ring-leader. as aaron's mule approached, the agent turned his horse into the road blocking the way. "where you been?" he asked gruffly. aaron looked at him a moment without replying. he must be careful now. he must watch closely what he said. "been up to town," he said quietly. the agent glared at him with accusing eyes as though he might have confessed that he had just been out com- mitting a murder. "they tell me that you got a job in town and that you're using our mule to ride to work every day. what about it?" aaron smiled with a difficult simulation of friendli- ness. "why, yes sir, mr. turner, i got a job alright. thought i'd do something to help out a little till the planting season. i manage to get my work around home done alright in the evening. but i ain't been riding any io river george of your mules. this here is old sally that my father had ten years before he died. she's been bought and paid for a dozen times, i reckon." immediately he wished he could recall the last sen- tence. while he was sure that what he had said was true, he had been so determined to say nothing, and do noth- ing which would arouse the anger of any of the white folks, and here, in his first encounter, he was encourag- ing unpleasantness. the agent glared at him with rising anger. "you're just crazy as hell," he said. "the mule be- longs to the plantation and i'm going to take her along with me right now. if you go to town again, you'll hoof it." aaron felt his body growing tense with fury and it was with difficulty that he restrained himself and spoke calmly. "that mule is paid for, mr. turner," he said. "what- ever the situation was before pa died, the bookkeeper told me, when we settled this fall, that all the debts were paid and the mule paid for." "well you'll give him up, by god," turner's voice was rising with an angry threat in it. "you think you're a damn smart nigger, but you haven't learned yet to keep your nose out of trouble. the $ . advance you got involved the mule and she's our mule until you pay the money back." aaron was silent for a moment, fighting hard to control himself. now, more than ever before, he must be careful. he must not speak the impulsive words of wrath which clamored in his throat for utterance, must river george not let his great hands double into murderous fists as they were trying to do, must not let his body leave its firm seat on the back of old sally to fly like a raging fury at the form of the man before him. his eyes wandered off over the fields for a moment to shut out of sight the cause of his wrath. when he spoke again, it was calmly, quietly, but in a low voice. "the bookkeeper told me," he said slowly, "that the advance of $ . was on next year's crop, otherwise i wouldn't have signed the contract to work the land for another year. i have a committee going to see mr. tyler and if he says that i should give the mule up, i'll leave it at holly rock. otherwise i won't." his eyes met the agents' unflinchingly, but the other's turned away in evasion, a slow flush of anger running from his neck to his temples. he looked back again, his eyes flaming hate. "you're telling me what you'll do!" he shouted. "well i'm in the habit of telling niggers what they're going to do, and if they don't do it i beat the hell out of them. get down off that mule before i drag you down." for answer, aaron's eyes glowered in silent defiance as he sat immobile astride his mule. with a curse, turner reached behind him and seized a heavy leather strap which hung from his saddle. his arm flashed upward in an ascending arc but the strap never reached aaron. with the quickness of a cat's paw, his own left hand shot upward and grasped the agent's right wrist, tightening on it with the strength of a steel vise until the white man's face contracted with pain and the strap no river george fell limply to the road, while the eyes of the men fought for supremacy, aaron's blazing with fury, turner's smoldering with hate, into which were injected little flashes of fear. "you ain't gonna whip nobody right now, mr. turner," aaron said tensely and flung the white man's arm from him while his own right hand trembled with its leashed desire to strike. fearing that he would not be able to control himself, feeling instinctively the need to confine that powerful right arm, aaron thrust his hand stiffly into his coat pocket pushing hard against the bottom of it in the need to give it some action which would keep it from the deed it must somehow be restrained from doing. the agent looked with horror and it was with diffi- culty that he spoke without letting his voice tremble. "by god, you dare threaten me with a gun!" he cried. "you dare threaten a white man!" "no, mr. turner, it was you who did the threaten- ing," said aaron. taking his hand from his pocket, he let it fall limply to his side, feeling a sudden helpless sense of defeat. he knew that he could crush this white man's body with his bare hands, knew that the white man knew it too and knew equally well that just as such a physical victory that this might be would bring nothing but trouble and further suffering, so the moral victory he had won in this moment had been utterly futile. "i know better ways to handle a damn nigger like you," the agent snarled, and without further words whirled his horse around and galloped off down the river george in road, leaving the strap he had been unable to use lying where it had fallen. late that evening six men gathered in the rear of the plantation store in response to sam turner's sum- mons. in addition to sam turner, fred smith the post- master, and the clerk, the overseer, the book-keeper, there was bud scott, tall and raw-boned, the leader of the paddy-rollers, that group of ruthless night riders who had put terror into many a cowering negro's heart, and brought death to not a few, a man who had served a term as deputy sheriff, and for twelve years had led every posse that sallied forth in search of desperate characters. his gun had proved more deadly than the gallows on the second floor of the little brown, brick jail up at indian mound. there also was watt matthews, former boss of a construction gang on the yellow dog fifteen years before when colonel billie bob built the road. but colonel billie bob had fired him long before the yellow dog was completed. the colonel had said that he was too hard on his niggers. the eyes of all the men were turned on sam turner. "something's got to be done to get rid of aaron george," he snapped briefly, "and it's got to be done right away. why this nigger aint done nothing for months but stir up other niggers, and if he gits away with this every damned nigger on the plantation will be shipping to town to work; and when they find they can make more money than they git here, they'll be going to other towns and who the hell will work for the farm? an' where'u our jobs be? he's using our river george mules to ride to town to work and is urging other nig- gers to do the same. when i tried to stop him this evening and take the mule, he threatened my life." "i don't know that i've ever liked the looks of this nigger," the bookkeeper, in perfect harmony with the agent, chimed in. "he don't look down at the groun' like the rest of the niggers when a white man is talkin' to him. kind of thought he'd git smart when i settled with him last year, but i guess the big forty-five layin' in the open drawer kinda cooled him off." "why don't you get a warrant out for him?" the overseer asked, ignoring the bookkeeper and speaking directly to the agent. "what for?" asked the agent. "didn't you say he threatened you? with gun play? didn't you catch him comin' from town on one of the mules?" "yes," the agent replied. "well," said the bookkeeper, "he can be indicted. he can be sent to parchman farm. no court gwine to decide in no nigger's favor when he threatens a white man." "that wouldn't work," said the overseer. "that damn' king would step in and spoil everything." "i guess that's right," the leader of the paddy-rollers said thoughtfully. "it's a damn good thing he ain't got this place no more. i never could understand him. he let the niggers make too much money. that's what's the matter with them now." watt matthews lifted his head and glared at those around the table. there was a look of cold disdain in river george " his eyes. slowly he drew back his lips revealing a row of teeth stained with tobacco juice. "you'd think this nigger was somebody the way you all are carrying on," he said in disgust. "since when did a nigger git so important that you had to stay up all night trying to find a way to deal with him? why can't you just string him up and then explain after- wards? there ain't gonna be much explaining to do nohow." "yes, but he ain't done enough to call for a lynch- ing," said the overseer. "course he done a lot of talking back to sam, and i ain't in for letting him get away with that at all, but i—i" "but i what? when did you turn into a nigger lover?" the agent cut in coldly. "this nigger ain't no good at all. it ain't gonna be long before he does some- thing sho nuf. if you don't git him now, you gonna have to git him sooner or later. he'll give you plenty reason all right to git him good." "well what do you want us to do?" sam, the leader of the paddy-rollers asked. the agent was silent for a moment. "i just wanted to find out and make sure all you boys would be with me if i got something started. suppose, for instance, this nigger happened to do some- thing that really called for a neck-tie party, would you boys be in on it?" "sure, sure!" they chorused, the only dissenting note coming from the overseer who modified, "if it was serious enough." "alright," turner said, apparently satisfied. "i guess river george "j the agent thought rapidly for a moment, formulat- ing a plan which the postmaster's quick reaction to his news had given birth in his mind. "well if i got the right dope," he said at last, look- ing narrowly at the postmaster, "all you got to do is get up to ada's house about : o'clock tomorrow evening and you'll get an eye-full of proof." "i'll be there," smith answered grimly and the two men rose, shook hands and left. once on the street, sam turner hurriedly hunted up watt matthews. "tell the boys, watt," he said with a significant look, "to be ready for a neck-tie party tomorrow night. fred smith's gonna catch that nigger up at ada's house and i figure that if fred doesn't kill him himself, it will be only because the nigger beats hell out of fred and that's all we need." watt looked at him in amazement. "but they tell me he hasn't been seeing the gal for a couple of months," he said doubtfully. turner laughed unpleasantly. "don't worry," he said, "i'll see that he's there al- right. i've got a nigger out there who'll damn well get him there. that black psalm-singing bastard would do anything for four-bits." watt shrugged his shoulders and turned away. and sam turner, his face set, mounted his horse and gal- loped rapidly away in the direction of the shanties on the beaver dam plantation. river george " he stirred uneasily on old sally's back, and passed a nervous hand across his throat, then bent low above her neck, and clung for a moment to her bristly mane, steadying himself against the dizziness which threatened to overwhelm him. all day he worked silently, speculating darkly on what the next few days might bring him. a premoni- tion of disaster followed him, oppressed his heart, clung to the movements of his hands, slowing them. would the first words he had spoken at the meeting a few nights before prove so soon to be prophetic? he had said, "perhaps what i am about to say will cause me to be driven from this plantation." was that about to happen? he had little doubt that his encounter with sam turner the night before had been no chance meet- ing, nor that his use of the mule, and his job in town had been the only things at stake. undoubtedly the white owners had learned of the meeting and had set out at once to hamper the effectiveness of anything which aaron and his group might do. he thought again of his mother's admonition, "ain' no use fightin' 'gainst white folks." would it always be true? would he and his race carry oppression for the rest of life, as they carried their black skins? was there no release for them? he rode sally home slowly that night, scarcely bothering, in the weariness which assailed his body and soul, to look for sam turner or any other white man who might be waiting along the road to intercept him and his mule. to right and left the fields and trees which had surrounded his carefree childhood stretched n river george away. they had seemed so lovely to him when he had come back here from college, ready to center his life among them. now he scarcely looked at them as he rode along, his head bowed, his eyes scarcely seeing anything at all. every tree that he passed seemed brood- ing, inimical; every field seemed barren and hostile, as though denying him a hiding place against his possible need. but it seemed suddenly to matter so little. what- ever he did, whatever he thought, whatever he intended, whatever he hoped, amounted to nothing, for he was a negro in a world made and ruled by white men. he shook his head slowly, trying to rid his mind of his thoughts. nothing could be gained by figuring things that way. after all, nothing had happened. he had done nothing—save talk of fairness and intelligence to his friends—and raise his hand against that of a white man about to strike him. he shuddered as he thought of this. that was the great crime. he stabled sally and went slowly to the house where his mother waited, his supper on the table. she looked at him with keen troubled eyes as he entered silently and sat down without even greeting her. "what yuh grievin' 'bout, son," she asked with gentle concern. "yuh in trouble?" he looked at her anxious, wrinkled face, and his heart softened with affection and pity. he was trying to forget the gloomy thoughts which had pursued him all day, but as he looked at hannah they descended upon him again in a cloud. had he, by his desire to be something, for himself, and for her, and for ada and river george upon the compassion of the almighty to make the suf- ferings of her race easier to bear. here was a new faith, a vision which could see in the future a glory coming to his people through the very force of their being, something which she believed must inevitably come about, without help or hindrance from such puny efforts as those which his committee might make. he studied her face slowly, a new respect entering his eyes, a new glimmering of understanding tugging at his mind. if he could grasp it, if it could be quite plain to him, perhaps he could find a way to make life bearable here, now, working with seemingly everything against him. perhaps if he had listened to her more before, things would be different now. she had always seemed to him, for all her staunchness, unwilling to admit that there could be anything for the negro but toil and trouble, always unwilling to run the risk of antagoniz- ing the white rulers of this land through any attempt at progress, always had seemed to him to be utterly resigned. and resignation and inactivity had seemed so futile to him. yet, as he felt now, he had been equally futile. was her way best after all? "ma," he said slowly, "i wonder if i've been wrong. i got fire in my blood and my hands are itching to do something besides waitin'. your way just takes whut comes an' i cain' wait easy." a hurried step before the door made them both start. then they settled back with a sigh of relief when they saw that it was only do pop. he was trembling, river george and his eyes were jumping forward and rolling. he would not look directly at either of them. "i wanna talk wid yuh a minute aaron," he said. "mought yuh could cum outside." aaron rose and followed him. out of earshot of the open door they stopped. "what's wrong, do pop?" aaron asked anxiously. "i dunno ef anything's wrong or not wrong," the other whined. "i ain' said anything wrong." "then what are you so excited about?" aaron's voice was a little impatient. "you act as though there was about to be a lynching or something." "hush yuh mout'," do pop's whine rose almost to a scream. "don' yuh talk 'bout t'ings lak dat." aaron sighed. he was beginning to share lightning's dislike and mistrust of this man. there was no getting to the bottom of him. "well, what's on your mind?" he asked impatiently. "ain' nutting fo' yuh to git sore about. it's jes' dat i cum by ada's house an' she ask me would i tell yuh dat she got tuh see yuh right away 'bout sumpin." his voice trailed off into a whisper as he spoke, and he looked away, evading aaron's eyes in the rapidly gathering dusk, and he shook as if with a chill. aaron looked at him narrowly. "what does she want to see me about, do pop?" he asked slowly. "fo' god i do' know nuttin' 'bout hit, aaron. she jes' tol' me she want tuh see yuh right away." "then what are you shaking so for?" aaron's voice was accusing. he knew that he must watch every move river george he made now, and there was something about this which made him cautious. he had not seen ada for many weeks. she had said that she would let him know when she had settled finally and for good with fred smith, but it did not seem likely that she would send word to him this way, by an excited do pop. and why should do pop be so upset over a simple message like that? "peah's lak i got a misery in me," the little man whined. "peahs lak i cain' keep still. i'se feelin' lak i felt when i got dat vision on de road fum town. mought be i'm goin' see dat chai'ot again an' dem angels—" aaron scarcely heard him. he knew that he would learn no more from the trembling man before him. his heart beat wildly with a strange conflict, his sudden surge of desire to see ada again, to feel the strong warmth of her arms about him, to find again the com- fort which his head would know on her breast, and the unexplained premonition of evil which do pop's message and hysterical excitement had brought to him. then, suddenly a new thought assailed him. perhaps ada was in trouble. perhaps she needed him. perhaps do pop had heard more than he had told, seen some- thing he had not mentioned for fear of involving him- self. perhaps this was why he was so agitated. turning, he called to his mother, keeping his voice as calm as he could. "i'm goin' up the road a piece ma," he said. she came to the door quickly. river george " "whut's wrong, aaron," she asked sharply. "whah yuh goin'?" "nothing's wrong. i'm just going up to see lightning and the boys a minute," he lied, and turning, headed for the road, breaking into a run as soon as he was well out of sight of the kitchen door. for a moment hannah stared after him into the young night. her accustomed admonition that he "fin' no trouble" hung unspoken on her lips. when he was out of sight she walked slowly back into the room and settled heavily into her rocker. "lawd hab mussy," she moaned, "an' bring um back tuh me dis night." chapter xiii aron leaned against the door-casing of ada's xa.house breathing heavily, for he had run most of the way. he had called to her softly as he had come up the path, his heart beating hard, as much with fear of what he might find, as from his exertion, but he had had no response. now he hesitated a moment as he gazed through the open door of the house to which he had been forbidden entrance. quickly his eyes took in every detail of the neat clean kitchen, the room which long ago ada had told him she did not want him to see until she had had a chance to pretty it for him. as scantily furnished as it was, as bare of all adornment, as volubly as it spoke of poverty, he would have been proud as a guest in that room. he sighed heavily and feeling, since the prohibition of ada's word, that he could not enter unbidden, he raised his hand, rapped gently on the door-post and waited. she came from the inner room bare-footed and scantily clad in the cotton dress she had worn that first night they had met in the woods. her eyes were full of sleep. she had evidently been resting. plainly there was nothing wrong with her. apparently she had not been expecting him. nonplussed aaron stood there silently, torn by his desire for her and his astonishment at her evident lack of expectation. river george when she saw who he was, she came forward quickly, her face flushed with surprise, her voice eager and a little frightened. "aaron," she cried, "whut yuh doin' heah? cum in off dat stoop quick before anybody mought see yuh." taking him by the hand, she led him hurriedly through the door and across the kitchen floor into the bedroom. and aaron forgot his fear for a moment, forgot to question why he was here, in the sudden surge of warmth which her presence and the love which he found in her eyes gave him. "ada," he cried, "i've been so hungry for you." his arms went around her and she clung to him while he pressed her head close against his shoulder kissing her ears, the back of her neck, holding her tightly to him as though he would never let her go. for a moment she rested thus, then looked up, fear in her eyes. "why yuh cum heah, aaron?" she asked anxiously. "because yuh sent fo' me, honey," aaron said, his voice full of the astonishment which he felt. her eyes wide, ada's lips parted as if to answer him, but her words remained unspoken, for a heavy step on the kitchen floor made them spring apart to face fred smith, the postmaster, who strode toward them, his face white with rage. he was a large man, heavy with fat through the hips and shoulders and he moved cus- tomarily with a slow ponderous gait which was quick- ened slightly now by his rage. his eyes, as he approached them, glazed hotly. for a moment, he looked from one to the other, then he roughly pushed ada aside and faced aaron. river george "get the hell out of this house, nigger," he cried and advanced toward aaron. slowly, walking backward step by step, his eyes never leaving those of the white man, aaron retreated through the kitchen and out the door. his lips were a thin line, his face immobile, his muscles tense. he won- dered dully why he was not afraid, why he felt nothing save this rigid hate for the distorted, angry face of the man before him. feeling the grass of the yard under his feet, he stopped. then smith turned to ada who had followed them closely, trembling and looking from one to the other in an agony of fear. "what's this nigger doing here?" he asked roughly. the girl flinched and her teeth dug against her lower lip. "oh he jes' a friend of mine. he just cum ovah to say good-bye." she threw an appealing look at aaron, her agonized glance pleading with him. "he wanted to say good-bye 'cause he's leavin' to- morrow morning," she added. she paused, her eyes flashing white at the rim of her lids, her breath catching. the white man looked at her closely, angrily, and seized her arm in one hand, grasp- ing it tightly until she winced with pain. great beads of sweat stood out on his forehead and a little spot of red in each cheek turned to purple. aaron watched them in silence, restraining himself with all of his power, standing immobile where he had stopped. be- fore the eyes and ears of his memory, a stark drama was being replayed. it was a night fifteen years before river george " when aaron had been going down the road past the cabin of a girl he had known as a child. her name was sue brown and all the world had known that she was the mistress of a white man. as he went down the road he had seen bud moore, a colored boy who loved her, duck through the gate and run toward the house. near by a white horse was hitched with the stirrups over the saddle, a horse aaron had known, a horse which be- longed to the white man. he had heard the sound of bud's knuckles rapping against the door, a sound he would never forget, for a moment later he saw the door open and heard a volley of pistol shots ringing through the stillness of the night. and the sound of the shots was like the rap of the knuckles on the door. he straightened up and his teeth ground against each other and the muscles in his face worked tensely as he looked at fred smith glaring now at ada, suspicion and anger in his face. "by god, i think you're lying," the white man snarled. "i'll not share you with any nigger." automatically, as though he had no control over them, aaron's feet moved forward two steps bringing him close to the white man, so that his body half interposed itself between smith and the girl. and when he spoke, his face was not a foot away from that of fred smith and his voice was low in his throat as though it were unused to words. "it ain't a matter of sharing her with a nigger, mr. smith. you ain't speakin' truth." the white man started as though he had been slapped, the color draining out of his face and receding into his river george head pressing against him, but he seemed strangely cold and inanimate, unable to speak or move, gazing at her trembling body and the lifeless form of the white post- master impersonally as though they and all else which existed were of a world from which he was now com- pletely cut off, standing away in space which was far distant from everything he had ever encountered before. he could not bring his mind to any clear thought, to any memory or logical arrangement of the events which had preceded this moment. why had he come here? who was this woman whom he had come to see? why had he wanted to see her? suddenly his tortured mind clutched at a thread of memory. she had sent for him, that was it. she had called him here to this horrible thing. when he spoke, his voice was hard, cold, and without life. "i got to go now," he said. for a moment she clung to him more desperately, then her hands dropped limply to her side. "yeah, you got to go now," she said, her own voice lifeless, and her body sank lower until her bent back and her head resting against the knees which touched the ground made a line against the grass which spoke infinite desolation. against her ear-drums beat the re- morseless pounding of aaron's foot-steps across the grass as he walked away, but she did not look up again. chapter xiv fields which he had seen grow and bloom in the sunlight, trees which had shown him their green glory in the spring and pleasant brown peace in the autumn, slid by him unseen, a deadly and inimical monotone in the dark as he ran down the road, his breath coming in choking gasps, his heart a pounding terror in his chest. instinctively he was glad that there was no moon, that no light save that of the stars shone on him, for he wanted only to be hidden, only to find a place where no prying, baleful eyes set in white faces could find him out. and even in these first few terror- stricken moments which followed that cataclysmic in- stant in which the world had dissolved in sound and flame and he had seen fred smith lying motionless be- fore him, he suspected that he would find no adequate hiding place until that day when he received ultimate sanctuary in earth. ahead a dim light shone through the kitchen window of his mother's house. with a sob, he quickened his pace and ran toward it, stumbling through the door at last wordlessly. how many times this room had re- ceived him quietly, peacefully, when his body and soul were weary, and given him the surcease he needed. now it would be less than a resting place, only a point at which he could touch in anguish on his flight. * river george he found hannah sitting in her chair, her pipe in her mouth, as he entered. but as she saw him she rose, her pipe clattering to the floor. no words were needed to tell her that the peace of her world had been shat- tered. aaron's face and labored breath were more volu- ble than any speech. she stood immobile for a moment, her mind seeking frantically for an assumption on which she might pin a little hope, but when aaron, with a wordless cry, flung himself into the chair she had just vacated, his head sinking hopelessly into his hands, she knew that whatever he was about to say would only increase her fear. "lawd hab mussy!" she moaned. without raising his head he spoke. "i've got to go, ma," he said. his voice was low, his words spoken in choked syllables. still she was immobile. "whut yuh do, aaron?" she whispered. his head sank lower, resting on his arms flung across his knees. a low, tortured sob was her only answer. quickly she came to him and knelt beside his chair, taking his head in her arms and lifting it to her breast. "whut yuh do, aaron?" she asked again. her voice, still low, was strong and insistent, demanding, refusing any evasion. "i done kill a white man!" he sobbed. "i done kill fred smith!" for a moment her body was rigid with terror. here was trouble which no words or acts would assuage. only flight—endless, perpetual flight—could possibly save him. ahead she saw the years which she would face river george in loneliness, when she would not know where he was, or whether he was living even. for a moment her mind dwelt bitterly on ada green, whose existence had brought this about, but she pulled her thought away to listen to what he was saying. "he pulled a gun on me an' i grabbed fer it. it went off an' killed him. i don' know whether he did it or i did it but he's dead and it'll be all the same to me when they find him." he sprang to his feet as he thought he heard a noise in the darkness which surrounded the cabin. "i gotta go quick, ma," he cried. still she could find no words which could bear upon their trouble. there was nothing she could say. in hope- less defense against its agony, her mind sought practical expedients. "i fix some t'ings fer yuh," she said heavily, and moved toward the cupboard. but her hand, raised to the latch, was transfixed in mid-air as she heard the un- mistakable sound of hoofs pounding along the road. "dey comin', ma!" he cried, and sprang to the lamp, blowing out the light before he leaped through the door and into the night. through the yard he ran, his feet sinking into the soft earth of hannah's kitchen garden. suddenly realiz- ing that he was leaving a clear track behind him, he turned and doubled, repassing the house at the back just as the pounding hoof beats, the sound of which had driven him forth, drew up at the front. fearful lest the sound of his flight would betray him, he threw himself into the shelter of the darkness, lying flat and river george a quarter of a mile away was the edge of the woodland through which ran the creek. instinctively they sought the shelter of the trees. "wheah yuh t'ink of heading?" lightning asked, his words punctuated with his heavy breathing, as they ran. "what difference does it make?" aaron asked. "we better git to the railroad track and try to hop the first freight. it don't much matter which way it goes." they were in the forest now where the darkness was intensified to an impenetrable blackness by a heavy growth of pines. under their feet the pine needles made a soft murmuring sound. it was so dark that they had to feel their way along to keep from running head on into the trees. suddenly both stopped short and listened. across the fields and woods which separated them from ada's house came the unmistakable baying of a hound. the chase had started. for a moment they stood motionless, then george put his hand briefly on lightning's arm. "the creek!" he whispered, and together they felt their way cautiously toward the distant sound of trick- ling water. it was only a little stream, scarcely ankle- deep, but in aaron's terror it seemed a haven of safety. so long as he could walk with both feet in the water, no dog could follow his trail. when they reached it aaron took the lead and ran along the bank upstream a little way, then he stepped in, with lightning following him and together they continued upstream a hundred yards, then stepped to the bank for a few yards. re-entering the stream, they river george went on in the same direction, then again ran along the bank for a little way, hoping that they could make the dogs pick up the scent and follow the stream in this direction. but the terrifying sound of the baying was coming nearer. plunging into the water, they turned around and hurried downstream as fast as the slippery rocks on the creek-bed would allow them. when they had gone half a mile they heard the sound of the dogs directly behind them, baying confusedly, obviously running in circles. they had reached the creek now, and had lost the scent at the point at which aaron and lightning had first entered the water. for a moment the two stood and listened, then sighed with relief as they heard the joyous yelp of the dogs. they had picked up the scent again—but up- stream, and were headed away from them. "let's make for the railroad," aaron said, and leav- ing the water they started north, in a few moments reaching a road down which they ran with all the strength left in their weary bodies. but they had not gone far when they were stopped again, this time by the sound of the hounds coming down the creek. they had evidently abandoned their upstream search, after having lost the scent in that direction, and were working their way downstream, trying to pick it up there. their simple ruse had been used too many times in the south by negroes escaping slavery in the old days or the vengeance of whites in the new days of freedom, to be effective for long. "dem damn paddy-rollers hard to shake off," light- river george confused voice behind him. no question that they would soon be on him. thinking quickly, he suddenly stepped out of the water again. by now aaron would be close to the rail- road track. he knew there was a freight train headed for memphis due at almost any minute. if aaron was lucky he might be able to catch it. at any rate the dogs had been thrown completely off his trail. following the scent of his shoes there was little possibility that they could pick up the actual trail of george now, even if the paddy-rollers back-tracked and tried again. stooping over, without leaving the water, lightning swiftly removed the shoes and threw them onto the bank. then, barefooted, he stepped into the water again and hurried on. as he left the stream and set his bare feet in the road less than a quarter of a mile from his cottage, he heard the excited yelping of the dogs, gathered in a clutter of sound. they had found the shoes. he turned for a moment, looking in the direction from which the sound came, and listening. "yoll welcome to dem," he said bitterly, and walked on, breathing more easily now, knowing that he would not be followed farther this night. lying close in the grass by the side of the track aaron waited as the sound of the rumbling freight train came nearer. it seemed an eternity of slowness, yet he was glad that it was not traveling more rapidly. it would be difficult enough for him to swing aboard as it was. as the locomotive passed him, he stood up and began river george running along the side of the train, watching for his chance and, seeing a box-car which seemed empty, he made a flying leap, seized one of the bars on the side, and, for a terrifying instant, swung in air. tightening his hold, he pulled himself up and flung his body over the side, dropping to the floor of the car. as he crept over to one corner to a pile of hay, he heard a faint sound like someone yawning. he struck a match and held it up, his hand trembling. he saw curled up in one corner of the car, a black man in blue denin overalls. "put dat light out!" the other commanded crossly. "what's de mattah wid yuh, losin' yo' min'? de white folks jest got through peepin' in heah. dey thought ah was a big lump o' coal." "i'm sorry," george mumbled. "i didn't expect com- pany, and wanted to see who it was." "well, you gwine have company fo' a long time, ef you'se gwine whar i'se gwine." "where you going?" aaron asked. he was glad the stranger wanted to talk about himself. it might keep him from asking questions. "i'se gwine to 'blues heben' jest as sho' as de sun sets in de west, bruddah. i'se blues heben-bound!" he fairly wailed. "where is blues heaven?" asked george. he forced himself to the question. if he could keep the other talk- ing perhaps he could even keep his own mind away from the terror that was gripping it. "man, don' yuh know whar 'blues heben' is?" river george "i never heard of it before. you're not thinking of dying, are you?" "whar's yuh been all yuh life, dat you ain't heer'd 'bout 'blues heben'? dey calls beale street in memphis 'blues heben'. dar's whar de good time are—dey barrel house and sing de blues all night wid a lot er putty gals." "it sounds good to me," aaron said. "guess i'll string along with you, if you don't mind." "say, man, if yuh git to beale street once, they ain' gwine never be able tuh git yuh back on the farm." chapter xv beale street lingers in the american mind like a strumming banjo. half forgotten by the rest of the world, it lies substantial in memphis, a packed and jangling thoroughfare, an avenue of vice and commer- cial ambition, of sweet melody and low comedy. it ram- bles for about a mile through the heart of memphis, and then loses itself in the muddy bottoms of east street. all through the years it has remained an out- post of age-old africa, in the midst of a bustling city. civilization crashes sullenly against it and main street crosses it, but it refuses, somehow, to become assimilated. on beale street live and work such men as robert r. church, the political boss of the republican party in west tennessee, the roving dictator of the lincoln belt, and down beale street once walked w. c. handy, following a negro that was humming a tune that had been heard for many years in the cornfields, on the railroads and in the sweltering river bottoms. when handy heard it he took it to his heart, elaborated and harmonized it, and out from "blues heaven" floated the "beale street blues." around the world, to broadway, to paris, to singapore, to capetown, it went, to be fol- lowed by another melody to fit "my man's got a heart like a rock cast in the sea." on beale street, the pulse of dark america beats river george highest. river rats, roustabouts, richly red-brown lovely women, hang-jawed country rubes from the cornfields, mingle with spruce urban negroes in an atmosphere pungent with barbecued pig, white mule and synthetic gin, alive with loud and plaintive music of those who sit around in the cafes, trying to ease their souls with ready-made song. crowds gather at jim mulcahy's place at fourth and beale, and dance to the tune of a loud jazz band. yel- low girls, tired from plying their trade, drift in and droop over the piano, where the nimble fingers of a lean black man execute every trick of syncopation. the music seems to have a very singular effect upon those pale, wasted women, who gather there. first, they weep, as the song tells of sorrow and of suffering, and of other days, but as it grows faster and louder, they dash away their tears, throw their heads back and, with reckless laughter on their lips, move to the center of the floor and execute the "pasamala", and other torrid di- versions of the "honky-tonk" dancers. then beale street is "blues heaven" to those women, who have strayed away from their delta homes to have a fling at life where the blues began. the night echoes with the cries of a gay, carefree people, who pass along the streets in a never ending parade. the strumming of guitar players strolling down the street, with their girls singing to the accompani- ment, blend with the traffic noises, to create short snatches of gaiety, such as handy had heard flowing from the throbbing bosom of "blues heaven." so this was beale street, the "blues heaven" that river george aaron's companion had told him about, when they were riding along in the box car towards memphis! he walked slowly down beale to wellington where he stopped to watch a procession that was passing by, headed by a tall, pompous black man, dressed in a frock coat and a stovepipe hat set on one side of his head at a rakish angle. more than fifty negroes followed behind him in a column of twos, yelling and singing to the accompaniment of two guitar players, who fol- lowed close on the heels of the leader. "what's all this about?" aaron asked a bystander. "man, dat's de gravy train. dat tall nigguh you see in de lead is casino henry. he's de bes' gambler in town. he's just about done broke up somebody's crap game, now he's gwine tuh make de rounds of all de places in town and the crowds gwine follow him until he spends all his winnin's. come on, les' hitch onto dis line and go wid 'em." aaron followed. he had no destination. he did not want to think. so he joined the gravy train. the first stop was at hammett's place. cateye, the master of ceremonies, stood in the door- way, waiting to receive henry and his train. his face was well barbered and his tailor-made, basket-weave, blue suit thoroughly fitted him. cateye gave way to henry who paused for a moment in the doorway with his back bowed in and his head thrown back, like a sway-back horse. "how do you do, mr. henry?" cateye grinned, bowing low. "hello, cateye, how you been?" river george "fine, sir, is you enjoying de stroll, mr. henry?" "it ain't so bad, after bustin' de bank." as henry spoke he lifted himself to his full height, expanded his chest and puffed a fat cigar. "what did yuh git dem for dis time, mr. henry?" "oh, bout five hundred simoleums." "whew! what a man! i sho' is glad to hear dat, de gravy train don' look right less you leadin' it." "well, i guess i do know my stuff at dat. i'se busted mo' banks and led mo' o' dese gravy trains dan all dese smart gamblahs put together." "i say you have—and it ain't cause you lucky. you jest nachally is a born gambler and a dead game sport." "well, de onliest thing i want dese dive keepahs t' do is tuh set up wid me and i'se gwine tuh live high and easy de rest o' my life." aaron had never heard this sort of boasting before. although he had been to college, it seemed to him that these city folks knew much more than he did and he was beginning to feel himself as raw and untutored as a country rube could be. "come on, everybody, the drinks're on me," henry continued, as he affected a lofty carriage and strode to the bar. soon glasses clinked, wise-cracks and laughter floated in the air, while the crowd drank to the health of casino henry, who had broken up the game and won all the money at beale street's most notorious gambling hell, the hole in the wall. "what's the matter, young feller, yuh ain't drinking. want a bottle of milk?" henry glared at aaron, who , - stood against the wall just looking on. river george my gal was settin' on another man's knee, she cooks good biscuits, and she cooks 'em brown, but she think i'se de one dat brought de punkin to town, ef i catch another mule kicking in mah stall, honey, i'se goin' tub tear it down! the panama was the most colorful night spot on beale street. bill bailey, the bartender, was always per- fectly attired and always on his dignity, but this hap- pened to be one of the nights that business was slow. so henry and his crowd went across the street to the monarch, known to the underworld as the "castle of missing men." cousin hog and bad sam had killed so many men in the monarch while they were the bouncers there, that a fenced lane had been built in the rear of the club, extending from the monarch to the very door of an undertaker's establishment. "when a gambler was killed, his body was dragged to the rear, dumped in the yard, where the undertaker later gathered it up in a basket and carried it into the morgue. henry was thinking about some of those bloody dramas when he led his crowd through the door. he cast a quick glance in the direction of the gambling den, nodded to the barkeeper and climbed the stairs to the dance hall. black carrie spied him as he entered. "what's all dis, comin' in heah!" she cried. "done broke up another bank?" "now whadda yoll think?" grinned henry. "yuh sho' is wukkin' yuh rabbit foot on dese joints. sho' glad to see yuh. how dey treatin' yuh? watcha gwine have, big boy?" river george "if dey treated me any bettah, i'd think it was a frame-up. whiskey straight fo' everybody in de house." henry leaned against the bar and looked into the big mirror, eyeing himself. "ah wants a gal fo' evy man in de party wid me. cause we gwine walk de dog 'til de flo' caves in." the girls were quickly supplied and henry led off with carrie on his arm. they all chanted, as they danced: grab yo' gal and dontcha linger, do dat two-step cross de hall. do dat dance dey call de texas tommy, drop jes' lak yuh set tin' on a log, rise slow—dat'll show dat's de dance dey calls walkin' de dog. finally, the couples moved back against the wall, joined hands and formed a circle, while some moved to the center of the ring to execute steps all the way from the pigeon-wing to balling the jack. this kind of dancing was more to aaron's liking and when it came his turn to show his skill, he bounded into the center of the ring, executed a buck-and-wing, turned and leaped in front of one of the girls in line and paused; then began shuffling his feet and twisting his body in unnatural postures. the crowd gave a loud yell of approval. "say, honey," came a voice from the crowd, "i'se got money, marbles and chalk dat's all for you, if you jes be mah easy rider." the dance went its course and the crowd left the floor and moved over to the tables strung along the wall. river george "who is dat tall, brown pappy dat you got wid you?" carrie asked henry when they had recovered from the exertion of the dance. henry looked up at carrie and grinned. "whatsamattah, carrie, you ain't fell fo' dat kid, is yuh?" "naw," carrie shook her head, "sure i ain't; he just don't look like de guys 'round heah all de time." "well, he ain't been heah befo'," said henry. "he ain't nothin' but a country boy dat's come to town to see de sights. i picks him up down dah at hammett's place. thought he'd been drunk and dropped out by dis time, but he carry his likker pretty well to be from de sticks." carrie signalled the piano player to play the blues and she moved out on the floor with considerable grace, her straight lithe figure showed to great advantage; her blue black skin gleamed resplendant under the lights. ex- pressions of admiration went up from those gathered around the tables. she snapped her fingers and kept her body in ceaseless motion. aaron felt carrie's stare upon him as she danced by his table. he looked at her; a faint smile formed on her lips as their eyes met. she paused and then she was gone. he followed her with his eyes around the room, but now he scarcely saw her. . . . carrie with the blue- black skin. he was thinking about another woman who danced one saturday night at a plantation break-down, on the banks of the beaver dam. the music ceased and henry rose, put a yellow bill in carrie's outstretched palm and left. river george the crowd that filed out behind him had grown larger, for new passengers had boarded the train at every stop. when they were out in the street, henry called george aside. "kid, i kinda like havin' yuh along, but i speck you bettah hang around de monarch a while; you mought do yo'se'f some good, cause dat gal carrie 'peahs to be kinda sweet on you, and if yuh treat huh nice yuh can live on easy street, and yuh don' have tuh do no wuk atall. cause she's got bucks and a plenty of 'em." george shook his head. "thanks," he said, "but i'll keep stringin' along, if you don't mind." "suit yerse'f!" henry led his procession into peewee's place, named by the underworld negroes "beale street's garden of eden," because it was there where the blues were born. bad characters of every quarter of the globe gathered there; hoboes drifting south to new orleans in the fall, and north in the spring, they always made it their business to stop over for a night at peewee's. they would sit of nights around the red hot stove and ease their souls with ready-made song. when henry entered at the head of his gravy train, the hoboes were having a rough house. they were be- ginning to feel their drinks. they would drink awhile, holler awhile and sing awhile. there was a jug-band, in which one negro dragged a black cat bone across a washboard that had a cow bell nailed on the top left corner and a cymbal on the right corner. another river george negro blew in a jug and still another played a guitar, while a quartet of hoboes crowded around the stove and harmonized: down in memphis, tennessee, got a gal jes' as sweet as she kin be, everybody's talking 'bout sadie green, she uses powder and she uses paint, make her look jes' lak what she ain't. everybody's talking about sadie green, she weahs sho't dresses and she weahs a tarn, make her legs look lak a georgia ham. everybody's talkin' 'bout sadie green. henry and his crowd lingered, but for a short while among these rowdies. at the head of his gravy train, he set out for the blue goose, down on the river front, but aaron was unable to follow them further. the ride in the box car had left him exhausted, and the liquor, to which he was unaccustomed, finally had its effect on him. he dropped into a chair and soon fell into a deep sleep. he was wakened by a prod in the ribs and a harsh voice. "hey, wake up, black boy!" growled a police- man. "this ain't no place for sleepy heads. if you ain't got a bed to go to, i've got a nice one for you in a fine three-story mansion and you'll have a lot of nice company." george sprang to his feet, trying to keep terror from showing in his eyes. although he was sure that the policeman thought of him only as a vagrant, the very thought of being in the hands of the law filled him with terror. river george "i'm sorry," he mumbled. "i just was tired and dropped off to sleep." "well, you'd better come along with me. nobody will disturb you in the cooler." wildly aaron looked for an exit. perhaps he could make a dash for it. but the policeman was between him and the door. as he looked the other way, he saw a tall black woman, dressed with some distinction and pos- sessed of considerable charm, coming toward them. she smiled pleasantly at the officer. "mr. johnnie, he's my man," she said. "ah'll take care of him and get him straightened out." "o.k., annie. he looks like he's all in to me. better get him away from here," the policeman answered, and satisfied, left. annie turned to aaron. "what's the trouble, big boy?" she asked. "oh, just dead tired, i guess. thanks for helping me." "come on and sit down," she moved over to the table and sat down. aaron stood there for a moment staring at her. "why did you tell that lie for me?" he asked, slip- ping into a seat across from her. "oh, i jest hated to see a poor fish sealed up in the jug," she said casually. "you got a place to sleep tonight?" aaron shook his head and looked down at the table. "you got any money?" "not a nickel." still he could not meet her eyes. river george "o.k. kid. i ain't askin' any questions. you come along an' spend the night at my house." she pulled from her purse a puff and dabbed her face with powder, smeared her lips with rouge, looking all the while in her pocketbook mirror. replacing the lipstick and powder puff, she snapped it shut and rose to go. aaron followed mechanically. where they were go- ing he did not know, but she had proved a friend in need in a dangerous situation and now she offered him sanctuary. together they walked down beale street through the gray dawn. chapter xvi nnie bell was a creamy chocolate color. her eyes j. a. were brown and strange and compelling. her body was as sinuous as a snake's. when she was a young girl down in the delta bottoms, the white plantation agent desired her and, when she was fifteen, he took her to his white-painted house on the banks of the beaver dam to sleep with him. and, when he grew tired of her, he gave her money so that she could go to indian mound.' but, on the way she met a negro with a guitar, who took her to memphis. that was fifteen years before she met aaron. now, annie was the mistress of a gaudy palace of pleasure on fourth street, a two-story, brown brick house, with a piano in the parlor, where black men and white came and spent their wages on liquor and brown women. annie had little education, but she was far beyond the common women of the underworld in her knowl- edge of men and their ways. she loved the kind of adventure that lurked on the very borderline of danger. her spirit was as wild as a sapling pine on some craggy mountain top. men from many walks of life had at one time or another been in her power, but when she had taken what she wanted from them, she pushed them aside and river george small bits of nonsense nor light-hearted, primitively vulgar gestures of invitation such as those which had marked all the lovemaking she had ever known. he simply stayed, accepting her bed and food, and letting her give him a little money for clothes, thanking her simply every time she did so. for aaron it was an impossible situation, one into which he had drifted through fatigue and helplessness on the night when, half drunk for the first time in his life, a fugitive from the terrible vengeance of white men, he had accepted her help as the only sanctuary which offered itself. and, having accepted her help, he did what was expected of him in return—or as much as he was capable of doing. but day by day his heart grew heavier. until his arrival at memphis and his acquaintance with annie and her friends, he had never heard of "easy riders," or "ease-men," those colorless creations of the negro quarters in large southern cities, brown-skinned gigolos supported by the earnings (more often than not, illicit) of their women. and spiritually he was as far removed from them as north from south. he had no particular moral point of view toward the situation in which he found himself. he had needed help and annie had given it to him. he was grateful and tried to show her his gratitude. nor did his love for ada and his con- tinued desire for her make him feel that he was wrong- ing her through his relationship with annie. above all, the negro is a realist in matters of sex. but the whole thing was distasteful to him and ob- structive to everything which he wanted in life. i river george day after day he would spend the daylight hours in sleeping, fearing to show himself on the street lest he might have another encounter with an officer, an en- counter which would lead him back to the beaver dam plantation, and to a rope with a noose in the end of it. at night he and annie would often go out together, to peewee's place, to the monarch, to all of the gay hurried life of beale street. but aaron found himself detached, unable to take part in the gayety. and annie, seeing him thus, knew that she held him by a slender thread. a month went by and aaron became more and more silent. often, waking while annie still slept, he would leave his bed quietly so as not to rouse her, and sit staring through the window, his thoughts far away from the room in which he sat, and from memphis, trying to find a way in his own mind through the maze of circumstance which held him. he was without money save that which annie gave him and he dared not even write home for fear that the unusual event of a letter addressed to his mother or to ada or lightning would cause the letter to be opened and his whereabouts discovered. and what would a letter home accomplish anyway, save that the writing of it would ease his spirit somewhat? as to annie—it was pelasant in many ways to be with her. he found his debt to her not too difficult to pay. yet between them stood constantly his unappeased, unspoken love and desire for ada. he had spent hours in conflict between his instinctive faith in her and his river george attempt to try to piece together in his mind the last few hours he had spent on the beaver dam plantation. he could not, in his heart, believe that she had been a party to his betrayal, yet do pop, that night when he had come excitedly to hannah's house and called him out on what had developed into a fatal mission, had said that ada had sent for him. had she really, and if so, had she known that fred smith would be there that night? aaron could swear that she had exhibited only honest surprise when he had appeared at the door yet the devilish ghost of suspicion kept whispering to him, wasn't that exactly the way she would have acted if she had actually been guilty of bringing him there? sitting in annie's bedroom one morning, his mind full of his problem, he was unaware that annie had wakened and was watching him closely. for a long time she lay silently gazing at him, while he sighed and shifted his weight slightly, only to continue staring out the window. finally she broke into his revery. "what's her name, big boy?" she asked softly. surprised, aaron's thoughts became articulate before he had time to consider the virtues of silence. "ada," he answered mechanically, then starting, he jumped from his chair and faced the woman on the bed. "what do you mean?" he asked. "i don't know what i was saying." annie smiled wryly. "i've always wondered," she said. "whenever i see you studying like that, i've always wondered what her name was. what's the matter? she throw you out?" ■ i river george "no," aaron said, drawing the syllable out slowly. for a long moment he looked questioningly at the woman's face as it lay on the pillow, but he found neither censure nor evasion there, only a lightly amused air of tolerance. he walked over and sat on the edge of the bed looking down at her. "look here, annie bell," he said. "you've been aw- fully swell to me. it makes me feel like a cheat and a deadbeat unless i tell you about it." "you don't have to tell me nothing you don't want to tell," she said, but she didn't look at him. he reached over and stroked her hair gently with his hand and both were silent for a moment. then he spoke. "i guess the truth is that i want to tell you," he said. "o. k., big boy, shoot the works if you want to." bit by bit, slowly at first, but gaining ease and speed as he went along, he told the whole tragic story, of his father's death, of his return to the land, of his desire to help his people get what was coming to them, of his meeting with ada, the woman of a white man, and of those last terrible hours on the beaver dam and his terror-stricken flight. "it isn't just that i'm afraid of the white folks," he said. "that's bad enough. i don't know whether i killed fred smith or not, and if it was my finger on the trigger instead of his, it was an accident that happened while i was defending myself from being killed by him. but there ain't a jury in the south that wouldn't hang me if they got me, whether i was right or wrong. and it would be partly because i laid hands on a white man and partly because i fought for the rights of negroes river george that haven't got any rights." he paused for a moment with a short, bitter laugh. "my father said to me," he went on, "'you got learning now, just like white folks. see that you use it right.' well, the only chance i'll ever have to use it again, i guess, will be in solitary contemplation, because the first time i pop my head out in the open someone's going to want to take it off!" his body drooped and he buried his face in his hands. annie reached over and awkwardly tried to draw his head down to her. more accustomed to gestures of passion than to those of tenderness, she yet felt instinc- tively the need to comfort her man. for a long time they were silent. whatever may have surged through annie's breast as she listened to aaron's story of ada, never became articulate. "what you need, honey," she said at last, "is help from mary the wonder." aaron raised his head hopelessly and, standing up, walked to the window. "this is something voodoo won't clear up, annie," he said. without replying she rose and dressed. then she put on her hat. "come on, big boy," she said. "we're going to take a walk." he raised his eyebrows questioningly. "where to?" he asked. "we're going to see mary the wonder," she answered firmly. "you can usually find her on the street this time of the day selling some of her stuff." river george without bothering to argue with her aaron got his hat. the fresh air would feel good, and if it gave annie any comfort to see mary the wonder, it would do him no harm. there was a crowd gathered at the corner of her- nando and beale, listening to a tall, brown woman who was speaking with passionate fervor, her arm lifted high above her head. there was something in her hand. "any time de valves of de veins is stopped up," she was saying, "twenty drops of dis 'sho-shot' blows de valves open and de blood jumps through de veins an' de nerves am built up again. dere is too many men losing dere wives, 'cause dey got bad nuhves. dis 'sho-shot' will sho' make peace in de home. wonderful, useful, magnifikant, article composition dis is! it's nevuh been discovered in no other paht of de country. nevuh been on publication befo'! used in de office by no one else's prescription thereof. it's gotta wondhuhful reco'd in washington!" she paused and lifted from a table a strange looking root and began to exhibit it to the crowd. "dis is a swamp root," she continued. "tain't no good less you dig it by de light of de new moon. dis one," she said, pointing to another root, "got to be dug when dere is no moon up in de skies atall. when dey is put together dey will blow de colds out of yo' haid and if you fix dem up an' weah dem lak ah tells you, dey ain't nothin' atall dat can happen to you. dey done invented machinery to do quick work and i done invented medicine to make quick cures. i kin thaw de joints out in de ol' men, dat's what yuh call river george machine-work medicine. an' what de medicine don't do ah can call up de spirits an' make dem do. dey gotta put akahall in dese automobiles in de wintuh time to keep dem hot. ah kin put somepin in a man or woman dat dey can go out in de snow widout dere clothes on an' nevuh as much as ketch a col'. mary de wonder is a mystery! dat's what washington says about me." she paused, lifted her head proudly and then con- tinued: "i ain't so much fo' myse'f, but i is fo' de public of de people. i is put sight back into de eyes of de blin'; i snatch folks 'way f'om trouble; ise given de women folks back dere sweethearts and husbands. i is mary de wonder!" annie left aaron as mary stopped speaking and go- ing up to the voodoo woman spoke to her briefly. then she came back to him, her eyes shining and her face serious. "i got an appointment with her in half an hour at her house," she said. "you get yourself some breakfast and then go back to the house and i'll see you later." she thrust a bill into his hand and left. an hour later she was back, every movement ex- hibiting restrained excitement. she took off her hat with quick, nervous movements, then sat down, facing him. "you're going to get help, big boy," she said. "i don' know why i do it when it means you'll probably leave me in the end for that woman on the plantation, but there's something about you that means i gotta help you. i guess i ain't never in my life tried to help a man before—'cept once." x i river george she paused, and for a moment a gray mist covered the brightness of her eyes, while aaron looked on silently, moved deeply by the woman's desire to place the powers of mary the wonder, in which she had such direct and simple faith, at his disposal. to refuse her proffered help by saying again that voodooism would not help him, would be graceless ingratitude indeed. "you're swell, annie," he said. "what am i to do?" "you gotta go see her," annie answered. "i told her about you, but she gotta talk to you yourself." aaron looked up quickly, gravely. "i hope you didn't tell her too much," he said. annie looked away, evading his eyes. "i didn't tell her nothing," she said, but there was a carefully stolid quality in her voice which indicated that she was not completely easy in her mind. "and besides," she added, "when you talks to mary, it's just like as if you was talkin' to god." an hour later aaron rang the door bell of mary's apartment up over the panama on beale street at fourth. a maid, who wore a white uniform, opened the door and he was shown into the parlor. there were others waiting to see mary. finally his turn came and he was shown into a dimly lighted room. suddenly, the room went dark. in spite of himself, aaron shivered a little with the dramatic intensity of the entire scene. for a moment—he could not know whether it was a minute or five—he waited in silence and darkness. then a flame leaped suddenly from a large bowl on the table river george near the door, flooding the room with light, and he saw a woman, in a white robe, standing there in the center of the room. her features were golden brown, her eyes dark and mysterious, like hidden pools of light. she stood there regarding him in silence for a moment. it was mary the wonder. her hands went up, palms out, as though she were warding off something unwelcome, as she spoke. "dere is er lot uv worry on yo' min'," she said slowly, "an' yuh don' know whut tuh do 'bout it." "you're marvelous," aaron said, smiling a little, but she paid no attention to him. closing her eyes, she lifted her hands to her face. "dar's er gal dat's worryin' yo' min'," she went on. "she got hair dat's long en straight, en her coloh is lak de snow on de mountin when de sun shines on it. yuh big en strong alright, en yuh got er strong min', too, but she kin ben' yuh back lak de win' bend's de blades uv grass in de meadow. she done got intuh yuh en yuh ain' nevah gwine git huh out uv yuh, 'less yuh go tuh de big cottonwood tree not fah from huh house on de beavah dam en dig up er hat uv yore's dat she done buried at de foot uv dat cotton wood tree; en den clim' up dat tree en drive a nail rat thu de centuh uv de hat to the highest limb en den when yuh comes down yuh got tuh walk 'round de tree seven times. dere's no odder way yuh kin break dat spell she done had put on yuh." her hands dropped from her face. gradually she opened her eyes and looked at aaron. he scowled in annoyance. apparently, annie bell had told mary the wonder a great deal. river george farm and went to the river, under the guidance of a captain c. b. church, a white man, how he rose from cabin boy to steward and sailed to memphis in the same year the town was occupied by federal troops, how the crew fell into the hands of the federal army and church fell into the lap of freedom, how he was freed, but without resources, in a strange town, and of how he used his experience as a trader, while employed on the river as a steward, together with a loan of a thou- sand dollars, made to him by a white man named john overton, and how he invested his accumulations wisely, bought property everywhere, until the value of his estate reached a million dollars. george was unwilling to admit that church, or booker t. washington, or frederick douglas, or any of the other few outstanding men in colored american his- tory represented sporadic outbreaks of the ability of supermen. rather, these leaders simply epitomized the exceptionally endowed negro. there were many young negroes in the south, who might be just as successful if they had the chance, he reflected. negroes were so slow in helping their own, so indifferent to their strug- gling young manhood, so jealous of the budding genius of their own household. those of their talented, who had actually succeeded, were supported by a few pub- lic spirited white men. how narrowly did paul law- rence dunbar escape life as an elevator boy? had not robert g. ingersoll, riding on his elevator one day, looked over his shoulder and read lines of his poetry? otherwise the poet might have lived without recogni- tion. how narrowly did booker washington escape the river george she came to him and laid the palm of her hand caress- ingly on his face. "you got me, sugar," she said. "ain't i taking care of you good enough?" he took her hand in one of his and patted it gently. "you've been marvelous to me, annie," he said. "but i've got a couple of things to do. my mother is all alone on the beaver dam plantation. i thought i could take care of her by staying there and working the land, but now i can't go near it and i'm afraid to write her even for fear they'd trace me by the letter. god knows what will become of her if i don't find a way to send her some money. i've got to—" annie leaned against him quickly, affectionately, and interrupted him. "i'll send her money today," she said gently. "i got plenty." he smiled gratefully. "don't you see, annie, i can't keep taking money from you for myself and my folks and have any re- spect for myself?" she patted his arm. "don't you worry about that. there's plenty men in this town ain't worth helping a minute that womens are supporting. you're something special, big boy. i'm proud to do it." "but annie, i just can't let you keep on doing it. i'll always be grateful for what you've done already. but i've got to get on my own feet again somehow. i've got to find a job." i o river george she sighed, and walked to the other side of the room, her shoulders drooping in dejection. "i guess it's no use arguing with you," she said. "if you've got to, you've got to. but meanwhile, let's send your mother a little dough. how'll i address it?" gratefully he went to her and put his arm about her shoulders. "thank you, annie," he said. "ten dollars would be a fortune to her, you know. and i'll pay you back some time. don't send it direct to her, though. the post- office might get suspicious." he thought a moment. "you'd better send it to lightning," he went on. "don't get a money order or anything. just send him a bill and put a note in saying it's for hannah george from a friend. don't say anything about me. lightning'll un- derstand. you'd better not give this address, either. just send the money." she looked up at him from beneath speculative eye- brows. "lightning your friend?" she asked. "the best i have there, next to my mother." "then he might want to get in touch with you." aaron hesitated a moment. it would be good to have news from home, to have his mind set at rest about his mother and ada, to know whether the whites had in any way visited their wrath on them. but he shook his head. "no," he said. "it'd be too risky. i don't think they suspect lightning of anything. but he doesn't get many letters. someone might open the letter." "i tell you what i'll do," annie said. "i've got a river george friend lives down on gayoso street. she's got a place like mine here. when one of us gets crowded on big nights, we send people to the other. i'll use her address, and tell her i may get a letter there. i'll use another name—i'll sign the letter 'helen thomas' and use that address. then if your friend is smart enough and wants to send word to you, he can do it that way." aaron's eyes lit up with gratitude and admiration for the staunchness of annie bell's friendship. "gee, annie," he said, "you've got more brains than any six college girls i ever saw." it was dark before they had written and sealed the letter to lightning, and aaron went out to mail it, his heart lighter than it had been at any time since that terrifying moment when he had seen fred smith's still body lying at his feet. he knew that, although light- ning's schooling had never gone beyond the elementary routine which made up education on the beaver dam, he could write a simple letter and read. and he knew that his native intelligence went far beyond that of many well-educated persons. he was sure lightning would get the news which was between the lines. and then perhaps he could learn what was happening to ada and his mother, and start out on whatever path he could find, with greater assurance. he walked back to annie's house, his heart filled with longing for ada and peace. yet, surging through his love for her was a deep feeling of gratitude to annie who, with more than womanly understanding, had been eager to help him even when her help made it more likely that he would leave her for the woman he loved. chapter xviii lightning spat speculatively in the dust before his j cabin, and looked westward to where the setting sun flushed the sky with red and gold and purple. it had been just three weeks ago, on this night, when he had come quietly up that road in his bare feet, his pants dripping with water from the creek, his mind weighing the chances of aaron's safe getaway. apparently the escape had succeeded, for although the beaver dam had buzzed the next day with talk of the postmaster and aaron, no one seemed to know anything definite. indeed the known facts about that night of horror made a story which had often caused lightning's fore- head to wrinkle and his nose to twitch like a rabbit's as he had thought about them and tried to fit them together into an understandable whole. he had been sitting on his porch when he had heard the shot down the road. instinctively he had connected it with the fact that a few minutes earlier he had seen aaron george hurrying along in the direction of ada's cottage. with the disturbing sound ringing in his ears he had darted behind his own house and, skirting the garden, had run through the woods to a point where behind the trees he had seen ada's terrified form crouching on the grass beside the lifeless body of fred smith. looking about him quickly to see that there river george were no other white men in sight, he had hurried over and lifted her to her feet while she, trembling and sob- bing, had told him in a few disconnected phrases what had happened. he couldn't get the whole story, for ada was in no condition to tell any story just then, but the words which had rung in his consciousness, the words which had told him that aaron had killed fred smith, made him stiffen with apprehension. quickly he had told ada to go over to the cottage of sally miller and keep quiet, letting someone else find fred smith's body. then he had run back to his own house, jumped on his mule and hurried to find aaron. later, when, having eluded the paddy-rollers, he had sought ada again, he heard her story—how george had come to her saying someone had told him that she had sent for him; how smith had found them together, and how, as george had struggled with the white post- master to avoid being shot himself, the gun had been discharged, apparently killing smith. he looked at ada as she told this and then asked her one question. "yo' sen' fo' aaron?" she looked at him with wide, startled eyes. "fo' gawd, lightnin', ah ain' seen aaron, neider sen' fo' him fo' months—not sence his maw and ah had a talk. ah tole him den dat ah wouldn' see him 'til aftuh ah git rid o' dat fred smith. ah wuz gettin' rid o' him, too, an' evahting would uv been all right in 'bout a mont' if dis hadn' happen'. ah don' know what git into aaron's min' comin' ovah dat night." then lightning had taken her home to find the place completely deserted. in the yard was a little spot where river george the grass had been beaten down by the struggle between aaron and fred smith, and later evidently by the tramping of many feet. but the body was gone! in the cabin they had found ada's orderliness completely de- stroyed. even the meagre kitchen utensils which had been kept in her small pantry had been thrown out as though the searchers had thought someone might have been hiding behind a kettle. her bed had been torn to pieces and everywhere were signs that a feverish search had been made. later, he had gone down the road and found hannah george, her cottage dark, sitting silently in her rocker smoking her pipe, while her mind brooded darkly on the events of the evening and the future which faced her son. she had told him that aaron had left in answer to a message brought by do pop, and at the mention of the little psalm-singing negro's name lightning's face had clouded with an insistent, bitter suspicion. but the crowning bewilderment of all came the next day and on the days that followed. no one seemed to know anything about where fred smith's body had been takert. it was said that he was to be buried at his home down somewhere near nashville. but willie blaire, the porter down at the station, had told light- ning that no coffin had gone out on any train. pickle bledsoe, who worked for the only trucking concern at holly rock, had likewise reported that no coffin had left town by truck. after that brief cataclysmic en- counter with aaron in front of ada's house, fred smith had suddenly disappeared from the face of the earth. now lightning sighed and shifted his weight, leaning i river george back with one elbow on the floor of the porch. he wondered how far george had gone; he wondered who had told do pop that george was wanted in ada's house; he wondered consistently, and with no release from his own questioning, whether fred smith was really dead. too often in his forty years of life he had seen plots of one kind and another patched up to enrage a brutally white populace against troublesome negroes, and more than once he had burned with a holy bitterness when one of his race had been taken to a tree or a railroad trestle where his life slowly and horribly ebbed away at the end of a taut rope. more than once there had been murder in his heart for all who had taken the smallest part in such affairs as these. he knew, beyond the shadow of any doubt, that aaron's quick flight that night and the aid which he had lent him had been the only things which had pre- vented the beaver dam plantation from another lynch- ing. fired anew with the hope which the organization formed by aaron and himself had created, he brooded darkly now on what had been lost. from a nearby cabin came the sound of a guitar and the voice of a singer: ain't it hahd to be a nigguh? ain't it hahd to be a nigguh? ain't it hahd to be a nigguh? po' nigguh ain't got no show. again lightning spat in the dust. "fools," he grunted disgustedly. "all dey can do is sing songs. dey don' do nothin'." river george he looked up quickly as he saw a figure shuffling along the dusty road before him. there was an unmis- takable stoop to the body and an ineradicable sense of evasion, as if the whole body were cringing from an unoffered blow. it was do pop. as he came abreast of the cottage lightning looked innocently in the other direction without speaking, hoping that the other would pass on. he had no desire to waste breath just now talking to one who, to lightning's way of thinking, knew better how to sing hymns and intone pompous prayers than he did to speak the truth. but there was no escape. do pop turned in at the path and came shuffling up to the porch. something white gleamed in his hand in the deepening shadows of early evening. he held it out for lightning. "new pos'master gi' me dis lettuh en said would ah gi' it tuh yuh, lightnin'," he said querulously. concealing his surprise, lightning reached for the envelope. it was seldom that anyone wrote him a letter. yet some instinct made him want, if possible, to let do pop think it was the most natural thing in the world. fortunately he could read a little. slowly he put his big finger under the flap to tear it open, and as he did so, the flap came free of the envelope, as though it had scarcely been stuck at all. for a moment he hesitated before extracting the envelope's contents. although he had little formal schooling, his naturally agile mind had spent so much time brooding on the treachery of mankind that it was quick to observe signs of such treachery, and now, surprised at the ease with which the envelope had come open, he noticed that river george "gal ah knows down in de city," he said modestly. "guess she gittin' lonesome fo' to see me." "nevah di' have no use fo' dem city 'omans," do pop said. "dey is tools of de debble en dey lips is de gateway to hell." turning, he shuffled down the path without a good night and started along the road in the direction from which he had come. lightning watched him out of sight and then, as if in quick decision, turned suddenly and ran back of his cabin, past the garden and into the woods. keeping near the edge of the trees he ran parallel with the road along which do pop had gone until he again caught sight of the shuffling little figure, hurry- ing now, and walking as though he had an objective. without losing sight of him, yet without revealing him- self, he followed do pop, shifted his direction when the latter turned into a private road which led up to sam turner's cabin. lightning went more carefully now for do pop was going more slowly, looking from side to side as though he expected someone. half-way up the road he stopped as a white man stepped from behind a tree and hailed him. lightning dropped to his hands and knees now, and inch by inch crawled closer until he could see the white man's face and hear the low voiced words they spoke to each other. it was sam turner. "well, did you give it to him?" turner asked impatiently. "ah sho did, mistuh turner," do pop whined. "ah gi' it right into his own han'." i o river george "how did he look? what did he say?" the other asked impatiently. do pop looked from side to side, unable to meet the gaze of the white man even in the gathering dusk which now almost obscured their faces. "din' look no way special, mistuh turner," he whined. "din' say nothin' atall. jes' put dat ol ' ten dollah bill in his pocke', tryin' tuh keep me fum seein' it, en den whin ah ast him, say it cum fum a frien' o' his in de city." "didn't he look surprised?" turner asked. "couldn' see him lookin' any ways," do pop said. "jes' din' look anytin' atall. yo' gonna gimme mah money now, mistuh turner? yo' nevah di' pay me eider fo' dat oder night whin ah wen' tuh aaron's house." silently the white man's hand went into his pocket and withdrew a bill which he gave to do pop. "now, beat it," he said harshly, "and keep your damn mouth shut or the same thing will happen to you that's going to happen to george when we catch him." turning, the white man hurried back along the road toward his house, while do pop shuffled away, his body seeming to cringe more than ever, his gait a silent con- fession of degradation. in the woods, skirting the road, lightning followed. when they had gone far enough so that they were out of earshot from turner, he ran ahead a little and came suddenly on to the road before the now trembling do pop. unlike the latter's cringing body, lightning's river george was erect and hard and in his face was the steady set look of one bent on cold, calculated retribution. his left hand shot forward seizing do pop by the shoulder, while his right doubled into a hard, knotty fist. when he spoke his voice came between lips which opened only wide enough to let out the bullet-like words, while his face remained immobile. "yo' yell, do pop," he said slowly, "an' fo' gawd ah beat yo' tuh deat' wid dis fis'." but do pop was beyond all yelling. his body, which had begun trembling when he had first seen lightning emerge from the trees, now shook as if with ague. what strength he had ebbed in a fast receding flood, and had it not been for lightning's supporting hand, he would have fallen to the ground. half leading, half dragging the trembling creature, lightning went into the woods again, going farther away from the road, following a little creek until they came to an open spot where the grass grew down to the water's edge. here, with a gesture of scorn and hate, he threw the other from him and do pop, stumbling, fell at full length on the ground. with a terrified cry he scrambled to his feet and, with head down, started to bolt. but with one leap lightning was upon him, his left hand clamped again on the trembling man's shoulder. this time he accented his hate with a stinging blow from the palm of his right hand which sent do pop reeling until he came up finally with his back against a tree and then slid slowly and weakly to the ground. he made no effort to rise this time but crouched there moaning. river george "don' yuh go hittin' me, lightnin'," he whined. "ah ain' done nuthin' tuh yuh." lightning spat with deadly aim, but do pop was too frightened now even to raise his sleeve to wipe the trickling saliva from his check. then lightning spoke. "ah seen snakes," he said slowly, "an' ah seen rats, an' ah seen lice, but fo' gawd, 'less ah'm crazy, ah ain' nevah in mah life befo' seen nothin' dat's so low- down as yuh is." he paused a moment seeking for words. "an' ah' done smell rotten eggs an' manure heaps an' daid pigs dat de buzzards is aftuh, but ah ain' nevah in mah life knowed anytin' dat stink de way yuh does. niggahs like you is wussen any white man evah was! now yuh talk an' say wha' yuh know, or fo' gawd ah gonna kill yuh wid dese two hands." he towered over the cringing do pop, and the other, looking up, lifted one arm as though to ward off a blow. "ah don' know nuthin', lightnin'," he whined. "ah jes' wen' up de road tuh git a little money dat mistuh turner done owe me fer fixin' his chicken coop." for answer, lightning's hand shot down and seized the other by the shoulder again, raising him to his feet. again the open palm of his right hand struck do pop's left cheek, stinging like fire, and as the latter reeled, lightning lifted his left hand and struck him once more, catching him before he fell, and pushing him hard against the tree under which they stood. "yuh lie like hell, do pop," he growled. "turner pay yuh tuh-night fo' bringin' me dat lettuh. he pay yuh, too, fo' goin' to aaron's house. what night wuz dat yuh go tuh aaron's house?" river george the other was almost inarticulate now, but finally words came from between his shaking teeth. "ah don' know nuthin', lightnin'. yuh lemme go." this time lightning used his fists. first his right and then his left smashed into the other's face until a bright stream of blood sprang from do pop's nose, and cours- ing down over his mouth and chin, began to drop on his shirt. he flung up his arms against the destroying blows and backed away as well as he could. "yuh stop dat, lightnin'," he screamed. "ah tell yuh." lightning stopped, and as do pop began to sink to the ground again, reached down and held him up. "yuh stan' up an' tell me," he said shortly. do pop was sobbing now in little tortured moans. "dey kill me tuhmorrow if ah tell yuh," he sobbed. "an' ah kill yuh tuh-night if yuh don'," lightning shouted. "fo' gawd, yuh nevah leave dis spot alive 'less yuh tell me." "yuh keep dem fum hurtin' me if ah tell yuh?" do pop asked lightning. "yuh take care o' me?" "ah take care uv yuh good," lightning said grimly. "mistuh turner make me do it," do pop whined. "he kep' at me en kep' at me all de time aaron wuz seein' ada tuh watch dem. he say he kill me if ah don' do it. he make me follow aaron en ah cum right heah where we standin' now en see him an' ada together. den he make me go dat night and tell aaron dat ada want tuh see him. den aftuh aaron go, mistuh turner tol ' de new postmaster to watch fer any lettuhs dat cum tuh george's mudder or tuh yuh. he tink chapter xix a aron hurried along the street, his heart lighter il than it had been for months. for a week he had been working, earning enough money so that, as soon as he got his first pay, he would be able to be on his own, leaving his unwelcome position as an "ease- man" and living, again, like a man. then, whatever there might be between him and annie, it would be an honest relationship, a thing which came out of their liking for each other with no suspicion of necessity. he knew that he was taking a chance in appearing openly on the streets of memphis, but he saw no escape from that circumstance. annie probably would give him money to go to st. louis, or chicago, or new york, but, since he knew that she wanted him to stay with her, he felt a certain delicacy about asking her to finance his departure. and the job which he had taken furnished him with at least a partial disguise, in the way of a uniform, which was a comfort. during his college days aaron had learned to play a violin—not too well, to be sure, but well enough to take part in any one of a hundred colored pickup bands which furnished many a party and many a dance with music in the south. even so it is doubtful whether he would have been able to find a job if it had not been for annie's help. though she had opposed from the river george start his desire to go to work, when she had found that he was determined to do so she had seen charlie robinson, a friend of hers and the leader of "robinson's syncopaters," and had got aaron his job. in effect she, the almost illiterate madam of a memphis house of prostitution, paraphrased voltaire, of whom she had never even heard, by saying, "i wholly disapprove of what you do and will defend to the death your right to do it." there was an element of greatness in annie bell. "robinson's syncopaters" formed one of the old units in memphis. they played for many of the popular affairs which drew large crowds from distant points along the mississippi. the dances were for whites only and the pay was good. members of the band wore uni- forms which would have looked more at home on trained monkeys than on men, with little colored hats set on the sides of their heads and held there by rubber bands, brightly colored and ridiculously patterned vests and jackets, white shoes with high french heels that made every man there at least a half inch taller than he was normally, and grey spats. most of the men kept their uniforms at robinson's office, from which they left in a body every night for their job, wherever it might be, but aaron always wore his home with him, and dressed at annie bell's before leaving in the eve- ning. he was glad of the extra height the shoes gave him and of the bizarre appearance of his clothing, which would almost certainly distract attention from his face. he looked down now, at his ridiculous shoes and at river george his trousers with their long white stripes down each leg, and smiled with satisfaction. he was passing a low frame house in the negro section of memphis. through an open window drifted a song being sung by one of its occupants. aaron stopped to listen. o, adam, he was fust built man, hat's jest what de good book say; an eve come next! den sin began. dat's jest what de good book say; eve bit de apple right in two, dat's jest what de good book say; a wicket thing fo' eve to do; yes, dat's what de good book say. dat's just what de good book say, it am yes, dat's what de good book say. i'se read it through, yo'll find it true, fo' dat's what de good book say. dere was a man, his name was lot, dat's just what de good book say, and he hab a wife an' daughter got, dat's just what de good book say. his wife she balk an' make a halt, yes, dat's what de good book say; an' de lo'd he tu'n huh into salt, o, dat's what de good book say! he smiled and turned to go on his way, almost bumping into another man who had apparently also stopped to listen. the stranger was a little blue-black negro with steely eyes and cold, expressionless face. aaron begged his pardon and hurried on, but the glance of the other followed closely, seeming to take in every line of aaron's ridiculously clad figure, just as it had i river george seemed to inventory every characteristic of his features. as aaron turned the corner he looked back quickly and saw the other following. quickening his pace he reached robinson's office as quickly as he could. but when, later, he came out with the rest of the band to get into the truck which was to take them to the inn where they were going to play that night, he looked from side to side apprehensively and felt a marked relief when he found that the stranger was nowhere to be seen. all through,the evening, as aaron played with the band, he felt a dim sense of apprehension. he chided himself for what seemed silly to him—after all there was nothing unusual about a stranger who happened to be going in the same direction as he was. he tried to shake worry from his mind in watching the crowd on the dance floor. white bodies moved to black rhythm, tired white bodies made young again through the music of age-old africa. jazz touched white limbs and the grace which those limbs knew on the peabody roof or in the parlor of the plantation big house now gave way to the honky-tonk postures of the black-bottom and the bombershay. it was during an intermission, when the orchestra paused for a rest, that aaron noticed two red-faced white men lingering about the bandstand. their appear- ance was that of river men from the lower reaches of the delta. their eyes were deeply set, their cheeks hol- low, and stains of tobacco juice showed at the corners of their mouths. he watched them for a moment, and a tremor shot river george through his body. these were men he had seen on the streets of holly rock. who they were he did not know, but he knew that he had seen them before. there was an ominous silence about them, a secretiveness about their movements and the steely glare of their eyes which looked out from beneath mops of stringy yellow hair that dropped low, like a horse's mane, over their faces. and staring at their faces, aaron remembered another face he had seen years before, and how his mother had told him that that man had led a mob. he felt suddenly sick in the pit of his stomach and glanced away. his palms felt sticky and hot. his eyes began to see things—faces and trees and a rope. the rope had a loop in the end of it, and it swung down from a limb, where a sea of tightly drawn faces—white faces—glared up through the flickering flames of the torch lights. "listen, charlie," he said. "play something, will you? strike up something!" "what's the matter?" charlie said. "it's the inter- mission! what's the hurry?" "there's no hurry," aaron answered. "i just can't stand this damned silence." he stood up then and went out through a door that led to the side of the house. he needed air. he had been afraid for a moment that he was going to faint. he walked toward the front, but quickly stepped aside into the shadow of a tree as he saw a figure pacing slowly up and down in front of the house. it was the little black man who had followed him in town! for a moment aaron considered bolting as he was. river george boys climbed over the side of the truck now. some had leaped to the ground and started to run; but the voice of one of the white men stopped them. "i don't aim fer a nigger to move," a voice said slowly. "i jest want every goddam one of you to line up tell we git a good look at you." the voice had a loose, lapping sound, like a dog dip- ping its tongue in and out of a pail of water. it fell silent and a flashlight suddenly shown on charlie's face, blinding him, as he stood in the body of the truck, not moving. "climb down, nigger, and don't take so long," the voice said. it sounded flat now, flat and hard. the light kept swinging around charley's face and shirt front. and when he climbed over the side and dropped to the ground, the man with the flashlight came forward and stared into his eyeballs. "you look like the very nigger we's lookin' fer," the man said. "ain't yuh th' black bastard what kilt a white man down to holly rock?" "no suh!" charlie said, his voice quivering with fear, "i ain't nevah done nothin' that was wrong to a white man in my life! an' i ain't nevah been to holly rock in mah life." "don't you tell me no goddam lie, nigger," the man with the flashlight said. "but i never done it," charlie said. "i—i ain't never been to mississippi in my whole life. my pa and ma both live in georgia and that's where i come from. i—i—ben" "shut up!" chapter xx the east was red with the rising sun when aaron, still dressed in his band uniform, crept silently to annie's house. but before he had put his hand to the door-knob, it opened and annie stood before him. drawing him inside quickly she closed the door, and without a word led him to her room. only when that door, too, was safely closed behind them, did either of them speak. "tell me," she said quickly, "did anything happen? i've been worried sick all evening, and when you didn't get here on time i thought i'd go crazy until i knew." he sank wearily into a chair and lighted a cigarette. "plenty happened," he said. he told her the whole story while her eyes popped wide open with terror. "god!" she moaned, when he had finished, her head sinking, "and it was my crazy idea that did it!" george looked at her quickly. "what do you mean?" he asked. "it was that letter i wrote," she said. "mabel came over tonight half an hour after you'd gone and told me that two white men and a mean looking little nigger had come to her place on gayoso street and asked for helen thomas. she didn't like their looks and told them there was nobody there by that name an' that she'd river george never heard of anybody by that name. they must have read the letter i wrote lightning and got the name and address out of that and decided it was from you." aaron looked at her through eyes which were dimmed with weariness. "listen, honey," he said slowly, "in the first place it wasn't any of it your fault. what you did was swell. and in the second place it doesn't matter. i got away from them and that's that. it was only a matter of time before i'd have to go anyway. well, i've got to go a little sooner than i planned to, that's all." "where'll you go?" / he sighed wearily. "suppose i figure that out after i've had a few hours sleep." he paused and his face clouded with apprehension as a new worry entered his tired mind. "how well do you know charlie robinson?" he asked. "better'n i know you," she answered, then she looked up from under arched eyebrows and her eyes glowed with sadness and affection. "but i don't like him so well," she added. "can you trust him?" aaron asked. "sure. charlie's on the level." "and how about mabel?" "what do you think she kept her mouth shut this afternoon for?" annie flashed. "she ain't double-cross- ing anybody!" "okay," he sighed. "then i guess i can go to sleep." river george his face alight with something she had never seen in it before. "look here, annie," he said, "you remember what my father told me, 'you've got learning now just like white folks. see that you use it right.' even before he told me that, while i was still at college, i found out that the only thing in the world i really wanted to do was—" he stopped again and shrugged his shoulders, smiling enigmatically. when he went on his voice was full of diffidence. "i don't know how to say it, annie," he said, "but don't you see? every colored man who has any kind of a chance at all, who has any of the kind of training my mother and father gave me, or the kind of educa- tion i got, has only one job. he's got to spend his life trying to do something for his people, trying to lift them out of their suffering and darkness, trying to get a decent chance for them." her face was tender as she heard his impassioned words. but suddenly it grew dark and hard as she flung her answer at him. "that's almost poetry, big boy," she said. "and it would be swell if it worked. you think the whole white race is against all of us. you think they're the only enemy we've got. you think that just because your skin is black and mine is black and there are millions of other black skins in america, and white people treat us different than they do each other, that you'd only have to make the white people treat us right to have everything rosy. well, it won't work that way. i tell river george you there are as many rats with black skins as with white and they got just as sharp teeth. try to help the negroes and, as often as not, it's a nigger that will stick you in the back. anyway, what good will it do you to join the army?" he looked up at her helplessly, spreading his hands in a gesture of impotence. "what can i do here where i'm wanted for murder," he said. "listen, annie, this man's army is going to be full of colored men. they're going to be part of the gang that fights for the things america stands for. when they come back the country will have to treat them like men. i want to be part of that." she snorted with disgust. "yeah!" she said. "there'll be plenty of colored boys all right to get killed over there along with the white boys. don't fool yourself. if you go over there and fight and get back here, so far as this man's country goes, you'll still be a nigger and you'll still be treated like a nigger." he rose and walked silently across the room away from her, made inarticulate by the scorn in her voice. but she hurried after him, putting her arms about him, and when he looked into her face he found it soft and full of tenderness. "oh, honey," she said, "don't look like that. i'm not talking against you. i'm for you all the way. whatever you want to do is right as far as i'm concerned. if you've got to go, you got to go, and all i want to do is help you. but you can't enlist here. what are you going river george took that girl and put her in a trance and made her howl like a dog and butt her head against the wall like a goat. when she came out of the trance, she got on her knees in front of mary and kissed her dress. then mary gave her a charm and later, when the man pulled a gun on her and tried to shoot her, the bullets just wouldn't go off." george carefully fastened the charm around his neck and kissed annie again. "thank you, honey," he said. that night, as the chicago train pulled out of mem- phis, annie stood quietly on the platform watching until its tail lights were out of sight. then she waved her hand gently in farewell down the track and turned to go back to her house which would seem empty and desolate to her now that aaron was on his way to enlist for active service in france. chapter xxi it was august, . the war which was to have made the world safe for democracy had been fought and representatives of the powers which had sent mil- lions of men to slaughter each other were gathered in a formal gesture of peace, a gesture in which manceu- vering for individual advantage, hate, and the desire for revenge played a more important part than wisdom, good will, and the solemn intention that the world would never again be dismembered by war. the troop ship, loaded with colored soldiers taken from many regiments—pitiful remnants, many of them, of the outfits which had left america over a year before, warped slowly into the new york harbor on its way to hoboken to discharge its jubilant cargo. to right and left several freight and passenger ships of allied european nations rode at anchor, wearing their fantastic harlequin suits of camouflage, made of futur- istic designs in purples and greys and browns, donned in the hope of eluding the dreaded german u-boats and their campaign of terror and ruthless destruction. to starboard a united states destroyer was proceeding to the brooklyn navy yard. steaming down the harbor on its way to sea came the rotterdam, prize passenger boat of the holland-america line, the smoke pouring river george lazily from her funnels, her crew gay in the knowledge that no torpedoes would cross her path on this trip. and from every vessel which had steam up, from the lowliest tugboat to the majestic rotterdam, came a roar of welcome to the boys who were coming home at last, the war over, the war won, as the world thought, and peace, bought dearly with the blood of white and black brothers alike, settling its benediction upon the earth. at the rail of the troop ship, looking hungrily at the new york sky-line, stood aaron george in the uniform of a second lieutenant of infantry. his body was erect and hard, but there were lines in his face, a new, firm set to his mouth, and a deep solemnity in his eyes which showed that he had aged during his service to his country. whatever there had been of a boy about him as he had told annie good-bye in the memphis station that night which seemed so long ago, it was gone now, and his face and bearing were those of a man who had seen too much suffering ever to be quite gay and care- free and youthful again. yet in his serious, too sad eyes, there shone a new hope, too. for he had witnessed, and shared in, a great triumph for his race. he had seen negroes fight shoul- der to shoulder with white men for a common aim, had been present when general pershing himself had decorated a negro soldier for conspicuous gallantry in action, had seen the respect in the great general's eyes as he had saluted the colored man. he had watched members of his race suffer and die with songs on their lips, had seen as he had never seen before the strength which was the heritage of the black man. river george behind him popeye, his orderly, was playing his guitar softly and singing. popeye was an original, one who suggested no precedents. feeling none of the typical negro's need for society, popeye stayed by himself more often than with any human companion. but wherever you found popeye you almost surely found his guitar. it mattered little what was going on around him. if it were a parade and popeye had to go, he would go, escaping the groups who talked about it later, to find his guitar and lose himself from the world in song. now, while the rest of the boys crowded to the rail, waving at the crews of ships and tugs they passed, and shouting their joy, he stayed aloof, strumming his guitar softly, and singing to himself. aaron moved more closely to listen and a sense of nostalgia filled his heart. on many a night these low- voiced songs had cheered him in the terrible loneliness of a dugout while shells whined overhead and death seemed to wait hungrily for him just outside that fragile shelter. he would miss these songs and the silent friendly personality of the singer. "good boy, popeye," he said gently. the orderly looked up at him from dreaming eyes and, sweeping his fingers through a few transitional bars of music, began another song. i don' know why we went to war, tell me, oh, tell me, now! i don' know why we went to war, or what these folks is fightin' for, tell me, oh, tell me now! river george she had made for him and wondered. but he had no answer. popeye was singing the last verse of his song. / surely hopes dere is a god, tell me, oh, tell me now! i surely hopes dere is a god, when de grave-digger slaps me in de face wid a sod, tell me, oh, tell me now! aaron looked into popeye's brooding face. it seemed to him to typify one side of the negro race. almost all of the songs which the colored boys had sung in the trenches were like this one. while their white comrades were singing gaily of mademoiselle from armentiers and "k-k-k-katy," the negroes, closer to fundamental things than the white race, more intimately in touch with universal reality, were singing minor melodies of love and death, death and love, the two forces which hovered over the world with equal insistence. aaron smiled at the singer. "sing that other one i always liked, popeye," he asked. "i'd like to hear it again before we land—that one that goes like this—" he hummed a tune and popeye answered him with an instant accompaniment on the instrument before taking up the words. the first bar of the melody was an exact repetition of that of the "st. louis blues," but then it changed into one of complete originality—product of some black singer, or more likely a group of black singers, bulwarking them- selves with song against the insistent threat of death. when i lays down an' dies on my ov tired hunkers, river george de fam'ly back home'll get ten thousand plunkers, oh, dis man's war is a mean man's war, fob sure! all dose black mamas back home is a-pinin' fer a papa like me, when de moon is a-shinin' oh, dis man's war is a mean man's war fob sure! nearby a gaunt, bright eyed negro who had been a preacher in a country church in alabama was trying to get the attention of a group of men who were lean- ing against the rail making raucous, and often bawdy comments about what they expected to do as soon as they got leave to go into new york city. "befoh dis ship lands," he was shouting, "yoll bettah make up yo min's whedder yuh is goin' de right way or de wrong way. yo is goin' into a city whose streets is like de streets ob hell, lessen yo min' whe yo step. yo has been snatch fum de jaws ob deat' by de hand ob god, de same god who delivered jonah fum de belly ob de whale an' de hebrew chillen fum de fiery fur- nace, de same god dat walked on de water an' made de red sea part. he has watched ovah yo and kep yo safe. you hab come safe t'ru deat' to de body but yo' can march straight into det' to de soul lessen yo mind whe' yo step. remembah!" his voice soared with the pleasant quality of the word, and he paused, one finger upraised. "remembah!" he repeated, in still shriller tone. "remembah dat de road to hell is lined wid de scarlet lips ob women!" "i mean, papa!" a jubilant voice cut in, but the river george preacher seemed not to hear him. his eyes glowing with holy zeal, he finished his brief sermon. "my god is a rock in a weary lan' an' a shelter in de storm," he cried. "let us pray." most of the men turned their backs to continue gazing excitedly at the new york shore which slowly slipped past them as they pushed their way up the north river, or to shuffle off to reform in new groups, but the minister, undaunted, bowed his head. "o lord," he cried, "when i was thirsty you gave me drink. "when i was hongry, yo' gave me meat. now i ask dat you look down on dese here sinnahs who are rushin' headlong to de pat' of temptation. keep dem from de scarlet lips ob women an' de jaws ob deat'. make dem repent, o lord. send yo angels in front ob dem to sweep temptation fum dey way. amen." something about his fulsome tone of voice reminded aaron of do pop. what had happened to him, he won- dered. and what of vince sims and the others? he knew that his mother had been taken care of. annie, who had written him at intervals all of the time he had been away, had assured him of that. it was she who had seen to it that the aging woman was supplied with a little money now and then and she had told him that lightning had helped hannah work her land so that the white owners did not evict her. he turned to popeye. "i guess that praying fellow is worried about harlem," he said. "ever been there?" slowly, sadly, popeye shook his head and went on sweeping his fingers across the strings of his guitar. io river george "well, now's your chance," aaron said. again the other shook his head. "when ah gits off dis boat," he said sadly, "ah'm gonna bury mahse'f so deep in gawgia dat dey is gonna hafta put bakin' powdah in mah coffin so's ah kin rise when gabriel blows his trumpet! an' ah ain' stoppin' in harlem befoh ah heads sout'." "but don't you want to see how negroes live in the north?" aaron asked. "wouldn't you like to see what it's like to be able to live the way white folks do, and to know negroes who are writing and doing things which change the white people's attitude toward all of us so that some day the poor damned share croppers and other negroes who never get a chance can have the same chance the whites have?" popeye looked away, a slight expression of boredom on his face. "de damned and de po'," he said, "we always gonna have. ain' no use tryin' to worry 'bout dat. ef de lawd jes' lets me git back to gawgia, ah'm gonna let him change de white folks hisse'f." a tug was pushing its nose against the bow of the troop ship, like a calf nuzzling its mother, getting ready to shove the great boat around and into its slip, but popeye, unconcernedly, went on plucking the strings of his guitar. chapter xxii iieutenant aaron george stood at the cor- u ner of seventh avenue and th street, an hon- orable discharge from the united states army in his pocket. here he was in the center of american negro culture, in the neighborhood of james weldon johnson and his brother, rosamond, and all of those other con- temporary black artists who were blazing the way in art and letters for the rest of the race. perhaps here, among them, he could find expression for his own de- sire. perhaps he could settle down here, far from the spectre of fred smith, which had pursued him for two years, and find peace. he looked up and down lenox avenue, wondering which way to go, and gazing curiously at the face of the people who stood in groups on the sidewalk, or walked along slowly, talking and laughing with each other, less as though they were going some place than as if they were simply out for a good time. suddenly he was aware that someone was standing close to him. there was a strange exotic perfume in his nostrils and that subtle awareness of a woman's presence which men feel without being able to analyze it. he turned his head and found an olive-skinned negro girl looking at him and smiling. she was smartly dressed in a blue tailored suit. her jet black hair showed river george "i'm a musician," he answered. "i play the violin." "lots of orchestras in harlem," she said. "lots of boys wanting to play in 'em, too." "you have lots of famous people living here, don't you?" he asked. his voice was almost shy, as though he hesitated to talk of the things which really interested him. "sure," she laughed. "bill robinson lives up here. and is that boy a comer! and kenneth bright." aaron looked down at his plate. "i don't mean people like that," he said slowly. "james weldon johnson, and rosamond johnson, and countee cullen, george schuyler and walter white and dubois—do they live up here?" her face was blank. "who are they?" she asked. "are they dancers or prize-fighters or what? i never heard of them." he looked up at her and found her face frank and ingenuous. then he looked away. "no, they're writers," he said. "men who have tried to do something for the negro race." "oh," she laughed, "goofy intellectuals. listen, big boy, we aren't much interested in harlem in doing any- thing for the race. the fellows who worry about that usually push their faces into trouble. and who cares? harlem has a good time. come on, let's dance." silently aaron rose and, taking her arm, went to the dance floor. fanny was a good dancer, and for awhile he forgot his disappointment in her answer. at midnight they went to one of harlem's most famous night clubs. it was fanny's idea, but aaron fell river george in readily enough. how would it compare with pewee's place, in memphis, he wondered. he remembered the gravy train which had carried him to his first sight of memphis night life—in fact to his first sight of any negro night life in the city. would it be so different in harlem? he wondered. they went up a flight of deeply carpeted stairs and into a large dimly lit room where aaron found himself in a world so strange and different from anything he had ever seen anywhere that he was speechless. it was crowded with tables where both white and negro couples sat eating, drinking liquor poured from pocket flasks, and watching the elaborate entertainment being given on the low stage at one end of the room. it was amazing enough to see whites and colored people in the same room eating together and watching the same en- tertainment together, but the spectacular thing was the obviously high social standing of many of the white people, and the equally obvious prosperity of the blacks. expensive furs were thrown back from the shoulders of many of the women and jewels shone on both brown and white fingers. the show was made up entirely of colored girls and men, but most of them were so light that they could have passed easily for spaniards. the costumes of the girls were elaborate, though abbreviated, and their songs and dances were always just on the edge of inadmissible obscenity. "there's a swell chorus here," fanny was saying. "some of those girls will be on broadway by winter." "yes, i suppose so," aaron said. he was thinking river george about the slave grandparents of some of these chorus girls, those simple people who had given birth to such songs as "steal away to jesus," and "deep river." he was wondering how they would have felt to see their grandchildren, those who had broken away from the limiting south and found their way into the greater freedom of the north, where negroes had opportunities for education and culture and general advancement, almost equal to those of the whites, using their new freedom to parade their bodies before white men and pander to their desire for vulgarity. he looked from the stage to the audience, his eyes seeking out its brown-skinned members. they were few in proportion to the whites, and those who were, there were obviously of the upper crust—at least financially. for the men were immaculately dressed and the women, if less expensively, more extravagantly than the white women. he looked back to fanny. "are these the best of harlem?" he asked. she looked at him and laughed. "you have a funny way of talking, soldier," she said. "and what are you being so serious about?" she leaned over and poked a playful finger at his chest. "i brought you up here to have a good time. this isn't harlem at all—this is broadway moved uptown. a white man owns this place. he runs it for white people. they let a few jigs in just to show that they're democratic. we ain't started to see harlem yet." it was eight o'clock in the morning when aaron finally found his way back to the dirty harlem hotel river george wondah what mah brown's a-doin' wid all dose boys 'bout a-wooin' tell me, oh, tell me now! and all dose black mamas at home's a-pinin' fer a papa like me when de moon's a-shinin' oh dis man's war is a mean man's war foh sho. he remarked again the number of these songs born spontaneously in the trenches occupied by colored sol- diers, which included at least one verse about love and at least one about death. in the trenches where death screamed over their heads, lay in wait for them out in a tangle of barbed wire and often touched them indif- ferently and impersonally while they slept, they were constantly aware of his presence and, directly articulate as they were, sang of him. it had been so in the days of slavery, when life itself for the negro had often been only an animated death and when sickness and physical misuse had often made actual death seem a release from imprisonment and pain. then the singers of his race had voiced their mixture of love and fear of the reaper with such songs as this: there's a man goin' 'round takin' names, there's a man goin' 'round takin' names, oh, he took mah mothah's name an' he left mah heart in pain, there's a man goin' 'round takin' names. and oh, we take dis poor body and we carry it to de graveyard, and we lay it in de grave, hallelujah! river george america to which he had come? was it from this group of people that the spiritual emancipation of his race would arise? suddenly with the pain of longing, he thought of the staunch integrity of lightning, the un- educated share cropper; the simple, direct and powerful emotional quality of ada; and the outspoken, unpre- tentiousness of annie. a warm wave of nostalgia seized him and, pillowed on its breast, he slept. river george de cryin' towel. let de man tell us sumpin 'bout de wah." stepping over to the group aaron offered them ciga- rettes and for an hour answered their questions. their attention and interest pleased him. here he felt that he was at home with people whom he understood. bit by bit the group was augmented by others who had entered the store. negroes crowded close in and listened in- tently, but on the edges of the group there were a few white men standing aloof and watching aaron with cold, unfriendly eyes. as the crowd increased the elderly negro who had first warned aaron took his arm and in a low voice cautioned him again. "ah wouldn' talk no more, son," he said. "too many people listenin' here." but again the younger man who had first encouraged aaron to talk interposed. "shet yo' crazy ol' mouth, jim," he said, "an' let de boy tell us what he knows." he turned to aaron again. "guess dose white folks sit up an' take notice when our boys went over de top, didn' dey, lieutenant?" aaron smiled, but there was a wistful look in his face. "i wish they had taken more notice," he said slowly. "i thought when the war started that the colored regi- ments would be a powerful evidence to show what negroes are really like. i thought perhaps the colored soldiers would show the negroes themselves, too, what they were capable of—but now that i'm back i wonder a little whether there's going to be any real difference. there was a fellow on the train telling me that the klan is getting pretty active down here again." river george as he said this the group stared restlessly, and their eyes looked apprehensively around the store and there was fear in them as they searched the white faces there. "dat so, boy," old jim said in a low voice. "but ah wouldn' speak so loud if i was yuh." a young white man hurriedly left the store looking back over his shoulder at aaron. as he left, old jim's eyes followed him nervously, and again he turned to aaron. "yuh bettah get along outa here, lieutenant," he whispered. "ah don' think dose white people like de looks of what yuh is an' ah don' think dey like de sound of what yuh said." aaron looked around at the faces in the store. near the door a little group of white men were talking to- gether in low tones and out on the sidewalk the faces of another small group peered at him inquisitively. as he watched two other white men drifted out and stood before the door questioning the others there. his atten- tion was called away by the voice of a well-dressed negro standing near him whom he had heard called "dr. simons" by another in the group. "well, i'm glad it's over, now," dr. simons said, "and i don't see that anybody gained much by it. i'm afraid you're right about the negroes not getting much, and," he lowered his voice, "i'm afraid jim here is right, too, lieutenant. if i were you, i wouldn't wear that officer's uniform in vicksburg very long." a slow look of bewilderment spread over aaron's face. "but why?" he cried. "i earned this uniform and river george these bars on my shoulder fighting with the white men, fighting for the same things they were fighting for. god knows what they were now! but why should any white man resent me? the white officers are still wear- ing their uniforms, aren't they? were they any better officers than i was? did they do any more than i did?" his voice had risen in bitterness and passion. he had not heard the angry muttering in another part of the store, nor seen that small group outside the door had grown to a crowd. his first consciousness that some- thing had changed came when he was aware that he was being pushed from behind. looking back quickly he saw that the store was now filled with white men and that outside more were still pushing to get through the door. quickly he noticed several olive drab uni- forms of white soldiers in the crowd and in his bewil- dered ears was rising the unmistakable horrible sound of a mob growling. he looked back to where the group of negroes sur- rounding him had stood, but in the short space of his glance at the gathering crowd they had vanished, all but old jim and dr. simons. then he was aware that old jim had taken hold of his arm and was urging him with all his strength toward the back of the store and aaron, scarcely able to comprehend what was happen- ing, went where the old man pushed him. he noticed that dr. simons had quickly stepped between him and the crowd in a little space between a counter and the narrow door which led into the prescription department. as aaron was hurried through the door by old jim he river george heard dr. simons' voice, trembling a little but raised courageously, talking to the crowd. "that man is an officer in the united states army," the doctor was shouting. "you have no right—" but now he felt the outside air on his face and found himself in an alley running beside the wheezing figure of old jim. "dis way, boy," the old man gasped. "turn down heah." blindly aaron followed him. after a little their pace slowed. "yuh bes' cum down in mah part ob town," jim said. "frien' o' mine dere drive yuh outa town in his cah an take yuh tuh a train. dey won' wan' tuh start doin' nothin' 'til tuh-night." "but why should i leave town?" aaron cried. "i came here to see a friend. i want to stay a few days." "yuh bes' let seein' yo' frien' wait a little while," jim told him. "yuh cum back heah some oder time in, diff'ent clothes, but boy, ah wouldn' try tuh fin' dat frien' tuh-day. it ain' goin' be healthy now dat crowd started. an' ah'd be mighty quiet if ah wuz yuh, once ah got on dat train. mighty quiet." chapter xxiv the next day aaron stepped off the train at memphis. his hurried flight from vicksburg had left him feeling crushed and beaten. having had no definite plan when he had gone to vicksburg, he now found himself seemingly incapable of formulating one. before he had been threatened by the mob there, his fear of returning to the beaver dam plantation or to memphis had been an intellectual one. now, with the angry growl of the mob still ringing in his ears, a blind terror gnawed at his heart. for two years the conscious- ness of his flight from fred smith's death had haunted him. but now he had heard the sound of a mob's voice directed against himself; had seen the dark, unreasoned threats in their faces; and even though that mob had known nothing of his connection with the death of a white man, symbolically it had been his accuser. but as he had sat hunched in a corner of the jim crow car to which old jim's friend had taken him, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, there had suddenly come back to him the words annie had spoken on the last night they had been together in memphis. "so long as i got a roof over my head, you can come here." it was the one place in the world where he knew he would find friendly shelter, and even though he was river george increased his deep dejection. he walked on to annie's house and rang the doorbell. a maid he had never seen before let him in. but when he told her his name her face showed no recognition. "i'll tell the madame," she said quietly and left him standing in the hall while she went upstairs. a moment later she was back, grinning. "you're to go right up," she said. the door to annie's room was ajar and aaron pushed it open and walked in to find her hastily putting on a negligee and trying futilely to straighten her hair out. but when she saw him she hurried over to him, her face beaming, her arms outstretched. "honey boy," she cried, "you've got back at last." for a moment the warm comfort of her arms soothed him and gave him a sense of peace. but he was called back to his tumult and confusion and fear by her voice. "you going to stay here now?" she asked. "god knows what i'm going to do, annie," he re- plied. "just now i feel as though i were licked." she stood away from him and looked proudly at his uniform. "what nonsense is that?" she said. "aren't you one of the boys that just licked the germans?" "it doesn't mean anything, annie," he said shortly. "i was just run out of vicksburg because i had the bad sense to appear on the streets there in a uniform. it looks like the south hasn't got any use for colored soldiers except to let them get shot in the trenches." a gentle smile played at annie's lips. "why do you worry so, aaron?" she asked softly. river george "why do you trouble your mind all the time with what the white folks think about us? you're just the same as you were when you went away, aren't you? always worrying about something. nothing could stop you from going to war, but you're back safe now, thank god. why don't you just settle down here?" he shook his head. "you know i can't do that, annie. if i stay in memphis i've got to find a job. i thought i'd be safer in new york and i thought maybe i could find some people there that would—" he paused, seeking for words and when he went on there was a confused and helpless look in his eyes— "that would help me think things out. but one night was enough in harlem. i don't think i could stand living there. then i got scared in vicksburg, and this was the one place i could think of where i could come. but i just can't live the way you want me to." for a moment annie was silent and sat looking at the floor without seeming to see anything there. then she looked directly at aaron and in her eyes was a frankness which called for equal honesty from him. "you still in love with ada?" she asked softly. a quick surge of longing swept through aaron as he heard the name. he had never asked himself this ques- tion—had avoided asking—had let his mind run away from the thought of ada and from all of the questions that thought had brought him. now he reached over and took annie's hands in his before he answered. "i've never tried to think whether i was or not," he said. "but when you said that it seemed to me as though * river george he saw a look of tenderness on her face which was not directed towards him. "i kind of wish you hadn't told lightning i was here," he said thoughtfully. "i don't suppose it matters, but i guess i'll always be scared for fear they'll catch up with me." she came over and patted his cheek gently. "don't you worry, big boy. we'll find you a job here and you'll be safe as you would be anywhere in the world. i talked to mary the wonder yesterday and she says you got to stay in memphis. she says george thomas is a good luck name for you. so when you get a job you got to go by that name." for a moment aaron's annoyance almost overcame his feeling of gratitude and affection for annie. "why did you have to tell mary the wonder about it?" he asked crossly. "the more people know i'm here, the worse my chances are. what good can mary the wonder do anybody?" annie's eyes opened wide in pained surprise. "mary the wonder's like god," she said. "she don't tell nobody nothing that people tell her. and didn't her charm keep you safe in them trenches?" aaron's fingers fumbled under his shirt and felt the little red heart-shaped bag which had hung there ever since annie had given it to him over two years before, and his mind went back to dark, lonely, heartsick nights in france when the little token had brought him com- fort, not because of any belief that he had in the potency of mary the wonder's mixture, but because it had been a constant reminder to him of annie's devo- river george tion and friendly kindness. he had worn it for annie, not for any belief in its saving quality, and it had be- come so a habit with him that it seemed to merge with his body—to be a part of him—and he would have felt as though something were lacking if he had left it off. he smiled gently and pulled it out where annie could see it. "well, here it is," he said. "i've always worn it and i did get back all right." she came over and looked at it and began to scold him. "you've let it get all dirty," she said. "you ought to be ashamed of yourself. there's so much dirt on it you can hardly see that white cross she embroidered on it. you give it to me and i'll clean it up. you don't need it anyway while you're staying here in the house." two days later annie came in jubilant. she had arranged for a job for aaron. "it ain't much of a job," she said, "but you're so hellbent to go to work, and you said you'd do any- thing—and you ought to be able to make fairly good money on this job—what with the tips. anyway, it's a good place to hide out. you can go to work tomorrow morning as a bellhop at the gayoso hotel. i talked to mary the wonder about it and she said it's the right place for you. i told them your name was george thomas." through aaron's mind swept memories of his college days, of his hopes to become a great lawyer who would use his ability to free his people. now he saw himself in the uniform of a bellhop carrying out the petty river george going to happen to him he would have to meet it some time. he turned to the bell captain. "is it all right if i'm away for an hour or so?" he asked. the other grinned. "sure," he said. "so long as you haven't actually started answering calls anyway, take your time and we'll fix you up when you get back." he found the house, a small frame dwelling with little to distinguish it from the other houses on the block. the curtains at the front were down and there was no sign of life anywhere about. with his heart beating wildly, half in hope and half in fear, he pushed the bell. there was no response, and he found himself looking suddenly over his shoulder and down the street as if afraid that he was being watched. for a moment he had an impulse to run, and then cursing himself for his trepidation, he pushed the bell again. after a mo- ment he heard a muffled movement within and the door opened just wide enough to show the face of a colored woman glaring coldly and challengingly at him. her eyes were narrow, venomous slits and her lips a tight thin line in her wrinkled face. "well?" she asked curtly. aaron hesitated and when he spoke he found his voice trembling. "did someone call me from here?" he asked. the door opened wider. "who are you?" the woman asked. again aaron hesitated. there was something in her face, some indication of evil intent, some brooding dark- river.george yet let a man get away from him." he lifted his face proudly and his mouth opened in a wide grin. for a moment aaron stared dejectedly out of the window. then he turned back to the other. "how did you ever find me?" he asked quietly. blue steel laughed. "yuh talk too much, son," he said. "i ain' sayin' jus' how i did find yuh. but yuh bettah remembah aftuh dis dat conjure women are no bettah than any- body else. yuh are jus' as apt tuh buy information from dem as yuh are from anybody." aaron looked out the window again patting the pocket of his coat in which mary the wonder's charm rested, and a scornful smile played about his lips. so it was mary the wonder who had given him away—mary the wonder in whom annie had had such simple faith. for a long time he stared out across the fields without seeing them. perhaps blue steel was right. perhaps it would be better for him to have the thing over with. then he thought of the frailty of the jail at indian mound, of the colorless lack of character of its keeper, and of other jails whose barred doors and windows had offered but momentary barriers to the anger of white mobs intent on vengeance, and the fear which had first assailed him when he had felt the hand-cuffs snap about his wrists, flooded him in a great blinding torrent. his eyes misted with fear, his throat was gorged with it, and his hands trembled so that he pressed them hard against his knee to keep the chain which bound the hand-cuffs together from rattling. once again he glanced at the little detective sitting chapter xxv aaron climbed slowly to the bank, his clothing -dripping river water. he was exhausted by the long pull against the current which had tried to carry him downstream. disadvantaged by his manacled hands, he had turned on his back and fought his battle with his legs alone. now he lay on the ground, breath- ing heavily. but he knew that he could not lie there long. at the next station, or before, blue steel would leave the train and come back to the bridge from which a man-hunt would start. rousing himself he hurried up the bank and pushed his way into the forest. where he was going he did not know, but he knew that he must get as far away from there as possible. in a few minutes he came to a little clearing in which he saw an elderly colored woman washing clothes. for a long time he stood behind a tree and watched her, trying to make up his mind about her, and looking closely at the cabin door and the two shabby out-buildings. finally, satisfied that no one else was around, and that he must take his chances on her friendliness, he left his shelter and approached her, making no attempt to conceal his manacled hands. she looked up from her washboard and her mouth dropped open with surprise, but she remained silent. river george he looked at her mutely for a moment, holding out his manacled hands. then he spoke quietly. "i'm in bad trouble with the white folks, ma'm," he said. "i've done nothing wrong but they're fixing to murder me. will you help me?" for a moment she studied his face closely and earnestly. then her eyes dropped to his hands. "yuh looks lak a good boy," she said. "i knock dose off yuh lak dey was fedders." turning, she led the way to a shed in which a few gardening tools, , old, and many of them broken, were stacked. for a moment she fumbled about in a box of miscellaneous nails and bits of iron, then laid out an old iron horse weight. in her hands she held a huge spike and a hammer with a broken handle. "put yo' han's down dere, boy,—so," she said, laying her own hands across the heavy piece of iron to show him. docilely, gratefully, aaron obeyed, and her deft fingers quickly fitted the point of the spike to the key- hole of the lock on one of the hand-cuffs. holding it steady with her left hand, she delt the head of the spike a terrific blow with the hammer, and aaron groaned involuntarily as the handcuffs, slipping off the iron, bruised his wrist. paying no attention to his pain, she lifted it back into place, fitted the spike, and delivered another blow which would have done credit to a black- smith. again aaron felt the impact of the twisting handcuff on his bruised wrist, but still the lock held. the woman picked up his hands then, and examined her work closely. river george "one moh shot bust um open," she said, and laid the steel on the iron weight again, with aaron's wrists dangling painfully over the edge. true to her prophecy the lock fell open at the next try, and aaron stretched his hand with grateful relief, and threw his arms out wide, relaxing the shoulder muscles and biceps, which had been strained and tense since blue steel had snapped the handcuffs on him, binding his hands close together. the other one went more easily, and in a moment he stood up, his wrists aching, and one of them bleed- ing from the pummelling they had just received, but free! he picked up the now useless handcuffs and looked at them. "a colored man put those on me," he said quietly. "you'd think colored folks could stick together better than that, wouldn't you?" she looked up at him and her face was lined with the sadness and wisdom of her race. "yuh ain' got no call tuh remembah dat, son," she said, "widout yuh remembah along wid it dat a colahed 'oman tuk em off yuh." for a moment one of his newly freed hands rested gratefully on her arm. then it went to his pocket, and withdrew a five dollar bill—all the money he had left from the pay he had brought out of the army with him. "i'll never forget it, ma'm," he said. "take this and buy yourself something." her eyes looked hungrily at the money—an amount river george drain out of him and he felt that he could go no farther. his head throbbed with the sudden, insistent pain again. his eyes clouded. he stopped, leaning against a tree, and listened. he couldn't remember anything! he couldn't remember even what it was he feared! only the rustling of the leaves broke the deep silence. ap- parently he had left the posse behind. having no defi- nite starting point, since they could not have known where he had left the river, and nothing of his from which the dogs could get the scent, they must have been working at loose ends. sighing with relief, he lay down and stared up into the dark shadows of the tree tops. somewhere in the forest an owl called, and aaron started, and found him- self trembling as he tried to relax again. wearily he sat up, and tried to lean his weight on one of his hands. but the pain in his wrist was too great. groaning he stood up, turning his head from side to side as though thus he might see into the concealing darkness. suddenly he became rigid again, listening, straining every nerve as a high-pitched, mournful sound came to him through the trees. but it was not the voice of the owl this time. quavering through the dark with an accusing insistence, it fell on his ears, damning him, shattering the little shred of peace which had come to his soul in that momentary rest. he listened tensely, and it came again—clearly, unmistakably,—the baying of a hound following a trail. with a moan he sprang forward, his arms flailing ahead of him at the bushes which reached out like clutching hands to bar his way, pushing them aside river george aaron smiled and moved up closer. the mate cursed and cracked his whip but the toiling roustabouts paid little attention. then he turned and looked at aaron. "lookin' for a job, boy?" he asked. "yassah," replied aaron. he had decided, before even the mate spoke to him, that he would try to hide his personality behind dialectic speech—that he would talk, act, and be, like a roustabout. "you look big enough and tough enough to roust on the stacker lee." the mate eyed him closely. "mistah, the stackah lee ain' got no rouster dat's big and strong as i is." (he must be careful. he must guard his speech closely, lest that pain in his head return, and that mist before his eyes.) "ever roust before?" "yassah, used to roust 'round n'awleans." "what's your name?" aaron hesitated. he dared not say either aaron george or george thomas. the thought of the river and what it had meant to him in his escape from blue steel, and later from the posse, came to him. "they call me river george," he said, forgetting, in his confusion over hiding his real name to speak like a rouster. "all right, you're hired; here's your ticket. if you're as big and strong as you talk, you ought to be able to stand on a foot of ground and shake a levee. let me see you grab that sack of meat and strike out across the gang-plank." he watched aaron kneel down, straighten up with a river george sack of meat on his back and stagger down the slippery plank onto the boat. "he ain't no rouster, but he's sure got the makings," the mate said, and turned to his cursing. by three o'clock that evening the stacker lee was loaded with bales of cotton ten tiers high. the bell rang and the whistle blew two long blasts, followed by three short blasts. "know what dat whistle say?" a rouster asked aaron as they moved up the gang-plank. slowly, carefully, scarcely having heard what the other said, aaron shook his head in negation. "well, it say: 'lee line, lee line, bob, reese, pete.' dem am de bruddahs dat owns all dese boats." the speaker was interrupted by a song that floated back from the fo'castle. a group of roustabouts were crooning as the boat slipped away from its moorings: the money man will come aroun', ab'll get mah pay an' den ah am ready tub see de sweetes' gal in town. ah'm wu'kin' hahd along de levee, so i kin say to lindy lee, do, honey, tell me if yuh want me, 'cause i'se jes' wu'kin', gal, fob yuh. dere's dat whistle once agin, boo-oo, woo, boo, woo. steamboat comin' 'roun' de ben', boo, woo, boo, woo. sounds tub me lak de robe't e. lee, boo, woo, boo, woo. dat means a dollah a day fuh me, lindy lee. it's all fob yuh dat ah rolls dem cotton bales. the high, brown bluffs of memphis, the tall gray buildings in the background, the river packets clustered about the waterfront, receded. the stacker lee was under way. river george aaron stood watching the city retreating from him with a vague sense that it, and annie, were passing out of his life forever. somewhere in the city she was won- dering where he was, wondering what was happening to him. for he had not let her know. he had been afraid to go near her house, afraid to show his face in any of his old haunts. he looked down at the water slipping smoothly along the flanks of the boat, and again he felt the dizziness which had assailed him in the forest. he turned and hurried to the forecastle. the stench that rose from the rousters gathered there sickened him. the air was heavy, the day was hot. but he stretched out on a bale of cotton and gratefully relaxed his aching muscles. for the moment he was safe. for the monent he need not think of blue steel, or posses, or the terrifying sound of baying dogs. near him the rousters had formed a circle and were clapping their hands and yelling their approval of one of their members named sammy brown, who was doing a buck-and-wing, but as the boat drifted down the lazy river, the noise of the rousters seemed to aaron to be- come fainter and fainter, and he slept. he was wakened by something prodding his ribs and jumped up quickly, terror in his eyes. but he turned to face only a grinning rouster. "what's the trouble?" aaron asked. "man, yuh bettuh git up f'um deah an' grab dat headline. dis is de landin'." he struggled to his feet and took the line, but as he jumped for the shore, he tripped and fell into the yellow river george heart for so long would find relief in violent action and even in the physical pain which he might get from the hands of his opponent. but he wanted no fighting. he could feel no animus against bill, nothing which would make him want to strike the other. he did not want to fight. then he saw the expectant, waiting faces of the rousters standing about, and saw that others were drift- ing toward him. plainly they expected a fight. plainly they looked to him to furnish it. he had come on this boat as a rouster. would not this fight be as much a part of his disguise as the rough speech he had tried to assume? turning his head back to face bill he spoke slowly and purposefully, choosing his words carefully, speak- ing in the swaggering, slurred accents which he had been hearing all about him, but he spoke automatically, with but little consciousness of what he said, the pain in his head throbbing insistently, dulling his sensibility of all around him. "ah kin take care ob mahself anywhar, any time, big boy," he said. "de meat might tremble on yo' bones an' yo' bones might crack lak er eggshell de fus time a good man jes' tetched you," bill taunted. for answer aaron grinned sardonically and spat con- temptuously on the deck close to black bill's feet. the other glowered. "suppose yuh put yuh fist wheah yo' mouf is an' ef yuh is a good man gi' me mo' light an' less noise," he challenged. river george "gathah 'roun' me, all you rousters!" bill cried. "ah'm gwiner lead a song to river george, de new rouster of the stacker lee, de only rouster on de rivah dat evah flo'd black bill." as the others came closer, black bill began to sing. all through de merry month of june, dat when de cotton am agrowin', beneath de silvery southern moon, dares whar de darkies am asleepin', an' all a-lyin' in a row, but evah one is up and bustlin', soon he heah's de whistle blow. what's dat noise, so loud and cleah? boo, woo, boo, woo. sounds tuh me a-drawin' neah, boo, woo, boo, woo. sounds tuh me lak de robert e. lee, chuck full of cotton from tennessee. grab yo' truck an' take yuh stan', fo' tuh roll dent cotton bales. there was a pause in the song. someone handed bill a guitar and he began plucking the strings absently. "heah de paht dat i done thunk up on rivah george," he announced. he bent low over his guitar and it twanged louder, while he sang. river george, lord, river george, river george is a natchal man of all de rousters on de stacker lee, river george is de one to be, 'cause he knocked black bill down. three times on de deck, lord, lord, he beat black bill into a natchal wreck. there was a pause and the rousters crowded closer to the singer. one of them started a new song and the z o river george rest joined him. under cover of their interest in the song, aaron edged his way out of the crowd to a spot on the deck where he could stretch himself out and think. again, as during that moment in the woods, his sense of time and place seemed to desert him. he did not understand what had happened; his dull mind could not fathom the words the rousters were singing and saying. then suddenly the implications of their words came to him. they were proclaiming him a leader—why, he could not tell—saying that he was the greatest man who had ever rousted on the stacker lee, for he had beat black bill. he wanted none of the adulation of the rousters, none of the story telling about him which had made black bill a well known figure along the river. once this were to happen to him, once the name of river george was commonly heard wherever stories were told, it would be only a question of time before blue steel would catch up with him again and he would be de- livered to the uncertain justice of the white man. it would be better if he were to leave the boat, work his way to some distant point—perhaps even chicago or new york again, leave no trace behind him, and lose his identity as far from the south as possible. he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. and thus he did not notice a white passenger who, detaching himself from the group of white passengers who had come to witness the excitement, suddenly paused before him and studied his sleeping face carefully, then started back, his face suffused with excitement, and hurried away. in a river george moment he returned followed by two other white men who gazed cautiously at the recumbent form from a little distance where a pile of freight partially hid them. "sure as hell that's the nigger," one of them whispered. "shall we grab him now?" another asked. "not a chance," the first replied. "the captain would never stand for it. we'll wire ahead to holly rock and have sam turner and the other boys come down to the river and meet the boat." but aaron was half asleep and didn't hear them. he was thinking dreamily that he would leave the boat that night, that he would take one more chance before he left the south forever. under cover of the night he would find his way home, would see his mother and ada, and then, before morning, he would be off, hoping that somewhere, some way, he could find peace and earn enough money so that eventually he could send for ada and his mother to come and join him. on the deck the rousters were singing, and their song brought a sense of peace to aaron, as he drifted into sleep. river george jog-trot which was little more than a walk, trying to forget the cold weariness which seemed now to be settling into his bones, trying to forget all of the past except the staunch goodness of his mother and the warm loveliness of ada, to which he was hurrying— hurrying as though there were not a minute to lose, as though he were being driven by^ an insistent need to get there while there was still time. his wrists still ached with the bruises they had re- ceived when the kindly old woman in the woods had beaten his handcuffs off his hands—handcuffs which had been put on him by a member of his own race. this was one of his bitterest thoughts, one which was hardest for him to lose—that a black man, one of the race to which he, himself, belonged, a race living with blindness and misery which he had hoped to help, should have shackled him, who had done no wrong— and that a black woman, who sold her crazy formulas to those with simple faith, should also have been a party to his betrayal. yet, even though his weary mind was assailed with these bitter thoughts, he heard again the words which the old woman in the woods had spoken to him. "yuh ain' got no call tuh remembah dat, son," she had said, "widout yuh remembah along wid it dat a colahed 'oman tuk em off yuh." there had been a familiar quality in her voice as she said it, a familiar look of old wisdom in her eyes— something which he had heard and seen before, long ago somewhere in another day and another life—some- thing which had lived with him for years and had river george troubled him in those black hours of self-doubt when all the world had seemed wrong and himself the wrongest thing of all in it. but there seemed to be a curtain of mist drawn over that other life through which he could not see, as though it were another person back there who had looked forward to some- thing fine and upbuilding—another person whom he did not know at all now. he shook his head slowly from side to side, his breath coming quickly in gasps, as his feet thudded rhythmically on the road that was leading him home, back to that bare clean little kitchen, back to hannah —and to something else that he wanted terribly—to someone else— and then suddenly the mist cleared and he seemed to see his mother, her great, quiet bulk moving easily from stove to table, dishing up his supper. it was as though he were living again in that other evening, long ago, when he had come to her with his heart seething in rebellion after his encounter with sam turner, and for the first time had heard his mother's expression of faith in her own race. ada was forgotten now in his great need for hannah, in his need again to hear her calm words of wisdom, in his desperate necessity to turn the clock of time back to that night which still had lying before it a future. a low, tortured sob rose in his aching throat as he seemed to hear her words again. "black skin all right," she had said gruffly, "so long's it don' try to be white skin. white folks allays fightin' an' grabbin' fer sumpin in a hurry. 'peahs to me it don' git 'em much. niggers got sumpin white folks ain' got. river george quarrel with sam turner; felt again the knobby hard- ness of the white man's wrist as he wrested the threaten- ing strap away from him; heard again do pop's whin- ing voice urging to caution the members of the little group aaron and lightning had brought together; felt against his knee the pressure of fred smith's chest as he knelt above him; felt his face contract and grow rigid with terror as his eyes closed automatically against the blinding flash of the gun in fred smith's hand— with a hoarse cry, he stumbled, and trying to re- cover himself, found that he was off the road. for a moment he paused, leaning against a tree, breathing heavily. now the mist was descending before him again and he brushed his hand tentatively across his eyes, trying to clear his sight and his mind, and he looked about him wonderingly, blankly, in an attempt to orient himself in time and space. just ahead he heard the musical sound of running water and, taking a few steps, found himself at the edge of a little creek whose laughing voice tugged cruelly at his pain. dimly in his heart there grew something more painful than anything which had preceded it—something which he recognized as a thing which had been there before—new and throb- bing with fresh beauty—surging with a tremendous life he had never kfaown was in him. but now it had in it the pain of old age and death—the bitter, helpless throbbing of life which has no peace. quietly walking on tip-toe as though he were afraid of waking someone, he turned up the creek and entered the woods. he raised one arm and stretched the hand out before him as if he were groping for something. river george then he came to it—a little open space in the woods where the grass grew down to the water's edge—where the brook murmured musically over rocks. and suddenly, with a groan which shook his whole body, he flung himself on the grass there, his hands reaching out desperately, clutching at the side, trying to hold close to him the spot where he had lain with ada. he was weeping now in long, piteous sobs, the tears flowing unchecked from his eyes, his body writh- ing in its knowledge of ultimate and complete denial. when he stood again he was calm and his face was rigid, not in the lines of peace, but rather in those of one to whom release from too great pain has been brought by unconsciousness. he turned back toward the road but he did not walk on tip-toe now, nor did he run. his tread was heavy and regular, like that of an automaton, as he set his face toward his mother's house and went on. a quarter of a mile ahead of him and coming to- wards him was a dim light swinging a little, as a lantern might in the hand of a man, but aaron did not see it. the silence of the night was broken by the slowly rising sound of angry, questioning voices, but aaron did not hear them. steadily he went forward— one foot following ahead of the other—unseeing, un- hearing, until he stopped short, the way ahead of him blocked by a dark mass, its darkness and depth accen- tuated by the little light of one small lantern. he stood still then and gazed as from a great distance until gradually his sight cleared and he saw that the mass was made up of the bodies of men and that at the top of river george each body there was a white face. dimly, as though from a great distance, he heard words, but they were meaningless to him—they had nothing to do with him —they were nothing that he could understand. "by god, that's the damn nigger now." what were they talking about? what were they say- ing? why were these people standing in the middle of the road staring at him? he put his hands forward to brush them away, as he had brushed away the briars in the woods, and took another step. out of the blackness of the night, out of the dimness of the days and weeks and months and years which pressed into him, out of the bitter venom in the heart of man, backed by a million years of hate and greed and lust and terror, a white fist shot and aaron crumpled and lay in the dust of the road. o river george ning, and ada had grinned back at him delightedly, for it was no secret to ada and hannah that more than friendship between lightning and annie had grown out of the sudden interest she had displayed in the affairs of the beaver dam plantation. but how would they manage it? she knew that aaron could never come back here; knew that the bitterness which the whites had felt for him before he had left was increased ten- fold now, for week after week and month after month, the ranks of the share croppers had been growing thin- ner. the war had taken its toll for the draft, but a far greater cause of the exodus had been the unrest of the negroes themselves, who, one by one, had been leaving the bitter struggle for existence which the share cropper knows for more remunerative work in the cities. throughout the delta plantations, up and down the river, the movement had spread until hundreds of cabins were empty and thousands of acres of land were untitled. some of the little towns which had been pros- perous before the war were deserted now. stores were closed and grass grew in the streets before them, untrod by the feet of negro share croppers who had been attracted to the northern industrial centers by the promise of higher wages, better living conditions and better school facilities for their children. the farm owners had tried with every means at their command to stem the retreating tide. ticket agents had been warned about selling tickets to negroes. stations had been picketed to keep negroes off the trains, but the movement swept on and with its onward sweep there rose in the hearts of the white owners greater and * river george "bettah yuh let it be da'k 'till we get dere." silently he obeyed and they went on. as they neared the cabin lightning's steps became slower and he lis- tened and peered into the dark apprehensively. but there was no sound, no light, to break the peace of the night. they turned up the path that led to the kitchen door, grown high with grass and weeds now, for no one had lived in the cabin for over a year. but the grass and weeds were trampled low by many feet, which had come, and trod, and gone. the clearing was deserted. then they saw it. dark in the meager light of the stars it hung from a tree near the cabin door, tre- mendous, and heavy, and quiet, save that it swayed gently, and turned a little on the rope which held it. the legs hung straight, the great feet with toes pointed to earth, the long, ape-like arms, and huge hands, hung limp. the head was fallen forward on its chest. with trembling hands lightning raised the lantern chimney and lit the wick, then held the light high while they both looked searchingly at the bowed head. but the face was so battered and bleeding that it would have been impossible to say even whether it was the face of a man or a beast. raising his arm slowly, fearfully, lightning took the blood-dripping chin in his hand and pushed it a little higher. but still he could find no semblance of any human face in the broken mass of pulp before him. as he lowered his hand it touched something hanging against the bared breast of the dead man. he pulled, and it came away, trailing the broken string which had fugitives of the peael fugitives of the pearl by john h^ pawter, a.m. author of joining the navy, or abroad with uncle sam i gowoooooooooooooooossooooooooooooooooo the associated publishers, inc. ninth stbeet, n. w. washington, d. c. copyright, , br john h. paynter punted tn the united states of akbhca fokewoed in this fugitives of the pearl, the author has accomplished much more than an in- teresting elaboration of an historic episode that is unique among the many notable ex- periences which developed during the pe- riod of american slavery. he has given us a story of heroic men and women under grueling conditions, whose adventures are not alone the pride of any particular race or ^ group and thereby limited in appreciation i* to those related or concerned, but he shows ^ the priceless value of character in human cl make-up which brings to fruition the nur- ^ tured ideals of all earnest and courageous ^ souls. the characters delineated are not unreal or quixotic. they lived and wrought and were impatient of the restraints which de- layed their day of freedom. the author makes us feel in these pages how great a thing it is to be a man and how large a boon it is to all when that manhood is courageous. the lesson of unfaltering faith, running vii foreword throughout the narrative like an unbroken, golden thread, makes real and tangible the abiding comfort and consolation which may- be enjoyed through spiritual contact with the lowly nazarene, "the man of sorrow and acquainted with grief." to be sure, all the characters in this nar- rative are neither admirable nor lovable, for there is judson diggs, the informer; but he is taken care of, as indeed aroused sympathy and indignant loyalty sooner or later exacts its toll of all traitors. it is to be noted that captain drayton, too, is but a type of that not too frequent lover of human kind, who restricts not his benefactions within the bounds of race or creed but is ever ready with helping hand that the overburdened weak may enjoy their fair share of civic and social privilege. in a word, mr. paynter has made herewith a distinctly worthy addition to the literature of slavery days which doubtless will be widely and enjoyably read. e. d. w. jones. seventh episcopal district a. m. e. zion church. washington, d. c.; december, viii contents chapter pace i. black and white ii. age disappointed by youth ... iii. the black triumvhiate listen ,., . iv. thinking it over v. the discussion at the fireside . . vi. preparing for the flight ... vii. aboard the vessel ,., viii. on the way .., ix. consternation behind ..... x. slow progress to free son. ... xi. the halt in the storm .... xii. hopes blasted xiii. grief at home xiv. the return to washington . . . xv. the treachery avenged .... xvi. anti-slavery circles aroused . . xvii. suffering and waiting .... xviii. in the new orleans slave pen . xix. joyful meeting with a lost brother xx. the brotherliness of hamilton . xxi. the return northward .... xxii. free at last ,., . xxiii. the family reunion ..... ix illustrations facing page mother edmonson louisa edmonson joy mary and emily edmonson john and elizabeth brent samuel edmonson, evelyn edmonson ingra- ham, delia edmonson, and martha edmon- son pennington john s. brent and children . ,., ,.. . . zi fugitives of the pearl chapter i black and white in the years just after the independence of the american colonies the tide of emigra- tion to our american shores set in strongly. persons in every condition of life were eager to put to a test the assurance of the many advantages to be gained by a residence in the new country across the water. a spirit of adventure animated many who were of splendid birth and fortune, and among the latter who made the long voyage were two brothers, scions of a good old english family by the name of brent. they reached this country about the year . the elder, hector, settled in maryland and in due time became a factor in the business and political life of the state. john, the younger, located in virginia as a gentleman farmer and owner of an extensive tract of land not far from the washington home at mount vernon, which in due time became famous fugitives of the pearl for its able management as well as splendid, though modest hospitality. here it was the house of brent, or that part of it which has somewhat to do with the story in hand, had its origin, for it was on this estate of the younger brother that elton brent was born, and some years after an- other boy who, for some reason which is not entirely apparent, was given the family name of john. it is fair for us to presume, however, taking due account of the freedom of relationship between master and slave in that period, that the title of these later brents of color, to membership in the origi- nal family of that name, is founded on the ties which nature herself makes, albeit under cover of vicious practices, arising from the relationship of privileged owner and de- pendent chattel. indeed the propriety and accurateness of this statement seems pretty well established when comparisons of the lineal features and physical characteristics on either side are made. in his early man- hood, the resemblance between john brent, slave, and john brent, owner, is said to have been subject for general comment. my own remembrance of the former when he was of more than middle age, shows him a man of black and white large frame and fair of complexion, with features quite caucasian and high sloping forehead. his manner was one of quiet dig- nity and repose. from time immemorial the brents had aristocratic connections. when john parke custis, the son of mrs. martha washington by her first husband, served as aide de camp to general washington at the siege of york- town, he had with him as serving man, elton brent, who bore his share of the hardships and privations of that period and attended him finally at eltham, maryland, where he died of camp fever after the surrender of cornwallis. whether or not this special war service was effected by loan or purchase between the two families, the records do not reveal. most probably it was the former, as the masters were friends and their proper- ties contiguous. this view is made more probable since after the death of the elder custis the faithful elton again takes up his abode on the brent estate. about , john brent, being a bright, intelligent lad, was made a "free dealer." this signified the grant of the right to work for wages and exercise such freedom of action in civil affairs as did not conflict with fugitives of the pearl municipal laws governing the coming and going of persons in bondage. through the influence of his master he was given employ- ment as laborer in the war department, then located in the winder building in washington; and, being well trained to household service, he found remunerative use for his leisure hours in attendance upon social functions at the homes of the aris- tocracy of the capital. at the age of twenty-five he had saved sufficient money to obtain his freedom by paying his master $ . the feeling of ownership originating in this purchase seems to have stimulated him to other noble efforts, for a few years later he had saved $ which he straightway devoted to the purchase of his father, whose age and in- firmities were now beginning to make them- selves felt. after the manner of men, about this time he fell in love, the object of his admiration being the pretty elizabeth ed- monson. in those days, more so than is now the case, the course of true love was often rough and attended with many hardships. certainly in this instance, but the lover pos- sessed the characteristics of a true knight fugitives of the peael not to marry until they were free, for she would not have them endure a similar sor- row in becoming mothers of children who were not their own. the admonition of a bleeding heart was sacredly heeded, for when john brent sought to unite himself in matrimony with the oldest of the girls he was told that in the then existing circum- stances, it could not be. with rare courage and devotion, he immediately went to work harder than ever and resolved to reach this end by imitating the example of the faithful jacob of old. to his regular income and other earnings, he now made substantial additions by sawing wood at night, so that at the end of two years he had in hand a sufficient sum to make his beloved a free woman and himself a benedict. he pur- chased for a home the ground at the south- west corner of eighteenth and l streets, northwest, now owned by his heirs, and still remembered as the spot where was organized the john wesley a. m. e. zion church. the family altar thus set up proved a source of helpfulness in circumstances of great trial and unhappiness which later on were to come to other dear ones. the little home was first established in two small black and white rooms on the site upon which was later built the commodious frame dwelling, which with its generous old-fashioned porch was for so many years a harbor of refuge in which a word of hope or more substantial help was never asked in vain. chapter ii age disappointed by youth the gathering around the family board of john and elizabeth brent was not always a strictly family gathering, for a stranger had now come into the group in the person of a rather curious little man by the name of judson diggs. this person was al- together the most interesting character to be found among the entire colored population of the district of columbia. he was in all outward forms and observances a devoted christian. he was a factotum in general, representing the business interests of his people, both slave and free. by reason of these transactions which covered every va- riety of dealing from real estate to the pur- chase of apparel, a considerable profit had accrued to judson, which, through personal privations and careful, not to say miserly, management, now represented a comfortable competency. but judson was not at all popular not- age disappointed by youth ■withstanding such material advantages. like brother brent, he was also a free- dealer; but, unlike that worthy and highly respected man, there were but few among all who knew diggs—and every one did know him—who rallied to him in a friendly way. it was the general opinion that to be sought after as much as he was by the white people, was, to say the least, unnatural; and the idea was commonly current that the very best way to put the white folks "next" to anything you were about to do, was to let judson into the secret. the women folks, while making use of his abilities in little matters of domestic economy, kept him at a safe distance, and the men held aloof in all matters in which there was no other in- terest than that of a purely social nature. to give the devil his due, as the saying goes, this treatment seemed exactly what the old fellow most desired, as through this means the latches of his purse strings were seldom unloosed in personal obligations of friend- ship, while the effect was to confirm him in his policy of close-fisted selfishness. for some time back judson had been as- siduous in cultivating the friendship of the brent household. this procedure, which fugitives of the pearl was remarked as most unusual, was at first attributed to a religious impulse and a de- sire for congenial intercourse along this line; and although his side of the "inter- course" was almost wholly that of listener, it was taken as an evidence of his deep hu- mility and modest disposition. for with his genial hospitality and genuine christian impulse, mr. brent opened wide his doors and his arms to this recruit to methodism, and so much at home did he become that it soon afforded matter for comment if brother diggs failed to drop in on any evening and take his "jest er haf er cup, ef yer plez" before the tea was ended. judson had been a childless widower for a number of years, and it was popularly be- lieved that no amount of persuasion would avail to induce him to change his condition. a short while after these visits began, how- ever, two strange things were noticed—his face and hands invariably showed unusual signs of recent acquaintance with soap and water, and a little parcel tied up in an old colored handkerchief always accompanied him. ordinarily one might not think there was any connection between the two, but there was, and this we shall soon see. fugitives of the peakl proaching, and all were bright with antici- pation of that happy time. as the hour of ten drew nigh, brother diggs became rest- less as usual, pricking up his little ears at each footfall on the stairs and glancing anxiously at the opening door. the boys, however, did not come; and brother brent asked brother diggs: "if it ain't too much trouble would yer be so kind an' obligin' ez ter see the gals ter their do', bein' ez yer gwine summat in dat d'rection any how." of course, there was nothing left for brother diggs to do but "fall in line," and this he proceeded to do with the speech of his life as he gathered up his hat and said: "certiny, brudder brent, naw trouble 'tall, naw trouble 'tall." mary lived some distance beyond the home of emily; so in order that both might have the benefit of company and that the former should reach home in safety, emily sug- gested that they all go there first. this was accomplished in due course, brother diggs trotting along by the side of the nimble- footed girls, but never offering a word ex- cept in reply to a question to which a direct answer was unavoidable. a very few steps had been taken on the age disappointed by youth last part of the journey, alone with emily, when the little parcel was unceremoniously shoved into the latter's hand with the re- mark: "here's dem cakes, miss em'ly." "what cakes?" says she, for her first thought was that her sister lizzie had in- trusted something of the kind to his care for her. "dese cakes here," says brother diggs in a pleading tone of voice, "tek 'em, miss em'ly, do, i ben wantin' ter gib 'em ter yer dese many nights." at this juncture emily remembered that she had seen a similar parcel on each of the occasions when they had met at her sister's, and the idea that these cakes may have been tied up in this same handkerchief for more than two months seemed so ridiculous that she was obliged to stand still and give vent to merriment which for the life of her she could not control. "what's yer laffin' erbout, miss em'ly? don' yer nebber eat cakes?" "yes, i eat cakes, of course i do," said emily, endeavoring to check the laughter which threatened to convulse her again, "but whoever heard of anybody carrying age disappointed by youth seemed in the somber shadows of the night to snap and shine with emotion of which he ordinarily seemed incapable. "lor', miss em'ly," he gasped, puffing and blowing furiously. "to' pretty feet goes faster den er march hare." "well, it's getting late," said emily im- patiently, and i must get home." "dat's ezy nuf," came judson's reply, accompanied by a grating sort of laugh deep down in his throat. "ter kin git er home any day yer wants ter," attempting at the same time to take hold of her hand. '' dere's one ready an' waitin' fer yer, an' dere ain' no mor'gige on it neder." emily was now so confused and angry at the sly way in which the old fellow had switched her meaning that there was a grave suspicion of tearful anger in her voice as she said: "i didn't mean that, you know i didn't; and i don't agree with you at all, for if you are the owner, i think there is a very serious mortgage on it; and what's more you needn't go another step with me. you're a precious old rascal and nothing else." before judson had fully grasped the meaning of these rapidly uttered words, the fugitives of the pearl indignant girl had started off on a brisk run and was soon far away on the road towards home. judson stood stupidly watching the slim figure until it was lost in the surround- ing gloom, and then he, too, started slowly on in the same direction. chapter in the black trittmvirate listen it was about this time that the news of the overthrow of despotism in france in reached this country. a great celebra- tion was planned to commemorate worthily this triumph and the onward march of the principles of freedom and universal liberty. such was the spirit which prevailed every- where, and the thrill of it quickened the pub- lic pulse and lifted the citizens of the dis- trict of columbia almost to a frenzy of ex- citement and enthusiasm. the thirteenth day of april had been set apart for the cele- bration, and with the dawn were visible evidences that something of more than ordi- nary interest was about to happen. later on it would seem that the entire population had poured forth and taken possession of the parks and the spacious steps of the public buildings and had distributed them- selves along the entire length of pennsyl- vania avenue. fugitives of the pearl the beautiful emblem of the republic unfurled its gracious folds at every point of view. buildings bore gorgeous decora- tions, drums beat everywhere, and men paraded to the tuneful strains of martial music. the very air was redolent with ora- tory. the high dignitaries of the land, senators, representatives and department officials bore a principal part in voicing the satisfaction with which the good news of french liberty had been received from be- yond the water. noble souls! generous men and patriots! how peculiarly fitting their attitude! in what a grandly beautiful light do those sen- timents reveal them! what noble chivalry! how broad and deep their humanity! so broad and deep that the horizon of the benefactions which they are so vigorously apostrophizing is made to extend only to the skin that is fair, with no thought of their master's image in ebony shivering, strug- gling and praying in the very shadow which their inhuman blindness casts. yet there they stand or crouch, dodging here and there on the edge of the crowd, vaguely real- izing that something has happened—feeling in an unaccountable manner that the event, the black triumvirate listen this tremendous demonstration touches their condition in many ways and the more intel- ligent of them hoping down in their troubled hearts that the good lord would in some way use the occasion to further their de- liverance. well might these poor creatures be bewildered and lost in the maze of such sophistries. they listened enraptured at such words as freedom, liberty, humanity; and in the same moment felt the pain of a heart which sinks like lead in their bosom, for they knew that none of these heaven- born attributes were intended to apply to them. can it then be considered wonderful, i ask, that the gall and wormwood of their position, the exquisite irony of the case, the gross injustice of the thing should penetrate the very fiber of their being and sting them into positive and determined action? in the course of his remarks, the eloquent senator foote of mississippi said, "it is my conviction that the happy period to be signalized by the universal emancipation of man from the fetters of civil oppression and by the recognition in all countries of the great principles of popular government, equality and brotherhood, is at this moment visibly approaching." fugitives of the pearl among the throngs of people who listened with grave anxiety to these lofty sentiments, were daniel bell, paul jennings, and sam- uel edmonson, three colored men who, in intelligence and manly character, were rather above the average negro of that period. the first named had purchased his freedom, while his wife and eight children were freed by their master on his death bed. the heirs of the master had endeavored to break the will by claiming that he was not of sound and disposing mind at the time it was made; and so those most affected, fear- ing the case might go against them, resolved to secure their freedom through flight. hundreds of colored people of all ages and conditions were scattered about the park, listening respectfully, indulging in whispered converse among themselves, to whom no thought was given beyond that usually bestowed upon domestic animals, which, in those days, were accorded without dispute the entire freedom of the city. very different it was in regard to the three friends to whom allusion has been made. they were recognized as being representa- tive of that idea which was most repugnant to the sentiments and most threatening to fugitives of the pearl was a carpenter with a good business and, being free, hired his time, while edmonson was also employed as butler in the home of one of the old families of the district of columbia. the three friends formed a little group on the outer rim of the crowd which thronged jackson square on this bright sunny morn- ing about the middle of april. the white house, to the south across the avenue, the somber-colored buildings of the state, war and navy on the right, the treasury on the left, with the episcopal church of st. john north of the square, were the notable fea- tures of the surrounding landscape. diffi- cult indeed it is to imagine a situation more pregnant with inspiration to high and noble thoughts. here truly were the tangible evi- dences of the solidity and power of temporal authority in splendid array, and as well the visible insignia of that divine essence whose perpetual throne is set up in the hearts of the children of men. when senator foote had concluded his speech and the throng was giving vent to its appreciation and voicing its enthusiasm in shouts and handclappings, bell suddenly lost sight of his own position in relation to the black triumvirate listen the event and cheered as loudly and ap- plauded as vigorously as any one in the crowd. the other two, of calmer temper and given to weigh more closely the merit and meaning of events, took such a manifes- tation as highly improper and were visibly disturbed. "why, what are you doing, daniel?" said jennings, pulling him by the coat-sleeve; "anybody would think you were one of these white people, the way you are carrying on." "that's so," said daniel, quieting down all in a moment; "the fact is, that man made me forget my color the way he talked, and if he didn't mean it for me it sounds good to me all the same." "you are right, daniel, i feel that way, too," said edmonson. "it was as much as i could do to keep from shouting, but it won't do for us to let the white people know that we realize the force of what has been said for they'll say right away "them 'niggers' need watching." the fact is that daniel's outburst had al- ready attracted considerable attention, for it was a very unusual thing to see a negro so far forget his position as to become demonstrative in the presence of his su- fugitives of the pearl periors. finding that the occurrence was being commented upon by several groups in the crowd and wishing to avoid any trouble, paul led the way down the street, followed by threatening glances which boded no good for them had they remained. "look here boys," said he, when they were safely away; "this celebration of the white folk has a mighty deep meaning. there's senator foote and all the rest of them re- joicing that liberty and freedom from op- pression have come to people thousands of miles away, while right here under the very sound of their voices, is a race of people whom they themselves are holding in the very worst sort of human slavery. it is true a few of us enjoy some kind of freedom, but what about the others? i tell you, it's time we were thinking about doing something." "but what can we do?" asked daniel. "there's no use trying to fight, for they'd soon kill every last one of us, and then our families would only have a much harder time than they did before." "oh, no," said edmonson; "there's surely no use fighting. you remember how turner tried that down there in virginia, and a braver man never lived, but it just proved the black triumvirate listen that such a course was only a way of throw- ing away valuable human lives and accom- plishing nothing." "well, since fighting is out of the ques- tion, what's the matter with running away?" asked "pap." this drastic proposition seemed to strike the others with such force as to paralyze them on the spot. they regarded paul with a bewildered stare for a few seconds, when edmonson, being the first to recover, said: "that's easy enough to talk about, but i fail to see how you are going to run off all these slaves, 'less you give 'em wings and take 'em thro' the air." this little sally tickled daniel immensely, and the faces of all three which were erst- while dead serious relaxed in a hearty laugh. "well, i'll tell you boys i've got a plan, and i was just kinder feeling my way you know (but don't let us stop here, because it never takes white people long to become sus- picious). you remember i was over in baltimore with the senator last month, and at the hotel where we put up, i met the cap- tain of a schooner, who seemed to take a great fancy to me. the night before we were to come back to washington he told fugitives of the pearl me to come to his room as lie wanted to tale to me. as luck would have it there was a big dinner given to the senator that night, which left me free to do as i pleased. ac- cordingly, i watched my chance and about nine o'clock, with the coast clear (because you see i had to be careful, for i didn't know what was up and the hotel people might think it strange), i got to his room without being seen. boys, as sure as god's my judge, when i left that room two hours later, i was a different man. you've heard these speakers to-day talk about 'humanity' and 'freedom' and a whole lot of other things, but i tell you they don't know the first meaning of the words. that man talked to me like a brother and the tears rolled down my cheeks just as if i had been a baby. but we can't go into all that now, if the plan is to be successful we've got a lot of work to do and only a little time to do it in." "what's that, paul? what do you mean to say?" paul's friends were almost out of their senses with the eagerness of their ex- pectancy. "well, it's just this," paul replied, tak- ing a letter from his inner waist-coat pocket. the black teiumvirate listen "i got this in the senator's mail this morn- ing, you see it is addressed in his care." unfolding the letter with ceremonial care he read to them in a husky whisper:— "dear brother, "i will reach washington with master on the evening of the th and would like you to come abroad the pearl, at the foot of th st., as i have something i would like to send to mother. "frank jennings." "what if the senator," began edmonson at the conclusion of the letter. "what if he had," interrupted paul, an- ticipating the end of the question. nobody can hinder a fellow from having a brother and a mother, and it's natural like for a boy to send a little something to his mother once in a while; so i don't see as any harm could be done; but the senator happens to be away and that's all the better." paul waited for a moment, seemingly ex- pecting some comment from his hearers, but they were evidently too much surprised with the whole affair and as yet could say noth- ing. "now this letter which seems to come from brother frank," he continued, "is no fugitives of the pearl more nor less than a message from the schooner captain, and means that he will be here to-night with his ship and will be ready to take as many of us away as want to go." '' paul! you don't mean it!" said daniel; while edmonson, who was more of a re- ligious turn of mind, suddenly cast his eyes upward and gushed out a fervent "thank god." by this time the three friends had crossed town and come to the corner of sixth and d streets, in front of the old unitarian church, long since converted into a domicile for the police court of the district. mid- way the block stood the fairly imposing resi- dence from whose balconies daniel webster responded to ovations and serenades ten- dered by admiring fellow citizens. in its day this was manorial for a city residence; now progress and development have rele- gated it to the rank of a fourth-rate office building tenanted by semi-respectable law- yers who squeeze their living from the mis- ery and extremity of the unfortunates who feed the adjoining courts. here paul consulted a handsome old- fashioned gold watch attached to his waist- the black triumvirate listen coat by a leather guard and found it was somewhat past three o'clock. "now fellows," said he, assuming active command for the first time, "we must get to work. every soul must be told and be aboard the vessel by eleven o'clock to-night. be careful whom you trust, for if you should happen to strike the wrong person the white people will know everything and they'll soon have us all gobbled up. get as many of our women and girls as you can, but for god's sake be careful not to tell them too much." after a brief talk over the details of meet- ing, the three set out on their separate ways to advance the desperate plans upon which they were so suddenly agreed, each loyal to the muffled heart-beat of manhood long ob- scured but now lifting their souls on the wings of hope to view the rosy dawn of a bright and happy day. chaptee iv thinking it over jennings left his two friends and entered the webster house, going immediately to his own little room on the top floor. the fact that the family were out of town afforded him relief from his ordinary duties and al- lowed a freedom of action that would have been impossible under the usual daily rou- tine. having speedily made his personal arrangements, he descended to the library and took a seat at the massive walnut desk upon which so many of the famous speeches of the master mind of his age had been writ- ten. the prevailing feature of the room was that of simple and inexpensive comfort; the crowded book shelves covered every inch of wall-space and gave indication of the only wealth, that of intellect, which the owner esteemed worthy and important. the heavy winter hangings were still in place. the large old-fashioned windows were thrown open wide, admitting the soft spring air, fugitives of the pearl the idea of "such a man as jennings," "running off up north with a lot of slaves" would be considered preposterous. "is he not already free himself?" would be asked; "then what more can he need?" so it is ever,—the empty shell, placed together and made to conform to reality in size and shape, is offered as a substitute for the coveted ripened fruit. all things considered, jennings was not long arriving at a conclusion that the course he was about to take was the just and right- eous one. he considered that he owed it to himself to seek a larger field, where what ability he might possess could be of greater service in hastening the dawn of freedom, which he firmly believed must one day break its mellow radiance even over the shadowed masses of the american negroes. further, the cause was a noble one; he owed the effort to his people and rightly felt that it is left to those placed in exceptional circumstances to aspire to and attain the highest spheres, to blaze the way for their less fortunate brothers. of the way the step might affect him personally, he took no thought, for he was an absolutely fearless sort of man, and would have willingly bared his breast as a thinking it over target to deadly bullets, if so the great work of deliverance might be accomplished. one phase of his contemplated action, however, did cause him some embarrassment —in what light would his employer regard his defection and apparent ingratitude? he well knew that under different circum- stances he could not desire a more pleasant relationship. he had served him now more than a year, and the association had con- stantly grown more intimate and confi- dential. mr. webster in his big, generous, open-hearted way had little by little seemed to lose sight of the existing conditions and the relation of his servant to him, and in all ways rather sustained the relation of a friend and patron to a faithful and intelli- gent servitor whose misfortune it was to be of the blood of a despised and outcast race. to jennings, the brilliant achievements of his employer in the realm of statesmanship, his masterly oratory and great intellect, were as much a source of pride and pleasure as if he had been connnected by ties of blood with the distinguished man. on occasions when the senate and assembled throngs sat charmed and bewildered under his match- less eloquence, jennings was one of the few fugitives of the peael of the unfavored race admitted to the gal- leries, and never failed at the proper time to offer praise which was fittingly appre- ciated. the vibrant tone of the great hall-clock, tolling the hour of four, however, rounded up the musings of our friend, who by this time had reconciled one duty with another by deciding to leave a note of explanation, which he slowly accomplished in the follow- ing terms: "honored friend, "a deep desire to be of help to my poor people has determined me to take a decided step in that direction. my only regret is that i shall appear ungrateful, in thus leav- ing with so little ceremony, one who has been uniformly kind and considerate and has rendered each moment of service a benefac- tion as well as pleasure. from the daily contact with your great personality which it has been mine to enjoy, has been imbibed a respect for moral obligations and the claims of duty. both of these draw me towards the path i have chosen. "jennings." placing the note on the little desk calen- dar, where it would not be overlooked, he left the house by way of the kitchen, where thinking it over he informed "aunt rachel" the cook, that he would be away for some time and ad- monished her to look after the house in his absence. a number of persons whom he had thought of in this hour of deliverance lived in widely separated parts of the city. but realizing the inexpediency of employing other means of locomotion than that of his own two limbs, he immediately struck out with a stout heart and a sturdy stride to carry the tidings to as many as he could reach. meanwhile the other two friends had not been idle, and in the same way were ac- complishing the purpose upon which they were agreed. edmonson, who was the youngest of these "conspirators," lived with attorney bradley in one of the houses with marble steps directly across from the city hall. when the three separated at the old church corner, the question uppermost in his mind, was how to get into the house and out again in the shortest space of time. he walked slowly in that direction and thought hard and fast, but, being strictly honest, and, besides, a member of the church, he found it difficult to frame an excuse that would be fugitives of the pearl both truthful and plausible. the distance was short and, realizing that hesitation was dangerous and might prove fatal to the un- dertaking, he persuaded himself that the ob- ject to be attained ought to justify a little trifling with the truth; so with a firm step and steady eye he sought the presence of his mistress. the desired leave was readily granted on the plea that he had received word that his mother was sick, and, stop- ping only long enough to put a few necessary articles in his pockets, he was soon again in the street, a trembling messenger of deliver- ance. "mother" edmonson the discussion at the fireside a pure white muslin scarf which relieved in some degree the somber effect of her much brushed sunday gown. the husband, paul, of massive frame and dark brown complexion was her senior by several years. his head was smooth and shiny as a ball of rare old mahogany, except for a fringe of coarse hair, not quite all gray, from ear to ear, curling down to the nape of his neck. the hardships and priva- tions which had been his portion through life had left their mark in countless seams on his face and brow. the once sturdy and upright form was now just slightly bent, in- clining itself through force of attraction and decay towards that bosom which offers a sure and safe retreat for the bruised and wearied bodies of the children of men. however seamed and bent in face and form, the outline of an indomitable spirit and an unfaltering courage were to be noticed in the square cut chin and the clear and steady gleam of his dark and deep set eyes. with unbounded interest in the proceed- ings of the day the chronicle of the celebra- tion in washington was being rehearsed for the benefit of the old folks who had arrived too late to witness its events. both were fugitives of the pearl deeply affected by the recital, and, though they could not have told it in so many words to save their very lives, they were deeply conscious of an undefined something which seemed to be closing in upon them like fate and touching their lives for weal or woe, they knew not which. these two, husband and wife, realized in the strength and depth of their spiritual union a truly exalted ideal. the union of soul, oneness of thought and feeling and a common, tender solicitude for the welfare of their humble hearthstone, were to them a fund of inexhaustible wealth which no run of misfortune or adverse cir- cumstance could wholly bankrupt. a union, obscure and lowly in outer fact, but sacred in the strength of that christian faith and hope by which the burden of the weak is lightened and the sorrowing heart is made to rejoice. "mother" edmonson was talking in a calm, caressing tone of voice, sitting a little back from the table, her hands crossed on her lap and an earnest, thoughtful expres- sion on her face. "i tell you what, 'honey," said she, in- cluding young and old alike in this general term of affection, "it 'pears to me that all the discussion at the fireside this noise and flurry of the white folks is entirely out er tune, f er if they want ter do something they might set their colored peo- ple free, and that would be worth while cele- brating 'bout." "i guess we'll all wait a long time for that, mother," said mr. brent, "for they don't do things that way. it's good 'nough for them to talk 'bout, way over yonder 'cross the water, but any poor nigger what gets his freedom 'round tsout here will either run for it or he'll know how much he paid for it." "you can't make too sure about that, my boy," said the old gentleman, "for nobody knows what the good lord's got in store for his people. i don't know how it's goin' to be done," he continued, "but some how'er nother, every time i get up offer my knees, i feel more an' more certain the time of our deliverance is drawin' near." these words were uttered with solemn im- pressiveness as he leaned forward with both hands on his cane. almost at the same mo- ment came the sound of rapidly approach- ing footsteps. it was samuel. something unusual was to be noticed in the appearance of young edmonson as he the discussion at the fireside proposed effort had to be rehearsed more than once in their general stupor of surprise and anxiety. the older folks were visibly perturbed, while a feeling of disquiet seized upon little katie and martha brent and im- pelled them to nestle close to the side of their mother. "my son," said old mr. edmonson, break- ing the silence which followed. "this is a mighty serious business, an' if de 'range- ments break down ther's goin' to be er lot er trouble for everybody." but the caution of age had little dis- couraging effect, for young edmonson's reply came promptly in a tone of confidence. "we've got everything fixed all right, father; so don't you and mother worry. we'll take good care of emily and mary, and when you hear from us again we hope to be safe and free in philadelphia." "mother" edmonson had taken very lit- tle part in the conversation. she seemed to be listening and was perhaps praying with her head inclined forward. her mother heart was appraising the risk involved and the priceless end in view. she had always believed that god in his wisdom permitted the enslavement of a portion of his children louisa edmonson joy the last of the edmonson children died in . the discussion at the fireside the more than half hour needed in walking to the boat, he knew he had very little time to spare. what should he do? thinking seriously, he stood for a while in front of the house where he had just inquired for mary. "if i wait here," he mused, "they may come too late; so i guess i'd better go back up town and try to find them there." "bless the women," he exclaimed as he started off; "they certainly make a lot of trouble, but i can't go away and leave emily and mary behind, that's sure." fate seems strangely perverse at the very times when matters of most serious import are involved. as if to set the standard of her accomplishments at the loftiest possible notch, she employs methods the results of which are often so strange as to create per- fect bewilderment within the circle of their operation. in this wise, at least, was edmonson im- pressed, for hurrying back to eighteenth street, he found the girls had been to the homes of both of the other two sisters, martha and eveline, and had gone from there across to their sister lizzie's. arriv- ing there, he was consoled with the positive fugitives of the pearl information that they had gone directly home, so that he was reasonably certain of finding them eventually. he tarried here only sufficiently long to listen to some last words of counsel as to the care of his sisters, and followed by the tearful prayers of the family, he again took up his nerve-racking quest. chapter vi preparing for the flight at the period of which we write, a given point in the city might be reached in about half the time it would take to cover a similar distance in this year of grace . the now beautiful washington was then what might be termed a city of dots and dashes— the dwellings the occasional dots, here and there on thoroughfares, but with indiffer- ently marked and long unbroken dashes of uneven and irregular ground spaced out be- tween to offer facilities for pasturage or play. where it is now necessary to cover the distance around a series of blocks to reach a given point, folks at that time went directly to their objective. so within a very few moments after leaving his sister's home at th and l streets, by striking obliquely across the fields, edmonson found himself at the side door entrance of the residence at nd and g, where emily was employed. the town clock had just struck ten, and the large old fashioned dwelling presented fugitives of the pearl a darkened appearance with the exception of the corner room of the second floor where a bright light shot its rays out into the night and the little room over the kitchen, through the half-closed blinds of which there strug- gled the flickering gleam of a candle. this was emily's room, and there her shadow, moving from place to place, informed him that she was busy with some kind of prepa- ration. he called her softly by name several times, and failing to attract attention, pitched a small clod in such a way as to allow it to drop over the top of the window blinds and strike the window pane. almost on the instant the sash was raised and before a question could be asked, the brother gave a soft note of warning and then whispered hurriedly: "it's brother sam, come right down, i'm going to take you somewhere." emily had evidently been waiting for the summons, for almost on the instant the can- dle was snuffed and in another moment the latch of the gate was raised and a plump, girlish figure stepped through to the side of her brother. taking her hand, sam whis- pered a word of encouragement and then quietly and rapidly they struck off in the preparing for the flight direction of the state, war and navy build- ings, the somber outlines of which stood clearly forth against a back-ground of frowning eastern sky. "oh, sammy," whispered emily dinging closely to his arm, wouldn't it be terrible if some one should tell on us?" "of course it would," came the reply, "but i don't think any one could be mean enough for that," said he. "i hope not," was emily's answer as she bravely strove to keep the pace her brother was making. '' it would be a fearful blow to mother and father, and you know nothing could save us from the slave pen and the southern market then." "that is true, sister," was the answer, "but we must have faith and pray to the lord, for we are his children; and whatever comes, let us say as mother has always taught us, 'thy will be done.'" "oh, yes, sammy, i'm perfectly willing and anxious to go, and so is sister mary. and it's noble and brave of you to make the attempt, and i do hope it comes out all right." good sister that she was, she would not say all that was in her heart, but somehow fugitives of the pearl the feeling dominant within her was one of uneasiness. however much she wished to be hopeful and encourage her dear brother by the exhibition of cheerfulness, her bosom was heavy with fear and foreboding. mary's home was reached in a brief space. a light shone in her room which they ap- proached from the rear. at emily's call she appeared for an instant at the window, and then as a precaution against noise, threw out her shoes and shortly thereafter pre- sented herself at the gate with a bundle in her hand. the trio now started for the ship, making only one stop at the suggestion of the brother, at a bake-shop on f street, where they purchased five or six dozen buns and some other eatables as a sort of last emer- gency fund against possible hardship. down through th street they took their way, then across pennsylvania avenue, and out into the region beyond the old canal, known as the island. a slight rain was now falling, making the progress of our adventurers a little uncom- fortable, but which also lessened the chances of their being detected. the long tramp over the rough and uneven roadway came to fugitives of the peael more than two years must yet elapse be- fore the full amount could be worked out, and jennings felt that even in the interest of so important a matter as the freedom and welfare of his friends, he would not be justi- fied in thus seeming to take advantage of mr. webster's absence. he waited on the vessel until the edmonsons came aboard, and after explaining the situation, he reluctantly re- turned ashore. chapter vii aboard the vessel as they crossed the gang-plank, the ed- monsons were closely scrutinized by a man in a service coat and hat with brass buttons. he flashed a lantern in their faces to satisfy himself of their right to passage and bade them welcome. they were then given in charge of a deck hand who immediately con- ducted them below. most of those who had been let into the secret were so anxious to make a dash for freedom under such provi- dential auspices that they were already aboard, and our friends now found them- selves in the midst of these to the number of seventy-seven. the other three brothers, richard, john, and ephraim, had been aboard long enough to become familiar with their surroundings. they joined their sisters and brother imme- diately and led the way to a little cleared space forward, where they had placed two boxes for use of the girls so that they might fugitives of the pearl have a little air from the two small port holes on either bow. the scene of which they were now a part was so extraordinary as to command their deepest interest and atten- tion. a suppressed buzz of whispered talk floated through the heavy atmosphere. the place was lighted by two lanterns which con- fined their feeble rays within a small radius, leaving the remoter parts, as well as the mot- ley throng, in a half light of gloom and shadows. old men and young men, old women and young women, their bosoms the theater of conflicting emotions that found expression in restless movements and a flickering show of hope and fear following each other in fitful gleams of calm and cloud on face and feature. seated on the boxes, emily and mary had an arm around each other's waist, talking in tones of quiet earnestness. the brothers stood about them exchanging views on the outcome of the venture, seeking to brace the troubled spirits of the girls with words of trust and hopefulness. shortly before mid- night was heard on deck an unusual stir which sent a thrill of terror through the anx- ious minds of those below. the brothers had gone to another part of the ship to look aboard the vessel after their sleeping quarters; so that de- prived of this comforting presence, little emily and mary crept even closer to each other and softly breathed a prayer for fur- ther strength and protection. it was soon apparent, however, that nothing more seri- ous was transpiring than the usual noises incident to getting "underway," shuffling feet and the continued sound as of moving heavy rope, and the clanging ring of ponder- ous chains. in the emergency and extreme hazard of the undertaking, the discomforts of the situation counted for naught. although wearied from excitement and the strain put upon their energies in making ready for flight, none as yet had felt inclined to slum- ber. to this band of human beings denied the rights of life and happiness their over- crowded and ill-smelling quarters were but a necessary evil which must be endured for a while, for their faith gave promise that just a little way beyond they should all enjoy the delights and blessings of freedom. the good ship, with some straining and creak- ing, was soon maneuvered from the wharf into mid-stream, and through a mist, almost impenetrable, feeling the way with greatest fugitives of the pearl care, she was hauling ahead slowly but surely under the influence of a tiny foresail. the hatches were now uncovered, permitting an ingress of fresh air, and with it a greater liberty of voice and limb. the situation was now much more tolerable. in this undertaking, moreover, religion comes to the rescue. the makeup of the negro as a people is strong in the religious instinct, stronger in that direction perhaps, than in any other; and in that one particu- lar, stronger than that developed in any other race. in seasons of great calamity or distress, the peoples of the earth, each and all, have their own particular "rock" that is higher than they, to whom they flee precipi- tately the moment their own small powers are overreached. this to them is a sort of court of last resort to be approached with all the familiar accents of petition and seeming adoration, when all other sources of relief have been exhausted. against the cold, sel- fish, and utilitarian scheme of anglo-saxon religion, the simple faith and trust of the poor, despised negro in the reality, efficacy, and power of the redeemer of mankind, stands unmoved and unchanged. hardship, persecution, and suffering seem to have been fugitives of the pearl hours of the night they seemed to feel their spiritual strength renewed and made suffi- cient for the trials which might still await them. at eight o'clock next morning, the pearl after creeping along all night, had only reached a point a little below alexandria. when this became known among the fugi- tives a great alarm was felt, for very right- fully they considered the distance separating them from their owners was all too small. a conference with the officers of the ship was necessary. daniel drayton, the captain of the vessel, was a native of new jersey, who had spent several years following the water. he had risen from cook to captain in the wood- carrying business from the maurice river to philadelphia. eventually he engaged in coast traffic from philadelphia southward. he seemed to have drifted quite naturally from strong humane impulses, intensified by an old-time spiritual conversion, into a set- tled conviction that the fatherhood of god and the brotherhood of man was a reality and that it was his duty to do what he could to assist those in bondage. later his voyages had carried him into aboaed the vessel the chesapeake bay and thence up the poto- mac. his first successful effort to assist the slaves was made on an earlier trip when he agreed to take away a woman and five chil- dren. the husband was already a free man. the woman, under an agreement with her master had more than paid for her liberty; but when she asked for a settlement, he had only answered by threatening to sell her. the mother and five children were taken aboard at night and after ten days were safely de- livered at frenchtown, where the husband awaited them. captain drayton called several of the more intelligent of the men into his cabin about this time and talked with them con- cerning their undertaking and future pros- pects, should success attend them. he sat on the edge of his mess table with a foot on the seat of a chair while the others stood about in attitudes more or less awkward and listened attentively to what he should say to them. "friends," he began, "i want to say just one or two things to you. you see we haven't made as much progress as i had hoped for, but even at that it seems to me we ought to be pretty safe from harm, unless fugitives of the peakl something very unusual occurs. had the weather been more favorable, we should now be nearing the open sea instead of being still here almost under the shadow of the city. "now you must have stout hearts and keep the women folks cheered up; and if all goes well, monday night ought to find us tied up all safe and snug at arch street wharf. there are friends there who are ex- pecting you and who will see that you are comfortable until your future has been in some way provided for." the speech of the captain was reported to the others with many additions, both of thought and utterance, for the imagination of his hearers had been given full play so that what was purported to be the fact would scarcely have been recognized by the cap- tain as his modest little speech. however, the report was eagerly commented upon and the encouraging words did much to strengthen the hopes of this band of sad and weary fugitives. chaptee viii on the wat a bright morning succeeded the miser- able and oppressive weather of the night be- fore, and, in place of fog and damp, sunshine and warmth prevailed. a good stiff breeze was also coming out from the northwest, which was welcomed as a splendid oppor- tunity for retrieving a part of the time lost during the recent calm. captain drayton, keenly alive to every advantage, clapped on all the sail the little craft would stand. she responded in splen- did shape, and sped away with a bound and toss, bearing its cargo of precious, anxious freight towards the open sea and freedom's world beyond. the outlook, which now seemed so full of promise was not without a perceptible influence on the folks below deck. they had not the evidence of vision with which to lift the mercury of their hopes, but the recognition of changed conditions was for them a sort of process of absorption, fugitives of the pearl as on ship board one unconsciously becomes a sort of human barometer, reflecting changes of the elements as well as the prog- ress and handling of their ship. notwithstanding the feeling of buoyancy which was now evident on every hand, there was one who could not overcome a fear that all would not end as they wished. this was little emily, who with her sister, was con- versing quietly and taking no part in the general rejoicings. "sister," she said, "i had another one of those unaccountable dreams last night; only it was more real, as much so indeed as are all these noisy people about us now." "oh, tell me dear, was it a good dream and do you think it means joy or sadness for us?" asked mary with eager accent. "of course, i cannot tell as to that," was emily's response, "but i will tell you what it was. you may form your own opinion. "i thought you and i had left home and with samuel was wandering about in search of a place which under the name of happy city had been described to him as a place of constant delight. it seemed to me we had been journeying for many months and were foot-sore and weary, when at a dis- on the way tance and on a lofty highland there appeared before us countless beautiful houses, glisten- ing in white and gold and set in a grove of magnificent elm trees. encouraged for the moment by this attractive vision, we forgot our stiffened limbs and aching feet and, tak- ing each the other's hand, we bounded ahead with happy hearts and laughing voice. "coming nearer, we had our ears filled with the sweetest melodies in which were dis- tinguished the familiar voices of joyous childhood and the thrilling quiver and rip- ple of merry birds vying in tones of the most exquisite harmony with the mellow sound of flute and harp. eagerly we hurried for- ward, our hearts atune and senses ravished by this orchestra so strangely composed and so bewildering in its melodious charm and sweetness. "we seemed to have approached within a few yards of the outer limits of this circle of enchantment and were preparing to gain its edenlike attractions by one bold dash, when, in an instant, we were amazed and horrified to find this distracting fantasy, ris- ing, rising and gradually dissolving in the gray mists above, while a gulf of riotous fire and flames, climbing and tumbling, writh- fugitives of the pearl ing, seething, and hissing with the fury of demons, yawned hideously on the spot where it just had been. "the horror of the situation was in no sense lessened by seeing across this fiery pit, looking towards their children with out- stretched arms and faces showing infinite misery and compassion, the forms of our dear mother and father. crazed with an anxiety to reach them, we were about to cast ourselves forward when i was awakened by a heavy lurch of the ship to find myself sob- bing and violently trembling." mary was deeply impressed by her sister's vision, which with its thread of pathos and tragedy binding in fatal folds the lives of those most dear to them, was told in tones of scarce suppressed emotion. at the con- clusion both girls were weeping quietly while mary had dropped her head forward on her sister's shoulder. "oh, i hope this does not mean any fur- ther evil for us," she murmured, lifting her head; "and perhaps, if dreams go by the contrary, as some say, it may mean suc- cess and happiness instead of misery." "i truly hope so, mary," was the prompt reply; "but," said her sister with an audible maby and emily edmonson on the way sigh, "it is always well, to be prepared for the worst." "then you do think this is a bad sign, do you not, dear sister?" asked mary earnestly. "i am afraid so, dearest, for, aside from that, ever since brother samuel came for us i somehow have not been able to shake off this feeling of impending danger; but whatever comes," she added, "we will be brave, for i know the lord is with us and that he will keep us from all harm." a short religious service for which the captain's consent had been asked was now begun, and the half hour before the mid-day meal was passed in singing songs of praise in softened tones and listening to words of scripture reading by one or another of the younger folks of the company. but while we are with our little band of fugitives we must not forget the situation from which they were fleeing or the reactions their sud- den going left behind. chapter ix consternation behind between the gathering of the populace in the public square and the embarkation of our band of fugitives an irrevocable step had been taken. the masters who had been bereft of their human property were almost speechless with consternation. such a thing had never been heard of since the plucky effort of nat turner and his associates in virginia. the dawn of sunday morning when it was expected that each household would witness the return of its absentees, brought only concern, vexation, disappoint- ment, and outrage. messengers were dis- patched in every direction so that a knowledge of the general loss was current in a very little while. a consultation of leading citizens was hurriedly held and the adjournment of an excited session of the outraged citizenry was signaled by the noisy clamor of church and fire bells, calling the male populace to arms and to pursuit. a posse numbering consternation behind not less than a hundred men, some of them owners, others impelled only through a feel- ing of sympathy with the master sentiment, gathered in short order in the vicinity of the city hall. the utmost excitement prevailed, and a number of trained dogs intermingled their yelping with the stamp- ing of well-bred horses impatient for the start. a man of middle age, of massive frame, full florid complexion and flowing, iron- gray beard, seemed to have the general di- rection of affairs. upon his order the party divided itself in four sections, and upon the further order to move, took as many different roads leading northward into the country. the detachment headed by the gentleman just described, proceeded directly north through fifth street on a brisk trot and had not yet passed the dwell- ings farthest removed from the point of starting, when by the direction of the leader, the cavalcade was brought to a sud- den halt. they were then in the vicinity of what is now known as p street in a neigh- borhood where houses were scarce and the view but infrequently broken by small one- storied dwellings. consternation behind did, kase dere ain't nobody roun' erbout here dat kin hoi' er can'le ter yuh when yuhs on hossbeck." cartwright was considerably irritated by what he considered an unwarranted delay and paid but little heed to these words of flattery. knowing, however, that the man was intimately associated with some of the runaways, besides that as drayman for many families he enjoyed exceptional op- portunities for learning what was going on, he had concluded from the first to find out what judson knew about the matter in hand. "well, judson," said he, smiling pleas- antly, "i suppose you know all about these fine doings your friends have been up to." "'deed, mr. cartwright," was the an- swer, "i don' know nothin' erbout no fine doings, but i know dis: dem niggers better had er staid where dey wuz an' got dere three good meals er day an' no 'sponsi- bilities." cartwright's eyes sparkled and an an- swering look of intelligence flashed from one to another of his followers, while judson, perceiving the impression he had made, threw the long, black whip with a stinging consternation behind we are without a clew and will be glad if you will be good enough to put us on the right track." judson seemed to hesitate and struck sev- eral attitudes indicative of thoughtfulness. finally he pulled himself together and spoke. "well, boss, i tell yer dis, dere ain't no use er yer goin' into de country, kase dey ain't no mo' gone into de country den i is." increasing interest in an anticipated dis- closure of vital importance had so worked upon cartwright's followers, that they in- voluntarily urged their horses closer and were now formed in a solid ring, with the two speakers mounted as heretofore for a centerpiece. the feeling indeed was so tense that with- out waiting for their leader's initiative sev- eral of the horsemen asked in chorus, "which way have they gone, then?" while from others came in threatening tones, "make the darky tell." "let's take him to the lock-up." "yes, don't let him play with us in this way." all of this had the desired effect on the shifty little old fellow in the center of the group. with a wave of his hand, cart- fugitives of the peael wright suppressed these outward signs of impatience among his friends, and then more harshly than he had spoken before said to judson: "now, if you've anything more to say on this matter, say it quick, and be careful that you tell only the truth, for this affair is a serious one and somebody's going to suffer before it's all over." "'fore god, boss," came the instant re- ply, "i ain't goin' to tell yer no lie, kase i's mo' anxious den you is ter see 'em ketched. now dem harses is all right on lan', but dey ain't no good on water, an' i specs dem niggers is a hunnerd miles down de riber by dis time if dey's ery one." the evident candor of this statement of diggs, with a belief in the sincerity of his wish that these poor fugitives might be ap- prehended, though they could scarcely real- ize such treachery, was apparent to all. without further parley, each horseman as though acting upon an order from the leader, wheeled about, and the next moment cartwright and his followers were speeding away under whip and spur in the direction of the river. a person happening in the vicinity of this recent conclave at the mo- fugitives of the pearl p'raps dem boys will wish dey'd paid dat two bits fur cartin' dere box down ter de wharf, too. gee up, mule, gee up! an' i guess dat will hoi' miss emily, too." upon making inquiry at the river front as to the vessels which had left port since the previous afternoon, the pursuing party learned that the schooner pearl had dis- appeared mysteriously during the night. an investigation at the office of the shipping authorities revealed the further fact that she had not cleared in the regular way and that she had not been expected to leave for several days. a hurried consultation was held and the conclusion reached that the circumstances were sufficiently suspicious to justify the attempt to overtake her. accordingly, the first boat at hand was pressed into service for this duty. the steamboat salem was tied up near by with fires banked. the cap- tain was aboard. what could be more providential? about two o'clock the party, with two officers of the city council, steamed away down the river, determined to bring back the fugitives, dead or alive, as well as those who had aided and abetted their flight. chapter x slow progress to free soil the progress of the pearl and its human freight, seeking to reach the wide waters of the open sea, continued steady but slow. captain drayton and his two companions anxiously watched the fleeting clouds, seek- ing the first signs of a freshening breeze to bear them more swiftly beyond the possi- bility of capture, for well they knew the risk they had incurred in so rash but noble an undertaking. the early hours of fog and chill had merged into an afternoon of sunny brightness, and at the close of this sabbath day a beautiful twilight, which seems so typical of the peace with which nature de- lights to clothe herself, descended over river and shore and the far-reaching hills. the welcome shadows of night at length enveloped all and at the earliest moment advantage was taken of the fact to afford a breath of air and exercise to the weary pilgrims who had been strangers to these fugitives of the peael delights for more than twenty hours. the little group of friends with whom we are hest acquainted soon made their way on deck. most of them had borne the confine- ment and stifling atmosphere wonderfully well, but a few of the weaker ones were vis- ibly affected and two or three were in a state of almost complete collapse. among the latter was mary edmonson. always delicate of body, with instincts of mind and heart tender and refined, and un- accustomed to hardships of any character, the ordeal of these terrible hours had been a bit of untold agony, mitigated only by the watchful, loving care of her sister and brothers. samuel it was who took her in his strong arms and bore her up the hatch- way and placed her on the coats which the others had spread for her comfort. she rested here for a while perfectly, her back against the foremast, her eyes closed wear- ily, and head on emily's breast. a spoon- ful of brandy from a flask, which had thoughtfully been included in their little store of provisions, proved most help- ful, and after a few moments more of breathing the pure, fresh air, the poor girl became more cheerful. fugitives of the pearl been whispered with trembling tones into the uplifted hearts of her little ones, teach- ing them that no real harm may come to them so long as they do the will of their father in heaven. can there be wonder, then, that the offspring of such stock as makes up the vast majority of the negro race of america should have raised the cross of christ to the foremost place in the horizon of their zeal and aspirations? more than this, is it even probable that all the processes of oppression conceived or yet to be conceived in the fertile brain of dominant humanity, can avail to stay the coming of their day of freedom and the ultimate glory of their triumph? when the two girls had been made com- fortable, samuel, leaving richard to care for them, slipped away to return with a little repast of tea, crackers, and potted meats, which proved a more than ample feast in their state of mind which took little thought of food and raiment. at the conclusion of the frugal meai, mary folded her hands in her lap and smil- ingly said, "i wonder what mother's thoughts are to-night." to which richard fugitives of the pearl he is forging for the deliverance of his poor children." "that's just what i believe," said samuel earnestly. "although we may suffer hard- ships for a while, it is bound to come out right in the end." while this little scene was in progress a decided change had taken place in the weather. the little vessel, which had been sailing along smoothly though slowly, had now taken on a quite perceptible rise and fall, the effects of which were easily appar- ent in the discomfort of a number of the women-folk and children. the shades of night had fallen and the heavy darkness seemed intensified by contrast with the faint glimmer of the navigator lights, fore and aft the ship, while over all the stars shone brightly, and there, stretching far out to either shore, were whitecapped breakers chasing each other with a splash and roar. a strong wind had also come up out of the northwest, and with sails distended the little craft responded to its force, and with a graceful dip to leeward bore swiftly on towards the open sea. in a short while the deck was again clear of all save those belonging to the ship's fugitives of the pearl speed possible in their crippled condition the open sea could only be reached about three o'clock next morning. indications were that outside was raging a violent storm into which it would be dangerous to venture with any but the stoutest and most sea-worthy craft. as much as the captain disliked the thought of delay, prudence dictated it as the only course to pursue; accordingly the little vessel was "brought to," and a run made for the harbor, where anchor was dropped about o'clock. fugitives of the peaed as swiftly as steam and tide could bring her, there bore down upon them the pursuing vessel. eager eyes with powerful glasses swept the dark expanse with straining vision, seeking with a zeal worthy of a better cause, to claim the honor of first sight of the fugitive ship. at length the eye of one keener than all the rest seems to have reaped the reward of vigilance, for there, at some distance to the west, standing out like a thick dark cloud against the gloom of the neighboring shore, appeared an object which inspired suspicion and evoked an ex- pression of feeling that is with difficulty restrained within the bounds of prudence. the word is passed from one to another, and fifty pairs of eyes are now intently peer- ing towards the one shadow, blacker than all the rest, standing out distinct, yet inevitably a part of the surrounding darkness. no tell- tale lights are visible, no sound of life or movement bridged the distance, yet none there were who doubted the identity of that yet shapeless mass, to which they now drew nearer, with each engine throb and noisy roar of passing wave. nearer and still nearer she gradually draws, while, as if to shield more effectually the halt in the storm the approach, the elements seem to lend their aid in an excess of windy violence; and now with each revolution the point towards which their course is making, seems to take a more definite shape; for, rising and sink- ing with each wave of the turbulent waters is seen the grayish painted hull of the pearl. a moment more, and two masts are easily discernible. the discovery of the broken top-mast immediately follows, and banishes the last lingering doubt as to the identity of the vessel. the run alongside is accomplished with- out detection and at a given signal, a score of men clamber over the side. the officers, sayres, drayton and english, confident in their immunity from pursuit and wearied from long watching since the preceding night were slumbering peacefully in the cabin. all at once a sound which rises far above the whistle of the wind and surge and roar of the angry waters, falls upon their startled ears like some dread knell of doom; for an instant stops the warm blood in its course and forces upon their scarce-wakened consciousness, the fact that all is lost, that the bitter portion of failure with all its dreadful penalty must be theirs to the fugitives of the pearl dreary end. with ever increasing volume there are hurled back and forth on the rush- ing wind, the wild huzzahs as of a hundred voices. "we've got 'em! we've got 'em!" rang throughout the ship from stem to stern, in- spiring a panic of wildest fear among the women and children below and filling with the strange, dull pain of disappointment even the hearts of the bravest of the men. a perfect frenzy of hysterical weeping, praying and fainting among the former fol- lows, while the men desperate and coura- geous, ready to fight and die if needs be for their protection and liberty, realize their utter impotence, for without arms or means of defense of any kind, they are indeed at the mercy of their captors. almost simultaneously with their cries of exultation, squads were formed to cover every part of the vessel. the cabin and hatchways were first looked after. the former, surrounded by a cordon of armed guards with cartwright at the door, de- mands surrender. meanwhile the hoods of the hatchways, leading to the fugitives' re- treat, were drawn over and carefully secured. a number of the men of the board- fugitives of the pearl uel and a few others are of that mind, while ephraim, richard, and john are in opposi- tion, as might be expected from older and more experienced heads. emily and mary plead tearfully and eloquently for prompt and complete sub- mission, the former clinching her argument with the assertion that to fight would be just what their captors desired most, as it would afford opportunity for all kinds of cruelty and perhaps murder; besides, she concluded, with a tone of conviction and prophecy: "this is all a part of god's plan for our deliverance and to take such a course would look as though we had lost faith in his promises." this counsel, given in fervent and im- pressive tones, won almost every one to a course of quiet resignation, imparting some of emily's own implicit faith to those less firm and trusting. richard, the senior of the captive crowd, led the way on deck, followed closely by ephraim, samuel, and john in the order named. just as they reached the top of the steps, ephraim jumped several feet, landing in the midst of a squad of his captors and shouted at the the halt in the storm top of his voice: "do yourselves no harm, we are all here." these words, which were first uttered by the apostle paul to console and reassure his frightened jailers, had now a most unlooked for effect. ephraim was young, muscular and of splendid proportions, and seeing him thus by the poor light of several smoky lanterns, with flashing eyes and swinging arms, leap- ing into their midst, followed by others whose numbers were unknown, some of cartwright's men were overcome with a feeling of terror and dropped their guns and scurried away to find shelter among the dark shadows of the ship. by the time the others reached the deck the shock of ephraim's strange appearance had somewhat worn off, and at the moment they stepped out of the hatchway, a sharp blow, which but for a sud- den lurch of the vessel would have laid him low, took samuel on the side of the head and by glancing spent its force against the back of john. the three prisoners who were witnesses of this incident were so horrified to think that these poor creatures might be brutally murdered, without having so much as a pen- knife with which to defend themselves, that chapter xii hopes blasted the most cherished hopes of life are often blasted, and the stream of progress that has seemed to bear us onward is checked, turned backward, violently it may be, by a tidal wave of cruel and opposing force. yet, how else, were it not for these same evidences of a perverse fate, might mankind hope to rise to that high plane upon which noble lives are lived: sorrow, suffering, disappointment and their kindred ills are rounds in the lad- der of experience by which we climb with persistent grip and tireless, steady tread, and from some bright eminence streams down a radiant influence to mark the up- ward way for frail and less determined brothers. how near indeed would a blessed arcadia be, could we but truthfully say, the great majority of our human kind are of such nobility that: though fettered by unhappy circumstance, they stand enthroned on lofty height, hopes blasted enty souls from whom the hope of freedom had been so ruthlessly snatched. among them now there were but few who were not completely crushed and broken, their minds seething torrents in which regret, misery, and despair made battle for the mastery. children, weeping and wailing, clung to the skirts of their elders, the women with shrieks, groans, and tearful lamentations de- plored their sad fate, while the men securely chained, wrist and wrist together, stood with heads dropped forward, too dazed and wretched for aught but to turn their stony gaze within, upon the wild anguish of their aching hearts. among those least affected, manifesting little excitement over the strange and sur- prising turn affairs had taken, was the ever brave and courageous little emily. even emily's sturdy spirit and abiding faith were far from proof against this most serious and sad reverse; yet withal, the misery, sorrow, and disappointment of her companions ap- pealed to her more strongly than the dis- astrous stroke suffered by her own personal fortunes and those of her brothers and sis- ter. she felt that every move in the chang- ing scenes of their lives was an essential fugitives of the peakl part in the plans of the allwise for their final deliverance, and with this feeling it was both easy and natural for her to go about among her sorrowful companions, en- deavoring with words of hope and consola- tion to pluck the thorn from their wounded spirits and out of the depths of deep despair lift their drooping hopes once more into the light. no one now thought of again seeking that rest which was so sadly needed and which had but a little while ago been so rudely dis- turbed, save the several children whose tender years made them immune to the sor- rows which banished sleep from the eyes of their elders. these slept, indeed, restfully and peacefully, unmindful of an event so tragic in its scope and influence, which had but just gone into history and of which they were the most innocent part. thrice blessed in truth is this golden epoch of life, the lus- ter of which all the accumulated hosts of misfortunes and trials are in no way able to diminish, and which stands out amid the storms and clouds of after years, like the glorious flush of a first bright, rosy dawn. somewhat removed from the several groups of slaves who were bewailing their hopes blasted sad fate, there sat or more accurately, crouched upon the deck just within the shadow of the one feeble binnacle lamp which relieved the darkness of the lower deck, a poor woman named eliza brown. aunt eliza she was called by every one, white and black alike. the sound of free- dom's note had also fallen with intoxicating sweetness on her ears; and in spite of more than threescore years of hardship, she had cast in her lot with the younger folks to se- cure this sovereign balm, to solace what of life might yet remain to her. emily approached aunt eliza when the latter was rocking to and fro, with head bent to her knees, about which her hands were clasped, while a continuous and most piteous moaning sound escaped her lips. kneeling by her side, emily tenderly placed an arm about her and said with soothing accent, much as one would employ in speaking to a little child: "don't be so sad, dear aunt eliza, a bet- ter time will come by and by." the swaying motion of the frail body ceased for a moment, but without looking up, for the-old soul had instantly recognized the voice of her young friend, she said: fugitives of the peakl "yes, by and by, dat's right—de sweet by and by, an' it's not fur off fur po' aunt tliza, neder." "oh, no," continued emily, "you must not be so despondent, for you know how long the children of israel were trying to get out of the land of bondage, and the same lord who befriended them is leading us, but you know he must do it his own way, for he knows best and his way is always the right way." "yes, chile, you's sholy right, but i's pow'ful dis'pinted all de same, fur it's orful hard ter be fetched back ter de same ol' life i's libed fer mo' dan sixty yar, an' jes fer de low down trick uv some rascal what ain' got er heart in he body ez big ez er flea." "why, how's that, aunt eliza? what do you mean?" inquired emily. "what, don't yer know chile, dat dis is de work uv dat nigger, jud' diggs, jes ez sho ez you's bo'n it is." thereupon seeing that her little friend was not familiar with the circumstance, she related the cause of judson's treachery, how the boys had employed him to take their box to the wharf and on arriving there them- selves, found they were without the means hopes blasted to pay for the hauling. they had, however, endeavored to soothe his disappointment and encouraged him to wait until they should reach philadelphia, when they had promised to send him a dollar out of their first earnings. "but," said emily, reluctant to believe such treachery possible, "i don't think any one could be so low as that. doubtless our misfortunes have come about from a far different source." "well," said the old lady, shaking her head solemnly, "its mighty good ter think dat way, an' yer innercen' heart ain' nebber seed much ob de deceit an' meanness ob de worl', but it's jes lak ah tell yer; dat ole diggs, he tell dem he fix 'em f er dat money, and he's done gone done it." emily was little less than horrified at the depth of wickedness and criminal mischief disclosed by the old woman's view of the matter, and while she was inclined at first to doubt the existence of such heartless treach- ery, the serious tone of conviction with which the event had been described swept away all unbelief. and although she con- tinually asked herself, can this be true, there came no satisfactory answer, and she felt chapter xiii grief at home following the sudden departure of the edmonson children on their quest of free- dom, their parents had remained at the home of the brents, knowing full well that whatever should be the outcome of the ad- venture, the news would sooner reach them there. so, for this season of terrible anxiety, their little home in the country, common- place and lowly though it was, yet withal, sacred to them as the altar of their devoted love and unalloyed affection, was abandoned in order that they might the sooner learn the fate of those so dear to them. the hours immediately following the de- parture on saturday night dragged wearily along. every moment bore a silent prayer on its upward way, and each thought was burdened with the hope that the absent ones might be kept safe from harm and misfor- tune. the demonstration of a few days ago in praise and support of the attitude of a fugitives of the peakl friendly foreign country on the subject of human liberty, was, so far as concerned the capital of the nation, enveloped entirely in the shadow of the active interpretation placed upon it by those seventy and seven unhappy slaves. the whole community stood aghast—bewildered: the master class saw in the movement a formidable entering wedge, which could not fail to split in twain the gnarled and unyielding rail of slavery. the slaves themselves, suspended between hope and fear for the result of this altogether stupendous movement, took counsel among themselves in whispered intercourse, and tremblingly awaited the issue. as had been the custom for some time previously, a number of earnest christians assembled at the home of the brents on the sabbath morning, and engaged in reli- gious services. the little community which formed the nucleus of membership for a later organization known as the john wes- ley a. m. e. zion church, was composed of the most intelligent colored persons in the west-end section, both slave and free. the number of the spiritually inclined was con- siderably increased at this service, presum- ably under influence of the very serious and john and elizabeth bkent from a crayon drawing by frederick d. freeman, a grandson. grief at home unusual affair in which all were most deeply concerned. the spiritual temper, as shown in prayer and exhortation, was never more fervent or animated. the feelings of the congregation found a more informal outlet, when at the conclusion of the service the members lingered about the rooms or on the outside in earnest conversation. it was perhaps about one o'clock when mr. brent, who as deacon of the organiza- tion was standing in his doorway, commend- ing the last of the departing brethren and sisters to the merciful care of their heavenly master, that judson diggs and caesar came in view. approaching at a brisk trot, he was speeding by with a scant nod of recognition, when a loud call from mr. brent induced him, though with evident reluctance, to bring cassar to a standstill. mr. brent, with the small remnant of his flock attending him, walked over to the cart. the thing uppermost in their minds was to find out what judson knew about the one subject of evershadowing importance. he on his part was quite aware of this desire and although the day was as mild and pleas- ant as a day in early spring should be, he felt extremely uncomfortable—beads of grief at home effect, for he glared around fiercely into the faces of those about him, sat bolt upright on the seat and said angrily: "what d'ya s'pose i know erbout de pearl? you know she's gone down de rib- ber same ez i does, an' i reckon dere ain' no messige come back fum her yit." "tut! tut!" came the soothing reply. "don't be angry, brother. yer know we's all cullud folks togeder, an' we can't make much headway 'less we bear one anoder's burdens." "dats all right too, but i's ben barin' oder peoples burdins tel i's mos' bent double, an' it's erbout time now i wuz lookin' arter judson." "i never thought you wuz one to slight yerself overmuch; but, knowin' yer bizness takes yer in an' out among the 'quality,' we thought yer might have heered what's on de carpet about de pearl." the old fellow seemed to hesitate for a moment before replying, and then blurted out as though it was something he was anx- ious to get through with. "well i knows dis, dey better not lose no time, fer deys red hot after dem sho's yer bo'n. der's majah cartwright an' a whole fugitives of the pearl lot er men on hoss back has gone tearin' down to de wharf an' i specs nothin' else dey' take one ob dem steam-boats an' foiler em ez fas' ez dey can go." these words fell on the little group with the force of an exploding shell. no one had dreamed that the enemy would so soon be- come acquainted with the means of escape, yet here, scarcely more than twelve hours removed, they were said to be in full pursuit. how did it come about that they had thought of the river? was it possible that some one had betrayed the plot? if so, who could it have been? these questions with numerous others not less pertinent were fired at brother diggs in rapid succession, while several of the women folks, becoming very much excited through desperation at their inability to ac- count for the leakage of news, had the hardi- hood to insinuate that diggs was no bet- ter than he ought to be and that they should not be at all surprised if it turned out that he himself had betrayed the plot. the news of the pursuit when imparted to the family on the return of father brent to the house precipitated a feeling of impend- ing disaster, which speedily transformed the grief at home household, hitherto so hopeful of the out- come, into one of sadness and mistrust. the old folks, with that faith which abides with the true believer through every season of distress and gloom, took fresh courage, born of implicit trust in the divinity which shapes all ends, and awaited the issue with that resignation, which more than all else, so beautifully realizes the highest ideal of a christian. as early as sunday evening, the city began to show signs of that dangerously ex- cited condition which was soon to threaten the permanent peace and well being of the community. the runaway slaves were the topic of conversation in every house and on every corner of the city. the fact that they had all been well treated—were slaves in name only, was widely commented on and resulted in the generally expressed opinion, that they must be a bad lot anyway, and if brought back should be sent to the southern slave market and made to realize to the full the real horrors and worst conditions of slavery. already these proud citizens had ceased to remember the many beautiful and noble words used but a day or two before in praise of the instinctive love of americans grief at home repeated demonstrations on the part of the mob were in evidence, but nothing more serious than broken window panes resulted, chiefly perhaps because no intelligent or re- sponsible head was willing to assume com- mand and shoulder the possible conse- quences. the river front, however, was the focus towards which the common interest flowed. whether or not the hated pearl with its "renegade crew" and fleeing slaves would be overhauled was the anxious query on every lip. chapter xiv the rettjen to washington long before the hour of noon on that memorable monday in april it seemed as though the entire city had taken holiday and was more wildly excited than when doing honor, just a few days before, to the sister republic of france, over her conver- sion to the principles of universal free- dom. "freedom for france! slavery for free america!" was this the curious and contradictory slogan to which they rallied? but what an outpouring of all classes there was to witness the misery of those poor unhappy souls. it seemed as if some swift winged messenger had carried the tid- ings, for people from remote country places were on hand as well as those in easy reach. the news of the flight had traveled far and wide, and the curiosity to see the point of departure, it may be supposed, drew the masses thither. once on the ground, curios- ity kept them chained to the neighborhood, the return to washington these disquieting scenes, to allay the tumult and call man to reason and his better self. while proceeding thus, an onlooker said to them: "are you not ashamed to run away and make all this trouble for everybody?" to this emily replied, "no, sir, we are not, and if we had to go through it again, we'd do the same thing." among the silent, though anxious watch- ers of the progress of events, was mr. brent, but the harrowing scene in which those so dear to him were ignominiously paraded in fetters was so terrible to his tender heart that he fell in a heavy swoon and was carried home insensible. after the fugitives had been lodged in jail the formality of making oath to their property by the owners was proceeded with according to the law of the day. as may be imagined, the edmonsons had won the es- teem of all who knew them, so that it is not surprising that an effort was immediately put on foot to accomplish their purchase. to this end a number of persons called at the jail and were promised by the guardian of the children that they would be granted such an opportunity the next morning. ill fugitives of the pearl meanwhile the slave-dealers, bruin and hill, owners of the large slave pen at alex- andria, were on the ground and, by the offer of a cash sum of $ , for the six children, completed their irrevocable purchase some time during the night. when the friends and relatives appeared according to agree- ment early the following morning, this sad fact stared them in the face, and to any and all terms which they proposed, bruin re- mained obdurate. the lady with whom mary had lived offered for her $ , , which he likewise refused, saying he could get double that amount in the new orleans market. during the stay of the fugitives in the prison in washington considerable hardship was experienced by the children, especially the girls, as only the most meager necessities of life were to be found there. more par- ticularly was this true at night as the chilli- ness of the air, together with the fact that there were no chairs or beds and only one blanket allowed them, rendered their condi- tion one of exceeding discomfort. with that tender solicitude and self-effacement so nat- ural to womankind in their relation to those most dear to them, the sisters, learning that the return to washington their brothers, confined in the dark, damp cellars below, were permitted no covering of any sort, sent their own blankets down to them. they remained here until thursday, and shortly before midnight of that day the brothers were handcuffed and with the girls were taken by their new owner in carriages and driven to alexandria. here it was they first made the acquaintance of a georgia pen and spent the remaining hours of the night alone in a large, dark room, totally devoid of the most ordinary comforts, pray- ing amid sobs and tears for the daylight which it seemed to them would never come. a great consolation, however, was afforded them, when at length after hours of the most terrible mental agony and physical suffer- ing, they were shown to another building for breakfast and to their intense delight found their four brothers seated at the table. their stay here, samuel has often said, was to him, the most miserable of all that unhappy time. it seemed to him, but for the habit of prayer, which was a kind of second nature to all the children, he must have become crazed, for he taxed himself with the feeling of personal responsibility fugitives of the peakl for all their ills. he was thus forced to see his sisters day after day for more than a month performing unaccustomed tasks and in some instances those of a most revolting nature. the washing for more than a dozen men fell to their lot, but in this, as in all other requirements, their brothers took upon themselves as large a share of the labor as was possible and would have performed the whole, had such a thing been permitted. samuel would often give way to the most bitter grief, saying he would gladly die for them, if by so doing he might save them from the horrible fate which awaited them. but the tide of events was moving along with mysterious and resistless force towards an ocean of possibilities which no human mind could fathom. none indeed save the great master pilot, who knows each sand- bar and dangerous rock in the sea of human life—who never slumbers or sleeps, but with a firm hand on the wheel, sends the ship off or brings her up to her true course, could foresee the character of the voyage upon which these poor children had em- barked, nor indeed the harbor of ultimate peace and honorable content just a little fur- ther along. the return to washington in the meantime the officers in charge of the ship were imprisoned. the case against drayton and sayres was prosecuted by philip barton key, the district attorney, before judge crawford, and on appeal the prisoners were sentenced to pay a fine of $ , and to remain in jail until the same should be paid. english was absolved from all criminal responsibility and given his liberty. after an imprisonment of more than four years they were pardoned by president fillmore, to whom such applica- tion had been presented by charles sumner. the fare at the jail was insufficient and of poor quality, and a more wholesome and generous diet was frequently surreptitiously furnished them by susannah ford, a colored woman, who sold lunches in the lobby of the court house. chapter xv the treachery avenged the return of the fugitive slaves was not without its effect in another direction. whereas the popular demonstration seemed entirely in support of the owner class, there was underlying all a substratum of senti- ment, which though quiet and carefully guarded, was none the less strong in favor of the poor slaves. as might be expected a considerable feeling of resentment was en- tertained by the whole negro population against the one who was primarily respon- sible for the capture. it was commonly un- derstood and believed, that, but for judson diggs, all of these fugitives would have made good their escape, and instead of being now prisoners as well as slaves, they would have in due time been permitted to breathe the air of a free land. now, all was changed. there had de- scended upon them the horrible blackness of despair, and there loomed on the horizon the treachery avenged of their expectations, only the unutterable miseries of the slave pen and auction block. !as for the wretch who had wrought all this mischief, who had taken upon himself to consign these men, women and children to* so fearful and heartless a doom, what indeed must have been his state of mind? by what means did he satisfy his outraged con- science? by what sophistries of reason did he convince his inmost being of the rectitude of so unnatural a deed and justify so devil- ish a piece of treachery? the poor, pitiful little mite of twenty-five cents or the indignant repudiation by a good and beautiful young girl scarcely more than a child, of attentions on his part, which could but be both ridiculous and repulsive, were each or both doubtless the incentive, but that is only a more pitiable reality to indicate the degradation to which mankind may descend. the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness of these seventy- seven souls, was thus actually bartered for a piece of silver, and irrevocably lost in re- taliation for the righteous denial of an un- holy and unnatural wish. probably some idea of the enormity of his transgression may have come home to diggs when he saw fugitives of the pearl those miserable and unhappy people hurried away in chains to prison. he had been seen on the wharf by a number of persons, but when the reaction of sentiment turned to demand the punishment of him who had performed the deed of treachery, he could nowhere be found. in all charity, may we not take this as some evidence of a possible sense of shame and regret on his part the feeling against diggs, however, was soon intense and threats of vengeance were to be heard on every hand. the old folk without directly encouraging the movement were loud in their denunciation, and their words were easily construed as sympathy for whatever form of punishment might be suggested. the younger element, among whom were many of the relatives of the cap- tives, were strong in their purpose of re- venge and needed no encouragement to visit upon the head of the culprit the just wrath of the outraged colored population. diggs had long since ceased to mingle in friendly intercourse with his old associates and had abandoned altogether the various religious meetings held at brother brent's home. some said his money was turning his head, others that he was afraid of missing the treachery avenged an opportunity to make a dime, while there were still others who thought the old fellow was losing his mind. whether or not these various opinions reached diggs is not in evidence, but certain it is they influenced him neither one way nor another, for he and cassar kept right on in the even tenor of their busy lives and to all outward seeming cared not the value of a fig what folks thought of them. it was on a saturday evening following the "return" and the subsequent deporta- tion of the edmonsons to the slave pen at alexandria, that a party of youngsters, numbering a dozen or more, and of an age between fourteen and twenty, had managed to get together for a brief season of sport. the place was on the bank of a small stream, at a point midway the square bounded by l and m streets, connecticut avenue and eighteenth, which in those days was a tribu- tary of old rock creek and flowed eastward through the city. a brother of the boys for whom diggs had hauled the box to the wharf was in the party. they had been playing at leap-frog and other games popular in that day, and had about concluded in time to re- turn to their duties, when they spied the the treachery avenged diggs was beside himself with anger. he pranced about in the cart, shook his fists at the boys and sputtered and stammered in- coherently. "come on now and get out, you old tale- teller; we're going to give you something else to take to the white folks," said the old- est boy in the party. diggs declined the invitation and yelled at the top of his voice: "you gib me dem reins dis minit, how dare youse stop me in my lawful business, i'll repote ebery moder's son ob yer ter de majah, an' he'll fix yer, yer young var- munts." "dats er nuf outer de ole rascal, le's pull him out an' be done widit," said another one of the crowd. this was easier said than done for when they essayed to climb into the cart he kicked right and left so viciously as to hold them at bay for several minutes. at length one ag- gressive youngster grabbed him by the foot, and in a little while he was struggling against his fate, securely held to the floor of the cart. he was then lifted out fighting desperately, but was soon quiet through fugitives of the pearl sheer exhaustion, showing his deep distress and rage, however, by continued foaming at the mouth and excessive hard breathing. they were now only a few yards distant from the bank of the stream, the victim car- ried along by four of the boys while the others clamored around, probing him with sticks, derisively hooting and jeering. diggs now seemed to realize that he was powerless in their hands and true to his principles of action made a complete change of front. from abuse and defiance, he essayed to ef- fect his deliverance by cajolery and flattery. "now boys, let de ole man go, i knows yer jes playin', anr it's all in fun. ha! ha! ha!" he laughed. "let me go now, dats good boys. i knows boys will be boys." "yes, we'll let you go," came the reply in tones of irony, "right into the branch too, at that. come on boys, let's finish him up." with this they approached within a few feet of the bank. seeing that his last effort would not save him, the poor wretch began to whine and beseech them not to throw him into the cold water. "i knows it'll be de def o' me, kase i aint the treachery avenged use ter sich doin's, an' i knows yer don' wan' ter kill er po' ole man like me." the fellow who had him by the shoulders then yelled in his ear: "what did you do to them people on de pearl? you didn't have no pity on them, did you? come on, boys, here he goes," he concluded, as they rushed towards the edge of the bank. "oh, lor'! oh, lor'! hoi' on boys, i'll gib yer er hunnerd dollars ef yer lemme go." for answer, as if by prearrangement, two lines were formed down the side of the bank, a few feet apart and reaching to the edge of the stream. all at once without further warning, he was rolled over and down the line to the last two, who gave him the final push, which landed him splashing in the water. the deepest part was less than four feet but his immersion was as effectual as if it had been twenty. regaining almost im- mediately his hands and feet he spluttered and snorted about in the water with as much fuss as a shaggy dog emerging from a river plunge. but he was then pelted with dirt and stones, until, by a happy thought he took himself out of range, to the shelter of the little bridge hard by. under cover of dark- ness the poor creature, chilled, miserable fugitives of the pearl and bruised, lay down in his frail, old cart and relied on the instinct of the stubborn, though faithful cassar, the only thing in the city he might call his friend, to find the way homeward. chapter xvi anti-slavery circles aroused the years preceding the close of the first half of the nineteenth century, being the period in which the clash of contending opinions was most violent, is perhaps the most interesting as well as the most turbu- lent of any from the time of the foundation of the republic to the dissolution of the union. perhaps, too, no other event lent its influence in such great measure to strengthen and solidify the forces for aboli- tion as the attempted escape and subsequent capture of the fugitives of the pearl. at a meeting of the american anti- slavery society held about this time, wil- liam lloyd garrison said, among other per- tinent things, that the recent capture of seventy-seven slaves in the district of colum- bia and their noble-hearted friends would bring up the question whether slavery ex- isted in that territory. he rejoiced that they had made the attempt, and though he was - fugitives of the pearl not unmindful of the increased suffering to which many of them would be subjected, he also rejoiced that they were retaken, and that the chaplain of the senate and a rep- resentative of the church went into the cars as they were about to take their last fare- well of their homes for the south and fraternized with the slave-buyers. "it was frank and honest and was an exhibition of the state of the times in which we live. these slaves would draw the attention and sym- pathy of the nation after them in their lonely pilgrimage to the south. he was glad that one of these slaves belonged to the president, for we had thus the represen- tative of the nation as well as the church pledged to slavery." at this meeting, spoke frederick doug- lass, who had already attracted the attention of the civilized world to his remarkable career, and also lucretia mott; both re- ceived great applause. so it happens, that about the cause of freedom for the slave, within the shadow of which all else was hopelessly obscured, there was gathered the best material of the age—the flower of the highest chivalry and culture in the land. garrison, phillips, love joy, tappan and anti-slavery circles aroused such persons of lofty ideals battled against wrong and injustice, lending every fiber of their strength to the overthrow of the sys- tem whose influence was equally baneful to humanity and a united country. aiding with pen and voice was the small body of brave and intelligent colored men such as purvis, ward, pennington, garnet, and still, who labored vigorously and unceas- ingly throughout the long twilight which preceded the dawn of freedom. these were, indeed, men fashioned in heroic mold, men whose noble championing of the most oppressed of mankind has given to history the brightest of its many golden pages and enriched with their illustrious names the emblazoned scroll of the world's immortals. the procession of events in this the greatest question ever before the american people was now leading gradually to the point whence the outlook was indeed gloomy for the well-being of the nation— when the earnest thought of the most bril- liant minds of the country was given to the question involved in the extension or aboli- tion of slavery. the united states congress, embracing representatives from all sections of the coun- fugitives of the pearl try, was the central battle ground. the struggle was intensely bitter and often tragic. the clash of opinions reechoed throughout the national domain, and the governments of europe, from the lofty height of imperial power and privilege, viewed with increasing interest the desper- ate malady which might precede the death agony of the republic. the first number of mr. garrison's paper the liberator, issued in boston on january , , heralded its purposes in this motto: "my country is the world,—my countrymen are all man- kind. '' a most fitting message of hope, bear- ing comfort and cheer to the lowly and op- pressed of every race, wherever found. in its declaration of principles, its fearless and aggressive owner boldly announced, in the face of what was then almost universal apathy on the subject of slavery, this senti- ment, "i am in earnest. i will not equivo- cate, i will not excuse, i will not retreat a single inch and i will be heard." that he was in earnest, that he did not equivocate, did not excuse and that he was heard, is as evident to-day as that the coun- try itself exists. it is much to the credit of the negro as a race, that the first substantial anti-slaveey circles aroused support received by mr. garrison in the publication of the liberator, came from james forten, a wealthy colored man of philadelphia. mr. forten sent $ with the names of twenty-five subscribers; and with this incentive, the journal entered on its un- exampled career of usefulness. from the first number in january, , it was issued without interruption, until december, , when after thirty-five years of conflict with the slave power, it recorded a ratification of an amendment to the constitution of the united states, forever prohibiting the ex- istence of slavery. the sorrow and hardship of the position in which the edmonsons were now placed was no doubt felt most keenly by their dear old parents, paul and amelia. as has been already related, a brother-in-law of the children, overcome by his feelings at the sight of his relatives being borne away to prison in chains, was carried home in a dead faint. when later on he was able to relate it, the poor parents listened to the sad story, amid tears and lamentations. the mother became a veritable rachel weeping for her children, and would not be comforted be- cause they were not. the terrible conviction anti-slavery circles aroused and in all circumstances they were most kind and attentive, and would tenderly carry her out on deck whenever the heat in their close quarters became too oppressive, and buy whatever little comforts were in their reach to minister in all possible ways to the sister's relief. apart from the circumstances of re- straint imposed by their numbers and lack of adequate accommodations, the voyage as far as the carolinas was pleasant enough from a purely physical standpoint. those of them who were able to control the mu- tinous symptoms of their internal organism as to be able to partake of food, were plenti- fully, though coarsely, provided for. but at this point in their progress, ad- verse winds, blowing with increasing vio- lence, drove them far out of their course, so that their arrival in the vicinity of key west was very much delayed. meetings for prayer were nightly held in which the bur- den of their petition was that the winds, which seemed in league with their better fortunes, might shape the course to new york instead of new orleans. their condi- tion had aroused much sympathy among the sailors, who as a class are ever broadminded and liberal, and much given to take the part fugitives of the pearl of the under dog in any kind of fight. one of them promised samuel, that if they were blown within a hundred miles of the former port and the slaves would back him up, he would put the captain out of the way and pilot them in himself. the serious wish to befriend and an impulse evincing so gen- erously the tender side of our human nature was not without a consoling influence, and doubtless aided materially in a revival of faith and hopefulness. a translation of this wish into action was not permitted, for in due time, after repeated signaling for a' pilot to guide them safely past the dangers of the keys, a boat of the class desired was seen approaching, and its master with the captain of the brig were soon parleying as to terms. chapter xvii suffering and waiting during the controversy which followed between the captain of the pearl and the pilot over the price of the latter's services, much discomfort and actual suffering was endured by the slaves, who as a matter of precaution against possible evidence of slave traffic, had been hurriedly stowed below deck. a heavy canvas hood was then thrown over the closely grated hatchway, precluding all possible circulation of air. imprisoned in the narrow confines of this miserable hole, with every vestige of light and air excluded, their situation was pain- ful. the intense natural heat of the day, a necessary adjunct of the latitude through which they were now sailing, reenforced by the stifling between-deck atmosphere of an old hulk, with its accumulated odors of con- centrated filth emanating from each un- caulked seam and gaping crevice, produced an atmosphere of suffocation and utter help- lessness. fugitives of the peakl to relieve the situation in some degree, the men punched holes in the canvas and struggled with each other for a position near the opening. the women shouted or fainted according as their strength waxed or waned, and in all respects a pandemonium of hys- terics, suffering and excitement reigned throughout the pilot's interview, which seemed so much prolonged. when it was at length concluded by the pilot's refusal of assistance and final departure, the hatchway was uncovered and the poor unfortunates, as each one gathered strength, crawled back to the light and air of the upper deck. mary and emily were acute sufferers dur- ing this interval, while the boys with all their hardihood showed by haggard looks and feeble movements the effects of the ter- rible half hour all had endured. as soon as the latter were able, the sisters were carried on deck and in due course the tide of life and health resumed its normal flow. the inability to agree as to terms of pilotage forced the captain to abandon the direct route which the ship was now holding and bring her up on another course, in which the dangerous keys need not be reckoned with. this action prolonged the passage several suffering and waiting days, and before the destined port was reached, the scarcity of food had brought starvation within the range of gruesome pos- sibility. the imminent failure of the water supply made necessary the restriction of the slaves' allowance to a gill a day. the sailors were each allowed a quart and true to their generous impulses a pint of this was donated each day to the edmonson boys for the com- fort of their sisters. finally in addition to the miseries already detailed, was added the horror of a violent storm, which they ran into early on the morning of their arrival at the mouth of the mississippi. the voyage from the start had been over smooth seas with only that long and rippleless swell which, while a serious and effectual promoter of seasickness, in- fused in some degree a reasonable sense of security in these unhappy voyagers of the sea. the boundless water with its dazzling daylight sheen and nightly phosphor glow, stretching out to meet the bending starlit sky, impressed these untutored souls as a mighty apocalypse, unfolding to their un- tried vision the glory and beauty of creation as well as the marvelous power of the creator. fugitives of the pearl the violence of the storm in which they found themselves, produced something far more intense and weighty than a sense of mere physical fear; the feeling that, not only were they themselves, unqualifiedly depend- ent upon the great ruler of the universe, but that their masters, the powerful and in- disputable arbiters of their physical being, were no less so. this impressed them pro- foundly. they saw these, their boastful owners, with strained and eager eyes, and blanched and frightened visage, powerless, even as they, before this startling manifesta- tion of omnipotence, as from out the black, low-hanging clouds, came the frightful thun- der of the tempest, with mountains of water threatening to engulf—the creak and groan of straining timbers. but to them through it all there seemed to come a still, small voice of love and compassion, threatening a con- suming wrath to their oppressors, and for themselves a promise of the unspeakable joys of a new and changed existence. during the first days of the voyage the ship had bowled along with sails all set and filled with a breeze more than moderately stiff. with no employment other than such as was necessary for their personal comfort fugitives of the pearl "sammy, do you see this great water that is all around us now?" "of course i see it, sister," came the reply, "but come, tell us what you are think- ing about." "well," she answered, "i have been thinking of the wonderful power of the good lord, who controls each and every drop that goes to make up its vast body. he could in the flash of an eye whip its placid surface into the rage and fury of a tempest, and yet how blind men are, who will risk not only life but their very souls in such traffic as that which so terribly per- secutes us." "yes, child," replied he, "but you must know that men will stop at nothing if money is to be gained, and nowadays there's more money in selling folks like us than in any- thing else. most of them that do it call themselves christians, and make believe they think it's right. why, i heard old bruin say one sunday, when a brother trader had brought him what he called a 'likely darky woman,' 'you'll have to see me to-morrow, 'cause i took communion this mornin', an' i never talk business after com- munion.'" suffering and waiting "don't you think some of them are honest when they profess to believe they have a right to do as they do?" asked mary. "no, i don't, for there's some strange thing in the eye of man that you don't find in that of any other created thing. i don't know what to call it or how to describe it, but it's just as though the almighty had made the eye his earthly agent to connect his divinity with the souls of men." "why is it then," asked mary, "that so many disregard this very thing which as you say, all men must recognize?" "well men are strongheaded, and they don't do right because they believe it is to their interest to do the other thing, but just as sure as we live, sister, the people who are making trade of broken hearts and human sorrows will reap the whirlwind one of these days, and nobody knows how soon it will be." "my heart tells me you are right, sammy, for what a comforting thought it is to feel that we may leave it all in his hands, know- ing full well that whatever comes, the savior will give us strength to bear it." emily had been listening intently to the earnest words of her brother and sister, with fugitives of the pearl a far away look in her large brown eyes, and as the latter concluded, she clasped her hands over her bosom and said with impres- sive accent: "oh, children, i see mother now; she is on her knees praying for us. yes, dear mother," she continued, as though the one addressed was with them in the flesh, "we will all kneel and pray with you." and amid sobs and tears which burst forth uncontrolled from every eye, each one knelt under the open sky amid that dreary waste of water, and lifted up their hearts with the mother spirit in fervent, silent prayer. after a few moments, while they were still kneeling, emily began singing in soft sweet tones, and one by one the others joined until losing sight of their surroundings, a full, grand chorus of pathetic harmonies, tuned to the sad, sweet song of the captive jews by the waters of babylon, floated upward and away, a melodious expression of con- stancy and christian resignation: "by the rivers of babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered zion. suffering and waiting we hanged our harps upon the willow in the midst thereof. for they that carried us away captive required of us a song and they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying, sing us one of the songs of zion. how shall we sing the lord's song in a strange land % if i forget thee, jeru- salem, let my right hand forget her cun- ning. if i do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth: if i prefer not jerusalem above my chief joy." the sounds of this strange, sweet melody, which to those below seemed to come from the air or the sea, they knew not where, brought every man on deck and when the song was ended, the entire ship's company, cap in hand was gathered about the kneeling group. they, pouring forth this plaintive wail from hearts overcharged with the burden of their misfortunes, were wholly oblivious to all things else. the traders commanded them to continue, but the ter- rible shadow of their fate had again fallen upon them and the song had died in the fugitives of the peael heart. they could sing no more. the spell was broken. the storm, into which the ship had finally come was safely outridden, and they were in due time towed up the river, and being per- mitted to remain on deck, beheld for the first time great plantations of cotton, reaching away to inland with their untold myriads of snowy blooms, and there fell upon their sympathetic ears the plaintive songs of the slave gangs as with nimble fingers they plucked from nature's outstretched palm her lavish stores of wealth. chapter xviii in the new orleans slave pen the landing of the slaves was not effected until ten o'clock next morning when they were marched through the city to the show rooms and to the inhumanities of a georgia pen. walking out into the yard of the place, emily was horrified to find herself face to face with men and women of all ages and stages of physical development and every degree of wretchedness. some were standing, others lying or sitting around, singly and in groups, while on each face was depicted that which told of bitter heartaches or bespoke a grief firm-seated, over which the terrible cast of utter despair had spread and settled. the poor girl, in her brief experience of the sorrows of slave life, had considered that she had fathomed the depths of all that could produce a shiver of horror or wave of sympathy in keen and sensitive natures. the sight before her was a few steps ahead fugitives of the peakl fairly agleam with showy jewels. he was seeking, he said, a young person of cheerful disposition, whom he desired to install as his housekeeper. the trader had decided that emily would just fill the hill, hut the moment she was brought forward with signs of re- cent grief so apparent in her face and man- ner, the customer decided that she would not do, saying that "he had no room for the sniffles in his house" and so the negotiation ended. the trader was so incensed at losing what he termed a rare bargain (the customer hav- ing offered $ , for a girl who would suit) that he slapped emily on the face and threatened to send her to the calaboose to be whipped, should she be caught crying again. shortly after this occurrence an elderly slave woman talked in a kindly way with emily, advising her to appear as cheer- ful as possible when the overseers were around, as otherwise she would be subjected to the severest tasks and made the object of much harsh treatment and abuse. the brothers, always watchful of everything in which the girls were concerned, were anx- ious to know what had been said to her and when told, agreed that they would all fare in the new orleans slave pen better if their conduct were shaped in ac- cordance with the suggestion which the kind heart of the woman had advanced for their benefit. however much the poor girl's feelings were bruised through the incident just re- lated, there may never be reason to doubt that her noble heart swelled with pious thankfulness for the god-given inspiration of pity, which had led to the subjection of her personal misfortunes and permitted a compassionate regard of the miseries of others. as for those tears, thrice over blessed, may they not be looked upon as the preserver of the purity and integrity of a priceless jewel, whose luster should other- wise have been forever dimmed by the dark- some shadows of bespoilment? the trials and indignities of the new life into which the edmonsons had now been ushered, were not suffered alone by the girls, for the very night of their arrival at new orleans, the boys had their hair closely cropped, their faces shaved and their clothing, which, as to cut and texture, was of a higher grade than the average dress of the slave, exchanged for suits of coarse blue jean, which so altered their appearance that fugitives of the pearl their sisters scarcely knew them. they were compelled daily to stand in an open porch facing the street to attract the notice of passers-by and when either of them was so fortunate as to attract the attention of a possible purchaser, he or she was taken into the showroom and subjected to an ex- amination in much the same way as if they were a horse or cow. these ordeals were naturally felt more keenly by the girls, for at such times their persons were handled rudely to the accom- paniment of indecent or vulgar jests. at such times, emily and mary found it im- possible to restrain their tears and finally complained to their brothers and prevailed upon them to intercede with wilson, the partner of bruin and hill, who had them in charge. to the credit of wilson it may be said, that after this, the treatment of the girls was more considerate. experience seems to sustain the thought that there is no cloud, however black and forbidding its perspective, but somewhere has its silver lining, and so it seemed just here with the edmonson children; a thou- sand miles from the place of their birth and placed in circumstances the most unfortu- in the new orleans slave pen nate and unhappy, they were not entirely de- void of all elements of consolation, for some- where in the great bustling, busy city of new orleans, resided their eldest brother. the girls only knew of him, as it were, by tradi- tion and casual reference to him in the con- versation of the family, but the thoughts of all were now quite naturally turned in his direction and the situation thoroughly can- vassed as to the means of reaching him. hamilton edmonson had been sold in the new orleans slave market about the year when he took the name of his pur- chaser, and was thereafter known as hamil- ton taylor. he learned the trade of cooper and was allowed a percentage of his earn- ings, but was unfortunate in having his first savings stolen. he eventually acquired his freedom through a payment of $ , . he continued in the cooperage business, was highly respected and became comparatively wealthy, having a place of business on girard near camp street. the divinity, which had so far shaped their course, had also provided the means for the realization of their desire, for rich- ard being in reality free, although held arbitrarily (the money being on deposit in fugitives of the peael which he felt some day would illuminate the altar of his soul, took lasting hold on their memories. his final break for liberty, conceived by himself and executed with a man named briscoe, had made him their hero loved and revered always, with whom the knights of fable and storied legend might never com- pare. the fact that the effort was a failure and that he was brought back from balti- more in chains and then sold away to the south, only served to increase his fame. it seemed now too good to be true, that this great strong fellow, with an arm around each and pressing them to him so eagerly, is he, who in fancy only they knew so well. yet so it is, and they nearly faint with joy at the thought that they are held in his arms and have felt the rapid heart beat of their very own dear brother, who is entirely and completely free. the moments pass all too rapidly and the brief half hour which is per- mitted them in which to whisper of their varied experiences seems scarcely more than an instant of time. when the first flush of excited pleasure had passed, hamilton looking upon them fondly, said: fugitives of the peael with a world of feeling in the tone, "fer i had sev'al letters wrote 'fore i bought mer- self but i s'pose dey nebber lef' de planta- tion, an' den aft i'd saved up de fus thous'n ter buy mersef an' had it stole fum me, i got so much down in de heart dat i didn' seem ter keer for nothin', but i kep* on wukkin', an' by an' by i gits anoder thous'n togeder, an' den i buys mersef sure nuf, an' den i thinks ter mersef, i'll sabe mer money an' one ob dese days i'll git on de kyars an' gib moder an' all de res' ob yer a good s'prise, but here you'b come an' tunned de tables, but i'm pow'ful glad ter see yer, all de same, doa i can' hep wishin' de sitooation ha' been very diffunt." "yes, it is very hard, brother," said emily, "but we must not despair, for the good lord, who has given us this happi- ness has our destiny in his hands, and in his own time will make all things right." "yer mighty right 'bout dat chillun, an' it makes me feel good to know dat yer hab dat same kin' er faith dat is de strong hope ob ow fader an' moder. jes' hab a stout heart an' keep on prayin' an' tek things ez ezy ez yer kin an' yer ol' brudder is goin' ter see ef he can' do suppin' ter mak yer mo' joyful meeting with a lost brother comfo-ble eny way, 'cause dis place ain' fittin' fer er dog much less dem dats bin useter er nice, decen' home." before hamilton left the pen he talked with the trader and by assuming responsi- bility for the safety of the girls secured his assent to their spending the nights at his home. by this arrangement they were per- mitted the comfort of clean beds with the addition of wholesome meals morning and evening. this was especially welcome to the girls, as the lodging room for the women, in which there were no beds, was much over- crowded, and they were forced to sleep on the bare floor, with only a dirty blanket for covering. the arrangement through which the nights of the two sisters were passed in com- fort and under the protection of their brother hamilton, while alleviating in great degree the disagreeable character of their surroundings, could not in any manner save them from the revolting cruelties which were daily inflicted upon their companions in misery. during this time several persons were whipped to death for various infrac- tions of discipline, while if any one of the slaves offended by going to sleep in the day chapter xx the brotherliness of hamilton near the st. louis hotel, new orleans, on the busy thoroughfare of that name, there stood at this time a massive residence of stone and stucco having ample grounds, made beautiful by trees and flowers, stretch- ing out from the sides and rear. the mas- sive iron gates on the left admitted to the porte-cochere, over a driveway leading to a circle of smooth cropped lawn, just in front of the extensive stables of the establishment. everything about the place denoted a lofty tone and there might be seen within, as well as without, all that luxury of appointment which envelopes folks for whom circum- stances or their own personal thrift have eliminated all anxiety as to their future wel- fare in material ways. the owner and proprietor of this princely home was horace cammack, an englishman by birth, but long a resident of the crescent city. as a prosperous cotton merchant, fugitives of the pearl stored less than five hundred cases of rare vintage. during the whole of his service of nearly three years with this family, while recogniz- ing the fact that few slaves were so happily placed as he, the major thought and ambi- tion of his life was never lost to view. he was fully determined as ever, that the world should one day know and respect him as a free man, and he patiently waited and watched for the opportunity to accomplish his purpose. meanwhile another element had thrust itself into the equation and must be reckoned with in the solution of the prob- lem of his after life. it happened that mrs. cammack, a lady of much beauty and re- finement, had in her employ as maid, a young girl of not more than eighteen years, named delia taylor. she was tall, grace- ful and winsome, of the clear mulatto type, and through long service near the person of her mistress, had absorbed those delicate graces of deportment and expression, which are the admiration and delight of those in like station and inspire a feeling much akin to reverence in those more lowly placed. samuel had been but a little while within the circuit of so much attractiveness, when he samuel edmonson delia edmonson evelyn edmonson ingraham martha e. pennington the brotheeliness of hamilton was forced to acknowledge himself com- pletely and willingly the devoted slave of pretty delia, who, so far as he was able to judge, never so much as honored him with a glance from her coal black eyes. during this interval of doubt and perplexity, the question of escape and freedom and such kindred matters, were rarely considered. his position being that of an esteemed and valued servant, with none of the difficulties which adhere to the average slave, it is per- haps not strange that he should subordinate his future to an agony so absorbing as this passion for the pretty delia. the suspense of samuel was not relieved until near the end of his second summer of service. the family had been spending the heated months at biloxi and along towards the end of their stay, the fatal question was propounded the second time. a moonlight night, the dreamy calm of the romantic tropic clime and the end of an old log, are the elements which make up the situation, and seated here with the soothing cadences of old ocean sounding harmoniously in their ears, the spiritual union of two devoted souls is consummated. the master and mistress were well fugitives of the pearl pleased, when in due course they were ap- prised of the affair and made smooth the way for the fulfillment of the desire of their servants. matters now moved along on pleasant lines for samuel and delia during several months; hut with the advent of master tom, the son of the house who had been away to college, was encountered an element of discord which was for a while to disrupt their happiness. this young gentleman took a violent dis- like to samuel from the very first meal the latter served him. whether or not he was sufficiently servile in the presence of so much "superiority" or that he was really lacking in the proper deference to his young master, does not appear, but the fact re- mains that this antipathy was signally mani- fest at their first meeting and grew apace as their acquaintance ripened. the crisis was reached on an evening when the young man was dining alone. samuel had served the soup, which master tom touched with his thumb, and pushing it in disgust from him, said: "this soup is cold, you lazy nigger, how dare you serve me in this way?" "nothing of the kind, can't you see for fugitives of the pearl on the third day he sent a letter to the office, apprising his master of what had occurred and stating that he would present himself in person the next morning. this he did and was permitted to give his version of the trouble. cammack listened patiently throughout and at the conclusion of the story sent for an officer whom he told to keep samuel at the station until he called for him. at the close of business on the same day the master drove to the station, gave orders for the release of samuel, whom he told to go directly home and have dinner for four gentlemen served at eight o'clock. the host with his guests arrived a few minutes before the hour and found every- thing complete for their comfort and enter- tainment. before the dinner was served he took occasion to tell samuel that his young master had joined the rest of the family out of town and that he wished him to conduct himself as though nothing had happened, as he desired the affair to be forgotten by all concerned. the year following, cammack went to europe on cotton business and just before sailing for home was killed in a violent storm while yachting with friends off the coast of fugitives of the pearl ment of his freedom. however, he pro- ceeded on his errand and to the kindly in- quiry of his prospective mistress as to how he would like to live with her he gave it as his opinion that he should like such an ar- rangement very much. he was determined now more than ever that his next owner should be himself, and after a brief visit at the home of his brother, during which he gathered fresh courage and inspiration from the fond love and depend- ence of his wife and little one, he proceeded directly to a friend from whom he purchased a set of free passes, which had been made out and sold him by a white man. these re- quired that he should start immediately up the river, but upon a full consideration of the matter, he decided that the risks were too great in that direction and the chances greatly against his attaining his desires by this route. the problem was a serious one. an error of judgment, a step in the wrong direction, would not only be a serious, if not fatal blow to his hopes, but might lead to untold hardships to others most dear to him. somewhat irresolutely he turned his steps towards the river front, gazing with longing eyes at the stretch of water, the many ships the brotherliness of hamilton table opposite the officer and spread the papers before him. "heigho, i see you have a passenger this trip," was his remark and then reading from the sheet, "samuel edmonson, ja- maica, w. i. thirty years old. married. general merchant." "yes," said the captain as he concluded, "mr. edmonson asked for passage at the last moment, and as he was alone and there was a bunk not in service, i thought i'd take him along. he has a valuable bale of goods astray, probably at jamaica and is anxious to return and look it up." "well, i hope he may find it. where is he? let's have a look at him." "mr. edmonson, will you come this way a moment?" called the captain. as may be imagined the subject of this conversation had been listening intently, and now when it was demanded that he present himself, he murmured a fervent, "god help me," and jumped nimbly to the deck. "this is my passenger," said the captain, and to the former: "the officer from the custom house sim- ply wished to see you, mr. edmonson." samuel bowed and stood at ease, resting fugitives of the peael one hand upon the table and bore the search- ing look of the officer, which rested first upon his face and then descended to his hand, without the quiver of an eyelid or the flinching of a muscle. the flush of excite- ment, still mounting his cheek and brow, gave a bronzed swarthiness and decidedly un-american cast to his rich brown color, while his features, clean-cut and but slightly of the negro type, with hand well shaped and nails quite clean, were a combination of conditions rarely met in the average slave. the first glance of suspicion was almost immediately lost to view in the smile of friendly greeting with which the officer's hand was extended. "i hope you may recover your goods," were the words he said, and rising added, "i must be off." the captain had meanwhile placed his liquor chest on the table and in a glass of good old jamaica rum, a hearty "bon-voy- age" and responsive "good-wishes" were exchanged. the subsequent story of samuel, interest- ing and adventurous though it may be, scarcely comes within the scope of this story, so we hasten to follow after our other the brotherliness of hamilton friends who are returning northward. we may pause, however, to add for the satis- faction of our readers, that after a brief stay at jamaica, samuel sailed before the mast on an english schooner carrying a cargo of dye-wood to liverpool. two years were passed there in the service of a wealthy merchant whom he had served while a guest of his former master in new orleans. dur- ing the third year he was joined by his wife and boy and subsequently the family took passage for australia under the protection of a relative of his liverpool employer, who was returning to extensive mining and sheep-raising interests, near the rapidly growing city of melbourne. chapter xxi the return northward after a voyage of more than two weeks, the brig union, upon which the edmonsons with a number of other slaves were re- embarked from new orleans, arrived at baltimore. the trip was anything but a pleasant one, for the living quarters of the slaves were exceedingly cramped, owing to the encroachments of an unusually large cargo of cotton and other stuffs. the care of the girls which had now devolved entirely upon richard was faithfully looked after; he prepared their meals himself and zeal- ously watched over them in storm and sun- shine until the weary distance had been com- pleted. richard was called for on the afternoon of their arrival at baltimore by one bige- low of washington, who was to take him directly to his wife and children. this seemed a most cruel blow to the girls, for they had supposed they would all return to the return northward quarters, they again resumed the toil and discomforts of their former life at this place. more than three months had now passed since the beginning of their itinerary of sorrow which had its inception on the sat- urday night the pearl made its ill-fated flight, an interval, short as time goes, but with its burden of heartache and agony of spirit it seemed to these poor children more than a cycle of years in which their spirit had been bound remorselessly and steeped in the lowest depths of woe and misery. through it all, however, and despite the de- pression and bitter repinings engendered by such serious conditions, the simple faith of their childhood never wavered, and because of it over and beyond their present distress there brightly shone a ray of hope to strengthen their steps and brighten their darkened way. in the old way and under the same aus- pices they took up the dreary round of un- congenial tasks by day; and by night, divided in affectionate confidences, with in- tervals of unrefreshing slumber, the heavy burden of their disconsolate hearts. early in september, their father, urged ever on- ward to renewed efforts for their deliver- the rbturn northward raise money to pay for them; and intends to appeal to the liberality of the humane and the good to aid him, and has requested us to state in writing the conditions upon which we will sell his daughters. we expect to start our servants to the south in a few days; if the sum of twelve hundred ($ ) dollars be raised and paid us in fifteen days, or we be assured of that sum, then we will retain them for twenty- five days more, to give an opportunity for the raising of the other thousand and fifty ($ ) dollars; otherwise we shall be com- pelled to send them along with our other servants. "bruin & hill" the days and weeks which followed were filled with suspense and disappointment, for the traders were again growing restless and already arrangements were going forward to send a gang of slaves to the southern mar- ket—this time to south carolina. no word of encouragement had come to the girls from any source, so that now, indeed, were they very near the still, dark waters of despond- ency, for they realized, if they started again on that dreadful mission, there could be no possible escape. the traders were now impatient and fully john s. brent and his children corporal in a mass. regiment during the civil war, he visited hamilton edmonson (taylor) at new orleans when mustered out in . he was the first colored man appointed to the fire department of the district of columbia. the eetuen northward dark-skinned unfortunates, on whom the baneful shadow of caste and the curse of slavery bore so heavily. emily sat with the little girl upon her lap, while mary kneeled by their side, and held one little white and delicate hand in both of hers. she begged them not to go away as she would be so lonely without them and urged if they loved her, they would not be so cruel. "it is not we, who wish to go," said emily in a voice nearly stifled with emotion. "it is our dearest wish to remain where we may be near our friends, for if we are sent away this time, we are lost and god alone knows what may become of us. tour father can keep us here if he will, but i am afraid he is determined to send us to the south." the little one jumped from her perch on the elder girl's lap and passionately ex- claimed in a voice almost hysterical: "yousha'n'tgo! yousha'n't go! i'll see papa! he's cruel! he's cruel!'' with which she rushed from the room. after this exciting interview with their little friend, mary broke down completely and abandoned herself to the most passion- ate wailing. emily subdued her own fugitives of the pearl while the words of her sister, "thank the good lord, mary, we are saved" fall faintly but soothingly upon her ear as she lapses into unconsciousness. chapter xxii free at last paul edmonson took the papers given him by bruin, and a few days after boarded the train for new york. the fact that he had never been there, knew nobody in all that large city, together with his own ig- norance of letters, as well as pronounced physical infirmities, were neither or all suf- ficient to deter him from his purpose. alone and worst of all, bearing in face and feature the imprint of a despised and outcast race, he only realized the fearful task he had set himself to do, when early in the afternoon of september he was assisted from the cars by some white gentlemen who had in- terested themselves in him on the train, and he found himself in that modern whirlpool of noisy, busy life. through the kindness of these gentlemen he was directed to the offices of the anti- slavery society, where he was warmly wel- comed, permitted to state his case, and was free at last istered unto his wants, lie and all his house- hold. a public meeting was to be held at the "tabernacle" that evening, and while it was in progress, the father, with the burden of his children's salvation lying so heavily upon his heart was presented to the audience. the story of the journey of the girls to the south, their unexpected—nay, providential return and present position of jeopardy, were all eloquently detailed by mr. beecher. it was but a little while before a responsive enthu- siasm was developed and there, on the pulpit of that notable place of worship, he set up an imaginary auction for the purchase of the freedom of these two christian slave girls. in writing of this altogether unique event, an eyewitness says: "i think that of all the meetings i have attended in my life i never saw one that surpassed that." more than $ , was subscribed in less than half an hour. here indeed was christian zeal, fearless and unequivocal, and with many other acts of similar character will ever shine resplend- ent of the glory and honor of the savior of mankind. how pitiable by contrast, how fugitives of the pearl unworthy of the name of "follower of the meek and lowly nazarene" must ever appear that body of men who about this time were gathered together under the style of the georgia annual conference, to voice this re- markable makeshift and apology in a resolu- tion: that slavery as it exists in the united states, is not a moral evil." all honor to henry ward beecher and those other con- scientious ministers of christ, who in that dire conflict, invited the odium of small and prejudiced souls by insisting that individ- ual, corporeal sovereignty, complete and ab- solute, should go hand in hand with that higher, spiritual freedom, wherewith the gracious king of all the earth hath clothed each of the children of men. paul edmonson returned the next day to washington accompanied by a gentleman designated at the meeting to look after the payment of the money and to see that the edmonsons were fairly treated in the trans- action. they proceeded directly to alex- andria and were hastening towards bruin's place, when emily and mary, looking from the window of the room in which they were at work, recognized their father and rushed wildly into the street. free at last manly principle and integrity. he was, however, only human like the rest; and al- though there was within him that irre- pressible monitor, an enlightened christian conscience (for he claimed kinship with the prince of peace) he felt it to be more sensi- ble and seemingly more profitable to ride easily along with the current than to risk destruction by attempting to arrest its flow. it is easily credible, therefore, that the man was genuinely glad to be happily rid of such troublesome slaves as the edmonson girls, while it is equally certain that he lost but little time in seeking an investment of like character for the placing of the fund derived from their sale. the highest au- thorities on christian ethics in the land had justified the slave traffic, and not only so, but were in many instances its direct bene- ficiaries and the recipient of its profits; how is it possible, then, that those lesser lights of the faith should be expected to occupy higher ground and develop sentiments more in accord with the life and teachings of their divine preceptor? the ways and means of adjustment of this the greatest question ever before the ameri- can people were now already in process of the family keunion is had after the homely, though infallible formula of good old mother nature— embraces, kisses and tears, the three should be mixed in equal parts without formality. the dear mother, with an arm around each of her new-found children, returns with them into the house, giving utterance to words of praise and thankfulness at each step of the way. the little home of the brents, simply and inexpensively furnished, yet lacking nothing of that atmosphere of comfort and hospital- ity that should hover about a happy fireside, was fully taxed until long past midnight, through the coming of friends who wished to rejoice with the household over their good fortune and happiness. light refreshments were hastily provided, for as "father" brent said to his good wife when the matter was suggested, " 'twont 'pear like nothin' ef we don' gib 'em er swaller an' er bite uv suppin." at length the last, lingering friends have departed, leaving the family alone to rejoice over the return of its dear ones; they gather —mother, father, sisters and brothers about fugitives of the pearl n t>. -=: - :u « b « s ° •o a • a n - s ~<. a el •a ■ = s = = £ i on , | n * ^ks o odp a ca w e. a £*o ( c s a . » .. s i a ea « § = si" &.« a o « i - b a* .a .*^ sod go b§ b. ^sssg^sf^l i?" °* fe-a tb ««ai£wj;a bo gffl ga a .ts s o oh m d i- a gw -e « «,a' "» ii s = s & n« be- o o a ^ "o cq a §£•§ fugitives of the peael gwendolyn barrett governor barrett clyde young jack- francis jackson sylvia young edward young alice barrett son gene young elsie young young m. gover- nor . barrett alex. helene young elizabeth m. young m. balph jack- son young m. ethel davis wm. jas. johnson dorothy harwell edward owen carl seward geraldine marie elaine johnson chas. e. thomas eva coxton m. aaron johnson walter young m. belle stevens mollie young m. mason coxton joseph coxton marie johnson m. john h. mosely lwm. coxton fred coxton mary coxton julia coxton seward edward young m. josephine johnson julia ingram m. martha ingram m. mason coxton eveline ingram m. wm. h. johnson wm. ingram m. david edmonson amelia edmonson joseph ingram martha edmonson m. ed. young; j sam'l edmonson m. delia taylor h j" § *t£ n u « the sport of the gods the sport of the gods by paul laurence dunbar author of "lyrics of lowly life," "poems of cabin and field," "candle-llghtin' time," "the fanatics," etc. new york . d o d d, mead and company • mdccccii copyright, by j. b. lippincott company copyright, t bt dodd, mead and company first edition published april, university press . john wilson and son . cambridge, v. s. a. contents chapter page . the hamiltons ii. a farewell dinner iii. the theft iv. from a clear sky v. the justice of men vi. outcasts vii. in new york viii. an evening out ix. his heart's desire x. a visitor from home xi. broken hopes xii. "all the world's a stage" . . xiii. the oakleys xiv. frankenstein xv. "dear, damned, delightful town" xvi. skaggs's theory xvii. a yellow journal xviii. what berry found the sport of the gods i the hamiltons fiction has said so much in regret of the old days when there were plan- tations and overseers and masters and slaves, that it was good to come upon such a household as berry hamilton's, if for no other reason than that it afforded a relief from the monotony of tiresome iteration. the little cottage in which he lived with his wife, fannie, who was house- keeper to the oakleys, and his son and daughter, joe and kit, sat back in the yard some hundred paces from the man- sion of his employer. it was somewhat in the manner of the old cabin in the quarters, with which usage as well as l the sport of the gods tradition had made both master and ser- vant familiar. but, unlike the cabin of the elder day, it was a neatly furnished, modern house, the home of a typical, good-living negro. for twenty years berry hamilton had been butler for maurice oakley. he was one of the many slaves who upon their accession to freedom had not left the south, but had wandered from place to place in their own beloved section, waiting, working, and struggling to rise with its rehabili- tated fortunes. the first faint signs of recovery were being seen when he came to maurice oakley as a servant. through thick and thin he remained with him, and when the final upward tendency of his em- ployer began his fortunes had increased in like manner. when, having married, oakley bought the great house in which he now lived, he left the little servant's cottage in the yard, for, as he said laugh- ingly, "there is no telling when berry the sport of the g d and behind it; vegetables and greens testi- fied to the housewife's industry. over the door of the little house a fine virginia creeper bent and fell in graceful curves, and a cluster of insistent morning- glories clung in summer about its stalwart stock. it was into this bower of peace and com- fort that joe and kitty were born. they brought a new sunlight into the house and a new joy to the father's and mother's hearts. their early lives were pleasant and carefully guarded. they got what schooling the town afforded, but both went to work early, kitty helping her mother and joe learning the trade of barber. kit was the delight of her mother's life. she was a pretty, cheery little thing, and could sing like a lark. joe too was of a cheerful disposition, but from scraping the chins of aristocrats came to imbibe some of their ideas, and rather too early in life bid fair to be a dandy. but his father encouraged him, for, said he, "it's de the hamilton's p'opah thing fu' a man what waits on quality to have quality mannahs an' to waih quality clothes." "'t ain't no use to be a-humo'in' dat boy too much, be'y," fannie had replied, although she did fully as much "humo'in'" as her husband; "hit sho' do mek' him biggety, an' a biggety po' niggah is a 'bomination befo' de face of de lawd; but i know't ain't no use a-talkin' to you, fu' you plum boun' up in dat joe." her own eyes would follow the boy lov- ingly and proudly even as she chided. she could not say very much, either, for berry always had the reply that she was spoiling kit out of all reason. the girl did have the prettiest clothes of any of her race in the town, and when she was to sing for the benefit of the a. m. e. church or for the benefit of her father's society, the tribe of benjamin, there was nothing too good for her to wear. in this too they were aided and abetted by mrs. oakley, who also took a lively interest in the girl. the sport of the gods so the two doting parents had their chats and their jokes at each other's ex- pense and went bravely on, doing their duties and spoiling their children much as white fathers and mothers are wont to do. what the less fortunate negroes of the community said of them and their offspring is really not worth while. envy has a sharp tongue, and when has not the aristo- crat been the target for the plebeian's sneers? joe and kit were respectively eighteen and sixteen at the time when the prepara- tions for maurice oakley's farewell dinner to his brother francis were agitating the whole hamilton household. all of them had a hand in the work: joe had shaved the two men; kit had helped mrs. oakley's maid; the mother had fretted herself weak over the shortcomings of a cook that had been in the family nearly as long as her- self, while berry was stern and dignified in anticipation of the glorious figure he was to make in serving. ii a farewell dinner maurice oakley was not a man of sudden or violent enthusiasms. conservatism was the quality that had been the foundation of his fortunes at a time when the disruption of the country had involved most of the men of his region in ruin. without giving any one ground to charge him with being lukewarm or renegade to his cause, he had yet so adroitly managed his affairs that when peace came he was able quickly to recover much of the ground lost during the war. with a rare genius for adapting himself to new conditions, he accepted the changed order of things with a passive resignation, but with a stern determination to make the most out of any good that might be in it. a farewell dinner it was a favourite remark of his that there must be some good in every system, and it was the duty of the citizen to find out that good and make it pay. he had done this. his house, his reputation, his satisfaction, were all evidences that he had succeeded. a childless man, he bestowed upon his younger brother, francis, the enthusiasm he would have given to a son. his wife shared with her husband this feeling for her brother-in-law, and with him played the role of parent, which had otherwise been denied her. it was true that francis oakley was only a half-brother to maurice, the son of a second and not too fortunate marriage, but there was no halving of the love which the elder man had given to him from child- hood up. at the first intimation that francis had artistic ability, his brother had placed him under the best masters in america, and later, when the promise of his youth had the sport of the gods begun to blossom, he sent him to paris, although the expenditure just at that time demanded a sacrifice which might have been the ruin of maurice's own career. francis's promise had never come to entire fulfilment. he was always trembling on the verge of a great success without quite plunging into it. despite the joy which his presence gave his brother and sister-in-law, most of his time was spent abroad, where he could find just the atmosphere that suited his delicate, artistic nature. after a visit of two months he was about return- ing to paris for a stay of five years. at last he was going to apply himself steadily and try to be less the dilettante. the company which maurice oakley brought together to say good-bye to his brother on this occasion was drawn from the best that this fine old southern town afforded. there were colonels there at whose titles and the owners' rights to them no one could laugh; there were brilliant women there who had queened it in rich- a farewell dinner mond, baltimore, louisville, and new or- leans, and every southern capital under the old regime, and there were younger ones there of wit and beauty who were just beginning to hold their court. for francis was a great favourite both with men and women. he was a handsome man, tall, slender, and graceful. he had the face and brow of a poet, a pallid face framed in a mass of dark hair. there was a touch of weakness in his mouth, but this was shaded and half hidden by a full mus- tache that made much forgivable to beauty- loving eyes. it was generally conceded that mrs. oakley was a hostess whose guests had no awkward half-hour before dinner. no praise could be higher than this, and to- night she had no need to exert herself to maintain this reputation. her brother-in- law was the life of the assembly; he had wit and daring, and about him there was just that hint of charming danger that made him irresistible to women. the guests heard a farewell dinner talents. they had perfect faith in the strength of his manhood, of course; but could they have had their way, it would have been their will to hedge him about so that no breath of evil invitation could have come nigh to him. but this younger brother, this half ward of theirs, was an unruly member. he talked and laughed, rode and walked, with claire lessing with the same free abandon, the same show of uninterested good com- radeship, that he had used towards her when they were boy and girl together. there was not a shade more of warmth or self-consciousness in his manner towards her than there had been fifteen years before. in fact, there was less, for there had been a time, when he was six and claire three, that francis, with a boldness that the lover of maturer years tries vainly to attain, had announced to claire that he was going to marry her. but he had never renewed this declaration when it came time that it would carry weight with it. the sport of the gods they made a fine picture as they sat to- gether to-night. one seeing them could hardly help thinking on the instant that they were made for each other. something in the woman's face, in her expression perhaps, supplied a palpable lack in the man. the strength of her mouth and chin helped the weakness of his. she was the sort of woman who, if ever he came to a great moral crisis in his life, would be able to save him if she were near. and yet he was going away from her, giving up the pearl that he had only to put out his hand to take. some of these thoughts were in the minds of the brother and sister now. "five years does seem a long while," francis was saying, " but if a man accom- plishes anything, after all, it seems only a short time to look back upon." "all time is short to look back upon. it is the looking forward to it that counts. it does n't, though, with a man, i suppose. he's doing something all the while." a farewell dinner "yes, a man is always doing something, even if only waiting; but waiting is such unheroic business." "that is the part that usually falls to a woman's lot. i have no doubt that some dark-eyed mademoiselle is waiting for you now." francis laughed and flushed hotly. claire noted the flush and wondered at it. had she indeed hit upon the real point? "was that the reason that he was so anxious to get back to paris? the thought struck a chill through her gaiety. she did not want to be suspicious, but what was the cause of that tell-tale flush? he was not a man easily disconcerted; then why so to-night? but her companion talked on with such innocent composure that she believed her- self mistaken as to the reason for his momentary confusion. someone cried gayly across the table to her: " oh, miss claire, you will not dare to talk with such little awe to our friend when he comes back with his ribbons and the sport of the gods his medals. why, we shall all have to bow to you, frank!" "you're wronging me, esterton," said francis. "no foreign decoration could ever be to me as much as the flower of approval from the fair women of my own state." "hear!" cried the ladies. "trust artists and poets to pay pretty compliments, and this wily friend of mine pays his at my expense." "a good bit of generalship, that, frank," an old military man broke in. "esterton opened the breach and you at once gal- loped in. that's the highest art of war." claire was looking at her companion. had he meant the approval of the women, or was it one woman that he cared for? had the speech had a hidden meaning for her? she could never tell. she could not understand this man who had been so much to her for so long, and yet did not seem to know it; who was full of romance and fire and passion, and yet looked at her a farewell dinner beauty with the eyes of a mere comrade. she sighed as she rose with the rest of the women to leave the table. the men lingered over their cigars. the wine was old and the stories new. what more could they ask? there was a strong glow in francis oakley's face, and his laugh was frequent and ringing. some discussion came up which sent him running up to his room for a bit of evidence. when he came down it was not to come directly to the dining-room. he paused in the hall and despatched a servant to bring his brother to him. maurice found him standing weakly against the railing of the stairs. some- thing in his air impressed his brother strangely. "what is it, francis?" he questioned, hurrying to him. "i have just discovered a considerable loss," was the reply in a grieved voice. "if it is no worse than loss, i am glad; but what is it?" a farewell dinner ulations, he had bade the last guest good-bye. then he turned to his brother. "when leslie is in bed, come into the library. i will wait for you there," he said, and walked sadly away. "poor, foolish frank," mused his brother, "as if the loss could matter to him." the theft never very particular about the box. but i did not know until i went to it to-night that the last time i had opened it i had forgotten to take the key out. it all flashed over me in a second when i saw it shining there. even then i didn't sus- pect anything. you don't know how i felt to open that cabinet and find all my money gone. it's awful." "don't worry. how much was there in all?" "nine hundred and eighty-six dollars, most of which, i am ashamed to say, i had accepted from you." "you have no right to talk that way, frank; you know i do not begrudge a cent you want. i have never felt that my father did quite right in leaving me the bulk of the fortune; but we won't discuss that now. what i want you to understand, though, is that the money is yours as well as mine, and you are always welcome to it." the artist shook his head. "no, mau- the sport of the gods rice," he said, " i can accept no more from you. i have already used up all my own money and too much of yours in this hope- less fight. i don't suppose i was ever cut out for an artist, or i'd have done some- thing really notable in this time, and would not be a burden upon those who care for me. no, i 'll give up going to paris and find some work to do." "frank, frank, be silent. this is non- sense. give up your art? you shall not do it. you shall go to paris as usual. leslie and i have perfect faith in you. you shall not give up on account of this misfortune. what are the few paltry dollars to me or to you?" "nothing, nothing, i know. it is n't the money,it's the principle of the thing." "principle be hanged! you go back to paris to-morrow, just as you had planned. i do not ask it, i command it." the younger man looked up quickly. "pardon me, frank, for using those words and at such a time. you know the theft how near my heart your success lies, and to hear you talk of giving it all up makes me forget myself. forgive me, but you 'll go back, won't you?" "you are too good, maurice," said frank impulsively, "and i will go back, and i 'll try to redeem myself." "there is no redeeming of yourself to do, my dear boy; all you have to do is to ma- ture yourself. we'll have a detective down and see what we can do in this matter." frank gave a scarcely perceptible start. "i do so hate such things," he said ; " and, anyway, what's the use? they 'll never find out where the stuff went to." "oh, you need not be troubled in this matter. i know that such things must jar on your delicate nature. but i am a plain hard-headed business man, and i can attend to it without distaste." u but i hate to shove everything unpleas- ant off on you. it's what i've been doing all my life." the sport of the gods "never mind that. now tell me, who was the last person you remember in your room?" "oh, esterton was up there awhile be- fore dinner. but he was not alone two minutes." "why, he would be out of the question anyway. who else?" "hamilton was up yesterday." "alone?" "yes, for a while. his boy, joe, shaved me, and jack was up for a while brushing my clothes." "then it lies between jack and joe?" frank hesitated. "neither one was left alone, though." "then only hamilton and esterton have been alone for any time in your room since you left the key in your cabinet?" "those are the only ones of whom i know anything. what others went in during the day, of course, i know nothing about. it could n't have been either ester- ton or hamilton." the theft "not esterton, no." "and hamilton is beyond suspicion." "no servant is beyond suspicion." "i would trust hamilton anywhere," said frank stoutly, "and with anything." "that's noble of you, frank, and i would have done the same, but we must remember that we are not in the old days now. the negroes are becoming less faithful and less contented, and more's the pity, and a deal more ambitious, although i have never had any unfaithfulness on the part of hamilton to complain of before." "then do not condemn him now." "i shall not condemn any one until i have proof positive of his guilt or such clear circumstantial evidence that my reason is satisfied." "i do not believe that you will ever have that against old hamilton." "this spirit of trust does you credit, frank, and i very much hope that you may be right. but as soon as a negro like the sport of the gods hamilton learns the value of money and begins to earn it, at the same time he be- gins to covet some easy and rapid way of securing it. the old negro knew nothing of the value of money. when he stole, he stole hams and bacon and chickens. these were his immediate necessities and the things he valued. the present laughs at this tendency without knowing the cause. the present negro resents the laugh, and he has learned to value other things than those which satisfy his belly." frank looked bored. "but pardon me for boring you. i know you want to go to bed. go and leave everything to me." the young man reluctantly withdrew, and maurice went to the telephone and rung up the police station. as maurice had said, he was a plain, hard-headed business man, and it took very few words for him to put the chief of police in possession of the principal facts of the case. a detective was detailed to the theft take charge of the case, and was started immediately, so that he might be upon the ground as soon after the commission of the crime as possible. when he came he insisted that if he was to do anything he must question the robbed man and search his room at once. oakley protested, but the detective was adamant. even now the presence in the room of a man uninitiated into the mysteries of crim- inal methods might be destroying the last vestige of a really important clue. the master of the house had no alternative save to yield. together they went to the artist's room. a light shone out through the crack under the door. "i am sorry to disturb you again, frank, but may we come in?" "who is with you?" "the detective." "i did not know he was to come to- night." "the chief thought it better." "all right in a moment." the sport of the gods there was a sound of moving around, and in a short time the young fellow, partly undressed, opened the door. to the detective's questions he answered in substance what he had told before. he also brought out the cabinet. it was a strong oak box, uncarven, but bound at the edges with brass. the key was still in the lock, where frank had left it on discover- ing his loss. they raised the lid. the cabinet contained two compartments, one for letters and a smaller one for jewels and trinkets. "when you opened this cabinet, your money was gone?" "yes." "were any of your papers touched?" "no." "how about your jewels?" "i have but few and they were else- where." 'the detective examined the room care- fully, its approaches, and the hall-ways without. he paused knowingly at a win- the theft dow that overlooked the flat top of a porch. "do you ever leave this window open?" "it is almost always so.'' "is this porch on the front of the house?" "no, on the side." "what else is out that way?" frank and maurice looked at each other. the younger man hesitated and put his hand to his head. maurice answered grimly, "my butler's cottage is on that side and a little way back." "uh huh! and your butler is, i believe, the hamilton whom the young gentleman mentioned some time ago." "yes." frank's face was really very white now. the detective nodded again. "i think i have a clue," he said simply. "i will be here again to-morrow morning." "but i shall be gone," said frank. "you will hardly be needed, anyway." the artist gave a sigh of relief. he the sport of the gobs hated to be involved in unpleasant things. he went as far as the outer door with his brother and the detective. as he bade the officer good-night and hurried up the hall, frank put his hand to his head again with a convulsive gesture, as if struck by a sudden pain. "come, come, frank, you must take a drink now and go to bed," said oakley. "i am completely unnerved." "i know it, and i am no less shocked than you. but we've got to face it like men." they passed into the dining-room, where maurice poured out some brandy for his brother and himself. "who would have thought it?" he asked, as he tossed his own down. "not i. i had hoped against hope up until the last that it would turn out to be a mistake." "nothing angers me so much as being deceived by the man i have helped and trusted. i should feel the sting of all this the theft much less if the thief had come from the outside, broken in, and robbed me, but this, after all these years, is too low." "don't be hard on a man, maurice; one never knows what prompts him to a deed. and this evidence is all circumstantial." "it is plain enough for me. you are entirely too kind-hearted, frank. but i see that this thing has worn you out. you must not stand here talking. go to bed, for you must be fresh for to-morrow morning's journey to new york." frank oakley turned away towards his room. his face was haggard, and he stag- gered as he walked. his brother looked after him with a pitying and affectionate gaze. "poor fellow," he said, " he is so deli- cately constructed that he cannot stand such shocks as these ;" and then he added: "to think of that black hound's treachery! i 'll give him all that the law sets down for him." he found mrs. oakley asleep when he the sport of the gods reached the room, but he awakened her to tell her the story. she was horror-struck. it was hard to have to believe this awful thing of an old servant, but she agreed with him that hamilton must be made an example of when the time came. before that, however, he must not know that he was suspected. they fell asleep, he with thoughts of anger and revenge, and she grieved and disappointed. iv from a clear sky the inmates of the oakley house had not been long in their beds before hamilton was out of his and rousing his own little household. "you, joe," he called to his son, "git up f'om daih an' come right hyeah. you got to he'p me befo' you go to any shop dis mo'nin'. you, kitty, stir yo' stumps, miss. i know yo' ma's a-dressin' now. ef she ain't, i bet i 'll be aftah huh in a minute, too. you all layin' 'roun', snoozin' w'en you all des' pint'ly know dis is de mo'nin' mistah frank go 'way f'om hyeah." it was a cool autumn morning, fresh and dew-washed. the sun was just rising, and a cool clear breeze was blowing across the land. the blue smoke from the " house," the sport of the gods where the fire was already going, whirled fantastically over the roofs like a belated ghost. it was just the morning to doze in comfort, and so thought all of berry's household except himself. loud was the complaining as they threw themselves out of bed. they maintained that it was an altogether unearthly hour to get up. even mrs. hamilton added her protest, until she suddenly remembered what morning it was, when she hurried into her clothes and set about getting the family's breakfast. the good-humour of all of them returned when they were seated about their table with some of the good things of the night before set out, and the talk ran cheerily around. "i do declaih," said hamilton, "you all's as bad as dem white people was las' night. de way dey waded into dat food was a caution." he chuckled with delight at the recollection. "i reckon dat's what dey come fu'. i was n't payin' so much 'tention to what dey from a clear sky eat as to de way dem women was dressed. why, mis' jedge hill was des' mo'n go'geous." "oh, yes, ma, an' miss lessing was n't no ways behin' her," put in kitty. joe did not condescend to join in the conversation, but contented himself with devouring the good things and aping the manners of the young men whom he knew had been among last night's guests. "well, i got to be goin'," said berry, ris- ing. "there 'll be early breakfas' at de 'house' dis mo'nin', so's mistah frank kin ketch de fus' train." he went out cheerily to his work. no shadow of impending disaster depressed his spirits. no cloud obscured his sky. he was a simple, easy man, and he saw noth- ing in the manner of the people whom he served that morning at breakfast save a natural grief at parting from each other. he did not even take the trouble to inquire who the strange white man was who hung about the place. the sport of the gods when it came time for the young man to leave, with the privilege of an old servi- tor berry went up to him to bid him good- bye. he held out his hand to him, and with a glance at his brother, frank took it and shook it cordially. "good-bye, berry," he said. maurice could hardly restrain his anger at the sight, but his wife was moved to tears at her brother-in-law's generosity. the last sight they saw as the carriage rolled away towards the station was berry standing upon the steps waving a hearty farewell and god-speed. "how could you do it, frank?" gasped his brother, as soon as they had driven well out of hearing. "hush, maurice," said mrs. oakley gently; "i think it was very noble of him." "oh, i felt sorry for the poor fellow," was frank's reply. "promise me you won't be too hard on him, maurice. give him a little scare and let him go. he's possibly buried the money, anyhow." from a clear sky "i shall deal with him as he deserves." the young man sighed and was silent the rest of the way. "whether i fail or succeed, you will always think well of me, maurice?" he said in parting; " and if i don't come up to your expectations, well — forgive me — that's all." his brother wrung his hand. "you will always come up to my expectations, frank," he said. "won't he, leslie?" "he will always be our frank, our good, generous-hearted, noble boy. god bless him!" the young fellow bade them a hearty good-bye, and they, knowing what his feel- ings must be, spared him the prolonging of the strain. they waited in the carriage, and he waved to them as the train rolled out of the station. "he seems to be sad at going," said mrs. oakley. "poor fellow, the affair of last night has broken him up considerably, but i 'll the sport of the gods make berry pay for every pang of anxiety that my brother has suffered." "don't be revengeful, maurice; you know what brother frank asked of you." "he is gone and will never know what happens, so i may be as revengeful as i wish." the detective was waiting on the lawn when maurice oakley returned. they went immediately to the library, oakley walking with the firm, hard tread of a man who is both exasperated and determined, and the officer gliding along with the cat- like step which is one of the attributes of his profession. "well ?" was the impatient man's ques- tion as soon as the door closed upon them. "i have some more information that may or may not be of importance." "out with it; maybe i can tell." "first, let me ask if you had any reason to believe that your butler had any resources of his own, say to the amount of three or four hundred dollars?" . from a clear sky "certainly not. i pay him thirty dollars a month, and his wife fifteen dollars, and with keeping up his lodges and the way he dresses that girl, he can't save very much." "you know that he has money in the bank?" "no." "well, he has. over eight hundred dollars." "what? berry? it must be the pick- ings of years." "and yesterday it was increased by five hundred more." "the scoundrel!" "how was your brother's money, in bills?" "it was in large bills and gold, with some silver." "berry's money was almost all in bills of a small denomination and silver." "a poor trick; it could easily have been changed." "not such a sum without exciting comment." the sport of the gods "he may have gone to several places." "but he had only a day to do it in." "then some one must have been his accomplice." "that remains to be proven." "nothing remains to be proven. why, it's as clear as day that the money he has is the result of a long series of peculations, and that this last is the result of his first large theft." "that must be made clear to the law." «it shall be." "i should advise, though, no open pro- ceedings against this servant until further evidence to establish his guilt is found." "if the evidence satisfies me, it must be sufficient to satisfy any ordinary jury. i demand his immediate arrest." "as you will, sir. will you have him called here and question him, or will you let me question him at once?" "yes." oakley struck the bell, and berry him- self answered it. from a clear sky "you 're just the man we want," said oakley, shortly. berry looked astonished. "shall i question him," asked the offi- cer, "or will you?" "i will. berry, you deposited five hun- dred dollars at the bank yesterday?" "well, suh, mistah oakley," was the grinning reply, "ef you ain't de beat- enes' man to fin' out things i evah seen." the employer half rose from his chair. his face was livid with anger. but at a sign from the detective he strove to calm himself. "you had better let me talk to berry, mr. oakley," said the officer. oakley nodded. berry was looking dis- tressed and excited. he seemed not to understand it at all. "berry," the officer pursued, " you ad- mit having deposited five hundred dollars in the bank yesterday?" "sut'ny. dey ain't no reason why i the sport of the gods should n't admit it, 'ceptin' erroun' ermong dese jealous niggahs." "uh huh! well, now, where did you get this money?" "why, i wo'ked fu' it, o' co'se, whaih you s'pose i got it? 'tain't drappin' off trees, i reckon, not roun' dis pa't of de country." "you worked for it? you must have done a pretty big job to have got so much money all in a lump?" "but i did n't git it in a lump. why, man, i've been savin' dat money fu mo'n fo' yeahs." "more than four years? why did n't you put it in the bank as you got it?" "why, mos'ly it was too small, an' so i des' kep' it in a ol' sock. i tol' fannie dat some day ef de bank did n't bus' wid all de res' i had, i'd put it in too. she was alius sayin' it was too much to have layin' 'roun' de house. but i des' tol' huh dat no robber wasn't goin' to bothah de po' niggah down in de ya'd wid de rich white from a clear sky man up at de house. but fin'lly i listened to huh an' sposited it yistiddy." "you 're a liar! you 're a liar, you black thief!" oakley broke in impetuously. "you have learned your lesson well, but you can't cheat me. i know where that money came from." "calm yourself, mr. oakley, calm your- self." "i will not calm myself. take him away. he shall not stand here and lie to me." berry had suddenly turned ashen. "you say you know whaih dat money comef'om?. whaih?" "you stole it, you thief, from my brother frank's room." "stole it! my gawd, mistah oakley, you believed a thing lak dat aftah all de yeahs i been wid you?" "you've been stealing all along." "why, what shell i do ?" said the ser- vant helplessly. "i tell you, mistah oak- ley, ask fannie. she 'll know how long i been a-savin' dis money." the sport of the gods « i ' ask no one." "i think it would be better to call his wife, oakley." "well, call her, but let this matter be done with soon." fannie was summoned, and when the matter was explained to her, first gave evidences of giving way to grief, but when the detective began to question her, she calmed herself and answered directly just as her husband had. "well posted," sneered oakley. "arrest that man." berry had begun to look more hopeful during fannie's recital, but now the ashen look came back into his face. at the word "arrest" his wife collapsed utterly, and sobbed on her husband's shoulder. "send the woman away." "i won't go," cried fannie stoutly; "i'll stay right hyeah by my husband. you sha'n't drive me away f'om him." berry turned to his employer. "you b'- lieve dat i stole f'om dis house aftah all de from a clear sky yeahs i've been in it, aftah de caih i took of yo' money an' yo' valybles, aftah de way i 've put you to bed f'om many a dinnah, an' you woke up to fin' all yo' money safe? now, can you b'lieve dis?" his voice broke, and be ended with a cry. "yes, i believe it, you thief, yes. take him away." berry's eyes were bloodshot as he re- plied, "den, damn you! damn you! ef dat's all dese yeahs counted fu', i wish i had a-stoled it." oakley made a step forward, and his man did likewise, but the officer stepped between them. "take that damned hound away, or, by god! i 'll do him violence!" the two men stood fiercely facing each other, then the handcuffs were snapped on the servant's wrist. "no, no," shrieked fannie, "you must n't, you must n't. oh, my gawd ! he ain't no thief. i'll go to mis' oakley. the sport of the gobs she nevah will believe it." she sped from the room. the commotion had called a crowd of curious servants into the hall. fannie hardly saw them as she dashed among them, crying for her mistress. in a moment she returned, dragging mrs. oakley by the hand. "tell 'em, oh, tell 'em, miss leslie, dat you don't believe it. don't let 'em 'rest berry." "why, fannie, i can't do anything. it all seems perfectly plain, and mr. oakley knows better than any of us, you know." fannie, her last hope gone, flung herself on the floor, crying, "o gawd! gawd! he's gone fu' sho'!" her husband bent over her, the tears dropping from his eyes. "nevah min', fannie," he said, "nevah min'. hit's boun' to come out all right." she raised her head, and seizing his man- acled hands pressed them to her breast, wailing in a low monotone," gone! gone!" from a clear sky they disengaged her hands, and led berry away. "take her out," said oakley sternly to the servants; and they lifted her up and carried her away in a sort of dumb stupor that was half a swoon. they took her to her little cottage, and laid her down until she could come to her- self and the full horror of her situation burst upon her. v the justice of men the arrest of berry hamilton on the charge preferred by his employer was the cause of unusual commotion in the town. both the accuser and the accused were well known to the citizens, white and black, — maurice oakley as a solid man of business, and berry as an honest, sensible negro, and the pink of good servants. the evening papers had a full story of the crime, which closed by saying that the prisoner had amassed a considerable sum of money, it was very likely from a long series of smaller peculations. it seems a strange irony upon the force of right living, that this man, who had never been arrested before, who had never even been suspected of wrong-doing, should find so few who even at the first telling the justice of men doubted the story of his guilt. many people began to remember things that had looked particularly suspicious in his deal- ings. some others said, " i did n't think it of him." there were only a few who dared to say, "i don't believe it of him." the first act of his lodge, " the tribe of benjamin," whose treasurer he was, was to have his accounts audited, when they should have been visiting him with com- fort, and they seemed personally grieved when his books were found to be straight. the a. m. e. church, of which he had been an honest and active member, hastened to disavow sympathy with him, and to purge itself of contamination by turning him out. his friends were afraid to visit him and were silent when his enemies gloated. on every side one might have asked, where is charity? and gone away empty. in the black people of the town the strong influence of slavery was still oper- ative, and with one accord they turned the sport of the gods away from one of their own kind upon whom had been set the ban of the white people's displeasure. if they had sympathy, they dared not show it. their own interests, the safety of their own positions and fire- sides, demanded that they stand aloof from the criminal. not then, not now, nor has it ever been true, although it has been claimed, that negroes either harbour or sympathise with the criminal of their kind. they did not dare to do it before the sixties. they do not dare to do it now. they have brought down as a heritage from the days of their bondage both fear and disloyalty. so berry was unbef riended while the storm raged around him. the cell where they had placed him was kind to him, and he could not hear the envious and sneering comments that went on about him. this was kind, for the tongues of his enemies were not. "tell me, tell me," said one, "you need n't tell me dat a bird kin fly so high dat he don' have to come down some time. the justice of men an' w'en he do light, honey, my lawd, how he flop!" "mistah rich niggah," said another. "he wanted to dress his wife an' chillen lak white folks, did he? well, he foun' out, he foun' out. by de time de jedge git thoo wid him he won't be hol'in' his haid so high." "w'y, dat gal o' his'n," broke in old isaac brown indignantly, "w'y, she would n' speak to my gal, minty, when she met huh on de street. i reckon she come down off 'n huh high hoss now." the fact of the matter was that minty brown was no better than she should have been, and did not deserve to be spoken to. but none of this was taken into account either by the speaker or the hearers. the man was down, it was time to strike. the women too joined their shrill voices to the general cry, and were loud in their abuse of the hamiltons and in disparage- ment of their high-toned airs. "i knowed it, i knowed it," mumbled the sport of the gods one old crone, rolling her bleared and jeal- ous eyes with glee. "w'enevah you see niggahs gittin' so high dat dey own folks ain' good enough fu' 'em, look out." "wy, la, aunt chloe, i knowed it too. dem people got so owdacious proud dat dey would n't walk up to de collection table no mo' at chu'ch, but alius set an' waited twell de basket was passed erroun'." "hit's de livin' trufe, an' i's been seein' it all 'long. i ain't said nuffin', but i knowed what 'uz gwine to happen. l' chloe ain't lived all dese yeahs fu' nuffin', an' ef she got de gif' o' secon' sight, 't ain't fu' huh to say." the women suddenly became interested in this half assertion, and the old hag, see- ing that she had made the desired impres- sion, lapsed into silence. the whites were not neglecting to re- view and comment on the case also. it had been long since so great a bit of wrong- doing in a negro had given them cause for speculation and recrimination. the justice of men "i tell you," said old horace talbot, who was noted for his kindliness towards people of colour, "i tell you, i pity that darky more than i blame him. now, here's my theory." they were in the bar of the continental hotel, and the old gentleman sipped his liquor as he talked. "it's just like this: the north thought they were doing a great thing when they come down here and freed all the slaves. they thought they were doing a great thing, and i'm not saying a word against them. i give them the credit for having the courage of their convictions. but i maintain that they were all wrong, now, in turning these people loose upon the country the way they did, without know- ledge of what the first principle of liberty was. the natural result is that these people are irresponsible. they are unac- quainted with the ways of our higher civi- lisation, and it 'll take them a long time to learn. you know rome wasn't built in a day. i know berry, and i've known him for a long while, and a politer, likelier the sport of the gods darky than him you would have to go far to find. and i have n't the least doubt in the world that he took that money abso- lutely without a thought of wrong, sir, absolutely. he saw it. he took it, and to his mental process, that was the end of it. to him there was no injury inflicted on any one, there was no crime committed. his elemental reasoning was simply this: this man has more money than i have; here is some of his surplus, — i 'll just take it. why, gentlemen, i maintain that that man took that money with the same inno- cence of purpose with which one of our servants a few years ago would have ap- propriated a stray ham." "i disagree with you entirely, mr. tal- bot," broke in mr. beachfield davis, who was a mighty hunter. — " make mine the same, jerry, only add a little syrup. — i disagree with you. it's simply total de- pravity, that's all. all niggers are alike, and there's no use trying to do anything with them. look at that man, dodson, of i the justice of men mine. i had one of the finest young hounds in the state. you know that white pup of mine, mr. talbot, that i bought from hiram gaskins? mighty fine breed. well, i was spendin' all my time and patience trainin' that dog in the daytime. at night i put him in that nigger's care to feed and bed. well, do you know, i came home the other night and found that black rascal gone? i went out to see if the dog was properly bedded, and by jove, the dog was gone too. then i got suspicious. when a nigger and a dog go out together at night, one draws certain conclusions. i thought i had heard bayin' way out towards the edge of the town. so i stayed outside and watched. in about an hour here came dodson with a possum hung over his shoulder and my dog trottin' at his heels. he 'd been possum huntin' with my hound — with the finest hound in the state, sir. now, i appeal to you all, gentlemen, if that ain't total depravity, what is total depravity?" the sport of the gods "not total depravity, beachfield, i main- tain, but the very irresponsibility of which i have spoken. why, gentlemen, i foresee the day when these people themselves shall come to us southerners of their own accord and ask to be re-enslaved until such time as they shall be fit for freedom." old horace was nothing if not logical. "well, do you think there's any doubt of the darky's guilt?" asked colonel saunders hesitatingly. he was the only man who had ever thought of such a possi- bility. they turned on him as if he had been some strange, unnatural animal. "any doubt!" cried old horace. "any doubt!" exclaimed mr. davis. "any doubt ?" almost shrieked the rest. "why, there can be no doubt. why, colonel, what are you thinking of? tell us who has got the money if he has n't? tell us where on earth the nigger got the money he's been putting in the bank? doubt? why, there is n't the least doubt about it." the justice of men "certainly, certainly," said the colonel, "but i thought, of course, he might have saved it. there are several of those people, you know, who do a little business and have bank accounts." "yes, but they are in some sort of busi- ness. this man makes only thirty dollars a month. don't you see?" the colonel saw, or said he did. and he did not answer what he might have answered, that berry had no rent and no board to pay. his clothes came from his master, and kitty and fannie looked to their mistress for the larger number of their supplies. he did not call to their minds that fannie herself made fifteen dollars a month, and that for two years joe had been supporting himself. these things did not come up, and as far as the opinion of the gentlemen assembled in the continental bar went, berry was already proven guilty. as for the prisoner himself, after the first day when he had pleaded " not guilty" and the sport of the gods been bound over to the grand jury, he had fallen into a sort of dazed calm that was like the stupor produced by a drug. he took little heed of what went on around him. the shock had been too sudden for him, and it was as if his reason had been for the time unseated. that it was not permanently overthrown was evidenced by his waking to the most acute pain and grief whenever fannie came to him. then he would toss and moan and give vent to his sorrow in passionate complaints. "i did n't tech his money, fannie, you know i didn't. i wo'ked fu' every cent of dat money, an' i saved it myself. oh, i 'll nevah be able to git a job ag'in. me in de lock-up — me, aftah all dese yeahs!" beyond this, apparently, his mind could not go. that his detention was anything more than temporary never seemed to enter his mind. that he would be convicted and sentenced was as far from possibility as the skies from the earth. if he saw visions of a long sojourn in prison, it was only as a the justice of men nightmare half consciously experienced and which with the struggle must give way before the waking. fannie was utterly hopeless. she had laid down whatever pride had been hers and gone to plead with maurice oakley for her husband's freedom, and she had seen his hard, set face. she had gone upon her knees before his wife to cite berry's long fidelity. "oh, mis' oakley," she cried, "ef he did steal de money, we've got enough saved to mek it good. let him go! let him go!" "then you admit that he did steal?" mrs. oakley had taken her up sharply. "oh, i did n't say dat; i did n't mean dat." "that will do, fannie. i understand perfectly. you should have confessed that long ago." "but i ain't confessin'! i ain't! he didn't" "you may go.'' the sport of the gods the stricken woman reeled out of her mistress's presence, and mrs. oakley told her husband that night, with tears in her eyes, how disappointed she was with fannie, — that the woman had known it all along, and had only just confessed. it was just one more link in the chain that was surely and not too slowly forging itself about berry hamilton. of all the family joe was the only one who burned with a fierce indignation. he knew that his father was innocent, and his very helplessness made a fever in his soul. dandy as he was, he was loyal, and when he saw his mother's tears and his sister's shame, something rose within him that had it been given play might have made a man of him, but, being crushed, died and rotted, and in the compost it made all the evil of his nature flourished. the looks and gibes of his fellow-employees at the barber-shop forced him to leave his work there. kit, bowed with shame and grief, dared not appear the justice of men upon the streets, where the girls who had envied her now hooted at her. so the little family was shut in upon itself away from fellowship and sympathy. joe went seldom to see his father. he was not heartless; but the citadel of his long desired and much vaunted manhood trembled before the sight of his father's abject misery. the lines came round his lips, and lines too must have come round his heart. poor fellow, he was too young for this forcing process, and in the hot- house of pain he only grew an acrid, unripe cynic. at the sitting of the grand jury berry was indicted. his trial followed soon, and the town turned out to see it. some came to laugh and scoff, but these, his enemies, were silenced by the spectacle of his grief. in vain the lawyer whom he had secured showed that the evidence against him proved nothing. in vain he produced proof of the slow accumulation of what the man had. in vain he pleaded the man's the sport of the gods former good name. the judge and the jury saw otherwise. berry was convicted. he was given ten years at hard labour. he hardly looked as if he could live out one as he heard his sentence. but nature was kind and relieved him of the strain. with a cry as if his heart were bursting, he started up and fell forward on his face unconscious. some one, a bit more brutal than the rest, said, "it's five dollars' fine every time a nigger faints," but no one laughed. there was something too portentous, too tragic in the degrada- tion of this man. maurice oakley sat in the court-room, grim and relentless. as soon as the trial was over, he sent for fannie, who still kept the cottage in the yard. "you must go," he said. "you can't stay here any longer. i want none of your breed about me." and fannie bowed her head and went away from him in silence. all the night long the women of the the justice of men hamilton household lay in bed and wept, clinging to each other in their grief. but joe did not go to sleep. against all their entreaties, he stayed up. he put out the light and sat staring into the gloom with hard, burning eyes. vi outcasts what particularly irritated maurice oakley was that berry should to the very last keep up his claim of innocence. he reiterated it to the very moment that the train which was bearing him away pulled out of the station. there had seldom been seen such an example of criminal hardihood, and oakley was hardened thereby to greater severity in dealing with the convict's wife. he began to urge her more strongly to move, and she, dispirited and humiliated by what had come to her, looked vainly about for the way to satisfy his demands. with her natural protector gone, she felt more weak and helpless than she had thought it possible to feel. it was hard enough to face the world. but to have to ask some- outcasts thing of it was almost more than she could bear. with the conviction of her husband the last five hundred dollars had been con- fiscated as belonging to the stolen money, but their former deposit remained un- touched. with this she had the means at her disposal to tide over their present days of misfortune. it was not money she lacked, but confidence. some inkling of the world's attitude towards her, guiltless though she was, reached her and made her afraid. her desperation, however, would not let her give way to fear, so she set forth to look for another house. joe and kit saw her go as if she were starting on an expedition into a strange country. in all their lives they had known no home save the little cottage in oakley's yard. here they had toddled as babies and played as children and been happy and care-free. there had been times when they had com- plained and wanted a home off by them- the sport of the gods selves, like others whom they knew. they had not failed, either, to draw unpleasant comparisons between their mode of life and the old plantation quarters system. but now all this was forgotten, and there were only grief and anxiety that they must leave the place and in such a way. fannie went out with little hope in her heart, and a short while after she was gone joe decided to follow her and make an attempt to get work. "i 'll go an' see what i kin do, anyway, kit. 't ain't much use, i reckon, trying to get into a bahbah shop where they shave white folks, because all the white folks are down on us. l try one of the coloured shops." this was something of a condescension for berry hamilton's son. he had never yet shaved a black chin or put shears to what he termed " naps," and he was proud of it. he thought, though, that after the training he had received from the superior "tonsorial parlours " where he had been outcasts employed, he had hut to ask for a place and he would be gladly accepted. it is strange how all the foolish little vaunting things that a man says in days of prosperity wax a giant crop around him in the days of his adversity. berry hamilton's son found this out almost as soon as he had applied at the first of the coloured shops for work. "oh, no, suh," said the proprietor, "i don't think we got anything fu' you to do; you 're a white man's bahbah. we don't shave nothin' but niggahs hyeah, an' we shave 'em in de light o' day an' on de groun'flo'." "w'y, i hyeah you say dat you could n't git a paih of sheahs thoo a niggah's naps. you ain't been practisin' lately, has you?" came from the back of the shop, where a grinning negro was scraping a fellow's face. "oh, yes, you 're done with burr-heads, are you? but burr-heads are good enough fu' you now." the sport of the gods "i think," the proprietor resumed," that i hyeahed you say you was n't fond o' grape pickin'. well, josy, my son, i would n't begin it now, 'specially as anothah kin' o' pickin' seems to run in yo' fambly." joe hamilton never knew how he got out of that shop. he only knew that he found himself upon the street outside the door, tears of anger and shame in his eyes, and the laughs and taunts of his tormentors still ringing in his ears. it was cruel, of course it was cruel. it was brutal. but only he knew how just it had been. in his moments of pride he had said all those things, half in fun and half in earnest, and he began to wonder how he could have been so many kinds of a fool for so long without realising it. he had not the heart to seek another shop, for he knew that what would be known at one would be equally well known at all the rest. the hardest thing that he had to bear was the knowledge that he had shut himself out of all the chances outcasts that he now desired. he remembered with a pang the words of an old negro to whom he had once been impudent, "nevah min', boy, nevah min', you's bo'n, but you ain't daid!" it was too true. he had not known then what would come. he had never dreamed that anything so terrible could overtake him. even in his straits, how- ever, desperation gave him a certain pluck. he would try for something else for which his own tongue had not disqualified him. with joe, to think was to do. he went on to the continental hotel, where there were almost always boys wanted to "run the bells." the clerk looked him over critically. he was a bright, spruce-look- ing young fellow, and the man liked his looks. "well, i guess we can take you on," he said. "what's your name?" "joe," was the laconic answer. he was afraid to say more. "well, joe, you go over there and sit the sport of the gods where you see those fellows in uniform, and wait until i call the head bellman.'' young hamilton went over and sat down on a bench which ran along the hotel corridor and where the bellmen were wont to stay during the day awaiting their calls. a few of the blue-coated mercuries were there. upon joe's advent they began to look askance at him and to talk among themselves. he felt his face burning as he thought of what they must be saying. then he saw the head bellman talking to the clerk and looking in his direction. he saw him shake his head and walk away. he could have cursed him. the clerk called to him. "i didn't know," he said, —"i didn't know that you were berry hamilton's boy. now, i've got nothing against you myself. i don't hold you responsible for what your father did, but i don't believe our boys would work with you. i can't take you on." joe turned away to meet the grinning outcasts or contemptuous glances of the bellmen on the seat. it would have been good to be able to hurl something among them. but he was helpless. he hastened out of the hotel, feeling that every eye was upon him, every fin- ger pointing at him, every tongue whis- pering, "there goes joe hamilton, whose father went to the penitentiary the other day." what should he do? he could try no more. he was proscribed, and the letters of his ban were writ large throughout the town, where all who ran might read. for a while he wandered aimlessly about and then turned dejectedly homeward. his mother had not yet come. "did you get a job?" was kit's first question. "no," he answered bitterly, "no one wants me now." "no one wants you? why, joe — they :— they don't think hard of us, do they?" "i don't know what they think of ma outcasts crying, "oh, where are we going to live, ma?" fannie looked at her for a moment, and then answered with a burst of tears, "gawd knows, child, gawd knows." the girl stepped back astonished. "why, why!" and then with a rush of tenderness she threw her arms about her mother's neck. "oh, you 're tired to death," she said; "that's what's the matter with you. never mind about the house now. i've got some tea made for you, and you just take a cup." fannie sat down and tried to drink her tea, but she could not. it stuck in her throat, and the tears rolled down her face and fell into the shaking cup. joe looked on silently. he had been out and he understood. "i'll go out to-morrow and do some looking around for a house while you stay at home an' rest, ma." her mother looked up, the maternal in- stinct for the protection of her daughter at the sport of the gods once aroused. "oh, no, not you, kitty," she said. then for the first time joe spoke: "you'd just as well tell kitty now, ma, for she's got to come across it anyhow." "what you know about it? whaih you been to?" "i've been out huntin' work. i've been to jones's bahbah shop an' to the continental hotel." his light-brown face turned brick red with anger and shame at the memory of it. "i don't think i'll try any more." kitty was gazing with wide and sadden- ing eyes at her mother. "were they mean to you too, ma?" she asked breathlessly. "mean? oh kitty! kitty! you don't know what it was like. it nigh killed me. thaih was plenty of houses an' owned by people i've knowed fu' yeahs, but not one of 'em wanted to rent to me. some of 'em made excuses 'bout one thing er t' other, but de res' come right straight out outcasts an' said dat we'd give a neighbourhood a bad name ef we moved into it. i've almos' tramped my laigs off. i've tried every decent place i could think of, but nobody wants us." the girl was standing with her hands clenched nervously before her. it was almost more than she could understand. "why, we ain't done anything," she said. "even if they don't know any better than to believe that pa was guilty, they know we ain't done anything." "i'd like to cut the heart out of a few of 'em," said joe in his throat. "it ain't goin' to do no good to look at it that a-way, joe," his mother replied. "i know hit's ha'd, but we got to do de bes' we kin." ""what are we goin' to do?" cried the boy fiercely. "they won't let us work. they won't let us live anywhaih. do they want us to live on the levee an' steal, like some of 'em do?" "what are we goin' to do?" echoed the sport of the gods kitty helplessly. "i'd go out ef i thought i could find anythin' to work at." "don't you go anywhaih, child. it 'ud only be worse. de niggah men dat ust to be bowin' an' scrapin' to me an' tekin' off dey hats to me laughed in my face. i met minty — an' she slurred me right in de street. dey'd do worse fu' you." in the midst of the conversation a knock came at the door. it was a messenger from the "house," as they still called oakley's home, and he wanted them to be out of the cottage by the next afternoon, as the new servants were coming and would want the rooms. the message was so curt, so hard and decisive, that fannie was startled out of her grief into immediate action. "well, we got to go," she said, rising wearily. "but where are we goin'?" wailed kitty in affright. "there's no place to go to. we have n't got a house. where 'll we go?" outcasts "out o' town someplace as fur away from this damned hole as we kin git." the boy spoke recklessly in his anger. he had never sworn before his mother before. she looked at him in horror. "joe, joe," she said, "you're mekin' it wuss. you're mekin' it ha'dah fu' me to baih when you talk dat a-way. what you mean? whaih you think gawd is?" joe remained sullenly silent. his mother's faith was too stalwart for his comprehension. there was nothing like it in his own soul to interpret it. "we 'll git de secon'-han' dealah to tek ouah things to-morrer, an' then we 'll go away some place, up no'th maybe." "let's go to new york," said joe. "new yo'k?" they had heard of new york as a place vague and far away, a city that, like heaven, to them had existed by faith alone. all the days of their lives they had heard of it, and it seemed to them the centre of outcasts high and pay them sneer for sneer and jibe for jibe. the same night the commission was given to the furniture dealer who would take charge of their things and sell them when and for what he could. from his window the next morning maurice oakley watched the wagon empty- ing the house. then he saw fannie come out and walk about her little garden, fol- lowed by her children. he saw her as she wiped her eyes and led the way to the side gate. "well, they 're gone," he said to his wife. "t wonder where they're going to live?" "oh, some of their people will take them in," replied mrs. oakley languidly. despite the fact that his mother carried with her the rest of the money drawn from the bank, joe had suddenly stepped into the place of the man of the family. he attended to all the details of their getting away with a promptness that made it seem in new york she was a " big yellow woman." she had a broad good-natured face and a tendency to run to bust. "yes," she said, "i think i could ar- range to take you. i could let you have two rooms, and you could use my kitchen until you decided whether you wanted to take a flat or not. i has the whole house myself, and i keeps roomers. but latah on i could fix things so's you could have the whole third floor ef you wanted to. most o' my gent'men's railroad gent'men, they is. i guess it must 'a' been mr. thomas that sent you up here." "he was a little bright man down at de deepo." "yes, that's him. that's mr. thomas. he's always lookin' out to send some one here, because he's been here three years hisself an' he kin recommend my house." it was a relief to the hamiltons to find mrs. jones so gracious and home-like. so the matter was settled, and they took up the sport of the gods their abode with her and sent for their baggage. with the first pause in the rush that they had experienced since starting away from home, mrs. hamilton began to have time for reflection, and their condition seemed to her much better as it was. of course, it was hard to be away from home and among strangers, but the arrangement had this advantage, — that no one knew them or could taunt them with their past trouble. she was not sure that she was going to like new york. it had a great name and was really a great place, but the very bigness of it frightened her and made her feel alone, for she knew that there could not be so many people together without a deal of wickedness. she did not argue the complement of this, that the amount of good would also be increased, but this was because to her evil was the very present factor in her life. joe and kit were differently affected by what they saw about them. the boy was the sport of the gods with a confident air born of an intense ad- miration of himself. he was the idol of a number of servant-girls' hearts, and altogether a decidedly dashing back-area- way don juan. "i tell you, miss kitty," he burst forth, a few minutes after being introduced, "they ain't no use talkin', n' yawk 'll give you a shakin' up 'at you won't soon forget. it's the only town on the face of the earth. you kin bet your life they ain't no flies on n' yawk. we git the best shows here, we git the best concerts — say, now, what's the use o' my callin' it all out ? — we simply git the best of everything." "great place," said joe wisely, in what he thought was going to be quite a man- of-the-world manner. but he burned with shame the next minute because his voice sounded so weak and youthful. then too the oracle only said "yes" to him, and went on expatiating to kitty on the glories of the metropolis. "d'jever see the statue o' liberty? in new york great thing, the statue o' liberty. i ' take you 'round some day. an' cooney island — oh, my, now that's the place; and talk about fun! that's the place for me." "la, thomas," mrs. jones put in, "how you do run on! why, the strangers 'll think they 'll be talked to death before they have time to breathe." "oh, i guess the folks understan' me. i'm one o' them kin' o' men 'at believe in whooping things up right from the begin- ning. i'm never strange with anybody. 'm a n' yawker, i tell you, from the word go. i say, mis' jones, let's have some beer, an' we 'll have some music purty soon. there's a fellah in the house 'at plays c rag-time ' out o' sight." mr. thomas took the pail and went to the corner. as he left the room, mrs. jones slapped her knee and laughed until her bust shook like jelly. "mr. thomas is a case, sho'," she said; "but he likes you all, an' i'm mighty glad the sport of the gods of it, fu' he's mighty curious about the house when he don't like the roomers." joe felt distinctly nattered, for he found their new acquaintance charming. his mother was still a little doubtful, and kitty was sure she found the young man "fresh." he came in pretty soon with his beer, and a half-dozen crabs in a bag. "thought i 'd bring home something to chew. i always like to eat something with my beer." mrs. jones brought in the glasses, and the young man filled one and turned to kitty. "no, thanks," she said with a surprised look. "what, don't you drink beer? oh, come now, you 'll get out o' that." "kitty don't drink no beer," broke in her mother with mild resentment. "i drinks it sometimes, but she don't. i reckon maybe de chillen better go to bed." in new york joe felt as if the " chillen " had ruined all his hopes, but kitty rose. the ingratiating "n' yawker" was aghast. i "oh, let 'em stay," said mrs. jones heartily; "a little beer ain't goin' to hurt 'em. why, sakes, i know my father gave me beer from the time i could drink it, and i knows i ain't none the worse fu' it." "they 'll git out o' that, all right, if they live in n' yawk," said mr. thomasy as he poured out a glass and handed it to joe. "you neither?" "oh, i drink it," said the boy with an air, but not looking at his mother. "joe," she cried to him, "you must ricollect you ain't at home. what 'ud yo' pa think?" then she stopped suddenly, and joe gulped his beer and kitty went to the piano to relieve her embarrassment. "yes, that's it, miss kitty, sing us some- thing," said the irrepressible thomas, "an' after while we'll have that fellah down the sport of the gods that plays 'rag-time.' he's out o' sight, i tell you." with the pretty shyness of girlhood, kitty sang one or two little songs in the simple manner she knew. her voice was full and rich. it delighted mr. thomas. "i say, that's singin' now, i tell you," he cried. "you ought to have some o' the new songs. d' jever hear ' baby, you got to leave'? i tell you, that's a hot one. i'll bring you some of 'em. why, you could git a job on the stage easy with that voice o' yourn. i got a frien' in one o' the comp'nies an' i 'll speak to him about you." "you ought to git mr. thomas to take you to the th'atre some night. he goes lots." "why, yes, what's the matter with to- morrer night? there's a good coon show in town. out o' sight. let's all go." "i ain't nevah been to nothin' lak dat, an' i don't know," said mrs. hamilton. "aw, come, i 'll git the tickets an' we 'll viii an evening out fannie hamilton, tired as she was, sat long into the night with her little family discussing new york, — its advan- tages and disadvantages, its beauty and its ugliness, its morality and immorality. she had somewhat receded from her first posi- tion, that it was better being here in the great strange city than being at home where the very streets shamed them. she had not liked the way that their fellow lodger looked at kitty. it was bold, to say the least. she was not pleased, either, with their new acquaintance's familiarity. and yet, he had said no more than some stranger, if there could be such a stranger, would have said down home. there was a difference, however, which she recognised. thomas was not the provincial who puts an evening out every one on a par with himself, nor was he the metropolitan who complacently pat- ronises the whole world. he was trained out of the one and not up to the other. the intermediate only succeeded in being offensive. mrs. jones' assurance as to her guest's fine qualities did not do all that might have been expected to reassure mrs. hamilton in the face of the difficulties of the gentleman's manner. she could not, however, lay her finger on any particular point that would give her the reason for rejecting his friendly advances. she got ready the next even- ing to go to the theatre with the rest. mr. thomas at once possessed himself of kitty and walked on ahead, leaving joe to accompany his mother and mrs. jones, — an arrangement, by the way, not altogether to that young gentleman's taste. a good many men bowed to thomas in the street, and they turned to look enviously after him. at the door of the theatre they had to run the gantlet of a dozen pairs of eyes. the sport of the gods here, too, the party's guide seemed to be well known, for some one said, before they passed out of hearing, " i wonder who that little light girl is that thomas is with to- night? he's a hot one for you." mrs. hamilton had been in a theatre but once before in her life, and joe and kit but a few times oftener. on those occasions they had sat far up in the peanut gallery in the place reserved for people of colour. this was not a pleasant, cleanly, nor beau- tiful locality, and by contrast with it, even the garishness of the cheap new york theatre seemed fine and glorious. they had good seats in the first balcony, and here their guide had shown his mana- gerial ability again, for he had found it impossible, or said so, to get all the seats together, so that he and the girl were in the row in front and to one side of where the rest sat. kitty did not like the ar» rangement, and innocently suggested that her brother take her seat while she went back to her mother. but her escort over- an evening out ruled her objections easily, and laughed at her so frankly that from very shame she could not urge them again, and they were soon forgotten in her wonder at the mys- tery and glamour that envelops the home of the drama. there was something weird to her in the alternate spaces of light and shade. without any feeling of its ugli- ness, she looked at the curtain as at a door that should presently open between her and a house of wonders. she looked at it with the fascination that one always experiences for what either brings near or withholds the unknown. as for joe, he was not bothered by the mystery or the glamour of things. but he had suddenly raised himself in his own estimation. he had gazed steadily at a girl across the aisle until she had smiled in response. of course, he went hot and cold by turns, and the sweat broke out on his brow, but instantly he began to swell. he had made a decided advance in knowledge, and he swelled with the consciousness that the sport of the gods already he was coming to be a man of the world. he looked with a new feeling at the swaggering, sporty young negroes. his attitude towards them was not one of hum- ble self-depreciation any more. since last night he had grown, and felt that he might, that he would, be like them, and it put a sort of chuckling glee into his heart. one might find it in him to feel sorry for this small-souled, warped being, for he was so evidently the jest of fate, if it were not that he was so blissfully, so conceitedly, unconscious of his own nastiness. down home he had shaved the wild young bucks of the town, and while doing it drunk in eagerly their unguarded narrations of their gay exploits. so he had started out with false ideals as to what was fine and manly. he was afflicted by a sort of moral and mental astigmatism that made him see everything wrong. as he sat there to- night, he gave to all he saw a wrong value and upon it based his ignorant desires. when the men of the orchestra filed in an evening out and began tuning their instruments, it was the signal for an influx of loiterers from the door. there were a large number of coloured people in the audience, and because members of their own race were giving the performance, they seemed to take a proprie- tary interest in it all. they discussed its merits and demerits as they walked down the aisle in much the same tone that the owners would have used had they been wondering whether the entertainment was going to please the people or not. finally the music struck up one of the numerous negro marches. it was accom- panied by the rhythmic patting of feet from all parts of the house. then the curtain went up on a scene of beauty. it purported to be a grove to which a party of picnickers, the ladies and gentlemen of the chorus, had come for a holiday, and they were telling the audience all about it in crescendos. with the exception of one, who looked like a faded kid glove, the men discarded the grease paint, but the women under their the sport of the gods very confidential and his lips near her ear, but she did not notice. "oh, yes," she answered, " this is grand. how i'd like to be an actress and be up there!" "maybe you will some day." "oh, no, i'm not smart enough." "we 'll see," he said wisely; "i know a thing or two." between the first and second acts a num- ber of thomas's friends strolled up to where he sat and began talking, and again kitty's embarrassment took possession of her as they were introduced one by one. they treated her with a half-courteous famil- iarity that made her blush. her mother was not pleased with the many acquaint- ances that her daughter was making, and would have interfered had not mrs. jones assured her that the men clustered about their host's seat were some of the "best people in town." joe looked at them hungrily, but the man in front with his sister did not think it necessary to include the sport of the gods the street corners down home, and then, like a good, sensible, humble woman, she came around to the idea that it was she who had always been wrong in putting too low a value on really worthy things. so she laughed and applauded with the rest, all the while trying to quiet some- thing that was tugging at her away down in her heart. when the performance was over she forced her way to kitty's side, where she remained in spite of all thomas's palpable efforts to get her away. finally he pro- posed that they all go to supper at one of the coloured cafes. "you'll see a lot o' the show people," he said. "no, i reckon we'd bettah go home," said mrs. hamilton decidedly. "de chillen ain't ust to stayin' up all hours o' nights, an' i ain't anxious fu' 'em to git ust to it." she was conscious of a growing dislike for this man who treated her daughter an evening out with such a proprietary air. joe winced again at "de chillen." thomas bit his lip, and mentally said things that are unfit for publication. aloud he said, "mebbe miss kitty 'ud like to go an' have a little lunch." "oh, no, thank you," said the girl; "i've had a nice time and i don't care for a thing to eat." joe told himself that kitty was the biggest fool that it had ever been his lot to meet, and the disappointed suitor satis- fied himself with the reflection that the girl was green yet, but would get bravely over that. he attempted to hold her hand as they parted at the parlour door, but she drew her fingers out of his clasp and said, "good-night; thank you," as if he had been one of her mother's old friends. joe lingered a little longer. "say, that was out o' sight," he said. "think so?" asked the other carelessly. "i'd like to get out with you some the sport of the gods time to see the town," the boy went on eagerly. "all right, we 'll go some time. so long." "so long." some time. was it true? would he really take him out and let him meet stage people? joe went to bed with his head in a whirl. he slept little that night for thinking of his heart's desire. the sport of the gods all that he wanted to be. now thomas might take him out at any time and not be ashamed of him. with thomas, the fact that joe was working put the boy in an entirely new light. he decided that now he might be worth cultivating. for a week or two he had ignored him, and, proceeding upon the principle that if you give corn to the old hen she will cluck to her chicks, had treated mrs. hamilton with marked deference and kindness. this had been without success, as both the girl and her mother held themselves politely aloof from him. he began to see that his hope of winning kitty's affections lay, not in courting the older woman but in making a friend of the boy. so on a certain saturday night when the banner club was to give one of its smokers, he asked joe to go with him. joe was glad to, and they set out together. arrived, thomas left his companion for a few moments while he attended, as he said, to his hearts desire a little business. what he really did was to seek out the proprietor of the club and some of its hangers on. "i say," he said, "i've got a friend with me to-night. he 's got some dough on him. he's fresh and young and easy." "whew !" exclaimed the proprietor. "yes, he's a good thing, but push it along kin' o' light at first; he might get skittish." "thomas, let me fall on your bosom and weep," said a young man who, on account of his usual expression of innocent gloom, was called sadness. "this is what i've been looking for for a month. my hat was getting decidedly shabby. do you think he would stand for a touch on the first night of our acquaintance?" "don't you dare? do you want to frighten him off? make him believe that you've got coin to burn and that it's an honour to be with you." "but, you know, he may expect a glimpse of the gold." ill the sport of the gods "a smart man don't need to show nothin'. all he's got to do is to act." "oh, i 'll act; we 'll all act." "be slow to take a drink from him." "thomas, my boy, you 're an angel. i recognise that more and more every day, but bid me do anything else but that. that i refuse: it's against nature;" and sadness looked more mournful than ever. "trust old sadness to do his part," said the portly proprietor; and thomas went back to the lamb. "nothin' doin' so early," he said ; " let's go an' have a drink." they went, and thomas ordered. "no, no, this is on me," cried joe, trembling with joy. "pshaw, your money's counterfeit," said his companion with fine generosity. "this is on me, i say. jack, what 'll you have yourself?" as they stood at the bar, the men began strolling up one by one. each in his turn was introduced to joe. they were very his hearts desire polite. they treated him with a pale, dignified, high-minded respect that menaced his pocket-book and possessions. the pro- prietor, mr. turner, asked him why he had never been in before. he really seemed much hurt about it, and on being told that joe had only been in the city for a couple of weeks expressed emphatic surprise, even disbelief, and assured the rest that any one would have taken mr. hamilton for an old new yorker. sadness was introduced last. he bowed to joe's "happy to know you, mr. williams." "better known as sadness," he said, with an expression of deep gloom. "a distant relative of mine once had a great grief. i have never recovered from it." joe was not quite sure how to take this; but the others laughed and he joined them, and then, to cover his own embar- rassment, he did what he thought the only correct and manly thing to do, — he ordered a drink. s bis hearts desire he looked like a cousin of his that had died. "aw, shut up, sadness!" said some one else. "be respectable." sadness turned his mournful eyes upon the speaker. "i won't," he replied. "being respectable is very nice as a diversion, but it's tedious if done steadily." joe did not quite take this, so he ordered another drink. a group of young fellows came in and passed up the stairs. "shearing another lamb?" said one of them significantly. "well, with that gang it will be well done." thomas and joe left the crowd after a while, and went to the upper floor, where, in a long, brilliantly lighted room, tables were set out for drinking-parties. at one end of the room was a piano, and a man sat at it listlessly strumming some popular air. the proprietor joined them pretty soon, and steered them to a table opposite the door. the sport of the gods and spent the hours until it was time to go forth to bout or assignation. here too came sometimes the curious who wanted to see something of the other side of life. among these, white visitors were not in- frequent,— those who were young enough to be fascinated by the bizarre, and those who were old enough to know that it was all in the game. mr. skaggs, of the new york universe, was one of the for- mer class and a constant visitor, — he and a "lady friend" called "maudie," who had a penchant for dancing to "rag-time" melodies as only the " puffessor" of such a club can play them. of course, the place was a social cesspool, generating a poison- ous miasma and reeking with the stench of decayed and rotten moralities. there is no defence to be made for it. but what do you expect when false idealism and j fevered ambition come face to face with catering cupidity? it was into this atmosphere that thomas had introduced the boy joe, and he sat his hearts desire there now by his side, firing his mind by pointing out the different celebrities who came in and telling highly flavoured stories of their lives or doings. joe heard things that had never come within the range of his mind before. "aw, there's skaggsy an' maudie — maudie's his girl, y' know, an' he's a re- porter on the n' yawk universe. fine fellow, skaggsy." maudie — a portly, voluptuous-looking brunette — left her escort and went directly to the space by the piano. here she was soon dancing with one of the coloured girls who had come in. skaggs started to sit down alone at a table, but thomas called him, "come over here, skaggsy." in the moment that it took the young man to reach them, joe wondered if he would ever reach that state when he could call that white man skaggsy and the girl maudie. the new-comer soon set all of that at ease. the sport of the gods fighting for his very subsistence. but this never troubled skaggsy. he was a monu- mental liar, and the saving quality about him was that he calmly believed his own lies while he was telling them, so no one was hurt, for the deceiver was as much a victim as the deceived. the boys who knew him best used to say that when skaggs got started on one of his debauches of lying, the recording angel always put on an extra clerical force. "now look at maudie," he went on; "would you believe it that she was of a fine, rich family, and that the coloured girl she 'a dancing with now used to be her ser- vant? she's just like me about that. ab- solutely no prejudice." joe was wide-eyed with wonder and ad- miration, and he could n't understand the amused expression on thomas's face, nor why he surreptitiously kicked him under the table. finally the reporter went his way, and joe's sponsor explained to him that he was his hearts desire not to take in what skaggsy said, and that there hadn't been a word of truth in it. he ended with, " everybody knows maudie, and that coloured girl is mamie lacey, and never worked for anybody in her life. skaggsy's a good fellah, all right, but he's the biggest liar in n' yawk." the boy was distinctly shocked. he was n't sure but thomas was jealous of the attention the white man had shown him and wished to belittle it. anyway, he did not thank him for destroying his romance. about eleven o'clock, when the people began to drop in from the plays, the mas- ter of ceremonies opened proceedings by saying that " the free concert would now begin, and he hoped that all present, ladies included, would act like gentlemen, and not forget the waiter. mr. meriweather will now favour us with the latest coon song, entitled' come back to yo' baby, honey.'" there was a patter of applause, and a young negro came forward, and in a stri- the sport of the gods dent, music-hall voice, sung or rather re- cited with many gestures the ditty. he could n't have been much older than joe, but already his face was hard with dis- sipation and foul knowledge. he gave the song with all the rank suggestive- ness that could be put into it. joe looked upon him as a hero. he was followed by a little, brown-skinned fellow with an immature vandyke beard and a lisp. he sung his own composition and was funny; how much funnier than he himself knew or intended, may not even be hinted at. then, while an instrumentalist, who seemed to have a grudge against the piano, was hammering out the opening bars of a march, joe's attention was attracted by a woman entering the room, and from that moment he heard no more of the con- cert. even when the master of ceremonies announced with an air that, by special re- quest, he himself would sing " answer," — the request was his own, — he did not draw the attention of the boy away from the his heart's desire yellow-skinned divinity who sat at a near table, drinking whiskey straight. she was a small girl, with fluffy dark hair and good features. a tiny foot peeped out from beneath her rattling silk skirts. she was a good-looking young woman and daintily made, though her face was no longer youthful, and one might have wished that with her complexion she had not run to silk waists in magenta. joe, however, saw no fault in her. she was altogether lovely to him, and his de- light was the more poignant as he recog- nised in her one of the girls he had seen on the stage a couple of weeks ago. that being true, nothing could keep her from being glorious in his eyes, — not even the grease-paint which adhered in unneat patches to her face, nor her taste for whiskey in its unreformed state. he gazed at her in ecstasy until thomas, turning to see what had attracted him, said with a laugh," oh, it's hattie sterling. want to meet her?" the sport of the gods again the young fellow was dumb. just then hattie also noticed his in- tent look, and nodded and beckoned to thomas. "come on," he said, rising. "oh, she didn't ask for me," cried joe, tremulous and eager. his companion went away laughing. "who's your young friend?" asked hattie. "a fellah from the south." "bring him over here." joe could hardly believe in his own good luck, and his head, which was getting a bit weak, was near collapsing when his divinity asked him what he 'd have? he began to protest, until she told the waiter with an air of authority to make it a little "'skey." then she asked him for a cig- arette, and began talking to him in a pleasant, soothing way between puffs. when the drinks came, she said to thomas, "now, old man, you've been awfully nice, but when you get your little x a visitor from home mrs. hamilton began to question very seriously whether she had done the best thing in coming to new york as she saw her son staying away more and more and growing always farther away from her and his sister. had she known how and where he spent his even- ings, she would have had even greater cause to question the wisdom of their trip. she knew that although he worked he never had any money for the house, and she foresaw the time when the little they had would no longer suffice for kitty and her. realising this, she herself set out to find something to do, it was a hard matter, for wherever she went seeking employment, it was always for her and her daughter, for the more a visitor from home she saw of mrs. jones, the less she thought it well to leave the girl under her influence. mrs. hamilton was not a keen woman, but she had a mother's intuitions, and she saw a subtle change in her daughter. at first the girl grew wistful and then im- patient and rebellious. she complained that joe was away from them so much enjoying himself, while she had to be housed up like a prisoner. she had re- ceded from her dignified position, and twice of an evening had gone out for a car-ride with thomas; but as that gentle- man never included the mother in his invitation, she decided that her daughter should go no more, and she begged joe to take his sister out sometimes instead. he demurred at first, for he now numbered among his city acquirements a fine con- tempt for his woman relatives. finally, however, he consented, and took kit once to the theatre and once for a ride. each time he left her in the care of thomas as soon as they were out of the house, while the sport of the gods he went to find or to wait for his dear hattie. but his mother did not know all this, and kit did not tell her. the quick poison of the unreal life about her had already begun to affect her character. she had grown secretive and sly. the inno- cent longing which in a burst of enthusiasm she had expressed that first night at the theatre was growing into a real ambition with her, and she dropped the simple old songs she knew to practise the detestable coon ditties which the stage demanded. she showed no particular pleasure when her mother found the sort of place they wanted, but went to work with her in sullen silence. mrs. hamilton could not understand it all, and many a night she wept and prayed over the change in this child of her heart. there were times when she felt that there was nothing left to work or fight for. the letters from berry in prison became fewer and fewer. he was sinking into the dull, dead routine of his life. her own letters to him fell a visitor from home off. it was hard getting the children to write. they did not want to be bothered, and she could not write for herself. so in the weeks and months that followed she drifted farther away from her children and husband and all the traditions of her life. j after joe's first night at the banner club he had kept his promise to hattie sterling and had gone often to meet her. she had taught him much, because it was to her advantage to do so. his greenness had dropped from him like a garment, but no amount of sophistication could make him deem the woman less perfect. he knew that she was much older than he, but he only took this fact as an additional sign of his prowess in having won her. he was proud of himself when he went behind the scenes at the theatre or waited for her at the stage door and bore her off under the admiring eyes of a crowd of gapers. and hattie? she liked him in a half-contemptuous, half-amused way. he the sport of the gods was a good-looking boy and made money enough, as she expressed it, to show her a good time, so she was willing to overlook his weakness and his callow vanity. "look here," she said to him one day, "i guess you 'll have to be moving. there's a young lady been inquiring for you to-day, and i won't stand for that." he looked at her, startled for a moment, until he saw the laughter in her eyes. then he caught her and kissed her. "what 're you givin' me?" he said. "it's a straight tip, that's what." "who is it?" "it's a girl named minty brown from your home." his face turned brick-red with fear and shame.. "minty brown!" he stammered. had that girl told all and undone him? but hattie was going on about her work and evidently knew nothing. "oh, you need n't pretend you don't know her," she went on banteringly. a visitor from home "she says you were great friends dowi> south, so i've invited her to supper. she wants to see you." "to supper!" he thought. was she mocking him? was she restraining her scorn of him only to make his humiliation the greater after a while? he looked at her, but there was no suspicion of malice in her face, and he took hope. "well, i'd like to see old minty," he said. "it's been many a long day since i've seen her." all that afternoon, after going to the barber-shop, joe was driven by a tempest of conflicting emotions. if minty brown had not told his story, why not? would she yet tell, and if she did, what would happen? he tortured himself by question- ing if hattie would cast him off. at the very thought his hand trembled, and the man in the chair asked him if he had n't been drinking. when he met minty in the evening, however, the first glance at her reassured the sport of the gods him. her face was wreathed in smiles as she came forward and held out her hand. "well, well, joe hamilton," she ex- claimed, "if i ain't right-down glad to see you! how are you?" "i'm middlin', minty. how's your- self?" he was so happy that he could n't let go her hand. "an' jes' look at the boy! ef he ain't got the impidence to be waihin' a mustache too. you must 'a' been lettin' the cats lick yo' upper hp. did n't expect to see me in new york, did you?" "no, indeed. what you doin' here?" "oh, i got a gent'man friend what's a porter, an' his run's been changed so that he comes hyeah, an' he told me, if i wanted to come he'd bring me thoo fur a visit, so, you see, hyeah i am. i alius was mighty anxious to see this hyeah town. but tell me, how's kit an' yo' ma?" "they're both right well." he had forgotten them and their scorn of minty. a visitor from home "whaih do you live? i'm comin' roun' to see 'em." he hesitated for a moment. he knew how his mother, if not kit, would re- ceive her, and yet he dared not anger this woman, who had his fate in the hollow of-her hand. she saw his hesitation and spoke up. "oh, that's all right. let by-gones be by-gones. you know i ain't the kin' o' person that holds a grudge ag'in anybody." "that's right, minty, that's right," he said, and gave her his mother's address. then he hastened home to prepare the way for minty's coming. joe had no doubt but that his mother would see the matter quite as he saw it, and be willing to temporise with minty; but he had reckoned without his host. mrs. hamilton might make certain concessions to strangers on the score of expediency, but she absolutely refused to yield one iota of her dignity to one whom she had known so long as an inferior. the sport of the gods "but don't you see what she can do for us, ma? she knows people that i know, and she can ruin me with them." "i ain't never bowed my haid to minty brown an' i ain't a-goin' to do it now," was his mother's only reply. "oh, ma," kitty put in, "you don't want to get talked about up here, do you?" "we'd jes' as well be talked about fu' somep'n we did n't do as 'fu' somep'n we did do, an' it wouldn' be long befo' we'd come to dat if we made frien's wid dat brown gal. i ain't a-goin' to do it. i'm ashamed o' you, kitty, fu' wantin' me to." the girl began to cry, while her brother walked the floor angrily. "you'll see what 'll happen," he cried; "you 'll see." fannie looked at her son, and she seemed to see him more clearly than she had ever seen him before, — his foppery, his mean- ness, his cowardice. "well," she answered with a sigh, "it the sport of the gods "all you got to do is to tell dat ooman jes' what i say." minty brown downstairs had heard the little colloquy, and, perceiving that some- thing was amiss, had come to the stairs to listen. now her voice, striving hard to be condescending and sweet, but growing harsh with anger, floated up from below: "oh, nevah min', lady, i ain't anxious to see 'em. i jest called out o' pity, but i reckon dey 'shamed to see me 'cause de ol' man's in penitentiary an' dey was run out o' town.'' mrs. jones gasped, and then turned and went hastily downstairs. kit burst out crying afresh, and joe walked the floor muttering beneath his breath, while the mother sat grimly watch- ing the outcome. finally they heard mrs. jones' step once more on the stairs. she came in without knocking, and her manner was distinctly unpleasant. "mis' hamilton," she said, " i've had a talk with the lady downstairs, an' she's the sport of the gods fannie turned on him like a tigress. "don't you cuss hyeah befo' me; i ain't nevah brung you up to it, an' i won't stan' it. go to dem whaih you larned it, an wham de wo'ds soun' sweet." the boy started to speak, but she checked him. "don't you daih to cuss ag'in or befo' gawd dey 'll be somep'n fu' one o' dis fambly to be rottin' in jail fu'!" the boy was cowed by his mother's manner. he was gathering his few be- longings in a bundle. "i ain't goin' to cuss," he said sullenly, "i'm goin' out o' your way." "oh, go on," she said, "go on. it's been a long time sence you been my son. you on yo' way to hell, an' you is been fu' lo dese many days." joe got out of the house as soon as possible. he did not speak to kit nor look at his mother. he felt like a cur, because he knew deep down in his heart that he had only been waiting for some excuse to take this step. . a visitor from home as he slammed the door behind him, his mother flung herself down by kit's side and mingled her tears with her daughter's. but kit did not raise her head. "dey ain't nothin' lef but you now, kit;" but the girl did not speak, she only shook with hard sobs. then her mother raised her head and almost screamed, "my gawd, not you, kit!" the girl rose, and then dropped unconscious in her mother's arms. joe took his clothes to a lodging-house that he knew of, and then went to the club to drink himself up to the point of going to see hattie after the show. xi broken hopes what joe hamilton lacked more than anything else in the world was some one to kick him. many a man who might have lived decently and be- come a fairly respectable citizen has gone to the dogs for the want of some one to administer a good resounding kick at the right time. it is corrective and clarifying. joe needed especially its clarifying prop- erty, for though he knew himself a cur, he went away from his mother's house feeling himself somehow aggrieved, and the feel- ing grew upon him the more he thought of it. his mother had ruined his chance ; | in life, and he could never hold up his head again. yes, he had heard that sev- eral of the fellows at the club had shady reputations, but surely to be the son of a the sport of the gods but that the malice of minty brown would prompt her to seek out all of his friends and make the story known. why had he not tried to placate her by disavowing sympathy with his mother? he would have had no compunction about doing so, but he had thought of it too late. he sat brooding over his trouble until the bartender called with respectful sarcasm to ask if he wanted to lease the glass he had. he gave back a silly laugh, gulped the rest of the liquor down, and was ordering another when sadness came in. he came up directly to joe and sat down beside him. "mr. hamilton says 'make it two, jack,'" he said with easy familiarity. "well, what's the matter, old man? you 're looking glum." "i feel glum." "the divine hattie hasn't been cutting any capers, has she? the dear old girl has n't been getting hysterical at her age let us hope not." broken hopes joe glared at him. why in the devil should this fellow be so sadly gay when he was weighted down with sorrow and shame and disgust? "come, come now, hamilton, if you 're sore because i invited myself to take a drink with you, i 'll withdraw the order. i know the heroic thing to say is that i 'll pay for the drinks myself, but i can't screw my courage up to the point of doing so unnatural a thing." young hamilton hastened to protest. "oh, i know you fellows now well enough to know how many drinks to pay for. it ain't that." "well, then, out with it. what is it? haven't been up to anything, have you?" the desire came to joe to tell this man the whole truth, just what was the matter, and so to relieve his heart. on the im- pulse he did. if he had expected much from sadness he was disappointed, for not a muscle of the man's face changed during the entire recital. the sport of the gods when it was over, he looked at his companion critically through a wreath of smoke. then he said: "for a fellow who has had for a full year the advantage . of the education of the new york clubs, you are strangely young". let me see, you are nineteen or twenty now — yes. well, that perhaps accounts for it. it's a pity you weren't born older. it's a pity most men are n't. they would n't have to take so much time and lose so many good things learning. now, mr. hamilton, let me tell you, and you will pardon me for it, that you are a fool. your case is n't half as bad as that of nine-tenths of the fellows that hang around here. now, for in- stance, my father was hung." joe started and gave a gasp of horror. "oh, yes, but it was done with a very good rope and by the best citizens of texas, so it seems that i really ought to be very grateful to them for the distinction they conferred upon my family, but i am not. i am ungratefully sad. a man must be broken hopes very high or very low to take the sensible view of life that keeps him from being sad. i must confess that i have aspired to the depths without ever being fully able to reach them. "now look around a bit. see that little girl over there? that's viola. two years ago she wrenched up an iron stool from the floor of a lunch-room, and killed another woman with it. she's nineteen, — just about your age, by the way. well, she had friends with a certain amount of pull. she got out of it, and no one thinks the worse of viola. you see, hamilton, in this life we are all suffering from fever, and no one edges away from the other be- cause he finds him a little warm. it's dangerous when you 're not used to it; but once you go through the parching pro- cess, you become inoculated against further contagion. now, there's barney over there, as decent a fellow as i know; but he has been indicted twice for pocket- picking. a half-dozen fellows whom you the sport of the gods meet here every night have killed their man. others have done worse things for which you respect them less. poor wal- lace, who is just coming in, and who looks like a jaunty ragpicker, came here about six months ago with about two thousand dollars, the proceeds from the sale of a house his father had left him. he'll sleep in one of the club chairs to-night, and not from choice. he spent his two thousand learning. but, after all, it was a good investment. it was like buying an annuity. he begins to know already how to live on others as they have lived on him. the plucked bird's beak is sharp- ened for other's feathers. from now on wallace will live, eat, drink, and sleep at the expense of others, and will forget to mourn his lost money. he will go on this way until, broken and useless, the poor- house or the potter's field gets him. oh, it's a fine, rich life, my lad. i know you 'll like it. i said you would the first time i saw you. it has plenty of stir in the sport of the gods laughed at his friend's retreating form. "poor old fellow," he said, " drunk again. must have had something before he came in." there was not a lie in all that sadness had said either as to their crime or their condition. he belonged to a peculiar class, — one that grows larger and larger each year in new york and which has imitators in every large city in this country. it is i a set which lives, like the leech, upon the blood of others, — that draws its life from 'the veins of foolish men and immoral women, that prides itself upon its well- dressed idleness and has no shame in its voluntary pauperism. each member of the class knows every other, his methods and his limitations, and their loyalty one to another makes of them a great hulking, fashionably uniformed fraternity of in- dolence. some play the races a few months of the year; others, quite as intermit- tently, gamble at "shoestring" politics, ; and waver from party to party as ,time or broken hopes their interests seem to dictate. but most- ly they are like the lilies of the field. it was into this set that sadness had sarcastically invited joe, and joe felt honoured. he found that all of his former feelings had been silly and quite out of place; that all he had learned in his earlier years was false. it was very plain to him now that to want a good reputation was the sign of unpardonable immaturity, and that dishonour was the only real thing worth while. it made him feel better. he was just rising bravely to swagger out to the theatre when minty brown came in with one of the club-men he knew. he bowed and smiled, but she appeared not to notice him at first, and when she did she nudged her companion and laughed. suddenly his little courage began to ooze out, and he knew what she must be saying to the fellow at her side, for he looked over at him and grinned. where now was the philosophy of sadness? evidently minty had not been brought under its the sport of the gods educating influences, and thought about the whole matter in the old, ignorant way. he began to think of it too. somehow old teachings and old traditions have an annoying way of coming back upon us in the critical moments of life, although one has long ago recognised how much truer and better some newer ways of thinking are. but joe would not allow minty to shatter his dreams by bringing up these old notions. she must be instructed. he rose and went over to her table. "why, minty," he said, offering his hand, " you ain't mad at me, are you?" "go on away f om hyeah," she said angrily; "i don't want none o' thievin' berry hamilton's fambly to speak to me." "why, you were all right this evening." "yes, but jest out o' pity, an' you was nice 'cause you was afraid i 'd tell on you. go on now." "go on now," said minty's young man; and he looked menacing. broken hopes joe, what little self-respect he had gone, slunk out of the room and needed several whiskeys in a neighbouring saloon to give him courage to go to the theatre and wait for hattie, who was playing in vaudeville houses pending the opening of her company. the closing act was just over when he reached the stage door. he was there but a short time, when hattie tripped out and took his arm. her face was bright and smiling, and there was no suggestion of disgust in the dancing eyes she turned up to him. evidently she had not heard, but the thought gave him no particular pleasure, as it left him in suspense as to how she would act when she should hear. "let's go somewhere and get some supper," she said; "i'm as hungry as i can be. what are you looking so cut up about?" "oh, i ain't feelin' so very good." "i hope you ain't lettin' that long- broken hopes all, and people thought no less of him. his joy was unbounded. "so she jumped on you hard, did she? the cat!" "oh, she did n't say a thing to me." "well, joe, it's just like this. i ain't an angel, you know that, but i do try to be square, and whenever i find a friend of mine down on his luck, in his pocket-book or his feelings, why, i give him my flipper. why, old chap, i believe i like you better for the stiff upper lip you've been keeping under all this." "why, hattie," he broke out, unable any longer to control himself, "you 're — you 're" "oh, i'm just plain hat sterling, who won't throw down her friends. now come on and get something to eat. if that thing is at the club, we 'll go there and show her just how much her talk amounted to. she thinks she's the whole game, but i can spot her and then show her that she ain't one, two, three." broken hopes available.—jack," she called down the long room to the bartender," make it three. — lean over here, i want to talk to you. see that woman over there by the wall? no, not that one, — the big light woman with griggs. well, she's come here with a story trying to throw joe down, and i want, you to help me do her." "oh, that's the one that upset our young friend, is it?" said sadness, turning his mournful eyes upon minty. "that's her. so you know about it, do you?" "yes, and i 'll help do her. she must n't touch one of the fraternity, you know." he kept his eyes fixed upon the outsider until she squirmed. she could not at all understand this serious conversation directed at her. she wondered if she had gone too far and if they contemplated putting her out. it made her uneasy. now, this same miss sterling had the faculty of attracting a good deal of atten- tion when she wished to. she brought it the sport of the gods into play to-night, and in ten minutes, aided by sadness, she had a crowd of jolly people about her table. when, as she would have expressed it, " everything was going fat," she suddenly paused and, turning her eyes full upon minty, said in a voice loud enough for all to hear, — "say, boys, you've heard that story about joe, have n't you?" they had. "well, that's the one that told it $ she's come here to try to throw him and me down. is she going to do it?" "well, i guess not!" was the rousing reply, and every face turned towards the now frightened minty. she rose hastily and, getting her skirts together, fled from the room, followed more leisurely by the crestfallen griggs. hattie's laugh and "thank you, fellows," followed her out. matters were less easy for joe's mother and sister than they were for him. a week or more after this, kitty found him broken hopes and told him that minty's story had reached their employers and that they were out of work. "you see, joe," she said sadly, " we've took a flat since we moved from mis' jones', and we had to furnish it. we've got one lodger, a race-horse man, an' he's mighty nice to ma an* me, but that ain't enough. now we've got to do something." joe was so smitten with sorrow that he gave her a dollar and promised to speak about the matter to a friend of his. he did speak about it to hattie. "you've told me once or twice that your sister could sing. bring her down here to me, and if she can do anything, i 'll get her a place on the stage," was hattie's answer. when kitty heard it she was radiant, but her mother only shook her head and said, "de las' hope, de las' hope." xii "all the world's a stage" kitty proved herself joe's sister by falling desperately in love with hattie sterling the first time they met. the actress was very gracious to her, and called her "child" in a pretty, patronising way, and patted her on the cheek. "it's a shame that joe has n't brought you around before. we've been good friends for quite some time." "he told me you an' him was right good friends." already joe took on a new importance in his sister's eyes. he must be quite a man, she thought, to be the friend of such a person as miss sterling. "so you think you want to go on the stage, do you?" the world's a stage "yes, 'm, i thought it might be right nice for me if i could." "joe, go out and get some beer for us, and then i 'll hear your sister sing." miss sterling talked as if she were a manager and had only to snap her fingers to be obeyed. when joe came back with the beer, kitty drank a glass. she did not like it, but she would not offend her hostess. after this she sang, and miss sterling applauded her generously, although the young girl's nervousness kept her from doing her best. the encouragement helped her, and she did better as she became more at home. "why, child, you've got a good voice. and, joe, you've been keeping her shut up all this time. you ought to be ashamed of yourself." the young man had little to say. he had brought kitty almost under a protest, be- cause he had no confidence in her ability and thought that his "girl" would dis- illusion her. it did not please him now the sport of the gods he reduces us to the ranks or kicks us out entirely." joe here thought it time for him to put in a word. "get out, hat," he said con- temptuously; "you 're good for a dozen years yet." she did n't deign to notice him, save so far as a sniff goes. "don't you let what i say scare you, though, kitty. you've got a good chance, and maybe you 'll have more sense than i've got, and at least save money — while you 're in it. but let's get off that. it makes me sick. all you've got to do is to come to the opera-house to-morrow and i 'll introduce you to the manager. he's a fool, but i think we can make him do something for you." "oh, thank you, i 'll be around to- morrow, sure." "better come about ten o'clock. there's a rehearsal to-morrow, and you 'll find him there. of course, he 'll be pretty rough, he always is at rehearsals, but he 'll take the sport of the gods around thinking they're it, when they ain't even in the game. go on and get the beer." and joe went, feeling vaguely that he had been sat upon. '. kit flew home with joyous heart to tell her mother of her good prospects. she burst into the room, crying, " oh, ma, ma, miss hattie thinks i 'll do to go on the stage. ain't it grand?" she did not meet with the expected warmth of response from her mother. "i do' know as it'll be so gran'. f'om what i see of dem stage people dey don't seem to 'mount to much. de way dem gals shows demse'ves is right down bad to me. is you goin' to dress lak dem we seen dat night?" kit hung her head. "i guess i 'll have to." "well, ef you have to, i'd ruther see you daid any day. oh, kit, my little gal, don't do it, don't do it. don't you go down lakyo' brothah joe. joe's gone." the world's a stage "why, ma, you don't understand. joe's somebody now. you ought to've heard how miss hattie talked about him. she said he's been her friend for a long while." "her f rien', yes, an' his own inimy. you need n' pattern aftah dat gal, kit. she ruint joe, an' she's aftah you now." "but nowadays everybody thinks stage people respectable up here." "maybe i'm ol'-fashioned, but i can't believe in any ooman's ladyship when she shows herse'f lak dem gals does. oh, kit, don't do it. ain't you seen enough? don't you know enough already to stay away f'om dese hyeah people? dey don't want nothin' but to pull you down an' den laugh at you w'en you's dragged in de dust." "you must n't feel that away, ma. i'm doin' it to help you." "i do' want no sich help. i'd ruther starve." kit did not reply, but lhere was no yielding in her manner. the sport of the gods i "kit," her mother went on, "dey's somep'n i ain't nevah tol' you dat i'm goin' to tell you now. mistah gibson ust to come to mis' jones's lots to see me befo' we moved hyeah, an' he's been talkin' !bout a good many things to me." she hesitated. "he say dat i ain't noways ma'ied to my po' husban', dat a pen'ten- tiary sentence is de same as a divo'ce, an' if be'y should live to git out, we'd have to ma'y ag'in. i would n't min' dat, kit, but he say dat at be'y's age dey ain't much chanst of his livin' to git out, an' hyeah i 'll live all dis time alone, an' den have no one to tek keer o' me w'en i git ol'. he wants me to ma'y him, kit. kit, i love yo' fathah; he's my only one. but joe, he's gone, an' ef yo go, befo' gawd i'll tell tawm gibson yes." the mother looked up to see just what effect her plea would have on her daughter. she hoped that what she said would have the desired result. but the girl turned around from fixing her neck-ribbon before the glass, the world's a stage her face radiant. "why, it 'll be splendid. he 's such a nice man, an' race-horse men 'most always have money. why don't you marry him, ma? then i 'd feel that you was safe an' settled, an' that you would n't be lonesome when the show was out of town." "you want me to ma'y him an' desert yo' po' pa?" "i guess what he says is right, ma. i don't reckon we 'll ever see pa again an' you got to do something. you got to live for yourself now." her mother dropped her head in her hands. "all right," she said, " i 'll do it; i 'll ma'y him. i might as well go de way both my chillen's gone. po' be'y, po' be'y. ef you evah do come out, gawd he'p you to baih what you 'll fin'." and mrs. hamilton rose and tottered from the room, as if the old age she anticipated had already come upon her. kit stood looking after her, fear and grief in her eyes. "poor ma," she said, the sport of the gods "an' poor pa. but i know, an' i know it's for the best." on the next morning she was up early and practising hard for her interview with the managing star of "martin's black- birds." when she arrived at the theatre, hattie sterling met her with frank friendliness. "i'm glad you came early, kitty," she remarked, "for maybe you can get a chance to talk with martin before he begins rehearsal and gets all worked up. he 'll be a little less like a bear then. but even if you don't see him before then, wait, and don't get scared if he tries to bluff you. his bark is a good deal worse than his bite." when mr. martin came in that morn- ing, he had other ideas than that of seeing applicants for places. his show must begin in two weeks, and it was advertised to be larger and better than ever before, when really nothing at all had been done for it. the promise of this advertisement the world's a stage must be fulfilled. mr. martin was late, and was out of humour with every one else on account of it. he came in hurried, fierce, and important. "mornin', mr. smith, mornin', mrs. jones. ha, ladies and gentlemen, all here?" he shot every word out of his mouth as if the after-taste of it were unpleasant to him. he walked among the chorus like an angry king among his vassals, and his glance was a flash of insolent fire. from his head to his feet he was the very epitome of self-sufficient, brutal conceit. kitty trembled as she noted the hush that fell on the people at his entrance. she felt like rushing out of the room. she could never face this terrible man. she trembled more as she found his eyes fixed upon her. "who's that?" he asked, disregarding her, as if she had been a stick or a stone. "well, don't snap her head off. it's a the sport of the gods girl friend of mine that wants a place," said hattie. she was the only one who would brave martin. "humph. let her wait. i ain't got no time to hear any one now. get your- selves in line, you all who are on to that first chorus, while i'm getting into my sweat-shirt." he disappeared behind a screen, whence he emerged arrayed, or only half arrayed, in a thick absorbing shirt and a thin pair of woollen trousers. then the work began. the man was indefatigable. he was like the spirit of energy. he was in every place about the stage at once, leading the chorus, showing them steps, twisting some awk- ward girl into shape, shouting, gesticulat- ing, abusing the pianist. "now, now," he would shout, "the left foot on that beat. bah, bah, stop! you walk like a lot of tin soldiers. are your joints rusty? do you want oil? look here, taylor, if i did n't know you, i'd take you for a truck. pick up your feet, the world's a stage open your mouths, and move, move, move! oh!" and he would drop his head in de- spair. "and to think that i've got to do something with these things in two weeks — two weeks!" then he would turn to them again with a sudden reaccession of eagerness. "now, at it again, at it again! hold that note, hold it! now whirl, and on the left foot. stop that music, stop it! miss coster, you'll learn that step in about a thousand years, and i've got nine hundred and ninety-nine years and fifty weeks less time than that to spare. come here and try that step with me. don't be afraid to move. step like a chicken on a hot griddle!" and some blushing girl would come forward and go through the step alone before all the rest. kitty contemplated the scene with a mind equally divided between fear and anger. what should she do if he should so speak to her? like the others, no doubt, smile sheepishly and obey him. but she did not like to believe it. she felt that the world's- a stage selected one. "try this. here, tom, play it for her." it was an ordeal for the girl to go through. she had never sung before at anything more formidable than a church concert, where only her immediate ac- quaintances and townspeople were present. now to sing before all these strange people, themselves singers, made her feel faint and awkward. but the courage of desperation came to her, and she struck into the song. at the first her voice wavered and threat- ened to fail her. it must not. she choked back her fright and forced the music from her lips. when she was done, she was startled to hear martin burst into a raucous laugh. such humiliation! she had failed, and instead of telling her, he was bringing her to shame before the whole company. the tears came into her eyes, and she was about giving way when she caught a reassuring nod and smile from hattie sterling, and seized on this as a last hope. the sport of the gods "haw, haw, haw!" laughed martin, "haw, haw, haw! the little one was scared, see? she was scared, d' you under- stand? but did you see the grit she went at it with? just took the bit in her teeth and got away. haw, haw, haw! now, that's what i like. if all you girls had that spirit, we could do something in two weeks. try another one, girl." kitty's heart had suddenly grown light. she sang the second one better because something within her was singing. "good!" said martin, but he immedi- ately returned to his cold manner. "you watch these girls close and see what they do, and to-morrow be prepared to go into line and move as well as sing." he immediately turned his attention from her to the chorus, but no slight that he could inflict upon her now could take away the sweet truth that she was engaged and to-morrow would begin work. she wished she could go over and embrace hattie sterling. she thought kindly of the world's a stage joe, and promised herself to give him a present out of her first month's earnings. on the first night of the show pretty little kitty hamilton was pointed out as a girl who would n't be in the chorus long. the mother, who was soon to be mrs. gib- son, sat in the balcony, a grieved, pained look on her face. joe was in a front row with some of the rest of the gang. he took many drinks between the acts, be- cause he was proud. mr. thomas was there. he also was proud, and after the performance he waited for kitty at the stage door and went for- ward to meet her as she came out. the look she gave him stopped him, and he let her pass without a word. "who'd 'a' thought," he mused, "that the kid had that much nerve? well, if they don't want to find out things, what do they come to n' yawk for? it ain't nobody's old sunday-school picnic. guess i got out easy, anyhow." the sport of the gods hattie sterling took joe home in a hansom. "say," she said, "if you come this way for me again, it's all over, see? your little sister's a comer, and i've got to hustle to keep up with her." joe growled and fell asleep in his chair. one must needs have a strong head or a strong will when one is the brother of a celebrity and would celebrate the distin- guished one's success. xiii the oakleys ayear after the arrest of berry hamilton, and at a time when new york had shown to the eyes of his family so many strange new sights, there were few changes to be noted in the condition of affairs at the oakley place. maurice oakley was perhaps a shade more distrust- ful of his servants, and consequently more testy with them. mrs. oakley was the same acquiescent woman, with unbounded faith in her husband's wisdom and judg- ment. with complacent minds both went their ways, drank their wine, and said their prayers, and wished that brother frank's five years were past. they had letters from him now and then, never very cheer- ful in tone, but always breathing the deep- est love and gratitude to them. tee sport of the gods his brother found deep cause for con- gratulation in the tone of these epistles. "frank is getting down to work," he would cry exultantly. "he is past the first buoyant enthusiasm of youth. ah, leslie, when a man begins to be serious, then he begins to be something.'' and her only answer would be, "i wonder, maurice, if claire lessing will wait for him?" the two had frequent questions to an- swer as to frank's doing and prospects, and they had always bright things to say of him, even when his letters gave them no such warrant. their love for him made them read large between the lines, and all they read was good. between maurice and his brother no word of the guilty servant ever passed. they each avoided it as an unpleasant sub- ject. frank had never asked and his brother had never proffered aught of the outcome of the case. mrs. oakley had once suggested it. the oakleys "brother ought to know," she said, "that berry is being properly punished." "by no means," replied her husband. "you know that it would only hurt him. he shall never know if i have to tell him." "you are right, maurice, you are al- ways right. we must shield frank from the pain it would cause him. poor fellow! he is so sensitive." their hearts were still steadfastly fixed upon the union of this younger brother with claire lessing. she had lately come into a fortune, and there was nothing now to pre- vent it. they would have written frank to urge it, but they both believed that to try to woo him away from his art was but to make him more wayward. that any woman could have power enough to take him away from this jealous mistress they very much doubted. but they could hope, and hope made them eager to open every letter that bore the french postmark. al- ways it might contain news that he was the oakleys one banteringly told maurice oakley that he had such a deep vein of sentiment, he would have denied it with scorn and laughter. but here he found himself sit- ting with the letter in his hand and weav- ing stories as to its contents. first, now, it might be a notice that frank had received the badge of the legion of honour. no, no, that was too big, and he laughed aloud at his own folly, wonder- ing the next minute, with half shame, why he laughed, for did he, after all, believe anything was too big for that brother of his? well, let him begin, anyway, away down. let him say, for instance, that the letter told of the completion and sale of a great picture. frank had sold small ones. he would be glad of this, for his brother had written him several times of things that were a-doing, but not yet of anything that was done. or, better yet, let the letter say that some picture, long finished, but of which the artist's pride and anxiety had forbidden him to speak, had made a tee sport of the gods glowing success, the success it deserved. this sounded well, and seemed not at all be- yond the bounds of possibility. it was an alluring vision. he saw the picture already. it was a scene from life, true in detail to the point of very minuteness, and yet with something spiritual in it that lifted it above the mere copy of the commonplace. at the salon it would be hung on the line, and people would stand before it admiring its workmanship and asking who the artist was. he drew on his memory of old read- ing. in his mind's eye he saw frank, un- conscious of his own power or too modest to admit it, stand unknown among the crowds around his picture waiting for and dreading their criticisms. he saw the light leap to his eyes as he heard their words of praise. he saw the straightening of his narrow shoulders when he was forced to admit that he was the painter of the work. then the windows of paris were filled with his portraits. the papers were full of his praise, and brave men and fair women met the sport of the gods cannot be greater than that, though it shall hang where kings can see it and this only graces the library of my poor house. it has the feeling of a woman's soul with the strength of a man's heart. when frank and claire marry, i shall give it back to them. it is too great a treasure for a clod like me. heigho, why will women be so long a-shopping?" he glanced again at the letter, and his hand went out involuntarily towards it. he fondled it, smiling. "ah, lady leslie, i've a mind to open it to punish you for staying so long." he essayed to be playful, but he knew that he was trying to make a compromise with himself because his eagerness grew stronger than his gallantry. he laid the letter down and picked it up again. he studied the postmark over and over. he got up and walked to the window and back again, and then began fumbling in his pockets for his knife. no, he did not want it; yes, he did. he would just cut the oakleys the envelope and make believe he had read it to pique his wife; but he would not read it. yes, that was it. he found the knife and slit the paper. his fingers trembled as he touched the sheets that pro- truded. why would not leslie come? did she not know that he was waiting for her? she ought to have known that there was a letter from paris to-day, for it had been a month since they had had one. there was a sound of footsteps without. he sprang up, crying, "i 've been waiting so long for you!" a servant opened the door to bring him a message. oakley dis- missed him angrily. what did he want to go down to the continental for to drink and talk politics to a lot of muddle-pated fools when he had a brother in paris who was an artist and a letter from him lay un- read in his hand? his patience and his temper were going. leslie was careless and unfeeling. she ought to come; he was tired of waiting. a carriage rolled up the driveway and the sport of the gods he dropped the letter guiltily, as if it were not his own. he would only say that he had grown tired of waiting and started to read it. but it was only mrs. davis's foot- man leaving a note for leslie about some charity. he went back to the letter. well, it was his. leslie had forfeited her right to see it as soon as he. it might be mean, but it was not dishonest. no, he would not read it now, but he would take it out and show her that he had exercised his self- control in spite of her shortcomings. he laid it on the desk once more. it leered at him. he might just open the sheets enough to see the lines that began it, and read no further. yes, he would do that. leslie could not feel hurt at such a little thing. the first line had only " dear brother." "dear brother"! why not the second? that could not hold much more. the second line held him, and the third, and the fourth, and as he read on, unmindful now of the oakleys what leslie might think or feel, his face turned from the ruddy glow of pleasant anxiety to the pallor of grief and terror. he was not half-way through it when mrs. oakley's voice in the hall announced her coming. he did not hear her. he sat staring at the page before him, his lips apart and his eyes staring. then, with a cry that echoed through the house, crum- pling the sheets in his hand, he fell forward fainting to the floor, just as his wife rushed into the room. "what is it?" she cried. "maurice! maurice!" he lay on the floor staring up at the ceiling, the letter clutched in his hands. she ran to him and lifted up his head, but he gave no sign of life. already the ser- vants were crowding to the door. she bade one of them to hasten for a doctor, others to bring water and brandy, and the rest to be gone. as soon as she was alone, she loosed the crumpled sheets from his hand, for she felt that this must have been the sport of the gods the cause of her husband's strange attack. without a thought of wrong, for they had no secrets from each other, she glanced at the opening lines. then she forgot the unconscious man at her feet and read the letter through to the end. the letter was in frank's neat hand, a little shaken, perhaps, by nervousness. "dear brother," it ran, "i know you will grieve at receiving this, and i wish that i might bear your grief for you, but i cannot, though i have as heavy a burden as this can bring to you. mine would have been lighter to-day, perhaps, had you been more straightfor- ward with me. i am not blaming you, however, for i know that my hypocrisy made you believe me possessed of a really soft heart, and you thought to spare me. until yesterday, when in a letter from esterton he casually mentioned the matter, i did not know that berry was in prison, else this letter would have been written sooner. i have been wanting to write it for so long, and yet have been too great a coward to do so. "i know that you will be disappointed in me, and just what that disappointment will cost the oakleys you i know; but you must hear the truth. shall never see your face again, or i should not dare to tell it even now. you will remember that i begged you to be easy on your servant. you thought it was only my kindness of heart. it was not; i had a deeper reason. i knew where the money had gone and dared not tell. berry is as innocent as yourself — and i — well, it is a story, and let me tell it to you. "you have had so much confidence in me, and i hate to tell you that it was all misplaced. i have no doubt that i should not be doing it now but that i have drunken absinthe enough to give me the emotional point of view, which i shall regret to-morrow. i do not mean that i am drunk. i can think clearly and write clearly, but my emotions are extremely active. "do you remember claire's saying at the table that night of the farewell dinner that some dark-eyed mademoiselle was waiting for me? she did not know how truly she spoke, though i fancy she saw how i flushed when she said it: for i was already in love — madly so. "i need not describe her. i need say noth- ing about her, for i know that nothing i say can ever persuade you to forgive her for taking me from you. this has gone on since i first came here, and i dared not tell you, for i saw the sport of the gods whither your eyes had turned. i loved this girl, and she both inspired and hindered my work. perhaps i would have been successful had i not met her, perhaps not. "i love her too well to marry her and make of our devotion a stale, prosy thing of duty and compulsion. when a man does not marry a woman, he must keep her better than he would a wife. it costs. all that you gave me went to make her happy. "then, when i was about leaving you, the catastrophe came. i wanted much to carry back to her. i gambled to make more. i would surprise her. luck was against me- night after night i lost. then, just before the dinner, i woke from my frenzy to find all that i had was gone. i would have asked you for more, and you would have given it; but that strange, ridiculous something which we misname southern honour, that honour which strains at a gnat and swallows a camel, withheld me, and i preferred to do worse. so i lied to you. the money from my cabinet was not stolen save by myself. i am a liar and a thief, but your eyes shall never tell me so. "tell the truth and have berry released. i can stand it. write me but one letter to tell me of this. do not plead with me, do not for- the oakleys give me, do not seek to find me, for from this time i shall be as one who has perished from the earth; i shall be no more. "your brother, "frank." by the time the servants came they found mrs. oakley as white as her lord. but with firm hands and compressed lips she ministered to his needs pending the doctor's arrival. she bathed his face and temples, chafed his hands, and forced the brandy between his lips. finally he stirred and his hands gripped. "the letter!" he gasped. "yes, dear, i have it; i have it." "give it to me," he cried. she handed it to him. he seized it and thrust it into his breast. "did — did — you read it?" "yes, i did not know" "oh, my god, i did not intend that you should see it. i wanted the secret for my own. i wanted to carry it to my grave with me. oh, frank, frank, frank!" the oakleys "but, maurice" "i must carry it with me." she saw that he was overwrought, and so did not argue with him. when the doctor came, he found maurice oakley in bed, but better. the medical man diagnosed the case and decided that he had received some severe shock. he feared too for his heart, for the patient constantly held his hands pressed against his bosom. in vain the doctor pleaded; he would not take them down, and when the wife added her word, the physician gave up, and after prescribing, left, much puzzled in mind. "it's a strange case," he said; "there's something more than the nervous shock that makes him clutch his chest like that, and yet i have never noticed signs of heart trouble in oakley. oh, well, busi- ness worry will produce anything in anybody." it was soon common talk about the town about maurice oakley's attack. in xiv frankenstein < five years is but a short time in the life of a man, and yet many things may happen therein. for instance, the whole way of a family's life may be changed. good natures may be made into bad ones and out of a soul of faith grow a spirit of unbelief. the independ- ence of respectability may harden into the insolence of defiance, and the sensitive cheek of modesty into the brazen face of shamelessness. it may be true that the habits of years are hard to change, but this is not true of the first sixteen or seventeen years of a young person's life, else kitty hamilton and joe could not so easily have become what they were. it had taken barely five years to accomplish an entire metamorphosis of their charac- the sport of the gods he stood outside, swaying dizzily upon his feet and looking back with dazed eyes at the door, then he muttered: "pu' me out, wi' you? pu' me out, damn you! well, i ki' you. see 'f i don't;" and he half walked, half fell down the street. sadness and skaggsy were together at the club that night. five years had not changed the latter as to wealth or position or inclination, and he was still a frequent visitor at the banner. he always came in alone now, for maudie had gone the way of all the half-world, and reached depths to which mr. skaggs's job prevented him from following her. however, he mourned truly for his lost companion, and to-night he was in a particularly pensive mood. some one was playing rag-time on the piano, and the dancers were wheeling in time to the music. skaggsy looked at them regretfully as he sipped his liquor. it made him think of maudie. he sighed and turned away. frankenstein "i tell you, sadness," he said impul- sively, "dancing is the poetry of motion." "yes," replied sadness, "and dancing in rag-time is the dialect poetry." the reporter did not like this. it savoured of flippancy, and he was about entering upon a discussion to prove that sadness had no soul, when joe, with blood- shot eyes and dishevelled clothes, staggered in and reeled towards them. "drunk again," said sadness. "keally, it's a waste of time for joe to sober up. hullo there!" as the young man brought up against him; "take a seat." he put him in a chair at the table. "been lushin' a bit, eh?" "gi' me some'n' drink." "oh, a hair of the dog. some men shave their dogs clean, and then have hydrophobia. here, jack!" they drank, and then, as if the whiskey had done him good, joe sat up in his chair. "ha'ie's throwed me down." fra nkens tein went directly to her room. she was a light sleeper, and his step awakened her. "who is it?" she cried in affright. "it's me." his voice was steadier now, but grim. "what do you want? didn't i tell you never to come here again? get out or i 'll have you taken out." she sprang up in bed, glaring angrily at him. his hands twitched nervously, as if her will were conquering him and he were uneasy, but he held her eye with his own. "you put me out to-night," he said. "yes, and i'm going to do it again. you're drunk." she started to rise, but he took a step towards her and she paused. he looked as she had never seen him look before. his face was ashen and his eyes like fire and blood. she quailed beneath the look. he took another step towards her. "you put me out to-night," he repeated, "like a dog." frankens tein she gazed at him fascinated. she tried to scream and she could not. this was not joe. this was not the boy that she had turned and twisted about her little finger. this was a terrible, terrible man or a monster. he moved a step nearer her. his eyes fell to her throatl for an instant she lost their steady glare and then she found her voice. the scream was checked as it began. his fingers had closed over her throat just where the gown had left it temptingly bare. they gave it the caress of death. she struggled. they held her. her eyes prayed to his. but his were the fire of hell. she fell back upon her pillow in silence. he had not uttered a word. he held her. finally he flung her from him like a rag, and sank into a chair. and there the officers found him when hattie sterling's disappearance had be- come a strange thing. skaqgs's theory together for some time, and the editor seemed hard to convince. "it would be a big thing for the paper," he said, "if it only panned out; but it is such a rattle-brained, harum-scarum thing. no one under the sun would have thought of it but you, skaggs." "oh, it's bound to pan out. i see the thing as clear as day. there's no getting around it." "yes, it looks plausible, but so does all fiction. you 're taking a chance. you 're losing time. if it fails" "but if it succeeds?" "well, go and bring back a story. if you don't, look out. it's against my better judgment anyway. remember i told you that." skaggs shot out of the office, and within an hour and a half had boarded a fast train for the south. it is almost a question whether skaggs had a theory or whether he had told him- self a pretty story and, as usual, believed skaggs's theob y he insinuated that he was looking around for business prospects. this proved his open- sesame. five years had not changed the continental frequenters much, and skaggs's intention immediately brought beachfield davis down upon him with the remark, "if a man wants to go into business, busi- ness for a gentleman, suh, gad, there's no finer or better paying business in the world than breeding blooded dogs — that is, if you get a man of experience to go in with you." "dogs, dogs," drivelled old horace tal- bot, "beachfield's always talking about dogs. i remember the night we were all discussing that hamilton nigger's arrest, beachfield said it was a sign of total de- pravity because his man hunted 'possums with his hound." the old man laughed inanely. the hotel whiskey was getting on his nerves. the reporter opened his eyes and his ears. he had stumbled upon something, at any rate. the sport of the gods gan his story, interlarding it frequently with comments of his own. "now, in the first place, mr. skaggs," he said when the tale was done, "i am lawyer enough to see for myself how weak the evidence was upon which the negro was convicted, and later events have done much to confirm me in the opinion that he was innocent." "later events?" "yes." the colonel leaned across the table and his voice fell to a whisper. "four years ago a great change took place in maurice oakley. it happened in the space of a day, and no one knows the cause of it. from a social, companionable man, he became a recluse, shunning visitors and dreading society. from an open- hearted, unsuspicious neighbour, he be- came secretive and distrustful of his own friends. from an active business man, he has become a retired brooder. he sees no one if he can help it. he writes no letters and receives none, not even from the sport of the gods "and for what?" skaggs was trembling with eagerness. the colonel dropped his voice lower. ""we can only speculate," he said; "but, as i have said, i have my theory. oakley was a just man, and in punishing his old servant for the supposed robbery it is plain that he acted from principle. but he is also a proud man and would hate to confess that he had been in the wrong. so i believed that the cause of his first shock was the finding of the money that he supposed gone. unwilling to admit this error, he lets the misapprehension go on, and it is the money which he carries in his secret pocket, with a morbid fear of its discovery, that has made him dismiss his servants, leave his business, and refuse to see his friends." "a very natural conclusion, colonel, and i must say that i believe you. it is strange that others have not seen as you have seen and brought the matter to light." "well, you see, mr. skaggs, none are so skaggs's theory dull as the people who think they think. i can safely say that there is not another man in this town who has lighted upon the real solution of this matter, though it has been openly talked of for so long. but as for bringing it to light, no one would think of doing that. it would be sure to hurt oakley's feelings, and he is of one of our best families." "ah, yes, perfectly right." skaggs had got all that he wanted; much more, in fact, than he had expected. the colonel held him for a while yet to enlarge upon the views that he had expressed. when the reporter finally left him, it was with a cheery " good-night, colonel. if i were a criminal, i should be afraid of that analytical mind of yours!" he went upstairs chuckling. "the old fool!" he cried as he flung himself into a chair. "i've got it! i've got it! maurice oakley must see me, and then what?" he sat down to think out what he should do to-morrow. again, with his fine disre- the sport of the gods gard of ways and means, he determined to trust to luck, and as he expressed it, "brace old oakley." accordingly he went about nine o'clock the next morning to oakley's house. a gray-haired, sad-eyed woman inquired his errand. "i want to see mr. oakley," he said. "you cannot see him. mr. oakley is not well and does not see visitors." "but i must see him, madam; i am here upon business of importance." "you can tell me just as well as him. i am his wife and transact all of his busi- ness." "i can tell no one but the master of the house himself." "you cannot see him. it is against his orders." "very well," replied skaggs, descending one step; "it is his loss, not mine. i have tried to do my duty and failed. simply tell him that i came from paris." "paris?" cried a querulous voice behind a yellow journal for the universe to look into the methods of southern court proceedings. here's a chance for a spread." the universe had always claimed to be the friend of all poor and oppressed hu- manity, and every once in a while it did something to substantiate its claim, where- upon it stood off and said to the public, "look you what we have done, and behold how great we are, the friend of the people!" the universe was yellow. it was very so. but it had power and keenness and energy. it never lost an opportunity to crow, and if one was not forthcoming, it made one. in this way it managed to do a considerable amount of good, and its yellowness became forgivable, even commendable. in skaggs's story the editor saw an opportunity for one of its periodical philanthropies. he seized upon it. with headlines that took half a page, and with cuts authentic and otherwise, the tale was told, and the people of new york were greeted next morning with the announcement of — ajtellow journal madness there had been no peace within his doors. at first his wife had tried to control him alone, and had humoured the wild babblings with which he woke from his swoon. but these changed to shrieks and cries and curses, and she was forced to throw open the doors so long closed and call in help. the neighbours and her old friends went to her assistance, and what the reporter's story had not done, the rav- ings of the man accomplished; for, with a show of matchless cunning, he continually clutched at his breast, laughed, and bab- bled his secret openly. even then they would have smothered it in silence, for the honour of one of their best families; but too many ears had heard, and then came the yellow journal bearing all the news in emblazoned headlines. colonel saunders was distinctly hurt to think that his confidence had been imposed on, and that he had been instrumental in bringing shame upon a southern name. "to think, suh," he said generally to the sport of the gods the usual assembly of choice spirits, — " to think of that man's being a reporter, suh, a common, ordinary reporter, and that i sat and talked to him as if he were a gen- tleman!" "you're not to be blamed, colonel," said old horace talbot. "you've done no more than any other gentleman would have \done. the trouble is that the average [northerner has no sense of honour, suh, no bense of honour. if this particular man had had, he would have kept still, and 'everything would have gone on smooth and quiet. instead of that, a distinguished family is brought to shame, and for what? to give a nigger a few more years of free- dom when, likely as not, he don't want it; and berry hamilton's life in prison has proved nearer the ideal reached by slavery than anything he has found since emanci- pation. why, suhs, i fancy i see him leaving his prison with tears of regret in his eyes." old horace was inanely eloquent for an the sport of the ds p the trial was reviewed; the evidence again brought up and examined. the dig- nity of the state was threatened. at this time the state did the one thing necessary to save its tottering reputation. it would not surrender, but it capitulated, and berry hamilton was pardoned. berry heard the news with surprise and a half-bitter joy. he had long ago lost hope ijthat justice would ever be done to him. he marvelled at the word that was brought to him now, and he could not understand the strange cordiality of the young white man who met him at the warden's office. five years of prison life had made a differ- ent man of him. he no longer looked to receive kindness from his fellows, and he blinked at it as he blinked at the unwonted brightness of the sun. the lines about his mouth where the smiles used to gather had changed and grown stern with the hopelessness of years. his lips drooped pathetically, and hard treatment had given his eyes a lowering look. his hair, xviii what berry found had not berry's years of prison life made him forget what little he knew of reading, he might have read the name gibson on the door-plate where they told him to ring for his wife. but he knew nothing of what awaited him as he confi- dently pulled the bell. fannie herself came to the door. the news the papers held had not escaped her, but she had suffered in silence, hoping that berry might be spared the pain of finding her. now he stood before her, and she knew him at a glance, in spite of his haggard countenance. '"fannie," he said, holding out his arms to her, and all of the pain and pathos of long yearning was in his voice, "don't you know me?" the sport of the gods berry started forward with a cry, "my gawd! my gawd! my little gal! my boy!" "dat ain't all," she went on dully, as if reciting a rote lesson; "i ain't yo' wife no mo'. i's ma'ied ag'in. oh be'y, be'y, don't look at me lak dat. i could n't he'p it. kit an' joe lef me, an' dey said de pen'tentiary divo'ced you 'an' me, an' dat you'd nevah come out nohow. don't look at me lak dat, be'y." "you ain't my wife no mo'? hit's a lie, a damn lie! you is my wife. i's a innocent man. no pen'tentiay kin tek you erway f'om me. hit's enough what dey've done to my chillen." he rushed forward and seized her by the arm. "dey sha'n't do no mo', by gawd! dey sha'n't, i say!" his voice had risen to a fierce roar, like that of a hurt beast, and he shook her by the arm as he spoke. "oh, don't, be'y, don't, you hu't me. i could n't he'p it." ~~ he glared at her for a moment, and then what berry found the real force of the situation came full upon him, and he bowed his head in his hands and wept like a child. the great sobs came up and stuck in his throat. she crept up to him fearfully and laid her hand on his head. "don't cry, be'y," she said; "i done wrong, but i loves you yit." he seized her in his arms and held her tightly until he could control himself. then he asked weakly, "well, what am i goin' to do?" "i do' know, be'y, 'ceptin' dat you 'll have to leave me." "i won't! i 'll never leave you again," he replied doggedly. "but, be'y, you mus'. you 'll only mek it ha'der on me, an' gibson'll beat me ag'in." "ag'in!" she hung her head: "yes." he gripped himself hard. "why cain't you come on off wid me, fannie? you was mine fus'." the sport of the gods "i could n't. he would fin' me any- whaih i went to." "let him fin' you. you 'll be wid me, an' we 'll settle it, him an' me." "i want to, but oh, i can't, i can't," she wailed. "please go now, be'y, befo' he gits home. he's mad anyhow, 'cause you're out." berry looked at her hard, and then said in a dry voice, " an' so i got to go an' leave you to him?" "yes, you mus'; i'm his'n now." he turned to the door, murmuring, " my wife gone, kit a nobody, an' joe, little joe, a murderer, an' then i — i — ust to pray to gawd an' call him 'ouah fathah.'" he laughed hoarsely. it sounded like nothing fannie had ever heard before. "don't, be'y, don't say dat. maybe we don't un'erstan'." her faith still hung by a slender thread, but his had given way in that moment. "no, we don't un'erstan'," he laughed john a. koonins debiai mich !! เ: ( esi ใน ! il so is dit appointed. an american novel. ---- by sanda. la oureks, detroit: detroit law printing co., griswold st. . copyrighted. bentley historical library university of vio entered according to act of congress, in the year , by walter h. stowers and wm. h. anderson, in the office of librarian of congress at washington, d.c. book i. seth stanley. chapter i. the summer of – was remarkable for its intense heat during a continuous period of several weeks. it was not only warm, but very dry, and the little breeze that was astir was so laden with the heat, reflected by the parched earth, that it seemed like a breath from an oven. instead of allaying discomfort it added to it. when this was especially noticeable, one afternoon in midsummer, and work doubly laborious, and the confinement of an office a burden, there lay in the slip at the foot of — avenue, the pleasure yacht sylvia, gently moving with the small ripples, that were caused by the passing of larger- boats and by the hot land breeze. the intense heat of the sun had caused the streets of the beautiful city of the straits to be deserted, save by those whose business required . them to be abroad. at the foremast of the sylvia was a' bright new american flag, whose folds lazily yielded to the breeze. obedient to the motion of the yacht, and as if proud of its flag, the mast swayed gently to and fro, as if paying obeisance to the clear sparkling waters beneath. on deck, lounging in easy attitudes and protected from the rays of the sun by its now awning, were four young, men, apparently overwhelmed with ennui and heat. lost in the day dreams of their own imagery, not one of them felt communicative enough to break the silence. mean. while the captain, steward and cook, who with the engi- neer, constituted the crew, were engaged in preparation for a trip up the lakes--the mecca of the tourists and home of the enervated, with its inviting innovations to the business man, and others who seek rest and pleasure from the activities of a busy life, and an escape from the stifling air of stores and offices. the sylvia was the property of george stanley, a prominent business man, who lavished all that ingenuity could devise upon his only son-seth, who was then on board the yacht, the life of the party. george stanley had risen to his present position of wealth from the ranks of the people, by dint of constant energy, good luck and the natural increase in land valuations. schooled in the hardships of money-getting, he had become a devotee at the shrine of wealth, and gave but little time to leisure or enjoyment, so exacting was his business. notwithstand. ing his busy life and rigorous habits, he lapsed into a very sunshine of tenderness when the interests of seth or his daughter imogene were brought to his attention. success had always attended his ventures, but if failure had met him, his strong will and great energy would never have allowed him to acknowledge it. he was rather tall and angular, with iron grey hair and beard, restless black eyes piercing through shaggy lashes, a face somewhat wrinkled, but exhibiting that restless energy which characterized his every act. he dressed plainly but becomingly to one of his years and station. he acted quickly and with pre- cision, and was generally right in his apparently hasty yet well formed conclusions. as the young men lay, each apparently absorbed in his particular thoughts, seth stanley who had been quietly watching the crowded ferry boats passing to and fro, grew weary of this, and looking for something else to attract his attention, for continued lounging becomes irksome, observed the shadows of the masts dancing on the waters that sparkled under the rays of the sun. being possessed of a vivid imagination, these shadows suggested images of graces which he at once clothed in the habiliments of per- sonified life, peculiar to his surroundings. " look boys!” he exclaimed, “do you see the shadows of the masts reaching to and fro over the waters. what do they remind you of?” · the others, as if they had been waiting for some one to break the monotony of lounging, instantly cast all leth- argy aside, and looked in the direction indicated by stan- ley. “it seems to me to suggest the idea of beauty bowing to purity,” he continued without waiting for a reply to his question. “a very appropriate simile,” said charley parker, who was then standing next to stanley, "for all things bow to virtue and purity, and if nature in her moods perform what we recognize as our ideal of the true gallantry of action it confirms us in our beliefs.” . i ono pitajte “another instance of the conscious waters," replied stanley. “rather the conscious masthead," said parker face- tiously. “why not say the conscious creative imagination, shaking off the lethargy the body has entailed upon it, makes grotesque figures or fairy images to suit its moods," answered stanley. “that seems about all that there is left in us that we can exercise without sweating and puffing. yet i can find energy enough to admire our river-it seems like a flowing blessing." fred morgan, who had stood silently by, interested in the conversation, now spoke up, “no wonder that the poets of all ages were moved to such inspirations when contemplating nature. they discover beauties that we dullards would never have dreamed of, and when we read their thoughts in the meter of their lines, we wonder why we had not seen it in that light before. they see speech and song in every sound, in every movement grace and beauty, in every shape symmetry, and eloquent expression in the mute inanimate. we see the object; they the intention of the creator in that which the object ministers unto man. not his bodily wants alone but his mental conceptions of beauty, grace and fitness.” “eloquent! eloquent! but is it not the same in scien- tific discoveries?” said parker, “great truths lie right under our noses, but we heed them not until some one has gained distinction by calling attention to them, and by utilizing the forces of nature. then we wonder why we had not discovered the same thing before and taken advan- tage of it. but we dont, for the majority of us are wedded to prevailing ideas." paul fox then spoke for the first time. “then the earth does contain truths as well as wealth that the inven- tive genius and philosophy of man has not yet dreamed of." “i think,” said stanley, “that if the ability, time and energy which is now spent in trying to rob men of their faith were given to the scientific researches that contribute to man's material welfare, there would be many more rev. elations unearthed from nature's store house." “such reasoning and speculation pleases a large num- ber of people,” observed fox, " although we believe it so much mental energy wasted. nevertheless i believe that the things eternal are not to be arrived at by finite reason- ing. beside the peasant with his faith is happier than the philosopher who creates for himself a religion." “a discussion like this is fit ending for such a dissi- pated day,” put in parker. “religion, science, and phil- osophy." his remark, however, did not stop the thread of the conversation, as no one paid much attention to his attempted diversion. their conversation became animated and in it they forgot the time so swiftly passing away, until the low descending sun warned them that it was time to hurry ashore and bid friends and folk adieu, as they intended to pass the night on board the yacht. a thin line of fleecy clouds girded the western horizon, extending upwards toward the zenith. upon these the rays of the setting sun falling, formed a gorgeous golden tinted sunset reflecting all hues and tints from a deep red to a light orange. it was a magnificent sight, and one which would have made the reputation of any artist, could he have successfully reproduced it on canvass. the scene was not without its effect upon the party, for they admired beauty in all its forms, and it elicited considerable admir- ation. "such a sunset,” remarked stanley, as they prepared to go ashore, “ if made the theme of a master poet, would make italy jealous of her laurels.” “ you have seen both and ought to know, but i have always believed that italy's clear azure skies are very much overrated,” said fox, “and that it is largely due to the english tourist, fresh from the fogs and mists of lon- don. besides, being aided by the mystery of romance which hangs over her, her reputation has sustained the wear of years. but i doubt if ever italy saw a more beau- tiful sunset.” “as i never saw a sunset in italy, i can't say,” said parker, “ but i know that a little romance transfers the ordinary dull vulgar things of life into those of interest.” “if we stand here admiring the sunset we shall have but little time for adieus. it is already late," broke in morgan, disturbing their sentiments. “when we are once off we can revel in the beauties of nature until we become satiated.” “i believe,” rejoined parker, “ if we were admiring the new jerusalem with its symmetrical dimensions, streets of gold, sea of glass and river of life, you would remember some earthly obligation and advise the people to wait until they were there before they went into ecstacies." “i would invite some to wait a long time if i did." "i suppose that would depend on what creed your dis- ciples adhered to,” said fox, “whether their doctrine was of the universal character or of the select.” “something is breeding contention in this crowd," said stanley. “ if we keep on we will have hatched a new faith ere we return. fred can't wait to see the varying shades of the setting sun making glorious the west, but he could spend another hour in discussion and not miss the time." “men and mules are contentious by nature,” sagely remarked parker. by this time they were on shore and had turned their steps hurriedly homeward, and the excitement attending upon the novelty of their proposed trip, with the eager- ness to return to the yacht, lent unusual vigor to their walk. chapter ii had lichte michigan mat the fall we fox and morgan soon separated from the others as their homes lay in different directions. fox was a recent graduate of ann arbor, and had the tall thin frame and slight stoop of the shoulders peculiar to close scholars. his high forehead, roman nose, dark brown hair, gray eyes and peaked features, gave him a rather classical look. indeed the adaptation of his taste and habits marked him as one beyond his years. on the contrary, his friend and close companion, who in the fall would enter the senior class in the michigan military academy at orchard lake, had light hair, dark brown eyes, broad square shoulders, was stoutly built, of a good medium height, and his every movement reflected the precision and grace of strict mili- tary training. although opposite in taste and tempera- ment, each found in the other elements that bound and knit them closely together. fox could have passed for a hard working, studious young minister, while morgan looked like an amateur athlete. “didn't seth's action and conversation strike you as rather peculiar?” asked fox, after a few moments. "he seemed so thoughtful for one of his activity and light- heartedness. he really talked soberly this afternoon about beauty and purity. i'll wager it is the first sensible thing, that didn't savor of frivolity, he has uttered since leaving college. you know he left it in his freshman's year after convincing his father that confinement and study was telling on his health. since then he has done nothing but hunt, fish, and travel around the country. now he has struck this yacht scheme and i don't suppose this mania will last him long, as nothing satisfies him after he has attained it, although, before in the possession of an object he sees the consummation of complete happiness. he is a good fellow though, with a kind heart, and deep in his soul there exists qualities which, if called forth and permitted to grow would change his whole life, and make him one of nature's noblemen. everybody seems to like him.” "i wonder if seth has fallen in love," said morgan meditatively. ." it would be too funny. he never seemed to care for anyone in particular, although by reason of his popularity and his wealth, he could have his choice from many, besides his very indifference serves as an attraction. seth in love! how ridiculous!” both laughed heartily. " but as you say,” continued morgan, “i noticed his thoughtfulness, but attributed it to the langour caused by this sultry weather. however we shall be able to tell before we get back. if anything is in the wind it will out in some way on the trip.” meanwhile seth stanley and charley parker had pro- ceeded on their way, and had gone but a little distance when parker, who lived near stanley, left him to attend to a few matters, promising however to call by for him on his way to the yacht. parker was dudishly inclined, wearing the latest styles and was fastidiously neat. his form was slight, hair light and eyes a deep blue. notwithstanding his tastes he had ready wit and considerable tact, which together with his natural good humor, that showed itself on all occasions, made him companionable as an associate. he was quite a ladies' man, and was seldom overlooked by his wide range of acquaintances when anything of a social nature was on the tapis. stanley went on his way alone, his head held slightly forward as if engaged in thought. it was something new for him to be serious. his nearest approach to it hereto- fore was in his imperious manner. he inherited the determined nature of his father, and when once resolved upon a thing, followed it to its conclusion despite opposi- tion. in devising means for pleasure he was an enthusiast. the pleasure attained, however, he longed and sought for new ones. yet he had a kind nature and under noble impulses had done many a kindly deed and given aid to many a poor fellow in hard circumstances. at the time of our story he was in his twenty-seventh year, was rather tall and muscular with broad shoulders and a deep chest, and of the dark complexion of his father. he had a rather good looking face, unfurrowed by care or serious purpose but marked somewhat by the dissipation of late hours. his hair and luxuriant mustache were black, and his black piercing eyes that sparkled in merriment, and which were formidable in anger, his young sister, imogene, doted upon. fox and morgan were not far wrong, for if stanley was not actually in love he had a very peculiar liking for a cer- tain young lady that he was too unwilling and too proud to call love. one evening, a few weeks back, he had been pressed to attend a church entertainment. he only went for the novelty of it, for hitherto he had resisted the per- suasions of father and sister to attend church. not since his mother died five years ago had he entered one. one of the numbers on the program was a solo by miss marjorie stone. as she appeared upon the stage, neatly and plainly dressed, something about her attracted his attention. she was not what some people would call beau- tiful, yet she had a very pleasing and attractive appear. ance. her face was round and her features regular. her form was of middle height, slender and graceful. what , constituted her chief attraction was the pure noble soul that seemed to look out of her expressive blue eyes. this and the modest grace of her bearing attracted seth stan- ley. her song was of a semi-religious nature, and when her voice, which was remarkably pure and sweet, rose full and rich with melody and expression, he sat like one entranced. the words turned his thoughts back to the teachings of his youth, and for a moment he felt a twinge of conscience. then reverting back to the singer he became enraptured with her voice, bearing and expressive face, and for the rest of the evening he thought of her considerably and joined heartily with the others in giving her hearty applause for an encore. after the concert was over he sought out his friend fox, as he was desirous of meeting her, and whom he found was an intimate acquaintance of hers. he was presented and was somewhat surprised that she exhibited no sign of gratification as others had done, on meeting him. she had often seen him in passing up and down the street and had admired his gentlemanly bearing, and had often wondered why a young man of his ability and opportunity had so wasted them. her unassuming manner attracted him more than if she had used all the finesse of the couquette to the same end. as he sauntered home that evening thoughts of her constantly flitted through his mind, but why he could hardly understand, “ for,” said he, trying to analyze his thoughts, “ she is not beautiful, though decidedly comely, and her retiring modesty amuses me, so different is it from that of most of the young ladies i have met with, and her rich voice certainly thrilled me. i must see more of her.” he was pleased with miss stone from the fact that he recognized that she, being an exceptional character, would be able to amuse him, and for that object he resolved to cultivate her acquaintance; in fact it could be well doubted if he was at that moment actuated by any motive outside of what he experienced when determining upon a trip, or carrying out any plan in which he expected to derive some great pleasure. some will perhaps be shocked at him, but then consider his training, the child of an immensely rich father, gratified in every whim, sought after by the mammas of marriageable daughters, a petted spoiled child, surfeited with pleasure and fastidious to a high degree, one who thought that with money all things could be pur- chased. was he so much different from the rest of the world in this? how many noble souls and great charac- ters have sunk into insignificance? how many giant minds have become dwarfed in intellect through the wealth of the world and the lavish praise of the flatterer heaped upon them? how many young men of exceptional oppor- tunity and parentage are the sons of their fathers only? is it to be wondered at that so many of the sons of the rich never obtain pre-eminence in learning, statesmanship, or literature, or that they rise above mediocrity, so ener- vating is the power of wealth among the majority that possess it? some of us learn too late that happiness and contentment are more to be desired than money, and that money cannot buy them. stanley found this out, but at what a cost of mental torture and anguish. considering his fastidious tastes and his training, his resolve as to the extended acquaintance with miss stone must be consid- ered in the light of a compliment to her qualities that, even without effort she exerted so great an influence over him. at any rate the next sunday found him at church in company with imogene, an attentive listener to the minister, but a still more attentive one to the choir, situ. ated directly back and above the pulpit. he had learned that she was a member of it, and he could distinguish her voice above the others. he found his good opinion of her increasing. as he listened he was unable to tell which interested him most, voice or girl. he stared at her a great deal, and once or twice, when she caught him, he flushed slightly, and with some confusion looked quickly away. two or three weeks of the same routine followed. he becoming a constant attendant at church; thus serving & good end, for the words of the preacher awakened in him many old memories which caused him to reflect. from that time he had a double purpose in attending church.. this was the beginning of his transition from the careless, thoughtless youth, to the thoughtful man of great pur- poses and lofty ideals. his mother was a good christian and had endeavored to teach her child aright, but he found such teachings at variance with his inclinations and the practices of certain companions, and he had quietly lain them aside. since that time he had sturdily refused to be upraided for his shortcomings by any one except his father, who once in a while bluffly, but curtly, asked if he ever intended to be a man and settle down to business. in this case, once in the church, circumstances compelled him to listen. listening aroused thoughts which brought in vivid contrast his own loose life, with the one of sacri- fice now reflected by his new surroundings and teachings. sometimes an incident in a man's life changes the whole , course of his nature, while all other efforts in that direc- tion have proved futile. as his mind reverted to his mother a spark of tenderness lit up his soul as no other thought could. he was in the humor for such thoughts, feeling depressed and remorseful. the change was growing, he was fast becoming serious, more of a man. thinking less of pleasure and more of the responsibility of manhood. his former boon compan- ions he began to shake for the more profitable companion- ship of the young men we have seen him with. he desired more than ever to become better acquainted with miss stone. he succeeded and it came about in this way. chapter iii. at the solicitation of imogene he called with her upon mrs. charles durham, who had been an intimate friend of his mother's, as they entered the richly furnished parlors, where hung many a costly work of art, luxuriant drapings, and which were filled with costly bric-a-brac, stanley's heart gave a great thump as he noticed a young lady at the piano whose form seemed familiar. while wondering who she was, she turned around and he recog- nized miss stone. bowing gracefully, he approached her, and was about to make some remark when mrs. durham, a matronly lady, appeared with as many fluffs and orna. ments as she made courtesies. “ i am so glad to see you, my dears,” she said, as she kissed imogene. “let me introduce you to miss stone. i hope you will become great friends. you are acquainted with her, are you not?” turning to stanley. “yes, i met her once at a church entertainment,” he replied hesitatingly. mrs. durham arched her eye-brows as she replied, “now that's a surprise for me. we old people are way behind the times. you young people get around and acquainted so fast.” she then set about making the young people better acquainted, and to judge from the clatter of tongues and the sounds of laughter succeeded admirably. “ you must stay to tea,” she said shortly, and out she went bustling without waiting for a reply to have the necessary preparation made. ' . stanley noticed in miss stone the same indifferent, yet pleasing manner she exhibited at their first meeting. at first it annoyed him, finally it amused and entertained him. finding that he must lead in the conversation if it continued as sprightly as before, he chose to speak of the concert where he had first met her. “miss stone, as i have not had the opportunity before, i must compliment you at this late hour on your success at the concert. without flattery i can say your voice and rendition were superb, far superior to some who make professional pretentions.” “yes, indeed," chimed in imogene, “your solo was lovely." “i disclaim all pretensions to merit,” replied miss stone, “and only filled in the program for lack of some one to complete it, and the concert was given for a laudable purpose." “may i ask what that purpose was?” “certainly. our sexton had been quite ill. his fam- ily having no other means of support were in sad want. they have three little children, and had scarcely food and fire enough for comfort. i visited them myself, and could hardly believe that there were people so wretched. but one never knows what he can bear until he has been called to undergo the scourge. we cleared over one hundred dollars, and you should have seen the tears of gratitude in that woman's eyes when we gave it to her. even the children, in a shy way, clinging to their mother's skirts, looked their thanks. we felt amply repaid.” marjorie told her story in a simple, earnest manner and there was the slight suspicion of a tear in her eye as she closed. “oh! it's a good thing to help the poor when you're certain they are needy, but there are so many impostors," said stanley uncharitably, for he seldom gave any thought except of late, to anything not conducive to his own pleasure or to those whom he dubbed, “poor unfortunate fellows," who had drunk the cup of folly to its very dregs to find the bitter potion at the bottom. for these he had a fellow feeling, and they were the first to touch the dor- mant tenderness of what might have been a charitable nature. “it may have seemed to you that people living in such want wouldn't care to live at all, but more than two-thirds of the suicides are those who were once above want, but have either ruined their own prospects, or have had them ruined by adverse circumstances." “perhaps you are right. those who know only poverty and strife expect but little, and never consider their lot in the same light with those who have fallen from a position of wealth and affluence." “it is brooding over one's difficulties and prospects that drive men to despair. they find themselves on the verge of financial or social ruin, and rather than trust themselves to the consequences, they fling themselves into the uncertainties of the eternal beyond.” before she could reply, mr. durham came in, but stanley,s speech concerning the deserving poor disturbed her a little. mr. durham was small in statute, rather fat, and like most fat men, jovial, good natured and fond of a joke at some one else's expense. marjorie was his niece, and the durham's having no children, made much of her. “good evening,” said he, on entering the room. then catching sight of stanley and his sister, remarked as a ? twinkle lit up his eye. “are young ladies so scarce that you have to use your sister for company?”. “no, not at all. is it surprising that a young man should be seen out in company with his sister. ?” “only it is an exception,” rejoined mr durham laugh- ing. “i enjoy being an exception in this case.” just then in came mrs. durham. “why, charles, what made you so late to tea? come right out now, every- thing is ready. seth will you please escort marjorie, and you charles, imogene. “mr. stanley has just said he enjoyed being an excep- tion, in the fact that his sister is quite entertaining society, therefore he prefers her above his lady friends. you have broken in upon his enjoyment and made him give his sister the shake' already, to use the parlance of the street." “it wont be many years before imogene will have all the beaux around her ears that she desires and they wont be such bald-headed badgers as you either,” replied mrs. durham. “the lucky one soon will be if he takes after me," and he patted his semi-bald pate in conscious glee, at having floored mrs. durham in the first bout. mrs. durham was very much pleased to have stanley and miss stone meet at her home, for while she had been away at school studying music, mrs. durham had been very lavish in her praises. she had a warm place in her heart for the young man for his mother's sake, and she believed that beneath the exterior of his careless life there might lay dormant, excellent qualities, which only needed some spark to set them alive. he looked so much like his mother that he couldn't be inherently bad. but mrs. . durham was very susceptible in her opinions, and was easily led away after strange doctrines and beliefs concern- ing persons. her simplicity and credulity made her an easy prey. to representations. marjorie was a frequent visitor, but stanley's life of pleasure and roving, since her return from school, accounted for their not having met before. mr. durham sat at the head of the table while on either side sat imogene and marjorie. stanley sat next to her, while mrs. durham sat at the foot of the table. during tea he had abundant opportunity to study the young lady. although mr. durham engaged her attention more than was satisfactory to his taste, yet he had sufficient conver- sation with her to know that she was his intellectual superior. she talked more readily and clearly on all sub- jects than he could, even politics, and proved a worthy opponent to the caustic arguments of mr. durham, who prided himself on his ability to worst an enemy in debate. during one of their heated discussions on universalism, which was mr. durham's hobby, stanley had time to reflect on his general ignorance, for though he had nearly finished a year at college, he had failed to follow up the informa- tion gained from his text books, by general reading and study. he realized that he was sadly deficient in general information and in deductions, as compared with these two, mrs. durham tried to entertain imogene but she was so engrossed in the arguments of the others that she proved only a passive listener. once or twice stanley essayed to engage in the argument siding with miss stone, but he gave a sigh of relief when the conversation drifted to the commonplace topics of society and music. he then had opportunity to engage her attention and to keep it awhile from mr. durham, of whom he had actually began to feel jealous. supper over, they were again in the drawing room and imogene suggested that they have some music. “wont you please sing for us miss stone, seth admires your voice very much?” he crimsoned a little at his sister's remark, he termed it a bad break, but joined in her request, “yes, do, miss stone, for music you know hath charms to sooth the civilized, as well as the savage breast.” “shall we consider that as an acknowledgment that yours is troubled ?" piquantly asked mr. durham. “not at all, only i am passionately fond of music. when i was in europe last summer nothing attracted me more than the opera at bayreuth.” “then you must be something of a musician,” said marjorie, who was now interested. "for we generally practice that which pleases us most. perhaps you are a connoisseur and my singing may disappoint you." “allow me to assure you to the contrary. i have heard your voice and have placed it on my list of attractions, of course with your permission always." it was marjorie's turn to blush, but before she could reply as she would have liked, mrs. durham who had planned while at table that she should sing, threw her weight into the scale by saying, "i have it. you can sing my favorite, 'oh restless sea,' charles can sing the tenor, and seth, whom imogene has just told me, has studied some at munich, will sing the bass.” “only a smattering,” protested stanley. “it seems to me that my life has been a series of smatterings. in cul- ture i am like what richard iii was in physical appear- ance, only half made up.” “self depreciation,” said marjorie, “is the first step towards wisdom. one cannot be wise until he can com- prehend what wisdom is and what must be done to attain it.” “philosopher as well as musician. may i become one of your pupils ? i assure you i shall be attentive and an enthusiast." “you might be both and yet despise my doctrine. you would hardly go around the world to find your socrates or plato in an obscure girl who knows little of philosophy and less of the world. your remarks savor of flattery, but of course you were jesting.” “neither jest or flattery, i protest, upon honor. the knowledge of the world teaches arrogance, while the phil- osophy of to-day is a medley of fact and speculation, con- tradiction and assertion. a man may be skilled in these and yet need to learn simplicity and humility.” “have you not learned either e're this?” “don't put your scholar to the test of examination until you have given him lessons.” by this time the music was found and imogene had seated herself at the piano to act as accompanist, so further conversation was cut off. in the duet, between the tenor and bass, stanley's voice, which was rich with melody, rose so full and pure, so strong and sure, and free from the harsh rasping tone of the amateur, that marjorie was both surprised and pleased, while mrs. durham, who sat in a large easy chair, rubbed her hands in delight during the whole song. it was finely rendered. “bravo,” cried the accompanist when the song was fin- ished. “bravo," echoed mrs. durham from the depths of her easy chair, and insisted upon a repetition of it, but mr. durham claimed he was at a disadvantage in company : with two professionals and refused to sing, which caused mrs. durham to scowl. marjorie and stanley at once began to enter their pro- testations: why, the idea, uncle," exclaimed marjorie, “of you leading mr. stanley to believe me a professional.” "allow me to say,” said stanley, who had been trying to speak, “that you have presented my grievance exactly.” mr. durham saw that he had put his foot in it and called their attention to a painting he had recently pur- chased from that their attentton wandered to other paintings and stanley found himself talking as loqua- ciously as a village pastor, in blending events of travel with his knowledge of the masters. he surprised himself and talked so long that the time for their departure arrived altogether too soon. the stones lived on a side street not far from the stanleys, and stanley and imogene saw marjorie safely home. before bidding them good night, she had gra- ciously invited both to call upon her. they promised, stanley rather eagerly, for he was very much pleased with her. chapter iv. : ble as stanley and his sister, after leaving miss stone at her door, continued on their way home, he felt as if there was something lacking. “what can it be?” ran in his thoughts. “i surely am not in love with her. the idea is ridiculous. i have never known care, or sought after that which did not minister to my pleasure. i have never taken time to consider one girl above another, and only this year father has tried to persuade me to enter the store, become better acquainted with the business, settle down and marry.” so absorbed was he that imogene wondered at his unusual silence. she tried to rally him from his reverie, but she was unsuccessful. all at once the idea struck her that perhaps her brother had fallen in love with miss stone. then her brother's actions since that church concert, his church going, rhapsodies over miss stone's voice and his moments of quiet thoughtful- ness, all occurred to her and convinced her that it was the solution of his changed manner. she was still thinking of it that night when she went to bed. when she rose in the morning she felt convinced of it, and in her impulsive- ness communicated her suspicions to her father. he wel. comed her intelligence gladly, for he was grieved at his son's thoughtless mode of life, and anxiously looking for. ward to the time when he would be able to relieve him of some of the cares of business. he thought also if imo- gene's surmises were correct, and his son could win miss stone, he would find an intelligent, worthy, helpmate. the fact that her parents were not rich was nothing to him, for coming from the ranks of the people he knew the value of conscious worth whenever and wherever he saw it. imogene could hardly restrain herself, so pleased was she with her thoughts. if she had dared she would have told her brother. she would also liked to have told miss stone, for, with her short acquaintance, she imagined that marjorie would make a nice sister-in-law. she was curious to find out if her brother's love was returned, and for that purpose called on miss stone before he had the opportun- ity to do so, and was disappointed at not being able to dis- cover anything as for stanley, in vain he protested to himself that he was not in love, and that he only sought and desired her company for the mere purpose of being amused. when he retired that evening he was still deeply absorbed in his thoughts, planning and dispelling, building and destroy- ing, yet still protesting that he was not in love. poor fellow, he did not know then as he afterwards learned that the very fact of his protestations against this new sensa- tion was proof that cupid had not vainly directed his dart at him. that it was the beginning of the passion of his life. that it was the beginning of sorrow and struggle that eventually destroyed his old notions of the power and influence of wealth to attain all things; which clarified his soul for the future happiness in store for it, and made it all the sweeter for having been delayed by the stirring scenes, incidents and perils through which he had passed. the following sunday found him again on his way to church, and he met her just as she came out of her street to take the main thoroughfare. he was surprised and delighted nevertheless. she greeted him with a smile and they went the rest of the way together. very quiet was the young man and somewhat abstracted. she noticing it asked, “ why, mr. stanley, you seem very thoughtful this morning. are you oppressed with the extraordinary heat, or preoccupied with the services ?” “neither, i was thinking how recreant i had been. going to church is a new custom with me." she was somewhat surprised at this remark, but remem- bering what he had said at mrs. durham's, concerning himself, after a pause, she said: “noble resolves, like other virtues, come better late than never.” “i have thought," he replied, " that i could not tie myself to any one object. if i were a christian today, tomorrow, from mere restlessness, i would be a sinner. ever since i left college, i have flitted from one thing to another, epicurean-like, and like them, i have less pleas- ure in the realization of desires than in their pursuit. i. have about reached the conclusion that all men of my stamp eventually reach the vanity of vanities.” she was shocked now, and afterwards remembered this little speech and compared it with what people said about him. however, she protested against applying the stand- ard of earthly, to celestial things. said she: “you cannot compare heavenly things by earthly standards. when all things else fail, the earnest christian is buoyed up and strengthened through his faith. it is quite lamentable that so many people never look for the comfort and blessings to be attained by the acceptance of christ, except when their days of usefulness are past, or when in great distress, but so seldom when in prosperity.” “i should be glad to discuss this subject further with you,” said stanley, as they parted at the church door, “and at some future time we will.” the sermon of the rev. mr. elliot might have been as interesting as usual, and he as earnest as ever in the enun- ciation of the truths embodied, but stanley's mind was far away and he began to realize that he was either in love or that some other inexplicable mental ailment had seized him. he immediately began to plan some diversion by which he could overcome the feeling, thinking that this new born sensation, the plaything of a day, could be laid aside at will, as easily as he could lay aside one pleasure to take up another. a trip up the lakes suggested itself and all that afternoon and evening he thought of it, and finally consummated a plan. parker came over in the evening, and as they sat smoking together, he unfolded the plan to him, and he was delighted with it. in fact he had been in a quandary as to how, and where he would spend his summer vacation. during the week fox and morgan were made aware of it and they became enthusias- tic over it. he acquainted his father with his intention, and he, after giving his son a lecture upon the necessity of soon giving his strict attention to business, gave his assent, and placed the pretty little steam yacht sylvia at his disposal. seth immediately began his preparations. he had promised to call on miss stone, and he hardly knew whether to do so before or after their trip. he began to reason with himself. “if i go before i will have redeemed my promise, and when i return my mind will be occupied with other things. i shall then keep out of her way and so drown this sudden impulse of sentiment, for it can be nothing else. i could not settle down to household cares now, (in his conceit he thought he had only to offer himself to be accepted) and give my devoted attention to a woman. the romance and the newness of the passion would soon wear off and i should long to be free again, to come and go with the boys as i have been wont. i'll pay the visit first.” by this conclusion it might be rightly assumed that he was not a little afraid of the effects miss stone's qualities might have upon him. accordingly about a couple evenings before they were to go on their trip, with the most fastidious care, he dressed himself and started to pay his promised call. chapter v. not until he had mounted the steps and rang the bell, did he fully realize what he was doing, so abstracted had he been. a feeling of extreme diffidence came over him and he felt that he would like to retreat, but too late, for miss stone herself answered the bell and greeted him cordially. something in her smile overcame his diffident feeling, for there was in it, he thought, a something which seemed to indicate that he was expected and welcome. upon entering the parlor he was somewhat surprised to find that a rather thin, dudish looking chap had pre- ceded him. he was dressed in the very latest styles, his exceedingly light hair was parted in the middle, and to cap it all he wore eye-glasses. miss stone was not long in making the two acquainted, and each instinctively felt that he had a rival in the other. stanley advanced and extended his hand while the other, half rising, received it lanquidly and then dropped back into his easy position. “aw, mr. stanley” said mr. maxwell, “i have heard of you before. i believe that you, with some friends, are soon to take a pleasure trip up the lake.” “yes, that is my plan at present, and i have called upon miss stone to pay my adieus before going," replied stanley turning to her. “aw, very kind of you,” said maxwell, and he stared at her, as if waiting for her approbation. stanley thought he felt a feeling of dislike for the man rising up within him which he could attribute to no particular reason except his dudish manners, and that he promised to be a bore. as maxwell continued to look inquisitively at her, as if he deemed it necessary she should say something, she replied: “yes, mr. stanley recently offered himself as a pupil, promised to be attentive, and now he is plotting to rid himself of me entirely.” “perhaps he is only taking his vacation preparatory to assuming his new duties," said maxwell. “you have stated it better than i, mr. maxwell, accept my thanks. i go but i return again. i suppose by that time there will be a class of us as devoted as hypatia's pupils.” “if you go much further, mr. stanley, i shall accuse you of being a coquette." “then i'm as dumb as an hoyster," turning to see what effect his remark would have upon maxwell. but in that vacant countenance he could discern nothing. marjorie stone appeared lovely to stanley that even- ing. she was dressed plainly in a light fabric, no orna- ments save a bunch of violets that lay upon her bosom. her round mobile face, bright red lips, expressive eyes, high forehead, from which the hair rose and fell in seem- ing disorder, and coiled in a neat knot behind, formed a picture that completely entranced him, and he could not conceal the look of admiration and pleasure it gave him. she saw the look, flushed slightly and made haste to re-open the conversation. they were talking of his pro- posed trip and the places of interest he intended to stop at, when mrs. stone entered the room. she was of medium height, rather stout, very well preserved for her age, and tainly have it. their voices blended so well as to elicit complimentary remarks from even maxwell. as he stood by her he felt the influences that she seemed to exert over him unconsciously strengthen. he could feel that, in her presence, the wild caprices that governed his whole life's actions were being negatived by her quiet, gentle manners, strong character and purposes. he felt then as if he could never again enter into the wild excesses into which he had too often plunged, at other times and places, either of speech or of the imagination. he felt that his thoughts were growing purer, his purposes nobler, and he half resolved to possess her for his wife. afterward” at her request,' he sang alone. he chose “ true to the last,” and acted as his own accompanist. he put great feeling into his song and sung as if to her alone, for he felt then that despite his restless nature he could be true to her, and would not desire to be free again to long after new joys or new pleasures. such deep fervor did he put into it that both mrs. stone and maxwell looked apprehensively at marjorie, but she was listening only to the song and admiring the voice, and speculating upon the effect it would produce were it brought to per- fection. shortly after stanley prepared to go, leaving maxwell in almost the same position in which he found him. she accompanied him to the door, and moved by his feeling, he broke up the object for which the pleasure trip was planned and riveted the chains more firmly than he desired to break by asking: “may i have the pleasure of drop- ping you an account of our outing?” she hardly expected such a proffer, and it took her rather unawares, but she said in what he thought was a delightfully bewitching manner, “i should be pleased to know of it, but mind,” she added naively, “ you must tell me all.” “that is a part of the bargain,” he replied gaily, and lifting his hat, bid her good-bye in high spirits. between that time and the hour of his departure his mind was at sea. at times he abused himself soundly for his soft-heartedness, at others he was half inclined to let his feelings have full sway. between these conflicting emotions, at the time this story opens, he had arrived at no fixed conclusions as to his future purposes. of her he was thinking when parker left him to see after a few mat- ters that needed his attention. it was of her he was thinking on arriving home. he went directly to his room to make some preparations and was kept busy until it was about time for parker to arrive. he lit a cigar and smoked awhile in silence. he did not have to wait very long, for parker soon came and was in buoyant spirits. stanley exhibited his impatience to be off for he at once made ready to go. he bid his father good-bye, embraced imogene, who was somewhat disap- pointed that he should go away so soon, for it looked as if her surmises were not correct after all. in consequence she was nervous, and she said to parker, “take good care of my brother.” “don't bother about me,” said stanley impatiently, as he rather hurriedly unclasped her hands, “women are always imagining something is going to happen." parker, however, assured her that he would look after him, and the two then started for the yacht. paul fox and fred morgan had preceded them and were sitting on deck smoking, exchanging stories, and enjoying the cool breezes of the evening. . : chapter vi. the sylvia was a beautiful steam yacht of a decidedly rakish appearance, that had been built and fitted up under mr. stanley's directions, for pleasure purposes. her cabin, which was finished' in hard wood and furnished completely throughout, was divided into three apartments, dining- room, drawing-room and the sleeping apartments. the kitchen and engine-room were below. the decks were fitted around with seats, and overhead was suspended an awning to protect her guests from the rays of the sun. the deck's surface was polished so smoothly that it reflected the objects upon it. everything had been put in readiness and tastefully arranged by john saunders, who acted for this occasion as steward and cabin-boy. saunder was an afro-american*, but his complexion was fair and his features regular. he was slender of form and of a medium height; his hair, slightly curling, was raven black, and his eyes were of the same hue. he had been a class-mate of stanley in the high school at detroit, and entered college at the same time at ann arbor taking the course of civil engineer. stanley had always taken an *this race name has been recently adopted by large numbers of colored people in the united states to show, st, their origin, and d, their present race standing. so far as long residence, a century or more of living, by one's ancestors, and an active participation in a country's affairs can change a race, they claim to have changed and that no other class of people in the country have a better right to be called american. the term negro, while it may have been aptly applied to their ancestors, they hold, as to themselves, it is, st, a mionomer, and d, is un-american and alien. in appointed this term, afro-american, will be used when the author has occasion to speak of them out of dialogue. in dialogue the terms generally in use will be used. interest in him, because of his close application to his studies. and the sacrifices he had made to remain at school. after his graduation, being unable to obtain work in his chosen avocation stanley had secured a place for him in his father's store, where he became assistant bookkeeper. he was, however, always subject to his call when he thought he needed a valet to accompany him on his ram- bling trips. stanley not only found him reliable, but an agreeable and instructive companion. in fact, if it had not been for the circumstance of color, and the adverse criticism he feared would be heaped upon him by society, he would have made a friend and confidant of him. it was the intention of the party to make the trip by. daylight, and as they expected to be off at dawn retired early. saunders was strictly charged to be up with the lark and arouse the others early. all slept soundly and when saun- ders awoke them, just as the sun began to peep over the trees on belle isle, the active busy life of the day had commenced along the wharves, and the ferry boats had began to ply between detroit and windsor, they turned out with many a stretch and yawn. “it doesn't seein to me as if i've slept two hours,” said parker in a gaping vaice. “i know i slept very soundly,” added morgan. “i didn't wake once. no wonder sailors are so healthy. such refreshing air, restful sleep and keen appetite. i feel as if i could eat right away.” “the way of the laggard,” remarked paul fox. “you are a nice one to say laggard,” replied morgan, “when you sit rubbing your eyes and too lazy to dress." “my stomach is not more active than my limbs, at any rate,” retorted fox. “i can wait until breakfast is ready.”. “this river air must have sharpened your wits as well as appetites.” said parker, who was standing in the middle of the room going through the dumb bell practice with closed fists. “i suppose you wanted to be odd and thought you would whet your muscle," said morgan, looking up. “ you need it, however, for its precious little exercise you get outside the gymnasium.” “ don't think orchard lake is the only place where people exercise. we kick football, row and put on the :: gloves here, if we are not so straight up and down that people think our backs and shoulders are moulded instead of having grown to that shape.” “i wish we had brought a pair of gloves,” said stan- ley, who had remained silent. “ i'd give parker a lesson in the manly art if we had," said morgan. “ you mean we would probably give each other a les- son,” replied parker, still swinging his arms. “i didn't know i was in a nest of gladiators," said fox, who was far from muscular. “i guess i'll go up and wrestle with the breakfast table.” “that's right in your line,” said morgan, who had been waiting for an opportunity to get even with fox. all now hurried on deck, and while the cook was pre- paring breakfast they helped the captain and saunders to get the boat under way. all of them were eager to be off for their minds were stored with the fun and pleasure they expected to get out of the trip. on their left lay detroit, with the curling smoke and steam of its various manufac- tories contrasting with the clear blue sky and light fleecy clouds which were beginning to disappear under the heat of the sun. detroit is the most beautiful city of america, handsomely adorned by nature and man; with fine waters which leads into the broad expanse where those same trees seem but a fringe on the edge of space.” “you forgot hull's surrender, and pontiac's con- spiracy, when you said detroit had no history,” said mor- gan. “there goes our military genius again,” said fox. “are not beautiful poems with their pleasing phrases regulated by moods and surroundings?” asked parker. “we read them, give our fancy full play, and say, “surely this is a fine picture, and we ask ourselves why we had not seen it in that way before. the fact is, these things are a part of ourselves, and we look to far away things for beauty and pleasure. the poet will find a psalm of praise in the hum of machinery, while the laborer, whose business keeps him with it daily finds it prosy. possibly if lowell were with us he might find something in this rarely beau- tiful morning that would make him go into rhapsodies over “a day in july." “right you are,” replied stanley. “we feel that which we cannot express yet cannot all conceal, but let me warn you, don't let your spirits overflow before we are fairly under way, or before we return it may grow monoto- nous." “sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,” interposed fox. “saith the preacher," chimed in morgan. this created a laugh at fox's expense, for he was ministerial looking they did not hurry any with this early morning meal, but mid jest and laughter prolonged the double repast of food and wit for some time. by this time the sylvia was well out in lake st. clair, and books, magazines, papers and sketching utensils were • brought out and each busied himself with his particular book or engaged in his favorite pastime, until the govern- ment canal with its made banks supported and lined by willows, the club houses and private residences of the “flats” came in view. stanley had picked up a copy of the century, but did not read much, for as the needle is attracted and turns to the magnet, so his thoughts went out to marjorie stone. he thought it would have been pleasanter had there been ladies and music on board. the boys were good company, and they were having a good time, but something appeared to be lacking. remembering his offer of writing to her he wondered how he was going to do it without the other fellows finding it out. this was succeeded by another, a companion thought. if he had the opportunity how would he write, what would he say, how should he say it? he had many correspondents, all gentlemen, but no ladies, and he wanted to create a favorable impression. “i shall not write until we get to mackinac,” he said almost aloud. “she has been around here propably a dozen times or more, and what i might say about it would be dull and commonplace.” morgan, who was on the alert to find out what troubled him, had been quietly observing him. he noticed that since the conversation dropped he had not read a page in his magazine, and was apparently absorbed in dreams, so leaning over toward fox he said, “i say, paul, i guess our conjecture was right after all. seth is in another mood.” “ don't be in too big a hurry to judge, fred. he may be brooding over some irritating circumstance.” , “say, boys, don't you think it is time for lunch," exclaimed parker, who had also been unable to settle down to anything. “ this trip will make a glutton of me.” “i don't mind if we do,” answered stanley. “say, john, prepare a lunch for us, please.” “all right, mr. stanley.” saunders had been quietly and busily engaged at some- thing on the forward deck and had hitherto escaped their notice. he quickly laid down his materials and started for the kitchen to have the lunch made ready. stanley, who was somewhat familiar with his character and had often been astonished at his versatility, then quietly strolled over, out of mere curiosity, to where saunders had been sitting. much to his surprise he found that he had been sketching the grosse point light house, and its surroundings. “look here, paul!” he shouted. “john has been tres- passing on your field. here is the first sketch of the trip.” the young men at once hastened to stanley's side and seeing the sketch had to recognize the ability of the artist. “ what sort of a colored man is that, seth ? " asked parker, “a prodigy? i was surprised this morning at his manner of speech, he seemed so intelligent.” “and he is intelligent,” replied stanley, “and i con- fess that he is far better informed than i am. i often think its a pity he isn't.white.” then in a few words he gave them a concise account of saunder's history, as he knew it. “that he had been unfortunate after leaving college, for though well equipped as a civil engineer and for other kinds of work, he could not find employment, so i secured him a place at the store and he is getting along finely.” “there was a young colored man in my class at col- lege,” said fox, “and he was as smart as a whip, but i don't consider a man a prodigy because he is learned above the ordinary. with the volume and cheapness of literature there is no excuse for ignorance in the most humble home. however, i must get my material out after luncheon and make a few sketches of the club houses and scenery along the flats that look like a mininiature venice." “a venice in the fact that it sits in the water that is all,” replied stanley. saunders and his art after this was given some atten- tion. he and fox made several sketches and gave to the others as souvenirs of the trip, and he afterward copied some for stanley who thought it might be just the thing to accompany his first letter to her. chapter vii. sunset rubies glistened in the western sky when the yacht sylvia arrived at sand beech. the next morning, bright and early, they were under way again. at mack- inac they intended to stop two or three days then go to sault ste. de marie, which was then in the beginning of its real estate boom, via the detour pass. returning by almost the same route and stopping wherever their fancy struck them, for a day or two. meanwhile stanley had found the time to write the letter. he had thought of miss stone continually, and he began to feel by this time that while one may run away from the object of one's affections, the impressions made on the heart cannot be eliminated at will. with him the impression had deepened, and every recurring thought seemed to add to its strength. he surmised that the others suspected his attachment, for parker had had the boldness to speak of it once. in his own mind he con- cluded that he was really in love and decided to let his affections have full sway. whether it was pure and last- ing or merely ephemeral, the future would tell, and he would be sure of its character first, before he made it known to her. it should be no heartless flirtation, or toy- ing conquest to be ruthlessly thrown aside should his present notion forsake him, she seemed too confiding in the simplicity of her manners for that. he would be sure himself, then muster every energy to prove his sincerety. he wrote to her in detail about the trip, and asked for a reply on the plea, that he would be glad to hear from home. when he had finished he gave the letter to saun- ders at alpena, secretly, to post for him. all were on deck as they approached mackinac island, which rose like “a green house from out a silvery plane.” fort mackinac with its white-washed walls and approaches had the appearance of a feudal castle. the sylvia soon landed them at the wharf and they were not long in making arrangements and getting ashore. after inspecting old curiosity shop, they proceeded to find the most romantic and suitable spot in which to pitch their tent. as they walked along the hard gravelled walk, under thick foliage,, past meadow, orchard and fields of grain gently waving in the breeze, they all agreed in thinking the island the most beautiful and romantic. once on the crest of a hill, that commanded the view for quite a distance, they could see the beauties of this little natural world unfold itself like a panorama. on one hill- side a reaper plied its course around a field of wheat grad- aully narrowing as the grain toppled on the receiving- board and was pushed off for the binder. over and over went the combing rakes gently inclining the stalks of wheat to the blade. in the valley stood the growing corn, tall and straight, just putting forth its silk tasseling, look- ing like the serried ranks of soldiers returning home with the fruits of conquest. across the valley, lazily feeding in the shade of the orchard was the faithful milch cow, filling herself from the abundance of clover that carpeted the fields. in the distance nestled a farm house among the trees rich with fruit, waiting for the autumnal ripen- ing. absorbed in the beauty of nature, for these young men loved the beautiful and the romantic, they were silent until fox broke the stillness by saying: “ wealth and ease form a glamor which may be the rewards of city life; but the riches of nature shaped by the hand of god is the inheritance of the farmer. here are fields unalloyed by the hands of man, save to tickle it for the harvest. the flowers that toil not neither do they spin, (stanley started, for the words used by fox, reminded him of that evening when he first saw her in the concert and of the song she sung), and yet their beauty in their natural arrangement exceeds all that the ingenuity of man had attempted by reproduction.” : "i have thought,” said stanley, “that it must be a siren that tempts the countryman from his home to the squalid scenes of city life where employment is so uncer- tain, and articles of food and fuel stand for so many bills of uncle sam's “promises to pay.” “but everyone doesn't stop to reason it out, in that way,” protested morgan. “here we are with our minds open and directed towards just the impression we are receiving. the question of an early rising and an all day's work under a beaming sun or in a heavy rain has not entered into our calculation. this is why finely woven theories are accepted as truths by those who have no experience we know that the best theorizer is a man with the least experience in the matter he has to deal with.” “enough of that,” cried parker, i came on this trip for unalloyed pleasure, and i don't want you to paint for me the dark side of life at this time.” "i was only knocking out the foundation of the air castles paul and seth were building." “when a man gets beyond the point where castle building ceases to be a pleasure, if not a profitable pas- time, because he believes it breeds discontent; he must close the gates of paradise, for there, some believe, that the wish supplies the want." “but your castles,” remonstrated morgan, “were to fit other men's ideas. if they builded for themselves, it might be different in every particular from what you have pictured it.” “ you talk like a philosopher,” said parker, “let us get the points of the compass and see which side of the island we are on.” “top side,” said fox, “sun's at zenith.” “facetious,” grunted parker. “but that's better than fred's harangue about human misery. if one wanted to contemplate that, he should have remained in the city." this was a corker, and drew out a round of “ohs!” followed by silence. mackinac island, which is rock girt, is a delightful summer resort and one of the most beautiful natural parks to be found anywhere. it is within easy access of all the attractions of northern michigan, and the few days spent here, and in its vicinity by the young men, teemed with incident and pleasure. fishing in the lake, whose waters around the island are so clear that the eye can see the bot- tom at a great depth; lying in the shade reading, sketch- ing from picturesque rocks that line the islands of the northern shore, or in taking brief trips to st. ignace, che- boygan, petoskey, and other resorts. one of the most interesting, novel and romantic trips that can be found anywhere, is the island route to petoskey. you go upon crooked rivers and through lovely lakes, encircled by hills covered with dense foliage, that form a ruggedness of out- line decidedly picturesque; and over the bosom of the water is a sheen peculiar to inland lakes that casts a dreamy haze over all. you go among logs and booms, the rosy light of the sunrise was distinctly visible, and with a delight mingled with awe and wonder, they watched the line of purple, red and gold speed across the heavens driving before it the shadow of the night, until the sun, like a great yellow ball, appeared from out lake huron and caused lake and forest to glisten under its rays. in the distance lay. the les cheneaux islands; while to the south, a mere speck upon the horizon, was a steamer from whose stack the smoke rose in curls and floated like black clouds toward the east. turning their eyes to nearer objects the beauties of the island opened to them in all their loveliness. beneath, the valley with its woods, its farmhouses, its fields of grain; a little to the south, sugar loaf rock rose up like a sentinel in his line of duty. here and there a solitary pedestrian could be seen, who like themselves was seeking the bracing air of the morn- ing, and field hands going to their work. from yonder farmhouse rose a thin blue curl of smoke; still further south they could see the white-wasbed walls of the fort. again looking eastward could be seen arch rock, a natural bridge, and near by cliffs and robinson's folly. “i do not wonder that the indians thought this island to be the home of manitou, or that longfellow should choose it with its wild indian legends and their heroes, and be able to weave them into verses so romantic as to charm the world with their beauty and simplicity. inspir- ation to do or accomplish something more than the ordi- nary seems to be in the air we breathe,” said paul fox, breaking the silence. “i feel like doing something in the ordinary,” said parker, “let us eat. whether this appetite of mine is due to the air we breathe or this early morning walk is a con- undrum that doesn't detract from my desire to do." : chapter viii. one afternoon during their stay at the island, stanley, who was unable to banish marjorie stone from his thoughts, left the others and went on board the sylvia to write to her. in his letter he said that he often wished that she was one of the party so that she might partici- pate in their enjoyment. he gave a minute account of their pleasures, their trips to places of interest, and dilated upon the excellence of the climate, claiming that its repu- tation as a health resort had not been overrated. “in a day or two,” he added, “the rest of the party might deter- : mine they would go on to the “soo" and then return." two nights before their departure to the soo the others, being tired from the day's tramp, turned in early. stanley, unable to sleep because of the many thoughts that ran riot in his brain, went out for a walk. in the course of his walk he found himself near arch rock. this was a favorite spot of his. it was decidedly roman- tic, and afforded an excellent view of the lake. it is inex- plicable, yet true, that in our hours of unconsciousness of our surroundings, the mind and even the steps revert to things we love best, nor do they need a guide other than an intuition that might be denominated one of the senses. the moon was at its full at the time and cast a soft silvery light, which falling upon the dancing ripples beneath, created a coruscating splendor. the rippling waters breaking like soft cadences upon the beach had a sooth- ing effect upon him, while the ceaseless beating upon the shore reminded him a great deal of the steady current of thought going on in his own mind in regard to “ her." ; even as those waters, now so quietly splashing upon the beach, dash when aroused, wave after wave, in impetuous and"angry fury upon the shore, so to, at times in his mind, was his love aroused, and thoughts tumultuous would rush through his brain of doubt, fear and anger. of anger for the past, of fear and doubt whether the past would rise up to cheat him of her. now his thoughts were attuned to the gentle flow beneath and the romance and quiet of his surroundings affected him, and made his thoughts flow in a calm and easy stream, as he analyzed his love for “her” and considered his own unworthiness. “i love her! i love her!” he repeated to himself, “ and this separation from her and her influences only tells me how deep and fervent my love is, and how unworthy i am of her. she is so pure and innocent, while i-i have been a rioter after pleasures, not with my own, but my father's earnings. not one penny that i enjoy is rightfully the result of my own exertion. the days of youthful prepar- ation for usefulness, and the opportunities i have had to make a man of myself, i have slighted or neglected. i am neither good, learned or capable, and yet i love and would be loved. these qualities i know are not essential to love, still for a man in my position of life they are essential to perfect manhood. whether love be a child of the head or heart, i feel it awakening my energies to satisfy the long- ing it creates. since i have felt it, for the first time i have been animated to action, and surely with one so noble to cherish, it should change the whole course of my nature. i feel the change. i will try to win her, and shall make that one of my special objects when i return home. were it not that the boys were my guests, and it would be too bad to spoil their pleasure by cutting the trip short, i would start for detroit to-morrow.” love had worked a great change in stanley. from seeking the society of a young lady, solely because she pleased him and gratified his desire for pleasure, as other pleasures had done, he now finds that society to be an actual necessity. love, too, was changing him for the better. it was beginning to ennoble and uplift him. for, instead of seeking after vain pleasures, he suddenly became aware of the responsibilities of manhood and was eager to prepare himself for such a life as an alliance with a pure and lofty-minded young woman would demand. there is a great deal of truth in the saying that love either uplifts or debases, according to the character of the object it sets its affections upon. many through its influences have been lifted up, and many worthy people, it has caused to wallow in infamy. is not life, after all, a game of chance? ought we, or our surroundings, be responsible if our game be lost, and as a result, instead of pursuing honorable lives, we become infamous ? five days 'had passed in mackinac and its vicinity before they were ready to proceed on their way to the “soo.” these days had passed too slowly for stanley, who was anxious to return home, yet, in all their pleasures he was the life of the party. he recognized that to cut the time and trip short without some good excuse would not only be discourteous, but attract attention to himself in a way that he did not desire. so betwixt a smile and a sigh he ordered preparations for an early start in the morning, on the evening before. early next morning, the fires ready, capt. lake gave the word. the anchor was weighed. the engine started. the screw wheel fairly churned and lashed the water, slowly at first, then like a thing of life, the sylvia sped on her journey. when the young men came on deck, mackinac in the rear, was hardly visible, and abreast of them were the les cheneaux islands. speeding at the rate of sixteen miles per hour, it was not long before the sylvia entered st. mary's river through the detour pass. there are numer- ous little islands in the river many of which are utilized by fishing and hunting clubs. along its course there are also many popular summer resorts. as they proceeded up the river they were surprised at the number of broad straits and little lakes through which they passed. along the banks on either side, rising from the water's edge were high cliffs which shut in the river and lent to the scenery a rugged beauty. fox and saunders got out their sketch- ing utensils, and busied themselves in endeavoring to depict some of its views, while the others gathered around them, watched their progress, and commented on the dif- ferent phases of scenery. the channel of the river is narrow, crooked and shal- low, and the trip is usually made by daylight. capt. lake, however, was an old sailor, and knew all the crooks and turns, the ins and outs, the most attractive spots and the prettiest islands, and in his bluff, hearty way took pleasure in pointing out the places of interest, and stopping when they wanted to explore any particular spot. he further told them, as their time was limited, at some future time he would like to take them on a trip to the pictured rocks. - off the up-channel course. after a pleasant days ride, they arrived at the “soo." on that yacht, there was not a soul more joyous, no person more active and buoyant in spirit than he, when the little vessel turned its prow homeward, none were more agreea- ble or bristled with more humor. speed little bark, and cleave the water rapidly in your • onward rush. engineer keep your fires going, the boilers full, the engine well oiled, the throttle open. rapidly the sylvia glided through the water, and stanley with pleasure noted its speed. at alpena he received a letter from marjorie. it was not lengthy, a mere acknowledgment of his own, and the sketches he had sent, and expressing the hope that he was having a splendid time. it was not much, but it transported him with happiness, and he fairly bubbled over with humor and reminiscences of former trips; of persons he had met and things he had seen. is it strange that he was thus moved ? what lover has not been thrilled with the first lines he has received from his lady-love? what ecstasy lies in every word the fair hand has traced? how often has it been re-read and how often kissed? chapter ix. while stanley and his friends were enjoying their outing, marjorie heard of many stories concerning him that would have rendered him uneasy had he known of it. her uncle, mr. durham, had told her many episodes of his past life, not that he wished to create in her mind an unfavorable opinion, but as a mere matter of having an interesting tale to tell, interspersed with reminiscences of his own boyish pranks. he little suspected what an inter- esting listener he had. once when relating a little story where his goodness of heart was made manifest, mrs. dur. ham said, “yes, he is a good hearted boy, but he has been wild. i remember his conduct used to so worry his mother, and he never seemed to imagine he was doing wrong. it could not be said that he was mean or wilful, but he was certainly wayward and fickle. he never seemed to care for anything longer than to know what it was. his experience in business has been the same.” "but, auntie, do you not think mr. stanley has changed a great deal,” interrupted marjorie. “he seemed very different the evening he took tea with us, but i hardly think he is through sowing his wild oats yet," said mrs. durham. “when he is through he will be all the better for it," said mr. durham. "that is the way you men look at it," retorted mrs. durham. when she said this, she had not the least suspicion of the reason that actuated marjorie's question, for she thought that because of maxwell's persistent and constant attentions, he would be her accepted suitor. she did not know that marjorie did everything she could, without being rude, to discourage his attentions. his effeminate, and dudish ways seemed to overlap and cover up, his good qualities. she had contrasted stanley and maxwell the evening they had met at her own home, and stanley's sinewy form, easy manners, and enthusiasm, that seemed to show that his soul was in all that he did, contrasted favorably with anything she had been able to discern in maxwell. after a moment's reflection upon mrs. durham's opin- ion, she said, “gossip is not as charitable as law; for law gives man the benefit of a doubt, while gossip seeks a doubt to establish the truth of its reports." “girl like, girl like,” said mr. durham, rubbing his fat hands together. “they won't allow their gallant knights to be abused, guilty or not guilty." “i am not passing on his guilt or innocence,” retorted marjorie, “i was speaking of the uncharitableness of gossip. men outgrow youthful follies as they outgrow other childish things.” “to him that is pure all things are pure," said mr. durham somewhat absent mindedly. “shall i say you are fortunate or unfortunate in that you have two such extremes for beaux as stanley and maxwell?” “say i am both and you about have the truth of it. could i cement their two characters together and blend them harmoniously, i should have a man of my liking." “it is too bad that men are not made to order, so as to save the women the trouble of remodeling them as soon as they get them. why, mrs. durham isn't through with me yet.” and mr. durham cast a side glance at his wife and chuckled. “i am not quite satisfied with my work on mr. dur- ham,” said mrs. durham with a sigh, “ but gossip has nothing to do with seth's case, for many of his shortcom- ings have come directly under the observations of many. yet possibly under pressure he may develop what good there is in him." marjorie said no more on this subject as she did not want to appear too interested. she had dispatched a letter to stanley, and had invited him to call on his return. from his actions she had noticed that he had at least a regard for her which she reciprocated. she was not satis- fied with mrs. durham's remarks about him. she knew, however, that despite them mrs. durham had a warm corner in her heart for him for his mother's sake, and that liking marjorie wished to fan into a stronger feeling, or it. might be necessary for her friendship with him to come to a standstill. until late that night she thought over what she had heard, resolving to inquire further. call it hypnotism or what you may, we often tempt fate inviting knowledge that we know will bring suffering and pain, while we rebel at the narration of it. marjorie's father was a traveling agent, consequently away from home much of the time, but she resolved to find if possible her mother's views on the subject. on the first convenient occasion she mentioned him in connection with his trip, and showed her the sketches he had sent. from that she skillfully led the conversation until she had her mother's estimate of him and his char- acter. she was agreeably surprised to find that her mother, while she deprecated the past, was disposed to do him justice, and admit that his chances to retrieve the past were good. she cited many instances of men, who, to her knowledge had been reckless in their youth, yet had developed into men of strong characters. mrs. stone's great aim in life was to try to be just, and, while she deplored evil, she covered a great deal with the mantle of charity. while she did not condone or excuse it, she reasoned that under better and more favorable circum- stances the result might have been different. these prin- ciples she had carefully instilled into her daughter, and as we have seen, with success. “isn't it the exception instead of the rule,” said mar- jorie, bending her earnest eyes intently on her mother, “ that a man who has spent his early years in riotous liv. ing turns out to be sober and steady?” “ i would not say that,” replied mrs. stone, looking at marjorie in return, who flushed a little under her gaze. “ it depends largely on circumstances. i must admit the chances are against a man who has wealth, and has been pampered and flattered even in his vices. this heedless way in which people go into ecstacies over position for favors and recognition, spoil more lives than it helps.” “do you think mr. stanley has acquired such vices, and that they are so deep seated as to be always a part of him?” asked marjorie. “oh, no! i was only speaking generally, but you know that our animal, or what is ordinarily termed our natural inclinations, tend to make us like the brute, it is our cul- tivated faculties that lift us above these inclinations. character is like a tender precious plant, the weeds should be kept down when it is growing or it is liable to be dwarfed." marjorie sat musing over this last proposition, and her mother letting the conversation drop, busied herself with her crocheting, the relation between mother and daughter were those of confidents; hence their lives seemed to be centered in each other, and their thoughts, from their associations ran in almost the same groove. the daughter had never been called upon to exercise her judgment in matters of much moment, for she had always relied upon her mother's judgment. the mother in her turn constantly consulted her daughter, more frequently than she probably would have done owing to mr. stone's absence. it did not at first occur to mrs. stone that there was anything more than a passing commentary on events, things and persons in her daughter's questioning. but when marjorie con- tinued them, it aroused her suspicions, and intuition led her mind back to the evening when stanley had called, and the interest marjorie had shown in him. the intent of the inquiry was revealed to her, but her inherent love of justice made her deal as fairly with him afterward, as she could. she did not desire that marjorie should become strongly attached to stanley, until he had shown that he was worthy of her. above all things she desired her happiness, and she knew to a great degree there was that in his manner, and enthusiastic action that would captivate a girl of her daughter's temperament, and that he had qualities, now dormant, that would contribute to her happiness, if the interest between the two should develop into love. unlike mrs. durham, she knew that the bond between maxwell and her daughter was not strong, owing to the vast difference in temperaments. mrs. stone possessed a great deal of tact and did not reveal the thoughts that passed through her mind to mar- jorie. neither was she at all anxious as to the outcome of the relation between stanley and marjorie, because she had faith in marjorie's strength of purpose and character, and knew that she would not contract an alliance with an unworthy person, though she loved them dearly, and suf- fered in consequence of refusal. marjorie felt some doubt in her mind in consequence of her talks with mrs. durham and her mother as to her future relations with stanley. though she was pleased with him, certain expressions he had made use of when in her company she did not like. what did he mean by being half made up in character? was it the conscious- ness of what he had lost or a bold confession of his weak- ness? in her experience she had met foolhardy bragga- docios who prided themselves in certain shortcomings, rather than being ashamed of them. which was it in seth's case ? in this frame of mind she busied herself with church matters, for she was a prominent active factor in all the ladies aids and charitable societies connected with their church. as is usually the case, the burden of the work in all such societies falls upon a few, while the others are content to look on, to criticise the failures, and to applaud and demand a share in the successes. experience and willingness had developed in her a tact for such work. this with her general reading and music, had occupied her time profitably. little thought being given to beaux, except when in company with other young ladies they fell to discussing them. * * * maxwell, as if alarmed at the sudden appearance of stanley as a rival, and the interest he saw that marjorie exhibited in him had been paying assiduous attention to her in his peculiar way. despite his tendency toward the genus dude he had some attractions which commended him to the graces of the fair sex. with strangers he was quiet and unobstrusive, but he was one of those characters that improve on acquaintance. he read a great deal, was well informed on many subjects, and when interested he surprised a great many by his extensive knowledge and clear thought; because they did not expect such things to emanate from one of his appearance. he was also a fairly successful business man, had no disgusting habits, and a character that was above reproach. these qualities accounted for his being so intimate a friend, and so fre- quent a caller upon the stones, and his company endured by a young lady of marjorie's attainments. the frequency of his calls and the knack he had of outstaying the other young men gave the impression, which mrs. durham pos- sessed, that marjorie and he were engaged. with his other qualities had he possessed the vivacity and earnest- ness of stanley, he would have so inserted himself into her good graces that the wooing that stanley had deter- mined upon, would be in vain. in his attitude toward her now, while redoubling his attentions, he was backward and shy. while loving, he was too timid to express it in action or words sufficiently strong to attract her attention. while by his sighs and uneasy postures, the upward glancing and rolling of his eyes gave her the impression that he was unwell. he endeavored to interest himself more in her charitable work, read up on the foibles of the day that were attractive to the gentler sex, bought expen- sive works on pottery, which was then in its craze, and became an authority in discussing palissys severes, tiles, etc. he studied the language of the flowers and often sent her boquets significant of his love for her. his dress was scrupulously neat, his eye glass always glistened, hats in ' the latest styles, and his canes the envy of all the dudes. sometimes he and marjorie would go out for a stroll in the evening, and under pale luna's influence he would become inexpressibly tender in manner, but the words of affection hesitated upon his lips. · once, when engaged in looking over a work on pottery he had sent her, their hands touched and a thrill went through him like an electric shock. all his passions were aroused, his tender regard and deep feeling. his fingers and lips twitched convulsively in his great effort to muster his courage and find his voice. his story was nearly told. “marjorie,” he said, ready to drop upon his knees. she turned, surprised at the tone of his voice, and with a look of wonder in her eyes. the story remained untold, the words died upon his lips, the calm passionless face that turned on him such surprise, was too much for him. his wits did not, however, desert him and he feigned a sudden illness. marjorie was anxious and interested at once, for while she did not love she did esteem him, and she would have gone immediately for some simple remedy to afford him relief. he would not however, permit her and claimed that he felt better. in his excuses, she was as desirous as he that he should think her ignorant of the real cause of his manner. that evening he left her presence much earlier than usual. on his way home he did what many another man has done under far less embarrassing circumstances. he felt like dashing his head against a stone wall, or having some one kick him for letting the bright eyes of the girl he loved turn him from his purpose. to think that he lacked the words and sentiment when most needed that now so freely rushed through his mind, to tell his love and plead for a return of affection was heart rending. he berated himself soundly for his timidity, and he wondered if she when she looked at him thought he was the con- summate idiot he then believed himself to be, or whether she believed in his faintness. if she did believe in that, and the interest was real that she manifested, the thought was intoxicating, and he at once began to plan what to say and do the next time. only when the time came to find all his thoughts and plans forgotten and himself com- pletely routed, and no more able to declare his love than before. still he continued his visits, planned and devised means for her pleasure, and hoped. to swt, at boston, and through her she was kept well informed of ' the principal events happening in her absence. miss aikman, who was lively and vivacious, but not at all silly, formed quite a contrast to marjorie, whose manner was more dignified and thoughtful. she was one of those girls that seemed to invite confidences, was pleasant and agreeable to all, and always willing to do some one a favor. as a consequence most of her gentlemen friends were half in love with her, and all held themselves in readiness to obey her slightest mandates. it was a rare thing that on a pleasant evening, not that her friends were fair weather's only, her parlors did not contain more than one gentleman caller. she was rather pretty, not any taller than mar- jorie, but a little heavier in build i one warm afternoon about a couple of days before the return of the sylvia, marjorie, desiring to spend the after- noon on the river, called by for “flo." to see if she would not go with her. she readily complied and thither they wended thcir way. they were soon comfortably seated on one of the ferries that ply their way to and from the island park, and enjoying all the ease and comfort, these little trips afford on a hot summer day. in their conversa- tion they encompassed nearly every subject that ladies like to talk about, of the last kettle drum given by mrs. raliegh; or the reception to be given by mrs. manton to governor and mrs. fast; of toilet, of what they were going to wear, of the latest most fashionable fabrics displayed by the merchants on the avenue over their counters; of marjorie's progress in music, of the latest fads, patch- work and of the latest novels. “have you read ben hur yet, margy?" “yes, i just finished it last week." “how did you like it?” “ever so much. i was deeply interested in it. ben hur's wanderings, hair breadth escapes and thrilling adventures with their numerous perils, and the incidents in the life of christ, and the crucifixion are so graphically pictured.” “ while the strange meeting of the egyptian, hindoo and greek, the strange story they tell in their search for the truth, the invisible supreme god, the command given to each in a dream to follow the guiding star to the scene of the incarnation are full of interest. while their arrival at bethlehem, then thronged with people going up to jerusalem, the incidents in the khan, the strange, mystical light that lit up the vicinity and hovered over one of the outhouses, that so excited, alarmed and awed the early morning worshippers, but which revealed to the travellers the place where our lord was born, are events so well told that while they may not add anything new to what is chronicled in the gospels, yet certainly clothe them in a novel and attractive garb. it also gives one an idea of the customs of that time, and makes to me, at least, that event clearer.” ** yes," added marjorie, "books like ben hur, that are based on historical events are certainly great helps in the study of history, for they invest dull facts with the pleas- ing dress of romance, and many become acquainted with them who would not otherwise pore over dusty details. but, by the way, what was the opinion of the club in regard to our american novelists, howell and james. you know that i was unable to be present at the meet- ing." “well, it was rather unsatisfactory, although it was generally conceded that they were the greatest of our nov- elists. some were of the opinion that james was too analytical, and others that howell was too prosy; yet while most of them thought that their novels were models of realism, they did not think that their style would meet the acceptation of the masses. for in action and love, their characters were tame, every-day sort of people, and but served as a glass in which one sees himself reflected. they said that people read novels because they desire something out of the ordinary life.” “then they thought feeling one thing, and action another. the heroic age has passed in fact, but not in | ideal. passions, ambitions and sorrows are just as strong now as ever except in those who have made listlessness a life cultivation, or are incapable of being moved. now, a person who raves about all that they feel, would be con- sidered a bore, and dubbed a crank. one's manner, in these days of propriety, is no index to their souls.” “propriety is good in its place. it often acts as a brake on one's passions,” replied flora, “when the first crude and ill considered thoughts rush to the mind. first thoughts are not always wise, for they seldom spring from reason. however, taking my limited observation and experience as a criterion, i believe people who possess the finer senses live beyond that which they exhibit to their fellows.” “that is very true,” said marjorie, " for life itself is a succession of struggles and aspirations for something just beyond our reach, and life generally ends with it just beyond. our ambitions prompt us to do something bet- ter than our neighbors; and to surpass some one else in some particular vocation. there is a desire to be loved better, or a wish to be regarded as brighter, shrewder, abler and more intelligent than our fellows. for myself, if i should have a husband, i should like one whose love would not be tame, but fervid and glowing, deep and all pervading. in this respect i fear i am like those who fail to appreciate the realistic novel.” “then maxwell would not suit you." “no! but he is misjudged, poor fellow. under the countenance so blank, except to his friends, and that dudish exterior, are hidden excellent qualities and a mind that is well trained and well informed.” the sacred passions of men were not to be made light of by marjorie, and she refrained from telling her most intimate friend of maxwell's attempt at proposing to her. • what do you think of young harper?" “ the incarnation of frankness, an excellent friend, who as you know is engaged to carrie lambert." flora then went over a list of eligible men of their acquaintance, but all failed in some respects to satisfy. marjorie's ideal, at length she asked her to describe him. “ before i do so," replied marjorie, " i must say that i think this catechism is all on one side. let me ask your opinion of walter rogers and the relation he bears to your ideal.” it was a palpable hit, but flóra was equal to the occa- sion. “he is a fine fellow, but then you know my relation to the young men. they like me, som e half adore me but seldom get above that. it would seem that i have but little chance for the fulfillment of my ideal. you see they get too confident, and tell me all their little troubles, looking for advice. in fact they regard me in a platonic relation only. i am a confirmed old maid.” (flora was only twenty-three). “now, for your ideal.” “well, i guess that would be rather difficult to describe. in his personal appearance i should like him to be handsome above the ordinary, tall, courteous and refined in his manners, and of course gallant; earnest and enthusiastic in what he undertakes, and of strong individ. uality. in temper i should like him to be firm, yet gentle, a man of great purposes, and noble. i should like him to be well educated, well informed, and have a well-balanced mind. i should like him to be an appreciator of nature, and one who could look from nature to nature's god.” “ anything else ?” remarked flora, who had been listen- ing intently and thinking. “oh, yes! i should like him to be well up in music, for you know i am devoted to it, and should like to keep up the study, and i think it would be so much easier to keep up the study if he possessed a love for it." “i don't suppose an angel would be out of place, if he was only affable and dealt with terrestial subjects" laughed flora. “these goody-goody fellows were never made to be husbands to mortals. they smile sparingly. think it a sin to laugh aloud and are always out of tune with every- body and everything. you are laying plans to be an old maid too,” and flora marked her last words off with her index finger as if to give them emphasis." marjorie laughed and replied, “ that does not neces- sarily follow. now, really, haven't you known people who came almost up to your ideal?” flora had to acknowledge that she had, then after thinking a moment said: “lately i have seen mr. seth stanley occasionally in your company." “yes, i met him for the first time at the concert given for the sexton's family, and afterwards at uncle durham's.” * do you like him ?” “as a man, yes,” replied marjorie simply; "for he is earnest, enthusiastic and courteous, that i could not help doing so. he is fond of music, too, and has an excel- lent voice." “then he has some of the essentials of your ideal, but have you not thought that this liking him as a man might develop into something stronger ?”. “why, flo., you know the reputation he has, don't you?" “reputation!” said flora, contemptuously “reputa- tion. what is it? nothing of any consequence to a man, but everything to a woman. a man may wallow in the mire, reform and afterwards become conspicuous in society and be honored and respected. circumstances are not rare where men with worse reputations than stanley's have became as active in pursuing honorable lives as they formerly did dishonorable ones. besides, his recklessness, i have heard some friends say, is due more to his thought- lessness than to malicious instincts, and that his offenses against society have grown in proportion as gossip has repeated them. he is said by some to be kind, generous and courteous to a high degree, and they cannot believe that one who watches as carefully over his young sister is utterly devoid of good moral principles. a change they say has been noticeable in him, and for the past two months society has had no fresh escapade of his to talk about. i know that fox, morgan and parker would not be so intimate with him were he as bad as represented. they are up the lakes now.” “i know it,” said marjorie. “i have received a letter from him, and copies of some views sketched by his, steward.” “oh!” said flora, with a look of surprise, then added quickly, “ you were sketching from real life then when you. enumerated so glibly some of the very qualities he pos- sessed. what say you, my lady?” “he has some, it is true," replied marjorie after a pause. “he only lacks some great incentive to possess them all,” said flora vigorously, “and i predict that that incen- tive will soon be found if he continues to seek your society. but come, let us go, it grows late.” “you think you have guessed it exactly now, don't you? so you are willing to close the conversation and seal the seals thereof. you are wrong nevertheless. one or two visits do not make a match any more than one swallow makes a spring.” “that is all right, the one swallow only precedes the others, likewise the visits.” marjorie then remembered her invitation for him to call and she felt her color rising. “ don't blush, margy. honest love is legitimate, and - we all do it, although we ever deny it. another of the conventionalities or proprieties. i believe it is one of the old fellow's agencies of sin.” the club, of which the young ladies talked about in relation to novels and novelists, was one of young ladies, called the “ nineteenth century club.” they met fort- nightly, and one of their special purposes was to familiar- ize themselves with authors and their works. they were quite thorough in their work. they did not disdain the events of the day, for another of their features was the dicussion of home and foreign news, and some of them, without doubt, were much better informed of the trend of events and the causes which led up to them than many men who pride themselves on their general intelligence and information. on the birthdays of certain authors, *, of spirit, enjoyed pleasure, and appreciated the natural beauties of life. while waiting between “ bites," for the first time their personal appearances attracted their atten- tion. excellent air, vigorous appetites, and a broiling sun had all done efficient work. all were well tanned and looked the picture of health, while each had added several pounds to his weight. fox with his stooped shoulders. seemed to have acquired a greater breadth of chest, and his naturally serious look was missing. the appearance of the others seemed to have struck a comical vein in each, for they commenced to chaff one another. “give seth a buckskin suit and a few feathers” said parker, “and he would look like an indian fresh from a reservation.” “well then,” replied stanley, “what i escaped as a boy i am receiving now-a little tanning." “smart! aren't you?" said morgan. “some new influ- ence has taken possession of you these last two days, for before at times you have seemed as dreamy as a poet. what potent power has worked the change?”. “the most potent power i know of," interrupted fox, “is a good appetite, a clear conscience and healthful sleep, seth has two, at least, of these essentials." “while the third naturally follows as the result of the other two,” said stanley. “besides to judge from appear- ances all have succumbed to some magic influence, for you seem ruddier, brighter, wittier, and look more healthy than when we left home.” “flatterer, a new way to turn a joke," said morgan, as if reading a definition from webster. . “you are a jocose lad," said parker. “humph! after that we had better go ashore. per- haps there may be found metal more attractive for your display of wit.” “a witless task we may find it,” said fox. “but, hello!” parker exclaimed, “here comes the idlewild through the canal. there may be some friends aboard, some ladies. that would be metal more attrac- tive.” “a few more fish suppers would make you unbear- able,” said fox. “ for such a bare assertion, thanks." there was a quick movement of an arm over the sur- face of the water, a scoop and a handful or more flew directly at the punster, which he dodged only by a quicker movement and the water struck morgan, who was busily engaged in watching the steamer, back of his neck and ran down his back in a manner that caused him almost to jump out of the boat. his caperings made the others shriek with laughter. “what are you idiots laughing about? there is no fun in a lot of water running down a fellow's back,” growled morgan. “i am, ha! ha! ha! laughing at the, ha! ha! ha! warm and startled reception you, ha! ha! ha! gave the water," shrieked parker, between bursts of laughter. “seeing that you like it so well have some,” said morgan, as he directed a handful at parker that flew into the latter's face and open mouth, ran down his throat, and catching him unprepared almost choked him, and changed his peals of laughter to a fit of coughing “ who laughs last laughs best,” said morgan. he was satisfied and chuckled to himself all the way as they rowed to the landing. none of their friends happened to be aboard the . steamer, which was another disappointment, so they went on board the sylvia in order to reach home early, and capt. lake gave the orders that sent the sylvia again homeward. “ a fellow can't expect the earth and four dollars all at once,” commented parker, partly to himself and partly to the others. “we have had a good time if we haven't seen the dear creatures for nearly a month.” “i am glad to see you extract some comfort out of the situation like a true philospher, particularly so after your attempt to swallow the river. you may catch a mermaid before we get home,” said fox. “no! he will catch the mere maid after he gets home,” replied morgan. the others, as fox afterward put it, sunk down in despair until morgan should sober up. stanley recovering from the transports of happiness into which the receival of marjorie's letter had thrown him began again an eager scrutiny of the same to see if he could not find some word, thought or phrase that would indicate to him a line of action by which he might hope to win her, but in vain. the calm demeanor, the earnest sensible talk that characterized her when in his presence seemed stamped upon the written page. thus left to his own resources for the rest of the trip he began to form and reform plans which he proposed to inaugurate in pushing forward his suit. reaching detroit, hurried orders were given to capt. lake concerning the sylvia, and to john saunders as to their luggage. then they hastened ashore and to their several homes. imogene, who had been expecting her brother for the past two or three days, was watching for him. she heard his steps and rushed to the door. “oh, seth!” she exclaimed, “i am awful glad you have come back. it has been very lonesome here without you. i have had no one to go out with, and have only had kitsey and jack (the names of her cat and pug), to spend the evenings with. my! she continued, as she took his hat and had a clearer view of his face in the bright gas light, how tanned you are." “and how tickled you are." ! “you mean fellow, to talk like that when you have been · gone so long, and i have been so lonesome.” stanley placed one hand upon her head, another under her chin, then kissed the upturned face and lips. then handing her a satchel said: “here, puss! you will find something in this to pay you for past loneliness.” he had been very attentive to his sister of late. he could see her budding into womanhood without the influ- ence of a mother to guide and direct her, and with a father so occupied with business cares that he gave but little time to her, so he had become her confidant and adviser. since his acquaintance with marjorie stone, his care and love for his sister had become more marked. he would have liked her to be as much as possible like that young lady, and he so tried to direct and influence her thoughts. he perhaps made a better mentor from the fact that he had led a life that was a little reckless and knew what temptation lay in the way of a young girl, and how she could best be protected. while stanley went to his room, imogene opened up the satchel and found the duplicate sketches that he had had saunders prepare, together with a number of indian relics and curiosities he had purchased at mackinac island. when she had examined them she took them to mrs. burwell, an elderly and refined lady who had served them for a number of years as housekeeper, to show them to her. after mrs. burwell had adjusted her spectacles and had examined them for a while, imogene asked: “don't you think they are nice? seth had john saunders, the book- keeper at the store, to draw them for me.” “i didn't know that he could do such nice work. these sketches show considerable skill. i suppose mr. seth is quite tired.” “i guess he is. you would hardly know him. he must have gained at least ten pounds, and he is almost as dark as john. when he comes down stairs he is going to tell me all about it," and she tripped out of the room with a light heart and a light step as she thought of the pleas- ure she would have in having her brother at home again for an evening, and listening to his tale of pleasure and fun, told as only he could tell it. she was very proud of that brother of hers. shortly after stanley came down, and while she sat down on a low stool at his feet devouring him with her eyes, he narrated the chief incidents of the trip, and described some of the beautiful scenery they had witnessed, she all the while busy plying him with questions. during their conversation, their father came in, and after greeting him, said, “well seth, you are back. i suppose you have enjoyed yourself.” “yes, father, i certainly did, and now i am ready to try to settle down to business and give you a chance to rest yourself, for you certainly need it.” “i was thinking of going down east for a few days after a while, and since you have expressed a desire to settle down, i will put you in harness at once so i can turn affairs over to you when i go." they talked away, these three, until bed time, stanley enthusiastically over the trip up the lakes, and afterwards patiently listening to his father when he read him a lec- ture upon the necessity of setling down. he also men- tioned during their conversation, several matters he desired that seth should give immediate attention to. while now and then iomgene would break in upon their talk by asking a question, and declaring that next time she must go “as she didn't intend that the boys should have all the fun.” on the following day he commenced his duties at the store, trying to master all the details in a day, and between the labor and the heat of the day he was quite tired in the evening. however he had made the resolu- tion, and had shut his teeth down hard upon it. many of his father's clerks he found were far more proficient than he, but he thought what they had mastered, he could, and consequently stuck close to his duty during the entire day and for several succeeding days. paul fox and john saunders, a colored clerk at the store, who accompanied us in the capacity of general handy man.” “i should like to see them,” said mr. stone rising and joining in their conversation. “i heard fred douglass lecture while i was east and i consider him a prodigy, for he is certainly the equal of any white man i have ever heard lecture. he is one of the few old style impassioned orators that are left us, whose elegant and rounded periods used to so thrill the people. if you have discovered another prodigy among the race i would like to see him or some of his work." marjorie handed him the sketches, and while he was carefully examining them, the general conservation flowed on, on different subjects. when he had finished he asked, “is this a mere gift the fellow possesses, or is his general intelligence in keeping with his work in this line? ". “he is an old school and college mate of mine," answered stanley, “but he finished his course while i did not. i think 'him exceptionally learned and intelligent, besides having a large stock of common sense to draw from." “has tact as well as talent,” said mr. stone. “why, papa,” said marjorie. “ you must remember that our public schools are making many intelligent and refined colored boys and girls. i suppose it was different when you were a school boy. one of my classmates, a colored girl, once loaned me a volume of poems written by a black girl named phyllis wheatley, who lived in the time of washington. it contained a translation of homer's odessey, with a personal note from the father of his country, congratulating her on its merits.” mr. stone said no more, but laid the sketches aside, to again entertain maxwell. maxwell's father was a jeweler, and he was a partner in the firm. mr. stone being a traveling man they commenced to talk business and trade, while the others conversed on society, music and travels. so pleasant did the time speed away that stanley was scarcely conscious of it, and with a feeling akin to dismay he saw on glancing at the clock that stood on the mantle that he had made his call as long as possible, without having had the opportunity to listen to that divine voice. maxwell as usual outstayed him. and as usual he remained but for a few moments after the other had left. this peculiarity had often vexed marjorie and had caused her parents to smile. “maxwell, as usual is bound to have the last word,” laughed her father. in the solitude of their own chamber mr. stone said to his wife, “i do not like the idea of young stanley being on intimate terms with marjorie, he is given to much to pleasure seeking, and his reputation is none of the best. there is contamnation in the society of the vicious." "do not fear for her," replied his wife. “marjorie's principles of right and wrong are rooted, and influence all with whom she comes in contact. “i don't rely so much on well formed principles,” said mr. stone, "when there is love in the case. you know the old story, of how it paints only the best side." “how absurd you talk,” said mrs. stone impatiently, “ marjorie is surely not head over heels in love with that fellow yet.” you can't tell how soon she will be, he is comely, fairly educated, good prospects and devilish winning. i must acknowledge. you could see the difference between him and maxwell at a glance, and one would not be long in saying stanley was the more preferable.” “ marjorie is acquainted with his career and i have no doubt but that she has her eyes open, and i don't want you to bother her with your apprehensions until you have occasion." mr. stone gave a surprised whistle which he turned ' into a mikado” air to the tune of “here's a pretty mess," and said no more. stanley on his way home, tried to figure out maxwell's relations to marjorie, and in that light to figure out his own chances for success, but he could arrive at no satisfac- tory conclusion. “he is a confounded bore at any rate,” he muttered to himself rather savagely. “he seems to be there every night in the week and sits like a bump on a log. if this is to be a contest, i'll make him show his colors, if such a thing is possible.” then he again fell to speculating on his chances, and rapidly his mind ran over all the conversation, and the different phases it assumed, to find some loop hole that would give him a clue. he could find none. she hadn't exhibited anything in her manner that she would not have shown to anyone who had a pleasant tale to tell. he was in a quandary over more than one question, and like all men of his temperament, who are truly in love, he was somewhat chagrined. the object to be gained had become precious in his sight, while the attainment was not at all sure; but it awakened in him a determination to overcome if possible all difficul- ties that lay between him and its accomplishment. obstacles only serve to whet the ambitions of some men and spur them to greater action. in many instances before, his wealth and prospective position in life, had brought around him many flippant flatterers, a number of whom possessed more wealth than marjorie was heir to. his father had humored him, his sister made him her ideal, and young men of his age had courted him because of his means and tact in improvising plans for pleasure. hence it is not at all surprising, that despite his determination to try to win he was at the same time disappointed at what he thought was slow progress. in that respect he was an overgrown child spoiled by his surroundings, intoxicated by his successes, and just beginning to sober up on exper- ience. the most costly and precious things in life that come easy are not valued as highly as the mere commonplaces that cost thought and anxiety. stanley was realizing this to its full capacity. wealth, luxury and ease had come to him without thought. now he found himself the slave of a sentimental passion that summoned every mental force. if he had had the power, however, to look into the mind and heart of the object of his love, he would have found that her regard for him was warm, and the basis of it was the good she had discovered in him, and not for his wealth or position in life. with parker a few evenings later he called on miss mabel downing, a young lady on — street, that he had often seen with his companion. she was tall, stately and quite beautiful, not very long a resident of the city, and he at once began to contrast her with marjorie stone. she was a woman of fashion, bright, vivacious and very often witty. just the qualities that met parker's appro- bation. she loved to dwell on fashionable topics, the delights of splendor and the achievements of men. although handsomer than marjorie, he thought she was not near so desirable. marjorie possessed qualities and purposes, while miss downing, liking and seeking ideals, proposed to shine only in society, and was somewhat friv- olous. parker, however, was delighted with her, for the glamour, which she shed around her was in harmony with his own disposition. when he and parker had parted on his way home he! commented in this manner: “ she and i would make a great pair with like temperaments and tendencies,” then he laughed at himself to think that he was planning love conquests with the same zest he once planned pleasure trips, parties or suppers. “if i am jilted or refused i sup- pose my next role will be that of a misanthrope, and if i play the last as well as i have the first two roles, the earth will soon contain' no virtue or purity for me. how easily the sensible, reasoning and logical man plays the jumping- jack to the grimaces and smirks of fortune. how he makes for himself conditions, by stilling reason, which he calls fate, and then rants at them he applied himself at the store diligently, and the zeal and earnestness with which he took up the work was creditable. he determined to master all the details of the business, and whereas he had gained a reputation for pro- fligacy and unstability, he now desired to gain one for diligence, and perseverance. for a few days all went well then he found that all at once he could not overcome the habit of years, and possess the requisite energy necessary for the requirements of an active business life without a struggle. however, he had calculated the task and tried to quell his rebellous longings with work. despite his effort the desire to be free and roaming would often arise and make him exceedingly nervous. “create desires at pleasure, and they will make their demands at leisure," was a little couplet his mother had often quoted to him, and which had great significance now. he did not visit the club as often now as formerly, and the fellows noticed it, and his changed manners. some were bold enough to twit him with trying to be religious, some said he was in love, others that there had been reverses in business which affected him. generally he responded with a laughing repartee, and although he felt their sarcasms, it served only to make firmer his resolu- tions. going home one evening, after being twitted his thoughts ran as follows in a soliloquy which of late he was becoming addicted to: “i know now what warnings against keeping bad company means. every form of asso- ciation has its demands upon us, and sooner or later we find ourselves yielding until we become the creature of our surroundings. those whose position oft calls them into other fields of life find a demand there ,also but one different from what they have been accustomed to. our better natures tell us at once what appeals to the man and what to the animal, and our inclinations tell us and others, under what master we have served. habits of character are like habits of taste. their march is slow and insid- ious, but sure, and before one is aware he is in their clutches. often one does not realize his true position until a desire is born to reform and to cast off the old habits and associations. it was easy for me to gratify every desire for pleasure to the very extreme of voluptuous imagining, now it is very hard for me to shake off these desires of habit. could i start life anew, shorn of these detracting influences that beset me, and form a part of me, i could probably approach near to what i desire to be. twenty-seven years of life lost to me save in the recollec- tion of many things i would fain forget. yet not alto- gether lost if i can profit by their lesson. ah, that regrets cannot undo the past.” then as his thoughts turned towards marjorie, “but she can help me to atone and to forget and she must. she has lived and moved in other spheres than mine, she has breathed purer air and been moved by nobler impulses. the uneven places of . my life and character she can help fill in; its jagged excesses, smooth, and so restore to itself a character not wholly bad nor devoid of generous impulses. if i must testify to my own good qualities and be guilty of self praise. what would life without her be to me? she is already the incentive that has pushed me on to overcome the past, forget its follies and to live and act more soberly. will the past, with its oft repeated tales step between us? for they too, like little streams gather as they run and grow. if i have not been painted to her ten times as bad as i am, gossip has lost its inventive imagination." the self accusation of a penitent mind is often more <scrutinizing and severe than the harshest outside criticism. >small facts are magnified when they seem to stand between one and the accomplishment of results. it was so in stanley's case. “if they should separate us," he would not pursue the subject further, for the idea cast a chill over him and he shuddered, and tried to turn his attention to more pleasing topics such as planning a ride or a jaunt in which he could derive the benefit of her company. he had almost decided to give up the club as it told on his resolutions. his companionable associates, parker, fox and morgan often visited him and he them. his room where they chatted, smoked or played cards was about all the club he wanted under the circumstances. then imogene claimed her share of his time, and gener- ally received it ere he had peace. once she had bluntly told him that “marjorie stone shouldn't receive all his attentions." “little sister,” he had replied, “ you are getting jealous, and you are too young for that.” “if you want her then, why don't you quit fooling, and marry her?" “hush! hush! who said anything about marrying? don't you ever inention that to any one." “oh! i didn't know it was a secret.” “you don't suppose she cares for me, do you?” he had lain particular stress on the “me." “she's foolish if she don't. i do, and she's no better than i am:” she had her way of looking at things and didn't want him to be fooling away his time. in this respect she was like her father. chapter xiii. the commendations won by stanley from his father, concerning his business qualities, were very pleasing to the young man. he was consulted on all occasions when any important innovation was considered. this had the effect of increasing his confidence in his own abilities, and increasing a love for business, that he did not dream a few months back, he was capable of feeling. he had become a constant church attendant, partly because of marjorie, partly because of his new conceptions of life. it was also because it was a relief from his rest- less hours at home alone, when images of sport and travel asserted a place in his mind to confuse and bewilder him. some of the money that he had been wont to spend in pleasure, now served to render little acts of charity. his constant association with marjorie had broadened his views, and at the same time threw him into the society of men and women of greater depth of thought and better purposes in life than he had formerly been accustomed to. in this sphere he felt his horizon expanding, and in the effort to keep pace with his new acquaintances, he began to acquire a vast fund of knowledge and information. he took marjorie to concerts, operas and receptions, where his sparkling humor was shown to advantage. and as the summer days merged into autumn they took many a pleasant drive to places of interest in and around the city. there are no mountains or very high hills in lower michigan, yet there are places where hill and lake alter- nate with the general undulation of the country, and make pleasing natural pictures. during the summer season the shores of these lakes are transformed into villages by those ; seeking change and rest from the cities. summer cot- tages fringe their borders. here and there a hotel is located to accomodate. the surplus of visitors coming to these resorts. around detroit, however, the country flat- tens out and the highest elevation for some miles around, hardly rises above the dignity of an ordinary ridge. the city was redeemed from the swamps, and around what was intended as a military post, because of its superior posi- tion as a shipping point, for the great inland traffic that traverses the lakes, has grown a large and thriving metro- polis. its growth has, to a great extent followed the river's course, upon whose banks are situated the majority of its large manufactures, thus leaving the resident part remarkably free from the smoke and soot that hovers over most of the large manufacturing cities. notwithstanding the number of factories that line the river's bank, there are few driveways surpassing that out jefferson avenue to grosse pointe, with its almost unbroken line of handsome residences and princely villas along the lake and river fronts. the drive out woodward avenue is no less attrac- tive, and is almost a boulevard with its fine resi- dences and spacious grounds. different groups of these are called after the english style of parks and courts. one passes these on the way to sen. ator palmer's far famed log cabin farm, which is regarded as a marvel in its section. the log cabin is only named from its outside appearance, within one might think it an antique museum of some old family in which all its heir. looms are kept. a deer's antler overhangs the door, on either side of which is tacked a coon skin. within sus- pended from ceiling are strings of corn and dried apples. old fashioned clocks, stand in the corners, and in the rooms are beds, arm chairs, and a cradle, all older than the nation. the surroundings of the cabin are in keeping with its inner furnishings. two artificial lakes, connected by a single stream are fed by an artesian well. the earth removed to form these lakes have been made into a hill which is covered with ferns and plants. here stanley sometimes came with marjorie, and together they would admire the scores of percheron horses and jersey, cattle, or at other times, make an entomological collection and gather the fast turning leaves. “all beauty in nature or man depends upon the condition of one's mind,” he thought one day in mid-autumn as they drove along, past wood and field, which, obedient to the seasons call, had put off nature's gay garb for the winter, then preparing, which would lull them to sleep with its storms. "two years ago this same scene was too com- monplace to attract my attention, today with love permeat- ing my being, and inspiring my vision, all these things seem beautiful. what would they appear to one over- whelmed in sorrow, but a mockery setting his own condi. tion all the more boldly in relief? what to the weary plodder, burdened with toil and the thought of tomorrow's bread, but mere trees, woods or fields occupying so much space that must be cleared, cultivated, to yield a given amount of produce! what to the thinker, but the revela- tion that only to man is committed care.” wrapped in these thoughts he had forgotten all else, and marjorie who had spoken to him and received no answer, began to watch him. as her gaze was steady, intuition, or some other power of the mind which makes replied marjorie, paying no heed to his question. “i grant the motives, even the lives of many are judged by one single act, but when we have an accumulation of cir- ' cumstances, doesn't reason, unswerved by sympathy. decide with the preponderance of evidence?" “ your mental law with its modifications, is generally correct, but sympathy often sways reason, and in that the mischief lies. from now on i shall try to be serious, and make a new record to be judged by.” "i hate, if you will excuse the expression, appearances or forced manners. let us be ourselves at whatever cost.” “this is what i mean to be, and always have been, too much so, i fear. i could never practice deceit on myself.” “i believe that what you are, you are earnestly. “ is that a compliment?” " it is a quality i admire. to be frank, weather-cocks cannot be men, nor should men be weather-cocks. you might know mr. stanley, that i would not have the auda- oity to upbraid! "it is profitable to be able to see ourselves as others see us, if we have confidence that our faults are being criticised charitably. we are so prone to be selfish, that our best attempts to take an honest view of ourselves are liable to be biased." “ conscience is often like a poet's muse-capricious, but · we make it so by warping it out of shape to sanction our i opinions.” “do you think so? by the way i think your friend miss aikman quite frank, in fact she has many other admirable qualities beside that and her beauty.” “you and i agree on that point, for ‘flo.' and i chide each other like sisters, when in our best humors but that has only made our friendship closer and stronger.” “you and she are confidants, i suppose ?" “we are and we are not. somewhat of a paradox isn't it?" oy you are wan when "it seems like one. parker comes nearer being a con- fidant of mine than any one else; but there are some things it is not wise to tell even our best friends. in other words, as poor richard says, “when you keep your own counsels you know they are well kept.” this is per- haps what you mean by your paradox, is it not?” “you have hit it perfectly, mr. stanley. we seem to agree admirably this afternoon." “then we are agreeable, to compass the whole matter." both laughed at his attempt at wit. “the heart, miss stone, is like the earth, dull and unattractive, but from it springs beauty and wealth of sentiment, and in its recesses are many hidden treasures.. it needs to be penetrated by influences that separate and bring out its desirable qualities, like the flowers that! bring forth pleasing colors and rich perfumes." “your similies are fine, mr. stanley. i think you. would make a great poet. only with poetic geniuses do such sentiments flow so readily." she stopped then as if she thought she had said too much, and maintained a quiet reserve for the rest of their drive. on different occasions like these arguments were indulged in, outside of the small talk that generally accompanies conversations. he trying to impress upon her, while arguing in the abstract, that a change in his life was going on, and that an incentive for it had been found. he was pained, however, because she seemed to have joined in the general verdict against him, but to what extent it prejudiced her against him, he could not , tell. he also thought, and in that he was not far wrong that outside influences were brought to bear against him. she was always kind and gracious to him, and seemed to enjoy his society, but she was always discreet enough not to exhibit any sign by which he might predicate whether or no, his suit was favored. he could see that he was pre- ferred above maxwell. that individual did not call frequently now, but when he did, he stayed as long as ever and stanley considered him as much of a bore.” chapter xiv. “love seldom makes good business men,” said mr. stanley, “but in your case, my boy, the rule has been reversed.” seth and his father were in the office quietly talking over business affairs, the volume of trade, the estimated profits for the season, and what new ventures should be made in the spring. afterward the father naturally referred to the active interest taken by his son in the business, and ended with the above remark. “why do you say that?" asked seth, turning quickly and coloring, although he surmised that his father had guessed the secret of his interest, but, wishing to find how his choice was regarded, thought it best to push the mat- ter and get his father's opinion. he said again, "why do you say that, father?”. “do you think me blind?” replied his father. “why even a blind man could see that you were in love with marjorie stone. when before, did the pursuit of an object ever work such a change in you, even for a week? church, hard work, and a struggle with yourself for mas- tery over the pursuits of fleeting pleasure, deserting your club rooms and drives, and a constant attendance upon one whom i fancy reciprocates your affections. i have seen it creeping out in your manner, when with her, in a hundred different ways. my boy, your choice meets my full approval, for i think her a very practicable, business- like and intelligent woman. just the one for such a .. harum-scarum fellow as you have been, and if she thor- oughly tames you i shall certainly count her a worthy daughter. i was quite wild once seth, i can remember when i used to go courting your mother down in new york, what wild pranks we boys used to indulge in. we lived on farms then, on the beautiful sloping plateaus to the south of the adirondacks, through which ran many little streams that fed the mohawk. our folks owned adjoining farms. we married and came west, with little else but hope and determination. your mother nobly seconded my efforts, and what i am, what i have acquired, is due as much to her as to any effort of mine. miss stone's actions and temperaments are very much like hers, and i would advise you to go in and win.” he was standing over stanley as he finished, and as if to give his injunction emphasis, gave him a resounding slap across the shoulders. “i suppose i may as well own up since you have guessed my attachment, but i have not declared my love to her, and i am not so sure i will be accepted when i do.” “tut! tut! no sensible girl is going to stand against her best interests. you have money and position. the two form a power not to be despised. my motto has ever been to conquer all obstacles that i may meet. as society is now organized an ounce of cheek is worth a pound of merit, very often.” “i have at times proceeded on that basis, and find it does well among the unthinking ones. it might even win a wife, but does wealth always win love? i believe mar- jorie stone would consider wealth among the least of my attainments, and i think you misjudge her." “such a heart as yours was made for a chicken, but never mind it will grow with experience," so saying stan- ley pere returned to his desk, leaving his son to think over what had been said. “it must be a game chicken then," commented stanley to himself after a little reflection, “for i have pushed my suit with all the vigor and earnestness that i can muster, and i mean to follow up whatever advantage i have gained. father has no idea how original and firm she is in her convictions, her likes and dislikes, i could not explain the situation to him, though i am satisfied with my present position. if i win i shall win in my own way." with this determination he continued his visits. he went out with her often, played at love, without making it boldly, until he grew in her affections unawares. if he did not come on the usual evenings she was disappointed. if he missed in his attendance at church she upbraided him as her pupil. thus the autumn merged into winter and the time passed rapidly. at christmas he gave her a necklace of pearls, because pearls represented purity. it was the first present he had offered her during their acquaintance and she accepted it. by this time the friends of both had come to the conclu- sion that they were engaged. their more intimate ones, except flora stedman, declared that this attachment of stanley's was only another infatuation for something to gratify his pleasure and ambition. that his attachment was only ephemeral and after a few months of married life she would be left to repent the folly of marrying a good- looking and good-natured young man, who was too unstable in character to apply himself to anything for any length of time. among these was an old lady, mrs. brooks, who admired miss stone very much. when she heard of this reported engagement, she determined to call on mrs. stone and let her know what a wild life young stanley had led. some, jealously inclined, declared she was going to marry him for his money, and said that it would serve her right if he had tired of her, and would leave her and go off to europe in a week. - if you want to enlist the active interest of your friends, just let it be noised about that you are about to marry, and if you will allow it, you will instantly find yourself over- burdened with advice and find yourself the theme on nearly every tongue. speculation, not always good natured, but more frequently tinged with envy, and spiced with ill-natured remarks, becomes rife, even among those who are only casual acquaintances. conservative people who do not mean to be followers of madame grundy, have, many times, when such subjects are introduced and started, fallen into the general rut and said more than they would like to father in more serious moments. mrs. brooks, to whom we have referred, was a widow living with her brother's family. she had passed the time of marriageable probabilities and having a comfortable income had nothing else to do but visit, gossip and read novels. she was quite conversant with all the small talk of the neighborhood, was an inveterate reader and prided herself on her general information of current topics. she was noted for her loquacity and for the concessions people made to her hobbies, age and respectability. language emanating from her passed unnoticed, that coming from others would have been considered impertinent, and at once challenged. she chose a stormy afternoon shortly after the holidays, in which to make the visit to mrs. stone to inform her of stanley's character, because she thought she would more surely find her at home. aş she stood in the hallway shaking off the snow from her fasci- nator and wrap, mrs stone came down the stairway, and with a look of surprise she asked: “why mrs. brooks, what has induced you to come out on such a day as this?" “i don't mind the weather. nothing daunts me, when i make up my mind. i wanted to see you and i thought i would run over for a few minutes. you know i am not of those delicate makeups that sneeze every time the wind blows, or hurries off to the doctor for every pain.” mrs. brooks' portly form seemed to attest the truthfulness of her statements. “i only consult my feelings when i want to do anything, and snap my fingers at outside circum- stances. where is marjorie?”. “she has gone to the matinee of the american opera company with mr. stanley. they are so fond of music that they have braved the storm. but come into the sit- ting room.” this was the opening mrs. brooks desired, and she gladly availed herself of it. when they were comfortably seated, she approached the subject as naturally and glibly as she would have done in dispensing with some choice bit of gossip, or talking of the weather. “mr. stanley has been very attentive to her of late," she said. "i did not know he could be such a gallant." “yes,” replied mrs. stone. “the young people have very many ideas and pleasures in common, and he seems to enjoy her society very much. he is becoming more of a society man and enjoys society. he chats with me almost as much as he does with her and i find him very interesting." “but he is said to be very wild,” clearing her throat. “so i have been told. but i think his reputation has outstripped his acts. i have been unable to discover any · objectionable feature in his character. he is a constant church-goer, but to what influence it should be attributed, is more than i know." “but he'll not stand the restraint, mrs. stone. it isn't his nature to be quiet. a more restless young man one seldom sees." “don't you think that he realizes the folly of his rest- lessness, and has made up his mind to conquer it, and assume the business of his father?” “i can hardly say that i do. he may have resolved to do so, but i should want several years of his reform to convince me that he is sincere. i should not be so hard though, for i hear that he and marjorie are engaged." mrs. stone's eyes flashed and she was about to make some angry retort, reprimanding her for meddling and circulating reports about her daughter. she realized now the object of the visit, and she choked back the half- uttered words for fear it might compromise marjorie and give to gossip fresh material, so she quietly replied, “you have been misinformed. if anything of that nature had happened she would have told me, for since she has been a child she has made me her confidant, and considers me her best friend.” “ we generally keep our own confidence in love affairs, mrs. stone. still i am glad to hear that it hasn't gone that far, and i hope marjorie will be firm enough not to put her head into a halter, even if it is represented by the only son of a millionaire.” “marjorie is a sensible child, and i do not believe that she would do anything willfully that she would afterward have cause to regret. besides, her parents are able to advise her in case they deem a warning necessary. it has always been a mystery to me why people should trouble ! chapter xv mrs. brooks addressed both in the kindliest manner, as if proud of them and of their friendly relation to each other, while mrs. stone looked on and could not help but think when she saw her changed demeanor that she was a she-janus. stanley had rather shunned her knowing her disposi- tion and reputation, since he had been paying court to marjorie; but her kindly tone and pleasing manner in which she complimented them on their appearance and inquired about the opera, disarmed him of any suspicion that he had formerly entertained. in her own mind mrs. brooks was satisfied that they both by nature and temper- ment were adapted to each other. she had been or rather was a devotee of fowler, and she believed in his theory that temperaments ranged generally with the color, and that opposites were best calculated as mates. at heart she was not a malicious woman. she liked conversation and gossip, and often when discussing a person, their merits and demerits, she substituted her imaginings for facts, which caused her to go to excess in criticisms, and say what she did not really mean. then her stubbornness made her stand by her expressed criticism. her comments on the probably close relation marjorie and stanley might bear to each other, and mrs. stone's remarks on the same, she repeated to many other acquain- tances, and these in turn discussed it with others, and occasionally marjorie would catch an inkling of the trend of gossip much to her confusion and discomfort. when they were alone her mother told her what mrs. brooks had said more in indignation at what she termed “unwarranted interference,” than as a warning to her, for she had full confidence in marjorie's judgment. “i wish she would mind her own business," said mar- jorie petulantly. “if i had known that she had been meddling in my affairs i should have told her, too. it will soon be so that two people will not be able to keep each other company without being discussed and belied, even questioned and upbraided to their faces.” “don't lose your temper, my dear," expostulated her mother. “ you must respect her age and her inclinations. i said all that was necessary. besides anger won't stop a tongue, in fact i have never found a remedy that would.” “i never could use such audacity, and i can't under- stand people who do, that's all,” said marjorie, who was nettled. “such a person's enmity is more valuable than their friendship.” “that isn't a christian spirit, my child.” “ christianity, mother, never calls one to give the devil an advantage. that is carrying meekness to an extreme not contemplated in the books." “but you'll not mention it to her unless she sees fit to meddle with you." “ no, i am willing to make her a present of that much grace, but if she comes to me inquiring after my private affairs she'll find that there are more tongues in town than hers. mr. stanley hasn't mooted love to me, and of course i haven't to him. i enjoy his company, and he must mine or he wouldn't seek it.” marjorie had spoken in a more decided manner than ever before in her life. many times during the winter stanley took marjorie to the opera, and many pleasant evenings were spent at her home in conversation and song. she could easily see from his manner what his attentions were leading to, although not yet expressed in words. she was sure that he loved her, and she felt a strong responsive chord in her own heart, that beat in unison with every advance of his. often at night, after vainly endeavoring to free her mind of thoughts of him, she would find them constantly recur- ring to him. she would find herself planning and build- ing air castles for the future, always with him as the chief corner stone. she did not question the sincerity of his love, but she did have grave doubts and apprehensions regarding its stability. he had depreciated himself in her presence, and his own estimate of self was confirmed by those who know him in his former unsettled state. his hints about men to whom a passing incident or some great incentive had changed the current of their thoughts and lives, she understood as applying to himself, and to her as his incentive. she was pleased at this, and the knowledge that her life and person could so transform a man of his appearance as to draw out the better side of his character, was a source of great satisfaction and happiness. his most serious fault lay in the fact, she thought, that he was always restless. . her sometimes evasive manners toward him were for the purpose of gaining time to test his last resolve to be sturdy. she would not become an easy sacrifice to a sen- timental passion, but must be convinced that the passion had in it the elements of strength. if he loved her as she desired to be loved by him, the months of waiting would purify and strengthen it. for his prospective fortune she had nothing to offer but herself and love in return. nevertheless, born of respectable parents and of good con- nections, with her many accomplishments she thought the scales would be balanced. so veiled had her affections been for him, that while she charmed, he had found no opportunity to propose. stanley meanwhile withstood the good-natured jibes of his associates and kept his own counsel. his father began to grow impatient and feared that a shock now would unfit him for business, and would have advised, had he not seen that it wouldn't be acceptable. the good-natured queries of parker, who attributed it all to the boat ride, he met with the best of humor, but he was often bored by pre- suming young ladies who referred to his prospective mar- riage relations with provoking assurance. he felt sure that in marjorie's estimation he ranked higher than any of her gentlemen friends, while many a little token led him to believe that he had not pressed his case in vain. his great bete noir was the past, and often, “the doubt, the agony, the fear," would return that the past would rise up to mar his happiness, and this caused him to waver in his eagerness and made him a little uncertain, despite his belief. one day during the first part of march when wind and fleeting snow made it exceedingly uncomfortable for pedestrians, he determined to call and have the question settled at once. at six o'clock in the evening the storm was still raging, and hurled the falling snow hither and thither. no matter which way one turned he encountered the wind and progress along the street was necessarily slow. “the weather is against me,” thought he, as he trudged homeward. “pshaw! i am not superstitious," he said aloud, and tucking his head deeper in the collar of his great coat went on his way.devising ways by which he - might call up the subject. several suggested themselves, but he dismissed all as unsatisfactory. “the best laid plans of mice and men oft gang awee,” and so it was with stanley this evening. he had hardly seated himself com- fortably at home when paul fox was announced. fox had braved the storm to come, for he thought it would be an excellent chance to catch him in and have a talk. stanley accepted the situation with good grace and did all that he was able to make his friend comfortable and the evening pass pleasantly. when fox arose to go the storm had quieted consider- ablý, and stanley accompanied him a short distance. on the way, fox speaking of common reports said, “seth, i must congratulate you on your engagement. you could hardly have made a better selection in the city." “allow me to protest,” replied stanley,“ your congrat- ulations are not in season. i am only a friend to the young lady, nothing more." come! come! now! seth we supposed you were in love last summer, when we went on that pleasure trip to mack- inac. what puzzled us then was the object of your affection. now you will certainly let an old friend wish you well. i suppose it isn't time to own up yet and you have availed yourself of the old chestnut." "i thank you for your interest, but since neither denial nor affirmation will change your opinion i will neither deny or affirm its truth. there is nothing a man hugs more firm, than a delusion that is pleasant to believe true, and one of these delusions is to marry two whom gossip has joined together before the interested parties have agreed to form a contract. those whom gossip have joined any circumstance may put asunder. whether it does or does not the wise ones say, 'i told you so.' they hang on both sides of the fence and consider themselves right whichever way an affair turns. so you were study- ing me instead of our surroundings while on the trip." “well said for you, but right or wrong, i shall hold to my opinion and wish you well until time sets me right.” this was fox's parting shot as he bid his friend good- night, and went upon his way. upon this subject, stan- ley, knowing parker's temperament, had once or twice silenced him, but fox did and said everything in such a nice way that he could not “sit down on him” so easily. “imogene also because of this attachment of his, had begun to view miss stone as a prospective sister-in-law, and was so pleased at the thought of having a home com- panion other than mrs. burwell, that she often made him annoyed at her questions, which he did not wish to answer. mrs. burwell was refined and well-educated, had been a teacher in a female seminary, but her mode of life was rigorous and her habits and tastes so settled that as a com- panion for imogene, who possessed all the warm blood and imagination of youth budding into womanhood, she was not a success. imogene kept her pretty well informed of her brother's love affairs, as far as she knew of them, and often added a little, that her ardent wishes and enthusiasm made real to her, of marjorie's accomplishments. in con- sequence mrs. burwell looked forward to the time when perhaps her services would be no longer required, for with her usual faculty of jumping at things, imogene assured her that seth and his wife would live at home with them. mrs. burwell's perceptions were aroused and she noticed that stanley for several days past appeared a little down- hearted, and she wondered if miss stone was at all respon- sible for it. in fact he was so preoccupied with his pros- pects for a future success as viewed in the light of recent events, that for a time he was absent minded. the durhams were also on the tiptoe with expecta- tion. they were amazed at his constant attachment, and they had several long talks about it. the change in his habits, his strict attention to business for the past few months was to mrs. durham a source of still greater amazement than his constant courtship of marjorie. she was surprised to know that marjorie and maxwell were not engaged, and while she knew that marjorie and stan- ley were not either, their increasing attachment to each other she viewed according to her mood as favorable or unfavorable. still even in her most favorable moods she thought a little more time was necessary to show whether stanley's change was permanent. this idea vexed mr. durham, and sometimes put him out of patience, but then he was a man and men view these things differently from women. he would have let the matter drop and awaited events had mrs. durham not referred to it so frequently. in these conversations, she found herself siding with max- well and gave her husband to understand who had her sympathy, and she frequently wound up each conversation by saying, “ well, maxwell is nice anyway, and his char- acter is above reproach.” disappointed in not being able to call upon marjorie on the evening referred to, stanley resolved to embrace the first opportunity and broach the subject. the chance did not come soon, for one hindrance after another aided by his own diffidence, when in her company, and by her shrewdness in turning the conversation when it approached near dangerous channels, that april passed before the opportunity came. chapter xvi. “in the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love." with the opening up of spring and the resurrection of nature, stanley's love seemed to grow, expand and inten- sify. the spring rains which made riding so unpleasant helped nature to unveil her beauty. to his eager eyes, and a soul exalted by love, nothing seemed more beautiful than the grass turning green, and budding plant and tree. after all, one has to be in love to enjoy to the full the beauties of the natural world, for not until then does nature seem to reveal to us her treasures. love makes the senses keener, the perceptions clearer. it exalts the soul and makes for us a paradise upon earth where we live in the pictured future in which we see the fruition of our dearest hopes. they who have not loved havə not enjoyed life to its best, and they are to be pitied who go down to their grave, after reaching man's estate, without ever lov- ing or having been loved. the cynic, the scoffer, the mis- anthrope and all who rant against love have bodies or minds diseased, their finer senses are blunted, and they have no appreciation of the noblest passion. they are to be pitied, for love is divine. one evening in may, stanley found the opportunity he had been long seeking. they were alone and by degrees he tried to lead up to the momentous question. young harper and carrie lambert had recently married and they . . had attended the reception together. stanley began to talk of them. “i think that mr. and mrs. harper should live happily together,” said he, “they seem so well suited to each other." “i hope so for it is bad enough to be unhappy when the chance still remains for us to alter and better our con- dition. that is why i have often adjured you, as a pupil, in this life to prepare for what you may expect in the next." “ most of our unhappy marriages i think are due to mismated temperaments, especially among the wealthy, whose love is sometimes hardly more than a blind pas- sion,” not heeding her moral lesson. “that is because they see so little of each other,” said she taking advantage of the chance to give him heropinion on the subject. “very often they do not examine them- selves to see if their love is of the nature that lasts. that would yield up the entire being so that the two lives may blend into one dual existence, and make them so depen- dent upon each other that their joys, sorrows, and aspir- ations become one. nothing short of this is true love; nothing short of it should end in matrimony, “ two souls with but a single thought, two hearts that beat as one." may be considered sentimental, it is nevertheless sense.'. “ your ideal is certainly high, and i endorse it.” marjorie interrupted him by saying, “ too many men consider their wives mere dolls, good enough for amuse- ment and pleasure, but who are to be laid aside at their sweet will. instead of installing them as helpmates they become the creatures of their husband's caprices." “only unthinking men would act in such a way,” said. he, surprised at her animation. “you have already said,” she continued desperately, for her woman's wit had divined the object of his conver- sation, which she wished to postpone as long as possible, “that sympathy often biased reason, would not love also do so. the mere thinking comes when it is of no use in mending the matter." this remark discomfited him and he thought it best not to push the question which involved so much, but to wait for a better opportunity. for the present he was outtalked and outwitted and he changed the topic. when he departed he did not retain in his mind even a lingering suspicion of the positiveness of her manner and he chided himself for his lack of courage. it was a mystery to him too, why he, who had such a general reputation for daring should fail in his intentions at that particular moment. “i have played the coward tonight, sure,” he thought. " it was not consciene but consciousness. she's a shy one and no mistake. i'll wager my chances that she divined what was uppermost in my mind. the next time she shall know from my bearing that i shall not allow her intuitions to cheat me out of my intentions. seth, old boy, this is a bargain, and don't you ever be found lying to yourself.” a week elapsed before he called again, and he was determined to propose. as on the former occasion, when he had been outwitted, his mind was full of the absorbing question and the answer it might call forth. the manner of dress in which it should be clothed was what troubled him most. in her presence, however, the fine spun little speech which he had put together flew he knew not where. she had been reading and still held her book in her . nervously while he continued. “i have sought pleasure in nealy every fleeting fancy that flashed before me. i have been an epicure. i have climbed the rugged alps; looked down with pride upon vast domains in our own country from pike's peak. i have been almost around the world, seen most of its beauty, but have met with no experience or felt no longing that has so moved the depths of my soul.” he paused for a reply but she inclined her head to one side and said nothing, so great seemed the silence, that he could fancy he almost heard her heart beat. he resumed. “marjorie, you cannot doubt i love you? has not my every act proved it? i lay at your feet my wealth, my life, my love. you surely cannot. doubt me?” dropping into a more serious tone, “rather doubt the truths of holy writ in which you find such hope and consolation; doubt that the awakening buds start at the first approach of spring, but do not doubt that i love you or cast away, without consideration, the sum of my first pure unselfish impulses, that has transformed the young madcap of many fancies into an earnest, thinking and loving man, whose dearest thought is to win and love you.” he pressed her hand gently, as it lay partly in his, as he waited anxiously for a reply. she turned partly around, and with downcast eyes, she spoke feelingly, and there was a tremor in her voice. “ mr. stanley, i have not been unmindful of your kind favors and attentions, nor have i been blind to the fact that the pleasure we have found in each other would lead to this. i have tried to stay it for a time, and although aware of its certain approach, i am unprepared to give you an answer. give me a week of earnest thought and prayer and you shall have my answer.” he was embarrassed, but alive to her position he at once arose to take his leave, saying, “i commit my fate into your keeping. do not turn me back to a life of wandering and unfixed purposes. if my actions have not been eloquent in pleading for me, my tongue cannot aid them, for i cannot formulate in speech all that i feel.” “do not urge me now, i believe you honorable and sincere in all that you have done and said. i am over- whelmed with conflicting thoughts that i must settle alone." she loved him, and would have consented now, for his outburst of love had so awakened her feelings, that she could scarce control her heart that beat in unison with his. if she were only sure of the depth of his love. she must not and would not give way, so she stood with downcast eyes until he turned to go. he then extended his hand and as she laid hers tremblingly in his she said: “all will be for the best, mr. stanley, all will be for the best.” hastily donning his coat and hat he went out and paraded the streets for an hour or more ere he went home, thinking over the events of the evening, and trying to clear his mind from the mist which enveloped it. the quck, restless, motion of his body was more in harmony with the chaos of thought tumbling around in his brain, than it would have been sitting quietly in his room, look- ing over the field of his hopes, doubts and fears. after stanley had left the house marjorie sat for a while motionless while her mind actively ran over the sit- uation. she knew that she had loved him before, but that burst of uncontrolled passion and ferved eloquence had set free the dormant springs of affection and she loved as she had never thought of loving before. she longed to be his, her heart yearned for him, and when the tide of his pas- sion was at its flood, had almost consented to become his wife, but something within her seemed to whisper, “ love sways judgment, you must take time to think calmly over this step of a lifetime.” no other thought could enter her mind and over and over she revolved her position-love debating on one side, caution and reason the other. said love: “why not accept him and make both your lives happy, for nearly ten months have you known him, and watched him closely, surely he has been cured of his careless roving disposition.” said reason: “but then his own confession. noth- ing gratified him but for the moment. even in the hour of his proposal, his mind reverted to this propensity, a return to which he yet feared. he said, “ do not turn me back to a life of wandering.” love again said: “the greater reason that you should look favorably upon his suit, for under your influence he certainly will not turn back.” but caution answered, “still if he should turn back your life would be miserable. it will be better to take longer time to see if his reformation is deep-rooted. not being able to decide for herself then, she resolved to take her mother in her confidence, for she certainly must have guessed his intentions. when she was more com- posed on the morrow she would consult with her. she had hardly come to this conclusion when her mother came in. “mr. stanley gone so soon?” she enquired, then noticing marjorie's appearance, her motherly instincts were aroused, “why my dear, what is the matter? are you ill?" “i do not feel very well and i think i had better go up to iny room and rest.” in an instant it dawned upon mrs. stone that stanley's chapter xvii, when marjorie reached her room she burst into tears why, was a mystery even to herself. they were neither tears of joy nor of sorrow. still they gave relief to a heart that was overburdened, and prepared the way for thought. at such times as this solitude is a welcome boon, and marjorie was glad enough to be alone. she looked into the glass of her dresser and was surprised to find that her face was so pale, and that deep black rings had gathered around her eyes. no wonder thought she, that mother thought i was ill. rather mechanically she began to undress herself. it was her usual custom before retiring to open her bible and read a chapter or so. as she opened it at random almost the first words that met her eye were, “ come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and i will give you rest.” she closed the book, got down upon her knees and tried to pray for strength and wisdom, but so heavy did her thoughts bear upon her that her mind would wander from its purpose, which wanderings she tried to check by becoming more earnest in her supplications. when she laid down she could not sleep, for her thoughts seemed to flow more rapidly, and images of her position appeared more vivid. she felt that she was no longer the gentle trusting marjorie of yesterday, and that a day had wrought a great change in her. i have reached the age of thought- fulness she soliloquised, why not be thoughtful. i cannot lat t expect to go through this world with ease at every turning when others earn their bread by the sweat of their brow, to which is often added sorrow, that is at times the sweat of the very soul. yesterday my prospects were bright, for the crisis had not come. now that it has arrived those same prospects seem to fill me with forebodings and i doubt. $ as the sun gives color to the world, so the mind gives color to life's prospects. the sun's absence darkens the world, so the absence of content, which is our sun, and the entrance of doubt darkens our life. “why should i not trust him, and why should i?” she continued. “man is fallible in his most exalted state. he finds in his heart to distrust the infinite god, why not Í him? before i troth the homage of a life why should i not know more of him? yet i cannot tell him that love and distrust are mated in my mind. it might crush and humiliate him, and make him despise me.” so her mind jumped from thought to thought, grasping at every suggestion that might satisfy her conscience, and yet not dwarf her love or his. she turned and tossed till her head began to ache, the room felt close to her. then she arose and opened the window for air. fearing that the night dampness might give her a cold she shut it again, and wrapping a blanket about her she sat gazing upon the street, and thus sitting she decided upon what line of conduct to pursue. with all her good traits marjorie stone was not insensible to gossip. she was a little afraid of it, and no small share of her conflict could be attributed to it. it had come to her ears that people had said she was going to marry stanley on account of his wealth, that he would soon tire of her and she would finally rue her bargain. gossip created in her doubts she could hardly overcome, and made her ask her. self what if the prediction should prove true? how cruel the people were to speculate upon her happiness, and so she decided to test him. if he loved as truly as she did, he would be willing to make some sacrifice. the sacrifice was this: he must give up the culmination of his desires without'even the assurance of a betrothal for a year. it was to prove the durability of his change of life and of his love. mr. stone had spent the evening out and on his return as usual he and his wife talked over the events of the day, and finally mrs. stone spoke of marjorie's indisposition.” “i expect that she and stanley had a spat this evening. he went away unusually early, and she looked and seemed to feel so badly, that she went to her room early.” “and you didn't ask her what the trouble was?” “no, i didn't care to worry her when i saw how pale she was, besides i knew she would tell me in the morning.” mr. stone was a quick-tempered man and apt to jump at conclusions. the idea that stanley was at all responsi. ble for his daughter's paleness made him angry and he exclaimed, “i never did think much of that young mogul going with marjorie. what does he care for her with all his wealth ? and when he can marry nearly anyone he chooses. he wanted a little flirtation and he didn't care whose heart it broke. if i catch him around her again i'll read the riot act to him. you can bet on that.” “come, tom, don't be hasty,” remonstrated his wife, “we don't really know what the trouble is, and until we do, it is not necessary to work yourself into a passion. you might do something, of which you afterwards may be ashamed." “no danger, i know those fellows. i have heard them boast, sometimes over their betters, and they are about all alike.” “but we don't know how matters stand and i think stanley is too much of a gentleman for that.” “gentleman, bosh! most of them are cads. its a pity marjorie should show him preference over maxwell, who despite his looks is a gentleman. i shall go to stanley tomorrow and demand an explanation. he shall apoligize to me. i'll humble his proud heart or break his senseless noodle with as little compunction as he has tried to break her heart.” “come, tom, you are angry, calm yourself.” ' “calm yourself!” he repeated, “and let people run. right over you. that kind of nonsense will do to teach in. sunday schools, but i believe in striking back, and i mean to.” tom was growing more furious and she finding that argument was of no avail, begged him to say nothing to marjorie at breakfast, and assured him that he should know all the next evening. thus by the use of consider- able tact in branching off into other matters, tom forgot his anger, became interested in her remarks, and finally promised, with some reluctance, to wait. after marjorie had decided upon what course to adopt, her mind found some relief and she went to sleep, but it proved a restless slumber, which was so fraught with ter- rible dreams, that she often awoke with a start. as a result she received but very little rest. in the morning she took a cold bath and tried to put on a forced look to hide the marks of mental anguish, which the battle of the previous night had left upon her features. but her efforts were in vain, for though the spirit was willing, the thoughts of the night were too recent and too strong to be: honorable and kind, and his actions so manly, and yet i find in my heart a mistrust of his sincerity, and this feel. ing almost breaks it.” she broke down completely then and sobbed as if her heart would break. her mother felt that this heart trouble was too much for her to unravel, yet she went to her daughter and tried to console her. "don't cry my darling. let us talk it over. you do not think he is so mean as to tell, and live a lie, to deceive you so as to entrap you into marrying him. “no! no! no! not that. i do not believe that he knows himself. i fear the love he professes is not as deep-seated as he thinks it is, and as i would like it to be. i fear that after the novelty of his passion has worn off, he would tire of me and then i would become perfectly mis- erable. i cannot accept him now, yet how can i refuse him. i could not stand before him and say i mistrust him, yet the issue must be averted, and i cannot give the reason why. that is what makes me so sorrowful.” “then she told her mother of the occurances of the night before; of her resolution to have him wait a year, and her mother, taking in consideration all that she had heard and remembering the opposition of friends, agreed with her in the decision she had formed. still she tried to console her by saying that she believed that stanley would prove himself all that he had claimed, and that at the end of the year he would come back, renew his vows, with their love purified and strengthened by the waiting. fur- ther she said: “i have always been proud of you my child," putting her arm around marjorie's neck, and draw- ing her head gently to her breast as she stroked the warm and fevered cheek, “today i am prouder still. if a mothers love will aid you, it will be given full and free." - ; * : perut test “i know it mother, and that is a sustaining thought.. that is why i came to you with my burden, i wanted to seek your advice. you agree with me and i feel better.' for the whole of that week mother and daughter were like sisters or intimate friends. they talked the matter over many times in that relation. ah, that such mutual confidences between mother and child were more frequent.. how much less misery there would be in the world, and how fewer the heartaches would be. such relations bind. and cement closer together, and makes even the ordinary life of home, more pleasant and cheerful. marjorie, whose nerves were strained to the highest tension looked for advice, consolation and encouragement, while the mother soothed and comforted, and was hopeful. picturing hope in bright colors, with love's happy reunion when the trial was over, as sure as the bright clear sky should take the place of the dark lowering clouds above. mr. stone came home earlier that evening. he was worried over his wife's communication and was anxious to know the real cause of marjorie's trouble the night before. he watched marjorie's countenance closely as if trying to read her thoughts, but she had stilled her nerves and gained such control of her feelings, as to appear almost natural, so he hastily inferred that it was some little “kit- ten spat that would soon blow over.” however at supper the usual sprightly conversation which characterized that meal, lagged, and over all there seemed a cloud of some import. supper over, mr. stone picked up his evening paper, put on his spectacles, and was soon apparently busy in its contents. marjorie tried to interest herself in a book. mrs. stone busied herself with some fancy work, but the general talk such as they were accustomed to, was missing. some foerself in sy in its there were several attempts at it but they were all fail. ures. at an early hour marjorie bid them good night and left the room. after she had gone mr. stone laid the paper aside, took off his spectacles, looked at his wife and said, “ well? ” in his tone there was a world of meaning, anxiety and curiosity. it contained all that had been pent up in him and agitating his mind the entire day. “well?” he repeated. she had pretended not to hear him the first time. “i told you, tom, that you were hasty. he has not flirted with her at all, but is head over heels in love with her. he proposed to her last night, and what do you sup- pose she said.” he shook his head and motioned for her to go on. “ she told him that she must take a week to consider.” “what did she expect to gain by that?” “ time to make up her mind.” “what does she intend doing?” “put him to a year's trial without any definite answer, to see if his love is abiding." “the little vixen,” slapping his hand on his knee. " very few girls would let slip a chance like that.” “but she does not think it such a great chance. he has been wild and she fears that his love may weaken. she thinks that he may regret his bargain when the honeymoon is past.” “ her head does her credit i must say. not one girl in a hundred would stop to consider that. but does she love him." “ most ardently, and that is why she grieves and looks so bad. i believe if during the year he should prove his way, we can depend upon it, that maxwell will be a regular visitor again.” mr. stone was right for maxwell was one of the first to know that there was a partial estrangement. the reader is perhaps eager to hear how stanley has fared, so we rejoin him as he paces restlessly the streets after leaving marjorie. chapter xviii. in his confusion stanley took no note of time, distance or direction. his fears began to assume large proportions, as he tried to reconcile her request for time, with the love he thought she had for him. the few scintillations of hope that penetrated through all the confusion, were quickly overcome by his doubts and fears. at times he half blamed himself for his haste in proposing, because a refusal might banish him altogether from her presence; for loving with a deep, fervid and passionate love he could not play the calm passionless role of friend. when he finally became conscious of his surroundings he found that he was out near the bridge on fort street west, quite a distance from his home. as he heard the bell of an approaching locomotive coming down the track he stepped upon the bridge, for the time, as unconscious of the thoughts that had troubled him, as he was a few moments before, of the people hurrying to and fro, that had passed him. shutting out his sorrow, he stood with elbows resting on the railing, his chin in the palms of his hands, and watched the freight train as it came thundering along, and passed under the bridge with a long line of cars freighted with merchandise-its evidence of man's ingen- uity and skill in giving to inanimate substances the power of life. falling into his usual habit of serious musing, which he had contracted during the past year, he began to consider this train in relation to his present state. “what are these things without love?” what is the climax of our ambitions, our access to place and power, the triumph of our ideal, but to place it unselfishly to the credit of those we love? and yet we are ashamed of that most holy pas- sion and speak only of it in whispers. we bind it within our breast until it becomes so strong as to almost break its prison house and reveal itself to others despite ourselves, by an overt act or word. its principle is divine. it is the secret agency that preserves the harmony of the universe. it moved the creator to the sacrifice of his only begotten son, and it brings blessings upon the just and the unjust. it clothes the earth with beauty, and makes its herds, with joy to break forth into song and thanksgiving. only man -poor fool-tries to hide it under a bushel, and chides himself should but a ray escape to attract the attention of others. that which we cherish; that which exalts, ennobles and purifies; that which makes our burdens light and tasks easy, we hide. why? for fear of the cynic, the taunt of the envious, and the good-natured chaff of friends. shakespeare was right in saying, “what fools we mortals be.'” for a few moments he stood leaning upon the rail of the bridge, his thoughts taking a wide range. as he looked upon the interlacing of the tracks below, in his mood, it seemed to him that his position on the bridge was not unlike his prospects. was he not then standing on the “bridge of sighs,” with his hopes buried beneath ? swifter than the steam messengers were his thoughts and freighted with more precious merchandise. what exceeds human hopes in value? the sound of another bell awoke him from his reverie and then with a sigh, he began to retrace his step homeward. he had never been so much disturbed in mind before; his heart had never felt such yearning. for the week, at least, he intended to keep his own counsel. if marjorie accepted him he would take the news to his father with joy. if she refused, then with sorrow, and prove to him how erroneous were his opinions as to the power of wealth and influence in securing love and happiness. it was quite late when he arrived at home, and as he did not desire to meet anyone he went direct to his room. of one thing he was certain, that whatever course she would pur- sue, no power at his command could dissuade her from her purpose, and that he would have to accept the fiat. his acquaintance with her had shown him the truth, with her at least, of these lines: “where is the man who has the power and skill, to stem the torrent of a woman's will ?” the next day mr. stanley detected an air of languor and care about his appearance, but the true cause of it never struck his mind. stanley attended to his duties all that week strictly and silently. during the week imogene noticed that he frequently indulged in reverie, sometimes he sighed, his usual good spirits were lacking, and that only with difficulty could he interest himself in anything. she laid it all to the store and thought it mean. marjorie stone and she were good friends, for mar- jorie's tact in interesting her in good books, and shaping her musical tastes, won her love and respect. becoming lonesome and worried over her brother's silence and soclu- sion, one afternoon during the latter part of the week, she thought she might throw off the feeling by paying mar- jorie a visit. she too had a preoccupied air and appeared more thoughtful than usual. “oh, dear,” thought she, “what is the matter with the people?” but she affectionately greeted marjorie and said: “ everybody at our house seems to have had the blues since the first part of the week. papa hasn't talked of anything except business and newspapers, and seth seems to have something on his mind, that keeps his mouth shut as tight as a clam, so i thought i would come over here and see you before i caught the infection." marjorie would like to have known how stanley felt about the answer she had given him. as for herself she could cheerfully wait, but she shrank from giving pain to one who had been so gallant and manly with her. she dared not inquire about him, for she was afraid the truth might fit the overdrawn picture she had formed of his suf- fering grief. “we are glad you came," said mrs. stone. “i know it must be lonesome for you without mother or sister." “i am going to make marjorie my sister and then i shan't be so lonesome. won't you be my sister?” turning to marjorie. “i should be glad to be, but i could not bargain to always shield you from gloomy thoughts, for they seem to be twins with experience. yet we should not acknowl. edge their authority for they lead to despair, and des- pair too often indulged, becomes a master, with many demands." "i'll not borrow any trouble,” replied imogene, “for seth always says it will come in time to give us all the worry we want.” “and he is right,” said mrs. stone, “never worry trouble, until trouble worries you.” she noticed the flashes of pain that passed over marjorie's countenance on these allusions to stanley, and she asked imogene how she was getting along with that new stitch she had shown her on her last visit. “very nicely, and i am going to make papa a pair of slippers, that is, if my studies will allow me the time. i have been trying to persuade seth to take us with him on his next trip, and he has consented. won't that be nice ? and you will go, won't you?” “oh, yes,” replied marjorie. then you would have a chance to try me, when we are together, and see if you would like me as a sister.” “i have made up my mind already about that. i get so tired of mrs. burwell sometimes." marjorie arose and took a seat beside her as she asked, “do you think you could always love me?" imogene looked up with surprise at the earnestness of the question, and said with an injured air, “of course i could. i often wish i was old enough to go with you and flora stedman, she came to see me the other day and she is so sweet.” “don't be in such a hurry to grow old. why, when flo. and i are old maids you will be enjoying yourself immensely, you'll just be in the bloom of young woman- hood. imogene looked at her incredulously. “mrs. burwell must think that of me now. you know she is serious all the time, and she seems to think i am old enough to settle down and knit and nod like she does,” and imogene laughed as if pleased with the thought and the picture she had formed of the housekeeper. after spending a pleasant afternoon she arose to go, saying, “i must go now. papa and seth will soon be home.” marjorie kissed her good bye as with a light heart, and in excellent spirits she went away. * * * * * * imogene and seth were sitting quietly in their sitting room that evening, he was absorbed in a book, and she was trying te study her lessons and watch him at the same time. the silence was too much for her and she broke it by saying: “say, seth, i was over to marjorie's this after- noon.” “were you?” he didn't even raise his head. “yes, i was feeling blue and so lonesome that i couldn't think of anything else to do, and she is so nice. i told her i was going to have her for a big sister.” he pricked up his ears, and his interest was at once aroused at this. “oh! you know its real lonesome here sometimes papa is away so much and you have the dumps so often. oh, it isn't near so cheerful as you imagine (this was in answer to his look of surprise) going through the same thing every day and coming home and only have mrs. burwell to talk to. then she doesn't always seem to care, and is beside prosy. it is very monotonous, (with a yawn) and so wanting a companion who would take an interest in things, who is older and charming, and as sweet as she could be, i asked marjorie if she wouldn't be a sister.” “and what did she say to your proposal?” “why, she accepted, of course. oh, i should like to live with her when you take a notion to be abroad again or get into one of your silent moods. that would be jolly." • “well you are progressing at any rate. but don't be so disconsolate i am not going abroad soon and if i do you shall go with me. beside you ought to allow a fellow to be a little moody now and then. we can't always be gay,” and walking over to her he patted her on the cheek and kissed her.” this restored imogene to good humor, and she prattled away at a great rate, forgetting all about her lessons. he, becoming talkative related reminiscences of his trips abroad, described the work of the great masters he had seen, talked about the books he had been reading, of his favorite poets, and promised to take her to the thomas concert the next week. stanley told his stories in such an entertaining and romantic way that imogene was always glad to get him started. this evening she looked at him open-mouthed, listening intently, and we are constrained to say, that he sometimes drew on his imagination which was vivid, just to see the round eyes open wider, and to see the look of wonder in her full, dark orbs. when he had finished he felt much better after the evening's diver- sion than he had any night since his proposal. action relieves a distressed mind, but the more one broods over troubles, the more despondent and wretched he becomes. some months back when he first began to recognize that he was living far below his opportunities, and that he was being outstripped by many who had fewer chances to acquire intellectual advancement and general information, he commenced to give considerable time to reading. his mind was quick to grasp ideas and thoughts. it was subtle, and enabled him to easily detect sophistries. it was also capable of great expansion, and possessing an excellent memory, retained the best of what he had read. what seemed useless to strive for in former years, had become worthy of aspiration now. his thirst for knowl- edge increased, as his new quest, opened up to him now fields of pleasure and thought. he laid aside one evening, while waiting for the week to go by, an interesting volume, hugo's les miserables, that he had taken from his father's library. he had been reading of the good bishop bien- venu in connection with jean valjean. then he began to reflect on his own past and its neglect of high ideals, it seemed as if that subject would not down. if we could only look forward with the same ease that we can look back how different would be the course of our lives. if we could only see present opportunities as clearly as we can see past mistakes how wise we would be, and how different would be the face of the world. regrets are useless, experience is a dear teacher, and while she often deals roughly with us, we are gainers if we try to follow her les- sons in the future. so in the study and contemplation of his innerself and in making himself agreeable to imogene what promised to be a week of tedious waiting passed more quickly than he imagined it would. too quickly, when his thoughts doubted a favorable answer. too slowly, however, when his heart beat high with the hope of pleasant anticipa- tions. at last the appointed day came. the evening of his defeat or success, of sorrow or happiness. chapter xix. not now the hour, at thy request to seal my fate. there is a test. marjorie answered the bell in person and her set feat- ures, the evidences of her week of struggle, immediately attracted his attention and cast a damper upon his feel- ings. as he took off his light top coat and hung it on the hall tree, he said, “ let us spend the evening as usual. i will not ask you for my answer until later." “ just as you like mr. stanley,” she said, and she led the way into the sitting-room where her father and mother were seated. it was quite a little while before the conver- sation gained a natural tone, because of the tinge of embarrassment which seemed to be common to all. mr. stone was at first the life of the conversation, and started it by asking, “how is business now, mr. stanley." . “i can't say that it is rushing just now, but is is very fair, and has been excellent. i didn't think that i would like the store as well as i do." " a person can learn to like most any kind of work if he but accepts the situation and makes the most of it." “so i have found out, and i find that a task is made easy by cheerfulness. “when i was traveling it became a burden for me to go on the road, not because i disliked the business so much, but that it took me away from my family often when i wished to be at home.” stanley thought that he didn't blame mr. stone for wanting to be at home with such a family. his errand there was to gain the right to be there as well. most of their talk was upon business or social matters, mrs. stone and marjorie occasionally joining in. stanley and marjorie both sang during the evening with considerable feeling. in tủeir voices, however, there was a vein of sad- ness, as if both knew and felt a premonition of what was to come. soon after, when mr. and mrs. stone left the room, marjorie expected that stanley would at once request an answer. but he, as if fearing an approach to the subject, talked on for over half an hour on varions subjects; while she, all the time, was painfully conscious of the pain she was to inflict. at last he said, “may i now ask you for the reply to my proposal? if you have given the subject as much concern and thought as i have, you will have arrived at a conclusion; one which i shall accept as the conscientious outgrowth of an earnest effort to be just both to yourself and to me." “it has been continually on my mind and i have thought it over," dropping her eyes, she paused for a moment as if to consider the choice of words in which to reveal to him her decision, and to give the least pain, “and i hope you will view my reply in the same spirit in which i have arrived at it and give it to you. your con- fidence in me is flattering and overwhelming. you have placed your future at my disposal. i appreciate the trust, it shall be sacred, and in return i will impose one upon you. the union which you propose is one that may blight or bless both our lives. ought we not be sure that it would prove a blessing, and that by nature and purpose we are adapted to each other? the ceremonial rite should be more than a mere form with its promises. it should be the linking of soul to soul, so that the two would be as one in life, and not separable in death. are we certain that these impulses move within us to bring us to such a union?" “ you have almost taken all argument out of my mouth, but i hope that my feelings will convey to you that which my lips have been unable to express. you have not yet, by words, revealed to me the feeling of your own heart toward me, whether it be love or the regard given to a friend, but my own heart and purposes lie open to you. if you can doubt the sincerity of my speech you cannot the motives of my acts, which have all conformed to the one end-to show the love i feel.” “ i do not doubt you mr. stanley. i never have, but sometimes we misunderstand ourselves. our feelings bear false impressions to the mind which only time dispels. can we trust ourselves to believe that our present feeling will result in a life devotion, and that it is not a mere fancy which is to be replaced by another should the other prove stronger?” “you shall have all the time you want," and he started to embrace her thinking the field already won, but she shrank away from him. “let the engagement be as long as it will, but let me rest in the hope that at the end all will be well. to see purposes broken and hopes blighted may not fall so keenly upon old age, for they who have reached it have fought the battle of life and only await the summons home. disappointment is different in youth, for theirs are the days of expectation and hope that color all future prospects. with what dull hues would they be painted when the bright tints at our command are destroyed at the outset? only a set firmness can overcome the languor and the inaction which it invites.” there was an appeal in voice and gesture, in eye and person, but she remained firm, stemmed the tide of love in her own heart, that would have rushed to and commingled with his, such as only first love can, and spoke words that chilled him to the marrow. “we cannot be engaged now, mr. stanley. i do not think it best; but if in one year from now, you and i are constant in that love which desires its consummation in perfect union, the test of time will have been applied. then we can renew these relations, having subdued self and become better fitted to assume the near relation which you would now press me to. if you love as i do the task will not seem so hard because of the end to be gained when it is finished.” this was the first confession of love that her maiden lips had ever given to lover, although from the trend of her thoughts and bearing he had discovered it despite previous efforts to hide it. her acknowledgement did not then soften the sting of refusal. it is a peculiar feature of the mind that things which we desire most and are reasonably certain of, we are the most apprehensive of. it was so with stanley. he was reasonably certain that she loved him, and yet the least adverse circumstance made him uncertain. “i understand, i understand,” he said in an almost inaudible tone as if speaking to himself. “your love is mingled with distrust. you think i have not sufficiently analyzed my affections. you judge me too much by what is past, rather than by what i have been for a year. this cup of bitterness i must drink to the dregs for the past fancies in which i have indulged, though it be at the expense of my very soul. a balance sheet has been struck between what i was and what i am, in favor of the past, and you send me into exile to do penance for a year. and now out of despair i shall drink the long and bitter draught. “no! no! no!” she cried beseechingly as she caught his hand. “do not talk so. is not a life of happiness worth a year of waiting, ayo more? is it not meet that we be schooled in the virtue of self-sacrifice to obtain that which we long for? oh seth, let us prove to each other that our love is no blind folly, but that like charity it can suffer long and be patient. if we set a reward upon our waiting by mutual promises, do we not rob ourselves of the value of its schooling?”. there was silence for a few moments. he was confused and bewildered, and she, from a supplicating attitude, had risen with her words to a bearing, that sought to instill into him the courage and patience, the fortitude and self- sacrifice which she possessed. while within, her beating heart revolted at the idea of its love being hushed by a period of self-imposed waiting. in conspicious contrast to their silence the big clock on the mantle ticked louder than ever, as if in compassion it sought to drown the sighs and the rapid beating of their own hearts, tick! tack! tick! tack! it went disturbing the stillness. could it but'dole out to one, the year, with the rapidity it doled out the seconds or hours. longfellow's “old clock” on the stairs with its, forever-never! never-forever! flitted across his mind and seemed to whisper to him, which? he could not tell. after a few moments silence he said. "i suppose it would be worse than useless, mar- jorie for me to try to change your decision, so completely absorbed do you appear in this spirit of self-sacrifice; but you have put a heavy task on me which now seems to make my future uncertain and darker than the night without. hardships that are afar off we can often eliminate from our mind by a blind, trusting to chance, and in our con- ceits we even slight the inexorable scourge of the judg- ment. but to know that i am to wander on the verge of elysian fields, always near yet far off, seems to overwhelm me. but i will go. i will not tempt you further.' we cannot tell what this may bring forth, so if it should be our last meeting, mark my sincerety, so that in after years you can refer to it with pleasant thoughts of memone whom you could not trust.” he rose to go but she caught one of his hands in hers again, and laying the other gently upon his shoulder. she turned her face, now pale, up to his, and met his gaze unflinchingly; but through the tears glistening in her eyes and stealing down her cheek, gleamed noble resolu- tions and lofty inspirations, that seemed to pierce through the vista of time and which impressed and carried all before it. “seth,” she said. “seth you do not know what you say. i can see just beyond this vale of self-sacrifice, which i have chosen that we pass through, the brightest future, that in this hour makes me rejoice. let us prove ourselves not unworthy of it. let gossip be robbed of their carping criticisms, and let despair be turned into triumph. i have trusted you, and know that i trust you now so that the memory of it may sustain you, so that you do nothing rash.” her appeal, her tears, her profound convictions and inspiration moved him greatly, and he felt a soothing influence permeating his whole being; and the woeful har- bingers he had conjured up in his mind began to dissolve before her earnest persuasions as he repled. “i will try to merit your confidence and trust.” what was there then in his life-years, money, treas- ure, that he would not have given to have .embraced her and called her his own, his wife, at that moment. how bitterly he regretted all past follies that had now returned to render him miserable. how he closed the interview he could not tell. the only thing he could remember was pressing her hand and saying goodnight, as he went out into the street; and the night, dark as it was, seemed but feebly so in comparison with the confusion and bewilder- ment to which his mind had now become a victim. chapter xx. it was not ten o'clock when stanley, whose brain was partially stunned by the queer ending of his proposal, left the stone residence. the night was dark, and the vivid flashes of lightning which disclosed heavy skurrying and lowering clouds with ragged outlines, warned him of an approaching storm. as he proceeded on his way, he thought a great deal about marjorie and her self-sacrifice, and tried to think what course it would be best for him to adopt for the future. now even the hope of winning her as his wife seemed forbidden him. her strange request, with the task it imposed upon him, as a natural sequence, shut him out entirely from her presence. under the cir- cumstances he considered it better so, for how could be he thrown continually in her society, without increase of pain, by awakening a passion which must slumber, for his peace of mind, until her set time had expired. as he was passing along, he heard the soft strains of an organ and the sound of voices singing a hymn, issuing from a house near by. there was something in the air and words that caused him to stop and listen. it was one he had heard often, and it was now being sung by a family that were concluding the evening devotion. it seemed in his present condition to possess a significance he had not felt before. again rose the voices: “swift to its close ebbs out life's little day; earth's joys grow dim, its glorries pass away. change and decay in all around i see; oh thou who changest not, abide with me. i need thy presence every passing hour, what but thy grace can foil the tempter's power? who, like thyself, my guide and stay can be? through cloud and sunshine, lord, abide with me. i fear no foe with thee at hand to bless; ills have no weight and tears no bitterness." then the rain began to fall, and much against his will, he was compelled to move on at a brisk rate, as he had no umbrella with him, to escape a drenching. yet the words of the beautiful evening hymn had made a deep impres- sion upon him, for both his mind and body, suffering from the scene he had passed through, needed solace and com- fort, to serve as an antidote for the gloom and darkness which he had pictured as the result of marjorie's test. what comfort, he thought, the earnest christian must have in his simple faith. no prospects so dark, no events so full of misfortune seems to destroy his faith in god and christ; though “earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away, change and decay in all around he sees.” still he prays for the presence of the comforter. in try- ing situations-accidents, reverses in business, in poverty, loss of friends and love, he seeks only for the solace which can be had through faith. the faith how simple. to possess it how easy. how different is my own situation. i distrust myself because of the vacancy in my life, because through her, i drew the inspiration that has given me strength. she has been the leaven of my existence. will i fall back into the old life; do not i need some sub- stitute or aid that will fill the void. left by non-association with her.” again his mind reverted to the hymn, and he · seemed to hear “i need thy presence every passing hour, what but thy grace can foil the tempter's power? who like thyself, my guide and stay can be? through cloud and sunshine, lord, abide with me. i fear no foo with thee at hand to bless; ills have no weight and tears no bitterness.” * even the christian must have something to rely on, and that something is found in the divine presence to keep him from the temptations of evil and to act as coun- sellor and guide.” in this way his thoughts ran a long while together with those of her. the more the words ran in his mind the more significance they seemed to pos- sess, and the better fitted did they appear to him in his present distress. at last having unclothed himself he went down upon his knees the first time since he was a boy, and prayed for the continual presence of him whose grace could foil the tempter's power, who would be guide and stay through cloud and sunshine, who would render his non-association with her more bearable, and enable him to make a virtue of this self-sacrifice by remaining firm, so that he might in her eyes be considered worthy to be called husband, and in the eyes of him to be called son. when he rose from his knees he felt comforted, and lying in bed the soothing influence of the rain pattering on the roof and street, seemed to sing over again the hymn while it lulled him to sleep. the following morning he went to work as usual and tried to keep up a brave front. he desired to let his father know the result of his prosposal, but because of the views expressed by him on a former occasion he hesitated. mr. stanley, however, noticing that he did not appear as well as usual and that he looked a little haggard, asked him if he was out late last night. “not very,” replied stanley. “i was at miss stone's and met with a disappointment which worries me a great deal, as i was unprepared for it.” “proposed and was refused, eh?” “ not exactly, but it amounts to about the same thing. she did not jump at the chance as quickly as you thought she would.” “ tut, tut! you have a faint heart to let a girl outwit you and then sit down and pine over it,” and without waiting for a reply mr. stanley turned upon his heel and walked away. he was dissatified with his son's failure for he had not made any allowance for it. he was rather put out too that a girl should knock out the under pins of his argument as to the power and influence of wealth. since he could not congratulate his son he would not add to his misery by chiding him, but as he went to his desk he thought that seth had a great deal to learn before he could take his place. stanley knew his father was disap- pointed, but then his own chagrin was far greater. he alone knew the circumstances, and the feeling that now moved him could not be appreciated, perhaps, never felt again by his father. with something like a sigh he took up the large pile of communications that lay on his desk needing attention. he went at it vigorously so as to drown his thoughts, but the subject was so magnetic that it drew his mind to it despite himself. he did not esteem marjorie stone less because of her decision. he even admitted her superior judgment in protecting herself, although it was opposed to his most ardent wishes. to keep her company further would be but to keep his love inflamed with a constant realization of the present inexor. able barrier between them. he must escape her company to escape his own feeling. reader, if you have ever had your brightest anticipations suddenly brushed away when they seemed almost certain of consummation, you may know how stanley felt. the office seemed close to him. he longed to be out in the open air where he could perhaps give greater vent to his feelings, but it still rained and the streets were still muddy so he made the most of it and tried to work. imogene again had reason to complain of him that night, for despite her best efforts to draw him out he main- tained a moody reserve. he seemed to be giving up to his feeling, and was the worse for it, while he seemed to have forgotten, for the time, that action of any kind is the best tonic for disappointments. he realized that he was not doing what was best for him, still he uplifted not a finger to help himself. to all practical purposes, he was no bet- ter off than a person in a trance, who, knowing everything that is happening around them, are powerless to act. with something like relief he heard the whirring of the call announcing someone at the door. he jumped up to answer it in person, and was surprised to see parker and fox. what brought you out such a night as this?" "it wasn't the weather,” replied parker, " although if it keeps up it will bring the leaves out. “parker can't leave out his pun,” said fox, "we always come when it rains. we thought it would be an excellent chance to catch you in and have a chat, some cards and—” “it might be a relief from so much feminine society," interrupted parker. “well i certainly am glad to see you both, and i know imogene will be too,” as they entered the room he had just ' left. “won't you imogene?” “yes, indeed,” she said, " for its been quite lonesome and its so hard to try to entertain one who does not wish to be.” stanley darted a reproachful glance at her and turned to the others. “by the way, parker, i suppose the boys at the club are discussing their summer plans. any of them brought their yachts out?” “no, but several are overhauling them. they expect to go out as soon as the weather gets warm enough, and take short trips to the flats on a saturday evening and return sunday nights.” "i would like to go on one of those trips very much,” said imogene, “but you boys are so selfish.” “when the season is further advanced and the weather gets warmer we'll get up a party,” said parker, “but say seth aren't you coming around anymore? ” “i can hardly tell just yet. i have been so busy at the store learning all the ropes so as to give father more recre- ation, and i am besides so much occupied with a course of reading that my time is pretty well taken up.” “and occupied with a young lady on — street." stanley reddened and appeared confused. fox, who observed everything and suspected there was a hitch some- where, to keep parker from pursuing a subject he saw was unpleasant to stanley, proposed a game of pedro. the young men remained with him quite a while and as they were in excellent spirits it relieved his mind of the strain upon it. after they had gone and his sister had retired he again gave way to his feelings, and like men when oppressed and downhearted he began to doubt. he doubted most everything, for the time he had lost faith in himself. it seems that distrust, doubt and selfishness and curses laying near to the surface in our mental econ- omy, od require but a little chafing to bring them to the top. while this is a misfortune, it is fortunate for man- kind that the blessings, hope, faith and charity, lie equally near and and require but little effort also, to bring them into prominence. in our mental economy the good and the bad beneath the surface are so nicely adjusted that the slightest influence either way calls up its correspond- ing qualities. stanley was in doubting castle, unaware of the near approach of giant despair. while he was brood- ing he happened to lay his head down carelessly npon a paper that lay on the table beside him. he picked it up and glancing carelessly over it, without aim or purpose, for his mind was far from its contents, his attention was drawn to an article that abounded with beauty of expres- sion and thought. he read it through and was so pleased with it that he cut it out and it formed the first article in the scrap book he started the next morning. it read thus: “it cannot be that earth is man's only abiding place. it cannot be that our life is a bubble cast up by the ocean of eternity to float a moment on its waves and sink into noth- ingness. else why these high and glorious aspirations which leap like angles from our hearts forever wandering and unsatisfied? why is it that the rainbows of the clouds come over us with a beauty that is not of earth then pass off and leave us to muse on their loveliness? why is it that the stars that hold their festival around the midnight throne are set above the grasp of our limited faculties forever mocking us with their unapproachable glory. and finally, why is it that the bright forms of human beauty are presented to our views and taken from us leaving the thousand streams of our affections to flow back in alpine torrents upon our hearts? we were born for a higher destiny than earth. there is a realm where the rainbow never fades, where the stars will be spread before us like islands that slumber on the ocean, and where the beautiful things that pass before us will stay forever in our presence.” the reading of the article turned his thoughts to those of the night before, and between the two he found the same longing or aspiration for higher things that seemed to make men overcome obstacles and triumph over evil habits and association. such articles as these were now attracting his attention and were having their effect on him. · when he awoke that morning the first thing that occurred to him was the blow he had received the night before, and in brooding over this he had forgotten the les- son he had derived from that evening hymn. he had now left doubting castle. the scales of his mental econ- omy were again readjusted. the evil was driven back, and the good usurped its place. now he associated the two together. he had seen the thoughts contained in the article before in reading bulwer, now they had added force and meaning. the thousand streams of an affection, the likes of which he had never known, came flowing back now. why at some time would not the tide change and he receive the consummation spoken of, when the things we desire shall stay forever in our sight. “say what you will,” he reasoned with himself, “night is the time for reflection. there is something in the stillness with which we are surrounded that calls out our better natures. it brings out our best selves, our thoughts are higher and resolutions nobler. why should i, who went to sleep restful and contented, have awakened with a burden on my heart that went with me throughout the day until by chance i lighted on this article? is it because the day brings with it the full realization of our faults and troubles? are its influences detrimental to the good of the ordinary individual, and is it only the strong mind that can carry out the good resolves planned in the night? am i so weak that i must give way to this heart trouble and allow its gloom to sway my better judgment? the common drunkard who vows at night that he will not touch another drop, who stops the next morning at the first saloon to gratify his appetite is no more despicable, mentally, than the man who has planned some worthy action, or to do some necessary duty neglected or post- poned, and who on the morrow warps his mind against his better self. all are slaves. one to drink, one to inaction, one to neglect, while i am to a morbid feeling. i must conquer. i have a great battle to fight. now, in the night i feel it will be easy, but on the morrow when grief and discontent rush pell-mell upon me, with the tortures of a thousand questions from interested friends, i know the fight will be stubborn. but why should it be so? why will not the possession of the thoughts that now thrill me to triumph over self remain with me? unless i be a slave with a mind too weak and purposes too feeble i shall carry more of them with me in the future than i did today, and if i am to be schooled in the virtue of self- sacrifice what matters it if the training be severe, i shall profit in the end." chapter xxi. in thinking that he had a hard struggle before him, stanley was right, and on the following morning he began to think of plans by which his future should be guided. his father owned a farm in north lenawee county, that bordered on one of the beautiful sparkling lakes for which that region is particularly noted. he thought once of going there for the summer, taking his library with him, and for a time live like a recluse—spending his time in study and meditation, with the fields, hills and lakes for his outdoor companions, and his books for his bosom friends. this idea he soon dismissed from his mind, like many other plans. he thought he had better stick to business and engage a competent tutor to help him in his evening study. he realized that he was deficient in many things, and he wanted to choose a course of study and reading that would bring him the most solid return in stored knowledge, so that the year might be one of profit in more ways than one, and that in the event of marjorie and he being again thrown together, he would not be her mental inferior as he knew himself to be now. however he decided not to chose at once, but to leave the matter over a week or two, in order to thoroughly can- vass his situation. despite the peace of mind he had obtained the evening before, in yielding up to noble inspirations, his mind was still so confused that he thought it unwise to act hastily. he could not fully comprehend marjorie's position yet. she certainly had confessed that she loved him, but she also distrusted him. what such a mental combination would lead to, he could not tell. he was at times impatient, jealous and melancholy by turns, and became for a while so morose that the clerks at the store shunned him. his sister stood in awe of him, and his father watched him with a feeling akin to disgust, and actually felt ashamed that a son of his should give up to such a morbid feeling. as the days sped by stanley felt the need of a trusted friend in whom he could repose confidence, and perhaps, receive comfort. he shrank from making confidants of either parker or fox, not because they were unfitted, but because, to an extent, they had been sharers of his confi. dences and pleasures, when his heart was light and his purposes chiefly pleasure. to trust either to the secret of his present situation, be the outcome what it may, he could not. while parker was naturally light hearted, he had many good points, but he was then spending much of his time with miss downing, with whom he was infatuated. fox while loving pleasure, was very studious, and observed a great deal, and while. stanley appreciated him he rather dreaded his lynx eyes. he admired his learning, but to have him as a confidant-well, he wouldn't do. spring was now far advanced, and the evenings were pleasant, so when oppressed by his thoughts he would go up to the boat house, get out his row boat, and take a spin up the river. sometimes when he was particularly gloomy, to drive the spell from him, he put such vim into his stokes as to make his boat fairly fly through the water. this caused some of his former friends to think that he must be getting into trim for work during the summer. under this tension he was perhaps less careful than he ordinarily would have been, and the seeds of malaria were - - --- - sown in his body that afterwards made themselves appar- ent, when his spirits and his strength were weakened by confinement. his casual appearance, now and then, was hailed with delight by his former acquaintances, for stan- ley was well liked and a general favorite among the boys. he had also taken to novel reading, partly as a diversion, and also for further acquaintance with the standard authors. the works of hugo, dickens, read, cooper, bulwer, elliott and others adorned his library shelves, intermingled with some of lighter vein. in resorting to novel reading he argued that by the time he had finished them. he would be in such perfect control of himself as to be ready for more solid thought, then he would be ready for a tutor. more than once when thus engaged, he had laid aside his book mechanically, and under the influence of former association and the impulse of the moment, he found himself on the familiar route to her home. once as he passed by he caught a glimpse of her through the win- but he dared not trust himself to enter. however by dint of close application he found his desire for study increas- ing, and his library constantly filling with the new books he saw, and thought he would like to read. what his definite course would have been had he been left to him- self to decide, is not known; but an accident occured to him, the consequence of which, opened up to him a plan of action, which ushered in the most stirring period of his life. events as well as years are chroniclers of time, whether we apply them to the history of nations or of individuals. history is divided into epochs, the central ideas of which are those of men who have put into being the events around which cluster all the minor events and ideas of their epoch and which control them. the birth of the nazarene, whom we call christ, the son of god, unsettled all old chronologies or systems of reckoning time. we date from that event because it is considered the greatest in the world's history, and because the teachings he pro- mulgated are made the principles of what is now called the civilized world. with individuals the merest chance or accident in their lives has had for its result the shaping of their future careers, and from it they date all preceding and subsequents events in their lives. cæsar might not have been the the cæsar the world knows had not the intrigues of rivals forced him to cross the rubicon, and begin the career that gave him an imperishable name, and ended in his becoming the head of the roman world—the greatest of men. the falling of an apple suggested to newton thoughts which resulted in the discovery of the laws of gravitation. accident and chance have been great factors in the world. one day during the latter part of may as stanley stood near the freight elevator giving orders concerning the shipment of goods, some one from above pulled the rope and it started downward. the noise from the street com- ing through the open door drowned the slight noise it made in its approach. nearer it came, and just as one of the employees with a loaded truck came near to stanley he stepped backward to get out of the way, and in doing so unconsciously stepped under the elevator. the ship- ping clerk saw his danger, and had no more than time to shout a warning before stanley was struck squarely on top of his head and knocked senseless to the floor. anxious hands grasped the ropes and the elevator stopped just in time to save him from being crushed beneath it. he was hurriedly pulled from under it, carried out into the open air, and a doctor immediately sent for. some one notified his father, and he, wild with excitement, came rushing down to where his son was. for once the man of inflex-- ible will lost his nerve and was helpless. he rushed around aimlessly wringing his hands and calling for water, and ended by sending another man to the telephone to summon the family physician. the harsh words he had. uttered a few days since, and his sullen demeanor to his boy rushed upon him in a flood of remorse, and he regretted that he had not been kinder to his boy in his hour of trial. how vivid the mind is in presence of dan- ger? with what exactitude it recalls the minutest details of acts, conversations and thoughts? mr. stanley's con- science smote him hard as he watched, waited and hoped for some sign of returning consciousness. before either doctor came stanley regained conscious- ness and opened his eyes. he saw the crowd around him and noticed that he was lying on a hastily made pallet, his head supported on the lap of one of the employees, his father before him stroking his dark hair in utter bewilder- ment and helplessness. in a rather faint voice, whose weakness startled him, he inquired what had happened and started to rise, only to find that his strength was sud. denly gone. he felt a dull, aching pain in his head, a feeling of extreme lassitude all over his body, and a sharp throbbing pain where he had been struck by the elevator. those around him, in a gentle way that was rough at its best, were doing what they could to alleviate his pain, and trying to stay the flow of blood from the wound by apply- ing bandages. they were rewarded then with a faint. smile. he realized that something must have happened to him, but how or where he had no conception, and those around him were too excited to give him an intelligent answer. panic had seized upon them, occasioned by the ** p. dread of what the “old man” might do, if he thought the accident could be attributed to carelessness. when stanley smiled his father bent down and asked eagerly, “seth, my boy, do you feel better? you are hurt badly, and must not stir." "i feel all right, father," he replied faintly. “take me home.” “poor boy,” said his father. “poor fellow," echoed a few of the clerks. “it is too bad.” "the doctor will be here in a few moments," said mr. stanley, still rubbing his son's hand, and paying no atten- tion to the expressed sympathy of his employees. “he will know better what to do than we. lay quietly for a few moments. i wonder why that confounded doctor don't hurry up,” he added impatiently. “here are fifteen min. utes wasted. here, you!” turning to a clerk who stood by looking on like a statue, “put on your hat and go find him.” the clerk was off before he had finished and met the doctor at the door. dr. barker, the first physician sent for, at once went to work to examine the extent of the injury. he inquired as to the speed of the elevator, so as to calculate the force of the blow, the length of time he had been unconscious, and about his previous condi- tion. he then examined stanley's head and found a dark blue spot, from which trickled a little blood. the skin was abrased in places, and although the blow had been heavy the skull was not fractured. “a mere scalp wound”, he said, “nothing more serious will result from it than a probable series of headaches and a little nervousness.” “then he will be around in a few days?” asked mr. stanley. , ... . . .... “oh yes, if his general condition is good. how has. he been for the past few days?”. “well in body, but a little downhearted. nothing serious." “he'll pull through all right then," said the doctor reassuringly. a carriage was sent for and stanley sent home, the family physician, dr. pillworth, arriving in time to accom- pany him. while he substantially agreed with dr. barker as to the nature of the wound, he did not take as bright a view of stanley's condition and quick recovery. he saw behind the bruises a disconsolate look and from his bodily weakness he feared he might be attacked with brain fever, and he took immediate steps to prevent it. he was for- bidden to read and urged to be cheerful. “ you don't think his condition dangerous doc, do you?” mr. stanley had known dr. pillworth a long time and always addressed him familiarly as “doc.” “the wound is not dangerous, but it is the effect it may have on the mind, is what i am afraid of. care is what he needs, and care is everything. isn't it so doctor?" turning to dr. barker. “yes, sir, there is as much in care as there is in medi- cine. if his body is weak he must have it. there may be lurking in his system, the seeds of malaria. i do not say there is, but if there should be any, it will assert itself, and there is no telling what malaria will do." dr. pillworth's fears were realized, he was mistaken. only in the nature of the disease. malaria was lurking in his veins as the result of his exposure, and it took advan- tage of his depressed condition to assert the mastery. dr. pillworth went about his patient with a serious counte- - ***** nance and to the anxious inquiries of mr. stanley only said, “there is no telling what malaria will do." from the first john saunders was detailed to act as nurse, much against stanley's request, because he did not think he needed a nurse. but later when malaria fastened its grip upon him, saunders became a necessity, both as nurse and entertainer. the first week of his malarial attack he was a very sick patient, sometimes he was delir- ious. then his mind always dwelt on marjorie, and he continually upbraided her and protǝsted against her decis- ion. but with constant care he began to mend, aided by the delightful june weather, until he was able to move about though considerably emaciated. the turning point of his sickness had been marked by an event. the event turned the tide. before this he had been so ill that all visitors were excluded from his room. chapter xxii. during this time, marjorie stone was by no means happy. when he went out from her presence, despite her confidence, she felt disturbed in mind. the great mental strain under which she labored, was telling upon her, and her resolute will now forsook her. sitting down one day she gave full vent to her feelings in tears. she wept bit- terly for some time, and began to upbraid herself. love for him was asserting itself and punishing her for not yielding to it. can you blame him if in the time you have impossed upon him he seeks relief, and finds it and love, in the person of another, and never comes back? this and similar queries rushed in upon her and made her rest- less. her nature was devout and she sought comfort and found it in him who has promised aid to all who call upon him. since that night she had suffered a great deal, for nature cannot be outraged with impunity. she missed his frequent visits, his cheery conversations, the long drives and that contentment she felt when in his presence. not even the companionship of flora stedman, and her other girl friends, or the deep sympathy of her mother could compensate for his absence. she loved, and like all per- sons of her temperament, she loved ardently, with her whole soul. she had miscalculated her strength and her love wrought fears. she chided herself on being too severe. she felt that he would attribute her decision to her dis- trust of him. seeking for objects on which to vent blame, she blamed society and its small talk in saying that she was only going to marry stanley for his money; she blamed herself for giving heed to it--thereby causing this great sacrifice to self, her heart qualms, and the humiliations she must have cast upon him. would he return? the thought was parent to the wish that he would, or would he spurn her for her weakness. the pain, the misery, she was in, can be conceived only by those in like situations. her burdens she carried to her mother who did her best to console. she tried to prevent her from being too discon- solate and from judging herself too harshly, by telling her that there was wisdom in her choice, and that if his love were genuine it would not be quenched by waiting, but grow with its hunger. at such times marjorie would say, “ah! mother, but my heart aches so." there is no pain like that of love abused, other pains are perhaps more intense, sharper and more dangerous, but that continuous gnaw and ache, that tugs at our heart strings, always with us, in our sleeping and waking hours, creating misery and making us so wretched, is without equal. is it not so, dear reader? marjorie would have liked to have seen the conditions of her decision broken. she would have liked to have had his society for the year without the committal, and each day found her hoping that he would come to renew their relations. in the morning she thought, “i hope he will come today.” in the evening, “he will surely come tomorrow.” thus the time wore away; her cheeks began to get paler, and her form to droop. she used to sit some- what hidden by the lace curtain in the recesses of the front bay window, when her sense of loneliness overcame her, and look up the street in the direction he was wont to come. the night that he passed the house and caught a glimpse of her, she was watching as usual. when she saw him her blood quickened in her veins, and her heart beat furiously. the innerself was in a tumult of love, fear and hope, while the outerself was calm and apparently busily engaged in a piece of work, while in fact her fingers trembled so that she lost several stitches. he must not see the glad light that shone in her eyes so she kept her head down while pride and nature struggled for the mastery. pride won and while she was conscious that his step was hesitating as he passed the gate, she did not see the hungry look in his eyes as he passed and gazed in upon her. with downcast eyes she hoped every minute to hear his step upon the walk and the ring of the bell, and still she refused to look up with the smile, the look, that would have assured her of such a thing. of what a mass of contradictions human nature is made. we actually suffer from the want of the food of love—a smile or a look and we refuse it when within our grasp. we see souls in torture, that we wish to comfort, the opportunity is offered, and we pass it by. the next minute we bitterly reproach ourselves for our heartlessness, and conscience pricks and stings, oh, so hard. these things marjore now suffered. what a hateful thing is pride. pride, that having obtained the mastery, gloated over her pain, and mocked at her aches. pride, the monster, that had influenced her decision, prevented the look, the smile that would have brought happiness to two hearts. despite the wisdom of judgment on her side, and her mother's sympathy, her heart aches were harder to bear than stanley's, for she had not the avenues of ridding her mind of its singleness that lay in his reach. naturally the requirements of business turned his thoughts, at times, into other channels, and relieved it, while in the quiet of home life she had to nurse her feeling. “ man's love is with him a thing apart, while 'tis woman's whole existence." and he who wantonly steals the love of a confiding maid and disturbs her peace of mind, by being recreant to his trust when once her confidence is bestowed upon him, is responsible for a greater crime than he imagines. with a person of her qualities it is not to be supposed that she brooded continually, or that melancholy fed upon her cheeks, or that she pined away, in lamenting her lot. she gradually conquered her feeling, and in time she began to look at the matter in the same light as when she had decided upon the tests of his affection. not that she loved him less, but at times cold impartial reasoning, aided by absence, gained the ascendency, for if his love could not stand the test, it was not fit to mate with hers. the evening of the day that stanley met with his acci. dent in her old place in the bay window, she sat looking over an evening newspaper. suddenly she turned pale and almost dropped the paper, for there staring her in the face, was an article of great vital interest to her, with great headlines. narrow escape. seth stanley serious- ly injured. • and almost crushed to death by freight elevator. the article was lengthy and went into the particulars of the accident as far as the reporter had been able to glean the facts from the excited employees, and for the rest he drew upon his imagination. it cited the fact of doctors barker and pillworth being called in and gave their opinions as being adverse to quick recovery; that there were severe fractures in the skull and that both doctors feared brain fever. recovery was rendered uncertain because of the weakness of his body. the article concluded saying that mr. seth stanley was a very popular young man, who for some years had traveled extensively and was. one of the leaders of his circle in planning and devising means of enjoyment. he was an enthusiastic young ath- lete fond of all outdoor exercises in which he had attained great proficiency. the last year, however, he had given strict attention to business, the old familiar haunts had seen him no more, and he had been paying assiduous court to one of detroit's belles. dismay struggled with confusion as she read the article through several times, and when she had fully com- prehended its meaning she sank back nerveless in her chair, ovelwhelmed by the rush of apprehensive anxiety. all color forsook her cheek, and she looked like some inan- imate statue, so pale and lifeless she seemed. in this con- dition her mother found her on coming into the room a few moments later. she saw at once that marjorie had fainted, and being of a practicable turn of mind and not given to hysterics she took the necessary means to restore her. as the result of her efforts marjorie soon recovered and went to her room. her mother did not ask her the cause of her weakness, but waited until her daughter chose to tell her. when she returned to the room the paper still lay where it had fallen, and picking it up she after- ward saw the article that had so upset her daughter. experience had taught her that not everything that appeared in newspapers was wholly true, and that first ! ps. must chapter xxiii. the next day the morning paper was eagerly scanned, and in it she found a reference to the article. it stated that while the wound was painful, the skull was not frac- tured, that his general condition was not as bad as made out by a sensational evening paper, and that barring fever, he would quickly recover, as he was a man of great consti- tutional strength. marjorie felt better after this and later reports confirmed the news. a week or so later, the weather being exceptionally fine, she went out shopping and chanced to meet imogene, whose face lighted up on seeing her. “oh, marjorie, i am real glad to see you. did you know that seth has been hurt? now malaria has attacked him. i tell you what, our house is busy now.” “is he very sick ?” “i should say that he was. john saunders has been sent up from the store to attend him. we could not. he is light-headed and delirious. mrs. burwell thinks he is dangerously ill."- “but the doctor, what does he say?" “oh, dr. pillworth looks wise and solemn and shakes his head when he comes out of the room, and to our inqui- ries he says, “ he is in a bad way,” if we ask, will he get better soon? with a solemn tone he answers, “i hope so, but you can't tell anything about malaria.” she imitated the manner and tone of the doctor, and caused marjorie to smile. “wont you come and see me sometime? the house is solemn we need some one to cheer us up occasion- ally.” imogene did not suspect the changed relations between her brother and miss stone, and her complete innocence showed in her manner, so marjorie promised. “you know that you promised to be like a sister to me,” continued imogene, “and i–i, well i haven't seen you for some time.” marjorie stammered out some commonplace remark, about having been busy or indisposed. “you look awfully pale to," prattled on the uncon- scious imogene, as she noted her appearance. i guess you need the doctor's aid also. isn't it too bad that all the people i am most interested in seem to have the dumps, are sick or look bad at the same time? it does beat all." all these allusions were inward stabs to marjorie. they were all the deeper and more painful because she thought herself responsible, in part, for them. but desiring to know all, by dint of a few question, she gleaned from imogene the full extent of seth's accident and sick. ness. imogene possessed a great deal of her brother's art of entertaining, and having someone to talk to, she rattled away at a terrific rate, and laughed at her own little follies and conceits, while her smiles chased away some of that sad look that had settled upon marjorie's countence. the remembrance of her promise to imogene was ever in her mind, and mingled with a strong desire to see stan- ley, a few days latter, as she sat thinking about him the desire seemed to grow. it made her anxious and restless. if anything, she had become a trifle paler and thinner, and the blood forsaking her cheek, left the skin a marble saunders to arrange the room, and to imogene, "you may come up in a few moments." saunders, who was a very neat and tasty person, soon had the room in presentable shape. he was pleased too, for he had noted the glad look in the sick man's eyes. nothing like it had he seen since he had been acting as nurse, and he thought it augured well for the patient. then at a word from stanley he went down and announced, “ that mr. stanley would be pleased to have them come up now.” he accompanied them to the room and then started for the chamber that had been stanley's until the noise of the street compelled his removal to a more quiet room, when he was called by imogene, who had happened to think that perhaps they might prefer that there should be no witness of their meeting. upon the pretense of giv- ing john some order, she ushered marjorie into the room, and asked to be excused for a few moments. stanley, propped up by pillows, looked pale and emaciated, but his eyes lighted up with joy as he saw her enter the room. in her simple costume, to his eager eyes, she looked far more beautiful than any poet's dream, as with moistened eyes, she came toward him holding the flowers in her hand. when she saw him so pale and emaciated she was moved to pity, and tears unbidden gathered in her eyes as with tremulous voice she said, “ you will please excuse me for coming unbidden, mr. stanley, but i heard of your accident and subsequent illness, and was so sorry to hear of it that i have brought you these flowers as a reminder of spring, and as an expression of my deep sympathy and hope for your quick recovery. further, i would say that my conscience is clear of any wrong toward you. stanley took the flowers as he said, “i thank you with all my heart miss stone for these flowers, and for this visit. you have done nothing to excuse. let us forget, for the time that i was a too ardent lover. i have been convinced that in that matter you are wiser than i. i could not trust myself to continue my visits for fear that i might trespass on that which was forbidden. your assurance, however, lightens the task which i have tried cheerfully to bear.” his eyes spoke more than his lips expressed. this ended all allusion to the past. then imogene came in, and they chatted merrily. the sick man, as far as he was able, joined in with them, and the improvement that was going on in him was wonderful. he kept them laughing with droll stories, while she told him of the hap- · penings during his illness and of future events in musical circles. they did not remain long and in parting marjorie shook hands with him. as she did so there was such a wistful look in his dark eyes that she was deeply touched. she remained a while longer with imogene, and when she went home she felt more at ease with herself. she was happier and lighter hearted than she had been for many a day. stanley from the hour of her visit began to improve, slowly at first, but the pains had left his head and malaria racked his frame less. dr. pillworth predicted, while he wondered at the marvelous change, that he would soon be able to drive out. mind, after all, controls more than medicine, and marjorie's call and flowers had brightened up his mind and robbed it of its gloom and despondency. had marjorie known the excellent effect her visit had upon that house, and the happiness she had brought to it, her heart would have been lighter still, and all the more cheer- fully would have looked forward to the time when her self- imposed task would be finished, and to its result. book ii. chapter . stanley's improvement was rapid and he was soon able to sit up. then saunders selected books from the library and read to him. when tired of listening and reading they talked over what they had read. these conversations revealed to stanley something of the extent of saunders information, his wide range of reading and his wonderful retentive memory. while his intelligence was a matter of never failing and increasing wonder to him. john saunders enjoyed this diversion. he was glad to escape from the confinement of the office these pleasant days. he was glad to have gained the measure of stan- ley's confidence which he could easily discern. besides, he had access to the library, which contained many choice and valuable works, and he made good use of his time and opportunity. he was a great reader and had spent much time in searching for the connection between the african of today, and those egyptians and ethiopians who played so prominent a part in ancient history. he had read herodotus, plutarch, rawlinson, muller, blumenbach and cther writers of ancient history, for the purpose of seeing how their views of the different races of men, compare with bible history. there were slaves in those days, black and white, but who, on obtaining their freedom, became mingled with the free citizens and further trace of thein as men of different nationality or color was lost. this was different to the experience of his class in america and was a puzzler. he had read in plutarchi's life of marius that this soldier in his african wars, had been very successful. he had captured many slaves and was returning home in triumph, when rivals, jealous of his success, secured a decree of banishment against him from the roman senate and had his command taken from him. his army espoused the cause of their leader. he promised his numerous ethiopian slaves, if they would fight for him, freedom and the privileges of roman citi. zenship. marius fought, conquered and returned to rome in triumph. the after fate of these new made citizens, history furnished him no inkling, nor could he find any allusion to them as a distinct class of the people. finally he came to this conclusion, that the roman citizen did not cherish that prejudice against race so common among americans, and americans only. less than a week after stanley was able to take a little outdoor exercise, they had taken a morning drive and in the afternoon took their usual station on the lawn. saun- ders had read for some time when stanley somewhat abruptly interrupted his reading by saying: “let the books go for a while, john, i want to talk to you. do you know that i think you're a very clever fellow, and i have often thought that it was too bad that you are colored? if you were a white man i could make a companion of you that would stand me well in hand for a year at least. i owe you considerable already.” “is my color all that causes you to think less of me?" “your color doesn't matter so much to me at all, but people would talk if i should take you for a companion. i do not mean any insult to you,” stanley said confusedly and apologetically, "for you are different from other colored men." “not one bit different from hundreds of others whom em та i know. i consider many of my associates just as intelli- gent and some, perhaps, are more so. no doubt the same thing has been said to them by white people they have come in contact with, as it is not the first time it has been said to me. such remarks show that no race has a pre- mium on intelligence, and that racial superiority is a sham. it also proves that under equal conditions equal results will follow.” “i would be glad,” said stanley, “if it were different. i think a colored person is as good as a white one if he behaves as well and is as intelligent.” “i can convince you differently,” replied saunders. “if to-morrow i should prove unworthy of your trust you would at once say'all niggers are alike,' and i would be the last colored person to ever get a situation from you while a hundred of your white employees might do much worse. you would simply discharge him and hire another without thinking of his nationality. with us the many have to suffer for the sins of the one. with others the one alone suffers. isn't that a difference?” stanley thought for a moment before he said, “i guess you are right about that, and it isn't right either. still i have always treated you well, i don't take any credit for it either, for you have deserved it. saunders thought, “if i had been white would i have been detailed to act as nurse? would i have had to leave my duties as i have often done to serve as a valet or do other duties not consistent with that of my position,” but he said, " i thank you for the compliment, but while we are talking about these things i will call your attention to a few little overy-day prejudices, practiced thoughtlessly perhaps, but they are hurtful and humiliating. i will cite you a case right here in this city. there are scores of intelligent afro-americans, young men and women, some graduates from the common schools, others from the high school, and still others from different universities through- out the states. how many hold places of honor and trust? you can almost count them on your fingers ends. is it because they are unworthy, incapable or ignorant? no. philanthropists and politicians tell us to get education and money, and the race question will settle itself. but these same philanthropists and politicians will not carry their theories into practice by giving us profitable employ- ment. their trees are barren. i might travel today, as many another one of us has done, this city over from store to store, with the best of references as to honesty and cap- ability, and hardly one man in a thousand would consider my application seriously in any capacity save that of por- ter. we have young ladies intelligent above the ordinary, fully equal to and superior to the majority of girls that clerk in the stores. they are of pleasing address, comely in features and fair to look upon, yet the fact that their skins are dark, or that there is a slight trace of african about them shuts them out from all such situations. and the excuse is so flimsy.” .“ what is it?" "that their clerks won't work with colored people. how many of your employees left when i entered your firm? not one. clerks do not work for sentiment but for bread and butter, and if a merchant once tells them that if they don't want to work, because he has employed a colored person or any other person, they can quit, they will work all right enough. for a sentimental prejudice will yield when it inteferes with one's livelihood. i have proof of this. but candidly, can a race improve rapidly under such conditions ?” “not as rapidly as it might otherwise. but don't be disconsolate john. there is a better day coming for the colored people and you may live to see it. meditations on what might have been, are the dark valleys through which the soul passes, into which only gleams of hope can enter. it is better to dwell on the anticipations of the possibilities of the future, than to brood over misfortunes that are the realities of the past. he who lives and thinks only of the past, is sure to dwell on the dark side of what he has passed through. he finds only bitterness in his reflec- tions, that influences his whole expectations of the future. our constant hope of the blessings that lie just beyond. smooths the path of life as we go. i speak from exper- ience, but it has come as the result of my own folly. desires gratified without cost, often so pampers a man, that he plunges into excess. sometimes he plunges right on to ruin, and becomes a wreck, sometimes an incident. reveals his folly, and he awakens to a repentance that makes memory, for a time, a gaul of bitterness." “few men,” replied saunders, “have escaped the exper- iences descriped by a man of passion, (burns) that when the passions are excited, conscience flees like the shadows of night before the morning sun, and that when the pas- sions are gone, conscience comes creeping back like a sleuth hound on our track. but man's chiefest manhood lies in. those impulses which move him to pennance. often when in the imbrace of despair, i have felt as if i would like to take off the brakes, and be what the enemies and malign- ers of my race say we are—unfit for association and recognition, and devoid of all manly attributes. you have a prospect to live for, but what incentive have i except that i must render unto god an account for deeds done in the flesh? that promise of the future is alone the inspiration for me to live an upright and an honorable life among men.” “now that is where you make a mistake. a man may commit one error in youth, the effects of which will last for years, and darken his life. the same is true of races. what your race is passing through, ours has passed. we have spent our time beneath the yoke, we have been branded and disgraced. what condition could be more abject than that of the english people at the time of the norman conquest, or what can equal the feudal system that prevailed in europe? the time has not been so long since the masses among the caucasians have attained lib- erty of action and thought, and the struggle is still on- russia is the scene of strife. action and thought are still enslaved. the jew is still made a mark of opprobrium. the colored people are in the youth of their general devel- opment, although they have furnished conspicious exam- ples of men of superior ability, many of whom are widely known and respected. even i, with my limited knowledge of affairs can point to a few men, and they are but the marks of the possibilities of the bulk of your people. men never arrive at complete satiety in this life, for inven- tive want is too prolific with ideas. we often envy other men their positions, from our standpoint it seems the acme of happiness and content. when we attain like conditions we are still unsatisfied. we aspire for something higher, and when too late, we see some beauty in the life behind and sigh for the past and the might have beens. inordi- nate ambition is a bane to mankind in that it swells dis- content and blinds their eyes to the opportunities in their station of life. i am convinced that it is the advantage taken of apparently trivial circumstances that make grand men.” him that his cause is just his grievance becomes magni- fied. if you agree to the full extent of his claims his cause of complaint is doubly magnified to himself. most all of the pernicious isms of our day, so dangerous to gov- ernment, are the result of commiserating spirits mutually magnifying their wrongs, until in a frenzy of excitement judgment and reason are overthrown and the passions reign. sympathy is the bond of human fellowship. it unravels the secrets of the heart, the longings, the aspir- ations, but it should be used with judgment. it is worthy to use it in the interest of the oppressed struggling for light so as to get at the objects of their desires. it is noble to use it to inspire men on to noble thought and action, and to relieve the cry of the people that wells up: against most unrighteous wrongs. it is grand to use it to inspire'a race upon whom odium is heaped, whose ambi- tions are checked by environments, to struggle on to over- come the barriers. saunders was a man with a grievance. stanley's sympathy had called it out, the discontent was checked, and the inspiration to hope took its place. this is the proper way to treat a man with such complaints. sympathy was rightly shown and no doubt even stanley felt the impassioned fire that surged in saunders' veins. he no doubt felt a few of the noble resolutions that helped him in his own battle with self, as he witnessed this man pacing to and fro depicting a race's struggle. after pausing a while he continued: “amidst degrad- ing influences and the wreck of morals, despite the heat of prejudices, the slanders of enemies and the calumnies of society, while bodies were made barters of merchandise, the soul products of exchange and women means of com- merce in flesh, lofty manhood and inborn courage was still preserved. the world has not seen a grander type of nobler manhood than the black african prince, who achieved haytian independence-touissant l'overture. they who would deny us instincts above the brute, or view us an inferior race, seem to forget that we too, fought for american independence, and for the maintenance of the union. our blood, in the person of attucks, was the first to be shed for independence. our forces in the field brought down rebellion's head, while the bravery and courage of our troops at the “crater,” fort wagner, olustee, honey hill and a hundred other battle fields, are not excelled in history. can we not justly claim, in view of our environments, that the people of the republic are ungrateful? not alone on the field of battle displaying courage, have we proven that in us are the same instincts, desires and ambitions that move other races. under slavery, the many beneficial inventions emanating from the brain of the slave, became the property of the master who received all credit. under the inspiration of freedom, inventive skill is showing itself as may be proved by the records at washington. a greek grammar, the product of one of our race is the text book of one of our celebrated eastern colleges. there are many who are as great and as deserving in their field as those you have mentioned. in all localities there are many who have commanded attention and honor by dint of superior ability over their fellows, and this has been won without the aid of the hypocritical politician, or the weeping philanthropists, who have only words for an answer to appeals for work. if i could find a sufficient number of men whose actions would be in comport with their words whose hearts beat as yours, i would have no cause to ever despair. but we have taken up the whole afternoon in talk, what shall we take up next?" “the talk has been very profitable to me, and i shall make it so to you. you have made me see many things in a different light from what i have hitherto viewed them and i am constrained to believe you have a righteous com- plaint against your country and against society. some day we will try to more fully discuss how it can be rem- edied. by the way, i intend to spend my vacation at the farm with parker, morgan and fox, and you shall keep us company." saunders expressed his thanks and they then re-entered the house. seth's condition was now so much better that in a few days mr. stanley thought it would be better for saunders to go back to the store, which he did thinking of the great interest father and son seemed to take in him, and his com- ing vacation. stanley, however, missed the long, congen- ial talks, when john had gone. he had not fully recovered and was at times subject to disagreeable headaches. he made occasional visits to the store and did a little work to keep his hand in. as he was far from feeling as depressed as before. marjorie's call had relieved his mind of a great doubt, and he was more content to stand by her dictum. besides, 'whenever he felt a little gloomy, he thought of saunders, and that conversation when his inner soul had been revealed, and he compared his own burden with that of one whose ambitions were so checked, and he profited by the comparison. he turned, therefore, with more con- tent than before the accident, to other matters. he began to study saunders, and he found the study interesting in many ways, as well as profitable, as the reader will see hereafter. chapter iii the fabled hydra-headed serpent, slain by hercules, was not more dangerous than that hydra-tongued creature, called gossip, and society is one of its hand-maids. gossip, through society was still agog in discussing the relations between seth stanley and marjorie stone. now that he had apparently recovered from his sickness, and was not known to call upon her or to be seen in her com- pany, gossip found fresh material with which to amuse itself. rumors of a broken engagement were numerous, and it was attributed to various causes. since stanley's convalesence parker had renewed his calls. but parker, who was a great society man, failed to extract from him any information on the matter, or to get him out in society. he, finally, by putting this and that together concluded that much of stanley's illness was due to broken relations with miss stone, and without asking directly, used all the ways and means known to society to pump him. he was unsuccessful, and compelled to give up the job as useless. "you need a little mental tonic,” parker said on one occasion. “if you will let me prescribe for you i will have you in the old spirits in no time.” “i have always been down on quackery, returned stan- ley, “and i know that your tonic is the same old patent stuff. lose yourself in gaiety for the moment to awake consciousness again. you cannot dissipate depression by dissipating the body. many a confirmed drunkard has m tried this formula of yours in the glass, to find that he was out of the frying pan into the fire.” “oh, your trouble is of the heart then," said parker, conscious that had sent out a feeler, but avoiding stanley's eyes for fear that he would find in them a rebuke. "you have now changed your profession,” said stan- ley, shifting his position and noticing parker's embarrass- ment. “you play the role of a diviner as well as that of the physician. i cannot accept you in the capacity of either." parker felt relieved at even this gentle rebuke and dropped the subject. fred morgan had returned from orchard lake where he had graduated with high honors. he had so thor- oughly enjoyed his last summer's outing that he desired to repeat it, and he looked forward to it with greater antic- ipations than usual, because it would be the last before entering on a business career. he had brought home with him a school mate, edward burleigh, whose home was in the east. burleigh had suggested a trip down the st. lawrence and among the thousand islands. “that will be just the thing to knock the malaria out of stanley,” said morgan, and hence he suggested the idea to him confidently. stanley, however, had time to think the matter over, and had changed his mind as to whom he would spend the time with and where. he did not care for the companionship of his old friends because he was almost sure that some one of them would, during this vacation, take the liberty of inquiring into his present relations with miss stone, and he did not desire to be bored with such questions. he had about made up his mind to take saunders and go out to the farm for a quiet time in the woods and among the little lakes. his orig- inal plan was to take a party with him, but as he had been reticent about it and communicated with no one he had no difficulty in settling upon this course. hence he declined to go with the others despite their pleadings. his refusal caused them to be disappointed and none were more so than burleigh. he had heard so much from morgan as to stanley's qualities and good fellowship that he expected to derive a great deal of pleasure out of the trip. stanley's refusal did not prevent them from going ahead with their preparations, although they felt the disappointment sorely. they expected to start about july th. in the interim, however, their efforts to induce him to accompany them were frequent and their arguments strong, but they were useless. once they waited on him in a body thinking that as the time drew near he would change his mind. “we have heard and we believe that in union there is strength," said fox opening the conversation, “ and united we have come to persuade you to go with us. i tell you beforehand we shall not take no for an answer." “if i were a candidate for office,” replied stanley, “i could not feel prouder to know that my friends were bound to thrust honors upon me. i am sure though that you will take what i feel compelled to give you with regret. i appreciate your company, i assure you, and i appreciate the feeling that brings you here to ask me to go with you, but i ask the same consideration from you when i say it is impossible.” stanley's courteous and forcible answer forestalled many choice bits of argument that had been prepared for the occasion. “i am very sorry,” said burleigh, “for fred has been telling me what a jolly fellow you are. i suppose that malaria unfits a fellow for long jaunts.” stanley was glad to lay his refusal at the door of malaria and there it rested. on the day of their departure he accompanied them down to the river where they took the propeller - for buffalo. as he did not wish them to know that he had been planning another trip while they had been urging him to go with them, he decided it best to wait until about the th before going to the farm, as that would be the time for saunder's vacation. it had always been the custom of the stanley establishment to give their em- ployees each year a vacation of two weeks with pay. he then said to saunders: “you have earned a vaca- tion where you will not have to play the part of a servant. i have written mr. tobin, who lives on the farm, to pre- pare the cottage for us. we can board at the farm house and all our time will be our own. will you go?” “i shall only be happy to go,” said saunders, " for as i told you before one gets all he wants of city life in the fifty weeks he spends closeted in an office. a little coun- try life is an excellent thing, as it gives freedom to both mind and body and i thank you for the privilege." “no thanks, i am under obligations to you for your kind treatment and excellent nursing when i was sick and i haven't forgotten it.” “don't mention that, for i have been amply repaid for all that i did." “for your labor, that is true, but money cannot buy such devotion as you exhibited, and because of that i am still in your debt. we will leave day after tomorrow. please have the satchels ready and fill one with books and magazine of your own choosing. i have the century, forum, and north american review for this month, and you will find them in my room." "you can depend upon everything being ready,". replied saunders. and he at once began to prepare for their departure. on the morning of july th stanley and saunders took the early train over the michigan central to ypsi- lanti, where they connected with the hillsdale branch of the lake shore and michigan southern. at ten o'clock they were at brooklyn, a small town about sixty-five miles from detroit. here they were met by mr. tobin, the manager of the farm, and taken to sand lake, about six miles distant, on which a part of the farm bordered. saunders was very much impressed with the beauty of the scenery. it was novel to him. before him lay the lake, a beautiful sheet of water glistening under the rays of the sun, about one and a half miles long and three- quarters of a mile wide. its sides, save on the north, where lay a small swamp, were dotted with summer cot- tages, surrounded by one continuous growth of woods. the face of the country for miles around was hilly, and hill, valley and lake, alternating with each other formed a scene decidedly picturesque and pleasing. prospect hill in the distance, which was the tallest in that section, loomed up like a monitor overlooking the rest, while to the southeast of it was cedar hill from which an excellent view could be obtained of wampler's lake. they were driven at once to the cottage, on the left bank of the lake, which was somewhat isolated from the rest and about a quarter of a mile from the farm house. every- thing had been recently cleaned and neatly arranged, so that it presented a cozy and home-like appearance, that called from saunders an expression of satisfaction. hav- ing washed and dusted themselves they donned their flan- nel shirts, swung a hammock in the shade and prepared to rest until the large farm-house bell rang for dinner. meanwhile mr. tobin, to whom saunders was a per- fect stranger had gone on home to tell his wife and folk that young mr. stanley had come and brought with him a. young colored man who was very rich and decidedly good- looking. as to saunders' wealth he had no real informa- tion, but he reasoned that seth stanley would never lower himself to take a colored man as a companion, unless he were rich, and the others agreed with him. "colored men be all right in their place,” said mr.. tobin, “and we allers allowed tom to sit with us at the table jest like one of the family, but we wouldn't have gone a galavantin' round the country with him.” “i've hearn tell,” spoke up his wife, "of some right. peart colored men and they were rich too." “he must be smart too, and i reckon he must come from some other state. they say that some of 'em down in ohio have been elected to the legislatur.” “there's fred douglass, i've hearn tell that he's so smart that people like to be in his company. is he good looking?" “fair to middlin," said mr. tobin, “and he's not very dark either. but he's colored, sure's i'm livin', thats what gets me." before they were through speculating, john saunders had grown to be quite an important personage with them, and he was eyed a great deal when he came to dinner, and was introduced to the family. his gentlemanly appearance was such that it seemed to confirm their conjectures. when he had gone mrs. tobin said, “i knew he must be somebody. he was all dressed up just like mr. stan- ley, and his hands were softer'n daisey's.” 'taint fred douglass' son anyhow,” said mr. tobin reflectively, “cos his name is saunders, and i never hearn tell of any saunders afore." “well i reckon there's lots o people as we never hearn tell of,” replied his wife. the news soon spread around among the neighbors until it reached the occupants of the cottages, that seth stanley and a rich colored man from the east had taken possession of the stanley cottage. “he must be somebody," they remarked to each other on hearing it, “or the stanleys would not take him in tow." mystery is a telescope to the mind. it either enlarges or belittles according to the end one gets hold of. in this case, john saunders was seen through the magnifying lens. it was well for him that opinion took this course for it enabled him to enjoy himself hugely. chapter iv. they arranged their days so as to get the most out of them. in the morning before o'clock they were up and enjoying a row upon the lake, or taking a long walk, or going in swimming. sometimes after breakfast they would fish a little, or row until the sun got so warm that they took the shade for shelter. sometimes when the breezes were good and strong, they enjoyed taking the little sail boat out, and coming down the lake with sails set at a good spanking rate. they were not sailors enough to make good progress back with the sail, so they rowed back for the pleasure of the sail down again. during the heat of the day they would loll around, talk, smoke, read, sketch or sometimes take a drive, while in the evening they would probably amuse themselves by another swim or a row, or by waking the startled echoes by wild cries, or sweet melodies, or in visiting their neighbors. mean- while their hands were growing hard and their skins tanned, while their animal spirits were always high, save when seth was in a fitful mood, which was not often. stanley never enjoyed himself better, and saunders was having a magnificent time. as a result of the gossip, whenever they went out for a drive across the country or a row on the lake, they were the center of attraction. little children stopped in the middle of their play to gaze at them. for a time saun- ders was a curiosity. he noticed it all but he was not aware of the true cause. at the store he was accustomed to being eyed by strangers who seemed to think it an odd thing to see colored people in such a place, so he thought now that he was noticed simply because he appeared as the associate of a young rich white man. rather jokingly he suggested to stanley that they start a side show, get a hand organ and a monkey, place themselves on exhibition and charge an admission fee of ten cents, thus combining profit with pleasure. there were two hotels at the lake. the one on the south side had a livery attached and was often patronized by stanley. he enjoyed an early morning drive over the hills, through irish town, to wampler's lake or to pros- pect hill, from whose eminence an excellent view of the country unfolded itself. this section is famous for the number of its lakes, and from this hill alone, could be seen twelve that glistened like diamonds in green settings. in these excursions they had visited almost all the little vil- lages round about, going as far as tecumseh. one day, through mrs. tobin, stanley learned of the popular belief concerning saunders. he was immensely tickled over it and decided to let the belief have its course, and if possible, keep saunders from hearing of it. his friendship for that individual every day was growing stronger, and in that was sunk all reference as to color or race. he thought only of the qualities he possessed people had already dubbed him peculiar and cranky, and he enjoyed the distinction. on the tuesday of their second week's stay a party was given at one of the hotels, and among others a courteous note was sent to stanley inviting him and his friend to attend. he showed the invitation to saunders and after a little talk over it they decided to accept, and stanley sent a message to that effect. accord- ingly a little after nine o'clock that evening they wended their way to the hotel. the party or ball was to be held in the hall built for dancing purposes just back of the hotel. music and dancing had already commenced when they arrived, and quite a number had already collected, the farmers and the vacation sojourners being well mixed. their entrance caused a slight bustle, as all eyes were immediately turned upon them. one of the managers of the affair, mr. d- , came up to them, greeted them, and did the “ agreeable" by introducing them to all they had not met, and in making them feel at ease. since he had come stanley determined to enjoy himself. besides among the cottagers there were represented many fami- lies of wealth and standing from adrian, toledo and round about. saunders had been so well received that he left him to take care of himself, and selecting a partner was soon engaged in a waltz. saunders proceeded more cautiously. he well knew that prejudice was not so ram- pant in these country gatherings as in the city, but he feared a slight which might mar his own and perhaps rob stanley of his enjoyment. however, he did not lack com- pany, for many were anxious to get a good look at him and hear what a man of his supposed distinction had to say, and right well did he unconsciously play his part. when partners were called for a quadrille stanley took him to a rather pretty lady named miss andrews, and insisted upon his taking her out and joining in the dance which he did. the ice once broken he had no difficulty in finding part- ners or in being entertained. everything went smoothly and pleasure ran on unabated, as it only can in these informal social gatherings in the country, until he made a misstep in a direction of which he was unaware there was any danger. returned to shallow water by saying: “we had warm excit- ing times in those days in helping runaway slaves on to canada.” here he branched off and began to talk of the detestation in which he held slavery, and recounted many of his experiences in connection with the underground railroad. when he had finished saunders said: “you must feel proud now to see the advances some of the race that you helped on to freedom are making." “i've read that some of them are gettin' on purty well.” “have you ever been elected to the legislature?” the squire now began his questions. . he was full of curiosity to know who and what saunders really was. “no, i have not.” “ever been appointed to a position in the states." “ no.” “s’pose you are a lawyer, eh?” “no, i thought once of studying for that profession, but gave it up.” “s’pose you are a merchant then, eh?” “you have missed it again. although i am engaged in the business, by profession i'm a civil engineer." “buyin' and sellin'?” “no, i am a bookkeeper in mr. stanley's store." if someone had slipped a chunk of ice down the squire's back he could not have been more astonished and staggered. finally he managed to ask: “ own an interest in the business ?" “no." he thought again as he tugged away at the spare growth of whiskers that adorned his chin. while he was thus meditating saunders' attention was called elsewhere. squire andrews was dumbfounded. the idea that he, mode **** squire andrews, justice of the peace for the township of m— county of lenawee, of the state of michigan, had condescended to take an interest in a common negro, and had mingled socially with him. he was disgusted, and the more he thought of it the worse he felt. he imagined that the dignity of his person had been imposed upon. he then lost no time in spreading the information that the great somebody was only a common clerk or book- keeper in stanley's store. every now and then he would stand still, his countenance marked with disgust as he took a fresh hold of his chin appendage and muttered, “only a colored bookkeeper, bah!” saunders was no longer the lion of the occasion. he was still stared at by nearly all present, but not with the look of awe which had hitherto characterized their expressions. the wonder that now occupied the minds of some was how seth stan. ley could so disgrace his family as to make an equal of his father's colored bookkeeper. others, better informed of the difficulties that surrounded a young colored man in attaining a living, thought that he must be smart and intelligent above the average to secure such a position. nevertheless he was treated civilly for they saw that he acted like a gentleman and was excellent com- pany. beside those who had formally made advances could not so quickly change front, although they might cut him afterward. squire andrews was determined to let stanley know that he was fully aware of the relation between him and saunders, and of the false position in which he had been placed. siding over to where stanley stood talking with a young lady, while still tugging and stroking his whiskers, he waited his chance. as soon as stanley was at leisure he stepped up to him saying. "quite a smart fellow, your friend, mr. stanley; everybody thought he was a merchant from down east.” "so!” said stanley, with a merry twinkle in his eyes. "or the son of some distinguished person.” “he is a smart man, who is as good as he is intelli- gent." “only a clerk in your father's store,” with a sneer. “yet he is a trusted one, and he is my friend,” said stanley with warmth, for he noticed the sneer in the squire's tone and on his countenance, and he intended to resent any remark that might belittle his companion. the squire saw danger ahead and beat a retreat say- ing, “oh, i see!” and went away still tugging his whiskers and muttering, "only a colored bookkeeper." stanley was sorry the truth was out for saunders’ sake, but he noticed that during the rest of the ball, very much to his gratification, that only a few seemed to shun his society. on their way home that night, stanley told saunders of the speculations that had been going the rounds con- cerning him and his greatness, and they had a good hearty laugh over it. “i was a king then for a part of the evening, if only a merchant king. i though that squire andrews' face fell when i told him i was not a member of the legislature, never had been appointed to an honorary position, was not a lawyer, or a merchant, but was only a bookkeeper in. your father's store.” he laughed heartily. “then you gave it away yourself.” “i wasn't then aware of the joke. yes, the old squire had been entertaining me with reminiscences." “he was bound to let me know he had found out the truth. poor fellow he almost pulled his crop of whiskers out. that face of his was a study. ha! ha! ha!” ; chapter v. only three more days left of their vacation which had been spent so pleasantly that stanley was thinking of hav- ing it extended. he did not care to return so soon to detroit because of the almost irresistible desire that he had to see marjorie stone again, when his mind reverted to her, which was frequent. his attachment to saunders grew each day and his admiration for his qualities of mind and heart was increased accordingly, while saunders, in many quiet ways, showed the devotion he felt toward him. their reading and talks about different books and topics was one of their indispensable routines of the day and the interest they awakened in him brought saunders into high favor with stanley the afternoon of the day following the party over at jones' they had swung their hammocks amongst a clump of trees to the west of the lake for a few hours' reading and sleeping. they had not as yet touched the magazines they had brought. stanley picked up the forum and went through the index. he noticed an article entitled the “negro prob- lem” by senator eustis, of louisiana. “here is some- thing that will interest john," he thought, as he turned to it. before calling his attention to it he started to read it, but before he had gone far he thought he would read aloud. “here is an article by senator eustis on the negro problem, in the forum, john. it may interest you. let me road you a part of it.” . “all right," said john, “fire away,” and he assumed a* listening attitude. stanley proceeded and as he got into the article his surprise at the picture presented therein of the incapacity and shiftlessness of the southern negro grew as he turned each page. finally, in disgust, he handed the magazine to saunders to finish the article. when saunders concluded it stanley remarked, “i would not have believed that such a state of things existed in the south. the colored people down there must be different from what they are up here." “there is but little difference except as to numbers," replied saunders," and for that reason it appears the more noticeable. there are afro-americans there who are as progressive and intelligent as you will find in the world, and there are those who, if they had the opportunity, -would command the attention of civilization. as it is, despite prejudice, deep-dyed and monstrous in the south, and despite the lack of interest in the north, we have men who have forced themselves above their fellows and became prominent citizens.” “of course i would expect you to stand by your race, right or wrong, that is pardonable, but senator eustis ought to be conversant with the facts. beside, you should not accuse the north of apathy when they have poured millions of dollars into the south for the education of your people.” “you mistake me. i give all honor to the men who have made noble sacrifices of both time and money in the interests of humanity and education. but of what benefit is education without opportunity. idle hands are quick to commit the sins that idle minds devise. in d etroit there are about two stores outside of yours that give us employment, and detroit is a sample of the north- west in many respects. the men of business say they wish us well, tell us to save our money, but had we the capacity of an edison in inventing, of a stewart in plan- ning, coupled with the integrity of a regulus and the devotion of a pythias, they would not open to us the opportunities accorded to other youths. i have myself went to men, who pose as professed friends, to solicit work for myself and friends, and have invariably been met with, - well, we don't need any one just now. if i do i will let you know. i have never been informed when they needed help, though i left my address and they have been dis- charging and hiring all the time." "you put me in mind of monte christo, one of dumas' characters, when he came home rich to revenge himself upon his enemies. as he dispatched them he numbered them. your grievances suggests the reference. you are shut out from society and from business; what will be next?” "i can't say, but i have not lost hope. i believe in time other business men will follow your father's examples. reports from elsewhere are encouraging. as to society, that does not bother me, we have it among ourselves, as pure and intelligent as it can be found anywhere. but you do not know much about the condition of things in the south, do you?”. "i will confess my ignorance on the subject.” “i thought that you did not from your comments on senator eustis' article. his statements are false in many particulars and are most undoubtedly made for the pur- pose of influencing northern "opinion. i can tell you something of his own state. in the city of new orleans, the afro-americans pay taxes on fifteen millions of dollars statements made about us that we have to go around armed with facts to contradict them. i have spoken of the tax paid in the state of lousiana on property, the race pays throughout the south a tax on $ , , in realty. rather a good record is it not for a race that has hardly had twenty-five years of freedom?”. “it certainly is not a bad showing." “it would be more were it not for the systems extant throughout the south, of which the reading world is famil. iar. systems aimed expressly at keeping afro-american dependent, and from acquiring property, of which the prin- cipal ones are the false land contracts and the present store order system. in louisiana there is a law purported to be aimed at vagabonds and tramps, but directed chiefly at the afro-american, which is operated quite extensively in some of the parishes of that state. under this law all persons who live by their labor, whose services are not .contracted for by january st, for the coming season, are termed vagabonds and their services sold to the highest bidder, for the benefit of the state." “that is monstrous." “monstrous!” exclaimed saunders with curling lip and flashing eyes. “it is practical slavery. the wrongs of which the afro-americans complain are enough to set on fire the blood of age, and make the blood of youth leap in torrents to avenge them. but we are like the jews, in that“ patience is the badge of all our tribes,” and we hope for peaceful settlements despite the fact that the ameri- can world seems to be against us. some justify these practices, some pity us, and some condemn them, while the majority look on with listless indifference at the crimes against that race which produced the first martyr to amer- ican liberty." - stanley watched him closely and noted the flashing eyes, the dilated nostrils, and the firmly curved sensitive lip that twitched nervously. he would have turned the subject but he was interested and inquired. “can they not band together to protect themselves." “your question is one that has often been asked. so vigilant are the violaters of the law that anything that looks suspicious on the part of the blacks is heralded by the whites at once as a “negro uprising.” then some dark night a leader among the people disappears. the next day his body is found hanging to a tree. no one knows who committed the cowardly deed. no attempt is made to find the murderers. the law is silent, the crim- inals are unpunished, the end sought for gained, and the blacks are cowed by these secret assassinations. in south carolina recently a white man named hoover was forced to flee for his life for inciting, so the dispatch read, “the negroes to riot,” while the truth of the whole matter was that he was engaged in establishing knights of labor assemblies among them. the outrage was caused by the fear that these assemblies would breed discontent. there was a strike on the sugar plantations of louisiana last fall. some of the strikers were knights of labor, and among them were a considerable number of afro-ameri- cans. governor mcenery sent troops to that point and as a result there was a useless and uncalled for sacrifice of lives. · it was the usual louisiana method of intimidating the blacks before an election. there are cases where some determined men have banded themselves together for mutual protection, and conquered a peace in their localities, but these cases are isolated. a great drawback against the organization of any kind, whether to check outrages, or to better their industrial condition, is this fact, which was stated by an afro-american journal of jacksonville, fla., that per cent of the race are incapa- ble at the present of such action. you see it is too much to expect a whole race to throw off at once all the influences of two centuries of degradation and a thousand years of superstitions. it seems to be even impossible in the north for the masses of the whites, with their years of freedom and opportunity, to succcessfully band together to resist the encroachment of capital.” stanley laughed at this sally. “ another serious impediment is that any attempt at resistance would bring down upon them the military of the state, they would be hunted down, as is often the case, and shot like dogs. the military is in sympathy with public sentiment, and that is down on the race as competitors only, not as meek laborers. the federal government is powerless to protect the rights of the citi. zens of the republic. that power devolves upon the state, and they who execute the laws are hostile. but there is a brighter shade to the picture; a great educa- tional work is going on. schools are increasing. the per cent. of illiteracy is decreasing, and habits of thrift are being cultivated. these agencies must in time check the evils complained of and win for us that respect which is now denied.” while saunders was talking stanley had been think- ing and revolving the subject in his mind, and the resolu- tion was half formed to go south and see for himself, when saunders had finished he said, “while we have been talking i have half made up my mind to go south, as i have never been there, and see if these things are true, and to judge for myself.” “ then let me give you a word of warning. don't let them show you the bad side of our case without pointing out to you those who are striving for success. don't look around among the slums that visit saloons and form a judgment until you have visited our schools and colleges that dot the southland. when they show you a lazy, shiftless and ignorant man, inquire for an intelligent pro- gressive one. they can be found since the race repro- sents so much wealth.” “ you need not fear for that for you will go with me." “i shall be glad to if you do not put off the trip until too late in the fall. i want to be home about two or three weeks before christmas.” “what's going to happen then?” “only a little private event of mine." “something that can't be told.” “ no. something that isn't to be told.” “a love affair! i'll bet a nickel.” “that is the usual charge where a mystery is involved." “were you ever in love, john? tell the truth now and shame the devil.” "i might return your exorcism and ask you the same question.” “you know it, you scamp, and have ever since you posted those letters for me last summer.” “i did suspect it then, but my suspicions were con- fined to my thoughts. i noticed that you commenced to get better the day she came and all that. i compliment you on your taste and judgment.” thoughts of marjorie at once made stanley serious. he lay back in his hammock a moment before he spoke, and then said with some bitterness: “yes i have loved and i love her with all my heart. there are many who have sued with less ardor, whose hearts have not been stirred with the deep emotions that have moved mine, who have won without a sacrifice." “waiting has its own reward,” said john soothingly. “ each particular case has its own history, john. there are points in mine that keep doubts hanging close upon my hopes. distrusted and loved. the thought of it has placed my soul and my love in a crucible heated with the flames of doubt, unstability and excesses. so far i have stood the test.” “and will continue to,” said saunders. this sudden burst of passion showed him the mental strain under which stanley labored at times, and furnished him with the key to his melancholy. after a few moments' silence stanley told him of his courtship and probation. “now that i have unbosomed myself to you as i have not done to one of my dearest white friends, i want you to confide in me. there may be a vein of fellow-experience in which i may give some con. solation. i feel relieved since my confession, and i know that i have your sincere sympathy." “there is no reason why i should withhold anything from you, since you have made such a confidant of me. i am to be married at christmas.” “i envy you. what is her name?” “edith darrow. we have known each other a long, time and she possesses those qualities i like in women. they won my love at any rate. the attachment was reciprocated and the day is set. i have bought a lot in the northeastern part of the city on — street. i have plans already drawn for our house and have let the contract. it will be well under way when i return. the reason why i said i desired to return from the south two or three weeks before christmas is to have everything arranged and ready to receive her.” “i thought so the minute you spoke. is she pretty?” “i think so, others might not,” answered saunders modestly. “her complexion is fair and she has dark hair and eyes. if she had been born in a white family she would have passed for a brunette. do you know that there are a number of octoroons passing for white all over this country? they have left their former homes and lost their past identity. at once they realized a liberty unknown before, and like the hessian, who considered dis- cretion the better part of valor, they have deserted from the race in which they are classed, because they thought it better to do so than to wage such an uneven fight as the afro-american must, no matter what his color. edith is rather slight in form, but with no inherent delicacy, for her family are all robust and healthy." “is she as good and as intelligent as you are? of course she must be, or you wouldn't have lost your head.”' “when i tell you that she is as refined and intelligent as anyone you ever met and more accomplished than the majority, you may think that my love has overdrawn the picture." “i must see her if i have to go with you to call upon her." “and i shall be happy to take you, for i know that she will be pleased to meet one who has been so kind a friend to me." their talk was interrupted by one of mr. tobin's boys coming to summon them to dinner. frequent reference was made after this to the proposed trip south and to saunders' future prospects in regard to which stanley resolved to brighten. two days later they packed up and returned to detroit. chapter vi. before we resume the thread of our story we will digress a little to look into john saunder's surroundings. in so doing we dig into a field of which the average american reader knows less about than he does of russian life-its incidents, pleasures and perils. this field is rich in romance, and in the story of the lives of many are inci. dents, perils, obstacles, despair and triumphs, success and failures, joys, sorrows and pathos, that might command the pens of the most gifted minds to depict in glowing colors. john saunder's parents were born slaves, who, fleeing from that “relic of barbarism," had taken refuge in the state of illinois, where they resided until compelled to flee because of the odious black laws, when they came to michigan and settled in detroit where john was born. realizing what they lacked from the need of education they used every effort to have their children educated. they possessed that thirst for education which has made their race's progress one of the wonders of the age. that progress illustrates this universal rule: if a man is deprived of a common right or a common opportunity his desires increase with his realization of the difference between himself and other men. deprivation breeds dis- content. if the man is ambitious discontent spurs him on to be the equal of his neighbor. next to the promises contained in holy writ, educa- tion was the hope of the afro-american. the desire had descended as a fixed feature in the character of succeeding generations, and the burst of liberty, opening up new opportunities that hitherto had seemed but a dream, met with an unprecedented response by both parent and child. during the earlier years of their children they were sent to the “colored” school and later to the public schools, when they were subsequently opened to receive afro-american children. john graduated from the detroit high school, went to college at ann arbor where he took up civil engineering and graduated with honor. it was during his high school days that he first met seth stanley, who was attracted to him by reason of his close application to study, and his serious and sad demeanor which was in such striking contrast to his own easy-going manner. after his graduation he wandered from place to place seeking employment, but his color was against him, and all his efforts to attain a position in keeping with his abilities were failures. he was at last forced, much against his wishes, to turn waiter in a hotel because of his. limited means. this compulsion made him feel rather bitter against the world, and he began to doubt if he was any better off for the time, money and labor spent in get- ting an education. he was engaged at this work when he met seth stanley on the street one day, who stopped him and inquired about his affairs. stanley was disgusted when john told him what he was doing, and declared that it was shameful that a man of his ability should be com- pelled to do such work. he promised to speak to his father in john's behalf, and was successful enough to obtain for him the position of assistant bookkeeper in his father's store. the self sacrifices of saunders' parents to educate their children can never be known or appreciated except by those who have passed through similar experiences. both that last sleep. to john her admonition was to complete his education and be what she had desired him to be. he was then attending the high school. there was more than a vacant chair when her form was taken to its last resting place, for she was their advisor and counsellor. she buoyed up their hopes when their trials were most severe or when they were smarting under the wounds caused by some of their schoolmates. when even hope seemed to have ebbed away she instilled into them new ardor and courage. this event was what caused that sadness that had attracted stanley. the real struggle to carry out his mother's wishes now came to john. his father's earnings were not more than enough to take care of the smaller members of the family, and he had to work out his destiny alone. during vacations he did whatever he could find to do, waiting at tables in hotels or on steam- boats, or doing an odd job here and there. during the terms he attended to furnaces, cleaned sidewalks and waited on private families for his board. it was a hard struggle but nerve and pluck won. the one lesson to be learned by the millions, which saunders learned, who yearly read of napoleon's determined will, that carried him and his victorious army across the alps, is the firm determination that brooks no obstacles. thousands before and since, unknown to fame, have lived and died, and a lonely tombstone in a country churchyard is the sole monument that they have ever lived, who have possessed the will of a napoleon but not the opportunity. they have struggled at the bottom but could not rise, yet they in their sphere have triumphed. none of us are what we would be, but we can all be the best of what we are. in all of saunders' hardships there was one person who watched his progress eagerly, and was very much inter- ested in his welfare. this was edith darrow, who after- wards became his betrothed. from the first she had man. ifested a kindly interest in him, for which he was thank- ful, and he set her interest and little kindnesses down in his heart to her account. he was restrained then from giving his feelings wider range because of his poverty. in time his position became a more lucrative one, and he became able to save a little and aid his father. his broth. ers and sisters, all but one, became self-sustaining, and it did not require so much from each to keep the household intact, and to support that one. finding that his financial prospects would warrant it, he indulged more in society and naturally enough, turned to edith darrow, for whom he already cherished an affection. shortly before stan- ley's accident, and subsequent illness, he offered himself, was accepted and the appointed time set for christmas. edith darrow was a fino appearing woman, and most people would have called her beautiful. her face was round and intellectual, her form was graceful and trim. these charms, added to laughing dark eyes, made her a mark at which many an aspirant had aimed his cupid darts hitherto, but without success. the darrows were one of the most prominent afro- american families in detroit, and each individual member of the family was energetic and unusually successful in whatever he undertook. her father was a mason and contractor and had, by dint of economy and thrift, amassed considerable property and surrounded his family with many luxuries. an instance in his business life is worthy of mention, since it illustrates the feelings which exists in the minds of many, who do not like to see any of this race advance beyond the condition of dependent workmen. one evening a gentlemen called at his house to have him *edit figure on a contract. he was asked into their parlor where edith sat playing a piano. the furnishing was neat, tasty, even rich. mr. darrow came in, the plans were submitted, but though he was the lowest bidder, the builder refused him the contract because he said, “you do not need the work; your family lives as well as mine.” notwithstand- ing many such rebuffs he was a fairly successful business man. the relation between stanley and saunders had become so intimate since their vacation in the country, that saun- ders really wished to have him meet his betrothed, and only wanted an excuse to make them acquainted. stanley had also expressed a desire to see her. he had often said to him, “i know she must be a desirable girl or you would not love her. i almost envy you your bright prospects." saunders knew that his desire was animated only by a genuine interest for himself, but he feared that a visit from his employer might be construed by her as a matter of curiosity despite what he had said about him. the oppor- tunity came in an unexpected way in the early part of september, about a month before they had decided to start on their southern trip. a company of fisk jubilee singers came to the city, some of whom were quite dis- tinguished, and had sung before many of the crowned heads of europe. a few of them were known personally by edith, and as, during their engagement, they had one evening off, she had them to a tea, and invited a few friends to meet them. saunders begged leave to invite stanley, as he had heard them sing and had expressed a wish to meet them and compare voices; and as the reader knows he was no mere novice. edith assented, and saunders and stanley came together. when stanley was introduced he made himself just as affable and entertaining as he . chapter vii. stanley's intimacy with the “colored bookkeeper” had been made the subject of remark. this fact in itself would not have drawn out so much criticism had it not been for the fact that the haunts of society knew him no more, and that he for the time forsook his former friends for that rest and peace of mind which he seemed to obtain in saunders’ company. when it became known that he had attended a reception among these people, and had mingled with them with all his old time vivacity, gossip had a theme worthy of its ability. stanley's idiosyncrasies came in for a gen- eral lashing. some said he had developed negrophobia, and some that he was trying to wean himself away from marjorie stone, and had chosen this peculiar way to do it. these people reminded others of their prophecy that he would soon tire of her, for said they, "since his recovery he has neither visited her nor been seen in her company." there were some who said he was “going to the dogs," but few were charitable enough to view his position in a favorable light. that the bookkeeper had qualities of manhood that could command a man's admiration sug- gested itself to but few, or that his presence at the recep- tion may have been for the purpose of finding out whether the general opinion of these people was true or false, society did not dream of. why should it? had not society placed a ban upon them. society is a kingdom. it has its kings, princes, dukes, marquises, earls, lords, savants, and all the paraphernalia of a court which it rigorously obeys, and . which sways it at will. this court has deemed them incap- able of advancement in its wisdom, and unfit as associates. its savants are learned and have declared them but a degree above the apes. the judgments of the court are inflexible and society is contented, for are not these judg- ments entrenched in deepest wisdom and learning? what need has it for personal contact to prove their truths? “let them not enter into our sacred precincts lest we breathe contamination,” is the decree to which society holds rigidly. it departs not from its laws and customs until, perchance, it goes to some foreign country, and there, remarkable to relate, the further it gets away from home the less rigid it becomes, until in the effete capitols of the old world it meets on equal grounds those whom it scorned while at home, for there it is with difficulty that it holds its own. bow down and pay homage, oh ye people, to the wisdom of american society—to that wis- dom which enables it to discriminate so easily between the customs at home and abroad, and which accepts the dicta of the old world as easily as it accepts the decree of its own courts in the new. it is not conscience alone that makes "cowards of us all,” but opinions also. we cannot, or will not, withstand its current whims. conscience and conviction alike go down before it, and one soon becomes the victim of the popular notion. many of stanley's acquaintances who knew john saunders, knew him to be an extraordi- nary man in many parts. they also recognized the rea- sons for stanley's interest and acknowledged it in private, yet they either railed at it or maintained a discreet silence in public. stanley's latest imprudence came to the stones through the medium of mrs. brooks, who had hitherto received but little encouragement from them for the pains she was taking in bringing and carrying news. she had been treated so coolly that she felt slighted and indignant, and although formerly she had been a constant visitor, she had not called there for over a month. she had viewed this escapade of stanley's with horror and amazement. now she had a sensation in store, and thinking that they might view it in her light, expected to derive some revenge. she knew that marjorie loved stanley, for she had read it in her eyes, but she had been unable to decide upon any one of the reasons set forth by rumor as to the rightful cause of their estrangement. now that stanley had been con- sorting with “ negroes,” she would crush her heart at one blow and so be revenged for her own injured feelings. in her conceit she exulted. having viewed this society bird of prey let us return to the victim. marjorie had not been carrying a light heart all this time by any means. her lot was made pleasanter, however, by the memory of that visit to stanley when he was sick, but too often her thoughts would worry her. she was, however, learning to view their relations more philosophically, and each day convinced her more assuredly that stanley's course was honorable. she also realized that they must remain apart if they abided by her decision until they could meet as lovers. when mrs. brooks came in both marjorie and her mother apprehended mischief, albeit her face was wreathed in smiles and she manifested that same easy air that char- terized her at all times, as she took a chair by the open window to enjoy the cool autumnal breezes. danger lurks behind the smiles of some persons, who, like the ser- pents, charm before they strike. detailing at first a few choice tid-bits of gossip and descanting on the excellent weather they had been hav- ing, she plunged at once into her mission by saying to marjorie. “my dear, you do not look well lately. what can be the matter with you?” “my looks then belie my feelings,” answered marjorie, “for i have not been ill.” “i am glad to hear it. but your appearance is too listless, you should mix more in society. have you heard the latest sensation?” “probably not the particular one you have reference to." “why, my dear, it is the talk of the town!”. “then it must be something serious,” said mrs. stone. “it is, indeed. seth stanley has neglected his white associates altogether and associates with colored people. he seems to have fallen in love with that bookkeeper of his, and the other evening he attended a reception given in honor of the jubilee singers that were here last week. what do you think of that?" she asked triumphantly, lay- ing emphasis on each word and directing a meaning look at marjorie. “i don't see why that should cause such a social flurry, i am sure," said marjorie. “you think it is right then for a young man to mix up with colored people?” "i think a man has a right to do as he pleases so long as he acts honorably and keeps honorable company. i am acquainted with mr. saunders, the bookkeeper you refer to, and i consider him in every respect a gentleman and i don't believe mr. stanley will be contaminated by his company. you need not fear for him in that direction.” “what is the world coming to,” exclaimed mrs. brooks throwing up both hands in protest, “when a young lady will stand up and defend such things?”. she was disappointed that marjorie did not take the matter seriously, and her revenge was rudely robbed of all its sweetness. marjorie was no less than a heroine in giv- ing expression to sentiments that she knew when uttered would be repeated to her disparagement. she now turned mrs. brooks' disappointment into consternation by saying: "i heard that troupe sing, and had i been invited i should have attended the reception given them myself. i remember when i was a little girl, when prejudice against colored people was much stronger than it is now, that the hon. frederick douglass was an honored guest at my uncle durham's table.” · "that is different,” gasped mrs. brooks, “there is a difference between receiving the great and consorting with the herd.” "the difference is only in degree,” said marjoriė, calmly. thoroughly put to rout and robbed of her revenge, mrs. brooks, disgusted at the unexpected turn of the con- versation, had but little else to say before she shook the dust from off her feet and departed from that house. when she had gone marjorie turned to her mother and said, “mother, have i not told you that mrs. brooks was an evil minded woman?” " don't be too hard on her, marjorie. she usually means well. don't you think you were a little harsh with her?” “not when i consider that what she said, she said in order to wound my feelings." they were silent a while, then marjorie said: “i saw imogene yesterday and she told me that seth was going f south with john saunders this fall. i hope that they will not meet with any mishaps." “i am glad of it,” replied mrs. stone. “seth's name will then get a rest, but i think your apprehensions are groundless about mishaps. mishaps, pshaw! from whence?” this was said by her to scout any forebodings of marjorie as she left the room. mishaps! our southern country is full of them. mishaps that have cut short the careers of many brilliant, gifted men; that places a stain upon that part of our country which was intended by nature to be its fairest gem. mishaps engendered by intolerance that causes a ruthless disregard of life and law. that same intolerance which is the bane of civilization, the cause of strife and war's gloomy horrors, of persecutions and of murder, the twin brother of barbarity, and the consort of envy and jealousy. intolerance that permits no opinion to clash with its own. well may marjorie stone fear mishaps, for having read a great deal, she knew that a man of seth stanley's impulsive temperament, having with him a young man whose race was proscribed, would be apt to meet with difficulties if he attempted to carry out north- ern opinions. if she only know, but how many heart aches would have been spared, how much less of pain there would be, how much evil averted, how much good been done, how different would have been the policies of governments, of nations, of individuals, if they had only known. empires that have moulded away and have been forgotten would still have a place on the map of history, and the face of the world how different. napoleon, instead of the iron duke, would have conquered at waterloo. the south might still have possessed its slaves, or received for them a recompense. in social life many ill-fated and ill-assorted matches would have been averted, and more real happi- ness and peace would exist. if we only knew-it might have been. fit companions of speculative philosophy. alas for the frailities of human joys. we seldom know all we might, because of the persistent stunting of desir- able faculties. in a conflict between reason and passion, reason too often goes to the wall. in the struggle between conscience and the desire to be popular, conscience often succumbs too easily. chapter viii. mr. stanley was at first opposed to his son's proposed trip south, for several reasons. the most important was, that it would occur during the busy season, and deprive him of the services of both his son and john saunders, when most needed. his business reasons were soon over. come when the question of his son's health was in the balance, for he noted the fact that seth did not yet appear strong, and he feared that the germs of his recent illness still lurked in his body. when he consented to let his son go, he still thought it was folly for saunders to leave his work at this time, but seth was determined that if he went saunders should go with him, and finally mr. stan. ley reluctantly consented. in this he was influenced, too, by the consideration of his son's health, for he reasoned with himself, “ if seth should be taken sick john is just the fellow to be with him.” he had also made recent business investments at birmingham, ala., which he thought he should like to have looked into, and he made his son promise to give them attention while in that sec- tion. time sped rapidly with both the young men, and the day for their departure, which was set for an early date in october, was at hand, and saunders went to bid his betrothed good-bye. he had first broken the news of their trip south to edith shortly aftər the return from sand lake, when the lovers were enjoying themselves row- ing through the canals at bell isle park. the announce- tem tv.**** * ** ment made her sad and marred the hitherto unbroken pleasure of their evening's outing. she opposed it by many arguments. “the uncertain state of political affairs owing to the approaching elections, and the danger that beset a young afro-american of spirit unaccustomed to the spiteful discriminations practiced in all public places." he combated her arguments, by stating that going as he was, with a man of wealth and standing, he would be hardly subjected to the indignities common to afro-american travelers, when alone. “besides, it will give me an excel. lent opportunity to see the country and i also consider it my duty to go. one of the objects of mr. stanley's visit is to determine for himself questions that have arisen in little arguments we have had. i want to see that he has a favorable opportunity of seeing the south as i have rep- resented it, and not as the southerners he may meet with, will show it to him. what is the risk i run compared with that of obtaining a probably earnest and capable friend of our cause?” : “i agree with you that far, john. we need more men among us willing to make sacrifices. i suppose many lives must be given unselfishly to the intolerance of south- ern thought, but i am too selfish to allow you to offer yourself among the first. it would destroy my brightest anticipations of the future.” “which cannot be brighter than mine, or looked for- ward to with greater pleasure. i have conjured up the prospects that our engagement brings to me, since i was a school boy. it has been the dream of my youth, and has nerved me in hours of severe despondency and trial. now that the dreams of these years are about to be realized, you can imagine with what joy i look forward to them. you say that there must be martyrs. you are right. every great cause has its martyrs, from whose blood there wells up an incense, that permeating all things, strengthen its cause and finally secures its accomplishment. in this cause of the new crusade for the realization of liberty, who ever may be its martyrs, there will be found ties broken. no one with courage and devotion enough to give his life for his race, comes of a scion of a meaner order of beings.” “but suppose you should be murdered before you had accomplished anything,” almost sobbed edith. “you forget,” replied saunders, "that there is a des- tiny that shapes our ends. we do the best we can and leave the rest to the inexorable ordaining of things, from which there is no appeal. sometimes we think our road rough and unpurposable, but on looking back, we see in all the zig-zag way a common trend to an end, probably the outlines of which have not yet been revealed to us.” "you believe then that we are ever standing with what we have been behind us and what we may be before us, and whatever changes may transpire, this relation remains. it may be so and yet i cannot tell why these gloomy fore- bodings recur to me, probably they are the result of a dis- ordered mind.” saunders scoffed at her fears and in time succeeded in allaying them to the extent of seeing the smiles again chase each other over her countenance. he was careful not to return to the subject again. he had a pleasing voice, not very strong, but remarkable for its taste and the execution with which he sang. this evening as there were but few others out rowing he sang for her a baccarol, oft sang by venetian gondoliers, called “hearest thou.” he intended by the song to show edith, that his dangers and those of the boatman, were somewhat analogous, and that he reposed the same trust in god that the boatman did in the holy mother. human troubles are short when those, who have so won the temper of our natures, as to become sweet consolers, are nigh, and almost before we are aware of it our troubles steal away, and the glistening tears give way to looks of happiness and content. it was so now with edith, for in his presence, she lost sight of the imaginary evils she had called up in the anticipations she pictured of his return and the consummation of their perfect union. i it is true in life that we enjoy ourselves more in the anticipation than in the realization of things. castle building, based on some slight fruition of hopes always in the future, gives fortitute to the spirit. hope is the staff of our soul, and in our hours of distress we lean heavily upon it. the sentiment, beautiful in thought and idea, is at variance with experience. in fact sentiments are derived from the romances of life, yet alone they lift one above himself and make him oblivious of his surroundings. after parting from saunders, and when in the solitude of her own chamber, all edith's fears returned, doubly charged with apprehensions, and seemed to strike a chill to her heart. for a while she was almost dazed, and finally she knelt and committed herself to the same god in whom marjorie stone had found consolation. there is a strange continuity of aspiration and depend- ence that pervades all human existence. is it not the result of like feelings innate and acquired ? from that time edith kept her doubts and fears to her. self, telling them to none, but she could not hide the sad- ness of her looks when anyone alluded to his going. saunders often noticed it and wished his trip over. when he saw the eloquent pleadings of her eyes he hesitated at teresting te s t is nothing as sweet as love's young dream save, perhaps, the wedded bliss derived from perfect union. alas! that their dreams should be so rudely broken. it was very hard, nevertheless, for edith at parting, for as he kissed her good bye she could hardly restrain a sob, and her eyes pleaded so eloquently that with choked voice he said, “don't look so, edith, dear, i will not be long," and he hurried away lest his love and inclination over- come him. when he had gone edith felt as if something had gone out of her life. the days sped very slowly to her after his departure, and her life was one of continued anxiety for his safety. with it all, however, she kept up a brave front and the sweetness of her nature still diffused itself about her. her disposition was naturally a cheerful one; she was accustomed to look at the sunny side of life and to enjoy the beautiful things of the world, the products of nature and of man. sorrow, grief or care, save as it came through color prejudices directed at the afro-american, was almost a stranger to her, yet these prejudices, met as they had been in school and since, had greatly aided in developing in her the spirit of self-reliance. this faculty, combined with the sweetness and purity of her nature enabled her to accomplish much good in the various works she undertook among the poorer and less educated of her race. she was very thorough in her work, and to a remarkable degree, succeeded in impregnating those she came in contact with by her own virtues. persons of character like her have a strong influence in the world which surrounds them. they are the conscience or mon. itor to whom others look for approbation or dissent. from them there seems to be an invisible stream of strength and purity, which, infusing itself into others, makes the weak strong, the surly sweet tempered, and the vicious pure. since her graduation from the high school she had taught a few years in mississippi and with much success. to the boys, who would come sometimes smart- ing under jibes, she would say: "though you come from a race that is despised, and people look upon you with scorn and contempt, you have greater incentives to aspire and be something than the whites who would oppress you. the greater credit will be yours for equal heights attained, since obstacles placed by race prejudice are against you. you can be the true pioneers in american freedom, and help to achieve it for every citizen for which this govern- ment was founded, and earn the lasting gratitude of a peo- ple. is not such honor worthy to aspire to? be brave, self-reliant, hold your heads high as becomes those in whose hands, together with others, is the future destiny of the republic.” under her influence they became manly little fellows, full of generous emulation and anxious to do such things as would find favor with miss darrow. to her girls, she was the ideal which they copied when particularly despondent over their lessons or over some slur or remark passed by some ruffian of the dominant race, of which there are plenty in the south who think it is a fine thing to rob these girls of their virtue, she would encourage them by comforting words to persevere and to cultivate the virtues which make a crown of womanhood. “every inducement lies before you. you are among the future women of the country and its future mothers. your influence over husbands, lovers and sons can be irre- sistible and far reaching. your virtues, your refinements and your culture will rebuke the wicked slanders circulated by our enemies to our detriment.” such a character as hers could not help but be endearing to a community, and in this small town of j— she was almost idolized. such teachers as she do more than go through the routine of assigning and hearing lessons, regardless of the fruit born. she did not teach for her salary alone; her whole nature was in the work of uplifting and refining. what a change and what a blessing it would be to the fair south if in every city, town and village, there were teachers like her. when it was known that she was not to return again the expressions of regret were heartfelt and sincere. such a woman could not help being an ideal helpmate and that man truly blest who could call such as her, wife. it is no wonder that john saunders almost idealized her, and that he eagerly looked forward to the day when he could claim her as his bride. she had entered into his life and her influence, in days that were dark and full of trouble. had sustained him and quickened his resolves. they were well mated—well fitted to enjoy that domestic happiness that comes from a perfect union of temperament and souls, and now that that time was so near, pardon the sorrow he felt upon leaving her for even so short a time. has tilled its fields, climbed its hills, roamed through its forests, and crossed its brooks and rivers. a great vast country, beautiful to look upon eveh in its natural aspects, that has yielded abundant harvest to its labor, cannot fail to have in its associations many tender recollections. it is not the southland that we loathe but the intolerance of a dominant spirit. the bitterness we have would not exist if with every breath we draw in, if with every step we take, wo could feel as free as we do in the north. the sweat of our ancestors fed and clothed those who now claim the honor of having made these states. they planned, our race carried out and executed. here my father spent his best days toiling for another without recompense, and from here he was sold into alabama. all his family ties and associations were severed with as little consideration as if he were a brute. the labor that should have brought him store against age and need, was not his to command, and here, i cannot even now travel and be treated as a man in public places." “you are borrowing needless trouble, john. don't get into a despondent humor before the occasion requires. surely time has softened many of the evils of which you complain. but look we can begin to see signs of the south already.” stanley said this to divert saunders' mind with more pleasing thoughts. in his heart, he felt truly sorry, and sympathized with him deeply. the signs of the south were, however, visible. the mule and the cabin, and the increasing luxuriance of vegetation proved the truth of his words. they were far across the ohio and speeding rapidly towards tennessee. they took great interest in the changing scenes that now became apparent in plan- tation and cabin life. it was like travelling in a new idea of the manner in which the cotton was picked, seeded and baled for the market. “mississippi is the greatest cotton producing state in the south,” replied saunders, in answer to a question from stanley. "i notice quite a number of white people in the fields. i had an idea that by far the greater part of the work was performed by the colored people.” “so it is,” replied saunders. “in this state they raise one hundred per cent. more of the cotton than white labor, and such value is set on their services that the planters have succeeded in inducing immigrants to come from north carolina and other southeastern states by the thousands. *since white labor is becoming more extensively used, particularly so is this claimed with refer- ence to the state of texas which is also a great cotton pro- ducing state. in fifty-six per cent. of the total crop, according to southern statistics, was produced by colored labor. in all of the states, except texas and arkansas, colored labor produced the most cotton. there are no authoritative statistics on this subject issued.” saunders took out his wallet, and out of it took a clipping from a newspaper, an article from the times-democrat of sep- tember st, , “which gives the percentage of pro- duction of as . per cent. raised by white labor, and . per cent. by colored labor, a percentage of two- *during the national editoral convention that met in detroit in the summer of , the author had occasion to converse with several representatives from the yazoo district on this subject. these men, while they believe in keeping the afro- american subjected politically, confessed that they were glad that slavery was destroyed; and that the labor of these people was very valuable. mention being made of immigration, they said that , afro-americans had recently come to that district (the yazoo), and that despite what was said of the desirability of get- ting rid of that class, it was indispensable to the south. the immigration of such large numbers from the southeastern states, has also led to the introduction and passage of immigration laws in the states of georgia and sonth carolina. these laws were the outgrowth of public sentiment in these states, which was aroused by the departure of their laboring element. the senti- ment against the agents became so intense that they were compelled to leave the states, and were not allowed to stand upon the order of their going. tot 'tenths of one per cent. in favor of the whites.” the same article reads as follows: "a half dozen congressional committees have investigated the labor question in this country, and the newspapers also have made it a question of special inquiry. the great burden of these inquiries has been whether the freed negro is as valuable a pro- ducer as the slave. the majority of those giving testi- mony, best able to speak on this subject in the last report of the senate was, that the slave produced more cotton, sugar and corn than the freed man. at the same time it was universally acknowledged that negro labor has improved, especially during the last ten years, is more reliable, and certainly less disposed to wander from plan- tation to plantation, more earnest, intelligent and capable." “now there is much that is true in this. the afro american is certainly improving as a laborer, and is pro- ducing more now than he ever did as a slave. the source from which i have read is prejudiced, it is against the evi- dence of the people in this state and also arkansas,in encour- aging such labor to come from other states, as well as against the testimony borne by prominent southerners* who aver that the afro-american is the chief dependence for the labor of the south. the same article goes on to state that “the average productive value of white labor through- out the south is thirty per cent. greater than colored labor." it claims that this is due to the “ agricultural colleges, farmers clubs and other associations, not to mention the immigration of a large number of small farmers from the west,” and “ that this advantage of white labor over col- *we give to the world this year a crop of , , bales of cotton worth $ ,- , , and its cash equivalent in grain, grasses and fruit. this enormous crop could not have come from the hands of sullen, discontented labor. i present the tax-books of georgia which show that the negro in georgia has about $ , , of assessed property worth twice as much. can it be seriously mentioned that we are terrorizing the people from whose hands come every year $ , , , of farm products.--henry grady, december, . ored labor is man for man in the hottest portions of the south.” it also claims that “the white agricultural labor in the south is increasing rapidly, due to immigration from northern states." “i have heard the claims made before as well as the one that the colored people produced more and were more reliable as slaves than as freemen,” said stanley. “the productive capacity may be easily disposed of. then they were driven to it by the brutal lash of the over- seer. but in regard to what i was reading. i think the argument all nonsense. i do not believe that enough northern labor has come south to make such a great dif. ference.† this paper is an enthusiastic advocate of immi. gration and makes much of little, presumably with the intention of inducing immigration, and hence to depreciate colored labor. if the statistics are thorough in we may get some idea of the real facts.* there are more ways than by outrage to do us an injustice.” "you do not think then that the colored people are lazy, shiftless, and carelessly bent on living an easy life." “not the intelligent at any rate; with the ignorant it would be natural enough if it were so for good reasons. as a slave he was forced by overseers, and the dread of the lash formed a great incentive to labor. they were simply machines over which were appointed men whose sole busi- ness it was to produce the greatest amount of labor at a minimum of cost, and the cost consisted of a few scant articles of clothing and cheap food. many plantations only allowed as a week's rations to a man a peck of corn +recent statistics show that the percentage of white northern emigrants are decreasing, and that throughout the whole south during the last decade there were only , , and only , foreign emigrants. *in more cotton was produced by , , bales than ever before in the sonth, largely due to the increased intelligence of the negro.-col. j. m. keating of memphis appeal. and two pounds of fat pork. if he were unmarried he had to prepare, it himself. such .coarse and scanty finding encouraged peculations from the master's pantry and hen roost. slavery' moved there was a reaction. from forced labor to labor as one pleased, was a great novelty, and a privilege deemed sacred. as freemen there was that natural antipathy against labor that is forced among the majority which is common to all people. there was also that natural desire, noticeable among peo- ple who have been in like situations, to work when and where they please; in other words, to be independent and have a good time. it cannot be denied, too, that the cli- mate greatly aids laziness and shiftlessness. you have travelled extensively and most undoubtedly noticed in europe that in the latin countries there is not that same thrift and energy in the pursuits of labor that you find among the germans, french, english, scandinavians and swiss. the climate is not rigorous enough to require the same effort to keep the body as warmly clothed and to support life as in northern latitudes, their wants being fewer, not as much energy is required to obtain them. the natural result is a multitude of proud, lazy, ignorant and indigent people who live chiefly through beggary. i do not wish to infer from this that i think that the afro- americans of the south will occupy a like position always, although the climate is in many respects similar, but merely use it to show the effect of a climate upon races which have produced the most celebrated masters in art, philosophy, science, statesmanship, war and music. but look to your right—there is another specimen of this coun- try. there is a sample of the poor white. did you ever see a person whose face expressed such a lack of ambition, and who looked more lazy and shiftless? he is despised by the better classes of the whites and by the blacks. he is the ready scape goat and tool; the medium through which designing men commit outrages against life and property, that has brought such disgrace upon mississippi. he is the more willing tool because of his pride. he was considered but a degree above the slave and scarcely toler- ated in other days. the slave now free and advancing, and he finding himself descending by reason of his sloth, is moved by jealousy, envy, hatred and prejudice.” stanley looked in the direction indicated and barely had time while the train rushed along to catch a glimpse of a thatched cabin before which stood a lank, lean speci. men of the southern poor white, clad in patched and faded jeans and upon whose head was a tattered and torn straw hat. his face bore the stamp of the characteristics of his class laziness, sloth and pride, but as regards the nobler qualities, it was expressionless. in front of the house stood a bench on which lay a wash basin, near by on the ground lay a hoe and rake, which when employed at all, were probably used to cultivate the small patch of ground in front of the cabin, which looked to be in want of care. “the meanest and lowest of them all have in them a pride,” continued saunders, “which makes them think they are the superiors of the best among the afro-ameri- cans. they are the natural result of the climate and the system of the old south, and their tribe will increase until that intolerance which exists here against men, white or colored, who are not in accord with the reigning political opinions, ceases. men who love liberty of thought and expression, cannot be induced to leave sections where such rights exist, for climes even more favorable, where such privileges are in danger.” the numbers of poor whites and shiftless blacks around the station, to whom the coming and going of trains was always of interest, was a source of amusement. the near approach of the presidential election assisted in bringing out more than usual every type of the country, from the wealthy, polite and imperious planter to the poorest black and white. most of them intent on saving the country from a return to republican rule, and predicting dire dis- aster should such a calamity occur. the afro-american had learned, however, from experience to keep out of such discussions. “a little while ago,” said stanley," you spoke of other reasons, besides the natural one you gave, why the colored people did not produce more, and from what i should infer, did not possess more wealth." “there are several reasons. after emancipation and enfranchisement many were bent on acquiring land. large numbers bought lands and homes on contract. that was during the reconstruction. during the days of the k. k. k. many were killed, many were driven from home, and a large number of others discovered that many of their con- tracts were false, and had their property taken away from them with no means of redress. this of course had an evil effect, for it discouraged many. there are also a large number of small planters, who, because of the sever- ity of the system of doing business, are unable to make headway, and when the crop is in and sold are probably deeper in debt than when the season opened." . “ what do you refer to now?” “ the share system, but it affects the white also. the planters are generally poor. to go through a season he raises money on a prospective crop for which he is charged ten per cent interest. he also has to pay a further charge cf ten per cent. for all provisions advanced, which are : charged up against him at a large profit, and at the end of the season when his debts are paid he is no better off than when he begun. then there is the crop lien system by which he is to mortgage his crop as security for his rent, purchase his provisions at the company's store and comes out no better than he does by the other plan. there are other systems, equally as bad, whose sole purport is to defraud the small planter. this same article from which i read before' says: "the credit system was universal in the south about six years ago. * * * in - it was estimated that nearlỳ three-fifths of the entire crop was raised on credit. among the afro-americans in the back counties the system is still extensively carried on, and of course such a state of things is hardly calculated to make men thrifty and industrious." “quite the reverse i should think. but i have always heard that the south had many rich colored men, conse- quently there must be many exceptions to the general rulo." “there are. now there are two brothers in this state who were the property of jeff davis who have bought the old plantation and are quite wealthy. others have with- stood the tide of persecution that swept over this state in ' and are well off. i have seen the advance sheets of a book which states that there are twenty-seven whose com- bined wealth is more than a $ , , . the influence of education upon the young, and the inculcation of sound moral principles is improving the status of the afro- american rapidly. the next decade will witness marvelous strides in educational and material advancements. but here we are at tougaloo. that row of buildings over there looks as if it might be a university." inquiry from the conductor confirmed his surmise. “the tougaloo university is one of three for which this state appropriates $ , per year for the use of afro- americans. it has an average attendance of about one hundred and fifty. in addition to the regular course of study there is manual training. most of the buildings about the university were built by the students. such schools are increasing rapidly, for that system which cul- tivates the use of the hand as well as the head, is growing in favor all over the country. they are a necessity, and particularly so with the freedman, who has not the same facilities for learning trades accorded the whites." “the colored people here are eager to get education, are they not?”* “very, but mississippi and other southern states are too poor to furnish the adequate sums to make their school systems the equal of the north, and the matter is rendered worse by keeping separate schools.” saunders again had recourse to his wallet for statistics. “now by, the census of , the number of school days in mississippi in the country districts was seventy-four and one-half days; in the cities days. in the report of the u. s. commis- sion for and the average for all parts of the state is given at . days. the average annual pay for teach- ers in was a little less than $ . a year. this shows the necessity of national aid, does it not, to aid the state to rid itself of its vast ignorance? the increase in the number of scholars in ' over ' was , whites to , colored.* the average pay of teachers throughout *since the negro has decreased his illiteracy per cent. col. j. m. keat- ing.-memphis appeal. + the times-democrat, sept. , , gives the total scholastic population of the south as , , , of whom , , are colored and , , are white, with a total enrollment of , , of whom , are colored. the different commis- sioners of education in the states all concur in saying that the afro-american ratio in attendance is on the increase and that the per cent of ignorance is decreasing. the south in was $ . per year and the average number of school days . , ranging from in north carolina to . in virginia.* i have seen no reliable statistics since. there is a great lump of ignorance in the south to leaven. the colored children while fairly well provided for are not nearly as well so as the whites. the first colored school was started at hilton's head in , now there are thousands of schools well filled, but the supply is inadequate and the work is marred by such talk as that the whites are taxed and the 'negroes' get the benefit. such people seem to forget: first, that the afro- american is largely responsible for the prosperity of the south, that is, his labor helped greatly to create it. second, that for years he received no returns for his labor. third, that the man who labors and pays rent, indirectly at least, pays the tax, his share of it anyway, although he may not directly do so. taking these things into consid- eration the afro-american does not get his full quota, nor are his school houses as good, or his teachers as competent; yet his progress has been so rapid † as to put the whites *the same authority quoted above gives the average days of school in the south as . and the average pay of teachers as $ . per month in . *the times-democrat, september , , gives the exclusive colored schools as follows: public schools normal schools college arts and science schools of theology sohools. teachers. pupils , , , , . secondary instruction science law medicine deaf and dumb blind feeble minded reform farms , , totals , , , , increase since , per cent. contributions of southern states by taxation since the war $ , , contributions from societies and missions , , total $ , , the authority quoted above, sept. , , says: there are now in the south , colored schools with , teachers and , , pupils enrolled, and col- leges or high schools with teachers and , pupils. contributions of southern states by taxation taxation. - - $ , , contributions from societies, missions and other sources , , total $ , , if the solution of the southern problem is in the education of the negro, it is rapidly being reached. in many places on their mettle. kentucky has more illit- erate whites than blacks. prominent southern journals have said that the pay and accommodations are equal, but i do not believe that a single afro-american teacher, who is well informed and is unhampered, will substantiate it.* the door of the car was opened and through it came to their ears: “by gahd, sah! the south won't tolerate nigger rule, sah! it will fight.” the door was closed again and the rest of the conversation was cut off. “of all reasons,” continued saunders, "used by the south to keep the afro-american intimidated, that pre- tended fear that the south will pass under the control of the afro-american, seems most senile. there are about nineteen million people in this section, and only about seven million five hundred thousand are colored. only in three states-louisiana, mississippi and south carolina- are they in the majority, and in the party they are princi. pally connected with, white men are always appointed to lead and hold the most responsible positions. there can be no excuses for the outrages in arkansas, texas, georgia and alabama on that score. it is all pure meanness. revenge, perhaps, taken upon the blacks for their failure in the lost cause. revenge taken upon them for the part played by the republican party in those stirring times, and for their work in elevating him. it is not fear, it is solely revenge. they know as well as anyone that kind- ness and justice would divide the afro-american vote, and that is all that the afro-american wants. given justice, we are willing to abide by the doctrine of the survival of the fittest.” *in the state of georgia a negro school teacher is paid about $ per month while white teachers get from $ to $ , and the whites get about $ , for higher education, and the negro gets nothing, yet it is said we get half the money for educational purposes.-atlanta, ga. news, december, . while the southern states for year ending june , , raised $ , , for school purposes, only $ , , was given toward colored schools, and yet they represent over one-third of the whole population.-author. chapter x. at last they arrived in new orleans, that new orleans that cable has made us acquainted with in his “dr. sevier,” and “ tales of acadian life.” they were famil- iar with these tales of new orleans life, and on their ride to the — hotel the streets seemed familiar upon recal- ling the scenes that had been enacted there. arriving at the hotel stanley registered for both and had ordered breakfast before saunders, who had been giving instructions concerning their baggage, knew it. saunders came in as stanley was ready to be assigned to his room and spoke to him. the hotel clerk, noticing him then for the first time, asked of stanley: “do you wish a place provided for your servant?” “what do you suppose i wanted ?” asked stanley, somewhat impatiently. “i want a room for both of us. the same room will do. he is not a servant, but a friend." "it is evident from your language that you are from the north,” replied the clerk, “but we don't allow negroes in this house except as servants.” “am i to infer then that i cannot procure accommo- dations in this hotel for my friend?” asked stanley, with flashing eyes. what saunders had told him of southern prejudices then suddenly came to his mind. “i mean just what i say. it is against the rule of the house to entertain negroes as guests,” answered the clerk calmly and politely. “we are sorry to inconvenience you but we can give him quarters with the servants.” manner. the utter indifference of the man to the feelings of his friend made stanley angry and he rather hotly said: * you can keep all your rooms. i think your rules are an outrage and a reflection upon the reputed civility and courtesy of the south to treat strangers in this manner. he is as good as you any day.” the clerk now began to get angry. “don't carry your insults too far, sir, or you may be sorry for it. besides, you won't make any friends down hear by trying to put niggers on an equality with white people.” “i don't have to put him on an equality with you,” retorted stanley. “he is more of a man than you in any particular, and a gentleman at that." “you are one of those northern fools that it would be a sin for a gentleman to quarrel with. but still i tell you,” and the clerk, to emphasize his words, brought his fist down energetically, “that you are defying our preju- dices against the ‘niggers,' and you'll get your fill of it if you keep it up, before you get back home.” quite a number of spectators had been drawn to the spot by the heated conversation, some of whom looked as if they would liked to have had a word in it. stanley made no reply to the clerk's last remark, but turned upon his heel followed by saunders, who expected this much and left the place. saunders thought that a little experience on stanley's part with southern intoler- ance and prejudice would be more convincing, and carry with it more weight than any argument he might offer, and on this account did not object to accompanying stan- ley to the hotel. he re-secured the trunk checks from the porter and rejoined stanley, who was somewhat agi- tated, on the street. we will not be here very long and it isn't worth the fuss to insist against their customs." re-entering a carriage they were driven to the hotel r-- saunders gave up the checks to stanley and immediately set out in search of a colored boarding place. on canal street he met an intelligent looking man of his race whom he took for a letter carrier, and on making known his wants was directed to such a place. he was compelled to go quite a distance to reach it, but when he did he found pleasant rooms in a private family on —- street. in the privacy of his room he began to think of home and edith, of the misgivings she had of making such a trip on the eve of a national election and he resolved not to take any stand that would make him figure conspicuously against southern customs, on the contrary he would accept things as he found them. stanley did not, however, resolve to accept the customs so easily. on being assigned to his room in the hotel r--, he went at once to it, and taking off his coat, for the weather was quite warm, he sank into a chair and began to survey the situation. he felt keenly the insult offered to him and his friend at the -- hotel, and the more he thought of it the keener the pang; his temper rose and the more determined he became to find out if there was no redress. the more we nurse our wrongs, fancied or real, the larger proportions they assume. it was so with stanley. he grew so excited thinking over it that he arose from his chair and paced the floor to and fro. “what business is it of theirs,” he said aloud, “if i want a colored man for a companion or as an associate. if i am willing to share my room and privileges with him, what business or by what right does a public inn dictate to me whom i shall or shall not have as a companion, and ...: presume to insult me for doing as i like. if there is any justice to be had at law i will have it.” from what stanley knew of the south through news- papers and information derived from saunders he might have expected the discrimination. he probably knew that if saunders had been traveling alone he could not have secured accommodations at a hotel. but the idea that saunders traveling with him not as a companion, but as a friend, one who had nursed him in sickness, widened the horizon of his understanding concerning men and their relations to each other, and had helped him to bear up under a great disappointment—made him forget every- thing except the insult to saunders and through saunders to himself. his idea of the power of wealth to buy what was purchasable received a check, and the check served only as a means to let loose his pent-up feelings. recollecting that he had letters of credit to the — national bank on canal street he resolved to go there at once, and after transacting his business he intended to lay his complaint before its officers for advisement. on his way over he met saunders who had just come from his boarding place. stanley told him where he was going, and left him to his own resources until he returned. saunders started out for a stroll and the magnificent custom house that the government had been so many years in completing caught his eye. as he looked at the immense structure of marble and its great dome he thought of “the hole in the ground” at home, and won- dered if it would take as long to complete that still unde- signed building as it did this. the hotel where he had been refused was near to the custom house and vied with it in beauty and finish. the sun was now getting very warm so he hired a cab to show him around through the business part of the city and down by the wharves, as he had a great curiosity to see the loading and unloading of cotton, the great ware- houses, levees, and the large number of steamers always to be found there. the principal streets of new orleans, st. charles and canal, are broad thoroughfares two hundred feet wide in the center of which there is a kind of continuous park about twenty feet wide, lined on each side with beautiful shade trees and ornamented by a profusion of rich flowers, the like of which is not to be seen in the parks of our northern cities. saunders confessed to himself that new orleans was a rather handsome city, but not to be com- pared to detroit. he was conscious, however, that his sphere was circumscribed, and this oppression of his mind weighed upon the attempted exhiliration of the body. there is no beauty without liberty—that conscious posses- sion of the soul that sees the boundless possibilities of man in all things, though he may never realize his expec- tations. nature in her brightest hues is somber to the mind oppressed. the dread possibility of insults and cur. tailments of the rights of manhood forced themselves upon him, and it required considerable effort to throw off the depression that his reverie had brought upon him. he found his driver to be quite garrulous and he plied him with many questions. he was an afro-american, not over intelligent, but possessed of a considerable amount of mother wit. he had the dialect peculiar to his class, and was possessed of quite an extensive fund of information. going down bienville street to the wharves and around the warehouses, saunders noted large numbers of afro- americans lying around idle, and as it was then in the darge number of alice middle of the cotton season and knowing too that they were the chief labor around the wharves, he thought it. rather strange, and he asked the driver why they didn't go. to work. “well, i tell you, boss, how dat is. sum of 'em don't want ter work, en sum cant get it. dar’s to many poh foks heah. when de regilators gits on de rampage dey runs a lot of des fellers out ob de parishes and dey cum into de city fer purteckshun. when dey get heah mos' of um stays.” “ you say that some of them are lazy?” “yes sah! powful shiftless, sum of dem is, and den agin dey wuks on de plantashuns all de yar and dey ginrally owes mo when de yar are up den dey did when dey com- menced, so dey jists make up der min' dat dey aint gwine ter wuk at all.” “there are large numbers who have accumulated con-- siderable property are there not?”. “golly, boss, yes we has. i kin name hundreds of men nigh heah on my fingers." saunders gained quite a bit of information from him if he didn't possess much “book larnin” and he rather reluctantly cut his drive short in order to meet stanley as he returned from the bank. while doing so he busily plied the driver with questions relative to the mode of car- rying elections, of the manner in which the people were bulldozed in the country parishes, of the trouble in thiboudaux parish last fall, where the governor of the state sent the militia and the subsequent useless waste of life. he also questioned him relative to the manner of life led by the afro-americans in the city and country and their educational facilities, which information he intended to embody in letters to edith and to his favorite journal, i the plaindealer. he arrived at the hotel just in time to meet stanley on his return, in a mood apparently as bitter as when he set out for the bank, which led saunders to infer that he had failed in getting satisfaction. chapter xi. upon leaving the hotel, stanley went directly to the bank, and presented his letters to mr. george arnold, the cashier, who received him very cordially, and expressed the hope that he intended to locate in the south. he assured him that northern capital was always welcomed by the rising institutions in that section, and that large dividends attended its ventures. stanley explained that he was only on a visit to this particular section of the south and had been led to make it through curiosity, but that his father had interests in birmingham, ala., which he expected to look after. he thanked him for his cordial welcome, and then he told him of his experience at the hotel that morning. mr. arnold listened attentively until he had finished, then he said: “i am sorry that your first visit to the south should be thus marred by a disagreeable incident, but if you are at all acquainted with our customs, i cannot commend your desire to force negro equality. we of the south, are unalterably opposed to it, and would stand by our convictions, if by so doing we had to shed our life's blood, as we did once before to support our opinions. this question is a prevalent issue with us that we must meet, with you, it is a sentimental theory. stanley was inclined to get angry, but mr. arnold was so gentle and courteous in his manner, and spoke so dis- passionately, that he refrained from showing any signs of irritation and asked: “do you call a demand for the ordi- nary civilities of life forcing equality.” “that depends on the circumstance. the negroes are an inferior race, and the very first idea of the fitness of things demands that he should live apart from a superior race. we, of the south are the best friends they have, and if the north would leave us alone, we would work out his destiny all right.” "mr. arnold, our views are diametrically opposed to each other, and it is probably useless for you and me to discuss the question. your position to me, seems like this: you wish the north to give up its interests in humanity because it interferes with your plans to work out the destiny of eight millions of people without regard to their wishes, and in a manner contrary to the principles that uphold the republic.” mr. arnold was as polished in argument and evasion as the most skillful lawyer. he employed all their casuistry, and did not allow a ruffle of discontent to pass over his countenance, or work a change in his manner. he was as suave as disraeli's cardinal grandison, and did not allow even a change in the inflection in his voice. he replied, smilingly: “not at all, mr. stanley. we only want the negro to know and keep his place until he becomes civilized as we are, and in the meantime we will furnish him with schools, and the means to educate himself. we are taxing our- selves every day for his benefit.” “if you are doing all that you claim, what need is there for the large number of educational institutions all over the country established by northern philanthropy such as fiske, tuskegee, atlanta, and many others. if the south is poor, why burden itself with two systems of schools away with colored men. perhaps it may be due to that inexplicable influence you claim my colored friend has over me, or it may be the case of the willful girl and the coachman as is the case north, though rare. none of our families are invaded in the north by any objectionable people, be they black or white. in many public places in receptions given by societies in which there are colored members i have met saunders and others. they have always deported themselves well, and those who knew them treated them well as far as i have ever noticed.” "but we can't do that down here mr. stanley. we have too many of them, we wouldn't think of it either. we believe them inferior and treat them accordingly." “ if you are the superior and the stronger race then your duty to the weaker is to be inflexibly just. * and you are not that. it is nonsense to my mind to say you cannot distinguish between the educated and the ignorant among the colored people the same as you do among the white. to say that you wouldn't think of it is nearer the truth and forms the key to the situation. you of the south accuse us of being a slave to an abstract sentiment while you are slaves to a prejudice that keeps the country in dread of a future awakening of terror and which some- times startle us with the news of some horrible massacre." stanley arose to go; as he reached the door mr. arnold called after him: “ do you expect to remain long in the south ?" “not in this city,” replied stanley, sharply. “you will find before you get home how useless it is to * if we assert our rights to guide the destinies of a nation claiming that we are the stronger race, then we must be inflexibly just to the weaker. the new south must be a south of law and order, a south in which full and equal justice shall be done only through the machinery of the tribunals of the law. on this basis alone can be raised the edifice of enduring prosperity and power.-weekly times-demo- crat, dec. th, . the south, of his sickness, saunders' devotion to him, his position at the store and of his superior intelligence. “now then, you know i did not come to seek social recog- nition, and i will not be disappointed if no one notices me. with all saunders has done for me, if he isn't quite as white as i am, i couldn't look him in the face again if i treated him less than as a man. he is hore by my invitation and we can keep our own company. i have been in the same position before and have been well enter- tained.” “we have servants who have done as much for us, would lay down their lives for us, and we care for them, would do all in our power for them, but we teach them to keep their place at the same time, or they would soon get 'sassy' and commence to talk about their rights, i suppose, about the way your friend does. i advise you to take the same course and you will find, my dear fellow, that exper. ience and years will cure you of all sentimentality.” “not if i know it,” replied stanley, as he bade him adieu and started for his hotel. on his way there he thought over his experience and tried to forecast what he might expect. meeting saun- ders at the door of the hotel they both entered. he secured some writing paper in the lobby and then they went up to his room by the stairway. he told saunders of his conversation with the banker and said that he meant to leave new orleans as soon as he had taken a run down to the gulf. saunders protested and said that he did not wish to prove a burden. he even offered to return home at once and leave him unhampered, but stanley would not consent to it and said: “if i can afford to stick to you, you can afford to stay with me," and they sealed this decision by grasping each other's hands. saunders then left the hotel to go to dinner and stan. ley proceeded to write to his father in detail about his experiences. he would have liked to have written to marjorie, and had he done so his mind perhaps would have been relieved in transcribing his thoughts to one so dear to him. if he could have only known how gladly she would have welcomed them. he wrote a cheery letter to imogene, omitting the disagreeable incidents. as he wrote he recollected a promise he had made her. “i prom. ised to take her with me the next time i went away. it is perhaps as well that i did not." chapter xii. despite the conclusions arrived at between the two concerning the length of their stay in new orleans, they remained there several days. the life it presented, the peculiar types of character it displayed, were to them sources of study, thought and amusement. its various parks, and places of interest and pleasure had to be visited --some of which were of peculiar interest to saunders because they were connected with the educational interests of the afro-american, such as the st. charles and straight universities. in the common schools he found discrimi. nation he did not expect in such a large city. some years ago a wealthy man named macdonogh died and left a large sum of money for educational purposes. his will provided that the benefactions should be equally shared by the colored and the white people. with the money left for the purpose twenty-six school buildings had been built, and of that number the colored people have the use of only one.* their numbers entitled them to at least five of these schools, “but the school board refuses them to us,” said an intelligent afro-american in response to a query from stanley. *this building they have occupied for fifteen years. from this they have been driven out by the police, by the order of the school board. it is but just to say that a pretty good building is being erected in carrollton for the colored children, and another tolerably fair building now occupied by them in macdonoghville, bat apart from these the only respectable public building occupied by them was that in the sixth district from which nearly five hundred of them have been driven into a worthless, uncomfortable and dilapidated building to make room for about fifty white children. another piece of injustice rests in the fact that third rate white teachers, having no sympathy with the colored children, are placed in charge of nearly all their schools, while worthy and competent colored teachers are turned off.-s. w. christian advocate, november, . vt of the public parks and pleasure grounds to which they would resort for a study of the different types which the city afforded, they were pleased with the spanish fort, which was situated way out at the upper end of the city by lake pontchartrain, and at the mouth of bayou st. john; also with the west end and carrollton gardens. of this latter place, george w. cable, in “au large,” grows enthusiastic, and from that work we take the follow- ing: “if i might have but one small part of new orleans to take with me wherever i go or may wander in this earthly pilgrimage, i should ask for carrollton gardens. they lie near the farthest upper limit of the expanded city. i should want, of course, to include the levee under which runs one side of the garden's fence, also the oppo- site shore of the mississippi, with its just discernible plantation houses behind their levee; and the great bend of the river itself, with the sun setting in unutterable gorgeousness behind the distant low-lying pecan groves of nine mile point, and the bronzed and purpled waters kissing the very crown of the great turfed levee, down under whose land side the gardens blossom, and give forth their hundred perfumes and bird songs to the children and lovers that haunt their winding alleys of oleander, jessa- mine, haurustine, orange, aloe and rose, the grove of mag- nolias and oaks and come out upon the levee's top as the sun sinks to catch the gentle breeze and the twilight change to moonlight on the waters.” from cable's delightful romances had they formed their conception of some of the types which they came hither to see. nor were they disappointed, for many a gallant narcisse, shy claudes and bashful marguerites did they see. they took a trip to shell beach and down to the gulf through the jetties—that marvel of scientific engineering which has rendered certain the channel of the mississippi at the delta. the idea originated in the mind of, and was pushed through and finished by, the indomitable eads. there was a vast difference between the mississippi river with its floating wharves and dark stevedores pas- sing to and fro, echoing and re-echoing their songs as they went, and the scenes they were accustomed to on the detroit docks. the river, too, was muddier and their boats different. there was a waiting-room for the colored people and a part of the boat set aside for their use, although the rule is not always strictly adhered to. bykeep- ing close to stanley, saunders passed without challenge to the upper decks, from which they had an excellent view of shore and country in the ride down the mississippi past forts jackson and phillips and out through the jetties into the gulf where saunders caught his first sniff of salt water, and saw ocean steamships for the first time. the experience was novel and exciting. he sniffed the sea breezes, drew it in by great breath fulls, and felt his chest expand and his spirits rise with its bracing effect. “this is magnificent," he remarked to stanley, and out came his note book. being a civil engineer by profession he was very much interested in the jetties. he was familiar with its scien- tific principles in gathering, by means of its aprons, the water as it came out of the river and forcing it through a narrow channel into the sea. gradually the channel deep- ened until its least depth in was . feet. the engi. neering instinct was in him and he looked with pride upon the work that had done so much for new orleans, and wondered if over the time would come when such as he would be able to so overcome customs, as to secure the chapter xiii. the following afternoon at four o'clock found them seated on the promenade deck of the steamer louisiana, bound for vicksburg. all the arrangements thereto had been made by stanley, who, much against his desire, forced himself, in order to satisfy saunders, to consider the relations between the races. being somewhat in advance of the time for the boat to leave for the up river ports, they ascended to the promenade deck to have a bet- ter view of the bustle going on along the levee. as saun- ders attempted to go above he was approached by an officer of the boat who rather forcibly told him that he had no business there. the blood mounted to his face in anger, a quick hot reply was on his lips, but he remem- bered his promise and with difficulty restrained himself. stanley remonstrated and went to the captain of the steamer to ask the privilege of having “his servant with him on deck.” it was a bitter pill to swallow for one of his principles, but he saw or rather knew it was useless for one to struggle against so many. his request was granted and for the balance of their time on the steamer they had no further trouble in that direction, the scene along the wharves was a busy one and gave them a striking example of new orleans business and thrift. there was a large number of steamers along the levee whose crews were busily loading and unloading their cargoes. the celerity with which the cotton bales were unloaded and assigned to their proper places, was to those ignorant of the system employed, astonishing. there were dock loungers, both black and white. there was the r imperious mate, and his squad of stevedores, hustling freight and cursing like a trooper. there was the typioal old black aunty with her red bandanna-one of the last relics of slavery—and basket, and the equally ancient relic of bourbon aristocracy—the broken-down colonel of the late unpleasantness; broken down in physique and fortune. stanley noticed one of these standing near the levee talk- ing to an attentive group. his long beard, broad hat and thin features proclaimed him a type of the southern poli. tician. from a word that reached him now and then stanley concluded that he was talking politics. desiring to become better acquainted with the species he left saun- ders, went below and stepped ashore to join the group and hear what the man had to say about his subject. he was expatiating on the beauties of bourbon princi- ples and the rule of the “superior” race. he was also urging a vigorous and aggressive campaign to keep down the afro-american and to maintain a white man's government. he had the broad dialect peculiar to the southeastern coast, and after talking a while, after stanley joined the group, began to answer questions that were asked him. he was uniformly addressed as colonel and stanloy wish- ing to ask a few questions, addressed him in the same style. “excuse me, colonel, i am a stranger here. what's the drift of politics down here, and who do the people think will be the next president?” “befoh i answer your question, sah, may i ask you from what part of the country you are from ?” “from michigan, colonel.” “i thought you were a yank the first time i sot my eyes on yer. i didn't spose yo'd care how politics was get- ting on down heah.” carry our provisions with us." afterwards as they sat on the deck enjoying the beautiful moonlit scene and smok- ing their cigars, saunders said: “the more liberal-minded people of the south are not responsible for the outrages committed against afro-americans, but prejudice is so prevalent that every one had to accede to its demands, and many rash people have overstepped' all rules of decency to do what they conceived to be popular. my observation and experience assuro me of this fact, that the poorer and more ignorant the people—north or south—the deeper rooted are their prejudices.” “i don't blame you for not wanting to live south after what i have seen,” said stanley. "i wonder if they would allow you in their churches. we will see when we get to birmingham." the rooms were so warm within that they sat quite late out on the deck enjoying the night breeze and viewing the lights along the shore. occasionally the steamer would stop to take on a few bales of cotton to save time on the down trip when loaded.. stanley had fallen into a reverie over his cigar and was musing over their experiences in new orleans. his gen- erous, impulsive spirit could not view the customs of the south as anything else but artificial, as a something that was contrary to all natural law or reason, which must at some time have a rude awakening. for a long time not a word passed between them. at last stanley broke the silence. " john, i have been thinking what a monster prejudice is. it is hideous in every particular, and when a man becomes possessed of it he has a disease which biases his reason, blights his judgment, warps his conscience and withers all his charitable impulses. he becomes more intolerant than a pharisee, and narrower than the man who scoffs at the revelations of science. what to some men would be considered the dark lurking of a sinister imagination, to the prejudiced soul would be considered the beau ideal of manly qualities. since we have entered this country that should resound with songs of happiness and content, should even be filled with milk and honey,' be rich in agricultural and mineral wealth, where har- monious nature is so complete, like an unhappy stroke of fate, prejudice has followed us at every step and turn, until i have no words strong enough to express the disgust i feel.” “and yet you have only felt it in its mildest forms. when you have felt it as i have your tongue will be unhinged, for if 'out of the fullness of the heart the mouth speaketh, your words would flow without the effort of utterance. twixt rebellion and despair we have nursed these man-imposed curses, and been patient when job would have carried his resentment to the point of fury. mercy is twice blessed, but prejudice is thrice cursed. it) curses him who practices it, him at whom it is aimed, and is cursed of god who made all men and nations of one blood and redeemed them through his son. prejudice is conscienceless and relentless. conscienceless because that lever of the soul which lifts it unto heaven, once warped, moves it to deeds of hell that gives sanction to its concep- tions. relentless because shorn of its attendant quality, charity, it is conscious of no wrong. see how it blights our prospects by circumscribing the avenues of our use- fulness and associations; how it dwarfs the sphere of our thought by the narrowness that prejudice imposes on the mind. see how it permits outrages and murders that are contrary to every sense of justice and right. see how, because of it, the virtue and integrity of our homes are laid an open prey to vicious men. this is all a natural outgrowth of this fixed idea of race superiority, and the evidences of it is attested by the bleaching of the original african stock.” “my own observations of it have made me the more determined to use every endeavor to make my colored fel- low citizens feel that in my presence they are men in so far as they are fitted by education and integrity to be so considered. hitherto i have lived without a purpose; this shall now be my purpose, and you shall be my advisor in the matter. i believe that justice is growing in the south, however. the number of liberal minded people will be in the majority in another decade, and public sentiment will cry down many of the disabilities under which your race now labors. you must furnish men of capital and busi- ness who can meet these men, who are swallowed up in their bigoted idea of superiority, on terms of business equality. such competition never fails in winning respect. i could not have believed that you would have been treated as a criminal when there is no excuse for it. your eloquent protest but deepens my admiration for you." "if we are to confess our mutual admiration, my esteem for you approaches to love, for you have treated me as a man from the first, showing not the slightest taint of prej- udice and you are a friend now.”' “hush! do not pollute the name of love by coupling it with prejudice. love is a sacred and consoling thought to me now that i am in this despondent state. how i have loved, you may not know, yet i should not imagine to myself that i love better, that it is stronger, or purer than others, but i cannot define the depths and heights of the love my heart contains. this brief separation, although self-imposed, has refined and sweetened the anticipation of its final consummation." “i cannot concede that your love is stronger than mine, for with me my love is my chief hope. still there are many incapable of the strong passions of either love or hate. adversity smothers their love, and the power of money purchases either. but why do you choose to lacerate your heart by enduring a separation when you are convinced that you are beloved in return?” “because i cannot bear to be considered so weak when the limit of our separation is set. should i allow myself the pleasure of her society i might some day forfeit my claim to reason and endurance by renewing what i have sworn to let be at rest. i know though that she longs for me even as i long for her." “i shall be glad to see you two united.” “we will be, john, we will be. i feel it in every heart beat.” “you are more sanguine than i am then, although i am engaged, for i have a presentiment that i shall never see edith again.” "fiddlesticks! apprehension has called up latent, superstitions which you should not encourage. fight it, if you wish for peace. why, i have always thought you very sanguine. i cannot understand your melancholy presentiment.” “i confess that melancholy has seized me since i have been here. the odds have been so against me, greater than i have ever known before. that makes me appre- hensive and i cannot escape the melancholy.” "i will admit that such a marked change in one's con- dition would have its influence on his feeling. i never experienced such a strange longing, mixed with hope and chapter xiv. the louisiana was one of the largest and most ele- gantly equipped of all the steamers that left new orleans for up river ports. she was a very popular steamer and had usually a large number of cabin passengers. she was built chiefly, however, as nearly all these steamers are that ply the lower mississippi, for the cotton carrying trade. on her way up the river she had stopped at a fow unimportant points to take on a few passengers and some cotton bales which her officers thought best to take on now and save time on the down trip when the steamer would be heavily loaded. she had a large crew of roust- abouts, and on this trip carried a large number of deck passengers, most of whom were afro-americans. as the nights were still warm these passengers lay care- lessly around among the cotton bales looking, talking and some sleeping. the moon, which was yet young, cast a bright silvery light over the water, but was beginning to descend behind the trees on the left which lay beyond the swamps back of the levee. a few hours later everything was still save the beatings and the pulsations of the engine and the splash of the steamer's great, stern paddle wheels. the still monotony was at times relieved by the tread of the watch, the voice of the pilot or by the sound of firing up. the night was now dark and it was relieved only by the glimmer of the stars above or a solitary light here and there along the shore that pierced through the thick darkness that seemed to envelop it. there was then no sign of danger to warn the people on board of the peril they were in. every- thing about them was so calm and peaceful. it may have been a spark from the smokestack that alighted among the cotton bales, or it may have been a spark from the pipe of a deck passenger who had fallen asleep among them. certain it was that the cotton became ignited, and being very inflammable, the fire sped with great rapidity, and the first note of warning came to the officers through a colored woman, who, terrified with fright and horror, rushed forward frantically shouting, “de cotton's a blazin' and we'se all dead."* then arose that dreadful cry that so startled stanley, and saunders. a cry that fills the sailor's hearts, and all others when at sea, with terror, deprives men of reason, and makes them rush hither and thither like mad objects bent only upon the pursuit of safety. “fire! fire!” rang out the cry, followed by the roar of the steamer's whistles, as the alarm was given, that awoke the startled echoes along the shore, causing pande- monium to reign on board, while the startled inhabitants here and there along the shore rushed out of doors, ran to and fro upon the leveos where a sight grand and terrible in its every aspect met their gaze. what spectacle is more horrible and heart-rending, grand even in its horror and agony than a steamer wrapped in a lurid flame from stem to stern, of fire rushing like a screaming, living thing in torture through the dark water? in appearance a monster from whose entrails is heard far above the crackling of the flames, the hoarse roaring of the whistles, and the escaping steam, *when the steamer kate adams was burned, dec. , , the first alarm was given by a colored woman in the manner as described. the shrieks of human beings in mortal agony and fear. the piteous appeals for help that were heart-rending to the souls of the onlookers, made their flesh creep and almost impelled them to flee away from such a scene of distress, or close their ears to the shrieks of agony. but their feet seemed rooted, their eyes set and they felt com. pelled to gaze by some strange fascination on the sicken. ing horror and gather in its minutest details. in the ghastly lights of the flames they could see human forms rushing madly hither and thither over the decks, fleeing wildly from hot scorching tongues of fire. they saw forms, as if vomited forth from the crater of a volcano, leaping and falling into the waters lit up by the flames, whose swells engulfed them and where a death more merciful, because less painful awaited them. as the boat drew nearer they could distinguish the features of the people on board. some were marked by terror and despair, some transfixed by fright, others by a calm resignation, and a few by hope as they saw the steamer nearing the shore. they could see brave men doing their utmost to calm, cheer and save. they could see pilot, calm and undaunted, grasping the wheel, while the flames almost lapped him. they could see men leap- ing with impromptu rafts, or pushing overboard a cotton bale, and vainly endeavoring to float upon it safely to the shore. under the glow of the flames, upon the surface of the water here and there they could see a face whose owner was making a brave struggle for life. nearer still came the steamer and the watchers on shore shook off the strange fascination that bound them, and stood ready to render all the aid in their power. at last the steamer's bow struck the bank, and obeying her helm she swung around broadside to the levee. the great chapter xv. stanley and saunders, looking into each other's eyes, read the same thoughts that agitated each, and each was asking himself, is it destiny? while thus they sat, for the moment their muscles paralyzed, the dread cry rose again on the air and the roar of the whistles aroused them from their stupor. saunders was the first to recover and exclaimed: “save yourself, seth, while i awake the passengers." “remember your presentiment, john, and be careful. i will go with you and if the worst happens we will die together." “you shall not go. you shall not die and you must not think of it, for you have too much to live for." “when the lives of others are at stake and may be saved from a horrible death, shall future prospects occupy the mind to the detriment of our duty. move on and be quick.” " i say you shall not go,” said saunders with a look of determination. “what if i should die so that you survive. now that there is time, seth, prepare to escape by the river.” saunders' voice at the last became one of entreaty. "and i say that you shall run no risks that i dare not share,” said stanley, proudly. his form seemed to expand with the thought of the work before him and saunders seeing that it was of no use to argue when every minute meant lives sacrificed to the fury of the flames, said: “ come on then!" they started for the door leading to the cabin, but too passageway and blinded by pain, leaped over the steamer's sides. some were shrieking and crying for help and others crying aloud to god for mercy. the sounds of the roaring flames and cracking timbers, the escaping steam and the cries of the passengers continued to make a hor- rible babel that made stanley's heart thump with anxiety and excitement and his hair to almost stand on end. a few made their way through the windows forward, bruised and bleeding, to where stanley and saunders stood others pushed through side entrances. still others, bruised and burned, frantically leaped with shrieks into the water. some to sink into its depths with but a strug. gle or groan, others to make a struggle to reach the shore. still others sank overcome by the smoke and fear and their bodies became prey to the flames. to watch the struggles of some and be unable to help or give relief was a source of great anguish to the two young men. the louisiana was headed for the shore and was going at a fair rate of speed, but so fiercely did the fire rage that in their excitement it seemed as if the steamer would never reach the shore, and that all of them would be com- pelled to risk their chances by water, where if they died they would meet a moro merciful death. every minute seemed an hour in length as the great tongues of flame came reaching out to them. it is already so hot that to protect their faces and bodies from the scorching glare, they must leap overboard or burn to death. at last the boat with a thud touches the shore. the flames, now unfed by the draft, shoot staight upward and some relief is given. the great plank is pushed out, but before a landing could be secured, mad with excitement and fear, the people rush upon it. the guy ropes give way, the plank swings around under the steamer's guard and becomes useless. those upon it are precipitated into the water and become mired in mud. to increase the horror the boat swings around and out by the force of the current and drifts down the stream. the pilot had, despite the heat and his great danger stuck to his post, until the steamer had struck the bank when he too, made a rush for safety. afloat on a burning steamer with no pilot to guide and safety so near. the situation seemed appaling. the cries of anguish and agony, and appeals for help to those on shore were redoubled. made desperate many leaped over- board. some escaped with the aid of those on shore, but a few were held fast in the mud and were nearly roasted to death by the intense heat from the burning steamer as it slowly drifted past. the rest on board began to get ready to trust their chances to the waters when the boat again acted as if under control, and looking up to the pilot house they saw there at the wheel, shading his face with one hand as if protecting it from the intense heat and lapping flames, a black man. his black face was red from the glowing heat for he was fringed in with fire. his deed of heroism challenged the admiration of the crowd, and despite their terror and danger there arose a cheer for that indifference that could so calmly brave certain death. slowly the steamer swung around again and made for the shore, and again passing those who had become mired in the mud or were climbing upon the steep levee banks, the intense heat, finished with some, the work of death, and with others fairly cooked parts of their flesh. their shrieks and piteous appeals were fearful. again the boat with a thud struck the shore, and those on board lost no time in getting ashore. bruised, bleed- ing, burned, and scarred by their fight with fire they pre- sented a pitiable appearance. with the aid of those on the levee, however, they soon crawled to a place of safety. stanley and saunders among them. again the steamer swung out, but all on board have now left it save the black pilot, who had stuck to his volunteer post until all the people who had been able left it. like a statue carved in ebony, but woefully disfigured and burned, he now stood near the rail of the steamer's deck either calculating the effects of a leap into the water or benumbed by pain, while the tongues of flame played about him, burnt his clothes and licked his body. a black nameless hero he stood, whose voluntary self-sacrifice made him fit to rank among those whom nations delight to honor as the saviors of men. he was no less a hero because his skin was black or that he came of a despised race, or from the nameless poor. he looked up and in the red glare of the blaze could be seen the traces of great pain. admiration for his courage took possession of the onlookers and from the crowd a dozen voices cried: "leap! man, leap! or you are lost.” he moved with effort, gathered himself together and made a feeble jump into the water below, where his feet became embedded in the soft mud, from which he was rescued while dying, with a countenance so disfigured by burns as to be beyond recognition. the steamer drifting down the stream, still continued in its work of destruction. it passed so close to the brave captain of the louisiana, who had jumped overboard when the steamer first drifted away from the leveo and had ! become bogged, as to literally roast him to death despite the heroic efforts that had been made to rescue him. in those trying hours race was for the moment forgot- ten. there were afro-americans among both passengers and crew. they numbered among the dead and dying and were among the rescuers. misfortune and disaster had for a time abolished racial lines, and that condition. which knew no racial distinction existed. kind hearts and willing hands did all that could be done to alleviate suffering. captain jameson and the name. less black hero lay side by side upon the levee. the two brave loyal souls found rest, white and black, after dread- ful moments of agony and distress, in the bosom of father abraham. there is no separate place or prejudice there where their two souls, together, went. , down the river a loud report told of the bursting of the boiler or steam valves, while here and there could be seen burning bales of cotton blazing like beacons in the darkness. the next morning the louisiana was found burned to the water's edge and stuck in the soft mud-a few miles below where the survivors had landed, a useless wreck. the scene of human beings crying for help in mortal agony and leaping to destruction to escape a more cruel death while those on shore were powerless to aid, had stirred every heart to its depth, and the measure of human kindness heaped to the full, was spent on the survivors. sore and bedraggled with blood and mud they were cared for throughout the night, and the next morning such as were able to go were sent to the nearest station. here stanley telegraphed home for money, and when it came, he purchased, as far as the place could supply, another outfit for himself and his companion. they had saved nothing from the missing steamer, except what they had on their persons. all their notes, clothing and trinkets had become a prey to the devouring flames, and they, sore and bruised, with bandages upon their persons, rejoiced that they were yet alive. chapter xvi. “i thank god," said seth stanley, “to be again on terra firma. no more of your presentiments, john; you have half made me a believer in the divination of the future. yet i am constrained to think that your feelings and the subsequent acoident with its perils, was but a strange coincidence." “my mind,” replied saunders, “has been so full of the scenes of that fire, and its horrid pictures of human beings struggling in the throes of death, that i am in no condi. tion to think. it seems as if i can even now hear their shrieks as the flames enveloped them and they fell, to grope for an instant, and then die with their eyes turned toward heaven, with a staring, appealing look. then the gurgling moans of the unfortunates who preferred death. by drowning to that by fire, and who went down in the sight of help that was powerless to aid. i have but to close my eyes and the picture is before me with all its details vividly depicted.” "i shall never forget that scene myself. i hid my face from it once. i could not stand it or i should have been impelled to rush into the flames myself, and have met the same death. never shall i forget the heroism of those brave men who met such a horrible death through their efforts to save others. brave captain jameson, blistered and burning, saying: “don't mind me; save the others," and that nameless black hero martyr, who looked death in the face so intrepidly, in its form of raging flames, whose fiery tongues licked and scorched him while he remained --- - -- - - - at his self-imposed station until the boat ran ashore. we owe our lives to him." greater love hath no man than this, to give up himself to such a horrible doom to save others. when the captain and he were laid on the shore together, the color of his skin did not prevent the recognition of his heroism or keep him from sharing the full sympathy of those present. hearts and hands were wrung as they lay writhing in their death agony. it may be some such great sorrow, afflicting both black and white, that will chasten and refine this section, that the two people will be finally brought closer together and live in greater har. mony. misery and trouble, like god, are no respecters of persons and are great levelers. they were on a railway train which was speeding rap- idly through the state of mississippi to birmingham, ala. a word here and there of their conversation was caught up by their neighbors, and soon it became noised through the cars that there were two people on the train that had been passengers on the ill-fated louisiana. they became the center of an interested and enquiring group, were plied with questions and on request, went over the scenes they had passed through. “your experience must have been horrible," said one. “horrible does not describe my feelings,” said stanley. the dispatches relating to the accident had preceded them and at every station where the train stopped, there were people on the lookout for more complete details, and over and over again they repeated to the curious the details of the disaster. exhausted and almost sick from excitement, loss of appetite and sleep, and from exposure they were com- pelled to stop off at — for rest. they remained there for a day before proceeding on to birmingham. ---- - -- the interest in, and the position taken by him in his rela- tions with me down here. as you know, one of his chief objects in coming south was to find out if the representa- tions he had heard were true. he is now of the opinion that the full extent of the wrongs committed against the afro-american and white republicans have never been made public at the north. many northern people have come down here, but they have simply skimmed over the south. being wined and dined they saw it in its brightest or took for granted the representations of their hosts. the curtain was not drawn aside for them to see how hideous and unreasonable are the forms and practices of prejudice. they did not feel or experience it as we have. others coming here and falling into social life have out- heroded herod by their false representations. our experiences have been such as to thoroughly disgust seth with the customs here, and has made him a staunch friend of the race in all that the term friend implies. with his unselfish interests, his undaunted spirit, and fixedness of purpose, such a friend can be of inestimable value in pre- senting our cause to the people. we have reached an era in the history of our advancement when we need staunch friends who will give us positions of responsibility, that our worth and capabilities may be seen. as it is now the wealthy and refined whites see too little of the best ele- ments amongst us, and there can, as a result, be but one consequence, a low estimate of what we are capable of doing and being. “stanley's christian name, seth, is from the hebrew, and its meaning is appointed. who can tell but what he may be appointed of god to help bring this fearful race question to a peaceful and successful solution. if i were asked why this idea occurs to me i would say because he has the material in him that distinguishes the great man. there are men who act only when the world applauds; they are creatures of sentiment and observers of opinion, which they follow. but the great man acts without thought of whether the world will condemn or applaud. he cares nothing for the popular clamor, but he acts according to his preconceived ideas of right and jus- tice, and if the world does not appreciate them at first, it does afterwards. such men were garrison, phillips, sum- ner, john brown, lovejoy, and others whose memories are dear to us. such are the convictions that sway stanley, and he has the requisite courage to obey his ideas of right and justice. such a man, or rather hero, deserves success in life and in affairs of love. we will soon be home now, and i feel sorry to know that he cannot at once repair to miss stone with the same anticipation of a happy future with which i will return to you. i only wish you could know her as i do him. she is so pleasing in manner and address, that she would win almost any one's respect, if not their love. she has often joined with him in making me feel that i am a man, and by no word or gesture has she made me feel that she considered me an inferior, or unworthy of friendship. when they are married no harsh requirements of prejudice, or conformity to the opinions and customs of society, shall keep you from knowing one whom you will find to be a kindred spirit. “give yourself no further concern as to my safety. i am all right and cautious. i shall soon be at home to you and dear old father, in ten days at least. may god give his angels charge concerning thee. yours affectionately, john.” chapter xvii. edith darrow had not heard from john saunders for what seemed to her a long time, and she had begun to feel quite despondent over it. her active imagination, aided by her love and fears, conjured up difficulties that increased in size and became more numerous as each succeeding day passed with no tidings of the absent one. she was familiar, from constant watching, with the time the postman made his appearance, and if away from home she usually managed to return shortly after he was due. one afternoon a few days after saunders wrote his letter, she was out shopping. timing herself, as usual, she hastened home rather despondently. as soon as she entered the door she put the usual anxious query. “any mail?” “yes, a letter from john.”' a great change came over her in an instant. she forgot that she was tired; gone was the despondent feeling of a few moments before; with eyes dancing and with a smil- ing countenance, she gave a hop and a skip to her mother's side as she asked with all eagerness. “where is it, mother?” looking from table to sideboard and taking all the articles upon them in at a glance. “if it had been a snake it would have bitten you," answered her mother. “i put it up in the window so it would be the first thing you might see when you entered the house." edith clasped her mother's cheeks between her hands and kissed them first on one side and then on the other. edith re-read the letter for her mother's benefit, then put on her hat to go and seo mr. saunders. “to use a slang phrase, mother, mr. stanley is a brick, and i hope that john's estimate of his character and sur- mise of his future will prove true.” “he seemed to be a nice fellow when he was here. i have often wondered why he took such a liking to john." “for the same reason i did. i understand it perfectly." before her mother could reply edith had gone. mr. saunders was now living with a married daughter on w- street, not far from the darrows. john made his home with her also. thither edith went to find the old gentleman sitting out enjoying the autumn sunshine. he was now too old to engage in the active duties of life. and in his old age depended upon john for support, when he saw edith, her face flushed and radiant, he accosted her with, “god bless you, honey, i know you've got good news from john. i see it in your face." “yes, and i have brought the letter with me to read it to you. he expects to be home in at least ten days." “he's a good boy, honey, but jest wait till i gets you a chair. we'll sit right out here and enjoy that letter all by ourselves.” the way mr. saunders bobbed up and hurried around, getting his future daughter-in-law a seat would have made one believe that he was the suitor instead of the son. he soon appeared with a chair, and after seeing edith com- fortably seated, took his own chair and sat in front of her, and inclining his head to one side, he placed a hand behind one ear so that no word could escape his eager hearing. “now we's ready,” said he. as she read in her rich voice that fell like sweet music upon his ears, ever and anon he put in an ejaculation of surprise or approval, disgust or anger, according as he was moved by what he heard, sometimes he would stop her to , make a comment on what had been read. “i am glad the boy is comin' home so soon,” he said when she had finished. “i have felt kinder uneasy since he's been down there. you see my chile, he don't know how to take them white folks as use ter own slaves. he growed up different from what we did. i thank god often that our children do not have to go through what we did.” “i think it's a shame that he has to be insulted the way that he is. he is just as good as any of them. there isn't anything about him, either in manner or person, that could be offensive to the most fastidious, and yet he is treated as if he had no more feeling than a brute.” “he is a great deal better than lots of them, but its going ter take them white people down there a long time to find it out. a good many of 'em will die before they ever know it, or knowing it, to own it. you see the trouble is, honey, old joe and uncle sam who don't know nuthen' and don't want much is better to them than these fellows that know as much as they do. they have always got the old heads, like me, who don't know much under 'em, and they keep 'em so. when we gets so we know better, we are no use to 'em." “but, father saunders, they get around facts, and it is a fact that the thousands of colored children graduating year after year from our public schools, with the same test applied to them as to others, are almost, if not quite, as intelligent as their classmates." “that's jest it, edith, the trouble is that one-half the world is trying to devise means to escape facts. a man seldom accepts anything agin his intrust till he's forced to." “ well, it isn't right, just nor fair for ambitious, cap- able people to be forced to the bottom and kept there, because others not connected with you in any way, except by race and hardly that in this country, are ignorant. we are willing to be subjected to any test that civilization and enlightenment may apply, so that the test be applied to all alike, and will be willing to abide by the tests." “you may live to see such a time edith; god grant that you may i know i wont. if only i could, i would say, like simeon, 'now lord lettest thy servant depart in peace.” “i trust i may see a better day for my people; if i thought not i would want to die now.” “there now, honey, don't you get to feeling so miser- able, i didn't mean to make you sad. when john comes home life will appear like itself again.” edith arose to go, but upon being urged by mr. saunders, went in to “visit awhile.” ' chapter xviii. buried in thought, and enjoying the ease that comes to those who have passed through severe trials, when in safety, or through a period of restless activity, stanley sat in an elegant suite of rooms in the hotel. presently he pressed the call and upon the appearance of the bell boy, ordered writing materials, and then he resumed his former easy position. intent in the same deep train of thought that seemed to carry his mind far away, he did not hear the boy as he entered the room with paper and ink. from his manner, and the expression of deep perplexity that now and then crossed over his face, it was evident that he was engrossed with some weighty sub- ject. he arose from his chair shortly after and paced up and down the room several times, then a light broke over his countenance as if some revelation had suddenly burst upon him. whatever he had been thinking about was settled to his own satisfaction. then, noticing the writing materials he had ordered, he sat down and wrote: dear father:-i am at last in birmingham, and have received enough rest to now supplement the meager information imparted by my telegram from — la. you have doubtless eagerly scanned the papers for all inform- ation concerning the burning of the louisiana, but you can scarcely form a conception of its horrors from news- paper reports. when i think of it i become completely unnerved, so i shall reserve a description of the fire with its perile, for a time when i can look back upon it with calmer feelings. john and i lost everything-clothing, curiosities, and different memoranda which we had jotted down for future use. we will probably remain here for several days, so if you have not confidence enough in my memory to think it has retained all the instructions given to me relative to the investments made, and which you desire to make, you will have time to write them down and forward the same to me here. owing to the outrageous customs here i am domi- ciled at the hotel, while john is somewhere else. where, i do not know, as he left me but a few hours ago. we are very much inconvenienced by having to remain apart, but i cannot have him near me and justify my con- :science, for neither at the hotel, or traveling on the steamer is it possible to have him near me, except in the capacity of a servant. i had fully made up my mind to resist such insults to my friend, but for his sake i suffer it, and the position is a bitter one to me. everything down here runs to politics at present. political excitement is very high, and the relations between the races is rendered more dangerous. this is one reason why, for john's sake, i have refrained from insisting on those rights due him as a man. in a few of the country districts a reign of terror prevails, whose embers are kept alive and fanned by the ignorant poor whites, who seem to be as low down in the scale of ignor- ance and degradation as the lower order of the negroes, or as john calls them, and i shall do likewise, afro-amer- icans. in my short time around the hotels here i have heard a strange terrible story, but it illustrates the depravity, and intense political hatred, borne to the blacks and to white republicans. it happened in a small town in mississippi. the story is as follows: ----- - - - - “three traveling men sat on the piaza of a hotel; their talk had been on trade and finally drifted to politics. a party of whites came along and catching enough of their conversation to think that they were republicans, began to insult and abuse them. a few colored men came along and took their part. the white men were armed. there was a jostle and a short scuffle, a few shots, and the col- ered men had yielded up their lives. when the traveling men saw their defenders thus disposed of, they looked at each other with pale faces. the same thought that the dead must not go unavenged passed through their minds. each to the other, with his eyes, said farewell, and they made a rush at their assailants. but what chance have unarmed men against the armed? instead of conflict there is murder and massacre-relics of brute savagery and man's unhumanity. in less time than it takes to tell it, these men were also murdered, and without fear of justice or retribution, because public sentiment was with them, they rode off perhaps exulting in the death of the 'niggers' and the infernal yankees. thus to satisfy insensate hatred six human beings had been murdered. i have heard of no such cold-blooded barbarity enacted this side of the fiji islands, or by russian despotism, and yet it is only one instance of many that occur with increasing regularity if reports be true.” "i fancy i hear you say, 'horrible! where are the authorities?' there is no justice for the afro-american or his sympathizers in the country or in the towns, and but a little in the larger cities. before coming down here i refused to credit the stories of race troubles, and rather attributed them to political partisanship to serve party purposes, but my own experienee goes to confirm a great many of them, and i fear for the peace of a country which doi. permits such things. true, there are liberal men here who denounce these outrages, but they seem powerless to prevent them. "i have used my eyes while here and have observed a great deal. i have watched the different classes in the cities and for the life of me, i cannot see that the ignorant black is more vicious than the ignorant classes in the large cities of the north, nor can i account for the bitter feeling manifested against him. his greatest fault seems to be that his ancestors were torn from their native country, worked for centuries in the fields of the south, contribut- ing to its great material growth for which he received noh compensation. then permitting himself, through the strange vicissitude of events, to become a free man and the political equal of his late master. “an impartial mind, brought to bear upon the problem of this section, would consider all these fears of black domination or extravagance to be chimeras, which are used to perpetuate a wholly unjust and pernicious system. i have examined into the past carefully with an unbiased mind, and i find that in extravagance, the afro-american has not been more so than many whites in the north, nor have his peculations been so large as those of white men in this section. the corruption of the tweed ring and others, brought into prominent notice in the empire state, far exceed anything committed by the afro-american under reconstruction, and yet there is no talk concerning the unfitness, or rather, no measures to forcibly preclude such men from governing. there is something about this reconstruction period which the country hears but little of, but which redounds to the credit of this persecuted race, who were hardly a decade out of slavery. their concep- tion of yovernment, their ideas of the basic principles of the republic, their generous treatment of their late mas- ters, are in striking contrast to the government of the superior race' now. of course the carpet-bagger, who has also been so roundly and unjustly abused, deserves no little credit for the part taken by them in leading these people to adopt such measures. the constitutions of the states, adopted in , were models of a republican form of government. they established the public school system of this section, and first made it a part of the fundamental law of the state. they instituted a uniformity of taxation and overthrew the barbarous penal system, which, now reinstated, is barbarously used against them. they also inaugurated the municipal system of self-government and abolished the property qualifications; and with generous motives, removed the bars that had excluded those, who had taken part in the war, from citizenship. still this is the same people of which we hear so much as to their inferiority, by those who have received from them benefits and whose return to power, it is claimed, would be attended by such dire consequences. what awful return has been his for his generosity? since ' , thousands have been murdered, and our civilization disgraced by wanton and inhuman butcheries from the hands of the very men who owed to him their citizenship, what would you or i do under like circumstances? . “during my convalescence and since, from words that have passed between john and myself, i have thought a great deal about this subject, and have concluded that even in the north, much as it appears to be shocked by the barbarity of the south, justice is not done to the afro- american. true, he has liberty of person and free use of the ballot, but employment, save as , a menial, he finds it difficult to obtain, no matter how intelligent or well fitted he may be to fill the position for which he applies. the laboring elements keep him out of workshops and stores by their exhibitions of prejudice, and the american people, despite the fact that he is a loyal citizen, who has done his share in upholding the national flag and preserv- ing the union intact, by a shameful silence, acquiesces in their dicta. “i learn from john that his race does not ask for par- ticular favors. it simply wants the same chance to earn a living that is given to others, and it is willing to submit to the same tests of intelligence and fitness. ought not their simple request be granted. (by the way i forgot to say that john has informed me, and he is corroborated in his statements by others, that the afro-american does not desire to rule, but they do desire that the constitution should be supreme). of all the people i have come in contact with, only our own seem to have an improper idea of social and equal rights. it seems to be granted that if you are at all familiar with a man in a business way, he is to have a free entry into the family, and this is probably one reason why the afro-american has so much trouble. such an idea is, however, absurd, and in no other country than ours is it expected. the afro-american does not want it or expect it, john says. he is satisfied with his own home relations, and being of a sensitive nature (particularly the more intelligent) would not obtrude where he was not invited or wanted. “i am glad that the house of stanley has taken an advanced step, and particularly so that it was taken before i owed to john a debt of gratitude. you know his fitness for the position he occupies, and you are satisfied with his work. i have found him to be unusually bright and intelligent, well informed, and with a capacity for hard work in business beyond the average. i now wish to apply the standard of fitness and ability to him, and with your consent will promote him, on our return, to the position to be made vacant by morley, who leaves us in november to embark in an enterprise out west. the increase in salary will also be a handsome wedding present. you will excuse me for dwelling almost entirely upon this one subject, but almost every circumstance since coming south has forced the question on my mind. “ you can rest assured that i will do my best in refer- ence to the business to be done here. “give my love to imogene. don't let her worry over what i may have suffered on the burning steamer. bar- ring my shattered nerves, richard is almost himself again. we'll return to detroit as soon as possible without extend- ing the trip further. i have seen and experienced enough. good-bye. your affectionate son, seth." birmingham, ala., oct. th, . . teenth chapter of first corinthians that i can repeat every word of it. let me give you a few verses that you may meas- ure the sermon by what we are to hear. st. paul says in such a masterly way: “though i speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, i am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. and though i have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though i have all faith, so that i could remove mountains, and have not charity, i am nothing. and though i bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though i give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing. charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not, charity vauniteth not itself, is not puffed up.” show me a church that practices these principles toward me and i will say that the south is a paradise. such an one has not been here before to my knowledge.” “those days have all gone by, john. with the new dawn of humanity, christianity took a forward step, and put in the rear the old ill-conceived ideas of servitude without compensation, or even of distinctions such as you have mentioned in the future world. the rev. rucker is celebrated, and surely up to the most enlightened ideas of christianity." “if my interests in his subject would cause me to loose self-consciousness, that would keep constanly before me, the fact that he and the larger part of his audience would despise my fellowship, then i might enjoy it. it is not always the real violence and insult that cowers me, it is the constant apprehension of it.” "self-consciousness is good enough in its place, but you have seen so much to condemn down here, that i want to show you something you can commend." “then i will lend to my feet wings, and go with you without farther protest. i should like to say once when i get home, that i thoroughly enjoyed myself while exercis- ing the rights of a man. but mind, now, there must be no rumpus should my appearance be objected to except in the corner, which i have heard has been set off for the colored people.” "sunday morning was all that one could wish. the sun was just enough obscured by a thin fleece of clouds to cut off the intensity of its heat, and to those who could see god in nature, every surrounding seemed to say, “ today is the lord's. he has set it apart unto himself. the heavens offer testimony to his glory, and all the earth responds in unison to the chant of harmony." 'twas such a day when man having cast aside the turmoil of life, the task of breadwinning, and the seditions that make discon- tent rebel against its fate, could steal away from themselves, and care, and give their souls to thoughts of him, and prayer. stanley had arisen early, and immediately after break- fast went to saunders' boarding house, and together they walked around the streets of birmingham, until the ringing of the church bells announced the hour of worship. the divine, of whom seth had spoken-rev. randolph rucker -was in charge of one of the fashionable churches. his name and fame had spread beyond the limit of city and state, as a man of eloquence and much learning, and towards his church they directed their way, as the bells began to chime. the church itself was not imposing, yet of ample struc- ture and architecture, to make a fine arpearance and have a comfortable seating capacity. . their direction, and stanley, fearing that he had made a mistake, followed the usher. when they reached the vestibule, the usher turned and said: “you are evidently from the north, my friend, and of course not acquainted with our customs. there is a place fitted up for colored people to worship in when they visit here, and it is nice and comfortable. we don't think of such a thing as inviting them down where our wives and daughters sit.” “ you mean then,” replied stanley, “ that my friend must go up into that little fenced coop all by himself, or he can not hear the gospel preached here." - you don't look at it in the right light. we invite them to come, but we expect that they will keep in their place.” “i see. it is an exclusive gospel you preach. we will have none of it. come on, john. i will go to church with you,” and they left the church. “ what did i tell you?” said saunders. “i wouldn't have believed it,” replied stanley, as he stopped suddenly. “i am going back and have it out.” “not for me; it isn't worth raising a fuss about, and you know i have determined not to get into any trouble down here." “i am not going to make a fuss. i'm only going to see the rev. rucker and lay the matter before him.” “i wouldn't go back with you now, even if for your sake he should reverse a common practice of the church. i would think more of the insincerity of the proceedings than of the sermon, if i did." .“ well, i am going to see for my own satisfaction what his views are on the matter. he is a minister of the gospel.” , “all right. do as you please. i am going where i am certain i shall be welcome.” they parted. saunders to go with friends to a colored church, and stanley to the one they had just left. the same asher met him, and seth imagined he saw a triumphant look in his eyes as he again offered to show him a seat. after taking the proffered seat stanley wrote a note to the rev. rucker, giving briefly their experience and ask- ing for an interview. he sent in his note by another usher—a younger man-and in a little while the answer came, short but to the point: “i have not the time to be interviewed before services, but i am in entire accord with the action of the ushers in this matter. - randolph rucker.” stanley felt chagrined at this curt reply, but concluded to sit and hear the style of gospel that was preached. soon the notes from the organ began to peal the doxol- ogy. shortly after in came the pastor and took his seat in the pulpit. he was rather tall, with dark complexion, heavy eyes, and features somewhat irregular. a critical eye might have thought it discerned a trace of the obnoxious blood in his veins. when he arose to speak, his voice, deep and sonorous, gave stanley the impression that he was an orator of uncommon power. he read as the preliminary lesson the thirteenth chapter of the first corinthians, also the chapter from which he afterwards took his text. this reading of the chapters with singing and prayer, concluded the opening services, and he arose to preach. chapter xx. “ the spirit and the bride say, come; and let him that heareth say, come. and let him that is athirst come, and whosoever will let him take of the waters of life freely.”—revelations xxii., . stanley was now all attention. “i wish,” began the minister, “ to call your attention to the latter part of the verse read, from which i take my text this morning, whosoever will, let him take of the water of life freely,' to illustrate the charity of god. look wherever we will, in whatever condition we find ourselves, we cannot escape the conclusion that god has dealt with a generous lavish hand with his people. every "jot and tittle' of nature bespeaks his unbounded love to man. moreover, he counted it not loss, but sent his only begot- ten son that we, who had forfeited our claim on an eternal inheritance, might be again restored to our estate. from the eternity of existence redemption was planned for us. the word that was in the beginning, which afterwards became flesh to dwell among men, is a part of the great plan of salvation of the god who had all to give, and yet who requires so little in return. the whole history of his chosen people from the selection of abraham to the destruction of jerusalem is a constant series of man's rebellious acts, and of the charitable dealings of god with their weaknesses; of the loving father, of the stern parent, who made them pass through great vicissitudes of fortune, captivity and perils, only that they might be brought back to bear testimony to his goodness and love, and enable them to reject the false gods and teachings which had . came the promise of one who should restore all things.. he came, he spake as never man spake. he suffered in. gethsemane under the weight of the sins of the world which were heaped upon his head for our sakes until he sweat great drops of blood. he was crucified for us, died and arose again, bringing captivity captive in that those who died in christ shall be raised again at the last day and shall stand with him. he is now our advocate and mediator with god. and lo, when the promised comforter came on the day of pentecost the tongues were for a time restored and every man of the vast throng that had come to the feast had the gospel preached to him in his own tongue. this is the charity that suffereth long and is patient. this is the universal love that saved to the utter- most. the glad cry went forth that day and has been ringing from thousands of people ever since. whoso- ever will, let him take of the water of life freely.' “the promised one had come, had accomplished his purpose and sent the comforter at the appointed time. the day of pentecost was but the beginning of the era of restoration which will be consummated in the last day as spoken of by john in his vision on the isle of patmos. he tells us the result. out of every nation, and tongue, and people there will be representatives singing the new song, 'hallelujah! to the lamb who is worthy to receive power, and glory, and riches, and wisdom, and strength and honor;' and 'blessings and honor, and glory, and power, be unto him who sitteth upon the throne and unto the lamb forever.' “ already the gospel missionaries are carrying the glad tidings, inviting all nations and people to aspire for salva- tion. soon all nations and tongues will have the gospel preached to them in their own land and tongue and all will be brought together in a common worship looking for the end of time. the jew took a narrow view of christ's mission in the world. they believed he would re-estab- lish the kingdom of judea, and that jerusalem would be restored to its original splendor and precedence, and be the mistress of the world. the good old simeon, moved by the inspirations of prophesy, saw the grander purposes of god in the emanuel. he expressed it when he said of jesus that he was a light of revelation to the gentiles and the glory of israel. with prophetic eyes he saw in all the ends of the earth those who should be called the children of abraham, because they heard and believed. “are you poor today? are you sinful? are you out- casts? have you nothing to offer to god? his chari- table, loving sacrifice is for you; for the spirit and the bride say, come. they who hear his words and have found it precious, say, come. will you, who are out of christ, come my friends? oh, will you come? “i wish to address myself to the members of my church; those who are christians. are you following after christ as he has pointed out the way in his holy book? are you doing for others what he has done for you? do you treat the lowly and extend the helping hand to the weak as you yourself would like to be treated were you in their station? if you have not, begin now. there is a continuity of principle in the grand qualities of char- ity that reaches from god to his chosen people, and from his chosen people to the sympathetic heart everywhere that beats for humanity with its sorrows and woes. no child of god should be isolated. if christ be our elder brother who shall deny us or whom shall we deny, or who shall say that all are not of the brethren? “one of the most pathetic scenes in the history of the charity, it profiteth me nothing,' shall we gainsay it and move and live and act as if heaven was made for us alone and thus make of non-effect the invitation, whosoever will let him take of the water of life freely.' “unto all nations must the gospel be preached, for so the savior did command, and to them is the invita- tion extended. come! come! from the ends of the earth, from the isles of the sea, from the inheritance of the heathen, from the hovels of the poor. salvation is without price. it is as free as the air around us. it is more precious than riches. it is more beautiful than nature in its loveliest garb. it is the inspiration of the noblest thoughts. come! it is god's bounteous charity. who will take up the glad strain, confirm the tidings as they roll, and spread the truth from pole to pole?' “charity creates a generous feeling for all mankind, takes away covetousness, ennobles the soul and blesses it. the church must be filled with it. individual christians must be imbued with it, else they do not live up to the high standard of christianity. we can deceive the world by hollow pretenses, but we cannot god. if evil is in your hearts, root it out. god is not mocked. be not deceived, for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.' * * “the water of life; oh! how precious. without cost and without price. oh! the beneficience of god. the charity displayed to us poor creatures of the world. do you thirst for righteousness? come! take of it freely and you shall find rest in your souls, and that peace that comes with perfect content and trust in god. there is no doubt of it now. there was a time when the cry went chapter xxi. with a feeling akin to wonder as to the kind of gospel that would be preached, stanley had sat and listened while, with a well modulated voice, the minister read st. paul's masterly commentary on charity. but while the minister, with an almost divine eloquence, delivered his sermon on the invitation of the spirit and the bride, he could not help but think, “ either his lips and heart are at variance, or his moral judgment is sadly warped.” of what avail are there grand eloquent words about taking the ragged, dirty and drunken from the gutter, when they shut out those worthy and anxious to come for no other reason than that they are as white as themselves? their acts are not in accord with these words: “inas- much as you have done it unto one of the least of these, my children, ye have not done it unto me.” while the minister was in the very height of his eloquence, stanley looked around to catch a glimpse of the usher and the man who had so discourteously and so unchristianlike refused his companion a seat, to see how they took the words of the preacher. no sign of guilt or shame was there, nothing but a passive calm. while he was almost fascinated by the language of the speaker, his thoughts could not help but dwell on the subject uppermost in his mind. “ are not,” thought he, “insults directed at the colored people in these places of divine worship sure to react? after all, was not all the ruin that was brought upon the south, the desolation of its homes, due to the domination of the teachings of the church here in relation the morning, because he thought it would not be likely that he would find in this part of the country any one whose views would be near as liberal as his own. he had come across many whose views were liberal but they were passive in asserting them for fear of social ostracism, and hence they allowed the ultra-minded to shape all senti- ment. the dinner party was such an enjoyable one and the people made it so pleasant for him that he concluded to extend his stay a few days longer. among his new acquaintances was the mayor of the city, who became quite interested in him when he discovered that his father had investments in that section. he also insisted that stanley should remain a few days longer. he afterwards dined him, at which time stanley enjoyed himself hugely. he was now in the social swim and in no hurry to return home. he was in the way of creating pleasant memories of the south and the time passed swiftly and pleasantly. mr. warner gave a reception for him at his elegant home on — street, where he had the opportunity of meeting many southern beauties, none of whom he thought compared with marjorie. during the arrival of the guests he occupied a place between mr. warner and mayor gregory, and was introduced by the latter to the guests as they came. ho exerted himself to please with great success. his good spirits overflowed; his wit sparkled; he became a great favorite, and made many friends and admirers. he had many invitations to call, and hospitalities were offered him in case he should again return to the city. after the reception he thanked heaven that all south- erners were not made of the same stuff. in this he was mistaken. the people here shared the same views in employment are less wide and be able to walk the streets a free man, going whither i please; to places of public entertainment, churches, opera houses, concerts and other places of a public nature which are educators, as a man among men. i had rather live where i can travel when i please, unrestrained by obnoxious customs, and be able to find a room at a public inn when i stop; where i can obtain justice when my rights are transgressed, and where i can stand no chance of being lynched or murdered for exercising the rights of manhood.” “but our home is here,” interposed one,“here were we born, and around here are memories sacred and dear to us. we cannot leave them. we bide our time. it will come some day, some way. how? i don't know. perhaps misfortune may unite us.. perhaps wrongs drive us into one united revolt against the task masters. perhaps the government may in some way interfere. but here most of us will stay until the time of our deliverance comes." “in the great northwest,” said saunders, “are several territories of vast extent, preparing for statehood. in their borders are large tracts of unoccupied land belong- ing to the government and to different railroads, that are open for settlement. these places offer excellent oppor- tunities for all to come and take up these lands. what is required by the government to make your claim good on its land and entitle you to a deed is that you work it for & short term of years. railroad land is to be had cheap; for from about two to six dollars per acre. beyond the moun- tains the climate is excellent. two crops are had per year. it is never very cold and the temperature is about that of tennessee. all of the fruits grow there and the soil is very fertile. show the disposition to go there and you will not lack friends to find the means to carry you thither. the race in the north will make sacrifices. the friends of the oppressed will give their aid. this side of the mountains, in montana, idaho and dakota, the climate is more severe. in many of the states of the north there is room for thousands. wisconsin, minnesota, iowa, nebraska, colorado and the northern part of illinois, indiana and ohio could absorb thousands. michigan could absorb and scatter throughout its vast extent over , without attracting notice. the farmers of the new england states are leaving their farms and going west, and, as a result, there are hundreds of good farms with no tenants and some of these states are talking of offering extra inducements in the way of loaning money to indus- trious people to come and settle upon these farms.* in the northern countries the climate may be hard upon you at first, but with such privations as come from cold, comes the fact that you are free to enjoy the rights and privi- leges of freemen, and that the qualities of manhood will secure something like its proper recognition. you will find good mixed schools for your children, and new homes whose sanctity will not be invaded. i have heard people say, 'get money and education and these conditions down here will change. when this becomes universal, they may, but now intelligence and wealth, and refinements count for nothing. they who possess these things are subject to the same treatment as others. i read the other day of a rich intelligent woman who was forced to enter the jim crow car, with its dirt and filth, upon a railroad of which she held bonds. if they are self assertive or inter- est themselves in politics actively they are warned. if they are forcible in proclaiming their rights as citizens for their life's sake, they must leave the country.” * a company has been formed in massachusetts whose object is to induce afro- american families to come to that state. ете . “i know that you feel better already,” said stanley, as he noticed his companion's keen interest in his surround- ings. “i certainly do. i think that i could live here." after sauntering around awhile, they began to feel quite tired and warm, for the sun's rays were very warm, and they started for a shady spot near the entrance of the park to rest. while going there saunders' attention was for a moment attracted in another direction to a beautiful bed of roses. intent upon this he did not observe a mid- dle-aged man, who walked with a cane, approaching him from an opposite direction. being similarly engaged, and before either had turned or noticed the other, they collided. not only was the collision a forcible one, but saunders stepped upon the other's pet corn. the result was sur- prising. colonel grub, as he was called, whether from services rendered or from the usual custom of bestowing titles promiscuously throughout the south, is not known, jumped about two feet into the air, and gave vent to words that would certainly not improve the english language. he was very fluent, and angry with pain he turned upon saunders, who was busy trying to apologize, with “you sassy niggah,” he yelled, “i'll whale the life outer you. how dare you run agin me?” syou must really excuse me, sir, it was unin—" "shut up! you black rascal. don't dare to talk back to me.” he advanced on saunders with uplifted cane. before stanley could interfere, he had struck. saunders warded off the blow as best he could, and being a little angry at the imperious manner and conduct of the colonel, struck him in return with his light rattan. several people noticing the affray rushed to the scene and soon had the combatants apart. one of those who came up after they were parted did not stop for a moment until he had struck saunders full in the face, felling him to the ground, so unexpected and forcible was the blow. as he struck, the man exclaimed: “you'll hit a white man, will you?" saunders' blood was now thoroughly aroused, and gone were his resolutions to abstain from scenes in which his life might be endangered. as he fell his hand came in contact with the colonel's cane which he had dropped in the fracas, and although a little dazed, he picked it up and used it industriously on his assailant and others who inter- fered, until stanley reached him and took it away from him. by that time the collecting crowd had attracted the attention of a policeman who came over, and at the insti- gation of john's assailant, handcuffed him, stanley's pro- test being in vain. when saunders was secured threats began to be uttered in a low voice that increased in volume as the crowd grew larger, and as others catching them up repeated them, “ kill him! “lynch him!” was repeated louder and oftener. as stanley heard the cry the terrible truth began to dawn upon him of the dangerous position of his friend. he was in a strait betwixt two opinions. he did not know whether to fly for help to mr. warner and seek thus the interference of mayor gregory, or stay to protect saunders until he was safely confined. on their way the crowd grew larger, the cries to lynch and hang more ominous. some a little bolder than others approached so close that they struck him in his defence- less position. some spat on him and most of them acted like the mean, mangy curs that they were. the officer made no remonstrance. it would have been useless against auch a crowd with its now large proportions. soon after, another policeman joined the one that had john in charge, and they succeeded in keeping the crowd back. stanley was doing all that he could to help them in their efforts. he expostulated with the crowd and finding this of no avail he called them cowards and curs for their efforts to strike a defenseless man, but his words only seemed to urge them on. one overgrown boy threw a stone which hit saunders on the side of the face and cut it so that the blood spurted out. in a frenzy of anger and pain he cried out, “if i had my hands free, you cowards, i would teach you a lesson.” “we'll teach you a lesson before morning," came back an answer from the crowd.” “ther'll be a nice lynching bee, tonight,” said a bystander, as the noisy procession passed. each moment the danger became more imminent, and stanley, now puffing and blowing, pushed his way along with the crowd and kept as close to saunders as possible to shield him as much as he could from threatened violence. it was past noon and they were still a long distance from a police station, and stanley began to quarrel with the officers for not using a conveyance which he offered to pay for, so as not to expose saunders to so much danger and abuse. but they paid no heed to his requests. some one in the crowd, who had seen saunders before in his tour of the mines, and had seen him talking to some of the colored laborers had found out that he was from the north, imparted his intelligence to others. the informa- tion lent fuel to flames already fanned to white heat. “ he's a northern nigger, been petted by the yankees, down with him,” was the cry, and the mob—a howling, see home and edith again, and from the fury of the mob it seemed that his body would be so mutilated as to be beyond recognition. how could he face edith again with the story of john's murder on his lips. the thought was agonizing. if they could only reach shelter, he would visit mayor gregory and have him use his influence in saving him and putting him in safety. they would leave the south with its damnable customs and prejudices for- ever. all the good impressions made at the reception last night were lost, and there was in his heart great bitter- ness. he would pay a large sum if necessary to secure saunders' life. his anxiety over it was now aroused to its highest tension. they were making some headway, and every step nearer to the goal aroused new hope in his breast. sud- denly a shout arose louder than the rest from the inter- section of the street which they had just passed, and look- ing in that direction he saw some men running up with a rope. hope fled. saunders saw them also, and for the first time the danger of his death by lynching at the hands of a southern mob flashed upon him. was he, after all, to be a martyr to their accursed prejudices. he regretted that he had not used his revolver when he had the oppor- tunity. edith's misgivings rushed upon him. her appeals for him not to go at this time; he almost wished that he had heeded. but, he glanced at stanley, saw the despair on his face, the race will gain a friend who will leave no stone unturned in demanding justice for it. the rope was passed from hand to hand, and with eager grasp and shout the noose was passed along. “on with it! lasso him!” was the cry, and saunders, unable to ward off his danger, with a grim determined counte- nance, watched the instrument of cruel death approach. the mob goaded on by its frenzy of excitement, passion and prejudices, acted like tigers thirsting for human blood. soon the rope was near, then the officers remonstrated. “down with them, then,” came an angry cry from the outer edge of the circle. the mob, quick to obey in its frenzy, attacked the police and in the melee the rope was slipped over saunders neck. “we've got him now,” yelled those nearest to him and as many as could grasped hold of the rope and began to pull. again saunders turned to stan. loy with a look that said a mute good bye, as the rope tightened about his neck, and the crowd began to sway and pull away. but there was no sign of reproach or fear on his countenance. stanley realized that something must be done quickly or saunders would be beyond all hope. making a superhuman effort he sprang to saunders' side, pulled out his knife and cut the rope in two, but not until its cruel threads had cut deep into saunders neck, tore his flesh, almost choked him, and pulled him backward to the ground. he was helped to his feet. his face and neck were bloody, and the increased flow from his wounds made his appearance look ghastly. his clothes were torn and begrimed with dust and blood. the police had been obliged to defend themselves and had beaten back the crowd and were reforming. so also was the mob. the cut rope was again being brought for- ward with a new noose in it. to stanley's despair was now added exhaustion. he could not stand much longer between saunders and his assailants. besides his efforts to protect him, had drawn upon himself the attention of the crowd, and he too, became the object of cries and mis- siles. his own life was in danger. he saw his own peril and thoughts of home, friends and marjorie came to him. he vowed if ever he came out of that affair his energies should be devoted to doing something that would correct this state of things that annually costs so many hundreds of lives. he would try to create an opinion that would grow so strong as to demand the enforcement of justice. said: “i am proud to see and talk with a man in this sec- tion who possesses thoughts contrary to the general opinion, and who realizes the effects such acts will lead to. if you can only save my friend, who has been more faith- ful to me than a brother, i shall never be able to repay you.. you cannot tell what feelings of apprehension and grief are now gnawing at my heart, caused by seeing the objects of my affection and regard torn from me one by one. first, by the inexorable fate of a disordered life, but that being caused by my own action must be borne patiently." his voice fell as he spoke the last words, and he paused for a moment as in reflection. “now by the relentless fury of a mob i have seen with my own eyes a constant friend, who would have laid down his life for me, torn and mercilessly lacerated by all manner of violence, and i powerless to help him. when the helpless victims of that steamboat disaster went down in the fire-lit waters of the mississippi, and their last despairing cry of help went up as they sank to rise no more, those on the bank, standing impotent to render aid, felt a poignant grief that could not find utterance. so stand i now with my heart wrung by so great anxiety and grief that i cannot give it utter- ance. but theirs was a more merciful fate than that which threatens saunders. i would a thousand times rather have seen him engulfed in the waters of the missis- sippi than to be lynched by this brutal rabble and be a helpless spectator. the dark waters, swallowing up the objects of our affections, is unconscious of its deeds. in its onward flow it leaves no bitterness against itself. it even returns again in refreshing showers to nourish the flowers that tender memories have planted. cruel fires may blast and burn the house, but it cheers and warms it in its turn. but what of the irreparable wrongs of men “i am extremely thankful, mayor gregory," he said, moved by his consideration for his companion, “not so much for your proffers of aid now, but for the kindnesses which you have shown me and your timely rescue today. your appearance was as glad a welcome as ever a sail was to famishing souls at sea. but i cannot help sympathiz- ing with my friend, and exhibiting my surprise and dis- gust that the good people here don't arise in their strength and put an end to such outbursts of outlawry that bring disgrace upon them. if father ever invests another cent here in the south, he will do it against my advice.” “be careful, mr. stanley," said mr. warner,“ don't say in an extremity of feeling what you will be sorry for when this danger is averted. besides we are talking of that which is of the least importance in this issue. this boy should at once have the doctor's care, and we must get him out of the city before night, sure, to avoid your anxiety." stanley saw the wisdom of these remarks and refrained from further comment. a doctor was sent for who dressed saunders’ wounds. the bloody clothes were exchanged for clean ones and he was prepared for flight. a number of people whom stanley had met during his stay, hearing of his misfortune, had interested themselves in his behalf. a few came and offered their services which were accepted. together they formed a plan. a closed carriage was to be driven to the rear of the jail, while stanley, mr. warner and mayor gregory went to the front where the crowd, which was all the time increasing in numbers, would be sure to congregate. then saunders was to be slipped out of the back door and driven to a small station on the louisville and nashville road, where he could take the train to nashville. there he was to wait until stanley joined him. mr. james, a business partner of mr. warner's, and an admirer of stan- ley's, volunteered to accompany him a safe distance. the plan seemed to be a simple one, and likely to be successful in getting saunders safely out of the city without further trouble. it was now dusk and they proceeded at once to carry their plan into action. stanley and his friends lingered in front, in their attempt to divert the attention of the crowd, while the cab which had been secured drove up to the rear entrance, where mr. james and saunders entered it. they drove slowly at first for fear that their rapid driving would arouse suspicion. when stanley and his friends were assured that all was carried out according to the plan agreed upon, they entered mr. warner's car- riage and drove to his home. ere they had entered the house they heard such yells and shouting in the direction of the jail that the fears of stanley again arose and he proposed that they drive back. '. “nonsense,” replied the mayor, "you are full of alarms. your servant is now probably far away, and they are howling because they have learned of his escape. nothing serious has happened, and if the mob is again formed, i have left orders that i should be notified at once. if necessary the militia will be ordered out, as i have left word for them to prepare for trouble. i think i made a mistake in not calling them out at first and having them patrol around the jail." the confusion and the babel of voices in the distance grew more ominous as he spoke which caused him to lis- ten. before any one spoke again the clatter of horses' hoofs were heard as if running at great speed, and the form of a horse and rider, barely visible by reason of the distance and dust, told them that some news of importance was at hand. “i knew it! i knew it!” exclaimed stanley. “those hounds are at it again." the rider gave them startling information. the flight had been discovered and they were being hotly pursued and perhaps overtaken by now. "for god's sake,” cried stanley, “let us hurry." the team had been almost unbitched, but the hostler was required to regear it with all possible haste. stanley, however, impatient of delay, had started to run on foot to where the sounds came from, and was only restrained by force, until the carriage could be again got ready. their designs. then the mob showed its generalship, for while some opposed, with a show of force, the police, others, with saunders, escaped in another direction. many of them had now become wild and reckless and began firing in an indiscrimnate manner as they ran on. saunders was nearly dead when the mob's leaders halted under a large tree and stopped a moment for consultation. but there was only a little delay, then taking the rope from his body they threw it across a limb of the tree, then adjusting the loop around his neck-yelling, shouting and firing—they started to pull on it. he had scarcely been raised from the ground when the rapid measured tread of feet was heard and a horseman wildly dashed into their midst and cut the rope from about his neck. this act was. followed by a command from mayor gregory to the mob to disperse. it was stubborn, however, and showed fight, but upon the command to fix and charge bayonets it turned tail, but not before one of its leaders had turned and emptied part of the contents of a revolver into saun- ders' body while he lay in stanley's arms. shrieking and uttering cat-calls the mob fled. the streets were cleared by the military company. the better classes had already retired indoors, particulary the timid and the afro-americans of the city. the fow prisoners at the jail, most of whom were afro-americans, alarmed at the cries and fearing an assault upon the jail, crawled in terror under the cots in their cells. dark were the houses and cabins where that race resided and more than one heart beat with anxious terror when the mob was at its height, and when cursing and yelling at being balked of the final consummation intended for its prey, it sought for other objects to destroy. pain that flashed over stanley's countenance, and fearing that he might blame himself for the accidents of the day, continued: “don't blame yourself for this. you could not foresee the incidents of this terrible day. rather blame the customs and prejudices of this people under which they have been raised.” then the soul of this sincere patriot flashed forth in “oh, my country! what scenes of carnage and strife, of woe and sorrow, will take place if these unworthy ideas and wild passions are allowed to hold such full sway. dear friend, i leave you with a mission which by temperament, and by your ideas of justice, you are eminently fitted to fulfill. stir up and create a public opinion and cease not, until it is so aroused that justice, waking from her long sleep, will demand equal protection and liberty, for all citizens of the republic. god will be with you. in naming you seth, hebrew for appointed, your parents must have been inspired, for you are appointed by god, through me—the dying—to aid in clearing our country from its false ideas. you accept the trust?" “yes, yes. i accept and will labor earnestly." “then may good come of my death,” said saunders feebly. "such pain is here.” he stopped, groaned, closed his eyes, but to stanley's infinite relief, he opened them again and whispered, “when you return, seek out miss stone, such a heart as yours should have its recompense." stanley's grief was beyond the outward manifestation of tears and visible emotions. grief was gnawing at his heart and the fever in his body parched up the tears. his eyes showed the tenderness he felt for his friend, and the great pain at his sudden and violent taking off. saun- ders' was rapidly failing. his breathing was difficult. he commenced to gasp for breath. “seth,” he whispered, “are you near? we were friends in life, and i want you to be near me as i pass over to the other side.” “yes, john, i am here,” and stanley bent lower. “ have my remains taken home, and let me lay along- side my mother in beautiful elmwood. you will come there sometimes and bring her with you, wont you? i was father's chief support; how he will miss me.” “i will look after him," said stanley. “ you must not die, john, for their sakes, for mine, live. we cannot spare you." but the warm blood that had now found the way to his knee, and which had already formed a puddle at saunders' feet, told him that the inevitable could not be staid. saunders made a feeble effort to move, but could not. for a moment his mind seemed to wander, then he whispered: "oh, edith, what happiness had i dreamed of with you. poor heart, how she will suffer. try to comfort her, seth. tell her i thought of her to the last and breathed a blessing for her. tell her not to grieve; to for- give those who have caused my death, as i do. their own sins will have their fitting retribution.” he then became silent, his breathing more difficult. the sands of life were fast ebbing away. a noble soul was preparing to leave the earth to dwell with him who said: “in my father's house are many mansions. i go to prepare a place for you.” his life had been one of unselfish devotion to fam. ily and friends, and all his plans teemed with noble thoughts and grand ideas for the uplifting of his race. once again he opened his eyes. the film of death had already commenced to cover them. “ seth, don't blame yourself; good bye,” was uttered in a feeble whisper. then his spirit filed. stanley knew that he was dead, but still held his body while he looked straight ahead in the direction taken by the mob. but not of them was he thinking. he saw the home that would see his friend no more, saw its desola- tion and its grief, saw edith coming and demanding of him the life that was lost to her. oblivious to surround- ings, to friends, he sat in silent thought until mr. warner, noticing his abstraction, with uncovered head, approached and touching him on the shoulder, aroused him and said: "mr. stanley, i am deeply grieved at what has hap- pened and at the wild license of the mob, and the terrible manner in which your friend has met his death. but this is no place to stay; come, let us go home where you can have rest and quiet.” “not until his remains are placed in charge of an embalmer,” replied stanley. “although dead he is mine yet; mine while life remains to honor and to cherish his memory. here on bended knees in the presence of god and the sacred dead, i swear it.” those who clustered about were moved by the touch- ing scene and all removed their hats, some turning away as they could not bear to witness his distress. tenderly he stroked the features of the dead and with his handkerchief he wiped away the dirt and blood that covered his bruised face. then he stood up and by a great effort mastered his feelings and spoke to those around him. his voice was calm, oh, so calm, that it struck a chill to their very hearts. “here lies another victim to your section's violence. this body possessed a soul, untainted by baser metals. a soul so noble, that in its last breath here, it did not curse this country and pray for revenge upon his murderers, and it is not for me, much as i loved him to do that which did not appear they broke in the door, finding him, hauled him out from under the bed and placing a rope around his í neck pulled him out into the street. in this manner he was dragged several blocks, his tongue hanging out and his eyes almost starting from their sockets, until they halted by a sign lamp-post. his hands were then pinioned behind him and a rope placed in posi- tion. “hang him," came the cry from all sides. the few people on the street, not of the mob, viewed the pro. ceedings with silence. it was only a nigger. humanity did not appeal to their hearts or inspire them to protest against the outrage. the victim begged for time to pray. “let him pray if he wants to,” said one. “pray be d-d,” cried several. “hang him before the police interfere.” the instigator of this additional crime to the night's terrible work stepped forward and said: “the police will not interfere with this case. the northern darkey had a white man interested in him who was rich, and who intended to make some investments down here. they had a motive for interference.” then he turned to the victim and said: “in two minutes you will be in eter- nity. make your prayer short and be lively.” the doomed man dropped to his knees and began aloud a rambling petition, partly to his maker and partly to the mob, while his executioners stood by and called off the half minutes. an ashy pallor covered his face as he crawled on the ground and made piteous appeals for mercy, for life. two minutes seemed a long time to some of his tormentors, one of whom kicked him brutally in the side as he lay grovelling and warned him to hurry up. pain and terror overcame the victim's reason as he cried aloud for mercy. cries of “hang him! hang him!” again went up. the word was given and in an instant he got up and walked the room in the effort to shake off the effects of the dreadful feeling that had seized upon him. again he lay down and tried to sleep; this time there rose up before him the forms of john's father, his brother, sisters, and his sweetheart edith, all demanding of him an account for the life of the murdered man. the looks of reproach they cast upon him, more severe than words of denuncia- tion, pierced him to the heart. “no! no! no! not that," he cried. “my burden is heavy enough already, but do not look so reproachfully.” then a mist seemed to arise between them that gradually assumed the shape of saun- ders, and he exclaimed: “there! he is not dead after all. see! i have brought him back to you.” the great stress that he was under in this dream again awoke him, and so until morning his sleep was disturbed and haunted. in the morning he presented a haggard appearance when some of his new made friends called upon him to deplore the action of the previous night, and to extend sympathy and help. they hoped that he would not lay the disgrace- ful scenes of yesterday to the better class of the people south, as they were using every effort to stamp out such disorder. said mayor gregory in extenuation: “we had at one time to adopt severe measures to make the negroes know their place; the spirit we encouraged then has become emboldened, is at times even beyond our control, and con- spires to bring disgrace upon us." said another: “the negroes are ignorant, incapable of education and most of them are vicious. i assure you we were justified in cowing them, although i am sorry for the occurrence of yesterday.” these condolences and explanations did not right stanley's outraged feelings, nor lessen one whit the pangs and whites are engaged, which made saunders the aggres- sor. a sassy nigger who grossly insulted an old soldier, and that his life paid the forfeit at the hands of a large num- ber of our best citizens who were enraged at his insults. thinking that perhaps the associated press report might be likewise garbled he gave a clear concise record of the events that finally cost the life of his friend. because of the kindly interest marjorie stone had taken in his friend's welfare, he considered the circumstance of his death sufficiently strong enough to break the silence between them. the letters written, he settled back in his chair to think more calmly of his affairs and plan his future action. as he recalled the mayor's efforts in saunders' behalf, he felt half remorseful that he had answered him so sharply at the morning interview. despite the views held by him, he felt that he owed him an apology. he commenced to write one, thinking as he did so of a quotation that saun- ders and he had often read during his own sickness: “ common souls pay with what they do. nobler souls with what they are.” so he thanked all concerned for their kindly interests. with heavy heart he dreaded the coming and sometimes he sighed “for a long, long sleep, with never a dream, nor even one passing thought of life with its care and sadness.” until the trials were over and the things he so dreaded had passed. the letters sent home by him containing the news of the sad misfortune fell like heavy blows upon saunders' family. the aged father was grief stricken and wailed over the loss of his son. when edith knew of it she went to him and when they met, heart-broken, the old man exclaimed: “edith! edith! it is true; it is true.” she fell upon his neck, and they wept together over their mutual loss. tears are a relief to overburdened souls. bewailing their misfortunes we will leave them, for the pen of man can not portray the deep emotions and strong affections of the heart; the severe pangs and heartaches, beside, their grief is sacred. their different friends came to condole with them when they heard the sad news, for the relation that saunders and edith bore to one another was well known. quite a number of the friends of stanley and of the deceased awaited the train as it came in. there was a tone of sadness in their anxious inquiries, as with a warm grasp they shook stanley's hand and inquired about his own injuries. his father, too, was there with a heart full of pity, indignation and sorrow, at the manner in which a faithful employe had come to an untimely end. saunders' remains were taken to his home, where his heart-broken father fell upon the bier and refused to be moved or comforted. his sobs of anguish that shook his whole frame caused the tears to stand in more eyes than one. light in her eyes made him think that he was expected. there was a natural reserve at first of which each was con- scious, and traced to its proper source. another draw- back was the presence of maxwell, who was surprised to see stanley and that she lavished so much attention upon him. with that keen perception possessed by those that love, and find that their love is not returned, he could read in every look, in every expression of her countenance, the assurance that she loved, aye, almost idolized stanley. he would have given all that he was worth to have been the recipient of those looks. so well had their own council been kept that he never was able to find out what had kept them apart. until the conversation drifted to stanley's experiences south, it was somewhat tame and spiritless. before he commenced to recount them, mr. and mrs. stone, who were as curious as their daughter, entered the parlors. commencing with the first rebuff at new orleans to the lynching of saunders, he told his story in a simple way. unconsciously as he proceeded his eyes gleamed, and his cheeks reddened with the excitement of going again through the terrible ordeals. never did an othello charm a desdemona more completely than did he with his fervid simplicity, charm marjorie. she watched every gesture, drank in every word, and allowed full rein to her feelings, rejoicing or sorrowing as he depicted his feelings in the course of his story. mr. stone was deeply interested in his recital and his opinion of stanley was somewhat elevated. he was so agreeably disappointed to see his earnestness that he thought: “he is a far nobler fellow than i thought he was.” when stanley concluded, he said, “i don't see how some people can go south, and come back and speak so ties, are moved by like impulses and feelings. under like conditions who can say who would lead or who would lag. the end of the civil war completed a cycle in our national growth. it witnessed the freedom of the individual. we are now in another cycle that will be completed only when our national life is free to all its citizens in all its various branches." your conquest is won seth stanley. you need never more doubt the result of waiting. do you see that fair girl? how eagerly she hangs on every word, and how her eyes sparkle? the man freed from his follies has conquered. nobility of soul has won. the rest of the evening passed quickly and pleasantly. when he rose to go marjorie escorted him to the door, and as he bade her goodnight she said: “i am so glad you called. i have enjoyed the evening more than i have since—” here she paused to think. he was looking at her cast hers to the ground. “come, again,” said she, after a pause, and gave him such a look that all the old passion that had partly lay dormant since their forced estrange- ment returned with redoubled force, and he was no weakly creature that moved and felt by halves. the touch of the hand that lay in his sent the blood rushing furiously through his veins. the time was not now he thought to himself to open up the question of love again, so bidding her good night and promising to call again he departed, his whole soul being filled with ecstacy. his calls were oft repeated. he had not been home long before his friends, parker, morgan and fox called upon him and soon everything was going along in the same old way, save that the earnest god-fearing man had taken the place of the frivolous youth. ' a year has passed. the fears entertained by saunders, of which he wrote to edith darrow from b- , have been verified. the election of ' seemed to embitter old antagonisms, and the outrages and crimes against afro- americans and white men who dare run counter to the popular feeling have increased. hundreds have died and their blood is calling for justice. roused at last the afro- american is about to take steps looking for relief. popu- lar sentiment among all true americans is taking up their cause, and no little part of it is due to seth stanley. not so strong has it been, in favor of justice, agitated over the southern race question since the few years before the war, when it so strongly condemned slavery. edith darrow still wears her badge of mourning, and like a ministering angel is ever to be found doing good, and exerting all her power to raise the standard among the masses of the poorer classes of the afro-americans, and in inculcating in them the virtue of self-reliance. it is said that she contemplates going to alabama to teach, where her influence and gentle manners, glowing from her per- son like an invisible stream, will have greater opportunity and wider scope. she will never marry, she was too strongly attached to john saunders and loved him too deeply to ever give to another the love that should accom- pany plighted faith. with the stanley's, for seth and marjorie were married in the spring, she is on intimate terms of friendship and is ably seconded by them in all her work. morgan has not yet entered business. fox is prepar- ing to enter the ministry. parker is still the same kind. . f wasted travail by sadie mae rosebrjdugh , « loruley ("~'onsal universitv c.. 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v'-'-:r\ vantage press, inc., new york preface the theme of wasted travail needs few words to intro- duce it in a country founded on the principle of liberty, as ours is. in fact, it takes us back through the years to that greek world where the idea of freedom was inwardly accepted but not always outwardly practiced. my reason for writing it is twofold: first, to acquaint people who believe wholeheartedly that we should live together, fight together, and die together, with conditions prevailing in some parts of our cherished america; sec- ond, to aid people who find themselves in the depressing situation of having to contend hopelessly against disagree- able assumptions of superiority to adopt attitudes towards life which lead to the doing of things that are fair, honest, and elevating; and for those who live their lives in a partial atmosphere of freedom, to approach the confusing problems in that hopeful frame of mind which comes from a tolerance born of intelligence, good will, and understanding. i have set forth my experiences in fictional form so that i might write with "malice toward none." i am deeply indebted to my doctor, who truly lives by the creed: "all men are created equal." i also am glad to acknowledge my obligation to professor hugh skinner for his encour- agement, and particularly his assistance in evaluating and arranging the material, and to all my other teachers whose helpful suggestions have aided me in my attempt to win a place for myself in the highly competitive field of fic- tion writing. s. r. "n wasted travail - chapter on the crest of a rolling hill in the deep and dis- obliging south stands a house, an old house. the low, pine-paling fence in front of it has lost its coat of lime- and-chalk whitewash, and the grayness of its boards adds to the forlorn look of the worn and weathered structure. nothing very important has ever happened there, nothing that could justly give it a place in history; the ghosts of no famous people haunt it, and no paul revere rode by it, but it is there that i was born and named taffy. it is the place where i was introduced to the words "racial supremacy," the deceptive method of share-crop- ping, crop-lien, and lynching—where i learned that sher- man and his aides were lousy yankees because they dared to fill their canvas bags with hickory-cured southern hams, and satisfy their gullible lusts on the unyielding bellies of pompous southern maidens, finally leaving a trail of fire, ashes, and backened ruin through the proudest cities of the shameless empire—where men boldly use the epithets "nigger," "dagoes," "crazy jews," and "poor white trash," without a single embarrassed flicker of an eyelash. it is also where the southern fields are swamped with mulat- toes who sometimes work for their fathers, but whose mothers dare not tell them who they are, or where and how they were conceived. such are the surroundings i came stubbornly into. be- cause i was a girl, my mother hated me. i was a twin; my brother was born six hours before me, and my painful mother was overjoyed when the midwife told her, "it's m patchwork quilts with the baby on her lap, or bustling about in the dark kitchen with a resentful look in her eyes. at such times my father would be reading the bible aloud, pausing to look over his spectacles when he had finished a verse which he thought ought to make us sit up with excitement. i can see bloomer the cat, heavy with her litter, stretched out on the uneven bricks of the hearth, stirring only when my father's well-aimed bruton snuff spittle missed the burning oak logs and fell on her soft, furry stomach. as i look back on those years i can now realize that the beginning of my life was not a total loss, although it was neither a continuously happy experience nor an event of total sadness. my father was a country schoolteacher and a brick mason for many years before i was born, and for a few afterwards. he was, or i should say is, almost a mathe- matical genius. i sometimes think that solving problems for the neighborhood children is the only true joy that makes life worth while for him. the days of his career as a teacher are far behind him; the faint memory of the coming and growing up of nine hungry children who robbed him of that joy seems to be more vivid. the things i could now say for my overworked mother are many and varied, but considering the time and the place of her life i shall only remark that for all her short- comings she was a wonderful mother. it was my grand- father, however, who taught me to talk, read, and write long before i should have. in fact, i can hardly remember when i could not read, although much of what i read did not make sense to me at the time. grandfather was a hard-working man. he bought two hundred and forty acres of fertile land when it was cheap, which he planted and worked as though, if he stopped one minute before the darkness of night appeared, or started one minute after the blazing sun came over the hill with thousands of "time £ } flies" accompanying it, he would not survive. his rewards were good crops and a comfortable liveli- hood; in fact, it was far better than that of the neighbor- ing landowners, or the sharecroppers and renters. he also practiced dentistry on all who felt that a saving of fifty cents was worth a little pain. i was afraid of this one-man medical center; the room was oblong with a small window at one end, and another in the middle. a long bench occupied one side of the room and a kerosene lamp hung from the wall, making the room dungeonlike. in the middle stood an awesome barber's chair. it was here that men, women, and children alike came to him to pry their teeth back and forth, until one final yank finished the job and they left, feeling a little more pain and misery than they had felt before. but grandfather's world was an entirely different world from ours. my father owned no land at that time; there- fore, we were renters, cotton-pickers, and what have you, living on a hilltop near two white families who were outcasts of their race and neighborhood. they gave you a peculiar feeling—you knew that the older boys of one of the families thrilled to the velvety touch of guernsey heifers, and that the younger boys satisfied their newly felt lust with the hairy feel of hampshire shoats; also that the father spent many erotic hours in the pasture with his horse daisy, she in a shallow ditch, he on its banks, patting her hindmost part—but you also knew that it was a hush-hush subject. the botts were one of those families born without mental discipline; they were the product of a tenacious environment and an inheritance of racial sophistry, but with no guiding principles or am- bitious ideas; just hate for those they termed "niggers" and a sincere desire that no harm should come to their livestock. i recollect the first day i put a question to one of the botts boys, freddie. it was saturday evening, and the { } dilapidated wagon-bed was filled with blocks of pine wood, painstakingly cut into lengths to fit the hairy old storekeeper's greedy old range. i sat in front with the reins in my hands, listening to the creaking of the mules' trace-chains, my mind stirring like a churn of unripened cream. i passed their shabby house, rounded the corner of the leaning barn, and headed for the sand-embedded road. he was kicking and scolding the pig as she ran around the fence. "what did she do?" i asked. "acted like a nigger," he said, "so i'm treating her as i would a nigger. i should swing her to a limb. if i had some dynamite i'd blow her to hell. see here, a nigger ain't no good," he bellowed at her, "and no damn pig i tote feed to is going to act like one." i gaped at him but said nothing, because i had no desire to see what i had heard the preacher call the "pearly gates of heaven," even though he had said there would be plenty of milk and honey there. i wanted to tell mr. rub, the storekeeper, what i had seen and heard; i wanted to cry, say things, many things, but i thought about my mother and what she had said. who would want to hear anything a patched-clothing negro girl in a wood- filled wagon on a lonely country road had to say? who'd believe me? anyway, grandfather had said to me the last time i spent an evening at his house that even the black- birds we saw soaring overhead would always defend their kind. i poked around in my mind in quest of words to say to myself, some amusing thought to take my mind off ugly scenes, but i couldn't find any; i wanted revenge. there were many more days like this to follow, times when i seemed almost on the brink of an enlightening footing, with some answer to the perplexing problems of life; yet i found neither happiness nor mild comfort in my tender conclusions. the sweaty mules pulled hard over the deep sucking sand as i mused to myself that even £ } the southern soil seemed to dole out the wrong portions in the most hateful way and in the most hazardous places. my repressed ideas and words, and the haughty deeds of men, worried me; i couldn't understand this thing called life. i was uneasy, sad; i had dreams in which i cried out to god—if there was one—to remove the seething, sapping, ceaseless drudgery. but the wounds still grew; sank deeper and spread like a spiteful hog-sand adder; they bled and festered; they seared; they pained and seared some more. i groped nightly in a horrible world; my dreams were like suddenly waking up in hell alone, surrounded by a scorching fire, without even a single wicked soul to share your horror. i formed the habit of talking to myself, preaching, swearing at the dozing cows, which i hated because of the botts. as they stood, unmindfully chewing their cuds, i shouted at them: "you meek heifers; fight back! you have horns, tails; why do you stand for it? you can run and kick, you can hook, you do not have to work from morning until darkness stops you; furthermore, you're not a nigger girl whom nobody wants to hear say anything. fight, you fools! run! moo! moo! loud as hell; fight with your tails! look at you standing there, letting the beastly flies gnaw your hairy backs and suck your lousy blood. i can see by the way you act that if you belonged to the botts' you'd swish your tails and let them pat you as much as they wished." i bellowed at the lean-necked mules, the cackling hens, the scaly-legged roosters; i screamed at them: "you proud, feathery, foolish cocks! what have you to strut and crow about, while we suffer? the least you can do is keep quiet and stop your wicked crowing." i built a grotesque altar in the pasture with dried corn- stalks, in the center of a cluster of stubby pines. this was for years my sanctum. around the altar i placed make- believe people, which were really bunches of grass with their thick roots braided around them. sometimes i would £ } be the minister; i would reprimand my followers, and pray for them afterwards. i told god that they were not wanted because they were negroes, and it seemed to me as if he should not have made them. i wept, and asked him what was wrong with negroes. "didn't you make all peoples?" i asked pleadingly. "then why," i continued, "doesn't the world want to hear anything a negro girl has to write, but will buy and read what a white girl has to write?" sometimes my meetings were court sessions and at those times one of the bunches of grass would be my secretary; two sticks with rags tied to them would be mr. botts and freddie: the others were the spectators of the court, and i would be the judge. i swore at them, i pounded them with sticks, i kicked them and sentenced them to long terms at hard labor. i yelled, i sobbed, sobbed until often the pounding in my brain stopped and i was happy for a few days; but the rebellion and sadness returned, bore on, and beat down like a hot sun whose rays never shift. the house was demolished by a tornado that year: the wind blew hard and recklessly until it lifted the entire roof and scattered it about the orchard; the lightning reached out two long flashing streaks and set a fiery tongue to the remainder of it. i can still see those vicious flames as they reached out and lapped up the shabby structure. they scorched, they raved; they lapped up the yard, the barn (till even the tears of the lonely weeping willow tree were no more), the grass, the brave flowers that dared to bloom and look cheerfully up at the sun. those fiery arms reached out for the lean-necked mules, but once those animals' heels struck the rotten boards that had fooled them and kept them confined within the smelly walls, they knew that they were free; they kicked up their scrawny legs, flipped their unsheared tails, and, with a snicker that showed all their yellow teeth, they fled. the family went to live with an aunt until a house { } could be built on grandfather's place for us, but this aunt did not want a gloomy-faced girl in her house, who ran about swearing at roosters and pigs. i was sent to live with grandfather, and spent many happy hours there; also many hours trying to figure out why it was so wrong to be born a girl, and, as mama said, to be so much like my grandfather. i wanted to stay on, and on, but un- fortunately grandmother also favored my brother. she said little to me, and, when she did say a few words, her conclusion was usually: "i can't see to save my life where son and his wife got you, anyhow; you're just like an ugly parrot among a bunch of canaries." i was happy the day sister sent for me to visit her in memphis. i was more ladylike then, that is, as ladylike as a fifteen-year-old could be; but there were still days during which i told myself: "your mammy didn't want you, the world rejects you, so why not end it all? go drown yourself. don't talk; keep quiet; nobody wants to hear anything you have to say. draw into your black shell like the homely turtle." however, memphis was heavenlike to me. i scoured the broad streets, looking at almost all the passers-by to see if they seemed any kinder. i felt lost, unwanted. i fought with myself; i wasn't satis- fied, i had to prove that my mother's words were wrong, untrue. i did not know how i should go about it, but i knew it had to be done; i wanted to make her sorry, weep, cringe. i dedicated myself to finding a solution. i'd get an answer to my problems; i'd get results swiftly, huge and lasting results. that was a search that later took me to new york city, where i walked about and thought—like jean labadie, when he and his followers settled on bohemia manor— that utopia must be somewhere near. i went to the statue of liberty, about which i had read so much. i looked up at it and wished that the lady with the beckoning look could speak to me. i milled around it, trying to see ( } grandfather had died then and my twin brother had tried to take his place in my heart, but i did not like him at that time. i felt that he was to blame for all my troubles. he ran away from home and worked as a water carrier for a railroad crew to help my sister take care of me, but my father found him and brought him back home. however, he sent what money he had earned and what i had hidden under the house to my sister. grand- father had given it to me and told me to keep it until i needed it very badly, but my brother wanted me to find a happy home somewhere with someone who would love me and be like a mother to me. but i was young, inexperienced, and shy; therefore, the visits to the cousins in new york and washington had brought me no home. i did not stay with any of them although i had no place to go back to and i could not live with my parents; my father had adopted a further downward attitude and quarrelsome way of life. i couldn't stand it, of that my brother was sure. he found a place for me with a distant cousin whose wife was a schoolteacher. i went to live with them to work for my board and a chance to walk to the county training school to finish my high-school edu- cation. nine miles each day seemed a short distance to walk at first, but the heavy, continuous farmwork left me little free time, and i became a sad, overworked young lady. i was older than most of my classmates by that time, more shabbily dressed, and perhaps more sorrowful than anyone in the whole school. nevertheless, i studied faith- fully and graduated from high school. that brought me a little happiness, but, as college was out of the question, i had little reason to remain on the farm. i left and went back to my sister's. as the years moped and skidded ahead, i became a living part of the uneasy impatience, the un- rest and fear, which the disordered world paraded. i waited, and looked for the clean sheets of true democ- racy, but each time i turned back the covers of pretense { } the damp spots seemed to grow bigger and bigger. i was tossed and driven by the winds of justice, which came encouragingly up from the half-tolerating northerners, but once they met the hot air of the dixiecrat-infested south, they quickly shifted directions without even rust- ling their dirt-concealing garments. i watched, read, and listened, while the justice for all of which lincoln spoke squatted, strained, and spewed in its effort to divert its own conscience-haunted eyes, and the eyes of others, from its sectional freedoms. like the bulbar garlic, it slept and slumbered with its fleshy portion underneath the earth, growing more offensively odorous each day. there were no promising situations; it was a grievous vision. while america gazed responsible-eyed upon the borders of foreign lands, tolerance and understanding in the south were like rolling things before a whirlwind. then came the second world war, and there arose anew the question of civil rights, and the questioning of fascism, socialism, communism, and what should rightly have been termed "falsism." i had no faith in the talk, nor in the halfhearted actions of my fellowmen, but i had not given up the idea of trying to to become well educated in order that i might at least gain a one-man audience to hear my story, as i saw it. £ } return, those who are fortunate enough to return, things will be in as much of a tangle as ever, and people will be as full of hellish evils, and as intolerant as ever, if not a little worse." "perhaps you're right," he said. "but are you sure you should expect normal conditions at a time like this? to me, that is shallow optimism and this is certainly no time for such optimism. tell me, just what are you trying to say anyway; are you saying that you live in america, a land of opportunity and advancement for all who choose to make it their home, and yet sow seeds of hopelessness? if that's what you're doing, then—what harvest do you ex- pect to reap?" i thought about that last sentence before i spoke; i looked down at my hands and then glanced at his. he had two hands, a head, arms, ears, fingers, as i had. i looked at the color of his hands, the shape of his nose, and won- dered what difference they made between our lives. it surely hadn't lessened the amount of work required of both of us, nor had it lessened the offensive odor of the steaming solution we both detested. i was then tempted to tell him that the pigmentation of my skin made those glorious opportunities of which he spoke impossible for me to enjoy; and that i could not advance, that is, more than one step in a number of years. and the pigmentation was created by the same almighty hand that created all men in his image. instead, i tried to sum up a portion of my life during the few minutes i waited for him to finish talking. i decided that my life as a whole was a cheat, and the only advancement i could claim was a job that had been created by the horrors of war and the memory of a meager country home from which i had escaped before it was too late, with a few other scant scenes that might be sorted out and called pleasant. a bit of this, a bit of that, on the pleasant side, but big hunks of heartache and what might be rightfully termed { } an ocean of tears! yes, that was my advancement, and someone had said that every tub must stand on its own bottom. i wondered what he or she intended or allowed for the unfortunate tub which found its bottom pricked and heaved asunder every time it tried to take a stand. "have you," he asked, "ever tried to figure out how to challenge the world and really become boss of your own destiny? of course, it can't be done at once; but it can be done. take now, today. no one seems to have much faith in the future of anything. we're all a little jumpy, mud- dled, and frightened, but it shouldn't be like that. we should be looking forward to better days and using our energy toward bringing them about. we should be full of faith in the ultimate success of our efforts, whether it is a family problem, a racial issue, or a national war we are facing." "that may be true," i answered, "but i have never felt that there was very much for me to hope for. when i think of america i see again a group of frightened slaves forced aboard a ship and sold into the hands of greedy masters, who tied and whipped them until they were so humbled and cowed that the offspring whom they begat among themselves, and from the loins of their lust-crazed masters, came into the world beaten before they had a chance to poke their dusty faces into the crowded life of humanity. for you it is different, because for you there is really a harvest to be expected. you say, take the world as it stands today. suppose we do. what do we find? "let me tell you—deadly bombs on the verge of being hurled back and forth to destroy the god-given habitation of the country-sides; men and women living and prosper- ing under the protecting arms of the declaration of inde- pendence, yet betraying their country at the slightest nudge of a foreign elbow; men and women being hauled into court and called fascists, socialists, communists, be- cause one day some ideologist searched various books on { ] semantics and defined someone's attitude or thoughts as such; negroes being mobbed collectively by men whose hearts are full of violence and who justify themselves with their own demarcated mouths. and all because some pub- licity-seeking white women flaunt their bare legs, thighs, and midriffs before their dusty eyes, and as soon as one turns his head they start screaming, 'rape! rape! a nig- ger did it. two of them, three of them, six of them; no it was nine—all nine of them attacked me!' men and women of every land elevating themselves like eagles building nests behind the moon. my people, your people, acting like fools, walking in danger-shrouded shadows! that is what we have today in the land of opportunity. that's why it's so hard to believe in anything!" "it's a damn shame, i know," he replied, "but let's put it this way. suppose you have some much-needed advice to give the country. telling me alone, or keeping it pent up within yourself is not going to solve the problem. you'll have to do something about it; of course, it won't be an easy job, but a little trail-blazing would certainly hasten the procedure, and the difficulties are not so enormous. "if you feel that there is something wrong in the world, go and find out what it is; examine it carefully, cease- lessly, critically; take it apart, then fit it together again; ponder over it and, if you want, say one of your wasted prayers over it, but be sure to fight for it, hold to it, and purge it like hell. then it won't matter so much what color your eyes are, or how much weak men look with growing emotion at the naked parts of tradition-craving women; nor will the shape of your nose seem like a stamp of inferiority. but, fellow, you must have guts enough to purge your ideas until you are sure they are free from all impurities; then fight with all your hard-earned knowl- edge to put them across. somebody will listen, don't fool yourself; somebody is waiting for the birth of new and sounder notions." ( } dred per cent." when he had gone, i went back into the restaurant. it seemed a little incongruous to me that, after all the things i had heard about russians, this man should be so pleas- antly human. (i had heard that he was russian, although he neither affirmed nor denied it. but our foreman had said it was true.) i thought seriously about him for a few minutes. there was crispness in his voice, and a sugges- tion of power in the broad, swift hands, but i couldn't visualize him as coldhearted; in fact, i couldn't place him, for example, as a teacher, or a lawyer, by any means of scheming characterization; therefore i gave up the idea. a half-hour passed without my realizing it. i arose and left the restaurant. i had arrived at no definite conclusion, but somehow i knew at last that what had befallen me dur- ing my life so far was not the end of the world. i would perhaps be faced with insults and injustices reaching far into the years, but i would stop seeking utopia, or a change to be brought about by magic, and fight to make the ugliness of the world dissolve into in- credible beauty. [ } chapter i mapped out a course for myself that day. i looked into the faces of the customers as i passed out of the res- taurant and told myself, "these men are your friends; feel free, smile, and be content; perhaps they have already ex- amined the things you do not seem to understand and have found a new perspective of life." i decided that i would see if this thing called justice could be found anywhere in america for all alike; of one thing i was sure, that the idea certainly hadn't been born in the south. i decided that i would begin as my russian friend had suggested. i would cease the eternal mountain- out-of-a-molehill complaints, ignore the snarl of destiny, the unending insults, old burdens, old vexations of every- day living—stop clasping them like roots holding the rain for gentle seepage. i would talk to people, ask them in my meek way what they thought about justice for all as prac- ticed in america. i was making a trip to the doctor that evening; i would ask him about it—just ask him casually how he felt, and if he thought i was being overemotional, or was it my grow- ing tendency toward self-distrust that was sapping my faith? my mind went back to the recent conversation which had been such a disturbing influence that it led to my newly planned outlook. i thought about life, my life, in terms of a road. i wondered if my travels over the roads of life would be wasted. i thought about my friend and work partner and wondered if others also found him of an uncertain quantity. i wondered if the customers i had just ( } room. a woman and a man sat on the sofa. i approached it and started to sit down, and they slid over to the far end like scared kittens. they snuggled close together and peered at me, as if afraid i would fade on the sofa and mar their tinted whiteness. i looked at the woman and tried to think of a way to assure her that i also was human. i tried smiling, whereupon her companion turned his head and looked at me like a bull viewing his grown-up offspring, and turned away. presently the door opened and the doctor asked, "who's next?" they popped up and disappeared behind the quickly closed door. i sat looking out of the window, trying to determine how i had benefited by leaving the klansland. just then the door opened, and the two people, accompanied by the doctor's wife, emerged. mrs. brunch was explaining, "i don't see why doctor insists on keep- ing his practice in this section. i hate it. all these old ne- groes coming in with their filth and silly ideas! if they tried keeping themselves clean for a change they wouldn't have to run to the doctor so much, anyway." the couple nodded in my direction and i jerked my head back toward the window, pretending not to have heard. i thought of leaving, but the door opened the next minute and dr. brunch beckoned me to enter. i followed him into his con- sultation room and sat down, feeling very dejected and irritable. his wife had entered radiating smiles, and busied herself by helping him with the examination. i extended my arm for the customary blood test and thought about what i had heard. i wondered how many times she had scolded him about treating negro patients. the examination was over and he was saying, "your blood deficiency has not improved. you'll have to spend a couple of weeks in the hospital; at the company's ex- pense, of course. lead poison can be very dangerous if neglected, you know. we'll take you off your feet for a while and treat you; if that doesn't help we'll give you a £ ] belles, and two others whom i could not connect with any race. from the color of their eyes, hair and skin, they might have been german, spanish, or a mixture of the carelessly sown seed of several fair and dark races. between pains, my inquisitive brain wondered, but they never betrayed themselves in any manner; just lay there still and in misery. occasionally a frantic jerk on the bell cord stirred ether-smelling patients out of a fitful slumber and sent a nurse scurrying to the supply closet for a sheet, a gown, or a belated bedpan. i lay there, turning my head in different directions, observing the activities. "this is," i thought, "what grandfather would have called a stink- ing mess. look at us, a pathetic collection of pain and deathly stares." however, most of us sometimes felt like talking to someone or listening to someone talk to us. the woman (shall we call her mary?) just lay on her back and looked up at the ceiling continuously. although i felt as lifeless as one of my mother's ragged dishcloths, i thought about her each day. i thought surely she must feel worse than i did, and i wished that i could do or say some- thing that would give her a little peace of mind—even if it had to be something like trying to believe the story of chicken little after coming of age—something that she could put faith in and hold to. the doctors and nurses said she would never walk again. i thought about it pityingly and tried asking her questions in an effort to cheer her up, but she just grunted and stared. i remember trying to say something about god's healing power, as mentioned in the bible, but she didn't seem at all interested, just moved her puffy arms from one position to another, and shamelessly performed like a jug of wine suddenly visited by a strong whiff of air. i finally decided that she either wished to be left entirely alone to nurse her bitterness, or she wasn't given to talking very much, and let it go at that. after many restless nights and days of feverish pain and £ ] hypodermics, i felt better; that is, well enough to try to figure out how to determine which of my conclusions fitted her manner. as long as i live i shall remember the inci- dent which gave me the correct answer. it was a sunday morning near visiting hour. the hospital staff was scant that morning, and the two nurses moved hurriedly among the beds in our ward, jerking the curtains together behind them, not bothering to see whether they were completely closed. relatives and friends were beginning to tiptoe to the bedsides of hollow-eyed patients; some solemnly con- soling, some cheerful and smiling before friends or rela- tives on the progressive road to recovery, or lingering be- tween the puzzling forks, waiting and uncertain. the nurse passed around my bed, stopped long enough to pull my upturned toes, and hurried to brave the task of creating a more rose-scented atmosphere than the fever- clad ward then offered. "relax," she said, as her soft fingers rolled the yellow, flabby figure over to the other side of the bed. i lay there watching her, thanking god that she and others like her had chosen the profession of nursing. i was not irritable that day. i was in what might be called a jovial mood. i had not been thinking of the boldly exhibited racial demarcation of the south, nor of my pent-up hatred of my mother. i was thinking of home, and the warm sunshine. and although i wasn't entirely free from pain, the picture of a scarecrow-guarded water- melon patch kept rising up before me. i smiled to myself as i remembered the times we had stolen into the fields, plucked a melon, and walked back- wards from the patch, being careful to step precisely in the tracks we made entering. it was a long time before my mother figured that simple one out. she had called my older sister and nervously explained that the tracks led the culprit into the melon patch but that he seemed to have vanished after pulling the melon. i realized i was feeling lively; perhaps i was acquiring { } they might escape the presence of others whom they thought had no right to enjoy the privileges they enjoyed. it was too much of a strain on my energy trying to think. i wished that my brain would cease to function and leave me in peace. i must be mad, i thought. it was like a mile- long, algebraic problem—it was swelling out of all pro- portion. i buried my face in the pillow and wept. i sud- denly needed to know myself badly, and as thoroughly as my russian friend had suggested. the sobs grew in my breast like a live thing trying to free itself from some confinement as i fell drowsily into a troubled, comalike sleep. ( } chapter it was an unusually sticky late sunday afternoon during the early part of my stay in buffalo; a jumble of wails, gurgles, and smells filled the air; and the children in the tenement were exceedingly noisy and irritable. the whole scene oppressed me. i came out of the house and walked slowly along the littered sidewalk to main street. i was painting inner pic- tures of confusion, chaos, and torment; words kept intrud- ing between each attempt i made at pleasant thoughts. when i came to the corner of lower main and perry streets, i paused to decide which way to take. glancing in the direction of the dock, i walked on toward it. as i walked, my eyes moved over the scenes before me. typical waterfront, it was; hungry-looking, former shiphands— drunk, hairy, ragged, and sweaty; twenty-five-cent-a-night, bedbug-infested hotels; and a few overrouged women. a panhandler stepped in front of me and begged for a dime. as i reached into the pocket of my slacks in search of one, suddenly a crowd gathered around me. ducking away from their poverty-haunted faces, i ran across the street to the ship-landing and sat down, disgusted beyond words. as the quiet of the evening fell on the shallow water of the canal, the hue was little changed. the day was dying like a wilting plant. a faint rank odor hung in the air. the lake erie wind began to move gently along the banks. i gazed across the water and singled out a big ship with the name greater detroit on it. there was a man on deck, a man who appeared to be about fifty. the boat { pulled in to anchor and the stranger made his way to the dock. his serious glance rested on me. "good evening, madam/' he said. "didn't your expected party arrive?" my eyes brushed him with a suspicious glance. "do you always go around intruding on the privacy of strangers?" i retorted. he laughed amusedly, and sat down beside me. "nor do i always sit down beside haughty young ladies who ap- parently would rather that i be on my way." "then why not heed your conscience?" i replied, edg- ing over to the end of the bench. he went on talking in his clear, slow, deep voice. "be- cause that would be conforming to general behavior," he returned, "and i'm not a true conformist." i told him that, although the world was a free one, i was sure he could find another place to sit, and looked out across the water. he talked on. i half listened, and pur- posely made inappropriate answers to his questions, wish- ing he would leave me alone with my thoughts. perhaps that was the reason people became hermits; they wished to separate themselves from meddling talkers like this. "you're rather a sad-looking being. what are you thinking of?" he finally asked. "my life, which is no business of yours, nor interesting," i said brusquely. he checked a smile. "tell me about that tragic life; i like excitement," he teased. his words struck me and stung like a blow. i felt the blood rush to my face. i was wretched and desolate, but what right had he—? i just sat there; feeling as if i had lifted the latch of a secret door and suddenly encountered violent greetings at the threshold. i groped for something to steady my senses. i started to jump up and run. i tried to summon a reply, but succeeded in capturing none. i looked at him searchingly and haughtily and, as if £ } prompted by an unfamiliar tongue, i dug my fingers into my palms and began: "perhaps i ought to explain to begin with that almost all the things i've known have been sorrows instead of pleasures, defeats instead of joys—the whole pattern of my life seems from the beginning to have been anchored to a drifting stump. fear and delusion have been with me as far back as i can remember, holding me like entangling sheets after a sweaty, frightening session with a night- mare. the why of these things is not important. the fact that they are real and crawling and strike back into my life like a camouflaged two-tongued scorpion, putting things i had previously forgotten or refused to acknowledge daily in my path, barricading and silencing my spirit and swirling desires, is the frustrating important part of it." i paused, looking at him and questioning his solemn attention, but the words rushed on and dropped from my lips like hastily thrown pebbles. i told him about the old farm, about dark, lonely hills; hounds of wind close on my heels on a wintry day; fertile-terraced alabama fields; plodding workers, and a wind-leaking farmhouse on a lonely knoll; about the haughty-spirited south; of north- ern men and women wearing vague costumes of tolerance but taking crafty counsel, and covering the blood of the innocent with their skirts. i didn't find it hard to tell it to this stranger; i was hot with old familiar bruises and puls- ing sores, old griefs, old shame, and lurking, stinging words. suddenly i felt a desire to weep. i crushed it down and got to my feet, feeling desolate, yet at the same time experiencing a queer sensation of relief. i had no more to say, and so was silent. after what seemed an eternity of knee-deep silence, he said, "well, madam, those were sad experiences, but you're no longer a teen-age girl and should therefore have found happiness in at least a part of your daily life." i looked at him again, this time questioning his con- £ } ception of human lives. "i think i ought to be going now," i said, and started in the direction of dandy place, to the shabby tenement in the drab italian-owned section. "i'll walk with you," he said, taking my arm quickly. we walked on in silence. at the door he gestured a brief farewell and the dusk swallowed him up completely. i went upstairs, remembering for the moment his seem- ingly rapt attention and silence, but soon shoved him out of the door of my mind and latched it, or so i thought. maybe my ever-searching thoughts would have better sense than to try to bring him back to a door that had been shut against him. but during the evening my mind wan- dered back to him. i did not mean to waste any more thought on him, but his face had interested me. now i thought about him with real attention—his voice had been calm and—yes, reassuring. he had a good figure, strong and upright, though middle-aged. he wore a neat con- servative suit with careful grace. his graying hair grew back from a slightly frowning forehead. he had an ex- pressive mouth, and kind but highly penetrating eyes. grandfather would have said, "he seems to stand out," i thought. the soft breeze swept in from lake erie and stirred the calm of the night. i lay staring out the window, thinking that before this man came i had been only half-remember- ing, and then the years were like the lash of a whip in my face and i felt that i had betrayed myself. the almost wasted moon gazed down from the clear sky, and moved slowly on its nightly journey. as it floated on i watched its course, while thoughts that were partly dreams slipped through my mind. my mood was now half-lulled and re- laxed. my eyes followed the moon; there was something soothing in the glitter of the semicircled object. the image swelled before me and i found satisfaction in the subsided growth in my breast. i imagined that the moon was telling me, "the more desperate the struggle £ } toward any end, the more valuable the victory. all scars are honorable after the war is successfully ended." trou- bles and heartaches were then no more; my brooding mood was past. i realized vaguely that i would drop this idealized world again and yet again, but this afternoon a stranger had interested me. his calm words and silences were kind. the night was meant for just such pleasant reminiscences, and i had every right to drop practical thinking and indulge in fantasies. a sudden star darted across the sky. i watched its mad dash and the moon a moment longer, then slipped into a peaceful, untroubled sleep. r ( } "harvest of what?" i asked. "insults, prejudice, and oppression!" my heart was hot within me as i talked. i cannot re- member what i said during the time i stood there taking fares and transfers and issuing them mechanically, before someone tapped me on the shoulder and said, "madam, what on earth are you murmuring about? i'd like to make connections with the south park bus, if you don't mind." "sure, mister," i said. "i'm sorry, but we'll make it—" no, this no job for me, i thought, as i drove hastily down delaware avenue. { } way. tears flooded my eyes, blinding me; the snow flew at me, filling my shoes, my eyes; the wind snatched at my breath and raved on, pushing me roughly. i began to cry out bitterly. "hey," said a masculine voice. "what's wrong? haven't you any more sense than to try to go to work today? i sup- pose that's where you're headed. i'm sure you're not that desperate." "you and your meddling tongue can go to hell!" i said, gasping for breath. "whoever you are, i'm sure you can do that for me." i brushed the snow from my eyes and opened my mouth to say more, but looked up and saw the steady-eyed stranger who had walked home with me some months before. he stared down at me, reached out his hand, and drew me out of the snow, steering me to the side of the department store. we looked at each other. "haven't you stopped speaking harshly to people?" he asked. "well, let's not stand here and freeze. shall we go back to your room?" "apartment now," i corrected him. we began the trek back. "don't be afraid of me," he said. "i'm a gentleman; also a minister, if the fact will help any." then he started talking about himself, how he had first run away from home and gone to the city as a youth. "my name is evergreen," he ended. "my name is taffy," i said as i unlocked the door. "do come in, reverend, and please excuse my uncivil tongue." inside, he sat down. i removed my things and placed his on the hall rack, and kept on talking. "i came to buffalo sometime ago to find both a job and happiness, but, although i found the job, the confusion of the busy city has netted me little happiness." "i remember your story of woe quite well, but it won't seem like that after you are acquainted with the place," £ ] he answered pleasantly. "i suppose i shall be snowbound here a few days," he said, rising to his feet, "but, if you'll permit me, i assure you i'll beat a path from my hotel to your door despite the heavy-handed tricks of the sneaking snow, as well as speak to st. peter about your hasty tongue." "since you put it that way, the favor is gladly granted," i rejoined. the snow continued to fall for three days, paralyzing wires and vision, stunning everything with its soft blows. bill, as i soon began to call him, visited me often. after about ten days of these visits and talks, i knew that something different would eventually come into the relationship between us. talking to him was satisfying; i felt completely at ease, comfortable with him. i felt gay for the first time in a long while; but he lived in detroit, and when he left everything seemed empty and more lonely. the months wore on. we wrote often and he paid me sev- eral enjoyable visits. but, although i felt as flushed and foolish as a schoolgirl at times, i was moody and i felt that the love and role of wifehood had no place in my justice-seeking program. i was sitting up in bed with a book in my hand; the nurse had partly drawn the curtains so my bedside lamp would not disturb the other patients. he came slowly and stood beside the bed. i extended my hand; he took it and held it gently between his strong ones. then he began talking abruptly. "taffy," he said, "let's get married. i have listened to you complain and find excuses for refusing me long enough. they come to me in my dreams, in my sermons. yet they don't make sense. so i've decided to do some- thing about it. your moods, your fears, your memories, and your desired isolation cannot undo what has grown {. } into something beautiful and big for me. and you shouldn't allow them to take your happiness away. put them behind you and give your heart a chance for once in your life. let it rule you and your decision. you say you've never had a home; no one to love you. well, i'm standing ready to give you my love forever; and my home will be your home, our home, yours and mine. we'll share our sorrows and happiness. we'll live." i started to speak. he raised his hand and silenced me. "go ahead and be moody if you must. do all the things you want—go to school if you care to, go as long and as much as you wish, but these things shouldn't stand in the way of a happy marriage for us." i had meant to refuse again, but the sentences got mixed up and i said simply, "i'll marry you, but first i must tell you a secret—" "another experience of love and loss?" he asked. "yes, and of life," i answered. "forget it," he said. "we'll be married soon; as soon as you get out of here. yes, very soon—! 'for love is strong as death; many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.' " he jumped to his feet. "but you're tired," he said, stroking my hand. "and i'm behaving like a country schoolboy memorizing his first poetry. get some sleep, dear. we'll be married soon, very soon!" £ } ocean of rainbows. somewhere back of a saloon a record-player peeled out "open the door, richard," in a snappy tone. the slush- slusb of many feet could be heard as they trampled the dirty snow. my brain seemed to function only in the sense of slush-slush; "open the door, richard," slush-slush; "richard, richard—" i looked about me in a feeble attempt to find something to draw me out of this mood. my thoughts went back to my childhood days and i almost wished that i were back in a pair of faded overalls, heavy with patches, and that i could run down the street and yell at these peo- ple: "you fools, snap out of your ruts! come on, wake up! think, damn you, you husky, drunk-eyed weaklings! no eyes pity you, you travail with ignorance and degrada- tion!" i turned around and started to go home. i boarded a passing bus and sat down, still lost in thought. at the next stop a woman boarded the bus. when she stepped inside, smoke came gushing from her nostrils and i was reminded of our bull, long ago, when he came snort- ing after me angrily. two pie-shaped circles intersected two reddish-colored spots on her well-outlined cheeks. she hoisted herself upon the seat with a powerful sigh, deter- mined to take advantage of her thirteen-cent fare. back of me two men sat talking. i do not know how long they had been talking, nor what they had said before i overheard, with a shock: "what are we coming to next? as if the niggers in the south did not already have too much liberty, truman brings up some damn civil-rights bill. i was born and reared in the south and i say they should be kept out of places they have no business in. i remember when they were afraid to sass white folks, but look what they do now—come here and other places, stay a little while, sit and woller up against our women, then go back home, bragging and gloating over their escapades. i'm for voting truman out. to hell with 'im!" his com- panion nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but i gaped /- ( } at them and they stopped talking. i got off the bus at the next stop and walked toward the house. when i came to the cross street a little girl and a woman were standing on the pavement. the woman shook her finger and scolded: "i bet i'm going to break your durn neck about fooling off your time with that old messy crayon. when i get back home i'm going to bust you open. if that's all you're learning in school, i'll get you some day work along with me. i didn't bury myself in the house nine months, wagging with you and toting an ugly belly, for you to grow up a good-for-nothing. i don't know why i was fool enough to have you anyway. you're just like your daddy—not worth a damn." i stood there a few minutes, as if trying to decide some- thing, then hurried on. memories gouged into my senses, not those memories that make the heart glad and bring smiles to the lips, but memories of another woman who said that all her travail was wasted, and of a little girl who nursed a beautiful dream. i wondered if the child dreamed of being an artist or a designer, or was she really just creating a little beauty to satisfy an ambitious spirit and a love-starved heart? i went into the house, but images of my mother and her horrid words kept looming up before me. i took off my coat, and hurried to the kitchen where i put the coffee on to perk. this done, i picked up the paper and read a few sentences about russia's stand in world politics, king cole's unrestrained spending, the dixiecrats and their anti-trumanology, and the duke of kent and his berry-swallowing act, but none of these items appealed to me. i thrust the paper from me and sat silent a moment. the headlines glared. "president truman, the lone fighter." i read a word or two, then sat thinking of mr. truman. "all energy wasted," i said aloud. "mr. president," i continued, "the bed of justice is too broad; the color- { ] sprinkled patchwork quilts of humanity are too confused and fickle; the naked, spent, and raped body of democ- racy crouched upon it, too weighty for you to move alone. you need help to tidy it; besides, the moist spots of in- tolerance, indifference, and ignorance need many soakings and thorough scrubbings to make them clean. don't try it alone; not by yourself, please! even a faithful daughter's aid is not enough; you'll be jeered and booed beyond en- durance; they'll break you. wait! the public-pleasing politicians are behind closed doors, fondling and easing out their rigid tools of cowardice, and shunning facts. they'll rush out, challenge and overpower you, and leave you half-clothed before a bold-eyed, tinted-rights country." i wished that i were facing him. i'd tell him that as long as rankinism spread out two netlike, demarcated feet, shod with only two per cent of the eligible votes, into the heart of the nation's capital and formulated laws, his volleys were like whiffs of smoke against a swelling wind; that the talmadge sermons of white supremacy were too palatable to the conscience-hiding soul of the half-democratic system; that, although his coat might be the exact cut of lincoln's, and although he admired the broad, rugged seams, the criticism-threatening pants of johnson's were too long and baggy for hasty progress. i'd also tell him that his travel southward was wasted, because the southernists, the bilboists, the communists, the wallaceites would pour out their deep-seated oppo- sition upon him, unmindful that their skirts were over their faces and their secret parts bare and protruding. i jumped up and tried to staunch my flow of words, but they rushed on. i started pacing the floor, my blood fer- menting with the remembrance of insults. i shook my head and beat my fist against the palm of my hand as old burdens, old tears, and old rebellions swelled before me. i sobbed and talked to myself. "there are many in the north, the east, the west, and .-. { } perhaps the south who sanction your policy," i said, "but they are like the glazed-eyed, stiff-fingered, sunken body of my grandfather that lay powerless and rigid upon his death-cloaked bed." i wanted to shake his hand and say to him with the same strength of utter confidence and courage as that of my russian friend and of my doctor, "you are my fellow countryman." i wondered what he would say. if he had time to spare, would he listen to what a negro woman had to say? "someday," i told myself, "i'll ask him about the cramp- ing pains of freedom as felt in america by my people and other peoples; someday, somehow, i'll do that, if i have to stand among the crowd and touch the hem of his coat to see if the gentle tugging of a true, freedom-seeking negro woman could bring forth a tolerant glance from a true, democratic-spirited leader. "a missouri mule, the cartoonist depicted him," i went on, half-aloud. "well, the shod hoofs of the determined mule may kick hard in the light of the freshened morn, but in the heat of a long, unclouded day the spirit wanes, and his blows lose their drive. "calm yourself, you're acting like a nervous jackass," i told myself sternly. "this is america—my home—the land of the free, the half-free, the brave, and the half- brave. "but, the differences!" i argued. "his nose is not judged, nor his color analyzed, in an effort to test his intelligence and rightful place in the world. therefore he can afford to shout, talk, talk fast, loud, loud as hell; the world does not reject him, and i imagine his mother thought of this day when she first held his infant body in her happy arms. "however," i ended, "i shall not give up the search for complete rights for all peoples! though i walk through the welcome and unwelcome streets of northern cities, over the hills of the domineering south, i fear no evil, £ } that i should see a doctor. but i decided that i was letting my emotions get the better of me. i snatched my glance back and sent it around the library, and noticed the expressionless librarian move stealthily toward the table where two students had begun to talk. i glanced in his direction, half expecting him to pull out a concealed club or blackjack. "cut that out," he roared, in his usual startling manner. i quickly stood my tired legs on the^floor and left the room. the little incident reminded me of feeding the hungry pigs on my grand- father's farm long ago. i recalled the scene clearly. the pigs knew it was feeding time, and that each would receive its just share; yet they placed themselves in the trough, under it, ran around it, again and again, their noisy squeal- ing filling the air. and grandfather had said that it took a lot of yelling to feed those greedy swine; in fact, he said, "it takes more than a little girl can do, so i'll feed them and you watch how i go about it." i came out of the building, walked across witherell street to woodward avenue and joined the rushing crowds. not wanting to go home, i walked a long time. i went from place to place, hating everything i saw; noisy crowds, teeming department stores, clanging streetcars, and crazily driven buses. the unrest crept on; it was like a steaming pot of tough troubles; or huge corns, each sinking hardened roots boldly into the structure of tender, much-used feet. once they become infected, although nursed back to a degree of normal health, they are never entirely free of the deep-seated, disturbing corns. why, i wondered, did the beastly things not sweep past the unfortunate indi- vidual who must tramp the streets, burdened with bulky salesman's bags, or tools, in order to earn his daily bread. i thought about that for a moment, then about a time now long past when i came, tender feet foremost, into a turbulent, blossom-scented world. my arrival had brought forth no joyous celebration, no surprising shower of tiny { } selves out and lap up all the moving things upon their shores, churning them viciously within their deep damp walls, and finally spitting them out again lifeless upon a sand-washed bank. instead, i said, "life is certainly one big mess, doctor. illnesses and troubles far outnumber the pleasures, al- ways." "nonsense," he answered, snapping his blue eyes. "young lady, if you had fought and dared death to come by stalking into the lives of groping, courageous men and women as many times as i have, and then, sometimes, had stood back with sweaty brow and watched it destroy your carefully built-up handiwork, you'd appreciate the gift of life, and think it a very precious possession. i do not like to encounter cowards," he continued. "i like to see people want to live on and on; i feel that the story behind a person who holds on to life until he is sure he must give up and then bravely departs is the answer to why god is so merciful to people who do not appreciate the blessed- ness of living as well as to a tired death-challenging doctor." he had finished the examination; he then removed his rubber gloves, threw them onto the stool, and left the room. i dressed hastily and went outside. he sat at his desk. when i sat down, he said, as if sensing the force of my disturbance and as if he hadn't ceased talking: "it is evident that something is bothering you. suppose you sit there and tell me all about it. is it the grief of disappoint- ment over your expected child?" i opened my mouth to say something, but i remembered that there were things to be done hastily if i had to go to the hospital, and changed my mind. "oh, well. i guess you can call it that," i said. "i'm very sorry my attitude irritated you; i am just feeling up- set and worried these days." "forget it, it's quite all right," he replied. as i went £ ] out the door, my eyes felt like a slowly seeping pool that had been imprisoned by a mud-chinked dam without a single trace of an outlet. i hurried down woodward avenue to the bus stop, boarded the bus, and sat down, only half aware of my surroundings. the darting, familiar scenes brought me frantically to my feet. i jerked the cord hastily, but the driver kept on to the next stop. i jerked the cord again, silently calling him a dirty cracker, stepped off the bus, and walked angrily toward the house. { } chapter the erect young man pulled a pair of long, bony legs through the doorway, poked them hastily between the narrow openings of the seats, pushed them into the half-desk, and dropped down. he dumped his bulky brief- case onto the opposite seat and leaned back with the air of a globe-peeping seer imbued with a gushing flame of utter confidence. it was a typical winter day; all day long the sharp river-born wind had briskly fingered witherell street and felt its way down woodward avenue, slapping and fan- ning the flushed-faced crowds, sending them hurriedly on their ways. just outside the window the muffled monotone which is ever present in the city was speared by the irritable sputt-sputt of the street workers' machines. inside the room a lone, fading ray of the cold-faced sun shone dimly through the smudged window and fell full upon the professor's varnish-shedding desk. i sat uncomfortably in the half-desk, wishing with all my might that the sun would finish its date with the day- light, kiss it passionately, and ride away on its bluish sea, dragging a blanket of twilight and quietness after it. i glanced around the student-filled room ponderingly, sighed, and just sat there measuring the students with my eyes. i noticed that some sat with open books in quiet study, some talked pleasantly together in a leisurely man- ner, others dipped their heads up and down lazily as they yielded to the lusty pull of sleep; while still others drew £ } doo-dads on open-faced notebooks, or lived a few minutes of mindlessness. i dragged my eyes toward the door and directed them at the young man sitting next me. "that guy!" i thought. "who does he think he is? bernard baruch?" i rested my glance on him and almost wished the shoot of a likable young man would sprout from that deer-legged character. my expression, i'm sure, was scornful and haughty; it shocked me. "so that's how far my dislike for him has gone," i rebuked myself sternly. my eyes remained on him. i neither lowered them nor raised them, but i broke off my spiteful thoughts long enough to reflect that it seemed a little incongruous that a lean, culture-seeking young man could be so unpleasant and act so important! you found him stiffly struggling to impress you with his superiority and to convey that he was an expert in the writing field, or maybe he wanted you to feel that he, as my grandfather had once phrased it, "belonged to the upper crust." just then the young man drew up his legs and straight- ened his shoulders with a self-righteous toss of his head. i smiled ironically. oh, well! why should i bother my head about a young man who reminded me of an angry wasp which once sank poisonous stings into my grand- father's innocent bald head, just because i had knocked its nest from the pine-shingled farmhouse roof. my eyes rested for a second on the young man, my reason assuring me that his manner was his own affair; yet i could not dispel the peculiar irritation that possessed me. i was thinking slowly now how odd it was that i should become so disturbed about a classmate who evidently did not want to be at all friendly. i wanted to tell myself that it was just an uncomfortable day for me and that i was irritable; instead, i began debating with myself about the proper way in which a young man should act, and .■ { } the young man who sat erect and attentive now, his long legs hunched against the desk. he was sunk in thought. for a fleeting moment i thought i detected a hint of sadness, a trace of suffering that had once been felt by a now stubborn, hardened heart. i searched closely. no, i was mistaken; none of these things were written on that bony structure which seemed too lean and hollow, yet in balance with the other parts of his figure. i glanced around the room, giving full sway to my writing fever; i searched for something to create a proper setting, and hastily constructed it in my mind—witherell street, workmen below a dirty win- dow, a group of college students in room , and a helpful professor behind a boxlike desk—well, it would have to do; it was all i saw. before i had time to plan further, the bell clanged loudly, announcing the end of the class period. it jostled me to awareness of my surroundings, whereupon i recalled that i hadn't heard a word that had been said during the entire period. "you're a spiteful witch, taffy," i re- proached myself. "one of these days you'll be sorry for your catlike actions." i sent a final glance around the room, said good-by to the two girls next me, and left the room. i felt amazingly cheerful, as i hurried down the cor- ridor; in fact, stimulated. the fresh wind stung my face and hoisted my thin hair above my thought-weary head like the bushy tail of a frightened, angry mink as i came out onto the street. presently i was climbing into the streetcar, my thoughts glued to the minor episodes of an emotionally provoking day. the ambling streetcar jour- neyed homeward, shaking and tossing its victims to and fro as they clung tiredly to the dangling straps. "one of these days it'll surely curdle my inner linings if it keeps this up," i mused humorously. "it would be a fine thing if it were the other end and my silly brain could be given ( } a firm shake." i made a serious attempt to smile, pushed my way to the door, and left the rocking car. i was seated behind my desk now, pencil and pad in hand, yet i sat motionless. i no longer felt the urge to describe a haughty young man in a dingy classroom; in fact, i no longer hated him. "this isn't going to work," i thought. "i should have left the classroom and written it out while i had it within my reach." just then a voice came through the window, high-pitched and acid. "you're a fool, hussy. who do you think you are? mrs. ford? buying a high-priced shack and a chevrolet car don't make you any better than anyone else, you slut." lucy taylor and mary smith were in each other's hair about the children again. "some day i'll leave this hateful neighborhood," i snapped, as i reached up and closed the blinds. i picked up my pencil and hastily started to write. half way through i realized that i could never present the story to the class. why, even the professor would guess that i was being little and haughty. it was the young man, all right, and at his worst. with sharp dis- may i regretted that i could never read it to the class, because it gave me a feeling of pride. i felt that i was learning the knack of creative writing; in fact, it sounded good to me. i was clearing my desk now. i paused, listening to bill humming softly as he crossed the porch. i closed my pad and turned to greet him. he threw his bible-stuffed brief- case onto the sofa, and came over to kiss me. "how's mrs. shakespeare tonight?" he inquired pleas- antly. "what is the tale about; a chicken snake, or st. peter?" "neither," i replied, "but it's all finished, and it's very short. you can read it." he walked around the desk, slid into a chair, and began reading. i waited, searching his face for an amused or } pleased smile. he was halfway through now. "so that's how you feel about a classmate," he said, turning to me. "i'm afraid you're a long way from the christian pathway. is he really that bad? sounds pretty mean to me, but then i don't know the young man." "no, you don't," i replied. "and besides, you're acting and sounding just as annoying as he does." "probably so, probably so, i am a little tired," he said, as he closed the pad. "i'll read it again tomorrow, if i may, madam. but drop story-writing tonight, mrs. shake- speare," he continued pleasantly. "let's go out." "i think we most certainly should," i snapped. i reached over and closed my pad, turned out the friendly glow of the desk lamp, and left the room. r £ } i collected myself, mumbled something about writing the things you feel, and stumbled to my seat. the next sound that filtered clearly up to me came from the rear of the room; someone was saying he didn't agree with mr. truman on his bill of rights theory. i said no more, but the talk droned on. i reminded myself that we were college adults, trying to prepare ourselves to become leaders in the world and therefore we should act the part, but i couldn't get it straightened out. other things kept coming before me, things like the picture of a beastly hawk that swooped down and sank his vicious claws into my pet chicken; or rock, the dog, with a well-filled belly, snatching at a meatless bone to keep bloomer, the cat, from licking it. he couldn't eat it, but he could bury it and keep it from snooping black cats. i looked at my in- structor who was talking now, calmly explaining the pos- sibilities of the story and suggesting changes here and there. i searched his face pleadingly, wondering why he did not say something to assure me that i hadn't done a terrible thing. but he acted in his usual helpful manner, talking about the errors and what might be made high points, in the same way that he had handled other stories, on other class days. i decided that he must be sincerely interested in us and our problems—perhaps he had out- grown the effects of the unimportant trifles in life that stung and infected some people. "well," i told myself, "you cannot take him apart; he is too deep and broad for you." i looked away, not listening. i just sat there and told myself over and over that i would leave this writing busi- ness alone and settle down to a career of housekeeping. i thought about it once more and resolved to ask my in- structor how he felt about segregation. maybe he would have something to say. i turned my head and looked out the window. across witherell street, the sunlight seemed cold and unfriendly. i felt chilly; fragments of thoughts, regrets, and heartaches ■ ( } went bolting through my head. i tried to extend my imag- ination past the park, the stores, the theaters, the apart- ment buildings, and the streets, to a future which my class- mate had the leading role in creating, but i could not make it balance. i looked back at him and suddenly i wanted to yell at him, to shout: "you simple fool! you insulting fool! why are you sitting here between these confining walls if you have no better solution to offer a fellow american than to pack up and go to africa, where white men are greedily wresting the heritage of wild black men lustingly from under their bare, dusty feet, like a pack of hungry wolves in a pasture of fattening sheep?" i wanted to tell him that "this is america, the home of no particular race, but of many peoples from various lands, all in search of the same ideal—freedom; a land of opportunities and advancement, with plenty for all, a home for me, or him, as much for me as for him, as much for all of us as for any of us. why should i flee from the land of the free and the brave?" but i said nothing. the sound of shuffling feet in the outside corridor grew louder. i got up and surveyed the room—why, this was a glorious world! who said i wasn't an american? i smiled, said good-by to my classmates and left the room. r £ } prejudiced; favoring full human rights for negroes, yet in their opinions, thinking of them as "niggers." i realized that i liked this man, not only as my instruc- tor, but because his very manner was that of the true type of american citizen—sincere, sagacious, and sanguine. i rang for the elevator; presently i found myself outside. a warm moist wind came leisurely down from the detroit river, giving the air a tinge of spring. there was no hint of winter in its breath. as i stood there on the street, wait- ing for an empty taxicab to pass, i was suddenly reminded of the day long ago when grandfather died. in life he had been so full of vigor, so tempered with mellow wis- dom. yes, in his battle of life he had seemed so wonder- fully energetic, so powerfully earnest, and so well fortified against even the heavy-handedness of death. but that day he lay there calm and collected, without even a tiny hint of his former vitality. i stood there gazing pop-eyed into his wrinkled face until he turned his head and gave up forever his realistic role in the drama of human experience and human emo- tions. my tender years had not prepared me for that tre- mendous ordeal. i was horrified and helpless. i cried pite- ously for my uncle to tell me that he was not really dead, but instead he took me to the kitchen and left me to soothe my broken heart after my own fashion. i tore at the wall, beating against it until my young blood dotted the pine boards; i kicked it, i tried to cry but i could not. i felt as if i were being pushed through the round, pawlike rollers of grandfather's syrup mill. as the salty tears rolled down my tender, timid face, i swore that i would surely make god pay for what he had done to me. after some time had passed i became outwardly quiet, but felt sick, very sick—sick unto my little soul. i hated everyone; i went back into the unfriendly room, pulled back the sheet and looked at him intently. i thought about his pet phrase, "a stinking mess," which he had always { } streets a long time. i was sick—this return to school after my recent illness was almost too much for me. i hailed a cab, got in, gave the driver my address, and sat back against the seat wearily. the cab driver was talk- ing. i did not know how or when he started, or hardly when he stopped, but he was saying something about pumpkin papers, and what should be done to those hideous rus- sians. all at once i was reminded of my former friend in depew in the defense plant, and the hurry and bustle of the war days. he was russian, yet he had seemed able to see the cruel side of life so clearly; he could hardly have been called hideous, or murderous. i wondered how many people of his race were really hideous, or how many were like myself, groping bewild- eredly in a confused world, without any guide by which they could resolve the problems of life, or means of bal- ancing good with bad; without even a thread of light by which to interpret such words as freedom, human rights, honor, or democracy. it was like an incorrect account, with a padded statement of profit and loss and a tricked- up balance sheet; and although an inventory had been taken at the beginning, many decades before, among the men who worked and fought, suffered and died for true democracy, there were no surpluses, and no equalized divi- dends, yet the account had been neatly, double-line ruled, and filed for future reference. suddenly i hated myself, my classmates, and my flimsy story. i'd not suffer this uproar of emotions. i'd burn it in the furnace. i hated my thoughts, and the beastly urge that kept tugging at my brain, like a half-starved hog under an acorn tree. why, i'd been a fool sitting up through the cold wintry nights writing sentence after sentence, as flushed and heated as an opossum hunter's torch which spat out black, hot-pitch droplets. i felt crazily insecure; this time the feeling was like the "pummings" of carefully squeezed sugar cane. but, try as { } i might, i could not stop this feeling of hate from grow- ing within me. most of all, i hated the balmy southern hills, the black cloddy soil, the hot sooty-breathed, plant- laden cities, the rugged, muddy, sandy roads, the weak human beings—black men, white men, women and chil- dren—both races for what they were; one standing nerv- ously in the shoes of a man with a million ants in his breeches, or the already condemned man; the other like an insecure judge, who keeps the respect of his criminal- infested courtroom by pounding his gavel and angrily threatening to cite them all for contempt. i hated and loved detroit in a single thought. it was a wonderful place to live; i found joy and contentment here. yet there was no such thing as a taint-free atmosphere gushing from its motor-producing, human-crammed veins. i wished that i could copy nature and sprout a thick protecting verdure to cover the scars and gashes that lay open in my deeply emotional breast. but hadn't my doctor said that there were no quick cures for smelly cancers once they had a firm hold on the victims? he had also said that cancers were the result of one's own cells going wrong, together with the laxity of an unobservant, careless doctor who wanted only to maintain his powerful position in a community, plus the ignorance of the victim. but this problem concerned more than my emotions. it was something about people, people who lived together, fought together, people who tradi- tionally set up standards for other nations across the eager seas to live by, and how much they were part of something else. it sounded something like the philistines with the ark of god in their midst, and hemorrhoids in their sec- ret parts. i tried to remember whether or not it had mattered to me if, when i saw a snake, it was a rattlesnake, a thunder- snake, or a long, shiny, black snake—well, they all repre- sented snake to me, and not humans. i went back to com- [ ] paring life with the cancerous tissue, and i remembered that the doctor had said that one crooked cell often de- stroyed the whole cell body of a once robust individual. this then must be the secret of conquering life philosoph- ically—to probe and search out the diseased areas of the world while they were only tiny affected spots, then to fight with all the modern methods of efficient, effective, earnest ideas and ideals to halt their flaunting progress. it was too much like trying to thresh peas by hand, a chore i did as a little girl; therefore i gave up. i had tried hard to follow grandfather's instructions; to hold the pans high, one above the other, and gradually pour the peas from one to the other, remembering always to follow the path of the elusive wind, but it seemed either to blow just beyond me, or it was weak and hushed, or it just rushed madly in no particular direction and passed over me, leav- ing me with as much chaff as i had peas. when i cried and gave up the task in despair, grandfather had said, "well, you just keep growing. you'll be able to clean those nasty old peas some day." i opened the door of my house and walked in; the room was warm and cozy, the chair felt heavenly. who cared about pea threshings, crawly snakes, word-fixing, or pain- ful hemorrhoids in the secret parts of men? my! how i wished i could write a book! it would be a honey—inter- mixtures of southern sun, greedy hogs, and the prosperous city of detroit. i got to my feet and straightened my shoulders. i must get over this sickness and i must do it in a hurry! r { } chapter i awoke with a jolt out of a fitful sleep. i had not slept well. too many dreams had haunted my subconscious mind; too many scenes had reappeared, revealing the shabby, dejected past. the sun, warm and glowing, glared into my disorderly bedroom; the bold rays told me that i had overslept, but i dressed listlessly. what need was there to hurry? it was just another day; another day of looking backward, without hope, before it ended, of being able to look forward to the future. i felt sodden and beaten clear through; it seemed that until now i had lived all my years in the past, my thoughts rarely visiting the present or promising to spend any definite portion of my time thinking farther than the next moment. "is this what people call going nuts?" i asked myself. i thought about that for a moment, and then began a vigorous at- tack on my housework in an attempt to escape the mad spell of remembering. but i kept remembering times past, and apparently for no reason at all; besides i saw no conclusions, no spe- cial blessings to claim. i saw those days in disheartening clarity—so many things crept up and blinded me; the few joys, and the many, many sorrows; faces; a child grieving for a dead grandfather; a poor family on a hilly alabama farm performing burdensome tasks; four little boys and a degenerate father satisfying their lusts with the hairy backs of shoats and mares; my workworn, nerve-racked mother in a star-lighted farmhouse and a yelling, stub- born-born infant. it was almost as if some of the old days [ ] were back, the old scenes and old wishes that made the world i used to know. as i recalled things and times, i felt as if the years had pushed me into a special path and left me to dwell alone among my sorrows. "surely i am going mad," i thought, as months of sad experiences stretched into years—two, three, four, ten, twenty, thirty years — creeks, wagons, mules and gullies kept coming after me. "they call this a holiday," i mused to myself sarcastically, "a time for quiet enjoyment, of remembering man's blessing and god's greatest gifts to a turbulent world. it is not strange," i thought, "that contemplation on the life of christ should also bring other visions, but why can't i take joy in the fact that he died for one and all, regardless of religion, creed or color?" i looked down at the hands in my lap as i thought about that, and suddenly began to weep with a desperate grief. i couldn't shake the picture from me—it was a sad, twisted confused trail that my tender mind had started treading years ago, and traveled for a long, long time— until even the balmy southern winds or a white face were hateful things to me. i sat up and wiped my eyes, and searched my brain in an attempt to find a logical reason why an intelligent college woman should sit on a sofa in a comfortable living room and behave like a lost calf in a lonely pasture. i again questioned my judgment of humanity. i decided that i was boiling in my own oil. "maybe i am sick," i told myself; "maybe some small portion of my brain has lost control. i am not in the south any more; i am in michigan living a comfortable, interesting life; i am en- gaged in schoolwork, civic work, and above all i am mak- ing progress toward my cherished dream of becoming a novelist, or so my teachers seem to think." i felt like an old woman starved for friendship. i would call my doctor and ask him to see me; maybe i was overnervous and an £ } that should have been explained during my early life; that is, the procedure of it, if not the methods by which it could be solved. but i continued explaining, although there seemed no need of it now. "it really begins the day i was born; the day my tired mother decided that i should not have been born to bring her added work and misery." then i was telling him all about it without reserve; the old home place; my grandfather; my uncorrected emo- tional habits; my dislikes; concerts in a country school room; a ragged girl seated on an unpainted old wagon drawn by two sweaty mules; a shabby farmhouse. of all i said i cannot give account, but when i drew my thoughts back from a desolate past i noticed that i felt relieved. of course, i had talked to others, but no one had heard me out so completely and thoroughly before. i no longer felt as if i were going mad, or was wholly rejected because of my color. i had been insulted many times, yes, and per- haps would be insulted many times more, but it wasn't the end of life, nor had everyone insulted me. i opened my mouth to apologize for my childish be- havior, but he motioned to me to keep quiet and just sat there in the uneasy stillness, looking out the window. after what seemed like a long time, he spoke. "now, mrs. evergreen, i suppose you know the old adage about it always being the sick animal that seeks iso- lation. well, isolation can be helpful, yet in many cases it can be considered as a deadly disease, or maybe i should say it is sometimes desired because of a disease, which may or may not be contagious. it is necessary sometimes for self-analysis, and in that sense it is helpful, but it should never be cherished or lived in too long, because one can- not live permanently in a disturbed state of mind and keep healthy. "it is a wonderful thing to be able to remember things so vividly, to keep track of man's injustice to his fellow- £ } man. but the mere recollection of past events is not what counts; it is the courage, common sense, and tolerance gained through experience that matters, and finally the strong faith in the real purpose of life. you've had a rug- ged life, far too rugged, but the one important thing you should have been able to gain from your open view is utter confidence. "try to recall a day long ago when a frightened group of black-skinned men and women were forced aboard a ship, protesting and cowering. you were not there, but it happened. you should see them laboring in the south- ern fields and crying out the injustices they felt; but you should also recall a day that a country with a heart laid down a principle that to me is almost sacred: 'all men are created equal.' in the chaos of these eruptive times there is not much sense in trying to build up pretty imaginary systems, i know, but sorrow and tears will not settle the problems created by men who suppress and disregard the rights of other men, or by prejudiced, narrow minds; such problems must be faced nakedly, squarely, and frankly. i cannot tell you that you have no problem, but i can tell you that you are not alone in facing it. i am sorry you feel so close to it, because it flourished even in greece, where the idea of democracy was born." i looked down at my watch, and immediately stood up. "i can't take up your time like this," i said. "but you haven't had your examination," he reminded. "if you could spare another fifteen minutes—" "not another minute today," i said. "anyway, i feel better. however, i should like to come back for a checkup next week if i may." "of course, of course," he said. he walked with me to the door and offered me his hand. "it was good of you to listen," he said. "you'll come back for that checkup, won't you?" i nodded. "next tuesday." { } i his hand pressed mine and both his voice and eyes seemed to soften a little as he said, "i didn't mean to sound preachy, but it helps sometimes to be reminded that life wouldn't be life without problems, and the fact that we somehow survive them. i'm sure unreasonable prejudices will be overcome some day if given time." "i suppose so," i said, feeling instinctively that he was remembering something in his own life; that he was re- membering some tragic thing long past. as i made my way toward the elevator and home, i wondered what it had been. { ] chapter when i arrived home i sat down and let the house- work go. a half hour passed without my realizing it. for me time stood still, and i told myself that it would con- tinue to stand still until i arrived at some notion of how i could stop this self-probing. talking to the doctor had pressed the emotion down, but i felt it coming back now as an aching emptiness. yet he would never know what he had done for me, i thought; he had directed my atten- tion to something else, a different angle of the entire situ- ation, in the south and elsewhere, and now, coming back to it, i was able to see that the incidents which i had faced were being faced by countless numbers of men of differ- ent races everywhere. it was something to which you must adjust yourself, with a continuous hope for it to end as quickly as possible. this was definitely the end of a part of my life, i de- cided. during the last few months i had become too de- spondent, too moody, thinking of life only in terms of its sourness, of immeasurable prejudices, without viewing the situation judiciously. my mind had been kept busy con- juring up images, and my emotions had worked overtime reacting to them. i told myself that in order to live a full and happy life one shouldn't allow the rudeness of the existing practices of men to weigh so heavily upon his mind that it dimmed his thought and glutted his vision with rage, scorn, and sizzling evaluations. this word democracy i had been lamenting over came to america abounding in associa- ( } tions which were created in greece in days past, and ever since those days men had suffered, fought, and died for what it stood for. it had flourished and taken permanent root in america. there were exceptions, of course, but they were gradually being replaced by fairer practices in many communities of the land. there were no cut-and-dried methods of meeting ade- quately every situation, but the basic solution remained the same in all ages—freedom and equality in the proper sense of the words. i decided that i would concentrate on that end as a practical guide to my future conduct. i would quench the fire i had kindled in my veins and which had caused me so much unhappiness and made me sick almost of life. i thought about the rising tide of communism and wondered if this was the way it had planted its bold and trenchant purposes into the core of weak hearts, and dug deep, deeper, and deeper still, until it took hold of the susceptible individual like an acute, feverish disease. and the poor, half-hearted citizen found himself advocating the forceful overthrow of tried and trusted principles. i continued wondering about life, about people, about laws, rules, order and disorder. these were the elements which, when totaled, made life worthless or worth while, and finally led to sensible living. i felt as if the waters of reality were closing in around me and those of my child- hood world were subsiding to their proper level. i at- tempted to enumerate the reasons why i should be proud to be an american. i saw again my old, sweaty, frightened, suffering forefathers as they moaned, groaned, and died to make a secure place for me. i remembered that, although colored, they alone did not die. a clear-cut picture of the civil war flashed up before me. i decided that one of the major reasons it came to pass was that someone like my- self, perhaps, had become too eager for quick results and had thereby gotten only partial results. the dreadful event took time, effort, and lives as its toll. £ } how much better it would have been had it taken only time and effort! regardless of the consequences, long after the dismal days of slavery, southerners still had the wrong slant on life. they still failed to realize that people were people regardless of the color of their skin, or the shape of their noses. the april sunlight slanted through the window, touched the maple desk, and blinked at me. i looked about me for something to sustain my new resolutions. the lifeless portraits on the wall looked out courageously into their confining space. an ashtray with the picture of our nation's capitol embossed on it caught my attention and stirred my thoughts vigorously. i saw every event of my life distinctly. i closed my eyes and relaxed as the scenes again rose before me. i was surprised to see the old homestead stand out like a strong, solid root from which sprang tender oaks prepared to weather many fierce storms. the lone old house stood on a southern hill, lovely in its quaint setting. i saw the wooded, flower-scented hill- sides, the warm southern sun; whippoorwills calling out in the yellow moonlight, blackbirds singing over the head of a small girl with tear-swollen eyes and heavy heart, dressed in ragged overalls. my mother's face was there now, and i could see her, tired, worn, confused, and dis- couraged, as she struggled to rear nine hungry children on a rocky hillside. my! what a harrowing experience those bleak times must have been to her as she fought the engulfing sordidness and threatening poverty! i saw my mathematically minded father in his old age— his days almost past and gone. i smiled as i remembered how he had enjoyed solving problems in fractions—none had stunted him. i now saw how carelessly he had wasted his life, and lost my bearings. i became engrossed in an- guished thought as i slipped into a clearing on the border of a groundless land where all things came to me as one hears sounds from a long way off. from somewhere in the { } thick silence my grandfather's voice came to me, sympa- thetic and unearthly. it came through the window like a tinkle of tiny rhyth- mical chains. i felt the blood run swift through my veins. i sat still; the silence poised itself on one leg and continued its action like the mood of the imperfect tense. his voice drawled on at the pace of a heavily laden hearse; i lis- tened attentively as it floated up from some place vague and shadowy, like a land of perpetual sleep. "the world almost whipped you," he said. "and it won its rounds while you stood viewing life with a dull eye. as you stumbled along the rugged path of life there in your world, you opened your ears only to the rude up- heavals and, although you picked yourself up, you har- bored bitter thoughts so long that no tears could soothe them. you should make a firm decision, today, now; vices are inherent in human nature. decide today that you will stop living through seasons of fear and expurgation." i jerked my head around, half expecting to see his face. i opened my mouth to reply, whereupon soundless words tore loose from my tongue like so many wild boars. "what on earth are you talking about? what are you trying to say?" i gasped. "that those practices are to be expected because of the erring nature of mankind, and therefore should be soft-pedaled? a decision! suppose i ask you for one. what will your answer be? you who de- livered all your wonderful, self-constructed theories. you who said that the bold, intruding currents could not budge the prolific fruit of the seeds of good work planted in america in its infancy; yet you saw them uprooted and left to wither and rot in the wild heat of southern democ- racy. "would you tell me that although slavery was re- nounced thirty-three years before lincoln's day, the law that publicly declared it was constructed like the laws that brought the corporation into existence, just as invis- £ } ible and intangible? let me tell you the true reason why i can't make a definite, final decision, or call it resolution if you wish—it is that as long as my country and what was your country tolerate men who burn fiery crosses before the tumble-down shacks of the south, as long as men and women are forced to speak up like a child using his pret- tiest manners and answer 'yessif' a°d 'yessam' to every man, woman, and half-grown child of the south, whether he or she is middle class or upper class, half-breed, whole breed, or low class; as long as lines of dark-skinned men and women must queue up like herded, leprosy-infected victims to spend their hard-earned money in business places; as long as men excuse the practices of the evil southland by saying that progress is being made and good will eventually win out; as long as men skirt the injus- tices, as the document-bearing freedom train skirted some southern cities; as long as those few men and women living in the south sit back on their weak, extenuating heels and witness the low deeds and practices of their fel- lowmen; as long as men fail to fill their hearts with god- fearing fealty and brotherly love, and go among the dis- graceful areas and talk about the prevailing evils of the land—the mothers of wesley, lincoln, wilberforce, booker t. washington, my mother, and others, wasted their sweaty bloody travail! "don't ask me in your dead voice how to begin—as my friend from the depths of the iron curtain suggested. we must talk to people, talk loud but pleadingly, each saying to his fellowman, 'our country was founded upon the sturdy rocks of a welcoming freedom, the freedom of which lincoln spoke, which christ preached. let us put aside these lofty, sophistical ideas and live wisely, reli- giously, and tolerantly.' ask each racially prejudiced per- son to search himself and try to find the rotten seed in the seat of his hitler-slanted heart. ask him why he sent his sons and daughters into a bomb-drenched war to fight for { } crowd, my eyes beheld men and women running from their doorways like rats from damp holes. i gaped at them as they came nearer. i made one more attempt to halt their ignorant war-march. "my god!" i yelled. "don't you know that this is not alabama, georgia, or missis- sippi? please go home. break up this silly mess and let's not parade our lack of understanding and"—the world almost choked me—"prejudice! in heaven's name!" i thought, as i ran from the porch, "the horrible sit- uation balances! who am i to lament while those silly judases who are my people display their uncontrolled thinking?" at that moment i painfully understood what grand- father had meant about "six in one hand and half a dozen in the other." i slammed the door, covered my face with my hands, fell to my knees, and cried out in silent agony to god. after what seemed like a century had passed, i realized that i had been exaggerating the pathos of one side of the picture, while the other side remained shadowy in the background. i had made myself a biased mouth- piece in my passionate endeavors to remedy the evils of the world, and as soon as the sympathetic veil had been fiercely torn away, i saw the hollowness of my wailing. i saw it plainly in its incompleteness. i felt as if i had just awakened from a deep sleep in which nightmares had stolen my senses; yet my spirit rose swiftly and calmly. i felt a surge of pride; not just a feel- ing of well-being, but something far deeper. a smile broke through to my lips as my cleared brain felt a surge of fresh understanding and tolerance. outside, the night wind stirred in the lone tree, rustling the traffic sign hang- ing from a leafless branch with its mild whisper. i walked briskly into my study, leafed through my files for my manuscript, and, turning to the last page, wrote: no travail wasted. suddenly i felt a deeper calm- ness and satisfaction, not as if it were merely the night ( } before easter, nor as if the night had been born just for me, but like someone who had suddenly ended a life of searching and adventure and had arrived safely home. the end. { } loot a novel with a background of present-day political chicanery. this is the first novel by t. h. nder, dean of southern news- olumnists and the one man southland who knows the of political trickery, political corruption and governmental graft and wastefulness. mr. alexander paints a stirring novel against the background of present-day politics, with scenes laid in the south he knows so well. we see here clearly why taxes are con- stantly increasing, and why cost of government is constantly gr^- by leaps and bounds. tiuiuui'juiplwiuhlj the low to •* p'" / to a climax '~"r »o"- its fascination, but the afford you through woven pof«**~-* ■ n. -\' our ig rt^ t copyright southwest press i loot vated to the gubernatorial chair and now yearned to be in the united states senate. the thought brought the colonel back on his track of memory. he surveyed his domain with a smack of satisfaction as he sat smoking in a cane-bottomed chair on the front porch of traveler's rest, a name given it by the long hunters and other wayfarers more than a hundred years ago. it was april and in the velvet southern air was the surety of spring and the promise of summer. behind him was the home of his fathers, a two-story log house long since covered with clapboards. behind the top clapboards of the first story, his father had told him, were portholes through which pioneer steeles had upon occasions thrust their long rifles to shoot at marauding indians or savage river pirates. the storms of almost a century and a half had not shaken the house, nor had the buffetings of sixty years weather-beaten the man. sitting there in the gathering dusk, there appeared indeed a curious simi- larity between the man and the house, as though each was intended for the other. there was something of solidity and stability in both. neither the man nor the house was young, but both presented the lean grayness of a veteran soldier of many campaigns who has passed through unscarred, and who, still in his prime, bears the polish and gloss of the years. to man and house the years had been kind. sprawled in the comfortable chair, pipe filled with tangy home-grown tobacco, a pitcher of cool spring water at his elbow on the scrubbed pine porch table, loot colonel steele, with half-closed eyes, seemed ob- livious to the scene about him. at his right a locust tree put on her wedding gar- ments of fragrant white blossoms. across the winding gravel drive to the pike, behind the box bushes, a small flock of sheep grazed on the lawn, stirred to anxious head-liftings at intervals as their bellwether moved to greener spots of the bluegrass. from the stables in back a horse whinnied, and from a more distant spot on the plantation came the put-put of a tractor plow as it turned the rich black soil. lean, tall and gray, the colonel seemed to fit in this rural environment. apparently, however, it was not his immediate sur- roundings on which the colonel pondered, but rather that broader domain of which he was the acknowl- edged political leader—the state. it stretched from the mountains to the river, seven hundred miles of empire, rich alike in agriculture and commerce, in mining and manufacturing. more than fifty years ago, he recalled with a smile, his father had told him of the great figures of the past, of the presidents his state had furnished the union j of speeches made long ago by orators of the old south in days of high tradition; of issues that once were alive and vital in a day when issues counted. long before he himself had entered politics his father, a colonel in the confederate army, had told him how he came to name the child after gideon welles, who had defended andrew johnson in the days when it seemed that the nation might clash loot s years of effort had been a gallon of white corn whis- key, the gift of a hill man who had found himself at odds with the united states government on the matter of operating a still without an internal reve- nue license. through the young lawyer's eloquence and audacious persistence this lanky defendant had escaped the toils of the federal court and, whiskey being the client's sole mode of self-expression, he had lugged a jug of the illicit beverage to his lawyer on the following saturday when he had come to town to buy sugar for his still. pardons he had secured by the scores from various governors on this and that plea—once by walking six barefooted children to the state house in a de- cember snow to appear with a convict's wife who had come to plead for her husband's liberty. he had not known at the time they were not her children, but he did know that their bare feet were not foreign to the snow, for they had never worn shoes. but it brought tears and clemency from a soft-hearted governor, though it had not put money in the lawyer's pocket. he had secured pensions and other governmental favors by the hundreds. not an old soldier in the county but who knew young steele on sight after he had been practising a month. there was manifestly no gold and little prestige in securing a meager state pension for some old-timer who babbled of having bivouacked with his father on missionary ridge or at shiloh, nor in having some needy widow of a soldier appointed coal oil inspector for the county on the loot recommendation of the united daughters of the confederacy. to the young lawyer at that time politics was a fascinating mystery. it seemed to be mainly speaking and cheering and parading and band-playing. cam- paigns were decided on their issues, coupled with the relative merits of the candidates. paid workers were unknown and the most successful political leaders were so poor that their frayed claw hammer coats at- tested their integrity. a candidate who spent money on his election, even if he was one of the county of- ficers who were paid on the fee basis and whose re- turns were reputed to be large, was ostracized socially as well as politically. the state capitol, the county courthouses and the other temples of government throughout the state were models of jeffersonian simplicity. when the old war horse who had served as gover- nor of the state during the civil war—sometimes moving his seat of government two jumps ahead of federal bayonets—came to steeleville on his cam- paign for the united states senate, it was almost as though the lord of hosts in person had come down from sinai to deliver the tablets of stone. on the old political leader had descended the mantle of all the great and legendary ante-bellum figures. he was credited with marvelous and prodigious feats of statesmanship. he became the very symbol of the rectitude of the political leaders of the unsophisti- cated era. he carried every precinct in the county, some of them unanimously, and in one rural box, loot — cheatham, where a man had dared to oppose the old war horse, the indignant citizens captured the lone voter by night and rode him out of town on a rail, tastefully dressed in a coat of tar and feathers. after him had come other candidates—a general in the confederate army, an old governor who had sat in congress as grover cleveland's leader in the lower house, and another who fiddled his way into place and power, a rollicking man without guile and as honest as the sunshine. colonel steele remembered mr pleasantly the deference and consideration they had all shown him because after his second year at law he had entered politics and begun to be successful in a small way. bit by bit, colonel steele reconstructed in his mind the events leading up to his first political triumph so long ago. the steele plantation, on which the young lawyer lived in luxury despite his lean law practice, had been at that time a mile from the little county seat town of steeleville, which was named after his great-grandfather. now it was on the out- skirts of town, as the residential district had straggled out the new highway leading from the capital city of the state. there was at that time a bitter fight being waged for the possession of the county seat between steele- ville and its municipal rival, cheatham, twelve miles down the river, a mushroom town which had sprung up in the seventies from a river pirate's nest of an earlier period. loot steeleville was an old and settled town. it was old when major general jackson and his riflemen marched south on their way to new orleans to meet the british at chalmette plain, near new orleans. through it, then a stockaded village with a block- house, had gone the long riflemen to fight the brit- ish at king's mountain, in the war of the revolu- tion. about it had grown a tradition of landed aris- tocracy, of leisure and wealth. in the forties and fifties the largest slave owners in the state lived around steeleville. as if in hot resentment of the white man who has to compete with negro labor, cheatham had sprung into being. it was first a port of call for river pirates and a hideaway from the land side of bushwhackers and bandits who infested the land during and after the lawless days of the civil war. a watering trough marked the spot where a shell had landed from one of general grant's gunboats as it steamed up the river. ironically, the town had been named for a confederate general. it had grown and prospered, to become the mecca on saturdays and first mondays of the small farmers, especially the tenant and share- cropper classes, who thronged over its sun-baked streets and into its general merchandise stores, farmers' supply houses, cotton gins and tobacco ware- houses in such numbers that their favor threatened the commercial supremacy of the older town. cheath- am's trade territory gradually had enlarged until it came almost to steeleville's doors. the small farmers were its militant champions. they seemed to sense a loot democratic, plain man's freedom in cheatham's squalid places of business that did not exist in the more costly and handsome business houses of steele- ville. in politics, it was always pulling against steele- ville, whose leaders often remarked that every new political wind would find ready sails in cheatham, which went militantly populite in the nineties and later came to rest under the umbrageous doctrines of a hooded secret order. and so, as colonel steele was about to enter poli- tics, cheatham was threatening the very political su- premacy and commercial life of the older town by an ambitious movement to remove the seat of govern- ment and with it the courthouse, tangible evidence of the existence and majesty of government. that the movement was dangerous to the older town was known to all the county's leaders, for the fanatical devotion of a majority of the electorate of the county to the squalid little town on the river was a respected tradition to the gentlemen who lived by votes. and the movement required only a majority vote in the county court to be crowned with success. on the day the young colonel was thinking of casting aside his cocoon and emerging as a full- fledged political butterfly, there had come to his law office in the row of one-story buildings dedicated to the town's attorneys a delegation of several leading citizens. there was major ephraim tuttle, who had served in the confederate army with his father. be- hind him he herded judge jeff d. turner, judge of loot in the county court and so swing the courthouse matter. so the member of the county court from the county-at-large is mighty, mighty important," finished the major. "so it seems," the young lawyer had commented. "but what do you wish me to do about it?" "why, we want you to run for member from the county-at-large," said the major in some surprise. "we figger that it wouldn't do to put up any of the old-timers who have been identified so closely with steeleville. we figger that you, being the son of old colonel steele and having done a mighty lot of favors for folks all over the county and being your- self a farmer, ought to pull through. at least, you haven't got any enemies. we'd run anybody out of steeleville who'd vote agin you. you ought to win and if you don't we'll lose the courthouse." "that's sho'," agreed the county judge, nodding his head sagely, "we're in a tight." in the quiet of this april afternoon on the front porch, as he sat to consider the coming state cam- paign, the old colonel thought of the battle of that autumn, almost forty years before. what a figure he must have cut! he had almost believed in fairies and santa claus. he remembered his flamboyant campaign, his frequent oratorical references to thomas jefferson and the constitution of the united states. he had been verbose on the stump on almost every subject of government, save his intention of voting to keep the courthouse at steeleville. in the old-fashioned way he had waved loot the flag and praised the bible, paid a glowing tribute to the stars and bars and the cross of st. andrew's, gone to the picnics and kissed the babies, hobnobbed with the ministers and drank moonshine liquor with the illicit distillers in the hill districts. but he had won with more than a hundred votes to spare and the courthouse remained in steeleville. the meetings of the county court that winter had been to him a schoolroom in politics. they were held always on the first monday in the month, which was the county's great trading day. first monday in steeleville presented a bucolic carnival worth seeing. countrymen ranging from colored ginseng diggers to mule traders came to town. sometimes more than a thousand mules were to be seen on the public square. during the boer war, he remembered, the british sent mule buyers to this country to buy mules at steeleville, as the american government itself had since done during the world war. on this curb mar- ket also changed hands tons of leaf tobacco, hundreds of bales of cotton and thousands of bags of corn, oats and wheat. for the first time he began to realize that the cogs do not move in the political machine of their own accord, nor for glory. the bands that played the stirring marches performed only for pay and not for love of country, while even the leaders of the march- ers in the torchlight parades were sometimes paid workers. only occasionally, he found, and even those days were beginning to wane, did a great leader step forward and offer for public office on great principles loot and real issues. crusading was poor business politi- cally. greater than all the tumult and shouting, the marching and red fire, he discovered, was the solid and business-like rule of doing a political favor and thereby storing up a political debt to be repaid in the future when needed. translated into common lan- guage, as judge turner interpreted it for him on the first day of court, it was "you scratch my back and i'll scratch yours"—the old-time logrolling of the pioneers. there was a tradition that one successful politician had a fixed rule of filing requests made on him for favors which he granted and then, when he himself wished a favor, he wrote the request for it on the back of the original letter! it served as a re- minder that the promissory note in the bank of poli- tics was due. as member of the county court from the coun- ty-at-large, colonel steele recalled, he had been chairman ex-ofiicio of the court's steering committee, which virtually dictated the policy and routine of the court. as such he had been chiefly instrumental in the court's voting to grant a franchise to a new turn- pike company which was given the right to repair the pike roads and cash in on them by erecting toll gates. the turnpike company numbered among its stock- holders some of the state's important citizens and these were to remain colonel steele's most loyal friends. he had later defeated a movement to raise the assessment for taxation of one of the two rail- roads crossing the county and this had created a large loot obligation. he had done numerous and sundry favors for many others and by the end of his term as mem- ber of the county court he was its acknowledged leader and was forging ahead to new worlds to conquer. it was an easy step to win the election as county attorney the following year. he found it a field in which he could easily extend his influence and retain his leadership over the court. envious politicians were saying by then that gid steele carried the county around with him in his vest pocket. the county at- torney was the legal adviser to the court and the designated authority to draw its resolutions, fran- chises and other legal papers. in two more years colonel steele was sent to the state senate as the representative of his district which was composed of his own and two adjoining counties. there he accomplished the first of several bold politi- cal coups that finally came to make his name known over the state as the synonym for audacity. he first convinced major tuttle and other steele- ville business and political leaders that it would be impossible at the next election to elect a county court favorable to the old county seat. eventually, he argued, it was certain that the young and vigorous community of cheatham would obtain the courthouse. there was already talk in the backwoods districts of removing it by force to cheatham, a common prac- tice in many sparsely settled counties in the south and west in the old days. they could not have actually removed the graceful old stone courthouse from loot is steeleville, but they could have taken the county records and fired the building. therefore, the young political leader argued, it would be a graceful com- promise that would save the courthouse to steeleville to establish by a bill in the legislature two county seat towns with two courthouses, the second to go to cheatham. carried away by the force of his logic and con- vinced that half a loaf is better than none, the steele- ville leaders had finally agreed to this plan. he drew the bill with care so that dissenters among the steele- ville irreconcilables could not attack it successfully in the courts. it became a law in a week, slipping through as a local measure on the greased skids of legislative courtesy. the member of the house of representatives from the county was complacent to the scheme after major tuttle had approved it, and for any other members of the senate or house to have attacked the bill would have invited reprisals when they attempted to enact any of their own pet measures. it passed without even a roll call. after that, colonel steele was invincible in the county. cheatham gave him a banquet at which he was oratorically thanked until long after midnight and the grumblers at steeleville soon forgot their criticisms of his compromise. as he sat on his porch reviewing his life he observed to himself shrewdly that politics, like life, is full of compromises and sometimes the best compromiser gets the best out of both. what were the nation's greatest statesmen loot for a quarter of a century before the civil war but compromisers? from the state senate, the climb to place and power of gideon welles steele was easier and easier as his lust for prestige and influence increased. as- sured of a comfortable livelihood from his ancestral plantation, he threw himself into political life. he was recognized as a coming man and his tradition grew. if his friends boasted that gid steele never lost a political fight and his enemies hurled at him the charge that he was building up a political ma- chine, he let both say what they would. both helped him. he believed that a tradition of invincibility was always worth as much as twenty-five per cent of the total vote in any precinct because so many voters want to ride the winner. he recalled many politicians of his acquaintance who held on to power because they had been able to build up a myth that they could deliver votes. many of them held in their or- bits and revolved as little satellites in the political solar system because there clung to them a tradition and a fable of power—over-ripe apples that re- mained on the limb because no one had tried to knock them off. with colonel steele's new contacts in the state senate and the almost unanimous backing in his home county, it was absurdly easy for him to win the elec- tion as prosecuting attorney of his judicial circuit, which was composed of six counties. two of his op- ponents withdrew before the election and the third quit the actual canvass a week before the election. loot the sessions of the house. in fact, he rarely attended unless asked by the party whip and then only to vote with his party and maintain his regularity. although his own career had been characterized by much craft and cunning, the devious indirections of the con- gress irritated him no little, while the operation of the government bureaus positively infuriated him. furthermore, his party was not in power in the nation and it seemed, as he said, that it was devilish uncertain whether it would ever elect another presi- dent. he had little or no patronage as a member of the minority and few favors to bestow. he felt him- self shelved and retired in the nation's capital city, his star of destiny stilled. in his heart also he felt, like caesar, that he would rather be first in that little iberian village than second at rome. his home town postmastership was passed out to a steeleville nobody by a federal patronage referee who lived in another part of the state and whom the congress- man had never seen. as a member of the county court back home, he had meditated gloomily one day in his quarters in the house office building, he had more patronage and power and more things to trade off for more power. the great decision that influenced his life was made while he was a member of a congressional junketing committee to investigate charges of illegal expenditures of money by a congressional candidate of a city machine in an eastern city. this luckless patriot, who had committed the unpardonable sin of being found out, had such a thirst for re-election loot that his organization had gone out and practically bought up the election. he had not inquired the origin of the funds which he so prodigally squan- dered on election day, and the committee probed until it learned that they came from exceedingly dubious sources, especially from large business in- terests which had a direct interest in pending legisla- tion. thus business paid for what it wanted in cam- paign funds and got value received. it was colonel steele's first taste of urban politics. he was mildly shocked at the revelations, but pro- foundly interested. gradually the great idea was born in his fertile mind. it was the idea that a political organization modeled after the city machines which operated in the heavy centers of population could function quite as efficiently in the rural and semi- urban sections of the country. why, it could sweep everything before it. it could control states quite as easily as it controlled towns and cities. but the jeffersonian simplicity of government in the rural sections seemed to prohibit the usual re- wards of urban politics. his state had long since prohibited the liquor traffic and the profitable influ- ence of the saloon in politics had been removed. the entire cost of state government of his own state totaled only a million or so dollars a year. from such simplicity could not be drawn the sinews of war to nurture a state-wide political machine. it was impos- sible. through the dull days when the political dirty linen of the great city was washed before the eyes of loot ously demand miles and miles of better roads on which to run their little cars. already in some sec- tions of the country the hard surface roads were com- ing, as smooth as city streets, and soon they would have to be placed everywhere. road building, he saw in a flash, being a state func- tion, would increase the cost of state government by tens of millions annually. all the other benefits of government would increase proportionately. the full dinner pail and prosperity might become state cam- paign slogans as well as national shibboleths. inci- dentally, a state political machine could fatten on the spoils of increased expenditures and increased offices, taking its percentage from the political kitty as its game was played on the political poker table. having looked to washington for political favors, the peo- ple would now look to the state capitols, the new cen- ter of power. why, a political revolution was in prospect, a swing back from federal centralization to state control. bah! what was washington but a place of stuffed shirts and office seekers, wallowing in red tape, bungling through, thinking it had power where here lay more potential power than was dreamed of in the days before centralization of gov- ernment became fashionable. that night, with characteristic audacity, gideon welles steele resigned his seat in congress and from the observation platform of the capital city limited watched the lights of the nation's capitol disappear over the horizon with the first real thrill he had ex- perienced since his election to the county court. he loot was going home to the sticks to live among rural peo- ple who spoke his language and thought his thoughts, to give a new meaning to their old shibboleth of state's rights—to build a state-wide political machine. and tonight as he sat on his front porch in the gathering gloom, some forty years after his entrance in politics, he thought with some satisfaction that he had done a good job of it. he had become the undis- puted political leader of the state who tempered des- tiny to his ends and made or unmade stars of the po- litical firmament. behind the box bushes and the crape myrtle, the old colonel was brought suddenly to earth. "daddy, it's almost supper time; you have just time to dress," said julia steele, her book finished. "john's running over to dine with us." even in the gloom, colonel steele could read the sparkling eyes of his daughter. yes, there was some- thing between his daughter and john ambler, the son of his old friend. it was well j he was a good boy and some day he might be governor of the state. the thought pleased the colonel so that he chuckled aloud, and julia blushed until old shad appeared in the darkened doorway in his white coat and held the door open for them. the colonel went in to dress for the night meal, sniffing like a war horse from afar another political battle on the morrow. loot miss julia regarded the heavily-loaded table al- most ruefully. it amounted, she thought to herself, to almost a vulgar display of food. the colonel's dinners and luncheons were famous. also they were reliable thermometers of the state of the campaign. if simple, they indicated that matters of state were moving evenly. if elaborate, they pointed to a com- ing crisis in political affairs. today old shad had, by order of the colonel, opened wide the smokehouse and larder to do his record proud as a kitchen execu- tive. to an array of silver platters of quail on toast, fried spring chicken and baked country ham, he was adding a huge dish of hog jowl and greens. "ah," said governor pitts in his mellow voice, "hog jowl and greens! with such food to nourish its man-power, the south will never listen to the com- munists and bolsheviks." for five minutes he eulogized the homely food while the guests listened politely and julia steele ap- peared slightly bored. she remembered it as part of a set speech which he often used to tickle the rural vote. he had a school speech, a highway speech, a public health speech and a few other set addresses for special occasions. the colonel censored his ut- terances so closely that the governor rarely deviated from the manuscripts which he had memorized. the thought made julia send a small dart at the execu- tive. "we had your name up before the women's bi- partisan political league this morning, governor," she remarked sweetly. loot "pleasantly, i hope, miss julia?" asked the gov- ernor, sensing a compliment. "the women want to know how you would stand on the muscle shoals legislation if elected to the united states senate," replied julia. the colonel glanced at her sharply, his fork poised in midair. she was treading on dangerous ground. "well, my dear young lady," said the governor, "i haven't been elected to the senate yet." "and before you are elected the women, especial- ly the farm women, want to know how you stand on the shoals bill," pursued julia sweetly. the governor flushed slightly. it seemed doubt- ful whether he had ever thought of the matter be- fore. "i'd take counsel of my friends, of course," he said, "and expect to be guided largely by their ad- vice." he knew he was on firm ground now. he shot a tentative glance at judge griffin, the keeper of the royal conscience on utility matters. kelly caught the glance and winked at the colonel. colonel steele, always the smiling diplomat, jumped into the breach gallantly. "to keep down opposition to your senatorial am- bition," began the colonel, "we must pick our can- didate to succeed you as governor with great care. if we give our friends a good candidate for gover- nor upon whom they may unite and who seems capa- ble of carrying out your great policies, my idea is that we can win the senatorial nomination easily— perhaps without opposition. but if we should lose the loot governorship, we have killed the goose that laid the golden egg; we have made it so that we won't elect any senators or congressmen. please don't misunder- stand me. the important thing is the governorship. to an organization such as ours, senatorial seats are luxuries while governorships are as necessary as air and water. state government, with the expended highway and educational program, is costing about fifty millions per year in states of our population and area, and we employ some twenty thousand people— perhaps ten times more state jobs than federal jobs in our state." "senators don't get us nothing," said kelly short- ly, "especially if they don't sing the same tune as the national administration. and we'll elect another president from our party about the time hell freezes over." julia steele, whose eyes of love saw in her father a paragon of political virtue, heard this bit of politi- cal realism with a faint smile. she was accustomed to the foibles of her father's guests. "but you can at least count on the friends of my administration at the capital for hundreds of thou- sands of votes," protested governor pitts. "certainly," said the colonel soothingly. "you hold the key to the situation. the senatorship is a matter of easy solution, once we get our gubernatorial campaign untangled. suppose we get down to busi- ness on it. i reckon we are all agreed that our candi- date for governor must be announced and in the field by early next week?" loot there was a chorus of assent. the colonel was noted for quick action, once he got started. "then he must be selected by tonight and we had just as well start the weeding out process now. the opposition already has a dangerous candidate in the field, and my reports indicate that he has been mak- ing some progress. as i recall our previous confer- ence, we are now down to three names: judge ambrister, congressman jenkins and young john ambler, my neighbor up the pike towards steeleville. some of you gentlemen have final reports on these prospective candidates. what is your final judgment on ambrister, judge griffin?" judge griffin, a tall old man with the ascetic and scholarly face of a typical chancery lawyer whose skin was almost as sallow as the bindings of his law books, pursed his lips judicially. "i have examined judge ambrister's record, po- litical and personal, with great care, colonel," said judge griffin carefully. "there is not a blot against either. he is a party man who is always amenable to party leadership. he did not bolt even during the independent movement some years ago, when he knew that the independents would elect a supreme court before which he had to practice. he is a con- vincing speaker, a good debater and has a fine legal mind. he would make a fine candidate, in my judg- ment. he is friendly to—ah—hum—he is fair and just to our interests." "ambrister is a sort of high-brow, but i reckon he'll do," grumbled kelly. "i think our crowd could loot elect a baboon with the organization we've got. just pick somebody who don't beat his wife and can keep out of jail during the campaign and we'll put him over." the patrician judge griffin permitted himself a glance at kelly that resembled a glare. colonel steele flipped a paper across the table to the lawyer arid said, while the other was adjusting his glasses: "judge, i really owe you an apology for having started you on a wild goose chase after ambrister. i did not have that information when we first began to consider him." consumed by curiosity, kelly leaned over judge griffin's shoulder. the paper was a clipping from the memphis commercial appeal of almost two years before. it was a news story relating how judge am- brister had helped organize a state society to join in a movement against the eighteenth amendment. griffin read it carefully and handed it back with a gesture of amazement tinged with disgust. "i'm afraid that settles judge ambrister," he com- mented with a sigh. "we could never elect a wet in this state, even if we were foolhardy enough to buck public opinion with such a candidate. to say the least, it would make the fight unnecessarily hard." "thumbs down on ambrister then," said colonel steele quickly, to relieve the old lawyer's evident chagrin. "majors, what's your final judgment on jenkins?" "i spent last week in his congressional district," re- plied majors promptly. "you know jenkins has been loot in congress almost twenty years and has opposition this year. they tackle the congressmen hard for a few years after they are elected. if the m. c. can de- feat opposition the first two or three elections they let him slide by for fifteen or eighteen years. then the ambitious young politicians begin tackling him again. i think jenkins will pull through this race by a small margin, but the district leaders are after him, and jenkins knows it. they want a messenger boy in congress and jenkins hasn't measured to that. i real- ly think the old man has an idea he's a statesman. he has enough political sense to know that his political sun is about to set as congressman and they'll 'get' him in the next election. he is anxious to seek new fields and make the race for governor. he could get a larger maj ority in his congressional district running for governor than he could get as a congressional candidate, as his district has never furnished the state a governor and they're mighty clannish and proud of their home folks up in the mountains— seems they criticize their folks themselves, but won't let anyone else do it. to say the least, he knows the ropes and wouldn't involve us in any bad situations. of course, we could elect him." "we can elect almost anyone with our organiza- tion," commented colonel steele. "the point is to pick someone we can elect with the least trouble and expense. kelly, what do you think of jenkins?" "he's all right, but the first plank in his platform is that he believes in santa claus," said kelly cyni- cally. "he's served eight or nine terms in congress loot and never has found out what it's all about. he never has organized his district and he wins simply be- cause he's an old hand at the bellows and the people don't like to change. he's too old-fashioned. he thinks the people still elect men on their merits. be- sides, didn't he bolt the party once?" "yes, he bolted," said smith, contributing his first bit of information to the conference. "he turned independent when the party declared for lo- cal option on liquor and he was for state-wide prohi- bition." "a bolt in a good enough cause," commented col- onel steele who was politically bone dry in spite of his pre-war cellar, "but a bolt is a bolt and they never come back. the old family mare that runs away can never be trusted again. what do you gentlemen think?" there was a long wrangle over the matter, but when it simmered down only majors was defending the erring congressman. he argued with some heat that the party bolt took place so long ago that the statute of limitations ought to bar it. besides, he urged, the bolters were in the majority and over- threw the old party on the liquor question. judge griffin listened closely to the debate and threw into it the cold logic of his intellect. it was easy to see that the judge sensed in congressman jen- kins an independence of mind which might bode ill for his power company which was seeking dam sites all over the south and especially in the state. majors was outvoted, but the old colonel took no part in it, loot his private life. they found he didn't even drink, and he is too busy with his law practice and his plan- tation to waste time with women" there was high color in julia steele's cheeks. "but he's never had any political experience and god save us if that old rabble rouser, who is al- ready running for governor, gets him in a joint de- bate. besides, he fought the anti-evolution bill. the anti-evolution bills in all the southern states were fool laws, of course, but you didn't see the practical politicians fighting 'em, did you? not on your life. a good many folks have come to regard him as an ag- nostic, if not an infidel" "that's passed and forgotten now," said colonel steele. "most of us recognize the mistake of that sort of legislation now, though i am myself a re- ligious fundamentalist." but kelly rambled on. ambler, he said, was a high- hat lawyer with a swallow-tailed-coat mind. he would regard the average specimen of the great un- washed electorate from the tall and uncut timbers much as a housewife would look on a chinch-bug which she had just discovered on her clean bed linen. ambler was always rattling off after some lost cause in politics and wouldn't stanclhitched. in this rasping monologue, judge griffin joined. he, too, feared ambler. the basis of his fear was the much-mooted question of the hydroelectric develop- ment which his company proposed at harpeth falls. ambler, he said, was an aristocrat, a throw-back to the old south who regarded the progress of the new loot south as not an altogether unmixed blessing. there was no telling, the judge said, what the young fool might do as governor of the state. all save julia and the old colonel joined in the talk against am- bler. the colonel waited for the shock of the storm to pass. he had trapped his friends into what was be- ginning to appear as certain support for young am- bler and he was diplomat enough to try to make them like it. he spoke with more than usual persuasion. "i think john ambler has marked talents for pub- lic service," said the colonel smoothly. "he is really a brilliant young chap and perhaps his greatest fault is his ability to see both sides of a question for, as the negro in the old story said when about to be hung, 'we don't want justice.' in politics we want blind partisanship. john ambler's grandfather and my father fought together in the confederate army. he comes from a good family and is beyond the breath of scandal. a man can't boast of his family's gentility in a political campaign, but it is a fact that the average southern voter, especially the women, consider such things. he belongs to a church that is numerous enough to give him substantial support and that's not an element to be overlooked. he is a fine speaker, a lawyer, just a little past thirty years of "two years and three months past thirty," thought julia steele to herself. "——and our rural people look to the law for their candidates for high office. he is also a farmer, loot been able to overawe the power advocates with such a showing of strength from the rural solons that the power lobby had been fearful of bringing the ques- tion to a direct issue. in the last legislature gover- nor pitts, with his mind intent on the coming sena- torial race, had not actually balked but he had not supported the bill with full force of his adminis- tration. "perhaps i can answer that question," interposed julia quickly. "john has a summer cabin near the falls that his grandfather built many years ago. you remember, father, that we used to spend the sum- mers there, too. i have seen john sit and brood over the loveliness of the falls for hours. he regards the place with such veneration that i don't believe he will ever consent to a power development there." "pm not so sure of that," said the colonel, placid- ly. "i've been talking to him a good deal about it late- ly. he's not exactly settled in his own mind about the rights of the public in the matter—as to whether the advantages of developing the state's much- needed power program outweigh the beauty of the falls, for all the arguments of the conservationists. but ambler is ambitious politically and a man who has ambition gnawing at him like the spartan wolf is likely to be a man who'll strain a point to meet the views of his friends and supporters. i think we have logic on our side and i am saying that it is my belief that ambler will come to our views. his mind is the most logical i ever saw. what about him, judge, what's your final judgment?" loot "you're the boss," said kelly. "it's okay with me." "my friends at the capitol will support anyone you prefer," said governor pitts, "though naturally they expect me to go to the senate." "i wouldn't make a political trade with the angel gabriel," said the colonel almost coldly, "but we'll get to that race in time. we've got to show some speed on this matter now. you gentlemen all meet me at the southern club near the statehouse tonight. i'll have ambler with me. here, julia, have shad telephone this list of men over the state to meet me at the club tonight. and telephone the steward to reserve a private dining room with dinner for eighteen." in a rush of characteristic energy, the campaign was about to start. the colonel was donning his fighting clothes. "hell," complained kelly to the governor, as they climbed in their waiting motor car, "why didn't the old man tell us at first that he was aiming to run john ambler for governor?" the governor laughed complacently, but on the steps of the old home julia steele was frowning in the dark. she knew john ambler better than any- one else did, and she sensed in his independent mind grave trouble for her father. chapter iii the southern club resembles nothing so much as an old-fashioned corner cupboard set in the midst of modern furniture. entirely surrounded by sky- scrapers and tall hotels, the old club house occupies a frontage on busy king william street worth a prince's ransom. it is built of brick which was pressed by slave labor. setting far back from the street in a clump of evergreens, the club has a broad porch under a mas- sive roof supported by white columns. the porch is dotted with easy chairs. from the center of the second story above the main entrance juts a balcony of ornamental iron work that some forgotten tubal- cain wrought by hand with infinite patience and skill. beneath the balcony is an immense white colonial door, the main entrance to the club. from it runs a broad hallway. on either side are large reading and card rooms, each done in white woodwork with large fireplaces for wood and surmounted by mantelpieces of italian marble and large mirrors. on the walls hang paintings of the presidents which the south has contributed to the union, portraits of confeder- ate military chieftains and statesmen of ante-bellum days. many of these are autographed, as the club it- loot self is more than a hundred years old. to the rear of the hall near the clerk's desk hangs an illuminated portrait of the sage of monticello, from whom the capital city takes its name of jeffersonville. on the second floor are two large dining rooms, flanked by a number of small private dining places. on the third floor is the ballroom. on quiet nights the little negroes who serve as the club's pages and bus boys imagine the old dance hall is ghostly with the twinkling feet and the coquettishly waving fans of a century of shining-eyed jeffersonville belles. on every hand are evidences of a time when life was calm and unhurried amidst a social system almost feudal in its magnificence. it was not seven o'clock when colonel steele's car, proudly chauffeured by young shad, the grandson of the old butler, came rapidly up the winding chert driveway under the magnolias and stopped at the carriage porch. beside the grinning boy on the front seat sat his grandfather, a sedate picture of african dignity. the old butler had never missed a dinner given by the colonel for more than a quarter of a century. it was his proud boast that he had served presidents of the united states as well as senators, governors, congressmen and the lower fauna and flora of the nation's political life. tonight he was proud that he was to have a hand in launching on a life of political glory young john ambler whom he had jostled on his knee as a babe back in steeleville. the colonel disembarked leisurely, his broad stet- son hat set at a rakish angle, cane in hand and a rose loot from his old-fashioned garden in buttonhole. behind him with a light step came the honorable john am- bler of steeleville. even as he stood beside the commanding colonel, john ambler's vivid personality was not dimmed. it gripped even old shad as he paused an instant to look at the tall young man whom he had loved since boy- hood. perhaps the most characteristic thing about john ambler was his smile. he smiled the widest when hardest pressed, whether in play, in law or in politics. he stood more than six feet tall. he had an unruly thatch of blond hair and blue eyes. although thirty- two, he seemed years younger. the old colonel made a mental note that ambler was almost too young to run for governor. it was, he thought in a flash, be- cause of the look of eternal youth in his blue eyes and the carefree smile. blue, the colonel ruminated, as they ascended the steps to the club entrance, is the color of adventure and daring. most great adventurers and leaders and men of action have blue eyes. brown eyes burn the midnight oil and lay the plans of empire, but blue eyes carry the sword. ambler's eyes, blue-gray under the light from the antique lamp in the carriage drive, seemed to peer into the future with confidence and easy assurance. they were the most striking things about his more than six feet of bulk, which was a legacy of the varsity football field and the training camps of the a. e. f. they were the eyes of lead- ership the world over. loot in the vestibule, colonel steele drew the younger man close. "we will meet my friends and advisers from all over the state," he said in a low voice. "they have already agreed to accept my judgment as to your candidacy. our conversation this afternoon, as i told you, was highly satisfactory. i haven't tried to push you from your convictions on the harpeth falls mat- ter, but i am confident you will come around to our viewpoint. our position is correct. you are at liberty to tell these gentlemen frankly what we discussed today." "but, colonel," interposed the younger man, "per- haps we'd better have a definite agreement about the harpeth hydroelectric development" "my boy," interrupted the colonel as they walked up the broad stairs to the private dining rooms of the second floor, "i am perfectly willing to leave the matter to your sense of fair play. you will find that development of the project will bring the greatest good to the greatest number, which is still a very good political creed." on the landing, as the colonel uttered the words, they got a full view of the lighted picture of thomas jefferson. the old gentleman waved at it with his cane. ambler was smiling. everything seemed to turn out just right for the colonel, even to the gestures with which he illustrated his conversation. old shad had scrambled into a white coat and pre- ceded them. contemptuous of the ability of the club's own staff of servants to serve the colonel and loot his guests as they should be served, shad took their hats with a flourish and threw open the door to the first private dining room on the left at the head of the stairs. into the room, dense with tobacco smoke and reek- ing with the fumes of whiskey, the colonel first stepped. with a courtly bow he turned to the younger man, while the buzz of conversation ceased around the long table at which the guests sat. "gentlemen," said colonel steele, a touch of the dramatic in his voice, "i have the honor and pleas- ure to present to you, john ambler of steeleville, the next governor of our state!" there was a gasp of surprise from the little room as the chieftains of the steele machine realized that the colonel had already committed them to a candi- date whom some had regarded with doubt, if not actual fear. but to a man they rose quickly to offer congratulations. the first to shake ambler's hand was kelly, who had tried valiantly to keep the colonel away from his choice. "we can put you over, big boy," he said boast- fully. then came judge griffin, majors and smith. they were joined by the lesser stars in the political firmament. there was slemp, a district leader from the state's largest city; mcguire, said to be the dic- tator of the jeffersonville local political organization, and others from the rural congressional districts whom ambler did not recognize. governor pitts was condescendingly cordial to the young man. last came loot daniel graham, the newspaper editor whom dame rumor had credited with being the author of many of governor pitts's public utterances and proclama- tions. daniel graham was kindest of all. face to face with the noted southern editor for the first time, ambler noted that his countenance, marked and rugged with lines, was not unlike that of abraham lincoln. graham wore a black string tie, a white shirt and a dark wrinkled suit. ambler pictured him in a mental flash in the inevitable five-gallon hat of southern statecraft and old-time journalism. "my boy," said graham in a tone of deep sin- cerity, "i have been watching your career for some time. you'll make a great governor." ambler thanked him gratefully, sensing the compliment to be the first genuine tribute he had received during the night, except for those of colonel steele, whose admiration for the boy he had helped to rear was undoubtedly sincere. meanwhile, old shad had been bringing prepared plates from the club kitchens while his ebony grand- son opened champagne and mixed drinks from a buffet in the room. it was pre-volstead stuff from the colonel's own cellars, for though colonel steele drank sparingly he supplied his friends lavishly. talk around the table was animated. ambler, who did not drink, sensed that several of the district lead- ers had already had too much liquor. but perhaps, he thought ruefully, that was the state colonel steele wished them to attain. at any event, the men % loot has done this, to my own satisfaction, at least. i am not willing, however, to take the full responsibility of this campaign without the benefit of your judg- ment on the matter. i suggest the most candid discus- sion of the matters which are certain to become issues in the coming campaign." kelly was edging his chair closer to ambler mo- mentarily. as soon as the colonel had finished his suave little speech, kelly spoke. "the thing we want to be sure about is roads, am- bler," he began in his rasping voice, while ambler was aware of a momentary feeling of disgust. "we've been building 'em pretty fast, but not fast enough. i can guarantee to get more votes with a mile of road in a rural county still in the mud than with a hatful of money paid to district workers on election day. a good promise of a road is worth about as much as the road itself, if there's money enough at the capitol to build it. how do you feel towards the bond issue we've been talking about over the state?" ambler's reply, instantly given, showed his inti- mate knowledge of state affairs. "i favor a bond issue, but not one as large as the bond issue advocates and highway associations have proposed," said ambler. "i have heard some of their demands as high as a quarter of a billion dollars. don't think the bond issue for highways ought to be larger than a hundred million, and not even that high if a new tax on gasoline, which i shall propose, will not retire the bonds during the lifetime of this gen- eration. the fact is that i would not favor a bond loot issue at all, but for the realization that we simply can't build roads to meet the popular necessity out of current revenues. one of the great dangers of get- ting it too large is that we haven't trained and de- veloped highway engineers and contractors to carry on such a large program efficiently. does that meet your question?" "check," said kelly grinning. "we don't expect to get no quarter of a billion dollars anyway. 'sail right. i just wanted to know if the gravy was going to keep running." majors, who had been fidgeting in his chair, took up the queer cross examination. ambler, knowing his connection with various organizations of paving con- tractors and material men, was amused to observe the trend of his questions. "in this expanded highway program," began ma- jors, "would you expect to advocate any change in the administration of the highway funds or in the methods of purchasing supplies and materials?" "no, it is not my present intention," said ambler, "though of course you must know that i cannot be bound by an opinion so far in advance and without a survey of the highway department. the bonds would be sold and the money turned into the state treasury in the regular way to the credit of the high- way department. the highway commissioner would check the money out as he has done heretofore upon the completion of paving projects or to machinery and material firms from which the highway depart- ment had bought. this routine has brought a fine so loot state highway system halfway to completion and i can see no reason to change it. nor do i see any rea- son now to change the method of purchasing. is that what you wished to know?" "exactly," replied majors. he seemed vastly pleased. "i just wanted to be sure that our friends who have helped us and who will help to elect you, can still get the state business they deserve," he ex- plained. judge griffin's patrician hands had been picking aimlessly at the tablecloth while kelly and majors had been questioning the candidate. at last he spoke. "i have been very much interested, of course, mr. ambler, in the disposition of harpeth falls," he said. "i am naturally wondering how your mind runs on that matter?" colonel steele turned quickly to judge griffin as though to offer an explanation, but ambler was quicker. "there is no reason," said ambler, "why my con- victions on the subject should not be known to any- one who wishes to know them. i have had some de- bate already with colonel steele on that point. the colonel and i usually agree on matters of state pol- icy," he added with a smile, "but we aren't exactly together on this." "i favor, of course, the speedy development of the state's hydroelectric power," continued ambler, while the power attorney brightened visibly. "at the present rate of industrial development, we'll face a serious power shortage in our state within the next loot decade unless our potential water power is developed. this will especially curtail the farmer's power as the companies will naturally favor the industrial centers. it seems to me, therefore, that it is the part of pa- triotism and wisdom to hasten this development. it is an emergency matter and ought not to wait. i fa- vor development also by private companies and capi- tal, as i do not believe in either government owner- ship or operation of any utility unless absolutely necessary." judge griffin was smiling openly now. "but," ambler went on, "there are things that may be even more important than money. harpeth falls is surely one of the most beautiful spots in the south. the indians used to come to watch it, long be- fore the white man came. it has been a great natural heritage owned in common by all the people. if the manufacture of electricity at this waterfall would de- stroy it, it could not be justified even on the broad grounds of public policy. it would be an act of sheer vandalism. besides, i have served as president of a conservation association for some years which has for its purpose the preservation of harpeth falls. i could not now consistently, even if i were so minded, advocate a change." kelly broke out in a laugh. it was directed at col- onel steele and said almost as plain as words, "i told you so." but ambler was not through. "i am very sorry, judge, that i cannot meet your views entirely," he resumed. "but i have studied the subject rather closely and i have found a compromise that ought ( loot to be agreeable to you. if you will eliminate dam one in your plan, which is the dam that would destroy the falls, and use only dams two and three in your plan, i'll sign the bill!" judge griffin had been too good a country horse trader in his youth on his father's plantation to show too much exultation at even this significant compro- mise, but the others were delighted. they said as much noisily. "i am not at all sure whether the engineers could agree to this," said judge griffin cautiously. "i am not sure that we could develop the property profit- ably on this basis. if this is possible i shall, of course, be glad to offer this to my company as a compro- mise and get the whole thing settled and out of the newspapers, as it has caused us trouble for years. per- sonally, i'd be glad to accept your views." "judge, will you trust me to work this out be- tween you two?" interposed colonel steele placat- ingly. "i am certain that it can be worked out to the satisfaction of all. mr. ambler is meeting our views so fairly in other matters that this ought not to prove a stumbling block." "why, of course, colonel," said judge griffin and the matter was dropped for the time. secretly he was delighted that ambler had gone as far as he had. "now that we have taken care of all the private interests," said daniel graham with solemn humor, "what are we going to offer the dear pee-pul in ex- change for their votes, what are we going to do for them?" loot s "we've got that all fixed, mr. graham," said ambler, partaking of his irony. "i will advocate, as i have always advocated, a complete repeal of the state tax on land and property. i'll advocate also a constitutional amendment which will permit the classification and taxation of property according to income. thus farms and homes, which are not as profitable as business property, will pay less taxes." "good!" exclaimed graham, with real enthusi- asm. "that will be a real reform. and so simple that i wonder none of us thought of it before." there was drunken applause from the other end of the room and senator flippen, whom ambler recognized as a member of the last state senate from a rural district, began to make a maudlin speech which entwined the names of governor pitts and john am- bler with the stars and stripes of old glory. ambler sensed that the ordeal was over and that he had passed the test successfully. strangely, he found him- self not thinking of his coming honors but of the starry eyes of julia steele. she would be so happy for him. at the moment old shad stuck his grizzled head in the door and summoned ambler to the telephone. it was julia telephoning from steeleville to offer congratulations on his candidacy and chaff him as "governor." when he returned ambler was met by colonel steele and daniel graham in the hallway. both congratulated him warmly. "john," said the colonel, "the concensus of opin- loot and can now guarantee the two-dam bill. what do you say?" "we'll give the hundred thousand," said judge griffin sulkily. "majors, we have your interests down for one hundred thousand dollars for the primary," said the colonel. "we'll need more for the general elec- tion." the spokesman of the paving interests gulped audibly. "all right, colonel," said majors finally. "by the way, majors," said the colonel, "if your people don't contribute gracefully to the campaign fund, remind them that a state administration can change specifications for materials or it might even build its own cement plants and operate them by con- vict labor. or it might fire all the contractors and do the work on force account." "they won't object," defended majors, "so long as they get a cut at the gravy." "kelly, there's fifty thousand dollars left for you to raise. i suggest you get half of it from insurance companies, banks, railroads and other beneficiaries of the beauties of democracy. get the other half from state employes, just to make them value the organi- zation that keeps them in jobs." the colonel was rising. the job was about done. "turn the money over to kelly by the end of the week in cash—bills of large denominations," directed the colonel. "ambler's formal announcement will be out next monday and we must open headquarters loot s within the week. we're going to have the hardest fight and the biggest victory of our lives." "here, shad, wake up," said the colonel as he poked his head out of the door and observed the old negro sleeping. "i want to go home." the empire builder left the tight little room and walked downstairs. at the foot he called to kelly, his trusted lieutenant. he directed him to proceed with caution, but haste, to have congressman jenkins qualified as a candidate for the united states sen- ate. there had been a look in the eyes of governor thomas jefferson pitts that the colonel could not fathom. if pitts rebelled and tried to wrest the state machine from steele, then steele would put the machine behind jenkins. at any event, jenkins would be used as a pawn in the game, an earnest of pitts's good behavior. jauntily, colonel gideon steele left the southern club and passed out into the night. he had done, he thought, a big day's work, a good day's work. loot county and was originally from cheatham. "she has a brother named 'bull' anniston, a bootlegger and bad egg." "cap'n, pse mighty sorry 'bout this here thing what's happened," said the bell boy who had stood, typewriter in hand, blank with amazement during the whole proceedings. the black boy no longer grinned and he seemed to sense the indignity the blackmailers hah put upon his hotel. "forget it, george," said ambler, slipping him a bill. "yes, suh, kunnel, thank yer, suh, kunnel," said the boy as he put down the typewriter and salaamed himself out of the room. the rapid promotion the negro had given ambler in military rank broke the tension and the three men roared with laughter. "they have a standard of titles for tips," said graham. "i tip only a dime and therefore am just plain 'boss' or even 'white folks.' if you tip a quarter you rate a plain captain, but if a generous guest gives them a half dollar or more he is automatically a southern colonel." ambler sat down at the machine and lit a cigar, while the reporter and editor made themselves com- fortable. ordinarily, ambler reflected, he could not bring his mind to work logically after such a scene as he had just undergone, but tonight the very mystery of the affair put him on his mettle. who would profit by such a frame-up? the opposition candidate for chapter v john ambler moved in a whirl during the next week. he was in almost hourly conference with col- onel steele, who said that the campaign would be won or lost in its first week. "of course," said the old colonel confidently, "we'll put you over, but this week will decide whether we have a hard or an easy race." ambler felt himself in a new atmosphere. his pulse was quickened by the coming battle after the publication of his formal announcement for gover- nor on the monday morning following the episode at the hotel patrick henry. the steeleville american assigned ambrose pierce to the ambler campaign when the announcement ap- peared and editor daniel graham endorsed ambler in a double leader editorial in which he summoned the great men of the south from thomas jefferson on down to the present to witness that here was a new prophet upon whom the mantle of the great could worthily descend. pierce dogged ambler's footsteps with sardonic fi- delity. "we have now given you over to the ages," the reporter told ambler in mock heroics. "your brand of cigars is news. do you wear union suits or loot b. v. d.'s? john d. public wants to know. you pre- fer brunettes, i see ..." between the young lawyer and the young reporter there sprung up a warm regard built on a mutual admiration. ambler was amazed by the efficient man- ner in which pierce had given the news of his candi- dacy to the world. he seemed to be functioning one- third newspaper man, one-third press agent and one- third politician. he had sent out copies in proof form to all the state papers for simultaneous release and also had succeeded in getting the story on the trunk lines of the three press associations which served the jeffersonville newspapers. the result was that ambler's candidacy received national publicity, as well as state and southern notice. the newspapers were mixed in their editorial opinions. editor grover c. hall of the montgomery a dvertiser discussed it pro and con in a brilliant edi- torial. a paragrapher on the arkansas democrat at little rock cynically observed that no such overturn in government had been proposed since moses brought down the tablets of stone from mt. sinai. the louisville courier-journal saw in the proposed relief of the farmers' tax rate a benefit for the to- bacco growers. the raleigh news and observer com- pared ambler's diction with that of woodrow wil- son. the macon telegraph editorially remarked that no such demonstration in the south had greeted a public utterance since henry grady addressed the new england society a half century before. "mr. ambler announces; a call to the statesmanship of loot the old south," read the headlines over a leader edi- torial in the birmingham age-herald. but pierce's masterpiece was achieved in balti- more. he was careful to send a batch of clippings to a famous magazine editor of that city whose icono- clastic magazine had often attacked southern institu- tions. he had hoped to draw from this editor an at- tack on ambler and he was not disappointed. in the next issue of the magazine appeared a violent diatribe on ambler as the "yokel prophet of the bible belt." ambler was thunderstruck when pierce showed him the clipping from the magazine and explained how he had drawn the editor's fire. "but this editor praised my stand when i opposed the anti-evolution law," said ambler. "and i hope the country folks don't remember that," returned pierce. "i got this attack on you pur- posely to wash away the recollection of that praise. it would ruin you." and, to ambler's intense disgust, the reporter printed the magazine's editorial in the american and sent out copies to the country press. all during the summer it kept bobbing up in the weekly papers of the hinterland, coupled with praise of ambler for having won the disapproval of the south's arch critic. that week ambler learned many things that weren't in his college course or in his legal training. one of them was that few men could stand before the keen eyes of colonel steele and refuse him. in- deed, that few men could stand up and fight him. he seemed to dominate every situation into which he loot entered, though he deferred to ambler at every turn. a demonstration of steele's courage to face any situation came on the day after his announcement when the opposition press printed rumors of a break between the pitts administration and steele. the colonel's watchdog, kelly, had brought word of these reports hours before they were printed. the colonel was lunching with ambler at the southern club when the news came. to ambler's amazement, colonel steele was not disturbed. "we have an ace in the hole, my boy," he told ambler with twinkling eyes. "after lunch we'll walk up to see his excellency, the governor." they walked down king william street and up the hill to the statehouse. governor pitts's secretary ushered them into his chief at once. the governor was elaborately courteous but he was cool. before him was a copy of the jeffersonville american of the previous day. it contained not only ambler's an- nouncement for governor but the news that con- gressman jenkins had qualified to make the race against governor pitts for the united states senate. the colonel came to the point at once, his eyes as steely blue as a blue steel revolver. under their steady glare the governor wilted. he denied that he had hinted to reporters from the op- position press than he planned to ditch the steele ma- chine and make his senatorial race alone, concentrat- ing the strength of the state administration on the senate race rather than on ambler. he denied that loot he told the state highway commissioner to refuse to locate highways in counties until the delegation of citizens requesting the road locations had pledged support to the governor in his senate race. he de- nied that he had told the state treasurer to with- draw the deposit of state monies from banks which were known to be favorable to steele. he denied many charges and as the colonel sat silent but at- tentive, pitts gathered courage. "but the truth is, colonel," said the governor, re- covering some of his lost urbanity, "that i have ren- dered such a service to this state and to you that i ought not to have opposition for the senate." "i knew you were galled by that," returned col- onel steele. then he leaned forward and spat out his words like the fire of a machine gun. "pitts," he said, "i elected you twice. you couldn't be elected county commissioner in your home county when i took you up. you know that as well as i do." the governor flushed, but said nothing. he seemed to quail before the baleful eye of the political boss. "the denials you have made here of the moves you have tried to make are lies," said the colonel in his steely voice. the governor cringed but the word seemed to lie between the two men on the table like a corpse in the house. ambler was embarrassed to witness such a scene. kelly winked at him know- ingly. "you forget that the state treasurer was elected by a legislature which i controlled and was not your loot appointee," resumed steele. "you forget that the state highway commissioner is my friend and politi- cal protege. you forget that what you have already tried to do in this matter constitutes a public scandal, if known. any other efforts along this line will result in a special session of the legislature called to im- peach you." ambler felt that the colonel was bluffing and the governor seemed to think likewise. he mocked: "you forget that only the governor can call the general assembly into extraordinary session." "and you forget, my dear fellow," retorted col- onel steele sarcastically, "that a majority of the legislature when informed of malfeasance or mis- feasance of the governor in office, can by petition as- semble itself for the purpose of impeachment." the governor's palor betrayed that colonel steele had reminded him of a forgotten section of the state's constitution. "do you know who qualified congressman jen- kins?" asked colonel steele. pitts shook his head dumbly and steele played his ace in the hole. "i had him qualified," said the colonel smoothly. "but why?" cried the governor as in sudden agony. "have i not served your organization well?" "i did it because i foresaw how you might act in this crisis," said colonel steele. "i did it as an earn- est of your good behavior, and also to keep out other candidates. if he withdraws, you have the race with- out opposition. before he was qualified in the senate race, he qualified himself as a candidate for reelec- loot tion to succeed himself in the lower house of con- gress. he is now, by chance, qualified in both races." governor pitts's wary eyes lit up with new hope. "colonel, you misjudge me," he said, "i am for mr. ambler for governor. although a candidate for the senate myself, i'll issue a statement endorsing mr. ambler's race for governor and pointing him out as the logical successor to my administration." this was one of the points the colonel had been playing for, but he affected to regard it as a small matter. "just as you like," he said. "but there is some- thing you can do. permit kelly to go into the state departments, especially the highway and educational departments, and organize them for ambler, tak- ing full charge of the administration's political situa- tion." governor pitts assented eagerly, though he knew it meant that capitol hill for the next few months would be directed from colonel steele's office. it might even be organized against his own candidacy, or at least in such a manner that his ambition would be subrogated to that of ambler. "but, in return for this, you will agree to with- draw jenkins from the senate race?" pitts asked. "pitts, don't you know me well enough to know that i have never been guilty of making a political deal?" asked the colonel frigidly. ambler gasped at the assertion. true, he had never known of any of steele's political trades, but he did not see how all of the colonel's intricate political maneuvers loot could be accomplished without some understanding. he recognized the distaste of the politician for mak- ing a political deal publicly. "all right, all right," said the governor hastily. but once outside the state house, the colonel drew kelly aside and gave him instructions. "go to congressman jenkins down at the patrick henry and tell him i said he must withdraw from the senatorial race. if he does not withdraw grace- fully, point out that he was qualified by only one more than the legal number required on a qualifying petition, that the time limit for qualifying has ex- pired and hint that it might be possible to show by affidavits from some of the signers of the petition that they are not qualified voters, some of them hav- ing forgotten to pay their poll taxes or to register. thus he may not be legally qualified. in other words, mr. jenkins has served his purpose well and now must be booted out of the race. promise him financial support in his race for reelection to congress up to ten thousand dollars, and let's all see that the old man is returned to his seat in the house. also tell him i am very appreciative and his time may come yet." the next day ambler read two interviews in the morning american. the first was from governor pitts and praised ambler to the skies as the worthy successor to "this progressive administration." the second was from congressman jenkins and an- nounced that he would "yield to the wishes of many friends and constituents in my old congressional dis- trict and make the race for reelection." chapter vi john ambler opened his campaign for governor at cheatham in his own county. it was the biggest political show the state ever saw. because ambler was from steeleville, the bitterest commercial and political rival of cheatham, the lat- ter tried to outdo its ancient rival and it did it with a bang. ambler rode over in his car with colonel steele and julia to participate in the parade. they met the waiting autos at chestnut hill, three miles from cheatham, and headed the parade into cheatham. the scene was reminiscent of the fiery old days in southern politics. leading the entire procession and mounted on large mules were the members of the county court. most of them were grave old men, but they whooped like indians, and slapped the sides of their mules, as they galloped in parade formation in front of the candidate's car. behind the car came the cheatham military band, dressed in white and playing its entire repertoire of three numbers. ambler identified the "soldier's chorus" from faust, sousa's "the stars and stripes forever" and, of course, "dixie," played in a gal- lop. but the band never got to play more than the loot opening strains of "dixie." the crowds drowned it out with cheering. it was unusual for colonel steele to attend a po- litical demonstration, but this one was in his old home county and for the young lawyer whose place in his affections was becoming even larger as the days went by. it was plain to see that the colonel, whose eyes revealed his excitement, was getting a rare kick out of the proceedings, while julia looked on with an air of quiet pride. behind the ambler car, itself the only decorated vehicle in the procession, moved several hundred autos, an old family surrey and a few buggies, all decorated with gay streamers and ribbons. at intervals came three other bands. the one at the end of the procession attracted the most attention. it was a band made up entirely of strapping negro men in the most awesome costumes. it bore a large banner proclaiming that the band was from rising sun lodge of the sons and daughters of israel. these israelites, truth to tell, were the only unpaid performers in the entire show. they came out of respect for ambler, who was regarded as a friend of the negro, but mainly because of their extrava- gant admiration for colonel steele, who was re- garded as a sort of demigod. the attention of the israelites along the line of march was riveted in the main on the other gentle- men of color whom they spied in the fields and on the road to cheatham. it seemed that most of them had not seen their friends and relatives for years, tc loot judge by the lusty salutations that went over the sides of the decorated truck on which they rode. at intervals the colored band burst into hearty and unrestrained music. mainly it was the memphis blues, the st. louis blues or the st. james infirm- ary blues. at intervals the ethiopian minstrels took their instruments from their mouths and shouted the words of a song. thus, after a few bars, they would shout— "i lost my gal from memphis, she went to caroline, i knew jest who she went with, a dear old pal of mine!" honor and glory were added that gay day to ris- ing sun lodge of the daughters and sons of israel as they rode in the white folks' procession in honor of the county's native son, john ambler. it was shared by the wandering gentlemen of color along the road, attracted from the cotton fields by the music and the cheering. as the parade neared cheatham the enterprise of the colored race became apparent. they had erected scores of rough-timbered stands along the road and from them sold hot catfish, soda pop, chitlings and other delicacies. at the city limits the procession was met by the mayor and city council. the mayor, an excited lit- tle man who was all too obviously impressed with the solemnity of the occasion, presented ambler with a huge basket of roses and a key to the city some six feet long, the pride of a local tinshop. the key to loot the city almost crowded the party out of the car, but they kept it bravely. after the speaking, ambler heaved it into a convenient culvert on the way back to steeleville. the procession rode through a lane of flowers down the town's leading street, steele boulevard, re- named in honor of the colonel after his coup for the cheatham courthouse. at the courthouse the proces- sion jammed the square, already crowded with a col- lection of farm wagons, mules, horses and dilapidated flivvers. it was not only the opening day of a great political campaign. it was the first monday in june, which meant the convening of the county court, the sounding of the docket of the circuit court for the summer term, and the monthly gathering of every horse and mule trader in the county, every dealer in farm lands, most of the farmers of the county and many others connected with agriculture. the wily management of the ambler campaign at state head- quarters had taken these things into consideration. in the great lawn around the courthouse had been sunk barbecue pits. there were the carcasses of a score of steers, a dozen or more sheep and a dozen hogs, which had been cooking all night and half the day. there was the tang of woodsmoke in the air from the barbecue pits. the thousands thronged the rough counters around the barbecue pits and were served by the negro barbecue experts who had prepared the feast. wooden trays, heaped high with barbecued meat, light bread and pickles, were passed out, while fur- loot ther down the line a busy committee of citizens ladled out lemonade and buttermilk or passed out soda pop. the food and drinks were free. ambler and the steeles mingled with the crowds. in many groups of the courthouse lawn the colonel found boys named for him, sons of fathers who had served with him in the old campaigns of the county. he moved among the country people like a major prophet come home. his enjoyment was great. it was a big day for him. for years he had been content to keep in the background and pull the strings for his political puppets. on one of the windows of the courthouse colonel steele discoverd kelly. "everything moving along as we planned?" the colonel asked. "fine," said kelly. "the whole state house turned out for the parade. the highway contractors furnished the cars and trucks, as you directed. we're all set for the sacred ox to speak." "reimburse the local committee for the barbecue, the bands and other expense as soon as possible," or- dered the colonel. "so," thought ambler, who had happened to over- hear the conversation, "not even the crowds come of their own accord to political speakings. they had to be hauled in donated trucks!" by one o'clock the crowd had been fed and had begun to congregate on the benches of rough lumber in front of the courthouse. there was not an avail- able inch of space left in the entire square, either in- loot lemnity, "by the reverend mr. uh—that is to say, the reverend" here the mayor broke down completely. he gulped twice and his adam's apple raced up and down his long neck. he dived first into one pocket and then the other for a paper. he found it, fixed his glasses on his nose frantically and glanced at the paper. up and down the mayor's pop eyes traveled. he couldn't find the name. he turned the paper over. "you don't go to church, do you, mayor?" sang out a voice from the rear, and the crowd rocked with laughter. the mayor shot a withering glance in the direction of the heckler and began all over again. "ladies and gentlemen," he said, "as i was about to say when interrupted, the meeting will be led in prayer by the rev. john wesley smith, pastor of the first methodist church." the rev. mr. smith seemed to take the meeting as a special place to strike a blow for the higher things of life, or perhaps he was only following the injunction to "pray unceasingly." he prayed fer- vently for fifteen minutes amid a torrent of "amen's" and shouts of "hear him, brother." had he called for converts, the mourners' bench might have been full. as the minister retired solemnly to his seat, he was accosted by ambrose pierce, the reporter, who asked for a copy of his prayer. "honest, doctor, that was the finest prayer i ever loot heard," said the incorrigible newspaper man, sending a covert wink at ambler. "i want you to write it out for the jeffersonville american, especially the part praying for 'divine guidance' on this campaign for good government." the flattered minister followed him into the county court clerk's office, just behind the rostrum, to write out his prayer. "ladies and gentlemen," said the mayor, again, "i now have the honor to present the chairman of this gathering who will in turn present your honored guest. i introduce state senator jefferson d. forrest of cheatham." senator jefferson d. forrest of cheatham was nothing loath to step forward and burst into speech. he started at the early foundations "of the republic and worked on up, stone by stone. the capstone of this edifice, he intimated, "would not be complete without the election of the honorable john ambler, than whom "but he got no further. the crowd, led by the clerks and other state employes who had come thither at the command of their bureau and de- partmental chiefs, cheered him to the echo. "i ain't heared such a noise since shiloh," shouted one of the old soldiers on the platform into the hand- cupped ear of his neighbor. "'twas wuss noise at gettysburg," retorted the other with a treble whinny. through the din senator jefferson d. forrest grinned amiably, as he walked back and forth on the platform with thumbs under arms. he enjoyed it for loot a few moments, then he threw up his hand and signaled for silence. the nomination and election of the county's fa- vorite son, he said, would bring reforms such as were never dreamed by the author of the declaration of independence or the fathers of the republic. "why is it, my friends," he asked in a pleading voice, "when reforms are instituted in our beloved state, that some one comes forward, some wolf in sheep's closing—nay, some wolf in legal sheepskin— some one, i say, comes forward and stigmatizes them as unconstitutional? my friends, i am one who be- lieves that the constitution is a document that can be moulded and remoulded to meet the needs of the sovereign people. i believe that the constitution is the servant of the people instead of the master of the people." (loud cheers). such a reform, he said, was the proposed elimination of the state tax on land. at this point senator jefferson d. forrest left the ground entirely and soared in the clouds, shaking hands with the angels in his oratorical flight. he met robert e. lee and his embattled hosts in valhalla, paid a touching tribute to stonewall jackson, eulo- gized the confederate flag, damned the puritan fathers with faint praise and heaped enconiums on the cavaliers. by the time he had gotten back to earth, he had repealed the state tax on land and im- proved the economic status of every farmer in the audience. but just as he did it there came from some- where in the center of the crowd an insistent and sibi- loot lant hissing. somebody was giving the honorable forrest the raspberry! the senator stopped in the midst of the hissing and cast an eye as keen as ever was daniel web- ster's over the assemblage. there was a dead silence the speaker met the heckler in time-honored fashion. "my friends," he said slowly, "only two of god's living creatures utters a hiss. one is a goose and the other is a rattlesnake!" there was deafening applause and the senator had won the day. but no sooner had be gotten back to the even tenor of his speech than there came another interruption. a woman in the audience, seated in a farm wagon at the edge of the crowd, began to have trouble with her baby. the little fellow, sitting in her lap under the broiling sun, began to whimper. her neighbors muttered suggestively and the mayor leaned forward from the platform to suggest, sotto voice, that the woman take the infant outside. laying a detaining hand on the shoulder of the mayor, senator forrest thundered: "never mind, never mind, let the good woman stay here and hear words that will mean much to her and much more to her little babe. ah, this is a cam- paign in which the women and children of our state ought to be interested. this is a campaign on behalf of the women and children!" without any need of leadership from the state capitol group, the crowd yelled and roared its ap- proval. under the cover of the general noise the woman unbottoned her bosom and suckled the infant. loot then the applause was greater than before. as ambler turned to take a sip of water from the glass on the table by his side he saw astonishment writ on the impish countenance of kelly over the spectacle of a candidate who didn't want applause but who got more applause by asking that it stop. it was the dem- onstration of a crowd psychology evidently unknown to kelly. "i am a plain man," ambler said, "without the arts and wiles of the politician. if you do not favor these things of which i am speaking, then do not vote for me, for as surely as i am elected governor of this state, they will be written into law." this declaration seemed to appeal to kelly's sense of humor for he shook internally. had ambler been a lip-reader he would have caught kelly's whisper to one of colonel steele's machine cogs near by. it was to the effect that ambler was going to be a bet- ter candidate than he thought possible because "the durned fool believes he really can do all that." but kelly frowned in real irritation when ambler de- parted a moment later from his prepared speech to pledge that no whipping or lynching of any person, white or black, could occur in the state during his administration, if the strong arm of the law could arrive in time. kelly remembered there had been two lynchings in cheatham within the year and that a lawless band of nightriders and whitecaps was then operating in the county to terrorize the negroes. "i do not come before you," said ambler, "like the demagogue who would sap your reason with rhet- loot oric and array class against class. nor do i promise you a large reduction in state expenditures. on the contrary, i believe that my administration, if i am elected governor of your state, will spend more money than any previous administration. we shall see that every dollar is honestly and effectively spent. but, make no mistake, it will be spent for the things which progress demands—roads and schools and im- provements of all kinds which make life happier and easier. at the same time i promise you a reduction of at least two million dollars annually in the state tax now levied on land and property. eventually, as the state's financial condition warrants, we shall aban- don entirely the raising of revenue for state pur- poses by a tax on land. such a method is a cheap makeshift for scientific taxation. it bears heaviest on those who are least able to pay. i offer this as the only contribution to farm relief which i think a state government ought to make, after extending to farming the usual services of an efficient depart- ment of agriculture. ours is slowly becoming an in- dustrial state. what must be your problems when your sons and daughters are lured from the farms to the factories of the cities? i say with measured words, and with no thought of aping the honeyed words of the demagogues, that when agriculture fails our republic will fall." ambler spoke barely an hour, but long before he finished he realized that he held the crowd in the hollow of his hand. the discovery did not elate him so much as it sobered and steadied him. there was loot of the legislature until, some thirty years before, he had been governor of the state. his reputation for integrity was one of the proud boasts of the state. he was widely known as "honest l. q." and must have been all of eighty years of age, though still able, so several of his voluntary and bibulous bos- wells said, to drink a quart of whiskey each day. the old gentleman refused to believe the evidence of his own eyes that a new day had come in state government. his main campaign pledge was to re- duce state expenditures and return to the "economy and efficiency in government, the democratic sim- plicity, of thirty years ago" when, it might be added, there was not a foot of hard-surfaced roads in the state, when the public school was mainly a conven- ience of the towns and cities, and when the governor went to his office in the capitol building, in a han- som cab. the armistead candidacy was appealing to a good many old-fashioned people but its aims fell with a dull thud on the ears of many thousands of the up- and-coming citizenry whose god was progress and whose high priests of progress were the highways and the public schools. the fifteen thousand or more state employes heard with ominous forebodings armistead's pledge to reduce their number by half and they redoubled their efforts to put ambler over. what was most dangerous in the old man's candi- dacy was his continual appeal to state pride and sen- timent. "for fifty years i have fought the battles of my loot state and my party," he was accustomed to say, "and i am now asking to serve both for the last time i shall hold any public office, rounding out my career in the governor's office in my state." but all the sentimental appeals in the world could not stand for long against the remorseless work of the steele machine. it was receiving reports that the armistead managers had not perfected organizations in more than half of the counties, depending appar- ently on their candidate's oft repeated declaration that he had "abiding faith in the wisdom and judgment of the american people." and colonel steele, with high disdain for lofty sentiments on popular govern- ment, had an organization capable of directing the "wisdom and judgment" of the people to the point where their ballots for ambler were deposited in the ballot boxes and then counted in such a manner as to give ambler the benefit of every doubt. and in the administration of the state government—every foot of highways, every new school and every state improvement—every little movement had a meaning all its own. all maneuvers were directed at getting votes. as he devoted his entire time to his speaking en- gagements over the state, ambler heard strange tales from the state house. each member of the governor's cabinet functioned with a henchman of kelly's by his side. kelly made the most of the state highway program, never promising a road until the leading politicians of the section affected by the new highway had promised to line up for ambler. every loot ambler moved forward in perplexity. mr. armi- stead, when he had seen him a few moments before, seemed unaware of any intention to quit the race suddenly. "look here," said kelly, and he shoved two affi- davits before him. "these men gave them," he ex- plained. ambler's practised eyes sped through the legal phraseology which introduced the oaths of the affi- ants and came swiftly to their crux. it was very sim- ple. the men simply stated on their oaths that they had been in chestnut hill, a mountain village some one hundred miles to the east of jeffersonville, on a night a week before when mr. armistead had de- livered his speech there; that they had stayed in an adjoining room to the candidate at the southern ho- tel in that village; that following the speaking the candidate returned to the hotel and there indulged in "a drinking orgy" with several local friends; that the disturbance made by the intoxicated men was such as to keep the two citizens awake half the night until finally they complained to the management of the hotel; that the management sent the bell captain to the room to caution the guests, whereupon the bell boy was cursed by someone within the room and a brawl started in which the candidate for governor took part but ambler read no more. "i don't want this used, kelly," snapped ambler. "whether true or untrue, it is a blow below the belt and i won't be a party to any such campaign tac- loot you. he wants it published, but not through any newspaper friendly to us." ambler's face was white with rage. he snatched the telephone and said: "colonel, i didn't consult you about the advisa- bility of using these affidavits. they may be expedi- ent politically, but, by god, they are inexcusable morally. they relate an alleged incident in a man's private room, and if this thing is permitted in this campaign, then the next issue of the papers will carry the announcement of my withdrawal from the race." ambler could hear the gasp of pure astonishment, followed by a brief but eloquent silence. "i did not know you felt so keenly about it, john," said the colonel's well-modulated voice in a moment. "i merely was looking at the matter from the stand- point of practical politics and to help your cause. of course, if you feel that way about it, we'll drop it. all i knowabout the matter iswhat kelly has told me." kelly, pop-eyed with amazement that anyone should beard the colonel, flung out the door of the private office to dismiss his two visitors, brushing by ambrose pierce, the reporter. "where'd battling kid kelly get the jail-birds?" asked the newspaper man, and ambler learned con- firmation of his suspicions that the men were not plain citizens from the great open spaces with the good of the prohibition laws at heart, but former convicts with blackmail records, very probably hired by the unscrupulous kelly to do the job of framing the opposition candidate. loot but, after that, ambler was not bothered by the devious tricks of the political trade. he made his campaign in his own way in peace. whatever tricks the machine gang pulled, they did without his knowl- edge or consent. apparently they fought out the cam- paign to the end, using mainly their skill for organi- zation, even though an organization which even the busy ambler could sense was functioning on a golden stream of cash from the steele war chests and that was using political patronage to control tens of thou- sands of votes. back and forth over the state ambler hurried until the primary of early august closed the cam- paign. he delivered more than one hundred speeches and covered thousands of miles in his car, which was piloted all the way by young shad. here and there ambler sensed that armistead had been successful in his appeal for honors from the old party and the old state for the last time, or in his fiery attacks on organized politics. at such places ambler bore down harder than ever on the steele gospel of progress— more roads, more schools, more public health units, more bureaus to relieve economic and physical dis- tress, more government. armistead, in rebuttal in his speeches, which generally followed ambler on the next day, drew the reverse side of the picture such a program entails—more jobs for the politicians, more money for the campaign funds, a more perfectly functioning political machine to control the elec- loot "it just won't do," he said. "the interests we plan to pry loose for more taxation would be spending money against us like water from one end of the state to another. when i was in congress i learned a name for trying to answer something you can't an- swer. it was 'holding a red hot poker on the front porch.' answer all the frivolous charges in politics, but never make a reply to a serious charge, and this one is serious. don't dream of answering it. ignore it!" ambler felt this was a poor way of conducting a campaign that claimed to be candid with the electo- rate, but he did ignore it and the talk soon blew over. it was succeeded by gossip that the candidate was straddling on the important issue of harpeth falls, but to this ambler paid little heed, feeling in his conscience that he could protect the beautiful falls against even the most rapacious of his allies in the power companies. as the summer wore on with its wearying grind of campaigning, ambler came to feel some of the nervous tension of colonel steele, who regarded the campaign as the most important of his life. the ex- pensive highway program and other internal im- provements had been begun by the colonel under the pitts regime, and this election would be a referen- dum on progress. if the people approved of what had been done and what was promised, they would keep the steele machine in power for years to come. if they disapproved, the steele machine would fall, never to rise again. in each speech, ambler tried to loot marched on the jail, disarmed the unresisting sheriff and his deputies and hung the negro from the court- house balcony. "that," commented kelly unfeelingly the next morning, "was a close squeeze. if old pitts had or- dered out the militia, there would have been a battle between the soldiers and the mob and what that would have done for our organization would have been a-plenty. we'd have lost every race colonel steele is interested in. let the mobs have their way, mr. ambler, when you are governor of this state. it pays." ambler, too sick at heart to even controvert this doctrine, got in his auto and was driven by young shad to steeleville for the final speech of his cam- paign, but he swore an oath in his heart that when he became governor he would uphold the majesty of the law and live the doctrine to which the politicians gave lip service of "equal rights to all, special privi- leges to none." holding the traditional view of the well-born southerner of kindliness and tolerance for the negro, he swore that the black man would get a square deal in his state. "shad," he said impetuously, leaning forward to speak to his chauffeur who was guiding the flying car towards steeleville, "when i am governor of this state, such things as happened at cheatham won't occur again." "naw suh, naw suh," said young shad. "all the niggers says that. you is the niggers' friend, mr. john." + loot that afternoon in closing his campaign "the nig- gers' friend" told his home folks that his adminis- tration would mean the triumph of law and order, though he did not mention the cheatham episode by name. the best citizenship of the county cheered him to the echo and the rest, including even a few who had indulged in the lynching party, applauded per- functorily. "thank heavens," he was told that night by kelly, "you spoke too late to do much harm. we'll nomi- nate you tomorrow in spite of hell and high water. oar organization is functioning per cent perfect." colonel steele, calling at the hotel patrick henry to put the tired candidate to bed on election eve, bore even sturdier assurances of victory. "john, we'll carry fifty-one of the seventy-five counties for sure," the old gentleman told the candi- date, with pride in his eyes. "'twill be a famous victory." but ambler was not properly reassured until he had put in his usual nightly long distance call for julia steele on whom he had come to depend so much during the campaign. "you'll win by at least fifty thousand," she told him. "i never saw father so happy." "and if i do, young woman," said ambler, speak- ing roughly to hide his shyness, "i'll have something important to say to you tomorrow night." "good night, governor," she mocked and hung up the receiver in his face. he tumbled into bed, not even awakening when a torchlight procession and a band passed under his window. chapter viii traveling back behind young shad on election morning to vote at steeleville, ambler found the state in a turmoil. he passed dozens of election booths, many of them crowded with voters. cars bearing election placards and the names of candidates zoomed about. most of them, he observed, bore his name which indicated that the steele machine was working hard to get out the vote. they hauled voters to the polls all day, and if their poll taxes, a requisite for voting in the primary, were unpaid, the taxes were promptly paid by a steele leader in the district or precinct. the armistead organization did not seem to be functioning. the vote at steeleville was tremendous. more than a thousand had voted at noon when ambler went into the booth, amid clicking cameras and movie machines, to cast his vote. "only two votes against you today," whispered the judge of elections as the young candidate marked his ballot, voting for himself and all the other steele candidates. "how do you know?" asked ambler in surprise. "we hold 'em up to the light this way," said the election officer. loot "and if they aren't marked right, you throw them away, don't you?" asked ambler in jest. "you are mighty right," rejoined the officer in deadly earnest. "but the method," said ambrose pierce, who had accompanied ambler, "is used mainly by political organizations to find if the venal voter, who has sold his vote, delivered it after purchase. if the dirty crook hasn't voted right, they throw his vote away and demand a refund of the dollar." the election officers roared with laughter. what the young reporter had said was true, and it irritated ambler that it was true. not even the australian bal- lot could circumvent election thieves. if they were unsuccessful in tampering with the election boxes during the election, they still had a chance during the night when the counting was proceeding. kelly's boast that the steele machine could pick up an aver- age of ten votes in each precinct after the polls closed flashed through ambler's mind. to win at all, he thought, poor old armistead would have to poll a tre- mendous vote, as he did not have a representative at the polls in many precincts though watchers were allowed by state law. in the venal precincts, the armistead watchers were in many instances intimi- dated and chased away. reports of election irregu- larities came from many sections of the state, while citizens shrugged tolerantly and said that colonel steele was attaining another victory. but few had really measured the extent of the victory until that night after the polls closed. loot the little summer resort village at harpeth falls is equipped with electric lights, using electrical ener- gy supplied by a dinky little hydroelectric plant atop a dam down the river. it runs only in summer and supplies a few score summer cabins scattered around the falls. in low water, as was the case that august, the plant does not run at all, the little dam lacking storage capacity. but the suave judge griffin had fixed that. he proposed that the candidates and satraps and chief- tains of the steele machine receive the election re- turns at harpeth falls. the wily old judge wished, for one thing, to impress on them the importance of his company's planned developments at the falls, which the next legislature was to be asked to sanc- tion. to make the occasion notable he had his company hastily string a line from its nearest transmission line and light up the little village for election night. the telephone and telegraph companies likewise co- operated and harpeth falls, for the first time, had a long distance line and a clattering telegraph instru- ment. a searchlight played on the beautiful falls and hundreds of ambler's friends came to receive the election returns, which were flashed on a screen near by. ambler, arriving in the gathering dusk of the august day, came upon the scene from around a bend in the narrow road with a gasp. his own cabin was lighted brilliantly. hard by was the steele summer home, refurnished and decorated for the occasion. he loot "we're just having a little conference with judge marsden, the national committeeman of the opposi- tion party," said colonel steele easily, as he intro- duced the three visitors. the other two were revealed to be smith, who was chairman of the opposition's state executive committee, and peterson, who held a high federal post in the state. the three bore the reputation of being thoroughgoing politicians, though interested mainly in federal patronage which they dispensed for their party, now in power at wash- • ington. judge marsden and his colleagues seemed some- what abashed by the abrupt entrance of ambler. they paid their respects to him and soon left. but kelly explained their visit with habitual cynicism, when colonel steele had gone to greet his other guests. "we were just arranging for the biennial push- over of the opposition party," said kelly, as he hunched over the telephone in the little back room and talked to his lieutenants in various parts of the state. "hello, that you, majors?" he roared. "what in hell was the matter in fort sumpter county to- day? couldn't get 'em out, eh? our majority there fell down below a thousand. we can't have that sort of stuff, majors. you've got to improve that by mid- night. we're looking for fifteen hundred majority by midnight, or there'll be the devil to pay. tell the boys colonel steele said it himself. g'bye." "this is an off-year—no presidential election," ex- plained kelly, jiggling the instrument impatiently. "the sainted opposition cares only for electoral votes loot julia and the colonel to watch the election returns. these had begun to dribble in for display on the screen near the falls, set on the broad lawn sloping down to the river. as ambler appeared on the brightly-lighted front porch of the steele summer home he was greeted by applause from his friends and neighbors who had come to share his victory. more than a hundred of them had gathered on the lawn to cheer as good news came in from over the state and remain silent when the news was bad. ambler was sweeping the rural counties by tremen- dous majorities, he saw at a glance, as bulletin after bulletin was thrown on the screen. "bad news from cheatham," the operator of the machine wrote on one of the slides. his hand paused and then added: "for armistead! cheatham com- plete gives ambler nine hundred forty-one and armistead one." there was a roar of laughter as the waggish opera- tor added: "posses are searching for the lone armistead voter and a lynching is feared." if the city machine tricked him, colonel steele ex- plained, as julia hung breathlessly to ambler's arm and squealed with delight when the good bulletins came, they had nothing to fear. the rural returns were so unanimous for ambler. but the city organizations did not trick him, though he lost two of the larger cities of the state by small majorities. jeffersonville wavered between loot the two candidates from the moment the count started but when the polls closed at seven o'clock went to ambler by a small vote. at midnight, amid cheering in the little summer resort village that drowned out the steady roar of harpeth falls, armistead gracefully conceded his defeat and the jeffersonville american was able to announce that ambler had won by more than seventy- five thousand, with less than a hundred scattered pre- cincts missing. these were in the thinly settled moun- tain regions, where ambler was running strong. for the first time ambler felt sure that he would sit in the seat that another of his name and family had occupied with honor long before the civil war. he was radiantly happy. perhaps his elation accounted for his conversation with colonel steele when the guests had departed. "honey," said the old colonel to julia, "go tell old shad to fetch me a cigar and a big toddy of bour- bon whiskey." when the girl had gone, ambler attempted to thank the colonel for his support and help. "i could not have done it without your help, col- onel," the young man said humbly. "mere words cannot express my gratitude." "well, son," said the old gentleman, "i reckon your daddy is looking down on us tonight and bless- ing us both. i never did tell you that i promised him on the day he died, i would help you win the gov- ernorship of the state. he was a mighty fine man and he was my friend. he had two ambitions. he loot has been arranged' after the european manner," she quoted bitterly. ambler broke in pleadingly, but julia kept on. "i am to be the spoils in a political trade—you win the governorship and take me with it as part of the bargain," she said. "but i love you—i worship you," said ambler. "you don't," said julia steele, her voice rising. "it's a lie. you have to be prompted by my father to propose to me—i hate you. i loathe you!" she ran toward the house, ambler in hot pursuit. she gained the front door and slammed it in his face. "but, julia darling, i love you," said the gover- nor-to-be. "i hate you," said julia distinctly from behind the door. "i hope i never see you again." and she was gone. stumbling home to his cabin, crushed in spirit, ambler came on a huddled form on the porch of his home. it was ambrose pierce, quite drunk. "wuxtry edition," mumbled pierce thickly. "all about the election, mister. i came out in taxicab to give you all the latest news. all the steele candi- dates elected, including ambler and congressman jenkins and old governor whash his name—make no difference." he proffered ambler a bundle of copies of the jeffersonville american, yet wet with ink from the press. loot forrest of cheatham, whom he had picked tentative- ly as the administration candidate for speaker of the senate, avoided giving a direct answer when ambler asked his cooperation in an effort to save the falls, and the governor-elect sensed that the power company had done its work well. before ambler, as he worked in his suite at the hotel patrick henry and his law office at steeleville, arose constantly the face of julia steele. the old colonel had made no reference to the affair of elec- tion night, and ambler doubted whether the girl had ever told him of its climax. but somehow the old gentleman had sensed the strained relations between the two. ambler was desperately unhappy. he worked sixteen and eighteen hours a day on his pro- gram for the legislature to drown his memories, but the girl's face would not down. it came to him not in the manner of other days with laughing brown eyes, vivid cheeks and inviting lips, but with tears of anger in the deep pools of brown and lips so tightly drawn that they seemed an archer's bow-strings drawn in anger, instead of a cupid's bow. on christmas eve, ambler could stand it no long- er. he threw aside his work, dismissed his secretary from his office suite in the hotel patrick henry and rambled through the shopping district of the capitol city in search of a florist. the tall young man who was to be the next governor of the state was recog- nized by many as he strode along the streets and was cordially greeted by friends and strangers, but it loot tate, served by the willing hands of young shad and other servants who had been with him since child- hood. he dined in state in the gloomy old dining room with young christopher jenkins, son of the congressman, whom the governor-elect was consid- ering as the best bet for speaker of the house and old senator forrest, who was still noncommital on harpeth falls development. but jenkins was frank in his opposition to any movement that would dam- age the beauty of the falls and on the instant ambler picked him in his mind as the logical candidate for the house speakership for the administration to sup- port. in the morning ambler felt like a boy, as he dressed in the great old bedroom which his father used to occupy. analyzing his feelings, he found himself in the frame of mind of the small boy on christmas morning who hurriedly dresses to go downstairs to see what santa claus had brought him. but his feeling was built entirely, he found, on his coming interview with the woman he loved. downstairs the servants had made christmas cheer as best they could without the guiding hand of a woman in the house. ambler found that literally thousands of gifts had come to him from all over the state, most of them from persons who were strangers to him. there were scores of turkeys, country hams, smoked country sausage, boxes of cigars, several quarts of whiskey and other gifts of every descrip- tion. ambler waited with impatience until noon. then loot he walked across the plantation to the steele home. there was a gay company for dinner, and he was greeted with warmth. governor pitts was regaling them with stories of christmas days in the old south, while a dozen other distinguished guests, including several members of the state's congressional dele- gation, crowded around. there was a genial air of good cheer about the stately old house, as shad bustled about serving highballs, cocktails, and the lowly country toddy. the colonel's christmas dinners were traditional in the state. they smacked of the old days when the south was a free liver and easy spender—ante- bellum days, before the fields were plowed by shot and shell. this one fairly made the great table groan. there was a huge turkey stuffed with chestnuts, old country ham baked in wine and brown sugar, venison with currant jelly, blazing plum pudding with rum sauce, corn pone, beaten biscuits, candied yams, salsify, roast pig, spiced round, a dozen other dishes; and, as a special dish for governor pitts, always the com- moner even in his food, a 'possum browned to a turn and giving forth zestful odors. wine from the col- onel's fine old cellar was served with each course. at the end there were coffee and liquors. julia steele had greeted ambler with cordiality, but a certain reserve. he was not seated near her dur- ing the meal and had no chance to talk with her. when the guests came back to the huge log fire in the living room, julia had disappeared before ambler's loot "but why—?" broke in ambler. but she would not be interrupted. "don't you see?" she said. "you are merely a cog in a political machine. you are not a free agent. everything is planned for you. defy the organiza- tion in the legislature and it will crush you. why, you know harpeth falls ought to be saved—you know every woman voter in the state would support you on it—but you don't dare go against their wishes—you don't dare! when i marry i want a man who is his own man—his own boss." "don't you love me, julia?" he asked brokenly. but she hung her head and would not answer. it filled him with white-hot rage such as he had never known before. it was cruel to receive injustice from the woman he loved above all others. he took a step nearer to her, then retreated. "very well," he said. "have it your way—have it any way you please. but never for an instant since the power interests brought it up at the first confer- ence have i agreed to the looting of harpeth falls. and, by god, i'll stop it. but if your heart drives you back to me, you'll come of your own accord to beg forgiveness for your injustice. that's all, and i'm sorry." he stumbled back to the gay living room, to sit numbly for an hour until he could decently excuse himself. governor pitts hurried julia off to a christ- mas tree entertainment to be given by the convicts at the main state prison, one of her pet charities. am- bler went home, hating pitts, hating himself, hating loot his party and the honors it had bestowed upon him. but by night he snapped out of it and set about coldly and calculatingly to save harpeth falls. if they wanted war, they could have war—war without quarter—war to the knife! he'd show the world he was his own man! loot always tolerant, but with judge griffin and the others he could not reason. they wanted harpeth falls because it was immensely profitable, and they would brook no interference with their plans. but that night the colonel, ordered by his physi- cian to hot springs for the cure, called a final con- ference on legislative matters and patronage. propped up in a huge four-poster bed at travel- er's rest, colonel steele gathered ambler, griffin, governor pitts, majors, smith, kelly and all the other cogs in the steele machine around him. to their demands for patronage and legislation, ambler readily agreed in the main. he agreed to the reappointment of practically all the state offi- cials of the pitts administration with only a few changes, and those were suggested by colonel steele himself. here and there a state employe was to be dropped, to make way for another with more politi- cal influence. the reelection by the legislature of the state treasurer, secretary of state and comptrol- ler was agreed on without dissent. no changes at all were to be made in the state highway department, and this point was stressed more than any other. the adjutant general was to be named by the american legion convention, which was to meet shortly. judge griffin even had a suggestion of a suitable appointee as the governor's secretary, but to this am- bler laughingly demurred. his secretary, he said, was more of a personal than a political matter. secretly, he had visions of his office operations being subjected loot your wishes," said judge griffin, and the others as- sented readily. too readily, ambler thought after- wards in the light of later events. nothing was said about harpeth falls until am- bler was ready to leave. then judge griffin re- marked: "mr. ambler, i had hoped you would come around to our way of thinking on the falls matter, but i understand you are still obdurate. i am still hopeful that you'll see the justice of our position. but if you cannot do so, i want to assure you that we'll still be good friends. i wish your administra- tion the best of success." ambler was grateful to the old judge and ex- pressed his appreciation of this generous attitude. later he was to learn that this was also too easy a victory. for what happened in the next few weeks, ambler at first acquitted colonel steele. the old gentleman was carried away that night to hot springs, attended by julia and old shad, and ambler did not credit him with knowing of the broken faith which shortly came to light not only in regard to flippen's candidacy but also on harpeth falls. it was ambrose pierce, in fact, who discovered it first. he seemed to have an uncanny faculty of guessing political situations. on the eve of the gath- ering of the legislature, pierce reported that jen- kins, the administration candidate for speaker of the house, would have opposition. ambler had been counting that race won without trouble and had in loot fact plunged into the preparation of his inaugural address. "flippen had been running quietly all along," pierce reported. "he is controlled by judge griffin, and he doesn't intend to withdraw even though you have vetoed his candidacy. i got that from a member of the house who had drunk too much corn whiskey. but we can get busy and put jenkins over all right." pierce, now armed with the prestige of the pub- lic announcement that he was to be the new gover- nor's secretary, busied himself meeting the incom- ing members of the legislature. to them he ex- plained simply that the new governor desired jen- kins as speaker of the house and many of them signed a pledge at once that bound them to vote for jenkins in the house caucus. to ambler's amazement, pierce had the active support in this work of the ox-like kelly. "i don't know whether flippen is running as grif- fin's candidate or not," said that worthy, "but col- onel steele didn't tell me to support flippen and i promised you i would support jenkins, so here i am." the surprise on ambler's face was so plain that kelly was impelled to explain further. he said: "it ain't the politicians who break their word in politics—it's the business men in politics, like judge griffin." with the aid of pierce and kelly, the ambler ad- ministration, though not yet in power, was within three votes of the thirty-six necessary to nominate the loot speaker—thirty-three votes signed. but it seemed impossible to get any more votes. "put this in my hands, and agree to do the few simple things that i'll tell you about afterwards, and i'll guarantee to get it settled tonight," kelly pro- posed. pierce was all for agreeing, but both jenkins and ambler held back. how, they asked, could it be done? "we'll get 'em from flippen's ranks," explained kelly. "and if we don't get 'em, we're lost." it ended by ambler putting the matter entirely in the capable hands of kelly and pierce. his con- science warned him that he would have to trade away some governmental favor for the votes, but his po- litical judgment told him that it was necessary. if he did not control the house he was lost. v in two hours the race was ended and jenkins had won it hours in advance of the caucus. the morning newspapers carried flippen's withdrawal, coupled with a veiled attack on the new administration as be- ing too political in its operations. it was not until later that ambler learned that one vote cost the chair- manship of the committee on enrolled bills, one of the few chairmanships carrying compensation j another cost a pardon for a particularly brutal murderer and the price of the other was a state job for a relative of a member of the legislature. ambler was dis- gusted, but he grudgingly paid off the political debts. the legislature met with the usual fanfare of trumpets early in january. statesmen from the tall loot three-dam bill to be in the majority in the senate, but he was surprised at their unexpected strength in the house also. at times also, he sensed, harpeth falls was really the trouble when some member gave him a different reason for it. he was sure of this diagnosis, when one member from a rural section in- formed him that he was against his proposal to abol- ish the state tax on land on the grounds that it would irritate the farmers who would regard it as charity. strangely enough, he found that members of the op- position party to a man were for his own policy to- wards harpeth falls but he analyzed this as merely a political move to drive a wedge between the gover- nor and the steele machine. his own party was badly divided and he soon found that he would need the support of the opposition. indeed, a preliminary check showed that a majority of his own party was for the three-dam bill in both houses. so pressed was he by visitors of all sorts, that in- auguration day was on him scarcely before he had finished the inaugural address and given advance copies to pierce for distribution to the reporters. the inauguration was a great social as well as po- litical event. it was held that year in the vaulted chamber of the house of representatives, amid gay decorations. it had a military atmosphere as well, for the half a hundred colonels and officers on ambler's staff participated, and a full company of national guardsmen stood outside the great doors under the command of the resigning adjutant general, aided by robert e. lee fitzgerald, whose commission as chapter xi pierce, wise in the ways of legislative bodies, knew that the legislature was friendly to the new governor because of the patronage he had to dis- pense, if nothing more, but that in time it would get all it could out of him and seek greener pastures. in a word, legislative bodies in time usually get crossed with the executive. so he worked like a tro- jan to get the ambler program safely through the legislative hoppers. the natural inertia of such bodies seemed to be the greatest difficulty. the houses did not meet un- til noon and were in session only an hour or two daily. the local bills affecting bond issues, public improvements, roads and schools and other matters seemed to clog the whole session, though they were passed always without roll calls, and at the behest solely of the delegations from the counties affected. the solons stopped gleefully to accept all invitations to dine in a body, visited by all state institutions and hospitals whenever invited by thrifty superintend- ents who saw opportunity of securing larger appro- priations and knocked off work at every opportunity to listen to funny speeches or spread eagle oratory. in a week ambler was almost in a frenzy. all of his bills had been introduced but none had gotten loot further than second reading. he sadly missed col- onel steele who wrote that he was not doing so well at hot springs and said his physician had or- dered him to take another three weeks' treatment of twenty-one baths. there was still no word from julia. kelly worked as best he could, but ambler secretly doubted whether the other satraps of the steele machine were really helping much, though they protested they were doing all they could. "i don't like the atmosphere around here," pierce protested daily. "it's like playing poker with a cold deck, the cards stacked against you. somebody is gumming up the works and i'd give a pretty to know who he is—old griffin, i suspect." then ambler sent a message to the houses po- litely calling attention to his program and suggest- ing speed. it was not a politic message and it did the administration more harm than good. in each house there were several speeches defending the legislative branch against the aspersions of the executive. it was another week before the ruffled feelings had been smoothed down. and it did not soothe the young governor's feel- ings at all when the legislature suddenly took up and passed in rapid fire order every piece of legislation demanded by the steele machine in the southern club conference before he became governor, begin- ning with the bond issue, and leaving high and dry his own pet measures to which the machine had agreed, especially the repeal of the state tax on land, and its companion measure to make up the loss of loot this revenue by a tax on luxuries. ambler felt sud- denly like a small boy who had paid for candy and then been unable to obtain it. in fact, it infuriated him. in a cold rage he sent for both speakers, together with the administration leaders in both houses and the heads of the most important committees. "have these administration bills set for special order and pass them, or, by god, i'll turn the state upside down," he raged. "if you don't pass thes"e bills, i'll resign my office and explain to the people exactly why i did." the threat threw many of the leaders into a rage, but it was effective. under the whip and spur of the governor's office they prodded their houses into setting the bills for special order one week hence. but next day the secret opposition to the governor came into the open. judge griffin, suave as usual, called on the governor, and was not long about stating his business. "agree to the passage of the three-dam bill for harpeth falls and we'll get behind your land tax repeal and your luxury tax bills," was the gist of what he had to say after an hour's palaver. "i'll agree to nothing of the sort," stormed am- bler. "this is a rank hold-up. i have already agreed to too much." "very well," replied judge griffin, "then this is war. we'll defeat every administration measure left." for a week, nothing came of it. then on the eve loot of the day for consideration of the land tax appeal legislation, the blow fell. it fell at the caucus called for the purpose of nominating the majority party candidates for secre- tary of state, treasurer and comptroller, none of whom had any opposition. for this reason no special attention was paid to the caucus, and not even pierce's quick wit noted that the party solons were called "to transact any other business that might come before them." the old officers renominated, the caucus proceeded to other business. with only three-fourths of the party members present for the routine of renominat- ing them, representative flippen surrendered his seat as chairman of the caucus and from the floor pre- sented a resolution pledging the party to vote as a unit for the three-dam bill for harpeth falls. never be- fore had such been known, as a caucus on legislation. there was an uproar in the hall, so ambler learned with an impending sense of disaster later that night, when the belated pierce heard of the proceedings too late to stop them. the motion was hotly contested and speaker jen- kins of the house came to blows with flippen. "that is broken faith," said jenkins. "that's a lie," squealed flippen, and they were fighting in a moment. his loyalty to the young gov- ernor blurring his judgment, jenkins knocked flip- pen down. the latter pulled out a knife and was ad- vancing on the young speaker when he was over- powered and disarmed. loot after an hour of wild speeches, the opponents of the bill attempted to leave the hall with jenkins at their head. but the other side was too well organ- ized and had locked the doors. as they battered at the doors, the votes of the little group were counted as against the motion and flippen, back in the chair, ruled that the resolution had been adopted. "it is the sense of this party caucus," he declared, "that the majority in the house and senate are pledged to vote for the passage of \he so-called three-dam bill for harpeth falls." and so the mat- ter ended for the night. when he came down to his office next day ambler found kelly waiting for him. "see here," said that practical chap, "we're in trouble sure enough now. we'd better get colonel steele back to straighten this thing out, if we can." "go to hot springs this morning," said the gov- ernor with a fighting ring in his voice, "and bring the colonel back if he can possibly travel. just tell him i need him badly." kelly was off at once. but he had hardly gotten out of town before the triumphant griffin forces called up the three-dam bill in both houses and passed it. in an hour it lay on the governor's desk for his signature. under the constitution he had ten days to either sign it or dis- approve it. he could never make a veto stick unless he got better control of the legislature, he realized sadly. he could go after the legislature to enact his tax reform bills and he did so in good earnest. by loot there was a burst of applause that echoed and thundered in the great chamber. and then, name by name, ambler read the list of senators and representatives who served rural con- stituencies. it was a bold thing to do, this calling legislators by name, but the profound hush that greeted it told the governor that he was winning. "what will you gentlemen tell your people when you go home if you vote against these bills?" he asked. "what excuse can you offer for voting against their hopes and aspirations? gentlemen, there is but one course to pursue and that is the course of right- eousness. today we have seen the triumph of a great lobby. to your faces i tell you that the harpeth falls lobby used liquor, money and women to influ- ence this legislature. what can you say to your home folks when you vote for a power grab and vote against a tax reform bill? who is speaking today for the people of this state? which will you serve?" there were angry murmurs from some parts of the hall but these were drowned out in cheers. there were cries of "vote, vote, let's vote; we're with you, governor," from all parts of the hall. scarcely had governor ambler returned to his of- fice when pierce sent word that the houses were get- ting ready to vote and the governor had paced the floor only a few minutes when pierce appeared with the two roll calls in his hands. "we've won," he said smilingly, "not much majority—barely a constitu- tional majority in the senate—but enough in both houses." loot on it could be deferred until after the customary re- cess of the legislature which would give the power lobbyists time to work. "go get griffin here," directed the colonel, and flippen trotted off to carry the word to the power chief. "seems like things got in sort of a jam, judge," said the colonel to griffin. "it's all the fault of that whipsnapper, the gov- ernor," said the judge heatedly. "he was too stub- born to straighten it out, or compromise. he wouldn't have had any trouble if he had agreed to the three-dam bill." "your company won't agree to the two-dam bill even as a last resort?" mildly asked the colonel. "colonel," said griffin earnestly, "our engineers say a two-dam development at harpeth falls is im- possible—as well have nothing as only two dams. they wouldn't create enough power to justify the construction of the transmission lines. we've gotten in such shape now that i doubt whether we could pass the two-dam bill, anyway. it's either the three- dam bill or nothing, i'm afraid." the men sat silent for a moment, then griffin burst out: "if ambler fails us on this—if he does get the house to sustain his fool veto, we'll wreck the whole organization—we'll blow it sky high—why, ambler couldn't have been elected but for us last summer— we bore the burden of it and we'll ruin the steele organization from top to bottom!" loot "steady there, my friend," said the colonel with a glint of anger in his eyes; "i can handle this situa- tion, but if you don't trust me to do so, then go ahead and have it your own way. but don't come threatening me. i don't bluff worth a cent." griffin apologized. then he outlined his services to the steele organization and ended with a plea that the colonel solve the tangle. "i'm not much good at untying gordian knots," said the colonel, "but maybe i can cut it. i'll try," and with that the power attorney had to be content. then for the first time since his return he went to see governor ambler. the governor welcomed him as a condemned man welcomes a reprieve. he told him his troubles for hours and leaned on his sage advice. it appeared finally that there was little of his problem left except the passage of the legislation starting the constitu- tional amendment reclassifying property for taxation on its tortuous way to a popular referendum, a few odds and ends of legislation which had been prom- ised the people in ambler's campaign and then—the harpeth falls bill. the thick bill, passed by both houses and signed by the speakers, lay on the desk before them. but the colonel was not ready to talk about it yet. the constitutional amendment, he pointed out, would be difficult of passage, as it required three readings in both houses and on each reading a rec- ord vote which must show a two-thirds majority in each house. thus the constitution safeguards itself loot against changes, and after that the legislation has to run the gauntlet of a popular referendum. "but we'll see what can be done," said the colonel easily. he called in pierce and to him dictated a brief statement for the press. it was such a statement, ambler thought afterwards, when he had analyzed it, as one farmer might give to another upon his re- turn from a trip to the west or to some far places— a neighborly, folksy sort of statement. "i am glad to be back," ran the statement. "i had a delightful journey and am improved in health, but there isn't another state like ours. "i am delighted to hear that the legislature has made such progress. the repeal of the state tax on land was one of the most progressive steps our state has ever made. the bill for the construction of re- mote rural roads through the use of a small fraction of the gasoline tax was also a forward step. "i am wondering why the legislature does not speedily avail itself of the privilege of adopting the constitutional amendment resolution and submitting it to a vote of the people at the next regular election. i am sure that rural constituencies will endorse this, as soon as its provisions are thoroughly explained. it will enable the state to classify property for taxa- tion according to the profit such property returns. it is obviously unfair to tax a farm, which shows little or no profit, at the same rate as a city factory, which is making its owners rich. as a farmer, i endorse this legislation whole-heartedly." not much to that statement, thought ambler with chapter xiii next day everything went wrong in the gover- nor's office, as ambler worked feverishly to line up his strength in the house to sustain his veto. he could not find young shad, whom he had been using as a messenger in the executive offices. he suspected that pierce had been drinking too much the night before. he found speaker jenkins of the house dis- couraged over the prospect, and he heard vague talk of a resolution of censure in the senate. but ambler faced his situation with undaunted heart. if he was to lose everything, he had just as well go down with flying flags and bands playing. if the veto should be sustained in either house the bill would be killed, but in killing it he would deliver a crushing blow to the steele machine, which could not survive without power trust support. if the bill was passed over his veto in both houses, it would mean virtually the end of the ambler administration or at least the crippling of the ambler power and the diminishing of the ambler tradition so carefully built up in the summer primary of the preceding year. in his discouragement, the sweet face of julia steele rose before him and on the impulse of the moment he put in a long distance call for her. she was not at loot s home, old shad informed him with regret in his shaky old voice, and ambler wondered how she felt towards him, now that he had defied his political creator and the thunderbolts were hurling around him. while pierce was rallying the leaders in the legis- lature that were still loyal, ambler mapped out his plan of campaign. he would make only a nominal fight in the senate to have his veto sustained because a fight there was hopeless, but he would throw into the house fight every ounce of his strength. waiting for the legislators for whom he had sent to gather in his office, ambler idly picked up the jeffersonville american. it had a front page edito- rial obviously and on its face not in the style of hon- est old daniel graham, which was a veiled attack on ambler and a plea for the passage of the harpeth falls bill over the governor's threatened veto as a means of speeding up the industrialization of the state. but what was more startling, the paper had also an interview with wilbur padgett, only recently recommissioned as state commissioner of conserva- tion, giving it as his opinion that the three-dam bill for harpeth falls would not in fact ruin the beauty of the falls at all. here was open treason. the gov- ernor sent for padgett with black fury in his heart. the commissioner came breathlessly. "does this interview quote you correctly?" asked ambler. the man studied it with shaking fingers. "why—er, no, governor," he said. "what i said was misunderstood." loot "correct it by night, or let me have your resig- nation," demanded the governor coldly. "my ap- pointees are either for me or against me in this fight." no correction was made. padgett tendered his resignation. ambler learned that a plan was afoot to strip him of his appointive and removal powers and the steele organization had induced the commission- er to resign on the promise of reappointment soon at a better salary. the man was simply sacrificed for nothing. the plan could never mature. but the incident had a definitely good effect on the morale of the ambler administration and some of the governor's recent appointees gathered around to lend what aid they could. after his conference with his leaders ambler de- termined to play politics to the limit. the devil could only be fought with fire and if colonel steele's organization thought the governor was too high- minded not to fight them with every weapon he had, then he'd show them. "we've got to get some recruits from the steele side in the house," pierce kept complaining. "let's send for that skunk flippen and buy him off." ambler's heart revolted at the idea, but in the end he masked his disgust and sent for flippen. the legislator would not come to the executive offices and they met secretly in ambler's quarters at the hotel patrick henry. flippen soon revealed that he had a grievance against the steele organization, or perhaps it was only loot i s a fancied grievance trumped up to quiet whatever conscience he had left to enable him to make a trade with the governor. he felt that the machine had sidetracked him too easily in the fight for the speak- ership and he was willing to join the man who had been the cause of that sidetracking. besides, he had already gotten his price—whatever it was—from the griffin forces when he had voted to pass the three- dam bill, and now his greedy fingers clutched for more. even as they talked, the muffled shouts of news- boys crying an extra edition of the newspapers floated up from the din of the traffic in the street below. "all about the senate passing harpeth falls bill over the governor's veto," the boys were chanting. both heard it clearly and flippen said, licking his thin lips greedily: "you need help badly, governor." "how many votes do you control in the house?" asked 'ambler. "eleven for sure in one bloc and maybe two or three more," said flippen. "eleven will be just enough for you to win with—just enough to keep from passing the bill over your veto." "you have a son who is a deputy game warden in the department of conservation, i hear," said ambler tentatively. "i hear good reports of him." the man was touched. his son was evidently his one weakness and his tone rang with sincerity. "that boy's got book-learning," he said with pride. "i sent him to college. he's just a young fellow— loot david farragut flippen as commissioner of con- servation and directing him to take office at once. even if the senate refused to confirm him, he thought grimly, it could not take action before flip- pen made good on his bargain on the morrow when the house met. they shook hands on it and pierce said gleefully: "we've licked 'em again, chief; they can't pass the harpeth falls bill over your veto." then his jaw dropped and he looked over am- bler's shoulder in blank amazement. flippen chucked his tongue in consternation and disappeared in a side door leading to the secretary's office. pierce followed him. ambler turned slowly. framed in the doorway, leaning on his cane as jove might poise cn a thunder- bolt from high olympus, stood colonel gideon wade steele, his mouth drawn in a grim line, his eyes as steely blue as an icicle from the capitol eaves outside. ambler almost quailed before the old gen- tleman, standing there in the door wearing a look more terrible than an army with banners. loot you'd bite the hand that fed you. i yielded to senti- ment—i thought there was something between you and julia—i wanted to make her happy" "leave her out of it," cried ambler. "she hates me." colonel steele heard this statement in mild sur- prise. "you have traded with my friends to make them betray me," he said. "but not before you had used your friends to be- tray me, or had permitted it to be done," said am- bler sturdily. "we had a thorough understanding about the harpeth falls bill. i told you from the first that i'd never agree to more than two dams." "it was my mistake ever to trust you," said the colonel. "you—a foolish sentimentalist who lets a few drops of water over a falls keep the state from having the electric power that is its lif eblood. if you make this veto stick in the house by your political manipulation you will destroy my organization and ruin me—ruin me in my old age." "and if this bill passes, i had just as well resign as governor," said ambler in an agonized voice. "why, can't you see that i have just as much at stake as you do? why must i surrender my pledged word, my honor, to a political machine? i have given you and your organization everything it asked— i have turned over to them every office in the capi- tol—i have signed bills that i knew were merely en- abling acts for graft and plunder." ambler's voice was rising in passion. loot "i have asked only a few laws which the people of this state were entitled to a decade or more ago— laws that other progressive states have. that has been the price of my agreement to the looting of the state—may god forgive me for being so blinded by my ambition!" he put his head down on his desk to hide the tears that blinded him—tears of anger and regret. "loot, loot, loot," he repeated in a muffled voice. "my mistake was in thinking that i could control a fool," said colonel steele savagely. "call off flip- pen and his bloc of men in the house, let us pass this bill over your veto, or, by god, we'll break you— ruin you" his voice was rising to a shriek, his face distorted with rage, when there came an unexpected interrup- tion. at the door from pierce's office there was fum- bling and scratching, as when a blind old man seeks the door knob. "get back, old man," came the muffled voice of pierce. "you can't go in there. the governor's busy." "de kunnel, suh," came a voice. "oh, my gawd, i is got to see the kunnel—". it broke into a sob. ambler ran to the door and threw it open. old shad, his face a pasty white with fear over the ebony, stood, with wringing hands, whimpering like a whipped dog. "oh, kunnel, kunnel, suh," cried the old man. "dey's got young shad—dey's got him f er sho'. git him out, kunnel." loot the old man dropped on his knees before the colonel's chair. "oh, kunnel, kunnel," he said in a heart-broken voice. "get up, uncle shad," said ambler gently. "tell us what is the matter. sit down here." weak and trembling, the old negro dropped into a chair. "he's in jail—my baby boy—he's in jail," sobbed old shad. "dey's got him in jail at cheatham and dey's a mob a-forming—oh, kunnel, you can do anything in dis yeah state—save my baby, kunnel." "here, pierce," called ambler, "get the sheriff at cheatham on the wire quick. find out about young shad. i missed him this morning." under the urging of the colonel and the gover- nor, shad told the story as coherently as he could. he had heard from a negro lodge brother that young shad was in trouble in cheatham. he had gotten miss julia to drive him over in her roadster. he had gone to the jail, but the sheriff had refused to let him see the younger negro. "he's in for attempted rape, old nigger," the sheriff had said, "and nobody can see him." but miss julia had appeared from the car, and a word from her had enabled the old man to see his son. young shad had told him that he had received a telephone call at the governor's office late on the preceding afternoon from a woman who said she had a message from governor ambler. this message di- chapter xv the enormity of his decision smote the governor with full force when the debonair and khakied figure of his new adjutant general, robert e. lee fitz- gerald, presented itself before him in a few minutes in answer to his ring. he could go along peaceably and surely beat the harpeth falls bill in the house tomorrow. he could resist and cause no end of trouble. he put the thought away sharply. general fitzgerald drew himself up at the door with a snappy salute. "what is it, chief?" he smiled. "i'm ready for a fight or a frolic." "i'm afraid it's a fight this time," said ambler gloomily, as he explained. the tense atmosphere of the room dispelled the adjutant general's light mood at once and his face took on a fighting quality. "we'd better mobilize two companies of the national guard from jeffersonville then," suggested the military man crisply. "in case we should need them, we can get to jeffersonville in an hour by using army trucks and we can carry machine guns, too. i'll make the arrangements," and he was off like a shot. in the stillness of dusk a few minutes later, ambler heard the sharp notes of a bugle. loot it had not died on the air before the telephone jangled and pierce was speaking from cheatham. the secretary talked in a low voice from near the mouthpiece of the phone, as though in danger of be- ing overheard. "listen, chief," said pierce. "this thing is rotten. we all know the anniston girl is a lady of joy, utterly without character, but these country folks don't know it. her reputation was good when she used to live here years ago. the feeling here is very bad against shad and against you, even, because he was your chauffeur and driving your car at the time. better be careful. if you could get colonel steele to come here and talk to just a few men of influence, we could avoid trouble." "i am unwilling to ask colonel steele to go to cheatham to quell the disturbance," said ambler frigidly for the benefit of the old colonel who still sat near by. "what has the sheriff done to protect his prisoner?" "absolutely nothing," said pierce bitterly. "the old sheriff is scared to death. he hasn't sworn in a man and in my judgment he will turn over the keys of the jail to the ringleaders of the mob, if a mob comes." "do you think there will be a mob," asked ambler hopefully? "i don't know," said pierce. "so far, there's only talk, but you know how prejudiced cheatham always has been to negroes and how they are stirred up by charges of any such crime as this against a woman." loot basement, the yelling of men and the sharp, stinging notes of a bugle. out the window ambler saw the men piling into tall army trucks—fifteen of them in a row, each filled with men in khaki—gay, laughing men on a lark who might before morning be bloody and stricken. am- bler shuddered. he ran back to his office to get his overcoat. as he put it on julia stepped up to him. "are you—you—you aren't going with them?" she asked incredulously, old shad hovering behind her. "yes," said ambler simply. "under the constitu- tion i am commander-in-chief of the national guard of the state. my place is with them, and i am going." "julia," called the old colonel sharply, but the girl broke out into hysterical sobbing. "take care of her, shad," ambler called to the old negro. and he was gone with fitzgerald to clam- ber into the front truck with the officers. but while the motor of the vanguard truck was spitting and coughing in the cold winter air, there came a form running from the front door of the capitol. it was julia steele and she climbed into the truck with ambler, as the guardsmen cheered. "you can't go—there may be trouble," said am- bler weakly. "i can go wherever you go," she said proudly. and she went. "let's go, sergeant," said fitzgerald, quickly, and the motorcade moved forward in the wake of a loot squadron of state police and motorcycles, with sirens shrieking to clear the road. through the winter night the trucks lumbered at a tremendous speed. they were riding, these boys in khaki, as their fathers had ridden to king's moun- tain, to surround cornwallis, to follow andrew jack- son to new orleans, behind marse robert e. lee in virginia, behind fighting joe wheeler in cuba, against the mexicans with black jack pershing, in the trenches of france—riding gaily on a high adventure. they were riding, thought ambler, but without qualm, to his political death. julia snuggled closer to him. he was happy for the first time since the night he was elected. loot through the streets the trucks lumbered at full speed, drawing up before the courthouse. the men piled out, just in the nick of time, for around the far corner of the square, advancing under torches, waving sticks and guns, cursing and swaggering, came the mob! "have the men fix their bayonets," whispered governor ambler, "and no shooting unless i give the word." at a sharp command from fitzgerald, the two companies swung in line and marched into the main entrance of the courthouse. the jail at cheatham is behind the courthouse and the entrance is down the long hallway immediately in line with the front entrance to the courthouse. "keep your men in this hallway with squads posted at the other entrance and at the windows," said am- bler sharply and in two minutes the courthouse and jail were effectively guarded. down the long hallway ambler sped to the jail entrance. the sheriff and two deputies stood behind the steel doors to the jail, pop-eyed with amazement at the sudden appearance of the soldiers. "quick," said ambler, "open the door. i want to speak to young shad a moment." "ye've ruined us—ruined us," said the old sheriff nervously, as he guided the governor down the hall- way to tiers of cells until he came to a dark little hole where young shad was confined. the negro was chained to his bed. he was not the gay minstrel of the negro quarters, but a badly scared boy. loot henry bone. henry, you run right back to your wife, this minute, i say." a roar of laughter went up from the close-packed ranks of the mob. a thousand men were laughing in unison. mayor bone clinched his fists in the glare of the flame from the burning truck. "if you won't hear me," he shrilled, "then hear the rev. mr. smith." he pushed the minister to the center of the little balcony. "let's hear the reverend, boys," shouted a voice, and the mob was stilled for a moment. under the flickering torches the face of the min- ister shone ghastly white. "gentlemen," he said simply, "let us pray." the minister dropped to his knees. "oh, father," he cried, "forgive them—they know not what they do—." for five minutes he prayed, asking divine guidance to the minds of men, pleading that the leaders would receive a baptism of mercy. he stopped amid absolute silence. the mob wavered. but the collective mind of men is guided often by strange and slight things. there was a drunken man in the front ranks of the mob and he shouted in the interlude after the prayer: "now i'm ready to hang the nigger!" the effect of the prayer vanished instantly. screaming and shouting, the mob pressed forward to the great doors of the courthouse. young shad loot heard the shout in his cell and got down beside his bed to pray. "stop!" boomed a voice and the leaders of the mob looked upward again, their feet on the steps of the courthouse. it is in such a voice that the world's leadership speaks in every crisis. "gentlemen," went the voice, carrying itself easily to the fringes of the mob a half a block away, echo- ing and re-echoing across the silent square, "i come to you tonight as the ambassador of law and order. i am not pleading merely for the life of a trembling black boy. i am pleading for our state. you are not about to lynch merely a negro accused of crime— you are about to lynch the good name of our state!n "who is it?" shouted a man in the crowd, wear- ing a mask. "i am john ambler, the governor of the state," returned the voice from the shadows of the balcony. there was a sound from the mob like the coming of a cyclone in the distance—it was half cheering and half muttering, savage oaths, yells of derision, the snarl of an animal. "did you bring the soldiers?" yelled a voice from the crowd. "gentlemen," returned ambler, "one of your number has asked me a question. i am going to answer it in a moment." "answer it now, you double crossing ," shrieked a member of the mob. it was impossible for ambler to go on. there were howls and cat calls from the mob. loot the governor stood, pale but determined. if it cost him only his political future but his very life, he would speak to them. when the fury of the mob had spent itself and lulled for a moment, ambler went on: "i have known this accused negro and his father for many years. they are men of good character and steady habits. neither has ever been accused of crime. i do not believe that young shad is guilty of this charge. in facf^i'd stake my life upon it." "nigger lover! nigger lover!" came a chant from the mob. after that they would not let him proceed. he stood on the balcony silent while the mob milled under him. roaring, it pressed forward again. "you ask me," he shouted, "if i brought the soldiers. i did and i alone am responsible for their being here!" then he leaned forward and looked down at the closed doors below. "sergeant, open the doors!" before the gleaming eyes of the mob, caught in the flashlights of the guardsmen packed in the hall- way below, the great doors swung open, revealing row on row of troops, their bayonets fixed, a ring of steel. "don't shoot yet!" commanded general fitz- gerald. the mob pressed up the steps and across the wide porch to the entrance. sticks and stones rained down on the guardsmen. the faces of the front rank men were bloody. the mob howled and shrieked, the front lines pushed forward by those behind. a squad i ! ■ wg cant run away from here l.. t>-l + lf^+* o we can't run away from here a novel by robert martin screen t vantage press new york washington chicago hollywood we can't run away from here do you mean—you don't know? you started this. you got us into all this—and you don't know!" "please, john" i cannot stop him. he is so full of his anger and his fear that he is crying now. "you don't care about us. all you care about is yourself. you had to prove something to yourself. that's why you made us come along with you today. you had to prove to yourself that just because you aren't as black as we—you are colored." he holds his arms up against mine. "well, didn't you? why don't you say it's true? you know it's true!" i do not answer john, for i know he does not mean this. he is not himself. but my silence only infuriates him more. i can feel a burning inside him. before i am able to come back with an answer, he raises his hand and swings in my direction. the blow lands solidly on my mouth, and my lips begin to bleed slowly. john looks at me with a foreign stare. he throws his head on the table and begins to cry with greater pain. his words are not strange to me. "i don't want to die," he cries. "i don't want to die!" i rest my hand on his head. "none of us wants to die, john," i say, "but we must be- lieve in what we have done." john jerks his head from under my hand. "what for?" he cries. "what's the good of believing in anything if you're dead? nobody's going to know what we've done anyhow—no body!" "that's where you're wrong, john," i say. "then who? you tell me then—who?" "they will." he pauses for a long moment as these words find their way inside him. but nothing can fasten him securely, and he turns to emmett now. "emmett!" he raps him on the shoulder. "tell me i'm right, emmett. tell me we shouldn't've gone there today. tell me we ought to run out there and ask them to leave us alone—that we won't go back again." we can't run away from here emmett is silent. "answer me, emmett! answer me!" emmett is quiet, still. john says, "then why are you crying, emmett? why are you crying?" emmett answers very softly, "because i am afraid." john's face widens with content. "then come with me, emmett. it still isn't too late. we can tell them . . ." emmett trembles. "no," he says. john is broken by this. "i thought you were afraid." "i am," emmett repeats. "then why won't you come with me?" emmett is slow in answering. "because there is no substi- tute for right," he says. a feeling of great loss sweeps through john. he reaches out at emmett, trying to come back with words. but he is so alone. he cannot find his words, because he is not strong enough, because no words wise enough could replace the principle we lay before him. he finds the chair again. he sits down quietly and covers his head on the table. he is throbbing. he is wounded by a feeling which absorbs him. but he is not aware of it in full, because life has meant very little to john besides living. he is typical of so many of my people. i try to whisper something into his ears. "we are all afraid, john," say i. his eyes are very full. "you?" "yes. i, too." john's lips tremble. he cannot put his lips together for the words he wants. then he says loudly, "then why don't you act like it? why do you just sit there—looking the way you do? . . ." he cannot finish. he does not fully understand himself. i say, "and would it help any if i cried, john?" he does not answer me. "no," i say to him. "it's just that we all react to fear dif- ferently. you—violently; emmett here—quietly; and i— hardly at all. yes, john. i am just as afraid of dying as you we can't run away from here "no, emmett," i say. "i don't. segregation to them is a custom—a tradition—a way of life. it has no other implica- tion. it has no relation even to the practice of christianity." emmett thinks very hard. he has always been this way. he says, "then at school today, why didn't they bother us? why didn't they act then as they are acting now?" "that is where our thinking is always wrong, emmett," i say. "we always think that because they are a majority, and we are a minority, they are always willing and anxious to lose blood to subdue us. this is not true, emmett. they were just as afraid of us today as we are afraid of them." emmett smiles. this is the first smile i have seen all night. "you are right," emmett says. "what you say is so simple, so clear and logical—and yet we never think of it that way." "but that is just a thought, emmett," i say. "i am not saying it is the only reason they did not threaten us. you must realize that we are older than they. i am nineteen, and you and john are eighteen. we are older because we have worked the land all our lives. but for what we have done today, perhaps, too, they think us a bit wiser than the rest—a different kind of negro." emmett says, "i don't like to think of it in terms of their wanting to threaten us all the time, edward. the students there—we know them. we have walked these country roads with them. we have picked berries together. we have fished on the river and in the creeks as one, and we swam in its muddy waters naked, side by side. it is not easy for them to strike up against us at once. if we were in a larger town— just a town—it would be different, i know. but there are no social barriers here. there is no fear of miscegenation, i be- lieve their greatest fear. these people are innocent of all this." "you are right, emmett," say i. "you are right." we are quiet for a moment. emmett looks at me with cal- culating eyes, which i feel even in the darkness. he says, "you like the south, don't you, edward?" "yes, emmett. i like it." we can't run away from here me the truth. most of what i said has been in your mind be- fore, hasn't it?" "yes," says emmett, "but you say it so well it sounds new again." "that is because you are at war with yourself, emmett— trying to clear yourself." "and you, edward," emmett says, "how did you clear yourself?" "it was my father," i say to emmett. "he helped me to clear myself. he was not like your father and john's father, who worked on this land and were consumed by it. he fled away from here. he rebuilt himself and became a doctor and never returned again. through him i could see how our people could rise up from bondage—how years before us there would have been those to do what we are doing now. if only they could have seen my father, there would have been a turning inside them, a yearning that would have set them off, a realization of their eminence. but my father never looked back. i have always denounced him for his selfish- ness." "you didn't hate him, edward?" "no, i didn't," say i. "i think i never could have—not since i don't hate the others. you see, emmett, he belonged to another group—not to our people in the earth, nor our peo- ple living under their disillusioned successes. he was from the running class. all his life he ran and he never found a stop. we are black, emmett. we are black-black and white- black and yellow-black and brown-black. but we are still black. from this we can never hide. and wherever we go, whatever we do, for better or worse, we will never be uncon- scious of this until generations upon generations have passed. my father found this out, i am sure, before he was killed in the war. he was listed—not as a lieutenant, emmett, but as a negro lieutenant." emmett is quiet for a moment, and now i feel him smiling. his hand touches my arm and his voice comes with fulfill- we can't run away from here appear to be scattered about. something new is in the mak- ing. something that i fear. but this feeling of horror which pervades me now is so great that i am suddenly callous. that which was fear has now turned to impatience. this is even worse. we wait for something to happen. an explosion. stones crashing through our windows again. voices bursting in in- dignation. fire. but time falters in its lowest gear. it is for us and against us. it is greater than life itself. it is like snow on the peak of the highest mountain. it will remain long after we have plunged from its sinking slopes. time is es- sence and truth and the gospel. yet the only thing we fear of it is time itself. we cannot win against time. the earth is showered with red. there is a sinking inside me that will not let me respond. i have a feeling that this fire has some meaning for us. an end is drawing near. that we should retreat is out of the question. but how shall we defend ourselves? or shall we defend ourselves at all? i can- not think clearly any more. john is awakened suddenly as he sees the great blaze out- side. he leaps from the bed and runs halfway toward the front; and he screams, "edward! they're burning a cross. ed ward!" he staggers backward against the wall, delirious with terror. i run toward him and grab him by the collar and shove him against the wall. "stop it! stop it, john!" i shout. but john screams in my face and struggles with me and tries to get away. i am stronger now than before. it is almost my duty. i strike him in the face with my hand. i strike him again and again, until i feel the flow of blood on my fingers, until i have ceased his mad- dened screaming. his head falls over limply to one side and i am frightened. "john!" i shout at him. "john!" i shake him and try to recover his senses. then, suddenly, he falls upon me and grips me tightly as before. "help me, edward," he cries. "please don't let them bother me!" he is on his knees. we can't run away from here "stand up, john," i say. "stand up." but then i realize that my words are wasted. john is not well enough for this. i lean over and look at him and i say, "then i'll help you, john. i'll help you to stand. i'll show you how to be as strong as you want to be." he fights against me still. he tries to break away again. but i am determined this time to hold on. if i don't, it will mean the end of us. i am standing with him now and i am holding his wrists with a firm grip. we struggle toward the bedpost, where i want him, and i call, "emmett! your belt!" but emmett does not respond to me, and i feel myself losing strength. i call him again, "quickly, emmett—your belt!" i feel as though i am trying to manage an army and the army is out of control. emmett has not answered yet. and i can- not see him in my struggle with john. he must have gone and left us. it is hopeless. their weaknesses have defeated us. i will release my hold on john. "no, edward, no! don't let him go!" "emmett—" he falls over john as john is about to get up from the bed. my strength is renewed. i hold john firmly now, and i place his hands around the bedpost, and say to emmett, "now tie him, emmett—hurry!" emmett ties him soundly, and he takes the belt from my trousers and we strap his waist to the bedpost. suddenly, his convulsions are gone. he does not have the strength. nor have i. i am tired. i am dizzy. i feel that i have lost something, or that i have never had it— some strength of character or purpose. but that is the way it is when you are fighting for something and are trying to be a leader. you weaken—almost to the breaking point. but once your end is revived in you, once you remember what you have given up already, you have to hold on again. your losses—just your losses—would make it impossible for you to turn back, away from yourself and your end. i feel a strange sensation—like insects crawling over my bare skin. i try to regain my balance. emmett holds on to me. "here, edward, let me help you," says emmett. he helps we can't run away from here me to the table and i sit there, holding my head in my hands, feeling at once the impact, the seriousness, the nearness to the end we just escaped. emmett says, "it would be better if john and i were dead." "don't say that, emmett." "but it's true," says emmett. "we are beginning to take some of the strength out of you. i can see it in your eyes." i touch emmett's arm. "strength, emmett? only physical strength, and we all expect to weaken physically when we are in war. but not in courage—not in faith. if you and john were not here with me now, what cause would i have to stay?" "you are a good leader, edward," says emmett. "you will draw respect and fear from them wherever you go when you leave here." "i am not a good leader," i say. emmett says, "you are modest." "no," i say to him. "i am not. i am speaking frankly." emmett says, "then explain it to me, edward. why aren't you a good leader?" "because i am not the type," i say. "i am poor. i am de- pendent. i have nothing to stand on if the bottom fell from under me." "but what difference would that make, edward, as long as the people would follow you?" "but that's just it, emmett, they wouldn't follow me. it's lopsided thinking, i know, but economics means that much. what security could i offer them? what protection? even to my own people i would be just another youngster trying to make a name for himself. our leaders must be strong men, emmett—independent men—men who are free of economic reprisal—men whose words can reach the great masses of people—men who know that a strong basis for our fighting, for our victory, must be love. yes, love is the answer. we must win with love." emmett is confused. "then who, edward? who?" "our ministers," i say. "we must fight through our min- we can't run away from here isters. we must win through them. they are free of economic reprisal, pressures of the south, and they hold in their hands the great masses of the people—the washwomen and maids and cooks and porters and gardeners. they hold in their hands the people who will fight, once they know what they are fighting for. their voices are big down here. their back- grounds, developed in an atmosphere of love, will carry us through." emmett is calmer now. he says, "it is sad, edward, that we cannot depend on our educators to carry us through—our teachers and our principals. i often wonder how many of them would be willing to sacrifice their jobs to fight for the practice of the principles of this land." "i wonder, too, edward, and it isn't easy. jobs are not all that they sacrifice. they would sacrifice the children they teach, and learning would cease. learning is our biggest weapon. we must never cease to learn. and they would sacri- fice their homes and their lives, and be forced into an exist- ence so low that their fighting would be useless. you can fight better when you are equal. at least the fight is shorter. if there were more professional people among my people down here—more doctors and lawyers—if my people owned some of the land instead of just working on it—or even if we were hired in industry—but they keep us back, lagging behind. they deprive us of our rights. they force us into a livelihood dependent on them and use it against us when they tell the world that we are content with things the way they are." emmett is saddened. "sometimes i am so beaten, edward —so depressed—i want to cover my face. i want to run away and vanish from the earth. we hear so much about democ- racy and we see so little of it. in my prayers i ask for god's hand, but he seems so far away. i feel so helpless, edward— so guilty of being—of being born black. sometimes i think it's a sin." "yes—yes, i know exactly how you feel, emmett," i say. we can't run away from here "it saddens all of us. but you must remember this; they are the ones who are in sin—not us." emmett says, "that's not easy to believe, edward, when we are persecuted the world over." "i know," i say. "nothing is easy to believe when you are hurt and everything goes against you. but what has happened to us is not a sin, our being born black—but rather, a growth, an association that developed with the years. as far as we can remember, being black has been associated with inequality; therefore, everything we attempt to achieve will be difficult, if not for any other reason. and even if this were not true, the word 'race' itself carries a kind of lingering curiosity that causes people to wonder, that causes you to be conspicuous. it sets up a block that shapes various forms of acceptance and rejection even before people can present themselves. only time can change this, emmett." emmett's voice is breathy. "yes, edward. you have said this before. time! and i am afraid of it. i am faithless of it because the only time i can perceive is that within my own life span. my foresight is shallow and narrow, edward. i wish i could look beyond." the cross continues to bum. a wind blows in from the north and mixes in with the flames, and the flames begin to grow. they are wild now—spreading and out of control. they close in on us with a pumping sound that beats against the wind, reaching for our porch and our rooftop, reaching for our lives. it is not a strong wind, but strong enough. one flame upon this house and we are through. this wood is dry and old. they scatter away from the cross. they are afraid at first for themselves. then they are aware suddenly of the danger for us. their horror is lessened and transformed suddenly into a buoyant joy which overcomes them. it is strange to see them frightened; and once they escape their fear, rejoice when it falls upon us. you wonder what they are made of. so we can't run away from here a tree catches fire—the only tree in our yard. its dry and dying limbs hang over the edges of our roof. there is noth- ing we can do. we watch the blaze spread up the dry limb until we cannot see it any more. we wait. soon our roof will fall in, and our porch; then we will follow. a thudding, cracking sound hits the ground. the limb has fallen, and it still burns. it was so dry that it collapsed before the fire reached the top. we are saved for a while. we are lucky. but we are not out of this yet. the flames are still reaching toward us. the wind. if only the wind would change its direction! the wind is our only hope. it is hot in here—hot from the fear and the tension—hot from the angry flames that surround us. our perspiration hangs from our foreheads and condenses on our upper lips in great, thick beads, and is sour on our tongues. we need air that is fresh and we need it quickly, as the hot air that is pushed in by the flames is not good for our lungs. we look toward the windows, knowing there is something beyond— some life. and this is the thing that aches inside us, that tears us away inside and causes us to lose our faith—faith in ourselves and in our country and in our god. freedom and justice and liberty and equality! how vague these things seem to us! no boldness is required to say this. only the greatest remorse. john is coughing. he has not moved since he collapsed from his convulsions. he is prostrate in body and spirit. even if we did not tie him, he could not move. i want to help him, to strengthen him again, as it is almost unbearable to see him suffer. but i cannot. it is not against my will, but it is against my duty. john will not change. it is far too late for that. rather than see him any other way, i'd prefer to have him dead. there is but a thin line that separates life from death. it is a line made by time, for time makes everything. we see the truth in this now, the mark of it—for as quickly as the wind had come from the north, it dies. the flames back away from our house, their angry and painted edges dying among we can't run away from here "they burn themselves pure," i say. "it is a symbol. they cleanse their race by burning all the evil exposed to them— all that is un-white in color and principle is unpure to them. all that refutes the myth of their supremacy. mainly, you would say, negroes, jews and catholics. they burn them- selves pure of these—of us." emmett says, "and it purifies? ..." "no, emmett," i say. "it doesn't. it contaminates. it is like the water that sweeps in from the ocean when the tide comes in. we think of the water as a purifying agent—an agent that purifies the shore. but it doesn't purify the shore. it con- taminates it. it brings with it the algae and other slimy in- gredients and waste from the bottom of the ocean; and they find their place on the embankments and remain there, never to move until the tide comes in again, and they are replaced with their likeness. the same is true with this cross-burning, emmett. they do not purify their race. they contaminate it! they sweep ugliness into it—and injustice—a stain that spreads from land to land and brings with it ridicule and animosity and hatred; a stain that is a target for communism and a weak defense for democracy." "but they believe in it, edward," says emmett. "yes," i say to emmett. "it is this myth in which they be- lieve." the cross is not burning well. as its slow and even burn- ing is about to die, we can see the rushing of the hours, shown to us by a thick black sky. we wonder what time it is. we have no watches here. surely it must be ten—or at least nine by now. if so, that is good for us. we can breathe freshly and think of freedom. their men must go to work tomorrow. their children must go to school. but midnight? suppose the time is midnight, or shortly before or shortly after? we would not hope much longer. their intentions would be clear to us. the humidity grows in here. we are reeking with our own sweat. we are gasping for breaths of fresh, clean air. we can't run away from here i try to calm myself. "i am not angry, emmett. i love my country too well, and i am too aware of the strength of its foundations ever to become angry. i am just blind—and weak and futile—so that it makes me want to lash out at someone. but i am too full of sorrow and pain to be angry. i am just— helpless. i feel now that whatever i do or believe is so little to aid our cause that it would not matter if i existed at all. everything seems an ideal; but nothing ever—is!" "but you are the ideal, edward. you are what seems. you are the hope of our people. you are the new negro. but you must begin here first and then go on, so that what you are made of will root itself in the smallest of us." "but who can see such an ideal? who can see what seems? my own people are afraid of me. they make me doubt my- self." "you have said it before," says emmett. "they can! that is why you are here." we were never young. youth is cheerful and strong and striving, rich with wild passion and new discovery and animal freeness. youth is like a carousel, whirling and spinning and singing, unaware of the fulfillment it brings to squealing children, of its inevitable defeat when it is old and worn and rusty and out of use. youth is ever-spring and never-autumn. it is something—forever! it is a rising hill with no falling sides. it is the sky, the clouds, the birds fluttering through the air, the wind blowing. youth is a poem, a feeling! it is end- less how much of this we have missed! instead of the feel of the water that came from the green pools, our bodies reeked with sweat. our hands are swollen and sore with labor, while theirs are made painful only by the thorns of a rose. we have watched them picnic on sloping lawns, play in vast fields with high, brick fences, play on long green fields with small holes and flags and sand traps, and on courts of moon-yellow clay . . . while we have stolen, barefooted, to the creeks and swamps and fished on the stumps. and that was our fun. we can't run away from here most indistinguishable sound. but it is there, outside in the dark, slowly mounting in volume. scraping, shuffling, it moves closer. it is as though someone or something is slid- ing over the loosely packed earth in front of the house. the muffled plop of feet mingles with the sliding sound, and it becomes distinct that two or three men are approaching. but what is that sliding, dusty sound that comes with them? emmett hears the movements and stands upright. his feet begin unconsciously backing away from the door. he re- treats to the wall and melts to the floor, his mouth open in terror at the approaching unknown. i sit rigid in the chair, rooted by fear, by an overwhelming sense of duty that will not let me run. i tense and watch the door with fixed horror. then, suddenly, the footsteps and the sound stop. a dull thud on the porch reverberates through the empty house and is felt in the rotting planks of the floor; it is absorbed in our bodies and becomes a part of us. as the footsteps fade, silence comes flooding back, stronger and more powerful than be- fore. emmett comes to me and clutches at my shoulder. he knows, as i do, that something has been dropped on our porch. his eyes are closed. he has learned to expect the worst without panic. i touch his hand. i say, "it has come, emmett. this is our sentence." silently, i arise and walk to the door. i stand and listen, cautiously aware of the silence and the lack of movement on the other side of the door. emmett stands frozen and then he cries, "no, edward, no! don't leave me here alone." "it is the only way, emmett. they have come because it is me they want—not you. they believe that if they destroy me, they will destroy everything; but you must prove them wrong, emmett. you must. that is why you must stay here." he comes toward me slowly. his lips part, and i hear the faint sound of my name in his voice. he holds his hand out to mine. we stand here a part of one another. we stand here vi he died just before dawn. when the sun rose, a deafen- ing silence hung over the land. a rooster crowed and the earth moved. and the earth had forgotten. the day . . . went on. “night song" handles a much maligned subject in a remarkably truthful way. williams brings a painful rage and deep sympathy to the study of the life and death of a jazz musician. -james baldwin a novel by ams $ . night song a novel by john a. williams th night song a new american negro ter enters the world of literature. e richie stokes the eagle-famous ophonist, one of the book's central racters, and a landmark in the world jazz-john williams has lifted his voice in a sustained lyric that raises the language of new york's jazz underworld to the level of art and poetry. he writes about “a world of cool, of arrogant mu- sicians and worrying night club owners, a world filled with admirers, detractors, tourists, hipsters, squares, policemen, and weirdies, a world in which the days were really nights because you lived mostly in the dark and sang your song of life then.” in this world the author develops the dramas of keel and his white gi: : !!!!! of richie stokes ne ligen. du stoned and }, { for dead-of i ll the white man who lepes + *"* of the world of his ri. passions of lust, vic.? . com (continued on baci .) labadie cynllectic ps . ng night song night song by john a. williams farrar, straus and. cudahy new york the characters in this book are entirely fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons is wholly coincidental. copyright © by john a. williams library of congress catalog card number - first printing, published simultaneously in canada by ambassador books, ltd. manufactured in the united states of america american book-stratford press, inc., new york night song david hillary, still half-stuporous from the bad whisky he had had that morning, stepped slowly into the pawnshop. he was hatless and his coat collar, not yet frayed, was bunched around his ears. he needed a shave, but what worried him most was the heat he felt building up inside him. he closed the door against the five-o'clock third ave- nue traffic and shuffled unsteadily to the worn wooden counter. a small man who wore a large mangled tweed cap peered solemnly at him through a heavy screen. hillary placed the heavy gold band on the counter and edged it under the screen. he had spent an hour in his dingy room getting it off; it had cost five hundred dollars and came from italy—one of the right things, which, at the time, had been precisely right for the hillary family. he wiped his eyes quickly while the man picked it up. “how much?” hillary asked hoarsely. the man screwed his eyepiece into loncu. place but removed it quickly to stare at the other person who had just entered. satisfied, the man replaced the glass. “yours?" he asked. "it cost five hundred dollars,” hillary mumbled. five hundred for his ring and four hundred and fifty for an- gela's; his parents had made a big point of it. hillary and angela had laughed about it; italian wed- ding bands after hillary's father and mother had opposed, as they had for years, any traffic between their son and the traditionless italian rabble that had moved into, taken over the town. small farmers; onion and cabbage. only the hillarys had remained deep-rooted, native american protestants; it was a thing to keep alive, if they could. “tough,” the man said glancing at the puffy white face. they all came in with their angles, their pitiful little com- ments hoping to get a few dollars more. it no longer worked. the man had spent too many years on third ave- nue. “a hundred?” hillary asked softly so the person behind him couldn't hear. “naw,” the pawnbroker said. he took out his eyepiece and looked at the person behind hillary. “thirty." he waited; there would be a plea for more money. “please,” hillary said. he blinked rapidly because the tears seemed to want to well back up in his eyes. "fifty.” “i said, thirty,” the man said. he slid the ring back. hillary returned it. "all right,” hillary said. under his breath he said, “you sonofabitch.” “what?” the man stopped counting the soft, worn bills. “nothing." sadly now, hillary stared around the place at the watches, cameras, guns, typewriters. here and there stood a dented, tarnished trumpet or sax, a trombone. a row of banjos and guitars gathered dust on a shelf near two or three worn suitcases. the odor of the place was horribly neutral. "that's right, jimsey, cool it.” hillary turned bitterly on the man behind him. he was dark and in a strange way familiar. the stranger clutched a saxophone in one hand. “man, i pawn this thing maybe three, four times a week, an' that's like giving away my heart for a little while." hillary turned from the dark man and took his money from the pawnbroker. “take your ticket, buster," the pawnbroker said, shoving it after hillary. hillary took the ticket and jammed it in his pocket with the money and went out, plunging through the traffic downtown. you got more for your money there. he stumbled past clots of people whose dress made him think fleetingly that they should not have been down here. they seemed, these neatly dressed people, like a clutter of uncertain internes shuffling through a charity ward. suddenly he knew he was being followed, and he turned. the dark man, bloated, empty-handed, hurried after him. he waved to hillary. hillary, seeing him, slowed but did not stop. for a moment he had a fear of being beaten and robbed, but now with a burst of speed, the dark man drew abreast of him and placed an arm across his back. “jimsey,” he said, “let's get us a taste.” before hillary could protest, he was guided into a nearby bar, but now he didn't mind. he had just recognized the dark man as richie stokes, the eagle. sulking in new york on leave rather than going home to the cloying pride of his parents, hillary could not have known the night in , when he entered the “chicken in the basket" that there would be a richie stokes sitting in a corner of the little platform together with a lean, hawk-nosed young man crouched over a bass; a blocky, arrogantly handsome kid with a trumpet; a serious, jitter- ing young man sitting like a god among his drums; and a chubby, heavy-shouldered man at the piano. they were all there to complement richie stokes and his horn. hillary knew sax men: chu berry, hawk, dash, and bascombe, pres, harry, johnny, benny, willie-all the sax men a provincial youth might know through talk, down beat, metronone, records, and occasional dances. he had stood by the bar that night, his starched khakis whispering whenever he moved, drinking beer, trying to nod to the rhythm of the music; but it had been an impos- sible thing to do though there had been rhythm. hillary had quit trying to nod to the music. he was an outsider as it was. why be an awkward one? in his stillness, then, with another bottle of beer to dull and cool the harsh, new york summer night, he had watched richie stokes and known his music was in some way–different, possibly a conglomeration, a consolidation of all that hillary had heard before. hillary could not then know why he felt this. with a thick tongue he was telling eagle this in the second bar they stopped in. now hillary was high enough to look directly in the black, bloated face upon which some intense evil seemed to have traced its course. the once even teeth were stained, some of them gone. the hair, which hillary recalled, having had the image of richie stokes' neatness impressed somewhere upon his mind, seemed to have worn off like the fur from some decrepit animal. and the man was not yet thirty-five. they were on the street again, hillary scurrying along to keep up with eagle's crouching, threatening walk. once, eagle pulled up short and said to hillary, “wait here, i'm going to touch this cat. watch me, jimsey, an' you'll never need to starve.” eagle did an obscene shuffle toward a well-dressed cou- ple. hillary saw them recoil, and then the man, after getting a hasty look from the woman, reached briskly into his pocket and gave eagle some money. "see that?" eagle growled when he returned. “they're too weak to tell you to go to hell, or they're too guilty to tell you to kiss their asses. they pay for their guilt and their weakness and then tell themselves that they paid to keep you the hell away.” they started walking again, hillary in his half-run and eagle in that crouch in which one shoulder seemed pushed around in front of his body to ward off any blows that might come in his direction. “me,” he said, “i take it all; bread, man, that's your only friend. it don't put you on; it don't lean on you none; it don't try to make your old lady. if you got it an' need it, it's there, and it screams when there's enough of it.” the bitterness rolled out of richie stokes like a per- sistent low bank of fog, and the only way hillary could escape it was to continue-drinking. again on the street, between bars, eagle suggested getting a bottle before the stores closed. "what will you do about your horn?” hillary asked, as they stood beneath the statue of peter cooper, passing the bottle back and forth. “worry about it tomorrow,” eagle answered. they staggered down the street past the salvation army chapel with its lighted cross. eagle crossed himself mock- ingly, and that was all hillary remembered until the flur- ries of snow hit him in the face. he tried to ward them off as if they were blows. towering over them, for eagle was there too, on his behind, his arms draped over his knees and his head nodding patiently downward, stood a cop, a black-suited bulk against the snow and gray sky. the cop kicked at them. another figure, dark, like eagle appeared. the second man, saying he'd take care of eagle, ii was arguing with the cop, but as he pulled, eagle said, "there's jimsey too. got to take care of jimsey. been lookin' out for him all night.” “let the mother take care of himself, eagle,” the man said. “c'mon, move," said the cop. eagle said, “jimsey too." “all right, for crissakes,” the man said, and hillary felt a stab of fear. why didn't this man like him? they strug- gled up, and as they passed down the street, a weaving, sodden clump, hillary looked once at the man who was glaring back at him. hillary had a feeling when he woke that it was late afternoon. he stared around the unkempt room. the walls, once white, were now urine yellow and splotched with dirt and dust. stiff plastic drapes hung from the small window. the furniture had seen better times in many other surroundings. but the bed was clean. there was a rattling at the door and it flew open as eagle burst into the room. without bothering to shake the snow from his clothes or remove his hat and coat, he placed the horn he carried to his lips and began running up and down the scale. satisfied, he smiled and removed his hat. a night in hock hadn't disturbed the tone. now ribbons of notes, punctuated by haunting pauses, floated out of the horn. hillary heard snatches of familiar tunes, but they vanished as quickly as they had come. he dozed then and woke and dozed again. when he woke once more he saw eagle, now with his coat off, holding the horn as though it were the thigh of a beautiful, compliant, golden girl. eagle, hillary thought, must be warm; he was. he was perspiring and his body had become weightless. at a distance, he heard eagle's voice, filled with devious curses, coming from behind a pleased smile and eyes which leaped with the laughter of a small boy. "hey, jimsey, how you feel? get up, take you home, jimsey." hillary could not move and, as if in a dream, watched eagle approach, saw the forehead knot with sudden con- cern though the laughter was not quite gone. eagle thrust his face close to hillary's, and hillary saw again the ugli- ness of the bloat upon the face, the lines of it, the whiskers emerging from it. a hand, heavy in appearance but light in its touch, rested against his cheek. now, there it was: the dark face, all concern; and hillary felt pleased. “hey, keel,” eagle shouted. “this mother's dyin' a fever. call a doctor.” hillary thought about the word, but minutes later, with keel, the other negro, at his side too, the harshness of it was belied by their tenderness, their almost comical impa- tience with one another to undress and clean him. when he was settled they stared at a thermometer keel had found. "where does it go?" eagle asked, shaking it down with a professional air. "up his ass,” keel said, and he exchanged glances with hillary. "is this the ass kind or the mouth kind?” "what difference does it make? just give it to him. any- where you want." hillary reached out with a shaking hand, took the ther- mometer and placed it under his tongue. he closed his eyes and allowed the heat to envelop his body. he was fully awake after the doctor's second visit the next day and took the soup eagle fed him. then he sank again into a listless sleep, hearing only faintly the horn eagle blew softly from time to time. it would have been nice, hillary thought, to die; he didn't care anymore about living, but when eagle was not there, keel was. “don't die here, you sonofabitch," keel said once, with a shadow of a smile on his face. “go to hell,” hillary remembered panting. he remem- bered too that keel seemed to have smiled more broadly and patted his shoulder and eased him back down into the bed. another night had passed and a part of a day when hil- lary woke again and looked at keel sitting on the bed. “eagle told the doctor your name was jimsey, but he calls everyone that and believes that because he does it should stick. what's your name?” “dave hillary.” "hillary,” keel mused. “nice. i like that.” he smiled and hillary, oddly, found that he liked the smile. "you been downtown long?" keel asked. hillary paused a moment, and then he knew that in the context the question of his being there could only mean: how long had he been a bum? “not long,” hillary finally answered. "it happens. you either stay downtown or make it out. lots of cats make it down here.” keel took a deep breath and let it out. “i could tell by your threads that you were new here. teacher, aren't you?” hillary involuntarily looked at his clothes draped over the back of a chair. his wallet had been in his pants. “had to pay the doctor, man," keel said. a little smile played around his mouth. “went through your billfold and saw your card there." keel rose slowly from the bed and stretched. “you get some more sleep.” two days later, when the pneumonia had almost ebbed away and eagle sat playing, eyes closed, cheeks puffed, an open bottle near him, hillary said, “play ‘april in paris'.” eagle smiled. “okay, jimsey. feelin' better, eh? want a taste?” he stood and poured out a drink. “good for you.” he watched hillary drink it, then poured another and waited for hillary to finish that. “you been to paris, man?” "yeah. twice.” eagle was waiting.. “during the war and on my honeymoon.” “i been there too. it's a crazy place for a colored man.” eagle returned to his chair and began to play. the whisky nudged its way through hillary's mind as he lay listening, thinking. angela had always wanted to be in paris in april. hillary thought how they had been to- gether on their honeymoon there, hand in hand, walking, riding, or just standing, and how her eyes had shone and sparkled when he looked at her. there had been nothing for them to say: to be was enough, sometimes too much, because the soft nights with their almost purple skies and his new wife at his fingertips had caught hillary foolishly, almost painfully, in the chest. they had planned to return to paris, but it could never happen now. the thought turned memory sour within him. what made this man, richie stokes, play the music he did the way he did? hillary wondered. "shit,” eagle said. he spoke it softly, as a child might say "nuts” or “shoot,” and unhooked the strap from around his neck and placed the horn on the table. “that's enough for old eagle today,” he said. he poured himself another drink and with difficulty crossed one leg over his paunch. “guess you like music,” he said. he hadn't remembered the other night, hillary thought. he closed his eyes, then opened them. eagle kept hum- ming something, repeating it, halting at the same point. but now he had it and grunted and hummed and stamped his foot, passing the point he had stopped at before, mov- ing on into some intricate improvisation and then back an answer, hillary thought, to what i said. he lay deep in his pillow and pondered this man keel. the memory of their first meeting had never left him. for there had been real hate in keel's glance, which in subsequent meetings and talks had not been there; it had given place to a cautious reserve, like, hillary thought, the left jab of a boxer pawing air, measuring, testing. “why aren't you making it, fella?" keel asked suddenly. hillary recoiled. “what do you mean?” “why are you a nothin'?” hillary wanted to protest. but he was in a bed not his own, eating food he had not paid for and still barely able to make his body respond. besides, he knew instinctively that what keel wanted to know was what had brought him here, what single or collective acts. he would tell him. “i killed my wife,” he said. he watched keel for a re- action, but there was none, which left him mildly dis- appointed. he wondered why it was that he wanted a reaction from keel. "you hot?” “no. car accident.” "when?" "last year.” “kids?” "no." “you have a job, some place to go?” “no. but i'll make out.” keel nodded to the beat of the music for a couple of bars, then said, “i don't understand why a white man can't make it in his society. you know, it bugs me sometimes.” “that's a pretty narrow view,” hillary said angrily. “maybe.” “what the hell are you?” hillary asked wearily. he thought back through the conversation, checking. this had all begun when eagle went out; keel had become up- set then, though it hadn't shown on his face. "i'm just a student,” keel said. "must be pretty damned dumb,” hillary shot back. “you've got to be thirty-five at least.” surprisingly, keel chuckled. “he's enjoying this, hillary thought. "i'm not that kind of student." “don't i know it,” hillary grated. keel waved the remark away. behind them eagle fin- ished a chorus in unison with yards brown and moved into an intricate passage in the upper register. “you want a job?” “doing what?" keel frowned and moved suddenly. hillary had a feeling that he was controlling his anger. “look, man. you're on your ass. what, you too proud to work for me?" hillary came out of the bed half-screaming. “i'll take it, just get the hell outa here and let me rest, goddamn you!” keel pushed him back down. "you got too much spirit to be down here, professor. i'm going to let you wait tables in my coffee shop.” he sighed. “get some rest. i thought you were going to try and kick my ass there for a minute.” the coffee shop was on the east side of greenwich village, or as the more resigned villagers, conceding that bohemia now extended from the hudson to the east river would have put it, in the “middle village.” some older residents even called this haphazard extension the “new village.” on st. marks place, where the shop was, the renovations which had made this section more than merely habitable, had come more reluctantly than upon neighboring streets. a number of tenements there, however, had been re- modeled with new façades to match their gouged-out, re- decorated interiors. the untouched buildings were laced with weather-beaten fire escapes and row upon row of small-paned windows. set between the old and half-new buildings were tiny art galleries whose stark white walls and well-lit interiors were out of place in an area where darkness and dimness gave comfort. sides of fresh meat stood wall to wall; and there were restaurants, of a dozen different nationalities, which an- nounced their specialties in their respective languages. be- side them, in shops which seemed never to have visitors were the little travel agencies which arranged trips to rus- sia or poland or, as a saving grace, mailed packages to those places. on saturday nights, above the sound of traffic and the noise of many people too close together came music from all over the world played on bongos and congas, on horns of various sizes and shapes made out of metal, wood, or plastic. against the frenetic background of the cha-cha-cha there came the spirituals of the fearful but devout huddled in a storefront church, isolated from the main chorus by blocks. and above this the cantor's tremolo lingered on, sighing over the clatter of the polka. in this part of town, it was said that people were more like people. the shop was an inverted l-shaped basement; the walls had been primed and painted white to reflect the meager daylight and to kill odors from the past which, however, still passed up in cold little drafts coming through the gray, cracked floorboards only partially covered by imita- tion orientals purchased second hand. candles in cylindri- cal, colored glasses sat centered on each redchecked table top, and the chairs, designed for another time, conformed to one another only because of their uniform coating of red enamel. because they cost nothing, travel posters, whose exotic scenes existed in no mind save that of the artist and the tourists who would never view the lie, lay framed neatly against the walls. above the room which formed the -degree angle at the top of the inverted l, a modest sign read: “musicians' room,” and off this was a "the one eagle gave you this morning.” magnanimously, eagle had given hillary an off-brand bottle of rye the evening before. “here, mother," he had said. “straighten you out.” hillary brought out the bottle not knowing whether eagle had told keel or whether keel had noticed it. he took a drink before giving it to keel who tapped the cork down and placed it in his pocket. he said, “ordinarily i don't care too much what a cat takes, but if you work for me you drink and get drunk on your own time." he smiled. “i'll drop back about six, prof. get some rest. the bed's clean. della made it this morning.” keel moved away and stopped. he leaned against the door and said, “listen, prof, don't you know how to say thanks or is it that you don't because you consider this your goddamn due?” hillary flushed. “sorry," he said. he sat motionless until the outer door was closed, then, slowly, he leaned back on the bed and was alone for the first time in days. one small window, so smeared with dirt and streaks of paint that it gave only the illusion of light, was above the bed. the dresser was a small, scarred relic with its veneer warping and peeling. a sparkling glass and ashtray sat upon a white hand towel, and hillary reflected for a moment on della: who was she that she could through magic of a clean and well-made bed, three clean items upon a battered old dresser hint the presence of hope? he thought of her briefly, then closed his eyes and relaxed; the bed creaked beneath him, and his mind moved back along the road which had brought him here. the road was an uneasy one and he slept fitfully, waking at last with a start. his face itched so he scratched it; then he lighted a cigarette and felt for the bottle he had given keel. remembering, he lay back, drawing deeply upon his cigarette and tightening his eyes against the need of it. he did not know how long he held himself this way. when he heard footsteps, he crushed the cigarette quickly under- foot, and lay still, his eyes closed. he heard eagle exclaim as the door was pushed open, “damn, keel gave that cat the bed.” “let's go to my place, richie,” the girl's voice said. "what the hell do i want to go to your place for," eagle growled. the voices and footsteps faded and the door closed be- hind them. hillary retrieved the crushed cigarette, saw that it was beyond smoking and lit another. now the sun was gone, slanting deep over new jersey, and hillary, sit- ting painfully on the edge of his bed, his mind a crater where thoughts ran sluggishly, responded to the hour and the peculiar lean of the shadows by remembering the rear room of the crimson that was the bar where, at the con- clusion of the day's classes, he had stopped for a bracer before going home to angela. it had been a daily thing, that stopping for one or two. the crimson had even smelled something like this room, and it had been peopled by perennial graduate stu- dents who studiously avoided the conformist uniforms of the undergraduates. there had been too, hillary recalled, a wild little jewish (why did he always remember that the man was a jew?) instructor in the psych department who stayed at the crimson bar every afternoon just long enough to drink three martinis. it was said on the campus that he had been awarded the silver star for bravery in france, but had ripped it from his tunic as soon as bradley had fastened it there and had flung it to the ground. the rumor, filled with details and so persistent that it had be- come fact, was vivid even now. sternberg didn't look like a hero. that was his name—sternberg! the name had come leaping from the depths of forgetfulness. he had been a very pale and small man with black, curly hair. he talked as though he had once lived in the bronx or brook- lyn. hillary wondered what he was doing. hillary stood and a draft brought the odor of wet, stale plaster to his nostrils. then it was gone. he slipped on his coat and walked through the shop, inhabited now by squat, dark forms. the door opened suddenly and a wave of cold air swept in. without preliminaries keel said, “i brought you a drink.” hillary stood motionless as a sense of shame, of having been caught at something, swept over him. keel took off his coat and with a grand gesture placed the bottle on a nearby table. “here you are. just one.” hillary, still assailed by shame but now supported by annoyance, approached the table and tapped his fingers on the top of the bottle. “eagle was here,” he said. he lifted the bottle and read the label, conscious that keel was watching him with a smile on his face. a superior smile, hillary thought. "and?" hillary could barely make out his features in the dusk. but keel's body was familiar, tall and lean, graceful-like borden's. borden: he had been a helluva basketball player. a tremendous second baseman and a whiz in the hundred- yard dash. a good dancer too. borden!—a boyhood mem- ory, made all the more painful by their simultaneous discovery that they were different. "he left,” hillary said. "you got one of his beds, you know," keel chuckled. “he's got 'em all over.” "i gathered.” hillary replaced the bottle on the table and slipped out of his coat. keel picked up the bottle and twirled it slowly in his hand. "how you feel?” he asked. “all right.” 'who's truth is it, yours or someone else's?' and he answers, as they always do, 'it's my truth; it's the truth i found.' i don't let them read. i don't let anybody read, prof. if auden was in town and walked down here the block from his house, i wouldn't let him read. poetry, good poetry, is not like that; it's a private love affair between the guy who wrote it and the guy who likes to read it or hear it on a side. i don't have bongos, and i like for people to come here half-way pressed.” keel blinked his eyes. “eagle is an exception.” he turned and jostled a chair. "you make a living here?” “if you mean just getting by, i do. once i wanted to make a living—but it didn't agree with me. i think i'm almost happy now.” “how can you afford me?" “that's no problem. man, you're so beat you didn't even notice that we hadn't talked salary.” "i noticed.” “you did, huh?" “yeah.” keel changed the subject. “where'd you teach?” “upstate.” “you haven't cut out for good?” "i don't know." "i think this country can use lots of good teachers." "i don't think i was too good.” “i'd guess you were all right.” hillary stared across the room and tried to remember whether he had been good or not. the door opened and he turned. a tall, red-haired girl came in smiling at keel, and in that second hillary knew that had there been a million people in the room she still would have smiled in that special way only at keel. hil- lary wanted not to stare at her, but a quality of gentleness was vivid upon her face; she was the kind of woman each man dreams of having in his bed, in his kitchen, in sum- mers and autumns, all the days of his life. neat: that was the only word to describe her face. it was devoid of that animal alertness or that coy submissiveness many white women, knowing a keel robinson, would have had. there was no sign of any neurotic defiance hidden in her eyes, nothing to suggest that she harbored any deep self-hatred for this need to see keel. hillary did not avert his face. instead, he veiled his eyes, conscious of the frozen, polite grin on his face as he watched them kiss. "della,” keel said. hillary said hello. until the moment della joined them, hillary had felt that no person, no incident, could bring him back to a living and, finally, a painless remembrance of the dead-his wife, her head half through a shattered windshield, the mockery of broken glass falling to the ground seconds after the crash. but della's presence that evening had done that. from time to time over the casual meal, he had looked at her and thought automatically of angela alive; it had not hurt and he was thankful for this woman, whoever she was. it was no wonder then that he had, half the night through (it was now two in the morning) recalled how keel had looked forward to the moment when della would arrive. this had been, hillary thought in retrospect, subtly implicit in the way he and keel had suddenly become in- volved in the warm conversation just before she came. hillary understood. he recalled how he had felt long ncci, ago when he waited for angela on a fayetteville corner, crepe shoes shined, his pegged pants creased, his hair duck- tailed and neatly brilliantined. the feeling of impending pleasure was always intense, so intense that it passed beyond self-control and communicated itself to someone else if they were there—perhaps to a sly watcher. it had been that way with keel but he had gone silent after a time, just short of sullen. he had become curt and, in a way, sad. it was in the sag of his shoulders, in the deepening brown of his eyes be- tween laughs. when the first few hours had passed, della too, had become quiet, as though she also had a sadness she would or could not lose. when they spoke they did it softly, as if there were a secret between them, or as though they were refusing to intrude upon each other. it was ob- vious, though, that they were bound together by some- thing. so hillary found himself thinking, painfully yet clearly, and wished it had not been so. he moved aimlessly around the shop. it was a midweek night and there were not many customers. there were a couple of musicians he did not recognize in the musicians' room, but he paid no atten- tion to them. once he wondered where eagle was but de- cided that perhaps he had a gig that night and would not be in. “want a taste?” she said it deep in her throat and her smile mocked him. without moving from the wall where he stood, hillary turned, looked first at the smile and then at the hand laid without meaning on his arm. “keel asked me to ask you." hillary had wanted to see something hard about her: the eyes or even the lines around them; the set of the jaw perhaps or a characteristic twist of the lips. there was nothing but an elusive softness hidden behind the dancing eyes. hillary nodded and waited for della to tell him where it was. “it's in your room,” she said. “don't kill yourself with it.” "i won't,” hillary said. she seemed to possess the same knack for satire that everyone else around here did. he made his way past her, then past keel and into his room. he closed the door and listened to the murmur of voices from outside. someone in the musicians' room played coleman hawkins' “body and soul.” the bass vibrated and hillary felt it inside his room. he clutched the bottle and slowly opened it, remembering how he and angela liked to ballroom on the first part of that record and then, laughing at themselves, to break into a smooth lindy on the second part where hawk took it double-tempo. he drank-slowly and deliberately—thinking first to empty the bottle; but he stopped and corked it viciously. some- one liked that record; it was playing again. well, it was a classic of sorts. he left the room after a half hour. one of the two musi- cians shouted, “hey, you, prof.” both of them looked like the old guys hillary remembered from the small joints in hick towns, or like off-avenue players in the second-rate clubs though they might have inhabited childs, the metro- pole or the stuyvesant casino at one time or another. hillary nodded. “keel said to take care of things. he cut out.” hillary nodded again and without bothering to look around knew that della, too, was gone. he selected a table near the kitchen, in the shadows, so that he might watch the door. somebody played billie's “porgy,” and hillary, liking it, wanted the person to play it again. he sat and waited. the voices of the two musi- “later.” the big man walked out of the shop without looking back. the hand-holding couple bent together to whisper, then stared after tolen. "hey,” the boy said to hillary, "was that rod tolen?" “yeah.” “i listen to his program every night. it's great.” hillary didn't answer. he wanted the young couple and the two past-prime musicians to leave. he wanted to go out. now one of the musicians played “porgy” again, while hillary went to his room for another drink. in the darkness he thought about a woman, perhaps one here on his bed in the quietness of the last dark hours of the morning. maybe. when he came out the musicians were at the door, talking with the couple. he waited until they passed through, then said, “goodnight.” he locked the door behind them and took the cups and spoons to the kitchen, washed them hurriedly and put them away. then he dashed water over his face and went to his room for his coat. the cold wind that races from river to river across st. mark's place and th street set the tails of his coat to flapping. he lowered his head and went to second avenue and then south. he passed a doorway dimly lit from either side by two small shops, a haberdashery and a bakery. a little woman stood huddled in the darkness. hillary passed her, wondering, got to the corner, turned around and passed her again. by the time he was abreast of her the third time she had spotted him and kept her eyes on his. she inclined her head ever so slightly in the direction of the hallway, and hillary, with one more furtive glance, stepped in. “hello,” he said. he had never done this before. “hello.” she was puerto rican. “you wish to make love?" hillary nodded. “you will come with me, upstairs, then?” "i live around the corner,” hillary said. her eyes were dark and hard, but her smile was soft. “oh, no. must make the love here. upstairs." “why?” “my children. they are sleeping, and i do not wish to go away from them.” "all right,” hillary said. he leaned forward to kiss her. she gave him a dry, hasty peck on the lips and started up- stairs; hillary followed. her legs were thin, but her body was sturdy from the hips up. he wished she were della. the hall, with its worn slate stairs and stamped tin ceiling, smelled of insect spray. bags of refuse had been put out to be picked up in the morning. . "this one,” the woman said, when they had arrived at a door on the top floor. she placed a key in the lock and pushed the door open slowly. "come.” hillary passed inside and waited until she had closed and locked the door. she took his hand and led him care- fully through the darkness. he allowed her to pull him down on a bed. a child whimpered and they tightened into stillness. “you pay now," she whispered. “how much?” “five.” there were three singles in his left pocket and a five in the right. hillary pulled out the five and felt for her hand in the darkness. she took it and leaned away from him. a light went on and then off; she had checked the bill, while hillary had had time to see the room with a baby in a nearby crib, its tiny clothes dangling over. the bed creaked and there were the sounds of clothes zippers, snaps, elastic bands—being manipulated. the woman settled in the bed and hillary slowly removed his clothes, refusing to let his distaste for the woman, the place, and himself continue its slow flood through him. his fingers, a minute later, ached to touch and grasp. her breasts were small and limp, though the rest of her body was firm. she talked to him soothingly at first as she would have to a child, moving slowly, urging, caressing, kissing him. but just before it was over, when della's image- white skin, copper hair, rose lips, green eyes—sighed in hillary's mind and he gave himself in great spasms, the woman beneath him groaned, “dios mio! dios mio!”; and then, with his body stilled, efficiently extricated herself. downstairs once more, hillary bent into the wind and returned to the shop, still restless. he sat on his bed and drained the bottle. he would not have to work until late the following afternoon. besides, if keel-he visualized his long face, the color of stained oak, his glistening, heavy, black mustache overhanging chiseled, dark red lips, his dropped eyelids which still saw everything—could take the time off with della, he could take some off himself. “get up!" hillary felt the covers being pulled off him. wretchedly, he tried to pull them back. a strong hand gripped his wrist. “what, are you drunk, goddamn you! get up, prof!" now hillary felt his legs being lifted from the bed and placed on the floor. the hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him to a sitting position. two slaps stung his face, and blinking his eyes open, he stared angrily at keel. “what's the matter?” “put your shoes on.” keel was holding hillary's jacket for him. “c'mon, will you man?” through the little window the light came in gray-blue; morning was no more than an hour away. “what is it?" hillary asked. had keel become suddenly angry with him? was he going to put him out now, after he'd become somewhat used to human comforts? what had he done? he hadn't meant to bother della— hillary's mind snapped back. he hadn't been with della. but had keel read his mind? “i'm drunk,” hillary said. it was not a protest, just a statement. “i can't help that. i need your help.” the idea penetrated. hillary was pleased. he was stand- ing now, weaving back and forth, and keel was kneeling to tie his shoes on. “you need my help?”. “shut up." “but you said—” “shut up." keel was up now, pulling on hillary's coat. “the cold air will straighten you out.” outside the shop, in the quiet morning, keel came close to him. “listen, prof and listen good.” keel paused and shook hillary by the shoulders. “understand? can you un- derstand?" hillary nodded. “we have to get eagle" “somebody was looking for eagle tonight—" “shut up, prof. eagle is strung out. he might be dead. we have to get him and bring him back and take care of him, and we have to do it fast before the streets begin crawling with cops. we're going to take a cab.” hillary's eyes had closed. goddamn him, keel thought, and slapped him hard and watched the eyes open wide, fill with pain and hate and then go devoid of emotion. "prof? prof?” "hummm?" “we have to move fast. if you don't move fast enough i'll have to leave you: don't you understand that? fuzz, prof, cops.” at third avenue they took a cab. keel rolled down hil- lary's window for the air. they rode uptown along the almost empty street. daylight leaned softly across the city from the east river, but there was still that shadow of night reluctantly drawing away toward the west. looking down the broad cross streets, keel saw the blackness still thick over the jersey sky. they had about forty-five min- utes at the most. once they hit the street with eagle be- tween them up there between fifth and madison, the cops would be on them like white on rice. you didn't see drunk negroes in that area at any time. · goddamn that candy anyway, keel thought. how could she let something like this happen? maybe he had the junk before he got to her place, but even so she'd been around long enough to know when too much was too much. but it wasn't candy who had called him at della's. keel sat up in his seat and for a second saw the ludicrous empti- ness of nd street. della had said it was a man. keel leaned against the seat. yes, maybe that had registered. perhaps that's what explained his haste. something was wrong. “goose this mother,” keel said to the cabby. he turned to hillary, “how you doin'?”. hillary nodded. his profile was highlighted by the streetlights outside the cab. he looked young and lost. “you'll be all right,” keel assured him. they swung off third, across yorkville, across the quiet, boundary-like park avenue. they eased down the street. “go around the block," keel told the driver. the driver was a negro. that was sometimes the nice thing about operating at night; at that time new york was filled with negro cabbies and bus drivers and subway motormen, and they knew what was happening and rolled with it. they had no choice. the day spots went to their white fellow workers. there were no small, fast-looking, unmarked black cars pulled up beneath the small trees, only porsches, mercedes- benzes, and ostentatious cadillacs or lincolns. “all right," keel said. "want me to wait?" the cabbie asked. “yeah, and put your light out. i'll straighten you." “crazy.” “c'mon, prof. we got to go." they entered the building and walked softly down the carpeted hall. from out of one of the adjoining passage- ways, two uniformed men strolled, halting at sight of them. "where you boys going?” one of them asked. "to miss matthews,” keel replied with relief. they were the elevator operator and the doorman. their ex- pressions hardly concealed their disgust. this woman had an odd assortment of friends. “get in,” the elevator operator said. they stepped into the car, and he followed, closing the door softly behind. the car cruised upwards and finally stopped. “you going to be long?" the operator asked. keel stopped dead. “maybe yes, maybe no. i'll ring when i need you.” the operator watched until they had rung candy's bell, then he closed the door of the car but did not go down. keel leaned on the bell again; it sounded loud in the still- ness of the building. “who's there?” "keel, candy. i've come for eagle.” there was the snapping of locks and a latch. the door opened. candy matthews stood in tight pajamas, her honey- colored hair falling over her sharp, angular face. “where is he?” keel asked. "in the bedroom." she eyed hillary as he shambled in. “why didn't you call me?" “i thought he'd come around.” she brushed back her hair. “who called you?” angel. the car came and the operator distastefully held the door for them and they went down. the doorman stayed in his seat, staring at them as they emerged on the ground floor. they went out supporting eagle between them. the cabby leaped out to help. “richie stokes, isn't it?" "yeah, but cool it," keel warned. "strung out?” “pretty far out.” “what're you goin' to do?" “man, don't worry, just take us back downtown.” “just thought i could help. i dig richie." "it'll be all right. and if it isn't, the less you know and do the better off you'll be. now drive, man.” keel slapped eagle all the way back downtown. hillary winced with each blow. once the cabby asked, "is he comin' around?” “i think so. his eyelashes moved a couple of times. hurry up, man." “we're making it,” the cabby answered. the sky was light now, and the early morning people, construction workers, service people, bakers, and laundry- men, moved hastily along the streets. the downtown avenues were filling up with cars coming from the jersey and brooklyn tunnels. beneath them, the subways carried their first overflow crowds. the apartment house janitors were carrying out refuse; some of them, a little ahead of schedule, were already sweeping the walks. "here we go," keel cautioned the driver. “the next house.” the cab slowed and stopped. keel paid the fare and said, “thanks, man.” “need any help?” “no. thanks, though.” "take good care of him.” “we will. don't worry. if we can't straighten him out, he can't be straightened.” hillary and keel went up the steps, eagle dragging be- tween them. “this mother sure is heavy when he's out," keel muttered as they struggled up the flights with him. “all this ought to make you sober, man,” he puffed. hillary, in fact, had reached a degree of soberness. the sight of candy, her face and perhaps her body too-sleek as a shark's so that one was bludgeoned with the fact that there was something odd about her, had helped; the under- standing that eagle was dying helped also, and finally the frenzied necessity of staving off that death had worn away the fuzziness in hillary's mind. now he was more ex- hausted than drunk. they placed eagle on the bed. “open his clothes,” keel commanded. “get his chest exposed.” he went into the kitchen and returned with a handful of ice cubes. “got to shock this cat back,” he muttered, and he placed the cubes on eagle's chest above the heart and slid them around. nothing happened. “slap the mother,” keel said. hillary understood the purpose of hitting eagle, but he hesitated. “go on," keel said softly. “it has to be done. got to shock this mother all the way back home, man. we don't want to lose him. go on, hit him.” hillary swung. not hard enough. he knew without keel telling him. he swung again and watched for a reaction. "try again,” keel said. keel grunted when there was no reaction from the next blow either. “get me some more ice,” he said. day had come, hillary observed on his way to the kitchen. life was jamming through the streets; kids were on their way to school, workers were heading for their offices. cars and busses had piled up, horns blaring. but inside, where they were, there was only silence with death, unobtrusively near. suddenly hillary felt the urgency keel had been trying to communicate to him. now for the first time he could close with the presence. he hadn't known it before—with angela there hadn't been time. hillary dropped the ice cubes in the sink and rushed into the bathroom where he turned on the cold water. “keel!” he shouted. he ran back for the ice cubes and dropped them into the bathtub. “keel!” now he rushed again into the bedroom where the two figures were, one motionless on the bed, the other motionless in exhaustion. “let's get him into the tub. c'mon.” keel looked up with bloodshot eyes. he understood. “think it'll work?" hillary shrugged. already he was tugging at eagle's clothes. they dragged the nude form between them. keel stuck his fingers in the water. “damn,” he said, “it's cold.” “let's go,” hillary said. they lifted eagle into the tub. he did not respond and disappointment clouded their eyes—but a second later, eagle emitted a groan. “good!” keel shouted. hillary ran for the few remaining ice cubes. “break off some of those icicles from the window," keel said, “and throw them mothers in here. hurry, man.” eagle groaned again and an arm moved, clutching for salvation. “we gotcha, baby,” keel said, joyfully. “we got your ass.” “let's get him out,” hillary said. “can't keep him too long." eagle was moaning steadily now, and once the word “goddamn” slipped through his lips. they dried him and carried him back to bed. keel looked at his eyes again; this time eagle drew away. "all right, prof. sit with him while i fix some coffee. you're a great cat, baby, you know that?” hillary smiled. there was so much to learn. “baby.” it carried with it some kind of love, not the love of one homosexual for another, but perhaps the love of one hu- man being for another. hillary felt good. richie stokes was coming to. the room blurred, fuzzy and cold and out of focus. for an instant he wished he were back in his old room in his aunt jessie's house in st. louis. it was her presence he wanted. st. loo was as hard as this room, and his life there as cold under the kaleido- scope of big jaw foster's running club, the magicians. those jokers could sure play ball. he had spent many an afternoon waiting for them to come in from chicago, ad- vised by the notices foster had put up on the fences along th street. st. loo. what a dizzying whirligig that town was: the hincty negroes in the political machine; the bootlegging dives along the river section; the “buffet flats" all over; and the sharpies in their box-backed coats and shoes called “mississippi flats.” and what a stink the slaughter houses gave off with their endless streams of cattle up from the panhandle. the mobs controlled everything illegitimate. whores and pimps everywhere, bum liquor, marijuana- everything was cheap and you grew into manhood using these things. in some towns you grew up to go to college, but in st. loo you survived up if you could—and you had to be bad to do it; you had to find some nigger and build your reputation on him. or you could attract a name like "stud.” the most glamorous people in that town were the mu- sicians, sharp gentlemen whose travels brought them fre- quently to st. loo, for the town was loaded with suckers who wanted to spend money on pleasure—and their music was that. tippy dunbar and roscoe dykes. they had taught richie something special: tippy how to get the most out of an alto; roscoe, how to build chords and the intricacies of harmony. how often he had stood in the morning, not having slept all night because of blowing down in the park, and watched the cats come and go at the “spook breakfasts” at the club: pres, basie, lunceford, mary lou, harlan jackson, mc- shann, lee jones—the whole goddamn bunch. and he had watched the paddy boys who were in town step up to take a few choruses, how many depended upon how mucy they swung the group they played with. then one morning, richie stokes had stepped on line, clutching a new selmer with fast action and had tried to double-tempo “body and soul” until lee jones had cymballed his ass right out of the club, and sent him to the woodshed, up in the moun- tains, to learn some damned music. there was a marriage too, though even then he knew he wasn't in love-hell, love was for white folks anyway. it was just that the girl was big and it was the thing to do, but that didn't last long. at the same time shooby died, and no one knew why or how but richie stokes, who had been with him when they took the heroin. for most musi- cians, pot, nutmeg, and bennies were enough, but not for richie stokes nor for shooby. disaster didn't rain-it poured. the skies just opened up and let loose, shit all the way down; he was sixteen. the mobbers caught his father shortchanging on hooch and cut him in two along the old country road. and jennie took their baby and cut out. he had to leave st. loo, where everything seemed to have happened at once. richie made it to chicago, blowing some borrowed horn and stealing, and then to new york, brushing against dizzy and a few others before he returned home to play with maddon. that lasted a while and was good. maddon was like mingus in a way: he rehearsed you until you could do what you had to do in your sleep. but richie left again, back to new york, staying until he couldn't make it there. art tatum and willie the lion smith were cutting every- thing in sight, and benny carter too. they said he should try to play like benny, should get a little vibrato in his tone, because it was too stark, too damned angry. he returned to maddon and they toured the southwest; he had ideas now springing out of his mind all day and he wrote them down. they made the apple, chicago, cleve- land, and detroit where they left him for dead, him and his heroin and his orange-haired baby, mamie. it began to go better. burt owens stuck a tenor in his mouth. it was a big horn, but they said he played the hell out of it, even if he didn't like it. “b” formed his own group and he went with it. the sounds were new and the damned band swung like a seth thomas. it was the first band with the new sound, and richie felt at home. but there was too much talent there; everyone wanted his own group and “b” couldn't record because the war was on. rigor mortis. back in new york, richie formed his own combo, fighting against the drivel of charley spivak, glen gray, the dorseys, kay kayser, glenn miller, and all the rest. only ellington was swinging, but in a different way, he and that sweet-blowing johnny hodges who mauled an alto. : nd street on the west side leaped with clubs and small groups, though billie said it was a goddamned plantation where the owners made the money and the musicians slaved. but for richie it was work. sometimes he ate, some- times he didn't, but he never failed to amaze. twice he was left for dead, zonked on junk, but he straightened up in “give me a cigarette." hillary lighted one for him and placed it in his lips. eagle drew hard, then let the smoke trickle back out of his mouth. “been dreaming," he said. it was almost night. the room stretched dark and list- less around them and eagle knew what had happened. “where'd you find me?" "at candy's.” eagle frowned. “don't know why it is i always wind up with that broad. must be as sick as she is.” hillary didn't answer. "where's keel?” “should be back in a minute. went to get some soup for you.” “how long i been out?" "all day.” eagle wiggled his lips for another draw on the cigarette; when he'd inhaled the smoke, snuffling on it like it was pot for his mind was still fogged, and finally exhaled it, he said, “bet you mothers thought i'd been done in.” “we did,” hillary said. he placed the cigarette between eagle's fingers, watched them tighten on it. "you don't use anything but whisky, do you?” "no." “don't. no matter how bad it looks. don't touch that shit.” eagle emphasized every word and it tired him. his arm shook as he raised the cigarette to his mouth and drew on it; he let the limb flop back on the bed where the ash toppled on the spread. keel came in. "he talkin'?" “a little.” keel approached the bed. “eagle?” eagle opened his eyes and smiled or rather intended to, but what appeared was more like a sneer. “hey, mother. how you makin' it?" "you almost didn't. you was dead, nigger, you know that?” hillary felt uncomfortable. eagle laughed softly. “but i ain't now. when i get up, i'm gonna whip your ass to show you how alive i am- mother.” “ain't you bad,” keel retorted with a sad smile. seri- ous, he said, “you almost had it last night, baby. if it wasn't for prof there, we'd be out right now tryin' to dump you in the river.” eagle tried to laugh. “you too hot to keep around, man. have to put your ass in the river,” keel said, shaking his head for emphasis, though a little smile played around his mouth. “you die and half the pushers on the east coast starve to death.” eagle closed his eyes and smiled. "how about it, eagle?" "what?” “turkey, man. you know what i'm talkin' about. that damned cold turkey." eagle sighed and began speaking in a soft voice. “keel, i told you: that's for the movies and books. i been on for twenty years, man.” (twenty years, hillary noted). “the stuff is a part of me. i'm nothin' without it. i don't mean musically. hell, junk never helped any cat to wail better. i mean my good health demands it. any cat'll tell you that." eagle smiled from behind his closed eyes. “cold turkey—hah!” he opened his eyes now, or rather, peeked out of them. “why don't you pray for me, man?". keel shot a glance in hillary's direction, then returned his gaze to eagle. he said, “prof, give this guy some soup. i got to see about the shop. della's down there now." “what's wrong with you all?" eagle drawled as hillary reached and took the butt of the cigarette from him. "nothing," keel said. "you an' dell ain't actin' right, keel.” "we do all right," keel answered curtly. hillary wished eagle would keep quiet. keel was at the door now. “you're a lyin” mother,” eagle said. he closed his eyes and said nothing more until the slammed door announced keel's exit. hillary roused himself and prepared the soup. he re- turned to the bedroom and found eagle sitting dazedly on the edge of the bed. “you'd better get back in bed, eagle.” “hell, i'm all right.” "rod tolen was looking for you last night. said he had gig for you.” hillary gave eagle the bowl of soup. “that mother. a gig, yeah,” eagle sneered. “gets four or five cats together, wants 'em to blow all night, then lays twenty dollars on 'em and thinks he's swingin'. he's been pullin' that crap for the past twenty years. him an' his goddamn gigs. ought to go back to sellin' pegs.” it was all meaningless to hillary. "did you know," eagle asked when he had finished the soup, "that keel was a minister?” the disclosure did not impress hillary. he had known of negro preachers; they were the butt of jokes among negroes themselves. “oh, yeah?” “i don't mean an ordinary preacher. he had all that bullshit behind his name, b.d. and d.d. went to some seminary at harvard. a real heavy cat." this made it interesting to hillary, but then, keel be- ing what he was, he probably took some money and had been defrocked for it-or whatever protestant churches did with their ministers. "he just quit,” eagle said, and there was both wonder and pride in his voice. hillary knew that keel, then, had often puzzled eagle. "just quit and converted. sadik jamal,” eagle said, as if tasting it. “he gave that up too." he paused and drew on his cigarette. “i'm mohammedan myself,” he said. “i always face the east when i sit or stand. even now," he said proudly. hillary looked around and said dryly, “you're facing due south, eagle.” eagle chose to continue his meditations in silence, cut- ting his eyes only once at hillary. after eagle had settled in bed for the night, hillary left and went down to the coffee shop, expecting to find keel, but della said he had gone for a walk. "why don't we have some coffee?" hillary suggested. della grinned, moved her coppered head in the illusion of a nod and said, “like, why not, man?” hillary smiled. she had burlesqued the beat and the hip so briefly, indicating both tolerance and love as well as an amusement at where she found herself. the voice, calm and clear, with multiple shadings, had helped create this many-sided image. "is eagle all right?” she asked when she returned. "fine. he's doing fine.” . keel robinson walked slowly along third avenue, down the bowery until he reached canal street. over the broad east-west thoroughfare, great trucks and cars bounced along, their light beams rising and falling, their engines growling, puffing and snorting. he turned west, then north again, and plunged into the darkness of the sidestreets where printing shops and rag and paper mills were lo- cated. it was quiet along here. in summer families sat in the streets and the italian club doors were open. but now all doors were closed and the people stayed inside, out of the biting cold. for the first time in twenty-four hours keel had time to think and it was time he didn't want. his concern for eagle had equaled his desire to forget the hours he had spent earlier with della. he was always forgetting the time he spent with della. had to spend, his mind corrected. each day he awoke wanting her, but as the day wore on he forgot her until an hour or two before she was due to come. it was that period that frightened him most each day. he would think forward to the evening: each eve- ning would be the one in which he would conquer it, but that evening did not come and now he despaired that it ever would. a year is a long time. how much patience had she? why didn't she stop coming? why didn't he leave? keel settled down to a steadier pace, the better to think it out from the beginning. there had been a beginning so there had to be an end. the beginning had been so long ago that keel seldom thought about it. della had come, he always said to him- self, when he needed her most, almost immediately after he had left the church, and at a time when he felt his obli- gations to his parents had been paid. for he had suc- ceeded completely where they had only half-succeeded. success to them meant status, and there was none, really, without a college background and a professional career. money alone, which the robinsons had acquired, was al- most but not quite enough. the swing of the pendulum had carried him to what might have been considered a second extreme had keel not been familiar with it already. it was there, in the world of cool, that he had met della, there in that world of arrogant musicians and worrying night club owners, a world filled with admirers, detractors, tourists, hipsters, squares, policemen and weirdies, a world in which the days were really nights because you lived mostly in the dark and sang your song of life then. there had been instant communication between them and no little grappling with the things both had learned at other extremes in their lives. keel found himself in sheridan square and, digging out wrong. keel knew he could never use as an excuse the fact that della was the only woman this had happened with. eagle and the others would laugh him right into the river, though they would expect him to take it with a smile. their world, his too now, was a tough one. even mercy and kindness were camouflaged in sarcasm, irony, or a bellicose pessimism. but what eagle and the others thought or said worried him only slightly. most of his being was concen- trated on finding the solution to the almost nightly hu- miliation he suffered with della. why? think! it had never happened before and until last year hadn't happened at all. the same pride that had carried keel through harvard divinity and then caused him to pass his neatly folded clerical robes to his parents—his thin, aus- tere father and equally severe mother, both of whom had tried to run all their lives from what they were—made him want to solve this problem too by himself. his father, a bishop, had not been half as much interested in religion as in the position it brought him. his mother had en- hanced it through clubs, socials, and charities; all these allowed her to be a bigger person than she was. his parents had wanted this for keel, and he had once assumed he had a right to it. but somewhere in his studies the very hollow- ness of the religion practiced by his father and his parish- ioners—by too many people—became nauseous and super- ficial; when belief became institutionalized, the seeking ended. keel solved that problem by leaving the ministry. he finished a second beer and started out, passing a rather popular novelist and his entourage coming in. he walked east along christopher street to greenwich, then over to th, where he spotted stanley crane. keel tried to ease by the jazz critic but failed. “keel, how are you?" crane was tall and thin and wore “i hear he was strung out last nightbut good.” "no." "at candy's?" "no." their hardened rubber heels knocked against the walks of the almost deserted street. a powdery snow had begun to fall, which, caught up by light gusts of wind, rose from the streets and rushed and twirled in the air. "where's he now?” "i don't know," keel lied. he knew crane knew he was lying, which was what he wanted. this was the putting-on. crane changed the subject. “he hasn't been sounding good lately, know what i mean?" his look sought confirma- tion. “sounds all right to me,” keel answered. he could pic- ture della rising to meet him when he entered the shop. “no, no," crane insisted. karl stopped and without comment stared into the win- dow of a furniture store. crane was right. eagle, the last year, had been sounding plaintive, almost whiny on his ax. sometimes the old fire came and he soared, blew everyone off the stand, but that seldom happened anymore. the tone was still there, the shape, the echo of it, but it was hollow. only crane didn't need his confirmation to know that eagle too was being beaten. keel turned from the window and they continued walk- ing, half-bent before the wind. “you don't agree?” crane persisted. “to what?” “that eagle doesn't sound good these days.” “he sounds all right to me,” keel insisted again. keel knew that whatever critics like crane felt about eagle they could never be sure until they had amassed a variety of opinion in their favor; and that opinion could only come “tired,” della said with a smile, "again?" “look, dell” “darling, don't be so touchy.” "sorry. it's a touchy thing.” “i thought if we could laugh about it a little you wouldn't worry so.” keel sat back in his chair, his eyes on the floor. “what makes you think i'm worried?” della started to speak but changed her mind; she recog- nized the tone of his voice. the one thing she feared was his sarcasm; it was like a whip tipped with steel. they heard crane drop a coin in the record player. in the kitchen hillary dropped a pan. “baby," keel said, reaching for her hand. “i am sorry.” she squeezed his hand. “don't let it bug you. it'll be all right.” “it does bug me.” “if you'd only try to relax.” “i try.” "why don't you let hillary run the place for a week or so? go somewhere.” "without you?” she looked at him. “wouldn't that be best?” “you think that'll do it?” “i don't know. i don't want you to be away from me." keel gave her a cold smile and stared past her into the kitchen. “now there's a good guy when he gets straight- ened out. why don't you hit on him?" della stopped squeezing his hand. “that won't solve any- thing for you.” she shook her head. “besides,” she said, reaching for a cigarette, “i'm not letting you quit. not like this anyway.” "he could get rid of a lot of headaches for us." “dammit,” she said. “we went through this a couple of years ago, baby. we've made progress—now you want to toss everything up." keel didn't answer.. della stared at the tablecloth. a year. three hundred and sixty-five days. twelve months. an endless succession of empty nights. “this is an anniversary,” she said. keel jerked up. he was startled, not so much by her comment as by the tone of her voice, that carefully phrased, social worker's diction that she sometimes slipped into. “of what?” he asked. "finian's.” “finian's,” keel echoed. he frowned, then smiled. “oh yeah, finian's.” they both remembered: how could they forget? they had met eagle between sets on the street, and all dashed around the corner to sixth avenue for eagle's quick drink. the bar was called finian's. they stood at one end of the bar, waiting for the bartender to serve them. he glanced at them several times, but did not move. the men along the bar eyed the bartender and them and smirked. della wanted to leave then, but had known that neither eagle nor keel would. she stood trembling, trying not to show it. eagle walked slowly down the bar until he came to the bartender. he spoke softly, so softly that della and keel could not hear him, but they did hear the bartender's re- ply: he did not serve niggers. it hit della like a slap what followed seemed to occur in slow motion. eagle lunged, putting a knee on the bar, with one arm up to protect his head from the bartender's bottle, which landed anyway. the barflies scrambled away from their seats, their mouths grim, their eyes bright. suddenly keel was no longer beside della: he was on his way to help eagle. the ranks of the barflies opened to let him through, then in his eyes: confusion because she was one of the "whities,” as the musicians called them with smirking bitterness, but also because keel was in love with her. she could not, the way some white women would have, try to buy escape from the hatred and confusion by denouncing whites for what they did to negroes. that was cheap and childish and only the women themselves were deluded. few such women felt the kind of love for their men that della possessed. their individual sicknesses had catapulted them into this world. the momentum was in nearly every case self-supplied and required little effort on the part of the musicians who had become, with time and repeated experience, wise and as patient as foxes. they were sharp, these women with their fine bodies and clothes and, very often, brains—although there were some dogs who were ob- viously making it on color alone—and they could turn as many hip phrases as the men, even if they did sound hol- low; they could also talk endlessly about the senselessness of prejudice and discrimination—without once under- standing their role in its maintainance. very often their men laughed at them, just as the women must have, some- times, chuckled among themselves. keel's confusion, della knew, lay in his painful percep- tion of how and what things were; everything merged somehow like a billowing mist upon a darkened landscape, and made everything seem unreal. but della, like someone who has seen the way before the mists descended, intended to go on. for her it was too late to turn back. “don't wait for me tonight,” keel was saying. it had to come but della felt the panic anyway. there had been so many nights when he lay beside her waiting for sleep, after complaining earlier that he was tired, wait- ing for the weight upon his mind and body (that brown, brown body with the flawless skin, smooth yet hard enough, resilient with its miniature pores) to release him. della knew it. some nights she had cried for him, perhaps for herself too, while he lay deep on his side, sleepless with trying too often and too consciously to relax, motionless as any corpse after a time, or else smoking too much. but she did not want the night to come when he would quit and not even pretend to hope: hope was inherent in their being together. “i'll ask prof to take you home.” keel hoped she wouldn't take a deep breath and then ask if she could ex- pect him the next evening. he was relieved when she didn't. “i can get home all right, if that's what you want." “i don't want it, but i don't know what else to do.” “can i make that suggestion again?” keel looked at her. “if i thought seeing one would help, i'd do it.” he was still adamant: no analyst. a white one could only approach the problem from his own experience, and from bits and pieces of other people's. ultimately his advice, since analysts deal with the reality with which they believe everyone should be in contact, would have to be to accept the fact of blackness. but once accepted, as it had been for a few years now, what then? do you bare your breast for the bullet so that your shirt won't scratch the lead as it goes in? do you stretch your neck for the guillotine? a negro analyst might do better, if he were a jungian though, not if he were a freudian. in any case, what else could he tell you but the truth, and keel wasn't sure he was ready to accept it. della was certain keel would never see a negro analyst, that he would not want to appear so weak: it would be like declaring a weakness to eagle. the admission of weakness ere ago, when they were still able to talk holding hands, of what might happen to them or to their children. it was some time since they had discussed it. now della wavered between thinking she should end it as keel wished and face a life of emptiness without him, or go on waiting. for some time after they first met, there had been no involvement; they had seen each other casually here and there; sometimes keel was alone or with a musician; della was usually with alice, a glistening, smiling, sleek brunette who liked jazz and musicians. the only thing della and alice had in common was their work at a social agency. della understood soon enough that alice wanted a com- panion for the shadow world she moved in after work- after the endless conferences with children and their es- tranged parents. then alice could discuss the things—at least with her—she dared not talk of to any of the other workers. after five o'clock, circulation among the afflicted minorities was frowned upon—even in an office where negroes, whites, and puerto ricans worked together. for her own benefit alice had urged the relationship with keel. alice herself preferred the more prominent musicians: eagle, yards, and others, and often discussed her evenings with them with a neurotic breathlessness. even so, when alice had spent herself and had turned to more acceptable companions who were white and not asso- ciated with jazz, she started to wonder why della continued to see so much of keel. between della and keel there had been periods of deep passion and of love, but there had also been times when della withdrew into herself, pondering why she felt no guilt about keel. how was it she could look at him ob- jectively, as a man, and not as a negro enhanced by three hundred years of mythology? their separations had been rather frequent but so had the reconciliations. the problems had not been della's alone. her presence accelerated prejudice, keel told her. it was bad enough without activating more, so how could he live a life with her? they both recognized the truth in this yet the year before, all truths measured and laid out like garments about to be sewn, they had decided that, regardless, they would have to try it. now, in her apartment, della poured out the cup of assam tea that keel liked and carried it to him in her living room. he thanked her quietly, sipped it, and placed the cup and saucer down. he leaned back in the chair, his favorite chair, he had said, because it allowed him to think, and began talking softly, looking past her to the giant rounded rooftop of the th regiment armory. the shop was empty except for hillary and crane. some- times the wind buffeted the door, and hillary was glad he was inside where it was warm and not out in the street bent double against the cold, with red eyes and a running nose. it was too cold to be drunk, he told himself. crane sat at a table just outside the musicians' room, stirring sugar into the coffee hillary had brought him. hillary sat near the kitchen and again, as he had the night before, wondered what della and keel were doing. in his mind hillary cursed crane, who was too cheap to play records and hadn't yet paid for his coffee, the most expen- sive on the menu, mocha-java. "yor workin' for keel?” crane asked. he looked up over his coffee. “yeah.” "musician?” hillary had always thought that with musicians and their hangers-on the necessity to pigeonhole would be ab- sent. “no,” he answered. crane grunted, and lifting his cup to his lips sipped the coffee, then replaced the cup in its saucer. “like to make some bread?” "what doing?” hillary countered. "come on over.” crane beckoned hillary to his table. hillary had already come to dislike the man, but didn't know why. “sit down,” crane said with a smile. “i write,” he said. “i'm a jazz critic.” he laughed mod- estly. hillary waited. “all the news isn't at carnegie or the open door or the vanguard. do you know them?” hillary nodded. he wasn't sure. new clubs sprang up all the time. “there's lots of news here, but i can't get it: you know what i mean?” his eyes took on a wise look. "i don't think so,” hillary said. “tell me.” “right. i can't get the news i'd like because i'm white, like you, y’dig? right. now you're here—” crane broke off. “you're not a writer are you?” hillary shook his head. crane said, “had me bugged for a second. anyway you're here where there's lots of action. you know, cats running in and out, talking and so on. you pick up some valuable information for me, and i'll straighten you. bet- ter than keel.” crane sipped his coffee. he asked, “you a junkie?” "no." “hummm," crane mused. “wino?" "no." crane leaned back. “what then?” there had to be a reason why he was here, hillary thought. why am i here, working for keel, grateful be- crane gave hillary a tight smile, threw a dollar on the table and got up. “you sound just like them,” he said. he pulled on his coat and started for the door—which opened to admit eagle, his pajamas covered by his coat, thin slip- pers on his feet. crane rushed forward with a smile. "my man, how you makin' it?" eagle's smile was brilliant, his two-handed handclasp warm. “crazy, crazy," he said, moving toward the kitchen with crane still holding on. “how you feel?” crane asked. “i feel good, why?" eagle asked. the voices came to hillary clearly. "well—you got on pajamas, so naturally i thought you were sick.” “naw. just restin' that's all.” "sure. you signed with demetriades yet?" “next week, maybe.” “nice, man. bread. how much is he going to lay on you?" eagle laughed. “ask him.” the voices went on. hillary remained seated, wondering what eagle was doing up. was crane trying to find out about the evening before? it occurred to hillary that he was, but his inquisitiveness was easily blunted by eagle. hillary smiled. bullshit, he thought. crane bullshitting eagle; eagle bullshitting him, back and forth, back and forth. hillary heaved a sigh when crane left and eagle came out with coffee and a sandwich and sat at the table with him. “that mother,” eagle grunted. “always suckin' around.” "you should be in bed,” hillary said. “hell, i'm all right." eagle's jaws clamped around the sandwich. “where's keel and della?" he asked with his mouth filled. "gone.” “gone, huh?" eagle chewed his food and when he had swallowed it said, “you like that della, don't you?” “yeah. she's nice.” “i mean you don't like her like that.” hillary said nothing. “ah, well,” eagle said. "she is nice. you hang around in music for a long time and you see a lot of things. you get so you wish you could see a mixed couple without either the broad or the cat being halfway sick about it.” eagle bent to his sandwich again and washed it down with a loud slurp of coffee. “like keel and della,” he said. "i see a broad and i figure there's only one thing she wants. matter of fact there's only one thing she can do for me, and we make it. it's funny, 'cause i dig i'm the noble, talented savage-i'm richie stokes the eagle an' there's something wild and unchained about me. i hate 'em for it; all the time i'm making it, i'm hating them and i want to hurt them so they'll never forget me. never, never.” hillary returned to keel and della. "are they going to get married?" “who?" “keel,” hillary said impatiently, “and della?” eagle shrugged. “i don't know. keel's tore up about something." he smiled wisely. “why?” it was hillary's turn to shrug. “forget it,” eagle advised. “there ain't nobody like keel and della knows that, black or white. sure wish that cat would straighten out, though. he deserves better than this. rigor mortis for you. forget it.” eagle lit a cigarette and stared moodily into the empty musicians' room. his face was dull with a sadness which startled hillary, but he didn't interrupt the silence. “i guess i was damned near gone last night,” eagle said at town. now they were crouching against the wind which swept across washington square. “goddamn!” eagle said, pulling the hood tighter around his head. hillary didn't bother to answer. “cold, jimsey, cold,” eagle said, and he ducked his head and bulled against the wind. hillary fell in behind him and used eagle's body as a windbreaker. "slick mother," eagle shouted once, and hillary laughed to himself. they moved away from the park, empty now except for a cop who moved across one of the walks under the lights, big and fat under his long blue coat and his woolen ear- muffs beneath his cap. they plunged over west th street, past the tourist traps which were now closed, to the bo- hemia. eagle smiled at hillary as they stepped out of the cold. “whew,” hillary said. eagle signaled to the bartender. “wait here,” he said, when the drinks had come and he had paid for them; and he entered the sitting area where a small crowd watched a combo on stage. the music was not exceptional. the group was young and its members aped the older musicians rather than creating something of their own. still, there was some rhythm and hillary moved his head and his feet. the drink did not go to his head. it warmed him. the drummer was going off into an intricate solo a direct steal from max roach, though he missed the nuances which were the basis of max's creations. there was some polite applause after the solo. eagle bustled back in and ordered another round. he glanced at his watch. “how you feel?” hillary asked. “all right, jimsey. you? still cold?” “naw,” hillary said. with the second drink he was be- ginning to loosen. he felt something brushing his thigh and he looked down. eagle had a bill folded in his hand, and was brushing it back and forth. hillary looked up questioningly. eagle smiled enigmatically. “take it,” he said. "well- _” eagle, tired of brushing, jammed the bill in hillary's coat pocket and looked at his watch again. hillary removed the bill and looked at it. a hundred dollars. “what's this for?”. “don't you need it?" hillary extended the bill toward eagle. “man, i can't take your bread. not this much.” eagle laughed. “tell you what you do. keep it. get yourself cleaned. pressed. make you feel better.” he turned and clapped his hands loudly together, barking, “hey, hey, hey,” to the music. he turned back to hillary. “they stink, don't they?" he laughed at his own question, and bending in two clapped his hands once as if to underline his remark. hillary watched him and decided that he would not drink any more, not even if eagle insisted. eagle saw the sober look in his eyes and said with a careless nod, “live, man.” hillary was about to reply when he saw, at the window, the long face of a man, eyes searching the bar inside. eagle caught hillary's eye and said, “wait here.” he went out. the music in the back stopped and the musicians drifted to the bar. "eagle was here," the bartender said. “junkie," one of the young musicians sneered. "you should be on junk,” someone passing by said. “he's had it,” another musician said. “richie stokes bar the drummer snapped off a tight, commanding roll and eagle raised the ax to his mouth and moved back a step from the mike. his heavy hands bammed over the keys and the notes hurtled out. somewhere along the way-remind- ing hillary of a runner with a tight home run who barely touches the bases—the three syllables of “salt peanuts” echoed again and again. eagle closed his eyes once while he chased an idea through the scales and brought it home. the pianist, head down, raced to keep up, and the drum- mer, mouth open, beads of sweat beginning to trickle down his face, dropped bomb after bomb, a rim shot here and there, and managed to keep up. the bass, a man not quite half as wide as his instrument, fingered the strings serenely, filling in for all of them with a solid, thumping beat. the trumpeter licked his lips nervously and waited for his solo. even though he waited, he missed the opening notes of his chorus, and the drummer rapped sharply on the rim, the bass thumped heavily, and the piano chorded warn- ingly. eagle glared at the trumpeter who stepped up now and raced to catch and keep up. in desperation his mind formed one idea after another, and he built on them, went back and reworked them until, feeling confident, he looked at eagle and eagle nodded. the trumpeter went on. be- hind him, the rhythm section, sensing what had happened, lifted and came on with new assurance. when the solo ended, eagle clapped his hands and extended his hand toward the trumpeter. applause rolled up as large as that eagle himself had received. now the pianist winged his way up and down the board, touching lightly here, heavily there, taking the ideas that both eagle and the trumpeter had molded and embroider- ing them in his own style; after ten minutes he gave way to the drummer. then they all came back on and the pianist set it up for the finale where eagle and the trum- peter would again blow together. "eagle," the trumpeter shouted back into the vortex of sound. "crazy," the pianist shouted back. his leg was pumping like a bicyclist's. the drummer toned down in order to slip under eagle's first notes. "what'chall doin'?” eagle asked. “mo'," the drummer panted. “mo'.” “you niggers must think i'm crazy. stand up here and blow all night for freebee,” eagle said. he slipped off the horn and walked offstage, smiling, because he was pleased. the trumpeter and the pianist quickly brought the num- ber to a close and applause filled the room again. a young woman stepped into eagle's path. eagle sur- veyed her briefly, said “hello, baby," and started around. “i want to sleep with you,” she said. "honey, it ain't gonna rub off.” “but i want to sleep with you.” she was attractive. her eyes were fiercely made up, and her body was compact, as eagle could see, thanks to her tight clothing. tonight he didn't want it, yet he couldn't let it pass: he had to get something since she was so willing. “do something for me, will you, baby?” "anything, eagle.” “gimmee twenty-five dollas." for a moment the girl stared. this was not at all what she wanted. but if she didn't give it to him ...? she went into her bag, suddenly conscious of the eyes upon them. she hadn't minded so much when it was the other thing, but the money was something else. she handed it to him. keel walked from della's apartment in the lower murray hill section crosstown along rd street to his own west village place. he didn't mind the cold. in two hours with della, utter exhaustion had seized him, an exhaustion of the mind which had nothing to do with his having been up the entire day. now he walked alone between the great concrete walls of buildings which rose on either side of the wide street. here the wind had free play, speeding from river to river unchecked, swinging signs and throw- ing small clinkers of debris against windows. all the store windows had been darkened at this hour- four in the morning. even had it been christmas or easter, those seasons when store windows brim with color and light above rd street, this section would have remained stark. it was a limbo—until daybreak when busses and subways loosed their hordes of persons, many of whom worked in the mass of non-profit organizations centered along this street. but now: nothing. keel plodded westward, foolishly conscious of the mech- anism of his legs and feet. once he felt he was marching and broke step with a curse, yet soon resumed it. once more flecks of snow spewed down upon the walks, and he exulted in the clean smell. tonight, walking along with the snow stinging his face, keel felt lost. yet he knew new york. he had been born here, had gone to school here and had explored it damned near as much as meyer berger, or so he liked to think in more pleasant moments. unlike many harlem negroes he had learned what was in the city below th street, why it was and where it was, though they too, more and more, were striking out beyond the areas where they worked. keel knew how the negro ghetto, which once had been around the corner from his shop, had moved to the pennsylvania station area and then uptown to harlem, once the wooded heights of the well-to-do. prejudice and discrimination be- ing what they were-tied inextricably first to economics, though economics was really the least important—the old buildings up there still maintained their sometimes ex- quisite, sometimes cumbersome, rococo frescoes and stone ornaments, since it would have been too costly, the land- lords said, to remove them. now the largest ghetto in the world was the one place in new york city where vestiges of the meaningful architectural work of the last century remained. elsewhere, the new buildings were sleek, almost prefabricated structures with window upon window, air conditioner above air conditioner, unguarded by gargoyle or angel, untrimmed except by a modest layer of colored brick. the buildings keel was now passing were smutty and flat-walled; they appeared gutted. they had been built "you know many colored guys before you came down here, prof?” eagle asked on a hunch. “no. i grew up with a guy, though. name was borden.” they pulled up their chairs and bent to their meal. “what was he like?" eagle asked, mouth filled with bread, coffee, and eggs. “a good kid,” hillary answered briefly. "what happened?" eagle insisted. yes, he wanted to hear it again. he asked it whenever he had the chance, hoping that one of those childhood friendships would not have dissolved at thirteen or fourteen. "we grew up,” hillary said. "he taught you how to box?" hillary reddened. “we used to box out in the fields." hillary smiled. “he whipped my ass every day.” he knew it would bring a smile to eagle's face. it did. they ate in silence, finishing the eggs and the entire pot of coffee. eagle strained back in his chair expansively and said, “listen, let me lecture to one of your classes when you go back. on jazz.” hillary looked up at him but didn't reply. “ain't you goin' back?” eagle said. “i don't know." “this ain't no life for an intelligent man,” eagle mused. "you ain't got to do it. you white.” “what's that got to do with it?" hillary asked angrily. these people based everything on black and white; every goddamn time they opened their mouths it was "you white.” “everythang,” eagle said, accentuating the “thang.” “i spent a whole lot of years telling myself that it didn't mat- ter, and i was gettin' hung up every other day. finally i was able to see it: see the way it was an' i feel better now. i know where i'm at. which don't make me not want to get my damned gun sometimes and blow this motherin' town and every other dump in this country right off the map. ... "tell me about jazz and american art and how us nig- gers did it. sheeeeeeeeeet!" eagle leaned across the table. “this is my business. this is all i know, man. i ain't makin' a quota.” he was saying quarter, but he dragged it out, lingering on the first syllable so that it sounded both hip and southern. “ain't no spade critics. all the spade deejays, they playin' rock 'n' roll, ain't but a few spade joints that can pay my way—sheeeeeeeeet! paddy boys pick up a horn and go boo-bip, and right away, man they're playin' jazz. now ain't that some shit?” eagle had spoken rapidly, fiercely, with his eyes sparking and his shoulders hunched forward, his words coming in smooth, cleverly enunciated rhythms. now he nodded his head to his next words: “do you dig, frig? now do you understand? you white. it's your world. you won't let me make it in it and you can't. now ain't that a bitch?” eagle climbed heavily to his feet and without another word retrieved his coat and went out. in his room, in his bed, keel dreamed, unmindful that eagle had left, and that an hour later, hillary too had gone, his face grim, his lips tight, to buy some clothes and get some stationery and stamps. in his dream, keel knocked the woman down. she had been beating him with a whip. (alice?) then he found some money, a lot of it. it made him feel good and he slipped it in his pocket. a man and a woman approached him through the shadows. they asked if he had found any money. he lied and said he hadn't. he felt good about the lying. he felt so good he started to run, the way he used to when he was a kid, loping along in the pace of the half- miler. but he couldn't seem to get up on his toes; he was running awkwardly, flatfootedly, and he was distressed. but suddenly he was with someone (a woman?) near an airfield; then more suddenly still he was in a plane, a plane like the corsairs that used to scream between the rows of cocoanut trees on tulgai. another plane was bearing down on him. a crash was imminent, and it came, the other plane smashing into his own-doubling him up with a snap, but by some herculean effort, he braced himself and pushed all the wreckage away. the dream had ended. keel twisted quickly onto one elbow and lit a cigarette. he stared at the clear, cold day- light that flooded his room. he thought: all right, joseph, you with your sharp-assed coat of many colors, what does it mean? tagore, you tell me. jesus, speak out and say what it means; or you, mohammed. sigmund, with your ratty- assed couch, how about you? the silence in the room was deadening. the man and the woman ... the man and the woman? why couldn't he run? and the money. this reminded him that he had to see about money today. in disgust he crushed out his cigarette. there was little doubt that the dream concerned himself and della. he glanced at the phone near the bed. deeply troubled, he climbed slowly out of bed and made his way through the kitchen, where he observed the mess eagle and hillary had made, into the bathroom. he turned on the shower and went out to check the coffee pot. it was empty and he made some more. he was grateful for the sudden train noises on the tracks a block away. he was about to step into the shower when he remembered he had had one earlier so he shut it off and returned to the kitchen. the train noises had stopped and the world outside was empty again, as it was inside too. the deep whistle of a ship's first warning sounded, echoing and re-echoing down the river. where are all my lords in this hour? a small, hidden part of him whispered. i face the east and bow, i face the west and bow and the north and the south, and i hear nothing but ship's whistles and the echoes of music. every- thing else is—is nothing, empty. except della. and i can- not decide, lords who trod the earth no more (if you ever did and you didn't, because if you had i know i would have seen you): no, i cannot decide, lords, whether i love her or hate her. the coffee had started perking now, and keel waited un- til the fragrance came. as he rose from his chair, the ship's whistle sounded again, twice, and keel paused to listen to it slam back and forth off the façades of manhattan and the palisades. i am in love with her, i believe—he thought -but it is also possible that i hate more than love, and if i hate, how may i love? the three, final, sonorous blasts of the ship preparing to leave its berth came some fifteen mniutes later, as della walked down the street from the agency on her way to a lunch she had no appetite for. in her mind was the need to keep up her strength for the ordeal in which she was involved. though it had been unspoken the evening before, she knew just as keel did that the final separation was only a short time away. she was numbed by the thought, for they had passed that period of frequent separations and had gone on to approach marriage. now this thing was between them—and it nullified dramatically all the gains they had made. if what keel had told her were true, and she had no reason to doubt him (though it did hurt, his talking about other women, even with a psychoanalytic preface), c. straight down lafayette street; there were few bars along the way, apart from a small clutter of them near city hall and the other government buildings. sometimes he had gone with eagle, sometimes with della, and a couple of times with keel-carrying on peripatetic discussions or in silence. saturday and sunday mornings were the best time for there was little traffic then, human or mechanized, and pedestrians could move easily along the broad streets, between the buildings, past the empty stores to the sea where, already, round-the-island cruise ships hove in sight circling the seven miles of concrete. once there, hillary would stare in fascination at the statue of liberty rising out of the water. along the pier was a pack (you could count on it) of cub scouts, boy scouts, campfire girls, or girl scouts, all lined up to take the boat out. once there, they would clamber over her, exclaim about her, miss the meaning of her being there and never sense, somehow, why she was there. he would watch the ferries going back and forth from manhattan to staten island, their decks loaded with cars and people, hurrying across the strait like squat bugs. sometimes great ships came up slowly with their lean-back stacks and upper decks, with waves leaping outwards from their bows as they steamed upriver to their berths. there were gulls and pigeons, of course, walking the rails or tracing flight pat- terns across the sky. and when the sun was out behind the glass buildings there, they blazed like the front side of a burnished shield and the reflection was like a threat. hillary, when he stared down over the railing at the sea, felt as if it were breathing as it kicked up little spittles of salt and debris and commanded attention. when eagle was with him, hillary could see he was fascinated by it and had no fear of it. keel, on the other hand, had a wise man's respect for its mystery; he feared it and had never sions, all the attitudes congealed into the realization of horror. but it was a horror he dared not believe, because it dared not exist. swift on the heels of understanding, numbly, that the horror of keel and eagle was very real, as if emerging from a bad dream in which one sighs with relief at finding the experience is only fantasy, hillary realized that he was white: thus better: thus sheltered from the coldness at the bottom of the world. at some point, he told himself, i must speak to della. he placed another coin in the record player and turned to see a fat little man enter the shop. "hello," the fat man said with a smile. he gestured toward the phonograph. “that's mine,” he said. “you like it?" “sure,” hillary said with a frown. “i like it fine, but that's eagle.” "no, no, no," the fat man said, laughing. he punched himself fiercely in the chest. “my company. i pressed and released that record. 'invitation'.” "oh,” hillary said. this had to be moe alvin: “the thing,” the musicians called him. alvin had a small record plant in new jersey and used the cheapest recording studios in new york for pressings. he hung around town, mostly on the corner near the turf restaurant, and waited for impoverished musicians to show up. he then offered them twenty or thirty dollars to cut sides for him. since they almost always needed the money, the musicians did it, even though they lost all royalties and other benefits since alvin did not give them any. it was rumored that rod tolen sometimes worked with him. "eagle sounds good on that,” hillary grunted. “eagle, hah!” alvin exclaimed. “he always sounds good.” he stopped laughing and looked carefully at hil- lary. "you prof, aren't you?” “yeah.” "sure, you see, i know. i get the word. hah, hah.” he turned off his laughter again. “you alone here?” “yes.” behind them eagle took off on one of his inspired pas- sages. it seemed to transfix them. alvin shook his head slowly, as if filled with some sad knowledge. he said, “that man is worth fifty million dollars.” they did not speak until the record was finished. "he sign with demetriades?” alvin asked. he had pulled up a chair. now he sat in it. “he's been gone for about three weeks,” hillary said. “i might meet him upstate.” might, he thought, suddenly not listening to alvin, whose mouth was moving, making sounds. might? what the hell was he thinking about? it had been set up the morning the letter came from the university. he remembered eagle's coming in, on his way home to sleep for a couple of hours, just as he was ripping doerffer's letter open. “whatcha got, jimsey?" "from the school.” “what they say?" “i got an appointment,” hillary said, reading rapidly, smiling. “looks very good.” “hell, let's celebrate.” eagle took out a bottle of scotch. “glasses, garçon!” laughing, hillary raced for the kitchen. “monday, wednesday, or friday, which shall i take?” he had re- turned and as eagle poured the glasses half-full he read the letter again. “prosit!" eagle cried. “cheers!” eagle poured again. “ten. should be through by eleven-thirty. meet you there at eleven-thirty, okay?” “crazy,” eagle said. “let's write it down.” “gimme a pencil,” hillary said, and he wrote down the time and place for eagle, also for himself. "yeah, i dig them halls of ivy,” eagle mumbled. “when you start the tour?” “tomorrow, so i'll see you up there. crazy?” “crazy." crazy. what do i mean "might"? hillary wondered. alvin was snorting. “on the road. busses. texas, okla- homa, california, illinois, wisconsin. upstate. bad for eagle. drafty. drafty? a hurricane!” hillary knew that “drafty” meant the suspected or real presence of discrimination. “sandwiches and one-night stands, blowing before some hicks who won't even know who it is they're listening to or how great he is. shit.” so why, hillary wondered, do you rob him, you and all the rest? then alvin answered it for him. he said absently, “well, demetriades got the money”—he smiled at hillary —“the bread, and he can afford to pay. me, i got to be dirty-like. i got to make it someway too.” more briskly he said, “so he's gone, huh?" hillary nodded again. “anybody around at all?” alvin asked, cloaking des- peration. hillary named some of the musicians who still came into the shop, who hadn't yet made their spring and summer connections. "nothing, nothing, nothing," alvin sighed. he stood disconsolately. out of his bitterness he asked, “how you like working for the schvartze?” “what are you brooding about?” della asked. “nothing," he said, but he knew that in another mo- ment he would begin talking to her about things. “della?” he said, clearing his throat. “yes?" she answered. in the shop her voice was devoid of the guilty tones he had known at night in her bedroom. “i want to talk to you. moe alvin was here. . . .” his voice drifted off and down so that della had to strain for- ward to hear him, and he saw her reading his face, thinking back. “i don't want to sound like an ass, but have you, like i confess i sometimes do, felt any—shame for—for-being here—?” he broke off and looked anxiously at her, uncon- scious of the fact that he had pulled a shade back from her. "well, man,” she began cautiously, a smile pulling up the corners of her mouth, the eyes unblinking. “like, how do you mean?” her tone was condescending. hillary heaved and clenched his lips. “alvin asked how i liked working for keel.” “yes?” she said. hillary noticed that she was trembling as she opened her bag. della lit a cigarette and stared at him, waiting. “a lot of guys have said the same thing. and i do feel uncomfortable, working for keel.” he couldn't look at her now. instead he stared down at the checkered tablecloth. “i need your help, della,” he said, without looking up. “go on, man.” the eyes were dancing quietly again. “we're both white-” hillary said awkwardly. he looked up again. the eyes had gone cold. “what do you mean 'we,' white man?" she murmured, anticipating him. desperately, hillary hurried on. “those guys saved me, keel and eagle—” he fumbled and looked anxiously at della. “i guess they're nice guys." he tried to smile at her. . "to be truthful, the only thing i dislike about keel is that he has you.” della looked over her shoulder as though she wished someone would walk in and interrupt them. a habit, hil- lary observed, shared by nearly everyone who came into the shop. “i've learned a lot of things down here. i'm doing better than i was.” “yes,” she said, flicking her ash into a tray. hillary was nervous but he went on. “in spite of what i know to be intellectually right—that keel and eagle are in a sense superior to me, i can't accept it. that's why peo- ple like moe alvin make me feel uncomfortable when they hint that i am inferior." "you're positive that they're superior to you?” "i just couldn't take what they have to take every day and still want to live.” he saw in della's eyes a hint of her old tenderness. "i guess faulkner said it somewhere. they endure. they endure the alvins, the cranes, the tolens, the tourists who'll be flocking in here tonight. they en- dure themselves. i couldn't.” hillary raised his chin in the direction of his room. “sometimes, when i've closed up and everyone has gone, i lie there, drunk often, but more and more frequently sober, and thank god that he made me white.” he dropped his head again. “it's like the army. the guy next to you gets shot and you're glad as hell it wasn't you. it's the only way you can go on; you count on someone else getting the messy end of the stick.” he watched her inhale carefully on her cigarette. "i grew up with a colored guy. name was borden." hillary paused again. “he didn't hate me.” della mashed out her cigarette with more force than was necessary. “like, man, how do you know?" her lips were pulled up again in that tolerant smile she reserved for touring squares. "i guess i don't know.” “you've found the hatred then?” she laughed lightly. hillary nodded, then knitting his brows slid forward on his elbows and talked to the ashtray which rested between della's thumb and forefinger on the table. “i guess i thought i was a hip paddy boy, like some of the kids you see around now in pegs and drapes. i could handle the language, as much as a country boy could be expected to, and i went to colored dances and danced with colored girls. ..." he laughed: it was warm recalling those un- involved youthful days. “they were the only ones who knew how to dance—”. "like, man, you don't have to explain to me." but she'd said it with a smile and hillary knew it was all right. “we used to hunt down the colored guys, the hipper ones, and watch them lindy. we felt special because after a while if we didn't show up at a dance they asked for us." hillary shook his head. “we never felt the things with them that i feel now.” “to accept is part of understanding, man,” she said. she never calls keel, “man,” he thought, looking at her. “agency analysis, huh?" he said. “don't run. it's my turn. i listened to you." hillary nodded. "shoot.” “people hate because they're hated. it's that simple. remove the originating hatred and the other goes, but who's to tell people like my keel”—hillary winced—“and eagle and all the others, ‘look, man, the hate is gone!' they've been told this so often and you can see the result. we're talking about the result.” she shook her head. “no, i'm afraid when the hate does go—and that's what keeps me going—not the fact that someone else is getting the poker all the time—eagle and keel and the others will have to start placing some faith in that fact. a two-way gig.” why, hillary wondered, does she insist in talking this way to me? isn't there anything between us? she was trem- bling again. the ashtray beat a tattoo against the table. "you sit there, man, blowing about your crazy times with negroes.” she leaned back and simulated a smile. "how nice,” she said bitingly. "now i'm going to tell you how it is with me.” she plunged again into her purse and came up with another cigarette. hillary offered her a match, but she shook it off. "i didn't have any negro playmates—man.” she paused to let the effect hit hillary. “i knew some negroes in col- lege. they seemed people to me, and i avoided saying negro the way some people avoid saying jew because they've become conveniently vile labels.” “i don't have any oddball sickness for keel.” she leaned back again and nodded at him wisely. “i know what you think. sometimes it's been all over your face. i had a special reason for the gigs with you, “i know,” hillary said, his face reddening. “you felt sorry for me, but hated me after.” della paused, her small neat mouth shaped into an . she wanted to tell him that it was he who should have been sorry for her and for keel as well, but she allowed his comment to pass; the attack she had readied had exhausted itself with his statement. she said simply, as if repeating again what would not be believed, “i love keel. i dig him. for all the reasons a woman is supposed to feel about a man. i want to hold his hand when we walk, but i don't; it's like a rule. people look at us and here's the way it goes: broads spot us—the contrast i suppose—then they dig me, up, down, all around, then my face.” hillary stared straight down; he too had done this, let- ting his glance come to rest at last upon her face to see if there were anything readable there. "sometimes they look so damned disgusted. sometimes there's no expression, and sometimes,” she said, and hil- lary was sure she was speaking to herself, “there seems to be something of encouragement. very seldom this. some women stare like animals; keel's a goodlooking man." mentally hillary agreed. “the men look at me too, but they look the longest at keel, like his face would be labeled or something.' “don't you ever get used to it?” “keel hasn't." "how about you?” "i notice it. but never let keel know that i'm digging this scene as much as he is.” as she inhaled, della won- dered if she were becoming maudlin. somehow, regardless, it was good to talk about it. “keel believes—sincerely be- lieves—that for us to hold hands in the street would be to invite trouble; he could get killed or he could kill some- one.” hillary remembered the mixed couples he had seen; some held hands, but most did not. it was almost as if there were a tangible fence between them. “who am i to tell my keel that he's wrong. i don't know that he is. osmosis or something. i feel it too. once, walk- ing through times square, one of those damned southern cracker squares spit on him. i didn't know it until days after, but there you are.” she leaned forward, smiling, but there was something wrong with the smile. “here we are, talking, just talking, and i know that maybe you'd have to cross the street not to do the same thing—maybe.” “c'mon, della,” hillary said crisply, “that's a little too much.” “but you've got it in you.” “i admit one thing and one thing only.” the smile was gone. della waited. “i always think of how much i want you for myself.” della slid her chair back and stood, jabbing her ciga. rette into the tray. she spilled the ash. “i forgot to tell you, man,” she said—her voice carried the uneven tones— "about the white cats who see me occasionally with keel.” she stood erect and yanked her bag onto her arm. “they proposition me, mentioning keel-i'm supposed to be easy, you dig—and i know they want me only because keel has had me. they're sick.” she looked coldly at him. deep in her throat, she said, “they make me so mad i could scream!" she ran toward the kitchen and slammed the door be- hind her. hillary stood and shouted, “della! della! that's not what—" he stopped and listened to her sobs. he approached the door and started to push it open. “come in here,” she gritted, “and i'll kill you!” hillary heard her rustling in the silverware and stopped. “della, i shouldn't have said that. i'm sorry.” he glanced behind him; what if keel came now? “i meant it, though not the way you said.” he paused and listened. to hell with keel if he came. then he paused again and listened to her sniffing. he thought of what she'd said and he wondered for the part of a second if that was really why he wanted her. he became sick with the thought, steadied himself and asked, “can i get you anything?" "no." her sobs were softer now and her nose was stuffed. “della, come on out. please. i'm sorry.” “you damned fool, can't you see i'm crying for myself, sadik's began to fill early that evening. there was a rest- lessness along the streets that comes only to new york when its people realize that spring has come again. down the street, in the hall of the polish club, the band for that evening was running through its polkas. small groups of youngsters, already in sandals and shorts, moved along the walks with their congas and bongos, searching for a place to come to rest and play. they merely glanced in sadik's and passed on. the puerto rican men on the block gath- ered, leaned alternately against a no-parking sign, and spoke their rapid, flat-toned spanish. the younger ones were clad in pegs and the distinctive, vented, brocaded shirts. when the cross-town bus passed, going west, it was filled, for the brighter lights of the village lay on the other side of town. returning, it was usually three-quarters empty. now along the stoops the old people sat and iii watched the panorama of the block, while below the kids romped and fought, made up and fought again. the liquor store a few doors away from the coffee shop, was already catering to its friday evening clientele: winos, tourists who carried it on the hip thinking to outwit the village bar- tenders, young, dapper, madison avenue workers who in preparing for a weekend of partying purchased inexpen- sive liquors and emptied them into bottles bearing well- known labels. david hillary was a client too. already the roads were filled with creeping cars bearing out-of-man- hattan, out-of-state license plates. sometimes faces would peer out of them, interest masked, the understanding there that one did not show emotion in new york city, that you, if you were a tourist in one of the passing cars, were cool too. somewhere on third avenue, fire engines raced, bass sirens growling malevolently. a few kids ran to the corner and traced their passage out of sight. a police car, black, white, and green, its red, car-top-pimple flashing, roared down the street, took the corner with a scream, and tooled after the engines. the noise of machines and people filled the open door of sadik's. every table had its candle already lit, and the tiny orange flames licked the glass containers which were white, orange, blue, green, red, purple, or black. the effect was like that of trembling stained glass. some musicians were there already, listening to records, sipping coffee and liquor out of the pints they had brought with them to take to their respective jobs. with the coming of spring nearly all of them were working either in the city or in the sub- urbs. there was money, and money generally meant the presence of whisky. a few couples, lost in their explora- tions of the village, stopped in and ordered american coffee and looked politely around, wondering when the bongo players and the poets would begin. other couples, ii natives, just out because it was a friday night and lovely, browsed over the menu carefully, seeking something exotic to match the feel in the air. business was good and would get better later. hillary returned keel's grin. he had just emerged from his room again, where he had taken another open-throated swallow of rye. for some reason, keel seemed in a better mood. the past weeks he had been sometimes curt, some- times extremely indrawn; and della, hillary recalled, had not been in every night, and some of the nights when she had been in keel had not seen her home. well, hillary thought, he knew about three of those nights. "you'd better watch it, prof,” keel said as he went by. “it's early yet. you haven't hit it like this in two-three weeks. something bugging you?” hillary shook his head and picked up the order for two cappuccinos with baclava which della had filled. she did not speak and hillary retreated from the kitchen with the order. crane and tolen came in and entered the musicians' room where they sat in labored discussion with kilroy and with background, a little man who wore gold-rimmed glasses. background played strings: bass, cello, viol, violin. he got his name because he whistled inverted chord changes and all the dropped notes which were not obvious to the layman-background music. the noise of the con- versation grew until it was difficult to hear the record player. keel and della moved quickly and easily about among the tables, their faces lit by the wavering candle- light. hillary moved jerkily, lifting his legs as though he were walking in a marsh. della watched him critically. so did keel. for some reason today he didn't mind that hillary was drunk and on his way to becoming drunker. perhaps because it was spring, or perhaps (and this was closer to the truth), it had to do with whatever was going on between della and himself. so much better than it had been. now, again, he could feel her love, her concern for him. the good feeling persisted until he visualized being with her, but then it drifted away, sadly, like a night mist carried off by a gust of wind. he walked into the musi- cians' room where crane was talking with background. background was one of those players who was listed in practically every page in every edition of charles delau- nay's discography; he had played with everybody and still performed competently, rising occasionally to great heights and confounding everyone with his acumen and dash; once feather had tried to prove that mingus learned from back- ground. hillary whispered to kilroy, “that cat still trying to get the dope on lester?” kilroy smiled. when he wasn't being an out-and-out clown there was a certain character to his face, which was old and seamed like cordovan leather. “you better know it, man. cat never gives up.” this time kilroy looked up and smiled at crane, who in turn smiled himself, but keel saw that the critic was perturbed by the interruption. “get some bread, background, get some bread,” keel growled. rod tolen looked up and graveled, “man, how you sound? some things bread can't buy." “it'll buy what crane wants,” background chuckled. “damned right,” keel agreed. tolen scoffed. “what you need with bread, background? you giggin' steady. you ain't got no steady oſ lady, you ain't on shit, and you don't drink that much.” background exchanged glances with kilroy. he said to tolen, “i want to buy me a couple of burners, man. this crap is gettin' down to the knitty-gritty here now, and there are two or three cats i wants to burn when the shit hits the fan.” there was silence. keel gave a little smile. he knew background well. if there was one thing that bugged the musician it was white people telling him he didn't need money. tolen should have known better. “that's what i'm gonna do,” background said into the silence, “buy some heat. when you gets as old as me and done as much as me you know that all this talkin' and sig- nifyin' don't get a goddamn thing.” he smiled and turned to crane. “now, you was sayin'?” outside in the main room, hillary returned to the table for the third time; he hadn't been able to remember whether the middle-aged couple (out-of-towners, obviously) wanted khave or viennese; something about those v's that confused him. he apologized clumsily, sliding the table- cloth nearly to the floor and just barely catching the can- dle. the woman recoiled at his breath. della, seeing this, went to take the order herself. “go to bed, man,” she told him. he moved numbly toward his room where he emptied his bottle and listened to the sounds of the conversation grow louder and louder. only the vibration of the record player let him know that it was still going. once he knew kilroy was sitting inside, because he heard his loud voice and rapid speech. kilroy, hillary thought, was the way they all should be. his clothing was loud too. kilroy seemed to enjoy being a clown. restlessness seemed suddenly to invade the room and hillary began fingering the money he'd received from keel. he had been doing pretty well. if he went out now, he wouldn't really get too drunk; all he'd had was a few drinks to clear away the afternoon with della. besides, he hadn't taken the walk to the battery as he'd meant to; he hadn't been out all day. of course, there was always the chance that keel would get angry. he had said “no drinking on the job.” but, hillary reasoned, he'd been pretty straight and keel could invite him not to work and live here if he wished. and so what? it was spring. hillary lurched up on his feet, shoving the bills down further so they wouldn't fall out. he crashed into the door of his room, staggered away from it, opened it and took a couple of rubbery steps outside. he walked tense and erect for a few paces, lost his balance and staggered toward a table, pulled himself in, just missing it, and continued without the pretense of being sober toward the door. della rushed into the musicians' room to tell keel. “i suppose he's got to have a few, baby." “but he hasn't been like this in weeks.” there was dis- gust in her voice. “maybe something happened today to set him off. i'll get him later." "i hope he doesn't hurt himself too badly,” she said. "he might. but that's not important to him right now. did he hear from the school again today or something? they tell him no?” “no, baby. it was i.” keel looked squarely at her, his face set. “what do you mean?” “we talked.” keel's lips simulated a tight smile. "white folk's talk?" della nodded. “white folk's talk,” she said bitterly. "it had to come,” keel said with a sigh. “what did you do to him?" “we just talked. that's all.” “okay, baby. don't worry. i'll get him later.” keel watched della walk back to the kitchen and stared after her for a long time. outside, hillary lurched toward the corner where the old lady had just reopened her flower shop. the beat cop, leaning against the corner of the building, saw him stagger by. the cop, who had just come on, had five minutes be- fore he had to report in to headquarters on the call box. as soon as he had done that, he would move off the corner because, if he stayed, he would have to arrest two out of every five persons who passed for public intoxication. amused, the cop watched hillary weave on by, hair be- draggled, mouth open as though he could not quite get enough air. hillary went past a small bar where the sounds of jazz echoed. he leaned, both hands against the pane of glass, to see inside. “bums,” he muttered. the sounds were cute, clever, but empty. there was a bar across the street with cracked tile floors and inexpensive bottles of whisky on the shelves. the friday-night fights were on and hillary en- tered without attracting attention. the young bartender gave him a double rye. hillary wiped his mouth and stared upwards where the set showed the white fighter in the black trunks pummeling the negro in the white trunks in a corner. sounds of approval rose from the throats of the watchers. hillary went out. traffic now was a steady series of headlights and whis- pering tires. overhead the arms of bright new lights leaned above the street and here and there were planted a few skinny trees. hillary passed the salvation army with a sneer. there were a few men sitting near the corner of houston and the bowery—a street slave market where in the morning, employers needing a few men for a day's work would drive up and pick out the healthiest or the least drunk. houston street echoed with the sounds of bocci and handball. walking through chinatown, hillary saw the young chinese looking at him without expression; the white dinner-goers gazed through him as if he weren't there, and hillary sensed they were ashamed here, in this section, because of him. he emerged from chinatown and entered the area of darkened buildings courthouses, municipal, state and federal buildings. he headed across the street to a lone bar, took a double rye-handed distastefully to him by the bartender—and sat down on one of the foley square benches. he dozed for an hour. when he woke he was wet from urine and he had to defecate at once. he returned to the bar, walking (he noted with surprise) without much staggering. he washed and brushed back his hair in the bathroom and left, walking back uptown. hillary was in mild shock. he had wet his pants and almost ruined them. to have seen this happen to someone else would have been horrible enough, but to have it happen to him was a nightmare come true. he hurried, almost at a dog trot, along the empty streets, sniffing at himself, feeling the clammy wetness of his trousers slopping around his thighs. not even eagle did this. where, he wondered, could he go? back to the shop and pass through wet and stinking to his room for all to see, della too? he slowed. no. more to drink? he toyed with this thought, but remembering the moment when he had al- most surrendered control of his body, he rejected it. eagle's place? he could change into eagle's pants—if he had an- other pair. they would be big, though. he felt better now and moved more quickly along the street and did not notice keel coming from the opposite direction until he spoke. “how you making it, prof?” hillary jumped. goddamn, he thought, this cat, trying to play god, popping up—he broke off to mumble some- thing. “what'd you say?" keel had turned now and was walk- ing beside him. he noticed the wet pants but said nothing. hillary shambled along in his rapid pace. “you surprise me,” keel said. “i figured you'd be stoned by now.” hillary jogged along without answering. “i wanted to talk to you anyway," keel said. “i figured i'd have to sober you up to do it. i don't have anything but time." hillary didn't answer. “della was worried about you.” hillary glanced at him. "she doesn't usually worry." hillary didn't answer that either and keel was overwhelmed with the urge to smash him. “she doesn't have to worry,” hillary finally said. "that's the way she is. wait for the light.” they stood on the curb without speaking until the light flashed green. they continued on. they had walked a good ten blocks when keel asked, “how you feel now?" perhaps it was the way the question was asked or maybe something within hillary which at the precise moment the question was asked screamed for help. it could even have been one of those rare times occurring within the lives of humans, when understanding strikes with the cleanness and power of a thunderbolt. “i feel,” hillary said, “very, very tired, and i'm glad you're here and glad della's worried, though she shouldn't have been." keel didn't answer. he was thinking about the urge he had had a moment or two ago. ΙΙ lo keel sat patiently while hillary stumbled around, first in the bathroom, then in the closet looking for a pair of eagle's pants. the small flat seemed somehow vast without eagle in it. then keel thought how empty almost every- thing would be without him. hillary had found a pair of pants. they were striped; eagle favored stripes and plaids, the louder the better. the pants sagged at the waist and at the seat and hillary, as he approached to take a seat near keel, smiled down at them ruefully. “kind of big," he said. "yeah, he's bigger than he looks sometimes,” keel com- mented. there was a silence while they both lit cigarettes. "where do we go from here?” keel asked. “i don't know.” “you were in pretty bad shape tonight.” “yeah, i know.” “a real running drunk.” hillary looked at him. keel was rubbing his face. “i can't put you out, you know.” hillary didn't answer. “did you know that?” “i figured you could anytime you wanted to.” “that's what i thought, too." “i guess i was pretty stoned.” “anything happen today?” keel's eyes revealed nothing, but hillary sensed that deep within them there stood a veil. hillary was the first to mash out his cigarette. "no." "i was surprised,” keel said. “you'd been doing pretty well. i figured something had to get you off.” “i've never lived like this before,” hillary confessed. “sometimes it throws me—the people, the things that happen, the hatred, the desperation—the love. i haven't quite got it into focus." “you see,” keel said, “you don't belong here. what's there to focus? you live, you don't try to figure out why." hillary thought: why is he trying to frighten me? keel thought himself: i'm trying to scare this cat. why? then a slow fright worked loose inside him and he had the answer. he sensed something between hillary and della which had somehow gotten out of his control, some- thing which passed—damn it! why was he thinking like that?-only between whites. hillary said, “funny, your saying that, because i've had mixed feelings. first that i don't belong here,” (and maybe you're thinking, keel thought, that della doesn't either.) i "and second, that only by being here can i learn to begin to live again.” "like an immersion,” keel said, "a baptism.” “of fire.” “life,” keel retorted. hillary lit a second cigarette and stared at the floor. “i had a long talk with della today,” he said, without look- ing up. "she told me,” keel said, without looking at him. "oh,” hillary said. the disclosure startled him. so, he was not making any headway with her. if he had been, she would have not have told keel. of course, she could not have told keel everything. or had she? but no man could be that tolerant if he were in love. actually, keel only knew that they had talked; he had not asked della the subject of their conversation, nor would he ever. if she wished to tell him, all right, if not, all right. but he did, at the moment, want to know some- thing of what they'd discussed. not all. he had a fear of knowing all of it; he was afraid it might confirm something he'd felt the past few hours that had given him a sense of uneasiness. he looked at hillary and the restless way he jabbed his cigarette toward the filthy ashtray. hillary was settling in his mind what della, knowing her as he did, might have been likely to tell keel. he con- cluded that it would have been nothing intimately harm- ful to keel-or to himself. now he shrugged. “it was about some things that had been bugging me—and things i'd been bugged about.” “ummm,” keel said. he jabbed in the dark. “so, how does it feel, working for me?” hillary looked up with a smile. he had to remind him- self that this man was sharp. "sometimes,” he admitted, “it doesn't feel as good as it should.” ul. “that's natural, i think.” "is it? is it natural that i should feel bad about working for another human being who happens not to be the color i am?” “that's not the scene," keel said. hillary didn't answer. the probing that afternoon from della had been enough. he might admit to della that he did indeed feel superior to keel, but now, with the man in his presence, he was finding it difficult to make the state- ment again. he ground out his second cigarette, and noted that keel hadn't smoked one this trip around. "i guess,” keel said without moving, “that i should get back and tell della that you're all right.” suddenly there seemed nothing to talk about. “she shouldn't have worried,” hillary said. he noticed that he hadn't smoked his second cigarette down as far as the first. "she worries about most lost people," keel said, ab- sently. “it's from working with all those damned kids." “eagle,” hillary said, softly, "told me that you and della were thinking about getting married.” “yeah,” keel said, looking hillary full in the face. “we've talked about it pretty often. why?” "nothing. i think she's nice. devoted.” "you didn't find her too sick, did you?" keel asked with a smile. “how do you mean?" “prof, you know damned well what i mean.” “i thought it a couple of times. i don't think it now.” “shit.” “what?" “never mind.” hillary reached for a third cigarette and changed his mind. perhaps keel was right. maybe he did think she was sick. “what brought you around, man?” keel asked with a smile. now he slowly pulled out a cigarette and flashed his eyes at hillary above the lighted match. “i don't know. maybe the walks to the battery. maybe getting to know you and della, eagle, and the rest. all these or perhaps nothing. i don't know what brought me around. maybe i feel here a strength i've never known. i don't know.” "stop saying you don't know.” "well, i don't.” “who in the hell does?” as had become habit with them, they fell into another silence until keel, heaving up to change positions in his chair said, “sometimes it all seems as foreign to me as it must to you. i have to leave sometime too. i have a feeling that it won't be long now.” hillary looked up quickly. "where'll you go?” keel, without looking at him, said, “oh, i'll worry about it when the time comes." “you said soon." “time's relative in the final sense, you know. once you consign yourself to being an infinitesimal speck in the uni- verse, which you are, you don't worry too much about it.” he sat erect suddenly and said: “damn! i wish i could believe that.” “it's nice that you can be human.” hillary looked at keel. “i remember the first time we met, that night with eagle. you hated my guts.” “know why?" "no." “everybody uses eagle. everybody. and for my money, that night you were just another one of those shysters out destroying eagle, who is—believe it or not—so much a part of us. we dig the naacp, even when we laugh at it. but it's impersonal. some people preserve statues and old drawings on cave walls, but we have to have eagle. he's us. he's fire and brain; he's stubborn and shabby; proud and without pride; kind and evil. his music is our record: blues, why goddamnmit, his best music always came from blues. isn't that terribly like all of us? building on the blues, building with such speed and intricacy that we don't even know it's blues right on? we don't understand it, but we have short patience with cats who try to imitate him. eagle is our aggressiveness, our sickness, our self-hate, but also our will to live in spite of everything. he symbolizes the rebel in us. no organization can do that. "that night i thought you'd taken another chunk out of his hide and i did hate you. the cat's going sometime soon. you look in his eyes and you can see it; every morn- ing you see it a little nearer. ..." "i think i've seen this.” “i believe you have.” so again they sat in silence, each of them with his thoughts on eagle and some incident they had shared with him. hillary could not visualize eagle at that moment, but keel could see him on the bus, almost anywhere in the land, alone in that dust-covered vehicle while the rest of the band, craftsmen surely, but geniuses, not, sat in an air- conditioned diner and had a leisurely dinner. when they were through, filing out dutifully and apologetically, they would bring eagle a sandwich or two, or the dinner, slopped together and dripping on a paper plate. still they would expect him to inspire them—to swing the whole damned band at the next town. and he would. “feel okay?" keel asked. hillary nodded. "why don't you go back and give della a hand? i'll be along in a minute. the joint ought to be filling up by now." hillary rose without a word, paused at the door, turning to look back at keel, then passed out, wordless. keel sat and looked down upon the darkened street. he wondered what it would be like to live and move about in daylight, as he once had done: to get up in the morning when everyone else did and go about his tasks, whatever they might be at that time, returning home with the sun still up. yet everything happened at night: most people died and most babies were born then, a nurse had once told him. eagle, now, he seldom blew in public during the day- at an occasional sunday afternoon session, perhaps, or, more likely, at the studio on th street, or in someone's home, if he could round up the musicians he wanted to play with at, say, nine or ten in the morning, after they had been gigging all night in some pissy-smelling club. you had to like your music to do what eagle and the rest did, or you had to like where it took you, or what it did for you. why do i sit here and insist that the clue to my life is the music of some beatup bean-picker named richie stokes? thought keel. a bus passed, a slow sliver of light from keel's angle. down in the street music echoed from the juke box of the coffee shop. the polish band across the way had taken a break and the young polka dancers had come out into the street to talk. yards' muted horn carried insistently into the night, taken another job instead of waiting to get cleared through the university again. the living here, keel understood, was an experience from which hillary had derived much and could derive more, but only a fool could fail to see that the reason the instructor stayed was della. had she been—“kind” to him? probably, keel reasoned. shame- fully, he admitted to himself that he preferred hillary to eagle (who would, despite the sense of honor in which he held their relationship, allow himself to weaken) or to kilroy or any of the others. all right, if hillary was the cause of so many problems, he should be sent away. keel lingered on the steps of the shop and listened to the sound of soft voices and to the music which had been turned down. why the hell did they always turn up the sound when yards played? hillary stays, keel thought, because he is important to me also. he smiled. i need della as well as he does to prove that i, too, am a man-a man superior to him. if he takes della, and he won't the bastard, then he proves him- self in his eyes, as i do in mine, superior to me. he stepped inside the shop. della moved through the flickering shadows and the forms of sitting people. as keel came through the door she studied his face quickly and decided that it had gone all right. she had said nothing to hillary when he came and went silently into the kitchen to clean up. he had sense enough at least, della thought, to not endanger the cups and saucers, the furniture, or patrons with his occasional stumbles. keel came to her. "hi,” she said. “hello," he said. i “come with me into the kitchen." “why?" "i want to kiss you.” "where's prof?” “in the kitchen.” "no." “but i want to kiss you." sometimes she could be like this and keel remembered that it was always nice; it gave him a fine feeling. yet now he asked, “what's the matter?” “darling, why does anything have to be the matter?" “i don't know. feels like this has been a long time.” they walked toward the kitchen. keel waved as they passed the musicians' room and was answered by a chorus of voices. he greeted some of the regulars. then they stepped inside the kitchen. hillary plunged his hands deep in the dishwater, and heard behind him the silence of their embrace. keel, holding della so that he could see hillary's back, watched it tense, as though hillary were holding his breath. della, in keel's arms, her back to hillary, sensed the watchfulness of keel, his satisfaction at kissing her in the room with hillary. now it was done, the kiss over. would it suffice, for della, to show hillary how she really wanted things? would he leave now since keel was not going to send him away? that would help her. since the afternoon, all evening, she had been thinking of possi- ble solutions—even the one where hillary, drunk, would tell keel, when he found him, about their times together. let it explode, she had thought; and if it didn't, she would take things into her own hands as she had just done. let hillary, sorry as she was for him, get out of their lives! he was too easy to have and too resentful of keel- hillary and keel mopped the floors of the shop in silence; they hadn't said much to each other in the past two days. the door was open, as usual, and the sunlight that came in begged for cheerfulness. both turned at the sound of kilroy's voice; he was accompanied by his perennial com- panion, background. they came down the steps, walked into the shop without any greetings and sat grandly at one of the tables. hillary and keel exchanged glances. “you know,” kilroy was saying to background, "there's an awful lot of fine square broads hitting the scene these days.” "i'm hip,” background said. it was only ten in the morning, but they were both still glowing from a night of drinking. they continued their conversation as though keel and hillary were not there, and hillary and keel kept exchanging looks and small “he back, is he?” background asked. keel and hillary divided the stack of fresh tablecloths and began placing them on the tables. both moved slowly as though swift movement would jar the conversation of the two musicians. "yeah, he back.” kilroy suffered the interruption. “any- how, soon's he hit the scene he calls me up and says, 'look man, i got to make it over to yordan's and pick up my bread: make it with me.' so i goes. this cat got his paper with all his figures on it—y' know, the bread yordan owes him for three months on the damn road? we get some coffee and ruppert goes to a phone and calls the man and tells him he's back and that he will be in the office in one hour, please to have his bread ready! "then we dribbles on up to the office and ruppert takes off his coat.”—kilroy interjected hastily, “we done stopped at the bank now and picked up some money bags, y' dig?” background bent over the table and laughed. hillary turned swiftly, and keel, grinning broadly, shook his head. “anyway, soon's we make the scene, all them broads up there is: 'here comes mister (!) ruppert, mister (!) rup- pert,' and they openin' books and stackin' bread up on the tables—” kilroy paused for breath and to allow the three other men to break in with laughter. hillary wondered why so much emphasis on “mister ruppert.” “that's a tough cat, that ruppert,” kilroy added. “then he takes out his paper and starts count-ing that bread. me, i'm sittin' over in a corner, blowin' a chesterfield, an' this cat ain't sayin' shit to nobody, baby, he's just counting that bread! "now listen. some damned body was a nickel short: man, you shoulda heard that mother take off! he had yor- dan out there, counting that bread until he got it straight- ened out, you hear me?" "yeah, minneapolis. all tore up, but they could talk, y' dig? demetriades just before they left added some more cities to the tour-cat sure likes to make his bread. the cats was on a two-day layoff.” “what's added?” background asked. “lessee—erie, buffalo, rochester, syracuse, onondaga falls, utica, albany—”. “damn,” background said. “that's a whole new tour.” there was a momentary silence. background and kilroy thought of the towns; they knew them and had spent years traveling through them, playing in them on tortuous one- nighters. "that's my town,” hillary said. "i used to teach there.” “which?” kilroy asked, prepared to talk about any town hillary named. “onondaga falls.” he paused. “i'm waiting to go back now." “that's a raggedy-assed town,” background said sourly. “how's eagle blowin'?” keel asked. he gave one reas- suring glance at hillary. kilroy said, "ruppert didn't say." if eagle had been playing well, ruppert would have mentioned it. voicing his thoughts background said, “poor eagle. he looks damned near as old as me.” and background was over fifty. background remem bered eagle from the old days at the woodside and at minton's. this memory gave him a sad sense of perma- nence; he was still around, doing a lot of studio work and sometimes helping out when chico came to town without a cellist, or sitting in with mingus when the bassist felt he had an audience appreciative enough to enjoy some of his string pieces. eagle, on the other hand, was already on the way out. “place looks good,” hillary commented, lighting up a cigarette now that most of the work was done. "sure does,” keel agreed. kilroy and background had leaned their heads together and were already involved in another discussion about eagle. “those guys are somethin' else, aren't they?” keel said, nodding toward the two musi- cians. hillary started to laugh softly again. “oh, hell, he's doin' it to hisself,” kilroy boomed. hillary and keel turned to listen to the raised voices. “naw," background said. “ain't nobody doin' it for him," kilroy said. “eagle got brains. that man is gifted. he'll talk about anything you want and score on you. i talked with the man night and day for almost two years," background said in- dignantly. “if i told you some of the things he talked about the f.b.i. would be right in here”. “if they ain't been already,” kilroy said. "i don't want to hear that shit,” keel said, knowing that kilroy was teasing him, but pleased to join in the game. kilroy took it up again. “you can't tell about them cats, keel. i remember they was on eagle for nine months one year." “hell, eagle too slick for them squares,” background said. a sudden clicking of heels down the two stone stairs made them turn. candy came walking rapidly, her face whiter than usual and more drawn. dark splotches hung downward from her eyes; she had gotten up early. instinc- tively keel knew this and moved toward her. ordinarily candy would not have been up until two or three in the afternoon. “keel,” she said, then, seeing kilroy, stopped. “oh.” there was something about her agitated movements that dissipated keel's contempt for her. candy pulled out a chair and sat with the two musicians. “coffee?” keel asked. he turned toward the kitchen and saw that hillary was already on his way there. he sat down at the table. "ruppert is in town," she said. kilroy said, “is he? i'll be damned.” he turned to back- ground. “you hear that, man? ruppert is in town.” “goddamn you, kilroy, don't put me on.” “what the hell is it?” keel said. "minneapolis. just got a call from a chick out there. eagle goofed.” keel wondered: could this woman really be worried about eagle? “what do you mean?" “he shacked up with this guy's wife—” she broke off. "if i could talk to ruppert he might tell me where eagle is now.” “isn't he with “no, he didn't leave minnie with the band and the guy's hired someone to do him in." “shoot, eagle can take care of himself better than five men,” background said, dismissing it. frantically candy said, “the guy who's going to do it is a pro!” she made her right hand up into a pistol and bent the thumb several times. “does eagle know?” keel asked. he took the coffee hil- lary had just brought and placed it before the blonde. she shook her head. “no. nobody knows where he is.” she searched the eyes of the men around her. hillary, who had pulled a chair to the table, felt a sudden flash of sym- pathy for her. “can't we get in touch with ruppert?” he asked. he fought hard to suppress a smile. ruppert, he thought, what a name. “you call ruppert and tell him i want to see him,” keel said, rising from the table, snapping off his apron. “tell him if he can't make it down here, i'll go up there, but i want to see him right away." kilroy shot to his feet and left the shop with background trailing behind him. there had once been a phone in the shop, but there had been too much traffic, too many un- usual people who showed up, shortly after a call had been made, only long enough to shake hands with the musicians. then the women were always calling, and if it was not women it was other musicians looking for someone. keel had had the phone removed. "you look beat," keel said to candy. "finish the coffee and run home. i'll keep in touch with you." "i knew it would happen some day,” she said between gulps of the hot coffee. “i only hope it isn't now." it was in keel's mind to say: i didn't know you cared; but he didn't. instead he spoke gently. "i'll call you soon's i get some word from ruppert." candy rose, clutched her light coat about her and said, “thanks, keel.” the way she said it made keel think that some re-evaluation of her would be necessary. hillary too felt different about her as he watched her go out. kilroy and background trailed back in. “candy gone?" kilroy asked. background, still dazed, followed his friend's gaze. “yeah," keel said. “what's he say?" “he say for you to come to his crib, man.” "i knew it.” keel gazed around the shop and his eyes fell on hillary. “like to go?” “yes,” hillary said. "you cats want to sleep it off until we get back, or split?” “we gonna split,” kilroy said. “too much traffic here." “damn right,” background agreed. the two friends, kilroy in front and background behind, walked unsteadily into the street. “drop you off?” keel asked. the two musicians hadn't heard. rubbing shoulders to- gether, they walked away, involved in another conversa- tion. ruppert lived in the west eighties behind the facade of central park west. up here the side streets pulsed with people and music just as the streets downtown did. “one more time,” hillary said, referring to the hunt for information on eagle. "yeah,” keel said. “it's gettin' there.” the cab jolted to a stop along the side street to wait for the kids to clear out of the way. "little bastards,” said the hackman. “no hurry,” keel said. “they gotta play somewhere.” the cabby slammed his vehicle into gear without a word. “this house," keel said. they climbed out of the cab and stood for a moment on the curb. “another ten years," keel said, “this'll be just another part of harlem. they won't let it happen on the east side.” they climbed the steps of the brownstone and rang rup- pert's bell. while they waited keel said, “three other mu- sicians live here with their wives and families. all mixed marriages.” he had said it to warn hillary so that he would not show surprise or uneasiness. hillary smiled. keel thought of the wives in the building, all white, who spent their time, when their husbands were on the road or in europe, visiting one another, baby-sitting for one an- other, going shopping or forever cleaning house. by them- selves, they fought the loneliness imposed upon them by their marriages, yet they were, the husbands and the wives, ruppert raised his hand and snapped his fingers three times. toot looked puzzled. “that means three beers?” “three beers.” he looked at keel and hillary and ex- plained. “i'm trying to train her.” “and i,” toot said when she returned with the beer, "am trying to indulge him for a few days. it's over now,” she said, and if you want anymore beer, get it your damned self.” “yes, love,” ruppert said, pretending to be cowed. “can't i stay?” toot asked, all playfulness gone. “no, baby,” her husband said. she closed the door be- hind her. “kilroy tell you what candy said?” “yep," ruppert said. he was a big, dark man with a round face and a comfortable manner. behind him on the wall of the room were pictures of himself with various musicians. in such company, keel thought, ruppert could afford to be comfortable in the knowledge that he was a musicians' musician. “the cat goofed,” ruppert said. “he hit on this broad and she dug him. nice-lookin' babe; i saw her first. i knew she was the owner's wife, but i dug she knew how to work her way around. guess i was wrong.” "what's her old man like?” "he's the kinda cat who'd do just what candy said. he don't have to take no crap. he is the mob out there. and he's got a temper. how does that go—?”. “'there but for the grace-'” hillary started. ruppert grinned. “whooooeee, yeah.” more seriously he said. “and it would have killed toot.” "where in the hell would he be now—” keel pondered aloud, “if he wasn't with the band when it left minnie?” richie stokes sat in the first window seat, left, behind the bus driver. his hat was pulled down over his eyes, but he stared from beneath it at the medium-size town they were pulling into. “onondaga falls," someone muttered. the bus moved slowly in the night traffic. the glare of the street lights and neon signs was suddenly almost too bright to bear after the last, long stretch of road. the silence among the musicians was beginning to wear off; there was murmuring from the rear and the sound of cases being shifted one against the other. fortunately there was no concert scheduled until the next evening. the musicians could get all the rest they wanted, though many of them wouldn't. eagle, for one, was thinking of the people he knew in the town and where they might be on this week night. his weariness cut deeply to the bone, and he thought refunded because the star of the concert hadn't bothered to put in an appearance. "a bill.” "all right.” demetriades gave him the one hundred dollars, making a mental note that it was to be deducted from eagle's money. for demetriades a mental note was like chipping a date in granite; he didn't forget. “look, take it easy tonight, will you? after all, what can you do in this country town? get yourself some rest.” demetriades said it, but he knew that wherever richie stokes went, some part of the town he was in lit up. eagle didn't answer. he pocketed the money and went into the hotel, glad to be out of the bus where, for the last eight hours, the musicians had vied with one another to see who could break wind the loudest. eagle had won; he usually did. going up to the room he had been assigned, eagle wondered who demetriades had designated to watch him until concert time. it didn't matter; eagle would turn him on too. the view from the window, eagle saw, as he was dress- ing after his shower, was drab and flat, extending to a lake which reflected the light of the full moon. he wouldn't be going that way in any case. miserable view, lousy city, but all of them were. it would be good to be back in new york—depending on many things though, for it could be a pretty ratty town itself. there was a knock at the door. “come on in,” eagle said. the door opened and al fox came in. he was a tenor- man with the group. “hey, al, what's happenin', baby?” eagle said. he knew that al had drawn the assignment or maybe he had asked demetriades for it. it was no secret that al worshiped eagle. in the past couple of years he had become cool about it, but it was there. eagle had always allowed him to sit in if the tenorman was in the club with his ax. and they had talked many times, teacher and pupil. "how about dinner, richie?" “crazy. i know a spot.” "good. you almost ready?" “i stay ready, baby. anybody readier got to go by me.” "i'm hip they do, richie.” with a flourish, eagle finished knotting his wide, flow- ery tie and slipped on the plaid jacket which matched his trousers. he glowered into the mirror, then smiled into it. he dipped both index fingers into his mouth and smoothed his brows with the saliva. “ready," he announced. down on the street, al walked beside eagle without knowing where they were bound. “where to?" “little place down the way here," eagle answered. his eyes swept slowly up and down the street, seeking land- marks and people he might have known. he would have preferred it if al had not been with him. he didn't know if al was on or not-probably not, and he didn't want these young musicians to see him the way he sometimes was when he'd had it. well, maybe after they had had something to eat he could send al back. al would mind him quicker than he'd mind demetriades. “listen, al,” eagle said, “i been meanin' to talk to you about your changes. i think if you play with 'em on the piano they'll come better for you, you know?” “how about my chords?” “they all right. tell you a secret." “what?” “get next to a good guitar man an' you'll learn some cute things about chords and harmony progressions, dig?" “you ever play with charlie christian?” al asked. "shit, i played with everybody who blew anything good.” eagle stopped suddenly. “man, this might cut you, but stop trying to sound like pres. you got to have a style that suits you, that says what you think and feel. you don't know what pres was thinking or tryin' to do when he came on with his scene. you can't know.” when eagle was kind, al thought, he could let you know in the nicest way that what the negro musician and the white musician thought were worlds apart. “but i don't try to sound like pres.” “all right, baby, all right.” they walked a dark street in silence, then halted on a corner. “what's wrong?” al asked. eagle turned slowly around, grinning. “nothing. just gettin' my bearin'." "man, we've passed three or four restaurants,” al com- plained. “oh, that's right. you're hungry.” "i thought we were going to eat, richie.” “yeah, man. you right. you better get something to eat. tell you what—" he took al by the arm and guided him a couple of feet down the street. “you run in there and order for both of us. i got to make a little run and i'll be right back. order me something good now, baby." eagle turned and walked quickly into the shadows. al returned to the last restaurant they'd passed. he didn't want to see eagle with it either. no one else in the group could stay up with richie; demetriades couldn't hold him responsible. david hillary glanced up at the new arrival, then bent again to his dinner. hillary had arrived that afternoon by greyhound to keep the appointment with the chairman of the english department. there was a chance for a spot during the summer session. he would know for sure to- morrow. both della and keel, though it had been a few days since he had spoken to della, had wished him luck on the interview. lately, they seemed to be getting on better, but still hillary harbored the thought that if he did secure the position he might ask della to come with him. he had left new york that afternoon, riding up in fine weather over the network of thruways. his arrival within the limits of the town had set him thinking again about angela and he had taken a few drinks to obliterate her. impossible. tomorrow when he sat with doerffer, who knew, she would be back-everything would be back. he would have to fight it or live with it. the young man who had just come in sat facing the win- dow. between bites of his food—there was another plate beside him with the food growing cold on it, hillary noted—he strained to see out of the window. some broad, hillary thought, has stood him up. hillary finished his beer and paid his check. he walked out, glancing back once at al fox's pale face which peered anxiously into the darkness outside. must be, hillary thought, quite some broad. he toyed more times than he should have with the idea of going up to the crimson but finally decided against it. he might run into someone from the department before he had even had his talk with doerffer. the thought, however, reminded him of his thirst and he bought a pint and a paper on the way back to his hotel. rid of al fox, eagle proceeded to the negro section. at first the thought that he and al would eat and talk to- gether had seemed pleasant enough, even if al was red- dogging him. but then a powerful sense of hopelessness came: what the hell had he and al in common anyway? hundreds of records, another. on the long, red couch a girl in tights lay watching television. a speaker, fixed in a corner, emitted the soft sounds of a record. "i saw the papers, man," the stranger said, “and i figured you'd make it to the crib.” he turned to the girl. “baby, this's eagle. you've heard me talk about him.” the girl hung her head over the side of the couch and looked up. “hullo, eagle,” she said. “ummm-mummm!" eagle said. “i know you got a sis- ter! ain't she, brindle?” “better than that,” brindle said. to the girl he said, “call shirley." "now?" “get off your ass and call shirley. tell her to get down here.” “can't i wait for the commercial?” “do it now.” brindle turned his back, opened a cabinet and brought out a whisky tray. “help yourself.” the girl got up and left the room. they heard her talk- ing to shirley. "tighten me,” eagle said after he had downed a half- glass of scotch. brindle, a slim, wide-eyed man of indeterminate age said, “c'mon," and he led the way into the bathroom. "wait there." eagle took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeve. brindle came back, the hypodermic held high as he pushed out the air bubble. “you 'bout used up, baby," he said. eagle said, “that one. lower. all right.” brindle was deft with it. eagle reached in his pocket. brindle smiled. “have i ever taken bread from you?” "no." “what makes you think i'll take it now?” eagle stuffed the money back in his pocket. “cool,” he said. "i heard you was tryin' to get off,” brindle said. "first i heard.” they returned to the room. the girl was back on the couch. “suzy, is she on the way?” “yes.” aside brindle said, "these broads're a couple of gradu- ate students. dumb! don't know nothin' but television, eatin' and makin' love!" eagle looked at the girl on the couch. she was quite handsome. her hair was cut short and wild on her head, falling down to where her two arched brows rose slowly from above her nose. now she touched a marijuana ciga- rette to her lips, her slim hand cupped around it to trap the smoke. she snuffled quietly. "a fine, brown frame," eagle said, settling in a chair, suddenly tired, strangely sad. “how's business?” “could always be better.” brindle turned to pass eagle the whisky; his guest sometimes—after he'd had his—be- came moral about the business. "shirley got titties like that?" “bigger,” brindle said. the girl on the couch hadn't heard them. eagle leaned his head back on the chair, allowing him- self to relax, letting the stuff run its lean journey through his body until he felt loose, there, and yet apart from brindle and the girl. the sounds of television came in louder than the music on the speaker. the piquant odor of the girl's cigarette filled the room. brindle was smoking one too now, smoking carelessly, the cigarette dangling from between his full lips. eagle held out his hand for "we got a little run to make. make yourself at home. we'll be gone for a little while.” “crazy.” “bye, shirley,” the girl in tights said with a pout as they went out. “s’long,” shirley said. when they'd gone eagle said, “c'mere, shirley." the girl put her drink on the floor, put a smile on her face and came, making a motion to sit on eagle's lap. “don't,” he said. “sit there.” he pointed to the arm of the chair. “you work for brindle?” "no," she said, quickly. “just a friend of edith's.” “stop lyin'. you really go to college, you and that girl?" shirley nodded. "i bet you didn't have to study anatomy. why do you hustle? do you like it? i mean, you're goin' to school to try to make somethin' of yourself, but jesus, i guess you can give it away and learn too. don't seem right though. why don't you get a job?" “there aren't many jobs around that pay.” “why not? you got some education." “yes.” “yes, what?" “just yes.” "we lookin' to people like you to help lead us an' here you are” “i like it, eagle,” she said with a queer smile. "just like you can't help certain things.” “you don't have to like a thing because you can't help it,” eagle said. he snorted. “all you folks’re filled with psychology, aren't you, you new negroes?” the room seemed to bulge with the sounds of music; everything came at eagle, big, lunging, all-enveloping. wearily he leaned forward and wrapped an arm around shirley's waist; he tace to a minuta neither bent her backwards, watched her respond as one might an overturned insect. the survey lasted but a minute before he pressed his sweating, bloated face to hers. they hit the floor with a soft thud; neither of them minded the impact. already her face had gone blank, like smooth clay about to be inscribed upon. eagle wanted to smash her; why was there always a closing that made a circle when there should have been a way out? something far more naked than de- sire propelled him to the floor where she lay not in sub- mission but in something akin to tolerance or greed. eagle didn't make love; he mounted an attack. she was a memory by noon the next day. when it was time, he left her without a word, and pull- ing the soiled notation of appointment from his pocket, proceeded to the corner of drake and hammond; hillary was late. eagle planted himself stolidly on the corner, dully amazed that he was allowing hillary so much leeway. he smoked furiously and took pleasure in his anonymity; then he cursed it. but he continued to smoke and he con- tinued to wait. patrolman howard procopio saw eagle planted on the corner smoking. in this section the few negroes seen were students, definitely students, with cashmere sweaters and white buck shoes. but this one was bloated, black and procopio was both repelled and infuriated by him. the negro's clothes, his loud plaid suit, flapped loosely in the light wind, like a threat. procopio, after patting down his jacket, took the first step toward him, still wondering who he was. the officer had worked the beat in the negro sec- tion for two years and knew most of the right underworld people by sight. this negro was not familiar. for some reason, procopio hesitated a moment, then, that moment past, moved to intercept the negro who had suddenly be- gun walking away at a crisp pace. eagle had seen the cop move and dumped the cigarettes on his blind side as he passed a row of hedges. he would intercept the cop, but without fear. "just a minute, mac,” procopio said, throwing one leg out to the side and rocking on it. eagle stopped and looked, careful not to show the indignation the officer expected. but procopio, expecting that look and not receiving it, was positive he'd done the right thing in stopping the negro. before the police court judge procopio could only have said that the negro looked suspicious. "what's happenin'?” eagle asked, leaning his body for- ward to indicate that he was in a hurry. "live around here?” procopio asked, knowing the an- swer, but using the words as a preface. "no." “work around here?” some of them were cooks in the frat houses. "no." procopio paused, baffled at the eagle's short answers and his unabashed delivery. ordinarily the response would've been, “no, but—". procopio frowned. “what's your name?" "why?" eagle asked, wanting to get out of it but with some remnant of dignity. procopio asked belligerently, “didn't i ask you your name? now, what's your name?" he had stopped rocking. eagle, having made his decision, sighed. “the point is, why do you want my name?" “what's" "richie stokes,” eagle said quickly—reversing his de- cision, he told himself, just once more, but drawing up nevertheless. prisoner accepted limply. eagle counted their steps: one, two, three. he tested the officer's grip, found it lasting and gave it up. they stood before the call box. it had taken five minutes. david hillary breathed deeply of the spring air and walked luxuriously from doerffer's office. from the build- ing he could see the city lying below in a soft, purple haze; from here the city looked attractive. he paused and turned to look east, toward his home out among the drumlins. when he got settled in a couple of weeks or so, he'd run out sometime and visit. it would be all right then; a col- lege instructor always manages to appear respectable. he'd tell his folks this first; that would take the edge off. “david's back at the university,” he could imagine them saying with that old pride of people used to having just the right things, or doing them. he had been hopeful, of course, of getting an appoint- ment, but it had gone better than expected: he had been offered survey courses for both summer and fall. the appointments were good for a new beginning. doerffer had asked about the drinking, and hillary had been able to say that it was no longer a problem. then doerffer had spoken gently of angela—what a lovely girl she'd been and how, surely, hillary must have been very much in love with her; doerffer was glad to see he hadn't ruined him- self with grief, i.e., drink, and on and on, hillary wanting to sigh with relief, but not daring to until doerffer had spoken the words, “welcome back to the family.” then suddenly it was all behind him as though it had never existed; he was back among the softly rolling hills, the bellow from the stadium in the fall, the gothic edifices, the long, bisecting walks. he began to walk again, slowly, frowning when he because he was eagle, hillary thought, but because the cops had beat him up and jailed him. they were against cops especially when they molested the public's jesters. eagle's lips moved and hillary imagined him saying, “hello, you stupid mothers—” eagle laughed with his head thrown back, and said something to the young guy with the tenor, whom hillary recognized with a start; they both laughed as the drummer and the bass headed into the introduction of the first number, to the accompaniment of soft whistles and more cheers. keel swallowed and it made a harsh, wet sound in the dark. he felt himself struggling upwards, upwards, but unsure of his progress; he was tense with it and he felt his forehead grow moist, his armpits wet. and then he knew he was going to make it, that he could make it, and he swallowed, easier this time, with relief. his body sighed and he withdrew his hand, trembling; some doubt re- mained but he would not test it. let it take its time. "what's wrong?" della asked, sadly, having felt his struggle, sensed his uncertain triumph, his unwillingness to push it faster than it could be consolidated. “i—” he began, then sagged into stillness. “keel?” she stroked him as though life, coming from her body, radiating down her shoulder and arm to her finger- tips, could be inserted into his, to help him retain that indecisive triumph. he whispered as though overcome by a great human feat, “what, baby?”. then she began to sob, politely, quietly—apologetically. in the same voice keel said, “i think it's almost over." she nodded and when the lump had begun to ease down her throat of its own painful accord she whispered as if to match his mood, “i know." "c'mon, girl, stop it.” della nodded into the pillow again. peace began to come to her, and a scent of happiness, a taste, a flash of it. now she wanted to spring up and fill the room with flowers while he fixed potent cocktails and put the records on. she wanted to comb her hair the way he liked it and do her face and wear his favorite dress; she wanted to ask: what may i give you to make you as happy as i? he would tell her and they'd rise like giants above the curve of the earth and she'd reach in among skyscrapers and people, over all the forests and oceans, and get what he wanted and hand it to him and watch the expression on his face. she knew what that expression would be, a look that made a verbal “thank you” foul, a look she felt she alone knew, when his eyes softened and the lines around his mouth relaxed gently. she would stare into his eyes which were so keen that he sometimes seemed to hear with them as well as see. keel lay in the reflective position of a lover who won- ders, ponders, and finally muses thankfully over his mate. the long valley of gloom was beginning to billow like smoke in a sudden jet of wind. he too imagined himself a giant, with the moon at arm's length, the stars fretful fireflies waiting to be caught, bottled and given to her to highlight her hair and to illuminate the dark flecks of blue which had come into her eyes, stuck there like pieces of basalt in shallow water. "i feel so good,” she said with her ingenuous honesty; and he thought: not even the british have ever matched a lover's understatement. “and i,” he said, reaching for cigarettes. both cast themselves ahead to the time when it would be all right, when they would marry. della said softly, "now i'm ready to be disowned.” "stop,” he said, warm nonetheless because she had com- municated her continuing “yes” to him, which excluded her parents if it had to, as she suspected it would have to. she continued talking, half into her pillow, half not, but totally to him, in a gentle manner. "i don't feel alone any- more." keel touched her reassuringly but briefly, marveling that those few moments they both had felt had opened on this wondrous, good feeling, which, after luxuriating in it, you turned outside yourself, concerned genuinely, for a time at least, with the affairs of others. "i wonder how prof is making out,” keel said aloud, the hurt coming only after the thought, voiced in purest hon- esty, had gone past his lips. he sensed, as the words made their way into comprehension, that della flew quickly from him, paused and returned and simulated normality. "i wonder,” she said, clearing her throat, the way she did when she was nervous. “i guess all right.” her manner told him she wanted to be done with any discussion of hillary; her manner warned him by its absence of any emotion at all. keel thought about them, imagined them, grew angry, understanding, and sad. then all of these went and he was again the giant taking the world's moon into his palm like a silver pearl and handing it to her, closing her hand upon it. talking down from this great height he said, “i hated prof from the first minute i saw him. then i got to like him, and afterward hated him again.” he waited for her to say something. she didn't and he went on. “you can cope with guys like crane because you understand from the start that they've always felt so inferior to people they've known in their pasts, that in order to feel whole they need people to feel superior to. it's easy with all the negroes in jazz.” “yes,” she said. his hand lay on her hip like the touch of a judge upon an adjudged toward whom he felt kindly. "he needed us in the beginning, just for a little while, to make him feel better, but it didn't work out. as soon as he started to feel better he began to revert; he thought too much and in the end might have rejected the idea of his racial superiority; it had to be man-to-man. me against him—” keel paused and della felt his hand tighten im- perceptibly. “—with you as the prize." keel removed his hand. della searched for it, found it, replaced it on her hip, covered his hand with hers. light on. “even at this hour when the cops on the beats and in the cars might stop us on every block and ask a lot of silly questions.” della burrowed into her pillow. “tell me goodbye,” he said, slipping his jacket on. “tell me goodbye and know that i wish i didn't have to go.” “good bye,” she said, adding quickly as if suddenly frightened by some obscure thought, "see you tomorrow?" “yes, dear. of course,” he said, bewildered by her atti- tude. “all tomorrows,” he said, going out. su hillary arrived in new york in a state of extreme depres- sion. he sat in the th street station for an hour before he rose to catch a bus downtown. he knew the reason he'd returned was to make a full confession. to della? keel? yes, oh, yes, but it was eagle to whom he'd have to make his most complete confession. he took the bus auto- matically, transferred in a daze and debarked in a stupor, overwhelmingly grateful for darkness. he shuffled toward the shop. as he felt his way down the steps like an old man afraid to lose his balance, a movement in a car parked near the curb made hillary spin around. a figure bent quickly down behind the door window. slowly, hillary let himself into the shop and locked the door behind him. he remained still in the darkness and watched the car outside. the odors of coffee and stale ciragette smoke hung in the air. he would have to air the place first thing in the morning. no, he thought, he might not even be here in the morn- ing; he didn't have to be here. why he might only sit in the shop an hour or two and all the answers would come to him, answers which would not require him to stand before eagle, della, or keel; then he would leave and they would never know he'd been here. the figure in the car sat up. a match flared and hillary saw a patch of face: the ear, the jaw, nothing more; dark- ness left only an outline. a cop? hillary wondered. would he want to come in? could something be going on which would jeopardize the appointment? upstairs someone walked across the floor and seconds later there came the dull explosion of water flushing down a toilet, and while the drain hissed, the footsteps came back, ceased. i should be in bed too, hillary thought. but he wasn't sleepy, he told himself, just impatient waiting for morning to come so he could tell someone and get the hell out of town. dully, it occurred to him that, however much he wished to leave before morning, he planned to stay. the motor of the car outside kicked over sharply and settled into a rich hum. the headlights came on and the car eased away from the curb and rushed quietly down the street; silence closed once again on the front of the shop. hillary retreated to his room and put the light on. he emptied the drawers, placed everything on the top of the dresser, stripped to his underwear and got into bed. the morning came clear, blue-white, rising suddenly in the east. della woke early to the massed flutter of pigeons heading downward from the ledge of her roof to the streets. she did not have the feeling of early morning depression which had hung about her waking hours like the after- effects of a sleeping pill for several months. instead, she bounded out of bed and fixed herself a huge breakfast. this would be the beginning of a day, a series of days, she wanted to absorb completely. for the first time in many weeks now, she turned from the secular music of wnyc to the chatter-and-music station, wrca. she forgot that in the past she had found the same show dull: this morning she found it witty and the music good enough. on her lunch hour, she thought, as she moved about, even making up the bed, she would look at furniture again. she paused, and found she was looking directly at the phone. she thought: keel. southwest of della, in that section which seems merely an appendage to the rest of manhattan, keel smoked in bed. he was not furious that he found himself awake so early. traffic on the nearby highway was already heavy, and it sounded like the rush of water through a narrow channel. downstairs, a block away, trains were already being hooked up and he heard the bang of the hard-forged iron couplings. the trains would sneak north along man- hattan's hudson shore, would burrow beneath riverside park and emerge far up in the bronx, where they would be switched onto the main lines. keel brought his mind away from the flight of the trains and thought of della. and cursed himself. he didn't much like being out of the shell he'd built around himself. it was just a thought, without much conviction behind it. but now, he thought, again without much conviction, he was becoming vulnera- ble again. he inhaled deeply and said aloud-he had a vision of himself making his declaration before a horde of people- “i love her.” because it's spring, he thought next. but shit—i do. i just left the broad and i can't wait to see her again. keel drifted off thinking of the feel of her, her movements anywhere, the sound of her voice and the lift of her eyes, the way she walked, padding in her bare feet to the bathroom and back, the sheets as they sighed up over her again. ... a lifetime of this! the other things, the painful things, didn't enter his "naw.” they started into the restaurant, but at the door eagle placed his hand on yard's arm. “seems like we should get together again, yards. gettin' kind of late.” "i dig that.” “y' do?" “always did. just got too far out to come back in.” “but you been wailin', baby.” they shuffled around the table, took seats and ordered. "somethin's missin',” yards said. “it ain't like it used to be." “nuthin' is. shit." "you got a gig goin'?” “not right off. you?” yards nodded. he didn't have too much time off between jobs. even if he had wanted to he wouldn't have been able to play with eagle for the next year and a half. “yeah, i got a couple of things.” "cool.” "how you fixed for bread?” “you know how it is when you work for demetriades; the bread is nice enough.” “can't stand that cat." “know what i'd like to do man, after breakfast?" “jam." "sure would." "seldom, eagle, you know. everybody's so cool now, y' dig?" "sure." eagle stared across the table at yards. handsome. no, cute, and still that did not really describe him. but he didn't take any crap. the jazz writers called it arrogance, but eagle knew. whatever it was yards did or said, he had his right to it. “what're you goin' to do about them people?” “what people?" eagle began talking in a torrent. “i called rod tolen”— he interrupted himself with laughter, wobbled to a dresser, got a pair of shorts that were ripped up the front and put them on—"and you know what i asked him?" "what?” hillary asked, stunned by this disintegration which remained neatly interred within the form of the body. eagle laughed again. “i asked him, 'how in the eff are the pegs sellin', you mother'!” eagle tossed his bulk through the air onto the bed, still laughing. “eagle,” hillary said, not moving. eagle got up and put on an undershirt. “hey,” he said, suddenly recalling, “where were you!” he spun around so quickly that he almost fell. he stepped heavily toward hillary. “where were you? look. look!” he touched the scar along his temple. “i waited for you and a cop beat my ass. where were you, man?”. “that's what i wanted to talk about.” “beat my ass good.” eagle mumbled. “i coulda had him, though. i coulda stomped him, but they'da put me under the jail then.” he turned away. “talk, baby.” he stag- gered, grabbed the corner of the dresser and steadied him- self. he struggled into a fresh shirt. “talk, but don't tell me about nopegs.” at the last word the pitch of his voice rose until it cracked into laughter. "the appointment,” hillary said, "well, it lasted longer than," “i don't even want to hear about that pig pen,” eagle growled. his mood had run quickly to the other extreme; his head seemed bent into a wind he would weather some- how; his clumsy, tentative movements carried a threat of unlimited power. hillary, noticing, went on. “i was late, but-” “yeah, baby?" “didn't you want to help me?" eagle asked suddenly. “or were you really glad?” “i wanted to help.” fiercely eagle said, “i felt like the whole world was cheering, laughing, clapping: 'eagle's gettin' his ass beat! eagle's gettin' his ass beat'!” he stomped his feet on the floor of the cab in time to his words, then stopped. there was no sound in the cab now, and it moved north into the heavy traffic and then into fifth avenue. “gaw-awdamn,” eagle said, and hillary couldn't tell whether he was burlesquing or not, "you mean to tell me all these people are outa work?” the avenue churned with people and cars and gaudy shop windows. “this'll do, this'll do,” eagle said, jabbing the cabby in the back. “pay the man,” eagle said to hillary when the taxi lurched to a stop. he stood on the curb while hillary paid the fare and they started toward rockefeller plaza, eagle swaggering recklessly with his umbrella. he re- peated, as if he couldn't believe it, “it's nice out. it's nice.” but hillary, trying to keep up and still stay apart, was growing angry. why was eagle doing this, strutting through the plaza in his ridiculous shorts and stockings, with his knobby legs and pot-belly, making himself—and hillary, hillary supposed—the laughing stock of the mid- town masses? and what, hillary continued to think with speeding horror, was he doing here, actually trying to keep up with eagle? penance? expiation? or like eagle said, had he, sensing decay begin its reek beneath the feathers, come to see the end, to know the certainty of that end and to take some satisfaction in it? eagle, he knew, knew that whatever the reason, hillary would stay, had to stay. he had not once looked behind to see if hillary was there. now eagle tapped an elderly lady gently on the behind with the umbrella in order to get by. “please excuse me, madam,” he said, slashing himself into a crude bow as he moved around her when she stopped to see who had touched her, and having seen, scrambled back on stiff, ancient feet. eagle laughed in her face. he brought his great, sweating, black face flush with hers and laughed, bellowed, and beneath it there was a flood of anguish bolted up, but starting to leak. at the west end of the plaza, where the flags fly, eagle paused, trembled and aimed his umbrella like a rifle at the first flag. “blam!” he said, then strolled to the next and took aim, then the next. “blam!” people turned to look at him with mixed smiles, cold stares, outraged looks. the chauffeurs waiting by the limousines of the nbc execu- tives gathered into a blue uniformed wall and nodded at eagle as hillary melted into the watching crowd. his face glistening with sweat, his body twirling like an out-of-balance top, eagle shouted, 'eff you all! eff you all!” he banged the umbrella against the flag poles and tugged at his walking shorts. “here, here!” he said. “the eagle flies high.” then, laughing, he plunged into the crowd, which knifed apart of its own accord at his lunging ap- proach. hillary stood alone for some moments, feeling an uneasy relief. then he boarded a bus and headed back downtown again. . once della's eyes closed, not in horror, but in a great wave of disgust. hillary, fascinated, paused to watch her. a slow flush came to della's face, and when she opened her eyes they burned into his. keel's form crossed her vision. he moved deliberately, pausing a moment before hillary to draw himself up to his full height, and then, like a father disgusted with a half-grown child, slapped him with the palm and then the back of his hand. the blows drew red to hillary's face. he wanted to touch both hands to his jaw, hold his head in his hands, but he stood and let a little smile come to his face. he said to della, just as she was rising, “i guess you're next.” della swung. hillary was surprised at the power of the blow and flinched as the next one landed, but held steady for the next and the next. the next, keel stopped. “don't,” he said, and they both turned from him. “he did what he had to do, della," he said to her, as if hillary were not present. he turned and looked at hillary and repeated it. “he did what he had to do." why don't i sit down? hillary asked himself. his face burned. he watched them sit down again, before him, like judges. “a guy like you has to spend his life dying," keel said. studying him, keel thought: this is an example of a good white person, the kind who do nothing when it counts for everyone. “you owed eagle nothing, i guess. even if he did give you money, his bed, his food, and yes, love. eagle has love. you could never understand: you still look in the sky—yes, you do—for god, when god is people, has always been people and that's where eagle looks; where else would a man with sense look?” della got up and went to the kitchen; there was some- hillary noticed for the first time that records were not being played. “it's odd,” he said, “without the music.” neither keel nor della answered. "i'd better go,” hillary said. “but where?” he mumbled to himself. neither person looked at him. “out of here,” keel said, not harshly, but softly, wearily. “things could've been better.” he rapped the table. “but you learned nothing here!" "and there were things to learn,” hillary said. “yes, there were things to be learned.” “but for all that,” della said impatiently, "you feel better now, don't you?" "hush, del. let him be.” “keel,” she said, "why do you keep trying to be kind to him?" keel rose. “i'm going to the bus with prof, then see if i can find eagle. please stay and keep the shop." as hillary and keel started out, della said suddenly: "hillary, i wanted you to make it—". they stopped. keel looked obliquely at hillary, listen- ing for his answer. “i guess i couldn't.” he gestured to- ward keel. “a man like keel doesn't have the choice. he can't be a coward; he's got to make it.” “let's go,” keel said. "goodbye,” della said. hillary paused on the walk and looked up and down the street. “ahhh,” he said, ignoring keel's inquiring glance. “i'm glad you're going,” keel said. “and i'm glad." they walked slowly to the bus stop and waited. “it's funny standing here," keel said. “waiting as usual, always waiting for something to come or be over, good or bad, but waiting. maybe waiting for someone like you to eagle sat astride midnight in the small new jersey club, the dull red and green lights beckoned to him; the shad- ows of the combo loomed large against the wall behind. the music was soothing. in his mind eagle fashioned a solo, and he hummed and patted his huge foot to the beat. "please, baby,” candy said. she kept starting, looking behind her. “don't cause any commotion.” eagle continued. then he said: "i want to blow, blow, blow.” "no." "i gotta. y dig, i got to." her pale face moved before him; above it the white hair shimmered. the small red lips moved and an hour later the voice, it seemed, came to him. "no." eagle sensed that he was moving. a slim white hand wrapped itself tightly around his black wrist. bewildered, there seemed to have been three or four wives, each of them with the proper credentials, each extremely attrac- tive, so that if you had seen any one of them walking down the street with eagle, you would have had to look twice, and each of them wanting the body for burial. but it was returned to st. louis accompanied by aunt jessie and one of the wives, the one whose credentials had the earliest date on them. signs cropped up on the walls of buildings which read: “eagle lives” or “the eagle still soars.” the exposé magazines tore open their files on eagle and some of the women he'd known, and as a result two or three big names went to rome to await assignments in films or clubwork. but the magazines didn't know of all the women; no one did. friendly columnists recalled the quips eagle had made so “eff you, man,” yards said. later kilroy got on and tried to do twenty choruses of “eagle's nest” with lyrics he'd written himself just for the benefit. background and rod managed to get him off. down in the first row della said to keel, “they all sound the same.” keel glanced at hillary on the other side of della, and at candy next to him. “even the damned guitar,” keel grunted. paul moss, the blind guitarist who had once asked eagle and keel why they called one another “niggers,” but got angry when a white person called them that, was playing. “he should drop dead," keel said. della laughed; keel had told her about it. up on the stage the artists came on, all very cool, very sure, very cold on the stand, acting not at all the way keel remembered colored musicians behaving ten, fifteen years before. maybe that too was something from eagle. no teeth, no sambo smiles. that might have been his biggest contribution. applause and another group. applause and another group, endlessly. people appeared who had not been sched- uled on the program and demanded to be allowed to go on. the hall was stilling now and four hours had saturated the rows of uplifted white faces with, here and there, like foreign matter, a brown or black face accepted, anachro- nistic. to even his own eagle was an enigma, thought keel, claimed by them, deified by them and often avoided by them; they preferred steel drums and fats domino. the others, the whites, were dilettantes, understanding little some of them, but building nevertheless an adequate foun- dation for jazz. they paid its way. "suddenly i feel like drinking,” keel said. “why?” della asked, startled. “i don't know.” "the union gets shit,” background added. hillary, watching him, suddenly could not recall ever seeing the musician sober. he smiled at background's demeanor. "i'll report the gate myself,” moss said. rod tolen stuck his head in long enough to say, “shut your damned mouths you dumb mothers. we tryin' to put on a show out here.” why, hillary wondered, did tolen emulate the speech of kilroy? that ragged jargon meant to amuse, to relax, to throw one off guard with its simplicity and crudeness? did tolen require a smoke screen too? yards had shifted his horn to his left hand and had moved close to moss. ignoring tolen, he said angrily, “background, turn out these damned lights, then me and this goddamn moss'll be even and i'll kick the shit outa him. i'll outen him everything's gotta be by the book, by the book, the paddy cat's book. this man is dead and left his kids nuthin'!” yards jostled moss with his shoulder. della gasped. candy said, “oh, yards—”. "kids, man,” yards bellowed, trying to get above the sound of music from onstage. “let the kids live. i'll blow all damn night myself to pay the damned union, and i won't need none of you mothers to help me. gotdamn!” yards turned away from moss, his anger was so intense, and keel noted with satisfaction that yards was aware of it. “gotdamn,” yards said again, then quietly, bitterly, “eagle ain't even cold yet and you cats are effin' over him already.” he turned back to moss. “gotdamn you, moss.” moss had stood with his sightless eyes, his body braced against the attack. now he said, “don't talk to me that way, yards. i'm not one of your boys, y' dig.” yards flipped the trumpet back into his right hand and his words were cold and hard. “you goddamn right you ain't one of my boys, you with your ricky-tick-ass guitar "sometimes. but he scared me a little, and sometimes he disgusted me." she glanced at him again. “i'm being too honest.” “no,” he said. they were beneath the marquee now and keel said, looking at the sky, “it always seems to be night when we do anything, like it isn't for real, any of it. it'd be nice, just for the hell of it, to see what it's like to go to a movie on a saturday afternoon." “honey?" "what?" "i didn't mean anything by that.” “by wha-oh!” he grinned. “it didn't upset me.” “i didn't want it to." “i've thought about it half the night. i should be upset, but i'm not.” he moved quickly into the street, sliding out of her arm. “let's get this cab.” he looked around for hillary who was just coming out. the cab cruised up, slowed; the driver threw his arm in disgust at keel and sped away. “goddamn them," keel said, trembling sud- denly because there was nothing there to attack, “they never forget to remind you—” "of how frightened they are,” della said, taking his arm again, thrusting back his lunging emotions by use of that single emphasized pronoun “they.” hillary came up and keel waved another cab to the curb. “i'd better make it to the station,” hillary said. “ th street.” “ th street?” the cabby asked. “right.” the cab shot forward. the three sat in silence until the car got to the station. “i'll take care of the tab," keel said. hillary bent to look in on them. “goodbye.” della said: "good luck." keel waved. hillary swung the door shut. the driver turned to keel. keel said, “move!” and he and della settled back in their seats. the cab hurtled down broadway, moved through the nighttime with its perpetually moving people. “i want to stop here,” keel said, talking easily, “and tell all these squares: that one,” he said, pointing, "with the great big texas hat, and that one with the pinched face, and that lady over there-see her, baby?—the one with the big buns, and that cat with the derby and the skinny blonde broad, and the cops out there fighting traffic: i want to tell them how much i dig you, and that they've got to go, that there's no place here for them any longer. together, we're too much for them. i'll go up to the times tower and press the buttons that'll spell it out: i dig you and war is declared on squares. shall i do that?” “no, baby. just tell me again.” “what do you want, a novel?” “don't be funny. just tell me again.” he told her again. "please believe me.” "i do. but don't ever stop believing in yourself again, because when you do it all becomes sick.” “i won't, i promise you.” he drew her close to him and felt, upon contact with her body, the weight in his loins dropping away. whatever it was that had oppressed him was far, far away, losing itself somewhere back in the road to be trampled on, walked on by the thousands who crossed the streets every day and every night. not even the driver's uneasy stiffness altered the feeling. they had finally threaded the traffic across that ugly patch of light at times square and now they were travel- ing down the shadows of seventh avenue. the cabby's cigarette glowed like a red nipple in the darkness. keel felt tears against his cheek. so, he thought, she knew what he was feeling. he stroked her hair. “baby, baby,” he said. after a while he said to her: “let's go home.” his voice seemed suddenly crisp and clear, as though after years of speaking deep within his throat, he finally learned to use his mouth. he spoke to the driver and then felt della's fingers searching with infinite tenderness the innermost reaches of his neck, and her mouth came warm and open upon his; she moved slightly to nestle her body closer to his. thirty minutes later the bus moved with a series of jerks and growls down to the th street station. david hillary peered through the green-tinted windows and watched the new passengers queue up to get on. in another hour, when the bus emerged from the tunnel, most of the passengers would be nodding in ugly sleep. but he would be awake, staring up at the green moon and at the green- black world outside. he watched the people come aboard, peer quickly up and down the aisle for empty seats, then shuffle forward, sit, and promptly shrink away from the other passengers, indicating by their postures how grateful they would be if the seats next to theirs remained empty. hillary felt like a spy. could one of these people have been the killer the musicians discussed, half-believingly? that man? or that? perhaps the woman who was now settling in the seat beside hillary resembled the club own- er's wife. if there had been a killer, a man who killed smoothly, perfectly, leaving no cause for investigation, then hillary could only feel a cold, chilling sorrow for him. if he did exist the musicians would find him; they would talk and smile and watch and whisper. they would find him, if he were to be found, and later someone would find him, dead and alone, like eagle. the battle would be joined again; but it was never really unjoined, this quiet warfare . “: ‘ ‘ wwgs-xq' -:-_...‘. ~— . ~-..-‘w ... b ... . .-~~".._ _a’-‘ .-h~-. \ > .. ¢_ ‘ a. _~.._‘._;,‘_‘“- . _ ‘ m v _a-. . . .q-..h " .>.>.-... ‘... ...... _--..fi.“ ‘ ._...‘.-h ~-‘. 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' - -~.~....._.,_ ‘ -.~.‘. ..-h...- ‘p..-_-m‘-. .-‘l...‘‘.~..‘..‘ww.... . ‘- .a..>.s ~ _wm ‘“ ‘._ . ..,_.._- ..-‘_-._.-~ w...“ ¢..-...... h $ .... ~. labadie ..“collection s %' _ .| \!|‘‘|l" a.il. redder blood red der blood a novel by william m. ashby new york the cosmopolitan press copyright, , by the cosmopolitan press “ila m lii/ "’ dwe , ” a word, please whoever reads this story must remember that it does not advocate miscegenation nor does it hint at the justification of intermarriage between the races except on a sentimental basis, and who- ever interprets it otherwise reads into the story that which is not there. the book does say, however,—and, i hope, strongly,—that where two persons love each other deeply neither custom, nor convention, nor law are great enough barriers to keep them apart, else we should never have had an othello and a desdemona. prohibitive legislations are not the best means to promote moral growth, for where attraction . strong, even in the face of law, subterfuges and illicit dealings abound very greatly. the author. redder blood he did not even care for their “join us to- night at wallack’s, box i,” to see modjeska, ellen terry, maccullough, or iefierson. the invitations generally came from persons who were narrow, devoid of artistic sense, or unapprecia- tive. he sometimes accepted them, however, be- cause he was sociable, and he could not ignore kindnesses even though they were often shams or subterfuges. there was not a charity organization in new york that had not his name on the list of its contributors, and he always responded to such appeals with liberal donations. but his pastime and his hobby were horses, and the trainer and owner of the most fashionable riding-school in the city said that he was the best horseman he had ever seen. he was a striking figure one bright morning late in november as he rode down fifth avenue on his superbly caparisoned arabian mare and turned at seventy-second street into central park. the air had in it a crispness that was enliven- ing, a freshness that was energy-creating. with her head high in the air, her eyes spirited, her ears vacillating, and her step lively, the mare might easily have had her prototype in one of besnard’s sleek, lifelike animals jaunting over a red, sunlit moroccan hill. he rode her at a good gallop through the park until he came to sixty-fifth street, near the animal cages, and then suddenly a cry went up. :ltii redder blood he saw men, women, and children running like savages, making the strangest and most hideous noises. turning, he saw not far distant from him and approaching with accelerating speed a firey-eyed lion that had broken loose from one of the cages. the imperturbability that he always possessed did not forsake ‘him, so he put spurs to the horse. this he thought his only hope, but the mare had already been terrified by the roars of the on coming beast, and she ran wild. . before him seemingly lay two paths to death, if he could not fight out some way of escape. the lion, approaching him from behind, would tear him into bits; the mare, if he could not drop from the saddle unhurt, with her mad, reckless running, would be very likely to throw him against a tree or stone and dash his brains out. he quickly drew the reins ‘to turn the mare behind a .hedge, but by his sudden drawing of the reins he turned her into a park bench, which she had to jump. her front feet went over like those of a trained fox-chasing animal, but the hind ones hung on the bench. she went down, and stanton birch was thrown against a huge tree. the wild beast, alarmed, did not stop for the fallen prey, but kept on across to eighth avenue and through sixty-fourth street. one of the park employees ran to the spot where the mare had gone down; there lay the io redder blood rider limp and unconscious, and the mare with a broken leg. as the fallen man was lifted up, some one said, “my god! it’s mr. stanton birch.” every park employee knew him. the man felt stanton birch’s pulse. it moved faint and weak. “send for an ambulance,” he commanded; “he’s still alive.” from his pocket he took a flask of whiskey,— one could not vouch for its quality,—and forced a little of it down mr. birch’s throat to warm him until the ambulance should come. in a few minutes the big red hospital wagon from bellevue arrived and took him away. in those exciting moments news of this acci- dent had spread rapidly throughout the city; every paper in town had an extra. publishers and newsboys are always glad when something happens to a personage. over the whole city one could hear their yells: “extree! extree! stanton boirch hoirt,”—“ex- tree! extree! stanton boirch almost k-ilt by acci- dent wid ‘his hoss! git ’-em here; two cents a coppee.” . - as fast as the driver could he rushed the uncon- scious man to the hospital on twenty-sixth street. an examination showed that the blow had produced a blood clot in the cerebrum. every noted brain specialist and surgeon was sent for at once. an immediate consultation was held; undelayed action was imperative. redder blood i i scientific surgery was then in its incipiency; even the most experienced surgeon would attempt so serious an operation with the gravest fear. it required the most masterful piece of trephin- ing; one little mistake meant death, yet it was the only hope. the operating table was put in order, and the unconscious man was placed upon it. his skull was opened, and the wielder of the sharp instru- ments moved them with skillful accuracy. around him stood the other surgeons, with faces serious, -—hopeful,—anxious. pretty young girls upon whom he might have cast a meaningless smile heard of the accident and hoped sincerely for his recovery. “who knows?” they soliloquized. “i may yet win his heart.” the old darky ‘head-waiter at the albion club ceased praying for the blessings of the deity on himself and his family and now supplicated him to restore to health “missah boirch, ’cause he sho is a good man.” he knew that mr. birch’s life meant fifteen or twenty dollars a week more to him. the directors of .the charity institutions were in a quandary; whether they would rather have him die and thus take a chance on what he might will them or whether his yearly dona- tions to them meant more was a problem that required close calculation; but they too concluded that it would be better to hope for his recovery than to assume an indifferent air. whether he redder blood died or not was immaterial to them so long as they were remembered. “i believe the operation will be successful,” re- marked dr. post, the head surgeon, with confi- dence, when he had finished. the expression on all their faces became less tense, more hopeful, more confident. “send for miss mars.ton,” the doctor continued. “she’s the pretty, black-haired nurse, is she ?” asked dr. munn. “without an equal to my knowledge,” an- swered dr. post, looking hopefully at the patient. a young lady of twenty,—with widely set, tender, generous, expressive eyes,—entered. a sprightly little smile played around her lips. “miss 'marston,” began dr. post, “this is a very serious case and one that requires the utmost care; that’s why i sent for you. . . . you are not to leave his bedside until orders come from me. i’ll give you an attendant to wait on you. if you notice any change, if he seems to regain consciousness, notify one of the surgeons at once. you understand?” “i think so, sir,” she answered. “then i may ‘trust you .i'” “i’ll do the .best i can,” she replied.- the doctors turned and left the room, and miss marston went about her work with more than her usual assiduity and earnestness. for two days the patient lay in a state of coma. the doctors came frequently, always to hear the redder blood same reply from the pretty nurse, “no change.” on the third morning miss marston, who was dozing,—-she had slept only a few hours during the three days’ confinement,—was awakened by a cry of “jump, dell! jump, my girl!” mr. birch was regaining consciousness and was calling his mare to jump the park bench into which he had pulled her. the nurse immediately sent for dr. post, who found the patient sitting up in bed, his eyes blaz- ing with a wild expression. “did she get hurt?” he asked curtly. “did who get hurt?” returned dr. post, sooth- ingly. “my 'mare? where am i, anyway?” he de- manded. “in bellevue hospital,” was the reply. “i want to go home; i want to go home,” he said, determined to have his own way. “you are not well enough yet.” the doctor tried to convince him, but without effect. “i want to go home, home,” he kept repeating. “how do you feel this morning?” asked miss marston as she came into his room. “never hungrier in my life,” .he answered smilingly. “i should feel a thousand times better after some grapefruit, broiled chicken, and a pot of cofiee.” “fish is a better food for you,” said the nurse. a flood of sunbeams searched into every nook redder blood and corner of the sumptuous room that over- looked fifth avenue and central park; and a flood *of the sunshine of happy hearts made glad by the approach of christmas,—the season when everyone, everything, is glad,—crowded stanton birch’s 'heart as he looked out .and saw the ped- dlers with their holly, cedar, and mistletoe, as he heard the “ding-a-ling-a-ling” of the salvation army bell, the happy children asking one another, “what is santa claus going to bring you ?” and all the other messengers announcing the joyous holiday. just why miss marston should have been more anxious about this patient than about any of the others that she had nursed she could not under- stand. - fresh in her memory were many distorted faces and numbers of pain-racked bodies, some of which she ‘had nursed back to health, and others that the unconquered conqueror had taken for his own. to all these she .had been faithful, dutiful,— . she had given to them every attention. in stan- ton birch’s behalf she had given even more,— her prayers. she was certainly too sensible a girl to imagine herself in love. . still, the little fancy came and she beat it back with all her might, but each time it returned—reinforced. “oh, pshaw,” she would say a thousand times a day, “i have no feeling for this man.” “why then,” would come the inner response, “do you ,l" redder blood i stanton birch had had everything he had wanted in life, and a great deal of it he had got by asking for it. yet, here was this beautiful girl, lovely in every way, and his lips refused him that which his heart wished to speak. he was not afraid; he was ashamed. his covert manner in his lovemaking to her had been unworthy of the way in which gentlemen make queens of the women whom they love. if he had dazzled her beautiful white neck with jewels, if he .had brought her orchids and roses, if he had sent her 'bonbons, if he had taken her to operas and suppers, he would have felt differently about it, but not one thing had he done for .her pleasure, there had been no love- ’ making save the fervent glances and friendly words that had passed between them in his room. but to‘let such an opportunity pass would have been madness. he knew that he loved her. each-day since he first saw her he had been tell- ing himself so more and moie positively. in her he-reoognized qualities that he had found want- ing in the girls of his set; she was natural, she had a knowledge of the things in life that are worth while, and she had a willingness to learn what she did not know; added to this, nature had given her the crowning piece of all things that, according to a man’s way of thinking, go to make a woman,—beauty. he got up, resolute, and went over to the .girl, . ,.‘ redder blood “if your past were as black as midnight,” he said passionately, “your face would still have its heavenly light for me. between us stands noth- ing but the unbreakable chain of love to which every lhuman being must link himself if he would find happiness.” “won’t you release me, please?” she whispered. “i must go back.” she felt .herself beginning to weaken. if he had taken his arms from her waist then, hers would have wandered up and clung to his neck. she felt his pulsating hear-t; she breathed .his warm breath; was she conscious of what she was doing when she asked to be released? “why not stay in my country?” he went on jestingly. “where is your country?” her words were scarcely audible. “’tis this old fifth avenue home, the walls of which are embellished with paintings and tapestries made by men when men had patience, genius; the floors of which are covered with bear skins from the frigid arctic and tiger skins from torrid india,—skins that foolish adventurers have given their lives for. in the closets are the cost- liest porcelains and there are a few jewelry chests that contain many valuables. .over all this rules king love. let us be his never-sleeping, never- wearying bodyguards.” _ “how do you know i can stand the immigra- tion test?” she asked, almost with a smile. redder blood “i am the sole inspector and will pass you with honors, if you but enter my port.” “do you think you’ll always want me for an inhabitant?” she asked, troubled, uneasy. “i swear to treasure you always 'as my most prized citizen; will you enter?” she did not speak but stood on her toes and kissed his waiting lips. he rang for the butler to come for the break- fa‘st tray. “john,” he said as the butler came in, “tell andré to cook with more care.” then turning to miss marston .he continued, “he’s an old-time cook, but he makes far better bouillon and roasts than that irish chefess you had at the hospital.” john took the tray and went out. a few days ‘afterward stanton birch and his nurse were married. ii the years passed. they were happy. and why not, when every gentle breeze that, bearing the winged messenger of love and striking the cords of their hearts, made the strings reverberate, lyre-like, with per- fect harmony; when glittering-headed gold had opened her vault and poured her treasure into their hands until they were running over, and when in themselves was that bigness of soul and soundness of mind that taught them the best use of their blessings? moreover, to crown their happiness the future of their twenty-two-year-old son blazed with brightness. they held up to the world a mirror of wonder- ful transparency; and the world, smiling back at them, said: “i am not such a bad thing, after all, if only cynics, critics, and pessimists would boost sometimes rather than ‘knock’ always.” if on this mirror they saw a blur,—a hungering soul, a painful body, a diseased 'brain,—the phil- anthropic spirit within them said at once: “i am here, your ever ready and willing servant. send me as a comforter to do the best i can for them.” naturally, they were happy. redder blood their costly home stood on the top of one of the mountains in clairmont, and its bronzed roof caught the sun’s first rays as they awoke in the morning and the last danced on it as they re- tired at night. perhaps it was the deep reddish golden rays streaming over the tops of their house that gave inness the inspiration for some of his masterly landscapes—who knows? a convention of representative americans had recently met in a southern city to discuss means by which the american people might be bettered, but one learned gentleman had 'digressed from the purpose of the meeting to hurl bitter philippics against a certain element of the nation. nor would he take his seat, though the cries of “sit down!” and “shut up!” made his speech in- audible. they were in the library, she sitting upright in an old-fashioned chair while .he was half reclin- ing in a morris chair on the opposite side of the table. the light from the bluish-green shade of the electric light struck the side of his face, accentuat- ing the noble outlines of his intellectual temples. he had been reading an account of the above- named convention in the tell tale, which journal discussed american problems and conditions more liberally, with greater judgment, and with less in- justice than any other american periodical, and to a man of his unbiased mind the bitter philippics redder blood were naturally disgusting. he seemed annoyed. “oh botherationw—this was his favorite and strongest expression—“why can’t they let these people alone?” he said, with force and a frown. “between them and us lie centuries of african wildness and two hundred ‘and fifty years of am- erican bondage !” “the colored people, you mean?” she ques- tioned. “yes,” quickly. “i don’t see why a people that have proved themselves thriving, earnest, and willing since we’ve freed them should not be al- lowed civil and human rights without always be- ing attacked by fanatics.” “remember the ‘hewers of wood and drawers of water’ story, stanton,” she said, apparently unconcerned. . “my dear wife,” hereplied a little impatiently, beating the palm of his hand against the table, “be sensible; that’s a perversion of ignorance that has caused the blood of a million souls. i tell you we are all the same in essence. whether you believe that man was evolved from the plastic little amoeba, whether you believe that life was hurled on earth-by some flying meteorite from another world, or whether you wish to be old- fashioned and accept the biblical explanation of things—” “i accept the biblical explanation.” “as you please,” 'he went on; “but in any case the basis, the essence, the one little cell, that redder blood - him because he was to leave for pemberton on the following day. “well, bookworm,” he addressed his father, “not gone to bed yet?” “hello, ad,” said the father. “and you awake too, mother?” he .had gone around and now stood at the back of ‘her chair framing her face in his hands. “we waited for you because it was the eve of your departure,” and the mother affectionately pressed his hand against her face. “you’ve come home early,” she continued. . “yes. bob norton was taking some friends to the station and i came up in his car.” “you’ve enjoyed yourself, i hope, adrian?” “immensely; you know eloise makes the most charming little hostess and roy houston was never more facetious than he was to-night. it was a whole round table of merriment and good cheer. elsie van deman sang some of the arias from the latest french operas and charlie gave by request a performance of the last creation of the parisian tango.” ‘mrs. birch was particularly delighted to hear about the van demans. elsie ‘had been one of her favorites and, though she had never breathed it to anyone, she had at one time fancied that she would like .her as a daughter-in-law, but charlie van deman had captivated elsie. they had for- saken america immediately after their marriage for a european stay of five years and had just redder blood “as you please, mother; but you must admit that my jest has truth as its fundamental prin- ciple.’’ “truth demands proof.” “this particular ‘truth is easily demonstrated.” “but how; how?” she asked, with emphasis. he took her finely-shaped little bejeweled hand in his. “now, mother,” he began, “hold up your hand; count on your fingers every girl of our set that you remember who has married 'in the past five years, and see how many of .them have pro- geny.” in her mind she saw beautiful girls to whom the best of the earth had been given at their nuptials,—rnansions, ‘tiaras, diamonds, millions, everything,—and on her fingers she enumerated six-teen to whom hymen had come during the preceding five years. “you’ve counted them?” asked adrian. “yes- , “how many?” “sixteen.” “now, how many have ofi'spring, mother?” she tried to convince herself that the little foster daughter of mrs. conover and the little foster son of.mrs. woody were their own, but each of these children was seven, and both mrs. conover and mrs. woody had been married only five years. “how many children among them all?” he asked again.' redder blood “six,” answered the mother, thoughtfully, dis- piritedly. “a whirlwind repeopling of the earth,” adrian went on, a little joyful at his victory. “but you .are critical and unfair to them,” pro- tested .mrs. birch. “they are unfair to themselves,” he replied. perhaps in the little skirmish adrian had had the advantage. at least, he felt that his mother had been come upon unexpectedly, and his manner when he leaned over and placed a filial kiss upon her cheek revealed his penitence. he had been narrow in judging so narrowly; if he had gone out and studied other classes of people as he had his own, would he not have found them different? perhaps; but usually a man’s judgments do not go any further than his own experience takes him. his opinions are formed and his conclusions are reached while he is under the influence of the things he sees about him, of the things with which he 'is most often in con-tact. of course, at great intervals there appears a phil-osopher,—thank heaven,—a student of the world, a student whose mind goes far beyond that which immediately encircles him and such a stu- dent makes keen generalizations. stanton birch, who had given little or no atten- tion to what had been said by .his wife and their son, now turned around, taking his glasses from iii adrian arose early the next morning, for more than one reason. in driving his big gray racer the preceding afternoon at a gait that was certainly greater than that allowed by the jersey speed laws he had met with an accident which retarded the speed of the car, and had greatly upset its smoothness of motion. being an amateur mechanic, to tighten a bolt here and loosen one there had a fascination for him. at six o’clock he had put on his oil-cloth suit, and, with a big stillson wrench in hand, lay flat on his back under the car in his garage. help- ing him was one of the gardeners, a sort of handy fellow with tools,—wh'o had been out in the garden robbing the vines of the last of their tomatoes and lima beans. after many drops of perspiration had rolled from his strong young forehead and not a few drops of the vicious, noxious machine oil had fallen into his mouth and eyes, adrian crawled out from under the big machine, being satisfied with his work. breakfast was an hour earlier that morning than usual, and his father and his mother ate with him. plainly they were sorry that adrian was redder blood i going. he had gone three times before, but their reluctance this time seemed even greater than when he had gone down to become a “freshie.” he saw that they were depressed and he .tried to dispel their gloom with jokes. and, had it not been that she expected the van demans that afternoon, adrian’s mother would have yielded to his persuasions to take the trip down with him. as for the servants, who had nearly all been on the birc‘hs’ pay-roll before he had come int‘o the world, they were both glad .and sorry,—sorry, because “young .mr. birch was so gay,” they al- ways felt so “at home” with him, he always had a smile and a pleasant word for them all; and glad, because every time he left for college each pf them got a crisp new ten-dollar bank-note from m. his parents stood on the large veranda, and the host of servants, like a young troop of badly disciplined but ready soldiers, straggled over the velvety green lawn waving their handkerchiefs and hats, and calling “good-bye” to him as he whisked the big car by them. mr. birch and mrs. birch were glad to see that their son was so well liked and when they went into the house a look of gladness mingled with the tears that stood ready to drop from mrs. birch’s eyes. they thought that with them all was peace, all was happiness. but one can never foresee how long domestic redder blood full of tears because her shoes had cramped her feet. and suppose this valuable house-man, encour-' aged by his love, should some morning, when you needed him most, run off with his fiancée, leaving a note behind announcing in broken english that he had gone to get married, and did not know when he would come back. naturally, your house- hold would be upset for a while. when mrs. birch returned from her morning ride she found her household in a very distracted condition. just what had happened she did not know, and, although the thought of what andré had so often told them flashed across her mind, she dismissed it. she even allowed herself to think that his madness about bridget was insincere, and that even if he were to marry her it would make no difference, for he would still remain with them. “what’s the matter?” she asked of anne, one of the maids. the maid did not reply, but picked up a silver tray on which was a letter addressed to “mon- sieur and madame birch.” she tore it open hastily. “anne,” she breathed in a voice a little louder than a whisper, “i am so sorry.” she sank down into a chair in.a sort of apathy. what she had not really feared had now become really fearful. redder blood “he was such a good workman, wasn’t he, anne ?” she went on. “he was a brute,” the maid burst out, taking up her white apron to hide her face and the tears that were coming. .she could not stand the sweeping plaudits of her mistress when she her- self had been disappointed. she had hoped that andré would marry her, and his sudden elope- ment with that “big irish thing” had caused her no end of envy and hate. “even though he don’t love me,” she would say. .she had thought that his pleasantnesses to her meant something and that their years of association would eventuate in a union. “why not?” they understood each other and could at least get along. “why, anne,” returned mrs. birch, “i’m sur- prised at your saying such a thing. i thought everybody was so fond of andré.” the maid did not respond immediately. “perhaps,” continued mrs. birch, “that’s the reason you abuse him—because you are fond of him. . . . well, anne, cheer up,” patting the still sobbing girl on the shoulder, “you have a chance yet; thirty-two isn’t so bad.” the maid understood that what mrs. birch had said was intended as a good-natured joke, rather than as a reminder that she was getting old. mrs. birch went into the sunlit conservatory where the air was heavy with sweetness, and where flowers of various colors bloomed in riot- ous confusion. when she entered, meg, a hand- redder blood in’ some red-beaked african grey parrot flew toward her. “good morning,” said the bird, in an unmusical contralto. “good morning,” returned mrs. birch. the little canaries began their song, too, and flitted from one to the other of the bars in their cages. “shut up, you cats!” screamed the infuriated meg. “oh, meg, meg, girlie,” said .mrs. birch, "that’s awfully unkind and impolite of you to talk like that.” the bird paid no attention to the reprimand. “i saw andré run across the lawn this morning,” it said. “yes, .meg, andré is not going to be with us any more.” mrs. birch was watering the flowers. “why?” queried the bird. “you wouldn’t understand if i told you.” “why?” again it asked. “he’s going to get married.” “oh, .he’s crazy!” cried the bird. the door-bell rang, and the maid announced mrs. van deman. so overjoyed was mrs. birch that she rushed out and scarcely missed upsetting a beautiful, tender plant in a handsome japanese pot that sat near the door, and the two women embraced and kissed each other lovingly. it would have been extremely diflicult for any- redder blood one to tell which was the younger of the two women. elsie was indeed a pretty girl, with a wealth of exquisite blonde hair, a lock of which always strayed loose and fell over her pretty fore- head, keeping her finely shaped hand continually putting it back where it should be, while her pretty blue eyes had the tenderness of youth in them. but in zelda birch’s face, though she was forty- two and elsie only twenty-four, there was a youth that had been born to live always, a never-fading beauty. “why, elsie,” said zelda, “you are as charm- ing and lovely as when i held you in my arms as a child! what did you do, girl? spend every moment of your absence in the youth-renewing, health-giving waters of carlsbad and wies- baden?” “it seems, zelda, as if you’d found the spring of youth for which ponce de leon looked here in america. age does but one thing for you,—it makes you more youthful and beautiful,” she an- swered, a smile on her lips. “and charlie? what did you do with him? why didn’t you bring him with you ?” “he’s playing off a match game of tennis with artie darnton that he promised to play five years ago,—before we went abroad. he said he’d join me 'here .about : .” “but, elsie, my girl, what have you been doing? where are—~——” “i knew that was coming; i expected it to be redder blood i’ the first thing you’d ask me,” interrupted elsie, who had divined what was in zelda’s mind. “well, why?” elsie colored just -a little. “i have not that in me.” “haven’t it in you ?” zelda said, with profound astonishment. “be reasonable, girl. why try to make yourself a new type of womanhood? i tell you that the intense desire to be a mother is as strong in every married woman t’o-day as it was in the woman who frantically cried to her husband, ‘give me children or i die.’ why should it not be in us? do we not start every girl off in babyhood with that end in view? we give to every little girl a doll at christmas; we like to see her hold it; we let her make its little clothes, tell it little stories, sing it little songs, rock it to sleep, prattle the little maternal things to it that she thinks it understands. we make every girl a mother before she knows she’s a child.” “then perhaps i was afraid,” elsie said. “of what?” “charlie.” “what do you mean, child? doen’t he love you?” “sincerely; but i don’t think he loves me in that way‘), . “you little idiot! don’t you know that you are letting slip the only thing that makes a union happy?” “one of the things that makes a union bear- redder blood able, you mean, zelda. you see, you don’t make allowance for the difference in natures. fortune favored you,—she gave you a husband who loved books, his home. charlie loves merriment, play, and—-” “oh .bosh!” interrupted zelda. “every man naturally loves his own home. he can get as much exercise by playing with his own child upon his knee as he can by saying ‘i’m going to take a walk for exercise,’ and then goes-instead to another house simply because it is kept in better order than the one that his own careless, uncheer- ing wife keeps.” “but charlie is so young and free, and i wouldn’t want to keep him at home. i’m afraid he’d love children like most men love women,— they’re mad about our smiles, but a tear, a frown, chases them away.” “don’t talk of the dislikes of the men,” zelda said a little impatiently. “let the women find their like: and cater to them, and thus make them at once master and slave.” “there you are, zelda,—as zealous and as seri- ous as ever,” said the younger woman. “what about yourself?” ' “myself?” she answered, with a little care-free smile. “i am still a shining bubble floating on life’s tide, tending nowhere, purposeless, free, laughing, hoping only that it may ever buoy me up and that i may never run into any gurgling redder blood whirlpool to swallow me up. you know, zelda, i think that my kind of people are put into the world as a reminder and a stimulus to your kind of people to keep them from forgetting that there is something in the world for them to do.” “what makes you have such a fancy about yourself?” “it isn’t fancy; my every act makes my short- comings more clear and real.” a moment of silence passed between them,—a silence that was broken by the entrance of their husbands. “look! see whom i picked up on the courts this morning, zelda,” said mr. birch. “oh, charlie, i’m so glad to see you, my boy,” was zelda’s greeting, and charlie warmly pressed her hand. . “how do you do, father birch?” said elsie,— this was what she had always called mr. birch. “how splendidly you look,” she continued, “and as handsome as ever. why tell people you’re fifty-six when your looks tell them that you are only forty?” “the same lit‘tle flattering girl,” said mr. birch, “trying to make me believe what isn’t true.” “ ’tis true,” she protested. “my teeth, my dear, are beginning to wear, and a surer proof there never was than that to tell one that he’s getting old.” “how was the match, charlie?” asked zelda. o redder blood “fine; i won as easily as a big boy thrashing his little brother.” “honest?” she asked. “as i ever was,” he answered. “you were not always honest with me.” “then, accuser, recall to me my robbery.” “ ’twas a very serious one,—and one that hurt.” “i am so sorry.” “are you sure you can exonerate yourself?” “i shall do my best.” “at what price?” “that of my honor and my life, if need be.” “oh, charlie; i’m not tired of you yet,” said elsie jest-ingly. ' “but, dearie, my honesty has been assailed,” he returned. “well,” said zelda, “after all, the joke is on me.” “what’s the joke?” he asked. “you robbed me of elsie.” “what do you mean?” “don’t you know that i had always planned to have elsie for my daughter-in-law.” they all laughed. “and to think,” said stanton, “that zelda was going to give me another child without even letting me know of it.” “but i’m satisfied with the steal,” said zelda. “and now we’ll have some luncheon.” iv “i have engaged a new chef,” said stanton one morning after breakfast about three weeks after andré’s departure. he had just returned from a western trip, having been to texas to look over his cattle ranch and to montana to arrange to sell some of the stock that he owned in the copper mines. . on his way home he had stopped in buffalo to see an old clubmate, billy dodd, who was just about to go on a yachting trip on the mediter- ranean and down the nile. with him, of course, were going many of his servants, but his chef refused to take the journey. therefore stanton engaged the man and took him home with him. “i am so glad, stanton,” said zelda. “things have been in a miserably bad condition. will he suit us, do you think?” “billy says that he can’t be beaten, zelda; sup- pose you show him what to do.” then, with his golf bag, he rode over to the balastol club to put in a morning at the sport that was now rapidly coming to an end because of the cold weather. zelda stood for a moment in the embrasure . redder blood of a bay window in the morning room watching the leaves that were being blown from the trees and formed into little whirls by the wind. the strength of the breeze through the half-opened window made diminutive hills and valleys in her dress. she pressed the tapering manicured forefinger of her right hand against her lower lip while the other .hand pulled nervously at a little grey but- ton on her waist. she was mentally greatly depressed; in her heart there was a heaviness that was uncommon to her. her trepidation, so far as she could see, was without meaning, yet, for that very reason, she was all the more disturbed. “why?” she asked herself. “why this fear?” perhaps fate, fortune, or chance sometimes tells us of the approaching shoals, windstorms, and icebergs while we are wandering on life’s ocean, and we human ships do not more often escape these dangers because we are \so utterly heedless of their benevolent admonitions. “ps.haw; nothing can disturb my happiness,” she persuaded herself. she never had but one thought that worried her, and while it was, and had been for twenty- five years, a daily visitor, she believed that it was now merely a habit, and she even ventured to say to herself with confidence that the possibility of such a thought’s becoming a reality was im- possible. redder blood uppermost in her mind ran away from her. she stood in utter bewilderment for a second, and her only escape was, “oh, i shall speak of that later; remember, luncheon at one.” she rushed from the room, and when she reached the dining-room she reeled and would have fallen, but a chair saved her. one glance at that man had been enough to send her into a world of distraction. before her rose images that had for twenty- five years been napping or dissembling sleep in her breast, ready to spring up fully awake at any time,—images of fear, disgrace, exposure, death. if she had been in a room where there were thousands of people and had not seen this man, she would have been conscious of his proximity to her! she would have felt him; his cold, cynical, searching eyes would have sought her out. each day of her life she had hoped, prayed, against this moment, yet this terrible thing had come to her,.—this terrible thing from which there was no escape. “oh, god!” she sobbed, hysterically, “have i merited this in your sight?” dismay and tribulation had almost over- whelmed her, but fortune had been moved enough by her sorrows to keep away all the servants who might have come that way during her moments of indescribable grief. after all, she might be mistaken. this might not be the man that she feared. there was a re- redder blood semblance between this man and the one she had known in her girlhood, but his manner 'had been straightforward, not suggestive of any former ac- qua-intance. yet she was not happy. over her hung a cloud of the blackest sort,—menacing, threatening, de- structive. if she had not seen this man before, she had certainly met one exactly like him. she was tormented by that haunting, ghost-like mem- ory that she could not shake off. alexander, the world’s conquering conqueror, never enjoyed a sweeter moment of revenge and satisfaction than did this leon. a truer “master of all i survey” never lived. the hour for which he had longed had come, as he always believed it would. “i shall make myself the greatest man in all the world,” was the determination with which he had started life. “i must prove worthy of zelda, and if i fail !—oh, i shan’t fail!” for this woman he had made and unmade him- self. with her, god only knows to what peaks of glory he might have reached; without her, grief, despondency, had seized him, and last and worst of all, he had started in search of a goal where were to be found relief of mind, repose of body, but the road to it had been clouded with opiates, on fire with rum and other indescribable forms of dissipation. if, however, he could have found her in his travels, all would have been happiness. would redder blood nize. “zelda, my dearest, i knew that i would find you. i knew that all the years of my heart’s yearning would not be fruitless.” “what do you propose to do—with me?” she questioned in a tone of one almost dead. “to take you with me,” he said passionately, firmly, holding her hand while she tried to wrench .it from him, “to live every moment of my life in your presence, worshiping you, adoring you, loving you, my own, forever.” “but i am married,” she begged. “what does that matter to me?” he retorted hotly. “did david give up bethsheba because she was the wife of uriah, or did the wonderfully beautiful paris give up the still more beautiful helen because hymen had united her and mene- laus!” “you say you love me.” “as god loved the youthful earth when he re- peopled it.” “then won’t you for your love’s sake give me up ?,, “bah!” he scowled wrathfully, “talk sensibly! my kind of love is not the liberal, self-denying kind; it’s the sort that seizes, robs, pillages, wants the whole, everything, for itself. there have been heroes in war, heroes in religion, but the world has never known a hero in love. men who win trophies of women never sacrifice themselves that others may enjoy their prized booty. they want them forever,—to feed their aged eyes on when redder blood they’re old; to quicken the retarding beat of their hearts when they are declining. the man that gave up the woman he loved of his own volition never lived, and never will live. such men are but the phantastic figures created by the brains of novelists after a night of revelry or when their minds are saturated with dream-bringing dope.” “but leon, leon! be merciful,” she begged. “can’t you see what this would mean to me; think, think! oh, please try to forget. don’t tell, leon; don’t tell,” she pleaded frantically. “don’t you see my dishonor, disgrace, shame; the happi- ness of my whole life, ‘my hopes, the things i had set my heart on,—all would be shattered in one instant. forget, leon, forget. don’t, don’t ask it.” she sank to the floor in a heap, too distressed to say more. “dishonor,—sha‘me? your happiness fled?” he reiterated scornfully, a frown on his domineer- ing brow, his eyes again aglow with a look of re- venge. “for what do you think i’ve allowed my soul to burn as if on the fiery brands of hell turned over by the piercing tridents of the devilish imps; for what do you think i’ve fought battles, won conquests, lost all the sweetness of life, to become this morbid, wretched, dissipated vagabond that i now am, if it was not in the hope that some day i might .find you, have you for my wife, have you always,—an atonement for my wrongs, a com- pensation for my sufferings? come i i leave here in three days; you shall go with me.” o redder blood “listen, please, listen.” she struggled to her knees, her whole frame shaking. “leon, if you but spare me, i will give you anything you wish,— i will build you country homes, city .homes, yachts, give you every comfort, every luxury in life shall be yours, only you must, must spare me. money , “ha! ha!” he 'broke in with a mocking laugh. “you bewitching little feminine me- phistophilesl you would have me sell my heart, my very soul, to you. no, no, i won’t do it, not even to such an adorable little angel as you are. money! money!” he went on contemptuously. “what shall i do with it? all desire to live de- cently except with you have gone from me now. you propose to pay me a salary; i do not want it. food free, sleep free; and mr. birch’s clothes would fit me perfectly, if i wanted them. he doesn’t mind, you know, he’s so rich, has so many wouldn’t miss them, would he?” then be con- tinued in a haughty, triumphant manner, “more- over, i ” his keen ear heard the mufiled tread of mr. birch coming toward the kitchen over the soft rug in the hall. in fact, he had been listening all the while. he quickly picked mrs. birch up and set her in a chair near the door. then he snatched a carv- ing-knife, cut his finger so as to get a good flow of blood, and was at the sink running cold water on it when stanton entered. redder blood “good morning, leon,” he said. then he turned and saw his wife on the chair. excited, he excl-aimed: “goodness, zelda! what is the matter? speak! dearest, speak!” “i beg your pardon, mr. birch,” said the chef, with a courtesy, “the sight of the blood from my hand caused her to faint; i carelessly hacked one of them nearly off and she saw it. she will re- cover in a moment.” stanton was bathing her head with the water that had been brought and he had ordered a maid to bring some whiskey in a hurry. she soon revived, and as she opened her eyes slowly she saw her husband standing over her. “it is you, is it, stanton?” “yes, darling.” his strong arms lifted her to his breast. “i am so sorry. come; lie down awhile.” “i fainted at the sight of the blood,” she said as she sat up on the couch, her back leaning on her husband’s arm. she was not as truthful as she should have been, for she had never seen the blood. but in her semi-conscious condition she had heard leon speak of it. “yes,” her husband answered, consolingly, his soft hand still rubbing her forehead. “the blood shook you all up; shall i send for a doctor?” “oh, no, stanton!” she protested. “i shall be all right in a moment, i’m sure.” “won’t you let me call in the doctor?” he again said, appealingly. redder blood “certainly not; i’m perfectly myself again; to show you that i’m not the least nervous i’m going to play you something on the piano.” at the piano one would have thought her some russian virtuoso about to give her farewell con- cert as her little fingers ran over the keys. “won’t you sing something, stanton?” she asked after she had played one of chadwick’s brisk allegrettos. adorable chadwick! how splendid he is at times, but even in his gayest, brightest moments he cannot help being sad. for every laugh in him there seems to follow a tear. “yes; what shall it be? ‘that mysterious rag’ or ‘everybody’s doin’ it’ first?” he asked jest- ingly. zelda had heard these songs from .the lips of the little urchins in the tenderloin district where she had the “home” in newton. “what do i know about such songs?” she asked. “as much as i do, my dear lady,” he replied, apologetically. “i heard your own maid singing them.” he went to the cabinet and taking therefrom a sheet of music that adrian had bought,—a love song in one of the season’s popular operettas, which he had heard somewhere along broadway, —placed it before her. . “are you ready?” she asked. he had not. noticed her disqu.ietude, and he began to sing: redder blood “you know i love the light that shines from distant worlds above, the .birds that sing in joyful spring .are also mine to love. the flowers that bloom, whose sweet perfume makes fragrant all the .air, all this is but a shadow of the love to you i bear. chorus “my love, my life, my all in all, thou art my soul’s .guiding star, my greatest gladness, my hope in .sadness, thou lead’st me when near or far; bid what thou wilt, i’ll gladly do. what care i what befall? to show how great is .my love for you, thou art my love, my life,. my all in all. “if death should take you from this earth to go to worlds unknown, why should i live? my life i’d give in search till you i’d found. and when we met we’d ne’er forget that no more should we part. my love is like a love divine for you, my dearest heart.” “wonderful, stanton; i declare i should far rather hear you sing that than to sit at the metro- politan under the voice of some heralded baritone from across the water. you are just splendid.” spot had come in and jumped up on the divan, and was now rapidly beating his stubby tail upon the top of it, which was his way of showing his appreciation, and meg, the parrot, shrieked from the conservatory: “keep it up, pop. bravo! bravo!” at luncheon she appeared radiant, adorable. they had never seemed happier together. redder blood in the kitchen leon was boiling with anger, jealousy, revenge. his blood did not run but it leaped in his veins. here was this man singing love songs to the only woman he had ever loved, —wished to love,—cared to love. a quarter of a century before he had held her in his arms as stanton now did, and had been made happy by the promises she had-made to love him always. now she was the wife of another, and he,—a knave, a menial, a servant in her house. god! to what desperation the thought of such a thing drove him. then he calmed himself. she must be his or be wrecked by him. if he had passed these last twenty-five years in search of her and had at last found her, certainly he could endure anything a few days more in order to get her for his own. “you go to the ‘home’ this afternoon, do you not?” stanton asked when they had finished luncheon. “yes; and you?” she replied and asked as she dipped her fingers into the little silver finger-bowl. “a society of young men have asked me to speak to them soon, so i shall probably pass the afternoon in the library preparing something to say. . . . you have done wonderful work at the home, zelda.” “i could have done nothing without your help.” “you are wrong. i’m not responsible for your success. i am proud of you.” g redder blood . _.=,.-t:.-? -?‘ i her into a dark cellar, in which there had never been a ray of light since the builder put the ceil- ing over the room, he questioned her, and seeing her unbending determination he said to her: “well, youse kin come as offen as youse likes; see? but what youse says won’t do god,—who- ever he is,—nor nobody else no good; see? dese kiddies don’t mind if youse buys dem a pair of shoes once in a while and the ru-mmies and touts and cadets will stand for a cup of coffee or a drink from you now and den, and we’ll all be glad to git in a t’anksgivin’ and christmas dinner outer you; see? but dey won’t pay any mind to what you say. anyway, youse come whenever youse likes; see? and i’ll break any damn guy’s neck what tries to put one over on you; see? ’cause youse is a game gal, and i likes a gal what ain’t scared of de rummies; see? so now youse kin go. let her out, boys!” and they all snatched ofl their hats and eyed her as if she had been some white-winged goddess from another land when she passed them. but to assure her of the truth of his promise the leader went with her to the boundary line of the district wherein he was king, but he dared not go farther, for there were innumerable rewards for his head, if caught, but he knew that he was safe so long as he was in his own precincts. but in his prophesies he had erred. in ten years zelda,—by her charity to the little children, her benevolence to the youths, and ‘her kindness redder blood to the grown people,—had changed this dirty, con- fused, chaotic, wicked district into a clean, orderly, decent one. she was called “the lady of god” with the greatest respect by the men and the “lady bountiful” by the children. skinny hagan, nigger jones, izzy green- baum, dutch smultz, woop, damfino, all called ofl their corner crap games, pitching two-bit notes, dealing three-card monte, and as soon as they saw her automobile approaching they all stood, hat in hand, and bowed courteously as she passed; and they did not dare to resume their gam'bling until she was well out of sight. and the wife of the “scotch fitzmaurice,” one of the liquor dealers in the ward, had now become the greatest temper- ance lecturer in the city. in mrs. birch’s mis- sionary “home” were the children of poor and unfortunate americans, italians, jews, germans, negroes, irish,—and they all regarded one an- other as .human and humane, which was due to the work that she had done among them. in going from the assembly room that after- noon mrs. birch passed out into a long, well- lighted, well-ventilated corridor, then through a pair of opaque glass doors that stood at the head of the dark stairs that descended to the basement. between the top step, as one ascended from the basement, and these glass doors, which made in- distinct anyone behind them, was a space about four feet square. mrs. birch had pushed the redder blood door open and had gone two or three steps when a voice said, “you are in a hurry.” -startled, she turned and looked quickly around. there stood leon to her left behind the door, his cold, dissipated eyes fastened upon her and his ever-moving smile on his lips. “you here?” she asked, alarmed. “my dear,” he answered, “i love to see those pretty little lips at work; they are indeed the most beautiful piece of human machinery god ever fash- ioned, but why waste that fragrant breath of yours on unnecessary questions? certainly you would not ask if the stars were in the heavens, if you looked up and saw them. do you not see me here before your lovely eyes?” “what do you wish now?” she asked bluntly. she had never taken her hand off the door, and it still stood half open. “you are cold to me,” was his response, in a pleading tone. “why not close the door that we might be alone?” “i do not care to be alone with you.” “heavens be merciful!” he threw up his palms like a worshiper. “to think that my most ador- able lady would deny me my fondest wish when we have been so long apart!” “how did you know i was here?” “to what end will the world come?” he said mockingly, his feelings being piqued at her query. “do you not yet know that my love for you tells me everything; that between you and me there is a redder blood i journey to the sons of haran to meet his beloved rachel had his covenant with god been less than his master’s promising to furnish him with gold, food, and raiment. i tell you they give no more sincerely than did the rich young lord whom jesus told, ‘sell all thou hast and follow me.’ the woman who throws her babe in the whirling ganges has a far purer motive than have you philanthropists.” . he paused a moment, then he continued, sneer- ing: “but i won’t be hard on you, my love, al- though i know your imperviousness to blandish- ments. you’ll accept my profound congratula- tions for your matchless work here; will you tell me how you did it? you were always so good, such a genius. did you, when you first started, turn water into wine to frighten them, to gain their confidence; and do you send out every day a boy to purchase five loaves and three fishes to be changed by your magic into enough to feed a large crowd and then have twelve baskets left over?” he stopped for a second. “but, come,” he re- sumed, “you shall be ready in three days, won’t you, dearest?” her feeling was one of anger rather than of fear, yet she realized her danger. she silently prayed for some intervention, and her prayers were answered. the heavy tread of the night watchman was heard coming down the hall. leon seized her and tried to force her into redder _.blood a closet, but she broke loose and declared she would scream for help. “give me fifty dollars, them—quickly. i want to treat the rummies.” she quickly drew the note from her gold bag and handed it to him. then she turned hurriedly as he hid himself in the closet and walked out into the hall, meet- ing the watchman. “good evening, horace.” he noticed her curtness, and was surprised at her unusual manner. v pemberton had won. the newspapers had large headlines, reading “pemberton wins.” for a long time it had been the other way, but to-day the pemberton half-back had got loose at a critical moment and run down the field for a touchdown,—shaking ofl tacklers as he ran. never before had there been such rejoicing, such weeping. that day on pemberton’s campus thousands of dollars had exchanged hands. splenetics and rheumatics threw away their crutches; superannuated men, whom time had robbed of their voices, made their presence felt by ringing cow-bells. powers in finance, lawyers, doctors, .ministers, congressmen, senators, govern- ors, and even an aspirant for the american presi- dency,—all graduates of historic pemberton,— had returned to see this great game. the romping, energy-creating, soul-stirring zig- zag snake-dance had lost none of its fascination, and up and down waldron. field undergrads, re- cent “grads,” and alumni danced this unique dance until they were almost without strength. the songs of “old glory” and “ ” thrilled as they had never before done; the customary bonfire redder blood was received gladly as is a new born child by its expectant parents. - a hot-headed, patriotic “grad” now paid a dol- lar for a lemon and blue pennant that might on the morrow be bought for a dime. souvenir post- card dealers were glad, for to them it meant extra money; post ofiice clerks swore vociferously, for to them it meant extra work. in the cities, from the theatre stages, the score flashed “pemberton —hall .” around the bulletin boards in front of the newspaper build- ings so thickly had humanity collected that to pass was impossible. thousands of café suppers were won and lost; hundreds of pemberton students sat in the boxes at the winter garden and watched gaby delys in her rhythmic glides, and after the performance they proposed marriage to her, which under any other circumstances they would never have done. the crowds departed, but ecstatic enthusiasm was not to lapse into quietude in pemberton for many days after this historic happening. and who had been the hero of this victory? adrian,—“ad,”—"addie.” it was his last year, and his brilliant performance placed him among the “pemberton immortals.” at his asking that night, the world would have been given to him, had it been in the power of the students and gradu- ates to give. this tall, muscular, well-developed boy of twenty-two, with an abundance of dark brown hair redder blood growing full on a slightly receding forehead, had been immediately after the game seized by a con- tingent of the student body who styled them- selves “worshipers of dionysus and sons of epi- curus,” to be taken by them to new york in order that they might‘ show him what real life was along broadway,—in the cafés, cabarets, and what-nots. they took him on their shoulders to his room, and made him promise that he would pass a night with them in new york during the christmas holi- days. so greatly did he wish to be alone that he was still debating whether or not he would attend the “senior prom.” but there was no rest for him in his room. after the departure of the “wor- shipers of dionysus and sons of epicurus,” whose motto was “everything goes with us,” another fraternity,—perhaps of a somewhat more respec- table type,—came calling at his door: “adrian! adrian!” they knew he was in his room, but when he refused to answer, a skeleton key was brought out, and they unlocked the door. then they pounced in on him, dragged him from be- tween his sheets, and, becoming self-appointed valets, soon had him in his dress suit and pumps, ready to attend the annual “prom” in the spacious gymnasium. perhaps there is no place in elegant, luxurious, ostentatious america where so much of its creme de la creme at one time gathers as at a hall-pem- redder blood berton football game and the “prom” which fol- lows on that night. newport, narragansett, bar harbor, the berkshires, atlantic city,—no one of these can gather together all the élite in summer, for they vie with one another, as do palm beach, nassau, california, and the west indies in the winter, but on the day of this game nothing like it happens in the world. mothers do all they can to adorn their daugh- ters for this occasion, and they pay unbelievable sums to have their pictures put in the popular dailies; an emaciated divorcée, whose name is bet- ter known in reno than elsewhere, fancies that among these inexperienced youths she may find her second husband; an old maid tries to make “pinaud’s” costly cosmetics take away the paren- theses around her lips, darkens the few red brows that are left, imports a gown from worth, and places her poor deluded brain under a wig by hepner, hoping that she may “come back” to something that she never was; in marked contrast are the sweet, lovely, unsophisticated girls, whose naiveté and youthful innocence make them too good to be associated with some of the wild stu- dents with whom chance might thrown .them at this “prom.” here never sleeping cupid sports; here he breaks and makes hearts; here he wins stakes that startle even himself; he plays a thousand games, but in every one he is master, holding every trump in every deck, nor does he resort to sleight of redder blood you’re a new kind of flower, and he,—he is dan- gerous. they say ‘he is a south american and—‘rich. what a lie! but he is not to blame for that. the mystery with which he has always surrounded him- self has caused others to originate that story, and romance is close kin to mystery. he, in truth, was born not ten miles from where he now stands; and rich? oh, no! listen; i’ll tell you a secret: observe his broad shoulders, his great strength, his virility. well; there are three very rich women of middle age who admire that young man. one is across the hall now watching the little girl. her face is hot; she is furious because he is talking to this pretty debutante, but she can- not create a scene. when she sees him alone she will cry and say, “you don’t care for me any more.” but he will lie to her and say that he does,—he has no heart,—and they will make up again. the other two women are at home. oh! run from ‘him, little innocence. in the summer time he makes many trips across the ocean beating the “sharps” at their own games. have you really fallen in love with him? if so, one is sorry,—that is, if one knows you both. when he goes abroad this summer he will not return. can you forget him as easily as he can you? perhaps. who is the stunning woman in the crimson gown? red; red is always a danger signal. what a shame that that inexperienced youth of eighteen redder blood danube,” and without knowing it they all thank herr strauss for gladdening so many hearts. then “home, sweet home” will follow and “good night,”—“good night,”—“good night.” vi “believe me,” drawled roland bullock about six o’clock the sunday evening after the game as he burst into adrian’s room, “she is some girl.” adrian, who was entertaining himself with one of o. henry’s latest productions, was half re- clining in an easy chair, with a silk pillow at his back and his legs stretched out obliquely, rest- ing his feet on a hassock. he neither took his eyes from the book nor replied to the intruder. a crowd had just returned from the station, having gone there to say good-bye to their sweet- hearts of a day’s acquaintance,——or of a year’s devotion. and of course the parting had cast a gloom over the university. the past twenty-four hours had brought to some of them pleasures that they would never know again. they sauntered back from the station lauding, adoring, worshipping some recently-met girl, and speaking disrespectfully of some others; but bul- lock, who wished to play a game of solitaire with his thoughts, had jogged on ahead to be alone in order to think only of one girl,—to be by himself with the memory of the most beautiful, the sweet- est, the pleasantest girl in the world,—a memory from which he wished never to part. redder blood the newcomers, noting his nervousness, said fa- cetiously: “well, roland, your actions are per- fectly justifiable. i guess we’ll all be somnambu- lists for the night.” “you know one thing,” said one of them, as they sat down around the room, pulling up their trousers, pushing .back their hats, rolling and lighting their pall malls, egyptian dainties, or bull durhams. “yes, and only one thing,” put in a second; “and that is that miss croydon .is the prettiest girl i ever saw.” “some pippin; yes,” chirped a third. then zack tamer spoke,—~zack, the former bowery bartender, who was indebted for his edu- cation to “shark” wilkins, who was known as the “slickest guy on the bowery” and whose atten- tion had been drawn to zack’s pellucid mind on a summer’s day when that youth had mixed for him a rickey with a california orange instead of a lime. for zack’s vocabulary neither the east side classics of that masterful writer of under- world life, “chuck connors,” nor the faultlessly compiled encyclopedia britannica would be re- sponsible, for some of his words had their ante- penult in arabic, penult in hebrew, and the last syllable might be either icelandic or an expressive motion of the hand to bring out its meaning. yet he affected an air of refinement,—his hair was pompadoured, he was dressed in a black-and- white pin-striped suit, with a fraternity medal sus- . redder blood pended from a gold watch-chain that stretched from one to the other of his upper vest pockets, and at one end of the chain was an ingersoll watch. but he had never altogether lost the bow- ery coarseness of either his manner or his speech. “i tell you, fellers,” broke in zack, “she’s got any filly that has ever run on these fast pember- ton tracks beat a thousand ways. she could give ‘em all a half mile handicap in a mile race and leave ’em at the last quarter.” “i protest against your speaking of such an adorable girl as a filly,” shouted anton scutter. “remember, gentlemen,” returned zack, “that my language was only figurative.” “then make it more sublime,” retorted scutter. “and you know, fellows, she’s heiress to a mil- lion, too,” put in bob atkinson. “ hou hunter of fortune !” jeered zack. “al- ready in your brain little devils of sloth are con- spiring to do the first piece of work of their ex- istence. they are intent upon winning this girl for you, believing that if they could get her, they would retire to their downy laissez faire couches to rest forever in beatific tranquillity.” “you don’t suppose i’d want to marry a pau- perized dairy-maid, do you? my father quits me cold as soon as he buys my railroad ticket home in june.” “certainly,” said bullock; “love in a cottage is the only kind; what would life be without its struggles, sufferings, disappointments?” redder blood “you are absurd,” said atkinson. “poverty and love do not go together. do you suppose xantippe would have been a quarrelsome, ill- tempered, hen-pecking wife and socrates a pa- tient, good-humored, hen-pecked husband if old soc. had been a prosperous athenian merchant instead of a lean, hungry, ill-fed philosopher, lecturer on morals, and ethicist?” . “bravo! bully for you, bob!” shouted zack. “i thought that you’d lost all of ancients that you ever knew and was sure that you knew no more of socrates’ alfaires du coeur than i do of prac- tical church government. but i was mistaken.” “as far as i can see, fellows, we might dis- pense with circumlocution and come back to the real subject,” said adrian. “ha! ha ” they all laughed. “then you are interested just a little, are you ?” “only to the extent of hearing your wonderfully beautiful eulogies about the young lady. beside her venus must have looked like a stone woman, if one may judge from your expressions concerning her beauty.” “but we had consigned you to the class of misogynists, had believed you as unimpressionable where girls are concerned as is adamant beaten upon by a baby with its toy hammer,” said zack. “say, what’s this?” asked atkinson, motioning his head at adrian. “will he be the mad lover who’ll wildly rush forth in pursuit of a resisting maiden?” redder blood “what! she resist adrian, you say? she’d give every penny she owns this very second for a smile from him,” put in scutter. “and where did you get so much inside dope?” asked zack, with a distinctly bowery pronuncia- tion. “she told a lady friend of mine as much,” re- plied scutter. “all girls have chums you know, even when they are in love.” “um—philosopher,” sneered atkinson. “but i thought i’m not shaped for sportive tricks, not made to court an amorous looking- glass,” sighed tom blackwell, a long, thin, gawky westerner, as he picked up a hand-mirror from the dresser and looked at his almost inhuman face, with its prolonged chin that began behind a pair of large ears and ended on his chest. between his eyes and his upper lip there were as many reddish brown freckles as his father owned dol- lars in the western railroads. his frank confession and his lack of sensitive- ness because of his homeliness brought forth a roar of laughter. “the bard was inexpressibly generous to you, tom, for having written those lines,” put in at- kinson. “they fit you, every word of them, even to the letter.” “well, i’d like to have your chances, adrian,” said blackwell. “ hy my chances? i am not at all sure of them. remember the fool that rushed where the redder blood city churches pealed forth, and silence for a mo- ment filled the room. “dr. carey speaks on ‘phillips brooks’ to-night, fellows,” said addie slowly, “and i think i shall go to hear him.” they separated; some went to hear the lecture, some went to their rooms, and others thought that midnight might as well find them in town as in the “dorms.” vii dear adrian because of the wonderful part you played in the football game saturday, you no doubt have received a thousand congratulatory letters and telegrams, most of which speedily found their way to your waste-basket unread. but i beseech you to treat this letter more kindly. you are very likely going to call me a bold adventuress! what matters that to me? i have enclosed my sensibilities in walls of adamant, so that i may not be hurt by anything that you may say to me. no doubt the centuries that your ancestors believed that this is a “man’s world" still have their influence upon you. but the eyes of wisdom of your father adam, and of my mother eve, were at one and the same time opened; to- gether they ate the wonderful fruit that the beguiling ser- pent had led my mother eve to steal, but your father adam took none of the blame; he relegated her to domesticism, put on her the “must nots,” and claimed everything for him- self. my pleading for suffrage is neither bellicose nor passionate; at least, i shall never smash windows. i admire femininity, but may not the antelope once in a century leap upon the lion unawares, gore him to his heart-strings, and get away unscathed? may not i—although of a gentler sex, you say—be daring ergougl; to advance a little to you without your thinking ill me. yes; your game was wonderful, but in it all i could see nothing but you, you. in our dance, in our brief conversa— tion, it was all the great soul of adrian, not the outward adrian at all, that i was conscious of. am forward, familiar, unconventional. yes; yes. i know; yet i am not apologetic. how much too long people have already allowed the shadowy, filmy barrier of conven- tion to stand between them and their own good! the congenial souls of the earth yearn to understand, to know, to love one another better. then, let us learn to know each other; let us lay to the ground the conventional walls redder blood that lie between us, walls built of the rock of mistaken modesty. . i have said some things i wished to say, but not all. let me know what you think of me! _ remember, i’m the antelope and you the lion. yours, wanda croynon. adrian found the letter awaiting him on his return from class-room one morning. he hastily replied: dear miss croydon: your congratulations are highly ap- preciated. but you hint at sentiment. i am a prosaic creature, not the sort of person you would care for. _ _ to be your friend i should count a very great privilege; but love—why, it is not in me. sincerely yours, adrian birch. she wrote back: dear adrian: i did not mean to hint at, i did not mean to suggest, sentiment. what i want you to understand that you have awakened in me what no one else in all the world could have done. _ no; until i saw you i never wanted a lover; not even in thought, but now i_have one, and it is you. adrian dear, your brain. does plato’s theory, after all these centuries, still have followers? i was sure—poor ignorant little i— that men had buried it face downward and written upon its tomb this epitaph: “gone forever.” certainly he could never have intended it to be interpreted as it has been interpreted. you propose a friendship between two persons of opposite sex? preposterous adrian! it can no more be than a. fair-haired boy can kiss his elbow and straightway be trans- formed into a beautiful blonde girl—you remember that nursery story? and even if we would have it so, how could it be, adrian? god did not start us off that way. the emotion that he redder blood planted in the first two people was later to be the awakening of love between the opposite sexes, an emotion stronger than any friendship can ever be and the only kind that can exist between a man and a. woman. _ ifiook into your soul, adrian, and confess to me that i am rig t. wanda. when adrian dropped the reply to her first letter in the letter-box he resolved to drop from his mind the memory of her, but her second letter shocked him, greatly disturbed his thoughts. she was skeptical regarding his knowledge of plato, she had made a weak attempt to interpret biblical love, and, most appalling of all, she sup- posed him interested in her. beneath the violet of her dark eyes was en- tombed a soul not of the pureness that he had supposed, but steeped in vulgarity. the words from her pretty lips were children of a brain that was carnal, sensual. she was a shatterer of conventions, a wrecker of a decorum that was a thousand years old; she had a religious face, a devilish heart,—she was a truthful dissembler, a perfidious angel. in her was not one jot of the modesty that he had believed hers. she was even unworthy of the feminine fineness of her handwriting. her girlish talks and actions were for the “prom,” and that being over, she now revealed her real self. he was angered because he had allowed himself to think so well of her. but wait, adrian. you misjudge her. you viii zelda rode home greatly perturbed. after a strenuous day she was completely fatigued, body and mind. leon’s persistent insistence that she go away with him was like biting, stinging acid poured on her wounded heart. ‘ judged by the standard of human goodness, zelda was a good woman. she tried, in the midst of her.trouble, to look optimistically upon life; she tried to believe that adversities and disappoint- ments are but temporary evils sent to develop one’s character. .she wanted to run the race set before her, to endure to the end, to travel the narrow path, to get up when she stumbled,—she wanted to keep the faith. centuries ago some philosopher said that nothing was unchanging, at rest. the earth, the seas, the trees, life,—everything,—is in incessant motion. each life changes, and the mind, the beliefs, the thoughts that make it up, change with it. . if some person in whom we had unbounded confidence should commit an act that would shake that confidence, we would lose it with regret, ad- redd-er blood mitting that “to err is human.” but if we were to tell an ascetic that our faith in christianity was wavering, to him it would be a shock almost un- bearable; yet sometimes it seems in the midst of tribulations that one’s faith must waver, must sicken almost unto death. everything changes', but the difference between faith in god and faith in humanity is that, though faith in god may at times seem to be breathing its last, the healer of healers gives new breath, new inspiration, and our faith revives. the thoughts of the past combined with the forebodings of the future sickened zelda. she questioned the justice of a supreme being, the rewards of a life of usefulness. was there any difference between the fruit of an evil tree and that of a good tree? if one did not taste the fruit, each looked equally pleasing. could she be mistaking appearance for realities? had her life been a failure? . she thought of the following story that she had recently read: a careless sower aimlessly scatters grains of corn upon uncultivated soil. he goes off and leaves them to care for themselves. “let nature take care of them,” he argues. “why should she not; they are her children?” the seeds are hearty and try to live, and nature, looking com- passionately on them, gives them rebirth, sprouts them, nurtures them; they spring up, grow, ma- redder blood ‘ gyzpqw - q: . ._,e.e ._ --. ture, and yield ears, the grains of which are large, regular, full, and juicy. he invites his neighbor to come over to see him reap, to see him pull the ears from their stalks. his neighbor is a judge of produce. “wonderful!” ejaculates the neighbor when the husk is torn away reveal- ing grains full-sized, beautiful in whiteness. “i should win a prize, if i could farm like you,” he continues sincerely, after his host has told him what results he had received from so little care. another sower plants corn in fertile soil. when weeds would choke the shoots he chops down the intended murderers. when it does not rain he turns cooling water on them to cool their little parching tongues; they grow, they mature, the stalks are thin but strong and sinewy, their tassels meekly bending a little. the two sowers live on adjacent lots, and their harvests are ready at the same time for reaping. he too invites the neighbor to see his pulling. with assurance, he pulls back the husk; the neighbor sees a small grain, regular, full, but not with the bursting fulness of the corn of the care- less sower. the grains are yellow, not white, but he again exclaims, “wonderful!” his ex- clamation now, however, is not sincere, and he feels ashamed of his hypocrisy. would the observer passing by the show win-- dow ever know that one ear of the corn exhibited there had been given more attention than the other? redder blood nature, striving always to perfect everything she produces, had cooperated with reason in its nur- ture. zelda looked out through the windows of the automobile. the grass was dead, the shrubs lifeless. at a distance she could see a tree, naked, stripped of its foliage. on one of its branches ‘there still clung a leaf, which was being blown hither and thither by the wind. beneath this branch she could see a blue-headed woodpecker thrusting its bill into the tree’s body as if moved by a machine. but among all this wintry death zelda could see some life, the round, strong evergreens,—firs and cedars. the wind swept over the mountain at a merci- less, terrific gait into the face of her driver. above her head, when she looked heavenward in the november sky, clouds were collecting and disin- tegrating. a storm seemed imminent, the sky was black, not a star in sight yet; this threatening heaven fascinated zelda. presently she caught sight of a star that shone but dimly. and just as she saw it the envious, jealous clouds must have seen it, too, for the clouds rushed to it and so obscured it that it faded into nothingness; but still she watched. suddenly the moving clouds came together and formed a cross as perfect as the one on which redder blood the saviour gave his precious life, an atonement for the world’s sin. from the point of intersection of this cross shone the once bedimmed star, now with unbe- lievable brilliancy. it seemed to light up heaven and earth; it seemed to zelda a covenant, a light from god’s own hand, a light similar to that which emanated from the dying jesus’ head. so, she thought, is every life,—a star life. at twilight it is born bright, then the night clouds come and hide it, but at dawn it shines brilliantly, because it is stronger, stead-ier, after the night’s darkness. leon’s threats were clouds, nights, come to darken her path, to make her lose her way. from these thoughts she was aroused when the chauf- feur stopped the car and opened the door. at dinner stanton said but very little to her, and for this she was truly glad. his natural re- serve and his unobservant manner when he was engrossed in thought were to her a great boon at this time, for it relieved her from answering the questions that he certainly would have asked her concerning her disturbed look,—a look that she had tried to conceal. .she had passed an extra quarter of an hour before her dresser trying to cover up the dark lines,-children from the wombs of worry and anxiety and fear,—under her eyes, and she had rested, hoping to bring some color into her sallow cheeks. the whole afternoon her husband had been in ' redder blood the library studying the systems of taxation, pre- paring for the speech that he was to make that night. “our present system is wrong,” he thought. “the man of moderate means who improves his property, beautifies his home, surrounds himself with good pure air in an elevated location, should not bear the greater part of the taxes. a gross injustice is committed. . . . the burden-bearers should be the rich real estate owners and dealers. they push their tenants into low, marshy places, —birth-places of malaria and typhoid,—into houses with leaking roofs, paneless windows, wa- ter-covered cellars where tuberculosis is king. in these squalid rooms idiots are born, weaklings, anarchists, evil-minded creatures, without moral codes, away from christian and uplifting environ- ment. these hot-beds of disease endanger the health and peace of the community; for them the state must have sanitariums for tubercular pa- tients, madhouses, schools for the weak-minded, homes for weaklings. why not make the very wealthy improve their property, thereby increas- ing the chances of life for the rich, as well as the poor, by providing better, healthier surround- ings ?” zelda, as she was to be alone that evening, would have time to compose herself, to rest her jaded mind. “but,” thought she, as she kissed stanton good- bye, “suppose leon should be here?” at which redder blood fearful thought rapid waves of heat followed by still faster waves of cold ran through her body. her spine felt as if it had been taken from be- tween two cakes of ice. her knees shook like a wind-blown leaf. she made one step, but her feet did not seem inclined to move. grasping the big brass knob of the door, she steadied herself against it, and suddenly,-—~happy thought,—she remembered that leon, too, had gone out for the night. out into the night’s blackness she stood gazing, —seeing nothing—thinking, thinking, thinking. in her warm bed-room laden with the odor of fresh cut flowers she prayed. the deep crimson light cast its bedimmed reflection over the orna- mented walls, over the embroidered curtains and woven rugs. she was surrounded by all the lux- ury, the taste, the voluptuousness of the sensuous orient. in her kneeling posture her gown of silk, which clung to her, revealed every line of her perfect f 'm,—-—her curving shoulders, the almost mas- culinely strong muscles of her back, her small waist, her slightly curving hips from which she tapered down to her little feet, which, heels up- ward in juliettes of baby blue tint, stuck out from beneath her gown. in her ivory white arms folded before her she buried her face. the crimson light, throwing itself upon the two big, black plaits of silken hair that hung over her redder blood shoulders, gave the effect of a sinking, blood-eyed sun pouring its last rays upon the wings of a crow. upon this bowed-down suppliant leon gazed! he could hear her beseeching god’s mercy for the world’s redemption, asking him to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, warm the chilled. he heard her resigning herself solely to him, im- ploring him to make her more compassionate, less selfish, and, last of all, he heard her say in tones of pleading humility, “oh, lord, show leon thy goodness, greatness, thy mercy and love.” down beside her he started to throw him- self and penitently exclaim: “yes, lord, i am thine. show me thy ways, thy goodness, thy mercy, and i will follow.” but straightway some imp within him said: “thou fool! thou prayest to the wind and it blow- eth harder in thy face, to the sun and it burneth deeper into thy skin, the waters and they engulf thee in more rapidly gurgling pools. what have his goodness, his mercy, his love, done for thee? when thou stoodest on the apex of the mountain of success he swept it from under thy feet; when thou wert sober he made thee a drunkard, a vagabond; when in love he stole thy loved one from thee. now, fool, revenge thyself with all the mad mercilessness of an avenger.” zelda arose. like bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked aurora issuing from her nightly prison, she seemed undaunted yet shy, austere yet gentle, com- manding yet forgiving, human yet angelic. redder blood as she turned back the covering to get into the bed she felt herself within the grasp of two flabby arms. sidewise leon had seized her and was raining hot kisses on her cheeks, neck, arms, fore- head. he rendered her speechless. the fright made the blood rush to her face, the vein in her round neck showing itself above her nightdress stood out. she was almost senseless and he began drawing her close to him so that they felt the beat of each other’s heart. his breath blew into her face. before she could regain her strength he began in a drunken manner: “zelda, i tell you, you are my breath, my blood, my heart, my life. with- out you i can no more live than can a striving weed in a mountain glen where it never catches one ray of the warming sun. i wither, i suffer in the desire to preserve my own existence, i die in the struggle. “no, no! zelda, do not reproach me; hate me. i know i am a dissipated vagabond; do not think that i am ignorant of the fact. my brain, though diseased, is a reflecting glass revealing to me my whole sordid, mean, debased, drunken, licentious soul. but, god! zelda, can’t a fellow have a chance? “in the noxious, filthy, pestilential marshes of brazil grows a .flower of the rarest sort. per- haps men would never think of going to this pes- tiferous, insalubrious bog to get it, were it not for its purity, its sweetness, its beauty. but over redder blood the bad soil that gives it birth it throws out its sweet odor, it stands up majestically command- ing all who go near: ‘behold! i am a thing of wondrous beauty living in the swamps because they are kind to me, and i will grow nowhere else. forget my muddy, unclean mother and the great struggle you have had in reaching me, for i am worth it all.’ “so, then, let your lily-pure self be a rare flower, a prize worth a struggle, growing nowhere else but out of my black, muddy, grimy life, but diffusing your sweetness throughout the world. “i was not always a marsh; life for me too once held joys sublime, enchanting, like those they tell us are to be found in heaven. then you were my all. i wanted you until i thought zelda, thought and thought zelda, until i lived zelda and nothing else. “when i had made fortunes; when men feared me and respected my brain; when i was honored; when fathers pointed me out to their sons and said, ‘there’s a great young man’; when re- porters sought me like hungry pups following a bone that i might say one word for them to print; when i was a success,—then somebody told them that i was a—-—” “good god! don’t say it!” shrieked zelda frantically; but he went on: “that i could have stood; the world was large, and i knew it. i knew that i knew more of the paths that lead to success than do most men, and redder blood i could go somewhere else, change my name, if need be. “i say i .could have stood that stigma, could have found myself again, but god! your god! zelda, when they told me you were five years married, that you had a son and he did .not bear my name, the world ended for me! . “what had been paradise was now poisoned by the venomous serpent, the floods came and wiped away all life, men’s tongues confused me, their voices irritated me, the earth rushed back into the void whence it came, and god withdrew him- self from it. “all that had been sweet now became bitter, happiness became wretchedness, from being heal- thy-minded i became morbid. then i thought that perhaps your husband might die, that i might come again int-o your heart. “i always saw your eyes gleaming like the light that shines in heaven above, making bright the way to each traveler. with all the fervor of our childhood i still adored you, worshiped you, as when you dominated me, as when as children we slept in each other’s arms, as when we declared our love for each other in old mark’s rat-infested garret. say that you love me, zelda.” sobbing deeply and too weak to make an at- tempt to release herself from his grip, .she said almost inaudibly, “i can’t.” “can’t?” he retorted angrily, “you did.” “in childhood i thought i did.” redder blood “thought you did in childhood? then why not now?” “forgive me, leon; i was ignorant, a child, i did not know. i knew nothing, you knew noth- ing, except childish love. we did not know each other. .but now it is different. do you suppose i could love you now?” “oh, rot!” answered leon, irritated by her re- fusal. “you dissimulator! you didn’t know? why, it is the first lesson a woman leams,—to wring a man’s heart, to steal his soul, to make his life miserable. her bewitching smiles, the love- light in her eyes, the allurement of her voice,— these she is born with or soon learns as she looks with vanity into a looking-glass. i want you and i am going to have you, no matter what it costs.” she had now regained herself and her well pre- served strength stood her in good stead, for she wrenched herself free, and threw him back against the wall with a crash, so that he tilted the dresser as he stumbled. “there!” she said. “you’re a coward.” “you are mistaken,” he replied. “love is a warrior; he fights to win.” “if mr. birch should catch you here, he’d kill you.” . “if the loneliness of a p'ining heart, or the joy it gets from having found the one for whom it longs, does not kill neither can the fire of lead nor the ice of steel.” anne, the maid, stood in the door and looked redder blood __~‘_.___ .‘ . . a at them, amazed. she had heard him declare his love to her, had seen him kiss her, had seen her in his arms, had seen her crash him against the wall, and now she stood, white as a statue, speech- less, wondering what it could all mean. if zelda had known that she had been seen, she would not have lived another minute. the thought of having been seen by one servant while another made passionate love to her would have caused her to die by her own hands. “you’re going away with me,” said leon, com- ing upon her again, but carefully, for he was a coward. he was conscious that he was no match for her, knowing that his persistent indulgence had robbed him of his strength; but he had a weapon to use upon her that was far more power- ful than force,—hi_s knowledge of her past life, his knowledge of what she was. “i’m not going to spoil the years i’ve spent in making my life happy by letting you with your threats come between me and my husband,” she said, feeling confidence in herself. “you won’t,” he sneered; “then i’ll spoil them for you. what will they say when i tell them you’ve lain in my arms all night; that you prom- ised to marry me; that you solicited my presence in your room when your husband was away.” “stop! stop!! liar, hypocrite. those are all lies and men will not believe them,” cried zelda, almost crazed. “i know they’re lies,” went on leon, “but men redder blood fifty thousand dollars. .she handed it across the table to him, saying: “leon, here is a check for $ , , which i shall place in a down-town bank to-day and for which you may call whenever you wish. to it i shall place ten thousand yearly to your credit. isn’t that enough to pay off the old debt between us? won’t you let me live my life for that amount?” coming around to her, with a pleased look in his face, he drew the other chair up beside her, placed his knees in it, took her hand in his, looked into her deep eyes, and said coldly, “almost thou persuadeth me.” then he turned away, with a diabolical laugh. she controlled herself, still hoping to win him over. “but, zelda, dearest,” he said. “with fifty thousand we could fly america, go to the isles of the sea, and live like lords; with it you could make me a man; i should soon be making our own money, we would change our names, i should be useful in affairs of government, and before we knew it they would have me the popular candidate for a responsible ofiicial position in one of the south sea islands. when shall we start?” “i cannot go with you. here you may be in- dependent, you may have valets, enjoy art, have luxuries, live happily as you once did when you were yourself,—when you had money,—may en- tertain your friends,—may——” redder blood “money? money?” he broke in. “with it and without you my sun would turn to darkness. what shall i do with money? ‘tis you, zelda, all of you i want.” he came and caught her in his arms. “you want me to live happily, independent as i once was; i tell you not one minute’s happi- ne.ss had i seen from the time i left you years ago until my eyes rested on you again. inde- pendence would be nothing without you. to have fine homes, luxuries, wealth, and to be loveless, with no child’s voice yelling through the halls, with no mother‘s tender words calling the sweet infant to her,—what happiness could there be in that?” . “but, leon; have you no humane feelings left? are your sympathies dead; have you no sense of right? my husband is good to me; he is all in all to me. he loves me; he is true to me,-——are you going to shame me before him, must i be a scandal before the world, a hypocrite before my husband? won’t you have compassion? believe me, i want to be truthful to my husband, to you, to the world. do you ” “huh,” he sneered. “you speak of truth. truth, changeable creature of man’s idiotic brain! where can we find you, among what peoples, in what lands? to what two men do you mean the same, to what two families, to what two coun- tries, to what two nations, to what two races? because of a truth in new york one would be made governor, for that same truth in jersey city he would be electrocuted at trenton. a lie in . redder blood boston is the truth in capetown; the truth in lon- don is a lie in pekin. there is no such thing as general truth; every truth is individual; i shall make my lies what i will and call them truths, and you are going to do so because i ask it.” “leon! are you made of stone? don’t you see my plight? the leaves of my life are white, every page is open for the world’s eyes, except one,—and that is as black as the hinges of night, made so by fear, hypocrisy, the want of equal chance, the wish for equal human liberty. made so. but you are the only person that can inter- pret that strange, dark page. leave it unread, leon! don’t let people know; i have befriended you, don’t be an ingrate.” “silence!” he broke in. “listen. the fall comes, the swine are turned loose in the woods, through them they roam hunting their food. to an oak they come; the earth beneath it is tiled with acorns,—they eat, their heads always down, al- ways grunting; never looking up to see whence the bounty falls; never ceasing to grunt as the only appreciation of their giver’s kindness. “thus is the whole human race,—hogs, in- grates, wanting to seize everything, to give back nothing. and if under the tree of god’s bounty we find ourselves, do any of us thank him, praise him without a grunt? no. and i,-——i could be nothing other than an ingrate when for twenty- five years i have been like tantalus reaching for that which i wanted, had it at my fingers’ tip, yet redder blood had been ridiculed, and her check had been snatched, torn into bits, and flung into the streets. all this mattered not to him; he wanted her or —nothing. to have her child, her husband, the world, know that she was a hypocrite, to have them know what she was,—all this was distracting, but to give herself up to this man who, though once brilliant, had now by his sensuality, dissipation, and shamelessness sunk so deep in degradation would have been worse than death. 'calmly and deliberately she arose from the chair and began to put on her coat. he turned from the window and faced her. she said in a very determined manner: “i shall no longer be intimidated by your threats, i shall no longer be humiliated by your unrelenting tongue which snaps at everything good in the world! i have appealed to that which was good in you; have appealed to the friendship that you had for me in childhood, have tried to soften your heart, have offered you every penny i have in the world,—if you would only leave me in peace. all you have refused. now do what you like, come what may, i’m going to face it all. your terrorizing me is at an end. tell them everything; let them know; i do not fear their curses as much as i hate your presence,” and she reached for the door to open it but—it was locked. “a fine piece of emotionalism,” said leon redder blood the main floor to the basement where he had only a short while before met her leon rose up again, apparently from nowhere. “we meet again,” he said tauntingly. “i thought,” she replied, “that the severe treat- ment given you in new york had been enough for you.” “dull scissorsdo not cut,” he said, “they only snag. that brute only sharpened my anger, only made me crave more for my heart’s satisfaction; only made you, my earthly goal and heavenly end, loom up brighter and nearer to me.” “get out of the way that i may pass,” she de- manded. “i’ll open my arms that you may pass into them, zelda,” he mocked. “if you touch me, i shall scream for the en— gineer.” “as you please,” he retorted; “but remember that when you scream this time it will be my men who will answer, not yours. your engineer is not in this building, nor is your watchman. both are being securely held on the outside. with your own money i have bribed them. now, ha! ha!” he laughed, “will you yell?” she realized her danger. “why did you come here again to-day?” she asked. ' “why did you leave me in new york? we might have made our plans there and might now be out of the reach of all possible meddlers. i xi “oh, thank you! thank you!” she mumbled feebly as she was helped up the steps. “did they kill him,—i mean did they hurt him badly? will he come back, do you think?” she ran on inco- herently, and then said apologetically, “i don’t know what i’m saying, but you’ll pardon me, won’t you? you see the fright quite upset me!” “oh, that’s all right, madam, i‘understand, i understand,” he said consolingly. “i knows dat little t’ings like dat will make you noivous, but it’s all right; it’s all right. you see we couldn’t figure out dat guy’s game. when he’d come in fitz’s joint and buy everybody a drink and den make his git-away we knowed right away that something was wrong somewhere; see? so i frames up and puts me gang on him to watch. we thought he might ’a’ been one of de bulls in plain clothes; see? so we always had our peepers open to see when he’d come in; den we seen him go in de ‘home’ one day and wondered what dis guy was doing; see? and to-day when we seen him wid a bunch of strange ‘boobs’ we knows right away dat some- thin’ was wrong, so i gits on de job and stations me men on all de corners. we watched de auto dat stood out in front of de ‘home,’ and when i redder blood seen him rush you out i blows my whistle; see? de way dat guy started off wid dat machine i thought he’d wreck it.” “but how did you ever stop it?” cut in zelda. “oh, all dem guys what does dat kind ’ work is afraid, madam. he was fired up with bad rum; see? and ’twas cooling off den, and jest as soon as dan fired de gun he put on breaks, jumps out, and tries to run for his life; but dan got him.” “what! you don’t mean you killed him ?” she inquired, horror-stricken. “why, sure; sure,” he returned, with a smile, as if he thought the taking of life no more than the taking in of his breath. “what do you t’ink we ought to do wid dem guys what tries to hurt good people,—-—put crowns on dere heads and make ’em kings? not on your life. we got ‘em all except de leader, and we’ll get him, don’t worry. don’t be afraid of dat bunch any more, ’cause it’s all off wid ’em.” “you won’t take them to prison, will you? you see, i—well, my husband,——that is, my son —oh, what am i saying? i mean that my name would be dragged in court if they were impris- oned, and ..i shouldn’t like that,—because my friends—well, you understand.” “oh, dat court business is all right, madam. dey’ll never get no nearer de coop den dey are now. i got a third degree dat would make dat one dey have in de court-house seem like a birth- redder blood all brightness; you took away nothing, you brought everything; you asked nothing in return, you gave everything. “we learnt how to laugh; we learnt dat we were not doomed, dat we were not all bad in- side of us, but dat we could be good, if we would. we learnt dat being good bad its re- ward, and, madam, i believe dat some of dem down dere now believe ’tis a god. don’t you t’ank me; let dem t’ank me. don’t you know when i t’ink of you i begin to t’ink dat dis world ain’t so black as we paint it, or as people like me makes it. i almost wants to turn and go straight when i t’inks of you, but i can’t; i been dis way too long. i started dis way. me father used to take me to de store when i was a kid so high and make me steal ’cause he thought i was little and de storekeeper wouldn’t t’ink i knowed any better if i got caught; den he’d make me fight, and den he’d take me in his arms and go down to de corner saloon and buy me a drink, and somebody else wouldbuy me a drink, and he knowed i could not drink it all, so he’d drink de rest hisself. i wa’n’t de only kid would be dere either; we’se all gone bad, you see, ’cause we was started off wrong. yes, i’d like to go straight, but i can’t change. dere’s something of de old past dat hangs on to me, holds me, and won’t let go. “well, i must be going now. me and o’reilly’s,—you know o’reilly, de cop,—got a redder blood i | | . ‘i i i . deal on to-night, and he’ll be sore as blazes if i don’t be dere at seven when he come on his beat; see? so long, mad—” “won’t you come in and have dinner?” she in- terrupted. “oh, no, madam, dat’s all right and don’t fear; we’ll git dat head guy all right. so long.” he ran down the steps and jumped into the taxicab, and zelda went into the house, bewild- ered with frightful reflections and still more frightful anticipations. she looked over her mail and found a telegram from stanton and a letter from elsie van deman wishing her a happy xmas. the message from stanton she answered immediately. she did not dress for dinner,—which had been prepared by thomas, the butler, as it was leon’s day out,—but went as she was when it was an- nounced. she ate alone; perhaps it was better so. she . sat at the table with her head sidewise resting on her left palm. the bisque was forced down and she merely nibbled at the roast and took no salad nor dessert at all. not even the visit from the brocktons, who were always the most agreeable company, aroused her from heavy gloom. she even welcomed their going,—a thing that she had never before done. that night in bed she lived over every event in her life, analyzing it and then synthesizing it again. xii adrian was alarmed at his thoughts. he had never imagined that at any time in his early life he would have any time for thoughts of senti- ment; yet they came now unsummoned. he wished' to become a lawyer, and he gave up many pleasures in order to give his time to his studies. he wanted later on to become one of the world’s great, to hear his voice in the senate of the united states, to see his picture in the temple of fame. but while he was ambitious he was not avaricious nor heartless. he wanted to meet men who were men, to battle with them, and to win; and noth- ing seemed to him too great a sacrifice, if he could accomplish this. he did not play football because he liked it, but because the college honor was involved, and he knew that his playing would bring joy to his fellow students. he tried to keep clear of any- thing that might stand in the way of his ambition. he had to acknowledge to himself, however, that miss croydon had made a very great im- pression upon him. he could not put her out of his mind. he now buried his face in his hands and tried to fix his eyes fast on the cold pages of a scientific i redder blood volume; but at the beginning and end of each line his mental eye saw her standing,—sweet, lovely, radiant. she followed each line with him; she went into his brain and helped it interpret the meaning. she said always: “go on, adrian. push forward; i want to help you.” he closed the book to shut out the vision, but he could not. he did not try to bring her to his mind; she came herself, uninvited, and more and more he was beginning to find that he was welcoming her. yet he would not be truthful to himself; he liked to think, “i shall be a man of the people; i have no time for love.” but even so, the smile on her lips stayed in his eyes; her voice, like music, stayed in his heart. in the hurrying crowd that between five.and seven o’clock comes nightly out of new york going to different towns in northern new jersey over the lackawanna, adrian was rushing. he had barely stepped off the ferry in hoboken when a voice which he immediately recognized said invitingly, “why don’t you save your ticket until the next time?” however much he tried to make himself believe otherwise, he was glad to hear that voice. he turned, and beside him he saw a dark brown limousine, through the half-open door of which wanda looked, with a smile. “won’t‘you get in?” she asked. and before redder blood adrian could frame an excuse he was in the car speeding off—he did not know whither. “i am very glad to see you again, miss croy- don,” he said as he seated himself. “since i saw you last i have heard enough .floral speeches about you to fill a volume of a thousand pages.” “what do you mean?” she asked, the little smile that adrian remembered so well playing on her lips. “i mean my fellow students, your admirers, have said the most complimentary things about you that can be said about a woman. they have made you a queen, a goddess; with them you are as lovely as was diana, and each of them wishes to bow his knees at your shrine.” she laughed a rippling little laugh, for his flattery had pleased her vanity. “but tell me,” 'he continued, good-humoredly, “where are you taking me, fair abductress? i shall scream for help if you do not tell whither i am being carried.” “i am taking you home.” “then you are not going to boonsville ?” “not to-night.” “then where?” “to clairmont. i shall spend the night there with the brocktons. what are you doing away from pemberton to-day?” “i came to see my father off; he has gone for an extended western trip.” “are you sure that was your only reason?” i redder blood . “oh, adrian, won’t you have done with the boys?” she asked in a pleading tone. “it is of you i want to hear. let us talk of ourselves. . . . yes, i have been to the concert at carnegie hall to hear vronski, whom they call, and rightly, i am sure, the greatest living violinist. with his how he can do wonders. under its spell one sees the flowers growing and enjoys their perfume, hears the babbling of a limpid stream coursing down a mountain-side in springtime, feels the bit- ing wintry blast, hears the thunder-claps, the rain torrents, the hail, sees the snowflakes falling, and feels the sun’s warmth. he makes one under- stand grief, sorrow, gladness, anger, hate, jeal- ousy, sympathy, mercy, and, greatest of all,— love. in fact, addie, if i could play as he does, i should whisper my love with my bow, knowing that it could convey my meaning far better than can my weak words. i should whisper my love with my bow and then i should subdue your stub- born heart.” adrian had not been prepared for such expres- sions from her, and he regarded them as forward and immodest. yet, when he dared be truthful with himself he was greatly interested in her, therefore .he .hesitated before he replied. if she had smiled perhaps it would have been different, his discomfiture would not have been so great, but her matter of fact manner made it im- possible for him to treat lightly what she had said. to hear her speak of capturing his heart i redder blood aroused in him a feeling of pleasing unpleasant- ness, so when he tried to fence with her he stam- mered, “i—-i’m afraid, wan—miss croydon—” “go on, please. say wanda as you started and wished to do,” she interrupted. “you have misunderstood me. i am not stubborn and my heart needs neither a master nor a companion; its only love is its hope of success. before me lies the business of life. i’m trying to realize its seriousness while i am young so that i may go about it properly. i am not sure that i am capable of such sentiments as those that you have spoken to me. i am sure that no one will prove it to me any time soon. my only wish now is to make my life successful. for me everything else is too ephem- eral to be considered. “i must leave affairs of the heart to men who are ” “oh, adrian,” she pleaded, tightly pressing his strong gloved hand in her own tiny one. the touch, like an electric current, sent through his being many mingled emotions. “how self- centered you have allowed yourself to become! do you suppose that god is going to permit you to be different from all the rest of the human type? do you suppose that he is going to begin with you and create an emotionless race? how can you so misunderstand yourself? god is not experimenting; he knows us all, and making ali lowances for our individual idiosyncrasies, he redder blood knows that we are all alike,—all directed by the same thing,—love. warriors bold, gowned monks, cloaked friars, bearded philosophers, all suppressors of their natural feelings,—their age is dead. do you want to be less human than you are? . . . you say that you cannot love; that is because you do not yet know how to be truth- ful to yourself. you have thought of everything else except love, and when it wanted your atten- tion you beat it back.” she drew closer to him, and continued: “listen, adrian, i’m going to help you find your real self; i’m going to make you love, love me alone; i’m going to come up to the front door of your heart, ring its bell, and you, when you know yourself better than you do now, are going to open the door to me, welcome me with glad- ness, with all the joy with which one lover wel- comes another. you say you came to new york to-day to bid your father good-bye. how many times he has gone before and you thought nothing of it! you came to new york to-day to see me, but you won’t admit it.” “but wanda, wanda,” he interrupted. “i cannot—” she could hear his .heart crying for ut- terance through his eyes. “i know you cannot now, adrian,” she waved him aside with a motion of her hand. "i did not ask you to yet. you are yet lost to yourself; you stand in your own light; you hunt for your soul, but glaucus-like, you have hidden it among redder blood their marriage found a soul mate, decides to go his or her own way. these are all mistakes of youth,-—blind, impulsive, impatient youth.” “but the pictures you have drawn are absurd pictures. sensible .people marry because they wish to climb together all mountains, to sail to- gether all streams, to bridge together all chasms, to feel together all joys, sorrows, griefs, and dis- appointments. no, adrian, you cannot mean what you say. you must know better; there is no incompatibility after marriage that did not exist before. love is plain, open, kind; it does not deceive, it does not lie hidden. each soul knows its mate from its birth, and each can find its own in a crowd of millions. does a mother have to search all through a great gathering of children in order to know the joyful, playful voice of her own? never! the soul of the mother calls to that of the child, and the soul of the child responds to the call,—so it is with love and marriage. there is no business of life for a man alone. he must make a business for himself and also for the woman of his choice. this kind of business you are going to plan for me.” just how long their limousine had been stand- ing in front of the brocktons’ fine home in upper clairmont they did not know, but a servant in livery interrupted their conversation by announc- ing that mrs. brockton was waiting. wanda answered in a flurry and they got out. redder blood . “i couldn’t be an intruder,” he apologized. “but i’m sor—” “no apology,” she cut him ofl eurtly; “you were right at my door and never came in to say ‘hello!’ now, i want you here in fifteen minutes,” she said commandingly; “i’ll send the car right down for you.” .“but mother’s not well,” he pleaded, “and i shouldn’tlike to leave her alone to-night.” “then we’ll come down there,” she answered, knowing how deep was the boy’s devotion for his mother. “you may go, adrian,” put in zelda, who had heard his part of the conversation; “i shall be quite well alone.” “you eel,” said mrs. brock-ton, who heard what the boy’s mother said, “you are trying to slip out of my way. but your mother will not permit such neglect.” turning to his mother, he asked, “are you sure, mother, that i may go out for an hour without your missing me?” “i miss you if you are out a minute, adrian, but go for a little while; i sha’n’t be lonesome.” “dear mother,” he said, with a voice full of mingled emotions. “i’m waiting,” came over the telephone. “i’ll be up shortly,” he returned, and mrs. brockton went back to her seat, with a trium- . phant look on her face. xiii “do you think so, adrian?” “i can’t say; you see i know so little of art.” “but you 'have an opinion?” “yes; in fact, i think géricault made wonder- fully better horses in oil than our own american remington did in water color.” “indeed? what of bonheur; is she over- rated.” “perhaps not; but troyon’s animals are far more animal-like in their movements than hers. she seemed to forget that animals are beasts.” “you don’t like my salad, wanda,” put in miss crews, the housekeeper. “oh, yes i do,” she answered gaily. “it’s great, isn’t it, adrian?” “splendid,” he replied. “we grew this romaine in our own hot-house and i superintended the planting,” added miss crews. “really, you are a wonderful housekeeper, miss crews,” he said. “do you think i look matronly at the head of a table, adrian?” asked wanda. “you are scarcely old enough to look matronly yet, but why do you ask me?” he returned. redder blood “look, your glass is empty,” she replied. “this wine is great, it is as good as some that my father has,——some he bought when he was in paris on his honeymoon.” “what do you think of the french ?” she asked. “do you think that they are as immoral and in- sincere and parsimonious as we americans think they are?” “certainly not; they have their own way of doing things, and in many ways they are the best people in the world. of course, some of their customs seem strange and bad to us because ours are so different.” “i wonder if any race is naturally any worse than all the others.” “i doubt it,” he answered. they arose, and adrian went into the music room. “shall it be the piano of the victrola?” she asked. “the victrola, please.” “of course; i might have known you wanted to talk to me while it is playing.” “interpret my thoughts as you like. you’re always right, and i shan’t protest.” they were silent for a moment while the music was playing—playing softly, sweetly, plaintively. “life is so tiresome in this house,” she then said, half seriously. “why?” asked adrian, “you have good serv- redder blood i ants, a splendid housekeeper,—everything that you could wish.” “that’s it; i do nothing for myself. i don’t even lace my own shoes or do my hair. why, even my breath seems to be drawn for me by some one else. i am as helpless as if i were an invalid. every moment of my time is filled with—nothing. i get up in the morning, have breakfast, then there is a ride, a morning call, or shopping. after noon i have luncheon, take a nap, go to a concert or a dance, or read a novel. after dinner i go to the opera or a dance, then to bed again. it all seems so purposeless, meaningless, empty.” “but,” objected adrian, “you rebel against the spirit of the age. don’t you know that every other girl would want to pass just that sort of an ex- istence ?” “no, adrian, you are wrong. the time has passed when women liked to live empty lives.” “why, then, if it is so empty, don’t you get something with which to fill it?” “there is but one thing that can.” “get that one thing.” “i’m trying, but it is hard. adrian, i know what you must think of me; i know what people would think of me because of my actions toward you; they would call me a bold, forward girl. i’m not. i differ from all the others only in that i express fearlessly and unconventionally what every girl feels and would say to the person who has awakened her love, if she were not afraid. let redder blood adorable thing he had ever seen. he struggled with the swelling emotions in him,—emotions that would have leaped out, had his will been less strong. he said: “i cannot do as you wish, wanda. i must sever sentiment wholly from my actions for a long while yet. to say that i love you would mean that i should like to marry you now. mar- riage for me could not mean anything without children, and some one has truly said that ‘he that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune, for they are impediments to great enter- prises.’ “you see, wanda, i am on my way now to suc- cess; i can do big things better alone. i won’t let you enter this race. i’m going to use all my strength to keep away from love for a while. but i do love ” “oh, go on, adrian, go on.” her face lit up and she clapped her hands buoyantly. “you’ve said almost all i wanted you to say. you have almost made a confession; you almost see your own soul. it is better to tell your feelings to a statue or a picture than to let them stay in you and smother. you could not stop death, were it at hand. you know that death and love are alike, —unchangeable. they will not be denied—nor can they be hidden. tell me the truth. why shouldn’t you? do you think it shames me to talk to you as i do? it does not. to say ‘i love you’ is the truest thing i’ve ever said. it is the i redder blood only thing that sounds absolutely true to my own ears. “i’m going to battle hard, adrian, and i’m going to win, not so much on my own account, but because you want me to, because you want me to go into your soul and let you look into it through me; because you need me as a mirror reflecting your own dear good self to you. you may dis- courage me, but you cannot stop me.” . adrian could stand no more. to attempt to repel the dynamic force of emotion then seeking recognition in his heart would have been impos- sible. to deceive himself further or to whip his feelings into servitude, when they were demanding their freedom, was a thing he could no longer do. in a moment of ecstasy he unconsciously sprang to his feet, caught her in his arms, and kissed her warm lips fervently. “wanda! wanda!” he said. “you do me in- justice; you wrong me, you wound me terribly, girl, when you say that i discourage you. oh, won’t you forgive me, dearest? i did not mean to do so. .i thought all of myself; in me was all i, i, i, forgetting the greatest of all truths, that no life on earth is a single life, that somewhere in the world is the counterpart of eyery heart. i knew you were mine; i knew it unmistakably as soon as i first saw you, but i could see no one else in myself but myself, no one entering but the thoughts, the hopes of my future life. i fought to keep my thoughts so filled, dearest, but you had redder blood i i __ ___ _u a a greater weapon,—love. and you battled with me in my own territory and won! won. and oh how glad i am! how glad! . . you say i think you bold, forward. how could you think that, wanda? to me you are the purest thing in all the world. had angels been copied after you, heaven would have been no less perfect. wanda, won’t you forgive me ?” she looked up at him, her cheeks flushing, her eyes glistening like stars in the youth of the night, and around her lips played a smile that would have wooed all the world to happiness. “oh, adrian,” she said ecstatically, “how good and strong you are! surely this is heaven. such happiness is not known on earth. hold me tight, tighter in your big strong arms; press me closer to your strong warm heart. can we not go through life loving each other like this, adrian?” “that is what we shall do, dearest,” he an- swered. “but it will be so long before we start,” she said sadly. “do you remember what i said to you at the howell dance about engagements?” “how could i forget? i remember every word you’ve ever spoken to me since we met.” “what then, little girl, did i say?” “you said,” she turned her head thoughtfully, for a moment—“oh, you said that if you ever kissed me, we would be engaged, and ” “i have kissed you to-night.” redder blood “and you said that you did not believe in long engagements,—that we must be married very soon after our engagement. what a dear lboy you are! now come sit down by me and we shall set a date for our ” she hummed mendelssohn’s “wed- ding march,” her hand tightly held in his, while they sat and looked into each other’s eyes. “now, when shall it be? i won’t be put off long, you know.” “no, dearest, i’m not going to keep you off long. do you not know that i’m madder, more passionately in love with you than you are with me?” “nonsense, adrian, impossible. when shall it be?” “in june, dearest, when they hand me my di- ploma.” “think,” she said with childish .glee, “think! you will have two commencements at once.” “yes; but you will be the biggest diploma i shall ever get.” “june. june. wasn’t heaven kind to give us such a month with its beautiful warm, kind days? it is all so wonderful. you know, adrian, i have pictured our little home in the country—i could never stand the city—with honeysuckies entwining its front, its yard filled with roses, the fragrance of which we shall get on the soft winds of the morning and evening, and in the back a little garden, dearest, all our own, from which i shall with my own hands pull vegetables for you. i i redder blood will she be like? i will tell you. she shall have your kind eyes, and your dark hair, but my lips, don’t you think? oh, vain woman that i am! i don’t care, we are all vain when we get the man we love. yes, my lips and nose and cheeks, and as she grows i shall teach her oh the nicest things. but when she grows up she is not going to be one of those women that kill in them what should be most alive. i hate hedda gablers. .she will be one of those warm, loving, sensible, self-subjecting judiths such as keller—isn’t it, adrian?—por- trays in ‘green henry.’ and she must ” “miss wanda,” called a voice from the hall, “it’s your bed time.” “thank you, miss crews,” wanda replied. “you see,” she continued, “i’m twenty, and still a child. i must have some one to put me to bed. from this time forth i shall obey no one but adrian birch. “will it not be better for you to obey miss crews sometimes? she has known you from your birth and knows what’s best for you.” “yes; but i have some discretion, and do you forget that i am to be mrs. adrian birch soon?” “how can i forget it? are you happy, dear- est?” “beyond words. your vacation began to-day. how long have you?” “twelve days.” “how lovely!” , “ xiv the morning after her dreadful experience zelda arose at seven. not one minute’s peace- ful sleep had she had during the night. that uncanny, diabolical picture had tormented her relentlessly. she wondered if it would not have been better if leon and his gang had been successful in taking her away—she knew not where. the world then would never have known the truth,~—would never have known that her whole life had been a lie. no future torture could possibly be as great as the pain she now endured. death to her was nothing; it is to no one. the fire in her mind was infinitely hotter than that of the inferno. she did not even think of trying to escape. her only thought was: “was it best that i was rescued from those potential murderers?” , had she been killed, all her acquaintances would have proclaimed her a brave, courageous, char- itable woman, but now if they knew, if they only knew what she really was,—what a confusion of tongues there would be, heaping upon her the vilest epithets in the english language. the looking-glass did not lie to her—mirrors redder blood to come. she wondered if he thought that she had forgotten the day. but that was too impossible even to be considered. of course he knew that she could never forget that day. but she knew that leon had escaped from her rescuers—that he was in the kitchen. her collee had told her that. no one made coffee like leon, not even andré. “good morning,” said leon blandly. “had you really the boldness to come into my house again after yesterday?” she asked. “how can a man change his last day? oaks don’t break, they don’t even bend after they are full grown.” “leave me or i’ll call the servants,” she said, astonished at her own calmness. “they will not hear; they’re far up-stairs. why, zelda, they could not injure me. i’m in love, and love is greater than death. i once saw a duel between love and death. they each had weapons of equal quality and size. the battle was hot, but love conquered. so with me. i cannot stop now; i love you.” he ran to her and seized her. she struggled to free herself, but without success. “come on, come on; kiss me,” he said. “there is sweetness in the cruelty of your words, warmth in the iciness of your eyes, a power in your un- responsive lips. i would rather die because of your cruelty than live resting my head on the pillow of a queen. you cannot stop me.” redder blood i he did not hear the opening of the door. his passion had crazed him. "zelda! zelda!” called stanton’s familiar voice, while he and adrian took off their coats in the hall. but no response was heard. - stanton turned to his right and he would not, could not believe his eyes. an old-fashioned mir- ror showed him leon with his arms around zelda, who was struggling to get away. enraged, he rushed at leon. he seized him by the throat and tore him away from zelda, and would have struck him with his cane, if she had not shrieked, “don’t strike.” leon wrung himself away and the lick went wild. “that woman’s a nigger!” he yelled, pointing to zelda. for those words stanton would have killed him, if he had not been for the moment robbed of his strength. he tried to raise his arm, but it was limp. zelda had fallen on the floor. leon’s words were playing games in stan-ton’s brain. “say that again and die,” 'he said feebly, and leon repeated with energy, “that woman’s a nigger!” “tell him he lies, zelda,—my own dear zelda. it’s calumny, he’s defaming you, dear,” he said, still weak from the shock. “tell him he lies. i - know you’re not, but i want to hear t from your redder blood i i were proud of and respected; i am he who tried to act honorably toward every one, but circum- stances turned against me.” . “you act honorably!” thundered stanton. "you damned, common hound.” “yes,” went on leon, “i’m a common hound now, but once i was a thoroughbred, i had blue blood; i made the world know me. i was a suc- cess and then some snake in the grass told them that i was a ‘nigger.’ “then, of course, that ended all. power went, friends went, the world turned against me, but still i struggled on until i found that zelda , was your wife. then i changed; everything changed me. i cared for nothing but a chance to get even. the world kicked me and called me dog. i barked back at it; but my strength was gone and it no longer feared my bites. then i set out to find zelda at all costs and tear her away from you. i went .back to my old trade,—cooking, —which had been my support while i struggled through college. i found her, but she would not leave you. she is as innocent as a spring flower. i say no more.” he drank something from a small bottle. “the pain of a thousand years’ suffering cuts loose my heart strings.” ' he dropped, and when adrian looked at him he was dead. “mother, mother,” begged adrian, “is this true? tell me, mother. am i a ~—” “you she-devil!” shouted stanton viciously. redder blood ‘ “i tell you, dear father, the only thing in all the world worth while is love. it is the only smile from god’s own lips that imprints itself ineradi- cably on man’s heart and returns again to god; it is the only human thing that is unchangeable, un- changing, and unchanged. and yet—and yet—” his voice broke; he dropped his eyes to the floor, then raised his head and began again. “see, father, she loves you. take her and forget. in her love for you she is no different now from what she was before you knew.” “take her, you say! do you suppose i’m going to be made the laughing-stock of society. she is not my kind—she’s different,” said stanton. “yes, she is different because society says so, not because her soul is different. i tell you that every life that is ushered into this world comes from one pure undefiled source of love and purity. we are not conceived in iniquity; anger, envy, hate, jealousy, are the qualities that men give to themselves. the soul itself comes into the world with one predominating attitude,—love for man and love for god. “see, father, those two little children in the driveway. look how they play; the black one is the son of the cook; the white one, the son of a man of millions. in their voices, in their actions toward each other, there is no discord. children see deeper into the love of human beings than men do; they do not mistake appearances for realities; shadows cannot deceive them. see how they play! xv. “the last will and testament of col. john marston. to whom it may concern. “be it hereby known that i, john marston, of james city county, virginia, direct descendant of a founder and promoter of the london company, grandson of one of the signers of the declaration of independence, do bequeath my entire savings deposited in the bank at williamsburg, virginia, and my farm of four hundred and fifty ( ) acres in james city ‘county to zelda, the daughter of cathering edwards and myself. “i loved her mother more than she could ever know, but between us there was a gap which pre- vented my marrying her. “in her life time i would have helped her, but her pride scorned it. i would have given anything to my child zelda, though born out of wedlock, but she too refused my aid, which hurt me beyond words. “she is married and happy now. may she ever be! “she cannot refuse my last request. if she does, i shall never know it. “zelda is my own blood,—all that is left of me. i hope she will ever be happy and remember me as one who loved her.” . redder blood e-'‘‘-:. . - him as saying, “this is my heart, i’ll crush it, and go through life dead, before my end comes.” but she must know, and he must tell her. but how? to tell her that he was a ‘could he ever say such a word to her and watch all that had before been clear to him become transformed into deadly disgust? "ingrate! ingrate! that i am,” he thought. “wanda would never think such things. ‘she is too pure, too loving. she can never change.” stop. she can change; she may not. all life changes, all human beings change. you thought right at first. do not make the thousands of years of experience of human beings a lie because of this one girl. along the street he walked aimlessly, knowing not whither he was going, and he would not have cared, if he had known. nothing would have made any impression on him now. he neither heard, nor felt, nor saw anything about him. he continued to wander aimlessly. two hours later he found himself, almost stupefied, ringing wanda’s door-bell. a servant showed him into the parlor and an- nounced his presence to wanda. she did not stop to wonder why he had returned so soon after having left her only a few hours before. she was too glad for that. into the room she rushed, buoyant, radiant, i redder blood asked, with despairing emphasis. “you have spoken in riddles ever since you came. what does it mean?” “it means that we are dead to each other.” his face became white, he moved nervously, over him ran hot and cold waves. no one could have seemed or been more miserable. to give up such a prize would have caused the world to weep. “wanda, wan ” he choked. .she caught him again and held him tight and kissed him. “yes, addie. say it, what is it? what is it?” “wanda,—~i am a negro,” he stammered. his confession had in it unerring conviction. to have him repeat it would have been useless. she thrust him from her as one would drop a burning metal. there was fire in her every breath. she was furious. she had been fooled; she had laid bare her heart, her soul to this thing. “you leper!” she burst out. “you cancer in a man’s form, you imp let loose from limbo! you deceived me. acid-like you ate into my pure soul, knowing all the time what you were, knowing that you were as black as midnight. let me wipe away your kisses, let me tear my flesh from my frame. i was pure; your black skin has corrupted me, pol- luted me. get out of my sight forever.” she fell exhausted on a chair. adrian made no protests. he wished to explain nothing. he had been honest with himself and redder blood know me. you’ve got to, adrian. you’re mine, i say,—mine. if you let these things on earth keep you from me, you shall have to answer for them in your last day, for in heaven we are mar- ried, we’re one. no matter what the world says.” he .was unbending, not because he did not love her, but because he distrusted himself. “we must live apart, dearest; i cannot ruin your life because mine is ruined.” “adrian!” she burst out, inexpressibly dis- tressed. “they say, wanda, that the offspring of a quagga and a mare will have its mark,—will be striped. . . . some people call me a quagga.” he turned and quickly opened the door and rushed out. “adrian, adrian! don’t go, don’t leave me!” she moaned in a frantic sob as the door slammed. xvii a year had passed since stanton left zelda. immediately after the separation stanton com- plained of some malady, and said that he would take a long trip abroad, which he hoped would make him himself again. he traveled in europe and asia and egypt; he visited galleries, cathedrals, museums, seek- ‘ing everywhere a rest for his mind. he attended the great receptions given by his european and american friends. he walked on the various boulevards, went to the operas, the music halls, hoping to see beautiful women or something that would divert him. but did he find satisfaction in any of these things? he often stopped and asked himself, “for what am i looking?” the answer was always the same. when he went into the various galleries, when he sat at the operas, he had with him only a part of himself. the other part,—well, he did not acknowledge this even to himself. “why don’t i go back and get the thing that i want most in life?” he at length asked him- self numberless times a day. “why don’t i get redder blood that which will complete me; i am myself, but only in part; why don’t i become whole again?” so far as the world knew, he and zelda were still the loving couple that they had always been. “why, then, do i not go back?” he asked him- self. he was not afraid of people; he was not afraid of zelda. his love was too deep for that, and love knows no fear. he sought his own happiness, and whatever others thought or said mattered little to. him. he wanted happiness, whatever the cost. that he was just in his breaking away from zelda as he had done, he could find no reason to doubt. he had been deceived, grossly de- ceived. one night he sat in his room in a fashionable district in brussels. he was greatly depressed. his mind was not in the room. it rested on nothing in particular but reviewed his whole life. . he cast his eyes upward and midway on one of the walls hung a madonna. how sweet her face; how adorable she was! her pure soul, her kind face lent light, beauty, radiance to the room. he admired her dark hair, her pretty eyes, her rounded cheeks, and how she adored the child in her arms. he was not sure whether it was zelda as he had known her or whether it was she as some great master had caught her and put her on can- vas centuries before she had come into his life. i redder blood “my voice is broken, so is my heart; but to tell you that "my love is like a love divine’ would make them both whole again. “our boy was right. . love is the only thing in the world worth while. it is god’s greatest gift to men. “i am crazed, zelda,——crazed. i am coming to you. you love me yet, don’t you? i believe you do. i shall find out. “call me what you may. call me worse names than i did you. let others do the same, if they will. names do not hurt. i have no feeling now which is vulnerable to the world. only you can hurt or heal. i am coming to you. do or say what you will.” zelda had kept on with her charity work. she got great satisfaction out of knowing that she was helping others. she left clairmont and went to live in a small house near a large city in northern new jersey. her visits in society now were very infrequent. .she went only enough to keep from being interrogated whenever she might chance to meet one of her former associates. she had often felt far greater desire for stan- ton than he had for her, perhaps. but to her now he was gone forever. now and then in the foreign columns of the papers she would see his name. what pangs of sorrow they would cost her, if only a few words were mentioned about him. yet she was happy i redder blood he seized her in his arms and said, “zelda! zelda! dearest!!” “are we to live again, stanton?” she asked. ~ f t, - in - -~' n: k *- ~( -k n vn i.... i i p... i -. —a -.,.. ., i.., '..,. i -... i .. i. i \. i '.. - i. ,.., v -. k i i i) there is confusion * i - i i i i i there is confusion by jessie redmon fauset there is confusion worse than death, trouble on trouble; pain on pain,tennyson. boni and liverig h t publishers...:: new york i copyright, , by boni &amp; liveright, in'-. printed in the united states of america first printing,, march, second printin~g, may, third printing, august, to my sister helen fauset lanning whose persistent faith has made me ashamed to falter i there is confusion i there is confusion chapter i oanna's first consciousness of the close understanding which existed between herself and her father dated back to a time when she was very young. her mother, her brothers and her sister had gone to church, and joanna, suffering from some slight childish complaint, had been left home. she had climbed upon her father's knee demanding a story. "what sort of story?" joel marshall asked, willing and anxious to please her, for she was his favorite child. "story 'bout somebody great, daddy. great like i'm going to be when i get to be a big girl." he stared at her amazed and adoring. she was like a little, living echo out of his own forgotten past. joel marshall, born a slave and the son of a slave in richmond, virginia, had felt as a little boy that same impulse to greatness. "as a little tyke," his mother used to tell her friends, "he was always pesterin' me: 'mammy, i'll be a great man some day, won't i? mammy, you're gonna help me to be great?' "but that was a long time ago, just a year or so after the war," said mammy, rocking complacently in her comfortable chair: "how wuz i to know he'd be a great caterer, feedin' bank presidents and everything? once you know they had him fix a banquet fur president grant. sent all the way to richmond fur 'im. that's howcome he settled yere in new york; yassuh, my son is sure a great man." but alas for poor joel! his idea of greatness and his there is confusion in grateful return he made her the one other consideration of his life, weaving unconsciously aboul himself a web of such loyalty and regard for her that he could not have broken through it if he would. her very sympathy defeated his purpose. so that when she, too, fell ill on a day with what seemed for years an-incurable affection, joel shut his teeth and put his frustrated plans behind him. he drew his small savings from the bank and rented a tiny two and a half room shack in the front room of which he opened a restaurant,-really a little lunchstand. he was patronized at first only,-and that sparingly-by his own people. but gradually the fame of his wonderful sandwiches, his inimitable pastries, his pancakes, brought him first more black customers, then white ones, then outside orders. in five years' time joel's catering became known state wide. he conquered poverty and came to know the meaning of comfort. the grant incident created a reputation for him in new york and he was shrewd enough to take advantage of it and move there. ten years too late old mrs. marshall was pronounced cured by the doctors. she never understood what her defection had cost her son. his material success, his position in the church, in the community at large and in the colored business world,all these things meant "power." to her, her son was already great. joel did not undertake to explain to her that his lack of education would be a bar forever between him and the kind of greatness for which his heart had yearned. it was after he moved to new york and after the death of his mother that joel married. his wife had been a school teacher, and her precision of language and exactitude in small matters made joel think again of the education and subsequent greatness which were to have been his. his wife was kind and sweet, but fundamentally unambitious, and for a time the pleasure of having a home and in contrasting these days of ease there is confusion with the hardships of youth made joel somewhat resigned to his fate. "besides, it's too late now," he used to tell himself. "what could i be?" so he contented himself with putting by his money, and attending church, where he was a steward and really the unacknowledged head. his first child brought back the old keen longing. it was a boy and joel, bending over the small, warm, brown bundle, felt a gleam of hope. he would name it joel and would instil, or more likely, stimulate the ambition which he felt must be already in that tiny brain. but his wife wouldn't hear of the name joel. "it's hard enough for him to be colored," she said jealously guarding her young, "and to, call him a stiff old-fashioned name like that would finish his bad luck. i am going to name him alexander." alec, as he was usually called, did not resemble his father in the least. he was the average baby and the average boy, interested in marbles, in playing hookey, in parachutes, but with no determination to be a dark napoleon or a frederick douglass. two other children, philip and sylvia, resembled him, and joel marshall, now a man of forty, gave up his old ideas completely and decided to be a good business man, husband and father; not a bad decision if he had but known it. then joanna came; joanna with a fluff of thick, black hair, and solemn, earnest eyes and an infinite capacity for spending long moments in thought. "she's like you, joel," mrs. marshall said. and because the novelty of choosing names for babies had somewhat worn off, she made no objection to the name joanna, which joel hesitatingly proposed for her. "she certainly should have been named for you," the mother told him a month later; "see how she follows you with her eyes. she'd rather watch you than eat." and indeed from the very beginning joanna showed her there is confusion preference for her father. the two seemed to have a secret understanding. after the first child, mrs. marshall had fretted somewhat over the time and strength expended in caring for the other little marshalls, but she never had any occasion to worry about joanna. joel had his office in his residence, and after joanna was dressed and fed, all she wanted was to lie in her carriage and later to ride about on the kiddiecar of that day in her father's office, where she watched him with her solemn eyes. joel never forgot the first time she asked him for a story. he was in the habit of regaling his youngsters with tales of his early life, of himself, of boys who had grown up with him, of ball-games and boyish pranks. the three older children had a fine catholicity of taste. "tell us a story," was all they asked, its subject made no difference to them. but on that certain sunday before joanna was five years old she perched herself on her father's knee and commanded astoundingly: "tell me a story, daddy, 'bout somebody great." joel didn't know what she meant at first, so far removed was he from the thought of his old dream. and yet the question did seem something like an echo, faint but recognizable of a longing that had once loomed large in his life. "great," he repeated. "how do you mean great, baby? tall, great big man, like daddy, hey?" he stood six feet and was broad with it. joanna shook a dissenting head. "no, not great that way. i want to hear about a man who did things nobody else could do,-maybe he put out a fire," she ended doubtfully, "but i mean something greater than that." joel had her taught to read after that. she was a little frail for school, and did not start until later than the other children, though she was far the most studious. so she had three or four years of solid reading, and always her choice of chapter ii oanna was like her father not only so far as ambition was concerned but also in her willingness to work. she had a fine serious mind, a little slow-moving at first, but working with a splendid precision that helped her through many a hard place. her quality of being able to stick to a problem until she was satisfied served in the long run as well as her sister sylvia's greater quickness and versatility. eventually, too, joanna's laboriousness and native exactness produced in her the result of an oft-sharpened knife. the method which she applied to one study, she remembered to apply to another, and if this failed then she was able to make combinations. usually she had to have things explained to her from the very beginning, either by a teacher or through directions in a book. but to offset this slowness she had a good sense of logic, a strong power of concentration, and a remarkably retentive and visualizing memory. sylvia and she, destined to be such perfect friends in their maturity, were not very sympathetic in their childhood. the older girl was thoughtless, quick to jump at conclusions, natively witty and strongly disinclined toward seriousness. "joanna makes me sick," was her constant cry, "always thinking of her lessons and how important she's going to be when she's grown-up. so tiresome, too, wanting to talk about what she's going to do all the time, with no interest in your affairs." which was not quite true, for joanna was mightily interested in people who had a "purpose" in life. otherwise not at all. there is confusion this was where she differed most from her father. with joel success and distinction had been his dream, his dearest wish, but always he had realized that there were other things which might interfere. with joanna success and distinction were an obsession. it never occurred to her that life was anything but what a man chose to make it, provided, of course, he did choose to make it something. her brothers' and sylvia's haphazard methods were always incomprehensible to her, and this gave, her the least touch of the "holier than thou" manner. her mother insisted on each child's learning to do housework. even the boys were not exempt from this, indeed they rather liked it. sylvia made no complaint though she occasionally bribed alec or philip to do her stint for her. joanna never complained, either, yet she made up her mind early that as a woman she would never do this kind of work. not that she despised it, she simply considered it labor lost for, a person who like herself might be spending her time in more beautiful and more graceful activities. yet in spite of her dislike, she always lingered longest over her work, and the room or the silver which she had cleaned always looked the best. it is true she never learned to iron especially well, but this was about the only thing in which she yielded place to sylvia. sylvia was like a fire-fly in comparison with joanna's steady beaconlike flood of light. sylvia dashed about, worked as quickly as she thought and produced immediate and usually rather striking results. sylvia with a ribbon, or a piece of lace and a ready needle and thread could give the effect of possessing two dresses, whereas she had only the one. sylvia dressed the dolls, hiring joanna's remarkable and usually disregarded assembly of these so that she might make them new clothes. she drove an honest bargain. if joanna would let her play store with her dolls for a week, one of them could keep the new dress which sylvia would have made for her; joanna's dolls were usually in sylvia's care. there is confusion yet when joanna did sew or knit, her stitches and pieces bore inspection much better than sylvia's. by the same token, however, they missed sylvia's dash. in one thing only did joanna show real abandon, that was in dancing. sylvia was as light as thistle-down on her feet, but joanna was like the spirit of dancing. she had grace, the very poetry of motion, and she could dance any step however intricate if she saw it once. "if you want to get joanna to play," maggie ellersley, sylvia's chum and school-mate would say impatiently, "you must start some singing or dancing game. she wouldn't play 'i spy' or 'pussy wants a corner' with you for worlds." any sort of folk-song or dance, though she did not know them by that name, delighted the child. usually she held herself aloof, but in summer down on fifty-ninth street joanna was one with the children in the street, singing, dancing, jumping rope in unexpected and fancy ways. sylvia's and maggie's and even her brothers' rougher scoffing affected her not at all, not only because she had the calm selfassurance which is the first step toward success, but also because of old joel's strong belief in her. joel believed that all things were possible. "nothing in reason," he used to tell joanna, "is impossible. forty years ago i was almost a pauper in richmond. look at me to-day. i spend more on you in a month, joanna, than my mother and i ever saw in a five-year stretch. one hundred years ago and nearly all of us were slaves. see what we are now. ten years ago people would have laughed at the thought of colored people on the stage. look at the bill-boards on broadway." it was in the first part of the century when williams and walker, cole and johnson, ada overton and others were at their zenith. old joel believed them the precursors of greater things. since joanna's gifts were those of singing and dancing, he hoped to make her famous the country over. of course he there is confusion g would have preferred a more serious form of, endowment. but such as it was, it was joanna's, and must be developed. joel marshall believed in using the gifts nearpst at hand. "and don't think anything about being colored," he used to say. "it might be different if you lived in some other part of the country, but here in this section it may not interfere much more than being poor, or having some slight deformity. i have often noticed," said joel, who had used his powers of observation to no small advantage, "that having some natural drawback often pushes you forward, that is if you've got anything in you to start with. it might even happen," he added, launched now on his favorite theme, "that your color would add to your success. depend on it if you've got something which these white folks haven't got, or can do something better than they can, they'll call on you fast enough and your color will only make you more noticeable." joanna used to listen interestedly. not that in those early years she always understood fully everything her father said, but his talk created for her a kind of atmosphere which created in turn a feeling of assurance and self-confidence which was really superb. another theory of joel's which he had worked out for himself, and which in no small degree contributed to joanna's education was his early understanding of the natural rights of men inherent in the mere fact of living. he told joanna that no class of men remained static throughout the ages,-he had not used these words, it is true, but he had cbme pretty near it. somewhere in those early days of his in odd scraps of reading he had learned that greece had once been enslaved; that russia had but recently freed her serfs; that england possessed a submerged class. "all people, all countries, have their ups 'and downs, joanna " he would tell her gravely, "and just now it's our turn chapter iii it was joanna's love for beauty that made her consciously see peter bye. it is true that almost as soon as she saw him she lost sight of him again, for the boy did not come up to her requirements which, even at the early age at which these two met, were quite crystallized. joanna liked first of all fixity of purpose. the phrase "when i grow up, i'm going to be" was constantly on her lips. she got into the habit of measuring people, "sizing them up" joel would have said, in accordance with the amount of steadfastness, perseverance and ambition which they displayed. she had little time for shiftless or "do-less" persons. sylvia used to say, half angrily, "joanna, when the bad man gets you, he isn't going to torture you. he's just going to shut you up with lazy, good-for-nothing folks. that will be torture enough for you." peter bye, in spite of the dark arresting beauty which first drew joanna's glance to him across the other white and pink faces in the crowded schoolroom, was undoubtedly shiftless. "not lazy," joanna said to herself, looking at him from under level brows before she dismissed him forever from her busy mind. "it's just that he doesn't care; he just doesn't want to be anybody." she was too young to understand the power of that great force, heredity. she had no notion of the part which it played in her own life. peter was the legitimate result of a heredity that had become a tradition, of a tradition that had become there is confusion warped, that had gone astray and had carried peter and peter bye's father along in its general wreckage. it is impossible to understand the boy's character without some knowledge of the lives of those who had gone before him. as far back as the last decades of the eighteenth century there had been white byes and black byes in philadelphia. the black byes were known to be the chattels of aaron and dinah bye, quakers, who without reluctance had set free their slaves, among them black joshua bye, the great-grandfather of peter. this was done in according to the laws of pennsylvania, which thus allowed the quakers to salve their consciences without offending their thrifty instincts. aaron bye, most people said, was unusually good to his slaves. he had something of the patriarchal instinct and liked to think of himself as ruler over the destiny of many people, his wife's, his children's and more completely that of his slaves. certainly he was very kind to joshua's mother, judy. she was a tall, straight, steely, black woman with fine inscrutable eyes, a thin-lipped mouth and a large but shapely nose. she bore about her a quality of brooding, of mystery, embodying the attraction which she exercised for many men, white and black. but apparently she knew little of this. her only weakness, if such it might be called, was an inexplicable attachment to the white bye family. she married, a few years before receiving her freedom, a man named ceazer, a proud, surly, handsome individual, who refused to adopt the surname of his master; he had belonged to white people named morton. since even after freedom judy would not hear to leaving the bye family, aaron bye greatly pleased by this loyalty offered the position of coachman to ceazer, which the latter, with his customary surliness, accepted. later he not only threw up his job, but ran away, vanishing finally into legend. his was a strange truculent character; he hated slavery, there is confusion hated all white people, hated particularly the mortons, hated ineffably aaron bye. he wanted nothing at his hands. once he knocked down another negro who referred to him as "mist' bye's man." he was no man's man, he assured the stricken narrator, least of all the man of that damn quaker. his enmity went to ridiculous lengths. aaron bye taught joshua how to write and gave him a little black testament for a prize. ix it he wrote "the gift of aaron bye." joshua, delighted, wrote his own name under the inscription and ran and showed it to his mother. she, it turned out, had not been watching his making of pothooks without purpose. underneath her boy's name she fashioned in halting crazy characters her single attempt at writing, her own name, judy bye. nothing would serve joshua then but that he must have ceazer's name in the book, too. remembering that his father could not write, joshua wrote out himself with a fine flourish "ceazer bye" and showed the name to its owner, entreating him to make his mark beside it. ceazer took up the pen in his strong, wiry fingers. "which one ob dese did you say were mine?" joshua pointed it out, waiting for the cross. ceazer made a mark, it was true, but it was a thick broad line drawn through his name with a fury which almost tore the thin page. he was no bye! it was not long after this that he disappeared, a strange, brooding, intractable figure. joshua, although born in slavery, had never known the institution in its more hideous aspects. he had been a very little boy when his freedom came to him. and ceazer, old judy told him, had fought in the revolution! so that joshua knew more of warfare to set people free than of slavery for which war was later to be waged. from him his son isaiah heard almost nothing of the old regime, though there were many vestiges of it on all sides. all he knew was that joshua had there is con~fusionn kept on working for dinah and aaron bye after his emancipation, and that they had given him on the occasion of his marriage to belle potter a huge family bible, bound in leather and with an apocrypha. on the title-page was written in a fine old script: to joshua and belle bye from aaron and dinah bye. "by their fruits ye shall know them." for a long time to isaiah, wh used to pore absorbedly as a boy over this book with its pictures and long old-fashioned s, this inscription savored of vineyards and orchards. the white byes, as a matter of fact, were the possessors of very fine peach-orchards in the neighborhood of what is now known as bryn mawr, and isaiah, even as a little fellow, had been taken out there to pick peaches. his father joshua had spent his life in making those orchards what they were; a born agriculturist, he had an uncanny knowledge of planting, of grafting, of fertilizing. many a farmer tried to inveigle him from aaron bye. but although joshua's wages were small, he had inherited his mother's blind, invincible attachment for the byes. his place was with aaron. it was young white meriwether bye, youngest son of aaron's and dinah's ten children, who told isaiah what the inscription meant. joshua had not married until he was nearly fifty and his single son, black isaiah, and white meriwether were boys together. meriwether used to come to the bye house at fourth and coates streets, which is now fairmount avenue, as often as isaiah used to appear at the bye house at fourth and spruce. isaiah showed the inscription to meriwether, "by their fruits ye shall know them." "yes," said young merry tracing the letters with a fat finger, "that's our family motto." isaiah wanted to know what a motto was. "something," meriwether told him vaguely, "that your whole family goes by." the black boy thought that likely. there is conifusion "everybody knows bye peaches, ain't that so? 'cause of that everybody knows the byes." meriwether, though impressed by this logic, didn't think that that was what was meant. a subsequent conversation with his father confirmed his opinion. "it means this, ziah," he said one hot july afternoon walking home with the colored boy from the brickyard where isaiah worked, "it means it shows the kind of stuff you are. it means-now-you see a bare tree in the winter time don't you, and you don't know what it is? but you do perhaps know an apple blossom when you see it, or a peach blossom. in the spring you see that tree covered, let's say, with apple blossoms. well, you know it's an apple tree." "but what's that got to do with us?" isaiah wanted to know. he was interested, he could not tell why, but his slowworking mind clung to its first idea. "your father wrote it in the book he gave my father. my father hasn't any fruit trees." isaiah never forgot the answer meriwether made him in the unconscious cruelty of youth. "when it comes to people," said the young quaker, "it means pretty much the same thing. now when i grow up, i'm going to be a great doctor," his chest swelled, "but nobody will be surprised. they'll all say, 'of course, he's the son of aaron bye, the rich peach-merchant. good stock there,'" he involuntarily mimicked his pompous father; "and i'll be good fruit. that's the way it always is: good trees, good fruit; rich, important people, rich important sons." "what'll i be?" asked isaiah bye, grotesquely tragic in his tattered clothes, the sweat rolling off his shiny face, so intent was his interest. "well," meriwether countered judicially, "what could you be?" he pondered a moment, his own position so secure that he was willing to do his best by this serious case. "your father and your father's father were slaves. 'course your father's free thiere ics confusion now but he's just a servant. he's not what you'd call his own man. so i s'pose that's what you'll be, a good servant. tell you what, isaiah, you can be my coachman. i'll be good to you. and when you're grown up," said meriwether with more imagination than he usually displayed, "i'll point you out to some famous doctor from france and say, 'his father was a good servant to my father, and he's been a good servant to my father's son.' how'll you like that?" meriwether tapped him fondly if somewhat condescendingly on the arm. "you'll never," said isaiah bye, drawing back from the familiar touch, "you'll never be able to say that about me." and he turned and ran down the hot street, leaving meriwether bye gaping on the sidewalk. after that his father could never persuade him to enter again the bye house, or the bye orchards. fortunately his mother upheld him here. "'tain't as though he had to work for them old byes," she said straightening up her already straight shoulders. "he makes just as much and more in the brick-yard and in helpin' amos white haul." "i know that," joshua would reply impatiently, "but old mist' aaron says-now-he likes to have his own people workin' roun' him. and i don't like to disappoint him." belle bye told isaiah. "i'm not one of his own people, ma," he answered stubbornly, "and after that i'm not ever goin' back." belle was rejoiced to hear this. she would have been an insurgent in any walk of life. joshua was the genuine peasant type-the type, black or white, which believes in a superior class and yields blindly to its mandates. but belle had seen too many changes even in her thirty-five years-she was far younger than joshua-not to know that many things are possible if one just has courage. isaiah, on being questioned, told his mother with considerable reluctance about his conversation with meriwether. belle, while regretting the breach, understood. she had been glad to there is confusion have her boy the associate of young white bye. without expressing it to herself in so many words she had realized that association with meriwether was an education for isaiah. already he was talking more correctly than other colored boys in his group, his manners were good, and though his work was of the roughest kind, his vision was broad, he knew there were other things. "i don't believe," his mother told him wisely, "that you kin go as fur as you dream. too many things agin you fur that, boy. but you kin die much further along the road than when you was born. never forget that." so isaiah was saved from the initial mistake of aiming too high and of coming utterly to smash. yet he accomplished wonders. who shall say how he increased his slender store of knowledge? how he learned to read wise books borrowed and bought as best he might? how he learned geography and history that made his heart-beats go wild since it told him of the french revolution and how a whole nation once practically enslaved arose to a fuller, richer life? the inspiration for all this lay in those careless words of young meriwether. although isaiah met the young fellow many times after that incident, and apparently with friendliness, he never in his heart forgave him. like ceazer he developed a dislike for white people and their ways which developed, however, into a sturdy independence and an unyielding pride. no amount of contumely ever made him ashamed of his slave ancestry. on the contrary, to measure himself against old ceazer and judy gave him ground for honest pride. "see what they were and how far i've gone," he used to say, pleasantly boastful. he resented as few sons of freedmen did the assurance with which the white byes took their wealth and position and power. "hoisted themselves on the backs of the black byes." he resented especially the ingratitude of aaron bye to joshua. there is confusion for himself he asked nothing; being content to fight his own way "through an onfriendly world." the white byes had gone far, but the black byes having now that greatest of all gifts, freedom, would go far, too. they would be leaders of other black men. the upshot of all this was that isaiah bye opened a school for colored youth down on vine street. no name and no figure in colored life in philadelphia was ever better beloved and more revered than his. chapter iv jsaiah did not marry until he was thirty-one, which was an advanced age for his times. even then he had married earlier than his father. old joshua, who died long before isaiah's marriage, had been inordinately proud of his one son. "jes' wouldn't work fer white folks," joshua used to say, "that weren't good enough fer him." isaiah and miriam sayres bye had one son. "meriwether," isaiah wrote in aaron and dinah bye's old gift, and under it in a script as fine and characteristic as that of the original inscription: "by his fruits shall ye know-me." it was a strange but not unnatural bit of pride, the same pride which had made him name this squirming bundle of potentialities, "meriwether,-meriwether bye," a boy with the same name which old white aaron bye's son had borne and with as good chances. the civil war was on the horizon then and isaiah bye, with that calm expectation of the unexpected which was his mother's chiefest legacy, was sure that in that grand ml ee all his people would know freedom. so black meriwether bye, born like himself in freedom, would know nothing but that estate when he began to have understanding. isaiah had accumulated a little, though how that was possible, no one aware of his tiny stipend could guess. it is true he not only taught school, but he had outside pupils, ex-slaves, freedmen, men like himself born in freedom, but unable through economic pressure to enjoy it except in name,-all these crowded his home at night on vine street, and sweated mightily over primers and pothooks and the abacus. twenty-five there is confusion cents an hour he charged them, giving each a meticulous care such as would bring a modern tutor many dollars. he wrote letters, pamphlets, too, for that marvelous organization already well established, the a. m. e. church. his wife had a sister whose husband kept a second-hand shop and from this source he earned an occasional dollar. when meriwether was eight, isaiah owned two houses in pearl street, the house in vine street, a half interest in his brother-in-law's store and a plot in mount olivet cemetery. from the very beginning meriwether knew he was to be a great man-a doctor, his father had said emphatically. and meriwether repeated it by rote. he was a clever enough child though without his father's solid trait of concentration. but he liked the idea of greatness-that and the profession of medicine came to be synonymous with him as it was already with his father. otherwise it is likely that both of them would have seen earlier the boy's inaptitude for the calling thus thrust upon him. meriwether went to his father's school, to mr. jonas howard's catering establishment, which he loved, to sunday-school and to his uncle peter's second-hand store. in any one of these places he was at home. he might have made a good teacher, caterer, minister or storekeeper. yet he meandered on, doing absolutely mediocre work, never failing, never shining, and always rather purposely waiting the day which should bring him to the medical school. he was waiting for something else, too, though this isaiah never guessed. he was waiting for some sign of help or recognition from the white byes. his father had told him of the slaveholder's great debt to old joshua; he had taken him riding past the bryn mawr peach orchards. "by rights part of them ought to belong to us. but i don't mind, no sir-eel let 'em have 'em. see where we are to-day without their help. think of it!" there is confusion meriwether did think of it and did mind it. he learned that he had been named after the son of his grandfather's patron and somehow it seemed impossible to him that that mere fact should not result in something tangibly advantageous. he lacked the imagination to understand the pride which actuated isaiah to name his boy as he had. the year before meriwether was to enter medical school, isaiah, fortunately, for himself, died. a few months later miriam died, too. meriwether was left sole heir to the three houses and two or three hundred dollars. he was tired of school and not at all displeased with the idea of being his own master. he would like a little vacation, he fancied, and a chance to see the world. somebody told him of a good way to do this-why not get a job as train porter? the idea pleased him; there was travel, easy money, besides his little property in philadelphia. and afterwards perhaps there would be the patron for whom he had been named, dr. meriwether bye of bryn mawr. isaiah's mother, belle bye, used to say, "things you do expect and things you don't expect are sure to come to pass." it took isaiah many years to see the reasonableness of this apparently unreasoned statement. certainly one of the things he never expected to come to pass was that his boy meriwether should, first, give up altogether his project of studying medicine and, second, that bit by bit, through sickness, gambling, and a hitherto unsuspected penchant for sheer laziness, he should run through his philadelphia property, thus wiping away all that edifice of respectability and good citizenship which isaiah bye had so carefully built up. colored philadelphia society is organized as definitely as, and even a little more carefully than, philadelphia white society. one wasn't "in" in those old days unless one were, first, "an old citizen," and, second, unless one were eminently respectable,-almost it might be said god-fearing. meriwether there is confusion having been born to this estate suffered all the inconveniences coming to a member of a group at that time small and closely welded. his business was everybody's business. his uncle peter had upbraided him for not studying medicine. jonas howard, the caterer, knew about his first real estate transfer. the young howards and his cousins knew about his gambling and rebuked him admiringly. on one of his "runs" meriwether spent a week in new york. this was in . not a single colored person knew him or cared about him. he rented a room in klity-third street and made that his headquarters. later he rented two rooms and married a young seamstress who died in i when her boy was born. meriwether did do two things after that. first he wrote to dr. meriwether bye telling him who he was and implying he would not disdain a little aid. it is doubtful if the doctor, who at that time was traveling in europe with his tiny grandson, ever received the letter. second, he took to drink. more than anything else he fell into a deep, ineluctable mood of melancholia. here he was, meriwether bye, destined to be a great man, a famous physician. why, he had been a man of property once, with money in the bank! and now he was just a poor nobody, picking up odd jobs, paying his room rent fearfully from week to week, sometimes pawning isaiah bye's chased gold watch. how he worked it out he himself could not have told. but he saw himself a martyr, "driven by fate" from the high eminence of his father's dreams to his own poor realities. think how he had struggled, sacrificed-he believed it-the fun and freedom of youth to come to this! "how," said meriwether bye harking back to sunday-school days, "how are the mighty fallen!" and how easily might they have remained mighty. he named his boy peter after his uncle peter, in whose there is conf~usion second-hand shop in philadelphia he had spent delightful hours. now see the perversity of human nature. just as his father isaiah bye had talked to his son meriwether about the reward of effort and faithful toil, just so meriwether talked to peter about the futility of labor and ambition. and in particular he talked to him about the ingratitude of the white byes-of all white people. "it makes no difference, peter, what you dot or how hard you work. the rewards of life are only fort i-:h or such. you may pour your heart's blood out,"-he had a fine gift of rhetoric —"and still achieve nothing. think of your greatgrandfather. fate favors those whom she chooses. blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall not be disappointed." or, "peter, if life has any favors for you, she'll give them to you without your asking for them. the world owes you a living, let it come to you, don't bother going after it." how completely his son might be absorbing all this, meriwether never knew, for peter; vocal enough with his playmates and others, maintained an owlish silence when his father thus harangued him. but his aunt knew. she was a tall, stout, yellow woman, with that ineffable look of sadness in her eyes characteristic of a certain type of colored people. she was the sister of peter's mother, and when peter's father died, suddenly, inconsequently, she accepted uncomplainingly his son along with her other burdens. peter was then twelve; extraordinarily handsome, vivid and alert. miss susan graves riding home from the cemetery reflected that he might be not such a burden after all. clearly he would soon want to be taking care of himself. "peter," she said thoughtfully, "what do you want to do when you grow up?" "oh, i don't know," her nephew replied, temporarily remov chapter v it may seem a cold-blooded thing to say, but the dying of meriwether bye was about the best thing he could have done for his son, peter. certainly that was what miss susan graves thought as she viewed rather grimly the small and motley collection of belongings which peter transferred to her home in his little express wagon from his father's former landlady, mrs. reading. the collection consisted of a wellworn extra suit of clothes, another pair of shoes, some underwear in sad need of patching, some books chiefly on physiology and anatomy, the bye family bible, a little old black testament, and a box of letters. there was also a big railroad map which peter lugged along under his arm and from which he stubbornly refused to be parted. meriwether, in his brighter moods, used to refer to his "runs" as "business-trips" and would point out to peter just where he would go on such and such a date. the boy learned a lot of geography in this way, and was talking to his playmates about duluth and jacksonville, sacramento and denver, before most of them knew that they personally were living in the country's metropolis. the books on medicine and anatomy had been well thumbed by peter, too. meriwether had received them from old isaiah, his father, and had carried them around on his runs to impress his co-workers in the pullman service. i later he got into the habit of reading from them to peter who always listened in the grave silence which he usually reserved for his father's effusions. for some reason the little boy's brain retained the various and amazing things which his there is confusion father read to him from the dry old books. long before he knew his multiplication tables he knew the names of the principal bones of the body and the course of the food. in fact these books were his first readers, for meriwether, more interested in this dry stuff, now that it was too late to profit him anything, taught his boy how to pronounce the difficult names, so that the latter could read to him. perhaps the poor fellow, dissolute and weak failure though he was, thought that some of the old "greatness" might still accrue to him by this fiction of studying at medicine. the bible was the one thing that peter knew least about. he looked into it once or twice and hitting on isaiah bye's tragically proud inscription: "by his fruits ye shall knowme," spelled it out laboriously, —he always had trouble in reading script,-and asked his father with some natural perplexity what it meant. but meriwether snatched the book away from him with such a black look and took such pains to put it out of his reach, that peter for a long time thought the bible, or at any rate that inscription, must be something decidedly off color. he waited until his father had gone on his next "business-trip" before investigating again, but finding the book nowhere as exciting as his beloved anatomy, he gave up the puzzle and attributed his father's defection to the inscrutable whims and vagaries of the genus called parents. he valued that old bible the least of all his possessions. that was the bitterest day of his life when he found out what it ought to mean to him. miss susan, though not an "old philadelphian" herself, knew something of colored philadelphia's pride in the possession of family and tradition. she would have been glad of course if meriwether bye had left peter some money. but of the two she would-very much rather have had the bible with its absolute assurance of the former standing and respectability of the black byes. she had a family tradition of her own, for she there is confusion t was a member of the graves family of gravestown, new jersey, a clan well known to colored people not only in that vicinity,, but also throughout pennsylvania. the -story is that two white sisters in the middle of the eighteenth century fell in love with two of their father's black slaves. the negroes may have been african princes for all any one knows to the contrary. since nothing they could do or say would win their father's consent to such a union, the girls ran away with their lovers, and married them, with or without benefit of clergy it is impossible to relate. nature and god alike, instead of being disconcerted at this utter contravention of the laws of man, presented each couple with numerous children. when these reached mating age, finding themselves out of favor with both black and white of their community, the cousins solved the problem by marrying each other. thet children of each generation did the same, whether driven to it by like necessity or not, history does not say. but by the time the next brood appeared a precedent had been established, and graves married graves not only as a matter of course, but as a matter of pride. they were able to do this, being automatically rendered free by the fact that a white woman had married a black man. miss susan graves had not married for the simple and sufficient reason that in her day there were not enough male graves to go around. she would as soon have thought of marrying outside her family as a spanish grandee would have thought of marrying an english cockney. in those days the position of old maid had its decided disadvantages-few people if any gave her the benefit of the doubt that she might have remained single from choice. yet miss susan graves, in spite of three other offers, soared on family pride above all this and made her career that of housekeeper for the family of a wealthy merchant on girard avenue, in philadelphia. (you there is confusion must marry a graves, but obviously you obtained work where you could find it.) there was a younger sister, alice graves, not as direct in purpose as susan, yet in some respects curiously strong. she had always considered the graves' tradition silly: it was so unexciting marrying someone whom you had known and seen all your life. what was marriage for if not for a change? when the oldest son of merchant sharples of girard avenue married and went to new york, susan graves went along as housekeeper. and thither alice graves followed shortly to do sewing for that intricate but orderly household. meriwether bye, who had known both ladies in philadelphia —for miss susan bye was a frequent visitor both at his father's and his uncle peter's house-came to see them in his rare fits of loneliness, and between runs courted alice graves in central park. of course it would have been better if alice could have married a graves, but susan resigned herself easily to the matterfor bye belonged to old stock and must, she thought, make good eventually. but she developed a strong dislike for him before his death, and took peter not only for his mother's sake but also to dispel if possible his father's doubtless harmful influence. peter was a surprise to his aunt. she found him kind but thoughtless, industrious on occasions but unspeakably shiftless, not too proud, not very grateful and with no sense of responsibility. his father of course spoke there. yet the boy was indubitably charming, never complained, and usually did as he was told. miss susan found herself between two mindsshe had an impulse to work her fingers to the bone and thus spare alice's beautiful son the tussle with poverty which he must know, and again a desire to speak and act forcibly and drive him into an acknowledgment of what her loyalty to her sister was leading her to do for a homeless, friendless lad. actually she struck a medium, made him keep clean, insisted there is confusion on his regular attendance at school, took him to sunday-school and church entertainments and induced him to work on saturdays and holidays by refusing pocket-money to "a boy as big as you." she could not understand why he chose a job in a butcher's shop. doubtless peter hardly knew himself. "i like to watch the man saw the bones," he would have said vaguely. "i can do it, too. i can cut up a chicken or a rabbit just as neatly!" chapter vi t was joanna who first acquainted peter with himself. but neither of the children knew this at the time. and although peter came to realize it later it was tnany years before he told her so. for, though he went through many changes and though these two came to speak of many things, he kept a certain inarticulateness all his lifetime. joanna and all the older marshalls went to a school in west fifty-second street, one after another like little steps, with joanna at first quite some distance behind. they were known throughout the school. "those marshall children, you know those colored children that always dress so well and as though they had someone to take care of them. pretty nice looking children, too, if only they weren't colored. their father is a caterer, has that place over there on fifty-ninth street. makes a lot of money for a colored man." peter, unlike joanna, had gone to school, one might almost say, all over new york, and nowhere for any great length of time. meriwether had stayed longest at mrs. reading's but as, in later years, he more and more went off on his runs without paying his bills, mrs. reading frequently refused to let peter leave the house until his father's return. "for all i know he may be joinin' his father on the outside and the two of them go off together. then where'd i be? for them few rags that mr. bye keeps in his room:wouldn't be no good to nobody." this enforced truancy was the least of peter's troubles. he did not like school, —too many white people and consequently, as he saw it, too much chance for petty injustice. 'the result there is confusion of this was that peter at twelve, possessed it is true of a large assortment of really useful facts, lacked the fine precision, if the doubtful usefulness, of joanna's knowledge at ten. when miss susan settled in the marshalls' neighborhood and brought peter to the school in fifty-second street he was found to be lacking and yet curiously in advance. "we'll try him," said the principal doubtfully, "in the fifth grade. i'll take him to miss shanley's room." miss shanley was joanna's teacher. she greeted peter without enthusiasm, not because he was colored but because he was clearly a problem. joanna spied him immediately. he was too handsome with his brown-red skin, his black silky hair that curled alluringly, his dark, almost almond-shaped eyes, to escape her notice. but she forgot about him, too, almost immediately, for the first time miss shanley called on him he failed rather ignominiously. joanna did not like stupid people and thereafter to her he simply was not. on the contrary, joanna had caught and retained peter's attention. she was the only other colored person in the room and therefore to him the only one worth considering. and though at that time joanna was still rather plain, she already had an air. everything about her was of an exquisite perfection. her hair was brushed till it shone, her skin glowed not only with health but obviously with cleanliness, her shoes were brown and shiny, with perfectly level heels. she wore that first week a very fine soft sage-green middy suit with a wide buff tie. the nails which finished off the rather square-tipped fingers of her small square hands, were even and rounded and shining. peter had seen little girls with this perfection and assurance on chestnut street in philadelphia and on fifth avenue in new york, but they had been white. he had not yet envisaged this sort of thing for his own. perhaps he inherited his great-grandfather joshua's spiritless acceptance of there is confusion things as they are, and his belief that differences between people were not made, but had to be. joanna clearly stood for something in the class. peter noted a little enviously the quality of the tone in which miss shanley addressed her. to other children she said, "gertrude, can you tell me about the articles of confederation?" usually she implied a doubt, which gertrude usually justified. but she was sure of joanna. the tenseness of her attitude might be seen to relax; her mentality prepared momentarily for a rest. "joanna will now tell us,-" she would announce. for joanna, having a purpose and having been drilled by joel to the effect that final perfection is built on small intermediate perfections, got her lessons completely and in detail every day. it was at this time and for many years thereafter characteristic of peter that he, too, wanted to shine, but did not realize that one shone only as a result of much mental polishing personally applied. joanna's assurance, her air of purposefulness, her indifference intrigued him and piqued him. he sidled across to the blackboard nearest her-if they were both sent to the board-cleaned hers off if she gave him a chance, managed to speak a word to her now and then. he even contrived to wait for her one day at the girls' entrance. joanna threw him a glance of recognition, swept by, returned. his heart jumped within him. q"if you see my sister sylvia,-you know her?-tell her not to wait for me. i have to go early to my music-lesson. shell be right out." sylvia didn't appear for half an hour and peter should have been at the butcher's, but he waited. sylvia and maggie ellersley came out laughing and glowing. peter gave the message. "thanks," said sylvia prettily. maggie stared after him. she was still the least bit bold in those days.., *~ x, there is confusion there is confusion - "ain't he the best looker you ever saw, sylvia? such eyes! who is he, anyway? not ever joanna's beau?" "imagine old joanna with a beau." sylvia laughed. "he's just a new boy in her class. he is good looking." some important examinations were to take place shortly and miss shanley planned extensive reviews. she was a thorough if somewhat unimaginative teacher and she meant to have no loose threads. so she devoted two days to geography, two more to grammar, another to history, one to the rather puzzling consideration of that mysterious study, physiology. perhaps by now the class was a bit fed up with cramming, perhaps the children weren't really interested in physiological processes. joanna wasn't, but she always got lessons like these doggedly, thinking "soon we'll be past all this," or "i'm going to forget this old stuff as soon as i grow up." poor miss shanley was in despair. she could not call on joanna for everything. pupil after pupil had failed. her eye roved over the room and fell on peter's black head. she sighed. he had not even been a member of the class when she had taught this particular physiological phenomenon. "can't anyone besides joanna marshall give me the 'course of the food?"' peter raised his hand. "he looks intelligent," she thought. "well, bye you may try it." "i don't think- i can give it to you the way the others say it,"-the children had been reciting by rote, "but i know what happens to the food." she knew he would fail if he didn't know it her way, but she let him begin. this was old ground for peter. "look, i can draw it. see, you take the food in your mouth," he drew a rough sketch of lips, mouth cavity and gullet, "then you must chew it, masticalk i think you said." he went on varying from his own there is confusion simplified interpretation of meriwether bye's early instructions, past difficult names like pancreatic juice and thoracic duct, and while he talked he drew, recalling pictures from those old anatomies; expounding, flourishing. miss shanley stared at him in, amazement. this jewel, this undiscovered diamond! "how'd you come to know it, peter?" "i read it, i studied it." he did not say when. "but it's so easy to learn things about the body. it's yourself." she quizzed him then while the other children, joanna among' them, stared open-eyed. but he knew all the simple ground which she had already covered, and much, much beyond. "if all the children," said miss shanley, forgetting peter's past, "would just get their lessons like peter bore and joanna marshall." she had coupled their names together! and after school joanna was waiting for him. he walked up the street with her, pleasantly conscious of her interest, her frank admiration. "how wonderful," she breathed, "that you should know your physiology like that. what are you going to be when you grow up, a doctor?" "a surgeon," said peter forgetting his old formula and expressing a resolve which her question had engendered in him just that second. he saw himself on the instant, a tall disk tinguished-looking man, wielding scissors and knife with deft nervous fingers. joanna would be hovering somewhere-he was not sure how-in the offing. and she would be, looking at him with this same admiration. "my, won't you have to study?" joanna could have told an aspirant almost to the day and measure the amount of time and effort it would take him to become a surgeon, a dentist, a lawyer, an engineer. all these things joel discussed about his table with the intense seriousness which colored men feel when they speak of their children's futures, there is confusion alexander and philip were to have their choice of any calling within reason. they were seventeen and fifteen now and the house swarmed with college catalogues. schools, terms, degrees of prejudice, fields of practice,-joanna knew them all. "yes," said peter, "i suppose i will have to study. how did you come to know so much-did your father tell you?" "why, i get it out of books, of course." joanna was highly indignant: "i never go to bed without getting my lessons. in fact, all i do is to get lessons of some kind-school lessons or music. you know i'm to be a great singer." "no, i didn't know that. perhaps you'll sing in your choir?" then joanna astonished him. "in my choir-i sing there already! no! everywhere, anywhere, carnegie hall and in boston and london. you see,. i'm to be famous." "but," peter objected, "colored people don't get any chance at that kind of thing." "colored people," joanna quoted from her extensive reading, "can do everything that anybody else can do. they've already done it. some one colored person somewhere in the' world does as good a job as anyone else, —perhaps a better one. they've been kings and queens and poets and teachers and doctors and everything. i'm going to be the one colored person who sings best in these days, and i never, never, never mean to let color interfere with anything i really want to do." "i dance, too," she interrupted herself, "and i'll probably do that besides. not ordinary dancing, you know, but queer beautiful things that are different from what we see around here; perhaps i'll make them up myself. you'll see! they'll have on the bill-board, 'joanna marshall, the famous artist,'-" she was almost dancing along the sidewalk now, her eyes and cheeks glowing. peter looked at her wistfully. his practical experience and chapter vii sylvia and joanna, walking through sixty-third street on an errand for their mother, came upon groups of children playing games. italians, jews, colored americans, white americans were there disporting themselves with more or less abandon, according to their peculiar temperament. "look," said joanna suddenly, catching at sylvia's hand. "see those children dancing! wait, i've got to see that!" out in the middle of the street a band of colored children were dancing and acting a game. with no thought of spectators they joined hands, took a few steps, separated, spun around, smote hands sharply, and then flung them above their heads. one girl stood in the middle, singing too, but with an attentive air. presently she darted forward, seized a member of the ring: "say, little missy, won't you marry met" their voices were treble and sweet, though shrill, and rang with a peculiar, piercing quality above the street noises and the sounds of the other children's games. the little players were absorbed, enraptured with the spirit of the dance and the abandon of the music. joanna, too, was in a transport. she watched them going through the motions several times. presently she caught all the words: "sissy in the barn, join in the weddin, sissy in the barn, join in the weddin'" the child in the center here chose a partner. the others sang: there is confusion "sweetest 'il couple i ever did see. barn! barn! they stamped here. "arms all 'round me! barn! the two children in the center embraced each other while the rest sang: "say, little missy, won't you marry met" then the two in the center pointed fingers at each other, shrilling: "stay back, girl, don't you come near me all them sassy words you say! then all: oh, barn! barn! "arms all 'round me! say, little missy, won't you marry me? marry me?" the last line came as a faint echo. joanna rushed forward: "i can play itl girls let me play it, too!" the children stared at her a moment, then, with the instinct of childhood for a kindred spirit, two of them unclasped hands and took joanna in. she outdid them all in the fervor and grace of her acting. two white settlement workers stopped and looked at her. "come on, joanna," sylvia called impatiently. joanna came running, a string of the children after her. she bade them goodby. "i must go now, but i'm coming back sometime soon, to learn some more." she blew them a kiss, "good-by, oh, good-by!" she came up to sylvia flushed and excited. "we'll play it hbme, sylvia! wasn't it lovely and dear? oh, i could dance there is' confusion like that forever!" she went almost all the entire remaining distance on tip-toe. life in joel marshall's house was not always a serious discussion of the marshall children's future. like many of the better class of colored people, the marshalls did not meet with; the grosser forms of color prejudice, because they kept away from the places where it might be shown. this was bad from the standpoint of development of civic pride and interest. but it had its good results along another line. the children took most of their pleasures in their house or in those of their friends and devoted their wits and young originality to indoor pastimes. the marshall house was a great center for this kind of thing, and already friday and saturday nights were being regularly set apart for the children's amusement and for the reception and entertainment of the various young people who dropped in. joanna taught her dance. sylvia and philip and alexanderwere willing pupils; joanna was magnetic when in this kind of mood. by the time harry portor and maggie ellersley arrived, they were all singing and stamping and twirling. peter came in late, held up by the butcher. "had to go on an errand for the grand white folks," he explained briefly. "you'll wear out my carpet to-night for sure," said mrs. marshall, but she loved the dancing as much as any of them, and got up and took a turn. joanna taught the tune to peter, who had a good ear, and bhe ran over to the old-fashioned square piano and rattled it off to a wild thumping accompaniment.. when brian spencer came in, who even in those days was pretty sure to be where slyvia was-the fun was at its height. peter, strumming a haunting, atavistic measure; joanna, dancing like a faun, instructed maggie ellersley. "now, maggie, dance up to one of them. all right, take philip. you point your finger at him,-no both of you. yes, you're right, peter. i forgot that. see, phil, peter's learned there.e is confusion~ it already. here i'll do it by myself; all of you stand back." she went through an elaborate pantomime, stretching out her hands as though clasping a partner on each side. she described an imaginary circle for the ring and ran into the midst of it. an imaginary partner was before her and she drew him in, pointed a slim, brown finger at him, rested both hands on her young hips, pirouetted, sang to him gayly: "stand back, boy, don't you come near me!" "my," laughed brian spencer, clapping loudly. "can't you see it all just as plainly? really, jan, you ought to go on the stage as an impersonator, i don't believe you could be beat." he was a tall dark boy with fine proud features that looked chiseled. he and alexander were home from college for the easter vacation. maggie ellersley, as it happened, had been at a matinee the week before. "it was vaudeville, joanna, and there was an actress there who took off different people and then she did some irish folk dances, but she couldn't hold a candle to you. too bad we're colored." "it's not going to make any difference to me," said joanna determinedly. "mother and father are willing. if i want to go on the stage i'll get there." "joanna has the faith that moves mountains," laughed peter. "if anybody can make it she can." peter was a regular visitor at the marshall home now. ever since that day four years before when he had told joanna of his.new-born determination to be a surgeon, he had spent all his spare time near her. miss susan graves did not like this at first, not that she resented peter's absence from her so much, but he was a bye and she did not choose to have him associate too much with people whom she did not know. it was no part of her plan for peter to retrograde into the wreck which meriwether had become. she made it her business to meet mrs. marshall at a church affair there is confusion "i think," said miss graves, eyeing joanna's mother with her clear, square gaze, "that my boy has spoken to me of you." mrs. marshall looked puzzled. she thought this was a miss graves. "peter bye," his aunt continued, "he's my nephew. he often speaks of joanna marshall." "oh, peter! yes, we like to have him at the house. the girls find him great fun. so you're his aunt. you must come to see us, too. get him to bring you." miss graves came and was impressed enough to let peter continue, though he would have continued without her permission. but miss susan, like belle bye nearly a century ago, recognized atmosphere when she saw it. she was poor; peter was penniless. these were the sort of people her nephew ought to know. she liked joel's success, his pride, his air of being somebody. she estimated, rightly the correctness of the old-fashioned walnut furniture, the heavy curtains, the kidney table in the parlor, the massive silver service and good linen. it is true sylvia changed much of this-except the silver-for cretonnes and wicker chairs and gay rugs. but as miss susan went to the house only a few times she did not know of this. what she especially liked was the spirit of life, of ambition and hopefulness that pulsed in that household. as miss graves grew older, she began to see that her younger sister had had some pretty good views after all, that it did not do to stick to settled views,-"this for me, and that quite other thing for you." the great things of life were for the taking, it was true, but the result of deliberate planning. one did not simply stumble into success. she had lived too long with "the best white people" not to find that out. joel knew this, too, she realized. his whole life was devoted to the mapping out of his children's future. his own and joanna's high enthusiasms had borne fruit. of late the boys, philip and alexander, had talked good solid man-talk. there is confusion "colored people will be going big pretty soon. we'll have to get in it, too, pa." miss susan decided this was a good place for peter. even if she had the money to do so, she could not send him to a school where he would meet with more inspiration in both precept and actual concrete example. already in the lesser things this association was bearing fruit. peter was too handsome, too graceful, too charming ever to be considered a boor. but he had lacked finish, that fine courtliness of manner which miss susan noted could convert a man of most ordinary appearance into a prince. she had marked it among jacob sharples' grandsons. peter had not possessed a knowledge of that delicacy, of that attention to trifles which, once gained by a man, gives him passport everywhere. miss susan had noticed, to her regret, the boy's tendency to let her carry bundles, to look after even the heavier household duties. it had never occurred to him if the weather were cold or stormy, to offer to go errands for her. and his aunt, practical though she was, shrank from calling his attention to these things. she did not want him to think of her as exacting a return for her kindness. now the marshall boys were fine gentlemen. joel had made them so by teaching, as well as by his attitude toward their mother and sisters. joanna and sylvia, particularly sylvia, helped the boys out with an occasional stitch, an occasional sewing on of a button. when alexander was getting ready for college, and was working at nights to help with his expenses, sylvia used to arrange sandwiches and milk for him when he came in late. and joanna had recopied'bis chemistry and history notes. these were only kind trivialities, but the boys treated their sisters like queens. philip was a little like sylvia, only neither as handsome nor as lithe and quick. alexander-alec, sandy, the girls called him variously-was slower, like joanna. both boys were tall and well set-up. there is confusion the girls used to thrill a little-sisters to them though they were-over the very real and thoughtful gallantry of these two young men. miss susan had remarked this quality as soon as she met them. and she was beginning now to see its reflection in peter. and as he had beauty and great personal charm to go with it, it distinguished him even more than the marshall boys. she half way suspected a conscious assumption of this on his part. "but if he keeps it up, it will become part of him," she thought to herself, "and then-girls be careful." she would have been a little fearful for joanna had she not noticed immediately in the young girl that indomitable desire for distinction. "joanna will never fall in love with anybody," she said once to a common friend of herself and the marshalls. "she'll never be able to take her mind off long enough from her high falutin dreams." of course peter had no conception why his aunt liked him to visit the marshalls. he was only too glad that she didn't disapprove. he was seventeen now and beginning to know himself in some ways pretty well. he liked sandy and philip and sylvia marshall-liked them very well, and joannai it could hardly be said that he loved her at this time. but he knew that what he liked best of all in the world was to be near her, to watch her, and to listen to her plans. she had little shadowy gleams in her dark thick hair, glints of light that ended abruptly in wavy blackness. he would like to touch it. he remembered that he had once pulled her hair. he had done it often! but now, though she was only fifteen, he did not dare. yet he often touched sylvia's. the night that joanna taught them all the barn dance, peter maneuvered until he got harry portor at the piano, and said: there is confusion "how does that part go, joanna? here i am in the center. then i take you in. then —" "put your arms around her," said sylvia. "that's it. now,barn! barn!" he went home and fairly babbled to his aunt about it. "joanna is the most wonderful!" there is, con~fusion, more could she want? alas, in that dull soul unknown aspirations stirred, amazing questions took form. "why, why, why?" asked mis' sparrow in her own peculiar dialect, "are all the sweetness and light of life showered on some and utterly denied to me?" at present mis' sparrow had fastened a resentful eye on mrs. proctor, the bride of the son of the "white folks" for whom she worked. edmonia the maid had told her about the newcomer, and over the supper table she retailed it to mrs. ellersley. "she wan't nobuddy. jes' a little teeny slip of ole white gal. no money, no fambly, no nuthin'." "where'd he meet her then?" asked mrs. ellersley, uninterested but polite. "young mr. proctor's sister met her in boardin'-school, poorest thing there," replied mis' sparrow, wiping a puckered mouth with her apron. " 'monia says miss dorothy sorry for her and got her a job in her father's office. mr. harry was jes' home f'um college; he saw her, took a fancy to her and jes' married her. jes' wouldn't listen to nobuddy a-tall." "don't it beat all," pondered mrs. ellersley, "how some people have all the luck? now if that kind of thing could just happen to my maggie." mis' sparrow was unmoved by the irrelevant allusion to maggie. where would she get such a chance? "'monia says she don't even love him. liked some young travelin' salesman she'd known all her life. 'monia declares she cries about him when she's by herself." "what she marry him for then?" asked maggie ellersley, aged twelve, and an interested listener. "h'm child, wouldn't you do anything to get away f'um hard work, an' ugly does an' bills? some w'ite folks has it most as bad as us poor colored people. on'y thing is they has more opporchunities." there is confusion maggie, visualizing the life which she and her mother endured, thought she probably would. she thought it again after they had reached the tenement in thirty-fifth street where the two of them lived. it was the famous "tenderloin" of those days and maggie's spirit revolted with a revulsion of feeling which never ceased to amaze her mother against the sordidness of that place. there were three rooms. the front one looked on the street and so was well lighted, but the other two got light only from the air-shaft. mrs. ellersley, a widow who considered herself fortunate to be one, rented the front room out, usually to train-men (perhaps some of meriwether's acquaintances were among them), occasionally to a married couple. she and maggie slept and lived in the two wretchedly ventilated rooms, in a perpetual gloom penetrated ever so slightly by a flickering blue flame. a confusion of clothes, obscene old furniture, boxes, stale newspapers was littered about them. for some reason the rooms were everlastingly damp, perhaps because, although rain could get down the air-shaft, the sunlight never could. the rooms gave maggie a constantly eerie feeling, which in later more fortunate years she was always able to recall by the sight of a gas-flame burning low and blue. they never, in those days, enjoyed a really bright flame. saving was mrs. ellersley's insistent because necessary fetish. maggie's tea was always weak, and never sweet enough. the bread-baker's with holes in it, yesterday's, two loaves for five cents-was always stale; the meat usually salt and sometimes tainted. out of it all maggie bloomed-a strange word but somehow true. she was like a yellow calla lily in the deep cream of her skin, the slim straightness of her body. she had a mass of fine, wiry hair which hung like a cloud, a mist over two there is confusion gray eyes. her lips, in spite of her constant malnutrition, persisted unbelievably red. when she met excitement those gray eyes darkened and shone, her cheeks flushed a little, her small hands fluttered. and she was nearly always excited. something within her frail bosom pulsed in a constant revolt against the spirit of things that kept her in these conditions. "i will not always live like this, ma-i'll get out of it some way." and her mother, though always scoffing, believed her with a dreary hopefulness. "if there's a way to be found out, maggie'll find it." maggie found early that one avenue of escape lay through men. they were stronger than women, they made money. they did not give the impression of shrinking from spending the last penny lest when that cent was gone there should be no more. all the train-men liked her.' she could not get much order in that abominable home, but she could and did keep herself clean and neat. she washed her few garments over night; she wound a stray ribbon, from a box of cigars or a box of candy, through her hair. some of the men, young students, "on the road" during their summer vacations, used to flirt with her. "hurry and grow up, mag. when i get through school i'll come back and marry you. how'd you like to live in a little house-not like this!-in washington?" or wilmington or savannah as the case might be. "i'd give you pretty dresses." poor maggie. her calla-lily charm visibly lessened in those days when she opened her pretty mouth. she disclosed herself then for what she was, a true daughter of the tenderloin. "aw quit your kiddin!" but she came slowly to realize that here was a way out. if she could only grow up-if she were-say-seventeen. there is confusion she was persistently frail, else her mother might have put her to work. as it was she was sent to school very regularly -to save fuel and gas. evenings she went to -the houses where her mother worked and got her dinner. on the night after she had listened to mis' sparrow's comments about young mrs. proctor, she sat thoughtful a long time. she had sense enough to know that very often these train-men stayed poor. they made pretty good money-they did, too, in those days-but not enough to save their wives from labor. maggie did not want to wash and iron, to go through the dreary existence which had been her mother's when her father was living; he had run on the road. suppose, just suppose, there were some colored men who were fortunate, successful, who had enough to eat, who could give their wives help. her mother knew of ministers like that. there were colored doctors and lawyers somewhere. their very titles connoted prosperity. "ma," she spoke out of her brown study, "are there any very rich colored men?" "not any very rich ones, i don't think," mrs. ellersley replied thoughtfully, "but lots very well off, comfortable, with servants to wait on 'em." she sighed. "i'm going to meet one," said maggie solemnly, and henceforth she thought, she dreamed of nothing else. when she was fourteen young john howe, who was occupying the front room, came down with a spell of typhoid fever. he begged mrs. ellersley not to send him to the hospital, and it was impossible to get him to his home in oklahoma. hejhad enough money to see him through, and he put his fortunes and his case into her withered hands. all the trainmen knew of mrs. ellersley's absolute honesty. she did what she could for him, sat up long nights, gave him his medicine faithfully, "counted out his money." there is confusion twelve men here for this room since you've been sick. the rest of the rooms aren't much, but mother always keeps this room tidy, and we're honest. they all know that. never missed a penny here, any of them. and they tell their friends about us. lots of times they tell ma if she only had more room she'd have all the roomers she wanted." "but you've no furniture." "we could buy on the instalment plan."' she had her scheme all worked out. clearly she had nursed her project. "mr. howe, if you could just help us to begin." he would, he told her, convinced by her earnestness. "what exactly do you want me to do, maggie?" she wanted him to make his headquarters with them for the year, and to pay as much as he could in advance. it was still early summer. he must write and tell other men, who would want rooms, and get a few of them to pay in advance, too. "train-men won't mind that," she told him shrewdly, "they'll like to know they have some place to go to when they've cleaned themselves out at cards, or whatever it is they do. that will pay a month's rent, and leave something, and with what we pay on this-this hole, we'll have something to put on the furniture." "i. guess you're right," said howe, "i'll speak to your mother.about it." but that was useless. mrs. ellersley was sure of her livelihood, her mere existence here, but she was doubtful about a great venture. "of course, for maggie's sake i'd like to get away." "oh, ma, do-do, ma," maggie had pleaded in an ecstasy of longing. "this is our one chance. you see if we don't take this we'll never get away." fortunately she had howe to back her. "she's right, mrs. ellersley, and this is no place for a young girl to grow up. there is confusion you can count on me. i'll go look for a house, and see about some furniture. i know plenty of fellows would be glad to come." miraculously the scheme worked. it gave maggie her first insight into the workings of life. if you wanted things, you thought and thought about them, and when an opportunity offered, there you were with your mind made up to jump at it. of course they were poor, but at least they were decent. john howe, staying for that year in new york, realizing more and more how truly he was indebted to maggie and her mother, took a proprietary interest. he laid the cheap rugs, he set up the cots, three in a room, he did mysterious jobs in the bath-room which to maggie was always so marvelous. he bought tools and fixed window-cords which the landlord neg-lected. maggie darned his socks for him, and he bought some wall-paper, cheap but clean and virginal, a soft yellow, and papered her square box of a room. a good job he made of it, too. another roomer at his instigation made a dressing table out of a packing box which mrs. ellersley, re-invigorated, covered with scrim. gradually, word of her rooming-house spread among the better class of transients. all her lodgers gave her their mending to do, she washed for some of them, gave breakfast to a few chosen spirits, and they paid willingly and well. maggie was in transports.. this was something like a home. of course, she had to attend school in the district. her mother took her as soon as matters were settled. she looked fresh and neat in a dark blue serge dress trimmed with black braid, the gift of melancholy mis' sparrow who in turn had had it from young mrs. proctor. the dress was worn, but it was whole, and maggie had tacked a tiny turnover of white lace in the high collar. there is confusion she was assigned to the eighth grade. there were two of them in the school. her star was in the ascendant, for she was assigned to the one of which sylvia marshall was a member. she would have fared differently if it had been joanna, for unless she were markedly clever, joanna, who was intellectually a snob, would probably never have seen her. but sylvia spied her at once. she came over to maggie at recess. "you're a new girl, aren't you? want me to show you your way around?" maggie looked at the pretty girl, charming in a soft dark red cashmere dress made with a wide pleated skirt. she had on little patent leather, buttoned shoes with cloth tops, and a big red bow perched butterfly fashion on her dark head. joanna wore her hair rather primly back from her face, but sylvia's was parted and rolled in waves over her ears, then it was caught up and confined by the bow. she had a thin gold bracelet on one arm. and about her hung the aura of well-being and easy self-assurance which marked all the marshall children. "i wish you would," said maggie. sylvia in those days was an ardent worker in old zion sunday school and had promised to help in a campaign for more students. she told maggie about it within the next two or three days. "my mother is going to entertain the new folks whom i get to join. will you join?" maggie would and so went to sylvia's home as her mother's guest. she never forgot that home with its quiet dignity and atmosphere of prosperity. the marshall children were a revelation to her. she had not known of colored people like these. "at last i'm getting to know decent people," she told her mother. there is confusion she had a passion for respectability and decency quite apart from what they connoted of comparative ease and comfort, though she coveted these latter, too, and meant some day to have them. "two months ago," she thought, "i was still in that horrible house on thirty-fifth street, and i got away. if that could happen, anything could happen." she lay in her bed at nights in the little yellow room and saw visions. chapter ix she played her cards with an odd mixture of deliberation and spontaneity. "maggie adores you, sylvia," said joanna. "i think she does," sylvia replied modestly. "i don't know why, i'm sure. she certainly is nice to me." maggie's obvious admiration and sylvia's naive acceptance made the way easy. it is hard not to be nice to someone who shows plainly that you are her ideal, your company her supreme satisfaction. maggie wore her hair like sylvia's, she copied when she could her manner of dressing, she spent half her time at the marshall house. she saw the value of absolute honesty. no need to pose when telling the exact truth brought what one wanted without the strain of living up to a false position. the marshalls soon knew of maggie's poverty, of the quick wit and determination which had brought them from that "dump-heap"maggie's word-to the respectable and comfortable if still cheap boarding-house. sylvia used to talk to her mother about it. mrs. marshall suggested that she hand over to maggie one or two of her perfectly good but discarded dresses. but sylvia objected with a very real delicacy. "she goes to the same school i go to and to sunday-school. i wouldn't want the other children to see her in my things, she'd feel so badly." her mother saw the justice of that. "i suppose i have one or two things. there's that old brown henrietta of there is conwusion mine and the silk poplin. how'll she get them made over though, sylvia? now don't expect me to help." "oh, mamma, you darling! you really are a brick! that poplin is old rose, isn't it? she ought to look lovely in it. i can fix them. you know how i love to fix things over and maggie knows how to sew on the machine. if she stayed here three or four days, the rest of this week, we could finisi them." mrs. marshall agreed, maggie's mother was consulted, maggie came in an ecstasy. her first sojourn away from home! and what a sojourn! naturally neat though she was, she learned of toilet mysteries, of rites of which she had never dreamed. nightly hair-brushings and the discovery that of course each one had her own brush and comb! frequent washings of both, talcum powders! joanna the ascetic used scentless ones, but sylvia's were highly fragrant. these maggie preferred. a bath every night. "if you don't mind," said sylvia, "i'll take mine first and then you can stay in as long as you like. i hope that pig joanna hasn't used up all the hot water!' delicacies for breakfast, lunch, and dinner! dinner at six instead of the middle of the day! mrs. marshall complained of a headache saturday morning and joanna took her breakfast up to her on a silver tray. mr. marshall kept box on box of cigars in his den. sandy and philip wore superlatively blackened shoes. maggie looked, listened, stored in her memory. the dresses were a success. the rose poplin, being the prettier, was finished first; sylvia had longed so to get her hands on it. maggie put it on saturday morning and stood in front of the cheval mirror in mrs. marshall's room admiring her own and sylvia's handiwork, and herself with it. "it's too pretty to wear in the house. oh, don't let's have there 'is confusion to wait till to-morrow. mamma, couldn't the boys take us to the matinee? maggie, have you seen peter pan?" maggie, it transpired, had seen nothing, had never been inside a theater. "what fun!" sylvia's native delicacy hit on the right expression. "fancy going to your first matin e. can you spare us, mother dear?" the party could be arranged. philip and alexander expressed their willingness. joanna did not care to go, to maggie's astonishment, which increased when she saw how wonderful the theater was. but there were other things. the girl never forgot the thrill that came over her as philip took her arm and led her over dangerous crossings, arranged her seat and program for her, took off her coat. he held it during the performance and wrinkled it shamelessly. sylvia scolded him. "you ought to be ashamed of yourself, phil." "it doesn't matter," maggie interposed happily. she was beginning to have her good time like other people. oh, god bless john howe! the acquaintanceship progressed. all through the high school the two were nearly inseparable. it is true, maggie sought sylvia more than sylvia sought her, but on the other hand maggie's presence was taken as a matter of course by the marshalls and their friends. maggie went to parties with sylvia, the two escorted by brian spencer and philip. often she slept at her house after the parties and at christmas time and week-ends. once, when mrs. marshall took joanna to visit relatives in philadelphia, maggie stayed with sylvia a whole month. in her junior year in the high school she had a long talk with mr. marshall. of course they were still poor, the house just kept them in comfort. maggie had become addicted to the wearing of good clothes. her mother was getting older. there is confusion they needed help from time to time. if mr. marshall would assist her in getting some work. she was young and strong and willing. "no, no, mr. marshall!" she objected as joel-they were sitting in his office-spoke of a loan and reached for his checkbook. "not that! when could i ever pay you back? no, i mean work, real work. i could take orders, count the silver, look after the napery, pay off the men if you'd care to trust me." perhaps a man of another race might have stopped to consider such a proposition coming from the lips of a young and dainty girl. he might have been suspicious and realized that his younger son was working in the business with him just then and the boy and girl would be bound to be thrown together. but colored men of old joel's type are obsessed with the idea of a progressing younger generation. "they must advance," thinks the older man, "i must do all in my power to help them. this is my contribution to mine own." joel taught her his simple system of bookkeeping and installed her. she proved herself efficient, willing, and-her mother's teachings spoke here-absolutely honest. her energy and interest were surprising. "you might think it was her own business," said joel. he had no desire to see either her or any of his children become caterers, but he did like to see a job well done. philip was the only one who had evinced any interest in the business, and that was only during his last year before entering college. he had to make some extra money somehow-both he and sandy had a healthy dislike of burdening their father with their college expenses-and since he had to work he preferred to spend his time and energy in his father's interests. his chief work consisted in directing his father's various squads of waiters. he met them at the house where joel was catering, started them off, checked over necessities, looked there is confusion after the thousand details which lent to joel's service the perfection that so justly brought him fame. maggie often accompanied philip on these trips. sometimes she went to one house and he to another, and he would call for her and take her home. she pondered deeply over the possibility of these meetings. he was usually jolly, unsentimental, almost brotherly. maggie took care to follow his lead. but to her great surprise she was beginning to be conscious of a deep affection for him. at first she had only yearned for respectability and comfort, and philip represented such a convenient short cut to her heart's desire. but now things were different. sometimes when they came home quite late he would take her arm and the two would walk slowly and silently down the strangely quiet streets. a curious little sense of intimacy used to brood over them at times like these. philip would laugh a little nervously. "awfully jolly being out late like this by ourselves, isn't it, maggie?" she would nod him a smiling yes. "some day," she thought, "he must say more." her studies, her work and these trips with philip took up most of her time just now. she and sylvia of course still saw a great deal of each other and once in a while went out together. she went to the theater still more rarely, or to a church festival with henderson neal, one of her mother's boarders. a mysterious tall brown figure of a man, twenty years older than maggie and a thousand years older in experience, he caught and not infrequently held her attention. he had lived with them two years, paid his bills regularly, asked no questions and vouchsafed no explanations. maggie wondered what he did. whatever his occupation, it certainly paid him well. more than once she had seen him display without ostentation a huge roll of bills, which ap there is confusion parently was static in bulk. his speech was often ungrammatical, but so deliberate that one thought he must be speaking correctly. he had a rather grand air, and listened to both mrs. ellersley and her daughter with a somewhat ponderous attention. maggie thought he was rather interesting for such an old man-he must be nearly forty! she was a little afraid of him, though, and decided it would be rather unpleasant for any one who chanced to make him angry. once he met sylvia and maggie on the street and offered to take them to the matinee. his interest was clearly in maggie but he politely included her friend. sylvia later told philip about it. "i hope you didn't go," he replied quickly. "no, i didn't, maggie didn't, either. but there's no reason why i shouldn't have. she goes with him sometimes." "but that's different. maggie's known different people from any you've ever known. she can take care of herself." "what's the matter?" joanna asked, putting her head in the door. "what's old phil so excited about?" "you might just as well hear this, too, jan. i won't have you and sylvia going about with a man like henderson neal. maggie can go with men that my sisters can't afford to associate with." there is confusion for the arduousness otherwise entailed in the observance of the sabbath. there was always company. joel, a caterer, knew "how it ought to be done." then there were the four children to dress and get off, and the constant oversight of them when they came home to see that they did not break the thousand inhibitions which made the day sacred. "i used to hate it so," sandy laughed. "remember, phil, how we used to try to find those awful sailor collars-i think they're called buster browns now-and see if we couldn't hide them or mark them up before the next sunday? mother must have had a million of them, for we were never able to exhaust her supply." "weren't you sights!" sylvia teased. "you were fat, alec, and your face rose large and round over your collar like a full moon. you had two eyes set away back from your fat cheeks and you had to bend your head way over to look down- " "and you wore a grayish-brownish-greenery-yallery round straw hat," interposed joanna. "don't you talk," philip jeered at them, "i remember two poke bonnets, reddish, with fuzzy stuff sticking up over them." "astrakhan. yes, i remember," sylvia told him. "weren't they awful? and the deadliness of sunday afternoon! you boys sitting around knocking your feet against the rungs of the chairs. such glooms!'" "yes, and you," said sandy, assuming a solemn countenance. "looking dejectedly out of the window, your face propped in your hands!" "joanna was the only one who got anything out of those sundays," philip mused. "i can see her now flat on her tummy reading the life of some exemplary female." "notable women of color," laughed joanna. "i adored sunday." there is confusion certainly no flavor of those past days spoiled the marshalls' enjoyment in these later years. rather remarkably the whole family still went to church, mr. and mrs. marshall from years of long habit, sylvia because she rather liked to please her mother and because it amused her to have brian spencer, whom church-going bored to the point of agony, obey her wish that he should go. sandy, now in the real estate business, thought it gave him standing in the community. philip's reasons were various. chiefly he went to church as he went to many meetings, because he was interested in seeing groups of colored people together. he had a strong desire to sense the social consciousness, for he was trying to learn just what stirred mass feeling and into what channels it could be directed. a minister of the poorest type was an unfailing source of study to him. how would this man sway the people? and what would he ask of them once he had them ready to listen to his will? philip always dreamed of a leader who should recognize that psychological moment and who would guide a whole race forward to the realization of its steadily increasing strength. he dreamed many dreams sitting crosswise in the far corner of his pew, his back partly against the wall, partly against the seat, his lean, brown, slightly haggard face bent forward. he had already the somewhat remote glance of the thinker, though his firm chin pronounced him no less the man of action. maggie ellersley, sitting across the church from him, watching him a little covertly under her drooping hat brim, used to think he looked like a man who would take what he wanted. "if only he knew what he wanted," she half sighed. joanna was the soloist of the choir these days, sole raison d'gtre of her church-going. her mezzo voice full and pulsing and gold brought throngs to the church every sunday. "there is a green hill far away," she sang, and the puzzled, t\her~e is conefusionn groping congregation turned its sea of black and brown, yellow and white faces toward her and knew a sudden peace. even philip stopped his restless inner queries. at times like these peter bye felt his very heart leap toward her. joanna with her cool eyes and steady head cared almost nothing about this. she never saw herself in this scene. always in her mind's eye she was far, far away from the church, in a great hall, in a crowded theater. there would be tier on tier of faces rising, rising above her. and to-morrow there would be the critics.... the sundays passed thus week-end to week-end. one of them stood out in joanna's memory. philip, a harvard junior, was home on his summer vacation, but he and sylvia and sandy had gone to visit their mother's folks in philadelphia. joanna, brian spencer, peter, and maggie ellersley stepped out of church and walked down the torrid street. it was early june, but the weather was that of august. "our children are growing up," said mrs. marshall to mrs. ellersley, lingering a moment in the shady vestibule. "see how tall joanna and maggie have grown. they were the littlest things!" mrs. ellersley followed the group with a wistful eye. of late she had begun to have some idea of maggie's unspoken desires. she wished it were philip instead of brian walking down the street with her daughter. she was very tired, tired enough to die, but she could not, she felt, leave maggie alone, unplaced in the world. the four young people turned the corner and prepared to separate. "brian is coming to the house for dinner," said joanna. "you coming, maggie and peter?" there is confusion maggie had an engagement for the afternoon. peter refused, too, sulkily, to joanna's vast satisfaction. "jealous," she thought with some pride. it was an exhibition with which she seldom met. most of the young men of her acquaintance were a little afraid of joanna with her intent and serious air. "high-brow" they called her and she knew it, liked it, too, though it had its inconveniences. "peter's mad," she laughed as the two moved off, "because i told him i was going to the benefit concert with you, brian, and so he couldn't come to-night." "sorry if i spoked his wheel," said brian, "but you just have to take pity on me, jan, i'm so lonely without sylvia." "of course. isn't it funny that he doesn't realize that? he thinks you are making up to me. as though i would come between you and sylvia. great chance i'd have." "about as much as i'd have, trying to come between you and peter. not that i know anything about you, janna. heaven only knows what you mean to do with the boy. but i wouldn't want to face peter, if i were aiming to be his rival. wonder what he'll do when he goes to the university in philadelphia. what's he going off there for, anyway? can't he do just as well here?" "the penalty of being colored," said joanna soberly. "he can get much better hospital work in philadelphia. of course he could take his pre-medic work here, but he thinks it best to begin where he plans to finish." "how long will he be away?" "forever and ever, six or seven years, i think. of course, we both have relatives in philadelphia. his great-uncle peter, for whom he was named, is still there, you know. peter's counting on living with him. it will save expense." "six or seven years!" said brian disregarding anything else. "golly what a wait! it would kill any girl but you, janna." there is confusion "sylvia didn't die while you were in harvard," joanna returned meanly. "not much she didn't! but she kept me in the back of her head, i'll swear. while you with your singing and dancing and your wildcat schemes of getting on the stage! better stick to your own janna, and build up colored art." "why, i am," cried joanna, astonished. "you don't think i want to forsake- us. not at all. but i want to show us to the world. i am colored, of course, but american first. why shouldn't i speak to all america?" "h'm, i suppose you're right. you ought to win out if anyone can. you work hard enough, janna. you're eighteen now, aren't you? well, you've got a good ways to go. how old is peter?" "twenty. he lost a lot of time when he was little. that's why he's so late entering college. "well look here, what are you going to do with him?" "i may not have a chance to do anything with him, mr. busybody." "phew, isn't it hot! thank goodness here's the house. run along and get your brother-in-law a long, cold drink." he stayed after dinner-they had it on sundays at threeand talked away the rest of the afternoon to joel in the long dark dining room. "it's cool here," said joel, handing him a cigar. "light up and tell me how's harlem?" "great, sir. it's the place for colored people. let us get you a house up there. pick you up something fine in one hundred and thirty-first street." brian, too, had gone into real estate as alexander's partner. joel rolled his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other. "don't know but what i might. this neighborhood's gone down. let me see your house." there is confusion "yes, sir, i will. has-er-sylvia said anything to you about me? i'm getting along pretty well now, sir." "what should she say? here joanna, come take this lovesick boy off my hands!" joanna came, serene and cool, a little prim in her pale yellow dress and soft floppy hat of tan chiffon. she handed brian his panama. "i'm ready, brian." joel stopped them for a moment, clapped the boy on the shoulder. "it's all right as far as her mother and i are concerned, brian." the two went off and heard a gracious, mellow-voiced woman fill a hall with sound that made them forget the heat. "my collar's wringing wet, and i never thought of it. wonderful how music can make people forget." "even color," said joanna thoughtfully. "did you see that white woman next to me edge away when i sat down? but when she heard me humming after it was over, she leaned over and asked me if i knew the words." "i wondered what you were talking about. awfully jolly of you to have taken pity on me to-night, janna dear. you marry peter and all four of us will go to these concerts and sit in the gallery and come home praising god from whom all blessings flow." "it certainly sounds nice. only we mustn't forget philip. don't ring the bell, here's the key." he took it. "all right about philip. maggie is fond of music, too." joanna, in the act of entering the door, stepped back and faced him sharply. "what's maggie got to do with it?" "well, she and phil. they've always paired off together, haven't they? just like you and peter, just like sylvia and me." "she wouldn't dare," said joanna fiercely. "why, philip there is confusion he's going to be somebody great, wonderful, a garibaldi, a toussaint! and maggie, maggie's just nobody, brian. why, do you know what she's taking up? hair work, straightening hair, salves and shampoos and curling-irons." "joanna, you're an utter snob. i always knew you looked down on people unless they were following some mad will o' the wisp. maggie's as good as any of us. why look here, she graduated from high school with sylvia. you can't look down on her." "sylvia's my sister, thank you. she's joel marshall's daughter. she has background, she knows good music and pictures and worth while people." "you talk like a silly book. what's that got to do with it? and, anyway, you can't stop it now." "what's the reason i can't?" "well, good lord, it must be as good as settled. why maggie thinks-only to-day- oh-here, i've said enough. thanks awfully for a nice evening, jan -" "what'd she say, brian?" "well, you know we were coming home from church and you and bye were ahead and i said, 'look at the lucky pair.'" "yes, never mind me. well, well?" "and she said, 'you miss sylvia, don't you, brian?' 'you bet,' i told her. "and she looked at me-you know how maggie can lookshe said, 'just like i miss philip, i guess.'" joanna grew visibly taller. "you let her say that, brian spencer?" "well, how could i stop her? of course she misses phil. and quit acting 'offended pride,' joanna. heavens, doesn't sylvia sometimes do sewing?" "oh, but that's different, she creates, she's an artist -" "artist your grandmother! sleep it off, janna. good night." he went off, striding down the quiet street. there is confusion joanna closed the door and crept quietly up to her room. seated in a wicker arm-chair in a stream of gold summer moonlight, she spent a long time in deep thought. maggie and philip! maggie! of late she and philip had had many a long talk. he'd lean against the mantelpiecehis restless fingers caressing a little black statuette: "jan, i'll talk to you, because you've always cared about this kind of thing. raise a monument-more-enduring-thanbronze sort of business, you know. when i graduate-by the way, i think i'll be elected phi beta kappa next year-i've got a scheme, i've got a plan that will work all right. father will be proud of me, you'll see. and you, too, old girl, you've always been a bright beacon light. you stick to this stage business, you'll win out. there'll be a twin star constellation. 'the well known marshalls, joanna and philip.' we'll make the whole world realize what colored people can do. nothing short of 'battle, murder or sudden death' is to interfere." he, too, had been bitten by the desire to make the most of his life. and now here was maggie ellersley. "what ambition has she?" joanna asked herself fiercely, forgetting to measure the depth of the abyss of poverty and wretchedness from which maggie had sprung. "she shan't spoil my brother's chances." rushing over to her little desk, she pulled out a piece of tan stationery and began a note. "dear maggie —" chapter xi p eter had accompanied maggie as far as the subway station. "you won't mind if i don't go all the way home with you, maggie? fact is, i don't feel so weil to-day, so if you'll excuse me-" his voice trailed indeterminately. maggie smiled at him nicely. she was oddly happy at this moment. linking her name with philip's, as she had, gave her an odd sense of freedom, of sureness. "and brian didn't seem at all surprised," she kept thinking to herself over and over. she answered out loud, "that's all right, peter. go home and rest. i'm going to be in the house only a minute, anyway." she looked at him meaningly. "i guess both of us have a lot to think of. good-by." she flashed down the steps, looked back; a second later a slender golden hand waved to him from the gloom of the subway. "now i don't know what she meant," thought peter, pushing his hat back from his hot forehead, and immediately turning to another idea. "i'd like to punch that fresh brian's head. oh, janna, how could you go off with him?" down in the subway train maggie sat smiling a little inanely. of late, her feeling for philip had taken a definite form; she wanted, as always, desperately to marry, and to marry well in order to secure for herself the decent respectability for which those first arid fourteen years of her life had created an almost morbid obsession. but she knew now that there is confusion but she looked anything but somber as she ran to the door at the whirr of the motor. "going, ma," she called back. mr. neal climbed out of the car and helped her in. he didn't look so old-elderly-to-day, she thought to herself, noting the straightness of his flat back and the smooth bronze of his closely shaven cheek. evidently his beard was very strong and this had lent hitherto a somewhat heavy cast to his face. but to-day he was shaven to the blood. maggie was used to studying men. it was a legacy from the old days, when failure to analyze a prospective roomer's appearance might jeopardize a week's rent. she noticed neal's hands at the wheel, powerful and sinewy with broad square finger-tips. he was still baffling, but not so bad, she thought. "of course, not like philip, but nice enough to go around with, and this is a dandy car." she looked at him again sideways. he caught her glance. "thinkin' i ain't so bad maybe, miss maggie?" she blushed, confused, not so much at his catching her eye as at the completeness with which he had read her thought. "you certainly look nice in that suit, mr. neal. it's different from what most men wear, isn't it?" "likely as not. i picked it up in london last time i crossed the big pond." "you've been to europe?" asked maggie all ears. "yes to england, france, spain, germany and italy. they was a time," he said in his deliberately incorrect way, "when i thought i'd stay in them parts forever, but i come back. used to valet for a rich white fellow. took me everywhere with him. wanted to carry me to africa lion-hunting. but i quit him cold. if you want to hunt lions, go to it. me, i'm a-goin' t'stay right here." he spoke with a heavy emphasis on the last word which lent a curious whimsicality to his speech. there is confusion "this is the first time you've ever talked about yourself, mr. neal. tell me some more, it's mighty interesting." le had been everything from a farmer to a chauffeur, he told her, confirming her idea that his present occupation was concerned with the manipulation of cars. "and i've been a lot of places and i've seen a lot of people. but you don't want to hear about me, miss maggie. they ain't nothing in me to interest a little lady like you. now, on the other hand, seems to me, you might make real interestin' talkin'." he had a nice smile, maggie thought. "there isn't much to tell," she smiled back at him. "there's just my mother and me. i'm twenty-one and i've been out of school three years. i work in the office of mr. marshall, the caterer; you know him?" "know of him, miss maggie, know of him. son's a realestate agent, ain't he?" "yes. well, i'm a sort of overseer-bookkeeper. in my spare time i'm taking up a course in hair-dressing. you know there's a madame harkness who's invented a method of softening hair, and of taking the harshness out of your folks' locks." she laughed at him. "you know i think there's a big future in it. it ought to mean a lot to us. everybody wants to be beautiful, and every woman looks better if her hair is soft and manageable." "reckon you don't need to use no such preparation, miss maggie." "no, i don't, fortunately, but i'll be glad to help those that do. i love to see people look nice; like to look nice myself." "you sure do, you're like a little yellow flower, growin' in that house." he gave her a keen level glance whose boldness was softened by his serious manner. "let's stop talking about me," said maggie with sudden confusion. "don't you want to hear about my mother?" there is confusion "well, not as much as about some others." "anyway, she's been a wonderful mother. my father died when i was about eight, and left us nothing. mother has been hard put to it at times. that's why i want to learn the hair-trade. i want to set up a business for myself some day. if i succeed, both mother and i can live on easy street." "you'd ought to be living there now. a delicate little girl like you's got no business having to worry her pretty head about taking care of herself." he bent on her a long considering look. "there's many a man would be willing to take that job off your bands. i bet i know of one." an odd bashfulness seemed to descend upon him. "perhaps he's going to propose," thought maggie innocently enraptured, "wouldn't that be great?" she pictured sylvia's surprise when she should tell her. his clumsy circumlocution, his heavy deference, delighted her. philip of course was wonderful, but he was inclined, like all the marshalls, to be a little superior. well, why shouldn't they be? she sighed. her silence seemed to put an end to his sentimental maunderings, for he began to talk about the car, explaining its mechanism. once,, too, he turned and swore fluently at a motorist who passed him too closely. at the sudden passion which convulsed his face maggie drew back, a little frightened. he noticed it, and immediately ironed out the lines of anger. "you must forgive me, miss maggie. it made me so angry to think that that fool might have caused an accident which would have injured you." she thought with the ignorant pride of a young girl that it would be very easy for her to manage him. shortly after that they turned around and came home. maggie was glad when they reached the house, for she had many things to think about. shutting off the motor, he followed her into the hall and they there is confusion stood there a minute, his powerful dark figure looming over her. she thanked him prettily. "it was very nice of you, mr. neal. you've been most kind to mother and me." as she sped lightly up the stairs she forgot him completely. her windows were open and a full moon flooded her room with light. "oh, philip if i only knew how you felt," she murmured, getting up and leaning out the window, gazing into the still, hot air. the people next door were in their back yard; one of their boys was playing an accordion. a little thin tinkle of voices floated up to her. how content other people seemed! her mind was feverish-she had concentrated so on her other desires, a decent home, a reasonable education, the means of making a little extra money. it seemed to her she couldn't find the strength to focus the flame of her ambition on philip's kind but immobile attitude. he was so uncomprehending. she turned back to the room again and stretched her arms to the shadowy wall. "if you'd only say one word, philip. i'd wait forever." it was the uncertainty that sickened her spirit. "yet," she thought, growing suddenly cold, "suppose i should be made certain-the wrong way. perhaps you've met a girl in philadelphia." she determined the suspense was best. "you've been my hope so long, if you should fail me what would i do? besides, i love you, philip." she lay half the night, very still and very wakeful in her white iron bed. the morning brought back her old sanguineness, she was to have a very full day; until early forenoon there was work in mr. marshall's office, and in the late afternoon madame harkness' method of hair culture claimed her. she came home, hot and deliciously tired. there is confusion "there's a letter for you," her mother told her. "wash your face and eat your supper first. i want to get through's quick as i can. mis' sparrow and me, we're going to a meeting.' maggie spied the letter in the gloom of the hall. it was from sylvia probably; her heart hoped it was from philip. but she put the thought away from her as too audacious. "now just for that," she told herself whimsically, "i won't let you touch that letter till after supper." smiling, she washed her face and changed into something cool and old that she could lounge in later up in her room, while she read sylvia's letter. supper over, the dishes washed and her mother started in the direction of mis' sparrow's residence, maggie went for her letter. even in the half gloom she descried with a sudden pang that the superscription was unfamiliar. "not from philip, not even from sylvia. well, why should they write me?" she chided herself bravely. in the waning but clear light in her room she could see plainly that the letter must be from a stranger. yet there was something vaguely familiar about the writing after all. she slit the envelope. "dear maggie: [the letter ran] "you'll be surprised to get this letter, yet something tells me i should write it. it's about you and philip. ['what's this?' said maggie, startled.] i have learned, maggie, that you are taking philip's kindnesses to you too seriously, that perhaps you are thinking of marrying him. "i think you ought to know that such an arrangement would not be at all pleasing to our family, nor would it be good for philip. i've often heard my mother say that only people of like position should pnarry each other, and i hardly think that would be true in the case of you and philip. then you must consider the future. my father is very ambitious for us and lately philip has shown that he means to embark on a real career. you can see that a girl of your lowly there is confusion aims would only be a hindrance to him. philip marshall cannot marry a hair-dresser!" the childish cruel words ran on: "then, too, i am sure he does not care for you in the way you care for him. don't you go around sometimes with a mr. henderson, or somebody like that? sylvia met him somehow and phil didn't like it and raised a big fuss. sylvia told him that you knew him and went out with him and philip said 'that's different. maggie ellersley can do things that my sisters mustn't do.' that doesn't sound as though he had any serious feeling for you, does it? "i guess this will be sort of hard for you to read, but i believe" [joanna wrote virtuously] "that some day you will thank me for these words. "wouldn't it be just as well if you didn't see him for some time after his return? "yours, "joanna marshall." "p.s. papa is thinking of buying a house in one hundred and thirty-first street, in harlem, you know. so we may move after sylvia and the others come back from philadelphia. papa would still keep his office in fifty-ninth street. that puts us pretty far away, so if you shouldn't come up so often, no one would think anything of it." maggie folded the letter carefully and put it on her mantelpiece. then, fully dressed as she still was, she lay down on her bed. "you poor idiot," she thought to herself, "you simpleton, you fool, why should the marshalls want you? they're rich, respected! mr. joel marshall-you see the name at the head of every committee of colored citizens, and you are nobody, the daughter of a worthless father, and a poor ex-laundress!" her mind dwelt briefly on her mother. "poor mamma, she expected so much of me! yet if philip really cared about me, he wouldn't care a rap if they did object." she remembered then his slighting words. there is confusion "i hate him," she said fiercely, "and joanna and her everlasting ambitions and the pride of all of them. why, you're just a beggar to them." she resumed her merciless self-attack. presently she began to cry great, scalding tears that burned her cheeks and hurt her throat. at eleven o'clock she heard her mother's step and forced herself to an aching quiet. about midnight she realized that her head ached, that her throat was so dry and parched that it almost rasped. "to think i should care like this," she told herself. "oh, maggie, maggie, they're proud, can't you copy their pride?" there were some lemons on the table in the dining room, she remembered. at least she could ease her tortured throat. hot though it was she put on her felt bedroom slippers, so that her step on the creaking stairs might not disturb her mother. the quiet lower rooms struck her with their awful solemnity, added to her woe. she sat there at the dining room table, one hand clutching the forgotten lemon, the other flung on the red-checked table cloth, above her dark bowed head. two conflicts were raging within her. a two-fold stream of disappointment overwhelmed. not only had philip not made love to her but he had despised her, not considered her the peer of his sisters. and how was she to mend her precarious fortunes? she was not strong, her mother was aging; suppose, before she got on her feet, she should fall back into the old hateful abyss. as it was she would never enter mr. marshall's office again. her shame and despair heavy upon her, she buried her face deeper on her arm. some one seemed to say, "miss maggie!" she imagined it, she knew, but even if it were real she did not want to lift that heavy, heavy head. a powerful but kind hand strove to lift it for her. she looked up then, a blinking figure of misery in the flickering gas flame. there is confusion there is confusion "but miss maggie, t'aint ever you. was you asleep orwas you crying?" henderson neal had come in, and spying the light in the dining room had come to investigate. she blinked at him stupidly. "little miss maggie, what's happened to you? you ain't in trouble?" "in awful trouble." her lips shaped the words stiffly. his mind, accustomed to the ways of men, jumped to one dread conclusion. "you mean some good for nothin' feller's took advantage of you?" she didn't understand him at first. "what? oh, that! no, of course not!" a spasm of horrible amusement crossed her tightly drawn features. "he-he wouldn't touch me." she broke into passionate yet stifled weeping. her mother must not hear her. neal's face twitched. he picked her up in his steely arms, sat down in an old cavernous morris chair and held her back against him like a baby. "tell me about it, miss maggie; some of them tony fellers bothering you to marry them?" the supposition was balm to her spirit, but she had schooled herself to honesty. "no, not that-one of them, oh, he never knew-i hoped, oh, mr. neal, you see i wanted him to like me - " "and he doesn't, and he's been leading you on? the damned skunk. i'd like to kill him." "don't say that. he was just being kind. he'd probably be all right if he ever thought about me. you see, it's his sisters, his sister," she corrected herself, "she doesn't consider me good enough." "well, what's she got to do with it? can't the feller speak for himself?" "that's just it, i used.to go to see them, they don't come to see me. if the sisters don't want me, there's no way i can there is confusion reach him, particularly since he isn't interested. i had just hoped that if he kept on seeing me, some day he would grow to like me." neal was nonplussed. this was a puzzle. "what are you going to do now?" "oh, i don't know. and i'm losing my job now. i got it through them." "i see." he sat silent, studying her a moment. "look here, maggie, whyn't you marry me? i'm old and i'm rough and you see i ain't no book-learnin'. but i can take care of you-you and your mother, too, and i can dress you pretty, like you'd ought to be, and with money and fine clothes you can do a little lordin' on your own." she hated to offend him. he was so kind. "mother would never hear of it," she quavered for lack of a better answer. "you don't have to let her know about it," he said, encouraged by her failure to refuse him flatly. "ill get a license in the morning and we'll slip out after she goes to work. you won't be sorry. i'll be kind to you maggie-girl. i've always wanted you to give me a chance." he added a cunning afterthought. "show these stuck-up friends of yourn, and show 'em quick that you don't have to go beggin' for favors. there's others, yes, not a man that comes into this house that wouldn't be proud to marry you.&gt;' she began to toy with the idea. marriage with neal was not what she wanted, but it represented to her security, a home for herself and her mother, freedom from all the little nagging worries that beset the woman-who fights her own way through the world. perhaps she had aimed too high. this was the sort of person with whom she had grown up; he would not, because he could not, look down on her lowliness. on the contrary, he would place her on a pedestal. "i'll think about-it, " she promised him finally. there is confusion but he knew if she did not take him now, she would never take him. she knew it, too. he set her gently in the chair, and knelt in front of her, barring her escape with his powerful body. "listen, maggie, marry me now, to-morrow. we'll go to atlantic city for a few weeks, and come back and go to housekeeping. i don't have to live here. i just stayed on, first because it was clean and your mother was honest and then because i liked you. i ain't no lawyer, nor doctor, nor in none of the fine positions your friends hold, but i handle a good bit of money and i'll get you everything you want." he did have money, she knew that. she supposed she ought to find out exactly how he made it. but of course he was honest. and anyway she was too tired, too weak to bother. she could feel his strong will impinging on her own, beating hers down. "i'll do it, mr. neal." "my name's henderson, maggie. you will, you mean it?" "yes, to-morrow. but i ought to let my mother know." "oh, no, she might object-mothers hate to see their daughters leave them. but after she sees how well fixed and happy you are, she won't mind." "i guess you're right. i —i don't see how i can ever pack. i'm so tired." her figure slacked weakly against the chair. "you don't need to. just wear something dark and quiet. we'll get everything you want in atlantic city, or maybe philadelphia." "no, no —not in philadelphia, we won't stop there now," she told him feverishly. "all right. now run up to bed. kiss me, maggie." she gave him her cold, stiff lips. "good girl! to-morrow at ten. you ain't foolin' me?" "oh, no, mr. neal!" "henderson's my name. good night, little girl." there is confusion shaking, she got up to her room to lie vacant-eyed across the bed, watching the darkness deepen, shade into gray, vanish. the sun came bringing a new day, to her a new life. she wrote her mother a note, then dressed herself carefully in a little tan poplin suit, a small brown hat and a white veil. "brides wear veils," she thought to herself numbly. "oh, i didn't think i'd be a bride like this!" well, it was too late now. at quarter of nine she went down stairs. her mother had left long since. presently she heard a taxi drive up and neal, heavy but immaculate, got out. he was coming for her. she walked stiffly to meet him; they entered the cab together and were whirled away. "this was marriage," she thought, murmuring some words later to a justice of the peace. they entered the waiting taxi again and drove to the pennsylvania station. a surprising number of the red-caps seemed to know mr. neal-her husband. well, of course, of course why shouldn't they? they walked down the steps past car after car. neal ushered her finally into a drawing-room. she had never dreamed of traveling like this. as the train pulled out neal hailed a passing waiter. "bring us something to eat as soon as possible." he sat down beside her, immaculate in a gray suit, gray tie, carefully brushed low shoes. his tan overcoat rested in the corner of the seat. he put his arms around her. "poor, sleepy, frightened maggie," he said tenderly. she burst into sharp, strangling sobs, burying her head against his shoulder. so she left new york, weeping, to return to it one day dryeyed but with a bitterness that was worse than tears. chapter xii eally, joanna, you ought to treat me better. you know i'm staying in new york just on account of you!" "how do you want me to treat you, peter?" "oh, hang it all. why can't you be nicer to me? when brian comes to see sylvia she runs to meet him, puts her arms about his neck." "but sylvia and brian are engaged. you and i are just friends." "just friends! joanna, have a heart. what do you think i spend all my spare time with you for? you know how i feel." joanna raised a slim, protesting hand. "none of that, peter! you come to see me because both of us are interested in the same things. each of us is going to be an artist in different ways. what other girl is there in new york who would let you talk to her about the joys of surgery?" "what other girl would want me to?" joanna, looking at the long brown figure lying full length on the grass, thought it highly improbable that any other girl would. she had seen other girls in the company of peter, and watched quite without jealousy their ways with him. she rather prided herself on her own aloofness from such tactics. of course, some day she might let peter talk to her about things other than work and art, and she might answer him, but at present the big things of life must be arranged. love was there is confusion an after consideration, she felt, and as far as she knew she meant it. it was a saturday afternoon in july and the two were in van cortlandt park. peter was to go to school in philadelphia in the fall, and it was important for him to earn as much money as possible for his expenses. he might have gone with a group of other boys to one of the watering places and worked in a hotel. but that took him too far away from joanna. ragtime was coming into vogue then, and peter proved himself an adept at it. the butcher shop was of course a thing long since of the past. "here's where i put my gift of strumming to some use," he laughed to joanna. "you ought to see how glad they were to take me on at that cabaret." "i hope you won't learn anything you shouldn't in that atmosphere," she had answered primly. "oh, of course i won't," he returned, thinking how amazed she would be if she ever looked down from her pinnacle long enough to understand what life really was. he would have liked her to see that cabaret with its jostling crowds and blaring lights, and the host of noisy good-hearted dancing girls. he tried to give her some description of it. but joanna turned away. "men and women are like that, just the same," he protested. "everybody isn't living on the mountain-tops like you, janna. i can't live there of my own accord myself. that's why i haunt you so because you do keep me on the heights, dear." she liked that. "but just the same," he resumed, rolling over on the short grass like a lithe handsome animal, "all the big things of life smack of the earth. your poet has to eat, or he can't write poetry. well, so does the commonest laboring-man. the queen has children, in agony, janna, just.like the poorest charwoman. and love is the-the driving force for both of them." he th ere is confusion mused a little. "love is the most natural and ordinary thing in the world." but joanna didn't believe that. "love is a wonderful, rare thing, very beautiful, very sweet, but you can do without it." "not much you can't. better not try it, joanna. you have to found your life on love, then you can do all these other things." "don't talk like a silly, peter. you know perfectly well that for a woman love usually means a household of children, the v getting of a thousand meals, picking up laundry, no time to herself for meditation, or reading or. " "dancing! that's through poor management. marry a man who understands you, janna, and he'll see that you have time for anything -you want. where is such a man? behold him!" he struck his chest dramatically. "peter bye! how you talk!" "all right, i'll choose something else. tell me why is it that though i've elected to stay in new york in all this hot weather just to be at your side, i see less of you than at any time since i've been coming to your house." "does seem queer, doesn't it? it must be because i have so much work to do. i am taking extra singing lessons from brailoff now. and my dancing takes up a lot of my time; my classes come at such inconvenient hours, : to io:oo three times a week." "that is bad. funny time to give dancing lessons. where'd you say you took them?" "at bertully's." "bertully's! that's in twenty-ninth street, isn't it? how'd you ever make it? i didn't suppose a colored girl got a chance to stick her nose in there." "she wouldn't ordinarily. bertully refused helena arnold last year. 'i'm sorry, mees, but the white americans like not to study with the brown americans. vair seely, but so. there is confusion i am a poor man, i must follow the weeshes of my clients!'" joanna shrugged her shoulders, spread her hands. "you're a born impersonator, jan. i can see that little frenchman now. how'd you ever get in, then?" "helena and i went back this year and asked if he would take a separate class of colored girls, if we got it up for him. he was very decent, said he'd be glad to. so we got up a class of eight, he only asked for six. of course, we had to take his hours." "who are in it besides you and helena?" "oh, all our crowd." she named the daughters of several prominent colored men, a physician, a lawyer, a journalist, a real-estate man among them. "there's gertrude moseley, vera and alice manning, elizabeth beckett, sylvia, helena, and i." "that's seven." "oh, yes, sylvia meant to ask mvaggie ellersley." "h'm, she had other things in her head without bothering about fancy dancing, hadn't she? funny how she went off and married without telling any of us about it, wasn't it?" "yes," said joanna uneasily. "you'd have thought she'd have let old phil in on it. i wonder if they had a falling out of any kind! philip seemed rather hard hit when he heard the news." "not a bit of it. why should he be?" joanna spoke stoutly. but her tone belied her convictions. she hadn't forgotten philip's expression the day sylvia had come rushing in with the astounding news: "what do you think? i just met mrs. ellersley. maggie's married-married-think of it! she ran away with that man at her house, that mr. neal. and they're going to live in philadelphia." philip's haggard face had turned a trifle more wan, joanna there is confusion had thought. "has she written to you, sylvia?" he asked her quickly. "not a word. i can't imagine why she said nothing to me about it. she must have planned it for ages. if that isn't the funniest!" later joanna heard philip asking his mother if she were sure she had given him all the mail that had come for him while he was in philadelphia. still later he had announced his intention of teaching summer school in south carolina. "fellow whose place i'm going to fill is sick. they've been at me a long time to come. i think i ought to go, father. it will give me a chance to see the south." joanna's throat constricted a little at the thought of philip's look, his general listlessness. she wished she hadn't written that letter. though that couldn't have brought about the marriage. people don't arrange to be married over night. as sylvia said, it must have been on maggie's mind long since. and then, anyway, philip couldn't really have cared for a girl like maggie. "i don't believe philip was the least bit interested in maggie," she voiced her thought to peter. "well, anyway, mr. bye, that's why my company is so scarce. goodness, what are you frowning about?" "well, i'm mad to think you swallowed that frenchman's insult. to think of your taking lessons from him after that!" "but, peter, he didn't insult us. he can't help this stupid prejudice. 'in my country, mademoiselle marechal,'-he always calls me that-'you'd be an honor to any class.' he says i've got a great future. that if there's anything that will break down prejudice it will be equality or perhaps even superiority on the part of colored people in the arts. and i, agree with him." "but to be set apart like that!" "what do i care?" asked joanna, the practical. "you've there is confusion got to take life as you find it, peter. the way i figure it is this. if all i needed to get on the stage was the mastery of a difficult step, i'd get there, wouldn't i? for somehow, sometime, i'd learn how to overcome that difficulty." "you bet you would." "very well, then. now my problem is how to master, how to get around prejudice. it is an awful nuisance; in some parts of this country it is more than a nuisance, it's a veritable menace. philip says he's going to change all that some day. first, i'm going to get my training up to the last notch, then i'm going to watch for an opportunity and squeeze in." "you'll never get it." "oh, yes, i will. some white people are kind, some of them are so truly artistic that they'll put themselves to great trouble for the sake of art. look at bertully. it works him much harder than it-does us to hold those extra classes." "bertully's one man in a thousand. besides, he's a foreigner. where'll you find a white american like that?" "you blessed pessimist. i know of people like that already. that's how helena arnold got to bertully in the first place. a miss sharples-why, they're the people your aunt susan works for, aren't they? your aunt told miss sharples about helena, and miss sharples took her, herself, to bertully." "that was awfully decent, i must say. of course, the sharples are philadelphia quaker stock. not that that makes much difference. the white byes were quakers, and see how they left us stranded, though my father told me old black joshua bye practically coined them their money. not many people like those sharples." "there doesn't need to be. the point is there's one. miss sharples' family, by the way, may have been quakers, but there's nothing quakerish about her. helena says she goes with the. greenwich village group all the time, and for all their craziness, they've got some mighty big ideas." there is confusion "can't get anything to eat, if you're colored, down in their dinky old restaurants." "awful, isn't it? well, we'll let some other colored person pound away at that side of it. me, i'm going to break into art. the public wants novelty, and i want fame. i've got to have it, peter." "you talk about going on the stage as though you had a signed contract in your hand. how'll you get the stagepresence?" "i'm to go on a recital tour next fall among colored people. i'm used to singing in the choir. if i can stand before them i can stand before any audience in the world." "yes, we are mighty critical." "i should say so. get up, peter bye. we've got to go home." they started on the long trip back. "but see here, joanna," peter pleaded when they reached the house, "you will give me a little more time, won't you? i don't have to work in the morning, you know. and i don't work wednesday nights. promise me that, won't you?" "yes," said joanna, her heart warming to his glowing beauty. "we'll remember this summer, peter, the last before we go off trying our wings for further flights." that was an enchanted season. peter used to call for herin the morning, and the two would go off exploring. joanna liked the foreign quarters, but she had never cared to stand around too long in those teeming, exotic streets. she was too conspicuous, attracted too many inquiring glances. with peter she felt safe to stand for long moments watching the children play, to enter queer dark shops, to taste strange messes. sometimes she spoke to the women about their dresses, their headgear. one spanish woman, grown used to the sight of this dark american girl and the good-looking boy thert is' confusion 'at her side, took them into her quarters one day and showed joanna how she dressed her hair. another time she taught her an intricate spanish dance. "i'm going to do a dance representing all the nations, some day," joanna told peter. they planned for wednesday nights very carefully at first, but gradually as the torrid weather increased, joanna's desire for the theater and other indoor forms of amusement yielded to the desire to be cool at any cost. central park claimed them then, and later morningside, since it was just a few moments' stroll from the marshalls' new house. morningside was usually crowded. the seats were always taken when they arrived. "i wonder what time the people come," joanna murmured, but they didn't mind. the grass, the sloping hillside, was good enough for them. joanna would sit down, her dainty summer dress spread around her, her splendidly poised head turned at first so she could see the passers-by. she was forever studying types, and eyed them with a grave deliberation. "you'll get your head knocked off yet, joanna," peter would remonstrate, "staring at people so." he liked it better when later on in the evening she turned toward the slope of the hill and looked down at the city, laughing in its myriad twinkling lights. her face at that time took on a grave wistfulness which he could not analyze. joanna herself could not define the feeling which prompted that expression. peter, leaning on his elbow, would lie beside her, his curly black head bent toward her, one slender brown hand touching her dress ever so lightly. he would have given the world to believe she was thinking about him, but he knew she was not. he would have been astounded if he could have dreamed,of the maze of her thoughts. joanna was really most human there is confusion at moments like these. through her mind was floating a series of little detached pictures. she saw a glittering stage, peter, herself, some little children. she felt a hazy, nebulous, mystical joy. peter adored her at moments like these, but he was afraid of her, too. one night she astonished him. "peter," she said suddenly, "sit up. so. i'm tired. i've had a hard day. do you mind if i rest my head on your shoulder?" would he mind if she offered him a king's estate? he was too ecstatic, too-yes-scared, to speak. he sat as she directed, he stretched his thin tense arm around her fine young body. he even put up one hand and pressed her head closer against his shoulder, touched her hair, let his fingers trail ever so lightly over her cheek. joanna in his arms! joanna! she felt him trembling. "am i too heavy, peter?" he could hardly articulate, but she heard his ardent "no" and moved imperceptibly closer. his breath stirred her thick, dark hair. he let it caress his chin. its soft heaviness was a revelation to him, a rapture. she lay so quietly against him he thought she must be asleep. so he whispered, "are you asleeep, joanna?" "no," she whispered back, "only very, very tired.""oh, joanna, joanna," he breathed, "be tired forever." somewhere out of the heavenly silence, a girl's voice, a foreign voice, broke into song high and shrill. russian, peter thought. it was just a snatch, poignant and sweet, that died away leaving a faint lingering sadness. she put her head back then. she opened her dark eyes and looked full into his. their lips were so near, so near. in a second he had pressed his against hers, briefly yet with passion. she sat up and there is confusion drew a little away from him, dazed. but he put his arms around her and held her close. presently they walked home, speechless. when they came to an arc-light, they looked at each other's faces, eager to study and to reveal these new selves. their glances met and clung with a sweet enchantment. something leaped, something fluttered within their hearts, like a fettered, struggling wing. and it was beautifully, it was magically, first love! there is confusion nights when he tossed sleepless on his bed, dreaming fragrant dreams and seeing golden visions, she was sleeping the perfect sleep of healthy weariness. the last days were hard for her, however, as they were for peter. for joanna was doomed by her very make-up to a sort of perpetual loneliness. sylvia had her own interests, she had brian and many, many friends. she was the most popular of all the marshalls. alec and joanna had never been thrown much together. philip, once her great confidant, was usually away from home. and on his return he was apt to relapse during these days into a rapt sadness. it followed, then, that while joanna was peter's sweetheart, his heart's dear queen, peter was at once her lover whom she didn't need very much-at least she did not realize that needand more than that her companion and friend whom she needed greatly. the prospect of the days stretched long and dreary before her. even the concert tour, a remarkable booking for one so young; did not entirely console her. the two talked about it on the day before peter left for philadelphia. they were in van cortlandt park in a little tangled grove. it was noon and the september sun streamed down on them making the green wooden bench on which they sat pleasantly warm. but the leaves about them were going a little sere; in the shade the air felt chill, and the sunshine, though warm, was thin and white. " 'the summer is ended.' " joanna quoted softly; she sighed. peter looked at her, there were tears in her eyes. - "dear, beautiful joanna," said peter,, and his own beautiful face was full of the -woe of parting, "how can i leave you to-morrow? janna, don't send me away, tell me i'm not to go." he put his arms around her and she clung to him. "peter, you must go, you must, really. we-we can't go on like this. we've got to prepare ourselves while we're young for the future." there is confusion "yes," said peter and his ardor chilled a little at the touch of her cool practicality. but a moment later her light touch rekindled him. "you love me, janna? you know i love you?" "yes, peter dear, but we mustn't say anything more about it." "i know, joanna, i'm not going to worry you any more just now, but you'll let me speak sometime?" "yes, oh, yes! " "dearest girl! kiss me, joanna." she touched his lips with a light, lingering kiss. he looked at her, his face haggard with his gusty, boyish passion. "ah, joanna, i'll never forget that kiss." neither would she, her heart told her. it was the first time she had ever kissed him. they walked through the deserted park, their arms frankly about each other, like children. the dry grass and brittle leaves crackled beneath their feet, the air hung over them like a thin, misty veil. joanna sang a bit from an old italian song: "if from heaven we could but borrow one day longer of fond affection it would lessen then our sorrow, give fresh joys for recollection." she hummed a line here, then her voice rose again in the thin, shimmering air: "-the future, dark and lonely! dearest loved one, dearest loved one parting makes these joys so dearl ah! -" "don't, joanna; it's too sweet. you'll make me cry." there is confusion "i know it. oh, peter, go away and come back great and when you come back, speak to me." she went with him to the train next morning and to his amazement no less than her own, broke down and sobbed into her handkerchief. he bent over her. "to think of your crying for me, joanna! good-by, good-by, my sweet. remember, i'll be back christmas." he vanished through the gates, was borne out of her vision. a strange exaltation possessed him. he was sad, but his sadness was as nothing to his joy, his sense of satisfaction. joanna loved him. she had been unusually capricious since that night in morningside park. but now he was sure of her. he smiled steadily from manhattan transfer station to north philadelphia. his cousin louis boyd met him at broad street station and took him to his great-uncle peter's in south eighteenth street. the old man almost cried over him. "you're meriwether's son, but you're more like your grandfather, isaiah. he was darker than you, but he held his head high like yours, and you're going to do what he wanted his son to do. it's good to see you, boy." he registered at the university the next day, consulted catalogues, met professors, wrote a glowing letter to joanna. by the end of the week he was desperately homesick. he would have gone over to new york if he had not been so ashamed, and if he had not been expected to dinner at louis boyd's. "tell you what's the matter with you, fellow," said louis when peter had told him of his nostalgia, "you want to meet a few girls. we'll start out after dinner." peter did not think this would help much. he wanted joanna, though he said nothing about that to louis. astonishingly, however, the cure worked. louis seemed to know half of colored philadelphia. "mighty there is confusion "n. b. these x's are kisses." [there was a long string of them.] his letters to joanna reacted to his own advantage. he felt he must be able to tell her truthfully of his success in his studies, of his ability to fit into this new life. joanna was interested in him with a deep personal interest such as she had never exhibited before, and he meant to keep it alive. these were with one exception the most wholesome, most formative days of peter's life. he had youth, he had inspiration, he had the promise of love, with much hard labor to keep it. many of the colored boys lived in west philadelphia. they had a fraternity, and though according to their laws he could not be taken in during his freshman year, it was plain that this honor would be extended to him as soon as he became a sophomore. he was pretty well liked, and was constantly receiving invitations to spend the night across the river. one or two of the boys lived in the dormitories and he was frequently offered a chance to see something of this side of college life. but his steadiness surprised himself. he got his meals in a restaurant on woodland avenue, worked faithfully in the library between classes, and completed the rest of his assignments at night in his uncle's sitting room. the old fellow loved to see him there. he pictured in peter the restoration of the bye family in philadelphia. to eke out his scanty bank account, he played three nights a week in a dance hall at sixteenth and south streets. saturday afternoons he did track work. friday and sunday he spent at arabelle morton's or at lawyer talbert's on christian street. this latter and his family consisting of two sons and two daughters, were the relatives with whom the marshalls stayed on their visits to philadelphia. he found them very enjoyable. one of the boys was an undertaker but with a zoo there is contfusio)n and a house party. i'm asking you now, peter. isn't it great being grown up?" "you bet. which of these functions comes off first?" "sylvia's engagement party." "so she and spencer are actually going to pull it off. they've waited a long time, haven't they?" "yes, that's because brian insisted on getting a good start before he married. sylvia would have married him the day after they became engaged. but i think brian's right." "they're both right, but sylvia's way is the best. that's the only attitude for anyone to have towards marriage. i'm afraid you lack it, my child. you want to begin with a mansion and three cars." "you mean thing! i don't care about money as money one bit and you know it. but i do care about success. and a house or a car usually implies that. any girl likes her man to look well in the eyes of other men." "this man's going to look well." he yearned toward her. "kiss me, sweetheart." "sir, you insult me. people shouldn't kiss unless they're engaged."i "then be engaged to me, dearest joanna. great scott, are -we here?" joanna evaded him after that. christmas was tuesday, but as he had saved his cuts for saturday classes, he had managed to come away the preceding friday night. on christmas morning he caught her before daybreak. they had arranged to go to an early service in a large episcopal church where joanna had recently been engaged as a soloist. he was waiting for her in the dark hall. "good! there you are, peter. we must fly." "not until you've told me you love me." "i love you, peter. come on." 'no, sir, put your little arms around my neck. so. now there is confusion ill say, 'dear peter, i love you and i'm going to marry you.) "oh, i can't say that. let me go, peter." ' not one step." he held her so close that she had to poise herself against him, breathlessly, exquisitely. a clock in the house boomed five. "peter, ask me to-night." "i'm asking you now. answer me this minute, joanna. not one step will we stir till you do." he shook her gently. "say it, darling." she still had her arms around his neck. "dear peter," she began, her voice breaking a little, "i love you and i'm going to marry you." "you've got a smudge on your face," he told her solemnly. she burst into hysterical tears at that. "i never thought i'd become engaged with a smudge on my face." "i know you didn't. i'll try to overlook it." he got down on his knees and kissed her hands. "darling joanna, i'll love you always. between them, they wiped away the traces of the smudge and of her tears. then they found their way out, and walked through the dark silent streets singing "joy to the world," like a pair of christmas waifs. the lovers found it hard to see each other. there were too many things going on for that. peter could have found time, but joanna, he realized with a pang, seemed to think of nothing but her dance. when she wasn't at a party, or dressing, she was at a rehearsal. the affair for the day nursery was to come off new year's eve. monsieur bertully's seven pupils danced, swayed, pirouetted. their slim silken limbs flashed and twinkled through a series of poses and groups until one thought of an animated greek frieze. at the end the seven girls appeared as school children. joanna as their leader was teaching them a game. peter watched her flashing in a red dress across the stage, dancing, chapter xiv poor maggie! how relentlessly and completely had her illusions flown! she had enjoyed the ride to atlantic city. her husband had surrounded her with magazines, fruit, candy, even -books. she had had a wonderful dinner and when they got to atlantic city, he took her to a very respectable, clean boardinghouse. it was nice to be protected, she realized that. and, when, the day after they were married, he gave her seventyfive dollars, and told her to send part of it to her mother, her spirits, which had not yet recovered from the shock of the past two days, rose considerably. she thought mr. neal remarkably kind and gentle. and he was always clean. on the whole, while she was not the least bit in love with him, she considered he did pretty well, though she did wish he knew a little more about english grammar. his deliberate incorrectness made her ashamed of him and because he was so kind to her, this feeling on her part made her a little ashamed of herself. he was the soul of generosity. besides giving her money, he had taken her to two of the best stores, and bought her whatever she wanted. he would have liked to buy her a com-plete outfit, but the prices made her demur. "wait till we get to new york again. we can do better there." but she did let him buy her a few things: there were a blue silk dress, a white satin skirt, two or three smart, delicately tinted blouses, a wonderful wrap, light but warm; tan and white shoes and stockings. ii there is confusion atlantic city was a revelation to her. she had literally never been out of new york city, except once to a funeral in brooklyn in company with the lugubrious mis' sparrow. this fairyland by the sea with its colored lights, its human kaleidoscope, its boardwalk, its shops! she did not know the world held such as these. but she was more interested in the atlantic city that lay on the north side of atlantic avenue. there were many cottages here, a score of restaurants, a good drug store, all of them patronized by colored people. they were the kind of people maggie wanted to know, she could see that at a glance. in the restaurant which she and her husband most frequented, she sat and watched the happy, laughing faces. they were like one big family although they came from washington, / philadelphia, and baltimore. she realized then how completelyy she had depended on the marshalls and their immediate entourage. cut off from them, she had no way of meeting these people, she possessed no background. some of the visitors seemed to know others hailing from the most remote places. one woman said, "oh, there's annie mackinaw, she's been in san francisco for five years you know, i must speak to her." surely, maggie thought, her husband must have met some of these people somewhere. but although an occasional man -nodded to him, even came up and spoke, not one brought over his wife or daughters. the women looked at maggie, a little curiously; once she thought as she passed a large party at a table that they stopped talking with that queer suddenness which made her sure they were discussing her. they looked at her clothes, appraising them, but she could never catch their direct gaze. she sought to find solace in the theaters, of which she was very fond. this was an opportunity, plenty of leisure and a willing companion ready and able to take her whenever and wherever she wished. but atlantic city theaters make no there is confusion secret of their unwillingness to serve colored patrons. after 'j being told at the ticket office that there were no more balcony seats, only to see them calmly handed out to the next white person in line; after enduring an evening in the poorly ventilated gallery with a feeling of resentment rankling in her breast; above all after seeing how these mischances awoke her husband's passionate but futile anger, she desisted. he had a terrible, devastating temper, which left her speechless and cowering even though it was not directed toward her. better do without the theater forever, she thought, than be the cause of awakening his savage wrath. she returned to her survey of the colored visitors. her husband found some friends and went off on mysterious trips with them, from which he returned amiable and pleasant and usually with some small gift for her. in his absence she sat on the piazza watching happy groups go by, or sat alone in the pavilion far down the boardwalk, where the colored people bathed. in time she came to know the characteristics of certain groups, could even tell from what city they came. philadelphians were not as a rule as strikingly dressed as the folks, say, from washington, but they had a better time. they seemed bound by some kind of tie, family, perhapswhich made it possible for them to group together incongruously but with evident enjoyment. old women and young girls, young girls and elderly men, young men and almost middle-aged women, laughed and bathed and gossiped like brothers and sisters. these were the hardest to approach; it was impossible to invade their solidarity. they made the status of the outsider very clear. the baltimore people were somewhat like these, only gayer. they were clannish, too, but more willing to let down bars. clearly they were a cross between the philadelphians and the gay washingtonians who played about in very distinct groups, superb in their fashionable clothes and their deep assurance. there is confusion maggie's landlady introduced her to one girl, a miss talbert from philadelphia, who came up on the piazza one day to r inquire for a former boarder. she was brown, not pretty, rather plainly but well dressed, with a beautiful manner. an atmosphere of niceness hung about her. she acknowledged the introduction pleasantly. "you're from new york, mrs. neal-i wonder if you know my cousin sylvia marshall?" maggie could have jumped for joy. "she's my best friend." things went a little better, then. miss talbert asked her to go in bathing, introduced her to a few people, beckoned her over to her table at lunch. but she and her party were staying for only three days more, and maggie was almost as badly off as ever when she left. her husband took her down to the pavilion the next day, and left her there. a sharp-faced old woman wearing a plain sadcolored dress and a formidable false front, beckoned to her. "what does your husband do?" she asked the girl, looking at her over sloping glasses. maggie, confused, said he was in the motor-business. the old woman turned incredulously away. she determined to ask her husband about his work. but he gave her no satisfaction. "you wouldn't understand it. too much explaining to it. i make money enough for you, don't i, girl?" he laid a heavy hand on her frail shoulder. he thought he'd go to philadelphia to live. "feller told me of some good prospects there. we'll just room for a while. if we don't like it, we can go back to new york." she was satisfied. she didn't want to return to new york, she realized. her mother could make out with the money which, neal had assured her, she could send regularly. and it made her sick to think of the marshalls. without regrets she mounted the train with him one day tjherre is confusion and went to the big, sprawling city. its size, its long stretches of streets appalled her. the awful silence which seemed to descend over the town when she got below walnut street frightened her. one could be very lonely here, no doubt. the "rooming" of which her husband had spoken proved to mean the second floor of a house in south fifteenth street. there were three rooms and a bath. she liked this because it gave her something to do. she kept them clean, arranged and rearranged the charming furniture which neal gave her, and prepared their simple meals. it was the first time she had had a really attractive setting. and she was soothed, bewitched by its effect. her rather simple plan of life contained, it must be remembered, only three ideas,-comfort, respectability, and love. this last had been added to her list very recently. she would have married philip any time during the last five years without loving him, for the sake of the security which he could have brought her. so it is not strange, then, that she and neal sailed their little craft so smoothly. it is true that marriage did not in reality prove as interesting and picturesque as she in common with most girls had conceived it to be. but marriage was marriage, and she must make the best of it. neal was still kind, almost fatherly, very generous, clean, and, as far as she could see, had no bad habits. he smoked one cigar after each meal, and almost never drank. "can't afford it in my business," she heard him say often. his business! -if only he hadn't been so mysterious about that. still it must be all right. men called on him pretty often and he would see them in the middle room, which maggie had turned into a restful living room. certainly he made plenty of money. she had comfort then and she did not feel the lack of love. occasionally it occurred to her, it would be nice to be performing some of her housewifely duties for philip. she there is confusion thought he would enjoy doing some of them with her. but perhaps that was because he was young. things seemed to change so when one became old,-at least elderly. and she did not think philip would have been out as much as neal. her passion, however, was for respectable company,-for more than that if she had but known it. she wanted friends, impeccable young women with whom she could talk over things, and exchange patterns and recipes, or go to the matinee. once she met miss talbert on christian street. the girl greeted her kindly but a bit doubtfully, spoke about the weather. then came the query: "what did you say your husband's name was, mrs. neal?" "why neal, of course, oh, henderson, henderson neal.", miss talbert looked at her a little sadly, exchanged a few more banalities, and went on her assured way. "i did hope she'd ask me to call," maggie murmured. "how am i ever to get to know anybody in this great town?" on the floor above her lived a girl and her brother, annie and thomas mason. the brother played and the girl sewed and kept house. once annie got a letter of neal's by mistake and brought it down to maggie. she was in her living-room trying to shorten a skirt when annie tapped. she stepped to the door. "oh, come in." miss mason came in, nothing loth. "i got your husband's letter by mistake. he's mr. h. neal ain't he?" she held out the letter glancing about the room. "you've fixed it up real pretty here. the last roomers kept the place looking so bad. you going to stay long?" maggie didn't know. she was transported at the sight of the pleasant-voiced friendly girl and the north pennsylvania accent which carried with it something very wholesome and grateful. miss mason was frankly curious. "you here alone all day? what do you do while your husband's to work?" there is confusion made a pretty fair salary, his sister told maggie, for he played at private dances for wealthy white people in west philadelphia, rosemont, sharon, chestnut hill and various other suburbs. "but he don't give me much 'cause he wants to leave the country for good sometime. i keep house for him and he pays for the lodgings and for most of our food. i make what little extra i can by taking in plain sewing. your husband's right open-handed, ain't he?" "yes," said maggie heartily. "he's very generous and very kind." she wanted to change the subject, for annie was inquisitive-one never knew what she'd ask next. "funny, ain't it," pursued annie, her mouth full of pinsshe was at her everlasting sewing, turning up the hem of a bath-robe-"i ain't never seen him yet, no, nor tom neither." "well, you will. come and walk up to south street with me. i want to get some postal cards." it was an aimless existence, but it had its points. her mother was comfortable, she herself had ease, a husband and a companion. she went out to market one chilly november morning and came back later than she expected. she had scarcely got in before annie appeared, an unusual flush on her yellow, freckled cheeks. annie had reddish, crinkled hair, which she wore brushed stiffly back from her high forehead into a hard, ungraceful knob; "rhiny" hair, maggie knew sylvia and the boys would call it. she could imagine hovw they would talk about annie in their pleasant, unmalicious way. joanna would strike her attitude and imitate her accent. annie broke into these reminiscences. "i been down here two or three times already. kind o' rawish like." "yes., i think it's going to rain. ill light the gas-heater there is confusion and we can sit here and thaw out. i enjoy a chilly day if it's warm inside.&gt;" "kind o' that way myself." "oh, you said you'd been here before. want to see me about anything special?" "oh, aimed i'd come set with you a spell. me and tomnow-we saw your husband last night." "that so? where? how'd you guess it was he?" "near bainbridge street, then we watched him come in here. why, tom knowed him a'ready. i didn't know his name was henderson. i'd heard of him before myself." outside a steady soaking rain had begun to fall in the gray somberness of the november afternoon. the gas-heater cast a ruddy oblong of light on the white ceiling. maggie, who had been straightening out a paper pattern, crossed the room and threw her slight figure on the couch, huddling close against the wall. she shivered a little in the luxurious warmth. "isn't it grand to be indoors? where did you ever hear of my husband?" she was becoming drowsy and did not notice at first that annie had not answered her. when she did, she looked up suddenly to catch the girl's dog-like brown eyes fixed wistfully on hers. "what's the matter annie?" "nothing." "oh, but there is. are you sick? has tom been unkind to you?" "oh, it isn't me. it's you! oh, maggie, how could you?" "what about me? how could i what?" "marry him?" "marry whom? my husband,-why shouldn't i?" "didn't you know?" "for god's sake speak up, annie mason. what is it you there is confusion know about him? has he got another wife? is he an escaped convict?" "he's a gambler." "a what?" "a gambler. tom knows him well. and i guess i musta saw him when i was a little girl. he used to live up around stroudsburg. they run him out of town." "i'll never believe it." but in her heart she did. that money-why, of course, his long hours, especially at night, his reticence-all this combined to make her recognize the truth. "you poor thing. of course you don't want to believe it. that's what i said to tom. i said, 'that poor thing, she's got no notion of it.'" it was intolerable, such pity! "where is your brother, annie?" "who, tom! prob'ly up stairs, he don't go out to rehearsal till four." "tell him to come here." annie went out, whimpering a little, twisting her fingers in the folds of her white apron. she came back followed by a tall thin young man, dark, with kind, soft brown eyes. maggie noticed that the hair in front of his ears was unshaven to' form flat side-whiskers. "siders" the boys used to call them. they had teased sandy about them, for he had affected them in his college days. she was standing by the table holding the envelope of the paper pattern in her hand. "mr. mason, what's this you know about my husband?" "annie shouldn't have told you, ma'am," he said abjectly. "it was none of her business." "well, she has. sit down, please, and tell me all you know." "i'd rather stand, thank you, ma'am. well-if i must. even when i was a little boy, henderson neal was knowed to be a there is confusion card-sharp. there wasn't nobody could stand against him. used to wait for the men on a saturday night, white and colored. he'd meet 'em in the bar and treat, and then ask 'em in on a little game. and they'd play, till they was cleaned out. then he'd give 'em another drink, and clap 'em on the back. perhaps he'd hand 'em back a dollar. 'better luck next time old man!' and they'd come back the next satur, day night, the poor fools. some of them blowed their brains out, they got so far back in their debts." she was tearing the envelope into bits, but her voice was steady. "you're sure of this?" "my uncle was one of them that killed theirselves. they was a colored minister come to stroudsburg and he run him out of town. then he crossed over to phillipsburg, then down to trenton. they made things too hot for him there, too. then he got in with a white saloon-keeper in the mining districts in pennsylvania. finally things got too hot for him and he left the country for a while, was servant to an actor. he come back in about five years with another name." "an alias," murmured annie who read the papers. "but pretty soon he started out again under his own name. you see he got some political protection in new york, and i guess he's got the same here. most people know about him a'ready. i'm sorry i had to tell you, ma'am." "yes, yes, i'm sure. would-would you mind leaving me now? you, too, annie-please." she didn't lie down and moan and cry as she had donewas it less than six months ago?-when she received joanna's letter. that was child's trouble compared to this. she had wanted so to be decent, and she was a gambler's wife. god! how funny! now she must think, she must think. oh, what was she to do? leave him, she knew that. but afterwards? she had no money. he had given her her very clothes. her old ones were at her mother's. her mother! there is confusion "poor mamma!" she, said again as on a former occasion. "what a hell her life's always been! " no wonder those people, those men in atlantic city who knew him didn't introduce their women folks to her. "i suppose they thought 'you thief! dressing that girl on other men's money!"' pretty soon he'd be home for dinner. she heard him presently coming up the stairs. there! he had stepped on the creaky one. that meant he was-now-just outside the door. he stepped in. "nice and warm in here." she barely allowed him time to take off his overcoat. "henderson, i know how you make your money. you're a gambler." he didn't deny it. "who told you that?" "the nephew of that man, that mr. mason (she hazarded the name) who shot himself in stroudsburg." "where'd you see him?" "what difference does that make? and i've been living like a queen off stolen money. i want you to know i'm leaving you this instant." he caught her by the arm. "don't be a fool, maggie!" she could see the blood mounting, as his temper rose, shadowing his dark face. "that's what i'm trying to do-stop being a fool." "where will you go, how can you live? off my money? you've none of your own." "i'll make some." "i'll never let you go. i'll kill you first." he crushed both slender wrists in his brutal hand and she went ashen with pain. "i wish you would kill me." he flung her away from him then and she leaned back against the wall, breathing hard. l there is confusion "i suppose you'll go back to that man, that fine gentleman that didn't want you." "isn't it likely he'd want me now? i was a nice girl then, not the wife of a gambler." he broke down suddenly at that, sank in a chair, buried his head in his hands. "what do you want me to do?" "i want you to let me go." her voice was hard. he lifted a wretched face. "you wouldn't stay even if i was to do something else-something decent?" but she couldn't forgive him for dragging her into this abyss, this slough of degradation. "you couldn't change now, and anyway i wouldn't live with you." to her amazement he got up, took his hat and coat and started for the door. "i'll go. you're not the one to be turned out. you know i pay for these rooms a quarter in advance. this here's the beginning of the second quarter. there's some money in the top bureau drawer." "i don't want the money. take it with you." she got it and stuffed a handful of bills-yellow ones-in the pocket of his overcoat. "i don't want your rooms, either." "you'll have to keep them. you've no money and you've no place to go. you ain't got a friend in philadelphia, and you can't walk to new york. if you walk around the streets long enough, you'll find there's worse things can happen than being a gambler's wife." he straightened up. "if you don't promise me to stay, ill tag around after you everywheres you go." "if i stay-for a while-will you promise me not to come back?" "i promise." "pooh, the promise of a gambler!" she hated him. there is confusion "i'i show you. best not to try me too far though, maggie." "well, are you going?" he walked out, closing the door very quietly after him. she had not shed a tear, she did not now. instead she sat, with her brow wrinkled, trying to recall something. "oh, yes," she sprang up and rushed to the closet, pulling with nervous, shaking fingers at the garments hanging there. in the pocket of her little poplin suit, the suit in which she was married, she found what she was looking for. it was an oblong business card, slightly soiled around the edges. she had come across it in atlantic city and for some reason had kept it. across the front ran a neat superscription madame harkness hair culturist west i th street new york city her glance dropped to the left-hand corner. yes, she was right, there it was: branch offices-washington, d. c., i u street, n. w.; baltimore, i x druid hill avenue; philadelphia, south street. she sat all night brooding wide eyed over the purring gasstove. in the morning she made herself tidy and walked up to twentieth and south. chapter xv sylvia was arranging the smallest birthday cake in the world. it bore one very small candle and it was for the very small baby who, propped up in a high chair, sat and watched the birthday proceedings with round solemn eyes. a three-year-old youngster, whose nose just rose above the edge of the table, watched, too, with eyes no less round and far more interested. "look at the darlings! " said sylvia. "they know just what their mother's doing. aren't my children intelligent, brian?" "what you mistake for intelligence is hunger, much more likely," laughed her husband. "i've seen roger look that way before when there wasn't, any birthday cake, but when there certainly were eats." "you watch them," said sylvia, "and i'll see if mother and father are ready to come. i had a telegram from joanna this afternoon, so i know she can't make it." her voice floated up to him as she ran down the back stairs. the five years of sylvia's married life had brought their changes to the marshall household. mrs. marshall had insisted on sylvia's and brian's remaining with them. "else we'd be lonely," she complained, "what with sandy gone for good, and philip and joanna everlastingly 'on the road,' as they express it." alexander and helena arnold, after seeing each other constantly and unresponsively for ten years, suddenly fell completely in love on that night of the pierce day nursery dance. sandy proved himself an impulsive wooer, for he won there is confusion : and a certain grave beauty which did not strike the observer at first as did sylvia's or even poor maggie's. but it grew on one and remained. young men, though they liked to be seen with a star, were a little afraid of her queenliness, her faint condescension. she took herself so seriously! her own folks and peter often teased her about this, but they adored it in her. and she, in turn, adored her little fame, the footlights, the adulation. even the smallest church in the quietest backwoods, with a group of patient dark faces peering at her out of the often smoky background, had its appeal. at such times, strange to say, she was at her best, gave of her finest. she would come on the stage, trailing clouds of glory, and lean toward them-a rosy brown vision. in some misty colorful robe of sylvia's designing, her thick crinkling hair piled high on her head as the spanish woman had taught her, she seemed to say: "i am no better than you. you are no worse than i. whatever i am, you, in your children, may be. whatever you are, i in my father have been." she was absolutely sincere in her estimation of her art, or of any art. it was only in its relation to the other things of life that she lost her vision and sense of proportion. she liked most to go to philadelphia, where she was in great favor. there she had had three great triumphs, once in association hall, twice at the academy of music. both she and peter had thrilled when she came from the academy the second time. she sent her flowers and her stage-gown home in the car of a friend, while she and peter were whirled in a taxi out to fairmount park. they had driven to the green street entrance, and then dismissing the cab had walked around the drive, up the steps., in front of the mansion and on to lemon hill. it was one of those last, warm, almost hot nights of indian summer. the slopes of the park lay deserted before them, deep in velvety there is confusion shadow, with here and there a gold patch bright as day under the watching arc-light. they sat down on the dry, short grass. "like that other evening in morningside, long, long ago. how long, joanna?" "oh, ages! how'd i sing, peter?" "divinely. you looked like an angel, janna. no, not an angel, more like a siren in that yellow dress. where'd you get it, dearest?" "yellow nothing! that was orange-deep, deep orange. sylvia planned it out for me. isn't she a genius? through me she certainly is teaching these colored people how to dress. we will not wear these conventional colors-grays, taupe, beige-poor boy, you don't know what they are, do you? they're all right for these palefaces. but colored people need color, life, vividness." "george! i guess you're right. how'd you come to think of it?" "i didn't. it was sylvia. i started out in a white dress. you should have seen me looking like an icebergish angel." "you are one, you know janna." "which? iceberg or angel?" "both. one makes me adore you, the other says 'hands off'." "not a bad thing, do you think, considering all the men i meet?" "i hate them. sure you don't like any of 'em better than me?" "no, dear, i like you best." " 'no, dear, i like you best'," he mimicked. "for god's * sake, jan, can't you say, 'peter, i love you always'? say it." she hesitated, sighed a little. "peter i love you." "why'd you leave off 'always'?" "dear little boy, how can i say it?. i do when i think of it. but, peter, i have so much to think about-my tour, my there is confusion booking, you know, my lessons in french and italian, my dancing. i still keep that up; i'd really rather do that than sing. dancing makes me-" "oh, damn the dancing!" "why, peter! " she looked at his flushed face in amazement. "hang it all, talking to me about dancing, when i'm talking to you about love-love, joanna-and there's nothing to keep us from getting married. some fellows and girls ball their lives up so they can't ever get them straightened out. but here we are 'all set' as the fellows say. and you talk to me -about dancing! suppose i were to talk to you about materia medical" "i think it would be a good thing if you would." he was honestly aggrieved at that. she leaned over and kissed him. "see how brazen i am. that's the second time i've given you a kiss. oh, peter, you big baby!" "dear janna, i love you so! great scott! aren't girls funny! you can't guess how hard it is for me to be letting all these stupid years go by. sometimes i've half a mind to chuck it all." "you'd never get me then." "i don't suppose i would. well, i have you now." "dear peter, we must be going home. cousin parthenia will rave." "pshaw, she knows you're with me. love me, darling?" "you know i do, you dear, dear boy." "come, sit up on the bench. there, that's it." he knelt before her. "know what i'm going to give you to-night?" he felt in his pocket. "like it, janna?" he showed her a ring, a tiny gold chased ring, whose facets gleamed like diamonds. "peter, it's too beautiful. oh, i love you for it." he slipped it on her finger, got up and sat beside her, there is confusion kissing her little cold hands. she leaned against his shoulder, -he put his arm about her. a poignant sweetness seemed to flood in eni them out of the solemn, mellow night. peter was the first to stir. "i must get you home, darling. oh, joanna, aren't you too happy? i wonder if we wouldn't be better off if we were resting like this, our arms close about each other, in our grave." the inevitable separation came the next day. joanna was cold, almost indifferent. it was the way she had taught herself to endure pain. she hated always to leave peter, particularly if she were returning to new york. the excitement of visiting other places healed her loneliness. sometimes she wished she weren't going to see peter for these brief visits which lacerated her so. unfortunately her lover did not understand this. "how can she melt like she did last night and then leave me so cool and composed this morning?" he wondered, staring dejectedly after the departing express. he had not ridden to west philadelphia with her because he had to be at a hospital at sixteenth street at one o'clock and it was now noon. "she used to cry when we separated." he stood uncertainly a moment on the corner of fifteenth and market. "guess i'll go over to that little automat on juniper street and snatch a mouthful. i won't feel like eating after i see carpenter start in on that slashing. golly, what a steady hand he has." he walked through the city hall arcade to juniper street, crossed in front of wanamaker's and forced a passage through the teeming little by-way the automat was crowded. "have to eat standing," he thought, drawing a glass of water and seizing a knife and fork. "no, there's an empty table." he collected his food and began to eat. ther~ee is confusion someone put a plate on the table beside him, rested a hand there a moment. peter glanced at it. "colored. what a nice hand! ought to have a peach of a face to match that." he looked up. "maggie ellersley! i had heard you lived here. i thought i saw you once, why-four years ago-one new year's night on twentieth street. you've been here ever since?" "yes, peter. oh, it's so nice to see you!" "isn't it, though! i mean isn't it great to see somebody from home? i've just seen joanna off." her face stiffened at that. but he was busy looking at his watch. "ten minutes more! look here, maggie, what'd you drop us all that way for? how's your husband?" she answered his second question. "i haven't any." he glanced at her apologetically, ashamed of his levity. "is he dead?" "no," said maggie woodenly. "i've left him!" "oh!" he was embarrassed. "i'm sorry, maggie. got to run now. when may i see you again?" his engaging manner brought back the old days. "peter, you aren't ashamed of me?" "my dear girl!" he was younger than she and for that reason he adopted a paternal air, patting her on the shoulder. "how can you ask that?" "would you come to see me to-night, peter? come to dinner?" "try me. what's the address?" she gave it to him. "that's fifteenth and fitzwater." "yes, i know. i'll see you at six sharp. until then, maggie." he bared his curly head and flashed out the side door. he tapped at her door at six. there is confusion "i didn't hear you ring," said maggie. "come in. this is nice, peter." "i -should say so. jolly little place you've got here." he settled back on the couch, stretched out his long legs. "all these years i've been tramping about philadelphia, a poor homeless beggar, when i might have been coming to see you. how long have you been alone, maggie?" "four and a half years." "four and a half years! why that's-look here, how long have you been married?" "five years last june. i left him almost right away, or rather he left me." "deserted you, you mean?" "no, no, not that. he wanted to stay. i-i couldn't let him." she told him all about it. "peter, think of it, i'd married a gambler, a common gambler. and i'd wanted so to be decent!" she wept painfully. i he put his arm about her slender shoulders. "there, there now, maggie.&gt;' cit's the first time i've shed a tear about it. seeing you, someone out of the old happy days, upset me. sit here, peter." "they were wonderful days, weren't they? remember what a bunch we were? and now we're scattered everywhere. joanna and philip romping all over the country; sylvia and brian married; sandy too, did you know it?" "yes, -i read of it in the amsterdam news." "you and i here. harry portor-do you remember him?" "ye-es, big square fellow, wore glasses. he used to go skating with us, didn't he?" "yes, that's the fellow. he studied medicine, too, at harvard. went to washington as interne in the freedmen's hospital. i haven't seen him for ages. what'd you leave us for so suddenly, maggie?" she couldn't tell him, of all people, about joanna. there is confusion sending him away, but since he's had this suspicion i've really been afraid. i expect he'll be really violent some day." "well, great scott, won't my coming to see you be dangerous? i was just thinking what good times we'd have." "we will. no, you're all right. he wouldn't be interested in you after he once knew who you were. and there's thomas mason upstairs; he's not bothered about him either, though tom and his sister are in here all the time." peter pushed his chair back. "that was a mighty good dinner, maggie. mind if i smoke?" he lit a cigarette. "well, you've had hard luck, haven't you? but never mind, it's bound to break even, sooner or later. that's what i keep saying to myself." "you in trouble too, peter? i've been running on so about my affairs. tell me about yours. studying the way you have to must be an awful strain." he noticed gratefully how quick and ready was her sympathy. that was just it. studying itself wasn't so bad, working wasn't bad. but the combination, the struggle to make ends meet, his few social obligations, and color! "why, it's awful. i'm on the rack all the time. "if you could stop for a year or so and take a little rest, do something entirely different." he glanced at her, amused but touched. "joanna ought to hear you say that. she'd faint away. she can't understand anybody's wanting to let up." maggie said with a faint bitterness that you must always be top notch for joanna. "i should say so. here, i'll help you with the dishes. well, -if you really don't want me." she washed and wiped so fast that the room seemed cleared by magic. it had turned cooler and maggie lit her little gas-stove. peter smoked and relapsed into a moody silence, which he broke now and then with an account of his struggles. his there is confusion uncle peter had died during his third year and the house had been inherited by his daughter, mrs. boyd. of course he couldn't expect anything of her. her father was only his great-uncle, and she had her own children to look after. he had moved to mrs. larrabee's in west philadelphia, with some of his fraternity brothers. somehow his money sped. his books were expensive, the cost of his instruments pure robbery. "i do what playing i can, but i confess i'm up against it," he ended ruefully. "lots of the boys do waiting, don't they?" asked maggie. "why don't you do that?" he just couldn't, he told her. "i never could endure standing around 'grand white folks."' both of them smiled at the childhood's phrase. "'yes, sir, thank you- oh, no, sir.' then some lazy white banker, or some fat white woman that never did a day's work in her life, puts a hand in a pocket and offers you a dime. god, how i hate it! i did it once at asbury park, phil did, too. we both said, 'never again!'" "where do you play?" "at different dance-halls. they don't pay as well here as in new york, though. what's that, maggie?" a thin stream of music, played on a violin, floated down to them. "that's good fiddling. is it in this house?" "yes. it's tom mason, the man i told you about. the very thing for you! he makes barrels of money. come on, peter." she led him, bewildered, up to the third floor, tapped on a door and was admitted to a room much like the one she had just left. a young woman with red crinkled hair and a yellow freckled face sat sewing on a white apron. the young man there is confusion who let them in had been putting some resin on his bow. against the wall stood a battered, time-worn piano. "hello, annie," said maggie. "hello, tom. this is my friend mr. bye. i've brought him up to hear you play." "but i can't, miss maggie. i've no accompanist." he turned soft brown eyes upon her. "unless your friend here plays the piano." "well, i do admit to tickling the ivories occasionally," laughed peter. "let's see your score." he sat down to the piano, ran his brown limber fingers over the keys, and began to play the accompaniment to a typical syncopated melody, accenting the time with staccato nods of his well-shaped head. "oh, great, that's great!" cried tom after a few minutes. "wait till i get my violin." together they made some wonderful sounds. "play that passage again, will you?" tom pointed it out with his bow. "that's the best accompanist you've ever had, isn't it, tom?" annie asked. "i should say so. don't suppose you'd ever consent to doin' this sort of thing in public, mr. bye?" "that depends on the price and the hours," said peter. tom told him about himself. he played, had all the work he could do, for the wealthy folks of the town and suburbs. the pay was first-rate. only he had never been able to keep a good accompanist. "they're so do-less," he complained. "what's your regular line?" peter explained that he was a student. mason liked that. "then you'd be workin' because you'd really need the fun's. nothin' like having a purpose. do you think you could go out to sharon hill with me to-morrow: night and play that? there'd be a few other odds and ends. though them white folks don't let me play nothin' much but there is confusion a il that, once i get started. 'you might drop in for an hour tomorrow and take a peep at the others. you can do them easy, if you can read that." he pointed to the piece they'd already played. "honey-babe," declaimed peter. "well, mr. mason, if we can come to terms, i'm your man." mason took him aside then, and whispered a few words. "all right," peter told him, shaking hands. "that listens pretty. see you to-morrow, say at four. good-night folks. you coming too, maggie?" downstairs he stopped at the landing. "maggie, you jewel! how well you've managed! no, i won't come in. you see what was worrying me most was my operating set. the price of those little steel knives and forceps is going to touch the sky pretty soon. wow! this confounded war is taking everything across seas. fellow told me to get my order in before christmas even if i didn't pay for them till next year. but where was i going to raise all that money? now the way looks clearer." "i'm so glad, peter." "it's me that's glad, maggie. best thing in the world for me that i met you to-day. such a piece of fortune! cheer up, child! perhaps we'll bring each other luck!" chapter xvi the house on south fifteenth street saw peter often after that. mason could have given him work every night if he had wanted it. as it was he gave him enough to cause him to come for rehearsals three and four times a week. usually peter terminated his practice with a visit to maggie, who got home regularly at five-thirty when she was in town. she appreciated peter's company, for she had been very lonely in this big city with its impregnable social fortresses. "it's a wonder you come to see me so often, peter," she told him wistfully. "being a bye gives you the entrance everywhere among the oldest of these 'old philadelphians."` "yes," said peter cheerfully, "but home-folks are best. and then you make it so pleasant for me, maggie. why, i've never eaten in my life anything so wonderful as that dinner sunday. you certainly have the knack of making a fellow feel comfortable." she was proud to have him there, he was so handsome and charming, but much more than that, so clearly a personage. she enjoyed being seen with him. he took her out occasionally to the park, to the theaters on broad street, once to a bazaar given by some fine ladies at the y. m. c. a. on christian street. she recognized some of the women as among those whom she had seen at atlantic city. the startled stare of alice talbert, who happened to be there that evening, afforded her endless satisfaction. maggie realized she spoke to her with a sort of wondering respect. there is confusion "wonder what she thought," she said to herself. "well, she can think anything she pleases." she had not forgotten miss talbert's cool reception when she called at lawyer talbert's office on the corner of fifteenth and lombard. alice was her father's secretary. she was quite remote on seeing maggie, until she learned that the latter's business was with the lawyer. peter was making money these days, real money he told maggie. "i'm better off financially than i've ever been in my life. why, i could make a real living at this sort of thing. mason's got a wonderful clientele!" as usual he was lounging in maggie's little living-room, smoking, watching her move about in her sober house-dress, arranging her accounts and orders. she had bought a little typewriter and had learned to use it. peter was surprised to find her so methodical. he realized that she would have been a great help to philip. he felt a little guilty about coming to maggie's so often. "but it's so confoundedly uncomfortable in my room. of course i could do better now, but it's a lot of trouble to move. it's way up at the top of the house, clean enough, but with just a few sticks of furniture in it, a green iron-bed-ugh!some books and the bye family bible. don't know why i lugged that along with me. i never look in it. well, so long, maggie, see you to-morrow or next day." "all right, peter. you're sure you won't have me fix a cup of cocoa for you before you go? you poor, neglected boy! two buttons off that overcoat. bring it in the next time you come and i'll put them on for you. i'll find some that will match up here on south street." he said he could attend to it himself, but she told him no, that wasn't a man's job. "you certainly are some girl!" he took her hand in his for a moment. "i'll bring it with bells. here, turn me out. i've got to get up at six to-morrow morning. haven't put my therb ie~ s confusion nose inside of carter's classes this week. playing out so late with mason puts me out of commission, you bet." "carter, carter, that's the professor of surgery, isn't it?" "no! no that's davenant. i never miss one of his classes. eat it up in gobs. the old boy's fond of me. says i'm his pet carver. wanted to take me to see an operation in a private hospital last week-white of course-but carter interfered. 'not the place for bye, dr. davenant,' he said. i hate him with his confounded hypocritical patronage. i'd like to chuck him in a minute." her sympathy was instant. "well, why don't you, peter? after all, your music really is in good shape. all this steady practice these long years must count for something. tom says you're a wonder. he'd like to go into partnership with you, i'm sure. he says there's heaps of money in it." "oodles! absolutely! but nothing doing, maggie. too mediocre for miss joanna marshall. but she deserves the best, she's the best herself," he added in quick loyalty. "well, that was a false start i made before, wasn't it? i'm really going this time. mr. peter bye, exit this way." he walked up to lombard street, thinking. "that girl can certainly see along with you. nice to meet some one with a disposition like that. of course i'd rather be a surgeon. but i'm tired of this everlasting digging. i've been nothing but a slave for nearly seven years. and poor as the deuce in the bargain. good lord, when i think of all the money i might have made out of you!" he looked at his fine slender hands with their firm square-tipped fingers. "ideal surgeon hands," doctor davenant had told his assistant. an idea struck peter. "i wonder what joanna would say to that!" he rushed in the house, seized a piece of paper and a pen and told her about it. there is confusion "of course, jan, i don't expect you to marry me if i can't take care of you. you wouldn't anyway, you're not like sylvia. that's not a slam, dearest, that's just a plain statement of facts. but i'm making a lot of money right now-guess how?-with my music, playing for 'grand white folks' at all the swell society functions. of course it takes me out of my classes sometimes, but i don't care, i'm fed up with all that. i've got such a negro-loving bunch of professors, except my surgical men. "what say, joanna, if i quit this, and we get married and i go about the country with you as your accompanist? that ought to suit you, for i don't suppose you ever dream of settling down. "did i tell you i met maggie ellersley? i see her very often. the fellow i play with lives in the same house she does. in fact, maggie introduced me to him. she's been no end kind to me. you'll be interested to know 'she's getting a divorce from that beast she married. see what philip has to say when you tell him. "mind you write me right away what you think about this." the answer came post-haste. "what i think about this," [wrote joanna, infuriated] "is that i don't want and won't have a husband who is just an ordinary strumming accompanist, playing one, two, three, one, two, three. sometimes, peter, i think you must be crazy." a number of irritable and irritating notes followed on both sides until a couple of weeks before christmas, when both sank into a mutinous silence. what peter did not understand and what joanna never knew he needed explained to him was that she wanted peter to be somebody for his own sake. she was really paying him a sincere compliment when she told him that she did not want an accompanist for a husband. like many a woman of strong and purposeful character, she hated a weak man. it followed then that the man who won joanna must be even stronger, more determined than she. she did not know much about marriage. she had not only the usual virginal ignorance of many american girls, she had there is confusion also a remarkable lack of curiosity on the matter. but she knew vaguely that the man was supposed to be the head. ow could she, joanna marshall, ever surrender to a man who was less than she in any respect? her dominating nature craved one still more dominant. but neither peter nor she knew this, she least of all. youth, egotistic though it be, is notably free from this kind of introspection. since american customs of courtship give the girl largely the upper hand, joanna was instinctively, if unanalytically, using peter's love for her, and her own desirability, as a whip to goad him on. it was hard for her, too, much harder than peter knew, or than she realized. for she was beginning at last to feel the tug of passion at her heart strings. it would never have occurred to her to marry peter before he was in their common estimation "on his feet," she would never have asked it of him, she did not expect him to ask it of her. but unconsciously she was yearning for the day when the two might join hands and enter the portals which lead to the house of life. very often she found herself vaguely glad that she had her work. without it, what would she have done? what did girls do while they waited for their young men? heavens, how awful to be sitting around listlessly from day to day, waiting, waiting! anything was better than that, even pounding a typewriter in a box of an office. it was this lack of interest and purpose on the part of girls which brought about so many hasty marriages which terminated in-no, not poverty~mediocrity. joanna hated the word; with her visual mind she saw it embodied in broken chairs, cold gravy, dingy linen, sticky children. she would never mind poverty half so much; she would contrive somehow to climb out of that. but ordinary tame mediocrity! besides, colored people had had enough of that. not for joanna! it must not be thought that at this time she had any inten there is confusion tion of relinquishing her work after marriage. but it was for that reason that she wanted peter to come out of the herd. she saw the two of them together, gracious, shining, perfect! she heard whispers: "that's peter bye, the distinguished surgeon! his wife is unusual, too, she was joanna marshall. you must have heard of her. why, she sings all over the country!" and here was peter offering her the vision of herself, standing glorious, resplendent in her stage clothes, while he trailed across to the piano, her music portfolio under his arm: "that's peter bye!" "peter bye? who's he?" "the husband of joanna marshall, the artist." she would never endure it. "and i don't thank maggie ellersley the least bit for introducing him to this music man, whoever he is," she told herself after she had read the letter. "tell philip she's getting a divorce indeed! how much would any decent man be interested in her after that?" poor inexperienced joanna! peter's vagaries were not her only worries. she was undergoing just now what she would have termed a really serious disappointment. her dancing, on which she had spent so many years, so much of her father's and her own money, on which she had built so many high hopes, was destined, it seemed, to avail her nothing. she had been so sure. her art was so perfect, so complete that even bertully, cynic though he was, believed that in her case the american stage must let down the bars. "they have but to see you, mademoiselle, to rdaliser zat you are somebody, zat you have ze great gift. and when they see you to danse, v'la!" he snapped his thin fingers. joanna, he told his assistant, madame celeste, was the best pupil he'd ever had. there is confusion "you look at her and she is ze child, so grave, so sage. in another moment she is like a wild creature, a bacchante. onless zey are all fools, these americains, they take her up, hein celeste?" madame celeste nodded a dark, assenting head. bertully himself accompanied her. there were three or four managers for whom he had done favors. they went first to a mr. abrams, who received joanna kindly. "i'm sure of your ability, my dear girl, and you ought to go. you're young. i can see you could be made into a beauty. with bertully recommending you as he does, you must be a wizard. but the white american public ain't ready for you yet, they won't have you." he looked at her reflectively a few seconds. "i know the day is coming, but not for some time yet. that don't console you much, does it? i've got an idea of my own, if i think i can put over, i'll send for you." "courage," said bertully, helping her into the taxi, "there are some others." the next manager, david kohler, was explicit and,to the point. "couldn't make any money out of you. america doesn't want to see a colored dancer in the role of a premiere danseuse. how's that accent, bertully? she wants you to be absurd, grotesque. of course," tentatively, "you couldn't consider being corked up-you're brown but you're too light as you are -and doing a break-down?" "no," said joanna shortly, "i couldn't. shall we go, monsieur?" by the time they reached the third manager, joanna for all her natural assurance had become a little timid. bertully's name had gained them almost instant admission to the manager, but it was hard in the short wait to listen to the scarcely veiled comments of the office girls and the other applicants. "say, what do you suppose she is?" there is confusion "must be a south american." "she ain't, she's a nigger or i don't know one." "say, she's got her nerve comin' here. think snyder'll give her anything?" "will he? not a chance!" her cheeks were so flushed when she went in that she really was beautiful. but snyder gave her one look, checked himself in the act of raising his hat, swung around to the frenchman. "this your- great find, bertully?" "mais oui,` the old man began excitedly. the other calmly lit a big black cigar. "you needn't wait, miss. like to oblige you, bertully, but i couldn't do a thing for you." he walked across the office, held the door open for them, bent over bertully's ear. "you'll ruin your trade teachin' niggers, bertully. better take my tip." they rode down in the elevator in silence. joanna, scarlet to the ears, 'saw the conjectures written in the eyes of the other passengers as they observed her and the frenchman's elaborate courtesies. she would take up no more of his time, she told him, thanking him for his kindness; she would go home now. he understood and beckoned her a taxi, into which he helped her with another elaborate display of courtesy, much to the interest of several spectators. "so silly of me to mind this," joanna scolded herself. but she did mind it. how could it be possible that she, joanna marshall, was meeting with rebuffs? not that she was conceited. the point was that she had grown up in her own and joel's belief,-naniely, that honest effort led invariably to success. this was probably the first time in her life that she had been thwarted. she was like a spoiled child, bewildered and indignant at being suddenly brought to book. the week before christmas a note came from peter. "of course i've been planning as usual to come home, jan. there is confusion but we haven't been hitting it off so well lately. thought i'd better write and see if you really wanted me to." she wrote him. "of course i want you." heavens, what would christmas be without peter! he told her on what train he was arriving and asked her to meet it. she might have done so, but her day was as usual very full and she had a rehearsal at six-of indefinite length. she would have to cut out something. too bad it had to be meeting peter. but he surely would come up to the house at once. her accompanist appeared promptly and they put in a hard two hours. joanna, her ear unconsciously straining for the telephone or the doorbell, was not up to her usual mark. eight o'clock and peter not here and his train in at four! well, he wasn't coming then. she plunged into hard work. her father came by the door and watched her, thinking what a picture she made in her pretty dress. she had put on one of her old stage frocks, for she usually did better work if she created for herself, as nearly as possible, the atmosphere of the stage. at nine-thirty the accompanist left. "we went rather slowly at first, but you came out splendidly at the end, miss marshall. you were a little bit tired, perhaps." "that must have been it. thank you and good-night, miss eggleston." still no peter! "mean thing, i'll fix him for that." the bell buzzed softly, she could barely hear it. yes, that was he. she heard her father's voice, "in the back parlor, bye." he came in, came toward her. "well, joanna, here's the wanderer returned." he bent to kiss her. she turned him a cold cheek, which to her surprise he kissed without expostulation. there is confusion he crossed the room, sat down and looked at her. "h'm, how stagy we are in that get-up! " he was different somehow, she thought, vaguely hurt by his remark. one of her reasons for putting on the dress had been so that she might please him. she asked him a question to hide her chagrin. "where've you been, peter? i thought your train got in at four?" "it did, but since you weren't there to meet me, i supposed you didn't care whether i came late or early, or not at all. i met vera manning in the station and took her to a movie." her spirits went up at that. this was just pique, sheer pique. "how lovely for vera! and now i've got to send you home almost right away. i've had a hard day and i'm dreadfully tired. tell you what, dear boy, come to luncheon to-morrow. we'll have it together, just we two." she thought after he had gone that he had looked at her critically, impersonally. "as though he were contrasting me with some one," she murmured. the next day confirmed her impression. joanna asked him to praise the luncheon. "i fixed it every bit myself." "i should think so, so feminine and knickknackish." his tone said: "i'm used to having my taste consulted." joanna did not like the remark, but there was nothing really to be said about it. she sprang up lightly, began to clear away. "come on, lazy peter bye, don't leave everything for me to do." - he lounged in his chair. "oh, come, joanna, i'm used to being waited on, not doing the waiting." there is confusion she stared at him then. "well, good heavens! what on earth has been happening to you in philadelphia?" he spoke from a contented reminiscence. "when i have dinner at maggie neal's, she's not everlastingly asking me to do this and do that. 'sit still, peter,' she says, 'this isn't a man's work.' "maggie neal has her own methods with her men friends. personally i prefer to have mine wait on me." he rose to his feet. "oh, yes, queen joanna must be served." they finished and went to the parlor. joanna sang one or two of her songs to his accompaniment. the incident rankled, though she wouldn't let herself speak about it. "but he certainly is changed," she said to herself in an angry bewilderment. she had to sing in orange that night and did not intend to return until the next morning. "what do we do to-morrow?" peter asked. "remember you said you wanted to hear aida? i 'phoned them to reserve tickets for us for to-morrow's matinee. but they have to be called for. better go down there first thing in the morning, peter." he twisted around on the piano stool. "you'll be down town to-morrow morning coming from orange. why don't you stop for them?" she couldn't believe her ears. "peter bye, you are spoilt," she flamed. "you're-why you're absolutely disgusting. we'll never hear aida if you depend on my getting the tickets. as long as he was well and not busy, there's no man in -the world i'd do it for." "married women do it for their husbands." "sylvia doesn't do it for brian. he wouldn't dream of asking her. besides, that's different. and, anyway, we're there is confusion not married yet. nor likely to be, if we don't get along any better than this. whatever's come over you, peter?" he shrugged his shoulders. "i think you make a lot of fuss over nothing, joanna. but all right i'll get you the tickets. see you at one-thirty?" she sat a long time in her room after he had gone, her hands and eyes busy with her day's mail, which sylvia always placed on her writing table. but her mind could not take in the written words, it was too full of something else. but peter, peter of all men to act like this! both she and sylvia had always known that maggie was unexacting. the marvel was, however, that peter should take so quickly to this kind of treatment. well, she'd just have to hold him that much closer to the mark. he'd see that there were some girls who knew what was due them. it was time for her to dress. as she looked into the mirror she voiced her real regret. "two days of the vacation gone, and we've done nothing but quarrel. to-day he didn't even ask me for a kiss. peter, you wretch. just wait till you come to your senses!" they were a little stiff next day on the way to the matinee, talking politely and impersonally about the weather in philadelphia and new york, joanna's concert, and sylvia's children. walking up broadway, however, they thawed a little. joanna as usual was looking trim. she wore that winter an extremely trig tobacco-brown suit, with a fur turban and a narrow neckpiece of raccoon, the light part setting off the bronze distinction of her face. but peter was superlative. his financial success with tom mason had made it possible for him to indulge in a new outfit which emphasized the distinction of his carriage, set off his handsome face. several people looked at him on- the crowded street. joanna herself stole several glances sidewise. he caught her at it. "joanna marshall, if you look at me there is confusion again like that, just once more, mind you, i'll snatch you up in my arms this minute and kiss you." "you wouldn't dare." "i dare you to try it. i'd do it no matter how much you kicked and struggled. wouldn't the people stare?" joanna giggled. "can't you see the headlines in the papers to-morrow? 'burly negro attacks strapping negress on broadway!'" "yes, and the small type underneath, 'an interested crowd gathered about a pair of dusky combatants yesterday. a negro and negress — " joanna interrupted: "both of them spelt with a small 'n,' remember! here we are at the opera." he caught her hand. "just because you jockeyed me out of that kiss that time, clever joanna, doesn't mean that i'm going to do without it forever." in her heart she loved him. "oh, peter, be like this al. ways," she prayed. there is confusion i get my degree or not. you can't imagine all the petty unfairness about me. only the other day the barber refused to shave me in the college barber-shop. your own cousin, john talbert, is a zeta gamma man if ever there was onethat's the equivalent to phi beta kappa in his school, you know. do you think he got it? no, they black-balled him out." joanna sat silent, stunned by this avalanche. and to think she had precipitated it! "arabelle morton's sister, selma," peter went on morosely, "took her master's degree last year. the candidates sat in alphabetical order. selma sat in her seat wondering whom the chair on the left of her belonged to-it was vacant. at the last moment a girl came in, a miss nelson, who had been in one or two of her classes. selma knew she was a southerner. 'oh, i just can't sit there,' selma heard her say, not too much under her breath. and some friend of hers went to the professor in charge of the exercises and he let her change her place, though it threw the whole line out of order." he paused, still brooding. "another colored girl-can't think of her name-paid for a seat in one of the seminary rooms. the white girl next to her, apparently a very pleasant person, had her books all over her own desk space and this one, too. they were the best seats in the room. the colored girl asked her to move them. she just looked at her. then this miss-miss taylor, that was her name, took it from one authority to another, finally to the professor in charge of the library. he assigned her another seat. said the girl had been there four years, and that anyway, she-the white girl-resented the colored girl's manner toward her. the damned petty injustice!" "but, peter," joanna argued, "you wouldn't let that interfere with your whole career, change your whole life?" "why shouldn't i? there're plenty of pleasanter ways to there is confusion earn a living. why should i take any more of their selfish dog-in-the-manger foolishness? i can make all the money i want with tom mason. if you aren't satisfied for me to be an accompanist, i could go into partnership with him and we could form and place orchestras. it's a perfectly feasible plan, joanna. why shouldn't i pick the job that comes handiest, since the world owes me a living?" he frowned, meditating. "isn't it funny, i felt just then as though i'd been through all this before. it's- just as though i'd heard myself say that very thing some other time. well, what do you say, joanna?" "that i don't want a coward and a shirker for a husband. as though that weren't the thing those white people-those mean ones-wanted! not all white people are that way. both of us know it, peter. and it's up to us, to you and me, peter bye, to show them we can stick to our last as well as anybody else. if they can take the time to be petty, we can take the time to walk past it. oh, we must fight it when we can, but we mustn't let it hold us back. buck up, peter, be a man. you've got to be one if you're going to marry me." he shrugged his shoulders. "may i light a cigarette?" but she noticed he did it with trembling fingers. "just as you say, joanna." she rose and faced him, this new peter-this old peter if she did but know it, with the early shiftlessness, the irresoluteness of his father, meriwether bye, the ancient grudge of his grandfather, isaiah bye, rearing up, bearing full and perfect fruit in his heart. both rage and despair possessed her, as she saw the beautiful fabric of their future felled wantonly to the ground. for the sake of a few narrow pedants! "peter, peter, we've got to make our own lives. we can't let these people ruin us." she felt her knees trembling under there is confusion her. "we're both tired and beside ourselves. come and see me to-morrow, will you?" what should she say to him now, she wondered next day after a long white night. and once she had only to raise her finger and he was willing, glad to do her bidding. could it be that after all these years she had failed to touch his pride, worse yet that he had no pride? she had been longing so for a cessation from all this bickering, so that they might have time for a touch of tenderness. but she could not afford that now. his love for her was her strongest hold over him. she was sure she could bring him back to reason. perhaps she had been a little severe last night, calling him a coward. "i musn't lose my temper," she told herself. yet that was the very thing she did. the matter took such a sudden, such a grotesque turn. he came in about eleven, his handsome face haggard, his eyes bloodshot. she was astounded at his appearance. "peter, you look dreadful!" he glanced over the top of her head at his reflection in the mirror, lounged to the sofa, threw himself in the corner of it. "guess i'm due to look a fright after staying up all night. didn't get to bed till five this morning. she thought he'd been worrying over their quarrel. "you poor boy, you didn't need to take it that hard." he stared at her. "take what, that hard? oh, our talk! that didn't keep me awake. i spent the night at 'jake's.' " "jake's" was the cabaret, a cheap one, in which he had played years ago. she couldn't understand him. "i thought you had plenty of money without playing there." "i have. i didn't play there. i was a visitor like anybody else, like harry portor; he spent the night there, too. there was a whole gang of us." there is confusion thereis cnfusin clearly she must get to the bottom of this. while she had been tossing sleepless, he had been in a cabaret, dancing with cheap women, laughing, drinking perhaps. "you mean you deliberately went there to have a good time and stayed all night? you and harry portor and the rest drank, i suppose?" "i don't think portor did. he's a full-fledged doctor now, though he's hardly any practice yet. but the rest of us did. there's nothing in that, joanna, fellow's got to get to know the world." her anger rose, broke. she lost her dignity. "i suppose maggie ellersley taught you that, too." "what's that?" his handsome face lowered. "say, how'd maggie ellersley get into this? no, she never taught me anything. but i can tell you what, if a fellow were going with her and went during his holidays to have a spree at a cabaret she wouldn't nag him about it, like you nag me. yes, about that and about a thousand other things." she turned into ice. "i'll never nag you again. here, take this thing!" she drew off the little ring. "i don't want it." a pin dropping would have crashed in that silence. his voice came back to him. "you don't mean this, joanna, -you can't." "i do. here, take it." "you-you mean the engagement is broken?" he ignored her outstretched hand. she dropped the ring in his pocket. "i mean i can't consider a man for a husband who throws away his career because of the meanness of a few white men. of a man who sits all night in a low cabaret where every loafer in new york can point him out and say, 'that's the kind of fellow joanna marshall goes about with.'" "oh, i see, it isn't for my sweet sake, then!" there is confusion she pushed him toward the door. "go, peter! go!" on new year's morning he came back, humble, contrite. "i was a fool, joanna. i must have been mad. please forgive me." "of course i do, peter." he fumbled in his pocket, held out the ring. "will you take this back? " "i can't do that." "when will you?" "i don't know if ever." there was a long silence. he came over and put his hand on the back of her chair, afraid to touch her. "joanna, i don't deserve your love. but you still do love me?" she nodded slowly. his face brightened at that. "but you won't take back the ring?" "no, peter, i can't take back the ring." he knelt and kissed- her hands. "good-by, sweetheart, i must go to philadelphia to-day. happy new year, joanna." she let him go then. none of their other partings had ever been like this. safe in her room she cried herself sick. "oh, peter," she murmured to herself, "come back like the boy i used to know." she wished now that she had been easier with him. "and yet if i were, he'd let go entirely. well, it must come out all right." but her heart was heavy. the very next day she got a letter. peter must have written her as soon as he arrived in philadelphia. "joanna, i was wrong," he had written contritely, "i confess i had got away somewhat from your manner of thinking, and i suppose i was a little sore, too,-your life seems there is confusion so full. sometimes i think there is nothing i can bring you. but i do love you, joanna. you must always believe that and i think you love me, too. we were meant for each other. i am sure life would hold for us the deepest, most irremedi.. able sorrow if we separated. whether we are engaged or not, just tell me that you love me still and i can be happy." chapter xviii if she had only answered the letter, then, that very moment! but she had said to her impulse: "no, i must wait. i can't let him off too easily." perhaps, too, there was a little sense of satisfaction at having him again at her knees, suing for her favors, but this was secondary. joanna was really sick at heart to think that her beautiful dreams of success for both of them might not be realized. she wanted to be great herself, but she did not want that greatness to overshadow peter. somehow the week slipped by, quickly enough, too. there was always plenty to do. love,-the desire to give it and receive it was tugging persistently at the cords of her being, but she had been too long the slave of ambition to listen consciously to that. yet she found herself lying awake nights thinking, thinking, more about peter than about her singing engagements during the new year, or about her plan to make her mightiest efforts just now to enter the dancing world. yet whatever she might ponder by night, she spent all her time and strength by day going to see performances, practicing, inventing new steps and new rhythms. through helena arnold and indirectly through vera sharples she obtained the promise of an interview with one of the season's favorites. "i'll be able to see you early thursday evening," the famous woman wrote. "you may expect either a note or a telephone call from me." at one time such a promise would have sent i there is confusion joanna into the seventh ecstasy, without impairing her confidence. but recent discouragements, persistent-and for her unusual, phenomena-had rendered her timid. she was nervous. her assurance wavered. she spent the whole day going through her repertory. sometimes she danced like a maenad. then she adopted a slow greek rhythm, posturing and undulating. she struck attitudes before the mirror, standing in one position for long moments. "for heaven's sake," said sylvia, putting her head inside the door on one of these occasions, "go out and take a walk, joanna." she was as nervous as her sister. "not a bad idea, sylvia, i believe i will. you can answer the phone. have you seen my brown cape?" she came back a little after five, refreshed and soothed. "no phone message," sylvia told her, "but here's a note. what's she got to say, janna?" she came and looked over her sister's arm. "so sorry not to be able to see you to-night," the noted artiste had written. "i'm halfway expecting an old friend of mine and must keep the evening free. i shall try to arrange to have you call, just the same, not this month i'm afraid, but certainly in february." she ended with a meaningless expression of "good wishes." "mercy," said sylvia, "why didn't she say next year?" joanna was bitter. "or next eternity? sylvia, i wonder if i'm not a darn fool!" she walked upstairs trailing her long brown cape after her. all her life she had known and seen success. when she was born her father was a successful caterer, almost a wealthy man. it is true that she had seen her own people hindered, checked on account of color, but hardly any of the things she had greatly wanted had been affected for that cause. she had had money enough to have her dancing and music lessons -the very fact that she had had to take separate and special there is confusion lessons from bertully meant to her that some special and separate way would be arranged whereby she would become a dancer on the stage. she did not know how to envisage disappointment. strangely enough, the defection of the artiste struck home to her more keenly than the reception which she had had from the stage-managers. she refused sylvia's invitation to come back downstairs and spend the evening with her and brian. "we might go to a movie," sylvia had said tentatively. but joanna had only made an impatient gesture of refusal, and walking into her room had closed the door very carefully after her. she did not cry or throw herself across the bed. it might have been better for her if she had. joanna's creed was that one kept a stiff upper lip even to oneself. she had not had many occasions to try out that creed. there she sat, stiffly, on the spindling chair in front of her small flat-topped writing desk and brooded over the future which suddenly stretched dull, stale, and uninvigorating before her. she would never be able to stand it. the thought of her marriage flashed across her mind. "and peter," she said to herself aloud, "willing to be ordinary and second-rate! where is that letter of his? i might just as well answer it now as at any other time." in spite of her ugly mood a little wave of tenderness welled up in her heart as she read,-"just tell me that you do love me still, "oh, peter, peter," she murmured, "if i tell you that you'l never change, never push on. if only you could be strong and let me bring my troubles to you." it would never do to let him know how completely she wjs discouraged. and equally she could not let him know how dear, weakness and all, he was to her. she would make her love conditional. "if you want me to love you, peter,-" there is confusion she hated that, but some day they would both be glad of it. she actually cried for the two of them as she wrote her stern little fiction: "dear peter: "no, i don't love you as you are. the man i marry must be a man worth while like my father or philip. i couldn't stand the thought of spending my life with some one ordinary. "but i want to love you, peter. write me soon and say you are going to get to work in earnest. happy new year. "sincerely, "joanna." she read it over and over, totally blind to its supreme egotism. then she sealed it and, sniffling a little-more like a child than like an artist-went to bed. in the morning she awoke with a sense of impending disaster. the phrase is trite but so, alas, is disaster. at first, as she lay there, her slender brown arms stretched above her tumbled head, she mused to herself about it. "let's see why i do feel so rotten? what's the matter?" she remembered her engagement with the artiste. "but that's not what's making me sick," she told herself after a momentary probing of her self-consciousness. then recalling the letter to peter, she got up and walked bare-footed across the room to the desk, shivering a little as the chilly january morning air struck at her, billowing her thin nightdress. she thought she would read it again, but the envelope was sealed. it slipped out of her hand and she ran back to bed again, cuddling luxuriously. "oh, well!" afterwards when she rose and closed the windows she promised herself: "if i do send it i'll write him a sweet, sweet letter soon." after breakfast she posted it. it fell with a heaviness into the box that made her uneasy. "i'll write him again to there is confusion night," she thought. "poor peter! he'll be disappointed, i suppose." but the night brought her several offers to sing in southern schools which she thought she might just as well accept. apparently nothing was to come of her dancing. she had about a week in which to get ready. just before she left, a little surprised that she had not already heard from peter, she wrote him a long letter, her first long love-letter. "dearest peter [she began] "you can't think how awfully i want to see you. if you were here to-night i shouldn't quarrel with you one moment." she quoted lines from one of goethe's poems. "ein blick von deinen augen in die meinen, ein kuss von deinen mund auf meinem munde: she hesitated a moment, a little aghast at this disclosure of her feelings. "but i might just as well, he deserves it. dear, dear peter, if i could just see you!" she ended, smiling shamefacedly at her own abandon"mein einzig gliick auf erden ist dein wille"she might have stopped in philadelphia on her way south, but she couldn't after that letter. in richmond she received a note from peter which sylvia had forwarded. "my dear joanna [she was surprised at the formality] "i have both your letters. i cannot tell you how surprised i was at receiving the first or how much i cherished the second. joanna, i would give ten years of my life if you had written the second one first. i am very busy now but i am going to write you a final letter very soon. "sincerely, "peter." there is confusion "'a final letter,' " she quoted to herself. "what a funny thing to say! oh, peter! and i wanted, i needed a real letter, a love-letter!" her natural reasonableness helped her. "it's my own fault. i suppose he feels like i feel sometimes, don't-care-y. but 'a final letter.' i wonder what he meant!" but she did not puzzle long. richmond was appreciative and gay. some one wrote her from hampton and asked her to do an interpretative dance. partly because of the interest and excitement, partly because she had forced herself to do so often, she resolutely put peter out of her mind. "he'll know when i write him again," she told herself ruefully. two weeks, a month passed; she came into her room one day to find a bulky letter from sylvia. "he doesn't mean it, joanna, of course, but i had to send it." thus her sister's note. puzzled, she read the inclosure, which turned out to be a letter from peter to sylvia. "dear sylvia: "i am writing to let you know that i am to be married in june. joanna told me she didn't love me and so i am going to marry maggie neal; she's crazy about me. tell joanna not to bother sending back any of the things i've given her. "sincerely, "peter." chapter xix one of the mysteries of the ages will be solved with the answer to the question: why do men consider women incalculable? peter had been hurt by joanna's indifference again and again, she had refused a dozen times to marry him, she had scolded him, teased him, slighted him. yet she had always come back to his eager arms. in spite of this he had been unable to see in her attitude at christmas and in the unkind letter which she had written the logical outcome of her earlier acts-all of which by enduring he had tacitly indorsed. he read the letter in a maze of anger and wounded pride. before he knew it he had caught up his cap and started for maggie's house. by the time the long, yellow, crawling car had jolted him over the uneven reaches of lombard street and set him down at fifteenth he was in a fever of bitterness, resentment and self-pity. maggie hardly knew him when he entered her little sitting-room. "oh, peter," she went up to him swiftly, "something awful has happened." he showed her the letter, striding up and down the room as she read it. she lifted her head to say to him: "she doesn't mean it; you know joanna, always making a mountain out of a molehill." instead she heard herself saying: "how could she possibly write such things to you-you've always been so kind." i there is confusion "too kind," he muttered. "i tell you what, maggie, joanna's got no heart, she's all head, all ideas and if you don't see and act her way, she's got no use for you." "i do think she thinks herself a lot better than any one else," maggie said slowly, remembering joanna's letter to her about philip. "well, she is, you know," he put in unexpectedly. "oh, lord, what am i going to do without her!" genuinely touched, she sat down on the little box-couch beside him and slid her arm around his shoulder. "after all, you've still got me, peter." he looked up at her, feeling the surge of a new idea in his heart. if he could only punish joanna-no not punish exactly, you couldn't punish her, she was always too remote for that-but shock her\, let her see, as his boyhood's phrase would have had it, that she was not the only pebble on the beach. besides, what a revenge to cut loose altogether from the influence of her ideals and ally himself with one whom she would have characterized as having no ideals at all. before the thought was even shaped in his brain he was speaking: "of course i always have you, maggie. how-how would you like to spend your future with me?" "what do you mean, peter?" "i mean, joanna's chucked me. you and i get along famously, you've got your divorce from neal. why not marry me?" it was plain that though surprised she liked the idea. she saw herself suddenly transformed in this inhospitable snobbish city from maggie neal, alone and declassee, into mrs. peter bye, a model of respectability. that he had no money, no accepted means of making a livelihood she understood would mean nothing. he was a there is confusion bye and she as his wife could go anywhere. she would show alice talbert! and afterwards when he got his degree! but because she had once loved philip she could judge what peter might mean to joanna. to her credit she hesitated. "joanna probably doesn't mean to let you go, peter, she's just angry and disappointed. she takes things harder than sylvia or i. you know she really cares about you, and so do you about her." but he assured her that he did not. "she's too exacting. now there's one thing about you, maggie-maybe it's because you've already been married-you know how to treat a man. joanna makes you feel as though you were in a strait-jacket all the time. i always feel ordinary when i'm with you." neither of them noticed the doubtfulness of the compliment. in the end she accepted him. after all, she owed nothing to joanna, who certainly had not considered her. how surprised she would be to think that peter could so quickly find solace in her-maggie's-arms! and joanna should learn, too, that he could become a success without everlastingly being pushed and prodded. hard on this thought came another. "peter, you won't have to work so hard now to get through school. i'll help you. you know i'm doing very well with the hair-work." he dismissed the theme airily, one hand on her shoulder, the other fumbling for a gigarette. "oh, i'm going to give medicine up. i'll just keep on with tom and the music. heavens, it's so nice to know you won't mind, maggie. can't think why i've stuck to the old school as long as i have, when here i am all set with this nice easy job to my hand. might as well get along with as little trouble as possible. the world owes me a living." * * * * * there is confusion afterwards, back in his room with the green iron bedstead and the bye bible, he felt a difference, a sense of let-downness. he threw himself across the bed and groaned "joanna, how could you?" she could, that was evident. he was stupefied at the turn in his affairs. five hours ago he had expected some day to be a physician and to marry joanna marshall. now it seemed that he was going to be a musician and marry maggie neal. "it isn't true," he told himself, fiercely. but it was true. there on the dresser were some cookies wrapped up in a red and white fringed napkin, maggie's gift when he left her. "i made them for you, hoping you would come in. now you'll be in often, often, won't you? oh, peter, i'll be good to you. i'll be as unlike joanna as possible." he did not want her to be unlike joanna. in fact, he did not want her at all. he might as well take her, though, for joanna did not want him. that was it, no matter how many women he unaccountably married, joanna might be shocked but she would never really care. or suppose she did care a little while, she would soon forget it with her singing and dancing. still, he supposed he must tell her. he would write her a gay, mocking letter. "i hope you'll be as happy with your art as i feel i shall be with maggie. she suits me perfectly." after he had littered his desk and the floor beside it vainly with a veritable snow-storm of torn bits of paper, he let his head drop on his lean brown hands and went to sleep. perhaps it would not be exact to say he cried himself to sleep, but there were certainly tears that burnt and scalded behind his eyelids. his landlady complained of the torn paper the next morning. "'tisn't as though you didn't have a nice waste-paper basket ready and waitin', mr. bye." as she finished speak there is confusion ing she handed him joanna's letter containing goethe's poem. the tenderness, the real love that blazed in the beautiful lines overwhelmed him. he could not tell her the truth after a letter like that. so he wrote her, postponing but hinting, he fondly believed, at the news which he must soon break to her. a month later, finding himself still unequal to the task, he wrote to sylvia. chapter xx ylvia had written. "he doesn't mean it, of course" but joanna knew better. even while dumbfounded she stood staring at the note, trying to believe there must be some mistake, her heart, her every sense was telling her it was too true. peter had given her up. he was going to marry maggie. he had given her up. that was the important thing. for if he was not to marry her, what difference did it make whom he married? she had never been religious, she had never been dramatic. rather she somewhat despised any emphatically emotional display. "people don't really act that way," she told herself. yet she dropped on her knees beside the pine bedstead in the sparsely furnished room. her hands clutched at the counterpane. she could feel her throat constricting. a scalding hotness seared her nostrils, her mouth became dry, her eyeballs burned. "oh, god! oh, peter!" she repeated the two phrases again and again in a sick agony. "god, you couldn't let it be true. you know i always loved him, i didn't hide it from you. you knew my heart." at first she thought she would go to him. then the fear that he might not want to see her, might even refuse to see her, overcame her. that humiliation she could never endure. she sat down and wrote him a long letter, her pen flying ' i there is confusion over the page like something bewitched. it could not move fast enough to empty her heart of all she had to tell. if she could only make clear to him that she had "chastened" him because she loved him. how patronizing, how silly she had been. she said aloud, "how he and maggie must have laughed at me, setting myself up above them and their ideas as though i were some goddess! oh, god, why did you let me do it? you knew what i really meant." her tears almost blotted out her words. the post-office was a mile away but she trudged the distance mechanically, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, absorbed and drowned in the black sorrow which overwhelmed her. peter's answer, which came in four days, brought no solace. she had never dwelt on any pages as she did on those of his last letter. the curt, stern phrases both cut her and awakened a new respect for him. with a sense of responsibility which joanna had never seen in him before, he insisted on honoring the claim which maggie's complete and unexacting love made upon him. "even if i wanted to give her up," he wrote in a sort of anguished virtuousness, "i would not, she has been too kind to me. but i don't want to give her up, joanna. besides, i've got to consider the public. she has told several people that we are engaged." joanna cried aloud: "if you had only been like- this before, ever before, only once, i'd have known i couldn't trifle with you. oh, peter, you deceived me." the tears stood, great wells of water about her eyes. she finished her engagement in the quiet southern city before an audience which wondered vaguely what had happened to make joanna marshall different. somehow she packed her trunk, thanked the persistent youth who had constituted himself her cavalier, and boarded the jim crow car. her cavalier for all his persistence had been unable to obtain there is confusion for her pullman accommodations. after washington she fell to wondering what it used to be like in other days, less than a year ago, when she would be coming up this way, through baltimore, wilmington, past chester, secure in the knowledge that peter would be waiting for her at west philadelphia. he would never be there again! how could she endure it? it was not possible that anyone could stand this thing. no wonder people "crossed in love" she dwelt on the phrase distastefully-killed themselves. she toyed with the idea. of course she couldn't; that sort of relief was not for her. in the first place it was cowardly. with her usual mental clarity she visualized the colored papers of harlem. there would be notices telling how the "gifted singer, joanna marshall, daughter of joel marshall, died by her own hand " her mind lingered over it, painting in new details, consciously withdrawing as far as possible from the real cause of her grief. as the train slid into the long shed at west philadelphia she pressed her face against the window-pane and strained out into the dusk. sometimes miracles did occur. perhaps he was there, perhaps none of it was true. her tears crept down the glass, the man behind her watching curiously. sylvia met her in new york, got her home and finally to bed. mr. and mrs. marshall knew nothing of the matter and sylvia had told even brian very little. the two girls said nothing about peter directly. "help me to get to sleep, sylvia," joanna said suddenly after a rambling account of her trip. her roving eyes and twitching hands had already betrayed her need. "help me to get to sleep or i think i shall go mad." chapter xxi joanna was in agony. her life, hitherto a thing of light and laughter and pleasant work, became a nightmare of regret and morbid introspection. she could not blame herself enough. nothing that sylvia could say would make her speak unkindly of peter. "no, sylvia, it wasn't his fault, really, it was all mine. of course i think he was a little stupid not to see that my very interest in him, my constant fault-finding grew out of my wish to have him perfect. and i wanted him to be perfect because i loved him. but if i had ever dreamed how much i was hurting him, i'd never have said a word to him. i'd rather have had him exactly as he was, faults and all, than to lose him altogether." she suffered intensely, too, from wounded pride., "just think, sylvia, he didn't, he couldn't have loved me after all. he just wanted to get married. see how easily he turned from me. oh, if i had known that was all he wished, i'd have been different. i'd have been just the kind of woman he wanted." her humble sincerity almost made sylvia cry. another girl in joanna's place might not have suffered so intensely. but joanna, poor creature, was doomed by her very virtues. that same single-mindedness which had made her so engrossed in her art, now proved her undoing. her mind, shocked out of its normal complacence, perceived and dwelt on a new aspect of life, an entirely different and undreamed of sense of values. for the first time in her life she there is confusion saw the importance of human relationships. what did a knowledge of singing, dancing, of any of the arts amount to without people, without parents, brothers, sisters, lovers to share one's failures, one's triumphs? she remembered how interested, how faithfully interested all her family had been in her small career. even brian spencer, now that her own brothers were away, felt responsible for her, shifted engagements to get her to the station on time, met trains at ghastly, inconvenient hours of the night. and peter had been her slave, her willing, unquestioning slave, eager to accomplish any task no matter how troublesome, for a word of appreciation from her. and without a thought she had taken all this as her due. she had failed to realize happiness when she saw it. the bird had been in her grasp and she had let it go. this was her constant thought. of course, she still had her.own people. and she was considerate of them now, painfully anxious to show her gratitude. she tried to stammer out an apology to sylvia for her past remissness. but her sister threw an arm about her and strained her close. "don't be so thoughtful, so good, jan. you break my heart. i'd rather have you your old thoughtless, impatient self." of course, this expression of gratitude was really only a gesture to life, to fate. "if peter could come back to me now, he'd see how truly i cared about him. god, couldn't you let him come back?" joanna, who had hardly uttered a prayer outside of "now i lay me," spent most of her thoughts at this time in communion with god-"you great power, you great force, you whatever it is that rules things." walking, riding, any action at all mechanical she utilized in concentrating on her "desire to have everything come right." in the mornings, weak and spent with the wakefulness of there is confusion her white night, she picked up her little slim bible and read portions of the psalms. the beautiful words not only soothed her but brought with them a wonderment at the passion and pain which they revealed. "david, you, too, suffered. help me, help me now." so intense was her thought that she would hardly have been surprised if she had looked up and seen the psalmist bending over her. she hated the mornings even more than the nights. in spite of her wakefulness, she was sure that there were some moments when she lapsed into unconsciousness. but the morning brought with it the promise of another day of pain, of unprofitable preoccupation. sometimes after she had read her psalm, despite the fact that she had been tossing, tossing on her pillow, she yielded to an overwhelming sense of apathy and lay there motionless for hours in the security of her bed. her mental agony was so great at times that it seemed almost physical. her condition surprised sylvia greatly. "i never had any idea that jan cared so much for peter," she told brian. she 'had had to share her sister's secret with him. joanna's persistent sleeplessness had led sylvia in her protecting eagerness to pretend to harry portor that she herself was in need of a sedative and harry had spoken to brian about it. there had to be explanations. brian was not at all surprised at joanna's suffering. "a girl like joanna would be bound to feel deeply or not at all. i knew she must have really cared for peter, else she'd have chucked him long ago. joanna did nag at him, but peter is really the one to blame, for standing for it. if he'd given her a piece of his mind now and then she'd have understood whom she had to deal with; joanna thought she could treat him as she pleased. then when he got tired of it he threw -up -the whole thing without any warning, the silly ass." there is conjfusion "better not let joanna hear you call him that," sylvia interrupted. he went on unnoticing. "of course, what joanna doesn't realize is that she's up against the complex of color in peter's life. it comes to every colored man and every colored woman, too, who has any ambition. jan will feel it herself one day. peter's got it worse than most of us because he's got such a terrible 'mad' on white people to start with. but every colored man feels it sooner or later. it gets in the way of his dreams, of his education, of his marriage, of the rearing of his children. the time comes when he thinks, 'i might just as well fall back; there's no use pushing on. a colored man just can't make any headway in this awful country.' of course, it's a fallacy. and if a fellow sticks it out he finally gets past it, but not before it has worked considerable confusion in his life. ' to have the ordinary job of living is bad enough, but to add to it all the thousand and one difficulties which follow simply in the train of being colored-well, all i've got to say, sylvia, is we're some wonderful people to live through it all and keep our sanity." sylvia agreed soberly that he was right. "now, peter," said brian, warming to his subject, "had a lot of natural handicaps, he was poor, he had no sense of responsibility, he was never too fond of work unless he had some one to spur him on to it. in addition to that he falls in love with a girl who has everything in the world which he lacks, especially comparative ease and overwhelming ambition. jan doesn't see peter and herself as two ordinary human beings, she thinks they have a high destiny to perform and so she drives peter into a course of action which left to himself he would never pursue. i'll bet a month's salary peter had no intention of studying surgery until he found out he had to do something extraordinary to win joanna. now, just there is confusion th is, c n si when each needs the most sympathy from the other, when joanna's plans are, i suspect, going awry, and when peter is suffering most from his color complex, the two let their frazzled nerves carry them into a jangle and bang, peter flies to the first woman who promises to let him take life easy! maggie doesn't see life in the large, she's too much taken up with getting what she wants out of her own life. perhaps she's right." "i don't see how you can say that, brian." "well, it all depends on one's viewpoint. personally, i think peter will get what he deserves if he marries maggie. she's the one that astonishes me. of course, if peter and jan really are through with each other, he's got a perfect right to marry whom he pleases, but i should think maggie's old friendship for you two girls would have held her back awhile." a memory stirred vaguely within him. "or-no, that would really be too rotten." "what would?" "maggie, you know. remember how suddenly she married neal? i've always thought joanna had something to do with that. just the sunday before, maggie had given me a look-in on her feelings for philip and i happened to tell jan about it. my, how she raved! a few days later maggie married her gambler." this was all news to sylvia. "well, i won't tell joanna. she's got enough to bear." joanna was indeed bearing more than sylvia could guess. she was feeling the pull of awakened and unsatisfied passion. it is doubtful if she could thus have analyzed it, for she had rather deliberately withheld her attention from the basic facts of life. "plenty of time for that," she had told herself gayly, a little proud perhaps of a virginal fastidiousness which kept her ignorant as well as innocent. yet bit by bit she had chapter xxii en months later tom mason leaned back against the red plush of the car seat and jingled some coins in l. his pocket. "tell you what, bye, we really are cleaning up. i hadn't expected anything like this run of engagements. now suppose you beat it along to mrs. lea's and find out what special arrangements she wants made for the musicians to-night and i'll go on to mrs. lawlor and see about to-morrow." peter stared moodily at the flying landscape. "i wish you'd come yourself, mason. i hate to talk to these white people. their damned patronizing airs make me sick." "what do you care about their patronizing all i'm interested in is gettin' what i can out of them. when i've made my pile, if i can't spend it here the way i please, annie and me can pick up and go to south america or france. i hear they treat colored people all right there." "'treat colored people all right,' " peter mimicked. 'what business has any one 'treating' us, anyway? the world's ours as much as it is theirs. and i don't want to leave america. it's mine, my people helped make it. these very orchards we're passing now used to be the famous bye orchards. my grandfather and great-grandfather helped to cultivate them." "is that so? honest?" tom showed a sudden respectful interest. "how'd they come to lose them?" "lose them? they never owned them. the black byes were slaves of the white byes." there is confusion "oh, slaves! oh, you mean they worked in the fields? well, i guess that's different. come on, here we are." peter flung himself out of the car after tom and followed him up a tree-lined street. the suburban town stretched calm, peaceful and superior about them. clearly this was the home of the rich and well-born. it is true that a few ordinary mortals lived here, but mainly to do the bidding of the wealthy. a group of young white girls, passing the two men, glanced at them a little curiously. "entertainers for the lea affair," one of them said, making no effort to keep from being overheard. peter stopped short. "that's what i hate," he said fiercely. "labeled because we're black." "ain't you got a grouch, thought" tom spoke almost admiringly. he told his sister afterwards: "bye's got this herenow-temper'ment. never can tell how it's goin' to take him. seems different since he started keeping company with maggie, don't you think so?" annie admitted she did. at present tom patted peter on the shoulder, and starting him up the driveway which led to mrs. lea's large low white house, went on himself to mrs. lawlor. mrs. lea received peter in a small morning-room. she was pretty, a genuine blonde, with small delicate features and beautiful fluffy hair. but as peter did not like fair types, his mind simply registered "washed-out," and took no further stock of her looks. what he did notice was that she was dressed in a lacey, too transparent floating robe, too low in the neck, and too short in the skirt. "something she would wear only before some one for whom she cared very much, or some one whom she didn't think worth considering," he told himself, lowering. mrs. lea, leading him into the ballroom beyond, barely glanced at him. "see, the musicians are to sit behind those there is confusion palms and the piano will be completely banked with flowers. i'm expecting the decorators every moment. your men will have to get here very early so as to get behind all this without being seen. i want the effect of music instead of perfume pouring out of the flowers. do you get the idea-er-what did you say your name was?" "yes, i understand," said peter shortly. "my name is bye." "i meant your first name-bye-why, that's the name of a family in bryn mawr, who used to own half of the land about here. there're a dr. meriwether bye and his grandfather, dr. meriwether bye, living in the old bye house now. where do you come from?" "i was born in philadelphia, like my father and grandfather and his father before him." she stated the obvious conclusion: "probably your parents belonged to the bryn mawr byes." "so my father told me," replied peter, affecting a composure equal to her own. "his name was meriwether bye." she did not like that. she decided she did not like him either-eyeing his straight, fine figure and meeting his unyielding look. these niggers with their uppish ways! besides this one looked, looked-indefinably he reminded her of young meriwether bye. she spoke to him: "i don't want you to leave to-night before i get a chance to point youi out to young dr. bye. he'll be so interested." she looked at peter again. yes, he was intelligent enough to get the full force of what she wanted to say. "it's so in keeping with things that the grandson of the man who was slave to his grandfather should be his entertainer to-night." peter felt his skin tightening. "i'm afraid you'll be disappointed. i'm a medical student, not an entertainer. i came here for mr. mason, who is very busy. you may be sure i'll give him your instructions. good-day, mrs. lea." he rushed out of the house, down to the station where, there is confusion morgan- "with their damned talk of entertainers." down the stairs he- ran, still talking. "mad, quite mad," said little morgan, staring. "glad he's coming back to work, though. now, where'd i put that cap?" still at white heat, peter walked the few short blocks to his boarding house. once inside his room he shut himself in and paced the floor. "the grandson-that's me-of the man who was his grandfather's slaves should be his-that's meriwether bye, young dr. meriwether bye-should be his entertainer, his hired entertainer. "my grandfather didn't have a chance, but here i am half a century after and i'm still a slave, an entertainer. my grandfather. let's see, which one of the byes was that?" he went to the closet, pushed some books and papers aside and hauled down the old bye bible. the leaves, streaked and brown, stuck together. with clumsy, unaccustomed fingers he turned them, until at last between the old testament and the apochrypha he found what he was looking for: "record of births and deaths." the old, stiff, faded writing with the long german s, the work of hands long since still, smote him with a sense of worthlessness. these people, according to their lights, must have considered themselves "people of importance,&gt;" else why this careful record of dates? his lean brown finger traced the lines. "joshua bye, born about i o"-heavens, that must have been his great-greatgrandfather. no, maybe he was just a "great," for the black byes, he remembered hearing his father meriwether say, lived long and married late. "isaiah bye, born i -a child of freedom." how proud they had been of that! yes, that was his grandfather, he remembered now. and he had made a great deal of that freedom. meriwether had often dwelt with pride on isaiah's there is confusion thr iscnuso learning, his school, his property, his "half-interest," meriwether had said grandiloquently, in a bookshop. peter could hear his father talking now. "a child of freedom"-peter was that but what had he made of it? he wondered what isaiah in turn had written on the occasion of meriwether's birth. his finger ran down the page, and found it, stopped. there it was-"meriwether," the inscription read, "by his fruits shall ye know-me." at first peter thought it was a mistake. then gradually it dawned on him-his fine old grandfather, proud of his achievements, seeing his son as a monument to himself, seeing each bye son doubtless as a monument to each bye father. poor isaiah, perhaps happy isaiah, for having died before he realized how worthless, how anything but monumental his son had really been, except as a failure. and now he, peter, was following in that son's footsteps. he remembered an old daguerreotype of his grandfather that he had seen at his great-uncle peter's. the face, perfectly black, looked out from its faded red-plush frame with that immobile look of dignity which only black people can attain. "i have made the most of myself," the proud old face seemed to say. "my father was a slave, but i am a teacher, a leader of men. my son shall be a great healer and my son's son-" peter put the open bible carefully on the table and took out a cigarette. but he held it a long time unlighted. so far as he could remember he had never had any desire to rise, "to be somebody," as isaiah, he rightly guessed, would have phrased it. he saw himself after his mother's death, a small placid boy, perfectly willing to stay out of school. until he met joanna. there was his term of service in the butchershop and himself again perfectly willing to be the butcher's assistant. until joanna's questioning had made him declare chapter xxiii it had been increasingly easy for him to forget her. when he had first broken with joanna, when he had written her that virtuous letter, maggie's rooms, maggie's arms were a haven. she was always ready to listen, always sympathetic. she met his advances half way; if he asked for a kiss he got it at once. there was none of joanna's half-real, half-coquettish withdrawal. no one could accuse maggie of a lack of modesty. peter would have been the first to fight such an accuser, but he found himself half-wishing that she were not quite so easy to approach. somehow life grew less stimulating. presently they were settling down into the cosy, prosy existence of the long married couple. in the afternoons peter came in-he was usually playing with tom at night-they exchanged a word of greeting. maggie gave him a dutiful kiss; there would be a word or two about the weather, his playing engagements, then silence. presently peter would say: "mind if i look over the paper a moment, maggie? i got up late this morning." and maggie's bright answer: "oh, of course not, i've got my accounts to run over." somehow all the easy, "understanding" conversation had vanished. joanna, maggie had soon learned, was not a welcome topic. and peter no longer went to his classes, so there was no possible therme there. peter to his disgust found himself drawing unwilling contrasts between these seances and similar moments spent with joanna. had there ever been any silences? if there were they were filled with i there is confusion all sorts of tingling thoughts and meanings. there was the night when joanna leaned against him in morningside park. they had said nothing. but the very air about them was pulsing. how long ago all that seemed! had it ever been true? why had he never felt like that when maggie, as she frequently did, rested her head on his shoulder? he would shake himself angrily out of his reverie. "silly ass," his lips formed. maggie seeing his lips move would ask him interestedly: "what's the matter, peter?" "nothing at all," he'd tell her contritely. what should be the matter with his dear maggie so near? sometimes he put an arm around her shoulder. "look here, i've got an hour yet. like to go out?" that never failed to please her. she loved to be seen with him. she had a very charming, flattering air of deference, of dependence when she was out. it was singularly pleasing and yet puzzling to peter. joanna now was just as likely to cross the street as not, without waiting for a guiding hand, a protecting arm. if she had once visited a locality she knew quite as much about getting away from it as her escort. but maggie was helpless, dependent. strange when they were all growing up together he would have said she was quite as independent in her way as joanna, and she was decidedly capable in her- hair-dressing work. madame harkness' business had increased considerably in philadelphia and baltimore. peter had often mused over this. he had known for some time that he did not- love maggie. but he could not tell whether or not she loved him. certainly she had appeared to at first, and certainly even now she clung to im. her very submissiveness would seem to indicate some depth of feeling. he remembered maggie as being anything but yielding in their earlier days, and she had never apparently changed one iota in her resentment toward her husband. she there is confusion was making a remarkably good living from her connection with madame harkness, had bought the house in new york and was contributing to her mother. she could not be marrying him to be taken care of. of course he knew nothing of her flair, her passion for being connected with "real" people-for "class" as he would have called it. and if he had known this, it would have explained nothing to him, for he never thought of himself in this sense. his most frequent source of worry consisted in wondering if maggie realized how lukewarm his feeling was for her. apparently she never suspected it. maggie may not have let peter realize it, but she was completely aware that he did not love her. she understood, had always understood, that joanna was the one woman in the world for him. having loved joanna once there was no possibility of his caring about any one else. she had recognized in peter's turning to her a manifestation of the state of mind which had led her at the time of her marriage to turn to henderson neal. her acceptance of peter had been almost spontaneous, yet it was governed subconsciously by two or three motives. first of all, while she thought it extremely probable that joanna liked, even loved peter, she did not believe that joanna would ever consider marriage with him as important as her art. therefore she might just as well take him. then she enjoyed the artistic fitness of showing joanna that a girl whom the latter did not consider worthy to marry her brother was deemed worthy to marry her lover. and last and most important, maggie saw through peter a second means of entrance into the society of "real" people. she had glimpsed this once through the possibility of marriage with philip. instead henderson neal had closed this entrance to her, she had once believed, forever. she must not fail to take advantage of this new avenue. there is confusion already she was beginning to reap its value. miss alice talbert, it is true, became colder than ever when maggie's engagement to peter was known. she told arabelle morton that she considered "peter done for, ruined, if he married that gambler's wife. cousin joanna did well to get rid of him." but arabelle herself had laughed, had said she wanted to meet the girl who had captured "that good-looking bye boy." she had come to see maggie, had invited her to the morton house. her good-natured shallowness, her frank determination not to be a "high-brow" and her complete social assurance captivated maggie. arabelle was of as unimpeachable standing as miss talbert, though her choice of friends was not so exclusive. maggie was "taken up" by the young women of arabelle's set and henceforth her lines were comparatively easy. still she met with an occasional snub from the older women. mrs. t viny, who turned out to be the terrible old lady who had asked / her about mr. neal in atlantic city, refused grimly to recog-! nize her and gave it as her opinion that "peter's doings would make isaiah bye turn over in his grave-yet. you mark my word." her hearers got a vision of the dust and nothingness which, for many years, had been isaiah bye, slowly shifting its position in the narrow quarters of his tomb. maggie had her own plans. she did not mean to have peter following forever in tom mason's train. but after they had married she would bring about a change. she was sure she could coax him. it would never do to let joanna think, she would tell him, that he could not achieve distinction without her. and when peter bye became dr. bye, the famous surgeon, philadelphia would find that mrs. peter bye had a long memory. only peter, who at first had agreed to marry in june, now some months later seemed in no haste to marry at all-that was the rub. there is confusion when she telephoned him on the day on which he had had his interview with mrs. lea, she made up her mind to hasten the marriage. he came to see her the next afternoon full of his scheme of returning to his classes. maggie noticed a difference. "you look as though you'd inherited a fortune or found a million dollars." "i have. my senses have come back to me. what do you think, maggie? i've chucked all this foolishness with tom mason. my, i bet he's cursing mad. i'm getting down to brass tacks; went back to my classes this morning." surprise and something else altered her face. "what's the matter, you don't like it?" "yes-of course-only, but peter, can't you see how hard all this is for me?" he got up, fiddled with the things on the mantel, turned about and faced her, the knuckles straining a little in the hand with which he grasped the back of a chair. "just what do you mean, maggie? what's hard?" she told him then that his going back to school naturally meant a postponement of their marriage. "oh, peter, can't you see i want to be safe like other women, with a home and protection? i met henderson, henderson neal, uptown saturday-i didn't mean to tell you-but he glared at me. he made me shiver, i wished you were with me. i'm afraid of him, peter, i'll never be safe till we're married." his level voice answered her: "i can see to your safety, maggie; if neal really frightens you, i can have him bound over to keep the peace. but we can't marry now, dear. i want to be able to take care of my-my wife. and if i go back to my classes, i'll need all the money i can lay hands on. i've lost so much time that i can't afford to do any outside work. i'll just live on what i've made with mason. but there is confusion that will leave me pretty poor. you see, i've got to have five hundred dollars cold for my instruments." she. looked at him speechless, her gray eyes going black in the pale gold of her face, her hands submissively folded. he took out his handkerchief and mopped his forehead. "if you don't mind, maggie, i think we'd better discuss this later. suppose we think it over for two or three days, and then we'll settle upon something." his voice, infinitely gentle, infinitely sorry for her, trailed off into silence. she said listlessly: "i think i'll go to new york for a while. i think i'd like to be with my mother." he ignored the pathos of this. "that would be fine. how soon do you want to go?" "to-morrow, she told him. "you needn't come to the station with me, peter, you'd hardly have time to make it. i won't take much, so i can manage." he felt himself a cad for agreeing with her. "it's too bad i have to go now, but i've got to read over some notes with morgan. so this is good-by for the present. aren't you going to kiss me, maggie?" she held up her face for her dutiful kiss. there is confusion - suddenly decided; that was the word. she went on quickly: "see here, you work somewhere down in this neighborhood, don't you? where- do you suppose i can get something to eat, without walking a thousand miles for it?" vera frowned thoughtfully. "you see, i'm 'passing' just now-i know you've heard of it-and so i go into any of these places around here, but i never see any colored people. of course you could try the automat." but joanna didn't want that. "their food's all right when you feel like eating it, but i want a regular dinner-waiter, service, and all the rest of it. pick out a good place for me and i'll take you to dinner, too. nothing could be fairer than that." vera agreed smilingly that it couldn't. "there's a place over on forty-second street. i remember now i have seen some colored people in there and they get decent treatment. we could go there-" she checked herself a moment. "oh, no, i forgot." "forgot what?" "look here, janna, i might as well be frank, we were all of us children together-doesn't it seem ages ago? you know i wouldn't ever try to fool you. but the truth of it is i go to that particular restaurant often with the other girls in my office and of course the restaurant people think i'm-i'm white. see? i don't know just what they'd think if they saw me with you-some one who definitely showed color-or what might come of it. you don't think i'm a pig, joanna?" "i think i'd he a pig if i did think so," joanna told her heartily. "come on and take dinner with me over at the pennsy station. it'll be nice to have a talk." the twq girls moved down fortieth street in the direction of seventh avenue. "you'd understand it better if you worked among themwhite people you know," vera told her seriously. "of course there is confusion i suppose there must be some decent ones, not the high-brow philanthropists and all that crowd, but people who have too much breeding, too much innate-well, niceness, i guess you'd call it, to make light of folks just because they're different. but that crowd in my office, they never think of being courteous to a colored person. if they want the janitor it's 'where's that darky?' or 'i saw a coon in the subway this morning wearing a red tie, made me think of jim here,' always something like that. of course they don't say it to the man's face. there'd be a fight if they did." "i don't see how you stand it," joanna puzzled. "what put it in your head to work with white people, anyhow?" "oh, to get away from everybody and everything i'd ever known." they were at the table in the dining-room now and vera was making criss-cross marks with her fork on the white cloth, frowning absorbedly. "you know, joanna, i wasn't like you-not one of us girls was. i was more like sylvia, i wanted a good time, but most of all i wanted, i expected to marry. you remember harley alexander?" joanna did remember him, indeed, a tall personable youth about her own color, a companion of harry portor, brian spencer, and to a less degree of her own brother alec. but what she especially remembered was that he had been the qonstant shadow of vera manning. "of course i remember him, vera. he's a dentist now, isn't he? didn't he graduate the same year as harry portor?" "yes, that's the fellow. joanna, we really loved each other, and we planned even before he went to college to get married as soon as he came out. but as soon as my mother-you know how color-struck she is-realized we were in earnest, up she went in the air. none of her children should marry a dark man. it only meant unhappiness. if harley and i there is confusion should have children they'd be brown and would have to be humiliated like all other colored children." she fell to drawing more designs. "we had a terrible time. i was completely alone in my fight. father always follows mother's lead. brother' tom refused to commit himself. alice is just like mother-she really liked, i'm sure of it, john hamilton, but because he was dark, she let him go for howard morris, whom i can't stand. for a long time i managed to keep it from harley but the christmas of his last year in college, mother told him she didn't favor his attentions to me, and told him why." "goodness," joanna breathed, "that must have been awful." "awful! it was unspeakable. and nothing i could say to harley could destroy the effect of what she said. she must have put it up to him as to whether he thought he could compensate a wife for the estrangement of her family. you know how harley was. we had always been a remarkably united family up to that time. he said: 'if your mother objected to my being poor i could tell her that i could change that, but when it comes to my color, i can't do anything with that andy by god, i wouldn't if i could.' "so that," vera ended wryly, "was the end ot my young romance." bit by bit she made joanna see the picture of her life since her break with her lover. before then she had worked in her father's office, but now she was secretary to one of the heads of a big advertising agency. as she was an unusually swift stenographer and had a level head, she- was getting along famously. "of course they think i'm white. there are a lot of young men in the office and i flirt with them outrageously. at first i did it only to annoy mother, she hated it so. you know, the funny thing is she doesn't like white people any better than there is confusion i - ' ' - - l- '- - i do-she just didn't want me to marry a dark man because, she says, in this country a white skin is such an asset." "do you enjoy yourself going about?" "yes and no. when i began i did immensely. you can't imagine-i couldn't-the almost unlimited opportunities that those people have for work, for pleasure, f-r anything. as a white girl i've seen sights and places, yes, and eaten food that i never even knew about when i used to go out with harley. and then, too, jan, you can't imagine the blessedness of no longer being uncertain whether you can enter such and such a hotel, or of getting a decent berth if you're going traveling or of little things like that, the sudden removal of thousands of pin-pricks, not only that, of inconveniences." "you must be very happy," joanna said wistfully. "no, i'm not. they aren't, either. that's the funny part. oh, of course i suppose nobody is actually happy, but i do think that colored people, when they're let alone long enough to have a good time, know how to enjoy themselves better than any other people in the world. it's a gift." "i should think you'd drop it all, vera." "i would if it weren't for the sense of freedom. it's wonderful to be able to do as you like. sometimes i think i will drop it, then i think: 'oh, pshaw, what difference does it make?' without harley i'm bound to be unhappy, anyway, even if i do go back to my own. since i can't have happiness i might just as well take up my abode where i can have the most fun and comfort even though it's making me-well, no saint, i can tell you." she laughed recklessly. "i wish i were like you, joanna." "what do you mean?" "well, you know-here ever since you were little you've had peter bye right at your beck and call-you must have loved him, jan, he was so everlastingly good-looking, and charming, too, we all thought. i remember he took me to a there is confusion ate longing quickened to a sudden resolve. she would write to maggie-maggie, who could not possibly love peter. and even if she did, she could not love him as she-joanna-loved him. why, there had been philip once, and then henderson neal! - whereas peter had been the only love of her own life. she would write to maggie, very clearly, very frankly and she would beg her to let him go. it all seemed simple enough. and then she and peter would be happy. she would make him love her again, worship her. and "peter," she would tell him, "never another unkind word, i'll be a new joanna, darling." her father's house, its windows darkened, loomed up before her. straight up to her own room she sped, not stopping to enter sylvia's apartments, although the sound of laughing voices penetrated to her. alone at the little flat-topped desk, she took out pen and paper and began the letter-"dear maggie"- but that was what she had done years ago,-written to maggie to give up philip. that was in the unconscious selfishness of youth. now was she to write her again to give up peter? her courage oozed away, left her helpless. she looked at the pen, put it carefully away on the rack, slipped the sheet of paper back in the pigeonhole. she might go down to philadelphia to visit alice talbert. yes, she would do that very soon. and then maybe she would see maggie ellersley-on the street, or even go and call on her. undoubtedly it was better to discuss such personal matters face to face. i chapter xxv w hile joanna was sitting at her desk, maggie ellersley some fifty blocks away brooded over plans of her own. she had hoped, vainly as it turned out, that her absence from philadelphia would quicken peter's need of her. his very real regard for her hospitality and kindness had long since been evident. she knew that he considered the little apartment on south fifteenth street his nearest approach to a home in philadelphia, and she had hoped that the loneliness caused by her departure would induce him to urge her to come back. but peter's letters had not been in the least melancholy. once a week he had written to her regularly during the four weeks of her stay in new york, but though he had been kind and pleasant, not once had he expressed a desire to see her, or even a passing curiosity as to the date of her return. when she had first come back to new york, she had had a feeling of shame and despondency as she thought of her effort in philadelphia to induce peter to take a definite stand about their wedding. but her stay here with her mother had dissipated all that feeling. the prosy, uninteresting life which mrs. ellersley and mis' sparrow led, the troop of commonplace, albeit kindly and dependable roomers made her turn again to peter for a way out. more than ever she was in the same trap in which she had found herself years ago when as a little girl she walked home with her mother from the dinners which she had eaten in some employer's house. now, it was true, her surroundings were no longer dirty and she was no there is confusion longer poor-she and her mother had all the money they needed and almost all that they wanted. of lowly stock, maggie had never cared in the least for the possession of riches. but the old loneliness the old sense of unworthiness, of being nobody was strong upon her. in earlier days she had frequented the marshalls' house; plenty of other girls had frequented it, too. it was to be presumed that the marshalls from time to time had returned such visits. but somehow she had never contrived to be on really intimate terms with those others. they were all polite, more than polite, even cordial to maggie, and yet she knew that while moving with that group, she was not of it. the difficulty had been, had always been, that she had no background.. other girls' fathers and mothers were "somebodies." alice and vera manning's father was a remarkably successful business man, old joel marshall was as famous in his way, she guessed, as delmonico. even peter bye-as poor almost, she correctly imagined, as she herself in the old days-boasted a long, a bona fide ancestry. and, besides, he was a man. from as far back as she could remember she had had one passion, one desire unique in its singleness. and that had been to "be" somebody. and long ago she had realized that the only way out for her was marriage with a man of distinction. the distinction might consist in a career, in family, in business, -it made no difference to her. at first she thought she could achieve her desire through philip-and she had loved him, too. she dwelt on this a moment. how wonderful such a marriage would have been! loving him as she did she would have let her desire for mere respectability sink into second place, discounting the fact that she would have gained it anyhow by such a union. but joanna had interfered, and then she had married henderson neal, a gambler, a gambler who had there is confusion maggie murmured that she didn't care to go out, she had come home to rest. "well, stay in the house all you want, chile. long's i got cousin jinny sparrow to go around with me i ain't carin'. reckon we've done our share of stayin' in the house in our time, ain't we, jinny?" mis' sparrow thus addressed admitted she had: "an' i don't propose to do it no more. come on, sallie, i c'n see maggie's got somethin' on her mind." maggie protested, but only faintly. she loved and was deeply attached to the two thin wrinkled ladies, but they and she had nothing in common. they lived a separate life from hers entirely, a life which included much attention to churches, strawberry festivals, lodge meetings, bits of gossip, funerals, visits to ladies similarly faded and wizened, and a sort of shrewd indiscriminate charity. maggie used to envy them their utter and complete absorption in these matters. "i'm not the one who wants to be to herself, it's you who want to get off and talk over your secrets." she shook a playful finger. long after they had gone, curled up on her couch, she sat watching, as she used to watch in philadelphia, the gas-heater cast its ruddy glow on the high white ceiling. the morning brought her a momentary shock of pleasure. it was the day for peter's letter. he had written: "i am coming to see you next week." her spirits leaped at that. but afterwards he explained; one of his classmates had warned him to get his instruments as quickly as possible, there was going to be a great demand for steel, so he was coming to new york to see about the things he had ordered. "i'm in deadly earnest this time, maggie, and though i don't like my professors any better than i did before, i'm making the most of my return. there's only one thing that would keep me from finishing and that would be war. it seems foolish for a colored man to fight for america, but i believe i'd like to do it. there is confusion only i want to pick up a commission somewhere. not a chance for a colored fellow at plattsburg, but some of the boys are whispering of a training camp for negro officers at des moines. this is still sub rosa, so don't mention it." her hopes rose, fell, rose again as she scanned the letter. "he must make some definite plans about me, if he's thinking of war." the next thursday saw him striding along fifty-third street in the direction of maggie's house. his nervous glance at his watch justified his fear of being late. that was because he had stopped at his aunt susan's little apartment to talk over his plans. she was just the same as ever-stout, sane, energetic, ready to be fond of peter. before the afternoon was over she was worshiping him inwardly. for her nephew, suddenly conscious of his debt to her and realizing as he climbed the stairs to her rooms that here was his only real home, had taken her at the door into his arms with a burst of genuinely filial affection. she had, as she put it, "scared up" something for him to eat, and the two sitting at the little dinner table had entered into a silent appreciation of kinship such as lonely miss susan had wanted ever since her sister's death. peter had told her of his break with joanna. "i can't talk much about that, aunt susan-maybe some other time —" her kind hand on his steadied him. "for a while i kept on playing ducks and drakes with my life-that was really why joanna chucked me, you know-but all of a sudden i came to my senses, and now i've gone back to studying and i'll be all right yet, aunt sue. you and i'll have a nice little house somewhere. you'll see." he checked himself: "unless this war intervenes. of course i'd have to go into that. america makes me sick, you know, like i used to make you i guess, but darn it all, she is my country. my folks helped make her what she is even if they were slaves." aunt susan beamed on him. "your great-grandfather there is confusion he whispered. it had never crossed his mind that she cared for him like this. subconsciously he thought, "suppose this had been joanna." before maggie could speak again, someone knocked on the door; one of mrs. ellersley's roomers stuck in a tousled head. " 'scuse me, miss maggie, i heard you-all talkin' in here, en they ain't no one else in the house. jest wanted to tell you i'm runnin' down to the corner a minute en as i mislaid my key i'm goin t' -leave the latch up, if you-all don't mind." maggie stared blankly. "oh, certainly mr. simpson, certainly." they heard mr. simpson shuffling down the stairs and knew by the sound of the slamming door that he had gone out. what they did not know was that a moment later a tall, heavily built man, who had been lounging sidewise against the wall of a neighboring house, came forward swiftly and ran up the steps. he tried the door gently and finding to his surprise that it yielded, walked in and closed it softly behind him. for two weeks, unnoticed, fingering a door-key in his pocket, he had kept watch on that house and its inmates, until he had become acquainted with the hours of the coming and going of each. he knew maggie was at home in the afternoons; his purpose was to wait for a time when all of them should be out but her. one by one he had watched them emerge, mrs. ellersley and mis' sparrow finally within fifteen minutes of each other. "those old birds," he murmured to himself, "they're just as likely as not to join up somewheres and go to one of their protracted meetin's." gradually the house had emptied itself with the exception of maggie and this tousel-headed mr. simpson who usually left later than this. he had not seen bye come out, but thought it likely the visitor had left in the quarter of an hour there is confusion he had spent in the saloon around the corner where he had swallowed an unaccustomed dram to fortify his intention. in the hall he stood blinking a moment in the darkness, then as the sound of voices penetrated to him from above he withdrew into the obscurity of the narrow oblong parlor. evidently the fellow had not gone yet. there was plenty of time, he could wait. upstairs maggie was pouring out to peter her great obsession. "i know i am amazing you, peter, but i can't endure this life, this utter separation from people who mean something., take me away from it. i'll be eternally grateful to you." "but, good god, maggie, what can i do? i'm only a penniless student with my way to make. we'd be poor for years. and, anyway, where do you get the idea that my name carries with it any social asset?" she murmured something about his long line of ancestors; years ago in her presence his aunt susan had spoken to mrs. marshall about it. "you know how your name gave you the entrance into the best families in philadelphia." he stared at her. of all the crazy complexes, this was the craziest. it was indecent, this situation, agony for both of them. he tried to be firm, faltered, was lost. "you know i think all this is idiotic, maggie. if you think marriage with me would help you because i know the names of my great-grandparents-why, it's absurd, ridiculous. i had a lot of foreparents-we all did-but they were nobodies most of them, only slaves." "that's what they all were." "all who?" "all the early settlers, weren't they, the white ones, too, indentured servants, outcasts, outlaws, men driven for one there is confusion reason or other from their own countries? but certain ones of them have always stood out, attained prominence." overcome by this interpretation of history, he could make no suitable answer. he moved over to the little table, picked up his hat. "obviously all this will have to be gone over again. if you like i'll send my aunt susan to see you, she knows all sorts of people both here and in philadelphia. if you ask her no doubt she'll manage to make it very pleasant for you. i really must go, maggie. and of course-that is, if you insist on itremember that i shall always be at your service." he held her hand a moment, passed out and ran sideways, after the manner of men, down the wide staircase. the front door closed after him. maggie walked back through the room. this was her great interview. peter had been here; to prove it there was his box of instruments on the table-she ran out in the hall again, perhaps she could catch him, for he could hardly have turned the corner. an iron hand shot out of the darkness of the landing, caught her wrist in an agonizing vise. then some one dragged her back into the room and she looked up into the raging somber eyes of henderson neal. she had not been frightened at first, but the sight of that face with its snarling lips and its bloodshot eyes unnerved her. in an instinctive gesture of fear she threw up her free hand which held the little case. it slipped from her grasp and some of the knives fell on the floor. still holding her he stooped and picked one up. her self-control ebbed back to her. somehow she had never been seriously afraid of neal. her scorn had been too great for that. one does not fear what one scorns. she said to him evenly, "henderson, let me go." but he pulled her closer to him. "i'll never let you go again. either you'll come with me, or i'll-" there is confusion slowly she sank, turned her eyes toward him, saw him drop the knife and rush headlong out of the room. so she was going to die, killed in a brawl with her divorced husband. the fires of -her life were to go out, extinguished under the waters of commonness and degradation. after all, what did it matter? her thoughts took an odd turn as she felt herself slipping, slipping into the blackness of what must be death. "he must have loved me even more than i loved philip. what a pity that i have to die without letting philip know how dearly i loved him." chapter xxvi a few moments later mr. simpson came rushing up the front steps. he tried the door gingerly and found to his relief that it was not locked. that meant mrs. ellersley had not yet returned to chide him for his carelessness. miss maggie now was different; she would never carry on, no matter what a fellow did. it would be just as well for him to stop at the room at the head of the stairs and let her know he had returned. the landing was still dark, but long experience had taught him to navigate the troublesome chair. without mishap he reached the door of the sitting-room. everything was absolutely silent, still he would just put his head inside to make sure. he was concluding there was nobody there when his eye caught something protruding from the other side of the table which stood in the center of the room. a chair, too, had been overturned, and scattered about on the floor were several little bright shiny things. he picked one up, looked at the legend on the handle, "chilled steel, england, peter bye." the name of the maker evidently. queer doings here. half afraid, wholly curious, he ventured in further, especially intrigued by that light brown object which protruded from beyond the table and which looked-though this, he knew, was imagination-like a hand. he bent over it, touched it, followed it with eyes and fingers to an arm dripping and scarlet with blood and beyond the arm a face golden and immobile. beyond the head lay still another of those small strange objects. :i there is confusionj only this was neither bright nor shining; it was red, a vivid red and the handle which he touched with a shaking finger was sticky. he sprang backwards, his face ghostly under its brown skin, his eyes goggling. this was-death. "oh, god! help! murder! police! miss maggie!" down the stairs he tore, his hands twisted and fumbled at the locks. the door opened to disclose joanna standing on the door-step about to ring the bell. she looked past him into the dim hall. "do you know if miss ellersley is in?" his eyes widened in horror. "for christ's sake, lady, keep out. don't go in there, she's dead, pore girl, murdered." "nonsense! maggie murdered! what do you mean?" stammering and shrinking he told her of his ghastly find. "don't go in there, lady, don't know nothin' about it. i don't mean to." she caught his arm. "here, come on, you must take me to it-to her; she can't be left like this. be a man." but for all her brave words her knees were shaking. unwillingly he led her to the quiet form in the green and red-soaked dress. joanna dropping beside it put her hand on maggie's wrist. a faint pulse fluttered. "she's alive. i must get this dress off her arm and shoulder. got a knife?" "ain't they a million of 'em layin' around you, lady?" shudderingly she turned from the red one. "how queer! how awful! hand me that clean one over there." her eye fell, as she took it from him, on the handle-"chilled steel, england, peter bye"-rested there stricken. "ought to be able to trace the murderer awful quick, don't you think, ma'am? this man bye would know who he sold them knives to." there is confusion without answering she cut away the cloth, used her handkerchief-worthless for this-to stanch the blood. "find me a towel, there must be one somewhere." if peter had done this she must save maggie in order to save him. and if this were peter's work-he did not love maggie. ashamed of her thought she bent closer. "there's a bad cut below the shoulder but the cut in the arm is worse. have you a large soft handkerchief? quick, i must stop the bleeding. i can't manage with this stiff towel." he was off and back in a jiffy with three handkerchiefs, immense and happily clean, the testimony of mrs. ellersley's supervision. she twisted one of them. "now a pencil?" somewhere out of the past floated a memory of miss shanley's direction how to make a tourniquet, one of the things joanna had meant to forget after she grew up. subconscious memories guided her fingers. "now where's a bedroom-? help me to carry her there." she had already dispatched him to a telephone to get, if possible, harry portor, whose office was in the san juan district. puzzled by mr. simpson's incoherence, the doctor promised to come at once and soon the chug-chug of his little ford rose above the sounds of the noisy street. joanna ran down to let him in, meeting his astonishment as the two climbed the stairs with breathless information. harry praised her tourniquet. "good work, joanna. fortunately it's a clean cut, no jaggedness. i suppose he was trying to get at her heart. where's the knife it was done with?" he busied himself with fresh bandages and restoratives. "i don't know," she told him faintly. why had she not, thought of this? now she must keep him out of the sittingroom. her confusion escaped him, but mr. simpson hovering in the background had heard the question and slipping out returned with the knife. there is confusion "here it is, doc. i was just tellin' the lady, ought sure to fbe able to catch that 'sassin; man who sold him the knife's done got his name stamped on the handle." harry took it. "h'm, a surgeon's knife." he turned it over. "where's the name? peter-why look here, joanna, did you see this?" "there's a whole case in the other room, sir." "yes, go get it and bring it to me. what do you suppose this means, joanna?" she whispered, "wait till that man goes." "all right, i'll send him off." he sent the willing simpson on his return with the case, to the druggist. "now, joanna?" she had her story ready. "i came to see maggie aboutabout peter, harry. one of the girls who works at madame harkness, saw sylvia last night and told her maggie was in town." this much was true. "so i came to see her. just before i came, it seems, peter came. she told me about it. i couldn't stand it.' and i caught up one of his little knives — he'd left his case here-and cut her. i must have been crazy." "you must still be crazy to think i'd believe that. you're not a good liar, joanna. now tell me the truth, dear. were you here when he stabbed her?" she stuck to her story. "he didn't stab her." the quiet figure on the bed moved ever so slightly, opened its lips, moaned faintly. "what's the matter with my arm?" harry leaned over her. "a bad cut, maggie! how'd you come to get it?" her attention wandered. "who's that standing over there?" joanna retreated further into the shadows. "who are you? oh, it hurts me here, too." she laid her hand on her breast. "i'm the doctor, harry portor, you remember me, don't you?" there is confusion he could see her make an effort. "you're sure henderson's not here? it would make him angry to see you. peter was here a little while ago-we're going to be married, you know. that's why henderson cut me." her voice grew stronger. "i thought he had killed me." harry cast joanna a fleeting look. "wait down in my car," his lips formed. she slipped down the stairs out of the house. she sat in the car a long time while the street darkened. she saw mr. simpson return and hard on his footsteps mrs. ellersley. he must have told the news just inside the hall, for joanna heard a shriek cut short by the closing door. presently harry came running down the steps, peering shortsightedly through his thick glasses at her crouching figure. he said briefly, "a bad business, but she's not in any danger unless there's a breakdown from nervous shock." the words were meaningless to her, reviewing maggie's statement: "peter was here, we're going to be married, you know." when they got to her house joanna politely asked him to come in. "no, but wait a moment. i want to tell you something." he fiddled with the brake a moment. "joanna, you've been avoiding me lately because you know i love you and you were afraid i'd ask you to marry me. don't avoid me any more. i've got my answer. when a girl loves a man as you do peter bye, so much so that she'll accuse herself for his sakeoh, it makes no difference that he was innocent-well, nobody else need think there's a chance for him. but i'm your friend, joanna, believe that." she thanked him sadly. "good-night, harry." sylvia sent roger up to her room to tell her that miss vera -vera-"i forget her other name, aunt janna," had called up. she would call again the next day. there is confusion joanna thanked him indifferently. "all right, darling, tell mamma i'll look out for her." she thought to herself as he pattered down stairs: "peter and maggie, here in new york... i won't think of them, i'm not going through all that sick agony again. i believe i'll go south to-morrow." chapter xxvii tihe day's excitement made joanna sleep soundly, and in the morning she awoke strongly refreshed and rested. no gesture that she could make to fate would ever restore peter. she had been willing to make the greatest sacrifice of all-to surrender her pride-and even as she was about to do this, absolute evidence was given that her sacrifice was useless. the whole affair was over, finished, dead; henceforth peter was to be in her life what other men were to other girls when they spoke of them as "old beaux." that was the way for her to speak of peter now. she practiced it with stiff lips: "peter bye, oh, yes, he used to be an old beau of mine." her romance would hereafter lie behind her. from this day on she would dedicate herself to one interest, which should be the fixed purpose of her life; now that she thought of it she would give up the idea of dancing, too. her former lover and her former ambition alike were unattainable; they had merely been means of enriching her experience. now she would get down to the business of living; no more sighs, no more backward glances. and the first thing she would do would be to offer her services as a director of music to a colored school in the south. many a principal before whose school she had sung would extend her a cordial welcome. even though the school year was almost near its close she might get a chance to map out arrangements for the work of the following year. her preference would be one of the -less-known, poorly endowed schools where there would be lots of work. there is confusion how quickly once she would have rejoined with one of her sweeping platitudes which to her were not platitudes because they represented a fresh and virile belief: "don't let her become discouraged, essie; just have her keep on. success always comes if you work hard enough for it." but to-day, remembering her plans for the stage and her courtship with peter-both rendered frustrate through this hopeless obstacle of color-she could only murmur: "yes, yes, i know. white people are hard to get along with. better times coming, i hope, essie." after a bath she slipped into a flame-colored dressing gown and sat down to her letters. sylvia coming up noiselessly put her head in the door. "not dressed yet, joanna? she'll be here soon. it's : ." joanna lifted a startled face. "who'll be here?" "miss sharples, miss vera sharples. i sent roger up to tell you." "yes, he did, but you know how he forgets names. he said 'miss vera' and i thought he meant vera manning. wonder what miss sharples wants to see me about?" "one of her pet charities probably. get a move on. here, wear your green dress." joanna, whose thoughts had flown to peter via miss susan graves via miss sharples, took the green dress absent-mindedly, then dropped it with a shudder. maggie had worn such a dress yesterday a soft dull green, horribly, fantastically adorned with bright and sticky red. "no, not that." "you are nervous, joanna. what do you feel like wearing?" together they chose a crepe silk dress of straight and simple lines. the bodice as flaming as the dressing gown was long, like a russian blouse. its end terminated by hemstitching into a black shallow-plaited skirt. a narrow ropelike cord confined the waist. there is confusion ever, she took the extended hand and gave it a hearty pressure. "yes," said miss sharples as though checking up the colored girl's points by a pattern which she carried in her head, "yes, you are the one. i was sure i hadn't confused you with anyone else. i haven't seen you for several years, you know, not since that christmas when you danced for the day nursery with helena arnold. do you remember?" joanna, slightly nonplussed, nodded yes. as though she could forget that christmas when she had become engaged to peter! miss sharples, still pursuing some train of thought known only to herself, meandered on. "i said, 'i know there must be somebody who could do it,' and then i thought of you, but i didn't know your name. so i called up helena and she told me. do you still dance as divinely as you did that night, my dear?" "better," joanna told her confidently, "although it doesn't get me anywhere. would you mind telling me what all this is about?" her visitor settled herself comfortably in a chair, crossed one leg over the other, and took out a cigarette. "mind if i smoke?" joanna watched her wide-eyed, picturing her father's surprise if he should happen to look in on them. "it's a long story. you may or may not know that i am one of the directors of the district line theater. lately we've been putting on a production called 'the dance of the nations'-dances of the natiops it really should be called. well, we have one woman to represent france, another england, etc.; we aren't featuring germany or any of her allies. when it came to america we had to have two or three dances represented, one for the white element, one for the black and one for the red. of course that made the woman representing america practically a star. well, she's all right as a white american, there is confusion or as a red one, but when it comes to the colored american, she simply lays down on her job." miss sharples' eloquence drowned her sense of grammar. "you know," she went on vigorously, "art to my eye is art, and there's no sense in letting a foolish prejudice interfere with it. this girl won't darken her face and hasn't a notion, so far as dancing like colored people is concerned, beyond the cake-walk. well, i told my board i didn't believe that was either adequate or accurate. i'd seen helena arnold dance, you know, and i'd seen you, and i figured that your way was the right way," she concluded sensibly, "because you were colored. miss ashby's contract expires this week and i persuaded the board to let me try to find someone else. what do you think about it?" she paused, still regarding joanna shrewdly. "you mean," said joel marshall's daughter, "that you are offering me a chance to dance at the district line theater?" she thought: "i know this isn't real." "well, yes, if you suit. it would be an experiment. to be frank, my dear, some of the directors are doubtful about the success of a colored girl on the stage, but if you dance as well as you did five or six years ago, i should say there would be no difficulty. suppose you come with me now, there's a rehearsal at the theater this afternoon. are you free?" was she free? she dashed off to get her wraps and stumbled into sylvia on the second floor. "isn't she long-winded? what'd she come to see you about?" joanna took her by both shoulders and shook her. "about my dancing at the district line theater in the 'dance of the nations.' oh, sylvia, if i'm dreaming, don't let me wake up." down in greenwich village on the south side of washington square, joanna found miss susan's "board." they were occupying, scattered around, a large dilapidated room of mag there is confusion nificent proportions and they were talking of art, of dancing with an enthusiasm and accuracy, an amazing precision such as joanna had never heard equaled. "valvinov is good, more than good, excellent in her conception of the dance and the way she carries it out, but her ankles are too clumsy, it makes me sick to look at her legs." a short, stocky young man seated at the piano delivered this dictum. he was very pale, with thick black hair which he wore plastered back from a low square forehead. his hair was long, joanna noticed,. and ran in unbroken strands from his forehead to the top of his coat collar. he spoke absolutely unaccented english, and his clothes were sharply american, but he was unlike any american the girl had even seen before. miss sharples introduced her briskly. "this is miss marshall," she said to the room in general, "the dancer i was telling you of." joanna inclined her head slightly, but the men all rose and bowed gravely, and the two other women in the room-a miss rosen and a miss phelps as they turned out to be-bowed also noncommittally but without hostility. evidently the place had frequently been used for rehearsals, for there was a narrow platform running across the far end of the room. here miss sharples stationed joanna. "just to give them an idea of what you can do, my dear. there isn't much space, but i don't think that will bother you." "no," said joanna confidently, "the thing is the music." she glanced at the pale young man who had spoken about therussian dancer's thick ankles. "can you play by ear?" "i think i could manage it," he told her seriously. they were all serious, as unconscious of self and as tremendously interested as though they were assisting at an affair of national moment. joanna felt the atmosphere enveloping, quickening her. she stepped down from the platform. "well, now listen. i'm supposed to have a ring of children the re is confusion around me. i sing and they answer. at first i'll have to sing both parts, but afterwards you can play their answers. see, this is the way it goes." she sat down at the piano, and ran through the melody of "barn! barn!" singing it in her beautiful, full voice. "that's it, that's got the lilt," a tall, dark man said to miss rosen. joanna yielded the piano to the pale young man-franciseveryone called him. he ran over her sketch, filling in with deep, rich chords, while she flew back to the little platform. "now then, you've got it. ready! "sissy in the barni join in the weddin'!" her voice rang out, her slender flaming body turned and twinkled, her lovely graceful limbs flashed and darted and pirouetted. she was everywhere at once, acting the part of leader, of individual children,' of the whole, singing, stamping circle. the board applauded. "oh, but that's great, that's genius," cried miss phelps. "if i could only have some real children," joanna suggested, "colored children. are there any around here?" "about five thousand down there in minetta lane," francis told her gravely. "want me to get you some?" "oh, if you only would." he and miss rosen disappeared and were back in fifteen minutes with ten colored children, of every type and shade, black and brown and yellow, some with stiff pigtails and others with bobbed curling locks. most of them knew the game already, all of them took to joanna and threw themselves with radiant, eager good nature into the spirit of what she was trying to display. the tall dark man, mr. hale, came over to her. "you're there is confusion miss sharples put her up for membership in a club whose members were mostly people that "did" something. and joanna fell in the habit of taking her lunch and frequently her dinner, too, at this club, just to lose herself in the atmosphere which she found there. undoubtedly the contact did her good. joanna, while lacking peter's singularly active dislike for white people, was not on the other hand a "good mixer." following the natural reaction at this time of her racial group, she had tended to seek all her ideals among colored people and where these were lacking to create them for herself. as a result of this attitude, injurious in the long run to both whites and-blacks, she was hardening into a singularly narrow, even though self-reliant egocentric. she had never met in her family with much opposition to her chosen career, but then neither with the exception of joel's and that of her teachers had she met with much cooperation. now to her astonishment she found herself in a setting where people, without being considered "different," "highbrow," "affected,"-and not greatly caring if they weretalked, breathed, lived for and submerged themselves and' others, too, in their calling. she met girls not as old as she, who had already "arrived" in their chosen profession; incredibly young editors, artists-exponents of new and inexplicable schools of drawing,-women with causes,-birth-control, single tax, psychiatry,- teachers of dancing, radical high school teachers. there were men to be met, too, really eminent men, but joanna was not much interested. following the american idea, she had been too carefully trained to care for the company of white men. between them and herself the barrier was too impassable. besides, it was women who had the real difficulties to overcome, disabilities of sex and of tradition. for a while she was puzzled, a little ashamed when she there is confusion realized that so many of these women had outstripped her so early; some of them were poor, some had responsibilities. there were not many of these last. it was a long time before the solution occurred to her and when it did the result was her first real rebellion against the stupidity of prejudice. these women had hot been compelled- to endure her long, heartrending struggle against color. those who had had means had been able to plunge immediately into the sea of preparation; they had had their choice of teachers; as soon as they were equipped they had been able to approach the guardians of literary and artistic portals. joanna thought of her many futile efforts with bertully and sighed at the pityof it all. sometimes she felt like a battle-scarred veteran among all these succe'ssful, happy, chattering people, who, no matter how seriously, how deeply they took their success, yet never regarded it with the same degree of wonder, almost of awe with which she regarded hers. she realized for the first time how completely colored americans were mere on-lookers at the possibilities of life. she spent a few happy months with these people; they made pleasant and stimulating company for her; she herself suspected that she had made good "copy" for some of them. they were for the most part unconscious of race, not at all inclined to patronize, and generous with praise and suggestion. one woman, it is true, told joanna that she had always liked colored people. "my father would insist on having colored servants. he preferred them." joanna had made an impish reply. "my father employs both white and colored servants. but he prefers the colored ones. however, it doesn't make any difference to me." still that had been a rare encounter. life on the whole smiled on her. yet she was not happy. but is anybody so? she wondered. she had forgotten to sorrow for her break with there is confusion peter, her life was too full for that, even for a new love. vera manning's brother tom, brought into her entourage by the flood of publicity and popularity that engulfed her, asked her to marry him. she liked him; found him charming and sympathetic, but he was too white and she did not want a marriage which would keep the difficulties of color more than ever before her eyes. what she did want, she decided, was to be needed, to be useful, to be devoting her time, her concentration and her remarkable singlemindedness to some worthy visible end. after all, she had worked hard and striven tremendously-to be what? a dancer. "is this really what you wanted me to be?" she asked her father abruptly. they were driving home from the theater, their nightly custom. "is this your idea of real greatness?" and joel, his voice half glad, half sorry, told her that he, too, had hoped for something different, chapter xxix at first the war presented itself to peter in a purely personal aspect. it was a long time before he envisaged the struggle as a great stupendous whole. boyishly egotistic, he saw it simply as the next big moment in the panorama of his life following on his break with joanna and his puzzling relationship with maggie. and always he saw it in relation to the things which were happening to him like a series of living pictures against a great impersonal background. ignorant of neal's attack on maggie he had returned to philadelphia, completed his work and had gone to des moines. he sent his books to his aunt susan,-all but one little black testament which bore written on the fly leaf his father's and grandfather's and his father's names. there was another name, too, "judy bye." but peter could not recall this. "more ancestors," he said to himself, thinking ruefully of maggie. he could not bear to think of their last talk: even the thought of his forgotten instruments could not induce him to write to her. in des moines he had met philip. and from that meeting resulted that first indelible picture. he had rushed forward to philip, his hand outstretched. "marshall! say, fellow, this is really great!" he could hear his voice ringing even now. and then philip's contemptuous rejoinder: "i don't shake hands with any such damned light of love." he thought he must have misunderstood at first. but there is confusion alexander groaned, "bye, for god's sake don't leave me. i'm as weak as a cat." "oh, you'll be all right," peter called back, and left him with the white lieutenant standing silently by. shortly after his return harley, declaring himself much better, went below to his room. but first he thanked the lieutenant who bowed with his pleasantly grave air. peter, about to sink into the vacant seat, looked up and caught the intent glance of the white officer who smiled and nodded and came leisurely toward him. "may i sit beside you a moment?" he asked pleasantly. "yes," peter replied shortly. he thought: "i know what you make me think of. of myself that first day i put on my uniform. now why?" it was true that while there was no facial resemblance, the two men were built almost exactly alike, tall, with broad shoulders, flat backs and lean thighs. peter was at first glance the more comely, his head was more shapely and his hair so crisply curling gave him a certain persistent boyishness. the other man, a little older and plainer, had nevertheless a certain whimsical melancholy about his eyes and mouth which attracted peter. "i heard your friend call you bye," he said still pleasantly. peter nodded briefly. "that's my name, too. bye, meriwether bye. i was wondering where you came from." meriwether bye! peter felt his face growing hot as he remembered the circumstances in which he had last heard that name. "dr. meriwether bye of bryn mawr, pennsylvania, i suppose." meriwether without surprise acknowledged this. "you know of me then. may i ask how?" "i've always known of you indirectly," peter told him coldly. "my great-grandfather spent all his life working for yours-for nothing. there was a black meriwether bye, my there is confusion father, named after him, though i'm sure," he added with rude inconsequence, "i can't imagine why." meriwether looked at him with a sort of gentle understanding. "i've often wondered about those black byes," he said musingly. "my grandfather, dr. meriwether bye-he's an old, old man now-used to tell me about them. he was very fond of one of them, isaiah bye. isn't it strange that we, the grandsons of those two men, friends way back in those days, should be meeting here on our way to france to fight for our country?" something, some aching tiger of resentment and dislike, which always crouched in peter ready to spring at the approach of a white man, lay down momentarily appeased. "friends! say, that's the first time i ever heard a white man speak that way of the relation between a slave-owner and his slave. you can't guess,'" he said abruptly, "how i first heard of you." and he told meriwether of his experience with mrs. lea, while the doctor watched him with keen, melancholy eyes. "i'll wager you were angry, mad clear through and through. you had a right to be. mrs. lea," as he pronounced her name his gentle voice grew a little gentler, peter thought, "didn't realize what she was saying. she's like many another of us, totally unaware of our shame and your merits. i hope this war will teach us something." he had a nice way with him. "a regular fellow," peter thought, listening to his quiet, unaffected disquisition on many subjects. he had been literally everywhere, even to greenland, and had seen all sorts of people. he had a theory that while not all individuals were equal, all races averaged the same. some men were bound to be superior. "and the differences between the races are a matter of relativity," he finished. "i confess my own interest in colored people is very keen." he raised a fine hand to disparage there is confusion peter's slight movement. "yes, i know you are sick of that and the patronage it implies. but i mean it, bye, and when you get back home you must go out to bryn mawr and see whether or not i have tried to express that interest." "i should think," peter looked at him squarely, "all things considered, you or your family would have shown some interest in us black byes. you are rich men, your family is a powerful one." "was a powerful one," meriwether interrupted him. he had flushed a little. "i suppose you know that my greatgrandfather, aaron bye, had ten sons. but only four of them had sons and all of them except my father died in the civil war. isn't that some compensation? my own father died when i was very young and i grew up with his father. he was the one who told me about the black byes and how he when a boy used to play about philadelphia with isaiah. 'proud as isaiah bye,' i've heard him say. bye," said meriwether earnestly, "i tried my best when i became a man to find if there were any of you left in philadelphia. it seemed to me a monstrous thing to have our family and our fortunefor my grandfather is still a very rich man-reared on the backs of those other byes." he struck the table with a vehement hand. "that whole system was barbarous." "i wish," peter told him, "i had known you sooner." just to hear this expression of penitence seemed to ease the long resentment of the years. "without those slaves," meriwether resumed, "aaron bye would never have got on his feet. his father was just a poor farmer, a quaker, running away from england to escape religious persecution. he came over and received a grant of land. but he could have done nothing without labor, and free labor at that. he and a friend bought a wretched slave between them, worked a bit of land, then that old bye bought out the other man's share of the slave; presently he bought there is confusion so closely. i used to wonder and speculate about you. something in you made me think of myself. it was as though you, all unrelated even racially, represented something which might have been a part of myself, as though you," he said dreamily, "were living actively what i was thinking of passively. i have often tried to picture my life as a colored man. i think if there had been any of that selfish admixture of blood between the white and black byes and i had heard of it, i'd have gone the united states over but what i'd have found my relatives, and have claimed them, too, before all the world." one of meriwether's strange fantasies was that he would never return from the war. "i knew it when i came away from america. and listen, bye, when i die," peter marveled at the sureness of that "when," "i want you after you get back home to go to my grandfather and tell him who you are and how you met me. you are to give him this." he took a little case from his pocket in which were the pictures of a man and woman,-old-fashioned pictures. "your father," peter exclaimed involuntarily, "you can see he's a bye " "and my mother," meriwether finished. he drew a locket suspended on a thin gold chain from around his neck. "and take this to mrs. lea. she loves me," he said very simply. "here, you might just as well take them now." peter accepted them reluctantly. he wished he had a picture of joanna. death seemed suddenly very near, very possible. he did not care if he died, but he would like joanna to know that he thought of her. but he had nothing to leave for her. yes, there was the testament. he took it from his inside breast-pocket and showed it to meriwether. indeed he looked at it closely for the first time himself. the two heads so like yet so different bent over the old faded script. on the top of the page in a there is confusion mediately after his company had left brest. the awful condition of things in the seaport town was general rather than specific, and for the first time since peter had entered the war he was feeling comparatively calm. his long and intimate talks with meriwether had produced their effect. he had not realized that any such man as the young quaker physician had existed in the white world. he had too much sense and too many cruel experiences to believe that there were many of meriwether's kind to be found in a lifetime's journey, but somehow his long bitterness of the years had been assuaged. henceforth, he told himself, he would try to be more generous in his thoughts of white men-perhaps his attitude invited trouble which he was usually only too willing to meet halfway. at lathus, harley alexander met him in the little place. "seems to me you're got up regardless," peter had commented. alexander, one of the trimmest men in the regiment, was looking unusually shipshape, almost dapper. the other struck him familiarly across the shoulder. "and that ain't all. say, fellow, there's a band concert to-night, right here in this little old square. i'm goin' and i'm goin; to take a lady." "lady! where'd you get her?" "right here. these girls are all right. not afraid of a cdrk skin. 'how should we have fear, m'soo,' one of them says to me, 'when you fight for our patrie and when you are so beau? 'beau' that's handsome, ain't it? say this is some country to fight for; got some sense of appreciation. better come along, old scout. there's a pile of loots getting ready to come, each with a french dame in tow." "i'll be there," peter told him, laughing. "but count me out with the ladies. i can't get along with the domestic brand and i know i'll be out of luck with the foreign ones." some passing thought wiped the joy of anticipation from there is confusion -~~ ther iscnfso harley's face. "my experience is that these foreign ones are a damn sight less foolish than some domestic ones i've met. well, me for the concert." but that band concert never came off. at sunset a company of white american southerners marched into lathus down the main street, past the little place. there was a sudden uproar. "look! darkies and white women! come on, fellows, kill the damned niggers!" there was a hasty onslaught in which the colored soldiers even taken by surprise gave as good as they took. between these two groups from the same soil there was grimmer, more determined fighting than was seen at verdun. the french civil population stood on the church-steps opposite the square and watched with amazement. "nom de dieu! are they crazy, then, these americans, that they kill each other!" the next day saw peter's company on its way to la courtine, a training center, where there were no women. thence they moved presently to the front in the metz sector. the injustice and indignity rendered the colored troups at lathus, plus the momentary glimpses which he caught of meriwether and his exaltation, plunged peter into a morass of melancholy and bitter self-communing which shut him off as effectually as a smoke-screen from any real appreciation of the dangers which surrounded him on the front. in the midst of all that ineffable danger, that hellish noise, he was harassed by the inextricable confusion, the untidiness of his own life. god, to get rid of it all! once he spent forty-eight hours with nine other men on the ridge of a hill under fire. the other fellows told stories and swapped confidences. but he stayed unmoved through it all, impervious alike to the danger and the good man-talk going on about him. there is confusion on his coat. more cautiously, then, he reached out again, searching for the face, yes, that was meriwether's nose. those canny finger-tips of his recognized the facial structure. his hand came back to meriwether's chest. the heart was beating faintly and just above it was a hole, with the blood gushing, spurting, hot and thick. he sat upright and wrenching open his tunic tore at his shirt. the stuff was hard to tear but it finally gave way under the onslaught of teeth and fingers. faint with the pain of his left arm and 'the loss of his own blood, he set his lips hard, concentrating with all his strength on the determination not to lose consciousness again. finally grunting, swearing, almost crying, he got meriwether's head against his knee, then against his shoulder, and staunched the wound with the harsh, unyielding khaki. his canteen was full and he drenched the chilly, helpless face with its contents. all this time he was sitting with no support for his back and the strain was telling on him. against the surrounding gray of the coming morning, southward toward his own lines, he caught sight of darker shapes, trees perhaps, perhaps men-if he could only get to them! placing meriwether's face upwards he caught him about his lean waist, buckling him to his side with an arm of steel, and rising to his knees he crawled for what seemed a mile toward that persistent blackness. twice he fell, once he struck his left arm against a dead man's boot. the awful throbbing in his shoulder increased. but at last he was there, at last in the shelter of a clump of low, stunted trees. with a sob he braced himself against them, letting meriwether's head and shoulders rest against his knees. the blood had begun to spurt again and meriwether stirred. peter whispered: "bye, for god's sake, speak to me. this is peter, peter bye, you remember?" chapter xxxi c hambery, the capital of savoy, a town situated toward the south of the extreme east of france, has not always been as well known to america as its more important neighbors, grenoble and lyons. up to a few years ago it was celebrated chiefly because it was the location of the chateau of the old dukes of savoy and the birthplace of jean-jacques rousseau. now it is known to thousands and thousands of americans because during the great war it was metamorphosed into a rest center for colored soldiers. to the tourist's mind it might stand out for three reasons: as a city in which it is well nigh impossible to get a lost telegram repeated; as a place where one may procure at very little expense the most excellent of manicures and the most delicious of little cakes. and, thirdly, as the scene of a novel by henri bordeaux, "la peur de vivre," the story of a young girl who, afraid to face the perils of life, forfeited therefore its pleasures. certainly alice du laurens, the young woman of bordeaux' novel, would have been no more astonished to find herself in new york than maggie ellersley, whom she so closely resembled in character, was to find herself in chambery. the nervous shock which harry portor had predicted from her encounter with neal followed only too surely, but for another reason. the flesh wound itself had been negligible and she might have recovered without the nervous breakdown, had not mr. simpson in an agony of remorse at the danger to which he had so unwittingly exposed her, subjected her again with there is confusion others. now that she had no strength, now that life stretched around her a dreary procession of sullen, useless days, she realized the beauty inherent in life itself, the miracle of health and sane nerves, of the ability to make a living, of being helpful to others. "why, henderson, even henderson-if i could have taken him back that first time, i might have changed him, got him to work at something profitable and interesting. maybe," she thought, for the first time since her marriage, "we might have had a child. and what difference did it make if i didn't go with those-'dickties?' i could have had a nice time; i used to have nice times, lovely cosy times with anna and tom." that brought her to the thought of peter. "of course, he didn't want me. and i never loved him. he always did and always will love joanna. whether he gets her or not, she's the woman for him. he needs her as i need philip." she lay quite still then, concentrating, probing her inmost spirit. "as i need no one," she said to herself aloud. "if i ever get well again i shall be what i want to be without depending on anybody. and i shall always be content." who shall explain the relation between mind and spirit? she grew better after that, began to sit up and, joining one of her mother's myriad committees, engaged in the preparation of outfits for the men overseas. very slowly, almost reluctantly her interest in life came creeping back with her strength. she grew to be like the little girl she had been long, long ago, before her overpowering desire got possession of her. but she needed the stimulus of an occupation which would take her out of herself. "if i could find something which would make me forget everything that is past, harry," she told the young doctor. he had fallen into the habit of taking her on his rounds two there is confusion f then they met in front of the statue des elephants. philip, examining that marvel with meticulous care, asked her indirectly about peter. "how will you combine the sort of business you contemplate and your marriage? seems to me you'll have to be away from home a lot. somehow, i don't picture you as a 'new woman,' maggie." so he was interested! and she had done nothing, not one little thing to lead up to it. "oh, god, let me be happy now," she breathed. "you know i meant to play the game straight and i really do love philip." aloud she said joyously, "i'm not going to be married, philip, at least not to peter bye, if that's what you're talking about. that was all a mistake. we both realized that." she glanced at him, hoping to meet an answering joy in his face, but found instead a deepening mournfulness. "philip," she said very gently. "what is it?" he lifted a haggard face. "listen, maggie, i can speak now. i loved you long, long ago, when we used to go off on those catering jobs for father. do you remember? but i didn't know it, i didn't think about it, until you married. somehow i had always thought there would be time enough and that, anyway, matters would adjust themselves. and when i heard you'd married that fellow, i was so amazed, thrown off my feet. i said to myself, 'you poor weak fool, of course, she'd prefer a man, a real man who, no matter what his character, would have gumption to go after the woman he loved.' "i'd have come to you, but i thought you must love him; i had heard the girls mention seeing the two of you together and i concluded it was an affair of long standing. to ease myself, to put you completely out of my mind, i plunged into this public work; i wouldn't even mention your name. and the first thing i knew you had left neal and were engaged to bye. i couldn't understand that, maggie, since you had there is confusion grown up with joanna and peter, but that's all over now. i cursed bye out at des moines, i remember." maggie, reviewing all that had preceded peter's departure for des moines, shivered a little. "perhaps some day i can tell you all about it, philip. it was mostly my fault." "it doesn't make any difference whose fault it was, maggie; everything is too late now. you don't suppose i'm going to ask you, a beautiful woman, just on the threshold of a successful future, to marry me. my dear, i'm a wreck. i may live a year and i may live a half century. but i'd always be good for nothing, sitting around, ailing, getting on your nerves. i wouldn't be able even to run your cash register for you, maggie. these gas cases are absolutely unpredictable." "i don't care," she told him stubbornly. "you haven't asked me but i'll tell you. i love you, philip, i always have. and nothing would please me more than to nurse you. why, i love you, my dear. manage my cash register! we'll get you home and harry portor will fix you up and then you'll take up your magazine again. i'll be your secretary, vour assistant, your whole force." but philip was adamant. "you don't know what you're saying. no, maggie, after i leave here i'll never see you again. i had my chance to win you once and i let you go, threw you into the arms of neal. that was bad enough. but i won't chain you to an invalid's chair for life." for the first time since she had known him she recognized in him a faint bitterness. "you know, maggie, i've never made any kick about being colored. rather, i looked at it as a life work ready and cut out for a man, for me, and i rushed rather joyously into it to do battle. now as i look back, i think i realize for the first time what this awful business of color in america does to a man, what it has done for me. if we weren't so per there is confusion on his wasted hand. "ah, but, maggie, it is too late. everything is too late." on the last day of his stay she came to him. "you love me, philip?" he gave a quick assent. "and you know i love you and you still won't marry me?" "don't torture me, maggie. you've no idea what it means to be tied for life to a peevish invalid. i-i never expect to see you again, my dear." "then," she said, and the last tatters of her old obsession, that oldest desire of all for sheer decency-fell from her, "then i'll be your mistress, philip. for no matter where you go i'll find you and stay with you, you'll never be able to send me away from you. you'll make me the by-word of all new york but i won't care, philip, for i love you. oh, philip, philip- " they were in the chapel of the old dukes of savoy and the ancient caretaker, having stayed away the length of time which philip's pourboire warranted, came in, but went out again, quietly, smiling. for philip had risen and drawn maggie to him. "you really mean it, maggie, my maggie! oh, my little yellow flower, i'll never let you go." she looked at him starry-eyed. "you don't seem so weak, philip." outside, the cross on nivrolet, a luminous symbol of faith, pointed steadfastly to heaven. there is confusion "vera, you imp! telling those people that you had gone to school with me to learn democracy; i nearly died! where've you been this long while? how wonderful you look! and how different!" "oh, joanna, joanna, i was coming to see you! first of all i've been south. i got sick of going about -with those white people, so i cast about for something to do. you remember they mobbed some colored soldiers in arkansas because they'd worn their uniforms in the street? well, it made me sick, it made me think of-of harley. so i rushed to a newspaper, barney kirchner is the manager-wasn't he one of philip's friends? and i told them: 'i'm colored, see, but nobody would guess it; send me down there. see if i can't get a line on those people."' "mercy," said joanna, "what an idea!" "and they sent me. and, oh, joanna, it was wonderful to see how our folks, those colored people, trusted me and shielded me when they found i was one of them. and those white bullies, thinking i was one of them, told me the most bloodcurdling, most fiendish tales. i really got an investigation started. mr. kirchner has taken it up. oh, joanna, i'm glad i'm colored-there's something terrible, terrible about white people." she had seen a side of life which had first amazed, then frightened, then incited her. joanna had never seen her friend like this, so roused and quickened, so purposeful. "it was as though at last i had found some excuse for being what i am, looking like one race and belonging to another. it made me feel like-don't laugh-like a ministering angel. oh, i hated myself so for having spent all those foolish months, years even, away from my own folks when i might have been consecrated to them, serving them, helping them, healing them. you can't understand just how i feel, janna dear. you've always had a definite something before you to make out of there is confusion "forced to devote your life to it," joanna repeated, be, wildered. "why, what do you mean?" a subtle change came over vera's face. it was almost as though one could see her marshaling her inner forces, her spiritual resources. despair, resolve, pride, courage-her friend could descry each in turn. then she laughed her old confident laugh. "well, it's like this, janna. i've had a message-indirectly -from harley. he-" she bit her lip, "he isn't coming back to america. he managed to get his discharge in france and he's made up his mind to live there. isn't it great for him? it means he'll have to start his training all over again, but he says he'd rather do that than waste his life bucking this color business any more. and there's all sorts of work for a dentist in those little french towns. just imagine old harley's being free to come and go as he pleases. no more insults for him, no more lynching news. why, it'll be life all over for him, won't it, jan? and i can't blame him," she broke off breathlessly, "once i might have thought the thing for him to do was to stay with his own folks, but life cheats us colored people so. i wish i had understood that earlier. white and colored people! no wonder peter used to rave as he did." she ended astoundingly: "i suppose you and he have made up." "who?" asked joanna stupidly. "peter and-and me? why, i haven't seen him. why, he's going to marry maggie ellersley!" "marry maggie nothing! here, here's an automat. well be all right in here. miss maggie ellersley is going to marry your brother. didn't you know it?" "no, but i'm glad of it, glad of it. how'd you know all this, vera?" "peter told me, of course. i've seen him. he's the most perfect darling in his uniform! you ought to hear him raving about france, but silent as the tomb about the war. he says there is confusion the colored soldiers were all sold-fighting for freedom was a farce so far as they were concerned. but france is all right if the white americans don't get in too much propaganda. i've been meaning to write to you, to tell you you'd better go over there. no end of chances for you on the french stage. you might even get in french opera. are you sure you haven't seen peter, sly thing?" "of course i'm sure. there was really no reason why i should. mr. bye and i haven't seen or heard from each other for three years, now." "mr. bye! well, good evening, miss high and mighty. if i see him i'll tell him i saw you." "you'll do nothing of the kind. stop all this raving, vera, and explain to me about harley. are you going to france, too? " vera looked at her with a too perfect astonishment. "i going? joanna, how did you ever get credit for being so brilliant, you're really quite thick-witted. don't you see harley's and my ways are going to lie separate forever? he is going east and i am going-south." her gayety forsook her. "joanna, don't let me cry in this awful place. i got it out of peter. i made him tell me. - he says harley is bitter and cynical. he says, over and over, peter told me: 'look at these little french girls, they're really white and they don't seem to hate me. and yet a girl of my own race hesitates to marry me merely because she looks like white.' she pressed her hand hard against her quivering mouth. "it seems he can't forgive me. peter told me so i could be prepared for anything i might hear. oh, janna, this terrible country with its false ideals! so you see why i'm glad there's the south to go to-i've got to choose between life and death. even if i should lose my life in georgia or in one of those other terrible places where they lynch women, too, i'll save it, won't i? i must go. kiss me good-by, dear janna." there is confusion "thought i'd look you up, portor. gee, what enthusiasm! nice greeting to give a fellow who's just been making your home safe for democracy." "oh, can that stuff, bye. what i want to know is this. it's none of my business but i happen to be interested. what are you going to do about maggie ellersley?" "wha-at! well i'll be- " had he been in her train, too? was this why she had given him his freedom? his face clouded. "you're right, harry, it is none of your business. may i ask how you horn in on this?" "well, if you've got to know. i'm, i'm deeply interested in miss joanna marshall and-and " "hold on, i thought you were speaking of miss ellersley." their politeness was wonderful. "now see here, bye, tell me, are you going to marry miss ellersley?" "i am not." "well, by god! you dirty cad, what do you mean by getting engaged to one woman after another and not having any intention of marrying either?" peter controlled his rising anger. "i don't want to quarrel with you, portor. miss ellersley told me in chambery that she didn't want to marry me, she'd made a mistake." "and miss marshall," said harry, his face clearing, "have you told her yet?" "no, i haven't. miss marshall found out she'd made a mistake three years ago. i don't make good with the ladies, portor. and i'd like to know how the devil it concerns you?" "it concerns me," said harry miserably, "because i'm pretty sure joanna loves you, and i want you to make her happy, or else get out of the way and let me try to do it." and he told peter how joanna, thinking him guilty, had yet declared herself maggie's assailant.' peter's natural surprise at neal's attack on maggie vanished there~ is conjfusion "yet i used to long for death, joanna. i used to wish i'd get done in at the front. did you pray for me?" "yes, sometimes. but i didn't think you'd die. i used to think, though, that you'd never come back to me. i didn't see how maggie could ever let you go. she's married philip, you know." "yes, i know. i told vera, hoping it would get to you." he mused over some mysterious memory. "well, maggie certainly is some girl. how's philip?" "better, oh, lots better. he has a fighting chance and it's all due to her. he's in a sanitarium and she's with him. she should have married him long ago. it's my fault she didn't." and she told him about the letter. "gosh!" peter exclaimed inadequately, "don't you do funny things when you're kids? well, here we are at bryn mawr. you want to wait here in the station? i don't think i'll be long. if i am i'll send for you. i don't mind going here myself, but i don't want you to go in until i know how they're going to treat you." "oh, go along," laughed joanna, "i've been in a million of their homes. thought you were all over that nonsense." he was back in a quarter of an hour, very serious. "the old gentleman is ill, got bronchitis and they're afraid it might turn into flu. so i left a message and the pictures and my address. your address, rather, joanna dear, since i don't know just when i'm going to move. now we'll go to mrs. lea's. she's just the next station up the line." they boarded the local. "i wish you could have seen that old butler, janna. he knew my grandfather. and the moment he saw me, he knew i was a bye. gave me the funniest look. 'why,' he said, 'you'se the spit of both families!' funny, isn't it, joanna; those two families, the black and the white byes, lived so long together that they developed similar characteristics, like husbands and wives, you know. and they say white there is confusion she put her hand over his mouth, "peter, you shan't say it." "darling, all the time i was there i was thinking: 'suppose this were joanna and i were harley alexander, or someone, telling her about peter bye! " they were very sober after that. at the west philadelphia station peter remembered a restaurant on market street, where he had eaten in his student days. "i guess they'll still accommodate us. where do you think i'm going to take you after we eat?" "i can't imagine, peter." "out to the park, darling. i used to dream of this in france, when i was in that hospital." philadelphia, since the war, has changed for the worse in her attitude toward colored people. but these two contrived to get a decent meal after which they set out for the park. it was october again, mellow and beautiful. joanna, tingling with memories of the past, asked peter nervously to tell her more of meriwether bye. "he was a wonderful man, joanna, a real, real man and he made me see life from an entirely different angle. he said white men in their fight for freedom in america had had tremendous physical odds to face and that black men had helped them face them. now it was our turn to fight for freedom, only our odds were spiritual and mental obstacles, infinitely more difficult because less tangible. 'and just as you black men helped us, bye,' he used to say, 'there're plenty of white men to help you. you don't know it; for one thing, you've shut your mind to us. oh, you're not to blame, lots of us aren't to be trusted; most of us, i'm afraid. but we're ignorant and incredulous. show us what manhood means, bye.'" "he must have been wonderful, indeed, peter." "yes. and yet the queerest chap., you know i told you he had made up his mind to die. that was the difference between there is confusion ever having come together. but they did. oh, sylvia, you and brian have had such a simple, easy, jog-trot time of it, you don't know what it means to have your life all broken up like maggie's and mine have been, and poor vera manning's." whatever the cause, maggie spent her days serenely. secure not only in the knowledge that she was bulwarked by the marshall respectability, but also by the resolve which she had made before she saw philip in chambery, she started on the project of her beauty parlors. she said to joel who, she knew, admired her ability: "see if you can't make me as great a success in business as you've been." they spent many pleasant hours in consultation. there is confusion tears." she rarely regretted leaving the stage and although she sang sometimes in churches and concerts and once even went on a brief tour, she almost never danced except in the ordinary way. still, as her mentality was essentially creative, she found herself more and more impelled toward the expression of the intense appreciation of living which welled within her. luckily her training in music offered her some outlet. with her slight knowledge of composition she composed two little songs and glimpsing future possibilities, she began to study that most fascinating of all the sciences-harmony. -the change in peter was more fundamental than that in joanna. she at least had always had these possibilities of domesticity. her desire for greatness had been a sort of superimposed structure which, having been taken off, left her her true self. it was as though her life had expanded on the plan of holmes' admonition to the chambered nautilus: leave thy low vaulted pastlet each new temple, nobler than the last, shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast till thou at length art free,joanna was free. but peter had had to undergo a complete metamorphosis. he was a supersensitive colored man living among hosts of indifferent white people. not only had he to change in every particular his theory of how to maintain such a relationship, but indeed he had to decide what sort of relationship was worth maintaining. at his father's death and during his young manhood he had been absolutely without a notion of the responsibilities which the most average man expects to take upon himself. he looked back with a real shame and chagrin i ia &lt; ii ,.~ ~ ~ w i / ^ a) library of the college of new jersey. presented by john s. pierson. r \ - i ola leroy, shadows uplifted. -©- r ■ by frances e. w. harper. garrigues brothers, publishers and booksellers, arch street, philadelphia, pa. . entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by frances e. w. harper, in the office of the librarian of congress, at washington. to my daughter mary e. harper, this book is lovingly dedicated. (recap) % - introduction. i confess when i first learned that mrs. harper was about to write "a story" on some features of the anglo- african race, growing out of what was once popularly known as the "peculiar institution," i had my doubts about the matter. indeed it was far from being easy for me to think that she was as fortunate as she might have been in selecting a subject which would afford her the best opportunity for bringing out a work of merit and lasting worth to the race—such a work as some of her personal friends have long desired to see from her graphic pen. however, after hearing a good portion of the manuscript read, and a general statement with regard to the object in view, i admit frankly that my partial indifference was soon swept away; at least i was willing to wait for further developments. being very desirous that one of the race, so long dis- tinguished in the cause of freedom for her intellectual worth as mrs. harper has had the honor of being, should not at this late date in life make a blunder which might detract from her own good name, i naturally proposed tc^ await developments before deciding too quickly in or of giving encouragement to her contemplated it. owever, i was perfectly aware of the fact that she much material in her possession for a most inter- ing book on the subject of the condition of the ored people in the south. i know of no other man, white or colored, anywhere, who has come so in- nately in contact with the colored people in the south introduction. as mrs. harper. since emancipation she has labored in every southern state in the union, save two, ar- kansas and texas; in the colleges, schools, churches, and the cabins not excepted, she has found a vast field and open doors to teach and speak on the themes of education, temperance, and good home building, in- dustry, morality, and the like, and never lacked for evidences of hearty appreciation and gratitude. everywhere help was needed, and her heart being deeply absorbed in the cause she willingly allowed her sympathies to impel her to perform most heroic services. with her it was no uncommon occurrence, in visiting cities or towns, to speak at two, three, and four meet- ings a day; sometimes to promiscuous audiences com- posed of everybody who would care to come. but the kind of meetings she took greatest interest in were meetings called exclusively for women. in this attitude she could pour out her sympathies to them as she could not do before a mixed audience; and indeed she felt their needs were far more pressing than any other class. and now i am prepared to most fully indorse wer story. i doubt whether she could, if she had tried ever so much, have hit upon a subject so well adapted reach a large number of her friends and the public with both entertaining and instructive matter as successfully as she has done in this volume. i the grand and ennobling sentiments which haye characterized all her utterances in laboring for the ele- vation of the oppressed will not be found missing |in this book. the previous books from her pen, which have be< introduction. so very widely circulated and admired, north and south —" forest leaves," "miscellaneous poems," "moses, a story of the nile," " poems," and "sketches of southern life" (five in number), —these, i predict, will be by far eclipsed by this last effort, which will, in all probability, be the crowning effort of her long and valuable services in the cause of humanity. while, as indicated, mrs. harper has done a large amount of work in the south, she has at the same time done much active service in the temperance cause in the north, as thousands of this class can testify. -before the war she was engaged as a speaker by anti- slavery associations; since then, by appointment of the women's christian temperance union, she has held the office of "superintendent of colored work" for years. she has also held the office of one of the di rectors of the women's congress of the united states. under the auspices of these influential, earnest, and intelligent associations, she has been seen often on their platforms with the leading lady orators of the nation. hence, being widely known not only amongst her own race but likewise by the reformers, laboring for the salvation of the intemperate and others equally unfortunate, there is little room to doubt that the book will be in great demand and will meet with warm con- ratulations from a goodly number outside of the au- _pr's social connections. )oubtless the thousands of colored sunday-schools the south, in casting about for an interesting, moral iry-book, full of practical lessons, will not be content to^be without " lola leroy, or shadows uplifted." william still. contents. chapter. page- i. the mystery of market speech and prayer meeting ii. contraband of war iii. uncle daniel's story iv. arrival of the union army v. release of iola leroy vi. robert jo ihnson's promotion and religion .... vii. tom anderson's death ° viii. the mystified doctor ix. eugene leroy and alfred lorraine x. shadows in the home xi. the plague and the law xii. school-girl notions xiii. a rejected suitor xiv. harry leroy xv. robert and his company xvi. after the battle xvii. flames in the school-room xviii. searching for lost ones xix. striking contrasts xx. a revelation xxi. a home for mother xxii. further lifting of the veil xxiii. delightful reunions xxiv. northern experience . xxv. an old friend xxvi. open questions xxvii. diverging paths xtfviii. dr. latrobe's mistake xlxix. visitors from the south scxx. friends in council bkxi. dawning affections xjkxii. wooing and wedding xxlxiii. conclusion f| note s ( ) chapter i. mystery of market speech and prayer-meeting. "good mornin', bob; how's butter dis mornin'?" "fresh; just as fresh, as fresh can be." "oh, glory !" said the questioner, whom we shall call thomas anderson, although he was known among his acquaintances as marster anderson's tom. his informant regarding the condition of the market was robert johnson, who had been separated from his mother in his childhood and reared by his mistress as a favorite slave. she had fondled him as a pet animal, and even taught him to read. notwithstanding their relation as mistress and slave, they had strong personal likings for each other. tom anderson was the servant of a wealthy planter, who lived in the city of c , north carolina. this planter was quite advanced in life, but in his earlier days he had spent much of his time in talking politics in his state and national capitals in winter, and in visit- ing pleasure resorts and watering places in summer. his plantations were left to the care of overseers who, their turn, employed negro drivers to aid them in he work of cultivation and discipline. but as the inf [rmities of age were pressing upon him he had with- (drawn from active life, and given the management of is affairs into the hands of his sons. as robert john- >n and thomas anderson passed homeward from the ( ) iola leroy, market, having bought provisions for their respective homes, they seemed to be very light-hearted and care- less, chatting and joking with each other; but every now and then, after looking furtively around, one would drop into the ears of the other some news of the battle then raging between the north and south which, like two great millstones, were grinding slavery to powder. as they passed along, they were met by another servant, who said in hurried tones, but with a glad accent in his voice:— "did you see de fish in de market dis mornin'? oh, but dey war splendid, jis' as fresh, as fresh kin be." "that's the ticket," said robert, as a broad smile overspread his face. "i'll see you later." "good mornin', boys," said another servant on his way to market. "how's eggs dis mornin'?" "fust rate, fust rate," said tom anderson. "bob's got it down fine." "i thought so; mighty long faces at de pos'-ofrke dis mornin'; but i'd better move 'long," and with a bright smile lighting up his face he passed on with a quickened tread. there seemed to be an unusual interest manifested by these men in the state of the produce market, and a unanimous report of its good condition. surely there was nothing in the primeness of the butter or the fresh- ness of the eggs to change careless looking faces in' such expressions of gratification, or to light dull ey with such gladness. what did it mean? during the dark days of the rebellion, when t' bondman was turning his eyes to the american flag and learning to hail it as an ensign of deliverance, so or shadows uplifted. of the shrewder slaves, coming in contact with their mas- ters and overhearing their conversations, invented a phraseology to convey in the most unsuspected manner news to each other from the battle-field. fragile wo- men and helpless children were left on the plantations while their natural protectors were at the front, and yet these bondmen refrained from violence. freedom was coming in the wake of the union army, and while num- bers deserted to join their forces, others remained at home, slept in their cabins by night and attended to their work by day; but under this apparently careless exterior there was an undercurrent of thought which escaped the cognizance of their masters. in convey- ing tidings of the war, if they wished to announce a victory of the union army, they said the butter was fresh, or that the fish and eggs were in good condition. if defeat befell them, then the butter and other pro- duce were rancid or stale. entering his home, robert set his basket down. in one arm he held a bundle of papers which he had ob- tained from the train to sell to the boarders, who were all anxious to hear from the seat of battle. he slipped one copy out and, looking cautiously around, said to linda, the cook, in a low voice :— "splendid news in the papers. secesh routed. yan- kees whipped 'em out of their boots. papers full of it. i tell you the eggs and the butter's mighty fresh this morning." "oh, sho, chile," said linda, "i can't read de news- papers, but ole missus' face is newspaper nuff for me. i looks at her ebery mornin' wen she comes inter dis kitchen. ef her face is long an' she walks kine o' droopy io iola leroy, den i thinks things is gwine wrong for dem. but ef she comes out yere looking mighty pleased, an' larffin all ober her face, an' steppin' so frisky, den i knows de secesh is gittin' de bes' ob de yankees. robby, honey, does you really b'lieve for good and righty dat dem yankees is got horns?" "of course not." "well, i yered so." "well, you heard a mighty big whopper." "anyhow, bobby, things goes mighty contrary in dis house. ole miss is in de parlor prayin' for de secesh to gain de day, and we's prayin' in de cabins and kit- chens for de yankees to get de bes' ob it. but wasn't miss nancy glad wen dem yankees run'd away at bull's run. it was nuffin but bull's run an' run away yankees. how she did larff and skip 'bout de house. an' den me thinks to myself you'd better not holler till you gits out ob de woods. i specs tore dem yankees gits froo you'll be larffin tother side ob your mouf. while you was gone-to market ole miss com'd out yere, her face looking as long as my arm, tellin' us all 'bout de war and saying dem yankees whipped our folks all to pieces. and she was 'fraid dey'd all be down yere soon. i thought they couldn't come too soon for we. but i didn't tell her so." "no, i don't expect you did." "no, i didn't; ef you buys me for a fool you loses your money shore. she said when dey com'd down yere she wanted all de men to hide, for dey'd kill all de men, but dey wouldn't tech de women." "it's no such thing. she's put it all wrong. why them yankees are our best friends." or shadows uplifted. "dat's jis' what i thinks. ole miss was jis' tryin to skeer a body. an' when she war done she jis' set down and sniffled an' cried, an' i war so glad i didn't know what to do. but i had to hole in. an' i made out i war orful sorry. an' jinny said, 'o miss nancy, i hope dey won't come yere.' an' she said, 'i'se jis' 'fraid dey will come down yere and gobble up ebery- thing dey can lay dere hands on.' an' she jis' looked as ef her heart war mos' broke, an' den she went inter de house. an' when she war gone, we jis' broke loose. jake turned somersets, and said he warnt 'fraid ob dem yankees; he know'd which side his brad was buttered on. dat jake is a cuter. when he goes down ter git de letters he cuts up all kines ob shines • and capers. an' to look at him skylarking dere while de folks is waitin' for dere letters, an' talkin' bout de war, yer wouldn't think dat boy had a thimbleful of sense. but jake's listenin' all de time wid his eyes and his mouf wide open, an' ketchin' eberything he kin, an' a heap ob news he gits dat way. as to jinny, she jis' capered and danced all ober de flore. an' i jis' had to put my han' ober her mouf to keep ole miss from yere- ing her. oh, but we did hab a good time. boy, yer oughter been yere." "and, aunt linda, what did you do?" "oh, honey, i war jis' ready to crack my sides larffin, jis' to see what a long face jinny puts on wen ole miss is talkin', an' den to see dat face wen missus' back is turned, why it's good as a circus. it's nuff to make a horse larff." "why, aunt linda, you never saw a circus?" "no, but i'se hearn tell ob dem, and i thinks dey i or shadows uplifted. "well, you had better look out, and not shout too much, and pray and sing too loud, because, 'fore you know, the patrollers will be on your track and break up your meetin' in a mighty big hurry, before you can say 'jack robinson.'" "oh, we looks out for dat. we's got a nice big pot, dat got cracked las'winter, but it will hole a lot o'water, an' we puts it whar we can tell it eberything. we has our own good times. an' i want you to come sunday night an' tell all 'bout the good eggs, fish, and butter. mark my words, bobby, we's all gwine to git free. i seed it all in a vision, as plain as de nose on yer face." "well, i hope your vision will come out all right, and that the eggs will keep and the butter be fresh till we have our next meetin'." "now, bob, you sen' word to uncle dan'el, tom anderson, an' de rest ob dem, to come to mccullough's woods nex' sunday night. i want to hab a sin-killin' an' debil-dribin' time. but, boy, you'd better git out er yere. ole miss'll be down on yer like a scratch cat." although the slaves were denied unrestricted travel, and the holding of meetings without the surveillance of a white man, yet they contrived to meet by stealth and hold gatherings where they could mingle their prayers and tears, and lay plans for escaping to the union army. outwitting the vigilance of the patrollers and home guards, they established these meetings miles apart, ex- tending into several states. sometimes their hope of deliverance was cruelly blighted by hearing of some adventurous soul who, having escaped to the union army, had been pursued and returned again to bondage. yet hope survived all iola leroy, these disasters which gathered around the fate of their unfortunate brethren, who were remanded to slavery through the undiscerning folly of those who were strengthening the hands which were dealing their deadliest blows at the heart of the nation. but slavery had cast such a glamour over the nation, and so warped the consciences of men, that they failed to read aright the legible transcript of divine retribution which was written upon the shuddering earth, where the blood of god's poor children had been as water freely spilled. or shadows uplifted. chapter ii. contraband of war. a few evenings after this conversation between robert and linda, a prayer-meeting was held. un- der the cover of night a few dusky figures met by stealth in mccullough's woods. "howdy," said robert, approaching uncle daniel, the leader of the prayer-meeting, who had preceded him but a few minutes. "thanks and praise; i'se all right. how is you, chile?" "oh, i'm all right," said robert, smiling, and grasp- ing uncle daniel's hand. "what's de news ?" exclaimed several, as they turned their faces eagerly towards robert. "i hear," said robert, "that they are done sending the runaways back to their masters." "is dat so?" said a half dozen earnest voices. "how did you yere it?" "i read it in the papers. and tom told me he heard them talking about it last night, at his house. how did you hear it, tom? come, tell us all about it." tom anderson hesitated a moment, and then said:— "now, boys, i'll tell you all 'bout it. but you's got to be mighty mum 'bout it. it won't do to let de cat outer de bag." "dat's so! but tell us wat you yered. we ain't gwine to say nuffin to nobody." i tola leroy, "well," said tom, "las' night ole marsrer had com- pany. two big ginerals, and dey was hoppin' mad. one ob dem. looked like a turkey gobbler, his face war so red. an' he sed one ob dem yankee ginerals, i thinks dey called him beas' butler, sed dat de slaves dat runned away war some big name—i don't know what he called it. but it meant dat all ob we who com'd to de yankees should be free." "contraband of war," said robert, who enjoyed the distinction of being a good reader, and was pretty well posted about the war. mrs. johnson had taught him to read on the same principle she would have taught a pet animal amusing tricks. she had never imagined the time would come when he would use the machinery she had put in his hands to help overthrow the institu- tion to which she was so ardently attached. "what does it mean? is it somethin' good for us?" "i think," said robert, a little vain of his superior knowledge, "it is the best kind of good. it means if two armies are fighting and the horses of one run away, the other has a right to take them. and it is just the same if a slave runs away from the secesh to the union lines. he is called a contraband, just the same as if he were an ox or a horse. they wouldn't send the horses back, and they won't send us back." "is dat so?" said uncle daniel, a dear old father, with a look of saintly patience on his face. "well, chillen, what do you mean to do?" "go, jis' as soon as we kin git to de army," said tom anderson. "what else did the generals say? and how did you come to hear them, tom ?" asked robert johnson. or shadows uplifted. > "well, yer see, marster's too ole and feeble to go to de war, but his heart's in it. an' it makes him feel good all ober when dem big ginerals comes an' tells him all 'bout it. well, i war laying out on de porch fas' asleep an' snorin' drefful hard. oh, i war so soun' asleep dat wen marster wanted some ice-water he had to shake me drefful hard to wake me up. an' all de time i war wide 'wake as he war." "what did they say?" asked robert, who was al- ways on the lookout for news from the battle-field. "one ob dem said, dem yankees war talkin' of put- tin' guns in our han's and settin' us all free. an' de oder said, 'oh, sho! ef dey puts guns in dere hands dey'll soon be in our'n; and ef dey sets em free dey wouldn't know how to take keer ob demselves.'" "only let 'em try it," chorused a half dozen voices, "an' dey'll soon see who'll git de bes' ob de guns; an' as to taking keer ob ourselves, i specs we kin take keer ob ourselves as well as take keer ob dem." "yes," said tom, "who plants de cotton and raises all de crops?" "'they eat the meat and give us the bones, eat the cherries and give us the stones,' and i'm getting tired of the whole business," said robert. "but, bob," said uncle daniel, "you've got a good owner. you don't hab to run away from bad times and wuss a comin'." "it isn't so good, but it might be better. i ain't got nothing 'gainst my ole miss, except she sold my mother from me. and a boy ain't nothin' without his . iola leroy, mother. i forgive her, but i never forget her, and never expect to. but if she were the best woman on earth i would rather have my freedom than belong to her. well, boys, here's a chance for us just as soon as the union army gets in sight. what will you do?" "l'se a goin," said tom anderson, "jis' as soon as dem linkum soldiers gits in sight." "an' l'se a gwine wid you, tom," said another. "i specs my ole marster'll feel right smart lonesome when l'se gone, but i don't keer 'bout stayin' for company's sake." "my ole marster's room's a heap better'n his com- pany," said tom anderson, "an' l'se a goner too. dis yer freedom's too good to be lef behind, wen you's got a chance to git it. i won't stop to bid ole marse good bye." "what do you think," said robert, turning to uncle daniel; "won't you go with us?" "no, chillen, i don't blame you for gwine; but l'se gwine to stay. slavery's done got all de marrow out ob dese poor ole bones. ef freedom comes it won't do me much good; we ole one's will die out, but it will set you youngsters all up." "but, uncle daniel, you're not too old to want your freedom?" "i knows dat. i lubs de bery name of freedom, i've been praying and hoping for it dese many years. an' ef i warn't boun', i would go wid you ter-morrer. i won't put a straw in your way. you boys go, and my prayers will go wid you. i can't go, it's no use. l'se gwine to stay on de ole place till marse robert comes back, or is brought back." or shadows uplifted. "but, uncle daniel," said robert, "what'sthe use of praying for a thing if, when it comes, you won't take it? as much as you have been praying and talking about freedom, i thought that when the chance came you would have been one of the first to take it. now, do tell us why you won't go with us. ain't you will- ing?" "why, robbie, my whole heart is wid you. but when marse robert went to de war, he called me into his room and said to me, 'uncle dan'el, i'se gwine to de war, an' i want you to look arter my wife an' chillen, an' see dat eberything goes right on de place. an' i promised him i'd do it, an' i mus' be as good as my word. 'cept de overseer, dere isn't a white man on de plantation, an' i hear he has to report ter-morrer or be treated as a deserter. an' der's nobody here to look arter miss mary an' de chillen, but myself, an' to see dat eberything goes right. i promised marse robert i would do it, an' i mus' be as good as my word." "well, what should you keer?" said tom anderson. "who looked arter you when you war sole from your farder and mudder, an' neber seed dem any more, and wouldn't know dem to-day ef you met dem in your dish?" "well, dats neither yere nor dere. marse robert couldn't help what his father did. he war an orful mean man. but he's dead now, and gone to see 'bout it. but his wife war the nicest, sweetest lady dat eber i did see. she war no more like him dan chalk's like cheese. she used to visit de cabins, an' listen to de pore women when de overseer used to cruelize dem so bad, anj drive dem to work late and early. an' she iola leroy, used to sen' dem nice things when they war sick, and hab der cabins whitewashed an' lookin' like new pins, an' look arter dere chillen. sometimes she'd try to git ole marse to take dere part when de oberseer got too mean. but she might as well a sung hymns to a dead horse. all her putty talk war like porin water on a goose's back. he'd jis' bluff her off, an' tell her she didn't run dat plantation, and not for her to bring him any nigger news. i never thought ole marster war good to her. i often ketched her crying, an' she'd say she had de headache, but i thought it war de heartache. 'fore ole marster died, she got so thin an' peaked i war 'fraid she war gwine to die; but she seed him out. he war killed by a tree fallin' on him, an' ef eber de debil got his own he got him. i seed him in a vision arter he war gone. he war hangin' up in a pit, sayin' 'oh! oh!' wid no close on. he war allers blusterin', cussin', and swearin' at somebody. marse robert ain't a bit like him. he takes right arter his mother. bad as ole marster war, i think she jis' lob'd de groun' he walked on. well, women's mighty curious kind of folks anyhow. i sometimes thinks de wuss you treats dem de better dey likes you." "well," said tom, a little impatiently, "what's yer gwine to do? is yer gwine wid us, ef yer gits a chance?'' "now, jes' you hole on till i gits a chance to tell yer why i'se gwine to stay." "well, uncle daniel, let's hear it," said robert. "i was jes' gwine to tell yer when tom put me out. ole marster died when marse robert war two years ole, and his pore mother when he war four. when he or shadows uplifted. died, miss anna used to keep me 'bout her jes* like i war her shadder. i used to nuss marse robert jes' de same as ef i were his own fadder. i used to fix hig milk, rock him to sleep, ride him on my back, an' nothin' pleased him better'n fer uncle dan'el to ride him piggy-back." "well, uncle daniel," said robert, "what has that got to do with your going with us and getting your freedom?" "now, jes' wait a bit, and don't frustrate my mine. i seed day arter day miss anna war gettin' weaker and thinner, an' she looked so sweet and talked so putty, i thinks to myself, 'you ain't long for dis worl'.' and she said to me one day, 'uncle dan'el, when i'se gone, i want you to be good to your marster robert.' an' she looked so pale and weak i war almost ready to cry. i couldn't help it. she hed allers bin mighty good to me. an' i beliebs in praisin' de bridge dat carries me ober. she said, 'uncle dan'el, i wish you war free. ef i had my way you shouldn't serve any one when i'm gone; but mr. thurston had eberything in his power when he made his will. i war tied hand and foot, and i couldn't help it.' in a little while she war gone—jis' faded away like a flower. i belieb ef dere's a saint in glory, miss anna's dere." "oh, i don't take much stock in white folks' religion," said robert, laughing carelessly. "the way," said tom anderson, "dat some of dese folks cut their cards yere, i think dey'll be as sceece in hebben as hen's teeth. i think wen some of dem preach- ers brings de bible 'round an' tells us 'bout mindin oar marsters and not stealin' dere tings, dat dey preach or shadows uplifted "potobombra. do you know what he wanted mars- ter to do 'fore he died?" continued anderson. "no." "he wanted him to gib him his free papers." "did he do it?" "ob course he did. as de poor fellow war dying an' he couldn't sell him in de oder world, he jis: wrote him de papers to yumor him. he didn't want to go back to africa a slave. he thought if he did, his people would look down on him, an' he wanted to go back a free man. he war orful weak when marster brought him de free papers. he jis' ris up in de bed, clutched dem in his han's, smiled, an' gasped out, 'fse free at las'; an' fell back on de pillar, an' he war gone. oh, but he war spunky. de oberseers, arter dey foun' out who he war, gin'rally gabe him a wide birth. i specs his father war some ole guinea king." "well, chillen," said uncle daniel, "we's kept up dis meeting long enough. we'd better go home, and not all go one way, cause de patrollers might git us all inter trouble, an' we must try to slip home by hook or crook." "an' when we meet again, uncle daniel can finish his story, an' be ready to go with us," said robert. "i wish," said tom anderson, "he would go wid us, de wuss kind." iola leroy, chapter iii. uncle daniel's story. the union had snapped asunder because it lacked the cohesion of justice, and the nation was destined to pass through the crucible of disaster and defeat, till she was ready to clasp hands with the negro and march abreast with him to freedom and victory. the union army was encamping a few miles from c , in north carolina. robert, being well posted on the condition of affairs, had stealthily contrived to call a meeting in uncle daniel's cabin. uncle daniel's wife had gone to bed as a sick sister, and they held a prayer-meeting by her bedside. it was a little risky, but as mr. thurston did not encourage the visits of the patrollers, and heartily detested having them prying into his cabins, there was not much danger of molestation. "well, uncle daniel, we want to hear your story, and see if you have made up your mind to go with us," said robert, after he had been seated a few minutes in uncle daniel's cabin. "no, chillen, i've no objection to finishin' my story, but i ain't made up my mind to leave the place till marse robert gits back." "you were telling us about marse robert's mother. how did you get along after she died?" "arter she war gone, ole marster's folks come to look arter things. but eberything war lef to marse robert, an' he wouldn't do widout me. dat chile war allers or shadows uplifted. at my heels. i couldn't stir widout him, an' when he missed me, he'd fret an' cry so i had ter stay wid him; an' wen he went to school, i had ter carry him in de mornin' and bring him home in de ebenin'. an' i learned him to hunt squirrels, an' rabbits, an' ketch fish, an' set traps for birds. i beliebs he lob'd me better dan any ob his kin' an' he showed me how to read." "well," said tom, "ef he lob'd you so much, why didn't he set you free?" "marse robert tole me, ef he died fust he war gwine ter leave me free—dat i should neber sarve any one else." "oh, sho!" said tom, "promises, like pie crusts, is made to be broken. i don't trust none ob dcm. i'se been yere dese fifteen years, an' i'se neber foun' any troof in dem. an' i'se gwine wid dem north men soon's i gits a chance. an' ef you knowed what's good fer you, you'd go, too." "no, tom; i can't go. when marster robert went to de front, he called me to him an' said : 'uncle daniel,' an' he was drefful pale when he said it, 'i are gwine to de war, an' i want yer to take keer of my wife an' chillen, j is' like yer used to take keer of me wen yer called me your little boy.' well, dat jis' got to me, an' i couldn't help cryin', to save my life." "i specs," said tom, "your tear bags must lie mighty close to your eyes. i wouldn't cry ef dem yankees would make ebery one ob dem go to de front, an' stay dere foreber. dey'd only be gittin' back what dey's been a doin' to us." "marster robert war nebber bad to me. an' i beliebs in stannin' by dem dat stans by you. arter miss anna died, i had great 'sponsibilities on my shoulders; but iola leroy, i war orful lonesome, an' thought i'd like to git a wife. but dere warn't a gal on de plantation, an' no- where's roun', dat filled de bill. so i jis' waited, an' 'tended to marse robert till he war ole 'nough to go to college. wen he went, he allers 'membered me in de letters he used to write his grandma. wen he war gone, i war lonesomer dan eber. but, one day, i jis' seed de gal dat took de rag off de bush. gundover had jis' brought her from de up-country. she war putty as a picture! " he exclaimed, looking fondly at his wife, who still bore traces of great beauty. "she had putty hair, putty eyes, putty mouth. she war putty all over; an' she know'd how to put on style." "o, daniel," said aunt katie, half chidingly, "how you do talk." "why, it's true. i 'member when you war de putti- est gal in dese diggins; when nobody could top your cotton." "i don't," said aunt katie. "well, i do. now, let me go on wid my story. de fust time i seed her, i sez to myself, 'dat's de gal for me, an' i means to hab her ef i kin git her.' so i scraped 'quaintance wid her, and axed her ef she would hab me ef our marsters would let us. i warn't 'fraid 'bout marse robert, but i warn't quite shore 'bout gundover. so when marse robert com'd home, i axed him, an' he larf'd an' said, 'all right,' an' dat he would speak to ole gundover 'bout it.' he didn't relish it bery much, but he didn't like to 'fuse marse robert. he wouldn't sell her, for she tended his dairy, an' war mighty handy 'bout de house. he said, i mought marry her an' come to see her wheneber or shadows uplifted. - marse robert would gib me a pass. i wanted him to sell her, but he wouldn't hear to it, so i had to put up wid what i could git. marse robert war mighty good to me, but ole gundover's wife war de mean- est woman dat i eber did see. she used to go out on de plantation an' boss things like a man. arter i war married, i had a baby. it war de dearest, cutest little thing you eber did see; but, pore thing, it got sick and died. it died 'bout three o'clock; and in de mornin', katie, habbin her cows to milk, lef her dead baby in de cabin. when she com'd back from milkin' her thirty cows, an' went to look for her pore little baby, some one had been to her cabin an' took'd de pore chile away an' put it in de groun'. pore katie, she didn't eben hab a chance to kiss her baby 'fore it war buried. ole gun- dover's wife has been dead thirty years, an' she didn't die a day too soon. an' my little baby has gone to glory, an' is wingin' wid the angels an' a lookin'. out for us. one ob de las' things ole gundover's wife did 'fore she died war to order a woman whipped 'cause she com'd to de field a little late when her husband war sick, an' she had stopped to tend him. dat mornin' she war taken sick wid de fever, an' in a few days she war gone out like de snuff ob a candle. she lef several sons, an' i specs she would almos' turn ober in her grave ef she know'd she had ten culled gianchillen somewhar down in de lower kentry." "isn't it funny," said robert, "how these white folks look dawn on colored people, an' then mix up with —- them?" "marster war away when miss 'liza treated my katie so mean, an' when i tole him 'bout it, he war iola leroy, tearin' mad, an' went ober an' saw ole gundover, an' foun' out he war hard up for money, an' he bought katie and brought her home to lib wid me, and we's been a libin in clover eber sence. marster robert has been mighty good to me. he stood by me in my troubles, an' now his trouble's come, i'm a gwine to stan' by him. i used to think gundover's wife war jealous ob my katie. she war so much puttier. gun- dover's wife couldn't tech my katie wid a ten foot pole." "but, aunt katie, you have had your trials," said robert, now that daniel had finished his story; "don't you feel bitter towards these people who are fighting to keep you in slavery?" aunt katie turned her face towards the speaker. it was a thoughtful, intelligent face, saintly and calm. a face which expressed the idea of a soul which had been fearfully tempest tossed, but had passed through suffer- ing into peace. very touching was the look of resigna- tion and hope which overspread her features as she replied, with the simple child-like faith which she had learned in the darkest hour, "the lord says, we must forgive." and with her that thought, as com- ing from the lips of divine love, was enough to settle the whole question of forgiveness of injuries and love to enemies. "well," said thomas anderson, turning to uncle daniel, "we can't count on yer to go wid us?" "boys," said uncle daniel, and there was grief in his voice, "i'se mighty glad you hab a chance for your freedom; but, ez i tole yer, i promised marse robert i would stay, an' i mus' be as good as my word. don't tola i.eroy, features, as if the blood of some strong race were stirring with sudden vigor through his veins. he clutched his hands together, as if he were struggling with an invis- ible foe, and for a moment he remained silent. then suddenly raising his head, he exclaimed, "boys, there's not one of you loves freedom more than i do, but" "but what?" said tom. "do you think white folks is your bes' friends?" "i'll think so when i lose my senses." "well, now, i don't belieb you're 'fraid, not de way i yeard you talkin' to de oberseer wen he war threatnin' to hit your mudder. he saw you meant business, an' he let her alone. but, what's to hinder you from gwine wid us?" "my mother," he replied, in a low, firm voice. "that is the only thing that keeps me from going. if it had not been for her, i would have gone long ago. she's all i've got, an' i'm all she's got." it was touching to see the sorrow on the strong face, to detect the pathos and indignation in his voice, as he said, "i used to love mirandy as i love my life. i thought the sun rose and set in her. i never saw a hand- somer woman than she was. but she fooled me all over the face and eyes, and took up with that hell-hound of a trader, lukens; an' he gave her a chance to live easy, to wear fine clothes, an' be waited on like a lady. i thought at first i would go crazy, but my poor mammy did all she could to comfort me. she would tell me there were as good fish in the sea as were ever caught out of it. many a time i've laid my poor head on her lap, when it seemed as if my brain was on fire and my heart was almost ready to burst. but in course of time i got or shadows uplifted. over the worst of it; an' mirandy is the first an' last woman that ever fooled me. but that dear old mammy of mine, i mean to stick by her as long as there is a piece of her. i can't go over to the army an' leave her behind, for if i did, an' anything should happen, i would never forgive myself." "but couldn't you take her with you," said robert, "the soldiers said we could bring our women." "it isn't that. the union army is several miles from here, an' my poor mammy is so skeery that, if i were try- ing to get her away and any of them secesh would over- take us, an' begin to question us, she would get skeered almost to death, an' break down an' begin to cry, an' then the fat would be in the fire. so, while i love freedom more than a child loves its mother's milk, i've made up my mind to stay on the plantation. i wish, from the bottom of my heart, i could go. but i can't take her along with me, an' i don't want to be free and leave her behind in slavery. i was only five years old when my master and, as i believe, father, sold us both here to this lower country, an' we've been here ever since. it's no use talking, i won't leave her to be run over by everybody." a few evenings after this interview, the union sol- diers entered the town of c , and established their headquarters near the home of thomas anderson. out of the little company, almost every one deserted to the union army, leaving uncle daniel faithful to his trust, and ben tunnel hushing his heart's deep aspira- tions for freedom in a passionate devotion to his timid and affectionate mother. iola leroy, chapter iv. arrival of the union army. a few evenings before the stampede of robert and his friends to the army, and as he sat alone in his room reading the latest news from the paper he had secreted, he heard a cautious tread and a low tap at his window. he opened the door quietly and whispered :— "anything new, tom?" "yes." "what is it? come in." "well, i'se done bin seen dem yankees, an' dere ain't a bit of troof in dem stories i'se bin yerin 'bout 'cm." "where did you see 'em?" "down in de woods whar marster tole us to hide. yesterday ole marse sent for me to come in de settin'- room. an' what do you think? instead ob makin' me stan' wid my hat in my ban' while he went free a whole rigamarole, he axed me to sit down, an' he tole me he 'spected de yankees would want us to go inter de army, an' dey would put us in front whar we'd all git killed; an' i tole him i didn't want to go, i didn't want to git all momached up. an' den he said we'd better go down in de woods an' hide. massa tom and frank said we'd better go as quick as eber we could. dey said dem yankees would put us in dere wagons and make us haul like we war mules. marsc tom ain't or shadows un.ifted. libin' at de great house jis' now. he's keepin' bachel- lar's hall." "didn't he go to the battle?" "no; he foun'a pore white man who war hard up for money, an' he got him to go." "but, tom, you didn't believe these stories about the yankees. tom and frank can lie as fast as horses can trot. they wanted to scare you, and keep you from going to the union army." "i knows dat now, but i didn't 'spect so den." "well, when did you see the soldiers? where are they? and what did they say to you?" "dey's right down in gundover's woods. an' de gineral's got his headquarters almos' next door to our house." "that near? oh, you don't say so ! '\ "yes, i do. an', oh, golly, ain't i so glad! i jis' stole yere to told you all 'bout it. yesterday mornin' i war splittin' some wood to git my breakfas', an' i met one ob dem yankee sogers. well, i war so skeered, my heart flew right up in my mouf, but i made my manners to him and said, 'good mornin', massa.' he said, 'good mornin'; but don't call me "massa."' dat war de fust white man i eber seed dat didn't want ter be called 'massa,' eben ef he war as pore as job's turkey. den i begin to feel right sheepish, an' he axed me ef my marster war at home, an' ef he war a reb. i tole him he hadn't gone to de war, but he war secesh all froo, inside and outside. he war too ole to go to de war, but dat he war all de time gruntin' an' groanin', an' i 'spected he'd grunt hisself to death." "what did he say?" ioi.a i.eroy, "he said he specs he'll grunt worser dan dat fore dey get free wid him. den he axed me cf i would hab some breakfas,' an' i said, 'no, t'ank you, sir.' an' i war jis' as hungry as a dorg, but i war 'feared to eat. i war 'feared he war gwine to pizen me." "poison you! don't you know the yankees are our best friends?" "well, cf dat's so, i'se mighty glad, cause de woods is full ob dem." "now, tom, i thought you had cut your eye-teeth long enough not to let them anderson boys fool you. tom, you must not think because a white man says a thing, it must be so, and that a colored man's word is no account 'longside of his. tom, if ever we get our free- dom, we've got to learn to trust each other and stick to- gether if we would be a people. somebody else can read the papers as well as marse tom and frank. my ole miss knows i can read the papers, an' she never tries to scare me with big whoppers 'bout the yankees. she knows she can't catch ole birds with chaff, so she is just as sweet as a peach to her bobby. but as soon as i get a chance i will play her a trick the devil never did." "what's that?" "i'll leave her. i ain't forgot how she sold my mother from me. many a night i have cried myself to sleep, thinking about her, and when i get free i mean to hunt her up." "well, i ain't tole you all. de gemman said he war 'cruiting for de army; dat massa linkum hab set us all free, an' dat he wanted some more sogers to put down dem secesh; dat we should all hab our freedom, our wages, an' some kind ob money. i couldn't call it like he did." or shadows uplifted. "bounty money," said robert. "yes, dat's jis' what he called it, bounty money. an' i said dat i war in for dat, teeth and toe-nails." robert johnson's heart gave a great bound. was that so? had that army, with freedom emblazoned on its banners, come at last to offer them deliverance if they would accept it? was it a bright, beautiful dream, or a blessed reality soon to be grasped by his willing hands? his heart grew buoyant with hope; the light- ness of his heart gave elasticity to his step and sent the blood rejoicingly through his veins. freedom was al- most in his grasp, and the future was growing rose-tinted and rainbow-hued. all the ties which bound him to his home were as ropes of sand, now that freedom had come so near. when the army was afar off, he had appeared to be light-hearted and content with his lot. if asked if he desired his freedom, he would have answered, very naively, that he was eating his white bread and believed in letting well enough alone; he had no intention of jumping from the frying-pan into the fire. but in the depths of his soul the love of freedom was an all-absorb- ing passion; only danger had taught him caution. he had heard of terrible vengeance being heaped upon the heads of some who had sought their freedom and failed in the attempt. robert knew that he might abandon hope if he incurred the wrath of men whose overthrow was only a question of time. it would have been mad- ness and folly for him to have attempted an insurrection against slavery, with the words of mcclellan ringing in his ears: "if you rise i shall put you down with an iron hand," and with the home guards ready to quench iola leroy, his aspirations for freedom with bayonets and blood. what could a set of unarmed and undisciplined men do against the fearful odds which beset their path? robert waited eagerly and hopefully his chance to join the union army; and was ready and willing to do anything required of him by which he could earn his freedom and prove his manhood. he conducted his plans with the greatest secrecy. a few faithful and trusted friends stood ready to desert with him when the union army came within hailing distance. when it came, there was a stampede to its ranks of men ready to serve in any capacity, to labor in the tents, fight on the fields, or act as scouts. it was a strange sight to see these black men rallying around the stars and stripes, when white men were trampling them under foot and riddling them with bullets. or shadows uplifted. chapter v. the release of iola leroy. "well, boys," said robert to his trusted friends, as they gathered together at a meeting in gundovcr's woods, almost under the shadow of the union army, "how many of you are ready to join the army and fight for your freedom." "all ob us." "the soldiers," continued robert, "are camped right at the edge of the town. the general has his head- quarters in the heart of the town, and one of the officers told me yesterday that the president had set us all free, and that as many as wanted to join the army could come along to the camp. so i thought, boys, that i would come and tell you. now, you can take your bag and baggage, and get out of here as soon as you choose." "we 'll be ready by daylight," said tom. "it won't take me long to pack up," looking down at his seedy clothes, with a laugh. "i specs ole marse'll be real lonesome when i'm gone. an' won't he be hoppin' mad when he finds i'm a goner? i specs he'll hate it like pizen." "o, well," said robert, "the best of friends must part. don't let it grieve you." "i'se gwine to take my wife an' chillen," said one of the company. iola leroy, "i'sc got nobody but myself," said tom; "but dere's a mighty putty young gal dere at marse tom's. i wish i could git her away. dey tells me dey's been sellin' her all ober de kentry; but dat she's a reg'lar spitfire; dey can't lead nor dribe her." "do you think she would go with us ?" said robert. "i think she's jis' dying to go. dey say dey can't do nurfin wid her. marse tom's got his match dis time, and i'sc glad ob it. i jis' glories in her spunk." "how did she come there?" "oh, marse bought her ob de trader to keep house for him. but ef you seed dem putty white han's ob hem you'd never tink she kept her own house, let 'lone anybody else's." "do you think you can get her away?" "i don't know; 'cause marse tom keeps her mighty close. my! but she's putty. beautiful long hair comes way down her back; putty blue eyes, an' jis' ez white cz anybody's in dis place. n jis' wish you could see her yorescf. i heerd marse tom talkin' 'bout her las' night to his brudder; tellin' him she war mighty airish, but he meant to break her in." an angry curse rose to the lips of robert, but he re- pressed it and muttered to himself, "graceless scamp, he ought to have his neck stretched." then turning to tom, said :— "get her, if you possibly can, but you must be mighty mum about it." "trus' me for dat," said tom. tom was very anxious to get word to the beautiful but intractable girl who was held in durance vile by her reckless and selfish master, who had tried in vain to or shadows uplifted. drag her down to his own low level of sin and shame. but all tom's efforts were in vain. finally he applied to the commander of the post, who immediately gave orders for her release. the next day tom had the sat- isfaction of knowing that iola leroy had been taken as a trembling dove from the gory vulture's nest and given a place of security. she was taken immediately to the general's headquarters. the general was much im- pressed by her modest demeanor, and surprised to see the refinement and beauty she possessed. could it be possible that this young and beautiful girl had been a chattel, with no power to protect herself from the high- est insults that lawless brutality could inflict upon inno- cent and defenseless womanhood? could he ever again glory in his american citizenship, when any white man, no matter how coarse, cruel, or brutal, could buy or sell her for the basest purposes? was it not true that the cause of a hapless people had become entangled with the lightnings of heaven, and dragged down retribution upon the land? the field hospital was needing gentle, womanly minis- trations, and iola leroy, released from the hands of her tormentors, was given a place as nurse; a position to which she adapted herself with a deep sense of relief. tom was doubly gratified at the success of his endeav- ors, which had resulted in the rescue of the beautiful young girl and the discomfiture of his young master who, in the words of tom, "was mad enough to bite his head off" (a rather difficult physical feat). iola, freed from her master's clutches, applied herself readily to her appointed tasks. the beautiful, girlish face was full of tender earnestness. the fresh, young o iola leroy, voice was strangely sympathetic, as if some great sorrow had bound her heart in loving compassion to every sufferer who needed her gentle ministrations. tom anderson was a man of herculean strength and remarkable courage. but, on account of physical de- fects, instead of enlisting as a soldier, he was forced to remain a servant, although he felt as if every nerve in his right arm was tingling to strike a blow for freedom. he was well versed in the lay of the country, having often driven his master's cotton to market when he was a field hand. after he became a coachman, he had be- come acquainted with the different roads and localities of the country. besides, he had often accompanied his young masters on their hunting and fishing expeditions. although he could not fight in the army, he proved an invaluable helper. when tents were to be pitched, none were more ready to help than he. when burdens were to be borne, none were more willing to bend beneath them than thomas anderson. when the battle-field was to be searched for the wounded and dying, no hand was more tender in its ministrations of kindness than his. as a general factotum in the army, he was ever ready and willing to serve anywhere and at any time, and to gather information from every possible source which could be of any service to the union army. as a pagan might worship a distant star and wish to call it his own, so he loved iola. and he never thought he could do too much for the soldiers who had rescued her and were bringing deliverance to his race. "what do you think of miss iola?" robert asked him one day, as they were talking together. "i jis' think dat she's splendid. las' week i had or shadows uplifted. to take some of our pore boys to de hospital, an' she war dere, lookin' sweet an' putty ez an angel, a nussin' dem pore boys, an' ez good to one ez de oder. it looks to me ez ef dey ralely lob'd her shadder. she sits by 'em so patient, an' writes 'em sech nice letters to der frens, an' yit she looks so heart-broke an' pitiful, it jis' gits to me, an' makes me rhos' ready to cry. i'm so glad dat marse tom had to gib her up. he war too mean to eat good victuals." "he ought," said robert, "to be made to live on herrings' heads and cold potatoes. it makes my blood boil just to think that he was going to have that lovely looking young girl whipped for his devilment. he ought to be ashamed to hold up his head among respect- able people." "i tell you, bob, de debil will neber git his own till he gits him. when i seed how he war treating her i neber rested till i got her away. he buyed her, he said, for his housekeeper; as many gals as dere war on de plantation, why didn't he git one ob dem to keep house, an' not dat nice lookin' young lady? her han's look ez ef she neber did a day's work in her life. one day when he com'd down to breakfas,' he chucked her under de chin, an' tried to put his arm roun' her waist. but she jis' frew it off like a chunk ob fire. she look- ed like a snake had bit her. her eyes fairly spit fire. her face got red ez blood, an' den she turned so pale i thought she war gwine to faint, but she didn't, an' i yered her say, 'i'll die fust.' i war mad 'nough to stan' on my head. i could hab tore'd him all to pieces wen he said he'd hab her whipped." "did he do it?" iola leroy, "i don't know. but he's mean 'nough to do eny- thin'. why, dey say she war sole seben times in six weeks, 'cause she's so putty, but dat she war game to de las'." "well, tom," said robert, "getting that girl away was one of the best things you ever did in your life." "i think so, too. not dat i specs enytin' ob it. i don't spose she would think ob an ugly chap like me; but it does me good to know dat marse tom ain't got her." iola leroy, and my company does. they are excellent fighters, but they need a leader. to silence a battery, to capture a flag, to take a fortification, they will rush into the jaws of death." "yes, i have often wondered at their bravery." "captain, these battles put them on their mettle. they have been so long taught that they are nothing and nobody, that they seem glad to prove they are something and somebody." "but, johnson, you do not look like them, you do not talk like them. it is a burning shame to have held such a man as you in slavery." "i don't think it was any worse to have held me in slavery than the blackest man in the south." "you are right, johnson. the color of a man's skin has nothing to do with the possession of his rights." "now, there is tom anderson," said robert," he is just as black as black can be. he has been bought and sold like a beast, and yet there is not a braver man in all the company. i know him well. he is a noble- hearted fellow. true as steel. i love him like a brother. and i believe tom would risk his life for me any day. he don't know anything about his father or mother. he was sold from them before he could remember. he can read a little. he used to take lessons from a white gardener in virginia. he would go between the hours of p. m. and a. m. he got a book of his own, tore it up, greased the pages, and hid them in his hat. then if his master had ever knocked his hat off he would have thought them greasy papers, and not that tom was carrying his library on his head. i had another friend who lived near us. when or shadows uplifted. s he was nineteen years old he did not know how many letters there were in the a b c's. one night, when his work was done, his boss came into his cabin and saw him with a book in his hand. he threatened to give him five hundred lashes if he caught him again with a book, and said he hadn't work enough to do. he was getting out logs, and his task was ten logs a day. his employer threatened to increase it to twelve. he said it just harassed him; it set him on fire. he thought there must be something good in that book if the white man didn't want him to learn. one day he had an er- rand in the kitchen, and he heard one of the colored girls going over the a b c's. here was the key to the forbidden knowledge. she had heard the white chil- dren saying them, and picked them up by heart, but did not know them by sight. he was not content with that, but sold his cap for a book and wore a cloth on his head instead. he got the sounds of the letters by heart, then cut off the bark of a tree, carved the letters on the smooth inside, and learned them. he wanted to learn how to write. he had charge of a ware- house where he had a chance to see the size and form of letters. he made the beach of the river his copy- book, and thus he learned to write. tom never got very far with his learning, but i used to get the papers and tell him all i knew about the war." "how did you get the papers?" "i used to have very good privileges for a slave. all of our owners were not alike. some of them were quite clever, and others were worse than git out. i used to get the morning papers to sell to the boarders and others, and when i got them i would contrive to hide a paper, iola leroy, and let some of the fellow-servants know how things were going on. and our owners thought we cared nothing about what was going on." • "how was that? i thought you were not allowed to hold meetings unless a white man were present." "that was so. but we contrived to hold secret meetings in spite of their caution. we knew whom we could trust. my ole miss wasn't mean like some of them. she never wanted the patrollers around prowl- ing in our cabins, and poking their noses into our business. her husband was an awful drunkard. he ran through every cent he could lay his hands on, and she was forced to do something to keep the wolf from the door, so she set up a boarding-house. but she didn't take in tom, dick, and harry. nobody but the big bugs stopped with her. she taught me to read and write, and to cast up accounts. it was so handy for her to have some one who could figure up her accounts, and read or write a note, if she were from home and wanted the like done. she once told her cousin how i could write and figure up. and what do you think her cousin said?" "'pleased,' i suppose, 'to hear it.'" "not a bit of it. she said, if i belonged to her, she would cut off my thumbs; her husband said, 'oh, then he couldn't pick cotton.' as to my poor thumbs, it did not seem to be taken into account what it would cost me to lose them. my ole miss used to have a lot of books. she would let me read anyone of them except a novel. she wanted to take care of my soul, but she wasn't taking care of her own." "wasn't she religious?" or shadows uplifted. "she went for it. i suppose she was as good as most of them. she said her prayers and went to church, but i don't know that that made her any better. i never did take much stock in white folks' religion." "why, robert, i'm afraid you are something of an infidel." "no, captain, i believe in the real, genuine religion. i ain't got much myself, but i respect them that have. we had on our place a dear, old saint, named aunt kizzy. she was a happy soul. she had seen hard times, but was what i call a living epistle. i've heard her tell how her only child had been sold from her, when the man who bought herself did not want to buy her child. poor little fellow! he was only two years old. i asked her one day how she felt when her child was taken away. 'i felt,' she said, 'as if i was going to my grave. but i knew if i couldn't get justice here, i could get it in another world.'" "that was faith," said captain sybil, as if speaking to himself, "a patient waiting for death to redress the wrongs of life." "many a time," continued robert, "have i heard her humming to herself in the kitchen and saying, 'i has my trials, ups and downs, but it won't allers be so. i specs one day to wing and wing wid de angels, hallelujah! den i specs to hear a voice sayin', "poor ole kizzy, she's done de bes' she kin. go down, gabriel, an' tote her in." den i specs to put on my golden slippers, my long white robe, an' my starry crown, an' walk dem golden streets, hallelujah!' i've known that dear, old soul to travel going on two miles, after her work was done, to have some one read to her. her favorite iola leroy, chapter began with, 'let not your heart be troubled, ye believe in god, believe also in me.'" "i have been deeply impressed," said captain sybil, "with the child-like faith of some of these people. i do not mean to say that they are consistent christians, but i do think that this faith has in a measure underlain the life of the race. it has been a golden thread woven amid the sombre tissues of their lives. a ray of light shimmering amid the gloom of their condition. and what would they have been without it?" "i don't know. but i know what she was with it. and i believe if there are any saints in glory, aunt kizzy is one of them." "she is dead, then?" "yes, went all right, singing and rejoicing until the the last, 'troubles over, troubles over, and den my troubles will be over. we'll walk de golden streets all 'roun' in de new jerusalem.' now, captain, that's the kind of religion that i want. not that kind which could ride to church on sundays, and talk so solemn with the minister about heaven and good things, then come home and light down on the servants like a thousand of bricks. i have no use for it. i don't believe in it. i never did and i never will. if any man wants to save my soul he ain't got to beat my body. that ain't the kind of re- ligion i'm looking for. i ain't got a bit of use for it. now, captain, ain't i right?" "well, yes, robert, i think you are more than half right. you ought to know my dear, old mother who lives in maine. we have had colored company at our house, and i never saw her show the least difference be- tween her colored and white guests. she is a quaker ioi.a i.eroy, chapter vii. tom anderson's death. "where is tom?" asked captain sybil; "i have not seen him for several hours." "he's gone down the sound with some of the sol- diers," replied robert. "they wanted tom to row them." "i am afraid those boys will get into trouble, and the rebs will pick them off," responded sybil. "o, i hope not," answered robert. "i hope not, too; but those boys are too venture- some." "tom knows the lay of the land better than any of us," said robert. "he is the most wide-awake and gamiest man i know. i reckon when the war is over tom will be a preacher. did you ever hear him pray?" "no; is he good at that?" "first-rate," continued robert. "it would do you good to hear him. he don't allow any cursing and swearing when he's around. and what he says is law and gospel with the boys. but he's so good-natured; and they can'tget mad at him." "yes, robert, there is not a man in our regiment i would sooner trust than tom. last night, when he brought in that wounded scout, he couldn't have been more tender if he had been a woman. how gratefully the poor fellow looked in tom's face as he laid him down so carefully and staunched the blood which had or shadows uplifted. been spurting out of him. tom seemed to know it was an artery which had been cut, and he did just the right thing to stop the bleeding. he knew there wasn't a moment to be lost. he wasn't going to wait for the doctor. i have often heard that colored people are un- grateful, but i don't think tom's worst enemy would say that about him." "captain," said robert, with a tone of bitterness in his voice, "what had we to be grateful for? for ages of poverty, ignorance, and slavery? i think if anybody should be grateful, it is the people who have enslaved us and lived off our labor for generations. captain, i used to know a poor old woman who couldn't bear to hear any one play on the piano." "is that so? why, i always heard that colored peo- ple were a musical race." "so we are; but that poor woman's daughter was sold, and her mistress took the money to buy a piano. her mother could never bear to hear a sound from it." "poor woman!" exclaimed captain sybil, sympa- thetically; "i suppose it seemed as if the wail of her daughter was blending with the tones of the instrument. i think, robert, there is a great deal more in the col- ored people than we give them credit for. did you know captain sellers?" "the officer who escaped from prison and got back to our lines ?" asked robert. "yes. well, he had quite an experience in trying to escape. he came to an aged couple, who hid him in their cabin and shared their humble food with him. they gave him some corn-bread, bacon, and coffee which he thought was made of scorched bran. but iola leroy, he said that he never ate a meal that he relished more than the one he took with them. just before he went they knelt down and prayed with him. it seemed as if his very hair stood on his head, their prayer was so sol- emn. as he was going away the man took some shin- gles and nailed them on his shoes to throw the blood- hounds off his track. i don't think he will ever cease to feel kindly towards colored people. i do wonder what has become of the boys? what can keep them so long?" just as captain sybil and robert were wondering at the delay of tom and the soldiers they heard the meas- ured tread of men who were slowly bearing a burden. they were carrying tom anderson to the hospital, fear- fully wounded, and nigh to death. his face was dis- torted, and the blood was streaming from his wounds. his respiration was faint, his pulse hurried, as if life were trembling on its frailest cords. robert and captain sybil hastened at once towards the wounded man. on robert's face was a look of in- tense anguish, as he bent pityingly over his friend. "o, this is dreadful! how did it happen?" cried robert. captain sybil, pressing anxiously forward, repeated robert's question. "captain," said one of the young soldiers, advancing and saluting his superior officer, "we were all in the boat when it struck against a mud bank, and there was not strength enough among us to shove her back into the water. just then the rebels opened fire upon us. for awhile we lay down in the boat, but still they kept firing. tom took in the whole situation, and said; or shadows uplifted. 'some one must die to get us out of this. i mought's well be him as any. you are soldiers and can fight. if they kill me, it is nuthin'.' so tom leaped out to shove the boat into the water. just then the rebel bullets began to rain around him. he received seven or eight of them, and i'm afraid there is no hope for him." "o, tom, i wish you hadn't gone. o, tom! tom!" cried robert, in tones of agony. a gleam of grateful recognition passed over the drawn features of tom, as the wail of his friend fell on his ear. he attempted to speak, but the words died upon his lips, and he became unconscious. "well," said captain sybil, "put him in one of the best wards. give him into miss leroy's care. if good nursing can win him back to life, he shall not want for any care or pains that she can bestow. send immedi- ately for dr. gresham." robert followed his friend into the hospital, tenderly and carefully helped to lay him down, and remained awhile, gazing in silent grief upon the sufferer. then he turned to go, leaving him in the hands of iola, but hoping against hope that his wounds would not be fatal. with tender devotion iola watched her faithful friend. he recognized her when restored to consciousness, and her presence was as balm to his wounds. he smiled faintly, took her hand in his, stroked it tenderly, looked wistfully into her face, and said, "miss iola, i ain't long fer dis! i'se 'most home!" "oh, no," said iola, "i hope that you will soon get over this trouble, and live many long and happy days." "no, miss iola, it's all ober wid me. i'se gwine to glory; gwine to glory; gwine to ring dem charmin' iola leroy, bells. tell all dc boys to meet me in heben; dat dey mus' 'list in de hebenly war." "o, mr. tom," said iola, tenderly, "do not talk of leaving me. you are the best friend i have had since i was torn from my mother. i should be so lonely with- out you." "dere's a frien' dat sticks closer dan a brudder. he will be wid yer in de sixt' trial, an' in de sebbent' he'll not fo'sake yer." "yes," answered iola, "i know that. he is all our dependence. but i can't help grieving when i see you suffering so. but, dear friend, be quiet, and try to go to sleep." "i'll do enythin' fer yer, miss iola." tom closed his eyes and lay quiet. tenderly and anxiously iola watched over him as the hours waned away. the doctor came, shook his head gravely, and, turning to iola, said, "there is no hope, but do what you can to alleviate his sufferings." as iola gazed upon the kind but homely features of tom, she saw his eyes open and an unexpressed desire upon his face. tenderly and sadly bending over him, with tears in her dark, luminous eyes, she said, "is there anything i can do for you?" "yes," said tom, with laboring breath; "let me hole yore han', an' sing 'ober jordan inter glory' an' 'we'll anchor bye and bye.'" iola laid her hand gently in the rough palm of the dying man, and, with a tremulous voice, sang the part- ing hymns. tenderly she wiped the death damps from his dusky or shadows uplifted. brow, and imprinted upon it a farewell kiss. grati- tude and affection lit up the dying eye, which seemed to be gazing into the eternities. just then robert entered the room, and, seating himself quietly by tom's bed- side, read the death signs in his face. "good-bye, robert," said tom, "meet me in dc king- dom." suddenly a look of recognition and rapture lit up his face, and he murmured, "angels, bright angels, all's well, all's well!" slowly his hand released its pressure, a peaceful calm overspread his countenance, and without a sigh or murmur thomas anderson, iola's faithful and devoted friend, passed away, leaving the world so much poorer for her than it was before. just then dr. gresham, the hospital physician, came to the bedside, felt for the pulse which would never throb again, and sat down in silence by the cot. "what do you think, doctor," said iola, "has he fainted?" "no," said the doctor, "poor fellow! he is dead." iola bowed her head in silent sorrow, and then relieved the anguish of her heart by a flood of tears. robert rose, and sorrowfully left the room. iola, with tearful eyes and aching heart, clasped the cold hands over the still breast, closed the waxen lid over the eye which had once beamed with kindness or flashed with courage, and then went back, after the burial, to her daily round of duties, feeling the sad miss- ing of something from her life. iola leroy, chapter viii. the mystified doctor. "colonel," said dr. gresham to col. robinson, the commander of the post, "i am perfectly mystified by miss leroy." "what is the matter with her?" asked col. robinson. "is she not faithful to her duties and obedient to your directions?" "faithful is not the word to express her tireless energy and devotion to her work," responded dr. gresham. "she must have been a born nurse to put such enthusiasm into her work." "why, doctor, what is the matter with you? you talk like a lover." a faint flush rose to the cheek of dr. gresham as he smiled, and said, "oh! come now, colonel, can't a man praise a woman without being in love with her?" "of course he can," said col. robinson; "but i know where such admiration is apt to lead. i've been there myself. but, doctor, had you not better defer your love-making till you're out of the woods?" "i assure you, colonel, i am not thinking of love or courtship. that is the business of the drawing-room, and not of the camp. but she did mystify me last night." "how so?" asked col. robinson. "when tom was dying," responded the doctor, "i saw that beautiful and refined young lady bend over iola leroy, "she has not requested secrecy, but at present, for her sake, i do not wish the secret revealed. miss leroy was a slave." "oh, no," said dr. gresham, starting to his feet, "it can't be so! a woman as white as she a slave?" "yes, it is so," continued the colonel. "in these states the child follows the condition of its mother. this beautiful and accomplished girl was held by one of the worst rebels in town. tom told me of it and i issued orders for her release." "well, well! is that so ?" said dr. gresham, thought- fully stroking his beard. "wonders will never cease. why, i was just beginning to think seriously of her." "what's to hinder your continuing to think?" asked col. robinson. "what you tell me changes the whole complexion of affairs," replied the doctor. "if that be so i am glad i told you before you got head over heels in love." "yes," said dr. gresham, absently. dr. gresham was a member of a wealthy and aristo- cratic family, proud of its lineage, which it could trace through generations of good blood to its ancestral isle. he had become deeply interested in iola before he had heard her story, but after it had been revealed to him he tried to banish her from his mind; but his con- stant observation of her only increased his interest and admiration. the deep pathos of her story, the tender- ness of her ministrations, bestowed alike on black and white, and the sad loneliness of her condition, awakened within him a desire to defend and protect her all through her future life. the fierce clashing of war had not taken or shadows utliftep. all the romance out of his nature. in iola he saw realized his ideal of the woman whom he was willing to marry. a woman, tender, strong, and courageous, and rescued only by the strong arm of his government from a fate worse than death. she was young in years, but old in sorrow; one whom a sad destiny had changed from a light-hearted girl to a heroic woman. as he observed her, he detected an undertone of sorrow in her most cheerful words, and observed a quick flushing and sudden paling of her cheek, as if she were living over scenes that were thrilling her soul with indignation or chilling her heart with horror. as nurse and physician, iola and dr. gresham were constantly thrown together. his friends sent him magazines and books, which he gladly shared with her. the hospital was a sad place. mangled forms, stricken down in the flush of their prime and energy; pale young corpses, sacrificed on the altar of slavery, constantly drained on her sympathies. dr. gresham was glad to have some reading matter which might divert her mind from the memories of her mournful past, and also furnish them both with interesting themes of conversation in their moments of relaxation from the harrowing scenes through which they were constantly passing. without any effort or consciousness on her part, his friendship ripened into love. to him her presence was a pleasure, her absence a privation; and her loneliness drew deeply upon his sympathy. he would have merited his own self-contempt if, by word or deed, he had done anything to take advantage of her situation. all the manhood and chivalry of his nature rose in her behalf, and, after carefully revolving the matter, he resolved to win her for his bride, bury her o iola leroy, secret in his northern home, and hide from his aristo- cratic relations all knowledge of her mournful past. one day he said to iola:— "this hospital life is telling on you. your strength is failing, and although you possess a wonderful amount of physical endurance, you must not forget that saints have bodies and dwell in tabernacles of clay, just the same as we common mortals." "compliments aside," she said, smiling; "what are you driving at, doctor?" "i mean," he replied, "that you are running down, and if you do not quit and take some rest you will be our patient instead of our nurse. you'd better take a fur- lough, go north, and return after the first frost." "doctor, if that is your only remedy," replied iola, "i am afraid that i am destined to die at my post. i have no special friends in the north, and no home but this in the south. i am homeless and alone." there was something so sad, almost despairing in her tones, in the drooping of her head, and the quivering of her lip, that they stirred dr. gresham's heart with sudden pity, and, drawing nearer to her, he said, "miss leroy, you need not be all alone. let me claim the privilege of making your life bright and happy. iola, i have loved you ever since i have seen your devotion to our poor, sick boys. how faithfully you, a young and gracious girl, have stood at your post and per- formed your duties. and now i ask, will you not permit me to clasp hands with you for life? i do not ask for a hasty reply. give yourself time to think over what i have proposed." or shadows uplifted. chapter ix. eugene leroy and alfred lorraine. nearly twenty years before the war, two young men, of french and spanish descent, sat conversing on a large verandah which surrounded an ancient home on the mississippi river. it was french in its style of architecture, large and rambling, with no hint of modern improvements. the owner of the house was the only heir of a creole planter. he had come into possession of an inheritance consisting of vast baronial estates, bank stock, and a large number of slaves. eugene leroy, being deprived of his parents, was left, at an early age, to the care of a distant relative, who had sent him to school and col- lege, and who occasionally invited him to spend his vacations at his home. but eugene generally declined his invitations, as he preferred spending his vacations at the watering places in the north, with their fashion- able and not always innocent gayeties. young, viva- cious, impulsive, and undisciplined, without the restrain- ing influence of a mother's love or the guidance of a father's hand, leroy found himself, when his college days were over, in the dangerous position of a young man with vast possessions, abundant leisure, unsettled prin- ciples, and uncontrolled desires. he had no other ob- ject than to extract from life its most seductive draughts of ease and pleasure. his companion, who sat opposite him on the verandah, quietly smoking a cigar, was a tola leroy, remote cousin, a few years older than himself, the warmth of whose southern temperament had been modified by an infusion of northern blood. eugene was careless, liberal, and impatient of details, while his companion and cousin, alfred lorraine, was selfish, eager, keen, and alert; also hard, cold, method- ical, and ever ready to grasp the main chance. yet, notwithstanding the difference between them, they had formed a warm friendship for each other. "alfred," said eugene, "i am going to be married." lorraine opened his eyes with sudden wonder, and exclaimed: "well, that's the latest thing out! who is the fortunate lady who has bound you with her silken fetters? is it one of those beautiful creole girls who were visiting augustine's plantation last winter? i watched you during our visit there and thought that you could not be proof against their attractions. which is your choice? it would puzzle me to judge between the two. they had splendid eyes, dark, luminous, and languishing; lovely complexions and magnificent hair. both were delightful in their manners, refined and cultured, with an air of vivacity mingled with their repose of manner which was perfectly charming. as the law only allows us one, which is your choice? miss annette has more force than her sister, and if i could afford the luxury of a wife she would be my choice." "ah, alf," said eugene, "i see that you are a prac- tical business man. in marrying you want a wife to assist you as an efficient plantation mistress. one who would tolerate no waste in the kitchen and no disorder in the parlor." "exactly so," responded lorraine; "i am too poor or shadows uplifted. to marry a mere parlor ornament. you can afford to do it; i cannot." "nonsense, if i were as poor as a church mouse i would marry the woman i love." "very fine sentiments," said lorraine, "and were i as rich as you i would indulge in them also. you know, when my father died i had great expectations. we had always lived in good style, and i never thought for a moment he w'as not a rich man, but when his estate was settled i found it was greatly involved, and i was forced to face an uncertain future, with scarcely a dollar to call my own. land, negroes,, cattle, and horses all went under the hammer. the only thing i retained was the education i received at the north; that was my father's best investment, and all my stock in trade. with that only as an outfit, it would be mad- ness for me to think of marrying one of those lovely girls. they remind me of beautiful canary birds, charm- ing and pretty, but not fitted for the wear and tear of plantation life. well, which is your choice?" "neither," replied eugene. "then, is it that magnificent looking widow from new orleans, whom we met before you had that terri- ble spell of sickness and to whom you appeared so devoted?" "not at all. i have not heard from her since that summer. she was fascinating and handsome, but fear- fully high strung." "were you afraid of her?" "no; but i valued my happiness too much to trust it in her hands." "sour grapes !" said lorraine. or shadows uplifted. "i think you are very selfish," said lorraine. "you might have invited a fellow to go with you to be your best man." "the wedding is to be strictly private. the lady whom i am to marry has negro blood in her veins." "the devil she has!" exclaimed lorraine, starting to his feet, and looking incredulously on the face of leroy. "are you in earnest? surely you must be jest- ing." "i am certainly in earnest," answered eugene leroy. "i mean every word i say." "oh, it can't be possible! are you mad?" exclaimed lorraine. "never was saner in my life." "what under heaven could have possessed you to do such a foolish thing? where did she come from." "right here, on this plantation. but i have edu- cated and manumitted her, and i intend marrying her." "why, eugene, it is impossible that you can have an idea of marrying one of your slaves. why, man, she is your property, to have and to hold to all intents and purposes. are you not satisfied with the power and possession the law gives you?" "no. although the law makes her helpless in my hands, to me her defenselessness is her best defense." "eugene, we have known each other all of our lives, and, although i have always regarded you as eccentric, i never saw you so completely off your balance before. the idea of you, with your proud family name, your vast wealth in land and negroes, intending to marry one of them, is a mystery i cannot solve. do explain to iola leroy, me why you are going to take this extremely strange and foolish step." "you never saw marie?" "no; and i don't want to." "she is very beautiful. in the north no one would suspect that she has one drop of negro blood in her veins, but here, where i am known, to marry her is to lose caste. i could live with her, and not incur much if any social opprobrium. society would wink at the trans- gression, even if after she had become the mother of my children i should cast her off and send her and them to the auction block." "men," replied lorraine, "would merely shrug their shoulders; women would say you had been sowing your wild oats. your money, like charity, would cover a mul- titude of faults." "but if i make her my lawful wife and recognize her children as my legitimate heirs, i subject myself to social ostracism and a senseless persecution. we amer- icans boast of freedom, and yet here is a woman whom i love as i never loved any other human being, but both law and public opinion debar me from following the in- clination of my heart. she is beautiful, faithful, and pure, and yet all that society will tolerate is what i would scorn to do." "but has not society the right to guard the purity of its blood by the rigid exclusion of an alien race?" "excluding it! how?" asked eugene. "by debarring it from social intercourse." "perhaps it has," continued eugene, "but should not society have a greater ban for those who, by consorting with an alien race, rob their offspring of a right to their or shadows uplifted. / names and to an inheritance in their property, and who fix their social status among an enslaved and outcast race? don't eye me so curiously; i am not losing my senses." "i think you have done that already," said lorraine. "don't you know that if she is as fair as a lily, beau- tiful as a houri, and chaste as ice, that still she is a negro?" "oh, come now; she isn't much of a negro." "it doesn't matter, however. one drop of negro blood in her veins curses all the rest." "i know it," said eugene, sadly, "but i have weighed the consequences, and am prepared to take them." "well, eugene, your course is so singular! i do wish that you would tell me why you take this unpre- cedented step?" eugene laid aside his cigar, looked thoughtfully at lorraine, and said, "well, alfred, as we are kinsmen and life-long friends, i will not resent your asking my reason for doing that which seems to you the climax of absurdity, and if you will have the patience to listen i will tell you." "proceed, i am all attention." "my father died," said eugene, "as you know, when i was too young to know his loss or feel his care and, being an only child, i was petted and spoiled. i grew up to be wayward, self-indulgent, proud, and imperious. i went from home and made many friends both at col- lege and in foreign lands. i was well supplied with money and, never having been forced to earn it, was ignorant of its value and careless of its use. my lavish expenditures and liberal benefactions attracted to me a iola leroy, number of parasites, and men older than myself led me into the paths of vice, and taught me how to gather the flowers of sin which blossom around the borders of hell. in a word, i left my home unwarned and unarmed against the seductions of vice. i returned an initiated devotee to debasing pleasures. years of my life were passed in foreign lands; years in which my soul slum- bered and seemed pervaded with a moral paralysis; years, the memory of which fills my soul with sorrow and shame. i went to the capitals of the old world to see life, but in seeing life i became acquainted with death, the death of true manliness and self-respect. you look astonished; but i tell you, alf, there is many a poor clod-hopper, on whom are the dust and grime of unremit- ting toil, who feels more self-respect and true manliness than many of us with our family prestige, social position, and proud ancestral halls. after i had lived abroad for years, i returned a broken-down young man, prema- turely old, my constitution a perfect wreck. a life of folly and dissipation was telling fearfully upon me. my friends shrank from me in dismay. i was sick nigh unto death, and had it not been for marie's care i am cer- tain that i should have died. she followed me down to the borders of the grave, and won me back to life and health. i was slow in recovering and, during the time, i had ample space for reflection, and the past unrolled itself before me. i resolved, over the wreck and ruin of my past life, to build a 'better and brighter future. marie had a voice of remarkable sweetness, although it lacked culture. often when i was nervous and restless i would have her sing some of those weird and plaintive melodies which she had learned from the plantation or shadows uplifted. negroes. sometimes i encouraged her to talk, and i was surprised at the native vigor of her intellect. by degrees i became acquainted with her history. she was all alone in the world. she had no recollection of her father, but remembered being torn from her mother while clinging to her dress. the trader who bought her mother did not wish to buy her. she remembered hav- ing a brother, with whom she used to play, but she had been separated from him also, and since then had lost all trace of them. after she was sold from her mother she became the property of an excellent old lady, who seems to have been very careful to imbue her mind with good principles; a woman who loved purity, not only for her own daughters, but also for the defenseless girls in her home. i believe it was the lady's intention to have freed marie at her death, but she died suddenly, and, the estate being involved, she was sold with it and fell into the hands of my agent. i became deeply in- terested in her when i heard her story, and began to pity her." "and i suppose love sprang from pity." "i not only pitied her, but i learned to respect her. i had met with beautiful women in the halls of wealth and fashion, both at home and abroad, but there was something in her different from all my experience of womanhood." "i should think so," said lorraine, with a sneer; "but i should like to know what it was." - " it was something such as i have seen in old cathedrals, lighting up the beauty of a saintly face. a light which the poet tells was never seen on land or sea. i thought of this beautiful and defenseless girl adrift in ° tola leroy, the power of a reckless man, who, with all the advan- tages of wealth and education, had trailed his manhood in the dust, and she, with simple, childlike faith in the unseen, seemed to be so good and pure that she com- manded my respect and won my heart. in her presence every base and unholy passion died, subdued by the supremacy of her virtue." "why, eugene, what has come over you? talking of the virtue of these quadroon girls! you have lived so long in the north and abroad, that you seem to have lost the cue of our southern life. don't you know that these beautiful girls have been the curse of our homes? you have no idea of the hearts which are wrung by their presence." "but, alfred, suppose it is so. are they to blame for it? what can any woman do when she is placed in the hands of an irresponsible master; when she knows that resistance is vain? yes, alfred, i agree with you, these women are the bane of our southern civilization; but they are the victims and we are the criminals." "i think from the airs that some of them put on when they get a chance, that they are very willing victims." "so much the worse for our institution. if it is cruel to debase a hapless victim, it is an increase of cruelty to make her contented with her degradation. let me tell you, alf, you cannot wrong or degrade a woman without wronging or degrading yourself." "what is the matter with you, eugene? are you thinking of taking priest's orders?" "no, alf," said eugene, rising and rapidly pacing the floor, "you may defend the system as much as you please, but you cannot deny that the circumstances it or shadows uplifted. creates, and the temptations it affords, are sapping our strength and undermining our character." "that may be true," said lorraine, somewhat irritably, "but you had better be careful how you air your north- ern notions in public." "why so?" "because public opinion is too sensitive to tolerate any such discussions." "and is not that a proof that we are at fault with respect to our institutions?" "i don't know. i only know we are living in the midst of a magazine of powder, and it is not safe to enter it with a lighted candle." "let me proceed with my story," continued eugene. "during the long months in which i was convalescing, i was left almost entirely to the companionship of marie. in my library i found a bible, which i began to read from curiosity, but my curiosity deepened into interest when i saw the rapt expression on marie's face. i saw in it a loving response to sentiments to which i was a stranger. in the meantime my conscience was awakened, and i scorned to take advantage of her de- fenselessness. i felt that i owed my life to her faithful care, and i resolved to take her north, manumit, edu- cate, and marry her. i sent her to a northern academy, but as soon as some of the pupils found that she was colored, objections were raised, and the principal was compelled to dismiss her. during my search for a school i heard of one where three girls of mixed blood were pursuing their studies, every one of whom would have been ignominiously dismissed had their connection with the negro race been known. but i determined to iola leroy, run no risks. i found a school where her connection with the negro race would be no bar to her advance- ment. she graduates next week, and i intend to marry her before i return home. she was faithful when others were faithless, stood by me when others deserted me to die in loneliness and neglect, and now i am about to re- ward her care with all the love and devotion it is in my power to bestow. that is why i am about to marry my faithful and devoted nurse, who snatched me from the jaws of death. now that i have told you my story, what say you?" "madness and folly inconceivable !" exclaimed lor- raine. "what to you is madness and folly is perfect sanity with me. after all, ali, is there not an amount of un- reason in our prejudices?" "that may be true; but i wasn't reasoned into it, and i do not expect to be reasoned out of it." "will you accompany me north?" "no; except to put you in an insane asylum. you are the greatest crank out," said lorraine, thoroughly disgusted. "no, thank you; i'm all right. i expect to start north to-morrow. you had better come and go." "i would rather follow you to your grave," replied lorraine, hotly, while an expression of ineffable scorn passed over his cold, proud face. or shadows uplifted. chapter x. shadows in the home. on the next morning after this conversation leroy left for the north, to attend the commencement and witness the graduation of his ward. arriving in ohio, he immediately repaired to the academy and inquired for the principal. he was shown into the reception- room, and in a few moments the principal entered. "good morning," said leroy, rising and advancing towards him; "how is my ward this morning?" "she is well, and has been expecting you. i am glad you came in time for the commencement. she stands among the foremost in her class." "i am glad to hear it. will you send her this ?" said leroy, handing the principal a card. the principal took the card and immediately left the room. very soon leroy heard a light step, and looking up he saw a radiantly beautiful woman approaching him. "good morning, marie," he said, greeting her cor- dially, and gazing upon her with unfeigned admiration. "you are looking very handsome this morning." "do you think so ?" she asked, smiling and blushing. "i am glad you are not disappointed; that you do not feel your money has been spent in vain." "oh, no, what i have spent on your education has been the best investment i ever made." "i hope," said marie, "you may always find it so. but mas" iola leroy, "i lush !" said leroy, laying his hand playfully on her lips; "you are free. i don't want the dialect of slavery to linger on your lips. you must not call me that name again." "why not?" "because i have a nearer and dearer one by which i wish to be called." leroy drew her nearer, and whispered in her ear a single word. she started, trembled with emotion, grew pale, and blushed painfully. an awkward silence en- sued, when leroy, pressing her hand, exclaimed : " this is the hand that plucked me from the grave, and i am going to retain it as mine; mine to guard with my care until death us do part." leroy looked earnestly into her eyes, which fell be- neath his ardent gaze. with admirable self-control, while a great joy was thrilling her heart, she bowed her beautiful head and softly repeated, " until death us do part." leroy knew southern society too well to expect it to condone his offense against its social customs, or give the least recognition to his wife, however cultured, re- fined, and charming she might be, if it were known that she had the least infusion of negro blood in her veins. but he was brave enough to face the consequences of his alliance, and marry the woman who was the choice of his heart, and on whom his affections were centred. after leroy had left the room, marie sat awhile thinking of the wonderful change that had come over her. instead of being a lonely slave girl, with the fatal dower of beauty, liable to be bought and sold, exchanged, and bartered, she was to be the wife of a wealthy planter; or shadows uplifted. a man in whose honor she could confide, and on whose love she could lean. very interesting and pleasant were the commence- ment exercises in which marie bore an important part. to enlist sympathy for her enslaved race, and appear to advantage before leroy, had aroused all of her energies. the stimulus of hope, the manly love which was envi- roning her life, brightened her eye and lit up the wonder- ful beauty of her countenance. during her stay in the north she had constantly been brought in contact with anti-slavery people. she was not aware that there was so much kindness among the white people of the country until she had tested it in the north. from the anti-slavery people in private life she had learned some of the noblest lessons of freedom and justice, and had become imbued with their sentiments. her theme was "american civilization, its lights and shadows." graphically she portrayed the lights, faithfully she showed the shadows of our american civilization. earnestly and feelingly she spoke of the blind sampson in our land, who might yet shake the pillars of our great commonwealth. leroy listened attentively. at times a shadow of annoyance would overspread his face, but it was soon lost in the admiration her earnestness and zeal inspired. like esther pleading for the lives of her peo- ple in the oriental courts of a despotic king, she stood before the audience, pleading for those whose lips were sealed, but whose condition appealed to the mercy and justice of the nation. strong men wiped the moisture from their eyes, and women's hearts throbbed in unison with the strong, brave words that were uttered in be- half of freedom for all and chains for none. generous tola leroy, applause was freely bestowed, and beautiful bouquets were showered upon her. when it was known that she was to be the wife of her guardian, warm congratulations were given, and earnest hopes expressed for the welfare of the lonely girl, who, nearly all her life, had been de- prived of a parent's love and care. on the eve of start- ing south leroy procured a license, and united his des- tiny with the young lady whose devotion in the darkest hour had won his love and gratitude. in a few days marie returned as mistress to the plan- tation from which she had gone as a slave. but as unholy alliances were common in those days between masters and slaves, no one took especial notice that marie shared leroy's life as mistress of his home, and that the family silver and jewelry were in her possession. but leroy, happy in his choice, attended to the inter- ests of his plantation, and found companionship in his books and in the society of his wife. a few male com- panions visited him occasionally, admired the magnifi- cent beauty of his wife, shook their heads, and spoke of him as being very eccentric, but thought his marriage the great mistake of his life. but none of his female friends ever entered his doors, when it became known that marie held the position of mistress of his mansion, and presided at his table. but she, sheltered in the warm clasp of loving arms, found her life like a joyous dream. into that quiet and beautiful home three children were born, unconscious of the doom suspended over their heads. "oh, how glad i am," marie would often say, "that these children are free." i could never understand how or shadows uplikted. a cultured white man could have his own children en- slaved. i can understand how savages, fighting with each other, could doom their vanquished foes to slavery, but it has always been a puzzle to me how a civilized man could drag his own children, bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh, down to the position of social outcasts, abject slaves, and political pariahs." "but, marie," said eugene, "all men do not treat their illegitimate children in the manner you describe. the last time i was in new orleans i met henri augustine at the depot, with two beautiful young girls. at first i thought that they were his own children, they resembled him so closely. but afterwards i noticed that they addressed him as 'mister.' before we parted he told me that his wife had taken such a dislike to their mother that she could not bear to see them on the place. at last, weary of her dissatisfaction, he had promised to bring them to new orleans and sell them. instead, he was going to ohio to give them their free- dom, and make provision for their future." "what a wrong !" said marie. "who was wronged?" said leroy, in astonishment. "every one in the whole transaction," answered marie. "your friend wronged himself by sinning against his own soul. he wronged his wife by arousing her hatred and jealousy through his unfaithfulness. he wronged those children by giving them the status of slaves and outcasts. he wronged their mother by imposing upon her the burdens and cares of maternity without the rights and privileges of a wife. he made her crown of mother- hood a circlet of shame. under other circumstances she might have been an honored wife and happy mother. « iola leroy, and i do think such men wrong their own legitimate children by transmitting to them a weakened moral fibre." "oh, marie, you have such an uncomfortable way of putting things. you make me feel that we have done those things which we ought not to have done, and have left undone those things which we ought to have done." "if it annoys you," said marie, "i will stop talking." "oh, no, go on," said leroy, carelessly; and then he continued more thoughtfully, "i know a number of men who have sent such children north, and manu- mitted, educated, and left them valuable legacies. we are all liable to err, and, having done wrong, all we can do is to make reparation." "my dear husband, this is a wrong where reparation is impossible. neither wealth nor education can repair the wrong of a dishonored birth. there are a number of slaves in this section who are servants to their own brothers and sisters; whose fathers have robbed them not simply of liberty but of the right of being well born. do you think these things will last forever?" "i suppose not. there are some prophets of evil who tell us that the union is going to dissolve. but i know it would puzzle their brains to tell where the crack will begin. i reckon we'll continue to jog along as usual. 'cotton fights, and cotton conquers for american slav- ery.'" even while leroy dreamed of safety the earthquake was cradling its fire; the ground was growing hollow be- neath his tread; but his ear was too dull to catch the sound; his vision too blurred to read the signs of the times. or shadows uplifted. "marie," said leroy, taking up the thread of the dis- course, "slavery is a sword that cuts both ways. if it wrongs the negro, it also curses the white man. but we are in it, and what can wc do?" "get out of it as quickly as possible.". "that is easier said than done. i would willingly free every slave on my plantation if i could do so with- out expatriating them. some of them have wives and children on other plantations, and to free them is to separate them from their kith and kin. to let them re- main here as a free people is out of the question. my hands are tied by law and custom." "who tied them?" asked marie. "a public opinion, whose meshes i cannot break. if the negro is the thrall of his master, we are just as much the thralls of public opinion." "why do you not battle against public opinion, if you think it is wrong?" "because i have neither the courage of a martyr, nor the faith of a saint; and so i drift along, trying to make the condition of our slaves as comfortable as i possibly can. i believe there are slaves on this plantation whom the most flattering offers of freedom would not entice away." "i do not think," said marie, "that some of you planters understand your own slaves. lying is said to be the vice of slaves. the more intelligent of them have so learned to veil their feelings that you do nor see the undercurrent of discontent beneath their appar- ent good humor and jollity. the more discontented they are, the more i respect them. to me a contested slave is an abject creature. i hope that i shall see the so iola leroy, day when there will not be a slave in the land. i hate the whole thing from the bottom of my heart." "marie, your northern education has unfitted you for southern life. you are free, yourself, and so are our children. why not let well enough alone?" "because i love liberty, not only for myself but for every human being. think how dear these children are to me; and then for the thought to be forever haunting me, that if you were dead they could be turned out of doors and divided among your relatives. i sometimes lie awake at night thinking of how there might be a screw loose somewhere, and, after all, the children and i might be reduced to slavery." "marie, what in the world is the matter with you? have you had a presentiment of my death, or, as uncle jack says, 'hab you seed it in a vision ?'" "no, but i have had such sad forebodings that they almost set me wild. one night i dreamt that you were dead; that the lawyers entered the house, seized our property, and remanded us to slavery. i never can be satisfied in the south with such a possibility hanging over my head." "marie, dear, you are growing nervous. your imagi- nation is too active. you are left too much alone on this plantation. i hope that for your own and the children's sake i will be enabled to arrange our affairs so as to find a home for you where you will not be doomed to the social isolation and ostracism that surround you here." "i don't mind the isolation for myself, but the chil- dren. you have enjoined silence on me with respect to their connection with the negro race, but i do not think we can conceal it from them very long. it will not be or shadows uplifted. long before iola will notice the offishness of girls of her own age, and the scornful glances which, even now, i think, are leveled at her. yesterday harry came cry- ing to me, and told me that one of the neighbor's boys had called him 'nigger.'" a shadow flitted over leroy's face, as he answered, somewhat soberly, "oh, marie, do not meet trouble half way. i have manumitted you, and the children will fol- low your condition. i have made you all legatees of my will. except my cousin, alfred lorraine, i have only distant relatives, whom i scarcely know and who hardly know me." "your cousin lorraine? are you sure our interests would be safe in his hands?" "i think so; i don't think alfred would do anything dishonorable." "he might not with his equals. but how many men would be bound by a sense of honor where the rights of a colored woman are in question? your cousin was bitterly opposed to our marriage, and i would not trust any important interests in his hands. i do hope that in providing for our future you will make assur- ance doubly sure." "i certainly will, and all that human foresight can do shall be done for you and our children." , "oh," said marie, pressing to her heart a beautiful child of six summers, " i think it would almost make me turn over in my grave to know that every grace and charm which this child possesses would only be so much added to her value as an article of merchandise." as marie released the child from her arms she looked wonderingly into her mother's face and clung closely to iola leroy, her, as if to find refuge from some unseen evil. leroy noticed this, and sighed unconsciously, as an expression of pain flitted over his face. "now, marie," he continued, "stop tormenting your- self with useless fears. although, with all her faults, i still love the south, i will make arrangements either to live north or go to france. there life will be brighter for us all. now, marie, seat yourself at the piano and sing :— 'sing me the songs that to me were so dear, long, long ago. sing me the songs i delighted to hear, long, long ago." as marie sang the anxiety faded from her face, a sense of security stole over her, and she sat among her loved ones a happy wife and mother. what if no one recognized her on that lonely plantation! her world was, nevertheless, there. the love and devotion of her husband brightened every avenue of her life, while her children filled her home with music, mirth, and sunshine. marie had undertaken their education, but she could not give them the culture which comes from the attri- tion of thought, and from contact with the ideas of others. since her school-days she had read exten- sively and thought much, and in solitude her thoughts had ripened. but for her children there were no com- panions except the young slaves of the plantation, and she dreaded the effect of such intercourse upon their lives and characters. leroy had always been especially careful to conceal from his children the knowledge of their connection with the negro race. to marie this silence was oppressive. iola leroy, "my dear husband, you may be perfectly right, but are you not preparing our children for a fearful awaken- ing? are you not acting on the plan, 'after me the deluge?'" "not at all, marie. i want our children to grow up without having their self-respect crushed in the bud. you know that the north is not free from racial preju- dice." "i know it," said marie, sadly, "and i think one of the great mistakes of our civilization is that which makes color, and not character, a social test." "i think so, too," said leroy. "the strongest men and women of a down-trodden race may bare their bosoms to an adverse fate and develop courage in the midst of opposition, but we have no right to subject our children to such crucial tests before their characters are formed. for years, when i lived abroad, i had an op- portunity to see and hear of men of african descent who had distinguished themselves and obtained a recog- nition in european circles, which they never could have gained in this country. i now recall the name of ira aldridge, a colored man from new york city, who was covered with princely honors as a successful tragedian. alexander dumas was not forced to conceal his origin to succeed as a novelist. when i was in st. peters- burg i was shown the works of alexander sergevitch, a russian poet, who was spoken of as the byron of russian literature, and reckoned one of the finest poets that russia has produced in this century. he was also a prominent figure in fashionable society, and yet he was of african lineage. one of his paternal an- cestors was a negro who had been ennobled by peter the or shadows uplifted. great. i can't help contrasting the recognition which these men had received with the treatment which has been given to frederick douglass and other intelligent colored men in this country. with me the wonder is not that they have achieved so little, but that they have accomplished so much. no, marie, we will have our children educated without being subjected to the depressing influences of caste feeling. perhaps by the time their education is finished i will be ready to wind up my affairs and take them abroad, where merit and ability will give them entrance into the best circles of art, literature, and science." after this conversation leroy and his wife went north, and succeeded in finding a good school for their children. in a private interview he confided to the principal the story of the cross in their blood, and, finding him apparently free from racial prejudice, he gladly left the children in his care. gracie, the young- est child, remained at home, and her mother spared no pains to fit her for the seminary against the time her sister should have finished her education. an ioi.a leroy, chapter xl the plague and the law. years passed, bringing no special change to the life of leroy and his wife. shut out from the busy world, its social cares and anxieties, marie's life flowed peace- fully on. although removed by the protecting care of leroy from the condition of servitude, she still retained a deep sympathy for the enslaved, and was ever ready to devise plans to ameliorate their condition. leroy, although in the midst of slavery, did not be- lieve in the rightfulness of the institution. he was in favor of gradual emancipation, which would prepare both master and slave for a moral adaptation to the new conditions of freedom. while he was willing to have the old rivets taken out of slavery, politicians and planters were devising plans to put in new screws. he was desirous of having it ended in the states; they were clamorous to have it established in the ter- ritories. but so strong was the force of habit, combined with the feebleness of his moral resistance and the nature of his environment, that instead of being an athlete, armed for a glorious strife, he had learned to drift where he should have steered, to float with the current instead of nobly breasting the tide. he conducted his plantation with as much lenity as it was possible to infuse into a system darkened with the shadow of a million crimes. or shadows uplifted. leroy had always been especially careful not to allow his children to spend their vacations at home. he and marie generally spent that time with them at some sum- mer resort. "i would like," said marie, one day, "to have our children spend their vacations at home. those summer resorts are pleasant, yet, after all, there is no place like home. but," and her voice became tremulous, "our children would now notice their social isolation and inquire the cause." a faint sigh arose to the lips of leroy, as she added: "man is a social being; i've known it to my sorrow." there was a tone of sadness in leroy's voice, as he re- - plied: "yes, marie, let them stay north. we seem to be entering on a period fraught with great danger. i cannot help thinking and fearing that we are on the eve of a civil war." "a civil war! " exclaimed marie, with an air of aston- ishment. "a civil war about what?" "why, marie, the thing looks to me so wild and fool- ish i hardly know how to explain. but some of our leading men have come to the conclusion that north and south had better separate, and instead of having one to have two independent governments. the spirit of secession is rampant in the land. i do not know what the result will be, and i fear it will bode no good to the country. between the fire-eating southerners and the meddling abolitionists we are about to be plunged into a great deal of trouble. i fear there are breakers ahead. the south is dissatisfied with the state of public opin- ion in the north. we are realizing that we are two peoples in the midst of one nation. william h. seward iola. i.eroy, has proclaimed that the conflict between freedom and slavery is irrepressible, and that the country cannot re- main half free and half slave." "how will yougo ?" asked marie. "my heart is with the union. i don't believe in secession. there has been no cause sufficient to jus- tify a rupture. the north has met us time and again in the spirit of concession and compromise. when we wanted the continuance of the african slave trade the north conceded that we should have twenty years of slave-trading for the benefit of our plantations. when we wanted more territory she conceded to our desires and gave us land enough to carve out four states, and there yet remains enough for four more. when we wanted power to recapture our slaves when they fled north for refuge, daniel webster told northerners to conquer their prejudices, and they gave us the whole northern states as a hunting ground for our slaves. the presidential chair has been filled the greater num- ber of years by southerners, and the majority of offices has been shared by our men. we wanted representa- tion in congress on a basis which would include our slaves, and the north, whose suffrage represents only men, gave us a three-fifths representation for our slaves, whom we count as property. i think the step will be suicidal. there are extremists in both sections, but i hope, between them both, wise counsels and measures will prevail." just then alfred lorraine was ushered into the room. occasionally he visited leroy, but he always came alone. his wife was the only daughter of an enterprising slave- trader, who had left her a large amount of property. or shadows uplifted. her social training was deficient, her education lim- ited, but she was too proud of being a pure white woman to enter the home of leroy, with marie as its presiding genius. lorraine tolerated marie's presence as a necessary evil, while to her he always seemed like a presentiment of trouble. with his coming a shadow fell upon her home, hushing its music and darkening its sun- shine. a sense of dread oppressed her. there came into her soul an intuitive feeling that somehow his com- ing was fraught with danger. when not peering around she would often catch his eyes bent on her with a baleful expression. leroy and his cousin immediately fell into a discus- sion on the condition of the country. lorraine was a rank secessionist, ready to adopt the most extreme measures of the leaders of the movement, even to the reopening of the slave trade. leroy thought a disso- lution of the union would involve a fearful expenditure of blood and treasure for which, before the eyes of the world, there could be no justification. the debate lasted late into the night, leaving both lorraine and leroy just as set in their opinions as they were before they began. marie listened attentively awhile, then ex- cused herself and withdrew. after lorraine had gone marie said: "there is some- thing about your cousin that fills me with nameless dread. i always feel when he enters the room as if some one were walking over my grave. i do wish he would stay at home." "i wish so, too, since he disturbs you. but, marie, you are growing nervous. how cold your hands are. don't you feel well?" go iola leroy, ■ "oh, yes; i am only a little faint. i wish he would never come. but, as he does, i must make the best of it." "yes, marie, treat him well for my sake. he is the only relative i have who ever darkens our doors." "i have no faith in his friendship for either myself or my children. i feel that while he makes himself agree- able to you he hates me from the bottom of his heart, and would do anything to get me out of the way. oh, i am so glad i am your lawful wife, and that you mar- ried me before you brought me back to this state! i believe that if you were gone he wouldn't have the least scruple against trying to prove our marriage invalid and remanding us to slavery." leroy looked anxiously and soberly at his wife, and said: "marie, i do not think so. your life is too lonely here. write your orders to new orleans, get what you need for the journey, and let us spend the summer some- where in the north." just then marie's attention was drawn to some house- hold matters, and it was a short time before she re- turned. "tom," continued leroy, " has just brought the mail, and here is a letter from lola." marie noticed that he looked quite sober as he read, and that an expression of vexation was lingering on his lips. "what is the matter?" asked marie. "nothing much; only a tempest in a teapot. the presence of a colored girl in mr. galen's school has caused a breeze of excitement. you know mr. galen is quite an abolitionist, and, being true to his principles, or shadows uplifted. he could not consistently refuse when a colored woman applied for her daughter's admission. of course, when he took her he was compelled to treat her as any other pupil. in so doing he has given mortal offense to the mother of two southern boys. she has threatened to take them away if the colored girl remains." "what will he do about it?" asked marie, thought- fully. "oh, it is a bitter pill, but i think he will have to swallow it. he is between two fires. he cannot dis- miss her from the school and be true to his abolition principles; yet if he retains her he will lose his southern customers, and i know he cannot afford to do that." "what does iola say?" "he has found another boarding place for her, but she is to remain in the school. he had to throw that sop to the whale." "does she take sides against the girl?" "no, i don't think she does. she says she feels sorry for her, and that she would hate to be colored. 'it is so hard to be looked down on for what one can't help.'" "poor child! i wish we could leave the country. i never would consent to her marrying any one without first revealing to him her connection with the negro race. this is a subject on which i am not willing to run any risks." "my dear marie, when you shall have read iola's let- ter you will see it is more than a figment of my imagina- tion that has made me so loth to have our children know the paralyzing power of caste." leroy, always liberal with his wife and children, spared neither pains nor expense to have them prepared for iola leroy, their summer outing. iola was to graduate in a few days. harry was attending a school in the state of maine, and his father had written to him, apprising him of his intention to come north that season. in a few days leroy and his wife started north, but be- fore they reached vicksburg they were met by the in- telligence that the yellow fever was spreading in the delta, and that pestilence was breathing its bane upon the morning air and distilling its poison upon the mid- night dews. "let us return home," said marie. "it is useless," answered leroy. "it is nearly two days since we left home. the fever is spreading south of us with fearful rapidity. to return home is to walk into the jaws of death. it was my intention to have stopped at vicksburg, but now i will go on as soon as i can make the connections." early next morning leroy and his wife started again on their journey. the cars were filled with terror- stricken people who were fleeing from death, when death was everywhere. they fled from the city only to meet the dreaded apparition in the country. as they journeyed on leroy grew restless and feverish. he tried to brace himself against the infection which was creeping slowly but insidiously into his life, dull- ing his brain, fevering his blood, and prostrating his strength. but vain were all his efforts. he had no armor strong enough to repel the invasion of death. they stopped at a small town on the way and obtained the best medical skill and most careful nursing, but neither skill nor art availed. on the third day death claimed leroy as a victim, and marie wept in hopeless or shadows uri.ifted. agony over the grave of her devoted husband, whose sad lot it was to die from home and be buried among strangers. but before he died he placed his will in marie's hands, saying: "i have left you well provided for. kiss the children for me and bid them good-bye." he tried to say a parting word to gracie, but his voice failed, and he fainted into the stillness of death. a mortal paleness overspread his countenance, on which had already gathered the shadows that never deceive. in speechless agony marie held his hand until it re- leased its pressure in death, and then she stood alone beside her dead, with all the bright sunshine of her life fading into the shadows of the grave. heart-broken and full of fearful forebodings, marie left her cherished dead in the quiet village of h - and returned to her death-darkened home. it was a lovely day in june, birds were singing their sweetest songs, flowers were breathing their fragrance on the air, when mam liza, sitting at her cabin-door, talk- ing with some of the house servants, saw a carriage ap- proaching, and wondered who was coming. "i wonder," she said, excitedly, "whose comin' to de house when de folks is done gone." but her surprise was soon changed to painful amaze- ment, when she saw marie, robed in black, alighting from the carriage, and holding gracie by the hand. she caught sight of the drooping head and grief-stricken face, and rushed to her, exclaiming:— "whar's marse eugene?" "dead," said marie, falling into mammy liza's arms, sobbing out, "dead ! he died of yellow fever." iola leroy, a wild burst of sorrow came from the lips of the ser- vants, who had drawn near. "where is he?" said mam liza, speaking like one suddenly bewildered. "he is buried in h . i could not bring him home," said marie. "my pore baby," said mam liza, with broken sobs, "i'se drcfful sorry. my heart's most broke into two." then, controlling herself, she dismissed the servants who stood around, weeping, and led marie to her room. "come, honey, lie down an' lem'me git yer a cup ob tea." "oh, no; i don't want anything," said marie, wring- ing her hands in bitter agony. "oh, honey," said mam liza, "yer musn't gib up. yer knows whar to put yer trus'. yer can't lean on de arm of flesh in dis tryin' time." kneeling by the side of her mistress she breathed out a prayer full of tender- ness, hope, and trust. marie grew calmer. it seemed as if that earnest, trustful prayer had breathed into her soul a feeling of resignation. gracie stood wonderingly by, vainly trying to com- prehend the great sorrow which was overwhelming the life of her mother. after the first great burst of sorrow was over, marie sat down to her desk and wrote a letter to iola, inform- ing her of her father's death. by the time she had fin- ished it she grew dizzy and faint, and fell into a swoon. mammy liza tenderly laid her on the bed, and helped restore her to consciousness. or shadows uplifted. lorraine, having heard of his cousin's death, came im- mediately to see marie. she was too ill to have an interview with him, but he picked up the letter she had written and obtained tola's address. lorraine made a careful investigation of the case, to ascertain whether marie's marriage was valid. to his delight he found there was a flaw in the marriage and an informality in the manumission. he then deter- mined to invalidate marie's claim, and divide the in- i . heritance among leroy's white relations. in a short time strangers, distant relatives of her husband, became frequent visitors at the plantation, and made themselves offensively familiar. at length the dreadful storm burst. alfred lorraine entered suit for his cousin's estate, and for the remanding of his wife and children to slavery. in a short time he came armed with legal au- thority, and said to marie :— "i have come to take possession of these premises." "by what authority?" she gasped, turning deathly pale. he hesitated a moment, as if his words were ar- rested by a sense of shame. "by what authority?" she again demanded. "by the authority of the law," answered lorraine, "which has decided that leroy's legal heirs are his white blood relations, and that your marriage is null and void." "but," exclaimed marie, "i have our marriage certifi- cate. i was leroy's lawful wife." "your marriage certificate is not worth the paper it is written on." "oh, you must be jesting, cruelly jesting. it can't be so." iola leroy, "yes; it is so. judge starkins has decided that your manumission is unlawful; your marriage a bad pre- cedent, and inimical to the welfare of society; and that you and your children are remanded to slavery." marie stood as one petrified. she seemed a statue of fear and despair. she tried to speak, reached out her hand as if she were groping in the dark, turned pale as death as if all the blood in her veins had receded to her heart, and, with one heart-rending cry of bitter agony, she fell senseless to the floor. her servants, to whom she had been so kind in her days of prosperity, bent pityingly over her, chafed her cold hands, and did what they could to restore her to consciousness. for awhile she was stricken with brain fever, and her life seemed trembling on its frailest cord. gracie was like one perfectly dazed. when not watching by her mother's bedside she wandered aim- lessly about the house, growing thinner day by day. a slow fever was consuming her life. faithfully and care- fully mammy liza watched over her, and did all she could to bring smiles to her lips and light to her fading eyes, but all in vain. her only interest in life was to sit where she could watch her mother as she tossed to and fro in delirium, and to wonder what had brought the change in her once happy home. finally she, too, was stricken with brain fever, which intervened as a mercy between her and the great sorrow that was over- shadowing her young life. tears would fill the servants' eyes as they saw the dear child drifting from them like a lovely vision, too bright for earth's dull cares and weary, wasting pain. ys ioi.a leroy, want their freedom. they would not take it if we gave it to them." "that is not the case with them all. my father has seen men who have encountered almost incredible hard- ships to get their freedom. iola,did you ever attend an anti-slavery meeting?" "no; i don't think these abolitionists have any right to meddle in our affairs. i believe they are prejudiced against us, and want to get our property. i read about them in the papers when i was at home. i don't want to hear my part of the country run down. my father says the slaves would be very well contented if no one put wrong notions in their heads." "i don't know," was the response of her friend, "but i do not think that that slave mother who took her four children, crossed the ohio river on the ice, killed one of the children and attempted the lives of the other two, was a contented slave. and that other one, who, run- ning away and finding herself pursued, threw herself over the long bridge into the potomac, was evidently not satisfied. i do not think the numbers who are com- ing north on the underground railroad can be very contented. it is not natural for people to run away from happiness, and if they are so happy and contented, why did congress pass the fugitive slave bill?" "well, i don't think," answered iola, "any of our slaves would run away. i know mamma don't like slavery very much. i have often heard her say that she hoped the time would come when there would not be a slave in the land. my father does not think as she does. he thinks slavery is not wrong if you treat them well and don't sell them from their families. i intend, or shadows uplifted. after i have graduated, to persuade pa to buy a house in new orleans, and spend the winter there. you know this will be my first season out, and i hope that you will come and spend the winter with me. we will have such gay times, and you will so fall in love with our sunny south that you will never want to come back to shiver amid the snows and cold of the north. i think one winter in the south would cure you of your aboli- tionism." "have you seen her yet?" this question was asked by louis bastine, an attorney who had come north in the interests of lorraine. the scene was the new england village where mr. galen's academy was located, and which iola was attending. this question was addressed to camille lecroix, bas- tine's intimate friend, who had lately come north. he was the son of a planter who lived near leroy's planta- tion, and was familiar with iola's family history. since his arrival north, bastine had met him and communi- cated to him his intentions. "yes; just caught a glimpse of her this morning as she was going down the street," was camille's reply. "she is a most beautiful creature," said louis bas- tine. "she has the proud poise of leroy, the most splendid eyes i ever saw in a woman's head, lovely complexion, and a glorious wealth of hair. she would bring $ any day in a new orleans market." "i always feel sorry," said camille, "when i see one of those creole girls brought to the auction block. i have known fathers who were deeply devoted to their daughters, but who through some reverse of fortune were forced to part with them, and i always think the ioo iola leroy, blow has been equally terrible on both sides. i had a friend who had two beautiful daughters whom he had educated in the north. they were cultured, and really belles in society. they were entirely ignorant of their lineage, but when their father died it was discovered that their mother had been a slave. it was a fearful blow. they would have faced poverty, but the knowl- edge of their tainted blood was more than they could bear." "what became of them?" "they both died, poor girls. i believe they were as much killed by the blow as if they had been shot. to tell you the truth, bastine, i feel sorry for this girl. i don't believe she has the least idea of her negro blood." "no, leroy has been careful to conceal it from her," replied bastine. "is that so?" queried camille. "then he has made a great mistake." "i can't help that," said bastine; "business is busi- ness." "how can you get her away?" asked camille. "you will have to be very cautious, because if these pesky abolitionists get an inkling of what you're doing they will balk your game double quick. and when you come to look at it, isn't it a shame to attempt to re- duce that girl to slavery? she is just as white as we are, as good as any girl in the land, and better educated than thousands of white girls. a girl with her appar- ent refinement and magnificent beauty, were it not for the cross in her blood, i would be proud to introduce to our set. she would be the sensation of the season. i believe to-day it would be easier for me to go to the or shadows uplifted. ioi slums and take a young girl from there, and have her in- troduced as my wife, than to have society condone the offense if i married that lovely girl. there is not a social circle in the south that would not take it as a gross insult to have her introduced into it." "well," said bastine, "my plan is settled. leroy has never allowed her to spend her vacations at home. i understand she is now very anxious to get home, and, as lorraine's attorney, i have come on his account to take her home." "how will you do it?" "i shall tell her her father is dangerously ill, and de- sires her to come as quickly as possible." "and what then?" "have her inventoried with the rest of the property." "don't she know that her father is dead?" "i think not," said bastine." "she is not in mourn- ing, but appeared very light-hearted this morning, laugh- ing and talking with two other girls. i was struck with her great beauty, and asked a gentleman who she was. he said, 'miss leroy, of mississippi.' i think lorraine has managed the affair so as to keep her in perfect ignorance of her father's death. i don't like the job, but i never let sentiment interfere with my work." poor iola! when she said slavery was not a bad thing, little did she think that she was destined to drink to its bitter dregs the cup she was so ready to press to the lips of others. "how do you think she will take to her situation?" asked camille. "o, i guess," said bastine, "she will sulk and take it pretty hard at first; but if she is managed right she iola leroy, will soon get over it. give her plenty of jewelry, fine clothes, and an easy time." "all this business must be conducted with the utmost secrecy and speed. her mother could not have written to her, for she has been suffering with, brain fever and nervous prostration since leroy's death. lorraine knows her market value too well, and is too shrewd to let so much property pass out of his hands without making an effort to retain it." "has she any brothers or sisters?" "yes, a brother," replied bastine; "but he is at an- other school, and i have no orders from lorraine in ref- erence to him. if i can get the girl i am willing to let well enough alone. i dread the interview with the prin- cipal more than anything else. i am afraid he will hem and haw, and have his doubts. perhaps, when he sees my letters and hears my story, i can pull the wool over his eyes." "but, louis, this is a pitiful piece of business. i should hate to be engaged in it." a deep flush of shame overspread for a moment the face of lorraine's attorney, as he replied: "i don't like the job, but i have undertaken it, and must go through with it." "i see no 'must' about it. were i in your place i would wash my hands of the whole business." "i can't afford it," was bastine's hard, business-like reply. on the next morning after this conversation between these two young men, louis bastine presented himself to the principal of the academy, with the request that iola be permitted to leave immediately to attend the sick-bed of her father, who was dangerously ill. the or shadows uplifted. io principal hesitated, but while he was deliberating, a tel- egram, purporting to come from iola's mother, sum- moned iola to her father's bedside without delay. the principal, set at rest in regard to the truthfulness of the dispatch, not only permitted but expedited her departure. iola and bastine took the earliest train, and traveled without pausing until they reached a large hotel in a southern city. there they were obliged to wait a few hours until they could resume their journey, the train having failed to make connection. iola sat in a large, lonely parlor, waiting for the servant to show her to a private room. she had never known a great sorrow. never before had the shadows of death mingled with the sunshine of her life. anxious, travel-worn, and heavy-hearted, she sat in an easy chair, with nothing to divert her from the grief and anxiety which rendered every delay a source of painful anxiety. "oh, i hope that he will be alive and growing bet- ter!" was the thought which kept constantly revolving in her mind, until she fell asleep. in her dreams she was at home, encircled in the warm clasp of her father's arms, feeling her mother's kisses lingering on her lips, and hearing the joyous greetings of the servants and mammy liza's glad welcome as she folded her to her heart. from this dream of bliss she was awakened by a burning kiss pressed on her lips, and a strong arm en- circling her. gazing around and taking in the whole sit- uation, she sprang from her seat, her eyes flashing with rage and scorn, her face flushed to the roots of her hair, her voice shaken with excitement, and every nerve trembling with angry emotion. ic> ioi.a i.eroy, "how dare you do such a thing! don't you know if my father were here he would crush you to the earth?" "not so fast, my lovely tigress," said bastine, "your father knew what he was doing when he placed you in my charge." "my father made a great mistake, if he thought he had put me in charge of a gentleman." "i am your guardian for the present," replied bastine. "i am to see you safe home, and then my commission ends." "i wish it were ended now," she exclaimed, trembling with anger and mortification. her voice was choked by emotion, and broken by smothered sobs. louis bastine thought to himself, "she is a real spitfire, but beautiful even in her wrath." during the rest of her journey iola preserved a most freezing reserve towards bastine. at length the journey was ended. pale and anxious she rode up the avenue which led to her home. a strange silence pervaded the place. the servants moved sadly from place to place, and spoke in subdued tones. the windows were heavily draped with crape, and a funeral air pervaded the house. mammy liza met her at the door, and, with stream- ing eyes and convulsive sobs, folded her to her heart, as iola exclaimed, in tones of hopeless anguish :— "oh, papa's dead!" "oh, my pore baby!" said mammy, "ain't you hearn tell 'bout it? yore par's dead, an' your mar's bin dref- ful sick. she's better now." mam liza stepped lightly into mrs. leroy's room, and gently apprised her of iola's arrival. in a darkened io iola leroy, then bursting into a paroxysm of tears succeeded by peals of hysterical laughter, said :— "i used to say that slavery is right. i didn't know what i was talking about." then growing calmer, she said, "mother, who is at the bottom of this downright robbery?" "alfred lorraine; i have always dreaded that man, and what i feared has come to pass. your father had faith in him; i never had." "but, mother, could we not contest his claim. you have your marriage certificate and papa's will." "yes, my dear child, but judge starkins has decided that we have no standing in the court, and no testimony according to law." "oh, mother, what can i do?" "nothing, my child, unless you can escape to the north." "and leave you?" "yes." "mother, i will never desert you in your hour of trial. but can nothing be done? had father no friends who would assist us?" "none that i know of. i do not think he had an acquaintance who approved of our marriage. the neighboring planters have stood so aloof from me that i do not know where to turn for either help or sympathy. i believe it was lorraine who sent the telegram. i wrote to you as soon as i could after your father's death, but fainted just as i finished directing the letter. i do not think he knows where your brother is, and, if possible, he must not know. if you can by any means, do send a letter to harry and warn him not to attempt to come or shadows uplifted. home. i don't know how you will succeed, for lorraine has us all under surveillance. but it is according to law." "what law, mother?" "the law of the strong against the weak." "oh, mother, it seems like a dreadful dream, a fearful nightmare! but i cannot shake it off. where is gracie?" "the dear child has been running down ever since her papa's death. she clung to me night and day while i had the brain fever, and could not be persuaded to leave me. she hardly ate anything for more than a week. she has been dangerously ill for several days, and the doctor says she cannot live. the fever has ex- hausted all her rallying power, and yet, dear as she is to me, i would rather consign her to the deepest grave than see her forced to be a slave." "so would i. i wish i could die myself." "oh, iola, do not talk so. strive to be a christian, to have faith in the darkest hour. were it not for my hope of heaven i couldn't stand all this trouble." "mother, are these people christians who made these laws which are robbing us of our inheritance and re- ducing us to slavery? if this is christianity i hate and despise it. would the most cruel heathen do worse?" "my dear child, i have not learned my christianity from them. i have learned it at the foot of the cross, and from this book," she said, placing a new testament in iola's hands. "some of the most beautiful lessons of faith and trust i have ever learned were from among our lowly people in their humble cabins." io iola leroy, "mamma!" called a faint voice from the adjoining room. marie immediately arose and went to the bed- side of her sick child, where mammy liza was holding her faithful vigils. the child had just awakened from a fitful sleep. "i thought," she said, "that i heard iola's voice. has she come?" "yes, darling; do you want to see her?" "oh, yes," she said, as a bright smile broke over her dying features. iola passed quickly into the room. gracie reached out her thin, bloodless hand, clasped iola's palm in hers, and said: "i am so glad you have come. dear iola, stand by mother. you and harry are all she has. it is not hard to die. you and mother and harry must meet me in heaven." swiftly the tidings went through the house that gracie was dying. the servants gathered around her with tearful eyes, as she bade them all good-bye. when she had finished, and mammy had lowered the pillow, an unwonted radiance lit up her eye, and an expression of ineffable gladness overspread her face, as she mur- mured: "it is beautiful, so beautiful!" fainter and fainter grew her voice, until, without a struggle or sigh, she passed away beyond the power of oppression and prejudice. i io iola leroy, part of the country where he had scarcely ever seen a colored person, and around the race their misfortunes had thrown a halo of romance. to him the negro was a picturesque being, over whose woes he had wept when a child, and whose wrongs he was ready to redress when a man. but when he saw the lovely girl who had been rescued by the commander of the post from the clutches of slavery, all the manhood and chivalry in his nature arose in her behalf, and he was ready to lay on the altar of her heart his first grand and overmaster- ing love. not discouraged by her refusal, but deter- mined to overcome her objections, dr. gresham re- solved that he would abide his time. iola was not indifferent to dr. gresham. she ad- mired his manliness and respected his character. he was tall and handsome, a fine specimen of the best brain and heart of new england. he had been nur- tured under grand and ennobling influences. his father was a devoted abolitionist. his mother was kind- hearted, but somewhat exclusive and aristocratic. she would have looked upon his marriage with iola as a mistake and feared that such an alliance would hurt the prospects of her daughters. during iola's stay in the north, she had learned enough of the racial feeling to influence her decision in reference to dr. gresham's offer. iola, like other girls, had had her beautiful day-dreams before she was rudely awakened by the fate which had dragged her into the depths of slavery. in the chambers of her imagery were pictures of noble deeds; of high, heroic men, knightly, tender, true, and brave. in dr. gresham she saw the ideal of her soul exemplified. but in her or shadows uplifted. ill lonely condition, with all its background of terrible sorrow and deep abasement, she had never for a mo- ment thought of giving or receiving love from one of that race who had been so lately associated in her mind with horror, aversion, and disgust. his kindness to her had been a new experience. his companion- ship was an unexpected pleasure. she had learned to enjoy his presence and to miss him when absent, and when she began to question her heart she found that unconsciously it was entwining around him. "yes," she said to herself, "i do like him; but i can never marry him. to the man i marry my heart must be as open as the flowers to the sun. i could not accept his hand and hide from him the secret of my birth; and i could not consent to choose the happiest lot on earth without first finding my poor heart-stricken and desolate mother. perhaps some day i may have the courage to tell him my sad story, and then make my heart the sepulchre in which to bury all the love which might have gladdened and brightened my whole life." during the sad and weary months which ensued while the war dragged its slow length along, dr. gresham and iola often met by the bedsides of the wounded and dying, and sometimes he would drop a few words at which her heart would beat quicker and her cheek flush more vividly. but he was so kind, tender, and respect- ful, that iola had no idea he knew her race affiliations. she knew from unmistakable signs that dr. gresham had learned to love her, and that he had power to call forth the warmest affection of her soul; but she fought with her own heart and repressed its rising love. she felt that it was best for his sake that they should not iola leroy, marry. when she saw the evidences of his increasing love she regretted that she had not informed him at the first of the barrier that lay bet ween them; it might have saved him unnecessary suffering. thinking thus, iola resolved, at whatever cost of pain it might be to herself, to explain to dr. gresham what she meant by the insurmountable barrier. iola, after a continuous strain upon her nervous system for months, began to suffer from general debility and nervous depression. dr. gresham saw the increasing pallor on iola's cheek and the loss of buoyancy in her step. one morning, as she turned from the bed of a young soldier for whom she had just written a letter to his mother, there was such a look of pity and sorrow on her face that dr. gresham's whole heart went out in sympathy for her, and he re- solved to break the silence he had imposed upon himself. "iola," he said, and there was a depth of passionate tenderness in his voice, a volume of unexpressed affection in his face, "you are wronging yourself. you are sinking beneath burdens too heavy for you to bear. it seems to me that besides the constant drain upon your sympathies there is some great sorrow preying upon your life; some burden that ought to be shared." he gazed upon her so ardently that each cord of her heart seemed to vibrate, and unbidden tears sprang to her lustrous eyes, as she said, sadly:— "doctor, you are right." "iola, my heart is longing to lift those burdens from your life. love, like faith, laughs at impossibilities. i can conceive of no barrier too high for my love to surmount. consent to be mine, as nothing else on earth is mine." or shadows uplifted. " "doctor, you know not what you ask," replied iola. "instead of coming into this hospital a self-sacrificing woman, laying her every gift and advantage upon the altar of her country, i came as a rescued slave, glad to find a refuge from a fate more cruel than death; a fate from which i was rescued by the intervention of my dear dead friend, thomas anderson. i was born on a lonely plantation on the mississippi river, where the white population was very sparse. we had no neighbors who ever visited us; no young white girls with whom i ever played in my childhood; but, never having enjoyed such companionship, i was unconscious of any sense of privation. our parents spared no pains to make the lives of their children (we were three) as bright and pleasant as they could. our home was so happy. we had a large number of servants, who were devoted to us. i never had the faintest suspicion that there was any wrongfulness in slavery, and i never dream- ed of the dreadful fate which broke in a storm of fearful anguish over our devoted heads. papa used to take us to new orleans to see the mardi gras, and while there we visited the theatres and other places of amusement and interest. at home we had books, papers, and mag- azines to beguile our time. perfectly ignorant of my racial connection, i was sent to a northern academy, and soon made many friends among my fellow-students. companionship with girls of my own age was a new ex- perience, which i thoroughly enjoyed. i spent several years in new england, and was busily preparing for my commencement exercises when my father was snatched away—died of yellow fever on his way north to witness my graduation. through a stratagem, i was brought h ioi.a leroy, hurriedly from the north, and found that my father was dead; that his nearest kinsman had taken possession of our property; that my mother's marriage had been de- clared illegal, because of an imperceptible infusion of negro blood in her veins; and that she and her children had been remanded to slavery. i was torn from my mother, sold as a slave, and subjected to cruel indig- nities, from which i was rescued and a place given to me in this hospital. doctor, i did not choose my lot in life, but i have no other alternative than to accept it. the intense horror and agony i felt when i was first told the story arc over. thoughts and purposes have come to me in the shadow i should never have learned in the sunshine. i am constantly rousing myself up to suffer and be strong. i intend, when this conflict is over, to cast my lot with the freed people as a helper, teacher, and friend. i have passed through a fiery ordeal, but this ministry of suffering will not be in vain. i feel that my mind has matured beyond my years. i am a won- der to myself. it seems as if years had been compressed into a few short months. in telling you this, do you not, can you not, see that there is an insurmountable barrier between us?" "no, i do not," replied dr. gresham. "i love you for your own sake. and with this the disadvantages of birth have nothing to do." "you say so now, and i believe that you are perfect- ly sincere. to-day your friendship springs from com- passion, but, when that subsides, might you not look on me as an inferior?" "iola, you do not understand me. you think too meanly of me. you must not judge me by the worst of or shadows utlifter " my race. surely our country has produced a higher type of manhood than the men by whom you were tried and tempted." "tried, but not tempted," said iola, as a deep flush overspread her face ; " i was never tempted. i was sold from state to state as an article of merchandise. i had outrages heaped on me which might well crimson the cheek of honest womanhood with shame, but i never fell into the clutches of an owner for whom i did not feel the utmost loathing and intensest horror. i have heard men talk glibly of the degradation of the negro, but there is a vast difference between abasement of con- dition and degradation of character. i was abased, but the men who trampled on me were the degraded ones." "but, iola, you must not blame all for what a few have done." "a few have done? did not the whole nation con- sent to our abasement?" asked iola, bitterly. "no, miss iola, we did not all consent to it. slavery drew a line of cleavage in this country. although we were under one government we were farther apart in our sentiments than if we had been divided by lofty mount- ains and separated by wide seas. and had not north- ern sentiment been brought to bear against the institu- tion, slavery would have been intact until to-day." "but, doctor, the negro is under a social ban both north and south. our enemies have the ear of the world, and they can depict us just as they please." "that is true; but the negro has no other alternative than to make friends of his calamities. other men have plead his cause, but out of the race must come its own n iola leroy, defenders. with them the pen must be mightier than the sword. it is the weapon of civilization, and they must use it in their own defense. we cannot tell what is in them until they express themselves." "yes, and i think there is a large amount of latent and undeveloped ability in the race, which they will learn to use for their own benefit. this my hospital experience has taught me." "but," said dr. gresham, :'they must learn to strug- gle, labor, and achieve. by facts, not theories, they will be judged in the future. the anglo-saxon race is proud, domineering, aggressive, and impatient of a rival, and, as i think, has more capacity for dragging down a weaker race than uplifting it. they have been a con- quering and achieving people, marvelous in their tri- umphs of mind over matter. they have manifested the traits of character which are developed by success and victory." "and yet," said iola, earnestly, "i believe the time will come when the civilization of the negro will assume a better phase than you anglo-saxons possess. you will prove unworthy of your high vantage ground if you only use your superior ability to victimize feebler races and minister to a selfish greed of gold and a love of domination." "but, iola," said dr. gresham, a little impatiently, "what has all this to do with our marriage? your com- plexion is as fair as mine. what is to hinder you from sharing my northern home, from having mymother to be your mother?" the tones of his voice grew tender, as he raised his eyes to iola's face and anxiously awaited her reply. or shadows uplifted. "dr. gresham," said iola, sadly, "should the story of my life be revealed to your family, would they be willing to ignore all the traditions of my blood, forget all the terrible humiliations through which i have passed? i have too much self-respect to enter your home under a veil of concealment. i have lived in new england. i love the sunshine of her homes and the freedom of her institutions. but new england is not free from racial prejudice, and i would never enter a family where i would be an unwelcome member." "iola, dear, you have nothing to fear in that direc- tion." "doctor," she said, and a faint flush rose to her cheek, "suppose we should marry, and little children in after years should nestle in our arms, and one of them show unmistakable signs of color, would you be satisfied?" she looked steadfastly into his eyes, which fell be- neath her truth-seeking gaze. his face flushed as if the question had suddenly perplexed him. iola saw the irresolution on his face, and framed her answer ac- cordingly. "ah, i see," she said, "that you are puzzled. you had not taken into account what might result from such a marriage. i will relieve you from all embarrassment by simply saying i cannot be your wife. when the war is over i intend to search the country for my mother. doctor, were you to give me a palace-like home, with velvet carpets to hush my tread, and magnificence to surround my way, i should miss her voice amid all other tones, her presence amid every scene. oh, you do not know how hungry my heart is for my mother! were i u iola leroy, to marry you i would carry an aching heart into your home and dim its brightness. i have resolved never to marry until i have found my mother. the hope of find- ing her has colored all my life since i regained my free- dom. it has helped sustain me in the hour of fearful trial. when i see her i want to have the proud con- sciousness that i bring her back a heart just as lov- ing, faithful, and devoted as the last hour we parted." "and is this your final answer?" "it is. i have pledged my life to that resolve, and i believe time and patience will reward me." there was a deep shadow of sorrow and disappoint- ment on the face of dr. gresham as he rose to leave. for a moment he held her hand as it lay limp in his own. if she wavered in her determination it was only for a moment. no quivering of her lip or paling of her cheek betrayed any struggle of her heart. her resolve was made, and his words were powerless to swerve her from the purpose of her soul. after dr. gresham had gone iola went to her room and sat buried in thought. it seemed as if the fate of tantalus was hers, without his crimes. here she was lonely and heart-stricken, and unto her was presented the offer of love, home, happiness, and social position; the heart and hand of a man too noble and gener- ous to refuse her companionship for life on account of the blood in her veins. why should she refuse these desirable boons? but, mingling with these beau- tiful visions of manly love and protecting care she saw the anguish of her heart-stricken mother and the pale, sweet face of her dying sister, as with her latest breath she had said, "iola, stand by mamma!" or shadows uplifted. ii "no, no," she said to herself; "i was right to refuse dr. gresham. how dare i dream of happiness when my poor mamma's heart may be slowly breaking? i should be ashamed to live and ashamed to die 'were i to choose a happy lot for myself and leave poor mamma to struggle alone. i will never be satisfied till i get tid- ings of her. and when i have found her i will do all i can to cheer and brighten the remnant of her life." iola leroy, chapter xiv. harry leroy. it was several weeks after iola had written to her brother that her letter reached him. the trusty ser- vant to whom she delivered it watched his opportun- ity to mail it. at last he succeeded in slipping it into lorraine's mail and dropping them all into the post- office together. harry was studying at a boys' acad- emy in maine. his father had given that state the preference because, while on a visit there, he had been favorably impressed with the kindness and hospital- ity of the people. he had sent his son a large sum of money, and given him permission to spend awhile with some school-chums till he was ready to bring the family north, where they could all spend the summer together. harry had returned from his visit, and was looking for letters and remittances from home, when a letter, all crumpled, was handed him by the principal of the academy. he recognized his sister's handwrit- ing and eagerly opened the letter. as he read, he turned very pale; then a deep flush overspread his face and an angry light flashed from his eyes. as he read on, his face became still paler; he gasped for breath and fell into a swoon. appalled at the sudden change which had swept over him like a deadly sirocco, the principal rushed to the fallen boy, picked up the mis- sive that lay beside him, and immediately rang for help and dispatched for the doctor. the doctor came i a iola leroy, "doctor," said mr. bascom, "i have been a life-long abolitionist and have often read of the cruelties and crimes of american slavery, but never before did i realize the low moral tone of the social life under which such shameless cruelties could be practiced on a defense- less widow and her orphaned children. let me read the letter again. just look at it, all tear-blotted and written with a trembling hand:— 'dear brother:—i have dreadful news for you and i hardly know how to tell it. papa and gracie are both dead. he died of yellow fever. mamma is almost distracted. papa's cousin has taken possession of our property, and instead of heirs we are chattels. mamma has explained the whole situation to me. she was papa's slave before she married. he loved her, manu- mitted, educated, and married her. when he died mr. lorraine entered suit for his property and judge starkins has decided in his favor. the decree of the court has made their marriage invalid, robbed us of our inheritance, and remanded us all to slavery. mamma is too wretched to attempt to write herself, but told me to entreat you not to attempt to come home. you can do us no good, and that mean, cruel lorraine may do you much harm. don't attempt, i beseech you, to come home. show this letter to mr. bascom and let him advise you what to do. but don't, for our sake, attempt to come home. 'your heart-broken sister, 'iola leroy.'" "this," said the doctor, "is a very awkward affair. the boy is too ill to be removed. it is doubtful if the nerves which have trembled with such fearful excite- or shadows uplifted. merit will ever recover their normal condition. it is simply a work of mercy to watch over him with the tenderest care." fortunately for harry he had fallen into good hands, and the most tender care and nursing were bestowed upon him. for awhile harry was strangely silent, never referring to the terrible misfortune which had so suddenly overshadowed his life. it seemed as if the past were suddenly blotted out of his memory. but he was young and of an excellent constitution, and in a few months he was slowly recovering. "doctor," said he one day, as the physician sat at his bedside, "i seem to have had a dreadful dream, and to have dreamt that my father was dead, and my mother and sister were in terrible trouble, but i could not help them. doctor, was it a dream, or was it a reality? it could not have been a dream, for when i fell asleep the grass was green and the birds were singing, but now the winds are howling and the frost is on the ground. doc- tor, tell me how it is? how long have i been here?" sitting by his bedside, and taking his emaciated hand in his, the doctor said, in a kind, fatherly tone: "my dear boy, you have been very ill, and everything de- pends on your keeping quiet, very quiet." as soon as he was strong enough the principal gave him his letter to read. "but, mr. bascom," harry said, "i do not under- stand this. it says my mother and father were legally married. how could her marriage be set aside and her children robbed of their inheritance? this is not a heathen country. i hardly think barbarians would have done any worse; yet this is called a christian country." iola leroy, "christian in name," answered the principal. "when your father left you in my care, knowing that i was an abolitionist, he confided his secret to me. he said that life was full of vicissitudes, and he wished you to have a good education. he wanted you and your sister to be prepared for any emergency. he did not wish you to know that you had negro blood in your veins. he knew that the spirit of caste pervaded the nation, north and south, and he was very anxious to have his chil- dren freed from its depressing influences. he did not intend to stay south after you had finished your educa- tion." "but," said harry, "i cannot understand. if my mother was lawfully married, how could they deprive her of her marital rights?" "when lorraine," continued mr. bascom, "knew your father was dead, all he had to do was to find a flaw in her manumission, and, of course, the marriage became illegal. she could not then inherit property nor maintain her freedom; and her children followed her condition." harry listened attentively. things which had puz- zled him once now became perfectly clear. he sighed heavily, and, turning to the principal, said: "i see things in a new light. now i remember that none of the planters' wives ever visited my mother; and we never went to church except when my father took us to the cathedral in new orleans. my father was a catholic, but i don't think mamma is." "now, harry," said the principal, "life is before you. if you wish to stay north, i will interest friends in your behalf, and try to get you a situation. going south is or shadows uplifted. out of the question. it is probable that by this time your mother and sister are removed from their home. you are powerless to fight against the law that enslaved them. should you fall into the clutches of lorraine, he might give you a great deal of trouble. you would be pressed into the confederate service to help them throw up barricades, dig trenches, and add to the strength of those who enslaved your mother and sis- ter." "never! never !" cried harry. "i would rather die than do it! i should despise myself forever if i did." "numbers of our young men," said mr. bascom, "have gone to the war which is now raging between north and south. you have been sick for several months, and much has taken place of which you are unaware. would you like to enlist?" "i certainly would; not so much for the sake of fight- ing for the government, as with the hope of finding my mother and sister, and avenging their wrongs. i should like to meet lorraine on the battle-field." "what kind of a regiment would you prefer, white or colored?" harry winced when the question was asked. he felt the reality of his situation as he had not done before. it was as if two paths had suddenly opened before him, and he was forced to choose between them. on one side were strength, courage, enterprise, power of achievement, and memories of a wonderful past. on the other side were weakness, ignorance, poverty, and the proud world's social scorn. he knew nothing of colored people except as slaves, and his whole soul shrank from equalizing himself with them. he was fair iola leroy, enough to pass unchallenged among the fairest in the land, and yet a christless prejudice had decreed that he should be a social pariah. he sat, thoughtful and un- decided, as if a great struggle were going on in his mind. finally the principal said, "i do not think that you should be assigned to a colored regiment because of the blood in your veins, but you will have, in such a regi- ment, better facilities for finding your mother and sister." "you are right, mr. bascom. to find my mother and sister i call no task too heavy, no sacrifice too great." since harry had come north he had learned to feel profound pity for the slave. but there is a difference between looking on a man as an object of pity and pro- tecting him as such, and being identified with him and forced to share his lot. to take his place with them on the arena of life was the test of his life, but love was stronger than pride. his father was dead. his mother and sister were en- slaved by a mockery of justice. it was more than a matter of choice where he should stand on the racial question. he felt that he must stand where he could strike the most effective blow for their freedom. with that thought strong in his mind, and as soon as he re- covered, he went westward to find a colored regiment. he told the recruiting officer that he wished to be as- signed to a colored regiment. "why do you wish that," said the officer, looking at harry with an air of astonishment. "because i am a colored man." the officer look puzzled. it was a new experi- ence. he had seen colored men with fair complexions or shadows uplifted. anxious to lose their identity with the colored race and pose as white men, but here was a man in the flush of his early manhood, to whom could come dreams of promotion from a simple private to a successful gen- eral, deliberately turning his back upon every gilded hope and dazzling opportunity, to cast his lot with the despised and hated negro. "i do not understand you," said the officer. "surely you are a white man, and, as such, i will enlist you in a white regiment." "no," said harry, firmly, "i am a colored man, and unless i can be assigned to a colored regiment i am not willing to enter the army." "well," said the officer, "you are the d—d'st fool i ever saw—a man as white as you are turning his back upon his chances of promotion! but you can take your choice." so harry was permitted to enter the army. by his promptness and valor he soon won the hearts of his superior officers, and was made drill sergeant. having nearly all of his life been used to colored people, and being taught by his mother to be kind and respectful to them, he was soon able to gain their esteem. he con- tinued in the regiment until grant began the task of opening the mississippi. after weeks of fruitless effort, grant marched his army down the west side of the river, while the gunboats undertook the perilous task of run- ning the batteries. men were found for the hour. the volunteers offered themselves in such numbers that lots were cast to determine who should have the opportunity to enlist in an enterprise so fraught with danger. harry was one on whom the lot fell. iola leroy, grant crossed the river below, coiled his forces around vicksburg like a boa-constrictor, and held it in his grasp. after forty-seven days of endurance the city surrendered to him. port hudson, after the surrender of vicksburg, gave up the unequal contest, and the mississippi was open to the gulf. or shadows uplifted. i chapter xv. robert and his company. "good morning, gentlemen," said robert johnson, as he approached colonel robinson, the commander of the post, who was standing at the door of his tent, talk- ing with captain sybil. "good morning," responded colonel robinson, "i am glad you have come. i was just about to send for you. how is your company getting on?" "first rate, sir," replied robert. "in good health?" "excellent. they are all in good health and spir- its. our boys are used to hardship and exposure, and the hope of getting their freedom puts new snap into them." "i am glad of it," said colonel robinson. "they make good fighters and very useful allies. last night we received very valuable intelligence from some fugi- tives who had escaped through the rebel lines. i do not think many of the northern people realize the serv- ice they have been to us in bringing information and helping our boys when escaping from rebel prisons. i never knew a full-blooded negro to betray us. a month ago, when we were encamped near the rebel lines, a colored woman managed admirably to keep us posted as to the intended movements of the enemy. she was engaged in laundry work, and by means of hanging her sheets in different ways gave us the right signals." iola leroy, "i hope," said captain sybil, "that the time will come when some faithful historian will chronicle all the deeds of daring and service these people have per- formed during this struggle, and give them due credit therefor." "our great mistake," said colonel robinson, "was our long delay in granting them their freedom, and even what we have done is only partial. the border states still retain their slaves. we ought to have made a clean sweep of the whole affair. slavery is a serpent which we nourished in its weakness, and now it is sting- ing us in its strength." "i think so, too," said captain sybil. "but in mak- ing his proclamation of freedom, perhaps mr. lincoln went as far as he thought public opinion would let him." "it is remarkable," said colonel robinson, "how these secesh hold out. it surprises me to see how poor white men, who, like the negroes, are victims of slavery, rally around the stripes and bars. these men, i believe, have been looked down on by the aristocratic slave- holders, and despised by the well-fed and comfortable slaves, yet they follow their leaders into the very jaws of death; face hunger, cold, disease, and danger; and all for what? what, under heaven, are they fighting for? now, the negro, ignorant as he is, has learned to re- gard our flag as a banner of freedom, and to look forward to his deliverance as a consequence of the overthrow of the rebellion." "i think," said captain sybil "that these ignorant white men have been awfully deceived. they have had presented to their imaginations utterly false ideas or shadows uplifted. of the results of secession, and have been taught that its success would bring them advantages which they had never enjoyed in the union." "and i think," said colonel robinson, "that the wo- men and ministers have largely fed and fanned the fires of this rebellion, and have helped to create a public opinion which has swept numbers of benighted men into the conflict. well might one of their own men say, 'this is a rich man's war and a poor man's fight.' they were led into it through their ignorance, and held in it by their fears." "i think," said captain sybil, "that if the public school had been common through the south this war would never have occurred. now things have reached such a pass that able-bodied men must report at head- quarters, or be treated as deserters. their leaders are desperate men, of whom it has been said: 'they have robbed the cradle and the grave.'" "they are fighting against fearful odds," said colonel robinson, "and their defeat is only a question of time." "as soon," said robert, "as they fired on fort sum- ter, uncle daniel, a dear old father who had been pray- ing and hoping for freedom, said to me: 'dey's fired on fort sumter, an' mark my words, bob, de norf's boun' ter whip.'" "had we freed the slaves at the outset," said captain sybil, "we wouldn't have given the rebels so much opportunity to strengthen themselves by means of slave labor in raising their crops, throwing up their entrench- ments, and building their fortifications. slavery was a deadly cancer eating into the life of the nation; but, iola leroy, somehow, it had cast such a glamour over us that we have acted somewhat as if our national safety were better preserved by sparing the cancer than by cutting it out." "political and racial questions have sadly complicated this matter," said colonel robinson. "the north is not wholly made up of anti^slavcry people. at the be- ginning of this war we were not permeated with justice, and so were not ripe for victory. the battle of bull run inaugurated the war by a failure. instead of glory we gathered shame, and defeat in place of victory." "we have been slow," said captain sybil, "to see our danger and to do our duty. our delay has cost us thousands of lives and millions of dollars. yet it may be it is all for the best. our national wound was too deep to be lightly healed. when the president issued his emancipation proclamation my heart overflowed with joy, and i said: 'this is the first bright rift in the war cloud.'" "and did you really think that they would accept the terms of freedom and lay down their arms?" asked robert. "i hardly thought they would," continued captain sybil. "i did not think that their leaders would per- mit it. i believe the rank and file of their army are largely composed of a mass of ignorance, led, manipu- lated, and moulded by educated and ambitious wicked- ness. in attempting to overthrow the union, a despot- ism and reign of terror were created which encompassed them as fetters of iron, and they will not accept the conditions until they have reached the last extremity. i hardly think they are yet willing to confess that such extremity has been reached." or shadows uplifted. "captain," said robert, as they left colonel robin- son's tent, "i have lived all my life where i have had a chance to hear the ' secesh' talk, and when they left their papers around i used to read everything i could lay my hands on. it seemed to me that the big white men not only ruled over the poor whites and made laws for them, but over the whole nation." "that was so," replied captain sybil. "the north was strong but forbearing. it was busy in trade and commerce, and permitted them to make the northern states hunting-grounds for their slaves. when we sent back simms and burns from beneath the shadow of bunker hill monument and faneuil hall, they mistook us; looked upon us as a lot of money-grabbers, who would be willing to purchase peace at any price. i do not believe when they fired on the ' star of the west' that they had the least apprehension of the fearful re- sults which were to follow their madness and folly." "well, captain," asked robert, "if the free north would submit to be called on to help them catch their slaves, what could be expected of us, who all our lives had known no other condition than that of slavery? how much braver would you have been, if your first recollections had been those of seeing your mother mal- treated, your father cruelly beaten, or your fellow-ser- vants brutally murdered? i wonder why they never enslaved the indians!" "you are mistaken, robert, if you think the indians were never enslaved. i have read that the spaniards who visited the coasts of america kidnapped thousands of indians, whom they sent to europe and the west indies as slaves. columbus himself, we are informed, iola leroy, captured five hundred natives, and sent them to spain. the indian had the lesser power of endurance, and las cassas suggested the enslavement of the negro, because he seemed to possess greater breadth of physical organ- ization and stronger power of endurance. slavery was an old world's crime which, i have heard, the indians never practiced among themselves. perhaps it would have been harder to reduce them to slavery and hold them in bondage when they had a vast continent before them, where they could hide in the fastnesses of its mountains or the seclusion of its forests, than it was for white men to visit the coasts of africa and, with their superior knowledge, obtain cargoes of slaves, bring them across the ocean, hem them in on the plantations, and surround them with a pall of dense ignorance." "i remember," said robert, "in reading a history i once came across at our house, that when the africans first came to this country they did not all speak one lan- guage. some had only met as mutual enemies. they were not all one color, their complexions ranging from tawny yellow to deep black." "yes," said captain sybil, "and in dealing with the negro we wanted his labor; in dealing with the indian we wanted his lands. for one we had weapons of war; for the other we had real and invisible chains, the coer- cion of force, and the terror of the unseen world." "that's exactly so, captain! when i was a boy i used to hear the old folks tell what would happen to bad people in another world; about the devil pouring hot lead down people's throats and stirring them up with a pitch-fork; and i used to get so scared that i would be afraid to go to bed at night. i don't suppose or shadows uplifted. the indians ever heard of such things, or, if they had, i never heard of them being willing to give away all their lands on earth, and quietly wait for a home in heaven." "but, surely, robert, you do not think religion has degraded the negro?" "oh, i wouldn't say that. but a man is in a tight fix when he takes his part, like nat turner or denmark veasy, and is made to fear that he will be hanged in this world and be burned in the next. and, since i come to think of it, we colored folks used to get might- ily mixed up about our religion. mr. gundover had on his plantation a real smart man. he was religious, but he would steal." "oh, robert," queried sybil, "how could he be re- ligious and steal?" "he didn't think," retorted robert, "it was any harm to steal from his master. i guess he thought it was right to get from his master all he could. he would have thought it wrong to steal from his fellow- servants. he thought that downright mean, but i wouldn't have insured the lives of gundover's pigs and chickens, if uncle jack got them in a tight place. one day there was a minister stopping with mr. gundover. as a matter of course, in speaking of his servants, he gave jack's sins an airing. he would much rather con- fess jack's sins than his own. now gundover wanted to do two things, save his pigs and poultry, and save jack's soul. he told the minister that jack was a liar and a thief, and gave the minister a chance to talk with uncle jack about the state of his soul. uncle jack listened very quietly, and when taxed with stealing his master's wheat he was ready with an answer. 'now iola leroy, massa parker,' said jack, ' lem'me tell yer jis' how it war 'bout dat wheat. wen ole jack com'd down yere, dis place war all growed up in woods. he go ter work, clared up de groun' an' plowed, an' planted, an' riz a crap, an' den wen it war all done, he hadn't a dollar to buy his ole woman a gown; an' he jis' took a bag ob wheat.'" "what did mr. parker say?" asked sybil. "i don't know, though i reckon he didn't think it was a bad steal after all, but i don't suppose he told jack so. when he came to the next point, about jack's lying, i suppose he thought he had a clear case; but jack was equal to the occasion." "how did he clear up that charge?" interrogated captain sybil. "finely. i think if he had been educated he would have made a first-rate lawyer. he said, marse parker, dere's old joe. his wife don't lib on dis plantation. old joe go ober ter see her, but he stayed too long, an' didn't git back in time fer his work. massa's oberseer kotched him an' cut him all up. when de oberseer went inter de house, pore old joe war all tired an' beat up, an' so he lay down by de fence corner and go ter sleep. bimeby massa oberseer com'd an' axed, "all bin a workin' libely?" i say " yes, massa.'" then said mr. parker, you were lying, joe had been sleeping, not working.' 'i know's dat, but ef i tole on joe, massa oberseer cut him all up again, and massa jesus says, "blessed am de peacemaker."' i heard, continued rob- ert, that mr. parker said to gundover, 'you seem to me like a man standing in a stream where the blood of jesus can reach you, but you are standing between it iola leroy, and firm resistance, but at last the south was forced to succumb. on the ninth day of april, , general lee surrendered to general grant. the lost cause went down in blood and tears, and on the brows of a ran- somed people god poured the chrism of a new era, and they stood a race newly anointed with freedom. or shadows uplifted. chapter xvi. after the battle. very sad and heart-rending were the scenes with which iola came in constant contact. well may christian men and women labor and pray for the time when nations shall learn war no more; when, instead of bloody conflicts, there shall be peaceful ar- bitration. the battle in which robert fought, after his last conversation with captain sybil, was one of the decisive struggles of the closing conflict. the mills of doom and fate had ground out a fearful grist of agony and death, "and lives of men and souls of states were thrown like chaff beyond the gates." numbers were taken prisoners. pale, young corpses strewed the earth; manhood was stricken down in the flush of its energy and prime. the ambulances brought in the wounded and dying. captain sybil laid down his life on the altar of freedom. his prediction was ful- filled. robert was brought into the hospital, wounded, but not dangerously. iola remembered him as being the friend of tom anderson, and her heart was drawn instinctively towards him. for awhile he was delirious, but her presence had a soothing effect upon him. he sometimes imagined that she was his mother, and he would tell her how he had missed her; and then at times he would call her sister. iola, tender and com- passionate, humored his fancies, and would sing to him iola leroy, in low, sweet tones some of the hymns she had learned in her old home in mississippi. one day she sang a few verses of the hymn beginning with the words— "drooping souls no longer grieve, heaven is propitious; if on christ you do believe, you will find him precious." "that," said he, looking earnestly into iola's face, "was my mother's hymn. i have not heard it for years. where did you learn it?" iola gazed inquiringly upon the face of her patient, and saw, by his clear gaze and the expression of his face, that his reason had returned. "in my home, in mississippi, from my own dear mother," was iola's reply. "do you know where she learned it?" asked robert. "when she was a little girl she heard her mother sing it. years after, a methodist preacher came to our house, sang this hymn, and left the book behind him. my father was a catholic, but my mother never went to any church. i did not understand it then, but i do now. we used to sing together, and read the jjible when we were alone." "do you remember where she came from, and who was her mother?" asked robert, anxiously. "my dear friend, you must be quiet. the fever has left you, but i will not answer for the conse- quences if you get excited." robert lay quiet and thoughtful for awhile and, see- ing he was wakeful, iola said, "have you any friends to whom you would like to send a letter?" or shadows uplifted. a pathetic expression flitted over his face, as he sadly replied, "i haven't, to my knowledge, a single re- lation in the world. when i was about ten years old my mother and sister were sold from me. it is more than twenty years since i have heard from them. but that hymn which you were singing reminded me so much of my mother! she used to sing it when i was a child. please sing it again." iola's voice rose soft and clear by his bedside, till he fell into a quiet slumber. she remembered that her mother had spoken of her brother before they had parted, and her interest and curiosity were awakened by robert's story. while he slept, she closely scrutinized robert's features, and detected a striking resemblance between him and her mother. "oh, i do wonder if he can be my mother's brother, from whom she has been separated so many years!" anxious as she was to ascertain if there was any rela- tionship between robert and her mother, she forebore to question him on the subject which lay so near her heart. but one day, when he was so far recovered as to be able to walk around, he met iola on the hospital grounds, and said to her:— "miss iola, you remind me so much of my mother and sister that i cannot help wondering if you are the daughter of my long-lost sister." "do you think," asked iola, "if you saw the likeness of your sister you would recognize her?" "i am afraid not. but there is one thing i can re- member about her: she used to have a mole on her cheek, which mother used to tell her was her beauty spot." or shadows uplifted. country," replied iola. "as soon as i am able i will begin my search for my dear mother. i will advertise for her in the papers, hunt for her in the churches, and use all the means in my power to get some tidings of her and my brother harry. what a cruel thing it was to separate us!" tola leroy, chapter xvii. flames in the school-room. "good morning," said dr. gresham, approaching robert and iola. "how are you both? you have mended rapidly," turning to robert, "but then it was only a flesh wound. your general health being good, and your blood in excellent condition, it was not hard for you to rally." "where have you been, doctor? i have a faint rec- ollection of having seen you on the morning i was brought in from the field, but not since." "i have been on a furlough. i was running down through exhaustion and overwork, and i was compelled to go home for a few weeks' rest. but now, as they are about to close the hospital, i shall be permanently re- lieved. i am glad that this cruel strife is over. it seemed as if i had lived through ages during these last few years. in the early part of the war i lost my arm by a stray shot, and my armless sleeve is one of the mementos of battle i shall carry with me through life. miss leroy," he continued, turning respectfully to iola, "would you permit me to ask you, as i would have some one ask my sister under the same circum- stances, if you have matured any plans for the future, or if i can be of the least service to you? if so, i would be pleased to render you any service in my power." "my purpose," replied iola, "is to hunt for my or shadows uplifted. mother, and to find her if she is alive. i am willing to go anywhere and do anything to find her. but i will need a standpoint from whence i can send out lines of inquiry. it must take time, in the disordered state of affairs, even to get a clue by which i may discover her whereabouts." "how would you like to teach ?" asked the doctor. "schools are being opened all around us. numbers of excellent and superior women are coming from the north to engage as teachers of the freed people. would you be willing to take a school among these people? i think it will be uphill work. i believe it will take generations to get over the duncery of slav- ery. some of these poor fellows who came into our camp did not know their right hands from their left, nor their ages, nor even the days of the month. it took me some time, in a number of cases, to understand their language. it saddened my heart to see such ignorance. one day i asked one a question, and he answered, "i no shum'." "what did he mean ?" asked iola." "that he did not see it," replied the doctor. "of course, this does not apply to all of them. some of them are wide-awake and sharp as steel traps. i think some of that class may be used in helping others." "i should be very glad to have an opportunity to teach," said iola. "i used to be a great favorite among the colored children on my father's plantation." in a few days after this conversation the hospital was closed. the sick and convalescent were removed, and iola obtained a position as a teacher. very soon iola realized that while she was heartily appreciated by the iola leroy, freedmen, she was an object of suspicion and dislike to their former owners. the north had conquered by the supremacy of the sword, and the south had bowed to the inevitable. but here was a new army that had come with an invasion of ideas, that had come to sup- plant ignorance with knowledge, and it was natural that its members should be unwelcome to those who had made it a crime to teach their slaves to read the name . of the ever blessed christ. but iola had found her work, and the freedmen their friend. when iola opened her school she took pains to get acquainted with the parents of the children, and she gained their confidence and co-operation. her face was a passport to their hearts. ignorant of books, human faces were the scrolls from which they had been reading for ages. they had been the sunshine and shadow of their lives. iola had found a school-room in the basement of a colored church, where the doors were willingly opened to her. her pupils came from miles around, ready and anxious to get some "book larnin'." some of the old folks were eager to learn, and it was touching to see the eyes which had grown dim under the shadows of slavery, donning spectacles and trying to make out the words. as iola had nearly all of her life been accustomed to colored children she had no physical repulsions to over- come, no prejudices to conquer in dealing with parents and children. in their simple childish fashion they would bring her fruits and flowers, and gladden her lonely heart with little tokens of affection. one day a gentleman came to the school and wished to address the children. iola suspended the regular or shadows uplifted. h order of the school, and the gentleman essayed to talk to them on the achievements of the white race, such as building steamboats and carrying on business. finally, he asked how they did it? "they've got money," chorused the children. "but how did they get it?" "they took it from us," chimed the youngsters. iola smiled, and the gentleman was nonplussed; but he could not deny that one of the powers of knowledge is the power of the strong to oppress the weak. the school was soon overcrowded with applicants, and iola was forced to refuse numbers, because their quarters were too cramped. the school was beginning to lift up the home, for iola was not satisfied to teach her children only the rudiments of knowledge. she had tried to lay the foundation of good character. but the elements of evil burst upon her loved and cherished work. one night the heavens were lighted with lurid flames, and iola beheld the school, the pride and joy of her pupils and their parents, a smouldering ruin. iola gazed with sorrowful dismay on what seemed the cruel work of an incendiary's torch. while she sat, mourn- fully contemplating the work of destruction, her children formed a procession, and, passing by the wreck of their school, sang:— "oh, do not be discouraged, for jesus is your friend." as they sang, the tears sprang to iola's eyes, and she said to herself, "i am not despondent of the future of my people; there is too much elasticity in their spirits, too much hope in their hearts, to be crushed out by un- reasoning malice." ioi.a leroy, chapter xviii. searching for lost ones. to bind anew the ties which slavery had broken and gather together the remnants of his scattered family be- came the earnest purpose of robert's life. iola, hopeful that in robert she had found her mother's brother, was glad to know she was not alone in her search. having sent out lines of inquiry in different directions, she was led to hope, from some of the replies she had received, that her mother was living somewhere in georgia. hearing that a methodist conference was to convene in that state, and being acquainted with the bishop of that district, she made arrangements to accompany him thither. she hoped to gather some tidings of her mother through the ministers gathered from different parts of that state. from her brother she had heard nothing since her father's death. on his way to the conference, the bishop had an engagement to dedicate a church, near the city of c , in north carolina. iola was quite willing to stop there a few days, hoping to hear something of robert johnson's mother. soon after she had seated herself in the cars she was approached by a gentleman, who reached out his hand to her, and greeted her with great cordiality. iola looked up, and recognized him immediately as one of her last patients at the hospital. it was none other than robert johnson. "i am so glad to meet you," he said. "i am on my or shadows uplifted. i way to c in search of my mother. i want to see the person who sold her last, and, if possible, get some clew to the direction in which she went." "and i," said iola, "am in search of my mother. i am convinced that when we find those for whom we are searching they will prove to be very nearly related. mamma said, before we were parted, that her brother had a red spot on his temple. if i could see that spot i should rest assured that my mother is your sister." "then," said robert, "i can give you that assur- ance," and smilingly he lifted his hair from his temple, on which was a large, red spot. "i am satisfied," exclaimed iola, fixing her eyes, beam- ing with hope and confidence, on robert. "oh, i am so glad that i can, without the least hesitation, accept your services to join with me in the further search. what are your plans?" "to stop for awhile in c -," said robert, "and gather all the information possible from those who sold and bought my mother. i intend to leave no stone un- turned in searching for her." "oh, i do hope that you will succeed. i expect to stop over there a few days, and i shall be so glad if, be- fore i leave, i hear your search has been crowned with success, or, a least, that you have been put on the right track. although i was born and raised in the midst of slavery, i had not the least idea of its barbarous selfish- ness till i was forced to pass through it. but we lived so much alone i had no opportunity to study it, except * on our own plantation. my father and mother were very kind to their slaves. but it was slavery, all the same, and i hate it, root and branch." iola leroy, just then the conductor called out the station. "we stop here," said robert. "i am going to see mrs. johnson, and hunt up some of my old acquaint- ances. where do you stop?" "i don't know," replied iola. "i expect that friends will be here to meet us. bishop b , permit me to introduce you to mr. robert johnson, whom i have every reason to believe is my mother's brother. like myself, he is engaged in hunting up his lost rela- tives." "and i," said robert, "am very much pleased to know that we are not without favorable clues." "bishop," said iola, " mr. johnson wishes to know where i am to stop. he is going on an exploring ex- pedition, and wishes to let me know the result." "we stop at mrs. allston's, new street," said the bishop. "if i can be of any use to you, i am at your service." "thank you," said robert, lifting his hat, as he left them to pursue his inquiries about his long-lost mother. quickly he trod the old familiar streets which led to his former home. he found mrs. johnson, but she had aged very fast since the war. she was no longer the lithe, active woman, with her proud manner and resolute bearing. her eye had lost its brightness, her step its elasticity, and her whole appearance indicated that she was slowly sinking beneath a weight of sorrow which was heavier far than her weight of years. when she heard that robert had called to see her she was going to receive him in the hall, as she would have done any of her former slaves, but her mind immediately changed when she saw him. he was not the light-hearted, care- iola leroy, "yes," she said, musingly, "i suppose i would have done the same. but, robby, it did go hard with me at first. however, i soon found out that my neighbors had been going through the same thing. but its all over now. let by-gones be by-gones. what are you doing now, and where are you living?" "i am living in the city of p . i have opened a hardware store there. but just now i am in search of my mother and sister." "i hope that you may find them." "how long," asked robert, "do you think it has been since they left here?" "let me see; it must have been nearly thirty years. you got my letter?" "yes, ma'am; thank you." "there have been great changes since you left here," mrs. johnson said. "gundover died, and a number of colored men have banded together, bought his planta- tion, and divided it among themselves. and i hear they have a very nice settlement out there. i hope, since the government has set them free, that they will succeed." after robert's interview with mrs. johnson he thought he would visit the settlement and hunt up his old friends. he easily found the place. it was on a clearing in gundover's woods, where robert and uncle daniel had held their last prayer-meeting. now the gloomy silence of those woods was broken by the hum of industry, the murmur of cheerful voices, and the merry laughter of happy children. where they had trodden with fear and misgiving, freedmen walked with light and bounding hearts. the school-house had taken the place of the slave-pen and auction-block. or shadows uplifted. "how is yer, ole boy?" asked one laborer of another. "everything is lobly," replied the other. the blue sky arching overhead and the beauty of the scenery jus- tified the expression. gundover had died soon after the surrender. frank anderson had grown reckless and drank himself to death. his brother tom had been killed in battle. their mother, who was gundover's daughter, had died insane. their father had also passed away. the de- feat of the confederates, the loss of his sons, and the emancipation of his slaves, were blows from which he never recovered. as robert passed leisurely along, de- lighted with the evidences of thrift and industry which constantly met his eye, he stopped to admire a garden filled with beautiful flowers, clambering vines, and rustic adornments. on the porch sat an elderly woman, darning stock- ings, the very embodiment of content and good humor. robert looked inquiringly at her. on seeing him, she almost immediately exclaimed, "shore as fse born, dat's robert! look yere, honey, whar did yer come from? i'll gib my head fer a choppin' block ef dat ain't miss nancy's bob. ain't yer our bobby? shore yer is." "of course i am," responded robert. "it isn't any- body else. how did you know me?" "how did i know yer? by dem mischeebous eyes, ob course. i'd a knowed yer if i had seed yer in europe." "in europe, aunt linda? where's that?" "i don't know. i specs its some big city, somewhar. but yer looks jis' splendid. yer looks good 'nuff ter kiss." iola. leroy, "oh, aunt linda, don't say that. you make me blush." "oh you go 'long wid yer. i specs yer's got a nice little wife up dar whar yer comes from, dat kisses yer ebery day, an' sunday, too." "is that the way your old man does you?" "oh, no, not a bit. he isn't one ob de kissin' kine. but sit down," she said, handing robert a chair. "won't yer hab a glass ob milk? boy, i'se a libin' in clover. neber 'spected ter see sich good times in all my born days." "well, aunt linda," said robert, seating himself near her, and drinking the glass of milk which she had handed him, "how goes the battle? how have you been getting on since freedom?" "oh, fust rate, fust rate! wen freedom com'd i jist lit out ob miss johnson's kitchen soon as i could. i wanted ter re'lize i war free, an' i couldn't, tell i got out er de sight and soun' ob ole miss. when de war war ober an' de sogers war still stopping' yere, i made pies an' cakes, sole em to de sogers, an'jist made money han' ober fist. an' i kep' on a workin' an' a savin' till my ole man got back from de war wid his wages and his bounty money. i felt right set up an' mighty big wen we counted all dat money. we had neber seen so much money in our lives befo', let along hab it fer our- selbs. an' i sez, 'john, you take dis money an'git a nice place wid it.' an' he sez, 'dere's no use tryin', kase dey don't want ter sell us any ian'.' ole gundover said, 'fore he died, dat he would let de lan' grow up in trees 'fore he'd sell it to us. an' dere war mr. brayton; he buyed some lan' and sole it to some cullud folks, an' his or shadows uplifted. ole frien's got so mad wid him dat dey wouldn't speak ter him, an' he war borned down yere. i tole ole miss anderson's daughter dat we wanted ter git some homes ob our ownselbs. she sez, 'den you won't want tcr work for us?' jis' de same asef we could cat an'drink our houses. i tell yer, robby, dese white folks don't know eberything." "that's a fact, aunt linda." "den i sez ter john, 'wen one door shuts anoder opens.' an' shore 'nough, ole gundover died, an' his place war all in debt, an' had to be sole. some jews bought it, but dey didn't want to farm it, so dey gib us a chance to buy it. dem jews hez been right helpful to cullud people wen dey hab lan' to sell. i reckon dey don't keer who buys it so long as dey gits de money. well, john didn't gib in at fust; didn't want to let on his wife knowed more dan he did, an' dat he war ruled ober by a woman. yer know he is an' ole firginian, an' some ob dem ole firginians do so lub to rule a woman. but i kep' naggin at him, till i specs he got tired of my tongue, an' he went and buyed dis piece ob lan'. dis house war on it, an' war all gwine to wrack. it used to belong to john's ole marstcr. his wife died right in dis house, an' arter dat her husband went right to de dogs ; an' now he's in de pore-house. my! but ain't dem tables turned. when we knowed it war our own, warn't my ole man proud i i seed it in him, but he wouldn't let on. ain't you men powerful 'ceitful?" "oh, aunt linda, don't put me in with the rest!" "i don't know 'bout dat. put you all in de bag for 'ceitfulness, an' i don't know which would git out fust." or shadows uplifted. "laws a marcy!" exclaimed aunt linda, "yer don't tell me so! whar did yer ketch up wid her?" "i met her first," said robert, "at the hospital here, when our poor tom was dying ; and when i was wound- ed at five forks she attended me in the field hospital there. she was just as good as gold." "well, did i eber! you jis' fotch dat chile to see me, ef she ain't too fine. i'se pore, but i'se clean, an' i ain't forgot how ter git up good dinners. now, i wants ter hab a good talk 'bout our feller-sarvants." "yes, and i," said robert, "want to hear all about uncle daniel, and jennie, and uncle ben tunnel." "well, i'se got lots an' gobs ter tell yer. i'se kep' track ob dem all. aunt katie died an' went ter hebben in a blaze ob glory. uncle dan'el stayed on de place till marse robert com'd back. when de war war ober he war smashed all ter pieces. i did pity him from de bottom ob my heart. when he went ter de war he looked so brave an' han'some; an' wen he com'd back he looked orful. 'fore he went he gib uncle dan'el a bag full ob money ter take kere ob. an wen he com'd back uncle dan'el gibed him every cent ob it. it warn't ebery white pusson he could hab trusted wid it. 'cause yer know, bobby, money's a mighty temptin' thing. dey tells me dat marster robert los' a heap ob property by de war; but marse robert war always mighty good ter uncle dan'el and aunt katie. he war wid her wen she war dyin' an' she got holt his han' an' made him promise dat he would meet her in glory. i neber seed anybody so happy in my life. she singed an' prayed ter de last. i tell you dis ole time religion is good 'nuff fer me. mr. robert didn't stay yere long i » iola leroy, artcr her, but i belicbs he went all right. but 'fore he went he looked out fer uncle dan'el. did you see dat nice little cabin down dere wid de green shutters an' nice little garden in front? well, 'fore marse robert died he gib uncle dan'el dat place, an' miss mary and de chillen looks arter him yet; an' he libs jis' as snug as a bug in a rug. i'se gwine ter axe him ter take supper wid you. he'll be powerful glad ter see you." "do you ever go to sec old miss ?" asked robert. "oh, yes; i goes ebery now and den. but she's j is' fell froo. ole johnson j is' drunk hisself to death. he war de biggest guzzler i eber seed in my life. why, dat man he drunk up ebcry thing he could lay his han's on. sometimes he would go 'roun' tryin' to borrer money from pore cullud folks. 'twas rale drefful de way dat pore feller did frow hisself away. but drink did it all. i tell you, bobby, dat drink's a drefful thing wen it gits de upper han' ob you. you'd better steer clar ob it." "that's so," assented robert. "i know'd miss nancy's fadder and mudder. dey war mighty rich. some ob de real big bugs. marse jim used to know dem, an' come ober ter de plantation, an' eat an' drink wen he got ready, an' stay as long as he choose. ole cousins used to have wine at dere table ebery day, an' marse jim war mighty fon' ob dat wine, an' sometimes he would drink till he got quite boozy. ole cousins liked him bery well, till he foun' out he wanted his darter, an' den he didn't want him fer rags nor patches. but miss nancy war mighty headstrong, an' allers liked to hab her own way; an' dis time she got it. but didn't she step her foot inter it? ole johnson or shadows uplifted. war mighty han'some, but when dat war said all war said. she run'd off an' got married, but wen she got down she war too spunkey to axe her pa for anything. wen you war wid her, yer know she only took big bugs. but wen de war com'd 'roun' it tore her all ter pieces, an' now she's as pore as job's turkey. i feel's right sorry fer her. well, robby, things is turned 'roun' mighty quare. ole mistus war up den, an' i war down; now, she's down, an' i'se up. but i pities her, 'cause she warn't so bad arter all. de wuss thing she eber did war to sell your mudder, an' she wouldn't hab done dat but she snatched de whip out ob her han' an gib her a lickin'. now i belieb in my heart she war 'fraid ob your mudder arter dat. but we women had ter keep 'em from whippin' us, er dey'd all de time been libin' on our bones. she had no man ter whip us 'cept dat ole drunken husband ob hern, an' he war allers too drunk ter whip hisself. he jis' wandered off, an' i reckon he died in somebody's pore-house. he warn't no 'count nohow you fix it. weneber i goes to town i carries her some garden sass, er a little milk an' butter. an' she's mighty glad ter git it. i ain't got nothin' agin her. she neber struck me a lick in her life, an' i belieb in praising de bridge dat carries me ober. dem yankees set me free, an' i thinks a powerful heap ob dem. but it does rile me ter see dese mean white men comin' down yere an'settin' up dere grog-shops, tryin' to fedder dere nests sellin' licker to pore culled people. deys de bery kine ob men dat used ter keep dorgs to ketch de runaways. i'd be chokin' fer a drink 'fore i'd eber spen' a cent wid dem, a spreadin' dere traps to git de black folks' money. you jis' go down town 'fore sun iola leroy, up tomorrow mornin' an' you see ef dey don't hab dem bars open to sell dere drams to dem hard workin' culled people 'fore dey goes ter work. i thinks some niggers is mighty big fools." "oh, aunt linda, don't run down your race. leave that for the white people." "i ain't runnin' down my people. but a fool's a fool, wether he's white or black. an' i think de nigger who will spen' his hard-earned money in dese yere new grog- shops is de biggest kine ob a fool, an' i sticks ter dat. you know we didn't hab all dese low places in slave times. an' what is dey fer, but to get the people's money. an' its a shame how dey do sling de licker 'bout 'lection times." "but don't the temperance people want the colored people to vote the temperance ticket?" "yes, but some ob de culled people gits mighty skit- tish ef dey tries to git em to vote dare ticket 'lection time, an' keeps dem at a proper distance wen de 'lec- tion's ober. some ob dem say dere's a trick behine it, an' don't want to tech it. dese white folks could do a heap wid de culled folks ef dey'd only treat em right."' "when our people say there is a trick behind it, said robert," i only wish they could see the trick before it— the trick of worse than wasting their money, and of keeping themselves and families poorer and more igno- rant than there is any need for them to be." "well, bobby, i beliebs we might be a people ef it warn't for dat mizzable drink. an' robby, i jis' tells yer what i wants; i wants some libe man to come down yere an' splain things ter dese people. i don't mean a or shadows uplifted. "why, uncle dan'el," replied aunt linda, "dis is robby; miss nancy's bad, mischeebous robby, dat war allers playin' tricks on me." "well, shore's i'se born, ef dis ain't our ole bobby!" exclaimed uncle daniel, delightedly. "why, chile, whar did yer come from? thought you war dead an' buried long 'go." "why, uncle daniel, did you send anybody to kill me?" asked robert, laughingly. "oh, no'n 'deed, chile! but i yeard dat you war killed in de battle, an' i never 'spected ter see you agin." "well, here i am," replied robert, "large as life, and just as natural. and this young lady, uncle daniel, i believe is my niece." as he spoke he turned to iola. "do you remember my mother?" "oh, yes," said uncle daniel, looking intently at iola as she stepped forward and cordially gave him her hand. "well, i firmly believe," continued robert, "that this is the daughter of the little girl whom miss nancy sold away with my mother." "well, i'se rale glad ter see her. she puts me mighty much in mine ob dem days wen we war all young to- gedder; wen miss nancy sed, 'harriet war too high fer her.' it jis' seems like yisterday wen i yeard miss nancy say, 'no house could flourish whar dere war two mistresses.' well, mr. robert" "oh, no, no, uncle daniel," interrupted robert, "don't say that! call me robby or bob, just as you used to." "well, bobby, i'se glad klar from de bottom of my heart ter see yer." "even if you wouldn't go with us when we left?" iola leroy, "oh, bobby, dcm war mighty tryin' times. you boys didn't know it, but marster robert hab gibcn me a bag ob money ter take kcer ob, an' i promised him i'd do it an' i had ter be ez good ez my word." "oh, uncle daniel, why didn't you tell us boys all about it? we could have helped you take care of it." ." now, wouldn't dat hab bin smart ter let on ter you chaps, an'hab you huntin' for it from dan ter barsheba? i specs some ob you would bin a rootin' fer it yit!" "well, uncle daniel, we were young then; i can't tell what we would have done if we had found it. but we are older now." "yes, yer older, but i wouldn't put it pas' yer eben now, cf yer foun' out whar it war." "yes," said iola, laughing, "they say 'caution is the parent of safety.'" "money's a mighty tempting thing," said robert, smiling. "but, robby, dcrc's nothin' like a klar conscience; a klar conscience, robby!" just then aunt linda, who had been completing the preparations for her supper, entered the room with her husband, and said, "salters, let me interdoos you ter my fren', mr. robert johnson, an' his niece, miss le- roy." "why, is it possible," exclaimed robert, rising, and shaking hands, "that you are aunt linda's husband?" "dat's what de parson sed," replied salters. "i thought," pursued robert, "that your name was john andrews. it was such when you were in my com- pany." "all de use l'se got fer dat name is ter git my money or shadows uplifted. wid it; an' wen dat's done, all's done. got 'nuff ob my ole marster in slave times, widout wearin' his name in freedom. wen i got done wid him, i got done wid his name. wen i 'listed, i war john andrews; and wen i gits my pension, i'se john andrews; but now salters is my name, an' i likes it better." "but how came you to be aunt linda's husband? did you get married since the war?" "lindy an' me war married long 'fore de war. but my ole marster sole me away from her an' our little gal, an' den sole her chile ter somebody else. arter free- dom, i hunted up our little gal, an' foun' her. she war a big woman den. den i com'd right back ter dis place an' foun' lindy. she hedn't married agin, nuther hed i; so we jis' let de parson marry us out er de book; an' we war mighty glad ter git togedder agin, an' feel hitched togedder fer life." "well, uncle daniel," said robert, turning the con- versation toward him, "you and uncle ben wouldn't go with us, but you came out all right at last." "yes, indeed," said aunt linda, "ben got inter a stream of luck. arter freedom com'd, de people had a heap of fath in ben; an' wen dey wanted some one to go ter congress dey jist voted for ben ter go. an' he went, too. an' wen salters went to washin'ton to git his pension, who should he see dere wid dem big men but our ben, lookin' jist as big as any ob dem." "an' it did my ole eyes good jist ter see it," broke in salters; "if i couldn't go dere myself, i war mighty glad to see some one ob my people dat could. i felt like de boy who, wen somebody said he war gwine to slap off his face, said, 'yer kin slap off my face, but i'se ioi.a leroy, got a big bruddcr, an'you can't slap off his face.' i went to see him 'fore i lcf, and he war jist de same as he war wen we war boys togedder. he hadn't got de big head a bit." "i reckon mirandy war mighty sorry she didn't stay wid him. i know i should be," said aunt linda. "uncle daniel," asked robert, "are you still preach- ing?" "yes, chile, i'se still firing off de gospel gun." "i hear some of the northern folks are down here teaching theology, that is, teaching young men how to preach. why don't you study theology?" "look a ycrc, boy, i've been a preachin'dese thirty years, an' you come yere a tellin' me 'bout studying yore ologics. i larn'd my 'ology at de foot ob de cross. you bin dar?" "dear uncle daniel," said iola, "the moral aspect of the nation would be changed if it would learn at the same cross to subordinate the spirit of caste to the spirit of christ." "does yer 'member miss nancy's harriet," asked aunt linda, "dat she sole away kase she wouldn't let her whip her? well, we think dis is harriet's gran'- chile. she war sole away from her mar, an' now she's a lookin' fer her." "well, i hopes she may fine her," replied salters. "i war sole 'way from my mammy wen i war eighteen mont's ole, an' i wouldn't know her now from a bunch ob turnips." "i," said iola, "am on my way south seeking for my mother, and i shall not give up until i find her." "come," said aunt linda, "we mustn't stan' yer or shadows uplifted. talkin', or de grub'll git cole. come, frens, sit down, an' eat some ob my pore supper." aunt linda sat at the table in such a flutter of excite- ment that she could hardly eat, but she gazed with in- tense satisfaction on her guests. robert sat on her right hand, contrasting aunt linda's pleasant situation with the old days in mrs. johnson's kitchen, where he had played his pranks upon her, and told her the news of the war. over iola there stole a spirit of restfulness. there was something so motherly in aunt linda's manner that it seemed to recall the bright, sunshiny days when she used to nestle in mam liza's arms, in her own happy home. the conversation was full of army rem- iniscences and recollections of the days of slavery. uncle daniel was much interested, and, as they rose from the table, exclaimed :— "robby, seein' yer an' hearin' yer talk, almos' puts new springs inter me. i feel 'mos' like i war gittin' younger." after the supper, salters and his guests returned to the front room, which aunt linda regarded with so much pride, and on which she bestowed so much care. "well, captin," said salters, "i neber 'spected ter see you agin. do you know de las' time i seed yer? well, you war on a stretcher, an' four ob us war carryin' you ter de hospital. war you much hurt? "no," replied robert, "it was only a flesh wound; and this young lady nursed me so carefully that i soon got over it." "is dat de way you foun' her?" "yes, andrews," iola leroy, "salters, cf you please," interrupted salters. use only andrews wen i gits my money." "well, salters," continued robert, "our freedom was a costly thing. did you know that captain sybil was killed in one of the last battles of the war? these young chaps, who are taking it so easy, don't know the hard- ships through which we older ones passed. but all the battles are not fought, nor all the victories won. the colored man has escaped from one slavery, and i don't want him to fall into another. i want the young folks to keep their brains clear, and their right arms strong, to fight the battles of life manfully, and take their places alongside of every other people in this country. and i cannot see what is to hinder them if they get a chance." "i don't nuther," said salters. "i don't see dat dey drinks any more dan anybody else, nor dat dcre is any meanness or debilment dat a black man kin do dat a white man can't keep step wid him." "yes," assented robert, "but while a white man is stealing a thousand dollars, a black man is getting into trouble taking a few chickens." "all that may be true," said iola, "but there are some things a white man can do that we cannot afford to do." "i beliebs cberybody, norf and souf, is lookin' at us; an' some ob dem ain't got no good blood fer us, nohow you fix it," said salters. "i specs cullud folks mus' hab done somcthin'," inter- posed aunt linda. nonsense," said robert. "i don't think they are any worse than the white people. i don't believe, if we or shadows uplifted. had the power, we would do any more lynching, burn- ing, and murdering than they do." "dat's so," said aunt linda, "it's ralely orful how our folks hab been murdered sence de war. but i don't think dese young folks is goin' ter take things as we's allers done." "we war cowed down from the beginnin'," said uncle daniel, "but dese young folks ain't comin' up dat way." "no," said salters, "fer one night arter some ob our pore people had been killed, an' some ob our women had run'd away 'bout seventeen miles, my gran'son, looking me squar in de face, said: 'ain't you got five fingers? can't you pull a trigger as well as a white man?' i tell yer, cap, dat jis' got to me, an' i made up my mine dat my boy should neber call me a coward." "it is not to be expected," said robert, "that these young people are going to put up with things as we did, when we weren't permitted to hold a meeting by our- selves, or to own a club or learn to read." "i tried," said salters, "to git a little out'er de book wen i war in de army. on sundays i sometimes takes a book an' tries to make out de words, but my eyes is gittin' dim an' de letters all run togedder, an' i gits sleepy, an' ef yer wants to put me to sleep jis' put a book in my han'. but wen it comes to gittin' out a stan' ob cotton, an' plantin' corn, i'se dere all de time. but dat gran'son ob mine is smart as a steel trap. i specs he'll be a preacher." salters looked admiringly at his grandson, who sat grinning in the corner, munching a pear he had brought from the table. "yes," said aunt linda, "his fadder war killed by ioi.a i.eroy, the seccsh, one night, comin' home from a politic meet- in', an' his pore mudder died a few weeks arter, an' we mean to make a man ob him." "he's got to lar n to work fust," said salters, "an' den ef he's right smart i'se gwine ter sen' him ter college. an' ef he can't get a libin' one way, he kin de oder." "yes," said iola, " i hope he will turn out an excel- lent young man, for the greatest need of the race is noble, earnest men, and true women." "job," said salters, turning to his grandson, "tell jake ter hitch up de mules, an' you stay dere an' help him. we's all gwine ter de big meetin'. yore grand- ma hab set her heart on goin', an' it'll be de same as a spell ob sickness ef she don't hab a chance to show her bes' bib an' tucker. that ole gal's as proud as a pea- cock." "now, john salters," exclaimed aunt linda, "ain't you 'shamed ob yourself? allers tryin' to poke fun at yer pore wife. never mine; wait till i'se gone, an' you'll miss me." "ef i war single," said salters, " i could git a putty young gal, but it wouldn't be so easy wid you." "why not ?" said iola, smiling. "'cause young men don't want ole hens, an' ole men want young pullets," was salter's reply. "robby, honey," said aunt linda, "when you gits a wife, don't treat her like dat man treats me." "oh, his head's level," answered robert; "at least it was in the army." "dat's jis' de way; you see dat, miss iola? one man takin' up for de oder. but i'll be eben wid you bof. i must go now an' git ready." or shadows uplifted. iola laughed. the homely enjoyment of that even- ing was very welcome to her after the trying scenes through which she had passed. further conversation was interrupted by the appearance of the wagon, drawn by two fine mules. john salters stopped joking his wife to admire his mules. "jis' look at dem," he said. "ain't dey beauties? i bought 'em out ob my bounty-money. arter de war war ober i had a little money, an' i war gwine ter rent a plantation on sheers an' git out a good stan' ob cotton. cotton war bringin' orful high prices den, but lindy said to me, ' now, john, you'se got a lot ob money, an' you'd better salt it down. i'd ruther lib on a little piece ob lan' ob my own dan a big piece ob somebody else's. well, i says to lindy, i dun know nuthin' 'bout buyin' lan', an' i'se 'fraid arter i'se done buyed it an' put all de marrer ob dese bones in it, dat somebody's far-off cousin will come an' say de title ain't good, an' i'll lose it all." "you're right thar, john," said uncle daniel. "white man's so unsartain, black man's nebber safe." "but somehow," continued salters, "lindy warn't satisfied wid rentin', so i buyed a piece ob lan', an' i'se glad now i'se got it. lindy's got a lot ob gumption; knows most as much as a man. she ain't got dat long head fer nuffin. she's got lots ob sense, but i don't like to tell her so." "why not?" asked iola. "do you think it would make her feel too happy?" "well, it don't do ter tell you women how much we thinks ob you. it sets you up too much. ole gun- dover's overseer war my marster, an' he used ter lib in dis iola leroy, bcry house. use fixed it up sence i'se got it. now i'se better off dan he is, 'cause he tuck to drink, an' all his frens is gone, an' he's in de pore-house." just then linda came to the door with her baskets. "now, lindy, ain't you ready yet? do hurry up." "yes, i'se ready, but things wouldn't go right ef you didn't hurry me." "well, put your chicken fixins an' cake right in here. captin, you'll ride wid me, an' de young lady an' my ole woman'll take de back seat. uncle dan'el, dere's room for you ef you'll go." "no, i thank you. it's time fer ole folks to go to bed. good night! an', bobby, i hopes to see you agin'." or shadows uplifted. chapter xx. a revelation. it was a lovely evening for the journey. the air was soft and balmy. the fields and hedges were redolent with flowers. not a single cloud obscured the bright- ness of the moon or the splendor of the stars. the ancient trees were festooned with moss, which hung like graceful draperies. ever and anon a startled hare glided over the path, and whip-poor-wills and crickets broke the restful silence of the night. robert rode quietly along, quaffing the beauty of the scene and thinking of his boyish days, when he gathered nuts and wild plums in those woods; he also indulged pleasant reminiscences of later years, when, with uncle daniel and tom anderson, he attended the secret prayer-meetings. iola rode along, conversing with aunt linda, amused and interested at the quaintness of her speech and the shrewdness of her intellect. to her the ride was de- lightful. "does yer know dis place, robby," asked aunt linda, as they passed an old resort. "i should think i did," replied robert. "it is the place where we held our last prayer-meeting." "an' dere's dat ole broken pot we used, ter tell 'bout de war. but warn't ole miss hoppin' wen she foun' out you war goin' to de war! i thought she'd go almos' wile. now, own up, robby, didn't you feel kine ob mean to go off widout eben biddin' her good bye? an' ioi.a leroy, i ralely think olc miss war fon' ob yer. now, own up, honey, didn't yer feel a little down in de mouf wen yer lef her." "not much," responded robert. "i only thought she was getting paid back for selling my mother." "dat's so, robby! yore mudder war a likely gal, wid long black hair, an' kine ob ginger-bread color. an' you neber hearn tell ob her sence dey sole her to 'georgia?" "never," replied robert, "but i would give every- thing i have on earth to see her once more. i do hope, if she is living, that i may meet her before i die." "you's right, boy, cause she lub'd you as she lub'd her own life. many a time hes she set in my ole cabin an' cried 'bout yer wen you war fas' asleep. it's all ober now, but i'se gwine to hole up fer dem yankees dat gib me my freedom, an' sent dem nice ladies from de norf to gib us some sense. some ob dese folks calls em nigger teachers, an' won't hab nuffin to do wid 'em, but i jis' thinks dey's splendid. but dere's some triflin' niggers down ycre who'll sell der votes for almost nuffin. does you 'member jake williams an' gundover's tom? well dem two niggers is de las' ob pea-time. dey's mighty small pertatcrs an* few in a hill." "oh, aunt linda," said robert, "don't call them niggers. they are our own people." "dey ain't my kine ob people. i jis' calls em nig- gers, an' niggers i means; an' de bigges' kine ob niggers. an' if my john war sich a nigger i'd whip him an' leave him." "an' what would i be a doin'," queried john, sud- denly rousing up at the mention of his name. or shadows uplifted. "standing still and taking it, i suppose," said iola, who had been quietly listening to and enjoying the con- versation. "yes, an' i'd ketch myself stan'in' still an' takin' it," was john's plucky response. "well, you oughter, ef you's mean enough to wote dat ticket ter put me back inter slavery," was aunt linda's parting shot. "robby," she continued, "you 'mem- ber miss nancy's jinnie?" "of course i do," said robert. "she married mr. gundover's dick. well, dere warn't much git up an' go 'bout him. so, wen 'lection time com'd, de man he war workin' fer tole him ef he woted de radical ticket he'd turn him off. well, jinnie war so 'fraid he'd do it, dat she j is' follered him fer days." "poor fellow!" exclaimed robert. "how did he come out?" "he certainly was between two fires," interposed iola. "oh, jinnie gained de day. she jis' got' her back up, and said, 'now ef yer wote dat ticket ter put me back inter slavery, you take yore rags an' go.' an' dick jis' woted de radical ticket. jake williams went on de secesh side, woted whar he thought he'd git his taters, but he got fooled es slick es greese." "how was that?" asked robert. "some ob dem folks, dat i 'spects buyed his wote, sent him some flour an' sugar. so one night his wife hab company ter tea. dey made a big spread, an' put a lot ob sugar on de table fer supper, an' tom jis' went fer dat sugar. he put a lot in his tea. but « iola leroy, somehow it didn't tase right, an' wen dey come ter fine out what war de matter, dey hab sent him a barrel ob san' wid some sugar on top, an' wen de sugar war all gone de san' war dare. wen i yeard it, i jis' split my sides a larfin. it war too good to keep; an' wen it got roun', jake war as mad as a march hare. but it sarved him right." "well, aunt linda, you musn't be too hard on uncle jake; you know he's getting old." "well he ain't too ole ter do right. he ain't no older dan uncle dan'el. an' i yered dey offered him $ ef he'd go on dere side. an' uncle dan'el wouldn't tech it. an' dere's uncle job's wife; why didn't she go dat way? she war down on job's meanness." "what did she do?" "wen 'lection time 'rived, he com'd home bring- ing some flour an' meat; an' he says ter aunt polly, 'ole woman, i got dis fer de wote.' she jis' picked up dat meat an' flour an' sent it sailin' outer doors, an' den com'd back an' gib him a good tongue-lashin'. 'oder people,' she said, 'a wotin' ter lib good, an' you a sellin' yore wote! ain't you got 'nuff ob ole marster, an' ole marster bin cuttin' you up? it shan't stay yere.' an' so she wouldn't let de things stay in de house." "what did uncle job do?" "he jis' stood dere an' cried." "and didn't you feel sorry for him ?" asked iola. "not a bit! he hedn't no business ter be so shabby." "but, aunt linda," pursued iola, "if it were shabby for an ignorant colored man to sell his vote, wasn't it shabbier for an intelligent white man to buy it?" i so iola leroy, "i rise, brcdren an' sisters, to say i'm on my solemn march to glory." "amen!" "glory!" came from a number of voices. "i've had my trials an' temptations, my ups an' downs; but i feels i'll soon be in one ob de many mansions. if it hadn't been for dat hope i 'spects i would have broken down long ago. i'se bin through de deep waters, but dey didn't overflow me; i'se bin in de fire, but de smell ob it isn't on my garments. brcdren an' sisters, it war a drefful time when i war tored away from my pore little chillen." "dat'sso!" exclaimed a chorus of voices. some of her hearers moaned, others rocked to and fro, as thoughts of similar scenes in their own lives arose before them. "when my little girl," continued the speaker, "took hole ob my dress an' begged me ter let her go wid me, an' i couldn't do it, it mos' broke my heart. i had a little boy, an'wen my mistus sole me she kep' him. she carried on a boardin' house. many's the time i hab stole out at night an' seen dat chile an' slecp'd wid him in my arms tell mos' day. bimeby de people i libed wid got hard up for money, an' dcy sole me one way an' my pore little gal de oder; an' i neber laid my eyes on my pore chillen sence den. but, honeys, let de wind blow high or low, i 'spects to outwedder de storm an' anchor by'm bye in bright glory. but i'se bin a prayin' fer one thing, an' i belicbs i'll git it; an' dat is dat i may see my chillen 'fore i die. pray fer me dat i may hole out an' hole on, an' neber make a shipwrack ob faith, an' at las' fine my way from earth to glory." having finished her speech, she sat down and wiped away the tears that flowed all the more copiously as she or shadows uplifted. grandchild, the daughter of the little girl who was sold away from you so long ago. she is on her way to the farther south in search of her mother." "is she? dear chile! i hope she'll fine her! she puts me in mine ob my pore little marie. well, i'se got one chile, an' i means to keep on prayin' tell i fine my daughter. i'm so happy! i feel's like a new woman!" "my dear mother," said robert, "now that i have found you, i mean to hold you fast just as long as you live. ever since the war i have been trying to find out if you were living, but all efforts failed. at last, i thought i would come and hunt you myself and, now that i have found you, i am going to take you home to live with me, and to be as happy as the days are long. i am living in the north, and doing a good business there. i want you to see joy according to all the days wherein you have seen sorrow. i do hope this young lady will find her ma and that, when found, she will prove to be your daughter!" "yes, pore, dear chile! i specs her mudder's heart's mighty hungry fer her. i does hope she's my gran'chile." tenderly and caressingly iola bent over the happy mother, with her heart filled with mournful memories of her own mother. aunt linda was induced to stay until the next morn- ing, and then gladly assisted robert's mother in arrang- ing for her journey northward. the friends who had given her a shelter in their hospitable home, learned to value her so much that it was with great reluctance they resigned her to the care of her son. aunt linda was full of bustling activity, and her spirits overflowed with good humor. iola leroy, "let it turn to vinegar, and sign the temperance pledge," replied robert. "i don't keer 'bout it myself, but i don't 'spect john would be willin' ter let it go, 'cause he likes it a heap." "then you must give it up for his sake and job's," said robert. "they may learn to like it too well." "you know, aunt linda," said iola, "people don't get to be drunkards all at once. and you wouldn't like to feel, if job should learn to drink, that you helped form his appetite." "dat* so! i beliebs i'll let dis turn to winegar, an' not make any more." "that's right, aunt linda. i hope you'll hold to it," said robert, encouragingly. very soon aunt linda had an excellent dinner pre- pared. after it was over robert went with iola to c , where her friend, the bishop, was awaiting her return. she told him the wonderful story of robert's finding his mother, and of her sweet, childlike faith. the bishop, a kind, fatherly man, said, "miss iola, i hope that such happiness is in store for you. my dear child, still continue to pray and trust. i am old-fashioned enough to believe in prayer. i knew an old lady living in illinois, who was a slave. her son got a chance to come north and beg money to buy his mother. the mother was badly treated, and made up her mind to run away. but before she started she thought she would kneel down to pray. and something, she said, reasoned within her, and whispered, 'stand still and see what i am going to do for you.' so real was it to her that she unpacked her bundle and desisted from her flight. strange as it may appear to you, her son returned, or shadows uplifted. bringing with him money enough to purchase her free- dom, and she was redeemed from bondage. had she persisted in running away she might have been lost in the woods and have died, exhausted by starvation. but she believed, she trusted, and was delivered. her soon took her north, where she could find a resting place for the soles of her feet." that night iola and the bishop left for the south. or shadows uplifted. "mother," said robert, as he entered the room, "i've brought an old friend to see you. do you remember uncle daniel?" uncle daniel threw back his head, reached out his hand, and manifested his joy with "well, haryet! is dis you? i neber 'spected to see you in dese lower grouns! how does yer do? an' whar hab you bin all dis time?" "o, i'se been tossin' roun' 'bout; but it's all com'd right at las'. i'se lib'd to see my boy 'fore i died." "my wife an' boys is in glory," said uncle daniel. "but i 'spects to see 'em 'fore long. 'cause i'se tryin' to dig deep, build sure, an' make my way from earth ter glory." "dat's de right kine ob talk, dan'el. we ole folks ain't got long ter stay yere." they chatted together until job and salters came home for supper. after they had eaten, uncle daniel said :— "we'll hab a word ob prayer." there, in that peaceful habitation, they knelt down, and mingled their prayers together, as they had done in bygone days, when they had met by stealth in lonely swamps or silent forests. the next morning robert and his mother started northward. they were well supplied with a bountiful luncheon by aunt linda, who had so thoroughly en- joyed their sojourn with her. on the next day he arrived in the city of p , and took his mother to his boarding-house, until he could find a suitable home into which to install her. he soon came across one which just suited his taste, but when the agent iola leroy, discovered that robert's mother was colored, he told him that the house had been previously engaged. in com- pany with his mother he looked at several other houses in desirable neighborhoods, but they were constantly met with the answ er, "the house is engaged," or, "we do not rent to colored people." at length robert w ent alone, and, finding a desirable house, engaged it, and moved into it. in a short time it was discovered that he was colored, and, at the behest of the local sentiment of the place, the landlord used his utmost endeavors to oust him, simply because he belonged to an unfashionable and unpopular race. at last he came across a landlord who was broad enough to rent him a good house, and he found a quiet resting place among a set of well-to-do and well-disposed people. or shadows up lifted. chapter xxii. further lifting of the veil. in one of those fearful conflicts by which the missis- sippi was freed from rebel intrusion and opened to com- merce harry was severely wounded, and forced to leave his place in the ranks for a bed in the hospital. one'day, as he lay in his bed, thinking of his former home in mississippi and wondering if the chances of war would ever restore him to his loved ones, he fell into a quiet slumber. when he awoke he found a lady bend- ing over him, holding in her hands some fruit and flow- ers. as she tenderly bent over harry's bed their eyes met, and with a thrill of gladness they recognized each other. "oh, my son, my son !" cried marie, trying to repress her emotion, as she took his wasted hand in hers, and kissed the pale cheeks that sickness and suffering had blanched. harry was very weak, but her presence was a call to life. he returned the pressure of her hand, kissed it, and his eyes grew full of sudden light, as he murmured faintly, but joyfully :— "mamma; oh, mamma! have i found you at last?" the effort was too much, and he immediately became unconscious. anxious, yet hopeful, marie sat by the bedside of her son till consciousness was restored. caressingly she bent over his couch, murmuring in her happiness the tenderest, sweetest words of motherly love. in harry's i iola leroy, veins flowed new life and vigor, calming the restlessness of his nerves. as soon as possible harry was carried to his mother's home; a home brought into the light of freedom by the victories of general grant. nursed by his mother's tender, loving care, he rapidly recovered, but, being too disabled to re-enter the army, he was honorably dis- charged. lorraine had taken marie to vicksburg, and there allowed her to engage in confectionery and preserving for the wealthy ladies of the city. he had at first attempted to refugee with her in texas, but, being foiled in the attempt, he was compelled to enlist in the confederate army, and met his fate by being killed just before the surrender of vicksburg. "my dear son," marie would say, as she bent fondly over him, " i am deeply sorry that you are wounded, but i am glad that the fortunes of war have brought us together. poor iola! i do wonder what has be- come of her? just as soon as this war is over i want you to search the country all over. poor child! how my heart has ached for her!" time passed on. harry and his mother searched and inquired for iola, but no tidings of her reached them. having fully recovered his health, and seeing the great need of education for the colored people, harry turned his attention toward them, and joined the new army of northern teachers. he still continued his inquiries for his sister, not knowing whether or not she had succumbed to the cruel change in her life. he thought she might have passed into the white basis for the sake of bettering her or shadows uplifted. fortunes. hope deferred, which had sickened his moth- er's heart, had only roused him to renewed diligence. a school was offered him in georgia, and thither he repaired, taking his mother with him. they were soon established in the city of a -. in hope of finding iola he visited all the conferences of the methodist church, but for a long time his search was in vain. "mamma," said harry, one day during his vacation, "there is to be a methodist conference in this state in the city of s -, about one hundred and fifty miles from here. i intend to go and renew my search for iola." "poor child !" burst out marie, as the tears gathered in her eyes, " i wonder if she is living." "i think so," said harry, kissing the pale cheek of his mother; "i don't feel that iola is dead. i believe we will find her before long." "it seems to me my heart would burst with joy to see my dear child just once more. i am glad that you are going. when will you leave?" "to-morrow morning." "well, my son, go, and my prayers will go with you," was marie's tender parting wish; early next morning harry started for the conference, and reached the church before the morning session was over. near him sat two ladies, one fair, the other con- siderably darker. there was something in the fairer one that reminded him forcibly of his sister, but she was much older and graver than he imagined his sister to be. instantly he dismissed the thought that had forced itself into his mind, and began to listen attentively to the pro- ceedings of the conference. iola leroy, when the regular business of the morning session was over the bishop arose and said :— "i have an interesting duty to perform. i wish to in- troduce a young lady to the conference, who was the daughter of a mississippi planter. she is now in search of her mother and brother, from whom she was sold a few months before the war. her father married her mother in ohio, where he had taken her to be educated. after his death they were robbed of their inheritance and enslaved by a distant relative named lorraine. miss iola leroy is the young lady's name. if any one can give the least information respecting the objects of her search it will be thankfully received." "i can," exclaimed a young man, rising in the midst of the audience, and pressing eagerly, almost impetuously, forward. "i am her brother, and i came here to look for her." iola raised her eyes to his face, so flushed and bright with the glow of recognition, rushed to him, threw her arms around his neck, kissed him again and again, cry- ing: "o, harry!" then she fainted from excitement. the women gathered around her with expressions of ten- der sympathy, and gave her all the care she needed. they called her the "dear child," for without any effort on her part she had slidden into their hearts and found a ready welcome in each sympathizing bosom. harry at once telegraphed the glad tidings to his mother, who waited their coming with joyful anticipa- tion. long before the cars reached the city, mrs. leroy was at the depot, restlessly walking the platform or eagerly peering into the darkness to catch the first glimpse of the train which was bearing her treasures. or shadows uplifted. at length the cars arrived, and, as harry and iola alighted, marie rushed forward, clasped iola in her arms and sobbed out her joy in broken words. very happy was the little family that sat together around the supper-table for the first time for years. they partook of that supper with thankful hearts and with eyes overflowing with tears of joy. very touching were the prayers the mother uttered, when she knelt with her children that night to return thanks for their happy reunion, and to seek protection through the slumbers of the night. the next morning, as they sat at the breakfast-table, marie said:— "my dear child, you are so changed i do not think i would have known you if i had met you in the street!" "and i," said harry, "can hardly realize that you are our own iola, whom i recognized as sister a half dozen years ago." "am i so changed?" asked iola, as a faint sigh es- caped her lips. "why, iola," said harry, "you used to be the most harum-scarum girl i ever knew—laughing, dancing, and singing from morning until night." "yes, i remember," said iola. "it all comes back to me like a dream. oh, mamma! i have passed through a fiery ordeal of suffering since then. but it is useless," and as she continued her face assumed a brighter look, "to brood over the past. let us be happy in the present. let me tell you something which will please you. do you remember telling me about your mother and brother?" "yes," said marie, in a questioning tone." iola leroy, "well," continued iola, with eyes full of gladness, "i think i have found them." "can it be possible!" exclaimed marie, in astonish- ment. "it is more than thirty years since we parted. i fear you are mistaken." "no, mamma; i have drawn my conclusions from good circumstantial evidence. after i was taken from you, i passed through a fearful siege of suffering, which would only harrow up your soul to hear. i often shudder at the remembrance. the last man in whose clutches i found myself was mean, brutal, and cruel. i was in his power when the union army came into c , where i was living. a number of colored men stampeded to the union ranks, with a gentleman as a leader, whom i think is your brother. a friend of his reported my case to the commander of the post, who instantly gave orders for my release. a place was given me as nurse in the hospital. i attended that friend in his last ill- ness. poor fellow! he was the best friend i had in all the time i have been tossing about. the gentleman whom i think is your brother appeared to be very anx- ious about his friend's recovery, and was deeply affected by his death. in one of the last terrible battles of the war, that of five forks, he was wounded and put into the hospital ward where i was an attendant. for awhile he was delirious, and in his delirium he would sometimes think that i was his mother and at other times his sister. i humored his fancies, would often sing to him when he was restless, and my voice almost invariably soothed him to sleep. one day i sang to him that old hymn we used to sing on the planta- tion :— i « iola leroy, chapter xxiii. dei.ichtful reunions. very bright and happy was the home where marie and her children were gathered under one roof. mrs. leroy's neighbors said she looked ten years younger. into that peaceful home came no fearful forebodings of cruel separations. harry and iola were passionately devoted to their mother, and did all they could to flood her life with sunshine. "iola, dear," said harry, one morning at the break- fast-table, "i have a new pleasure in store for you." "what is it, brother mine ?" asked iola, assuming an air of interest. "there is a young lady living in this city to whom i wish to introduce you. she is one of the most remark- able women i have ever met." "do tell me all about her," said iola. "is she young and handsome, brilliant and witty? "she," replied harry, "is more than handsome, she is lovely; more than witty, she is wise; more than brill- iant, she is excellent." "well, harry," said mrs. leroy, smiling, "if you keep on that way i shall begin to fear that i shall soon be supplanted by a new daughter." "oh, no, mamma," replied harry, looking slightly confused, "i did not mean that." "well, harry," said iola, amused, "go on with your description; i am becoming interested. tax your pow- ers of description to give me her likeness." or shadows upltfted. i "well, in the first place," continued harry, "i sup- pose she is about twenty-five years old." "oh, the idea," interrupted iola, "of a gentleman talking of a lady's age. that is a tabooed subject." "why, iola, that adds to the interest of my picture. it is her combination of earnestness and youthfulness which enhances her in my estimation." "pardon the interruption," said iola; "i am anxious to hear more about her." "well, she is of medium height, somewhat slender, and well formed, with dark, expressive eyes, full of thought and feeling. neither hair nor complexion show the least hint of blood admixture." "i am glad of it," said iola. "every person of un- mixed blood who succeeds in any department of lit- erature, art, or science is a living argument for the capa- bility which is in the race." "yes," responded harry, "for it is not the white blood which is on trial before the world. well, i will bring her around this evening." in the evening harry brought miss delany to call on his sister and mother. they were much pleased with their visitor. her manner was a combination of suavity and dignity. during the course of the evening they learned that she was a graduate of the university of a . one day she saw in the newspapers that col- ored women were becoming unfit to be servants for white people. she then thought that if they are not fit to be servants for white people, they are unfit to be mothers to their own children, and she conceived the idea of opening a school to train future wives and moth- ers. she began on a small scale, in a humble building, iola leroy, "marie," said robert, "how would you like to leave the south?" "i should like to go north, but i hate to leave harry. he's a splendid young fellow, although i say it myself. he is so fearless and outspoken that i am constantly anxious about him, especially at election time." harry then entered the room, and, being introduced to robert, gave him a cordial welcome. he had just returned from school. "we were talking of you, my son," said marie. "what were you saying? nothing of the absent but good ?" asked harry. "i was telling your uncle, who wants me to come north, that i would go, but i am afraid that you will get into trouble and be murdered, as many others have been." "oh, well, mother, i shall not die till my time comes. and if i die helping the poor and needy, i shall die at my post. could a man choose a better place to die?" "were you aware of the virulence of caste prejudice and the disabilities which surround the colored people when you cast your lot with them?" asked robert. "not fully," replied harry; "but after i found out that i was colored, i consulted the principal of the school, where i was studying, in reference to the future. he said that if i stayed in the north, he had friends whom he believed would give me any situation i could fill, and i could simply take my place in the rank of workers, the same as any other man. then he told me of the army, and i made up my mind to enter it, actu- ated by a desire to find my mother and sister; and at iola leroy, company with robert johnson, intending to follow as soon as she could settle her business and see harry in a good boarding place. very joyful was the greeting of the dear grandmother. iola soon nestled in her heart and lent additional sun- shine to her once checkered life, and robert, who had so long been robbed of kith and kin, was delighted with the new accession to his home life. iola leroy, for awhile everything went as pleasantly as a mar- riage bell. but one day a young colored lady, well- dressed and well-bred in her manner, entered the store. it was an acquaintance which iola had formed in the colored church which she attended. iola gave her a few words of cordial greeting, and spent a few mo- ments chatting with her. the attention of the girls who sold at the same counter was attracted, and their suspicion awakened. iola was a stranger in that city. who was she, and who were her people? at last it was decided that one of the girls should act as a spy, and bring what information she could concerning iola. the spy was successful. she found out that iola was living in a good neighborhood, but that none of the neighbors knew her. the man of the house was very fair, but there was an old woman whom iola called "grandma," and she was unmistakably colored. the story was sufficient. if that were true, iola must be colored, and she should be treated accordingly. without knowing the cause, iola noticed a chill in the social atmosphere of the store, which communicated it- self to the cash-boys, and they treated her so insolently that her situation became very uncomfortable. she saw the proprietor, resigned her position, and asked for and obtained a letter of recommendation to another mer- chant who had advertised for a saleswoman. in applying for the place, she took the precaution to inform her employer that she was colored. it made no difference to him; but he said :— "don't say anything about it to the girls. they might not be willing to work with you." iola smiled, did not promise, and accepted the situa- or shadows uplifted. tion. she entered upon her duties, and proved quite acceptable as a saleswoman. one day, during an interval in business, the girls began to talk of their respective churches, and the ques- tion was put to iola:— "where do you go to church?" "i go," she replied, "to rev. river's church, corner of eighth and l streets." "oh, no; you must be mistaken. there is no church there except a colored one." "that is where i go." "why do you go there?" "because i liked it when i came here, and joined it." "a member of a colored church? what under heaven possessed you to do such a thing?" "because i wished to be with my own people." here the interrogator stopped, and looked surprised and pained, and almost instinctively moved a little farther from her. after the store was closed, the girls had an animated discussion, which resulted in the information being sent to mr. cohen that iola was a colored girl, and that they protested against her being continued in his employ. mr. cohen yielded to the pressure, and informed iola that her services were no longer needed. when robert came home in the evening, he found that iola had lost her situation, and was looking some- what discouraged. "well, uncle," she said, "i feel out of heart. it seems as if the prejudice pursues us through every avenue of life, and assigns us the lowest places." "that is so," replied robert, thoughtfully. iola leroy, "and yet i am determined," said iola, "to win for myself a place in the fields of labor. i have heard of a place in new england, and i mean to try for it, even if i only stay a few months." "well, if you will go, say nothing about your color." "" uncle robert, i see no necessity for proclaiming that fact on the house-top. yet i am resolved that nothing shall tempt me to deny it. the best blood in my veins is african blood, and i am not ashamed of it." "hurrah for you!" exclaimed robert, laughing heartily. as iola wished to try the world for herself, and so be prepared for any emergency, her uncle and grandmother were content to have her go to new england. the town to which she journeyed was only a few hours' ride from the city of p , and robert, knowing that there is no teacher like experience, was willing that iola should have the benefit of her teaching. iola, on arriving in h , sought the firm, and was informed that her services were needed. she found it a pleasant and lucrative position. there was only one drawback—her boarding place was too far from her work. there was an institution conducted by pro- fessed christian women, which was for the special use of respectable young working girls. this was in such a desirable location that she called at the house to en- gage board. the matron conducted her over the house, and grew so friendly in the interview that she put her arm around her, and seemed to look upon iola as a desirable acces- sion to the home. but, just as iola was leaving, she io iola leroy, hair, was the rosy-chcekcd child from whom she had been parted more than thirty years. "well," said robert, after the first joyous greeting was over, "love is a very good thing, but marie has had a long journey and needs something that will stick by the ribs. how about dinner, mother?" "it's all ready," said mrs. johnson. after marie had gone to her room and changed her dress, she came down and partook of the delicious repast which her mother and iola had prepared for her. in a few days marie was settled in the home, and was well pleased with the change. the only drawback to her happiness was the absence of her son, and she expected him to come north after the closing of his school. "uncle robert," said iola, after her mother had been with them several weeks, "i am tired of being idle." "what's the matter now ?" asked robert. "you are surely not going east again, and leave your mother?" "oh, i hope not," said marie, anxiously. "i have been so long without you." "no, mamma, i am not going east. i can get suit- able employment here in the city of p ." "but, iola," said robert, "you have tried, and been defeated. why subject yourself to the same experience again?" "uncle robert, i think that every woman should have some skill or art which would insure her at least a comfortable support. i believe there would be less unhappy marriages if labor were more honored among women." "well, iola," said her mother, "what is your skill?'' "nursing. i was very young when i went into the or shadows uplifted. hospital, but i succeeded so well that the doctor said i must have been a born nurse. now, i see by the papers, that a gentleman who has an invalid daughter wants some one who can be a nurse and companion for her, and i mean to apply for the situation. i do not think, if i do my part well in that position, that the blood in my veins will be any bar to my success." a troubled look stole over marie's face. she sighed faintly, but made no remonstrance. and so it was de- cided that iola should apply for the situation. iola made application, and was readily accepted. her patient was a frail girl of fifteen summers, who was ill with a low fever. iola nursed her carefully, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing her restored to health. during her stay, mr. cloten, the father of the invalid, had learned some of the particulars of iola's northern experience as a bread-winner, and he resolved to give her employment in his store when her services were no longer needed in the house. as soon as a vacancy occurred he gave iola a place in his store. the morning she entered on her work he called his employees together, and told them that miss iola had colored blood in her veins, but that he was going to em- ploy her and give her a desk. if any one objected to working with her, he or she could step to the cashier's desk and receive what was due. not a man remon- strated, not a woman demurred; and iola at last found a place in the great army of bread-winners, which the traditions of her blood could not affect. "how did you succeed?" asked mrs. cloten of her husband, when he returned to dinner. "admirably! 'everything is lovely and the goose iola leroy, hangs high.' i gave my employes to understand that they could leave if they did not wish to work with miss leroy. not one of them left, or showed any disposition to rebel." "i am very glad," said mrs cloten. "i am ashamed of the way she has been treated in our city, when seek- ing to do her share in the world's work. i am glad that you were brave enough to face this cruel prejudice, and give her a situation." "well, my dear, do not make me a hero for a single act. i am grateful for the care miss leroy gave our daisy. money can buy services, but it cannot purchase tender, loving sympathy. i was also determined to let my employees know that i, not they, coriimanded my business. so, do not crown me a hero until i have won a niche in the temple of fame. in dealing with southern prejudice against the negro, we northerners could do it with better grace if we divested ourselves of our own. we irritate the south by our criticisms, and, while i confess that there is much that is reprehensible in their treatment of colored people, yet if our northern civiliza- tion is higher than theirs we should 'criticise by creation.' we should stamp ourselves on the south, and not let the south stamp itself on us. when we have learned to treat men according to the complexion of their souls, and not the color of their skins, we will have given our best contribution towards the solution of the negro problem." "i feel, my dear," said mrs. cloten, "that what you have done is a right step in the right direction, and i hope that other merchants will do the same. we have numbers of business men, rich enough to afford them- selves the luxury of a good conscience." or shadows uplifted. chapter xxv. an old friend. "good-morning, miss leroy," said a cheery voice in tones of glad surprise, and, intercepting her path, dr. gresham stood before iola, smiling, and reaching out his hand. "why, dr. gresham, is this you?" said iola, lifting her eyes to that well-remembered face. "it has been several years since we met. how have you been all this time, and where?" "i have been sick, and am just now recovering from malaria and nervous prostration. i am attending a med- ical convention in this city, and hope that i shall have the pleasure of seeing you again." iola hesitated, and then replied: "i should be pleased to have you call." "it would give me great pleasure. where shall i call?" "my home is south street, but i am only at home in the evenings." they walked together a short distance till they reached mr. cloten's store; then, bidding the doctor good morn- ing, iola left him repeating to himself the words of his favorite poet:— "thou art too lovely and precious a gem to be bound to their burdens and sullied by them." no one noticed the deep flush on iola's face as she entered the store, nor the subdued, quiet manner with iola leroy, which she applied herself to her tasks. she was living over again the past, with its tender, sad, and thrilling reminiscences. in the evening dr. gresham called on iola. she met him with a pleasant welcome. dr. gresham gazed upon her with unfeigned admiration, and thought that the years, instead of detracting from, had only intensified, her loveliness. he had thought her very beautiful in the hospital, in her gray dress and white collar, with her glorious wealth of hair drawn over her ears. but now, when he saw her with that hair artistically arranged, and her finely-proportioned form arrayed in a dark crimson dress, relieved by a shimmer of lace and a bow of white ribbon at her throat, he thought her superbly handsome. the lines which care had written upon her young face had faded away. there was no undertone of sorrow in her voice as she stood up before him in the calm love- liness of her ripened womanhood, radiant in beauty and gifted in intellect. time and failing health had left their traces upon dr. gresham. his step was less bound- ing, his cheek a trifle paler, his manner somewhat graver than it was when he had parted from iola in the hos- pital, but his meeting with her had thrilled his heart with unexpected pleasure. hopes and sentiments which long had slept awoke at the touch of her hand and the tones of her voice, and dr. gresham found himself turning to the past, with its sad memories and disappointed hopes. no other face had displaced her image in his mind; no other love had woven itself around every tendril of his soul. his heart and hand were just as free as they were the hour they had parted. l iola leroy, "admirably! i have been fortunate in finding my mother, my sister, and her children." "ah, indeed! i am delighted to hear it where are they?" "they are right here. this is my mother," said rob- ert, bending fondly over her, as she returned his recog- nition with an expression of intense satisfaction; "and this," he continued, "is my sister, and miss leroy is my niece." "is it possible! i am very glad to hear it. it has been said that every cloud has its silver lining, and the silver lining of our war cloud is the redemption of a race and the reunion of severed hearts. war is a dreadful thing; but worse than the war was the slavery which preceded it." "slavery," said iola, "was a fearful cancer eating into the nation's heart, sapping its vitality, and undermining its life." "and war," said dr. gresham, "was the dreadful sur- gery by which the disease was eradicated. the cancer has been removed, but for years to come i fear that we will have to deal with the effects of the disease. but i believe that we have vitality enough to outgrow those effects." "i think, doctor," said iola, "that there is but one remedy by which our nation can recover from the evil entailed upon her by slavery." "what is that?" asked robert. "a fuller comprehension of the claims of the gospel of jesus christ, and their application to our national life." "yes," said robert; "while politicians are stumbling or shadows uplifted. "i do not understand you," said dr. gresham, look- ing somewhat puzzled. "doctor," continued iola, "i do not think life's high- est advantages are those that we can see with our eyes or grasp with our hands. to whom to-day is the world most indebted—to its millionaires or to its martyrs?" "taking it from the ideal standpoint," replied the doctor, "i should say its martyrs." "to be," continued iola, "the leader of a race to higher planes of thought and action, to teach men clearer views of life and duty, and to inspire their souls with loftier aims, is a far greater privilege than it is to open the gates of material prosperity and fill every home with sensuous enjoyment." "and i," said mrs. leroy, her face aglow with fervid feeling, "would rather—ten thousand times rather—see harry the friend and helper of the poor and ignorant than the companion of men who, under the cover of night, mask their faces and ride the country on lawless raids." "dr. gresham," said robert, "we ought to be the leading nation of the earth, whose influence and exam- ple should give light to the world." "not simply," said iola, "a nation building up a great material prosperity, founding magnificent cities, grasping the commerce of the world, or excelling in literature, art, and science, but a nation wearing sobriety as a crown and righteousness as the girdle of her loins." dr. gresham gazed admiringly upon iola. a glow of enthusiasm overspread her beautiful, expressive face. there was a rapt and far-off look in her eye, as if she were looking beyond the present pain to a brighter iot.a i.eroy, future for the race with which she was identified, and felt the grandeur of a divine commission to labor for its uplifting. as dr. gresham was parting with robert, he said: "this meeting has been a very unexpected pleasure. i have spent a delightful evening. i only regret that i had not others to share it with me. a doctor from the south, a regular bourbon, is stopping at the hotel. i wish he could have been here to-night. come down to the concordia, mr. johnson, to-morrow night. if you know any colored man who is a strong champion of equal rights, bring him along. good-night. i shall look for you," said the doctor, as he left the door. when robert returned to the parlor he said to iola: "dr. gresham has invited me to come to his hotel to- morrow night, and to bring some wide-awake colored man with me. there is a southerner whom he wishes me to meet. i suppose he wants to discuss the negro problem, as they call it. he wants some one who can do justice to the subject. i wonder whom i can take with me?" "i will tell you who, i think, will be a capital one to take with you, and i believe he would go," said iola. "who?" asked robert. "rev. carmicle, your pastor." "he is just the one," said robert, "courteous in his manner and very scholarly in his attainments. he is a man whom if everybody hated him no one could despise him." or shadows uplifred. chapter xxvi. open questions. in the evening robert and rev. carmicle called on dr. gresham, and found dr. latrobe, the southerner, and a young doctor by the name of latimer, already there. dr. gresham introduced dr. latrobe, but it was a new experience to receive colored men socially. his wits, however, did not forsake him, and he received the introduction and survived it. "permit me, now," said dr. gresham, "to introduce you to my friend, dr. latimer, who is attending our convention. he expects to go south and labor among the colored people. don't you think that there is a large field of usefulness before him?" "yes," replied dr. latrobe, "if he will let politics^ alone." "and why let politics alone ?" asked dr. gresham. "because," replied dr. latrobe, "we southerners will never submit to negro supremacy. we will never abandon our caucasian civilization to an inferior race." "have you any reason," inquired rev. carmicle, "to dread that a race which has behind it the heathenism of africa and the slavery of america, with its inheritance of ignorance and poverty, will be able, in less than one generation, to domineer over a race which has behind it ages of dominion, freedom, education, and chris- tianity?" a slight shade of vexation and astonishment passed iola leroy, "and i am sorry that we have not done more to protect them in peace." "protect them in peace!" said robert, bitterly. "what protection does the colored man receive from the hands of the government? i know of no civilized country outside of america where men are still burned for real or supposed crimes." "johnson," said dr. gresham, compassionately, "it is impossible to have a policeman at the back of each col- ored man's chair, and a squad of soldiers at each cross- road, to detect with certainty, and punish with celerity, each invasion of his rights. we tried provisional gov- ernments and found them a failure. it seemed like leaving our former allies to be mocked with the name of freedom and tortured with the essence of slavery. the ballot is our weapon of defense, and we gave it to them for theirs." "and there," said dr. latrobe, emphatically, "is where you signally failed. we are numerically stronger in congress to-day than when we went out. you made the law, but the administration of it is in our hands, and we are a unit." "but, doctor," said rev. carmicle, "you cannot will- fully deprive the negro of a single right as a citizen without sending demoralization through your own ranks." "i think," said dr. latrobe, "that we are right in suppressing the negro's vote. this is a white man's government, and a white man's country. we own nineteen-twentieths of the land, and have about the same ratio of intelligence. i am a white man, and, right or wrong, i go with my race." "but, doctor," said rev. carmicle, "there are rights or shadows uplifted. $ more sacred than the rights of property and superior in- telligence." "what are they?" asked dr. latrobe. "the rights of life and liberty," replied rev. car- micle. "that is true," said dr. gresham; "and your south- ern civilization will be inferior until you shall have placed protection to those rights at its base, not in theory but in fact." "but, dr. gresham, we have to live with these people, and the north is constantly irritating us by its criticisms." "the world," said dr. gresham, "is fast becoming a vast whispering gallery, and lips once sealed can now state their own grievances and appeal to the conscience of the nation, and, as long as a sense of justice and mercy retains a hold upon the heart of our nation, you cannot practice violence and injustice without rousing a spirit of remonstrance. and if it were not so i would be ashamed of my country and of my race." "you speak," said dr. latrobe, "as if we had wronged the negro by enslaving him and being unwilling to share citizenship with him. i think that slavery has been of incalculable value to the negro. it has lifted him out of barbarism and fetich worship, given him a language of civilization, and introduced him to the world's best religion. think what he was in africa and what he is in america!" "the negro," said dr. gresham, thoughtfully, "is not the only branch of the human race which has been low down in the scale of civilization and freedom, and which has outgrown the measure of his chains. slavery, iola leroy, "i think," said dr. latrobe, "that feeling grows out of our anglo-saxon regard for the marriage relation. these white negroes are of illegitimate origin, and we would scorn to share our social life with them. their blood is tainted." "who tainted it?" asked dr. latimer, bitterly. "you give absolution to the fathers, and visit the mis- fortunes of the mothers upon the children." "but, doctor, what kind of society would we have if we put down the bars and admitted everybody to social equality?" "this idea of social equality," said dr. latimer, "is only a bugbear which frightens well-meaning people from dealing justly with the negro. i know of no place on earth where there is perfect social equality, and i doubt if there is such a thing in heaven. the sinner who repents on his death-bed cannot be the equal of st. paul or the beloved disciple." "doctor," said dr. gresham, "i sometimes think that the final solution of this question will be the absorption of the negro into our race." "never! never!" exclaimed dr. latrobe, vehement- ly. "it would be a death blow to american civiliza- tion." "why, doctor," said dr. latimer, "you southerners began this absorption before the war. i understand that in one decade the mixed bloods rose from one-ninth to one-eighth of the population, and that as early as a law was passed in maryland to prevent english women from intermarrying with slaves; and, even now, your laws against miscegenation presuppose that you appre- hend danger from that source." or shadows uplifted. "doctor, it is no use talking," replied dr. latrobe, wearily. "there are niggers who are as white as i am, but the taint of blood is there and we always exclude it." "how do you know it is there ?" asked dr. gresham. "oh, there are tricks of blood which always betray them. my eyes are more practiced than yours. i can always tell them. now, that johnson is as white as any man; but i knew he was a nigger the moment i saw him. i saw it in his eye." dr. latimer smiled at dr. latrobe's assertion, but did not attempt to refute it; and bade him good-night. "i think," said dr. latrobe, "that our war was the great mistake of the nineteenth century. it has left us very serious complications. we cannot amalgamate with the negroes. we cannot expatriate them. now, what are we to do with them?" "deal justly with them," said dr. gresham, "and let them alone. try to create a moral sentiment in the na- tion, which will consider a wrong done to the weakest of them as a wrong done to the whole community. when- ever you find ministers too righteous to be faithless, cowardly, and time serving; women too christly to be scornful; and public men too noble to be tricky and too honest to pander to the prejudices of the people, stand by them and give them your moral support." "doctor," said latrobe, "with your views you ought to be a preacher striving to usher in the millennium." "it can't come too soon," replied dr. gresham. or shadows uplifted. "it is the public opinion which assigns me a place with the colored people." "but what right has public opinion to interfere with our marriage relations? why should we yield to its be- hests?" "because it is stronger than we are, and we cannot run counter to it without suffering its penalties." "and what are they, iola? shadows that you merely dread?" "no! no! the penalties of social ostracism north and south, except here and there some grand and noble exceptions. i do not think that you fully realize how much prejudice against colored people permeates society, lowers the tone of our religion, and reacts upon the life of the nation. after freedom came, mamma was living in the city of a , and wanted to unite with a christian church there. she made application for membership. she passed her examination as a candi- date, and was received as a church member. when she was about to make her first communion, she uninten- tionally took her seat at the head of the column. the elder who was administering the communion gave her the bread in the order in which she sat, but before he gave her the wine some one touched him on the shoul- der and whispered a word in his ear. he then passed mamma by, gave the cup to others, and then returned to her. from that rite connected with the holiest memories of earth, my poor mother returned humiliated and depressed." "what a shame!" exclaimed dr. gresham, indignantly. "i have seen," continued iola, "the same spirit mani- fested in the north. mamma once attempted to do iola leroy, missionary work in this city. one day she found an outcast colored girl, whom she wished to rescue. she took her to an asylum for fallen women and made an application for her, but was refused. colored girls were not received there. soon after mamma found among the colored people an outcast white girl. mamma's sympathies, unfettered by class distinction, were aroused in her behalf, and, in company with two white ladies, she went with the girl to that same refuge. for her the door was freely opened and admittance readily granted. it was as if two women were sinking in the quicksands, and on the solid land stood other women with life-lines in their hands, seeing the deadly sands slowly creeping up around the hapless victims. to one they readily threw the lines of deliverance, but for the other there was not one strand of salvation. sometime since,to the same asylum, came a poor fallen girl who had escaped from the clutches of a wicked woman. for her the door would have been opened, had not the vile woman from whom she was escaping followed her to that place of refuge and revealed the fact that she belonged to the colored race. that fact was enough to close the door upon her, and to send her back to sin and to suffer, and perhaps to die as a wretched outcast. and yet in this city where a number of charities are advertised, i do not think there is one of them which, in appealing to the public, talks more religion than the managers of this asylum. this prejudice against the colored race envi- rons our lives and mocks our aspirations." "iola, i see no use in your persisting that you are colored when your eyes are as blue and complexion as white as mine." or shadows uplifted. "doctor, were i your wife, are there not people who would caress me as a white woman who would shrink from me in scorn if they knew i had one drop of negro blood in my veins? when mistaken for a white woman i should hear things alleged against the race at which my blood would boil. no, doctor, i am not willing to live under a shadow of concealment which i thoroughly hate as if the blood in my veins were an undetected crime of my soul." "iola, dear, surely you paint the picture too darkly." "doctor, i have painted it with my heart's blood. it is easier to outgrow the dishonor of crime than the disa- bilities of color. you have created in this country an aristocracy of color wide enough to include the south with its treason and utah with its abominations, but too narrow to include the best and bravest colored man who bared his breast to the bullets of the enemy during your fratricidal strife. is not the most arrant rebel to-day more acceptable to you than the most faithful colored man?" "no! no!" exclaimed dr. gresham, vehemently. "you are wrong. i belong to the grand army of the republic. we have no separate state posts for the colored people, and, were such a thing proposed, the ma- jority of our members, i believe, would be against it. in congress colored men have the same seats as white men, and the color line is slowly fading out in our pub- lic institutions." "but how is it in the church ?" asked iola. "the church is naturally conservative. it preserves old truths, even if it is somewhat slow in embracing new ideas. it has its social as well as its spiritual side. iola leroy, "yes," said dr. gresham. "continental europe yearly sends to our shores subjects to be developed into citizens. emancipation has given us millions of new citizens, and to them our influence and example should be a blessing and not a curse." "well," said dr. latimer, " i intend to go south, and help those who so much need helpers from their own ranks." "i hope," answered dr. latrobe, "that if you go south you will only sustain business relations with the negroes, and not commit the folly of equalizing yourself with them." "why not?" asked dr. latimer, steadily looking him in the eye. "because in equalizing yourself with them you drag us down; and our social customs must be kept intact." "you have been associating with me at the conven- tion for several days; i do not see that the contact has dragged you down, has it?" "you! what has that got to do with associating with niggers ?" asked dr. latrobe, curtly. "the blood of that race is coursing through my veins. i am one of them," replied dr. latimer, proudly raising his head. "you!" exclaimed dr. latrobe, with an air of pro- found astonishment and crimsoning face. "yes;" interposed dr. gresham, laughing heartily at dr. latrobe's discomfiture. "he belongs to that negro race both by blood and choice. his father's mother made overtures to receive him as her grandson and heir, but he has nobly refused to forsake his mother's people and has cast his lot with them." iola leroy. before him loomed all the possibilities which only birth and blood can give a white man in our democratic country. but he was a man of too much sterling worth of character to be willing to forsake his mother's race for the richest advantages his grandmother could bestow. dr. gresham had met dr. latimer at the beginning of the convention, and had been attracted to him by his frank and genial manner. one morning, when convers- ing with him, dr. gresham had learned some of the salient points of his history, which, instead of repelling him, had only deepened his admiration for the young doctor. he was much amused when he saw the pleas- ant acquaintanceship between him and dr. latrobe, but they agreed to be silent about his racial connection until the time came when they were ready to divulge it; and they were hugely delighted at his signal blunder. or shadows uplifted. i chapter xxix. visitors from the south. "mamma is not well," said iola to robert. "i spoke to her about sending for a doctor, but she objected and i did not insist." "i will ask dr. latimer, whom i met at the con- cordia, to step in. he is a splendid young fellow. i wish we had thousands like him." in the evening the doctor called. without appear- ing to make a professional visit he engaged marie in conversation, watched her carefully, and came to the conclusion that her failing health proceeded more from mental than physical causes. "i am so uneasy about harry," said mrs. leroy. he is so fearless and outspoken. i do wish the atten- tion of the whole nation could be turned to the cruel barbarisms which are a national disgrace. i think the term 'bloody shirt' is one of the most heartless phrases ever invented to divert attention from cruel wrongs and dreadful outrages." just then iola came in and was introduced by her uncle to dr. latimer, to whom the introduction was a sudden and unexpected pleasure. after an interchange of courtesies, marie resumed the conversation, saying: "harry wrote me only last week that a young friend of his had lost his situation because he refused to have his pupils strew flowers on the streets through which jefferson davis was to pass." iola leroy, "i think," said dr. latimer, indignantly, "that the israelites had just as much right to scatter flowers over the bodies of the egyptians, when the waves threw back their corpses on the shores of the red sea, as these children had to strew the path of jefferson davis with flowers. we want our boys to grow up manly citizens, and not cringing sycophants. when do you expect your son, mrs. leroy?" "some time next week," answered marie. "and his presence will do you more good than all the medicine in my chest." "i hope, doctor," said mrs. leroy, "that we will not lose sight of you, now that your professional visit is ended; for i believe your visit was the result of a con- spiracy between iola and her uncle." dr. latimer laughed, as he answered, "ah, mrs. leroy, i see you have found us all out." "oh, doctor," exclaimed iola, with pleasing excite- ment, "there is a young lady coming here to visit me next week. her name is miss lucille delany, and she is my ideal woman. she is grand, brave, intellectual, and religious." "is that so? she would make some man an excel- lent wife," replied dr. latimer. "now isn't that perfectly manlike," answered iola, smiling. "mamma, what do you think of that? did any of you gentlemen ever see a young woman of much ability that you did not look upon as a flotsam all adrift until some man had appropriated her?" "i think, miss leroy, that the world's work, if shared, is better done than when it is performed alone. don't you think your life-work will be better done if or shadows uplifted. some one shares it with you?" asked dr. latimer, slowly, and with a smile in his eyes. "that would depend on the person who shared it," said iola, faintly blushing. "here," said robert, a few evenings after this conver- sation, as he handed iola a couple of letters, "is some- thing which will please you." iola took the letters, and, after reading one of them, said: "miss delany and harry will be here on wed- nesday; and this one is an invitation which also adds to my enjoyment." "what is it?" asked marie; "an invitation to a hop or a german?" "no; but something which i value far more. we are all invited to mr. stillman's to a conversazione? "what is the object?" "his object is to gather some of the thinkers and leaders of the race to consult on subjects of vital interest to our welfare. he has invited dr. latimer, professor gradnor, of north carolina, mr. forest, of new york, hon. dugdale, revs. carmicle, cantnor, tunster, pro- fessor langhorne, of georgia, and a few ladies, mrs. watson, miss brown, and others." "i am glad that it is neither a hop nor a german," said iola, "but something for which i have been long- ing." "why, iola," asked robert, "don't you believe in young people having a good time?" "oh, yes," answered iola, seriously, " i believe in young people having amusements and recreations; but the times are too serious for us to attempt to make our lives a long holiday." iola leroy, chapter xxx. friends in council. on the following friday evening, mr. stillman's pleas- ant, spacious parlors were filled to overflowing with a select company of earnest men and women deeply in- terested in the welfare of the race. bishop tunsterhad prepared a paper on "negro em- igration." dr. latimer opened the discussion by speak- ing favorably of some of the salient points, but said :— "i do not believe self-exilement is the true remedy for the wrongs of the negro. where should he go if he left this country?" "go to africa," replied bishop tunster, in his bluff, hearty tones. "i believe that africa is to be redeemed to civilization, and that the negro is to be gathered into the family of nations and recognized as a man and a brother." "go to africa?" repeated professor langhorne, of georgia. "does the united states own one foot of african soil? and have we not been investing our blood in the country for ages?" "i am in favor of missionary efforts," said professor gradnor, of north carolina, "for the redemption of africa, but i see no reason for expatriating ourselves because some persons do not admire the color of our skins." "i do not believe," said mr. stillman, "in emptying on the shores of africa a horde of ignorant, poverty- or shadows uplifted. stricken people, as missionaries of civilization or chris- tianity. and while i am in favor of missionary efforts, there is need here for the best heart and brain to work in unison for justice and righteousness." "america," said miss delany, "is the best field for human development. god has not heaped up our mountains with such grandeur, flooded our rivers with such majesty, crowned our valleys with such fertility, enriched our mines with such wealth, that they should only minister to grasping greed and sensuous enjoyment." "climate, soil, and physical environments," said pro- fessor gradnor, "have much to do with shaping national characteristics. if in africa, under a tropical sun, the negro has lagged behind other races in the march of civili- zation, at least for once in his history he has, in this country, the privilege of using climatic advantages and developing under new conditions." "yes," replied dr. latimer, "and i do not wish our people to become restless and unsettled before they have tried one generation of freedom." "i am always glad," said mr. forest, a tall, distin- guished-looking gentleman from new york, "when i hear of people who are ill treated in one section of the country emigrating to another. men who are deaf to the claims of mercy, and oblivious to the demands of justice, can feel when money is slipping from their pockets." "the negro," said hon. dugdale, "does not present to my mind the picture of an effete and exhausted peo- ple, destined to die out before a stronger race. gilbert haven once saw a statue which suggested this thought, 'i am black, but comely; the sun has looked down or shadows uplifted. in the pallor of that anguish i see the only light, to flood with peace and gladness earth's sorrow, pain, and night. arrayed in christly armor 'gainst error, crime, and sin, the victory can't be doubtful, for god is sure to win. the next paper was by miss iola leroy, on the "education of mothers." "i agree," said rev. eustace, of st. mary's parish, "with the paper. the great need of the race is enlight- ened mothers." "and enlightened fathers, too," added miss delany, quickly. "if there is anything i chafe to see it is a strong, hearty man shirking his burdens, putting them on the shoulders of his wife, and taking life easy for himself." "i always pity such mothers," interposed iola, ten- derly. "i think," said miss delany, with a flash in her eye and a ring of decision in her voice, "that such men ought to be drummed out of town!" as she spoke, there was an expression which seemed to say, "and i would like to help do it!" harry smiled, and gave her a quick glance of admira- tion. "i do not think," said mrs. stillman, "that we can begin too early to teach our boys to be manly and self- respecting, and our girls to be useful and self-reliant." "you know," said mrs. leroy, "that after the war we were thrown upon the nation a homeless race to be or shadows uplifted. heart, will i recognize any religion as his which de- spises the least of his brethren." as iola finished, there was a ring of triumph in her voice, as if she were reviewing a path she had trodden with bleeding feet, and seen it change to lines of living light. her soul seemed to be flashing through the rare loveliness of her face and etherealizing its beauty. every one was spell-bound. dr. latimer was en- tranced, and, turning to hon. dugdale, said, in a low voice and with deep-drawn breath, " she is angelic!" hon. dugdale turned, gave a questioning look, then replied, "she is strangely beautiful! do you know her?" "yes; i have met her several times. i accompanied her here to-night. the tones of her voice are like benedictions of peace; her words a call to higher service and nobler life." just then rev. carmicle was announced. he had been on a southern tour, and had just returned. "oh, doctor," exclaimed mrs. stillman, "i am de- lighted to see you. we were about to adjourn, but we will postpone action to hear from you." "thank you," replied rev. carmicle. "i have not the cue to the meeting, and will listen while i take breath." "pardon me," answered mrs. stillman. "i should have been more thoughtful than to press so welcome a guest into service before i had given him time for rest and refreshment; but if the courtesy failed on my lips it did not fail in my heart. i wanted our young folks to see one of our thinkers who had won distinction before the war." iola leroy, "yes, i know her and admire her; and she ought to be made the subject of a soul-inspiring story. do you know of whom i speak?" "how should i, doctor? i am sure you have not made me your confidante," she responded, demurely; then she quickly turned and tripped up the steps of her home, which she had just reached. after this conversation dr. latimer became a fre- quent visitor at iola's home, and a firm friend of her brother. harry was at that age when, for the young and inexperienced, vice puts on her fairest guise and most seductive smiles. dr. latimer's wider knowledge and larger experience made his friendship for harry very valuable, and the service he rendered him made him a favorite and ever-welcome guest in the family. "are you all alone," asked robert, one night, as he entered the cosy little parlor where iola sat reading. "where are the rest of the folks?" "mamma and grandma have gone to bed," answered iola. "harry and lucille are at the concert. they are passionately fond of music, and find facilities here that they do not have in the south. they wouldn't go to hear a seraph where they must take a negro seat. i was too tired to go. besides, 'two's company and three's a crowd,'" she added, significantly. "i reckon you struck the nail on the head that time," said robert, laughing. "but you have not been alone all the time. just as i reached the corner i saw dr. latimer leaving the door. i see he still continues his visits. who is his patient now?" "oh, uncle robert," said iola, smiling and flushing, iola leroy, you the doors of every occupation, advantage, oppor- tunity, and achievement." "i know that, uncle," answered iola; "but even these advantages are too dearly bought if they mean loss of honor, true manliness, and self respect. he could not have retained these had he ignored his mother and lived under a veil of concealment, constantly haunted by a dread of detection. the gain would not have been worth the cost. it were better that he should walk the ruggedest paths of life a true man than tread the softest carpets a moral cripple." "i am afraid," said robert, laying his hand caress- ingly upon her head, "that we are destined to lose the light of our home." "oh, uncle, how you talk! i never dreamed of what you are thinking," answered iola, half reproachfully. "and how," asked robert, "do you know what i am thinking about?" "my dear uncle, i'm not blind." "neither am i," replied robert, significantly, as he left the room. iota's admiration for dr. latimer was not a one-sided affair. day after day she was filling a larger place in his heart. the touch of her hand thrilled him with emotion. her lightest words were an entrancing mel- ody to his ear. her noblest sentiments found a response in his heart. in their desire to help the race their hearts beat in loving unison. one grand and noble purpose was giving tone and color.to their lives and strengthen- ing the bonds of affection between them. iola leroy, at the time appointed he drove up to the door in his fine equipage. iola stepped gracefully in and sat quietly by his side to enjoy the loveliness of the scenery and the gorgeous grandeur of the setting sun. "i expect to go south," said dr. latimer, as he drove slowly along. "ah, indeed," said iola, assuming an air of interest, while a shadow flitted over her face. "where do you expect to pitch your tent?" "in the city of c , north carolina," he answered. "oh, i wish," she exclaimed, "that you were going to georgia, where you could take care of that high- spirited brother of mine." "i suppose if he were to hear you he would laugh, and say that he could take care of himself. but i know a better plan than that." "what is it ?" asked iola, innocently. "that you will commit yourself, instead of your brother, to my care." "oh, dear," replied iola, drawing a long breath. "what would mamma say?" "that she would willingly resign you, i hope." "and what would grandma and uncle robert say?" again asked iola. "that they would cheerfully acquiesce. now, what would i say if they all consent?" "i don't know," modestly responded iola. "well," replied dr. latimer, " i would say :— "could deeds my love discover, could valor gain thy charms, to prove myself thy lover i'd face a world in arms." or shadows uplifted. "and prove a good soldier," added iola, smiling, "when there is no battle to fight." "iola, i am in earnest," said dr. latimer, passion- . ately. "in the work to which i am devoted every bur- den will be lighter, every path smoother, if brightened and blessed with your companionship." a sober expression swept over iola's face, and, dropping her eyes, she said: "i must have time to think." quietly they rode along the river bank until dr. latimer broke the silence by saying :— "miss iola, i think that you brood too much over the condition of our people." "perhaps i do," she replied, "but they never burn a man in the south that they do not kindle a fire around my soul." "i am afraid," replied dr. latimer, "that you will grow morbid and nervous. most of our people take life easily —why shouldn't you?" "because," she answered, "i can see breakers ahead which they do not." "oh, give yourself no uneasiness. they will catch the fret and fever of the nineteenth century soon enough. i have heard several of our ministers say that it is chiefly men of disreputable characters who are made the sub- jects of violence and lynch-law." "suppose it is so," responded iola, feelingly. "if these men believe in eternal punishment they ought to feel a greater concern for the wretched sinner who is hurried out of time with all his sins upon his head, than for the godly man who passes through violence to endless rest." or shadows uplifted. mingling with the sunshine of the present came the shadows of the past. i was thinking of the bright, joyous days of my girlhood, when i defended slavery, and of how the cup that i would have pressed to the lips of others was forced to my own. yet, in looking over the mournful past, i would not change the iola of then for the iola of now." "yes," responded dr. latimer, musingly, "'darkness shows us worlds of light we never saw by day.'" "oh, doctor, you cannot conceive what it must have been to be hurled from a home of love and light into the dark abyss of slavery; to be compelled to take your place among a people you have learned to look upon as inferiors and social outcasts; to be in the power of men whose presence would fill you with horror and loathing, and to know that there is no earthly power to protect you from the highest insults which brutal cowardice could shower upon you. i am so glad that no other woman of my race will suffer as i have done." the flush deepened on her face, a mournful splendor beamed from her beautiful eyes, into which the tears had slowly gathered. "darling," he said, his voice vibrating with mingled feelings of tenderness and resentment, "you must forget the sad past. you are like a tender lamb snatched from the jaws of a hungry wolf, but who still needs pro- tecting, loving care. but it must have been terrible," he added, in a painful tone. "it was indeed! for awhile i was like one dazed. i tried to pray, but the heavens seemed brass over my iola leroy, dr. latimer was much gratified by the tender care aunt linda bestowed on iola. "i ain't goin' to let her do nuffin till she gits seasoned. she looks as sweet as a peach. i allers wanted some nice lady to come down yere and lar n our gals some sense. i can't read myself, but i likes ter yere dem dat can." "well, aunt linda, i am going to teach in the sun- day-school, help in the church, hold mothers' meetings to help these boys and girls to grow up to be good men and women. won't you get a pair of spectacles and learn to read?" "oh, yer can't git dat book froo my head, no way you fix it. i knows nuff to git to hebben, and dats all i wants to know." aunt linda was kind and obliging, but there was one place where she drew the line, and that was at learning to read. harry and miss delany accompanied iola as far as her new home, and remained several days. the even- ing before their departure, harry took miss delany a drive of several miles through the pine barrens. "this thing is getting very monotonous," harry broke out, when they had gone some distance. "oh, i enjoy it!" replied miss delany. "these stately pines look so grand and solemn, they remind me of a procession of hooded monks." "what in the world are you talking about, lucille?" asked harry, looking puzzled. "about those pine-trees," replied miss delany, in a tone of surprise. "pshaw, i wasn't thinking about them. i'm thinking about iola and frank." iola leroy, "i will," he replied, soberly, "when you say so." "oh, harry, don't be so absurd." "indeed there isn't a bit of absurdity about what i say. i am in earnest." there was something in the ex- pression of harry's face and the tone of his voice which arrested the banter on lucille's lips. "i think it was charles lamb," replied lucille, "who once said that school-teachers are uncomfortable people, and, harry, i would not like to make you uncomfortable by marrying you." "you will make me uncomfortable by not marrying me." "but," replied lucille, "your mother may not prefer me for a daughter. you know, harry, complexional prejudices are not confined to white people." "my mother," replied harry, with an air of confidence, "is too noble to indulge in such sentiments." "and iola, would she be satisfied?" "why, it would add to her satisfaction. she is not one who can't be white and won't be black." "well, then," replied lucille, "i will take the ques- tion of your comfort into consideration." the above promise was thoughtfully remembered by lucille till a bridal ring and happy marriage were the result. soon after iola had settled in c she quietly took her place in the sunday-school as a teacher, and in the church as a helper. she was welcomed by the young pastor, who found in her a strong and faithful ally. together they planned meetings for the especial benefit of mothers and children. when the dens of vice are spreading their snares for the feet of the tempted and or shadows uplifted. inexperienced her doors are freely opened for the in- struction of the children before their feet have wandered and gone far astray. she has no carpets too fine for the tread of their little feet. she thinks it is better to have stains on her carpet than stains on their souls through any neglect of hers. in lowly homes and windowless cabins her visits are always welcome. little children love her. old age turns to her for comfort, young girls for guidance, and mothers for counsel. her life is full of blessedness. doctor latimer by his kindness and skill has won the name of the "good doctor." but he is more than a successful doctor; he is a true patriot and a good citizen. honest, just, and discriminating, he en- deavors by precept and example to instill into the minds of others sentiments of good citizenship. he is a leader in every reform movement for the benefit of the community; but his patriotism is not confined to race lines. "the world is his country, and mankind his countrymen." while he abhors their deeds of vio- lence, he pities the short-sighted and besotted men who seem madly intent upon laying magazines of pow- der under the cradles of unborn generations. he has great faith in the possibilities of the negro, and be- lieves that, enlightened and christianized, he will sink the old animosities of slavery into the new community of interests arising from freedom; and that his influence upon the south will be as the influence of the sun upon the earth. as when the sun passes from capri- corn to cancer, beauty, greenness, and harmony spring up in his path, so he hopes that the future career of the negro will be a greater influence for freedom and ||||||||||||||||||||||| : o. c & § g º pri n c eto n university library “seated in a big arm-chair, sandy jenkins read ps his poetry. (see page .) *biar is * cat a ºft. yº quamesd. i,j |corrothers s u strated &j-kbryans funk & wagnalls ompany \ new york london s o copyright, , by funk & wagnalls company. registered at stationers' hall, london. printed in the united states of america. published march, . * a | n- | | / % Øontents chapter i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi. vii. viii. ix. xi. xii. xiii. xiv. xv. . sandy visits terre haute, preface, - - - - the club introduced, ’ s. ..", about black cats, some letters and a home, de eddicated cullud man, bei der nort seit oudt, “ghosts, witches, and hoodoos,” love and humor mixed, applying the chicago golden rule, tales of slavery days, “near to nature's heart,” the great debate, reconciliations, reflections, re- membrances, “good eatin’s,” at the church, i i i . io . i • i . o . ... i o . ii iii full=page tllustrations “seated in a big arm-chair, sandy jenkins read his poetry,” - arontispiece “doc,” - - - - - - “the club met in billy spooks's rear room,” . - - - - - “de man retch up an’ pulled his head off an’ han's it to me,” - “de lady goes to a mahogany writin'-desk an’ dashes off dis note,” “slippery simon,” . - - “jones rushed at slippery simon,” the black cat quartet, page i . io . . i , preface this book is intended as a series of char- acter studies of negro life as it may be ob- served in the great cities of the north. the scene has been laid in chicago because there —more than anywhere else in the north— may be found every type of the american negro and nearly every phase of his social life. for the negro is himself everywhere, whether educated or uneducated. believing that the world needs smiles in- stead of tears, it has been my desire to pre- sent the humorous side of negro life, as i have observed it. i have endeavored, from a humorist's point of view, to paint the negro as he is. i have neither apologized for his shortcomings nor exaggerated them. i have tried, as it were, to make a window into preface negro life so that the reader may see and hear for himself. many quaint negro ex- pressions, droll sayings, and peculiar by- words, used by negroes universally, have, to the best of my ability, been set down at just such times and places as a negro would nat- urally make use of them. some of the stories used are old negro folk-lore tales which i heard from my grandfather, uncles, and others. nearly every negro knows them in some form or other. they have been told around negro cabin-fires for hundreds of years; but, so far as i know, have never be- fore appeared in print. believing them worthy of preservation, i have endeavored to retell them faithfully through the medium of the “black cat club,” a setting which, i hope, will give the reader a clearer insight into certain phases of negro life and charac- ter, not only as they appeared on southern plantations in ante-bellum times, but as they may be observed under certain conditions preface to-day. connecting with these folk-lore tales a few thoughts which are my own, i send them forth in the earnest hope that, where'er they may go, they will bring sun- shine and good-cheer, and, offending nobody, win friends and well-wishers for themselves. it is proper to explain that, since in chi- cago are negroes from all portions of the south, the dialect spoken in the “black cat club” naturally embraces and commingles nearly all of the negro dialects in dixieland. beginning at the third chapter of the book, a love-story winds through the work, culmi- nating at the close. one of the poems used in the work has appeared in the century magazine; two others have appeared in truth. to the man- agement of both magazines grateful acknowl- edgment is made. the author. ſº | a. the black cat club chapter i che Ølub tintroduced sandy jenkins, alias “doc,” president of the “black cat club’’’ and poet-laureate of the chicago levee, strolled contentedly along clark street one sunny afternoon—the proud- est and happiest mortal in the universe. sandy was “dressed to kill": his linen was spotless; his clothing faultless; his cane, chrysanthemum, diamonds, and “patent leathers” matchless; while his “jockey club” perfume proclaimed his presence quite as much as they. sandy was satisfied. i i ci) . black (zat Ølub under one arm he carried an immense black cat with which to “hoodoo” his enemies, while in his inside coat pocket reposed se- curely his precious rabbit's foot, together with the manuscript of his famous poem, “de cahvin’” — an effusion which never failed to delight his negro constituents of the levee, whenever the poet condescended to read it to them. but sandy had still other reasons to be proud. it had been indeed a great day for him. he had perfected the organization of the “black cat literary club” on the night be- fore, and the morning papers had all pub- lished glowing accounts of the affair, in which sandy came in for the lion's share of the glory. five morning papers had each devoted a column of space to an elabo- rate description of the club, and sandy's name had appeared with amazing frequency in each report. the thought of it overcame i che black (zat Ølub the poet, and he repaired to the nearest saloon and called for “whisky straight.” “you black people bin raisin' san' wid yo' shakespeare ack!” observed “billy" spooks, the bartender, pouring out sandy's drinks, as a number of the great man's ad- mirers filed into the place. “see whut de papahs said 'bout you dis mo'nin', doc?” “nevah pays no 'tention to sich small mattahs,” answered sandy; “might, ef i wuz raised pickin' cotton in de backwoods down south, lak you. i'se a genamun, mase'f.” “you'll be gen’ler 'n' dat 'fo' i gits th’u’ wid you,” replied the bartender with a laugh. sandy drew his razor. “come on wid yo' cutlery; but foh de laud sake hol' dat cat!” exclaimed spooks, with feigned excitement. “i thought you could take a joke /" “g'way!” said sandy hotly; “i 'member when you rid into town on a hay-wagon, too hongry to cas' a shadder, an' struck me fur i ci) ( italy tintroduced two bits to git yo'se'ſ somethin' t'eat wid! don't tell me / knowed you when de mice built nests in yo' wool!” “doan' let me down so hahd, doc,” said spooks, with a laugh. then he prepared the drinks, and, while the crowd was enjoying the treat, picked up a morning paper that lay behind the counter, and read the following, punctuating his monologue with an occa- sional laugh and witticism: de black cat club all sorts of weird notions haunt its members sandy jenkins, poet-laureate of the levee, writes stirring epics which have made him famous “down de line,” and gained him the presidency of the new society. “sandy jenkins, the colored poet-laureate of the levee, and his friends have organized a literary society which will henceforth be known to fame as the ‘black cat club.' i che black at Ølub “the club is the most peculiar literary society on earth. it is founded on a pre- tended belief in the old negro superstition that black cats are the children of his sa- tanic majesty, and that all kinds of bad luck await the unfortunate individual whose luck is crossed by one of these sable disturbers of the midnight peace. nothing but the pos- session of a rabbit's foot and a silver spoon can thwart the power of the black cat's hoo- doo. these things the learned sandy pos- sesses. moreover he has captured a big black cat with which to hoodoo a dozen lit- erary rivals who have dared to evidence their existence since jenkins leaped into popularity as the author of his pathetic poem, ‘de cah- vin.” sandy's friends have taken up the spirit of the fun, and the ‘black cat club' is the result. “there are but nine members in the club —one for each of the cat's alleged nine lives. new members are never taken in—old ones che ſºlub tintroduced are not allowed to withdraw. college gradu- ates are not eligible to membership, and no member is allowed to become too familiar with the classics or to speak disrespectfully of jenkins' black cat. in fact, the club members are expected to learn all they can concerning cats, witches, ghosts, quaint ne- gro sayings and plantation stories and melo- dies, and to impart them in an original man- ner at the meetings of the club. swell banquets will be given at all meetings of the society, where watermelons, 'possum, sweeten 'tatahs, pie, co’npone, po’k chops, chicken, and intoxicating liquors will be very much in evidence. this is one of the main objects of the organization. “the club has, as yet, no regular head- quarters. it was organized in a levee sa- loon, and thus far its meetings have been held in the private $ rooms of its members. “all the members of the club che black qat Ølub are well-known characters about the levee, but in the club assumed names are adopted. none but the imperial jenkins himself is al- lowed to retain his usual cognomen. henry harris is the club's chaplain. in the club he is known as the ‘rev. dark loudmouth.’ he opens up the meetings with a prayer to the black cat. the club has no secretary. it doesn't need any, so its members say; but ‘k. c. brighteyes' looks after its funds. jenkins is both its president and poet-laureate. the club has no critic. it couldn't stand one. ‘bad bob sampson' is its sergeant-at-arms. other members of the society are: ‘johnny yellowshort,' ‘saskatchewan jones,’ ‘prof. lightfoot johnsing,’ ‘roustabout thomp- son,’ and ‘slippery simon.’ the club has no honorary members; but, by virtue of its constitution, it is allowed to have . con- trary to general usage, however, these mem- bers will not be chosen because of their bril- liancy or the honor they are expected to che Ølub tntroduced reflect upon the club; nor will they be called honorary members at all. they will be de- nominated “onry members,' and will be chosen because they are considered too ‘onry' to belong to the club—” “dat's whah you comes in, billy,” inter- rupted sandy. and amid the laugh that fol- lowed, “billy” good-naturedly treated the crowd. then he continued his reading: “the club meets every friday night, and none but members are admitted to its rooms. upon the walls of the club, ornamented by a skull and crossbones, will hang a coffin- shaped motto: “death to eavesdroppers, policemen, and re- porters. by order of mesmerizer and the club.’ “the club does not believe in woman's rights, and none of its members are allowed to marry. “one of its most unique and laughable i che black (zat Ølub among the belles of colored swelldom. he is a musician as well as a poet. he plays a half-dozen instruments, and has a silvery tenor voice that makes him good company al- most anywhere. he is pledged to furnish an original poem at every meeting of the club, among the members of which and around the levee generally he is lionized, and is consid- ered the peer of burns, milton, shakespere, , and tennyson, and, in levee vernacular, of “any literary monkey dat evah push' a pen!’” “doc,” was billy spooks' comment, “you sho' has got yo'se'f a record tetch ma tº flesh!” he added, grasping sandy's hand. “doc,” exclaimed saskatchewan jones, “de repo'tah dat written dat wuz smaht, foh true! here! i'm got a dollah—evahbody hab a drink—ain't nothin' small 'bout me! here’s to de kid l’’ “he’s a bo'n genamun whut ought to be dead drunk dis minute,” said sandy, gulping down his liquor. che ſºlub tintroduced “ought to ketch him, sandy, an' cahve yo' monograph in him, so'you'd know him when you need him 'g'in,” suggested billy spooks; “’tain't evahbody splashes ink lak dat. he cain't tetch you, tho’, doc, 'ca'se you's done got shakespere hangin' ovah de ropes! read dat piece o' yo's once mo'an' let me die a-lis- tenin’ to it!” then the room grew still, and a look of happy expectancy lighted up the faces of the crowd as the learned man drew out his manu- script, and, with a grandiloquent sweep of the hand, began: “jim johnson lubbed a yallah girl until his brain began to whirl; but sambo brown he lubbed huh, too, an’ out o' dat a quarrel grew. so jimmy johnson comes to town a-purpose to cahve sambo brown. along about de hour ob noon, he fines him down in smiff's saloon; "fo' sambo knowed whut he wuz 'bout, jim johnson drawed him razah out, che black ſºat Ølub an' cut him all around de face— all up de back, an' evah place! he cut him low, he cut him high— cleah fºom his ankle to his eye— he clipped bofe ears off fom sam's head— it was a sin how po’ sam bled! he dislocated sambo's jaw— he cahved him to de bone—oh, lawl i tell you whiut, it wuz a sight de way he slashed him lef' an’ right! he spoiled sam's go-to-meetin' clothes, he whacked de end off fºom sam's nose, he cut him 'twel he hel’ his breff— he like to cut de coon to deff! when, suddenly, sam tu’ns about, an' draws a bran” new razah out, an' whacks jim johnson jes' lak dat! he sp’iled his ketch-me-quick plug hat- he cut his head, he cut his feet, an' den he made de two cuts meet— he cut out johnson's bes'es eye— he cut his tongue out, putty night he cut his name in johnson's cheek— he cut him 'twel he couldn't speak. he cut de po’ man jes' foh fun— good laud, i thought jim's time had come! cl) ſºlub tintroduced but johnson rallied, 'bout dis time, an, swo’ dat he'd make sambo climb! den, oh! de way dem two did fight, no man kin tell in black an’-white:— slashin' one 'nother all to slashes, an'gashin’ each other all to gashes! dey fit an’ mixed an’ mixed an’ fit— seemed lak dem fellahs wouldn’t quit! and co’se we didn't nah one staht 'em; an' didn't feel disposed to paht 'em; an' smiff say: “let 'em fight it out; dey's got de grit you reads about.” alas! how i regrets to tell how bofe at last in mincemeat fell. but, in de midst ob dat brown hash, de razahs still contrived to clash, as ef de souls ob dem two shades still struggled in de razah blades! we sent around an’ got some glue, an' done de bes’ dat we could do— we tried; but, man, we tried in vain to make 'em stick together again— all we could do wuz git a broom, an' sweep 'em bofe out ob de room.” “the club met in billy spooks' rear room.” jibout black wats twenty years. then there was prof. light- foot johnsing, the “con man,” tall, black, and suave, and, next to sandy, the most elegantly attired man in the club. then came “bad bob sampson,” sergeant-at-arms, standing six feet two and weighing two hundred and twenty pounds. sampson had seen service as a special detective, and had won the repu- tation of being exceedingly “bad.” he had been dishonorably discharged from “the force” for his associations with levee high- waymen, and, like water, had gradually found his level among his levee friends. nature had blessed him with the color of half-roasted coffee. there, too, was saskatchewan jones, middle-sized, stout-built, and brown. he was slightly above thirty years old; had a small, thin mustache, and was possessed of a con- suming desire to mutilate human counte- nances with his razor. nevertheless, he was “good-hearted,” and would divide his last penny with friend or foe. he would also che black wat Ølub carve that friend or foe on the slightest provocation. he would even “hunt trouble,” and his joy at finding it was equaled only by his ability to consume large quantities of liquor and “good eatin’s.” then there was the rev. dark loudmouth, a bona-fide ex- minister who had “back-slidden" and drifted into levee life. he was short, sleek, and black; had a loud, shrill voice and very thick lips, and was inclined to be somewhat corpu- lent. by force of habit, probably, he still wore the conventional ministerial garb—plug hat, prince albert coat or “jim swinger,” as he termed it; black trousers and white neck- tie. k. c. brighteyes, the club's treasurer, was the silent man of the society. he said little, but his courage was well known among his companions. he was light brown in complexion, square-shouldered, square-jawed, small-eyed, and very stoutly built. he was nearly six feet high. slippery simon, tall, brown, slender, and utterly characterless, was o cbe black zat zlub by the rev. dark loudmouth, after which sandy arose, with as much dignity as a full stomach and a starchy new suit of tailor- made clothing would allow, and made the fol- lowing remarks on the subject of cats—cats in general and black cats in particular: “genamuns,” he said, “we b'ars an hon- ah'd name. de cat—an' pertickler de black cat—have bin a pow'ful an' 'spectable gena- mun sense time fust begun to wheel his eternal flight ob circumlocution th'u' endless ages ob nitric acid, quinessence ob floatin' protoplasm, an' parlimentary usage!” (the whole club fell to the floor, face down- ward, fanned itself, and passed the bottle around, while saskatchewan jones stretched out in a dead faint. it required the entire contents of sandy's bottle to “bring him to.") “long befo' de earf wah made er de arch- angel gabriel had cut his milk-teeth, de black cat had gradjiated f’om a singin' school in mahs, an' had created de planet jibout black wats ob juan fernandez an' de islan' ob meso- potamia! “de cat am a practical pusson. he am no spring chicken. he am gen’ly cal'ated to hab nine libes, but dis de cunjah man 'roun' de co'nah assures me am a sad mis- take. he hab nine hundred and ninety-nine libes, libs as long as he want to evah time, an’, lak de good christ'an, is ‘bo'n ag'in’ al- mose any ole time. dat's why de theoso- phists sings dey sacred solo, “de cat come back.’ “when de earf wah made widout fo’m er void, de black cat wah dah, watchin' de whole business, an' a-layin' his wires foh to sen' grovah clebelan' to de united states senate an' dick crokah to de happy lan' o' canaan! fust thaing he done wuz to cross our fo' parents' luck in de beautiful gahden ob eden, an' sen' po’ adam out to play foot- ball wid de rattlesnakes an' in'juns in de lonely province ob wes' virginny. de * che black wat Ølub black cat am prone to ebil, as de spahks fly up'ards. he am a lubber ob de back fence, de telegraph pole, an' de midnight serenade. bootjacks, pistols, policemen's clubs, an' mis- siles kin not stop his rapturous ditty to de pale-face moon. he am a genamun he am de mahvel ob de nations! “you mout ax me whut de black cat hab done foh sufferin’ humanity. i answer: he am de inventer ob de watermillun, co’n pone, sweeten 'taters, liquor, an' 'possum; an' wuz de fust man to teach de cullud race de advis- ability ob eatin’ po’k chops when you's flush an’ libber when you's hahd up.” (great ap- plause by the club.) “oh, de laud will pro- vide! dat's why he gib us ole mesmerizer here to bring us good luck whahevah we goes in de united snakes ob americy, while some ob our good ole mothers is a-ben'in' ovah de wash-tub, 'way down yondah in dixie-lan', sheddin' briny tears an' a-sighin'—‘whah's ma won'rin' boy to-night?' jibout black ºats “’n’ while she's wo'kin' 'n' frettin', huh trifflin' son's down on de co’nah, sunnin' his- se'fan' shootin' dice, an' a-singin': “‘bells am a-ringin' in memphis— bells am a-ringin' in cario— de sun's done sunk, an’ de alligatah's dreamin' in de deep bayou; de ole folks done gone to chu'ch, de little folks done gone to sleep— 'way down on de ole homestead. i’speck dey's grebin' 'bout me; but dey's got to do widout me, tho' i wuz de sweetes’ blossom in de ole homestead— huh ! seb'm—"leb’m ' ' " “dat's him l’’ (cries of: “dat's right, sandy /"—“ain't it so ” and “had a good ole mother mase'lf.”) “genamuns,” sandy continued, “de black cat hab allus bin somebody. look, whut a pull he had widole isis, one o' de riches' men in egypt, thousands o' years ago: cat come along one day, he did, an' crossed mr. isis' ez - che black wat Ølub luck, an’ dat fellah didn't do a thing but beg de cat's pawdon, an’ build a sacred temple to him. dat's all he done to him / an' don' you think he kin take keer o' us —his needy an' faithful chillun? all we's got to do is to wo’k our rabbit's foot, an’ say nothin', an’ thaings’ll come our way. “genamuns, as i close a vision ob de fu- ture comes befo' me: i sees de black cat seated on a th'one so high dat he kin tetch jubiter wid his tail an’ use de moon foh a cuspido'' i sees him git between de earf an' de sun an' dey won't be no daylight 'twel he moves | an' de same way wid de rain; he licks dat up as it falls. an' evah time he arch his back, dey's a hundred billion earf- quakes an' tornados on de earf an' dey ain't nobody got no 'fluence wid de cat but de members ob dis club; an' people is a-fall- in’ at your feets, th'o'in' us dey money an' jewels an' rabbit's feet, an' sitch, an' a-totin' us all de good eatin's in de known world. jibout black ºats an' evah membah ob dis club 'll hab a brass ban' to 'sco't him 'roun’; an' a golden crown on his brack head, an' a club in his han’ to kill critics wid!—chillun to scatter flowers in front ob him an' behind him, an' on bofe sides ob him, an' fo’ty college gradjiates to cah' his trailin’ robes l’” sandy sat down, out of breath, but well satisfied with his address, and the club, as soon as it could regain its proper functions, tendered him a rising vote of thanks. “gweat day!” yelled saskatchewan jones, “is i here er yondah? whut wuz it struck me, an’ whah did all dem stahs come fºom?” x. then sandy, who had recovered his breath, read his latest poem— “de black cat crossed his luck’” i “o, de black cat cotch ole sambo lee, as he come home fom a jamboree! de cat sot up in a juniper tree, shakin' ob his sides wid glee. che black at Ølub de moon was sailin’ oberhead— sam's h’aht felt lak a lump o' lead. black cat grinned an’ wonk one eye, licked his paws an’ gib a sigh, an' den he cried: ‘me-ow, me-ow— upon ma soul ah'm got you now! fall down an' pray, po’ cullud man, foh de ole black cat done call yo' han’.” ii “sam los’ his job de very nex’ day; an' when he went to git his pay, got bit by a po’ man's dog— policeman beat him wid his log— got arrested, put in jail— had to hustle hahd foh bail— lost his lawsuit, sprained his jaw wranglin' wid his mother-in-law— lost his best ob lady lubs— got knocked out wid de boxin' glubs— got hel’ up an’ lost his roll— robber almose took his soul! sam went to de hospital— three weeks passed 'fo' he got well. played de races—got broke flat; an' all because ob dat black cat! che black ſºat Ølub iii “den to de cunjah-man sam sped, an' disam whut de cunjah-man said: “black cat am a pow'ful man; ruinin’ mo'tals am his plan. ole satan an’ de 'riginal sin am de daddy an' mammy o' him. he's got nine hunderd an’ ninety-nine libes— nineteen thousan’ an’ ninety-nine wibes— he's kin to cholera an’ allied to smallpox on de mammy's side. an' all de ebils on de earf stahted at de black cat's birf!— jes' stop an’ die right whah you's at, ef yo' luck bin crossed by de ole black cat!’ iv “an' den sam read in history dat a cat crossed pharaoh by de see, an' burried him, as sho's you bo'n, too deep to heah ole gabriel's ho'nl an' dat de cat crossed jonah once, an' made him ack a regular dunce. crossed bonaparte at waterloo, an' got jeems blaine defeated, too. jibout black ats ‘oh, laud a-mussy now on me!’ cried sam, “an' on dis history!” an' den sam went an’ killed de cat— swo'e he'd make an end o’ dat;– burried him in de light o' de moon, wid a rabbit's foot an’ a silver spoon. but de black cat riz, an’swallered him whole— bu’nt his house an’ took his soul!” “doc,” said one of his hearers, “dat cat wuz a wahm chicken an' a movin' chile !” “yes,” remarked another, “black cats is dead bad luck. dey's hoodooed me mo' den once.” then the club adjourned, amid stories of experiences with black cats. che black qat Ølub cracked jokes from the moment the club met until it adjourned. very little genuine literary work was done, however, owing to the reading of a number of letters which sandy had received from per- sons who had read about the club. the re- ceipt of these letters necessitated the ap- pointment of a secretary, a personage whom the club had hitherto thought entirely un- necessary. but the unexpected flood of epistolary literature convinced the members of their error. “genamuns,” said sandy, as he called the meeting to order, “befo' we proceeds wid de enjoyment ob de eb'nin' look yondah at dat pile o' letters! whut you goin’ to do 'bout dat? you knows i ain't got no time to an- swer letters. now, dey's some 'po'tant let- ters here whut ought to be looked after at once, an' i, foh one, favers app’intin' a secre- tary an' payin' him to see to all sitch mat- ters.” che black at Ølub it, stay 'way fom here! you makes me right weak 'bout dem rules, an' ef you stahts any mo' uv 'at nonsense, i'll cahve you long's i kin fine a piece uv you!” “mr. president,” exclaimed the gigantic sergeant-at-arms, “ef day's gwine to be any fightin’ done, 'member you's 'p'inted me to do it!” - “genamuns,” spoke up the rev. dark loudmouth, “’member you's brothers in dis club, an’ too 'spectable to do anything bad. here! bofe uv you take a dram outen ma bottle, an’ be fr’en's l’’ they both drank long and deep. “pass de bottle all 'roun', pass de bottle all 'roun', pass de bottle, an’ don’ slight none— x jes’ pass de bottle all 'roun', sang little johnny yellowshort, the cause of all the war talk. the bottle was “passed,” and by the time it went the rounds peace che black wat Ølub the moral vineyard, you'll drap in an' git some more p'ints on poitree—an' a square meal, “i am yourn, etc., “jeemsriver jiles.” “mr. secretary,” said sandy, “write an’ see'f you cain't git de ole man down here, so's we kin show 'im 'roun’ de town. bet he won't be so sassy when we gits th'u' wid 'im '.' the club set up a roar of laughter as the president finished his remarks, and the secre- tary read a letter from a dutchman who lives in chicago. it ran as follows: “hon. santypo shinkins: “mine schwa rzer frient.—mine name vas shake schneider, unt i geebs a von zaloon py der nordt seit oudt. i reads pyder babers dot your “plack gat glub' haff no vares to meet. goom to mine zaloon! i will gif you all der peer vot you gan trink, unt, uf course, i make lods uf moneys exzipidin' you vellers to der dutchmans dot gooms py mine blace. “goodtpy, “shake schneider.” º some letters and a joine “tell 'im we's a-comin', mr. secretary ” shouted sandy. “right you is, doc,” cried saskatchewan jones, “we’ll sho’ be dah! an' evah one uv us 'll git his razor shahpened, too!” the club laughed. - “read yo' letters, mr. secretary,” said the president. and the secretary read the following: “chicago, ill. “mr. sandy jenkins: “dear sir.—you doubtless know of the great work of reform which our church is doing among the colored people of the levee district this win- ter. knowing your great influence over this large class of unfortunate people, we write to en- list your sympathy in our work. you and your remarkable club of excellent young men may enjoy this world's goods for a little season, but they will all vanish ere your little day is done. the wise man says: ‘a’emember thy creator in the days of thy youth.” our whole congregation is praying for the conversion of you and your club. oh, that your hearts might be touched! please attend our revivals. we invite you to º che black wat Ølub the mourner's bench. let us tell you the old, old story; for oh, we love you and your kind! appoint a place that i may come and pray with you. i would breast the severest storm, enter the toughest dive, or plunge into the dense dark- ness of the filthiest alley to make you and your club converted men—even if we haven’t much money with which to carry on our good work. “yours for righteousness, “(rev.) jehosaphat johnsing thirdly.” “mr. secretary,” said sandy solemnly, “sen' de good man $ , an' tell 'im we's all comin' up to take sac'ament wid 'im soon. read some mo' letters.” the next letter was from an inexperi- enced colored high-school girl in terre haute, indiana. it ran: - “dear mr. jenkins.-i fear you'll think me somewhat forward in writing to you; but i have heard so much about you that i can not refrain from the exquisite pleasure of penning you this little note to say how very much you are admired in terre haute. “i’m a high-school girl, just seventeen— some letters and a jome “sweet seventeen,' you know. my complexion is olive, my eyes are large and black, and my hair is long, black, and wavy. i’m not ungraceful— so i'm told. i hear that you wear fine clothes and diamonds, and oh! i’m so glad! “we are old settlers here, and move in the best colored society. papa is a tonsorial artist. he runs a large shop, and owns his own home. mama is something of an elocutionist, and is quite accomplished. i am their only child. i am studying french and german, and play the piano. i have read all your poems, and think they are just lovely. to my mind, you are like longfellow, shakespere, and james whitcomb riley combined oh! i know you're a very great and handsome young man! i am proud of your talent, and think you will some day become a great author and a power in the world. you have begun your career in an humble way; but i hope to see you climb to the top—the one great poet of the negro race. should you ever come to terre haute, i hope to have the pleasure of meeting you. “yours sincerely, §. “ (miss) sibyll underwood.” “mr. secretary,” said sandy, with a grin, . - che black Øat Ølub “i’ll 'ten' to 'at letter, maself! read oil. the next letter was from an indignant col- ored woman who did not approve of the club. it ran : ‘armour ave., chicago, ill. “mr. sandy jenkins: “sir.—i am a colored sewing lady, and move in the best society; but, unfortunately, having the same name as yourself, i am often placed in a most embarrassing position because of your unenviable notoriety. i heartily disagree with the course which you and your boon companions are pursuing, tho i believe you have some talent —supplemented by a good deal of ignorance and superstition. your “black cat club,” with its horrid orgies and disgusting antics, belongs to a past generation. we who are trying to uplift the race to a higher plane of civilization are dis- gusted by such uncircumspect and undignified conduct. i suggest that you disband your club, reform, and take ten years' solitary confinement —in school. “hopefully and sincerely your friend, “(mrs.) corrine woodby-jenkins.” o some letters and a jome “umph!” exclaimed sandy, “but dat lady do keek big wo'ds at me wid bofe han's an' feet! say i’m ‘ign'ant,' do she? mr. secretary, git down yo' dictionary an' hunt up all de big wo'ds in it; den write dat gala letter. tell huh we's g’ine to fetch de black cat up dah 'n' let 'im cross huh do'-step fo’ty times. we'll see who’s “ign'ant an’ supa'- stitious !’ bet i’ll git a 'pology fom huh on de nex' mail.” then sandy read his latest poem, called “"way in de woods, an' nobody dah " + i “de ole owl libs in a lonely place— 'way in de woods, an’ nobody dah! eyes lak sunflowers in his face— 'way in de woods, an' nobody dah. sets an’ broods alone, alone— set an’ sigh an’ moan an’ moan, when de silvah moon goes down— 'way in de woods, an' nobody dah. *by courtesy of the century magazine. che black wat Ølub ii “o heah de lonely whip-po'-will!— 'way in de woods, an' nobody dah— complainin’ when de night am still— 'way in de woods, an' nobody dah! dah de wand'rin’ night winds stray, dah de groanin' branches sway, ghosts an’ witches lose dey way— 'way in de woods, an' nobody dah. iii “’way down in ma southern home— 'way in de woods, an’ nobody dah— dah's de place i longs to roam— 'way in de woods, an' nobody dah. o ma lub wid eyes ob coal, listen 'tel ma story's tole: owl's a-hootin’ in ma soul— 'way in de woods, an’ nobody dah!” “say doc,” exclaimed saskatchewan jones, “whut's de mattah wid yo? dat ain't lak yo’ other pieces. w’y, dey ain't a laugh in it!” “oh, go on, cullud man,” sandy replied, some letters and a jome “i written dat piece to show what de white folks calls ma versamantality!” then the club devoured a midnight luncheon, and adjourned. chapter iv de gddicated ſºullud iſlam at the next meeting, president jenkins delivered a lecture on “de eddicated cullud man.” after a little preliminary business, the dusky throstle of the levee stepped forward. he was clad in a new black dress suit, patent- leather shoes, with light over-gaiters, spotless linen, diamonds, and a self-satisfied grin. he carried a shining silk plug hat and a gold-headed umbrella, both of which he laid tenderly on the table before him. he spoke without notes, in a clear, decided voice which showed that in his own mind, at least, he was master of his subject. he began in a meas- ured, dignified tone, but soon he was ges- de eddicated zuliud man ticulating and fuming in indignant fury and perspiring with emotion, as he warmed up to his subject. he held his hearers spell-bound, but when he ceased to flood the room with the effulgence of his palpitating intellect, he was perspiring like a man in a harvest-field. his clothing was disar- ranged, his hat and umbrella were lost, and his wilted collar was dangling by one end. all that remained un- changed about him were his diamonds and his grin. but sandy had un- burdened his soul and was happy. “genamuns,” he began, “de thriftless eddicated cullud man whut de colleges am scatterin' promiscuous' th'u' ouh lan', as some lan'-po' fahmah tu'ns his cattle out to pick a libbin' foh deyse'fs, whahevah dey kin fine it, am de subjeck ob de disco'sement 'at i'vites yo' 'tention to dis ebe'nin'. whilst de col- lege may have tu'n'd out some useful cullud che black wat Ølub folks, it hab sont out heaps uv 'em 'at have been mo’ no accountah den befo'. de kine o’ dahkey i'se talkin' 'bout am de feller whut's done bumped his head up ag'inst some college 'tel he cain't talk nothin' but greek an' latin, an' cuss you in trinogo- metry. whut's dat chap good foh –noth- in’ l—nothin' whutsomevah l’” and sandy brought his fist down on the table with a whack that nearly smashed in the crown of his plug hat! “dey's many a graddiate,” continued sandy, “’at sticks his d'plomer down into his trunk, an’ lets his mammy take keer o' him. no genamun would do dat! a genamun is a man /—'plomer er no 'plomer! i ain't got no use foh dem 'plomers an’ any member uv de ‘black cat club' whut's cotch wid one o’ dem 'plomers on 'im 'll be fined an’ suspended fom de society de shifless graddiate gen’ly wakes up aftah his po'ole mammy's done washed huhse'f to deff—try- che black wat Ølub s niggahs. dat only makes 'em mad. de thaing foh to do is to be a genamun an' git yo' pocket full o' check books, fust mo'gages an' cash. “now, s'posen dey wuz a lynchin' 'bout to take place, an' de curly-headed brunette whut was to be de pahty acted upon hel' a fust mo'gage on de home uv evah man in de lynchin' pahty. an' s'posen mose o' dem mo'gages wuz 'bout due er ovah due; an' s'posen jes' 'fo' dey lit de fiah er strung 'im up, de cullud man wuz to say: ‘genamuns, ef you lynches me, mason 'll fo'close all ma mo'gages t'morrer! dis amma ultimatum. /* do you thaink dey would have any lynchin'- bee 'at day? no sah! now, whut could de college dahkey do?—nothin' but say his prayers. all de big wo'ds in de dictionary couldn't save 'im!” (thunderous applause by the club.) “i knowed a cullud man once,” continued sandy, “’at got to clerkin' in a white man's de gddicated £uliud iſlam sto’e, an’ de man's trade lef' 'im so fas' he had to tu'n de dahkey off. whut wuz 'at dahkey's eddication good foh w’y, i'm got mo’ eddication mase'f den i kin use ! i knowed a cullud graddiate once 'at wuz 'lected president uv a white literary society —an' he went right f'om one faintin' fit into anothah ! i wuz dah, an' seed de doctahs a-wo'kin' ovah 'im foh two hours. s' i: ‘take dat dahkey outen de president's cheer!' took 'im out dey did, an' he re- covered in two minutes.” (laughter and cries of “good laud, doc, don't let 'im down so hahd /") “de cullud graddiate,” continued sandy, warming up, “is ag'in' bookah t. washin'- ton. but i tell you dat man's doin' a heap mo' good in de souf den all de graddiates whut's a-slanderin' uv 'im an' writin' res- olutions.” (“cries of “dat's a fack / ") “look at de genamuns uv dis club we ain't got much book l'arnin', but we has che black wat ſºlub lit'a'ly cahved ouh way to fame an' fortune.” (an uproar of applause, and a cry from sas- katchewan jones: “doc, you's de talkin'est man i evah did see / ") “genamuns,” sandy continued, “de eddi- cated dahkey ain't good foh nothin'! a p'liceman kin bluff 'im lak a dog! has dey evah bluffed us f" (cries of “no ") “whut's his eddication good foh –he cain't eat it, an' he cain't wear it. it won't take 'im no place 'at i can't go, ner buy 'im nothin' 'at i can't git. an' de onlies' place whah de college man's got it on to me is in writin' resolutions, an’ risin' at a indignation meetin' an’ sayin': ‘mr. president: i dat have done an' bin f’om de evah- glades in floridy to de gwate lakes on de nawf; an' fºom de co’n-fields uv spennsylvany to de rice-fields uv souse ca'liny; an' fom de rock-boun' coas' o' maine to de gol'en gates ob de spacific —i, sah, dat have done an' gone an' o de gddicated £uliud iſlam went an’ studied greek an' latin an' french an' hebrew an' geometry an' ornithology —an’ all de othah ologies—i rises befo' dis gwate an' gran' an' potent an' pow'- ful an’ august an’ learned an' dignified an' 'spectable, intelligent, earnest, law-abidin' citizens an' genamuns foh to state ma p'int o' pussonal privileges l’—dah's whah 'at dahkey's got it onto me!” sandy stopped for breath. then he added: “den dah's de eddicated cullud 'omen.—mose uv 'em's gittin' too fine nowa- days to cook a meals o' vit'ults. dey don't know how to wash an' i'ne no mo'; an' dey don't want to learn. all dey wants to do is to set in de pahlah an’ rock er play de pianer, whilst dey po’ mother's in de wash-tub, out in de kitchen, an’ dey father er husban's carryin' de hod. ain't daternuff to knock de race silly? ain't it 'nuff to dribe a man to drink evah time he contemplates de holy state o' matahmony does you blame me che black (zat Ølub foh stayin' single? ma laud! ma ole mam- my wasn't 'fraid to he'p huh husban'. but now-days dey's cullud girls by de dozen 'at won't git married 'tel dey thainks dey's foun' a good fool—one 'at 'll wo'k lak a dog foh 'em, an' let dem set on de lazy ‘stool o' do-nothin' ' ' an' de fust time de po’ man loses a few dollahs er happens to git sick, dey's ready to leave 'im! an'l lak uz not, dey'll slandah 'im good an' plenty aftah dey's gone. an'ef he nevah gits on his feet no mo', dey'll seek a bill uv divo’cement fom 'im. “ma fr’en's, true lub ain't made outen dat kine o' stuff. true lub–de kine 'at grows an' endures—is a sweet an' holy thaing. it sings in cottage homes, an' plants de mo'nin' glories uv hope aroun' de humble do'. it bends above de cradle ob de young, an' lights de true wife's face wid sweetness as she stan's in de do'-way at sunset, awaitin' de retu'n uv de man who hol's huh h'aht. it de gddicated £uliud iſlam makes labor light, an' teaches huh de glory uv sacrifice; it makes huh de angel uv de home, an’ de comfo’t uv declinin' yeahs. it makes huh strong in trouble, an’ she kin say in de wo'ds uv de poet: “‘you has called me yo' angel in moments uv bliss, an' yo' angel i’ll prove mid de horror uv dis; th'u'de fu'nis, unshrinkin', yo' steps i’ll pasue, an' i'll shiel’ you, an’ sabe you, er perish dah too.” “de 'oman 'at have stood befo' god, an’ in de presence uv his witnessin' angels, an’ married widout feelin' dat kine o' lub; de 'oman who, on de slightes' pretex', lebes huh husban' when trouble comes, an' rushes into de divo'ce co’ts, hab tole a lie so big an' black 'at it may hide de gol'en gates ob de holy city fom huh at de las” day. it's too bad, but we's got ouh shere o' dem kine o' women in de cullud race, an’ de ed- dication 'at makes 'em so ain't good. cb& black (zat Ølub “so many uv ouh girls is a-lookin' foh de big fish wid de gol'en gills; but de big fish don't allus bite. an' so we's gitth' a lot o' crabbed, disapp'inted ole maids in de race 'at wouldn't make wives foh nothin' dis side o' to'ment. dese fool notions uv de new 'om- an an' society has done ruint ouh girls! i ain't nothin' wid dese new gals. 'n' 'f i evah marries a 'oman, it'll be some modes' young gal 'way off in some small town—er fom de country—one 'at 'll grow up to be a good, old-fashioned wife, jes' lakma mothah wuz. “but de trouble is: dey's so few uv dem gals lef’. an' dem 'at’s lef' doan.' 'pear to know a good man when dey sees 'im. w’y, dey'd rather hab a college graddiate den me / yes, sah!—one o' dem good-foh-nothin' dan- dies 'at i could cahve ma monogram in l’” sandy took his seat, exhausted, amid a tu- mult of applause, and the club adjourned. ſº gº chapter v bei der dort seit oudt the club held its next meeting in a north side saloon, as the guests of the jovial ger- man, “shake schneider,” as that worthy was familiarly known among the patrons of “his place.” the club first met by arrangement at its headquarters, where a grand inspection of razors was held. then it marched in a body through state street, boarded the first cable car that came along, and monopolized as many seats as possible. upon arriving at their destination, the jolly levee denizens found the saloon ablaze che black wat Ølub with lights, and a great crowd of dutchmen congregated about it, anxiously awaiting their coming. it was an impatient yet good- natured gathering. it had been waiting since six o'clock that evening, and had amused itself by stopping every colored passer-by and inquiring: “beast du a mem- ber oft der plack gat glub " inside the saloon a “leetle german pand " was punctur- ing the air with toothache and catnip fits, while stretching across the street hung a great canvas banner upon which was in- scribed : hon. santypo shinkins unt his c r a t e pla c k g a t g l u b s will meedt here to-night ! coot music lots um fun goom ev’rypodys' ein class um peer, zweibretzels, unt ein wienervurst— cts bei der dort seit oudt “ain’t dat all right, doc?” observed lit- tle johnny yellowshort, pointing joyously at the sign, in happy anticipation of the good time coming. “yes, mr. secretary,” sandy replied, “we’s in honey, sho’ſ ” then taking his position at the head of his followers, he com- manded, with as much dignity as possible: “genamuns ob de black cat club, fall in line ! single file ! draw razahs! march ” and leading his men through the crowd of scattering dutchmen, sandy entered the sa- loon and marched deliberately up to the bar, where he demanded : “whah's de 'priatah uv dis place?” “you was dalkin' to him,” said schneider, from behind the bar. “mr. shinkins, i was clad to meedt you unt der crate plack gat glub. vat you trink?” - “gib us whisky straight, dutchy,” sandy replied, “an' don’ be too long about it; 'ca'se we ain't drunk nothin' sense we come fom *> cºs -?’ ~ * bei der hort seit oudt pie season. dis here am bad bob sampson. he's a dreadful bad niggah ! dat's sas- katchewan jones, a crank on cahvin'. an' dis am k. c. brighteyes, our treasurer, a dead squah man dat nevah showed fear. dis am lightfoot johnsing, de bes' co’n” man on de levee. an' dis am roustabout thomp- son, whut kin bluff any p'liceman in de city. an' dis am slippery simon, a bo'n genamun whut nevah stained his han's wid wo'k. now, las', but not least,” concluded sandy, untying a big silk bag in the hands of bad * “co'n” in negro dialect stands for “corn.” negroes did not like corn because they were compelled to eat corn bread in slavery until they were disgusted with it. so, now, when disgusted with a subject, or when they wish to say, “you are giving me taffy,” they say in- stead, “you’re feedin' me ‘co'n.' a “co'n man,” then, is a taffy- feeder who lives by his wits—a “confidence man.” j. d. c. che black at Ølub bob sampson, and hauling out his gigantic black cat, “dis am ole man mesmerizer, de hoodooer an' mascot ob de club. dis cat am a chunk o' purgatory, an' his eyes am flames dat's bu'nin' th'u' his head!" the cat and the crowd set up a succession of vicious howls and thunderous peals of laughter that aroused the neighborhood. then the club was seated in a semicircle, with sandy and his cat in the middle, and schneider came forward and remarked, with the best bow of which he was capable: “mine schwarzer plack gat glub vrents—” “say, dutchy, me 'n' you's twins !” broke in roustabout thompson, standing himself beside the saloonkeeper, and illustrating the assumption, much to the amusement of the crowd. “yaw, te ziamese dwins !” said schneider, with a chuckle. and the crowd laughed afresh. then schneider continued: “ve vill now haff a liderary brocram in o bei der ºort seit oudt vitch i dinks you vill pe inderested. te first dings on der tocked vill pe a nigger song, ‘garry me pack pyolt virginny,' py hans von weidner—five monnats von olt goundry.” little hans came forward, bowed clum- sily, and proceeded to murder the old negro melody with an air of sweet contentment that would have driven its author crazy. the jolly dutchmen laughed themselves hoarse, and many of the colored clubmen fell to the floor, rolled over and over, and writhed in paroxysms of darky delight. “hans, you's a soon chile,” said sandy, wiping his eyes. then schneider announced that the next song would be a dance—the “essence of ole virginny,” executed by himself, followed by a german dialect poem by prof. fritz schlamn, after which, he hoped, the distinguished mr. jenkins would kindly con- i ci)e black wat Ølub clude the program with one of his “peaudi- ful boems.” then the music started, and, taking a long breath, schneider began a peculiar series of lumbering gymnastics which would have de- fied the workings of edison's kinetoscope. he hopped, waltzed, jigged, clogged, and two-stepped. he swung his arms, kicked his feet, spun on one toe, stood on his head, kicked up his heels, patted his stomach, fell down, rolled over and over and got up again, puffing and blowing, and ended by sitting down with a resounding thud that broke a dozen beer-glasses and shook down a barrel of plaster upon his guests and his own devoted head. but, as if not satisfied, schneider rolled over and smashed his foot through the head of the bass drum. this precipitated a riot, and for five minutes dutchmen and negroes were scrambling to- gether and pulling noses, “without regard to che black wat Øiub iv “unt den, i tink, “i gidts mine ink, unt write all tem dings down; but i looked von hour mit all mine bower pefore dot ink was found.’” schlamn's poem was vigorously applauded by the dutchmen. “you thainks you's ‘slammed' it on to me,” said sandy, stepping forward; “but i'll beat you at yo' own game. here's a dutch piece i written mase'f, las' week—'specially foh dis occasion. de title is “he laughs bes’ dat laughs las’” i “i geebs von fine meat market store; mine name dot was shake steiner; te odder tay i locks mine toor, unt go up home to dinner. der goes no sqreed-gar bast mine blace, unt, dwas no use uf dalkin’— der bavement was so slibbery dot i goodn't dink uf walkin'. bei der hort seit oudt i look aroundt, unt, burty soon, i sees von gleffer feller dot trives der leetle wagons for von cheese unt sugar seller. ii “‘hay, bop,' i said, “how was yourself? i'm clad dot you was pin here; i want to ride up home mit you.’ “all right,” bop said, ‘hob in here.” so i shumped in, unt up der sdreed ve vent in von pig hurry, unt bop unt i ve laughed unt dalked, unt ef'rydings was merry. unt all der bedbles on der sqreed yust slibbin' unt er slidin’ vile bop unt i in dot sbring seat so gumf'terbly vere ridin'. iii “von chap was yust ahead of us, his name was tom mcgeoghan, he gooms each tay into mine blace, ven i am sausage magin', unt ask if i budt bob-dailed radts, unt all dot nonsense in it— unt, ouch! mine gott! i pe so madt like dunder in von minute! bei der dsrt sgit oudt : i : º - : t | * -- . worl’l” exclaimed saskatchewan jones. “we's gwine to git you a gol' crown, an' yo' feet shan't nevah hit de groun' no mo' while you libs!” and, lifting their hero upon their shoulders, the dusky revelers returned home, elated with their evening's fun. gibosts, (uitebes, and sodocs in de city had me foh a good thaing. one night i'd bin down-town, drinkin' a little bit. dat wuz 'bout six years ago, when i wuz kine o' half-way 'spectable. well, jes' as i stahted home, de durndes', bigges' ole black cat in de newnited states crossed ma paff. i wuz 'bout ha'f ‘shot '; but i knowed dat cat wuz fatal to me! i keeps on tho', an' jes' as i pass' de twelft-street viaduct, i looks back ovah ma lef’ shouldah, an' i sees somethin’ dat makes ma wool stan' up! good laud, it skeers me now ! “i seed a man about twelve feet high, an' i allus will believe 'twas de debil. his eyes shine lak two new moons. his nose puff smoke lak a tah-kiln. his lips look lak two chunks o' roast beef widout de gwavy. his ears hung down lak a 'baccah leaf. he had ho'ns an' tail, an' one uv his feet wuz a black cat an' de othah wuz a snake! o ma laud | an' den he speaks, sayin': ‘sampson, i's a-gwine to slap de tase outen yo' mouf l' che black ſºat Ølub gweat day! i felt foh ma razah, an' it wah gone! s' i: “feet, he'p de body!’ an' de way i to'e up sidewalk wid maco'n planta- tions an' bu'nt de air wid ma coat-tails wuz a caution i 'speck dey heahd me a mile away, an’ thought it wuz a sto'm a-comin'! w’y, i lak to to'e up all de railroad tracks i crossed an' when i got home, i didn't hab on no mo' shoes den a rabbit! couldn't go no whah 'tel ma pahdner caught policy, an' bought me some new shoes. an' i wuz trustee in de mef'odis' chu'ch, too!—an' wuz kinder settin' to de preachah's daughter. an' she wah putty as a peach make yo' mouf watah to look at huh ! “well, 'fo' god, i wuz dat bad hoodooed dat i had a fallin' out wid ma girl; got tu'ned outen chu'ch—an’ mighty nigh went to de dogs. laud knows i wuz glad when ole sandy organized dis club l’” “dat remin's me,” said the rev. dark loudmouth, “uv when i wuz pastah uv a lit- o - *t*jºss- .bosts, (jitches, and sodocs tle mef'odis' chu'ch in in'junap'lis: a black cat cross' me one day on locerkby street, right in front uv bruddah jeems whitcomb riley's. i tu'ns aroun’ th’ee times, i does, an’ spits on de groun', ovah ma lef’ shouldah, an' walks back-ahds 'tel i pass' de spot whah de black cat cross' me. den i rubs ma rabbit's foot, an' goes ovah to de other side o' town, an' takes supper an' drunk a little egg-nog wid one o' de sistahs uv machu'ch. but i couldn't he'p feelin' a little jube'us 'bout dat cat! “dat ebening, 'bout 'leben, i wuz goin' home, an' jes' is i wuz a-ambulatin' 'roun’ dat big sto'e de white folks calls de ‘when,' i seed a stylish white genamun a-stan'in' dah, an’, thainkin’ he wuz one uv de owners uv de place, i takes ma hat off to him, an’ wuz jes' fixin' up ma mouf to ax'im to he'p machu'ch, when—name o' god!—de man retch up an' pulled his head off an' han's it to me, wid de mouf a-wo'kin', an' de blood a-drippin' on de sidewalk! cl)& black wat Ølub “s'i: “saints in heabenly res'!—mister, i don' want none o' yo' money, ner nothin' you's got / ' an' away i took—down de street—lak a runaway hoss! but fust thaing i knowed, i had done collided wid de bigges' irish p'liceman in in'junap'lis, an' we wuz a-cussin' one 'nother an' tryin' to gouge each other's eyes out. --a-\ = “s’e: “whut in th’ divvil’s th’ mather wid yez?’ - “s’i: “whut in de debbel's de mattah wid you ?’ “s'e: ‘yez don't know who o'i adm, do yez?’ “s'i: ‘yes, 'n' you doan’ know who i am, nothah l’ “s'e: “air yez crazy?’ “s’i: ‘mr. officer, i has done seen de wo'ses' ghose dat evah skeert a cullud man /' an' den i ups an' tells 'im de whole story. “‘yez kin go home, sez he; “thot's th’ same t'ing thot made me parthner, officer “de man retch up an' pulled his head off an’ han’s it to me.” cl)g black wat Ølub muggins, dhrop his club an' run last night, afther he had been lushin'. git home wit yez! but moind ye don't mix yer drinks loike thot, no more. thot privilege is only fer th' byes av th’ force.” “i takes de street cah, an' goes home. x but, 'fo' god, i wuz tu'ned outen confence dat year, an' i ain't had no luck sence.” and loudmouth sat down. “’fo' i come to chicago,” said saskatche- wan jones, arising, “i had a 'sperience dat i nevah will fergit long's i'm a cullud man. i wah livin' in ma native home in tennessee, at de time, an' had bin to see a lady i wuz settin' to, an’ wuz comin' home, late one sunday night. had about fo' miles to go; but de moon wuz shinin’ kine o' dismal lak, an' i had ma razah, an' didn't feel afraid— tho dey wuz a strip o' woods an' a ole-fash- ioned country graveyard wid a deserted chu'ch in it ’tween me an' home. dey wuz ha’nts in dat graveyahd, too! but i couldn't .bosts, (jitches, and sodocs stop fer dat, ef i wa'n't but fifteen years ole; 'ca'se me 'n' ma gal had de weddin' day all set. 'n' i had to git home, so's i wouldn't lose ma job. “jes’ is i wah tellin' ma lady-love good- night, huh mammy's ole black cat runs be- twix’ me'n' huh, an' ma haht leaps into ma mouf. but i stahts out, an' gits th’u’ de woods all right—'sept dat a screech-owl skeert me some—an' wuz jes' gittin' abres' uv de chu'ch, when i sees de same identical black cat, wid a candle bu'nin' in huh belly, come walkin' straight to me on huh hine laigs, playin' de fiddle, an' singin': “great big house, an’ nobody libbin' in it— nobody libbin' in it, nobody libbin' in it— great big house, an' nobody libbin' in it— down in tennessee.” “evah step dat cat took, she got biggah 'n' biggah | by de time she got front o' me, she wuz big as a cow! den she wheels che black wat Ølub 'roun', facin' uv me, an’ blows a stream o' fire outen bofe sides o' huh nose, an” say: “* in de name o' father, son, an’ holy ghose, i fohbids you goin' to see miss lucy ann no mo'. i lubs you ma self. you ar' to be mapahdner at de witches' dance to-night. lemme take yo' ahm,' “an' she reaches foh me. good laud! i out wid ma razah, an' i slashes at huh— cuttin' huh plum' in two ! but she gethers huhse'f up, an' grows big- gah'n a elephant in ten secon's, an' stan's wid huh ahms spread clean across de road, right in front uv me. an' smoke a-rollin' out uv huh nose, lak a volcano! gweat day! it wuz do er die! i shet ma eyes, an' plunges to one side. de cat grabs at me is i pass, but lawl—dese feet o' mine had wings —seem lak i jes' got up an' flew—wingin' wid de angels, an’ ma coat-tails ahgafyin' wid de win'! .bosts, (jitches, and sodocs “decat mus' 'a' got discouraged, jes' look- in’ at me tread air! how i got home is a myst'ry to me to-day; foh i nevah knowed nothin' tel i fell in de front do'—right whah de white folks wuz a-sleepin'. mashins wuz bahked, ma nose wuz bleedin', ma back wuz all scratched up an' muddy—ma shoe soles wuz gone, an’ bofe big toe-nails wuz off got discharged, lost ma gal, an' de story got out dat i'd bin drunk, an' i had to come to -- chicago to hide ma disgrace.” and jones sat down, laughing—with the rest:- slº - “ma father used to tell a tale,” said k. c. \ brighteyes, “dat used to skeer us chillun mose to deff. i've bin ackshully too skeert when he wuz tellin' it to git up an' git ma se'f a drink o' watah. an' de watah bucket stood on de table, right in de room whah we wuz settin'. still, somehow 'nother, i laked dat story, an' when us chillun used to be a-settin' 'roun' de fireplace uv aev'nin', eatin' guphah-peas, an’ listenin' to de win' sighin' che black at Ølub out o' do's, an' a-whistlin' in th’u’ de chinks in de cabin wall, us li'l' uns 'ud coax pap to tell it, an' set mouf-open, hol'in' our breff, tel he said de las' wo'd. an' he allus tole it alike—nevah knowed him to change. got so, by’m-by, i could tell it ma self. i’speck some o' you has hu'd de story. it run lak dis: “‘one eb'nin' in 'tatah-diggin' time, when de woods wuz tu'nin' yallah, an' de nights wah growin' long, me an' some mo' young dahkies dat wuz raised on our plantation down in ole virginny, whah i wah bred an' bo'n, stahted out a coon huntin'. “‘dah wuz me, fus’ an’ fo’mus', despryes' dahkey in de lot, an’ “big eagle,” a six- foot yellah niggah wid ham fists, measurin' seben foot f’om tip to tip, wid his wings spread. couldn't no overseer in de county whip'im, an' he knock a mule down wid his natchul han’ſ den dah wuz “thompson's gibosts, (jitches, and sodocs bill,” de cunjah man; tom johnson, de fid- dler; jones lee, rubin calloway, june tatro, de guinny man; pompey colefax, de fop; bud mason an' buck jackson, whut could out-butt any ram on de place. den dah wuz ole uncle ephum, de bes' coon hunter in rockbridge county. ole man had de rheu- matiz so bad he hadn't walked none in twelve years; but we carried him 'long foh de p'int- ers he could gib us on ketchin' coon—totin' him, fus one den a 'nothah, on our shoulders. we took along de houn's, guns an' axes, a jimmyjohn uv good lickah an' a lot o' right greasy cracklin' bread, an' wuz de happies' set o'dahkies in de worl’. - “‘nevah will fergit dat night de longes' day i live! moon shine bright /—sky wuz cleah, an' dey wah skacely a bref o' win'stir- rin'—jes' de time foh coon huntin'! we hunted 'tel 'long 'bout midnight, when we run de bigges' coon i evah see up a big gum tree, 'bout fo' miles fºom home. houn's che black wat Ølub 'peared so crazy to git at dat coon seem lak dey'd tear de tree down. an' ole uncle ephum, 'bout a rod away, wuz fahly sweatin' an' foamin' wid anxiety. i blazes 'way at de coon, an' misses; loads an' fires ag’in, an' hits 'im in de same place. an' by dis time evah fellah in de pahty wuz shootin' 'way lak mad ——but missin' evah crack. “aim fer his eyes!—aim fer his eyes!” cried uncle ep- hum, “an' all uv you shoot at once!” “‘bi-oo! went de guns. but de coon only grins, much is to say, “nevah tetched me!” “wait tel i git holt uv you, ole fel- lah,” sez big eagle, “i’ll take some o' de sass outen you!” “‘by dis time our ammanition wah gone, an' we begun to th'o' clubs. but de coon nevah budge. “‘“chop down de tree chop down de tree, you nummies!” yells uncle ephum, rollin' an' groanin' wid his rheumatiz, “an' be sho' you th'o' it 'way f’om me / keep .bosts, (jitches, and sodocs yo’ eye on de coon, an’, is de tree fall, set de dogs on 'im.” “‘we cut down de tree, an' is it fall, de coon simply jump to de nex' tree. chop dat down, an' he jump ag’in. “‘sez uncle ephum : “sumpin' mouty cure'us 'bout dat coon! i hope he ain't de black cat ha'nt i’ve hearn ma father tell about. ef ’tis, god he'p dese po'ole bones o' mine ! ax 'im who he is in de name o' father, son, an' holy ghose.” “‘i goes up to de tree an' say: “in de name o' father, son, an' holy ghose, who is you dat we's done an' treed ” “‘de thaing tu'ns 'medjetly to a big black cat, blows a forked red flame outen his mouf-an’ all de leaves on de tree withers to a crisp ! “who?—who?—who " he say, jumpin' fom limb to limb. an’ de houn's commence' a-whinin' lak whipped curs. “‘“god - a - mussy' god-a- i che black at Ølub mussy / " moans uncle ephum, buryin' his face in de leaves, “laud god-a-mussy on ma po', ole weeked soul! spah me, laud, spah me! an' gin me de use uv dese weary, achin' limbs foh jes a little while, an' i'll gib you a dollah note an' praise you evahmo'ſ gweat god ob shadrach, meshach, an' abednego, spah dy servant now !” “‘by dis time, de thaing's eyes wuz as big as saucers, an' as red as fire. it tuck to jumpin' fºom limb to limb ag’in an' sayin': “sunday night—monday night— tuesday night—wednesday night— thursday night—friday night— saturday night, an’ sunday night ag’in an' po’ coon gits no res'!” “‘an' down he comes—ka-plumpup ! right in our vely midst! away went de dogs, an’ away went uncle ephum after 'em, scream- in’—“do de bes' you kin fer yo' se’ves, chil- lun, de ole man's treadin' ah!” “‘evah one uv us to'e out in a diffunt .bosts, (jitches, and boodoos “s'i: ‘hit's putty middlin' tough right 'long here. is you huntin' trouble, honey?’ “‘yes,’ sez he, an’ jes den a black cat runs between me an' him, an' i knowed iwuz in duty boun’ to cahve dat man. “s'i: ‘peel yo' linen, an' look out fer me!’ an' wid dat i cahves 'im—furious, wide an' deep. “any message you wants to sen' to yo' fr’en's ' i asked, ben'in' ovah 'im, is he wah breavin' his las'. “‘yes,’ he whispers, “tell 'em de hunderd- ahm'd grizzly bah wuz too many foh me, but 'at i died game !’ “i sent de telegram to his mothah, an' paid his fune'al 'spenses; but, sah, dat very night i seed his ghose ! i got a silvah quahtah, an' wo'e it in de toe uv ma shoe; but dat fel- lah pestakates me sometime, now.” the club manifested its delight, and sandy, arising from his presidential chair, remarked: “genamuns, i congratulates you on yo' gweat progress; an' now, whilst we obscures cl)g black at Ølub some good eatin's an’ red liquor, lemme con- tribute, as ma paht ob de program, ma lates' poem, called by de entitlement ob ghoses + i “dey may be ghoses, er dey may be none; i takes no chances on de thaing, ma se’f; 'twon’t neber sho’ten no man’s life to run, when somethin' 'nother’s skeert 'im mose to deff. ii “de white man's logic may be all-sufficin’ foh white folks—in de day-time; but dey's qu'ar thaings seen at night; ’n’ when ma wool’s a-risin', dese feet o' mine is gwine to bu'n de a'rl iii “ain’t gwine to pestah wid no 'vestigation, ma business is to git away fºom dah fas' is i kin—towards ma destination— de ghose ain't bo'n kin ketch me, nuther, sah!” *by courtesy of truth. gibosts, (jitches, and sodocs “doc, you's a pow'ful smaht man,” ob- served saskatchewan jones, as the club wended its way down to billy spooks's saloon. chapter vii love and jumor illixed at the opening of the next meeting, the following letter was read by the secretary: “chicago, ill. “sandy jenkins, esq., “president black cat club. “dear sir.—the receipt of your letter and the precious offering ($ ) it contained melted me to tears! god bless you! god bless you, my dear young man! oh, that your fine genius and great power over men could be used for the up- building of the master's kingdom! we are still carrying on our revivals, and our whole congre- gation is nightly praying for the conversion of you and your excellent young men. our finances are weak; but we are doing a wonderful work for the lord. oh, may you give yourselves un- reservedly to him! we again invite you to the mourners' bench, and, later on, shall be glad to love and umor illixed have your club render one of its splendid pro- grams here some evening, for the benefit of the church. give ear unto the call of the lord! oh, how we love your souls! “hopefully yours, * “(rev.) jehosaphat johnsing thirdly.” “ain’t dat a pow'ful good man?” re- marked saskatchewan jones. “i wish i could be good lak dat.” “don’ ole jones make you tired, doc?” exclaimed bad bob sampson. “’deed he do, bob,” sandy answered. “mr. secretary,” he continued, “sen' dat man o' god another twenty dollahs, an' tell 'im to kill de fatted ca'f, an' git dat sacra- ment ready; 'ca'se we's all comin' up dah soon. sampson,” he continued, “i b'lebe i 'p'inted you privately, in durin' uv de week, to tote mesmerizer up on ahmour avenue, an' let 'im howl on de do'-step uv dat high- tone' cullud 'oman dat che black qat Ølub 'sulted dis club. has you a repo’t to make dis eb'nin'?” “yes, sah, mr. president,” said sampson, coming forward. “genamuns, le's heah de repo’t,” said sandy, taking his seat. “mr. president, an' genamuns,” bad bob began: “bein' 'pi'nted as a committee ob one to look arter de mattah referred ° to, i takes ole mesmerizer under ma ahm, an' ambulates up on ahmour avenue, 'tween thirty-fourth an’ thirty-fifth streets. good laud, de shades i did meet! ole shades an' young shades, big fellers an’ little fellers, cross-eyed japs an’ mean-eyed japs, religious dahkies an' sinnah dahkies, dahk dahkies an’ light dahkies—dahkies 'twel it wah dat dahk you couldn't see a street lamp! good laud! “i soon finds de house i wah lookin' foh— a putty little cottage wid green blin's an’lace curtains—an' i gibs ole mesmerizer a pinch, ioo love and umor illixed an' sets 'im on de front steps, an' hide ma se'fan' wait. “ole cat runs 'roun’ in a circle, spittin' fire, an' howlin' lak mad! laud, whut a fuss dat cat did make | nea'ly made ma own wool stan' up! couldn't see a p'liceman no whar, an' evah dahkey in de block fell down on his knees an' prayed. an' dey's lots o' eddicated, society shades up dah, too! but dey wuz evah god's one uv 'em down on his marrow-bones | “well, sah, 'bout de third yell ole mes- merizer made, de lady uv de house—a mighty good-lookin' yallah 'oman—comes floatin' to de do' in huh silks an' laces, skeert to deff, an’ say to me: “‘do take that horrid cat away! “s’i: “whut fon ' #. “‘w'y, don' you see,' she says, “it’s driving me perfectly frantic? i'm not superstitious,” she say, “but i have a perfect horror of cats!' ioi cl)g black (zat Ølub “s'i: ‘take back whut you said 'bout sandy jenkins' club?' “‘oh, yes,” she say, ‘quiet that dreadful creature, an' come in 'till i write a note of apology to your president.’ “i slips mesmerizer under ma coat, an' goes in. laud dat place wuz out o' sight! broussels carpet, tager-skin rugs, oil paint- in’s, pianer, an’ fine furniture 'tel you could- n't res'! de lady goes to a mahogany writin'-desk, an’ dashes off dis note on perfumed paper dat nea'ly knocks me down, when she han's it to me: “mr. jenkins: “dear sir.—since writing you my hasty let- ter in which i spoke disparagingly of your club, i have seen the matter in a different light. pray accept my sincere regrets. “yours respectfully, “(mrs.) corrine woodby-jenkins. “p. s. how very lovely that we have the same name. (mrs.) c. w. j.” io “de lady goes to a mahogany writin'-desk an' dashes off dis note.” io. che black at Ølub the club went wild with delight. “sampson,” said sandy, “you has done yo’ duty fait'ful, an’ am 'titled to a drink outen evah fellah's bottle in de club. jes' he'p yo' self. yo' committee am honah'ble dischahged.” bad bob drew his razor, and rushed savage- ly at johnny yellowshort, the secretary, who was the smallest man in the room. johnny, with a lightning-like movement, slipped un- ceremoniously under his official table, where he lay moaning piteously that he was dead. “oh! i'm dead, i'm dead!—bad bob's done cut me! don' you see he's dohe cut me open?” were his horrified exclamations. “got you hangin' on de ropes, has he?” was saskatchewan jones' consoling remark. “you calls yo' self a man, don' you?” asked roustabout thompson, indignantly; “den git up fom dah, an’ take yo' paht!— ain't nobody here goin' to he'p you. dis ain't no ca’f past'ah.'" iod love and umor illixed “han' ovah yo' bottle ! han' ovah yo' bot- tle l—han' ovah yo' bottle, ole genamuns! han' dat bottle here!” cried bad bob, brandishing his razor menacingly. then he plunged ferociously under the table, grabbed the trembling little secretary, and the two rolled over and over about the floor, struggling desperately for the posses- sion of the well-filled flask. bad bob finally triumphed. draining the bottle, he remarked: “good laud, johnny, dat's fine whisky! notion to beat you foh not givin' it to me when i fust ast you foh it.” a rap at the door, however, prevented further hostilities. bad bob, as sergeant-at-arms, answered the summons. opening the door cautiously, and peering anxiously into the dark hallway, bob de- manded : “who 'tis p’’ ios ci)& black wat Ølub directly before him, a voice at the top of a white shirt-front, white apron, and linen jacket, and beneath and between two blink- ing balls of chalk, replied: “me.” “me who ” inquired bob, growing bolder. i “can’t see nothin'. i don' know whether you're a libbin’ niggah er a minstrel's ghose. who is you, any way?” “chahcoal jim, spookses po'tah,” came the reply. “spooks sen's yo' club dis gavel, wid his compliments.” the gift was graciously accepted by the president of the club, and, after several speeches had been made in honor of the donor, the following letter was read by the secretary: “terre haute, ind. “my dear mr. jenkins.—your precious little love of a letter was just received this very morning, and oh! i’m so glad to hear from you! i'm answering you right here in school—i can't wait ’till i get home, but my lessons can, i had > iod ci) . black (zat Ølub “doc,” observed saskatchewan jones, “you's done got 'at gal to lubbin' you.” the poet laughed and winked. “hit's not so hahd to make a 'oman lub you,” said bad bob gravely; “but gittin' huh to quit am a 'nothah mattah. bettah mine out, sandy!” - “'ten' to yo’ own business!” cried the poet. then the club feasted and adjourned. io chapter viii jipplying the Øbicago golden rule “prof. johnsing,” said sandy at the next meeting, “i thainks it 'ud be right intertain- in', to-night, to hab you tell us some o' yo' spicies' experiences in de application ob de chicago golden rule—“do de other feller, befo' he do you.’ p'fessor, will you please to favor de club?” “wid pleasure, mr. president, wid pleas- ure,” remarked the genial johnson, coming forward. “mr. president, an' genamuns,” he began, with a polite bow, “lemme tell you how i done up a dimocrat alderman: “fus' an' fo' mus', i want to say dat i ain't no dimocrat / i'm a good a 'publican io - che black wat Ølub as airy ge’mman in de house—’specially in national politics. 'co'se, when it comes to municipal affairs, i favahs de dimocrats; 'ca'se dey'll let evahthaing run wide open, an' po' cullud folks gits a chance to earn a dollah to buy po’k chops wid.” (applause and cries of: “dat's right, 'fessah / ") the speaker bowed courteously, and con- tinued: “let de dimocrats git in, an' dey opens up evahthaing, an' hunduds o' 'spec- table cullud people kin git hones' wo'k to do, as po'tahs, cooks, an' waiters, in de gamblin' houses an' saloons. an' den dey kin provide fer dey famblies, an’ donate money to de chu'ch. an' nobody don' hab to gamble 'lessun he want to ! de gamblahs don' stan' outside wid hog hooks, pullin' people in now, let de ’publicans git control uv de city gov'ament, an' thaings shets down tighter'n a retired glue factory. an' dahkies has to lib on livah 'n' co’n meal—an' don' git a drink o' liquor once a mont'''' (“cries of: ain't ii io jipplying the Øbicago golden rule it so f") “jes' let de ’publicans git in an' stop gamblin', an' whut does de gambler do? —gits 'im a san'bag, an' goes to hol'in' up christ'uns ! dat's whut he does i dat chap won't wo'k!—hit's 'gi'nst his principles. he'll resk his life to git a dollah druther'n to wo'k. an' when he gits it, he'll spen’ it lak a prince, while a hones' man’ll go to law wid you 'bout a penny. but comin' down to natchul facks, i hates a dimocrat wo'se'n i hates a snake!” (cries of: “dat's right, too / ") “i’m a 'publican f 'publican bred an' 'publican bo'n'—'publican clean th'u'l- 'speck to lib an' die a 'publican ma father wuz a 'publican ma mammy wuz a 'publi- can | didn't de ’publicans free us, an' gib us our vote? an' whut have de dimocrats done? nothin' but beat our fo'-parents, lynch our people, an’ teach dey chillun to holler “nigger / " “i kin mighty nigh tell whut ticket a man votes when i hear his kid a-yellin' dat!— iii che black wat Ølub he's a ole dimocrat / " (a voice: “dat's a fack / "): “nevah had no use fer a dimocrat, no way ! no diff'unce whut kine o' man he is, either. ef he's a good chu'ch membah an' a perfect genamun, evah other way, i can't stan' him no mo' den i could a dose o' p'isen | used to be a dimocrat lived j'inin' fahms wid ma ole daddy. good a neighbah as you evah seen! sen’ us buttah-milk an' gahden truck; gib us pigs to raise, an' come an' he'p us mose any time. wife wuz a teachah in de cullud sunday-school, too; an' a pow'ful good 'oman in time o' sickness er deff. an' dey had de nices' chillun 'roun'. but i didn't lak dem people 'ca'se dey wuz dimocrats | “an' now dey's gittin' to be cullud dimo- crats! whut is de worl’a-comin' to ? w’y, dey's a dahky dimocrat rooms whah i do, an’ evah time i looks at him, i feels lak cahvin' 'im anythaing makes me tiah'd is a niggah ii jipplying the Øbicago golden rule dimocrat!. howsomevah, lemme tell you 'bout ma 'sperience wid de dimocrat alder- man : “toughes' winter i 'sperienced wuz right after de worl’s fair. lived on free lunch, an' had to set up an' sleep in a cheer, behine a saloon stove. gweat day! i lak to died “well, when spring comes, i makes up ma mine to raise mase'f a stake outen polotics— 'ca'se i’d done swo'e off on hahd wo'k. ain't nothin' in it, no way! 'sides, it don’ ‘gree wid me. so i goes up, an' calls on a big ole dimocrat alderman dat wuz runnin' fer re- election. 'n' i gits right chummy wid 'im, an' tells 'im i’m de whole thaing 'mongst de cullud voters in his wahd. s'i: “i’m bin totin' de cullud vote 'roun’ in ma ves' pocket so long i'm tiah’d uv it; but dey will shove it on to me.’ s'i: “i’m a wiah-pullah an' a hustlah fer yo' life / ' an' i takes ten o'n- 'ry levee dahkies up one day, an’ introduces 'em to 'im as head waiters an’ ministers uv ii cl)g black ºat Ølub de gospel. an' i makes a speech, an' jes' goes ravin' crazy 'bout de dirty record uv de 'publican candidate dat wuz opposin' 'im. an' when i got th'u', i could see i had ma man goin'. “de fellah wuz havin' a putty hahd time in his wahd, an' wuz willin' to gib up sump- in’ to win. but he wuz smooth. he stahts in to fine out who i wuz befo' he lets go any coin. an' he takes to jollyin' me 'long. thainks i: ‘ma fr’en', you may be a good boat; but dis heah’s de revenue cuttah.' “when he gits th'u' investigatin', i goes up an’ bluffs 'im. “s'i: ‘mr. alderman, i'm a 'spectable cullud citizen, ma self! an' i wants you strickly to understan' it!” s'i: “i’m lived in dis wahd twenty-fo' years, an' i'm got a clean record.’ s'i: ‘ma 'fluence 'mounts to sumpin', an' hit's worth any man's time an' money to see it in dat light. but ef you don' want de cullud vote, i ain't gwine to ii. . jipplying the Øbicago golden rule fo'ce it on to you; 'ca'ase you's 'bout 'sulted me, anyway.’ an' i tu'ns ma back, an’ staht out lak i'm mad as sam hill! “skeert 'at man good an' plenty! calls me back, he did, an’ say: “now, ma fren', you's misunderstood me. i don' want you to go off wid de im- pression dat i'm not de stanch fr’en' uv yo' people, an' alive to dey intrusts. i'm always liked de cullud race—went down south, an' fought to free 'em—you know dey wuz some dimocrats on de union side. w’y, ma father wuz a abolitionis’, an' his house wuz a station on de undergroun' railroad l’ thainks i: ‘mr. alderman, how you kin lie!' “he tu’ns in an’ makes me out a check foh $ , an’ say: “do all you kin fer me; an’ keep them head waitahs an' ministahs in line, an’, ef i git elected, come an' see me.’ “i takes de check, an’ say: ‘ma feelin's bin mighty bad hu't; but i cain't go back on a christu'n genamun lak you.’ s'i: “jes' ii che black wat Ølub consider yo'se'f'lected you won ma heaht when you tole me yo' father wuza abolition- is’.” ” the club enjoyed a hearty laugh, at the conclusion of which johnson resumed the recital of his farcical adventures. “genamuns,” he said, “lemme tell you how i wo'ked a cullud shahpah. “strollin' 'long de street one day, i meets a swell-lookin' shade dat spots me foh a greeny. i see whut he wuz up to, an’, thainks i, i’ll hab some fun. so i stops, an' goes to lookin' into siegel an’ cooper's win- ders. “dahky comes bristlin' up, an' stan's gaz- in’ into de winder, right 'side o' me. by-'n'- by he say: “‘’scuse me, fr’en', but ain't yo' name sam meaders—f'om greencastle, indiany?’ “s'i: ‘no, sah, i’m primus green, f'om kokomo.' s'i: ‘son o' ole “bill" green, used to lib right back o’ de baptist chu'ch.” jipplying the Øbicago golden rule “s'e: "mr. green, ah'm happy to fo'm yo' 'quaintancel ma name's ketchum— george ketchum, sah. ah resides at de pahmah house. ah’m 'at famous cullud millionaire you's heah'd about.” s'e: ‘ah owns a intrust in dis sto’e. an’ nea'ly all de big sto’es 'roun' here's in debt to me. an' de white folks all takes dey hats off to me, too!" s'e: 'ah'm a credit to our peo- ple, ’f ah do say it ma self!' s'e: ‘ah nevah does no wo'k, ma se’f. ah wah jes' passin' here, an' wah attracted by yo' intel- ligent look.' s'e: “whut might be yo' business in de city, br'er green?' “s'i: ‘business an' pleasure mixed.’ s’i: ‘i ain't jes' exactly a paupah, ma se’f.” an' i pulls a roll dat makes his eyes pop out. but he keeps his nerve, an' plays his paht lak a reg'lah edwin booth ! “fell to laughin' fit to kill his self! s'e: ‘dat ahn't no money, chile ! w’y, ah jes' th’ow'd 'way a bigger roll 'n' dat—keep * che black ºat Ølub f'om both'rin' wif it. but, 'co'sé you don' know no bettah—you ain't to blame—you not a millionaire, lak me.’ s'e: ‘you bet- ter be keerful how you shows yo' money 'roun'. somebody mout take it 'way fºom you. ah guess ah bettah take you under ma perteckshun, in durin' uv yo' stay in de city.’ s’e: “we'll dine at de pahmah house café disebenin'. meanwhile, we'll visit de bo'd #o' trade (uv which ah'm a head membah), see lincoln pahk (whut ah'm a directah uv), an’ take in de matinee dis aftahnoon.’ s'e: |“you in good comp'ny, now.' s'e: “some sfolks falls among thieves when dey comes to de city; but you lucky—you's met a good samaritan.” s'e: ‘ah wants you to tell de folks how ah treated you, when you gits back to kokomo. tut, tut,' sez he, glancin' back ovah his shouldah, “’at new man at siegel an’ coopah's don' dress dat windah up to suit me / ah’ll hab to hab 'im dischahged.” s’e: ‘ah 'membah when ole man leitah i jipplying the Øbicago golden rule borred de money f'om me to put dat buildin' up.' s'e: ‘him an' me jes' rents it to siegel an’ coopah's. 'n' ah'm got a mo'- gage on dey stock, besides. dem folks couldn't stay in 'at-place, ’f ah wa'n't so easy on 'em—lak cullud folks allus is.’ thainks i: “ole fellah, you won't do.” “coon tuck me ovah to de bo'd o' trade, zºº whah white folks wuz a-howlin', lak canni." bals in de wiles o' affirky! “s” i: ‘whut's de mattah wid dem men ' “s'e: “dem men's worryin' ovah gw-e-a-t social problems dem men's studyin' foh yo' good when you's asleep. an' evah time dey tu'ns a thought ovah, hit's wo'f a million dollahs mo'. dem men makes an' loses a fortune evah mo'nin' 'fo' breakfas'—jes' to raise a appetite. an' dey don' mine han'in' you a dollah. ain't nothin' sho’t about 'em! an, when dey dies, dey lebes a mil- lion dollahs to some institution, whah smaht young men, lak you, kin git dey brains culti- ii che black at Ølub vated. 'at's de kine o' men dey is 'at's right whah ah got ma staht—wuz right offen dem men | 'co'se all uvus millionaires acks a little funny sometimes. w’y, young man, you'd thaink ah wuz crazy—sometimes—'f you's to see me when one uv dem gweat mil- lionaire thoughts stracks me! ah acks jes' . lak dem fellahs down dah.” “fellah paid ma way out to de pahk, bought ma lunch, an’ took me to de matinee. an' all dis time i ain't gib up a cent. den he begins to talk 'bout sellin' me some railroad stock, 'n' i knowed it wuz time to shake 'im. so i 'scuses mase'f, 'n' steps out de do', 'n', fer all knows, 'at man's waitin' foh me yit!” the club took another laughing spell, and then sandy read a poem called “de rabbit's foot” + i “foun' dis rabbit's foot, you see, uddah day, fuss thaing i knowed— * by courtesy of truth. i o jipplying the Øbicago golden rule rabbit shuck it off foh me, ’s he run’d across de road; change' ma luck right dah an’ den! evah foe become ma fr’en’ſ no use talkin', gen’l’men, virtu' in dis foot hab growed | ii “white folks 'ten's lak dey don’ b'l’ebe rabbit's foot am ha’f so fine; but i's snigglin’ in ma sle’be, at de weakness ob dey mine. listen whlut dis foot hab done: made me an’ matildy one!— gweates’ blessin' 'neaf de sun – rabbit's foot am right in line! iii “rub it th’ee times 'cross ma face— hol’ it so, in ma lef’ han’— put it back into its place— make a wish, an’ own de lan’ſ take de hoss shoe fºom de do?! let de fo'-leaf clovah go!— nevah need 'em any mo', 'ca'se dis rabbit's foot am gran’l” i i che black at Ølub compliments were showered upon the speakers of the evening until the club ad- journed. yº-e= i che black wat Ølub wuz a slavel 'at's whut i ain’t l” cried sandy, his voice trembling with emotion, and his eyes over-running with tears. “when i thaink uv how she toiled an' sabed, an' wept an' prayed, night an’ day—an' allus trusted in de laud, an’ sung sitch good ole hymns —'an' nevah done nobody no hahm, all i'm 'shame' uv is 'at i ain't good lakhuh–ain't fitten foh to soil huh precious memory wid de wo'ds uv ma mouf. “is dey anybody here dat don’ lub his mother, an' wouldn't own huh beca'se she wuz a slave?” (profound silence in the room.) “no, genamuns,” sandy continued, “de high-tone' dahkies dat hab forgot dey moth- ers, an' is tryin' to prove dey ain't got no slave blood in 'em, is all a sick'nin' mess o' fools an' to-night, i propose 'at dis club shell put its se’f on reco'd by tellin' a few tales on de hume'us side o' slav'ry. i wants to heah fºom mr. brighteyes, mr. thompson, an' slippery simon.” i cales of slavery days sandy sat down amid hearty applause, and simon took the floor. a broad grin spread over his greasy countenance, and he paused to indulge in a few half-smothered chuckles before beginning his discourse. “mr. president an’ fellah genamuns,” he began, “dis bein’ ma fuss 'pearance 'fo' de club, ah match’ly feels somewhut imbar- rassed—” “fine 'im fi' dollahs, mr. president,” ex- claimed saskatchewan jones; “idee uv a dahky feelin' imbarassed!” the club laughed. “don’ upterupt de genamun,” sandy re- marked. “proceed, mr. simon.” “not bein’ prepah'd foh de ’casion,” con- tinued simon, “an' not bein’ a public speakah—” “heah'd you makin' a pow'ful ahgament to de judge, de other day, when you thought he wuz goin' to sen' you to jail—an' de room wuz full o' people, too!” broke in jones. i * che black wat Ølub “don’ upterupt de genamun / " cried sandy threateningly. “an' bein’ natch’ly uv a retiahin' dis- position,” continued simon. “yeh, when you wingin' away f’om a hen- roost!” jones observed. the club took another convulsion, in which even the president joined. but he did not forget his dignity—or authority. “fine ole jones a dollah,” he said. this had the desired effect. jones shook his fist at simon, and remarked, “don’ lak y 'at fool, no how,” and then subsided into silence. “as ah wah 'bout to remahk,” continued simon, “not bein’ fully prepah'd to disgust dis subjeck, to-night, ah feels a gweat deli- cacy in venturin' to ahticulate upon de pre- possessin' preposterousness ob de proposi- tion proposed an' propounded by ouh potent an' pow'ful president.” (jones faints, and is fined ten dollars by the club.) “but, reefin' .# _*- jº- “slippery simon" cales of slavery days good ole soul, he wuz, didn't keep no over- seer—used to take his wife an' go off evah summah, 'way up no'f, an' stay in new yo'k, philadelphy, an' baltimo' th'ee an' fo" weeks at a time, 'n' lebe a ole trusty dahky name' o' 'lige in chahge o' de plantation. “dahkies used to hab a good time while de white folks wuz gone. used to call in all de slabes f'om de neighborin' plan- tations, an' jes' eat an’ dance an' frolic durin’ de whole blessed time ole mahs wuz away. an' ole 'lige wuz de ringleader in de devilment. “byme-by, ole massa 'gins to 's'picion somethin', an’ makes up his mine to trap de dahkies. takes his wife, he does, an’ tells 'em he's goin' no'f, an' won't be back foh th’ee weeks er mo', an' 'at dey mus' be good an' look aftah thaings 'tel he come back. but he only goes ovah to de nex’ plantation, i cales of slavery days 'n' dahkies come fºom miles aroun’. table wuz spread in de big dinin'-room. dahkies had on all o' ole massa's fine dresden chiny, irish linen, an' silvahwah, 'n' had done gone down into de celah 'n' broke open ole missy's perserves!—ma laud! sitch scan’lus carry- in’ on sitch eatin'an' drinkin' an’ bo's 'in’ is dey done! dahkies had a dinnah uv. fo' teen co’ses, an’ de chief topic uv de convahsation wah ‘massa' gone to philli- moyo'k.’ “aftah suppah, dey lef’ de table stan'in', an’ went in de pahlah to dance. ole 'lige played de violin an' called off, an' evah now an' den he'd hollah out: “‘dance up, black folks!—dey ain't no dangah'—ole massa gone to phillimoyo'k!—won't be back foh th’ee weeks er mo' | pl'asah nevah en’!' . “sitch a keekin' up an’ dancin' is dem dahkies done!—pigeon-wing, ole virginny reel, sugah in de go'd, essence uv virginny, an' evah kine o' dance! ole 'lige gits i º cl)& black ( at Ølub so happy he keeks ovah ole massa's fine mahogany writin' desk, an’ hollah: “‘ole massa' gone to phillimoyo'k!’ “an' jes' den in comes a po'ole trashy- lookin' white man an' 'oman, an' sets down —'way in de fur co’nah. “’lige's wife looks at 'em, an’ she gits skeert; an' goes up to huh husban’ an’ say— ‘lookee hyah, ole man, ah b'lebes dat's ole mahs an’ ole miss' ' ' “ole man wuz considahble undah liquor by dat time. s'e: ‘oh, go 'way, ole 'oman, you talk lak a fool! ole massa’ gone to phillimoyo'k!’ “ole 'oman grabs 'im by de ahm, an’ say: ‘ole mane, dat look lak massa', ack lak massa, talk lak massa—b’lebe ma soul 'tis * - massa!' “ole man shoves huh one side, an’ say: ‘take keer, ole 'oman, lemme git at dem white trash!' “an' he grabs his cane an' stahts foh 'em, i * cales of slavery days knockin' ovah cheers an’ li'l niggahs is he went, an' yellin'—‘ole massa’ gone to phil- limoyo'k!’ “an' jes' is he raise' his cane to strack, he looks—an' 'fo' god, it ºvug ole massa / “ole dahky falls down an’ rolls, an’ groans an' whimpahs: “oh, please, good massa, don' kill me, don’ kill me!—an' don’ sell me down de ribber—an' ah'll be de bes’ ole brack dog you evah see!' “an' by dat time, all de res' o' de dahkies wuz out o' do's, an’ wingin' wid de angels! “white man looks at de ole dahky lak his feelins wuz hu't. “elijah,” he say, ‘ain't dis a putty howdy-do? cain't you treat me well is ah treats you? git up fo'm dah, you impadent scoun'el, an' gib an account o' yo' se’f l’. “”lige gits up an' tells 'im he's bin ovah- pow’d by de balance uv de slabes, an’ fo'ced to gib 'em a banquet. “his mastah hits 'im a few cracks wid his i cl)g black at Ølub ridin' whip, an' 'at wuz all he evah done to 'im. “nex’ mo'nin' he gibs 'em all a lecture, an' puts 'em on ha'f rashuns foh a week.” simon sat down, amid the laughter of the club, and then roustabout thompson told a story. “wuz a ole dahky libbed in nawf cah'- liny,” he began, “’longed to a white man name o' cobbs. ole cobbs didn't own but des one slave, an' he lak to wo'ked him to deff owned a li'l patch o' groun', an' tried to rank wid de big-bugs. allus called his se'f ‘mr. cobbs.’ an' his dahky called his se'f mr. cobbs, too—among de shades. ole white man used to put on lots o' style, an’ 'ten' lak he wo'ked fi' hunderd han's on his plantation. an' he used to make his one slave tell strangahs all kines o' lies to prove 'at he owned mo' slaves den he could count. “dahky's name wuz pompey; but dey called 'im “pomp" foh sho’t. i che black qat Ølub “w'y, mr. cobbs, he say, “lemme insist upon you.’ “‘well, seein' you insist upon me, i guess i will.' “‘mr. cobbs, he'p yo' self to chicken an' liquor l—don’ be back'ahds!—laud knows you welcome!’ an’ he kep 'up dis kine o' talk 'tel he mighty ºr t nigh eat up de whole dinnah! den he puts his feet up on de table, an' say: “‘mr. cobbs, hab a cigah—an' dah's de new yo'k papah foh you.’ “pomp lights his cigah, an’ takes de papah up—upside-down—couldn't read a wo'd in it—an’ fell to laughin' lak a dahky when he fust sees his name in print | s'e: “i see by de papah dat whisky's gwine up in new yo'k. well, she's gi'ne down in nawf cah'liny mr. cobbs, hab some mo' lickah! lemme insist upon you!' an' he reaches cales of slavery days foh de jimmy-john. an' jes' den in come ole massa an’ de fambly, wid sally's beau. “‘oh, yes!' say ole massa, “mr. cobbs, lemme insist upon you!' an' he showers down on pomp wid his hickory cane! “dahky upsot de table, an’ broke all de dishes, an’ lak to to'e off one side o' de house, gittin' out o' dah! nevah stopped runnin' 'tel he got to canady! i don' know whut evah become o' ole cobbs. 'speck he grieved his self to deff." then brighteyes took his turn at tale-tell- ing. “ma father used to tell a tale about two slaves 'at went 'possum hunt- in’— sambo an' gumbo. gumbo wuz a fine huntsman; but sambo wuz lazy an' triflin'. still, some- how, gumbo wuz pow'ful found uv him. “one night dey went huntin' together. to'ahds midnight gumbo i cales of slavery days “sambo 'ten's lak he's mighty soun’ asleep, an’ don' want to be disturbed. “‘whut 'possum?' he say. “‘you know whut 'possum !’ sez gumbo. “sambo raises up, an' rub his eyes, an’ take a good look at gumbo, an’ say: “‘w’y, man, yo' mouf all graby, fingahs got fat all in 'tween 'em, bones am all ovah you—i 'speck you eat dat 'possum, yo'- self/ ' “gumbo rubbed his han's ovah his face an' look down at his self an’ say: “‘umph!' mouf all graby—fingahs am all fat—an' de bones am all ovah me! well, i 'speck i eat dat 'possum. but, 'fo' god, it lay de lightes' on ma stummick uv any 'possum i evah eat!’” brighteyes took his seat, and the club in- dulged itself in a fresh spasm of laughter. “genamuns,” said sandy, “we is sho'ly movin' along de flowery paff uv knowl- edge l’” i i cl)g black at Ølub “yes, doc,” observed saskatchewan jones, “we is sutin'y pickin' ouh brack feet up an’ puttin' 'em down!” chapter x sandy uisits cerre baute “sense our las’ meetin’,” said sandy, “i has been a long ways, an' had a heap o' 'sperience. “i has been to terre haute—a mighty putty town, 'way down in indianny. co'se, some o’ dese days, it'll be a suburb o' chica- go, an’ de real estate men 'll git rich sellin' lots down there. but 'at ain't whut i went foh. might thaink i went foh ma health. but i didn't. i went foh de 'spress purpose o' gittin' better 'quainted wid miss sibyll undahwood, de putty young lady 'at’s bin favorin' me wid huh correspondence; an' also to size up de town—see ef dey wuz any amateur dudes down there 'at had a few hun- i sandy uisits cerre aute “oh, huh?” replied sandy interroga- tively, “i don’ keer a god's thaing about huh. mighty putty gal, tho'l-an' a perfeck little lady! hope she may live long, an’ prosper, an' at last git home to heben, as de ole folks say in class-meetin'. but, co’se, is i say, she's a mighty nice girl. make some man a fine wife' " “now, lookee here, doc,” observed roust- - about thompson, “i’m a o-l-e dahky—a ole dahky!—you heah me? i ain't seed all dese hahd winters an’ chilly falls foh noth- in’? i'll bet you ten dollars you cain't look dis club in de eye an’ say you don’ inten’ to marry dat gal. an', mo'ovah, i'll bet you'll be spliced together inside o' six weeks' " the club laughed, and sandy proceeded with the story of his trip. “as i wah 'bout to say,” he went on, “i stahted fºom chicago foh terre haute las' saturday mo'nin'. but, hol’ on, i'm some- what ahead uv ma story. "fo' i lef’—i io i cl)g black at Ølub ment to tell you that—i received de follerin' letter fºom miss undahwood.” (a cry from roustabout thompson: “umph / see 'im smack his mouf ovah dat name /") sandy reads the letter: “dear sandy : “kind friend.—your sweet little love of a letter was received this (thursday) afternoon. i hasten to answer at once. oh, sandy, i'm so glad you are coming to visit terre haute next week / i just couldn’t help telling people about it, and everybody is fairly tiptoeing with ex- pectancy to see you. shall look for you on monday afternoon train, and have papa and mama's permission to be excused from school in order to meet you at the depot. so do not dis- appoint me, but come. please wear a pretty flower in your coat lapel; also a diamond stud in your shirt front, and a diamond ring, so that i may know you. i shall wear a brown cloth jacket, tam o' shanter cap with a black feather in it, and a wine-colored henrietta dress. i shall carry a bunch of pink car- nations in my hand, and will have my big shepherd dog, ‘trip,” by my sandy uisits cerre jaute side. so i hope you'll know me. oh, i shall count the minutes until you come! papa and mama join me in kindest regards, and wish me to say that you must consider yourself our guest during your stay, which we trust will be a long and pleasant one. - “your sincere friend, “sibyll.” “p. s. don't fail to come on monday.—s. u.” “co'se, genamuns, after gittin' a letter lak dat, i gits right up an' goes to packin' ma satchel an' ma two big telescopes. puts in six suits o' clothes—so's i could change up evah day—six shirts, a dozen collahs, thirty-six cravats, a bottle, o' rose watah, an’ some “jockey club. co'se i had all dese kine o' smokin' jackets, skull caps, an' fo’, five diff’unt kines o' hats. gits ma razah shahpened right keen—shave dry hairs wid it! takes ma loaded dice an' th’ee decks o' mahked cahds. s'i: “i’ll bet dey'll know dey's bin a chicago man in dey little city i che black wat Ølub when i decamps.” den i puts out an' takes de train saturday mo'nin', 'stid o' waitin' 'tel monday, 'ca'se—” “’ ca'se you couldn't wait no longer!” yelled roustabout thompson. and the club gave sandy the laugh. “wid all due respeck foh yo' age, mr. thompson,” said sandy, half indignantly, “i wish you wouldn't upterrupt me no mo'; 'ca'se i'se liable to fohgit ma se’f, 'n' cahve you. den you'd say i'm a mean man.” “oh, shade, walk ovah !” shouted thomp- son, “you ain't de only win' sto'm evah blowed '' sandy laughed good-naturedly, and re- marked: “we'll jes' hab to 'low foh ole thompson; he nevah had no sense. now, as i wah sayin', i went down on saturday, 'ca'se i wanted to be there ovah sunday; so's i could visit de cullud chu'ches in ma swell suit, an’ spen’ fo’, five days in de town —'thout missin' a meetin' uv dis club. see sandy uisits cerre jaute whah i wuz at?” (cries of: “doc, you’s got a long head / " and “you’s honey, but de bee don' know it !”) “yes she do, too !” said roustabout thompson. “i gits into town on a saturday afternoon. hires a hack, an' drives up to de fines' hotel in de place—me 'n' ma baggage tell me no dahky nevah stopped in 'at house befo'. registers, i did, an' has ma boots blacked. den i lights ma cigar, an' strolls down de street—big as cuffeel an' i calls on de editah uv a daily paper there, an' has it pub- lished—piece 'bout half a column long, i reckon—'at ‘sandy jenkins, de great cullud leader an' poet, an' president uv de famous black cat club uv chicago, is in de city, stoppin' at sitch an' sitch a hotel.’ see? den i goes back to de hotel. an evahbody on de street wuz a-gappin' at me. heahd somebody say, ‘who is 'at cullud genamun ? is he de new baptis' preachah ' ' naw,” i -?" ~ cº che black at Ølub sez a guy, ‘’at's joe gans !” “no 'tain't!" yells a kid, “’at's sandy jenkins, de black cat king f’om chicago! i seen it in de afternoon paper! better look out—he'll cahve you in a minute!” “den i goes to de hotel. “nex’ mo'nin' i puts on de bes’ i had an' goes ovah to call on miss undahwood. “but hol’ on-i'm a little ahead uv ma story! 'ca'se fust i’d done sent a messenger ovah wid ma cahd an' some flowahs an’ bon- bons foh miss sibyll, an' a perfumed note presentin' ma compliments an’ requestin' de pleasure uv huh company to chu'ch 'at mo'n- in’. an' i got a favahble answer right away. “ma carriage stopped in front uv a putty white cottage wid green windah blin's, settin' jes' a nice distance back fo'm de road, in de midst uv a level, green lawn wid beautiful flower beds an' fruit trees in it. all in front uv de fence wuz tall, beautiful poplah trees, i o sandy uisits cerre baute an' behine de house wuz a fine grape arbor wid swings an' hammocks in it. “i tells de drivah to wait, an' goes up an’ rings de do' bell. a good-lookin', po’tly lady, 'bout fo’ty-five, mighty pleasant, an’ putty nigh white, opened de do' an’ say: ‘mr. jenkins, i presume. delighted to see you! walk right into de pahlah an' hab a seat. let me rest your thaings. i'm mrs. undahwood. ma daughtah'll be in pres- ently. ma husband's business keeps him away 'till twelve o'clock to-day. so i will try to entertain you 'till ma daughter comes.’ an' she treated me 'at nice i felt right 'shame o' ma self—didn't know whah to put ma han's ner how to set ! but 'at pahlah's whut took ma eye—evahthaing jes' lak it ought to be l—pianah, brussels cahpet, tiger rugs, lace curtains, an’ all dem kine o' fix- in’s seem lak it took a year foh miss sibyll to come in; but jes' is i had 'bout give huh out, in floated i i che black wat Ølub de sweetes’ li'l angel dis side o’ de kingdom o' hebem “she wah jes' about medium size, wid a fo'm lak venus, an' a complexion jes' dahk 'nuff to show she wuz cullud. face all smiles an’ dimples, an’ eyes as putty an' cleah as two springs o' sof' watah! huh actions wah de natchul grace itse'f. an’ when she opened huh rosebud mouf an’ speak, it seem’ lak de silvah streams o' fairylan' had taken human voice. an' now an' den de wahm blushes shot across huh face f’om ear to eye, 'tel it seem’ lak de ahtists uv elflan' wah pencilin’ de dainty cheek uv a fairy peach, er de rich blood in huh veins wah indeavahin' to proclaim huh ^ n de daughter uv a thousan' (* *s. —i lak to swallered ma noble kings gweat day! necktie!—an' i nearly lost * ma reason, altogether! “de ole lady 'scuse huh- i che black wat Ølub preached a gran’ sermon—but i don' 'mem- bah none uv it! a man can't do evah thaing at once, an' it's 'ginst ma principles to neg- lect de ladies foh de sake o' 'ligion er any- thaing else! 'f i can't git to hebem by bein’ agenamun, i don' want to go there. “after meetin' sibyll introduced me to a lot o' huh fr’en's. an' you ought to seen de great 'miration dey made ovah me. could heah 'em talkin' undah dey breff 'bout ma diamon's an’ ma swell suit. an' while i wuz chattin' wid some uv 'em, up steps ole man undahwood, his se’f—gweat, big, po'tly, fine-lookin', in'jun-complexioned man, 'bout fifty years ole. his wife makes me 'quainted wid him, an' he invites me home to dinnah. “on de way up, i fixes up evahthaing wid him in regahds uv me an' sibyll marryin'. but, co’se, i had to talk up right smaht. an' i don’ blame 'im none; 'ca'se it ain't no fun givin' yo’ daughtah to a man, when i sandy uisits cerre baute you don’ know how he's goin’ to treat huh. 'specially yo’ only chile. “dey set me a noble dinnah! an' aftah- wahds dey shows me dey li'l home, an’ takes me to see all de putty places an’ fine resi- dences in de town. an 'dey would hab me to take suppah wid 'em—you knows how country people is. den i sees miss sibyll to de eb'nin' services an' back, an’ bids 'em all de time o' night, an' stahts back to de hotel, promisin' to see sibyll monday aftahnoon. “on ma way back, i gits all tu'ned 'roun’ in de durn, li'l ole town, an’ runs onto a lot o' youngsters gamblin' by candle light, in a empty box cah. “s'i: ‘genamuns, is dey room foh one mo’ in yo' game?’ “‘always room l’ sez one uv 'em. an’ i foun' out he wuz de new ministah's son, an' a membah uv de choir. “j’ined de game, i did, an' when it broke up, i wuz $ . winnah. i che black wat Ølub “‘come back to-morrer night, fr’en', sez de preachah's boy, “an' me 'n' ma pals 'll try to win some o' 'at money back f'om you.' “s'i: “i’m right along wid you, boy!” “an' i goes back to de hotel an' sleeps lak a baby 'tel ten de nex’ mo'nin'. “thursday mo'nin' i gits a note fom sibyll, sayin' 'at de ‘ lotus literary an' social club,” uv which de preachah's son wuz president, wuz goin' to tendah me a gran’ reception an' banquet in a certain hall 'at night, an’ foh me sho' to come ovah foh huh early. “i spen's de whole day scrubbin' an’ dressin'—hahdly took time foh ma meals. i reckon i tried on evah suit i had a dozen times 'at day. but when i got fixed, i looked out o' sight! “li'l' aftah dahk a cullud ban', in dandy unifo'm, mahches down de street playin' “hail to de chief '—dahkies blowin' dem i sandy uisits cerre jaute ho'ns to a nevah hush! an' de big black drum major twirlin' 'at stick plum up out o' sight, an’ ketchin' it evah time !—an' pranc- in’ lak he own’ de town. done me good jes' lookin' at 'im “drives ovah an’ takes sibyll an' huh mother to de hall. an' de cullud folks lak to eat me up makin' ovah me! an' de preachah's son wuz de bigges' gun there! he wuz master uv ceremonies, an' de whole splash! an' he sho' did treat me white / an' he wuz jes' as modes' an’ dignified is you please. nevah would a thought he evah seen a cahd. had to pinch ma se’f to see ef i wuz dreamin’—dem cullud folks had on so much fine clothes —silks an' satins an' stiff shirts, an' swallah-tail coats an’ jewelry ! 'n' i wuz sutin'y proud when i see 'em git up an’ read an' sing an' play de pianah lak white folks. “preachah's son sees 'at i had evah- sandy uisits cerre baute bid me good-by, an’ seem lak haf' de people in de town had come to see me off. takes de train, i did, an' stan's on de back plat- fo’m, wavin' good-by to ma fr’en's, an’, fur's i could see, dez wuz all a-wavin' back to me. but, 'peared lak to me, is de train rounded de las' curve, i could see sibyll wid huh han’kerchief up to huh face, lak she wuz cry- in’. an’ it made me feel right bad; an' i goes in an' looks out o' de winder 'tel de train got to chicago.” the club applauded vigorously at the con- clusion of sandy's remarks, enjoyed its usual repast, and dispersed. chapter xi “dear to nature’s beart” when the last of his devoted followers had left his apartments, sandy sat down and indited a long letter to his fiancée, informing her of his safe arrival, and concluding his missive with a few impromptu lines of poetry on the subject of love. sandy pondered over his letter for some time, satisfied that he had written an immor- tal classic. then he folded his production carefully, placed it in an envelope, directed it in the best penmanship of which he was capable, and sent it off to terre haute. but he kept the transaction entirely to him- self, and, altho he and his betrothed ex- changed several endearing epistles during the o “near to nature’s beart” weeks that followed, he kept the matter an entire secret from his club, never afterward speaking of her in any of his remarks before the society. “las’ time we met,” he said at the next meeting of the club, “i indeavored, in ma weak way an' mannah, to intertain you wid an’ account uv ma experience in terre haute. now, as tu'n about's fair play, i wants you all to intertain me to-night by tellin' 'bout de diffunt places you has visited. ain't none o' you but whut's traveled some, an' i 'speck you's all seen some putty places 'at you’d lak to tell de club about.” saskatchewan jones got to his feet. said he: “i’se bin nea’ly evahwhah in god a-mighty's worl’ –'sept europe, asia, afriky, an' souse ameriky. co'se i ain't nevah bin to australia ner new zealan’; but none o’ dem places don' 'mount to much. dey ain't in it wid de natchul ole united states co'se dey tell me dat down in de /* che black at Ølub san'wich islan's, jes' nawf uv de isthmus uv tehuantepec.—between de dismal swamp an’kalamazoo—dey's a tribe o' people called de “boome- rang nation,’ livin’ right on de out edge o’ de desert o' sahara. an’ dey tell me dem people ain't got but one eye, an' 'at’s right above dey nose. an 'dey ain't got but th’ee teef in dey head, an’ dem's right in a row—one behine de othah. dey has whut dey calls de “jolly toof' an' de “crooked toof 'an' de “smok- in’ toof.” an' de jolly toof sings an’ dances, an’ de smokin' toof smokes, an' de crooked toof's mad an' grum- blin’ all de time. dey libs on snakes, an' dey drinks a heap o' lickah! dey all got rubbah necks. dey don’ b'lebe in no god ner nothin' else. dey don' know dey own minds—an' dey won't let you tell 'em an' dey tell me dem people don’ “dear to nature’s beart” do nothin' but peek into chiny, tryin' to locate de klondike. but i don' 'speck dey'd be in it in a cahvin’ match wid de black cat club.” “say, jones,” exclaimed roustabout thompson, in disgust, “whut kine o' lickah you bin drinkin' lately? i’m bin all ovah de natchul universe, an' de ain't no sitch a peo- ple no whah!” the club laughed, and jones continued: “speakin' uv putty places, i don' reckon dey's anythaing beats de sho's uv lake su- perior. i seen it when i sailed on de ole steamah “peerless.’ “'tain't nothin’ loud, lak n'agry falls, whah you natch’ly gits so nervous 'at you wants to kill yo' self. an' dey ain't no b'ilin' mud-holes dah, lak dey is in yaller- stone pahk. but jes' quiet, dreamy scenery, an' fresh air, an’ all so pleasant 'at you feels lak fohgivin' evah inamy you's got, as you looks out ovah de blue lake watah at de putty i che black wat Ølub hills an' hollers, layin' jes' as natchul an' peaseful undah de open sky as dey wah de day god made 'em. an' only a 'nuff little vil- lages scattered 'long, here an' there, foh to res' yo' eye on. dey's heaps o' putty places up dah; but de place 'at made de deepes' impression on ma mine wuz de “pictured rocks.’ “greates' thaing i evah seen in all ma bo'n days! great, steep wall rises straight up an’ down out o' de lake—two hunderd feet or mo'ſ look lak god a'mighty made 'at country foh his own private pahk, an' den leaned up ag'in' 'at wall an' went to dwarin' pictures uv his thoughts! w’y, you could see woods, an' flowers, an’ lan'scapes, cities, mountains, castles, palaces, ruins, watahfalls, streams, an' lakes, an’ rivahs—wid all kines o' boats a-sailin' on 'em—an' even railroads an' balloons, an' thaings whut de white folks ain't discovered yit—all pictured on dem rocks! i 'speck de laud felt pleased wid “dear to nature’s beart” his wo'k, too; an' le’bes it there foh folks to look at; 'ca'se he ain't nevah rubbed it out. i 'membah one time is we wuz passin' de place, a young white lady an' huh lovah wuz abo'd, an' dey lak to used up all webster's dictionary, talkin' 'bout dem rocks! an' i heahd huh make de remahk: “well sang de poet whittier, “alof’ on sky an’ mountain wall, is god’s great pictahs hung.”.” “an’s'i: ‘lady, you jes' took dem wo'ds outen ma mouf l' an' huh an' huh fellah laughed fit to kill 'emselves, an' flung me a quahtah. “us boys used to hab some happy times on 'at boat. used to go on hurricane deck, an' set an' sing plantation songs on moon- light nights, an’ de passengers 'ud gibus all kines o' money. i'se had some happy days, an' seen some putty sights; but de putties' place i evah seen wuz dem ah pictured rocks.” “near to nature’s jeart” ain't bin nowhah—ain't seen nothin', tell you! “ought to come an' go wid me to de city uv mexico—den you'd see sumpin'! putty a place as evah de sun shone on mexicans treat you right, too ! very fine people ! an' dey got de onlies' city | sets up on whut dey calls a plauteau, surrounded by high moun- tains. an' dem mountains is covered wid snow all de year 'roun'. dem mexicans got de fines' chu'ches in ameriky. dey calls 'em cathedrals. an' dey showed me ole temples an' palaces whut de spaniards foun’ full o' gol' an' silvah statues an' polished mahble altars, whah de folks dey calls de aztecs used to wo'ship de sun. an' dey tell me dem aztecs made a lake fifty miles squah, 'n' brought watah into dey city by canals an' aquaducts | w’y, you young people ain't seen nothin'! “i could take you to a islan' in de pacific ocean whah de debbil runs a pamahrama to “near to nature’s beart” right to sighin'. i seed it—an' ilak to sighed ma se’f to deff! sighed an' i sighed 'tell i wuz mose beside ma se’f, an' a man had to stan' beside me sideways, an' hol’ ma sides to keep ma soul inside o' me. folks thought it wuz a side show ! de doctahs helt a big side consultation ovah me, an’ decided 'at ma conglomeration wuz side-tracked. an' dey made me eat de whole one side o' my own gizahd an' when i got ma se’f right- side-up, i foun' i wuz a side issue ! you young people gives me de sideache! “i’ve visited europe, asia, afriky, aus- tralia, an’ de wes' indies—bin in evah im- po'tant city in de british isles. i’m seen de queen o' englan'—bin in wes'minstah ab- bey, an' i's prayed in john wesley's ole chu'ch.” [a voice: “you bettah go back an' pray ag’in "] “an' i've stood on de banks o' de ayr, whah bu'ns an' highlan' mary plighted dey troth. 'n' i tell you up in scotlan’ dey 'pears to thaink a heap o' dat * * * *- che black at Ølub ah bu’ns. now, bu’ns wuz a po’ poet, an’ had to wo'k foh a livin'; but dey tell me he written thaings 'at can't be beat—even at de present day. had a mouty tendah haht in 'im, an' dey say he wa'n't above takin' a so- cial glass wid nobody. i seen his grave an' de monument dey raised to 'im in edinburgh. co'se i nevah knowed bu'ns ner any uv his people; but dey gibs 'im a mouty good reco'd 'n' i 'speck he wuz much uv a genamun. you young niggahs is ign'ant foh true! “w'y, i've clum de alps, an' sailed up de rhine. i’se seen lake constance an' de beautiful blue danube—bin in de holy lan', an' seen de tomb o' chrise, de rivah jordan, an’ de sea o' galilee. an’ i’m bin all ovah dis country an' canady; also mexico, an' i bin to china an’ japan, an’ made nine voy- ages to souse ameriky an' back. an' i bin to afriky, whah de bread-tree grows, whah all you got to do when you feels lak eatin' a batch o' biscuits is to shin up a tree an' pick i o che black wat ſºlub rocks, ner irelan', ner nothin’ else can't tetch it! lemme tell you how i come to go there: “got a little sho’t one spring, i did, an’— i studies up a scheme to make ma se’f some quick money. makes me a sort o' whirligig thaing, an' fixes up wings to it, an' lets on lak it's a flyin' machine. an' i gits a cut made uv it, an' has some cahds struck off, wid ma name on 'em, an' also a cut uv de flyin' machine. an' i names ma self de “rev. prof. paul silus wesley washington, a.m., d.d., b.a., ll.d., de great afro- american inventor an' divine.’ an' 'at’s de way i had it on de cahdl goes up, i does, an' calls on one o' de riches' white men in town. “lemme tell you whut kine o' house he libbed in : “great, big, double-breasted, brown-stone front—reg'lah mansion' th'ee stories high, an' mahble steps leadin' up to it. bahn wuz “dear to nature’s beart” finah'n mose any house cullud people libs in. all in front uv de house wuz putty flower-beds an' green, grassy lawns, an' on one side wuz a conservatory, full o' beautiful flowers fºom all pahts o' de worl’. an' when- evah dey opens de do’, de scent uv 'em nea'ly knocks me down! “looked at 'at house, an’s’i: “shell i go in, er shell i not? kin i enter 'at heab- enly place, an’ libe an’ move an hab ma bein’ aftahwahds?' but i finally mahches up an’ rings de do'-bell. “out comes a servant dressed so fine 'at i takes off ma hat to 'im, thainkin’ he wuz de man o' de house. but i sees ma mistake when i notices a silvah tray in his han’; an' i takes out macahd, an' slaps it onto it, an' say: “‘servant, take dis into mr. so-an’-so.’ an' he shows me to a seat in de hallway'at wuz good anuff foh god to set in den he puts out foh de 'prietah. i che black ºat Øitib “well, i set there—'fraid to move han’ er foot—'ca'se evahwhah i looked, here wuz a lion, 'n' there wuz a tiger era bear, er a wolf er a great dragon. an' i couldn't tell whether dey wuz libbin'er not / an' here wuz a fountain plashin', an' yonder wuz a putty little fish-pond wid fish a-swimmin' in it. an' dey wuz music playin' evahwhahs, an' singahs singin', an' fine oil paintin's uv soldiers an' angels an' putty women an' beau- tiful lan'scapes, an' one thaing a' 'nothah, an' cahpets, an’ tuhkish rugs, an' flowers, an' fine furniture 'tel you couldn't res'! w’y, i thought i wuz dreamin'! “by’m-by, i looked, an' i sees de ole boss man his self a-comin' 'way down de hall—look lak he wuz a block off! an' he wah steppin' lak he owned the univuss! an' evah step he took, seem lak his feet sunk down ankle- deep in dem velvet cahpets! gweat day! i lost ma speech intirely! but i braced up, i “dear to nature’s jeart” an' got up, an' stood up, an' looked 'im in de face, as brazen as de debbill an' he comes up wid macahd in his han’, an' looks me in de face so straight 'at i wished i could tu'n to a yeller dog. “s’e: ‘this is the – ah—rev. prof. washington, i presume?’ “s'i: ‘yes, sah—yes, sah!' an' i ups an' tells 'im i'm invented a gweat air-ship, an' would lak de bes' in de worl’ to git 'im interested in it, as i wuz goin' to devote de proceeds fºom it to ma chu'ch. an' i come mighty nigh wo'kin' 'im foh five hundahd dollars | went to see 'im two, th’ee times, an' had de date all set foh closin' up de deal; but his cullud coachman got onto ma racket, an’ went an' gib de thaing away. 'at's whut i say about cullud folks. dey won't let one 'nothah prospah—no way you fix it! nevah got a cent outen all ma trouble ! but i seen 'at putty house! when i die, don' say i'm gone to heaben; but you jes' tel de folks 'at i che black wat Ølub ma intranced soul is a-gambolin' aroun' in 'at ah white man's residence.” then sandy arose, and said: “genamuns, you is growin' bettah an' mo' bettah all de time. i'se sutin'y proud uv you!” che black wat Ølub a 'po'tah foh de mo'nin' papahs, a ole-time minstrel, an' th'ee genamuns f’om de boa'd o' trade—all waitin’ down-stairs—willin' to give up ten dollahs apiece foh to heah dis gweat debate. 'n' it 'pen's on yo' decision whether we lets 'em in er no. now, whut's de pleasure uv de club?” “let 'em in l’” came the grand chorus, in answer. it was a sound like an ocean's roar. “de sergeant-at-ahms’ll please show de genamuns up,” said sandy. bad bob donned his hat and coat, stepped out of the back door, and returned a moment later, followed by spooks and his guests, whom he seated near the front of the club- room. then brighteyes, the treasurer, was deputized to collect the admission fee from the visitors, and the thing was done. “now, genamuns,” said sandy, “i ap- p'ints on de affirmative side o' de question ouh chaplain, de rev. dahk loudmouth, an' bad bob sampson. 'n' we'll hab on de neg- che great debate ative side mr. saskatchewan jones, de crank on cahvin', an' k. c. brighteyes. each de- bater will hab ten minutes to talk in. let de gweat debate proceed.” - to say that the society was alive with ex- pectancy would be putting it tamely. it was actually excited. it simply held its breath and sat in awed silence, awaiting with dread anxiety the great event. and what wonder? it had visitors—white visitors'—and four of what it considered the greatest dignitaries that ever lent their august presence to an auspicious occasion were to shed the light of their luminous intellects upon a subject of vital importance to the club, spurred on by a temptation to “show off" before the guests. the debate was spirited from start to finish. the speakers were earnest, humorous, and belligerent, and, at times, almost eloquent; keeping the audience either laughing or applaud- i che black zat zlub ing throughout the discussion. they talked, perspired, gestured, and fumed in indignant fury, climaxed and anticlimaxed; and veered from pathos to comedy—and vice versa— with the ease and confidence of practised orators. ^ the rev. mr. loudmouth opened the de- bate. he said: “mr. president, feller genamuns, an’ vis- itin' fr'en's: speakin' uv a good run bein’ bettah 'n a bad stan' remin's me uv how i run in in'junap'lis, when i seed de ghose. i 'specks you 'membah me tellin' de story. well, dat's ma motto. i'd rather hab 'em p'int to me an' say—‘yon'ah he goes!' den “hyeah he lays.' i'd rather be a libbin' cow- ard any day den a dead hero! a libbin' coward kin eat an' drink. but whut kin de dead hero do? he's too dead to hyeah 'em eben praisin' uv 'im. i ain't wid’im take 'im 'way fom me! cain't use 'im! he ain't got no sense, no how ! o cl)e black (zat Ølub to undahstan' 'at i don' back down foh 'at man 'at weighs a ton l’” “mr. president,” spoke up roustabout thompson, “i rise to a p'int o' o'dah!” “mr. president,” said lightfoot johnson, “i rises on a question uv pussonal privilege. lemme set de genamuns to rights.” “mr. president!” thundered roustabout thompson, “did you reckanize map’int f" “i does, mr. thompson,” remarked sandy coolly; “state yo' p'int to de society. evah- body else set down.” “well, ma p'int's jes' dis: de genamun ain't discussin' de subjeck.” “yo' p'int's well taken, mr. thompson. rev. loudmouth, confine yo' se’f to de sub- jeck.” “beg pahdon, mr. president,” observed lightfoot johnson, “but you ain't p'inted no judges foh dis gweat occasion.” “’at's right,” said sandy. “i ap'ints billy spooks, professor johnsing, an' slip- che great debate pery simon, an’ de sergeant-at-ahms’ll please to 'sco't 'em to front seats.” as the sergeant-at-arms proceeded to discharge his duty, saskatchewan jones jumped upon a chair, and cried out, “mr. president!” “i don' want to heah fom you, mr. jones,” said sandy quietly. “oh, yes, you must le’be me talk er i'll take a hemorrhage " cried jones. “you’s done gone 'p'inted 'at good-foh-nothin' simon, 'n' i know he won't gimme no show !” “cain't he'p it,” replied sandy, “it’s done an' ovah now.” “well, ºf he 'cides 'g'inse me, i'll cahve 'im " exclaimed jones excitedly. “oh! 'at's foh you an' him to settle,” replied the president. “mr. loudmouth, proceed wid yo' remahks.” “am de judges allowed to make a speech?” inquired simon, rising. che black wat Ølub “no no!” howled jones and thompson, in disgust. “de gen'mun kin speak foh two minutes, ef dr. loudmouth'll gib 'way to him,” ob- served the president. “i thainks he ought to be 'lowed to set his se’f right.” “laud a-mussy on me!” cried jones. “genamuns, visitahs, an’ mr. president,” began simon, with a grin, “not bein’ prepared on de subjeck; an' dis bein’ only ma secon' 'pearance 'fo' de club; an' bein’ natchully whut dey calls a modes' man, i knows you'll 'scuse me while i pauses to deliberate upon de delightful defalcations ob de dells ob de wisconsin, an’ meandahs th’u’ de stony stump-lan' ob ahguement—ma eye on de mo'nin' stah; ma thu'sty tongue a-danglin’ che great debate hit say: “honesty am de bes' policy.’ an' speakin' o' policy, chillun, i cotch $ on ‘ — i – ' dis god-bressed mo'nin'.” “wuzn't dat luck / " exclaimed roustabout thompson. “an' de bible say,” continued loudmouth, “aht am long an’ time am movin’.” an' hit don’ say nothin' 'bout courage. courage 'll nevah git you into de congrega- tion o’ de righteous! an' i don' hab to quote no shakespere, ner any other kine o' spear! don' hab to mess wid no poetry’t all! don' hab to go outside o' de lids o' de holy bible to prove a good run's better 'n' a bad stan'! look at de chillun o' is'all didn't dey run outen de lan' o' egypt? an' wuzn't dat a good run ? an' look at de stan' ole pharaoh took when he follered 'em into de red seal w'y, de fish to-day is a-wearin' ole pharaoh's wish-bone foh a luck-piece! “i might go on, but de honable judges che black wat Ølub has already made up dey onprejudiced mines to gib me de debate. ma laud! i looks up th’u’ de evahlas'in' vista uv time, along de milky way o' heaben, whah de new wo'l's, fresh fom de han’ o' god, am a-swahmin' lak gol'en bees, an' i sees ten thous'an' white- robed angels, hahpin' on dey gol'en hahps, a-pattin' uv dey putty foots, an' a-singin', “a good run's bettah 'n' a bad stan’l” jerusalem, ma happy home, shout, evahbody! evahbody git right happy!” and the rev. loudmouth proceeded to execute sundry apish gymnastics, just as sandy called out: “de genamun's time's up.” “thankeel” cried loudmouth, capering to his seat, “i’m ‘bout out o' win', anyway!” ^ then saskatchewan jones had his innings. “genamuns,” he began, “i jes' wants to tell you whut kine o' man 'at ole black loudmouth is " . “p'int o' o'dah, mr. president,” cried i ci) . black (zat Ølub feet, and clamored for a hearing, and it seemed that deadly war was imminent. the police began to edge cautiously to the door; but the board of trade men were holding their sides with laughter, while the reporter and the minstrel, in high feather, were busily making hay while the sun shone—the one taking rapid notes for his “story,” and the other catching valuable points to be utilized in his troupe. the poor, trembling evan- gelist, unused to such scenes, and frightened beyond measure, had early taken refuge be- hind a barricade of chairs in an obscure cor- ner of the room, where he cautiously watched the proceedings, determined to get his money's worth at all hazards. nor was his precaution unnecessary; for, altho no one was seriously injured at this juncture of the club's deliberations, chairs were hurled across the room, tables were upset and split into kindling-wood; and half a barrel of plaster was shattered from the wall. but above all i che great debate the infernal bedlam, sandy's voice was heard, ringing clear and imperative, until something like order was at length obtained. “take keer; lemme set right close by de do’,” observed the rev. loudmouth, “’ca'se dey's gwine to be trouble here, 'n' i don' want to be in it.” slippery simon simply sat and grinned, and the president ordered jones to be less personal in his remarks. “all right, mr. president,” replied jones, taking a fresh start, “’co'din' to ma way o' thainkin', any ole stan's bettah'n no stan' at all. w’y, a man 'at won't fight ain't no kine o' man! is de bible say, he 'll let you pull out his beard, an’ blow it in his face. now, i’m allus lookin' foh trouble, an' when igits th’u’ cahvin’ de dahk meat 'roun’ hyeah dis eb'nin', an' steps back fom ole loud- mouth, an' puts up ma tools—” “de genamun's time's up,” said sandy. “mr. brighteyes have de flo'. i i cd& black wat Ølub “jes' lemme finish whut i want to say!” jones insisted. “set down dah,” said sandy firmly. - jones obeyed. ~ brighteyes came forward and said: “gen- amuns, we don't know whut a bad stan’ is. sometime we runs when we might o' stood an' won; an' ag’in we fights when we might o' made a better out at runnin'. a good run has saved many a po’ feller. den, ag'en, whut often seems lak a bad stan’ may be changed into a great victory, ef you don't git skeered an' quit too quick. look how phil sheridan rid out fºom de town o’ winchester, an' snatched his greates' victory fºom whut seemed lak a mighty bad defeat. an' whilst that evahbody ain't phil sheridan, it's a great deal owin' to de kine o' grit you's got jes' whah you stan' in de worl’. you take a dog 'at won't neither bahk ner bite, an' evah- body's allus keekin' at 'im. take a 'nother dog 'at's allus ragin' an’ bahkin'—no dif- -- " ~ che great debate f'unce ef he bite er no—an' people shows 'im a heap o' respeck. see 'im tahin' up an’ down behine his master's fence, lak he's goin' ravin' mad. but he's only gittin' in his bluff. 'f you'd staht at 'im wid a club, he'd run fit to kill his se’f. it's all a mattah uv nerve in dis worl’. “look whut a bad stan' de people took in de time o’ de flood, when no'y made his success- ful home run in de ahk. w'y, no'y made de hit o' de season! an' yit none o' de theater managers ner newspaper editors ner book publishers uv his day wouldn't do no business wid 'im prior to his great success as a weather prophet. de museums wouldn't even ingage 'im. an' aftahwahds, dey none uv. 'em couldn't. “now, no'y wuz a col’-watah man. an’ aftah his cause had jes' swept de earf, whut does he do but go an’git drunk an' while i cl)e black (zat Ølub was but little affected. it was an old and very common scene to him. he was interested in the debate, and was anxious to hear sandy's poem, which he knew was soon to follow. ~ “now,” said sandy, taking advantage of a moment's tranquillity, while de judges is pond'rin' ovah dey decision, i'll read, by special reques', ma poem, ‘de cahvin'.'” a welcome silence ensued, and then sandy read his piece. great applause followed the reading of the poem. - “say, my young friend, you've got the making of a fine man in you,” observed one of the board of trade men. “you ought to develop into a leader among your people. i should like to see you after the meeting ends.” “all right, sah,” said sandy, interested. “doc,” said roustabout thompson, his voice full of emotion, “you's gwine to git de che great debate oppertunity uv yo' life—i kin feel it in ma bones. now, be a good boy, an’ mine whut de gem'un tell you, an' you'll nevah regret it. you too smaht a young man to be foolin' yo’ time 'way lak you is. an', whutevah happens, don' fergit yo' ole fr’en', thomp- son.” “did you evah know me to go back on a fr’en'?” asked sandy, with a touch of sad- ness in his voice. “well, den,” he con- cluded, “truss me now—all uv you.” “doc's a gweat genamun l’ exclaimed the little secretary seriously. “he’s bin father, brother, fr’en', an' evahthing to me—i’d jes' die fer 'im!” “yes, ef you couldn't fine no way to run,” said roustabout thompson. everybody laughed. “de judges is ready to han’ in dey deci- sion,” sandy announced. “mr. president,” said simon, with a grin, “ax'in' you to 'scuse magweat modesty—dis i che black at Ølub in tatters, and the crimson on his back show- ing plainly that saskatchewan's deadly razor had several times gone home. in vain did sandy call for order; in vain he pounded his desk; in vain did he and the rest of the club endeavor to head off the flying combatants! even bad bob failed. fear had given simon wings, and desperation, long pent up, had maddened saskatchewan. around they swept like a hurricane, smashing chairs and leaving ruin in their wake—a wake like the trail of enraged buffaloes. “good laud! don' you see de man's 'a-cahvin’ me?” bawled simon. “seem lak i cain't fine a do' ner winder no whah!” mercy came to his relief. distinguishing at last a window from the rest of the wall, he plunged headforemost through it to the sidewalk, twenty feet below, taking curtains, window-frame, and shutters with him, and landing in an insensible heap upon the pave- ment. a moment later jones lay beside him, oo che great debate whither, he had been butted by bad bob sampson. jones, too, was insensible. his nose was bleeding and apparently broken, and the blood was trickling slowly from his mouth and ears. both he and simon were conveyed to the hospital, where their wounds were dressed. sandy turned the lights out on the re- mainder of his followers, drove them all out, and locked the door. then he went down- stairs to meet his new friend. when he emerged from that conference, he had the step and look of one whose life-horizon has been broadened and glorified by glimpses of a brighter dawn. he hunted up his secre- tary, and together they visited the hospital to look after their friends, and were rejoiced to find them both, as sandy expressed it, “a good deal mo’ skeert den hu't.” the next morning a newspaper printed a three-column “scoop” on the “horrible mid- night murder at the black cat club.” oi |- * chapter xiii reconciliations, reflections, remem= brances when the club held its next meeting, one of its members was absent, and several who were present bore varied marks in evidence of their participation in the eventful debate. simon was still in the hospital; but jones, who was present, informed the club that his victim was nearly well. jones's nose was liberally decorated with court-plaster, and his right arm, which was badly bruised by his fall, was still in a sling. simon, he said, had received several gashes in the back, and had severely wrenched his shoulder when he jumped through the window; but he was o reconciliations and remembrances doing as well as could be expected, and they had “made up friends” while together in the hospital, having occupied adjoining cots. everybody expected trouble between sas- katchewan and bad bob, but sandy took the matter in hand at the very beginning of the meeting, and succeeded in preventing hostil- ities. after a solemn scolding, in which he called the club's attention to his broken fur- niture and shattered walls, sandy demanded that all hands apologize to one another and to him. and the apologies followed, profuse and satisfactory. “now,” said sandy, “i wants evah one uv you to shake han's wid me, an' i wants you all to shake han's wid one 'nothah.” it was done, the repentant, grinning club- men laughing and chatting merrily the while at a ceremony which thompson remarked reminded him of “ole free mefodis doin’s.” “now,” said sandy, at the conclusion of o reconciliations and remembrances “oh, i’m jes' tellin' you foh yo’ own good, niggah!” thundered thompson, “but you don’ know good advice when you hears it. w’y, you don' know nothin'! don' | know yo' right han’ fom yo' lef’ſ don' know yo' head fom a holler log ' you young niggahs gives me de kidney complaint l” and s: thompson deposited his enor- mous bulk in his seat, puffing and perspiring with excitement, angry with the world in general, and the colored youth in partic- ular. “needn't cloud up, ole niggah; you cain't rain l’’ observed john- son, casting a disdainful glance in the direction of the elder man. the whole club laughed, thompson joining in the merriment, despite his powerful effort to look dangerous. “now,” said sandy, rising as the storm of che black wat Ølub laughter died away, “in order to git ouh fr’en' thompson back into good humor wid his self an' evahbody, i'm goin' to ask 'im to tell de club a story. mr. thompson, we is all ears.” “no, you ain't, nuther,” retorted thomp- son, “you is all fools! ef i knows webstah's dickshunary !” and thompson lay back in his chair and laughed at his imagined wit until his sides shook. the whole club laughed, and sandy, see- ing that its feeling of good-fellowship had been thoroughly restored, seized the opportu- nity to declare the meeting at an end. io che black at Ølub mah. went ovah into 'at paht dey calls “de famous fruit belt," an’jes' tu'ned mase'f lose, lak a colt in new pastah, out in de country, 'mungst de peach orchahds an' thaings. “peach orchahd's a mighty putty place to stroll th'u' in de summah-time—cool breeze an' pure air, blue sky, lubly scenery, sweet fragrance, an' birds a-singin', an' peaches! —'twell you cain't res'! “i walks on lak a perfeck genamun, min'- in’ ma own business. ole peaches kep' a-sassin'an' a-blushin'an' a-pokin' fun at me, an' a-callin' me a cowahd—sump'in' i won't take off fom no body—don' keer who "t is so, by’me-by, i got mad. yes, indeed, got ma niggah up! an' i walks up to a big, ole tree look’ lak it had a biggah load den it could stan' up undah, an' i got mahan' on a pu’ty, ripe peach whut bin jollyin' me 'long mo' 'n any de res', an’s’i: “come off fom dah'n say what you said to me!' it mum- bled sump'in' back at me, an’s’i: * ma li'l’ * good gatin’s” fr’en', i'm sorry to tell you i'm a cannibal.’ s’i: ‘’at's ma reg'lah business—'way i makes ma libbin'.' s'i: ‘you’ll either down meer i'll down you—right here in dis very identical peach orchahd, dis day uv ouh laud an' saveyah, jesus chrise!’ an' i popped ma jaw down on it, an' oh! ma good laud a'mighty! so good it lak to to'e de whole top o' my head off i opened ma mouf, an' th'o'd back ma head, an' jes' laughed an' took on lak i nevah had a god's bit o' sense ! “tase lak a mixture o' peaches an' cream, vanilla ice cream, an' home-made poun' cake, stirred into a loblolly wid yo' sweeth'aht's fingah, an’ fed to you outen a gol'en spoon by a angel, when you's dreamin'. oh, laud how jucy an' meller an' sof'ſ w’y, artah de laud made peaches, he oughtn't done a 'nothah thaing but set 'round' an' congratulate his self; 'ca'se i 'speck he wuz a thousan' yeahs studyin' up 'at receep! ripe peaches is i - che black qat Ølub 'im down "mungst a passel o'dahkies, an' put 'em all to eatin' millun, you couldn't tell f'om 'zaminin’ derines which wuz riley's an’ which wuz de cullud folks'! fine man, dat riley is. i made ma se’f 'quainted wid 'im in injunap'lis, an’ used to go up an' tetch 'im almose any time—“for machu'ch'—dat wuz ma ole racket. (co'se i spent de money as i pleased.) an' when i’d git broke, i go tetch riley ag’in. he wuz dead easy to wo'k— gib 'im any ole song! oh! i wuz strickly in it, 'tel i went, lak a fool, an’sp'ilt mase'f wid 'im. i 'speck while i’m at it, i bettah tell you how i come to do it. “went to his house one day, i did (great, big, square house made outen red brick— stan's on lockerby street. i knows right whah it is—bin dah mo' times den i got fin- gers an' toes), an' i rung de do' bell, an’ sen's in wo'd 'at i wants to see riley on 'po'tant business. putty soon down he come fom his study. s'i: ‘bre'r riley, does you **good (eatin’s” know milluns has gone up to fo’ty cents, an' stilla-risin'?' s'e: ‘no, reverent; ain't it orful?' s'i: ‘yes, an' i don't 'pose to pay it!” s'e: “whut you goin' to do? we mus' hab milluns to eat!’ s’i: ‘br'er riley, dey's lots o' fahms 'roun' hyeah, an' on dem fahms dey's heaps o' milluns; an' de fahmahs 'ud be willin' to donate 'em to you mose any night you'll come arter 'em — 'vidin' dey cain't ketch you.’ s’i: “i’m goin' out to try ma luck to-night, an' i called 'roun’ to see 'f you'd go wid me.’ s'i: “fo’ty cents foh a watah millun is a outrage l' “he went to mumblin' sump'in' 'bout ‘im- propriety,’ ‘moral suasion,’ ‘character,” “set- tin' high example,’ an' one thaing a'nother; an’s’i: ‘you cain't eat dat!’ an' i see i’d struck a tendah spot in 'im. s'e: “well, reverent, call 'roun’ to-night 'bout ten o'clock, ef de weathah's fair, an' i'll thaink about it.’ s'e: ‘i'm wo'kin' on a piece o' cl)& black wat ſºlub poetry now, 'n' i'm come to a place whah i cain't fine a rhyme—dog ma melts 'f i kin l’” s'i: ‘a li'l' fresh a'r 'ud do you good.' s'e: ‘maybe 't would, reverent.' an' i knowed i had 'im. - - “went back dat eb'nin'—as god would hab it—an’ riley say: “wait 'tel i git ma hat.' an' off we put—down de street— splittin' injunap'lis wide open! riley had a so’t o' hop-light-lady step, an' i wuz a-doin' de mobile buck. black cat tried to cross us, an' we kicked de natu'l stuffin's outen 'im an' common folks we walked right ovah— same as dey wuz cobble-stones! dey wuz jes' a few stray people on de streets. tell you whut, we made a noble couple—whit- comb riley an' de rev'unt loudmoufl moon wuz shinin' jes' right—jes' 'nuff foh us to see an' not be seen; an' as we lef’ de city, an’ struck de dirt road, ole riley 'gun * “dog my melts” is an expression which occurs fre- quently in the hoosier dialect poems of mr. riley.—j. d.c. **@icsd (eatin’s” to feel de spurrit; an' reeled off yahns dat would o' driv' de blues outen a bottle o' in- digo. w’y, riley knowed mo' 'bout 'at paht o' de country 'n i did! “cah'd me out, he did, about fo' miles fºom town, an' stopped right in front uv a big ole fahm whah you could hyeah de milluns jes' a-laughin' an’ a-talkin' an’ a-snigglin' in dey sle'bes, lak dey wuz goin’ to buss open. “‘now,' sez riley, ‘dis ole feller here raises de bes' milluns in de state; but he keeps a mean dog, an’ dey say he watches •his patch o' nights wid a shotgun. i don' know how true 'tis. furder on, dey's a 'nother ole fahmah has a patch, an' sleeps lak a hones' citizen, an' don’ keep no dog; but dey say his milluns ain't no 'count. now, whut'll we do?’ “s'i: “we'll go whah dey's de bes' mil- luns, an’ take de chances!' s'i: “i’m done - walked too fur to back watah now !' s'i: “i’m a ole han' at dis business — foller me, cl)g black (zat Øitaly an' you'll w'ah diamon’s.’ an’s’i: “l’es' keep close together; so’s we won't take one nother fur de man.’ s'e: ‘’greed!' an' ovah defence we clum—down on all fo's—an' inter de millun-patch, thumpin' milluns an' tearin’ vines foh who las' de longes'! but we didn't eat none; 'ca'se we ca'lated to tote 'em home, an' put 'em on ice foh de nex’ day. “well, arter we'd bin in dah a while, an’ didn't see ner hyeah nothin', we got bol’; an' raised up an’ went to walkin' 'roun’ dah, lak we owned de place ('ca'se we wanted de bes' milluns in de patch)—an' i swah we got. los' fºom one 'nother. but we wuz dast to holler. made up' ma mine to tase a piece o' millun, den fine riley 'n' go home—already had a sackful hid down 'side de railroad track to tote home wid me. went up to a stump, i did, an' i brought a millun down 'cross it—‘bam!' an' de stump jumped up an' tuck arter me! an' i thought i hyeah'd a gun go off—“bud-du-ee!' s'i: o ** {{ssd. (eatin’s” ‘dah! bress god, de fahmah's comin' | arter me!’ an' i spread ma wings an' flew s'i: ‘br'er riley, do de bes' you kin foh yo' self! de bible ſº say: “fleef'om de wraff to come!”.' /, an' by dat time i had done gone a mile, an' had los' coat, shoes, an' hat. i made foh one o' ma membahs’ houses, on de outskirts o' de town, an' i fell in de do', an’s’i: ‘come an' git me!' an' i fainted plum' away. “ma membah tuck me in an' put me to bed, an' nex’ mo'nin' he lent me a suit o' his clothes to go home in—i'd done fixed up a ghose story, an’ tole 'im. on ma way home, i stopped at riley's house—see how he come out. an' dey tole me he wuz sick in bed. “w'y, ain't you hyern it?’ sez dey. an' dey showed me whah de papahs said he'd bin hit in de head an' helt up an’ robbed ) s’i: ‘ain’t dat a shame!—nice a man as he is l’ an' i went in whah he wuz, an’s’i: i che black at Ølub “go into a fust-class restaurant whah dey has french cooks an' up-to-date english waiters. let a fine orchestra be playin' soft strains o' fairy music fºom behine a bank o' flowers. an' let 'em furnish me wid a good vocal solo er two—sumpin' lively an' up wid de times. an' i want you to keep all other shades outen dah—wants to be de onlies' deep brunette in de place. den, han’ me yo' bill o' fah an’ let me order de bes' in de house. “den, ef you don' chahge me at least fi' dollahs, i'll thaink i’m bin insulted.” the club laughed, and johnson sat down. “gimme quiet home eatin's,” spoke up bad bob; “none o' yo' restaurants foh me. you nevah knows whut dey's feedin' you. i's woked in 'em ma self. mo'n once i's dropped a o'dah o' meat on de flo', an' picked it up an' give it to de man. 'n' he'd eat it, an' smack his lips, an' go an' pay foh it. tell me nothin' 'bout yo' restaurants i'll ** {{ssd eatin’s” take home cookin', evah time ! i'd be a happy man to-night 'f i could jes' go back to dat putty little wife an' home i had five years ago—an' jes' me'n ma little wife set down to a good meal o' po’k chops, hot bus- cuit an' buttah, coffee, pickles, an' a little pie—some o' 'at little 'oman's own cookin' —'at 'ud satisfy me! but 'at's all past an’ gone now—can't nevah be no mo'ſ estah's dead. po' li'l' estah wid all dat col' groun’ on huh !” and bad bob buried his face in his big, rough hands, and began to blubber. “oh, stop dat foolishness!” cried simon, in disgust. “dis ain't no fun'all we's all got people dead—whut diff'unce do it make? ain't you got to die, too?—leakin' 'roun’ here lak a wiah siftah! take dat fuss away f'om here !” “’f you don' want to go back to dat hos- pital, you bettah stop!” cried bob. “oh, bob, i wuz jes' meant to console you,” replied simon. **@ssd (eatin’s” “'ca'se de debil's got a mo'gage on you now !” “genamuns,” said sandy, as he got upon his feet, “is dey any one uv you kin play notes?—dem thaings 'at looks lakli' ' black boys hangin' ovah de fence?” “yes,” said lightfoot johnson, “i’m a music 'fessah ! don' you come here askin' me kin i play notes i'm a musicianah by tradeſ i jes' gits up on a pianer, an' walks about, an' talks to de dead an' de libbin', an’ goes down an' tells you whut heben 'n' hell's lak—explo'es de fo' winds uv de earf, an’ climbs de stahs, an’ leads you back to de gahden o' eden, an’ takes up ma residence dah. don' you come heah axkin' me kin i play notes; but jes' say is dey anythaing 'bout 'em i don't undahstan', 'n' i'll tell you no.” “i kin poun' out a few co'ds, mase'f,” spoke up sas- katchewan. “’at's good,” said sandy, ** {{ssd gatin’s” iii “evah single mouf'ul uv it makes me hollah out wid joy! w’y, it's same az havin' 'ligion! an' i capahs lak a boy; jes’ de same as any dahky dat wah fotch up in de souf, when he feels a sweeten 'tatah slowly meltin' in his mouf. vi “’ca'se you see a-eatin’ uv it makes me thaink uv ma ole home— 'way down yondah in ole dixie, whah i deahly longs to roam 'mongst de cotton-fields an’ flowahs, roun’ de ole home place once mo', happy, munchin' sweeten 'tatahs, is i did in days uv yo’. v “i kin see de little cabin whah our fambly libbed, an’ whah putty vines an’ mo'nin' glories shed dey fragrance on de a'h, .i ci)& black ſºat Ølub lemme hab ma sweeten 'tatahs, ca'se dey's good de whole yeah 'roun’ſ - xi “whut would 'possum be widout 'em?— nothin’ whutsomevah, 't all! cook it widout sweeten 'tatah, an' you’ll see how flat it fall! pie an” cake am common eatin’s— an' ice cream am white folks' muss— ham an' cabbage, con-pone, nothin' hit's de spot lak'tatah does! xii “i lubs peaches, too—i’s eat 'em ripe an' fresh, right off de tree;— dey is juicy, dey is mellah, dey is sweet as sweet kin be— an' dey's rosy, an’ dey's yellah— yit an' still dey nevah seem good as eatin’sweeten 'tatahs, when i shets ma eyes an' dream. xiii “evahthaing is 'dulterated by de white folks, nowadays— cl)& black wat Ølub at couldn’t cook a 'tatah right, 'at ah'd settle it wid me— i’d go ma way, an’ she'd go hern; jes' you watch me now, an’ see! xvi. x “’ca'se dey's heaps o' precious memories sweeten 'tatahs brings to me— w’y, i nevah thainks about 'em but ma mammy's face i see— an' ma mammy sho'ly lubbed 'em, an' ma little brothah joe, at died, craved foh 'em awful bad— jes' 'fo' he had to go. xvii “as his little eyes wah closin', an' we stood aroun’ his bed, while de sunset, th’u’ de windah, shed its glory 'roun’ his head, mammy drawed him to huh bosom, tendah, knowin' death had won, an' he whispahs—‘please to wake me when de sweeten 'tatah’s done.’ xviii “does you wonder dat i lubs 'em, arter all you's heahd me tell? jit the Øburel) sandy's men had drilled faithfully all the week, and when the night arrived, they met their esteemed leader at their old head- quarters, and, in a final rehearsal, satisfied him of their ability and willingness to do justice to the parts assigned them. at eight o'clock they started for the church, arriving there a 'half-hour later. they found the church brilliantly lighted and already com- fortably filled, with a long line of people waiting outside for admission. six police- men kept the crowd moving in orderly pro- cession to the main entrance of the church, where a temporary ticket office had been arranged. the club entered from a side street, by a rear door, and was conducted at once to the pastor's study, where they waited until time to begin, chatting pleasantly, the while, with the pastor and a favored few of his officers and flock. meanwhile, the church was rapidly filling with people of all colors, jit the Øburel) the church, an octoroon, with girlish, yet reso- lute, face that bespoke for its possessor great possibilities — a magnificent creature with juno-like form and poise of head—presided at an immense pipe-organ, flooding the room with surges of tempestuous harmony. now and again she half paused to throw a sisterly glance of recognition at some acquaintance who had entered; then returned her attention to her playing. she did not cease until the loud burr of an electric bell —a signal from the rev. thirdly—announced the coming of the club. then she swept out with the dignity of an oriental queen, her fine form and complexion and her black hair and eyes showing to advantage as she crossed the stage and disappeared through a side door leading to the pastor's study— the same door by which the club entered, a moment later. the club was greeted with a deafening cheer as it made its appearance, resplendent i che black wat Ølub in evening dress suits, snowy linen, diamonds, and patent leather shoes. the club formed a semicircle. sandy sat in the middle, and the black cat lay at his feet. “ladies and gentlemen,” said the rev. thirdly, coming forward, “the talented young men who have so kindly consented to entertain us this evening, giving their services as a donation to this church, have honored your humble servant with the re- quest that i act as master of ceremonies during the rendition of their program to- night. brothers and sisters, i accept this honor, and will try to perform the duties the position devolves upon me to the best of my ability. you know shakespeare says: “some men are born great; some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.' well, this signal greatness which i bear to-night has been thrust upon me... i did not seek it. far be it from me to seek earthly honors/ i am trying in my cl)g black qat Ølub quartet: mr. sampson baritone; mr. jen- kins, tenor; mr. brighteyes, soprano; mr. simon, basso profundo.” the quartet sang. oh, the indescri- bably sweet music of the uncultured negro voice ' who can tell of it? the room was hushed with soft, melodious soughs—a flood- tide o'er the soul—a harmony of peace— a dream of pleasant sounds. nature was breathing out aeolian strains through her un- conscious instruments it was a sound such as groves make when the night winds whisper through them, or which bells at vespers send over flowery vales—such sounds as may have floated over eden's walls, at shut of day. 'twas such a sound as sad waves make that tell their grief to pebbles, as they kiss them on the shore. 'twas love and pain and longing vocalized. the song grew bold. it bound hearts in its spell. it pictured scenes of home. it brought back old-time friends and sweet- che black at Ølub hearts long forgot. it told of hope and fear. it talked of billowed wave, and sang of dis- tant isles. it painted landscapes, told dreams and tales of magic power. it was the secret of all tender souls that ever lived and loved. it was tranquil, deep, and full like a noble river flowing between hills. it rang the village bells; it set the hearths ablaze, and made the flowers bloom. it was joyful. it was triumphant and splendid. it was an oration: it had argument; it had grandeur; it had eloquence; it had sublimity; it had reverence; it had beauty, romance, and play- fulness, and pathos as tender and as touch- ing as a lost child's cry. - the sweet song died. but o'er all hearts a solemn hush had fallen, as if through that vast auditorium had rushed the eddy of a wind-gust from the music of the spheres. souls had been strangely touched and drawn together as if they were akin, and felt, for the moment, the high destiny for which they jit the Øburch) then, just as the audience appeared to be losing interest in the performance, he passed the instrument behind his back, above his head, and between his legs, without interrupt- ing the tune or losing the time. a storm of applause burst forth; but the player, little noticing it, continued his unique feat. he placed the bow in his mouth, and sawed upon it with the fiddle, swung the instrument and picked the strings; played on one string, two strings, three strings, four strings, gave the air with variations, and, in fact, got into every conceivable position, and did almost everything imaginable, except, as the rev. thirdly expressed it, “put the fiddle down and walk away from it,” without interrupting the time or tune. “doc" exclaimed saskatchewan jones, “i didn't know you could do nothin' lak dat!” “oh, dey's heaps o' thaings you don’ know !” observed the poet, “ef all you don't know cl)g black wat Ølub wuz put into a book, i 'speck it 'ud have a big sale.” “ladies and gentlemen,” announced the rev. thirdly, “we will now be entertained by a black irishman, mr. r. thompson, in the comic recitation, “jamie butler and the owl.” and the brunette gentleman referred to proceeded to belabor both audience and atmosphere with a voice as knotty and un- sympathetic as a shillalah, and with a system of gesturing which would have been a revela- tion to delsarte. when he had finished his gymnastics, the people cheered for pure re- lief; but, mistaking it for a recall, thomp- son returned, and sang “killarney,” to his own immense satisfaction, and his hearers' pain. the announcement that jenkins would recite another poem gave the audience a de- sire for continued existence. sandy read “sweeten tatahs,” and then johnson rendered “home, sweet home” with variations. jit the Øburel) “friends,” said the rev. thirdly, coming forward and leaning upon his elbow against the pulpit, “as you doubtless observe by the souvenirs which you hold in your hands, the quartet's song, which follows, is the last number on the program. now, for fear some of you may go out, and thereby miss the event of your lives, i desire to say that after the quartet sings, you are kindly requested to keep your seats for a few min- utes, as i have words of very grave impor- tance to say to you; after which as many as wish to do so will be given the opportunity of meeting mr. jenkins, and grasping him cordially by the hand, immediately in front of the altar. the quartet will now render ‘my old kentucky home.’ and the min- ister disappeared in the direction of his study. the quartet sang, and the audience re- mained stone still, in almost breathless an- ticipation. it had not long to wait. slowly the familiar figure of the minister was seen jit the Øburch) | to sen' you two, th’ee putty little cu'ly-headed boys an' girls to comfo't yo' ole age, 'n' i'll warrant you'll be right happy!” sibyll hid her face, and everybody laughed; and, as the carriage drove away, thompson shouted, “i’m comin' up to cook foh you, sandy!” “all right,” yelled sandy, “i’ll look foh you monday mo'nin'!” - “johnny's his secretary still, 'n' i'm goin' up an' git a waiter job,” said saskatchewan jones. “i b'leve i'll be his head pahty man,” said lightfoot johnson. “very place foh you,” observed thompson. “i'd make 'im a good secon' man, i guess,” remarked brighteyes. “whut'll you do, loudmouf?” asked thompson. “i’m jes' studyin',” replied the ex-preacher. “i 'speck i'll go up an’ be his cap'in che black wat Ølub o' de watch, so’s i kin git 'mongst his good eatin's foh nothin'. den i'll staht ma se’f a mission right nex’ do' to 'im, an' jes' make a mint o' money outen it! k'ha! haſ ha!” laughed the rev. l––, dancing and slapping himself for joy at the brilliancy of his thought, “’at's jes' whut i'll do! i'll hab all you dahkies' money!” “loudmouf, you's a case,” remarked thompson. “got to be, to git on in dis wicked worl’,” returned loudmouth. “whut you say, br'er sampson’’’ “all i’ got to say is, may god bless sandy an' his sweet little wife long's he treats huh right, i'll sho' stan' by him.” “say, you all makes me right weak!” ex- claimed simon, in disgust. “whut you gwine to do wid’at furniture an' stuff down at the club? you all got so good, i 'speck i'll take an' sell it—'at whut's wo'f anythaing. i knowed how thaings 'ud end when sandy s princeton university library o l ºr º * * date issued date due may. - date cje . - - _- - * zthi iii, lillian simmonsotis m. shackelford grary of union theological seminary vew york mar lillian simmons or the conflict of sections a story by otis m. shackelford, a. b. author of, a dream of freedom realized, seeking the best, and other essays and poems. illustrated by william hamilton burton publishing company publishers and book sellers kansas city, missouri ary of the union theological seminary new york copyright by otis m. shackelford do non . ps .h to a departed father, to a beloved mother, to devoted sisters and, brothers; is this volume lovingly dedicated by, the author. preface in our travels, north and south, we find among our people certain social evils and false notions of life, which need to be corrected. unity of action, and of opinion, in all sections of this country, is absolutely necessary, if we would progress in social and business uplift. and in order to call attention to many of our short comings and things which tend to stint our growth, as a race, or nation, we write this story of “lillian simmons” or “the conflict of sec- tions." it is based upon some of the vital questions and problems of the day. it is a love story which creates interest and claims the attention, and at the same time touches upon the various phrases of the race problem in a pleasing yet subtle way. separate schools, the "jim crow car," segregation in its many forms, and other things pertaining to the welfare of the race, are discussed in turn. our characters are clear cut, and are por- trayed in an intensely human way, representing types not only of our own colored race, but they preface are typical of the entire human family. they are true to life. and we would be happy could their names live forever. but for this we do not hope. we do hope however, to inspire others of our race who are literarily inclined, and to show forth the great possibilities in this new field of endeavor. we as a race want a place in literature. we want to be heroes in song and story. we want to play leading roles on the stage and in book. we want to stir the emotions of men. we want to provoke laughter, tears and applause. we are tired of playing the foolish, silly, insig- nificant part as given to us by the literature of other races. and we think the time has come for us to take this line of work in hand. the soil of the negro literary field is in- deed rich and abounds in vast tracts, from which material for history, song, and story may be gathered. we hope this effort will inspire the boys and girls of our race, who are being turned out of our high schools and colleges each year, and who have literary taste and inclination, to write along various lines. we would ask them to use the grammar, the rhetoric, and the correct en- glish which they have mastered, in the making of a literature and a history for their race, in preface creating characters and heroes, that will live long after they are dead. take the stories from the lips of the old grandfathers and mothers, and with the skill which many of the young people posess, polish them up. they will make interesting reading and in a few years from now, when the lips of the old are forever sealed, and the chance for obtaining much authentic history is forever gone, they will be of great value. we hope that much good will come from our effort. we invoke the good will and sym- pathy of our readers. may our purpose inspire and please them if the story does not. we wish to thank the burton publishing company for suggestions and favors shown, and the good will that it has always extended to us. we highly recommend them to others who may have work like this to be done. we also wish to thank mr. william hamil- ton, one of missouri's best. colored artists for illustrations. with his talent there is much good that he can do for his race. and last, but by no means least, we wish to thank mrs. eva l. lewis, of paducah, ky., for copying our manuscript in so beautiful a hand preface and preparing it for the press. the parts that these people have played in producing “lillian simmons,” or “the conflict of sections” are indispensable, and again we thank them. with this we give the book into the hands of the public. let them use it as they will. the author table of contents chapter the north against the south. page . a fight “ ii lillian simmons iii the newspaper article iv the indignation meeting " v the warning heeded vi thwarted " vii the two arguments " viii reverses for the simmons family ix a teacher wanted x a business venture " xi mrs. simmons rebuke xii christopher's grocery burns " xiii a colored town " xiv the jim crow car “ xv love letters “ xvi george simmons arrest famil, table of contents page chapter xviii mrs. simmons visits charles xix a grave situation xx lihian's distress xxi lillian at home xxii the trial xxiii the conclusion list of illustrations . seeking an opportuuity to land a page telling blow. . “when you cast "flections on de souf, you cast 'flections on me." . “i have always been averse to colored schools and colored teachers.” . charles christopher's grocery store was in flames. . “my case has been tried and settled in the court of courts.” . “come and meet my folks," said george, i want them to know you.” . the north and south united by the ties of business and by the ties of love. chapter i the north against the south charles christopher, a young colored man of the south, after having been knocked and tossed about in various ways, found himself many miles from home among strange people with strange ways and strange environments. the country contrasted with his own in many ways. physical conditions were different-as were the customs and manners and brogue in speech. hence for a long time he was at sea. he had lost his bearings as it were. having, however, found employment in a northern hotel, for it was in the north he was now located, he was thrown in company with young men whose traiding was different to his, and which was in keeping with the section in which they lived. he readily became acquainted with them and soon they were on very friendly and famil- iar terms. he did not know though how to take their jokes and slurs cast at him and the sunny . lillian simmons country in which he lived and loved. they were thoughtless young men, and knew not how deeply they were piercing the heart of their new comrade with their satire. they did not know that charles christopher, though balked and checked by poverty, had a fine sensitive nature; that his thoughts were „pure and his ideals were lofty; that he had a high aim in life; that it was this high aim which had led him on step by step until he had com- pleted his education in one of the southern colleges. not one of his companions was equal to him in book lore. but they were ignorant of his preparation in many ways, for a great and use- ful life. they felt themselves superior to him because they were born and raised in the north. this argument alone they thought sufficient to establish their superiority. and to tell the truth this was the only argument they had in their favor when compared with charles christopher. one morning after hours he went down by the river side, as was a habit of his. to watch the distant boats and water craft as they plied to and fro and up and down stream. while thus engaged his attention was attracted by loud and the north against the south at this point in george simmons'passionate speech charles christopher interrupted: "you northern people have yet to learn this lesson, george simmons, that white people are white people, that blood is thicker than water, that the racial instinct will assert itself. that one bad negro cannot spoil the privileges of a community of good negroes, unless the prejudice in the hearts of the other race is aroused. they seek the slightest excuse for humiliating and imposing hardships upon our people. why not seize these disturbers by the nape of the neck and the seat of the pants and hurl them bodily through the gates and doors of their places of amusements, thus making an ex- ample of such offenders for all time to come? this would be the proper way to proceed. this is what they do to their own offenders, and this would show respect for deserving, well- trained individuals of all races. why bar the good on account of the bad. why cast them all on a heap together and treat them all as un- worthy? tell me why, george simmons, in a straight-forward, candid manner the reason why? or have you ever tried to figure it out?” at this juncture charles paused for a re- ply. “there is but one reply george, if you are lillian simmons honest enough to make it, or if you have sense enough to see it. it is simply this: that prejudice is rapidly growing all over this country. it is taking or has taken deep root in your city. this is inevitable and it would have come sooner or later regardless of the conduct of these so-styled bad southern "niggers.” like the wolf that wanted to devour the innocent lamb and for an excuse charged it with having muddled up his water in the stream where he was to drink. the lamb begged pardon and showed him where it was impossible for him to muddy up his drink- ing water since he was several yards below where he, the wolf, had to drink. the wolf could find no legal excuse for devouring the in- nocent lamb, so he pounced upon it without an excuse. so, through prejudice with or without an excuse, these hardships are inflicted upon you." "oh no, you can't tell me that,” said george simmons impatiently. "for instance in the high school, colored boys have always played on the foot ball team and the base ball team. colored girls have always played right along by the side of white girls on the basket ball team. i was 'class orator' of my class. frank mack was valedictorian of his class. each year honors have been distributed according to the lillian simmons abrupt close by an intentional insult. the thrust was more than his manhood could stand. "what do you mean george simmons?"" his large eyes fairly gleaming with rage. "you know not what you say. don't you know i had rather obey the call of death a hundred times than submit to your demand? i have no interest in this place, but i shall not leave until it pleases me to do so. as to this insult that you have directed with unerring aim at me, i shall not stand it. you must whip me right now for i am going to fight you with all the strength that is in my body. so prepare.” at this he began taking off his coat. by this time quite a crowd of loafers, white and colored had gathered, and were eager to see what promised to be a good fight, the young men being evenly matched in size, strength and skill. and too, each had friends or sympathizers in the crowd as was evidenced by the applause and encouragement that each received. in less time than it takes to relate it, the young men were standing before each other, hatless and coatless, in true pugilistic attitude, seeking an opportunity to land a telling blow. hamilton seeking an opportunity to land a telling blow. chapter ii lillian simmons lillian simmons was a beautiful brown skin maid of eighteen summers. and this particular morning as she stood on the front veranda of her father's stately home, with eyes that sparkled and black wavy hair that glistened in the sunlight, falling in a thick cluster of curls about her girlish neck, she looked more like the nymphs or fairies of the woods than she did the ordinary mortal at home. lillian, it must be admitted, was beautiful to an extraordinary degree, but she was not spoiled. she was handled and tutored by a very sensible mother who, though she loved her children, knew too much about them to spoil them. she did not believe in lavishing luxuries upon them, but she did believe in furnishing such things, as would promote the health of the body and the growth of the mind. unlike most colored parents, she realized that the mind lillian simmons was the most important part about her children, and she did not hesitate to purchase books, in- structive games and toys; things that would cause her children to think and study and do much toward their own self-developement. in other words she did not starve the mind at the expense of the body. she knew that both must be fed. thus mrs. simmons had brought to the threshold of womanhood, a lovable, beautiful, sensible, accomplished girl. a girl full of health and vigor and buoyancy of spirit. a girl whose training had not been neglected in any line. cooking, sewing and piano playing were her accomplishments and she was very proud of her. no young woman could have a greater asset to character or a greater aid to future life and happiness than she, with qualifications like these, this morning she had just finished her por- tion of the housework and had gone out on the veranda to do deep breathing and other exer- cises that she had found beneficial to health. through these exercises she had learned the real secret of how to be healthful and beautiful. she remained there some time basking in the june sunshine, gazing at nature everywhere lillian simmons arrayed in her most beautiful and attractive garments. "what is so rare as a day in june? then, if ever, comes perfect days; whether we look or whether we listen we hear life murmurs or see it glisten.” she repeated to herself the above quotation, which was quite befitting. “isn't that true?” she said, as she stooped and patted the large st. bernard dog on the head, that lay happily at her feet. ted never moved from his position, with his head resting between his paws, but rolled his eyes effectionately and wagged his bushy tail responsively, as if he understood her words and appreciated her happy, poetic frame of mind. "you big noble boy,” she murmured, and with a cheerful laugh she displayed an even set of ivory-like teeth, of which any queen might be proud. then with a hop, skip and jump she hastened into the house to the side of her mother. "mother this is a grand day. i feel like strol- ling! if i were a poet i would write something. i am going to dress and go to the public library and get a good book, may i?” her mother read- ily assented and it was not long before she was lillian simmons hastening along the shady side of the street toward the new carnegie library. so pleased was she with the fresh morning air, perfumed as it were with blossoms from natures hot house, and with song and twitter of birds and the steady rythmic flow of the majes- tic river, that she decided to prolong her walk, and take the path that led along the river front. she had not gone far, however, when she saw a crowd of men and boys at a distance and heard yells and clapping of hands. she continued on her way until she had almost reached the place of excitement. “hit him in the neck! kill him! now you got him!” and other ex- pressions told her that there must be a fight in progress. at this moment a small boy came run- ning to her exclaiming, “miss lillian! your brother george is fighting. him and charley christopher are having it! you had better come and stop it. he's hurting george. george is just a bleedin!" when lillian came upon the scene, the boys were fighting like demons. each, during his school career, had trained in athletic sports,and was well prepared in self-defense. both knew the rough tactics resorted to in foot ball games and they employed them in this awful fight. lillian simmons both knew how to punch in a pugilistic way and they were doing so. side stepping, swinging · and uppercutting was indulged in to the great delight and satisfaction of the crowd. it was really a pretty fight to those who loved a con- test and knew anything about pugilism. and but for the timely arrival of lillian it would per- haps have been a fight to the finish. the crowd slunk back when she approach- ed, most of them knowing that she was george's sister, and dropped their heads and began to walk away. "shame on you george,” she said, rushing in and pulling him by the shoulders. “what on earth is the matter with you?” "let loose sister, i am going to kill this southern nigger," said george, who was breath- ing heavily and bleeding profusely at the nose and mouth. • “you are going right home with me. i am ashamed of you. what will papa and mama say when they know of this?” george was too tired or nervous to reply. charles christopher, embarrased and chagrined at sight of george simmon's beautiful sister turned with hung-down head to his hat and coat, picked them up and walked away. lillian simmons george made one more effort as if to get to him, then giving over to the remonstrances of his sister reached for his coat and hat and put- ting them on, remarked, “this is not done with yet, you southern dog. i'll get you some other day.” the fight had had its effect on him. he was considerably bruised and beaten. both eyes were black and his face and ears were badly swollen. he was a sorry looking spec- tacle with his face and hands and clothing be- smeared with blood, as he passed along the street. after reaching home he attempted to ex- plain to his mother and sister the cause of the fight. his mother, though sorry for him, was disgusted on account of his hot-headedness and his method of getting rid of southern negroes. she too felt that they had been a menace to the community, and shared the opinion with the other northern people that they were the cause of much of the prejudice that was now cropping out in their town. but being a very conserva- tive woman and not given much to criticism or to the judging of others, had not given the mat- ter very deep thought or consideration, had no suggestion whatever to offer. lillian simmons back and said, 'i had rather die a hundred deaths than to acceed to your demand; you have insult- ed me, so now you've got to whip me,' or words to that effect. so we started from there. and if you had not come up and interfered i would have given him a good thrashing. i had him going and all i wanted was to land one more punch to make him take the count. he is an awful tough guy though, but i'll get him yet.” "stay out of trouble george,” said his moth- er. "keep away from such people. nothing can be gained by associating with them. you have a superior education and a superior intel- lect and you should use them for something better than an argument or a street brawl with ignorant people. i would just stay away from him if i were you." "well mother if i let him off now he will think i am afraid of him. he has already said that he would remain here as long as he pleased. such fellows just sow prejudice. they have already caused us to be barred from privileges in the parks. they have been the cause of our segregation in the theatres. we can't eat in the down town restaurants any more; and the next thing you know, we will have ‘jim crow'street cars and perhaps separate schools.” lillian simmons george did not really believe that ‘jim crow' street cars would be instituted in the north. but desiring to make his arguments ef- fective, and to increase the prejudiee in the hearts of his mother and sister against southern colored people, he magnified probabilities and possibilities. then, remembering the defiant look in charles christopher's eyes, and recalling the questions, that had underminded his own here- tofore, formidable arguments, together with the ability, which he had shown that morning to defend himself, and to resent insult, deep down in his heart, george felt that for the time he had been beaten. he was no quitter, however, and he was anxious for another opportunity. he was by no means convinced that charles christopher was his master, intellectually, phys- ically or in any other way. he knew though, that the southern element in his city was quiet and conservative, only because they lacked leadership. that they had gained enough strength in late years to advocate and put through many of their southern ideas, in con- trast to the northern ideas, regarding the solu- tion of the race problem. and he felt that if charles christopher should assume the leader- lillian simmons ship of that element, that through his advocacy many constitutional rights of his people would be denied. so he concluded that he would nip the thing in the bud. that charles christopher . must go. lillian said no more as it was her day to prepare dinner. and she knew that her father would be in soon. mrs. simmons looked at her son sympa- thetically and said, "you had better go now and lie down awhile on the couch and rest yourself. we will tell father about it when he comes.” mrs. simmons, good woman that she was, shared in the belief of her son, and in her heart sprang a great dislike for charles christopher, though she knew nothing of him. she hated the idea of separate schools, and had often been heard to say, that she would rather have her children grow up in gross ignorance, than to have them taught in separate schools by color- ed teachers. she looked upon a negro college as a joke, and its graduates as ignoramuses. and if charles christopher was a representa- tive of such a school, she knew that he could not amount to very much, and she did not want her son to associate with him or even stoop so low as to quarrel or fight with him. she was lillian simmons willing though, that he join hands with others and help rid the community of this southern element, if such a thing were possible. when mr. simmons came she took the re- sponsibility of relating to him what had hap- pened in the forenoon. he was much wrought up, and declared that george had acted just right; that he would stand by him in whatever he undertook. he declared, that he had many friends, and some influence in that community, and that he would see whether this young upstart from the south, could remain in that town as long as he wanted to or not. he would notify his friends, call an indig- nation meeting, and see if the scamp could not be started a little sooner than he desired. he would show him who was running that town. mr. simmons, as already has been stated, was clerk in the city treasurer's office, he was highly respected and did have considera- ble influence. he was looked upon as the lead- er of his people in the city and usually repre- sented them on the civic questions that per- tained to their interest. and in this case it would be an easy matter to get them together, as all thought much the same as he. and lillian simmons those, who had different views, were silent, fearing to express them, lest they might offend some of their neighbors, who in case they should would make life in the community a burden for them in the future. and as young george sim- mons had surmised, it would take some one who had no special interest in the community or love, or respect for its people, to lead an op- position. so mr. simmons felt safe in calling an in- dignation meeting for the purpose of denouncing the objectionable southerner. when he was through eating his dinner, he went in the room where george was resting, and asked for his version of the fight. george told him all about it. after he was through, his father said, “i don't blame you, i am going to call the boys together soon and see what can be done about it.” "i thank you very much father," said george, “i was quite sure you would approve of my action." his father then departed, saying, “i will see you later about this matter." lillian, whose spirits were so high earlier that morning, and, who saw so much beauty in nature and life, whose poetic soul revelled as it chapter iii the newspaper article. charles christopher, save for a few scratch- es, and a black eye, was none the worse for the fight. there was to him, one embarassing and unpleasant feature, however. the one that he regretted most; and that was the appearance of george's beautiful sister. if he could only meet her, and apologize, and explain things to her, he would be satisfied. but he knew that this would be impossible. she could never know his side of the story. she could never understand the cause for which he fought. there was no way for her to learn his true worth. his heart was big, and broad, and as true as steel. but she would go on through life, mistrusting him, despising him, for what she considered a great wrong to her brother, and an insult to the community. all that was possible for him to do, was, to long to meet her and explain. but he could not hope to do so. the newspaper article he now quickened his steps, for it was al- most time to serve dinner at the hotel, where he was employed as a waiter. putting on his apron he took his station at his table, and the first person to be seated was a reporter for the “daily news.” he knew charles well and of- ten joked with him.“ hello boy!” he said. “who poked you in the eye?” charles told him about the fight, how it started and all. the story seemed to interest the reporter. he asked a few leading questions, wrote the answers on his note pad, and placed it in his pocket. when he was through eating, he arose, slipped charles a half-dollar, as was his custom, and said, "watch the papers tomorrow boy.” charles thanked him and told him that he would. charles did not think he could make so much out of what he considered a very small affair. but the next morning the article appeared in the “daily news,” in glaring headlines as follows: war between the north and south. two young negroes representing dif- ferent sections fight. southern negroes claim victory. the above headlines and the column and lillian simmons half article, that followed, stirred up the colored citizens from center to circumference. it liter- ally set them wild. as a rule, when colored people see any- thing in the paper, they take it very seriously, and if it is about their own race, they continue to discuss it for months afterward. in the article the principals of the combat were mentioned, and the cause which led up to it, were given in detail. continuing, it said that the police were no where to be found, and criticised them severely, for allowing more than a hundred men and boys to assemble, and wit- ness such a contest. “the fight was stopped by the sister of the gentleman, who stood up for the north. a riot might have ensued had it not been for her timely arrival. a riot once started it is hard to tell where it might have ended. for some time, the northern negroes, and the southern negroes of the city, have been at dagger points, over the subject of sep- arate schools, and the segregation question, falling sometime into heated debates. "the northern negroes also claim that their rights and privileges in public places, have been denied them on account of the influx of the bad negroes from the south; and, that they are the newspaper article going to take steps to try to stop them from coming in the city. if such steps are taken, more trouble is looked for.” when charles picked up the paper and saw such an elaborate account of the affair, he was astounded "who would have thought it?” said he. well i am in for it now; i guess the whole town will be on me.” he did not figure on any sympathizers, outside of a few of the boys who were working at the hotel. he met the reporter just coming in for his breakfast. "for the love of mike man,” he said. “you have put me in bad. these colored people here will lynch me.” "why what are they saying?” "i haven't seen any of them yet, but i know about how they feel.” “well your people, charles, are easily stirred up, but just as easy to quiet down. i don't think you need have any fear of them.” “i tell you, if anything happens or you hear of any trouble, you just let us know of it. we will take care of you." with this he took his seat at the table and ordered his breakfast. charles served him, as usual, and when he lillian simmons had finished, and arose to go, he handed him the usual tip, patted him on the shoulder and said, “i did not mean to cause you trouble charles, but if i have, you may rest assured that i will stand by you. i am from the south my- self. i know something about the true worth of the people down there. the noblest, the richest, the cream of the negro race are down there." charles thanked him for his words of en- couragement, but he could not help feeling a little uneasy. he thought that he knew the minds and hearts of the people much better than did the reporter. the next morning, after a night of restless- ness, of bad dreams and nightmares and fights, which she had attempted to stop in her sleep, lillian simmons arose and dressed. her heart was still heavy. she had hoped to awake and find the happenings of the preceeding day a horrible nightmare, like most persons have ex- perienced, at some time in their lives. but her hopes were all in vain. the truth dawned only too clearly, and was verified when she picked up the morning paper and saw the glaring head lines, that magnified and told of the unfortunate affair. lillian almost swooned when she read the newspaper article the article, and came to the part that she played in the disgraceful affair. she ran into the house, clutching the paper to her breast with both hands, and, with stiffling cry, fell across her mother, who was yet in bed and slumbering feverishly. she immediately awoke, exclaiming, "what on earth is the matter with my child? what has happened?” she was awake, but it seemed an age before her senses would aid her in deter- mining the trouble with her daughter. "don't cry like that lillian. something terrible must have happened to ‘mother's baby'.” lillian was now choking and crying aloud, as if her heart would break. mrs. simmons, rising from bed, lifted her up, and such a piti- ful expression she had on her face, she had never seen before. “tell mother what's the matter dear,” she said, covering the face of lillian with kisses. lillian was so grieved that she could not speak. she simply pointed to the glaring headlines. mrs. simmons read. as she continued, it was plain that she was affected. being of a light complexion, one could easily note the changes in her countenance, anger and chagrin, each had its turn, as she read the details as pub- lillian simmons : lished in the paper. and when she came to the part that lillian played, she then knew the cause of her daughter's great grief. she tried to console her and treat the mat- ter lightly. but lillian would not be consoled. she felt that she was a part of the vulgar crowd that had assembled at the fight, that she was the object of public censure, and, that she was disgraced forever. and as these thoughts came teeming in on her troubled mind, she grew hysterical, and her mother could do noth- ing with her. her ravings and loud cries brought the other members of the household, that is her father and brother, into the room and to her side. mrs. simmons thrust the paper to them and told them to read. they did so, both the father and the son looking on at the same time. when they had finished the article, the father tried to appear calm, but it was plain that a tempest raged within. he remarked, however, that he saw nothing in the article to cause lillian to be carrying on as she was. to be able to break up a fight and cause a crowd to scatter like that, really stamped her as a heroine. lillian simmons “never fear mother,” said mr. simmons in reply. “something will be done. and that very soon. “i am going to call the citizens together this very night, and before twenty-four hours something will be done. why it's an outrage on the community.” with this he left the room. and lillian and her mother set about silently to prepare the morning meal. both were very nervous and were trying to gain self control. at the breakfast table the article in the pa- per was not alluded to, so it was not very long before they each showed signs of cheerfulness, and were enjoying their breakfast of coffee, biscuits with butter, fried ham and potatoes. mrs. simmons could make the best of biscuits; she was an excellent cook. chapter iii the indignation meeting after eating breakfast all felt better. the sting of the newspaper article gradually began to grow less painful. all four were sensible, well read people, and had long since learned that everything published in the papers was not true, that intelligent people did not so re- gard it. the consoling words that her father had spoken to her, acted like magic in the heal- ing of lillian's broken heart. and the rest of the day she felt comparatively well. she al- most felt proud of the part she took in stopping the fight, because her father had said that it was the part of a heroine. so her grief had al- most passed away. the father and son left the house together. they went straight to one of the down town printing offices, and had some hand bills struck, announcing a mass meeting for the colored citi- zens to be held at the methodist church. busi- ness of importance to be transacted. the meet- the indignation meeting have seen the morning paper. and each one of you have had your say regarding it. we have expressed ourselves privately on the question oft times before and have had some pretty clear cut ideas as to what ought to be done. but we are here tonight to express in a public way our views and ideas; to organize and form some definite plan of procedure. we do not wish in any way to disguise the fact that we are indig- nant at the insult and humiliations that are be- ing heaped upon us each day in increasing measures. we are indignant at our daily paper for publishing such an article, and coloring it in the manner in which it did, this morning. cast- ing a reflection on our manhood and integrity, and attempting to discourage us in our struggle for higher ideals and good citizenship. yes we are indignant. we are indignant at a certain undesirable element from another section of this country who have come among us and who have brought with them habits and ideas that are a menace to this community, and a detri- ment to the welfare of the colored citizenry,and we have assembled here this night for the pur- pose of taking positive steps toward ridding our- selves of this undesirable element, and to try to secure redress for some of the wrongs already lillian simmons inflicted upon us. this is an indignation meet- ing; all are allowed to express themselves, and it is requested by the chair, that as many as can will do so. i have placed the matter before you, act wisely and deliberately. i think i need not say more. what is the further pleasure of the house?” he asked, as his gavel fell heavily upon the table before him. “mr. chairman,” a dozen voices spoke, as a dozen men arose to their feet simultaneously. “the chair is in doubt,” said the speaker. “all please be seated.” "mr. chairman.” a dozen men sprang up as before. the chair, realizing the difficulty of trying to give the first man on his feet an oppor. tunity to speak, tried the next best plan of proced- ure, that is of recognizing the one furthest off. “mr. washington has the floor,” he said, as he lifted his eyes beyond those nearest him. a capt. simmons was a skillful parliamentar- ian, and possessed much executive ability, and was well fitted for the position which he now held. "to what did you arise mr. washington?” "mr. chairman, i arise to make a motion. there is really nothing before the house, and in order to get things started, i move that we pro- the indignation meeting ceed to the regular order of business for which we have assembled.” “i second the motion, mr. chairman,” said the nearest man to washington. “it has been moved and seconded that we proceed to the regular order of the business in hand. are you ready for the question?” “question!” a number of voices rang out through the house. "those who are in favor of said motion let it be known by the usual sign, aye.” “aye!" the whole house shouted. "con- trary, nay.” “the motion carries by an unanimous vote,” said the chairman, “and we will now proceed to the discussion of the business before the house." “mr. chairman,” said frank maxwell, who was very anxious to talk, and who showed great signs of excitement, “i arise to a question of privilege." "mr. maxwell has the floor,” said the chair- man. "proceed mr. maxwell." "mr. chairman, ladies and gentlemen of this assembly, i have lived in this city for twenty-five years. i have seen the town grow from a small village of two thousand people, to its present size. i know when the spot whereon the indignation meeting maxwell, as may have been observed by the reader through his speech, was an educated man. he had also completed a course in law, in a northern college and had at one time be- longed to the bar association. but on account of a lack of practice, he was forced to a abandon the profession, and at fifty without the care of a family, he was custodian of one of the large down town bank buildings. he, however, was highly respected by both races, and was active in church work, secret organizations, politics and civic affairs in general. he was an eloquent firery speaker and was able to play upon the emotions of his hearers, thus arousing them and eliciting hearty and frequent applause. he spoke at length and being a lawyer used many technical terms, language of his own pro- fession, dwelling much on constitutional rights; and the fourteenth and fifteenth articles of amendments. then soaring away on the wings of eloquence, to heights of oratory, seldom at- · tained by ordinary men, he concluded his speech with the thrilling words of patrick henry, "give me liberty or give me death,” and took his seat amid a storm of applause that shook the very foundation upon which the building stood. the indignation meeting committees were out at work he would enter- tain any one who might yet desire to express himself. “would be glad to have a word from some of the ladies," he said. the ladies were all backward when it came to talking in public, and none of them seemed to show a desire to speak. mrs. simmons and lillian were there, and sat together listening attentively to every word that was said. they were carried away with the speech-making, and it seemed that captain simmons words spoken that morning before breakfast were about to come true. mrs. simmons told some of the ladies of lillian's troubles that morning. they pitied her so much, for lillian was beloved by all. but they assured her, as her father had done, that there was no harm done whatever. so they laughed and chatted gaily until the committee on resolutions returned and announced that it was ready to report. the resolutions were read and seemed to meet the approval of the assembly. they seem- ed to be the only remedy that would cope with the conditions as they now stood. first of all they condemned the morning paper for publish- ing such an article as it had that morning, and lillian simmons recommended that it be asked to refute the statement, or that they be allowed to give their version of what had happened the day before. they denounced the southern negro as being an undesirable citizen, that his ideas and cow- ardly ways tended to create prejudice. that the rougher element from the south, had caus- ed, through his bad conduct, many of their rights and privileges to be denied them. they further recommended that the vigilant committee appointed by the chairman, see to it that no more undesirables be permitted to come into the community. and those who were there were to be held in restraint. that the young ruffian, charles christopher who made the vicious attack on one of their most worthy and scholarly young men, be asked to leave the city at once. if not through persua- sion, then by force. these were the most im- portant things, embodied in the resolutions. "you have heard the resolutions, what is your pleasure?” "mr. chairman,” the voice came from the women's side of the house. “mrs. lester,” said the chairman. "mr. chairman, i move that the resolutions be received and adopted.” song true di tes . yun "when you cast 'flections on de souf, you cast 'flections on me.” the indignation meeting why? kase he reco'nizes ownership. you can tell a white man whar to set in dis church, kase its yourn. the white man tells you whar to set in de theatres an' in de railroad trains kase dey is hisn. he bars you from privi- leges in de parks and hotels kase he owns dem and can do what he pleases wid 'em. den you colored folks here in de norf try to put the blame on the southern negro, when it is jest a case of might makin' right. the stronges' race takin' a stand agin the weaks, the white blood assertin' itself and puttin' forth efforts to hold in check other races and have de bes' things for itself. "an' if you negroes ever 'mount to any- thing you got to git togedder like de negroes of de souf has been forced to do. have some stores an' banks an' parks an' theatres an' some schools ob your own. don't wait till de white folks kick you out an den blame de bad negroes from de souf for it. “an'annudder thing you is wrong in, you has de same spirit in you dat de mob has in de souf. if you drives dis man out of town you can't critize de white men who lynch negroes in de souf. you is full of prejudice yourself and you cant expect people to deal fair wid you chapter v the warning heeded that night george simmons trudged home- ward chuckling in glee at the advantage he now held over charles christopher. “and i am go- ing to use it too,” thought he. “i'll show him that he can't come up here talking his southern talk and get by with it." so he went to his room and lay until morn- ing, planning a sweet revenge against charles christopher. the rest of the family were soon wrapt in slumber, not being used to such unusual hours for retiring. but lillian, like her brother, lay awake the greater portion of the time. in spite of all her efforts she could not dismiss the words of old man littlejohn's speech from her mind. in fact his was the only one she could remember dis- tinctly. tis true she was carried away by the eloquence and flowery talk of frank maxwell, but really when she came to think about it, he had left no deep thoughts over which her mind the warning heeded in this case? could she in anyway prevent her brother from doing something that for the time might satisfy and heal his wounded pride, but in years to come might burn into his conscience and cause eternal suffering? old man little- john so far wrong in the use of the vehicles of speech, untrained in book lore, unschooled in the theories of law as given to the world by blackstone, ignorant of social codes or parlor ettiquette, was not wrong at heart. he had the true principles of moral philosophy deeply planted in his nature. and lillian so regarding it determined to stand on the platform that he had laid down. it was not fair to hold a race accountable for wrong acts committed by cer- tain individuals of that race. and the fact that the white people of their town were doing this, stamped them as unfair and unjust, and old man littlejohn was right when he advanced the the- ory that it was the natural spread of prejudice which would have come sooner or later regard- less of the influx of the southern negro. lillian lay till morning pondering over these thoughts. she loved her brother dearly and sympathized with him, but she felt that he was in the wrong. she felt that they were all in the wrong. and she was going to try to pre- the warning heeded would be done. didn't i tell you all that moth- er? the conduct of the people was excellent,” he continued. “i never presided over a body that was as easily controlled as that was last night.” “well the fact is, the boys have got their minds made up to stop all this heathenism, and when you get the people all to be of one mind, they come together for business, they dont have time for so much foolishness, and they are easily handled. the only thing that had a ten- dency to mar the meeting, was old man little- john up there with his ignorance,” said george, “if i had been in your place father, i would have sat him down.” “i think your father did the right thing to let him talk. he is a good old man and no one paid any attention to his ignorance. its well to humor such people,” said mrs. simmons. "yes mother, but we didn't have time to listen to his foolishness. he would be amusing on the stage, but we were not rendering a vaudeville program there last night.” “george you ought to be ashamed to make sport of the old man that way. i listened close- ly to him and i think he was right in most all he said. one thing about it, i can remember the warning heeded lillian said no more, but she was figuring what excuse she would make to get away from the house. for she was now more determined than ever to thwart the plans of the committee which she considered no better than a mob. ten able-bodied men against one man seemed cowardly to her. as soon as breakfast was over she would find some kind of excuse to get away and warn charles christopher. not to save him, but to save her brother from a das- tard act which meant a seared conscience to him in after life. she would go to the library and get the book that she failed to get on the day of the fight. “mother, may i go to the library this morn- ing and get my book? i am lonely and want something to read.” she thus addressed her mother, after her morning duties were per- formed. “yes dear, but don't stay long", was the re- ply from her mother. so she dressed as prettily as she could and started. the morning after the indignation meeting, when charles christopher came out of the ho- tel, he went, as he was accustomed to do to the lillian simmons river bank. it was here where he had chanced to hear the words that had stirred up so much strife. he took his usual seat and began to watch life as enacted on and near the river. it was a beautiful morning, almost as beautiful as the preceeding day, with its stage set with natural splendor, the earth bedecked with flowers, the distant forest dressed in its newest garb, made lively by the songs of birds flitting gleefuly about. and charles christopher, inspired by the surroundings began to muse sweetly to him- self. he had almost forgotten the unpleasant event of the preceeding day. but he had not forgotten the beautiful and angelic face of lil- lian. “a creauture of the day,” he thought. “a fairy fit only for beautiful days and lovely scenes like this. why is she forced to mingle with or- dinary mortals like us? but since she must, then it is my right to love and admire her and long and hope, if i dare, for acquaintance and friendship with her. i would give almost any- thing could i see her and speak to her now and pour out my heart yearnings at her feet, turn my soul inside out as it were, that she might see its purity, that she might understand and be- hold its true mechanism. to know and under- the warning heeded stand my heart would be to forgive the wrong that she must imagine that i have inflicted upon her brother. but some day, some where, some how, i can not guess now, but things will be ad- justed. the eternal truth must triumph, and lillian simmons will know the truth and more- over, accept the love i have for her." as he mused thus, he heard a light tread in the soft grass near him. he looked up and be- hold the idol of his dreams, was at his side. charles was dumfounded. he could not believe his own eyes. his heart for the mo- ment ceased to beat. heavy drops of perspira- tion stood on his upturned brow, and his dark brown velvet skin, had on it the paleness of death. a messenger from the tomb could not have surprised him more. lillian, with her library book in hand, also showed some em- barrassment, but the purpose for which she came, gave her self control, so she greeted him, saying, “this is mr. christopher, is it not?” "it is,” replied charles with quivering lips. “well mr. christopher, i come to see you on some very grave and important business. you no doubt have heard of the big indignation meeting held by the citizens of this town last night. the warning heeded "why you owe me no apology, mr. christo- pher, you have done nothing to me and as for my brother, i am sure that he can do no more to you than you can do to him," said lillian, red- dening. "but my brother with nine other men can do you much harm. my brother is young and impetuous and is likely to do something that he might regret to the longest day he lives. and to save himself from a dastardly, cowardly, unmanly, though thoughtless act, is why i come to you as i do. and as i must not be seen talk- ing to you, and you can readily understand why, you are sensible,” she said betraying a degree of confidence in her tone of voice. “i must ask you for a hasty reply. will you leave for my sake?” charles could no more resist the pleadings of lillian simmons than he could dam up the great niagra. so looking at her with soft eyes that seemed to melt her very soul, with eyes that spoke volumes unexpressed by the lips, he said, "if i go as you ask, may i hope?"--- he did not finish, but she seemed to under- stand him, and answered in tender accents. “go do what i ask you for my sake and be a good boy. we do not know what the future holds for us. i must go now, good-bye.” and before charles could get himself together and lillian simmons say the things that he most desired to say, the opportunity that he could scarcely have hoped for, had come and gone. he sat and watched her as she swiftly and gracefully moved away. he watched her even until she had disappeared around the bend in the flower strewn path and was hidden by a thick cluster of shrubs and trees. for a time he was bewildered. he was completely overcome by lillian's beauty and grace, and by her earnest, yet tender plea. her voice was like sweet music to his ears and siren like, she had lured him and won him to her purpose. finally awakening to his senses he began to think what he had done, what promise he had made. was it not cowardly for him to leave at this particular time, when these northern peo- ple could and should be taught a lesson? what would those of his sympathizing friends say and think of him? what would the reporter, the manager of the hotel, and many of the guests who had heard of the affair say, should he leave at this time in obedience to lillian? but did she not give him cause to hope? was not the hope held out in tender and confidentially spoken words worth the sacrifice? “go do what i ask you for my sake and be a good boy.” did not the warning heeded these words spoken by the beautiful lillian mean that there was at least a fighting chance for him to win her love? could he not go away now and at some future time return and say the things that he desired so much to say to her? if he should leave the town for her sake, save the conscience of her brother in the future, there would at least be common grounds for friendship, and having an advantage like this, could he not follow it up and seek to know her better? after thinking along this line for some time he finally concluded that he would run the risk of being called a coward for an opportunity like this. he would go to the reporter and manager of the hotel, and as many of his friends as he could find and explain the reasons for his departure, as best he could, and would take the first train out. then he remembered the com- mand of george simmons, and his own reply, “i had rather die a hundred deaths than to heed or listen to your command.” “but this would not be obeying the command of george sim- mons,” he thought; rather it would be granting the request of his beautiful sister whom he loved, and robbing george of his opportunity for what he called a sweet revenge. the first train left the city at one thirty that lillian simmons afternoon and charles christopher left with it, disregarding the pleadings and importunities of his friends. chapter vi thwarted lillian hastened toward home and as she trudged lightly along she began to think of what she had done. this was the first time that she had done anything that she must conceal from her mother. the thought began to prey upon her mind. being of a sensitive nature, and having been taught to never conceal anything from her mother she found herself regretting her action. if she could only tell her about it, tell her why and all, she would feel satisfied, feel that her action was entirely right and proper. she felt too, that her mother would approve of her action if she knew it. she knew that she loved george and had already cautioned him to stay out of trouble, and no doubt would have tried to prevent him herself, but perhaps she never would have thought of the plan that she had so successfully persued. but would charles christopher have listened to her mother as he had listened to lillian simmons her? she believed not. she could not help knowing that charles christopher admired her. she had read that in his large soulful eyes, and that was why he had obeyed her. but would a plea from her mother have had the same effect on him? she believed not and felt somewhat flattered on the account of this fact. she had saved her brother from further trouble and kept a stain off his character by persuading charles christopher to leave, and she would not worry. besides charles christopher was a fine looking man and his frank manner, his correct use of english and his deep soulful eyes, which had expressed volumes to her, had impressed her. she liked him, that is why she spoke so tenderly to him, pleading with him to do her bidding, and encouraging him in the manner in which she had. she would always remember him and she would be kind to him, yes very kind to him if she should ever chance to meet him again. if he would write to her- she was now ascending the steps of the veranda. the large st. bernard met her and showed her his pleasure at her arrival by bark- ing good naturedly and capering around her. she stopped, as was her custom, patted him on the head and said kind words to him, failing to thwarted complete her last thought in words, the large dog having interrupted. "you back lillian?" asked her mother, as she entered the house. "i hope you were able to secure your book this time.” "yes mother i have it. i am going to read it and tell you about it after dinner,” said lillian nervously. “hurry up and prepare the table dear, it is almost noon and your father will be here short- ly.” lillian said nothing, but bathing her face and hands, began her duties. and it was not long before the family was seated at the table. captain simmons was very complacent, but george seemed rather disturbed. “george what is the matter with you?” asked his mother at length. “oh, i am sore mother. dont you know," he continued, “i went to the daily news office this morning and gave them our side, or our version of the fight the other day, and the editor threw it in the wate basket, said it was stale stuff, and they could not use it. "so i up and told him the article they pub- lished was false, that it misrepresented the northern colored people, and placed them in a thwarted mrs. simmons, after hearing him through, said to him in her patient, tender, consoling ac- cents. “well son, you must not take things so hard. you must learn to be calm under fire. i think you are a little bit too radical. you are extreme in your likes and dislikes. you are either on the mountain top or in the valley. this morning you were highly pleased, you fair- ly gloated over the results of the meeting, and the advantages that it gave you over your en- emy. now you go to pieces because you have lost one point. your spirits seem to be grovel- ing in the very lowest depths of depression. you will have to do better than that my son. dont allow your hopes to rise too high or sink too low. try and strike a happy medium. you will be happier if you adopt this plan." george said no more but it was plain to be seen that he was very much displeased at this turn of affairs. captain simmons, not wishing to betray his anger and his nervous excitement, after mrs. simmons' pointed, but all too true remarks, re- mained silent throughout the meal. when he was through eating, he arose from the table ab- ruptly, saying to george: "be sure and see lillian simmons that that young pup leaves this town this after- noon," and started to his office. "you may bet your last dollar on that fath- er," said george revengefully. "i am going after the boys now.” that afternoon at four o'clock george and his committee stood at the hotel entrance wait- ing for charles christopher to come out. when told by some of the other employees that charles had left town he did not believe them, and told them as much. he told them that the pup need not be hiding, that he would have to come out some time. at this one of the boys remarked: "you don't think he is afraid of you do you? why that boy can whip all three of you fellows. we would not lie to you george. he really is gone. he left on the one thirty train. he says that he is going further north.” “boys dont be ‘kidding',” said george. “we are here for business. and we must see him. tell him to come out, that we want to talk to him.” “ask the proprietor if you dont believe us," said one of the boys. “i saw him when he got his time.” george was not satisfied with the report obtained from the boys, so he went to the hotel . lillian simmons standard except that of manhood and good character. and to hear him talk like that had a tendency to dampen george's ardor and to cool his hot head. "you do not understand the situation as we do." “situation or no situation,” said mr. dover, "i know a good man when i meet one, and i dont believe in allowing them to be imposed up- on. and if that boy had remained with me and you had harmed him, you and your people would have had to suffer for it. i have heard all about this affair. i tried to persuade him not to go. but he left because he did not want to cause you colored people trouble.” “well mr. dover,” said george, "you are not in a mood to talk today, but i do hope at some time to be able to explain everything to you." “i shall never be in a mood to listen to any- thing you have to say against charles christo- pher,” replied mr. dover. “so you need never return on a mission like that.” “well good day mr. dover. i hope no harm has been done." "good day,” replied the proprietor. george left the hotel office feeling badly. chapter vii the two arguments there is, as is well known, a wide difference of opinion as to what is the best policy to pur- sue in solving what is called the race problem. the opinions are largely sectional, and so far as the colored race is concerned, are as wide apart as the two sections themselves. they are op- posite. the colored people of the north being radical, believe in fighting with gun and sword, if need be, for their constitutional rights and privileges, while the colored people of the south believe in pursuing a more conservative course, securing rights and privileges through strategy or diplomacy or meritorious effort. how far either section is right, it is not our purpose to affirm or deny. we are forced to acknowledge though, that both policies as pursued by the different sections seem either to have failed or are very slow in attaining the desired results. the northern people abhor the idea of separate schools, yet they are being instituted lillian simmons claim that there would be no race problem if they had the sense of justice in their hearts. they think that it will take force to get them in the right attitude, and when the negroes north and south becomes a unit on this thought, no power or people on earth can impose upon them, that the idea, "he who would be free must fight," is divine. the north could not conquer the south until it promised freedom to the slaves. the slaves could not be free until they made up their minds to be slaves no longer and struck a blow in their own behalf. john brown could do nothing for the negro because their minds at that time were not pregnant with a determination to be free. abraham lincoln, that far seeing statesman, that diplomat, that instrument in god's hand, caught the idea in the air as it were, that "he who would be free must fight," and placed weapons of war in the hands of negro men and boys, bidding them to free themselves, you southern people, says the north, argue that you have no guns, no ammunition, no pow- er, by which you may obtain your rights. that is not it. you have no courage. you will not make the attempt because you are afraid that you will die. you are not willing to sacri- the two arguments fice life in the defense of that which is yours by inheritance. come and join us, colored broth- ers of the south, not sectionally, but take on our spirit, imbibe our ideas for fair play, and help us to teach the people of the other race there is no other solution of the race problem except fair treatment. let us unite soul and body on the determination to get justice in this land at any cost and the battle is half won. god in his infinite wisdom, in his own mysterious way, will do the rest.” this is the doctrine that is preached by nearly all native colored people throughout the north. this is the idea that they would incul- cate in the minds of the colored people from the south who come to dwell among them. this is the platform upon which the simmons family stood. and this is what george simmons want- ed charles christopher to understand and to do. but if charles christopher had had an op- portunity to voice the sentiment of his people, he would have answered with the same stubborn facts, that all intelligent colored people from the south do when confronted with the boasting and fighting spirit of the north. "no doubt but what you are right my brother, but does this agitation, this fighting policy which you lillian simmons recommend, ward off or even hold in check this unfair and unjust treatment, of which you so passionately and indignantly prate? we have segregation in all its odious forms forced upon us. we are powerless, we cannot help ourselves. your fighting policy will not work down in our section. you dare not come down our way and advocate the doctrine which you preach. you are like the dog that barks and growls only when he is in his masters yard. you can not carry your fighting talk beyond the 'mason and dixon line'. if you are brave enough and think you can, come down and try it. but dont you think for one moment that we are cowards be- cause we lift our voices protesting in an humble yet sensible way and get results. for we can, and do, do more of this loud boastful mandatory talk than you can come down here and do. they understand us, and they would not under- stand you. and you would not live to return and tell the story of what they did to you and to your northern brethern should you come down and make the attempt. our industrous and diplomatic policy has done and is doing much for us. we are both struggling for the same thing. our ideas are the same, but our sections of the country and the people who dwell therein, the two arguments demand different methods of procedure, that is all. and the things that you consider hard- ships, we have found them to be benefits. “we are none the losers by having separ- ate schools. thousands and thousands of dol- lars have found their way into our pockets through the separate school system. our teaching force is becoming more and more ef- ficient each year, through contact and practice among the youth of the race. they are learn- ing to do by doing. they could never have se- cured the advantage that they now have here in your section. besides it gives to our boys and girls at least one occupation, that cannot be called drudgery. your children of the north finish with honors, in the schools and colleges of this section, oft times outstripping the anglo saxon boy or girl in the attainment of scholar- ship. and to what purpose, when this cowork- er, weaker than himself, secures the big paying position, and he is forced to take to the fields of drudgery? “what inducements have your boys and girls to complete a course here in the north? it matters not how well trained or equipped for usefulness that they are, they must leave the northern fireside and come to this, our southern the two arguments . awake. we are progressing. we are attract- ing attention. we are gaining respect and rec- ognition. we are giving to the capable boys and girls of our race employment. we are living for posterity. this unjust treatment, this op- pression, this humiliation is hammering and chizeling and shaping us into the form of a new and distinct nation, which in future years shall receive favors and recognition because of its progress, its merits and its manhood. what results can you show, my northern brother, by pursuing your revengeful fighting policy? per- haps you have not gone far enough along that line to attain results. then continue a little longer and when you find that you have been forced to yield up your rights and privileges one by one, that the other race, has forced you to let loose entirely the small hold which you have had upon it, then come and join us, not sec- tionally, but take on our spirit in your own sec- tion, and at least make an attempt along busi- ness, commercial and professional lines. dont stand in your own light fearing to branch out for yourselves, lest you should offend the people of your own race by sowing seeds of prejudice and by instituting voluntary segregation. open up the vast fields of business and trade which stand in your test you shouldeeds of pre. lillian simmons are strange and new to northern colored people. there will be failures of course but we must get the drill we must have the practice. pos- terity is dependent upon us, and will profit by our many mistakes. and let us remember that we can learn to do, only by doing.” this is substantially the argument made by all southern colored people and this is the ar- gument that charles christopher would have made to george simmons that eventful morning of the fight, had george not lost his temper and so ruthlessly and so grossly insulted him. but neither the simmons family or any of the northern born people were prepared to listen to or heed such advice, coming from the south. they could not and would not accept it. and granting this, that the southern people were progressing along business and profession- al lines; what was that in a country where they have to step aside when they see a white man coming and let him pass; where they have to be bowing and scraping and apologizing all the time, lest they be characterized and consid- ered a saucy "nigger?” chapter viii reverses for the simmons family. three years have passed since the first events recorded in our story took place. many changes have been wrought in this specific northern city, as well as in the lives of our characters, who are playing leading roles. the simmons family is not what it used to be captain simmons is no longer clerk in the city treasurer's office. "the mills of the gods grind slowly, but they grind exceedingly fine.” politics and prejudice have at last got in their work, and two years ago captain simmons was forced to step down and out from his lucretive position. he tried to shift the blame on the shoulders of the southern negro, but the points that he made were so far fetched that his friends were unable to see. hence the view that he took was not accepted. he put forth many strenuous efforts to regain what he had lost, but to no avail. so for two years he has re- mained practically idle. he sees the influence lillian simmons that he once held in the community, and espec- ially among his own people, slipping away. money is very scarce with him and his creditors are harassing him. taxes, insurance, water bills and street improvements have re- duced him. he is ageing rapidly, and worry is beginning to tell on him. he is still hopeful, however, and tries hard yet to brace up and look his friends and foes squarely in the face. mrs. simmons, whose locks are now silvering, understands her husband too well. no count- erfeit goes around her. she knows the real condition, and her husband need not try to fool her or try to hide from her the financial strait in which he is entangled. · yet the good woman knows not what to do to relieve the strain. she sees her husband worrying, and of course she needs must worry too. george is working as porter in one of the down town stores, but his salary is not suffici- ent to meet the demands of the family, besides george is a good dresser and struggles hard to keep up appearances. naturally proud and ambitious, he often tries to make his young women friends and associates believe that he is a clerk in the store in which he works, but they know better because they have seen him at reverses for the simmons family work, and they think less of him on account of of his attempt to deceive them. lillian is as sweet and beautiful as ever. she has lost none of her charm and grace. a little more sedate and womanly perhaps. but the beautiful glow remains upon her cheek and the youthful gleam is still in her eye. she seems to gain in loveliness and attraction as the years go by. she takes great delight in being in mother's and father's company and does much to console them when they are troubled. captain simmons loves her dearly and has often been heard to say that he could not live without her. lillian also understands the situation re- garding her father's financial condition, and is anxious to relieve the strain. she is willing to go out and work in service, but her beloved parents will not under any circumstances hear to it. she knows well how to do house work and is anxious to put her knowledge into prac- tice to benefit the family. “well mother, what are we going to do?” she said one morning at the breakfast table, af- ter george and her father had left. "we can't sit here and see the property taken away from reverses for the simmons family on you and papa. i want to help you out." mrs. simmons said not a word. the tears began to flow faster and faster, and lillian see- ing that her mother was almost ready to break down, said in her most cheerful voice, “i tell you mother, how would it do for me to adver- tise as a cateress and wait parties?” mrs. simmons, not wishing to discourage lillian, looked up remarking, “i had never once thought of that my dear. there is really a de- gree of professionalism in that and i dont know but what it might be a good thing to do. i might be able to help you in that. we both could work along together. it is true we ought to do something to help father out of this strain. i will speak to him about it when he returns and see what he thinks about it. chapter ix a teacher wanted at that moment there was a knock at the door. lillian rose to open it, and with an ex- clamation of delight, announced in bishop granville of the a. m. e. church. mrs. simmons who had not seen the bishop for a number of years, also expressed her sur- prise and delight. the three chatted away cheerfully for some time. they seemed to for- get all their troubles and worries in the presence of the distinguished divine. they chatted away at length, when finally the bishop inform- ed them that he must be going. “i am only here," said he "for a few hours. i want to see the pastor of your church on some very impor- tant business. by the way miss lillian, i must call you miss now, you have grown to be such a beautiful young lady, i am on the lookout for a good teacher to teach in a southern colored school. do you know any graduates from your high school here that i could recommend mbe --- - - h- tuttimi imamilton "i have always been averse to colored schools and colored teachers.” a teacher wanted for the place? you are a graduate are you not? suppose you let me send you down there? what do you say, madam?” said the bishop, turning to mrs. simmons. "oh mama! do let me go. it is the very thing, exclaimed lillian, clapping her hands in delight and almost betraying the family troubles by her anxious tone and manner. “i dont know about that,” said mrs. sim- mons, remembering her attitude toward colored schools and colored teachers. “i have always been averse to separate schools and colored teachers, and have several times publicly lifted my voice against them, and it would now seem so inconsistent for me to permit my own daugh- ter to take up a line of work entirely opposite to the principles which i have held, to the doc- trine which i have always preached.” “my dear mrs. simmons!” exclaimed the bishop in surprise. “you dont mean to tell me that you oppose separate schools in the south do you, or in the north either as to that matter? well my good woman you are standing in your own light,” said the bishop somewhat peeved. “your daughter is missing a great opportunity if you continue to adhere to the stand which you have heretofore taken. take my advice lillian simmons and cease to advocate doctrine that is not in keeping with the growth and development of the talents and skill which is dormant in your own race, and in your own children.” mrs. simmons listened to what the good man said very patiently. there was a time when it would be useless for anyone to call her attenion to such things as the bishop had, for she would have turned a deaf ear to him. she made no reply but stood looking in an- other direction in a thoughtful manner. "come sister simmons, what do you say?" said the bishop believing her to be giving the matter favorable consideration. "well bishop granville, i will have to think it over. i will talk to mr. simmons about it and see what he says. what salary does the posi- tion pay?" she asked. "well they pay according to the length of time one serves as a teacher. they begin with sixty-five dollars per month and after three years they continue to increase until they reach the maximum, which is one hundred dollars per month. this will be a fine thing for miss lillian. i want her to see what the south is doing, and this will be her opportunity. the school lasts ten months.” see what he asked me to the length of a teacher wanted "when will you be back this way?" asked mrs. simmons. "in about three weeks from now. but if you decide to let her go, you had better send word to my next stopping place. i will be there for a week. here is my address," writing it on a card, he handed it to her. “you see," he contin- ued, "they want to get the matter of selecting teachers out of the way as soon as possible though school will not open until september. that will give miss lillian a chance to prepare.” "i shall depend upon you child. i know your parents will consent. i shall make no further inquiry for a teacher. i will see that you secure the position.” with this he bade them a hearty good-bye and departed for the residence of the minister. "mother,” said lillian, after the bishop had gone, “surely the lord sent his good angel to our relief. this is a certain answer to my prayers. oh how thankful i am that he came with the offer. just think sixty-five dollars per month. in ten months time i will have enough money to pay off all the debts. papa can now mortgage the property with safety and secure the ready cash, and relieve the immediate strain cant he mama?” lilllan simmons "dont be too elated my dear,” said mrs. simmons with a smile. "you are not gone yet. your father will have to have something to say about it. besides i have not wholly made up my mind that that will be the proper thing to do. you know the decided stand that we took three years ago against jim crowism.” "well i dont care mother, you all were wrong at that time any way. this will be sim- ply an acknowledgement that you were wrong in your opinions regarding separate schools. an open confession will harm no one. dont be too proud to acknowledge when you are wrong and try to make amends if possible,” said lillian, thinking of charles christopher. “be- sides,” she continued, "these people have noth- ing to offer us and when we are down they look upon us with scorn. look how they did when i attempted to get up a music class. they felt as you have felt, that they must have a white music teacher for their children. and i know that i am better prepared to teach music than the teacher that most of them have se- cured. "away with this false pride and this love for the other race, and the foolish idea that people of our own race have no ability. we a teacher wanted can do just as well as any one else and a great many times better, when we have the training and the chance." “i am going south and work in the interest of my people, that's what i am going to do. i see plainly that i can never amount to anything up here." "well my dear, tis true that there is noth- ing for you to do up here, and i am sure that you are fitted for the work down there. i sup- pose separate schools are alright in the south if they secure people who have been trained in the mixed schools of the north as you have been, to teach them.” “and i think mixed schools in the north would be alright, too, if they would mix the teaching force,” said lillian. “why i was a much better scholar than maggie armstrong, always made better marks, and many have been the times that i have worked out her algebra problems for her. now she is teaching, making one hundred and ten dollars per month. and here i am doing nothing. what is the use to excel in school if a person gets no more out of it than i am getting. one nights' honor will not last me for a lifetime. i must have some- thing to do. and if the good bishop will secure lillian simmons even by his beautiful beloved sister. he had the same feeling though, that he would have had if she had been going away as missionary to the heathen land of africa. george's ideas and cpiticism of the southern people must be over looked by the reader. for he had never been in that section, nor had he ever met any of the wealthy and highly educat- ed, southern colored people who sometimes visit through the summer in the north. he is young and inexperienced, but he is sensible and can and will be taught better some day. that night mrs. simmons spurred on by the sensible words, as she thought, spoken by her husband and anxious to relieve the financial strain, eagerly sat down and wrote bishop gran- ville a letter thanking him for his kind sugges- tions and the interest he had taken in her daughter. that after looking into the matter of which he spoke, she and her husband, captain simmons, had decided to allow their daughter lillian to take the position as teacher in the south. fearing that there might be some slip, she urged the bishop to be sure and do all that he could. now that she had decided, she did not want anything to go wrong. that if anything should happen to prevent lillian's se- a teacher wanted curing the position, the disappointment to the family would be great. she closed her letter in the customary way, sealed it and sent it away that same night by special delivery. the next day she received the reply. the bishop was very glad that she had set aside the prejudice which she had always held against colored schools and teachers and told her so in his letter. he told her to have no fear, that the place was secure for lillian. and thanked her and mr. simmons for reaching the right conclusion and for so promptly informing him. he closed invoking the richest blessings from heaven upon the whole family. chapter x a business venture in the past three years charles christopher has visited many places in the north. he has had an opportunity to observe many things and has not failed to make note of them. at the various summer resorts where he has been em- ployed he has been in close contact with all classes of people and has made them a study. sociology, psychology and other subjects along the lines of human interest naturally appeal to him. he is also a constant visitor to the library and has devoured the contents of many books. besides he reads the daily papers and is up on all the current news of the days. broad mind- ed, big hearted he grows in gentility, dignity and manhood as the years go by. he often thinks of lillian simmons and has an overwhelming desire to see her once more. he has been tempted many times to write her, just to send her a post card, but each time his heart has failed him. he realizes full well the a business venture truth of the oft repeated expression, “a faint heart never won fair lady,” but he has not the courage to drop the many letters that he has nėrved himself to write to her, in the mail box. he is strong and courageous in all things else, seemingly, except in friendly overtures and courtship to beautiful lillian simmons. he cannot rely upon the hope which she held out to him, as a reward for the sacrifice that he made to please or to gratify her, the day on which he left. he is afraid that he may have misunderstood, that her tone and manner did not bespeak what he at first had hoped. it was very possible that he being excited and carried away by her abrupt appearance, was mistaken after all. besides he had neglected so long, that it was no use to try to gain recog- nition from her now. "if she is not married to another she has forgotten me in this time," he thought. thus for a long time he would think of her and wonder if he would ever see her again. time rolled on and charles continued to work. it is now the month of september. charles has saved up a good sized bank account and he is anxious to go into business for him- self. being familiar with the grocery business lillian simmons he begins to think out some locality that would be suitable for a business venture along this line. and after running over the list of cities and towns in which he had been and having made notes of the possibilities for a business venture among colored people in them, he de- cided that there would be no better place to start than in the town where he had met oppo- sition because he was from the south. there was at least three thousand colored people in the place, the majority of whom lived well and owned their own homes. he could see no reason why they would not trade with him. he would keep a neat clean place and though his stock would be small, it should be as good and as fresh as any. he had also noticed that the white people of the north were indeed very friendly and were disposed to recognize the true worth of a man, and he felt sure that many of them would trade with him if he should carry such things as they would want. he is ready to acknowledge that there is a much better spirit existing toward colored peo- ple as a race in the north than there is in the south. the southern white people bestow their love and friendship upon individuals of the a business venture race on account of family ties and past remem- brances of loyalty and other sentimental rea- sons. but they care naught for them as a race. they can see nothing in them. they criticize them for being rough, uncouth and shiftless, without thinking of the original cause of their degredation. the northern white people have a tendency to look upon them with pity and are really glad to see them prosper. and charles christopher, ever on the alert, was sensible to this fact and was always ready to thank them and to show his appreciation. although it was not pity that he wanted, but a fair chance and he would do the rest. he went over his plans several times in his mind and finally concluding that he was on the right road, decided that he would quit the place where he was now working in about ten days and start for the scene of his venture. charles was a young man of decision and when he made up his mind to do a thing, he would, as a rule, go through with it. so upon the day set, he departed for the city where he had been the cause of so much turmoil and strife. for even after he was gone from the place it seemed that outbreaks and disturbances lillian simmons were more frequent than ever, due to the north- ern people tightening up reins so to speak and attempting to restrain the southern people from utterances which did not harmonize with their own, and the southern peoples resistence, who it seemed had become emboldened, partly by the remarks of the paper and partly by old man littlejohn's speech and the stand which he took in their behalf at the meeting that night. they began to think and talk among themselves after that. they were not long in discovering that they were in the majority and they knew that they were free and did not have to be afraid to express their views along the lines of their policy, for the solution of the race prob- lem. all this caused the confusion among the people. but since captain simmons has lost his po- sition, and with it the greater part of his influ- ence, things have been much quieter. he and his son george and frank maxwell were the chief agitators, but now it seems that they have no following and it is difficult for them to get a hearing. so there is no better time for charles christopher to begin business in that city than now. he boards the train and is soon speeding lillian simmons morning when lillian simmons approached fairylike and pleaded with him to leave the city. there is the spot where he and george sim- mons, like gladiators, fought. over yonder is the simmons stately, but somewhat weather- beaten home. it is badly in need of paint. the train is now at the depot from which he departed three years ago. he realizes more fully now where he is and what is his purpose. he wonders if lillian simmons is still in the city, and will he have a chance to see her. he picked up his grip and moved slowly toward the door of the crowded train. and as he was descending the steps, lifting his eyes, he beheld' gazing into his face, the heavy lashed, deeply set black eyes of lillian simmons. amid the shouts of "good-bye" and waving hands, lillian simmons got on the train that charles christopher got off. it was all like a dream to both of them, so quickly did it happen. a glance, a recognition and a deep thrill of the heart and that was all! charles christopher had come and lillian simmons had gone and not a word was spoken. so a great barrier still exists between these two who would be friends. "the irony of fate,” thought charles as he stood and watched the a business venture train with increasing speed move away, bearing lillian simmons thither he knew not where. then collecting himself with an effort he board- ed a car and rode up into the city. the whole simmons family and many of their friends were at the station to see lillian off. they saw charles when he alighted from the train and were too surprised at first to say anything. george finally whispered to his mother and told her that old charley christo- pher had gotten off the train. "is that so," said mrs. simmons, "where is he? i have never seen him.” "there he is, getting on the car,” said george. “is that he? why i never figured his be- ing that sort of a looking fellow. he is not a rough looking man at all. i wonder why he comes back here,” said mrs. simmons. "i don't have the least idea,” said george. “i know this, though, he shall not stay here lòng.” he then turned to his father who was a few steps behind and said: “father i guess we will have to call another meeting. i see that charley christopher is back here." "who is charley christopher?” returned his father. lillian simmons he had seized the opportunity to develop when traveling when employed in the various hotels of the north, was now asserting itself, for through it he was enabled to handle his patrons successfully and increase his trade. say what you will, it is the man with the vim and with a pleasing personality who gets the big business. in six months time charles was enabled to double his stock and his pros- pects for future business and trade had increas- ed a hundred per cent. much comment was made on his enterprise, and words of praise could be heard for him on every hand. the colored people had begun to feel proud of their colored store. “christopher's grocery” was all the talk among them. they took great pride in telling strangers about it and each one felt somehow that he had an interest in it. every one was pleased except frank maxwell and the simmons family. lillian simmons with their patronage. so he was at a loss. he could think of nothing to say or do. lillian's having to go south to teach and charles christopher's coming north and enter- ing into a successful business, set mrs. simmons to thinking deeply regarding the race problem. she often thought of the words of bishop gran- ville the morning when he made the offer for lillian to teach in the south. “cease to advo- cate doctrine that is not in keeping with the growth and development of the talents and skill which is dormant in your own race and in your own children.” his words then had the ring of truth about them and she had often dwelt upon them. and now they have more meaning in them when she notes the success that charles chris- topher is having, through his business enter- prise. she too, in a way, envies him. like all good mothers she would be so glad were it her son. she now sees clearly which boy has the better chance. she realizes that the man doing business for himself has a great advantage over the one working for some one else. how grand it would have been had she and captain sim- mons, while in a prosperous condition, had had the good sense to have started some kind of mrs. simmons' rebuke business for themselves. they would have been independent by now, and could be able to give their own children employment. "but it is too late now," she thought. "i can't see how george can ever be anything else other than a porter in a dry goods store where he is now working. he doesn't make enough money to lay any of it away. if mr. simmons don't get something to do soon, i don't know what will become of us. perhaps the negroes of the south are right after all in pursuing their poli- cies advocating separate business and separate schools. i see plainly the advantage of both.” that evening at the supper table charles christopher was the subject for discussion by the simmons family. mrs. simmons began by asking george what purpose had he in life. she could see nothing for him, but she thought perhaps he had some plan that he had never unfolded to herself and mr. simmons. he was now past twenty-five and she thought it time for him to make up his mind what he would like to do. charles christopher's success had brought things to an issue. his southern idea looked good to her, and she wanted to find out what george thought about it. lillian simmons "do you always expect to remain a porter in the dry goods store?” said she, putting the question directly. "why no mother,” said george in an in- jured tone. "well what do purpose to take up as a life work?” she asked. george sat silent. he really had no pur- pose. he had gotten past the place where he was so ambitious. in the past year or so he seemed content to draw his small weekly pit- tance and have it spent almost before it was made. tis true he had used most of it at home while the family was in such straitened cir- cumstances, still he realized that he was not making the headway that he should, consider- ing his superior education and training. but he knew nothing else that he could do, so he was simply drifting he knew not where. "tell me what you are going to do george,” insisted his mother. it was plain that george had no definite aim or plan in life and his mother felt sorry for him. she felt that she and her husband was the cause of his destitution of ideas. she began to think what the other race has provided for their children. they have factories, foundries, stores mrs. simmons' rebuke and business of all sorts in which to place them. whether they finish school or not, they can find employment for them. but what have the colored people for their children to do? here is george who is an ac- complished scholar, who graduated with high honors and who is as capable as any white boy in the city. what has he to do? he cannot teach for they do not employ colored teachers in mixed schools. he has applied oftimes for a position as clerk in the stores, in the shipping houses and in the city hall, but each time he has met with refusal. to get the position as a por- ter which he now holds, he had to go through a lot of “red tape", and had to have a tremen- dous "pull.” “and this is the condition that confronts all young and deserving colored men of the north,” thought mrs. simmons. george stammered out some sort of a weak reply to his mother. he said something about becoming a civil engineer, or he would like to take a course in pharmacy. his replies were altogether unsatisfactory to his mother. "well,” said mrs. simmons, "until you and your father show me differently, i am a con- vert to the southern idea. i have been watch- lillian simmons ing this fellow christopher in business and to my way of thinking he was right at the time you all had the fight and from all appearances he is right now. things are as plain to me now as they can be. our family is being benefitted by separate schools, and i am sure it would be greatly benefitted now if we had such a busi- ness as charles christopher has established. you had just as well have had a business of your own as for christopher to come here and set up one. i understand that he is getting rich. it is so strange that we have all been so blind. as i say, if i am wrong i want you and your father to set me right. how about it mr. simmons?” captain simmons had been sitting listening quietly to what mrs. simmons was saying. he realized that much of what she said was true. but he was not frank enough to admit it. he said that mrs. simmons could think as she pleased, but as for him he never would become a believer in southern negro ideas. and as for charles christopher he bet he would go un- der in a short time. as all other negro under- takings usually do. "but you will admit,” returned mrs. sim- mons, "that we would be better off if george mrs. simmons' rebuke had a business like that, will you not? i have never been there, but they say his place is al- ways full and that he has as much white trade as colored. he is kept busy all the time.” "that's alright mother. he will go under just the same. then you will have a chance to try your hand. if you think you have enough business ability, i will see if i can't start you off.” seeing that he would be unable to carry on a successful argument with his wife, this was the joking way in which captain simmons turn- ed her aside. “well," said mrs. simmons, “i am serious about it. i do wish that george did have some kind of business of his own.” george had nothing more to say. chapter xii christopher's grocery burns at the mention of charles christopher the pangs of envy and jealousy began to gnaw at george's heart. "he is showing me up is he?” was the thought that entered his mind. "i guess he is here to try to prove his side of the argument. he wants to make his southern ideas stick i guess. alright. we'll see.” supper now being over they arose and left the table. george put on his hat and coat and went toward town. that night about twelve o'clock the hideous sound of the city fire alarm broke the stillness of the night. shouts of fire were distinctly heard in the southeast section of the city. the colored people were greatly excited. "fi-er! fi---er!! was heard in all directions. soon the clatter of hoofs and the clanging of bells were heard distinctly for blocks away. and in less time than it takes to tell it, the beautiful panting animals were reined up christopher's grocery burns champing their bits in the vicinity of charles christopher's grocery store, which was in flames. no one knew how long the building had been burning before the alarm was turned in, but it was evident to the fire chief, that it could not be saved, so he simply let it burn and sent his men to the task of saving other build- ings which were near and were in imminent danger. when charles christopher came upon the scene, he staggered and almost fell at the sight of his hard earned savings curling heavenward in a dense cloud of smoke, the accumulations of several toilsome years ruthlessly snatched from his hands. the object wherein lay his fondest future dreams, transformed as it were, into naught. none except he who has gone through a similar experience can sympathize fully with charles christopher, or understand why he sat down on a near by stone, and strong man that he was, wept like a child. he knew nothing else to do. he felt that he was done for, for all time. to struggle up the rugged hills of life again to where he now was, would be too hard and would take too long. he had not the cour- age nor strength to try. all his future hopes and happiness were now smouldering in ashes. chapter xiii a colored town b-- is a beautiful little town of the south with an entire colored population, situated in the midst of a rich farming district that feeds fat off the wheat and corn, and cattle and milk, produced by the farmers and brought to mark- et within its limits. on saturdays its streets are thronged with sober, business like people, selling their wares and making needful purchas- es from its well stocked stores. it is really in- spiring to see how these people, as if by instinct, take to trade and barter and have thus become a part of the commercial world. drummers representing the great wholesale houses of the country, make regular visits to this enterprising and fast growing little city of five thousand in- habitants of colored people. it has all the at- tributes necessary for a great and thriving town. everything is as it should be, and the per- sons who have striven to build it deserve credit. lillian simmons its schools and churches are of a high standard and are well equipped, with men and women of good character and excellent educational quali- fications. and if the colored people of the north could visit it and note the clock-like pre- cision with which the wheels of industry turn, note the poise, the ease, the confidence, whith which the people carry on their operations, note the good will and harmony which prevails among them, they would then have more re- spect for the colored south, they would view life in a different light and all doubts as to a happy future for the negro race, would be dis- pelled. one can be benefitted in a hundred different ways by visiting this town. it was in this utopian city with its people of varied hues, that lillian simmons, after four days of tiresome travel, found herself. when she alighted at the station she found the ticket agent, the baggage master and the operator all colored. she went up town and to the post office and found the postmaster and his five or six assistants colored. she found the mayor and all the city officers colored. the four or five blocks of business in the city were under the control of colored people. grocery stores, dry goods stores. feed stores, shoe stores, drug a colored town stores, furniture stores, candy stores, meat shops, restaurants, fruit stands and all of the various lines of trade, were managed by per- sons of african descent. three cotton gins, a livery stable and a lumber yard, she learned, were successfully run by colored men. the streets were paved and the city was well light- ed by an electric plant owned by a wealthy negro, who had secured the services of a color- ed electrician. the dwellers in this unique, but beautiful little city, were all colored. the pale faces of the other race could not be seen here. and lillian's heart swelled with pride when she alighted from the train, and looked for the first time upon her new field of labor and saw the make up of its citizenry. a new feeling came over her. lillian simmons was no "put on”, but under these new and strange, yet happy and inspiring environments, she could not help assuming the air and carriage of a queen. she felt so safe, so secure, where her own people, with the wisdom of the ancient romans, were reigning supreme. to say that she was amazed and carried away at what she saw is putting it too mildly. she was astounded. in her wild- est dreams she had never fancied that there was such a place under the sun as this for her people. lillian simmons people. “if george and mama and papa could only see this,” she thought. chapter xiv the jim crow car on her way down south after reaching that section where she was asked to take a seat in the cars prepared for colored passengers, lillians heart sank within her. she had often heard about it, but she had never known what real humiliation was until she was asked by the conductor to take her baggage and go into the next car where she could see plainly in bold black type, a placard in the far end of the coach, “this car for negroes”. she began to wish that she had not come to a country so heartless, so void of justice, so full of—not prejudice, but pure meanness, as to force a hardship like this on a decent cultured woman who was traveling alone. the coach into which she had to go was really filthy. the seats were cushionless and very uncomfortable, being of the old cane bottom kind. at each station disrespectful loud-mouth- ed foolish negroes were getting on and off. she lillian simmons was perfectly disgustedwith the side of negro life in the south which she saw on the train and from the car window. she was satisfied now that her father and mother and george were right in their fight against the influx of southern ne- groes into the north. she almost cried when one vile uncouth idiot of a negro who was rid- ing backwards so he could look her squarely in the face, shouted to her, “hello pitty yaller gal, where is you goin?” o, how she wished for her big hot headed brother george. but the ugly negro said no more. he simply sat gazing at her. lillian began to wonder if the south were not really justified in lynching such de- praved animals as the fellow showed himself to be. he was so impudent with the brim of his dusty cap pulled to one side, his shirt opened at the neck, exposing an old knit undergarment, black with dirt. she saw many such types be- fore the completion of her journey. in fact she saw enough to put her out with southern ne- groes forever. she could understand why "jim crow cars” and all other forms of segrega- tion in the south were necessary, but she could not feel that it was fair to treat all colored peo- ple alike, because all were not alike. after she had ridden in the separate coach the jim crow car for some time and had become somewhat rec- onciled to the condition, the conductor, who was apparently waiting for this moment, ap- proached her in a friendly way and asked her where she was going and where she was from. she told him, and she could scarcely keep back the tears, for she felt that he was sympathizing with her. “yes i thought so," said he. "i am very sorry indeed to place you in here, but you know we have to obey the law,” he said with a sor- rowful smile. "i guess you are right,” said lillian. “well cheer up little girl. i will see that no harm comes to you. have any of these fel- lows been annoying yon?” “yes,” she said “that fellow sitting with his face this way, called to me insultingly when he first got on the train. you can see how im- pudently he stares at me.” “that fellow right there?” said the conduc- tor. “yes,” replied lillian. the conductor went to him and informed him that he would be put off if he said another word to the lady. he was told to sit face front anyway in the car. the negro readily obeyed lillian simmons the conductor in his authorative tone and look, and lillian had no further trouble with him. she began after that to think of the sacri- fice of pleasure and privelege that she was mak- ing in the interest of the family. this thought alone consoled her. she was glad to do so. she would not murmur; she would put up with what ever should come to her. "maybe all the people of the south are not like those that i have seen. there may be some more like charles christopher,” she thought. "but not just like him," she changed, remembering her affection for him. “i wonder what he is going to do. i am satisfied that he knew me when he got off the train. oh, i am so sorry that i was leaving just as he arrived. i did not even get to speak to him. i believe i will write to him," she said to herself. she was now nearing her destination. and lo and behold when she alighted from the train and saw the sights as told above, the bad im- pression of the south that she had received through the restless, unsettled, thoughtless, de- praved actions of a certain floating element passed swiftly from her mind, to be remember- ed against it no more. and she wished that mama and papa and george could she what she the jim crow car now so gloriously beheld. “i know that i shall be happy if this is to be my environment,” she thought. she was soon settled in her new home which was with the principal of the school and his charming wife. the bishop had secured a good boarding place for her as well as the po- sition as teacher. lillian was a successful teacher and it is needless for us to go through the details of re- lating her experiences as such. suffice it to say that she won the love and friendship of pupils and parent, which is the first and last requisite of success in a colored school. she was always busy in some needful way. besides being an indispensable worker in the school room, she was a leader in the literary society, the church and the sunday school. bright, witty, jovial and intelligent, she made many friends. no so- cial function was a success without her presence. it seemed that she had found her niche, and she was now filling it to perfection. she would often receive letters from home, and she was so pleased to know of the colored grocery store that had been established by charles christopher. and she would often pic- ture herself at home keeping company with the chapter xvi love letters once she received a letter from her mother stating that mabel lester was making eyes at charles christopher, which made poor lillian very unhappy at the time. "i am not going to stand for it,” she pouted. “he is mine and now i don't care how it looks i am going to write him.” and she did. she went up town and picked out a modest, yet ap- propriate post card and, sent it to him. but had it been possible, after it was in the mail box, for her to have taken it out, she would have done so. but it was too late now. it went direct and charles chrisiopher received it the very next morning after the disastrous fire had he not received this card from the beauti- ful lillian simmons, whom he loved so well, dark indeed would have been the days immedi- ately following the unfortunate fire. this card alone gave him strength and courage to bear lillian simmons up. he was willing to try to pull up the rugged hill again for her dear sake. in return charles immediately sat dowm and wrote lillian the most beautifully worded letter she had ever received in her life. he told her of his great grief and misfortune and of the hard struggle that he had in reaching the place from which he had so recently been cast down. “but your dear post card came just at the time when i was at my weakest and needed something to strengthen me. you have saved me, my dear friend, from a horrible fate. i was in great despair and was at the point where i was about to do something desperate," said he in his letter. "but your sweet missive has brought sunshine to me again, and today i feel that after all life is worth living. i shall not hesitate to try to climb back and even past the height from which i was so suddenly hurled a night ago. your token of respect and es- teem has given me courage and renewed vigor. i thank you from the depths of my heart. let me hear from you again soon. "yours sincerely, charles christopher.” two days later, when lillian went to the post office and received a letter from her home, written in a strange hand, her heart beat faster lillian simmons had not the culprit who applied the torch to his prosperous business been discovered and prov- ed to be the brother of the beautiful sympa- thetic girl, who had written this love-inspired epistle. she had hoped that the culprit would soon be run to earth, but little did she think that her beloved brother george would be the guilty one. but facts are facts, and as objec- tionable as they may seem, we are now con- fronted with them and must deal with them fairly and impartially. george simmons, upon investigation, was found to have been the one who committed the deed. george simmons' arrest thing about having been to see a friend and was out a little later than usual. i said no more and he walked hurriedly away. "are you sure that it was george simmons?” asked the chief. "yes," replied mcghinty. "well you had better go and get him and bring him here,” said the chief. "he will have to give an account of himself.” george was sitting at the breakfast table dis- cussing the fire with his mother, when a knock was heard at the door. it was about nine o'clock in the morning. it was at this hour that george always got off from work to eat breakfast. cap- tain simmons was out at the time. so mrs. sim- mons opened the door. two policemen pushed themselves past mrs. simmons into the room, one of them asking gruffly "is george simmons here?” ''he is,” answered mrs. simmons. "where is he?” we have a writ for him.” “a writ for what?” cried mrs. simmons "what has he done?” "well he is charged with incendiarism. it is alleged that he set fire to christopher's grocery store last night, and we have come to arrest him.” said one of the officers. lillian simmons mrs. simmons swooned but george was at her side and caught her in his arms, preventing her from falling to the floor. “dash a cup of water in her face,” said one of the policemen. "that will bring her around alright." george lay his mother on the couch and go- ing to the hydrant quickly drew a cup of water and dipping his fingers in it, sprinkled some in her face and also bathed her temples. she soon revived, but was too weak or frightened to sit up or to speak. it was really pitiful to see the poor woman so overcome with grief. at this moment captain simmons, who at a distance saw the policemen coming to his house, entered, inquiring what the trouble was. the officers, knowing captain simmons well, having for a number of years associated with him in the city service, called him to one side and explained to him in an undertone the pur- pose of their visit. captain simmons did not believe that george committed the crime, and begged the men not to arrest him. but his pleadings were of no avail. they told captain simmons that they were compelled to do their duty. they took george before a justice for a pre- liminary hearing after which he was released george simmons’ arrest on bond, his employers going his security the news that george simmons had set fire to charles christopher's store soon spread throughout the city. the papers spoke of it in the most drastic terms and suggested that the culprit suffer the severist punishment at the hands of the law. frank maxwell went to captain simmons and told him that the case looked bad for george and thought that the best thing he could do would be to plead guilty and trust himself to the mercy of the court. captain simmons would not hear to this. he did not believe his son was guilty, and he would spend every dol- lar he was worth in the effort to free him. it is well known to the reader that captain simmons is already deeply in debt and this re- cent trouble only makes matters a whole lot worse than they were. he not having ready cash, places his home under a second heavy mortgage. mrs. simmons believing that some hateful conspiracy is being practiced against her son agrees to the transaction of her hus- band. she had rather be a beggar in the street than have her son behind prison bars when he is innocent. she does not wish to tell lillian for she knows that it will break her heart. but george simmons' arrest tion as possible. she then concluded her let- ter, sealed it up and spent the rest of the night in grief and tears. captain simmons' words of consolation did not do much toward allaying her suffering. george, after such a trying ordeal as he had gone through, could not look his mother and father in the face. his guilty conscience was playing havoc with his heretofore bold front and independent air. his countenance was downcast. 'twas plain that he felt keenly the disgrace that he had brought to the family. charles christopher regretted very much to learn that it was george simmons who had destroyed his business. he knew that george was his enemy, but he had really placed him away above such an unprincipled act. he thought that he was a man. though they had differed in opinions, charles respected him and admired him on account of his fight for a prin- ciple. he hated to see him fall and grovel, as he now was in the dust with the lowest of crim- inals, a common offender of the law. then too he loved his beautiful sister and had just began to make headway along the lives of friendship. he knew how keenly lil- lian would feel the disgrace, and feared that george simmons' arrest of this and i am going to write to her and tell her so.” so charles sat down to the task of answer. ing lillian's letter which brought so much cheer and happiness, at the same time embar- rassment to him the early part of the morning. among other things he wrote: - .,' , ; "i know george to be my enemy and after looking into the matter i can understand why he resorted to such an awful revenge. at heart i think your brother a good fellow, but he yielded to a thirst for revenge which seems to be a weakness with him, it is in his nature; but in this case were it to do over; i am sure he would not attempt it.'!!. i "i am willing to use my influence with my friends to help him out of trouble. and i have a two fold reason for doing so. first i hate to see the best people of our race fall on account of some overt act or thoughtless deed. your brother did not think of the enormity of the crime until it was committed. “and i am quite sure that he has repented by now. .','mijn ' i .is "for this reason i shall not appear against him, nor would i under similar conditions ap- pear against any member of my race. i want lillian simmons at all times to be broad and considerate in the treatment of others and especially those of my own people. "and another reason and perhaps my strong- est one, is that i love and respect you my dear one. i would do anything in my power for your happiness. when my heart was heavy and my mind was in the deepest distress, you were so kind and sympathetic to me. so now in this trouble i want your full confidence. i want to befriend you. ask what you will of me, and if it is in my power to grant it, it shall be done." he closed his letter by thanking her for the kind words of consolation that she had written him and promised that he would not be en- tangled with mae lester to any great extent when she returned. he simply thought well of mabel as a friend and nothing more. that he would be only too glad to be her constant com- pany and escort on all occasions when she re- turned if she would permit. with sincere love and respect he closed the letter and mailed it to lillian simmons. the next day he set about the task of rees- tablishing his grocery business. he looked up a suitable building, not far from the place mrs. simmons visits charles george." i have never accused him. 'tis true that we have had our differences, but at the same time, i have always respected him and thought well of him. i am very sorry that this thing happened, and unfortunately for him and the rest of your family he has been charged." “but you have not answered my question mr. christopher. do you think he committed the deed?" she asked again. “well,” returned charles, attempting to console and at the same time to be frank and truthful, “i think he may expect justice at the hands of the court. it really is not for me to say whether he is innocent or guilty.” “but you can say whether you think him guilty or not,” said mrs. simmons insistingly. “well mrs. simmons to be frank with you, i am afraid that george is guilty. i think he is a fine fellow, but he is a person who does not want to be overcome. he is always seeking revenge, and this revengeful spirit which is the weakest link in the chain, has been his undoing. i really think that he yielded to a thirst for re- venge, and thinking that the deed could be concealed set fire to the building in which my goods and future prospects lay. i, his enemy as he thought, was prospering and he could ico lillian simmons not bear the idea of my outstripping him in the race of life. so to impede my progress he hits upon this unbecoming method of doing so. but i am quite sure that he has repented and were it to do over again he would not attempt it. but as i say it is beyond my control. but if there is anything that i can do to help him or you or any member of your family mrs. Şim- mons all you have to do is, ask it, and you may rest assured that if it is possible for me to do it i will." mrs. simmons looked at him curiously and finally remarked, "well every one seems to be against my boy. i am sorry indeed that you think him guilty. if you really think him so, then there is nothing that i can ask of you. the trial will come up soon now and i am afraid they may fasten the crime on him. if they do, it will kill me. i can not bear the thoughts of my son going to prison.” “cheer up mrs. simmons. george has al- ways carried himself properly. he has a good record and i am quite sure that the court will deal with him fairly and leniently if found guilty. this one overt act is pardonable. he is only human. no doubt he was provoked to such a deed. no one knows the intensity of his lillian simmons of himself. so perhaps he has had enough to provoke him; perhaps my talk did wound his pride, but i am sure he did not resort to such a foul method of revenge. you could not help it. and george being a sensible boy would not blame you, to such an extreme extent at least. i want to free him because i believe him inno- cent, but i scarcely know what steps to take. i thank you very much for your sensible, at the same time, consoling words. i do believe that you are willing to lend your aid, but at present know of nothing that i could ask of you. "well i must be going now. i thought i would come in and see you and get your opin- ion. i thank you very much for your offer of assistance. i like you now, since i have met you and know you better. i may come to see you again ere long. good-day." "good-day mrs. simmons,” said charles, "i shall be glad to see you at any time.” mrs. simmons departed with a peculiar, but not unpleasant feeling. she thought of the wisdom with which charles christopher spoke and of his true delineation of character and of his interpretation of certain unseemly acts. he seemed to be an adebt at reading human na- ture. and when she began to think about it, chapter xix a grave situation the day of the trial was fast approaching and every one was looking forward to it. many were the opinions expressed regarding the chances that george would have to escape punishment. frank maxwell still insisted that the best thing to do was for george to plead guilty and ask clemency. he had felt the pulse of those in authority and had learned that it was their intention to inflict the extreme penalty of the law for the offense which george had com- mitted. he told captain simmons that he knew something about the law regarding such of- fenses, and being a friend of the family he was giving to him free of charge the benefit of his best advice based upon experience and prac- tice in former courts. that if they went to trial with the case they were certain to get the worst of it. that george would be sure to go to prison for not less than five years. lillian simmons this assertion made by maxwell made cap- tain simmons very uneasy and as the time drew nearer and nearer his nervousness be- came more and more preceptible. he was rather obstinate though and would not back down from his determination to fight it out to the end. that night at the supper table when all three of the family were seated, captain sim- mons said to george. “tell me the truth son, you did not set fire to christopher's store did you?” "no father i did not” said george. “well son i am afraid it's going pretty hard with you. frank maxwell says that he has talked with the authorities and that if they find you guilty, they will send you to the prison for not less than five years. he thinks that the best thing you can do is to plead guilty, and beg for mercy at the hands of the court. "if you were guilty i guess that would be the proper thing to do, but since you are not guilty, we will fight to the bitter end. it may break us up, but i will gladly give up every thing i have to save you from prison if you are innocent.” george did not say very much. he sat lillian simmons ly did the deed tell us now, george so we can do the best we for you.” “i did not do it mother. i am sorry that you doubt me. the strain is killing me, i do wish it were all over,” said george sorrowfully "well, right or wrong george, i am going to stand by you,” said his father. so if you are wrong you need not fear to tell me.” “well i never did it,” was george's last reply. after supper was over and george had gone, mr. and mrs. simmons discussed the gravity of the situation. they concluded that since george stood out so stoutly that he was innocent, that they would stay with him to the end, even if it should take the clothes from off their backs. chapter xx lillian's distress lillian received the letter from her moth- er and charles christopher the same day. she had a real hard day in connection with her school work. the closing season was on and she had been quite busy training the pupils under her supervision. she was real tired that afternoon when she reached home and found the two letters awaiting her. she was always anxious to get mail from home, so now she was eager to read what they contained. she hastily tore open the one from her mother and read it first. she was shocked at the news of george's arrest and accusation. what could it mean? someone trying to disgrace her brother! she became very indig- nant, and felt like quitting her work and taking a trip home to see about it at once. after reading it she laid it aside and took the one from charles christopher and began reading it lillian simmons when she came to the part assuming george's guilt, her heart, it seemed, leaped in- to her mouth and a choking sensation seized her and overwhelmed her. she was dazed. she staggered from the piano against which she was leaning and fell across her bed and for a long time she lay in a sort of silly hysterical stupor. try as she may she could not collect herself. everything was so foolishly blank to her. she was finally called to supper but she an- swered that she did not care for anything to eat. it not being her custom to remain in her room long after returning from school, mrs. mcvain became alarmed about her and went to the room to see if she were ill. “no i am not ill,” said lillian in answer to her question, "'i just don't care for supper.'s "did you get your letters?” asked mrs. mc. vain. "two came for you." - “yes i received them," answered lillian. "they contained news that was not very pleas- ảnt. that is what's the matter with me mrs. mcvain. i may tell you about it later. i am trying to collect myself now." lillian lay thus till late at night when she lillian's distress fell into a deep sleep. the rest and the slumber had its effect. it aroused her to complete con- sciousness. she began to think of the letters and the unpleasant, as well as the unfortunate news that they contained. it looked reasonable to her that george might have committed the deed. charles christopher's letter was so ex- plicit, so frank that she scarcely had room to doubt the truth of its contents. she realized that the love of her mother would cause her to make things as bright as possible for george. naturally her letter contained just what it did, an injured tone, a suspicion that someone was trying to do the family an injury, on ac- count of envy and jealously. in other words her mother's letter was true to human nature, and to a mother or near relative or friend. she also analized charles christopher's letter. she noted its friendly attitude. although it accused her brother, it also contained a tone of sympathy and good will. she would have appreciated the way in which he referred to mae lester under any other conditions but at this time she was too lillian's distress did not tell how shocked she was to receive the missive containing the ill news, but instead she tried to cheer her mother. "my school will soon close mother, then i will be home and help to secure brother's re- lease,” she said. "we can take the money with which we intended to pay off the mortgage and fight the case. i am very anxious to see you all. and i have much to tell you of this beau- tiful southland. look for me next week. "your affectionate daughter, "lillian." thus she concluded her letter and handed it to an urchin to mail. she then went with a mind that was comparatively calm, to her work. she was resigned and willing to accept what- ever might come. her greatest desire was to finish her term work and get home as quickly as possible. she knew that her father and mother must be greatly distressed and she was anxious to share with them in their troubles. the few days remaining for her work quickly passed and lillian found herself at the station among many admiring friends and school children, waiting for the arrival of the train which was to bear her away toward her northern home. lillian simmons when the train arrived she bade them all adieu, and with a promise to return again another year, she boarded it, found a comfort- able seat, and with a sigh of relief sat down. she was the only passenger at that time in the separate coach, and it was such a relief for her to be alone. resting her head on the back of her seat she sat for a long time and felt comfortable. on her journey she encountered or wit- nessed only one case of real roughness. at a certain stop, lillian did not notice the name of the place, two or three drunken roughs got on the train. they did not say anything to lillian but they were loud and boisterous, and seemed to be trying to show themselves. one of them dropped a bottle of whiskey on the floor which broke, spilling its contents, which ran in all directions. they laughed and yelled to the top of their voices. poor lillian was frightened out of her wits. one of them gave a yell sharp and piercing as a commanche indian. he followed it up with the expression “come and gitme white folks, i'm drunk and cutting up." lillian's distress he staggered and fell about in the car un- til the conductor came in and threatened to put him off. the threat had its effect, for all three were quieter. they got off soon and left lil- lian to herself once more. after midnight the porter came to her and informed her that she could go in the chair car now if she liked, that they had crossed the line and the “jim crow" car law no longer obtained. she thanked him and he took her baggage and led the way to the beautiful chair car in which were a number of white passengers, she noted the contrast and thanked heav- en that she lived in a country where such was not the case and where such was not necessary. chapter xxi lillian at home lillian was soon seated and remained com- fortable to the end of her journey. her mother and father were waiting at the station when she alighted from the train. plac- ing her in the family carriage, she was soon at home once more ascending the steps to the broad veranda. it is useless to speak of the happiness and sunshine that she brought with her. we all know her and love her especially for her cheer- ful disposition, her readiness to speak words of consolation to her troubled parents, and her philosophical way of looking at things. she would not discuss that part of the trouble that pertained to george's innocence or guilt. though like her father she was willing to stick by him to the end. yes she would gladly give up every dollar that she had earned and saved from her work in the south, in his behalf. with tears in her eyes she told him so. lillian at home papa you seem to be so worried, cheer up. i don't have the least doubt but what george will get out of this trouble. you will worry yourself sick at this rate. "come, brace up for my sake. wait a moment and i will get the money for you." lillian soon returned with the money for her father for which he thanked her and pro- ceeded on his way to the city. he paid his lawyers what he had to spare, and then went to see some of his friends re- garding the trial which was to come up in a day or two. they did not give him much satisfaction, but they told him that they would do the best they could for him. “you see simmons,” one of them said, "the charge is a grave one and the evidence is so overwhelmingly against him, that it is going to be difficult to clear him. but you have a good lawyer and i feel quite sure that if anything can be done he will do it.” chapter xxii the trial the day of the trial had at last come. it was set for nine o'clock. everything was astir in the simmons home. the atmosphere was not one of sorrow or grief, but was business- like and comparatively cheerful. at the breakfast table they chatted pleas- antly about the weather and other things of a local nature, never alluding to the trial. george himself seemed in good spirits and joked his sister about charles christopher. for by some indiscreet utterance on her part she to a certain extent had betrayed her admiration for him. at his sally she made no denial, but blush- ing, laughed good-naturedly. girl like she did not mind being teased about the one that she admired. her mother never told her of the visit to charles christopher's store or the conversation that she had with him, but she did tell her that the trial she had seen him and had spoken to him and liked his manner and appearance very much. she said she did not much blame mae les- ter for trying to attract his attention; that she thought the two would make a splendid match. lillian listened to her mother very closely and was not at all pleased with her view of what she called a splendid match. “just wait until this trial is over" she thought. “i'll show mabel lester and mother too, what is really a fine match. they do not know that i have some "say so" about it. after finishing breakfast, george and his father departed for the scene of the trial. and lillian and her mother followed later. when they arrived the court house was packed to its utmost capacity. the janitor or usher had to go out and find chairs for them so that they might be seated. the lawyers, principals and witnesses were in their appointed places. on account of the heinousness of the crime, the airing that the papers had given it, and the popularity of the perpetrator, the trial attracted more than ordinary attention. hence white and colored alike were inter- ested in the outcome. and lillian and her hamilton “my case has been tried and settled in the court of courts." the trial "a term in prison can not be worse than what i have already suffered. "so fix the penalty as you will. you and your court are human. you do not understand the workings of the heart like the judge who has already passed on my case. you could not forgive the offense, and i would not have you change or in any way evade the law in my be- half. i am willing and able to take the conse- quences as the law provides. “i am an awful sinner before you men, but before god i am cleansed and a changed man. i am consoled in this thought. "i thank you judge, your honor, for ex- tending to me this privilege, for i find that an open confession is indeed good for the soul, and i feel much better now that i have made it.” george took his seat and the deathly si- lence that reigned for a few moments after- wards, the appearance of the white handker- chief here and there in audience, and the occa- sional inelegant blowing of a nose, told that his speech had had its effect.. the judge sat motionless for a few mo- ments, not knowing what to say or do. he gazed steadfastly at george the while, his fine lillian simmons large head conspicuous for its high brow, and smoothly shaven face with its classical features, wore a puzzled look. at length he said, “george simmons, your crime is a low down, unprincipled heinous one, and the penalty for such, is not less than five, or more than twenty years at hard labor in the penitentiary, and had you not at this late hour made the plea of guilty, i suspect you would have been given the limit, for such would have surely been my instructions to the jury. "but your plea has helped you, though ir- regular and out of order, it is frank, earnest, and, i might say noble. and in my judgement i do not think it studied or made for effect. “and i am going to take it upon myself to dismiss the case against you. i think this act of mercy, or clemency, or kindness if you please, on my part will make you a much bet- ter man than the penitentiary possibly can. pay the cost of the court and you are free!" the judge spoke slowly and deliberately, and it was quite a relief to the strain on the nerves of the simmons family, when finally he reached the place where he said that he was going to dismiss the case against george. george thanked the judge for his kindness the trial and told him that henceforth a straightforward christian life was the life for him. he then went over to charles christopher and extended his hand. charles seized it firm- ly, and fervently congratulated him on his speech and told him how glad he was to have things turn out as they had. “come and meet my folks,” said george. "i want them to know you.” court having been dismissed, charles fol- lowed george to where his mother and sister stood, somewhat embarrassed at george's plea, yet pleased because he had obtaided his liberty. "mother this is mr. christopher of whom you have heard so much,” said george. “i am pleased to meet you mr. christopher,” returned mrs. simmons. "this is my sister lillian, mr. christopher,” said george presenting lillian to charles. "i am delighted to meet you miss sim- mons,” said charles in tender accents noticable only to lillian as he grasped her extended hand. the handshake was gentle, but to save her lillian could not help giving charles hand a little squeeze. she was ashamed afterwards. when she felt the same returned in her own hand. lillian simmons once the awful silence was broken the young man grew bolder. lillian never attempted to draw away from him, neither did she show the least sign of dis- pleasure at his act. she smiled faintly, however, and continued to discuss the trial and its out- come. “i am truly glad that your brother is free.” said charles, "and i am glad to see you and your family restored to happiness again. would that that happiness could last forever. but happiness is fleeting," he added, as he thought of his own struggles and triumps. “yes i have always found it so," returned lillian. after another brief spell of silence, charles boldly taking lillian's hand, said. “i have rea- sons to believe that you care for me miss sim- mons.” "i do indeed,” she returned. “you are so kind and manly, one could scarcely keep from caring for you," "do you really mean it?” he asked. "why i have always had this opinion of you mr. christopher, do you doubt me?" she asked in an injured tone. "well my dear," he said, putting his arms the trial around her, and drawing her close to him, "you mean it, then this is the brightest day of my life. i am truly the happiest man on earth.” lillian did not resist him, but lay quite still with her head resting, sweetly and trust- ingly on his heaving breast, murmuring partly to herself and partly to him who now held her so tenderly in his strong arms, "i love you, i love you. i can not hide it, i can not deny it nor do i care to do so." and thus these two, whom fate had for so long held apart, sat in silent and unspeakable bliss. then planting kiss after kiss upon the lips of the beautiful girl. charles asked, “lillian my love will you be mine?” the answer came in accents, sweet and tender. “yes charles i will. i am so happy she cried.” then the girl, filled with rapture and emo-. tion, gave way to tears. chapter xxiii the conclusion the title of our story is “lillian simmons," or “the conflict of sections," and if we make too much of the courtship, love and marriage of charles christopher and lillian simmons, we will be drifting too far from our main pur- pose, which chiefly is to call attention to cer- tain social evils and practices nutured, as it were by false notions of life and false standards of character or individual worth, and which have a tendency more than anything else to hold us down and impede our progress as a race. do you remember old man littlejohn's speech in the early chapters of this book? if you have forgotten it turn to it again and read it over carefully and you will get a clear idea of what we mean by certain social eivis and practices and false notions of life. while we deal with a few of the detriments to the growth and progress of the race, old the conclusion man littlejohn in his unpolished speech, points out several, which are based upon prejudice, and a very narrow conception of the true standards of society. it is at these things that we are striking. we are trying to unite the north and the south. we are trying to get them to think along the same lines. we would have the north enter more into the spirit of trade and commerce for themselves, and we would have the south de- velope a higher spirit of manhood and courage to protect its self when outraged. and we would recommend more of the spirit of unity in both sections. the race is woefully lacking in unity in itself both north and south. charles christopher's success in the gro- cery business, in this northern city, opened up the eyes of others who had business inclina- tions, but not the initiative or the confidence in themselves to start. since his advent several good negro businesses have been established. two more grocery stores, one drug store, a cleaning and dying and tailor shop, a good restaurant, which caters to both races, a con- fectionary, and a ladies clothing and notion store with mrs. simmons as proprietress. lillian simmons charles christopher has taken on a part- ner. the sign now reads in large letters, “christopher and simmons grocery store.” yes charles christopher and george sim- mens have not only become great friends, but they have also become brothers-in-law and partners in a very prosperous commercial ven- ture. a business league has been organized with charles christopher as its president. and such harmony and progress was never before known in this city among the colored people. northerners and southerners view life through the same glass in this city. they are ünited by the ties of friendship, by ties of busi- ness and by the ties of matrimony. it is diffi- cult to break such a combination. think of the simmons family's earlier stand against southern colored people, and think of their stand now. they are converted to the idea of negro enterprise even if it does invite segregation. they have become convinced that separate schools are not harmful, but are a positive ben- efit to the race. they furnish employment for the worthy boys and girls of the race and are inducements for them to pursue the higher mamilton united by the ties of business and by the ties of love. the conclusion courses of learning and to strive to excel in them. captain simmons now believes in them and frank maxwell offers no serious objections to them. hence they have a colored school that can not be excelled in efficiency of teaching force, and in equipment anywhere in the country. lillian simmons recommended one of her southern associates for a position in the school. she is a beautiful southern girl, from a south- ern university. mrs. simmons, who used to look upon a southern college as a joke, and its graduates as ignoramuses, loves her, and admires her for her intelligence and scholar- ship. the young woman makes her home with lillian, and george simmons is a constant call- er. it is rumored that there is soon to be another wedding in the simmons family. three years have passed since the day of the trial and george has proven himself worthy of the companionship of any young woman. the city boasts of one colored dentist and one physician. frank maxwell is no longer custodian of a · down town bank building, but has again taken up his profession and practice as a lawyer, and lillian simmons his people are patronizing him. he often lec- tures to them, and is now advocating the doc- trine of unity, and patronage of ones own en- terprises. six years have passed since that great mass meeting in which so much prejudice and hatred was poured forth in eloquent outbursts, in which so many false notions and ideas were advanced. one could scarcely believe such a radical change could take place in so short a time. they are all a happier and a wiser lot now, and charles christopher sees in reality what he pictured the day he entered the city, in quest of a suitable place to begin business. the subconscious feeling, the day dream, and the castle built in the air, an hour just before entering in the city that day, have become as truly real for him as such things often do. charles christopher is a worthy leader of his people, a prosperous business man and the husband of the beautifu lillian simmons. he has not only enabled the family to pay off their harrassing debts, but he owns his home which was built and fashioned to lillian's own taste. lillian and charles think as much of their baby girl as the "newly weds” do of "snook- ums.” the burke library union theological seminary axst the homesteader i he homi ^ader a no oscar michea-rx author of "the foi ..-ft -<'>• illustrated by w. ai f.lrfow sioux city. iowa wes'iern book supply company publishers - -- - - * -- ºw. " * - and w. s. strangely glan at ºf - -ju st ºn to see you, the homesteader' a novel by oscar migheaux author of "the forged note" illustrated by w. m. farrow sioux city, iowa western book supply company publishers w.t, copyright, , by oscar micheaux all rights reserved ----------- re- * * * * - * - - - asºcº, l*...r.º. a ºn ti-l-n fºº' n da": it -- r l - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - * - - - - - - - - beloved mother this to you '. publishers to the reader how much of the story of jean baptiste is a work of the author's own imagination and how much comes from an authen- tic source we do not consider it necessary to say. but that he has in this instance drawn more largely and directly from fact than is the practice of the novelist is admitted, and we have his consent therefore, to make certain statements concerning him- self that relate to the story, and why he has written it. to begin with, that which any writer has been more closely associated with, are the things he can best portray. where- fore, in " the homesteader," oscar micheaux has writ- ten largely along the lines he has lived, and, naturally of what he best knows. his experience has been somewhat unusual; his association largely out of the ordinary. born thirty-three years ago in southern illinois, he left those parts at an early age to come into his larger education in the years that followed through extensive traveling and a varied association. pur- chasing a rclinquishmcnt on a homestead in south dakota at the age of twenty; five years later he had succeeded and owned considerable lands in the country wherein he had settled. always literarily inclined he wrote articles for newspapers and magazines as a beginner, and then during his twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh years occurred the conflicting incident that changed the whole course of his life, and gave him more than anything else, the subsequent material for the building of this story. shortly after this his first book appeared, and he at last had found his calling. he wrote his second book two years later. but the episode that had changed his life from ranching to writing was ever in his mind and always so forcibly until he was never a contented man until he had written it — and " the homesteader" is the story. contents epoch the first chapter page i agnes ii the homesteader iii at the sod house iv she could never be anything to him v when the indians shot the town up vi the infidel, a jew and a german vii the day before viii an enterprising young man ix "christine! christine!" x "you have never been this way before "... xi what jean baptiste found in the well .... xii miss stewart receives a caller xiii the coming of the railroad xiv the administrating angel xv oh, my jean xvi "bin." prescott proposes xvii harvest time and what came with it epoch the second i regarding the intermarriage of races ii which? iii memories — n. justine mccarthy iv orlean v a proposal; a proposition; a certain mrs. pruitt — and a letter vi the prairie fire vii vanity viii married ix orlean receives a letter and advice x eugene crook xi reverend mccarthy pays a visit xii reverend mccarthy decides to set baptiste right, but— xiii the wolf xiv the contest contents chapter page xv compromised xvi the evil genius xvii the coward ; epoch the third i chicago — the boomerang ii the great question iii glavis makes a promise iv the gambler's story v the preacher's evil influence vi more of the preacher's work vii a great astronomer viii n. justine mccarthy preaches a sermon .... ix what the people were saying x "until then" xi "it's the wrong number" xii mrs. pruitt effects a plan xiti mrs. merley xiv "oh, merciful god! close thou mine eyes!" . . xv "love you — god, i hate you!" xvi a strange dream epoch the fourth i the drought ii the foreclosure iii irene grey iv what might have been v "tell me why you didn't answer the last letter i wrote you" vi the story * vti her birthright "for a mess of pottage" .... vitt action o ix gossip x a discovery — and a surprise xi the bishop's inquisition xit the bishop acts xtti where the weak must be strong * xtv the trial —the lie—"as guilty as hell!" . . tf» xv grtm justice s xvi a friend xvii the mystery xviii "vengeance is mine. t will repay" .' . . . . xtx when the truth became known xx as it was in the beginning illustrations "something happened and i was strangely glad and came here because i — i just had to see you, jean" . . . frontispiece facing pao» he was young, the homesteader — just passed twenty-two — and vigorous, strong, healthy and courageous he raised on an elbow and looked into her face while she stag- gered forward in great surprise • • "but, jean, the cases are not parallel. what i did for you i would have done for anybody. it was merely an act of providence; but yours — oh, jean, can't you understand!" . "miss pitt was so anxious to meet you and i was, too, because i think you and her would like each other. she's an awfully good girl and willing to help a fellow" "he's going to kill you out here to make him rich, and then when you are dead and—" "please don't, father! " she al- most screamed. she knew he was going to say: "in your grave, he will marry another woman to enjoy what you have died for," but she could not quite listen to that .... he tried to throw off the uncanny feeling, but it seemed to hang on like grim death. and as he stood enmeshed in its sinister thraldom, he thought he saw her rise and point an accusing finger at him leading characters agnes, whose eyes were baffling jean baptiste, the homesteader jack stewart, agnes' father augustus m. barr, an infidel isaac syfe, a jew peter kaden, the victim n. justine mccarthy, a preacher orlean, his daughter, without the courage of her con- victions ethel, her sister, who was different glavis, ethel’s husband eugene crook, a banker epoch the first the homesteader chapter i agnes their cognomen was stewart, and three years had gone by since their return from western kansas where they had been on what they now chose to re- gard as a " wild goose chase." the substance was, that as farmers they had failed to raise even one crop during the three years they spent there, so had in the end, therefore, re- turned broken and defeated to the rustic old district of in- diana where they had again taken up their residence on a rented farm. welcomed home like the "return of the prodigal," the age old gossip of "i told you so!" had been exchanged, and the episode was about forgotten. but there was one in the family, the one with whom our story is largely concerned, who, although she had found little in western kansas to encourage her to stay there, had not, on the other hand, found much cheer back in old indiana so long as they found no place to live but " nubbin ridge." although but a girl, it so happened through cir- cumstances over which she had no control, that whatever she thought or did, concerned largely the whole family's welfare or destiny. her father was a quaint old scotchman, coming directly from scotland to this country, a highlander from the high- est of the highlands, and carried the accent still. but con- cerning her mother, she had never known her. indeed, few i the homesteader had known her mother intimately; but it was generally un- derstood that she had been the second wife of her father, and that she had died that agnes might live. she was the only offspring by this marriage, although there were two boys by the first union. these lived at home with her and her father, but were, unfortunately, half-witted. nat- urally agnes was regarded as having been fortunate in be- ing born of the second wife. but, what seemed rather singular, unlike her half brothers who were simple, she, on the other hand, appeared to be possessed with an unusual amount of wit; rare wit, extraordinary wit. she was now twenty, and because she possessed such sweet ways, she was often referred to as beautiful, although, in truth she was not. her face was somewhat square, and while there was a semblance of red roses in her cheeks when she smiled, her complexion was unusually white — almost pale. her mouth, like her face, was also inclined to be square, while her lips were the reddest. she had a chin that was noticeable due to the fact that it was so prominent, and her nose was straight almost to the point where it took a slight turn upwards. it was her hair, however, that was her greatest attraction. unusually long, it was thick and heavy, of a flaxen tint, and was her pride. her eyes, how- ever, were a mystery — baffling. sometimes when they were observed by others they were called blue, but upon second notice they might be taken for brown. few really knew their exact color, and to most they were a puzzle. there was a flash about them at times that moved people, a peculiarity withal that even her father had never been able to understand. at such times he was singularly frightened, frightened with what he saw, and what he didn't see but felt. always she then reminded him of her mother whom he had known only briefly before taking her as his agnes wife. he had loved her, this wife, and had also feared her as he now feared this daughter when her eyes flashed. her mother had kept a secret from him — and the world! in trust she left some papers. what they contained he did not know, and would not until the day before she, agnes, was to marry; and should she not marry by the time she reached thirty, the papers were to be given her then anyhow. and so jack stewart had resigned himself to the situation; had given her the best education possible, which had not been much. she had gone through the grade schools, how- ever, and barely succeeded in completing two years of the high school course. the love that he had been deprived of giving her mother because of her early death he had given to agnes; she was his joy, his pride. she read to him be- cause his eyes were not the best; she wrote his letters, con- sulted with him, assisted and conducted what business he had, and had avoided the society of young men. so we have met, and know some little of the girl we are to follow. in the beginning of our story, we find her any- thing but contented. living in quaint old " nubbin ridge," could not, to say the most, be called illustrious. it was a small district where the soil was very poor — as poor, per- haps, as indiana afforded. so poor indeed, that it was capable of producing nothing but nubbins (corn) from which it derived its name. when a man went to rent a farm in "nubbin ridge" he was considered all in, down and out. . . . to continue life there was to grow poorer. it was a part of the state wherein no one had ever been known to grow rich, and stewarts had proven no exception to the rule. but this story is to be concerned only briefly with "nubbin ridge," so we will come back to the one around whom it will in a measure center. her chief accomplishments since their disastrous con- the homesteader quest of western kansas had been the simple detail of keeping a diary. but at other times she had attempted musical composition and had even sent the same to pub- lishers, one after another. of course all she sent had duly come back, and she had by this time grown to expect the returned manuscripts as the inevitable. but since sending the same gave her a diversion, she had kept it up — and had today received a letter! a letter, that was all, and a short one at that; but even a letter in view of her previous ex- periences was highly appreciated. it stated briefly that her composition had been carefully examined — studied, but had, they very much regretted to inform her, been found unavailable for their needs. although they had returned the same, they wished to say that she had shown some merit — " symptoms" she thought would have sounded better — and that they would always be patient and glad to examine anything she might be so kind as to submit! she read the letter over many times. not that she hoped that doing so would bring her anything, but because in her little life in "nubbin ridge" there was so little to break the usual monotonous routine. when she had read and studied it until she knew every letter by heart, she sighed, picked up her diary, and wrote therein: there is little to record tonight. today just passed was like yesterday, and yesterday was like the day before that, except it rained yesterday, and it didn't the day before. papa and bill and george have just completed picking corn — nubbins, the kind and only thing that grows in nub- bin ridge. verily does the name fit the production! we will perhaps have enough when it is sold to pay the rent, send to sears & roebuck for a few things, and that's all. george wants a gun and thinks he's worked hard enough agnes this summer to earn one. he has found one in the catalogue that can be had for $ . and is all heart that papa will get it for him; along with four boxes of shells that will, all told, reach $ . . little enough, to say the least, for a summer's work! bill has his mind set on a watch, but papa bought him a suit of clothes that cost $ . two months ago when we sold the hogs, so i don't think bill will get in on anything this fall or winter. as for me, i would like to have a dress that i see can be had through a catalogue for a reasonable sum; but if it will crowd papa i will say nothing about it. he has the mortgage on the horses to pay, and by the time we get the few other necessities, it will not leave much, if anything. later — papa has been growing very restless of late. i don't wonder, either. any one that had any energy, any spark of ambition, would grow restless or crazy in nubbin ridge! the very name smacks of poverty, ignorance and degeneration! but a real estate man from south dakota has been in the neighborhood for a week, and has told some wonderful tales of opportunities out there. he has made it plain to papa that western kansas has been a failure to thousands of people for forty years; that south dakota is different; that the rainfall is abundant; the climate is the best, and that every renter in indiana should there proceed forthwith. i'm surprised that he should waste his time talking with papa who has no money, but he seems to be just as anxious for him to go as he is for others. perhaps it's because he wishes a crowd. a crowd even though some are poor would, i imagine, appear more like business. bill and george are full for going, and papa has hinted to me as to whether i would like it. how should i know? it couldn't be worse than this place even if it was the jump- ing off place of all creation! i have about come to the the homesteader place where i am willing to try anywhere once. there surely must be some place in this wide world where people have a chance to rise. of course, with us — poor bill and george, and papa's getting old, i don't suppose we will ever get hold of much anywhere. but the real estate man says we could all take homesteads; that in those parts—i cannot quite call the name, i'll study a while. . . . the rosebud country, is what he called it — there had been a great land opening, and there would be another in a few years. that we could go out now and rent on a place, raise big crops and get in good financial circumstances by the time the opening comes, go forth then and all take homesteads and grow rich! it sounds fishy — us growing rich; but since we have nothing we couldn't lose. he says that people have grown wealthy in two years; that among the successful men — those who have made it quickly — is a colored man out there who came from — he couldn't say just where; but that if a colored man could make it, and get money together, surely any one else should. i will close this now because it is late, the light is low; be- sides i'm sleepy, and since that is surely one thing a person can do with success in "nubbin ridge," i will retire and have my share of it. a month later—it has happened! we are going westl the real estate man has gone back, and papa has been out there. he is carried away with the country. says it is the greatest place on earth. i won't attempt to put down the wonders he has told of. rich land to be rented for one-third of the crops — and we pay two-fifths in nubbin ridge where there is no soil, just a sprinkling of dust over the surface. has rented a place already, and has made arrangements with the man that we owe to give him a year's time to pay the two hundred dollars. so agnes we have enough to get out there and buy seed next spring! everybody says we are going on another "wild goose chase," but they would say that if we were going into the next county. it would seem better, however, if we would wait until spring, but papa is getting ready to go right after xmas. that settles it! i will make no more notes in this diary until we have reached the "promised land." in the meantime i am full of dreams, dreams, dreams! i had a strange dream last night; a real dream in which things happened! always i have those day dreams, but last night i had a real dream. i dreamed that we went out to this country and that we rented and lived on a farm near the colored man the real estate man spoke of. i dreamed that he was an unusual man, a wonderful person- ality, and that we — he and i — became very close friends! that a strange murder occurred near where we went; a murder that no one could ever understand; but that in after years it was all made plain — and i was involved! think of such a dream! me being involved in anything; i, of "nubbin ridge!" i am sure that if i told out there the name of the place from where we came they would think we were crazy i but that was not all the dream — and it was all so plain! it frightens me when i think of it. i cannot realize how i could have had such a strange dream. i dreamed after we had been there a while that i fell in love — but it's the man i fell in love with which makes the dream so unusual, and — impossible! yet there is a say- ing that nothing is impossible! i will not record here or describe the one with whom i fell in love. strangely i feel that i should wait. i cannot say why, but something seems to caution me; to tell me not to say more now. there remains but one thing more. yesterday i hap- the homesteader pened to glance at myself in the mirror. as if by magic i was drawn closer and studied myself, studied something in my features i had never seen before — at least not in that way. i observed then my hands. they, too, appeared unlike they had been before. it seems to have been the dream that prompted me to look — and the dream that re- vealed this about myself that i cannot understand. my eyes did not appear the same; they were as if — as if, they belonged to some other! my lips were red as usual; but there was about them something too i had not seen before: they appeared thicker, and as i studied them in the mirror more closely, i couldn't resist that singularity in my eyes. they became large and then small; they were blue, so blue, and then they were brown. it was when they appeared brown that i could not understand. i will close now for i wish to think. my brain is afire, i must think, think, think! chapter ii the homesteader the day was cold and dark and dreary. a storm raged over the prairie,— a storm of the kind that seem to come only over the northwest. over the wide, unbroken country of our story, the wind screamed as if terribly angry. it raced across the level stretches, swept down into the draws, where draws were, tumbled against the hillsides, regained its equilibrium and tore madly down the other side, as if to destroy all in its path. a heavy snow had fallen all the morning, but about noon it had changed to fine grainy missiles that cut the face like cinders and made going against it very difficult. notwithstanding, through it — directly against it at most times, the homesteader struggled resolutely forward. he was shielded in a meas- ure by the horses he was driving, whose bulks prevented the wind from striking him in the face, and on the body at all times. at other times — and especially when following a level stretch — he got close to the side of the front wagon with its large box loaded with coal, which towered above his head and shoulders. before him, but not always, the dim line of the trail, despite the heavy snow that had fallen that morning, was outlined. perhaps it was because he had followed it — he and his horses — so often before in the two years since he had been west, that he was able to keep to its narrow way without difficulty today. and still, following it was not as difficult as following other trails, for it was an old, old the homesteader trail. so old indeed was it, that nobody knew just how old it was, nor how far it reached. it was said that custer had gone that way to meet his massacre; that sitting bull knew it best; but to the homesteader, he hoped to be able to follow it only as long as the light of day pointed the way. when night came — but upon that he had not reck- oned! to be caught upon it by darkness was certain death, and he didn't want to die. he was young, the homesteader — just passed twenty- two— and vigorous, strong, healthy and courageous. his height was over six feet and while he was slender he was not too much so. his shoulders were slightly round but not stooped. his great height gave him an advantage now. he followed his horses with long, rangy strides, turning his head frequently as if to give the blood a chance to circulate about and under the skin of his wide forehead. the fury of the storm appeared to grow worse, judging from the way the horses shook their bridled heads; or perhaps it was growing colder. almost continually some of the horses were striking the ice from their nosepoints; while very often the home- steader had to rest the lines he held while he forced the blood to his finger tips with long swings of his arms back and forth across his breast. his claim lay many miles yet before him, and his con- tinual gaze toward the west was to ascertain how long the light of day was likely to hold out. behind, far to the rear, lay the little town of bonesteel which he had left that morn- ing, and now regretted having done so. but the storm had not been so bad then, and because the snow was falling he had conjectured it would be better to reach home before it became too deep or badly drifted. as it was now he was encountering all this and some more "damn!" he cried as they passed down a slope to where from a painting by w. m. farrow. he was young, the homesteader—just passed twenty-two - and vigorous, strong, healthy and courageous. the homesteader the land divided, and where the wind seemed to hit hardest . his course lay directly northwest, straight against the wind which he could only avoid by hanging the lines over the lever of the brake and fall in behind the trail wagon. but this, unfortunately, placed him too far away from the horses. he had walked all the way, for to walk was apparently the only way to keep from freezing. he soon reached the other side of the draw, and when he had come to the summit beyond, he groaned. ahead of him just above the dark horizon the sun came suddenly from beneath the clouds. on either side of it, great, gasping sun- dogs struggled. they seemed to vie with the red sinking orbit; and as he continued his anxious gazing in that direc- tion they seemed to have triumphed, for as the sun sank lower and lower, they appeared suddenly empowered with a mighty force for only a few minutes later the sun had fallen into the great abyss below and the night was on! "we can make it yet, boys," he cried to his horses as if to cheer them. and as if they understood, they crashed forward with such vigor that he was thrown almost into a trot to keep up. as to how long it went on thus, or as to how far they had gone, he was not able to reckon; but out of the now pitch darkness he became conscious of a peculiar longing. he had a vision of his sod house that stood on the claim, and he saw the small barn with its shed and the stalls for four. he saw the little house again with its one room, the little monkey stove with an oven on the chimney, and imagined himself putting a pan of baking powder bread therein. he saw his bed, a large, wide, dirty —'tis true — but a warm bed, nevertheless. he fancied himself creeping under the covers and sleeping the sound way he always did. he could not understand his prolific thoughts that followed. the homesteader he thought of his boyhood back in old illinois; he took stock of the surroundings he had left there; he lived briefly through the discontentment that had ulti- mately inspired him to come west. and then he had again those dreams. regardless of where his train of wandering thoughts began or of where they followed, always they were sure to end upon this given point, the girl. the girl of his dreams — for he had no real girl. there had never been a real girl for jean baptiste, for this was his name. in the years that had preceded his coming hither, it had been one relentless effort to get the few thousands together with which to start when he finally came west. at that he had been called lucky. he had no heritage, had jean baptiste. his father had given him only the french name that was his, for his father had been poor — but this instant belongs elsewhere. his heritage, then, had been his indefatigable will; his firm determination to make his way; his great desire to make good. but we follow jean baptiste and the girl. only a myth was she. she had come in a day dream when he came west, but strangely she had stayed. and, singularly as it may seem, he was confident she would come in person some day. he talked with her when he was lonely, and that was almost every day. he told her why he had come west, because he felt it was the place for young; manhood. here with the unbroken prairie all about him; with its virgin soil and undeveloped resources; and the fact that all the east, that part of the east that was iowa and illinois had once been as this now was, had once been as wild and undeveloped and had not then been worth any more — indeed, not so much. here could a young man work out his own destiny. as iowa and illinois had been de- veloped, so could this — so would this also be developed. the homesteader and as railways had formed a network of those states, so in time would they reach this territory as well. in fact it was inevitable what was to come, the prime essential, there- fore, for his youth, was to begin with the beginning — and so he had done. so he had come, had jean baptiste, and was living alone with a great hope; with a great hope for the future of this little empire out there in the hollow of god's hand; with a great love, too, for her, his dream girl. so in his pro- h c visions he talked on with her. he told her that it was a long way to the railroad now — thirty-two miles. he had that far to haul the coal he and others burned. there were yet no fences, and while there were section lines, they were rarely followed. it was nearer by trail. but he was patient, he was perseverant. time would bring all else — and her. he had visions of her, she was not beautiful; she might not be vivacious, for that belonged to the city; but she was good. always he understood everything that was hers, and he was confident she would understand him. her name was sweet and easily pronounced. how he loved to call it! he staggered at times now and didn't know why. he had wanted to be home and in his bed where he could sleep; but home as he now regarded it was too far. he couldn't make it, and didn't need to. why should they blunder and pull so hard to get home when all about them was a place where they could rest. the prairie was all about; and he had slept on the ground before with only the soft grass be- neath him. why, then, must he continue on and on! the air was pleasant — warm and luxuriant, and he, jean baptiste, was very tired — oh, how tired he really was! it was settled! he had gone far enough. he would the homesteader make his bed right where he was. he called to the horses. but somehow they didn't seem to hear. he called again then, he thought, louder, and still they failed to hear. he wondered at their stubbornness. they were good horses and had never disobeyed before. he called now again at the top of his voice, but they heeded him not; in the mean- time forging onward, onward and onward! it occurred to him to drop the reins, but such had never been a custom. within his tired, freezing and brain-fagged mind, there was a resolution that made him cling to them, but struggling to pull them down to a stop he continued. and as he followed them now onward toward the sod house that stood on the claim, all realism seemed to desert him; he became a chilled mechanician; he seemed to have passed into the infinite where all was vague; where turmoil and peculiar strife only abided. . . . for jean baptiste did not understand that he was on the verge of freezing. stewarts were pleased with the country. they had ar- rived in early january. the weather had not been bad, although the wind blew much stronger here than it did in indiana. however, they had not forgotten how it blew in western kansas and were therefore accustomed to it. the house upon the place they had rented was small, just four rooms, but it was well built and was warm. a village was not far. the people in it called it a town, but you see they were enthusiastic. to be more amply pro- vided they could get what they needed at gregory which was seven miles. seven miles was not far to one who could ride horseback, and this agnes had learned in western kansas. "you had best not go to town today, my girl," cautioned jack stewart, her father, as she made ready to ride to the homesteader gregory after ordering bill to saddle dolly, the gray mare that was their best. "tut, tut, papa," she chided. "this is a day to take the benefit of this wonderful air. the low altitude of nubbin ridge made me sallow; there was no blood in my cheeks. mere—ah, a nice horseback ride to gregory will be the best yet for me!" "i don't like the wind — and so much snow with it," he muttered, looking out with a frown upon his face. "but the snow is not like it was," she argued, almost ready. "it's letting up." "it's growing finer, which is evidence that it is growing colder." "better still," she cried, jumping about frolickingly, her lithe young body as agile as an athlete's. "now, dada," she let out winsomely, "i shall dash up to gregory, get all we need, and be back before the sun goes down!" and with that she kissed away further protest, swung open wide the door, stepped out and vaulted lightly into the saddle. a moment later she was gone, but not before her father cried: "if you should be delayed, stay the night in town. above all things, don't let the darkness catch you upon the prairie!" chapter iii at the sod house she enjoyed the horseback ride to gregory. although she trembled at times from the sting of the intense cold, the exercise the riding gave her body kept the blood circulating freely, and she made the trip to the little town without event. once there, after thawing the cold out of her face and eyes, she proceeded to do her trading, filling the saddle- bags to their fullest. "which way do you live from town?" inquired the elderly man who waited upon her at the general store where she was doing her trading. "seven miles southeast," she replied. "indeed!" he cried as if surprised. "but you didn't come from there today — this afternoon? that would be directly against this storm!" she nodded. "well, now, who would have thought you could have made itl 'tis an awful day without," he cried as he re- garded her in wonder. "it wasn't warm, i admit," she agreed; "but i didn't seem to mind it so much!" "you will not go back today — rather tonight?" "oh, yes." "but it would be very risky. look! it's grown dark already!" she looked out and observed that it had really at the sod house grown almost pitch dark during the few minutes she had lingered inside. she was for a moment at a loss for a reply, then, conscious that the wind would be to her back, she laughed lightly as she said: "oh, i shan't mind. it will take me less than forty min- utes, and then it'll all be over," and she laughed low and easily again. the man frowned as he pursued: "i don't like to see you start, a stranger in such a night as this. since settlement following a trail is rather treach- erous. one may leave town on one, but be on some other before they have gone two miles. and while the wind will be to your back, the uncertainty of direction, should you happen to look back or even around, is confusing. one loses sense of the way they are going. i'd suggest that you stick over until morning. it would be safer," he concluded, shaking his head dubiously. "oh, i am not afraid," she cried cheerfully. she was ready then, and with her usual dash, she crossed the short board walk, vaulted into the saddle, and a few minutes later the dull clatter of her horse's hoofs died in the distance. with the wind to her back she rode easily. she enjoyed the exercise the riding gave her, and was thrilled instead of being frightened over what was before her. she followed quite easily the trail that had taken her into the village. in due time she passed a house that she had observed when going in that stood to one side of the trail, and then suddenly the mare came to an abrupt halt. she peered into the dark- ness before her. a barbwire fence was across the trail. she could not seem to recall it being there on her way in. yet she argued with herself that she might have come around and not noticed it. for a moment she was in doubt as to which way to go to get around it. as she viewed it, it did not extend perhaps more than a quarter mile or a half at the homesteader the most, after which she could come around to the other side and strike the trail again. she gave the ever faithful mare rein and they sailed down the fence line to where she estimated it must shortly end. she did not know that this was the old u-cross fence, and that because it stood on indian land, it had not been taken up when the great ranch had been moved into the next county when giving up to the settler. in truth only a few steps to her right she had left the trail she had followed into town. the old trail had been cut off when the home- steader in whose house she had seen the light, had laid out his claim, and it was this which caused the confusion. she did not know that one could go to town, or to the railroad today and returning on the morrow, find the route changed. homesteaders were without scruples very often in such mat- ters. the law of the state was that before a followed trail was cut off, it should be advertised for five weeks in advance to that effect; but not one in twenty of the settlers knew that such a law existed. so agnes stewart had ridden fully two miles before she became apprehensive of the fact that she had lost her way. now the most practical plan for her would been to have turned directly about and gone back to where she had started down the fence. but, charged with impatient youth, she sought what she felt to be the quickest way about. now upon looking closely she could see that wires hung down in places and that a post here and there had sagged. she urged the mare over a place and then, once over, went in the direc- tion she felt was home. the stiff, zero night air had some- what dulled her, and she made the mistake of looking back, thereby confusing her direction to the point where after a few minutes she could not have sworn in what direction she was going, except that the wind was still at her back. at the sod house she peered into the darkness before her. she thought there would be lights of homesteaders about, and while there was, the storm made it impossible for her to see them. after a time she became alarmed, and recalled her father's warning, also the store-keeper's. but her natural determi- nation was to go on, that she would get her bearings, pres- ently. so, with a jerking of her body as if to stimulate circulation of the blood, she bent in the saddle and rode an- other mile or more. she had crossed draws, ascended hills, had stumbled over trails that always appeared to lead in the wrong direction, and at last gave up for lost at a summit where the wind and fine snow chilled her to the marrow. she was thoroughly frightened now. she thought to return to gregory, but when she turned her eyes against the wind, she could catch no sight of anything. she was sure then that she could not make it back there had she wished to. not knowing what to do she allowed the mare to trot ahead without any effort to direct her. she had not gone far before she realized that they were follow- ing a level stretch. and because she seemed to keep warm when the horse moved, she allowed the mare to continue. a half mile she estimated had been covered when out of the darkness some dark shape took outline. she peered ahead; the mare was ambling gently toward it, and she saw after a time that it was a quaint, oblong structure, a sod house apparently, many of which she had observed since coming west into the new country. she was relieved. at least she was not to freeze to death upon the prairie, a fact that she had begun to regard as a possibility a few minutes before. the mare fell into a walk and presently came up to a low, square house, built of sod, with its odd hip roof re- posing darkly in the outline. she called, " hello," and was patient. the wind bit into her, and she was conscious of the homesteader the bitter cold, and that she was beginning to feel its severe effects. there was no response, and she called again, dis- mounting in the meantime. when she saw no one she went around to where she observed a low door at which she knocked vigorously. from all appearances the place was occupied, but no one was at home. she tried the knob. it gave, and she pushed the door open cautiously. all was darkness within. then, dropping the bridle reins she ventured inside. she could not understand why her feet made no sound upon the floor, but in truth there was no floor except the earth. she felt in her coat pocket and presently produced a match. when the flaring light il- luminated the surroundings, she gazed about. it was, she quickly observed, a one room house. there was at her side a monkey stove with an oven on the pipe; while at her left stood a table with dishes piled thereupon. there was also a lantern on the table and this she adjusted and lighted be- fore the blaze died. she swung this about, and saw there was a bed with dirty bed clothing, also a trunk, some boxes and what nots. "a bachelor, i'd wager," she muttered, and then blushed when she considered her position. she looked about fur- ther, and upon seeing fuel, proceeded to build a fire. this done, she passed outside, found a path that extended north- west, and, leading the horse, soon came to a small barn. here she saw two stalls with a manger filled with hay. she had to push the mare back to keep her from entering and making herself at home. she passed around the barn and entered the door of a small shed, for cattle obviously, but empty. hay was in the manger, and, taking the bits from the mare's mouth, she tied the reins to the manger, unsaddled, and, leaving the shed after fastening the door, she carried the saddle with her to the house. the homesteader and buttoned it about her hurriedly; and then drawing the cap over her head, she waited, expectantly, although she was sure that time sufficient had expired, whoever drove the teams had not come toward the house. she could hear the horses, but she could not ascertain that they were being unhitched. she was undecided for a moment, then, catch- ing up the lantern, she quickly went outside. two wagons loaded heavily with coal greeted her. she passed to the front and found four horses, white with the frost from perspiration, standing hitched to the loads. she passed to their heads. xo one was about, and she was puzzled. she passed around to the other side, and as she did so, stumbled over something. with the lantern raised, she peered down and then suddenly screamed when she discovered it was a man. then, on second thought, fearing he had fallen from the wagon and become injured, she put her arm through the bail of the lantern, reached down, caught him by the shoul- ders and shook him. he was not injured, she was relieved to see; but what -was the matter? in the next moment she gave a quick start. she realized in a twinkling then, that the man was freezing — perhaps already frozen! with quick intuition she reached and caught him beneath the arms, and turning, dragged him to the house. she opened the door, and lifting his body, carried him in her arms across the room and laid him upon the bed. then, realizing that the night was severely cold, she rushed out, closing the door behind her, and a half hour later had the horses unhitched, unharnessed and tied in their stalls. this done she returned hurriedly to the house to find the man still unconscious, but breathing heavily. she did not know at once what to do, but going to his feet, took off his shoes. this was rather difficult, and she feared that from the way they felt, his feet were frozen. she rubbed them vigor- from a painting by w. m. farrow. he raised on an elbow and looked into her face while she staggered in great surprise. at the sod house ously, and was relieved after a time to feel the blood cir- culating and the same giving forth warmth. she sighed with relief and then pulling off the heavy gloves, she ex- ercised the same proceeding with the hands, and was cheered to feel them give forth warmth after a time. she un- buttoned the coat at his throat, and rolling him over, man- aged to get it off of him. next she unbuttoned the collar, drew off the cap, and for the first time saw his face. it was swollen and very dark, she thought. she brought the lantern closer and looked again. she gave a start then and opened her mouth in surprise. then she fell to thinking. she went back to the chair beside the fire and reflected. "it is all the same, of course," she said to herself. "but i was just surprised. it all seems rather singular," she mused, and tried to compose herself. the surprise she had just experienced, had, notwithstanding her effort at self pos- session, disconcerted her. she turned suddenly, for she had caught the sound of a noise from the bed. she got up quickly and went to him. he had turned from his side to his back. she stood over him with the lantern raised. to see him better she leaned over, holding the lantern so that her face was full in the light. she had unbuttoned her coat at the throat, and seeking more comfort, had also re- moved the cap she wore. she had, however, forgotten her hair which had been held about her head by the cap and it now fell in braids over her slender shoulders. on the in- stant the man's eyes opened. he raised on an elbow, looked into her face, smiled wanly, and murmured: "it is you, agnes. you have come and oh, i am glad, for i have waited for you so long." in the next breath he had fallen back upon the bed and was sleeping again, while she staggered in great surprise. who was this man that he should call her name and say that he had waited? the homesteader but with jean baptiste, he snored in peace. his dream had come true; the one of his vision had come as he had hoped she would. but jean baptiste was not aware of the debt he owed her; that through strange providence in get- ting lost she had come into his sod house and saved his life. but what he was yet to know, and which is the great problem of our story, the girl, his dream girl, agnes stewart, hap- pened to be white, while he, jean baptiste, the home- steader, was a negro. chapter iv she could never be anything to him jean baptiste slept soundly all the night through, snoring loudly at times, turning frequently, but never awakening. and while he slept, unconscious of how near he had come to freezing to death upon the prairie, but for the strange coincidence of agnes stewart's having got- ten lost and finding him, she sat near, listening to the dull roar of the storm outside at times; at other times casting furtive, anxious and apprehensive glances toward the bed, half in fear. more because the position she realized herself to be in was awkward, not to say embarrassing. her eyes became heavy as the night wore on, and she arose and walked about over the dirt floor in an attempt to shake off the inertia. and in the meantime, the man she had saved slept on, apparently disturbed by nothing. pres- ently she approached him shyly, and, taking the coat he had worn and which lay near, she spread it carefully over him, then tiptoed away and regarded him curiously. her life had never afforded character study in a broad sense; but for some reason, which she could not account for, she strangely trusted the sleeping man. and because she did, she was not in fear lest he awaken and take advantage of the compromising circumstances. but in her life she had met and known no colored people, and knew directly little about the negro race beyond what she had read. there- the homesteader fore to find herself lost on the wide plains, in a house alone with one, a bachelor homesteader, with a terrific storm without, gave her a peculiar sensation. when the hand of the little clock upon the table pointed to two o'clock a. m., she put coal on the fire, became seated in a crude rocking chair that proved notwithstanding, to be comfortable, and before she was aware of it, had fallen asleep. worn out by the night's vigil, and the unusual cir- cumstances in which she found herself, she slept soundly and all sense of flying time was lost upon her. the storm subsided with the approach of morn, and the sun was peep- ing out of a clear sky in the east when she awakened with a start. she jumped to her feet. quickly her eyes sought the bed. it was empty. the man had arisen. she looked out through the little window. the blizzard had left the country gray and streaked. buttoning her coat collar about her throat, she adjusted her cap by pulling it well down over her head, and ventured outside. never had she looked upon such a scene as met her eyes! everywhere, as far as she could see, was a mantle of snow and ice. here the snow had been swept into huge drifts or long ridges; while there it sparkled in the sun, one end- less, unbroken sheet of white frost and ice. here and there over the wide expanse a lonesome claim shack reposed as if lost; while to the northwest, she could see the little town to which she had gone the afternoon before, rising heroically out of the snow. upon hearing a sound, she turned to find the homesteader leading her horse, saddled and bridled from the barn. she turned her eyes away to hide the con- fusion with which she was suddenly overcome, and at the same time to try to find words with which to greet him. "good morning," she heard from his lips, and turned her face to see him touch the cap he wore. never anything to him "good morning, sir," she returned, smiling with ease, notwithstanding her confusion of a moment before. "i judge that you must have become lost, the why you happened along," said he pleasantly, courteously. "i did," she acknowledged, marveled at finding herself so much at ease in his presence, and him conscious. in the same instance she took quick note of his speech and manner, and was strangely pleased. "i see," she heard him mutter. she had cast her eyes away as if to think, but now turned again toward him to find him regarding her intently. she saw him give a quick start, and catch his breath as if in surprise, whereupon she turned her eyes away. but she did not understand the cause of his start; she did not understand that while he had recognized her as his dream girl, that only then had he realized that she was white, while he had naturally supposed his dream girl would be of his own blood, ethiopian. he lowered his eyes as this fact played in his mind, and as he hesitated, she again turned her eyes upon him and re- garded him wonderingly. and in that moment the instance of the night before when he had awakened and looked up into her eyes for the first time when she stood over him, and had uttered the words she would never as long as she lived, forget, came back. "it is you, agnes. you hare come and. oh, i am glad, for i have waited for you so long." "how did he know my name and come to say what he did?" was the question she now again, as she had been doing all the night through, asked herself. she prayed that she might find a way to ask him — how deeply her curiosity to know was aroused. and then, while she was so deeply engrossed, abruptly he raised his head, and his eyes fell searchingly again upon her. he saw and wondered at the curious intentness he saw there, and as he did so, he caught the homesteader that something in her eyes; he saw what she had seen before leaving indiana; and as she had been when she had seen it, he too, was strangely moved and could not understand. apparently he forgot all else as the changing color of her eyes held him, and while so, unconsciously he advanced a step nearer her. she did not move away, but stood as if in a thraldom, with a feeling stealing over her that somewhere she had seen and known him once. . . . but where — where, where! she had never known an ethiopian, she full well recalled; but she was positive that she had seen this man somewhere before. then -where — where, where! as for the man, jean baptiste, he seemed to relax after a time, and looked away. he had seen her at last; she had been his dream girl; had come in a dream and as she stood before him she was all his wondrous vision had portrayed. her face was flushed by the cold air, and red roses in full bloom were in her cheeks; while her beautiful hair, spread over her shoulders, and fanned by a light breeze, made her in his eyes a picture of enchantment. when he observed her again and saw that her eyes were blue and then again were brown, he was still mystified; but what was come over jean baptiste now was the fact, the great fact: the fact that between him and his dream girl was a chasm so deep socially that bridging was impossible. because she was white while he was black, according to the custom of the country and its law, she could never be anything to him her back was to the rising sun, and neither had observed that it was mounting higher in the eastern skies. she sup- pressed the question that was on her lips to ask him, the eternal question, and in that instant he came out of his trance. he turned to her, and said: "it was sure fortunate for me that you lost your way," never anything to him and so saying his eyes went toward the place she had found him, and she understood. she could not repress a happy smile that overspread her face. he saw it and was pleased. "it was rather providential; but i would forget it. to think that you might have frozen to death out there makes me shudder when i recall it." "i cannot seem to understand what came over me — that i was in the act of freezing while i walked." "it was a terrible night," she commented. "i, too, might have frozen, but for the good fortune of my horse finding your house." "isn't it strange," he muttered abstractedly. "i hadn't the least idea where i was," said she, musingly. "such a coincidence." "indeed it was , but please, shall we forget it," and she shuddered slightly. "yes," he replied readily. "where do you live?" she pointed to where the smoke curled from the chimney of their home, a mile and a half away. "the watson place? i see. you are perhaps, then, newcomers here?" "we are," and she smiled easily. he did also. he handed her the bridle reins then, and said: "i trust you will pardon my forgetfulness. indeed i was so absorbed in the fact that i had been saved, that i forgot to — to be courteous." "oh, no, sir!" she cried quickly. "you did not. you —" and then she broke off in her speech. it occurred to her that she was saying too much. but strangely she wanted to go on, strangely she wanted to know more of him: from where he had come; of his life, for already she could see that he was a gentleman; an unusual person — but he was speaking again. the homesteader "you have become chilled standing there — it is severely cold. step back into the house and warm yourself before you start. i will hold your horse while you do so." and he reached for the bridle reins. she looked up into his face, and again trusted him; again she experienced a peculiar gratitude, and turning she obeyed him. as she stood inside over the little monkey stove a mo- ment later, she could see him, and appreciated how thought- ful he was. she returned after a few minutes, stood beside the animal he had brought and was ready to go. suddenly she vaulted into the saddle. she regarded him again intently, while he returned the same a bit abstractedly. she started to urge the mare forward, and then she drew her to a stop before she had gotten fully started. impulsively she leaned for- ward and stretched her hand toward him. mechanically he took it. she unconsciously gripped his, as she said: "i'm glad it happened. . . . that i became lost and — and — you were saved." his dark face colored with grati- tude, and he had an effort to keep from choking when he tried to reply. in the meantime, she bestowed upon him a happy smile, and the next moment her horse had found the trail and was dashing along it toward the place she lived. and as she went homeward over the hill, the man in whose life she was later to play such a strange and intimate part, stood looking after her long and silently. chapter v when the indians shot the town up the claim of jean baptiste, containing acres of land, adjoined the little town of dallas on the north, and it was one of the surprises that agnes stewart had not wandered into it when she found the sod house and had later found jean baptiste in the snow. the town had been started the winter before. a creek of considerable depth, and plenty of water ran to the south of it a half mile, and up this valley the promoters of the town contended that the railroad would build. it came up the same valley many miles below where at a way station it suddenly lifted out of it and sought the higher land to bone- steel. now the promoters, because the railroad company owned considerable land where the tracks left the valley to ascend to the highland, contended that it was the purpose of the railroad to split the trade country by coming up the valley, and that was why the town had been located where it was, on a piece of land that had once belonged to an indian. there were three other towns, platted by the government along a route that did not strike dallas, and if the railroad should continue the route it was following where its tracks stopped west of bonesteel, it was a foregone conclusion that it must hit the three government townsites. this had ever been, and was, the great contention in the early days of the country of our story. but to get back to the characters in question, we must come back to the lit- tle town near the creek valley. the homesteader the winter preceding, when the town had been started, men had chosen to cast their lot with it, and by the time spring arrived, there was a half dozen or more business places represented. from des moines a man had come and started a lumber yard; while from elsewhere a man had cooperated with the promoters in establishing a bank. two men, whose reputations were rather notorious, but who, nevertheless, were well fitted for what they chose, started a saloon. from a town that had no railroad in the state on the south, a man came with a great stock of merchandise. a weazened creature had been made postmaster; while a doctor, beliquored until he was uncertain, had come hither with a hope of redemption and had hung out his shingle. he was succeeding in the game of reform (?) as the best customer the saloon had. a tired man was conducting a business in a building that had been hauled many miles and was being used as a hotel. many other lines of business were expected, but at this time the interest was largely in who the settlers were that had come, and those who were to come. a beautiful quarter section of land joined the town on the east, and the man who had drawn it had already estab- lished his residence thereupon, so that he was known. on the south the land was the allotment of an indian; while the same was true on the west. naturally, when it was reported that a negro held the place on the north, con- siderable curiosity prevailed to meet this lone ethiopian. but jean baptiste was a mixer, a jolly good fellow of the best type and by this time such was well known. as to where he had come from, we know; but his name had oc- casioned much comment because it was odd. to make it more illustrious, the settlers had added " saint," so he was now commonly know as st. jean baptiste. the doctor, indians shot the town up whose name was slater, had improved even upon this. he called him "st. john the baptist." but nobody took doc very seriously. so full was he of red liquor most of the time, that he was regarded as a joke except in his profes- sion. here he was considered one of the best,— his re- deeming feature. the coal the homesteader had hauled from bonesteel was not all for himself, but for the lumber yard which sold it at fifteen dollars the ton, and the quality was soft, and not of the best grade at that. he hauled it into town the morning following the episode of our story, and after unloading it and taking his check for the hauling, returned home, took care of his stock, and upon returning to town, forgot to relate anything concern- ing his experiences. . . . perhaps he forgot. . . . jean baptiste could be depended upon to forget some things. . . . especially the things that were best forgotten. he walked across the quarter mile that lay between his claim and the town, and up to the saloon. inside he en- countered the usual crowd, doc among them. "hello, there, st. john the baptist," cried that one in beliquored delight. "did you crawl through all that storm?" "i'm here," laughed baptiste. "how's doc?" "finer'n a fiddle, both ends in the middle," and called for another drink. just one. it is said that saloons would not be so bad if it was not for the treating nuisance, well, doc could be regarded here then, as practical, for he never bought others a drink. "see you got your nose freezed, baptiste," doc laughed. baptiste went toward the bar, took a look at himself, and laughed amusedly upon seeing the telltale darkness at the point of his nose, his cheeks and his forehead. the homesteader "t' hell, i didn't know that," he muttered. the crowd laughed. "play you a game of casino? " suggested doc. "you're on!" cried baptiste. after they had played awhile a swede who lived across the creek entered, took a seat and drawing his chair near, watched the game. presently he spoke. "the indians are coming in today, so i guess there will be a shooting up the town." the players paused and regarded each other apprehen- sively. others overheard the remark, and now exchanged significant glances. this had been the one diversion of the long winter. indians who lived on the creek, coming into town, getting drunk, and then as a sally ride up and down the main street and shoot up the town. the last time this had taken place, the bartender's wife had been frightened into hysterics. and thereupon the bartender had sworn that the next time this was attempted, they would have to reckon with him. the few people about became serious. they knew the bartender was dangerous, and they feared the indians, breeds, mostly, who made this act their pastime. they were annoyed with such doings; but were inclined to lay the blame at the saloon door, for, although the law decreed that indians should not be sold liquor they were always allowed to purchase all that they could possibly carry away with them inside and out. so upon this announcement, those about prepared themselves for excitement. the news quickly spread and to augment the excitement, a few minutes later the breeds in full regalia dashed into town. they tied their horses at the front, and proceeded at once to the bar. "whiskey," they cried, shifting their spurred boots on the barroom floor. indians shot the town up "sorry, boys, but i can't serve jou," advised the bar- tender carelessly. "what!" they cried. "can't serve you. it's agin' the law, yu' know." "t' hell with the law!" exclaimed one. "i didn't make it," muttered the bartender. "you've been playing hell enforcing it," retorted another. "now, don't get rough, my worthy," cautioned the bar- tender. "give us what we called for, and none of this damn slush then," cried one, toying with the gun at his holster. the bartender observed this and got closer to the bar for a purpose. those about, being of the peaceful kind, began shifting toward the door. "we've been breakin' the law to serve you," said the bar- tender " and you've been breaking the law after we done it. now the last time you were here you pulled off a 'stunt' that caused trouble. so i'll not serve you whiskey, and advise you that if you try shooting up the town again, there'll be trouble." "oh, is that so? " cried the bunch. "well," sniffed one, who was more forward than the rest, "we'll just show you a trick or two. and, remember, when we've shot your little chicken coops full of holes, we are going to return and be served." with a hilarious laugh, they went outside, got into the saddles and had their fun. the population took refuge in the cellars in awed silence. it was over in a few minutes and the breeds, true to their statement, returned to the saloon, and stood before the bar. "whiskey," they cried, and couldn't repress a grin. ordinarily they were cowards, and their boldness had sur- prised even themselves. the homesteader "whiskey?" said the bartender, nodding toward the speaker. "that's my order!" the other cried uproarously. the bartender arranged several bottles in a row. this they did not understand at first. they did, however, a moment later. "very well," he cried of a sudden as his eyes narrowed, whereupon, with deliberation he caught the bottles one by one by the neck and as fast as he could let go, threw the same into the faces before him with all the force he could concentrate quickly. so quickly was it all done that those before him had not time to duck below the bar before many had been the recipients of the deluge. within the minute there was a wild scramble for the door — all but three. for while the others disappeared over the hill toward the creek, dr. slater took thirty stitches or thereabouts in the faces of the recalcitrants. \ chapter vi the infidel, a jew and a german a mile north from where stood the house of st. jean baptiste, there lived a quaint old man. he was a widower; at least this was the general opinion, especially when he so claimed to be. in a new country there may be found among those who settle much that is unusual, not to say quaint and oftentimes mysterious. and in the case of this man, by name illustrious, there was all this and some more. augustus m. barr, he registered, and from england he hailed. how long since does not concern this story at this stage. besides, he never told any one when, or why — well, he had been in america long enough to secure the claim he held and that was sufficient. but that barr had been a man of some note back from where he came, there could be little doubt. among the things to prove it, he was very much of a linguist, being well versed in english, french, polish, german; the scandinavian he thoroughly understood — and latin, that was easy! he had been a preacher and had pastored many years in a baker street church, london. then, it seems, he con- cluded after all that there was no god; there was no satan nor hell either — so he gave up the ministry and beckme an infidel. and so we have him. but there was some- thing a. m. barr had never told — but that was the mystery. and while he will be concerned with our story, let us not forget that two miles and more west of the little town o the homesteader of dallas, there lived another, a jew. he was not a mer- chant, nor was he a trader; then, jews who are not the one or the other are not the usual jew, apparently. well, syfe wasn't, for that was his name, isaac syfe, and from far away assyria he had come. he was dark of visage with dark hair, and piercing but lurking eyes with brows that ran together; while his nose was long and seemed to hang down at the point, reminding one of the ancient judas. his mouth was small and close; and there was always a cigarette between the dark lips. he was of medium size, somewhere in the thirties, perhaps, lived alone, on a home- stead that was his own, and so we have isaac syfe. but there is another still. he lived about as far southwest of dallas as syfe lived to the west and, unlike syfe, he was light, a blond, thick, short and stout. his neck was muscular and slightly bull like; while his features were distinctly germanic: his face was rounded and healthy with cheeks soft and red, and they called him kaden, peter kaden. he also held a claim, having purchased a relinquishment in the opening, lived alone as did syfe and numerous other bachelors, and did his own cooking, washing and ironing. augustus m. barr appeared very much impressed with jean baptiste. he was a judge of men, withal, and much impressed with baptiste as a personality; but the fact that baptiste had broken one hundred and thirty acres on his homestead and now had it ready for crop, the first year of settlement; and had wisely invested in another quarter upon which a girl had made proof, delighted barr. he admired the younger man's viewpoint and optimism. so when barr was in town, and the conversation happened around that way, he was ever pleased to speak his praise of baptiste. the infidel it was the day of the indian episode when barr, driving a team hitched to a spring wagon, came to town, hoping that the lumber yard had received the much needed coal. "and how about the coal," cried barr to the lumberman before he drew his team to a stop. "coal a plenty," replied the lumberman cheerfully. "good, good, good!" exclaimed barr, his distinguished old face lighting up with great delight. "yep," let out the lumberman, coming toward the buggy. "i've weighed you, and round to the bin is the coal. st. jean baptiste arrived last night — that is, i think he got home last night, although he brought the coal this morning, two loads, four tons." "eighty hundred pounds of coal, you don't say! and it was jean baptiste who brought it! now, say, wasn't that great! not another man on this whole reservation save he could have made it," he ended admiringly. "jean baptiste is the man who can bring it if anybody," rejoined the other. at this moment a large, stout man came driving up in a one horse rig. "any coal?" he called lazily from his seat. "plenty," cried barr. "thank god," exclaimed the other, whose name was stark, and who held the claim that cornered with the town on the northeast, and therefore joined with the baptiste claim on the east. "thank jean baptiste," advised barr. "he's the man that brought it." "so?" said stark thoughtfully. "when?" "yesterday." "yesterday?" "that's what the lumberman said." the homesteader "well. i'll be blowedl" "you'll be warmed, i guess." "well, i should say!" "that baptiste is some fellow." "well, yes. although i sometimes think he is a fool." "oh, not so rash!" "any man's a fool that would have left bonesteel with loads yesterday." "then i suppose we should be thankful to the fool. a fool's errand will in this case mean many lazy men's com- fort." "and last summer you recall how it rained?" "i sure do." "well, you know that fellow would go out and work in the rain." "and has a hundred and thirty acres ready and into crop while i have but thirty." "i have but ten, but —" "you will be in the hole—at least behind at the end of this summer." "but i'm advertised to prove up." "and leave the country when you have done so." "well, of course. i have a house and lot and three acres back in iowa." "and jean baptiste has acres. in a few years he will have a rich, wonderful farm that will be a factor in the local history and development of this country; it will also mean something for posterity." "well, i don't care." "you drew your land and got it free excepting four dollars an acre to the government. baptiste bought his and paid for the relinquishment. you were lucky, but it will be up to jean baptiste and his kind to make the country. the infidel had they been as you appear to be, we would perhaps all be in jerusalem, or the jungle. let's load the coal." "good lecture, that," muttered the lumberman when the two were at the bin. "lot's o' truth in it, too. old stark needed it. he's too lazy to hitch up a team, so rides to town in that little buggy with one horse hitched to it." "what are you talking about?" inquired another, coming up at this moment. "jean baptiste." "so?" "barr and stark have just had a set-to about him." "m-m?" "stark says a man that would come from bonesteel a day like yesterday was a fool." "why will he partake of the fuel he brought to keep from freezing, then?" "well, stark is too lazy to care. he's advertised to prove up, you know, and he always has something to say about working." "used to come to town after the mail during the rainy spell last summer, and upon seeing baptiste at work in the field, cry 'just look at that fool nigger, a workin' in the rain.'" both laughed. a few minutes later the town was thrown into an uproar over the incident related in the last chapter. now it happened that day that augustus m. barr went to the postoffice and received a heavy envelope. he glanced through the contents with a serious face, and put the papers in his pocket. on the way to his claim, he took them out and went through them again, and returned them to his pocket. a few minutes later he reached into the pocket, drew out what he thought to be the papers, and silently the homesteader tore them to threads, and flung the bundle of paper to the winds. when jean baptiste left the town for his little sod house on the hill, he saw a. m. barr just ahead of him. he fol- lowed the same route that barr had taken, and when he reached the draw on the town site that lay between his place and the town, he espied some papers. he picked them up, continued on his way, and presently observed the torn ball of paper that barr had cast away. he idly opened the package he held. he wondered at the contents and as he read them through he became curious. the papers had to do with something between augustus m. barr, isaac syfe, and peter kaden. "now that is singular," he said to himself. he con- tinued to read through the papers, and as he did so, another fact became clear to him, kaden was a sad character. and because he was so forlorn, never cultivated any friend- ship, lived alone and never visited, the people had begun to regard him as crazy. but now jean baptiste understood something that neither he, nor any of the people in the country had dreamed of. he read on. he recalled that the summer before a young lady, beautiful, refined but strange at times, had stayed at the barr claim. barr had introduced her as his niece. the people wondered at her seclusion. she had a fine claim. barr had come to him once and spoken about selling it, stating that the girl had fallen heir to an estate in england and was compelled to return therewith. . . . later he had succeeded in selling the place. she had disappeared; but he had never forgotten the expressions he had observed upon the face of christine. . . . he had thought it singular at the time but had thought little of it since. he read further into the papers, and learned about some other person, a woman, but concerning the infidel her he could gather nothing definite. he could not under- stand about christine either, except that she had fallen heir to nothing in england; was not there, but not more than three hundred miles from where he stood at that moment. but there was before him what he did understand, and which was that there was something between augustus m. barr, isaac syfe, and peter kaden, and something was going to happen. chapter vii the day before never since the night at the sod house had agnes stewart been the same person. she could not seem to dismiss jean baptiste, and the instance of her providence in getting lost and thereby saving him, from her mind. his strange words and singular recognition of her was baffling. being so very curious therefore, she had since learned that he was well known in the community and held in popular favor. she knew little and understood less with regard to pre- destination; but she had, since meeting him, recalled that he was the one she had seen in her dream — and loved! she tried to laugh away such a freak; but do what she might, she grew more curious to see him again as the days passed; to talk with him, and learn at last what she was anxious to know — curious to know. how did he come to utter her name and say that he had waited? and, coincident with this, she recalled anew what she had learned — which positively was little — regarding her mother. she had been told that she inherited that one's peculiarity; that her mother had possessed rare eyes, which in a measure explained her own. but she had not been told or knew why her mother had arranged the legacy as she had. not until the day before she was to marry must she know. and then should she not have won a husband to herself by the time she had reached thirty, she was to have the same then, anyhow. singular, but in a sense practical. well, it was so, and she could only sigh and be patient. the day before ' most girls she had known back in " nubbin ridge" were usually married by the time they had reached her present age. but she was not quite like other girls, and did not even have a beau. she wondered if the man she had saved had a sweet- heart. and when she thought of this, she had a feeling that she would know in time. and as the days passed she be- gan at last to believe that in some manner he would play a part in her own life. but agnes stewart was too in- • nocent to know — at least appeared not to be aware of—' the custom of the country and its law, and therefore • could not appreciate the invisible and socially invincible i barrier between them. twas only the man jean baptiste i she saw and reckoned according to what she understood. » therefore, because she could get nowhere in her wonder- ings, as a diversion she turned to the little diary and re- corded therein: january th, — i have not had the patience since arriving here to record any of the events that have tran- spired since we left indiana. we have been here now nearly three weeks. have not as yet had time to draw any con- clusion with regard to the country, but this much i can cheerfully say — and which did not prevail back where we came from — there is spirit in the country, the spirit of the pioneer. the weather has been cold, cold every day since we ar- rived. because we ran out of urgent provisions soon after coming here i ventured to go to gregory, which is seven miles distant, for some more. i have been too much upset over what took place on that memorable trip to say much about it. because i have never kept anything from him, i told papa how i started from the town, became lost, and the homesteader stayed all night at a house and saved a man thereby. he has been so frightened over what happened that he will not let me go anywhere alone again — not even in the daytime. "just think, my girl," he has said time and again, "sup- posing you had not stumbled into that house, you would surely have frozen to death on the plains!" i somehow feel that dolly would have brought me home; but that is a matter for conjecture. but what i say to papa in return is: "had i not gotten lost, that man that is known so well about the country must surely have suffered death!" this seems to pacify him, and he is pleased after all to know that my getting lost was so provident and opportune. he has met the man, jean baptiste, (such an odd name,) and likes him very much — in fact, he is very much carried away with him. i have not seen him since the morning i left him at his sod house; but i cannot get out of my mind the events that passed while i was there. always i can see him look up into my eyes with that strange recognition, and then as he turned, call "agnes, it is you. i'm glad you have come for i've waited for you so long." what that means i would give most half my life to know. i know that i shall never rest in peace until i have become well enough acquainted with him to ask him why and how he knew me. then followed the morning when he talked to himself and did not know i heard. it is all so vivid in my mind. of late i have had an uncontrollable desire. i have wanted to know more of my mother. it seems that if i could have known her, i would understand myself better. i am positive now, that she must have been a rare person. that she was french and very high tempered, papa has told me; and also that she had lived in the west indies be- fore he met her, but that she was born in france. as to the legacy, he lays that to her peculiarity. she was always the day before peculiar in a way, says he; and that at all times she was mys- terious. she had been over almost all the world, and was wise in many things. he thinks i have inherited much of her wit, and that eventually it will express itself in some manner, which is all so strange. i hope, however, it will. to rise in some manner out of the simple, uneventful life i've lived would certainly be appreciated; but whatever it is i cannot conclude. should i ever rise in any way, i feel now it would be due in some manner to my meeting that strange colored man. i have wondered so often since meeting him, how it feels' to be a negro. papa and i have discussed it often since. i understand there is a sort of prejudice against the race in this country; that in the south they are held down and < badly treated; that in the north, even, they are not fairly' treated. papa and i were both agreed about it. we can- not understand why one should be disliked because his skin is dark; or because his ancestors were slaves. but withal i cannot understand how one could deal unfairly with them because of this. it is said that some of the race are very ignorant and vicious; that they very often commit the un- speakable crime. i suppose that is possible. if so, then they should be educated. take this jean baptiste, for in- stance, an educated man, and what a gentleman! but papa, (he is very vindictive!) he says that only about half the colored people in this country are full blood; that in the days of slavery and since, even, the white man who is very often ready to abuse the black men, has been the cause of this mixture. ... i should think their consciences would disturb them. oh, well, i am glad that i have grown up where prejudice against races is not a custom. my mother was french; my father scotch all through, and because i know him and am the homesteader so ingrained with his liberal traditions — even tho' he be poor,— i am at peace with all mankind. we haven't all the money we need, and the fact worries me. papa says he will hire bill to some one if any one should need help. it might be that the colored man will hire him, maybe. they say he is going to hire a man. papa intends to speak to him about it. the only thing that worries us is that we have to explain that weakness in bill and george. george is impossible: too slow, talks too much, and would never earn his salt. but if one is patient with bill until he catches on, he is an excellent worker, and faithful. i wish the colored man would give him the job. he owns the quarter that corners with us, which he expects to complete breaking out and putting into flax next summer, so we are told. if bill could get that job it would be handy. handy for bill, for mr. baptiste, and for us. we have not met many people as yet. because it is so cold to get out, i haven't met any so to speak; but papa ap- pears to be getting acquainted right along. we are going to town — to gregory again saturday. i am looking forward to it with pleasant anticipation. i sincerely trust it will be a beautiful day. in the meantime the clock has struck one, papa is turning over in bed and i can hear him. i'll hear his voice presently, so i will close this with hopes that satur- day will be a beautiful day and that i'll meet and become acquainted with some nice people. chapter viii an enterprising young man- when jean baptiste had found the papers belonging to barr, and had come to understand that it had been barr's intention to destroy the same, natural curiosity had prompted him to read into and examine what was in his possession. but after having read them, and realizing fully to return the same then, would be to have barr know, at least feel, that he was in possession of such a grave secret, would make their, up to this time agreeable, relationship rather awkward, he was at a loss as to what to do. so in the end he laid the papers away, and waited. if barr should make inquiries for them, he would try to find some convenient way to re- turn the same. but on after thought, he knew that barr would hardly start an inquiry about the matter — even if he did come to realize he had lost instead of destroyed the papers. a few days later he saw peter kaden in the village, and this time observed him more closely than had been his wont theretofore. always sad, he so remained, and down in bap- tiste's heart he was sorry for the wretch. it was after he had returned home and lingered at the fire that he heard a light knock at the door. he called " come in." the door was opened and augustus m. barr stood in the doorway. baptiste was for a time slightly nervous. he was glad then that it was dark within the room, otherwise barr must have seen him give a quick start. the homesteader "ah-ha," began barr, cheerfully, coming forward and taking the chair baptiste placed at his disposal. "quite comfortable in the little sod house on the claim." "quite comfortable," returned baptiste evenly, his mind upon the papers so near. he didn't trust himself to com- ment. he waited for whatever was to happen. "suppose you are thinking about the big crop you will seed in the springtime," ventured barr. "yes," admitted baptiste, for in truth, the same had been on his mind before barr put in his appearance. "suppose you will put out quite a crop yourself in the spring," he ventured in return. "well, i don't know," said barr thoughtfully. "i fear i'm getting a little old to farm — and this baching!" baptiste thought about christine who was not so far away instead of in england. . . . he marveled at the man's calm nerve. it did not seem possible that a man of this one's broad education could be so low as to resort to fallacies. "no," he heard barr again. "i don't think that i shall farm next summer. in fact i have about decided to make proof on my claim, and that is what i have called on you in regard to. i suppose i can count you as witness to the fact?" baptiste was relieved. barr still thought he had destroyed the papers. he was smiling when he replied: "indeed, i shall be glad to attest to the fact you refer to." '' thanks," said barr, and rose to go. "no hurry." "i must go into town on a matter of business," said barr from the doorway. "well," he paused briefly and then said, " i am applying for a date, and when that is settled i shall let you know." "very well. good day." an enterprising young man "good day, my friend," and he went over the hill. baptiste was thoughtful when he was gone. he looked after him and thought about the papers. he marveled again at the man's calmness. . . . then suddenly he arose as a thought struck him, and going to his trunk, lifted from the top the last issue of the dallas enterprise. he glanced quickly through the columns and then his eyes rested on a legal notice. he smiled. "old peter is going to make proof. ... so is barr. the eternal triangle begins to take shape. . . ." he got up and went to the door. over the hill he saw barr just entering the town. ..." this is beginning to get interest- ing . . . . but i don't like the kaden end of it. ... i wish i could do something. . . . something to help kaden. . . ." saturday was a beautiful day. to gregory from miles around went almost everybody. so along with the rest went jean baptiste. he fostered certain hopes,— had ulterior purposes in view. firstly, it was a nice day, the town he knew would be filled; and secondly, he was subtly interested in kaden. he had seen by the paper that he was advertised to make proof that day on his homestead. . . . another thing, whenever he thought of kaden, he could not keep barr, and syfe, and lastly, christine, out of his mind. . . . he found the little town filled almost to overflowing when he arrived. teams were tied seemingly to every available post. the narrow board walks were crowded, the saloons were full, red liquor was doing its bit; while the general stores were alive with girls, women and children. a jovial day was ahead and old friendships were revived and new ones made. there is about a new country an air of hopefulness that is contagious. here in this land had the homesteader come the best from everywhere: the best because they were for the most part hopeful and courageous; that great army of discontented persons that have been the forerunners of the new world. mingled in the crowd, jean baptiste re- garded the unusual conglomeration of kinds. there were germans, from germany, and there were swedes from sweden, danes from denmark, norwegians from norway. there were poles, and finns and lithuanians and russians; there were french and a few english; but of his race he was the only one. as a whole the greater portion were from the northern parts of the united states, and he was glad that they were. with them there was no "negro problem," and he was glad there was not. the world was too busy to bother with such: he was glad to know he could work unhampered. he was looked at curiously by many. to the young, a man of his skin was something rare, something new. he smiled over it with equal amusement, and then in a store he walked right into agnes, the first time he had seen her since the morning at the sod house. he was greatly surprised, and rather flustrated,— and was glad again his skin was dark. she could not see the blood that went to his face; while with her, it showed most furiously. as the meeting was unexpected, all she had thought and felt in the weeks since, came suddenly to the surface in her expression. in spite of her effort at self control, her blush- ing face evidenced her confusion upon seeing him again. but with an effort, she managed to bow courteously, while he was just as dignified. they would have passed and gone their ways had it not been that in that instant another, a lady, a neighbor and friend of baptiste's, came upon them. she had become acquainted with agnes that day, and was an enterprising young man very fond of baptiste. although her name was reynolds, she was a red blooded german, sociable, kind and obliging. she had not observed that they had exchanged greetings — did not know, obviously, that the two were acquainted; wherefore, her neighborly instincts became assertive. coming forward volubly, anxiously, she caught baptiste by the hand and shook it vigorously. "mr. baptiste, mr. baptiste!" she cried, punctuating the hand shaking with her voice full of joy, her red, healthy face beaming with smiles. "how very glad i am to see you! you have not been to see us for an age, and i have asked tom where you were. we feared you had gone off and done something serious," whereupon she winked mischievously. baptiste understood and smiled. "you are certainly looking well for an old bachelor," she commented, after releasing his hand and looking into his face seriously, albeit amusedly, mischievously. "we were at dallas and got some of the coal you were brave enough to bring from bonesteel that awful cold day. my, jean, you certainly are possessed with great nerve! while that coal to everybody was a godsend, yet think of the risk you took! why, supposing you had gotten lost in that ter- rific storm; lost as people have been in the west before! you must be careful," she admonished, kindly. "you are really too fine a young man to go out here and get frozen to death, indeed!" baptiste started perceptibly. she re- garded him questioningly. unconsciously his eyes wan- dered toward agnes who stood near, absorbed in all mrs. reynolds had been saying. his eyes met hers briefly, and the events of the night at the sod house passed through the minds of both. the next moment they looked away, and mrs. reynolds, not understanding, glanced toward agnes. the homesteader she was by disposition versatile. but she caught her breath now with sudden equanimity, as she turned to agnes and cried: "oh, miss stewart, you!" she smiled with her usual de- light and going toward agnes caught her arm affectionately, and then, with face still beaming, she turned to where bap- tiste stood. "i want you, miss stewart," she said with much ostenta- tion, " to meet one of our neighbors and friends; one -of the most enterprising young men of the country, mr. jean bap- tiste. mr. baptiste, miss agnes stewart." she did it gracefully, and for a time was overcome by her own vanity. in the meantime the lips of both those before her parted to say that they had met, and then slowly, understandingly, they saw that this would mean to explain. . . . their faces lighted with the logic of meeting formally, and greetings were exchanged to fit the occasion. for the first time he was permitted to see her, to regard her as the real agnes. there was'no embarrassment in her face but composure as she extended her small ungloved hand this time and permitted it to rest lightly in his palm. she smiled easily as she accepted his ardent gaze ajid showed a row of even white teeth momentarily before turning coquet- ishly away. he regarded her intimately in one sweep of his eyes. she accepted this also with apparent composure. she was now fully normal in her composition. that about her which others had understood, and were inspired to call beautiful now seemed to strangely affect him. was it because he was hungry for woman's love; be- cause since he had looked upon this land of promise and out of the visions she had come to him in those long silent days; because of his lonely young life there in the sod an enterprising young man house she had communed with him; was it that he had imagined her sweet radiance that now caused him to feel that she was beautiful? she had looked away only briefly, as if to give him time to think, to consider her, and then she turned her eyes upon him again. she regarded him frankly then, albeit admir- ingly. she wanted to hear him say something. she was not herself aware of how anxious she was to hear him speak; for him to say anything, would please her. and as she stood before him in her sweet innocence, all the goodness she possessed, the heart and desire always to be kind, to do for others as she had always, was revealed to him. his dream girl she was, and in reality she had not disappointed him. if visionary he had loved her, he now saw her and what was hers. her wondrous hair, rolled into a frivolous knot at the back of her head made her face appear the least slender when it was really square; the chestnut glint of it seemed to contrast coquettishly with her white skin; and the life, the healthy, cheerful life that now gave vigor to her blood brought faint red roses to her cheeks; roses that seemed to come and go. her red lips seemed to tempt him, he was captivated. he forgot in this intimate survey that she was of one race while he, jean baptiste, was of another. . . . and that between their two races, the invisible barrier, the barrier which, while invisible was so absolute, so strong, so impossible of melting that it was best for the moment that he forget it. while all he saw passed in a moment, he regarded her slenderness as she stood buttoned in the long coat, and wondered how she, so slight and fragile, had been able to lift his heavy frame upon the bed where he had found himself. and still before words had passed between them, i the homesteader he saw her again, and that singularity in the eyes had come back; they were blue and then they were brown, but withal they were so baffling. he did not seem to understand her when they were like this, yet when so he felt strangely a greater right, the right to look into and feast in what he saw, regardless of the custom of the country and its law. . . . and still while he was not aware of it, jean baptiste came to feel that there was something between them. though infinite, in the life that was to come, he now came strangely to feel sure that he was to know her, to become more intimately acquainted with her, and with this con- sciousness he relaxed. the spell that had come from meet- ing her again, from being near her, from holding her hand in his though formally, the exchange of words passed and he gradually became his usual self; the self that had always been his in this land where others than those of the race to which he belonged were the sole inhabitants. he was re- lieved when he heard mrs. reynolds' voice: "miss stewart and her folks have just moved out from indiana, jean, and are renting on the watson place over east of you; the place that corners with the quarter you purchased last fall, you understand." "indeed!" baptiste echoed with feigned ignorance, his eyebrows dilating. "yes," she went on with concern. "and you are neigh- bors." "i'm glad — honored," baptiste essayed. "he is flattering," blushed agnes, but she was pleased. "and you'll find mr. baptiste the finest kind of neighbor, too," cried mrs. reynolds with equal delight. "i'm a bad neighbor, miss stewart," he disdained. "our friend here, mrs. reynolds, you see, is full of flattery." "i don't believe so, mr. baptiste," she defended, glad an enterprising young man to be given an opportunity to speak. "we have just be- come acquainted, but papa has told me of her, and the family, and i'm sure we will be the best of friends, won't we?" she ended with her eyes upon mrs. reynolds. "bless you, yes! who could keep from liking you?" whereupon she caught agnes close and kissed her impul- sively. "oh, say, now," cried baptiste, and then stopped. "you're not a woman," laughed mrs. reynolds, " but you understand," she added reprovingly. suddenly her face lit up with a new thought, and the usual smiling gave way to seriousness, as she cried: "by the way, jean. we hear that you are going to hire a man this spring, and that reminds me that miss stewart's father has two boys — her brothers — whom he has not work enough nor horses enough to use, so he wishes to hire one out." she paused to observe agnes, who had also be- come serious and was looking up at her. at this point she turned to baptiste, and with a slight hesitation, she said: "do you really wish to hire a man — mr.— a — mr. baptiste?" saying it had heightened her color, and the anxiety in her tone caused her to appear more serious. she had turned her eyes up to his and he was for the instant cap- tivated again with the thought that she was beautiful. his answer, however, was calm. "i must have a man," he acknowledged. "i have more work than i can do alone." "why, papa wishes to hire bill —" it was natural to say bill because it was bill they always hired, although george was the older; but since we know why george was never offered, we return to her. "i should say william," she corrected awkwardlv. and with an effort she cast it out of o the homesteader her mind and went on: "so if — if you think you could — a — use him, or would care to give him the job," she was annoyed with the fact that bill was halfwitted, and it confused her, which explains the slight catches in her voice. but bravely she continued, " that is, if you have not already given some one else the job, you could speak to papa, and he would be pleased, i'm sure." she ended with evident relief; but the thought that had confused her, being still in her mind, her face was dark with a confusion that he did not understand. hoping to relieve the annoyance he could see, although not understanding the cause of it, he spoke up quickly. "i have not hired a man, and have no other in sight; so your suggestion, miss, regarding your brother meets with my favor. i will endeavor therefore, to see your father today if possible, if not, later, and discuss the mat- ter pro and con." he had made it so easy for her, and she was overly gracious as she attempted to have him understand in some manner that her brother was afflicted. so her effort this time was a bit braver, notwithstanding as anxious, however, as before. "oh, papa will be glad to have my brother work for you, and i wish you would — would please not hire any other until you have talked with him." she paused again as if to gather courage for the final drive. "you will find my brother faithful, and honest, and a good worker; but — but—" it seemed that she could not avoid the break in her voice when she came to this all em- barrassing point, "but sometimes — he — he makes mis- takes. he is a little awkward, a little bunglesome in start- ing, but if you would—could exercise just a little patience for a few days — a day, i am sure he would please you." an enterprising young man it was out at last. she was sure he would understand. it had cost her such an effort to try to make it plain with- out just coming out and saying he was halfwitted. she was not aware that in concluding she had done so appeal- ingly. he had observed it and his man's heart went out to her in her distress. he remembered then too, although he had on their first meeting forgotten that he had been told all about her brothers, and had also heard of her. "you need have no fear there, miss stewart," he wil- fully lied. "i am the most patient man in the world." he wondered then at himself, that he could lie so easily. his one great failing was his impatience, and he knew it. because he did and felt that he tried to crush it, was his redeeming feature in this respect. but the words had light- ened her burden, and there was heightening of her color, as she spoke now with unfeigned delight: "oh, that is indeed kind of you. i am so glad to hear you say so. bill is a good hand — everybody likes him after he has worked a while. it is because he is a little awkward and forgetful in the beginning that worries my father and me. so i'm glad you know now and will not be impatient." in truth while she did not know it, jean was pleased with the prospect. he had not lived two years in the country, the new country, without having experienced the difficulty that comes with the usual hired man. the class of men, with the exception of a homesteader, who came to the country for work usually fell into the pastime of gambling and drinking which seemed to be contagious, and many were the griefs they gave those by whom they were em- ployed. and jean baptiste, now that she had made it plain regarding her brother, had something to say himself. "there is one little thing i should like to mention, miss the homesteader stewart," he said with apparent seriousness. she caught her breath with renewed anxiety as she returned his look. in the next instant she was relieved, however, as he said: "you understand that i am baching, a bachelor, and the fare of bachelors is, i trust you will'appreciate, not always the best." he paused as he thought of how she must feel after having seen the way he kept his house, and hoped that she could overlook the condition in which she knew he kept it. but if he was embarrassed at the thought of it, it was not so with her. for her sympathy went out to him. she was conscious of how inconvenient it must be to bach, to live alone as he was doing, and to work so hard. "it is not always to hired men's liking to forego the meals that only women can prepare, and for that reason it is sometimes difficult for us to keep men." "oh, you will not have to worry as to that, mr. bap- tiste," she assured him pleasantly. she caught her breath with something joyous apparently as she turned to him. "you see, we live almost directly between your two places, and my brother can stay home and save you that trouble and bother." she was glad that she could be of assistance to him in some way, though it be indirectly. with sudden im- pulse, she turned to mrs. reynolds who had not inter- rupted: "it will be nice, now, won't it?" "just dandy," the other agreed readily. "i am so glad we all three met here," she went on. "in meeting we have fortunately been of some service to each other. you will find mr. baptiste a fine fellow to work for. we let our boys go over and help him out when he's pushed, and we know he appreciates it to the fullest." she halted, turned now mischievously to baptiste and cried: "we are always after jean that he should marry. why, an enterprising young man just think what a good husband he would make some nice girl." she had found her topic, had mrs. reynolds. of all topics, she preferred to jolly the single with getting married to anything else, so she went on with delight. "he goes off down to chicago every winter and we wait to see the girl when he returns, but always he disappoints us." she affected a frown a moment before resuming: "it is certainly too bad that some good girl must do without a home and the happiness that is due her, while he lives there alone, having no comfort but what he gets when he goes visiting." she affected to appear serious and to have him feel it, while he could do nothing but grin awkwardly. "oh, mrs. reynolds, you're hard on a fellow. my! give him a chance. it takes two to make a bargain. i can't marry myself." he caught the eyes of agnes who was enjoying his tender expression. indeed the subject appealed to him, and he had found it to his liking. she blushed. she enjoyed the humor. "i suspect mrs. reynolds speaks the truth," she said with affected seriousness, but found it impossible to down the color in her flaming cheeks nevertheless. "oh, but you two can jolly a fellow." he became seri- ous now as he went on: "but it isn't fair. there is no girl back in chicago; there is no girl anywhere for me." he was successful in his affectation of self pity, and her feelings went out to him in her words that followed: "now that is indeed, too bad, for him, mrs. reynolds, isn't it? perhaps he is telling the truth. the girls in chicago do not always understand the life out here, and cannot make one feel very much encouraged." she won- dered at her own words. but she went on nevertheless. "even back in indiana they do not understand the west. they are — seem to be, so narrow, they feel that they the homesteader are living in the only place of civilization on earth." her logical statement took away the joke. they became serious. the store was filling and the crowd was pushing. so they parted. a few minutes later as baptiste passed down the street, he saw peter kaden coming from the commissioners' office. across the way he observed barr and syfe stop and ex- change a few words. the next moment they went their two ways while he stood looking after them. chapter ix "christine, christine!" one week from the day peter kaden made proof at gregory on the homestead he held, the court record showed that he had transferred the same to some unknown person. in the course of events it was not noticed by the masses. it was because jean baptiste was expecting something of the kind that he happened to observe the record of the transfer in the following week's issue of the paper. he couldn't get the incident out of his mind, and he found his eyes wandering time and again in the direction of the house of augustus m. barr in the days that followed. from what he had gleaned from the papers, he was sure that something sinister was to occur in that new land soon. he tried in vain to formulate some plan of action — rather, some plan of prevention. but the plot, the intrigue, or whatever it may be called, was deep. it had taken root be- fore either had ever seen the country they now called home. and because of its intricate nature, he could formulate no plan toward combatting the thing he felt positively in his veins was to take place. over the hill two miles and more the claim shack of peter kaden could not be seen. but he could always feel where it was and the events that went on therein. this healthy, tut sad, forlorn german had aroused his sympathy, and always when he thought of him, strangely he thought of christine. the days passed slowly and things went on as usual. the homesteader he saw barr occasionally and as often saw the dark syfe. he read as was his wont, and then one evening when his few chores were done, he had a desire to walk. he drew on his overcoat, and, taking a bucket, he walked slowly down the slope that led up to his house, to the well a quarter mile distant. he could never after account for the strange feel- ing that came and went as he ambled toward the well. he reached it in due time, filled his bucket, and was in the act of returning when out of the night he caught the unmis- takable sound of horses' hoofs. some one on horseback was coming. he set the bucket down and bent his ears more keenly to hear the sound. yes, they were hoof beats, an unusual clatter. he gave a start. only one horse in the neighborhood made such a noise with the hoofs when moving, for he had heard the same before, and that horse belonged to a. m. barr, and was a pacer. christine had use to ride him. and when he recalled it, he became curious. christine was not there, he knew, unless she had come that day, which was not likely. . . . then who rode the horse? he had never seen barr on horseback. . . . they were coming from about where barr's house stood, coming in his direction along the road. he estimated at that moment they must be about a quarter of a mile away. he listened intently. onward they came, drawing closer all the while. he got an in- spiration. why should he be seen? he moved back from the road some distance. there was no moon and the night was dark, but the stars filled the night air with a dim ray. he lay upon the ground as the horseman drew nearer. presently out of the shadow he caught the dim outline of the rider. he saw that a heavy ulster was worn, and the collar of the same was around the rider's neck, almost concealing the head; but he recognized the rider as a. m. barr. "christine, christine!" "now where can he be going," he muttered to himself, standing erect as he listened to the hoof beats on the road below. he pondered briefly. "why does he never ride in the daytime?" from down the road the sound of hoof beats continued. and then baptiste was again inspired. "kaden!" he cried, and fell into deep thought. at his left was a small creek, usually dry. this stream led in an angling direction down toward the larger stream south of the town. it led directly toward the claim of peter kaden, although the homestead lay beyond the creek. by following it, one could reach kaden's house in about two- thirds the distance if going by trail. a few minutes later jean baptiste was speedily following the route that led to the creek. he paused at intervals and upon listening could hear the hoof beats along the trail in the inevitable direction. he reached the creek in a short time, found his way across it, and once on the other side, he hurried through a school section to kaden's cabin that was joined with this on the south. he crossed the school sec- tion quickly, and in the night air he could smell, and pres- ently came to see, the smoke curling from the chimney. he approached the house cautiously. he was glad that poor kaden didn't keep a dog. when he had drawn close enough to distinguish the objects before him, he saw barr's horse tied out of the wind, on the south side of the little barn. he looked closer and observed another near. he reckoned that one to be syfe's. "so the triangle is form- ing," he muttered. he went up to the house noiselessly. he passed around its dark side to where he saw light emanating from the small window. he peered cautiously through it. sitting on the side of the bed, kaden's face met his gaze. he regarded it briefly before seeking out the others. never, he felt, if he the homesteader lived a hundred years would he ever forget the expression of agony that face wore! upon its usual roundness, percep- tible lines had formed; in the light of the dim lamp he caught the darkness about the eyes, the skin under almost sagging and swollen. he permitted his gaze to drift further, and to take in the proportions of the room. on a stool near sat syfe, the jew. he wore his over- coat. indeed, baptiste could not recall having ever seen him without it about him; also he wore his thick, dark cap. his little mustache stood out over the small mouth, between the lips of which reposed the usual cigarette. he was drawing away easily at this, while his ears appeared to be attentive to what was going on. he was listening to barr, who stood in the center of the room, talking in much excitement, making gestures; while he could see the agon- ized kaden protesting. he could not catch all that was being said, but some of it. barr, in particular, he observed, while speaking forcibly, was nevertheless controlled. it was kaden whose voice reached his ears more often on the out- side. "i kept you from australia. . . ." this from barr. "they had you on shipboard. . . . your carcass would be fit for the vultures now on that sand swept desert you were headed for. ..." "but i was innocent, i was innocent," protested kaden. "i didn't go to russia that trip. i didn't go to russia, and to jerusalem, i have never been!" "but you hadn't proved it. you were done for. they had you, and all you could do or say wouldn't have kept you in england. it was i, me, do you understand. . . . you do understand that i kept you from going. i, me, who saved you. no law in this land could keep you here if they knew now where you were. . . ." "christine, christine!" "but you forget christine, my poor christine! you have her, is that not enough? oh, you are hard. you drive me most insane. tell me about christine. give her back to me and all is yours." a wind rose suddenly out of the west. a shed stood near, a shed covered over with hay and some poles that had been cut green, and the now dry leaves gave forth a moan- ing sound. he saw those inside start. with the noise, baptiste knew he could hear no more, and might be ap- prehended. stealthily he departed. and all the way to the sod house that night he kept repeating what he had heard. "christine, christine! you have her, is she not enough? give her back and all is yours!" if he could only ascertain what was between kaden and christine — but it was all coming to something soon, and he knew that augustus m. barr was taking the advantage of some one; that kaden was innocent but couldn't prove it; that syfe was in some way darkly connected, and the eternal triangle held to its sinister purpose. chapter x "you have never been this way before" when agnes stewart found her father and they were ready to return home, she inquired: "did he see you?" "see who?" "you? you don't understand. i mean the colored gentleman, mr. baptiste?" "why, no, my dear," her father replied wonderingly. "i saw him, but i had no word with him. i don't under- stand." "why, i met him. mrs. reynolds, who knows you — she and i became acquainted, and we met and had a long talk with mr. baptiste, and he is going to hire a man, so we discussed bill. he said he would see you." her father drew the team to a stop. "i don't understand. i should see him, and i did, but he was talking with some fellows who live north of town. i think it was about horses. he went with them, so i sup- pose we may as well go on home and see him later." "i'm so sorry," she said and showed it in her face. "i had hoped he would get to see you, and that it would all be settled and bill would get the job." "don't be so out of hope," said he. "i have no doubt that we will get to see mr. baptiste, and talk it over." "i am worried, because — you know, papa, when we have paid for the seed and feed, we will have very little left." "never this way before" "such a wonderful, such a thoughtful little girl i have," he said admiringly, stroking her hand fondly in the mean- time. "i can't imagine how i could get along without my aggie." "see him and get bill hired and i'll not worry any more." "i'll do so, i'll do so tomorrow." "you say you saw him going north of town?" "yes." she was silent, while he was thoughtful. presently he inquired of what passed when she met him. she told him. "i never spoke of having met him before." "you didn't?" "why, no, papa. how could i? it would be hard to explain." "well, now, coming to think of it, it would, wouldn't it?" "it shouldn't" she said. she didn't relish the situation. "did he?" "what?" "speak of it." "oh, no! he didn't . . ." "i wonder has he ever." "i don't think so." "that is very thoughtful of him." "it is. he is a real gentleman." "so everybody says." "and so pleasant to listen to." "indeed." "mrs. reynolds is carried away with him. says he's one of the most industrious and energetic young men of the country." "isn't that fine! but it seems rather odd, doesn't it? him out here alone." the homesteader "it is indeed singular. but he is just the kind of man a new country needs." "if the country had a few hundred more like him we wouldn't know it in five years." "in three years!" she said admiringly. "how shall we explain in regards to bill? . . ." "i've explained." "you have!" "oh, i didn't come out and say it in words, of course. i didn't need to." "then how? how did you make him understand?" "it was easy. it was easy because he is so quick witted. he seems to readily understand anything." "i'll bet!" "he spoke of the fact that being a bachelor it was awk- ward to keep hired men, and this fact seemed to worry him." "but why didn't you explain that bill could stay home?" "i did." "oh!" "and he was so relieved." "i'm sure he was. it is very inconvenient." "it is. and i feel rather sorry for him." •' needs a wife." she was silent. "wonder why he doesn't marry?" "i don't know." "will make some girl a fine husband." silence. "i guess he has a girl, though, and will likely marry soon." "i don't think so." "why?" "well," she said slowly. she blushed unseen and went "never this way before" on: "mrs. reynolds joked him about it, and he denied it." "but any man would do that. they like to be modest; to appear like they have no loves. it creates sympathy. men are sentimental, too. they like sympathy." "yes, i suppose so," she said slowly, thoughtfully. "but i don't think he has a girl. in my mind he is a poor lone- some fellow. just like he has no close friends. . . ." he was silent now. "i have thought about it since i met him." "you have?" "why, yes. certainly." her father laughed. "why are you laughing?" she asked, somewhat nettled. "i was thinking." "thinking? thinking of what?"" "of jean baptiste." "what do you mean?" "why, there is a good chance for you." "father!" "why not!" "father! how can you!" he laughed. she acted as if angry. he looked at her mischievously. she did not grant him a smile. "tut, tut, aggie! can't you take a joke?" "but you should not joke like that." "oh, come now. it pleased me to joke like that." "why should it please you?" "why, i have a sense of humor." "a sense of humor?" "yes." "but i don't see the joke?" "why, aggie," he turned to her seriously. "almost i don't think it is a joke." the homesteader "father!" "well, dear? you seem to be so interested in the man." "father, oh, father!" and the next instant she was crying. he reached out and caught her fondly to him. "my girl, my girl, i didn't intend to upset you. now be papa's little darling and don't cry any more!" "you have never been this way before," she sobbed. he caressed her more now. "well, dearest. you see. well, your mother—" "my mother!" she sat quickly up. "we are going to raise a great crop this year. i feel sure of it." "but my mother!" "i think i know where i can get some good seed oats." they rode along in silence the rest of the way, con- sumed with their own thoughts. no words passed, but agnes was thinking. she would never get out of her mind what her father had started to say. but he had stopped in time. . . . her mind went back to the strange incidents in her life. she lived over again the day she had looked in the mirror and had seen that strange look, she connected it singularly with what her father had started to say. she was silent thereafter, but her soul was on fire. chapter xi what jean baptiste found in the well '*"t ~w tell, my friend," said a. m. barr, stopping be- %/^y fore baptiste's hut one day shortly after his visit * * to kaden's, "i have my date and will make proof on the nd of march. i have listed you as one of my wit- nesses. guess i may depend on you to be ready that day?" "i shall remember it, mr. barr," answered baptiste. "have you rented your place yet?" "no, i have not. rather, not the buildings. my neighbor across the road, however, will put the thirty acres i have broken into crop, and break a few more." "m-m." "how much do you plan seeding this season?" "all of both places anyhow." "ah, young man, i tell you, you are a worker! such young men as you will be the making of this country. and you'll be rich in time." "oh, no," cried baptiste disdainfully. "if i were young and strong like you, i would be doing the same." "you expect to go away when you have completed your proof. ..." "well, i don't know," whereupon a. m. barr cast a furtive glance in his direction. baptiste pretended not to see it . "what'll you do with your horses?" another furtive glance. the homesteader "well, i might advertise a sale," he said boldly. he cast a dark look in baptiste's direction, which the other pre- tended not to see — but did see nevertheless. "why, what could he know," was in barr's mind. "nothing," he an- swered his own question. a moment later he was the same barr; the officious englishman /when he drove down the road a few minutes later, and none the wiser therefor. march the twenty-second came and went, and augustus offered proof on his homestead, and passed, baptiste as- sisting him as witness. sunday was the next day, and when it came, all calm and beautiful, baptiste realized that he did not have enough seed wheat to sow all his land that he wished put in wheat. a squaw man had raised aharge crop to the southwest of him the year before, and this, he understood, was for sale. he decided to call on the squaw man, ascertain the fact, and if so, purchase a share of it for his purpose. accordingly, sunday morning after he had breakfasted, and piled the dishes bachelor fashion (unwashed) he started out. the route he took carried him directly by peter kaden's claim, and when he had gone that far, and found himself looking at the low, sod house that stood a few paces back from the road, he was curious. he paused unconsciously before the house and observed it idly a few moments. he was struck with the quietness about, and at once be- came curiously apprehensive. no smoke emerged from the chimney. there was no evidence that any one was about. impelled by his growing curiosity, he approached the house and knocked at the door. there was no response from within. he tried it again. still no response. he tried the knob. it gave. he pushed the door open cautiously, and peered in. the house was empty but for the crude fur- what jean found in the well niture. he entered curiously and looked about. the bed was spread over, there was no fire in the stove, the coldness of the atmosphere within impressed him with a theory that no fire had been in the stove that day or the night before. the dishes were clean and piled on the table with a cloth spread over them. he went outside, closing the door be- hind him and swept the surrounding country with his gaze which revealed no peter kaden. he lowered his eyes in thought as his lips muttered: "wonder where he is?" a path began at his feet. it led down to a draw some two hundred yards away. he fell into it aimlessly and followed its course for a short way. presently, upon look- ing up, he saw a well at the side of the draw which obviously was the terminus of the path. forthwith he made the well his objective. in that country wells were not plentiful. the soil was of the richest and blackest loam with a clay subsoil; but water except where there was sand, was not easily found only in or near a draw, or a flat. he reached the well, and, drawing aside the bucket that reposed on the lid, he opened the well and lowered the bucket to the water some thirty feet below. the bright sun rays somewhat blinded him and for a moment he could not see the water clearly. the bucket struck, in due time, however, and he wondered why there was no splash. he jerked it over, and when it struck again there was the sound of water, but it appeared difficult to sink it. he peered down into it again to ascertain what the matter was. a wave of ripples caught his gaze, while the bucket seemed to be resting on something. he gave the rope another jerk and twist, and it came down bottom- side up on the dark object. "hell," he muttered, "this well is dry!" he took an- the homesteader other look. "no, it isn't dry. there is something in the well." bending until his face was shaded by the shadow of the well, he searched below very closely with his eyes. he could distinguish that there was something; and that the something seemed to bobble. he withdrew the bucket, unfilled, and, allowing a few moments for the ripples to subside, he searched the darkness below again closely. he became conscious of a cold feeling stealing up his spine, then he caught and held his breath as slowly what was below took outline. it was not a dog, a coyote, a pig, or an animal of any kind. it was something else . . . and the something else had features that were familiar. at last realization was upon him, his fingers gripped the boards they held as he gradually straightened up. "my god!" he cried at last, terror stricken. for below him, with white face turned upward as if laughing, was the dead body of peter kaden. chapter xii miss stewart receives a caller coincident with the finding of peter kaden's body in the well, certain things became public with regard to others. but to complete this part of it. after finding the body jean baptiste hurried into dallas and gave the alarm. excitement ran high for a time, and as it was sunday, in a few hours the spot around the well was crowded. from over all the reservation the people came, and the consensus of opinion was that it was suicide perhaps jean baptiste was the only one who had his doubts. if it was suicide, then he was positive it was a precipitated suicide. until the coroner arrived there was no disposition made of the remains, and when he did, the decision of suicide was sustained. since the man baptiste had started to see was brought to the spot by the excitement, the business in hand was settled thereupon, and that evening, he went to call on the stewarts with a view to hiring bill. he found agnes alone, but was invited to enter. from her expression, he could see that he was expected, and while he waited for her father who had gone across the road, they fell into amiable conversation. "springtime is knocking at our door," he ventured. "and i am glad to see it, and suppose you are also," she answered. the homesteader "who isn't! it has been a very severe winter." "i think so, too. are the winters here as a rule as cold as this one has been?" how modest he thought she was. she was dressed neatly in a satin shirtwaist and tailored skirt; while from beneath the skirts her small feet incased in heavy shoes peeped like mice. her neck rose out of her bodice and he thought her throat was so very round and white; while he noticed her prominent chin more today than he had before. he liked it. nature had been his study, and he didn't like a retreating chin. it, to his mind, was an indication of weak will, with exceptions perhaps here and there. he reposed more confidence in the person, however, when the chin was like hers, so naturally he was interested. as she sat before him with folded hands, he also observed her heavy hair, done into braids and gathered about her head. it gave her an unostentatious expression; while her eyes were as he had found them before, baffling. "why, no, they are not," he said. "of course i have not seen many— in fact this is the second; but i am advised that, as a rule, the winters are very mild for this latitude." "i see. i hope they will always be so if we continue to live here," and she laughed pleasantly. "how do you like it in our country?" he inquired now, pleased to be in conversation with her. "why, i like it very well," she replied amiably. "what i have seen of it, i think i would as soon live here as back in indiana." "i have been in indiana myself." "you have?" she was cheered with the fact . he nodded. "yes, all over. what part of indiana do you come from?" "rensselaer," she replied, shifting with comfort, and miss stewart receives a caller delighted that by his having been in indiana, he was making their conversation easier. "oh, i see," she heard him. "that is toward the north- ern part of the state." "yes," she replied in obvious delight. "i have never been to that town, but i have been all around it." "well, well!" she was at a loss in the moment how to proceed and then presently she said: "you have traveled considerably, mr. baptiste, i under- stand." he felf somewhat flattered to know that she had dis- cussed him with others apparently. "well, yes, i have," he replied slowly. "that must be fine. i long so much to travel." "you have not traveled far?" "no. from indiana to western kansas where we were most starved out, and then back to indiana and out here." he laughed, she also joined in and they felt nearer each other by it. "and how do you like it, mr. baptiste?" "out here, you mean?" "yes, why, yes, of course," she added hastily. "why, i like it fine. i'm thoroughly in love with the country." "that's nice. and you own such nice land, i don't wonder," she said thoughtfully. "oh, well," he replied, modestly, "i think i should like it anyhow." "of course; but when one has property — such nice land as you own, they have everything to like it for." "i'm compelled to agree with you." "i'm sorry we don't own any," she said regretfully. the homesteader "but of course in a way we are not entitled to. we didn't get in 'on the ground floor,' therefore we must be satisfied as renters." he was silent but attentive. "papa never seems to have been very fortunate. it may be due to his quaint old fashioned manner, but he has never owned any land at all, poor fellow." she said the last more to herself than to him. he was interested and con- tinued to listen. "we went to western kansas with a little money and very good stock, and were dried out two years straight, and the third year when we had a good crop with a chance to get back at least a little of what we had lost, along came a big hail storm and pounded everything into the ground." "wasn't that too bad!" he cried sympathetically. "it sure was! it is awfully discouraging to work as hard and to have sacrificed as much as we had, and then come out as we did. it just took all the ambition out of him." "i shouldn't wonder," he commented tenderly. "and then we went back to indiana — broke, of course, and having no money and no stock; because we had to sell what we had left to get out of western kansas. so since 'beggars can't be choosers' we had to take what we could get. and that was a poor farm in a remote part of indiana, in a little place that was so poor that the corn was all nubbins. they called it 'nubbin ridge.'" he laughed, and she had to also when she thought of it. "well, we were able to live and pay a little on some more stock. because my brothers didn't take much to run around with like other boys but stayed home and worked, we finally succeeded in getting just a little something together again and then a real estate man came along and told us about this place, so here we are." she bestowed a smile upon him miss stewart receives a caller and sighed. she had told more of themselves than she had intended, but it had been a pleasant diversion at that; moreover, she was delighted because he was such an at- tentive listener. "so that is how you came here?" he essayed. "i have enjoyed listening to you. your lives read like an interesting book." "oh, that isn't fair. you are joking with me!" not- withstanding, she blushed furiously. "no, no, indeed," he protested. she believed him. strangely she reposed such confidence in the man that she felt she could sit and talk with him forever. "but it is certainly too bad that you have been so un- fortunate. i am sure it will not always be so. you are perseverant, i see, and ' riches come to him who waits.'" "an old saying, but i hope it will not wait too long. papa is getting old, and — my brothers would be unable to manage with any effect alone. . . ." he understood her and the incident was overlooked. "your mother is dead?" "yes, my mother is dead, mr. baptiste." "oh." "died when i was a baby." "well, well. . . ." "i never knew her." "well, i do say!" he paused briefly, while she was silent but thinking deeply. . . . thinking of what her father had started to say and never finished. "and i venture to say that you have just about raised yourself?" she blushed. "you must be a wonderful girl" the homesteader she blushed again and twisted her hands about. she tried to protest; but couldn't trust herself to say anything just then. how she liked to hear him talk! "you have my best wishes, believe me," he was at a loss for the moment as to how to proceed. "oh, thank you." she didn't dare raise her eyes. he regarded her as she sat before him, blushing so beautifully, and wished they were of the same race. . . . footsteps were heard at that moment, and both sat up expectantly. quickly, then, she rose to her feet and went to the door and opened it in time to meet her father who was about to enter. "oh, it's you, father! i'm glad you've come. mr. bap- tiste is here to see you." "ah-ha, mr. baptiste, i am honored," cried jack stewart, her father, and he marched forward with outstretched hand and much ado; scotch propriety. "glad to know you, judge," baptiste returned warmly, grasping the proffered hand. "be seated, be seated and make yourself comfortable; make yourself at home," he said, pushing forward the chair out of which baptiste had risen. agnes was smiling pleas- antly. she could see that the two were going to become friends, for both were so frank in their demeanor. "now, aggie, you must prepare supper for mr. baptiste and myself," he said, taking hold of her arm. "oh, no," disdained baptiste. "don't think of it!" "now, now, my worthy friend," admonished stewart, and then stopped. "why — you have met my daughter?" "yes, we have met," they spoke in the same breath, ex- changing glances. "then, while you fix us something good to eat, we will discuss our business." miss stewart receives a caller they found no difficulty in reaching a bargain in regard to bill, the bargain being that bill was to board home and sleep there also; and the consideration was to be one dollar per day, and by the time this was completed, agnes called them to supper. "this is an unexpected pleasure, even though it be an in- trusion," said baptiste as he was gently urged into a seat. "ah-ha, and i see you have a sense of humor," where- upon jack stewart's eyes glistened humorously behind the old style glasses he wore. baptist colored unseen, while agnes regarded him smilingly. "we haven't much, but what is here you are welcome to," she said. "it's a feast," said he. "about as good as baching, anyhow," joined stewart. "hush!" "how do you like it?" "didn't i say hush? that should be sufficient!" agnes took a seat and surveyed the table carefully to see that all was there. her father was pious. he blessed the table, and when this was over, fell to eating with his knife. "by the way," cried baptiste near the end of the meal. "did you hear the news?" "what news," they asked in chorus. "the man dead in the well." "is that so!" they exclaimed, shocked. he then told them in detail all about the finding of the body, and the opinion that it was a suicide. they listened with the usual awe and curiosity. but jean baptiste did not voice his suspicions, or tell them anything he knew. at a later hour he took his leave. and neither of the three realized then that the self-same the homesteader tragedy linked strangely an after event in their lives. but when jean baptiste went over the hill to his sod house that stood on the claim, jack stewart went outside and walked around for almost an hour. he was thinking. thinking of something he knew and had never told. chapter xiii the coming of the railroad it is not likely that the people in the neighborhood of dallas would have ever known any more than they did regarding a. m. barr, had it not been for two accounts. when proof had been offered by him on his homestead and a loan sought, to keep from invalidating the title to his land, he was compelled to admit that he was married; but, fortunately for him, it was not necessary to state when or how long he had been married, and this he obligingly did not state. but the surprise came when upon admittance, he then confessed to the promoters that he had married christine. . . . of course everybody was positive then that he had been married to christine when he came to the country, and that he was married to her at the time she was holding the claim. perjury was a penitentiary offense. he had sold her claim on pretense that she must go to england. christine, as baptiste had come to know by the papers he found, had not, of course, gone to england; but merely to lincoln, nebraska, where she was safe to keep silent about what she knew in regard to the subtle transactions of augustus m. barr. the incident went the usual route of gossip, the people wondering how such a beautiful girl as christine could be happy as the wife of an old, broken down infidel like barr. but they never came into the truth, the whole truth; they never connected barr with the dark assyrian jew, isaac syfe; nor were they aware that he had ever known the forlorn peter kaden. only jean baptiste knew this, and the homesteader that, although barr called a sale and immediately left the country, there was something still to be completed. but jean baptiste didn't know then that it would all come back to him in such an unusual manner. however, the public learned a little more concerning the previous activities of this august contemporary before long. it came in the form of a sensational newspaper feature story. and was in brief to wit: i while pastor of the baker street church, london, isaac m. barr, and not augustus, mind you, although there was no question about the two being one and the same became very much in the confidence of his flock. of london's great middle class they were and possessed ambition, which barr apparently appealed to. the result was that a great colony set sail for a land of promise, the land being western can- ada. the full details were not given; but it seems that barr was the trustee and handled the money. on arrival, barr suddenly disappeared and the good people from england never saw him again, which perhaps accounts in some measure for his becoming an infidel. . . . who would not under such circumstances? there is a feature regarding a new country—that is, a country that lays toward the western portion of the great central valley, that is always questioned, and is ever a source for knockers. but we should explain one thing that might be of benefit to those who would go west to settle and de- velop with hopes of success. and this is rainfall. in this country of our story, which lay near the line where central time is changed to mountain time, near the fifth principal meridian the altitude is about feet above the level of the sea, and the rainfall may be estimated accordingly. rainfall is governed by altitude and is a feature beyond the coming of the railroad discussion. this is a very serious matter, and could multi- tudes of people going west to take homesteads, or settle, be impressed with the facts and know then what to expect, much grief could be avoided. but unfortunately this is not so. masses can be con- vinced— were convinced in the country of our story, and all the west beyond, in other parts, that rainfall was gov- erned by cultivation. an erroneous idea! as has been stated, rainfall is governed by elevation: air pressures are such that when in contact with the heavy air due to the lower elevation, thunder showers and general rains fall more frequently on the whole and this can be certified by the record of any weather bureau, comparing the elevation to the amount of precipitation over a given period, say five or ten years. it is a fact, however, that in the most arid dis- tricts cloudbursts do occur, but they are always a detriment to the parts over which they may fall. and it is also true that in a given year or season, more rain may fall over a certain arid district than some well cultivated portion in a country where the fall of rain is beyond question. because of these contending features, many portions of the country have received a boom one season and failed to produce the next. when one year had proven exceedingly wet, the theory was that the whole climatic origin of the country had changed; drought had passed forever, and people and capital flowed in to sometimes go out, broken and shattered in spirits, hopes and finances later. such in- stances hurt and hinder a country instead of helping it. if, in coming to the country of our story the masses of people could have understood that at an elevation of from two thousand to twenty-two hundred feet, the rainfall over a period of ten years would approximate an average of twenty-five inches annually, it is reasonable to suppose that oo the homesteader they would expect dry years and wet years; some cold win- ters and some fair, open winters; some cloudbursts and some protracted droughts. but when the first years of set- tlement were accompanied by heavy rains, the boom that followed is almost beyond our pen to detail. from over all the country people came hither; people with means, for it was the land of opportunity. the man who was in many cases wealthy in older portions of the country, had come there with next to and very often with nothing and had grown rich — not by any particular ability or concen- trated effort on the part of himself; not by the making and saving, investing and profiting, but because in the early days the land was of such little value and brought so little when offered for sale that it had been a case of staying thereon; result, riches came in the advance later in the price accord- ing to demand. such was not the circumstances altogether in the land where jean baptiste had cast his lot in the hope for ultimate success. while opportunity was ripe, a few thousands had been expedient. for what could be had for a small amount here would have cost a far greater amount back east. but while land was selling and selling readily the country would and could not maintain it? possible quota of development without railroad facilities. this question, therefore, was of the most urgent anxiety. when would the railroad be extended out of bonesteel westward? at bonesteel they said never. others, somewhat more liberal said it might be extended in twenty years. they argued that since it had taken that many years after bonesteel had been started be- fore the company placed their tracks there, the same would in all probability hold with regards to the country and the towns west. so be it. the promoters of the town of dallas argued that it would the coming of the railroad not be extended from bonesteel at all; that when it was extended, it would come up the valley from the town some miles below bonesteel, where the tracks lifted to the high- lands. meaning, of course that dallas would be the only town in the newly opened portion of the country to get the railroad. jean baptiste and bill had seeded all the land that was under cultivation on baptiste's property, and were well under way of breaking what was left unbroken, when baptiste was offered a proposition that looked good to him. it was acres joining his place near stewart's, the property of an indian, the allotee having recently expired. under a ruling of the department of the interior, an indian cannot dispose of an allotment under twenty-five years from the time he is alloted. this ruling is dissatisfactory to the in- dian; for, notwithstanding all the roles in which he is char- acterized in the movies and dramas as the great primitive hero, brave and courageous, the people of the west who are surrounded with red men, and know them, know that they wish to sell anything they might happen to possess as soon as selling is possible. therefore, when one happens to ex- pire, leaving his land to his heirs who can thereupon sell, dispose, give away or do what they may wish with the land, as long as it accords with the dictates of the indian agent, the tract of land in question can be expected to pass into other hands forthwith. the two hundred acres offered jean baptiste was con- venient to his land, and was offered at twenty dollars per acre. other lands about had sold as high as thirty dollars the acre. a thousand dollars down and a thousand dollars a year until paid was the bargain, and he accepted it, paying over the thousand, which was the last of the money he had brought from the east with him. the homesteader this was before something happened that turned the whole country into an orgy of excitement. a few days after this one of the long rainy periods set in, and the little town was overrun with homesteaders, agreeing that the land that was broken was acting to their advantage: bringing all the good rains, and drought would never be again. then one day a man brought the news. the surveyors were in bonesteel. it was verified by others, and really turned out to be true. the surveyors being in bonesteel was an evident fact that the railroad would follow the high- lands and would not come up the valley, and that settled dallas as a town. it was doomed before a stake was set, and here passes out of our story, in so far as a railway in its present location was concerned. but whatever route a railroad took, it meant that the value to a homestead by the extension of the railroad would approximate to exceed ten dollars per acre. and jean baptiste now owned five hun- dred and twenty acres. since the work now in breaking the extra two hundred acres was before him, and was .more than three miles from his homestead, he sought more convenience, by determining to approach the stewarts with a request to board him. it was a rainy day, when he called, only to find jack stewart out, while george and bill were tinkering about the barn. they had not been informed of his purchase. "oh, it is you — mr. baptiste," cried agnes upon open- ing the door in response to his knock. "come right in." "where's the governor?" he inquired when seated. "search me," she laughed. "papa's always out, rain or shine." "busy man." "yes. busy but never gets anything by it, apparently." the coming of the railroad she was full of humor, her eyes twinkled. he was also. it was a day to be grateful. rainfall, though it bring delay in the work, such days always are appreciated in a new country. it made those there feel more confident. "lots of rain." "yes. i suppose you are glad," she said interestedly. "well, i should be." "we are, too. it looks as if, should this keep up, we will really raise a crop." "oh, it'll keep up," he said cheerfully, confidently. "it always rains in this country." "how optimistic you are," she said, regarding him ad- miringly. "thanks." she smiled then and bit her lip. "how's your neighbors across the road? i've never be- come acquainted with them." "their name is prescott. i don't know much about them; but papa has met them." "how many of them?" "three. the man and wife and a son." "a son?" "m-m." "how old is he — a young man?" "m-m." he smiled mischievously. "oh, it will be great," and she laughed amusedly. "he farms with his parents?" "i don't think so. he has rented a few acres on the place north of us. don't seem to be much force." "you should wake him up." "humph!" "my congratulations," irrelevantly. the homesteader "please don't. he's too ugly, too lazy; loves nothing but a stallion he owns, and is very uninteresting." "indeed!" suddenly he jumped up. "i have forgotten that i came to see your dad." "i can't say when papa will be home," she answered, going toward the door and looking out. "i wanted to see him regarding a little business about boarding. i wonder if he could board me?" "he'll be home about noon, anyhow." "that won't be so long, now," said he, regarding the clock. "so you are tired of baching," she said with a little twinkle of the eyes. "oh, baching? before i started. ~but~that is not what has expedited my wishing to board. i bought some more land. couple hundred acres of that dead indian land over south." "you did!" "why, yes." he did not understand her exclamation. "oh, but you are such a wonderful man, and to be such a young man!" she was not aware of the intimacy in her reference, and spoke thoughtfully, as if to herself more than to him. he was flattered, and didn't know how to reply. "you are certainly deserving of the high esteem in which you are held throughout the community," and still she was as if speaking to herself, and thoughtful. he could not shut out at once the vanity she had aroused in him. he wished to appear and to feel modest about it, however. after all, he had most of the other land to pay for, which, nevertheless, gave him no worry. his confi- dence was supreme. he continued silent while she went on: the coming of the railroad "it must be wonderful to be a young man and to be so courageous; to be so forceful and to be admired." "oh, you flatter me." / "no; i do not mean to. i am speaking frankly/and what i feel i admire the qualities you are possessed with. i read a great deal, and when i see a young man like you going ahead so in the world, i think he should be en- couraged." how very frankly, and considerately she had said it all. his vanity was gone. he saw her as the real agnes. he saw in her, moreover, that which he had always longed for in his race. how much he would have given to have heard those words uttered by a girl of his blood on his trips back east. but, of course the west was foreign to them. they could not have understood as she did. but the kindness she had shown had its effect. he could at least admire her openly for what she was. he spoke now. "i think you are very kind, miss stewart. i can't say when any one has spoken so sensibly to me as you have, and you will believe me when i say that such shall never be for- gotten." he paused briefly before going on. "and it will always be my earnest wish that i shall prove worthy of such kind words." he stopped then, for in truth, he was too overcome with emotion, and could not trust himself to go on. she stood with her back to him, and could he have seen her eyes he would also have observed tears of emotion. they were honest tears. she had spoken the truth. she admired the man in jean baptiste, and she had not thought of his color in speaking her conviction. but withal she felt strangely that her life was linked in some manner with this man's. her father's appearance at this moment served to break the homesteader the silent embarrassment between them, the embarrassment that had come out of what she had said. they settled with regards to his boarding with them, and a few minutes later he took his leave. as he was passing out, their eyes met. never had they appeared so deep; never before so soft. but in the same he saw again that which he had seen before and as yet could not understand. chapter xiv the administrating angel never before since jean baptiste had come west and staked his lot and future there, doing his part to- ward the building of that little empire out there in the hollow of god's hand, had he worked so hard as he did in the days that followed that summer. when the rains for a time ceased and the warm, porous soil had dried suffi- ciently to permit a return to the fields, from early morn until the sun had disappeared in the west late afternoons, did he labor. observation with him seemed to be inherent. ever since he had played as a boy back in old illinois he had been deeply sensitive with regards to his race. to him, notwithstanding the fact that he realized that less than fifty years had passed since freedom, they appeared — even con- sidering their adverse circumstances — to progress rather slowly. he had not as yet come fully to appreciate and understand why they remained always so poor; always the serf; always in the position to gain so little — but withal to suffer so much! oh, the anguish it had so often given him! his being in the west had come of an ulterior purpose. it has been stated that he was a keen observer. while so he had cultivated also the faculty of determination. by now it had became a sort of habit, a sort of second nature as it were. but there were certain things he could not seem to get away from. for instance: it seemed to him that the most difficult task he had ever encountered was to convince the average colored man that the negro race could ever be anything. in after years he understood more fully why this i the homesteader was — but we deal with the present; those days when jean baptiste with a great ambition was struggling to "do his bit" in the development of the country of our story. he struggled with these problems at times until he became fatigued; not knowing that he could never understand until the time came for him to. when he dined late one afternoon and found himself alone with agnes, he spoke of being tired. "you work too hard, jean," she said, kindly. "perhaps so," he admitted. "and, still, the way i choose to see that is, that i'll not know the difference this time next year." "that is quite possible," she agreed thoughtfully. "but your case is this, i think. you seem inspired by some high compulsion; some infinite purpose in the way you work, and in your mind this is so uppermost that you forget the limit of your physical self." she paused and gazed at the knife she held. her mind appeared to deliberate, and he wondered at her deep logic. what a really mindful person she was, and still but a girl. "i cannot help thinking of you and your effort here," she resumed, "and if i was asked, i would advise you to ex- ercise more discretion in regard to yourself. to labor as you do, without regard to rain, sun, or time, is not prac- tical. it would be very sad if, in conducting yourself as you do, something should happen to you before you had quite fulfilled that to which you are aspiring — not to ac- complish altogether, but to demonstrate." "you seem to have such a complete understanding of everything, agnes," he said. "you appear to see so much deeper than the people i have met, to look so much beneath the surface and read what is there. i cannot always un- derstand you." he paused while she continued in that the administrating angel thoughtful manner as if she had not heard what he said. "now in your remark of a moment ago, you so defined a certain thing i would like to tell you. . . . but i shall not now. the instance is always so much in my mind that indeed, i lose sense of physical endurance; i lose sight of everything but the one object. it is not that i care so much for the fruits of my labor; but if i could actually succeed, it would mean so much to the credit of a multitude of others.— others who need the example. . . ." he paused and thought of his race. the individual here did not count so much, it was the cause. his race needed examples; they needed instances of successes to overcome the effect of igno- rance and an animal viciousness that was prevalent among them. in this land, for instance, which had been advertised from one end of the country to the other; this land where four hundred thousand acres of virgin soil had been opened to the settler, he was about the only one of that race who had come hither, or paid the instance any attention. such examples of neglected opportunity stood out clearly, and were recorded; and the record would give his race, claiming to be discriminated against, no credit. . . . such examples of obliviousness to what was around them would be hard to explain away. so in his ambitious youth, jean baptiste's dream was to own one thousand acres of land. he was now twenty-three and possessed half that much. he conjectured that he could reach the amount by the time he was thirty — providing nothing serious happened to retard him. . . . he had finished his meal and was ready to go back to that little place over the hill. the girl who had made proof on the homestead he had purchased, had lived four- teen months alone in a little sod house her father had built for her in which he now had his bed. she had come of a ho the homesteader prosperous family in the east. she had come hither and put in the time, and the requirements, and had sold the land that he had bought at a good profit to herself. such in- stances were common in that country, so common indeed, that little was thought of it. in his trips back east when baptiste told of such opportunities, he was not taken seri- ously. the fact that the wealth of the great central valley was right at their door; that from the production there they purchased the food they ate; that sheep were raised whose wool was later manufactured into the very clothes they wore, had no meaning to them. and always he felt dis- couraged when he returned from a visit among them. he had never seen agnes so serious as she was that night. she arose and followed him to the door, and stood with him a moment before he left. her eyes were tired and she appeared worried. he became possessed with an impulse to shake her hand. she seemed to sense his desire, and as he stepped out into the night, she extended it. he grasped and held it briefly. he whispered goodnight to her, and as he went through the yard and out into the road, she watched him from the open door until he was out of sight. jean baptiste thought he had secured a bargain in a team he had purchased a week before, and, from all appearances he had. for, after working them a week, he found them model horses — apparently. as stated, he slept in the little sod house on the place near stewart's, and also had a barn there in which he kept his horses while working. the morning following the conversation with agnes, just related, he went out to curry and feed this team along with the other horses, and received a kick that was almost his ending. right at the temple one spiked him, and he knew no more for hours. "i wonder why jean is so late," said agnes, going to the the administrating angel n window and gazing up the road. he was a hardy eater and the fact that he was late for breakfast was unusual. they waited a while longer and then ate without him. bill who had been to care for his horses at the place before break- fast, reported that he had seen baptiste go into the barn. so he had arisen, that was sure; but why had he not come for his meal? the subject was dismissed by all except agnes, who was strangely uneasy. "bill," said she, " see what is the matter with your boss when you go over, and tell him to come to breakfast." bill had no difficulty ascertaining, and returned quickly with the news. "i knew it!" exclaimed agnes, excitedly. "i just felt that something was the matter," whereupon she got into a light coat and followed her father and brothers to where he lay outside the barn door, bleeding freely from the temple. they carried him into their house, and were cheered to see that the blood had ceased to flow. his head was bandaged while bill went for doc. slater, who pronounced the wound serious but not fatal. he awakened later in the day and called for water. it was brought him forth- with by agnes. when he had drunk deeply and lay back weakly upon the pillow, he heard: "how do you feel, jean?" he looked around in the semi-darkness of the room, and upon seeing her, sighed before answering. when he did it was a groan. she came quickly to where he lay and bent over him. "jean," she repeated softly, tenderly. "how do you feel? does your head pain you much?" "where am i?" he said, turning his face toward her. she put her hand lightly over his bandaged head. the homesteader "you're here, jean. at stewart's. you are hurt, do you understand?" "hurt?" he repeated abstractedly. "yes, hurt, jean. you were kicked on the temple by one of your horses." "is that so?" and he suddenly sat up in the bed. "careful, careful," she cried, excitedly, pushing him gently back upon the pillow. he was silent as if in deep thought, while she waited eagerly. presently she said in a low voice: "do you feel hurt badly, jean?" "i don't know." he raised his hand to his head as if trying to think more clearly. she caught his hands and held them as if trying to estimate his pulse, to see if he had any fever. "how did you come to get kicked, jean?" she asked, speaking in the same low tone. "i don't know. when i opened the barn door i had a vision of one of the horses moving and i knew no more.'' "you must be very careful and not start the bleeding again," she advised. "you bled considerably." "and you say i am at your house. at where i board?" "yes, jean." he turned and stared at her, and for the first time seemed to be himself. he closed his eyes a moment as if to shut out something he did not wish to see. "and you have me here and are caring for me?" "we brought you here and are caring for you, jean," she repeated. "it is singular," said he. "what is singular?" "that you have twice happened to be where you can the administrating angel serve me when i am injured or in danger." she was silent . she didn't know how to answer, or that there was to be any answer. "has a doctor been here?" "yes." "what did he seem to think of it?" "he said your wound was serious, but not fatal." "did he say i could get up soon?" "he didn't say, jean; but i don't think it would be wise." he groaned. "now you must be patient and not fret yourself into a fever," she said seriously. "but i have so much work to do." "that will have to wait. your health is first," she said firmly. "but the work should be done," he insisted. "but you must consider your health before you can even think about the work." he groaned again. she was thoughtful. she was con- siderate, and she could see that he would worry about his work and injure himself or risk fever. "i'll speak to papa, and perhaps george can take your place for a few days, a week or until you can get out." "you are so kind, agnes," he said then. "you are al- ways so thoughtful. i don't know how i can accept all you do for me." "please hush—don't mention it." she arose and pres- ently returned with her father. "ah-ha," he always greeted. "so you've come to. thought something would show up in that 'bargain.'" "please don't, father," admonished agnes, frowningly. "i'll look after everything while you are down, old man/' ii the homesteader said stewart. "i'll start the horses you've been working this afternoon. aggie has explained everything. i un- derstand." "i'm so thankful," he said, then closing his eyes, and a few minutes later had fallen asleep. chapter xv oh, my jean! when jack stewart left indiana, and left owing the two hundred dollars which was secured by a chattel mortgage on his horses, he failed to do something he now had cause to regret. the man to whom he owed this money agreed to give him one year in which to pay it, but didn't renew the mortgage. he was a close friend of jack's, and there had been no worry. but the man died; his affairs fell into the hands of an adminis- trator, whose duties were to clean up, to realize on all due and past due matter. and because the note of jack stew- art's was due and past due, the extension being simply a verbal one, the administrator wrote jack demanding that he take up his note at once. we know the circumstances of jack stewart; that be- cause jean baptiste had hired his son bill, and now was boarding with them, he was able to get along; but jack stewart had nothing with which to pay $ notes. . . . so while jean baptiste was recovering from his illness, jack stewart had cause to be very much worried possessed, however, with a confidence, jack took the matter up with the banker in the town where he received his mail. now a common saying in a new country is: "i'm going to borrow five dollars and start a bank. . . ." inferring that while there is, as a whole, an abundance of banks in a new country, they do not always have the where- " ii the homesteader withal to loan. what they have is usually retained for the accommodation of their regular patrons, and they were un- able to accommodate jack, even had they wished to do so. now, he could have secured the money had he been a claimholder or a land owner. but jack, being neither, found himself in a bad plight. he had aggie write a long letter in which he tried to explain matters, and re- quested until fall to pay, as had been verbally agreed upon. but the class of people in the old east who regard the new west as a land of impossibilities, where drought burns all planted crops to crisp, where grasshoppers eat what is left, who still regard those who would stake their fortunes and chances in the west as fools, were not all dead. the administrator happened to be one of this kind. he had no confidence in the country jack wrote about, the crops he had planted; what he expected to reap, and no patience withal into the bargain. so he wrote jack a brief letter, and also one to the bank in the town, sending the papers with it at the same time, with instructions to fore- close at a given time. and when jack knew more of it, he was confronted with paying the note in thirty days or having his horse taken, and sold at auction. jean baptiste recovered, went back to his work, and noticed that jack stewart and agnes were much worried; but, of course, didn't understand the cause of it. "have you tried elsewhere, father?" said agnes when they had gotten the notice giving them thirty days' grace. "but i am not known, dear. there is not much money in a new country, and it is very difficult to get credit where there is nothing to lend." "there must be some way to avoid this. oh, that man, why couldn't he be reasonable!" "it is always bad when one has to write. if i were oh, my jean! back in indiana i could go and see this man and reason it out, but when a thousand miles is between us — it's bad!" "if we could have only just three months." "two months," he exclaimed. the days that followed were days of grave anxiety, of nervous anticipation for them. there was but one person they could turn to at such a time, and that was jean bap- tiste. agnes thought of him, she started to speak with her father regarding him, but in the end did not bring herself to do so. so the time went on, and the thirty days became twenty; and the twenty fell to ten; and the ten fell to five, and then jean baptiste could bear their worry no longer without speaking. "you and your father have been very kind to me, agnes, and i can see you are greatly worried about something. if i could help you in any way, i would be glad to do so." she was so near to crying when she heard this that she had much difficulty keeping back the tears. but she man- aged to say: "why, it's nothing serious. just a little matter, that's all," and she went into her room. he pondered. it was more than that. of this he was sure. he left the house and came around to where jack sat, and was moved by his expression. but jack would say nothing. he could not understand. he tried to dismiss the subject from his mind, and so came sunday, the day of days. he was walking from his meal to his place to look over his crops, when from up the road he caught the sound of buggy-wheels. two men, driving a single horse hitched to a light buggy were coming his way. when they caught sight of him, they hurried the animal forward slightly by i the homesteader touching him up with the whip, and beckoned to him to stop. presently they drew up to where he stood and he recognized one as a homesteader, and having a claim near and the other as a professional dealer in horses. they exchanged greet- ings and some remarks about the weather and crops, and then the trader said: "by the way, jean, where does that old scotchman live out this way? the old fellow who moved out here recently from indiana?" "that's the place there," and baptiste pointed to the top of the house that could just be seen from where they stood. "i see," said the other thoughtfully. "wonder where that dappled gray mare he owns is grazing. i'd like to take a look at 'er." "i think you will see her grazing in the pasture," said baptiste curiously. "how — what kind of animal is it?" "why, she's a hum-dinger," returned baptiste more curi- ously. his curiosity aroused the other, who, looking at him said: "well, you see the old man is to be sold out — foreclosed, and i thought i'd take a look at his stuff and if i thought there was anything in it, i might save the old scout the humiliation by buying it." "t' hell you say!" exclaimed baptiste. "oh, yes. hadn't you heard about it?" "this is my first knowledge of it." "yes, the sheriff's coming to get the stuff tuesday — that is, providing the old man don't come across with a couple of hundred before that time, and it is not likely he can, i don't think." "well, well!" baptiste exclaimed, thinking of the worry oh, my jean! he had observed in the faces of agnes and her father, and at last beginning to understand. "yes, it's rather bad, that. but this follows the old gent from where he comes, and he is not known here, so i guess i'll mosey along and take a look at the stuff — just a glance at it from the road, you understand. and if things look good, i'll drop by 'n see him later." whereupon they went their way cheerfully, while baptiste resumed his, thought- fully. he returned to his house by a roundabout way, and, later, hitching a team to a light buggy, he drove into the town where jack traded and looked up the banker. "say, brookings," he opened, " what kind of deal is the old scotchman up against out there? you understand." "oh, yes!" exclaimed the cashier. "the old man out there on the watson homestead! well, it seems like the old fellow stands a good chance of being sold out." he then explained to baptiste regarding the note and the cir- cumstances. "that don't look just right to me," muttered baptiste when he had heard the circumstances. "well, now, it isn't right. but what can be done?" "can't you loan the old man the money?" "i could; but i don't like letting credit to strangers and renters. if he could get a good man on his note i'd fix it out for him, since we've just received quite a sum for de- posit." "well, if i should go it," said baptiste suggestively. the other looked quickly up. "why, you! gee, i'd take care of him for ten times the amount if you'd put your 'john henry' on the note." "well, i'll be in town early in the morning," said bap- , turning to drive away. oh, my jean! he sank into a chair, while agnes, carried away with ex- citement over the news, caressed him; said words of love and care until both had been exhausted by their own emo- tions. when they at last became calm, she turned to her father who now walked the floor in great joy. "how did they come to extend the note, father?'' "why — why, dear, that had never occurred to me! i became so excited when they told me that i had been granted an extension, i can only recall that i signed the note and almost ran out of the bank. the man had to call me back to give me my old note and mortgage. i don't know why they granted the extension." he stood holding his chin now and looking down at the floor as if trying to understand after all how it happened. then his eyes opened suddenly wide. "why, and, do you know, now, since i come to think of it, they did not take a new mortgage on the stock." "i don't believe that the administrator had anything to do with it," she said after a time. "i know that man. he would sell his mother out into the streets. now i wonder who has influenced the bank into giving us this time. . . ." "bless me, dear lord. but right now i am too tickled to try to think who. to be saved is enough all at once. later, i shall try to figure out who has been my benefactor." and with this he left the house and went to walk with his joy in the fields where george was plowing corn, unconscious of the fact that the team he was driving was to have been seized on the morrow and sold for debt. "now i wonder who saved papa," agnes said to herself, taking a seat by the window and gazing abstractedly out into the road. she employed her wits to estimate what had brought it about, and as she sat there, jean baptiste came driving down the road. he had not been there since break- the homesteader fast the morning before. he had taken his morning's meal at the restaurant in the town. as he drove down the slope that began above the house wherein she sat, his dark face was lighted with a peaceful smile. he drove leisurely along, concerned with the bright prospects of his four hun- dred acres of crop. he was so absorbed in his thoughts that he passed on by without seeing agnes at the window; without even looking toward the house. upon seeing him agnes had for the moment forgotten what she was thinking about. but when he had passed by, she was suddenly struck with an inspiration. she jumped quickly to her feet: she raised her hands to her breast and held them there as if to still a great excitement, as she cried: "jean! jean, jean baptiste! it was you, you, who did it. it was you who saved my father, saved me; saved us all! oh, my jean!" she was overcome then with a great emotion. she sank slowly upon a chair. and as she did so sobs broke from her lips and she wept long and silently. chapter xvi bill prescott proposes summertime over the prairie country; summertime when the rainfall has been abundant, is a time of happiness to all settlers in a new land. and such a summer it was in the land of our story. god had been unusually kind to the settlers; he had blessed them with abundant moisture; with sunshine, not too warm and not too cold. the railroad was under course of construction and would be completed far enough west for the settlers from the most remote part — from the farthest corner of the reservation to journey with their grain or hogs, chickens or cattle to it and return to home the same day. and now the fields which had been seeded to winter wheat had turned to gold. only a few thousand acres had been sowed over the county, and of this amount one hundred thirty acres grew on the homestead of jean baptiste. the season for its growth had been ideal, and the prospects for a bumper yield was the best. ripe now, and ready to cut, the air was filled with its aroma. he had brought a new self-binder from gregory which now stood in the yard ready for action, its various colors green, red, blue and white, resplendent in the sunlight. so now we see jean baptiste the cheerful, jean baptiste the hopeful, with hopes in a measure about realized; jean baptiste the ethiopian in a country where he alone was black. he whistles at times, he sings, he is merry, cheery and gay. bill prescott proposes he called this day wearing a clean, patched jumper over his cotton shirt. when once inside, sprawling his legs be- fore him, and while jack stewart worked in the sun out- side, repairing harness, he said to agnes: "well, old girl, how'd you like to marry?" agnes changed color a few times before she could decide whether to answer or not. in the meantime, patient and in no hurry, bill grinned with pleasure at the ease with which he had started; showed tobacco where his teeth had been, and spat a pound of juice, with plenty of drippings trailing out the window by which she sat. it made considerable argument getting through the screen, but succeeded finally — most of it, the remainder, clung, hesitated, wavered, and finally giving up, dripped slowly to the ledge below. "dog-gone, myself," said bill, getting up heavily from his chair, and going to the window and thumping it lightly, whereupon the hesitant amber, dashed in many directions about. agnes had observed it all with calm disgust. bill, however, not the least perturbed over his apparent breach of impropriety, became reseated, and resumed: "well?" she turned her eyes slowly toward him, surveyed him coldly, and continued at her sewing. bill muttered something. she regarded him again with cold disdain. "haw, haw!" he laughed loudly. "you don't pretend t" hear me, haw! haw! then i guess you're stuck on that nigger you got a hangin' round here." "will you go!" she cried, as she quickly jumped to her feet and swung open the door. she controlled herself with considerable effort. "oh, ho! so that's the way you treat a white man — and honor a d —n nigger!" and with that he dashed out the homesteader and passed to where the senior worked away over his har- ness. jack stewart saw and heard bill approaching with- out looking up. he greeted: "ah-ha, william. and how are you today?" bill was struck with a sudden inspiration. in his way he really liked agnes, and it was all settled in his mind to wed her. he realized now that he had rather bungled mat- ters, and thereupon decided to exercise a little more discre- tion. so, choking down the anger that was in him, and swallowing a bit of tobacco juice at the same time, he said to stewart. "good morning! ah, by the way, jack, i'd like to marry agnes." • so saying, he was pleased with himself again, and spat tobacco juice more easily in the next squirt. jack continued working at his harness. for the moment he did not appear to comprehend, but presently he raised his eyes with the old style glasses before them, and surveyed bill slowly. "you want to do what?" he said, uncomprehendingly. "to marry agnes," bill repeated calmly. he paused, looked away, sucked his soft mouth clean of amber and spat it tricklingly at jack's feet, and looked up and at jack with a wondrous smile. now jack stewart was possessed with certain virtues. he did not smoke, chew, drink, swear nor shave. he was rather put out, but with considerable effort at self control he managed to say: "well, if that's the way you feel about it, why don't you take it up with the girl?" bill hesitated at this point, sucked his mouth clear again of tobacco juice, cleared his throat, spat the juice, and, after a hasty glance toward the house, decided not to mention that he had spoken with agnes. he replied: bill prescott proposes "well, i thought it best to speak to you, and if it's all right with you, it ought to be all right with the gal." jack stewart drew up, and then tried to relax. he did not think so much of bill; but he did think the world of agnes and wanted her respected by everybody. moreover, he did not like to hear her "galled." he turned to wil- liam; he regarded him keenly, and then in a voice and words that were english, but accent that was very much scotch, the which we will not attempt to characterize, he said: "you're a joke. just a great, big joke." he paused briefly, and then continued: "i'd like to be patient with you; but honestly, with you it wouldn't pay. you are not worth it . and in so far as my girl — any girl is concerned, i cannot imagine how you could even expect them to be interested." he paused and looked away, too full up to go ahead. in the meantime he heard bill: "is that so!'" "is it so!" cried stewart with a touch of vehemence. "gad! see yourself. see how you go! don't you ob- serve what's around you close enough to see that girls want some sedateness; they admire in some measure clever- ness, clothes, and — well, manhood!" "so i don't guess i have it?" retorted william, sneer- ingly. "oh, you bore me!" jack returned disgustingly. he bent to his work in an attempt to forget it. and then he again heard from bill: "so that's the way yu' got it figgered out, eh!" he drew his mouth tight shut. he gave another soft suck that drew his skin close to his gums, and with his tongue, he cleared his mouth and spat tobacco, juice and all in a soft lump at stewart's feet and said in unconcealed anger: "so that's the way you got me figgered out! and i want to say, now, the homesteader that i don't think i want yer gal, anyhow. i'm a white man, i am. and what white man would want a gal that a nigger is allowed to hang aroun' and court!" jack stewart was struck below the belt. he was fouled, and for a time everything went dark around him, he was so angry. he did not know that jean baptiste had saved him from losing his stock or being forced to sell them; he had never connected baptiste and agnes as being other than friends, and friends they had a right to be. but jack stewart did regard jean baptiste as a gentleman and gentle- men he respected. his knockout therefore was brief. he soon recovered. he could not speak, he could not even stammer; but with a sudden twitch of the tug his hands held, he came away around with it, and the heavy leather tobk bill fairly in the mouth, in the middle of the mouth. and then jack got his voice, and ready for another swing; but not before bill found something, too. it was his feet. "you stinkin', low down, pup!" cried stewart, falling over from the force of the swing he had missed. "you trash of the sand hills! you tobacco chewin', ragga-muf- fin!" getting his balance, and turning after william madly, he resumed: "you ornery, nasty, filthy, houn'! if i get my han's on you, i swear t' god i'll kill you." but bill prescott now held the advantage. he was younger, and more fleet of foot; so therefore out ran jack, who was left before he reached the gate, far to the rear, and bill gained his side of the wide road with a safe lead. jack finally came to a stop before getting off the premises with his blood boiling with such heat that he drew his hat off and beat himself with it. in the meantime, agnes, who had witnessed the controversy from the gate, ventured out to where her father stood and taking him gently by the arm, she led him inside. bill prescott proposes "my blood's up, my blood's up!" jack kept crying and repeating. "that stinkin', triflin' peace a nothin', has been gittin' smart. tryin' to low rate me; tryin' to low rate my girl. insultin' jean baptiste! dang him, dang him!" "father, father!" cried agnes soothingly. "did you hear'm! did you hear'm! why, the low down, good for nothin', i'm a good mind to go cross the road and skin him alive!" "father, father!" begged agnes. "did you hear what he said," insisted the infuriated senior. "yes, father," she confessed. "i heard him." "you did! 'n that's worse!" whereupon he tore loose and threw up his arms in an angered gesture. "now, papa," agnes argued kindly. "i heard him, and what he said to you. he was in here and insul — spoke to me before he went out there. ... i understand all about it . ... so you must simply be calm — and forget it. that's all. . . ." "i don't care so much for myself, but that he should speak about you and baptiste! i just wish baptiste could have heard him and just beat the gosh danged manure right out of him." "please be quiet, papa. forget bill prescott and what he has tried to insinuate. . . . we understand him and what he is, and we understand mr. baptiste — and what fie is, so let us just think of other things." "yes, aggie, i suppose you're right. you always seem to be right. and i will try to forget it; but i'll say this much: if that ornery, lazy cuss ever crosses this road to my place again i'll thresh him within an inch of his life!" "you've agreed to forget it, father. . . ." the homesteader "i agree again; but it's outrageous that he should say what he did about jean baptiste, now isn't it?" "it is, father," she admitted with downcast eyes. "of course it is. never was there more of a gentleman in the world than jean baptiste." "mr. baptiste is a real gentleman," acknowledged agnes again. "there never was, and he knows it, the pup!" agnes was strangely silent, which jack, in his excitement overlooked. "and even if he should like my girl—" "father!" "well?" "oh, please hush!" "i will, aggie," he said slowly. he bent forward pres- ently, folded her close, kissed her, and then placing his hat on his head, went back to his work. . . . » chapter xvii harvest time and what came with it harvest time, harvest time! when the harvest time is, all worries have passed. when the harvest time is, all doubts, droughts, fears and tears are no more. when the golden grain faus upon the canvas; when the meadow larks, the robins and all the birds of the land sing the song of harvest time, the farmer is happy, is gay, and confident. and harvest time was on in the country of our story. jean baptiste pulled his new binder before the barn, jumped from the seat, and before he started to unhitch, be gazed out over a stretch of land which two years before, had been a mass of unbroken prairie, but was now a world of shocked grain. thousands upon thousands of shocks stood over the field like a great army in the distance. his crop was good — the best. and no crops are like the crop on new land. never, since the beginning of time had that soil tasted tamed plant life. it had seemed to appreciate the change, and the countless shocks before him were evi- dence to the fact. from where he stood when he had unhitched, he gazed across country toward the southeast where lay his other land. only a part of which he could see. as it rose in the distance he could see the white topped oats; and just beyond he could see the deep purple of the flaxseed blossoms. he sighed contentedly, unharnessed his horses, let them drink, and turned them toward the pasture. he was not tired; the homesteader but he went to the side of the house which the sun did not strike, and sat him down. at the furthest side of the field he observed bill and george as they shocked away to finish. he was at peace again, as he always was, and thereupon fell into deep thought. "my crop of wheat will yield not less than thirty bushels to the acre," he whispered to himself. "and one hundred and thirty acres should then yield almost four thousand bushels. i should receive at least eighty cents the bushel, and that would approximate about three thousand dollars, with seed left to sow the land again." he paused in his meditation, and considered what even that alone would mean to him. he could pay the entire amount on the land he had purchased, and perhaps a thousand or two more from the flax crop. that would leave him owing but four hun- dred dollars on the land he had bought, and that amount he felt he would be able to squeeze out somewhere and have acres clear! he could not help being cheerful, perhaps somewhat vain over his prospects. he was now just twenty-three and appreciated that most of his life was yet before him. with, at the most, two or three more seasons like the present one, he could own the coveted thousand acres and the example would be completed. that was the goal toward which he was working. if he or any other man of the black race could acquire one thou- sand acres of such land it would stand out with more credit to the negro race than all the protestations of a world of agitators in so far as the individual was concerned. "it is things accomplished," he often said to himself. "it is what is actually accomplished that will get notice — and credit! damn excuses! the best an excuse can secure is dismissal, and positively that is no asset." he would harvest time t then invariably think deeply into the conditions of his race, the race who protested loudly that they were being held down. truly it was an intricate, delicate subject to try to solve with prolific thinkings. he compared them with the jew — went away back to thousands of years before. out of the past he could not solve it either. all had begun to- gether. the jew was hated, but was a merchant enjoying a large portion of the world commerce and success. the negro was disliked because of his black skin — and some- times seemingly for daring to be human. at such times he would live over again the life that had been his before coming west. he thought of the multi- tudes in the employment of a great corporation who monopolized the sleeping car trade. indeed this company after all was said, afforded great opportunities to the men. not so much in what was collected in tips and in other devious ways, nor from the small salary, but from the great opportunity of observation that that particular form of travel afforded. but so few made the proper effort to benefit themselves thereby. he continued to think along these lines until his thoughts came back to a point where in the past they were wont to come and stop. he could not in that moment un- derstand why they had not been coming back to that self- same point in recent months. . . . since one cold day during the first month of that year. . . . he gave a start when he realized why, then sighed. it seemed too much for his thoughts just then. he regarded bill and george at their task of trying to finish their work. upon hearing a sound, he turned. behind him stood agnes. "my, how you frightened me!" he cried. she held in her hand a basket containing lunch for him and her brothers. this she had brought every day, but he the homesteader had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he had quite forgotten that she was coming on this day as well. as she stood quietly before him, she seemed rather shorter than she really was, also more slender, and appeared withal more girlish than usual. her eyes twinkled and her heavy hair drawn together at the back of her head, hung over her shoulders. her sunkist skin was a bit tanned; her arms almost to the elbows were bare, brown and were very round. and as jean baptiste regarded her there in the bright golden sunlight she appeared to him like the virgin mary. "you are tired," he cried, and pointed to a crude bench that reposed against the sod house, which he had just left in his prolific thinking of a moment before. "sit down, please, and rest yourself," he commanded. she obeyed him modestly, with a smile still upon her pleasant face. "i judge that bill and george will finish in a few min- utes, so i'll wait, that we may all dine together. you'll be so kind as to wait until then, will you not?" he asked graciously, and bowed. "until then, my lord," she smiled, coquettishly. "thanks!" he laughed, good humoredly. suddenly she cried: "oh, isn't it beautiful!" and swept her hands toward the field of shocked wheat. he had been looking away, but as she spoke he turned and smiled with satisfaction. "it is." "just lovely," she cried, her eyes sparkling. "and all safe, that's the best part about it," he said. "grand. i'm so glad you have saved it," she said with feeling. harvest time "thank you." "you have earned it." "i hope so. still i thank you." "it will bring you lots of money." "i am hoping it will." "oh, it will." "i was thinking of it before you came up." "i knew it." "you knew it!" "i saw you from a distance." "r*	_ >t uh. . . . "and i knew you were thinking." "oh, come now." "why shouldn't i? you're always thinking. the only time when you are not is when you are sleeping." "you can say such wonderful things," he said, standing before her, the sun shining on his tanned features. "won't — ah — won't you be seated?" she invited. he colored unseen. she made room for him and he hesi- tatingly took a seat, at a conventional distance, on the bench beside her. "your other crops are fine, too," she said, sociably. "i'm going over to look at them this afternoon." "you should." "where is your father today?" "gone to town." "wish i'd known he was going; i'd had him bring out some twine for me. i think the oats will be ready to cut over on the other place right away, and i don't want to miss any time." "no, indeed. a hail storm might come up." he glanced at her quickly. she was gazing across the field the homesteader to where her halfwitted brothers worked, while he was thinking how thoughtful she was. presently he heard her again. "why, if it is urgent — you are out, i — i could go to town and get the twine for you." she was looking at him now and he was confused. her offer was so like her, so natural. why was it that they understood each other so well? "oh, why, agnes," he stammered, "that would be ask- ing too much of you!" "why so? i shall be glad — glad to oblige you in any way. and it is not too much if one takes into consider- ation what you have done for—i'll be glad to go. . . ." "done for what?" he said, catching up where she had broken off, and eyeing her inquiringly. she was confused and the same showed in her face. she blushed. she had not meant to say what she did. but he was regarding her curiously. he hadn't thought about the note. she turned then and regarded him out of tender eyes. she played with the bonnet she held in her lap. she looked away and then back up into his face, and her eyes were more tender still. in her expression there was almost an appeal. "what did you mean by what you started to say, agnes," he repeated, evenly, but kindly. "i — i — mean what you did for papa. what — you — you did about that — that — note." it was out at last and she lowered her eyes and struggled to hold back the tears with great effort. "oh," he laughed lowly, relievedly. "that was noth- ing." and he laughed again as if to dismiss it. "but it was something," she cried, protestingly. "it was something. it was everything to us." she ended with harvest time great emotion apparent in her shaking voice. he shifted. it was awkward, and he was a trifle confused. "please don't think of it, agnes." "but how can i keep from thinking of it when i know that had it not been your graciousness; your wonderful thoughtfulness, your great kindness, we would have been sold out — bankrupted, disgraced, oh, me!" she covered her face with her hands, but he could see the tears now raining down her face and dropping upon her lap. "oh, agnes," he cried. "i wish you wouldn't do that! please don't. it hurts me. besides, how did you know it? i told brookings that your father was not to know it. i did not want it known." he paused and his voice shook slightly. they had drawn closer and now she reached out and placed her small hand upon his arm. "brookings didn't tell. he didn't tell papa; but i knew." she was looking down at the earth. "i don't understand," she heard him say wonderingly. "but didn't you think, jean, that / understood! i un- derstood the very day—a few minutes after papa returned home, brought the old note and told me about the exten- sion." she paused and looked thoughtfully away across the field. "i understood when you drove by a few min- utes later. you had forgotten about it, i could see, and your mind was on other things; but the moment you came into my sight, and i looked out upon you from the window, i knew you had saved us." her hand still rested lightly upon his arm. she was not aware of it, but deeply concerned with what she was saying. presently, when he did not speak, she went on. "i understood and knew that you had forgotten it — that you were too much of a man to let us know what you had done. i can't forget it! i have wanted to tell you how the homesteader i felt — i felt that i owed it to you to tell you, but i couldn't before." "please let's forget it, agnes," she heard him whisper. "i can keep from speaking of it, but forget it — never! it was so much like you, like the man that's in you!" and the tears fell again. "agnes, agnes, if you don't hush, almost i will forget myself. . . ." "i had to tell you, i had to!" she sobbed. "but it is only a small return for what you did for me. do you realize, agnes, had it not been for you, i — i — would not be sitting here now? oh, think of that and then you will see how little i have done — how very little i can ever do to repay!" his voice was brave, albeit emotional. he leaned toward her, and the passion was in his face. she grasped his arm tighter as she looked up again into his face out of her tear bedimmed eyes and cried brokenly: "but jean, the cases are not parallel. what i did for you i would have done for anybody. it was merely an act of providence; but yours — oh, jean, can't you under- stand!" he was silent. "yours was the act of kindness," she went on again, "the act of a man; and you would have kept it secret; because you would never have had it known, because you would not have us feel under obligation to you. oh, that is what makes me — oh, it makes me cry when i think of it." the tears flowed freely while her slender shoulders shook with emotion. and when she had concluded, the man beside her had forgotten the custom of the country, and its law had passed beyond him. he was as a man toward the maid now. beside him wept the one he had loved as a dream girl. behind him was the house with the bed she had laid from a painting by w. m. farrow. "but, jean, the cases are not parallel. what i did for you i would have done for any one; but yours—oh, jean, can't you understand!" harvest time him upon when she saved his life. and when he had awak- ened, before being conscious of where he was or what had happened to him, he had looked into her eyes and had seen therein his dream girl. she was his by the right of god; he forgot now that she was white while he was black. he only remembered that she was his, and he loved her. his voice was husky when he answered: "agnes, oh, agnes, i begged you not to. i almost be- seeched you, because — oh, don't you understand what is in me, that i am as all men, weak? to have seen you that night — the night i can never forget, the night when you stood over me and i came back to life and saw you. you didn't know then and understand that i had dreamed of you these two years since i had come here: that out of my vision i had seen you, had talked with you, oh, agnes!" she straightened perceptibly; she looked up at him with that peculiarity in her eyes that even she had never come to understand. they became oblivious to all that was about them, and had unconsciously drawn closer together now and regarded each other as if in some enchanted garden. she sang to him then the music that was in her, and the words were: "jean, oh, jean baptiste, you have spoken and now at last / understand. and do you know that before i left back there from where i came, i saw you: i dreamed of you and that i would know you, and then i came and so strangely met and have known you now for the man you are, oh, jean!" gradually as the composure that had been theirs passed momentarily into oblivion, and the harvest birds twittered gayly about them, his man's arm went out, and into the embrace her slender body found its way. his lips found hers, and all else was forgotten. epoch the second epoch the second chapter i regarding the intermarriage of races it was winter, and the white snow lay everywhere; icicles hung from the eaves. all work on the farms was completed. people were journeying to a town half way between bonesteel and gregory to take the train for their former homes; others to spend it with their rela- tives, and jean baptiste was taking it for chicago and new york where he went as a rule at the end of each year. he was going with an air of satisfaction apparently; for, in truth, he had everything to make him feel so — that is, almost everything. he had succeeded in the west. the country had experienced a most profitable season, and the crop he reaped and sold had made him in round num- bers the sum of seven thousand five hundred dollars. he had paid for the two hundred acres of land he had bar- gained for; he had seeded more land in the autumn just passed to winter wheat which had gone into the winter in the best of shape; his health was the best. for what more could he have wished? and yet no man was more worried than he when he stepped from the stage onto the platform of the station where he was to entrain for the east. ... it is barely pos- sible that any man could have been more sad. . . . to ex- plain this we are compelled to go back a few months; back the homesteader to the harvest time; to his homestead and where he sat with some one near, very near, and what followed. "i couldn't help it — i loved you; love you — have loved you always!" he passionately told her. for answer she had yielded again her lips, and all the love of her warm young heart went out to him. "i don't understand you always, dear," he whispered. "sometimes there is something about you that puzzles me. i think it's in your eyes; but i do understand that whatever it is it is something good — it couldn't be other- wise, could it?" "no, jean," she faltered. "and did you wonder at my calling your name that night?" "i have never understood that fully until now," she re- plied. "you came in a vision, and it must have been divine, two years ago gone now," she heard him; "and ever since your face, dear, has been before me. i have loved it, and, of course, i knew that i would surely love you when you came." isn't it strange," she whispered. "but beautiful." "so beautiful." "was it providence, or was it god that brought you that night and saved me from the slow death that was coming over me, agnes?" "please, jean, don't! don't speak again of that awful night! surely it must have been some divine providence that brought me to this place; but i can never recall it without a tremor. to think that you would have died out there! please, never tell me of it again, dear." she trembled and nestled closer to him, while her little heart intermarriage of races beat a tattoo against her ribs. they looked up then, as across the field her halfwitted brothers were approaching. it was only then that they seemed to realize what had trans- pired and upon realization they silently disembraced. what had passed was the most natural thing in the world, true; and to them it had come because it was in them to assert themselves, but now before him rose the custom of the country, and its law. so vital is this custom; so much is it a part of the body politic that certain states have went on record against it. not because any bad, or good, any wealth or poverty was involved. it had been because of sentiment, the sentiment of the stronger faction. . . . so it ruled. in the lives of the two in our story, no thought but to live according to god's law, and the law of the land, had ever entered their minds, but now they had while laboring under the stress of the pent-up excitement and emotion overruled and forgot the law two races are wont to observe and had given vent and words to the feeling which was in them. . . . they stood conventionally apart now, each absorbed in the calm realization of their positions in our great american society. they were obviously dis- turbed ; but that which had drawn them to the position they had occupied and declared, still remained, and that was love. so time had gone on as time will; never stopping for any- thing, never hesitating, never delaying. so the day went, and the week and the month, and the month after that and the month after that, until in time the holidays were near, and jean baptiste was going away, away to forget that which was more to him than all the world — the love of agnes stewart. he had considered it — he had considered it before he the homesteader caught the one he loved into his arms and said the truth that was in him. . . . but there was another side to it that will have much space in our story. down the line a few stations from where he now was, there lived an example. a man had come years ago into the country, there, a strong, powerfully built man. he was healthy, he was courageous and he was dark, because forsooth, the man was a negro. and so it had been with time this man's heart went out to one near by, a white. be- cause of his race it was with him as with jean baptiste. near him there had been none of his kind. so unto him- self he had taken a white wife. he had loved her and she had loved him; and because it was so, she had given to him children. and when the children had come she died. and after she had died and some years had passed, he took unto himself another wife of the same blood, and to that union there had come other children. so when years had passed, and these selfsame children had reached their majority, they too, took unto themselves wives, and the wives were of the caucasian blood. but when this dark man had settled in the land below, which, at that time, had been a new country, he decided to claim him- self as otherwise than he was. he said and said again, that he was of mexican descent, mongrel, forsooth; but there was no custom of the country with regard to the mexican, mongrel though he be. but the people and the neighbors all knew that he lied and that he was ethiopian, the which looked out through his eyes. but even to merely claim being something else was a sort of compromise. so his family had grown to men and women, and they in turn brought more children into the world. and all claimed allegiance to a race other than the one to which they belonged. intermarriage of races once lived a man who was acknowledged as great and much that goes with greatness was given unto him by the public. a negro he was, but as a climax in his great life, he had married a wife of that race that is superior in life, wealth and achievements to his own, the caucasian. so it had gone. the first named, jean baptiste never felt he could be quite like. even if he should disregard the custom of the country, and its law, and marry agnes, he did not feel he would ever attempt that. but to marry out of the race to which he belonged, especially into the race in which she belonged, would be the most unpopular thing he could do. he had set himself in this new land to suc- ceed; he had worked and slaved to that end. he liked his people; he wanted to help them. examples they needed, and such he was glad he had become; but if he married now the one he loved, the example was lost; he would be condemned, he would be despised by the race that was his. moreover, last but not least, he would perhaps, by such a union bring into her life much unhappiness, and he loved her too well for that. jean baptiste had decided. he loved agnes, and had every reason to; but he forswore. he would change it. he would go back from where he had come. he would be a man as befitted him to be. he would find a girl; he would marry in his race. they had education; they were refined — well, he would marry one of them anyhow! so jean baptiste was going. he would forget agnes. he would court one in his own race. so to chicago he now sped. he had lived in the windy city before going west, and was very familiar with that section of the city on the south side that is the center of the negro life of that great the homesteader metropolis. accordingly, he approached a station in the loop district, entered one of the yellow cars and took a seat. he looked below at the hurly-burly of life and action, and then his eyes took survey of the car. it was empty, all save himself and another, and that other was a girl, a girl of his race! the first he had seen since last he was in the city. how little did she know as she sat across the aisle from him, that she was the first of his race his eyes had looked upon for the past twelve months. he regarded her curiously. she was of that cross bred type that are so numerous, full bloods seemingly to have become rare about those parts. she was of a light brown complexion, almost a mulatto. she seemed about twenty-two years of age. of the curious eyes upon her she seemed entirely unaware, finally leaving the train at a station that he was familiar with and disappeared. at thirty-first street he left the train, fell in with the scattered crowd below and the dash of the city life was his again in a twinkling. he found his way to state street, the great thoroughfare of his people. the novelty in view- ing those of his clan now had left him, for they were all about. even had he been blind he could have known he was among them, for was not there the usual noise; the old laugh, and all that went with it? he hurried across and passed down thirty-first to dear- born street, darktown proper; but even when he had reached federal, then called armour, he had seen noth- ing but his race. he had friends — at least acquaintances, so to where they lived he walked briskly. "and if it isn't jean baptiste, so 'elp me jesus," cried the woman, as she opened the door in response to his knock, and without further ceremony encircled his neck with her arms, and kissed his lips once and twice. "you old dear!" intermarriage of races she exclaimed with him inside, holding him at arms' length and regarding him fondly. "how are you, anyhow?" "oh, fine," he replied, regarding her pleasantly. "you are certainly looking good," she said, looking up into his face with fun in her eyes. "sit down, sit down and make yourself at home," she invited, drawing up a chair. "well, how's chicago?" he inquired irrelevantly. "same old burg," she replied, drawing a chair up close. "and how's hubby?" "fine!" "and the rest of the family?" "the same. pearl, too." "oh, pearl. . . . how is pearl?" "still single. . . ." "thought she was engaged to be married when i was here last year?" "oh, that fellow was no good!" "what was the matter?" "what's the matter with lots of these nigga' men 'round chicago? they can't keep a wife a posing on state street." "humph!" "it's the truth!" "and how about the women? they seem to be fond of passing along to be posed at. . . ." "oh, you're mean," she pouted. then: "are you married yet?" "oh, lordy! how could i get married? not thirty minutes ago i saw the first colored girl i have seen in a year!" "oh, you're a liar!" "it's the truth!" "is it so, jean? have you really not seen a colored girl in a whole year?" o the homesteader "i have never lied to you, have i?" "well, no. of course you haven't; but i don't know what i would do under such circumstances. not seeing nigga's for a year." "but i've seen enough already to make up." she laughed. "lordy, me. did you ever see so many 'shines' as there are on state street!" she paused and her face became a little serious for a moment. "by the way, jean, why don't you marry my sister?" "you're shameful! your sister wouldn't have me. i'm a farmer." "oh, yes she would. pearl's getting tired of getting engaged to these negroes around chicago. she likes you, anyhow." "tut, tut," he laughed depreciatingly. "pearl would run me ragged out there on that farm!" she laughed too. "no, she wouldn't, really. pearl is good looking and is tired of working." "she's good looking, all right, and perhaps tired of work- ing; but she wouldn't do out there on the farm." "oh, you won't do. i'll bet you are married already." "oh, mrs. white!" "but you're engaged?" "nope!" "jean. i'll bet you'll marry a white girl out there and have nothing more to do with nigga's." "now you're worse." "and when you marry a white woman, i want to be the first one to shoot you — in the leg." he laughed long and uproariously." "you can laf all you want; but you ain't goin' through life lovin' nobody. you gotta girl somewhere; but do what you please so long as it don't come to that." intermarriage of races "come to what?" "marrying a white woman." "wouldn't that be all right?" she looked up at him with a glare. he smiled amusedly. "don't you laf here on a subject like thatl lord! i think lots of you, but if i should hear that you had married a white woman, man, i'd steal money enough to come there and kill you dead!" "why would you want to do that?" "why would i want to do that? humph! what you want to ask me such a question for? the idea!" "but you haven't answered my question?" she glared at him again, all the humor gone out of her face. presently, biting at the thread in some sewing she was doing, she said: "in the first place, white people and negroes have no business marrying each other. in the second place, a nigga' only gets a po' white woman. and in the third place, white people and nigga's don't mix well when it comes to society. now, supposin' you married a white woman and brought her here to chicago, who would you associate with? we nigga's 's sho goin' to pass 'er up. and the white folks — you better not look their way!" he was silent. "ain't i done outlined it right?" "you've revealed some very delicate points with regard to the matter," he acknowledged. "of course i have, and you can't get away from it. but that ain't all. now, to be frank with yu'. i wouldn't ceh so much about some triflin' no 'count nigga' marrying some old white woman; but that ain't the kind no white woman wants when she stoops so low as to marry a nigga'. uh, naw! naw indeedy! she don't fool with nothin' like that! she leaves that kind for some poor colored woman the homesteader to break her heart and get her head broken over. she mar- ries somebody like you with plenty of money and sense with •it, see!" . he laughed amusedly. "no laffin' in it. you know i'm tellin' the truth. so take warning! don't marry no white woman up there and come trottin' down here expectin" me to give you blessin'. because if you do, and just as sure as my name is ida white, i'm going to do something to you!" "but a white woman might help a fellow to get up in the world," he argued. "yes, i'll admit that, too. but ouh burden is ouh bur- den, and we've got to bear it. and, besides, yoil c'n get a girl that'll help you when you really want a wife. that ain't no argument. of course i'd like to see pearl mar- ried. but you ain't going to fool with her, and i know it. pearl thinks she would like it better if she could marry somebody from out of chicago; but they'd all be the same after a month or so with her." "well," said he, "i'd better get over to the keystone. you've interested me today. i've learned something re- garding the amalgamation of races. . . ." "i hope you have, if you had it in your mind. any- thing else might be forgiven, but marrying a white woman — never!" they parted then. she to her sewing, and jean bap- tiste to his thoughts. . . . chapter ii which? jean baptiste returned to the west after two months' travel through the east, and the spring fol- lowing, sowed a large crop of small grain and reaped a bountiful yield that fall. about this time the county just west of where he lived was opened to settlement, and a still larger crowd than had registered for the land in the county he lived came hither and sought a quarter section. the opening passed to the day of the drawing, and when all the lucky numbers had secured their filings, con- tracts for the purchases of relinquishments began. by this time the lands had reached great values, and that which he had purchased a short time before for twenty dollars the acre, had by this time reached the value of fifty dollars the acre. and now he had an opportunity of increasing his possessions to the number coveted, one thousand acres. he had paid a visit to his parents that winter, and found his sisters, who were mere children when he had left home, grown to womanhood, and old enough to take claims. so with them he had discussed the matter. in- spired by his great success, they were all heart and soul to follow his bidding; so thereupon it was agreed that he would try to secure three relinquishments on good quarters, and upon one or more of these they would make filings. his grandmother, who had raised a family in the days of is the homesteader slavery agreed and was anxious to file on one; one sister on another, and the third place,— was to be his bride's. by doing this, he could have her use her homestead right, providing she filed on the claim before marrying him. so it was planned. but jean baptiste knew no girl that he could ask to become his wife, therefore this was yet to be. when he had given up his real love to be loyal to his race, he had determined on one thing: that marriage was a business, even if it was supposed to be inspired by love. but when agnes was left out, he loved no one. therefore it must be resolved into a business proposition — and the love to come after. so, resigned to the fact, he set himself to choose a wife. on his trip east the winter before he met two persons with whom he had since corresponded. one, the first, was a young man not long out of an agricultural college whose father was a great success as a potato grower. he and jean became intimate friends. it now so happened that the one mentioned had a sister, and through him jean baptiste was introduced to her by mail. correspondence followed and by this time it had become very agreeable. she proved to be a very logical young woman, and jean baptiste was favorably impressed. she was, moreover, industrious, ambitious, and well educated. her age was about the same as his, so on the surface he thought that they should make a very good match. so be it. in the meantime, however, he had opened a correspond- ence with another whom he had met on his trip the winter before where she had been teaching in a coal mining town south of chicago. the same had developed mutually, and he had found her agreeable and obviously eligible. her father was a minister, a dispenser of the gospel, and while for reasons we will become acquainted with in due time, which? he had cultivated small acquaintance with preachers, he took only such slight consideration of the girl's father's pro- fession that he had good cause to recall some time later. about the time he was deeply engrossed in his corre- spondence with both the farmer's daughter and the young school teacher, he received a letter from a friend in chicago introducing him to a lady friend of hers through mail. this one happened to be a maid on the twentieth century limited, running between new york and chicago. well, jean baptiste was looking for a wife. sentiment was in order, but it was with him, first of all, a business propo- sition. so be it. he would give her too a chance. he was somewhat ashamed of himself when he ad- dressed three letters when perhaps, he should have been ad- dressing but one. it was not fair to either of the three, he guiltily felt; but, business was business with him. from his friend's sister he received most delightful epistles, not altogether frivolous, with a great amount of common sense between the lines. but what was more to the point, her father was wealthy, and she must have some conception of what was required to accumulate and to hold. he rather liked her, it now seemed. now from the preacher's daughter he received also pleas- ing letters. encouraging, but not to say unconventionally forward. he appreciated the fact that she was a preach- er's child, and naturally expected to conform to a certain custom. but from new york he received the most encourage- ment. the position the maid held rather thrilled him. he loved the road — and she wrote such letters! it was plain to be seen here what the answer would be. which? he borrowed ten thousand dollars, giving a mortgage i < the homesteader upon his land in security therefor. he purchased relin- quishments upon three beautiful quarter sections of land in the county lying just to the west. the same, having to be homesteaded before title was acquired, had all ready been in part arranged for. his grandmother and sister were waiting to file on a place each — the third was for the bride-to-be. there remained a few weeks yet in which to make said selection; but, notwithstanding, all must be ready to make filing not later than the first day of october — and september at last arrived. he became serious, then uneasy. which? he wrote all three letters that would give either or all a right to hear the words from him, but did not say sufficient to any to give grounds for a possible breach of promise suit later. he rather liked the girl whose father had made money. yes, it so seemed — more than either of the other two. a match with her on the surface seemed more practical. but for some reason she did not reply within the time to the letter he had written her. oh, if he could only have courted her; could have been in the position to have seen her of a warm night; to have said to her:" ." poor jean baptiste your life might not have later come to what it did. . . . he waited — but in vain. october was drawing danger- ously near when at last he left for somewhere. indeed he had not a complete idea where, but of one thing he had concluded, when he returned he would bring the bride-to-be. at omaha he made up his mind. the girl whose father had made money had had her chance and failed. he re- gretted it very much, but this was a business proposition, and he had two thousand dollars at stake that he would lose if he failed to get some one to file on that quarter section he had provided, on october first. which? he was rather disturbed over the idea. he really would have preferred a little more sentiment — but time had be- come the expedient. "of course," he argued, as he sped toward chicago, " i'll be awfully good to the one i choose, so if it is a little out of the ordinary — why, i'll try to make up for it when she is mine." with this consolation he arrived in chicago, wishing that the girl who lived two hundred miles south of omaha and whose father was well-to-do had replied to his letter. he really had chosen her out of the three. however, he re- signed himself to the inevitable — one of the other two. he left the train and boarded the south side l. he got off again at thirty-first street, and found what he had always found before, state street and negroes. he was not interested in either this time. he had sent a tele- gram to new york from omaha to the effect that he was headed for chicago. it was to the maid, for she had drawn second choice. he planned to meet her at the number her dear friend — and the match maker, lived. so it was to this number he now hurried. "oh, mr. baptiste," cried this little woman, whose name happened to be rankin, and she was an old maid. she gave him her little hand, and was "delighted" to see him. "and you've come! miss pitt will be so glad! she has talked of nobody but mr. baptiste this summer. oh, i'm so glad you have come!" and she shook his hand again. "i sent her a telegram that i was coming, and i trust she will let me know. . . ." "she is due in tomorrow," cried their little friend, and her voice was like delicate music. "i expect a telegram," he said evenly. "i am somewhat rushed." the homesteader "indeed! but of course, you are a business man, mr. baptiste," chimed miss rankin with much admiration in her little voice. "how miss pitt will like you!" jean baptiste smiled a smile of vanity. he was getting anxious to meet miss pitt himself — inasmuch as he ex- pected to ask her to become his wife on the morrow. "ting-aling-aling!" went the bell on the street door, and little miss rankin rushed forth to open it. "special for mr. jean baptiste," he heard and went to get it. after signing, he broke the seal a little nervously, and drawing the contents forth, read the enclosed message. he sighed when it was over. miss pitt had been taken with a severe attack of neuralgia in new york, was indis- posed and under the care of a physician, but would be in chicago in six days. he studied the calendar on the wall. six days would mean october second! too late, miss pitt, your chance is gone. and now we turn to the party of the third part who will follow us through our story. from a painting by w. m. farrow. "miss pitt was so anxious to meet you and i was, too, because i think you and her would like each other. she's an awfully good girl and willing to help a fellow." chapter iii memories •— n. justine mc cakthy he will not be in tomorrow," said baptiste, hand- ing the letter to miss rankin. "oh, is that so!" cried miss rankin in a tone of deep disappointment, as she took the letter. "now isn't that just too bad!" "it is," agreed baptiste. "i will not get to see her, since i shall have to return to the west not later than two or three days." he was extremely disappointed. he sat down with a sigh and rested his chin in his palm, looking before him thoughtfully. "i'm sure sorry, so sorry," mused miss rankin ab- stractedly. "and you cannot possibly wait until next week?" she asked, anxiously. he shook his head sadly. "impossible, absolutely impossible." "it is certainly too bad. miss pitt was so anxious to meet you. and i was, too, because i think you and her would like each each other. she's an awfully good girl, and willing to help a fellow. just the kind of a girl you need." he shifted his position now and was absorbed in his thoughts. he had come back to his purpose. he was sorry for miss pitt; but he had also been sorry that miss grey had not answered his letter. . . . the association with neither, true, had developed into a love affair, so would not iso the homesteader be hard to forget. he had agreed with himself that love was to come later. he had exercised discretion. any one of the three was a desirable mate from a practical point of view. after marriage he was confident that they could conform sufficiently to each other's views to get along, per- haps be happy. miss mccarthy was, in his opinion, the most intelligent of the three, as she had been to school and had graduated from college. he had confidence in educa- tion uplifting people; it made them more observing. it helped them morally. and with him this meant much. he was very critical when it came to morals. he had studied his race along this line, and he was very exacting; because, unfortunately as a whole their stand- ard of morals were not so high as it should be. of course he understood that the same began back in the time of slavery. they had not been brought up to a regard of morality in a higher sense and they were possessed with certain weaknesses. he was aware that in the days of slavery the negro to begin with had had, as a rule only what he could steal, therefore stealing became a virtue. when accused as he naturally was sure to be, he had re- sorted to the subtle art of lying. so lying became an ex- pedient. so it had gone. then he came down to the point of physical morality. the masters had so often the slave women, lustful by dis- position, as concubine. he had, in so doing of course, mixed the races, jean baptiste knew until not more than one half of the entire race in america are without some trait of caucasian blood. there had been no defense then, and for some time after. there was no law that exacted pun- ishment for a master's cohabitation with slave women, so it had grown into a custom and was practiced in the south in a measure still. memories —n. justine mccarthy so with freedom his race had not gotten away from these loose practices. they were given still to lustful, unde- pendable habits, which he at times became very impatient with. his version was that a race could not rise higher than their morals. so in his business procedure of choosing a wife, one thing over all else was unalterable, she must be chaste and of high morals. orlean mccarthy, however she as yet appeared from a practical standpoint, could, he estimated rightly, boast of this virtue. no doubt she was equally as high in all other perquisites. but strangely he did not just wish to ask miss mccarthy to become his wife. he could not understand it altogether. he was confident that no girl lived who per- haps was likely, as likely, to conform to his desires as she; but plan, do as he would, that lurking aversion still re- mained — infinitely worse, it grew to a fear. he sighed perceptibly, and miss rankin, catching the same, was deeply sympathetic because she thought it was due to the disappointment he felt in realizing that he was not to see miss pitt on the morrow. she placed her arm gently about his shoulders, leaned her small head close to his, and stroked his hair with her other hand. "well," said he, after a time, and to himself, " i left the west to find a wife. i've lived out there alone long enough. i want a home, love and comfort and only a wife can bring that." he paused briefly in his mutterings. his face became firm. that will that had asserted itself and made him what he was today, became uppermost. he slowly let the sentiment out of him, which was at once mechanically replaced by a cold set purpose. he smiled then; not a sentimental smile, but one cold, hard, and singularly dry. "oh, by the way, miss rankin," he essayed, rising, ap- the homesteader parently cheerful. "do you happen to be acquainted with a family here by the name of mccarthy?" "mccarthy?" "yes. i think the man's a preacher. a rev. n. j. mccarthy, if i remember correctly." she looked up at him. her face took on an expression of defined contempt as she grunted a reply. "humph!" "well . . ." "who doesn't know that old rascal!" "indeed!" he echoed, in affected surprise; but in the same instant he had a feeling that he was to hear just this. still, he maintained his expression of surprise. "the worst old rascal in the state of illinois," she pur- sued with equal contempt. "oh, really!" "really — yes, positively!" "i cannot understand?" "oh well," she emitted, vindictively. "you won't have to inquire far to get the record of n. j. mccarthy. lordy, no! but now," she started with a heightening of color, "he's got a nice family. two fine girls, orlean and ethel, and his wife is a good little soul, rather helpless and with- out the force a woman should have; but very nice. but that husband — forget him!" "this is — er — rather unusual, don't you think?" "well, it is," she said. "one would naturally suppose that a man with such a family of moral girls as he has, would not be so — not because he is a preacher." she paused thoughtfully. "because you know that does not count for a high morality always in our society. . . . but n. j. mccarthy has been like he is ever since i knew him. he's a rascal of the deep water if the lord ever made one. memories —n. justine mccarthy and such a hypocrite — there never lived! added to it, he is the most pious old saint you ever saw! looks just as innocent as the christ — and treats his wife like a dogl" "oh, no!" "no!" disdainfully. "well, you'd better hush!" she paused again, and then as if having reconsidered she turned and said: "i'll not say any more about him. indeed, i don't like to discuss the man even. he is the very embodi- ment of rascalism, deceit and hypocrisy. now, i've said enough. be a good boy, go out and buy me some cream." and smilingly she got his hat and ushered him outside. "well, now what do you think of that," he kept repeat- ing to himself, as he went for the ice cream, "what do you think of that?" suddenly he halted, and raised his hands to his head. he was thinking, thinking, thinking deeply, reflectively. his mind was going back, back, away back into his youth, his earliest youth — no! it was going — had gone back to his childhood! "n. j. mccarthy, n. j. mccarthy? where did i know you! where, where, where!" his head was throbbing, his brain was struggling with something that happened a long time before. a saloon was just to his left, and into it he turned. he wanted to think; but he didn't want to think too fast. he took a glass of beer. it was late september, but rather warm, and when the cold beverage struck his throat, his mind went back into its yesterdays. it had happened in the extremely southern portion of the state, in that part commonly referred to as " egypt," where he then lived. he recalled the incident as it occurred about twenty years before, for he was just five years of age at the time. his mother's baby boy they called him, because he was the youngest of four boys in a large family of chil- dren. it was a day in the autumn. he was sure of this the homesteader because his older brothers had been hunting; they had caught several rabbits and shot a few partridges. he had been allowed to follow for the first time, and had carried the game. . . . how distinctly it came back to him now. he had picked the feathers from the quail, and had held the rabbits while his brothers skinned them. and, later, they had placed the game in cold water from their deep well, and had thereupon placed the pan holding the same upon the roof of the summer kitchen, and that night the frost had come. and when morning was again, the ice cold water had drawn the blood from the meat of the game, and the same was clear and white. "now, young man," his mother said to him the following morning, "you will get into clean cothes and stay clean, do you understand?" "yes, mama, i understand," he answered. "but, mama, why?" he inquired. jean baptiste had always asked such questions and for his doing so his mother had always re- buked him. "you will ask the questions, my son," she said, raising his child body in her arms and kissing him fondly. "but i don't mind telling you." she stood him on the ground then, and pointed to him with her forefinger. "because we are going to have company from town. big people. the preachers. lots of them, so little boys should be good, and clean, and be scarce when the preachers are around. they are big men with no time, or care, to waste with little boys!" "m-um!" he had chimed. "and, why, mama, do the preachers have no time for little boys? were they not little boys once themselves?" "now, jean!" she had admonished thereupon, "you are entirely too inquisitive for a little boy. there will be other company, also. teachers, and mrs. winston, do you tin- memories — n. justine mccarthy derstand! so be good." with that she went about her dinner, cooking the rabbits and the quail that he had brought home the day before. it had seemed an age before, in their spring wagon fol- lowed by the lumber wagon, the dignitaries of the occasion wheeled into the yard. he could not recall now how many preachers there were, except that there were many. he was in the way, he recalled, however, because, unlike his other brothers, he was not bashful. but the preachers did not seem to see him. they were all large and tall and stout, he could well remember. but the teachers took notice of him. one had caught him up fondly, kissed him and thereupon carried him into the house in her arms. she talked with him and he with her. and he could well recall that she listened intently to all he told her regarding his adventures of the day before in the big woods that was at tlieir back. how beautiful and sweet he had thought she was. when she smiled she showed a golden tooth, some- thing new to him, and he did not understand except that it was different from anything he had ever seen before. after a long time, he thought, dinner was called, and, as was the custom, he was expected to wait. he had very often tried to reason with his mother that he could sit at the corner of the table in a high chair and eat out of a saucer. he had promised always to be good, just as good as he could be, and he would not talk. but his mother, would not trust him, and it was understood that he should wait. at the call of dinner he slid from the teacher's lap upon the floor and went outside. he peeped through the window from where he stood on a block. he saw them eat, and eat, and eat, he saw the quail the boys had shot disappear one after another into the mouths of the big preachers, the homesteader and since he had counted and knew how many quail there were, he had watched with a growing fear. "will they not leave one?" he cried. at last, when he could endure it no longer, he ran into the house, walked into the dining room unseen, and stood looking on. now, the teacher who had the golden tooth happened to turn and espy him and thereupon she cried: "oh, there is my little man, and i know he is hungry! where did you go, sweet one? come, now, quick to me," whereupon she held out loving arms into which he went and he had great difficulty in keeping back the tears. but he was hungry, and he had seen the last quail taken from the plate by a preacher who had previously taken two. upon her knee she had sat him, and he looked up into all the faces about. he then looked down into her plate and saw a half of quail. his anxious eyes found hers, and then went back to the plate and the half of quail thereon. "that is for you, sweetness," she cried, and began to take from the table other good things, while he fell to eating, feeding his mouth with both hands for he was never before so hungry. after a few moments he happened to lift his eyes from the plate. just to the side of the beloved teacher, he ob- served a large, tall and stout preacher. he wore a jet black suit and around his throat a clerical vest fit closely; while around his neck he wore a white collar hind part before. the preacher's eyes had found jean's and he gave a start. the eyes of the other were upon him, and they were angry eyes. he paused in his eats and gazed not un- derstanding, into the eyes that were upon him. then sud- denly he recalled that he had observed that the preacher had been smiling upon the teacher. he had laughed and joked; and said many things that little jean had not un- memories — n. justine mccarthy derstood. as far as he could see, it appeared as if the teacher had not wished it; but the flirtation had been kept up. at last, in his child mind he had understood. his crawl- ing upon the teacher's lap had spoiled it all! the preacher was angry, therefore the expression in his eyes. from across the table his mother stood observing him. she seemed not to know what to say or do, for it had always been so very hard to keep this one out of grown people's way. so she continued to stand hesitatingly. "didn't your mother say that you were to wait," growled the preacher, and his face was darker by the anger that was in it. this frightened jean. he could find no answer in the moment to such words. his little eyes had then sought those of the teacher, who in reply drew him closely to her. "why, reverend," she cried, amazed, "he's a little boy, a nice child, and hungry!" whereupon she caressed him again. he was pacified then, and his eyes held some fire when he found the preacher's again. the others, too, had grown more evil. the preacher's lips parted. he leaned slightly forward as he said lowly, angrily: "you're an impudent, ill mannered little boy, and you need a spanking!" then suddenly the child grew strangely angry. he couldn't understand. perhaps it was because he had helped secure the quail, all of which the preachers were eating, and felt that in view of this he was entitled to a piece of one. he could not understand afterward how he had said it, but he extended his little face forward, close to the preacher's, as he poured: "i ain't no impudent 'ittle boy, either! i went to hunt with my brothers yistidy and i carried all the game, and the homesteader now you goin' eat it all and leave me none when i'm hungry. you're mean man and make me mad!" as he spoke everything seemed to grow dark around him. he recalled that he was suddenly snatched from the teach- er's lap, and carried to the summer kitchen which was all closed and dark inside. he recalled that switches were there, and that soon he felt them. as a rule he cried and begged before he was ever touched; but strangely then he never cried, and he never begged. he just kept his mouth shut tightly, and had borne all the pain inflicted by his mother, and she had punished him longer than she had ever done before. perhaps it was because she felt she had to make him cry; felt that he must cry else he had not repented. after a time he felt terribly dazed, became sleepy, and gradually fell into a slumber while the blows continued to fall. how long he slept he could not remember, but gradually he came out of it. there were no more blows then. yet, his little body felt sore all over. when he looked up ( for he was lying on his back in the summer kitchen), his mother sat near and was crying and wiping the tears with her apron, while over him bent the teacher, and she was crying also. and as the tears had fallen unchecked upon his face he had heard the teacher saying: "it's a shame, an awful shame! the poor, poor little fellow! he was hungry and had helped to get the game. and to be punished so severely because he wanted to eat is a shame! oh, mrs. baptiste, you must pray to your god for forgiveness!" and his mother had cried more than ever then. presently he heard a heavy footfall, and peeped upward to see his father standing over him. his father was fair of complexion, and unlike his mother, never said much and memories —n. justine mccarthy was not commonly emotional. but when he was angry he was terrible, and he was angry now. his blue eyes shone like fire. "what is this, belle," he cried in a terrible voice, " you've killed my boy about that d—n preacher!" his father stooped and looked closely into his face. in fear he had opened his eyes. "jean!" he heard his father breathe, "god, but it's a blessing you are alive, or there would be a dead preacher in that house." "oh, fawn," his mother cried and fell on him, weeping. the teacher joined in to pacify him, and in that moment jean was forgotten. stiffly he had slipped from the room, and had gone around near the kitchen step of the big house to a place where the dogs had their bed. here he kept a heavy green stick, a short club. he passed before the door, and observed the preacher still sitting at the table, talking with mrs. winston. he glared at him a moment and his little eyes narrowed to mere slits. then he thought of something else ... it was mose allen, mose allen, a hermit who lived in the woods. it was miles — in his mind — to where mose lived, through heavy forests and timber; but he was going there, he was going there to stay with old mose and live in the woods. he had done nothing wrong, yet had been severely punished. before this he had thought several times that when he became a man he would like to be a preacher, a big preacher, and be admired; but, now — never! he would go to old mose allen's, live in the woods — and hate preachers forever! later, deep into the forest he plodded. deep, deeper, until all about him he was surrounded with overgrowth, but resolutely he struggled onward. he crossed a branch presently, and knew where he was. the branch divided their land with eppencamp's, the german. from there the the homesteader forest grew deeper, the trees larger, and the underbrush more tangled. but he was going to mose allen and re- membered that that was the way. he grasped his green club tighter and felt like a hunter in the bear stories his big brothers had read to him. he crossed a raise between the branch and the creek where the water flowed deeply, and where they always went fishing. he paused upon reaching the creek, for there a footlog lay. for the first time he experienced a slight fear. he didn't like foot logs, and had never crossed one alone. he had always been carried across by his brothers; but his brothers were not near, and he was running away! so he took courage, and approached the treacherous bridge. he looked down at the whirling waters below with some awe; but finally with a grimace, he set his foot on the slick trunk of the fallen tree and started across. he recalled then that if one looked straight ahead and not down at the water, it was easy; but his mind was so much on the waters below. he kept his eyes elsewhere with great effort, and finally reached the middle. now ft seemed that he could not go one step further unless he saw what was below him. he hesitated, closed his eyes, and thought of the whipping he had re- ceived and the preacher he hated, opened them, and with calm determination born of anger, crossed safely to the other side. he sighed long and deeply when he reached the other side. he looked back at the muddy waters whirling below, and with another sigh plunged into the forest again and on toward mose allen's. he gained the other side of the forest in due time, and came into the clearing. a cornfield was between him and another forest, and almost to the other side of this mose allen lived. the sun was getting low, and the large oaks memories — n. justine mccarthy behind him cast great shadows that stretched before him and far out into the cornfield. he thought of ghosts and hurried on. he must reach mose allen's before night, that was sure. it was a long way he thought when he reached the other side, and the forest before him appeared ominous. he was inclined to be frightened, but when he looked toward the west and home he saw that the sun had sunk and he plunged grimly again into the deep woodland before him. now the people of the neighborhood had made com- plaints, and it was common talk about the country, that chickens, and young pigs, and calves had been attacked and destroyed by something evil in the forests. at night this evil spirit had stolen out and ravaged the stock and the chickens. accordingly, those interested had planned a hunt for what was thought to be a catamount. it was not until he had gone deeply into the woods, and the darkness was every- where about him, that he remembered the catamount. he stopped and tried to pick the briers out of his bleeding hands, and as he did so, he heard a terrible cry. he went cold with fear. he hardly dared breathe, and crouched in a hole he had found where only his shoulders and head were exposed. he awaited with abated breath for some minutes and was about to venture out when again the night air and darkness was rent by the terrible cry. he crouched deeper into the hole and trembled, for the noise was drawing nearer. on and on it came. he thought of a thousand things in one minute, and again he heard the cry. it was very near now, and he could hear the crunch of the animal's feet upon the dry leaves. and still on and on it came. presently it was so close that he could see it. the body of the beast became dimly outlined before the homesteader him and he could see the eyes plainly, as it swung its head back and forth, and its red eyes shone like coals of fire. again the varmint rent the night air with its yell, as it espied its prey crouching in the hole. by watching the eyes he observed the head sink lower and lower until it almost touched the earth. and there- upon he became suddenly calm and apprehensive. he held his breath and met it calmly, face to face. his club was drawn, his eyes were keen and intense. he waited. sud- denly the air was rent with another death rendering cry, and the beast sprung. it had reckoned well, but so had he. he had, more- over, struck direct. the blow caught the beast on the point of its nose and muffled and spoiled its directed spring. he quickly came out of the hole and then, before the ani- mal could get out of his reach, he struck it again with such force at the back of the head, that the beast was stunned. again and again he struck until the head was like a bag of bones. when his strength was gone, and all was quiet, he became conscious of a drowsiness. he sank down and laid his head upon the body of the dead animal, and fell into a deep sleep. and there they found him during the early hours of the morning and took him and the dead catamount home. "another beer, cap'n?" he heard from the bartender. he quickly stood erect and gazed about in some confusion. "yes," he replied, throwing a coin upon the bar. he drank the beer quickly, went out, bought miss rankin the cream and after delivering it to her, went outside again and up state street. he was overcome with memories, was jean baptiste. he had a task to accomplish. he was going to vernon avenue memories —n. justine mccarthy ' where miss mccarthy lived to ask her to become his wife. and the preacher who had been the cause of his severe punishment twenty years before was her father, the rev. n. j. mccarthy. chapter iv orlean * * y~*v h, mama," cried orlean e. mccarthy, coming • i hastily from the hallway into the room where ^-^ her mother sat sewing, and handing her a note, "mr. baptiste is in the city and wishes to call at the earliest possible convenience." "indeed," replied her mother, affecting a serious ex- pression, " this is rather sudden. have you sent him word when he could?" "yes, mama, i wrote him a note and returned it by the boy that brought this one, that he could call at two o'clock." her mother's gaze sought the clock automatically. "and it is now past one," she replied. "you will have to get ready to receive him," she advised ceremoniously. "all right, mama," said orlean cheerfully, and suddenly bending forward, kissed her mother impulsively upon the cheek, and a moment later hurried upstairs. "what is this i hear about somebody coming to call," inquired another, coming into the room at that moment. mrs. mccarthy looked up on recognizing the voice of her younger daughter, ethel, who now stood before her. she gave a perceptible start as she did so, and swallowed before she replied. in the meantime the other stood, regarding her rather severely, as was her nature. she was very tall, was ethel, and because she was so very thin she appeared really taller than she was. she did orlean not resemble her mother, who was a dumpy light brown skinned woman. she was part indian, and possessed a heavy head of hair which, when let down, fell over her shoulders. ethel, on the other hand, was somewhat darker, had a thin face, with hair that was thick, but rather short and bushy. her eyes were small and dark, out of which she never seemed to look straight at one. they appeared always to be lurking and without any expression, unless it was an expression of dislike. forsooth, she was a known disagreeable person, ostentatious, pompous, and hard to get along with. she was a bride of a few weeks and was then resting after a short honeymoon spent in racine, wisconsin, sixty miles north of chicago. "why, mr. baptiste is coming. coming to call on your sister. he has been corresponding with her for some time, you understand," her mother returned in her mild, trained manner. "oh!" echoed ethel, apparently at a loss whether to be pleased or displeased. she was as often one way as the other, so her mother was apprehensive of something more. "i think you have met him, have you not?" her mother inquired. "yes, i've met him," admitted ethel. "last winter while teaching." "and what do you think of him, my dear?" "well, he has some ways i don't like." "what ways, please?" she had started to say "naturally" but thought better of it. "oh, he does not possess the dignity i like in a man. struck me as much too commonplace." "oh," her mother grunted. she was acquainted with the homesteader ethel's disposition, which was extremely vain. she loved pomp and ceremony, and admired very few people. "what's he calling to see orlean for?" her mother looked up in some surprise. she regarded her daughter keenly. "why, my dear! why do you ask such a question! why do young men call to see any young ladies?" both turned at this moment to see orlean coming down the stairway, and attention was fastened upon her following. "all' dolled' up to meet your farmer," commented ethel with a touch of envy in her voice. in truth she was en- vious. her husband was just an ordinary fellow — that is, he was largely what she was making of him. it was said that she had found no other man who was willing to tolerate her evil temper and that, perhaps, was why she had married him. while with him, he had been anxious to marry her to satisfy his social ambition. although an honest, hard- working fellow, he had come of very common stock. from the backwoods of tennessee where his father had been a crude, untrained preacher, he had come to chicago and had met and married her after a courtship of six years. "you look very nice, my dear," said her mother, address- ing orlean. between the two children there was a great difference. although older, orlean was by far the more timid by disposition. an obedient girl in every way, she had never been known to cross.her parents, and had the happy faculty of making herself generally liked, while ethel invited disfavor. she was not so tall as ethel, and while not as short as her mother, she was heavier than either. she was the im- age of her father who was dark, although not black. after her mother she had taken her hair, which, while not as fine, was nevertheless heavy, black and attractive. her eyes orlean were dark like her mother's, which were coal black. they were small and tender. her expression was very frank; but she had inherited her mother's timidness and was sub- servient unto her father, and in a measure unto her younger sister, ethel. she was a year older than the man who was coming to see her, and had never had a beau. "do i look all right, mama?" she asked, turning so that she might be seen all around. "yes, my dear," the other replied. she always used the term "my dear." she had been trained to say that when she was a young wife, and had never gotten out of the habit. "now sit down, my daughter," she said judiciously, " and before the young man comes to call on you, tell me all about him." "yes, and leave out nothing," interposed ethel. "she is talking to your mother, ethel. you will do her a favor by going to your room until it is over," advised their mother. "oh, well, if i'm not wanted, then i'll go," spit out ethel wickedly, whereupon she turned and hastened up the stairs to her room and slammed the door behind her. "ethel has such a temper," her mother sighed deplor- ingly. "she is so different from you, dear. you are like your mother, while she — well, she has her father's ways." "papa is not as mean as ethel," defended orlean, ever obedient to her mother, yet always upholding her father, it mattered not what the issue. her mother sighed again, shifted in her chair, and said no more on that subject. she knew the father better than orlean, and would not argue. she had been trained not to. . the homesteader "now where did you meet mr. baptiste, my dear?" she began. "where i taught last winter, mother," she replied obedi- ently. "and how did you come to meet him, daughter?" "why, he was calling on a girl friend of mine, and i happened along while he was there, and the girl introduced us." "m-m. was that the first time you had seen him?" "no, i had met him on the street when he was on the way down there." "i see. did he speak to you on the street?" "oh, no, mother. he did not know me." "but he might have spoken anyhow. . . ." "but he was a gentleman, and he never spoke." she paused briefly, and then, her voice a trifle lower, said: "of course he looked at me. but —" "well, any man would do that. we must grant that men are men. how were you impressed with him when you met him later at this friend's house?" "well, i don't know," returned orlean hesitatingly. "he seemed to be a great talker, was very commonplace, dressed nicely but not showily. he knew quite a few people in chicago that we know, and was born near the town in which i met him. he was just returning from new york, and — well, i rather admired him. he is far above the average colored man, i can say.'' "m-m," her mother mused thoughtfully, and with an air of satisfaction. she couldn't think of anything more to say just then, and upon looking at the clock which showed ten minutes of two, she said: "well, you had better go in the parlor, and after he has called, when convenient, call me and permit me to meet him. you will be careful, my orlean dear, and understand that we have raised you to be a lady, and exercise your usual dignity." "yes, mama." on the hour the street door bell was pulled with a jerk, and arising, orlean went toward the door expectantly. "oh, how do you do," she cried, a moment later, her face lighted with a radiant smile as she extended her hand and allowed it to rest in that of jean baptiste's. "miss mccarthy," he cried, with her hand in one of his, and his hat in the other, he entered the door. "may i take your hat?" asked orlean, and taking it, placed it on the hall tree. in the meantime, his habitually observing eyes were upon her, and when she turned she found him regarding her closely. "come right into the parlor, please, mr. baptiste, and be seated." she hesitated between the davenport and the chairs; while he, without ado, chose the davenport and be- came seated, and the look he turned upon her commanded more than words that she, too, be seated. with a little hesitation, she finally sank on the davenport at a conven- tional distance, beside him. "i was not certain, judging by your last letter, just when you would get here," she began timidly. he regarded her out of his searching eyes attentively. he was weighing her in the balance. he saw in those close glances what kind of a girl she was, apparently, for, after a respite, he re- laxed audibly, but kept his eyes on her nevertheless. "i was not certain myself," he said. "i am so-rushed these days that i do not know always just what comes next. but i am glad that i am here at last — and to see you looking so well." they exchanged the usual words about the weather, and other conventional notes, and then she called her mother. the homesteader "mama, i wish you to meet mr. baptiste. mr. baptiste, this is my mother." "mr. baptiste," said her mother, giving him her hand, "i am glad to know you." "the same here, madam," he returned cheerfully. "guess your health is good!" "very good, i'm glad to say." they talked for a time, and all were cheered to find themselves so agreeable. "i think i can slightly recall your people, mr. baptiste," her mother remarked, thoughtfully. "my husband, dr. mccarthy," she said, giving him an honorary term, "pas- tored the church in the town near where you were born, many years ago." • "i do say," he echoed non-commitally. "do you recall it?" she asked. he appeared to be thinking. . . . he hardly knew what to say, then, after some deliberation he brightened and said: "i think i do. i was very young then, but i think i do recall your husband. . . ." "your name — the name of your family has always re- mained in my mind," said she then, reflectively. "indeed. it is a rather peculiar name." "it is so, i should say," she cried. "if it is quite fair, may i ask where or how your father came by such a name?" "oh, it is very simple. my father, of course, was born a slave like most — almost all negroes previous to the war — and took the name from his master who i suppose was of french descent." "oh, that explains it. of course that is natural. m-m; but it's a beautiful name, i must say." he smiled. orlean "it is an illustrious name, also," she commented further. "but the man who carries it in this instance, is much to the contrary notwithstanding," he laughed depreciatingly. "it is a very beautiful day without, my dear," she said, addressing her daughter, "and perhaps mr. baptiste might like to walk out and see some of the town." "i most assuredly would," he cried, glad of something for a change. he was restless, and estimated that if he felt the air, with her at his side, it might help him. orlean arose, went upstairs, and returned shortly wear- ing a large hat that set off her features. he rather liked her under it, and when they walked down the street together, he was conscious of an air of satisfaction. "where would you like to go?" she asked as they neared the intersection. "for a car ride on the elevated," he replied promptly. "then we will go right down this street. this is thirty- third, and there's an elevated station a few blocks from here." they walked along leisurely, she listening attentively, while he talked freely of the west, his life there and what he was doing. when they reached the l. he assisted her upstairs to the station, and in so doing touched her arm for the first time. the contact gave him a slight sensation but he felt more easy when they had entered the car and taken a seat together. a moment later they were gazing out over the great city below as the cars sped through the air. it was growing dark when they returned, and she invited him to dinner. he accepted and thereupon met ethel and her husband. ethel was all pomp and ceremony, while her husband, with his cue from her, acted in the same manner, and they rather bored jean baptiste with their airs. he was glad the homesteader when the meal was over. he followed orlean back to the parlor, where they took a seat on the davenport again, and drew closer to her this time. soon she said: "do you play?" "lord, no!" he exclaimed; " but i shall be glad to listen to you." "i can't play much," she said modestly; "but i will play what little i know." thereupon she became seated and played and sang, he thought, very well. after she had played a few pieces, she turned and looked up at him, and he caught the full expression of her eyes. he could see that they were tender eyes; eyes behind which there was not apparently the force of will that he desired; but orlean mccarthy was a fine girl. she was fine because she was not wicked; because she was intelligent and had been care- fully reared; she was fine because she had never cultivated the society of undesirable or common people; but she was not a fine girl because she had a great mind, or great ability; or because she had done anything illustrious. and this jean baptiste, a judge of human nature could readily see; but he would marry her, he would be good to her; and she would, he hoped, never have cause to regret having married him. and thereupon he bent close to her, took her chin in his hand and kissed her upon the lips. she turned away when he had done this. in truth she was not expecting such from him and knew not just how to accept it. her lips burned with a new sensation; she had a peculiar feeling about the heart. she arose and went to the piano and her fingers wandered idly over the keys as she endeavored to still her beating heart. shortly she felt his hand upon her shoulder and she turned to hear him say: orlean "won't you come back into the parlor? i — would like to speak to you?" she consented without hesitation, and arising followed him timidly back to the seat they had occupied a few minutes before. again seated he drew closely but did not deign to place his arm about her, looked toward the rear of the house where the others were, and, seeing that the doors were closed between them, sighed lightly and turned to her. "now, miss mccarthy," he began, evenly. "i am going to say something to you that i have never said to a woman before." he paused while she waited with abated breath. "i haven't known you long; but that is not the point. what i should say is, that in view of our brief corre- spondence, it will perhaps appear rather bold of me to say what i wish to. yet, there comes a time in life when cir- cumstances alter cases. "now, to be frank, i have always regarded matrimony as a business proposition, and while sentiment is a very great deal in a way, business considerations should be the first expedient." she was all attention. she was peculiarly thrilled. it was wonderful to listen to him, she thought, and not for anything would she interrupt him. but what did he mean; what was he going to say. "well, i, miss mccarthy, need a wife. i want a wife; but my life has not been lived where social intercourse with girls of my race has been afforded, as you might under- stand." she nodded understandingly, sympathetically. her woman's nature was to sympathize, and what she did was only natural with all women. "it has not been my privilege to know any girl of my race intimately; i am not, as i sit here beside you able to conscientiously, or truly, go to one and say: 'i love you, the homesteader dear, and want you to be my wife,' in the conventional sense. therefore, can i be forgiven if i say to you; if i ask you, miss mccarthy," and so saying, he turned to her, his face serious, " to become my wife?" he had paused, and her soul was afire. was this a. proposal or was it a play? for a time she was afraid to say anything. she wouldn't say no, and she was afraid to say yes, until — well, until she was positive that he had actually asked her to marry him. as it was, she hesitated. but it was so wonderful she thought. it was so beautiful to be so near such a wonderful young man, such a strong young man. the young men she had known had not been like this one. and, really, she wanted to marry. she was twenty- six, and since her sister had married, she had found life lonely. to be a man's wife and go and live alone with him must be wonderful. she was a reader, and he had sent her books. in all books and life and everything there was love. and love always had its climax in a place where one lived alone with a man. oh, glorious! she was ready to listen to anything he had to say. "now, i do not profess love to you, miss mccarthy, in trying to make this clear. i could not, and be truthful. and i have always tried to be truthful. indeed, i could not feel very happy, i am sure, unless i was truthful. to pretend that which i am not is hypocrisy, and i despise a hypocrite. i am an owner of land in the west, and i be- lieve you will agree with me, that it behooves any negro to acquire all he can. we are such a race of paupers! we own so little, and have such little prestige. thankfully, i am at present, on the high road to success, and, because of that, i want a wife, a dear, kind girl as a mate, the most natural thing in the world." she nodded unaware. what he was saying had not been said to her in that way; but the orlean way he said it was so much to the point. she had not been trained to observe that which was practical; indeed, her father was regarded as a most impractical man; but she liked this man beside her now, and was anxious for him to go on. he did. "i own acres of very valuable land, and have con- summated a deal for more acres. this land is divided into tracts of acres each, and must be homesteaded be- fore the same is patented. "now, my grandmother, and also a sister are already in the west, and will homestead on two places. the other, i have arranged for you. the proceeding is simple. it will be necessary only for you to journey out west, file on this land as per my directions, after which we can be married any time after, and we can then live together on your claim. do you understand?" "i think so," she said a bit falteringly. "now, my dear, do not feel that i am a charter bar- terer; we can simply acquire a valuable tract of land by this process and be as we would under any other circum- stances. once you were out there all would be very plain to you, but at this distance, it is perhaps foreign to you, that i understand." she looked up into his face trustingly. right then she wanted him to kiss her. it was all so irregular; but he was a man and she a maid, and she had never had a love. . . . he seemed to understand, and passionately he caught her to him, and kissed her many, many times. it was all over then, as far as she was concerned. she had not said yes or no with words, but her lips had been her consent, and she knew she would love him. it was the happiest hour in the simple life she had lived, and she was ready to become his forever. chapter v a proposal; a proposition; a certain mrs. pruitt — and a letter «t >^^v h, mama, mr. baptiste has asked me to marry ( him," cried orlean, rushing into the room and to ^~^ the bed where her mother lay reading, after jean baptiste had left. "why, my child, this — this is rather sudden, is it not? mr. baptiste has known you only a few months and has been corresponding with you just a little while," her mother said with some excitement, suddenly sitting erect in the bed. "yes, mama, what you say is true, but he explained. he said — well, i can't quite explain, but he — he wants to marry me, mama, and you know — well, mama, you under- stand, don't you?" "yes, i understand. all girls want husbands, but it must be regular. so take off your clothes, dear, get into bed and tell me just what mr. baptiste did say." the other did as instructed, and as best she could, tried to make plain what jean had said to her regarding the land and all. she didn't make it very plain, and the matter rather worried her, but the fact that he had asked her to marry him, was uppermost in her mind, and she finally went to sleep happier than she had ever been in her life before. "now, when the young man calls today, you will have him take his business up with me," her mother instructed judiciously the following morning. a proposal and a letter "he will explain it all, mama. he can do so very easily," she said, glad to be relieved of the difficult task. yet she had her worries withal. her mother was a very difficult person to explain anything to; besides, orlean knew her mother was in constant fear of her father who was a presiding elder, traveling over the southern part of the state, and who came into the city only every few months. and if her mother was hard to make understand anything, her father was worse — and business, he knew next to noth- ing about although he was then five and fifty. jean baptiste had accomplished a great many more diffi- cult tasks, than explaining to his prospective mother-in-law in regard to the land. when she seemed to have sensed what it all meant, he observed that she would give a peculiar little start, and he would have to try it all over again. in truth she understood better than she appeared to; but it was the girl's father whom she feared to anger—for in all her life she had never been able to please him. but she found a way out along late that afternoon when a caller was announced. the visitor was a woman possessed of rare wits, and of all the people that mrs. mccarthy disliked, and of all who disliked mrs. mccarthy, mrs. pruitt was the most pro- nounced. yet, it was mrs. pruitt who settled the difficulty and saved the day for orlean and jean baptiste. but as to why mrs. pruitt should dislike mrs. mccarthy, and mrs. mccarthy should dislike mrs. pruitt, there is a story that was known among all their friends and acquaintances. • when miss rankin had said what she did about rev. n. j. mccarthy, she had not told all, nor had she referred to any woman in particular. she was not a scandal monger. but she knew as all chicago knew, that in so far as the parties in question were concerned there was a friendship a proposal and a letter had been here several days. think of it, and i would have given most anything to have had it sooner. well, in reference to what you intimated in your letter regarding the land up there, i am deeply interested. noth- ing strikes my fancy so much as homesteading — which i think you meant. i would the best in the world like to hold down a claim, and am sure i would make a great home- steader. but why write more! an hour with you will explain matters more fully than a hundred letters, so i will close with this: you hinted about coming down, and my in- vitation is to do so, and do so at your earliest possible con- venience. i am waiting with great anxiety your honored appearance. in the meantime, trusting that you are healthy, hopeful and happy, please believe me to be, cordially, sincerely — and anxiously yours, irene grey. he regarded the letter a little wistfully, and the next moment tore it to bits, flung it to the winds, and went about his business. chapter vi teie prairie fire y mother grabbed me, kissed and hugged me m time and again when i returned,” jean baptiste read in the letter he received from his wife-to-be a few days after she had returned to the windy city, and he was satisfied. “she had been so worried, you see, because she had written father nothing about it, and this was the first time in her married life that she has dared do anything without a long consultation with him. but she is glad i went now, and thinks you are a very sensible fellow there- for. papa sent a telegram advising that he had been reap- pointed presiding elder over the same district, and would come into chicago for a few days before entering into an- other year of the work. “i am deluged with questions regarding the west, and it gives me a great deal of pleasure to explain everything, and of the wonderful work you are doing. now, papa will be home in a few days, and, knowing how hard he is to explain anything to, i am preparing myself for quite a task. i will close now. with love and kisses to you, be- lieve me to be, “your own, “orlean.” jean now went about his duties. his sister and grand- mother were with him, and he had planned to put them on their claims at once, so as to enable them to prove up as i the prairie fire soon as possible. therefore to their places he hauled lum- ber, coal and provisions. their claims lay some forty-five miles to the northwest beyond the railroad which now had its terminus at dallas. and, referring to that, we have not found occasion to mention what had taken place in the country in the two years passed. when the railroad had missed dallas and struck gregory and the other two government townsites, dallas was ap- parently doomed, and in a few months most of the busi- ness men had gone, and the business buildings, etc., had been moved to gregory. this town, because of the fact that it was only five miles from the next county line—the county that had been opened and which contained the land that jean baptiste had secured for his relatives and bride — was, for a time, expected to become the terminus. and to this end considerable activity had transpired with a view to getting the heavy trade that would naturally come with the opening and settlement of the county west, which had twice the area of the county in which gregory lay. now, it was shortly after the railroad was under course of construction that one, the chief promoter of the town- site, called on the “town dad's" of gregory with a prop- osition. the proposition was, in short, to move dallas to gregory, and thereupon combine in making gregory a real city. unfortunately for gregory, her leaders were men who had grown up in a part of the country where the people did not know all they might have known. they consisted in a large measure of rustic mountebanks, who, because, and only because, gregory happened to have been in the direct line of the railroad survey, and had thereby secured the road, took unto themselves the credit of it all. so, instead of entertaining the offer in a logical, business and appreci- i the homesteader ative manner, gave the promoter the big haw! haw! and turned their backs to him. there was a spell of inactivity for a time on the part of the said promoter. but in the fall, when the ground had frozen hard, and the corn was being gathered, all that was left in the little town of dallas, laying beside the claim of jean baptiste, was suddenly hauled five miles west of the town of gregory. and still before the gregory illogics had time even to think clearly, business was going on in what they then chose to call new dallas — and the same lay directly on the line of the two counties, and where the railroad survey ended. it is needless to detail the excitement which had followed this. "lies, lies, liars!" were the epithets hurled from gregory. "the railroad is in gregory to stay; to stay for"—oh, they couldn't say how .many years, perhaps a hundred; but all that noise to the west was a bluff, a simon pure bluff, and that ended it. that is, until they started the same noise over again. but it had not been a bluff. the tracks had been laid from gregory to dallas early in the spring that followed, and now dallas was the town instead of gregory, and the boom that had followed the building of the town, is a matter never to be forgotten in the history of the country. gregory's one good fortune was that she had secured the land office which necessitated that all filings should be en- tered there, and in this way got more of the boom that was occasioned by the land opening at the west than it had ex- pected to when the railroad company had pushed its way west out of the town. it was about this time while great excitement was on and thousands of people were in the town of dallas that some- thing occurred that came near literally wiping that town the homesteader he could see a line of figures working at fire breaks before the gloom. they were the promoters and the townspeople, and he imagined how they must feel with death possible — and destruction, positive, coming like an angry beast di- rectly upon them. soon, jean baptiste, with wet horse blankets, was with them on the firing line. the speed at which the wind was driving the fire was ominous. soon all the west was as if lost in the conflagration, for the sun, shining out of a clear sky an hour before was now shut out as if clouds were over all. the dull roar and crackle of the burning grass brought a feeling of awe over all before it. the heat became, after a time, intense; the air was surcharged with soot, and the little army worked madly at the firebreaks. rolling, tumbling, twisting, turning, but always coming onward, the hurricane presently struck the fire guards. in that moment it was seen that a mass of thistles, dried manure, and all refuse from the prairie was sweeping be- fore it, as if to draw the fire onward. the fire plunged over the guards as though they had not been made, pushed back the little army and rushed madly into the town. it was impossible now to do more. the conflagration was beyond control. now in the town, an effort was there- fore made to get the people out of their houses where some had even hidden when it appeared that all would be swept away in the terrible deluge of fire. one, two, three, four, five, six — ten houses went up like chaff, and the populace groaned, when, of a sudden, something happened. like napoleon's army at waterloo there was a quick change. one of those rare freaks — but what some chose to claim in after years as the will of the creator in sympathy with the hopeful builders, the wind gradually died down, whipped around, and in less than five minutes, was blowing the prairie fire from the east, almost directly against its route of a few minutes before. the fire halted, seemed to hesitate, and then like some cowardly thing, turned around and started back of the same ground it had raged over where it lingered briefly, sputtered, flickered, and then quickly died. and the town, badly frightened, hard worked, but thankful withal, was saved. chapter vii vanity **t^ jity father is home, and, oh! but he did carry on |v/| when he was informed regarding my trip west •*••*• to take the homestead," orlean wrote her be- trothed in her next letter. "he was so much upset over it that he went out of the house and walked in the street for a time to still his intense excitement. when he returned, however, he listened to my explanation, and, after a time, i was pleased to note that he was pacified. and still later he was pleased, and when a half day had passed he was tickled to death. "of course i was relieved then also, and now i am fully satisfied. i have not written you as soon as i should have on this account. i thought it would be best to wait until papa had heard the news and was settled on the matter, which he now is. he has written you and i think you should receive the letter about the same time you will this. he has never been anxious in his simple old heart for me to marry, but of course he understands that i must some day, and now that i am engaged to you, he appears to be greatly pleased. "by the way, i have not received the ring yet, and am rather anxious. of course i wish to be quite reasonable, but on the whole, a girl hardly feels she's engaged until she is wearing the ring, you know. write me a real sweet vanity letter, and make it long. in the meantime remember me as one who thinks a great deal of you, "from your fond, "orlean." baptiste heard from his father-in-law-to-be in due time, and read the letter carefully, replying to the same forth- with. we should record before going further that the incident which had happened between them in his youth had been almost as completely buried as it had been before the day of its recent resurrection. in his reply he stated that he would come into the city xmas, which meant of course, that they would meet and come to understand each other better. he was glad that the formalities were in part through with, and would be glad when it was over. he did not appreciate so much ado where so little was repre- sented, as it were. he had it from good authority without inquiry that the reverend mccarthy had never possessed two hundred dollars at one time in his life, and the formali- ties he felt compelled to go through with far exceeded that amount already. and with this in mind he began gather- ing his corn crop which he had been delayed in doing on account of the stress of other more urgent duties. he had been at work but a few days when snow began to fall. for days it fell from a northwesterly direction, and then turning, for a week came from an easterly direction. this kept up until the holidays arrived, therefore most of the corn crop over all the country was caught and remained in the field all the winter through. by the hardest work his sister and grandmother succeeded in reaching his place from their homesteads, and stayed there while he went into chicago. i the homesteader "mr. baptiste, please meet my father," said orlean when he called, following his arrival in the city again. he looked up to find a tall, dark but handsome old man extending his hand. he regarded him, studied him carefully in a flash, and in doing so his mind went back twenty years; to a memorable day when he had been punished and had fol- lowed it by running away. he extended his hand and grasped the other's, and wondered if he also remem- bered. . . . they exchanged greetings, and if the other re- called him, he gave no evidence of the fact in his expres- sion. when he had sat beside the teacher, such a long time before, baptiste recalled now, that at the back of the other's head there had been a white spot where the hair was chang- ing color; but now this spot spread over all the head, and the hair was almost as white as snow. with his dark skin, this formed a contrast that gave the other a distinguished appearance which was noticeably striking. but his eyes did not meet with baptiste's favor, though he was not inclined to take this seriously. but as he continued to glance at him at times during the evening he did not fail to see that the other seemed never to look straight and frankly into his eyes; and there was in his gaze and expression when he met baptiste,— so baptiste thought — a peculiar lurking, as if some hidden evil were looking out of the infinite depths of the other's soul. it annoyed baptiste because every time he caught the other's gaze he recalled the incident of twenty years before, and wanted to forget it; declared he would forget it, and to that task he set himself, and ap- parently succeeded while in the city. with ethel and her husband, whose name was glavis, he never got along at all. ethel was pompous, and known to be disagreeable; while glavis was narrow, and a victim vanity of his wife's temper and disposition. so unless the talk was on society and " big" negroes, which positively did not interest jean baptiste, who was practical to the superlative, there was no agreement. so when jean baptiste returned west, he was conscious of a great relief. the severe winter passed at last and with early spring everybody completed the gathering of the corn and immedi- ately turned to seeding their crops. work was plentiful everywhere, and to secure men to complete gathering his crop of corn, baptiste had the greatest difficulty. stewarts had failed to secure any land at all — either of the four in the drawing, and, being unable to purchase relinquishments on even one quarter at the large sum demanded therefor, had gone toward the western part of the state and taken free homesteads. as for agnes, she had apparently passed out of his life. he labored so hard in the cold, wet muddy fields in try- ing to get his corn out that he was taken ill, and was not able to work at all for days, and while so, he wrote his fiancee his troubles; and that since he was so indisposed, with a world of work and expense upon him she would do him a great favor if she would consent to come to him and be married. now the mccarthys had given ethel a big wedding al- though her husband received only thirteen dollars a week for his work. two hundred dollars, so it was reported, had been expended on the occasion. such display did not appeal to the practical mind of jean. he had lived his life too closely in accomplishing his purpose to become at this late day a victim of such simple vanity; the ultra simple vanity of aping the rich. upon this point his mind was duly set. the mccarthys had started to buy a home the summer be- the homesteader fore which was quite expensive, and had entered into the contract with a payment of three hundred dollars. the reverend had borrowed a hundred dollars on his life insur- ance and paid this in, while glavis had paid another. ethel had used what money she had saved teaching, to expend in the big wedding, so orlean had paid the other hundred out of the money she had saved teaching school. now, if there was any big wedding for orlean, then he, jean baptiste, knew that he would be expected to stand the expense. therefore, baptiste tried to make plain to orlean in his letters the gravity of his position. she would be compelled to establish residence on her homestead early in may, and this was april, or forfeit her right and sacrifice all he had put into it. but orlean became unreasonable — jean baptiste rea- soned. she set forth that she did not think it right for her to go away out there and marry him; that he should come to her. she seemed to have lost sense of all he had written her, regarding the crops, responsibilities, and other considerations. he wrote her to place it up to her mother and father, which she did, to reply in the same tenor. they had not agreed to it, either. he replied then heatedly, and hinted that her father was not a business man else he would have realized his circumstances, and, as man to man, appre- ciated the same. the next letter he received had enclosed the receipt for the first payment of the purchase price of six dollars an acre, a charge the government had made on the land, amount- ing to some $ , in the first payment. she released him from his promise — but kept the ring. "now, don't that beat the devil!" he exclaimed angrily, when he read the letter. "as though this receipt is worth anything to me; or that it would suffice to get back the vanity $ , i paid the man for the rclinquishment. the only thing that will suffice is, for her to go on the land, so i guess i'll have to settle this nuisance at once by going to chicago and marrying her." so he started for the windy city. at omaha he sent a telegram to her to the effect that he was on the way, and would arrive in the city on the morrow. he arrived. he called her up from the northwestern station, and she called back that it was settled; she had given him her word. the engagement was off. "oh, foolish," he called jovially. . . . "it isn't," she called back angrily. ..." well," said he, "i'll call and see you. . . .'' "no need," she said. ..." but you'll see me," he called. . . . "yes, i'll see you. i'll do you that honor. . . ." now when jean baptiste had called over the 'phone, glavis had answered the call, and thereupon had started an argument that orlean had concluded by taking the receiver from his hand. of course she had jilted jean baptiste and had sent back the papers; moreover, she had declared she would not marry him — under any circumstances. but she would attend to that herself and did not need the assistance of her brother-in-law. . . . glavis was quite officious that morning — acting under his wife's orders. when the bell rang, although he should have been at his work an hour before he opened the door. bap- tiste was there and glavis started to say something he felt his wife would be pleased to know he said. but, being af- fected with a slight impediment of speech, his tongue be- came twisted and when he could straighten it out, baptiste had passed him and was on his way to the rear of the house where orlean stood pouting. ethel stood near with her the homesteader lips protruding, and mrs. mccarthy, whom he had termed, "little mother mary," stood nearby at a loss as to what to say. "indeed, but it looks more like you were waiting for a funeral than for me," as he burst in upon them. pausing briefly, he observed the one who had declared everything against him, turned her face away and refused to greet him. "what's the matter, hon'," he said gaily and laughed, at the same time gathering her into his arms. "will you look at that!" exclaimed ethel, ready to start something. but glavis, countered twice the morning so soon, concluded at last that it was his time to keep his place. so deciding, he cut his eyes toward ethel, and said: "now, ethel, this is no affair of yours," and cautioned her still more with his eyes. "no, ethel," commanded orlean, "this is my affair. i —" she did not finish, because at that moment jean bap- tiste had kissed her. "it beats anything i ever witnessed," cried ethel, almost bursting to get started. "then don't witness it," said glavis, whereupon he caught her about the waist and urged her up the stairs and locked her in their room. "you've been acting something awful like," chided bap- tiste, with orlean still in his arms. she did not answer just then. she could not. she decided at that moment, however, to take him into the parlor, and there tell him all she said she would. yes, she would do that at once. so deciding, she caught him firmly by the arm, and com- manded: "come, and i will get you told!" he followed meekly. when they reached the parlor she was confronted with another proposition. where would vanity they sit? she glanced from the chairs to the davenport; but he settled it forthwith by settling upon the davenport. she hesitated, but before she had reached a decision, she found herself pulled down by his side — and dreadfully close. well, she decided then, that this was better, after all, be- cause, if she was close to him he could hear her better. she would not have to talk so loud. she did not like loud talk- ing. it was too "niggerish," and she did not like that. but behold! he, as soon as she was seated, encircled her waist with his arm. dreadful! then, before she could tell him what she had made up all the night before to say to him, she felt his lips upon hers — and, my! they were so warm, and tender and soft. she was confused. ethel and her father had said that the country where jean lived was wild; that all the people in it were hard and coarse and rough — but jean's kisses were warm, and soft and tender. she al- most forgot what she had intended telling him. and just then he caught her to him, and that felt so — well, she did not know — could not say how it felt; but she was for- getting all she had planned to tell him. she heard his voice presently, and for a moment she caught sight of his eyes. they were real close to hers, and, oh, such eyes! she had not known he possessed such striking ones. how they moved her! she was as if hypnotized, she could not seem to break the spell, and in the meantime she was forget- ting more of what she had made up her mind to say. he spoke then, and such a wonderful voice he seemed to have! how musical, how soft, how tender — but withal, how strong, how firm, how resolute and determined it was. she was held in a thraldom of strange delight. "what has been the matter with my little girl?" and thereupon, as if they were not close enough, he gathered her into his arms. oh, what a thrill it gave her! she had for- the homesteader gotten now, all she had had in mind to say and it would take an hour or so, perhaps a day, to think and remember it all over again. ..." hasn't she wanted to see me? such beautiful days are these! lovely, grand, glorious!" she looked out through the window. it was a beautiful day, in- deed! and she had not observed it before. "and hear the birds singing in the trees," she heard. and thereupon she listened a moment and heard the birds singing. she started. now she had felt she was thought- ful. she really loved to listen to the twitter of birds — and it was springtime. it was life, and sunshine and happi- ness. she had not heard the birds before that morning, therefore it must have been because she had let anger rule instead of sunshine. and as if he had read her thoughts, she heard his voice again: "and because you were angry — gave in to evil angriness and pouted instead of being cheerful, happy and gay, you have failed to observe how beautiful the sun shone, and that the birds were singing in the trees." she felt — was sensitive of a feeling of genuine guilt. "and away out west, where the sunshine kisses the earth, and the wheat, the corn, the flax, and the oats grow green in great fields, everybody there is about his duty; for, when the winter has been long, cold and dreary, the settlers must stay indoors lest they freeze. so with such days as these after the long, cold and dreary winters, everybody must be up and doing. for if the crops are to mature in the autumn time, they must be placed in the earth through seed in the springtime. but there is, unfortunately, one settler, called st. jean baptiste, by those who know him out there, who is not in his fields; his crops are not being sown; his fields — wide, wide fields, which represent many thousands of vanity dollars, and long years of hard, hard work, are lying idle, growing to wild weeds!" "but, jean," she cried of a sudden. "it is not so?" "unfortunately it is so, my love!" "then — jean — you must go — hurry, and sow your crops, also!" she echoed. "for years and years has jean baptiste labored to get his fields as they are. for, in the beginning, they were wild, raw and unproductive, whereupon naught but coyotes, prairie dogs and wild indians lived; where only a wild grass grew weakly and sickly from the surface and yielded only a prairie fire that in the autumn time burned all in its path; a land wherein no civilized one had resided since the begin- ning of time." "oh, jean!" "and he has longed for woman's love. for, according to the laws of the christ, man should take unto himself a wife, else the world and all its people, its activity, its future will stop forthwith!" "you are so wonderful!" "not wonderful, am i," quoth baptiste. "just a mite practical." "but it is wonderful anyhow, all you say!" "and yet my orlean does not love me yet!" "i didn't say that," she argued, thinking of what she had written him. "since therefore she has not said it, then methinks that she does not." "i _ i _ oh, you — are awful!" "and she will not go to live alone with me and share my life —and my love!" "i — oh, i didn't say i wouldn't do all that." she was done for then. she had shot her last defense. the homesteader "then you will?" he asked anxiously. "you will go back with me, and be mine, all mine and love me forever?" she sought his lips and kissed him then, and he arose and caught her close to him and kissed her again and looked into her eyes, and she was then all his own. chapter viii married *hy — why — why, what does this mean!" ex- claimed "little mother mary" coming upon them at this minute. notwithstanding the fact that she was surprised, it was obviously a glad sur- prise. she admired jean baptiste, and had been much up- sei over their little controversy. she understood the root of the trouble, and knew that it had been on account of what baptiste had written and intimated in the letter re- garding the elder. her husband did not admire real men, although of course, he was not aware of it. in truth, he ad- mired no man, other than himself. and when others did not do likewise, he usually found excuses to disagree with them in some manner. jean baptiste was not the type of man to make friends with her husband. he was too frank, too forward, too pro- gressive in every way ever to become very intimate with n. justine mccarthy. to begin with, jean had never flattered his vanity as it was not his wont to give undue praise. and as yet he had no reason especially to admire the reverend. that it had not been orlean who had objected to coming west to marry him he was aware. nor had it been her mother. it had been n. justine who had a way of making his faults and shortcomings appear to be those of others — especially within his family, and in this instance his elder daughter bore the blame. "what would you expect us to do, little mother," he said, turning a beaming face upon her. the homesteader "but— orlean, i thought — i thought —" "oh, mother," cried jean baptiste, "don't think. it will hurt you. besides, it will not be necessary for you to think any more with regards to us now. we are as we were, and that is all. there is nothing wrong between us — never has been, nor between you and i now either, is there?" whereupon he drew her down and upon the davenport and placed himself between her and her daughter. "now let's reason this thing out together," he began. "there is no need for quarreling. we'll leave that to idle, disagreeable people. the first thing in life is to know what you want — and then go get it. that's the way i do. when i proposed to orlean i did so after due consider- ation. there has been some little disagreement with re- gards to my coming to get her, which was due to the fact that i have been so overrun with work until i really felt i had not the time to spare. however, here i am and ready to marry her. so let's get those who are concerned to- gether and have it over with. what do you say to it?" he said, looking from one to the other. in the meantime, ethel had crept down from upstairs to see what was going on, and saw the three on the davenport together, with jean baptiste in the middle. whereupon, she turned and hurried back upstairs to where her husband was, with these words: "glavis, glav—is," she cried all out of breath with ex- asperation. "i just wish you'd look! just step down there and look!" "why, why— what is the matter, ethel!" he cried, ris- ing from his chair in some excitement. "why, that jean baptiste is sitting down there on the davenport with mama on one side of him and my sister on the other!" "oh, is that all!" he breathed with relief. married "is that all!" she echoed in derision, her narrow little face screwed up. "well?" "will you 'well' me when that man just comes in here and takes the house and all that's in it!" "oh, ethel." he argued. "will you use some sense!" "will i use some sense! after what orlean said? you remember well enough what she said, no longer than last night when she received that telegram. that she was through with that man; that she was not going to marry him, and had sent his old papers back to him to prove it!" "well, now, get all excited over the most natural thing in the world! have you never seen a woman who never changed her mind — especially when there was a man in the case?" "of course i have," she shouted. "i am one who has never changed their mind!" "i agree, and that is what's the matter with you," so saying, he made his get-away to avoid what would have followed. "now, you will have to deal with my husband in regard to this matter, mr. baptiste," admonished mother mary. she had given into him along with orlean. it was useless to try to pit their weak wits against the commanding and domi- neering reason, the quick logic and searching intuition of jean baptiste. so they had quickly resigned to the inevita- ble, and left him to the rock of unreason, the reverend n. j. mccarthy. "ah settled. i'll bounce right out and get him on the wire. best words to send are: 'please come to chicago today. important!' will that be alright?" "jean baptiste, you are a wonder!" cried orlean, and, encircling his neck with her arms, kissed him impulsively. the homesteader in answer they received by special delivery a letter that night, stating that his honor, n. j., was on the way, and would arrive the following morning. preparations were en- tered into at once therefore for a simple wedding, only ethel holding aloft from the proceedings. it was while at the supper table that evening that orlean took upon herself to try to set baptiste right with what was before him in dealing with regards to her father. "now, my dear," she said lovingly, "if you would get along with papa, then praise him — you understand, flatter him a little. make him think he's a king." "oh-ho!" he laughed, whereat she was embarrassed. "that's the 'bug,' eh!" "well," she hesitated, awkwardly, "he is rather vain." baptiste was thoughtful. rev. mccarthy was vain. . . . he must be praised if one was to get along with him. . . . make him think he was a king. his majesty, newton justine, sounded very well as a title. all he needed now, then, was a crown. if necessary for peace in the family he would praise him, although it was not to his liking. jean baptiste had little patience with people who must be praised. in his association he had chosen men, men who were too busy to look for or care for praise. but he failed to reckon then that he was facing another kind of person, one whom he was soon to learn. his majesty, newton justine, arrived on schedule the next morning, very serious of expression, and apparently tired into the bargain. baptiste recalled when he saw him what he had been advised with regards to making him think he was a king. "well," sighed baptiste, "providing 'his majesty' is not a despot, we may be able to get along for a day or two." later, when convenient, baptiste attempted and was ap- married parently successful in making the matter so plain that despite his reputed dislike for fair reasoning, the elder was compelled to call his daughter and say: "now, orlean, you have heard. are you in love with this man?" the melting smile she bestowed him with was quite sufficient, so seeing, he continued: "and do you wish to become his wife?" she looked down into her lap then, turned her hands in childish fashion, and replied in a very small voice: "yes." "then, that settles it," said the elder, and thereafter made himself very amiable. by the morrow arrangements had been completed for a simple little home wedding, and at two o'clock, the ceremony was performed. and when the bride and groom had been kissed accord- ing to custom, a storm without broke of a sudden, and the wind blew and the rain fell in torrents. so terrible became the storm that the piano, which some one played loudly, as if to shut out the roar of the storm outside, could hardly be heard. and in the meantime, so dark did it be- come that at two thirty the lights had to be turned on, the people could hardly distinguish each other in the rooms. nor did the storm abate as the afternoon wore on, but con- tinued in mad fury far into the night and the guests were compelled to leave in the downpour and wind. and there were among those who departed, many who thought and did not speak. they were, for the most part, the new negro, hence loathe to admit of superstitions — be- sides, they had great respect for the two who were about to start upon matrimony's uncertain journey. but regardless of what they might have said openly, it was a long time be- fore they forgot. j chapter ix orlean receives a letter and advice * tf ean!" called orlean three months later, as she came out of the house, the house where stewarts had lived, and which jean baptiste had rented for the season so as to be near all his land in the older opened county. "i have something to tell you." "what is it, dear?" he replied, drawing his horses to a stop, while she climbed on the step of the spring wagon he was riding in. he could see she was excited, and he was apprehensive. she got up on the seat beside him, and placing her arms around him, began to cry. he petted her a moment and then, placing his hand under her chin, raised her head and said: "well, now, my dear, what is the matter?" where- upon, he kissed her. drawing his head down then, she whispered something in his ear. "oh!" he cried, his face suddenly aglow with an ex- pression she had never seen in it before. the next instant he caught and drew her closely to him, and kissed her fondly. "i am so happy, dear; the happiest i have been since we married!" "but, jean!" she started and then hesitated. he ap- peared to understand. "now, my wife, you must not feel that way," he ad- monished. "that is the ultimate of young married life — children. of course," he added, slowly, "couples are not orlean receives a letter always ready they feel, but such does not wait. we are not always ready to die, but old death comes when he gets ready and there's no use trying to argue a delay. so now, instead of looking distressed, just fancy what a great thing, a beautiful and heavenly thing after all it is, and be real nice." he kissed her again and assisted her from the buggy, and while he drove to his work she went into the house and picked up a letter. it was from ethel, and ran: "my dear sister: "i am writing you to say that i am very unhappy. you cannot imagine how disagreeable, how very inconvenient it is to be as i am. never did i want a child — or children; but that silly man i'm married to is so crazy for a family that he has given me no peace. "as a result i must sit around the house during these beautiful summer days and be satisfied to look out of the window and go nowhere. oh, it is distressing, and i am so mad at times i can seem not to see! can you sense it: him so anxious for a family, when what he earns is hardly sufficient to keep us in comfort and maintain the payments on the home. i have tried to reason with him on the score, but it is no use at all. so while i sit around so angry i cannot see straight, he dances around gleefully, wondering whether it will be a girl or a boy! "now, i thought i would write you in time so that you could protect yourself. i am, therefore, sending you cer- tain receipts which have been given me — but too late! they will not be again, though — trust me to attend to that! don't wait too long, and use them as per direction. do it and run no chance of getting to be as i am. "i hope you are well and write me any time anything happens, and if these don't work, then tell me right quick and i will send you something that is sure. i depend on you taking care of yourself now, and don't let anybody put foolishness in your head. the homesteader "hoping to hear from you soon, and that you are safe as yet, believe me to be, as ever your sister, "ethel." when she had completed the letter, she was thoughtful as her eyes wandered out to where her husband worked away in the field beyond. she tried to see a few months ahead. it was then midsummer, and ethel and her father and all the girls were writing her already that they supposed they might as well not expect her until xmas. but jean had intimated already that he did not expect to go to chicago xmas. still, that was several months away, and the dry weather of which he was complaining at the present, might be offset by rain soon. so she might get to see old chicago xmas after all. but she would be unable to go out if she did go to the city xmas with what she knew now. she pondered, and while she did so, she read through certain receipts her sister had sent her. one was very simple, and she was tempted. it stated that the blossom of a certain weed was positive when made into a tea. she was thoughtful a moment, and her eyes wandered again toward where her husband worked in the field. finally they fell upon the creek that ran near the house, and she gave a start as she saw growing upon its banks, a peculiar weed with purple blossom. she wondered what kind of weeds they were. she made a mental note of the same and decided that when her husband came to luncheon she would ask him. she sighed then as she thought of the months to come, and what was to come with it. presently, having nothing else urgent to do, she picked up paper, pen and ink and replied to ethel's letter: "my dear sister: "receipt of your recent letter is here acknowledged, and orlean receives a letter in reply, will say that i have read the same carefully, and made a note of what you said. "i hardly know how to reply to what you set forth in your letter, and i am not fully decided. but i might as well admit that i have just discovered that i also am to be- come a mother and, jean, like glavis, is tickled to death! i just told him this morning and he said it was the happiest moment he had experienced since we have been married. "i am entirely at a loss what to do; but i will consult him regarding it. i don't think i ought to do as you ad- vise — not let him know anything —because that would hardly be fair. he is just as good to me as he can be, and considers my every need. sometimes i do not think he loves me as much as i would wish, but what can i do! he is my husband and gives me all his attention. i am, there- fore, afraid that he will object to the measures you sug- gest. i am very much afraid he will, but i will ask him. "he's a perfect dear, so jolly, so popular everywhere about, and, i repeat, so good to me that i hardly think my conscience would be clear if i did something in secret and something that he would not like. "in the meantime, thanking you for your suggestions, and begging you not to act foolish, i am, "your affectionate sister, "orlean." jean baptiste drove into the yard at noon singing cheer- fully. he was met by his wife at the gate which she opened. the wind was blowing from the south, and the air was very hot. it had been blowing from that direction for days. he stopped singing while he unhitched the horses and gazed anxiously toward the northwest. "what is it, dear? " she inquired, observing the old frown upon his face. he shook his head before replying, and tried to smile. "this wind." "the wind?" the homesteader "yes. it's terribly hot. it's awfully drying. the oats are suffering, the wheat is hurt. i wish it would rain, and rain soon," whereat he shook his head again and his frown grew deeper. he led the horses to the well to drink and while they were drinking she stood near, holding her hands and look- ing at the patch of strange weeds that were in blossom near. presently she observed him, and, seeing that his mind was concerned with problems, she would satisfy her mind. "jean!" she called. "yes," he replied abstractedly. "what kind of weeds are those?" and she pointed to the wild blossoms. "those!" he said, his mind struggling between what he was thinking about and the question. "oh, those are evil weeds," he concluded, and turning, led his horses into the barn. "evil weeds!" she echoed. slowly she turned and looked again. she was strangely frightened. then taking courage, she went playfully to where they grew, and, gathering a bunch in a sort of bouquet, carried them into the house, laid them down, and began to place the meal upon the table. "why, orlean," she heard, and turned to meet her hus- band. "what are you doing with these old things in here! my dear, you could find something better for the table than these things! just outside the fence in the road roses are blooming everywhere, and the air is charged with their sweet fragrance." he paused briefly and held them to his nose. "and, besides, they stink. booh!" he cried, holding them away. "they make me sick! now, if youl! agree i'll throw these things away and run out into the road orlean receives a letter and get you a big bunch of roses. will that be all right, dear?" "yes," she answered, and he did not understand why her eyes were downcast. "good!" he exclaimed, and she was glad to see that the frown upon his face was gone, if only for a while. "i'll bring you some nice flowers. you know," he paused in the doorway and turned to her, "i never liked this weed, anyhow. i have always connected them with all that's vile and evil." so saying, he turned and a few minutes later she heard his voice coming cheerfully from the road where he picked the various shades of roses. "now, my dear," said he pleasantly, " i have brought you a real bouquet," and he placed the vase containing the same in the center of the table, stood back and regarded the flowers admiringly. "why," he suddenly exclaimed, his eyes widening, "what is the matter?" "oh, nothing," she stammered more than spoke. "now there must be something?" while standing where he was he caught sight of ethel's letter. immediately she reached forth to snatch it from beneath his gaze. he made no effort to take it, but regarded her in the meantime wonderingly. the receipt concerning the weed lay in plain sight, and he could hardly help reading it. she caught it up then, while he still looked after her wonderingly. he raised his hand to his head and was thoughtful, before saying: "why were you so disturbed over me seeing the letter, orlean? you have never been so before. of course," he said, and hesitated, and then went on patiently, "i have no wish to pry into women's affairs or secrets, but i am curious to know why you acted as you did?" the homesteader she was an emotional girl. never in her life had she violated the rules of her parents, and she had never thought of disobeying, or keeping secrets from her husband. when she was confronted with the situation, she broke down there- upon, and crying on his breast, told him all the letter con- tained, and what the receipt meant. he listened patiently and when she was through he hesi- tated before speaking. after a moment he led her to the table, sat down, and fell to eating the luncheon. "when we have dined," he paused after a few minutes to remark, " and you have washed the dishes, we will spare a few minutes for a talk, orlean." "now," he resumed at the appointed time, "when we married, orlean, it was my hope — and i feel sure 'twas yours, that we would live happily." "of course, jean," she agreed tremulously. "then, dear, there are certain things we should come to an understanding thereto lest we find our lives at variance. to begin with, i wish your sister would not write you such letters as the one you received today. but, if she must and offer — yes, criminal advice, i trust you will not incline toward such seriously. you and i, as well as those who have gone before us; and as those who must perforce come after us, did not come into this world altogether by ours or others' providence. and if the world, and the people in the world are growing wicked, as yet, thank god, race suicide has not come to rule!" he was meditatively silent then for a time, gazing as if into space off across the sun- kist fields. "first," he resumed, "selfishness is a bad patient to nurse. secondly, we must appreciate that ours — our lives have a duty to fulfill. bringing children into the world orlean receives a letter and rearing them to clean and healthy man and womanhood is that duty — our greatest duty. and now with regards to that receipt, or receipts. "i will not seek to deny that such practices are not in some measure a custom. such very often are given thoughtlessly as to the infinite harm, ill health and unhappi- ness they might later bring. but the fact that others culti- vate and heed such is no reason, dear, do you feel, that we should?" "no, jean," she admitted without hesitation and very humbly. "i feel more inspired to say this at this point in our new union, orlean, because i cannot believe that it is your nature to be wicked; to wilfully practice and condone the wrong." "oh, jean," she cried, moving toward him; laying her hands upon him, and seeking his eyes with her soul standing out in hers. "you are so noble and so good," and in the next minute she was weeping silently upon his shoulder. the dry weather continued over all the west, and for two weeks the wind remained in the south, and blew al- most day and night. heretofore, it had been known to blow not more than a week at the most, before the heat would be broken by a rain. and coincident with the heat and drought, the crops began to fire, plants of all kinds to wither, and every one in the country of our story became ominous. but the creator seemed to be with the struggling people of the new country, the drought was broken by rain before the crops were destroyed; the harvest was very good, and with the homesteader the completion of the same, orlean met her husband one evening with a letter, announcing that her father was com- ing to visit soon. and the next day they got another letter — no, a paper. it was a summons, and concerned orlean. chapter x eugene crook tripp county, laying just to the west of the town of dallas and where jean baptiste had purchased the relinquishments for his people was a large county and rich in soil. there had been little delay on the part of the railroad company in extending their line into it. but before this occurred — before even the county had been thrown open to the settlers, new promoters, conscious of the great success which had been achieved by the men who had promoted dallas, purchased an allotment from an indian, or a breed and started a town thereon almost directly in the center* of the county in a valley of a creek known as the dog ear. and it was about this time that a political ring was formed in the newer county for the avowed and subtle purpose of securing the county seat. settlement on the whole had not as yet been possible, so the politics included the rabble. the cowboy, and the ex-cowboy; saloon men, bartenders — some freighters, squaw men and cattle thieves represented the voters. so it happened that before the bona-fide settlers had a chance in the way of political ex- pression, they found the county organized, controlled and exploited by this ilk. but, as we have already stated, a town in the west — nor the east for that matter — is ever a town until a railway has found its way thither. the difficulty began when the survey was run. not- withstanding the fact that the county seat had been secured the homesteader by the promoters of the town in the valley of the dog ear, the surveyors, from the route they took, did not seem to have had any orders to go via of lamro, the county seat in question. on the contrary, they went smack through a section of land that had been secured in due time by the promoters who had made dallas possible as a town. where the line of the survey stretched, less than two miles northwest of the county seat, they started a town, and were now bidding the townspeople and business men of the county seat to move their building over. a bitter fight was the answer — at the start. a railroad is every- thing almost to an aspiring town, and these people were capable of appreciating the fact. as a result, the little town in the valley a few months later, was no more. an- other election was held and through the same the bona fide settlers asserted their rights and administered a severe re- buke by defeating the town in the valley and electing the new town which had been entitled winner as the county seat. nevertheless, a few people remained in what was left of the valley town. some were unable to move their build- ings, others were indifferent, while others still remained there for purposes of their own. among those who remained, there was a banker, whose little bank reposed all alone with caves and broken side- walks and all the leavings of the moved away town about. his name was crook, eugene crook, and it was common knowledge that he was fond of his name and conducted his affairs so as to justify it. 'gene crook would rather, it was said, acquire something by beating some one in a deal than to secure it honestly. he possessed an auto, and had busi- ness to the northwest of the town some fifteen or eighteen miles, and had been seen in the neighborhood quite often. eugene crook perhaps it was due in some measure to an unscrupulous character who had drawn a claim in those parts, and pre- tended to be homesteading there; but who in truth home- steaded more around the saloons of winner and crook's town than he did on the claim. his name was james j. spaight. james j. spaight, and eugene crook were very close. 'gene crook had advanced spaight considerable money to- wards his claim, and had him tied up in many ways, there- fore, they were understood cohorts. "they are never here," said spaight, jumping from the auto and sweeping his hand about over a beautiful quarter section of land, one of the finest in the county. "but i see a sod shack over in the draw," returned crook. "they have apparently called themselves establishing a residence on the land." "yes; but let me tell you," said spaight. "i can get you this piece of land — i can win it for you through contest. i know a thing or two, and i believe when we let the fellow know that we've got him dead to right, he'll weaken, and" sell it to you for a song." "well," said crook, thoughtfully, "we'll drive back to town and consult duval about it." on the way they drove by the homesteaders near and held subtle conversations with many, always in the end ascertaining how many times the people had been seen on the claim they had just left. when they returned to the town in the valley, and retired into the private office of the little bank, spaight went for duval, a lawyer, who came forthwith. he was a tall, lean creature who attracted attention by his unusual height and leanness. he, also, was one of the "left overs." he was told of the beautiful homestead, and that the claimant had l_ the homesteader been seen only a few times there, and of the proposition to contest it. "who holds the place, did you say?" inquired duval in his deep, droll voice, crossing his legs judiciously. "why, a nigger woman," said spaight. "a negro woman?" "yes, what do you think of that?" pursued spaight, his eyes widening. "i told crook that if he worked a bluff good and right he could more than likely scare them out. a nigger in a white man's country!" crook smiled; duval was thoughtful. "what's her name — this negress? is she a single woman or married?" "why, she was single when she took it, of course. but she's got married since. i think the guy she married put up the money, and that's where we have them again.'' "and the name?" inquired duval again. "oh, yes, baptiste. that's it. jean baptiste is her hus- band's name." "oh, hell!" cried duval, and spat upon the floor. "why — what's the matter?" cried crook and spaight in chorus. "i was struck with the joke." "the joke?" "yes. the bluffing." "but we don't understand?" "then you ought to. jean baptiste, huh! you'll bluff jean baptiste! say, that's funny." suddenly his face took on a cold hard expression. "why, that's one of the shrewdest, one of the wisest, one of the most forcible men in this country. have you never heard of jean baptiste? oh, you fools! he's worth forty thousand dollars — made it himself and is not over twenty-five." eugene crook "is that so?" they echoed, taken aback. "well, i should say so, and everybody in the county knows it." "but they haven't lived on the place as they should!" protested spaight, weakly. "something like yourself," laughed duval. spaight col- ored guiltily. "but i can prove it," insisted spaight. "well, in so far as that goes, i wouldn't doubt but they have not lived on the land. baptiste owns a lot of land in the county east, and the chances are that he's been so busy that his wife has neglected to stay on the claim as she should have. yes, that is quite likely." "then we can contest it?" cried spaight. "of course. you can contest any place so far as that goes." "well, that's what we intend to do. and i have the goods on him and am sure we can win." "they're all sure of that when they start," said duval, sarcastically. "but i want to disillusion you. if you con- test the place then do so with a realization of what we are up against. don't go down there with any 'rough stuff' or with a delusion that you are going to meet a weakling. go down there with the calm, considerate understanding that you are going to vie with a man all through, and that man is jean baptiste. and while i'll take the case and do what i can, before we start, i'd advise that you keep away from that fellow as much as possible." "well, now, to be frank, duval," said crook, "what do you think of it anyhow?" duval regarded him closely a moment out of his small eyes. and then spoke slowly, easily, carefully. "well, crook, being frank with you, i don't think you can beat that the homesteader fellow fairly. no one will beat jean baptiste in a fair fight. but of course," he added, "there are other ways. yes, and when the time is right — if ever, you may try the other way." chapter xi reverend mc carthy pays a visit \ "ell>" said baptiste to his wife, following the service of the summons. "we're up against a long, irksome and expensive contest case." under his observation had come many of such. only those who have homesteaded or have been closely related to such can in full appreciate the annoyance, the years of annoy- ance and uncertainty with which a contest case is fraught. great fiction has been created from such; greater could be. oh, the nerve racking, the bitterness and very often the sinister results that have grown out of one person trying to secure the place of another without the other's consent. murder has been committed times untold as a sequel — but getting back to jean baptiste and his wife. he was inclined to be more provoked than ordinarily, for the reason that by sending his wife — at least taking her to the homestead, he knew he could have avoided the contest. as a rule places are not contested altogether without a cause. he felt that it was — and it no doubt was — due to his effort to farm his own land and assist his folks in holding their claims as well. he had discovered before he married orlean that she was likely to prove much unlike his sister, who possessed the strength of her con- victions, for she was on the clinging vine order. being extremely childish, this was further augmented by a stream of letters from chicago, giving volumes of advice in re- the homesteader to socrmhir^ the adviser? bad aot a very keen idea of themselves. he also was castxced cot to expose her. so she had, in truth odj gone to her homestead when taken by him, returning when be did as weh. the fact that he had arranged in regards to the renting of his land the next season woi^d be no evidence to assist him before the bar that would hear his case. the contest against his wife's homestead did not, of course alter his plans in any way. he would continue along the lines he had started. but there were other things that came to annoy him at the same time. chiefly among these was his wife's father. always there had to be some ado when it came to him. he had reared his daughter, as be- fore intimated, to consider him of the world's greatest men — especially the negro race's, and to avoid friction, baptiste came gradually to see that he would almost have to be beholden unto this creature in whom he was positively not very deeply interested. x. justine mccarthy's accomplishments were of a nature which baptiste would rather have avoided. the fact that he had been a presiding elder in one of the leading denomi- nations of negro churches out of which he managed to filch about a thousand a year, was in a measure foreign to his son-in-law. and the reverend was not an informed or practical man. the truth was that all the pretensions made to the elder, nattering him into feeling he was a great man, jean baptiste came to regard as a deliberate fawning to natter an extreme vanity. far from being even practical, n. j. mccarthy was by disposition, environment and cultivation, narrow, impractical, hypocritical, envious and spiteful. as to how much he was so, not even did jean baptiste fully realize at the time, but came to learn later from experience. reverend mccarthy pays a visit he was expected in early october. the hearing of the contest was to convene a few days later, so as a greeting to his majesty, he was to be given an opportunity to see orlean on the stand and mercilessly grilled by non-senti- mental lawyers. baptiste was appreciative of what might result, and wished the visit could have been deferred for a while. another source of irritation continually, was ethel's let- ters, and his wife's nervousness over the child that was to come. for the first time in her life she had been dis- obedient. secretly she had, after many misgivings, fears and indecisions, brewed a tea from the weed as per ethel's prescription — but in vain! later, the guilt, the never-to-be- forgotten guilt; the unborn child that refused the poison, seemed to haunt her. and she could not tell her husband. but this was not all. ethel's letters continued to come, filled with the same advice; the same suggestions; the same condemnation of motherhood — and she was compelled to keep it all a hopeless secret from the man she had sworn to love and obey. one thing was agreed upon, they decided not to inform the elder — at least, in so far as orlean was concerned, she left it to jean, and jean, with as many troubles as he cared for and more, to deal with, was becoming perceptibly irri- tant. so with this state of affairs prevailing, the reverend finally arrived for his long anticipated visit. the letter advising the day he would arrive did not hap- pen to reach them in time to meet him. accordingly, neither was at the station to greet him, but, recalling that baptiste had spoken of the freedom and no narrow pre- judices and customs to irk one, the elder went forthwith to the leading hotel in gregory where he was accordeo. considerable attention as a guest. this indeed satisfied his the homesteader vanity, and he was taken much notice of by those about because of his distinguished appearance. a fact that he seldom ever lost sight of. but baptiste happened to be in town that night on horse- back, and when the train had come and gone, he inquired carelessly of a fellow he met, and who had come in on the train, if he had seen a colored man aboard. "yes," said the other. "an elderly man, very dis- tinguished looking." "my father-in-law!" ejaculated baptiste, and went forth- with to the hotel to find his erstwhile compatriot very much at ease among those filling the place. "and it's a great way to greet me," exclaimed the rever- end, cheerfully, upon seeing him. baptiste made haste to explain that he had not been aware of the day when he would arrive. "oh, that's all right, my son," said the other heartily. "andhowisorlean?" "fine! she'll be tickled to death to see you." "and i her." the old gent was very cheerful. such a trip was much to him. a life spent among the simple black people to whom he preached afforded little contrast compared with what was about him now. and, pompous by disposition, he was thrilled by the diversity. baptiste decided thereupon to try to make his sojourn an agreeable one. "now, there is an old neighbor of mine in town with a buggy, and i'll see him and figure to have him take you out with him, as i am in on horseback." "very well," returned the elder, and baptiste went for the neighbor who happened to be a german with a very conspicuous voice. he found him at a saloon where the reverend mccarthy pays a visit old scout was pretty well "pickled" from imbibing too freely in red liquor. "sure thing," he roared in his big voice when baptiste stated his errand. "bring him down here and i'll buy him a drink." "but he's a preacher," cautioned baptiste with a laugh. "a preacher! well, i'll be damned!" exclaimed the german, humorously. whereupon he ordered drinks for the house, and two for himself. baptiste grinned. "i shall now depart," essayed the german, swaying not too steadily before the bar, and raising his glass, "to be- come sanctimonious and good," and drained his glass. the crowd roared. "where is he?" called the german loudly, as he drew his team to a stop before the hotel. baptiste got out, went in and called to the reverend. the other came forward quickly, carrying his bags and other accessories. "ah-ha!" roared the german from the buggy, sociably, "so there you are!" "why — jean — the man is — drunk, is he not?" whis- pered the elder. "but he's alright — gets that way when he comes to town, but is perfectly safe withal." the reverend stood for a moment, regarding the other dubiously. "come on, brother, and meet me!" called the german again in a voice sufficiently loud almost to awaken the dead. "but, jean," said the reverend, lowly but apprehen- sively, "i don't know whether i want to ride with a drunken man or not." now it happened that the german's ears were very keen, and he overheard the elder's remark, so without ceremony, and while the reverend hesitated on the pave- the homesteader ment, the german who did not like to be referred to as drunk, roared: "ah-ha! naw, naw, naw! you don't have to ride with me! naw, naw, naw!" and turning his horses about, he went back to the saloon where his voice rang forth a minute later in a raucous tune as he unloaded another schooner. the reverend beat a hasty retreat back into the hotel, while baptiste called after him: "i'll send orlean for you in the morning," and went to look up his neighbor who had made himself so conspicu- ous. "well, now, if this doesn't beat all," cried the reverend when he had kissed his daughter the following morning and they were spinning along the road on the way to the farm. "i would never have believed three months ago had some one said you could and would be driving these mules!" "oh, i have driven them fifty miles in a day — john!" she called suddenly to the off mule who was given to mis- chievous tricks. "well, well," commented the reverend, "but it certainly beats all." she was cheered and pleased to demonstrate what she had learned. they sailed along the country side in the autumn air, and talked of home, ethel, her mother, glavis and jean. they came presently to baptiste's homestead and viewed with great delight the admirable tract of land that stretched before them. she talked on cheerfully and told her father all that had passed, of how happy they were, but said nothing about her prospects of becoming a mother. when they had passed her husband's homestead and were nearing a corner where they must turn to reach reverend mccarthy pays a visit the house in which they were living, they passed an auto- mobile carrying two men. they bowed lightly and the men returned it. when they had gotten out of hearing dis- tance, one of the men whispered to the other: "that's her!" 'gene crook thereupon turned and looked after the re- treating figure of the girl in the buggy whose place he had determined to secure through subtle methods. but not even 'gene crook himself conceived of the unusual circumstances that came to pass and brought him on a visit to these self- same people, later. chapter xii reverend mc carthy decides to set baptiste right, but — * *" w t ow the first thing, daughter," said the rever- ^u end, "when jean comes and you have the time, •^ is to go up and see your claim." orlean swal- lowed, and started to tell him that it was contested; but on second thought, decided to leave the task to her hus- band, and said instead: "i have a fine claim, papa. jean says it is the best piece of land we have." "now isn't that fine!" "it is," orlean said, thinking of her husband. "your husband has a plenty, my dear, and we have been surprised that you have not been sending money to chicago to have us buy something for you." orlean swallowed again and started to speak; to say that while her husband was a heavy land holder, the crops had not been the best the year before and were not as good this year as he had hoped for. then she thought jean could explain this better, also, instead she said: "i — i haven't wanted for anything, papa." "no, perhaps not. but you know papa always thinks of his baby; always buys her litle things and so on, you know." he paused, regarded her and the dress she wore. he rec- ognized it as one that she had bought just before she had gotten married — forgetting that jean baptiste had paid for it — and said: reverend mccarthy decides "and you have on the same dress you wore away from chicago! indeed, and that is a spring dress! why do you not wear some of your summer dresses? some you have bought since you have been married?" "i haven't bought — my husband hasn't — i haven't needed any more clothes, really," she argued falteringly. he saw that she was keeping something back, and pur- sued: "why, dear, what do you mean! you don't mean to say that jean hasn't bought you any dresses since he mar- ried you, and him owning so much land!" "but i haven't needed any, papa — i have not asked him for any." he looked at her keenly. he saw that she was shielding the man she married, but with this he had no patience. "now, now, my dear. jean ought not to treat my girl like that. he ought to buy you lots of things, and pretty things. i'm rather inclined to think he is miserly — have rather felt he was all the time." he paused briefly, posed in the way he did when preaching, and then went on. "yes, you are sacrificing a great deal by coming away out here in a new country and living with him. yes, yes, my dear. you see you are deprived of many conveniences; conven- iences that you have been accustomed to." he looked around the little house; at its floor with only rugs, and its simple furniture. "just compare this to the home you came out of. the good home. yes, yes. i'm afraid that — that the rough life your husband has been living rather makes him forget the conventions my daughter has been ac- customed to. yes, i think so. i'm afraid i'll have to kind of — a — bring such to his attention that he might see his duty. yes, my dear—" reverend mccarthy decides wrong, abused or accused, the rule was to praise and flatter him notwithstanding. and at such times they could depend on him to do much for them. but she found her voice. jean baptiste was her husband, and she was not ungrate- ful. he gave her real love and husbandry, and it was per- haps her woman's nature to speak in defense of her mate. so she said: "but jean is not like glavis, papa. they are two dif- ferent men entirely." "well, yes, my dear," he said slowly, his dark face tak- ing on a peculiar — and not very pleasant expression, " i'm afraid i will have to agree with you. yes. they are dif- ferent. glavis is a fine boy, though. don't own a thousand acres of land, but certainly takes care of home like a man. no, no. i never have to worry about anything. just come home every few months to see that everything is all right — and find it so. yes, that is glavis. while jean," and his mind went quickly back to an incident that had hap- pened twenty-one years before, "is rather set in his ways. yes, very much so, i fear. that is one of his failings. some people would call it hard headed, but i should not quite call it that. no. then, again," he paused a moment, looked at the floor and looked up. "he's crazy to get rich. you see, dear—of course you don't know that. not old enough. that's where your father has the advantage over you — and jean also. he's older. it's bad when a man is ambitious to get rich, for he is liable to work himself and his wife to death. jean's liable to do that with you. not like your old father, you know." "here he comes now," she cried excitedly, going quickly to the kitchen and making a fire and starting the meal. her father looked after her. he looked out the window to where his son-in-law was unhitching his horses. he looked the homesteader back to where his daughter was working nervously over the stove, and muttered to himself. "has her trained to run like something frightened at his approach. that'.s the same spirit i tried to conquer twenty-one years ago and it is still in him. m-m. i'll have to look after that disposition." and with that he went .outside to where his daughter's husband worked. "hello, reverend," called jean cheerfully. the "rev- erend" darkened and glowered unseen. he did not like that term of address. glavis called him "father." that was better. but he returned apparently as cheerful: "hello, my boy. so you are home to dinner?" "yes. guess it's ready. she is very prompt about hav- ing my meals on time. yes. orlean is a good girl, and ap- preciates that i believe in always being on time," he rat- tled off. "and how are the crops?" "not so good, not so good, i regret to say," said jean moodily. "no "to be truthful, it is the poorest crop i have ever raised. yes," he mused as if to himself. "and i need a good crop this year worse than i have ever needed one. yes, i sure do. "indeed so. got lots of expense. borrowed ten thou- sand dollars to buy that land out there in tripp county, and have none of it producing anything. and on top of that a guy comes along and slaps a contest on orlean's place, and so i have that on my hands in addition to all the other burdens. so, believe me, it keeps me hopping." "a contest on orlean's place? what does that mean?" "does that mean! but of course you couldn't under- stand," whereat, baptiste tried to explain to him what it meant. "so you see you find us with our troubles." the rev- reverend mccarthy decides erend made no reply to this. indeed, he had never been able to reply to jean baptiste. in the first place, the man was ever too hurried; moreover, he understood so little regard- ing practical business matters until their relations had never been congenial. when jean had watered and fed his teams he came back to where the elder stood and said: "well, judge, we'll go in to dinner." now the rever- end was almost upset. such flat expressions! such a lit- tle regard for his caste. horrid! he started to speak to him regarding his lack of manners, but that one had his face in the tub where the horses had drank, washing him- self eagerly. when he was through, he drew water from the well, and pouring it into a wash basin rinsed him- self, and called for the towel. no sooner had he done so than out of the house came orlean with the goods. "wash up," cried baptiste, pointing to the horse tub. "jean i" called his wife remonstratingly. "you forget yourself. asking papa to 'wash where the horses have drank! you must be more thoughtful!" baptiste laughed. "beg pardon, colonel. you see this open life has made me — er — rather informal. but you'll get used to and like it with time. wash up and let's eat!" "he's wild, just wild!" muttered the reverend, as he followed them into the house. chapter xiii the wolf ) elder," said baptiste, getting up from the table without going through the usual formalities of resting a few minutes after the meal. "i've bought a building in town that i'm going to move onto orlean's place. i'm preparing to jack it up and load it, so if you would like to come along, very well, we'll be glad to have you. but it's rather a rough, hard task, i'll admit." "now, now, son," started the reverend, holding back his exasperation with difficulty. his son-in-law had never addressed him more than once by the same name. it was either colonel, judge, reverend, elder, or some other burlesque title in the sense used. he wanted to tell him that he should call him father, but before he had a chance to do so, that worthy had bounced out of the room and was heard from the barn. the reverend looked after him with a glare. "dreadful!" he exclaimed when the other was out of hearing distance. "what, papa?" inquired his daughter, regarding him questioningly. she had become accustomed to jean's ways and did not understand her father's exclamation. "why, the man! your husband!" "jean?" "such rough ways!" the wolf "oh," she exclaimed. "that's his way. he has al- ways lived alone, you know. and is so ambitious. is really compelled to hurry a little because he has so much to do." "well, i never saw the like. i'm afraid he and ethel would never get along very well. no, he — is rather un- usual" "oh, father. you must pay no attention to that! jean is a fine fellow, a likeable man, and is loved by every one who knows him," she argued, trying to discourage her father's mood to complain. she had never been able to bring her father and husband very close. perhaps it was because of their being so far apart in all that made them; but she was aware that jean had never flattered her father, and that was very grave! no relation had ever risked that. her father was accustomed to being flattered by everybody who was an intimate of the family, and jean baptiste had come into the family, married her, and ap- parently forgot to tell the reverend that he was a great man. moreover, from what she knew of her husband, he was not likely to do so. her mother had tried to have baptiste see it, she recalled, her little mother of whom baptiste was very fond of. as has been stated it was gen- erally known that her father was not very kind and patient, with her mother, and never had been. it was, moreover, no secret that her father was unusually friendly with mrs. pruitt. but she was not supposed to let on that she was aware of such. if she was — and she certainly was — she did not mention the fact. jean bap- tiste knew of the reverend's subtle practices, and in his mind condemned rather than admired him therefor. he knew that the elder expected to be praised in spite of all these things. now what would it all come to? the homesteader this thought was passing through orlean's mind when she heard her father again: "now, he said something about a contest." she caught her breath quickly, swallowed, changed color, and then managed, hardly above a whisper, to say: "oh!" "i don't understand. and he never takes the time to ex- plain anything. seems to take for granted that everybody should know, and tries to know it all himself, and it makes it very awkward," he said complainingly. "it's all my fault, papa," orlean admitted falteringly. "your fault!" the other exclaimed, not understand- ing. "yes," she breathed with eyes downcast. "and what do you mean? how can it be your fault when you have sacrificed the nice home in chicago for this wilderness?" "but, papa," she faltered. "you have never been west before. you — you don't understand!" "don't understand!" cried the reverend, anger and im- patience evident. "what is there to understand about this wilderness?" "oh, papa," she cried, now beseechingly. "you —" she halted and swallowed what she had started to say. and what she had started to say was, that if he kept on like he had started, he would make it very difficult for her to be loyal to her husband and obedient to him as she had always been; as she was trying to be. perhaps it was be- coming difficult for her already. subservience to her father, who insisted upon it, and obedience and loyalty to her husband who had a right and naturally expected it. it was difficult, and she was a weak willed person. already her courage was failing her and she was beginning to sigh. the wolf "it is very hard on my daughter, i fear," said the elder, his face now full of emotion and self pity. "i worked all my life to raise my two darlings, and it grieves me to see one of them being ground down by a man." "oh, father, my husband is not cruel to me. he has never said an unkind word. he is just as good to me as a man can be — and i love him." this would have been sufficient to have satisfied and pacified any man, even one so unscrupulous. but it happens that in our story we have met one who is considerably different from the ordinary man. the substance of n. justine mccarthy's vanity had never been fully estimated — not even by himself. orlean did not recall then, that since she had been married she had not written her father and repeated what a great man.he was. she had, on the other hand, written and told him what a great man her husband was. in her simplicity, she felt it was expected of her to tell that one or the other was great. but here she had encountered discouragement. her husband apparently was considerably opposed to flat- tery. and she had difficulty to have him see that it was an evidence of faith on her part. but her husband had not seen it that way. he had disimissed it as a waste of time, and had gradually used his influence with her to other ends; to the road they were following; the road to ultimate suc- cess, which could only be achieved by grim, practical methods. and that was one of his words, practical. but her father was speaking again. "now i wish you would explain how you could be at fault for this contest upon your place, and why your hus- band accuses you of such?" "but jean does not accuse me of being at fault, father," she defended weakly. "i accuse myself. and if you will be just a little patient," she begged almost in tears, "i'll the homesteader explain." he frowned in his usual way, while she sighed unheard, and then fell to the task before her. "it is like this," she began with an effort at self control. "jean has not wished to ask me to stay on my claim alone as his sister and grandmother have done, you see." "oh, so he has them living out there alone like cattle, helping him to get rich!" "they do not live like cattle, father," she defended in the patient manner she had been trained to. "they have a horse and buggy that he has furnished them, and get all their needs at the stores which is charged to him. they have good neighbors, awfully nice white people — women, too, who live alone on their claims as his sister and grand- mother are doing." "but they are not like you, daughter. those are all rough people. you cannot live like them. you have been accustomed to something." she sighed unheard again and did not try to explain to his majesty that most of the people — women included — were in a majority from the best homes in the east, as well as families; that many had wealth where she had none; and that jean's sister had been graduated from high school and was very intelligent. it was difficult, and she knew it, to explain anything to her father; but she would endeavor to tell him of the contest. "well, father, since i was not on my place as i should have been, a man contested it, and now we must fight it out, jean says, so that is it." "m-m-m," sighed that one. "he's going to kill you out here to make him rich. and then when you are dead and —" "please, don't, father," she almost screamed. she knew he was going to say: "and in your grave, he will marry from a painting by \v. m. farrow. "he's going to kill you out here to make him rich, and then when you are dead and"—"please don't, father!" she almost screamed. she knew he was going to say: "in your grave, he will marry an- other woman to enjoy what you have died for," but she could not quite listen to that. the wolf another woman and bring her in to enjoy what you have died for." but she could not quite listen to that. it was not fair. it was not fair to her and it was not fair to jean. she was surprised at the way she felt. she for- got also, and for his benefit, that they had never been very happy at home when he was in chicago. they had only pretended to be. it had been because of him being away all the time and their relation having been confined to letters that they had been contented. but orlean had made herself believe for this occasion that when he came to visit, they were going to have a really pleasant time. and now so soon she was simply worn out. she had be- come more sensitive of her tasks in life than it had oc- curred to her she could ever be. for the first time she was getting the idea that, after all they were burdensome. "wouldn't you like to go to town, papa?" she cried, trying to be jolly. "jean is ready now, and please come along and see the nice little house he has bought and is going to move on my claim." she was so cheerful, so anxious to have him enjoy his visit that his vanity for once took a back seat, and a few minutes later they were driving into gregory. as they drove along baptiste told of what he was doing; discussing at length the west and what was being done toward its development. when they arrived in the town they approached the small but well made little building that he had purchased for $ , and went inside. "awfully small, my boy," said the reverend, as they looked around. "of course," admitted baptiste. "but it is not practical to invest in big houses in the beginning, you know. we must first build a good big barn, and that, i cannot even- as yet afford." the homesteader "places his horses before his wife, of course," muttered the reverend, but obligingly unheard. "and you say you intend to move it. where? not away down on that farm southeast?" he said, standing out- side and looking up at the building. "oh, no," baptiste returned shortly. "onto orlean's place, west of here." "oh. how far is that?" "not so far. about fifty miles." "good lord!" and the reverend could say no more. chapter xiv the contest moving a building fifty miles across even a prairie is not an easy task, and before jean baptiste reached his wife's homestead with the building he had purchased, he had suffered much grief. and with the reverend along, ever ready to keep their minds alive to the fact, it was made no easier. but because he was so chronic, he was left to grumble while his son-in-law la- bored almost to distraction into getting the building to the place before he would be compelled to turn back and face the contest which was scheduled for an early hearing. they succeeded in getting it within twenty miles of the claim when they were compelled to abandon the task for the time and return to gregory to fight the contest. this developed at times into a rather heated argument, and a prolonged one that tried the patience of all, dragging over a period of three days. it became obvious during the proceedings that the contestant and his cohorts desired as much as possible to keep away from baptiste and on the other hand to concentrate their cross-fire upon his wife. but, ex- pecting this, they found, him on his guard, countering them at every angle, and, assisted by an able land attorney, he was successful in upsetting in a large way, their many subtle and well laid plans, causing them to fail in making the showing they had expected to. to begin with their corroborating witness, james j. spaight, developed before the close to more definitely cor- the homesteader roborate for the defense. he had come to the trial with false testimony prepared, and had, under a fusillade of cross-examinations, broken down and impaired and weak- ened the prosectuion. in all such cases the one contesting is placed at a moral disadvantage, and the fact that crook was a banker, fully able to have purchased relinquishment as others over all the county had done, was ever in the wit- ness' mind, and did not help his case. baptiste's wife proved much stronger after the first day. this was due largely to the fact that her father had been present on the first day, and had kept her so much alive to what she was sacrificing in struggling to assist her husband in his am- bition to be rich, until she was perceptibly weak. the time limit on his ticket having about expired he had been com- pelled to return to chicago the morning of the second day of the trial. it was the consensus of opinion that she would retain her claim, though with so many cases to consider, it was ob- vious that it would take many months, and possibly a year to get a hearing — that is, before the officers of the local land offices could settle the case. this done, jean baptiste returned and completed moving the house on the claim, fixed it up, dug a well, fenced in a small pasture and returned to gather his corn which amounted to about half a crop. so time passed and the holidays approached and another phase in their relations took shape when the reverend in- sisted that they come to chicago to spend the holidays. it was very annoying. orlean was expecting to become a mother in the early spring, and because they had never in- formed him of the fact, it brought considerable embarrass- ment to all. it was difficult to explain to his majesty that they would the contest not come into the city for the holidays. the elder had in- sisted that he would send them tickets, and because jean baptiste had scoffed at the idea, trouble was brewing as a result. it was then he lost his patience. "can your father not understand, orlean," he com- plained, with a deep frown, "that i cannot accept his char- ity? because i have made up my mind not to go to chicago, does not mean that i am not able to purchase our trans- portations there and back. it's the expense of the trip and what goes with it that has caused me to decide to dispense with it. but it's almost useless to try to reason anything with him,-and i'll not waste the effort." whereupon he would say no more. he was having troubles of his own. he owed ten thou- sand dollars, and upon this, interest accrued every few months, and the rate was high. besides, he had other press- ing bills, and the grain he had raised was bringing very low prices. therefore, he was in no mood to dally with a pov- erty poor preacher whose offer was more to show himself off and place baptiste in a compromising position, than his desire for them to be home. he made no effort to appreciate the sentiments or to understand jean baptiste. and the fact that his daughter loved her husband and was willing to help him seemed to be lost sight of by n. justine mccarthy. being accustomed to having people flatter him as a rule, was so engraved in his shallow nature, that he was unable to see matters from a liberal point of view. their relations reached a climax when orlean was with his sister on the claim a few days before the yuletide. baptiste received a letter addressed to her from the elder. thinking that, since she was on the claim, it might be some- thing urgent, he opened it. it was urgent. it contained a money order covering the price of a ticket to chicago with the homesteader a trite note that he expected her soon, and that he, her hus- band, could come on later. we shall not attempt to describe the anger that came over jean baptiste then. and, as is most likely the case when a man is angry, he does the thing he most likely would not do when his feelings are under control. with hands that trembled with anger, he turned the note over, wrote in a few words that he had denned his position with regards to com- ing to chicago; that he would be obliged if the other would mind his own business; that he had married his wife and was trying to be a husband in every way to her; but that he was running his house, and was therefore returning the money therewith. it served as a declaration of the war between the two that had been impending for months. we are too well ac- quainted with their regard for each other, so upon this we will not dwell; but upon receipt of baptiste's letter, the reverend sang his anger in a letter that fairly scorched the envelope in which it was enclosed. he threatened to turn the world over, and set it right again if the other did not do thus and so. to the threats, baptiste made no reply. in a measure he was relieved; he had at last made his posi- tion clear to the other, and his wife, of course, was with him in the controversy. in view therefore, of the manner in which she had been trained, this made matters rather awkward. the yield of crops had not been one half the average, and it took almost all he had made to pay the in- terest, taxes and expenses. baptiste was not cheerful; but orlean was to become a mother, and he was a practical man. so together they passed a happy xmas after all. in fact the only cloud upon their horizon of happiness was her father. evidently he voiced what he had done to near friends, chapter xv compromised "t"\lease don't go, jean," she begged. "i don't r^ want you to go. stay with me." -*• "now, orlean," he said gently. "i have such a lot of work to do. i will go, tear down some of the old buildings on the homestead and be back before many days." she cried for a time while he held her in his arms. cry- ing was nothing new with her. as the time for her deliv- ery drew near, she was given to such spells. he was patient. after a few moments she dried her eys and said: "well, dear, you can go. but hurry back. i want you to be home then, you understand." "of course i want to be home then, wifey, and sure want it to be a boy." "it will be a boy, jean," she said with a strange confi- dence. "i believe it. i am sure it will." "i shall love you always then, my wife. all our cares and burdens will vanish into the air, and we shall be as happy as the angels." "oh, jean, you can make life seem so light." "life should be made to appear light, sweetheart," he said, caressing her. "grandmother will be here with you and if you need for anything, draw a check and have the neighbors below bring it out. it is only three miles over the hill to carter, you understand." "by the way, dear," she said suddenly, going into the bedroom, and returning presently with a letter. "this is compromised from mama. she writes that they have never told papa yet, and hopes that nothing serious will happen for then she would never — we would never be forgiven by him." "dear little mother mary," he said fondly. "i hope nothing will happen, orlean, for our sakes." and then he paused. he had started to say that he was not worried about her father's forgiveness. he had lost what little patience he had ever had with that one, and did not pro- pose to be annoyed with his love, the love that he had to be continually making excuses and apologies to entertain. but before he had spoken he thought better of it, and decided to say nothing about it. his wife had been trained to re- gard her father as a king, and because he had succeeded in letting her see that after all he was just a negro preacher with the most that went with negro preachers in him, she had at last ceased to bore him with telling him how great her father was. they were at her claim, and he was about to depart for his original homestead to clean up work preparatory to moving onto her claim permanently as he had intended to do. already his wagons with horses hitched thereto stood near, and he was only lingering for a few parting words with her. "i am kind of sorry we placed mother in this position," he heard her say as if talking more to herself than he. "in what position, orlean?" "in keeping this a secret." "from your father, you mean?" said he, frowning. "yes." "well, orlean, i have tried to be a husband to you." "and you have been, jean." "then it is our business if i chose to keep such a secret." the homesteader "yes, jean," she said, lowering her eyes and thinking. "but the one burden of our married life has been your father. i never anticipated that his love would be such a burden. ever since we have been married we have had to waste our substance on fear over what he will think. he seems to lose sight of a husband's sentiment or right. i can fancy him in my position with regard to your mother before they had been married long. my god, if any father or mother would have ventured any suggestion as to how they should live or what they should do i can see him!" his wife laughed. "have i spoken rightly?" "yes," she agreed and was momentarily amused. "yes. but he just makes our life a burden with his kind of love. now take this matter for instance. why should we be keeping this a secret from him — rather, why should i? it's just simply because i have too much other cares to be annoyed with a whole lot of to-do on his part. if he knew you were going to become a mother, he would just make our life unbearable with his insistences and love. your mother knows it, and ethel. ethel who would have had you dispose of that innocent, knows it and keeps it from him, with fear all the while of what will come of it, should anything happen. "now, i'll say this much. i don't propose to make any excuses to him about anything i do or have you do hereafter. i'm going to be husband and master, and have nothing to do with what he does with regard to your mother. as long as i am good and kind to you, and don't neglect you, then i have a right, and positively will not be annoyed even by your father!" "please hush, jean," she begged, her arms about him. but he was aroused. he had made himself forget as he compromised should have forgotten the punishment he had been given twenty-two years before. but he did not like the man's conduct. everywhere and with everybody back in illinois who knew n. justine mccarthy, he was regarded as an acknowledged rascal. "just look how he treats your mother!" she pulled at him and tried to still his voice; but speak he would. "if i was ever guilty of treating you as your father has treated your mother ever since he married her, i hope the christ will sink my soul into the bottom-most pit of hell!" "jean, my god, please hush!" "but i speak the truth and you know it. would you like to look forward and feel that you had to go through all your life what your mother has endured?" "oh, no, no, no! but you must hush, jean, in heaven's name, hush." he did then. the storm that had come over him had spent its force and he kissed her, turned then, went to where his teams stood, got into the front wagon, and looking back, drove upon his way. "poor jean," murmured orlean. "father and he will never be friends and it makes it so hard for me." she con- tinued to stand where he left her, looking after him until he had disappeared over the hills to the east. arriving at gregory late that afternoon, jean found a lyceum concert, the number consisting of negroes, one of whom, a girl, he had known some years before, for she had lived next door to where he then roomed. he attended and afterward renewed their acquaintance. it so happened that a lumber company was going out of business in the next town east from gregory, and some coal sheds there were for sale. desiring something of the kind to use as a granary on his wife's claim, baptiste journeyed hither the following day to look the same over. the homesteader now it also happened that the same concenters were billed for the same town for an evening performance of that day. the day after being sunday, and the company laying over until monday, the days were passed together, with baptiste scheduled to go out to his old place sunday night. it was a cheer to revive old acquaintances; to talk of chicago and olden days with those who still lived there. it was a cheer to all, but jean baptiste had cause to regret it as we shall later see. in the meantime, he went to his old place as per schedule, returning to the little town the following morning, where he purchased a hundred foot shed and prepared to move it to his wife's claim forthwith. a few miles only had been traversed before an intermit- tent thaw set in, the soft uncertain surface of the earth making it hazardous to pull a heavy load over. so when he reached his old place, he decided to leave it there, tear down his old granary and haul the lumber instead. while in this act, his sister, who had been on a visit to kansas, returned, and worried with regards to his wife, alone with his grandma out on the homestead, he hurried her therewith at once. the next day he was relieved to receive a letter from orlean, advising that she was well, but to come home as soon as possible. a week had passed and saturday was upon him again be- fore he was ready to make a start. now there often comes in the springtime in the west, severe winds that may blow unchecked for days. and one came up just as jean baptiste had set out, and blew a terrific gale. it almost upset his wagons, and made driving very difficult. this was aug- mented further, because the wind was right in his face, and there was no way to avoid it. however, he finally reached a town about eleven miles west of dallas, by the name of colome that day. the next morning the wind had gone compromised down and the day was beautiful, and he was cheered to think he could reach home that day, by getting started early. but bad luck was with jean baptiste that day, which was sunday, and when he was going down a hill, the wagon struck a rocky place, bounced, and the right front wheel rolled out ahead of him. the axle had broken, and his load went down with a crash. he went to a house he saw near, secured a wagon, and there met a man who had known his father, and had lived and run a newspaper in the same town near where he was born twenty-six years before. he wasted hours getting his load transferred to another wagon, and finally got started again. but not two miles had been covered before the coupling pole snapped, and his loads almost went down again. what trick of fate was playing him, he wondered, and swore viciously. hours it took before the break was repaired, and he pulled into winner, eighteen miles from home, late that night. early morning found him, however, resolutely on the way. he had covered about half the distance when he met a man who lived neighbor to him on his wife's claim, who told him he had tried to get him on the 'phone saturday, at gregory and again at dallas; that his wife had given birth to a baby which had come into the world dead, on a saturday. he almost tumbled from the wagon when he heard this. "dead!" he repeated. finally he heard himself speaking, and in a voice that seemed to come from far away: "ah — well — did my wife have — attention?" "oh, yes," said the other. "your sister, and two doc- tors. yes, she had all the attention necessary. but i'm sorry for you, old man. it was sure a big, fine kid. she the homesteader couldn't give it birth, so they had to kill it in order to save her life." he started to resume his journey east, while baptiste, now with unstrung nerves, started to resume his way west. but before his horses had gone many steps he suddenly drew them down to a halt, and, turning, heard the other call out: "i went to carter and sent her father a telegram as per a request of hers. i suppose it was all right," and con- tinued on his way. "to him!" cried baptiste inaudibly. "to him!" he repeated. "to him no doubt, that the baby — which he had not known was to be, had come and — dead!" mechanically he drove upon his way. he did not think, he did not speak. he said nothing for a long, long time; but down in his heart jean baptiste knew that he was com- ing nearer to the parting of the zvays. back in old illinois n. justine mccarthy, upon receiving the telegram, he realized would in all probability depart at the earliest convenience for the west. and when he ar- rived, would learn still more than the message had told; would learn that he had been absent when his wife had given birth to the dead baby. oh, his child, why could it not have lived. . . . yes, she had had all the attention that was possible; but such would not be credited by n. justine mccarthy. the fact that not every man had found it possible to be present at the bedside of thtir wives when children came, would not be considered by n. justine mc- carthy. the fact that he himself had been absent when his own orlean came into the world would be no counter here. jean baptiste's absence at the critical time would serve as an excuse for the reverend to vent his spite, and he would demand a toll. jean baptiste was compromised, and would have to make a sacrifice. . . . chapter xvi the evil genius "/^\h> jean," breathed orlean, from the bed, " where m have you been?" ^•^ he had come unto the house then, and the man in him was much downcast. he was, and had cause to feel discouraged, sorrowful and sad. so he explained to the one who lay upon the bed where he had been, and what had happened to him, and why he had been delayed. she sighed when he was through and was sorry. for a long time he was on his knees at the bedside, and when an hour had passed, she reached and placed her arm about his neck, and was thankful that he was spared to her, and they would live on hopeful; but both felt their loss deeply. "i sent papa a telegram," she said presently. because he knew he made no answer. he knew the other would come, and he was resigned as to what would follow. she sighed again. perhaps it was because she knew and also feared what was to follow. . . . she had not known her father her lifetime without knowing what must happen. but she loved her husband, and now in the weak state the delivery had left her she was struggling to withstand the subtle at- tack her father was sure to make. two days passed, and she was progressing toward health as well as could be expected. since her marriage her health on the whole had improved wonderfully. the petty aches and pains of which she complained formerly had aw o the homesteader gradually disappeared, and the western air had brought health and vigor to her. and then on the third day he arrived. moreover, he brought ethel with him. they rode over the hill that led to the claim in a hired rig, and baptiste espied them as soon as they were in sight. our pen cannot describe what jean baptiste read in the eyes of n. j. mccarthy when he alighted from the buggy and went into the house. but suffice to say, that what had passed twenty-two years before had come back. there was to be war between them and as it had been then baptiste was at a disadvantage, and must necessarily accept the inevitable. ethel was crying, and her tears meant more than words. she had never cried for love. it had always been some- thing to the contrary. but we must turn to the one in bed — and helpless! she saw her father when he stepped from the buggy, and understood what he carried behind his masklike face. he did not allow his eyes to rest on jean baptiste, and she noted this. she settled back upon the pillow, and tried to compose herself for the event that was to be. her hus- band was compromised, and could not defend himself. . . . therefore it fell upon her and from the sick bed to defend him. he was inside the house now, and came toward her, and she was frightened when he was near and saw his face and what it held. hatred within was there and she shuddered audibly. she closed her eyes to shut it out. oh, the agony that came over her. she opened her eyes when his lips touched hers, and then began the struggle that was to be hers. "papa," she whispered, and in her voice there was a great appeal. "don't blame jean. jean has burdens, he has re- the evil genius sponsibilities — he's all tied up! he's good to me, he loves me, he gives me all he has." but before she had finished, she knew that her appeal had fallen upon deaf ears. her father had come — and he had brought a purpose to be ful- filled. he caressed her; he said many foolish things, and she pretended to believe him; she made as if his coming had meant the saving of her life; but she knew behind all he pretended was the evil, the evil that was his nature, and the fear that filled her breast made her weaker; made her sick. the doctor had said that she would be able to leave the bed in ten days, probably a week; but now with grim realiza- tion of what was before her she became weak, weaker, weakest. and all the time she saw that it was being charged to jean baptiste, and to his neglect. we should perhaps try to make clear at this point in this story that jean baptiste could have settled matters in a very simple manner. . . . true, the manner in which he could have settled it, would be the manner in which wars could be avoided — by sacrificing principle. he could have gone to his majesty and played a traitor to his nature by pretending to believe the elder had been right and justified in everything; whereas, he, jean baptiste, had been as duly wrong. he could have acted in such a manner as to have his majesty feel that he was a great man, that he had been honored by even knowing him, much less in being privileged to marry his daughter. this, in view of the fact that hav- ing been absent from her bedside at that crucial time, he was compromised, would have satisfied the elder, and baptiste would not have been compelled to forego all that later came to pass in their relations. but jean baptiste had a princi- ple, and was not a liar, nor a coward, nor a thief. and, al- the homesteader though, he had been so unfortunte as not to have been by the bedside of his wife during that hour, he could have senti- mentally appeased his father-in-law, but jean baptiste had not nor will he ever in the development of this story, sink so low. of what was to come — and the most is — in this story, jean baptiste at no time sacrificed his manhood for any cause. n. justine mccarthy, and this is true of too many of his race and to this cause may be attributed many of their failures, was not a reader. he never read anything but the newspapers briefly and the bible a little. he was, there- fore, not an informed man. as a result he took little in- terest in, and appreciated less, what the world is thinking and doing. he had never understood because he had not tried, what the people around where jean baptiste had come were doing for posterity. yet he claimed very loudly to be an apostle of the race — to be willing — and was — sacri- ficing his very soul for the cause of ethiopia. he took great pride in telling and retelling how he had sacrificed for his family — wife included. as he was heard by others, he had no faults; could do no wrong, and would surely reach heaven in the end! so while they lingered at the bedside of orlean, he and ethel, as a pastime argued with each other, and involved everybody but themselves with wrongs. for instance, the reverend, affecting much piety, would in discussing his wife, whom he ever did in terms regarding her faults, find occasion to remark in a burst of self pity — and of self pity he had an abundant supply: "after all i have done for that woman; after all i have sacrificed for her; after all the patience i have endured while she has held me down — kept me from being what i would have been and should, she is ever bursting out with: the evil genius 'you're the meanest man in the world! you're the meanest man in the world!'" whereupon he would affect a look of deep self pity and eternal mortification. unless we lengthen the story unnecessarily, we would not have the space to relate all he said in reference to his son- in-law in subtle ways during these days. but jean baptiste was too busy building a barn and other buildings to listen to these compliments the elder was bestowing upon his wife with regard to him. "yes, my dear," he said time and again, "if jean was like your father, you would not be here now with your child lying dead in the grave. no, no. you would be in the best hospital in chicago, with nurses and attendants all about you and your darling baby at your side," and, so saying, he would affect another sigh of self pity. at first she had struggled to protest, but after a few days she gave up entirely and became resigned to the inevitable. she received an occasional diversion, however, when the elder and ethel entered into a controversy. unlike orlean, ethel was not afraid of her father, especially when he had something to say about glavis. the truth was, that while he so pretended, n. j. mccarthy had no more love for glavis than he had for baptiste; but he could tolerate glavis be- cause glavis endeavored to satisfy his vanity. baptiste, on the other hand, while he now accepted all his father-in-law chose to pour upon him in the way of rebuke for what he had done and should not have, and what he had not done and should have, he never told the elder that he was a great man. the first few days the elder had held the usual prayer; but after some days he dispensed with this, and turned all his energy to rebuking jean baptiste, when he was out of sight. "now, don't you talk about glavis," cried ethel one day the homesteader when his majesty had tired of abusing baptiste and sought a diversion by remarking that glavis had come from a stumpy farm in the woodlands of tennessee. "no, you don't! glavis is my husband and you can't abuse him to his back like you are doing baptiste!" "just listen how she treats her father, orlean," cried the elder, overcome with self pity. orlean then rebuked ethel and chided her father. but the part which escaped her, was that ethel defended her mate, while orlean suffered to have hers rebuked at will. the greatest reason why ethel and her father could not agree, as was well known, was that they were too much alike. when jean baptiste had completed his barn, and his wife was out of danger, according to the doctor — but would never be according to the elder — who insisted that the only cure would be for her to return to chicago with them,— he was ready to go to work. his wife wanted to go to chicago, for what the reverend had done to her in the days he had sat by her and professed his great love, would have made her wish to go anywhere to appease him for even a day. "now, after the expense we have been to," said baptiste, "i hardly know whether i can let you go to chicago or not." the elder sighed, and said to her low enough for her husband's ears not to hear: "just listen to that. after all i have done! then i will have to pay your way to chicago where i shall endeavor to save your life, your dear life which this man is trying to grind out of you to get rich." "but i'll think it over," said baptiste. "we have lots of work this summer, and will try to get caught up," and the next moment he was gone. "did you hear that, daughter?" said the reverend, now the evil genius aloud, when the other's back was turned. "oh, it's awful, the man you have married! just crazy, crazy to get rich! and puts you after his work; after his horses; after his everything! and after all your poor old father has done for you," whereupon he let escape another sigh, and fell into tears of self pity. orlean stroked his head and swallowed what she would have offered in defense of the man she had married. it was useless to offer defense, he had broken this down long since. "yes, he is wanting to kill, to kill my poor daughter after all she has sacrificed," he sobbed, "and when you are dead and in your grave like your baby is out in this wild country," his voice was breaking now with sobs, " he will up and marry another woman to enjoy the fruits of your sacri- fice!" he was lost in his own tears then, and could say no more. "now, dear," she suddenly heard her husband, and looked up to find that he had returned. he stooped and kissed her fondly, and then went on: "i am going up to my sister's homestead to start the men to work with the engine break- ing the land and i must haul them the coal, which i will get at colome. now i will not be back for several days, but will make up my mind in the meantime as to whether i can let you go to chicago or not." "all right, dear," she said, raising from the bed and caressing him long and lingeringly. she could not under- stand how much she wanted him then, it seemed that she could hold him so forever. she kissed him again and again, and as he passed out of the room she looked after him long and lingeringly, and upon her face was a heavenly smile as lie passed out of sight and disappeared over the hill. as he did so, the elder got from his position at the other side of the the homesteader bed, went to the door, and also watched him out sight. as he turned away, baptiste's grandmother who had fed many a preacher back there in old illinois, the reverend included, started. she had seen his face, and what she had seen therein had frightened her. when he went back into the room and to the bed where orlean lay, she dropped by the table and buried her face in her old arms and sobbed, long and silently. and a close observer could have heard these shaken words: "poor jean, poor jean, poor orlean, oh, poor orlean! you made all the fight you could but you were weak. you were doomed before you started, for he knew you and knew you were weak. but would to god that the world could end today, for it will end tomorrow for you two. poor orlean, poor jean!" h chapter xvii the coward *'t t ello, jean," cried a friend of his at colome some days later, as he was leading his horses into the livery barn, after loading the coal he was hauling to the men who were breaking prairie on his sister's claim with a steam tractor. "were those your folks i seen driving into town a while ago?" "my folks?" "yeh. three of them. a man and two women. one of the ladies appears to be sick." "oh," he echoed, and before he could or would have an- swered in his sudden surprise, the other passed on. it was some moments before he recovered from the shock the other's words had given him. he knew without stopping to think that the ones referred to were the reverend, ethel and his wife. he had written his wife a few days before that he would be home the following sunday, and when he would be caught up in his hauling sufficiently and could spend a few days there. "so he moves without my consent or bid," he breathed, and for a time he was listless from the feeling that over- came him. he attended to his horses, mechanically, had supper and went to verify what he had heard. he had little difficulty in doing so, for the town was small, but that night, happened to be full of people, and the rev- erend had found some difficulty in securing lodging. the day had not been a beautiful one by any means. it was in the homesteader early april and the month had borrowed one of the dreary days of the previous month. light snow had fallen, which, along toward evening had turned into a dismal sleet. a bad day to say the least, to be out, and a sick person of all things! he went directly to the preacher when he saw him. he was aroused, and the insults he had suffered did not make him pleasant. "now, look here, reverend mccarthy," he said and his tone revealed his feelings, "what kind of a ' stunt' are you pulling off with my wife?" and he blocked his way where they stood upon the sidewalk. "now, now, my son —" "oh, don't' son ' me," said the other impatiently. "you and i might as well come to an understanding right here to- night as any other time. we are not friends and you know- it. we have never since we have known each other been in accord — not since we met — yes, twenty-two years ago. oh, you remember it." the other started guiltily when jean referred to his youth. "you remember how my mother licked me for letting miss self help me upon her lap and fed me, thereby dis- turbing your illegitimate flirtation. . . ." the other's pious face darkened. but it was not his nature to meet and argue openly as men should and do. always his counter was subtle. so while jean baptiste was in the mood to come to an understanding, to admit frankly to the other, that enemies they were, the elder permitted a womanish smile to spread over his face and patted the other on the back, saying: "now, now, jean. you are my daughter's husband, and it is no time or place to carry on like this. the girl lays sick over here and if you would be a husband you would go to her. now let's dispense with such things as you refer to and go forth to the indisposed." he appeared more the coward godly now than he had ever. distrust was in the face of baptiste. he knew the preacher was not sincere, but his wife, the girl he had married, lay ill. he suspicioned that the elder had intended stealing her away without his knowl- edge ; he knew, moreover, that all his affected tenderness was subtle; but he hushed the harsh words that were on his tongue to say and followed the other. "yes, my children," his pious face almost unable to veil the evil behind the mask, "here we are together," he said when he entered the room followed by baptiste. orlean was in bed and made no effort to greet her husband; while ethel sat sulkily in a chair nearby and kept her mouth closed. jean went to the bed and sat by his wife and regarded her meditatively. she did not seem to recognize him, and he made no effort to arouse her to express her thoughts which seemed to come and go. he was lost in thoughts, strange and sinister. verily his life was in a turmoil. the life he had come into through his marriage had revived so many old and unpleasant memories that he had forgotten, until he was in a sort of daze. he had virtually run away from those parts wherein he had first seen the light of day, to escape the effect of dull indolence; the penurious evil that seemed to have gripped the populace, especially a great por- tion of his race. in the years jean baptiste had spent in the west, he had been able to follow, unhampered, his con- victions. but now, the reverend's presence seemed to have brought all this back. in a conversation one day with that other he had oc- casion to mention the late james j. hill, in his eulogy of the northwest and was surprised to find — and have the rev- erend admit — that he had never even heard of him. in- deed, what the elder knew about the big things in life would have filled a very small book. but when it came to the the homesteader virtues of the women in the churches over which he pre- sided, he knew everything. and whenever they had become agreeable in any way, it was sure to end with the reverend relating incidents regarding the social and moral conduct of the women in the churches over which he presided. moreover, the elder sought in his subtle manner, to dig into the past life of members of baptiste's family, of what any had committed that could be used as a measure for gossip. and this night, as they sat over jean's wife whose sentiment and convictions had been crushed, the elder attempted to dwell on the subject again. "yes, when your older sister taught in murphysboro, and got herself talked about because she drew a revolver on professor alexander, that was certainly too bad." "looks as if she was able to take care of herself," sug- gested baptiste, deciding to counter the old rascal at his own game. "but that's what i'm trying to show you, and you could see it if you wasn't inclined to be so hard headed," argued the elder. "we'll leave personalities out of it, if you please," said baptiste, coloring. "oh, but if your sister had had protection, such a de- plorable incident would not have happened. now, for in- stance," argued the elder, "my girls have never had their good names embarrassed with such incidents." "oh, they haven't," cried baptiste, all patience gone. "then what about their half brother in east st. louis, eh? and the other one who died — was stabbed to death. those were yours, and you were never married to their mother!" the other's face became terrible. the expression upon his face was dreadful to behold. he started to rise, but the coward baptiste was not through. he was thoroughly aroused now, and all he had stood from this arch sinner had come back to him. therefore, before the other could deny or do any- thing, said he: "oh, you needn't try to become so upset over it. your morals are common knowledge to all the people of illinois, and elsewhere. and let me tell you, you can — as you have — in your family, force those who know it and condemn it to keep quiet by making yourself so disagreeable that they will honey you up to get along with you. but it is not be- cause they, or all those who know you, are not aware of it! that's your reputation, and some day you are going to suffer for it. you deliberately make people miserable to satisfy your infernal vanity; your desire to be looked upon and called great. now right here you are bent upon crucifying your own daughter's happiness just because i haven't tickled your rotten vanity, and lied." he arose now, and pointed a threatening finger at the other. "you are out to injure me, and you are taking advan- tage of your own child's position as my wife to do so. i'm going to let you go ahead. orlean's a good girl, but she's weak like the mother that you have abused for thirty years! but remember this, n. j. mccarthy, and i've called you reverend for the last time. the evil that you do unto others will some day be done unto you and will drag your ornery heart in its own blood. mark my words!" and the next instant he was gone. the other looked after him uneasily. the truth had come so forcibly, so impulsively, so abruptly, that it had for the time overcome his cunningness; but only for a moment after the other had disappeared was he so. he regained his usual composure soon enough, and he turned the homesteader to the sick woman for succor — to her whom he was drag- ging down to the gutter of misery for his own self aggrandizement. "did you hear how he abused your father?" he cried, the tears from his piggish eyes falling on her cheeks. she reached and stroked his white hair, and mumbled weak words. "oh, i never thought i would come to this — be brought to this through the daughter that i have loved so much. oh, poor me, your poor old father," whereupon he wept bitterly. "you see, you see," cried ethel, who had risen and stood over her, pointing her finger to orlean as she lay upon the bed. "this is what comes of marrying that man! i tried, oh, i tried so hard to have you see that no good could come of it, no good at all!" the other sighed. she was too weak from mortification to reply in the affirmative, or the negative. "i tried, and i tried to have you desist, but you would! when i had at last gotten you to quit him, and you swore you had, no sooner did he come and place his arm about you and whisper fool things in your ear, than did you but up and consent to this. this, this, do you hear? this that has brought your poor father to that!" and she stopped to point to where that one lay stretched across the bed, sobbing. the night was one long, miserable, quarrelsome night. ethel and the elder wore themselves out abusing baptiste. and along toward morning all fell into a troubled sleep. baptiste met them the next morning as they came from the rooms, and helped his wife across the street to a restau- rant. when they had finished the meal, he said to her as they came from the restaurant, "now, dear, i'll step into the bank here and get you some money —" the coward "no, no, no, jean," she said quickly, cutting him off be- fore he completed what he had started to say. "well," and he started toward the bank again as if he had not understood her. "no, no, no, jean," she repeated, and caught his arm nervously. "no, don't!" "but you are going away, dear, and will surely need money?" he insisted. "yes, but —jean — jean — i have money." "you have money?" repeated the other uncomprehend- ingly. "but how came you with mohey? that much money?" "i — i had — a — check cashed. that is — papa had one cashed for me." "oh, so that was it. m-m. your father had it cashed for you?" he understood then, and his suspicion that the elder had intended taking her to chicago without letting him know it was confirmed. they walked down the street toward the depot, and while she held nervously to his arm, his mind was concerned with his thoughts. it occurred to him that he should take his wife back to the claim right then. he felt that if she went to chicago there would be trouble. he began slowly to appreciate that in dealing with reverend mccarthy he was not dealing with a man; nor a near man. he was not dealing with a mere liar, or a thief, even — he was dealing with the lowest of all reptiles, a snake! then why did not he, jean baptiste, act? perhaps if he had, we should never have had this story to tell. jean baptiste did not act. he decided to let her go. beyond that he had no decision. it seemed that his mind would not work beyond the immediate present. soon she heard him, as she clung to his arm, allowing her body to rest against his shoulder: the homesteader "how much for, orlean?" "two — two — hundred dollars." "why —two hundred dollars!" he cried. "why, or- lean, what has come over you?" she burst into tears then, and clung appealingly to him. and in that moment she was again his god-given mate. "besides," he went on, " i haven't such an amount in the bank, even." he looked up. a half a block in their lead walked reverend mccarthy, carrying the luggage. "papa, p-a-pa!" called orlean at the top of her voice. pa-p-a," she called again and again until she fell into a fit of coughing. he halted, and was uneasy, baptiste could see. they came up to him. orlean was running despite her husband's effort to hold her back. "papa, papa! my god, give jean back that money. give it back, i say! oh, i didn't want to do this, oh, i didn't want to! it was you who had me sign that check, you, you, you!" she was overcome then, and fell into a swoon in her husband's arms. he stood firmly, bravely, then like the rock of gibraltar. his face was very hard, it was very firm. his eyes spoke. it told the one before him the truth, the truth that was. and as the other ran his hand to his inside vest pocket and drew forth the money, he kept saying in a low, cowardly voice: "it was her, it was her. she did it, she did it!" baptiste took the money. he looked at it. he took fifty dollars from it and handed the amount to the other. he spoke then, in a voice that was singularly dry: "i will not keep her from going. she can go; but you know i ought not let her." they carried her to where the cars stood, and made her comfortable when once inside. she opened her eyes when the coward he was about to leave upon hearing the conductor's call. she looked up into his eyes. he bent and kissed her. she looked after him as he turned, and called: " jean!" "yes, orlean!" "goodby!" he stood on the platform of the • small western station as the train pulled down the track. a few moments later it disappeared from view, and she was gone. epoch the third epoch the third chapter i chicago — the boomerang the reverend mccarthy had scored. he had succeeded in separating his daughter from the man she married. the fact that there was positively no misunderstanding between the two, was not seen or con- sidered by him. jean baptiste had opposed him, and that was enough. he hated any member of his household, or any one related to the one of his household who dared disagree with him. of course his "majesty" did not see it that way. he saw himself as the most saintly man in the world and sympathized with himself accordingly. no man thought himself more unjustly abused than did n. justine mccarthy. but there were other things to complete. he had not wilfully participated in what had just passed — in fact, he had not meant to part the couple at all. he prided himself with having some judgment. he was merely undertaking that which in a way had grown common to him — the task of getting even. now he had estimated that he knew jean baptiste, al- though studying characters and their natural tendencies had not been a part of his theme in life. he felt albeit, that he had this one's tender spot clearly before him. to begin with: he put himself right with his own conscience by be- lieving that baptiste was a vain, selfish character, bent on one purpose — getting rich! he concluded — because he the homesteader wished to — that baptiste did not, and had never, loved orlean. the fact that orlean had not said anything to the contrary did not matter. he was her father, and therefore predicated and privileged to think and act for her. that was why he had always been of so much service, such fatherly help. he was protecting his daughter from the cruelty of men. but how he had planned it all! "now that hard-headed rascal," meaning of course his son-in-law, "is not going to lay down. oh, no! my poor girl has that claim. he does not want her, but he does want the claim. to hold the claim, he must have her, and have her back on the claim. he's all war now; but when he realizes that to lose her is to lose the claim into the bargain — oh, well, i'll just set right down at home here and wait. yes, i'll wait. he'll be coming along. and when he ap- pears here, then i'll bend his ornery will into the right way of seeing things." so thereupon he took up his vigil, wait- ing for jean baptiste to put in his appearance. but for some reason the other had not hastened to chicago as soon as the elder had anticipated he would. three weeks had been consumed in the trip west, so he was somewhat behind in his church work. while it was true that ministers in some of the towns in his itinerary collected from the mem- bers at the quarterly conference and sent the money to him; on the other hand if he expected to get what was due him in any great measure, it was highly necessary that he be there in person. • accordingly, the time he spent in chicago, wait- ing for the coming of his son-in-law that he might have the satisfaction of bending the other to his will began to grow long and irksome. moreover, if he sat at home, he was obliged to meet and greet the many visitors who called to see his sick daughter. more largely of course for the purpose of securing in forma- chicago —the boomerang tion for gossip, but compelling him therefore to make or offer some explanation. and here arose another phase of the case that was not pleasant. following jean baptiste's marriage to orlean, and after the reverend had paid them his first visit, he had said a great deal in praise of his " rich" son-in-law. that he was so extremely vain, was why he had done this. it had tickled his vanity to have the people see his daughter marry so well, since it was well known about chicago that jean baptiste was very successful. when the elder had boasted to the people he met of the "rich " man his daughter had married, he wrote telling the young couple of it. to be referred to as "rich" he con- jectured, should have flattered any man's vanity — it would have his — and he estimated that he was doing baptiste a great favor when he let him know that he, the elder, was advertising him as rich. but the same had brought no response from that one. he had been too busy to take any interest in being praised. and even after the elder had made his first visit, and returned and told of the wonders his daughter had married into, he still hoped this would soften baptiste's disposition into prais- ing and fawning upon him. it was not until baptiste had returned the money he had sent his daughter for railway fare the xmas before that the reverend had thrown down the gauntlet and declared war. so the very thing he had played up a few months before, came back now to annoy him. because he had never lived as he should have it was proving a boomerang. he had made a practice of pretending not to hear what was being said about him by others. but he could not seal his ears to the fact that the people were asking themselves and everybody else what had happened to his daughter, or between his daughter and the "rich" son-in- law. this was very uncomfortable, it was very annoying. the homesteader it was reported that he was compelled to go out west and get her, and it was exasperating to explain all without making it seem that what he had said a few months before was boast, pure and simple. "yeh. all you could hear a few months ago, was the 'rich' man orlean had married. yeh. mr. me. would make it his business to get around so you had to ask 'im about them. then he'd swell up lak a big frog and tell all about it. then of a sudden he jumps up and goes out there and brings her back. ump! now i wonder what ir the mattah." during these times, those of the household had little peace. with impatience over baptiste's not showing up so he could read him the riot act, and his work being neglected; with having to listen to no end of gossip that his meddling had brought about, he became the most obstinate problem imaginable about the house. all the love he had pretended for orlean while on the claim, was now changed to severe chastisement. he no longer fondled and wasted hours over her. she had no longer the convenient check book. the fact that she had to have a little medicine, and that she also had to have other necessities; that she had to eat — and the most of this he was forced to provide, made him so irritable, that those near prayed for the day when he would leave. but if jean baptiste would only come so that he could say to him what he had planned to say. just to have the opportunity to bend that stubborn will — that would be sufficient to repay him for all he was now actually sacri- ficing. as for "little mother mary" these were the darkest days of her never happy married life. of all the men she had met or known, she had truly admired and loved jean baptiste more than any other. in truth it was her dispost- chicago —the boomerang tion to be frank, kind and truthful. she dearly loved her son-in-law for his manly frank and kind disposition. she trusted him, and, knowing that orlean was of her disposi- tion, weak and subservient to the will of those near, she had been relieved to feel that she had married the kind of man that would be patient and love a person with such a dis- position. she had been sincere in her praise of him to her many friends. she had told of him to everybody she knew or met. so much so indeed, that the reverend on his last trip west in his daily rebuke, then had said: "and mary has just sickened me with telling everybody she meets about jean." ethel had joined with him in this. the truth was that when her mother had sung her praise to the people re- garding jean baptiste, there was nothing left to say about glavis, but more especially about the elder. what the reverend was forced to endure at this time, he promptly of course charged to the indiscretions of jean baptiste. if he had not done this, or if he had done that, the elder would not have been forced to endure such annoy- ance. if he would only show up with his practical ideas in chicago! every morning when the door bell rang, he listened eagerly for the voice of his son-in-law. he watched the mail, and in assorting the letters, looked anx- iously for the western postmark. but a week passed, and no letter and no jean baptiste. then at the end of two weeks, the same prevailed. and at the end of three weeks, he knew he would have to go to work or reckon with the bishop. so on tuesday of the following week, the elder left for his work, and that same afternoon, jean baptiste arrived in chicago. chapter ii the great question the days that followed after the elder had taken his wife away, were unhappy days for jean baptiste. in his life there were certain things he had held sacred. chief among these was the marriage vow. while a strong willed, obviously firm sort of person, he was by nature sentimental. he had among his sentiments been an enemy of divorces. nothing to him was so distasteful as the theory of divorce. he had always conjectured that if a man did not drink, or gamble, or beat his wife there could be no great cause for divorce; whereas, with the woman, if she was not guilty of infidelity a man could find no just cause, on the whole, to ask for a divorce. but whatever the cause be — even a just cause — he disliked the divorcing habit. he persisted in believing that if two people whose lives were linked together would get right down to a careful un- derstanding and an appreciation of each other's sentiments, or points of view, they could find it possible to live to- gether and be happy. fancy therefore, how this man must have felt when he arrived at the little house upon the wife's claim and found his grandmother alone. they had taken his wife and all her belongings. he lived in a sort of quandary in the days that followed. his very existence became mechanical. and one day while in this unhappy state, he chanced to find a little sun bonnet that they had evidently overlooked. she had the great question bought it the summer before, and it was too small. but he recalled now that he had thought that it made her look very sweet. how much the bonnet meant to him now! he placed it carefully away, and when he was alone in the house in after days with only her memory as a companion he would get and bring it forth, gaze at it long and tenderly. it seemed to bring back the summer before when he had been hopeful and happy and gay. it brought him more clearly to realize and appreciate what marriage really meant and the sacred vow. and during these hours he would imagine he could see her again; that she was near and from under the little bonnet that was too small he communed with her and he would thereupon hold a mythical conversa- tion, with her as the listener. was it all because jean baptiste loved his wife? what is there between love and duty? it had never been as much a question with jean baptiste as to how much he loved her as it was a question of duty. she was his wife by the decree of god and the law of the land. whatever he had been, or might have been to others, therefore had gone completely out of his mind when he had taken her to him as wife. and now that she was away, to his mind first came the question, why was she away? yes, that was the great question. why "was she away? oh, the agony this question gave the man of our story. not one serious quarrel had they ever had. not once had he spoken harshly to her, nor had she been, cross with him. not once had the thought entered his mind that they would part; they they could part; that they would ever wish to part. in the beginning, true, there had been some little difficulties before they had become adjusted to each other's ways. but that had taken only a few months, after which they had gradually become devoted to each other. and so their lives the homesteader had become. out there in the "hollow of god's hand," their lives had become assimilated, they had looked forward to the future when there would be the little ones, enlarging their lives and duties. and yet, why was his wife in chicago without even a letter from her to him; or one from him to her? why, why, why? n. justine mccarthy! oh, the hatred that began to grow — spread and take roots in the breast of this man of the prairie toward the man who had wilfully and deliberately wronged him, wrecked that which was most sacred to him. the days came and went, but that evil, twisting, warping hatred remained; it grew, it continued to grow until his very existence became a burden and a misery. no days were happy days to him. from the moment he awakened in the morning until he- was lost in slumbers in the evening, jean baptiste knew no peace. while that perpetrator of his unhappiness waited impatiently in chicago with plans to grind and humiliate him further, this man began to formulate plans also. with all the bitter hatred in his soul against the cause of his unhappiness, his plans were not the plans of "getting even," but merely to see his wife where no subtle influences could hamper her or warp her convictions and reason. he knew that to write to her would be but to prove useless. the letters would be examined and criticized by those around her. he knew that sending her money would be only regarded as an evidence of weakening on his part, and if he was to deal, weakness must have no place. so as to how he might see his wife, and give her an opportunity to appreciate duty, became his daily determination. the great steam tractor, breaking prairie on his sister's homestead was diligently at its task, and while it turned over from twenty to thirty acres of wild sod each day, it also ate the great question coal like a locomotive. so to it he was kept busy hauling coal over the thirty-five miles from colome. on the land he was having broken (for he had teams breaking prairie in addition to the tractor) he had arranged to sow flaxseed. for two years preceding this date, crops had been per- ceptibly shorter, due to drought. therefore seeds of all kind had attained a much higher price than previously. flaxseed that he had raised and sold thousands of bushels of in years gone by for one dollar a bushel he was now com- pelled to pay the sum of $ . x a bushel therefor. so with a steam tractor hired at an average cost of $ a day; with extra men in addition to be boarded; and with hauling the coal for the tractor himself such a distance and other expenses, jean baptiste, unlike his august-father-in- law, had little time or patience to sit around consuming his time and substance perpetrating a game of spite. but he was positive that he would needs lose his mental balance unless he journey to chicago and see his wife. alone she would have time, he conjectured to think, to see and to realize just what she was doing. why should they be separated? positively there was nothing and never had been anything amiss between them, was what passed daily through his mind. well, he decided that he would go to her as soon as he had arranged matters so he could. he was peeved when he recalled that the spring before he had been forced to make a trip to that same city that could as well have been avoided. but when anything had to be done, jean baptiste usually went after it and was through. in business where he was pitted against men, this was not difficult, and instead of disliking to face such music, he rather relished the zest it gave him. but when a man is dealing with a snake — for nothing else can a man who would sacrifice his own blood to vanity be likened to, it must be admitted that the task the homesteader worried jean baptiste. if n. justine mccarthy had been a reader, an observer, and a judge of mankind as well as a student of human nature and its vicissitudes he could have realized that murder was not short for such actions as he was perpetrating. but here again jean baptiste was too busy. he had no time to waste in jail— for even if kill- ing the man who had done him such an injury be justified he realized that justice in such cases works slowly. but it would be vain and untruthful to say that with the bitter- ness in his heart, jean baptiste did not reach a point in his mind where he could have slain in cold blood the man with whom he was dealing. at last came the time when he could be spared from his farm, and to chicago he journeyed. positively this was one trip to that city that gave him no joy. he estimated before reaching there, that he should best not call up the house, but bide his time and try to meet his wife elsewhere. but when he arrived in the city, and not being a coward, he dismissed this idea and went directly to the house in vernon avenue. he was met at the door by " little mother mary," who did not greet him as she might have, but for certain reasons. the most she could do even to live in the same atmosphere with her husband was to pretend to act in accordance with his sentiments. baptiste followed her back to the rear room where she took a seat and he sat down beside her. she had uttered no word of greeting, but he came directly to the point. "where is orlean?" "she's out." "out where?" "she just walked out into the street." "how is she?" "better than when she came home," meaningly. "when she was brought home," he corrected. the great question "well?" "but i am not here to argue whereof. i am here to see her." • "but she's out." "however, she'll return, i hope. if not, then, where might i find her?" "she'll return presently." he was silent for a time while she regarded him nervously, listening in the meantime as if expecting some one. she was afraid. her husband had left the city only that morning; but behind him he had left an escutcheon who could — and was, as capable of making matters as disagreeable. it was ethel, and mrs. mccarthy was aware that that one was upstairs. the household had been conducted according to the desires and dictates of the elder. wherefore she was uneasy. baptiste observed her now, and made mental note as to the cause of the expression of uneasiness upon her face. "what's the matter?" he asked. she did not reply, but sighed. "what's the matter, mother mary?" he asked kindly. her love and admiration asserted itself momentarily in the look with which she replied to him. how in that moment she wanted to tell him all, and to be to him as she had always wanted to be. but only a moment was she so, then that look of hunted fear overspread her face again, and she turned uneasily toward the stairs. "won't you tell me what the matter is, mother?" she heard him again. for answer the quick glance over her shoulder was sufficient. it was as if to say. "hush! enemies are near!" he then estimated that the elder had gone to the southern part of the state, but ethel must be near, and it was ethel whom the mother feared. he under- stood then, that the reverend had a cunning way of having qo the homesteader ethel do his bidding. because she was possessed of his evil disposition, he could trust her to carry out anything on this order — that is, providing she disliked the person in question, and that was usually the case, for, like him, there were few people whom she really liked. "what have you been doing to my child?" he heard from mother mary, presently. he studied her face again and saw that she was trying to reckon with him herself, although he knew that it mattered little what she thought or did on the whole. "has she told you what i have been doing to her?" he said. she shifted uncomfortably, looked around a little, listened for a sound that she expected to hear sooner or later, and then replied, and in doing so, he saw that she was again subservient to the old training. "my husband told me," she countered. "oh," he echoed. "you have not acted with discretion," she said again, and he understood her. acting with "discretion" would been never to have given the reverend an excuse for making that trip. . . . "i have been good to your daughter; a husband to the best of my ability." "but you — you — should not have blundered." again he was reminded of what it meant to displease or give her husband any excuse. "i did not agree in this room a year ago to be regardful of the opinion of others," he defended. "i agreed to the word of the law and of god. i have tried to fulfill that word. i did not intend to be absent when the child came." she shifted again uneasily, and her mind went back to the day orlean was born and that her husband, too, had been away. . . . the great question "if i can see orlean that will be sufficient," he said. "she went to walk." "mother?" she regarded him again, and then turned her eyes away for she could not stand to look long into his. the truth there would upset her and she knew it. "why must this be so?" she shifted uneasily again. oh, if she could only be brave. if she could only dare — but she was not brave, orlean was not brave. they had lived their lives too long subservient to the will of others to attempt bravery now.- she rested her eyes on some sew- ing- she pretended to do and waited. it could only be for a little while. ethel must learn sooner or later of his pres- ence, and then—! there would be a scene or he must go. "it's a shame," said the other. "you should have been careful," she returned meaningly. but in her mind was still the dream. if she could be brave. . . . "mother! " called some one sharply. jean recognized the voice, the command. the other's face went pale for a moment, while her eyes closed. he understood. the worst had come. in the minutes they had been sitting there, she had almost dared hope that orlean would return, and that in some way — perhaps it would have to come from heaven — they could fly. but chances now were gone. his cohort had appeared. "who is it out there?" she asked, and came toward where they sat. she saw him then, and regarded him coldly. through her mind shot the fact that her father had waited three weeks for him, and had just left that morn- ing. her disappointment was keen. for a moment she was frightened. in truth she held a fearsome admiration for the man, and then she stiffened. she had come back to herself; the homesteader to the fact that she had a reputation for being disagreeable. she turned to him, and said: "what are you doing here?" he answered her not. her mother was trembling. "get out of this house!" she commanded, getting control of herself. baptiste was in a quandary. he recalled how he had seen her make her husband jump as if trying to get out of his skin when she was in her evil spasms. "did you hear!" she almost screamed. "i am waiting for my wife," he replied then calmly. "she is my sister!" she screamed again. "i suppose i am aware of that." "then you cannot have her!" "she is mine already." "you're a liar!" she yelled, crying now, and her evil little face screwed up horribly in her anger. mrs. mc- carthy was trembling as if a chill had come over her. ethel suddenly flew to the 'phone. she got a number, and he heard her scream: "glavis! glav—is. . . that man is here! . . . glav—is! . . . that man is here! . . ." he could understand no more, then, but saw that she was frantic. he finally heard mother mary. "you're wanted at the 'phone," she said, tremblingly. he got up and went to it. ethel was dancing about the room like a demon. "hello! "he called. "hello!" came back. "ah — ha — who — who — who is th-is?" the other sputtered, all excitement. "baptiste," replied the other, wondering at his excite- ment. "wh—at a—re yo—u do-i-ng a—t m-y h-o-u-s-e?" the great question "oh, say," called back baptiste. "there's nobody dead out here. now calm yourself and say what you want to. i'm listening." "we—ll," said the other, a little better controlled. "i ask what you are doing at my house?" "your house!" echoed baptiste, uncomprehendingly. "why, i do not understand you." "i want to know what you are doing at my house after what you said about me!" "at your house after what i said about you!" baptiste repeated. "yes. you said i was 'nothing but a thirteen dollars a week jockey,' and all that." baptiste was thoughtful. he had never said anything about glavis — and then he under- stood. some more of the elder's work. "now, glavis, i do not understand what you mean when you say what i said about you; but as for my being here, that is distinctly no wish of mine. but you know my wife is here, and it is her i am here to see. no other." "but i want to see you downtown — you come down here!" baptiste was thoughtful. he knew that he could exert no influence over orlean when she did return with ethel acting as she was, so he might as well be downtown for the present as elsewhere. so he answered: "well, alright." ethel slammed and locked the door behind him, and he walked over to cottage grove avenue and boarded a car. chapter iii glavis makes a promise * glavis tried to appear very serious when baptiste called at where he worked an hour later, but it was beyond him to be so. it was said that he was in the habit of trying to appear like the reverend, but since the pretended seriousness of that one had never affected jean baptiste, glavis' affectation had still less effect. "well, glavis," he began pointedly. "i'm here as per your suggestion, and since it is quite plain what the matter is, we may as well come directly to the point." "well, yes, baptiste, i guess i may as well agree with you," replied glavis. "then, to begin with. that remark you made over the 'phone regarding what i had said about you, let me say is a falsehood pure and simple. what i said or would say to your back i will say to your face." "well, baptiste," he replied quickly, and his expression confirmed the words that followed, " i believe you." "i have no occasion to lie. it is very plain that our father-in-law and i are not in accord, and while it may be nothing to you perhaps, i do not hesitate to say that there is nothing wrong between orlean and me — and never has been. it is all between her father and me, and he is using her as the means." "well, that is rather direct," suggested glavis. "evidently so; but it's the truth and you know it. it is simply a case which you are supposed not to see all sides of." glavis makes a promise "now, baptiste," defended glavis, "i am no party to your wife's being here in chicago." "and i agree with you," returned baptiste. "it is not your nature to make trouble between people, glavis. i'll do you that honor. people are inclined to follow their natu- ral bent, and yours; i repeat, is not to cause others misery. therefore, you can rest assured that i do not mean to in- volve you in any of my troubles." "that is sure manly in you, baptiste," glavis said heartily. "but it is a fact, i venture, that you have been advised that i spoke ill of you — at least, i spoke disparagingly of you while your folks were in the west. am i speaking correctly?" "i'll have to admit that you are," and he scowled a little. "do you believe these statements?" the other scowled again, but didn't have the courage to say that he did — or, perhaps to lie. he knew why he had been told what he had. to unite with the reverend in his getting even with baptiste, glavis had been told that baptiste had " run him down." "well, glavis, the fact that my wife is at your home — under your roof — i, her husband, am therefore placed at a disadvantage thereby. you cannot help being indirectly implicated in whatever may happen." "now, now, baptiste," the other cried quickly. "i do not want to have anything to do with you and orlean's troubles. i —" "it is not orlean and my troubles, glavis. it is her fa- ther's and my troubles." glavis shifted uncomfortably. presently he said hesitat- ingly: "the old man just left town this morning. wished you and he could have had your outs together." the homesteader "yes, it is too bad we did not. as i see it, i have no business with him. in him i am not interested, and never have been. because i have held aloof from becoming so is the cause of the trouble. i was told before i married orlean, and by her herself, that i should praise her father; that i should make him think that he was a king, if i would get along with him. indeed, i did not, i confess, at the time consider it to be as grave as that, that i had this to do in order to live with orlean." it was positively uncomfortable to glavis. he could find no words to disagree with the other because he knew that he spoke the truth. he knew that he had catered to the rever- end's vanity to be allowed to pay court to ethel before he was married to her; he knew that he had done so since; and he knew — and did not always like it — that he was still doing so, and boarding the reverend's wife into the bargain, and orlean now was added thereto. he did not relish the task. he earned only a small salary that was insufficient for his own and his wife's needs. up to a certain point his wife defied her father; but since she was so like him in disposition, and had been instrumental in assisting to sepa- rate orlean and her husband, she had not the courage to rebel and compel — at least insist — that the reverend take care of his wife and the daughter he had parted from her husband. so it was all thrown onto glavis. he made a few dol- lars extra each week by various means, and this helped him a little. in truth, he wished that orlean was with her hus- band, and knowing very well that there was where she wanted to be, he was inclined for the moment to try to help baptiste. besides, he rather admired the man. few peo- ple could be oblivious to the personality of baptiste and be honest with themselves. even the elder had always found glavis makes a promise it expedient to be disagreeable in order to dispel the effect of his son-in-law's frank personality. "the way we are lined up, glavis, you must appreciate that you cannot keep out of it. you are aware that i have no wish to hang around your abode; but i didn't come all the way from the west to fail to see orlean. you know full well that ethel would never let her meet me elsewhere, that her father has left orders to that effect. now, what am i to do? if i call, your wife will make it so disagreeable that nothing can be accomplished." "dammit!" exclaimed glavis suddenly. "it isn't all my fault or the old man's or my wife's! it's orlean's!" "well," agreed baptiste, thoughtfully, " on the whole, that is so." "of course it is! if orlean was a woman she would be right out there with you now where she belongs!" "and i agree with you again, glavis. but orlean isn't a woman, and that is what i have been trying to make her. she has never been a woman — wasn't reared so to be. by nature she is like her mother, and she has grown up accord- ing to her training." "she cannot be two things at the same time," glavis argued, "and that is a daughter to her father and a wife to you!" "no, that is where the difficulty lay," said baptiste. "but her father's influence over her is great, you will admit. she has been taught to agree with him, and that — i can never, nor will i try to do." "it certainly beats hell!" "it's the most awkward situation i have ever been placed in. but here's the idea: i took that girl for better or for worse. now, what am i to do? throw up my hands and quit, or try to see orlean and get her around to reason? the homesteader it isn't orlean. it's her father. so i have concluded to make some sort of a fight. life and marriage are too seri- ous just to let matters go like this." "yes, it is," agreed glavis. "it certainly worries me. and it annoys me because it is so unnecessary." he was thoughtful and then suddenly he said: "i'm sorry you let the old man — er — ah — get you mixed up like this." he appeared as if he wished to say more. to say that: "for when you let him get into it, the devil would be to pay! keep him out of your affairs if you would live in peace." "well," said baptiste, rising, "your time here belongs to the company you are working for, and not to me or my troubles. so i'm going to ' beat' it now out to thirty-first street." "well," returned glavis, " believe me, baptiste, i'm sorry for you, and for orlean. it's rotten." it was remarkable how he saw what was causing it; but how he cleverly kept from directly accusing his father-in-law. "and i'll meet you at thirty-first street after supper. at the keystone, remember." with that he grasped the other's hand warmly, and as jean baptiste went down the stairway from where glavis worked, he knew that he had a friend who at least wanted to help right a most flagrant wrong. the only ques- tion was, would e. m. glavis have the courage to go through with it? well, glavis might have the courage — but ethel was his wife. and jean baptiste realised that of all things in the world, a woman's influence is the most subtle.. chapter iv the gambler's story the keystone was the oldest and most elite hos- telry for negroes in chicago and the west for many years. it is located near thirty-first and state street, in the heart of the black belt of the southside of the city. it was built previous to the world's fair and still maintains its prestige as the most popoular hangout for negroes of the more ostentatious set. and it was here that jean baptiste went, following his departure with glavis. when chicago was a "wide open" town, gambling had been carried on upstairs as a business. porters, waiters, barbers and politicians who held the best jobs had always found their way eventually to the keystone. likewise did the negroes in business and the professions and workers in all the trades, as well as mail carriers, mail clerks, and the men of the army and actors. in short the keystone was the meeting place for men in nearly all the walks of life. always the freest city in the world for the black man, chicago has the most negroes in the mail service and the civil service; more negroes carry clubs as policemen; more can be found in all the departments of the municipal courts, county commissioners, aldermen, corporation counsels, game warden assistants, and so on down. indeed, a negro feels freer and more hopeful in chicago than anywhere else in the united states. so it was such a crowd that jean baptiste encountered at the keystone that day. there were two real estate men the homesteader who had once run on the road with him and who had since succeeded in business; also there was another who was a county commissioner; and still another one, an army officer. so, upon seeing him they did all cry: "baptiste! well, well, of all things! and how do you happen to be down here in the spring?" "oh, a little business," he returned, and joined with the crowd, bought a drink for them all, and was apparently jolly. among the number was a gambler by the name of speed. he shook the visitor's hand heartily, and when the visit with the others was over, he went to a table and, sitting down, beckoned for daptiste. when the other responded, he begged him to be seated, and then said: "now, i know what you are down here about — heard about it the day he brought her home." baptiste regarded him wonderingly. "yes, i understand," he said, making himself comfortable as if to tell a long story. "you are wondering how / come to understand about your father- in-law, and if you are not in a hurry, i'll tell you a little story." "well," said the other, "let's have a drink before you start." "i don't care," and he beckoned to the bartender. "small bottle, a schlitz," he said, and turned to baptiste. "make it two," said the other, and turned to hear the story the other had to tell. "it happened fifteen years ago," began speed when their beer had been served. "i was a preacher then.— hold on,'' he broke off at the expression on baptiste's face. "yes, of course you can hardly believe it; but i was then a preacher. i was the pastor of the church in a little town, and i won't tell the name of the town; but it's all the same. the gambler's story i was a preacher and pastor of this church. i had not been long ordained, and was ambitious to succeed as a minister. the charge had not been long created, and was, of course, not much of a place for money. but it so happened that a quarry was opened about the time i was sent there and it brought some hundred and fifty negro families to live in the town, and in almost a twinkling, my charge became from among the poorest, to one of the best from a financial point of view. the men worked steadily and were paid well, and their families found quite a bit of work to do among the wealthy whites of the town. "there were two young ladies living a few doors from where i preached, girls who made their own living, honestly, nice, clean girls, and i was much impressed with them. i sought, and finally succeeded in getting them interested in the church, and later began keeping company with one. now here is where your folks come in. the reverend mc- carthy— old mac, i called him, was filling the same line he now is, presiding elder, and this church was in his itinerary. i was therefore under his recommendation. he had been visiting the church regularly, holding his quarterly conference every three months, and getting his little bit. it was shortly after i had started going with this young lady that mccarthy got awful nice and treated me so good until i became suspicious. then one day it came out. "' by the way, speed,' he said. 'who're those girls liv- ing near the church?' i knew who he was referring to because i had seen him trying to smile on them the day be- fore which had been a sunday. but i pretends i don't know what or who he's talking about. "' who?' i inquired as innocent as a lamb. "' oh, those two girls living near the church,' and he called their names. the homesteader "' why, they are two young ladies who came here not long ago,' i said, and waited. "' is that all?' he asked then, and i looked at him. he grinned, and said: "' aw, come on, speed! be a good fellow. now, are those girls straight?' and he specified the one i had begun going with. "' why,' said i, 'reverend mccarthy, i am surprised at you to ask such a question, or to offer such an insinuation. besides,' i went on, 'why?' "' aw, now, speed,' he laughed easily, his big fat round face shaking. 'be a good sport and put me onto these girls. now, i'll tell you what i want you to do,' he said, drawing his chair close to mine. 'i 'll make it my business to get back over here next sunday night, and i want you to "fix" it for me with that one, and—' he winked in a way i did not at the time understand — but i did later —' i l make it right with you. you understand,' he said, rising, 'i'll make it right with you.' "i was never so put out in my life. here was this man, a minister of the gospel, and a presiding elder, who had just deliberately delegated me to make a previous engage- ment for him without regard to morals — and with the girl i loved. i don't think he knew i was paying her court, but the moral was the same. "i was outdone! but true to his words, the next sunday night he was back! "' well, speed,' he said when the services were over. 'what's the rip? everything o. k.?' he was very anx- ious, and i'll never forget his face. but, i was afraid of the old rascal, still i hadn't lost my manhood at that. so i says: "' now, reverend, you place me in a very awkward pre- the gambler's story dicament. to begin with, i have the highest respect for those young ladies. and, again, even if did not, i could not be expected to cohort as you suggested.' "' aw, speed,' he cut in. 'you're no good. pshaw! i just know the older of those two girls is not straight — am positive of it. and you could 'fix things if you would,' and i detected a touch of angry disappointment in his tone. "well, to get out of it, i told the old rascal what i thought of his suggestion and left him. i never saw him again until near conference, and then not to speak with him. i was confident that i had satisfied the people, and that i would be sent back without any argument. "so imagine when i went to conference and when the charges were being read off and i heard the secretary call 'reverend speed to mitchfield!' instead of the town from which i had gone. "i was just sick, man; so sick until i almost dropped dead on the floor! oh, the agony it gave me! i finally got outside some way, and stood leaning against the church. how long i stood thus, i never knew; but the church let out by and by, while i still stood there — and let me ex- plain. mitchfield was a charge that contained exactly a dozen members—the reverend mccarthy came out and i looked up straight into his eyes. ... i knew then why i had been sent to mitchfield instead of back to the charge i had been at. "well, i went to mitchfield, and by working around town by the day, in connection with the charge, i managed to make it. some months later, i married the girl i have spoken of, and we began to keep house in mitchfield. "it was pretty hard, and sometimes i don't wonder at what later happened. but to make a long story short, i was compelled to get work in a near-by town to make a the homesteader living for me and my wife, and was gone all the week until saturday night. at the end of six months, reverend mc- carthy had taken my wife, and she had left me and was living in st. louis!" baptiste was regarding him strangely. "have you heard the the rest of it?" the other paused to ask. "well, reverend mccarthy became the father o{ her two sons. one was killed some years ago, the other lives in st. louis." "but what — what became of their mother?" baptiste inquired curiously. "her? what becomes of women who are deceived? if you visited st. louis and the district, you might find her. she was there the last i heard of her." "and you?" "me?" the other repeated in a strangely hollow voice. "you know what am. a gambler, and with an old score to settle with that man if i ever get the chance." chapter v the preacher's evil influence with all ethel's excited ways, she was not to be reckoned a fool when she had in mind to ac- complish some purpose. she understood full well, that it would be up to her at this time to keep orlean from returning west with her husband, unless she recalled her father. this she did not wish to resort to, until she had exhausted all her force without avail. she appreciated the fact that jean baptiste could and would influence her husband as well as her mother, while as to orlean, she would only need a half a chance to fall away from her in- fluence and go back to her husband. so with this in mind, ethel, who had inherited from her father, much evil and the faculty of making people miser- able began, as soon as baptiste had left the house, to for- mulate plans to counter any effort on his part to see orlean. her first move, therefore, was to recall orlean who was visiting near, a fact which her mother had feared to tell baptiste. she convinced her forthwith that she was sick, in danger, and sent her to bed, not telling her that baptiste was even in town. she followed this by sending her mother to the kitchen, and keeping her there. "now what i must do — succeed in doing," she muttered to herself, " is to keep orlean from seeing or meeting him in private and even in public for as much as an hour." she realized that keeping a man and wife apart was a grave task, and that she could not trust to the sympathy of any friends. s the homesteader but one person could she trust to be an ally in the task she was trying to accomplish, and that was her father. she rather feared her husband at this time, for, while she held him under her control at most all times, he was by dispo- sition inclined to be kind and good. and, although he was jealous of baptiste in a measure, this did not reach pro- portions where he was likely to be a very ready accomplice with the plan in hand. indeed, if it was left to him, orlean would sleep in her husband's arms that very night! "i wish papa had stayed just another day," she grumbled as she walked the floor and tried to formulate some effec- tive plan of action. "to think that he left only this morn- ing and that man came this afternoon!" she was pro- voked at such a coincidence. she did not like to think too deeply, or to scheme too long, for it hurt her. so she was compelled to take a chair for a time and rest her mind. she was not positive how long baptiste would stay, and she would have difficulty in keeping her sister in bed for any length of time. but she decided to keep her in the house if she had to sit on guard at the front door. and it was while she was yet undecided upon her plan of action, that glavis came home. once in a great while, when she wanted a change, a diversion, she would have his supper waiting. other times it was left to her mother. he loved her in spite of all her evil, and was always pleased when she had his supper ready. so when she heard his footsteps outside, she was suddenly struck with an inspiration. she rushed toward the rear, and began hurriedly to set the table. her mother had the meal ready, so she affected to be very cheerful when glavis came into the room, and even kissed him fondly. he was so surprised, that the instance made him temporarily forget what was on his mind, which was just what she wished him to do. the preacher's evil influence "where is orlean?" he inquired after a time, where- upon his wife's face darkened. "oh, she's sick, and in bed," replied ethel guardedly. glavis grunted. he was thinking. for a time he for- got all that was around him; his wife, the supper, his work, all but jean baptiste and the wife that was being harbored under the roof that he kept up. he suddenly got up. he walked quickly out of the room and hurried up- stairs while his wife's back was turned, and knocked at the door of the room wherein orlean was supposed to lay sick. "come in," called the other. "oh, it's you, glavis," she cried, dropping back into bed when he entered the door. "a—ah — orlean," he said in his stammering sort of way. "a — ah — how are you?" "why, i feel well, glavis," she replied wonderingly. she had never felt just right mentally since before she left the west. and when she allowed herself to think, she found that it hurt her. she had always been obedient — her father had told her that time and again, and gave her great credit for being so. "think of it, my dear," he had so often said, "in all your life you have never ' sassed' your father, or contraried him," whereupon he would look greatly relieved. so her father had laid down the rule she was following — trying to follow. her husband must cer- tainly have been in grave error — not that she had observed it, or that she had been badly treated by him, for she had not. however, whenever she tried to see and understand what it all meant, it hurt her. she was again the victim of those nervous little spells that had harassed her before she married, but which had strangely left her during that time. but to do her father's will — for he never bid — always his the homesteader was an influence that seemed to need no words — she was trying. so she looked up at glavis, and observed something unusual in his face. "what is the matter, glavis?" she inquired, sitting up in bed again. glavis shifted about uneasily before replying. "ah — why — orlean, it's baptiste, your husband." "jean!" she cried, forgetting everything but her hus- band— forgetting that she had allowed herself to be parted from him. "what — what is the matter with him, glavis? with jean? has something happened? oh, i'm always so afraid something will happen to jean!" "no, no," exclaimed glavis, pushing her gently back upon the pillow. "nothing has happened. ah — er — ah —" "oh, i'm so relieved," she sighed, as she fell over in the bed. "he's here — in the city," she heard then from glavis. "he is!" she cried, sitting suddenly erect again. for a moment she hesitated, and then, raising her hand to her forehead as if in great pain, she groaned perceptibly. the next moment she had again sunk back upon the pillow, and her breath came hard. perspiration stood upon her brow, and he saw it. "orlean, oh, orlean," he cried then upon impulse. "great god, this is a shame, a shame before god!" he lamented with great emotion. suddenly he rushed to the door and then halted as he heard his wife calling him from below. he turned to where orlean lay in the bed, sick now for true. "aren't you coming down to supper, orlean?" he called. "no, glavis. i am not hungry." "but you should eat something, orlean." "no, glavis," she repeated in a tired voice, a voice in which he detected a sigh. "i couldn't eat anything — now." the preacher's evil influence he looked at her a moment with great tenderness, let escape a sigh, and then as if resigned to the inevitable, he turned and passed down the stairway to where his wife waited below. she regarded him keenly, and during the meal, she kept casting furtive glances in his direction. "i wonder what he's been saying to orlean?" she kept muttering to her- self. she concluded then, that she would have to watch him closely. he had never been in accord with her and her father's plan, and they had borne false witness to in- fluence him against baptiste. but he had seen baptiste she knew, and was also aware of the fact that glavis liked both her sister and brother-in-law, and it was going to be a task to keep him from following his natural inclination. she thought about her father again, and wished that he was in chicago. she had never been delegated to handle such a task alone, and she disliked the immense responsibility that was now upon her, and no one to stand with her in the conflict. "well, ethel," glavis said, arising from the table when the meal was over, " i'm going to walk out for a while." she started up quickly. her lips parted to say that he was going to meet baptiste and conspire with him against her father, but she realized that this would not be expedient. he might revolt. she rather feared this at times, notwith- standing her influence over him, therefore she decided to ex- ercise a little diplomacy. accordingly she sank back into the chair, and replied: "very well, dear." he regarded her keenly, but she appeared to be inno- cently completing her meal. he sighed to think that she did not make herself disagreeable, the anticipation of which had made him fear and dread the task that was before him. io the homesteader but now he was compelled to feel a little grateful because she was apparently very prudent in the matter. he hurried quickly to the hall tree, slipped into a light overcoat, and left the house. as he walked down the street, he was in deep thought. chapter vi more of the preacher's work jean baptiste was thoughtful for a long time after the other had left him. he had heard before he married orlean that the reverend was the father of two illegitimate children, but from speed's story he had met the whole of it. not only was he the father of two illegitimate children, but he had taken another man's wife to become so — and all this while he was one of the most influential men in the church! this fact, however, did not cause baptiste any wonder- ment. it was something he had become accustomed to. it seemed that the church contained so many of the same kind — from reports,— until it was a common expectation that a preacher was permitted to do the very worst things — things that nobody else would have the conscience to do. he arose presently and going to the bar, ordered another bottle of beer. he looked around the large room while he drank at the usual class who frequented the place. he knew that here and there among them were crooks, thieves, "con" men, gunmen, and gamblers. many of these men had per- haps even committed murder — and that for money. yet there was not one he was positive, that would deliberately separate a man and his wife for spite. and that was the crime this preacher father-in-law of his had committed. always in the mind of this man of the prairie this played. it followed him everywhere; it slept with him, arose with him, and retired with him. and all through long sleep- " the homesteader less nights it flitted about in his dreams like an eternal spectre, it gave him no peace. gradually it had brought him to a feeling that the only justifiable action would be to follow the beast to his lair and kill him upon sight. often this occurred to him, and at such times he allowed his mind to recall murder cases of various phases, and won- dered if such a feeling as he was experiencing, was the kind men had before committing murder. then if so, what a relief it must be to the mind to kill. he had a vision of this arch hypocrite writhing at his feet, with death in his sinful eyes, and his tongue protruding from his mouth. he drank the beer and then ordered liquor. somehow he wanted to still that mania that was growing within him. he had struggled for happiness in the world, for success and contentment, and he did not wish his mind to dwell on the subject of murder. but he was glad that this man had left the city. a man might be able to accept a great deal of rebuke, and endure much; but sometimes the sight of one who has wronged him might cause him for a moment to forget all his good intentions and manly resolutions. yes, he was glad that reverend mccarthy had left the city, and he shuddered a little when he recalled with a grimace that he had traveled these many miles to see and reckon with his wife. "well, you are here," he heard then, and turned to greet glavis. "oh, hello, glavis," he returned with a tired expression about his eyes from the effect of the strain under which he had been laboring. "have a drink." "an old-time cocktail," glavis said to the bartender. he then turned to baptiste. "well, how's everything over home?" said baptiste, coming directly to the point. more of the preacher's work "your wife's sick," said glavis a little awkwardly. "and i, her husband, cannot call and see her. i'm com- pelled to hear it from others and say nothing." he paused and the expression on his face was unpleasant to behold. glavis saw it and looked away. he could not make any an- swer, and then he heard the other again. "this is certainly the limit. i married that girl in good faith, and i'll bet that she has not told you or anybody else that i mistreated her. but here we are, compelled to be apart, and by whom?" his face was still unpleasant, and glavis only mumbled. "that damn preacher!" "oh, baptiste," cried glavis, f rowningly. "yes, i know — i understand your situation, glavis. but you must appreciate what it is to be thrown into a mess like this. to have your home and happiness sacrificed to somebody's vanity. i'm compelled to stand for all this for the simple crime of not lauding the old man. all because i didn't tickle his vanity and become the hypocrite he is, for should i have said what he wanted me to say, then i would have surely lied. and i hate a liar!" "but come, baptiste," argued glavis, "we want to figure out some way that you and your wife can get together without all this. now let's have another drink and sit down." "well, alright," said the other disconsolately, "i feel as if it would do me good to get drunk tonight and kill some- body, —no, no, glavis," he added quickly, "i'm not going to kill anybody. so you needn't think i am planning any- thing like that. i'm too busy to go to jail." "now, i'm willing to help you in any way i can, bap- tiste," began glavis, " as long as i can keep my wife out of it. i've got the darndest woman you ever saw. but she's my i the homesteader wife, and you know a man must try to live with the one he's married to, and that's why i am willing to help you." they discussed plans at some length, and finally de- cided to settle matters on the morrow. but when the morrow came, ethel blocked all the plans. she refused to be sent away across town and let baptiste come into the house and see his wife. she knew what that would mean, so she stood intrenched like the rock of gib- raltar. other plans were resorted to, but with the same result. the days passed and baptiste became obsessed with worry. he knew he should be back in the west and to his work; he began to lose patience with his wife for being so weak. if he could only see her he was certain that they would come to some agreement. sunday came and went, and still he saw her not. ethel took confidence; she smiled at the success with which she had blocked all efforts of com- munication. baptiste wrote his wife notes, but these she intercepted and learned his plans. she convinced her sister that she was sick and should be under the care of a physi- cian. this reached baptiste, and he secured one, a brilliant young man who was making a reputation. he had known him while the other was attending the northwestern medi- cal college, and admired him; but this too was blocked. for when he knocked at the door with the doctor at his side, they were forbade admittance. thereupon baptiste was embarrassed and greatly humiliated at the same time. ethel had a good laugh over it when they had left and cried: "he had his nerve, anyhow. walking up here with a nigger doctor, the idea! i wish papa had been home, he'd have fixed him proper! papa has never had one of those in his house, indeed not. no nigger doctor has ever attended any of us, and never will as long as papa has any- thing to do with it!" more of the preacher's work glavis finally succeeded in getting a hearing. by plead- ing and begging, he finally secured ethel's consent to allow him to bring baptiste to the house and sit near his wife for just thirty minutes — but no more. he did not apprise baptiste of this fact nor of the time limit, but caught him by the arm and led him to the house as though he were a privileged character. he took notice of the clock when he entered, because he knew that ethel, who was upstairs had done so. and he was very careful during the time to keep his eyes upon the clock. he knew that ethel would appear at the expiration of thirty minutes and start her disagree- ableness, so at the end of that time he quietly led baptiste away after he had been allowed only to look at his wife, who was like a sphinx from the careful dressing down she had had before and preparatory to his coming. so, having carried out what he considered a bit of di- plomacy, glavis was relieved. baptiste could expect no more of him, and so it ended. ethel wrote her father a cheerful letter and stated that that "hardheaded rascal" had been there from the west; but that orlean had declined to see him but once, and had refused to go back at all, whereupon her father smiled satis- factorily. jean baptiste returned to the west, defeated and down- cast. he had for the first time in his life, failed in an un- dertaking. he had never known such before, he could not understand. but he was defeated, that was sure. per- haps it was because he was not trained to engage in that particular kind of combat. he had been accustomed to dealing with men in the open, and was not prepared to counter the cunning and finesse of his newly acquired ad- versaries. over him it cast a gloom; it cast great, dark shadows, and the homesteader in the days that followed the real jean baptiste died and another came to live in his place. and that one was a hollow-cheeked, unhappy, nervous, apprehensive creature. he regarded life and all that went with it dubiously; he looked into the elements above him, and said that the world had reached a time whence it would change. the air would change, the earth would become hot, and rain would not fall and that drought would cover all the land, and the settlers would suffer. and so feeling, it did so become, and in the following chapter our story will deal with the ele- ments, and with how the world did change, and how drought came, and what followed. r the homesteader wind blowing from the south, it was no surprise when he became now, an altogether different person. (for you see the life — that life that makes men strong and fearless and cheerful had gone from the body of jean baptiste.) then he began to grow uneasy. it is, perhaps, somewhat difficult to portray a drought and its subsequent disasters. we beg - of you, however, that you go back to the early years in the peaceful, hopeful, vigorous country of our story: in the years that had been before when everything had pointed to success. rainfall had been abundant; frost had waited until october before it showed his white coat upon the window sill. land values had climbed and climbed, and had gone so high until only the moneyed could even reckon to own land. and jean baptiste controlled a thousand acres. over all the country, the pounding of steam and gasoline tractors filled the air with an incessant drumming; the black streaks everywhere told the story of conquest. the prairie was giving place to the inevitable settler, and hope was high in the hearts of all. so the wind had blown hot many days before the settlers became apprehensive of any- thing really serious. never since they had come to this country had they ex- perienced such intense heat; such regular heat; such con- tinued heat. a week passed and the heat continued. it blew a gale, and then a blast; but always it was hot, hot. hotl two weeks passed, and still it blew. before this it had at least subsided at night, although it did begin afresh in the morning. but now it blew all night and all day, and each day it became hotter, the soil became dryer, and presently the crops began to fire. "oh, for a rain!" every settler cried. "for a rain, a rain, a rain!" but no rain came. a great astronomer so every day there was the continual firing of the crops. the corn had been too small in the beginning to require much moisture, and the dry weather had enabled the farmer to kill the weeds, so it stood the gaft quite well, for a time, and grew like gourd vines in the meantime. it was the wheat, the oats, the rye and the barley that were first to suffer. these were at their most critical stage, the time when tiny little heads must dare seek the light. and as they did so, the cruel heat met and burned them until there- upon they cried and died from grief. and still the drought continued. no showers fell. the crops needed water. after the third week of such intense heat, the people groaned and said "' " had returned with all its attendant disaster. and still the wind kept blowing. the air grew hot, hotter; almost to stifling with the odor of the burning plants. the aroma mixed with the intense heat was suffocating. the grass upon the prairie gave up, turned its tiny blades to the sun and died to the roots, while all the grain of the land, slowly became shorter. it struggled, it bent, and at last turned what had pointed upward, downward, and also died of thirst. and then the people awakened to the emergency. they began to take note of the fact that many had gone into debt so deeply until there were many who could never get out unless they sold their land! this had been so with poor managers, speculators, and others before. when they found that they were unable to make it, there had always remained the alternative of selling out. and this had been so easy, because the people at large wanted the land. so instead, heretofore, of retiring in defeat, the weakest had retired in apparent victory. "for my homestead, i received $ , ," or maybe it had been $ , . so it had been. great prices the homesteader to all who wanted to sell. only a small portion, of them, however, had wanted to sell up to date. but when the crops were surely a failure for the most part, hundreds and thousands and even more quarters were offered for sale. then came the shock — the jolt that brought the people to a stern realization of what was before them. the buyers! there were no buyers! no, the buy- ers now when many wished to sell, stayed in iowa, and illinois and wherever they lived, and refused to come hither! so, for the first time the people in the new country were face to face with a real problem. and this continued to be augmented by the intense heat. hotter it had grown, and at last came a day when all the small grain was beyond re- demption, only the corn and the flaxseed were yet a possi- bility. so to jean baptiste we now return. he had written to his wife, and she had replied to his letter. he read them where he lived, on the homestead she had left, and longed simply for her to return. he lived with his mind in a dull quandary. it was useless to try to find consolation hating the cause of his troubles, so him, he tried much to forget. it would all come right some day, he still hoped, and worried between times over his debts. he had borrowed more money to develop his land; was behind in the interest, now, and also the taxes, and his wife wrote for money. this was what glavis had advised him to do — send her money and all would be right. yes, that was what ethel and her mother and her father had all thought right. send her money. but the day of plenty of money for jean baptiste was slipping. the burning, dried crop that lay in the field, would bring no money. but this he dared not write. if he wrote and told the woman he had married — a great astronomer for a wife she surely was no more — that would be to tell the family. and that prince of evil, the reverend, would say with his wonted braggadocio: " um-m. didn't i tell you right! that is a wild country out there for wild people, only." so baptiste kept what was ruining the crops to him- self. he sent her five dollars, and this brought the most pleas- ant letter he had yet received. it also brought one from glavis, who followed the same with another, which was more to the point. it was this he wrote: "chicago, ill., june, oth, — "dear friend baptiste: "i have your recent letter, and it gives me a great pleas- ure to reply to it. you would have had my last letter sooner; but i left it to ethel to mail, and this she did not do, so that explains the delay. "now we are getting along very well in chicago, and hope the same prevails in the west. by the papers i read where considerable dry weather is prevailing over a part of the west, but hope it hasn't truck your part of the country. appreciating, however, your disposition to come directly to a point, i will now turn to a subject that i am sure will be of greater interest to you than anything else, and which is orlean, your wife. "it gives me a pleasure to state that she appears more re- lieved of recent than she has since returning home. but i will not hesitate to tell you why. it is because of you, and you only. always she talks of you — to me — and it pleases me to talk with her concerning you, for it is with you her mind is at all times. i fear that you cannot appreciate her now as you were once inclined to do; but really think you would be justified, fully so, if you did. "now, for instance, when you sent the money not long ago, it gave her great delight. that you haven't forgotten that she is your wife and have some regards, in spite of all, a great astronomer now it so happened that when glavis had completed this letter, he was called to the phone, and later into the street. he was gone a half hour or more, and in the meantime, ethel came upon it, and read it. her evil little eyes nar- rowd to mere slits when she had finished. she had noted what had been going on — orlean and her husband always finding each other's company so congenial. "well," she muttered after a time. "the time to strike iron is while it's hot. i'll have to get that man of mine straightened out." whereupon she went to her room, and here is the letter she wrote: chicago, ill., june th, — "the reverend n. j. mccarthy, cairo, . "dear father: we received your letter and were glad to hear you say that you expected to come to chicago soon. i was just thinking awhile ago, that if you could come soon, real soon, it might be best. certain matters need your at- tention. i will not state which, but i, you know, am aware of how you have been slandered and vilified by a certain person that you know. well, that person is again finding a way to influence those who are near to us. so knowing how equal you are to the most arduous task, i take this means of communicating that which is most expedient. "hoping that your health is the best, and that we may see you real soon, believe me to be, as ever, "your loving daughter, "ethel." so it happened that out in the west where the most terrific and protracted drought the country had ever ex- perienced was burning crops and hopes of the people in- cluded, jean baptiste was made joyful. he understood glavis' letter; he understood what he had said and what he had not said. he had suffered. he saw disaster creeping upon him from the drought rent fields. the homesteader is it, therefore, but natural that in his moments of agony and unhappiness, shattered hopes and mortal anguish, that he should turn to the woman who had been his mate. to have her to talk to; her to tell the truth to and share what little happiness there was to be had in life, he became overly anxious? thereupon he wrote her, sending another check for five dollars. july th, — "my dear wife: "i am writing and sending you a little more money, and since you must be well by now, and realize how much i need you, i am enclosing a signed but not filled-in-amount check, with the request that you come home right away. you will start, say the loth, that will place you in winner on the night of the eleventh, on saturday, where i will meet you. "i will expect you, dear; and please don't disappoint me. i have not seen you for three months now, and that has not been my preference. the amount will be sufficient for your fare, and expenses please, and i will write no more; but should anything happen that you can not start on that date, then write or wire me that i may know. "with love to you, i am, "as ever, you husband, "jean." chapter viii n. justine mc carthy preaches a sermon the text of reverend n. j. mccarthy's sermon to be delivered on mothers' day, was one of the most inexhaustible. most of his sermons he did not pre- pare. but because this was one of the greatest days in the annual of the church, he spent a half a day in the preparation thereof. the title he selected for it suited him fully, and he called it: "the claim of the wicked." into it he put all the emotion that was in him. he drew a picture in illustrious words, of the wicked, the vicious man, and the weak, the undefended woman, and made many in his dark congregation burst into emotional discordance thereby. he ridiculed the vain; he denounced, scathingly, the hypocrite; he made scores in his audience turn with per- spiration at the end of their noses with conscious guilt. oh, never before in the years since he had mounted to the pulpit and begun what he chose to call, "an effort for the salvation of souls," had he preached such a soul stirring sermon. "live right, live right, i say!" he screamed at the top of his voice. "how many of you are there as you sit here before me, that have done evil unto thy neighbor; have made some one unhappy; have cast a soul into grief and eternal anguish? think of it! think of what it means before god to do evil, spite; vent your rotten deceit upon others! i stand before you in god's glory to beseech you to desist; to pray with you to live according to your consciences; the homesteader to dispense with that evil spirit that in the end you may face your god in peace! go forth hereafter in this world of sin; go to those whom you have wronged and made thereby to suffer, and ask forgiveness; ask there and re- pent forthwith! oh, i'll tell you it is a glorious feeling to know you have lived right," and he turned his eyes dra- matically heavenward, and affected his audience by the aspect. "to feel that unto others you have been just; that you have been kind ; that you have not caused them to suffer, but to feel happy! think of the thrill, the sensation such must give you, and then let your conscience be henceforth your guide in all things!" when the services were over, and he had shaken hands with all the sisters, and bowed to the brothers, a boy, the son of the lady where he stayed, approached and handed him a letter. he looked at it with his spectacles pinched upon his nose, and then read it. it was from ethel, and we know the contents. "so," he said easily as he read it. "the evil seeks to influence my household in subtle matters, eh! oh, that man has the brain of a caesar, but the purpose of satan! drat him, and his infernal scheming! ever since the day i first knew him in the country four miles from this town, he has been wont to annoy, to aggravate me — and after all my daughter, my poor daughter, and myself have done for himl" he began preparation to go to chicago at the earliest convenience. as his work was so urgent, he wrote ethel in reply that same day: "my dear daughter: "i am in receipt of your letter and make haste to reply. to begin with, i am not surprised to hear what you wrote the homesteader came back. during these long lonesome days he found a strange solace in talking to his horses. there, for in- stance, was john and humpy, the mules that orlean had driven her father out to their home with when he had come on his first visit. he told them that she was coming back now, and to him they appeared to answer. they had be- come round and plump since work had closed, and hav- ing fully shed their winter's hair, and not yet become sun- burned their dapple gray coating made them very attractive. he rearranged the house, bought a few pieces of much needed furniture, and made elaborate preparations for the homecoming. at last the day arrived. it was saturday morning. the wind had died down, and gave threats of rain for the first time in six long, hot dry weeks. he hitched john and humpy to the spring wagon, and with a touch of his old enthusiasm, left his grandmother cheerfully — but for reasons of his own, did not tell her that he was going for orlean. perhaps he wished to sur- prise her, at least he did not tell her. he drove to winner more filled with hope than he had been for months. the town was filled that day, and because there was an appearance of rain in the air, which could yet save much of the corn, there was an air of hope and cheer abroad. jean thought to board a train and ride a few miles, and return on the evening train on which she would be. then he decided he would wait for rfer and be ready to drive directly home. as the train was due shortly after nine p. m., he estimated that he could drive the distance in two hours, thereby getting to her claim before midnight and they could spend sunday together celebrating their happy reunion. he had longed to talk with her — and grieve with her mccarthy preaches a sermon over their loss in the fine little boy who never knew his parents. he thought of all this and of the happy days they had spent together the summer before. he felt the love and the devotion she had given him then. he wondered sometimes whether he had ever loved her as he had dreamed he would love his wife; but this thought had ever been replaced by his sense of duty. marriage was sacred; it was the institution of good; he always disliked to see people part. he felt then, as he had ever felt before, that nothing but infidelity could ever make him leave a woman that he had married. he was still an enemy of divorce. he recalled how they had gone to the catholic church once in gregory, and had heard a learned priest discourse on divorce and its attendant evils. never before had any- thing so impressed him. how plain the priest had made his audience understand why the church did not tolerate di- vorce. how decidedly he had shown that divorce could and would be avoided if the people could be raised to feel that "until death do us part." and baptiste and the woman he had married had discussed it afterward. they had found books and stories in the magazines to which they subscribed, and had read deeper into it, and had been united in their opinion on the subject. divorce was bad; it was evil; it was avoidable in almost every case. then why should it be? they had agreed that duty toward each other was the first essential toward combating it; that selfishness was a thing that so often precipitated it. in all its phases he had discussed it with her, and in the end, she had agreed with him. and down in their hearts they had felt that such would never be necessitated in the union they had formed. so he lived again through the life that had been his, he did not allow his mind to dwell on the evil that had come the homesteader into and made his life unhappy; made his days and nights and very existence a misery. he did not, as he lingered on the platform of that little western station, think or dwell on the things that were best forgotten. for a time he be- came jean baptiste of old. return to him then did all that old buoyancy, all that vigor and great hope, all that was his when he had longed for the love that should be every man's. and she had been away on a visit, to recover from the illness that the delivery had given her. he was sorry for their loss, and he would talk with her this night as they drove along the trail. they would talk of that and all they had lost, and they would talk of that which was to come. oh, it would be beautiful! just to have a wife, the wife that gives all her love and thought to making her husband happy. and he would try to give her all that was in him. and his wife would soon be with him — in his arms, and they would be happy as they had once been! there it was! from down the track the train whistled. it was coming, and his wait was to an end. near he saw john and humpy whom she had been delighted to drive. they were groomed for the occasion, and were anxious to go home. tonight they would haul her and hear her voice. he rose suddenly to his feet when at last the light fell upon the rails and he could see the engine. the roar of the small locomotive was approaching. around him were others whose wives had been away. they, too, were come to meet their loved ones. some were alone while around the others were children — all waiting to meet those dear to their hearts. the train came to a stop at last, and the people emerged from the coaches. there was the usual caressing as loved ones greeted loved ones. little cries of "mama" and "papa" were heard, and for a moment there was quite a mccarthy preaches a sermon hubbub of exclamations. "oh, john," and "jim" with the attendant kiss. in the meantime he looked expectantly down the line to where the car doors opened, and not seeing the one for whom he was looking, he presently jumped aboard the first car, and passed through it. it was empty and he estimated that she would be in the rear car. it was the chair car, and the one in which he naturally would ex- pect her to ride. he passed into it bravely, with his lips ready to greet her. the last of the passengers were filing out. the car was empty, and his wife had not come. slowly he passed out of the car as the brakeman rushed in to change his apparel for the street. across the street was the team waiting. they seemed to know him before he came in sight and they greeted him as though they thought that she had come, too. he got slowly into the wagon, and soon they were hur- rying homeward. chapter ix what the people were saying nj. mccarthy arrived in the city late on friday afternoon and was met by both his daughters. • ethel had, of course, read the letters jean bap- tiste had written his wife requesting her to return home, and so she took orlean with her to meet her father, instead of permitting her to go to the station to return to the husband who had asked for her. the elder was due in about the same time the train that would have taken orlean west was due out. "ah-ha," he cried as he stepped from the car. "and both my babies have come to meet their father! that is the way my children act. always obedient to their father. yes, yes. never have contraried or disobeyed him," a compliment he meant for orlean, but ethel could share it this once, although the times she had contraried or sauced him would have been hard to recount. upon arriving home, they met glavis just returning from work, and he was also greeted in the same effusive manner by the reverend. "and how is everything about the home, my son?" asked the elder in a big voice. at the same time he eyed glavis critically. he had come to the city with and for a pur- pose, and that purpose was to put down early the intimacy that had been reported as growing up between glavis and baptiste. so he had planned to attend to it diplomatically. "why everything is alright, father," glabbed glavis, what the people were saying grinning broadly and showing his teeth. he was ever af- fected by the other's lordlyism, and he had never tried matching his wits with those of the other's in an extraordi- nary manner. the elder was aware of this, and it made him rather grateful. however, he regarded the other closely as glavis stepped about in quick attention to his possible needs or desires. that was as he had hoped to have both his sons-in-law, wherefore his team would have been complete. it made him sigh now regretfully when he recalled how he had failed in the one case. he gave up momentarily to a siege of self pity. how different it would have been had jean baptiste chosen to admire him as glavis apparently did. but — and he straightened up perceptibly when it occurred to him, instead of being as glavis was, the other had chosen to be independent, to call him "judge," "colonel," "reverend," and "elder" and any other vulgar title he happened to think of on the moment. moreover, he had also chosen to ask him a thou- sand questions about things he did not understand — that was the trouble, though the elder had not seen it that way— asking him questions about things he did not understand. the elder saw it as "impudent." he saw and regarded that persistency which had been the making of the man in jean baptiste as "hardheadedness." he regarded that tenacity to stick to anything in the other, sufficient to char- acterize "a bulldog." "m-m, my boy," he said now to glavis. "you are cer- tainly a fine young man, just fine, fine, fine!" he paused briefly while glavis could swallow the flattery, arid then went on: "never in the thirty years i have been a min- ister of the gospel and been compelled to be away from home in god's work, has it ever been like it has since you married ethel. i simply do not have to worry at all now; the homesteader whereas, i used to have to worry all the time." whereupon he paused again, affected a lordly sigh, and permitted glavis to become inflated with vanity before going on. "now, before you married ethel, i was a little dubious." he always said this for a purpose. "i am so well in- formed and understand men so well, and the ways of men, until i was hesitant to risk trusting you with my daughter's love. you will understand how it is when you have raised children with the care i have exercised in the training of my precious darlings. a man cannot be too careful, and for that reason, i was dubious regarding her marrying you. besides, we, i think you understand, are among the best col- ored people of the city of chicago, and the state of illi- nois, so it behooved me to exercise discretion." "yes, father," glavis swallowed. he felt then the dig- nity of his position as a member of such a distinguished family. "well," went on the other, "you know how much grief i must be enduring when i see this poor baby," pointing to orlean, "as she is. the finest girl that ever trod the earth, and my heart always, and then to see her dragged down to this, and all this attendant gossip, grieves my old heart," whereupon big tears rolled down his dark face. all those about sighed in sympathy and were silent. "oh, it's a shame, a shame, my father, it is a shame!" he cried between sobs. "oh, his immortal soul! come in here like a thief in the night, and with his dirty tongue just deliberately stole her from her good home — her an innocent child to go out into that wilderness and sacrifice her poor soul to make him rich!" he ended with the eloquence that his years of preaching had given him. he shed more tears of mortification, and resumed: "and my wife, her own mother, was a party to it!" he what the people were saying was killing two birds witn one stone now. nothing was more gratifying to him than to seize every possible oppor- tunity to place all his failures, all his shortcomings, all his blunders, and last, but not least, all the results of his evil nature, on the shoulders of his little helpless wife. for years — aye, since he had taken her as wife, had it been so. never had she shared even in reflected light the honors that had come to him. she did as he requested, and endeavored to please him in every way. the love he had given her was an affected love. it was not from his heart. he had given her little that was due her as his wife. "i went out there," he went on, "to find this child lying there in the bed with only his sister and grandmother to look after her. the doctor was coming twice a day, but that man asked him, when she could but open her eyes, whether such was necessary; and that when it wasn't, then to come but once. i sat there by her bed, i, her poor old father, and nursed her back to life from the brink of death, the death that surely would have come had it not been for me. and when she was well enough, i went to all the ex- pense of bringing her out of that wilderness back to her home and health. "and for that, for all that i have sacrificed, what am i given? credit? well, i guess not! i am being slandered; i'm being vilified by evil people — and right in my own church! think of it! for thirty years i have preached the- law of the gospel and saved so many souls from hell, and now, now when my poor old head its white and my soul is grieved with the evil that has come into my home, i am vilified! "no longer than last week, i was approached by a woman, a woman purporting to be a child of god, but who the homesteader ups to me and said: 'reverend mac., what is the matter with your daughter and the man she married? i hear they are parted?' i was so put out that i did not attempt to answer, but just regarded her coldly. but did that stop her mouth? well, i guess not! she went right on as flip as she could be: 'well, you know, reverend, there is all kinds of reports about to various effects. one is that you didn't like him because of his independent ways, and be- cause he was successful, and he didn't take much stock in you because he didn't like the way you had lived. and then there's other reports that he made an enemy of you be- cause he didn't praise and flatter you, and that you did it to "get even." they say that you had your daughter to sign her husband's name to a check for a large sum of money and used it to slip away from him and so on. but the one thing that everybody seems to be agreed upon is, that there was nothing whatever wrong between the couple, and that they had never quarreled and never had thought of part- ing. that all the trouble is between you and your son-in- law.' "i had stood her gab about as long as i could, i was so angry. so all i could say was: 'woman, in the name of heaven, get you away from me before i forget i am a minister of the gospel and you a woman!' but be- fore she had even observed how angry i was, she ups and says: 'why, now, elder, as much as you love the ladies, and then you'd abuse a poor woman like me,' and right there, after such a tonguing as she had let out, fell to crying! "those are some of the things i must endure, my son. in this work. i must endure slander, vilification, misunder- standing, and all that. it's terrible." what the people were saying "people are certainly ungrateful," cried ethel at this point. "and they don't try to learn the truth about any- thing before they start their rotten gossip. more, they have nerve with it! a certain woman stopped me on the street downtown the other day, a woman who claims to have been my friend and a friend of our family for years. and what do you think she had the nerve to say to me? well, here's what it was, and i hope she said it: 'why, ethel, how is orlean?' i replied that she was getting bet- ter. she says: 'is she sick physically, or mentally?' i said: 'i don't understand you?' she looked at me kind of funny as she replied,' why, don't you know, ethel glavis, that it's the talk around chicago — everybody is saying it, that you and your father went out west there, and made her forge his name to a check for a large sum of money and for spite and spite only, took poor orlean away from her husband and came back here and spread all this gossip about her being sick and neglected when the doctor had come to see her every day? i know jean baptiste and i have not lived in this world for thirty-five years and not able yet to understand people. and jesus christ couldn't make me believe that jean baptiste would mistreat orlean. besides, all this talk comes from you and your father. orlean has said nothing about it. she is just simple and easy like her mother and will take anything off you and your father. now, it's none of my business; but i am a friend of humanity, and i want to say this, that anybody that is doing what you and your father are doing will suffer and burn in hell some day for it!' and she flies away from me and about her business." "it's outrageous," the reverend cried. "we hardly dare show our heads on the street; to greet old friends for the homesteader fear we are going to be ridiculed and abused for what we have done." "it's certainly an ungrateful world, that's all," agreed ethel. chapter x "until then" it did not rain the night jean baptiste went to win- ner to meet the wife who failed to come, but the pro- tracted drought continued on into july. for three weeks into this month it burned everything in its path. from canada to kansas, the crops were almost burned to a crisp, while in the country of our story proper, only the winter wheat, and rye, and some of the oats matured. and this was confined principally to the county where jean baptiste had homesteaded. here a part of a crop of small grain was raised, but everything else was a failure. his flaxseed crop in tripp county which had given some promise if rain should come in time, had now fallen along with all else, and when he saw it next, after his trip to winner, it was a scattered mass of sickly stems, with army worms everywhere cutting the stems off at the ground. the whole country as a result, was facing a financial panic. interest would be hard to raise — and this, in view of the fact that the year before had seen less than half a crop produced, was not a cheerful prospect. with baptiste, and others who had gone in heavily, disaster became a possi- bility; and, unless a radical change intervened, disaster ap- peared as an immediate probability. during these days there was little to do. he had har- vested what little crop he had raised, and having no haul- ing or anything, to engage him he found going fishing his only diversion. and it was at about this time that he re- the homesteader "i must close. i am sure i have bored you with such a long letter and so much gossip; but i have at least satisfied my own conscience. so hoping that all comes out well with you in the end, believe me to be, "your dear friend, "jessie mansfield." it so happened that the exhausted jean baptiste turned to the hope that illness might claim his enemy, and he ex- changed letters with jessie mansfield, regularly, and after a time, found her correspondence a great diversion. and so the summer passed. near the last days of july the severe drought was broken, but too late to benefit the crops which had been so badly burned by the drought. he managed to get considerable land into winter wheat, and the fall came on with only a crop of debts and overdue bills that made him regard the mail box dubiously. winter followed, one of the coldest ever known, and spring was approaching when jean baptiste decided to make his last attempt for a reunion with his wife. in all the months that had followed his previous trip he had planned that if he could only see her, could only see her and be alone with her for a day, they would abridge the chasm that had been forced because of the reverend. that one had not obliged him by dying by any means, but had regained his health in a measure, so baptiste read in the letters he received from jessie. however, she wrote, it seemed that something had come over him, for he was not the same. he had lost much of his great flesh, wore a hag- gard expression, and seemed to be weighted down with some strange burden. it was april again when at last he took the train for chicago, for the last time, he decided, on the same mission that had taken him there twice before. he planned now. to "until then" exercise more discretion. inasmuch as the reverend was as a rule, always out of the city, he trusted to fate that he would be out this time. the bitterness that had grown up in his heart toward the elder, he feared, might make him forget to observe the law of the land if he chanced to en- counter that adversary. so when he arrived in the great city, he went about the task of seeing his wife under cover. he first visited a barber shop. he happened into one near van buren on state street, where lady barbers did the trimming. he did not find them efficient, and was glad when he left the chair. he decided that he would act through mrs. pruitt, who he had heard from the fall be- fore, and who was being charged along with mrs. mc- carthy, as being the cause of all the trouble. he had not written her that he was coming, calculating that it would be best for her not to have too long to think it over. upon leaving the barber shop, he ventured up state street, through the notorious section of the "old tenderloin " to taylor street, and presently turned and dis- covered himself in the polk and dearborn street station. he found that slipping about the street under cover like a sneak thief was much against his grain, and he was nervous. in all the months he had contemplated the trip, he had taken great care not to let ethel or any of the family know in advance of his coming. he wanted his wife. the agony of living alone, the dreaded suspense, the long journey and the gradual breaking down of what he had built up, played havoc with his nerves, and he was trembling perceptibly when he took a seat in the station. he encountered a man upon arrival there, whom he had known years before, and because he had been so intent on keeping out of sight, the recognition by the other frightened him. he managed to control himself with an effort, and greeted the other the homesteader casually. however, he was relieved when he recalled that the other knew nothing of his relations — not even that he had ever married. after he felt his nerves sufficiently calm, he ventured to the telephone booth, and secured mrs. pruitt's number. he paused briefly before calling her to steady his nerves, and then got her in due time. "hello, mrs. pruitt," he called. '"hello," came back, and he caught the surprise in her voice. "is it you?" she asked, and he noted that her voice was trembling. "yes," he called back nervously. "do you recognize my voice?" "yes," he heard, and the uneasiness with which she an- swered discouraged him. he had great faith in mrs. pruitt. notwithstanding the gossip that connected her name with the elder's she was regarded as a woman of un- usual ability and mental force. she was speaking again in a very low tone of voice. almost in a whisper. "listen," said she. "call this same number in about ten minutes, understand? yes. do that. i'll explain later." he sat before the clock now, in the station, and watched the minutes pass. they seemed like hours. he was now- aware that the strain of these months of grief and eternal mortification, had completely unnerved him. his compos- ure was like that of an escaped convict with the guards near. his heart beat so loud until he looked around in cold fear wondering whether those near heard it. and all the while he sat in this nervous quandary, he kept repeating over, and over again: "mrs. pruitt, mrs. pruitt — surely even you have not gone back on me, too. oh, mrs. pruitt. you can't understand what it means to me, what i have suf- fered,— the agony, the disgrace — the hell!" he regarded "until then" the telephone booth before him and his eyes were like glass. all the busy station was a hubbub. after what seemed to him an eternal waiting, he was slightly relieved to see that fifteen minutes had passed, and he got up and slipped back into the booth and called mrs. pruitt. "yes, i'm here, jean," she called, "and the reason i told you to call later was that your people — your father- in-law is right here in the house at this moment. he was sitting right here by the 'phone when you called awhile ago, so. now you understand." "oh," he cried, his head swimming, and everything grew dark around him. after one long year of agony, of eternal damnation, one long year of waiting and suspense, he had banked his chances, and encountered his enemy the first thing. right under the telephone he had been! jean bap- tiste who had once been a strong, brave and fearless man, was now trembling from head to foot. "now, jean," he heard mrs. pruitt. "i understand everything. you are here to see and get orlean if you can; but you want to do so without them knowing any- thing about it, and i agree with you. you wish me to help you, and i will. i'll do anything to right this terrible wrong, but give me time to plan, to think! in the meantime, he is so near that it is not safe for me to talk with you any longer. so you go somewhere, and come back, say: in about an hour. if he is still here, i will say: 'this is the wrong number.' get it?" "yes, mrs. pruitt," he replied, controlling the storm of weakness that was passing over him. "i get you." "very well, until then." "until then," he called, and hung up the receiver. chapter xi "it's the wrong number" jean baptiste had come eight hundred miles after one terrible year, to the feet of his father-in-law, and when he realized that such was the case upon hanging up the receiver, his composure was gone. bitter agony be- yond description overwhelmed him when he came from the booth at the end of his brief conversation with mrs. pruitt . never in his life had he been as miserable as he now was. it seemed to him that in the next hour he must surely die of agony. he found a place in the station where he was very much alone, and for a time gave up to the grief and misery that had come over him. "unless i find some diversion, i will be unfit for any- thing but suicide!" he declared, trying to see before him. out in the west all was wrong. he was now loaded down with debt. his interest was unpaid, also' his taxes. his creditors for smaller amounts he had not even called upon to say that he was unable to meet his financial obligations. he had tried being blind to everything but the instance of his wife. he had just deliberately cast everything aside until he could have her. that was it. he had made himself believe that only was it necessary to see her alone, and to- gether they would fly back to the west. he had not reckoned that his arch enemy would be lying like a great dog right at the door he was to enter. and now, before he was hardly in the city, he was all but confronted with his hypocritical bulk. "oh, i can stand it no longer, no, no, no!" he cried in "it's the wrong number" agonizing tones. the world to him was lost. the strong shall be the weakest when it becomes so, it is said; and surely jean baptiste had come to it in this hour. he had no courage, he had no hope, he had no plans. after minutes in which he reached nowhere; minutes when all the manhood in him crept out, and went away to hide, he staggered to his feet. he straightened his body, and also his face; he became an automaton. he had de- cided to seek artificial stimulation. thereupon he made his way into the main waiting room. he looked about him as one in a daze, and finally turned his face toward the en- trance of the station. when there he had arrived, he hesi- tated, and looked from right to left. as he did so, his mind went back to some years before when he first saw the city, and had gone about its streets in search of work. a block or two away he recalled clark street, that part of it which had been notorious. he recalled where one could go and see almost anything he wished. now, he was a man, was jean baptiste, a man who had loved a wife as men should; a man who had found a wife and a wife's comfort all he had longed for in life. but that one he had taken as wife had fled. she had left him to the world, and all that was worldly. he was breaking down under the strain, and his manhood was for the time gone. he became as men are, as men have been, and he was at a place where he did not care. he was alone in the world, the prairies had not been good to him, and he felt he must have rest, oh, rest. he stepped from the station, and held himself erect with an effort. he turned to his left, and walked or rather ambled along. he did not know in particular where he was going, but going somewhere he was. he kept his face turned to the west, and after many steps, he came to a the homesteader side street. it was a narrow street, and he recalled it vaguely. it was called custom house place, and its repu- tation for the worst, was equalled by none. even from where he stood the sound of ragtime music came to his ears from a gorgeous saloon across its narrow way. he listened to it without feeling, no thrill or inspiration did it give him. he turned into this street after some min- utes, and ambled along its narrow walkway. as he went along, from force of habit, he studied the various forms of vice about . in and out of its many ways, he saw the familiar women, the painted faces and the gorgeous eyes. he came presently to where negroes stood before a saloon. they, too, were of the type he understood. characters with soft hands, and soft skin, and he knew they never worked. he turned into it. a bar was before him, and although for liquor he had never cared especially, he could drink. he went forward to the bar and ordered a cocktail. he drank it slowly, as he observed himself, all haggard and worn in the bar mirror, and as he did so, he could see what was pass- ing behind him. a man sat in a small ante room near a door, and he observed that men would pass by this man to a door opening obviously to a stairway beyond. he won- dered what was beyond. he ordered another cocktail, and drank it slowly, studying those who passed back and forth through the door that the man opened with a spring. he decided to venture thereforth. when he had drank his cocktail, he wandered toward the door also, as if he had been accustomed to entering it. the door opened before him and he entered. he found him- self in a hallway, with a flight of stairs before him, and a closed and locked door on the stairway. he stood regard- ing it, and espied a bell presently. this he approached and touched. 'it's the wrong number" the door was opened straightway and the flight of stairs continued to the landing above. he looked up and beheld a woman standing at the top of the stairs, who had seem- ingly opened the door by pressing a button. he entered and approached her. as he did so, she turned and led him into a small room, then into a larger room, where sat many other women. he was directed to a chair, and became seated. he regarded all the women about wonderingly; for to him, none had said a word. he might as well have been in a house of tombstones, for they said naught to him, and did not even look at him. he sat where he was for perhaps two minutes. then he arose and walked to the door which he had entered, and turned to look back into the room. it was empty, every woman had disappeared without a sound in a twinkling, all except the woman who had admitted him. she stood be- hind, regarding him noncommittally. "what is this place?" he inquired of her. she looked up at him, and he thought he caught something queer in her eyes. but she replied in a pleasant tone: "why, it is anything." "oh," he echoed. she continued to stand, not urging him to go, nor to stay. he looked at her closely, and saw that she was a white woman, perhaps under thirty. "a sort of cabaret? " he suggested. "yes," she replied, in the same pleasant tone of voice. "a sort of cabaret." "so you serve drinks here, then?" "yes, we serve drinks here." • "where?" "well," and she turned and he followed her to another room apparently the abode of some one. included in the furniture there was a table and two chairs, and while he the homesteader became seated in one, she took the other and her eyes asked what he wished. "a cocktail," he said. she went to a tube and called the order. "and something for yourself," he said. she did as he directed, and duplicated his order. she came back to where he sat by the table and sat before him, without words, but a pleasant demeanor. "here's luck," he said, when the drinks had been brought up. "same to you," she responded, and both drank. he told her then to bring some beer, and when the order had been given, he bethought himself of his errand. in- stantly he became oblivious of all about him, and the old agony again returned. he stretched across the table, and was not aware that he groaned. he did not hear the woman who stood over him when she returned with the beer. he was living the life of a few minutes before,— misery. "here is your beer," she said, but he made no move. presently she touched him lightly upon the shoulder, where- upon he sat erect, and looked around him bewilderingly. "ybur beer," she said, and he regarded her oddly. "what is the matter?" she said now, and regarded him inquiringly. "i was thinking," he replied. "of something unusual," she ventured. "yes," he answered, wearily. "of something unusual." she observed him more closely. she saw his haggard face; his tired, worn expression, and beneath it all she caught that sad distraction that had robbed him of his com- posure. in some way she really wished to help him. here was an unusual case. she,— this woman who was for sale, became seated again, and regarding him kindly she said: "it's the wrong number" "you are in trouble." he sighed but said no word. "in great trouble." he sighed again, and handed her the money for the beer. "i wish i could help you," she said thoughtfully and her eyes fell upon the table. his hat lay there, and she saw therein the name of the town where it had been purchased. "you don't live here?" she suggested then. "no," he mumbled, trying to dispel the heaviness that was over him. if he could just forget. that was it. if he could forget and be normal; be as he had been until that evil genius had come back again into his life. "no," he repeated, "i don't live here." "and — you — you — have just come?" she said. her voice was kind. "is it — it — a woman?" he nodded slowly. "oh," she echoed. "your wife, perhaps?" he nodded again. "oh!" they were both silent then for some moments; he struggling to forget, she wondering at the strange circum- stances. "has some one come between you?" she inquired after a time. "yes," he whispered. "oh, that's bad," she uttered sympathetically. "it is bad to come between a man and his wife. and you —" she paused briefly then bit her lip in slight vexation, then ob- served him with head bent before her. it was rather un- usual, and that was what had vexed her. could it mean anything what a woman like her thought of or sympathized. yet, she was moved by the condition of the stranger before her. she felt she had to say something. "and you — the homesteader you don't look like a bad fellow at all." he looked up at her with expressionless eyes. she returned the look and then went on: "you have such honest, frank and truthful eyes. hon- estly, i feel sorry for you." "oh, thank you," he said gratefully then. to have some one — even such a woman look at him so kindly, to say words of condolence was like water to the thirsty. he thought then again of that other, and the father that was hers, who at that moment sat in the company of another man's wife. he recalled that mrs. pruitt said that he had been in town for several days and every day since he had been there. naturally. this man courted another man's wife openly, yet was ready with all the force in him, the moment jean baptiste sought his god-given mate, to rise up in pious dignity to oppose him. wrath became his now, and his eyes narrowed. in the moment he wanted to go forth and slay the beast who was making this. he rose slightly. she saw it, and her eyes widened. she reached out and touched his hand where it gripped the table. "please don't do that," she said, and in her voice there was a slight appeal. he regarded her oddly, and then understood. he sank back listlessly in the seat, and sighed. "poor boy," she said. "some one has done you a ter- rible wrong. it is strange how the world is formed, and the ill fortune it brings to some. i can just see that some one has done you a terrible wrong, and that when you rose now you would have gone forth and killed him." he regarded her with gratitude in his eyes, and the ex- pression upon his face told her that she had spoken truly. "but try to refrain from that desire. oh, it's justifi- able it seems. but then when we stop to think that we will "it's the wrong number" never feel the same afterward about it, it's best to try to forget our grief. you are young, and there are worlds of nice girls who would love and make for you happiness. some day that will be yours in spite of all. so please, just think and — don't kill the one who has done this." "you are awfully kind," he whispered. he felt rather odd. of all places, this was not where men came to be consoled, indeed. but herein he had gotten what he could not get on vernon avenue where church members were sup- posed to dwell. he arose now. . . . he reached out his hand and she took it. "i don't quite understand what has happened, but you have helped me." he reached into his pocket and withdrew some coins, and this he handed her. she drew back her hand, but he insisted. "yes, take it. / understand your life here. but you have helped me more than you can think. i was awfully discouraged when i came. almost was i to something rash. take it and try to remember that you have helped some one." he squeezed her hand, and she cast her eyes down, and as she did so, he saw a tear fall to the floor. he turned quickly then and left. he retraced his steps toward the polk street station, and to the booth he had been inside of an hour before. he called mrs. pruitt, and after a time came back over the wire, in a low] meaning voice: "ifs the wrong number." mrs. pruitt effects a plan "he's in chicago," said her mother. "yes," said mildred, "and i'll bet right over at mrs. pruitt's every day." "he wouldn't be likely to be home," commented her mother. "he returns as a rule along about midnight." the two laughed then, and regarded the man. "you ought to give her up, jean," said mildred. "a woman that has no more will power than she has, isn't fit — isn't worth the grief you are spending." "yes, mildred, it does seem so, but she is my wife, and somehow i feel that i should give her every chance." "the case is unusual," commented her mother again. "the man has a reputation for such actions — rather, he has been known to persecute, and does persecute the preach- ers that are under his dictation in the church. but that such would extend to the possible happiness of his own children! indeed, it hardly seems credible." "vanity, mama. reverend mccarthy is regarded as the most vain man in the church. jean here has never flat- tered him — tickled his vanity, and this is the price he's paying." "well," said her mother. "such as this can't keep up. some day he's going to be called on to pay — and the debt will be large." "understand that he aspires for the bishopric in the convention next month," said mildred. "shucks!" exclaimed her mother. "that's all bluff. he seeks to grab off a little cheap notoriety around chicago before he goes to conference. there is as much chance of his being even entered as a candidate for the office as there is of me." "that's what i think," from mildred. mrs. pruitt effects a plan rascal stiff and let orlean go, and i don't wonder that if i was a man that i wouldn't have done so myself." "if i were that weak, and could see things as i do now, i would want my husband to shoot me. i'm getting out of patience with orlean's weakness," mildred added. "well," said baptiste at this point, "it is now eleven, and i will call up mrs. pruitt to go ahead with certain plans that i have in view. have you a 'phone?" "just outside," said mildred, and opened the door. he got mrs. pruitt directly, and again came back over the wire: "it's the wrong number!" but during the recent con- versation he had forgotten for the moment the "counter sign," and continued calling back. frantically he heard again and again, "the ^urong number! you have the wrong number!" suddenly he caught on, and as sud- denly hung up the receiver with a jerk. he didn't go to the keystone that night. he felt as though he wanted to be near some friends. accordingly he went to miss rankin's. she was glad to see him, and, like all his friends, knew his troubles, and welcomed him. "you will awaken me early tomorrow — say, six o'clock?" he asked, and upon being assured she would, he went to bed. all the night through his sleep was fitful. he saw gorgeous processions that frightened him, and then again he was thrilled; but never did he seem to feel just right. then he saw his enemy. he dreamed that he came to him and kissed him; he heard him saying kind words, and saw his wife by his side. they were back in the west and his wife was returning from a visit. he was aroused, and jumped to his feet. he looked at the clock, and the time was half past five. all the agony of the day before came the homesteader back with a rush, and he was overwhelmed. thereupon he got him up, and, dressing quickly, hurried out of the house and caught a car to where mrs. pruitt lived on the west side, in the basement of an apartment building, of which her husband was janitor. he estimated that the other would go home during the night, and early morning would be the time to form some plan of action. it seemed a long way to the west side, and it was after seven when he arrived there. he was greeted by mrs. pruitt, and the expression upon her face did not disappoint him. "-now, jean," she said, " i have prepared you some break- fast, and you must eat first, for i'll wager that not a bite have you eaten since you talked with me yesterday." "it is so, mrs. pruitt," said he, recalling then that eating had not occurred to him for the last eighteen hours or more. "well," said she, becoming seated, "he left here at al- most midnight, and i have been planning just what to do, that you may see orlean. i certainly should have little patience with a girl that has no more gumption than orlean; but since i know that she gets it from her mother, who has not as much as a chicken, i have accepted the in- evitable. "now, to begin with. if i called up and had her come over here, he would come with her, of course, and also maybe ethel. and you know what that would mean. it is so unusual that such a thing could be, but that is reverend mccarthy. he has always been this way, and i could not change him. you erred when you didn't flatter him. but that you did not have to do, and i don't blame you. he has done you dirty, and some day he's going to pay for it i wouldn't be surprised if he did not soon, either. he is a disturbed man, he is. never has he been happy as he mrs. pruitt effects a plan was before he brought that girl home. the crime he has committed is weighing on him, and i wouldn't wonder if he wouldn't be glad to have orlean go back with you. the only thing is, that he has been associated with a hard headed lot of negro preachers so long, until his disposition is in- grained. he actually couldn't be as he should. he would let orlean go back to you, but he would determine on a lot of ceremony, and something else that you are ill fitted to forego. so the best way, as i can see, is for you to meet orlean somewhere, and there reason it out with her." she paused briefly then, and was thoughtful. "she loves you as her mother loves, in a simple, weak way; but what is a love like that worth! in truth, while i admire your courage, and desire to uphold the sacredness of the marriage vow, you ought to get a divorce and marry a girl with some will and force." "i realize so, mrs. pruitt, but i am determined to live with orlean and protect her if it is within my power." "i understand your convictions and sentiments, jean, and admire you for it. if the world contained more men like you, the evil of divorce would lessen; but on the other hand, as long as it contains men like the reverend, and women like orlean, there will always be ground for divorce." "but every man should exhaust all that is in him for what he feels is right, shouldn't he, mrs. pruitt?" spoke baptiste. "of course," she said somewhat absently. she looked quickly at him then, and her eyes brightened with an in- spiration. "by the way, jean," she said. "you remember mrs. merley?" "who? blanche's mother?" the homesteader "the same." "most sure. why" "well," said mrs. pruitt. "i have been thinking. she's a friend of yours, a good friend, although you might not have known it." "it is news to me — that is, directly." "well, she is, and has been very much wrought up over the reverend's treatment of you." "indeed!" "yes, it is so. you see, moreover, she is a distant re- lation of mrs. mccarthy's, and is fairly well-to-do." "so i have understood." "yes, they are, and mccarthys sort of look up to them." "yes?"' "mrs. merley is independent, and hasn't much patience with the elder." "so." "no, and for that reason he admires her." "indeed." "yes, and she was over there and sort a 'bawled' them out over what they were doing. understand that she just spat it in the elder's face and he had to take it." "well?" "yes. you see blanche got married this last summer, and didn't quite please her mother." "oh, is that so?" "yes, mary merley is a friend of mine, and frankly she almost told me that she wished blanche had married some one on your order. "oh! . . ." "yes, she did. and meant it! she admired your type, and i know she would have been more fully pleased in such an event." mrs. pruitt effects a plan he was silent. "anyhow, i have planned that it will be through her that you and orlean may be brought together." he was attentive. "but before you go into it, my request is that my name shall be left out." his eyes asked a question that she answered. "it is so. while mary is a friend of mine, she has cer- tain habits that i don't like." he regarded her more questioningly. "i will say no more." his face blanched, and then his mind went back two years. orlean had made just such a remark. he was sorry. "so i don't want you to mention me, since it would do no good." "i understand." "i want her to have the credit for whatever success might come of this." "yes." "and my plans are that you go over there, and see her?" "yes." "jolly her a little, and don't let on that you are aware that she admires you." "very well." "get her to call orlean up, and suggest a show." "i get you." "and there you are." "your plan is simple, but practical," and he smiled upon her thankfully. he was standing now. he held out his hand. she grasped it, and bending forward, kissed him. the homesteader “be careful, jean,” she said. “and don't do anything rash.” when he went his way, he understood. chapter xiii mrs. merley the april morn shone beautifully over chicago, when jean baptiste came from the basement of the apartment where mrs. pruitt lived, and had bade godspeed to him. it was election day over all the state, a preferential primary for the purpose of choosing delegates to the g. o. p. convention to be held two months later. and when jean baptiste thought of it, he understood what had brought the reverend to the city. baptiste arrived at mrs. merley's an hour after he left mrs. pruitt, went directly to the number and pulled the bell. it was responded to by a young woman he did not know, but she assured him that the one he sought was in, and after seating him in the parlor, hurried to tell mrs. merley. she came at once all joy and gladness, and greeted him with a shake of both hands, and kissed him into the bar- gain. "sit right down, sit right down," she said profusely. "and, oh, my, how glad i am to see you!" she smiled upon him happily, proving how glad she really was, and he was moved. "and you came to see me," she continued. "you could have called on no one who would have been more delighted to see you!" "you do me too much honor, mrs. merley," said he gratefully. the homesteader "indeed," she returned. "i could not do you enough." "i hadn't hoped for so much kindness, i am sure." "but, jean, you don't know how much i have thought about you in the last two years, and i have longed to talk with you!" "oh, really! but i thought i was forgotten by every- body in chicago." "you have never been forgotten by us. and especially have we talked of you in this last year. . . ." he was silent, though he felt he understood her reference. "some dirty sinner ought to be in torment!" and still he did not speak. "oh, i know all that has been done to you, jean," she went on tenderly. "your words give me much relief, mrs. merley." "i wish they could give you more. it is my wish that an opportunity could be given me to help you." he straightened. now was the time to state his mission. but she was speaking again: "i spoke my sentiments to his face, the rascal! all his dirty life has been given to making people miserable, wher- ever he could." jean said nothing, but was listening nevertheless. "he has been a rascal for thirty-five years, and has made that simple cousin of mine he married, the goat." she paused to get her breath. "i saw orlean not long ago, and asked her where her will was, or if she had any." he was attentive. always he liked to hear her. "she, of course, tried to stand up for that arch hypo- crite. but i waived that aside. said i to her: 'orlean. i could never believe you if you said jean bapriste abused, mistreated or neglected you.' she looked down when i had spoken and then said evenly. 'no, jean did the homesteader ious i am, and how glad i am to have the opportunity! the only thing i regret is that you ever married such a weakling. you might have heard that blanche is married?" "i have," he replied. "i trust she is happy." "well," said the other slowly, " she appears to be, withal. and for that reason i suppose i should be thankful. but she did not quite please me in her selection." "oh," he echoed. "no," she said slowly, and as if she felt the disappoint- ment keenly. "she did not. her husband, it is true, is good to her, but he did not come up to my hope. yet, and it is singular," she said thoughtfully, "to think that a man with all you possess financially, and mentally, should get 'in' as you have." she paused again a little embarrassed, and then pursued: "i wish blanche had a husband of your disposition and attainments." "blanche, i thought, was a sweet girl," he said reflec- tively. "and a good girl," said mrs. merley. "i would have given anything to have had her marry a promising young farmer of your order, and be now living in the west." "i love the west, and had hoped others would be loving it too," he said ruefully. "he came back here after his first visit, and sitting right where you are now, said that you was one of the race's most progressive young men. he added to this everywhere he had half a chance and eulogized you to the highest. it hap- pened that the minister who married you, was here, and he. too, very much admired you, and voiced the same to the reverend. that old devil just swelled up like a big frog with vanity. three months later he comes back here, and, mrs. merley to seek to justify his action, he spreads the town with lies that nobody believes." the other shifted his position. "well, jean," she said now more soberly, "just what shall i do?" "if you would not mind —" "oh, don't say that!" "very well, mrs. merley. i would like you to call her up and suggest a matinee." "why not just go to one?" "that would please me if you would condescend?" "i'd be glad to go, and in view of the circumstances, i think it would be a suggestive idea. let her get used to your presence again, without coming directly to the point at once." "a capital idea, i agree!" "call her up and ask her to come over and go with you to the matinee." "that is the plan, and i understand." "i will appreciate your kindness," said he heartily. she arose then and advancing toward him, embraced him im- pulsively. thereupon she went to the telephone, and succeeded in getting hrs wife on the wire. he heard her answer the call, and laugh over something humorous mrs. merley said. his heart beat faster, and he was conscious that he was more hopeful than he had been for a long time. "yes. . . ." mrs. merley was saying. "i want you to go with me to a matinee. ... be here at one forty- five. . . . yes, i have the tickets. . . . and you'll not be late." she was standing before him again, and her face was lighted up with, the joy of what she had accomplished. he the homesteader was grateful, and rose to thank her, whereupon she em- braced him again. the next moment she went quickly up the stairs to prepare for the occasion. "you may come upstairs, too, jean," she invited, "and from the front room there, you can watch for yours." "oh, mrs. merley, you make me happier than i have been for a long time," he said, and almost was he emotional. "and i have a nice spare bedroom for you and her, to- night. and tomorrow, she is yours." jean baptiste waited and watched, and then suddenly he heard a voice. it was that of the girl who had admitted him, who was also watching. "here she comes," she cried, excitedly. jean baptiste looked quickly out of the window and up the street, and saw his wife coming leisurely toward the house wherein he was sitting. chapter xiv oh, merciful god, close thou mine eyes! reverend newton justine mccarthy had once lived in peoria, illinois, and was well ac- quainted with the late robert ingersoll. moreover, he had admired the noted orator, and although he had not the courage, in truth, he believed as ingersoll believed. and because he did, and was forced to keep his true convictions a secret, while he preached the gospel he did not believe, he had grown to hate almost all people. but n. j. mc- carthy was not aware of this fact himself. ever since he brought his daughter home, and had thereby parted her from the man she married, he had never been the same. always he was troubled with some- thing he could not understand. his dreams were bad. the awful sensations he very often experienced while in slumber, grew so annoying that at times he found that he was almost afraid to sleep. then, a persistent illness continually knocked at his door. the truth of it was, that he was battling with a conscience he had for years crucified. but it would persist. so deep had he sowed the habits he followed, and so intrenched were the roots of these habits, until it was no easy task to uproot them. he had left mrs. pruitt near midnight of the day when jean baptiste had arrived on his trip in a last effort to secure his wife. the family had retired before he ar- rived home, and having some business in the rear of the house, he passed through the room which contained the the homesteader bed wherein his daughter, orlean, lay in peaceful slum- ber. when he was returning he paused briefly to ob- serve the face of the sleeping girl in the moonlight. peace- fully she slept, and for the first time in his life he saw therein something he had never seen before. he felt his flesh and wondered at the feeling that was come over him. it seemed that he was asleep, but positively he was awake. he was awake, and looking into the sleeping face of his daughter. but if he was awake, what was it he saw? surely not. but as he stood over her, he thought he could see her eyes open, and look at him strangely, regard him in a way she had never done before. and as she looked at him, he thought she raised her hand that lay under the cover, and with her forefinger leveled, she pointed at him. in the trance he imagined he could hear her voice. she called him: "father?" and betimes he answered. "yes, daughter." "where is my husband?" he gave a start. he thought he caught at something, and then he heard her again: "you have sent him away, out of my life, and the day is coming when you will be called upon to answer for your sins!" he thought he was trembling. all about him was tur- moil. he saw the people, the friends of the family, and all the people he had preached to in thirty years, and all were pointing an accusing finger at him. and out of the chaos he heard them crying: "shame, oh shame! that you should be so evil, so vile, such a hypocrite, and let your evq fall upon your own daughter!" he saw then the wife he had taken from speed. he saw that one in his misery, he saw him sink, and renounce from weakness the sentiments he had started in the world to teach. he saw him struggle close thou mine eyes! vainly, and then saw him fall, low, lower, until at last the flames of hell had swallowed him up. "merciful god," he cried, and he was sure he staggered. "was it / who brought all this?" but before he could recover, the pro- cession kept passing. behind speed came the wife he had robbed him of. she carried in her arms a baby that he had given her. by the hand she led the other illegitimate offspring. there they were, the innocents that had no name. he saw the bent head of the woman, and saw the grief and anguish in her face. he saw her suddenly stop and fall, and while she lay upon the earth, her children were taken, and grew up surrounded with all that was bad and evil. he saw one suddenly dead, while still a boy, murdered by the compan- ions he kept. he saw his 'young body in the morgue. and before all this had passed, he saw this one's mother again, the woman he had fooled, in the depth of the "tenderloin." he saw her a solicitor, and he could hear himself groan in agony. the years passed, and while he grew older, other things came and went; a train of evil deeds he had committed, and at last came his own daughter. he saw her passing and when he saw her face, the agony therein frightened him. was it so! had he, done that, too? was he the cause of what he saw in this girl's face? suddeny he saw her change, and in the distance he saw jean baptiste, and all he had suffered.- "oh, merciful god, close thou mine eyes," he thought he could hear himself call. but his eyes would not close, and the one to whom he appealed appeared to be deaf, and the procession continued. he saw orlean stretch her hands out to baptiste, and he came toward her with arms outstretched, and he thought he heard a voice, the voice of the man jean baptiste. and the homesteader the words he cried rang in his ears: "my wife, oh, or- lean, my wife! come unto me!"— but lo! when the two had came close, and the man would have held her to him, a shadow suddenly rose between them, and shut them out from each other's sight. he thought he raised his voice to call out to the one of the shadow. and when he called to him, and the one of the shadow turned, and be- hold! it was himself! he suddenly came out of the trance, to see orlean sitting up in bed. he caught his breath and held his hand over his heart, as he heard her voice: "papa, is that you? my, how you frightened me! i —" and then she quickly stopped. she had started to say, "i thought it was jean," for in truth she had dreamed of him, and that he had come for her, and she was glad, and when she arose to go she had awakened to find her father standing over her. "yes, yes, my dear," he said rather awkwardly. "it is i. i stopped to look at you and seemed to forget myself." he hurried away then, and up the stairs to his room and went to bed, but it was near morning when he fell asleep. it so happened when jean baptiste had gone upstairs to call on mildred and her mother, he had knocked at the door below. a man lived there whom he had known in the years gone by and who had educated himself to be a lawyer. his name was towles, joseph towles. always before when he was in the city, he had called on towles and his family, and when their door rose before him, on the impulse he had forgotten all else but to greet them. he pushed the bell, and no sooner had he done so than he recalled his mission, and that he was avoiding his acquaintances. he the homesteader came out of the house next door, down the steps, and passed before mrs. towles' gaze as she went up the street to wa- bash avenue to-fill the engagement with mrs. merley. "oh, look," cried mrs. towles, pointing to the figure of the other. "there goes orlean!" the other strained her neck, and said: "m-m." "and i saw her husband last night." "you did!" exclaimed the other in great surprise. she had a grown daughter who was very much accomplished, but unmarried. so she took a delight in such cases as jean baptiste's. . . . "i did," replied the other, making herself comfortable and getting ready to relate his strange actions. "well, well, now!" echoed the other, all attention. "yes," said mrs. towles, and then related all that had passed which was not anything but catching a glimpse of baptiste as he had disappeared up the steps. "i don't think they know next door, that he is in town," suggested the other. "don't they?" "why, not likely. you know the last time he was here they wouldn't admit him!" they eyed each other jubi- lantly, and then went on. "then we ought to go right over and inform them at once!" said mrs. towles. "just what we should do," agreed the other. and so it happened that the reverend learned that jean baptiste was in the city; but for once he was not excited. somehow, he hoped that jean would meet orlean, and he knew then that she had gone out for that purpose. he knew that she was supposed to go to a matinee, and he realized close thou mine eyes! from previous statements, that mrs. merley was the "go between." so he took no part in the gossip that followed, nor did he for once sigh in self pity. perhaps after all he had decided not to interfere. "love you —god, i hate you!" "how you have fleshened," he commented. "do you think so?" she returned, inclined to be sociable. "it is quite noticeable. and you are better looking when you are so." "oh, you flatter me," she chimed. "i would like to flatter my wife." she did not reply to this. she appeared to be comforta- ble, and he went on. "don't you know that i have longed to see you, and that it has not been just right that i could not?" and still she made no answer. "i never want to live so again. i want you always, orlean." "when did you leave home?" she asked now. "a couple of days ago." "and how long have you been here?" "i came yesterday afternoon." "and when to mrs. merley's?" "this morning." she was thoughtful then. indeed they were getting along better than he had hoped. there remained but one thing more. if he could persuade her to stay the night at mrs. merley's and not insist on going home. if he could keep her out of her father's sight until morning, he would have no more worry. that, indeed, was his one point of uneasiness. keeping her out of her father's sight. he re- called how he had refrained from buying a revolver when he left home. it would not have been safe after all that had passed between himself and her father for him to have anything of the kind about, and he was glad now that he had been sensible. he drew his wife's head down, turned her face to his, and kissed her lips. he caught the sigh that passed .her the homesteader lips. he saw her eyebrows begin to contract. what was passing in her mind? duty? then, to whom? he kissed her again, and caressed her fondly. this meant much to him. he told her so then, too. "it has been very hard on me, wife, for you to have stayed away a whole year. awfully hard. it was never my plans or intention for such to be." he was full up now. he wanted to talk a long time with her. if they could just retire and talk far into the night as they had done in the eleven months that had been theirs. his confidence was growing. all that was expedient now, he felt sure, was to keep the reverend out of it until morn- ing. by that time no further effort on his part would be necessary. "do you love me, orlean?" he said now, drawing her face close to his again. she made no reply audibly, but she seemed to be strug- gling with something within herself. in truth she did not want to say that she did, and she would not tell him she did not. she let her arm unconsciously encircle his neck. her hand found his head and stroked his hair, while she was mentally meditative. in the meantime, his head rested against her breast, and he could hear the beating of her heart. "oh, my wife," he cried, intended for himself but she heard it. it aroused her, her emotion began to assert itself. how long would it take for her to be his mate again at this rate? "how is everything back home? " she asked, as if seeking a change. he hesitated. she looked down into his face to see why he did not answer directly. he caught her eyes, and she could see that he was not wishing to tell her some- thing. "love you —god, i hate you!" "what is the matter, jean?" she asked now, slightly ex- cited and anxious. "oh, nothing," he replied. he wanted to tell her the truth, all the truth, but it was not yet time he feared. un- til she had given up to him, he decided to withhold anything serious. "there is something, jean, of that i am sure," she in- sisted, shifting where she could see his face more clearly. "if there is anything, wife, i would discuss it later. now,— i can think of but one thing, and that is you," whereupon he caressed her again fondly. she sighed then and her emotion was becoming more perceptible. "you are going back home with me tomorrow, dear?" he dared to say presently. for answer she shifted uneasily, and then her eyes espied the clock on the wall. it was five-thirty. "i think i should call up home/' she said thoughtfully. he caught his breath, and trembled perceptibly. she re- garded him inquiringly. and here again we must remark about jean baptiste. in the year of misery, of agony and suffering in general he had endured, he had settled upon one theory. and that was that if he and his wife were to ever live together again and be happy, the family were to be kept out of it. perhaps if this could have been forgotten by him in this moment, we would not have had this story to tell; but when she mentioned her folks, all that he had wished to avoid — all that he felt he must avoid, came before him. as he saw it now, if she called her father, they would never live together again. he was nervous when he anticipated the fact. he started, and took on unconsciously a fearsome expres- sion. "please don't, orlean," he said, beseechingly. the homesteader "don't what?" she asked, apprehensive of something she did not like. "call your father," he said. he wanted to tell her that if she called her father, it would mean the end of every- thing for them, but he withheld this. "now, i wish him to know where i am," she said, pro- testingly, and arose from his knee. she stood away from where he sat hesitatingly. in that moment, she was not aware that she stood between duty and subservience. as she saw it, she forgot from her training that there was a duty, she only remembered that she was obedient. obedi- ent to the father who had reared her so to be. it was the psychological moment in their union. near her the husband that she had taken, regarded her uneasily. he had come to her to do the duty that was his to do. they were estranged because of one thing, and one thing only, and that was her father, the man her husband would never yield to. and as she hesitated betwen obedience to one and duty toward the other, her life, her love and future was in the balance. which? "orlean," she heard now, from the lips of her husband. "listen, before you go to the 'phone." he became suddenly calm as he said this. "i married you two years gone now, for better or for worse, and ' until death do us part.' that was the vow that i took and also you. i've done my best by you under the circumstances. i gave you a home and bed that you left. i gave you my love, and am willing to give you my life if that be necessary. but, orlean, i didn't contract to observe the ideas and be subservient to the opin- ion of others. to force me to regard this is to do me a grave injustice. you cannot imagine, appreciate, maybe, how humiliating it is to be placed in such a position. i can- "love you —god, i hate you!" not explain it with you standing impatiently before me as you are. i have come here to try and have you discuss this matter with me from a practical point of view. surely, having taken me as your god-given mate, you owe me that. you force me to honor and respect certain persons —" "don't you," she cried. "don't you insinuate my father!" she advanced toward him threateningly in her excitement, and all sense of duty was gone. only obedience- to the one who had made it so remained. that she should rally to the support of his adversary, displaced his com- posure. he had hoped to have her reason it out with him, and he had prayed that he be given a little time, and then all would be well. he was aware that she was unequal to a woman's task. not one woman in a thousand he knew would place a father before a husband; but his wife was different. she had been trained to be devoutly subservient to her father. for that reason he was willing to be patient — he had been patient. but at the same time he had suffered much, and her love and obedience to his worst enemy — even if it was her father, unfitted him for that •with which he was now confronted. he was fast losing his composure, likewise his patience. nothing in the world should stand between him and his wife. he became ex- cited now, but calmed long enough to say: "go ahead, or come to me. there are two things a woman cannot be at the same time," and he waved his hand toward her resolutely. "a wife to the man she has married, and a daughter to her father." with this state- ment he sank back into the chair from which he had partly risen. he had said the last statement with such forceful logic, that it made her stop, pause uneasily, and then sud- denly she straightened and turning, went to the telephone. but when she called over the wire to her father, all the the homesteader -•jmposure that jean baptiste ever had left him. all the suffering and agony that he had experienced from the hand of the other asserted itself. he arose from the chair and came toward her. his eyes were bloodshot, his attitude was threatening. she called to her father, and the words she said were: "yes, papa. ... is this you. . . . yes. ... i am at mrs. merley's. . . . and — ah — papa," she hesitated and her voice broke from fear. "ah — papa — a — jean is here, papa. . . . yes, jean. he is here." she was trembling now, and the man standing behind her saw it . he saw her passing out of his life forever, and desperation overtook him. in that moment something within him seemed to snap. he reached over her shoulder and grasped the receiver and pushed her roughly aside. the next instant she was protesting wildly, while mrs. merley was br ught to the front by his loud voice screaming over the 'phone. "hell, hello, you!" he cried savagely. "hello, i say! . . . how am i! my god, how could i be after what you have done to me, my life. . . . why didn't i come to the house? . . . why should i come to your house, when the last time i was there i was kicked out, virtually kicked out, do you hear?" "you get away from here!" he heard in his ear, and turned to see his wife gone wild with excitement. her eyes were distraught, her attitude was menacing, as she struggled at his arm to try and wrest the receiver from his hand. he heard the other saying something in his ear. he did not understand it, he was too excited. everything was in a whirl around him. he became conscious thnt he had dropped the receiver after a time. he felt himself in con- tact with some one, and saw the face of his wife. in her a strange dream had been advised regarding his son-in-law's presence in the city, he recalled the seance he had experienced the night before. when the women came, he was preparing to go to the west side for his daily visit with mrs. pruitt. but upon this advice, he desisted, and decided to remain home. when the mongers had taken their gossip from his pres- ence, he fell into deep thought. for the first time since he had precipitated the trouble, he saw the situation clearly. he was aware that his act by this time, had helped nobody, had made no one happy or satisfied— not even himself. almost he agreed with himself then, that he had miscalcu- lated; jean baptiste was willing apparently, to forego his wife's loss and the loss of her homestead, before he would do as the elder had planned and estimated he would. his conscience was disturbed. he recalled the unpleasant nights he had endured in the last few months. he recalled that while orlean always pretended to him that she was satisfied, for the first time in his life, he saw that it was due to the training, the subservience to his will, and not to her own convictions. he arose from his seat and walked the floor in medita- tion. habit, however, had become such a force with him, that he could hardly resist the impulse to commit some action; to rush to mrs. merley's and make himself con- spicuous. he struggled between impulse and conscience, and neither won fully. after an hour, however, he reached this decision: he would not go to or call up mrs. merley. he would just leave it to them to solve, and if they should finally reach some agreement between themselves, he would not stand in the way. when he had reached this con- clusion, he went into the street, and was surprised at the relief he felt. not for months had he enjoyed a walk as much as he did that one. the homesteader but while newton justine mccarthy had struggled with his conscience, and at last found solace in admitting at this late hour to what he should have done two years before, he had failed to reckon with other features that asserted them- selves later. he had not estimated that if jean baptiste sought his wife secretly, it must have been because he wished to avoid him. he failed to see that this man had suffered bitterly through his evil machinations. he failed, more- over, to appreciate that his training of orlean to the sub- servient attitude, would prevent her from returning to her husband or reaching any agreement with him until she had first ascertained that such would be agreeable to her father. had he so reckoned the scene just related might not have occurred. it was while they were sitting at supper that the telephone rang. when the conversation ensued, the rev- erend sought not only to promulgate good will by leaving it to jean baptiste, but he thought also to encourage him by inviting him to the house, and in this he meant well. but behind him stood ethel. she caught the gist of excite- ment and instantly began to scream. "get orlean, go get my sister! don't let that man have her, owee!" at the top of her voice, she yelled, and glavis and her mother had to hold her. some friends were having dinner with them, and they now stood toward the rear un- certain whether to leave or remain, and heard all that passed. the reverend was laboring frantically to get an answer over the 'phone, and it was at this moment that orlean had gone frantic and was abusing her husband. in the excitement, ethel kept up her tirade at the top of her voice, and in the end, the reverend, followed by glavis, had gone to mrs. merley's. a strange dream they had now returned, and ethel was pacified. the visitors had departed to spread the gossip, and all but ethel was downcast. orlean, in unspoken remorse, had retired; while the reverend, fully conscious at last of what his inter- position had brought, was regretful, but not openly. and the others, not knowing that he had that day repented, sat at their distance and tried to form no conclusion. "it is over — all over," cried orlean now in the bed. "and as i have done all my life, i have failed at the most crucial moment. oh, merciful god, what can you do with a weak woman like i! it has been i all along who has made misery for myself, for him, and for all those near me! i! i! // that i could have cultivated the strength of my conviction; that i could have been the woman he wanted me to be. out there he tried to make me one; he sought in every way he knew how. but a weakling i would remain! and because i have sought to please others and abuse him in doing so, i have brought everybody to the ditch of misery and despair." she cried for a long time, but her mind was afire. all that her weakness and subservience had caused, continued, and at last the event of the night. "and what did i do to him?" she said now, rising in the bed. "i recall that he came to the telephone. he stood listening to what i was saying, and i recall that when i turned slightly and saw his face, it was terrible! then i saw him suddenly snatch the receiver from my hand, and i heard him talking to papa. he was terribly excited, and i shall never forget the expression on his face. i cannot clearly remember what followed. i recall, however, that i struggled with him; that i struck him everywhere i could; that i scratched his face. . . . and, oh, my god, i recall what passed then!" she suddenly sank back upon the pil- <> the homesteader low and gave up to bitter anguish, when she recalled what had followed. but the excitement was too great for her to lay inert. she rose again upon her elbow, and looked before her into the darkness of the room as she slowly re- peated half aloud what had followed. "yes, i recall. he made no resistance. he did not de- fend himself, but allowed me to strike hint at will. and under the fusillade of blows, i recall that he sank slowly to his knees — sank there with his arms about me, and i strik- ing him with all the strength in my body. upon his knees then, he lingered, while i rained blow after blow upon his upturned face. and now i can recall that his eyes closed, and from his lips i caught a sigh, and then he rolled to the floor. and, here, oh, lord, i added what will follow mf throughout my life and never again give me peace. "while he lay there upon the floor, with his eyes closed before me, i kicked him viciously full in the face! but even then he did not resist, but only groaned wearily. mer- ciful jesus! nor did i stop there! i jumped on his face with my feet, and then i recall that some one caught me and saved me from further madness!" she was exhausted then, and lay without words for a long time. almost in a state of coma, she bordered, and while so, she fell into a strange sleep. the night wore on, and the clock down- stairs was striking the hour of two when she suddenly awak- ened. she sat straight up in bed, and jerked her hands to her head, and screamed long and terribly. the household was awakened, and came hurrying to where she lay. but in the meantime she continued to scream loudly, at the top of her voice. and all the while, perspiration flowed from her body. it was nigh onto four o'clock before they suc- ceeded in quieting her, and when they had done so she lay back again upon the pillow with a groan, and the family a strange dream went back to their beds to wonder what had come over her. all felt strangely as if something evil had crept into their lives, and their excitement was great. all but ethel, who, in her evil way, was delighted, and laughed gleefully when she had returned to bed. "laugh on, ethel, you evil woman!" said glavis at her side. "evil has this night come into our lives. it wasn't right in the beginning; it isn't right now, nor was last night. oh, i have never wanted to see this go along as it has. be- cause your father has trained orlean to obey and subserve to his will, he has done something to her, and she has be- come a demon instead of a weakling. last night i saw jean baptiste lying prone upon the floor, and knew that she had beaten him down to it, and he had not resisted. she told me as we came home what she had done, but was not aware that she was telling me. nothing good can come of evil, and it is evil that we have practiced toward that man. he is through now, and never again will he make effort to get her to live with him. but just so sure as she has abused him, just so sure will she do injury to those who have brought this about." and with this he turned on his side and feigned sleep. alone orlean lay trying vainly to forget something — something that stood like a spectre before her eyes. but she could not forget it, nor did she ever forget it. it had come, and it was inevitable. she had seen it in her sleep. it had all been so clear, and when she had awakened and screamed so long, she knew, then that it must in time be so. she would never forget it; but realizing its gravity, she de- cided thereupon never to tell it — the dream — to anybody. the sun shone and the birds sang, and the day was beau- tiful without when she at last fell asleep again. epoch the fourth chapter i the drought jean baptiste jumped from the bed and went quickly to where his trousers hung on a chair, and went through the pockets hurriedly. he laid them down when through, and got his breath slowly when he had done so, and the perspiration stood out on his forehead as he concluded that he had been robbed. after a time he raised his hand to his forehead, and ap- peared puzzled. he was positive he had seen some one enter the room, go to the chair, and take the money from his pockets. it was rather singular, however, he now thought; for if such had happened, and he had seen it, then why had he not stopped the robber? he was deeply puzzled. he had seen the act committed, he felt sure but had made no effort whatever to stop the thief. he scratched his head in vexation, sat down, and as he did so, saw that his coat hung also upon the chair. absently his hands wandered through the pockets, and found his purse and the money in an out- side pocket. he was awake then, and went to the basin, removed the bandages, and bathed his face. the swelling had gone down considerably, but the injured eye was dark. he realized then, that nobody had entered the room, for the door was locked with the key inside; but he couldn't recall hav- ing his money in his coat pocket. he was awake at last to the fact that it had been a dream. the homesteader when he had bathed and dressed, he slipped quietly down the stairs, and into the street, and found his way to the thirty-fifth street "l." station. he had no plans. he considered that his relations with his wife were at an end, and from his mind he dismissed this in so far as it was possible — and as far as future plans were concerned. but since he had made no plans, whatever in the event of failure, and since failure had come, he was undecided where he was going or what he would do at once. he decided not to return home directly; he wanted to go somewhere, but did not care to stay in chicago. he took the train that was going down-town, and when he reached the twelfth street station, suddenly decided to go to southern illinois, and visit the girl jessie, with whom he had been corresponding. while walking toward the illinois central station, he purchased a paper, and was cheered to see that his candi- date had carried the state in the preferential primary by an overwhelming majority. the train he was to take left at nine-forty, and he was able to forget his grief in the hour and a half he waited, by reading all the details of the election. the journey three hundred miles south was uneventful, but when he arrived at carbondale, the train that would have taken him to where he was going had left, and he was compelled to spend the night there. the next morn- ing he caught an early train and reached the town in which she lived, his first visit there since he met the one he had married. he found jessie, and her kind sympathy, served to re- vive in a measure his usual composure, and when he left a few days later, he was much stronger emotionally than he had been for a year, and on his return west, determined the drought to try to regain his fortunes that had been gradually slip- ping from him in the past two years. when he had digested the state of his affairs at home he had a new problem to face. decidedly he was almost " in bad." for a time his interest had been paid by his bankers; but they had left him to the mercy of the insurance com- panies who held the first mortgages. and these had been protesting and had lately threatened foreclosure. even so, and if the crops be good, he was confident he could make it. but before he could even sow that year's crop, he would have to see a certain banker who lived in nebraska. this man was represented by a son who conducted the bank he controlled at gregory, and the son had issued an ultimatum, and if baptiste would keep his stock that was mortgaged to the bank as security, he realized that it was best to see the boy's father, since the son had made plain his stand. the banker was out of town when he arrived, and to save time, baptiste judged that it would be best to go to sioux city, where he could meet the banker on his way home, and on the way from sioux city to the little town where the banker made his home, he could consult with him, and get an extension. in this he was successful, and returned home with an assurance that he would be given until fall to make good — but in truth, until fall to get ready. to work he went with a sort of fleeting hope. the spring had been good. but he was apprehensive that the summer would be dry as the last, and it was with misgivings that he lived through the days and weeks that followed. seed wheat and oats had been furnished to the settlers in tripp county that spring by the county commissioners, and he had sowed a portion of his land with it. conditions in the new country had gone from bad to worse, and if the season should experience another drought, the homesteader the worst was come. already there were a few foreclosures in process, and excitement ran high. the country was financially embarrassed. to secure money now was almost impossible. any number of farms were for sale, but buyers there were none. a local shower fell over part of the country in the last days of may, wetting the ground perhaps an inch deep, and then hot winds began with the first day of june. for thirty days following, not a drop of rain fell on the earth. the heat became so intense that breathing was made diffi- cult, and when the fourth of july arrived, not a kernel of corn that had been planted that spring, had sprouted. the small grain crops had been burned to a crisp, and disaster hung over the land. everywhere there was a panic. from the west, people who had gone there three and four years before were returning panic stricken; the stock they were driving — when they drove — were hollow and gaunt and thin. going hither the years before they had presented the type of aggressive pioneers. but now they were re- turning a tired, gaunt, defeated army. all hopes, all cour- age, all manhood gone, they presented a discouraging aspect. from canada on the north, to texas on the south, the hot winds had laid the land seemingly bare. everywhere cattle were being sold for a trifle, as there was no grass upon which they could feed. to the north and the south, the east and the west in the country of our story, ruin was in the wake. foreclosures became the order, and suits were minute affairs. from early morn to early morn again, the hot winds continued, and the air was surcharged with the smell of burning plants. and with the hero of our story, he saw his hopes sink with the disaster that was around him; he saw his holdings the drought gradually slipping from him, and after some time became resigned to the inevitable. so it came to pass that another change came into his life, hence another epoch in the unusual life was his. chapter ii the foreclosure early in july when the drought had burned the crops to a crisp, and plant life was beyond redemp- tion, the banks, trust and insurance companies hold- ing notes secured by mortgages against the land and stock of jean baptiste began proceedings for a foreclosure. he read with the cold perspiration upon his forehead the notices that appeared in the papers. attachments were filed against all he personally possessed in gregory county, as well as in tripp county. the fact that he had not had his sister's homestead transferred to him, and that she had just made proof that summer, was a relief to him now, and with a sigh he laid down the newspapers containing the notices. it was no surprise since he had been threatened with such for many months, he regarded it therefore as unavoidable. but when the grim reality of the situation dawned upon him, it weakened him. never had he dreamed that it would come to this. he took mental inventory of his possessions and what he could lay claim to, and he happened to think about his wife's homestead. on this he had made his home since her departure, and no trouble had been given him. while the local land office had rendered a decision in her favor; the contestee had taken an appeal to the general land office and the commissioner and upon being represented by an attorney, the local land office's decision had been reversed. it had been up to him then to go further, which he had the foreclosure done, by appealing the case to the highest office in the land department, the secretary of the interior, and here it rested. to do this, he had agreed to pay the attorney $ to win, and one hundred dollars in the event he should not, the latter amount he had paid, and so the case stood. he had formulated no plans regarding it beyond this as to how he would continue to hold it, since now it was a settled fact in his mind that he and the woman he had married were parted forever. but poverty accompanied by crop failures for three years was a general and accepted thing now. and the fact that he was being foreclosed, occasioned no comment, and at least he could continue on without intensely feeling, the at- tendant disgrace. it was at this juncture in life that a new thought came to jean baptiste. in all his life he had been a thinker, a practical thinker — a prolific thinker. moreover, a great reader into the bargain. so the thought that struck him now, was writing. perhaps he could write. if so then what would he write? so in the days that followed, grad- ually a plot formed in his mind, and when he had decided, he chose that he could write his own story — his life of hell, the work of an evil power! of writing he knew little and the art of composition appeared very difficult. but of thought, this he had a plenty. well, after all that was the most essential. if one has thoughts to express, it is possible to learn very soon some method of construction. so after some weeks of specula- tion, he bought himself a tablet, some pencils and took up the art of writing. he found no difficulty in saying something. the first day he wrote ten thousand words. the next day he reversed the tablet and wrote ten thousand more. in the next two the homesteader days he re-wrote the twenty thousand, and on the fifth day he tore it into shreds and threw it to the winds. he had raised a little wheat and when the foreclosures had been completed and the wheat had been threshed he sowed a large portion of the seed back into the ground on three hundred acres of ground upon which the crop that year had failed. according to the law of the state, when a foreclosure is completed, the party of the first part may redeem the land within one year from the date of the fore- closure. or, better still, he may pay the interest, and taxes at the end of one year from the date of the foreclosure, and have still another year in which to redeem the land. so it is to be seen that if jean baptiste could pay his interest and taxes one year from this time, he would have two years in all to redeem his lost fortunes. hence, in seeding a large acreage of wheat, he hoped for the best. the years, how- ever, had been too adverse to now expect any returns when a crop was sown and it had been merely good fortune that he happened to secure the means with which to sow an- other, for credit there was for few any more. when this was done, there was nothing to do but listen to the wind that blew dry still, although the protracted drought had been broken by light autumn rains. so took he up his pencil and fell to the task of writing again. through the beautiful, windy autumn days, he labored at his difficult task, the task of telling a story. the greatest difficulty he encountered was that he thought faster than he could write. therefore he often broke off right in the middle of a sentence to relate an incident that would occur to him to tell of something else. but at last he had written something that could be termed a story. he took what appeared to him to be quite sufficient for a book to a friend who had voiced an interest in his undertaking. in the foreclosure fact, although he had said nothing about it, the news had spread that he was writing a story of the country and every- body became curious. of course they were not aware of his limited knowledge of the art of composition. to them, a patriotic, boosting people — despite the ravages of drought which had swept the country, this was a new kind of boost,— a subtle method of advertising the country. so everybody began looking for the appearance of his story in all the leading magazines. the fact helped the newsdealers considerably. but to rer turn to jean baptiste and the story he was writing. the friend was baffled when he saw so many tablets and such writing. he pretended to be too busy, at the time to consider it, and sent him to another. but it was a long time before he found any one who was willing to attempt to rearrange his scribbled thoughts. but a lawyer who needed the wherewithal finally condescended to risk the task, and into it he plunged. he staggered along with much difficulty and managed to complete half of it by christmas. the remainder was corrected by a woman who proved even more efficient than the lawyer, notwithstanding the fact that she was not as well trained. besides, jean baptiste was of quick wit, and he soon saw where he was most largely in error, so he was very helpful in reconstructing the plot, and early in the next year, he had some sort of story to send the rounds of the publishers. and here was the next great problem. he had, while writing, and before, read of the difficulties in getting a manuscript accepted for publication. but, like most writers in putting forth their first literary efforts, he was of the opinion that what he had written was so different from the usual line of literature offered the publishers, that it must therefore receive preference over all. the homesteader so with its completion, he wrapped it carefully, and sent it to a chicago publisher, while he sighed with relief. it seemed a long time before he heard from it, but in a few days he received a letter, stating that his manuscript had been received, and would be carefully examined, and also thanking him for sending it to them. well, that sounded very encouraging, he thought, so he took hope anew that it would be accepted. in the meantime he was questioned daily as to when and where it would appear. he was mentioned in the local newspapers, and much speculation was the issue. many in- quired if he had featured them in the story, and were cheered if he said that he had, while others showed their disappoint- ment when advised that they had not been mentioned. but with one and all, there was shown him deep appreciation of his literary effort. so anxious did he become to receive their "decision" that as the days passed and he waited patiently, he finally went to town to board until he could receive a reply. and as time passed, he became more and more nervous. at last his anxiety reached a point where he was positive that if he received an adverse decision, it would surely kill him. therefore he would entertain no possibility of a rejection. it must be accepted, and that was final. added to this, he took note of all the publicity he had been accorded with re- gard to the same. how would he be able to face these friends if they failed to accept the book? tell them that it had been rejected as unavailable? this fact worried him considerably, and made him persist in his own mind that the company would accept it. some of his less practical creditors extended his obliga- tion anticipating that his work would net him the necessary funds for settlement — the question of acceptance they did o the homesteader therefore returning the same to you today by express. "regretting that we cannot write you more favorably, but thanking you for bringing this to our attention, believe us to be, "cordially and sincerely yours, "a. c. mcgraw & co." he gazed before him at nothing for some minutes. he was trying to believe he had read awrong. so he read it again. no, it read just the same as it had before. it was done; his last opportunity for redemption seemed to be gone. he turned and staggered from the barn and went blindly up the street. at the corner he met the deputy sher- iff, who approached him jovially, and then gave him another shock when he said: "i've got a writ here, baptiste, and will be glad to have you tell me where this stuff of yours is so i can go and get it." he raised his hand to his forehead then, and began think- ing. he had to do something, for although all his land had been foreclosed on, he had two years to redeem the same. but this writ — well, the man was there to take the stock, then! chapter iii irene grey men of the type of jean baptiste don't waver and despair regardless as to how discouraged they may at times, under adverse circumstances, be- come. when he was confronted with the law with the papers to take from him the stock with which to seed his crop, his mental faculties became busy, and in the course of two hours he had been granted an extension on the note and the deputy sheriff had returned to winner as he had come, empty handed. but what was he to do! he had no money and no credit. he had the land in tripp county that was broken into win- ter wheat, while that in the next county east was rented. he could, of course, rent some more land and put it to crop; but he was for the present through with any more large crops until the seasons became more normal. so he was at a loss how to engage himself for the months that were coming. he still lived on his wife's homestead, and had no plans and nowhere else to live. in these days he found reading a great diversion. he simply devoured books, studying every detail of construction, and learning a great deal as to style and effect. then he tried writing short stories, but like the book manuscript, they always came back. he concluded after a time that it was a waste of postage to send them around; that in truth they were not read — and again, that there was no fortun^ in writers' royalties always, anyhow. he was possessed with a business turn of mind, and one irene grey "how much do you have to have to go down there?" "oh, thirty-five or forty dollars." "i'll let you have fifty." "i'm ready at any minute," so saying, he went to a store across the street,where he had friends, and there was dressed from head to foot, charging the clothes to his account. two days later he walked into the office of the printing firm with which he had been in correspondence. they were rather surprised when they saw that he was an ethiopian, but he soon put them at ease. after several days' of negotiating they finally reached an agreement whereby they would manufacture one thousand copies at seventy-five cents per copy. he was to pay one third of the amount before the book went to press, the balance he was to pay within a reasonable time. an out- rageous price, he knew — at least felt. but he was to have all subsequent editions for one half the amount of the original edition, which was some consolation to look for- ward to. another fence: who would furnish that two hundred and fifty dollars and secure him for the remainder? besides, what would he do with the books when he had them? pub- lishing meant distribution. but what did he know of such? he thought these things over carefully and finally decided that he would sell them himself. he communicated this fact to the firm. it was rather unusual for an author, per- haps, to sell his own works. jean baptiste had never sold anything by solicitation since he had grown up, but when he was young he had been a great peddler of garden vegetables. he would sell his book, and he seemed to convince them that he could. they prepared some prospectuses for him, and back home he returned. he told, in answer to the volumes of inquiries o the homesteader that everything was all right, and that the book would appear soon. he said nothing, however, to the friends he had in view to put up the money and that necessary security. he believed in proving a thing, and all else would neces- sarily follow. he would go out and secure orders there at home among his friends and acquaintances. but the day he planned to start was very cold — the mercury stood twenty-seven below zero. starting in dallas he received orders for one hundred forty-two copies the first day. very good for a starter. he went to winner the next day. despite the fact that the drought had done no good to the people of that community and town, they all were acquainted with and admired jean baptiste. besides, they would not see dallas beat them. and one hundred fifty-three copies were ordered by them. jean baptiste could prove anything in a fair fight if given a chance. he secured orders for fifteen hundred copies of his book in two weeks. the promoters went his security and put up the cash into the bargain, and he went back to the publishing house victorious. the printers had evidenced their confidence in him, for they had been so impressed with his personality that they had begun work upon the copy when he returned. in thirty days it was ready, and in sixty days from the time he was penniless, he had deposited twenty-five hundred dollars to the credit of the book in the banks. as he was winding up his business preparatory to inter- viewing his printers, establishing an office and going into the book business for a livelihood, he was the recipient of a telegram from washington advising that the honorable secretary of the interior had reversed the commissioner's decision, which had been adverse to his wife, with regard to the claim. he had won, but as to how he would ever irene grey prove up he didn't know, nor did he let it worry him. he was too flushed with success in his new field. he could still hold the claim, but it would be his wife who must offer proof on the same, and his wife he had not heard from for over a year. he did not find his new field of endeavor so profitable when he began to work among strangers. indeed, while he did business the money didn't seem to come in as it should. he conceived an idea of securing agents among the colored people, and in that way effect a good sale. to begin with, this was difficult, for the reason the black man's environ- ment has not been conducive to the art of selling anything except those things that require little or no wide knowl- edge. they deal largely in hair goods to make their curls grow or hang straighter,— or in complexion creams to clar- ify and whiten the skin. yet he succeeded in getting many to take the agency and these received orders and sent for the books. he had learned that it was a custom with sub- scription book companies to allow agents to have the books and give them thirty days in which to remit the money. this proved agreeable to his agents. however, the greater number of them took not only thirty days — but life, and did not send in the money when they died. he was confronted then with the task of learning how he could get the books to them and be assured of his money. to learn this, he went on the road himself appoint- ing agents and selling to bookstores. and it was upon this journey that he met one who had played a little part in his life some years before, at a time when conditions had been entirely different with him. in kansas city she occurred to him. he recalled that it was only twelve miles from the city where her father owned and lived upon one of the greatest farms in the country. the homesteader he thought of the last letter he had received from her, the letter that had come too late. and then he thought of what had passed since. girls in her circumstances would not be likely to waste their sympathies with grasswidowers; but he wished that he might see her and look just once into the eyes that might have been his. but his courage failed him. he still had spirit and pride, so he gave it up for the time. late in the afternoon of that day, he was engaged with some acquaintances in the bar-room of a club. they be- came quite jolly as cocktails and red liquor flowed and tingled their veins. he thought again of irene grey, and the memory was exhilarating. and the cocktails gave him the necessary courage. he was bold at last and to the tele- phone he went and called her over long distance. "is this the greys home?" he called. "yes," came back the answer, and he was thrilled at the mellowness of the voice at the other end. "is miss irene at home? " he called now. "yes," it said. "this is she." he was sobered. all the effect of the cocktails went out of him on the instant. he choked blindly, groped for words, and finally said: "why — er — ah — this is a friend of yours. an old friend. mayhap you have forgotten me." "i don't know," she called back. "who are you?" he still didn't have the courage to tell her, but sought to make himself known by explaining. he then mentioned the state from whence he came, but no further did he get it so happened that she had heard all about his troubles following his marriage, and, womanlike, feeling that she had been in a way displaced by the other, she had always been anxious to meet and know him. "oh," she cried, and the echo of her voice rang in his irene grey ears over the wire for some moments. "is this you?" she cried now, her voice evidencing the excitement she was laboring under. "yes," he admitted somewhat awkwardly, not knowing whether the fact had thrilled and joyed her, or, whether he was in for a rebuke for calling her up. but he was speedily reassured. "then why don't you come on out here?" she cried. "i — i didn't know whether i would be welcome," he replied, happy in a new way. "oh, pshaw! why wouldn't you be welcome? but now," her tone changed. "where are you?" "in kansas ctiy." "let me see," she said, and he knew she was thinking. "it is now four thirty, and a train leaves there that passes through here in forty minutes. it doesn't stop here; but you catch it and go to the station above here, do you under- stand?" "yes, yes," he replied eagerly. "well, now, listen! the station i refer to is only four miles above this, and when you get off there, catch another train that comes in a few minutes back this way, see?" "yes, yes." "well, that train stops at this station, and there i will meet you." "oh, fine," he cried. "i'll be there." "now you will be sure to catch it," she cautioned. "most assuredly!" "i will depend on it." "count me there!" "i want to talk to you, i'm going to talk all night." "good-by." chapter iv what might have been jean baptiste was so elated over being invited to call early to see miss irene grey, that he went back to the bar where his acquaintances lingered, ordered drinks for all, and imbibed so freely that when he reached the depot, he found the train had left him. his disappoint- ment was keen, and he was provoked with himself. how- ever, since it was so, he went to a booth, called her up, and advised her of the fact. "now wasn't that careless of you," she complained. "i am sure you are very careless." "i wouldn't have missed it for anything in the world," he told her. "indeed, i was so delighted over the prospects of seeing you, after these many years, and i indulged so freely that i lost the sense of time." "how is that — did you say that you drank?" "well, yes, i do," he admitted frankly; "but not in a dangerous sense. i do not recall having been drunk but once in my life, and trust that i will never have occasion to recall a second occurrence." "oh," she echoed. "i am relieved. i don't trust a drinker, and the fact that you were left made me suspect you:" "at least i can reassure you on that score. i am proud to say that i have the strength of my convictions." "i am pleased to hear that. a man has a poor chance to succeed in the world otherwise." what might have been "i agree with you." "well, now, let me see when you can get out here," she said meditatively. after a time he heard her voice again. he had never seen her, not even a photograph of her. he could only estimate her appearance from recalling her brother, and from what he had been told. but however she may appear, her voice, to say the least, was the most beau- tiful he thought that he had ever heard. he listened to every word she said, and thought the tone like sweet music. "you will have to stay in k. c. all night now," she said regretfully. "and i must repeat that i am so disap- pointed. it had been my dream that i would talk with you all the night through," whereupon she laughed and this was even more beautiful than her voice when speaking. "but, now," she began again, admonishingly, "you will arise at eight — no, seven, do you understand, and catch a train that leaves the city at eight. i will be at the station to meet you again." "i cross my heart that i will catch it." "and if you do not — so help you god!" "i hope to die if i miss it." "well, if you do, don't die — but catch the train, that's all. now good-by, and you are forgiven this once." "good-by." whatever happened it is irrelevant to relate, but jean baptiste missed the morning train, and so disgusted was he with himself that he boarded a train for topeka where he went and appointed some agents, intending to get the train back that afternoon. but his "jonah" still clung to him, and when he had it estimated that the train went at five-thirty, it had gone at four fifty-two and he was left again. the homesteader "i'll catch the morning train if i must sit here all the night through," he swore, so put out with himself that he could say no more. he ascertained the exact minute the morning train left, and this train found him on time. it was sunday in early june, and the day was beautiful. the air was rich, and the growing crops gave forth a sweet aroma. he reached the little town near where she lived, and even from the depot the splendid home in which they lived could be seen reposing vaingloriously upon a hillside. in the com- munity her father was the wealthiest man, having made his fortune in the growing of potatoes and fruit. she was not at the depot to meet him, and he had not ex- pected her. it was perhaps two miles to the big residence en the hill, and to this he set out to walk. when he arrived, the house seemed to be deserted, and, as it was sunday, he surmised that the family were at services. he went up to the front door and knocked loudly. he was conscious at once of whisperings from the inside. presently the door was opened slowly an inch, and he saw an eye peeping out at him. "who are you?" a voice whispered. he told the eye. "oh, yes," cried the voice and it happened to be a boy, and the cause of the whispering and quietness from the inside was due to certain pranks going on inside. "and you're that fellow from up in the northwest," said the youngster, opening the door wide and stepping away to look at him curiously. "yes, i guess that's whom you refer to." "we are certainly glad to see you around here," said the other. "irene's been down to the train to meet you three times and she's sure fighting mad by this time." what might have been "oh, say, i really don't blame her a bit — to be put to so much trouble and be disappointed in the end. but, on the square, i had not anticipated being so highly honored." "aw, we've been anxious to know you for years. we boys had sort of planned when you was writing to irene two or three years ago to come up there and get in on some of that land." "that would have been a capital move." "yes, but you quit writing and got married, so we heard, and had bad luck in the end," whereupon he laughed. bap- tiste looked embarrassed. "where is the family and how many are there of you?" "aw, say! we are so many around here that you'll have to get paper and pencil and mark us down to keep track of how many. my father is in colorado on business, while irene, mama and another sister are at the next town up the line attending a funeral." "and the boys —" "just gettin' ready to go swimmin'. wanta go long?" "say, there hasn't enough water fallen where i've lived for the last three years at the right time to fill a pond deep enough to go swimming in, so i'll just take you up," he cried, full of the idea. it was in the early afternoon when they got back, to find that the folks had returned from the funeral, following the boys, baptiste entered by the kitchen door to encounter the mother and three daughters preparing the meal. here- upon he was caused much embarrassment and discomfiture, for of the three girls, he knew not which one was irene. quickly seeing his confusion, they laughed long and heartily among themselves. finally, his predicament became so awkward that an expression of distress crept into his face. at this point the most attractive one of the three girls what might have been a strong will and in that moment orlean recurred to him. orlean was regarded as a fairly attractive woman; but her chin, unlike that of the one before him, was inclined to retreat. and, of course, he knew only too well, that her will had been the weakest. "you are very successful in missing trains," she ven- tured. he laughed, and she joined him. he looked up then and caught her regarding him keenly out of her half closed eyes, and as she did so, she reminded him of an indian princess such as he had seen in pictures and read about. there was more about her than he had at first observed, and which was made plain in the look she gave him. for in it there was passion — love to her meant much! "oh, i was so disappointed," she said. "it was not you?" "but how could you have missed the train so often?" "i cannot account for it. i am not in the habit of doing so. indeed, i think it was because i was overly anxious." she laughed then, to herself, elfin like. "i have been curious to see you for a long time." he was silent, and his eyes did not return the look she had given him. "ever since i received that letter. . . ." and still he did not reply. the subject was too sugges- tive, not to say embarrassing; but she was bold. he couldn't know now whether she was serious or merely jok- ing; but notwithstanding it sounded pleasant to his ears. he could hear her voice for a long time, he was sure, and not grow weary. . . . we should pause at this point to make known — perhaps explain, that the persons of our story are the unconventional. and with the unconventional what was in their minds was most likely to be discussed. the the homesteader woman, therefore, was the most curious. she was a woman, and in truth she would have married the man beside her had he have come hither when he had gone to chicago. "what did you do with your little wife?" he raised his eyes then, not to look at her, but because of something he did not himself understand. perhaps it just happened so? she regarded him again; looked him full in the eyes, and his eyes spoke more than words. strangely she understood all, almost in a flash, and was sorry. she regretted that she had spoken so directly. she admired him now. when he had looked up, and like that, she had seemed to see and understand at last the man he was. "pardon me, please," she said, and rising quickly, took a chair nearer his. she reached and touched him on the arm. "i didn't — i — well, i didn't intend to be bold." she paused in confusion, and then went on: "i hope you will pardon me. i am sure i didn't intend to embarrass you." "it is all right," he said. "and since you have asked me, may i explain?" it was she who was now embarrassed. she looked away in great confusion. she was bolder than the conventional girl as a rule; but the subject was delicate. yet she wanted to hear the story that she knew he would never tell. if he did, he was not the type of man she had estimated. "of course you would think me a cad, a — well, i have my opinion of a man that would tell his side of such a story to a woman." she looked at him then without any embarrassment in her eyes. she was able to read the man and all that was him clearly. she smiled a smile after this that was one of satisfaction, and at that moment her sisters called that the meal was ready. the homesteader baptiste had been rather curious to know the family inti- mately. after some time he walked with her through three hun- dred acres of potatoes that lay in the valley before the house, and he had for the first time in his life, the oppor- tunity to study potato raising on a large scale. "from your conversation it seems that you raise potatoes on the same ground every year. i am curious to know how this is done, for even on the blackest soil in the country i live, this is regarded as quite impossible with any success." "well, it is generally so; but we have found that to plow the land after the potatoes have been dug, and then seed the same in turnips is practical. when the turnips, with their wealth of green leaves are at their best, then, we plow them under and the freezing does the rest." "a wonderful mulch!" "it is very simple when one looks into it." they were walking through the fields, and without her knowing it, he studied her. the kind of girl and the kind of family liis race needed, he could see. in his observation of the clan to which he had been born, practicability was the greatest need. indeed he was sometimes surprised that his race could be so impracticable. further west in this state, his uncles, who, like all negroes previous to the emancipation, had been born slaves, had gone west in the latter seventies and early eighties, and settled on land. with time this land had mounted to great values and the holders had been made well-to-do thereby. a case of evolution, on all sides. over all the central west, this had been so. at the price land now brought it would have been impossible for any to own land. there happened, then as had recently, a series of dry years — seemingly about every twenty years. to pull through such a siege, the old settlers usually did much bet- the homesteader knew; but not only were they hypocrites, and in a measure enemies to success but enemies to society as well. how many were there in his race who purported to be sacrificing their very soul for the cause of ethiopia but when so little as medical aid was required in their families, called in a white physician to administer the same. this had been the case of his august father-in-law all his evil life. "would you like to walk down by the river?" she said now, and looked up into his face. she had been silent while he was so deeply engrossed in thought, and upon hearing her voice he started abruptly. "what — why — what's the matter?" she inquired anx- iously. "nothing," he said quickly, coloring guiltily. "i was just thinking." "of what?" she asked artfully. "of you," he said evasively. "no, you weren't," she said easily. "on the contrary, i venture to suggest that you were thinking of yourself, your life and what it has been." "you are psychological." "but i have guessed correctly, haven't i?" "i'm compelled to agree that you have." they had reached the river now, and took a seat where they could look out over its swiftly moving waters. "frankly i wish you would tell me of your life," she said seriously. "my brother who, as you know is now dead, told me so much of you. indeed, he was so very much im- pressed with you and your ways. he used to tell me of what an extraordinary character you were, and i was so anxious to meet you." he was silent, but she was an unconventionally bold per- "tell me why you didn't" son. she was curious, and the more he was silent on such topics, the more anxious she became to know the secret that he held. "i appreciate your silence," she said, and gave him the spell of her wonderful eyes. stretched there under a wal- nut she was the picture of enchantment. almost he wanted to forget the years and what had passed with them since she wrote him that letter that he had received too late. "i want to ask you one question — have wanted to ask it for years," she pursued. "i want to ask it because, somehow, i am not able to regard you as a flirt." she paused then, and regarded him with her quick eyes, ex- pectantly. but he made no answer, so she went on. "from what / have heard, i think i may be free to discuss this," and she paused again, with her eyes asking that she may. he nodded. "well, of course," she resumed, as if glad that she might tell what was in her mind. "it is not — should not be the woman to ask it, either; but won't you tell me why you didn't answer the last letter i wrote you — tell me why you didn't come on the visit you suggested?" he caught his breath sharply, whereat, she looked up and into his eyes. his lips had parted, but merely to exclaim, but upon quick thought he had hesitated. "yes?" "i heard you." "well?" "i hardly know how to answer you." "please." "don't insist on a reply." "i don't want to, but—" "i'd rather not tell." the homesteader "well, i don't know as i ought to have asked you. it was perhaps unladylike in me so to do; but honestly i would like to know the truth." he permitted his eyes to rest on the other bank, and as a pastime he picked up small pebbles and cast them into the river, and watched the ripples they made subside. he thought long and deeply. he had almost forgotten the circumstances that led up to the unfortunate climax. she, by his side, he estimated, was merely curious. should he confess? would it be worth while? of course it would not; but at this moment he felt her hand on his arm. • " we'll go now." they arose then, and went between the rows of potatoes back to the house. when they arrived there was some excitement, and she was greeted anxiously. "papa has returned," said one of the boys, coming to meet them. "oh, he has," whereupon she caught his hand and led him hurriedly into the presence of the man who was widely known as junius n. grey, the negro potato king. chapter vi the story junius grey inquired at length concerning the land whence he had come, of the prospects, of the climate, and at last relieved baptiste by inquiring as to whether the drought had swept over that section as well as other westerly parts. "i have had the same result with twenty-two hundred acres i own in the western part of the state. but such will come — have come every once in a while since i have been here," he assured him. "if you have been caught with considerable debt to annoy you, and succeed in pulling through, it will be a lesson to you as it has been to others." "it has been a lesson, i admit," said baptiste a little awkwardly. irene, who seemed to be her father's favorite, sat near, and regarded him kindly while he related how the drought had swept over the land, and the disaster that fol- lowed. he did not tell them all; that he had been fore- closed, but that, he felt, was not necessary. withal, he had met those in his race whom he had longed to meet. of business they could discourse with intelli- gence, and that was not common. grey's holdings were much, and baptiste was cheered to see that he was possessed with the sagacity and understanding to manage the same with profit to himself. besides, the family about him, while not as conventional as he had found among the more intelli- gent classes of his race, had grown into the business ways and assisted him. "would you like to attend services at the church this the homesteader evening," said irene after a time, and when they were again alone. "why, i suppose i might as well." "then i'll get ready." she disappeared then, to return shortly, dressed in a striking black dress covered with fine lace; while on her head she wore a wide, drooping hat that set off her appearance with much artistic effect. "what is your denomination," she asked when they went down the walkway to the road. the church was not far distant, and, in fact was at the corner of his property, and was largely kept up by her father he had been told. "the big church, i guess," he said amusedly. "indeed!" she exclaimed, feigning surprise. "and yours?" "oh, baptist, of course," she replied easily. when she held his arm like she now did, it made him feel peculiar. never, three years before, would he have thought that he would be company again for another woman — at least, under such circumstances. "what do you think of protestantism?" "well," he replied thoughtfully, "it has not been until lately that i have considered it seriously." "so?" "and sometimes i am not inclined to think it has been for the best." "how so?" "well, it appears to me that organization is lacking in so many of the protestant churches." "but is that the fault of protestantism?" "i hardly know how to reply to you. it seems, however, that inasmuch as catholicism requires more effort, more concentration of will force on the part of their members to come up and live up to their standard of religion; and the story that since it is obviously easier to be some kind of a protest- ant, then protestantism has afforded a less organized appre- ciation of the christ." "you make it very plain. and especially is it so in the church to which i belong. but i am sure, however, if the standard of requirement was raised within the negro bap- tists, it would be better for all." "you mean —" "if it was compulsory for the ministers to possess a college education and attendance for at least three years at a theological seminary, the standard would be raised in the churches conducted by negroes." "i agree with you; and do you know, that since i have been in the book business only these few short months, it has been my experience that ours is a race of notoriously poor readers." "isn't it so! oh, it is dreadful when we come to con- sider how much needy knowledge we lose thereby." "it is staggering." "why is it so?" "well, to begin with. there is little encouragement to become a reader among negroes themselves. take, for in- stance, the preacher. by all circumstances a minister — at least should be a reader. is it not so?" "certainly." "well, are they as a whole?" "lord.no!" "then, how can you expect their followers to be?" "we cannot." "another disadvantage, is separate schools." "i don't quite understand?" "well, mix the negro children daily with the whites, and they are sure to become enamored of their ways." o the homesteader "i gather your trend." "the most helpful thing on earth. negro children thereby are able, in a measure, to eradicate the little evils that come from poor homes; homes wherein the parents, ignorant often, are compelled to be away at work." "evil environment, bad influence!" "that is it. there is no encouragement to read, there- fore no opportunity to develop thought, and the habit of observation." "how plain you make everything." "and now we have come unto the church, and must end our conversation." "i'm sorry." he was, too, but they filed into the little church. in and around where they now sat, there was quite a settlement of negroes, mostly small farmers. perhaps it was due to the inspiration of the successful grey. she had, earlier in the evening, pointed out here and there where a negro family owned five acres; where somewhere else they lived on and farmed ten acres and fifteen acres and so oa after slavery there had been a tendency on the part of the negro to continue in the industrious ways he had been left in by his former master. the cultivation was strong; but strangely there had come a desire to go into town to see, and to loaf. perhaps it was because he had not been given such a privilege during the days of bondage. but here in this little valley of the kaw, he was cheered to see his race on a practical and sensible basis. only in the pursuit of agricul- ture can the black man not complain that he is discriminated against on account of his color. when the service was over, they walked leisurely home- ward, and their conversation became more intimate. the feeling of a woman by his side thrilled jean baptistc. in the story his life on the prairies, this had never been afforded, so to him it was something new, and something gloriously sweet. or was it her presence? at least he was moved. he de- cided that he would go his way soon, because it was danger- ous for him to linger in her radiating presence without regretting what fate had willed. "isn't it warm tonight?" she said, when they reached the porch. "dreadfully so down here in your valley." "perhaps you will not care to retire, and would rather sit out where the air is best," she suggested. "i would be glad to." "very well, then," and she found a seat where they were hidden by vines and the shade of the big house. "i'll re- turn presently, when i have put my hat away." when she returned, her curiosity to know why he had not visited her was, he could see again, her chief anxiety. she tried to have him divulge why in subtle ways. late into the night they lingered on the veranda, and he found himself on the verge of confessing all to her. he succeeded in keeping it from her that night, but she was resourceful. moreover, her curiosity had reached a point bordering on desperation. accordingly, she had the boys to hitch a team to a buggy and took him driving over the great estate. for hours during the cool of the morn- ing, she drove him through orchards, and over wheat- fields where the wheat now reposed in shocks. she chatted freely, discoursed on almost every topic, and during it all he saw what a wonderfully courageous woman she was. he loved the study of human nature, and wit. here, he could see, was a rare woman, but withal there was about her something that disturbed him. what was it? he kept the homesteader trying to understand. he never quite succeeded until that night. a heavy rain had fallen in the afternoon, and he lingered in her company at her invitation and encouragement. that night the sky was overcast, the air was sultry, and the night was very dark. she took him to their favorite seat within the vines, and where nothing but the darkness was their company. and there she resumed her artful efforts to have him tell her all. never in his life had jean baptiste the opportunity to be perfectly free. he had once loved dearly, and he had sought to forget the one he had so loved because of the custom of the country and its law. out of his life she had apparently gone, and we know the fate of the other. there is nothing in the world so sweet as to love a woman. but, on the other hand, mayhap all that is considered love is not so; it may be merely passion, and it was passion he dis- covered that was guiding irene grey. he saw when this occurred to him, that in such a respect she was unusual. well, his life had been an unhappy life; love free and openly he had never tasted but once, but a law higher than the law of the land had willed against that love, and he had sub- served to custom. so he decided to tell her all, and leave on the morrow. "please, jean," she begged, calling him by his first name. "won't you tell it to me?" he regarded her in the darkness beside him. she was very close, and he could feel the warmth of her body against his. he reached him out then, and boldly placed his arm about her. she yielded to the embrace without objection. he could feel the soft down of her hair against his face, and it served to intoxicate him; aroused the passion and desire in his hungry soul. the story "yes, irene," he said then. "i will tell you the story, and tomorrow i will go away." "no," she said, and drew closer to him. on the impulse he embraced her, and in the darkness found her lips, and the kiss was like a soul touch. he sighed when he turned away, but she caught his face and drew his lips where she could hear him closely. "tell me," she repeated. "for so long i have wanted to hear." "well, it was like this. you know — rather, perhaps you recall the circumstances under which we met." "i remember everything, jean." "i was in love with no one, i can say, but i had loved outside of our race." "our race?" "yes." "you mean," she said, straightening curiously, " that you loved an indian up there? that, i recall is the home of the sioux?" "no, i have never loved an indian." "thenwfcaf?" "a white girl." "oh, jean," she said, and drew slightly away. he drew her back to him, and she yielded and settled closely in the curve of his arm, and he told her the story. "honestly, that was too bad. you sacrificed much. and to think that you loved a white girl!" "it was so." "so it came that you sacrificed the real love to be loyal to the race we belong to?" "i guess you may call it that." "it was manly, though. i admire your strength." "it was then i wrote you." the homesteader "yes. and —" "others." "i understand. you loved none of us, perhaps, and it was because you had not had the opportunity, maybe?" "perhaps it was so." "and now i will hear how it happened." "i must first confess something that pains me." "oh, that confession! but maybe i am entitled to hear it?" "well, yes, i think so. there were three." "oh . . ." "and you were the first choice." "me?" "but i waited for your letter. there was a time limit." "and i was away." "therefore never received it in time." "and you?" "at omaha i hesitated, and then decided that you did not favor it." "o-oh!" "so i went to chicago, to meet the second choice." "such an unusual proceeding, but interesting, oh, so much so. please go on." "she lived in new york." "in new york?" "was a maid on the twentieth century limited." "o-oh!" "but sickness overtook her. she didn't get into chi- cago when she was due." "such fate." "i wonder at it." "and then you got the last choice." "that is it." the story not knowing what else to do, she was so carried away with the story, she stared before her into the darkness. "and when did you receive my letter? i understand about the claim business." "when i returned with her to gregory." she was silent. he was too. both were in deep thought and what was in the mind of both was: what might have been. chapter vii her birthright "for a mess of pottage" the people of winner and vicinity had no oppor- tunity to rush to the farmers' state bank, of which eugene crook, mentioned earlier in our story was president, and draw any portion of their money before the bank examiner's notice greeted them one morning. the bank was closed by order of the public examiner, so that was settled. the causes became apparent the day be- fore, although those directly interested did not understand. it was in the shape of drafts they had bought and sent away, which came back to them indirectly, marked by the bank upon which they were drawn: "no funds." not much excitement followed the closing, although in some manner crook had worked into the confidence of the people since moving the bank to winner, and was leading the four banks in the town in point of deposits. of course it hit many needy ones quite hard, but the people of the coun- try had become so accustomed to adversities, that even bank failures included did not excite them. but there happened a few days after the failure an inci- dent that has some connection with our story. crook went upon a journey. he was gone several days and when he returned, the unexpected happened. it caused about as much excitement as had the failure of the bank because of its cunningness. when jean baptiste had ended his visit with irene grey, he returned to his office at the publishing house to find con- "for a mess of pottage" siderable mail awaiting him. one letter was from his attorney in washington, and since he had won the claim for baptiste's wife in the contest, baptiste naturally took it for granted that it was a request for the balance of his fee. so he laid the letter aside until he had attended to all other business, and later opened and read it. "washington, d. c., july, — "mr. jean baptiste, "my dear sir: i am informed through your attorney at gregory, that your wife has sold her relinquishment on the homestead i was successful in getting the secretary of the interior to reverse the land commissioners decision on. i am not informed further; but inasmuch as you are living on the place, my advice is that you stick right there, and hold it. you may write and advance me the details concerning the matter, and i will assist you in a legal way in pressing your right to hold the same. "in the meantime, kindly send me a remittance on the fee that is past due at your earliest convenience, and oblige, "very truly, "patrick h. loughran." he reread the letter to be positive that he had understood it correctly. he was thoughtful as he allowed the substance to become clear. his wife had sold her relinquishment on the claim that he had spent thirty-five hundred dollars cash for. and in so doing she had sacrificed his confidence; had sold her birthright for a mess of pottage. and she had not received, he was sure, perhaps one tenth part of the amount he had expended for it. he thought a little longer, and as he did so, a vision of his arch enemy rose before him. his mind went back to a day when n. j. mccarthy in all his lordliness had with much vituperation, denounced and condemned eugene crook for having contested his poor daughter's place, and all the white race with him. "for a mess of pottage" me at a disadvantage. . . . we are going to vie again, now; but it will be upon an equal basis." so saying, he looked before him at nothing; his eyes narrowed to mere slits. an hour later his grip was packed. he went that after- noon back to tripp county. his three hundred acres of wheat had failed, so he was unencumbered. he returned to winner, and the next morning he boarded a train for chi- cago. and of the battle that he fought with his august con- temporary, will be the continuance of our story. chapter viii action jean baptiste went directly to an attorney, a negro attorney with offices in the loop district, upon his arrival in chicago, and did not lurk around the depots to keep from being seen this time. he was well acquainted with the one upon whom he called and they greeted each other cordially when he walked into the office. "well, white," he said. "i think i have a little work for you." "that's what i'm here to look after," said the other aimiably. "a suit — want to obtain a judgment?" "we obtain judgments in this old town every day. the question is —" "are they worth anything?" laughed his prospective client. after indulging in a bit of humor the which he was at times given to, his face cleared, his eye-brows contracted and he related the business upon which he was bent, and questioned the attorney concerning the law covering such cases or instances. "yes," said the other, after looking it up in the illinois statutes, "it can be done." "then we will begin at once," said baptiste decidedly. "i'll have the papers drawn up, and have the same ready for service tomorrow afternoon." "very well," said the other, handing him a check for action twenty-five dollars as a retainer, and straightway left the office. he caught the state street car and went to visit his friends on federal street. they were delighted and sur- prised to see him looking so well, and so carefree. "why — what has happened to you," said mildred's mother, looking him over carefully from head to foot. "you infer that i have forgotten my troubles?" "of course," and she laughed. "you'll know in a few days," he returned. soon he bade them good-by and went over to the keystone where he encountered speed. "well, i have everything ready now," said the attorney when jean called at -his office the following afternoon. "so the next is to get service on my friend," said bap- tiste. "that's it. where shall we find him?" inquired the lawyer. "i don't know. i suppose you might call up his wife on vernon avenue and find out. of course, she need hot know what our business is with her old man. . . ." "of course not." in a few minutes he was talking to her over the tele- phone. "the elder is in the southern part of the state," baptiste could hear. "yes, madam; but what place. ... i see. ... he will be there over sunday you say? ... i understand. . . . what do i want with him? why, i have a little personal matter with him. . . . yes . . . that is all." the attorney turned and advised him where the elder was, and would be there until after sunday, and as that day was wednesday, baptiste breathed a sigh of relief. the homesteader "that's the town near where i first knew him. i was born within four miles of it." "indeed! something of a coincidence." "indeed so." "i'll get these papers off to the sheriff down there on the evening train. we'll get them tomorrow morning, and should get service on him tomorrow afternoon." "then i'll see you about saturday." "all right," and jean was gone. the little town near where jean baptiste was born, and where he had met the man who was now his acknowledged enemy, had not changed much. perched on the banks of the ohio, it still lingered in a state of dull lethargy; loafers held to the corners, and arguments were the usual daily routine. when he had left the town, the odd fellows' hall, an old frame building, three stories high, had stood con- spicuously on a corner, and had been the rendezvous for loafers for years untold. this had been torn down and re- placed since by a more commanding brick structure, at the front of which a shed spread over the walk and made wel- come shade in the afternoon. and under it on benches the usual crowd gathered reposing comfortably thereunder from day to day. under it the preachers sometimes paused on their return from the postoffice where they received their mail every afternoon. and it was the afternoon train that brought the papers for n. justine mccarthy. the sheriff who happened at the postoffice at the same time the llder did, received them, and upon his return to his office in the court house, laid the mail on his desk and went at once to serve the papers. he knew that odd fellows' hall was where negroes might be easily found; at least the information as to the action the attorney shared the obvious joke with his prospective client and glavis, and then took on a rather serious expres- sion. "and you are not worth ten thousand?" "lord, no!" the other bit the cigar he held between his teeth, got up and brought a statute from among his many volumes, glanced through it, and stopped at a page and read it. he returned the book to its place and came back and sat down. "what do you think of it?" inquired the elder, still seeming to take it as a joke. "have you ever considered the outcome in case he should get a judgment against you? he accuses you of having alienated the affections of his wife, your daughter." "granting that he secured a judgment?" "and you could not pay it?" "certainly, i could not." "then he could remand you to jail for six months by paying your keep." when the elder, accompanied by glavis, returned home, both understood jean baptiste a little better than they had ever before. . . . i chapter ix gossip «*t've been over to the mccarthys today," cried mil- dred merrill, greeting her mother, as she returned home the sunday following the filing of the suit "and, oh, mama, they are certainly excited over there!" "mm! guess they'll understand that jean baptiste bet- ter now. because he had wished to settle their difficulties — if there were any — like a man, they thought he was afraid of the reverend." "that was it — positively!" "what was the conversation?" "of course it was ethel who was making the most of the noise." "naturally." "and she made some noise!" "i'd wager." "to begin with, they didn't know jean had sued the reverend until they read it in the paper." "is that so!" "yes! you see, it was like this. orlean sold her farm." "gave it away." "quite likely." "it was so. why i understand that baptiste had paid over thirty-five hundred dollars into it, and that the place was supposed to be worth about forty dollars an acre, with one hundred sixty acres bringing the sum of sixty-four hun- the homesteader the streets downtown, and, of course, glavis, not knowing baptiste's mission, thought he was here after orlean again." "just like him." "the truth." "he was by here awhile ago." "he was?" "yes; but i'll tell you about that later. go on." "when he met jean on the street — rather, after, he goes around to where orlean worked to warn her." "sneak!" "but orlean was out." "yes?" "so when she returned, and was told that a colored man had called and inquired for her, she —" "thought it had been baptiste." "yes." "i'll try to quit interrupting you." "well, orlean told me that she was provoked. she wished that jean would not be calling at where she worked to bother her." "she got fooled — excuse me!" "but she didn't say anything to the folks about it, and they knew nothing of his presence in town — glavis didn't tell it seems, either — until sunday morning." "indeed!" "no, none of them had gone out saturday night, so they hadn't heard any of the talk that was going the rounds." "well, glavis went outside sunday morning and found the defender in the mail box." "so?" "you see, they do not subscribe for it, but the people next door get it —" the homesteader with that nigga', and here he comes in here and sues him. think of it! sues him! and now all the nigga's in chi- cago have the laugh on us — we daren't show our faces in the street! "' and what has he done it for?' 'but, ethel,' orlean protested, 'papa isn't worth anything. he can't do any- thing with papa if he gets a judgment.' 'what do you know about judgments,' ethel flew up. :well,' said or- lean, 'i recall hearing jean say that if a man was worth nothing, then a judgment was of little or no good.' 'you heard jean say it!' screamed ethel, looking at orlean se- verely. and then she turned to me. 'do you know, mil- dred,' she rang out, 'this fool woman loves that man yet yes. y-e-s! loves him yet and would go back to him to- morrow if it wasn't for us!'" "doesn't it beat anything you ever saw!" mildred laughed again as-she paused for breath. "well, ethel went on: 'and don't you think that nigga' is a fool. no, no! never! that's a scheming nigga'. he's the schemingest nigga' in the world! he knows what he's about. believe me! he knows papa isn't worth any- thing. and, besides, he isn't after money, he's after papa. he don't want no money. a scheming nigga' like him can make all the money he wants. oh, yes! he's up to some- thing else.'" "seems they are willing to admit very readily now that which they were not as long as he tried to deal with them like a man." "i should think so," returned mildred. "well. ethel was so excited that she walked up and down the floor in a rage. every little while she would stop before me, and glare into my face: 'but what can he do, what can he do!' 'i have nothing to do with it, ethel," i replied. 'yes, you gossip have, yes, you have! you know! i know you and i know jean baptiste! he never comes to chicago without com- ing to see you all. he's told you what he's up to, and i know it! oh, that nigga'!' "i looked at orlean, and she sat by looking like the man who has murdered his wife and regrets it. when she met my eyes she sighed, and then said: 'do you think he can hurt papa, mildred? i'm worried. you see, i know jean some. he's shrewd, jean is very shrewd.' i confess that i was rather uncomfortable, knowing what i did. so hop- ing to find some way to get out of it, i suggested that they walk out. 'no,' exclaimed ethel. 'i'm afraid i'll run into that nigga'.'" "when do they look for the reverend in?" "in the morning. they are afraid to go out until he comes." "i'd like to be around there when they found out what jean is up to." mildred laughed again, and then cried: "and oh, yes, i forgot to tell you that orlean asked me whether jean came direct from the farm here." "what did you tell her?" "why, i said i thought he was visiting down in kansas before coming here." "hump." "she said: 'i guess he was calling on miss irene grey.'" her mother giggled. "i said i thought he remarked something about having visited there, whereupon orlean said: 'he ought to have married her.'" "jealousy." "yes, that was it." the homesteader "look! there is glavis," cried mildred's mother. pointing to his figure crossing the street. "now for some fun," said mildred, whereupon, both feigned sleepiness, and prepared for some good interesting gossip. "oh, mr. glavis," exclaimed mildred, answering the rap on the door and admitting him. "and how is everybody?" asked glavis, coming in with his head bared, and smiling in his usual way. "fine, mr. glavis," replied mildred's mother, arising to greet him for the second time that day. "and where is my friend, baptiste?" said glavis. "i've just come from the keystone, and while he stops there, i can never catch him in." "he has not been here today, glavis," replied mildred. "that's funny. i'd certainly like to see him." "why would you want to see him?" inquired mildred's mother. "oh, i want to see him, of course, about all this scandal that's in the air." "hump! this appears to be the first time that you have wanted to see him since your father-in-law brought orlean home." "well, of course," said glavis, a little embarrassed. "it has always been a bad affair. a bad affair, and i cer- tainly have wished orlean would have kept us out of all the mess." "why not say you wished the reverend had kept you out of all the mess," ventured mildred's mother, who was out of patience with their conduct. "well, it's rather awkward. baptiste is a little in fault himself." "how's that?" chapter x a discovery — and a surprise jean baptiste called by to see the merrills before leaving the city, and took mildred and her mother one afternoon to a matinee at the colonial theatre. it was a musical repertoire, and a delightful entertainment. be- fore one of the numbers was to appear, the director of the orchestra came upon the stage and announced: "ladies and gentlemen: if i may have your kind at- tention, i wish to announce that the next number is an extraordinary specialty. miss inez maryland, the young prima donna who has made considerable of a reputation by her beautiful singing in the last year, will this afternoon sing in an introduction, a song that is destined by the critics to be one of the most popular of recent production." whereat, he stepped to one side, and led upon the stage, a charming blonde who was greeted profusely. "i am glad to have you meet miss maryland, who will now sing the discovery of the season, , my homesteader. by miss agnes stewart." in the moment jean baptiste did not quite recall the name, or rather, he did not connect it with an instance in his life; but as the sweet mezzo soprano voice, combined with the strains of the orchestra, floated out over the audience, the years gone by, to him were recalled. he listened to it with a peculiar and growing enchantment, and the night he had lain upon the ground and would have a discovery —and a surprise frozen, but for the now composer, came fresh again into his mind. "beautiful." "wonderful." "grand!" came to his ears from over all the theatre and then followed the storm of applause. again and again did the singer have to return to satisfy the audience before her, and when the crowds poured into the street at the close of the performance, every one seemed to be humming the tune that had that afternoon began its initial success. as it would take nine months or a year for the suit to come to trial, jean resumed his efforts in the book business, and was able by borrowing a little, to meet the interest and taxes on the foreclosed property, and was given the cus- tomary year's extension. he traveled now from town to town, from city to city, and found agents for his book, and was able in a small way to recuperate his finances. he hired an engine to plow all his land that was not prepared, besides renting a little more, and also took a flier in wheat. the war abroad had been going on a year, and he conceived that if it "happened" to rain at the right time he might get a crop and redeem his land. at least, he could lose only what he put into it by risking the same, so he took the chance. so with all he could get hold of until the last days of october of that year, he put it into winter wheat on his land, and succeeded in getting over acres seeded. and everywhere he went, the people were playing and singing , my homesteader. never, whether it was fifty times a day, or one, could he seem to tire of hearing it. at the stores he saw hundreds of copies of it, and in every home it was. and always it took him back to his youthful days in the land where he had gone with the great hope. the homesteader and then one day he saw a picture of her. it was in i musical review. it spoke at length of her, and of the simple life she had lived. that she was a product of the prairies and a wonderful future was in store for her because of the fact that her work was original. so the winter passed and springtime came again with all its beauty, and he continued in his book business. he made a trip to gregory and winner to see what the prospects were again in the northwest. the winter for the wheat, he was cheered to learn, had been ideal; but the spring was dry, and that was not to the wheat's advantage. however, ht had the best prospects he had had for years, and he re- turned to the book business with renewed hope. and now we are compelled by the course of events to re- turn to certain characters who were conspicuous in the early part of our story. when jack stewart left the farm he had rented near the property of jean baptiste and went west and took a home- stead and had george and bill and agnes to do likewise, he was obsessed with a dream that riches had come to him at last. agnes was delighted with the prospects, also, and so they looked forward to a great future in the new land. but there was something that troubled jack stewart, and for days when alone he would shake his head and cry: "dang it. dang it! i oughtn't to have let it go that far, dang it!" but he had kept what was now the cause of his worry to himself so long that he would not bring himself to confess it even to agnes after what had occurred. but never did he forget jean baptiste, and to agnes he would mention him quite often. "by the way, my girl," he said one day when they were settled on their claims, staying mostly on his, of course, for the homesteader ... it passed before her, as it had done many times since. never, she knew, would she be able to forget that day, that day when the harvest was on, and he had said sweet words to her. ... it was all past now, forever, but it was as fresh as the day it was done. she understood why he had gone away, and when he re- turned and she had seen his face she understood then his sacrifice. she knew that the man's honor, his respect for his race and their struggle had brought him to commit the sacrifice. and strangely, she loved him the more for it. it had been an evidence of his great courage, the great strength with which he was possessed. it was strange that the only man she, a white girl, had ever loved was a negro, and now when that was history, it seemed to relieve her when she could recall that he had been a man. "did you hear me, aggie?" her father called now again. she started. "why — yes, father — i heard you," she said, straighten- ing up. "and — of course — i told him about it. . . ." "now i'm glad to hear that you did. it seems that yoa ought to have told me at the time — at least before we left there, so that i could have thanked him." he was silent for a time then and reflective. "i wonder what sort of woman he married," he mused after a time. "i don't know." "i am sometimes a little afraid that he didn't get the right kind of woman. "he was such a prince of a good fellow, that it would most likely have been his luck to have gotten a woman who would betray him in some way. it is all rather strange, for i don't think he loved any woman but you, aggie." he darted his eyes quickly in her direction, recalling a the homesteader almost everywhere. most were for compositions; while many were offers to go on the stage, at which she was com- pelled to laugh. the very thought of her, a dishwasher in a country hotel, going on the stage! but she resigned her position and went back to her father and brothers on the farm. she used her money to pay off their debts and started them to farming, and made herself contented with staying on as she had done before, and keeping house for her father and the boys. she refused to submit any more manuscripts until the success of her first song was growing old, and then she released others which followed with a measure of success. the offers from the east persisted; and with them, drought in the west continued and they saw that trying to farm so far west was, for the present time, at least, imprac- tical. so they returned to gregory where she purchased the place they had lived on. owing to the fact that the drought had been severe there, also, she secured the place at a fair bargain, and they returned to farming the summer following the publication of baptiste's book. when she read it, she hardly knew what to think; but it was rather unusual she thought, because he had told a true story in every detail; but had chosen to leave his experiences with her out of it. she heard of him, and the disaster that had overcome him, and was sorry. she felt that if she could only help him in some way, it would give her relief. and so the time passed, and he came again into her life in a strange and mysterious manner. she was surprised one day to receive a visit in person from the publisher of her works. she was, to say the least. also nattered. he had come direct from chicago to per- suade her to come to the city, and while she was flattered a discovery —and a surprise and was really anxious to see the city, she refrained from going, but promised to write more music. in the months that followed, he wrote to her, and the expe- rience was new. then his letters grew serious, and later she received the surprise. he came again to see her and proposed. she hardly knew how to accept it, but he was so persistent. to be offered the love of a man of such a type, carried her off her feet, and she made him promise to wait. he was very patient about it, and at last she concluded that while she did not feel that she really loved him yet, she was a woman, and growing no younger, and, besides, he was a successful publisher and the match seemed logical. so after some months in which she tried to make herself appear like the woman she knew he wished her to be, she accepted, but left the date for their wedding indefinite. chapter xi the bishop's inquisition ft^he reverend mccarthy was commonly re- • garded as a good politician in church affairs, mean- •*• ing, that he was successful with the bishop in being able to hold the office of presiding elder over such a long period. at every conference other aspirants attempted to oust him. but he had always held with the bishop and had succeeded himself annually until the five-year limit had ex- pired. at the end of this time he had usually succeeded in manipulating matters in such a manner that he had in- variably been successful in securing the same appointment over another district in the state. over this he presided an- other five years, and was then automatically transferred back to the district over which he had formerly presided. for twenty years he had been successful in keeping this up, but in the conference that was to convene after he had been sued by his son-in-law, it became known and talked about that he would not be re-appointed to the presiding elder- ship, and would necessarily be sent to a charge for a year or more. accordingly, he began early to seek a charge which he was in position to know would be lucrative, since there were few outside the large churches in chicago that would pay as well as the presiding eldership. the fact was, however, he regretted going back to a charge, for his former experience in such work, in gaining the bishop's inquisition and retaining the confidence of the members of his church had not been ideal, to say the least. and again, it was ex- pedient that he should have his family, especially his wife, living in the town with him where he held the charge. perhaps that made it awkward for him, as he was not ac- customed to having his wife in such close proximity with him daily. his regard for her was such that he could not bear the thought of that close association. for his expe- rience had been that it was impossible for him to be in the house with her a matter of two days without losing his pa- tience and speaking harshly to her. to avoid this unpleas- ant domestic state of affairs it had been agreed that orlean should be his housekeeper, and this was settled on before conference — and before he had been sued. this pending suit, however, brought added complications. ever since he had brought orlean home, he had been em- barrassed by gossips. nowhere had he been able to turn unless some busy-body must stop him and inquire with re- gard to his daughter; what was the matter, etc., and so on. it kept him explaining and re-explaining, a subject that was to say the least, delicate. he had, however, succeeded in explaining and conveying the impression that the man she married had mistreated and neglected her, and that he had been compelled to go and get her in order to save her life. this was not satisfactory to him in view of the fact that he decided once to let her return, but jean baptiste not knowing that he had reached such a decision, had felt that his only chance to secure her again was to keep away from her father — well, we know the result of that effort. but inasmuch as that jean baptiste had refused to argue with him over her, he had used this as an excuse to become his old self again, which, after all, was so much easier. so when 'gene crook had approached him with an offer, and the bishop's inquisition cause his acquaintances were of long standing that gave them, they felt, the right to question him regarding such delicate affairs. so when he met mrs. jones, he doffed his hat in his usual lordly manner, and paused when she came to a stop. "good evening, reverend mac.," she exclaimed, and ex- tended her long, lean hand. he grasped it, and bowing with accustomed dignity, replied: "good evening, sister jones. i trust that your health is the best." "my health is good, reverend mac. but, say, reverend mac., you don't look so well." "indeed so, my dear madame, i have not been in the best of health for some months." "well, well, that is too bad, indeed. i hear that you have not been, reverend mac. and say, brother mccarthy, what is this i read in the paper about your son-in-law com- ing in here and suing you for breaking up orlean and he?" his majesty's head went up, while he colored unseen, and would have passed on, but mrs. jones was standing in such a manner that he was unable to do so without some diffi- culty. "the man is crazy," he retorted shortly, and stiffened. but it took more than stiffness to satisfy this gossip. "well, i thought something was the matter, reverend. for you see, i've heard that you went out there and brought her home to save him from killing her, so you see it is rather strange. that fellow, as a boy — and even yet, when he is in chicago — attends sunday school and sits in my class, and i was rather surprised that he should treat orlean as it is said you said he did." reverend mccarthy would liked very well to have moved on. but mrs. jones was very much interested. the homesteader "there's all kind of talk around town about it. they say that if he gets a judgment against, you, elder, he will put you in jail, and all that; but of course that couldn't be. you stand too well in the church. but you know, reverend, the only thing that looks kind a bad for you is, they say that he wouldn't dare start such a suit unless he had good ground for action. they say —" the elder had extricated himself at last, and now sailed down the street with high head. "may the god crush that hard-headed bulldog into the earth," he muttered between compressed lips, so angry that he could not see clearly. "how long am i to be aggravated with this rotten gossip!" he changed his mind about walking far, and at a con- venient corner, he turned back toward home. but when he arrived there, he was confronted with another, and more serious problem. it had been his intention before arriving there, to arraign his wife again for having let orlean go west in the beginning. but now he was confronted with his august honorary, the bishop. "and, now, reverend," said the bishop, after they had gone through the usual formalities, "i am forced to come around to something that embarrasses me very much, in view of our long and intimate relations," and he paused to look grave. the reverend tried to still his thumping heart. all his life he had been a coward, he had bluffed himself into believing, and having his family believe, that he was a brave man, but orlean had told baptiste on several occasions that her father might have risen higher in the church, but for his lack of confidence. "it pertains to all this gossip and notoriety that is going the rounds. i suppose you are aware of what i refer to." the other swallowed, and nodded. "you can appreciate that it is very embarrassing to roe, the bishop's inquisition and to the church, more, because i have struggled to raise the standard in this church. we have in the years gone by been subjected to unfair gossip, and some fair because of the subtle practices of some of our ministers. and now, with conference convening in two weeks, it is very awkward that we should be confronted with such a predicament with regard to you, one of our oldest ministers. the subject is made more embarrassing because of its — er, rather per- sonal nature. i would regard it as very enlightening if you would give me an explanation — but, of course, in the name of the church." the reverend swallowed again, struggled to keep his eyes dry, for the rush of self pity almost overcame him. it was, however, no time or place for self pity. the bishop was not an emotional man; he was not given to patience with those who pitied themselves — in short, the bishop was very much of a cold hearted business man, notwithstanding his position. he was waiting in calm austerity for the other's reply. "ah-m ahem!" began the reverend with a great effort at self composure. "it is, to say the least, my dear bishop, with much regret that i am compelled to explain a matter that has caused me no end of grief. to begin with: it was not with my consent that my daughter was allowed to go off into the west and file on a homestead." the other's face was like a tomb upon hearing this. indeed, the elder would have to put forth a more logical excuse. it has been said that the bishop was a practical man which in truth he was, and the fact is, he regarded it as far more timely if a larger number of the members of his race in the city would have taken up homesteads in the west, than for them to have been frequenting state street and aping the rich. also, the bishop had read baptiste's the bishop's inquisition now the interposition of the bishop, had rather discon- certed the elder. had he been allowed to proceed in the manner he had planned and started to, he might have made the case from his standpoint, and under the circumstances very clear to the bishop. but the latter's questions threw him off his line, and he started again with some embarrass- ment, and with the perspiration beginning to appear around the point of his nose. appreciating, however that he was expected to explain, he went resolutely back to the task. "well, my wife allowed my daughter to be taken out there and file on this land that this man had secured on his representation that he wished to marry her, and when i came into the city it was all settled." "pardon me for interrupting you again, my dear elder. but is it not a fact that mrs. pruitt, with whom you are well acquainted, accompanied your daughter on this trip?" "it is so, bishop." "and is it not a fact that mrs. pruitt as well as your daughter, explained it all at the time with satisfaction to you?" "well, ah —yes, she did." "you admit to this, then, my dear reverend?" "under the circumstances at the time, i was rather com- pelled to, my dear bishop." "meaning that since she had gone and taken the land, you were morally bound to look into and consider the mat- ter favorably?" "yes, i think that explains it." "now, reverend. is it not a fact that a considerable write-up appeared in the chicago defender shortly after this visit, detailing considerable, and with much illustration re- garding the trip; that, in short, your daughter had come into the homesteader considerable land and was regarded as having been very fortunate?" "i think so, my dear bishop." "very well, reverend. now — a — who solicited that write-up? did the editor not have a conversation with yon before the article appeared?" "i believe he did, yes, sir. i think he did." "well, now, reverend, if i remember correctly, this young man visited the city the christmas following, and was introduced to him by you in this same room?" "i think so. yes, bishop, i remember having intro- duced him to you myself." "and do i quote correctly when i say that you called me up the following spring to perform the ceremony that made your daughter and this jean baptiste man and wife?" "i think you quote correctly, my dear bishop." "m-m. yes, i recall that i was indisposed at the time and was very sorry i could not perform the ceremony," said the bishop thoughtfully, but more to himself than to the other. "well, now. after they had been married some months, my wife visited your wife, and the latter seemed to be greatly impressed with the union. i think if i am cor- rectly informed that you went on a visit to them yourself that fall." "i did, my dear bishop. yes, i did." "and at the conference on your return, you, if i am not mistaken, called on me at my home and discussed the young man at considerable length." "yes, my dear bishop. i did that." "yes," mused the bishop again thoughtfully and as if to himself. "and you appeared greatly delighted with their union. you seemed to regard him as an extraordinary the homesteader accused of having coerced the girl; that you had her write her husband's name on a check with which you secured the money to bring her from the west." "he gave my daughter the privilege of securing money by such a method for her needs, and it was not i that had her do any such a thing." "but it was — er, rather — a little irregular, was it not? it does not seem reasonable to suppose that he granted her the privilege to sign his name to checks to secure money with which to leave him?" the question was put rather testily and caused the other to shift uncomfortably before making answer. "well, under the circumstances, methods had to be re- sorted to — er, rather to fit the occasion." the elder's defence was artful. the bishop, not pretending to take his question seriously, pursued: "i note, further, that he accuses you of disposing of some property. . . ." "my daughter sold her place. it was hers, in her name, and the transaction did not require his consent." "m-m — i see. it seems that the property, so he claims, represented an outlay of some thirty-five hundred dollars in cash, and he purports the same as being worth something like sixty-four hundred dollars. what is your opinion, hav- ing been on the property, of its actual worth?" "well, i have some sense of values, since i am buying this home, and i do not regard the property as being worth such a sum." "i see," said the other, stroking his beard which was thick and flowing. "a piece of wild, raw land such as that i could not esti- mate it as being so valuable." the bishop's inquisition "m-m. have you any knowledge of what land has brought in that neighborhood, reverend. you see, value is a very delicate thing to estimate. we cannot always be the judge in such matters. the usual estimate of what any- thing is worth is what some one is willing to pay. do you recall of having ever heard your daughter or any one say what deeded land in that section sold for?" "well, i have heard my daughter say that a place near there had brought five thousand dollars." "which would not compare with the value you put on the place your daughter held." "it would not seem to." "m-m. you say this was your daughter's place en- tirely?" "it was," returned the reverend promptly. "and she paid for it out of her own money?" "well, no. she did not." "i see. m-m. then who purchased it for her, rever- end?" "i think he did that. yes, i think he did." "i see. do you recall the consideration. i understand that he purchased what is called a relinquishment. i under- stand such transactions slightly. i have read of such deals in oklahoma. seems to be a sort of recognized custom in securing land in new countries, notwithstanding the subtlety of the transaction." "i think he claimed to have paid two thousand dollars for the relinquishment, which i would consider too much, considerably too much." "but, inasmuch as your knowledge of new countries has been brief, perhaps, you would not set your judgment up as a standard for values there," suggested the bishop, point- edly. "you will grant that the individual in the contro- the bishop's inquisition the place, and if he had been successful, he would have had the place for nothing in so far as she was concerned?" "it is quite likely." the elder had nothing but evasive answers now. he tried counters no more. "but he failed, it seems, to get the place through contest, regardless of the fact that your daughter was here in chicago instead of being on her claim." "it seems that way." "and then, forsooth, it must have been your daughter's husband who was instrumental in saving the place for her?" "yes." "and after this, your daughter sold the place to the man who had struggled to beat her out of it and failed through the instrumentalities of her husband, and without consult- ing her husband with regard to the bargain." "i counciled her, my dear bishop." "ah, you counciled her," and for the first time he turned his sharp, searching eyes on the elder and seemingly looked directly through him. the next moment they were back on the carpet before him, and he resumed his questions. he was thinking then, thinking of what he had read in the book by jean baptiste, and what had recently appeared in all the papers. it seemed to him that the elder's defence was not quite clear; but he would see it through. "it was reported that this man, a banker, whose bank had failed . . . sent you the money for your railroad fare from cairo to this city, and also reimbursed for the return. is that quite true?" "that was — the railroad fare — a part of the transac- tion." "ah-ha. a part of the transaction. you never, i sup- pose, informed her husband regarding the transaction after the deal was closed?" the homesteader "no." "what was the consideration, reverend, for this piece of land that your daughter's husband bought, for which he paid $ , placing a house and barn thereon, digging a. well, and making other improvements, fighting off a three years' contest — placed there by the man who tried to beat her out of it? what did he pay for the place?" "three hundred dollars." such an awful moment! the elder's head dropped as he said this. but the bishop's eyes were still upon the spot in the carpet. "and so this young man comes hither and accuses and sues you, accusing you of breaking up he and his wife. he published all that you have told me and if he should secure a judgment it is known that he can remand you to jail for six months." he paused again, regarded the spot in the carpet before him very keenly and then arose. the elder arose also, but he was unable to find his voice. in the meantime the bishop was moving toward the door, his hand was upon the knob, and when the door was open, he turned, and looking at the one behind him, said: "well, see you at the conference, newt," and was gone. the other stood regarding the closed door. his brain was in a whirl and he could not quite understand what had happened. but something in that hour had trans- pired, and while he could not seem to realize what it was just then, he knew he would learn it in due time. the bishop acts charges and who had been sent thither, did he know where he was to go. so it was with a sinking of the heart when his name was reached: "reverend mccarthy to mitchfield!" "reverend mccarthy to mitchfield!" was the echo all through the audience. impossible! reverend mccarthy, one of the oldest, and regarded as one of the strongest, one of the ablest ministers to such a forsaken charge. indeed they could hardly have sent him to a poorer charge, to a less dignified place. it seemed incredible, and the rest of the calls were almost drowned out in the consternation that followed. well, it was done. he had been all but silenced, and lowered as much as the bishop dared to lower him. that was settled, and he returned to chicago without telegraphing the fact to his family. with resignation he made the necessary preparations for the trip, and taking orlean with him, went to the small town. they rented a house, for the place didn't afford a parsonage, and began the long dreary year that was to follow. it was his good fortune, however, when the school board met and decided to separate the negro children from the whites in the public schools, that they employed his daughter to teach the colored pupils for the year. in this way they were able to get along in very good comfort in the months that followed. so the autumn passed, and also the winter. spring came and went, and summer had set in when his attorney wrote him that the case had been called, to come into chicago, and prepare to stand trial in the case of jean baptiste, plaintiff, versus newton justine mccarthy, defendant. chapter xiii where the weak must be strong the trial was called for early june, and baptiste reached the city a week or ten days before the time set. he had become very friendly with the negro lawyer who was conducting his case. he also se- cured a gregory lawyer, the one who had conducted the contest case. when he arrived in the city, the lawyer ad- vised that, inasmuch as they had a spare bedroom at his home, and that it would be imperative for them to be close to discuss various phases of the prosecution, he could have the room if he liked. so he accepted it. it so happened that the lawyer's home was located in the same block on vernon avenue as was the mccarthys, and on the same side of the street. moreover, it had been built at the same time as had that of the mccarthys, and was very much like in appearance the one in which they were living. one afternoon a few days before the trial, while lingering at the bar of the keystone hotel, baptiste was approached by glavis, who invited him to a table nearby, where they were very much alone. he ordered the drinks, and when they were served he began: "now, baptiste, it seems we ought to be able to get together on this case without going into court." "yes?" replied baptiste, regarding the other noncora- mittally. "yes, i think we could, and should. i think you and where the weak must be strong orlean ought to be able to console your differences without such an extreme." "you think so?" "why, i do. orlean has always — ah — rather loved you, baptiste, and i think you two could make up." "but this is not between orlean and me, glavis. you seem to misunderstand. it is between n. justine mccarthy and me." "of course, but it is over orlean. you have sued father for this sum, a sum you know he cannot pay in the event you should secure judgment. so there would be nothing left for you but to remand him to jail, which seems to be your desire." "possibly so." the other was still noncommittal. "then why not you and i get together on this proposition before the trial is called?" "i don't see as i can oblige you, glavis. there comes a time when compromise is impossible, only vindication can suffice. and it's vindication that i want now and, regret to advise, am determined to have." "that seems rather severe, baptiste." "why so?" "well, you see, i understand that the old man kinda — er, gave you the worst of it, but you ought to forget some things. look at it from a broad viewpoint. see how ex- pensive it is going to be, and all that." "i considered all that before i went into it, glavis," re- plied baptiste calmly. "well, now, baptiste, i want to stop this thing before it goes to court. if you had of kinda flattered the old man a little in the beginning as i did, all would have been well." "why should i have done so when i didn't feel to?" "oh, baptiste, you are so severe!" the homesteader "when a man has suffered as i have, it is time to be se- vere, my friend. for your own benefit, i will say that i do not trust your father-in-law. i do not love him and never have. if it wasn't because i wish to observe and subserve to the law of the land, i would have killed him long ago. even when i think of it mom.', my bitterness is so great at times that i must repel the inclination to strike him down for the coward he is. so if that's all, we will call the meeting to an end," so saying he arose, strode toward the bar and ordered drinks for both. he drank his with a gulp when served, and turned and left the saloon. glavis proceeded to his lawyer, and advised him of his inability to dissuade the plaintiff. "couldn't dissuade him, eh?" "couldn't do a thing!" "that's too bad. it might be to your advantage if you could settle this case out of court. when will your father- in-law be in?" "i'm looking for him here in a day or so, now." "m-m." the attorney was thoughtful. "this is rather an unusual case," he resumed, " and i have been studying the complaint of the plaintiff. the old man, it seems to me, committed some very grave blunders." "you think so?" "quite obvious. and while it will be difficult for the plaintiff to secure a judgment in such a case; it is, however. apparent that the sympathy of the court will be against your father-in-law in the proceedings." glavis was uncomfortable. "now i take notice here that the plaintiff states that his wife drew a check for two hundred dollars unknown to her husband, and that the reverend had it cashed. that may be regular, but it will not help her father's case. again, where the weak must be strong he complains that her father influenced the girl to sell a quarter section of land for less than one-tenth what it cost the plaintiff. of course these are technicalities that while they cannot justify a judgment will win the sympathy of the jury. what the plaintiff must show, however, is that his father-in-law actually was the direct cause of and did alienate the affections of his wife. such a case is not with- out parallel, but it is uncommon. a father alienating the affections of his daughter. "now where is your sister-in-law?" "at home." "wish you'd bring her down. this is a complicated case, and we've got to conduct it with directness. she can be of great assistance in extricating her father from this predicament." "all right, sir. when shall i bring her?" "oh, any time that is convenient. tomorrow morning at nine will perhaps be the best. and, now, say! have you any idea who the plaintiff is going to use as witnesses?" "why, i think he plans to bring his grandmother from what i can hear, for one." "his grandmother? what does she know about it?" "well, she was in the house when my father-in-law went on the visit and the girl came away with him." "i see. i'd like to know just what passed and what she heard and will testify to. i wonder whether she will testify that she overheard your father-in-law abusing this baptiste to his wife?" "i really don't know." "who else?" "i heard something about him going to bring a doctor down, and also a lawyer." "the doctor, eh?" he shook his head then a little where the weak must be strong loved jean baptiste, he knew would be a deliberate false- hood. it worried him, but he had to go through with it. he accompanied her to the lawyer's office as agreed, and there she was made to understand the gravity of the situa- tion, that everything depended on her statements, and her statements only. her father arrived the following day, and at the attor- ney's office in company with orlean and glavis, he was impressed with the nature of the defense. all were finally drilled in their course of action. that night orlean faced the most serious period in her life. she was a weak woman and her weakness had been the cause of it all. the trial was approaching — and the result was up to her. her father's freedom, his continu- ance in the pulpit, his vindication of the action he had taken depended upon her, and her strength. and that strength — for on that day she would have to be strong,— defended upon a lie. the homesteader "yes," said baptiste a little wearily. somehow he felt relieved. it seemed that a great burden had been lifted from his mind, and he closed his eyes as if shutting out the past now forever. he was free. never would the instance that had brought turmoil and strife into his life trouble him again. always before there had seemed to be a peculiar bond between him and the woman he had taken as wife. always he seemed to have a claim upon her in spite of all and she upon him. but, by the decision of the court, all this had been swept away, and he sighed as if in peace. they found their way to the " l" station that was near- est, and there took a train for the south side. at thirty- first street baptiste left his lawyer and slowly betook him- self toward the familiar scenes on state street. while he lost himself in the traffic of state street, the reverend, in company with glavis, ethel, and orlean. boarded an indiana avenue surface car. the reverend was cheery for a great fear had passed. a coward by nature, he had been on the verge of a nervous breakdown before the trial, thinking of what might happen. but now that was over. he was free. that meant everything. the fact that he was guilty in the minds of everybody who heard the trial, did not worry him now. he was free and could claim by the verdict that he was vindicated in the action he had taken. that was the great question. always before he had been sensitive of the fingers of accusation that were upon him, and the worry had greatly impaired his usual appearance. and while he was relieved, glavis, sitting proudly by him, was also. he talked cheerfully of the trial, of the decision, and of the future that was before them. he smiled at all times, and the reverend's large face was also lighted up the homesteader everything to him. and as a climax to it all, she had lied. oh, that lie would haunt her forever! they arrived at the street where they must leave the car for home. she arose along with the rest. when they stood upon the walkway and had started toward home, her father paused. "by the way, children," he said cheerfully. "i think i should call at the lawyer's office and thank him." he turned his eyes to glavis, his worthy counsellor at all times, and read agreement in his face before the other opened his lips to give sanction. "i think that you should, too, father," he said, where- upon he turned to accompany him. "well, i'll drop by his office. you may go on home with the girls, glavis," he said. so saying he turned toward the attorney's office to settle his account and talk over the case- as he walked along his way, he became reflective. he allowed his mind to wander back into the past — back many years to the time when he had gone into the country to take a meal. he recalled that day at the dinner table where he had sat near a certain school teacher. she had been an attractive teacher, a rare woman in those days. and he admired her. it was a privilege to sit so close to her at the table, to wait on her, and be the recipient of her charming smiles. he saw himself now more clearly in retrospection. he saw a little boy standing hungrily at a distance. he saw again now, that same small boy approach the teacher; saw the teacher's motherly face and her arms reached out and caught that youth and then smother his face with kisses. he felt again the anger that little boy's action had aroused in him. he heard again the cries from the summer kitchen as the mother administered punishment for the same. he recalled briefly the years that followed. he recounted the the trial —the lie testimony at the trial. for many, many months he had endeavored to make baptiste suffer, and this day he had succeeded. but still he was not satisfied. the joy that had come of being freed of the accusation after his unhappy and nervous state of fear, had shut all else out of his mind for a time. after all freedom is so much. but was free- dom all? he could not account for the feeling that was suddenly come over him. he recalled then again the severe chastisement he had caused jean baptiste to receive when he was a mere child. he recalled also how he had been instrumental in separating him from his daughter. he re- called now the lies, oh, the lies she had resorted to that had kept him out of jail, the tears he had shed from self pity, while baptiste stood stoically by. and thinking thusly, he reached his destination. he found the attorney alone, busy over some papers. he approached him courteously, bowed, and thrusting his hand in his pocket, said: "yes, sir. i thought i would drop in and pay you the balance of the fee that is now due, and thank you for your services." he smiled pleasantly as he spoke, and never appeared more impressive. the other regarded him a mo- ment, held out his hand, accepted his fee, and said: "well, it's over, and you are free." "yes," said the elder, but now found it rather hard to smile. "i am glad it is over for it was a very awkward affair, i must confess." he paused then, perforce. the lawyer was regarding him, and the elder wondered at his expression. he had never seen that look in his face before. what did it mean? he was not kept long in suspense, for soon the other spoke. "yes, you are free and fortunate." "fortunate," the reverend repeated, thoughtfully, and the homesteader looking up found the lawyer's eyes upon him. they were looking straight into his with the same expression of a moment before. "yes," said the lawyer then coldly, "you are free and fortunate, because you were as guilty as hell!" grim justice stood at the door. he regarded them curiously. "what is this?" he managed to say, as they came into the room. "seems that they want you," said the attorney. "me?" he chimed. "yep," said one of the officers. "will you go along peacefully or shall we have to put the bracelets on. you're arrested for murder." "for murder! me, for murder?" "just go with the officers, baptiste. if you'd been a little earlier you might have gotten away; but it so hap- pened that i met you coming out just as i was going in." "but i don't understand what you're talking about — all of you," persisted baptiste. "who has been murdered, and why am i accused?" the lawyer had been observing him keenly, and now he interposed. "why, your wife and her father have just been found murdered, and glavis here and another assert they met you coming out of the house at midnight or a little after." the incident of the night came back to him then, " well," he muttered, and began to get into his clothes. when he was fully dressed he turned to the attorney and said: "glavis is right in part, white." he was very calm. "i'll call you up when i need you." and then he turned to the officers and said. "i'm ready. the cuffs will not be necessary." chapter xvi a friend because she feared that rising as early as she had been accustomed to might serve to embarrass her fiance and his aunt, agnes took a magazine from her bag, returned to bed and tried to interest herself in a story the morning following her arrival in the city. about seven, some one knocked lightly at her door, and, upon opening it, she found the maid with the morning paper. "would you care for it?" she asked courteously. "i would be glad to have it," she said as she took it, returned to the bed, and once again therein, turned to read the news. it was but a moment before she started up quickly as she read: strange murder case on vernon avenue negro minister and his daughter found murdered about midnight jean baptiste, who had lost suit against preacher. arrested and held without bail as suspect. was met leaving the house just before discovery of the murder. jean baptiste, negro author and rancher is under arrest at the county jail this morning, accused of the murder of his wife and father-in-law, the reverend n. j. mccarthy. at vernon avenue. the dead bodies of the preacher and his daughter were discovered shortly after midnight o the homesteader "why, agnes — miss stewart, you i" he cried in great surprise. he regarded her as if afraid to try to under- stand her presence there. "yes, jean," she answered quickly. "it is /." she hes- itated in her excitement, and as she did so, he caught that same mystery in her eyes. they were blue, and again he could swear that they were brown. despite his precarious position and predicament, he could not help regarding her, and marking the changes that had come in the years since he had seen her. she seemed to have grown a trifle stouter, while her hair appeared there in the light more beautiful her face was stronger, while her lips were as red as ever. withal, she had grown more serious looking. she reminded him as she stood there then, of a serious young literary woman, and he was made hopeful by her visit. "now, jean, i've read all about it in the papers. i hap- pened to be in the city, and so came right over. i know nothing about anything like this, and don't suppose you do either. but, jean," she spoke excitedly, anxiously, and hurriedly, " i am willing to do anything you ask me to, just anything, jean." and she regarded him tenderly. he was affected by it, he choked confusedly. it was all so sudden. she noted his confusion, and cried in a strained little voice, "you must just tell me, jean." "why, agnes — i. well, i don't know what to say. i don't feel that i ought to involve you in such a mess as this. i —" "oh, you must not speak that way, jean. no, no, no! i'm here to help you. you didn't kill him, you didn't kill her — you didn't kill anybody, did you, jean?" "of course i didn't kill anybody, agnes." "of course you didn't, jean!" she cried with relief. "i a friend knew you were innocent. i said so, and i got out of bed and came at once, i did." "how brave, how noble, how kind," he murmured as if to himself, but she reached and placed her hand over his where it rested upon the bar. "shall i hire a lawyer, jean? a great lawyer — the best in the city. that would be the first thing to do, wouldn't it, jean?" he looked at her, and could not believe it was so, but finally he murmured: "i have a lawyer — a friend of mine. you may call on him, agnes. his number is vernon avenue. he will tell me what to do." "and me," she said quickly. "yes — you," he repeated, and lowered his eyes. "well, i'm going now, jean," and she reached for his hand. he was almost overcome, and could not look at her di- rectly. "be strong, jean. it will come out all right — it must come out all right—" "oh, agnes, this is too much. forget it. you should not —" "please hush, jean," she said imploringly, and he glanced up to see tears in her eyes. she looked away to hide them. as she did so, she cried: "oh, jean, i know what they have been doing* to you — how you have been made to suffer. and — and — i — could never stand to see it after all —" she broke away then, and rushed from him and out of the building. he watched her and when she was gone, he went back to the cot and sat him down, and murmured. "agnes, oh, agnes,— and after all that has passed!" the mystery "well, the house where he stops is just a few doors — about a half dozen — up the street —" "on the same side or the opposite?" "the same side. and he was stopping there." "did you have any conversation with baptiste after the trial in which he sued your father-in-law?" "no; but i tried to have him settle the case before going to court." "what did he say to it?" "refused to consider it." "did he give reasons?" "yes. he said he wanted vindication." "anything else?" "that he would have killed the elder if it had not been that he was an observer of the law." "where were they murdered?" "she lay near the door, while he lay in bed." "any evidence of a struggle?" "no, not as i could see." "with what were they murdered?" "with a knife that has been in the room here for two or three years." "was baptiste aware that such a knife was in the room?" "not that i know of." "when, to your knowledge, was baptiste last in the house?" "he has not been in the house for more than three years." "then he couldn't have known the knife was there." "well, unless he discovered it when he entered the room." "providing he entered the room. was he aware also that the preacher occupied this particular room? is it not the mystery such a propaganda, lay stiff at the morgue. the detective regarded her searchingly, and upon realizing he was not going to jump and run, she ceased that unseemly noise mak- ing and began crying, woefully. "you discovered this tragedy, madam?" he inquired calmly, but with a note of firmness in his tone. "yes, yes! — oh, my poor sister! my poor father — and that low down man!" "when did you discover this, madam?" "just as soon as it was done, oh me!" "how did you come to discover it, lady?" "by my sister's scream. she screamed so loud it seemed everybody must have heard it. screamed when he stuck that knife into her breast!" "how long after you heard her scream was it before you came out of the room — your room?" "i came at once," she said sulkily, and tried to cry louder. the detective was thoughtful. "so you came at once! and what did you see when you came out?" at this she seemed overcome, and it was some moments before he could get her answer, and that was after he had repeated^ "my sister and father lying murdered in the room there." "is that all you saw?" she was sulky again. after a time she muttered. she wrinkled her face but the tears would not come. presently she said, and the detective caught an effort on her part to say it. "yes. but i think i heard a door slam downstairs." "you think you heard a door slam? what happened next?" "my husband came." the homesteader the detective agnes had retained, called on baptiste's lawyers and held a lengthy consultation. when he left them, an understanding had been reached with regard to the hearing, and silence was agreed upon. at the magistrate's office the following morning, the court room was crowded. scores were turned away, and all the family had been subpoenaed. glavis was first called, and related what he knew, which has already been related. next came mrs. mccarthy who knew even less. she was followed by ethel, and the detec- tive and two lawyers questioned her closely. "now, you say you heard your sister scream," said the lawyer after the usual formalities had passed. "will you kindly state to the court just what you overheard and know regarding this affair?" she glared at him, and then her eyes met those of bap- tiste, and she glared again. she told a varied story of the case, and made it very brief. "you say, madame, that after you heard your sister scream you rushed from your room and to where she was?'' "yes," she answered, and those near noticed the sulkiness. "and when you arrived you found her dead near the door, while your father lay murdered in the bed?" "yes." "do you recall, mrs. glavis, whether she screamed long, or whether it was brief?" she hesitated, somewhat confused. presently, she stiff- ened and said: "it was long." "did it last until after you had left your bed?" "it did." "until you had left the room you were in?" "yes." "in fact she was screaming still when you arrived at the i$ the homesteader had retired at once, complaining of a headache. since she had very often since her father brought her home complained of such, no particular attention had been paid it. she stayed in bed until late in the afternoon. in the mean- time her father went over to the west side, presumably to call on mrs. pruitt. it was late when he returned, about eleven o'clock, that night. orlean retired again about ten, and had fallen into a troubled sleep. she felt the same as she did the night she had returned from mrs. merley's, and she could not account for the strange nausea that lingered over her. when n. j. mccarthy returned, he went to the kitchen for a drink of water, after which, he must return through the room in which his daughter, orlean, lay sleeping. as he had done on that occasion two years before, he had paused at the foot of the bed to observe his sleeping daughter. how long he stood thus, he never knew, but after a time he became conscious of that strange sensation that had come over him on the memorable night before. he tried to throw off the uncanny feeling, but it seemed to hang on like grim death. and as he stood enmeshed in its sinister thraldom, he thought he again saw her rise and point an accusing finger at him. out of it all he was sure he heard again her voice in all its agony as it had spoken that other night. but tonight the accusation was more severe. "there you are again, my betrayer," she said coldly. "today you completed your nefarious task; you completed the evil that began more than thirty years ago, oh, debaser of women! where is speed, and the wife of his you ruinedf where? in hell and its tortures did you say? yes, and where are my brothers? oh, don't tremble, for you should know! no, you made me pretend to feel that you had not committed that sin, and other sins, also. but i knew — from a painting by w. m. farrow. he tried to throw off the uncanny feeling, but it seemed to hang on like grim death. and as he stood enmeshed in its sinister thraldom, he thought he saw her rise and point an accusing finger at him. vengeance is mine. i will repay! yes, i knew! you never told me i had brothers. you said foolish things to deceive me and the mother of mine. you called me by a boy's name, jim, and pretended, because you did not recognise your illegitimate off-spring, that there were none. and then came jean. oh, you had him at a disad- vantage always! when he was a little boy, you started your evil, and twenty years later you renewed it. why, oh, you vain sinner, you know! he married me — perhaps he didn't love me then as he might have — as he would have had i tried to be the woman he wished me to be. but you took advantage of the weakness that was in me by the heri- tage of my mother, and you made me subservient unto your evil will! "well, it's all over now, and from this day henceforth you will never see peace. the evil and misery you have brought unto others, shall now be cast upon you. you are my father, and the creator of my weakness, but you have taken my husband and soul mate, and made a new genera- tion impossible for me to lead. and now i say unto you, go forth and repent. begone from me. for from this day evermore though in weak flesh i may pretend to love you, know that i must hate you!" he shook himself, and succeeded in casting off the depres- sion. when he looked again, orlean was sitting up in bed, regarding him sleepily. he started, and wondered whether what had passed was real, but in the next moment he was relieved. "papa," she said in her usual, but sleepy-like voice, "is that you?" "yes, daughter," he replied quickly, and as if to still the excitement in his heart, he passed quickly around to where she reposed, and planted a kiss upon her lips, and turning, hurried upstairs. the homesteader she sat upright for some minutes after he had gone, and became conscious of that singular feeling that she had felt all the day, still lingering over her. as she sat there, she heard the little clock on the table beside her mother strike ii : . she lay down again, and a few minutes later she was asleep. the reverend retired quickly and wished he could sleep and forget what he thought he had seen and heard. he was successful, and soon he was snoring. he could not understand upon being awakened slowly how long he had slept, but he became conscious that the light was burning brightly. he turned on his back, and when he could see clearly, his eyes fell upon orlean. she stood between him and the door, and he regarded her with a puzzled expression. presently his eyes met hers, and he started up. what was the matter with her? her eyes were like coals of burning fire; her stiff, bushy hair, was unbraided and stood away from her head giving her the ap- pearance of a savage. but it was the expression of her eyes that disturbed him. he was held in a thraldom of fear as she slowly advanced toward the bed. "orlean," he at last managed to say. "what is the —" "/ have come at last to right a wrong," she began in an uncanny voice. never had he seen her appear like that be- fore, nor heard her speak in such a voice. she paused when she was beside the bed, and stood looking down upon him in that demented fashion. the cold perspiration broke out all over him, and he trembled. "oh, you told me my husband did not love me. tf'hst he worked to make us comfortable and happy out there o* the claim you sat beside my sick bed and told me lies. while he grieved over the loss of our little one, you con- ceived a vile plot to 'get even.' oh, you — liar! you sunk vengeance is mine. i will repay! his soul into hell for spite. and then today — yesterday you reached your climax by having me go on the stand and testify to a greater lie! to save your wretched soul from disgrace, i swore to the most miserable lie a woman could tell! and now that you have made him suffer unjustly, and spoiled all life held for me, the judgment of god is upon you. the god that you have lied to and made a laughing idol of seeks restitution! so you sinner of all the sins, vengeance is mine, i will repay!" so saying, she reached quickly and grasped the knife he had found years before, a desperate looking instrument with a six-inch blade and bone handle. she raised it high, and for the first time he was fully awakened. he attempted to struggle upward, but with a strength borne of excitement, she pushed him and he felled backward upon the bed. "orlean, my child, orlean! my god — oh, my heaven, what do you —" he got no further. quickly her poised arm descended, and the knife she held sank deeply into his heart. "oh, god — my beloved god — ah — oh — christ! christo. . . ." he struggled upward while she stood over him with that same white expression upon her face. as the blood clogged in the cut the knife had made, and all the pulsations concentrated, struggled before ceasing their functions for all time, he turned his dying eyes toward her. regarded her blindly for a moment, and then, dropped limply back from where he had risen, dead. in that moment she regained her sanity. she regarded him a moment wildly, and then she closed her eyes to try to shut out the awful thing she had done and screamed long and wildly — just as she had done that night when she returned from mrs. merley's. then, as the echo died away, the door was pushed open, and before her stood ethel. one terrible look and the mad girl went quickly for- the homesteader ward, halted, swayed, and then with a moan, raised the knife and sank it into her own breast. drawing it forth she re- garded ethel wildly, and then, throwing the knife against the wall of the room, dropped dead at ethel's feet, just as glavis' steps were heard in the hall below. when he heard his wife scream, and had rushed upstairs, saw the dead father-in-law and her sister, he cried: “jean baptiste did this! i just met him coming out of the house as i entered,” and catching his wife he quickly took her back to the room, and proceeded to spread the alarm. - even with the grief she was cast into, ethel had quickly seen a chance to spite the man she hated, and instead of telling the truth, she had chosen to keep silent and let jean baptiste be convicted if possible for the crime he knew nothing of. the people were filing out of the court room. ethel's confession, born out of the excitement when the lawyer had mentioned investigating the crime deeply, had cleared everything, and jean baptiste was free. in the court room during the hearing he had observed agnes, but when the trial was over, she was nowhere to be seen. he looked around, but failed to find any trace of her. at last, with a sigh, he went with the lawyers and a few days later was home, to harvest the wheat she had told him was the best, and so he found it. he was saved thereby, and went into the harvest with bill and george again shocking as they had done years be- fore. but there was no agnes to bring the luncheon now, and jean baptiste lived in the memory of what had once been. when the truth became known "yes." "and — can't you understand it, either?" she acknowledged the fact with her eyes. "it is strange. i'll be glad when we understand this legacy." "i will, too." "it makes me feel that something's going to happen. perhaps we — you are going to prove to be an heiress." she laughed cheerfully. "and then you will not want to marry me, maybe." she laughed again. "but nothing would keep me from loving you always, agnes," he said with deep feeling. "even if the papers would show me to be descended from some horrible pirate or worse." "nothing in the world could make a difference. indeed, should the papers connect you with something out of the ordinary, i think i would like you better — that is, it would add even more mystery to your already mysterious self." "wonderful!" he kissed her impulsively, and in the next hour she went off to bed. "what is this?" said her nance's aunt, as the lawyer lifted a small package from the box of documents, and as he did so, an old photograph slipped and fell to the floor. it was yellow with age; but the reflection of the person was clearly discernible. all three looked at it in wonderment. then her fiance and his aunt regarded her with apprehen- sion. the package was untied, and all the papers gone through and much history was therein contained. but one fact stood above all others. "is this a fact?" said the aunt coldly. never had she the homesteader hand. in the next instant he had dropped it, as a far away expression came into his eyes as if he had suddenly recalled something he would forget. "jean," she cried, and came close to him. she looked up into his eyes and saw what was troubling him. she got beside him closely then. she placed an arm around him, and with her free hand she lifted his left hand over her shoulder and held his fingers as she looked away across the harvest fields, and sighed lightly as she said: "something happened and i was strangely glad and came here because — because i — just had to see you, jean." "please, jean. you — will—forget that now." she paused and was not aware that her arm was around him, and that his hand rested over her shoulder. her eyes were as they had been that day near this selfsame spot years before, kind and endearing. she did not resist as she saw his manly love and felt his body quiver. and almost were his lips touching hers when suddenly, she saw him hesitate, and despite the darkness of his face, she could see that in that moment the blood seemed to leave it. he dropped the arms that had embraced her, and almost groaned aloud. as she stood regarding him he turned and walked away with his eyes upon the earth. she turned then and retraced her steps, but as she went along the roadway she was thinking of him and herself and who she was at last. she sighed, strangely contented, and was positive — knew that in due time he too must come to understand. chapter xx as it was in the beginning it was in the autumn time, after the wheat and the oats, the rye, the barley and the flaxseed had all been gath- ered, and threshed, and also after the corn had been husked. wheat, he had raised, thousands and thousands of bushels. and because there was war over all the old world, and the great powers of the land were in the grim struggle of trying to crush each other from the face of the earth, the power under which he lived was struggling with the task of feeding a portion of those engaged in the struggle. and because black rust had impaired the spring wheat yield those thousands of bushels he raised, he had sold at a price so high that he had sufficient to redeem at last the land he was about to lose and money left for future development into the bargain. he sat alone at this moment in a stateroom aboard a great continental limited, just out of omaha and speeding westward to the pacific coast. as was his customary wont, his thoughts were prolific. but for once — and maybe for the first time, on the whole, he was satisfied,— he was con- tented— and last, but not least, he was happy. being happy, however, is not quite possible alone. no, and jean baptiste was not alone. and here is what had happened. jack stewart had told him the story. and in the story told, one great mystery was solved. he now understood why agnes' eyes had been so baffling. simple, too, in a * as it was in the beginning disclosed. barr lost track of agnes' mother, but knew that somewhere in the world there was a treasure but not as great as he had thought it was — about ten thousand dollars in all. while jean baptiste was absorbed in these thoughts, the door was opened quietly, and closed. some one had entered the stateroom and his ears caught the light rustle of a skirt. his eyes were upon the landscape, but suddenly they saw nothing, for his eyes had been covered by a pair of soft hands. "i knew it was you," he said, happily, as he drew her into the seat beside him, between himself and the window. "what are you thinking of, my jean," she said then. "of what i have been thinking ever since the day when we understood that you and i after all are of the same blood." "oh, you have," she chimed, and drawing his face close with her hands, she kissed him ardently. "isn't it beautiful, agnes? just grand!" "oh, jean, you make me so happy." "you are honestly happy, dear?" he inquired for the hundredth time. • "i couldn't be happier," and she reposed in his arms. "have truly forgotten that you are an ethiopian, and must share what is ethiopia's?" "will share what is yours, my jean." "always so beautifully have you said that." "havel, now, really?" "do you recall the day when i forgot, dear, the custom of the country — and its law!" "how could i forget it?" "and what followed?" "i cannot forget that, either. but jean, do you want me to?" nypl research libraries mrs.a w berg june among the pines, benescesla among the pines: or or south in secession.time. by edmund kirke.is ni cc third edition. new york: j. r. gilmore, broaway. charles t. evans. . the new york public library astor, lenox and tilden foundatio+ entered according to act of congress, in the year , by j. r. gilmore, in the clerk's office of the district court of the united states, for the southern district of new york. m'orea & miller, stereotypers. . a. alvord, printer to richard b. kimball, the aocomplisii ed author, the polished gentleman, and my old and ever-valued friend, tiese sketohes are dedicated by the author. - -- - -- -, -,- contents. . page. chapter .-on the road.--arrival at georgetown. the village inn.-nocturnal adventures.—my african driver.- his strange history.-genuine negro songs.- arrival at bucksville... ................. chapter ii.—wayside hospitality.—a strange meeting. -a well ordered plantation.- a thunder-storm.-a new guest.—the hidden springs of secession exposed. on the way again.-intelligence of the negro.—renconter with a secessionist........................................... chapter iii.-crossing the runs. — the black declines his freedom -his reasons for so doing.--a “native" abo- litionist.-swimming the run.--black spirits and white.- shelter ............................................... chapter iv.-poor whites.—the mills house -south car- olina clay-eaters.--political discussion.-president lincoln a negro.— ** three in a bed and one in the middle.”—$ re- ward. -a secret league. ....... chapter v.-on the plantation.— the planter's dwelling. -his house-keeper.—the process of turpentine making. -loss to carolina by secession. the dying boy - the story of jim.--a northern man with southern principles.-sam murdered.-pursuit of the overseer... er.................. chapter vi.--the planter's family.—the old nurse.-- her story.-a white slave-woman's opinion of slavery.- the stables.-the negro-quarters.-sunday exercises. the taking of moye......................... ............. chapter vii.-plantation discipline.—the “ole cabin." -the mode of negro punishment.—the “ thumb-screw.”— a ministering angel.—a negro trial.- a rebellion.—a tur- pentine dealer.—a boston dray on its travels............. chapter viii -the negro hunter.—young democrats. political discussion.-startling statistics.-a freed negro... • contents. page chapter ix.—the country church. — its description.- the “ corn-cracker.”—the news.—strange disclosure..... chapter x.—the negro funeral.—the burial ground.— a negro sermon.—the appearance of juley.-the colonel's heartlessness.—the octoroon's explanation of it.-the es. cape of moye... ................ chapter xi.—the pursuit.-the start.-" carolina race- horses.”—a race.—we lose the trail. – a tornado.-a narrow escape.- ...................................... chapter xii.—the yankee schoolmistress. — our new apparel.—"kissing goes by favor.”-schools at the south... chapter xiii.—the railway station.—the village.--a drunken yankee.-a narrow escape. — andy jones.-a light-wood fire.—the colonel's departure. ............... chapter xiv.—the barbacue.—the camp-ground.-the stump-speaker.-a stump speech.- almost a fight. the manner of roasting the ox................ .............. chapter xv.-the return.- arrival at the plantation.- disappearance of juley and her child. — the old preacher's story.-scene between the master and the slave.... chapter xvi. — “one more unfortunate."-attempted whipping of jim. — appearance of the “ corn-cracker.” — “ drowned.-drowned.”................................ chapter xvii.—the small planter.his house. his wife. his negroes. — a juvenile darky. - lazarus in “ ab'ram's buzzum."—white and black labor compared. - the mysteries of “rosum ” manufacture.................. chapter xviii.--the burial of jule.—"he tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.”—the funeral. .................. chapter xix. — homeward bound. — colonel a- again.—parting with scipio.—why this book was written. chapter xx.-conclusion.—the author's explanations.- last news from moye and scipio.—affecting letter from andy jones.—the end..... ....... .. a mong the pines. chapter . on the road. . some winters ago i passed several weeks at tallahas- see, florida, and while there made the acquaintance of colonel j— , a south carolina planter. accident, some little time later, threw us together again at charles- ton, when i was gratified to learn that he would be my compagnon du voyage as far north as new york. he was accompanied by his body-servant, “ jim,” a fine specimen of the genus darky, about thirty years of age, and born and reared in his master's family. as far as possible we made the journey by day, stopping at some convenient resting-place by night; on which occasions the colonel, jim, and myself would occupy the same or adjoining apartments, “we white folks” sleeping on four posts, while the more democratic negro spread his blanket on the floor. thrown together thus * among the pines. intimately, it was but natural that we should learn much of each other. the “colonel” was a highly cultivated and intelligent gentleman, and during this journey a friendship sprung up between us-afterward kept alive by a regular cor- respondence--which led him, with his wife and daugh- ter, and the man jim, to my house on his next visit at the north, one year later. i then promised--if i should ever again travel in south carolina—to visit him on his plantation in the extreme north-eastern part of the state. in december last, about the time of the passage of the ordinance of secession, i had occasion to visit charleston, and, previous to setting out, dispatched a letter to the colonel with the information that i was ready to be led of him “into the wilderness.” on ar- riving at the head-quarters of secession, i found a missive awaiting me, in which my friend cordially re- newed his previous tender of hospitality, gave me par- ticular directions how to proceed, and stated that his “man jim” would meet me with a carriage at george- town, and convey me thence, seventy miles, to “ the plantation.” having performed the business which led me to charleston, i set out for the rendezvous five days be- fore the date fixed for the meeting, intending to occupy the intervening time in an exploration of the ancient town and its surroundings. the little steamer nina (a cross between a full- on the road. grown nautilus and a half-grown tub), which a few weeks later was enrolled as the first man-of-war of the confederate navy, then performed the carrying trade between the two principal cities of south carolina. on her, together with sundry boxes and bales, and certain human merchandise, i embarked at charleston, and on a delicious morning, late in december, landed at georgetown. as the embryo war-steamer rounded up to the long, low, rickety dock, lumbered breast-high with cotton, turpentine, and rosin, not a white face was to be seen. a few half-clad, shiftless-looking negroes, lounging idly about, were the only portion of the population in wait- ing to witness our landing. “ are all the people dead ?" i inquired of one of them, thinking it strange that an event so important as the arrival of the charleston packet should excite no greater interest in so quiet a town. “not dead, massa,” replied the black, with a knowing chuckle, “ but dey’m gettin'ready for a fun’ral.” “what fu- neral ?” i asked. “why, dey’m gwine to shoot all de boblition darkies at de norf, and hab a brack burying; he! he !” and the sable gentleman expanded the open- ing in his countenance to an enormous extent, doubt- less at the brilliancy of his wit. i asked him to take my portmanteau, and conduct me to the best hotel. he readily assented, “ yas, yas, massa, i show you whar de big-bugs stop;" but at once turning to another darky standing near, he ac- among the pines. costed him with, “here, jim, you lazy nigga, tote de gemman's tings." “why don't you take them yourself ?” i asked; “you will then get all the pay.” “no, no, massa ; dat nigga and me in partenship; he do de work, and i keeps de change,” was the grinning reply, and it ad- mirably illustrates a peculiarity i have observed to be universal with the negro. when left to his own di- rection, he invariably “goes into partenship” with some one poorer than himself, and no matter how trivial the task, shirks all the labor he can. the silent darky and my portmanteau in the van, and the garrulous old negro guarding my flank, i wended my way through the principal street to the hotel. on the route i resumed the conversation : “so, uncle, you say the people here are getting ready for a black burying ?” “yas, massa, gwine to bury all dem mis’able free niggas at de norf.” “why? what will you do that for ?” “why for, massa! you ax why for!” he exclaimed in surprise. “i don't know,” i rejoined; “i'm a stranger here." “well, you see, massa, dem boblition niggas up dar hab gone and 'lected a ole darky, dey call uncle abe; and old abe he'se gwine to come down souf, and cut de decent niggas' troats. he'll hab a good time-he will! my young massa's captin ob de sogers, and he'll cotch de ole coon, and string him up so high de crows on the road. won't scent him; yas, he will;" and again the old darky's face opened till it looked like the entrance to the mammoth cave. he, evidently, had read the southern papers.. depositing my luggage at the hotel, which i found on a side street—a dilapidated, unpainted wooden build- ing, with a female landlord-i started out to explore the town, till the hour for dinner. retracing my steps in the direction of the steamboat landing, i found the streets nearly deserted, although it was the hour when the business of the day is usually transacted. soon i discovered the cause. the militia of the place were out on parade. preceded by a colored band, playing national airs—in doleful keeping with the occasion - and followed by a motley collection of negroes of all sexes and ages, the company was entering the principal thoroughfare. as it passed me, i could judge of the prowess of the redoubtable captain, who, according to pompey, will hang the president “ so high de crows won't scent him.” he was a harmless-looking young man, with long, spindle legs, admirably adapted to run- ning. though not formidable in other respects, there was a certain martial air about an enormous sabre which hung at his side, and occasionally got entangled in his nether integuments, and a fiery, warlike look to the heavy tuft of reddish hair which sprouted in bristling defiance from his upper lip. the company numbered about seventy, some with uniforms and some without, and bearing all sorts of among the pines. arms, from the old flint-lock musket to the modern re- volving rifle. they were, however, sturdy fellows, and looked as if they might do service at “the imminent deadly breach.” their full ranks taken from a popula- tion of less than five hundred whites, told unmistakably the intense war feeling of the community. georgetown is one of the oldest towns in south car- olina, and it has a decidedly finished appearance. not a single building, i was informed, had been erected there in five years. turpentine is one of the chief pro- ductions of the district; yet the cost of white lead and chrome yellow has made paint a scarce commodity, and the houses, consequently, all wear a dingy, decayed look. though situated on a magnificent bay, a little below the confluence of three noble rivers, which drain a country of surpassing richness, and though the centre of the finest rice-growing district in the world, the town is dead. every thing about it wears an air of dilapidation. the few white men you meet in its streets, or see lounging lazily around its stores and warehouses, appear to lack all purpose and energy. long contact with the negro seems to have given them his shiftless, aiinless character. the ordinance of secession passed the legislature shortly prior to my arrival, and, as might be ex- pected, the political situation was the all-engrossing topic of thought and conversation. in the estimation of the whites a glorious future was about to open on the little state. whether she stood alone, or sup- on the road. ported by the other slave states, she would assume a high rank among the nations of the earth; her cot- ton and rice would draw trade and wealth from every land, and when she spoke, creation would tremble. such overweening state pride in such a people-shiftless, indolent, and enervated as they are—strikes a stranger as in the last degree ludicrous; but when they tell you, in the presence of the black, whose strong brawny arm and sinewy frame show that in him lies the real strength of the state, that this great empire is to be built on the shoulders of the slave, your smile of incredulity gives way to an expression of pity, and you are tempted to ask if those sinewy machines may not think, and some day rise, and topple down the mighty fabric which is to be reared on their backs! among the “ peculiar institutions” of the south are its inns. i do not refer to the pinchbeck, imitation st. nicholas establishments, which flourish in the larger cities, but to those home-made affairs, noted for hog and hominy, corn-cake and waffles, which crop out here and there in the smaller towns, the natural growth of south- ern life and institutions. a model of this class is the one at georgetown. hog, hominy, and corn-cake for breakfast; waffles, hog, and hominy for dinner; and hog, hominy, and corn-cake for supper-and such corn- cake, baked in the ashes of the hearth, a plentiful sup- ply of the grayish condiment still clinging to it !—is its never-varying bill of fare. i endured this fare for a day, how, has ever since been a mystery to me, but among the pines. when night came my experiences were indescribable. retiring early, to get the rest needed to fit me for a long ride on the morrow, i soon realized that “there is no rest for the wicked,” none, at least, for sinners at the south. scarcely had my head touched the pil- low when i was besieged by an army of red-coated secessionists, who set upon me without mercy. i with- stood the assault manfully, till “ bleeding at every pore," and then slowly and sorrowfully beat a retreat. ten thousand to one is greater odds than the gallant ander- son encountered at sumter. yet i determined not to fully abandon the field. placing three chairs in a row, i mounted upon them, and in that seemingly impregna- ble position hurled defiance at the enemy, in the words of scott (slightly altered to suit the occasion) : “come one, come all, these chairs shall fly from their firm base as soon as i.” my exultation, however, was of short duration. the persistent foe, scaling my intrenchments, soon re- turned to the assault with redoubled vigor, and in utter despair i finally fled. groping my way through the hall, and out of the street-door, i departed. the sable brother-alias the son of ham-alias the image of god carved in ebony-alias the oppressed type- alias the contraband-alias the irrepressible nigger- alias the chattel—alias the darky-alias the cullud pusson—had informed me that i should find the big bugs at that hotel. i had found them. among the pines. it was christmas week; no hands were busy in the fields, and every thing wore the aspect of sunday. we had ridden a few miles when suddenly the road sunk into a deep, broad stream, called, as the driver told me, the black river. no appliance for crossing being at hand, or in sight, i was about concluding that some modern moses accommodated travellers by passing them over its bed dry-shod, when a flat-boat shot out from the jungle on the opposite bank, and pulled toward us. it was built of two-inch plank, and manned by two in- firm darkies, with frosted wool, who seemed to need all their strength to sit upright. in that leaky craft, kept afloat by incessant baling, we succeeded, at the end of an hour, in crossing the river. and this, be it under- stood, is travelling in one of the richest districts of south carolina! we soon left the region of the rice-fields, and plunged into dense forests of the long-leafed pine, where for miles not a house, or any other evidence of human occupa- tion, is to be seen. nothing could well be more dreary than a ride through such a region, and to while away the tedium of the journey i opened a conversation with the driver, who up to that time had maintained a re- spectful silence. he was a genuine native african, and a most original and interesting specimen of his race. his thin, close- cut lips, straight nose and european features contrasted strangely with a skin of ebon blackness, and the quiet, simple dignity of his manner betokened superior intel- on the road. ligence. his story was a strange one. when a boy, with his mother, he was kidnapped by a hostile tribe, and sold to the traders at cape lopez, on the western, coast of africa. there, in the slave-pen, the mother died, and he, a child of seven years, was sent in the slave-ship to cuba. at havana, when sixteen, he at- tracted the notice of a gentleman residing in charleston, who bought him and took him to “ the states." he lived as house-servant in the family of this gentleman till , when his master died, leaving him a legacy to a daughter. this lady, a kind, indulgent mistress, had since allowed him to “hire his time,” and he then car- ried on an “independent business," as porter, and doer of all work around the wharves and streets of george- town. he thus gained a comfortable living, besides paying to his mistress one hundred and fifty dollars yearly for the privilege of earning his own support. in every way he was a remarkable negro, and my three days' acquaintance with him banished from my mind all doubt as to the capacity of the black for freedom, and all question as to the disposition of the slave to strike off his chains when the favorable moment arrives. from him i learned that the blacks, though pretending ignor- ance, are fully acquainted with the questions at issue in the pending contest. he expressed the opinion, that war would come in consequence of the stand south car- olina had taken ; and when i said to him : “but if it comes you will be no better off. it will end in a com- promise, and leave you where you are.” he answered : among the pines. “no, massa, 't wont do dat. de souf will fight hard, and de norf will get de blood up, and come down har, and do 'way wid de cause ob all de trubble—and dat am de nigga." “but,” i said, “perhaps the south will drive the north back; as you say, they will fight hard." “dat dey will, massa, dey’m de fightin' sort, but dey can't whip de norf, 'cause you see dey'll fight wid only one hand. when dey fight de norf wid de right hand, dey'll hev to hold de nigga wid de leff.” “but," i replied, “the blacks wont rise; most of you have kind masters and fare well.” “dat's true, massa, but dat an’t freedom, and de black lub freedom as much as de white. de same blessed lord made dem both, and he made dem all ’like, 'cep de skin. de blacks hab strong hands, and when de day come you'll see dey hab heads, too!”. much other conversation, showing him possessed of a high degree of intelligence, passed between us. in answer to my question if he had a family, he said: “no, sar. my blood shall neber be slaves ! ole massa flog me and threaten to kill me 'cause i wouldn't take to de wim- min; but i tole him to kill, dat 't would be more his loss dan mine." i asked if the negroes generally felt as he did, and he told me that many did ; that nearly all would fight for their freedom if they had the opportunity, though some preferred slavery because they were sure of being cared for when old and infirm, not considering that if their on the road. labor, while they were strong, made their masters rich, the same labor would afford them provision against old age. he told me that there are in the district of george- town twenty thousand blacks, and not more than two thousand whites, and “suppose,” he added, “dat one- quarter ob dese niggas rise-de rest keep still—whar den would de white folks be?” “of course," i replied, “they would be taken at a disadvantage; but it would not be long before aid came from charleston, and you would be overpowered.” “no, massa, de chivarly, as you call dem, would be 'way in virginny, and 'fore dey hard of it massa seward would hab troops ’nough in georgetown to chaw up de hull state in less dan no time.” · “but you have no leaders,” i said, “no one to direct the movement. your race is not a match for the white in generalship, and without generals, whatever your numbers, you would fare hardly.” to this he replied, an elevated enthusiasm lighting up his face, “ de lord, massa, made generals ob gideon and david, and de black man know as much 'bout war as dey did; p’raps,” he added, with a quiet humor, “ de black aint equal to de white. i knows most ob de great men, like washington and john and james and paul, and dem ole fellers war white, but dar war two sand (tousaint l’overture), de brack douglass, and de nigga demus (nicodemus), dey war black.” the argument was unanswerable, and i said nothing. if the day which sees the rising of the southern blacks among the pines. comes to this generation, that negro will be among the leaders. he sang to me several of the songs current among the negroes of the district, and though of little poetic value, they interested me, as indicating the feel- ings of the slaves. the blacks are a musical race, and the readiness with which many of them improvise words and melody is wonderful; but i had met none who pos- sessed the readiness of my new acquaintance. several of the tunes he repeated several times, and each time with a new accompaniment of words. i will try to render the sentiment of a few of these songs into as good negro dialect as i am master of, but i cannot hope to repeat the precise words, or to convey the indescriba- ble humor and pathos which my darky friend threw in- to them, and which made our long, solitary ride through those dreary pine-barrens pass rapidly and pleasantly away. the first referred to an old darky who was transplanted from the cotton-fields of “ole virginny” to the rice-swamps of carolina, and who did not like the change, but found consolation in the fact that rice is not grown on “the other side of jordan.” " come listen, all you darkies, come listen to my song, it am about ole massa, who use me bery wrong: in de cole, frosty mornin', it an't so bery nice, wid de water to de middle to hoe among de rice; when i neber hab forgotten how i used to hoe de cotton, how i used to hoe de cotton, on de ole virginny shoro; on the road. but i'll neber hoe de coiton, oh! neber hoe de cotton any more. “if i feel de drefful hunger, he tink it am a vice, and he gib me for my dinner a little broken rice, a little broken rice and a bery little fat- and he grumble like de debil if i eat too much of dat; when i neber hab forgotten, etc. “he tore me from my dinah; i tought my heart would burst- he made me lub anoder when my lub was wid de first, he sole my picanninnies becase he got dar price, and shut me in de marsh-field to hoe among de rice; when i neber had forgotten, etc. “and all de day i hoe dar, in all de heat and rain, and as i hoe away dar, my heart go back again, back to de little cabin dat stood among de corn, and to de ole plantation where she and i war born! oh! i wish i had forgotten, etc. "den dinah am beside me, de chil'ren on my knee, and dough i am a slave dar, it 'pears to me i'm free, till i wake up from my dreaming, and wife and chil'ren gone, i hoe away and weep dar, and weep dar all alone! oh! i wish i had forgotten, etc. “but soon a day am coming, a day i long to see, when dis darky in de cole ground, foreber will be free, when wife and chil'ren wid me, i'll sing in paradise, how he; de blessed jesus, hab bought me wid a price; how de lord hab not forgotten how well i hoed de cotton, how well i hoed de cotton on de ole virginny shore; among the pines. dar i'll neber hoe de cotton, oh! neber hoe de cotton any more.” the politics of the following are not exactly those of the rulers at washington, but we all may come to this complexion at last : “hark! darkies, hark! it am de drum dat calls ole massa 'way from hum, wid powder-pouch and loaded gun, to drive ole abe from washington; oh! massa's gwine to washington, so clar de way to washington, oh! wont dis darky hab sum fun when massa's gwine to washington ! “ dis darky know what massa do; he take him long to brack him shoe, to brack him shoe and tote him gun, when he am 'way to washington. oh! massa's gwine to washington, so clar de way to washington, oh! long afore de mornin' sun ole massa's gwine to washington! • ole massa say ole abe will eat de niggas all excep' de feet de feet, may be, will cut and run, when massa gets to washington, when massa gets to washington; so clar de way to washington- oh! wont dis darky cut and run when massa gets to washington! on the road. “dis nigga know ole abe will save his brudder man, de darky slave, and dat he'll let him cut and run when massa gets to washington, when massa gets to washington; so clar de way to washington, ole abe will let the darkies run when massa gets to washington." the next is in a similar vein: “a storm am brewin' in de souf, a storm am brewin' now, oh! hearken den and shut your mouf, and i will tell you how : and i will tell you how, ole boy, de storm of fire will pour, and make de darkies dance for joy, as dey neber danced before: so shut your mouf as close as death, and all you niggas hole your breafh, and i will tell you how. “de darkies at de norf am ris, and dey am comin' down- am comin' down, i know dey is, to do de white folks brown! dey'll turn ole massa out to grass, and set de niggas free, and when dat day am come to pass we'll all be dar to see! so shut your mouf as close as death, and all you niggas hole your breafh, and do de white folks brown! . . . among the pines. “den all de week will be as gay as am de chris'mas time; we'll dance all night and all de day, and make de banjo chime- and make de banjo chime, i tink, and pass de time away, wid ’nuf to eat and ’nuf to drink, and not a bit to pay! so shut your mouf as close as death, and all you niggas hole your breaf, and make de banjo chime. “oh! make de banjo chime, you nigs, and sound de tamborin, and shuffle now de merry jigs, for massa's 'gwine in'- for massa’s ‘gwine in,' i know, and won't he hab de shakes, when yankee darkies show him how dey cotch de rattle-snakes !* so shut your mouf as close as death, and all you niggas hole your breaf, for massa's 'gwine in- for massa's .gwine in,' i know, and won't he hab de shakes when yankee darkies show him how dey cotch de rattle-snakes !" the reader must not conclude that my darky acquaint- ance is an average specimen of his class. far from it. such instances of intelligence are very rare, and are * the emblem of south carolina. on the road. never found' except in the cities. there, constant inter- course with the white renders the black shrewd and in- telligent, but on the plantations, the case is different. the fact is, that over the whole south the plantation- slave is elevated but a little above the brute. every ave- nue to knowledge is closed to him. his age, his origin, his country, his rights, are all unknown. there is his task, and he does it; there his food, and he eats it; but of the spirit within him, his destiny, the god who bends the blue sky above him, he knows nothing. an old negress, to whom i once read a few chapters from the bible, telling her it was god's word, replied : “p’raps, massa, it am god's word to de white folks, but ’t aint to de brack. if it war, dey could read it.” the physical condition of the slave is not the real evil of the “insti- tution.” his moral and intellectual degradation, which is essential to its very existence, constitutes the true argument against it. it feeds the body but starves the soul. it blinds the reason, and shuts the mind to truth. it degrades and brutalizes the whole being, and does it purposely. in that lies its strength, and in that too, lurks the weakness which will one day topple it down with a crash that will shake the conti- nent. let us hope the direful upheaving, which is now felt throughout the union, is the earthquake that will bury it forever. the sun was wheeling below the trees which skirted the western horizon, when we halted in the main road, abreast of one of those by-paths, which every traveller on the road. yes, uncle, and thank you,” and in a moment i had ceived the cordial welcome of the host, an elderly otleman, whose easy and polished manners reminded of the times of our grandfathers in glorions new and. a few minutes put me on a footing of friend- miliarity with him and his family, and i soon found if in a circle of daughters and grandchildren, and och at home as if i had been a long-expected guest. in it oned en to s were st of it, met in of the among the pines. chapter ii. wayside hospitality. • years ago—how many it would not interest the reader to know, and might embarrass me to mention-. accompanied by a young woman-a blue-eyed, golden- haired daughter of new-england—i set out on a long journey; a journey so long that it will not end till one or the other of us has laid off forever the habiliments of travel. one of the first stations on our route was—paris. while there, strolling out one morning alone, accident directed my steps to the arc d'etoile, that magnificent memorial of the greatness of a great man. ascending its gloomy staircase to the roof, i seated myself, to en- joy the fine view it affords of the city and its environs. i was shortly joined by a lady and gentleman, whose appearance indicated that they were americans. some casual remark led us into a conversation, and soon, to our mutual surprise and gratification, we learned that the lady was a dear and long-time friend of my travel- ling-companion. the acquaintance thus begun, has since grown into a close and abiding friendship. the reader, with this preamble, can readily imagine my pleasure on learning, as we were seated after our evening meal, around that pleasant fireside in far-off wayside fiospitality. carolina, that my paris acquaintance was a favorite niece, or, as he warmly expressed it, “almost a daugh- ter” of my host. this discovery dispelled any lingering feeling of “strangeness” that had not vanished with the first cordial greeting of my new-found friends, and made me perfectly “at home.” the evening wore rapidly away in a free interchange of “news,” opinions, and “small-talk," and i soon gath- ered somewhat of the history of my host. he was born at the north, and his career affords a striking illustra- tion of the marvellous enterprise of our northern char- acter. a native of the state of maine, he emigrated thence when a young man, and settled down, amid the pine-forest in that sequestered part of cottondom. erecting a small saw-mill, and a log shanty to shelter himself and a few “hired” negroes, he attacked, with his own hands, the mighty pines, whose brothers still tower in gloomy magnificence around his dwelling. from such beginnings he had risen to be one of the wealthiest land and slave owners of his district, with vessels trading to nearly every quarter of the globe, to the northern and eastern ports, cadiz, the west indies, south america, and if i remember aright, cali- fornia. it seemed to me a marvel that this man, alone, and unaided by the usual appliances of commerce, had created a business, rivalling in extent the transactions of many a princely merchant of new york and boston. his “family” of slaves numbered about three hundred, and a more healthy, and to all appearance, happy set of among the pines. laboring people, i had never seen. well fed, comforta- bly and almost neatly clad, with tidy and well-ordered homes, exempt from labor in childhood and advanced age, and cared for in sickness by a kind and considerate mistress, who is the physician and good samaritan of the village, they seemed to share as much physical enjoy- ment as ordinarily falls to the lot of the “hewer of wood and drawer of water.” . looking at them, i began to question if slavery is, in reality, the damnable thing that some untravelled philanthropists have pictured it. if —and in that“ if” my good abolition friend, is the only unanswerable argument against the institution—if they were taught, if they knew their nature and their destiny, the slaves of such an owner might unprofitably exchange situations with many a white man, who, with nothing in the present or the future, is desperately struggling for a miserable hand-to-mouth existence in our northern cities. i say “ of such an owner,” for in the southern ar- cadia such masters are “few and far between”—rather fewer and farther between than “spots upon the sun.” but they are not taught. public sentiment, as well as state law, prevents the enlightened master, who would fit the slave by knowledge for greater usefulness, from letting a ray of light in upon his darkened mind. the black knows his task, his name, and his dinner-hour. he knows there is a something within him—he does not understand precisely what—that the white man calls his soul, which he is told will not rest in the ground when his body is laid away in the grave, but will—if he is a wayside hospitality. . “good nigger," obeys his master, and does the task allotted him—travel off to some unknown region, and sing hallelujahs to the lord, forever. he rather sensi- bly imagines that such everlasting singing may in time produce hoarseness, so he prepares his vocal organs for the long concert by a vigorous discipline while here, and at the same time cultivates instrumental music, having a dim idea that the lord has an ear for melody, and will let him, when he is tired of singing, vary the exer- cise “ wid de banjo and de bones.” this is all he knows; and his owner, however well-disposed he may be, cannot teach him more. noble, christian masters whom i have met—have told me that they did not dare instruct their slaves. some of their negroes were born in their houses, nursed in their families, and have grown up the play- mates of their children, and yet they are forced to see them live and die like the brutes. one need not be ac- cused of fanatical abolitionism if he deems such a sys- tem a little in conflict with the spirit of the nineteenth century! the sun had scarcely turned his back upon the world, when a few drops of rain, sounding on the piazza-roof over our heads, announced a coming storm. soon it burst upon us in magnificent fury—a real, old-fashioned thunderstorm, such as i used to lie awake and listen to when a boy, wondering all the while if the angels were keeping a fourth of july in heaven. in the midst of it, when the earth and the sky appeared to have met in true waterloo fashion, and the dark branches of the * among the pines. et pines seemed writhing and tossing in a sea of flame, & loud knock came at the hall-door (bells are not the fashion in dixie), and a servant soon ushered into the room a middle-aged, unassuming gentleman, whom my host received with a respect and cordiality which indicated that he was no ordinary guest. there was in his appearance and manner that indefinable something which denotes the man of mark; but my curiosity was soon gratified by an introduction. it was “colonel” a- this title, i afterward learned, was merely hon- orary: and i may as well remark here, that nearly every one at the south who has risen to the ownership of a negro, is either a captain, a major, or a colonel, or, as my ebony driver expressed it: “dey 'm all captins and mates, wid none to row de boat but de darkies.” on hearing the name, i recognized it as that of one of the oldest and most aristocratic south carolina families, and the new guest as a near relative to the gentleman who married the beautiful and ill-fated theodosia burr. in answer to an inquiry of my host, the new-comer explained that he had left colonel j— 's (the planta- tion toward which i was journeying), shortly before noon, and being overtaken by the storm after leaving conwayboro, had, at the solicitation of his “boys” (a familiar term for slaves), who were afraid to proceed, called to ask shelter for the night. shortly after his entrance, the lady members of the fam- ily retired; and then the “colonel,” the “captain," and myself, drawing our chairs near the fire, and each light- wayside hospitality. ing a fragrant havana, placed on the table by our host, fell into a long conversation, of which the following was a part: “it must have been urgent business, colonel, that took you so far into the woods at this season,” remarked our host. “ these are urgent times, captain b- " replied the guest. “ all who have any thing at stake, should he doing.” “these are unhappy times, truly,” said my friend; “has any thing new occurred ?” “nothing of moment, sir ; but we are satisfied bu- chanan is playing us false, and are preparing for the worst.” “i should be sorry to know that a president of the united states had resorted to underhand measures ! has he really given you pledges ?” “he promised to preserve the statu quo in charles- ton harbor, and we have direct information that he in- tends to send out reinforcements,” rejoined colonel a- “can that be true ? you know, colonel, i never ad- mired your friend, mr. buchanan, but i cannot see how, if he does his duty, he can avoid enforcing the laws in charleston, as well as in the other cities of the union.” “ the ‘union,'sir, does not exist. buchanan has now no more right to quarter a soldier in south carolina than i have to march an armed force on to boston common. among the pines. if he persists in keeping troops near charleston, we shall dislodge them.” “but that would make war! and war, colonel,” re- plied our host,“ would be a terrible thing. do you re- alize what it would bring upon us? and what could our little state do in a conflict with nearly thirty mil- lions ?” “we should not fight with thirty millions. the other cotton states are with us, and the leaders in the border states are pledged to secession. they will wheel into line when we give the word. but the north will not fight. the democratic party sympathizes with us, and some of its influential leaders are pledged to our side. they will sow division there, and paralyze the free states ; besides, the trading and manufacturing classes will never consent to a war that will work their ruin. with the yankees, sir, the dollar is almighty.” “ that may be true,” replied our host; “ but i think if we go too far, they will fight. what think you, mr. k— ?” he continued, appealing to me, and adding : “ this gentleman, colonel, is very recently from the north.” up to that moment, i had avoided taking part in the conversation. enough had been said to satisfy me that while my host was a staunch unionist,* his visitor was * * i very much regret to learn, that since my meeting with this most excellent gentleman, being obnoxious to the secession leaders for his well-known union sentiments, he has been very onerously assessed by them for contributions for carrying on the war. the sum he has been forced to pay, is stated as high as forty thousand dollars, but that may be, and i trust is, an exaggeration. in ad- wayside hospitality. not only a rank secessionist, but one of the leaders of the movement, and even then preparing for desperate measures. discretion, therefore, counselled silence. to this direct appeal, however, i was forced to reply, and answered: “i think, sir, the north does not yet realize that the south is in earnest. when it wakes up to that fact, its course will be decisive.” “will the yankees fight, sir ?” rather impatiently and imperiously asked the colonel, who evidently thought i intended to avoid a direct answer to the question. rather nettled by his manner, i quickly responded : “ undoubtedly they will, sir. they have fought before, and it would not be wise to count them cowards." a true gentleman, he at once saw that his manner had given offence, and instantly moderating his tone, rather apologetically replied: “not cowards, sir, but too much absorbed in the occupations of peace,' to go to war for an idea.” “but what you call an “idea,” said our host, “they may think a great fact on which their existence depends. i can see that we will lose vastly by even a peaceful separation. tell me, colonel, what we will gain ?”. “gain!” warmly responded the guest. “every thing! security, freedom, room for the development of our in- dition—and this fact is within my own knowledge-five of his vessels have been seized in the northern ports by our government. this exposure of true union men to a double fire, is one of the most unhappy circumstances attendant upon this most unhappy war. among the pines. stitutions, and such progress in wealth as the world has never seen.” “all that is very fine,” rejoined the “captain,” “but where there is wealth, there must be work; and who will do the work in your new empire-i do not mean the agricultural labor; you will depend for that, of course, on the blacks—but who will run your manufac- tories and do your mechanical labor? the southern gentleman would feel degraded by such occupation; and if you put the black to any work requiring intelligence, you must let him think, and when he thinks, he is free !” : “ all that is easily provided for,” replied the secession- ist. “we shall form intimate relations with england. she must have our cotton, and we in return will take her manufactures.” “that would be all very well at present, and so long as you should keep on good terms with her; but suppose, some fine morning, exeter hall got control of the eng- lish government, and hinted to you, in john bull fash- ion, that cotton produced by free labor would be more acceptable, what could three, or even eight millions, cut off from the sympathy and support of the north, do in opposition to the power of the british empire?” “nothing, perhaps, if we were three or even eight millions, but we shall be neither one nor the other. mexico and cuba are ready, now, to fall into our hands, and before two years have passed, with or without the border states, we shall count twenty millions. long wayside hospitality. before england is abolitionized, our population will out- number hers, and our territory extend from the atlantic to the pacific, and as far south as the isthmus. we are founding, sir, an empire that will be able to defy all europe—one grander than the world has seen since the age of pericles !” “you say, with or without the border states,” re- marked our host. “i thought you counted on their support.” “ we do if the north makes war upon us, but if al- lowed to go in peace, we can do better without them. they will be a wall between us and the abolitionized north.” “you mistake,” i said, “in thinking the north is abo- litionized. the abolitionists are but a handful there. the great mass of our people are willing the south should have undisturbed control of its domestic concerns.” “why, then, do you send such men as seward, sum- ner, wilson, and grow to congress ? why have you elected a president who approves of nigger-stealing ? and why do you tolerate such incendiaries as greeley, garrison, and phillips ?” “seward, and the others you name," i replied, “ are not abolitionists; neither does lincoln approve of nig- ger-stealing. he is an honest man, and i doubt not, when inaugurated, will do exact justice by the south. as to incendiaries, you find them in both sections. phillips and garrison are only the opposite poles of yancey and wise." among the pines. “not so, sir ; they are more. phillips, greeley, and garrison create and control your public opinion. they are mighty powers, while yancey and wise have no influence whatever. yancey is a mere bag-pipe; we play upon him, and like the music, but smile when he attempts to lead us. wise is a harlequin; we let him dance because he is good at it, and it amuses us. lin- coln may be honest, but if made president he will be controlled by seward, who hates the south. seward will whine, and wheedle, and attempt to cajole us back, but mark what i say, sir, i know him; he is physically, morally, and constitutionally a coward, and will never strike a blow for the union. if hard pressed by public sentiment, he may, to save appearances, bluster a little, and make a show of getting ready for a fight; but he will find some excuse at the last moment, and avoid coming to blows. for our purposes, we had rather have the north under his control than under that of the old renegade, buchanan !” “all this may be very true,” i replied, “but perhaps you attach too much weight to what mr. seward or mr. lincoln may or may not do. you seem to forget that there are twenty intelligent millions at the north, who will have something to say on this subject, and who may not consent to be driven into disunion by the south, or wheedled into it by mr. seward.” “i do not forget,” replied the secessionist, “ that you have four millions of brave, able-bodied men, while we have not, perhaps, more than two millions; but bear in wayside hospitality. mind that you are divided, and therefore weak; we united, and therefore strong !” “but,” i inquired, “ have you two millions without counting your blacks; and are they not as likely to fight on the wrong as on the right side ?”. “they will fight on the right side, sir. we can trust them. you have travelled somewhat here. have you not been struck with the contentment and cheerful sub- jection of the slaves ?” “no, sir, i have not been! on the contrary, their discontent is evident. you are smoking a cigar on a powder-barrel.” an explosion of derisive laughter from the colonel followed this remark, and turning to the captain, he good-humoredly exclaimed: “hasn't the gentleman used his eyes and ears industriously!” “i am afraid he is more than half right,” was the re- ply. “if this thing should go on, i would not trust my own slaves, and i think they are truly attached to me. if the fire once breaks out, the negroes will rush into it, like horses into a burning barn.” “ think you so !” exclaimed the colonel in an excited manner. “by heaven, if i believed it, i would cut the throat of every slave in christendom! what,” address- ing me, “have you seen or heard, sir, that gives you that opinion ?” “ nothing but a sullen discontent and an eagerness, for news, which show they feel intense interest in what is going on, and know it concerns them.” · among the pines. "i haven't remarked that,” he said rather musingly, “but it may be so. does the north believe it? if we came to blows, would they try to excite servile insur- rection among us ?” “ the north, beyond a doubt, believes it," i replied, “yet i think even the abolitionists would aid you in putting down an insurrection ; but war, in my opinion, would not leave you a slave between the rio grande and the potomac.” the colonel at this rose, remarking: “you are mistaken. you are mistaken, sir !” then turning to our host, said: “ captain, it is late : had we not better retire ?” bidding me “good-night,” he was gone. our host soon returned from showing the guest to his apartment, and with a quiet but deliberate manner, said to me: “you touched him, mr. k— , on a point where he knows we are weakest; but allow me to cau- tion you about expressing your opinions so freely. the colonel is a gentleman, and what you have said will do no harm, but, long as i have lived here, i dare not say to many what you have said to him to-night.” thanking the worthy gentleman for the caution, i followed him up stairs, and soon lost, in a sweet ob- livion, all thoughts of abolitionists, niggers, and the “grand empire.” i was awakened in the morning by music under my window, and looking out discovered about a dozen dar- kies gathered around my ebony driver, who was claw- wayside hospitality. ing away with all his might at a dilapidated banjo, while his auditory kept time to his singing, by striking the hand on the knee, and by other gesticulations too numerous to mention. the songs were not much to boast of, but the music was the genuine, dyed-in-the- wool, darky article. the following was the refrain of one of the songs, which the reader will perceive was an exhortation to early rising : “so up, good massa, let's be gwoin', let's be scratchin' ob de grabble; for soon de wind may be a blowin', an' we've a sorry road to trabble.” the storm of the previous night had ceased, but the sky was overcast, and looked as if “soon de wind might be a-blowin?” prudence counselled an early start, for, doubtless, the runs, or small creeks, had become swollen by the heavy rain, and would be unsafe to cross after dark. besides, beyond conwayboro, our route lay for thirty miles through a country without a solitary house where we could get decent shelter, were we overtaken by a storm. hurriedly performing my toilet, i descended to the drawing-room, where i found the family assembled. after the usual morning salutations were exchanged, a signal from the mistress caused the sounding of a bell in the hall, and some ten or twelve men and women house-servants, of remarkably neat and tidy appearance, . among whom was my darky driver, entered the apart- among the pines. ment. they took a stand at the remote end of the room, and our host, opening a large, well-worn family bible, read the fifty-fourth chapter of isaiah. then, all kneeling, he made a short extemporaneous petition, closing with the lord's prayer; all present, black as well as white, joining in it. then heber's beautiful hymn, “from greenland's icy mountains,” was sung; the negroes, to my ear, making much better music than the whites. the services over, we adjourned to the dining-room, and after we were seated, the “ colonel” remarked to me: “ did you notice how finely that negro “boy' (he was fully forty years old) sung ?” “ yes,” i replied, “ i did. do you know him, sir ?” “oh! yes, very well. his mistress wishes to sell him, but finds difficulty in doing so. though a likely negro, people will not buy him. ile's too smart.” “ that strikes me as a singular objection,” i remarked. “oh! no, not at all! these knowing niggers fre- quently make a world of trouble on a plantation.” it was after ten o'clock before we were ready to start. the mills, the negro-quarters, and various other parts of the plantation, and then several vessels moored at the wharf, had to be seen before i could get away. finally, i bid my excellent host and his family farewell, and with nearly as much regret as i ever felt at leaving my own home. i had experienced the much-heard-of southern hospitality, and had found the report far be- low the reality. wayside hospitality. the other guest had taken his leave some time before, but not till he had given me a cordial invitation to re- turn by the way i came, and spend a day or two with him, at his plantation on the river, some twenty miles below. the sky was lowery, and the sandy road heavy with the recent rain, when we started. the gloomy weather seemed to have infected the driver as well as myself. he had lost the mirthfulness and loquacity of the pre- vious day, and we rode on for a full hour in silence. tiring at last of my own thoughts, i said to him: “scip, what is the matter with you? what makes you so gloomy ?” “nuffin, massa ; i war only tinkin',” he abstractedly replied. “ and what are you thinking about ?” “ i's wond'rin', massa, if de lord mean de darkies in dose words of his dat massa b- read dis mornin'.” " what words do you mean? “ dese, massa : “o dou 'fflicted ! tossed wid de tem- pest, and habin no comfort, behold, i will make you hous'n ob de fair colors, and lay dar foundations wid safo- mires. all dy children shill be taught ob de lord, and great shill be dar peace. in de right shill dey be 'stab- lished ; dey shill hab no fear, no terror; it shan't come nigh 'em, and who come against dem shill fall. behold! i hab make de blacksmid dat blow de coals, and make de weapons; and i hab make de waster dat shill destroy de oppressors.'». among the pines. if he had repeated one of webster's orations i could not have been more astonished. i did not remember the exact words of the passage, but i knew he had caught its spirit. was this his recollection of the read- ing heard in the morning ? or had he previously com- mitted it to memory ? these questions i asked my- self; but, restraining my curiosity, i answered: “un- doubtedly they are meant for both the black and the white.” “do dey mean, massa, dat we shall be like de wite folks-wid our own hous'n, our chilren taught in de schools, and wid weapons to strike back when dey strike us ?” "no, scipio, they don't mean that. they refer prin- cipally to spiritual matters. they were a promise to all the world that when the saviour came, all, even the greatly oppressed and aflicted, should hear the great truths of the bible about god, redemption, and the future.” “but de saviour hab come, massa ; and dose tings an't taught to de black chil’ren. we hab no peace, no rights; nuffin buf fear, 'pression, and terror.” “that is true, scipio. the lord takes his own time, but his time will surely come.” “de lord bless you, massa, for saying dat; and de lord bless you for telling dat big cunnel, dat if dey. gwo to war de black man will be free !” “ did you hear what we said ?” i inquired, greatly surprised, for i remembered remarking, during the in- wayside hospitality. terview of the previous evening, that our host carefully kept the doors closed. “ebery word, massa.” “but how could you hear ? the doors and windows were shut. where were you ?” “on de piazzer; and when i seed fru de winder dat de ladies war gwine, i know'd you'd talk 'bout politics and de darkies-gemmen allers do. so i opened de winder bery softly—you didn't har 'cause it rained and blowed bery hard, and made a mighty noise. den i stuffed my coat in de crack, so de wind could'nt blow in and lef you know i was dar, but i lef a hole big ’nough to har. my ear froze to dat hole, massa, bery tight, i 'shore you." “but you must have got very wet and very cold.” “ wet, massa! wetter dan a'gator dat's been in de riber all de week, but i didn't keer for de rain or de cold. what i hard made me warm all de way fru.” to my mind there was a rough picture of true hero- ism in that poor darky standing for hours in his shirt- sleeves, in the cold, stormy night, the lightning playing about him, and the rain drenching him to the skin- that he might hear something he thought would benefit his down-trodden race. i noticed his clothing though bearing evident marks of a drenching, was then dry, and i inquired : “how did you dry your clothes ?” “i staid wid some ob de cullud folks, and arter you went up stars, i went to dar cabin, and dey gabe me among the pines. some dry cloes. we made up a big fire, and hung mine up to dry, and de ole man and woman and me sot up all night and talked ober what you and de oder gem- men said.” “ will not those folks tell what you did, and thus get you into trouble ?” “tell! lord bless you, massa, de blacks am all free- masons ; dat ar ole man and woman wud die 'fore dey'd tell.” “but are not captain b— 's negroes contented ?” i asked; “they seem to be well treated.” “oh! yes, dey am. all de black folks 'bout har want de captin to buy 'em. he bery nice man—one ob de lord's own people. he better man dan david, 'cause david did wrong, and i don't b’lieve de captin eber did.” “i should think he was a very good man,” i replied. “bery good man, massa, but de white folks don't like him, 'cause dey say he treats him darkies so well, all dairn am uncontented.” “tell me, scipio,” i resumed after a while, “how it is you can repeat that passage from isaiah so well ?” “why, bless you, massa, i know aziar and job and de psalms ’most all by heart. good many years ago, when i lib'd in charles’on, the gub’ness learned me to read, and i hab read dat book fru good many times." “have you read any others ?” i asked. “none but dat and doctor watts. i hab dem, but wite folks wont sell books to de blacks, and i wont steal 'em. i read de papers sometimes.” wayside hospitality. i opened my portmanteau, that lay on the floor of the wagon, and handed him a copy of whittier's poems. it happened to be the only book, excepting the bible, that i had with me. “read that, scipio,” i said. “it is a book of poetry, but written by a good man at the north, who greatly pities the slave.” he took the book, and the big tears rolled down his cheeks, as he said : “tank you, massa, tank you. no- body war neber so good to me afore.” during our conversation, the sky, which had looked threatening all the morning, began to let fall the big drops of rain; and before we reached corwayboro, it poured down much after the fashion of the previous night. it being cruelty to both man and beast to re- main out in such a deluge, we pulled up at the village hotel (kept, like the one at georgetown, by a lady), and determined to remain overnight, unless the rain should abate in time to allow us to reach our destination before dark. dinner being ready soon after our arrival (the people of conwayboro, like the “common folks” that davy crockett told about, dine at twelve), i sat down to it, first hanging my outer garments, which were somewhat wet, before the fire in the sitting-room. the house seemed to be a sort of public boarding house, as well as hotel, for quite a number of persons, evidently town's- people were at the dinner-table. my appearance attract- ed some attention, though not more, i thought, than among the pines. would be naturally excited in so quiet a place by the arrival of a stranger; but “as nobody said nothing to me, i said nothing to nobody.” dinner over, i adjourned to the “ sitting-room,” and seating myself by the fire, watched the drying of my “outer habiliments.” while thus engaged, the door opened, and three men—whom i should have taken for south carolina gentlemen, had not a further acquaint- ance convinced me to the contrary—entered the room. walking directly up to where i was sitting, the fore- most one accosted me something after this manner: “i see you are from the north, sir.” taken a little aback by the abruptness of the “salute," but guessing his object, i answered: “no, sir; i am from the south.” “from what part of the south ?” “i left georgetown yesterday, and charleston two days before that,” i replied, endeavoring to seem entirely oblivious to his meaning. “we don't want to know whar you war yesterday; we want to know whar you belong,” he said, with a lit- tle impatience. “oh! that's it. well, sir, i belong here just at pres- ent, or rather i shall, when i have paid the landlady for my dinner.” annoyed by my coolness, and getting somewhat ex- cited, he replied quickly: “you mustn't trifle with us, sir. we know you. you're from the north. we've seen it on your valise, and we can't allow a man who wayside hospitality. carries the new york independent to travel in south carolina.” the scoundrels had either broken into my portman- teau, or else a copy of that paper had dropped from it on to the floor of the wagon when i gave the book to scipio. at any rate, they had seen it, and it was evident “brother beecher” was getting me into a scrape. i felt indignant at the impudence of the fellow, but de- termined to keep cool, and, a little sarcastically, replied to the latter part of his remark: “that's a pity, sir. south carolina will lose by it.” “ this game wont work, sir. we don't want such people as you har, and the sooner you make tracks the better.” “i intend to leave, sir, as soon as the rain is over, and shall travel thirty miles on your sandy roads to-day, if you don't coax me to stay here by your hospitality,” i quietly replied. the last remark was just the one drop needed to make his wrath “bile over,” and he savagely exclaimed:“ i tell you, sir, we will not be trifled with. you must be off to georgetown at once. you can have just half an hour to leave the boro', not a second more.” his tone and manner aroused what little combative- ness there is in me. rising from my chair, and taking up my outside-coat, in which was one of colt's six- shooters, i said to him:“sir, i am here, a peaceable man, on peaceable, private business. i have started to go up the country, and go there i shall; and i shall leave this among the pines. place at my convenience—not before. i have endured your impertinence long enough, and shall have no more of it. if you attempt to interfere with my movements, you will do so at your peril.” my blood was up, and i was fast losing that better part of valor called discretion; and he evidently under- stood my movement, and did not dislike the turn affairs were taking. there is no telling what might have fol- lowed had not scip just at that instant inserted his woolly head between us, excitedly exclaiming : “lord bless you, massa b- ; what am you 'bout? why, dis gemman am a 'ticlar friend of cunnel a- he’m a reg’lar sesherner. he hates de ablisherners worser dan de debble. i hard him swar a clar, blue streak 'bout dem only yesterday.” “ massa b- ]” was evidently taken aback by the announcement of the negro, but did not seem inclined to "give it up so” at once, for he asked : “how do you know he's the colonel's friend, scip? who told you so ?” “who told me so ?” exclaimed the excited negro, “why, didn't he stay at captin b 's, wid de cunnel, all night last night; and didn't dey set up dar doin' politic business togedder till arter midnight? didn't de cunnel come dar in all de storm 'pressly to see dis gemman ?” the ready wit and rude eloquence of the darky amused me, and the idea of the “cunnel” travelling twenty miles through the terrible storm of the previous night to meet wayside hospitality. a man who had the new york independent about him, was so perfectly ludicrous, that i could not restrain my laughter. that laugh did the business for “massa b- .” what the negro had said staggered, but did not convince him; but my returning good-humor brought him completely round. extending his hand to me, he said: “i see, sir, i've woke up the wrong pas- senger. hope you'll take no offence. in these times we need to know who come among us.” “no offence whatever, sir,” i replied. “it is easy to be mistaken ; but.” i added smilingly, “i hope, for the sake of the next traveller, you'll be less precipitate an- other time.” “i am rather hasty; that's a fact,” he said. “but no harm is done. so let's take a drink, and say no more about it. the old lady har keeps nary a thing, but we can get the raal stuff close by.” though not a member of a “ total abstinence so- ciety,” i have always avoided indulging in the quality of fluid that is the staple beverage at the south. i there- fore hesitated a moment before accepting the gentle- man's invitation; but the alternative seemed to be squarely presented, pistols or drinks; cold lead or poor whiskey, and i am ashamed to confess it—i took the whiskey. returning to the hotel, i found scip awaiting me. “massa,” he said, “we better be gwine. dat dar sesh- erner am ugly as de bery ole debble; and soon as he among the pines. knows i cum de possum ober him 'bout de cunnel, he'll be down on you shore.” the rain had dwindled to a drizzle, which the sun was vigorously struggling to get through with a tolerable prospect of success, and i concluded to take the african's advice. wrapping myself in an india-rubber overcoat, and giving the darky a blanket of the same material, i started. crossing the “runs."' chapter iii. crossing the “runs." the long, tumble-down bridge which spans the wac- camaw at conwayboro, trembled beneath our horse's tread, as with lengthened stride he shook the secession mud from his feet, and whirled us along into the dark, deep forest. it may have been the exhilaration of a hearty dinner of oats, or it may have been sympathy with the impatience of his fellow-travellers that spurred him on; whichever it was, away he went as if lucifer- that first secessionist—were following close at his heels. the sun, which for a time had been industriously wedging his way into the dark masses of cloud, finally slunk out of sight and left us enveloped in a thick fog, which shut from view all of cottondom, except a nar- row belting of rough pines, and a few rods of sandy road that stretched out in dim perspective before us. there being nothing in the outside creation to attract my attention, i drew the apron of the carriage about me, and settling myself well back on the seat to avoid the thick-falling mist, fell into a train of dreamy reflec- tion. niggers, slave-auctions, cotton-fields, rice-swamps, and king cotton himself, that blustering old despot, with his swarthy arms and “under-pinning,” his face of brass, among the pines. and body of “raw material,” passed through my mind, like georgia trains through the oconee swamp, till finally my darky friend came into view. he seemed at first a little child, amid the blazing ruins of his wilder- ness home, gazing in stupid horror on the burning bod- ies of his father and his kindred. then he was kneel- ing at the side of his dying mother in the slave-pen at cape lopez, and—still a child—cooped in the “black- hole” of the accursed slave-ship, his little frame burn- ing with the fever-fire, and his child-heart longing for death. then he seemed mounting the cuban slave- block, and as the “going! going! gone !" rung in my ear, he was hurried away, and driven to the cruel task, stil a child—on the hot, unhealthy sugar-field: again he appeared, stealing away at night to a lonely hut, and by the light of a pine-knot, wearily poring over the book of books, slowly putting letters into words, and words into sentences, that he might know “what god says to the black man.” then he seemed a man-splen- did of frame, noble of soul-suspended in the whipping- rack, his arms bound above his head, his body resting on the tips of his toes, and the merciless.lash falling on his bare back, till the red stream rån from it like a river -scourged because he would not aid in creating beings as wretched as himself, and make merchandise of his own blood to gorge the pocket of an incarnate white devil. as these things passed before me, and i thought of his rare intelligence, of his fine traits of character, and crossing the “runs.” of the true heroism he had shown in risking, perhaps, his own life to get me—a stranger-out of an ugly hob- ble, i felt a certain spot in my left side warming toward him, very much as it might have done had his blood been as pure as my own. it seemed to me a pity-anti- abolitionist and southern-sympathizer though i was— that a man of such rare natural talent, such character and energy, should have his large nature dwarfed, be tethered for life to a cotton-stalk, and made to wear his soul out in a tread-mill, merely because his skin had a darker tinge and his shoe a longer heel than mine. as i mused over his “strange, eventful history,” and · thought of the handy way nature has of putting the right man in the wrong place, it occurred to me how “brother beecher” one evening, not a long time before, had charmed the last dollar from my waistcoat pocket by exhibiting, à la barnum, a remarkably ugly “ cullud pusson” on his pulpit stairs, and by picturing the awful doom which awaited her—that of being reduced from baby-tending to some less useful employment—if his audience did not at once “do the needful.” then it occurred to me how much finer a spectacle my ebony friend would make; how well his six feet of manly sinew would grace those pulpit stairs; how eloquently the rev- erend gentleman might expatiate on the burning sin of shrouding the light of such an intellect in the mists of niggerdom, only to see it snuffed out in darkness; how he might enlarge on what the black could do in ele- vating his race, either as “ cullud” assistant to “brother * among the pines. pease” at the five-points, or as co-laborer with fred douglass at abolition conventions, or, if that did'nt pay, how, put into the minstrel business, he might run the white “troupes” off the track, and yield a liberal reve- nue to the “ cause of freedom.” as i thought of the probable effect of this last appeal, it seemed that the thing was already done, and that scip was free. i got back from dreamland by the simple act of opening my eyes, and found myself still riding along in that jersey wagon, over that heavy, sandy road, and drenched with the mists of that dreary december day. the reverie made, however, a deep impression on me, and i gave vent to it somewhat as follows: “colonel a— tells me, scip, that your mistress wants to sell you. do you know what she asks ?” “she ax fifteen hundred dollar, massa, but i an't worth dat now. nigger property's mighty low.” “what is your value now ?” “p'raps eight hundred, p'raps a thousand dollar, massa.” “would your mistress take a thousand for you ?” “don't know, sar, but reckon she would. she'd be glad to get shut of me. she don't like me on de plan- tation, 'cause she say de oder darkies tink too much ob me; and she don't like me in de city, 'cause she 'fraid i run away.” “why afraid you'll run away? did you ever try to?” “try to! lor bless you, massa, i neber taught ob such a ting—wouldn't gwo ef i could.” crossing the “runs.” “but wouldn't you ?” i asked, thinking he had con- scientious scruples about running away ; “ wouldn't you if you could buy yourself, and go honestly, as a free man ?” “buy myself, sar!” he 'exclaimed in surprise; “buy my owon flesh and blood dat de lord hissef gabe me! no, no! massa ; i'd likes to be free, but i'd neber do dat !” “why not do that ?” i asked. 'cause 't would be owning dat de white folks hab a right to de black; and 'cause, sar, if i war free i couldn't stay har.” “why should you stay here? you have no wife nor" child; why not go where the black man is respected and nseful ?” “i'se 'spected and useful har, massa. i hab no wife nor child, and dat make me feel, i s'pose, like as ef all de black people war my chilren.” “but they are not your children; and you can be of no service to them. at the north you might learn, and put your talents to some use.” “sar,” he replied, a singular enthusiasm lighting up his face, " de lord, dat make me what i ar, put me har, and i must stay. sometimes when tings look bery black, and i feel a’most ’scouraged, i goes to him, and i say, “lord, i's ob no use, take me 'way; let me get fru wid dis; let me no more see de suffrin' and 'pression ob de pore cullud race; den he say to me, just so plain as i say it to you, 'keep up good courage, scipio, de time among the pines. will come ;* and now, bless de lord, de time am coming !" “ what time is coming, scipio ?” he gave me a quick, suspicious glance, but his face in a moment resumed its usual expression, as he replied: “i'se sure, massa, dat i could trust you. i feel you am. my friend, but i can't say no more.” “you need not, scip—i can guess. what you have said is safe with me. but let me counsel you—wait for the white man. do not let your freedom come in blood !" “it will come, massa, as de lord will. when he war freed de earth shook, and de vail ob de temple war rent in tvain !” we said no more, but rode on in silence; the darky absorbed in his own reflections, i musing over the black volcano, whose muffled echoes i then heard “away down south in dixie.” we had ridden on for about an hour, when an open- ing in the trees disclosed a by-path, leading to a planta- tion. following it for a short distance, we came upon a small clearing, in the midst of which, flanked by a rag- ged corn and potato patch, squatted a dilapidated, unpainted wooden building, a sort of “half-way house” * the southern blacks, like all ignorant people, are intensely fanatical on relig- ious subjects. the most trifling occurrences have to their minds a hidden sig. nificance, and they believe the lord speaks to them in signs and dreams, and in alınost every event of nature. this superstition, which has been handed down from their savage ancestry, has absolute sway over them, and one readily seeg what immense power it would give to some leading, adroit inind, that knew how to use it. by means of it they might be led to the most desperate deeds, fully believing all the while that thoy were “lod ob de lord.” crossing the “runs.” between a hut and a shanty. in its door-way, seated on a chair which wanted one leg and a back, was a suit of linsey-woolsey, adorned by enormous metal buttons, and surmounted by a queer-looking headpiece that might have passed for either a hat or an umbrella. i was at a loss to determine whether the object were a human being or a scarecrow, when, at the sound of our approach, the umbrella-like article lifted, and a pair of sunken eyes, a nose, and an enormous beard, disclosed themselves. addressing myself to the singular figure, i inquired how far we were from our destination, and the most direct route to it. “wal, stranger,” was the reply, “it's a right smart twenty mile to the cunnel's, but i reckon ye'll get thar, if ye follow yer critter's nose, and ar good at swim- ming." “why good at swimming ?” i inquired. “'cause the 'runs' have ris, and ar considerable deep by this time.” “that's comforting news.” “yas, to a man as seems in a hurry,” he replied, look- ing at my horse, which was covered with foam. “how far is it to the nearest run ?” i asked. “ wal, it mought be six mile; it mought be seven, * but you've one or two all-fired ones to cross arter that.” here was a pleasant predicament. it was nearly five o'clock, and our horse, though a noble animal, could not make the distance on an unobstructed route, in the then heavy state of the roads, in less than three hours. long among the pines. before that time it would be dark, and no doubt stormy, for the sky, which had lowered all the afternoon, every now and then uttered an ominous growl, and seemed ready to fall down upon us. but turning back was out of the question, so, thanking the “native,” i was about to proceed, when he hailed me as follows: “i say, stranger, what's the talk in the city ?” “nothing, sir,” i replied, “but fight and secession.” “d—n secession !” was the decidedly energetic answer. “why so, my friend ? that doctrine seems to be popular hereabouts.” “yas, pop’lar with them south car'lina chaps. they'd be oneasy in heaven if gabriel was cook, and the lord head-waiter.” “ they must be hard to suit,” i said ; “i “kalkerlate' you're not a south carolinian.” “no, sir-ee! not by several mile. my mother moved over the line to born me a decent individual.” “but why are you for the union, when your neigh- bors go the other way ?” “ 'cause it's allers carried us 'long as slick as a cart with new-greased wheels ; and 'cause, stranger, my grand'ther was one of marion's boys, and spilt a lettle claret at yewtaw for the old consarn, and i reckon he'd be oneasy in his grave if i turned my back on it now.” “but, my friend,” i said, “they say lincoln is an abolitionist, and if inaugurated, he will free every darky you've got.” tel. crossing the “runs." turning to the darky, who was then driving, i said quickly: “scip, stop the horse. where are we?” “don't know, massa; reckon we'se in de riber.” “a comfortable situation this. we can't turn round. the horse can't swim such a stream in harness. what shall we do ?” “can you swim, massa ?” he quietly asked. “yes, like an eel.” “wal, den, we'd better gwo on. de hoss 'll swim. but, massa, you might take off your boots and over- coat, and be ready for a spring ef he gwo down.” i did as he directed, while he let down the apron and top of the wagon, and fastened the reins loosely to the dash-board, saying as he did so, “you must allers gib a hoss his head when he swim, massa; if you rein him, he gwo down, shore.” then, undoing a portion of the harness, to give the horse the free use of his legs, he shouted, “gee up, ole gray,” and we started. the noble animal stepped off slowly and cautiously, as if fully aware of the danger of the passage, but had proceeded only about fifty yards when he lost his foot- ing, and plunged us into an entirely new and decidedly cold hip-bath. “now's de time, ole gray,” “ show your broughten up, ole boy,” “let de gemman see you swim, ole feller,” and similar remarks proceeded rapidly froin the darky, who all the time avoided touching the reins. it may have been one minute, it may have been five minutes—i took “no note of time”—before the horse among the pines. again struck bottom, and halted from sheer exhaustion, the water still almost level with his back, and the oppo- site bank too far-off to be seen through the darkness. after a short rest, he again“ breasted the waters,” and in a few moments landed us on the shore; not, unfor- tunately, in the road, but in the midst of the pine-trees, there so entangled with under-growth, that not even a man, much less a horse, could make his way through them. wet to the skin, and shivering with the cold, we had no time to lose “in gittin' out of dat,” if we would avoid greater dangers than those we had escaped. so, springing from the wagon, the darky waded up the stream, near its bank, to reconnoitre. returning in a few minutes, he reported that we were about a hundred yards below the road. we had been carried that far down stream by the strength of the current. our only course was to follow the “run” up along its bank; this we did, and in a short time had the satisfaction of strik- ing the high road. arranging the harness, we were soon under way again, the horse bounding along as if he felt the necessity of vigorous exercise to restore his chilled circulation. we afterward learned that it was not the waccamaw we had crossed, but the second " run” our native friend had told us of, and that the water in the middle of its stream was fifteen feet deep! half-dead with cold and wet, we hurried on, but still no welcome light beckoned us to a human habitation. the darkness grew denser till we could not even distin- guish the road, much less our horse's nose, which we had among the pines. we rode on till we came to the inevitable opening in the trees, and were soon at the door of what i saw, by the light which came through the crevices in the logs, was a one-story shanty, about twenty feet square. “will you let us come in out of de rain ?" asked scip of a wretched-looking, half-clad, dirt-bedraggled woman, who thrust her head from the doorway. “who ar ye?” was the reply. “only massa and me, and de hoss, and we'm half dead wid de cold,” replied scip; “can we cum in out ob de rain ?” “wal, strangers,” replied the woman, eyeing us as closely as the darkness would permit, “ you'll find mighty poor fixins har, but i reckon ye can come in.” poor whites. chapter iv. poor whites. entering the house, we saw, by the light of a blazing pile of pine-knots, which roared and crackled on the hearth, that it contained only a single apartment. in front of the fire-place, which occupied the better half of one side of this room, the floor was of the bare earth, littered over with pine chips, dead cinders, live coals, broken pots, and a lazy spaniel dog. opposite to this, at the other end of the room, were two low beds, which looked as if they had been “slept in forever, and never made up.” against the wall, between the beds and the fire-place, stood a small pine table, and on it was a large wooden bowl, from whose mouth protruded the handles of several unwashed pewter spoons. on the right of the fire was a razeed rocking-chair, evidently the pecu- liar property of the mistress of the mansion, and three blocks of pine log, sawn off smoothly, and made to serve for seats. over against these towered a high-backed settle, something like that on which "sot huldy all alone, when zeke peeked thru the winder;" and on it, her head resting partly on her arm, partly on the end of the settle, one small, bare foot pressing the among the pines. ground, the other, with the part of the person which is supposed to require stockings, extended in a horizontal direction-reclined, not huldy, but her southern cousin, who, i will wager, was decidedly the prettier and dirtier of the two. our entrance did not seem to disconcert her in the least, for she lay there as unmoved as a marble statue, her large black eyes riveted on my face, as if seeing some nondescript animal for the first time. i stood for a moment transfixed with admiration. in a somewhat extensive observation of her sex in both hem- ispheres, i had never witnessed such a form, such eyes, such faultless features, and such wavy, black, luxuriant hair. a glance at her dress—a soiled, greasy, grayish linsey-woolsey gown, apparently her only garment—and a second look at her face, which, on closer inspection, had precisely the hue of a tallow candle, recalled me to myself, and allowed me to complete the survey of the premises. the house was built of unhewn logs, separated by wide interstices, through which the cold air came, in de- cidedly fresh if not health-giving currents, while a large rent in the roof, that let in the rain, gave the inmates an excellent opportunity for indulging in a shower-bath, of which they seemed greatly in need. the chimney, which had intruded a couple of feet into the room, as if to keep out of the cold, and threatened momentarily to tumble down, was of sticks, built up in clay, while the windows were of thick, unplaned boards. two pretty girls, one of perhaps ten and the other of poor whites. fourteen years, evidently sisters of the unadorned beauty, the middle-aged woman who had admitted us, and the dog—the only male member of the household-com- posed the family. i had seen negro cabins, but these people were whites, and these whites were south caro- linians. when such counterparts of the feudal serfs still exist, who will say that the days of chivalry are over! after i had seated myself by the fire, and the driver had gone out to stow the horse away under the tumble- down shed at the back of the house, the elder woman said to me- “reckon yer wet. ben in the rain !" “yes, madam, we've been out most of the day, and got in the river below here." “did ye? ye mean the run.' i reckon it's right deep now.” “yes, our horse had to swim," i replied. “ye orter strip and put on dry cloes to onst.” “thank you, madam, i will.” going to my portmanteau, which the darky had placed near the door, i found it dripping with wet, and opening it i discovered that every article had undergone the rite of immersion. “every thing is thoroughly soaked, madam. i shall have to dry myself by your fire. can you get me a cup of tea ?” “right sorry, stranger, but i can't. iiaint a morsel to eat or drink in the house." among the pines. remembering that our excellent hostess of the night before had insisted on filling the wagon-box with a quan- tity of “chicken fixins," to serve us in an emergency, and that my brandy flask was in my india-rubber coat, i sent scip out for them. the stores disclosed boiled chicken, bacon, sandwiches, sweet potatoes, short cake, corn-bread, buttered waffles, and “common doin’s' too numerous to mention, enough to last a family of one for a fortnight, but all completely saturated with water. wet or dry, however, the pro- visions were a godsend to the half-starved family, and their hearts seemed to open to me with amazing rapidity. the dog got up and wagged his tail, and even the marble- like beauty rose from her reclining posture and invited me to a seat with her on the bench. the kettle was soon steaming over the fire, and the boiling water, mixed with a little brandy, served as a capital substitute for tea. after the chicken was re- cooked, and the other edibles “warmed up,” the little pine table was brought out, and i learned—what i had before suspected—that the big wooden bowl and the half dozen pewter spoons were the only “crockery” the family possessed. i declined the proffered seat at the table, the cooking utensils being any thing but inviting, and contented myself with the brandy and water; but, forgetting for a moment his color, i motioned to the darky–who was as wet and jaded, and much more hungry than i was- to take the place offered to me. the negro did not seem poor whites. inclined to do so, but the woman, observing my gesture, yelled out, her eyes flashing with anger: “no, sar! no darkies eats with us. hope you don't reckon yerself no better than a good-for-nothin', no ac- count nigger!” “i beg your pardon, madam; i intended no offence. scipio has served me very faithfully for two days, and is very tired and hungry. i forgot myself.” this mollified the lady, and she replied: “niggers is good enuff in thar place, but warn’t meant to 'sociate with white folks.” there may have been some ground for a distinction in that case; there certainly was a difference between the specimens of the two races then before me; but, not being one of the chivalry, it struck me that the odds were on the side of the black man. the whites were shiftless, ragged, and starving; the black well clad, cleanly, energetic, and as much above the others in in- tellect as jupiter is above a church steeple. to be sure, color was against him, and he was, after all, a servant in the land of chivalry and of servant-owners. of course the woman was right. she soon resumed the conversation with this re- mark: “reckon yer a stranger in these parts; whar d’ye come from?" . “from new york, madam.” “new york! whar's that?” “it's a city at the north." among the pines. . “oh! yas; i've heern tell on it: that's whar the cunnel sells his turpentime. quite a place, arnt it?” “yes, quite a place. something larger than all south carolina.” “what d'ye say? larger nor south carolina. kinder reckon tain't, is't?” “yes, madam, it is." “du tell! "taint so large as charles'n, is’t ?” “yes, twenty times larger than charleston.” “lord o’massy! how does all the folks live thar ?” “ live quite as well as they do here." “ ye don't have no niggers thar, does ye?” “yes, but none that are slaves.” “ have ablisherners thar, don't ye? them people that go agin the south ?” “ yes, some of them.” “what do they go agin the south for ?” “ they go for freeing the slaves. some of them think a black man as good as a white one.” “quar, that; yer an ablisherner, arnt ye ?” “no, i'm an old-fashioned whig.” “what's that ? never heerd on them afore.” “an old-fashioned whig, madam, is a man whose political principles are perfect, and who is as perfect as his principles.” that was a “stumper” for the poor woman, who evi- dently did not understand one-half of the sentence. . “right sort of folks, them,” she said, in a half inquir- ing tone. poor whites. “ yes, but they're all dead now.” “dead ?” “ yes, dead, beyond the hope of resurrection.” “ iv'e heern all the dead war to be resurrected. didn't ye say ye war one on 'em ? ye aint dead yet,” said the woman, chuckling at having cornered me. “but i'm more than half dead just now.” “ ah,” replied the woman, still laughing, “yer a chicken.” “ a chicken! what's that ?” “ a thing that goes on tu legs, and karkles,” was the ready reply. “ah, my dear madam, you can out-talk me.” “yas, i reckon i kin outrun ye, tu. ye arnt over rugged.” then, after a pause, she added—“what d’ye 'lect that darky, linkum, president for ?” “i didn't elect him. i voted for douglas. but lin- coln is not a darky.” “he's a mullater, then; i've heern he war,” she replied. “no, he's not a mulatto; he's a rail-splitter.” “rail-splitter? then he's a nigger, shore.” “no, madam; white men at the north split rails." “ an' white wimmin tu, p’raps,” said the woman, with a contemptuous toss of the head. “no, they don't,” i replied, “ but white women work there.” “ white wimmin work thar!” chimed in the hitherto speechless beauty, showing a set of teeth of the exact color of her skin-yaller. “what du the’ du ?” : among the pines. “some of them attend in stores, some set type, some teach school, and some work in factories.” “du tell! dress nice, and make money ?” “yes,” i replied, “they make money, and dress like fine ladies ; in fact, are fine ladies. i know one young woman, of about your age, that had to get her own edu- cation, who earns a thousand dollars a year by teaching, and i've heard of many factory-girls who support their parents, and lay by a great deal of money, by working in the mills.” “wal!” replied the young woman, with a contemptu- ous curl of her matchless upper lip; “schule-marms arn't fine ladies; fine ladies don't work; only niggers works har. i reckon i'd ruther be 'spectable than work for a livin’.” i could but think how magnificently the lips of some of our glorious yankee girls would have curled had they have heard that remark, and have seen the poor girl that made it, with her torn, worn, greasy dress; her bare, dirty legs and feet, and her arms, neck, and face so thickly encrusted with a layer of clayey mud that there was danger of hydrophobia if she went near a wash-tub. restraining my involuntary disgust, i replied: “we at the north think work is respectable. we do not look down on a man or a woman for earning their daily bread. we all work." “yas, and that's the why ye'r all sech cowards,” said the old woman. “cowards!” i said; “who tells you that pº poor whites. “my old man; he says one on our boys can lick five of your yankee men.” “perhaps so. is your husband away from home ?" “yas, him and our cal. ar down to charles'n.” “ cal. is your son, is he ?” “ yas, he's my oldest, and a likely lad he ar tu-he's twenty-one, and his name are john cal’oun mills. he's gone a troopin' it with his fader." “ what, both gone and left you ladies here alone ?” “yas, the cunnel sed every man orter go, and they warn't to be ahind the rest. the cunnel-cunnel j.- looks arter us while they is away.” “but i should think the colonel looked after you poorly-giving you nothing to eat.” “oh! it's ben sech a storm to-day, the gals couldn't go for the vittles, though ’tain't a great way. we'r on his plantation; this house is his’n.” this last was agreeable news, and it occurred to me that if we were so near the colonel's we might push on, in spite of the storm, and get there that night; so i said: “ indeed ; i'm going to the colonel's. how far is his house from here?” “a right smart six mile; it's at the cross roads. ye know the cunnel, du ye ?" “oh, yes, i know him well. if his house is not more than six miles off, i think we had better go on to-night. what do you say, scip ??? “i reckon we'd better gwo, massa,” replied the darky, poor whites. poor whites. “but i've got it mighty bad,” said the woman, “and i take 'em whenever i kin get 'em.” i rather thought she did, but i “reckoned” her prin- cipal beverage was whiskey. “you have the rheumatism, madam, because your house is so open ; a draught of air is always unhealthy." “i allers reckoned ’twar healthy,” she replied. “ye yankee folks have quar notions." i looked at my watch, and found it was nearly ten o'clock, and, feeling very tired, said to the hostess : “where do you mean we shall sleep?” “ ye can take that ar bed,” pointing to the one near- est the wall, “ the darky can sleep har;” motioning to the settle on which she was seated. “but where will you and your daughters sleep? i don't wish to turn you out of your beds." “oh! don't ye keer for us; we kin all bunk together; dun it afore. like to turn in now ?” “yes, thank you, i would ;” and without more cere- mony i adjourned to the further part of the room, and commenced disrobing. doffing my boots, waist- coat, and cravat, and placing my watch and purse under the pillow, i gave a moment's thought to what a certain not very old lady, whom i had left at home, might say when she heard of my lodging with a grass- widow and three young girls, and sprang into bed. there i removed my under-mentionables, which were still too damp to sleep in, and in about two minutes and thirty seconds sunk into oblivion. among the pines. a few streaks of grayish light were beginning to creep through the crevices in the logs, when a move- ment at the foot of the bed awakened me, and glancing downward i beheld the youngest girl emerging from under the clothes at my feet. she had slept there, “ cross-wise,” all night. a stir in the adjoining bed soon warned me that the other feminines were pre- paring to follow her example; so, turning my face to the wall, i feigned to be sleeping. their toilet was soon made, when they quietly left scip and myself in possession of the premises. the darky rose as soon as they were gone, and, com- ing to me, said : “massa, we'd better be gwine. i'se got your cloes all dry, and you can rig up and breakfust at de cun- nel's.” the storm had cleared away, and the sun was strug- gling to get through the distant pines, when scip brought the horse to the door, and we prepared to start. turning to the old woman, i said: “i feel greatly obliged to you, madam, for the shel- ter you have given us, and would like to make you some recompense for your trouble. please to tell me what i shall pay you.” “wal, stranger, we don't gin’rally take in lodgers, but seein' as how as thar ar tu on ye, and ye’ve had a good night on it, i don't keer if ye pay me tu dollars.” that struck me as “ rather steep” for “common doin’s,” particularly as we had furnished the food and poor whites. . “the drinks;" yet, saying nothing, i handed her a two- dollar bank-note. she took it, and held it up curiously to the sun for a moment, then handed it back, saying, “i don't know nuthin' 'bout that ar sort o' money; haint you got no silver ?” i fumbled in my pocket a moment, and found a quar- ter-eagle, which i gave her. “haint got nary a fip o' change,” she said, as she took it. “oh! never mind the change, madam ; i shall want to stop and look at you when i return,” i replied, good- humoredly. “ha! ha! yer a chicken,” said the woman, at the same time giving me a gentle poke in the ribs. fear- ing she might, in the exuberance of her joy at the sight of the money, proceed to some more decided demonstra- tion of affection, i hastily stepped into the wagon, bade her good-by, and was off. we were still among the pines, which towered gigan- tically all around us, but were no longer alone. every tree was scarified for turpentine, and the forest was alive with negro men and women gathering the “last dipping,” or clearing away the stumps and underbrush preparatory to the spring work. it was christmas week; but, as i afterward learned, the colonel's ne- groes were accustomed to doing “half tasks” at that season, being paid for their labor as if they were free. they stopped their work as we rode by, and stared at us with a stupid, half-frightened curiosity, very much among the pines. dutes. like the look of a cow when a railway train is passing. it needed but little observation to convince me that their status was but one step above the level of the brutes. as we rode along i said to the driver, “scip, what did you think of our lodgings ?” “mighty pore, massa. niggas lib better'n dat.” “ yes," i replied, “ but these folks despise you blacks; they seem to be both poor and proud.” “yas, massa, dey’m pore 'cause dey wont work, and dey’m proud 'cause dey'r white. dey wont work 'cause dey see de darky slaves doin' it, and tink it am beneaf white folks to do as de darkies do. dis habin' slaves keeps dis hull country pore.” “who told you that ?" i asked, astonished at hear- ing a remark showing so much reflection from a negro. “nobody, massa ; i see it myseff.” “ are there many of these poor whites around george- town ?" “not many 'round georgetown, sar, but great many in de up-country har, and dey’m all ’like-pore and no account; none ob ’em kin read, and dey all eat clay.” “eat clay !" i said; “ what do you mean by that ?” “ didn't you see, massa, how yaller all dem wimmin war ? dat's 'cause dey eat clay. de little children be- gin 'fore dey kin walk, and dey eat it till dey die ; dey chaw it like 'backer. it makes all dar stumacs big, like as you seed 'em, and spiles dar 'gestion. it ’m mighty onhealfy.” among the pixes. while he was in the water my attention was at- tracted to a printed paper, posted on one of the pines near the roadside. going up to it, i read as follows: “ $ reward. “ras away from the subscriber, on monday, november th, his mulatto man, sau. said boy is stout-built, five feet nine inches high, years old, weighs lbs., and walks very erect, and with a quick, rapid gait. the american flag is tattooed on his right arm above the elbow. there is a knife-cut over the bridge of his nose, a fresh bullet-wound in his left thigh, and his back bears marks of a recent whipping. he is supposed to have made his way back to dinwiddie county, va., where he was raised, or to be lurking in the swamps in this vicinity. "the above reward will be paid for his confinement in any jail in north or south carolina, or virginia, or for his delivery to the subscriber on his plantation at — "- december , .". the name signed to this hand-bill was that of the planter i was about to visit. scip having returned, and reported the stream forda- ble to the bridge, i said to him, pointing to the “notice:” “ read that, scip.” he read it, but made no remark. “what does it mean—that fresh bullet wound, and the marks of a recent whipping ?” i asked. “it mean, massa, dat de darky hab run away, and ben took; and dat when dey took him dey shot him, and flogged him arter dat. now, he hab run away agin. de cunnel's mighty hard on his niggas !" poor whites. “ is he? i can scarcely believe that." “he am, massa; but he arnt so much to blame, nuther; dey’m awful bad, most ob 'em—so dey say." our conversation was here interrupted by our reach- ing the bridge. after safely “ walking the plank,” and making our way to the opposite bank, i resumed it by asking: “why are the colonel's negroes so particularly bad ?” “ 'cause, you see, massa, de turpentime business hab made great profits for sum yars now, and de cunnel hab been gettin' rich bery fass. he put all his money, jes so fass as he make it, into darkies, so to make more; for he's got bery big plantation, and need nuffin' but darkies to work it to make money jess like a gold mine. he goes up to virginny to buy niggas; and up dar now dey don't sell none less dey’m bad uns, 'cep when sum massa die or git pore. virginny darkies dat cum down har aint gin’rally ob much account. dey’m either kinder good-for-nuffin, or dey’m ugly; and de cunnel 'd ruther hab de ugly dan de no-account niggas." “how many negroes has he ?” “ 'bout two hundred, men and wimmin, i b’lieve, massa." “ it can't be pleasant for his family to remain in such an out-of-the-way place, with so bad a gang of negroes about them, and no white people near.” among the pines. “no, massa, not in dese times; but de missus and de young lady arnt dar now.” “not there now? the colonel said nothing to me about that. are you sure ?” “oh yas, massa; i seed 'em gwo off on de boat to charles'n most two weeks ago. dey don't mean to cum back till tings am more settled ; dey’m 'fraid to stay dar.” “would it be safe for the colonel there, if a dis- turbance broke out among the slaves.” “'t wouldn't be safe den anywhar, sar; but de cun- nel am a bery brave man. he'm better dan twenty of his niggas.” “ why better than twenty of his niggers ?” “ 'cause dem ugly niggas am gin’rally cowards. de darky dat is quiet, 'spectful, and does his duty, am de brave sort; dey'll fight, massa, till dey’m cut down.” we had here reached a turn in the road, and passing it, came suddenly upon a coach, attached to which were a pair of magnificent grays, driven by a darky in livery. “hallo, dar !” said scip to the driver, as we came nearly abreast of the carriage. “am you cunnel j— 's man?" “yas, i is dat,” replied the darky. at this moment a woolly head, which i recognized at once as that of the colonel's man “ jim,” was thrust from the window of the vehicle. “hallo, jim,” i said. “how do you do? i'm glad to see you.” poor whites. “lor bress me, massa k—, am dat you ?” ex- claimed the astonished negro, hastily opening the door, and coming to me. “whar did you cum from? i’se mighty glad to see you ;” at the same time giving my hand a hearty shaking. i must here say, in justice to the reputation of south carolina, that no respectable carolinian refuses to shake hands with a black man, . unless—the black happens to be free. “i thought i would'nt wait for you," i replied. “but how did you expect to get on ? the “runs' have swollen into rivers.” “we got a “flat made for dis one—it's down by dis time—de oders we tought we'd get ober sum- how.” “ jim, this is scip,” i said, seeing the darkies took no notice of each other. “how d’ye do, scipio ?” said jim, extending his hand to him. a look of singular intelligence passed over the faces of the two negroes as their hands met; it vanished in an instant, and was so slight that none but a close observer would have detected it, but some words that scip had previously let drop had put me on the alert, and i felt sure it had a hidden significance. “wont you get into de carriage, massa ?” inquired jim. "no, thank you, jim. i'll ride on with scip. our horse is jaded, and you had better go ahead.” jim mounted the driver's seat, turned the carriage, and drove off at a brisk pace to announce our coming among the pines. at the plantation, while scip and i rode on at a slower gait. “scip, did you know jim before ?" i asked. “ hab seed him afore, massa, but neber know'd him.” “how is it that you have lived in georgetown five years, and have not known him ?” “i cud hab know'd him, massa, good many time, ef i'd liked, but darkies hab to be careful.” “ careful of what ?” “ careful ob who dey knows; good many bad niggas 'bout.” “pshaw, scip, you're coming de possum;' there isn't a better nigger than jim in all south carolina. i know him well.” “praps he am; reckon he am a good ’nuff nigga.” “good enough nigga, scip! why, i tell you he's a splendid fellow ; just as true as steel. he's been north with the colonel, often, and the abolitionists have tried to get him away; he knew he could go, but wouldn't budge an inch.” “i knew he wouldn't,” said the darky, a pleasurable gleam passing through his eyes; “dat sort don't run; dey face de music!” “why don't they run ? what do you mean by facing the music ?” , “nuffin' massa-only dey'd ruther stay har.” “come, scip, you've played this game long enough. tell me, now, what that look you gave each other when you shook hands meant.” poor whites. “what look, massa ? oh! i s'pose 'twar 'cause we'd both heerd ob each oder afore.” “ 'twas more than that, scip. be frank; you know you can trust me.” “wal, den, massa,” he replied hesitatingly, adding, after a short pause, “ de ole woman called you a yan- kee, sar—you can guess.” “if i should guess, 't would be that it meant mis- chief.” “ it don't mean mischief, sar,” said the darky, with a tone and air that would not have disgraced a cabinet officer ; “it mean only right and justice.” “ it means that there is some secret understanding between you.” “i toled you, massa,” he replied, relapsing into his usual manner, “ dat de blacks am all freemasons. i gabe jim de grip, and he knowd me. he'd ha knowd my name ef you hadn't toled him.” “why would he have known your name ?” “ 'cause i gabe de grip, dat tole him.” “why did he call you scipio? i called you scip." “oh! de darkies all do dat. nobody but de white folks call me scip. i can't say no more, massa; i shud break de oath ef i did !” “ you have said enough to satisfy me that there is a secret league among the blacks, and that you are a leader in it. now, i tell you, you'll get yourself into a scrape. i've taken a liking to you, scip, and i should be very sorry to see you run yourself into danger.” among the pines. “ tank you, massa, from de bottom ob my soul i tank you,” he said, as the tears moistened his eyes. “you bery kind, massa; it do me good to talk wid you. but what am my life wuth? what am any slave's life wuth ? ef you war me you'd do like me!” i could not deny it, and i made no reply. the writer is aware that he is here making an impor- tant statement, and one that may be called in question by those persons who are accustomed to regard the southern blacks as only reasoning brutes. the great mass of them are but a little above the brutes in their habits and instincts, but a large body are fully on a par, except in mere book-education, with their white mas- ters. the conversation above recorded is, verbatim et liter- atim, true. it took place at the time indicated, and was taken down, as were other conversations recorded in this book, within twenty-four hours after its occur- rence. the name and the locality, only, i have, for very evident reasons, disguised. from this conversation, together with others, held with the same negro, and from after developments made to me at various places, and at different times, extending over a period of six weeks, i became ac- quainted with the fact that there exists among the blacks a secret and wide-spread organization of a ma- sonic character, having its grip, pass-word, and oath. it has various grades of leaders, who are competent among the pines. blaze, foretold to me the breaking out of this war in charleston harbor, and as confidently predicted that it would result in the freedom of the slaves ! the fact of this organization existing is not positively known (for the black is more subtle and crafty than any thing human), but it is suspected by many of the whites, the more moderate of whom are disposed to ward off the impending blow by some system of grad- ual emancipation—declaring all black children born after a certain date free—or by some other action that will pacify and keep down the slaves. these persons, however, are but a small minority, and possess no polit- ical power, and the south is rushing blindly on to a catastrophe, which, if not averted by the action of our government, will make the horrors of san domingo and the french revolution grow pale in history. i say the action of our government, for with it rests the responsibility. what the black wants is freedom. give him that, and he will have no incentive to insur- rection. if emancipation is proclaimed at the head of our armies—emancipation for all-confiscation for the slaves of rebels, compensation for the slaves of loyal citizens—the blacks will rush to the aid of our troops, the avenging angel will pass over the homes of the many true and loyal men who are still left at the south, and the thunderbolts of this war will fall only-where they should fall—on the heads of its blood-stained au- thors. if this is not done, after we have put down the whites we shall have to meet the blacks, and after we poor whites. have waded knee-deep in the blood of both, we shall end the war where it began, but with the south deso- lated by fire and sword, the north impoverished and loaded down with an everlasting debt, and our once proud, happy, and glorious country the by-word and scorn of the civilized world. slavery is the very bones, marrow, and life-blood of this rebellion, and it cannot be crushed till we have destroyed that accursed institution. if a miserable peace is patched up before a death-stroke is given to slavery, it will gather new strength, and drive freedom from this country forever. in the nature of things it cannot exist in the same hemisphere with liberty. then let every man who loves his country determine that if this war must needs last for twenty years, it shall not end until this root of all our political evils is weeded out forever. a short half-hour took us to the plantation, where i found the colonel on the piazza awaiting me. after our greeting was over, noticing my soiled and rather dilapidated condition, he inquired where i had passed the night. i told him, when he burst into a hearty fit of laughter, and for several days good-naturedly bantered me about “putting up” at the most aristocratic hotel in south carolina—the “ mills house.” we soon entered the mansion, and the reader will, i trust, pardon me, if i leave him standing in its door-way till another chapter. . among the pines. chapter v. on the plantation. the last chapter left the reader in the door-way of the colonel's mansion. before entering, we will linger there awhile and survey the outside of the premises. the house stands where two roads meet, and, unlike most planters’ dwellings, is located in full view of the highway. it is a rambling, disjointed structure, thrown together with no regard to architectural rules, and yet there is a rude harmony in its very irregularities that has a pleasing effect. the main edifice, with a frontage of nearly eighty feet, is only one and a half stories high, and is overshadowed by a broad projecting roof, which somehow, though in a very natural way; drops down at the eaves, and forms the covering of a piazza, twenty feet wide, and extending across the entire front of the house. at its south-easterly angle, the roof is truncated, and made again to form a covering for the piazza, which there extends along a line of irregular buildings for sixty yards. a portion of the verandah on this side being enclosed, forms a bowling-alley and smoking-room, two essential appendages to a planter's residence. the whole. structure is covered with yellow-pine weather boarding, which in some former age was covered with paint of a grayish brown color. this, in many places, has peeled on the plantation. off and allowed the sap to ooze from the pine, leaving every here and there large blotches on the surface, some- what resembling the “warts” i have seen on the trunks of old trees. the house is encircled by grand old pines, whose tall, upright stems, soaring eighty and ninety feet in the air, make the low hamlet seem lower by the contrast. they have stood there for centuries, their rough, shaggy coats buttoned close to their forms, and their long green locks waving in the wind; but the long knife has been thrust into their veins, and their life-blood is now fast oozing away. with the exception of the negro huts, which are scat- tered at irregular intervals through the woods in the rear of the mansion, there is not a human habitation within an hour's ride; but such a cosy, inviting, hos- pitable atmosphere surrounds the whole place, that a stranger does not realize he has happened upon it in a wilderness. the interior of the dwelling is in keeping with the exterior, though in the drawing-rooms, where rich fur- niture and fine paintings actually lumber the apartments, there is evident the lack of a nice perception of the “fit- ness of things,” and over the whole hangs a “dusty air," which reminds one that the milesian bridget does not “ flourish” in south carolina. i was met in the entrance-way by a tall, fine-looking woman, to whom the colonel introduced me as fol- lows: : among the pines. “mr. k— , this is madam p— , my housekeeper; she will try to make you forget that mrs. j— is ab- sent.” after a few customary courtesies were exchanged, i was shown to a dressing-room, and with the aid of jim, a razor, and one of the colonel's shirts—all of mine having undergone a drenching—soon made a tol- erably presentable appearance. the negro then con- ducted me to the breakfast-room, where i found the family assembled. it consisted, besides the housekeeper, of a tall, raw- boned, sandy-haired personage, with a low brow, a blear eye, and a sneaking look-the overseer of the planta- tion; and of a well-mannered, intelligent lad—with the peculiarly erect carriage and uncommon blending of good-natured ease and dignity which distinguished my host—who was introduced to me as the housekeeper's son. madam — who presided over the “ tea-things,” was a person of perhaps thirty-five, but a rich olive com- plexion, enlivened by a delicate red tint, and relieved by thick masses of black hair, made her appear to a casual observer several years younger. her face bore vestiges of great beauty, which time, and, perhaps, care, had mellowed but not obliterated, and her conversation indicated high cultivation. she had evidently mingled in refined society in this country and in europe, and it was a strange freak of fortune that had reduced her to a menial condition in the family of a backwoods planter. on the plantation. after some general conversation, the colonel remarked that his wife and daughter would pass the winter in charleston. “ and do you remain on the plantation ?” i in- quired. “oh yes, i am needed here,” he replied ;“ but mad- am's son is with my family.” . “madam's son!” i exclaimed in astonishment, forget- ting in my surprise that the lady was present. “yes, sir,” she remarked, “ my oldest boy is twenty.” “excuse me, madam ; i forgot that in your climate one never grows old.”. “there you are wrong, sir ; i'm sure i feel old when i think how soon my boys will be men.” “not old yet, alice,” said the colonel, in a singularly familiar tone; “you seem to me no older than when you were fifteen.” “you have been long acquainted,” i remarked, not knowing exactly what to say. “oh, yes,” replied my host, “we were children to- gether.” “your southern country, madam, affords a fine field for young men of enterprise.” “my eldest son resides in germany,” replied the lady. “he expects to make that country his home. he would have passed his examination at heidelberg this au- tumn had not circumstances called him here.” “ you are widely separated,” i replied. “ yes, sir; his father thinks it best, and i suppose it among the pines. . is., thomas, here, is to return with his brother, and i may live to see neither of them again.” my curiosity was naturally much excited to learn more, but nothing further being volunteered, and the conversation soon turning to other topics, i left the table with it unsatisfied. after enjoying a quiet hour with the colonel in the smoking-room, he invited me to join him in a ride over the plantation. i gladly assented, and jim shortly an- nounced the horses were in waiting. that darky, who invariably attended his master when the latter pro- ceeded from home, accompanied us. as we were mounting i bethought me of scip, and asked where he was. “he'm gwine to gwo, massa, and want to say good- by to you.” it seemed madness for scip to start on a journey of seventy miles without rest, so i requested the colonel to let him remain till the next day. he cheerfully as- sented, and sent jim to find him. while waiting for the darky, i spoke of how faithfully he had served me during my journey. “he's a splendid nigger,” replied the colonel ;“ worth his weight in gold. if affairs were more settled i would buy him.” “but colonel a— tells me he is too intelligent. he objects to “knowing' niggers." “ i do not,” replied my host, “ if they are honest, and i would trust scip with uncounted gold. look at him," on the plantation. he continued, as the negro approached ; “were flesh and bones ever better put together ?” the darky was a fine specimen of sable humanity, and i readily understood why the practiced eye of the col- onel appreciated his physical developments. “scip,” i said, “you must not think of going to-day; the colonel will be glad to let you remain until you are fully rested." “tank you, massa, tank you bery much, but de ole man will spec' me, and i orter gwo.” “oh, never mind old — ," said the colonel, “ i'll take care of him.” “tank you, cunnel, den i'll stay har till de mornin”.” taking a by-path which led through the forest in the rear of the mansion, we soon reached a small stream, and, following its course for a short distance, came upon a turpentine distillery, which the colonel explained to me was one of three that prepared the product of his plantation for market, and provided for his family of nearly three hundred souls. it was enclosed, or rather roofed, by a rude structure of rough boards, which was open at the sides, and sus- tained on a number of pine poles about thirty feet in height, and bore a strong resemblance to the usual covering of a new england haystack. three stout negro men, divested of all clothing except- ing a pair of coarse gray trowsers and a red shirt—it was a raw, cold, wintry day—and with cotton bandannas bound about their heads, were “tending the still.” the on the plantation. the black did not seem at all alarmed, for he showed his ivories in a broad grin as he replied, “ jess as you say, massa ; you’se de boss in dis shanty.”. directing the fire to be raked out, and the still to stand unused until it was repaired, the colonel turned his horse to go, when he observed that the third negro was shoeless, and his feet chapped and swollen with the cold. “jake,” he said, “where are your shoes ?” “wored out, massa.” “worn out! why haven't you been to me?” “ 'cause, massa, i know'd you'd jaw; you tole me i wears 'em out mighty fass.” “well, you do, that's a fact; but go to madam and get a pair; and you, june, you've been a decent nigger, you can ask for a dress for rosy. how is little june ?” “ mighty pore, massa; de ma’am war dar lass night and dis mornin', and she reckun he'm gwine to gwo, sartain.” “sorry to hear that,” said the colonel. “i'l} go and see him. don't feel badly, june," he continued, for the tears welled up to the eyes of the black man as he spoke of his child; “we all must die.” “i knows dat, massa, but it am hard to hab 'em. gwo." “yes, it is, june, but we may save him.” “ ef you cud, massa! oh, ef you cud !” and the poor darky covered his face with his great hands and sobbed like a child. we rode on to another “still,” and there dismount- among the pines. ing, the colonel explained to me the process of gathering and manufacturing turpentine. the trees are “boxed”' and “ tapped” early in the year, while the frost is still in the ground. “boxing” is the process of scooping a cavity in the trunk of the tree by means of a peculiarly shaped axe, made for the purpose; “ tapping” is scarify- ing the rind of the wood above the boxes. this is never done until the trees have been worked one season, but it is then repeated year after year, till on many planta- tions they present the marks of twenty and frequently thirty annual“ tappings,” and are often denuded of bark for a distance of thirty feet from the ground. the neces- sity for this annual tapping arises from the fact that the scar on the trunk heals at the end of a season, and the sap will no longer run from it; a fresh wound is there- fore made each spring. the sap flows down the scari- fied surface and collects in the boxes, which are emptied six or eight times in a year, according to the length of the season. this is the process of “dipping,” and it is done with a tin or iron vessel constructed to fit the cavity in the tree. the turpentine gathered from the newly boxed or virgin tree is very valuable, on account of its producing a peculiarly clear and white rosin, which is used in the manufacture of the finer kinds of soap, and by “rosin the bow.” it commands, ordinarily, nearly five times the price of the common article. when barrelled, the turpentine is frequently sent to market in its crude state, but more often is distilled on the plantation, the gath- on the plantation. erers generally possessing means sufficient to own a still. in the process of distilling, the crude turpentine is “ dumped" into the boiler through an opening in the top—the same as that on which we saw junius com- posedly seated—water is then poured upon it, the aper- ture made tight by screwing down the cover and pack- ing it with clay, a fire built underneath, and when the heat reaches several hundred degrees fahrenheit, the process of manufacture begins. the volatile and more valuable part of the turpentine, by the action of the heat, rises as vapor, then condensing flows off through a pipe in the top of the still, and comes out spirits of turpentine, while the heavier portion finds vent at a lower aperture, and comes out rosin. no article of commerce is so liable to waste and leak- age as turpentine. the spirits can only be preserved in tin cans, or in thoroughly seasoned oak barrels, made tight by a coating of glue on the inner side. though the material for these barrels exists at the south in lux- uriant abundance, they are all procured from the north, and the closing of the southern ports has now entirely cut off the supply; for while the turpentine farmer may improvise coopers, he can by no process give the oak timber the seasoning which is needed to render the bar- rel spirit-tight. hence it is certain that a large portion of the last crop of turpentine must have gone to waste. when it is remembered that the one state of north carolina exports annually nearly twenty millions in among the pines. value of this product, and employs fully two-thirds of its negroes in its production, it will be seen how dearly the south is paying for the mad freak of secession. put- ting out of view his actual loss of produce, how does the turpentine farmer feed and employ his negroes? and pressed as these blacks inevitably are by both hunger and idleness, those prolific breeders of sedition, what will keep them quiet ? “what effect will secession have on your business ?” i asked the colonel, after a while. “a favorable one. i shall ship my crop direct to liv- erpool and london, instead of selling it to new york middle-men." “but is not the larger portion of the turpentine crop consumed at the north ?” “oh, yes. we shall have to deal with the yankees anyhow, but we shall do as little with them as possible.” “suppose the yankees object to your setting up by yourselves, and put your ports under lock and key?” “they wont do that, and if they do, england will break the blockade.” “we may rap john bull over the knuckles in that event,” i replied. “well, suppose you do; what then?” “merely, england would not have a ship in six months to carry your cotton. a war with her would ruin the shipping trade of the north. our marine would seek employment at privateering, and soon sweep every on the plantation. british merchant ship from the ocean. we could afford to give up ten years' trade with you, and to put seces- sion down by force, for the sake of a year's brush with john bull.” “but, my good friend, where would the british navy be all this while ?” “ asleep. the english haven't a steamer that can catch a brookhaven schooner. the last war proved that government vessels are no match for privateers.” “well, well ! but the yankees wont fight.” “suppose they do. suppose they shut up your ports, and leave you with your cotton and turpentine unsold ? you raise scarcely any thing else—what would you eat ?” “we would turn our cotton fields into corn and wheat. turpentine-makers, of course, would suffer.” “ then why are not you a union man ?” “my friend, i have nearly three hundred mouths to feed. i depend on the sale of my crop to give them food. if our ports are closed, i cannot do it—they will starve, and i be ruined. but sooner than submit to the dom- ination of the cursed yankees, i will see my negroes starving, and my child a beggar!” at this point in the conversation we arrived at the negro shanty where the sick child was. dismounting, the colonel and i entered. the cabin was almost a counterpart of the “ mills house,” described in the previous chapter, but it had a plank flooring, and was scrupulously neat and clean. among the pines. the logs were stripped of bark, and whitewashed. a bright, cheerful fire was blazing on the hearth, and an air of rude comfort pervaded the whole interior. on. a low bed in the farther corner of the room lay the sick child. he was a boy of about twelve years, and evi- dently in the last stages of consumption. by his side, bending over him as if to catch bis almost inaudible words, sat a tidy, youthful-looking colored woman, his mother, and the wife of the negro we had met at the “still.” playing on the floor, was a younger child, per- haps five years old, but while the faces of the mother and the sick lad were of the hue of charcoal, his skin by a process well understood at the south, had been bleached to a bright yellow. . the woman took no notice of our entrance, but the little fellow ran to the colonel and caught hold of the skirts of his coat in a free-and-easy way, saying, “ole massa, you got suflin' for dicky ?” “no, you little nig,” replied the colonel, patting his woolly head as i might have done a white child's, “ dicky isn't a good boy.” “yas, i is,” said the little darky; “you’se ugly ole massa to gib nuffin' to dick.” aroused by the colonel's voice, the woman turned toward us. her eyes were swollen, and her face bore traces of deep emotion. “oh massa !” she said, “ de chile am dyin'! it'm all along ob his workin' in de swamp-no man orter work dar, let alone a chile like dis.” on the plantation. “do you think he is dying, rosy?" asked the colonci, approaching the bed-side. “shore, massa, he'm gwine fass. look at ’im.” . the boy had dwindled to a skeleton, and the skin lay on his face in crimpled folds, like a mass of black crape. his eyes were fixed, and he was evidently going. “don't you know massa, my boy ?”' said the colonel, taking his hand tenderly in his. the child's lips slightly moved, but i could hear no sound. the colonel put his ear down to him for a mo- ment, then, turning to me, said : “he is dying. will you be so good as to step to the house and ask madam p h ere, and please tell jim to go for junius and the old man.” i returned in a short while with the lady, but found the boy's father and “the old man”—the darky preacher of the plantation—there before us. the preacher was a venerable old negro, much bowed by years, and with thin wool as white as snow. when we entered, he was bending over the dying boy, but shortly turning to my host, said : “ massa, de blessed lord am callin' for de chile- shall we pray ?” the colonel nodded assent, and we all, blacks and whites, knelt down on the floor, while the old preacher made a short, heart-touching prayer. it was a simple, humble acknowledgment of the dependence of the crea- ture on the creator—of his right to give and to take away, and was uttered in a free, conversational tone, as among the pines. if long communion with his maker had placed the old negro on a footing of friendly familiarity with him, and given the black slave the right to talk with the deity as one man talks with another. as we rose from our knees my host said to me, “it is my duty to stay here, but i will not detain you. jim will show you over the plantation. i will join you at the house when this is over.” the scene was a painful one, and i gladly availed myself of the colonel's sug- gestion. mounting our horses, jim and i rode off to the negro house where scip was staying. scip was not at the cabin, and the old negro woman told us he had been away for several hours. “reckon he'll be ’way all day, sar,” said jim, as we turned our horses to go. “he ought to be resting against the ride of to-mor- row. where has he gone ?” “dunno, sar, but reckon he'm gwine to fine sam.” “sam? oh, he's the runaway the colonel has adver- tised.” “yas, sar, he'm ’way now more'n a monfh.” “how can scip find him ?” “dunno, sar. scipio know most ebery ting-reckon he'll track him. he know him well, and sam'll cum back ef he say he orter.” “where do you think sam is ?” “praps in de swamp.” " where is the swamp ?” on the plantation. “ 'bout ten mile from har." : “oh, yes ! the shingles are cut there. i should think a runaway would be discovered where so many men are at work.” “no, massa, dar'm places dar whar de ole debble cudn't fine him, nor de dogs nudder.” “i thought the bloodhounds would track a man any- where." “not fru de water, massa ; dey lose de scent in de swamp." “but how can a man live there—how get food ?” " de darkies dat work dar take 'em nuff.” “ then the other negroes know where the runaways are; don't they sometimes betray them ?” “neber, massa; a darky neber tells on anoder. de cunnel had a boy in dat swamp once good many years.” “is it possible! did he come back ?” “no, he died dar. sum ob de hands found him dead one mornin' in de hut whar he lib’d, and buried him dar.” “why did sam run away ?” “'cause de oberseer flog him. he use him bery hard, massa.” “what had sam done ?” “ nuffin, massa." “then why was he flogged ? did the colonel know it ?” “oh, yas; moye cum de possum ober de cunnel, and on the plantation. de mornin', sam jump on him and ’most kill him. he'd hab sent him whar dar aint no niggas, ef junius hadn't a holed him. i'd a let de ole debble gwo.” “ junius, then, is a friend of the overseer.” “no, sar; he haint no friends, 'cep de debble; but june am a good nigga, and he said 'twarn't right to kill ole moye.so sudden, for den dar'd be no chance for de lord to forgib him.” “ then sam got away again ?” “oh yas; nary one but darkies war round, and dey wouldn't hole him. ef dey'd cotched him den, dey'd hung him, shore.” “why hung him ?” “'cause he'd struck a wite man; it ’m shore death to do dat.” “do you think scip will bring him back?” “yas; 'cause he'm gwine to tell massa de hull story. de cunnel will b’lieve scipio ef he am brack. sam'll know dat, so he'll come back. de cunnel'll make de state too hot to hole ole moye, when he fine him out.” “does sam's wife ‘smile on the overseer now ?” “no; she see de trubble she bring on sam, and she bery sorry. she wont look at a wite man now.” during the foregoing conversation, we had ridden for several miles over the western half of the plantation, and were again near the house. my limbs being de- cidedly stiff and sore from the effect of the previous day's journey, i decided to alight and rest until the hour for dinner. among the pines. i mentioned my jaded condition to jim, who said: “dat's right, massa; come in de house. i'll cure de rumatics; i knows how to fix dem.” fastening the horses at the door, jim accompanied me to my sleeping-room, where he lighted a fire of pine knots, which in a moment blazed up on the hearth and sent a cheerful glow through the apartment; then, say- ing he would return after stabling the horses, the darky left me. i took off my boots, drew the sofa near the fire, and stretched myself at full length upon it. if ever mortal was tired, “i reckon” i was. it seemed as though every joint and bone in my body had lost the power of motion, and sharp, acute pains danced along my nerves, as i have seen the lightning play along the telegraph wires. my entire system.had the toothache. jim soon returned, bearing in one hand a decanter of “otard,” and in the other a mug of hot water and a crash towel. “i'se got de stuff dat'll fix de rumatics, massa." " thank you, jim; a glass will do me good. where did you get it?" i asked, thinking it strange the colonel should leave his brandy-bottle within reach of the negroes, who have an universal weakness for spirits. “oh, i keeps de keys; de cunnel hissef hab to come to me when he want suffin' to warm hissef.” it was the fact; jim had exclusive charge of the wine- cellar; in short, was butler, barber, porter, footman, and body-servant, all combined. on the plantation. “now, massa, you lay right whar you is, and i'll make you ober new in less dan no time.” and he did; but i emptied the brandy-bottle. lest my temperance friends should be horror-stricken, i will mention, however, that i took the fluid by external ab- sorption. for all rheumatic sufferers, i would prescribe hot brandy, in plentiful doses, a coarse towel, and an active southern darky, and if on the first application the patient is not cured, the fault will not be the negro's. out of mercy to the chivalry, i hope our government, in saving the union, will not annihilate the order of body-servants. they are the only perfect institution in the southern country, and, so far as i have seen, about the only one worth saving. the dinner-bell sounded a short while after jim had finished the scrubbing operation, and i went to the table with an appetite i had not felt for a week. my whole system was rejuvenated, and i am not sure that i should, at that moment, have declined a wrestling match with heenan himself. i found at dinner only the overseer and the young son of madam p— , the colonel and the lady being still at the cabin of the dying boy. the dinner, though a queer mixture of viands, would not have disgraced, except, perhaps, in the cooking, the best of our northern hotels. venison, bacon, wild fowl, hominy, poultry, corn bread, french “made-dishes,” and southern "common doin's," with wines and brandies of the choicest brands, were placed on the table together. among the pines. “dis, massa,” said jim, "am de raal juice; it hab been in de cellar eber since de house war built. massa tole me to gib you some, wid him complimen’s.” passing it to my companions, i drank the colonel's health in as fine wine as i ever tasted. i had taken an instinctive dislike to the overseer at the breakfast-table, and my aversion was not lessened by learning his treatment of sam; curiosity to know what manner of man he was, however, led me, toward the close of our meal, to “ draw him out,” as follows: “what is the political sentiment, sir, of this section of the state?” “wal, i reckon most of the folks 'bout har’ is union; they'm from the ‘old north,' and gin’rally pore trash.” “i have heard that the majority of the turpentine- farmers are enterprising men and good citizens—more enterprising, even, than the cotton and rice planters.” “wal, they is enterprisin', 'cause they don't keer for nuthin' 'cep' money.". “the man who is absorbed in money-getting is gen- erally a quiet citizen.” “praps that's so. but i think a man sh’u'd hev a soul suthin' 'bove dollars. them folks will take any sort o' sarce from the yankees, ef they'll only buy thar truck.” “what do you suffer from the yankees?” “suffer from the yankees? don't they steal our niggers, and haint they 'lected an ab'lishener for presi- dent ?” "iye bed that is so." “ / it's da mean to stand it “what will you “we'll give 'em "will it not be n before you do that? bere who openly dec ing slavery. he thi money by hiring than “yes, that's the talk who've squatted round son on 'em, by - .” “i wouldn't do that: i a right to his opinions.” “not to sech opinions but he mustn't think onraa “i don't know, but it see * the “north counties” are the north- inelude the towns of washington and region, and the trees are nearly exhaust. carolina, and other cotton states, have t lariners to emigrate thither, within the pas all the trees that are worked in south caro! erally have few slaves of their own, their ha their native districts. the "hiring” is an an mas time, when the negroes are frequently a slaves well, give them an allowance of meat they can eat, and a gill of whiskey daily. no industrious, energetic, and enterprising. thor many of the traits of our new england farır. north carolina yankees." it was these peo de reader will doubtless think that "hanging on the plantation. “i've been at the north lately, but i am not aware that is so.” “so! it's damnably so, sir. i knows it. we don't mean to stand it eny longer.” “what will you do ?” “we'll give 'em h— , ef they want it !” “will it not be necessary to agree among yourselves before you do that? i met a turpentine farmer below here who openly declared that he is friendly to abolish- ing slavery. he thinks the masters can make more money by hiring than by owning the negroes.” “yes, that's the talk of them north county* fellers, who've squatted round har. we'll hang every mother's son on ’em, by — .” “i wouldn't do that: in a free country every man has a right to his opinions.” “not to sech opinions as them. a man may think, but he mustn't think onraasonable." . “i don't know, but it seems to me reasonable, that if * the "north counties” are the north-eastern portion of north carolina, and include the towns of washington and newbern. they are an old turpentine region, and the trees are nearly exhausted. the finer virgin forests of south carolina, and other cotton states, have tempted many of the north county farmers to emigrate thither, within the past ten years, and they now own nearly all the trees that are worked in south carolina, georgia, and florida. they gen- erally have few slaves of their own, their hands being hired of wealthier men in their native districts. the “hiring" is an annual operation, and is done at christ- mas time, when the negroes are frequently allowed to go home. they treat the slaves well, give them an allowance of meat (salt pork or beef), as much corn as they can eat, and a gill of whiskey daily. no class of men at the south are so industrious, energetic, and enterprising. though not so well informed, they have many of the traits of our new england farmers; in fact, are frequently called “north carolina yankees." it was these people the overseer proposed to hang. the reader will doubtless think that “hanging was not good enough for them." among the pines. the negroes cost these farmers now one hundred and fifty dollars a year, and they could hire them, if free, for seventy-five or a hundred, that they would make by abolition.” “ab’lish'n! by— , sir, ye aint an ab'lishener, is ye?” exclaimed the fellow, in an excited manner, bringing his hand down on the table in a way that set the crockery a-dancing. “come, come, my friend,” i replied, in a mild tone, and as unruffed as a pool of water that has been out of a december night; “you'll knock off the dinner things, and i'm not quite through.” “wal, sir, i've heerd yer from the north, and i'd like to know if yer an ab'lishener.” “my dear sir, you surprise me. you certainly can't expect a modest man like me to speak of himself.” “ye can speak of what ye d— please, but ye can't talk ab'lish’n har, by —," he said, again applying his hand to the table, till the plates and saucers jumped up, performed several jigs, then several reels, and then rolled over in graceful somersaults to the floor. at this juncture, the colonel and madam p- entered. observing the fall in his crockery, and the general confusion of things, my host quietly asked, “what's to pay ?” i said nothing, but hurst into a fit of laughter at the awkward predicament of the overseer. that gentleman also said nothing, but looked as if he would like to find on the plantatiÒn. vent through a rat-hole or a window-pane. jim, how- ever, who stood at the back of my chair, gave his elo- quent thoughts utterance, very much as follows: “moye hab 'sulted massa k- cunnel, awful bad. he hab swore a blue streak at him, and called him a d-ab'lishener, jess 'cause massa k— wudn't get mad and sass him back. he hab disgrace your hosspital, cunnel, wuss dan a nigga.” the colonel turned white with rage, and striding up to moye, seized him by the throat, yelling, rather than speaking, these words : “you d-- - m , have you dared to insult a guest in my house?” “i did'nt mean to 'sult him,” faltered out the overseer, his voice running through an entire octave, and chang- ing with the varying pressure of the colonel's fingers on his throat ; “but he said he war an ab'lishener.” “no matter what he said, he is my guest, and in my house he shall say what he pleases, by — apologize to: him, or i'll send you to h- in a second.” the fellow turned cringingly to me, and ground out something like this, every word seeming to give him the face-ache: “i meant no offence, sar; i hope ye'll excuse me.” this satisfied me, but, before i could reply, the colonel again seized him by the throat and yelled : “none of your sulkiness; you d— white-livered hound, ask the gentleman's pardon like a man.” the fellow. then got out, with less effort than before: “i ’umbly ax yer pardon, sar, very ’umbly, indeed.” among the pines. “i am satisfied, sir," i replied. “i bear you no ill- will." noise in the the colon cigar. his feet appeared absorber “how is the sick " it's all over wi but 'twas very painf wrong." "how so ?” “i was away all sur him to the swamp to t “now go," said the colonel; “and in future take your meals in your cabin. i have none but gentlemen at my table.” the fellow went. as soon as he closed the door, the colonel said to me: “now, my dear friend, i hope you will pardon me for this occurrence. i sincerely regret you have been in- sulted in my house.” . “don't speak of it, my dear sir; the fellow is igno- rant, and really thinks i am an abolitionist. his zeal in politics led to his warmth. i blame him very lit- tle,” i replied. “but he lied, massa k— ,"chimed in jim, very warmly; “you neber said you war an ab'lishener.” “you know what they are, jim, don't you ?” said the colonel, laughing, and taking no notice of his breach of decorum in wedging black ideas into a white conver- sation. “yas, i does dat,” said the darky, grinning. “jim,” said his master, “you're a prince of a nigger, but you talk too much ; ask me for something to-day, and i reckon you'll get it; but go now, and tell chloe (the cook) to get us some dinner.” - the negro left, and, excusing myself, i soon followed suit. i went to my room, laid down on the lounge, and soon fell asleep. it was nearly five o'clock when a slight " then you are not to “i wish i could feel so the colonel remained dently much depressed b which had affected him mo possible. i endeavored, b. topics, to cheer him, and in while we were seated at cook entered from the kitch tached from, and in the rear face expressive of every conce feel-joy, sorrow, wonder, ai. claimed, “o massa, massa! de “sam !” said the colonel ; “. "why, he hab—dear, dear my dort him—he hab come back !”. if a bombshell had fallen in among the pines. sation could not have been produced. every individual arose from the table, and the colonel, striding up and down the apartment, exclaimed: “is he mad? the everlasting fool! why in h- has he come back ?” “oh, don't ye hurt him massa,” said the black cook, wringing her hands. “sam hab been bad, bery bad, but he won't be so no more.” “stop your noise, aunty,” said the colonel, but with no harshness in his tone. “i shall do what i think right.” “send for him, david,” said madame p- ; “let us hear what he has to say. he would not come back if he meant to be ugly." ' “ send for him, alice!" replied my host. “he's prouder than lucifer, and would send me word to come to him. i will go. will you accompany me, mr. k- ? you'll hear what a runaway nigger thinks of slavery: sam has the gift of speech, and uses it regard- less of persons.” “yes, sir, i'll go with pleasure.” it was about an hour after nightfall when we emerged from the door of the mansion and took our way to the negro quarters. the full moon had risen half way above the horizon, and the dark pines cast their shadows. around the little collection of negro huts, which strag- gled about through the woods for the distance of a third of a mile. it was dark, but i could distinguish the fig- ure of a man striding along at a rapid pace a few hun- dred yards in advance of us. on the plantation. “ is’nt that moye ?” i asked the colonel, directing his attention to the receding figure. “i reckon so; that's his gait. he's had a lesson to- day that'll do him good.” . “i don't like that man's looks," i replied, carelessly ; “but i've heard of singed cats.” : “he is a sneaking d— ,” said the colonel ; “but he's very valuable to me. i never had an overseer who got so much work out of the hands.” “is he severe with them ?” “well, i reckon he is; but a nigger is like a dog- you must flog him to make him like you." “i judge your niggers haven't been flogged into liking moye.” “why, have you heard any of them speak of him ?” “yes; though, of course, i've made no effort to draw gossip from them. i had to hear.” “o) yes; i know; there's no end to their gabble; nig- gers will talk. but what have you heard ?” “that moye is to blame in this affair of sam, and that you don't know the whole story.” “what is the whole story ?” he asked, stopping short in the road; “tell me before i see sam.” i then told him what jim had recounted to me. he heard me through attentively, then laughingly exclaimed: “is that all! lord bless you, he didn't seduce her. there's no seducing these women; with them it's a thing of course. it was sam's d— high blood that made the trouble. his father was the proudest man in vir. on the plantation. overseer issuing from the doorway on the other side of the pine-tree. “come out, ye black rascal.” “come in, you wite hound, ef you dar,” responded the negro, laying his hand on the carving-knife. “ come out, i till ye; i sha’n’t ax ye agin.” “ i'll hab nuffin' to do wid you. g’way and send your massa har,” replied the mulatto man, turning his face away with a lordly, contemptuous gesture, that spoke him a true descendant of pocahontas. this move- ment exposed his left side to the doorway, outside of which, hidden from us by the tree, stood the overseer. “come away, moye,” said the colonel, advancing with me toward the door; “ i'll speak to him.” before all of the words had escaped the colonel's lips, · a streak of fire flashed from where the overseer stood, and took the direction of the negro. one long, wild shriek—one quick, convulsive bound in the air—and sam fell lifeless to the floor, the dark life-stream pouring from his side. the little child also fell with him, and its greasy, grayish shirt was dyed with its father's blood. moye, at the distance of ten feet, had discharged the two barrels of a heavily-loaded shot-gun directly through the negro's heart. “you incarnate son of h—” yelled the colonel, as he sprang on the overseer, bore him to the ground, and wrenched the shot-gun from his hand. clubbing the weapon, he raised it to brain him. the movement oc- cupied but a second; the gun was descending, and in among the pines. another instant moye would have met sam in eternity, had not a brawny arm caught the colonel's, and, wind- ing itself around his body, pinned his limbs to his side so that motion was impossible. the woman, half frantic with excitement, thrust open the door when her hus- band fell, and the light which came through it revealed the face of the new-comer. but his voice, which rang out on the night air as clear as a bugle, had there been no light, would have betrayed him. it was scip. spurn- ing the prostrate overseer with his foot, he shouted: “run, you wite debble run for your life !" “let me go, you black scoundrel,” shrieked the col- onel, wild with rage. “when he'm out ob reach, you'd kill him,” replied the negro, as cool as if he was doing an ordinary thing. “i'll kill you, you black — hound, if you don't let me go,” again screamed the colonel, struggling violently in the negro's grasp, and literally foaming at the mouth. “i shan't lef you gwo, cunnel, till you 'gree not to do dat.” the colonel was a stout, -athletic man, in the very prime of life, and his rage gave him more than his ordi- nary strength, but scip held him as i might have held a child. “here, jim,” shouted the colonel to his body-servant, who just then emerged from among the trees, “ 'rouse the plantation-shoot this d- nigger.” “dar aint one on 'em wud touch him, massa. he'd send me to de debble wid one fist.” on the plantation. “you ungrateful dog," groaned his master. “mr. k—, will you stand by and see me handcuffed by a miserable slave ?” “the black means well, my friend; he has saved you from murder. say he is safe, and i'll answer for his being away in an hour.” the colonel made one more ineffectual attempt to free himself from the vice-like grip of the negro, then relax- ing his efforts, and, gathering his broken breath, he said, “you're safe now, but if you're found within ten miles of my plantation by sunrise, by — ) ou're a dead man.” the negro relinquished his hold, and, without saying a word, walked slowly away. “jim, you — rascal,” said the colonel to that courage- ous darky, who was skulking off, “raise every nigger on the plantation, catch moye, or i'll flog you within an inch of your life.” “i'll do dat, cunnel; i'll kotch de ole debble, ef he's dis side de hot place.” his words were echoed by about twenty other darkies, who, attracted by the noise of the fracas, had gathered within a safe distance of the cabin. they went off with jim, to raise the other plantation hands, and inaugurate the hunt. “ if that — nigger hadn't held me, i'd had moye in — by this time,” said the colonel to me, still livid with excitement. “the law will deal with him, my friend. the negro has saved you from murder.” among the pines. “the law be d—; it's too good for such a — hound; and that the d— nigger should have dared to hold me- by — he'll rue it.” he then turned, exhausted with the recent struggle, and, with a weak, uncertain step, entered the cabin. kneeling down by the dead body of the negro, he at- tempted to raise it; but his strength was gone. he motioned to me to aid him, and we placed the corpse on the bed. tearing open the clothing, we wiped away the still flowing blood, and saw the terrible wound which had sent the negro to his account. it was sickening to look on, and i turned to go. the negro woman, who was weeping and wringing her hands, now approached, and, in a voice nearly choked with sobs, said: “ massa, oh massa, i done it ! it's me dat killed him!” “i know you did, you d-- get out of my sight.” . “oh, massa,” sobbed the woman, falling on her knees, “i'se so sorry; oh, forgib me!” “go to —, you -- that's the place for you,” said the colonel, striking the kneeling woman with his foot, and felling her to the floor. unwilling to see or hear more, i left the master with the slave. the planter's “family." chapter vi. the planter's “family." a quartet. of a mile through the woods brought me to the cabin of the old negress where scip lodged. i rapped at the door, and was admitted by the old wo- man. scip, nearly asleep, was lying on a pile of blan- kets in the corner. “are you mad?” i said to him. “the colonel is frantic with rage, and swears he will kill you. you must be off at once." “no, no, massa; neber fear; i knows him. he'd keep his word, ef he loss his life by it. i'm gwine afore sunrise ; till den i'm safe.” “der ye tink massa davy wud broke his word, sar ?” said the old negress, bridling up her bent form, and speak- ing in a tone in which indignation mingled with wound- ed dignity; “p'raps gemmen do dat at de norf-dey neber does it har.” “excuse me, aunty; i know your master is a man of honor; but he's very much excited, and very angry with scip.” “no matter for dat, sar; massa davy neber done a mean ting sense he war born.” “massa k— tinks a heap ob de cunnel, aunty; but the planter's “family.” glasses, and an array of irregular crockery. the rock- ing chair, in which the old negress passed the most of her time, was of mahogany, wadded and covered with chintz, and the arm-seat i occupied, though old and patched in many places, had evidently moved in good society. the mistress of this second-hand furniture establish- ment was arrayed in a mass of cast-off finery, whose gay colors were in striking contrast with her jet-black skin and bent, decrepit form. her gown, which was very short, was o. flaming red and yellow worsted stuff, and the enormous turban that graced her head and hid all but a few tufts of her frizzled, “pepper-and-salt” locks, was evidently a contribution from the family stock of worn-out pillow-cases. she was very aged-upward of seventy—and so thin that, had she not been endowed with speech and motion, she might have passed for a bun- dle of whalebone thrown into human shape, and covered with a coating of gutta-percha. it was evident she had been a valued house-servant, whose few remaining years were being soothed and solaced by the kind and indul- gent care of a grateful master. scip, i soon saw, was a favorite with the old negress, and the marked respect he showed me quickly dispelled the angry feeling my doubts of “massa davy” had ex- cited, and opened her heart and her mouth at the same moment. she was terribly garrulous; her tongue, as soon as it got under way, ran on as if propelled by ma- chinery and acquainted with the secret of perpetual mo- * among the pines. tion; but she was an interesting study. the single- hearted attachment she showed for her master and his family gave me a new insight into the practical working of “the peculiar institution,” and convinced me that even slavery, in some of its aspects, is not so black as it is painted. when we were seated, i said to scip, “what induced you to lay hands on the colonel ? it is death, you know, if he enforces the law.” “i knows dat, massa ; i knows dat; but i had to do it. dat moye am de ole debble, but de folks round har wud hab turned on de cunnel, shore, ef he'd killed him. dey don't like de cunnel; dey say he'm a stuck-up sesh- ener.” the colonel, then, has befriended you at some time?" “no, no, sar ; 'twarn’t dat; dough i'se know'd him a long w'ile-eber sense my ole massa fotched me from habana—but 'twarn’t dat.” “ then why did you do it ?” the black hesitated a moment, and glanced at the old negress, then said: “you see, massa, w'en i fuss come to charles'n, a pore little ting, wid no friend in all de worle, dis ole aunty war a mudder to me. she nussed de cunnel; he am jess like her own chile, and i know'd 'twud kill her ef he got hissef enter trubble.” i noticed certain convulsive twitchings about the cor- ners of the old woman's mouth as she rose from her the planter's a ” “family.v family.” seat, threw her arms around scip, and, in words broken by sobs, faltered out: “ you am my chile; i loves you better dan massa davy-better dan all de worle.” the scene, had they not been black, would have been one for a painter. “ you were the colonel's nurse, aunty,” i said, when she had regained her composure. “have you always lived with him ?” “ yas, sar, allers; i nussed him, and den de chilren- all ob 'em.” “ all the children? i thought the colonel had but one-miss clara.” “ wal, he habn't, massa, only de boys.” “what boys? i never heard he had sons." “neber heerd of young massa davy, nor massa tom- my! haint you seed massa tommy, sar ?” “ tommy! i was told he was madam pm's son.” “so he am; massa davy had her long afore he had missus." the truth flashed upon me; but could it be possible? was i in south carolina or in utah ? “ who is madam p- p” i asked. the old woman hesitated a moment as if in doubt whether she had not said too much ; but scip quietly replied: “she’m jess what aunty am—de cunnel's slave !" “ his slave! it can't be possible; she is white !" the planter's “family.” attached to her, and much of the colonel's wealth was due to her excellent management of the plantation. six years after the birth of “young massa davy,” the colonel married his present wife, that lady having full knowledge of his left-handed connection with mad- am p- and consenting that the “bond-woman” should remain on the plantation, as its mistress. the legitimate wife resided, during most of the year, in charleston, and when at the homestead took little interest in domes- tic matters. on one of her visits to the plantation, twelve years before, her daughter, miss clara, was born, and within a week, under the same roof, madam p- presented the colonel with a son—the lad thomas, of whom i have spoken. as the mother was slave, the children were so also at birth, but they had been manumitted by their father. one of them was being educated in germany; and it was intended that both should spend their lives in that country, the taint in their blood being an insuperable bar to their ever ac- quiring social position at the south. as she finished the story, the old woman said, “ massa davy am bery kind to the missus, sar, but he love de ma’am; an' he can't help it, 'cause she'm jess so good as de angels."* * instances are frequent where southern gentlemen form these left-handed connections, and rear two sets of differently colored children; but it is not often that the two families occupy the same domicil. the only other case within my personal knowledge was that of the well-known president of the bank of st. m- , at columbus, ga. that gentleman, whose note ranked in wall street, when the writer was acquainted with that locality, as “a no. ,” lived for fifteen years with two “wives” under one roof. one, an accomplished white woman, the planter's “family." “ the colonel is very good. do you raise any thing else ?" “yas, i hab collards and taters, a little corn, and most ebery ting.” “but who does your work? you certainly can't do it ?” “oh, de ma’am looks arter dat, sar; she’m bery good to de ole aunty." shaking hands with both the negroes, i left the cabin, fully convinced that all the happiness in this world is not found within plastered apartments. the door of the mansion was bolted and barred; but, rapping for admission, i soon heard the colonel's voice asking, “who is there ?” giving a satisfactory an- swer, i was admitted. explaining that he supposed i had retired to my room, he led the way to the li- brary. that apartment was much more elegantly furnished than the drawing-rooms. three of its sides were lined with books, and on the centre-table, papers, pamphlets, and manuscripts were scattered in promiscuous confu- sion. in an arm-chair near the fire, madame p- was seated, reading. the colonel's manner was as composed as if nothing had disturbed the usual routine of the plantation; no trace of the recent terrible excitement was visible; in fact, had i not been a witness to the late tragedy, i should have thought it incredible that he, within two hours, had been an actor in a scene which . had cost a human being his life. among the pines. “ where in creation have you been, my dear fellow ?” he asked, as we took our seats. “* at old lucy's cabin, with scip,” i replied. “ indeed. i supposed the darky had gone." “no, he doesn't go till the morning.” “i told you he woulin’t, david,” said madame p- ; “now, send for him—make friends with him before he goes.” “no, alice, it wont do. i bear him no ill-will, but it wont do. it would be all over the plantation in an hour.” “no matter for that; our people would like you the better for it.” “no, no. i can't do it. i mean him no harm, but i can't do that.” “ile told me why he interfered between you and moye,” i remarked. “why did he?” “he says old lucy, years ago, was a mother to him; that she is greatly attached to you, and it would kill her if any harm happened to you; and that your neighbors bear you no good-will, and would have enforced the law had you killed moye.” “ it is true, david; you would have had to answer for it.” “nonsense! what influence could this north county scum have against me?” . “perhaps none. but that makes no difference; scipio did right, and you should tell him you forgive him.” · the colonel then rang a small bell, and a negro wo- the planter's "family." man soon appeared. “sue,” he said, “go to aunt lucy's, and ask scip to come here. bring him in at the front door, and, mind, let no one know he comes." the woman in a short time returned with scip. there was not a trace of fear or embarrassment in the negro's manner as he entered the room. making a respectful bow, he bade us “good evening.” “good evening, scip,” said the colonel, rising and giving the black his hand; “let us be friends. madam tells me i should forgive you, and i do.” aunt lucy say ma’am am an angel, sar, and it am tru—it am tru, sar,” replied the negro with considera- ble feeling. the lady rose, also, and took scip’s hand, saying, “i not only forgive you, but i thank you for what you have done. i shall never forget it.” “ you’se too good, ma’am; you’se too good to say dat,” replied the darky, the moisture coming to his eyes; "but i meant nuffin' wrong-i meant nuffin' dis'specful to de cunnel.” "i know you didn't, scip; but we'll say no more about it;—good-by,” said the colonel. shaking hands with each one of us, the darky left the apartment. one who does not know that the high-bred southern gentleman considers the black as far below him as the horse he drives, or the dog he kicks, cannot realize the amazing sacrifice of pride which the colonel made in seeking a reconciliation with scip. it was the cutting among the pines. off of his right hand. the circumstance showed the powerful influence held over him by the octoroon wo- man. strange that she, his slave, cast out from society by her blood and her life, despised, no doubt, by all the world, save by him and a few ignorant blacks, should thus control a proud, self-willed, passionate man, and control him, too, only for good. after the black had gone, i said to the colonel, “i was much interested in old lucy. a few more such in- stances of cheerful and contented old age, might lead me to think better of slavery." “such cases are not rare, sir. they show the pater- nal character of our institution. we are forced to care for our servants in their old age.” “but have your other aged slaves the same comforts that aunt lucy has ?” “no; they don't need them. she has been accus- tomed to live in my house, and to fare better than the plantation hands; she therefore requires better treat- ment.” “is not the support of that class a heavy tax upon you ?” “yes, it is heavy. we have, of course, to deduct it from the labor of the able-bodied hands." “what is the usual proportion of sick and infirm on your plantation ?” “ counting in the child-bearing women, i reckon about twenty per cent." “and what does it cost you to support each hand ?” the planter's “ family." “well, it costs me, for children and all, about seven- ty-five dollars a year. in some places it costs less. i have to buy all my provisions.” “what proportion of your slaves are able-bodied hands ?” “somewhere about sixty per cent. i have, all told, old and young-men, women, and children—two hun- dred and seventy. out of that number i have now equal to a hundred and fifty-four full hands. you un- derstand that we classify them : some do only half tasks, some three-quarters. i have more than a hundred and fifty-four working-men and women, but they do only that number of full tasks.” “what does the labor of a full hand yield ?” “at the present price of turpentine, my calculation is about two hundred dollars a year.” “ then your crop brings you about thirty-one thou- sand dollars, and the support of your negroes costs you twenty thousand.” “yes.” "if that's the case, my friend, let me advise you to sell your plantation, free your niggers, and go north.” “why so, my dear fellow ?” asked the colonel laugh- ing. “because you'd make money by the operation.” “i never was good at arithmetic; go into the figures,” he replied, still laughing, while madam p , who had laid aside her book, listened very attentively. “well, you have two hundred and seventy negroes, among the pines. whom you value, we'll say, with your mules, “stills,' and movable property, at two hundred thousand dollars ; and twenty thousand acres of land, worth about three dollars and a half an acre; all told, two hundred and seventy thousand dollars. a hundred and fifty-four able- bodied hands produce you a yearly profit of eleven thou- sand dollars, which, saying nothing about the cost of keeping your live stock, the wear and tear of your mules and machinery, and the yearly loss of your slaves by death, is only four per cent. on your capital. now, with only the price of your land, say seventy thousand dol- lars, invested in safe stocks at the north, you could realize eight per cent.—five thousand six hundred dollars—and live at ease; and that, i judge, if you have many runaways, or many die on your hands, is as much as you really clear now. besides, if you should invest seventy thousand dollars in almost any legitimate business at the north, and should add to it, as you now do, your time and labor, you would realize far more than you do at present from your entire capital.”. “i never looked at the matter in that light. but i have given you my profits as they now are; some years i make more; six years ago i made twenty-five thousand dollars." “yes; and six years hence you may make nothing." “that's true. but it would cost me more to live at the north.” “there you are mistaken. what do you pay for your corn, your pork, and your hay, for instance ?” the planter's “family.” “well, my corn i have to bring round by vessel from washington (north carolina), and it costs me high when it gets here about ten bits (a dollar and twenty-five cents), i think.” “and in new york you could buy it now at sixty to seventy cents. what does your hay cost ?” “thirty-five dollars. i pay twenty for it in new york—the balance is freight and hauling." “your pork costs you two or three dollars, i suppose, for freight and hauling." “yes; about that.” “then in those items you might save nearly a hun- dred per cent.; and they are the principal articles you consume.” “yes; there's no denying that. but another thing is just as certain : it costs less to support one of my niggers than one of your laboring men.” “that may be true. but it only shows that our laborers fare better than your slaves." “i am not sure of that. i am sure, however, that our slaves are more contented than the run of laboring men at the north.” “that proves nothing. your blacks have no hope, no chance to rise; and they submit—though i judge not cheerfully—to an iron necessity. the northern laborer, if very poor, may be discontented; but discontent urges him to effort, and leads to the bettering of his condition. i tell you, my friend, slavery is an expensive luxury. among the pines. you southern nabobs will have it; and you have to pay for it.” “well, we don't complain. but, seriously, my good fellow, i feel that i am carrying out the design of the almighty in holding my niggers. i think he made the black to serve the white.” “i think,” i replied, “ that whatever he designs works perfectly. your institution certainly does not. it keeps the producer, who, in every society, is the really valuable citizen, in the lowest poverty, while it allows those who do nothing to be "clad in fine linen, and to fare sumptuously every day.” “it does more than that, sir,” said madam p— , with animation; “it brutalizes and degrades the master and the slave; it separates husband and wife, parent and child; it sacrifices virtuous women to the lust of brutal men; and it shuts millions out from the knowledge of their duty and their destiny. a good and just god could not have designed it; and it must come to an end." if lightning had struck in the room i could not have been more startled than i was by the abrupt utterance of such language in a planter's house, in his very pres- ence, and by his slave. the colonel, however, expressed no surprise and no disapprobation. it was evidently no new thing to him. “it is rare, madam,” i said, “to hear such sentiments from a southern lady—one reared among slaves.” before she could reply, the colonel laughingly said: . the planter's “family.” “bless you, mr. k— ,madam is an out-and-out abolitionist, worse by fifty per cent. than garrison or wendell phillips. if she were at the north she would take to pantaloons, and “stump' the entire free states; wouldn't you, alice ?” “i have no doubt of it,” rejoined the lady, smiling. “but i fear i should have poor success. i've tried for, ten years to convert you, and mr. k— can see the result.” it had grown late; and with my head full of working niggers and white slave-women, i went to my apartment. the next day was sunday. it was near the close of december, yet the air was as mild and the sun as warm as in our northern october. it was arranged at the breakfast-table that we all should attend service at “the meeting-house,” a church of the methodist persuasion, located some eight miles away; but as it wanted some hours of the time for religious exercises to commence, i strolled out after breakfast, with the colonel, to inspect the stables of the plantation. “massa tommy” accom- panied us, without invitation; and in the colonel's in- tercourse with him i observed as much freedom and familiarity as he would have shown to an acknowledged son. the youth's manners and conversation showed that great attention had been given to his education and training, and made it evident that the mother whose influence was forming his character, whatever a false system of society had made her life, possessed some of the best traits of her sex. . the planter's “family.” in front of several of the cabins, some singing, some dancing, and others chatting quietly together, but all enjoying themselves as heartily as so many young ani- mals let loose in a pasture. they saluted the colonel and me respectfully, but each one had a free, good- natured word for “massa tommy,” who seemed an especial favorite with them. the lad took their greet- ings in good part, but preserved an easy, unconscious dignity of manner that plainly showed he did not know that he too was of their despised, degraded race. the colonel, in a rapid way, gave me the character and peculiarities of nearly every one we met. the titles of some of them amused me greatly. at every step we encountered individuals whose names have become house- hold words in every civilized country.* julius cæsar, slightly stouter than when he swam the tiber, and some- what tanned from long exposure to a southern sun, was seated on a wood-pile, quietly smoking a pipe; while near him, washington, divested of regimentals, and clad in a modest suit of reddish-gray, his thin locks frosted by time, and his fleshless visage showing great age,. was gazing, in rapt admiration, at a group of dancers in front of old lucy's cabin. in this group about thirty men and women were making the ground quake and the woods ring with their unrestrained jollity. marc antony was rattling away * among the things of which slavery has deprived the black is a name. a slave has no family designation. it may be for that reason that a high-sounding appellation is usually selected for the single one he is allowed to appropriate. the planter's “family.” in a few minutes nearly every negro on the plantation, attracted by the presence of the colonel and myself, gathered around the performers; and a shrill voice at my elbow called out, “look har, ye lazy, good-for- nuffin' niggers, carn’t ye fotch a cheer for massa davy and de strange gemman ?” “is that you, aunty ?” said the colonel. “how d'ye do ?” “sort o'smart, massa davy; sort o'smart; how is ye?” “pretty well, aunty; pretty well. have a seat.” and the colonel helped her to one of the chairs that were brought for us, with as much tenderness as he would have shown to an aged white lady. the “exercises,” which had been suspended for a moment, recommenced, and the old negress entered into them as heartily as the youngest present. a song from cato followed the dance, and then about twenty “gen- tleman and lady” darkies joined, two at a time, in a half “walk-round” half breakdown, which the colonel told me was the original of the well-known dance and song of lucy long. other performances succeeded, and the whole formed a scene impossible to describe. such up- roarious jollity, such full and perfect enjoyment, i had never seen in humanity, black or white. the little nigs, only four or five years old, would rush into the ring and shuffle away at the breakdowns till i feared their short legs would come off; while all the darkies joined in the songs, till the branches of the old pines above shook as among the pines. if they too had caught the spirit of the music. in the midst of it, the colonel said to me, in an exultant tone: “well, my friend, what do you think of slavery now.” “ about the same that i thought yesterday. i see nothing to change my views.” “why, are not these people happy? is not this per- fect enjoyment ?” “yes; just the same enjoyment that aunty's pigs are having; don't you hear them singing to the music? i'll wager they are the happier of the two.” “no; you are wrong. the higher faculties of the darkies are being brought out here.” “i don't know that," i replied. “within the sound of their voices, two of their fellows--victims to the in- humanity of slavery—are lying dead, and yet they make sunday “hideous” with wild jollity, while sam's fate may be theirs to-morrow.” spite of his genuine courtesy and high breeding, a shade of displeasure passed over the colonel's face as i made this remark. rising to go, he said, a little im- patiently, “ ah, i see how it is ; that d— garrison's sentiments have impregnated even you. how can the north and the south hold together when moderate men like you and me are so far apart ?” “but you,” i rejoined, good-humoredly, “are not a moderate man. you and garrison are of the same stripe, both extremists. you have mounted one hobby, he another; that is all the difference.” the planter's “family.” “i should be sorry,” he replied, recovering his good- nature, “to think myself like garrison. i consider him the — scoundrel unhung.” “no; i think he means well. but you are both fanatics, both “bricks' of the same material; we con- servatives, like mortar, will hold you together and yet keep you apart.” “i, for one, won't be held. if i can't get out of this cursed union in any other way, i'll emigrate to cuba.” i laughed, and just then, looking up, caught a glimpse of jim, who stood, hat in hand, waiting to speak to the colonel, but not daring to interrupt a white conversation. “hallo, jim,” i said; “have you got back ?” “yas, sar,” replied jim, grinning all over as if he had some agreeable thing to communicate. “where is moye ?” asked the colonel. “kotched, massa ; i'se got de padlocks on him.” “kotched,” echoed half a dozen darkies, who stood near enough to hear; “ole moye is kotched,” ran through the crowd, till the music ceased, and a shout went up from two hundred black throats that made the old trees tremble. “now gib him de lashes, massa davy,” cried the old nurse. “gib him what he gabe pore sam; but mine dat you keeps widin de law.” “never fear, aunty,” said the colonel; “i'll give him ." how the colonel kept his word will be told in another chapter. avosg the pixes. chapter vii. plantation discipline. the “ole cabin” to which jim had alluded as the scene of sam's punishment by the overseer, was a one- story shanty in the vicinity of the stables. though fast falling to decay, it had more the appearance of a human habitation than the other huts on the plantation. its thick plank door was ornamented with a mouldy brass knocker, and its four windows contained sashes, to which here and there clung a broken pane, the surviving relic of its better days. it was built of large unhewn logs, notched at the ends and laid one upon the other, with the bark still on. the thick, rough coat which yet adhered in patches to the timber had opened in the sun, and let the rain and the worm burrow in its sides, till some parts had crumbled entirely away. at one corner the process of decay had gone on till roof, superstruc- ture, and foundation had rotted down and left an open- ing large enough to admit a coach and four horses. the huge chimneys which had graced the gable ends of the building were fallen in, leaving only a mass of sticks and clay to tell of their existence, and two wide openings to show how great a figure they had once made in the world. a small space in front of the cabin would have been a lawn, had the grass been willing to grow upon among the pines. hickory handles, and long triple lashes. i took one down for closer inspection, and found burned into the wood, in large letters, the words “moral suasion.” i ques- tioned the appropriateness of the label, but the colonel insisted with great gravity, that the whip is the only “moral suasion” a darky is capable of understanding. when punishment is inflicted on one of the colonel's negroes, his feet are confined in the shackles, his arms tied above his head, and drawn by a stout cord up to one of the horizontal poles; then, his back bared to the waist, and standing on tip-toe, with every muscle stretched to its utmost tension, he takes “de lashes.” a more severe but more unusual punishment is the “thumb-screw.” in this a noose is passed around the negro's thumb and fore-finger, while the cord is thrown over the upper cross-pole, and the culprit is drawn up till his toes barely touch the ground. in this position the whole weight of the body rests on the thumb and fore-finger. the torture is excruciating, and strong, able-bodied men can endure it but a few moments. the colonel naively told me that he had discontinued its practice, as several of his women had nearly lost the use of their hands, and been incapacitated for field labor, by its too frequent repetition. “my — drivers,"* he added, “have no discretion, and no humanity; if they have a pique against a nigger, they show him no mercy.” the old shanty i have described was now the place of the overseer's confinement. open as it was at top, bot- * the negro-whippers and field overseers. plantation discipline. tom, and sides, it seemed an unsafe prison-house; but jim had secured its present occupant by placing “de padlocks on him.” “where did you catch him ?” asked the colonel, as, followed by every darky on the plantation, we took our way to the old building. “in de swamp, massa. we got sandy and de dogs arter him—dey treed him, but he fit like de debble.” “ any one hurt ?” “yas, cunnel; he knifed yaller jake, and ef i hadn't a gibin him a wiper, you'd a had anudder nigger short dis mornin'—shore.” “how was it? tell me,” said his master, while we paused, and the darkies gathered around.. “wal, yer see, massa, we got de ole debble's hat dat he drapped wen you had him down; den we went to sandy's fur de dogs—dey scented him to onst, and off dey put for de swamp. 'bout twenty on us follored ’em. he'd a right smart start on us, and run like a deer, but de hounds kotched up wid him 'bout whar he shot pore sam. he fit 'em and cut up de lady awful, but ole cæsar got a hole ob him, and sliced a breakfuss out ob his legs. somehow, dough, he got 'way from de ole dog, and clum a tree. 'twar more'n an hour afore we kotched up; but dar he war, and de houns bay- ing 'way as ef dey know'd what an ole debble he am. i'd tuk one ob de guns—you warn’t in de house, massa, so i cudn't ax you.” “never mind that; go on,” said the colonel. * among the pines. “wal, i up wid de gun, and tole him ef he didn't cum down i'd gib him suffin' dat 'ud sot hard on de stummuk. it tuk him a long w'ile, but—he cum down.” here the darky showed a row of ivory that would have been a fair capital for a metropolitan dentist. “when he war down,” he resumed, “jake war gwine to tie him, but de ole 'gator, quicker dan a flash, put a knife enter him.” “is jake much hurt ?” interrupted the colonel. “not bad, massa; de knife went fru his arm, and enter his ribs, but de ma'am hab fix him, and she say he'll be 'round bery sudden.” . well, what then ?" inquired the colonel. “wen de ole debble seed he hadn't finished jake, he war gwine to gib him anudder dig, but jus den i drap de gun on his cocoanut, and he neber trubble us no more. 'twar mons’rous hard work to git him out ob de swamp, 'cause he war jess like a dead man, and had to be toted de hull way; but he'm dar now, massa (pointing to the old cabin), and de bracelets am on him.” where is jake ?” asked the colonel. “dunno, massa, but reckon he’m to hum." “one of you boys go and bring him to the cabin," said the colonel. a negro man went off on the errand, while we and the darkies resumed our way to the overseer's quarters. arrived there, i witnessed a scene that words cannot picture. stretched at full length on the floor, his clothes torn plantation discipline. to shreds, his coarse carroty hair matted with blood, and his thin, ugly visage pale as death, lay the overseer. bending over him, wiping away the blood from his face, and swathing a ghastly wound on his forehead, was the negress sue; while at his shackled feet, binding up his still bleeding legs, knelt the octoroon woman! “ is she here?” i said, involuntarily, as i caught sight of the group. “it's her nature,” said the colonel, with a pleasant smile; “if moye were the devil himself, she'd do him good if she could; another such woman never lived.” and yet this woman, with all the instincts that make her sex angel-ministers to man, lived in daily violation of the most sacred of all laws—because she was a slave. can mr. caleb cushing or charles o'conor tell us why the almighty invented a system which forces his crea- tures to break laws of his own making ? “don't waste your time on him, alice,” said the colonel, kindly; “he isn't worth the rope that'll hang him.” “he was bleeding to death; unless he has care he'll die,” said the octoroon woman. “then let him die, d— him,” replied the colonel, advancing to where the overseer lay, and bending down to satisfy himself of his condition. meanwhile more than two hundred dusky forms crowded around and filled every opening of the old building. every conceivable emotion, except pity, was depicted on their dark faces. the same individuals among the pines. whose cloudy visages a half hour before i had seen dis- tended with a wild mirth and careless jollity, that made me think them really the docile, good-natured animals they are said to be, now glared on the prostrate overseer with the infuriated rage of aroused beasts when spring- ing on their prey. “you can't come the possum here. get up, you — hound,” said the colonel, rising and striking the bleed- ing man with his foot. the fellow raised himself on one elbow and gazed around with a stupid, vacant look. his eye wandered unsteadily for a moment from the colonel to the throng of cloudy faces in the doorway; then, his recent expe- rience flashing upon him, he shrieked out, clinging wildly to the skirts of the octoroon woman, who was standing near, “keep off them cursed hounds—keep them off, i say—they'll kill me! they'll kill me!" one glance satisfied me that his mind was wandering. the blow on the head had shattered his reason, and made the strong man less than a child. “you wont be killed yet,” said the colonel. “you've a small account to settle with me before you reckon with the devil.” at this moment the dark crowd in the doorway parted, and jake entered, his arm bound up and in a sling. “ jake, come here,” said the colonel; “this man would have killed you. what shall we do with him ?” “'taint for a darky to say dat, massa,” said the negro, evidently unaccustomed to the rude administration of plantation discipline. justice which the colonel was about to inaugurate; "he did wuss dan dat to sam, massa—he orter swing for shootin' him.” “that's my affair; we'll settle your account first,” re plied the colonel. the darky looked undecidedly at his master, and then at the overseer, who, overcome by weakness, had sunk again to the floor. the little humanity in him was evi- dently struggling with his hatred of moye and his desire for revenge, when the old nurse yelled out from among the crowd, “gib him fifty lashes, massa davy, and den you wash him down.* be a man, jake, and say dat.” jake still hesitated, and when at last he was about to speak, the eye of the octoroon caught his, and chained the words to his tongue, as if by magnetic power. “do you say that, boys;" said the colonel, turning to the other negroes; “shall he have fifty lashes ?” yas, massa, fifty lashes-gib de ole debble fifty lashes,” shouted about fifty voices. “he shall have them,” quietly said the master. the mad shout that followed, which was more like the yell of demons than the cry of men, seemed to arouse moye to a sense of his real position. springing to his feet, he gazed wildly around; then, sinking on his knees before the octoroon, and clutching the folds of her dress, he shrieked, “save me, good lady, save me! as you hope for mercy, save me!" * referring to the common practice of bathing the raw and bleeding backs of the punished slaves with a strong solution of salt and water. among the pines. not a muscle of her face moved, but, turning to the excited crowd, she mildly said, “fifty lashes would kill him. jake does not say that-your master leaves it to him, and he will not whip a dying man—will you, jake?” “no, ma’am-not-not ef you gwo agin it,” replied the negro, with very evident reluctance. “ but he whipped sam, ma'am, when sam war nearer dead than he am,” said jim, whose station as house- servant allowed him a certain freedom of speech. “because he was brutal to sam, should you be brutal to him? can you expect me to tend you when you are sick, if you beat a dying man? does pompey say you should do such things ?” “no, good ma’am,” said the old preacher, stepping out, with the freedom of an old servant, from the black mass, and taking his stand beside me in the open space left for the “w'ite folks ;” “ de ole man dusn't say dat, ma'am; he tell 'em dat de lord want 'em to forgib dar en’mies—to lub dem dat pursyskute 'em ;” and, turning to the colonel, he added, as he passed his hand meekly over his thin crop of white wool and threw his long heel back, “ ef massa'll ’low me i'll talk to 'em.” “fire away,” said the colonel, with evident chagrin. “ this is a nigger trial; if you want to screen the d- hound you can do it.” “i dusn't want to screed him, massa, but i'se bery ole and got soon to gwo, and i dusn't want de blessed lord to ax me wen i gets dar why i ’lowed dese pore among the pini s. totally unconscious of what was passing around him. “ you needn't preach no more; de cunnel hab say we'm to whip ole moye, and we'se gwine to do it, by — ." i felt my fingers closing on the palm of my hand, and in a second more they might have cut the darky's pro- file, had not madam p— cried out, “stand back, you impudent fellow : say another word, and i'll have you whipped on the spot.” “de cunnel am my massa, ma’am-he say ole moye am to be whipped, and i'se gwine to do it-shore.” i have seen a storm at sea-i have seen the tempest tear up great trees—i have seen the lightning strike in a dark night—but i never saw any thing half so grand, half so terrible, as the glance and tone of that woman as she cried out, “ jim, take this man-give him fifty lashes this instant." quicker than thought, a dozen darkies were on him. his hands and feet were tied and he was under the whipping-rack in a second. turning then to the other negroes, the brave woman said, “some of you carry moye to the house, and you, jim, see to this man- if fifty lashes don't make him sorry, give him fifty more.” this summary change of programme was silently ac- quiesced in by the assembled negroes, but many a cloudy face scowled sulkily on the octoroon, as, leaning on my arm, she followed junius and the other negroes, who bore moye to the mansion. it was plain that under among the pines. the piazza, smoking a cigar. he perceived us, and halted in the doorway. “so you've brought that d- bloodthirsty villain into my house!” he said to madam p- in a tone of strong displeasure. “how could i help it? the negroes are mad, and would kill him anywhere else,” replied the lady, with a certain self-confidence that showed she knew her power over the colonel. “why should you interfere between them and him ? has he not insulted you enough to make you let him alone? can you so easily forgive his taunting you with”— he did not finish the sentence, but what i had learned on the previous evening from the old nurse gave me a clue to its meaning. a red flame flushed the face and neck of the octoroon woman-her eyes literally flashed fire, and her very breath seemed to come with pain ; in a moment, however, this emotion passed away, and she quietly said, “let me settle that in my own way. he has served you well—you have nothing against him that the law will not punish.” “by — you are the most unaccountable woman i ever knew,” exclaimed the colonel, striding up and down the piazza, the angry feeling passing from his face, and giving way to a mingled expression of wonder and admiration. the conversation was here interrupted by jim, who just then made his appearance, hat in hand. “well, jim, what is it ?” asked his master. plantation discipline. “we’se gib’n sam twenty lashes, ma'am, but he beg so hard, and say he so sorry, dat i tole him i'd ax you 'fore we gabe him any more.” “well, if he's sorry, that's enough; but tell him he'll get fifty another time,” said the lady. “what sam is it ?” asked the colonel. “ big sam, the driver,” said jim. “why was he whipped ?” “he told me you were his master, and insisted on whipping moye,” replied the lady. ... “did he dare to do that? give him a hundred, jim, not one less,” roared the colonel. “yas, massa,” said jim, turning to go. the lady looked significantly at the negro and shook her head, but said nothing, and he left. « come, alice, it is nearly time for meeting, and i want to stop and see sandy on the way.” “i reckon i wont go,” said madam p- “you stay to take care of moye, i suppose,” said the colonel, with a slight sneer. “yes,” replied the lady, “he is badly hurt, and in danger of inflammation.” “well, suit yourself. mr. k— , come, we'll go- you'll meet some of the natives.” the lady retired to the house, and the colonel and i were soon ready. the driver brought the horses to the door, and as we were about to enter the carriage, i noticed jim taking his accustomed seat on the box. “ who's looking after sam ?” asked the colonel. among the pines. “nobody, cunnel; de ma’am leff him gwo.” “how dare you disobey me? didn't i tell you to give him a hundred ?” “ yas, massa, but de ma'am tole me notter.” “well, another time you mind what i say—do you hear ?” said his master. “yas, massa," said the negro, with a broad grin, “i allers do dat.” “you never do it, you d— nigger; i ought to have fogged you long ago.” · jim said nothing, but gave a quiet laugh, showing no sort of fear, and we entered the carriage. i afterward learned from him that he had never been whipped, and that all the negroes on the plantation obeyed the lady when, which was seldom, her orders came in conflict with their master's. they knew if they did not, the colonel would whip them. as we rode slowly along the colonel said to me, “ well, you see that the best people have to flog niggers sometimes." “yes, i should have given that fellow a hundred lashes, at least. i think the effect on the others would have been bad if madam p had not had him flog- ged.” “but she generally goes against it. i don't remem- ber of her having it done in ten years before. and yet, though i've the worst gang of niggers in the district, they obey her like so many children.” “why is that?" among the pines. along. in one of these narrow passages, just before us, a queer-looking vehicle had upset, and scattered its con- tents in the road. we had no alternative but to wait till it got out of the way; and we all alighted to recon- noitre. · the vehicle was a little larger than an ordinary hand- cart, and was mounted on wheels that had probably served their time on a boston dray before commencing their travels in secessiondom. its box of pine board- ing and its shafts of rough oak poles were evidently of southern home manufacture. attached to it by a rope harness, with a primitive bridle of decidedly original construction, was—not a horse, nor a mule, nor even an alligator, but a “ three-year-old heifer.” the wooden linch-pin of the cart had given way, and the weight of a half-dozen barrels of turpentine had thrown the box off its balance, and rolled the contents about in all directions. the appearance of the proprietor of this nondescript vehicle was in keeping with his establishment. his coat, which was much too short in the waist and much too long in the skirts, was of the common reddish gray linsey, and his nether garments, which stopped just be- low the knees, were of the same material. from there downwards, he wore only the covering that is said to have been the fashion in paradise before adam took to fig-leaves. his hat had a rim broader than a political platform, and his skin a color half way between tobacco- juice and a tallow candle. plantation discipline. “wal, cunnul, how dy'ge ?” said the stranger, as we stepped from the carriage. “very well, ned; how are you ?” “purty wal, cunnul; had the nagur lately, right smart, but’m gittin' 'roun’.” “you're in a bad fix here, i see. can jim help you?” “wal, p’raps he moight. jim, how dy'ge?” “sort ,o'smart, ole feller. but come, stir yerseff; we want ter gwo 'long,” replied jim, with a lack of courtesy that showed he regarded the white man as altogether too “trashy” to be treated with much ceremony: with the aid of jim, a new linch-pin was soon whit- tled out, the turpentine rolled on to the cart, and the vehicle put in a moving condition. “where are you hauling your turpentine ?” asked the colonel. “ to sam bell's, at the 'boro'.”. “ what will he pay you ?” “ wal, i've four barr'ls of dip,' and tu of hard.' for the hull, i reckon he'll give three dollar a barr’l.” “ by tale ?” “ no, for tu hun’red and eighty pound.” “well, i'll give you two dollars and a half, by weight.” . “ can't take it, cunnel ; must get three dollar.” “what, will you go sixty miles with this team, and waste five or six days, for fifty cents on six barrels three dollars !” among the pines. “ can't 'ford the time, cunnel, but must git three dol- lar a barr’l.” “ that fellow is a specimen of our “natives,'” said the colonel, as we resumed our seats in the carriage.. “you'll see more of them before we get back to the plantation.” “he puts a young cow to a decidedly original use," i remarked. “oh no, not origiral here; the ox and the cow with us are both used for labor.” “you don't mean to say that cows are generally worked here ?” “of course i do. our breeds are good for nothing as milkers, and we put them to the next best use. i never have cow's milk on my plantation.” “you don't! i could have sworn it was in my coffee this morning.” “i wouldn't trust you to buy brandy for me, if your organs of taste are not keener than that. it was goat's milk.” “ then how do you get your butter ?”? “from the north. i've had mine from my new york factors for over ten years." we soon arrived at sandy, the negro-hunter's, and halted to allow the colonel to inquire as to the health of his family of children and dogs—the latter the less numerous, but, if i might judge by appearances, the more valued of the two. the negro hunter. chapter viii. the negro hunter. alighting from the carriage, i entered, with my host, the cabin of the negro-hunter. so far as external appearance went, the shanty was a slight improvement on the “mills house,” described in a previous chapter; but internally, it was hard to say whether it resembled more a pig-sty or a dog-kennel. the floor was of the bare earth, covered in patches with loose plank of vari- ous descriptions, and littered over with billets of “light- wood,” unwashed cooking utensils, two or three cheap stools, a pine settee—made from the rough log and hewn smooth on the upper side—a full-grown bloodhound, two younger canines, and nine half-clad juveniles of the flax-head species. over against the fire-place three low beds afforded sleeping accommodation to nearly a dozen human beings (of assorted sizes, and dove-tailed together with heads and feet alternating), and in the opposite cor- ner a lower couch, whose finer furnishings told plainly it was the peculiar property of the “wee ones” of the family—a mother's tenderness for her youngest thus cropping out even in the midst of filth and degrada- tion-furnished quarters for an unwashed, uncombed, unclothed, saffron-hued little fellow about fifteen months old, and the dog “ lady.” she was of a dark hazel among the pines. color--a cross between a pointer and a bloodhound-and one of the most beautiful creatures i ever saw. her neck and breast were bound about with a coarse cotton cloth, saturated with blood, and emitting a strong odor of bad whiskey; and her whole appearance showed the desperate nature of the encounter with the over- seer. the nine young democrats who were lolling about the room in various attitudes, rose as we entered, and with a familiar but rather deferential “how-dy'ge,” to the colonel, huddled around and stared at me with open mouths and distended eyes, as if i were some strange be- ing, dropped from another sphere. the two eldest were of the male gender, as was shown by their clothes-cast- off suits of the inevitable reddish-gray, much too large, and out at the elbows and the knees—but the sex of the others i was at a loss to determine, for they wore only a single robe, reaching, like their mother's, from the neck to the knees. not one of the occupants of the cabin boasted a pair of stockings, but the father and mother did enjoy the luxury of shoes-coarse, stout brogans, untanned, and of the color of the legs which they en- cased. “well, sandy, how is · lady??? asked the colonel, as he stepped to the bed of the wounded dog. “reckon she's a goner, cunnel; the d— yankee orter swing fur it.” this intimation that the overseer was a country- man of mine, took me by surprise, nothing i had ob- the negro hunter. . served in his speech or manners having indicated it, but i consoled myself with the reflection that connecticut had reared him—as she makes wooden bams and nut- megs—expressly for the southern market. “he shall swing for it, by — but are you sure the slut will die ?” “not shore, cunnel, but she can't stand, and the blood will run. i reckon a hun'red and fifty ar done for thar, sartin.” “d—- the money—i'll make that right. go to the house and get some ointment from madam—she can save her-go at once,” said my host. “i will, cunnel,” replied the dirt-eater, taking his broad-brim from a wooden peg, and leisurely leaving the cabin. making our way then over the piles of rubbish and crowds of children that cumbered the apartment, the colonel and i returned to the carriage. “dogs must be rare in this region,” i remarked, as we resumed our seats. “yes, well-trained bloodhounds are scarce every- where. that dog is well worth a hundred and fifty dollars.” “the business of nigger-catching, then, is brisk, just now ?” “no, not more brisk than usual. we always have more or less runaways." “do most of them take to the swamps ?” “yes, nine out of ten do, though now and then one gets off on a trading vessel. it is almost impossible for among the pines. a strange nigger to make his way by land from here to the free states." “then why do you carolinians make such an outcry about the violation of the fugitive slave law ?” “for the same reason that dogs quarrel over a naked bone. we should be unhappy if we couldn't growl at the yankees,” replied the colonel, laughing. “we, you say; you mean by that, the hundred and eighty thousand nabobs who own five-sixths of your slaves ???* “yes, i mean them, and the three millions of poor whites—the ignorant, half-starved, lazy vermin you have just seen. they are the real basis of our southern oli- * the foregoing statistics are correct. that small number of slave-holders sus- tains the system of slavery, and has caused this terrible rebellion. they are, almost to a man, rebels and secessionists, and we may cover the south with armies, and keep a file of soldiers upon every plantation, and not smother this insurrection, unless we break down the power of that class. their wealth gives them their power, and their wealth is in their slaves. free their negroes by an act of emancipation, or confiscation, and the rebellion will crumble to pieces in a day. omit to do it, and it will last till doomsday. the power of this dominant class once broken, with landed property at the south inore equally divided, a new order of things will arise there. where now, with their large plantations, not one acre in ten is tilled, a system of small farms will spring into existence, and the whole country be covered with cultivation. the six hundred thousand men who have gone there to fight our battles, will see the amazing fertility of the southern soil--into which the seed is thrown and springs up without labor into a bountiful harvest--and many of them, if slavery is crushed out, will remain there. thus a new element will be introduced into the south, an element that will speedily make it a loyal, prosperous, and intelli- gent section of the union. i would interfere with no one's rights, but a rebel in arms against his country has no rights; all that he has " is confiscate." will the loyal people of the north submit to be ground to the earth with taxes to pay the expenditures of a war, brought upon them by these southern oligarchists, while the traitors are left in undisturbed possession of every thing, and even their slaves are exempted from taxation! it were well that our legislators should ask this question now, and not wait till it is asked of them by the people, the negro hunter. garchy, as you call it,” continued my host, still laugh- ing. “i thought the negroes were the serfs in your feudal system ?” “both the negroes and the poor whites are the serfs, but the white trash are its real support. their votes give the small minority of slave-owners all their power. you say we control the union. we do, and we do it by the votes of these people, who are as far below our niggers as the niggers are below decent white men. who that reflects that this country has been governed for fifty years by such scum, would give a d- for re- publican institutions ?” “it does speak badly for your institutions. a system that reduces nearly half of a white population to the level of slaves cannot stand in this country. the late election shows that the power of your white trash' is broken.” “well, it does, that's a fact. if the states should re- main together, the west would in future control the union. we see that, and are therefore determined on dissolution. it is our only way to keep our niggers.” “the west will have to consent to that project. my opinion is, your present policy will, if carried out, free every one of your slaves.” “i dont see how. even if we are put down—which we cannot be—and are held in the union against our will, government cannot, by the constitution, interfere with slavery in the states.” among the pines. “i admit that, but it can confiscate the property of traitors. every large slave-holder is to-day, at heart, a traitor. if this movement goes on, you will commit overt acts against the government, and in self-defence it will punish treason by taking from you the means of future mischief.” “the republicans and abolitionists might do that if they had the power, but nearly one-half of the north is on our side, and will not fight us.” “perhaps so; but if i had this thing to manage, i would put you down without fighting.” “how would you do it—by preaching abolition where even the niggers would mob you? there's not a slave in all south carolina but would shoot garrison or gree- ley on sight.” “that may be, but if so, it is because you keep them in ignorance. build a free-school at every cross-road, and teach the poor whites, and what would become of slavery? if these people were on a par with the farmers of new england, would it last for an hour? would they not see that it stands in the way of their advance- ment, and vote it out of existence as a nuisance ?” “yes, perhaps they would; but the school-houses are not at the cross-roads, and, thank god, they will not be there in this generation.” “the greater the pity; but that which will not flourish alongside of a school-house, cannot, in the nature of things, outlast this century. its time must soon come.” “enough for the day is the evil thereof. i'll risk the the negro hunter. future of slavery, if the south, in a body, goes out of the union." “in other words, you'll shut out schools and knowl- edge, in order to keep slavery in existence. the abo- litionists claim it to be a relic of barbarism, and you ad- mit it could not exist with general education among the people.” “of course it could not. if sandy, for instance, knew he were as good a man as i am—and he would be if he were educated—do you suppose he would vote as i tell him, go and come at my bidding, and live on my charity? no, sir! give a man knowledge, and, however poor he may be, he'll act for himself.” then free-schools and general education would de- stroy slavery?”. “of course they would. the few cannot rule when the many know their rights. if the poor whites realized that slavery kept them poor, would they not vote it down? but the south and the world are a long way off from general education. when it comes to that, we shall need no laws, and no slavery, for the millennium will have arrived.” “i'm glad you think slavery will not exist during the . millennium,” i replied, good-humoredly; “but how is it that you insist the negro is naturally inferior to the white, and still admit that the "white trash,' are far be- low the black slaves ?” “education makes the difference. we educate the negro enough to make him useful to us; but the poor among the pines. every one to see so much energy and firmness of purpose in a negro. at last, after four more years of labor, he accomplished his purpose, and received his free-papers. he had worked seven years—as long as jacob toiled for rachel—for his freedom, and like the old patriarch he found himself cheated at last. i was present when he received his papers from his owner—a mr. william h. lippitt, who still resides at wilmington—and i shall never forget the ecstasy of joy which he showed on the occasion. he sung and danced, and laughed, and wept, till my conscience smote me for holding my own niggers, when freedom might give them so much happiness. well, he went off that day and treated some friends, and for three days afterward lay in the gutter, the entreaties of his wife and children having no effect on him. he swore he was free, and would do as he d— pleased.' he had previously been a class-leader in the church, but after getting his freedom he forsook his previous asso- ciates, and spent his sundays and evenings in a bar-room. he neglected his business; people lost confidence in him, and step by step he went down, till in five years he sunk into a wretched grave. that was the effect of freedom on him, and it would be the same on all of his race.” “it is clear,” i replied, "he could not bear freedom, but that does not prove he might not have endured' it if he had never been a slave. his overjoy at obtaining liberty, after so long a struggle for it, led to his excesses and his ruin. according to your view, neither the black nor the poor white is competent to take care of himself. the negro hunter. the almighty, therefore, has laid upon you a triple bur- den; you not only have to provide for yourself and your children, but for two races beneath you, the black and the clay-eater. the poor nigger has a hard time, but it seems to me you have a harder one." “well, it's a fact, we do. i often think that if it wasn't for the color and the odor, i'd willingly exchange places with my man jim.” the colonel made this last remark in a half-serious, half-comic way, that excited my risibilities, but before i could reply, the carriage stopped, and jim, opening the door, announced : . “we's har, massa, and de prayin' am gwine on.” - - - -- ------ ----- among the pines. chapter ix. the country church. had we not been absorbed in conversation, we might have discovered, some time previous to our arrival at the church door, that the services had commenced, for the preacher was shouting at the top of his lungs. he evi- dently thought the lord either a long way off, or very hard of hearing. not wishing to disturb the congrega- tion while at their devotions, we loitered near the door- way until the prayer was over, and in the mean time i glanced around the vicinity. the “meeting-house,” of large unhewn logs, was a story and a half in height, and about large enough to seat comfortably a congregation of two hundred persons. it was covered with shingles, with a roof projecting some four feet over the walls, and was surmounted at the front gable by a tower, about twelve feet square. this also was built of logs, and contained a bell “to call the erring to the house of prayer,” though, unfortunately, all of that character thereabouts dwelt beyond the sound of its voice. the building was located at a cross-roads, about equally distant from two little hamlets (the near- est nine miles off), neither of which was populous enough to singly support a church and a preacher. the trees in the country church. the vicinity had been thinned out, so that carriages could drive into the woods, and find under the branches shelter from the rain and the sun; and at the time of my visit, about twenty vehicles of all sorts and descriptions, from the colonel's magnificent barouche to the rude cart drawn by a single two-horned quadruped, filled the openings. there was a rustic simplicity about the whole scene that charmed me. the low, rude church, the grand old pines that towered in leafy magnificence around it, and the soft, low wind, that sung a morning hymn in the green, wavy woods, seemed to lift the soul up to him who inhabiteth eternity, but who visiteth the erring children of men. the preacher was about to “line out” one of watts' psalms when we entered the church, but he stopped short on perceiving us, and, bowing low, waited till we had taken our seats. this action, and the sycophantic air which accompanied it, disgusted me, and turning to the colonel, i asked, jocosely: “do the chivalry exact so much obsequiousness from the country clergy? do you require to be bowed up to heaven ?” in a low voice, but high enough, i thought, for the preacher to hear, for we sat very near, the colonel re- plied: “he's a renegade yankee—the meanest thing on earth.” i said no more, but entered into the services as seri- ously as the strange gymnastic performances of the among the pines. preacher would allow of my doing; for he was quite as amusing as a circus clown. with the exception of the colonel's, and a few other pews in the vicinity of the pulpit, all of the seats were mere rough benches, without backs, and placed so closely together as to interfere uncomfortably with the knees of the sitters. the house was full, and the con- gregation as attentive as any i ever saw. all classes were there; the black serving-man away off by the door- way, the poor white a little higher up, the small turpen- tine-farmer a little higher still, and the wealthy planter, of the class to which the colonel belonged, on "the highest seats of the synagogue,” and in close proximity to the preacher. the “man of prayer” was a tall, lean, raw-boned, an- gular-built individual, with a thin, sharp, hatchet-face, a small sunken eye, and long, loose hair, brushed back and falling over the collar of a seedy black coat. he looked like a dilapidated scare-crow, and his pale, sallow face, and cracked, wheezy voice, were in odd and comic keeping with his discourse. his text was: “speak unto the children of israel, that they go forward.” and addressing the motley gathering of poor whites and small planters before him as the “chosen people of god,” he urged them to press on in the mad course their state had taken. it was a political harangue, a genuine stump-speech, but its frequent allusions to the auditory as the legitimate children of the old patriarch, · and the rightful heirs of all the promises, struck me as among the pines. sessed manner, and a careless, devil-may-care way about him, that showed he had measured his powers, and was accustomed to “rough it” with the world. he wore a broadcloth coat of the fasbion of some years ago, but his waistcoat and nether garments of the common, red- dish homespun, were loose and ill-shaped, as if their owner did not waste thought on such trifles. his hat, as shockingly bad as horace greeley's, had the inevi- table broad brim, and fell over his face like a calash- awning over a shop-window. as i approached him he extended his hand with a pleasant “how are ye, stranger ?” “ very well,” i replied, returning his grasp with equal warmth,“ how are you?” “right smart, right smart, thank ye. you're —” the rest of the sentence was cut short by a gleeful ex- clamation from jim, who, mounted on the box of the carriage, which was drawn up on the cleared plot in front of the meeting-house, waved an open newspaper over his head, and called out, as he caught sight of the colonel : “great news, massa-great news from charls'on!" (the darky, while we were in church, had gone to the post-office, some four miles away, and got the colonel's mail, which consisted of letters from his new york and charleston factors, the charleston courier and mercury and the new york journal of commerce. the latter sheet, at the date of which i am writing, was in wide circulation at the south, its piety (!) and its politics the country church. being then calculated with mathematical precision for secession latitudes.) “what is it, jim ?” shouted his master. “give it to us.” the darky had somehow learned to read, but holding the paper at arm's length, and throwing himself into a theatrical attitude, he cried out, with any amount of gesticulation : “de news am, massa, and gemmen and ladies, dat de ole fort fore charls'on hab ben devacuated by major andersin and de sogers, and dey hab stole 'way in de dark night and gone to sumter, whar dey can't be took ; and dat de ole gubner hab got out a procdemation dat all dat don't lub de aberlishen yankees shill cum up dar and clar 'em out; and de paper say dat lots ob sogers hab cum from georgi and al’bama, and 'way down souf, to help 'em. dis am w'at de currer say," he continued, holding the paper up to his eyes and read- ing: ‘major andersin, ob de united states army hab 'chieved de 'stinction ob op'ning cibil war 'tween ameri- can citizens; he hab desarted moulfrie, and by false fre- texts hab took dat ole garrison and all his millinery stores to fort sumter.” “get down, you d— d nigger,” said the colonel, laughing, and mounting the carriage-box beside him. “you can't read. old garrison isn't there—he's the d- d northern abolitionist.” “i knows dat, cunnel, but see dar," replied jim, hold- ing the paper out to his master, “don't dat say he'm among the pines. dar? it'm him dat make all de trubble. päraps dis nig can't read, but ef dat aint readin' i'd like to know it!" “ clear out,” said the colonel, now actually roaring with laughter; “it's the garrison of soldiers that the courier speaks of, not the abolitionist.”. “read it yoursef, den, massa, i don't seed it dat way.” jim was altogether wiser than he appeared, but while equally as well pleased with the news as his master, he was so for an entirely different reason. in the crisis which these tidings announced, he saw hope for his race. the colonel then read the paper to the assemblage. the news was received with a variety of manifestations by the auditory, the larger portion, i thought, hearing it, as i did, with sincere regret. “now is the time to stand by the state, my friends," said my host, as he finished the reading. “i hope every man here is ready to do his duty by old south carolina." “yes, sar! if she does har duty by the union. we'll go to the death for har just so long as she's in the right, but not a d— d step if she arn’t,” said the long-legged native i have introduced to the reader. “and what have you to say about south carolina ? what does she owe to you?” asked the colonel, turn- ing on the speaker with a proud and angry look. “more, a darned sight, than she'll pay, if ye cursed 'ristocrats run her to h- as ye'r doin'. she owes me, and 'bout ten as likely niggers as ye ever seed, a living, the country church. and we've d— d hard work to get it out on her novo, let alone what's comin'.” “don't talk to me, you ill-mannered cur,” said my host, turning his back on his neighbor, and directing his attention to the remainder of the assemblage. “look har, cunnel,” replied the native, “if ye'll jest come down from thar, and throw 'way yer shootin”- irons, i'll give ye the all-firedest thrashing ye ever did get.” the colonel gave no further heed to him, but the speaker mounted the steps of the meeting-house and harangued the natives in a strain of rude and passion- ate declamation, in which my host, the aristocrats, and the secessionists came in for about equal shares of abuse. seeing that the native (who, it appeared, was quite popular as a stump-speaker) was drawing away his audience, the colonel descended from the driver's seat, and motioning for me to follow, entered the car- riage. turning the horses homeward, we rode off at a brisk pace. “not much secession about that fellow, colonel,” i remarked, after a while. “no,” he replied, “he's a north carolina corn- cracker, one of the ugliest specimens of humanity ex- tant. they're as thick as fleas in this part of the state, and about all of them are traitors." “traitors to the state, but true to the union. as far as i've seen, that is the case with the middling class throughout the south.” among the pines. “well, it may be, but they generally go with us, and i reckon they will now, when it comes to the rub. those in the towns—the traders and mechanics—will, certain; its only these half-way independent planters that ever kick the traces. by the way,” continued my host, in a jocose way, “what did you think of the preaching ?” “i thought it very poor. i'd rather have heard the stump-speech, had it not been a little too personal on you." “well, it was the better of the two,” he replied, laughing, “but the old devil can't afford any thing good, he don't get enough pay.” “why, how much does he get ?” “only a hundred dollars.” " that is small. how does the man live ?” “well, he teaches the daughter of my neighbor, captain randall, who believes in praying, and gives him his board. randall thinks that enough. the rest of the parish can't afford to pay him, and i wont.” “why wont you ?” “because he's a d— d old hypocrite. he believes in the union with all his heart—at least so randall, who's a sincere union man, says—and yet, he never sees me at meeting but he preaches a red-hot secession ser- mon." “he wants to keep you in the faith,” i replied. a few more miles of sandy road took us to the man- sion, where we found dinner in waiting. meeting the country church. , “ massa tommy”—who had staid at home with his mother—as we entered the doorway, the colonel asked after the overseer. “he seems well enough, sir; i believe he's coming the possum over mother.” “i'll bet on it, tommy; but he wont fool you and ne, will he, my boy ?” said his father, slapping him af- fectionately on the back. after dinner i went, with my host to the room of the wounded man. his head was still bound up, and he was groaning piteously, as if in great pain; but i thought there was too fresh a color in his face to be en- tirely natural in one who had lost so much blood, and been so severely wounded as he affected to have been. the colonel mentioned our suspicions to madam p- and suggested that the shackles should be put on him. “oh! no, don't do that; it would be inhuman," said the lady; “ the color is the effect of fever. if you fear he is plotting to get away, let him be watched.” the colonel consented, but with evident reluctance, to the arrangement, and retired to his room to take a siesta, while i lit a segar, and strolled out to the negro quarters. making my way through the woods to the scene of the morning's jollification, i found about a hundred larkies gathered around jim, on the little plot in front of old lucy’s cabin. he had evidently been giving shem the news. pausing when i came near, he ex- laimed: among the pines. “ har's massa k— , he'll say dat i tells you de trufh;" and turning to me, he said: “massa k- dese darkies say dat massa andersin am an ab'lisherner, and dat none but de ab'lisherners will fight for de union; am dat so, sar ?” “no, i reckon not, jim; i think the whole north would fight for it if it were necessary.” “am dat so, massa ? am dat so ?” eagerly inquired a dozen of the darkies; “and am dar great many folks at de norf—more dan dar am down har ?” “yas, you fools, didn't i tell you dat ?” said jim, as i, not exactly relishing the idea of preaching treason, in the colonel's absence, to his slaves, hesitated to reply. “haint i tole you,” he continued, “ dat in de big city ob new york dar'm more folks dan in all car'lina ? i'se been dar, and i knows; and massa k— 'll tell you dat dey—most on 'em-feel mighty sorry for de brack man.” “no he wont," i replied, “and besides, jim, you ". hotorame. i micht toll our should not talk in this way before me; i might tell your master.” “no! you wont do dat; i knows you wont, massa. scipio tole us he'd trust his bery life wid you.” “well, perhaps he might; it's true i would not injure you;” saying that, i turned away, though my curiosity was greatly excited to hear more. i wandered farther into the woods, and a half-hour found me near one of the turpentine distilleries. seat- ing myself on a rosin barrel, i quietly finished my segar, the country church. and was about lighting another, when jim made his ap- pearance. “beg pardon, massa k- " said the negro, bowing very low, “ but i wants to ax you one or two tings, ef you please, sar.” “well,” i replied, “i'll tell you any thing that i ought to.” “der yer tink, den, massa, dat dey'll git to fightin' at charl’son ??? “yes, judging by the tone of the charleston papers you've read to-day, i think they will." “and der yer tink dat de rest ob de souf will jine wid souf car'lina, if she go at it fust?” “yes, jim, i'm inclined to think so.” “i hard you say to massa, dat ef dey goes to war, 'twill free all de niggers—der you raily b’lieve dat, sar?” “you heard me say that; how did you hear it ?” i exclaimed, in surprise. “why, sar, de front winder ob de carriage war down jess a crack, so i hard all you said.” “ did you let it down on purpose ?” “pr’aps so, massa. whot's de use ob habin' ears, ef you don't har ?” “well, i suppose not much; and you tell all you hear to the other negroes ?” “i reckon so, massa,” said the darky, looking very demure. “that's the use of having a tongue, eh?” i replied, laughing. among the pines. “ dat's it ’zactly, massa.” “well, jim, i do think the slaves will be finally freed; but it will cost more white blood to do it than all the niggers in creation are worth. do you think the darkies would fight for their freedom ?” “fight, sar !” exclaimed the negro, straightening up his fine form, while his usual good-natured look passed from his face, and gave way to an expression that made him seem more like an incarnate devil than a human being; “fight, sar; gib dem de chance, and den see.” “why are you discontented ? you have been at the north, and you know the blacks are as well off as the majority of the poor laboring men there.” “you says dat to me, massa k— ; you don't say it to de cunnel. we am not so well off as de pore man at de norf! you knows dat, sar. he hab his wife and chil'ren, and his own home. what hab we, sar? no wife, no chil’ren, no home; all am de white man's. der yer tink we wouldn't fight to be free?" and he pressed his teeth together, and there passed again over his face the same look it wore the moment before. “come, come, jim, this may be true of your race; but it don't apply to yourself. your master is kind and indulgent to you.” “he am kine to me, sar; he orter be,” said the negro, the savage expression coming again into his eyes. for a moment he hesitated; then, taking a step toward me, he placed his face down to mine, and hissed out these words, every syllable seeming to come from the very among the pines. “a moment, jim. you are very imprudent; never say these things to any other mortal ; promise me that.” “you'se bery good, massa, bery good. scipio say you's true, and he'm allers right. i ortent to hab said what i hab; but sumhow, sar, dat news brought it all up har” (laying his hand on his breast), “and it wud come out.” the tears filled his eyes as he said this, and turning away without another word, he disappeared among the trees. i was almost stunned by this strange revelation, but the more i reflected on it, the more probable it appeared. now, too, that my thoughts were turned in that direc- tion, i called to mind a certain resemblance between the colonel and the negro that i had not heeded before. though one was a bigh-bred southern gentleman, claim- ing an old and proud descent, and the other a poor af- rican slave, they had some striking peculiarities which might indicate a common origin. the likeness was not in their features, for jim's face was of the unmistakable negro type, and his skin of a hue so dark that it seemed impossible he could be the son of a white man (i after- ward learned that his mother was a black of the deepest dye), but it was in their form and general bearing. they had the same closely-knit and sinewy frame, the same erect, elastic step, the same rare blending of good- natured ease and dignity—to which i have already al- luded as characteristic of the colonel—and in the wild burst of passion that accompanied the negro's disclosure the country church. of their relationship, i saw the same fierce, unbridled temper, whose outbreaks i had witnessed in my host. what a strange fate was theirs ! two brothers—the. one the owner of three hundred slaves, and the first man of his district—the other, a bonded menial, and so poor that the very bread he ate, and the clothes he wore, were another's ! i passed the remainder of the afternoon in my room, and did not again meet my host until the family as- sembled at the tea-table. jim then occupied his accus- tomed seat behind the colonel's chair, and that gentle- man was in more than his usual spirits, though madam p- i thought, wore a sad and absent look. the conversation rambled over a wide range of sub- jects, and was carried on mainly by the colonel and myself; but toward the close of the meal the lady said to me: “mr. k— , sam and young junius are to be buried this evening; if you have never seen a negro funeral, perhaps you'd like to attend.” “i will be happy to accompany you, madam, if you go,” i replied. “thank you,” said the lady. “pshaw! alice, you'll not go into the woods on so cold a night as this !” said the colonel. “yes, i think i ought to. our people will expect me.” among the pines. chapter x. the negro funeral. it was about an hour after nightfall when we took our way to the burial-ground. the moon had risen, but the clouds which gathered when the sun went down, covered its face, and were fast spreading their thick, black shadows over the little collection of negro- houses. near two new-made graves were gathered some two hundred men and women, as dark as the night that was setting around them. as we entered the circle the old preacher pointed to seats reserved for us, and the sable crowd fell back a few paces, as if, even in the presence of death, they did not forget the differ- ence between their race and ours. scattered here and there among the trees, torches of lightwood threw a wild and fitful light over the little cluster of graves, revealing the long, straight boxes of rough pine that held the remains of the two negroes, and lighting up the score or two of russet mounds where slept the dusky kinsmen who had gone before them. the simple head-boards that marked these humble graves chronicled no bad biography or senseless rhyme, and told no false tales of lives that might better not have, been, but “sam, age ;" “ pompey;" « jake's eliza;" among the pines. am bery good to take 'im 'way; but why did he take de young chile, and leab de ole man har ?” “de little sapling dat grow in de shade may die while it'm young; de great tree dat grow in de sun must lib till he'm rotted down.” these words were the one drop wanting to make the great grief which was swelling in the negro's heart overflow. giving one low, wild cry, he folded his wife in his arms, and burst into a paroxysm of tears. “come now, my chil'ren,” said the old preacher, kneeling down, “let us pray.” the whole assemblage then knelt on the cold ground, while the old man prayed, and a more sincere, heart- touching prayer never went up from human lips to that god “ who hath made of one blood all nations that dwell on the face of the earth.” though clothed in rags, and in feeble age, at the mercy of a cruel task- master, that old slave was richer far than his master. his simple faith, which saw through the darkness around him into the clear and radiant light of the unseen day, was of far more worth than all the wealth and glory of this world. i know not why it was, but as i looked at him in the dim red light, which fell on his bent form and cast a strange halo around his upturned face, i thought of stephen, as he gazed upward and behold heaven open, and “the son of man seated at the right hand of the throne of god.” rising from his knees, the old preacher turned slowly to the black mass that encircled him, and said: the negro funeral. “my dear brederin and sisters, de lord say dat 'de dust shill return to de earth as it war, and de spirit to him who gabe it, and now, 'cordin' to dat text, my friends, we'm gwine to put dis dust (pointing to the two coffins) in de groun' whar it cum from, and whar it shill lay till de bressed lord blow de great trumpet on de resumrection mornin'. de spirits of our brudders har de lord hab already took to hisseff. “our brud- ders,' i say, my chilren, 'case ebery one dat de lord hab made am brudders to you and to me, whedder dey'm bad or good, white or brack. “dis young chile, who hab gone 'way and leff his pore fader and mudder suffrin' all ober wid grief, he hab gone to de lord, shore. he neber done no wrong; he allers ’bey'd his massa, and neber said no hard word, nor found no fault, not eben w'en de cruel, bad ober- seer put de load so heaby on him dat it kill him. yes, my brederin and sisters, he hab gone to de lord; gone whar dey don't work in de swamps; whar de little chilren don't tote de big shingles fru de water up to dar knees. no swamps am dar; no shingles am dar; dey doan't need 'em, 'case dar de hous’n haint builded wid hands, for dey’m all builded by de lord, and gib’n to de good niggers, ready-made, and for nuffin'. de lord don't say, like as ded massa say, 'pomp, dar’s de logs and de shingles' (dey’m allers pore shingles, de kine dat woant sell; but massa say, 'dey'm good ’nuff for nig- gers,' ef de roof do leak). de lord doan't say: “now, pomp, you go to work and build you' own house ; but among the pines. “look at him, you d-d— ; then go, and don't let me see you again.” she threw herself on the face of the dead, and cov- ered the cold lips with her kisses; then she rose, and with a weak, uncertain step, staggered out into the darkness. was not the system which so seared and hardened that man's heart, begotten in the lowest hell ? the old preacher said no more, but four stout negro men stepped forward, nailed down the lids, and lowered the rough boxes into the ground. turning to madam p— , i saw her face was red with weeping. she turned to go as the first earth fell, with a dull, heavy sound, on the rude coffins; and giving her my arm, i led her from the scene.. as we walked slowly back to the house, a low wail- half a chant, half a dirge-rose from the black crowd, and floated off on the still night air, till it died away amid the far woods, in a strange, unearthly moan. with that sad, wild music in our ears, we entered the mansion. as we seated ourselves by the bright wood-fire on the library hearth, obeying a sudden impulse which i could not restrain, i said to madam p— : “the colonel's treatment of that poor woman is in- explicable to me. why is he so hard with her? it is not in keeping with what i have seen of his character.” “the colonel is a peculiar man,” replied the lady. “noble, generous, and a true friend, he is also a bitter, implacable enemy. when he once conceives a dislike, the negro funeral. his feelings become even vindictive. never having had an ungratified wish, he does not know how to feel for the sorrows of those beneath him. sam, though a proud, headstrong, unruly character, was a great favorite with him; he felt his death much; and as he attributes it to jule, he feels terribly bitter toward her. she will have to be sold to get her out of his way, for he will never forgive her.” it was some time before the colonel joined us, and when at last he made his appearance, he seemed in no mood for conversation. the lady soon retired; but feeling unlike sleep, i took down a book from the shelves, drew my chair near the fire, and fell to reading. the colonel, too, was deep in the newspapers, till, after a while, jim entered the room : “i'se cum to ax ef you've nuffin more to-night, cun- nel ?” said the negro. “no, nothing, jim,” replied his master; “but, stay -hadn't you better sleep in front of moye's door ?” “dunno, sar; jess as you say." “i think you'd better,” returned the colonel. “yas, massa," and the darky left the apartment.. the colonel shortly rose, and bade me “good-night.” i continued reading till the clock struck eleven, when i laid the book aside and went to my room. i lodged, as i have said before, on the first floor, and was obliged to pass by the overseer's apartment in go- ing to mine. wrapped in his blanket, and stretched at full length on the ground, jim lay there, fast asleep. among the pines. i passed on, thinking of the wisdom of placing a tired negro on guard over an acute and desperate yankee. i rose in the morning with the sun, and had partly donned my clothing, when i heard a loud uproar in the hall: opening my door, i saw jim pounding vehe- mently at the colonel's room, and looking as pale as is possible with a person of his complexion. “what the d- is the matter ?” asked his master, who now, partly dressed, stepped into the hall. “moye hab gone, sar-he'm gone and took firefly (my host's five-thousand-dollar thorough-bred) wid him.” for a moment the colonel stood stupified; then, his face turning to a cold, clayey white, he seized the black by the throat, and hurled him to the floor. with his thick boot raised, he seemed about to dash out the man's brains with its ironed heel, when, on the instant, the oc- toroon woman rushed, in her night-clothes, from his room, and, with desperate energy, pushed him aside, exclaiming: “what would you do? remember who, he is !” the negro rose, and the colonel, without a word, passed into his own apartment. the pursuit. chapter xi. the pursuit. i sauntered out, after the events recorded in the last chapter, to inhale the fresh air of the morning. a slight rain had fallen during the night, and it still moistened the dead leaves which carpeted the woods, making an extended walk out of the question; so, seating myself on the trunk of a fallen tree, in the vicinity of the house, i awaited the hour for breakfast. i had not remained there long before i heard the voices of my host and madam p- on the front piazza: “i tell you, alice, i cannot--must not do it. if i overlook this, the discipline of the plantation is at an end.” “do what you please with him when you return,” re- plied the lady, “but do not chain him up, and leave me, at such a time, alone. you know jim is the only one i can depend on.” “well, have your own way. you know, my darling, i would not cause you a moment's uneasiness, but i must follow up this d— d moye.” i was seated where i could hear, though i could not see the speakers, but it was evident from the tone of the last remark, that an action accompanied it quite as ten- the pursuit. “put some one else there—give her field-work; she needs it.” on large plantations the young children of the field- women are left with them only at night, and are herded together during the day, in a separate cabin, in charge of nurses. these nurses are feeble, sickly women, or re- cent mothers; and the fact of jule's being employed in that capacity was evidence that she was unfit for out- door labor. madam p— , who was waiting on the piazza to see us off, seemed about to remonstrate against this ar. rangement, but she hesitated a moment, and in that moment we had bidden her “good-bye,” and galloped away. we were soon at the cabin of the negro-hunter, and the coachman, dismounting, called him out. “hurry up, hurry up,” said the colonel, as sandy ap- peared, “ we haven't a moment to spare.” “jest so—jest so, cunnel; i'll jine ye in a jiffin,” re- plied he of the reddish extremities. emerging from the shanty with provoking delibera- tion—the impatience of my host had infected me—the clay-eater slowly proceeded to mount the horse of the negro, while his dirt-bedraggled wife, and clay-encrusted children, followed close at his heels, the younger ones huddling around for the tokens of paternal affection usual at parting. whether it was the noise they made, or their frightful aspect, i know not, but the horse, a spirited animal, took fright on their appearance, and among the pines. . nearly broke away from the negro, who was holding him. seeing this, the colonel said: “clear out, you young scare-crows. into the house with you." “they arn't no more scare-crows than yourn, cunnel j— ,” said the mother, in a decidedly belligerent tone. “ you may 'buse my old man—he kin stand it-but ye shan't blackguard my young ’uns!” the colonel laughed, and was about to make a good- natured reply, when sandy yelled out: “gwo enter the house and shet up, ye - - with this affectionate farewell, he turned his horse and led the way up the road. the dog, who was a short distance in advance, soon gave a piercing howl, and started off at the speed of a reindeer. he had struck the trail, and urging our horses to their fastest speed, we followed. we were all well mounted, but the mare the colonel had given me was a magnificent animal, as fleet as the wind, and with a gait so easy that her back seemed a rocking-chair. saddle-horses at the south are trained to the gallop-southern riders not deeming it necessary that one's breakfast should be churned into a dutch cheese by a trotting nag, in order that he may pass for a horseman. we had ridden on at a perfect break-neck pace for half an hour, when the colonel shouted to our companion: “sandy, call the dog in; the horses wont last ten miles at this gait—we've a long ride before us.” the pursuit. the dirt-eater did as he was bidden, and we soon set- tled into a gentle gallop. we had passed through a dense forest of pines, but were emerging into a “bottom country,” where some of the finest deciduous trees—then brown and leafless, but bearing promise of the opening beauty of spring—-reared, along with the unfading evergreen, their tall stems in the air. the live-oak, the sycamore, the spanish mul- berry, the holly, and the persimmon-gaily festooned with wreaths of the white and yellow jessamine, the woodbine and the cypress-moss, and bearing here and there a bouquet of the mistletoe, with its deep green and glossy leaves upturned to the sun-flung their broad árms over the road, forming an archway grander and more beautiful than any the hand of man ever wove for the greatest hero the world has worshipped. the woods were free from underbrush, but a coarse, wiry grass, unfit for fodder, and scattered through them in detatched patches, was the only vegetation visible. the ground was mainly covered with the leaves and burrs of the pine. we passed great numbers of swine, feeding on these burrs, and now and then a horned animal browsing on the cypress-moss where it hung low on the trees. i ob- served that nearly all the swine were marked, though they seemed too wild to have ever seen an owner, or a human habitation. they were a long, lean, slab-sided race, with legs and shoulders like deer, and bearing no sort of resemblance to the ordinary hog, except in among the pines. the snout, and that feature was so much longer and sharper than the nose of the northern swine, that i doubt if agassiz would class the two as one species. however, they have their uses—they make excellent bacon, and are “ death on snakes." ireland itself is not more free from the serpentine race than are the districts frequented by these long-nosed quadrupeds. “we call them carolina race-horses,” said the colonel, as he finished an account of their peculiarities. “race-horses! why, are they fleet of foot ?” “fleet as deer. i'd match one against an ordinary horse at any time.” “ come, my friend, you're practising on my ignorance of natural history.” “not a bit of it. see! there's a good specimen yonder. if we can get him into the road, and fairly started, i'll bet you a dollar he'll beat sandy's mare on a half-mile stretch-sandy to hold the stakes and have the winnings.” “well, agreed,” i said, laughing, “ and i'll give the pig ten rods the start.” “no," replied the colonel, “you can't afford it. he'll have to start ahead, but you'll need that in the count. come, sandy, will you go in for the pile ?” i'm not sure that the native would not have run a race with old nicholas himself, for the sake of so much money. to him it was a vast sum; and as he thought of it, his eyes struck small sparks, and his enormous beard and mustachio vibrated with something that among the pines. “in for a shilling, in for a pound,' is the adage, so, turning to the colonel, i said, as intelligibly as my horse's rapid pace and my excited risibilities would allow : “i see i've lost, but i'll go you another dollar that you can't beat the pig !” “no-sir !” the colonel got out in the breaks of his laughing explosions; “you can't hedge on me in that manner. i'll go a dollar that you can't do it, and your mare is the fastest on the road. she won me a thou- sand not a month ago." “well, i'll do it-sandy to have the stakes." “ agreed,” said the colonel, and away we went. the swinish racer was about a hundred yards ahead when i gave the mare the reins, and told her to go. and she did go. she flew against the wind with a mo- tion so rapid that my face, as it clove the air, felt as if cutting its way through a solid body, and the trees, as we passed, seemed struck with panic, and running for dear life in the opposite direction. for a few moments i thought the mare was gaining, and i turned to the colonel with an exultant look. “don't shout till you win, my boy,” he called out from the distance where i was fast leaving him and sandy. i did not shout, for spite of all my efforts the space between me and the pig seemed to widen. yet i kept on, determined to win, till, at the end of a short half- mile, we reached the waccamaw—the swine still a the pursuit. hundred yards ahead! there his pigship halted, turn- ed coolly around, eyed me for a moment, then with a quiet, deliberate trot, turned off into the woods. a bend in the road kept my companions out of sight for a few moments, and when they came up i had some- what recovered my breath, though the mare was blow- ing hard, and reeking with foam. “well,” said the colonel, “what do you think of our bacon 'as it runs ?!” “i think the southern article can't be beat, whether raw or cooked, standing or running.” at this moment the hound, who had been leisurely jogging along in the rear, disdaining to join in the race in which his dog of a master and i had engaged, came up, and dashing quickly on to the river's edge, set up a most dismal howling. the colonel dismounted, and clambering down the bank, which was there twenty feet high, and very steep, shouted: “ the d-d yankee has swum the stream !” “ why so ?” i asked. “ to cover his tracks and delay pursuit; but he has overshot the mark. there is no other road within ten miles, and he must have taken to this one again beyond here. he's lost twenty minutes by this manœuvre. come, sandy, call in the dog, we'll push on a little faster.” . “but he tuk to t’other bank, cunnel. shan't we trail him thar ?" asked sandy. “ and suppose he found a boat here,” i suggested, " and made the shore some ways down ?” among the pines. “he couldn't get firefly into a flat-we should only waste time in scouring the other bank. the swamp this side the next run has forced him into the road within five miles. the trick is transparent. he took me for a fool,” replied the colonel, answering both ques- tions at once. i had reined my horse out of the road, and when my companions turned to go, was standing at the edge of the bank, overlooking the river. suddenly i saw, on one of the abutments of the bridge, what seemed a long, black log—strange to say, in motion ! “ colonel,” i shouted, “ see there! a live log as i'm a white man !" “lord bless you,” cried the planter, taking an observa- tion, “it's an alligator !". i said no more, but pressing on after the hound, soon left my companions out of sight. for long afterward, the colonel, in a doleful way, would allude to my la- mentable deficiency in natural history-particularly in such branches as bacon and “live logs.” i had ridden about five miles, keeping well up with the hound, and had reached the edge of the swamp, when suddenly the dog darted to the side of the road, and began to yelp in the most frantic manner. dis- mounting, and leading my horse to the spot, i made out plainly the print of firefly's feet in the sand. there was no mistaking it—that round shoe on the off fore- foot. (the horse had, when a colt, a cracked hoof, and though the wound was outgrown, the foot was still ten- the pursuit. der.) these prints were dry, while the tracks we had seen at the river were filled with water, thus proving that the rain had ceased while the overseer was passing between the two places. he was therefore not far off. the colonel and sandy soon rode up. “ caught a live log! eh, my good fellow ?” asked my host, with a laugh. “no; but here's the overseer as plain as daylight; and his tracks not wet !”. quickly dismounting, he examined the ground, and then exclaimed: “the d-- it's a fact—here not four hours ago! he has doubled on his tracks since, i'll wager, and not made twenty miles-we'll have him before night, sure! come, mount-quick.” we sprang into our saddles, and again pressed rapidly on after the dog, who followed the scent at the top of his speed. some three miles more of wet, miry road took us to the run of which the colonel had spoken. arrived there, we found the hound standing on the bank, wet to the skin, and looking decidely chop-fallen. “death and d- n!” shouted the colonel ; “ the dog has swum the run, and lost the trail on the other side ! the d—d scoundrel has taken to the water, and balked us after all! take up the dog, sandy, and try him again over there.” the native spoke to cæsar, who bounded on to the horse's back in front of his master. they then crossed among the pines. few miles away, were lit up now and then with a fitful blaze, all the brighter for the deeper gloom that suc- ceeded. then a terrific flash and peal broke directly over us, and a great tree, struck by a red-hot bolt, fell with a deafening crash, half way across our path. peal after peal followed, and then the rain—not filtered into drops as it falls from our colder sky, but in broad, blind- ing sheets-poured full and heavy on our shelterless heads. “ah! there it comes !” shouted the colonel. “god have mercy upon us !" as he spoke, a crashing, crackling, thundering roar rose above the storm, filling the air, and shaking the solid earth till it trembled beneath our horses' feet, as if upheaved by a volcano. nearer and nearer the sound came, till it seemed that all the legions of darkness were unloosed in the forest, and were mowing down the great pines as the mower mows the grass with his scythe. then an awful, sweeping crash thundered directly at our backs, and turning round, as if to face a foe, my horse, who had borne the roar and the blinding flash till then unmoved, paralyzed with dread, and panting for breath, sunk to the ground; while close at my side the colonel, standing erect in his stirrups, his head uncovered to the pouring sky, cried out: “thank god, we are saved!" there-not three hundred yards in our rear, had pass- ed the tornado—uprooting trees, prostrating dwellings, and sending many a soul to its last account, but sparing the pursuit. us for another day! for thirty miles through the forest it had mowed a swath of two hundred feet, and then moved on to stir the ocean to its briny depths. with a full heart, i remounted, and turning my horse, pressed on in the rain. we said not a word till a friend- ly opening pointed the way to a planter's dwelling. then calling to me to follow, the colonel dashed up the by-path which led to the mansion, and in five minutes we were warming our chilled limbs before the cheerful fire that roared and crackled on its broad hearth-stone. the yankee school-mistress. “business, madam, is at fault, as your husband knows. i have much to do; and besides, all my connections are in the other direction—with charleston.” “it's a fact, sally, the colonel is the d— busy man in these parts. not content with a big planta- tion and three hundred niggers, he looks after all south carolina, and the rest of creation to boot,” said our host. “ tom will have his joke, madam, but he's not far from the truth." seeing we were dripping wet, the lady offered us a change of clothing, and retiring to a chamber, we each appropriated a suit belonging to our host, giving our own to a servant, to be dried. arrayed in our fresh apparel, we soon rejoined our friends in the sitting-room. the new garments fitted the colonel tolerably well, but, though none too long, they were a world too wide for me, and as my wet hair hung in smooth flat folds down my cheeks, and my limp shirt-collar fell over my linsey coat, i looked for all the world like a cross between a theatrical aminidab sleek and sir john falstaff, with the stuffing omitted. when our hostess caught sight of me in this new garb, she rubbed her hands together in great glee, and, springing to her feet, gave vent to a perfect storm of laughter- jerking out between the explosions: “why-you-you-look jest like—a scare-crow.” there was no mistaking that hearty, hoydenish man- ner; and seizing both of her hands in mine, i shouted: the pursuit. the conversation then subsided into a more placid mood, but lost none of its genial, good humor. re- freshments were soon set before us, and while partaking of them i gathered from our hostess that she was a ver- mont country-girl, who, some three years before, had been induced by liberal pay to come south as a teacher. a sister accompanied her, and about a year after their ar- rival, she married a neighboring planter. wishing to be near her sister, our hostess had also married and settled down for life in that wild region. “i like the country very well,” she added; “it's a great sight easier living here than in vermont; but i do hate these lazy, shiftless, good-for-nothing niggers; they are so slow, and so care- less, and so dirty, that i sometimes think they will worry the very life out of me. i du believe i'm the hardest mistress in all the district.” i learned from her that a majority of the teachers at the south are from the north, and principally, too, from new england. teaching is a very laborious employ- ment there, far more so than with us, for the southern- ers have no methods like ours, and the same teacher usually has to hear lessons in branches all the way from greek and latin to the simple a b c. the south has no system of public instruction; no common schools; no means of placing within the reach of the sons and daughters of the poor even the elements of knowl- edge. while the children of the wealthy are most care- fully educated, it is the policy of the ruling class to keep the great mass of the people in ignorance; and so long * the railway station. chapter xiii. the railway station. a large hotel, or station-house, and about a dozen log shanties made up the village. two of these struc- tures were negro-cabins; two were small groceries, in which the vilest alcoholic compounds were sold at a bit (ten cents) a glass; one was a lawyer's office, in which was the post-office, and a justice's court, where, once a month, the small offenders of the vicinity “settled up their accounts;" one was a tailoring and clothing estab- lishment, where breeches were patched at a dime a stitch, and payment taken in tar and turpentine; and the rest were private dwellings of one apartment, occu- pied by the grocers, the tailor, the switch-tenders, the postmaster, and the negro attachés of the railroad. the church and the school-house—the first buildings to go up in a northern village—i have omitted to enumer- ate, because—they were not there. one of the natives told me that the lawyer was a “stuck-up critter ;” “ he don't live; he don't—he puts-up at th’ hotel.” and the hotel! would shakspeare, had he have known it, have written of taking one's ease at his inn? it was a long, framed building, two stories among the pines. high, with a piazza extending across the side and a front door crowded as closely into one corner as the width of the joist would permit. under the piazza, ranged along the wall, was a low bench, occupied by about forty tin wash-basins and water-pails, and with coarse, dirty crash towels suspended on rollers above it. by the side of each of these towels hung a comb and a brush, to which a lock of everybody's hair was clinging, forming in the total a stock sufficient to establish any barber in the wig business. it was, as i have said, ten o'clock when we reached the station. throwing the bridles of our horses over the hitching-posts at the door, we at once made our way to the bar-room. that apartment, which was in the rear of the building, and communicated with by a long, narrow passage, was filled almost to suffocation, when we entered, by a cloud of tobacco smoke, the fumes of bad whiskey, and a crowd of drunken chivalry, through whom the colonel with great difficulty elbowed his way to the counter, where “mine host” and two assistants were dispensing “ liquid death,” at the rate of ten cents a glass, and of ten glasses a minute. “hello, cunnel, how ar ye,” cried the red-faced liquor-vender, as he caught sight of my companion, and, relinquishing his lucrative employment for a moment, took the colonel's hand, “how ar ye ?” “quite well, thank you, miles,” said the colonel, with a certain patronizing air, “ have you seen my man, · moye ?" the railway station. “moye, no! what's up with him ?” “ he's run away with my horse, firefly—i thought he would have made for this station. at what time does the next train go up ?”. “wal, it's due half arter 'leven, but ’taint gin’rally 'long till nigh one.” the colonel was turning to join me at the door, when a well-dressed young man of very unsteady move- ments, who was filling a glass at the counter, and star- ing at him with a sort of dreamy amazement, stammered out, “moye-run-run a-way, zir! that-k-kant be -by g, i know-him, zir-he's a—a friend of mine, and—i'm—i'm d d if he ain't hon-honest.” “ about as honest as the yankees run,” replied the colonel, “ he's a d— d thief, sir !” “look here—here, zir—don't—don't you—you zay any—thing 'gainst-the yankees. d- d if—if i aint-one of 'em mezelf—zir,” said the fellow stagger- ing toward the colonel. “ i don't care what you are; you're drunk.” “you lie-you-you d- d 'ris—’ristocrat," was the reply, as the inebriated gentleman aimed a blow, with all his unsteady might, at the colonel's face. the south carolinian stepped quickly aside, and dex- terously threw his foot before the other, who-his blow not meeting the expected resistance—was unable to re- cover himself, and fell headlong to the floor. the planter turned on his heel, and was walking quietly away, when the sharp report of a pistol sounded through the apart- the railway station. d secesherner thet's draggin' us all to h— ; it'll du the country good to git quit of one on 'em.” “whatever his politics are, he's a gentleman, sir, and has done you no harm-let me beg of you to let him alone.” “don't beg any thing for me, mr. k- ” growled the colonel through his barred teeth, “i'll fight the d corn-cracker, and his whole race, at once.” “no you won't, my friend. for the sake of those at home you won't;" i said, taking him by the arm, and partly leading, partly forcing him, toward the door. “and who in h— ar you ?” asked the corn-cracker, planting himself squarely in my way. “ i'm on the same side of politics with you, union to the core !" i replied. “ye ar! union! then give us yer fist,” said he, grasping me by the hand; “ by — it does a feller good to see a man dressed in yer cloes thet haint 'fraid to say he's union, so close to south car'lina, tu, as this ar ! come, hev a drink: come boys—all round—let's liquor !" “excuse me now, my dear fellow-some other time i'll be glad to join you.” “jest as ye say, but thar's my fist, enyhow.” he gave me another hearty shake of the hand, and the crowd parting, i made my way with the colonel out of the room. we were followed by miles, the landlord, who, when we had reached the front of the entrance- way, said, “i'm right sorry for this row, gentlemen ; the boys will hev a time when they gets together.” among the pines. “oh, never mind :" said the colonel, who had recor- covered his coolness; “but why are all these people here ?” “ thar's a barbacue cumin' off to-morrer on the camp- ground, and the house is cram full.” “is that so ?” said the colonel, then turning to me he added, “moye has taken the railroad somewhere else; i must get to a telegraph office at once, to head him off. the nearest one is wilmington. with all these rowdies here, it will not do to leave the horses alone—will you stay and keep an eye on them over to-morrow ?” “yes, i will, cheerfully." “ thar’s a mighty hard set, round har now, cunnel,” said the landlord; "and the most peaceable get enter scrapes ef they hain't no friends. hadn't ye better show the gentleman some of your’n, 'fore you go ?” “yes, yes, i didn't think of that. who is here ?” “wal, thar's cunnel taylor, bill barnes, sam hed- dleson, jo' shackelford, andy jones, rob brown, and lots of others.” “where's andy jones ?” “reckon he's turned in ; i'll see.” as the landlord opened a door which led from the hall, the colonel said to me, “andy is a union man; but he'd fight to the death for me." “sal !" called out the hotel keeper. i “yas, massa, i'se har," was the answer from a slat- ternly woman, awfully black in the face, who soon thrust her head from the door-way. the railway station. spile a township. it allers seemed sort o’queer to me, that a man with such a mighty good heart as your'n, could be so short in the way of brains.” “well, you're complimentary,” replied the colonel, with the utmost good-nature, “but let's drop politics; we never could agree, you know. what shall i do about moye ?” “go to wilmington and telegraph all creation : wait a day to har, then if you don't har, go home, hire a na- tive overseer, and let moye go to the d— . ef it'll do you any good i'll go to wilmington with you,' though i did mean to give you secesherners a little h- har to-morrer.” “no, andy, i'll go alone. 'twouldn't be patriotic to take you away from the barbacue. you'd spile' if you couldn't let off some gas soon.” “i do b’lieve i shud. howsumdever, thar's nary a thing i wouldn't do for you—you knows that.” “yes, i do, and i wish you'd keep an eye on my yankee friend here, and see he don't get into trouble with any of the boys—there'll be a hard set 'round, i reckon.” “wal, i will,” said andy, “but all he's to do is to keep his mouth shet.” “ that seems easy enough,” i replied, laughing. a desultory conversation followed for about an hour, . when the steam-whistle sounded, and the up-train ar- rived. the colonel got on board and bidding us • good-night,” went on to wilmington. andy then among the pines. proposed we should look up sleeping accommodations. it was useless to seek quarters at the hotel, but an empty car was on the turn-out, and bribing one of the negroes we got access to it, and were soon stretched at full length on two of its hard-bottomed seats. among the pines. boards, and supported on stout joists, crossed on each other in the form of the letter x. a canopy of green leaves shaded the grounds, and the whole grove, which was perfectly free from underbrush, was carpeted with the soft, brown tassels of the pine. being fatigued with the ride of the previous day, i did not awake till the morning was far advanced, and it was nearly ten o'clock when andy and i took our way to the camp-ground. avoiding the usual route, we walked on through the forest. it was mid-winter, and vegetation lay dead all around us, awaiting the time when spring should breathe into it the breath of life, and make it a living thing. there was silence and rest in the deep woods. the birds were away on their win- ter wanderings; the leaves hung motionless on the tall trees, and nature seemed resting from her ceaseless labors, and listening to the soft music of the little stream which sung a cheerful song as it rambled on over the roots and fallen branches that blocked its way. soon a distant murmur arose, and we had not proceeded far before as many sounds as were heard at babel made a strange concert about our ears. the lowing of the ox, the neighing of the horse, and the deep braying of another animal, mingled with a thousand human voices, came through the woods. but above and over all rose the stentorian tones of the stump speaker, “ as he trod the shaky platform, with the sweat upon his brow.” about a thousand persons were already assembled on the barbacue. the ground, and a more motley gathering i never wit- nessed. all sorts of costumes and all classes of people were there; but the genuine back-woods corn-crackers composed the majority of the assemblage. as might be expected much the larger portion of the audience were men, still i saw some women and not a few children; many of the country people having taken advantage of the occasion to give their families a holiday. some oc- cupied benches in front of the stand, though a larger number were seated around in groups, within hearing of the speaker, but paying very little attention to what he was saying. a few were whittling—a few pitching quoits, or playing leap-frog, and quite a number were having a quiet game of whist, euchre or “ seven-up.” the speaker was a well-dressed, gentlemanly-looking man and a tolerably good orator. he seemed accus- tomed to addressing a jury, for he displayed all the adroit- ness in handling his subject, and in appealing to the prejudices of his hearers, that we see in successful spe- cial pleaders. but he overshot his mark. to nine out of ten of his audience, his words and similes, though cor- rect, and sometimes beautiful, were as unintelligible as the dead languages. he advocated immediate, uncondi- tional secession; and i thought from the applause which met his remarks, whenever he seemed to make himself understood, that the large majority of those present were of the same way of thinking. he was succeeded by a heavy-browed, middle-aged man, slightly bent, and with hair a little turned to gray, among the pines. from a tin box in his pantaloons-pocket, he made several rapid strides up and down the speaker's stand, and then turned squarely to the audience. the reader has noticed a tiger pacing up and down in his cagę, with his eyes riveted on the human faces before him. he has observed how he will single out some indi- vidual, and finally stopping short in his rounds, turn on him with a look of such intense ferocity as makes a man's blood stand still, and his very breath come thick and hard, as he momentarily expects the beast will tear away the bars of the cage and leap forth on the obnoxious per- son. now, andy's fine, open, manly face had nothing of the tiger in it, but, for a moment, i could not divest myself of the impression, as he halted in his walk up and down the stage, and turned full and square on the previous speaker—who had taken a seat among the audi- ence near me—that he was about to spring upon him. riveting his eye on the man's face, he at last slowly said: “a man stands har and quotes scriptur agin his feller man, and forgets that ‘god made of one blood all nations that dwell on the face of the 'arth.' a man stands har and calls his brother a thief, and his mother a harlot, and axes us to go his doctrin’s! i don't mean his brother in the scriptur sense, nor his mother in a figʻrative sense, but i mean the brother of his own blood, and the mother that bore him; for he, gentlemen (and he pointed his finger directly at the recent speaker, while his words came slow and heavy with intense scorn), he is a yankee! and now, i say, gentlemen, d-n sech the barbacue. doctrin's; d— n sech principles, and d— n the man that's got a soul so black as to utter 'em!” a breathless silence fell on the assemblage, while the person alluded to sprang to his feet, his face on fire, and his voice thick and broken with intense rage, as he yelled out: “andy jones, by — you shall answer for this !” “sartin,” said andy, coolly inserting his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat; “enywhar you likes- har-now-ef 'greeable to you.” “i've no weapon here, sir, but i'll give you a chance mighty sudden,” was the fierce reply. “suit yourself,” said andy, with perfect imperturba- bility; “but as you haint jest ready, s’pose you set down, and har me tell 'bout your relations: they're a right decent set-them as i knows and i'll swar they're 'shamed of you.” a buzz went through the crowd, and a dozen voices called out: “be civil, andy”_"let him blow”—“shut up”—“go in, jones”—with other like elegant excla- mations. a few of his friends took the aggrieved gentleman aside, and, soon quieting him, restored order. “wal, gentlemen,” resumed andy, “ all on you know whar i was raised-over thar in south car’lina. i'm sorry to say it, but it's true. and you all know my father was a pore man, who couldn't give his boys no chance--and ef he could, thar warn't no schules in the district—so we couldn't hev got no book-larning ef we'd among the pines. been a minded to. wal, the next plantation to whar we lived was old cunnel j— 's, the father of this cun- nel. he was a d- d old nullifier, jest like his son- but not half so decent a man. wal, on his plantation was an old nigger called uncle pomp, who'd sumhow larned to read. he was a mighty good nigger, and he'd hev been in heaven long afore now ef the lord hadn't a had sum good use for him down har—but he'll be thar yet a d- d sight sooner than sum on us white folks- that's sartin. wal, as i was saying, pomp could read, and when i was 'bout sixteen, and had never seen the inside of a book, the old darky said to me one day-he was old then, and that was thirty years ago—wal, he said to me, “andy, chile, ye orter larn to read, 'twill be ob use to ye when you’se grow'd up, and it moight make you a good and 'spected man-now, come to ole pomp's cabin, and he'll larn you, andy, chile.' wal, i reckon i went. he'd nothin' but a bible and watts' hymns; but we used to stay thar all the long winter evenin's, and by the light o' the fire-we war both so durned pore we couldn't raise a candle atween us—wal, by the light o' the fire he larned me, and fore long i could spell right smart. “now, jest think on that, gentlemen. i, a white boy, and, 'cordin' to the declaration of independence, with jest as good blood in me as the old cunnel had in him, bein' larned to read by an old slave, and that old slave a’most worked to death, and takin' his nights, when he orter hev been a restin' his old bones, to larn the barbacue.. me! i'm d- d if he don't get to heaven for that one thing, if for nothin' else. “wal, you all know the rest—how, when i'd grow'd up, i settled har, in the old north state, and how the young cunnel backed my paper, and set me a runnin' at turpentining. p’raps you don't think this has much to do with the yankees, but it has a durned sight, as ye'll see rather sudden. wal, arter a while, when i'd got a little forehanded, i begun shipping my truck to york and bostin'; and at last my yankee factor, he come out har, inter the back woods, to see me, and says he, 'jones, come north and take a look at us. i'd sort o' took to him. i'd lots o' dealin's with him afore ever i seed him, and i allers found him straight as a shingle. wal, i went north, and he took me round, and showed me how the yankees does things. afore i know'd him, i allers thought-as p'raps most on you do—that the yankees war a sort o' cross atween the devil and a jew; but how do you s'pose i found 'em ? i found that they sent the pore man's children to schule, free--and that the schule-houses war a d- d sight thicker than the bugs in miles privett's beds! and that's sayin' a heap, for ef eny on you kin sleep in his house, excep' he takes to the soft side of the floor, i'm d— d. yas, the pore man's children are larned thar, free!—all on 'em--and they've jest so good a chance as the sons of the rich man! now, arter that, do you think that i-as got all my schulein, from an old slave, by the light of a bor- rored pine-knot-der you think that i kin say any thing among the pines. agin the yankees? p'r’aps they do steal—though i doant know it-p’r'aps they do debauch thar wives and darters, and sell thar mothers’ vartue for dollars—but, ef they do, i'm d d if they doant send pore children to schule—and that's more'n we do—and let me tell you, until we do thet, we must expec' they'll be cuter and smarter nor we are. “this gentleman, too, my friends, who's been a givin' sech a hard settin' down ter his own relation, arter they've broughten him up, and given him sech a schulein for nuthin', he says the yankees want to interfere with our niggers. now, thet haint so, and they couldn't ef they would, 'case it's agin the constertution. and they stand on the constertution a durned sight solider nor we do. didn't thar big gun—daniel webster- didn't he make mince-meat of south car lina hayne on thet ar subjec'? but i tell you they haint a mind ter meddle with the niggers; they're a goin' to let us go ter h-l our own way, and we're goin' thar mighty fast, or i haint read the last census.” “pr’aps you haint heerd on the ab'lish'ners, andy?” cried a voice from among the audience. “wal, i reckon i hev,” responded the orator. “i've heerd on ’em, and seed 'em, too. when i was north i went to one on thar conventions, and i'll tell you how they look. they've all long, wimmin's har, and thin, shet lips, with big, bawlin' mouths, and long, lean, tommerhawk faces, as white as vargin dip—and they all talk through the nose (giving a specimen), and they the barbacue. all look for all the world jest like the south car'lina fire- eaters—and they are as near like 'em as two peas, excep' they don't swar quite so bad, but they make up for thet in prayin'—and prayin' too much, i reckon, when a man's a d- d hippercrit, is 'bout as bad as swearin'. but, i tell you, the decent folks up north haint ablish- eners. they look on 'em jest as we do on mad dogs, the itch, or the nigger traders. “now, 'bout this secession bis’ness—though ’taint no use to talk on that subjec', 'case this state never'll se- cede--south car'lina has done it, and i'm raather glad she has, for though i was born thar—and say it as hadn't orter say it—she orter hev gone to h– long ago, and now she's got thar, why—let her stay! but, 'bout thet bis’ness, i'll tell you a story. “i know'd an old gentleman once by the name of uncle sam, and he'd a heap of sons. they war all likely boys—but strange ter tell, though they'd all the same mother, and she was a white woman, 'bout half on 'em war colored—not black, but sorter half-and-half. now, the white sons war well-behaved, industrious, hard- workin' boys, who got 'long well, edicated thar chil- dren, and allers treated the old man decently; but the mulatter fellers war a pesky set—though some on 'em war better nor others. they wouldn't work, but set up for airystocracy-rode in kerriges, kept fast horses, bet high, and chawed tobaccer like the devil. wal, the re- sult was, they got out at the elbows, and 'case they warn't gettin' 'long quite so fast as the white 'uns * among the pines. though that war all thar own fault—they got jealous, and one on 'em who was blacker nor all the rest—a little feller, but terrible big on braggin'—he packed up his truck one night, and left the old man's house, and swore he'd never come back. he tried to make the other mulatters go with him, but they put thar fingers to thar nose, and says they, 'no you doant.' i was in favor of lettin' on him stay out in the cold, but the old man was a bernevolent old critter, and so he says: “now, sonny, you jest come back and behave yourself, and i'll forgive you all your old pranks, and treat you jest as i allers used ter; but, ef you wont, why—i'll make you, thet's all!' “now, gentlemen, thet quarrelsome, oneasy, ongrateful, tobaccer-chawin', hoss-racin', high-bettin', big-braggin', nigger-stealin', wimmin-whippin', yaller son of the devil, is south car'lina, and ef she doant come back and be- have herself in futur', i'm —d ef she wont be ploughed with fire, and sowed with salt, and andy jones will help ter do it." the speaker was frequently interrupted in the course of his remarks by uproarious applause--but as he closed and descended from the platform, the crowd sent up cheer after cheer, and a dozen strong men, making a seat of their arms, lifted him from the ground and bore him off to the head of the table, where dinner was in waiting. the whole of the large assemblage then fell to eating. the dinner was made up of the barbacued beef and the usual mixture of viands found on a planter's table, with the barbacue.. water from the little brook hard by, and a plentiful supply of corn-whiskey. (the latter beverage had, i tbought, been subjected to the rite of immersion, for it tasted wonderfully of water.) songs and speeches were intermingled with the masti- cating exercises, and the whole company was soon in the best of humor. during the meal i was introduced by andy to a large number of the “natives,” he taking special pains to tell each one that i was a yankee, and a union man, but al- ways adding, as if to conciliate all parties, that i also was a guest and a friend of his very particular friend, “thet d- d seceshener, cunnel j— .” before we left the table, the secession orator happen- ing near where we were seated, andy rose from his seat, and, extending his hand to him, said: “tom, you think i’sulted you; pr’aps i did, but you ’sulted my yankee friend har, and your own relation, and i hed to take it up, jest for the looks o’ the thing. come, there's my hand; i'll fight you ef you want ter, or we'll say no more 'bout it—jest as you like.” “say no more about it, andy,” said the gentleman, very cordially ; “let's drink and be friends.” they drank a glass of whiskey together, and then leaving the table, proceeded to where the ox had been barbacued, to show me how cooking on a large scale is done at the south. in a pit about eight feet deep, twenty feet long, and ten feet wide, laid up on the sides with stones, a fire of among the pines. hickory had been made, over which, after the wood had burned down to coals, a whole ox, divested of its hide and entrails, had been suspended on an enormous spit. being turned often in the process of cooking, the beet had finally been “done brown.” it was then cut up and served on the table, and i must say, for the credit of southern cookery, that it made as delicious eating as any meat i ever tasted. i had then been away from my charge—the colonel's horses--as long as seemed to be prudent. i said as, much to andy, when he proposed to return with me, and, turning good-humoredly to his reconciled friend, he said: “now, tom, no secession talk while i'm off.” “nary a word,” said “tom,” and we left. the horses had been well fed by the negro whom i had left in charge of them, but had not been groomed. seeing that, andy stripped off his coat, and setting the black at work on one, with a handful of straw and pine leaves, commenced operations on the other, whose hair was soon as smooth and glossy as if it had been rubbed by an english groom. the remainder of the day passed without incident till eleven at night, when the colonel returned from wilmington. the return. having interfered for her, and talked with me awhile. she cried and took on fearfully about sam, and was afraid you would punish her when you returned. i promised you would not, and she left me seeming more cheerful. i supposed she would go directly home after getting her child from the nurse's quarters; but it ap- pears she went to pompey's, where she staid till after ten o'clock. neither she nor the child have been seen since.” “did you get no trace of her in the morning ?”. “yes, but soon lost it. when she did not appear at work, sam went to her cabin to learn the cause, and found the door open, and her bed undisturbed. she had not slept there. knowing that sandy had returned, i sent for him, and, with jim and his dog, he commenced a search. the dog tracked her directly from pompey's cabin to the bank of the run near the lower still. there all trace of her disappeared. we dragged the stream, but discovered nothing. jim and sandy then scoured the woods for miles in all directions, but the hound could not recover the trail. i hope otherwise, but i fear some evil has befallen her.” “oh, no! there's no fear of that,” said the colonel : “she is smart: she waded up the run far enough to baf- fe the dog, and then made for the swamp. that is why you lost her tracks at the stream. rely upon it, i am right: but she shall not escape me.” we shortly afterward adjourned to the library. af- ter being seated there a while the colonel, rising quickly, among the pines. as if a sudden thought had struck him, sent for the old preacher. the old negro soon appeared, hat in hand, and taking a stand near the door, made a respectful bow to each one of us. “take a chair, pompey," said madam p- , kindly. the black meekly seated himself, when the colonel asked: “well, pomp, what do you know about jule's going off?” “nuffin', massa—i shures you, nuffin'. de pore chile say nuffin to ole pomp 'bout dat.”:.:.' “what did she say?" “wal, you see, massa, de night arter you gwo 'way, and arter she'd worked hard in de brush all de day, and been a strung up in de ole cabin fur to be whipped, she come ter me wid har baby in har arms, all a-faint and a-tired, and har pore heart clean broke, and she say dat she'm jess ready ter drop down and die. den i tries ter comfut har, massa; i takes har up from de floor, and i say ter har dat de good lord he pity har—dat he woant bruise de broken reed, and woant put no more on her dan she kin b’ar—dat he'd touch your heart, and i toled har you’se a good, kine heart at de bottom, massa —and i knows it, 'case i toted you 'fore you could gwo, and when you's a bery little chile, not no great sight bigger'n har'n, you'd put your little arms round ole pomp's neck, and say dat when you war grow'd up you'd be bery kine ter de pore brack folks, and not leff 'em be 'bused like dey war in dem days." the return. “never mind what you said,” interrupted the colonel, a little impatiently, but showing no displeasure; "what did she say?" “wal, massa, she tuk on bery hard 'bout sam, and axed me ef i raaily reckoned de lord had forgib’n him, and took’n him ter heself, and gibin' him one o' dem hous’n up dar, in de sky. i toled her dat i know'd it; but she say it didn't 'pear so ter har, 'case sam had a been wid har out dar in de woods, all fru de day; dat she'd a seed him, massa, and dough he handn't a said nuftin', he'd lukd at har wid sech a sorry, grebed luk, dat it gwo clean fru har heart, till she'd no strength leff, and fall down on de ground a’most dead. den she say big sam come ’long and fine har dar, and struck har great, heaby blows wid de big whip!”. “the brute!” exclaimed the colonel, rising from his chair, and pacing rapidly up and down the room. “but p’r’aps he warn't so much ter blame, massa,” continued the old negro, in a deprecatory tone; “may- be he 'spose she war shirkin' de work. wal, den she say she know'd nuffin' more, till byme-by, when she come to, and fine big sam dar, and he struck har agin, and . make har gwo ter de work; and she did gwo, but she feel like as ef she'd die.' i toled har de good ma’am wudn’t leff big sam 'buse har no more 'fore you cum hum, and dat you'd hab 'passion on har, and not leff har gwo out in de woods, but put har ’mong de nusses, like as afore. “den she say it 'twarn't de work dat trubble har- among the pines. dat she orter work, and orter be 'bused, 'case she'd been bad, bery bad. all she axed war dat sam would forgib har, and cum to har in de oder worle, and tell har so. den she cried, and tuk on awful; but de good lord, massa, dat am so bery kine ter de bery wuss sinners, he put de words inter my mouf, and i tink dey gib har comfut, fur she say dat it sort o’’peared to har den dat. sam would forgib har, and take har inter his house up dar, and she warn't afeard ter die no more. “den she takes up de chile and gwo 'way, 'pearin' sort o’ happy, and more cheerful like dan i'd a seed har eber sense pore sam war shot.” my host was sensibly affected by the old man's simple tale, but continued pacing up and down the room, and said nothing. “it's plain to me, colonel,” i remarked, as pompey concluded, "she has drowned herself and the child-the dog lost the scent at the creek.” “oh, no!” he replied; “i think not. i never heard of a negro committing suicide—they've not the courage to do it.” “i fear she has, david,” said the lady. “the thought of going to sam has led her to it; yet, we dragged the run, and found nothing. what do you think about it, pompey ?” “i dunno, ma'am, but i'se afeard of dat; and now dat i tinks ob it, i'se afeard dat what i tole har put har up ter it,” replied the old preacher, bursting into tears. “she 'peared so happy like, when i say she'd be 'long the return. wid sam in de oder worle, dat i'se afeard she's a gone . and done it wid har own hands. i tole har, too, dat de lord would oberlook good many tings dat pore sinners do when dey can't help ’emselfs—and it make har do it! oh! it make har do it !” and the old black buried his face in his hands, and wept bitterly. “don't feel so, pomp,” said his master, very kindly. “ you did the best you could; no one blames you." “i knows you doant, massa—i knows you doant, and you’se bery good nottur—but oh! massa, de lord!” and his body swayed to and fro with the great grief; “i fears de lord do, massa, for i'se sent har ter himn wid har own blood, and de blood of dat pore innercent chile, on har hands. oh, i fears de lord neber'll forgib me- neber'll forgib me for dat.” “he will, my good pomp—he will!” said the colonel, laying his hand tenderly on the old man's shoulder. “the lord will forgive you, for the sake of the chris- tian example you've set your master, if for nothing else;" and here the proud, strong man's feelings overpowering him, his tears fell in great drops on the breast of the old slave, as they had fallen there in his childhood. such scenes are not for the eye of a stranger, and turning away, i left the room. among the pines. chapter xvi. "one more unfortunate." the family met at the breakfast-table at the usual hour on the following morning; but i noticed that jim was not in his accustomed place behind the colonel's chair. that gentleman exhibited his usual good spirits, but madam p— looked sad and anxious, and i had not forgotten the scene of the previous evening. while we were seated at the meal, the negro junius hastily entered the room, and in an excited manner ex- claimed: “oh, massa, massa, you muss cum ter de cabin-jim hab draw'd his knife, and he swar he'll kill de fuss 'un dat touch him!” “he does, does he!” said his master, springing from his seat, and abruptly leaving the apartment. remembering the fierce burst of passion i had seen in the negro, and fearing there was danger a-foot, i rose to : follow, saying, as i did so: “madam, cannot you prevent this ?” “i cannot, sir; i have already done all i can. go and try to pacify the colonel jim will die before he'll be whipped.” among the pines. started as if shot, and turning furiously on the negro, yelled out: “i'll shoot you for that, you d- d nigger, by — ,” “it 'pears ter me, cunnel, ye've hed 'bout nuff shoot- in’ round har, lately; better stop thet sort o'bis'ness ; it moight give ye a sore throat,” said the long, lean, loose-jointed stump-speaker of the previous sunday, as he entered the cabin and strode directly up to my host. “what brought you here, you d-dinsolent hound ?” cried the colonel, turning fiercely on the new-comer. “wal, i cum ter du ye a naaboorly turn-i've kotched two on yer niggers down ter my still, and i want ye ter take 'em 'way,” returned the corn-cracker, with the utmost coolness. “two of my niggers!” exclaimed the colonel, per- ceptibly moderating his tone—“ which ones ?” “a yaller gal, and a chile.” “i thank you, barnes; excuse my hard words—i was excited.” “all right, cunnel; say no more 'bout thet. will ye send fur 'em ? i'd hev fotched 'em 'long, but my waggin's off jest now.” “yes, i'll send at once. have you got them safe?” “safe? i reckon so! kotched 'em last night, arter dark, and they've kept right still ever sense, i 'sure ye but th’ gal holds on ter th' young ’un ter kill—we cudn't get it ’way no how.” “how did you catch them ?” among the pines. two “prime" negro men, dressed in the usual cos- tume, were “tending the still ;" and a negro woman, as stout and strong as the men, and clad in a short, loose, linsey gown, from beneath which peeped out a pair of coarse leggins, was adjusting a long wooden trough, which conveyed the liquid rosin from the “still” to a deep excavation in the earth, at a short distance. in the pit was a quantity of rosin sufficient to fill a thousand barrels. “here, bill,” said barnes to one of the negro men, as we pulled up at the distillery, "put these critters up, and give 'em sum oats, and when they've cooled off a bit, water 'em.” “yas, yas, massa,” replied the negro, springing nim- bly forward, and taking the horses by the bridles, “an’ rub 'em down, massa ?” “yas, rub 'em down right smart,” replied the corn- cracker; then turning to me, as we dismounted, he said: “stranger, thet's th’ sort o’niggers fur ye; all uv mine ar' jess like him-smart and lively as kittens.” “he does seem to go about his work cheerfully," i replied. “ cheerfully! d d ef he doant—all on 'em du! they like me better'n thar own young 'uns, an’ it's 'cause i use 'em like human bein's ;” and he looked slyly to- ward the colonel, who just then was walking silently away, in the direction of the run, as if in search of the drowned “chattels.” “not thar, cunnel,” cried the native; "they're inter “one more unfortunate.” totty" of ile douring the “wal, massa ?” “what's yer name ?” “ dandy jim, massa." “ thet arn't all—what's th’ rest ?” “dandy jim of ole car'lina.” “who made ye ?” “de good god, massa.” “no, he didn't: god doant make little nigs. he makes none but white folks ;” said the master, laughing. “yas he'm do; missus say he'm do; dat he make dis nig jess like he done little totty.” “wal, he did, jim. i'm d-def he didn't, fur nobody else cud make ye!" replied the man, patting the little woolly head with undisguised affection. “now, jim, say th' creed fur · de gemman.'”. the young darky then repeated the apostle's creed and the ten commandments. “is thet all ye knows ?” “no, massa, i knows a heap ’sides dat.” “wal, say suthin' more--sum on 'em pieces thet jingle.” the little fellow then repeated with entire correctness, and with appropriate gestures, and emphasis, though in the genuine darky dialect—which seems to be inborn with the pure-southern black—mrs. hemans' poem : “the boy stood on the burning deck.” “mrs. hemans draped in black!” i exclaimed, laughing heartily: “how would the good lady feel, could she look “one more unfortunate.” “i must know your wife, my friend. she's a good woman.” “good! ye kin bet high on thet; she's uv th’ stuff th' lord makes angels eout on.” i had no doubt of it, and was about to say so, when the colonel's turpentine wagon drove up, and i remem- bered i had left him too long alone. the coachman was driving, and jim sat on the wagon beside him. “ massa k— ," said the latter, getting down and coming to me: “whar am dey ?” “in the spirit-shed.” he was turning to go there, when i called him back, saying: “jim, you must not see your master now; you'd better keep out of sight for the present.” “no, massa; de ma'am say de cunnel take dis bery hard, and dat i orter tell him l'se sorry for what i'se done.” “well, wait a while. let me go in first.” accompanied by the corn-cracker, i entered the tur- pentine-shed. a row of spirit-barrels were ranged along each of its sides, and two tiers occupied the centre of the building. on these a number of loose planks were placed, and on the planks lay the bodies of the metif woman and her child. the colonel was seated on a barrel near them, with his head resting on his hands, and his eyes fixed on the ground. he did not seem to notice our entrance, and, passing him without speak- ing, i stepped to the side of the dead. * + among the pines. the woman's dress, the common linsey gown worn by her class, was still wet, and her short, kinky, brown hair fell in matted folds around her head. one arm hung loosely by her side; the other was clasped tightly around her child, which lay as if asleep on her bosom. one of its small hands clung to its mother's breast, and around its little lips played a smile. but how shall i describe the pale, sweet beauty of the face of the drowned girl, as she lay there, her eyes closed, and her lips parted, as in prayer? never but once have i seen on human features the strange radiance that shone upon it, or the mingled expression of hope, and peace, and resignation that rested there—and that was in the long-gone time, when, stand- ing by her bedside, i watched the passing away of one who is now an angel in heaven! “come, my dear friend, let us go,” i said, turning and gently taking the colonel by the arm, “the negroes are here, and will take charge of the dead.” “no, no!” he replied, rising, and looking around, as if aroused from a troubled dream; “that is for me to do!” then he added, after a moment's pause, “will you help me to get them into the wagon ?” “yes, i will, certainly.” he made one step toward the body of the dead girl, then sinking down again on the barrel, covered his face with his hands, and cried out: “my god! this is terri- ble! did you ever see such a look as that? it will haunt me forever!”. “come, my friend, rouse yourself—this is weakness; “one more unfortunate." you are tired with the long ride and excitement of the past few days. come, go home-i will look after them.” “no, no! i must do it. i will be a man again;" and he rose and walked steadily to the dead bodies. “is there any one here to help ?” he asked. jim was standing in the door-way, and i motioned to him to come forward. the great tears were streaming down his face as he stepped timidly towards his master, and said: “i'll do dis, massa, don't you trubble yerself no more.” “it's good of you, jim. you'll forgive me for being so cruel to you, wont you ?” said the colonel, taking the · black by the hand. “forgib ye, massa! i war all ter blame—but ye'll forgib me, massa-ye'll forgib me!" cried the black, with strong emotion. “yes, yes; but say no more about it. come, let us get julie home.” · but the poor girl was already home—home where her sufferings and her sorrows were over, and all her tears were wiped away forever! we four bore away the mother and the child. a number of blankets were in the bottom of the wagon, and we laid the bodies carefully upon them. when all seemed ready, the colonel, who was still standing by the side of the dead, turned to my new friend, and said: “barnes, will you loan me a pillow? i will send it back to-night." “sartin, cunnel ;” and the farmer soon brought one among the pines. from the house. lifting tenderly the head of the drowned girl, the colonel placed it beneath her, and smoothing back her tangled hair, he gently covered her face with his handkerchief, as if she could still feel bis kindness, or longer cared for the pity or the love of mortal. yet, who knows but that her parted soul, from the high realm to which it had soared, may not then have looked down, have seen that act, and have forgiven him! tae small planter. chapter xvii. the small planter. in the first moments of grief the sympathy of friends, and the words of consolation bring no relief. how much more harshly do such words grate on the ear when the soul is bowed down by remorse and unavailing regret ! then the wounded spirit finds peace nowhere but with god. i saw that the colonel would be alone, and turning to him, as he prepared to follow the strange vehicle, which, with its load of death, was already jolting its way over the rough forest road, i said, “will you pardon me, if i remain with your friend here for awhile? i will be at the mansion before dark.” “oh, certainly, my friend, come when you feel dis- posed,” he replied, and mounting his horse he was soon out of sight among the trees. “now, barnes,” i said, shaking off the gloomy feel- ings that had oppressed me : “come, i must see that wife of yours, and get a glimpse of how you live ?” “sartin, stranger; come in ; i'll give ye th’ tallest dinner my 'oman can scare up, an' she's sum pumkins in th’ cookin' line;" and he led the way to the farm- house. as i turned to follow, i slipped a half-dollar into the the small planter. the dwelling itself, though of a dingy brown wood- color, was neat and inviting. it may have been forty feet square on the ground, and was only a story and a half high, but a projecting roof, and a front dormer- window, relieved it from the appearance of dispropor- tion. its gable ends were surmounted by two enormous brick chimneys, carried up on the outside, in the fashion of the south, and its high, broad windows were orna- mented with venetian blinds. its front door opened directly into the “living-room,” and at the threshold we met its mistress. as the image of that lady has still a warm place in a pleasant corner of my memory, i will describe her. she was about thirty years of age, and had a fresh, cheerful face. to say that she was handsome, would not be strictly true; though she had that pleasant, gentle, kindly expression that sometimes makes even a homely person seem beautiful. but she was not homely. her features were regular, her hair, glossy and brown, and her eyes, black and brilliant, and, for their color, the mildest and softest i had ever seen. her figure was tall, and in its outline somewhat sharp and angular, but she had an ease and grace about her that made one forget she was not moulded as softly and roundly as others. she seemed just the woman on whose bosom a tired, worn, over-burdened man might lay his weary head, and find rest and forgetfulness. she wore a neat calico dress, fitting closely to the neck, and an apron of spotless white muslin. a little among the pines. lace cap perched cosily on the back of her head, hiding a portion of her wavy, dark hair, and on her feet-a miracle, reader, in one of her class—were stockings and shoes! giving me her hand—which, at the risk of making her husband jealous, i held for a moment-she said, making a gentle courtesy : “ye ar welcome, stranger.” “i sincerely thank you, madam ; i am a stranger in these parts." she tendered me a chair, while her husband opened a sideboard, and brought forth a box of havanas, and a decanter of scuppernong. as i took the proffered seat, he offered me the refreshments. i drank the lady's health in the wine, but declined the cigars. seeing this, she remarked : “yer from th' north, sir ; arn't ye?” “yes, madam, i live in new york, but i was born in new-england.” “i reckoned so; i knew ye didn't belong in car’- lina.” “how did you know that, madam?” i asked, laughing. -“i seed ye doan't smoke 'fore wimmin. but ye musn't mind me; i sort o'likes it; its a great comfut to john, and may be it ar to ye.” “well, i do relish a good cigar, but i never smoke before any lady except my wife, and though she's only a little lower than the angels,' she does, once in awhile, say it's a shame to make the house smell like a tobacco factory.” the small planter. barnes handed me the box again, and i took one. as i was lighting it, he said : “ye've got a good ’oman, hev ye ?” “there's none better; at least, i think so." “wal, i'm 'zactly uv thet 'pinion 'bout mine: i wouldn't trade her fur all this worle, an’ th' best half uv 'tother.” “don't ye talk so, john,” said the lady; then address- ing me, she added: “it's a good husband thet makes a good wife, sir.” “sometimes, madam, but not always. i've known some of the best of wives who had miserable husbands." “an? i'm d— d ef i made my wife th’’oman she ar”," said the corn-cracker. “hush, john; ye musn't sw'ar so; ye knows how often ye've said ye wouldn't.” “wal, i du, an' i wont agin, by — but sukey, whar's th’ young ’uns ?” “out in the lot, i reckon; but ye musn't holler'm in- they'r all dirt." “no matter for that, madam,” i said ; “ dirt is healthy for little ones; rolling in the mud makes them grow.” “then our'n orter grow right smart, fur they'r in it allers.” “how many have you, madam ?” “two; a little boy, four, and a little gal, six.” “they're of interesting ages.” “yas, the’ is int’restin'; ev'ry 'uns own chilren is smart; but the’ does know a heap. - john was off ter the small planter. “yas, i knows-it gin’rally takes ten or a dozen : reckon it'll take a dozen with ye.” “john, ye musn't talk so ter th’ sarvents ; it spiles 'em,” said his wife. “no it doant—do it, aggy?”. “lor', missus, i doant keer what massa say; but i doant leff no oder man run on so ter me!" “no more'n ye doant, gal! only cale." “nor him, massa ; i makes him stan’ roun', i reckon.” “i reckon ye du; ye wudn't be yer massa's gal ef ye didn't.” when the meal was over, i visited, with my host, the negro houses. the hour allowed for dinner* was about expiring, and the darkies were preparing to return to the field. entering one of the cabins, where were two stout negro men and a woman, my host said to them, with a perfectly serious face: “har, boys, i've fotched ye a live yankee ab'lishener; now, luk at 'im all roun'. did ye ever see sech a critter?” “doant see nuffin' quar in dat gemman, massa,” re- plied one of the blacks. “him 'pears like bery nice gemman; doant ’pear like ab’lishener;" and he laughed, and scraped his head in the manner peculiar to the negro, as he added: “kinder reckon he wudn't be har ef he war one of dem.” “what der ye knows 'bout th' ab'lisheners? ye never seed one—what d'ye 'spose the’ luk like ?” * no regular dinner-hour is allowed the blacks on most turpentine plantations. their food is usually either taken with them to the woods, or carried there by house servants, at stated times. the small planter. - “but,” he said, “ the work ’em harder nor we does, an' doan't feed 'em so well. we give our'n meat and whiskey ev'ry day, but them articles is skarse 'mong th' cotton blacks, an' th' rice niggers never get 'em excep'ter chris’mas time, an' thet cums but onst a yar." “do you think the white could labor as well as the black, on the rice and cotton-fields ?” i asked. “yas, an' better—better onywhar; but, in coorse, 'tain't natur’fur black nor white ter stand long a workin' in th' mud and water up ter thar knees; sech work wud kill off th' very devil arter a while. but th' white kin stand it longer nor the black, and its' 'cordin’ ter reason that he shud; fur, i reckon, stranger, that the sperit and pluck uv a man hev a durned sight ter du with work. they'll hole a man up when he's clean down, an' how kin we expec' thet the pore nig', who's nary a thing ter work fur, an' who's been kept under an' 'bused ever sense adam was a young un'-how kin we expeche'll work like men thet own 'emselfs, an' whose faders hev been free ever sense creation ? i reckon that the parient has a heap ter du with makin' th’ chile. he puts the sperit inter 'im : doan't we see it in hosses an' critters an' sech like? it mayn't crap eout ter onst, but it's shore ter in th' long run, and thet's th' why th’ black hain't no smarter nor he is. he's been a-ground down an' kept under fur so long thet it 'll take more’n ’un gin’ration ter bring him up. 'tain't his fault thet he's no more sperit, an' p’raps the small planter. “but i don't think the two races were meant to live together.” “no more’n the warn't. but ’tain't thar fault thet they's har. we hain't no right ter send 'em off. we orter stand by our'n an' our faders' doin's. the nig' keers more fur his hum, so durned pore as it ar', then ye or i does fur our'n. i'd pack sech off ter libraria or th’devil, as wanted ter go, but i'd hev no 'pulsion 'bout it." “why, my good friend, you're half-brother to gar- rison. you don't talk to your neighbors in this way?” “wal, i doan't;" he replied, laughing. “ef i dun it, they'd treat me to a coat uv tar, and ride me out uv th’ deestrict raather sudden, i reckon; but yer a nuth- ener, an' the' all take nat’rally ter freedum, excep' th’d d dough-faces, an' ye aren't one on 'em, i'll swar.” “ well, i'm not. do many of your neighbors think as you do ?” “reckon not many round har; but up in cart'ret, whar i cum from, heaps on 'em do, though the darn't say so.” by this time we had reached the still, and, directing his attention to the enormous quantity of rosin that had been run into the pit which i have spoken of, i asked him why he threw so much valuable material away. “wal, 'tain't wuth nothin' har. thet's th' common, an' it won't bring in york, now, more'n a dollar forty- five. it costs a dollar an' two bits ter get it thar, and the small planter.. weigh, an' yer folks is up ter them doin's,” and he looked at me and gave a sly laugh. i could not deny the “hard” impeachment, and said nothing. taking a specimen of very clear light-colored rosin from a shelf in the still- house, i asked him what that quality was worth. “thet ar brought seven dollars, for two hundred an' eighty pounds, in york, airly this yar. it's th' very best no. ; an' its hard ter make, 'case ef th’ still gets over- het it turns it a tinge. thet sort is run through two sieves, the coarse ’un, an' thet ar,” pointing to another wire strainer, the meshes of which were as fine as those of the flour sieve used by housewives. “do your seven field hands produce enough · dip' to keep your still a running ?” “no, i buys th' rest uv my naboors who haint no stills; an' th’ cunnel's down on me 'case i pay 'em more'n he will; but i go on franklin's princerpel: "a nimble sixpence's better'n a slow shillin. a great ole feller thet, warn't he? i've got his life.” “ and you practice on his precepts; that's the reason you've got on so well.” “yas, thet, an' hard knocks. the best o’ doctrin's arn't wuth a d- nef ye doan't work on 'em.” “ that is true.” we shortly afterward went to the house, and there i passed several hours in conversation with my new friend and his excellent wife. the lady, after a while, showed me over the building. it was well-built, well-arranged, and had many conveniences i did not expect to find in a the burial of “ jule.” chapter xviii. the burial of “j u l e." the family were at supper when i returned to the mansion, and, entering the room, i took my accustomed place at the table. none present seemed disposed to conversation. the little that was said was spoken in a low, subdued tone, and no allusion was made to the startling event of the day. at last the octoroon woman asked me if i had met mrs. barnes at the farmer's. “yes," i replied, “and i was greatly pleased with her. she seems one of those rare women who would lend grace to even the lowest station.” “she is a rare woman; a true, sincere christian. every one loves her; but few know all her worth; only those do who have gone to her in sorrow and trial, as—" and her voice trembled, and her eyes moistened—“ as i have.” and so that poor, outcast, despised, dishonored woman, scorned and cast-off by all the world, had found one sympathizing, pitying friend. truly, “he tempers the wind to the shorn lamb." when the meal was over, all but madam p re tired to the library. tommy and i fell to reading, but the colonel shortly rose and continued pacing up and the burial of “ jule." the old man rose again, and with streaming eyes, and upturned face, continued: “dars one up dar, my chil’ren, dat say: 'come unter me, all ye dat am a weary an' a heaby laden, an' i will gib you ress.' he, de good lord, he say dat; and p’raps juley hard him say it, an' dat make har gwo.” again his voice failed, and he sank down, weeping and moaning as if his heart would break. a pause followed, when the colonel rose, and aided by jim and two other blacks, with his own hands nailed down the lid, and lowered the rude coffin into the ground. then the earth was thrown upon it, and then the long, low chant which the negroes raise over the dead, ming- ling now with sobs and moans, and breaking into a strange wild wail, went up among the pines, and floating off on the still night air, echoed through the dark woods, till it sounded like music from the grave. i have been in the chamber of the dying; i have seen the young and the beautiful laid away in the earth; but i never felt the solemn awfulness of death, as i did, when, in the stillness and darkness of night, i listened to the wild grief of that negro group, and saw the bodies of that slave mother and her child, lowered to their everlasting rest by the side of sam. * ii omeward. planter. it was a large, square, dingy old house, seated on a gentle knoll, a short half-mile from the river, along whose banks stretched the rice-fields. we entered, and were soon welcomed by its proprietor. he received my friend warmly, and gave me a courte- ous greeting, remarking, when i mentioned that i was homeward bound, thr:it it was wise to go. “things are very unsettled; there's no telling what a day may bring forth; feeling is running very high, and a northern man, whatever his principles, is not safe here. by-the- way,” he added, “ did you not meet with some little obstruction at conwayboro', on your way up?" “yes, i did; a person there ordered me back, but when things began to look serious, scipio, the negro whom you saw with me, got me out of the hobble.” “didn’t he tell the gentleman that you were a par- ticular friend of mine, and had met me by appointment at captain b— 's?” he asked, smiling. “i believe he did, sir; but i assure you, i said nothing of the kind, and i think the black should not be blamed, under the circumstances.” “oh, no; i don't blame him. i think he did a smart thing. he might have said you were my grandmother, if it would have served you, for that low fellow is as fractious as the devil, and dead sure on the trigger." “you are very good, sir,"' i replied: “how did you hear of it ?" “a day or two afterward, b- passed here on his way to georgetown. i had been riding out, and hap- homeward. corn-bread, and waffles, in the “first hotel” of george- town. the charleston boat was to leave at three o'clock; and, as soon as dinner was over, i sallied out to find scip. after a half-hour's search i found him on “shackelford's wharf,” engaged in loading a schooner bound for new york with a cargo of cotton and turpentine. he was delighted to see me, and when i had told him i was going home, and might never see him again, i took his hand warmly in mine, and said : “scip, i have heard of the disgrace that was near being put upon you on my account, and i feel deeply the disinterested service you did to me; now, i can not go away without doing something for you—showing you in some way that i appreciate and like you." “i like's you, massa,” he replied, the tears coming to his eyes: “i tuk ter you de bery fuss day i seed you, 'case, i s'pose,” and he wrung my hand till it ached: “ you pitied de pore brack man. but you karnt do nuf- fin fur me, massa; i doant want nuffin; i doant want ter leab har, 'case de lord dat put me har, arn't willin' i shud gwo. but you kin do suffin, massa, fur de pore brack man,-an' dat 'll be doin' it fur me, 'case my heart am all in dat. you kin tell dem folks up dar, wbar you lib, massa, dat we'm not like de brutes, as dey tink we is. dat we's got souls, an’telligence, an' feelin's, an'am men like demselfs. you kin tell 'em, too, massa, —'case you's edication, and kin talk--how de pore wite man 'am kep' down har; how he’m ragged, an' starvin', an’ ob no account, 'case de brack man am a slave. how der among the pines. chilren can't get no schulein', how eben de grow'd up ones doan't know nuffin—not eben so much as de pore brack slave, 'case de 'stockracy wan't dar votes, an cudn't get ’em ef dey 'low'd’em larning. ef your folks know'd all de trufh-ef dey know'd how both de brack an' de pore w'ite man, am on de groun', and can't git up, ob demselfs—dey'd do suffin?-dey'd break de constertu- tion—dey'd do suffin' ter help us. i doant want no one hurted, i doant want no one wronged; but jess tink ob it, massa, four million ob bracks, and nigh so many pore wites, wid de bressed gospil shinin' down on ’em, an' dey not knowin' on it. all dem—ebry one of 'em-made in de image ob de great god, an’dey driven roun, an' 'bused wuss dan de brutes. you's seed dis, massa, wid your own eyes, an’ you kin tell 'em on it; an' you will tell 'em on it, massa ;” and again he took my hand while the tears rolled down his cheeks; “an' scip will bress you fur it, massa; wid his bery lass breaf he'll bress you; an' de good lord will bress you, too, massa ; he will foreber bress you, fur he’m on de side ob de pore, an' de 'flicted : his own book say dat, an' it am true, i knows it, fur i feels it har;" and he laid his hand on his heart, and was silent. i could not speak for a moment. when i mastered my feelings, i said, “i will do it scip; as god gives me strength, i will." reader, i am keeping my word. conclusion. tel har miseff. she tuk on d d hard at fust, but arter a bit, grew more calm like, and then she sed it war god's wil, an’ she wudent komplane. yenows i've got a wife, but wen the ma'am sed thet, she luk'd so like an angel, thet d— d eff i cud help puttin' my arms round har, an? hugin' on har, till she aʼmoste screeched. wal, i toled har, id stan' by har eff evrithing went ter h- - an i wil, by — “i made up mi minde to onst, what ter dew. it war darned harde work tur bee 'way from hum jess then, but i war in fur it; soe i put.ter charleston, ter see th’ cunel’s ’oman. wal, i seed har, an' i toled har how th’ ma'am felte, an' how mutch shede dun at makein' th’ cunel's money—(she made nigh th' hul on it, 'case he war alers keerles, an’tuk no 'count uv things; eff tadent ben fur thet, hede made a wil,) an' i axed har ter see thet the ma'am had free papers ter onst. an' whot der ye 'spoze she sed ? nuthin, by — 'cept she dident no nuthin' 'bout bisniss, an’ leff all uv sech things ter har loryer. wal, then i went ter him—he ar one on them slick, ily, seceshun houn's, who'd sell thar soles fur a kountterfit dollar-an' he toled me, th’’ministratur had- ent sot yit, an' he cudent dew nuthin til he hed. ses i: ‘ye mean th’’ooman's got ter gwo ter th' hi'est bider ?' “yas,' he sed, the cunel's got dets, an' the've got ter bee pade, an’ th’ persoonel prop'ty muste bee sold ter dew it. then i sed, 'twud bee sum time fore thet war dun, an' the 'ooman’s ’most ded an’ uv no use now; (what'll ye hire har tur me fur.' he sed a hun’red for conclusion. u wue. like h- , an' she screetched eout thet she dident 'low no sech wurds in har hous', an' ordurd me ter leave. mi’tey sqeemish thet, warn't it? bein' as shede ben fur so mony yar the cunnel's — , an' th’ tuther one his raal wife. “wal, i did leav’; but i left a piece of mi mind a-hind. i toled har i'de buy that ar 'ooman ef she cost all i war wuth and i had ter pawne my sole ter git the money; an' i added, jess by way ov sweetnin' the pill, thet i ow'd all i hed ter har husband, an' dident furget my debts ef she did her'n, an' ef his own wife disgraced him, i'd be d d ef i wud. “wal, i've got th' ma'am an' har boy ter hum, an' my’ooman hes tuk ter har a heep. i doant no w’en the sale's ter cum off, but ye may bet hi’ on my beein' thar; an’ i'll buy har ef i hev ter go my hull pile on har, an' borrer th' money fur ole pomp. but he'll go cheap, 'case the cunnel's deth nigh dun him up. it clean killed ante lucey. she never held her hed up arter she heerd · masser davy' war dead, fur she sot har vary life on him. don't ye fele consarned 'bout the ma’am–i knows ye sot hi’ on har—i'll buy har, shore. thet an’deth ar th’onely things thet i knows on, in this wurld, jess now, that ar sartin.” such is andy's letter. mis-spelled and profane though it be, i would not alter a word or a syllable of it. it deserves to be written in characters of gold, and hung up in the sky, where it might be read by all the world. and it is written in the sky—in the great record-book- _’‘ _ "_‘ll' ' ’-f _ _ "'— h * ~'~’"s_.r.‘ p 'y a \ lhlflllll four girls -= n n * * at cottage city _.by__ 'emma d. kelley-hawkins author of “ megda. ” boston: james h.earle,pmamher vvashington street i " j wfl“ copyright, . by emma d. kelley-hawkins. all rights reserved. » ( ’//q / // “ / to dear aunt lottie whom i have often and truly called my ‘ second mother ’ [ze’*_ l dedicate this book. the reward, “well done, thou good and faithful servant,” will surely one day be hers ‘the ’. preface. if you who read this book, should meet with my four girls who spent three such delightful weeks at that beautiful resort, cottage city, ask them “if such and such a thing of which i write” did actually happen. they would answer for the most part “yes ” and give you a smile with the answer. the cottage at which they stopped is easily found, but the dear old people who made it so pleasant for them, are gone—never to return. “ mother” and “grandpa” clasp hands in a better country than this. the story of charlotte hood is but little changed, although it was not‘ related to our young people and is known to but one of them. yet it is only one of the many sad stories that may truthfully be told of lives that are lost and homes made deso- late on the shores of bleak cape cod. how many aching hearts have been lulled to eternal sleep by the solemn music of the old atlantic. if any dis- contented one, after reading the life of charlotte hood, will say to herself, “ i am thankful it is as well with me as it is,” the mission of this book will have been fulfilled. the author. " ' l ‘| |ll\[r\| [it [.( [ill/,ll‘ 'el contents. chapter i. ourgirls,_ - - - - - _ chapter. ii. “mother,” - - - - - - chapter iii. only a face, - - - - - - chapter iv. an afternoon wtte tennyson, - - chapter v. two natures, - - - - - - chapter vi. getting acquainted, - - - - chapter vii. a ‘varw discussion, - - - - chapter viii. robin, - - - - - - chapter ix. wm in the camp, - - - - - chapter x. the “ medium,” .- - - - - chapter xl vera$ future w revealed to her, - chapter xii. jessle gropes in the dark, - ~ - page. chapter xiii'. “ robin’s hour,” - - - _ _ chapter xiv. a new lodger, i - - - chapter xv. ereort speaks, - - _ _ chapter xvi. “ robin’s hour,"-continued, - chapter xvii. light begins to glimmer for jessie, chapter xviii. “ my name is joiin,” - - - chapter xix. garnet becomes frightened, - _ chapter xx. a sad tale, - - - - - chapter xxi. “marjorie darling,” - - - chapter xxii the dream tiiat saved a soul, - chapter xxiii. an exciting evening, - - - chapter xxiv. ’a noble plan, - - - - chapter xxv. “ g ) bye,” - - - - _ chapter xxvi ligiit breaks full u )v jessie, - y . ______ ___ __“ __l___m, r__“—_ _. , li—‘q ,— __‘__—'"“__ ‘l-’—‘’_lw ' four girls at cottage city. chapter i. “what a shame it should rain this day, of all days, net! yesterday was a perfectly delightful day, and now—just look here ! ” ‘and jessie dare drew back the window curtain and looked over her shoulder at her sister, who was lying snugly down between the sheets with the calmest of all calm faces, which was, to say the least, very exasper- ating to the troubled jessie. “well, never mind, jess; we can’t help the weather. come back to bed— we needn’t get up yet,” and garnet turned comfortably over and pre- pared herself for a few minutes more of that sleep which was one of her greatest luxuries, and which came as easily to her as it does to a kitten. “ come back to bed and run the risk of losing our train? not much, miss dare. you just vacate ' that bed just about as quick as you can do it; if you can’t do it alone, i’ll furnish assistance,” and like a flash jessie ran around to the other side of the bed, and before garnet had had hardly time jfour girls at ctottage gity. enough to open her great dark eyes and make a feeble protest against such treatment, jessie had her out on the floor, and was issuing forth her com- mands in true military style. garnet paid little attention to them, however, but 'went around in her quiet, calm way, well knowing that she would be the first to announce herself ready, although jessie was already partly dressed. and so she was. jessie had so much running around to do (her tongue keeping remarkably good time with her feet) flying to the window every now and then to peer with anxious little face out into the gray, misty, rainy morning, losing her brush or ribbon, or pin, and calling on garnet to help her find it, until at last garnet stood ready to go down to the dining room, while jessie had a good five minutes’ more work before her. garnet good- naturedly rendered assistance to her careless, but lovable little sister, and the two girls descended the stairs and entered the dining room together. mrs. dare looked up with a smile. “it is too bad you have not a better day for your journey, my dears,” she said, sympathizingly. “ do you think the other girls will venture out ?” as if in answer to her question, the door-bell rang. jessie ran down stairs and opened the door. a slender, blue-eyed girl stood on the steps, holding a huge umbrella over her head, which was little protection from the driving sheets of water. jessie ilfour (birls at glottage (mty. greeted her with a laugh in which joy and fear were most comically intermingled. “ oh, allie hunt! if you don't look too comical for anything— just like a toad under a cabbage leaf. come right in outof all this rain ! ” she drew allie, who had looked a trifle indig- nant at being compared to a toad, into the hall and shut the door; then she went on: “you don't mean to tell me, allie hunt, that you have come to say you are not going? because if you have, you can save yourself the trouble of saying it—i won’t listen to it.” allie laughed her low, lady-like laugh, (every- body dz'd laugh at jessie’s little sayings.) “i didn’t come to say any such thing, miss jessie, i y only came to see if the rest were going.” “ well, you'just believe the rest are going. we wouldn’t stay away for this little rain.” "‘i thought it was a pretty big rain while i was coming down here; but i can stand it if the rest can. have you heard from vera? she may not come.” how jessie laughed! “vera earle not come? that shows you do not know her aswell as . she will come if she is not sick in bed.” “well, then, i may as 'well go back and get ready.” “yes, and you be sure and get to the depot in ' time.” jfour (birls at cottage ging. “ oh, yes, sure.” “ an hour after found the three girls standing in the ladies’ waiting room of p depot, looking with anxious eyes out into the driving rain. in spite of jessie’s repeated assurances that she knew vera would come, her sparkling little face was just the least bit shadowed with the cloud of nervous fear that she mag/u‘ not come after all—it did rain so. a low exclamation from garnet caused her to turn quickly; the next moment she was running across the wide room, regardless of the many eyes watching her, and holding out both hands to a tall, gray-eyed girl who was just coming from the side entrance. jessie’s girlish voice rang out sweet and joyous.” ' “ oh, you darling—you /zave come. i knew you would; what made you so late? we had almost given you up.” and jessie clasped her hands around her tall friend’s arm and hurried her forward to the other two girls. . then began such a chattering and laughing as would have done any one’s heart good to hear. the two gentlemen, vera’s brother, and garnet’s and jessie’s brother-in-law, procured the tickets, attended to the baggage and then hovered around the “outskirts,” so to speak, listening to the gay chatter, with superior smiles on their faces, until the whistle of the approaching train resounded, when all was bustle and confusion. ¢_ —~ ,‘._ ..__'’f‘<r—~ “we—— 'v'_‘|‘fl-b___' v u i ___,______-y__ —‘~ jfour girls at gottage gtty. “ good-bye, philip! ” “ good-bye, jessie! ” “ good-bye, herb !” “ good-bye, vera ! ” “ good- bye, good-bye, good-bye! be sure and send postals just as soon as you arrive.” “ dear me, vera, do tell me if there is a smooch on my face,” exclaimed jessie, impatiently, as the four girls entered the car and stopped at two seats near the door. “ that great lummax of a man brushed his dirty old gossamer right against my cheek.” vera turned with her hand on the half-turned seat. “ nothing there but roses, jess,” she said, and over went the seat. “ you’ll spoil the child vera,” said garnet, settling her plump little form comfortably upon the seat facing allie and jessie, and making room for vera beside her. i . ' “ child!” pouted jessie. “what do you call yourself, granny ?” “i am three years your senior,” replied garnet, calmly. “ and therefore feel responsible for your behavior while away from home.” “ h’m. you be responsible for your own behavior and i’ll look out for mine. hey, allie ?” vera laughed outright. allie smiled her sweet, pretty smile and threw jessie’s gossamer up into the rack with her own. “ my sakes ! " exclaimed jessie. “ i have just this moment thought of it, allie! we are going i jfonr (birls at gottage git‘). off with two sedate school-marms. we’ll have to behave or we’ll have curtain-lectures read to us every night.” “ girls who are seniors in the high school should never oblige any one to deliver curtain- lectures to them.” this was in vera‘s clear, proud tones. jessie acknowledged the reproof with the pretty respect she always showed to vera. she had a girlish, but, nevertheless, very deep and loving admiration for vera. and vera loved the impulsive young girl with all the strength of her strong heart. she was only five years her senior, but she felt fifty at times. “now look here, girls,” said garnet, in her matter-of-fact voice. “ suppose we give our tickets up to one, and let her keep them until we need them. what do you say ? ” “ depends upon whom that one will be. ifit is my sister garnet maria, jessie says ‘ no, thanks ;’ but if it is vera—” said jessie. “ yes, let vera keep them,” said allie, passing her’s over. “ i didn’t have the least idea of offering myself as banker for the party,” said garnet. “ i’m care- less about such things and know it. others are careless and don’t know it; or if they know it, wont acknowledge it.” (“ that’s me,” murmured jessie, making upa face.) “ besides my reticule is jfour (btrls at (tottage gite. about full and i’ve no outside pocket.” (“ have you an inside one with fifteen cents in it ?” asked jessie, innocently.) garnet passed over this slangy question as being unworthy of notice. “ vera, yours has a nice long pocket with a clasp. do you dare to take the responsibility?” “yes, and i’ll add to the responsibility by keeping your purses for you if you would like to have me. we’ll call it the bank,” said vera, opening her reticule to show how much room there was in it. ' in flew jessie’s dainty little purse before the words were hardly spoken. the silver clasp struck against a bottle. “got a ‘ shothecary pop’ in there ?” asked jessie, bending over and peering in. ' vera dashed a fine spray of violet water into the pretty, laughing face. jessie sprang back, a little startled, then leaned forward again, shut her eyes and puckered up her rosy little mouth. “what you might call a ‘ mute appeal,’ ” said vera, with a laugh, and dashed a second spray into jessie’s face. then she put the bottle back into her reticule and closed it with a decided little snap. “ no more this time, jasmine. perhaps you’ll need a shower of it before we get to cottage city. 'it looks as if it might be decidedly rough on the water.” jessie pushed her white tennis cap on the back of her dark head, and nestled down in the corner of ‘ jfour (birls at gottage gity. the seat. “ i hope i shan’t be sick,” she murmured. thc't she commenced to laugh. “but i bet a cookie net will. she ate the biggest breakfast you ever saw. i kept telling her to stop, but she seemed to think she must either eat or die—one of the two.” ' vera and allie laughed. among them that if garnet co' was perfectly happy. “ i think i shall eat whenever i am hungry—sea- sick or not sea-sick,” returned garnet, not in the least displeased. “ and that makes me think.” she leaned forward suddenly and pulled a bag out from somewhere. she put her hand into it, drew out a fruit cracker, opened her book, and commenced to take comfort. “ help yourselves, girls,” she said, taking her first bite; and then the girls’, that so far as s/ze was concerned, conversation had stopped for an hour. jessie gave her cap a savage little pull that brought it over one ear, and nestled still farther down in her seat. “ thank goodness that i’m not blessed with such an enormous appetite,” she said, it was ' " “ d ioke ulccp she spitefully. “ give net a bag of fruit crackers and a book, and she’ll munch and read away forever and the day afterward.” no one spoke. allie smiled a little and vera gave a little reproving shake of her head. the rain came dashing against the window, the train m—_’—_<_’,i___-'-~j l_—-‘__-“—~' ‘ ’ ._—_-i~ jfour (birls at (tottage gity. sped along through the gray, wet, cheerless country. in a little while vera had drawn “tale of‘two cities ”’.from her travelling bag and was 'lost to everything around her. allie sat with “judge burnham’s daughters” open in her lapybut her blue eyes were looking out into the dim, rain-lashed country. she was thinking of 'her father and wondering'h'ow'i'lie "would get along without her. jessie made two or three attempts at conversation, but garnet'and vera never even heard her and allie only answered with an absent smile. after a few moments of this, jessie'sprang out of her seat and crossed the aisle with something that sounded like “ dull old party.” half an hour later, when the conductor came through for tickets, she was sound asleep with her head against the window and her white cap resting on one ear. the con- ductor looked at her and then answered the smile on the girls’ faces with one that was very pleasant. “there is a tired little girl so soon,” he said', and passed on. “ let us be thankful that jess did not hear that,” said garnet, closing her book and putting away the bag of crackers (or what was left of them'). “ \ve won’t tell her,” said vera, looking across at the girlish figure with a smile. then she rose, stepped across the aisle and laid her fair face lightly against jessie’s rosy one. the big black eyes opened lazily, then smiled up into the gray ones. four (birls at gottage (mty. “ we’ve come back to the land of the living, little girl. will you join us ?” said vera. jessie caught her cap just as it was disappearing over the back of the seat. “ i am not sure that it is safe to,” she said. nevertheless she followed vera back to garnet and allie. vera looked at her watch. “what time is it ?” asked allie. “ : ,” replied vera. “ we’ll get to new bedford in about twenty minutes,” said garnet. “where’s the ‘bank’ ?” asked jessie, rather loudly. vera made a frantic clutch at her reticule, while garnet gave jessie’s foot a warning touch with her own. jessie looked at her questioningly, and garnet rolled her large eyes around' until they rested on a big, rough looking man two seats in front of them, on the opposite side of the car. vera and allie followed the rolling eyes with their own, and unsuspicious jessie blurted out: ‘ ‘ what of it ? ” then garnet leaned forward, and the three heads, one black, one brown and one golden, gathered close around the curly one. that man has been looking over here for the last half hour. he may be all right, but we had better not say too much about the ‘ bank.”’ garnet’s low tones were full of deep, mysterious caution. she sat back in her seat and'looked _____ _ __,i__“ jfour (btrls at gottage gtty. ' , carelessly out of the window, as if to convince the “ suspicious looking character” that what she had said had no reference to him at all. the other girls gave each other a solemn look and sank slowly back into their respective places, but vera’s small hand took a firmer clutch of the handle to the “bank,” and her face betokened desperate deter- ' mination. “ he’ll have to step over your dead body to get it; won’t he, vera ?” giggled jessie, and garnet frowned at her for her indiscretion. “ new bedford l ” shouted the brakeman. “ boat ready for cottage city on the left.” our four girls scrambled to their feet and com- menced a frantic gathering together of their “belongings.” they buttoned up their gossamers, pulled the hoods over their heads, tucked their books under their arms, clutched their reticules, and hastened out. the “ desperate character ” had disappeared. vera and allie, who had never taken the trip before, followed close upon the heels of garnet and jessie. the blinding mist flew into their faces and the wind blew their gossamers wildly about them, but, fortunately, they had but a short distance to go and were soon on the boat, pushing their way among the wet, chattering crowd. vera stopped irresolutely before the cosily appointed saloon. “ shall we go in ?” she asked. jfour girls at gottage (mty. jessie sprang _ lightly up the stairs. “ i am answered,” said vera, laughing, and followed. “ i do wish it didn’t rain; then we might sit on deck,” sighed garnet, as she laid her bundles on one of the side seats and drew up a camp stool in front of them. ’ for an hour they sat there, laughing and talking, though quietly, then vera stood up and drew her light brown peasant cape about her. “ i am going on deck for a few moments, at any rate. does any one else want to come ?” ' “ let’s all go,” cried jessie. the rain still came down in torrents; the wind blew a gale. nothing could be seen, before, behind or on either side. the girls tied their hats on with their veils, and clung to the posts and to each other. “ my! but it more than blows; eh, er ? ” cried a merry voice near them, and a young man, with his coat collar turned up and his head very much on one side, (probably with an idea of keeping his hat on,) went past them with a rush, followed by a slender young man with his hands in the pockets of his “ prince albert.” “ fred travers l ” exclaimed jessie, .speaking the name very loud in her excitement. the young man who had spoken, turned his head, stared a moment, and then came forward, hat” in hand. jfour (birls at gottage tt . r “jessie! is it really you? and garnet? i am delighted.” “who ever thought of seeing you here,” cried jt ssie, shaking hands. . “ my friends, miss earle and miss hunt,” said garnet, 'in her low, quiet tones. “ my cousin, mr. travers, ladies.” vera and allie acknowledged the introduction as best they could under the circumstances. fas- tidious vera, with one arm around a post, indeed attempted a bow, and was blown completely around the post for her pains. ifit had been anyone else jessie would have gone into convulsions, as it was she sprang to vera’s assistance, but cousin fred was before her and offered his arm as substitute for the post.' “ he of the prince albert” was all this time seen to' flutter' suspiciously near and cast imploring glances at fred. fred, taking pity upon him, led the girls to. some seats in a sheltered corner and asked their permission to bring his friend to them to be introduced. the favor was graciously granted, and in a moment more “my friend mr. richards ” was bowing gravely before them. fred travers was a tall, finely-formed young man, with light-brown curly hair, merry dark blue eyes, and a very pretty light (very [rig/zt) mustache and side-tabs. vera, looking at him, smiled to herself as she thought, “ one' might think ‘ miss jfour (birls at gottage gtty. mowcher’ had been at work there putting up a scaffolding for a pair of whiskers.” the young man’s face was handsome, but it was a good face as well; a pleasant face and a frank face. he had besides, perfect teeth, even, white and good shaped. erfort richards was his exact opposite in every particular. he was of medium height, but slender, with a smooth dark face, a handsome pair of dark eyes, a small mouth with thin sensitive lips, and a straight, handsome nose. his forehead was broad and very white, and he wore his thick, dark hair brushed carelessly back. his hands were brown and slender, but the fingers looked firm and strong as steel. his face was full of poetry— dark, wist- ful, and melancholy. he looked like a great thinker; yes, and a great dreamer too. he took his seat near garnet and spoke but little. when jessie made the others laugh at her bright sayings, a faint, flickering light passed over his dark face, touching the sensitive lips and just lighting the deep eyes for a moment. it could scarcely have been called a smile, rather the shadow of one. “ how long do you intend to stay at the city?” asked fred. all eyes turned towards vera. “ three weeks,” she answered. “ what is your hotel?” . terrible question l all eyes turned to vera again, and there was a dead pause. the fact was, i__ i “v _ “____ ._,“,_ i your (birls at gottage (tity. that the girls did not really know where they were going—certainly not to any hotel. they were going to trust to luck in finding a good place at the lowest possible price, for our girls were far from being rich girls. but, of course, it would never do to let these gentlemen know their situa- tion. what would they think of them ! “ and vera is so terribly honest,” groaned jessie in spirit. but vera was proud as well as honest. she met fred's question with a fair, unruflled face and calm gray eyes. “we have no hotel. we are intending to stop at a private cottage,” she answered steadily, and jessie murmered to herself: “praise the lord ! if the inquisitive thing wont ask at w/zose cottage.” but vera’s heart was beating fast, despite her calm face, at this very same thought. “i must confess that this wind is a little too much for me,” she said shivering. “ suppose we go inside.” accordingly inside they went, fred saying on the way: “ we are going to put up at the wesley.” on account of the stormy passage the boat did not reach cottage city until nearly o’clock. “ let me see to your trunks,” said fred. “ no, thank you, fred,” said garnet, with an earnestness that rather surprised him. “we will not trouble you to do that. we are not quite ready to go up just now,” and she smiled very pleasantly as she said it, as though she were anticipating some secret pleasure in staying down there. jfour (birls at gottage gtty. fred looked around—saw the wet, dismal wharf, the hurrying, impatient people making for. their various destinations as fast as their feet could carry them, and then looked at our four girls with an open look of astonishment on his face. but he was too much a gentleman to stay where it was very obvious he was not wanted. ’“ i don’t believe those girls know where they are going,” he said, speaking his thoughts aloud in his perplexity. “it surely isn’t for us to ask them.” said erfort gravely, slipping his arm through fred’s and hurrying him along. chapter ii. “now girls, what shall we do first,” asked garnet, briskly. “i should think you’d know whatyou want to do first,” said jessie. “ what is that?” asked garnet innocently. “ find a restaurant,” replied jessie with a feeble laugh. (jessie had felt the motion of the boat a little too plainly to feel just well.) garnet turned and looked at her little sister very gravely for a moment. “ i will dear, when i have found a bed to put you into,” she said. “ it is very plain to me,” said vera, “ what we must do. follow me.” then she turned to an express man standing near. “ we will leave our baggage here for a short time,” she said. a trifle ' haughtily, (but vera always spoke in that way to strangers). “ we will probably be back or send for them in about an hour.” “ how much of cottage city do we own, vera?” asked jessie, very pale now, but still having life enough to jest. “ i should think we owned the whole of circuit avenue — shops and all, with a little of ocean avenue thrown in.” “ well, no matter if everyone docsn’t know where we are going.” said vera, grandly. l four (birls at ttottage gtty. “ my gracious, if they do i wish they would kindly tell us, for i’d like to go there,” replied jessie. ' this made the girls laugh, and despite wet skirts and dripping umbrellas, the walk up circuit avenue did not seem so very long. they turned into one of the shorter avenues and “took stock,” as jessie called it, of the cottages. only one bore the placard “ rooms to let,” and before this one they halted. . “ it doesn’t look as though it had many rooms, anyway,” said vera, “ but we may as well try.” she tapped on the door and it was immediately opened by a pleasant-faced, middle-aged woman. “ come right in out of the rain,” she said at once, and the girls were only too glad to accept the invitation. “ we saw by your card that you have rooms to let,” said vera, sitting very upright on a hard little lounge, and holding her wet umbrella out as if she were popping corn with it. “ we are in search of rooms—either two small ones or one large one with two beds. do you think you can accommodate us ? ” “ i think so,” replied the lady. “ excuse me for one moment, and i will see,” and she left the room. “ anybody’d think she kept a hotel,” said jessie, in a stage whisper. l” “jessie. said garnet, warningly. _,... udkpa — _-_,w.—eu___\____v__n_n-—l——. jfour (birls at gottage gtty. in a moment the lady came back. “ this way, please,” she said. vera went first, and stopped short before a pair of very steep, very narrow stairs. she looked up at them and then at the lady with such a perfectly astonished face, that jessie, bringing up ' the rear, giggled hysterically. this recalled vera to her- self. “ excuse me; shall we go—go up?” she asked. the lady bowed, a little stiflly, and vera, fearing that she had offended her, started to run lightly up the stairs. alas ! she stubbed her toe on the second one, tried to save herselfby clutching at the place where the bannisters should have been, and fell sprawling, hitting garnet who came im- mediately behind her, with her feet as she did so. garnet dropped easily and quietly onto her knees. when the girls had picked themselves up the lady had vanished. ' vera stalked majestically up the stairs, the rest following. in the middle of a low, small room, which two narrow, dyspeptic looking beds almost entirely filled, vera stood still and looked scorn- ’ fully about her. jessie threw herself on one of the beds and laughed until she cried. garnet and allie sank wearily down on the other and looked at vera. vera watched the writhing jessie for a moment and then a laughing light crept into her gray eyes and ' jfour oirls at gottage gtty. around her red lips. the girls took courage at this and smiled in sympathy. vera was going to assume the character in which they all loved her the best. when she chose she could keep all about her in perfect gales of laughter. jessie’s light at these times paled like the light ofthe moon. before the sun. vera made a low bow towards the door, as though dismissing some person, and laid her “belongings” on the floor. “we’ll bide here a bit, my maids,” she said drolly, “ before presenting our declinationof the room to our friend in the lower regions. may the saints forgive, me, but i’m ~ very much thinking that her place in the after-life will be in the lower regions, if she has those kind of stairs put up for innocent people to break their necks upon. iwonder,” she added gravely, “if she really means to give us to understand that this room is at our command? is she as mad as that? ” “ this is the room she evidently means for us to take,” said garnet. “ no clothes-press, but — can you complain ?” and she pointed to the hooks and nails that were driven into the beams and walls. “ if i were to open my eyes in the morning on- to one of my dresses hanging on one of those hooks,” said vera, “ i would imagine it was my- self suspended by the neck and would wonder when i could have done the deed. no. let those of us who like the surroundings, stay. i go. let ,_-. ‘) ___ _ __.—_r_ .__’_ — >_ __ .— ._.._,.__ ,_\~__ __ jfour (birls at gottage gtty. me put the question : all those in favor ofstopping at this station raise the right hand.” not a hand went up. “ contrary minds, the same sign.” , up went all the hands, jessie raising both of hers. “ we will go,” said vera. “and the sooner the better,” added jessie. “ you tell her, vera,” said garnet. “ yes, i’ll smooth it over,” answered vera. and she did; expressing herselfin such a pretty, lady-like manner that the lady was not at all offended, and wished them all success, as she followed them to the door. “jessie,” said vera, where was it you and your mother stayed the time you came here three or four years ago ?” ' “ sure enough ! ” exclaimedjessie, “ how stupid in us garnet, not to have thought of it. let me see.” she stood still in' the middle of the street, her umbrella over her shoulder, and puckered her forehead into a dozen little wrinkles. “ oh, dear, dear, dear, where was it ? ” “ don’t stand in the middle of the street, jess,” said garnet. “ people will think you have struck an 'attitude for their 'especial benefit.” “ let them think,” retorted jessie. “ why couldn’t you have kept still, net dare, for another minute i‘ i was just thinking ofit.” jfour (btrls at'(tottage (lity. “ was it trinity park ?” asked 'allie, absently. “ right you are, all” exclaimed jessie, ele- gantly. “ whatever made you think of it ?” “i happened to look up’ and see the name,” nodding her head towards a sign-post. “ well, of all things ! ” exclaimed jessie. “ here we are, and i verily believe that is the self-same house before us—the one on the corner. there used to be the darlz'ngcst old lady and gen- tleman there when mother and i were down that .summer! let us try, anyway; it looks like the house.” “ rooms to let, anyway,” said vera. “ there's a card in the window.” there were two front doors, both opening onto a wide piazza with a low railing around it. one of the front rooms projected out some little distance ahead of the other. as the girls went up the neat walk and ascended the steps, the green blind-door of one of the parlors opened, and a tall, white- haired gentleman stood on the step. his broad shoulders were bent with age, and the hand that held back the door, trembled; but the smile that lighted the worn face and shone in the dim blue eyes, was a bright and cheery one. “ are’you in search of rooms, young ladies ?” he asked, and his voice was very quavering. “ yes, sir,” answered vera. “ have you any to dispose of ? ” i__mii,_i‘“‘_ — — jfour (birls at cottage (tite. ‘ “i think mother has,” he replied. “ come right in, out of the rain. mother is up stairs; but sit down, please, and i’ll call her,” and he walked . slowly and unsteadily out of the room. “ ‘ mother ’ is evidently the ruling spirit,” whis- pered vera, sitting down with garnet on a low, comfortable lounge. “ like here,” said garnet, decidedly. “ and i do hope ‘ mother ’ can accommodate us.” “i wish she’d hurry up,” said jessie.' “ my feet are wet.” “he looked like a nice old gentleman, didn’t he ?” observed allie. “ ’sh,” said vera, warningly. “ here they come.” ' steps were heard, slowly approaching the door. it opened, and “ mother” stood on the threshold. four fair, girlish faces, were turned expectantly toward the spot where she stood ; four pair of bright, girlish eyes, were lifted to her face ; and four warm, impulsive, girlish hearts, were at once laid at the trembling feet of “ mother.” but even while the girls looked at, and loved at once, the pale, refined, gentle old face, framed with its soft waves of silvery hair, they couldn’t help noticing, that while one slender hand patted nervously the pale blue cap that had evidently been put on hurriedly, the other rested on the arm of, and held determinedly back, her husband. jfour (btris at (tottage gtty. “ mr. atherton tells me you are in search of rooms,” she began, and when the girls heard her voice, they wondered how they could have thought mr. atherton’s was quavering; it was strong, com- pared with “ mother's.” “ i have some rooms that are very good. would you want two single ones or one large one ?” “ we would prefer one large one, if you have it,” replied vera. “ well, i have. will you walk up stairs p” “ mother” led the way up a pair of “ christian stairs,” as vera called them, and opened the door of a room, the sight of which elicited little cries of delight from the girls. “ mother ” heard the cries with a pleased smile. “ yes, i think you will like this rooin,” she said, with childish pleasure. “ like it ! ” said vera. “ it is perfectly lovely.” it was a good-sized, square room. a double door, half glass, opened on to a cunning little bal- cony. on one side of the room there was a win- dow with inside blinds. two beds were in the room, a rocking-chair, two common chairs, a table“, and a washstand. to the girls great delight there were two good-sized closets. “ we will go right down to the wharf and have our trunks sent up,” said vera. ‘~ yes, you and net do that and allie and i will send postals home,” said jessie. .ag— g .“h mir “, : at' ,_j—\‘—_a_u jfour (birls at gottage gity. “ wait just a minute and i’ll write a line to mother, and you can drop it in for me,” said vera. when the girls went out they found the rain had stopped to a considerable extent, but the streets were very wet and muddy, and their walk down to the wharf was anything but a pleasant one. when they returned to the cottage they found their room empty-allie and jessie had not come back. “just like that lazy little jess,” said garnet. “ she means to stay away until the room is ready.” “here are some sheets and pillow cases,” said vera.' “ suppose we begin on the beds?” “ all right. you take that one and i’ll take this.” vera stood in the middle of the room and shook a pillow into its case. “ i consider it a great streak of luck—our getting such a good room,” she said. then she stopped with the pillow in mid-air, and a look of horror on her face. “come right up. the girls are at home—i hear them talking. yes, here they are,” and jessie threw open the door and walked into the room followed by allie and—oh, horror of horrors ! cousin fred and mr. richards ! vera sank on the bed she was making, holding her pillow in her lap as though it were a baby. garnet, after bestowing a look on jessie that was meant to annihilate her, sank on her bed also, and glared wildly on 'the unwelcome visitors. mr. richards saw their mis- jfour (birls at giottage gtty. take in accepting jessie’s invitation to “ come up and see their room,” and drew hastily back into the passage, but cousin fred came right in and looked about him with delighted eyes. “ what a splendid room,” he cried, admiringly. “just as pleasant as it can be. beats ours all to hollow, er,” and he sat himself down comfortably on the foot of garnet’s bed. vera had assumed her “dignified manner.” she was all proud reserve in a moment; yet the reserve was just touched with a sweetness that made her very charming. she rose quietly from the bed. “wont you come in, mr. richards?” and she placed a chair for him as she spoke. “ i think, mr. travers, you will find this seat more comfort- able,” ofl'ering him a chair, also. “ you must ex- cuse our disorder, but we have scarcely had time to settle.” “oh, i told them they would find everything topsy-turvey,” said jessie, easily, throwing her gossamer over the foot-board, and her hat on the bed. “ haven’t you two lazy girls got the beds made yet? ” “i feel that i have committed an unpardonable offense,” said mr. richards, gravely. i regret our thoughtlessne'ss exceedingly. ’ “ oh, it is all right,” said garnet, feebly. fred, who had looked a little blank at what his friend had said, brightened up at this. “ of course ii“ca— _‘‘ *fip‘—_éw jfour (birls at glottage (mty. it is all right. you don’t care for your cousin.” vera might have reminded him that s/ze could claim relationship with neither him or his friend, and mr. richards might have done the same with regard to the girls, but they thought it best to say nothing. the gentlemen stayed about half an hour. fred would have stayed until dark, had not mr. rich- ards, insisted upon their going. ~ “i suppose you will take in most of the band concerts, won’t you?” asked fred, as they rose to go. “ \vell, we hope to, but we do not know whether we will venture out to-night or not,” replied garnet. “ it will be decidedly damp,” said fred. “ we shall hope to see you to-morrow.” “ we shall be glad to have you call.” “ perhaps the weather will permit our entertain- ing on the piazza,” said vera, smiling. “ that would be very pleasant,” said mr. richards. jessie showed the gentlemen out. it was the punishment that vera inflicted upon her for showing them in. when she came back, quiet little garnet turned on her with her black eyes blazing. “jessie dare, you don’t know anything. you are worse than any baby.” there were two pairs of black eyes blazing now. “ i’m not to blame for taking after my sister,” jfour (birls at gottage (tite. i vera, earnestly. retorted jessie. then she added, vehemently: “ for pity’s sake, don’t begin to jaw, net, but let us have something to eat, i’m starving.” garnet’s eyes lost their fire, and she grew calm. jessie chuckled wickedly. “ i thought the eating ' dodge would quiet her,” she whispered to allie. vera and garnet finished the bed-making, and then the bags of sandwiches and crackers were produced. vera and garnet sat on one bed, jessie and allie on the other, and “ fell to.” in the midst ofthe feast, there came a low knock on the door. “ who now? ” said vera, putting the hand that held the sandwich, back of her, and going to open the door. “ mother” stood in the passage, with “ grandpa ” peering over her shoulder. “ excuse me, please, but is there anything more that you want ? ifthere is, tell me, and i’ll bring it to you.” “ oh, no, thank you,” said vera, gently. have everything needful.” “ will you have another quilt ? the nights are quite chilly just now. mr. atherton will get you one if you would like it.” “oh, yes, yes,” quavered “grandpa,” over “mother’s” shoulder. “ i’ll get you one.” “ oh, but really, we do not need another,” said “ you have made us quite com- “we fortable.” jfour (birls at gottage gite. “well, i’m glad to hear it. now you must make yourselves right to home—just as if you belonged here,” went on “ mother,” and the girls smiled and nodded their heads, and tried not to think of the sandwiches. “mr. atherton and me both like young people, and you’re welcome to any room in the house.” “ thank you ; thank you,” chorused the girls. “yes,” smilingly assented “ mother,” looking more childishly pleased than ever, “ when you get tired of staying up here, go down in either of the parlors. i’ve got a bed in one, but that needn’t make any difference.” “ no, no, that needn’t make any difference,” echoed “ grandpa,” . coming out from behind “mother” a little way; but the slender, aged hand quickly forced him back again, and he retired obedi- ently. “ we haven’t anyone here just now, and perhaps we shan’t have for a week or two, but you can’t tell. when they come they generally come all together; but you shall have your first choice of the rooms, anyway, no matter how many come.” just her'e, vera almost upset the girls’ gravity, by moving her head, so that the door came between it and the old people, and taking a good bite out of her sandwich. the mouthful disposed of, she showed her face to them again, smiling sweet, and full of gentle interest. still, “mother’s” small four (birls at giottage glite. talk rippled on, uninterruptedly, like the gentle murmuring of a brook, over its mossy bed, and at stated intervals, vera’s head disappeared behind the door, and she continued her surreptitious lunch. it made jessie feel almost murderous, as for garnet, who' can describe /zcr agony ! at last the gentle murmuring grew fainter and fainter and finally died away all together. vera’s head came from behind the door and vera’s smile was the last the two good old people saw as they moved away — “ mother’s ” hand still restingon the arm of, and gently propelling onward, “grandpa.” “ oh, vera, you wretch !” cried jessie. “ how could you? ” . “ couldn’t help it, jess. i am but human.” “ they are a dear old couple, ” said jessie, taking a bite that surely made up for half a dozen held back, “ but most terribly long-winded. ” and gar- net did not even reprove her. at o’clock the girls once more donned their’ hats and waterproofs. they had put a towel on the back of the rocker and caught it up in one corner with a bright bow of ribbon. they had spread another towel on the table and put their books and work-boxes on it. they had hung their clothes up in the closets and arranged their bottles, brushes, combs and sponges on the washstand, and on the narrow ledge that ran along either side of the room under the eaves. vera and ‘garnet had spread jfour (bids at gottage gtty. their bright red shawls on the foot of each bed, and the room looked very cosy and homelike. then they had sat in the dim twilight and talked, and sung snatches of low song, until the electric light, in the park opposite their room, had flared up suddenly and brightly and warned them that it was high time to be looking out for their “ resteraunt. ” they did not need a lamp, for they opened the door and the electric light flooded their room with its moon-like brightness. they locked the other door and went quietly down the stairs and out of the side entrance, which “ mother ” had informed them would belong exclusively to them. the rain had ceased,but the air was full of a damp, drizzling mist. just before them on the corner they saw a sign “ bridgett’s dining-rooms. ” jessie read it aloud, pronouncing “ bridgett’s ” with the emphasis on the first syllable. none of the others knew but what it was right. “well, let us go in and see ‘ bridgett, ’ ” said vera. “perhaps she can give us a plate of baked beans.” the very mention of this “home-dish” made jessie and allie murmur words of delight, but garnet could only express her consent with a groan. it spoke volumes though. ' “ and now, ” said vera, an hour later, as they walked slowly up circuit avenue and looked' into the lighted windows, “ let us go to the concert.” o your (birls at gottage gtty. there were very few promenaders when they reached the park. the girls found a seat under one of the trees, spread their gossamers upon it, put up their umbrellas and sat there, patiently wait- ing for the band to begin. by and by a little boy came around with programmes and gave them each one. the people commenced to come by ones, and twos and threes, some bringing their camp- chairs with them, other leaning against the trees or walking slowly up and down. little twinkling lights of red and green and yellow, like fairy lamps, commenced to move quickly to and fro, meeting and passing other twinkling lights of red and green and yellow. “ the bicyclists are~beginning to turn out, ” said garnet. “ i thought we would see them. ” the musicans took their places, the leader stood before them with his baton raised, a pause—up went the baton, down it came again, now on the right, now on the left—then a burst of glad music, and our girls felt that they were really at cottage city. promenaders walked to and fro, laughing and talking, despite the drizzling mist, more fairy lamps twinkled on the avenue. two or three little boys with baskets on their arms, went from chair to chair. “ corn-bars; nice corn-bars, straw- berry, vanilla, cotfee and chocolate. have some, ladies?” our girls’ thought they would. by the time they were eaten, “ home” was jfour girls at gottage gite. proposed. on the way back they stopped at a drug-store and invested in a pound of candy, each girl buying a quarter. garnet bought chocolate- creams ; vera, n'ougats ; jessie, chocolate-almonds ; and allie, caramels. “we’ll save them for to-morrow,” said jessie, putting one slyly into her mouth. “ yes, we’ll want something to do all day,” re- plied vera. “aren’t we going to morning services?” asked allie, timidly. “well, yes, we might as well,” 'said garnet. “ the tabernacle is right opposite the cottage.” “yes, we’ll go,” said vera. we wont sit very far down, and if we get tired we can get up and go out.” “ i’ll go on that condition,” said jessie. they entered the house noiselessly for fear of disturbing the old people, but as they reached the top of the stairs, “ mother” came out of her room with a flannel night-dress on and a light in her hand. jessie could be heard to faintly groan—she thought they were out therefor half the night; then her spirits grew lighter as she thought ofthe pack- age in her hands. if she grew too tired—but “mother” did not keep them in the passage long. “ i forgot to give you a lamp,” she whispered, as tho’ some one lay asleep very near them, but the girls saw “grandpa” peering from his room at - jfour (birls at gottage gtty. them over “ mother’s ” shoulder. “ mother ” put her hand out and held him back. “ take this one. i am undressed and mr. atherton can undress in the dark. ' did you have a good supper? ” “ yes’m ; very good,” answered vera. “ where did you go? they have some real good baked-beans every saturday night at ‘ bridgett’s ’— on the corner here.” “ mother ” put the emphasis on the last syllable, and the girls nudged each other softly at their mistake. “ that is where we went,” said garnet. “ yes; it’s a real good place,” said “ mother.” “i hope you will sleep well. good-night.” “ good-night,” answered the girls. “ my!” said jessie. “ there isn’t much to ‘ mother’ when she is in dz's/zabilly, is there ! ” vera laughed merrily as she set the lamp on the table. “ no, there isn’t,” she said. then she turned a face half laughing, half serious towards them. “ girls, how long do you suppose ‘ mother’ has been holding ‘ grandpa’ back with that little slender hand of hers?”- “i bet she didn’t do it when he popped the ques- tion,” said jessie, with more force than elegance. “ i guess she commenced holding him back when the question as to who should rule was first brought up,” said garnet, disappearing into one of the closets to hang her dress up. ‘h jfour girls at glottage gtty. ‘i“grandpa’ seems to yield to it pretty well,” said allie, from the other closet. “yes, ‘mother’s’ victory seems to have been complete,” said vera, sitting down on the bed and beginning to’ unbutton her boots. '“ who would imagine such a will-power in a delicate body like her. and such a hand as s/ze has ! truly it is a ‘velvet hand in an iron glove.’ ” “ poor ‘ grandpa’ looks as though he realized it fully,” said jessie. “speaking of delicate bodies with iron wills,” said allie. “ don’t you think that in nine cases out of ten you will find they go together?” “ yes, i do,” said vera, decidedly. “ you can never judge by appearances. those who look as though they were born to rule are generally the ones who are ruled. you will very often find the spirit of a mouse concealed. in the frame of a large woman, while your little, slender, wiry one is as courageous as a lion. i wonder how it is? and the rule holds good with the other sex, only timid- ity in a man isa hundred times more contemptible than in a big woman. the woman’s sex excuses her to an extent, but what is more despicable than a cowardly man—especially if he is a big one? garnet! what are you doing in that closet so long?” “ listening to your learned discourse for one thing, and—” here she appeared in the doorway four (birls at glottage gtty. bearing something in her hands, “ getting the alcohol lamp out to make some cocoa, for another.” “ garnet, you are my dearly-beloved sister,” saidjessie, enthusiastically. “ i choose the biggest cup.” ' “where shall i set it ?” asked garnet, standing still in her white night dress, and looking around. “ put it on here,” said vera, drawing forward a chair. “ it is steady.” “ now you three, make some spills out of that paper on the floor,” said garnet, pouring some alcohol in the basin of the lamp.’ “ we haven’t any matches to spare; and for pity’s sake close that blind, some one; i don’t care about the young gent next door having a view of me just now.” “ sure death to him if he did,” said jessie, obey- ing the command. garnet, on her knees, gave her undivided atten- tion to the burning alcohol, the other three girls crouched on the floor around her and watched the process with deep interest, each one holding a spill in her hand. _ “ my, but it shmells goot,” said jessie, skinning her little nose up, until it well-nigh disappeared from view. “well, we haven’t go t our cups ready,” said. vera ; and jessie, with a gasp, fell over on the floor as if the miserable little pun, had stricken her lifeless. ~—~-__ a.‘ jfour girls at gottage gity. “ don’t, vera,” groaned garnet. “ i want some appetite left for the cocoa.” “never fear but what you will have some, my dear,” returned vera. “it will take more than a pun to spoil that.” “ i’ll give you the first taste, vera,” said garnet. “ you deserve something. pass your cup.” “i will. a c(o)uple of them, if you say so.” “ drink it quick, dear," said garnet, soothingly. “it may have the desired effect. ready, allie ? now, jess! have some, garnet? yes, i will, thank you.” , i think you would have laughed if you had seen those four girls (young ladies, rather), sitting on the floor in their night dresses, their knees drawn up to their chins, and the cups of steaming cocoa in their hands. vera held her’s up above her head. “ i drink to our adopted grand-parents,” she said, in a low, clear voice. ' jessie spoiled the effect by saying, reproach- fully: “oh, why didn’t you do it before? i’ve drunk all mine. give me some more, net.” “are you intending to make any more toasts, vera?” asked garnet, gravely. “ because, if you are, i’ll put some more water on.” . “i have done my did,” said vera, rather vaguely, and jessie choked so that her cocoa was spilled all over her night dress, and garnet had to slap four (birls at gottage gae. her back, saying as she did so: “get into bed, every one of you. some of the alcohol must have gotten into vera’s cocoa, and it’s gone to her head.” vera held her cup out coaxingly. “just a drop more ?” she pleaded. “ not one,” answered garnet, sternly. “ come, put yourselves into that bed.” and vera obeyed, murmuring faintly. ' “ it's too d of you, garnet.” “ \vhat’s that ?” giggled jessie, lifting her head from her pillow. “ say it again, ve.” “ she’ll do no such thing,” said garnet, hopping into bed beside vera. “ go to sleep, jess.” “ say it again, vera,” urged jessie. “ can’t, i’m dead,” said vera, in 'an exhausted tone. and jessie was obliged to lie down and content herself with laughing at something she had not heard. “wont some one get up and open the blind- door, so that the electric light will shine in?” asked allie. “i would, only i am on the back side.” garnet was out of bed in a moment. “ thanks,” murmured allie. fifteen minutes later, the silvery, moon-like radiance rested softly upon the four girlish faces lying calm and untroubled on their white pillows. it touched, and lingered lovingly upon jessie’s small, childish face,'and showed the smile, still mm n “'____',_e ~ jfour otrl s at giottage gtty. ' lingering on the red lips. it lighted allie’s pale, quiet one, beside it. it seemed to hover pityingly over vera’s pillow, softening the proud lines of the white face, resting upon it, and turning to silver the golden hair. it seemed to change the expres- sion of vera’s face entirely, making it one of almost childish trust and restfulness. an expression her face never wore in her waking moments. anyone seeing it, well might think, “that will be the look it will wear in death.” the light, falling on garnet’s face, betrayed none of the girl’s inward thoughts. the expres- sion seen upon it, was simply one of a contented mind and perfect bodily health. was there nothing more ? chapter i i i. the next morning the girls were awakened by the sun shining brightly into their room. “ oh. what a lovely morning,” cried jessie, jumping out of bed and going to the door that led out on the balcony. ' “ girls, do come and look. it is perfectly lovely.” and indeed it was. there was a large tree before the house, whose branches almost rested on the' roof. between the leaves, could be seen the methodist tabernacle, with its sloping red roof, old fashioned pulpit and rows of white, empty seats the lovely green grass in the park, fairly shone with the rain drops that still lingered upon it, and the leaves of the trees also glistened with them. the birds were singing, and from one of the cot- tages near, came the sound of a piano and the clear, full tones of a woman’s voice, singing. some children were walking through the park, and the the sound of their voices was music, too. while the girls stood with their arms around each other, enjoying the perfect beauty ofthe scene, the loud notes of a bell startled them. they came from the church near by. garnet looked at her watch that lay upon the table. firm“ ,__,—_._‘.__‘_c‘—_.‘a____>__— jfour (birls at glottage gtty. “ eight o’clock. that bell is for morning prayers; don’t you remember, jess?” “yes! they have only a very few minutes for them, though.” “ ten,” said garnet, beginning to dress. vera turned from the door with a softened look in her gray eyes. somehow or other the whole scene of this glorious sabbath morning, impressed her solemnly, and the sound of the bell calling all to prayers, added to the solemnity. “ i think i would like to attend an early service like that,” she said, softly. “well, we will to-morrow morning, if we can get up early enough,” said garnet. “ i would like it too,” said allie. “ umphl i don’t know as i care about getting in with a lot of shouting methodists,” said jessie, holding her head down and letting the glorious mass of hair fall over her face. “just look at that child's hair,” said vera, standing with her brushes poised above her head, while she gazed admiringly. “ do let me arrange it for you, will you, jess?” “ with the greatest of pleasure,” said jessie, with alacrity, sitting down on her trunk. “ doesn’t anyone go to the church but shouting methodists? ” asked allie. “yes, of course they do,” answered garnet. “jess was only joking. anyone goes who wants to.” jfour girls at gottage gity. “i suppose we are all going to the meeting in the tabernacle, aren’t we?” asked vera, putting a pin into jessie’s head a little more deeply than she meant to. ’ “ ow l that’s my scalp you are boring into, vera,” squealed jessie, vera made haste to pull out the offending pin. “ excuse me, jess, but you hair is so thick it seems impossible for a pin to go through it.” “ well, it can, just the same,” murmured jessie, in an injured tone. “ i am going to meeting for one,” said garnet. _ “ so am i,” said vera. “ and i,” said allie. “ well, then i suppose i must,” said jessie. ' “you know you want to,jessica,” said vera, lovingly, giving the glossy braids a final pat. “ much obliged to you, ma’am, for doing my hair,” said jessie, getting off the trunk and making a low bow. “ it feels splendiferous.” “it feels as it looks then,” said garnet. “i wish i could do something with my mop.” “ i wonder if we will see the young men at church,” said jessie. “such a thing cannot concern a child like you, at any rate,”said garnet, at which reproofjessie could only reply, lamely: “ hhl child your own self.” “ the first thing we had better do,” said vera, “will be to get some breakfast. ‘mother’ said . jfour girls at glottage gtty. . last night that we could use one of the tables in 'the kitchen and some of her'dishes. suppose you and i go over to the ‘central house’ and get the breakfast, net ?” “very well; and jess and allie can clean up the room while we are gone.” _ vera and garnet made their way to the hotel in question; just through the casino and across the avenue. vera carried the pot ofbeans ; garnet, the brown-bread. when they returned to the cottage they found the table set, and jessie and allie wait- ing impatiently. “ wonders will never cease,” said garnet. “we scarcely hoped to find you two young ladies down stairs. now i’ll make the cocoa.” “ what are we going to have to top off with?” asked jessie. “well, we ought to have thought and bought some fruit last night,” said vera, putting the pot of beans in the center of the table, while garnet went out into the back kitchen to make the cocoa. “ we can have the rest of the crackers if we feel as if we really need anything, after we have at- tacked that bean-pot,” said allie. their first breakfast proved to be a most pleasant meal. the girls were hungry, and beans, brown- bread and cocoa never seemed to taste so good be- fore, even though the table was not set “in style,” and the table cloth was a piece of stiff, brown paper. s jfour (birls at gottage gite. “ which would you rather do, al and jess,” said garnet, as they rose from the table, “wash the dishes or make the beds? ” _ “ let us take turns,” said vera. “ we’ll wash dishes this morning, and they can to-morrow morn- ing.” “ a good idea,” said garnet. “ now get to work, for there is no time to spare.” “ yes, its almost church-time,” said vera. “ oh, bother church ! ” muttered jessie. “jessie !” said garnet, reprovingly. “ to tell the truth i don’t care particularly about going myself,” said vera, putting the plates to- gether. “ but i suppose we might as well go; it will help kill time at all events.” “ yes,” said garnet. “ and if we grow tired we can leave quietly.” when the girls were ready they looked each other over critically to see that everything was all right. a fairer sight could scarcely be asked for than they in their pretty summer dresses. vera was dressed all in soft black, that made her white skin and golden hair look perfectly lovely. allie wore a pretty, cool looking dress of white and nile- green. garnet and jessie wore cream, which was most becoming to their rich complexions and dark eyes. they took their places near the entrance. when the hymn “ nearer my god to thee” was .~ .-___,,_,_‘a‘~w—___ jfour (birls at gottage gity. sung, their voices joined in the harmony, and very sweet they sounded too. yet, while they sang, their eyes roved carelessly from one part; of the tabernacle to another, and when they saw the tall, bent form of“ grandpa ” walk slowly up the aisle to one of the front seats, they nudged one- another and smiled. “ though like a wanderer, the sun gone down; darkness come over me, my rest a stone. ” the grand melody floated up to the dark dome of the tabernacle, but our girls’ hearts beat calmly and regularly in their bosoms. allie alone felt a name- less longing. what was it? “ yet in my dreams i’d be, nearer my god to thee. ” vera’s gray eyes, roving carelessly around, fell upon a pale face lifted to heaven, and she stopped her singing to gaze in wonder. the blue eyes, that looked as though they knew well what it was to be filled with bitter tears, were full of a soft, radiant light now. the pale lips were slightly parted and quivering a little. “ nearer, my god to thee, nearer to thee. ” the' face was fairly luminous now and the next moment it was hidden from sight in two small, jfonr girls at gottage gtty. neatly-gloved hands, as the voice of the minister fell on the sudden silence. “ oh, god, who takest away the sins of the world ” —_— garnet softly touched vera on the arm to remind her, and the golden head bowed itself immedi- ately, but not one word of the beautiful prayer did vera hear. whose was that pale, radiant face? what deep sorrow had come into her life? the story of it was written in the luminous eyes, the quivering lips, the pale, peaceful face. “what a heartlessly long sermon !” said jessie, as they passed out from the cool duskiness of the tabernacle to the warm, bright sunlight. “i do think that minister ought to be arrested for cruelty to animals. ” “ what are you looking so sober about, vera? ” asked garnet. “are you thinking of the sermon?” “ there was but one sermon' for me this morn- ing,” replied vera. “conscience!” groaned jessie. “ how many would you have?” “ i don't mean the sermon the minister preached." the girls turned and looked at her wonderingly. “i found my sermon in a face this morning,” was vera’s answer to the question so plainly asked. “ why, good-morning, ladies,” said a cheery voice, and “ cousin fred” and erfort richards sauntered up. ii iii____ii___ ,‘ ‘ “—_"", ",— jfour girls at gottage gity. “ a miraculous discovery made, gentlemen, by our friend vera,” said jessie. “ what is that?” asked erfort, calmly taking the bunch of lace flounces, that served as a parasol, from jessie’s hand and using it for a cane. “ why, she found a sermon in’a face this morn- ing.” “cousin fred ” stepped quietly up to vera. “explain the mystery, jess,” he said. “ oh, let vera do that,” replied jessie. “ does it seem such an impossible thing—finding a sermon in a face?” asked vera. “ well, did any of you notice a lady, a small, slight lady with a pale face. ” “ oh, did she have on a lovely white lace dress and a hat just one bed of pansies?” interrupted jessie, turning around with an animated face. the flickering smile passed over erfort’s face at the question, just touching the lips and lighting the dark eyes for a moment, and then vanished. “ no,” replied vera, “ the truth is i didn’t notice her dress, but' she had large, blue eyes, and she seemed to be so interested in the sermon, and while they were singing “ nearer my god to thee ,” i could not keep my eyes off her face— it was fairly radiant. that woman has suffered — i know she has, but whatever her sufferings have been, she has passed through them bravely and is feeling perfectly at rest.” jfotll‘ ( m at gottage (lift), “ \vhy, vera ! ” jessie had stood still and was staring at vera with all her eyes. fred looked ill at ease and was eyeing vera askance. was she one of these religious girls? he had liked her very much the day before, but if she was going to 'be religious it would spoil all the fun. erfort seemed to be intensely admiring the ' fantastic pattern ofjessie’s parasol handle. “ what’s the matter,jasmine? ” asked vera. “ well, thatisjust what i want to kn nv,” returned jessie. “ what are you so solemn about?” “ i am not solemn,” replied vera. “ that is, i do not think i am; and yet, that face as i watched it, made me feel strangely. it somehow made me feel as though i would like to meet with the lady and talk with her.” “ perhaps you will meet with her,” said erfort, quietly. m ’ “ oh, i hope so,” replied vera, warmly. “ advertise for her,” said jessie, tilting her head back and looking at vera over her shoulder with laughing eyes. “ i’ll do the composing. ahem! ‘wanted:—knowledge of the whereaboutsof a small, slight lady, with a pale face, luminous blue eyes, and a general aspect of one who has fought the battle of life bravely and is now patiently waiting to have her name erased from the great roll-call. the person who will give the desired information will be liberally rewarded.’” jessie held out a little’ jfour tbirls at gottage ging. hand. “ten cents, please, vera,” she said; but vera did not smile. “but i mean it, jess. i would really like to know who she is.” “i noticed her,” said allie’s quiet voice. “ caesar’s ghost l ” exclaimed jessie, in horrified tones. “jessie !” came from garnet, in reproving tones. fred laughed. “you’ll get yourself in trouble, jess,” he said, glad to have a chance of changing the tone of the conversation. “ llh; is that so? ” retortedjessie, but she said no more, and walked along by erfort. “ won’t you come in ?” asked vera, as they reached the cottage. “ ‘ grandpa’ and ‘ mother’ have given us permission to use the front parlor, so we can entertain our friends in there.” fred seated himself comfortably on the steps and just as he opened his mouth to say, “ oh, yes, thank you, we’ll stay,” erfort said, “thank you, but by the time we get back to the hotel, it will be our dinner-hour, and i suppose it is the same with you, ladies. if you are willing, we will call around this afternoon. come, fred.” jessie skipped into the house, twirled herself around on one foot, made a sweeping courtesy to the door, and said in her most ceremonious tones. “ah, yes, mr. richards, it is our dinner-hour. come, ladies, we will repair to the dining-room of jfour (birls at gottage gite. hotel d’ atherton and—lunch oti‘ fruit crackers and chocolate creams.” and with a laugh, the four girls ran lightly up the stairs to their room. 'm—aa'r chapter iv. itis the afternoon ofthe next day, and again it is a pouring down rain storm. the girls are in their room. vera is sitting in one of the rocking chairs, with a volume of tennyson on her lap. garnet occupies the other rocker, with a little volume called “ sea music,” in her hand. allie is lying on one of the beds, with one hand under her cheek. and her blue eyes looking steadily at “ nothing.” jessie is sitting on the foot of the other bed, one of her feet under her, the other swinging rather vio- lently back and forth, between the bed and the floor; her elbow is resting on the foot-board, her cheek is in her hand and her large black eyes are roving restlessly around the room. the exhaustless bag of fruit-crackers, holds its conspicuous place on the table, between vera and garnet. and every once in a while, first one little white hand and then the other, of the two readers, wander absently to it, disappear for an instant, and then withdraw itself, (and a cracker). they munch, and read, and rock, and are happy. ' poor jessie ! she is very human, and can bear it no longer. the swinging foot goes the least bit higher in its upward motion, and when it comes o jfour girls at gottage gity. down, it brings garnet’s book with it; then jessie throws herself backwards on the bed, partly to laugh and partly to escape the angry light of garnet’s dark eyes. “ you are certainly growing more lady-like every day,” is garnet’s sarcastic comment, as she stoops to pick up her book. “ oh, bother l ” retorts jessie. “ why don’t the crowd wake up then? i never saw such a dull set! you two girls would be perfectly happy on an island, all by yourselves, if you only had a book of sentimental poetry and a bag of fruit crackers. [ call it downright selfish in you. i don’t know what you call it.” “ oh, jasmine, don’t speak lightly of tennyson. i am reading the ‘ lady of shalott’ for the eighth time, and it grows more beautiful every time i read it,” said vera. “ ugh ! his poetry is too ancient for me,” replied jessie. “ah, that is just the beauty of it. and he expresses himself so prettily. there is only one fault i can find with him.” “ what is that ? ” asked garnet. “ he makes his women too weak.” “ physically, intellectually, or morally?” “ oh, morally. his description of them as they are p/zysically, suits me exactly. tall, slender, fair and proud l but weak — too weak.” _._~—___.,._.____‘.‘ w ,______~ q a jfour (bids at gottage gtty. “ they had one rare qualification. they knew how to suffer in silence,” said garnet, thoughtfully. “ the fate of all true and pure women,” answered vera. ' “ you always make me think of guinevere, vera,” said garnet, lovingly. “ i am going to call you that.” vera raised both white hands in horror. “ i beseech you not to, garnet. call me anything but that. why, she was his weakest heroine.” “ she proved herself to be strong at the last, though, vera. and see what she suffered. poor woman! she was a very woman in her suffering.” “ yes, the queen was indeed lost in the woman, in more sense than one. she deserved all the suf- fering she had to endure and she had no one to thank but herself.” “ what’s this all about, anyway,” asked jessie, who was sitting up on her elbow by this time, and listening to the conversation with interest, as was allie. “tell me all about it, vera, i hate to read, but i like to listen to stories,” and she drew her mouth down and rolled her eyes around, like the baby that she was. “ well, i’ll tell it to you,” said vera, closing her book and leaning her head back against her chair. garnet closed her book, rested her elbow upon it, leaned her head upon her hand, and prepared to listen. allie and jessie fixed their eyes upon jlfour (birls at glottage mty. ‘! vera, and so with the rain falling heavily on the roof, and the wind moaning low among the branches of the great tree, vera told over, the beautiful story of “queen guinevere,” and as garnet watched the intensity of feeling expressed in the fair face, she thought: “ she does make an ideal ‘ qvueen guinevere,’ whatever she may say.” story of “ guinevere.” “i will begin with ‘the coming of arthur.’ the first four lines are these: “ ‘ leodogran, the king of cameliard, had one fair daughter, and none other child ; and she was fairest of all flesh on earth, guinevere, and in her, his one delight.’ ” “ before arthur came to the isle of cameliard a great many petty kings had ruled, and were always waging war upon each other, wasting all the land. aurelius lived before arthur came, and he fought and died; then came king uther, and /ze fought and died. but neither of these kings could make the kingdom one. but when king arthur came, he made a realm and reigned. all recognized him as their head and king. but the island had become such a waste that wild beasts rooted in the fields and' even wallowed in the gardens of the king. and sometimes a wolf would devour a child. king leodogran had heard of arthur newly jfour (birls at gottage (tity. crowned, and he sent for him to come and fight the the beasts, altho’ some said that arthur was not uther’s son. so, arthur came. and when he passed the castle walls, guinevere saw him, but she did not know he was a king. for he did not wear any sign ofhis kinglihood, but was dressed as a simple knight. but arthur saw and knew her, and fell in love with her on the spot. but he passed on, and pitched his tents beside the forest. and he drove out the heathen, and slew the beasts, and filled the forest, and made broad pathways for the hunter and the knight, and then he went back, for while he was there, some of the great lords and barons were jealous of him, and they colleagued with some of the smaller kings to bring doubts as to his really being uther’s son, and his right to rule them. they said he did not resemble uther, and they declared he was not uther’s son, but anton’s. but arthur thought of nothing but guinevere. he loved her with all the strength of his being, and he was a very strong and noble man. but he went to fight a great battle with these jealous barons and kings, and first it seemed as though they were going to win the fight, and then as tho’ he was to be the victor. but arthur seemed to he possessed with superhuman strength, and threw all the kings, and the victory was his. he was so overjoyed that he laughed aloud, and he said to his favorite war- rior, whom he loved and honored most: ” four (btris at gottage gttt. “ ‘ thou dost not doubt me king, so well thine arm hath wro'ught for me to-day.’ ” “ and the warrior replied : ” “ ‘ sir, and my liege, the fire of god decends upon thee in the battle field: ' i know thee for my king.’ ” “ then they swore on the field of death a death- less love, and arthur said : ” “ ‘ man’s word is god in man: let chance what will, i trust thee to the death !”’ “ and this warrior was ‘ sir launcelot.’ then arthur asked leodogran to give guinevere to him to be his bride, and leodogran liked and admired him, but he was doubtful as to his birth. for some declared he was son of gorlo'is, or else the child of anton, and no king. or else base born, so leodogran didn’t know what to do. he sent out knights to learn the history of arthur’s life. he consulted with everyone whom he thought would know, but he received but little satisfaction. he sent for the ‘culeen of orkney,’ for she was gorlo'i's’ daughter, and asked her if she were not arthur’s own sister, but she either could not or would not tell him. at last he sent word to arthur that he might have guinevere for his queen. when arthur received this word he bade sir launcelot to ride forth and bring the queen, and he watched him leave the gates. this was in the ¢.—~ __i_.’-_ a .i,‘_\ ,-_ ,_ ___.._ four girls at gottage gity. latter part of april, and in may he returned with guinevere. they were married, and at the shrine they swore a deathless love, and arthur said : ” “ ‘behold, thy doom is mine. let chance what will, i love thee to the death.’ ” “ and the queen replied with drooping eyes :” “ ‘ king and my lord, i love thee to the death.’ ” “after his marriage, arthur fought and won twelve great battles, and made a realm and reigned. one of the maidens of the queen’s court was named enid, and was wife to geraint. she loved the queen and the queen loved her, and often the queen would deck enid with her own white hands, and she would be the lovliest lady at the court— next to the queen herself. but now arose whispers ofthe guilty love of the queen for sir launcelot, and, although there was no proof of the truth of this, yet geraint was fearful lest his young wife's honor should be sullied through her great love for the queen. so he went to the king, and, under pretext of desiring to go to his princedom to save it from bandit earls and assassins, he asked per- mission to take his wife and g hence, and the king, after musing awhile, allowed them to depart.” (here vera stopped to say, “ the poem of geraint and enid is beautiful, but i cannot do it justice. it must be read carefully to be appreciated”) sir launcelot was ordered by the king to go and jfour girls at gottage gity. search for the last and largest ofthe eight diamonds that was to be put into the center of the 'crown that was to be presented to the queen. on the morning of his departure the queen was sick, and arthur asked her if she felt too sick to look upon sir launcelot before he went away. she lifted her eyes then and sir launcelot read in their depths: “ ‘ stay wlth me, i am sick; my love is more than many dia nonds.”’ and he yielded and told the king that the wound he had received a long time ago was not yet healed, and the king looked first at him and then at her and went his way, and then the queen and sir launcelot talked together and the queen was in a bitter mood so that he left her and went away angry. he went to the ‘castle of astolat ’ where dwelt” “ ‘ elaine, the fair; elaine, the lovable, elaine, the lily maid of astolat,’ ” “ with her father and two brothers. and when he reached the castle gate the old dumb keeper let him in. and ,elaine’s father and two brothers greeted sir launcelot kindly and hospitably. and elaine ' when she looked into his face read there the guilty love he had for his queen, but she loved him, although his face was seamed with an old sword cut and he was twice her years, yet” “ ‘ she lifted up her eyes and loved him with a love that was her dea'tlgfi" i____ m.,, four (birls at gottage (mty. “ in the morning he departed with her brother, and while he was standing at the castle gate stroking his horse’s mane, elaine came down the tower stairs and stood before him. she asked him to wear her ‘ favor’ to the tourney. but he told her that he had never worn a lady’s favor. she begged him to wear her’s, and he said he would and asked her what it was. she told him it was a red sleeve, broidered with pearls, and she brought it, and while he bound it on his helmet he said : ” “ ‘ i never yet have done so much for any maiden living.’ ” “and the words filled her with great delight. and he gave his shield to her and asked her to keep it until he came again. and launcelot went to battle and it reached the queen’s ears how he wore a red sleeve, broidered with pearls ; and the queen threw herself down on her couch and writhed in agony and called him ‘ traitor,’ for she thought he loved someone else ; and in a little while she heard that it was the ‘ maid of astolat.’ and the queen,‘ moved about her castle, pale and proud. but the poor little ‘lily maid of astolat,’ unconscious of how her name was being bandied about at court, stayed in her turret window beside the shield, and watched for launcelot’s return. but he did not come for he had been wounded in battle, and elaine told her father she must seek for him, and he gave 'her a guide saying : ” jfour oirls at gottage gity. “ ‘ being so very wilful, you must go.” ’ “and as she went, the words kept singing in her' heart, only the last one was changed : ” “ ‘ being so very wilful you must die.’” “ she found sir launcelot in a cave wounded and sick, but her red silk sleeve still fluttered from his helmet, only it was tattered and torn, and half the pearls had been shot off. she nursed him every day, and every night she went to stay with her kin in the city. launcelot was not always gentle with her, but sometimes gruff, but she bore it very meekly—she loved him so. and launcelot thought to himself that if he had only met her before she might have made the world beautiful to . to him, but now— ” “ ‘ the shakles of an old love straightened him. his honor rooted in dishoner stood. and faith unfaithful kept him falsely true.”’ ‘ ‘ when launcelot was better the three returned to astolat, and elaine dressed herselfin her most be- coming attire, and came and stood before launce- lot. she hoped he would tell her that he loved her, but he only bade her tell him what he could give her to repay her for her kindness to him, and he said : ” “ ‘ delay no longer, speak your wish, seeing i must go to-day.’ ” l___\pi jfour girls at glottage (mty. “then poor elaine forgot everything but her love, and she cried passionately : ” “ ‘ i have gone mad. i love you ; let me die.’ " “ ‘ah, sister,’ answered launcelot, ‘ what is this!’ and innocently extending her white arms —‘ your love,’ she said, ‘ your love—to‘be your wife.”’ “ but launcelot told her he would never marry, for had he been going to he would have wedded earlier in life. then she implored him to take her with him, that she might ever see his face, but this he could not do. he told her it was not love she felt for him, but ‘ love's first flash in youth,’ and he told her he would always be her friend and knight, but more than that he could not. but she only grew deathly pale, and saying: “ ‘of all this will i nothing,“ she fell, and they carried her swooning to the tower.” “and her father said : ” “ ‘ aye, a flash i fear me that will strike my blossom dead. too courteous are you fair sir launcelot, i pray you use some rough discourtesy ’ ' to blunt or break her passion.’ ” “ so, sir launcelot stayed over till the next 'morning, and elaine heard his horse’s hoofs upon the stones, and she'flung open her casement and looked down and she saw that her sleeve was gone jfour girls at gottage gity. from his helmet. and she knew that he knew she was looking at him, but he did not glance up. ‘ this was the one discourtesy that he used.’ “ so he went away, and elaine sat in her tower alone, and her father came to her and said: ‘have comfort; and her brothers came and said: ‘ peace to thee, sweet sister,’and she greeted them calmly. and she made a song and called it ‘ the song of love and death.’ and when elaine knew she was going to die, she sent for her father and and brothers, and told them she wanted to write sir launcelot a letter, and that after she was dead they must make her body ready for the grave and lay it upon a barge, with the letter in her dead hands, and let their dumb old keeper steer her down the river to the gates of the queen’s palace, and then bear her into the hall and 'set her down among them, and after her long voyage she would rest. and they promised to do as she asked. and so she died. and her two brothers laid her upon the barge, and set a lily in her hand, and spread a silken coverlet over her, and kissed her quiet brow and said with tears : ” “ ‘ sister, farewell forever. farewell, sweet sister.’ then rose the dumb old servitor, and the dead steere’d by the dumb went upward with the flood—- in her right hand the lily, in her left the letter—all her bright hair streaming down— and all the coverlid was cloth of gold '.___ _fi ___. jfour (birls at gottage gite. drawn to her waist, and she herself in white, all but her face, and that clear-featured face was lovely, for she did not seem as dead, but fast asleep and lay as tho’ she smiled.’ ” “ that day, sir launcelot craved an audience of guinevere, to give to her at last, the costly dia- mond, and she granted it to him; and when she appeared before him, pale and proud, he knelt before her. and'the queen was angry with him, and took her diamonds from her neck and arms, and telling him first to give them to the maid he loved, and then crying that she should not have them, she flung them from her through the case- ment into the water below', and it was then that the barge, bearing elaine, passed under the window, and when they had brought her in, they gave the letter she held in her hand to sir launcelot, and this was it :' ” “ ‘ most noble lord, sir launcelot of the lake, i, sometimes 'called the maid of astolat, come, for you left me taking no farewell, hither, to take my last farewell of you. i loved you, and my love had no return, and, therefore, my true love has been my death. and, therefore, to our lady guinevere, and to all other ladies, i make moan. pray for my soul, and yield me burial. pray for my soul, thou too, sir launcelot, as thou art a knight, peerless.’ ” jfour (birls at (totta'ge gtty. ‘aw- “ sir launcelot read it aloud, beside the dead elaine, and before all the lords and dames, and king and queen, and he told them all her story. then was the queen happy, for she knew he loved only her, still. and arthur ordered elaine’s body to be put into a costly tomb, and for the story of her voyage to be blazoned on it, in letters of blue and gold. then sir launcelot drew apart, and when the queen passed him, she said : ‘ launcelot, for- give me; mine was jealousy in love.’ he answered: ‘ that is love’s curse ; pass on, my queen, forgiven.’ and arthur came and put his arm about sir launcelot’s neck, and sympathized with and con- soled him in his trouble. he did not know how launcelot was wronging him. and launcelot was conscience-smitten and went away and mourned bitterly. i after a while it became known to arthur' how he was being deceived, and his anger and sorrow were deep. then the queen fled the. court, and took refuge in a convent at almesbury, and had no one with her save a little maid—a novice. ’ and this is how arthur learned of her sin. sir modred hated sir launcelot, and he watched him and the queen, and one morning, when the royal ~ party had been a-maying and had returned, sir modred climbed to the top of the garden wall, to spy some secret scandal if he might. sir launce- lot came by, and seeing him, and understanding why he was there, took him by the heel, as one four (birls at gottage gtty. would pluck a caterpillar, and cast him down. then he helped him to rise, but the prince went away with vengeance in his heart. sir launcelot told the queen, but at first she only laughed, then she grew afraid. they used to meet in the tower, and she begged him to fly to his own land, but he would not. at last, one day they agreed upon a night of parting. it came, and they met in the tower for the last time. but while'they were bid- ding each other an affectionate farewell, modred brought his men to the foot of the tower and cried out: ‘traitor, come out; ye are trapt atlast ! ’ and launcelot rushed out and leapt on him, and hurled him headlong; and he fell, stunned,’and his men took and bore him off and all was still. then sir launcelot and guinevere bade each other a long farewell. he begged her to go with him to his castle beyond the seas, but she would not. he said his was the shame; but she said, no, it was her’s, for she was a wife and he was unwedded ; so they parted. he went to his own land and she to the convent in almesbury—fied all night upon the horse he had sat her upon. she told the sisters at 'the convent that her enemies pursued her, and they believed her and took her in. they never knew her name, for she talked only with the little maid. and one night she was listening to this 'little maid, who pleased her with her babbling talk, when there came a rumor wildly blown jfour (birls at gottage gtt‘}. about, that king arthur was waging war on sir launcelot. then she thought ‘ with what a hate the people and the king must hate me.’ and she bowed her head upon her hands, and the little maid who did not like the silence said : ’ late, so late ! what hour, i wonder, now.’ and when the ' queen did not answer, she began to sing a little air that the nuns had taught her. ‘late, so late.’ and when the queen heard this, she lifted her head and‘ asked her to sing the whole of it to her, and she did, and this is the song : ” “ ‘ late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill! late, late, so late! but we can enter still. too late, too late! ye cannot enter now. no light had we; for that we do repent; and learning this, the bridegroom will relent. too late, too late! ye cannot enter now. no light; so late! and dark and chill the night! o, let us in, that we may find the light! too late, too late ? ye cannot enter now. have we not heard the bridegroom is so sweet? o, let us in, tho’ late, to kiss his feet! no, no, too late ! ye cannot enter now.’ ” “ and after she had sung it she commenced to talk with the queen about the news they had heard. and she told the queen how the king thought sir launcelot had the queen in his castle, and that was why he had gone to fight him, and the little maid spoke in loving words of the king —so good, ,__,,-_,.—_‘a,._ a,‘ jfour girls at gottage gity. so kind and noble as he was—until the queen moaned to herself: ‘ will the child kill me with her innocent talk?’ and in listening to the little maid, she seemed to go back to the time when arthur had sent launcelot for her, and ofthe pleasant talk they had had together on their journey, and when she had first seen the king how she had thought him ‘high, self-contained and passionless.’ but while she brooded thus, there rang a cry through the convent: ‘the king!’ and while she sat and trembled, armed feet came through the long gallery from the outer doors. guinevere threw herself'on the floor and hid her face in her white arms, and when the king came thro’ he saw and stopped before her. then came silence, and then she heard his voice ”— “ ‘ liest thou here so low, the child of one i honored? happy dead before thy shame! well it is that no child is born ofthee : for think not, tho’ thou woulds’t not love thy lord, thy lord hast wholly lost his love for thee p i am not made of so slight elements; yet must i leave thee, woman, to thy shame.’ ” “ he paused, and in the pause she crept an inch nearer, and laid her hands about his feet. and he said : ” “ ‘ yet think not i have come to urge thy crimes, i did not come to curse thee, guinevere; jfour (birls at gottage gity. ‘__- i, whose vast pity almost makes me die to see thee lying there; thy golden head, my pride in happier summers, at my feet. and all is passed, the sin is sinn’d, and i, l ! i forgive thee, as eternal god forgives: do thou for thine own soul the rest. but how to take last leave of all i loved?” “ then arthur goes on to give expression to his deep sorrow, and his last words were: ” “ ‘but hither shall i never come again, never lie by thy side, see thee no more. farewell ! and while she grovelled at his feet, she felt the king's breath wander o’er her neck. and in the darkness, o’er the fallen head, perceived the moving of his hands that blest.’ ” “ then the queen struggled to her feet and made her way to the casement, that she might look once more upon his face, and she saw him on horseback at the door, and the sad nuns stood near him with a light, and she heard him tell them to guard and foster her evermore. his helmet was lowered so she would not see his face which was like an angels. then he rode away, and guinevere stretched out her arms and cried: ‘ oh, arthur !’ then she knew how great for him her love was and she moaned : ” jfour girls at gottage gity. “ ‘ is there none will tell the kingl love him tho’ so late? ’ ” “ then the little maid and the nuns came in and stood around her, weeping; and she told them that hereafter she would make her home with them, doing all the good she could.” “ ‘ they took her to themselves, and she still hoping, fearing, is it yet too late? dwelt with them, till in time their abbess died. then she, for her good deeds and her pure life, and for the power of ministration in her, and likewise for the high rank she had borne, was chosen abbess there, an abbess lived for three brief years, and there an abbess passed to where beyond these voices there is peace.’ ” chapter v. a long drawn sigh from the three girls, as vera finished, and then silence. tender-hearted, im- pulsive jessie was crying, but so softly that the others did not hear her. “ what a sad, sad story,” said allie, gently. “ yes, it is sad,” replied vera, “ but i don’t pity guinevere one bit.” “ oh, vera,” said garnet, reproachfully. “well, i don’t. nor any other woman who proves herself so faithless. such a grand man as king arthur was ! ” “ he was too grand,” said garnet, with unusual bitterness. “ i can imagine just how he looked down on the poor, fallen queen, who lay at his feet with her golden hair sweeping the dust. ‘i, whose vast pity almost makes me die.’ ugh! if i were a man i would say: ‘ pity be snooked.”’ “well, garnet dare, i would like to know who is using elegant expressions now!” cried jessie, taking her handkerchief down from her eyes. “ but what became of king arthur, vera?” “ oh, he fought and won many battles, and at last he was severely wounded, and—and—well, i jfour (btris at gottage glity. can’t just tell you where he went, but while he lay wounded on some beach, talking to one of his knights, a barge sailed slowly up to him, in which were seated three beautiful queens. they took arthur into the barge and he sailed away with them to some beautiful, warm country.” (“ oh, he died,then, did he?” interrupted jessie, wickedly). allie laughed softly and even garnet smiled, but vera replied, innocently : “ no, he didn’t die. there was one of the three beautiful women taller and more lovely than the others, who smoothed his forehead and — ” “ hh! i bet a dollar bill he up and married her before he’d known her a month. just like a man,” said jessie, with infinite contempt. “ oh, jasmine; what do you know about men?” asked vera, with a laugh. “ hh! all i want to.” “you know what josiah allen’s wife, samantha, says about the men,” said garnet. “ or more par- ticularly about her’s. ‘josiah looked good to me. men are nice creeturs, but you don’t want to see too‘ meny of them to once; likeways with wimmen.’ ” “well, samantha gets about right about our not wanting to see ‘ too many of them to once,’ ” said jessie. “ l’ve never seen any man yet who looked good to me.” “ that’s strange,” said vera, in mock surprise. “ such an antiquated fossil as you are.” ‘ jfour girls at cottage gift. _ asked allie, innocently. “ superfluity ofwords, my dear,” reproved jess. grandly. “ a fossil is necessarily antiquated.” then she buried her head in the counterpane, to escape the cracker that vera threw at her. ' “ doesn’t mr richards look good to you, jess?” “ i think he is real nice looking.” “ oh, he’s nice looking enough,” said jessie, carelessly, “ but he’s stifl’er than a ram-rod.” “ say, girls,” said vera, suddenly, “ do you think it is wicked to go to the theatre p” up sprang jessie on the bed, and gazed at vera with big, shining eyes. "’ what! ” she exclaimed. “ what did you say,vera earle ?” “ i asked you,” repeated vera, .“ if you thought it was wicked to go to the theatre.” “ well, not much,” replied jessie, emphasizing her words with a pound of her little fist on the foot- board. “ but i would think it mighty wicked ifi couldn’t go.” “jessie, will you please stop using that word ?” asked garnet. " ‘ ‘what word?” knowing all the. time what it was. “ mighty. you know it is not only unladylike, but actually wrong.” “ yes, that's so,” with unexpected meekness- “ i won’t use it again.” “ but do you think it is all right to go? ” asked vera. jfour (birls at glottage (mty. “jessie has already answered for herself,” said garnet. “icertainly think there is not the least bit of harm in going to a theatre, unless the play is immoral. that, of course, would be apt to have a dangerous effect on one’s mind, just as immoral books have. but, as for there being anything wicked in the ordinary theatre, i cannot see the reason.” ' “you don’t think it is wicked, do you, vera ?” asked jessie, suddenly. “ what a question, jess,” said garnet, with a low, amused laugh. “ when we all four go to one every saturday afternoon almost as regularly as saturday afternoon comes.” “ hear net,” said jessie. “anybody would think we were female caesars.” “well, we go to the theatre on an average of once a month,” retorted garnet, whether we are female caesars or—or male caesars,” she added, rather lamely. “ yes, you bet we do,” said jessie, “ if we do have to get seats in ‘ nigger heaven.’ ” garnetlooked most indignant. “the idea !” she exclaimed. “ i wouldn’t say such a thing even in joke, ifi were you, jessie.” “an’ sure, i’m not saying it in joke. i’m in deadly airnest, be jabbers. but you do not answer me, vera. have you changed your mind about going to the theatre? give me your handker- four girls at gottage gite. chiefs, girls, i shall need them if she tells me she does.” “ n—o,” replied vera, “i don’t know as ithink it is wicked really, but—” “ n—o—o—o,” mimicked jessie. “ what do 'you mean by your prolongation of the vowel o, vera katherine earle ? you appear to be in doubt. answer me ; but don’t you dare to tell me you think it is wicked to go to the theatre, or i’ll throw the pillow at you,” and she raised it threateningly. then she turned suddenly to allie. “ what are you looking so solemn about, miss hunt? are you going back on the theatre too ?” “ don’t look so savage, jessie,” replied allie, smiling; then she added, softly : “ i don’t know as i would miss such a great deal if i did go back on it. do you think i would? ” “ well, of coursei can’t answer for you,” replied jessie, laying down the pillow with a curiously dis- appointed look on her little face. “ but i know i wouldn’t care to live if i couldn’t go to the theatre — t/zat’s sure.” “ oh, jasmine l” exclaimed vera. “ isn’t that a little strong? ” “ no, ” replied jessie, drawing her rosy lips to- gether in a little, straight, determined line. “ nota bit too strong to express my feelings.” . “ well,” said vera, “i /zave noticed this one thing, when i have come from the theatre lately four (birls at (iottage gtty. , i have feltjust a little dissatisfied. at first i laid it to the play—i thought it must be they were not as good as formerly, but i found that that couldn’t be the reason, for--—you remember the last one we went to, margaret mather in ‘joan of arc?” ( both garnet and jessie nodded; jessie very em- phatically.) “ well, of course, that was a grand play and it was grand acting, but if you’ll believe me, girls, i actually felt that same dissatisfied feel- ing that i had felt before. now, what made me? ” no one answered. that vera, or any one else, could feel in that way after seeing such a grand thing as that play was, was a thing perfectly in- comprehensible to jessie. garnet’s deeper mind could not find a reason. vera was honestly troubled. she could not answer the question of her own rest- less heart. only allie’s pale face flushed; she looked at vera with eager blue eyes, and once or twice her lips trembled as though she would speak, but it seemed as if she could not and in a moment ' more it was too late, for a low knock sounded on the chamber door, which all recognized as being “mother’s,” and then the door was softly pushed open and the fair, wrinkled face peered in. from force of habit the girls looked past “ mother” and smiled at each other to see the fragile hand holding “ grandpa” back. but he caught a glimpse of the pretty picture in the chamber, and it did his dean d eyes good. i s jfour girls at gottage gtte. “ come right in, ‘ grandma,’ ” cried all the girls together, “ and ‘ grandpa,’ too.” and vera and garnet drew their rocking-chairs forward. “ well, well; thank you, thank you,” replied “ mother,” in her eager, trembling tones. “ ionly came up to tell you — now mr. atherton, you had better not come in," she broke offto say to “ grand- pa,” as he was pushing eagerly forward. “ oh, yes, do let him come,” pleaded the girls, and “grandpa” thanked them with a happy smile. “ well, i declare! ” repliec “ mother,” secretly pleased, but still dictatorial, “ then come in and sit down' here side of me. as i was saying, children— you don’t mind my calling you children, do you ?” (“no, no; certainly not,” murmured the girls.) “vv'ell, as i saying, i only came up to tell you—— oh, last night mr. atherton and me heard you sing- ing. it was you, wasn’t it?” the girls thought for a moment. “ i’m pretty sure it was you,” went on “ mother,” “because it sounded as if it came from this room. first you went w-a-y up'and then you came w-a-y down, and kind of quirked your voices once in a while, and you said something about ‘neater, on neater’—guess the song must have been about clean habits or something. wa’n’t it you? ” _ well it was for the dear old s'ouls that their eyes were dim and the twilight deepening. no one could answer except allie. jfour girls at gottage (titty. “yes, ‘ grandma/we were singing and the piece you refer to was ‘juanita,’ ‘ nita, nita, juanita.’ we’ll sing it for you sometime if you want us to. “ oh, will you? well, that will be nice. me and mr. atherton love to hear young people sing. that must be a pretty piece; but do you know ‘nearer my god to thee? ’ and ‘jesus, lover of my soul? ’ ” oh, yes, of course, the girls knew them. “well, somehow or other i like them two old pieces better than anything else. would you just as lief sing one of them now?” oh, yes; they would sing them both. the dusky twilight gathered, the rain pattered softly against the glass doors, the wind moaned drearily among the huge branches of the tree, but the 'beautiful girlish voices rose above both rain and wind: “ nearer, my god to thee, nearer to thee.” vera could see, shining clear and pure through the coming darkness, the pale, illuminated face she had seen and watched in the tabernacle, the pale lips quivering, the blue eyes raised to heaven. “jesus lover of my soul.” vera still saw the face. was the peace that she saw written upon it, the “peace that passeth all understanding ?” “ while the nearer waters roll, while the tempest still is nigh.” “ mother’s ” wandering hand sought “grandpa’s,” folded upon the arm of his chair, drawn close to her side, and there it rested. after jfour (birls at gottage gity. the sweet voices ceased, it was very quiet in the room. “ mother” broke the silence. “ah, that is a beautiful hymn ; a beautiful hymn.” and “ grandpa ” murmured : “ aye, a beautiful hymn.” “ yes, ithink it’s pretty,” said jessie, pleasantly, but carelessly. the tone more than the words, jarred on vera. why was it? only because she had been feeling for a few minutes strangely happy—peaceful, glad. “ me and mr. atherton have morning prayers,” went on “ mother.” “wont you join us? ” jessie made a comical face, which no one saw. the others answered at once: “ oh, thank you; we will be very happy to.” “ you might sing _ those pieces again,” said “ grandpa,” timidly. _“ yes, we will,” answered garnet, kindly. “ hadn’t we better have a light,” queried jessie, just here. “ oh, ‘ mother,’ " whispered “ grandpa,” “ you didn’t tell them.” “land, i forgot l ” replied “ mother.” “ them pieces put it all out of my mind. we came up to tell you, children, there are two young gentlemen down stairs, and they wanted me to ask you to come down.” jessie, on her way to the stand for a match, gave vera’s shoulder an expressive nudge. four (bins at gottage mty. “ i’ll go right down and tell them you’re coming." went on “ mother.” “ come, mr. atherton l ” at the door she turned and asked, anxiously: “you wont forget to-morrow morning, will you?” “ no, we wont forget.” “ my conscience l ” exclaimed jessie, as soon as “ mother” and “ grandpa” were out of hearing, “i wonder if those two young men are blessed with a good stock of patience.” “ this is a good test for it if they are,” said vera. “wonder if they heard us warbling?” said jessie. “ omit'king our voices, as ‘ mother ’ says.” “i can imagine just how the two young men have spent the last half hour,” said garnet, stand- ing before the glass and brushing her curly hair. “fred has walked not less than a couple of miles. l’ll wager he has kept up a continual march round and round the room, with his hands in his pockets and a most portentious frown on his usual sunny brow, while mr. richards has been sitting calmly’ in his chair with his legs crossed, watchinghis uneasy friend with a half amused, half superior smile on his mobile countenance.” “well, get away from that glass for half a minute, will you?” said jessie, giving garnet a gentle poke with her comb. “somebody else wants to look bewitching as well as yourself.” “ oh, certainly,” replied garnet, in her politest tones, moving away accommodatingly. four (birls at gottage gite. “ now, get hufly," said jessie, in injured tones. “you are the queerest girl, net dare. nobody can say anything to you but what you get mad.” “ have i expressed my displeasure at anything?” asked garnet, haughtily. “ yes, you have,” snapped jessie. “ if you didn’t in words, you did in actions, and i’d a good sight rather anyone would give me a good blowing up and be done with it than to be so plaguey polite with their ‘ ce-r-tainly, ce-r-tainly,’ and jessie imitated garnet to perfection. “ i find that people who are so dreadfully polite can be about as ugly as they make ’em. and it isn’t politeness, anyway, it is nothing but sarcasm, and you know very well net dare, that sarcasm is indicative of low breeding—” “jessie dare!” interrupted garnet’s low voice trembling with passion. “just wait until i finish, will you?” said jessie, breathlessly. “ i don’t mean low breeding exactly, but it shows very poor taste. doesn’t it, vera?” vera, who had been first craning her neck to look in the glass over jessie’s head, and then dodging under and around her raised arms, hardly knew what to say to this sudden appeal, so she “ avoided the question.” “ i say we had better go down to the parlor before your cousin wears the carpet entirely out in his impatient walking.” ' "it is cm'taz'nly time to go down,” remarked jfour girls at gottage gity. garnet, meaningly, and vera could not help thinking, as they went slowly down the stairs, how utterly unlike the two sisters were, and wondered if garnet conducted herself in just the right way towards jessie. ’ their two natures were so entirely opposite: jessie, quick, passionate and impulsive, yet, oh, so lovable and generous to a fault; garnet, just as passionate, but possessing a wonderful capability of governing her passion—proud, reserved, not easy to be understood by even her nearest and best friends. vera often wondered at the wonderful amount of self-control contained in the small body. chapter vi. when the girls entered the parlor they found the state of affairs to be just as garnet had predicted they would be. fred was walking the floor with his hands in his pockets, and mr. richards with his hands ditto, sat in a chair and watched his friend with a smile half amused, half superior. fred turned around as the door opened and made a low bow. _ “ ah, most delighted to see you, at last, ladies,” he said, not trying to conceal his vexation. ' “our aged friends are rather swift, are they not? it would not be a bad idea to suggest a telephone to them, would it?” “ don’t be disrespectful to old age, fred,” said garnet, reprovingly. fred turned and looked at his cousin. “you are not in love with the reverend, are you net ?” “i am not very far from it,” replied garnet. “they are two very lovable old people, and should be treated with all possible respect, as in- deed all old people should.” garnet was quite serious. fred gave a low whistle and cast an expressive look at jessie. jessie laughed. jfour (bids at ctottage'ttitig. “net is on her high horse to-night,” she said, carelessly. “ i advise you to let her alone, fred. she is unapproachable when in the present state.” garnet took her seat on the sofa beside vera. and vera saw a look of pain on her face, but the small mouth was set in one narrow, stern line. vera looked at jessie reproachfully, but jessie, not dreaming of such a thing as garnet’s feelings being hurt by m, answered the look with a smile. “ she is nothing but a child,” thought vera. “ she is—” “miss earle, i have some pleasant news for you,” said a quiet voice at her elbow. vera gave a start and looked around. “ pleasant news?” she repeated, smiling. “ tell it to me at once, please. i do love pleasant news.” “oh, don’t iwish i was pleasant news,” said fred, longingly, from the other side of the room. vera laughed and' blushed. mr. richards looked at fred gravely for a moment, then turned to vera. “then i am deeply thankful,” he said, in a low voice, “ of having the power to make you happy. can you guess what it is ?” vera’s red lips parted in a smile, showing her lovely white teeth.' “ oh, do not ask me to guess, mr. richards. i forfeit my right of being a yankee when i try to do that. please tell me.” “ i have found your sermon." ' jfour (birls at gottage gtty. l vera looked perplexed. “ my sermon, mr. richards? what do you mean?” “ have you forgotten so soon ? i have discov- ered who the owner of the ‘ speaking face ’ is.” vera’s face flushed with pleasure. “ you have, really, mr. richards, and so early? oh, how nice that is ! who is she? where does she live? how did you find it out?" and vera sat up very straight and clasped her white hands and looked at mr. richards with shining eyes. jessie came hurrying over, with fred close behind her. “ what’s the matter, vera?” she asked, seating'herself in garnet’s lap and putting one arm around garnet’s neck, and vera noticed even then, how closely and lovingly garnet held her little sister to her. ' “\vhy, mr. richards has really discovered who my ‘ lady of the tabernacle,’ is,” she replied. “ will it be possible for us to become acquainted with her?” she asked, turning to erfort. “ i think so,” he replied, gravely. care to.” “ if i care to l ” repeated vera. “ certainly i will care to, for she has the loveliest face i ever saw.” “ how in the deuce did you find out about her, er ? ” asked fred, his astonishment getting the better of his politeness. erfort smiled. “ i will explain that later, i will tell you who she is first.” “ if you jfour (birls at gottage (mty. “ oh, do hurry,” cried jessie, impatiently. “who is she?” “ she is a laundress.” if he had said: “ she is a murderess,” the effect would have been scarcely more startling. the girls opened their eyes, in surprise. “ a laundress? ” repeated vera, faintly, and jessie exclaimed: “well, i never l ” while fred, i am sorry to say, gave vent to the elegant expres- sion: “ the divil l ” and then begged the ladies’ pardon in the same breath. allie alone seemed unaffected by the startling announcement. “ she is none the less a lady for all that, is she?” she asked, softly. “ it certainly cannot make her face any the less lovely in its expression, vera.” perhaps for the first time since' he had met with her, erfort richards looked allie squarely in the face, and his look was most complimentary, although allie did not notice it. vera pulled herself together at allie’s question. she was ashamed of herself for expressing any sur- prise or consternation. “ certainly she is none the less a lady,” she said, a trifle haughtily. “ her vocation can make no difference to her character. i was only a little surprised, that is all.” it was one of vera’s characteristics to hide her disagreeable feelings, of whatever nature, under an assumed haughtiness ofmanner. it had always four girls at gottage gitiz. i proved a perfect shield from any unpleasant remark. if she had been told that there was danger of people misjudging her—that they might think her proud, and even heartless; not willing to acknowledge herself in the wrong when she knew herselfto be, she would have been utterly surprised. and yet there were many—very _m'.iny—who found it impossible to love her, simply because they did not understand her. she knew herself, but, alas, others did not, except a very few, who had learned her for themselves after years of friendly intercourse, and who loved her through and through for what she was. strange to say, mr. richards thus early understood her perfectly; as well after three days as he would have done after three years. but to poor fred she was a perfect enigma. first she was a flameof fire— all light, laughter and fun; then she was an icicle —cold, proud, stately as a queen; repelling those about her with a glance, a gesture. he had called her a conundrum to erfort, the night before, but said he shouldn’t “ give her up.” “ but you haven’t told us where she lives,” said garnet. “ she lives in a little cottage back of circuit avenue,” replied erfort.' “ her name is hood—- charlotte hood—and she is a widow.” '‘any children?” asked jessie. s‘ one; a boy.” jfour (bids at gottage (mty. “i suppose he trots around with the basket,” said fred, carelessly. “no. she goes for the clothes herself and takes them back again.” “the lazy little beggar!” said fred. “the kid, i mean,” he explained, “to let his mammy do all the work. i must say she shows very poor judgment in bringing her child up, for all of her angelic expression of countenance.” ' “ we can very easily come to know her,” said garnet. “perhaps we can get her to do a little work for us.” jessie came very near betraying the whole party by saying: “it will be prescious little work we will be putting out.” _ “ will you take us to her cottage to-morrow, ifit is pleasant? ” asked vera. “with pleasure,” replied erfort. now i will tell you how i found her out. i went to walk this morning—although it was rather a wild one. i went down towards the beach, and, while iwas standing under the tower watching the waves, i noticed a lady coming towards me. that she was a lady, despite the big basket ofclothes she carried, was plainly evident. when she was very near to where i was standing, an unusually fierce gust of wind struck her. it knocked the heavy basket up against her, her foot somehow slipped and before i‘ could barely start forward to help her she had four (btrls at (tottage gtty. fallen to the ground. i assisted her to rise, and was glad to find she had not hurt herself. i had a very short conversation with her, during which she told me about her boy, and—well, that’s all.” fred laughed and rose from his chair. “ so you were out mashing the washwoman while i was sleeping the sleep of the just. business must have been dull if you couldn’t find any one better to flirt with, er, my boy. come, jess, i’ll teach you that new step i spoke to you about. the old people won’t hear us.” “all right,” cried jessie, gleefully, slipping ofi‘ garnet’s lap, and, while garnet and allie watched the “lesson,” vera turned to erfort with shining eyes. _ “no, that was not all, mr. richards. there was more to it than that.” “ yes ?” he said, questioningly; but vera saw the deep red just showing through his dark cheek, and she went on boldly. “you helped the poor woman home with her basket.” he did not deny it; he only smiled. “ why didn’t you tell us? it was a generous, manly act.” “ thank you, miss earle.” vera looked at him for a moment— at the dark, tender face, with its thin, sensitive lips and dreamy eyes, and in that moment she saw beneath the sur- four oirl's at gottage diity. ' i i respect you; face into the heart. she held out her white hand and he grasped it firmly. no words were spoken by the lips, but the warm hand-clasp spoke vol- umes. it said for each: “ i understand you, and ” and then they, too, turned their attention to the “lesson” in progress. “one, two, three and a /mp. one, two, three and a [ . one, two, three. one, two, three. one, two, three. one, two, three. one, two, three and a' ,” counted fred, as he guidedjessie lightly, but firmly around the room, and jessie, with her brilliant little face all flushed and glow- ing with the heat, and her big black eyes sparkling with the fun and excitement, now giving a little gasp of delight at getting the correct step, and now one of dismay at making a mistake and bringing one of her little feet down squarely upon fred’s. vera laughed softly. “ jessie’s face is full of lights and shadows, as it were,” she thought, and turned to erfort to express her thoughts in words- he was watching jessie with the peculiar flicker- ing smile he seemed to reserve for her alone. “ hadn’t you better rest awhile jessie?” asked garnet, just then. “ you will get too tired.” “ oh, yes, in-just-one-minute,” gasped jessie. “ l’ve-al-most-got-it.” “ you’ve gotten it pretty bad, haven’t you?” asked vera, laughing. “ come here and sit down immediately,jessie dare ; you look ready'to drop ! ” jfour (bids at gottage (tite. fred gave jessie a parting whirl, which brought them both near the sofa. she dropped panting between garnet and vera, and commenced to fan herself with her handkerchief. mr. richards gravely offered her his bicycle cap. she took it. with a smiling “ you are too kind, mr. richards.” “ miss earle,” said fred, “ wouldn’t you like to try a waltz with me ? i’ll whistle.” “ some time i will, but not now,” she replied pleasantly. “i want to ask you and mr. richards a question.” “ i’m your obedient servant,” said fred, drawing an ottoman to her feet and seating himself upon it. “ what is your question ? i am all attention.” “i want to ask you if you believe in theatre- going,” she said, gravely. “ oh, for pity’s sake, don’t start that up again.” said jessie, impatiently. “ we had it going for about an hour up stairs.” “ well, i have your opinion, now i want the gentlemen’s. fred had already pretty well expressed himself in his usual way— a low whistle. vera turned to mr. richards. he had drawn a magazine from his pocket, and was turning the leaves rapidly. “ oguite a coincidence,” he said, as vera turned to him. “ i was reading only this afternoon an article in here—let me see —who was it by? some i divine or another—ah, here it is. will one of you jfour (birls at gottage gity. ladies be kind enough to read it aloud? it may give you a new idea. it is upon the question of theatre-going,” and he passed the book to vera. “you read it, net,” said vera, passing it on to her. ' garnet took the book, which was “munyon’s monthly magazine,” and read: “ ‘ the common sense view of the theatre. by rev. madison c. peters. extracts from a sermon preached sunday morning, february ist, . that they use this world as not abusing it—i cor. vii: t. the theatre owes its origin to religion. in greece, india and china the drama was originally a relig- ious ceremony, and it was intended to promote religion. in the course of time the drama ceased to be a religious ceremony, and became a work of art.’” “ ‘ every student of church history knows that the modern drama sprang originally from the church. in the dark ages the priests putthe whole of theology on the stage, and in this way, the rude and ,unlettered mob that gathered on saints’ days, were taught in an effective way the truths of religion, so that in the christian era, the first theatres were the churches, and the first actors the priests.”’ “‘but secular competition grew apace, and in , the dean and chapter of st. paul’s cathedral, petitioned richard ii to stop certain "> jfour (birls at gottage gite. dramatic perform lnces, which were being gotten up in london, outside the church. why? because the cathedral clergy of st. paul’s had spent so much money on church scenery and costumes in- side the cathedral,’ they were eager to crush all secular competition.’ ”' “ ‘ in elizabeth’s reign the secular drama had grown so popular that a preacher exclaims: ‘ woe is me ! at the play-house it is not possible to get a ' seat, while at the church vacant seats are plenty.’ the clergy did not object to the principle ofacting. or because the play was immoral, except when it satirized the drunken and smoking rector. nor did the clergy object to the play because it hurt the people, but because it pleased them. they groaned when the people shouted.”’ “ ‘ god has implanted a dramatic element in most of our natures, recognized and cultivated it in the bible. it is not something built up outside of ourselves by thespis and feschylus and sophocles and euripides and terence and plautus and seneca ‘ and congreve and farquhar and corneille and alfieri and goldsmith and sheridan and shakes- peare. man is not responsible for the dramatic element in his soul, but for the perversion ofit.”’ “ ‘ if vacant seats are so plenty in the church, whose fault is it? the human mind is the same in the pew as in the theatre. the world suffers more from too little dramatic power in the church than jfour (birls at (tottage gtty. from too much outside of it. a preacher asked garrick, the tradge'dian : ‘ why is it you are able to produce so much more effect with the' recital of your fictions than we do by the delivery of the most important truths? ’ ‘ my lord,’ said garrick, ‘ you speak truths as if they were fictions; we speak fictions as if they were truths.’ and, wherever to- day, all christendom through, there is a man in a pulpit with graceful gestures, modulated voice, elegant expression, appropriate emotion and grace- ful action; wherever you find man as natural and impressive, as audible and interesting as the actor, you will find a full church. let the preachers work at the people with the same power, intelli- gence and will as the actor is obliged to work at the public; depend upon it their achievements will be in proportion. the actor does not grumble be- cause the people wont come to the theatre. he says: ‘ i am to blame.’ people don’t come to church because they are not interested. let us learn from the actor how to read and how to infuse life into our service.’” ' ? a? 'k- a - * ¥ “ ‘ other things beside religion are good. dickens’ works are eternal arguments against in- justice, and in writing novels he was as well em- ployed as in preaching the gospel. mendels'shon, by his sublime compositions, did better serve the w: four girls at gottage gity. world than going out as a missionary to china; and shakespeare served the world and his maker better as a dramatist than as a bishop, preaching sermons that nobody wanted to hear. the arts and sciences must go hand in hand with religion and morality.” “ ‘ the charge that religion is scoffed at on the stage is false. hypocrites and charlatans occa- sionally furnish subjects for its characterization. the cause of religion does not suffer when its spurious representatives are held up to ridicule and contempt.’ ” “ ‘ the theatre is here to stay. reform is the note of the future. eliminate the bad. encourage the good. the shameful postures, the female attire, or rather the lack of it, the compromising attitudes, the silly things accepted, the commonplace persons admired and commended—thunder as much at these as you will. let ridicule, sarcasm and denunciation exhaust their armories upon these abuses, these positive evils.’ ” “ ‘ can i go to the theatre?’ asks the christian. i answer: ‘ if you can. let every man be per- suaded in his own mind.’ refuse to do or go where your conscience forbids, but refrain also from condemning your neighbor, whose conscience may not require him to walk in the same path you have marked out for yourself.’ ” “ ‘all actors are not moral. all preachers are not moral. there are bad men in all professions- jfour m at (tottage gity. there are men and women on the stage whose characters are as spotless and their lives as benefi- cent as any in our churches. crimes are com- mitted on the stage; so they are in the bible. goodness and badness are put in opposition in both books and plays.’ ” “ ‘ charles lamb once wrote a play for the stage, and he went to see it enacted. the play was con- demned, and loudest hissing came from the gallery where charles lamb sat, and the audience looked and saw that it was the author of the play'who was hissing his own production.”’ “ ‘ if at last we are compelled to look back upon a wasted life, we ourselves will be the severest critics. and remember this, when you go out of this world and your life has been wasted, no encore can ever bring you back to re-enact it. ‘as the tree falleth, so it lieth !’ your character in the last moment will be your character through all eternity. mr. palmer, the london actor, dropped dead on the stage while quoting the words of the play : ‘ o, god, is there another and better world ?’ ido not know what will be your exit, but in that hour there will come before you all that you have been and all that you might have been. , men and women of the theatrical profession, to whom these words may come, prepare for the closing scenes of this life, when the footlights will be the burning world, the orchestra the resurrection m jfour (birls at gottage gtty. trumpets, the tragedy the upheaval of a world of graves, and the closing scene the dispersing of the audience to their everlasting homes of gladness or sorrow. ’ ” chapter v i i. “ well, what do you think of that?” asked fred. “ doesn’t that advocate theatre-going ? ” he addressed the whole party, but looked particu- larly at vera. she answered him. “it does, and it does not. you see it says: ‘can i go to the theatre?’ the christian asks. i answer: ‘ ifyou am. let every man be persuaded in his own mind.’” “then i take it that one can go to the theatre and not be in danger of everlasting punishment, so long as their conscience tells them they are all right,” observed jessie, blunt, but to the point. “ i don’t think my conscience will trouble me much. isn’t that the idea, vera ?” ’ “i suppose so,” answered vera, thoughtfully. “but what i don’t understand is w/zy it should seem wrong to some and not to all. i know some good people — episcopalians and universalists — who go to the theatre every week of their lives, as regular as clock-work; and they not only go to the theatre, but they go to balls and dance until o’clock in the morning. sundays they go to church all day and enjoy going too, and their lives are all that seem good and just, as they should be.” jfour (bids at gottage cum. “ well, those two denominations believe in hav- ing a good time,” interrupted jessie. “ it’s easy enough to belong to t/zcz'r church.” “ no,” argued vera, “ but they are really good people; much better than some baptists that i know. they stay at home from all such places from one year’s end to the other. if a member of t/zeir church went to such places their names would be crossed off the church book. how is that? aren’t one class just as good as another? if it is right for people of one denomination to go, why isn’t it right for those of another ?” vera seemed to appeal to mr. richards. he answered her. “i can only use the same quotation you used a moment ago: ‘ let every man be persuaded in his own mind.’ speaking of different denominations, i look at it in just this way. now take the bap- tists for instance— and just here let me say, their’s is the beliefi have the most confidence in, although i have no word to say against any other—their church laws are different from most other‘denom- inations. anyone who enters that church should enter it with their eyes open. they should be ready and willing to accede to the requirements they make. now, the baptists do not think that he who has professed himself ready to try to live a christian life, ought to find pleasure in the enjoy- ments that the world offers him. you know the jfour girls at gottage gite. i bible tells us that we cannot serve both god and mammon. either we must hate the one and love the other, or vica versa. i do not think that it really means that we are to hate in the ordinary sense of the word; but i think it means that we ought to find so much pleasure in serving god and keeping our hearts so full of love for him, that there will be no room in them for anything else. it is simply impossible for us to live in this beauti- ful world and not love the things that are in it, and god does not expect or wish us to do so, or he would not have made it' so beautiful. it is not that the ordinary pleasures ofthe world are so wicked, but there is danger of our thinking so much of them, that we have no time to think of the giver of every good and perfect gift. that is where the sin comes in — in thinking too much of the world and not enough of god. now, just for a test. please do not think me impertinent, for i do not mean to be so, but i want to ask you all a question. how often during the day do you stop to think how good god is to you?” not an answer, but over each fair face a burn- ing blush commenced to spread. fred felt half ashamed and half angry. how long since had er turned preacher? “ i, myself,” continued erfort, after waiting a moment, “ freely acknowledge that i have seldom, in former days, given it a thought. our days are four (titls at (cottage diity. c> there and enjoying yourself, 'and coming away feel- ing light-hearted and happy and friendly towards everybody— your enemies as well as your friends —- just because you have been having a pleasant time, as there is in going to church and hearing, or trying to hear, a sermon that is so dry that it makes you thirsty to listen to it, and so you look about the church and fasten upon any one, or anything, to take your mind up while you’re obliged to be there. just as like enough your eyes will chance to fall upon some one whom you detest and that some one has a hat on that you do not detest —quite the contrary— and you sit and hate and admire all in the same moment. then, while the minister is praying his everlastingly long prayer, you get tired and take another eye-tour around the room, and you see some one else, whom you know to be the most deceitful person in the community, bent almost double in her seat, with her hand on the pew in front of her and her handkerchief up to her eyes, looking as meek a moses. you come out of that church feeling cross and hateful towards everybody. now, which is the worst — to go to a place that makes you feel happy, or to one that makes you feel as ugly as sin ?” “ well, jess,” said garnet, “ it seems to me that the fault, as you represent things to us, lies in the minister. this article here says : ‘if vacant seats are so plenty in the church, whose fault is it? four (birls at gottage gity. the human mind is 'the same in the pew as in the theatre.’ if the ministers made their sermons as interesting as the actors their plays, there would be no danger of the people becoming disinterested and staying away from church. the fault is in the minister.” ' erfort raised his eyes from their thoughtful study of the carpet. “ no,” he said, gravely, “the fault is not in the minister: it is in our own sinful hearts.” “oh, get out ! ” cried fred, springing from his hassock and commencing a rapid walk around the room. his fair face was flushed, his blue eyes full of doubt and trouble. “ you'll get me as nervous as —as a woman, with your funereal talk. let’s drop 'it and go at something a little more lively. jess, will you let me try to mesmerize you?” “oh, dear! anything, fred, to put a stop to this talk. i am as bad as you —it makes me nervous.” erfort leaned back in his chair, and his face resumed its usual “ society ” expression. vera looked troubled; she wished they would talk longer on a subject that was becoming interesting to her. garnet rose from the sofa; it was difficult to tell what izer feelings were; she crossed the room with a busy, bustling air that she assumed at times, and that sat very prettily upon her, and when she reached the door she turned and said: “i’ll be down in'a minute,” and disappeared. jfour (btris at gottage gity. “i bet she has gone after the cocoa pot,” whis- pered jessie to vera. sure enough, in a few minutes garnet’s voice was heard: “open the door, please.” both gen- tlemen sprang to open it, and in walked garnet, both arms laden—the alcohol lamp, the cocoa pot, matches and bottle. fred raised both hands in mock surprise. ~ “ what’s coming ! ” he exclaimed. “a tea- party?” “the next thing to it,” answered vera, taking the books, etc., from the table. “ garnet will give you some cocoa that will make you long for more.” and she did. a pleasant hour was spent in talking, laughing, and drinking the delicious bev- erage, and then the gentlemen left for their hotel, promising to call around in the morning and take the girls to the home of the poor laundress. chapter viii. “ girls,” said garnet, about o’clock the next morning, as they all four lay in bed, trying hard to feel like getting up, “ i’ve made a discovery.” “found a bedbug ?” asked jessie, yawning; “ or a cockroach ? ” she added, pleasantly. allie, who was mortally afraid of both pests, gave a little gasp and turned quickly over on her side. “allie has,” went on jessie, taking a wicked delight in her friend’s terror. “is it crawling up from the foot, al ?” she asked, concernedly. poor allie squealed outright, and commenced to squirm, at which jessie, immensely tickled, laughed immoderately. “ for shame, jessie,” said garnet, indignantly. “ come and get into bed with us, allie.” ‘.‘no you don’t,” said jessie, catching hold of allie’s night-dress, as she was about to gladly accept garnet’s invitation. “ you just stay here with your mother, young lady, and'—” here jessie took a firm grip of allie’s arm —“ she’ll keep the nasty little bedbugs and cockroaches away—yes, she will.” “ oh,j-e-s-s-i-e, p-l-e-a-s-e,” almost sobbed allie. jfour (birls at gottage gtty. “oh, no, i won’t plague you,” said jessie, quickly contrite. “but what a little goose you are, al. you should control yourself; pray, con- trol yourself. doesn’t that sound dignified enough to come from the lips of my senior over there? hey?” _ “stop your nonsense, jessie, and let me talk,” said garnet. “oh, certainly. we will listen to the lips of wisdom now. attend! please proceed to article i., miss dare, as they say at the normal,” and jessie cuddled herself down beside allie and assumed a very attentive expression. “ now for your discovery, net,” said vera. “well, i have just discovered that this cottage is the same described in ‘ megda,’ where she and ‘del’ and ‘laurie ’ came that summer, and this must be the very room they occupied.” “ eureka!” cried jessie. “ garnet, my dear sister, what a great head you have.” “ i’ve read that book,” said vera. “which character did you like best?” asked allie. “ ‘ laurie.’ ” ‘ “so did i.” “i liked ‘ megda ’ best,” said garnet, “ though ‘ ethel’ was lovely.” “and i liked ‘ may’ best,” said jessie, emphat- ically. “ she was the bravest one of all, for she " jfour girls at cottage cm. was brave enough to live and die an old maid {of the sake of someone else, and that is what i call a brave deed, z'n-deed.” the girls laughed. “ oh, wait until you read the sequel to the book,” said vera, “perhaps ‘ may’ will be married in that.” “is there a sequel to ‘ megda,”’ asked allie. “ not yet, but there is going to be.” “an’ phwere did yez get the news, vera?” asked jessie. “i advise you to stop practicing that dialect, jess.” said garnet. “ you’ll use it some time when you don’t mean to.” “well, i’ve just gotten so i can talk it pretty well,” said jessie. “ i want to surprise prof. ban- croft when i begin lessons again in the fall.” “ what time were our young men going to call?” asked vera. “ dear me, if i hadn’t forgotten every word about them,” exclaimed garnet, springing up in bed. “ get up, vera, quick, before i step on , you. , “ oh, crawl over the foot-board, net,” yawned vera. ' “you lazy ghost, take that,” and jessie threw a pillow at vera, and, for a wonder, hit her. “ rewenge,” muttered vera, and arming herself with all three pillows, commenced a vigorous attack on the enemy. ' jfour (birlsat glo'itage gtty. iis “are we going to have any breakfast this morn- ing?” asked garnet, calmly. _ “ you might know net had struck upon her feet,” cried jessie, in smothered tones, for vera was bury- ing her in pillows. “ she thinks of her little ‘ stummick ’ the first thing. oh, horrors, vera, let me up. i never thought before,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing the hair out of her eyes, “ what poor ‘ desdemona ’ must have sufl'ered, and what an old brute ‘ othello ’ was.” “ oh, do hurry, girls,” pleaded garnet. “ we certainly won’t have time to get breakfast and get cleaned up.” ’ “well, you and vera go out and buy the stuff, and al and i—won’t cook it,” said jessie, with a hideous grimmace. “ that’s true enough,” said vera. “ we don’t want you to. you and al clear up the room and net and i will get the breakfast.” “ what are you going to give us?” asked jessie, anxiously. “ \vhat have you down on the bill of fare for to- day’s breakfast, net?” asked vera. garnet referred to her paper with the gravest face imaginable. “ egg omelet,” she replied, briefly. “ egg omelet it is then,” said vera. “and i’m the girl that can make it.” “conceit,” saidjessie, giving vera’s golden braids that were hanging down her back, a loving pull. four (birls at gottage gite. “ ready, vera?” asked garnet. “almost; just as soon as i twist my hair up. you are the quickest little thing, net.” garnet smiled. she stood ready with her round sailor hat and soft red shawl on. vera twisted up her beautiful hair, put her hat on, threw her peasant cape over her pale blue wrapper, and announced herself ready. “let us go to the market around the corner,” said garnet, as they went out of the house. “ anywhere,” replied vera. “ how many eggs will we need ?” “ well, to tell the truth, three will be plenty, but i hate to ask for so few, don’t you ?” ' “ yes, but i guess they are used to all kinds of orders. will you ask ?” “ yes,” vera answered, rather reluctantly. “ you have the pocket-book, haven’t you ?” “yes.” the order was given, and the clerk didn’t even smile, as the girls were very much afraid he would do. as garnet took out her pocket-book to pay him, the clerk asked with a smile: “are you cashier ?” ‘_‘ yes,” answered garnet. “and you,” he added, turning to vera, “are the teller ? ” ~ (luick as a flash came the answer. tell(h)er what to do.” “ yes, i jfour (btrls at gottage gltty. h “ poor vera l the next instant her face flushed crimson at what she had done. made a pun before an entire stranger! she felt as though she would like for the floor to open and swallow her. the clerk laughed heartily, and so did garnet—she couldn’t help it. without another word vera took garnet’s arm and walked haughtily out of the market. hiding her embarrassment under a haughty demeanor, you see. “. don’t tell the girls, net,” she said, imploringly, and 'garnet promised she woulcln’t. . vera’s omelet was delicious. jessie said, teas- ingly : “ it was a bit thin,” to which vera retorted : “ lave it alone, t/zz'n.” at o’clock the gentlemen called. “ we had better go right down,” said mr. richards. “ she may be too busy to see us if we wait.” the girls put on their hats, took their parasols, and then they started. after fifteen minutes walk mr. richards said : “ do you see that smoke curling up among those trees ?” yes, they all saw it. “ well, that comes from her cottage, and there it is.” ' it was a very small, very poor, but very neat looking cottage, painted brown. a neat wash house stood a few feet from it, and it was from this that the smoke was rising. thinking that four (birls at gottage gtty. they would probably find mrs. hood in this build- ing, our party walked up to the door and looked in. the fire was burning, the boiler of water was heat- ing over it, and the tubs and a large basket of ’ clothes stood in the middle of the floor, but there was no one there. “ she must be in the cottage,” said erfort, speak- ing in a low tone, though he did not know what made him, unless it was because it seemed so quiet around there. there were some tall pine trees on one side and at the back of the cottage, and they gave the place rather a lonely look. the rest followed erfort as he went towards the half-opened door, but just as he raised his hand to knock, a low, moaning sound, fell on their ears. erfort dropped his hand, and they all bent their heads to listen. another low, moaning sound, and a suffering child’s voice: “ oh, mamma ! ” the very tones of which drew the quick tears to every pair of bright eyes outside. “ mamma knows it, darling, and she is so sorry for her baby-boy. there, lay your head on mamma’s shoulder, prescious, and she will sing to you.” the voice was low, sweet and clear. “what shall mamma sing, dear?” “the pretty one, please.” “ ‘ nearer, my god to thee, nearer to thee. e’en tho’ it be a cross that raiseth me. ____i____— —, jfour girls at (tottage (tity. h still all my song shall be, nearer my god to thee, nearer my god to thee, nearer to thee.’ ” “oh, that is pretty, mamma; please sing the next verse. it— o—h l ” it was a sharp cry of pain, wrung from the suf- fering child. it cut into the listeners’ hearts like a knife, and before erfort realized what he was doing, he had started forward and pushed the door wide open and they all looked into the room. it was a small, poor room, devoid of almost every comfort, except one or two rockers, a small case of books, and a clean, white bed. on this bed lay a little form; they could just see the outline of it, that was all, for the mother was bending over it in speechless agony and her arms were clasped tightly around it. “ m-a-m-m-a l m-a-m-m-a l ” “yes, yes, darling, mamma knows. oh,' my father in heaven, if you would only let me suffer for him ! robbie, prescious, look at r'namma. don't you feel her arms aroundyou? oh, my baby, speak to me.” erfort could bear it no longer—he rushed into the room and the others followed. what they saw they will never forget to their dying day; and fred, careless, light-hearted fred—put his hands up to his face and sobbed like a baby, for his no four (btrls at gottage (tttt. ' thoughtless words of the night before came back to him with cruel force. there lay the “lazy little beggar,” “the kid,” “ the boy who let his mammy do all the work;” oh, how the remem- brance of his words wrung fred’s really tender heart. he lay there, his little slender form writhing in his mother’s arms, his little arms clasped tightly around his mother’s neck, with the small hands griping each other convulsively. his golden head was on her shoulder, but his face was towards them, and it was'terrible to look at—deathly white and distorted, with the blue eyes rolled up until nothing but the whites were seen. but, thank god! the fearful struggle was as short as it was severe; if it had not been, the child could never have lived through it, and the stifl'ened form nestled back into the mother’s arms. without turning her head, but keeping her cheek pressed against the golden curls, the mother laid him gently down upon the pillow, where he lay with closed eyes and panting a little. the mother’s hand brushed softly the pretty hair, all wet with the cold sweat of agony, back from the white forehead. “my baby, my baby !” was all she said, but the tones of her voice spoke volumes. it was a strange position for our young people to be in, and their voluntarily putting themselves into it was still stranger, but they never thought of that. jfour (birls at (tottage gity. they thought of nothing but what was before them, and the mother seemed unconscious of their very presence for some moments, and then she raised her head from the pillow and looked at them, but none of the agony that had been so plainly expressed in her voice was visible in her _ face. it was pale—very pale—but as pure and shining as at the tabernacle.' she smiled at mr. richards, and held out a thin, work-worn hand to him. he advanced to the bedside and took her hand with all the manly grace he was capable of, and that was by no means little. “ i hope you will pardon our intrusion, mrs. hood,” he said, with deep respect. “ we did not mean it as an intrusion. the ladies were anxious to see you, and as i knew where you lived i came with them — my' friend and i. we — we heard the sounds outside and it made us all feel so badly that ,we could not refrain from coming in. will you let me make you acquainted with my friends ?” “ certainly,” answered mrs. hood. “ i shall be most pleased to meet with them, and no apology is needed.” “ thank you,” replied erfort, and then he intro- duced the girls and fred. robbie opened his eyes just as jessie stepped forward to shake hands with his mother, and they fell immediately upon her face. he smiled and put up his poor little hand. m jfour girls at gottage gtty. “ what a pretty lady,” he said. they all smiled, except jessie, and she leaned over him and kissed him with a tender light in her beautiful eyes, and a softened look upon her bril- liant face, which made her, for the moment, per- fectly lovely. “ if i could only have her picture as she looks now,” thought erfort. it may seem strange, but from the moment that jessie left that humble little cottage her heart was changed, although she scarcely realized it at the time, and, indeed, not for long days afterwards. god has wonderful ways of changing the human heart, and there are scarcely two hearts that expe- rience this change alike. i once heard a minister —an earnest-hearted, zealous young man—give the following experience: “i had a friend, and this friend was one of the happiest christians i ever knew. he was conversing with me one day, and he said: ‘oh, i shall never forget the day that my heart was changed—really changed. i had been feeling tired and discouraged, and i went into my room and i knelt down and prayed. i prayed with all my heart for light, and even while i, prayed the light came. it filled my heart and it seemed as ifit filled the whole room. it was fairly poured upon me. oh, i felt so happy! it went through my whole being. i cannot begin to tell how glad and happy i felt.’ when i heard him jfour (btrls at gottage gity. tell me that, my heart sunk within me, and as'i wentfrom him, i said to myself: ‘ i never had such an experience as that, yet i have thought myself consecrated to the master’s service for a long while. is it possible that'i have been all along mistaken? has my heart never been changed? why did not the change come to me as it did to him? iwas unhappy. i tortured myself with vain thinking and vain questioning, and then i made it a subject for prayer and the truth was revealed to me. sel- dom do two persons experience religion alike. to one the light may come suddenly, as it did to my friend, though i do not think many are blessed with such a manifestation of the spirit, ‘and to another it may come gradually, yet, thank god! none the less surely.” . lhave so often thought of this. it answered a question that my own heart had often asked, and never before found an answer to. the light did not burst suddenly upon jessie. indeed, the only feeling she was sensible of, was an indefinable one. her heart felt softened, but she thought it had been touched with pity for the suffering she had seen. so it had, but god was the one who had filled her heart with this pity. he, who is all wise, took this way of manifesting himself unto her. he had commenced to work the change in her heart and he never makes any mistakes. mrs. hood followed our young people to the ;lrour (birls at gottage (wy. door. she told them that her boy was nine years old and had been a cripple and a great sufferer for four years. robin was on a vessel one day and had fallen down the cabin stairs. he had never walked since, and his suffering had been terrible. vera could not keep her eyes off the pale face. there was something about it that completely fas- cinated her. it may seem amusing. but all she could think of when looking at it, was a waxen taper. there seemed such a soft luminance upon it. was it to be the taper that would light the path that vera’s young feet were to tread on their way to the “ better country?” was this the light that would ~guide her out of the night of doubt and un- certainty into the blessed day of light and glory? as they were about to leave the cottage, mrs. hood caught the longing look in vera’s gray eyes. what made her guess at the desire that was in the girl’s heart, and that she longed to express but did not dare? she could not tell ; vera could not tell; no one can tell-—only god knew why. “you will come and see me again,” mrs. hunt said. no one heard but vera, to whom the question was addressed,' and she answered, quickly: “i will.” no one talked much going home. nothing had been said about any' work being done—it had com- pletely slipped their minds. as they approached jfour girls at gottage gity. their cottage, fred, looking up, caught a glimpse of “ grandpa ” and “ mother” standing a little back from the half open door and peering out at them. he turned to the girls with a laugh. “ our aged friends act as if they had a mortgage on you, young ladies. they seem to keep their eyes upon you.” jessie stopped short with a little cry, looked rapidly and anxiously into each face, opened her lips as if to speak, and then walked on. they had all stopped when she stopped and looked at her, ' but allie seemed to be the only one who had understood. she had answered jessie’s look with one full of self-reproach. fred commenced to sing in a low voice : “ it stopped — short— never to go again, and the old man died.” “what was the matter, jess ? ” asked vera. “ have you forgotten something?” “we’ve all forgotten something,” replied jessie, with a gravity that was something entirely new for her, and as she spoke she looked at vera and then towardsi“ grandpa” and “ mother,” still stand- ing in the middle of the kitchen. vera turned to the gentlemen. “ thank you very much for your kindness in taking us to mrs. hood’s,” she said, in her stateliest manner. four (birls at giottage (wt. the gentlemen took the “ hint” at once, although fred, as he said to erfort afterwards, felt as though he had had cold water poured down his back. “ wouldn’t you like to go down to the beach and watch the bathers?” asked erfort, as they turned to leave. “ the band gives a concert every day at ,, you know.” vera’s red lips curled. answered, somewhat curtly. that pastime.” (fred felt the cold water again.) “ you object to the bathing ?” asked erfort, quietly. “ no,i object to the bathers,” answered vera, quickly, and then her fair face flushed scarlet. “ good-morning,” she said, haughtily, and with- out another word she turned and entered the cot- tage. garnet came to the rescue with her sweet, womanly tact. “vera is greatly opposed to the manner of bathing here, and i must confess there are some things about it that we all find to object to. “ will you come in ? ” the gentlemen declined the invitation, for they knew it had been given only out of politeness, but they asked and obtained permission to call in the evening and accompany the girls to the “band concert.” when the girls entered the cottage they found vera standing before “ grandpa” and “ mother” “ no, thank you,” she “ we do not care for ,—_—<'~ —..,-._____— jfour (birls at gottage gtty. with her hat in her hand, talking very earnestly. she turned as they entered. ' “i was telling ‘ grandpa’ and ‘ grandma ’ how sorry we were for forgetting what we had promised them last night," she said. “ we will sing to them now if they would like to have us, won’t we ?” “ certainly,” they answered. vera sat down in a chair by the window and drewjessie down into her lap ; garnet took the chair at the other window; allie seated herself near her; ‘f grandpa” and “ mother,” each took a large, old fashioned rocker, and then the girls sang to them: . “ nearer my god to thee,” “jesus lover of my soul,” “just as i am,” “ i hear thy welcome voice,” “ there is rest for the weary,” “there is no name,” and “ there’ll be n parting there,” and “ grandpa” and “ mother” sat and listened to the beautiful voices, and as they listened their aged hearts were filled with tender memories of the dear old “ long ago” when they had sung those same sweet hymns, with voices just as fresh and clear and strong, and before their dim eyes there seemed to rise a picture of the home they were travelling towards and fast approaching, the beautiful “ home of the soul” where there is indeed “ rest for the weary.” chapter ix. “ come, jessie,” said vera, about o’clock that evening, “ you won’t be ready when the gentlemen call for us, if you don’t ‘roughe’ yourself, as ‘ sairey ’ says.” ' ' jessie was lying on the bed with her hands up over her head and her large black eyes fixed upon the ceiling. “it doesn't make any difference whether i’m ready or not when they call,” she replied, coolly. vera turned and looked at her; so did garnet, who was kneeling before her trunk looking for some lace to sew on the neck of her dress. allie was standing before the glass, rather listlessly combing out her brown ‘ bangs.’ '‘ it won’t make any difference whether you are ready or not,” repeated vera. “ why—why not?” ' “ because i’m not going.” _ vera sat down on the edge of the bed, with her handkerchiefin one hand and her cologne bottle in the other, and stared at the'composed face on the pillow ; but garnet, after that one backward glance, bent over her trunk again, without a word, but her four (btrls at gottage gity. “ oh, jessica, jessica,” she cried, swaying her body backward and forward on the bed. “oh, jessica, jessica l” that was all she could say, and she laughed and laughed. no one could hear vera earle laugh very many moments and not be actually obliged to laugh too. allie leaned against the wash-stand and laughed until she held her sides. garnet, after a stern, but unfailing eflbrt to keep her face straight, soon lay full length on the floor and spread both arms out in utter abandon- ment to her mirth, and jessie, after looking very indignantly at all three, threw her arms around vera’s waist and over they went on the bed together. no one tried to restrain her merriment, and peal after peal of laughter rang through the cottage. “ grandpa” and “ mother” in the back kitchen, taking their quiet cup of tea together, heard it, bent their heads to listen, and looked at each other and smiled. the sound did their old hearts good. vera was the first to sit up and dry her eyes. she leaned against the foot-board, utterly ex- hausted. “you make me laugh like that again, jessie dare,” she gasped, “ and — and —you’ll wish you hadn’t.” ' ' “ for pity’s sake, what did i do?” asked jessie, with big eyes. “ i didn’t do anything.” “ no, i should think not,” retorted vera. “i jfour (bids at (tottage gite. hope when you are twenty-seven you will be as indignant at having a ‘ parcel of men ’ around as you are at seventeen. oh, jessie, such scorn l ” “when she’s twenty-seven,” remarked garnet, rising from her undignified position on the floor, “ she’ll be just as indignant over not having even one man around.” “oh, she will, hey?” muttered jessie, taking the pillow into her arms and hugging it up to her. “ don’t you be so sure of that, miss dare.” “jess and i are going to keep ‘old maids” hall, aren’t we, jess?” said allie. “well, you better believe we are,” answered that young lady. “ let’s try it to-night, will you, al ?” “ with pleasure,” replied allie. “oh, don’t you want to go out either, allie?” asked vera, rather anxiously. " no, i would prefer to stay at home with jessie.” vera turned and looked doubtfully at garnet. garnet’s face was flushed and her large, black eyes sparkled angrily, but she tried to speak calmly. “ well, i must say, jessie, you are behaving very childishly.” “well, why?” flashed out jessie. “i’m not going anywhere i don’t want to go, am i ?” “ it seems not,” replied garnet, still holding her ’temper under control. “ but i think you are doing a very foolish thing.” jfour (bins at gottage gity. deep in all things —had no sympathy with her sister’s light changeable one. she knew this, and didn’t think to ask herselfif jessie knew it. jessie irritated garnet, and garnet irritated jessie. how often are two members of the same family blessed with entirely different natures, and when they come in contact— as they must necessarily do many times a day ——they cannot help clashing. “yes, tell them we’ll be down in a jifl‘,” said vera, hurriedly and thoughtlessly. jessie leaned over the railing. “ hm l ” it was the most delicate little cough imaginable, but erfort and fred, walking slowly up and down in front of the cottage, heard and looked up' quickly. they saw a little white face, lighted by two bril- liant black eyes and crowned with a mass of dark hair, peering eeriely down at them through the branches of the big tree. they raised their hats, but neither spoke. “ vera says she and net will be down in a jifl‘.” o, wicked little sprite! the tone was low, but, alas! distinctly audible to the three girls. vera held her fleecy fascinator over her golden hair and gazed with horror-stricken eyes out on the balcony ; garnet sank, speechless on a chair. jessie looked at them over her shoulder from where she stood, but she did not venture in. “ hurry, girls ; they’re waiting,” she called, softly. ' jfour girls at gottage gtiy. vera gave her one reproachful look and disap- peared. garnet rose, and if a glance could have sent jessie over the railing, she would immediately have gone headlong. “ oh, jessie, that was too had,” said allie, as the door closed. “ oh, phooh ! no it wasn’t either,” replied jessie, stepping through the door and seating herself on the bed in her favorite attitude. “ they ought to be taken down a peg once in a while — especially net.” “ i will make you an apology, vera, if that will do any good,” garnet was saying in smothered tones, as the two girls hastened down the stairs. she was extremely angry, but as ever, her voice was under her perfect control. “ oh, never mind,” saidvera, with a little laugh, “ the child didn’t mean any harm.” “ child!” repeated the low, thrilling voice. “ do you call a girl seventeen years old, a c/zild p” “jessie is a child in every sense of the word,” replied vera, and then they stepped out into the lighted street. fred and vera walked together, and erfort and garnet. the two former chatted gaily and seemed to be becoming friends fast, but with erfort and garnet, conversation lagged. here were two natures very much alike. neither possessed par- ticularly brilliant conversational powers, but both jfour (titls at gottage gtt‘}. were deep thinkers and earnest students of both “mother” and human nature, and yet erfort did not understand garnet any more than she under- stood jessie, while garnet, with the natural keen perception that all women are blessed—or cursed with—i know not which to call it—understood erfort thoroughly. her mind was with the late scene in the chamber and she could not tear it away, although she knew as well as though he had told her, that her com- panion was putting her down as one very odd and reserved, if not actually stupid. poor garnet! her proud heart beat in hot rebellion against such judgment, but try as hard as she would, not one thing could she think of to say, and her only reply to his remarks—few and far between—were monosyllables, cut off short and “ spinster-like,” from her small, tightly closed lips. “what a difference between the two sisters,” thought erfort, as he spread her gossamer for her over the seat; and declining with a smile the one quarter inch of board that offered him beside her, leaned carelessly agaiifslt a tree and waited for the concert to begin. “jessie is as bright and sparkling as the lovli- est waterfall, and as brilliant. she is all life and fire; but this one —” and he looked down on the small, dark head that was almost touching his knee, with a smile, half amused, half disdainful. four (birls at (iottage (mty. the face he could not see, for it was turned com- pletely away from him, but if he had seen it, it- would have told him nothing. it wore its usual look of calm, undisturbed repose. not one trace upon it of the fierce rebellion going on in the poor, passionately beating heart. even he, who prided himself on his self-control, could not have conceived of such wonderful power as garnet possessed. after an hour—during which garnet had not spoken, except when directly appealed to by one of the others—vera proposed going home. “ oh, by the way, miss vera,” said erfort, as they turned to go. “ i saw mrs. hood this after- noon.” “ did you ?”. asked vera, eagerly. “yes, and i saw something too,” put in fred, eagerly, for he feared a “ serious turn ” to the con- versation. “ guess what.” “ oh, don’t ask us to do that,” said vera. “ we are not mind-readers.” “ no; but that was just what it was,” was the rather vague reply. both girls turned an inquiring face towards him, and erfort, stepping forward, gravely put his hand on his friend’s forehead. “ not particularly hot,” he remarked, gravely, as he fell back again. “no peculiar sensation there, is there, freddie ?” ' fred had turned in surprise, but at erfort’s ques- tion he broke into a merry laugh. “ no,” he ,_—~_, - ,‘_ -__—', jfour (birls at gottage mitt}. answered, “but really there is a mind-reader, or clairvoyant, or fortune-teller, or whatever she calls herself— here.” . for the first time that evening the ice of reserve in garnet’s face, broke, and she looked up at fred with flushed cheeks and shining eyes. i “ where are her rooms ?” she asked, almost breathlessly, and then she flushed scarlet and drew timidly back at the teasing smile on fred’s hand- some face. “ would you be guilty, my sedate cousin?” he asked, with mock solemnity. garnet did not answer, but vera said, with sudden dignity : " how can you ask such an absurd ques- tion,” and her red lips curled scornfully. “another cold bath,” thought fred, shrugging .his shoulders as though it were a literal one. “ there is something quite wonderful about these mind-readers,” said erfort, thoughtfully. “the power they possess is really remarkable.” “ did you ever go to one ?” vera asked. erfort smiled at the scorn expressed in her voice. “i must plead guilty,” he replied. “ what! do you really believe that anyone on this earth can see into the future?” “ i do not say that. one who calls himself simply a ‘mind-reader,’ does not pretend to see into the future; he sees only what is written on one’s mind, and i most certainly do give them credit four (birls at gottage gity. for much power in that line. i can’t say thatl have the least faith in these fortune-tellers though.” “well, by guy ! ” exclaimed fred, with more force than elegance ; “ some of these fortune-tellers get things pretty near right, anyway.” vera laughed softly. fred’s boyish remarks seemed to please her greatly; the “ slang” he fre- quently indulged in did not offend her, somehow or other-it was always given with such boyish bluntness. “ giving yourself away, freddie, my son?” said erfort, gravely. “oh, well, i don’t care. i’m not ashamed to. have you all know that all of the simpletons are not dead yet. i had my fortune told last summer.” “ who told it?” asked vera. “ some old hag of a gypsey.” “oh, tell us about it,” pleaded vera. they had by this time, reached the cottage. “ shall i go in for chairs?” asked garnet. “ oh, no, don’t,” said erfort, quickly. “ that is, not for fred and i. we will sit on the steps.” “the post is good enough for me,” said fred, perching himself on top of it. vera sat down on the upper step and leaned her head against the railing of the piazza. garnet sat on the second step and leaned her elbow on vera’s lap and her head on her hand. erfort took the lowest step. jfour girls at gottage gity. “proceed, my brother. you have the floor— or post,” he said. “well,” began fred, “i’ll tell you just how it was.” ' “ beg pardon, one moment, fred,” interrupted erfort. “ don’t forget to tell us about the future mrs. travers, for, of course, the sibyl described her to you.” fred laughed, blushed and stroked his mustache. “ don’t put me out at the start, er,” he said; then proceeded : “ there were a party of us staying in the country and one day we all went for a drive. there were about ten of us. well, the first thing we knew we came right out onto a gypsey encampment. just as the fellow who was driving turned around to speak to us about it, an old woman with gray hair, brown, wrinkled face, and the sharpest pair of black eyes i ever saw, came hobbling toward us from her seat by the fire. she was the typical gypsey fortune-teller, toothless, weird and wild. she even had the usual red blanket pinned across her shrunken shoulders. ‘ ah, let me tell your for- tune, pretty maid,’ she mumbled, to lena rivers, the prettiest girl of the party. ‘ it’s a lovely fortune you have, my dear, and it’s a brave, handsome, dark-eyed sweetheart you have across the seas who is coming home soon to marry you.’ well, it did beat the dutch that she should hit that right, your (birls at gottage gity. for you know lena rivers, er? well, you know she was engaged to le hazelton, and he was over to germany on business for his house at the time. well, of course, lena blushed and smiled and the other girls looked at each other with their eyes ' wide open, and their mouths, too, for that matter, and the old hag, seeing, of course, that she had made one, said : ‘just cross my hand with silver, pretty agnes, and i’ll tell you when the wedding day will be.’ \vell, you know, er, lena is awfully pretty and sweet, and all that, but, between you and me, she hasn’t any too much sense—er—not exactly that—but— er— well, she is just like a lovely little wax doll, you know, and when the old woman said that, she drew her hand away and tossed her head and pouted those red lips of hers and said petulantly: ‘ now you are wrong. my name isn’t agnes, and i don’t want you to tell me when the wedding day is to be, for i know it myself.’ well, of course the girls giggled and the boys —i mean young men —laughed outright. i verily believe that made the old witch mad, for she said, quite fiercely: ‘beware, proud lady, your wedding day is set, but—will it ever dawn?’ ' i must confess the tone in which she asked this dreadful question almost gave me. the creeps, and as for poor little lena, she turned as white as a sheet and squealed outright. the old witch promptly followed up her lead. ‘ i see a proud, jfour (birls at glottage mty. dark-eyed beauty on the other side' of the ocean, by whose side he often lingers, and whose white hand often rests in his. they—’ but just here lena almost threw herself into the old woman’s embrace. ‘ oh, don’t, don’t,’ she cried. ‘ don’t tell me such things; please don’t.’ ‘ah, but just cross my hand with silver and i’ll tell you some- thing that will drive the tears from that pretty face, and bring smiles instead,’ said the old woman. ‘but i can’t,’ almost sobbed lena, ‘ i haven’t my purse with me.’ strange as it may seem to you, not one of us felt like laughing — we were all as solemn as parsons. somehow or other the place, the time -— for it was growing dusky fast — and the weird looking old woman sent a chill over us all. to add to the scene another bent, tottering form came from behind the folds of the tent, hobbled to the fire, and, after stirring something that was cooking in the big kettle, sat herself down and went puffing away at a hideous looking little black pipe, rocking herself forward and backward as she did so. i tell you, it gave us all the shivers. no wonder poor little lena was frightened half out of her senses. when lena said she didn’t have her purse, we fellows all dived our hands into our pockets, and roger comant—you know him, er —he’s a regular old stiff-necked methodist — was studying for the ministry at the time —took out a half dollar and handed it over to the old witch with four (birls at gottage (mty. a face as solemn as the grave. you would have thought he was paying a forfeit for his own life. well, as you may guess, lena’s fortune turned out to be a brilliant one. fruitless efforts on the part of the dark-eyed beauty across the waters to gain the affection of lena’s lover, and his deep, unend- ing love and unswerving faith toward lena, etc., etc., winding up with a brilliant, happy wedding six months from that date. oh, after we reached home we had a great laugh over it, of course.” “ well, and was the wedding-day six months from'that time?” asked vera, with a long-drawn sigh, raising her head from its resting place.” “ it was in little less than three months— in oc- tober some time.” “and was there a dark-eyed lady across the water? ” was the next question. “no, he didn’t get acquainted with but two. ladies while he was gone — strange as it may seem —and they were middle-aged and with light ,“. ' regular germans.” “ oh, phooh l ” was the contemptuous reply. “ but where’s your fortune, fred? ” asked erfort, as the girls rose to go in. “ didn’t you have it told ?” “ yes,” replied fred, with his hand on the knob to open the door. “well, describe her to us,” said erfort, with teasing persistency. jfour girls at gottage gtto. fred bent his head over vera’s little white hand, as he raised his hat in “ good night,” and she was the only one who caught his answer. p‘ divinely tall, and most divinely fair.” chapter x. perhaps it was her running so quickly up the stairs that made vera’s cheeks such a pretty pink when she entered the room, and perhaps it was the lamplight that dazzled her eyes so that she had to cover them for a moment with one hand, and there- fore, did not see the slender form coiled up on one of the beds, with its face buried in the pillows, but garnet, coming in behind her, saw it, and brushed swiftly by her. “ why jessie, what is the matter?” she asked, folding her arms about the little form and nestling her cheek between jessie’s hands that covered her face. tell garnet all about it. don’t cry, dear, but tell net all about it.” , jessie turned over and put her, arms around garuet’s neck and her head on her shoulder. “ oh, net,” she sobbed, “ i’ve lost my watch— my — dar—ling — lit—tle — watch,” and the sobs came thick and fast. , vera sat down on the foot of the bed and allie came and stood beside her. they both looked with pitying eyes at garnet and jessie. “ lost your watch, jess? ” repeated garnet. it well, well, don’t cry; we’ll try to find it. have jfour girls at gottage gtto. you any idea where you lost it? do you remember where you had it last?” " oh, allie, you tell them,” said jessie, with a sob between every word. “oh, my dar—ling — lit — tle — watch.” . “ she didn’t miss it until after we came in,” said allie. “ we went for a little walk and came through the park on our way home.” “ the park opposite ?” asked vera. “ yes.” “ let us go over and see if we can find it, net,” said vera, rising as she spoke. “ and, jessie, while we are gone, you write out a notice and we’ll tack it up in the post oflice.” jessie looked up and actually smiled through her tears. she was pleased with the idea. in a moment she was sitting up on the edge of the bed brushing her heavy hair away from her flushed, tear-stained face with both hands, and calling to allie to bring paper and pencil. “ all right, vera,” she said. “i will write a notice and have it all ready for you by the time you get back. but”— and here came one of those wonderful transformations of the little face —- “ would you offer a reward?” ’ all three girls burst into a laugh. “ not a very heavy one, at all events, jasmine,” said vera. “ but i, suppose it would be as well to write: ‘ the finder will be suitably rewarded, etc., four (birls at gottage gtto. ) etc. let us hope he or she will be of a big heart, if not of a big purse.” “ no such good luck,” said jessie. now you two girls hurry up and i’ll have it ready for you by the time you get back.” vera and garnet went down stairs and out into the park. the electric light made everything around as bright as daylight. the two girls walked very slowly, one on either side ofthe path; they bent themselves almost double in their anxiety to search the grounds thoroughly, but after half an hour they were obliged to give up all hope of find- ing the watch, that night, at least, and went sadly back to the cottage. “ poor little jasmine,” said vera. “i hate to tell her we have not found it, she will feel so badly.” jessie sprang up from the bed as they entered the room and read their faces with her big, shining eyes. .“oh, you haven’t found it?” she cried, sharply, throwing herself back on the pillows. “ i knew you wouldn’t; it is just my luck.” _garnet went up to the bed and laid her hand on jessie’s. “don’t cry any more to-night, jessie,” she said, in her low, firm tones. “ we will try again to-rnorrow. now show us the' wonderful notice. is this it ? ” she picked up a sheet of paper from the table as she spoke, but had scarcely read the heading be- jfour (bins at glottage gity. fore jessie snatched it from her hands. “let me read it for you,” she said, and before she finished the tears were once more gone and her face expressed nothing but pleasurable excite- ment. “ there ! how is that ?” she asked, with a con- ceited little toss of her head. “ splendid l ” cried vera and garnet together. “ now give it to us and we will go right over to the oifice and tack it up.” at the door they turned and looked back. jessie sat with her head leaning on allie’s shoulder. her eyes were filled with tears again. ' “ what shall we bring you back that is good, jasmine ?” asked vera. ' “ my watch,” answered jessie, quickly. “ i wish we could dear. but won’t some nougats be almost as good to-night? ” they were surprised to see the red blood rush to jessie’s face. she laughed a little, and said hastily. “ oh,.something to drink will be better; i feel burning up.” “ some phosa? ” suggested vera. “ oh, yes; do.” “ what made jessie blush so,” asked vera, as the two girls hurried along to the drug store. garnet smiled; she thought she knew, but she only said: “ she is nervous, i think.” ' ‘ four cuts at gottage gity. on their way back they stopped and tacked the notice up beside the post office window. “there!” said vera, as she gave the last soft tap to the nail. “if the person who finds the watch sees this and does not give the watch up, i hope the ticking of it will drive him crazy.” “ what a heartless wish,” laughed garnet. as they entered the room once more jessie came towards them with both hands held out. vera stopped with her phosa bottle held high in the air. “ l“iere, take them. they are all i have left,” said jessie, and she dropped two nougats into each girl’s hand. “al and i bought them while you were at the concert. a wanted to save some for you, but i was a little pig and wanted to keep them all for ourselves.” the girls laughed heartily. “ well, and why didn’t you keep them?” asked vera. “ oh, because i was ashamed of myself for being so selfish when you are so good to me.” little, tender-hearted jessie! so full of your faults, yet so childish and innocent withal! it would seem impossible to chide you. “ vera,” whispered garnet, about half an hour after they had gone to bed, and the. regular breath- ing heard from the other side of the room proved that both jessie and allie were asleep. she laid her hand lightly’ on vera’s arm as she spoke- jfour girls at gottage gity. “ yes,” replied vera, in the same soft tone, and she turned over and put her face close to garnet’s. “you remember what fred said to-night about that clairvoyant who has rooms on the avenue?” garnet’s whisper was tremulous with excitement. “ yes,” answered vera. -‘ well, i’m going to her to-morrow.” if garnet had said: “ i’m going to jump off the wharf to-morrow,” vera would have been but little more startled. she gave a little jump and sat up in bed, but garnet drew her hurriedly down again. “ ’sh; don’t waken the girls. i would never hear the last of it if jess were to get hold of it. i have fully made up my mind to go, and i’ll go if i have to go alone; but i wish you would go with me; will you? ” vera’s heart commenced to beat quickly. the idea filled her with a strange excitement. “ but do you really believe she will tell you any- thing worth listening to, net? ” she whispered. “i don’t know; but i am going.” garnet’s tones, though necessarily low and soft, were full of quiet determination. vera knew she meant what she said. she could not think of allowing her to go to such a place as that alone. “ i will go with you,” she said. but i shan’t let her tell me anything.” ' “ no, you needn’t; only go with me.” five minutes later garnet was sleeping peace- jfour girls at gottage gtto. fully, but vera’s eyes remained wide open for an hour or more. spiritualism, mesmerism, and clairvoyance always seemed to her so unreal and full of secret horrors, that the thought of meddling with them — testing their powers —was as far away from her thoughts and inclination as — well, as the power that the people who deal in such arts profess to have, is away from them. she knew but little about them, and had never allowed herself to be- come interested in them. gypsey fortune telling was bad enough, though it seemed more silly than really bad ; there was fun to be gotten from it any- way. if vera had been going to have faith in anything of that nature, she would have chosen palmistry. but the idea of a person going into a trance and pretending to read one’s future to one —- why, it was preposterous. vera was not sure but that it was downright wicked. how did they dare pretend to see into the future! no one but god could do that. she wondered if garnet really had faith in it, and raised herself up on her pillow to better look into the face lying so near her own. it was very quiet, very serene. the breath came softly and regularly from between the small lips. but it seemed to vera’s excited imagination as though she saw under the richly colored skin something that passed and repassed swiftly, until it changed the quiet of the face into broken, troubled unrest. vera heaved a little sigh ofimpatience as - a“. ._ l _ ‘. ; . l__l_‘ , ,i’ ’ "_ jfour (bins at gottage gtto. she lay down and settled herself determinedly to sleep. “ that woman won’t go into a trance for me — that is sure,” was her last thought before she drifted ofi“ into dreamland. how the two girls ever escaped the watchful vigilance of jessie’s bright eyes the next morning was a wonder to themselves, but at o’clock they were walking slowly and sedately up circuit ave- nue. had their feet kept pace with their quickly beating hearts, they would have run all the way. “ madam hazel, medium,” read vera, sudden- ly; and then the two girls found themselves pass- ing up a long flight of steps. at a door, which bore the same words as the sign outside, they paused and looked silently at each other. vera’s face was very pale, even to the lips, but garnet’s remained unchanged, only the small lips were drawn into their straightest line. she put out her hand and pressed vera’s very closely for a second, then she pressed the button and the next moment they were ushered into a small, but handsomely furnished parlor. “ madam hazel will be at liberty in a moment, ladies,” said the attendant— a colored woman. “ please to take chairs ; ” then she disappeared. vera looked at garnet and garnet looked at vera, then both looked around the room. there were two long windows facing the avenue, draped with lace curtains. between these windows was a jfour girls at glottage (mtg. small parlor organ. on one side of the room was a handsomely draped mantel with fireplace; on the other, what seemed to be a cabinet, draped with garnet plush. both girls wondered to themselves it‘ that was where the “ spirits ” were kept, and vera even found courage to say to herself: “ perhaps one could smell them if one could put one’s nose through the draperies.” in the center of the room was a small table. but that which the girls looked at the longest, was a curtained alcove at the back of the room. the heavy draperies were drawn closely together, but they were sure that that was the “ mysterious chamber ”— madam’s “ sanctum sanctorum.” _ ' after they had been seated about ten minutes, a door leading into an apartment beyond opened, and a tall, large woman came slowly into the room. she had a fair, pleasant face, dark hair and small blue eyes. she was dressed in a loose wrapper. “ good morning, young ladies,” she said, and her voice sounded fresh and cheerful; indeed, quite like other human beings. “ please excuse my wrapper, but my husband has been quite ill for the past two or three days, and i was up with him the greater part of last night.” her husband l then she was human enough to get married. vera wondered if she had mesmer- ized her husband and he had married her while under the “ spell.” and he was sick and she had jfour (birls at gottage gtto. been nursing him ; had even stayed up most of the night with him. human, more human. she spoke with a certain amount of tenderness in her tones— doubtless she loved her husband well. human, more human, most human. her next remark set the girls’ hearts a-fluttering. “ did you wish to consult with me?” “ yes, ma’am.” ’ both girls replied, but their voices together would not have made one good one. “ on anything in particular? matters of busi- ness; or relating to health? ” no, the girls were not particular about either of these. madam looked at them a little coldly. vera caught the look and her pride came to the rescue. she drew herself up haughtily. “ my friend would like for you to give her a sit- ting, madam hazel,” she said, in her clearest tones. “ but she is not particular about its relat- ing to either business or health. simply tell her what—what—” vera paused, not knowing how to express herself, then added, desperately, “ what is shown to you.” madam hazel rose from her seat, and walked over to the curtained alcove. she drew the dra- peries aside and turned to garnet. “ in here, please,” she said. garnet walked very meekly past madam, and madam followed her, drawing the draperies closely four girls at gottage gity. together, but the next moment her head appeared through a small opening. “excuse me, miss, but do you play on the organ?” “ yes, ma’am,” answered vera, with a prompt- ness born of surprise. “well, will you please play softly while lam talking to this young lady? my ‘spirit’ does not like for a third party to hear what she tells me.” then the head disappeared, and vera surprised and displeased, but with no choice left, rose slowly from the chair and seated herself on the stool. her hands dropped aimlessly on the keyboard, and she gazed vacantly at a picture over the organ. “begin at once, please,” came from behind the draperies. , vera gave a little jump and struck out desper- ately on “the old folks at home.” “ not quite so loud, please,” again came from behind the draperies. “ you disturb my spirit— she cannot talk with me.” thus corrected, vera closed the swell and played on softly and sweetly. she felt very indignant at first, and as madam’s tones came indistinctly to her, mumbling ofi' somejargon or another, she felt angry and ashamed of herself for coming, but by and by the comicality of it all—garnet in close commu- nication with madam and the “ spirit,” and herself posted upon the organ stool, playing anything and jfour m at gottage gity. everything that came into her mind —dawned grad- ually upon her and changed her angry feelings to those of amusement. “ what would anyone think if they were to come in here and see me stuck up on this stool, playing away for dear life, while that nonsense is going on in there —behind the scenes. they would probably think—and i don’t know as i would blame them if they did — thati am hired by madam for so much an hour to play while she goes into her trances and reveals the future to anyone who' is foolish enough to pay her for doing it. lf such a thing were possible as one of my friends coming in here and catching me, i would die of mortification. i wonder what mr. travers and mr. richards would think, especially the latter.” . the very idea of anything so dreadful, caused her to stop playing. madam’s voice stopped at the same time, but vera did not notice it. after a mo- ment madam called out: , “ keep right on, squaw; i’m not quite through yet.” “gracious!” exclaimed vera to herself. “a queer trance s/ze must be in to know when i stop playing, and scream out to me in that way. and what does she ' mean by calling me ‘ squaw.’ ” aloud she said : “ buti have played all i know.” “ then begin over again and go through with the same pieces, please,” replied madam, pleasantly. jfour (btrls at gottage gtty. vera obeyed, smiling a little grimly as' she thought: “ serves me right for coming.” she was in the middle of “home, sweet home,” and heartily wishing herself there, when the door bell rang. vera’s heart gave a jump. the woman who waited on the door came into the room. vera turned to her. “will they come in here?” she asked, in an agitated whisper. . the woman smiled. “they will only pass through.” ' then she opened the door, and vera almost twisted her head off in her anxiety to turn her face completely away from the door. in doing this she looked squarely into a looking-glass, and not only that, but she looked squarely into the face of the gentleman who was 'entering the room—mr. erfort richards. but mr. richards’ eyes were cast downward.- vera drew a long breath as she saw this. he hadn’t seen her! oh, joy! but what was he there for? what was size there for? / came with garnet; but what was garnet there for? mr. richards came alone, so there was no question as to his errand. well, of all things ! such agrave, ' dignified, sensible young man as he seemed to be! if it had been fred —vera’s fingers wandered lightly into “ beautiful blue danube.” she played on, one waltz after another, a smile 'on her chapter x i. madam hazel rose from her chair to draw the draperies together. “ it is your turn to play now,” she said to garnet, in the pleasantest voice imaginable. “ but i don’t know how,” said garnet.' madam’s face fell. “ can’t you play at all ?” she asked. “well—well—er, no ;_ not much. nothing, to speak of. only chords,” burstout garnet, nerv- ously, and then she grew more nervous still at hear- ing vera’s soft giggle. madam’s face cleared; she smiled brightly. “ oh, well, that will do. play chords,” and then she drew the curtains together, and poor garnet, feeling more foolish than vera had dreamed of feel- ing, sat herself down on the stool and went to play- ing “chords.” tum, turn, tum; tum, tum, tum. one thing right over and over again. if she only knew enough about playing to change the chords, but,alasl she only knew the accompaniment to one piece,—“ last night,”— and jessie had taught her that because she — garnet —- had liked it so well. oh, dear! what would anyone in the house think to hear that monotonous drumming. if she only o jfour (birls at gottage gite. ful how i speak to her. afteri tell you everything my spirit tells to me, you may ask me any questions you choose and i will answer them for you. the old squaw sits at the door of her wigwam, and when i ask her a question she writes the answer to it on a slate, and i read it from it. sometimes it is very misty around the slate and i cannot see the writing, but if— dis a quee bushee din a pree f umoo — ” vera gave a little jump as madam very suddenly went from english to a jargon which vera, after a moment, supposed to be indian dialect, but which sounded to her just as i have written it. she stifled a nervous desire to laugh, and paid close attention to what madam, with ever moving hands, proceeded to tell her; first in broken english, then in perfectly plain. “ now, my fair-haired squaw, i see you velly plainly. no, not so velly plainly, for ze light that am shining around you am not bright like ze sun- light, but paler, like ze moonlight. you am stand- ing all alone in ze tall grasses, and all around you am—am—oh, (here madam passed her hands rapidly over each other several times and made up a most comical face, as though she could not find words to express her meaning,) oh, zey look like cobwebs ; zee? zey mean that you am surrounded with difliculties and troubles, and you do not know which way to turn or what to do. the clouds are jfour girls at gottage gite. heavy over you, but by and by they begin to break and roll slowly away, and a little star appears and shines brightly down upon you. in a little while the moon begins to peep through the clouds, a little at a time, a little at a time, until by and by it shines down upon you, and makes the way clear before you. then you 'begin to break with your own hands, one by one, these cobwebs that are about you. no one helps you, you do it all yourself, and in a little while you break them all, and walk away. you come to a gate, and as you pass through, a dark-eyed brave come towards you. he is about thirty years of age. he will try to influ- ence your life, but, squaw, have nothing to do with him, for his influence will not be for your good. then i see two more figures coming towards you ; a tall, fair brave, leading a dark-eyed squaw by the hand. you know the brave, but you do not know the squaw. this brave, squaw, will be the one you will marry, but his squaw will not die for a year and a half yet. i see that you are a’person who is possessed of a large amount of will-power. but be careful, for in a little while you will lose a good amount of it. now, squaw, one thing is cer- tain. you will marry a brave whose squaw has gone to the happy hunting grounds. you will have a beautiful home and will be very happy, although you will never have children. but before this change comes to you, you will pass through con- jfour (birls at (iottage (wt. siderable trouble and perplexity, but it will all come out right at last. now, squaw, am dere any ques- tions you would like to ask me?” vera, half ashamed, half angry, and wholly disgusted, had a great mind to reply with a curt “ no,” but then thought she would ask a few ques- tions just for fun. ' '“ how old am i?” madam leaned forward, as iflistening, with her head on one side and her mouth pursed up. then she said slowly: “ squaw, the slate says, ‘twenty two.’” vera’s heart beat a little quicker; the answer was right. madam still sat with her eyes closed. “she is reading my mind,” thought vera, sud- denly. 'aloud she asked: “ what is my occupation?” and she said to her- self, over and over: “ writing,” “ writing :” madam leaned nearer to her. her face twitched, and she'screwed it up so tight that vera could see nothing but nose. presently she said: “ squaw, the slate says, “ writing,” “ writing,” oh, so many times.” vera smiled in a superior manner‘. “ with whom do i live?” was her next question, and immediately after asking it she fixed her eyes on space and her mind ditto. she did not think of anything. her mind, for the time being, was a perfect blank. the twitching in madam’s face jfour (birls at gottage gite. became 'something quite alarming. she moved nearer yet to vera; she breathed quickly, and her breath touched vera’s cheek. her hands worked nervously; she twisted and wrung vera’s glove into a perfect rag. the expression of her face became perfectly beseeching, but vera used all the _ will-power that madam had truly given her credit of possessing, in keeping her mind in its blank state. she would not yield one inch. at last madam dropped the glove in her lap and spread out her hands towards vera with a pathetic gesture. “ah, squaw, the slate is misty. i cannot see the writing upon it. my “ spirit” is growing tired, and she will not tell me anything.” vera said nothing. in her own mind she was satisfied. the mystery of clairvoyance was, for her, clearly explained. “ have you any more questions to ask, squaw?” madam was meekness personified, and her tones were timid. vera rose from her chair. “ no, thank you; no more.” she stood, with one hand resting on the table. looking at madam. madam raised both hands up over her head, clasped them tightly together, yawned once or twice, as if waking from a deep sleep, stretched herself, rubbed her eyes like a sleepy child, allowed one or two slight quivers' to pass through her body, and finally sat upon her chair and looked up into vera’s face with blinking jfour girls at gottage gity. eyes. vera did not allow her natural politeness to be entirely swallowed up in her disgust. “ how much is it?” she asked, but her tones were what garnet always said made her think of “ sweetened ice.” “ one dollar.” vera took the money out of her purse and handed it to madam, picked up her glove from the table, bowed haughtily and swept in her most dig- nified manner out into the parlor. garnet turned on the organ stool and looked at vera with wide open, questioning eyes. vera replied with an expression that drew garnet from the stool and out of the room, as the magnet draws the needle. never a word said vera as they went down the stairs, but once on the street, and at a safe distance from the crowd, and she turned to garnet with scornful eyes. “ garnet dare, we are two big simpletons.” “ amen !” said garnet, but her tones were not cordial, and vera, looking at her, knew that what- ever inclination garnet had had to believe in the power of the medium, that inclination had been strengthened by the things that had been said to her by madam. vera was reserve itself, even with her most inti- mate friends, but as she looked down into the strong little face beside her, the question sprang abruptly to her lips : jfour (birls at gottage gite. i .“ what did she tell you, net?” garnet looked before her with dreamy eyes. she paused a moment before answering, for vera was her dearest friend and they loved each other well. then a quick flush spread itself from brow to neck. “ oh, lots'of foolishness, vera; nothing worth mentioning.” vera appeared satisfied. “there is one thing about it; we’ll have to go without something else, now. the idea of throwing away a dollar on such foolishness. but, net, i have something to tell you. do you remember of hearing the bell ring, while madam was talking to you? ” garnet looked surprised. “ did it ring?” she asked. vera laughed. were you really so carried away that you didn’t hear it? well, it rung, and a gen- tleman passed through the parlor.” vera stopped and looked at garnet. garnet lifted calm eyes. “ yes?” “ well,” repeated vera. “ guess who it was ?” garnet stood perfectly still.' they had turned off the avenue and were walking along the beach. “ not fred?” “ no; not he.” garnet looked earnestly into vera’s smiling face, then she commenced to walk slowly on with her eyes fixed on the sand. “it wasn’t, was it, vera?” jfour (btrls at gottage (ittq. although garnet mentioned no name, vera un- derstood. “ yes, it was, net,” she answered. they walked along the beach for half an hour or more, both very silent. vera was wishing she had her dollar safe back in her purse again, but garnet’s thoughts, to judge from the expression of her face, were of a more romantic nature. at last vera exclaimed: “ oh, mercy ! how hot this sun is. let us go home.” as they entered the cottage by the kitchen door, jessie came rush- ing from the parlor to meet them, her face spark- ling with smiles. in her hand she swung lightly to and fro, the silver fob to her watch. allie fol- lowed close behind, and she, too, was smiling. “ my watch, girls; my watch !” cried jessie, and threw an arm around the neck of each. ' “ where did you find it ?” both asked at once. “ oh, the strangest thing i ” said jessie, breath- lessly. “ come into the parlor and i’ll tell you all about it. there ! you three sit there on the lounge and i’ll stand up before you and tell it all off. i’m so excited i can’t sit still. you know, just a little while after you two sneaked off this morning, (she stopped long enough to roll her eyes reproachfully around at garnet and vera,) somebody knocked on the front door. “ grandpa ” went to the door, and there stood a lady. she wanted to see the person who had lost the watch, so of course “ grandpa’x called me. well, when i came down, of all the four (birls at gottage gite. sights i ever saw! i suppose she was a woman, because she had on a woman’s dress and hat, but there all the likeness to other women ended. she had short hair and big brown hands, and she took long steps like a man, and her voice was ‘ ugh, ugh, ugh,’ (jessie made her voice as gruff as possible,) and upon my word, girls, she had a mustache that any man might be proud of. twice as .heavy as fred travers’; and the color was what you might call a fast black. well, she eyed me over as cool as you please. the mean old thing didn’t bring the watch with her, but she said it was at her cottage on ocean avenue, and if it belonged to me i could have it by coming for it. she found it last night in the post ofi‘ice. well, allie and i trotted up to her cottage with her, like two little puppy dogs, and she left us in the reception room while she went for the watch. my l but wasn’t that house furnished though ! b-e-a-u-ti-ful ! she was gone quite a while, but when she came back she had the watch. i almost forgot all about the reward, buti pulled out my purse as grand as life, and took out the big sum of one dollar and passed it to her, and i declare if she didn’t take it. jessie’s eyes fairly snapped. so did vera’s and garnet’s. “no, you don’t mean it, jess! ” they both exclaimed. “ yes, sir, she did — the stingy beggar. worth her millions, probably — she’s just cranky enough four gm at gottage (hip. to be — and take a dollar from a poor little pauper like me. i can’t have any more nougats now all the rest of the time i’m here. but i don’t care. i’ve got my darling little watch back again.” and jessie laid her little scarlet cheek against the pretty toy and kissed it. vera was indignation itself. “well, if she isn’t whati call meanness personified. the idea ! ” a knock sounded on the closed blind door. jessie ran to open it. they saw her start, then draw herself up haughtily and press her lips to- gether. then they heard a gruff voice say : “ ex- cuse me, but i have come to bring back the dollar you gave this morning. i don’t care for it.” they saw a big, brown hand put a silver dollar into the little palm that jessie mechanically held out, then the'grufi' voice said: “ good morning,” and jessie closed the door and came back to them with big, black eyes. “ of all things ! ” was all she could say, and then all four burst into a merry peal of laughter. after many conjectures as to what induced the strange woman to bring back the dollar, jessie de- clared that the other ladies in the house made her do it; that she was a loon, or half a one anyway; and then she went dancing out ofthe parlor, crying: “ i’ll treat the crowd on nougats now, to celebrate my double good luck. come on mit me, al.” jfotir girls at gottage gity. garnet looked at vera. “ it has made her for- 'get to ask us where we have been. fortunate, eh?” and vera replied with a little squeeze of the hand. chapter xii._ the next morning, as the girls were putting the finishing touches to their toilet, a low, soft, trem- bling knock sounded on their door. they looked at each other with smiling faces and their lips simul- taneously formed the word, “ mother.” vera opened the door. yes, there she stood'on the threshold, a smile on her fair old face, one hand resting on the door, the other holding back “ grandpa.” “ good morning,” said the girls. “ come right in and take some chairs.” “ thank you, dears,” replied “ mother,” her face flushing with pleasure at the pleasant manner with which she was received. she and “ grandpa” had even so soon learned to love “ their four girls,” as they called them. .“ we won’t come in, thank you; but mr. atherton and me wanted to ask you if you would as soon come down to the kitchen be- fore we have breakfast, and sing something to us.” “ yes, girls, if you would come, ‘ mother ’ and i would be so happy,” quavered “ grandpa,” from the background. jfour girls at gottage gtty. “why, certainly we will come,” said the girls. the look on the old faces was thanks enough. “ mother” pushed “ grandpa” towards the stairs. “ now we’ll go right down, mr. atherton,” she said, primly. “ perhaps the young ladies are not quite ready.” but the girls declared they were, and in a few minutes they were all seated in the kitchen singing the same hymns they had sung every morning—- old, but ever new to “ grandpa ” and “ mother.” “ girls,” said “ mother,” suddenly, “you have all given your hearts to the saviour, haven’t you? ” the question was a great surprise to the girls. vera, garnet and jessiecould only look down into their laps and smile nervously. allie surprised them as much as “ mother’s ” question had done. “ i have never confessed my love for him before the world,” she said, softly, “but i do love him with all my heart.” “amen. thank god!” quavered “'grandpa.” “ ‘ mother,’ let us pray.” . side by side knelt the two bent forms. allie slipped quietly from her chair to her knees, and the other three, after a quick look at one another, did the same. “ our dear father and our god, who has heard what this, thy precious daughter, has testified to us and to thee, take her forever close to thy heart, so close that she can never wander away from it, jfour (birls at gottage gite. and fill her young life with the strength that can only come from constant intercourse with thine own holy self. dear father, mighty redeemer, hold her close, close. many and great are the temptations that will come to her in this life. thou knowest this, for thou hast lived upon the earth and passed through it all before us, and we cannot tell thee anything thou dost not know. but we know that it is very precious to thy loving heart; to have thy children ask thy help; thy help which thou art always so glad to give. oh, father, clear father, bless her, keep her, shield her from all harm. and, dear father, touch these other young hearts that are beating before thee ; they are such true, pure, lovable hearts, dear father, capable of containing such strong feeling; turn them in these, their early days, towards thee and towards the only true life. we love them so clearly, father, that we cannot find words with which to pray for them, but thy love for them, which is so much stronger and greater than ours can ever be, is able to do all and much more than any words of ours could ask for. help us through this day and the days—many or few as thou wilt—that are to come, forgive us our many sins, and save us at last for jesus sake, amen. *' * 'x' * ii i ~ ' ‘it jfour (birls at gottage gity. “ where are you going vera?” asked j'essie about o’clock that afternoon, as vera came into the room and took her hat down from its nail. jessie looked tired. she was sitting in the rock- ing chair, with her head leaning against the back of it, rocking. garnet and allie were out on the piazza. vera stood still in the middle of the room, and ran her hat-pin through the lace on her hat. “ oh — not far —just for a little walk.” “ well, i’m awfully lonesome, somehow or another,” said jessie, with a sigh. “ don’t you want me to go with you?” strange to say, vera hesitated. jessie opened her eyes in surprise. “ don’t you want me, vera?” she asked, child- ishly. “of course i'do, jasmine,” replied vera, lov- ingly. “ only —perhaps, when you know where i am going, you won’t care to go.” “well, tell me; then you will know.” “ well, i’m going to see charlotte hood.” vera fully expected a burst of scornful laughter. what was her surprise to see jessie spring to her feet, clap her hands softly and run for her hat. “ oh, vera, that is perfectly lovely. of course i want to go. i have been thinking of her all this afternoon, and wishing i might see her and hear her talk. whatever made you think of going there?” four girls at gottagésgity. “ well, to tell the truth, i had the same desire that you have confessed to having—i felt just like it.” “net and a are out on the piazza, talking to those two boys,” said jessie, a little contempqlous- ly. “ they rode up a few minutes ago on their bicycles. let’s go out the side door and they won’t see us.” vera stopped irresolutely at'the foot of the stairs. “perhaps they would like to go with us. ifeel as though i ought to tell them where we are going.” ' jessie gave her lace mitten an impatient jerk. “ oh, come along, vera ; don’t, for pity’s'sake, ask those two boys. i’d like to go somewhere once, without them tagging at our heels.” ,j vera smiled and followed jessie out of the house. the day was beautiful. it was a little cool, so the girls wore their plush shoulder capes over their light dresses. it seemed as though all cottag city were out promenading, or riding the wheel. the cool sea-breeze made everyone feel bright and joyful. gay laughter and merry voices sounded , everywhere. a little fellow in a smart sailor suit “ and cap rode his miniature bicycle close to jessie’s dainty muslin dress, and then raised his cap in laughing apology. he was not more than ten years old. ordinarily jessie would have corrected him sharply for his carelessness, but now she jfourgtrls at gottage (ittv. , ‘ smiled and nodded pleasa‘ntly back to him and watched him with wistful eyes as he spun gaily down the avenue. “ how poor little robie hood would enjoy doing what that boy is doing,” she said; and vera, look- mg qt her in surprise, saw tears in the sweet eyes. “ oh, vera, it doesn’t seem right, does it ?” vera looked very grave. "‘ what doesn’t seem right, jess? ” she asked. " she knew what jessie meant, but wanted to draw her out. she never remembered to have seen her in such a mood before, and it pleased, while it perplexed and saddened her. bright, laughing, careless little jessie, to be so touched and grieved. “ why, that such a woman as mrs. hood should have so much care and trouble, and that darling little boy should suffer so. he never did a bit of harm in all his life, i know, and just see the life he is living. i wonder ifit is all right. it can’t be, for where is the justice in it?” ' vera could not tell her; she 'didn’t know herself. had jessie asked for her qainion on the justice of ' > “ king arthur ” leaving “ guinevere ” to her fate- in the nunnery, she would scarcely have been able to talk fast enough, her thoughts would have come so rapidly. but on this subject she was dumb. she was dumb because she was ignorant. she had neverthought about the justice of god, and so ~ she couldqnot pass an opinion on it. ’.' four girls at gottage gtty. “i have never once thought about such things before,” went on jessie. “ and i don’t suppose i would now if i hadn’t happened to go there the other day: but since then i haven’t been able to get that child out of my mind. i can see his little face just as it looked on his mother’s shoulder. oh, vera, wasn’t it dreadful l ” and jessie grasped vera’s hand. vera returned the clasp and they walked along in this manner. “ i’ve always been such a selfish little thing,” went on jessie. “ getting mad over the least little thing. if i want the sun to shine and it rains, i rave and tear around as if some terrible thing had happened; and there that poor little boy has to lie in bed in all kinds of weather—fair as well as foul — and besides that, suffer such terrible pain‘ all the time. now look at that handsome carriage ahead there; see that lady lying back in it with that nasty little poodle on her lap. and see the gentleman opposite to her, half asleep on his soft cushions. he looks as though he had been up half the night. i don’t suppose they have anything in this world to do but laze 'around, eat, sleep, drive out and enjoy themselves. and there is this poor mother working herself to death in order to get food enough to keep her and her child from starving; lived agood, christian life all her days, i suppose,' and the child —--little lower than an angel —sufi'er-' ing untold agony every hour of his life. not even jfour (birls at gottage gtty. i able to. crawl to the door and get a breath of fresh air. nothing to amuse himself with, the few mo- ments he is not suffering, but a few miserable little toys. why,vera, he even has to stay in the house alone while his mother is gone for the clothes. o, it is dreadful, dreadful ! don’t you suppose he is as precious in god's sight as that poodle lying in that lady’s lap?” " jessie turned her glowing face to vera as she sharply asked this question. vera recoiled in shocked surprise. “ why, jessie, what a question l of course he is.” “ then why does he provide better for the' dog than for the child ?” vera was mute. she was shocked, grieved and troubled. jessie was all hot resentment, but she was seeking for light, poor child l > “what do you t/zink, vera? you are educated and have always been considered more than com- monly intelligent. you are a great reader and a great thinker. tell me what you think about it.” alas, proud vera! well informed on all the important topics of the day, she was totally unable to answer jessie’s simple little question. she could tell the author of almost , any book that anyone might mention, and be able to give a fair synopsis of y the book itself. her opinions on this and that sub- ject— slavery, dress reform, woman’s rights, pro- jfour girls at gottage glttiz. hibition, etc., etc., her criticisms on art, ancient as well as modern literature, public speakers, and even her really enviable knowledge of the manner and customs of foreign countries and the govern- ment of her own — in all these she had gained for herself recognition from the cultivated society in which she moved. but this thing of which jessie spoke was beyond her comprehension; she could find no words with which to answer. and jessie, who disliked all deep reading and who did not read a poem once a year, except in her elocution, had commenced to think out the deep mystery of life, and vera—learned vera— had no help to give her. she looked into the little quivering face and her own grew sad at the thought. “ it isn’t right, vera; it isn’t right,” jessie re- peated wildly, and then she stopped suddenly before a toy-shop and her face grew laughing once more. “come in here a minute, vera; i’m going to get a ‘ noah’s ark ’ for robin.” “ you go in here, jess,” said vera, “ and i’ll run across the street and get some of those nice looking bananas.” the two girls, as they neared charlotte hood’s little brown cottage, both realized plainly that there was a new feeling in their heart; a quiet, softly happy, contented feeling that they did not stop to analyze, but which was very pleasant, indeed, jfour girls at gottage gity. to them. they did not mention it one to the other, but it was there in each heart. mrs. hood answered their knock on the door. her face lighted up at the sight of her visitors and she invited them into the room where robin lay, in her most cordial tones. “ this is one of my boy’s good days,” she said, smoothing the white pillow that his golden head rested upon. “ robbie, darling, these young ladies have come to see you.” but at the first sight of jessie, robin’s face had broken out into a bright, merry smile, and jessie, so pleased to see this—for it made him look more like other boys —stepped quickly to the bed-side, and taking both his little, thin hands in one of her’s, smoothed the clustering curls back with her other, and kissed him twice, once on each cheek. and when she lifted her head, the pleased mother saw tears standing thick in the glorious eyes. vera’s kiss on the white cheek was very sweet and gentle, and the boy smiled up into the fair face bent over him with a childish, trusting smile, that deeply touched her. ' in a few moments more they were all three watching robin with happy faces, as he sat propped up in bed, his ‘ noah’s ark’ spread out before him, a large banana in his hands, which he kept offering to his mother now and then, and from which she took little bites to satisfy him, and his beautiful, pale face glowing with an almost healthful glow. ___.,-a jae; , jfour girls at gottage . the mother sat in a chair close to the pillow, jessie sat on the bed, and vera in the low rocker beside it. for an hour robin played with the pretty toys and prattled gaily as he did so ; then, by and by, he laid them down with a little happy sigh, and slipping his hand into that of his mother’s, turned his face toward her on the pillow and said, a little wearily : “i’m tired, mamma, but i’m happy, too. sing the pretty piece, mamma.” she was oblivious of everything but her child, and she sang to him the “ pretty piece”: “ nearer, my god to thee,” just as though they were there alone. and as she sang, his hand, wandering lovingly among the toys, touched jessie’s hand as she timidly put it in his way, and nestled there; and so with one hand clasping his mother’s and the other clasping jessie’s he sank into a sweet, untroubled sleep. for a few moments after they knew he slept, they were very quiet, for fear of waking him ; then all at once jessie said in a very low, but passionate tone: “ oh, it seems cruelj it can’t be right. there is no justice in it.” the mother’s eyes, that had been feasting them- selves hungrily on the little face so close to her own, turned towards jessie, and jessie's sank before the light in them. “oh, don’t dare to say it,” breathed the low, ilfour (bins at gottage gits). is thrilling tones. “ it is god’s will, and he is an all- wise and an all-merciful god.” jessie stared at her in utter amazement, so did vera, and mrs. hood looking first into one face and then into the other, read the secret of each heart as plainly as if it had been written upon each face, and drawing her hand gently away from her boy’s clasp, motioned the two girls to go with her to the other end of the room, away from the bed,.and sit beside her at the window. chapter x i i i. “ i feel that god means for me to speak to you now, in this place and at this moment,” she said, in low,’vibrating tones. “ he is moving my hea‘rt very strangely, and i feel that it is so i may, through his guidance, move yours. you do not know what it is to have the saviour for your friend? you have never given your hearts to him?” both girls shook their heads. “ i knew it, for if you had, you would never have said what you did.” she stopped a moment and looked at them. she was very pale indeed, and her lips were trembling, but the look that vera had seen on her face in the tabernacle was on her face now. “ let me tell you the story of my, life,” she said, suddenly. “it is something i have never told to anyone before, but it seems as tho’ the lord were commanding me to tell it to ,you. would you like to hear it?” “ oh, if you would, mrs. hood,” said jessie; and vera said : “ yes, please, if you are willing.” mrs. hood looked over to the bed where her boy lay sleeping, and commenced her story. four $trls at gottage gity. i “ i was one of a family of eight children—six girls and two boys. our home was on the cape— cape cod. my father was a sea captain, and up to the time i was fifteen years old i did not know what it was to want for anything. i had three sisters older than myself— hannah, emeline and deborah. hannah and emeline were very handsome girls, but i loved deborah the best. after me came the brother whom i almost worshipped—johial. then thankful, then mercy, then little warren, named for father. we were a very happy family. father was away from home a great deal, of course, but when he came back from his trips -——oh, what happy times those were l such syrup as he used to bring home. i have never tasted anything like it since; and whole barrels of almonds. i cannot begin to tell you how happy we were. my three older sisters went to dancing school, evening par- ties and entertainments, and i was always looking forward to the time when i could go. no serious thought ever entered my head, until when i was about eleven years old, there came a revivalist to ' west dennis, (my home was in south dennis). “ hannah, emeline and deborah used to go over to the meetings every night, but they only went for the walk home with the young men after meeting. child though i was, i saw that easily enough. i begged and teased mother to let me go with them just for one night, but the girls said they would not jfour girls at gottage gity. r be bothered with me, and mother let them have their way about it. but i had made up my mind to go, and go i would. i had heard the girls tell of things the revivalist had said, and deborah, who was a very good mimic, had once or twice' acted him out to us younger ones. i had made up my mind as to how he looked. i imagined him to be a tall, large man, with long, floating, black hair, fiery, dark eyes, and a stern mouth, out of which proceeded terrible words about sinners dying and being thrown into a lake of fire, where they burned forever and ever. i was wild to see and hear, and on the last night of his stay i crawled out of the bed where mother had tucked thankful and i an hour before, and, dressing myself rapidly, glided down stairs and out of the side door, just as my sisters, with cousins abbie, modina and patience, went out ofthe front gate. fortunately for me there was no moon, but the stars shone beautifully bright and clear, and the may night was delightful. the girls kept up a continual chatter, and they neither saw or heard me as i glided along, a little dark figure, in the shadow of the whispering pines. it was a good two miles and a half walk, and when we reached the church we found it nearly filled- the girls managed to get seats together, and i squeezed myself between 'two fat old ladies in one of the seats opposite. we had not been there long before half a dozen young men, who haunted out' jfonr (birls at gottage (lift. took his place. he was the ‘ preacher.’ did he look as i had pictured him? not at all. his face was mild and fair; his white hair was brushed simply back from a broad, beautiful forehead. his eyes were blue, and although he must have been seventy years old, they were as bright and clear as any man’s of forty. when he opened his lips to speak no terrible words of ‘ death and fire and eternal banishment’ came from them, but just this, softly and tenderly spoken : ‘ come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and i will give' you rest.’ that is all that i can clearly remember, but the efi‘ect these words had on my childish heart, i will never forget. there were no loud groans from excited hearers, such as i had expected to hear; everyone was very quiet, but upon many a tired face, there gradually settled a look of rest and peace, and the softly spoken words fell upon and soothed many an aching, sorrowing heart. ican only remember how my heart was filled with a happy longing—i felt like crying and singing at the same time. when the meeting closed with the hymn, ‘ blest be the tie that binds,’ i could hardly realize where i was or how i had gotten there, but the truth came to me only just in time, for as i turned to leave the seat, emeline’s dark eyes, glanc- ing carelessly around, almost lighted upon me- i dodged behind the tall pew door not a moment too soon. when i peeped out she was passing my four (bins at gottage gtty. is hiding-place and her eyes were cast down beneath the admiring blue ones of elnathan _rogers. i slipped out and was soon fluttering along in the shadow of the old pine trees once more. but now my heart was beating strangely. i could not think clearly of what the ‘preacher’ had said; i only knew that he had told us of a father in heaven — a loving, tender father—who cared for all his children alike. he had taken just such little ones as me up in his arms and said : ‘ suffer little chil- dren to come unto me, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.’ he had told of a beautiful home up above the skies, where all who had been his faith- ful children here, could come and live, by and by, when he called them. there, all things that seemed wrong here, would be made right. there was no crying there, no pain, no parting; all was happiness, peace and rest. the ‘ preacher’ had spoken so simply, albeit with great eloquence, that . i had understood plainly what he had said, and i was thinking of it very earnestly, as i walked along with my eyes cast down, so earnestly in fact, thati had entirely forgotten everything else, until i was suddenly .‘ brought back to earth ’ and my surround- ings by walking right into the midst of the young couples, who had stopped and were regarding me with rather suspicious glances, until i lifted my face to theirs, and then — such a torrent of exclamations as burst forth, such as: ‘ of all things l’ ‘ well, your (birls at glottage gtty. if i don’t give it up!’ ‘ charlotte mehitable phil- lips, where did you come from?’ iwas mute until hannah grasped my arm, not any too gently, and said sternly : ‘ charlotte mehitable, tell me the truth this instant. where did you come from? ’ all the softened feelings that had been filling my heart, left it as i twisted myself out of her grasp and cried, breathlessly: ‘i cum from the meetin’, and you just let me alone hannah abbie phillips, or i’ll tell mot/zer w you girls never listened to tile preac/zer one single bit, but et candy and wrote notes to t/zefellers every blessed minute.’ great is the power of the infant terrible ! a hush fell upon the group as they eyed me, small conquerer! fac- ing them all with a little flushed face and shining eyes. then deborah, slyly thrusting a checker- berry wafer in my hand, said : ‘ well, well, never mind charley; tell us all about it, that’s a good girl.’ thus ‘ approached,’ i graciously' complied. when i finished, hannah took me between her and . theophalus baker, and said, as we walked along: ‘ well, we’ll let you run in at the front door and get up stairs to bed, and t/zis time we won’t tell mother about it, but don’t you ever dare to do such a thing as this again. mercy l it’s a wonder something awful didn’t happen to you.’ i don’t think mother ever knew about my going to hear the ‘ preacher.’ i never told her and i do not think the girls did. although hannah made a great show of y‘ letting jfour girls at gottage gity. me off,’ as she called it, yet i secretly believed, and do now, that i was the lenient one.” mrs. hood stopped talking and sat looking at robin with a smile on her face. the room was full of shadows, for the twilight was deepening. vera and jessie had been much interested, and could not bear to think of going without hearing more, but the supper hour was very near. mrs. hood seemed to realize all at once how late it was growing, for she suddenly rose from her chair and said : “why, you must excuse me for keeping you here in the dark. i will light the lamp.” the girls had risen at the same time, and vera said: ' “ oh, please do not light the lamp for us; we must go now. we have enjoyed it all so much. can’t we come again and hear the rest ofit? ” “yes, indeed,” answered mrs. hood. “ i want to tell you it all.” _ “when will it be most convenient for you to have us come? our time is all our own, you know.” “yes. well, i am generally at liberty about this time every day. i call this hour ‘ robin’s hour,’” and the mother glanced lovingly towards the bed. “ then we will be so glad if we can share ‘ robin’s hour’ with him,” said vera, and jessie asked slyly : “ would you be willing for the other girls to come and hear it too, mrs. hood?” i jfour (birls at gottage gitv. vera looked at jessie in surprise, but mrs. hood replied : “ certainly, i would be very happy to have them come, if they would like to; and your two gentle- men friends, too.” “ thank you,” said jessie, simply. the girls kissed robin softly. he still lay asleep, holding an animal tightly in his little, thin hand. “ how was it you asked if net and allie might come, jess?” asked vera, as they walked swiftly towards home. “ oh, i knew they would enjoy it so much,” replied jessie. ' “and the young men?” said vera, slyly. jessie tossed her head. “ oh, let them come if they want to. it may do them good.” chapter xiv “ well, my dears, if you have no particular objections to telling, we would like to know where you have kept yourselves all the afternoon,” was garnet’s greeting to vera and jessie as they entered the kitchen where she was spreading the cloth for the evening meal. allie stood near by with the cups and saucers in her hands. “ guess where we have been,” said vera, taking her hat and cape off and laying them on the other table. “ haven’t the least idea,” said garnet, smoothing out an extraordinary large wrinkle in the tablecloth. “ you might as well tell us first as last.” “ well,we’ve been to mrs. hood’s.” garnet turned on her way to the closet. “ to mrs. h od’s? ” she asked, in amazement. “ what ever induced you to go there this afternoon? it was rather sudden, wasn’t it, not_to say—sly? ” “ now, net dare,” said jessie, “ we hadn’t the least idea of being sly, so don’t make that charge against us. you and al were having it all to your- selves out on the piazza, and while i was up in our room trying to imagine what pleasure you could find in boys’ society, vera came in and commenced four (birls at gottage gite. putting her things on. i asked her where she was going and if i couldn’t go with her. to make a long story short, we have been_to mrs. hood’s, and, oh, girls ”— here jessie’s cheeks grew red— “ she is going to tell us the story of her life up to the present time ; that is, a good part of it; she told_ us a little of it this afternoon and we are going again to-morrow at the same hour, and she is going to tell us some more, and she has given you and allie an invitation to come too, and—oh dear! i sup- pose i must be truthful and tell you that your two young gents are invited too ;'though mercy knows their room would be better than their company, to me, at least,” and jessie sat down' in “ mother’s” old fashioned rocker and leaned her head against its high back. “ well,” said garnet, turning once more to her work. “i’m sure that i shall be more than de- lighted to accept her invitation. won’t you, allie? how did you find little robin?” “ you tell them about him, ve,” said jessie, closing her eyes wearily, and beginning to rock with all her might. vera told them everything, and when she spoke ofjessie’s wishing to carry robin something, she saw garnet’s thoughtful face light up with a glad, surprised smile, and the next moment she crossed the room with her light, quick step, and put a soft, cool little hand on jessie’s forehead. jfour (btrls at glottage city. “ head-ache, dear?” she asked. jessie rubbed her forehead against the hand, like a kitten. “a little bit," she murmured, lazily. “ but its because i’m so fearfully hungry.” garnet smiled; she seldom laughed aloud. “that is a good kind of head-ache to have,” she said. “ you shall be satisfied in a very short time.” “i don’t know about being satisfied,” said jessie. “what have we got for supper? if you love me, net, don’t tell me it is the usual bowl of crackers and milk. i want something more solid than that to-night.” “well, to tell the truth, jess, that was what we were going to have, but if you feel like having something else, you shall have it. what would you like? ” “ oh, something ; i don’t much care what. there’s lots of canned stuff over to the store. why not try some, just for a change? and i’d like to know— ”' here jessie sat upright in her chair— “ when we are going to have another good, square meal. it seems a year since we’ve had one.” the girls laughed. “ i’m with you, jess,” said vera. “ it is about time we patronized some restaurant. ‘ grandma ’ says they give very good dinners at the brockton house, right back here, at very reasonable prices, too. suppose we go there to dinner to-morrow. ‘ grandma ’ says they have five or six courses.” jfour girls at gottage gity. “ i second the motion,” said jessie, emphatically. “ well,” said garnet. “ do you know what they ask?” “ i’m not quite sure, but i think only thirty-five cents. not more than fifty, anyway.” “ phooh ! money’s no object,” said jessie, throw- ing her empty purse into vera’s lap. “ you’ll have to draw on the bank soon, win’t you jess? ” asked vera, pinching the purse. “ i’ll draw on something or somebody by and by ifi don’t have something to eat. thought you were going out purchasing, net.” “ well, so i am,” said garnet, taking her hat’ and shawl down from the nail behind the door. “ who wants to go with me?” “ not i, thank you,” said jessie. “ i’m weary. “ i’ll go,” said vera. when the two girls stepped out on the street, they were surprised to find a fine mist falling, and looking in the direction of the ocean, they saw the heavy fog come rolling up. “ why, what a sudden change,” said garnet. “ this dampness strikes deep.” “ it was commencing to cloud over when jess and i came in,” said vera. “ i guess we won’t go to the concert to-night. do you think we had better?” “ no; we wouldn’t enjoy it very much. the boys wanted to know if we were going, and we told jfour girls at gottage gite. $ them we expected to, so they were going to call for us. but they can stay and spend the evening in- stead, and we’ll give them some cocoa.” “suppose we get some canned salmon, if they have any,” said vera, as they went up the steps to the store. “ do you like it?” “very much; and so do allie and jess.” the salmon was purchased, and while garnet was paying for it, vera looked around the store. the next moment she nudged garnet softly. gar- net looked in the direction indicated by vera’s ' eyes. there stood “ mother,” dressed in her best black dress, shawl and bonnet. she was standing directly under one of the oil lamps and peering anxiously into an old leather pocket-book she held in her hands. while the girls looked, she shook the pocket-book gently and moved her long, thin fore-finger back and forth in one of the pockets, as if feeling for change. her 'glasses rested on the extreme end of her nose, and either for this reason or because the light was so poor, she could not see. finally she succeeded in bringing to light a piece of money, which she turned over and over, held it up to the light, felt of it, and then stood looking at it. “ change, madam,” said the clerk, and garnet turned with a start. vera stepped quickly over to “ mother.” jfour (birls at gottage (mty. “ can i help you, ‘ grandma?’ " poor “ mother ” turned at the sound of the sweet, young voice, and her dim eyes brightened. “ oh, is it you, dear? i’m trying to find a ten cent piece, and i don’t know whether i’ve got it or not.” vera looked at the piece of money. “ yes, that is ten cents,” she said. “ i want to get a loaf of bread for supper,” went on “ mother.” “ i’ve been doing some shopping —buying some cloth to make into pillow cases. i’ve got a few pair, but i’m afraid i shall need some more before summer is over.” i “ mother” was evidently considerably excited over something. her soft wrinkled cheeks were faintly pink, her blue eyes had quite a sparkle in them, and her manner was more than usually nervous and flurried. vera couldn’t help smiling as she looked at her, and thought that she must have been a great beauty in her younger days. “ let me get your bread for you, ‘ grandma,’ ” she said. “ well, if you will, i’ll be much obliged to you,” said “ mother.” “ is there anything else you’d like?” asked vera. ' “mother” turned and took up a large bundle from a barrel that stood near. “ let me carry that for you,” said vera. four'girls at (iottage gity. i “ thank you, thank 'you; it rather heavy. no, there isn’t anything else iwant to-night. is that cheese over there?” she asked, suddenly. “ yes ;'would you like some?” “ well, now i would. me and mr. atherton are both very fond of cheese.” “ shall i get half a pound?” “ well, now, i would like it so much, but i haven’t got another cent of change with me.” vera smiled at the dear old lady’s innocent, but broad hint. “ never mind, the change,” she said. “ i’ll get it for you. net,” she whispered, “ ‘ grandma ’ wants half a pound of cheese. can we draw on the ‘ bank ’ for eight cents?” “i guess so,” whispered back garnet, with a smile. after the cheese was purchased and paid for, “ mother ” insisting on carrying that package her- self, they passed out of the store and down the steps. “ mother” walked in the middle, with her left hand drawn through vera’s arm. the girls were obliged to walk very slowly to accommodate their steps to her’s. when fairly on the street, “ mother,” first looking cautiously over each shoulder to see . that no one heard the great news she was about to impart, said eagerly : “ well, girls, we have got a new lodger.” vera and garnet smiled encouragingly, as “ mother” turned her pleased face, first to one, then to the other. “ oh, that is nice. who is it?” four (birls at gottage gtty. “ well, now, i can’t think of his name — he told it to me. let me see— what was it? well, i can find out when we get home, for it is printed on the lining of his coat, and he left that hanging on a nail in his room. it is a very nice coat, too —the braid is all sewed on by hand, and the coat is lined with good strong satin. he’s a young man, and i don’t think he is married — he doesn’t look so.” the girls, secretly wondering what mark dis- tinguished the married from the unmarried man, asked what room had been given to him. they asked questions, partly because they were really interested, but principally to please “ mother.” she took such a childish delight in being “ important.” “ i’ve given him the room right opposite to your’s. i told him i had four girls staying with me, and that your room was across the hall from his, but he said he didn’t mind that.” the girls opened their eyes at this. the new lodger was evidently a cool young man. vera felt very much like saying: “well, if he won’t mind it, perhaps we will,” but she did not like to hurt “ mother’s ” feelings, so instead she asked: “ are you expecting many lodgers this summer?” “ oh, yes, by and by. you see the season has scarcely set in yet; they don’t really get here until, the first of august. we always have our rooms all taken.” “ then we might as well make hay while the jfour girls at gottage gity. sun shines,” thought the girls. “ by and by we won’t have the privilege of occupying every room as we do now.” “ you seem to understand the business, ‘ grand- ma,’ ”'said garnet, pleasantly. “ you like it, don’t you?” “oh, yes, dear; very much. yes, me and mr. atherton understand letting rooms pretty well. you see, our home is in cambridge, and we used to let rooms to the students at harvard. then my grandsons-three of them — used to live with us while they were attending college there. its lots of care, though— lots of care.” vera opened the gate to let “ mother” pass through. “ yes, it must be quite a responsibility,” she said. “ but you understand making it very pleasant for your lodgers, ‘ grandma.’” “mother” smiled proudly as she took her loaf of bread from garnet, and went up the steps that led to the summer kitchen, where she and “ grandpa” 'took their meals. “ where would you like for me to put this cloth, ‘ grandma, ’ ” asked vera. “oh, would you just as soon take it up to my room?” “ certainly.” “then me and mr. atherton can' go right up after we have some tea and tear off the pillow cases, and i can lay the hem before i go to bed.” jfour girls at gottage gitig. pretend to be so poor are just the ones that have the full pocket-book.” ' “ do you think ‘ grandpa ’ and ‘ grandma ’ have any money? ” asked allie. “ they don’t dress nicely at all, and just see how pleased they are when we give them any little thing we have left over from our meals.” jessie laughed merrily. “ hear al,” she said. “ anybody’d think we were some of the tonies. how much do we generally have left over, young lady? ibelieve we had a few lobster claws last night, and—ware there any herring tails left over from breakfast this morning?” all the girls laughed as they seated themselves around the table. “ i think ‘ grandpa ’ and ‘ grandma ’ have quite a sum of money put by, from the few things that ‘ grandma ’ has let drop when she has been talking with me,” said garnet. “ don’t you know, as some people grow old, they get into the habit of thinking that unless they count every penny, and make it go as far as they can, they will end their days in the poor-house. one would imagine to see ‘grandpa’ and ‘grandma,’ that they were very poor, indeed, but i am quite sure they have a plenty to keep them comfortably the rest of their lives.” “just what i say,” said jessie, holding up a piece of salmon on the end of her fork and eyeing it admiringly before putting it into her mouth. .- jfour girls at (iottage cum. “ how strange it seems to be eating by lamp- light,” said vera. “ but it grew dark early to-night.” “ by the way,” said allie, taking her cup of cocoa from garnet’s hand. “you didn’t tell us who the new lodger is.” “ prepare yourself, jess,” said vera. “ i don’t mean to be cruel and spoil your supper, but—its a man.” “ wkat’s a man?” asked jessie, with charming directness. > “ it; the new lodger.” jessie dropped both knife and fork, and sank back in her chair with an expression of complete discouragement on her face, but suddenly, bethink- ing herself of the delicious salmon on her plate, she immediately straightened herself in her chair, only saying: “ well, i might as well stop trying now.” “ stop trying what?” asked the girls. “ oh, keeping you girls away from the men, or the men away from you —i don’t know which.” “ don’t, jess,” said vera, in mock dismay. “ perhaps we’ll never have another chance of asso- ciating with the fascinating creatures. you know they are rather scarce articles up our way.” “ and just as well for you that they are,” retorted jessie. “ what is that now? ” she asked, suddenly. “ if that doesn’t sound like fred travers whistling ‘ little fisher maiden.’ ” i ____i, jfour (btrls at gottage gtty}. garnet laughed. ' ' “ is it, garnet dare?” asked jessie, sternly. “ well, i suppose it is. we were intending to go to the band concert, but it is so misty and damp we’ll let them come in and spend the evening instead. so run and let them in, while we clear this table — that’s a good little girl.” “if i let them in i won’t have to help clear the table, will i?” asked jessie, standing irresolutely. “ no. run; quick!” “ nor wash dishes, either?” “ no.” “ nor wipe?” “ no, no, no! hurry!” jessie disappeared. “you go in there, too, allie,” said garnet, sud- denly. “jess will commit herself in some way or another if she is left alone. she is as bad as ‘ miss edith, who helped things along.’ ” the girls did not- stop to wash the dishes, and ’ when they entered the parlor they found fred and erfort apparently enjoying themselves greatly, and very much at home, indeed. jessie’s tongue was going rapidly; her cheeks glowed, and her eyes flashed. allie was listening smilingly. “ i’m telling them all about our visit this after- noon, vera,” said jessie. “ and they say they will be glad to go with us to-.morrow.” “that will be pleasant,” said vera, taking the low, willow rocker that fred handed to her. chapter xv. “ miss jessie has interested us deeply by her pleasing account of your visit to mrs. hood and robin, miss earle,” said erfort. “we shall be most happy to continue our acquaintance with them.” “ oh, i am sure you will enjoy listening to her,” said vera, earnestly. “i think she is a most lovely woman.” “ but the poor little boy,” said fred, with a seri- ousness that was entirely new with ’him. “ i don’t know when i 'have felt so sorry for anyone.” “ i know it,” returned vera. “ he is a perfect little hero.” “well, he is,” replied fred, heartily. “ he makes me ashamed of myself. i have thought about him a great deal since the day we were there.” “ little robin is a hero, and his mother is one of earth’s noblest heroines,” said erfort. “how she can hear her heavy cross as she does, i can’t imagine.” “ i know,” said jessie, softly, and with a bright blush. all turned and looked at her inquiringly. jfour girls at gottage gity. “she has some one to help her,” said jessie, with the blush growing deeper. “i said to her to-night, that ‘there was no justice in it,’ and she said: ‘ oh, don’t dare to say that. it is god’s will, and he is an all-wise and an all-merciful god.”’ jessie’s voice was very low. fred looked at her in astonishment, for a moment, then he drew his chair a little nearer to her and rested his hand on the back of her rocker. “ how can anyone doubt the satisfaction the christian derives from his or her religion?” said erfort, earnestly “ even the most skeptical can- not but see and acknowledge the great comfort it brings to them.” “i wonder,” said fred, “how anyone feels when they experience religion.” “ haven’t you ever heard one say? ” asked gar- net?” “ yes, i have heard different experiences, but, ' really and truly, it has seemed to me that every one i have ever heard were not sincere.” “ why, fred travers l ” exclaimed jessie. fred’s face flushed. “i know i’ve no right to judge,” he said 'quickly, “and i don’t mean to. but that is really the impression they gave me. not one of them ever made me in the least feel that i would like to meet with the change.” “ then your heart was not right,” said erfort. your girls at gottage gitiy. “ do you mean to tell us, fred, that you have lived to be twenty-four years old, and have never felt like being a christian ?” f red’s blue eyes looked steadily back into the dark ones so earnestly fixed upon his face. “ i never have,” he said. all were quiet for a moment, then erfort said: “ i have.” ' the dark, expressive face wore a very sad look. vera said, impulsively: “ won’t you tell us about it, mr. richards?” “ there isn’t very much to tell. i attended a prayer-meeting at one of the smaller churches at home one sunday evening. now, please do not imagine that this was a rare thing for me to do, for it was not. i have always attended sunday ser- vices very regularly ever since i can remember. of late years i have gone more to please mother than anything else, but i have gone nevertheless. it was not a revival meeting; if it had been i am positive i would not have had the desire that i am about to speak of. if i am ever converted it will not be at a revival —i don’t like them, and i have no faith in conversions that take place under such influences. the speaker was an old gentleman, rather slow and prosy, too. the singing was something dreadful, but there was a poor old lady there—i can see just how she looked now. she had on an old, rusty, black dress, shawl and jfour (btrls at gottage wy. door she turned and put her hand on my shoulder and said : ‘ god bless you, whoever you may be. there must be a happy mother somewhere.’ i have never forgotten that," said erfort, looking around on the earnest faces. “ it has had its influ- ence on my life. i have heard,” he continued, after a pause, “ as doubtless you have, many times, that each one has his or her chance of redemption —only one. i don’t believe that. i think so long as one lives, it is never too late to receive the bless- ing. i think that the longer one neglects to see to his soul’s salvation, the harder it is for him to do it, but the loss is all his. he loses many years of deep happiness. if one feels the desire to become better — if their hearts are really touched — if they realize fully, as i did, that an opportunity has pre- sented itself, and they give themselves up, then and there, i think they receive a deeper, richer bless- ing, than they do if they wait years, months, or, perhaps, only weeks, for the second opportunity, and then, besides, they have all that time in which to grow in grace. it is dangerous to wait for the ‘ second opportunity,’ for sometimes one is called away before it comes. i have always deeply regretted my lack of moral courage.” “ don’t you think,” said jessie, “that you thought of self too much, that night?” the others were surprised to hear such a grave question from “little jess,” but erfort answered, quickly: w jfour girls at gottage git?. “ you have found him the first, allie; but, per- haps, you can help us find him, before long.” “ if i only could ! ” murmured allie, fervently. ’ garnet just touched allie’s hair lightly with her little hand, and then she commenced to clear the table of its books and small articles. “cocoa?” asked fred, gaily, springing to his feet and assisting her. “oh, er, aren’t you glad you are living?” “ we are to have a new lodger, to-morrow, boys,” said vera, putting the cups on the table. “ and ‘ grandma ’ expects more in a few days, so drink your cocoa and be happy while you may.” the boys’ faces fell. they would miss the evenings in the bright little parlor. “ oh, what a shame ! ” said fred. “ that will spoil all our fun. who is coming to-morrow? ” “ a m-a-n,” said vera, impressively. fred made a movement of disgust. “ he’llbe cutting us out, er,” he said, half meaning what he said. ’ “ now, you won’t give him cocoa, too; will you?” said erfort, watching garnet’s busy little hands as she prepared the delicious beverage. “ perhaps he will not care' to have us,” said vera, remembering what “ mother ” had said about the gentleman’s “ not minding’them.” ' “well, we’ll hope for the . best,” said fred‘ “ but i guess ‘ barkis will be willin’ enough.’ ” jfour girls at gottage gity. vera clasped her hands. “ oh, mr. travers, do you read dickens? ” fred made a wry face. “ no, thanks.” vera looked disappointed. “i do, miss earle,” said erfort, noticing her- look of disappointment. “ oh, do you? isn’t he perfectly splendid? ” vera’s eyes shone and she involuntarily drew her chair nearer to erfort’s. fred immediately deter- mined to commence to martyr himself the first thing the next morning. a few of dickens’ works were in the “ library ” — he would get one and read it if it sent him to the insane asylum. “if you want vera to love you, you must love dickens,” said jessie, innocently. “it is ‘love me, love my dickens,’ with her.” “ i will worship him immediately,” said fred. “ nonsense ! ” said vera, scornfully, and then she turned eagerly to erfort. “ which of his books do you like the best, mr. richards? ” “ martin chuzzlewit.” “ oh, do you? well, that is a splendid story. one meets with a great many ‘ pecksniffs ’ in this life'. (vera spoke with the air of an octogenarian at least.) but my favorite is ‘ david copperfield.’- i have read that so many times that it really seems as though the characterswere real living beings._ they seem much more real to me than people jfour girls at gottage gttt ~ with whom i meet in real life. poor little ‘dora l’ i love her—well, much better than some real people that i know.” , erfort smiled. “ you are an enthusiast. but do you think it is well for you to feel so intensely, what is, after all, only imagination?” vera looked serious. “i have asked myself that question more than once, and have never answered it satisfactorily. i can tell no one what a peculiar effect the reading of dickens’ books has on me. they do not make me dissatisfied with real life; but while i am reading them, it seems just as though i am living in a world peopled only with dickens’ characters. i can see and talk with them all. i love, like, respect, dislike, despise each one, according to the impression he or she makes on me. ‘dora,’ ‘agnes,’ ‘ uriah heep,’ ‘ miss bet- sey,’ ‘ rose dartle,’ ‘ steerforth,’ ‘ little em’ly,’ ‘ pecksniff,’ ‘ mercy,’ ‘ charity,’ ‘ martin,’ ‘ mark tapley,’ ‘ little dorrit,’ ‘ dolly varden,’ ‘ emma haredale,’ ‘ the maypole cronies,’ ‘ barnaby rudge,’ ‘ nicholas nickleby’— oh, dear! all or them,” and vera leaned back in her chair with a deep sigh. “ i saw the questions : ‘ who is dickens’noblest character?’ and ‘ who is his worst character?’ in an educational paper once,” went on vera. “and i answered ‘ little dorrit ’ to the former, and ‘jonas chuzzlewit’ to the latter. what do you think?” your girls at gottage gitt. jessie made a little face and went back to allie and fred. “ may i come and talk, too?” asked garnet. i also, am an ardent admirer of dickens. as an acquaintance of mine says: ‘ i love dickens very dearly.”’ , “what a deuced happy chap that old fellow ought to be,” said fred, who, from the table, over- heard garnet’s remark, “to have all the ladies in love with him.” “ he is dead, fred,” said garnet, with rather more solemnity than the occasion warranted. in- deed, her voice was full of awe. “ oh, i beg his pardon,” said fred, meekly, and took a cup of cocoa. “who do you think is his noblest character, miss dare?” asked erfort. “ ‘ little dorrit.’ ” ‘ and his worst? ” “ ‘jonas chuzzlewit.’ ” erfort looked from one to the other. vera smiled. “ we have discussed those questions before,” she said. “ why do you think ‘ jonas ’ his worst charac- ter? there is ‘ daniel oxuilp.’ surely nothing could be more repulsive. and ‘bill sykes’ and ‘ fagin ’— how despicable l ” “yes, we know,” said vera. “ but ‘jonas’ did not have one redeeming quality. he was ugly, jfour girls at gottage gitiy. horrible woman ! but do you know, nothing that dickens has written amuses me more than the ‘ maypole cronies,’ in ‘ barnaby rudge.’ weren’t they too comical for anything? especially john willet.” “ the wise john,” said erfort. “ we see a good many such as he. how they did like to gossip. but you have not told me what you think of ‘ edith granger,’ in ‘ dombey and son.’ ” “ i always feel like shaking her,” said vera. “ she acted very foolishly. to use an expression that is more adaptable than elegant, it always seemed to me that she ‘ bit off her nose to spite her face.’ ” “ that is true,” said garnet. “ but i pitied her.” “ that is just like you, net,” said vera. “ pity the foolish ones.” ' “i pity the bitter ones,” said garnet. “ those who have lost faith in everything and everybody, even in themselves. when t/zat time comes, life cannot be worth the living. nothing seems so sad to me, as not being able to trust anyone. i say, hold on to your faith in people as long as you pos- sibly can. there can be no happiness where there is no faith.” “you agree with ‘ frances anne butler,”’ said vera : jfour girls at gottage gin). “ ‘ better trust all and be deceived and weep that trust and that deceiving, than doubt one heart, which, if believed, had blessed one’s life with true believing. oh! in’this mocking world, too fast the doubting fiend o’ertakes our youth ; better be cheated to the last than lose the blessed hope of truth i ’ ” “ she expresses my sentiments, exactly,” said garnet. “it is a blessed thing to be able to trust those whom we call our friends,” said erfort. “i think nothing changes a man’s whole life—not to say his character—so throughly, as having his trust be- trayed. unless one’s will-power and strength of character is very great, indeed, finding one’s self deceived in one’s friend—that is, a friend one has loved very dearly and trusted implicitly—makes one very bitter and skeptical, and spoils one’s whole life. it is wrong, for the whole world ought not to be judged by one; but it is hard to trust when you have once been deceived.” “ but it is sinful to allow the infidelity of even a dear friend to spoil one’s whole life,” said garnet. “ one’s pride ought to keep them from that, if nothing else would.” “pride will do a great deal for one,” said vera. “ ifi were ever deceived in anyone, no one would four (biris at gottage gite. ever know how badly i might feel. ofcourse it is a terrible thing to happen to anyone, but there is no need of letting the whole world know of it, or of its making your life miserable. by the way, mr. richards, that makes me think of a little ditty of tennyson’s, in which he proves traitor to his sex.” “ what is it? please repeat it.” “ oh, you must have read it.” “ ‘ sigh no more ladies, sigh no more, men were deceivers ever; one foot in sea, and one on shore, to one thing constant, never.’ ” “ there is a case where the man was most de- plorably lost in the poet,” said erfort. “ i am ashamed of my lord tennyson.” just here jessie came over to them, with a grieved expression on her face. “aren’t we going to have any fun to-night, girls? i think you are real hateful to get ofl" by yourselves in this way and talk on your horrid, dry subjects.” “ well, bless her little heart,” said vera, smooth- ing the wrinkles away in jessie’s forehead, “ we’ll do anything you say for half an hour, now. what is it? ” . “ play ‘ consequences,’ ” said jessie. four girls at gottage gity. when at . the young men went to their hotel, it would have been hard to tell which of the young people was in the greatest hurry for o’clock of the next day to come, that they might go to the home of charlotte hood, and hear more of the interesting story of her life. ' chapter x v i . on the following afternoon, at about : , the girls were sitting on the front piazza, waiting for erfort and fred. a tall, broad-shouldered man came through the gate, and just glancing at the girls, crossed the lawn and knocked at the door of the parlor where the girls “served their .cocoa.” vera, knowing that “mother” was up in her room,‘ looking over a big chest of bed linen, and that “grandpa” was out in the summer kitchen, whispered to 'the girls: ’ “ shall i tell him?” they nodded their heads and vera rose from ~ her chair and went towards him. he turned his head, and seeing her near him, raised his hat. “ uriah heep,” went like a flash through .vera’s mind. she bowed in a dignified manner, and said: “ you would like to see the lady of the house?’ “if you please.” the gentleman’s manner was pleasant enough, but vera did not like the expression of his eyes. they were not mates in color, one being blue and the other gray, and they were set too close to- gether. but then, the poor man could not help that. jfonr girls at gottage gitig. “ if you will take a chair,” said vera, motion- ing to the one she had been occupying, “ i will call mrs. atherton.” “thank you,” replied the gentleman. “you are very kind.” vera went out to the kitchen and notified '“ grandpa,” and then up stairs to “ mother.” “ mother” was flustrated at once, and the thin, nervous, white hands went up to the pretty hair immediately. “ oh, it must be mr. wild, my new lodger,” she said, and her voice trembled with excitement. “ will you pass me my cap, dear, and is my’hair smooth in the back? i’ll put on this black silk apron. dear, dear! it’s a blessed thing i made up his bed and put his room to rights this morning. now i’m ready, i guess. did you say he was'out on the piazza? ” vera replied that he was, and helped “ mother” down the stairs. “ grandpa ” was hovering in an uncertain manner between the stairs and the door, but “ mother ” very soon made his place known to him. ' “i’ll speak with him, mr. atherton,” she said, primly, and the thin hand held him back. the gentleman, who had been making himself agreeable to the girls, rose as “ mother” and vera appeared in the doorway, and bowed low with his hat in his hand. “ mother” invited him into the jfour girls at gottage gity. house with the air of a duchess. seeing erfort and fred appearing in the “near distance,” the girls went to meet them. “i don’t like that man’s face,” said jessie, as soon as they had left the piazza. “ he looks like a sneak to me.” “ ’sh, jessie,” said garnet. “ we ought not to' judge. he may be a very nice man.” “ don’t believe it,” said jessie, stoutly. “he looked like a wolf when he grinned.” “[ didn’t like the looks of his hands,” said garnet, meditatively. they made me think of ‘ uriah heep.’ ” vera turned quickly. “just what i said to my- self when i spoke to him,” she said. “ i believe there was really a ‘ uriah ’ and this man is a de- scendent of his.” “ how do you do, ladies,” said fred. “what is the subject of discussion this afternoon?” “we have just had a glimpse of our new lodger,” said vera. “what is the impression received?” “ not particularly favorable.” “ good! i guess we are all right for the cocoa.” “.is he a large, smooth-faced man, with a ‘uriah heep-like’ face?” asked erfort. the girls broke into a' merry laugh,' and in reply to erfort’s look of surprise', garnet explained to jfour (bins at gottage gtto. him the reason of the laugh, and they all com- menced a lively discussion as to the advisability of allowing an acquaintance to spring up between them and the new lodger. it was done more for the sake of something to talk about than for any- thing else, and although no good came from it, yet no harm came from it either. but right here let me warn my readers against practicing this habit—discussing the qualities, good, bad and indifferent, of your friends and ac- quaintances, or even people whom you know only by sight, merely for the sake of something to talk about. better let your tongue keep silent forever, than run the risk of hurting anyone in the eyes of others. how often have we read the valuable advice—although i cannot now recall the one who gave it: “ never speak of a person unless you can say something good of him. if you know of nothing good, then say nothing.” it is very seldom, if ever, that we meet with anyone who has not one good quality. make the most of that one good quality, then, and it will surprise you how much pleasure you derive from doing this. we have all heard, of course, that “ money is the root of all evil.” i would like to change the word “ money ” to that of “ gossip.” “ gossip is the. root of all evil.” methinks i hear a loud ~ “ amen! ” from the many persecuted ones. four girls at gottage gitt. when our party reached the cottage of charlotte hood, they found the door wide open. as they stood hesitatingly on the steps, mrs. hood called to_ them from the sitting-room to come right in. she was propping robin up in bed. the little childish face was unusually pale and drawn to-day, and there were deep shadows under the beautiful eyes. the temples, too, looked sunken. it was a sad, sad sight for our young people to see, and their hearts were softened and filled with pity. poor little baby suffererl it could not seem right to them for this thing to be. , but mrs. hood greeted them with a bright smile, as she placed the “ noah’s ark ” within reach of the little thin hands. “ come right in and be seated, please. my boy has not had a very good day so far, but he is better now, and so glad to see you all.” robin smiled as each one stopped at his bedside and spoke to him, and he put up his mouth as jes- sie bent over him. the glowing girlish face was pressed tenderly against the thin, pale one, and the red lips touched lovingly the white, parched ones. erfort and fred seated themselves on the lounge, vera took the rocking-chair, allie sat on the foot of the bed and leaned against the foot-board, gar- net took a low chair and rested her elbow in vera’s , lap, jessie sat in a high chair close to robin’s pillow, and mrs. hood, with her mending basket by her side, sat near the open window. jessie proceeded four girls at gottage gity. at once to the “ business of the afternoon,” with her usual charming directness. “ please begin right away, mrs. hood, we want to hear you so badly, and it seemed as if the hour yesterday afternoon fairly flew. we have told the others what you have told us, and they are as eager to hear more as vera and i.” garnet looked almost scandalized at jessie’s abruptness, but mrs. hood seemed pleased. “ one hour z'sn’t very long sometimes,” she replied. “ i am very happy to have interested you all and will continue my little story with pleasure: after the revival meeting which i told you about, i felt very strangely. i was exceedingly happy, yet quietly so. iwas submissive to my older sisters and cousins, which was something so very wonder- ful that they were more than surprised, and spoke of it many times. at last, one day, about a week after the meeting, it seemed to me as though my heart would burst with its weight of love and hap- piness. mother sent me up stairs to the porch chamber after some pieces for a rag carpet, which she was making. i entered the room and closed the door. i sank down on my knees in the middle of the dim, dusky garret, and called on god to help me, out of the very depths of my untutored, childish heart. oh, i will never forget the glory of that moment. as i prayed, the room was filled with a bright light, which almost dazzled my'eyes. it jfour girls at gottage gite. was not imagination, and i was not foolishly excited. it was something that was real. i have never had just that same experience since, though i have had many glorious moments. i do not know how long i had been in the garret, but all at once mother’s voice sounded sharply at the foot of the stairs: ‘ charlotte, where be you? i’m waitin’ for them rags.’ ah, the glory faded in a second; the light was all gone from the room, but it still lingered in my heart. i sprang hastily to my feet, snatched up the rags from the floor, and hastened down stairs ; eager hope in my heart, eager words tremb- ling on my lips. but as i entered the kitchen, the sight of betsey ann doane—the gossip of the town — sitting in the big cushioned chair, needles and tongue running a race together, met my eyes. the words died on my lips, and as i placed the basket of rags at mother’s feet, the bitterness of the disappointment brought the tears to my eyes. i ran from the room for fear the small, snapping ' black eyes of betsey ann would see them, and in a few moments i was lying full length on a soft bed of pine-needles, looking up through the green branches to the blue sky and wondering why god, if he knew how i felt and how i had longed to tell mother all about it, should have put it into betsey ann’s heart to make us a call on this particular afternoon. i was young — nothing but a child— but i had so soon commenced to question god’s your (birls at ttottage (titty. family than our’s could not be found on all the cape. in the fall our cellar was filled, as usual, with everything that was good, for the following winter’s use. in november, father made a trip to new orleans, and it was while he was gone that a very sad thing happened. hannah, emeline and deborah had commenced to go to dancing school, and they'were all carried away with the pleasures of it. they cleared the floor of the porch chamber, and they, with cousins abbie, modina and patience, would get up there in the evening and practice the round dances. sometimes johial and i would creep up the stairs, and with our heads just show- ing over the top one, would sit and watch them. they never saw us, until one night they were try- ing a new step. hannah, our most dignified sister, slipped on the smooth floor, and in her efforts to save herself, went through with such a comical gymnastic exercise, thati giggled and jo burst into a loud laugh. hannah wouldn’t let us watch any more, although i teased hard, for the young men came after that and practiced with them and i wanted to watch the fun. the girls were always fixing over their dresses, to wear dancing-school night, and one evening we were all sitting around the table. mother and the girls were sewing. deb was at work on a very pretty brown poplin dress, with pink ribbon, on which i looked with admiring, covetous eyes. i had teased hard to sit up until jfour girls at gottage gity. o’clock and watch the work go on, and mother had let me — for a wonder. of course iflwas going to sit up, was, but as he wasn’t longing for a brown dress with pink hows, the making of it didn’t particularly interest him, and long before o’clock he was lying on the floor, under the table, fast asleep. oh, i can see him now! he wore a col; ored apron with long sleeves. he had taken ofi" his shoes and stockings, and he lay with one arm thrown up over his head, and his little brown legs drawn up. my precious little brother! how the terrible thing that happened was done, we hardly knew, but one of the girls pushed her chair up against the table, as she bent to pick up a spool of thread that had fallen on the floor, and the next moment the lamp rolled off the table, and went crashing down right on poor little sleeping johial. another moment and he was _one cruel blaze. we all screamed, and that is about all we did do for a moment. emeline went towards the door with an idea of running over to get aunt thankful. as she passed the sink she saw the pail of water that was always left in it at night, and, seizing this, she threw the water on joe. it extinguished the flames at once, but, oh, the poor, little, darling boy! it seems as ifi can hear mother’s cry now, as she bent over him and took him up in her arms. she carried him into her room and laid him on the bed,- and then aunt thankful and one of the neighbors, four girls at gottage gite. whom the girls had called, came in, and in their excitement they hardly knew what they did. they did not think to unbutton the band around his wrists, but pulled the sleeves right over his hands, and i screamed as i saw the tender flesh come with it. they sent me out of the room then, but i hid in the corner near the door, and when the doctor came i slipped in with him, and they were so busy they didn’t notice me. the doctor must have been a very ignorant man, for he swathed jo in cotton from head to foot. he had to lie in this way for a long while, and for weeks he could not open his eyes. how i longed to bear the pain for him, and how patient he was ! when they took the bandages away, his fair, soft skin was disfigured for life with cruel white scars, but he was jo just the same; scars would never change my brother to me, and when he opened his blue eyes and looked at me with the old, sweet, loving smile, i just lay down on the bed beside him, and put my arms around his neck and cried for joy. when he got so he could sit up, i used to go out into the snow and make a regular little clown of myself, just for the sake of seeing him laugh. i would make believe slip up ~ and would go rolling over and over in the deep snow. i would dance the ‘ fisher’s hornpipe.’ i even went so far as to turn a somersault, and then how jo did laugh! when i got ready to go out, mother would lift him from the lounge to the big ifour girls atgottage gity. green chest in front of the window, and with the sugar tub at his back to prop him up, jo would sit and watch me by the hour. it was the latter part of march before he was able to go out, and for a long while he was obliged to limp along with a stick. one of his legs had been so badly burned that it would never be the same as before. the doctor said that it would gradually grow stronger, so that in.a few months he would be able to go with- out the stick, but he was afraid that there would always be a slight limp. i think i suffered almost as much as jo. it seemed as though i could not bear the thoughts of my darling brother being almost a cripple all his life, besides having his beau- tiful face marred by the scars.” mrs. hood stopped for a moment and looked at robin. “ ah ! ” she said, almost passionately, “do _not think it strange that i should worship /zim as i do,' for i am loving two in one. my brother lives again in my boy.” then she went on more quietly : “jo was a proud child for one so young, and for this reason his aflliction seemed all the harder. i used to sit and watch him when he slept, and many times i have fallen on my knees beside his lounge and almost cried my heart out. i didn’t pray to god to help us both, but i blamed him for sending this great trouble to jo. ‘ why had he done it?’ i used to ask, with passionate pain and anger. jfour (birls at gottage gtty. ‘ what had my innocent little brother ever done to be punished in this way? ’ he had always been a much better child than i-—sweeter-dispositioned, more obedient, more lovable. i reproached god bitterly out of the anger and pain of my childish heart, but instead of punishing me for it, ithink he pitied me, for he knew how well i loved my brother, and how unselfishly. during the month ofjanuary there was the heaviest snow storm there had been for many years. father had gone with uncle daniel, his youngest brother, and the favor- ite child of both grandfather and grandmother, up the kennebec for lumber. we knew they were out on the night of the storm, and none of us slept for the night. he was to have been home that same week, but the days passed and he did not come. child though i was, and usually a thought- less one, i saw how mother was suffering from ’suspense, although she never murmured once. she was then, as always, a ‘ silent sufferer.’ 'she never once neglected her children to sit down and mourn, but many a time i had seen her steal away to the clothes-press, in the spare room where father’s clothes hung, and, taking the garments, one by one, hold them close to her face for a moment and then put them back lingeringly and lovingly, and when she came out there would always be a happy smile on her face. i could not imagine why she did this. i wanted to know, but jfour (btrls at gottage gity}. did not dare to ask her. one day deborah saw me watching. deborah was always kind to me, and i was never afraid to have her catch me doing what i ought not to, though i think she was going to correct me this day, but i said eagerly: ‘ oh, deb, what does mother do that for?’ deborah knew what i meant, but she said: ‘do what?’ ‘why, rub father’s clothes against her cheek.’ deborah’s eyes filled with tears, but she smiled at my question and said: ‘she was not rubbing them against her cheek.’ ‘ what was she doing?’ ‘smelling of them.’ my eyes must have been perfectly round with astonishment, for deborah smiled even more, as she asked: ‘don’t you know what she does it for?’ i shook my head emphatically. ‘why, to see if father is—is— drowned—or —not.’ deborah’s eyes overfiowed, now, and she sobbed bitterly. i cried, too, but my curiosity had been much excited and demanded gratification. ‘ and -— how — can — she — tell?’ i asked, between my sobs. deborah waited a moment, until she could speak without crying: ‘why, if his clothes smell like dead folks, he is dead, and if they don’t, be is living.’ i was much awed by this information, and then i happened to think that mother’s face had always worn a smile every time i had seen her come from the room, and i cried, gladly: ‘well, he isn’t drownded, deb, for mother always looks glad, after she has _____ ____i,i-ii" jfour girls at gottage gity. smelt of his clothes.’ of course i had to telljo all about it, and for the next two or three daysl spent the most of my time in the spare-room clothes- press, smelling of father’s clothes. no one knew it except jo. one night, just before lamp light, about three weeks after the storm, the family were all sitting around the open fire-place in the kitchen, except jo, who, had been put to bed, but he lay where he could look out at them all. betsey ann doane had ‘ dropped in’ to console with mother , and hear the latest news, ifthere were any. aunt thankful, too, was there, and her girls. i was in the clothes-press for about the twelfth time that day. all at once i heard the outside door close. there was nothing in that, of course, but, somehow or other, it made my heart jump. i ran from the room, and, as i stood in the long passage- way that led to the kitchen, the inside door opened and closed quickly. then i heard one cry—not a loud one, but more like a half moan, and i reached the kitchen door at a bound. all i saw was a tall, broad-shouldered, snow-cov- ered form, for the head was bent over mother, and the arms were wrapped tightly around her. yes, it was father come home again. oh, how we all cried and hung upon him, kissed, hugged and almost strangled him. there had been loud screams from the girls and both younger children. emeline even went so far as to faint away; but jfour girls at gottage gtiy. emeline was always the lady of the family, and we none of us thought it strange that she should be the one to do this lady-like act. mother, with the worried look all gone from her face, bustled around to get father’s supper, while the girls unbuttoned emeline’s dress and held the camphor bottle to her pretty nose. i drew father into the bed-room to see jo, and when mother called him to supper, he appeared in the kitchen with jo wrapped in blankets, in his arms. ‘don’t scold, mother,’ he said (as if there were any danger of it on that night of all nightsl). ‘it won’t hurt him, andi must hold my little man to-night, anyway.’ after supper father drew his chair to the fire and said, gravely: ‘i have something to tell you all.’ i knew there was something that had happened, for father’s usually merry blue eyes had looked so sad, even when he had been smiling. we were all anxious to hear what had happened to keep him away for so long. of course aunt thankful and the girls had stayed to hear, and so had betsey ann, though she had feebly suggested going home to tell thefolks that ‘ cap’n phillips had cum hum all right,’ when father had sat down to supper. i knew that wild horses couldn’t have dragged her away until she had heard the whole story; buti was too happy to care how long she stayed, and so we all drew near the fire to listen.” jfour tbtris at ¢ottage (tity. ~ got over to me, after a good deal of slipping and falling, and we sat on the stairs the rest of the night, almost frozen, but not daring to stir. it seemed to us as though the vessel was turned almost upside down. about o’clock the next morning, the wind commenced to go down, and it didn’t snow nearly so hard, but the cold became unendurable. as it grew light we saw that the vessel was lying over on her side, between the two great cakes of ice. none of the boys were left on her; dan’l and i were the only ones there.’ father stopped here and brushed the tears out of his eyes. mother put her apron up to her face, the girls gave little gasps of horror, and betsey ann exclaimed : ‘ the lud have mercy on us! what be you a-tellin’ of us, warren phillips?’ then father went on, only interrupted now and then by betsey ann exclaim- ing: ‘ what be you a-tellin’ of us, cap’n phillips?’ ‘ me and dan’l sat on the stairs and groaned with the cold. we longed for the vessel to right herself '—we wouldn’t have cared much if she had gone over the other way and sent us to the bottom with the other boys, we were suffering so. along towards io o’clock we felt the water heave under us, the vessel commenced to move gently from side to side; we knew that the ice was separating. we waited. as far as i was con- cerned i wouldn’t have given a shuck if we had both been pitched into the river, i was so cold. jfour (birls at ¢ottage mtg. but we were not. she slowly righted herself, and then she commenced to drift along. the masts were gone; we could do nothing but move slowly about to get warm. the deck was like a looking- glass. we slipped along on it for a little while, and at last dan’l sank down on it all ofa heap. ‘ i’m’ freezing, warren,’ he said. i didn’t know what i was doing, but i commenced to dance on the slip- pery deck, and i shouted: ‘ dance, dan’l, dance!’ ‘ i can’t, warren,’ said he, and he stretched him- self out and closed his eyes, and in a little while he was dead." mother threw her apron down from her eyes and seized father’s arm with both hands. ‘ warren ! ’ she cried, ‘ dead ! dan’l dead ! oh, poor mother ! ’ and she commenced to cry. so did the girls and we younger ones, and betsey ann rocked back and forth in her chair and wrung her hands and the stocking she was knitting, and groaned: ‘ oh, ludl oh, lud! oh, lud a mercy!’ ‘ yes, he died. poor dan’l; poor boy ! ’ said father. ‘ and i watched him die while i danced to keep myself from dying, and when i saw that he was dead, i strapped him to a plank and let him down over the side of the vessel into the water, then i lay down on the same place he had been lying,’ and didn’t know anything more until i opened my eyes to find myself on board a vessel bound for new orleans. they had come along * a fact. jfour girls at gottage gite. and found me just in time to save me, and that was all.’ *‘ father stopped again and leaned backin his chair. he closed his eyes, but i saw the big tears slowly roll down his face. we were all too horri- fied to say a word for some little time, and then mother asked : ‘ have you been to mother’s, war- ren? does she know?’ ‘yes; i stopped there on my way home.’ ‘ and how did she take it?’ father shook his head. ‘ poor mother! i might as well have taken a knife and drove it clean through her heart. she worshipped that boy!’ after that we'didn’t talk very much, only mother said she would go over to see grandma early the next morning. it would do no good to go that night; it was snowing hard, father was almost sick himself and grandma’s house was a mile and a half away. betsey ann rolled up her knitting work and put it into the big bag she always wore at her side. mother got down the lantern and lighted it for her. ‘wal, warren,’ said betsey ann, tying her hood snugly under her sharp chin, ‘you hev my sympathy, and so does sally ann. (this was grandmother). she thought an orful sight of that boy—i shouldn’t wonder if it killed her; she’s gettin’ along in years.’ then she turned to mother. ‘ the land sakes, emeline, ef i wasn’t agoin’ off with nothin’ but my cloth shoes on. where be my rubber boots ? oh, here they be in * fact. the occurrence related here is true. it actually happened. o jfour girls at gottage (iitq. the corner. the ludl i’m so upset i’d forget my head ef it wasn’t fastened on.’ johial and i watched betsey ann’s light as it twinkled down the path, through the gate and up the long white road. it looked like a little glow-worm, shining through the snow. none of the women ever thought it necessary to be escorted home from a neighbor’s, after dark, no matter how late it was. such a thing as a tramp was never heard of on the cape, so the most timid of us never had any cause for fear, although if there ever was a place that seemed the very home of hobgoblins and ghosts, the pine woods that stretched themselves for a mile or more between our house and the village, was the place. i don’t think i need tell you of the sad time after father came home. grandma’s grief was pitiable to see, but i was too young to realize very deeply. i will skip over the next four years of my life to the time i was fifteen. they were happy years, free from care and trouble: jo grew stronger, but he never was as well again after his sickness. i’ll never forget the whipping i gave david bassett — a big, cowardly boy, who lived in the village. i was about twelve years old. jo and i were out in the yard one day. jo was sawing wood and i was packing it into a basket and carrying it into the wood-shed, for i was a strong child. david came along and stopped to talk with us. he didn’t like jo, for he thought four girls at gottage gite. that jo was proud and felt above him. jo wasn’t proud. his misfortune made him timid and re- served—that was all. david commenced to say little hateful things to jo, but jo never answered him back, only kept right on with his work. david edged along toward the road, and when at a safe distance, be called out: ‘limp-leg, limp-leg!’ and took to his heels. my heart gave a great leap. i just caught a glimpse of the painful flush that dyed jo’s face, and then i took to my heels and fairly flew down the road after david. he didn’t hear me coming until i was close up to him, and then, coward that he was, he ducked his head and put himself right in my path. i couldn’t stop then, and so of course i went heels over head, and rolled over in the dust. i heard david’s laugh and his ‘ neow, gosh take ye,’ and then in my anger and desperation. i caught hold of his bare leg, as he started to run, and held on for dear life. he wrig- gled and twisted; he slapped me in the face; he even kicked me with his free foot, but i twined my arms around his leg, and in another moment he was down in the road. then i scrambled to my feet and slapped, pinched and pounded him to my heart’s content, until he cried like a great baby. ilooked up and saw jo hurrying towards us, as fast as his lame leg would let him. i let him get near enough to get a good look at his fallen tor- mentor, then, with a parting pull at david’s white your (birls at (tottage ¢tty. hair, and a mocking ‘ neow, gosh take ye,’ i strutted off to meet - a dusty, rumpled, but proud little conqueror. i never would have thought to fight for myself, but he had cruelly insulted j , and he had to suffer the consequences. jo’s face was quite white when he met me. ‘ oh, charley, did he hurt you? ’ he asked, putting his little arm about me, and despite a black eye and a rapid- ly swelling lip, i replied, carelessly: ‘ hurt me? well, i guess not. it will take somebody a little bigger than that white-headed lunk to hurt me.’ my vocabulary of loving ( ? ) epithets must have been very limited, 'for that was the only one i could think of that was sufiiciently bad and strong to express my feelings. i remember how the girls applauded and scolded me all in one breath after i reached home. mother was out, but hannah put a piece of raw beef on the black eye and deborah rubbed some mutton tallow on the swollen lip, and emeline let me hold her pretty camphor bottle, and insisted on my smelling of the contents of it every other minute. i didn’t feel a bit faint—try as hard as i did to do so—but i leaned languidly back in the big rocker, and closed my eyes and played the fine lady and the heroine to my heart’s content. jo'sat at my elbow and once in a while i wouldopen my one eye slowly, and after taking in to thefull his loving, admiring look, would close it again and languidly lift the bottle to my nose. oh, homage jfour (birls at gottage mm. is dear, even to a child! "" * * i went to school until i was fifteen years old. never was a girl happier than i ! blessed with a good, kind father and mother, loving sisters and brothers, a perfectly healthly constitution, and a gay, happy disposition, with every comfort that a girl could ask for '; what had i to worry about? nothing at all. i went to dancing-school the winter i was fifteen. i even had beans come to see me on sunday evenings— boys who went to dancing-school with me. i re- member one night i was obliged to stay at home from dancing-school, on account of a very severe cold, and loud were my lamentations, for a new step was to be taught that evening. deborah' consoled me by saying she would go in my place and learn the step and teach it to me. i lay awake until after io o’clock, in spite of the strong mixture of niter that mother had given me, and when deborah came into my room with her candle, i muflled myself up in a big shawl and sat up in bed to take my lesson. deborah hummed the tune to me once or twice, and i attempted to hum it after her, but after one or two feeble croaks, i gave it up and whistled it instead. it seems as though i can see that picture now. the large, unfinished cham ber, dimly lighted by deborah’s candle, that she had placed on the big chest, the low trundle bed in the corner, under the rafters, in which slept jo, the little sleeping thankful by my side, and deborah jfour girls at gottage gite. had made.” but i love to think that when the boat went down, and my jo’s fair, scarred face was hidden beneath the cruel waters, that god sent his life-boat to save them and take them safely across to the golden shore, and that when jo stepped out of the life-boat and grasped the hand of him who died to save, the face he lifted to that other’s was white, and pure, and unscarred, as when he was my baby brother and nestled his cheek to mine. only i know it is a hundred-fold more pure, for the light of everlasting peace is upon it.” . the hush of the room was broken by low sobs from the girls, and, could the boys’ faces have been seen, the tears in' their eyes would have been seen also. the sobs recalled mrs. hood to herself. she rose from her chair and tried to make her voice cheerful, as she said: “ now i have made you feel badly and you will not care to come and listen to me again.” “oh, we will, we will!” came the reply, in choked, but earnest, voices. “ please do not trouble to'light the lamp for us, mrs. hood,” said fred, in a queer voice. “we can find our way out.” dear fred! he need not have been ashamed of the tears, for the girls thought twice as much of him for having them. * fact. jfour (birls at gottage gtty. “ may we come again to-morrow ?” askedjessie, as she clung to the hand that mrs. hood gave to her. “yes, indeed. i shall be so glad to have you. but do not let my story grieve you. there is nothing to grieve about, for my life is a very happy one.” the girls had no reply to make to this. how could her life be happy ? was the question each asked herself, but erfort’s grasp of mrs. hood's hand conveyed to her an answer that she under- stood as plainly as though he had spoken. s/ze knew that /ze knew. -“ w. chapter xviii. there was not much said on the way home. each seemed to feel that at such a time, “ silence spoke louder than words.” probably not one of them, unless, indeed, it were erfort, had ever felt and thought so deeply on the subject of religion, and now their thoughts were but half formed. their sympathy for charlotte hood was deep and heartfelt, and now they were wondering if it were really her religion that was bearing her up so won- derfully. “ how can it ? ” was all the question they could think to ask themselves. at the cottage the boys took leave of the girls, after asking permission to come back and spend the evening with them ; a permission they readily granted. at the supper table jessie seemed unusu- ally silent; she didn’t even protest against the usual bowl of crackers and milk, although vera, fearing that she would, said: “ never mind, jasmine; to-morrow we are going to have another good square meal at the restaurant, and to-morrow night we’ll vary the monotony of the regular supper fare with huckleberries.” jfour (bttls at gottage (mty. “ crackers and milk are good enough for me,” was the unexpected reply, given with a meekness that surprised them all. vera looked at her, and the thought flashed through her mind : “ little robin is teaching her patience,” and she was right. a strange _teacher for bright, sparkling, way- ward jasmine! truly “ god moves in a mysteri- ous way his wonders to perform.” after supper the girls felt a little livelier. not that they were forgetting what they had listened to that afternoon, or that its influence was leaving them, but the youthful spirit in them was strong and would assert itself, and it was well and right that it should do so. “ i suppose if those boys are coming,” said jes- sie, leaning on the back of the chair from which she had just risen, and watching the others clear the table, “that there will be no band concert for this party to-night.” “ now, jess,” said vera, pointing a spoon impres- sively at her, “you know you enjoy their com- pany.” “ oh, well,” replied jessie, carelessly, “they are a little better than the common run. nothing very foolish about them.” then she seated herself in the big rocker, saying: “hurry up with those dishes, so we can go out on the piazza—it’s too lovely to stay inside.” jfour (birls at gottage gtty. “ ‘ many hands make light work.’ suppose you help ? ” said net. “ too many cooks spoil the broth,” retorted jes- sie, with a reckless'disregard of adaptiveness. “you had better go out on the piaz’za now,” advised net, gravely. “it must be too warm in here for you.” . ' “ all right,” replied jessie, only too glad. “ come on, al; you are looking a trifle flushed.’ when vera and garnet joined them a few moments later, they found erfort and fred already there. they were surprised to see them so soon, and jessie, leaning lazily back in her chair and rocking in her usual rather violent manner, looked over her shoulder at the girls and said easily: “ i’ve just been asking them when they ate their supper — they must have swallowed it whole.” garnet, shocked, slyly tweeked jessie’s hair'as she leaned on the back of her chair. “ ow,” squealed jessie, putting her hand up to her head. “ gracious! net dare, let my hair alone; ydu’ve given me the head-ache l ” fred couldn’t help it — he laughed outright, and over erfort’s face flitted that shadow of a smile, oiily it was dark and no one saw it. net sank down in her chair, angry at first, and then she joined in the laugh, her only revenge being: “you are worse than any child, jessie,” for which reproof jess cared not at all. jfour (birls at gottage gits). strange as it may seem to some, the subject of charlotte hood and her story was not alluded to, yet every one was thinking of it. so his. the thoughts that lie nearest to our heart are those it is the hardest to speak of. to have heard their light talk and laughter, one would have said that they had not one serious thought. _ “ by the way,” said fred, rather loudly, “ what has become of uriah heep? haven’t seen the the gentleman this evening. \vhere does he keep himself?” “ ’sh l ” ,a warning from net, delivered with such energy, that the‘ gentleman, walking leisurely up the path, could not fail to hear it, even if he had not heard fred's inquiry; which, by the way, he had. “ good-evening, young ladies.” fred, in his consternation, tried to draw into him- self, and become as air, but he loomed up against his post “ as large as life and twice as natural,” and the gentleman had his eyes fixed upon him curiously. vera rose to do the honors. “ our friends, mr.'richards, mr. travers,” and at the wordfrz'cnds fred straightened himself and bade defiance to a hundred “ uriah heeps.” the gentleman seated himself. vera had not ’ given his name, for she was not sure of it, and the gentleman after taking the chair she offered him, ' said: jfour (birls at gottage gtty. “my name is wild—prof. wild, of boston. it doesn’t seem to me necessary to stand on cere- mony at such a place as this, particularly when we are fellow lodgers.” “ unfortunately we can not lay claim to that pleasure,” said erfort, “though we come as near to it as we possibly can.” “'told the truth for once in your life,” said the incorrigible jessie, sotto voce. in the course of conversation that followed, our young people learned that their new acquaintance was a professor of phrenology, and he became a wonderful man in their eyes at once, especially in garnet’s. ' ’ “ but do the bumps on anyone’s head tell what kind ofa person one is, or what profession, or—or what work one is best fitted to do?” asked jessie, rather incoherently. . ' prof. wild held up both hands with a supplicat- ing gesture. “ bumps! miss jessie! oh, please do not call them that! ” “ what s/mll i call them ?” asked jessie, not a bit abashed. “organs.” “ well, organs then. ‘ but a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”’ jessie seemed possessed to drag in quotations of questionable appropriateness, into her conversa- tion that evening. jfour (birls at glottage (mty. “ the study of phrenology is a most interesting one to me,” said the professor. “ i have devoted myself almost exclusively to it for the past twenty years.” “ he must be quite ancient,” thought the girls. “ what is the distinction between phrenology and physiognomy ?” asked garnet, who knew, but wanted. the professor’s definition. “ phrenology is the science of the functions of the parts of the brain. the theory of gall is, that the mental faculties are shown on the surface of the head—in the different organs. physiognomy is the science of discerning the character of the mind from the features of the face. not many of the people of to-day have much faith in this latter theory, but it attracted considerable attention among the ancients, tho’ it was, with them, rather a fanci- ful art than a natural science. pythagoras and his disciples believed and practiced it, and plato mentions it with. approbation in ‘timmo.’ aristotle is said tozbe the author of a treatise on it. when the physiognomist, zopyrus declared socrates to be stupid, brutal, sensual and a drunkard, the philoso- pher defended himself saying: ‘ by nature i am addicted to all these vices, and they were restrained and vanquished only by the continual practice of virtue.”’ “ brave socrates ! ” murmured erfort, who was an ardent admirer of the ancient philosopher. four (birls at ¢ottage ging. prof. wild smiled in a rather superior manner, and continued. . “ you know the remark of julius caesar on the physiognomy of cassius and antony is : ” “ ‘ would he were fat/er: but i fear him not; yet if my name were liable to fear, i do not know the man i should avoid so soon as that spare cassius. he reads much he is a great observor, and he looks quite thro’ the deeds of men. he loves no plays, as thou dost, antony; he hears no music: seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a way as ifhe mocked himself and scorned his spirit that could be moved to smile at anything; such men are never at heart’s-ease . while they behold a greater than themselves and therefore are very dangerous.’ ” “ poor julius cmsarl ” said erfort. “ to be murdered by his friend i ” ’ “ yes it was sad,” replied the professor, who evi- dently did not have the interest in “things ancient” as did erfort. “ a wonderful man was caius julius cmsar.” “as longfellow has it,” said erfort: “ ‘ truly a wonderful man was cains julius caesar. better be first in a little iberian village then be second in rome, and i think he was right when he said it. jfour (bids at gottage gits). twice was he married before he was twenty and many times after; battles five hundred he fought, and a thousand cities he conquered he, too, fought in flanders, as he himself has re- corded ; finally he was stabbed by his friend, the orator brutus ! ’ ” “what a pretty way longfellow has of telling things,” said vera. “ i think that ‘ the courtship of miles standish ’ is one of the most beautiful poems that was ever written.” “ it contains good advice for us all,” said erfort. “ and it is given in very few words.” “ if you wish a thing to be well done, you must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others,” quoted garnet. “ very good advice, but miles standish did not not practice what he preached in one instance. if he had— ” “it would have made no difference,” interrupted vera, with her wisest air. “priscilla never would have married him. she preferred john alden. and no wonder that she did.” “ why ? ” asked erfort, with a smile. vera opened her gray eyes. “ what a question, mr. richards! is it strange that a young girl like priscilla would prefer a handsome young man like john alden to a rough old fellow like miles stan- dish? besides, he ought to have asked her himself, jfour (birls at gottage (dim. by appearances. i know better. a poor body isn‘t to blame for having homely features. there isn’t a soul living but what would have a classic nose and mouth if they could, but one’s disposition is not necessarily ugly because one’s nose happens to be.” when you touched on noses, you touched on jessie’s sorest point. not that her nose was ugly— far from it; only it was little — not much of it, but what there was, 'was very pretty. erfort clapped his hands softly at jessie’s gener- ous burst, but the professor looked at her much as he would have looked at a little kitten that had spit at him. “ you believe what you have said, no doubt,” he replied. “ but you will see differently when you get older.” now, wasn’t that provoking? garnet saw the dangerous light leap into the beautiful black eyes, and she rose hastily, overturning her chair as she did so. the professor picked it up. “ thank you,” said garnet. “ don’t you think it is a little chilly out here? perhaps we had better go in.” they all rose. the gentlemen took the ladies’ chairs, and garnet led the way into the parlor. jessie put her arm around her neck and whispered fiercely in her ear: “ don’t you give that mean old thing a drop of cocoa ' ” four (birls at gottage (mty. “jessie l ” “ you hear me. if, you do, shan’t pay a cent towards the next can.” ' ' then jessie slipped back'with vera, and they exchanged sympathetic pressures of hands. the professor had gone down a good many degrees in t/zcz'r estimation. poor man! he was totally unconscious of it, or appeared to be, as he sat in a low rocking chair and sipped the cup of cocoa that garnet had given him — despite jessie’s threat -— with an air of thorough enjoyment. it did seem to vera and jessie as though he would have shown to much better advantage if he had taken a higher chair, for his legs being very long, and the chair very low, there was not room for them between the chair and the floor, so he wrapped them around the rounds to get them out of the way. vera could hardly help laughing as she looked at them, but she fervently hoped that fred would not see them. alas l she had scarcely composed her face at jessie’s whispered: “ isn’t he a regular ‘ daddy-long-iegs?’” when she became aware of fred’s painfully apparent efforts to attract her attention. he was sitting on a high chair on the opposite side of the room, and he commenced by fixing his eyes earnestly upon her face and giving vent to a a loud “ahem l” vera, of course, wouldn’t look, although it seemed almost impossible for her to 'your (birls at gottage gite. keep her eyes away. then he rattled his cup against his saucer, at which garnet asked him kindly, “if he would like more cocoa.” this rather disconcerted him for a moment, for no young man would like even his cousin to think that he would take this childish way of asking for more drink. “i have plenty. garnet, thank you,” he replied, keeping his eyes on vera’s rapidly crim- soning face. then he went to the rather extreme measure of stretching his own long legs half way across the room and literally wagging his feet, (if such an expression would be allowed) at vera. poor vera! her eyes fastened themselves on the wagging feet, as though fascinated, and fol- lowed them as they were slowly drawn up to their rightful place under the chair. then, quick as a flash, they twined themselves round and round the rounds of the chair in such an alarming manner and in such an absolutely ludicrous imitation of the unconscious professor’s, that vera, finding her- self on the verge of an hysterical burst of laughter. rashly took a drink of her cocoa, when—we all know what followed, some of us from experience. a gurgle, a gasp, a violent effort to send the cocoa on its right road down, and only succeeding in driv- ing it out—over the floor, her dress, and everything around her, and a precipitate retreat into the back parlor, where she is followed by garnet, allie and jessie, who take turns in slapping her on the .lfour (birls at gottage (tite. back and anxiously asking what is the matter. the gentlemen do not dare to follow, except fred, who is really frightened, so much so that he throws all prudence to the winds and ventures to the open door. vera catches sight of him and gasps out: “ send that boy out.” ' poor fred! the punishment is severe. to be called a boy, and before that hateful professor! oh, vera, cruel, hard-hearted vera! fred goes back to his chair thoroughly subdued. the girls repair to the kitchen for a few moments of explanation. they all sympathize with vera, and tell her not to care, but to go back into the parlor and act as though nothing had happened. garnet makes this possible by saying: “you know you can do it, vera. don’t give that foolish boy the satisfaction of thinking he can upset you altogether.” that was appealing to vera’s pride, and she im- mediately arose, put her handkerchief in to her pocket, and herself led the way back into the parlor. jessie went dancing after, hugging herself with botharms to think that it was not she who had dis- graced herself. “ net would have taken my head off,” she thought. not another word or glance would vera bestow on poor fred the rest of the evening, although the pleading looks he gave her must have haunted her dreams that night. ' jfour girls at gottage gity. prof. wild was the first to leave the room, and as he rose from his chair, he said: “ if you would like to have me— that is, if you think you would enjoy'it, i will examine your heads some evening. explain the different organs to you. you may derive some pleasure, if not ben- efit from it.” they thanked him and agreed to have it done the next evening. garnet was so pleased with the idea that her eyes shone like stars. vera looked skeptical, and the professor, quick to see it, turned to her. “ would you like for me to tell you what you ought to be, if you are not ?” “ if you please.” “a school teacher.” vera started. how did he know? no one in the house knew of it except their own party — not even “ grandpa ” and “ mother.” “ you love music, too, and are a very good singer. you do not play much in public, but you love to play and sing for your own amusement. you are—but i’ll reserve the rest for to-morrow evening . shall i ?" “as you wish.” vera was certainly surprised, but she wasn’t going to let him see it. “ what am i ?” asked jessie. jfour (birls at t‘jottage gtty. “you are a school-girl now,” was the answer, but you will take up the study of elocution, and do wonderfully well with it, too.” ‘fs/zall ?” the little face glowed and the big eyes shone. that was jessie’s one ambition —to be an elocu- tionist. she was on the point of pouring out a vol- ley of questions, but he turned to garnet. he looked into the strong little face for a long while. so calm, so untroubled, so firm in its expression of self-control, outwardly. beneath — did the profes- sor see what there was? he passed over to allie ' with the brief words : “ to-morrow evening.” “ you are a little home-body. you are inter- ested in housework; you love it and you do well with it. your father could not get along without you; you help him in his accounts; you help your brothers and sisters with their studies. you are very necessary in your father’s home, and—you will some day be a wife —- a minister’s wife.” at this rather startling information, allie blushed a rosy red, and the others laughed. “i will see the gentlemen another time. and now, good-night,” and with a low how this rather strange professor went hurriedly out of the room, and in a moment or two they heard— alas, that it is necessary in this matter-of-fact world to fie mat- ter-of-fact — his boots come down pretty heavily on the floor overhead. fred wafted a kiss wild-ward. “ pleasant dreams to you, oscar,” he said. your (birls at (tottage me as the girls stood on the piazza saying “ good- night” to the boys, fred stepped up to vera, and said : “ won’t you please forgive me, miss earle ?” “ it was very wrong ofyou,” said vera. “ i know it,” said fred, eagerly. “ but i’m very sorry.” ' vera could not help smiling at the boyish face and tone. “ won’t you do it again ?” “ never l ” “ then i forgive you t/z's time.” so they parted friends. “ say girls,” said jessie, unlacing her shoes up stairs five minutes later. “ i’d like first-rate to hear what the old fellow has to say about my elocution, but i’ll be smocked—‘excuse me, net—if i want his cold hands on my head.” “ ugh ! ” shivered vera. “it makes me crawl to think of them. but i w uld like to hear what he has to say about me.” “ he seems like a kind-hearted man,” said allie, always seeing the best in anyone. “ net’s all carried away with him,” said jessie. “ i see it in her eyes.” “ you’ll get something in your own eyes if you don’t shut them and go to sleep,” said vera, raising her pillow. all garnet said was: “be careful, girls, he will hear you. his room is right opposite, you know.” jfout ( at gottage qty. “ oh, to-morrow afternoon,” said allie, with a happy sigh. “ we’ll hear more of charlotte hood’s story.” ' “a happy thought to go to sleep upon,” said garnet. chapter x ix. ' the next morning the girls were “up betimes,’ (as the story-tellers have it,) each one looking eagerly forward to “ robin’s hour,” although not speaking ofit. “who’s going to get breakfast this morning?” asked jessie. “who’s going to get breakfast this morning?” repeated garnet. “ that’s what i said,” said jessie, calmly, diving under the bed after one of her shoes. “ the ones who get it every morning,” and gar-’ net gave her curls a parting brush, and commenced to take the clothes off the bed. ' jessie made up a face at allie from behind the shoe she had captured. “ that’s you and i, al,’ she said, in a stage whisper. “ yes, i should say as much,” said garnet. “ you haven’t done a thing towards getting break- fast a single morning since we have been here.” jessie opened her eyes wide and made an “ o ” of her lips. “ why, net dare, what a big lie! i help every morning, so there now ! ” “why jessie!” garnet’s tones were full of reproach. jfour ging at gottage gite. “ i do. you ask vera.” “ i can swear to that,” said vera, who had her head down and was braiding her golden hair into one thick, heavy braid, preparatory to coiling it on the top of her head. “ jess puts her chair up to table every morning, and sets the omelet in a par- ticular spot, viz: you all know where.” “ close up to her plate,” said garnet, while jes- i sie cried : , “ you mean thing, vera earle. i beat the eggs ' for you two or three mornings, and it isn’t any fun to do that, i can tell you. but that’s all the thanks iget. you can beat them yourself this morning and see how you like it,” and jessie gave her shoe- string such a jerk that it broke, and she came very near falling over on her back, a mishap that didn’t, improve her temper any. “ jasmine’s cross this morning,” said vera, trying not to laugh at the comical figure jessie cut in her gymnastic performance, while allie hastened to her trunk to get a shoe-string. “ never mind, jess,” said allie. “ remember where you are going at o’clock this afternoon.” how quickly the clouds were banished from the little face, and brightest sunshine filled their place! the angry words were forced back, and as allie handed over the shoe-string, jessie smiled one of her rare, sweet smiles, as she looked up into allie’s gentle face and said: “ thank you, allie.” four (birls at gottage gity. perhaps allie understood that the thanks were for something more than the shoe-string. i think she did, for she looked so pleased. “i have heard soft, faltering footsteps on the other side of the door several times this morning,” said garnet, “and l have my suspicions as to whose they are.” “ the professor’s ?” asked jessie. “ mercy, no! can you imaging/ 's footsteps being soft and faltering?” “ i can imagine them being soft in correspond- ence with his head,” said jessie, who had not for- gotten last night’s injury. ' “ but it’s my belief he would'falter at nothing.” “ not even murder, hey?” said vera. he could have our heads to put into alcohol for future use.” “all he’d want would _be the pianos,” said jessie. “ the what?” “ the pianos.” “ what are those?” “ the bumps.” “ you mean organs, jessie,” said garnet, absent- mindedly, at which they all laughed. “an’ did the innocent think i didn’t know?” cried jessie. “ begorra but i knowed they were some kind of an insthrumint, an’ phwy not pianners as well as orgins, now?” “ then’ o jfour girls at gottage gitt. “ are we all ready ?” asked allie. “if we are, let’s go down so as not to keep them waiting.” they found “grandpa” and “grandma” sitting in their respective chairs. “ grandma ” in the big rocker, “grandpa” close beside her in the old arm-chair, his bible on his knee, his spectacles on his nose. the girls seated themselves and the usual morning service proceeded. i do not think the girls, before this morning, realized how peacefully, quietly happy they felt during that half hour, when they sat with those two aged pilgrims, whose journey through life was almost ended, and listened to the precious words from the “ holy book ” and sung the sweet songs of the gospel. i am sure the memory of those half-hours will never leave them while they live. “ i do believe it is going to rain,” said jessie, as she stood in the door-way after breakfast. “ won’t it be too bad if it rains this afternoon.” “ it needn’t make any difference to our going to mrs. hood’s,” said vera. “i’ve been to dancing- school nights when it has rained pitch forks, and i guess i can go as far as mrs. hood’s and not hurt myself. dear me! i’ll never forget one night when i went to dancing-school—oh, how it did rain! mother didn’t want me to go, buti didn’t want to miss a lesson, and then we always did have such fun. well, you know madge weld. net ? she was with me. we got off the train and jfour (birls at (tottage gite. started down main street. oh, that street was perfectly dreadful —just like a river, and here and there were small places that were icy. ever so much worse than as though the whole street had been slippery. well, we were hurrying along as fast as we could go, when all at once an old lady — not so very old either; not more than fifty-five, ~ but very fleshy—slipped upon a piece of ice about the size of a sheet of writing-paper', and down she went, right on the back of her head, with her feet up in the air. you know how quickly the gentlemen offer their assistance, at such times— well, one gentleman who had been looking in one of the shop windows, ran eagerly forward, anxious to do the polite, when, if you will believe me, he slipped up on that same piece ofice, and down he went, giving the old lady the awfullest kick in the back! it must have hurt her twice as much as the fall did. i just leaned against the railing of the window and laughed until i cried, for his hat fell off, showing a miniature skating-rink, and he rolled his eyes around at me with such a look of agony, entreaty, rage, humiliation and laughter, all com- bined, that i thought i should die. well, that isn't all. when i managed to start on again, if ] didn’t slip up on that same mean little bit, and the gymnastic exercise i performed in trying to save myself was twice as comical as though i had gone down. my feet sprawled all over the sidewalk, i “‘ four (birls at gottage (tite. threw both arms up wildly—umbrella and all— in the air, hitting a man on the head and knocking his hat off, thus causing him to commit sin by men- tioning a place where ice is unknown. how in the world i kept from going down i don’t know, for my hair came in such close contact with the sidewalk that it was slightly damp with the moist- ure thereon. madge declared she was going to tell prof. starkland that i had originated a new step, but i told her to beware as she valued my friendship.” “ isn’t it fun to dance ?” said jessie, after they“ had finished laughing at vera’s account. “ yes, it is,” answered vera, with such a heavy sigh that the girls looked at her, whereat vera laughed nervously and blushed. “ to tell the truth, girls,” she said, “ i for one, would hate to give up dancing.” “ who said anything about being obliged to p” asked jessie, rather sharply. vera paused a moment, and then said quickly, ascthough half ashamed: “ was thinking ofwhat ‘ grandpa’ and ‘ grand- ma ’ said to us, the other morning, about our not caring for things that we care for now, when we get to be as old as they are —” jessie interrupted vera with a ringing laugh, “ well, i should say as much. whoever would imagine ‘ grandpa ’ and ‘ grandma ’ wanting to jfour (btrls at glottage gtty. waltz! ha, ha, ha! and ‘ polka!’ and ‘ mili- tary schottische ! ’ and the ‘ york!’ ha, ha, ha! and the ‘ highland fling,’ while you are about it. oh—h—h !” and jessie leaned forward in her chair, with her hands on her sides and laughed until the tears rolled down her cheeks, and the others couldn’t help laughing in sympathy. “ oh, vera earle, you’ll kill me,” gasped jessie, rolling her head from side to side and lifting eyes that were heavy with tears. “ can’t you imagine them hopping around here ? swing you partners! .first couple in the centre and eight hands around ! all waltz ! oh —h— h ! ” jessie fairly doubled up in her chair and came near being hysterical, so much so that garnet said, rather sharply for her: “jessie, keep still. how can you make fun of poor ‘ grandpa ’ and ‘ grandma ! ’ and vera said : “ you didn’t let me finish, jessie. i was going to say, rather, that we would not care for such things when we cared more for— for — ” “ our heavenly father,” said allie, softly, and vera breathed a sigh of relief at allie’s coming to the rescue. vera could talk upon any other subject. but at the very thought of speaking the saviour’s name aloud her face burnt and her heart beat fast. jessie came out of her merry fit in an instant. “ oh, nonsense,” she said, sharply. “ don’t be so foolish. just as though any one couldn't be just + jrour (bins at gottage on. as good when they danced as when they didn’t. it doesn’t hurt anyone to shake their foot a bit—it does them good. it does me, anyway,” and jessie sprang out of her chair and waltzed lightly around the room. vera leaned against the table and watched her. how lightly and gracefully the slender, girlish form glided over the floor. jessie looked over her shoulder at vera, as she danced. her cheeks were crimson and her beautiful eyes were flashing. “ i would dance to-night if i knew i was going to die to-morrow. it’s no sin, and i would go to heaven just as quick. don’t look so sober, vera. i don’t mean to be wicked, but i’ll dance, dance, dance, though the heavens fall,” and with an extra whirl and trip jessie danced out of the room. “ that child will never be anything nut a child,” said garnet. “ and a spoilt one at that.” “jess says a great many light things to hide her real feelings,” said vera. “ she thinks more than ‘ we gives her credit for doing.” “ that is true,” said allie, emphatically. jessie is a noble girl.” garnet looked almost scandalized. “ why, allie hunt, what an idea !” “ oh, but she is,” said allie, with soft persist- ence. “ you’ll find it out, some day.” “ well, i really hope i shall,” replied garnet, “ but i doubt it.” jfour girls at gottage gity. that afternoon, at : o’clock, fred and erfort presented themselves at the cottage, punctual to the minute. strange to say, it was the first time, they had been there that day, and jessie greeted them with : “well, what’s going to happen? have you been sick, or what, that you are just showing yourselves ?” “we are sorry if we have disappointed you,” said fred, wickedly. “if we had known you were anxious to see us, we would most surely have exerted ourselves and come before.” jessie flashed a contemptuous look at him. “ you needn’t bother about exerting yourself on my account, thank you. i can manage to exist without your delightful company. of course you had to stay in your room and rest to-day, after your effort of last evening.” and with this parting shot jessie slipped her hand through allie’s arm and hurried on ahead. “ you will learn better than to apply a match to t/zat piece oftinder,” said vera, laughing, as fred, rather disconcerted, walked by her side. “ true. she is rather quick at taking fire, isn’t she ?” erfort, over whose face had flitted the strange smile, walked with garnet, and she stole a look at him to see if he was utterly shocked. he didn’t seem to be, certainly. jfour (birls at gottage gtty. oh, garnet was a wise little body if ever there was one. little trouble would there be in this ' world if s/zc had the brewing of it. mrs. hood met them at the door. they could see she was feeling unusually happy, and she soon explained it. “ robin hasn’t had any pain to-day,” she said, with almost childish eagerness. “ it is the first time for months. oh, god is very good ! ” surely the patient faith of this woman was some- thing wonderful and her entire goodness was a thing that could never be doubted. jessie had already seated herself on the bed be- side robin. her arm was about him and her head touched his lightly as it rested on her shoulder. he smiled at each one as they came in and held out his little thin hand, but after they were seated he nestled close against jessie’s side, his hand holding tight hold of her’s, and hardly moved while his mother proceeded with her story. “an """i { ' ~ ~ “ : - i a /“ “—'‘£*‘ chapter x x . “ after the news of the wreck, that had been seen ' cape hatteras, reached us, we all knew that we would never see our boys again in this world, yet we kept hoping that some other news would come—that they had been picked up by some other vessel or something. deborah and i went home to mother. the stage used to pass the corner near our house, and night after night i have seen mother go to the door, and stand with her hand shading her eyes, watching for it to come around the corner, but it never turned the corner to come to the house, but always passed on. oh,- those were terrible days! i have often wondered how we ever lived through them. i have known since where mother went to find strength to endure, and found it; but then my heart was hard and bit- ter. i think suspense is the hardest thing of all to bear, or if not the hardest, the most trying. it was hard to lose husband and brother together—yes, two brothers, for hersey was very near to me. well, time passed on. mother went out nursing and i kept house for her, for soon hannah married and went to a home of her own, and deborah went to new bedford to emeline’s. seven months after jfour m at gottage (itte, when she is obliged to deny her children even the ordinary comforts of life. all this time my heart had been growing more and more bitter towards god. what crime had i ever committed that my life should be one long pain—one long struggle for mere existence ? existence not only for my- self but for those who were infinitely dearer tome than life itself. i heard a sermon one sunday. it was considered to be one of the ablest sermons ever preached in new bedford, but to me it was nothing more than a mockery, and iwent home with my heart full to overflowing with hate and anger. only one thing that he had said could i remember, and that kept repeating itself over and over again: ‘ god doeth all things well, and ye who dispute his righteousness and goodness are of a sinful nature and do err wickedly; for which eternal punishment shall be inflicted upon you at some future day.’ how did he dare to say such words as those to one who had known nothing but sorrow for many a long day? it was well enough for /zim to say that ‘ god doeth all things well,’ for all things were well with him. he had a beautiful home, a loving wife, beautiful children—every- thing to make a 'man thankful; why s/zouldn’t he declare god to be good. let /zis home and money be 'taken from' him, let /zim lose his wife as i had lost my husband; let /zim know what it was to hear his children asking him for food to eat, that he four (bins at glottage gttq. :. i’ll be all right in the morning. marjie and lillis are both asleep, but hope wanted rocking.’ i wouldn’t let her go until she had taken some hot drink and put her feet in mustard water, for i thought she must have taken a severe cold; then i sat down and rocked and sang to hope until i was half asleep, but it was o’clock before she stopped moaning and lay quiet in my arms. i sat and looked at her a few moments before putting her in her crib. she was four years old now. she looked like a little angel as she lay there. she was very pale, and her bright hair clung in little damp rings to her forehead; her long dark lashes rested on her cheek. but her little hands were clenched and she kept grinding her teeth as though she were in pain. i took her up stairs and laid her on the bed beside lillis, who slept with me, deciding to keep her beside me that night, then i undressed and got into bed. it didn’t seem'as though i had been asleep but a very short time before lillis wakened me, crying.’ ‘ what is the matter, darling?’ i asked, putting my hand over and resting it on her arm. it burnt me like fire. ‘ my head aches dreadfully, mamma.’ iwas out of bed in an instant and lighted the lamp. ‘ oh please don’t, mamma,’ cried lillis. ‘ the light hurts my eyes.’ i placed a book before the lamp to shade the light, then went over to the back side of the bed and took lillis in my arms. ‘ tell jfour girls at gottage gity. . llannah ? i’ve been looking for it since morning, and now it is evening, and i have not found it.’ ' how i remained calm i do not know, but i did. ‘ don’t you know me, debbie? i am charlotte. don’t you know where you are? see, here is marjorie too.’ she took her hand from my face and flung her arms up over her head again. ‘ the wreck! the wreck!’ she moaned, and that is all she would say. i turned to marjie. she was nothing but a child, only eight years old, and very small and slender, but she was my only help. i put my arms around her. her big dark eyes shone like stars in her little white face as she looked up at me. ‘ marjie darling, mamma’s own little woman, auntie is very sick and the doctor must come and see her right away. little sister and baby are sick too, and mamma can’t leave them. will you run to auntie em’s and ring her door bell real hard, and tell her this, and ask her to send for the doctor?’ i can see the frightened look now that came into her eyes. her lips that were always so red, grew pale and i felt her form tremble in my arms. ‘ oh, mamma l ’ the whisper was full of horror. my heart ’almost burst. i covered her little face with kisses. ‘ it is only a few steps, my darling. mamma will stand at the door and watch you.’ ‘ it’s so dark, mamma.’ ‘i know, dar- ling; but you don’t want auntie and little sister and baby to die, you know, and they may if the jfour (btrls at gottage (wy. doctor doesn’t come.’ that was enough. ‘i’ll go, mamma.’ i helped her dress. she trembled like a leaf all the time, and when i opened the outside door for her to pass out, and she saw how dark it was, she drew back and clung to me- then i said, scarce thinking: ‘god will take care of you, darling.’ she let go of my dress, and ran like a flash. i saw her once, as she passed under a gas-light, turn and look over her shoulder, as if to assure herself that i was watch- ing her, then she fluttered on again, and out of sight. i turned to run up stairs again, for a mo- ment, when right towards me came deborah— wild light in her eyes. ‘ cluick, quick!’ she cried. ‘ i’ve found the wreck and i hear the boys calling to me to come to them. i’ve seen hersey, and jo, and isaac. they were clinging to the mast, and they called to me to get a boat and come.’ i took her arm and turned her around. ‘this is the way, debbie. we will get the boat.’ i led her back up stairs, but she stopped at the door of the room and would not go in. i heard lillis and hope both moaning, and i knew marjie would soon be back, and i must be at the door to meet her. ‘deborah,’ i said, speaking as sternly asi could, ‘lie down on that bed and stay until i come to you. the boat is a long way off, and i must go for it, for i can go more quickly than you.’ she lay down on the bed immediately, only say- jfour (btris at (tottage (bity. touch my wrist i smiled and drew it away. ‘i know what i am saying. you must tell me the worst. it is your duty. i can bear it.’ ‘ i cannot 'tell you if they will die, of course, but they are very sick, indeed. i will come again, this after- noon. your sister, mrs. brayton, wished me to tell you that she didn’t know whether she could come over or not, to-day, as her little boy is sick with the same disease, though not dangerously so.’ i nodded my head. ‘ shall i send some one to help you ?’ ‘no, thank you. i shall get along very well.’ at the' foot of the stairs he turned. ‘be careful of marjorie,’ he said ; then he went out and shut the door and i went back to my sick ones. i shall not linger over the days that followed— how i passed from one bed to the other and did all that i could do to keep them with me. marjorie, —ah, my angel majoriel i can not speak of her yet. at the end of the sixth day as i was leaving deborah’s bedside, i was surprised to hear her say, quite calmly, ‘charlotte.’ i went back to her. ‘yes, debbie.’ the red had all faded from her cheek and her eyes were large and languid. ‘charlotte, i think i am dying.’ ‘oh debbie!’ it was all that i could say. ‘i am, charlotte, for i have seen hersey, and he says he is coming for me very soon. i would like to see mother before i go.’ i didn’t say a word. i only held fast to one of her hands with both of mine and put jfour girls at gottage gite. my head beside hers on the pillow. she was my dearest and best sister and she was leaving me. i could not tell whether her mind wandered or not, for, although her face looked perfectly calm, she kept talking about our childhood days at home. ‘they were happy days, charley,’ she murmured. ‘ give my love to all the girls and tell mother i was not afraid to die—i am all ready to go.’ she lay perfectly still for a moment, with her eyes closed. i heard her murmur several times: ‘ the child hope,’ and she smiled each time ; then suddenly she opened her eyes wide and looked up to the ceiling. she caught her breath quickly as if in pleased sur- ' prise, put up both arms and said, ‘i see them; father, hersey, j and isaac. mother, do you hear?’ then her arms dropped and all was still. iclosed her eyes and leaned my hot head for a moment on her cold forehead. ionly gave one sob. ‘good-bye, debbie.’ ‘mamma.’ i raised my head. marjie was standing by my side. ‘ auntie has gone to heaven, margie,’ i said, and the child never cried, only looked on the still form with eyes full of wonder and awe. ‘ she will see papa, won’t she mamma?’ ‘ she has seen him, darling; she said so.’ the child never questioned. ‘ run down to auntie em’s, darling,’ i said. ‘ and tell her.’ i went into my room. hope was lying very quiet, but lillis was turning restlessly on her pillow'and singing snatches of school songs. i sat down beside jfour (birls at gottage gity. i knew they had telegraphed to mother and han- nah and they would expect them the next night. what use is there in my telling it all over? all that night’s and the next day’s watching? when the light faded from the sky, it faded from my lil- lis’ eyes as well, and my watching was over. * t * the minister came that night, and wished to talk with me. i knew quite well what he would say—i hadn’t forgotten his sermon. i went down stairs to see him. he said just what i thought he would say. my heart swelled almost to bursting buti never opened my lips. what could that man tell me of sorrow, with my three dear dead ones lying up stairs? he grew impatient after a while and asked me if my heart was so hard and my eyes so blinded with wicked tears that i could not feel god’s loving kindness and see his will through it all. i simply said: ‘ come with me, ifyou please.’ surprised, he followed me up the stairs. i took him into deborah’s room first. i drew the cloth down from her face. ‘ you see what is lying here? the sister i loved best.’ he said not a word, and i put the cloth back in its place. i took him next into my room, taking marjie whom i met in the hall, with us. the two little forms lay stretched side by side, the same white sheet covering them ' both. i drew it down and looked on my darlings’ faces with eyes that felt hard and dry. the golden curls and the brown curls touched as they rested on jfour (birls at ¢ottage (mty. the same pillow; the sweet faces looked soft and white and, cold; the little dimpled hands were crossed alike on the pretty white night-dresses. could that man tell me what sorrow was? iwould never hear my darlings’ voices again ; i would never feel their sweet kisses on my lips, their soft cheeks against mine, and their dimpled arms around my neck. could he ask me if my heart felt tender toward the one who had sent this misery upon me? ah, those were the wicked thoughts i had that night, and i almost laughed as he turned his head away from the sight of the lovely faces on the pil- low. what was it to him? he could go back home and take his fair and beautifully dressed chil- dren on his knee and listen to their talk and laugh- ter, and feel their kisses and their soft breath on his cheek. he turned to leave the room. ‘ one mo- ment, please,’ i said. i stooped down and wrapped my arms about marjie. ' f this is all i have left to live for. if she is taken from me, i will take my life in' my own hands and do with it as i please.’ he gave me a look of reproach and horror, and murmuring, ‘ god have mercy upon you,’ left the room. mm chapter x xi . mother and hannah came late that same night. i had never seen mother cry as she did when she looked at deborah and my two babies. she went first into one room and then into the other, sobbing as though her heart would break. two days later we took them down home with us and laid them away in the old family burial lot, and the day after, marjie and i went back to new bedford. iwas eager to get to work again, for there were heavy bills to pay and i had no one but myself to depend on to pay them. i clung to marjie as thoughl could not bear her out of my sight. i lay awake nights to listen to her breathing. i was wild with anxiety lest something should happen to her. i worked night and day and spent my money freely in buying for her delicacies that she had’ never known the taste of before, and i sat and watched her eagerly while she ate them; it did my heart good to see her. i bought some beautiful white lace to make her a dress and a wide sash of crim- son. i had her come to the shop every night after school and stay until o’clock—the hour when i was free. oh, i killed her with kindness, my one little white lamb. at the end of a week she was jfour (birls at (llottage (mty. forgive me ! —i commanded him to leave me my child. i promised, by the great love i bore her and by my hope for eternity, that if he would do this, i would bring her up to love, fear, and serve him all her life, and i would do the same myself. but if he took her from me i would never love him and never serve him. when i finished i kept my eyes on marjie’s face to watch for the change that my faith told me would come. it came. the great black eyes opened and looked at me. i sprang to my feet and bent over her— full of joy and thankfulness. ‘ oh, thank god! thank god! he is good.’ i cried. 'then i said, ‘marjie darling, it’s mamma; don’t you know mamma?’ she smiled and put up her little hand to stroke my cheek, but it fell again and all at once her eyes rolled up until i could see nothing but the whites. a dreadful look of pain passed across her face and she threw up both little hands in agony. but scarcely had i put my arms around her before it passed away and the most beautiful look i ever saw on anyone’s face rested on hers. ‘little sis —’ that was all, then her head sank heavily back against my shoulder and i was left alone. i know god has forgiven me for what i then did, i stood up and cursed him, and swore i would never try to live a good life. let me pass over the fearful days that followed. when i once more went back to the shop my old acquaintances your (btrls at gottage gtty. scarcely knew me. i worked every minute to get money to pay to pay my bills, and, at the end of six months, i did not owe one cent. then i com- menced to associate with my shop-mates. iwas still young—only twenty-seven—and i did not look that. i wore my hair in heavy curls down my back. i put red paint on my cheeks, which, with my naturally white skin made my complexion quite dazzling. i dressed in gay colors, went to parties and dances, and when i went home in the early morning, would take morphine tablets to put me to sleep. i never allowed myself to think—it would have driven me crazy. the same min- ister came to see me, but i said things to him that~drove him from the house in horror, and he never entered it again. emeline tried to talk with me, but i wouldn’t listen to her, and in a little while she let me alone. at the end of two years word came to us that mother was dead. i washed the paint off my cheeks, made myself a black dress, and went down home to the funeral. thankful and mercy were both married, and to sailors. hannah took warren to live with her— the old home was sold, and the money divided among the children; then i went back to new bedford and plunged once more into the gay life. three more years passed. thankful went on a voyage with her husband, and they never returned from‘ it. i laughed when the news of the lost ' four (birls at ctottage gite. been heard to make a moan, or murmur against god's justice. but she had kept by herself, sel- dom going out anywhere— even to church. i could not help pitying her, as she hurried along, pale and breathless, trying in vain to keep up with the minister. at length her strength seemed to be giving out, and i heard her say sonething to him. he scarcely turned his head to look at her, as he said, sternly: ‘ i have no time to talk with you, now. you had many opportunities, while on earth, to listen to me, but you never availed your- self of them, and now it is too late. i must hurry on to meet my judge.’ and in a few moments he was out of sight. the poor old woman sank down and covered her face with her hands. i put out my hand, as i passed her, and helped her to rise. she staggered for a moment, and i passed my arm about her. she thanked me, with tears in her eyes, and i stood there for a moment, holding her. just then a man who had been walking back of us passed us. i could not see his face, for he kept his head turned, but, as he passed, he put out his hand and lightly touched, first hester, and then myself, on the head; then he passed on. i cannot begin to tell the effect his touch had upon me. in a second i felt as well and strong as though i had not taken one step and i felt hester’s bowed form straighten up in my arms. ‘ i can walk very well, now, dear,’ she said, and so she did g—walked just jfour (birls at gottage mty. it was then that i noticed the same man who had passed us when hester was so tired, walking slowly along, a little way from where we had stopped. i know he had been watching us, but he turned his head so quickly, when i looked up, that, as before, i could not see his face. the minister slept so long that the rest of the travelers had caught up with us, by the time we were ready to move on. he said his head and eyes felt perfectly strong and well, but that he was still a little weak. i was about to offer the assistance of my arm although he had refused to recognize me in the least, during our whole journey, as one being too wicked fora righteous man to speak to, but hester spoke before me. almost against his will, it seemed, he accepted her support, and thus leaning on her and deriving his strength from her, he passed on, to stand before the judgment bar. it seemed as though a twilight atmosphere settled upon and around us, as we walked on. it was such a stillness as we used to feel on earth on some beautiful spring evening— just between daylight and dark, when the birds had all gone to their nests, and not a sound was heard. it filled us all with a deep calm, yet it seemed as though we scarcely dared to breathe— such a deep solemnity was all about us. strange to say, the minister seemed the quietest of any, and as we approached nearer and nearer towards what we all felt to be the judgment hall, he jfour (bins at glottage gity. leaned more and more heavily upon hester’s arm. all at once such a blinding light burst upon us that it was too much for our eyes to bear, and we all, with one accord, fell prostrate on the ground and hid our faces. then we heard a voice, stern, yet full of a strange sweetness, say: ‘arise and come forward.’ we did as had been commanded us, and, as we lifted our heads, the scene that john describes in ‘revelations,’ was before us. the figure that sat on the throne was more beauti- ful than i can tell. it was clothed in a robe of rich crimson and gold, and on the noble head was a crown sparkling with the most precious stones. the face was fair, the eyes a deep blue, and the long, soft beard was of a beautiful golden-brown. i noticed with surprise that while all of us found it almost impossible to look up to this glorious being, so dazzling was the light about him, hes- ter looked at him calmly and steadily, and ber’s were the oldest eyes among us. one after another was called up to take his place before the throne and receive his sentence, and i noticed, as each one turned away, their faces expressed either great joy or deep woe. i thought when the minister went forward he would be assigned a place among the many standing about the throne, but what was my surprise to see him turn, with his form bent, in an agony of shame and humiliation, and pass slowly out of sight. the words of condemnation that had jfour (birls at gottage gtty. call of the birds ;_ i could hear the gentle babbling of brooks, and could smell the fragrant rose, lily and heliotrope. i lifted my eyes timidly to him who walked beside me, and instead of the robe of crimson and gold, i saw he had on one of white. there was no crown upon his head, but oh, the sweetness of the beautiful face. the sternness of the judge was lost in the love and pity of the father. i could not for- bear nestling close to him, and timidly resting my head upon his arm. he gazed down upon me with eyes full of love, but he gently put me away from him. _‘sometime, my daughter, but not now. thou hast not proven thyself worthy. i can never express the feeling of sorrowful humil- iation thati felt when i heard those words, but my heart took courage at the word ‘sometime.’ i realized, all at once, that he who walked beside me and he who had given hester and i strength on our journey, were one and the same, by and by we came to a small hill, or knoll. the grass on this knoll was of the softest green, and felt like velvet to my feet. dotted all over it were lilies of the valley and heliotrope—their fragrance filled all the air around. betore us there spread a level plain, and as i first looked at this, not a thing seemed to be on it, but presently i saw figures moving here and there. by and by i could recognize some of them as my fellow-travellers, and as i spoke the jfour (birls at glottage glity. then she would again cast them down upon her book. she turned the leaves hurriedly and seemed to be searching anxiously, first one passage of scripture and then another, but all the time i looked, the ex- pression of her face never changed. as i looked into my companion’s face i noticed that it wore an expression of deep pity, and his voice was sad as he said: ‘ yonder walks a poor, misguided child.’ ‘ she was one of the most zealous workers in her church,’ i ventured to say. he looked at me reprovingly. ‘ i know all things, child. she sinned most, wherein she wished to be most faith- ful. such was her anxiety to lead, and to be thought to lead, a true christian life, that she car- ried her ambition too far. she put herself before god. she said ‘i,’ when she ought to have said ‘ he.’ when she spoke to you in the prayer- room, she said : ‘ i am a christian ; ’ meaning, ‘ i am christ-like,’ when she ought to have said: ‘ i am trying to be a christian.’ she proved herself hard and unforgiving towards those who often went ‘astray, when the saviour himself forgave. she preached hell and hell’s-fire to all those who did not believe as she did, when the saviour says: ‘ come unto me, all ye who are weary and heavy- laden, and iwill give you rest.’ ‘ w/zosoever will, let him come.’ he also says: ‘ repent and be baptized.’ baptized with the holy spirit. bap- tism by water is right; and blessed are they who ~;.--.~ ' vex-re __ _v ;: mm war-w ass-"_im ilfour (birls at glottage (mty. an presently.’ ‘ why! there is mr. kenyon!’ i ex- claimed. ‘ and what has he on his back ? ’ mr. kenyon was the wealthiest man in new bedford. he was a member of the episcopal church and a good man. he had given his money towards the building of churches and reform houses. he had always contributed largely towards the missionary funds. he had helped many poor families. i had always said that if there was a heaven, mr. kenyon would certainly go to it; and here he was among the outcasts—outcasts for a time — moving slowly and wearily along, his back bent beneath a heavy load. even as i spoke, he turned, and i saw, written upon the bag, in flaming letters, ‘ gold!’ i saw that his pockets were weighed down with the same precious metal, and that at every step he took he stumbled upon it so that he could scarcely get one step ahead. his road to heaven was blocked by the very gold that he had worked so hard for, and had enjoyed working for. i saw him hold out whole handfuls of it to different ones, ' as they passed, but each one refused it scornfully. as laura barton passed him, he tried to force the gold upon her, but she rejected it with impatient words that i heard plainly. ‘ no, no; keep your gold. we do not need it here. it will not buy the only thing we crave for— light, light, light!’ and she passed on. i looked to my companion. ‘ was he not a sincere christian ?’ i asked. ‘ he an jfour (btrls at gottage gite. meant to be, but he loved his gold first. after listening to the minister whom he helped so liber- ally to pay, he would go home and look over his bank books, and the first thing he would ask for in his prayers—his /zean‘ prayers, which only i heard—was that his money might not be taken from him. he said that he wanted it for the good that he might do with it; but i read his heart aright.’ ‘ but,’ i said, ‘he did do good—much good—with his money.’ ‘and received his reward on earth,’ was the answer, sternly spoken. ‘the /zmrt must be right, my child. the father must be first with all his children. that poor man will one day see the father, but he must first rid himself of the gold.’ ‘but how can he do that ? no one will take it.’ i was sorry, the moment i had asked the foolish question, and did not need the rebuke that came, to make me hang my head. ‘ with me, all things are possible.’ * * * there was a woman mov- ing along, her form bent over as though she were picking up something from the ground. i watched her quite a while in silence, but not once did she raise herself. at last she turned to come towards us, still picking as she came and not once lifting her eyes, and i saw that it was margaret huntley -—-a woman who had always been considered a good woman, but who had always been a little inclined to gossip about her neighbors. not that ‘ jfour girls at gottage gity. could have been worse. the agony of remorse! i asked, though my teeth fairly chattered in my head as i spoke, ‘do their friends—those who loved them, and who always lived good lives— know they are here ?’ ‘ no, and they never will. when they reach the place of eternal happiness all tears shall be wiped from their eyes. every- thing that could make them sad, while on earth, shall be forgotten there, and they shall be at rest.’ only one more question i asked. ‘have you no love for these miserable creatures p’ ‘ no. they rejected it when i begged them to take it, and now it is too late. i dwell with the redeemed, and with them misery is unknown. come ! we will look on t/zem.’ my eyes closed for a second, and then opened on a sight—the very thought of which fills me with an 'uncontrollable longing to see once more. oh, such a beautiful country! all light, and joy and music. a country of green hills, pleasant valleys, running brooks, beautiful flowers, singing birds, happy, loving men and women, laughing, playing children, and over all a light that would soothe tired eyes and banish head-ache forevermore—the light of the father’s tender pres- ence. i stood and drew deep breaths of delight. i could not speak—i could only look. there were whole families grouped together, yet all seemed to love one another with equal love. there walked a girl and the man who had been ifour girls at gottage gtty. her aflianced husband when on earth, but who had died the week before their marriage would have taken place, walking along, side by side and arm in arm, looking into each other’s face and laughing at each other’s talk. there was a mother and son walking the same way together, only his arm was abouther, and her face, which had been such a pale and sad one on earth, was lifted constantly to his, and was now full of a rest and peace indescribable. in them i recognized two who had been very dear to each other on earth, but the son had died, and, because he had not been a professing christian —though a most worthy young man— the people had doubted much about his being saved. only the mother had felt sure that she would one day meet her boy again in heaven. laura barton had been the loudest in the expression of her doubts, and he was where she had been so sure of going. as i saw that mother’s face, i felt like bowing down and worshipping him whose love and justice are so great. * * * but there was one whom i' knew well—my fellow-traveler, hester norton. her form was straight, her eye bright, her step quick and sure. she moved about, smiling and saying cheerful words to all. young girls and young men gathered about her to listen to her words of sweet wisdom. little children climbed upon her knee. her life seemed full of work— yet, it was such sweet, joyful work—work that your (birls at gottage (ttty. away. never tired. * * * but there was a group,the sight of which made my heart beat fast. all the dear ones of my childhood’s home ——grouped together and talking and laughing. my tears were falling fast, but they did not keep me from’ seeing the two i had loved best— deborah and jo — walk away from the others, arm in arm ; and they did not keep me from seeing how firmly and easily jo walked, and the fairness and the smoothness of his beautiful skin and the bright blue of his eyes; and they did not keep me from seeing mother’s happy, contented look as she watched them move i could not call them back —i did not try to — i only watched them silently for a long while, with my tears falling fast, and wished that i were with them. * * * but then i saw a woman bending over a baby she held in her arms, and the sight made my mother’s heart leap in my bosom. i looked hurriedly around for my little ones, and then i ’felt a hand laid lightly on my arm andi looked up. oh, the look on the master’s face as he watched his people! i would have given my life then for one such look for me. he pointed, and i followed his gaze. oh, most gracious god! there were my darlings coming towards me, hand in hand — marjorie, lillis and hope — marjie was in the middle and held a hand of each. it seemed as though all the children had been having a frolic of some kind, and they had crowned marjie queen, four (btris at gottage gity. for on her dark curls rested a wreath of the most beautiful roses, and a garland of them was thrown around one shoulder and fastened at her side. her dress was like all the others — snowy white and of a thin material. they all three panted a little, as children do, when they have been running, and when they reached a mossy bank, that was all studded with violets and the fragrant arbutus, they threw themselves down upon it and sat there, with their arms around each other. when the other children caught sight of them, theyran with a shout to join them, and forming a ring, they danced around them, singing and laughing. i watched them with strained eyes and hands tightly clasped. ‘oh, my darlings,’ i kept moaning. ‘let me go to them. let me go.’ in a little while the children drew near the group, standing about hester, and i noticed that as they passed the woman leaning over her baby, marjie looked back at her over her shoulder—as i thought, wistfully. my heart almost burst. i threw myself down at the master’s feet and raised'my clasped hands. ‘ she wants me. ’ my marjie wants her mamma. let me go for only one moment?’ he stooped down and raised me with infinite tenderness. ‘ stay here, my child,’ was all he said. in another moment he was among them. and then, such a burst of heavenly music! i could hear the grand tones of the church organ, the sweet, plaintive jfour (btrls at glottage gtty. was my anxiety to be gone and commence this work, that i might some day be with my darlings, that i tried to run — stumbled and fell. he raised me gently. ‘ so you will fall at every attempt you make to go ahead in your own strength,’ he said, with gentle reproof. as i looked up into his face, i saw it was overspread with a look of sadness. ‘ you promise me, my child ?’ ‘ yes, father.’ ‘ and you will do this — for what ? ’ ‘ thati may one day be with my darlings.’ i blurted 'this answer out and then could have pulled my tongue out by the roots for wounding the great, unselfish heart. before i could stammer out my regret he stood, changed, before me. on his head was a crown of sharp thorns that pierced the tender flesh so that great drops'of blood trickled down his face and stained his white robe. he held his hands out before me and i saw the cruel nail prints. i saw the wound in his side and the prints in his feet, and as i looked into his face and saw the look of pain and anguish upon it, such a wave of love and pity filled my heart, as to almost overflow it. i knelt down and tried to dry the blood on his feet with my dress, sobbing as i did so. then, when i thought i could bear no more, a shadow fell across him and i saw it take the form of a cross. even as i looked he stood, nailed to it before me, and i heard his dear voice. ‘for my sake, my child.’ i gave a great cry. jfour (birls at gottage ¢itt). parting pat. “ i used to have as much as she has, but it has come out dreadfully.” “ hh ! hear old granny,” said jessie. “ how old are you anyway, vera?” “ five years older than you, miss,” answered vera, calmly. “ i don’t think there is much danger of jessie’s ever being bald,” gasped poor garnet, who was being forced up on her tip-toes in her endeavors to get jessie’s hair all combed up smoothly on the top of her head. “ i never saw such a mop.” “ ow-w-w ! well, for conscience sake, don’t pull every hair ofit out by the roots,” cried jessie, making up a most hideous face, and raising both hands to her head. “ ow-w-w l drop that comb, net dare. don’t you ,touch my head: again. do you suppose my scalp 'is made of sheet-iron ? oh, you’ve killed me ! ” “ seems to me you’re a pretty lively corpse. that’s all the thanks one gets for trying to help,” said garnet, obeying orders and going back to her own work. “you’re chief virtue isn’t gratitude; that’s one sure thing, jessie.” “ well, for pity’s sake, isn’t it enough to make an angel lose patience to have one’s head tortured in that way?” said jessie, sorry, but still agrieved. “ and i’m no angel.” “ amen,” said garnet, emphatically. “ let me try being lady’s-maid,” said allie, looking calm and sweet, in her pretty, cream dress, with her smooth brown hair and fair face. jfour (birbs at gottage gitt). just then the professor’s step was heard outside. “ hide me; hide me l ” gasped fred, rolling oil" the lounge and beginning to crawl under it. “ that’s no go, fred,” said erfort. “there won’t be room under there for the whole of you. he’ll be sure to see —” but he was interrupted by gasps and gurglings from under the lounge, and fred’s feet were seen to be in a state of violent agitation. they were the only part of him to be seen. “what’s the matter?” asked erfort. “got stuck?” something that sounded like “ ga, ga, gla,’ was the answer. “ shall i pull you out ? ” “ ges.” erfort stooped and took hold of the feet, and, after a few grunts and groans from fred, drew him out. they all burst into a merry laugh at the sight he presented. covered with dust from head to foot! it was in his eyes, his ears, his mouth, his hair. it clung to his neat evening suit. his white collars and cuffs were powdered with it. the laugh grew louder as he sat up on the floor, with an expression of intense disgust on his hand- some face. erfort took an umbrella that stood in the corner, and, standing the length of it away from fred, offered him the handle of it. “ you’ll excuse my not coming any nearer, dear chappie,” he said. “ but really — ” jfour (birls at gottage fity. m “ good evening, all,” said a voice behind them, and professor wild came into the room. fred grasped the umbrella and scrambled to his’ feet. to say that he glared at the professor is a mild way of putting it; then, with one reproachful look into vera’s laughing eyes, he hurried from the room. erfort excused himself and followed him. “ serves him right for getting you into that scrape last night,” whispered jessie to vera. “ you seem to have commenced the evening very pleasantly,” said the professor, taking the chair garnet offered him. “ was mr. travers performing for the amusement of the company ?” although he smiled as he said this, vera did not like the tone of his voice, and she did not answer, although he had looked at her as he asked the question. _ “ fred is splendid company,” replies the staunch jessie ; and she wonders why vera gives her such a grateful look. “ oh, i do not doubt it,” the professor hastens to say. “ he is your cousin, isn’t he ?” there is a slight slur on the last words. “yes. but that isn’t the reason i said he was splendid company,” flashes jessie, and garnet, almost trembling at what may come next, hastens to interpose. “you don’t know with what pleasure we have all looked forward'to this evening, professor wild. four (birls at gottagé (tite. we expect, before the close of it, to be much en- lightened as to our various virtues, qualifications, ’ etc. “ she’s scared half out of her wits,” says jessie to vera, sotto voce. aloud she asks, suddenly, “ can you mesmerize, professor ? ” “ yes,” replies the professor, much to the girls’ surprise. “ why do you ask ?” “ oh, i thought you looked as though you did,’ was the rather alarming answer. “ will you try to mesmerize me ? ” “ with pleasure.” he rises from his chair, as he speaks, and ap- proaches jessie in her rocker. garnet gives a little gasp, but does not speak. she knows it will do no good. vera’s white hands clasp each other tightly. she tries to laugh, but cannot. allie says, faintly: “oh, jess!” but jessie herself sits up' straight in her chair and looks up steadily into the professor’s eyes. he stands before her, tall and gaunt looking. vera cannot bear the looks of his face; it is pale, and, it seems to her, cruel looking. she wishes jessie had not said anything. “the child is as nervous as a little witch,” she thought. “ but she has too much spirit to let him see it.” “ look steadily into my eyes,” the professor says gravely, and the big black eyes look into his. then his great hand begins to move slowly to and fro before the little, brilliant face. slowly, jfour (btrls at gottage gtty. fessor, who is eyeing her in a half scornful, half amused and wholly triumphant manner. fred comes forward and stands looking at her, with his hands in his pockets. “ been getting mesmerized ?’’ he asks, ele- gantly. his voice expresses the liveliest sympathy, but jessie doesn’t appreciate it. “ shut up,” is the answer that slightly staggers him. ' but he understands his little cousin well enough by this time to know that “ her bark is worse than her bite.” “ no; but have you, jess ?” he asks. “yes, i have; if that’s any comfort to you. don’t you want to try it?” “ yes i do.” the professor comes forward, very obligingly. i think he is very glad for the chance. fred looks at him defiantly. “ shall i sit or stand ?” he asks. “ either. you choose,” is the answer. “ then i’ll stand.” once more the large hand begins its mesmeric movement. the boyish handsome face and the pale, cruel-looking one, are close together. the dark blue eyes look bravely into the unmatched ones. the girls'almost hold their breath and watch. erfort looks on with disgust and disap- proval written plainly on his face. by and by all four (bins at gottage gity. see that the color is leaving fred’s face just as it had left jessie’s. the blue eyes commence to move unsteadily and look dim. there is a startled, uncertain, strange look on his face. the professor is getting excited. his subject is coming under his control just as he would best like to have him. the perspiration stands out on his face. without once removing his eyes from fred’s, he throws back his coat and lets it slip to the floor, then he passes his hands more and more rapidly before fred’s eyes. all expression is gone now from fred’s face. the eyes are dull and dreamy looking— he appears as though half asleep. the professor sees ' that his time has come. “ what is your name? ” he asks. the pale lips move once or twice and then the answer comes, stammeringly, but clearly: “ f-f-red.” “where do you live?” “ b-b-oston.” “ what is your business — your work ? ” “ c-c-lerk.” “ \vhat kind of a clerk ? ” “ invoice and shipping clerk.” the answer came unhesitatingly, now. “ on what street do you live ?” “ tremont street.” “ how many in your family ?” jfour girls at gottage gity. “ four.” “ who are they ?” “ father, mother, sister and myself.” “ are you engaged to be married ?” “ no.” “ do you care for anyone ? ” “ yes.” “ who is it ?” but before fred can answer, erfort steps quickly forward and takes hold of the moving hand. “ that will do, professor,” he says, gravely. “ you are going too far.” fred had certainly commenced to speak the word ‘ vera,’ but, as the hand stopped moving before his face, his voice stopped and the dreamy look commenced to leave his eyes. the professor saw this and clapped his hands softly, once or twice, close to fred’s face, then shook him slightly. fred at once gave a slight shiver, yawned, stretched out his arms, as though just awaking, closed his eyes, and then opened them suddenly, and looked around the room with a wondering, surprised look. it didn’t take him long to realize what had been taking place. thoroughly ashamed and confused, be excused himself and went out on the piazza. ' vera happened to look at garnet. her face almost frightened her. there was scarcely a particle of color in it. she looked intensely eager. jfour (birls at gottagc (lity. “she believes that man has power to do with people as he pleases. she won’t believe that it is simply the influence of a strong mind over a weaker one. merely a matter of will-power. i’ll prove it to her— it is my duty.” thus vera talked with herself. aloud, she said : “ will you try me, professor ?” fairly elated with his former successes, the pro- ' fessor hastily says : “ certainly, miss earle.” she brings her chair forward to the light and sits facing him. he looks down into the fair, proud face, and, as he reads the determination written upon it, he presses his lips closely together, and his eyes look angry. vera sees this, and laughs to herself. “mes- merize me, if you can,” her eyes say plainly. the professor begins. fred sees them through the window and comes in quietly. two or three minutes pass without a sound being heard in the room. the professor begins to get nervous. he stoops down until his face is so close to vera’s that she can feel his breath, but still she looks into his eyes calmly and fearlessly; the mocking smile still rests on her lips, but she has to bring all the will-power she possesses to bear against his. once or twice she feels a dreamy sensation stealing over her, but the sudden, eager look that springs into the jfour (birls at gottage gtty. professor’s eyes brings her to herself and she is de- termined she will not yield. ' five minutes pass — it seems an hour. the professor loses suflicient control of himself to allow a look of impatient rage to appear on his face. vera sees it and she laughs aloud. that ends it. the professor rises to his feet with a mut- tered exclamation. “ simply a question of will-power, professor, says vera, gayly, fully repaid for her little “ incon- venience ” by seeing garnet look thoroughly disap- pointed — not to say disgusted. “you were determined not to. you wouldn’t put your mind on what i was doing,” said the pro- fessor, trying to conceal his chagrin by speaking pleasantly. “ ah, you confirm what i say,” said vera. “ confess now ; there is no secret about it. simply the influence ofa strong mind over a weaker one." her will certainly proved itself stronger than his, for she forced the truth from him. “ that is the whole secret,” he said; and no one but vera heard the soft sigh that expressed gar- net’s deep disappointment. and it was the only way in which it was ever , expressed. “ well,” remarked jessie, who had been listening and watching with her big eyes growing bigger every minute. “ all i can say is, that it makes ‘ he jfour (birls at giottagc gity. thinker, but you will never do anything remark- able to make yourself known outside your own circle of acquaintances. you are too easily dis- couraged. you cannot sympathize with the ordi- nary man and woman of to-day— they weary you. you want something higher, nobler, loftier, but you will never reach the standard of living that you would be glad to reach, for, instead of work- ing, you will only think, and dream and read, and long. but even this will bring you much pleasure -—-a pleasure such as only deep natures like your’s can enjoy. there is one thing that i must warn you against. do not encourage any inclination you may have to believe in the supernatural. let such things as spiritualism, mesmerism, palmistry and all other nonsense alone. to such a person as you, indulgence in these beliefs would prove fatal. it would bring you great unhappiness, and i tell you candidly, there is no truth in them. take a leaf from your friend’s book and be more matter-of-fact and less romantic.” the professor bowed towards vera, when he gave this bit of advice. garnet was indignant at being called romantic (what really romantic person is not?) but she was used to keeping her indignation to herself—as a general thing—and said nothing- erfort and fred took the chair in turn, but space will not allow me to give the result of the examina- tions. ‘- jfour (birls at gottage gite. it was a pleasant evening, in spite of the rather unfavorable beginning, and when the professor left them they all thanked him heartily for his kindness. garnet made them all laugh by asking him, gravely, what was the commercial value of her skull. he told them he had parts of more than one human head in bottles of alcohol in his ofiice at home. jessie made believe faint away at this, and after they had gone to their room she made vera and garnet barricade the door, for fear, as she said, that the professor would come in there and murder her in her sleep, for she was sure he had discovered, that night, that she had a remarkable head, and he would do his best to come into possession of it. chapter x x i v “ say girls ” said jessie the next morning after prayers, “ guess what i’m going to do. ” “ have mercy upon us, jessica,” said vera, “ and don’t make us guess this hot morning, but tell us at once. ” “ well then, lazy-bones, i’m going down to ‘macy’s ’ and look at that lovely amber set i saw there the other day. ” . “ you’ll only come back and have another crying spell because you can’t have it, ” said garnet. “i wouldn’t go.” “ well, i will go; and i shan’t come home and cry because i can’t buy it either, i’ve got too much to be thankful for. but dear me! wouldn’t i love to have it though. wouldn’t that pin look lovely in my hair? yellow and black. oh — h l” and jessie sighed as she stood before the glass and put her hat on. “ you’ll come with me, won’t you, allie? i shall want some one to tear me away.” “ of course i’ll go. will you go down to the tower afterwards and watch the bathers?” “ yes, i believe it is your turn to treat on soda to day, isn’t it? ” jfour (btrls at gottage (mty. new piano, let us give it towards making robin well boy. what do you say, net ?” no need for net to say anything. her eyes are answer enough. “we’ll tell the girls when they come back from the beach, and the boys, this afternoon. they must know of some good doctor in boston who would undertake the case.” when jessie and allie returned, about o’clock, they found vera and garnet still in their room ~— their eyes very bright, and their cheeks very red. jessie looked at them sharply, as she threw net’s bag of pop-corn into her lap. “ you girls look as though you were being roasted alive. why don’t you go out and get a breath of fresh air ? but the sun is hot! where is the ‘ gloria water ’ my nose is burnt to a crisp. ah, “thank you, al. i’ll bathe the injured member. oh, al and i have had such fun! i didn’t buy the amber set, net, so i am not bank- rupt, but i did want it so i ached. there were as many as two hundred in bathing, this morning, wasn’t there al ? and the band played beautifully. oh, you ought to have seen the old fattie trying to learn to swim. ithought ishould die! two or three young men held him up, and you ought to have seen him kicking his fat legs around! more than half the time he was all under water—all we could see was his bald head bobbing up and down, four (birls at (iottagc gite. and then all of a sudden he would pop up and splash about and almost knock the young men off their feet. and then, to cap all,i declare if he didn’t try to dive off the raft. ha, ha, ha! oh, my sakes —i almost had a fit. i guess the inhab- itants of the briny deep thought there was an earth- quake when he struck the water. ha, ha, ha !” and jessie, who had been sitting on the foot-board, swinging her feet, leaned back to laugh, lost her balance and fell—heels over head, on to the bed, where she lay, laughing immoderately. the others laughed in sympathy, and then allie said: “ you girls have been planning something, while jess and i have been out.> what is it ?” vera told her. jessie stopped laughing and sat up on the bed to listen, her eyes growing brighter and brighter, until by the time vera stopped, they were like two stars. she clasped her hands, gave one very deep, long sigh and then sat very still, and all that the girls could get her to say was: “ let me alone. i’m thinking.” she went oil' by herself in the afternoon, and no one knew where she went, or what she was doing. the boys came at the usual time, and they all sat waiting for her on the piazza. just as they were beginning to grow anxious, she appeared around the corner of the house, walking very slowly, and with a very clouded, troubled little face. fred was rash enough to say: “ well, what a forlorn-looking little thunder cloud ! ” jfour girls at gottage gity. he did not tell what he would do, but all felt ' that it would be no little thing. “ net and i are going to give one-tenth of every month’s salary,” said vera. “that will be just $ . apiece.” jessie turned at this and looked at vera and garnet. “ are you, really ?” she asked slowly. “yes,” answered vera. “ and [/ we won’t begin to pay the debt we owe mrs. hood.” jessie looked puzzled for a moment, then under- standing, she looked away with flushed cheeks. allie walked between vera and garnet, and as she took an arm of each, gave it a loving little squeeze. erfort looked pleased, and fred broke down in the middle of “comrades,” that he had commenced to softly whistle. “father gives me $ . a week,” said allie. “i don’t know what in the world i have always done with it, but i shall know after this.” all waited, but jessie never spoke, and even fred refrained from asking her what they all _ wanted to know. when they reached mrs. hood’s, all was very still. they went to the open door and listened. they heard the same pitiful moaning, and the same loving, caressing voice that they had heard on their first visit. and they stood and looked at each other with tearful eyes. jessie sobbed out- right, and so hard, that garnet put her arms about jfour girls at gottage git‘). her and tried to soothe her. then mrs. hood stood before them in the doorway. for the first time, they saw the calmness of that face broken up. it was quivering with untold suf- fering, and the blue eyes were full of tears. she put out her hands to them in a beseeching way. “oh, my boy is suffering so. it is terrible. will you be displeased with me if i ask you not to come in? to-morrow, perhaps, but not to-day. oh, it breaks my heart to see him.” then she turned and went hurriedly back into the room, and our young people—knowing that the greatest kindness they could do her, although they longed to help her, would be to go away- turned their steps homeward. jessie stopped sobbing, after a little while, and walked quietly along with her arm drawn through garnet’s. “ let’s not go back to the cottage, said vera, “ let us walk along the beach.” they turned and went down to the beach. everything was so bright, so gay, so~beautifull children’s voices came merrily up 'from the shore where they were playing. they thought of that other childish voice that so seldom uttered anything but moans, and their hearts were very sad. they sat down on the sand, silent and thoughtful. all at once jessie startled them by saying vehemently : “ i want to tell you all what a mean little wretch i have been. i have been trying, all this after- jfour (btrls at gottage gite. noon, to make up my mind to give up one paltry winter’s pleasure, for the sake of adding my mite towards helping that little angel who is suffering so terribly. don’t you hate me for it ? i hate myself‘ here i have lived seventeen happy, painless years, while that poor boy has had scarcely as many pain- less months, and now it has actually been a trial _ for me to relinquish one littlepleasure for the sake of seeing him well and happy. oh, i am such a miserable little sinner.” down went the little dark head into vera’s lap‘ and the sobbing commenced again. vera smoothed the head tenderly. “ don’t cry, jasmine,” she said. “ we are all miserable sinners. tell us what your paltry pleas- ure is. we may not call it so.” “ why, it was only this. i have been trying to make up my mind to give the twenty-five dollars i have saved for my elocution this winter, towards the doctor’s bill. isn’t that sinful and selfish and everything else that is bad? but i’ll give it cheer- fully and freely, and only wish it were twice as much.” all were silent for a moment. every one was touched, but perhaps garnet was the only one who understood thoroughly, what jessie was giving up. her elocution was everything to her. she had placed great dependence on the following winter’s course, and now to give it up for another year—— jfour m at (tottage mty. garnet almost reverenced her little sister at that moment, and from that time she loved her and respected her as she never had done before and had almost been afraid she never would do. after a little while they were more cheerful. it was impossible to see so much light-hearted care- lessness around them and not catch the infection. at the end of an hour they were laughing and talk- ing as usual, though not for one moment forgetting the suffering ones. “are you going to tell professor wild of your plan?” asked erfort. “ a lot of good it would do to tell him,” said fred. scornfully. “ i bet he’s a stingy beggar. i don’t like that man, he looks like a wife murderer.” they fairly shouted at this, and fred looked slightly aggrieved. “what are you laughing at? didn’t you ever hear of a wife-murderer? ” you’ll have to christen him over again,” said erfort, “ and call him “blue beard.’ “he may be one for all i know,” said fred lying back on the sand and pulling his cap over his eyes. “we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt any- way,” said erfort. “ we won’t exactly ask him to contribute, because he may think we’ll skip over the line with it, but we’ll tell him the story— or the principle part of it, and then he can do as he pleases about it.” four (birls at gottage (tite. “and that will be nothing, i'm thinking,” mut- tered skeptical fred. “ we’ll try anyway.” and they did, that very evening, sitting out on the piazza. professor wild listened, leaning back in his chair with his hands in his pockets. when erfort finished, he said: “i’m going home to-morrow. i can’t tell how sorry i am to leave you all.” then he stopped, and fred, confident that he had judged the professor rightly,_put out his foot and gave, or intended to give erfort a suggestive kick, but instead, kicked his chair. he made no slight noise, and what was worse, the professor turned his head and looked down with a curious smile, just in time to catch sight of the hastily withdrawn foot. “ confound the man,” said fred to himself. “ he’s always catching me.” the professor drew one hand out of his pocket and held it towards erfort. “there is a little towards helping on the good work,” he said. “and here — taking a card from his card case— “ is my address. if you need more money than you can raise, i hope you will not for- get me. ' i’m not a rich man, but i will do whati can.” although no one, not even erfort himself, knew how large or how small the bill was that the pro- fessor had given, yet fhey thanked him heartily for jfour (birls at gottage (my, his good will and kindness in giving even a little. their gratitude pleased him, but very soon after, he said good-night and good-bye, and left them, and they have never seen him since, but you may be sure they will never forget him. the girls crowded eagerly around erfort. “ what did he give? do let us see.” erfort smoothed out the crumpled bill — ten dol- lars. . “ oh, isn’t he splendid! ” “ isn’t he kind l” “ i never will judge a man by his face again!" “ that serves me right for calling him ‘ uriah heep.’ ” “ he’s just as good as he can be ! ” such were the very feminine expressions that were uttered by our girls, but fred did not “ die easily.” “ better see ifit’s a counterfeit, er,” he suggested, warily. “ it’s a good one,” assured erfort. still fred did not give up. “ he’s got an ugly temper, anyway. he proved that last night. wasn’t he as mad as a hatter because he couldn’t mesmerize vera?” “ no one is perfect,” said vera, ashamed of her own ungenerous thoughts and feelings toward the professor. “ and it seems to me that you are not in a very ‘angelic temper this evening, mr. travers.” that almost broke fred’s heart. as soon as the others were talking, he drew vera one side and jfour (birls at giottage gtty. “ hang on to that oar,” shouted fred, forgetting everything but the danger. and vera, frightened at his voice, gave the oar a desperate wrench and drew it into the boat. the next minute they drifted into the ocean. i shall not tell what fred said as he lay at her feet, wrapped in her cape, and she rowed him up and down the silvery path that the moon made on the water, but she looked across at the twinkling eyes of the beautiful yacht, and she said “that she had known him only two weeks, and she was sure’ that he did not know his own mind. of course, she couldn’t know hers in that short time. no, she was not displeased, but she could not promise anything.” there must have been something more encour- aging in her looks than in her words, for fred did not appear a bit cast down. he fervently assured her that he loved her just as much at the end of two weeks as though he had known her two years. but vera stopped him and ordered him back to his own end of the boat. it was late and they must go home. she would row and he must steer. fred obeyed; but when he felt for the rope, there was no rope there. “ we’ve lost the rudder! ” he exclaimed. “dear, dear!” said vera. “what shall we do ?,” “ oh, we’ll find it. it must have stuck in the sand‘” jfour (birls at (iottage ging. tenderest light in the glorious eyes. then, at night when the lamp was burning,‘ and the pain was almost unendurable, robin would feel his little tortured body lifted by arms that were young and strong, and his eyes would open, sometimes on a fair, handsome face, with blue eyes and clustering brown curls, and sometimes on a dark, grave one, with a noble brow and tender, dark eyes. he would know then all, and would almost break their hearts, by trying to smile up in their faces and thanking them in a weak little voice, but the smile would change to a spasm of pain and the voice to a moan. so the days and nights passed, until the last one came, and found robin lying on his bed, white as a snow-drift, but, for the time, free from pain. they were all there with him, sitting in their accustomed places—for the last time. the night before, erfort had spoken to mrs. hood about their plan, and he had been more surprised than he could tell, when she had sunk down in the kitchen rocker, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed as though her heart would break. . but it was all settled now, and as she sat in their midst this afternoon, it seemed as though she could scarcely take her eyes from their faces. they had been speaking about it, just a little, and jessie expressed the wish of all, when she said in her old, impulsive fashion: four $trls at gottage gtty. “now, mrs. hood, please don’t spoil it all by saying you will accept our little gift on one condi- tion : —that you will pay it back to us some day. it will take all the good away if you do. let our first efi'ort to do a little good, be as successful as it can possibly be. besides, you will not owe us any- thing; we are only paying our debt.” and then jessie had stopped, her face all one rich color. mrs. hood had looked a little surprised at first, but only for a minute, then she had understood and her heart was so full that she could only kiss each one silently and then sit back in her chair and they had heard her say softly: “ for z‘/zy dear sake, lord.” and now they were waiting to hear the last chapter that had been written, from the book of her life. she told it in a very few words. it seemed as though her heart was so full that she could not bear to talk much. “ after that night,‘ when i had my dream i was very sick with brain fever. was it any wonder ? and when, after many weeks, i rose from the bed, i was a different woman. mr. hood was very kind to me, and at the end of a year i married him. i united with the baptist church, and i tried, earnestly and faithfully, to lead a true, chris- tian life. i felt that i owed my saviour for all those wasted years. it was sweet to trust him ; it jfour (birls at gottage gltte. like to think of god as being a stern, condemning judge, but as a loving, pitying, merciful father— one to whom we can go in our trouble and distress, go to him just as we are in all our sin, and ask him to help us and forgive us. iknow there is danger of our taking advantage of his willingness to forgive, but we ought not to do that, and if we think of all his tender love for us, and all his patient goodness, we will not do it. but it is blessed to me to have the assurance of his great love, and his forgiveness is the assurance.” “ mrs. hood,” said erfort, “ do you really think that heaven is like the place you dreamed of?” “ i am sure it is. i love to think ofits being so.” “when do you think it is too late to repent?” asked vera. “ not until the breath leaves your body. but it always seems to me that such a repentance is an insult to god. it is dreadful for’ one to give his whole life to the world, and only a few paltry, mis- erable minutes --— and those his last— to god.” “ but you don’t think such persons go straight to heaven ? ” said fred. “ no, i do not. it doesn’t seem to me that they ought to. not that i begrudge them the happi- ness, but they ought to do their part of the great work while on earth. i may be wrong. i dare say most ministers would pronounce such theory heretical, but i am jealous for god. i want to see four (birls at gottage gite. after a few moments more our young people rose to go. it was a hard parting, but they all looked eagerly forward to the glad, happy meeting in the fall. at last they were on their way to the cottage. they talked a little while at the gate, then the boys left them, but they came again, after supper, and spent the evening with the girls, on the piazza. the next morning at . , the trunks were standing in the room, packed, locked, and strapped, and the girls stood, pulling on their gloves and looking around the dear room with dim eyes. what happy hours they had spent there ! a knock sounded on the door— a timid, uncer- tain knock, and all smiled as they called to- gether: “ come in l ” the door opened and there stood ‘ mother,’ with the pretty blue morning cap on, that the girls had given her the night before, tears in her dim blue eyes, and her hands full of books. ‘ grandpa ’ appeared in the background, the girls’ present, a black silk handkerchief, clasped in his shaking hand. “my dear children,” said ‘mother,’ and her voice trembled more than they had ever heard it before, “i can’t tell ye how sorry me and mr. atherton are to lose ye. we shall miss hearing ye laughing and singing, and running up and down the stairs, but we shall never forget ye and will pray for ye every night. here is something your (bins at gottage gity. for ye to remember us by,” and she put into the hands of each a neat black testament. _y d ' the girls opened them and saw their names written in a trembling, shaking hand, and under the name was written in each : “ from grandpa and grandma atherton.” ‘ mother’ put her hand out and commenced to force ‘ grandpa’ gently out of the room, but the girls ran forward, and, putting their arms around first ‘ mother’s ’ and then ‘ grandpa’s’ neck, thanked them and kissed them until ‘mother’s’ new cap fell off and ‘ grandpa’s’ spectacles were slipped down on the extreme end of his nose. then the man came for the trunks, last good- byes were said, and the girls ran down the stairs, through the little parlor, down the walk, and out through the gate, where they stopped and looked up to the balcony. ‘ mother’ and ‘ grandpa’ stood there, his left hand clasping her’s, as it rested on his arm, her right shading her dim blue eyes, as she looked after the girls. and so they passed from their sight, and the next time their eyes will look upon them will be in a better world than this, where none ever grow old, and where friends never part from friends.' chapter xxvi. it has been accorded authors the privilege of adding any number of years to their heroes’ and heroines’ lives, that they find most convenient. i will take advantage of the privilege and add the number of five years to the lives of my young people, and even they will pardon me, i think, when they can see what pleasure i can give my readers by doing so. i want you to come with me to a house on s— street, in the city of pawtucket, r. i. we have reached the house, rung the bell, and been con- ducted up the stairs by a young man whom we have certainly seen before. he stops on the first landing and looks back at us. the light from the upper hall-lamp shines full upon him. we give an exclamation of delight. we know that fair, handsome face, with its dark blue eyes and curly brown hair, although the “faint apology” of five years ago on the upper lip, has grown into a hand- some drooping mustache, with just enough curl in the ends to make it “too lovely for anything ; ” so his wife says. fred travers? yes, of course it is he. he is in evening dress and wears a red pink in his but- jfour girls at gottage (bity. tonhole. we ask him no questions, but follow where he leads, which is to a room on the right of the hall, into which he bows us and closes the door upon us. but we are not in the least dismayed for there are plenty of other ladies there, all doing what we proceed to do, i. e., take our wraps off, shake out our trains, go up to one of the mirrors, pat and smooth and gently pull out our curled bangs, fasten the roses and lilies among the lace on our bosoms, and then stand one side to make room for_those who are just entering, and talk and laugh and ask each other “if our train hangs right,” and, “ will you please fasten that hateful little lock to my back hair? it won’t stay where it belongs,” and, “will you please tell me if you think my flowers are pinned too high up on the shoulder? do you think they would look better at the left side?” to all these questions we receive the flattering answers: “your train hangs perfectly lovely.” “that lock looks too cute for anything — don’t touch it.” “your flowers look just right—they are lovely.” answers which our vain hearts had expected to receive and which would have been disappointed if they had not received. but as we look around we do not see one face that is familiar to us. all bright, fair, girlish and sweet, but not one familiar one. at last the door 'opens and a voice says : “ now, ladies; prepare l ” your (birls at gottage (mty. we wait a few moments for one who has not come and whom we long to see. we miss the brilliant little face, and the ringing, girlish voice, but we wait in vain. listen. “ oh, vera, you look for all the world like a bride yourself.” “and why shouldn’t i ? only three years old.” (so vera is married then? why yes; didn’ti say that fred’s wife says—you know what, about his mustache). “don’t you wish it were you, allie, who was going to be the centre of attraction to-night ? ” “ oh no, net. father couldn’t get along with- out his housekeeper.” “ and net won’t get married until she meets with a second emerson. what was it the professor said, net ? ” “stop your nonsense. hood.” “ not at all, my dears. to be shocked.” . the door opens. vera starts forward. “ oh, fred, your pink is falling out. let me fix it.” ' fred stands obediently still, but there is an anxious look on his face, which cannot be brought there by a drooping flower. my wedding dress is we will shock mrs. i am too happy to-night jfout (btrls at gottage (etty. r into them. we follow his glance and we see that it is the face that is framed in silvery-white hair that his eyes rest upon. do you know who he is ? after him walks a tiny figure that makes every- one smile. it walks along in such a sedate, dig- nified manner. the little form is covered with a dress of white silk. lovely golden curls cluster in the dimpled, white neck. the large gray eyes shine like two stars out of the small pink and white face. the tiny hands grasp a large bouquet of orange-blossoms. a wee maid of honor! is she frightened ? not a bit. two-year-old marjorie is a brave little lady. next comes—well, did you ever, in all your life, see a more charming bride! a lovely white silk dress, covered, but not hidden, by a beautiful bridal veil. a small head with a wreath of orange- blossoms resting on the heavy, dark braids. eyes that we know full well by the way they flash and shine. but what makes the small face look so. pale ? where is all its brilliant color ? we hear garnet whisper to allie: “the poor child is frightened half out of her wits.” isn’t the speech characteristic ? we know the one who walks be- side her, and on whose arm she is so trustingly leaning. the dark face is scarcely changed. the eyes are just as tender and dreamy as when we first saw them five years ago. he is one with 'whom we can safely trust our little girl, for ww m~m mum m ?‘ __ four (birls at gottage gitt). every look the dark eyes give her are full of a deep, abiding love. _ really, i am so confused that all the wordsl hear, are: “ erfort merlin richards, jessie isabel dare, i pronounce you man and wife.” but then, they are the most important ones after all. will you please excuse me ifi omit the congrat- ulations and the supper, and the talking and laugh- ing, and everything else ? they are only a very small consideration anyway. and at what better time could i leave my young people than at this most joyful of all joyful occasions, when they are all together, and oh, so happy! in as few words as i can possibly cut it down to, let me tell how the noble plan was carried on and out. erfort was true to his promise, and held' an interview with dr. c.—, one of boston’s leading physicians. his price was almost startling— $ . but our young people were determined. mrs. hood and robin were taken to boston. they had a private room in the great hospital. two years passed slowly by, and one day, at 'the end of the two years, our girls started for boston, vera carrying the same “ bank” that she had carried to cottage city, but now it was a bank in earnest, for it contained the big sum of $ . i wish you could have seen them as they drew near boston. it would be hard to tell which pair of eyes was the brightest. they had worked four girls at gottagc gity. and the lady of the house should not be at home, just go to the other two houses and you will find her at one of them. i suppose, before many years, the plate on mrs. hood’s door will bear the name: “ dr. r. hood,” and who can doubt that, with such a physi- cian as dr. c— to help, advise and teach him, robin will be one of the leading physicians of boston, some day. he has made up his mind to make all diseases of the spine his special study. ,if he were to live to be one hundred years old, he could never forget the pain he suffered—child though he was; and he will do all in his power to alleviate the sufferings of all who are afflicted, even as he was. with such a mother to love and cheer, such a friend as dr. c — to help and advise, and, above all, such a father in heaven to guide, strengthen and protect, who can doubt his success ? the end. ., all’: of“ “. “_: ei_'t tr‘t'_f‘" ‘ i . 'if: ianawa" i’-m’we’ afiwe~emgni ll | *| - * pointing the way sutton e griggs | nashville, tenn. the orion publishing company dedication. affectionately dedicated to my wife, in the hope that she may find herein somewhat of an explanation of that occasional far-away look in the eyes, of which, n her wifely solicitude, she has from time to time quite properly made complaint. the author. books by sutton e. griggs: “imperium in imperio'' **overshadowed'' “unfettered" “the hindered hand'' “the one great question” “pointing the way.” contents. chapter i. page. a face of mystery................................... chapter ii. a puzzled lawyer. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . chapter iii. objections to a marriage. ............................ chapter iv. the visit is made. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . chapter v. yet debating... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . chapter vi. she investigates. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . chapter vii. the parson flees. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . chapter viii. uncle jack's conversion............................. chapter ix. the man appears. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . chapter x. conroe driscoll. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . chapter xi. eina begins to plan. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . chapter xii. that is the question. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . chapter xiii. eina and baug. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ioo chapter xiv. a strange letter... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . io chapter xv. she insists . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . iii chapter xvi. the crux . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ii chapter xvii. molair on the alert. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . i - chapter xviii. kickbd out. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . i chapter i. a face of mystery. |hy, dear, what on earth—” 'w'. the question thus begun was never "finished. as to why the questioner felt im- pelled to begin the query only to drop it uncere- moniously in its unfinished state it will presently appear. - it was midday, and a midsummer sun of the southern skies was beating down fiercely upon that loveliest of all southern cities, belrose, the very mention of whose name recalls to those who have seen it, visions of a cleanly, hustling business center, well-regulated streets, beautiful but not ostentatious suburban homes, an amplitude of trees with rich green foliage, rows of magnolias, testifying by leaf and flower to the exuberance of the gifts of soil and air; recalls that air of seren- ity that pervades the city at eventide as the hum of business grows less, as night begins to deftly weave her robe of gloom, as the glare of the elec- tric lights comes forth to aid a shirking moon and the timid stars. but we must get back to the hot, sultry day, and not be tempted from our recital by the phys- ical charms of the city of belrose. the extreme heat of the day was indicated by swiftly moving fans and upraised parasols in the hands of the pointing the way. lady pedestrians on the streets, by the holding of hats in their hands and coats on their arms on the part of the men, and by the almost religious zeal with which shady spots were sought by those whose missions called upon them to wait. on the faces of all there was a half-encouraged, half-resisted look of worriment. one fat, rotund man, rather low of stature, came toddling along, his collar and his handkerchief drenched with perspiration, while his good nature made a last grand stand against the efforts of the atmosphere to vex him beyond measure. to a leaner com- panion walking by his side he said: “by gosh, jim, this is about the best time i'll get, don’t you think?” “for what?” asked his companion. “for croaking. i guess it's all settled where a rounder like me is to go when he pegs out. i was just thinking that if i could drop out of bel- rose to-day and land at once in his satanic majesty's big kitchen, the change of atmosphere would not be so violent as to upset my delicate system. see?” among the vehicles passing along broadway was a phaeton occupied by two young women, one of them being closely veiled; the other was driv- ing. suddenly the young lady who was driving lowered the phaeton top and thus invited a more direct contact with the rays of the zealous sun. the lady with the veil had just arrived in bel- rose from more northerly regions, and the heat, a face of mystery. oppressive to the native belrosans, was doubly so to her. imagine, therefore, her surprise at the seemingly purposeless lowering of the phaeton top, which act on the part of her friend begot the un- finished query to which we have just listened. but, as we have said, the question was not finished, for at that instant the eye of the veiled lady wan- dered to the near street corner to the left, just ahead of them, and something there seemed to arouse in her a sharp, deep interest. abandoning the unfinished question the veiled lady propounded another. looking straight ahead, she said quickly: “clo- tille, be circumspect about it, but let the horse walk slowly, and look at that man standing on the near corner to your left. who is he?” clotille did as directed, and said: “to be sure, i see several men on the corner, eina.” “oh, i mean the man, the man with his hat in one hand and a handkerchief in the other.” clotille cautiously stole a second glance in the direction indicated. a merry laugh with an un- dercurrent of satisfaction that did not escape eina's acute ear, and which in later days she so vividly recalled, came from clotille, somewhat to eina's confusion. “now, clotille, at what are you laughing? is the gent in question belrose's all-conquering gal- lant? and do you think that i have fallen a vic- tim to his charms and—at sight, too? why, clo- pointing the way. tille strange!” said eina, in loving, reproachful tones. “oh, be fair to me, eina. cannot your friend, clotille, indulge in a tiny laugh when eina of the cold heart (when it comes to the sterner sex) happens to see a strange, handsome young man, and takes so much as even a passing interest in him? is it not time for me to sit up and take notice?” “eina changeth not, clotille.” “my dear, dear girl, i do not misjudge you. i know only too well of the steel casing about your heart,” said clotille, dropping her playful tone. “well, back to that little laugh of yours, clotille. why did you laugh when i made my inquiry con- cerning the man with his hat in his hand? there was something behind that laugh, clotille.” “let us take up things in their order, eina. we will come to the smile by and by, but let us first deal with the man.” “all right, the man, then,” rejoined eina. “the man’s name is baug peppers.” “why, clotille!” exclaimed eina, almost rising from the buggy seat. “you must be mistaken. no being with a head, and face, and eyes such as that man has could ever have so unpoetic a name. baug! peppers! it is simply ridiculous,” said eina, with evident warmth, her sense of the eter- nal fitness of things being grievously outraged. “well, that is his name, just the same,” said clotille. a face of mystery. “clotille, you may think so, he may think so, but as assuredly as your name is clotille strange, that man’s real name is not baug peppers. i know it is not.” “well, we will waive that question for the time being. now that you know what his name is at least said to be, what have you further to say?” asked clotille. “his mind has certainly written itself on his face. he is brainy and true. one can see that at a glance. it seems to me that i have seen him before,” said eina. “when where?” asked clotille. “i don’t just recall,” said eina. “i will give you a few moments in which to recall just when and where you met him, and will not disturb you with my chatter while you reflect,” said clotille. eina now leaned back in the phaeton and gave herself up to an earnest effort to recall just when, where, and under what circumstances she had seen this mr. baug peppers before. the thing that puzzled her most was that mr. peppers was a man of such a striking personal appearance that people generally would be supposed to have no difficulty in recalling having seen or met him, but here she was, almost positive that she had seen him before, and yet utterly unable to in any manner trace the impression. by and by eina said: “clotille, i give it up. every now and then it seems as though my pointing the way. mind is upon the point of grasping the solution as to his face, whereupon it nimbly slips by and eludes me.” “now, i will explain my smile,” said clotille. “the impression created by that man’s face is belrose's standing mystery, and is a most unique phenomenon. to begin with, the face seems to impress every one. we belrosans all like to look at it, it matters not how often we have seen it. visitors invariably pay special attention to it, and it always arouses the thought in them that they have seen it before or some face that greatly re- sembles it. but we have yet to find the person who has stated that he has satisfied his own conscious- ness as to the identity of the other face suggested by this face. so there comes into the minds of strangers and there lives in our minds a sug- gested personality that ever remains nameless.” “how very, very queer,” said eina, quietly, still trying to condense the nebulous thought that had been sent floating through her mind by the face. “at times,” continued clotille, “we have had conventions of national scope to assemble here, and have entertained groups of delegates at social gatherings; and it was at one time a source of much amusement to us to have our guests one after another go through the same series of ques- tions and answers that you and i in the first in- stance indulged in to-day with regard to that face until the matter became so tiresome to baug that a face of mystery. he began to avoid all social gatherings at which strangers were likely to be present.” “he knows, then, of the peculiar impression made by his face,” remarked eina. “oh, yes, and he has gotten so that, when introduced, he quietly remarks before the stranger gets an opportunity to make the stereotyped com- ment which he knows is forthcoming, “of course you think you have seen me before, or think you have seen someone that looks like me, but for the life of you, you can’t tell where you saw me nor who it is that i resemble, so let us pass all that by,’” said clotille. “decidedly interesting, and i, eina rapona, am going to try to find an answer to the puzzle. somehow i feel that something great, some- thing tremendous lies behind this belrose phe- nomenon. i am not a prophetess, nor the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, but i venture the prediction that i shall furnish an explanation of this phenomenon, and that, upon discovery, it will excite more interest than it does as a mys- tery. mark my words, i feel it. i know not why. i am not a sentimentalist at all, but there is something great betokened by that man’s face and some tremendous fact lies behind it,” eina re- marked. had eina been observing clotille's face closely she ought to have been able to see that this re- solve on her part was for some reason giving clo- tille a deep measure of satisfaction. a face of mystery. the surrounding territory. as eina entered the cottage yard she was thrilled with the beauty of the scene before her. “oh, clotille, you are a born artist. just look at that rich green grass; at the lovely arrange- ment of the rose bushes; at the star-shaped beds from which those tiny flowers, of every tint and hue, peep at one so sweetly! look at those pretty ferns. they haven’t the petals of the flowers, but they seem to know their beauty and are careful to display it.” - lifting her eyes to the beautifully shaped cottage, she gazed at the profusion of honeysuckles that clambered over and fully covered the cottage walls. “oh, i share with you your love of the snug cot- tage, you dear clinging honeysuckles. it would seem to me that if i were dead and should pass this way, this beautiful spot would awaken my soul and call me back to life again,” said eina, her bosom heaving with the delight that surged up from her heart. tears of joy stood in clotille's eyes, for upon her had fallen the whole task of choosing and arranging this home for her wealthy friend, and she was therefore highly gratified that her friend seemed so well pleased. as they stood making a survey of the place, the negro servant, a tall, aged man, came walking around the house. he had an erect, soldierly carriage, which was somewhat modified by the pointing the way. humble carrying of his hat in his hand and the deferential inclining of his head slightly forward, a combination of dignity and humility. his mus- tache, beard and hair were white, and his solemn face thus enveloped would have been a little awe- some but for the kindly light that gleamed in his eyes. clotille whispered to eina, saying, “that old man is as honest as a monk, as solemn as an owl, and as keen a lover of the humorous as you ever saw.” “indeed! he does not look it,” said eina. when the servant had approached as near as an attitude of profound deference would permit, clotille said, “uncle jack, this is miss eina ra- pona, who is to be your landlady.” uncle jack bowed low, and a look of pleasure came into his black face. he was very sensitive on the point as to the class of people he was to serve, and was a keen judge of what he called “quality folks.” this pleased look was due to the fact that eina had stood the test of his keen intuition. clotille, who had secured uncle jack to serve eina, eyed him closely, and was delighted at the signals of pleasure that her friend had caused to appear in the countenance of this veteran negro connoisseur of faces. it was very vital to clotille's plans that eina should please uncle jack, for in the schemes that she had before her she had need of him. a face of mystery. when clotille had escorted eina into the house and had gone from room to room, showing how she had fitted it up for eina's comfort, she then left her friend and drove back toward belrose, a smile of happiness on her lips, the light of joy in her eyes. - “well, sir, it worked like a charm. it worked like a charm.” such was the happy reflection that came and came again to, or, speaking more accu- rately, that abode in, clotille's mind. a puzzled lawyer. meet the man with the mysterious face influenced her in the matter of her toilet. from her earliest youth the world had taken pains to inform eina over and over again as to how beautiful she was, but hitherto she had been rather indifferent to the fact of nature’s rich en- dowment, and none ever thought to call her vain. but as she now stood before her mirror taking an inventory of what might be termed her charms, there was in her eyes, in this privacy of her dress- ing room, the plainest sort of hungering for the -beautiful in herself. “has the world judged aright? am i beau- tiful?” asked eina of herself. she lifted her bared, rounded arms, tapering so exquisitely at the wrists, and gazed at them for a few seconds, then lowered them. eina now turned her atten- tion to her face, neither oval nor long, perfectly proportioned, her features—mouth, nose, ears, forehead—each a work of art in itself. and well did her wealth of hair, black at a distance, but brown at close range, grace her head. and well might her eyes, those wondrously expressive, beau- tiful black eyes, matching well the long, dark brown eyelashes and heavy eyebrows—well might her eyes, the dominating center of a realm of beauty, gleam with that subtle, inexplicable charm that made a friend of every one who gazed into their soulful depths. gifted with a rare taste in choosing and blend- ing those colors which best suited and accentuated a puzzled lawyer. struck with the amazing beauty of the girl, who impressed him as being undoubtedly the most beautiful woman upon whom his eyes had ever fallen. he was sorely puzzled, too, as to eina's nationality, a consideration which, in belrose, as in all southern cities, counted for a great deal. eina’s complexion had been the bane of many an artist's life, portrait painters having despaired of reproducing its beautiful tints, defying, as they did, the power of the brush and pen. she was light enough of complexion to pass among the whites for a white girl, had just enough of the dark in her complexion to permit her to pass as a colored woman if she so elected, while the underglow of red in her complexion, coupled with her beautiful black eyes and the ap- pearance of her hair, suggested that indian blood was not altogether missing from her veins. “of whatever nationality, it would seem that the races of mankind have united to make this girl the composite beauty of the human family,” reflected molair. at length molair opened the door of his private office and bade eina to enter. after a formal in- troduction, the two settled down to the business on hand. seth molair was noted for his dispatch in business matters, but it must be confessed that in this particular instance he did not live up to his reputation. he did not overly prolong the inter- view, but simply proceeded with marked delibera- tion, regarding it as a genuine treat to have the pointing the way. privilege to merely contemplate the exquisite beauty of the face before him. the question of eina’s nationality continued to give molair concern. there were, to be sure, the european features and the stamp of european cul- ture and spirit, but there was that faint, pic- turesque tinge of the dark that might or might not be due to a distant connection with the land that chose to make sable her sons and daughters. mo- lair resolved to discover eina’s racial affiliation before the interview was over, and began to manoeuver to attain that end. he had been told that in every light person having a vestige of negro blood in their veins there was a slight mud- diness behind their ears. pretending to have business across the room to the rear of eina, mo- lair managed to get behind her and to glance at her ears. “no special mark there,” was his mental note as he gazed upon eina’s pretty neck and ears. molair had heard that at the roots of the finger nails there was always to be found a telltale sign that betrayed the presence of negro blood when all other indications failed, but eina had on gloves, which prevented a resort to that test. however, molair decided to overcome this obstacle. excusing himself rather abruptly, he entered his outer office, closed the door, and had the white girl who was his stenographer to come to him at the office window, where he took a look at the roots of her finger nails and at his own. having a puzzled lawyer. familiarized himself with the appearance of the finger nails of himself and his stenographer, he re-entered the office to plan for testing eina. when the time came for eina to sign the papers incident to their business transaction, molair had her take a seat at a small table in the center of the room, the table being just large enough to hold the papers to be signed, but not large enough for the inkstand in addition thereto. molair stood near her, holding the inkstand in his hand, and leaned over ostensibly to point out just where she was to sign. in so doing, in keep- ing with his plan, he spilled the ink upon eina’s glove. “clumsy clumsy clumsy i beg a thousand pardons,” said molair. eina looked up, her mind in perfect accord with molair’s suggestion that he was clumsy. she gave him a reassuring smile, however, to drive away his embarrassment, and said, “i should have taken off my gloves to write, anyway, so the fault is mine, not yours.” “that is quite generous in you, miss rapona, but i do not pardon myself. miss grainger,” called molair, to his stenographer, who now en- tered, “take that glove off of miss rapona's hand, step across the street to the store, and bring us another pair.” miss grainger approached to draw off the glove and molair, at the risk of being thought rude, stood so as to be able to see the finger nails as the a puzzled lawyer. “you are from boston, where social freedom— the thing that people are trying to say when they say social equality—exists. in the south social freedom is not permitted, for reasons that i need not discuss just here. whoever affiliates socially with the one race in the south is denied the social life of the other. will you regard it as a piece of impertinence on my part to ask you as to where you are to cast your lot socially?” “you mean to say that there is no such thing as being allowed to treat all upon the score of individual merit?” remarked eina. “exactly. choice, in the south, lies not be- tween individuals, but between races. moreover, if you have once passed as a white person, you will not be allowed to drop into the colored race. on the other hand, if you are once classed as a colored person, you can never change to the white race where that fact is known,” replied molair. “would you white people of the south accept me?” asked eina. “pardon me, but what is your blood?” asked molair. “i am of english, spanish and indian descent. of course you know that the spaniards drew the dark in their complexion from the moors, who of course are africans. by both my spanish and indian blood, which, however, is all but lost in the english strain, i am connected with the colored races of the world.” “now let us see,” said molair. “we of the pointing the way. south place no ban upon intermarriage with the spanish people. the glorious history of spain has baptized her slight swarthiness, and we for- get the moor. as for the indians, our president has advised their absorption into our blood. ac- cording to prevailing standards you would find no barrier to your entrance into the white race. “on the other hand, there is the tinge of the dark in your complexion which will permit you to classify yourself as colored if you so desire. there are hundreds of people right here in belrose even lighter than you are, lighter than thousands of whites, who are classed as colored.” “i find myself, therefore, in the unique position of being allowed to choose for myself my racial home. for most people that is a thing entirely beyond their control,” said eina, smiling sadly. “before you make your choice, miss rapona, would you kindly allow me to canvass the whole situation with you?” asked molair, speaking with evident earnestness. “i know of nothing that would give me greater pleasure, mr. molair,” said eina, much pleased at a prospective arrangement that would give her a glance into the heart of the south, that willy- nilly had written itself into her boston’s daily thought and nightly dream. molair paused awhile, hesitating as to whether to say what he had in mind, and searching for the best form in which to put what he would like to say. a puzzled lawyer. noting his embarrassment, eina said, “feel free, mr. molair, to speak your mind to me.” “i could, miss rapona, discuss these matters with you here, but somehow, when the deeper issues of life are involved, i like to get away from this office, be free from its atmosphere altogether. here, in an honorable way, i hope, i look after my personal interests by trying to faithfully serve my clients. elsewhere i am an unfettered man, the human being.” “why can you not come to my home?” asked eina. “there is the rub. for the present at least you wish to keep the question of your social alignment open. it is well known in belrose that i make no professional visits. my clients all come to me. if i call to see you it will be surmised that i call to see you socially, and if it became known to the colored people that i so visit you, you can never thereafter reach their best social life, perhaps,” said molair. “why cannot i call at your home, then?” asked eina. “if you enter my home as a social visitor to my mother, you take rank as a white person. if you once assume rank as a white person, you can never in the south drop into the life of the colored people unless you can show clear title to negro blood. we don’t allow it,” said molair. “who stays with you at your home, miss rapona?” asked molair. pointing the way. “one jack morris; uncle jack they call him,” replied eina. “uncle jack! why, i know uncle jack, and a truer soul never lived,” said molair. “i was about to suggest, mr. molair, that uncle jack might bring you to my home unobserved. i feel that it means so much to be permitted to hear what you have to say,” said eina. “that is about the only way in which all objec- tions can be met,” said molair. so it was agreed that, under the chaperonage of uncle jack, molair was to clandestinely visit eina. “by the way, is the man with the face of mys- tery a colored man or a white man? i did not think to ask clotille,” mused eina, as, sitting by the side of uncle jack, she journeyed back to her home out from belrose. pointing the way. among their children was letitia gilbreath, who was born to them a few years after the close of the civil war. upon the death of constantine gilbreath, his fortune, which was considerable, was apportioned among the members of his negro family. letitia gilbreath inherited from her father a marked commercial talent and love of gain, which faculty she devoted to the increase of the holdings bequeathed to her, and as a result grew to be a fairly wealthy woman, as wealth went in the southland. miss letitia declined all offers of matrimony, grew to be regarded as an eccentric old maid, de- voted her entire thought to her possessions, and seemed to shut out from her heart all her fellow- men and women with two exceptions, as follows: a daughter of her mother's sister married and became the mother of a beautiful dark girl whose pretty face and black appealing eyes had somehow reached the soft spot in miss letitia’s heart. she applied to her cousin, mrs. hannah strange, for this beautiful dark child, clotille, reared and edu- cated it. she had resolved, should the girl marry in a manner that pleased her, to make a bridal present of one-half of her fortune, and to provide in her will that clotille should come into posses- sion of the other half upon the testator’s death. miss letitia's fancy had likewise gone out for baug peppers, as a boy, and she had resolved upon him as a husband for clotille, the fact that baug was very light of complexion counting objections to a marriage. greatly in his favor, this in truth being a deter- mining consideration. miss letitia, herself a mulatto, would have denied most vehemently that she was at all preju- diced as to color, and would have cited the fact that her mother and her favorite adopted cousin were dark as proofs positive that she could not have color prejudice. but miss letitia was a great believer in the white people, and the fact that they seemed to be growing farther and farther away from the negroes made her pessimistic as to the future of the colored people as a distinct racial element in american life. she had become a convert to the theory that the only hope of the american negro lay in finally losing himself in the white race, in being utterly absorbed. she had no sym- pathy, however, for such negroes of light com- plexion as illegally affiliated with the white race or surreptitiously entered that race, holding that all persons with the blood of the colored race in their veins should remain within the ranks of the negroes until the race as a whole was whitened. on the other hand she viewed it in the light of a shocking crime for two dark persons to marry each other, holding that every newly born dark child but prolonged the agony. she felt that providence now purposed to overrule the evil of miscegenation during the days of slavery, and to thus bring good out of evil by making use of the light complexion contributed to the race to lighten pointing the way. its complexion from generation to generation until it finally lost its dark hue. she was a believer in the white man's temperament, traditions, char- acter and civilization, and did not care to see these altered by a sudden infusion of negro blood, but felt that by the time the negro race was ready to vanish through her gradual process of whitening, that the race would be so fundament- ally metamorphosed, and the infusion so diluted that it would in no wise materially affect the base of the white man's make-up. miss letitia felt that she occupied unassailable ground, as the white people could not reasonably object to her making use of the white blood which they pushed off to her side of the color line. such was the basis of her choice of a husband for her cousin clotille. baug and clotille knew full well that they did not and would not love each other, but knowing miss letitia’s hopes and plans, they did not jar her by raising the issue before it had to be raised, each desiring to keep the wealthy woman’s favor. operating under this modus vivendi, all seemed to be moving along nicely, neither clotille nor baug desiring to make a move, until one morning, as clotille sat in her seat in the assembly room of clinton college, noting the boys as they filed in to take their respective seats, she observed in those ranks a tall, handsome fellow of princely form, whose frank, open face, intellectual brow and head of splendid shape, demanded of her a second objections to a marriage. look and a third. an acquaintanceship followed in the due course of events and the exchange of sentiments in the days that followed ripened their mutual admiration into love. one beautiful may day, a day that clotille never forgot, in that short distance from the baseball grounds to the girls’ dormitory, conroe had poured into her ear the story of his love, and had gained from her lips, and from the depths of her tender, dark eyes the information that he was loved in return. but here is where the trouble arose—conroe was dark. from the day that clotille discovered that her heart had gone out to conroe, she be- gan to plan to overcome miss letitia’s ob- jections to him. she saw clearly that her first step was to get baug peppers out of the way. so long as baug was available as a possibility for a husband, miss letitia, clotille knew, would be for him against the world. the next step, as clotille viewed the matter, was to convert the white people of belrose to a more kindly attitude toward the colored people, for miss letitia was in her heart a worshipper of the whites of belrose; felt that they were the most aristocratic people on earth. if, therefore, bel- rose could be brought to the point of according the colored people the full measure of citizenship rights and privileges, it would, according to clo- tille’s way of thinking, operate to make miss le- titia less pessimistic, more hopeful of the colored pointing the way. man’s future as a colored man, and therefore less hostile to the marriage of dark couples. “the elimination of baug and the providing of a healthy local atmosphere for the diseased mind of cousin letitia is my problem, then,” reasoned clotille. “now, i don’t know which is the harder task, the marrying off of baug or the causing of cousin letitia to think that the door of hope has at last come open to the dark man,” said clotille to her- self. time passed away, conroe and clotille were graduated from college, the former entering a medical school, while the latter went to boston to perfect herself in music. in boston, clotille met and studied eina, and felt convinced that she had at last come upon the girl that could wrest from baug the control of his heart. eina, who was an orphan, grew to be fond of clotille, and expressed a desire to come to belrose to live. this was exactly what clotille desired, and shortly after her return home she wrote, tell- ing eina to come. now that we have seen how eina came to bel- rose, mr. molair may proceed to pay his visit. the visit is made. the plantation, never through sales separated a family, and from time to time emancipated such slaves as showed that they had attained unto the full stature of industrious, civilized, moral beings. in short, to my ancestors, whatever else it was to others, slavery was a civilizing school, and to deal honorably by those helpless people was a family principle, sacredly transmitted from one genera- tion to another.” “were not your people favorable to the war of secession, which, whatever its mainspring, would have resulted in buttressing the institution of slavery?” asked eina. “the institution of slavery was not, of course, of southern origin. it was with us an inheritance from a world-wide custom. we happened to get a larger dose of it than any other part of the world, as our home was near the latitude of the original home of the enslaved race. my family believed the institution wrong and harmful in the large, but felt that the south could better work out the problem of getting rid of the insti- tution alone rather than in connection with another section lacking the sympathetic con- sideration that flows from immediate touch with a problem,” responded molair. “well, you have stood your examination very well, mr. molair. right gladly will i hear what you have to say,” said eina earnestly. “truly, miss rapona, there is not a spark of prejudice behind what i am to say. i confess to pointing the way. having strong pride of race but not to prejudice. of course prejudice is here, but thus far it has not inoculated me.” eina nodded her acceptance of this assurance. “miss rapona, was there ever in all the world a more pitiable spectacle than that which the presence of the colored man in america consti- tutes to-day? his return to africa is precluded by the fact that africa is projected on a lower economic and spiritual plane than that to which the negro is willing to fall back, nor would the economic forces of the south quietly submit to a general exodus even if the negro desired. so the negro is riveted here by the economic conditions within and without. “in the south there is a pronounced feeling against the absorption of the race into the po- litical and social fabric, and he is a political and social ishmaelite, with his hand against every one and every one's hand against him by the very logic of the situation. the door of hope is closed to him. there are no stars, no moons, no suns to light up his dark skies, so far as the body politic is concerned, and his spirit must struggle with all the darkness and briers and bogs of the spiritual jungle without the cheering light of hope, which, even when unrealized, serves to make men better. to work, to eat, to sleep, to die is the utmost programme that organized so- ciety in the south offers this race.” the visit is made. mr. molair now paused for an instant as if to allow his words to sink into eina’s heart. “but, mr. molair, is there no hope?” asked eina. “the one thing needed in the south is political co-operation between the better elements of whites and the negroes, but the manner of the coming of emancipation, enfranchisement and elevation to high public station seems to have riveted the negro into one party, while the terror of being ruled by an alien and backward race have chained the real strength of the white race into an opposing party. you can see at a glance the utter depths of the sentiments, passions, and interests involved and what labor it will require to emancipate both races. i see no forces at work looking to the blending of the political interests of the white and colored people, and so my voice at this stage of the storm is simply ‘no land in sight.” as long as there is to be a bitter political war between the negroes and the whites of the south, how can the condition change?” on and on the discussion ran, eina asking ques- tions and molair seeking with the utmost candor to enlighten her from his viewpoint. after the question had been fully canvassed molair said: “now, miss rapona, you have the situation be- fore you. two worlds call you to-night. which will you enter?” - molair now stood up and bent his gaze upon the bowed head of the troubled girl before him. in an absent-minded sort of way eina looked up into pointing the way. molair's face, while her thoughts ran out into the wide, wide world to all that this strong, vigorous young scion of the white race typified. as eina sat reflecting, thus ran her thoughts: “here stands before me power, an offshoot of that force that bade its flag keep pace with all the journeyings of the sun. power and glory, such as the anglo-saxons can give, await me. centuries of power call unto me. “over against this picture stands a tragic situa- tion and present day weakness, whatever else the future may hold. in this tragic situation is my dear, dear friend. if i enter it, i shall at least have the consolation to know that i do not per- sonally deserve whatever of suffering comes to me. is it better for the souls of men to be under a load that is crushing, or wittingly or unwitting- ly a part of the crushing load?” eina now arose and the two stood silent for a few moments. each felt the awful gravity of the situation. “just a personal word, miss rapona, before you decide. permit me to testify to my respectful admiration of you, drawn from my two interviews with you. perhaps i seem to go too far, but when nature has the conception that what is to be done must be done quickly, it works in a hurry. note the proverbial precociousness of the child that is not to dwell on earth very long. i would much enjoy the cultivation of your acquaintance, and feel that i would be blessed with your friendship, the visit is made. simply. of course, if you choose to cast your lot with the colored people, you dig between us that unfathomable southern gulf which is not on the maps, but which is far deeper and wider than those that are,” said molair. “on which side of this gulf is the man with the face of mystery?” was the thought that now came into eina’s mind. was it fate that sug- gested it? lifting her perplexed and all but tearful gaze to molair she said: “give me time to decide.” “very well. if you claim your place in the white race, i hope to see you again. if you choose to cast your lot with the colored people—farewell —forever,” said molair, his voice falling to a sol- emn whisper. eina shuddered. “good-night,” she said, ling- ering on the words. with her hand to her cheek, lost in meditation, eina stood long on the spot where molair left her. chapter v. yet debating. " n, n the night of seth molair's visit to eina, his mother sat in the library awaiting his return, as was her custom when he was out at night. “you are a little late to-night, seth,” said mrs. molair, as she received her son’s greeting kiss. “yes, mother; i have just left the home of the most beautiful, the most attractive girl that ever i saw.” mrs. molair's heart gave a wild leap of joy. over her life there was but the one dark shadow. seth was her only child, was unmarried, seemed to have never thought of matrimony for himself, and as a consequence of his course had raised the fear in her mind that their branch of the historic molair family was near its end—a thought that was far from pleasing to her. more than any- thing else in the wide world, this threatened ex- tinction of the molair name gave her deep con- cern. imagine, therefore, the rapture of her mother heart when she heard the cool, impassive molair grow enthusiastic over the charms of a young woman. “describe her to me, seth,” said mrs. molair, laying aside a book which she had been reading, and looking approvingly at the idol of her heart. yet debating. “you would really have to see her to get a prop- er idea of her beauty, mother. as rich as is the english language, it really has no words that fit- tingly portray the charms of that girl.” mrs. molair felt like kissing seth rapturously, so happy was she to find him, as she thought, thus enamored of one of the gentler sex. “where on earth has she been, seth, that i have never seen her?” “oh, she has just arrived.” “do your best at describing her,” requested mrs. molair with enthusiasm. molair now attempted a description of eina, and the picture that he drew served to stimulate mrs. molair's interest in the girl. “oh, may it be that kind heaven has at last sent me a wife for my son,” was the inward prayer of mrs. molair. - “but, mother,” said molair, a look of deep se- riousness on his manly face; “there is danger that she will cast her lot with, and pass as one of, the colored people.” “the stars above!” exclaimed mrs. molair, holding up her hands in an attitude of horror and repugnance. “really white?” she asked. “her complexion is lighter than that of many whites whom we call our friends, and she can pass the finger nail test all right,” replied molair. “where does she come from ?” “boston.” pointing the way. “that boston | seth we must save this girl. we must not allow a calamity like that to befall her.” “i have been to see her and sought to dissuade her. i have not thus far succeeded, however,” said molair. “i’ll see her,” said mrs. molair, “and when i have finished talking to her she will be in her right mind.” it was agreed upon by seth and his mother that she was to go to see eina early the follow- ing morning. mrs. molair now retired to bed, but did not fall asleep, her mind having been thrown into such a feverish state by the news which seth had brought. the disappearance of many of the great names of the southland was traceable to alliances with attractive colored girls, which al- liances were of course denied the sanction of law, thus throwing the progeny of great families be- yond the pale of law. thus far the molair family had made its escape, and while mrs. molair had the utmost confidence in seth’s character, she could not be indifferent to the fate that had over- taken other family names, that of the gilbreath’s for example. “if this girl- can pass the test and can enter freely into the white race she might become my boy's wife, for evidently she has deeply impressed him. if she abide in the colored race and a gen- yet debating. uine attachment ripens between her and my only boy child!—” such were the thoughts that coursed through mrs. molair's mind, rendering her night a sleepless one. on the following morning mrs. molair was up with the sun, and was soon speeding rapidly to eina's home. she rang the door bell and uncle jack responded. when he saw that it was mrs. molair, uncle jack called into service one of his most chester- fieldian bows, then escorted her with much re- spectful dignity into eina's parlor, where she took a seat to await eina's coming. as she noted the beauty and taste of the appointments of eina’s home, her heart warmed to the girl. “only a sweet, pure soul could produce an effect like this,” said mrs. molair to herself. when eina appeared at the parlor door and mrs. molair caught sight of her beautiful face, flash- ing out in no uncertain way the nobility and lofti- ness of her soul, mrs. molair heaved a sigh of re- lief. “if all else fails, thank heaven, here is no mor- ganitic pitfall for seth, unless mother nature who chiseled that girl’s brow is a miserable liar,” thought mrs. molair, as in her joy over the type she judged eina to be she rushed to and kissed her. eina could not, of course, understand the warmth of the greeting, but felt honored, for, no pointing the way. less than in her own case the worth of mrs. molair was written in her countenance and bearing. when seated mrs. molair began: “miss rapona, i am mrs. molair, the mother of seth. i have come to take up the question of your social align- ment.” “i am much pleased to meet you. your son is a noble man at heart and in life, i feel. i am so glad that i met him. since i see his mother, i understand the source of his qualities,” said eina. “seth's father, child, was the finest man that ever lived,” said mrs. molair, her love for her de- ceased husband not allowing even seth to be classed above him. but her mother love now asserted itself, and she said: “and so is seth.” “so we have two men, each being the fin- est that ever lived,” said eina laughingly, in thorough sympathy with mrs. molair's praise of her husband and son. in the background of her mind, however, there was a third candidate for this honor of being the finest; but his case has not yet been heard—the man with the face of mys- tery. “child, my son tells me that it is possible that you may ally yourself with the colored people. have you ever associated with them before?” asked mrs. molair. “my association has all along been with the whites, save in the case of one girl friend at whose instance i am here in the south,” said eina. yet debating. “there is a faint suggestion of the dark in your complexion, no more, however, than what numer- ous of our best white people have. how does that come?” asked mrs. molair. “i am of spanish, indian and caucasian de- scent.” “have you any negro blood?” “the spaniards got their tinge of the dark through the moors, they say, and the moors are africans,” replied eina. “my child, you can pass for white. we do not bar those races socially that have given marked evidence of governmental efficiency. we don’t draw the line on spaniards or a brave, fighting people like the indians. we don’t object to that blood. did not seth tell you about the handicaps affecting the colored race?” asked mrs. molair. “he did.” “now let me tell you some things that seth could not tell you. by the way, where is your mother?” asked mrs. molair. “passed away. died when i was an infant.” “father?” “gone, too. lived to see me fifteen years of age, then left me.” “poor, dear child. do you think i am going to allow you to choose life in the southern under- world without doing my best to prevent it?” said mrs. molair, now more determined than ever to keep eina within the white race. pointing the way. “well, one of the saddest cases that ever came to my ears was that of a colored lad in a neighbor- ing county. a white man uttered forbidden words to this boy’s sister. the girl fled to her home and told her brother of what had been said to her. borrowing from our southern code on such matters, this boy went to the home of the white man, drew a pistol, spoke his mind very freely, but did not kill. “the next morning the white man armed him- self, went to this boy’s place of work, called him out and shot him down. that is what happened where a colored girl told and her brother took the matter in hand. if that girl has another brother that is concerned in her protection, do you think she will be so ready to sentence him to death by reporting insults?” drawing near to eina, mrs. molair threw an arm around her neck and talked to her long and earnestly, laying bare experiences that had been reported to her by the colored women of belrose. at length she said: “now, my daughter, i exhort you to come into a race where men are encour- aged to play the part of men. will you not come?” again there came into eina’s mind the face of the man of mystery. “mrs. molair, i shall give earnest thought to all that you have said. when the debate within my soul is over, i will render my decision.” mrs. molair now arose and took a hurried leave. to her mind there was no possible ground of de- chapter vi. she investigates. t: his is awful! this is simply awful!” # thus murmured clotille strange as she stood upon eina’s porch stung, dazed, ir- resolute as the result of the reading of a little note from eina which uncle jack had handed her at the door, instead of granting her admission to see her friend. the sympathetic uncle jack had surmised that all was not going well, and his funereal counten- ance as he met clotille had been in keeping with the sombre news contained in the note, although of course he knew nothing of its contents. he now stood pitying in his heart the perturbed clo- tille and resolved to be of assistance to her if he could. as eina was in the house within hear- ing distance uncle jack could not say what he desired, so he resorted to a ruse to get an oppor- tunity to whisper to clotille. “w'y miss clotille, look at yer harniss. who hitched up fur yer?” said uncle jack loudly, mov- ing off towards clotille's buggy and beckoning for her to follow. going to the far side of the horse and having clotille do the same so that eina, if peering through the window blinds, might not see what was going on, uncle jack tinkered with the harness while clotille read to him the little note from eina, which ran as follows: she investigates. “my own dear clotille. “you know how dearly i love you and how i crave your companionship. you will understand, therefore, that there is tremendous pressure on me from some source to prompt me to deny my- self the boon of your companionship for some days—just how many i cannot say. when we meet i will explain all. for the time being i must have solitude, must travel to the very heart of things and let my darkened soul catch for it- self the light of life. the world confuses me, but i know that there is peace somewhere. what- ever else betides, i am clotille’s one friend, “eina “i understan’s it all now. dem molairs hez been wukin’ on her. mistah molair wuz heah las’ night an’ missus molair wuz heah dis mornin’. she’s fine blood an’ dey wants her in dare race i 'specks. deys 'bout got her min’ sorter mixed up an’ she 'bout doan’ know whether ter be er white lady er er colored 'oman, es dey puts it. 'twouldent s’prise me if dis heah same lady ain’t some queen er nuther passin’ roun’ under some 'sumed name,” said uncle jack, nodding his head knowingly. “oh, is that it, you think?” said clotille, begin- ning to grasp the meaning of the note which had been handed her. “but i’ll watch dem molairs. trus’ dat ter me. i’s goin’ ter slip baug peppers out heah an ef he gits er chance he’ll switch things back.” pointing the way. clotille felt like hugging and kissing uncle jack. in fact, to tell the truth on the sad, yet happy, girl, she did that very thing. at the very mo- ment when she felt her structure crumbling in a most unexpected manner, here was dear old uncle jack to prop it up. nothing could be more damaging to clotille's hopes than for eina to cross over into the white race, for then she would be far removed from the possibility of marrying baug and taking him out of her way. assured by uncle jack that he would watch over eina and seek to thwart the purposes of all who sought to have her turn her back on the colored world, clotille rode home with a somewhat lighter heart than that which had throbbed in her body immediately after reading eina’s note. eina was puzzled. she soon made the dis- covery that baug peppers affiliated with the col- ored people socially and her great desire to un- ravel the mystery of his face threw itself on the side of her entering the colored race. “but does this man do himself justice to re- main classified as a negro? he could go else- where and pass for white easily. would i not be doing right to become acquainted with him and persuade him for his own good to go to some other part of the world and pass as a white man?” asked eina of herself. eina now decided to go deeply into this ques- tion of race, and for the time being to withhold * a- i she investigates. herself from social affiliation with either race. she came to the conclusion that through the un- tutored uncle jack, a child of nature, she would seek to get at the real essence, the ground work of the negro soul, its basal philosophy of life. she decided, therefore, to encourage uncle jack to talk, to enter with zest into his chatter and to have him thus in artless fashion lay bare his soul. in keeping with this purpose, one afternoon when uncle jack’s work was done and he was sitting in a chair in the back yard, under the shade of a tree, with his legs crossed and a pipe in his mouth, eina drew near, dragging a chair with her. she took a seat in front of uncle jack with a view to having him entertain her, while she studied him and through him his kind. “uncle jack, one thing has always somewhat puzzled me. when the civil war was going on, why did you colored people stay in the fields and feed the armies that were fighting to keep you in slavery?” asked eina. “wal, miss, i kaint speak fur de res’ uv de cullud folks. i kin sorter 'splain ter yer 'bout myself. i 'membah wal whut er fix i wuz in w’en de war broke out. suah, dar wuz er mighty wrestlin’ in my heart. yer see i allus 'preciated good treatment. er dog 'ull do dat. wal, my ole massa an ole missus sartainly treated me wal, treated me wal. miss, i didun’t hab none uv de hard times i heah udder cullud folks talkin’ pointing the way. er bout. but bless yer life, honey, some uv 'um had 'um an' had 'um bad, too. yer see, i b'longed ter quality white folks, shuah 'nough ladies an’ gemmens, an’ dey’s allus nice! see?” uncle jack arose, lowered his head respectfully to one side and said with humility, “miss eina, i ain’t as ellerquent wid dis pipe ez i would be ef i had er chaw uv terbacky. ef yer please, i’ll go git me er chaw.” eina excused him to prepare for a more elo- quent delivery. duly equipped uncle jack re- turned and resumed his story. “i wuz 'splainin' 'bout whut er fix i wuz in w’en de war broke out. ef evah i felt like cryin’ w’en i didun’t, it wuz w’en i wuz holdin’ massa’s sturrup ez he wuz mountin’ his war hoss ter ride ter de army.” “cry for what, uncle jack?” asked eina. “three things in one. fust, 'cause he wuz goin’. secon', 'cause his goin’ kep’ me frum goin’ ter fight ergin him. third, 'cause my missus an her two dorters wuz so sad lak.” “how do you reconcile those sentiments, uncle jack, and how did his going affect your going? it would seem that his going would have made your going the easier.” “yer doan understan’ cullud folks, miss. our hearts tek in de good frum ev’ry sose. my massa had been kin’ ter me, so i hated ter see him leave. i wanted ter be er free man an’ ter he'p dem dat wuz tryin’ ter free me. wid him leavin’ i couldn’t she investigates. go, caus' harm might er come ter my missus an’ her two dorters. ef i could 'uv got er way fust, ez i wuz tryin’ ter do, de ’sponserbility uv de fambly would er been on him, but ez he beat me ter it de 'sponserbility wuz on me, an i had ter stay.” “but, uncle jack, somehow i thought that you were a soldier. how do you account for your mil- itary carriage?” “hah, hah,” laughed uncle jack, his dark face beaming with pride. “no, miss, yer is er leetul wrong dare. i ain’t got no miluntary kerridge an' ain’t had none. i seen ole genul grant ridin’ in one wunst, but i nevah got so high ez ter hab er kerridge. i ain’t nebbar had er miluntary kerridge.” eina smiled at uncle jack’s misapprehension of her remark but did not enlighten him as to her true meaning. uncle jack sat for a few seconds musing upon the exaggerated reports of his generalship that. had evidently gone north, to be picked up by miss eina. “goin’ back ter whar i lef’ off,” uncle jack resumed, “ole massa rode erway. i stayed behin’ an’ looked atter der wimmins wid er eagle eye. ole missus b'lieved in jack, b'lieved in him wid all her soul. i slep’ at her do w’en eber de yankees wuz er round. yes, dey b'lieved in jack. an’ fore god, i’d er died lak a cur dog fo'e i’d er let any scoundrel tech er stran’ uv hair on enny uv 'um’s head.” pointing the way. uncle jack now paused and dropped his head. tears came streaming down the old man’s cheeks. “what is the matter?” inquired eina, anxiously. in broken tones he said: “i did wanter so bad ter han’ ole missus an her chillun back ter ole massa jes’ as he lef’’um wid me, but wuk an’ pray, pray an’ wuk ez hard ez i could, dey jes’ wouldn’t stay in de worl’ till ole massa got back. dey took sick one by one an’ died. oh, ef i didn’t pray an’ groan for de lawd ter spar’’um, no botty evah did. i wanted 'um ter live ter see ole massa ergin so dey could tell him how good an’ kin’ jack wuz. but dey died; dey died.” uncle jack's chin fell over on his breast and the tears rolled down his black face with as much fluency as though those mourned were of his own family and their corpses were even then in the next room. chapter vii. the parson flees. over what uncle jack had said. “it would seem to me that a people with the kind of heart indicated by this old man cannot at base be bad,” mused eina. “i doubt whether anywhere in the world its kindliness of spirit can be duplicated,” she reflected. she determined after supper to probe deeper into uncle jack’s heart. in due time uncle jack summoned eina to her supper, which was so well prepared that it stimu- lated her rather feeble appetite. as uncle jack stood by and observed that his cooking pleased eina, a smile of deep satisfaction came upon his sober face. “uncle jack, you were once a slave, but you seem to be as serene as an angel now. how did you manage to get along? your nature does not seem to have been at all soured.” uncle jack dropped into a chair in the corner of the dining-room and said: “dare wuz er little sumpin’ dat i perscivered w’en i wuz er kid dat he'ped me outen many er tight place,” began uncle jack. “i allus did have er way uv notussing things an’ puttin' one an’ one togedder. ez er boy, i notussed dat dare pointing the way. warn’t nevah no harm in er white man ef you could jes' git him ter laf right good an hard. ef yer will let me, i will gib yer er sample uv how i could allus make my git by. “wal, w'en i wuz er youngster i wuz de house boy an’ allus had ter wait on de tabul. “one sunday de ole missus an her two dorters went visitin’ an’ lef’ only de ole man at home. wal, we had duck fur dinner dat day. i knowed ole massa wouldn’t eat but one leg, so i pitched in an’ cut one leg off, jes’ ez smooth an’ nice, an’ et it up 'fore dinner. “yer see, i allus carved de duck, an’ ez dare wuz only one leg ter be called fur, dare would be no missin’ uv de udder leg. massa nevah et more dan one duck leg at er meal. “wal, all wuz goin' 'long nice untel er few minutes 'fore dinner. here comes erlong ole majah dinkins an his boy ter visit us. wal, sah, i could 'uve choked dat kid fur comin’ tell he wuz blue, fur he had et wid us erfore an’ he allus called fur er duck leg, w'en we had duck. w'en i saw dat boy i begin ter trimble in my boots, fur i knowed iwuz shuah goin’ ter hab trouble. “at las' ev’ry botty wuz 'roun de tabul, an’ de duck wuz bein’ passed 'round. one leg had been handed out terole man dinkins, an’ w’en de boy wuz retched he wuz axt whut he wanted. ‘a leg, please, squealed de leetul villun in er pipin’ voice. shuah, miss, i tell yer i could 'uve choked dat chap almos’ ter def. pointing the way. 'nough jam fur er pore innersint cullud boy. i hated ter do whut i am goin’ ter tell yer erbout, but i had ter. “it wuz er warm day an ole missus had de preacher ter set out in de yard under er big oak. i watched my pints kinder close. missus wanted er chance ter talk wid massa by hisself so she mout tell him dat dis preacher wuz ergin slav’ry an” he could erford ter treat him er leetul bettah dan wuz common ter him. she foun’ ole massa an’ took him way out in de back yard ter de grin stone ter grin de carvin’ knife. “while massa wuz grin'in’ erway, missus tole him 'bout bringin’ de preacher, an’ massa fairly cussed. i knowed massa an’ knowed jes' 'bout how long he'd stay hot w'en missus wuz talkin' ter him, so i 'sided ter ack at wunst. i runs out ter de preacher an’ says, “mistah, kaint yer help er pore fambly out? come quick.” i led him ter de corner uv de house an’ said, “peep er 'round an’ see massa 'bout ter kill missus, an’ w'en he hez done done dat he is goin’ ter come an’ kill yer. won’t yer please go an’ stop massa?” “jes’ den massa was at his hottis' an’ wuz layin' off his han’s kinder wile lak. “‘whut he wanter kill me fur?” de tremblin’ preacher axt. “‘he doan’ lak preachers an’ you done come home wid his wife,” i says. “wal, sah, dat pore man turnt all sorts er colors. he wheeled er roun’ an’ shot er cross dat the parson flees. field laker streak uv greased lightnin’ wid me right atter him hollerin’ fur life an’ death. hear- in’ me hollerin’ an’ seein’ de race, massa broke out ter try ter ketch us ter fin’ out de trouble. de preacher looked er roun’ an’ saw massa run- nin’ an’ de knife gleamin’ in de air. he twisted outen dat long tail coat, recht up an’ grabbed his hat an’ by gimminy, ef dat eldah didun’t run ain’t nobody evah run since de worl’ comminced. de scriptur’ sez “run de race wid patience, but dat eldah busted dat scriptur’ wide open, fur dare shuah wuzun't no patience in de way he run. “yer may not b'lieve it, but w’en dat man come ter our ten rail fence he leapt it 'thout put- tin his hand 'ter it, an’ had er clear foot ter spare. talk erbout er man bein’ called an 'spired ter preach, dat man wuz called an 'spired ter run dat day shuah ez yer is bawn ter die. “wal, sah, i wuz so tickled dat i fell down flat an’ had ter stuff my mouf full uv nasty weeds ter keep frum lafin'. massa come up wid me an’ axt me whut in de wuz de mattah wid me. de tears wuz comin’ outen my eyes. dey wuz tears uv lafin', but massa thort dey wuz tears uv. sorry. i tole rhassa er lie. i tole him dat de preacher wuz so hungry dat he wuz feert dat he wouldn’t git ernough eatin’ wid de ballunce an’ dat he took an’ stole de fattis’ chicken an’ run off wid it. den massa wuz mad shuah 'nough an he tole missus ter nevah bring er nuther preacher ter his house. chapter viii. uncle jack's conversion. wwj hen uncle jack was through with his £ , ...) narrative he began to clear away the dishes, * eina remaining to keep him company the while. when this task was over, uncle jack said: “miss eina, ef yer doan’ keer i'll sing er hime an’ hab er prarr wid yer fo' we goes ter our restin’ places.” w eina assented and the two now bowed while uncle jack prayed. in his prayer there was manifest the simple faith of a child, a belief in the miraculous power of god and his readi- ness to resort to the miraculous. to uncle jack heaven was a reality, just over the way, and as he talked of it eina could catch the gleam of the gold on the streets, hear the angel shouts and taste of the nectar flowing from the throne of god. uncle jack's plea for protection through the night and for light to souls that were gropin' in de dark was freighted with all the eloquence of a plea born of a whole heart, and when he arose the tears were streaming down eina’s cheeks. uncle jack very solemnly bade her good night, evidently not desiring to say or do anything that would disturb the solemn frame of mind in which he now found himself and eina. pointing the way. “de sperrit is on me an i mus’ let it stay long ez it will,” was uncle jack's thought. the next morning at breakfast eina said, “un- cle jack, tell me how you professed religion, won’t you?” “yer axes me 'bout my gittin' 'ligion, an i is shuah goin’ ter tell yer,” responded uncle jack. “yer see, miss eina, in slav’ry times de cullud folks had ter set up in de galluries at de white churches, an’ frum dat fack an’ frum bein’ slaves dey kinder thort dat god had er kinder secon’ han’ intruss in dare gittin' 'ligion. dey felt kind uv humble lak’ an’ thort it took er whole lot ter git god ter look at ’um. de freeness uv salva- tion wuzun't talked erbout much. de hardniss uv gittin’ ter god wuz de nachel thort uv er pore slave. dare is er heap in whut er man jes’ nachally thinks, jes’ nachally thinks. “wal, gittin' 'ligion got ter be er hard thing 'mongst de slaves, an’ it wuz kep’ up atter free- dom. dare wuz er mourners’ bench fixed fur yer, an’yer had ter go ter dat, night atter night. yer had ter be chased by de debbul, had ter pay er visit ter hell, had ter be shuck ovah hell holdin’ ter er spider web, an’ had ter pray in er grabe yard. now, it wuz jes’ on dat las’ pint whar i got my fall down. i jes' couldent come through at de mourners’ bench an’ wuz tole ter go ter de grabe yard atter night. “in dem days i had er fine dog name wolf. he was called dat 'cause he looked jes’ uncle jack's conversion. ’zackly lak er wolf. one night erbout dark i started out towards de grabe yard ter pray, an’, 'thout my knowin’ it, dat dog followed me. i felt all right till i comminced ter git 'mong dem trees. all dat stillness seemed ter settle right down on me, an’ i could heah myself breath- in’, an’ feel myself gittin’ er leetul hot. but i sez ter myself, ‘i’se goin’ ter stick it out, an’ run jes’ w’en i kaint he'p it.” “i started ter kneel down an er big ole rabbit jumped up right berhin’ me, an, 'fore de lawd it lak ter skeert der life outen me. w’en i foun’ out whut it wuz i furgot whut i come out fur an’ cussed lak a sailor. yes, miss, i is sorry ter say it, but i cussed. “wal, dat grieved me ter my heart. den i 'termined dat i wuz shuah boun’ fur hell ef i didun’t do sumpin'. so i gits down on my knees an’ shets bofe my eyes right tight. but ter save my life i couldn’t think 'bout god fur won- derin’ whut mought be movin' 'round in de grabe yard nigh unter me. now, heahs how i come ter allus b'lieve dat a man should be one thing or tuther. i tried ter d’vide up twix god an’ my- self. while bofe eyes wuz still shet i 'grees wid myself right quick ter compermise wid my skeert feelin’s an’ keep one eye shet fur god’s sake an one eye open fur jack’s sake. i opened one eye an’ lo! dare wuz standin’ right en front uv me whut looked laker great big wolf. it wuz pointing the way. my dog ter be shuah, but ez i looked at dat ani- mule i forgot dat i evah had er dog in de worl’. “talk erbout er man’s bein’ skeert, dat' ain’t no name fur whut i wuz. i thort dat wolf wuz de very debbul hisself come atter me for sinnin' an’ cussin’. holler? w’y, ’oman, dem dead folks ain’t goin’t ter heah no more sich hollerin’ ez i done till gabrill hisself makes de noise. an’ ter tell de trufe he’ll hatter blow dat trumpit mighty loud ter git by whut i done wid my nachal mouf. an' de way i hollered skeert me ergin. i sorter feert dat any sleepin’ ghost jes' mus’ er heered me. an ef evah yer saw er man run, dis heah cullud man whut yer see heah shuah did run. “atter i had got er good ways er long i kinder looked back an’ dare wuz dat debbul right berhin' me. wal, sah, frum dat time on it wuz runnin' an’ hollerin’ an’ hollerin’ an’ runnin’. “i broke right straight fur de church whar de people wuz all getherin’. dey heered me comin', an’, ’owan, de noise de folks did make shoutin’ fur joy wuz er sight! yer see dey thort i’d dun come through. some uv de sisterin’ in dey joy tried ter meet and ketch me, but i kep’ comin’ tell i got plum in dat church an’ fell on de floor. w’en i come ter myself dey wuz all eroun’ me clappin’ han’s and shoutin’ fur joy. “now, i knowed dat dey would be 'spectin’ me ter do sumpin’ w’en i got up. so i jes’ said ’taint no harm ter say, ‘glory ter god!” so i hopped up clappin’ han’s, sayin’, ‘glory to god! uncle jack's conversion. glory ter god! wal, dey all tuk it dat i wuz converted. - “i let it stan’ dat way ter keep frum skander- lizin’ de meetin', but i went off ter talk ter er white preacher, an’ from him i got de white folks quiut kind uv 'ligion. but de cullud folks thort i got it dat night. ef bein’ skeert uv whut i thort wuz de debbul is gittin' 'ligion, den i more'n got it dat night, i tell yer. but ef turnin’ yerself loose bodaciously an’ sperritually ovah ter de great god uv heben an’ losin’ whut yer want ter do in whut he wants done, den i mus’ say dat my 'ligion 'rived ter me later on w’en i made er pint blank s’render in my heart.” chapter ix. the man appears. |ncle jack was by no means a fool, and soon divined that eina had some deep purpose " in having him talk. his thorough knowl- edge of conditions in the south, the visits of seth molair and his mother, eina’s letter to clotille, together with that sad, anxious look which eina was wearing on her face fully assured uncle jack as to the great battle that was being fought out in eina’s mind. true to his promise to clotille, uncle jack planned to introduce the man with the face of mystery, baug peppers, as a factor in the con- test. - “miss eina, i got er leetul favor i wants ter ax uv yer, please, miss,” said uncle jack to eina. “say on, uncle jack. it will have to be a very large favor for me to thing of refusing you.” “thankee, miss, thankee. in belrose dare is er fine frien’ uv mine whut i wants ter come out an’ see whar i am wukin’. i wants him ter take supper wid me dis evenin', an i wants ter know ef yer will let me eat him in de dinin’ room atter yer is done wid yer supper?” “are you a cannibal, uncle jack?” asked eina, laughingly. “whut is er kannerbull, miss, please, miss? the man appears. “a man who eats men. you say you want to eat your friend in the dining-room.” “hah, hah, hah,” laughed uncle jack heartily. “dat is shuah er good one on me. wal, my frien’ is good 'nough ter eat.” “uncle jack, i shall grant your request on one condition, and that is that you allow me to be the waitress for the occasion.” “why, laws a mussy, miss! why, no, miss. me ter hab yer ter wait on me! nevah, while my name is jackson simpkins hezekiah morris, will i'gree ter dat plan.” “all right, then, uncle jack,” said eina, seem- ing to yield. that evening when uncle jack and baug had sat down to eat supper, eina appeared at the door having on the cap and apron of a waitress. uncle jack held up his hands in horror, but baug, who had caught sight of the beautiful eina, said, “uncle jack, please be civilized.” eina looked so very pretty in her waitress’ at- tire that baug seemed to feel dimly that she was some sort of an angel whom uncle jack might drive away. baug's admonition and a look of re- buke in eina's eye quieted uncle jack. baug was not as a rule a hearty eater, but on this occasion he caused the food to disappear from the plates time and time again in order that he might have the waitress reappear the oftener. after baug had eaten about all that he could possibly eat, desiring to get one more pointing the way. look at the waitress, he slipped the biscuits out of the plate into his pocket and called for more. “my, uncle jack, this is good cooking. is there any way, uncle jack, i can get out to see you a little oftener? i always thought a great deal of you, uncle jack, as you know. now that you are getting old you need companionship,” said baug very solicitously, at the close of the meal. uncle jack chuckled inwardly. he knew that it was the comely waitress and not the aged uncle jack that baug felt needed companionship. but he appeared not to know at what baug was aim- ing. “dis place is kinder fur out an i mout move in closer whar you could see me of'ner, baug,” said uncle jack, innocently enough. “now, uncle jack, i wouldn’t think of leaving a nice place like this. no, no. stay here, uncle jack,” said baug, realizing that if uncle jack left that place there might not be an excuse for his calling at the house where this waitress was. “all right, baug, i’ll stay. i won’t go. i lak ter take yer advice.” then uncle jack added as if incidentally, “de girl dat waited on us won’t be our waitress ennymore,” consoling himself with the thought that he was at least technically tell- ing the truth, as eina was not of course the family waitress. this information seemed to throw a chill over baug's bouyant spirits, and he grew silent for a chapter x. conroe driscoll. £ ummer has gone and the green of the \ trees has given way to the somber brown * of the autumn. the students of the various institutions of learning located in belrose for the education of colored youths (there are several such) have arrived and settled down to work. in fact, thanksgiving day is here, and there is a great stir in negro social circles anent the great annual football contest between the two leading institutions of learning. society among the whites is also all agog over a game to be played between the leading university team of the south and the team of one of the north’s great schools. so the city is alive with tooting horns and college yells and flying ribbons, and gay equippages, carriages and buggies, tandems and tallyhos, bearing happy girls and pleasant-looking matrons all wearing their best. baug peppers is on hand with an open barouche escorting eina, looking her very loveliest. at one point in the city a congestion of vehicles occurred, and baug's carriage had to halt. it stopped just behind one occupied by seth molair and a lady who was the acknowledged beauty of the city among the whites. pointing the way. seth molair, happening to look around, saw eina, whereupon he politely lifted his hat and bowed. eina returned the bow with a smile. the dense crowd of white and colored people at this point, having its eyes focussed upon the two carriages because of the beauty of the occu- pants, saw the incident, and it created a mild sen- sation, it not being customary for white men to practice the amenities toward colored women. all eyes now turned towards eina, known to the crowd as a colored girl, because baug was her escort. there she sat, the very essence of the beautiful, her black eyes sparkling and her rich complexion tinged with a peach's red. so inno- cent, so open, so noble was her appearance that every suggestion of the sinister that arose be- cause a white man had spoken to her died on the threshold of the mind tentatively entertaining it. as baug peppers drove through belrose that day his eye wandered from face to face, and, of course, frequently back to eina, and though bel- rose had turned out its loveliest creatures, he found none to compare with her. when they entered the football grounds they found a great throng there, and when the carriage halted eina stood up to gaze about her. grace characterized the demeanor of the women, their attire being all that the most fastidious taste could exact, while the men, too, presented a splendid appearance. there was everywhere an air of culture. | conroe driscoll. “oh, who can doubt the future of this people, who can be ashamed to be numbered with them when they gaze upon a scene like this?” murmured eina. baug now stood up by eina's side, and the two presented so fine an appearance that when a squad of marchers passed that way one of the group shouted, “three cheers for peppers and the queen that is with him,” and the cheers were given with a hearty good will. eina noted the abundant good humor and the enthusiasm that characterized the throng, and turning to baug, she said: “a people so consti- tuted that they have a well of happiness within themselves, to which they can repair when the outer world goes dry, will live long on the earth.” “well spoken,” baug replied. amid the cheers of their respective partisans the two football teams trotted out on the field and lined up for the struggle. each of the teams was composed very largely of men who were spending their last year in school, and it was realized that the struggle was to be one of the most desperate ever played in the history of the two schools. moving about among the players was the stal- wart form of conroe driscoll. of late conroe had been urging clotille to set a time, approxi- mately, for their wedding, but as baug was not yet out of the way, and as miss letitia was still pessimistic as to what the colored man would amount to as a colored man, clotille, anxious, if pointing the way. possible, to retain her cousin’s favor and obtain the fortune, was not disposed as yet to yield to conroe's pleadings. conroe had learned that his color formed the basis of miss letitia's objections to him, and the situation grieved him sorely. “it is a downright shame for a dark man to have to battle for the hand of a dark girl. it is an abomination,” was conroe's comment on the situation. he felt assured that clotille loved him, but was deeply stung that she should hold back for a mo- ment on account of the fortune. having brooded over his case a great deal, the day of the football game found him in a rather desperate mood. in fact, he was largely disheartened and was rather indifferent in spirit as to whether he did or did not continue the battle of life, afflicted as he was at such a vital point by a reflection of color preju- dice or color handicap within his own race. of course there were thousands and thousands of colored people of light complexion who did not draw the color line, but what advantage was this fact to conroe when the one mulatto who had charge of the girl of his choice did draw the line? conroe bestowed upon the school which he was attending a wealth of devotion, being profoundly grateful to it for having provided the way by means of which he could catch an inspiring glimpse of the upper realms of life, even if he was not to be spared to enter those realms. conroe driscoll. it was his resolve, therefore, to yield every atom of his strength to the task of winning the victory for his team that day, and it mattered little to him as to the price that should be exacted of him, even unto his death. the ball was put into play, and it was soon seen that the two teams were about evenly matched. the first half of the game was played with honors about evenly divided, neither side scoring. but when the second half opened it was soon apparent that some mighty force was at work on conroe's team, and it was conroe himself. in a manner that showed an utter disregard for his own safety, and that sent chill after chill of fear to clotille's heart, he played his part in the game with almost superhuman strength. the opposing team was quick to note where their danger lay and began to center their at- tacks on conroe in an effort to weaken him. the fact that he invited the attacks of the entire opposing team did not daunt, but seemed rather to please him. when called upon to carry the ball it was a thrilling sight to all save clotille to see the manner in which he ploughed along, with the opposition in its entirety clinging to him. when the ball was in the enemy's hands, like a steam engine he broke through all oppo- sition and tackled the one carrying the ball, only to be heavily piled upon himself by the opposition team. how conroe craved a blow that would kill! pointing the way. “others have died on the football ground, and why may not i?” was the cry of his heart. conroe's team was nearing the goal line of the opposition and the ball was given to him for a plunge. a dash, a crush, a falling down, the ball carried forward to the danger line, and con- roe lay gasping upon the ground. water carriers rushed to him with their sponges and the doctors were summoned. “two ribs broken, it seems,” one doctor mur- mured to another. “oh, is he dead? is he dead?” cried clotille, dropping to her knees, clasping her hands, her heart the home of agony. when conroe regained consciousness he sprang to his feet and said: “i am all right.” the doctor looked at him, saw that he gave no sign of being pained, and thought that he had possibly been mistaken. the doctor suggested that he leave the game, but conroe said: “oh, go away lady doctor. i am all right. get to your places, boys.” the two teams now faced each other for the final play. the time for the game was all but out and neither team had thus far scored. the team whose goal line was now threatened saw no op- portunity to score against conroe's team, but with grim determination they awaited this final assault, resolved to use every atom of force in their beings to prevent the score. conroe driscoll. the captain had his doubts about conroe's abil- ity to handle the ball at this crisis owing to the manner in which he had been battered. he turned to catch the gleam of conroe's eye to see whether the latter felt equal to the task. “see that i get that ball,” was the message that conroe flashed to the captain. the opposition team caught the exchange of significant glances and prepared for conroe. the whistle blew, the signals were called, and conroe received the ball. “in this happy hour, across the goal line of the enemy, oh, heaven, give me death, give me death!” with this prayer upon his lips, conroe made the plunge. like wild beasts of the forests the opposition swarmed about him, trying to pull him down. his whole body seemed to him one great pain and he felt as though a world was upon him, but somehow he did not shrink. his will appeared to have converted his muscles into iron. sup- ported by his team, he slowly, steadily pushed the struggling mass of humanity opposing him, back and back and back, inch by inch. the mighty throng held its breath. slowly, doggedly, with grim determination, conroe, backed by his resolute team, continued to push his way until, across the goal line, he fell to the ground, clutching the ball as with hooks of steel. pointing the way. a mighty shout broke out upon the air and men wild with enthusiasm rushed to the scene intend- ing to carry conroe on their shoulders around the grounds. but when the struggling players had disen- tangled themselves it was found that conroe did not rise. chapter xi. eina begins to plan. ii: ina had noted the desperate character of |c. |# conroe's playing, and her woman’s intui- s - tion told her at once that his bearing was that of a soul struggling with some dark shadow. learning where conroe was taken for treat- ment, eina called on him, and by her warm, un- feigned sympathy, completely won his confidence. to her he told the story of his baffled love, how that clotille, the girl of his choice, was being withheld from him on account of his color. as conroe was a noble, handsome fellow eina divined at once that the trouble was not to be found in him but somewhere in things external to him. as she gazed upon his fine, manly face, listened to the sentiments of his heart and thought of his love for one of his own mould, from whom he was being debarred by sinister influences in american life, she then and there resolved to dedicate her life to the sweeping away of what- ever barriers stood in the way of the happiness of her beloved clotille and the admirable conroe. here then was to be a battle royal within the colored race, eina of the light complexion bat- tling against miss letitia of the light complexion, the two taking opposite views with regard to the destinies of two dark persons. pointing the way. eina had learned to esteem very highly uncle jack's philosophizings, and now that she was about to plan for the purging of the atmosphere that there might be a larger measure of hope for a man of the dark hue and less of sentiment against him, she thought that it would be well for her to go back into the past, that its mis- takes might be a guiding influence in any new movement projected. “uncle jack,” said eina, one day, as she stood observing him as he washed the buggy, “do tell me how it is that you colored people and the white people have gotten so far apart here in the south. from what i can learn there was less of personal freindship after the war than during and before it. how was that?” “ef yer’ll wait ’tell i’m done dis buggy, an’ let me hab er extry big chaw uv terbacky, an’ll lets take seats out heah in de shade uv de big tree, i'll make it plain er 'nough fur er babe,” said uncle jack. after the buggy was washed, eina arranged the chairs and suffered uncle jack to equip himself with his thought stimulator. thus situated, uncle jack launched into his subject. “befo de war i uster heah de white men 'scussin' frein’ de slaves, an’ de one thing dat dey said kep’’um back wuz dey thort dat de cullud peo- ple coulden’t be kep' at wuk ’cep’in ez slaves. dat's one reasun dat love nor money could make eina begins to plan. mos’ uv de 'ristocrat white folks 'gree ter turn de slaves loose. “whut is rich sile wid no plow ter turn it up? home uv weeds,” said uncle jack, pausing to empty his mouth of accumulated tobacco juice. “wal, w’en 'manserpation come we uns had sevvul notions. fust we thort ter’joy our liburtee by restin’ er while, jes' ter see how it feel not ter be at wuk some time. we wuz by our liburtee lak er leetul boy wider new top. we wanted ter play wid it ter see how it would do. den ergin, we uns felt dat we could 'joy our liburtee better on some udder plantation dan on ourn. yer see it wuz mighty hard fur er feller ter stan’ whar he uster be beat an’ bellow laker steer an’ feel he wuz er man. dat ole creepy feelin’ would some- how come back, an’so lots uv de cullud people lef’ fur udder plantations jes' ter git plum erway frum ole times. den ergin er new man mout not feel so spry 'round yer as yer own massa. “wal, de white folks thort we wuz quittin' fur good, an’ didun’t understan’ why we wuz runnin’ frum farm ter farm. de cullud folks wuz huntin’ fur de place whar dey could 'joy dare liburtee an’ manhood feelin's mos’. “now dare wuz er nudder fac’. dare wuz mo' in slav'ry cepin’ wuk. dare wuz 'buse in it an no talkin’ back. dat wuz er big part uv it. “de white people 'spected ter keep up dat, but de cullud man wanted ter talk back. so w'en de legislachurs met dey brung er 'bout laws dat pointing the way. jam by put us in slav’ry ergin. fac’ it wuz so close on ter it dat dare wuzunt no fun in it. “wal atter so long er time, de norf, seein’ whut we wuz headin’ towards, stepped in an’ says we ain’t goin’ ter hab no more slav’ry ter be fightin' ovah. dat wuz how we got de ballut, ter put men in de legislachur dat would keep us free an’’peal back dem jam by slav’ry laws. “wal, de legislachurs kep’ us free all right an’ we at las’ felt lak men dem days. but de white people sez dat dem legislachurs treated dem almos’ ez bad ez i heahs de people uv new yawk an’ phillerdelphia an fran sancisco hez been treated by some white folks. “wal, de bes’ white people didun’t think we wuz fittin’ ter vote an’ woulden’t hab nothin’ ter do wid us. wal, we jes” had ter take de skallerwags. now, ef dare is enny one thing er cullud man do know it is de diffunce ’tween a quality white man an’ trash. but ef yer jes' kain’t git logs ter burn, yer jes' mus’ use chips. comin’ ter de pint uv de white an’ cullud people's fallin’ out it wuz mos' 'bout de plans de white folks took ter deal wid 'um. - just here a smile appeared on uncle jack’s face, that smile that was always the forerunner of some humorous experience. “what is it now, uncle jack?” asked eina, coaxingly. “i’spec’ i kin make my meanin’ er leetul plainer ter yer by jes’ citin’ sumpin’ dat happunned ter me once 'pon er time.” - eina begins to plan. “all right, uncle jack; out with it,” said eina. “i’membah w’en i wuz er young buck an’ fust tuk it in my head ter try ter go wid de gals. de gal dat i coated fust, dat is, dat i thort i wuz coatin', wuzer big, fat, lakley-lookin' gal, an’ wuz ez good ter look at ez er nice fat pig at hog- killin’ time. an i mus’’fess dat i shuah did lak her. she could talk laker poll paritt, walk ez proud ezer peacock, sing laker markin' bird an’ dance lak er buzz saw. w’en evah i would see her doin’ enny uv dem things it would make me feel good all ovah, an’ i would jes’ say ter myself, 'ef i could jes' git dat gal, i’d feel prouder dan ef i could eat wheat bread an’ chicken fur er whole month.” “de trouble 'twixt me an’ dat gal come erbout in dis way. ez i jes' said, she wuz er talker. wal, i wuzunt in dem days. w’en i wuzunt whar she wuz i could jes’ talk ter her laker churn dasher talkin’ ter two gallons uv clabber, an’ goin’ splish er splash. but jes ez shuah ez i got whar de gal wuz, er lump uv some kin’ allus riz right up in my throat an’ ter save my life i couldent talk ter her. “i thort i wuz cunjured an’ went ter er cunjure doctah. he told me dat dare wuz er worm in my throat dat some buck had done had ter git in dare ter eat up my wurruds, so ez i coulden’t beat his time wid de gal. i done whut he tole meter do, but de wurruds wuz et up jes’ ez fas' ez evah. but i wuz jes ez steady goin’ ter see her ez evah. pointing the way. de buck dat wuz tryin’ ter beat my time, he would come ter see her, an’ me an him would set an’ set, one tryin’ ter out set de udder. dis buck had er whole lot uv gab an' i seed he wuz goin' ter beat my time, so i jes' up an’ tole him dat i would lick de stuffenin’ outen him ef he showed up at dat gal's house ergin. “de gal by dis time had erbout got plum tired uv me, 'cause i wuz kinder lak dey say moses wuz, slow uv speech, an’ she 'sided ter help de udder feller. “de nex’ visitin’ time, she wuz out en er leetul grove not fur frum de house whar she wuz stay- in’, an’ dis buck wuz dare wid her. w’en i went whar she wuz she cum up ter me an’ kinder fell on my neck an’ said, ‘oh, mistah jack, doan fit right heah ter night.” “he said he wuz goin' ter whup me ter night, an’ he’s got ter do it,” said de buck dat was my orrival fur de gal. “w’en he said dat, i made fur him, wid he gal pullin’ at my coat tail. yer mout not b'leve it, but dat gal slipped er big dead snake in my coat pockit. evah botty 'roun’ dem plantations knowed dat i wuz skeert uv snakes, dead er erlive, an’ she had kilt dat snake an’ kep’ him jes’ fur me atter she seed de fight wuz comin’. de udder feller squared hisself an’ we wuz ready fur de fight w’en de gal said, ‘laws a mussy, mistah jack, yer been layin’ down somewhar an’ er big snake done crawled up in yer pockit.” “quick ez er flash i retched er han’ ter my eina begins to plan. pockit, ter see ef she wuz er jokin’. wal, sah, w’en my han’ teched dat slick sarpin’ down in dat pockit de cole chills jes' chased one er nudder up an’ down my back. “talk erbout dancin, yer uncle jack danced in er clean place 'long erbout den. i hollered, “heah, feller, help me git rid uv dis snake. come quick.’ “whut erbout de gal?” he said ter me. “plague tek de gal, i’m bothered 'bout snakes jes' now.’ said i, dancin' 'roun’ and 'roun’, holdin’ my coat tail ez fur frum me ez i could. ‘ef yer will promis' me dat yer won’t bother my gal no more, i’ll help yer wid de snake,” he said. “wal, i felt dat ef sumpin’ didunt happen de snake wuz goin’ ter wake up an’ bite meter death, an’ den de feller would hab de gal. i thort quick an’ said, ‘it’s bettah ter be live widout de gal dan be dead widout her; yer kin hab all de gals in de worl’ef yer will help me ter save my life frum dis snake.” den de feller an’ de gal come an helped meter git off my coat an’ de snake wuz shook out. w’en i foun’ out dat de snake wuz dead i felt so 'shamed dat i slunk erway frum dat place an’ didun’t go back dare no more, nevah no more. “now de gal had er perfic’ right ter git rid er me, but dare wuz er more systermatic way uv goin' 'bout it. ef she had jes' said, “mistah jack, yer ain’t got quite ernough gab fur me, an i laks some one else better’n i doos yer, dat woul’ hab settled de whole mattah. “now, i says dis, an i sticks ter it: de cullud pointing the way. . folks knows er quality white man w'en dey sees one, an’ dey hez allus been willin’ ter foller de quality folks ef dey would only let ’um. w'en we foun’ dat our legislachurs wuz doin’ bad, ef de good white folks had come at us right, lak dey doos ter one er nudder w’en dey fin’ dat dey hez put er bad gang in, we would hab help ’um ter turn de raskils out. an’ ter dis day, dey kin git us ter wuk right wid’um ef dey will only come atter us kinder right. 'cordin’ ter my notion, den, de biggis' thing dat put an’ keeps de cullud an’ white folks er part is de unsystermatic way de white folks hez uv comin’ at de cullud folks ter straighten out things.” chapter xii. that is the question. |he next afternoon as eina was sitting upon | her porch reading a belrose paper, uncle " jack was in her front yard looking from flower bed to flower bed to see just which of the flowers demanded his attention. his kindly face was aglow with the love he felt as he moved about among these tender, beautiful children of the soil. eina, now keenly alive to anything bearing on racial friction, had just come across a tribute to the famous ku klux klan, and the laudatory character of the reference was so at variance with all that she had heard of the organization that she read the tribute through several times and then summoned uncle jack to read the article to him. as she proceeded to read, she looked up and noted such a look of woe upon uncle jack’s face that she became alarmed. “why, dear uncle jack, what on earth is the imatter?” uncle jack was shivering from head to foot. “fur de lawd's sake doan’, doan’ talk erbout dem ku kluxes,” he groaned. “why, uncle jack?” pointing the way. “wal, i'll tell yer, miss eina,” said uncle jack, now taking his chew of tobacco out of his mouth and tossing it into the cuspidor, saying, as he did so, “w’en i comes ter de ku kluxes i doan’ need nuthin’ to stimmerlate me.” “fust uv all doan'yer b'lieve dat de white peo- ple had ter oggunize ter purteck dare wimmin folks. nevah been done since de worl’ com- minced, dat is, down 'mongst our white folks. evah since i knowed er heered 'bout white folks er white ’oman’s cry hez been er army an' genuls an’ cunnels an evah thing. white folks doan’ no more have ter oggunize ter purteck dare wimmins dan dey do ter have ter go ter bed at night. white men jes’ nachally doos dat. i doan’ know who b'longed ter de ku kluxes w’en it fust started an’ i doan’ know whut it wuz started fur, but i got jes’ two things ergin 'um,” said uncle jack. “now that’s what i want to hear from some sober old-time colored man like you,” said eina. “dare ain’t ben no day in dis souf lan’ w’en de bes’ white folks coulden’t git de cullud folks ter wuk wid dem ef dey wanted ter. de truf uv de whole mattah is dat dey jes' ain’t wanted ter wuk wid us in polertics. dat is de long an’ de short uv it. “ef de white folks had come ter de cullud people in de right sperrit dey could hab put de wrong-doers out uv businiss. 'stead uv jinin’ han’ wid de cullud people an’ throwin’ de wrong- doers out, de ku kluxes come er long ter put de that is the question. cullud folks out uv polertics all together. evah botty knows dat dare wuz wrong goin’ on, but it wuz er qusshum ez ter whut wuz de bes’ way ter git de change. now dare ain’t no use in nobotty sayin’ de white folks doan’ know how ter lead de cullud folks by peacerble means. i tells yer ergin, dey wuz jes’ erbove dealin’ wid dare formah slaves ez men, an’ dat is whut brung de ku kluxes erbout.” “i think i understand your viewpoint, uncle jack,” said eina. “but here wuz de wustest harm dat wuz done by de ku kluxes. in evah man under de sun dare is some bad. in evah race dare is some men in whom more bad gits piled up dan good. evah race hez got some mighty bad folks. de ku kluxes by de secrit an’ night ways dat it had, furnished er cloak fur all de bad men in de souf. “dey says now dat de real ku kluxes wuz er kuiut, lady-lak oggunerzation fur helpin’ poor 'fenseless folks. wal, de bad white folks mus’ er bin kep out er de lady-lak ku kluxes, an’ got up er diffunt kind whut run erlong in de shadow uv de udders. de lady-lak ku kluxes mus’ er wuked mostly 'mong de white folks, fur i ain’t never foun'er cullud man yit dat run up ergin ’um dat come erway thinkin’ dat he had been layin’ in some nice ’oman’s arms. w'en de lady-lak ku kluxes got up dis midnight secrit way uv doin’ things evah bad man in de souf clapped his han’s fur joy. evah debbul kotched right hold uv de that is the question. got me. dare dead botties showed dat dey wuz all de wuss men erroun’. feelin’ dat dare wuk would be took fur ku klux wuk, dey had come ter en’ my days. “my pore, pore ole ’oman an’ leetul brats dat mout be heah ter comfirt my ole age! “ef de ku kluxes did enny good, de plans dey brung erbout, midnight an’ secrit doin’s, made it mighty bad fur enny cullud man who had er white enemy enny whar in de lan’. “it wuz er pity de white folks didun’t lead de cullud folks erway 'stead er 'sortin’ to de mid- night plan dat wuz so easy and glatly tuck up by bad people. “ugh, ugh, ugh ! let's not talk erbout ku kluxes. it’s goin’ ter be so much bettah when de white folks makes it up in dare min’s dat dey will turn in an’ try ter wuk wid de cullud folks. i sticks ter it. good white people kin lead de cullud folks ef dey will jes’’gree ter do so.” uncle jack paused awhile, as if in medita- tion. “miss eina, do yer think de bes’ white peo- ple will evah 'gree ter wuk 'long wid de cullud people in de same perlittercul yoke? dat is de qusshun,” said uncle jack, as much to himself as to eina. “that is the question,” said eina, lost in deep thought. chapter xiii. eina and baug. |e. |ina thought long over what uncle jack had let fall in his talks, and now decided that she would play the part of mediator and bring the better elements of white and col- ored people of belrose together, out of which har- monious relationship there would spring more benign influences to smile upon the pathway of her friends, conroe and clotille. in keeping with this purpose eina wrote the following note: “my dear mr. peppers: will you please call at my home at eight o’clock this evening? sharpen your wits, for i have a serious puzzle for you to unfold. cordially, “eina rapona.” “will i? will a pig eat corn? will a bee draw nectar from a flower? will i call to see miss rapona? i should say that i will,” said the happy baug upon receiving the beautifully written note that eina had sent him. exactly at one minute to eight he was ringing the door bell of eina’s home. eina was attired very simply on this occasion, and by virtue of this very fact was all the more beautiful, thought baug. after a brief conversation on current topics eina plunged into the matter for which she had summoned baug. - eina and baug. “i have asked you here to help me solve the race question for belrose,” said eina, her beau- tiful eyes resting upon baug with a trustful glance. if eina had asked baug to blow up the universe, accompanying the request with that look of confi- dence, he would not have had the heart to have said that what she asked was impossible. and yet he felt that he must get the stupendous nature of the task before her. “some very able people say that the question is absolutely unsolvable,” said baug, taking pains by his tone of voice to have himself excluded from the group of unbelievers. “i am of the opinion that it is decidedly easy of solution, at least so far as belrose is concerned,” said eina. “let me hear you on that point, miss rapona,” said baug, his interest greatly heightened. “years of development since emancipation have produced a group of cleanly, cultured, aspiring people in the colored race. the first step in the solution is for this group to take charge of and guide the racial thought and life. it can be done, and the confidence of the people in your character and ability point to you as the one man to weld this controlling group and to link it on to the masses of the colored people,” said eina. “the dearest compliment that was ever paid me in my life, when i reflect on the source,” said baug, feelingly. pointing the way. eina bowed her thanks and continued: “there is a thoroughly enlightened and humane class among our white neighbors that can be reached, i think. with the colored people properly guided and working in unison with the strength of the white people of the south, you will soon have no problem.” “i really think that you have the whole matter in a nutshell, miss rapona. i am at your service. in fact, all of my thoughts have been turned in this direction. i can hardly say for what i have been waiting. an inspiring force, i suppose,” said baug. “now, mr. peppers, in my opinion your yoke mate among the whites should be lawyer molair, seth molair.” “miss rapona,” said baug, in a subdued voice, “have you noticed how very often our minds have run in the same channel?” pausing a moment, and looking directly into eina’s face, that he might at least at this juncture hint at the deeper emotions of his heart, he asked slowly, “what do you think is the significance of this mental affinity?” eina blushed slightly. “let us discuss the psychology of our agreeing after we have won our battle,” said eina, in a tone that revealed the fact that the hour when personal questions between herself and baug were to be taken up would not be an unwelcome one. eina and baug. it was now agreed that baug was to proceed at once to the organizing of the colored people of belrose and the putting of all that was highest in their life in the lead. abortive efforts extending over many years to have certain amendments to the federal constitution enforced by influences without the south had convinced many of the more thoughtful colored people that it was high time for them to inaugurate some movement within the south itself that would serve to ameliorate the situation. baug experienced, therefore, but little trouble in harnessing the substantial forces within the negro race in his movement. the mere pros- pect of an honorable way to close the long political war between the races, which had kept the south in the background of national affairs, and had operated against the negroes locally, was hailed with delight. the next problem, and the problem, as baug viewed the matter, was to win the aid of molair. a strange letter. “let me read this letter again,” said molair. he now sat down, spread the letter before him and studied it closely as he read. it ran as follows: “mr. seth molair, “belrose. “dear sir: “you do not know me and perhaps never will. let me now stand to you as the voice of destiny. “you are doing wrong. in all your life you have done nothing actively to make the life of the colored people unbearable. this is wrong and i can soon show it to you. “what we americans need is homogeneiety in our population. in the last analysis we ought to be a people of one type. there is no room for two or more diverse ethnic types. it works for inharmony.” at this point molair, when he first read the let- ter, was very much puzzled. the letter had opened as though it came from some bitter foe of the negro, but this last re- mark seemed to point to amalgamation. with quickened interest he had gone on with the let- ter. “now, how are we to get this homogeneiety? “we can’t get the negro out of america. the economic forces of the nation, particularly of the south, and the well known love of the negro race for the land of his birth shut that idea out. pointing the way. “we can’t murder them. the eternal ages would not suffice to rid us of the accumulated strain of brutality that would be necessary for the wanton slaughter of ten millions of largely law-abiding and inoffensive people.” at this point molair's wrath had begun to mount and his eye had sought the end of the letter, desiring to know the name of the author who, having discarded emigration and annihila- tion, molair felt must be on the eve of boldly suggesting amalgamation. but the next two sen- tences cured this thought and intensely height- ened his curiosity to know just what was to be suggested. the letter continued: “nor can we for a moment tolerate the thought of amalgamation, which would throw us into the ranks of the colored races and make us heir to all their disadvantages, internal and external. homogeneiety must not come that way.” “this person must be a crank of some sort,” molair had thought at this point. “i offer two suggestions,” the letter continued, “either of which would work well, i think. first, let us pass a law forbidding all people to marry save mulattoes and white people, allowing mulat- toes to marry mulattoes only, and whites to marry whites only. we have on our hands both the li- cense system and the police power. we can re- fuse to license black people to marry, and can throw all of them in jail who try to marry con- trary to law.” a strange letter. molair here smiled and said, “the fool. why the jails of the world would not hold the pris- oners.” he read on. “you see, our prison systems in the south are money-making affairs anyhow, and it would be to our interest to have more convicts. the men could be sent to the mines and fields and the wo- men could be made to serve as cooks and wash- erwomen. each home could have a little jail into which the cook could be put, and the food to be cooked could be handed in to her. that would solve the servant problem. as fast as the blacks died out we could fill their places with for- eigners. “the second suggestion is as follows: “let us multiply the burdens of the colored people until the maternal instinct within the race becomes saturated with the thought that there is no hope for the colored people as such. “i learn that already the most profitable line of advertisement in the negro journals is of face bleaches. the weaklings in the race are deathly anxious to lose the black complexion. “let us make the anxious more anxious, and widen the circle of anxious ones until it embraces the millions yet untouched. “we can heat the race so hot with the fires of race prejudice that, without being conscious of it, it will turn against its own color. the black man will avoid marrying the black woman, pointing the way. and the black woman the black man. the de- cree of nature will go forth that through the process of natural selection the race must be whitened. “the white man and the negro woman of the south are free. the negro men do not molest the white men, for the negroes are deterred by the mob and by state authorities with machine guns. the results of these unions thrown into the negro race can help to whiten that race. by this route we can produce a white race out of the negro race. “but you will say (i fancy i hear you saying it) eventually we could not tell colored from white, and that the colored could then glide into the white race imperceptibly. “brand them! get a little marker and stamp on the arm of every infant, ‘this is a colored per- son. have the license clerks to force all men and women desiring to wed to appear before them in person and show their arms. “you see in this way we will get the offensive black color out of our way and yet not have any of that blood in our race. “we could require candidates for office to can- vass with their sleeves rolled up, so as to disclose a brand or the absence of it, that we might know whether they were white or colored. “now, mr. molair, give up your attitude of kindliness. let us, i say, continue to drive the black man and the black woman, as possible a strange letter. mates, farther and farther apart. create such conditions as the whole negro race will rue the day that it was made black. sear this thought into their souls; write it in the marrow of their bones. do this, and through the white man, the weak negro woman and the tendency of the race to so marry as to lighten its hue, we will eventual- ly be rid of the hated color, black. “for the sake of a homogeneous country don’t make life easier for the colored race and thus perpetuate the blacks as blacks. “make it harder. give the colored man the same rights as you do a white man, and what incentive has he to desire to be white?” such was the letter that had stirred such a deep interest in molair. he hardly knew how to take the letter. its professed tone was one of hostility to the negro race, but he did not believe that a person with the sense to write the letter could really favor the policy of cruelty suggested. the reasoning in the letter at some points seemed profound; others were absolutely absurd. the thing that interested molair most was the thought that the prejudice of the white race was operat- ing in the direction at least of trying to create a stampede of the colored people away from their color. “well, it is a little unreasonable to set a man’s house on fire and then tell him to stay there,” said molair to himself. chapter xv. she insists. wj hen baug called at seth molair's of- wil fice he found that the latter was at home sick with the smallpox! and as the manner in which the dreaded disease was con- tracted might be expected to have some bearing on his decision in the matter of such vital con- cern to clotille and conroe, it is perhaps well to state how the malady was acquired. one morning as molair sat in his office he received a letter from the son of a colored man whom his father had numbered among his slaves. this young fellow was in jail charged with hav- ing committed a murder, but his solemn protesta- tions of innocence somehow impressed molair. the molairs had never ceased under freedom to exercise a paternal care over all those who had belonged to the family in the days of slavery, ex- tending this interest to their descendants. thus though busy, molair had felt constrained to go to the aid of the accused man. to begin with, there was a presumption in molair's mind in the man’s favor, for just as the negroes had great faith in their white folks, the whites, as a rule, had great faith in their negroes. arriving in the town where the man was in- carcerated, molair repaired to the jail for a con- pointing the way. ference. the jail was used very little for white prisoners, the most of them being able to make bond, and the jailer, having as a rule nothing but negro prisoners to deal with, paid practically no attention to sanitary conditions in the prison. as a result, the place reeked with filth. small- pox had developed there, had been kept a secret by such prisoners as knew it, and it was into this atmosphere, loaded with poisonous germs, that the kindhearted molair walked. molair assured himself as to the innocence of the accused man, laid the foundations for a suc- cessful case, turned the matter over to a local at- torney, whom he paid well, and returned to bel- rose, but not before the taint of smallpox had sunk into his system. deep was molair's mortification and chagrin at having the smallpox, in view of its classifica- tion as a filth disease, and the dark thought now and then obtruded itself upon him that such was his reward for troubling himself with the woes of a colored man. when eina heard of molair's illness, uncle jack was deputized to go and find out what he could about it. he returned, bringing the news that it was smallpox with which molair was af- flicted, and that he contracted the disease trying to serve a colored man. uncle jack did not, of course, understand eina's plans, but he judged from the look of woe upon her beautiful face that in some way it was essen- pointing the way. “jack,” said the woman, “don’t you know bet- ter than to try to leave here without telling me what you came to tell me? you can’t fool me, jack. now out with it. you came to tell me something, you bad boy, you.” “now, lucy, dat's all right. don’t yer bother. dat's all right.” “no, it isn’t all right, and you have got to tell me what is wrong. i know you, jack. it is some- thing serious. i knew it as soon as you came to that door.” - - “wal, lucy, evah thing dat is lawful ain’t allus 'spedient, yer see. so i mus’ tell yer good night.” “jack,” said mrs. martin, “you know me. i am an old woman, and you know i have a number of white and colored children and grandchildren in this place. some one of my children must be sick to-night for you to be here. now, have pity on a poor old woman. don’t make me roam this town all night. tell me so i can go straight to him or her.” “dat is jes’ why i doan’ want ter tell yer. i sees dat yer constertution ain’t de bes’ an’ yer might not be ekal ter de tas’.” mrs. martin did not hear the last part of this re- mark for she was busy getting up her nursing aprons and her favorite little remedies. at length she had all that she was looking for, and forget- ting in her anxiety to tell her home people good- bye, went at once with uncle jack to the buggy. when seated by uncle jack's side mrs. martin she insists. said, “jack, i haven’t been feeling right for a week or more. i just knew that something was going on wrong. now, jack, since you can’t outdo me, be a good boy and tell me who it is of my folks that's sick.” “wal, ef i mus', i mus', but 'pon my honah i done all i could not ter tell. it’s seth.” “seth ! poor, poor seth ! what ails him?” asked mrs. martin, eagerly. “smallpox.” “father have mercy! that dirty, filthy dis- ease in my family. why, the thoughts of it are enough to kill poor seth. it's a wonder he isn’t dead and buried. i wish i could get hold of the dirty, lousy scamp that gave it to him. i’d wring his neck till he—he—well, i wouldn’t kill him. but he’d be so near dead that he would enjoy life when he got back to it. poor, poor seth. and they have been keeping it from me. they knew i was ailing a little. my poor, poor boy. mammy will be there soon. rest easy, mammy is coming, seth.” thus rambled lucy martin, seth molair's black mammy, as uncle jack whirled her along through the streets of belrose to seth molair's home. the crux. “your race in england and america divides into two great, almost evenly matched parties, into active and corrective, creative and critical forces. your southern white primaries dominated by the one party invite in only one-half of the soul of your race. about one-half of this racial soul, already halved, mark you, may dominate your white primary, and the verdict of this half of the half soul of the race is accepted without a serious try out before the whole soul,” said baug. “here is a thoughtful colored man,” said mo- lair to himself, growing deeply interested. to baug he said, “let me see if i catch the point of your douglass joke. you think that for a full expression of the soul of our race we need two parties, creative and critical, that such opposite forces naturally flourish not in the same but in opposing parties just as the human family di- vides itself into sexes, and when we have only one party just one-half of the racial soul is at work, the irishman’s ‘half naygur.’” “exactly, mr. molair. it is true that you now and then let down your bars so that a white man of a political faith other than that of your dominant party can enter and vote, but his con- nection with the other party forces him to come in quietly, so that you still miss that unfettered fer- ment of the whole anglo-saxon spirit, that grand, free play of all the forces of your racial soul that has in reality been the source of the political greatness of your race. now just read this, mr. pointing the way. molair,” said baug, handing him a clipping from the leading daily paper of belrose. mr. molair read as follows: “doubtless when the official conduct of this creature is laid bare it will reveal him as a grafter, hypocrite and dirty whelp, which would fit with his known character of a coarse, revolting, lying demagogue and disgusting barbarian, who would never associate with gentlemen except by suffer- ance and to their annoyance.” “well, what about it?” asked molair. “that is said about one of your united states senators, an output of your primary. can you conceive of the whole soul of the white race being in travail and giving birth to such a man? that is a product of your half soul. you southern white people constantly say that senators like this are not truly representative of your people. they do not represent your people at their highest, but they do illustrate the fruit of your half soul system, or rather your quarter soul system of elevating men.” “since you and our white primary system are in the ring, what other lick have you for it?” asked molair. “i am a patriot. i love the south. i would like to see the south take its old-time place in the councils of the nation. if we of the south con- tinue to send our quarter soul products to compete with the whole soul products of other sections, where the white race crowns its victors after a the crux. try out before the full racial strength, we will always be behind, i fear,” said baug earnestly. “how does this in your judgment affect the col- ored people?” asked molair. “let me repeat what your leading paper of belrose says about that senator. “‘doubtless when the official conduct of this creature is laid bare it will reveal him as a grafter, hypocrite and dirty whelp, which would fit with his known character of a coarse, revolt- ing, lying demagogue and disgusting barbarian, who would never associate with gentlemen except by sufferance and to their annoyance.” “now, if your quarter soul system produces that type of a man for a senator, just think what your chances are for getting jailers, sheriffs, policemen, prison guards and the like, who, armed with the state's authority, have over prisoners and the public the power of life and death,” said baug. “how do the colored people of belrose fare at the hands of the police force?” asked molair. “you know, mr. molair, there was a time in england when a man would be hanged for a com- paratively light offense, but that was long, long ago. the police of belrose have turned the hand on the dial of civilization back, back, back to those dark days. they have actually made it an offense, punishable by death, for a colored boy or man to run from an officer, however slight the offense.” “is that really the case?” asked molair. pointing the way. “mr. molair,” said baug, earnestly, “what else could you expect? with your great men gone into hiding and your weaker spirits in the sad- dle, elected to office without regard to the colored people, they often, oh, often, actually turn the gov- ernment into an engine of oppression. sheriffs sometimes connive at lynchings. police often mur- der wantonly. gubernatorial candidates, finding that our hands are tied, and that there are votes to be made by bitterly attacking us, do not hesitate to so do. the spirit of repression, cultivated and kept at fever heat by the seekers for votes, permeates the entire social atmosphere. denying us a voice, the government, by the act of exclu- sion, brands us with the mark of a cain, and as we go forth we find increasingly the hand of man raised against us. and i predict that, with the negro denied a voice in the government, this fact in itself will deepen and deepen the gulf between the races. with the whites being gov- erned by its weaker minds, as i pointed out, and with those weaker minds in charge of a race, both helpless and contemned, you may guess the rest.” continuing baug said: “no class of colored peo- ple in belrose feel safe. if you knew the extent of the maltreatment of all classes of colored people by some members of the police force, it would amaze you. brutal assaults, and murder, wanton, wanton, wanton murder of man after man has been committed and yet not even a reprimand has the crux. ever been given to those who have done the killing, though witnesses of character, white and colored, have endeavored to bring the accused to trial.” “tell me exactly now what you desire of me,” molair said, evidently deeply moved by what baug had said. “those of us who abide in the negro race realize the disadvantages that come to us as a result of being a negligible quantity in the body politic. the type of men that comes to the front has respect for the unit of power, nothing else; and, so long as the negro's face is a badge of weakness, it will be just as difficult to maintain respect for his interests with that class as it is to keep an unmuzzled horse that is loose in a pas- ture from eating green grass spread out in abund- ance around him. we desire to be a part of the government. we desire that you make the race for the mayoralty of our city and appeal to the whole body of your fellow citizens, white and col- ored, for support. when those who persecute us find that we have a voice in the making and the unmaking of officials we shall receive more humane treatment. such, mr. molair, is our re- quest of you,” said baug. “of course you know that you are asking me to cut myself off from all hope of preferment save that of a local nature. if i take hold of you here on an independent basis, i lose my party regularity. you know what that means. but that is not vital. a molair is not dependent upon pointing the way. public station for a place in history. he can make his own throne,” said molair to baug. “i do not see the matter altogether in that light, mr. molair. party and sectional lines are being less and less tightly drawn. it is only a mat- ter of a few years before the nation will again pick its presidents from our section, and if such men as you are put forward as candidates you will find no happier, more enthusiastic supporters than will be the colored people. without any desire to offer flattery, i know of no southerner better equipped than you to fill that high office.” “thank you,” said molair, who really valued the good will of the colored people. continuing baug said: “that man, white or black, who can construct a political yoke in which the negroes and the best white people of the south may work together in harmony will deserve more than the presidency. he will deserve a place in the ranks of the immortals alongside the two other great southerners, thomas jefferson, whose mind coined that slow-burning fuse, “all men are created equal,” and abraham lincoln, who issued the emancipation proclamation.” “it is quite a picture you dangle before my eyes. but, preferment beyond our city life or no preferment, i have had recently a most touching example of self-sacrifice that ought to spiritually equip me for all time for unselfish service,” said molair. arising from his seat, molair went to a window the crux. and looked out while he talked to baug, to whom his back was now turned. he dared not trust himself face to face with baug while he was discussing the subject which had now come into his mind, for he was upon the verge of shedding tears. - when he had regained sufficient control of his feelings to permit, molair resumed the conversa- tion, saying: “yes, mammy lucy, that dear soul who in my infancy crooned above my cradle and rocked me to sleep with her lullaby songs; who saw that my every boyish whim was gratified; who washed and anointed my bruises and com- forted my childish heart when, beaten and humil- iated in a fight, i fled to the shelter of her apron; who more than once, with her sympathetic na- ture, wooed disease from me and drew it upon herself—mammy lucy taught me in its fullness the lesson of human love, when, hearing of my ill- ness, she came with her wan face and emaciated form, and took my life from the altar of death and in its stead sweetly laid thereon her own. with my heart green with the memory of her sublime self-renunciation, i am in a mood, as a sort of atonement, to forego vital interests of my own for the sake of the interests of others.” after molair had delivered himself thus, he stood in silent meditation for awhile, then turned and walked toward baug, and said, “go your way. this is a grave, grave question. i must have time for reflection. i received a peculiar letter not long pointing the way. since that has put me to thinking on this ques- tion more deeply than ever before. i know not now what my decision will be. may heaven grant me light.” chapter xvii. molair on the alert. £i: 'n keeping with a suggestion from baug, ** molair had decided to keep watch on the - police force to find out just how the negro population was faring, so we find him morning after morning sitting in the city court room, which was usually filled for the most part with colored people of the lower order. besotted men and slov- enly women, denizens of the slums, constituted the great majority of those on trial. drunkenness, fights as the result of jealousy, petty thefts and va- grancy were the charges as a rule lodged against the accused. there happened to be in the group on this particular morning a nicely dressed col- ored boy with an open, honest countenance, and his appearance quickened in molair an interest in him. that we may understand just how this boy, whose fate played an important part in shaping molair's decision, happened to be on trial as a vagrant it is necessary to drop back somewhat into his history. one day, a few weeks previous to this trial, about two o'clock in the afternoon, a crowd of people, mostly colored, had gathered around a merry-go-round located on a vacant lot in belrose. charlie douglass, a colored boy, driving a flour wagon, passing near the assembled crowd, caught pointing the way. sight of a neatly dressed little colored girl with a package of school books under her arms. he halted his wagon, dismounted, and drew near to this girl, ostensibly for the purpose of looking at the merry-go-round, but in reality to be near the little girl that had attracted his attention. in the assembled throng there was a drunken white man who was using profane language in the presence of a number of colored girls and women. the little girl who had attracted char- lie's attention was in the group near the man using the objectionable language. charlie walked up to the man quietly and said to him very politely, “mister, please don’t talk that way so the girls and women can hear you.” the drunken man turned to see who it was that accosted him. enraged at the thought of a negro daring to criticise his conduct, he drew a pocket knife, opened it and rushed toward char- lie. as the lad had taken pains to speak so politely, he was taken by surprise by this sudden onslaught and had to run backward to avoid being cut. as the man kept coming toward him, charlie, as soon as he could turn, did so and ran with all the speed at his command, the white man in hot pur- suit. the girls and women shouted: “run, boy, run! run, boy, run!” the feet of the drunken man being somewhat molair on the alert. unsteady, he fell, and thus gave charlie time to make his escape. - dora mack, the neatly dressed, nice looking brown-skinned little girl, that had attracted char- lie's attention, now made a hero of him. she thought it was so nice in him to speak to the hor- rid man, and the deft manner in which he ran backward and the speed that he made when he could get his back to the man, were simply fine, as dora viewed the matter. on her way to and from school each day dora passed the place where charlie worked, and now took occasion to greet him with a smile whenever she saw him. he was a nice looking colored boy, even when covered almost from head to foot with flour; that is, pretty little dora mack thought so. to charlie's way of thinking, dora was just the girl for him, and he decided to try to stand a little higher in her favor. the plan which he hit upon to advance himself in her esteem was to change his job from the handling of flour to one that would permit him to wear nice clothes all the time. “dora is entitled to a boy that looks nice all the time,” thought charlie. thus, much to his mother's chagrin, charlie de- cided to give up his job. realizing that her son, who, since the death of her husband, was her main support, was doing about as well in point of wages as a belrose colored boy was expected to do, mrs. douglass, his mother, strenuously opposed the change. charlie tried to mollify her feelings by pointing the way. pouring into her lap all his little savings, but even this did not heal the breach between them. nevertheless, charlie quit his job and “dressed up,” to enjoy a few days’ vacation and to be able to walk as far toward her home with dora on her way from school as the fear of dora's mother would allow him, dora not being permit- ted as yet to receive company. this worked all right for a few days until charlie's employer noticed that he was simply lounging around. this employer had not been successful in getting as satisfactory a hand as charlie had been, and he was therefore all the more vexed at him for causing his discomfort and loss by leaving. he offered the boy an in- crease in wages to return to work, but it was not more money that charlie wanted just now, but a job that would permit the constant wearing of clothes nice enough for dora's beau, pretty, tidy, little dora's beau. thinking that he might be doing charlie, char- lie's mother and himself a service, the employer told a policeman of charlie's lounging place and suggested that it might serve as a good lesson to arrest him as a vagrant. accordingly, one day before dora came along, the policeman put charlie under arrest and took him to the police station. it was thus that he made his way into court where molair caught sight of and became inter- ested in him. charlie's mother being unable to pay his fine, molair on the alert. the boy was sentenced to the chain gang. this was a most galling thought for him, it having been the pride of his family that none of them in any of its branches had up to that time been arrested. but that which pricked him to the very heart was the thought that dora must know of his incarcera- tion and perhaps see him at work with the pick about his ankle. the carts in which the prisoners rode from the police court to the streets, from which they were to clean the mud by scraping with hoes, were brought around, filled and started off. to char- lie's dismay the carts stopped on one of the streets along which dora always journeyed to her home. but her journey on this part of the street was only for a few blocks, and charlie hoped that they would have cleaned off that part along which dora came before her hour for passing, and would thus be out of sight from the point where she would have to turn the corner leaving that street. but the day was a little sultry, and those in the chain gang were not disposed to work very rapidly. charlie worked very hard, doing about as much work as any three of the others in his eagerness to have the gang through with dora's part of the street ere she came along. but his course in working so rapidly displeased his easy- going fellow-prisoners, and they worked all the more slowly because of this fact. as time wore on it began to look as though they were not to do the amount of cleaning de- pointing the way. sired by charlie, and desperation and despair settled over his young heart. his wild, nervous look, his constant glancing around as if expecting something, the dark brooding that his face re- vealed, his working ahead of his companions, at- tracted the attention of sherman elliott, the white guard, who, unknown to charlie, was keeping a special watch on him. glancing down the street charlie saw a group of high school children coming. the pick which he had around his ankle was much worn, his keen eye having noted this defect when choosing the one to put on. he felt that the pick could be broken if one was but willing to stand the jar of the lick necessary. moving to the curbing, char- lie dashed the pick against the stone and sundered it. away charlie bounded, thinking only of dora and desiring to be out of her sight as she passed the chain gang. the guard who had been watch- ing for this moment, lifted his gun and fired, wounding charlie in the back. the boy fell for- ward on his face and a number of bystanders rushed to him to lift him up. “don’t—don’t turn my face up. dora, dora, dora!” murmured charlie. thinking that turning him over might perhaps hurt him, the men followed his request and al- lowed him to lie with his face downward, while they telephoned for an ambulance. “she won’t see; she won’t see,” murmured charlie, faintly, his face still toward the earth. molair on the alert. slowly the smile of satisfaction over the fact that dora would not see and know him faded from charlie's face and the little fellow passed into eternal silence. if the passing dora looked upon his lifeless form he at least did not know it. sherman elliott's shot and the fact that there was not the slightest effort to molest him de- cided molair's course, and he crossed the rubicon. kicked out. the cleansing, testing, developing influence of a genuine battle, the very life-breath of other sec- tions had at last come to this hitherto compla- cent, if stagnant (so far as political thought was concerned), city of belrose. when the campaign was at its height and it was discovered that the whites were so evenly divided that the negro vote constituted the bal- ance of power, it was agreed by “organization” influences that an effort should be made to draw the support of the negroes away from the molair ticket. in view of the long record of hostility to the negro voters on the part of the “organization,” no hope was entertained of having large numbers of them to suddenly change and come to its res- cue, so money was furnished to an element of whites that manned the party under whose name the bulk of the colored people usually voted, to the end that a ticket bearing the old name might be brought out to withhold negro support from molair. one hon. thomas barksdale, perennial can- didate for the postmastership of belrose, was commissioned to harness the negro voters to this decoy movement. a group of negro ward poli- ticians was summoned to a conference with the hon. thomas barksdale, and uncle jack, hearing of the conference, decided to be present. at the appointed hour the committee of negroes put in its appearance at barksdale's office. pointing the way. uncle jack who prided himself upon dealing with none but “quality white folks” looked with manifest disgust at the surroundings. barks- dale's office was without carpet, the desk antiquat- ed, the library of books disarranged, the whole wearing an unkempt appearance. tilted back in a chair, a great, sickly, soulless smile upon his face, sat the hon. thomas barks- dale, having upon his head a once high beaver hat upon which, it would seem from its appear- ance, some goliath of gath had sat, and which some little david had subsequently tried to straighten. his smile disclosed the ragged rem- nants of his teeth and at the same time allowed two slight streams of tobacco juice to ooze out of the corners of his mouth, anointing the ends of his sandy mustache, which, shaped like the claws of a crab, nestled near his jaws. when ready for the conference, the hon. thomas barksdale stood up, bringing in bold relief his tall, angular frame, his ill-fitting prince albert coat, his pantaloons, baggy at the knees but a little shirky about reaching well down to this statesman’s very broad foundation. “we are all here, i suppose,” said the hon. thomas barksdale, in that peculiar drawl com- mon to the uncultivated whites. “we is,” responded uncle jack, who, to the surprise of all, assumed the role of spokesman. “i’ve summoned you here to tell you colored kicked out. folks that now is your chance,” said the hon. thomas. “oh, thank you, sah; thank you, sah,” said uncle jack, effusively. the hon. thomas drew near one of the group, laid a hand on his shoulder familiarly, closed an eye, and with the index finger of his free hand began to wax eloquent. “yes, sir, your day has come. there is some of us who have fit, bled and died, standing up fur your people,” said he. “yes, sah; yes, sah,” said uncle jack. “jes’ ez yer says, some uv yer hab fit, fled and flied for us cullud folks.” the hon. mr. barksdale opened his other eye to see if he was quite correct, for he fancied he had caught a note of sarcasm in uncle jack's voice. but uncle jack's countenance seemed so sober that the hon. mr. barksdale decided that he was mistaken. he therefore closed the eye again and proceeded: “we set you all free, you colored people, and we are going to stand by you to the last.” “yes, sah, i hez heered yer riccord in de civul war 'scussed ergin an’ ergin, but i allus heered dat yer had de riccord ez er runner an’ not as er stanner,” said uncle jack, humbly enough. the hon. mr. barksdale brought his closed eye back into service, dropped his hand from the man’s shoulder, and stepped back a little. pointing the way. “now, i can explain that record. you see i knew that the yankees needed spies in the south, and that is why i put on dresses during the war, and there were things that i knew, that nobody else knew, and if i had got killed, what would have become of my knowledge? so whenever a fight came up, just for the sake of my country, i always sacrificed my keen desire to fight and ran so as to preserve my knowledge for the benefit of the country. i hated to run, but as i said, i sac- rificed my feelings for my country.” “takin’ dat view uv de mattah an’ jedgin' frum de speed dat yer air said ter hab made in gittin' out uv belrose w’en de sojers come in, yer wuz sartainly one uv de greatis’ dat is, at leas one uv de swiftis' paytruts dat de war purduced,” said uncle jack. uncle jack now subsided and allowed the hon. thomas to submit his proposition. when he had finished, the appointed spokesman of the group, who had been well groomed by baug, said: “mr. barksdale, we have followed the lead of men of your station in life for several decades. under your leadership we find the constitution nullified, segregation practiced, official maltreat- ment in full swing. you have been powerless to influence the situation. another class of the whites has been found to work with our leaders and we are going to see what they can save from the wreck. we would to god the whites had con- sented sooner to work with us and had not left kicked out. us to the mercies of those who sacked the state government, escaped with the loot and left us with the odium. goodbye.” as the negroes filed out, the hon. thomas barksdale stood with his mouth wide open in astonishment. uncle jack was the last to leave, and the hon. mr. barksdale had so far recovered his self-possession, or had so much the farther lost it, that he administered a kick to uncle jack. “hah, hah, hah; dat's 'bout whut forty years uv servin’ hez brung our people frum de pie counter man; er kick out,” said uncle jack. chapter xix. tight place for uncle jack. 'll never believe it! i'll never believe it! £ until i see it with these two eyes of mine, * and then i'll doubt it,” said miss letitia. “well, cousin, you will see. seth molair has pledged it, and he is a man of his word,” re- sponded clotille. “yes, but seth molair is just one man, even if he is the mayor of belrose. the idea of the white people of belrose tolerating colored men on the fire department! they will never do it,” said miss letitia. “cousin, you are too hard. i know two south- ern cities in which white people teach colored children in the public schools. i know three southern cities in which colored men are on the police force,” replied clotille. “yes, but that isn't belrose. when the white people of belrose put colored men on the fire department i will know that the millenium is nigh at hand,” said miss letitia in such a manner that clotille knew that she desired the conver- sation to close. upon his election to the office of mayor, seth molair had asked baug to name him some arm of the public service in which he would like to see colored men employed. pointing the way. but this very success (the establishment of harmonious political relations between the races resulting in the colored fire company) had.raised another difficulty. miss letitia was so elated over the new company that the very thought of ever losing it affected her greatly. she realized that it was the negro's wise course in the matter of vot- ing that had secured the company, and she, there- fore, became deeply concerned about the right to vote. “oh, i am so afraid that some of those old dis- franchising laws will come here some day and upset all this nice work. i will never feel safe until the supreme court has spoken against the discriminating laws in other states. if that could be brought about, i believe i could sleep at night.” it was thus that clotille discovered that she had a new and grave problem on her hands. straight from the interview with her cousin, in which this new-found impediment was discov- ered, clotille rushed to eina’s home. “eina, eina, my cousin, i do believe, is begin- ning to see the light. but one more step needs to be taken before our road is perfectly clear.” “well, in the name of the blessed virgin, let us get that out of the way. i do believe i would as soon contract to move a mountain as to get you and that conroe married,” said eina, laugh- ingly. “now tell me the next step, tell me quickly and let me get to work on it,” eina continued. tight place for uncle jack. “we must wipe from the constitutions of cer- tain southern states such of their laws as have the effect of disfranchising colored people on ac- count of their racial connection,” said clotille. eina’s beautiful, cheerful face took on a sober look at this announcement, the great difficulties in the way of having the laws declared unconsti- tutional occurring to her. remembering a boston acquaintance, eminent in the legal profession, who had given long and careful study to the legal aspects of the suffrage question, eina forthwith communicated with him, inclosing an appropriate fee, and in due course of mail received from him a statement outlining a course of procedure which in his judgment would beyond doubt force an unequivocal declaration from the supreme court. when eina received the plan she had clotille to call and confer with her over it, a call that the perturbed clotille was happy indeed to be able to make. the plan outlined involved the co- operation of an illiterate negro, and after a thor- ough discussion of all the probabilities and pos- sibilities in the case it was decided that uncle jack was the best equipped man of their acquaint- ance to carry through the plan with the least pos- sible friction and personal danger. the two girls therefore summoned him into the conference with them. uncle jack thought he was being summoned to tell some of his jokes, so he came bringing his tight place for uncle jack. would be very likely to know this crisis when it came, uncle jack. and you are the very man that we have decided upon.” uncle jack lifted his head back, opened wide his eyes, while his jaws fell slightly apart. this serious piece of business was indeed a surprise to him. “yer ladies jes’ wait heah er few minutes an’ i’ll come back an’ give yer er answer.” so saying, uncle jack arose and slowly left the room, his frame having lost its erect carriage. after a short stay in the stable, where he had stood with bowed head and folded arms, reflect- ing, uncle jack returned to the room where eina and clotille sat awaiting him. “fur yer ladies ter understan’ de feelin’s dat i been goin’ through since yer all tole me whut yer wanted,” began uncle jack, “i’ll hab ter tell yer er leetul 'sperunce uv mine dat i had durin’ uv de war. “one day w’en de war wuz 'bout at its wust, i wuz goin’ through de woods wider gun an’ two bird dogs. one uv dem dogs wuz name abe link- tum an’ de udder jeff davis. one uv 'um wuz fatten t’other an i had ter be on my p’s an’ q’s ter keep outen trouble. yer see bofe yankees an’ 'federates wuz er roun’ our country. w'en er’fed- erate come up ter me an axt me de name uv de dogs, i allus pinted ter de fat dog an’ say his name wuz jeff davis, an’ ter de pore one an’ say his name wuz abe linktum. w’en i would meet chapter xx. funeral of a live man. fnrom day to day uncle jack watched the movement of the sun as to its setting, noted * the shortening of the days, the browning of the leaves upon the trees, and finally their falling to the earth. “wal, de persimmons is erbout right now an’ de possums am fat, an i s'pose its erbout time ter go.” securing some one to fill his place for a short while, uncle jack now took his departure, omit- ting to state to any one where he was going or for what purpose. a short distance from the side of the roadway bisecting nelson county into eastern and west- ern halves, sitting at the end of an archway sev- eral hundred feet long, which archway was made by two rows of well developed cedar trees, sat a somewhat large country farm-house. uncle jack with some difficulty opened the large farm gate. “times shuah doos change,” said he, regaining his breath after his effort. “how well do i’mem- ber how i uster fling dat gate open w’en i wuz er lad.” the old man looked wistfully down the tree made lane towards the house as he journeyed in that direction. his mind was on the spirits of pointing the way. slave, came in, and was no less delighted than the others at the presence of uncle jack. “wal, yer all wants ter know what i'se heah fur, don’t yer?” said uncle jack. “yer orter be heah ter lib tell yer die, jack,” said aunt melissa. “wal, i’se come ter be er man uw some 'portance in my ole days. i’m tole by some whut knows dat dare is er place cut out in der hist’ries fur me an' i mus' look atter dat putty soon. but i'se heah now ter hab er good ole time in ev'ry way, an den ter hab my funeril preached.” “your funeral preached?” asked horace, aunt melissa’s son. “yes, dat is whut i wants. i wants ter haber good ole-fashion shout at de meetin’ house; i wants er fust-class possum dinnah atter er all night hunt fur de possum, an’ den, at er time w'en i kin hab all uv my frien’s, white an’ cullud, dat knowed me in de ole times, i wants my funeril preached.” at first it was thought that uncle jack was jest- ing, but it was finally seen that he was in earnest, and plans were set on foot to humor him in all his requests. the crutcher boys were glad to lead him out one moonlight night in quest of the pos- sums, and they and uncle jack were a delighted set when at daybreak next morning they returned with the coveted animals. aunt melissa crutcher had stepped aside some years since for her daugh- ter-in-law as a cook, but in this instance she bade funeral of a live man. her step aside and herself cooked the possum for uncle jack. sunday came, the church members were out in force and engaged in covenant meeting, the telling on the part of each of his christian expe- rience and determination. religious fervor ran high, the old plantation melodies were sung with zest, and a high degree of emotion was generated. uncle jack wept and laughed by turns from sheer joy, frequently exclaiming, “my soul is habin’ er feast uv good things.” the funeral was duly announced, and on the appointed day the people, white and colored, dropped their tasks and met at the negro church, where both the white and negro pastors delivered eulogies concerning the white-haired uncle jack, who sat with bowed head in a corner of a front seat. when the funeral was over and his life had been duly set forth to the hearers, the entire audience passed around and shook uncle jack by the hand. when uncle jack had returned to aunt me- lissa’s from the church, she said: “now, jack morris, yer air 'bout ter go back ter belrose, an i wouldn’t lakter die thinkin’ dat jack had turnt ter er fool. now 'splain ter me dese goin’ ons dat yer's been havin’ out heah.” “wal, aunt merlissa, ef you will sen’ de chillun out i will 'splain things ter yer.” aunt melissa did as suggested, and uncle jack drew near so that he would not have to talk very loudly. pointing the way. “yer see, aunt merlissa, my way and yer way uv managin' wid de white folks wuz to act kin’ an’ make out wid de bes’ dat dey seed fit ter do. i hez fell in wid some youngsters in belrose dat wants things ter move 'cordin’ ter some principull, an’ not jes ez er notion stracks de white people. dey says dat de white people hez done gone an’ disfrankshied ill-littered cullud folks 'thout dis- frankshieng ill-littered white folks. dese cullud young uns says dat ain’t right. dey says dat ill- littered white folks an ill-littered cullud folks ought ter hab one law 'cordin’ ter de constertu- tion. “now i’se been picked out ez de cullud man ter tes’ dat law. 'fore i’gin my life uv buckin’ ergin er law uv de white folks i jes’ wanted ter close up de life i had been livin', squar’ an’ even. ef i had waited till i bucked de law de white folks mout not 'uve been willin’ ter say all dis dey done said ovah me ter day. “yer see, dey ain’t lak us. w’en massa rode erway ter de war an’ fit ter keep me in slav’ry i didun’t make it er pussonul mattah. i didun’t lak whut he did, but i kep’ on lakin’ him jes' de same. i hopes de white folks won’t git mad at me fur tryin’ ter git er ekal show in life fur a cullud an’ er white boy. but ef dey doos git mad, dey done 'spressed deyself 'bout my charackter.” , pointing the way. e=- miss letitia tried to arouse clotille's fears of losing baug that she might bestir herself to hold his affections, but clotille was only too happy that eina had him in tow and was hauling him out of her way; as for the rest of her problem she was now convinced that with belrose all right, with the permanence of the belrose movement as- sured, with unequal disfranchisement destined to be upset, her cousin could be handled. so, that which was bringing worry to miss letitia was bringing happiness to clotille. unable to arouse clotille to action in her own behalf, miss letitia decided to take up the cudgel herself and drive eina from the field. at a time when clotille was away from home she opened her letter box and purloined what she regarded as ample ammunition with which to attack fina. mounting her bicycle, miss letitia rode out to where she had learned that eina lived. as soon as she had taken a seat in eina's parlor she plunged into the object of her visit. “you and my clotille are fast friends, i be- lieve?” said miss letitia. “we surely are,” said eina, her face aglow with the thought of the mutual love between herself and clotille. “yes, i think you are. i know that, being a friend, you would not have her live and die a pauper,” said miss letitia. “of course not. i would do all in my power to see clotille's life full of comfort,” said eina. pointing the way. “well, clotille was always backwards about her rights; but i am telling you.” “conroe?” “i’ll see her in her grave before i’ll let her marry that fellow,” said miss letitia. “does she love baug?” asked eina. “they love each other,” said miss letitia. eina now rallied and said: “miss gilbreath, clotille is my friend, my only, my dearest friend. if she had loved baug peppers she would have let me know. you are in error, somehow. clotille would not; clotille, clotille could not play me false.” miss letitia now unfolded a little package which she had kept in her hand, saying, “you know clotille’s handwriting. read this letter, will you? notice the date, too, won’t you?” eina took the letter into her trembling hands and saw at once that it was unmistakably written in clotille's hand. it was addressed to “my own dear baug,” breathed throughout the most fervent love, and was evidently written in response to a letter of the same tenor that clotille had received. there at the close of the letter were penned these sig- nificant words: “though our ambitions may cause us to not be seen in each other’s company, you know me and i know you. you are my baug and i know noth- ing in all the world other than to subscribe myself here and hereafter, your clotille.” the break. eina’s mind now flashed back to baug's stand- ing on broadway and seventh avenue the day of her arrival, to clotille's significant laugh. it all now looked to her to be a black, black conspiracy to foster some secret ambition that baug and clo- tille cherished, for the attainment of which she had apparently been made a tool. “brood of vipers, i drive you from my heart,” said eina. “woman, please leave my house. never fear that i shall stand between clotille and that man. please go,” cried eina. miss letitia arose to leave, and on departing, glanced a last time into eina’s face. never in all her life had she seen such a picture of woe as she now left behind her, but it moved her not. eina collapsed the moment miss letitia left, and for a long while lay prone on the floor. at length she crawled to her desk and penned the following note to baug: “baug peppers: the engagement for this even- ing is off. please do not ever again call at my house. eina rapona.” having dispatched this note, eina, in an aim- less manner, wandered from room to room in her cottage, alternately wringing her hands and hold- ing them to her throbbing temples. “is life worth living?” such was the question that the sad, torn heart of eina now asked over and over again. “i was young and wealthy and the world called me beautiful.” pointing the way. “i lived in boston and no door was closed in my face. i met a colored girl, and the colored blood in me called out unto her, and we became friends.” *k *k sk sk “for her sake i left my home, came to the land of the great shadow, the land of the great shadow, the land of the great shadow, and cast my lot with her.” *k sk sk sk “her burdens were my burdens, and i threw my soul into the work of clearing the pathway of life for her. she deliberately interests me in a man with whom she was herself in love, while pretending to love another.” •k :k *k sk “she puts near me a trusted servant who would be sure to bring this man into my life. i can see it all now, all! i meet him, i work with him, i—i—i—well, here i am, a broken-hearted girl. faith—in—humanity gone, gone; all gone.” *k sk sk sk “what is there in life when the heart is bleak? money i have, but what is that as a solace to the spirit?” sk sk >k sk “the world is large, but what of it if your heart is chained to the one spot?” * * sk * “i am young yet, but more is the pity, for the longer will i have this load to carry. oh life, chapter xxii. light comes. w.j. hen baug peppers received that little note, pellmell to a livery stable, called for and hired the fastest horse therein, and went dashing toward eina's home as fast as the fleet animal could carry him. when, at the end of what had seemed to be an age, he came to eina’s house, he found the blinds closed, the doors barred and no one to respond to his repeated knockings. finding all efforts to get in touch with eina futile, baug rushed around the house to the stable in quest of uncle jack. he read the note to uncle jack and asked him what on earth could possibly be the trouble. “wal, i been 'spectin jes’ dis,” said uncle jack, deliberately. “expecting it?” roared baug. “expecting miss rapona to deny me the privi- lege of seeing her? why, her request is just about as reasonable as though she asked me not to breathel and you have been expecting it?” stormed baug. “be ca'm, baug; be ca’m an' heah me. be ca'm! be ca’m l’” “uncle, if you are going to talk, please talk in keeping with the fitness of things. don’t, don’t e. : : - --- light comes. say be ca'm. there is a far more appropriate be that could be said by a less devout man that would better fit this occasion—no, no, that thought is wicked, and i need heaven's help right now,” said baug. “yer see, baug, de lady keers fur yer.” “uncle jack, dear uncle jack, i love you, but you lie. you say i see that the lady cares for me. that is exactly what i don’t see.” “baug, lak my white folks, i doan take de lie frum nobody, but bein’s yer is crazy, i’ll take it ter day. yer 'minds me uv–” “uncle jack, i’ll murder you on the spot—no, i love you too much for that, but i will say i will never forgive you if you try to joke me now,” said baug, tramping around impatiently, his eye roving about the doors and windows of eina’s home, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. “yer see, baug, de lady hez come ter de conclu- sion dat she mus’ know mo’’bout yer 'fo’ proceed- in’ furder wid yer. w’en er’oman takes dat co’se she's gittin’ mighty deep in love. things air putty bright fur yer, old boy, putty bright.” “if things are bright now, i hope to heaven to never, never see them dark,” said baug. “yer see, findin’ dat she laks yer, she mus' now wait ’till she kin git yer pedigrees, kin fin’ out whar yer sprung frum,” said uncle jack. “oh, my stars! then i am gone! who on earth knows where i came from? that has been the one shadow on my soul. i can’t blame the girl ------"-- light comes. talented and cultured, and in sight and in reach of a great fortune whenever she fulfills the con- ditions.” “oh, cousin letitia, that is horrid, horrid! pray what on earth is the matter?” said clotille. “no, i am going to speak my mind to-day. the reason things came so near going wrong was because i kept my mouth closed so long. young people need to be guided. you two would not have been together so long and lovingly to-day if i had not knocked the other one off of the track. i did not want to do it, but she had no right to come between you two and upset all our plans.” a faint glimmer of the true state of affairs dawned upon clotille and baug, and they both stood up looking eagerly to miss letitia for more light. “now that looks nice. you all will make a nice couple, a light one and a dark one. now let the other lady get a dark one,” said miss letitia. “to—i’ll cut any dark one's throat—i don’t understand,” said baug. “i have just told her that you and clotille were picked out for each other a long time ago.” “mercy! mercy!” screamed clotille. “she was hard to shake, but i shook her. i found some letters that baug returned to you when you all evidently broke up, and i showed her one of them. that letter settled things and she will never give you two any more trouble. you young people must watch these designing women now i i pointing the way. and hereafter else they will ruin you,” continued miss letitia. “oh, woman, in what a perfidious light you have placed me. now let me tell you something. for years i have loved a dark man, conroe dris- coll. because you have fought with such bitter- ness my marrying a dark man, he has used baug's name in his correspondence so that a dis- covery of his letters on your part would not give us trouble. when conroe grew somewhat hope- less and didn’t care whether he lived or died on the football field, he returned to me my letters to him that they might not fall into other hands in case of his death. it was evidently a letter of mine to conroe which you found and used.” ~ * - chapter xxiii. quite unexpected. |ey: aug stood listening to what clotille and * miss letitia had to say long enough to catch a clear idea of what caused his trouble, and then, with all the speed at his command, has- tened to his buggy and was soon at eina’s home again, but his success at getting a hearing was no better this time than on his previous visit, and he drove back dejectedly to clotille, who was still weeping bitterly over the false light in which her cousin had put her. “come, baug, i will settle it all,” said clotille, rising and leading the way to the buggy. “drive me quickly to conroe’s office.” baug obeyed, not knowing, however, what was clotille's plan. when they arrived at the office clotille said: “conroe, go at once and get a marriage license.” conroe hesitated an instant and looked into baug's face for an explanation. “yes, for god's sake, go, and go quickly!” conroe not daring to hope that the sun had come to shine in his door, took it for granted that it was baug who was to be thus favored of heaven. therefore upon arriving at the office where li- censes were issued, he procured a license for baug peppers and eina rapona. he returned to his quite unexpected. eina's gate. clotille rushed to the house, leaving the others behind, hoping to prepare the way for them. it happened that she had retained the key to eina’s door that she had when in charge of the preparations for eina’s coming, and had been thoughtful enough to get it before leaving home. she opened the door and rushed in. but eina had gone! chapter xxiv. baug searching for eina. |onroe driscoll and baug peppers are in absolute disagreement as to the character of the first night after eina’s disappear- ance. happy in the possession of clotille as his bride, conroe positively asserts that the world was never more beautiful than on that night. accord- ing to his account, the moon was full and in jovial mood. the clouds to vex her reign were thin and few, and even they, in passing beneath her throne, were tinged with glory and made resplendent in the heavens. the milky way, like a diamond studded bridal veil, hovered near the moon as if to be in easy reach of this beautiful woman of the night traveling toward some consort divine. the stars, both great and small, twinkled their mer- riest as if in an effort to keep pace with their happy queen. now this is conroe's version of that night, set forth according to the emotions that surged within him as he stood out in the open and thanked the far off eternal forces which, despite all obstacles, had swept clotille into his arms. as for baug, he vehemently asserts that the light of the moon was wearisome to the soul; that the winking and blinking stars were but so many tiny mockers of his grief; that all of nature’s antics on that night were out of keeping with the baug searching for eina. --------"-- eternal fitness of things save where the dark shadows and sullen corners were to be found, where the light of the moon and stars came not. it is perhaps the discontented man of the world that bears watching, so we shall for the time being excuse ourselves from the company of the happy conroe and follow the meanderings of the rather desperate baug. without set purpose, baug left his gate that night and began to , walk aimlessly through the streets of belrose. passing through the heart of the city, moving in an opposite direction to that in which eina had lived, baug walked far beyond the corporate limits, his journeyings bringing him to the ambrose river, leisurely flowing along, fresh from lapping the shores of belrose. upon the bridge spanning the river, baug looked down upon the sombre face of the waters, then toward the gloom-steeped trees lining the banks of the stream, then toward the hills that rose in the distance and seemed to bank themselves against the sky. returning his gaze to the wa- ters, baug said: “dark, wooing waters, one day your smileless face may draw me to your bosom, but not now, not now! i have a great battle to fight—and win. to live, to live, and not to die, is my task.” when, far across the river, baug, following the roadway, reached the crest of a high hill and saw near the roadside a huge boulder, he paused, baug searching for eina. sadden his heart, eina's sunny smile, the glory of her eyes, the memory of the thrill of her low, sweet tones, the noble sentiments to which from time to time she had given voice. as baug sat thus meditating on his seemingly hopeless plight, glancing down the road he saw in the moonlight the dim outline of a human form. it proved to be that of the ever-faithful uncle jack, who, knowing the intensity of baug's attachment for eina, had felt that it was at least well to keep in touch with him. from the moment that he had caught sight of the look of desperation that overspread baug's face when he had intimated to him eina's deter- mination to withdraw from the negro race, uncle jack had been on baug's trail, managing, how- ever, to keep at such a distance as to be unob- served. during the time that he had been follow- ing baug, uncle jack had been canvassing in his. mind a matter of deep moment. he knew that the ruling desire of baug's heart now was to find eina, and he felt able to indicate the manner in which this might be done, but the carrying out of his plan might jeopardize his own life. in view of this possible danger he had thought long and deeply. having at last reached a conclusion, uncle jack emerged from the shadow of the trees by the road- side where he had stopped to rest and keep watch on baug. as he drew near, baug, whose soul just now craved solitude, for the first time pointing the way. in life was not glad to see him. many a time had baug in days gone by sought uncle jack in order that he might dispel feelings of gloom by drawing on his rich store of humorous experiences, but at this time he felt more like listening to a funeral discourse than to a joke. uncle jack, however, very soon turned baug's distaste at his presence into unbounded joy. in a tone that smacked of impatience, baug said: “uncle jack, what on earth has brought you way out here at such a time as this. a man of your years should take better care of himself.” uncle jack, knowing baug's frame of mind, elected to ignore the tone of irritation, and said in an humble manner: “baug, miss eina is done gone, ez yer knows, an’ i wants ter fin” her. 'cordin’ ter whut i learns she lef" under er misunderstandin’.” “yes, a very, very gross one, uncle jack. the idea of her supposing that clotille was in love with nue and i with clotille!” “now, i wants ter fin' miss eina an’ git all dis cleared up.” “of course everybody wants to find her, uncle jack. but how in the name of common sense is that to be dome is the question?” “now dat is whut i wants ter talk wid yer erbout. i got er plan dat will shuah bring her ter whar yer kin 'splain matters ter her.” baug leaped down from his boulder, slapped uncle jack upon the shoulder and said: “uncle pointing the way. wuz ter be kep’ out uv de plannin’ so dat yer woulden’t be 'rested for cunspeericy, fur she wanted yer fur de lawyer.” “oh, bosh, uncle jack! i thought you had a plan for finding miss eina?” “jes’ hole yer hosses, mistah baug; jes’ hole yer hosses, an’ doan be so ready ter fly off,” said uncle jack, reassuringly. “miss eina kinder thort yer wuz er great man an’ she wanted ter heah yer argify dat case in de s'preme coat. she said dat ef dat case wuz evah called up dare she would be dare ef she lived. she said dat ef she wuz dead an’ dare wuz enny such thing ez er dead pusson visitin' 'bout, she would shuah be dare. now, baug, uncle jack knows folks—white folks, cullud folks an’ de mixed folks. uncle jack knows 'um. i tell yer shuah ez yer is bawn, ef yer git er case in de s’preme coat to tes’ dem disfrankshieing laws, miss eina will be on han’ ter hear yer argify. baug, i tell yer i knows.” “now, uncle jack,” said baug, enthusiastically, “you go ahead with that test case, you hear. do everything just as you were told by miss eina. keep me way out of the thing, if telling me will keep me from being the attorney. do you hear, uncle jack?” with this line of procedure agreed upon, the two men sat throughout the night chatting, baug listening with hungry ears to little scraps of re- marks that eina had from time to time let fall baug searching for eina. in uncle jack's presence, remarks indicating that she took more than a passing interest in him. more than once uncle jack was in imminent dan- ger of being hugged by baug over some remark of eina’s that he reported. by and by the moon went down, the east took on its golden flush and the hazy light of morning appeared. vehicles began to pass, and when one came along that afforded an opportunity for a ride, baug accosted the driver, who readily con- sented to convey him and uncle jack to belrose. chapter xxv. clear sailing. w.j. hile baug was fully resolved upon carrying fore him there was the possibility of ill effects that he desired if possible to avoid. he realized fully that the good will of his southern white neighbors was a consideration second only in importance to having it agreed that the race with which he was identified was to be dealt with according to the fundamental principle of the government, equality before the law. he had inaugurated in belrose the harmonious working together of the white and colored people in local political matters, and he would have regretted much anything that rendered him personally un- acceptable as an ambassador of peace. of course he had all along been deeply con- cerned about the fundamental rights of his peo- ple, was anxious to have the point that had so greatly interested eina settled, but he had hither- to hoped that that possibly irritating duty might fall to some other hands; had hoped this, not out of cowardice, but from a desire to reserve himself for a task of equal importance, that of friendly adjustment. moreover baug felt that an attempt on his part to overthrow even by peaceable means what he clear sailing. deemed the unequal suffrage system might jeop- ardize his life. as he desired above all things just now to live to see eina again he thought it wise to sound molair that he might indirectly gain an idea as to whether it was best to prose- cute his work in this direction from some point in the north or from belrose. calling upon mr. molair at his home after busi- ness hours were over, baug was ushered into his library. when molair entered he greeted baug with a smile and a warm clasp of the hand. beginning the conversation, baug said: “mr. molair, i regard you as typical of the best that southern white civilization has produced, and through you i want to-day to hear the voice of the best south.” “i thank you for your compliment, but i dare not claim to be the best of the south, which, south- erner-like, i put ahead of the world. you see the heights are too dizzy,” replied molair. passing by molair's parrying of his compliment, baug said: “i am more than anxious that the political war along racial lines between your and my people should come to a close, and would re- gret the necessity of any step that would put us more at variance. but the vital needs of the col- ored people, with which needs my own personal fortunes have become inextricably involved, de- mand that i make an effect to have our supreme court upset such laws as do not bear equally upon the people of both races. in the event that i pur- pointing the way. sue this course what do you think would be the attitude of the southern white people of your type?” molair smiled and cast his eyes around the walls of the library. arising, he went to the end of a row of oil paintings of persons, and said to baug: “come and look.” he lead baug from painting to painting in that room, then escorted him to other rooms where there were paintings. when the tour of inspection was over, he said: “you have just seen the likenesses of molairs for centuries back. so far as i am concerned, if with a thousand years of civilization back of him a mo- lair cannot hold his own in an equal contest with the grandson of an uncivilized african, i say let him go to the wall. i scorn the idea of a weak test for a white man and a severe one for the negro. it is a rank injustice to the white man. when you remember that mother nature coddled, made life easy for africa, but was stern and penurious with england, you can see the danger that will come to the southern white man if we indulge him while making exactions of the negro. “the sooner the standard of voting for the white man is made as high as that for the colored man, the better for the white man. indulgence leads to decay, not to advancement,” said molair, his whole attitude signifying abhorrence of the notion of coddling any section of the white race. “i am glad to hear you speak thus, mr. molair. in the event that my course is questioned, i trust clear sailing. that you will give voice to such sentiments as you have just expressed.” the interview now came to a close, and baug took his departure with a much lighter heart. with great zest he entered upon the task of raising the funds necessary to fight through the test case to be inaugurated by uncle jack accord- ing to secret plans laid out by eina. baug withheld action on uncle jack's part look- ing toward the testing of the law in question until such a time as he should feel able to take care of the financial end of the matter. ah, that was a dreary, dreary wait! and while baug in thus waiting, and chafing while he waits, let us take advantage of the opportunity to catch a glimpse of other friends of ours. chapter xxvi. desires her will changed. ; f the marriage of clotille and conroe could have been postponed until baug was dis- posed of, and until the conception had been fully developed in miss letitia’s mind that the harmonious relations between the races in belrose were to continue, it might have been that the wed- ding would not have so excited the wrath of miss letitia; but as it was, her rage was boundless. when on the day following her marriage, clotille returned to her cousin's home for the purpose of pleading her cause, miss letitia slammed the door in her face. as for conroe, she despised him ut- terly. “the black varmint! i feel like wringing his old head off. the idea of him poking his old black face into our family!” such was the comment miss letitia passed upon conroe. - having felt assured that clotille would marry in a manner to please her, miss letitia had drawn up her will, leaving her fortune to her, but she now resolved upon changing all this, and pro- ceeded at once to seth molair's office for the pur- pose of having him draw up another will. “well, what has the former beneficiary done to displease you, if i am not asking too much?” inquired molair in an effort to draw miss letitia desires her will changed. out, not being altogether pleased with that fanat- ical look in her eye. “she has turned out to be a fool,” snapped out the angry miss letitia. “gone mad?” asked molair, in surprise. “worse than that.” “oh,” said molair, afraid to pursue the sub- ject any further, as it seemed to involve some moral turpitude. “yes, i would have rather seen her in her grave a thousand times than for her to have turned out like she did,” said miss letitia. “too bad; too bad. but you can console your- self with the fact that you set her a good example and taught her the right way.” “i haven’t set her any example at all. i am a miss. but i taught her the right way all right, the crazy thing.” “oh, she is really crazy, then?” remarked mo- lair. “crazy? of course she is crazy, as crazy as any lunatic in the asylum.” “well, we ought to have her put up, then,” said molair. “i wish you could send her to the penitentiary and hang the black ape.” molair was considerably puzzled as to just what the nature of the case was, and he was disposed to drop the discussion, but miss letitia never tired of letting people know just what she thought of the matter. desires her will changed. of the scalp of a dying person? don’t we bury corpses? sure, i’ll disinherit that girl for marry- ing so as to perpetuate the black face, the seed of discord. i’ll cut her off without a copper and wish that i could will for her to beg bread from door to door, so help me moses.” molair reflected awhile and then said: “now, i am a southern white man, and believe in the preservation of both races. i do not care, even in a professional way, to be connected with your notion of the absorption of the blood of your race into ours.” “aha! aha!” said miss letitia, rising, “you disfranchise, you ostracize, you jim crow, you lynch, you burn a man because he is colored, then hold up your hands in holy horror because he seeks, by honorable means, to get away from being colored. if you want a man to stay colored, why in the name of god don’t you treat him right as colored? that fool clotille has gone back on me, but don’t you forget the leaven is at work, and if you don’t treat the colored people right in every way, in the ages to come, you are not going to have any colored people.” drawing near to molair, miss letitia pointed her finger at him and said: “you tell the negro- hater among the whites to keep on building the fires of prejudice, keep on jim crowing negroes, keep on disfranchising, keep on painting the sky as black as midnight! aha, keep on! mil- lions have crossed into your race already and pointing the way. millions are to follow, yes millions are to follow. put that in your pipe, great sir, and smoke it! we will all be white one day, and it won’t be by intermarriage, either.” with her head thrown high in the air, miss gilbreath swept majestically out of molair's office. when miss letitia had gone, molair sat with knitted brow toying with his pencil, giving earn- est thought to the situation presented by her at- titude. “indirect amalgamation is this woman’s game, i see. but i want no amalgamation, direct or in- direct, immediate or remote. i want no incorpor- ation of the negro blood into our race even after that blood has been so diluted as to lose its power of pigmentation. i don’t want negro blood in the blood of our race even though it be in the pro- portion to the waters of lake erie to those of the atlantic and pacific oceans combined.” such were molair's thoughts as he contemplated miss letitia’s course. “now what am i to do to balk this game? we toss all mulattoes to the negroes. we cannot pass a law forbidding them to intermarry with the negroes and forcing them to intermarry among themselves. and if we did force them to intermarry among themselves exclusively, would we not soon have a large white race of them ready for surreptitious disappearance into our ranks?” reflected molair. reaching for his telephone molair called up chapter xxvii. molair at work. |t. he more molair reflected on the situation # of conroe and clotille, as disclosed by his interview with miss letitia, the more he found his sympathies going out to them. “here,” said molair to himself, “is a test of my sincerity on this matter of preserving racial integ- rity. i must see to it that this couple does not lose by the course they have pursued and this woman must be converted, just must be. how can we hope to deal with this great question in the large if we can’t handle it in small bits?” molair now entered upon a close study of miss letitia, not hesitating to call upon her and to engage her in close conversation, searching for the mainspring of the benumbing pessimism that held her within its grasp. discovering incidentally what a great admiration miss letitia had for fire fighters, it occurred to molair that it might be possible to have conroe ingratiate himself into her good graces through service in this department. the man at the head of the colored fire com- pany, having had no previous experience in deal- ing with men as subordinates, was not giving en- tire satisfaction, and mayor molair, anxious that this initial experiment should prove to be eminent- ly successful, had been casting about for a more competent man for a captain. inquiry concerning pointing the way. ing evidence that a brighter day was ahead, mo- lair decided to branch out in every needful di- rection where he had cause to think that he would effect a result that would serve as oil on the hinges of the door of hope. the one thing in the south that had caused molair's heart to quake with fear because of the ocean of possi- bilities bound up in it, was the “bad negro” ele- ment with its power to summon from their sleep long discarded savage instincts. molair therefore now gave thought to this “bad negro” question. thus one morning as the ministers of the col- ored churches of belrose were in the midst of their weekly meeting in one of their church edi- fices, molair unexpectedly put in his appearance. as white men now very rarely attended negro meetings the coming of molair was a genuine surprise. as an act of courtesy to the mayor, the sus- pension of the regular order was moved that the body might hear whatever the mayor might have to say. molair went forward and said: “members of the conference, a matter of deep concern brings me to you this morning.” on the faces of all there came the most intent expression as a result of this remark. “what on earth can it be now?” was the thought of the colored men who, like the whites, were ever on the alert, always apprehensive as to what was to come next. pointing the way. impartial enforcement of the law and the encour- agement of all elements of our population to look upward and not downward. so now you good negro belrosans need not regard yourselves as having any personal problems because of your race, so far as i can remedy matters.” (pro- longed applause.) “now, i have a favor to ask of you. you are going to find, i think, that the aspiring negro will have much less of a problem concerning him- self, so far as we whites are concerned. in this coming new day of hopefulness, nay, even before it is full upon you, can we not have you turn your thoughts, not away from your rights, but more toward these congested centers of vice, popu- lated by your people? they breed disease, hold down real estate values, mar the beauty of our city, and they do you inestimable damage in the eyes of northern visitors who are daily in our midst.” - this last remark went home with great force. the maintaining of the respect and sympathy of the north, the author of freedom and enfran- chisement, was a matter of deep concern to the negroes, as molair knew, and he had in him enough of the politician to pull on that chord for what he deemed a worthy purpose. continuing mr. molair said: “is this not pe- culiarly your problem? ties of blood link you to these denizens of an earthly hell. we may build a glorious structure here in belrose, but molair at work. from these depths can come the volcanic fires of evil in ferment that will overturn all that we create.” as a result of molair's talk a meeting was ar- ranged between the white and colored ministers and plans inaugurated for a vigorous crusade for the redemption of the centers of vice. hopeful of the mitigation of this menace to the peace of both races, that in an evil moment might summon base passions that would overturn the work of ten thousand self-sacrificing lives, molair now turned his thoughts in another direction. chapter xxviii. the north and the south. ite! ecognizing the fact that the outside | world, whether the south so willed or not, could by needlessly stirring up resentments within its borders, materially affect that whole- some atmosphere which he was now desirous of creating, molair decided to accept an urgent invi- tation to a private interview which had been ex- tended to him a short while back by the president of the united states, who had heard of the belrose movement. with a view, therefore, to enlisting the president's co-operation in a policy that would aid him much in his work of atmosphere making, molair took his journey to washington and the white house. “mr. molair, you have no idea of the profound satisfaction that we of the north have that a man of your type has caught hold of the out- stretched hand of the better element of colored people,” said the president, grasping molair's hand warmly. “thank you, mr. president,” said molair sim- ply, preferring to have the president declare him- self fully before having much to say himself. “now, i think that you people of the south have misunderstood me greatly as to my attitude toward the colored race, and i would like to lay bare my heart to you,” said the president. the north and the south. “i trust that you will, mr. president. there should be the utmost candor in this matter.” “well, to begin with, the great bulk of the col- ored people voted for me, their taxes help to pay my salary, and as commander-in-chief of the army and navy i bear a direct relation to their patriotism which is a part of our reliance for the defense of the flag.” “all very true,” said molair. “i am a proud man, permit me to say, to this extent—i do not wish any man or set of men to do any more for me than i do for them. i do not like being, even to an infinitesimal extent, a pauper, living off of the unrequited bounty of others. as president, as the head of the na- tion, therefore, i have simply tried to give official recognition to this element of our population,” said the president. continuing the president said: “i am no spe- cial friend of the negroes, and if the necessity ever arises i will show you that i am not. i do not believe that the colored people should have spe- cial favors because they are colored, nor on the other hand, should they have special burdens be- cause of their color. “america is a great darwinian field, dedicated by fate to the cause of genuine democracy, the rule of the united judgment of men. here we are to have the wild, grand play of universally and absolutely unfettered forces, and out of the stren- uous struggling the fittest are to survive, and the pointing the way. final man is to be evolved. i believe simply in giving the colored man the same chance in this great darwinian field that other men are given, no more, no less. now what have you to say to that?” “absolutely nothing, mr. president,” said mo- lair. “so far as i am concerned i ask nothing for me and mine that i begrudge to the colored man. what i have come to ask of you is along another line. your party, i fear, has sometimes been a little insincere in some of its utterances, has made declarations for political effect, simply. hereafter confine your party utterances to just such things as you really mean to do. for heav- en's sake don’t make our race question a political football. the issues are too grave. “inflame the masses of the south by meaning- less baits to the negro voter if you choose, but remember that this course vitally affects the wel- fare of the race concerning which interest is pro- fessed. for out of this inflamed mass we have to draw policemen, constables, sheriffs, legislators and juries. if we of the south can just get rid of that part of the entanglement which is only po- litical by-play, the insincere part of the pro- gramme, not much trouble will be caused by what your earnest, high-minded men and women have to advise.” in great detail molair now went into the south- ern situation and cited move after move, the insin- cerity of which was subsequently demonstrated, the north and the south. -------------" but which was in the public eye long enough to do great harm to the south and the negro. the showing made a marked impression on the president, who now said: “i regard your request, mr. molair, as a rea- sonable one and i pledge you my support in try- ing to have my party deal sacredly with this ques- tion; say nothing but what it means. now, mr. molair, will you agree to do as much in the south? in cases where there has been abso- lutely no cause to fear the negro a hue and cry of negro domination has often been raised by men in your section. cannot both sections rise to the plane where we will not make a football out of this helpless, unarmed race, mr. molair?” “yes, yes, i will do all that i can,” responded molair, aware of the great task before him. the interview now came to a close and as molair left the white house he said to himself, “when political by-play is eliminated north and south much that produces pessimistic letitia gilbreaths will then disappear. with the president work- ing to that end in the north and the house of molair committed to that policy in the south, who will say that we shall not win?” pointing the way. groes of keeping them poor by working for noth- ing. this element of whites has been emanci- pated by the freer conditions of labor that came after the war, is fast finding itself and is march- ing to the front to take charge of affairs. it has discovered its power and is going to use it.” “you have sized the situation up exactly. it was partly because i saw the coming of this re- gime that i fled the south, molair. i saw that our day was over, that the day of the common man was on in the south. but go on,” interposed rogan. “now there came over from slavery,” resumed molair, “the inherited feeling of the poor white toward the negro, which feeling is accentuated by the fact that the negro is yet his industrial rival. here then is a veritable gold mine for the demagogue. in return for office he tosses to this element the negro, hobbled, gagged or quartered according as he thinks will most please this ele- ment.” “a sad, sad situation,” said rogan. “now our hope is to free the south from that man whose chief stock in trade is hatred of a weak and despised class. we may not convert or deter the demagogue, but we can lift our people beyond his reach.” “a stupendous task, a long drawn out strug- gle,” said rogan. “that is true, very true. the fact that in the south we have a double school system adds to the molair and an old friend. size of the problem of education. i have come to ask you, herbert, to devote some of your millions to the education of our neglected white popula- tion.” without indicating whether molair's request met with favor or disfavor, rogan arose and said: “come with me to my office, seth.” on the way to the office rogan was silent. his mind was once more in dixie. he was playing by the side of the babbling brooks, gathering daff- odils from her fields, chasing lightning bugs in the gloaming, speeding over her country roads in buggies seated by the side of dixie's fair daugh- ters, listening to the plantation melodies of the negroes surging from their warm, emotional hearts. turning his head from molair he dashed away a tear. when the men entered the office, rogan opened his safe, took out his books, and recounted his holdings to molair, demonstrating to him that he was far wealthier than what the outside world estimated. finally rogan said: “now, there is my fortune, molair. i say to you in all sincerity that i stand ready as far as is within my power to respond to any call that you may make. our poor, strug- gling section, with the most complicated problem of all of human history must have culture, must have culture.” molair was deeply touched by the confidence in his consideration and judgment shown by the molair and an old friend. fact. now the negro is naturally a home lover, a patriot. if you can honorably do so, make terms with him in the south and word will come northward that will break up this solid mass of hostility to the south,” said rogan. “yes, yes, another serious complication, but in belrose we have learned to get together and be- fore many years you may expect to find the col- ored people working enthusiastically for a south- ern man for president,” said molair. now that political and philanthropic forces gave promise of turning their faces in the right direc- tion so far as the south was concerned, molair re- turned to belrose feeling assured that the outlook was bright for the killing of the destructive germs to be found in minds on the order of that of miss letitia. but as we shall now shortly see fate had a far different way of curing miss letitia's pessimism. chapter xxx. the rudolf fire. % nne evening about the set of sun, the city of | belrose was aroused by the ringing of the - central fire bell. the people of the city, wherever they chanced to be, paused to count the strokes of the gong, that they might, with the aid of the signal, consult their charts and thus locate the fire. “near rudolf’s!” such was the startling piece of information that passed from lip to lip. rudolf’s was by all odds the finest store in the city, and perhaps the finest in the south. as for mr. rudolf himself, he was a man of genial per- sonality, a patriotic citizen, anxious for the city’s growth, and he possessed in a marked degree the spirit of philanthropy. as a consequence he had won the esteem and affection of the entire popula- tion of belrose, without regard to class or race. so, when it was noised abroad that the fire was near rudolf's, great anxiety was created, and there was a universal rush for the scene of the conflagration. the first engine to arrive on the scene was that of the colored company. the building which was on fire was not rudolf's but the one across the alley from it. the firemen went gallantly to work to combat the flames, but the fire continued to make rapid the rudolf fire. headway. like so many great hungry tongues, the flames leapt out of the windows of the burning structure and seemed to knowingly lick at the ru- dolf building across the way. as conroe stood looking at the menacing, rag- ing flames, many thoughts came surging to his mind. “all belrose is out to-night, and all belrose will talk of what is done here. the south knows of our fathers, knows how that in peace and war they followed the call of duty. we can this night demonstrate that we are the sons of our fathers,” reflected conroe. “the only way to save the rudolf is to mount its walls and fight the flames from the roof, but that is a great risk,” thought conroe. further and further out reached the tongues of fire, their failure to reach the rudolf seeming to enrage them, and each effort appeared to be more strenuous than its predecessor. “the rudolf is doomed,” was the thought in the minds of all. “a ladder! a ladder!” shouted conroe. a lad- der was brought and placed beside the wall of the rudolf. conroe put one foot and a hand on the ladder, turned to his comrades and shouted: “men, there is danger on this wall. i will not order you to go, but who will volunteer to follow me?” two men hurried to his side and, amid the cheers of thousands, they ascended the ladder and ranged themselves on the wall. pointing the way. of course miss letitia was there, for when had she missed a fire since there had been col- ored firemen? “my, ain’t that grand i ain’t that inspiring! now, ain’t that grand!” such were the exclama- tions arising from miss letitia, as, with hat thrown back on her head, her face wearing a rapt expression, she gazed upon the three men fighting the flames. when gusts of smoke would engulf the men she would stand with clenched fists, the picture of distress, but when they again stood out in bold relief in the glare of the flames, she would heave a sigh of relief. “look out! look out! look out!” “down! come down!” such were the cries that came like a mighty roar from the throats of thousands of people who had seen the wall of the burning building spring and get ready for a fall. the men on the wall of the rudolf did not comprehend the meaning of the shout, so kept on fighting the flames. “down! come down!” the multitude continued to shout. miss letitia had seen the danger and had madly struggled through the crowd until she reached the ladder planted against the wall. “dont, woman! for god’s sake, don't!” shouted the throng, while one man put a restrain- ing hand upon her shoulder. “let me alone! i’ll not let these brave fellows die,” said miss letitia, springing up the ladder with the agility of a lad. a fortune spurned. greatly desired it. it was largely in the hope of softening cousin letitia's heart that he gave up his profession and entered the fire department, and now—now—poor conroe is dead—dead—and shall never more open his lips to cheer my heart with a message of love.” “take a seat,” said baug, leading clotille to a chair. when she was more composed she said: “it has been discovered that cousin letitia did not carry out her purpose to disinherit me. an un- finished will which she was trying to draw herself was found by the side of the one which she had made in my favor but was planning to alter. so ker death has brought me her fortune.” clotille lifted her eyes to baug's face and said: “if anyone had told me two days ago that i could despise money, i would have denied it. but to- day i despise it! i despise it with all my heart. before god, i shall never touch a penny of my cousin's money for myself. it is blood money! it is blood money!” clotille now broke forth into weeping afresh, followed by a long period of silence. at last she said: “come, baug, let us look at him.” the two now entered the room where conroe's body lay in a coffin ready for its journey to its narrow home. baug looked down upon the face of his friend so serene in death, and murmured: “happy boy; free at last.” “baug, in this sacred presence, i want you to pointing the way. promise me that you will take one-half of this money that will come to me and use it to help bring to the colored man a man's chance as a colored man. i want to see to it that no other dark couple has the struggle that conroe and i had. “i shall not use the other half, but why i re- tain it will appear later. will you do this for me? it will be something of an atonement for my sin,” said clotille, softly, sadly, earnestly. - baug extended his hand across the bier to grasp the outstretched hand of clotille, and the two looked into the face of conroe, who seemed to smile his assent. baug said: “clotille, i will do as you say and will consecrate the fund to the lifting of the shadow.” a badly needed opening. turn, so he decided to have a hearty laugh in an effort to cheer somewhat baug's spirit. “doan be uneasy, baug. i knows de white peo- ple putty well, an’ knows how ter not git in too tight er fix,” said uncle jack. “i hope so, certainly, uncle jack. i crave to have these laws overthrown, i crave to see eina, but i want dear old uncle jack to live, too,” said baug feelingly. “speakin’ uv tight fixes 'minds me uv er time wunst w’en i wuz er gardenin’ fur a white fam- bly,” began uncle jack, determined to have a last laugh with baug before they separated. “my room wuz out in de yard an’ de cook staid in de main house ovah de dinin’ room. wal, hard times kinder struck de country an’ throwed er lot er men out uv wuk. dis heah cook wuz er good gal, all right, but she pinched off er leetul ter help her beau keep frum gittin’ hungry durin’ uv de hard times. dis beau had er way uv creepin’ ter dis gal’s room jes’ fo’ breakfas’ an’ havin’ her bring him up sumpin’ ter eat. “wal, one mornin’ he wuz up stairs eatin’ er- way, an his eatin’s run out fo’ he wuz through. he heered some one walkin’ in de dinin’ room un- der him, an he thort it wuz de cook, but it wuz de white lady. he says, says he, “honey, bring me up ernudder cup uv coffee an’ ernudder hot bis- cuit.” de white 'oman stopped ter listen, an de feller thinkin’ dat de cook didunt quite heah said er leetul louder, “say, honey, bring me up er nud- a badly needed opening. when the laugh that followed the anecdote was over, uncle jack added: “yer see, baug, i under- stan’s de white people, an’ i’ll try ter have de gate open whenevah i sets down ter eat grub dat dey doan’ want me ter eat.” at length the alabama train was called out, and uncle jack was escorted by baug to the gate lead- ing to the train. a hearty hand shake, a steady looking into each other's eyes, and uncle jack was off. peace be to his good intentions whatever may betide his bones. pointing the way. ole massa. ole joe jes' would steal hogs. he would say dat his labor fed de hogs, an’ dat his stomick wuz jes' kerlectin’ honis’ debts whut ole massa failed ter pay. his stomick wuz er shuah 'nough good kerlecter, too. “wal, ole massa kinder caught on ter ole joe an one night er short while atter he heered er pig squeal, he started towards ole joe's cabin. ole joe had spies out whut whistled er long ways off ter let him know dat massa wuz comin’. quick ezer flash ole joe grabbed his leetul baby gal dat wuz in de cradle, handed it ter his ole ’oman, an’ sent her runnin’ out uv de cabin wid it. ole joe den took de pig, slapped him in de cradle, kivered him up, an’ swep de scraped off hair uv de pig back in er corner uv de room. “w’en massa come in de cabin ole joe wuz sittin’ down by de cradle jes’ ez meek ezer lamb, rockin’ it an’ singin' “‘rock er bye baby in de tree top, w’en de win blows der cradle will rock; w’en de tree breaks de cradle 'ull fall, an' down 'ull come baby an’ cradle an all.” “‘whut is de mattah dare?” axed massa. “‘my baby is mighty sick, mighty sick, massa,” said ole joe. “‘dat's too bad. lemme take er look at her,” said massa. “ole joe's eyes bucked wide, he wuz so skeert. “‘naw, naw, massa; granny white says dat ef pointing the way. a hearty laugh followed uncle jack's joke. “come give me your hand, uncle. that is a good one,” said the man behind the election box. uncle jack approached the man as if to grasp the proffered hand, but when over the box dropped therein a ballot which he had all the while kept concealed, watching for an opportunity to cast it. “what have you done? you are not a regis- tered voter,” angrily spoke the election judge, who had invited the hand shake. “i will 'splain ter yer, sah,” began uncle jack. “i is er ill-littered man an’ my grandaddy wuz er slave. dey wouldn’t put my name on de reg- 'stration books 'cause my grandaddy couldn’t vote. ez my grandaddy wuz kept frum votin’ cause uv his color an’ cause he wuz er slave, it is stretchin' color an’ slavery down ter me terday fur me ter be shet out on 'count uv my grandaddy's short- comin’s. ter stretch color an’ slav'ry lak dat is pintedly 'gainst de constertution uv de united states. ez i wuz shet out uv de reg'stration by unfair means, i done come straight ter de ’lection.” “you have violated the law, sir, and you will be jailed,” angrily shouted the election judge. “now dat is whut i am aimin’ at. i done voted. i wants ter see ef de s'preme coat will stan’ fur me bein’ punished fur not 'beyin’ er law whut doan’ itself 'bey de constertution.” “take that, you scoundrel, trying to overthrow the law of the sovereign state of alabama,” said chapter xxxiv. a chinese lady. t: , ime wore on. days, weeks, months, and a few short years which seemed to baug an eternity passed away. in the chamber of the supreme court of the united states, on the morning set for the hearing of the suit brought according to plans mapped out by baug to have declared null and void the clauses of the constitution of a certain southern state intended to grant to illiterate whites privileges denied to illiterate negroes on the same general level, baug peppers sat in such a manner as to have a commanding view of each entrance and of the audience. he was on hand early, in fact, was the first to arrive, and was determined to thor- oughly scrutinize the face of every woman to be seen in the court room that day, for he felt that here was his one last certain opportunity to find eina rapona. as the hour for the hearing of the case drew near, the audience-room began to fill, and baug was kept busy looking from face to face in the hope of beholding the one face. at length the room was filled, every seat being taken save one that had been reserved for the wife of the chi- nese minister. baug's heart grew heavy. the question as to a chinese lady. whether the great american nation was to make good her grant of equality of citizenship to the race of darker hue was now to be argued by him, and he felt the need of being in the best possible mood to present the case. but, with no eina present, the weight of ten thousand worlds seemed to be upon him. although baug knew that the one vacant seat was for the wife of the chinese minister, the fact that any seat was yet empty was a slight source of comfort, the drowning man’s straw. presently there was a rustling of silks down an aisle as a lady, clothed in the chinese garb and thickly veiled, came straight to the one vacant seat. all hope now departed from baug, and despair set- tled over his soul. “poor, poor millions in need of an advocate this day! upon a broken reed, upon a lacerated heart, upon a crushed spirit, upon a dead man who yet breathes, your hope at this hour is made to depend. but, i will do my best! i will do my best!” so reflected baug as he sat awaiting the filing in of the justices. at length the justices marched in, walked to their respective seats, and the famous case was ready to be called. baug now left his seat and took his place among the law- yers connected with the case. just behind where baug had been sitting was clotille, holding in her lap chubby little conroe, who had entered the world shortly, after his fa- pointing the way. ther's death. baug had been in the direct line of vision between the lady with the chinese garb and clotille, so that this lady did not see clo- tille and the boy until baug arose to leave. “she has fainted! she has fainted!” said a woman near the lady of the chinese garb, and two or three neighboring women rushed to her as- sistance. in their efforts to resuscitate her, they lifted the veil from her face, and when clotille, who had observed the lady faint, caught sight of the face thus revealed she uttered a slight scream and rushed across the room. it was the long lost eina! eina was soon restored to consciousness, and insisting that there was no danger of a recurrence of the trouble, retained her seat. “see my little boy yonder, conroe, jr.? that was all a mistake,” whispered clotille, who then returned to her seat, and with a mother's pride, stood her little boy in her lap so that eina might see him. all this while baug had been busy conferring with the lawyers, and had not seen what was transpiring behind him. so absentminded was he that one of his associate attorneys said to another: “what a dullard. how can a race of people amount to anything so long as it commits the leadership to such stupid fellows as this?” baug, having been looking around all the morn- ing, from force of habit, now took another last a chinese lady. look at the audience. eina's veil was now lifted, and as baug caught sight of her beautiful face, of those eyes that had ever been with him night and day, he grew dizzy and clutched the railing near which he sat. chapter xxxv. a frightened justice. *very vestige of despair now left baug's | face, the shadows lifted from his spirit, and with the wine of a great love stirring his heart, he felt that he could that day plead the cause of a hundred million people. as baug arose to speak, practically every per- son in the audience was inclined to turn to his neighbor and ask, “who is that fellow? it seems as though i have seen him before.” one of the justices turned pale, trembled vio- lently from head to foot, and eyed baug with ev- ery symptom of an overpowering fear. one lady remarked to clotille, “that justice with the very bald head seems afraid of that fellow. wonder why? he doesn’t look dangerous.” when baug uttered his first words, this justice arose and in a voice quaking with fear, said: “for good and sufficient cause, and in the name of high heaven, i move the adjournment of this court for a few moments, to decide in private a momentous question of procedure.” the strange request and the very evident agi- tation of the justice created a sensation in the court room. the motion was allowed by the court, and the justices retired, the terror strick- pointing the way. so baug was summoned before the justices for his satisfaction. “have i ever seen you before?” asked justice morrow of baug, knitting his brow and directing toward him his most piercing look, taking pains however, to stand some distance away and put as many justices as possible between himself and baug. “i do not know, sir. practically every man i have met in my life has said that it seems as though he has seen me before, but i have yet to see one who could tell me when or where,” said baug. “who is your father?” asked justice morrow, putting a little greater distance between baug and himself. “i know not. he may have been hanged for aught i know,” said baug. “sir, you are the spirit of ,” said justice morrow, backing still farther away. the chief justice took baug in hand and said: “you say every one seems to have seen or met you before?” “yes,” replied baug. “no one is able to state when or where?” “absolutely no one,” said baug. “gentlemen, i tell you i am right,” interposed justice morrow now ready to leave the room en- tirely. “it is too uncanny. i like my supreme court duties but not well enough to hobnob with the dead,” he said. pointing the way. in the course of baug's pleading, one remark particularly had seemed to catch the fancy of the justices and the audience as well: “sirs,” said he, “if anglo-saxon blood lacks a champion on the other side of this case, let me for a moment step across the line and take up a cudgel in its defense, in its name i repudiate the thought of asking a handicap for the colored man in its race with him. i bring to you the message the true white south- ernor would have me deliver: “i want no laws of indulgence for me and mine. i spurn the thought of a lower test for anglo-saxon blood. if my son with a thousand years of civilization behind him cannot stand up in an equal fight with the great- grandson of a heathen and a savage, if he must be pampered and coddled with special laws, then i say with all my soul let him go to the wall.’” disfranchisement forgotten. it by no means improved her feelings when she found out that he died as the result of an effort to serve her cause. baug, finding that eina had kept herself absolutely out of touch with all that pertained to belrose, now told of con- roe's heroic death, of the spread of the belrose movement throughout the south, of the happy re- sults that came from the harmonious co-opera- tion of the better element of the two races, of seth molair's great popularity throughout the na- tion and the honors of a national character that evidently awaited him for having pointed the way for the peaceful adjustment of the race ques- tion in belrose, which adjustment stood as a model of procedure for other communities. eina heard with interest all that baug had to say, but there was ever before her the kindly face of uncle jack. at length they arrived at eina’s temporary home and she excused herself to dispense with her chinese attire. when she reappeared she was wearing the dress that she had worn the last time prior to the break that she was in baug's company, as much as to say to him, “let us begin where we left off.” but baug, who took the hint, was utterly unwilling for any such arrangement. as he recalled matters, at the time of the break he was daily trying to muster enough courage to enable him to reach the asking point, with a fair pros- pect of getting to that much desired state with a disfranchisement forgotten. only genuine lovers can understand, all earthly troubles vanished. sk sk sk sk sk sk * sk sk sk sk when on national decoration days, loving hands are spreading flowers on the graves of the dead who perished during the civil war, clotille and conroe driscoll, jr., baug and eina and little clotille peppers go forth to decorate the graves of conroe and uncle jack, while seth molair for- gets not to adorn with the most lovely flowers the grave of aunt lucy, who though a colored woman, lies buried in the plot of ground that holds the body of his father and awaits the com- ing of that of molair’s mother and himself. in that one family plot, southern at that, there is no color line. the end. -------- - - - p r. e. f. a c e . in offering to the public the following pages, the writer confesses her inability to minister to the refined and culti- vated, the pleasure supplied by abler pens. it is not for such these crude narrations appear. deserted by kindred, disabled by failing health, i am forced to some experiment which shall aid me in maintaining myself and child with- out extinguishing this feeble life. i would not from these motives even palliate slavery at the south, by disclosures of its appurtenances north. my mistress was wholly imbued with southern principles. i do not pretend to divulge every transaction in my own life, which the unprejudiced would declare unfavorable in comparison with treatment of legal bondmen; i have purposely omitted what would most provoke shame in our good anti-slavery friends at home. my humble position and frank confession of errors will, i hope, shield me from severe criticism. indeed, defects are so apparent it requires no skilful hand to expose them. i sincerely appeal to my colored brethren universally for patronage, hoping they will not condemn this attempt of their sister to be erudite, but rally around me a faithful band of supporters and defenders. h. e. w. o u r nig . c h a pter i. m a g smith, my mo the r. oh, grief beyond all other griefs, when fate first leaves the young heart lone and desolate in the wide world, without that only tie for which it loved to live or feared to die; lorn as the hung-up lute, that ne'er hath spoken since the sad day its master-chord was broken moore. lonely mag smith ! see her as she walks with downcast eyes and heavy heart. it was not always thus. she had a loving, trusting heart. early deprived of parental guardianship, far removed from relatives, she was left to guide her tiny boat over life's surges alone and inexperi- enced. as she merged into womanhood, unpro- tected, uncherished, uncared for, there fell on her ear the music of love, awakening an intensity of emotion long dormant. it whispered of an ele- vation before unaspired to; of ease and plenty % o u r n i g . long years of patient endurance in paths of recti- tude can disencumber them. - mag's new home was soon contaminated by the publicity of her fall; she had a feeling of degradation oppressing her; but she resolved to be circumspect, and try to regain in a measure what she had lost. then some foul tongue would jest of her shame, and averted looks and cold greetings disheartened her. she saw she could not bury in forgetfulness her misdeed, so she resolved to leave her home and seek another in the place she at first fled from. alas, how fearful are we to be first in extend- ing a helping hand to those who stagger in the mires of infamy; to speak the first words of hope and warning to those emerging into the sunlight of morality who can tell what numbers, ad- vancing just far enough to hear a cold welcome and join in the reserved converse of professed reformers, disappointed, disheartened, have cho- sen to dwell in unclean places, rather than en- counter these “holier-than-thou” of the great brotherhood of man! such was mag's experience; and disdaining to ask favor or friendship from a sneering world, o u r n ig . she resolved to shut herself up in a hovel she had often passed in better days, and which she knew to be untenanted. she vowed to ask no favors of familiar faces; to die neglected and for- gotten before she would be dependent on any. removed from the village, she was seldom seen except as upon your introduction, gentle reader, with downcast visage, returning her work to her employer, and thus providing herself with the means of subsistence. in two years many hands craved the same avocation; foreigners who cheapened toil and clamored for a livelihood, competed with her, and she could not thus sus- tain herself. she was now above no drudgery. occasionally old acquaintances called to be fa- vored with help of some kind, which she was glad to bestow for the sake of the money it would bring her; but the association with them was such a painful reminder of by-gones, she re- turned to her hut morose and revengeful, re- fusing all offers of a better home than she pos- sessed. thus she lived for years, hugging her wrongs, but making no effort to escape. she had never known plenty, scarcely competency; but the present was beyond comparison with o u r n i g . those innocent years when the coronet of virtue was hers. every year her melancholy increased, her means diminished. at last no one seemed to notice her, save a kind-hearted african, who often called to inquire after her health and to see if she needed any fuel, he having the responsibility of furnishing that article, and she in return mend- ing or making garments. “how much you earn dis week, mag?” asked he one saturday evening. “little enough, jim. two or three days with- out any dinner. iwashed for the reeds, and did a small job for mrs. bellmont; that’s all. i shall starve soon, unless i can get more to do. folks seem as afraid to come here as if they expected to get some awful disease. i do n’t believe there is a person in the world but would be glad to have me dead and out of the way.” “no, no, mag! do n’t talk so. you shan’t starve so long as i have barrels to hoop. peter greene boards me cheap. i’ll help you, if nobody else will.” a tear stood in mag's faded eye. “i’m glad,” she said, with a softer tone than before, “if there o u r n i g . is one who is n’t glad to see me suffer. i b'lieve all singleton wants to see me punished, and feel as if they could tell when i’ve been punished long enough. it’s a long day ahead they’ll set it, i reckon.” after the usual supply of fuel was prepared, jim returned home. full of pity for mag, he set about devising measures for her relief “by golly!” said he to himself one day—for he had become so absorbed in mag's interest that he had fallen into a habit of musing aloud—“by golly! i wish she'd marry me.” “who?” shouted pete greene, suddenly start- ing from an unobserved corner of the rude shop. “where you come from, you sly nigger!” ex- claimed jim. “come, tell me, who is't?” said pete; “mag smith, you want to marry?” “git out, pete! and when you come in dis shop again, let a nigger know it. don’t steal in like a thief.” pity and love know little severance. one attends the other. jim acknowledged the pres- ence of the former, and his efforts in mag's behalf told also of a finer principle. o u r n i g . its apportioned time. mag was nearly despairing of meeting its rigor. “how's the wood, mag?” asked jim. “all gone; and no more to cut, any how,” was the reply. “too bad!” jim said. his truthful reply would have been, i’m glad. “anything to eat in the house?” continued he, “no,” replied mag. “too bad!” again, orally, with the same in- ward gratulation as before. “well, mag,” said jim, after a short pause, “you’s down low enough. i do n’t see but i’ve got to take care of ye. sposin' we marry!” mag raised her eyes, full of amazement, and uttered a sonorous “what?” jim felt abashed for a moment. he knew well what were her objections. “you’s had trial of white folks, any how. they run off and left ye, and now none of 'em come near ye to see if you’s dead or alive. i’s black outside, i know, but i's got a white heart inside. which you rather have, a black heart in a white skin, or a white heart in a black one?” o u r n t g . “no !” screamed she ; and giving a sudden jerk which destroyed seth's equilibrium, left him sprawling on the floor, while she escaped through the open door. “she’s a hard one,” said seth, brushing his patched coat sleeve. “i’d risk her at bell- mont’s.” they discussed the expediency of a speedy departure. seth would first seek employment, and then return for mag. they would take with them what they could carry, and leave the rest with pete greene, and come for them when they were wanted. they were long in arrang- ing affairs satisfactorily, and were not a little startled at the close of their conference to find frado missing. they thought approaching night would bring her. twilight passed into dark- ness, and she did not come. they thought she had understood their plans, and had, perhaps, permanently withdrawn. they could not rest without making some effort to ascertain her retreat. seth went in pursuit, and returned without her. they rallied others when they dis- covered that another little colored girl was miss- ing, a favorite playmate of frado's. all effort o u r n i g. epithet “she-devil,” as may be remembered. john, the son, had not in his family arrange- ments departed from the example of the father. the pastimes of his boyhood were ever freshly revived by witnessing the games of his own sons as they rallied about the same goal his youthful feet had often won; as well as by the amuse- ments of his daughters in their imitations of maternal duties. at the time we introduce them, however, john is wearing the badge of age. most of his children were from home; some seeking em- ployment; some were already settled in homes of their own. a maiden sister shared with him the estate on which he resided, and occupied a portion of the house. within sight of the house, seth seated himself with his bundles and the child he had been lead- ing, while mag walked onward to the house leading frado. a knock at the door brought mrs. bellmont, and mag asked if she would be willing to let that child stop there while she went to the reed's house to wash, and when she came back she would call and get her. it seemed a novel request, but she consented. cha pter iii. a n e w h o m e f o r. m. e. oh! did we but know of the shadows so nigh, the world would indeed be a prison of gloom; all light would be quenched in youth's eloquent eye, and the prayer-lisping infant would ask for the tomb. for if hope be a star that may lead us astray, and “deceiveth the heart,” as the aged ones preach; yet ’twas mercy that gave it, to beacon our way, though its halo illumes where it never can reach. eliza cook. as the day closed and mag did not appear, surmises were expressed by the family that she never intended to return. mr. bellmont was a kind, humane man, who would not grudge hospi- tality to the poorest wanderer, nor fail to sym- pathize with any sufferer, however humble. the child's desertion by her mother appealed to his symathy, and he felt inclined to succor her. to do this in opposition to mrs. bellmont's wishes, would be like encountering a whirlwind o u r n i g . the imposition was not at all relished by mrs. b, or the pert, haughty mary, who had just glided into her teens. “show the child to bed, jack,” said his mother. “you seem most pleased with the little nigger, so you may introduce her to her room.” he went to the kitchen, and, taking frado gently by the hand, told her he would put her in bed now; perhaps her mother would come the next night after her. it was not yet quite dark, so they ascended the stairs without any light, passing through nicely furnished rooms, which were a source of great amazement to the child. he opened the door which connected with her room by a dark, unfinished passage-way. “don’t bump your head,” said jack, and stepped before to open the door leading into her apartment,- an unfin- ished chamber over the kitchen, the roof slant- ing nearly to the floor, so that the bed could stand only in the middle of the room. a small half window furnished light and air. jack returned to the sitting room with the remark that the child would soon outgrow those quar- ters. - o u r n i g . “when she does, she’ll outgrow the house,” remarked the mother. “what can she do to help you?” asked mary. “she came just in the right time, didn't she? just the very day after bridget left,” continued she. “i’ll see what she can do in the morning,” was the answer. while this conversation was passing below, frado lay, revolving in her little mind whether she would remain or not until her mother's return. she was of wilful, determined nature, a stranger to fear, and would not hesitate to wander away should she decide to. she remem- bered the conversation of her mother with seth, the words “given away” which she heard used in reference to herself; and though she did not know their full import, she thought she should, by remaining, be in some relation to white people she was never favored with before. so she resolved to tarry, with the hope that mother would come and get her some time. the hot sun had penetrated her room, and it was long before a cooling breeze reduced the temperature so that she could sleep. o u r n i g . frado was called early in the morning by her new mistress. her first work was to feed the hens. she was shown how it was always to be done, and in no other way; any departure from this rule to be punished by a whipping. she was then accompanied by jack to drive the cows to pasture, so she might learn the way. upon her return she was allowed to eat her breakfast, consisting of a bowl of skimmed milk, with brown bread crusts, which she was told to eat, standing, by the kitchen table, and must not be over ten minutes about it. meanwhile the family were taking their morning meal in the dining-room. this over, she was placed on a cricket to wash the common dishes; she was to be in waiting always to bring wood and chips, to run hither and thither from room to room. a large amount of dish-washing for small hands followed dinner. then the same after tea and going after the cows finished her first day's work. it was a new discipline to the child. she found some attractions about the place, and she retired to rest at night more willing to remain. the same routine followed day after day, with slight variation; adding a little more work, and # o u r n i g . decided controversies at home. the word once spoken admitted of no appeal; so, notwithstand- ing mary's objection that she would have to attend the same school she did, the word became law. it was to be a new scene to frado, and jack had many queries and conjectures to answer. he was himself too far advanced to attend the summer school, which frado regretted, having had too many opportunities of witnessing miss mary's temper to feel safe in her company alone. the opening day of school came. frado sauntered on far in the rear of mary, who was ashamed to be seen “walking with a nigger.” as soon as she appeared, with scanty clothing and bared feet, the children assembled, noisily published her approach: “see that nigger,” shouted one. “look look l’ cried another. “i won't play with her,” said one little girl. “nor i neither,” replied another. mary evidently relished these sharp attacks, and saw a fair prospect of lowering nig where, according to her views, she belonged. poor frado, chagrined and grieved, felt that her an- ticipations of pleasure at such a place were far o u r n i.g. from being realized. she was just deciding to return home, and never come there again, when the teacher appeared, and observing the downcast looks of the child, took her by the hand, and led her into the school-room. all fol- lowed, and, after the bustle of securing seats was over, miss marsh inquired if the children knew “any cause for the sorrow of that little girl?” pointing to frado. it was soon all told. she then reminded them of their duties to the poor and friendless; their cowardice in attack- ing a young innocent child; referred them to one who looks not on outward appearances, but on the heart. “she looks like a good girl; i think i shall love her, so lay aside all prejudice, and vie with each other in shewing kindness and good-will to one who seems different from you,” were the closing remarks of the kind lady. those kind words! the most agreeable sound which ever meets the ear of sorrowing, griev- ing childhood. example rendered her words efficacious. day by day there was a manifest change of de- portment towards “nig.” her speeches often drew merriment from the children; no one o u r n t g . could do more to enliven their favorite pastimes than frado. mary could not endure to see her thus noticed, yet knew not how to prevent it. she could not influence her schoolmates as she wished. she had not gained their affections by winning ways and yielding points of con- troversy. on the contrary, she was self willed, domineering; every day reported “mad” by some of her companions. she availed herself of the only alternative, abuse and taunts, as they returned from school. this was not satis- factory; she wanted to use physical force “to subdue her,” to “keep her down.” there was, on their way home, a field inter- sected by a stream over which a single plank was placed for a crossing. it occurred to ma- ry that it would be a punishment to nig to compel her to cross over; so she dragged her to the edge, and told her authoritatively to go over. nig hesitated, resisted. mary placed herself behind the child, and, in the struggle to force her over, lost her footing and plunged into the stream. some of the larger scholars being in sight, ran, and thus prevented mary from drowning and frado from falling. nig o u r n i g . scampered home fast as possible, and mary went to the nearest house, dripping, to procure a change of garments. she came loitering home, half crying, exclaiming, “nig pushed me into the stream!” she then related the particulars. nig was called from the kitchen. mary stood with anger flashing in her eyes. mr. bellmont sat quietly reading his paper. he had wit- nessed too many of miss mary's outbreaks to be startled. mrs. bellmont interrogated nig. “i didn’t do it! i didn’t do it!” answered nig, passionately, and then related the occur- rence truthfully. the discrepancy greatly enraged mrs. bell- mont. with loud accusations and angry ges- tures she approached the child. turning to her husband, she asked, “will you sit still, there, and hear that black nigger call mary a liar?” “how do we know but she has told the truth? i shall not punish her,” he re- plied, and left the house, as he usually did when a tempest threatened to envelop him. no sooner was he out of sight than mrs. b. and mary commenced beating her inhumanly; o u r n i.g . others say against your sister,” retorted his mother, with flashing eye. “i think it is time your father subdued you.” “father is a sensible man,” argued jack. “he would not wrong a dog. where is fra- do?” he continued. “mother gave her a good whipping and shut her up,” replied mary. just then mr. bellmont entered, and asked if frado was “shut up yet.” the knowledge of her innocence, the perfidy of his sister, worked fearfully on jack. he bounded from his chair, searched every room till he found the child; her mouth wedged apart, her face swollen, and full of pain. how jack pitied her ! he relieved her jaws, brought her some supper, took her to her room, comforted her as well as he knew how, sat by her till she fell asleep, and then left for the sitting room. as he passed his mother, he remarked, “if that was the way frado was to be treated, he hoped she would never wake again!” he then imparted her situation to his father, who seemed untouched, till a glance at jack exposed a tear- ful eye. jack went early to her next morning. o u r n ig . “old granny bellmont,” that it was not painful to nig or pleasurable to mary. her jollity was not to be quenched by whipping or scolding. in mrs. bellmont's presence she was under re- straint; but in the kitchen, and among her schoolmates, the pent up fires burst forth. she was ever at some sly prank when unseen by her teacher, in school hours; not unfrequently some outburst of merriment, of which she was the original, was charged upon some innocent mate, and punishment inflicted which she merited. they enjoyed her antics so fully that any of them would suffer wrongfully to keep open the avenues of mirth. she would venture far be- yond propriety, thus shielded and countenanced. the teacher's desk was supplied with drawers, in which were stored his books and other et celeras of the profession. the children observed nig very busy there one morning before school, as they flitted in occasionally from their play outside. the master came; called the children to order; opened a drawer to take the book the occasion required; when out poured a volume of smoke. “fire! fire !” screamed he, at the top of his voice. by this time he had become suf- o u r n i g . plished too little for the master, and sighs that another day must so soon close. innocent child- hood, weary of its stay, longs for another mor- row; busy manhood cries, hold! hold! and pur- sues it to another's dawn. all are dissatisfied. all crave some good not yet possessed, which time is expected to bring with all its morrows. was it strange that, to a disconsolate child, three years should seem a long, long time? during school time she had rest from mrs. bell- mont's tyranny. she was now nine years old; time, her mistress said, such privileges should cea,se. she could now read and spell, and knew the elementary steps in grammar, arithmetic, and writing. her education completed,as she said, mrs. bellmont felt that her time and person belonged solely to her. she was under her in every sense of the word. what an opportunity to indulge her vixen nature ! no matter what occurred to ruffle her, or from what source provocation came, real or fancied, a few blows on nig seemed to relieve her of a portion of ill-will. these were days when fido was the entire confidant of frado. she told him her griefs as % o u r n ig . though he were human; and he sat so still, and listened so attentively, she really believed he knew her sorrows. all the leisure moments she could gain were used in teaching him some feat of dog-agility, so that jack pronounced him very knowing, and was truly gratified to know he had furnished her with a gift answering his intentions. fido was the constant attendant of frado, when sent from the house on errands, going and returning with the cows, out in the fields, to the village. if ever she forgot her hardships it was in his company. spring was now retiring. james, one of the absent sons, was expected home on a visit. he had never seen the last acquisition to the family. jack had written faithfully of all the merits of his colored protegé, and hinted plainly that mother did not always treat her just right. many were the preparations to make the visit pleasant, and as the day approached when he was to arrive, great exertions were made to cook the favorite viands, to prepare the choicest table-fare. the morning of the arrival day was a busy o u r n i g . one. frado knew not who would be of so much importance; her feet were speeding hither and thither so unsparingly. mrs. bellmont seemed a trifle fatigued, and her shoes which had, early in the morning, a methodic squeak, altered to an irregular, peevish snap. “get some little wood to make the fire burn,” said mrs. bellmont, in a sharp tone. frado obeyed, bringing the smallest she could find. mrs. bellmont approached her, and, giving her a box on her ear, reiterated the command. the first the child brought was the smallest to be found; of course, the second must be a trifle larger. she well knew it was, as she threw it into a box on the hearth. to mrs. bellmont it was a greater affront, as well as larger wood, so she “taught her” with the raw-hide, and sent her the third time for “little wood.” nig, weeping, knew not what to do. she had carried the smallest; none left would suit her mistress; of course further punishment await- ed her; so she gathered up whatever came first, and threw it down on the hearth. as she ex- pected, mrs. bellmont, enraged, approached her, and kicked her so forcibly as to throw her upon o u r n ig . the floor. before she could rise, another foiled the attempt, and then followed kick after kick in quick succession and power, till she reached the door. mr. bellmont and anut abby, hearing the noise, rushed in, just in time to see the last of the performance. nig jumped up, and rushed from the house, out of sight. aunt abby returned to her apartment, fol- lowed by john, who was muttering to himself “what were you saying?” asked aunt abby. “i said i hoped the child never would come into the house again.” “what would become of her ? you cannot mean that,” continued his sister. “i do mean it. the child does as much work as a woman ought to; and just see how she is kicked about !” “why do you have it so, john?” asked his sister. “how am i to help it? women rule the earth, and all in it.” “i think i should rule my own house, john,”— “and live in hell meantime,” added mr. bellmont. - o u r n i.g. . serious, yet not stern, looked up confounded. he was no stranger to his mother's nature; but years of absence had erased the occurrences once so familiar, and he asked, “is this that pretty little nig, jack writes to me about, that you are so severe upon, mother?” “i’ll not leave much of her beauty to be seen, if she comes in sight; and now, john,” said mrs, b., turning to her husband, “you need not think you are going to learn her to treat me in this way; just see how saucy she was this morning. she shall learn her place.” mr. bellmont raised his calm, determined eye full upon her, and said, in a decisive manner: “you shall not strike, or scald, or skin her, as you call it, if she comes back again. remember!” and he brought his hand down upon the table. “i have searched an hour for her now, and she is not to be found on the premises. do you know where she is? is she your prisoner?” “no ! i have just told you i did not know where she was. nab has her hid somewhere, i suppose. oh, dear! i did not think it would come to this; that my own husband would treat me so.” then came fast flowing tears, which no o u r n i g . one but mary seemed to notice. jane crept into aunt abby's room; mr. bellmont and james went out of doors, and mary remained to condole with her parent. - “do you know where frado is?” asked jane of her aunt. “no,” she replied. “i have hunted every- where. she has left her first hiding-place. i cannot think what has become of her. there comes jack and fido; perhaps he knows;” and she walked to a window near, where james and his father were conversing together. the two brothers exchanged a hearty greet- ing, and then mr. bellmont told jack to eat his supper; afterward he wished to send him away. he immediately went in. accustomed to all the phases of indoor storms, from a whine to thunder and lightning, he saw at a glance marks of disturbance. he had been absent through the day, with the hired men. “what's the fuss?” asked he, rushing into aunt abby's. “eat your supper,” said jane; “go home, jack.” o u r n i g . “if i do, i get whipped;” sobbed the child. “they won't believe what i say. oh, i wish i had my mother back; then i should not be kicked and whipped so. who made me so?” “god;” answered james. “did god make you?” * yes.” “who made aunt abby ?” * god.” “who made your mother?” *god.” “did the same god that made her make me?” * yes.” “well, then, i don’t like him.” “why not?” “because he made her white, and me black. why didn't he make us both white?” “i don’t know; try to go to sleep, and you will feel better in the morning,” was all the re- ply he could make to her knotty queries. it was a long time before she fell asleep; and a number of days before james felt in a mood to visit and entertain old associates and friends. o u r n i g . none of the family around to be merry with, she would amuse herself with the animals. among the sheep was a willful leader, who al- ways persisted in being first served, and many times in his fury he had thrown down nig, till, provoked, she resolved to punish him. the pas- ture in which the sheep grazed was bounded on three sides by a wide stream, which flowed on one side at the base of precipitous banks. the first spare moments at her command, she ran to the pasture with a dish in her hand, and mount- ing the highest point of land nearest the stream, called the flock to their mock repast. mr bell- mont, with his laborers, were in sight, though unseen by frado. they paused to see what she was about to do. should she by any mishap lose her footing, she must roll into the stream, and, without aid, must drown. they thought of shouting; but they feared an unexpected salute might startle her, and thus ensure what they were anxious to prevent. they watched in breathless silence. the willful sheep came furi- ously leaping and bounding far in advance of the flock. just as he leaped for the dish, she suddenly jumped one side, when down he rolled o u r n i g . into the river, and swimming across, remained alone till night. the men lay down, convulsed with laughter at the trick, and guessed at once its object. mr. bellmont talked seriously to the child for exposing herself to such danger; but she hopped about on her toes, and with laugha- ble grimaces replied, she knew she was quick enough to “give him a slide.” but to return. james married a baltimorean lady of wealthy parentage, an indispensable requisite, his mother had always taught him. he did not marry her wealth, though; he loved her, sincerely. she was not unlike his sister jane, who had a social, gentle, loving nature, rather too yielding, her brother thought. his susan had a firmness which jane needed to complete her character, but which her ill health may in a measure have failed to produce. al- though an invalid, she was not excluded from society. was it strange she should seem a desir- able companion, a treasure as a wife? two young men seemed desirous of possess- ing her. one was a neighbor, henry reed, a tall, spare young man, with sandy hair, and blue, sinister eyes. he seemed to appreciate her o u r n i g . wants, and watch with interest her improvement or decay. his kindness she received, and by it was almost won. her mother wished her to en- courage his attentions. she had counted the acres which were to be transmitted to an only son; she knew there was silver in the purse; she would not have jane too sentimental. the eagerness with which he amassed wealth, was repulsive to jane; he did not spare his per- son or beasts in its pursuit. she felt that to such a man she should be considered an incum- brance; she doubted if he would desire her, if he did not know she would bring a handsome patrimony. her mother, full in favor with the parents of henry, commanded her to accept him. she engaged herself, yielding to her "mother's wishes, because she had not strength to oppose them; and sometimes, when witness of her mother's and mary's tyranny, she felt any change would be preferable, even such a one as this. she knew her husband should be the man of her own selecting, one she was conscious of preferring before all others. she could not say this of henry. in this dilemma, a visitor came to aunt o u r n i g. his manner or appearance; that she was under no obligations which forbade her receiving let- ters from him as a friend and acquaintance. george was puzzled by the reply. he wrote to aunt abby, and from her learned all. he could not see jane thus sacrificed, without mak- ing an effort to rescue her. another visit fol- lowed. george heard jane say she preferred him. he then conferred with henry at his home. it was not a pleasant subject to talk upon. to be thus supplanted, was not to be thought of he would sacrifice everything but his inheritance to secure his betrothed. “and so you are the cause of her late cold- ness towards me. leave i will talk no more about it; the business is settled between us; there it will remain,” said henry. “have you no wish to know the real state of jane's affections towards you?” asked george. “no ! go, i say! go!” and henry opened the door for him to pass out. he retired to aunt abby's. henry soon fol- lowed, and presented his cause to mrs. bellmont. provoked, surprised, indignant, she summoned jane to her presence, and after a lengthy tirade c h a p t e r w i. v a. r. i. et i e s . “hard are life's early steps; and but that youth is buoyant, con- fident, and strong in hope, men would behold its threshold and despair.” the sorrow of frado was very great for her pet, and mr. bellmont by great exertion obtained it again, much to the relief of the child. to be thus deprived of all her sources of pleasure was a sure way to exalt their worth, and fido became, in her estimation, a more valuable presence than the human beings who surrounded her. james had now been married a number of years, and frequent requests for a visit from the family were at last accepted, and mrs. bellmont made great preparations for a fall sojourn in baltimore. mary was installed housekeper — in name merely, for nig was the only moving power in the house. although suffering from their joint severity, she felt safer than to be thrown wholly o u r n i g . no one now stood between herself and frado, but aunt abby. and if she dared to interfere in the least, she was ordered back to her “own quarters.” nig would creep slyly into her room, learn what she could of her regarding the absent, and thus gain some light in the thick gloom of care and toil and sorrow in which she was immersed. the first of spring a letter came from james, announcing declining health. he must try northern air as a restorative; so frado joyfully prepared for this agreeable increase of the family, this addition to her cares. he arrived feeble, lame, from his disease, so changed frado wept at his appearance, fearing he would be removed from her forever. he kindly greeted her, took her to the parlor to see his wife and child, and said many things to kindle smiles on her sad face. frado felt so happy in his presence, so safe from maltreatment! he was to her a shelter. he observed, silently, the ways of the house a few days; nig still took her meals in the same manner as formerly, having the same allowance o u r n i g. of food. he, one day, bade her not remove the food, but sit down to the table and eat. “she will, mother,” said he, calmly, but impera- tively; i’m determined; she works hard; i’ve watched her. now, while i stay, she is going to sit down here, and eat such food as we eat.” a few sparks from the mother's black eyes were the only reply; she feared to oppose where she knew she could not prevail. so nig's stand- ing attitude, and selected diet vanished. her clothing was yet poor and scanty; she was not blessed with a sunday attire; for she was never permitted to attend church with her mis- tress. “religion was not meant for niggers,” she said; when the husband and brothers were absent, she would drive mrs. b. and mary there, then return, and go for them at the close of the service, but never remain. aunt abby would take her to evening meetings, held in the neigh- borhood, which mrs. b. never attended; and im- part to her lessons of truth and grace as they walked to the place of prayer. many of less piety would scorn to present so doleful a figure; mrs. b. had shaved her glossy ringlets; and, in her coarse cloth gown and an- o u r n i g. cient bonnet, she was anything but an enticing object. but aunt abby looked within. she saw a soul to save, an immortality of happi- ness to secure. these evenings were eagerly anticipated by nig; it was such a pleasant release from labor. such perfect contrast in the melody and pray- ers of these good people to the harsh tones which fell on her ears during the day. soon she had all their sacred songs at com- mand, and enlivened her toil by accompanying it with this melody. james encouraged his aunt in her efforts. he had found the saviour, he wished to have frado's desolate heart gladdened, quieted, sustained, by his presence. he felt sure there were elements in her heart which, transformed and purified by the gospel, would make her worthy the esteem and friendship of the world. a kind, affection- ate heart, native wit, and common sense, and the pertness she sometimes exhibited, he felt if restrained properly, might become useful in originating a self-reliance which would be of ser- vice to her in after years. o u r n i g. table discipline, and would often tarry in the dining-room, to see nig in her new place at the family table. as he was thus sitting one day, after the family had finished dinner, frado seated herself in her mistress' chair, and was just reaching for a clean dessert plate which was on the table, when her mistress entered. “put that plate down; you shall not have a clean one; eat from mine,” continued she. nig hesitated. to eat after james, his wife or jack, would have been pleasant; but to be command- ed to do what was disagreeable by her mistress, because it was disagreeable, was trying. quickly looking about, she took the plate, called fido to wash it, which he did to the best of his ability; then, wiping her knife and fork on the cloth, she proceeded to eat her dinner. nig never looked toward her mistress during the process. she had jack near; she did not fear her now. insulted, full of rage, mrs. bellmont rushed to her husband, and commanded him to notice this insult; to whip that child; if he would not do it, james ought. james came to hear the kitchen version of the o u r n ig . “just what i am longing to do, aunt abby. susan is just of my mind, and we intend to take her; i have been wishing to do so for years.” “she seems much affected by what she hears at the evening meetings, and asks me many questions on serious things; seems to love to read the bible; i feel hopes of her.” “i hope she is thoughtful; no one has a kinder heart, one capable of loving more devotedly. but to think how prejudiced the world are to- wards her people; that she must be reared in such ignorance as to drown all the finer feelings. when i think of what she might be, of what she will be, i feel like grasping time till opinions change, and thousands like her rise into a noble freedom. i have seen frado's grief, because she is black, amount to agony. it makes me sick to recall these scenes. mother pretends to think she don't know enough to sorrow for anything; but if she could see her as i have, when she sup- posed herself entirely alone, except her little dog fido, lamenting her loneliness and complexion, i think, if she is not past feeling, she would retract. in the summer i was walking near the barn, and as i stood i heard sobs, ‘oh! oh! i heard, o u r n i g . ‘why was i made? why can’t i die? oh, what have i to live for ? no one cares for me only to get my work. and i feel sick; who cares for that? work as long as i can stand, and then fall down and lay there till i can get up. no mother, father, brother or sister to care for me, and then it is, you lazy nigger, lazy nigger — all because i am black oh, if i could die!’ “i stepped into the barn, where i could see her. she was crouched down by the hay with her faithful friend fido, and as she ceased speak- ing, buried her face in her hands, and cried bit- terly; then, patting fido, she kissed him, saying, ‘you love me, fido, don’t you? but we must go work in the field. she started on her mission; i called her to me, and told her she need not go, the hay was doing well. “she has such confidence in me that she will do just as i tell her; so we found a seat under a shady tree, and there i took the opportunity to combat the notions she seemed to entertain respecting the loneliness of her condition and want of sympathizing friends. i assured her that mother's views were by no means general; that in our part of the country there were thousands o u r n i g . addition to her daily toil she was often deprived of her rest at night. yet she insisted on being called; she wished to show her love for one who had been such a friend to her. her anxiety and grief increased as the probabilities of his recovery became doubtful. mrs. bellmont found her weeping on his ac- count, shut her up, and whipped her with the raw-hide, adding an injunction never to be seen snivelling again because she had a little work to do. she was very careful never to shed tears on his account, in her presence, afterwards. : o u r n i g . aid. but, alas ! it was not in his power; so, after listening to his wishes and arrangements for his family and business, he decided to return home. anxious for company home, he persuaded his father and mother to permit mary to attend him. she was not at all needed in the sick room; she did not choose to be useful in the kitchen, and then she was fully determined to go. so all the trunks were assembled and cram- med with the best selections from the wardrobe of herself and mother, where the last-mentioned articles could be appropriated. “nig was never so helpful before,” mary re- marked, and wondered what had induced such a change in place of former sullenness. nig was looking further than the present, and congratulating herself upon some days of peace, for mary never lost opportunity of informing her mother of nig's delinquincies, were she otherwise ignorant. was it strange if she were officious, with such relief in prospect? the parting from the sick brother was tearful and sad. james prayed in their presence for o u r n i g. their renewal in holiness; and urged their im- mediate attention to eternal realities, and gained a promise that susan and charlie should share their kindest regards. no sooner were they on their way, than nig slyly crept round to aunt abby's room, and tip- toeing and twisting herself into all shapes, she exclaimed, – “she’s gone, aunt abby, she’s gone, fairly gone;” and jumped up and down, till aunt abby feared she would attract the notice of her mistress by such demonstrations. “well, she's gone, gone, aunt abby. i hope she’ll never come back again.” “no no! frado, that's wrong! you would be wishing her dead; that won't do.” “well, i'll bet she’ll never come back again; somehow, i feel as though she wouldn't.” “she is james's sister,” remonstrated aunt abby. “so is our cross sheep just as much, that i ducked in the river; i’d like to try my hand at curing her too.” “but you forget what our good minister told us last week, about doing good to those that hate us.” o u r n i g . “didn't i do good, aunt abby, when i washed and ironed and packed her old duds to get rid of her, and helped her pack her trunks, and run here and there for her ?” “well, well, frado; you must go finish your work, or your mistress will be after you, and remind you severely of miss mary, and some others beside.” nig went as she was told, and her clear voice was heard as she went, singing in joyous notes the relief she felt at the removal of one of her tormentors. day by day the quiet of the sick man's room was increased. he was helpless and nervous; and often wished change of position, thereby hoping to gain momentary relief. the calls upon frado were consequently more frequent, her nights less tranquil. her health was im- paired by lifting the sick man, and by drudgery in the kitchen. her ill health she endeavored to conceal from james, fearing he might have less repose if there should be a change of at- tendants; and mrs. bellmont, she well knew, would have no sympathy for her. she was at last so much reduced as to be unable to stand o u r n i g . as james approached that blessed world, she felt a strong desire to follow, and be with one who was such a dear, kind friend to her. while she was exercised with these desires and aspirations, she attended an evening meet- ing with aunt abby, and the good man urged all, young or old, to accept the offers of mercy, to receive a compassionate jesus as their sa- viour. “come to christ,” he urged, “all, young or old, white or black, bond or free, come all to christ for pardon; repent, believe.” this was the message she longed to hear; it seemed to be spoken for her. but he had told them to repent; “what was that?” she asked. she knew she was unfit for any heaven, made for whites or blacks. she would gladly repent, or do anything which would admit her to share the abode of james. her anxiety increased; her countenance bore marks of solicitude unseen before; and though she said nothing of her inward contest, they all observed a change. - james and aunt abby hoped it was the springing of good seed sown by the spirit of god. her tearful attention at the last meeting o u r n i g . shedding tears over the bible. she ordered her to put up the book, and go to work, and not be snivelling about the house, or stop to read again. * but there was one little spot seldom penetra- ted by her mistress watchful eye: this was her room, uninviting and comfortless; but to her- self a safe retreat. here she would listen to the pleadings of a saviour, and try to penetrate the veil of doubt and sin which clouded her soul, and long to cast off the fetters of sin, and rise to the communion of saints. mrs. bellmont, as we before said, did not trou- ble herself about the future destiny of her ser- vant. if she did what she desired for her bene- fit, it was all the responsibility she acknowledged. but she seemed to have great aversion to the notice nig would attract should she become pious. how could she meet this case? she re- solved to make her complaint to john. strange, when she was always foiled in this direction, she should resort to him. it was time something was done; she had begun to read the bible openly. the night of this discovery, as they were o u r n i g . would have been killed long ago. there was never one of my girls could do half the work.” “did they ever try?” interposed her husband. “i think she can do more than all of them together." “what a man!” said she, peevishly. “but i want to know what is going to be done with her about getting pious?” “let her do just as she has a mind to. if it is a comfort to her, let her enjoy the privilege of being good. i see no objection.” “i should think you were crazy, sure. don’t you know that every night she will want to go toting off to meeting? and sundays, too ? and you know we have a great deal of company sundays, and she can’t be spared.” “i thought you christians held to going to church,” remarked mr. b. “yes, but who ever thought of having a nig- ger go, except to drive others there? why, according to you and james, we should very soon have her in the parlor, as smart as our own girls. it’s of no use talking to you or james. if you should go on as you would like, it would not be six months before she would be : o u r n i g . the family were at tea. it was usual to sum- mon aunt abby to keep company with her, as his death was expected hourly. as she took her accustomed seat, he asked, “are you afraid to stay with me alone, frado?” “no,” she replied, and stepped to the window to conceal her emotion. “come here, and sit by me; i wish to talk with you.” she approached him, and, taking her hand, he remarked: “how poor you are, frado ! i want to tell you that i fear i shall never be able to talk with you again. it is the last time, perhaps, i shall ever talk with you. you are old enough to remember my dying words and profit by them. i have been sick a long time; i shall die pretty soon. my heavenly father is calling me home. had it been his will to let me live i should take you to live with me; but, as it is, i shall go and leave you. but, frado, if you will be a good girl, and love and serve god, it will be but a short time before we are in a heavenly home to- gether. there will never be any sickness or sorrow there.” o u r n i g. jack it was not thought best to send for, as the season would not allow them time for the journey. susan provided her with a dress for the occasion, which was her first intimation that she would be allowed to mingle her grief with others. the day of the burial she was attired in her mourning dress; but susan, in her grief, had forgotten a bonnet. she hastily ransacked the closets, and found one of mary's, trimmed with bright pink ribbon. it was too late to change the ribbon, and she was unwilling to leave frado at home; she knew it would be the wish of james she should go with her. so tying it on, she said, “never mind, frado, you shall see where our dear james is buried.” as she passed out, she heard the whispers of the by-standers, “look there ! see there ! how that looks,— a black dress and a pink ribbon l’ another time, such remarks would have wounded frado. she had now a sorrow with which such were small in comparison. as she saw his body lowered in the grave she wished to share it; but she was not fit to o u r n i.g. die. she could not go where he was if she did. she did not love god; she did not serve him or know how to. she retired at night to mourn over her unfitness for heaven, and gaze out upon the stars, which, she felt, studded the entrance of heaven, above which james reposed in the bosom of jesus, to which her desires were has- tening. she wished she could see god, and ask him for eternal life. aunt abby had taught her that he was ever looking upon her. oh, if she could see him, or hear him speak words of forgiveness. her anxiety increased; her health seemed impaired, and she felt constrained to go to aunt abby and tell her all about her conflicts. she received her like a returning wanderer; seriously urged her to accept of christ; ex- plained the way; read to her from the bible, and remarked upon such passages as applied to her state. she warned her against stifling that voice which was calling her to heaven; echoed the farewell words of james, and told her to come to her with her difficulties, and o u r n ig . not to delay a duty so important as attention to the truths of religion, and her soul's interests. mrs. bellmont would occasionally give in- struction, though far different. she would tell her she could not go where james was; she need not try. if she should get to heaven at all, she would never be as high up as he. he was the attraction. should she “want to go there if she could not see him?” mrs. b. seldom mentioned her bereavement, unless in such allusion to frado. she donned her weeds from custom; kept close her crape veil for so many sabbaths, and abated nothing of her characteristic harshness. the clergyman called to minister consolation to the afflicted widow and mother. aunt abby seeing him approach the dwelling, knew at once the object of his visit, and followed him to the parlor, unasked by mrs. b! what a daring affront! the good man dispensed the conso- lations, of which he was steward, to the appar- ently griefsmitten mother, who talked like one schooled in a heavenly atmosphere. such resig- nation expressed, as might have graced the trial of the holiest. susan, like a mute sufferer, c h a pte r x. p e r p l e x it i e. s. – a not h e r d e a t h . neath the billows of the ocean, hidden treasures wait the hand, that again to light shall raise them with the diver's magic wand. g. w. cook. the family, gathered by james' decease, re- turned to their homes. susan and charles returned to baltimore. letters were received from the absent, expressing their sympathy and grief. the father bowed like a “bruised reed,” under the loss of his beloved son. he felt desirous to die the death of the righteous; also, conscious that he was unprepared, he resolved to start on the narrow way, and some time solicit entrance through the gate which leads to the celestial city. he acknowledged his too ready acquiescence with mrs. b., in permit- ting frado to be deprived of her only religious privileges for weeks together. he accordingly o u r n i g . asked his sister to take her to meeting once more, which she was ready at once to do. the first opportunity they once more at- tended meeting together. the minister con- versed faithfully with every person present. he was surprised to find the little colored girl so solicitous, and kindly directed her to the flowing fountain where she might wash and be clean. he inquired of the origin of her anxiety, of her progress up to this time, and endeavored to make christ, instead of james, the attraction of heaven. he invited her to come to his house, to speak freely her mind to him, to pray much, to read her bible often. the neighbors, who were at meeting-among them mrs. reed, – discussed the opinions mrs. bellmont would express on the subject. mrs. reed called and informed mrs. b. that her col- ored girl “related her experience the other night at the meeting.” “what experience?” asked she, quickly, as if she expected to hear the number of times she had whipped frado, and the number of lashes set forth in plain arabic numbers. o u r nig . “why, you know she is serious, don't you ? she told the minister about it.” mrs. b. made no reply, but changed the subject adroitly. next morning she told frado she “should not go out of the house for one while, except on errands; and if she did not stop trying to be religious, she would whip her to death.” frado pondered; her mistress was a professor of religion; was she going to heaven? then she did not wish to go. if she should be near james, even, she could not be happy with those fiery eyes watching her ascending path. she resolved to give over all thought of the future world, and strove daily to put her anxiety far from her. mr. bellmont found himself unable to do what james or jack could accomplish for her. he talked with her seriously, told her he had seen her many times punished undeservedly; he did not wish to have her saucy or disrespectful, but when she was sure she did not deserve a whip- ping, to avoid it if she could. “you are look- ing sick,” he added, “you cannot endure beating as you once could.” o u r n i g . able. she determined to flee. but where? who would take her? mrs. b. had always repre- sented her ugly. perhaps every one thought her so. then no one would take her. she was black, no one would love her. she might have to return, and then she would be more in her mistress' power than ever. she remembered her victory at the wood-pile. she decided to remain to do as well as she could; to assert her rights when they were trampled on; to return once more to her meeting in the evening, which had been prohibited. she had learned how to conquer; she would not abuse the power while mr. bellmont was at home. but had she not better run away? where? she had never been from the place far enough to decide what course to take. she resolved to speak to aunt abby. she mapped the dangers of her course, her liability to fail in finding so good friends as john and herself. frado's mind was busy for days and nights. she contem- plated administering poison to her mistress, to rid herself and the house of so detestable a plague. o u r n i g . “oh, she's worth a million dollars, mother, though not a cent of it is in money.” “jack! what do you want to bring such a poor being into the family, for ? you'd better stay here, at home, and let your wife go. why could n’t you try to do better, and not disgrace your parents?” “don’t judge, till you see her,” was jack's reply, and immediately changed the subject. it was no recommendation to his mother, and she did not feel prepared to welcome her cor- dially now he was to come with his wife. he was indignant at his mother's advice to desert her. it rankled bitterly in his soul, the bare suggestion. he had more to bring. he now came with a child also. he decided to leave the west, but not his family. upon their arrival, mrs. b. extended a cold welcome to her new daughter, eyeing her dress with closest scrutiny. poverty was to her a disgrace, and she could not associate with any thus dishonored. this coldness was felt by jack's worthy wife, who only strove the harder to recommend herself by her obliging, winning ways. o u r n i g. he had another love whom he would be glad, even now, if he could, to marry. it was very doubtful if he ever came for her. jenny would feel pained by her unwelcome gossip, and, glancing at her child, she decided, however true it might be, she had a pledge which would enchain him yet. ere long, the mother's inveterate hate crept out into some neighbor's enclosure, and, caught up hastily, they passed the secret round till it became none, and lewis was sent for, the brother by whom jack was employed. the neighbors saw her fade in health and spirits; they found letters never reached their destination when sent by either. lewis arrived with the joyful news that he had come to take jenny home with him. what a relief to her to be freed from the gnawing taunts of her adversary. jenny retired to prepare for the journey, and mrs. b. and henry had a long interview. next morning he informed jenny that new clothes would be necessary, in order to make her pre- sentable to baltimore society, and he should return without her, and she must stay till she was suitably attired. o u r n i g . built out from the main building, used formerly as a workshop, where cold and rain found unob- structed access, and here she fought with bitter reminiscences and future prospects till she be- came reckless of her faith and hopes and person, and half wished to end what nature seemed so tardily to take. aunt abby made her frequent visits, and at last had her removed to her own apartment, where she might supply her wants, and minister to her once more in heavenly things. then came the family consultation. “what is to be done with her,” asked mrs. b., “after she is moved there with nab?” . “send for the dr, your brother,” mr. b. re- plied. “when ” “to-night.” “to-night! and for her! wait till morning,” she continued. “she has waited too long now; i think some- thing should be done soon.” “i doubt if she is much sick,” sharply inter- rupted mrs. b. “well, we’ll see what our brother thinks.” o u r n ig . one only resource; the public must pay the expense. so she was removed to the home of two maidens, (old,) who had principle enough to be willing to earn the money a charitable public disburses. three years of weary sickness wasted her, without extinguishing a life apparently so fee- ble. two years had these maidens watched and cared for her, and they began to weary, and finally to request the authorities to remove her. mrs. hoggs was a lover of gold and silver, and she asked the favor of filling her coffers by caring for the sick. the removal caused severe sick- in ess. by being bolstered in the bed, after a time she could use her hands, and often would ask for sewing to beguile the tedium. she had become very expert with her needle the first year of her release from mrs. b., and she had forgotten none of her skill. mrs. h. praised her, and as she im- proved in health, was anxious to employ her. she told her she could in this way replace her clothes, and as her board would be paid for, she would thus gain something. many times her hands wrought when her o u r n i g . body was in pain; but the hope that she might yet help herself, impelled her on. - thus she reckoned her store of means by a few dollars, and was hoping soon to come in pos- session, when she was startled by the announce- ment that mrs. hoggs had reported her to the physician and town officers as an impostor. that she was, in truth, able to get up and go to work. this brought on a severe sickness of two weeks, when mrs. moore again sought her, and took her to her home. she had formerly had wealth at her command, but misfortune had de- prived her of it, and unlocked her heart to sym- pathies and favors she had never known while it lasted. her husband, defrauded of his last means by a branch of the bellmont family, had supported them by manual labor, gone to the west, and left his wife and four young children. but she felt humanity required her to give a shelter to one she knew to be worthy of a hospit- able reception. mrs. moore's physician was called, and pronounced her a very sick girl, and encouraged mrs. m. to keep her and care for her, and he would see that the authorities were in- o u r n ig . formed of frado's helplessness, and pledged as- sistance. here she remained till sufficiently restored to sew again. then came the old resolution to take care of herself, to cast off the unpleasant chari- ties of the public. she learned that in some towns in massachu- setts, girls make straw bonnets — that it was easy and profitable. but how should she, black, feeble and poor, find any one to teach her. but god prepares the way, when human agencies see no path. here was found a plain, poor, sim- ple woman, who could see merit beneath a dark skin; and when the invalid mulatto told her sor- rows, she opened her door and her heart, and took the stranger in. expert with the needle, frado soon equalled her instructress; and she sought also to teach her the value of useful books; and while one read aloud to the other of deeds historic and names renowned, frado expe- rienced a new impulse. she felt herself capable of elevation; she felt that this book information supplied an undefined dissatisfaction she had long felt, but could not express. every leisure moment was carefully applied to self-improve- o u r n i g . ment, and a devout and christian exterior in- vited confidence from the villagers. thus she passed months of quiet, growing in the confi- dence of her neighbors and new found friends. : o u r n i g. with the disclosure that he had never seen the south, and that his illiterate harangues were humbugs for hungry abolitionists. once more alone! yet not alone. a still newer compan- ionship would soon force itself upon her. no one wanted her with such prospects. herself was burden enough; who would have an addi- tional one? the horrors of her condition nearly prostrated her, and she was again thrown upon the public for sustenance. then followed the birth of her child. the long absent samuel unexpectedly returned, and rescued her from charity. recov- ering from her expected illness, she once more commenced toil for herself and child, in a room obtained of a poor woman, but with better for- tune. one so well known would not be wholly neglected. kind friends watched her when sam- uel was from home, prevented her from suffering, and when the cold weather pinched the warmly clad, a kind friend took them in, and thus pre- served them. at last samuel's business became very engrossing, and after long desertion, news' reached his family that he had become a victim of yellow fever, in new orleans. o u r n i g. so much toil as was necessary to sustain fra- do, was more than she could endure. as soon as her babe could be nourished without his mother, she left him in charge of a mrs. capon, and procured an agency, hoping to recruit her health, and gain an easier livelihood for herself and child. this afforded her better mainten- ance than she had yet found. she passed into the various towns of the state she lived in, then into massachusetts. strange were some of her adventures. watched by kidnappers, maltreated by professed abolitionists, who did n’t want slaves at the south, nor niggers in their own houses, north. faugh! to lodge one; to eat with one; to admit one through the front door; to sit next one; awful! traps slyly laid by the vicious to ensnare her, she resolutely avoided. in one of her tours, providence favored her with a friend who, pity- ing her cheerless lot, kindly provided her with a valuable recipe, from which she might herself manufacture a useful article for her maintenance. this proved a more agreeable, and an easier way of sustenance. and thus, to the present time, may you see appendix. may be said not to have had that happy period; for, being tak- en from home so young, and placed where she had nothing to love or cling to, i often wonder she had not grown up a monster; and those very people calling themselves christians, (the good lord deliver me from such,) and they likewise ruined her health by hard work, both in the field and house. she was in- deed a slave, in every sense of the word; and a lonely one, too. but she has found some friends in this degraded world, that were willing to do by others as they would have others do by them; that were willing she should live, and have an existence on the earth with them. she has never enjoyed any degree of comfortable health since she was eighteen years of age, and a great deal of the time has been confined to her room and bed. she is now trying to write a book; and i hope the public will look favorably on it, and patronize the same, for she is a worthy woman. her own health being poor, and having a child to care for, (for, by the way, she has been married,) and she wishes to edu- cate him; in her sickness he has been taken from her, and sent to the county farm, because she could not pay his board every week; but as soon as she was able, she took him from that place, and now he has a home where he is contented and happy, and where he is considered as good as those he is with. he is an intelligent, smart boy, and no doubt will make a smart man, if he is rightly managed. he is beloved by his playmates, and by all the friends of the family; for the family do not recognize those as friends who do not include him in their family, or as one of them, and his mother as a daughter—for they treat her as such; and she certainly deserves all the affection and kind- ness that is bestowed upon her, and they are always happy to have her visit them whenever she will. they are not wealthy, but the latch-string is always out when suffering humanity needs a shelter; the last loaf they are willing to divide with those more needy than themselves, remembering these words, do good as £, -- ~~~~ (.-. * @ '. '*'. £ | - | | - * > /* * £s. £) * £ £ - ". | - . - | neither bond nor free. } (a plea.) “what's freedom widout sumphn' wid it p” —jack dempsey. by g. langhorne pryor. “howe'er it be it seems to me, 'tis only noble to be good. kind hearts are more than coronets, and simple faith than norman blood.” copyright, , by j. s. ogilvie publishing company. new york : j. s. ogilvie publishing company, rose street, a few opinions of “neither bond nor free.” rev. geo. h. hepworth, d.d., of new york “herald”: “i hope the project may prove successful, as it deserves to be.” rev. h. b. frissell, principal, hampton institute : “the book contains some excellent points.” funk & wagnalls, publishers “literary digest,” new york: “it is indeed an eloquent plea—very persuasive, and writ- ten in a calm and dispassionate manner. the author has evidently thought much on the race problem.” rev. r. h. w. leak, d.d., manager, a. m. e. book concern, philadelphia: “it's a good book. i like it very much.” col. j. r. waddy, postmaster, norfolk, va.: “like booker washington, the author's work will do much to allay the irritation between the races and promote the growth of a better sentiment in our southland.” contents. chapter i. page a chance meeting......................... • • - - - - - - - - - - chapter ii. a church scene. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ................. chapter iii. the town of h—... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ................... chapter iv. toussaint visits merna... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . • • • - e - - - - - - - - chapter v. merna and her uncle. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . • • - - - - - - - - - - - chapter vi. a lawn party......................... • * * * * * * * - © - - - - - - - chapter vii. van courtney and clarissa................ • • • - - - - - - - - - - . chapter viii. toussaint would follow where merna leads.............. chapter ix. - a picnic, followed by a storm................... • - - - - - - chapter x. at the parsonage................. • • • • • • • • • • * * * * * * * * * - - - chapter xi. an outing experience.................................. vl contents. chapter xii. page the southern industrial institute—vacation.......... ... chapter xiii. sowing the wind. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ........... chapter xiv. the wages of sin............................... - - - - - - - - chapter xv. the queen of society................................... - chapter xvi. literary life at the capital... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . - - - - - - chapter xvii. politics in the south. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ......... chapter xviii. a message from africa. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ............... chapter xix. the black republic. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ............. chapter xx. jack dempsey–thereby hangs a tale............. • - - - - - chapter xxi. race problems.................................... • - - - - - chapter xxii. “what's freedom without sumpin' wid it?” ............ chapter xxiii. four years later.......... © - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ......... chapter xxiv. order out of confusion. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ......... neither bond nor free. an instant gazing about for the object of that name, the next he was profoundly surprised to have his eyes meet those of a charming girl of tender years. toussaint raising his hat, bowed gra- ciously, in anticipation of a speech which the young girl's lips were then framing. to her question as to whether he had seen a dog—a greyhound, in the last few minutes, toussaint replied that he had noticed a dog in pursuit of a squirrel. he had, however, scarcely made answer, when seba came rushing through the wood, and in an in- stant more was crouched at his mistress' feet, pant- ing breathlessly. the girl caressed the animal, who, in turn, frisked about under her gentle treatment. toussaint, meanwhile, toyed somewhat abstractedly with his watch-guard, and then the fair stranger in turning smilingly said “good-day, sir,” and hastened away, leaving him to his thoughts. “a creature divinely fair,” he mused. “who is she, and what brings her to this place?” toussaint was altogether too busied with these questions to hurry homeward. he trudged slowly along, now and then observing the lengthening shadows as they lay athwart his path. the golden orb of day was passing from sight in the western horizon. there were already visible tiny, fleecy cloudlets, making their way over and around it, which promised to divest the closing hour of this lovely june day of its charming afterglow and mellow twilight. jneither bond nor free. within half an hour, walking at a brisk pace, merna had gained the principal thoroughfare of the town of h , and some minutes later, mrs. mar- garet lockley, who had been waiting and watching eagerly at the door of her home, was affectionately recounting to her niece the anxiety she had felt, occasioned by her tardy return. “merna, explain at once,” she gently chided, “for i had expected your return much earlier.” it was now merna’s turn to explain. she began: “oh, i have had a delightful stroll—only a trifle more than a mile beyond the confines of the town. presently i came to a woody path leading through a lovely copse, and beyond this i could see the deep wood. i was charmed with the scenery of this sunny land—the trees—the flowers—the birds—all. and seba, too, was delighted, until after a time something attracted the dog and he ran away furi- ously. i called him repeatedly, and for the first time he gave no heed to my voice. he had been a most obedient dog.” noting the intense, not to say painful, earnestness of merna, mrs. lockley observed: “what was he after p” “a gentleman whom i chanced to meet told me he had gone in chase of a squirrel. it was very kind of the stranger to have offered his services to search for seba.” mrs. lockley then asked merna to describe the neither bond nor free. stranger. the girl made no answer, but betraying some mental preoccupation, added, “i did not think that my seba could torture any living creature. the poor squirrel. i wonder if it was harmed. seba seems to have parted with his gentle habits.” “there is nothing unusual in a dog's chasing a squirrel, or, as to that matter, eating one,” stoically replied her aunt. “but seba has always been such a good, kind and playful dog—as gentle as you please,” continued merna. “dogs are much like some people; they are apt to follow their natures regardless of their training and previous habits. but you have not yet told me of the stranger, merna.” “i really did not observe him sufficiently to be able to describe him in the least. what i remember is that his address was most deferential,” said merna. the aunt was not to be dismissed in the premises in this manner. she felt a little curious to know, that was all, how such a trite experience as a dog pursuing a squirrel could absorb any mind to the exclusion of a human being, and especially since there was the novelty, if you are pleased so to re- gard it, of seeing a man of genteel appearance and charming manners; yet, so far as she knew, possess- ing only a name, and having no local habitation. “it must have been mr. ripley that you saw— neither bond nor free. toussaint ripley. he is a teacher in the country, but boards in the town. and a very nice young man is he,” observed aunt margaret. at that moment there entered the sitting-room mr. john lockley, the husband of mrs. lockley. his greeting of merna interrupted the narrative of aunt margaret. after a brief rehearsal of the in- cidents of the day for the benefit of mr. lockley and to the delight of mrs. lockley, merna retired in peace and earlier than usual, to reflect on the safe return of seba, and the peril of the squirrel. soon thereafter mr. and mrs. lockley betook themselves to slumber, and all was hushed within their home. these two were good souls, fair specimens of the survival of the fittest. they had met and wooed each other under that “peculiar institution,” now happily passed away. they had sustained a varied experience which had at least taught them the golden lesson of contentment with their present lot. to them every morning was an invocation, every even- ing a benediction, and their lives one sweet refrain. they found themselves, at the termination of the war, under new conditions, and having no capital, save that which energy could arouse in physical natures much impaired. but they put their heads together, and builded for themselves a snug but plain home, having the comforts compatible with their necessities. the husband, hard by the family residence, conducted a notion store which was a neither bond nor free. most formidable rival for any similar establishment of that town. of a family of five children—three of whom were daughters, all were grown, married and prospering. the truth is that “uncle john” and “aunt mar- garet,” by which appellations they were most fa- miliarly known to the older inhabitants, had an abiding faith in one another, and they religiously believed that in the world about them all things worked together for good. neither bond nor free. chapter ii. a church scene. during the summer of which i write, religious fervor ran high among certain inhabitants through- out the town of h , and its environs. not that there was anything remarkably noteworthy in the zeal of these people—earnestly professing to be fol- lowers of the meek and lowly one. they were already enthusiasts by nature, and religious zealots by tradition, and their zeal, it seemed, was kindled anew by contact with the water. the large majority of them were of the water-loving type, and it seemed to soothe and sus- tain their faith. there was water, too, in abun- dance—the town being well nigh surrounded by it. and while i should hesitate to say that the water was an incentive to the propagation of a certain re- ligious tenet, it was nevertheless highly conducive to the growth of the baptist church—and these churches were many. the methodists were next in number, and if the baptist propagandist inter- * neither bond nor free. part of the church membership lay outside of the town limit. there were many horses and mules attached to two-wheeled vehicles, usually known as carts, and used for heavy traffic, and there was a fair sprinkling of those horny headed animals, hooked up to some rude attraction less dignified in construction than the cart. the more pretentious came in buggies, to which were harnessed mules and horses—among the latter were some spirited animals, others lean and discouraged, to whom life seemed indeed a burden. it was the fourth sunday in june, and this day, every month, was observed as sacrament day— always attracting large congregations. this occa- sion, so soul inspiring and so solemn in its sugges- tiveness, had varied aspects for the communicants. to some it was significant in its appeal to their sense of the grave responsibility; to others, the emotions easily triumphed over their supersensitive natures, still others there were, responsive in no sense to its proper observance. these last were, indeed, callous creatures. the hour for services had arrived and the minis- ter, the rev. asa p. burleigh, a swarthy and capon fed individual of generous proportions, ascended the rostrum. while the preliminary exercises were in progress, a woman in an audible voice, was heard to remark to a sister at her elbow: “say, swepsy, you ain't goin' to take sacr’ment?” neither bond nor free. ? with yellow figures. in the right hand she firmly held her gloves, made of some cotton fabric. it was a sultry day, there was little air astir with- out, and it was oppressive within, for ventilation here was at a discount. van courtney caused a dozen or more pairs of eyes to turn involuntarily in the direction of his searching gaze, and it was then that swepsy, filled with just indignation for the jester, defied him. she seemed to lose all sense of shame, all con- sciousness of the hallowed place—all sense of the presence of rev. burleigh, who, with measured voice, had just announced his text as “i. corin- thians, iii. chapter, first verse.” there was a something indefinable—yet unmistakably sav- age in the look which the old woman gave van courtney. the ebony hue of this creature was set out in all its duskiness. the lips were livid, and the eyes glowed with intensity and redness strange and unusual. her teeth clenched, and this signalized the hatred she felt for the stranger. “look at that yaller dog,” she muttered, half to herself and half to her companion. “god forgive me, never min, i’ll get even with him.” van courtney did not hear, but he saw all, yet he was not in the least disturbed. in truth, little disturbed this man, sleeping or waking. his whole life had been one day dream—one flowery neither bond nor free. dream. he felt supreme contempt for all of con- science. with him human frailty was a folly not to be condoned, and the forum of conscience was a tribunal for fools. and yet, at times, he cowed before his con- science with a certain feeling of dread; it was his nemesis, and since he could not reconcile his con- duct to it he longed for its annihilation. he thought it strange, too, that he could not escape the dis- tinct memory of these words—a soliloquy—irresis- tible and impelling: “my conscience hath a thousand several tongues, and every tongue brings in a several tale, and every tale condemns me for a villain.” van courtney was also vain of his person, and brooked no rival for social honors. in others he saw much to envy—little to emulate. he was, in a word, a law unto himself. there he sat engrossed in self love. in another part of the house was merna attaway, in the com- pany of mr. and mrs. john lockley. they were deeply interested in all that the minister uttered, and in nothing more than these words: “we are laborers with god. the greatest honor god ever puts upon a man in this life is to give him a part of the work he is doing. it is a great honor to be taken into co-partnership with him in the evangelization of neither bond nor free. the world. in some part of the work, he worked alone—in the great work of the creation—before cause was necessary to effect. in this god worked alone. he spoke and it was done. he commanded and it stood fast—all this at the fiat of god. no man came to save man, but god came down to the world to save man. he died for him. in this great work of redemption, he had no fellow. he trod the wine press alone. >k >k >k >k >k >k :k “what is it to be a co-laborer with god? we must do his work—work in the same way. we must do nothing that will interfere with the spread of the gospel. some men devote much time to the getting of money in this world. this is not his work in the world. to do god’s work is not to do the work most conducive to a good name—to for- tune—to fame. he who would not forsake father and mother and lands and everything is not worthy to follow me.” the sermon was singularly impressive through- out, and the pathetic reference to the last supper was followed by the administration of that sacred ordinance. after the services were concluded merna and her company lingered for greetings with the minister and other friends. toussaint pressed forward, os- tensibly to fraternize with the pastor, but he had glimpsed merna before she left her seat. it pleased *** * neither bond nor free. mrs. lockley to present toussaint to her, and in turn he introduced his friend van courtney to the lockleys, and to merna. the gentlemen, of course, were cordially invited to visit miss attaway, and toussaint especially, seemed highly grateful for the favor. neither bond mor i'ree. the great ships of the american navy. and these, forsooth, are but playthings on the crest of the waves. but once upon a time—and the memory of man runneth to the same—this watery main was the scene of a conflict involving not only the supremacy of the sea, but as well the rights of men. this ret- rospect, however, cannot fascinate the memory, for it contains some startling hints of the cannonade. the delightful prospect is far more refreshing, and to the hearts of the good and the brave there comes a feeling akin to ecstacy when they contemplate, that “peace hath her victories no less renowned than war.” ah, i, too, am drifting far to sea. i must return. in easy distance of the town limit, is a point of land jutting into the sea. this is indeed a point of comfort. here you will find a grim old fortifica- tion, which has long since survived its usefulness as an impregnable defence in time of war. within its parapet, however, the visitor sees something of the “pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war,” since the fort is now used as a military training school for the west point fledgling. from the far north and south fair maidens and gallant manhood linger near the shore for health- giving ozone, or for recreation for which the place is justly famed. and when on pleasure bent contact with military life sans souci imparts a pe- neither bond nor free. culiar charm to the senses and this from reveille to the hour of taps. it were strange indeed if the little hamlet of h was not aroused from its serene composure, and especially at this season, when, close at hand, hundreds of pleasure seekers daily file in and out, despoiling the quiet of this haunt with their hilarity and good cheer. it is now nearly two hundred years since the town was incorporated. the red man, however, with his squatter right of sovereignty, had wooed his dusky mate, in the village of kekouchtan, founded on this same site, years before the coming of the white man. it was near this place that the pioneer came in quest of liberty, and near here came the negro as a captive. but all this is changed now. a great institution to-day flourishes on this spot. it rears its proud head, a mute but exquisite re- minder of the amazing audacity of the one race, and the thrilling experience of the other. and within these walls the descendants of the captives sit at the feet of the descendants of the pioneers and learn the lessons of life. the growth of the town has of necessity been hindered, for more than once have internecine struggles devastated the place. in the corporate limits there are now about five thousand persons, the major part whites; and without the town, in the county, there are three times that num- ber, of whom a majority are colored. there neither bond nor free. is no acrimony between the races engendered by the memory of former conditions. the “mammy” of the olden time continues to nurse the little “missis” and little “marsa” of ante bellum days, and the young ex-slave attends the public school which is in a large measure sustained by the taxes paid by the ex-master. the one-room and windowless cabin has long since disappeared—even from the rural dis- tricts. the bug-a-boo of negro domination and social equality has long since ceased to frighten his white neighbor, and lure him on like an ignis fatuus to deeds of violence. everywhere peace and quiet seem to abide. and yet this by no means suggests contentment. it must be obvious to all that there is a certain grow- ing restlessness among the darker mass born of enlightened ideas. they are discovering, one after another, that justice is not blind, but—cross-eyed; that civil rights and social rights are wantonly and mischievously perverted, and the truth that “a man's a man for a that” is more honored in the breach than the observance. the blacks are mainly toilers of the sea. the waters ebb and flow with bivalves, crustacea and the finny tribe, and so long as these remain, let them be an augury of the amity of the races. neither bond nor free. chapter iv. toussaint visits merna. all the public schools in this section of the state had closed, and with the closing of district school no. , the arduous duties of toussaint ripley were at an end for the session. the school term in the country was of short duration—five months. it was not unusual for teachers to be employed two terms in a single calendar year. toussaint had been thus engaged. it was three days since the time toussaint was presented to merna, when he courageously wended his way to the home of the lockleys. i say cour- ageously advisedly, for in affairs of this sort his ardent feelings were restrained by diffidence. when he arrived at the home of the lockleys, contrary to expectation (for he had meditated a different progrom), he saw merna attaway partly concealed from view by a bower of jasmine and honeysuckle which twined themselves securely about neither bond nor free. the angles of the broad veranda excluding the sun's rays and making fragrant the air about them. “walk in, mr. ripley,” said merna as toussaint advanced to the gate. “i am indeed grateful for the invitation,” he re- plied with some constraint. he saw that merna was not alone, for by her side sat a bright little boy who was intently gazing up in her lustrous eyes. from the animated look of the child, he was de- lighted with his reception. seba lay at his mistress's feet, dozing as best he could, for the flies one after another would alight on his drooping lids much to his worriment. “this is master bernice, the son of mr. burleigh. he is my constant companion,” said merna. “it is pleasant to know that you are not lacking for company,” remarked toussaint. “i am never wholly without company, seba is al- ways with me. he has only played the truant once, and that was on the eventful day when i first saw you.” “i shall not soon forget that day. it was a revela- tion to me,” observed toussaint. he had discovered by her earnest utterance that the brute was the central figure in her mental picture, and he a mere incident. if he could not eliminate this figure he would at least, he mused, make this the incident, and himself the central figure. his speech seemed direct enough, and yet it missed the mark, neither bond nor free. merna gazed tenderly at the child by her side, then somewhat inquiringly in the direction of the speaker. bernice was restless—this was a sort of interlude to him. he arose, put his arms about merna's neck, kissed her, and then ran homeward. she evidently did not divine this last speech of toussaint's. surely it was direct, altogether too direct for her artless nature. she gave toussaint credit for sincerity of utter- ance, but not for impulsiveness. she was of a dif- ferent mould and built on a splendid plane. she was an altruistic model. toussaint ripley, on the con- trary, although imbued with lofty ideals, lacked the divine impulsion. he was of the self assertive mould, and this quality often impelled him beyond laudable ends. he was far too impulsive for con- stant introspective study. he knew other men bet- ter than himself, and it was there he found his realm. he was unlike merna, and yet he was not an ego- tist, in the vulgar sense of the word. he was rather a glorified egotist, for he was from time to time making explorations in the half discovered realm of self. and this not through complaint nor for self applause, but with the true student's instinct of research. toussaint's sensitive nature recoiled; he felt that merna had repulsed him. he had lost his cue and neither bond nor free. realized that he must needs begin again. this time he inquired solicitously as to the health of mr. and mrs. lockley, and he expressed the wish that mer- na's stay in this place would be highly agreeable. “i am delighted with this visit to the south,” “then you know something of the fair south?” she said. “you may not know that i am a native of this section. my father was born in this place, and lived here during his whole life. when he died i was but three years old, and was taken by my mother to boston, where we have since resided with my uncle, ralph attaway.” “i know little about the south save the harrow- ing recitals of my mother, together with what i have read in books and papers. in all the past fifteen years my mother could not be induced to make a visit to this spot. and yet she has always re- garded it as a religious duty to make a pilgrimage here at some time, in order the better to perpet- uate some green spot of old associations in her memory. i suppose i am here as a hostage,” said merna. “yes,” observed toussaint, “a hostage to for- tune.” “you are a teacher, i believe; i hope you like your work,” inquired merna. - “i am a teacher, but have ceased for the session to teach the young idea how to shoot.” “ah, it is your vacation, then,” said the girl. nfither bond nor free. “it must be a source of both constant anxiety and encouragement to be engaged at such a noble post of duty.” “yet, it is wearisome work, withal,” he re- plied. “we should not, i take it, feel weary in well doing. that man does much for his country, much for his home, much for his god, who spends his time guiding the footsteps of the young,” said merna. “but facilities for teaching are so poor in the south, and desired results are difficult of attain- ment. i could do very much more for my peo- ple if i had a broader field in which to operate,” he went on. “of course, your task might be easier, and your mind contented once in possession of every facility and convenience for work. but suppose you were to leave your present post, would you not shirk a great responsibility? remember that some- body must perform the work what we need for every duty is consecration. we must go forth as empty and broken vessels fitted for the master's use. we must go forth, neither seeking nor avoid- ing broad fields nor dungeons, actuated only by con- scientious convictions of duty and a spirit of self- abnegation, and then, mr. ripley, leave results to take care of themselves.” “i do not wish to shirk any responsibility, and i neither bond nor free. wish to be able to do the largest measure of good for a struggling race. i was only thinking that my qualifications fitted me for more advanced work.” “do you not think that conspicuous would more appropriately convey your meaning? there are no degrees in righteous works, and there should be no distinction made. you might command a larger following elsewhere, but i am sure you could not have a more advanced work of usefulness than your present employment. you will doubtless recall little lillo, a character in one of george eliot's works. i think it is ** “romola,” interrupted toussaint. “yes, romola,” said merna. “well, lillo with some of the hereditary instinct i think, expressed the wish to become a great man, and win great plaudits and pleasures. there is no thought so beautiful and ennobling in the book as the foster mother's reply: ‘that is not easy, my lillo, my father had the greatness that belongs to integrity, to character, the greatness that belongs to a life spent in struggling against powerful wrong and trying to lift men up to the highest deeds of which they are capable.’” “i guess there was already aglow in little lillo’s breast the spark of some illustrious political career for which he was destined,” thoughtfully uttered toussaint. neither bond nor free. “there is much work for the reformer to do along that line, but he must not avoid the work of the dungeon for the broad field of politics. this is not self-abnegation,” repeated merna. toussaint was clearly out of his element. and yet his ideals were as pure as hers—the difference was he had not lifted himself upon a plane with them. if at times he had evil impulses, he did not, however, mean to be a teacher of evil. he was too charitable, and, according to his ideas of inno- cence, too innocent for that. one cannot but feel compassion for a creature who had had little ex- perience with good for the sake of good, who shrank from imparting to another a teaching which might lead to his ruin, who was fond of alleviating suffer- ing, who was endowed with genius, and yet whose religion and morality were held in captivity by his inordinate pride and ambition. toussaint had made a discovery, a very valuable one he reckoned—to enlist the interest of merna for himself. he had discovered her charitableness —her instinct for humanity. he had a strong liking for politics, and gave evi- dence of some adroitness in the same. it was a clever ruse to play upon merna's sympathies by speaking of political conditions. she became a fas- cinated listener while toussaint in glowing terms depicted the trials of his people—their insecurity of civil protection—their educational disadvan- neither bond nor free. tages, all brought about by the deprivation of the rights of the majority party; the republicans in gen- eral, and the negro in particular. he had made several campaign speeches at various points in his county, and was fast achieving distinction as a leading “spell binder” in the county of e • a persuasive voice with intense earnestness and force of utterance carries everything before it. the captivating eloquence of toussaint's speech sub- dued for a time her spirited temperament and en- tranced the finer feelings of her nature. toussaint knew that he had not only played upon her emotions, but had gratified her intelligence as well. and he left with the pleasurable thought that he could henceforth proclaim an open sesame to the citadel of her love. * neither bond nor free. chapter v. merna and her uncle. merna attaway was not remarkable for beauty of feature or form. she was not created a model for the gods, nor was she so fairy-like that a ray of sun would have spoiled her beauty. you would, however, have remarked the simplicity of her ap- pearance in the midst of a thousand. merna was fair of face and form, and possessed vivacity tempered with exquisite refinement. her gracefully poised head was set off to advantage with a luxuriant growth of black hair which gave a pleas- ing contrast to her dark spanish complexion. her full black eyes highly suffused with their soul stir- ring energy seemed singularly contradictory to her apparent timidity and reserve. to these pos- sessions must be added the captivating charm of a clinging, loving nature, reinforced by such orna- mentations as a winsome smile and a musical voice. little wonder that such a girl was the idol of her uncle, and fondly remembered by all who knew her. - neither bond nor free. * the most that can be said of her parents is that they were honest, poor and industrious. i have al- ready remarked that merna was taken to boston by her mother when she was but three years old. it was a god-send to the child to have found as her protector ralph attaway. she could claim nothing by heredity. she was henceforth to be moulded for good or evil by the unyielding forces which we call environment. to the advantages of a new eng- land education was added the powerful stimulus for effort which contact with superior or experi- enced minds necessarily brings. she imbibed her tastes and tendencies from her surroundings, and forms and aspects took on such colorings as were within her horizon. mr. attaway was by no means a nonentity. his was an interesting personality and allied thereto was an interesting history. he had been a conspicuous figure in that extensive organization known as the “underground railroad;” this was about the time when the independence of the republic of liberia had been acknowledged by america and the eu- ropean powers. ralph attaway had gone to li- beria as a sort of sub-agent in charge of a band of emigrants. he had an active and fertile mind. he had early learned to read and write, and kept at it until he was a real self-made man—whatever this may signify. he was quite active in the politics of the republic early in the fifties, and was an intimate meither bond nor free. friend of joseph j. roberts, governor and after- wards president of liberia. but politics had only an ephemeral fascination for him. his attention had been attracted to the advantages of the coun- try respecting the production and exportation of coffee and palm oil. he was persuaded that afri- can coffee could secure a large sale in the united states, already a great consumer of this article. this country was at the time the undisputed market for the brazilian product, a somewhat inferior ar- ticle of trade. he reckoned that african coffee, of which there was such a prolific yield in the western part of the country, would prove a formidable rival for the brazilian staple, and especially among con- noisseurs. an unsuccessful effort was made by him and his friends to enlist the co-operation of capitalists both in this country and in england, but for some cause the project never became a serious venture. ralph attaway was not easily discouraged. if a big scheme would not fructify, he believed there was virtue in a little one. and thus he set himself to work at monrovia, cultivating the coffee berry, and when three years thereafter he had secured a fair yield, he felt encouraged, garnered the harvest and sailed for america, leaving his little farm in good hands. this venture was a doubtful experiment, but his patience was amply rewarded. the colonization so- ** neither bond nor free. ciety had been the means of bringing ralph in con- tact with some influential and wealthy people. this served him as the means to an early and favor- able introduction of the african coffee in the homes of several wealthy bostonians. there were many adulterations of foreign coffee on the market, and brazil, in chief, was spoiling the enviable reputa- tion of the arabian berry with her arrogant pre- tensions of growing the mocha seed. it proved a genuine and well timed enterprise to ralph attaway to establish a little “coffee shop,” as he called it, in a prominent thoroughfare of boston. the place it is true was very small, but it was well stocked with liberian coffee and palm oil. orders came thick and fast to ralph in his humble quarters. his coffee was gradually distributed be- yond the confines of the city of boston, and the re- turns the meanwhile were so gratifying as to broad- en the little merchant's smile. two years later there was a large consignment of the product from the five years' growth of the coffee tree, to mr. ralph attaway at boston. this in- creased supply was met by an increased demand. and thus his business progressed while his farm yielded without labor the precious bean. ralph was a level-headed man; he essayed no style and did not grow pompous, but carefully in- vested his earnings in suburban realty and kept his own counsel. his palm oil sale was small. ralph neither bond nor free. insisted that the oil held out inducements equal to that of his coffee venture, yet his predictions favored from the first the latter business. many years have passed since some sign painter, not over dextrous in his art, had traced in plain, bold, black letters, over the door of the coffee shop, the name ralph attaway—nothing more. and these letters had from time to time been re- touched as they became obscure by the encroach- ments of years, until to-day the curious are enabled to point out the room in which ralph so successfully operated until recently. the old house is now be- ing used as a cheap lodging place for laboring peo- ple. ralph continues to cherish the hope that in a day not far distant, direct commercial intercourse will be had with the republic of liberia and this country, and thus a less circuitous route will cheap- en the cost of shipment of coffee to america. it is now his fondest wish to see an ocean greyhound laden with the best products of africa steering into the ports of this country. neither bond nor free. edward strother, a young man known to good works, was present. he possessed the distinction of being assistant superintendent of the sunday school of this church. he was much in love with the work. he swung the big hammer on the anvil in a blacksmith shop six days in every week, and on the seventh he rested. he was not, however, like elihu burritt—a learned blacksmith; but he was, nevertheless, studious, frank and manly. the minister engaged the attention of strother, concerning some of the minor details of the enter- tainment, when there approached him a pretty girl with demure and dainty face and a pair of dewy surprised eyes under a big bobbin hat brim. a sweep of lashes gently shading the cheeks made her cutaway coat of scarlet velvet, and trained skirt of cardinal cloth a delight. this was a season of gaudy colors and grotesque shapes in dress, and happy was ethel gay. ethel had only been in the place a single week, but she had made many acquaintances. mr. burleigh presented strother to ethel. they chatted to- gether for several minutes—at least, ethel did,— strother proved himself by far the better listener of the two. she told him that she was a washington- ian, and learning that he had never visited that city. explained some of the beauties thereof. later on mr. burleigh inquired of her how she was impressed with his young friend. neither bond nor free. the girl replied, “he seems obsequious. he's like an over-grown boy. i think he belongs with his mother.” at this reflection, told with a ripple of merriment, the kindly disposed minister smiled encouragingly. as the evening advanced the party grew lively. charles van courtney had arrived. he made his way to ethel. “ah, there, ethel !” “how are you, dear boy?” retorted the girl. “i have just learned that you have gone into new biz.” “what do you say, charley?” “i say that you have embarked in the black- smithy enterprise,” responded van courtney. at this stricture ethel laughed outright. “and do you laugh at me, thereby adding insult to injury. your cruelty breaks my heart and my eyes run over.” “well, cork your eyebrows,” said the girl. at this attempt to be witty, the girl who some- times looked demure, giggled, and van courtney arose and conducted her to a table near by laden with good things which were spread for sale. as they seated themeselves, he exclaimed: “ah, this is nice.” “what is nice?” she inquired. “why, you.” she blushed and said, “yes, i know.” neither bond nor free. this he fired a charge consisting of one pound of gun powder, without the cannon sustaining the slightest injury, and remember the metal of the barrel was only a quarter of an inch thick.” “well, let us hasten to join the great inventor,” exclaimed ethel. when ethel and mr. burleigh reached the party, merna was commenting on a newspaper article of the drowning of several women in six feet depth of water, simply because they became needlessly frightened and went into hysterics. out of defer- ence to the new arrivals, she attempted to change the conversation. they all, however, urged that she continue the recital. “this is a melancholy illustration,” she went on, “of the emotional nature of our sex. we have little self-control. we have an abnormal emo- tional temperament. the insane asylums are to-day crowded with our women who have gone mad over love or religion. disgust- ing love songs, sentimental stories from the story papers and sloppy novels feed the emotions, and extraordinary crimes, self-inflicted or inflicted on others, are the natural results. i believe that woman has a higher moral and spiritual nature than man—given to her for the uplifting and purifying of the race, but with us it is being choked off by this emotional temperament fed by the trash i have named. her mistakes are largely traceable to this neither bond nor free. course, confined to the intelligent voter of the north. this is, indeed, a mild picture by the side of the untutored black and white voter of the south. here you see whole communities of individuals seized with an epidemic, the outgrowth of political strife, and when you consider the ignorance and emotional natures of the afro-americans, it is a sad plight. the chronic office seeker and professional politician exclaim with one breath that they are try- ing to lift the race. but i say god save the mark. the right of suffrage is a good thing, but every- thing depends upon its right use. the masses are so ignorant.” “yes, and no one knows this better than our false leaders,” interrupted strother, who had all along been an eager listener. “but how are we to improve our condition,” ob- served toussaint. “certainly not in rushing over the precipice like a flock of sheep, lured on by these black leaders and white bosses,—republicans for spoils only. men who love office better than country are not fit per- sons to rule. place good men to the front, regard- less of race. it should not be a question of the color of a man’s skin, but rather the purity of his soul,” remarked strother. “but what avail is it to have good leaders in the south when the negro cannot have his ballot counted neither bond nor free. and returned as cast? his ballot is only a delusion and a snare,” said toussaint. “it is better just now to be qualified for voting than to vote. there is, besides, a better day dawn- ing in the south. things are now changing. the power so long wrested from the majority by fraud and violence will soon be rightfully restored for the good of all,” observed strother. “i quite agree with you,” said toussaint, “there are already visible signs that the usurpation scheme has turned to plague the inventor. white men are now nullifying the votes of white men, and this state of affairs signifies the beginning of the end.” while this colloquy was in progress, ethel and the rev. burleigh were actually conducting an- other, and a different one. “i feel as if i had always known you,” he said in a subdued tone. “well, and what of it?” “because i think the world of you.” “are you really sure you do?” and the minister making no reply, rested his eyes for a moment on those coquettish and beseeching ones surmounted by the broad brow, and then on that short curling upper lip, and the next on merna, and then there was a lull and he was sure some- body had heard his speech. neither bond nor free. chapter vii. van courtney and clarissa. van courtney did not see ethel and her com- pany “later on,” the evening of the lawn party when he had left her so abruptly, but made his way di- rectly to the home of rev. burleigh. there he saw clarissa, the daughter of the clergyman. this course was not premeditated by van courtney, it was hatched in an instant. he had unceremonious- ly made the acquaintance of this girl, and had culti- vated the same with assiduous care, in season and out of season. lawn parties where staid church folk, and pro- saic people in general were wont to gather, were not to his liking, but then ethel and merna would be there. merna’s face was fascinating enough, but there was to him something positively repelling in her conversation. once in speaking of her to tous- saint he had referred to her as having a “catchy meither bond nor free. ? face; but she is not bright, sparkling and imagina- tive in her talk like ethel.” and thus it seemed he was pleased to be away from such a scene. in a quiet little street only a few minutes walk from the church, the minister and his family kept house. besides clarissa, a young girl just budding into womanhood, there were little bernice, a de- formed child of seven years, and his mother, mrs. martha a. burleigh. there were no discords in this home. here the utmost freedom prevailed. indeed freedom and license seemed interchangeable words, and the limitation of the former was often the opportunity for the latter. at least, this was the governing principle—or rather the absence of it—- which characterized the conduct of the head of the household—a man of generous impulses and sym- pathetic nature. mrs. burleigh was an unassuming, plain and good woman. she regarded it as her religious duty to wear the world as a “loose garment,” which being interpreted by her conduct, was that her only mis- sion was to go from house to house doing good, trying to cheer the disconsolate. it never occurred to her that charity should begin at home. she was a gentle creature of slender physique and complained of many physical infirmities, but she was constantly “on the go.” clarissa kept house, -at least, this she was sup- neither bond nor free. “oh, nonsense,” sneered the girl. “yes he is, we all overheard him, actually making love to her.” “not so loud, charley,–mama will certainly hear you.” “it is none of my affair. let the old fellow jog along. ethel's having lots of fun at his expense, and we too are enjoying ourselves; for while the rats are away the mice will play.” “you mustn't talk like that; pa’s no rat, and, be- sides, bernice is listening to you.” “i’ve just given the little fellow some money, and he will keep all secrets. the poor child ought to have been in bed hours ago,” said van courtney. “well, you always see him up with me, and this is because papa is usually out evenings and mama is tired after tramping all around to see the sick, and attending society meetings, and retires very early, and so bernice keeps me company.” “well, i'm your company now.” “yes, i see you are my only companion for ber- nice is fast asleep.” and surely he seemed to be in a profound slum- ber stowed away in the big old-fashioned arm-chair. “why did you not come earlier, charley?” “i expected to see you at the grounds, and so went directly there.” - “with ethel, i presume.” neither bond nor free. “no, i don't tie to her any more.” “since when?” she asked. “since you promised to be solely mine.” “yes, this is all well enough for you to tell me, but ethel says that you and she are engaged, and have been for years.” “oh, don't mind that giddy girl. we have never been more than friends. did ethel really tell you that?” “no, she told papa and he told me.” “oh, i see, that was only for a bluff.” “well, let me ask, did not you two go together in washington for some two or three years?” “yes, but that does not signify.” “anyhow, she tells people around here that you are her prospective * “what?” interrupted van courtney. “you well understand me. why, her husband, of course.” “well, my dear, let us talk of something else,” said he, drawing his chair nearer to her. “you know that i am pledged to you. i can only love one being at a time. i love you and only you.” he raised her head, taking it in both hands, and pressed a kiss to her lips. “soon we will be one and inseparable. we'll live in that beautiful city of magnificent distances, and then ethel will cease to link my name with hers.” “let us not talk of her,” she said petulantly. “i meither bond nor free. believe all that you tell me, only i'm a little foolish at times. why should i doubt you and your words. you are all, and in all to me.” “now, you show yourself to be a sensible little body—a fit companion for a man of my ambition. if you will only trust me, and cling to me you’ll never be bothered by silly things which people may say to arouse your jealousy.” “you are so good and amiable that no one could help loving you, charley.” “no, you mistake me; i am not good.” “yes, you are good to me, and that is all i care about. and papa likes you, too. he thinks you are so jolly.” “yes, i think he should like me.” “why?” asked clarissa. “because he supposes ethel is my girl, and he wants to get a cinch on her.” “and you want to get his girl,” retorted clar- issa. “yes, you are his daughter, and my girl, and ethel is the daughter of her mama and anybody’s girl.” “i don’t understand your last reference.” “i mean simply that ethel is a flirt and a daring one. she never had a serious intention.” - “well, i suppose you know whereof you affirm.” “i know her all too well.” neither bond nor free. “well, we won't say anything more about ethel. is it agreed?” “i agree to anything you may propose, except one thing.” “and what is that, pray?” “you have said that you wouldn’t join me in washington until next summer. i do not see how i could live without you all that time. in less than a fortnight from now, i must leave you and report for duty. my leave of absence will then have ex- pired.” “my papa has said that i am not to marry until i am eighteen, and that will not be until june after next.” “oh, hang the idea. it is all well enough to lis- ten to the old folks in ordinary matters, but in af- fairs of this sort it is not for them to decide. they do not bring lovers together, and they have no right to separate them.” “do you think that a year would work a separa- tion of our love, charley?” “i only mean to say that delays are dangerous.” “how could a delay affect our love?” she asked tremulously. “well, for instance, some other fellow might step in and cut me out.” “this talk is not worthy our serious attention. love begets perfect confidence as well as love.” “if your love was strong and unyielding like that neither bond nor free. out by saying that it was not noticed that he had promised to see them again that evening. the preacher bade the suitor a cheerful good- night, and little bernice hastened to bed eager for the morrow when he should startle the “sweet miss merna” with the strange happenings of the night before. neither bond nor free. chapter viii. toussaint would follow wbiere merna leads. “i am constantly telling you that i have a pas- sion for flowers, especially those to be found outside the hothouse.” the speaker was merna attaway. the person addressed was toussaint ripley. she was attired, as was her custom at this season, in a clinging gar- ment of some soft white material. the only decora- tion she wore was a bunch of buttercups in her hair, which in the simplicity of its arrangement af- forded a charming framework for that benign coun- tenance. psyche when at her best never appeared among the flowers with more queenly grace than merna in the midst of those growing in aunt mar- garet's little garden. in one hand she held a watering pot, the other, extended to toussaint, contained a rose which she had plucked for him. neither bond nor free. “i observe that you are generous to a fault,” he said on taking the flower. “you have chosen to give me this brilliant red rose, while you, with all your passion for flowers, are content to wear a few field buttercups.” “all honor to whom honor is due. this rose is not only brilliant, but it is an ambitious flower.” “it seems fitting that you should wear it,” said merna. “it is rather more than i deserve, but for your sake i shall not only wear this rose, but shall adopt the flower as emblematic—according to your in- terpretation of myself. and you have chosen the poisonous buttercup to wear. why not the lily of the valley? i regard it as peculiarly appropriate for your company. it is a thing of beauty and an emblem of purity.” “it is true that i usually regale myself with the buttercup; that is, since i have been in this place, but it is not the flower of my adoption, nor, as you well see, of my avoidance. i love all flowers, and i suppose quite equally. it is the perfume of the flower and its beauty which engage and delight the senses. this gentle, modest buttercup, you assert, would prove injurious if eaten. and the lily you mention as the emblem of purity is said to be deadly poisonous if eaten. i have sometimes thought that we are often inclined to go out of our way looking for imperfections in nature. let us remember that neither bond nor free. than to its champion, to an idea rather than to a person.” “if, back of the idea, or the cause, i may pose as the little champion, i shall be satisfied,” remarked toussaint. “if your work in any department of life counts for anything be assured you will win the plaudits of all right thinking people. is this the goal you desire?” asked merna. “no, i can't say that i have any hankering after general plaudits.” “i rather like that expression. i advise that you let the general plaudits go,” said merna. “this was at best a doubtful compliment,” thought toussaint. “the approval of my work on your part is sufficient.” “well, let us begin the good work soon,” she re- plied. “when p where?” he asked. “to-day we will begin. aunt margaret tells me of a sad case of destitution close at hand. a poor old woman is sick. she lives in a wretched hovel, and has been confined to her bed for more than two months without the plainest necessities of life.” “i suggest that we report the case to the poor- house authorities. i will, also, invite help for her by causing a statement to be published in the news- paper here.” “i have a better and more remedial plan, i think, neither bond nor free. than that. it is this. we will together go there. aunt margaret will prepare a basket of food for the poor woman, and i will gather her a bunch of flowers.” - “well, what am i to do?” “you will take my bible and read to her a chap- ter from it.” aunt margaret, whose generosity was proverbial, soon filled a basket with delicacies for the sick woman, and merna and toussaint were off on their errand of mercy. this was a new rôle for mr. ripley, and yet one in which he had been placed by circumstances of his own making. he had been a frequent visitor during the past few weeks at the lockleys and he was sure that he already loved merna, and that she would early reciprocate that feeling. and why?— surely not from anything she had spoken, much less acted. you may call this a mere suspicion of his make-up. i denominate it effrontery, and charge it to his inordinate pride. “it was of no small moment,” he reckoned, if this girl was something less responsive to his capti- vating voice and earnest pleadings than what he desired; she was, nevertheless, profoundly interested in him. he was sincere, perfectly sincere in his desire to become a champion of right. and yet he had no definite line of action, and worse than all, no time neither bond nor free. designated in which to begin operations. it would have seemed more than insolence to have charged him with permitting any selfish consideration to lure him in the path of simple duty. and, yet, it must be said, that because of merna, and not in spite of her, he was ready and willing to make any sacrifice she might name. he resolved that, with the word of command from merna he would gird on the armor and hence- forth cease to be a vainglorious worlding. he be- lieved he loved this girl, and he would follow wherever she led. he sometimes, however, wavered in his resolves. he thought merna too self-willed. she seemed dominated by a love for humanity, strangely dif- ferent from that which he desired. her horizon was much too large for him. but, then, love begets love, and it is neither the creature of judgment nor of the will. it is a capricious thing—a wild delight, an intoxicating pleasure. but then, this is so sweet. who in its pursuit would be dismayed? surely such a tender sympathetic creature could not exist, he argued, without the consoling thought that she was loved by one, to the exclusion of every other being. he could not clearly discern from his point of view how any one could be loyal to a cause, except there was subsidiary to it the serving of self-interest, neither bond nor free. ful afternoon was the unconscious instrument for this and other happy meetings of ours.” “it will be my pleasure to increase your happi- ness by having you accompany me on my pilgrim- ages to the suffering, as often as you desire. mrs. burleigh, who usually attends me on these visits, will also be delighted to have you go with us.” “we might overcrowd the little sick room, if we ventured in by threes, and i, therefore, suggest that as between mrs. burleigh and myself we take it by turns with you, as you never seem to tire.” “no, i do not tire; it is a recreation to go out these delightful mornings and afternoons to talk and read to the unfortunate and neglected of our race.” “i confess that i had never thought of this be- fore, and yet i know dozens of cases of destitution, cases which beggar description.” “these cases, i think, should be brought to the attention of the churches,” remarked merna. “not to the churches of this community, nor elsewhere, if i have been correctly advised. there is far more selfishness within the pale of the church than without. the church will sometimes provide for a sick or distressed member of its flock, but re- member that the majority of the destitute belong to no church. there is so much fierce competition in the church in the way of gay bonnets and costly dresses that many devout souls feel that they are neither bond nor free. “measurably,” he uttered, half to himself and half to her. and then he hastened to say, “and you know, merna, that i am much attached to you. i have thought of you with a persistency which i am half ashamed to confess.” “and since when?” “since the hour i first knew you.” “i hope you may never have cause to think of me less persistently than you now do.” “are you really in earnest?” “i am in earnest, and i do not feel ‘ashamed' to confess it either.” toussaint looked askance at the girl by his side, and he imagined he discovered in that look an amused expressed. “perhaps that look signifies the awakening of a special feeling of interest in my- self,” he thought. when they reached the lockleys' home, merna thanked toussaint for having so graciously assisted her in the little mission. “and i sincerely thank you,” replied toussaint, with much feeling. “i have no words to express the joy and happiness which you have been the means this day of affording me.” meither bond nor free. chapter ix. a picnic. followed by a storm. there were few good roads in the county of e. , and this is but a specimen of the condition of the highways as they exist to-day in many parts of the fair southland. this section of the country was rapidly recovering from the devastation wrought by the war between the states. the in- habitants of the place were gradually rising from the seat of “do nothing,” and extending a welcome hand to the northern capitalists settling for business pursuits in their midst. in a word, the wand of progress touched every crude material, every dormant enterprise, every lethargic soul—everything hereabout save the country road. whenever a road became impassa- ble or unfit for the use of man or beast, a new way or byway was appropriated by and for the travelling public. mildred grove was distant about five miles from the town of h . this spot, now famous in song neither bond nor free. and story, had been used for many years antedat- ing the life of the oldest inhabitant as a resort for those in quest of summer sports, such as tourna- ments, picnics, horse races, barbecues and other festivities. and thus it came to pass that the sunday schools of the three baptist churches of the town had ad- vertised a union picnic which attracted both the young and old in large numbers to mildred grove, one bright summer day towards the latter part of july. there had been a continuous drought for several weeks past, and in consequence vegetation suffered and farmers complained. the sloughs of the old road had long since dried up, and these plague spots, too numerous to reckon, were temporarily converted into receptacles for the dust, where the wind in a flurry could play hide and seek. among the great gathering that disported them- selves in the grove were van courtney and ethel gay. they appeared to enter thoroughly into all the diversions of the day. he was ever by her side, so much that it was whispered on every hand that this attractive couple would soon leave the bliss- ful portals of betrothment to enter the enchanted region of a nuptial ceremony. van courtney and ethel were so much absorbed in one another, that when he proposed to her to take a stroll, little or no heed was given to the slow neither bond nor free. ? but steady preparation of the people to leave the grounds for their homes. the sun was then about two and a half hours high. they strolled, hand in hand, leisurely along the winding path thickly flanked on either side by trees and shrubbery until presently they reached a spot quite excluded from the gaze of the curious, and answering somewhat the description of a ravine. here they halted, and the girl took from van courtney's arm her zephyr shawl and, spreading the same on the grass, seated herself beside the fellow already stretched at full length on the sward. for more than an hour they remained in this sequestered place, oblivious of the passing sunshine, heedless of the gathering storm, conscious only of their own turpitude and yet sans peur et sans reproche. these two people might have lingered longer in this spot, but their intercourse was interrupted by ethel, who exclaimed—“listen, do you hear that thunder p” they arose simultaneously to their feet and to- gether, gazing upwards, saw the heavy black clouds mounting rapidly up the heavens with accompani- ments of thunder peals and occasional flashes of lightning. “we must hurry and join the crowd or else we'll be drenched,” said van courtney. “yes, we must hurry,” she replied, “for it is late.” neither bond nor free. “not very late. it is this gathering cloud which makes it appear late,” he observed. true, it was not already dark. he could have told the time by his watch, but he made no attempt to consult it. his thoughts were turned in another direction. he was much concerned about that swell summer suit, which, with its showy belongings, made him quite radiant and happy. he cared less for the discomfiture of the fair companion with him than for his own plight. “damn the rain,” he mut- tered. and then he grew sullen, and ethel had to content herself with monosyllabic replies to her frivolous questions. the clouds the meanwhile continued to gather. the lightning came in more rapid succession. the thunder reverberated and the distant rumble grew lengthy. when ethel and van courtney had gained the pavilion where the gay throng had hours before held high carnival, there was no one to be found. these pilgrims hurried away from the grounds as fast as their feet could carry them. they passed through the old farm gate which opened into the main or principal county road, and on they trudged for half a mile, plodding through rain and mud, for the storm had begun in earnest. when they reached the point where the new road made its way into the old, it was now well nigh dark and they -* - * .** neither bond nor free. “ah, there is a light,” uttered the girl, in a voice which betrayed her sobs. “where?” he inquired. “don’t you see that little house on the left hand side of the road yonder?” it was difficult, not to say impossible, to dis- cern a house the least distance off. but ethel had seen a light glowing from a little window on the road side. “yes, i see the light distinctly, and we will tarry there until the storm has spent its force.” as they drew near the house an old woman who had stood at the window opened the door as eagerly as if in response to the knock of a welcome visitor. “lors sake! you chilun is soaking wet. come to the fire and dry yourse'f.” ethel and van courtney proceeded to obey orders, and each taking a chair minus a back, gath- ered around an old open fireplace, which had either been in use for many years, or else its clumsy con- struction had invited its rapid decay. a pair of broken andirons supported by fragments of stone, had heaped upon them brushwood which was strug- gling to burn amidst the almost suffocating smoke caused by a disordered chimney. two cadaverous looking cats, with a stony stare, lay purring in the ashes, and on the edge of an old cupboard was perched a dove whose mournful notes singularly fitted the fearful storm now raging in all its fury neither bond nor free. without. jack, a well-grown dog, whose ribs could be counted, was not content to remain in his usual resting place under the house, for he had throughout the storm been making impatient rounds of the house prying his nose into all the cracks that could be found. the howling of a dog sometimes preys on strong nerves when otherwise above and around us everything seems to go well. the ani- mal had come to the door and given vent to his dire distress in lamentations loud and strong. this was too much for ethel. she half arose from her seat and begged swepsy to drive the dog away. swepsy yielded a prompt compliance, for she was eager to have the strangers feel perfectly at home under her roof. she had removed a steaming pot of what proved to be sassafras tea from the fire, and begged the young people to have a cup with her. she did not delay preparation for an answer, but busied herself placing a huge bowl and two cups and saucers, much battered and otherwise dis- figured from constant use, on an old pine table partly concealed from view by an age-ridden cloth of yellowish cast, which contained many a smear and blotch. the old woman in a naive manner, yet brusque, signalled the young folks to her humble meal. nothing would have been a more unseemly ex- hibition of bad manners than to refuse such a gen- erous invitation. neither bond nor free. the three sat down to tea, and while van court- ney only sipped a little of the beverage, ethel man- aged to make away with one cup of it. meanwhile the old woman had actually filled and refilled her bowl. swepsy, who had at times generous impulses, had felt genuine sympathy for the two bedrabbled people now temporarily her guests. she sat erect, holding in one hand the steaming sassafras, her eyes riveted upon van courtney with a most inquisitive gaze. then, recovering herself, she slowly asked with a certain dogged determina- tion, “are you a stranger here?” “yes, i am somewhat a stranger in these parts, and totally one here.” swepsy was sure of her man, she well knew the possessor of that sallow skin, those deep, sunken bluish eyes, that sharp countenance, and that aqui- line nose. the congregation on that june sunday was not too large, nor the ceremonies so inspiring as to destroy her memory of the stranger, at once so insolent and arrogant. she had told her neigh- bors about the “yaller dog” who had made merry at her expense, and in all the weeks that had passed she nursed that most stubborn and usual resentment. swepsy, looking intently in the empty bowl, slowly said, “i see you are both strangers in these parts.” neither bond nor free. # “what? what?” eagerly inquired van courtney and ethel. “this is my book, and in it i read what has been and what is to be,” said the old woman, tapping the bowl with her spoon. “suppose you tell us our fortunes,” said ethel. “if you want your fortunes told, lay a piece of silver in the palm of my hand and make a wish- not loud, but to yourse'f.” she placed a fifty cent coin in swepsy's hand and wished the several things she would have happen. the girl was told to twirl the cup around three times with the mouth downward. ethel complied. the seeress began. “you come from away.” “from where?” asked ethel. “from across deep water.” “yes, go on,” said the girl. “you have things to worry you. crossed in love—lots of beaux. you don’t love but one man, and he is not true to you.” “i only want to know one thing. tell me if i will ever be married?” asked ethel. “no; you are born to be an old maid. i see lots of other things, but they concern a man—a friend of yours.” “oh, yes, van courtney. then tell this gentle- man his fortune.” he followed instructions by twirling the cup neither bond nor free. around three times and making the prescribed wish. he, too, gave the weazen-faced woman a coin and proceeded to be entertained. this was a perform- ance richly laden with comical situations, thought van courtney. “you, sir,” began swepsy in a sprightly vain, “don’t b'lieve in fortunes.” “do you see that in the cup?” laughed van courtney. “yes, i see in the cup that you are careless and onconcerned.” “oh, yes,” uttered van courtney, not in the least disconcerted. “you too has come from across deep water. you work in house with lots of people. handle papers —don't you write for a livin’?” van courtney did not condescend to reply. “you,” she went on, “are a fast young man; you are fond of women, and drink—like cards- a sort o' dude, you know—i guess i won’t tell you any more now.” “why not?” “i never tell the bad i see in the cup.” “oh, yes; tell me everything. it is only pas- time.” she seemed not to heed his instructions, but con- tinued: “you are a sort of wolf. you are making love to two girls in h at the same time. a preached has a daughter you pretend to love, neither bond nor free. now—” and then she gave a long sigh. “you—; well, look here for yourse'f; see that crowd of people. do you see them?” “i see the dregs, if that is what you mean.” “zactly so. that's excitement. you'll make trouble in some family. you'll be condemned and hung. now, i didn’t want to tell you everything. you would make me.” - “oh, that's all right. and here's another piece of money for your kind treatment. the rain is over and we will jog along.” “bless your souls. whenever you come this way, be sho’ to come to my house and i will be glad to see you both. good-bye.” van courtney and ethel moved out and passed along the highway. the rain had ceased. the moon was rising and they could see their way over the muddy road. “i don’t understand that woman, after all,” he said. “she told some lies, to be sure; but some things were certainly true. i don’t believe in these silly, ignorant people, but they make us feel real shaky at times.” “she's an old humbug,” said ethel. “yes, you are right, but somehow her humbug- gery sticks to the ribs. i shall never forget the experience of this night. i feel a strange sense of some impending disaster,” remarked van court- ney. neither bond nor free. chapter x. at the parsonage. in the sitting room of the parsonage a few even- ings following the picnic already narrated, were charles van courtney, merna attaway ,toussaint ripley, ethel gay, the rev. burleigh and fam- ily. the occasion was a tea in honor of mr. van courtney, who was about to take leave of the “dear old town of h—” with all its memorable associations. this was the one room of that unpre- tentious cottage which delighted the proud mr. bur- leigh, who, indeed, was never so happy (if appear- ances counted for anything) as when surrounded by a bevy of attractive young women, one or more of whom were members of the so-called “smart set.” the room in question appeared quite stuffy with its overcharge of furniture, good and bad. here and there an antiquated relic vied with some flimsy piece of furniture, while the quaint, old-fashioned mantel fairly groaned under the weight of its dust- ridden bric-a-brac, which seemed in evidence to es- tablish the ingenuity of the yankee mind which meither bond nor free. ? could make a heap of trash for a little money. there were many books, old and new—mostly old; some jammed in the big odd-looking bookcase, and others heaped on the spacious old square piano, partly hid from view by its well worn covering. in all this mock parade of book fondness, the one thing which to the eyes of mr. burleigh gave an air of im- portance to this charmed precinct, was a large crayon portrait, life size, of the minister and head of the household. this portrait seemed a veritable giant spread out among the innumerable pigmies, which in small frames lined the walls of the sanc- tum. this was a somewhat incongruous gathering. there was a want of mutual sympathy. it lacked the elements as well as the aims and purposes which mark a notable gathering. ethel, who could be relied upon to display on all occasions her super- ficial knowledge, signalled to van courtney to as- sist her in removing the books from the piano. presently she was seated at the instrument strum- ming it in earnest. the fact that the piano was woefully out of tune, in nowise disconcerted her. she hastened to call attention to this fact with the remark that in consequence she was not surprised to know that “charley” did not recognize his fa- vorite song—“bright eyes.” “do you like ‘bright eyes, charley?” eagerly in- quired ethel. meither bond nor free. “i believe devoutly in the inspiration and power of music. i mean the best music, that which appeals to the best sentiment in man. give me the weird plaintive airs as rendered by those who saw planta- tion service before the war, and i would not ex- change them for all that i have studied in the bos- ton conservatory of music,” remarked merna. “go get your harp and tune it. let us not sit down by the river as did the children of old, and weep as we think of zion. you sing and play. shortly i shall launch my craft on the political sea and then my work to beat down prejudice will have begun in earnest,” said toussaint. “i believe that we have discussed this matter once before. i have not changed my views since then. nature is a fact—prejudice no less a fact. will you fly in the face of nature and prejudice? nothing, in my judgment, can be accomplished for our peo- ple by politics. a blessed mission is his which enables one to come in contact with the whites christianizing and civilizing the people by precept and example,” said merna. “i do not think,” said mr. burleigh, “that you can overcome the race feeling by mere insistence of one’s rights, either through politics or otherwise. we talk greatly of the prejudice which white peo- ple manifest towards us, and we never stop to think that we, too, have much prejudice against the whites. i love everybody. we are weaker than the neither bond nor free. white folks. we haven’t the moral strength, the knowledge, the wealth nor the love of unity which the white man possesses.” “i concur in all that you have said, mr. bur- leigh. upon the shoulders of the young men and young women of the race of to-day rests the re- sponsibility of piloting the race over the tempestu- ous seas of race prejudice, folly and vice. we ought seriously to ponder this race question. we should try and get a correct solution to the knotty ques- tions as they present themselves, and then set about to eradicate the existing evils. what is prejudice, anyway? it seems to me that it grows out of the love of power, and the love of self, and is founded upon racial differences. the closer the races come in contact, the more intense becomes the prejudice. the white people are apparently more prejudiced as the days go by. in our competition with them, measuring arms, we are meeting the natural re- sistance. we must take no backward step. let us reach out for new opportunities, eagerly grasp- ing them as they arise. don't ask white people for alms; ask them for opportunities for usefulness. we must equip ourselves with manhood, ability, character, industry and success is surely ours,” said merna. “what we sadly need is equal industrial oppor- tunities,” said toussaint. “there must always be a man for an opportunity. neither bond nor free. greater industry, skill, the sticking quality, honesty and reliability will open the way for new oppor- tunities. then hamptons with their trade schools will multiply. if we will only cultivate the saving spirit, cut loose from extravagant habits, work the year round, encourage and assist one another in business, we will acquire and obtain wealth and this will effectually dissipate race prejudice,” observed merna. “the future of the negroes of the united states is, indeed, a matter of grave import to both races in this country,” uttered mr. burleigh, with great deliberation. “we are not negroes. we are afro-americans,” ejaculated van courtney. “charley, what have you to do with this negro question, anyway? you are not a negro,” said ethel. “exactly so. i am an afro-american,” reiter- ated van courtney. “mr. ripley, do you hear what my learned friend has to say? if you intend to carry africa into the war, will you take this afro-american (pointing to van courtney) along with you?” queried ethel. “bravo,” cried mr. burleigh, who in his eager- ness to compliment anything ethel said, had chuckled until his glasses slid off his nose. “yes, miss ethel, my friend mr. van courtney goes wherever the negro race goes. you know that neither bond nor free. one drop of african blood is sufficient to classify a colored man; or, if you please, a gentleman with an aquiline olfactor and bluish eyes. no matter how intelligent, learned, cultured or wealthy you may become, it is decreed by the white man that you are a spurious counterfeit. your straight hair and white complexion will not exempt you from the proscription of the mass,” said toussaint. “i wish to have you amend your statement in a single particular. i do not wish to go on record as having an aquiline olfactor.' i simply have a prominent nose,” said van courtney. “i stand corrected, my friend.” at this sally the laugh went round. merna arose to say good-day to host and friends; toussaint joined her. van courtney and ethel lingered to attempt the difficult rôle of a duet. neither bond nor free. chapter xi. an outing experience. and the days glided merrily by. now the day on which charles van courtney was to say good- bye to his companions and friends had come, and all too soon for this vain worldling. van courtney having learned that it was the in- tention of merna and ethel shortly to take one of the early morning steamers and visit the city of and points of interest adjacent thereto, decided himself to embark for the capital city on a morn- ing steamer which should leave the same point about the same hour as the one on which they would take passage. and now they were grouped—merna and ethel, toussaint and van courtney—on the big pier. a shrill whistle signalled the departure of the craft. and then, amid the flutter of ker- chiefs, the prow of the beautiful white steamer had turned in the direction leading to the capital of the nation. au revoir, van courtney! a few minutes later another boat came along- neither bond nor free. side the pier, and toussaint, merna and ethel were soon on their course in the opposite direction to that taken by mr. van courtney. it was a bright and glorious day. a hazy, cloud-like film curtained the heavens arching low to the horizon, and the gentle summer breeze swept the bosom of the deep, chasing its tiny billows far out to sea. “as when the sun, new-risen, looks through the horizontal misty air shorn of its beams.” these three souls gazed on the sea and the sky. ethel had a sort of vacant stare—a far-away look —as if in retrospect merna and toussaint seemed happy, but their happiness was not identical nor mutual, but it was worked by a certain contrariety of feeling. their point of view was wholly dif- ferent. merna was always charming in manner and cir- cumspect, and yet i cannot say that she was a happy creature. she had too great concern for the happi- ness of others. it was hard for her to feel happy in the presence of the wrongs and miseries of this life. she appeared at times as keenly susceptible of the struggles and discouragements of others as if in her own sympathetic nature there was a mem- ory of some similar experience which she had sus- neither bond nor free. tained. if her eager sympathies were not awakened responsive to the thought of the hardships to which others had been subjected, then what? was it from what is sometimes called the inexorable law of heredity—traces of the impress of a memorable and barbaric institution on the offspring? or was it from environment in boston, that modern athens, set like some rare jewel in the heaven of new eng- land liberty? but toussaint's happiness seemed unalloyed. he was chiefly concerned about merna and his love for her. he looked up and believed that unfathomable bliss would be his if she would only say that she loved him. merna was a child of nature. she gamboled in her fancy with the stars and communed with the elements. she delighted to meditate on the works of creation. and since man was the greatest work of the creator, she was resolved to look up and lift up. “i have such a headache,” said ethel. “i am sorry. i had hoped that this delightful trip would prove highly beneficial to you,” replied merna. “you are perhaps a little despondent. cheer up. can i render you any service?” asked toussaint. “yes. get me, if you please, some water to drink.” toussaint instantly complied with the girl's re- neither bond nor free. quest, and accompanied her to a more comfortable seat. and now, after an hour's run, the steamer “mys- tic” put alongside of the dock of the brisk and bustling southern city. the numerous little wharves, separated by only the narrowest frith of water, were literally swarming with animated crowds of longshoremen. merna could not but re- mark to her companions the exuberance of good fellowship prevalent among them; their hilarity and beaming countenances betraying thrift and con- tentment. toussaint, merna and ethel moved slowly up the main thoroughfare of the city. the sun had rapid- ly climbed up the heavens and was scattering in all directions his torrid rays. at the instance of merna, they halted in front of a large drug store, where she and ethel made numerous purchases of toilet and other articles which were to be shipped to the town of h - when merna and toussaint started to leave, they observed that ethel hesitated to arise from the seat which she occupied. she explained to merna that the headache was “now fierce,” and the clerk was importuned to administer some relief. “no, no,” said ethel. “no drugs for me. i have a horror of taking medicine of any sort. it will wear off presently, i hope. oh, i tell you, mr. clerk, give me some soda; a glass of vichy will neither bond nor free. ? help,” and turning to merna and toussaint, she requested them to join her in a “social glass.” merna assented, saying, “vichy for me, too.” “come, hurry up,” said ethel, in a saucy vein, looking straight at the clerk, who was eyeing the party askance. with a studied effort to appear polite, the clerk replied: “you are all evidently strangers in these parts.” “strangers or friends,” impatiently retorted ethel, “what we want is the vichy.” “really, we do not sell soda water to any but our customers.” “well, don’t you consider this lady (pointing to merna) your customer?” asked ethel. “come, ethel, let us go,” said merna, not wait- ing for the reply. “no; what i demand is some decent explanation from this man,” was ethel’s fiery response. the clerk, who seemed not in the least abashed or disconcerted, hastened to say: “i see that you all appear to be decent and nice colored people; and thus i thought you could take the hint. the truth of the matter is we do not sell soda water to any person of color.” “that is not true,” retorted ethel, “for i saw you send a glass to a servant girl in the carriage at your door just a few minutes ago.” neither bond nor free. “the soda was ordered by a white lady for her servant, and besides, it was not drunk in this store.” “oh, i see; any one can buy drugs, but if he buys soda it is necessary to put on an apron, stand on the outside and have some white person order the water for you,” contemptuously replied ethel. as the three left the store, toussaint said: “this is the south, and it is an old southern custom—a relic of slavery.” “i regret much that i did not know this before we entered that place,” quietly observed merna. “why, everywhere in this city and throughout the south, this sort of foolish prejudice obtains. you can buy a seidlitz powder and have the clerk mix it in his store for you, but mineral water is con- sidered a luxury and is vended alone for a favored class,” said toussaint. “well, i had heard about that contemptible ferry prejudice, but little did i expect such meanness in a drug store,” remarked ethel. “what about the ferry?” asked merna. “mr. ripley can explain. he is a product of this hateful sod.” “yes—i am indigenous to the south and am forced to make the most of the situation. if you will stand just where you are for a moment you can feast your eyes on an amazing and impudent example of folly and racial prejudice. you will observe on your right, a maudlin band of poor neither bond nor free. whites, some of whom can barely stand erect from sheer dissipation. now, behind these are three re- spected and highly respectable colored citizens. one is bishop winton’s brother; he is a conspicuous member of the african methodist episcopal con- ference, and pastor of a prominent church in this city; another is a leading lawyer of this section, and enjoys the confidence of all who know him; the other is a successful business man—a coal merchant. “notice the drunkards keep to the right. they sit in the right hand cabin along with the fair daughters and chivalrous (as they would have us believe) men of the south, and yet, you and these gentlemen i have pointed out, must go into another cabin, set apart exclusively for people of color,” said toussaint. “but there is a colored girl holding by the hand a flaxen haired little boy; do they, too, separate as the sheep and the goat,” laughed merna. “there you have the farce,” exclaimed toussaint. “that black maid goes into the cabin with the whites. the little fellow is her mascot you see.” “and you say this is an old institution?” asked merna. “yes,” replied toussaint, “it is thirty odd years since slavery, but time has worked no change for the better in this particular.” “certainly not, for slavery still goes on,” said ethel. neither bond nor free. chapter xii. the southern industrial institute-vacation. a veritable arcadia! here peace and plenty seem to abide on every hand. rich foliage from rare trees spread their generous branches in every direction; quaint cottages in profusion vie with sombre buildings, whose walls are almost concealed from view by the ivy and virginia creeper; a de- licious sky wooing the glistening river, whose broad terrace is fringed with bush and tree, and above and around this sheen of water, birds—true har- bingers of peace—flit hither and thither, warbling their sweetest lays. this perfect summer day finds merna and tous- saint, ethel and strother, mr. burleigh and cla- rissa, on the spacious grounds of the southern collegiate and industrial institute. these are here on invitation of some of the vacation students, to engage in out of door sport. “what game shall we play?” queried mr. bur- leigh, as the party loitered under the big oak tree, neither bond nor free. for any amusement requiring much physical exer- tion,” he replied. “i did not know that one so modest and so sweet could play such a game as cricket; in fact, i did not know until recently that ladies knew or could play the game,” said toussaint, addressing merna. “it has long been familiar to both sexes in bos- ton. i understand that the game is not generally indulged by females in the south. i am not a hot- house plant, mr. ripley. my taste for athletics is quite pronounced. i play tennis, croquet, badmin- ton and golf,” replied merna. “i am a mere novice in the game of cricket. i learned what i know of it in philadelphia, two sea- sons ago. i have almost forgotten the names of some of the technical terms,” said toussaint. “well, there are popping crease and byes and ‘maiden overs’ and long field on and long field off.” i will go over them with you. the popping crease, where the batter stands, is four feet in front of the wicket. byes—” “come, merna, ethel is calling for you,” said toussaint. while dilating on the novel terms significant of the varied movements of the game, these two had strolled quite a distance from the gay group. ethel had suggested that merna be chosen cap- tain and that the men play on one side, the girls on the other. neither bond nor free. strother remarked that this would prove an un- equal contest from the start as the men were supe- rior players, taken as a whole. some one said that it would be a good idea to let the gentlemen play left handed. this was agreed upon and the game was started. the men went to the wicket first. ethel and miss atkins of the students opened the attack. the fielding was quick and the bowling good on the part of the girls and all the men were out for seventy runs. the ladies then went to the wickets with every chance of victory. the men ranged themselves in the field and ethel and merna faced the bowling. in perfect style they played the left hand attempts of the men bowlers and presently that fair side was out for ninety-three. toussaint and strother formed a partnership which was the only stand of the afternoon, ethel being especially successful with the ball. when the game was in full swing, it was highly interesting. if some of the throw-ins of the ball by a fair fielder were not as accurate as desired the error was condoned by the white shirt waists, short duck skirts and sailor hats of white straw. the sport was spirited and thoroughly enjoyed. and while the game was in progres the large gong sounded as a hint to prepare for tea. the visitors were urged to remain to the meal and all decided to do so. during the interval of thirty minutes, merna, ethel and clarissa remained with neither bond nor free. said “preservatory? merna isn't the only preserve in the jar; there are others.” toussaint frowned sullenly and went off to join merna, where strother seemed to be engaging her in an earnest conversation, and very earnest, indeed, it appeared to toussaint. the sun coming down the heavens was scatter- ing its beams full and fair against the vine clad eaves and windows where at least a dozen souls were grouped. here was indeed an interesting study in colors brought about by the economy of nature. a bouquet of human flowers; some exquisitely formed and delightful to the eye, others appealing in the main to the nobler sentiments in our nature. there was the manly form of edward strother, a man with earnest thoughts and high resolves. if one was seeking real worth, it was in that dark brown, but comely skin. a high forehead, broad chest—a strong and steady eye and an open counte- nance was his. and there was ethel, an attractive girl, though somewhat short of stature, with a lus- trous, beaming face and indian complexion. she was much fairer than toussaint and yet not so fair as merna. there stood rev. burleigh, holding by the hand ethel, who gazed up intently on his shin- ing ebon face and the white expanse of bosom, as if there were somewhere a fresh discovery for her. in this galaxy of faces there were scarcely any neither bond nor free. two shades of color not readily distinguishable from one another. “the young men's christian association of h , has secured the services of joshua a. rid- ley of boston, to lecture in the town hall to-night. i ask the pleasure of your company there,” said toussaint, addressing merna. “i am obliged to you, but i have just accepted an invitation from mr. strother for that occasion. your association is quite fortunate in having se- cured such a talented and distinguished lecturer. i enjoy the personal acquaintance of mr. ridley; he is a good man. i shall be delighted to see and hear him on virginia soil.” “you mistake the association. it is for the white and not the colored y. m. c. a. that mr. ridley comes,” observed toussaint. “well, it is a treat all the same. but what is the subject of the lecture? i did not think to ask mr. strother,” said merna. “the brotherhood of man,” replied toussaint. “an excellent subject and especially for this sec- tion, i should say,” remarked merna. “now, merna, we are once more alone. i want to speak quite plainly to you. i have decided in justice to us both, to declare my feelings for you. i have been deeply interested in you since the time of our first meeting. that interest must be manifest to you. it has gone on and on until it has ripened neither bond nor free. into perfect love for you. don't turn off from me —you do not realize how necessary you are to my happiness and peace of mind. i have intended to tell you this truth for days and days, but i have lacked the courage to speak out. now, do tell me, my dear one, that you will accept my avowal in good faith.” “indeed, mr. ripley, i hardly know how to begin. i have felt very grateful to you for your many kind- nesses to me during my sojourn in your midst. i have admired your straightforward conduct, and, most of all, your ambition to do some good for others. i really like you.” “i really love you,” repeated toussaint, as he pressed her hand in his own. toussaint felt a slight effort to withdraw her hand, and in obedience to it promptly relaxed his hold, and looking imploringly in her drooping eyes, he asked, as their gaze met, what she really thought of him. “i have already told you, mr. ripley.” “don’t call me mr. ripley; please, say toussaint —say ripley, anything but the formal mister.” “i shall then address you hereafter as toussaint, if you really wish me.” “and you will also love me?” “i will try.” “will it prove a hard task?” “this i cannot say. i hope not. oh, there is neither bond nor free. box window eager to purchase tickets at fifty cents apiece. a gentleman of pleasant address and most engaging manners, told toussaint and stro- ther that they were not authorized to sell tickets to any persons other than whites. “what mockery—what duplicity—what double dealing in the name of christianity. god help these mortals,” said toussaint, in mock solemnity. “i’ll tell you what to do. there is the open stage door; we will go in there behind the speaker and hear the speech from the rear,” suggested strother. neither bond nor free. chapter xiii. sowing the wind. it was ten by the clock, when a gang of “hood- lums,” fresh from the slums of washington, strolled leisurely across pennsylvania avenue at the point where that thoroughfare is intersected by street. they kept on until presently street was reached, where shortly afterwards they halted in front of a plain brick structure known to the gang as “bachelor's rest.” there were in that little band some miserable wretches, and yet these would have brooked no in- sinuation that they were not quite as good as many who moved in the “cream” of washington society, for they had with them what was regarded as fair specimens of that set. it must, however, be set down to the credit of the wretches that they had no concern about the doings of society. these were sports of the whole cloth, who, owl-like, slept by day and kept an open eye at night. they proclaimed themselves “dead sport.” true it was, that their neither bond nor free. earnings were neither large nor certain, but they stuck to their games through thick and thin. in that band of midnight marauders there is one character with whom we have to deal. it is charles van courtney. it was a mystery to more than one person how this man, who was employed as a messenger in the treasury department at $ . per month, could do constant business with the swell tailors and haberdashers of f street. few congressmen and men of leisure appeared on the public thoroughfares more fashionably attired than van courtney. he was accustomed to say to his associates, “fellows, you can’t guess me.” but the secret of his strange success leaked out, as secrets sooner or later will. it came about in this way. van courtney, anxious to exploit himself as an accomplished man, hit upon the idea of en- tering his name at one of the leading professional schools of the city. columbian university was se- lected as the school and law as the course he would pursue. this occurred some years ago. he read- ily gained admission, notwithstanding persons of color were not permitted to matriculate there, for his features and complexion were fairly caucasian. van courtney grew tired of this school experience after remaining about three weeks. while attend- ng the school, his mother, several shades darker in color than her son, called at the law building one evening as the students were hastening away neither bond nor free. lor had no cinch on this retreat. the truth of the matter is, that quite as many benedicts frequented the place as the former. of the ten rooms in this house, seven were set apart for the use of the so- called club, the remaining three were occupied for the separate use of the president de jura, if not de facto, of the elastic organization. some of the club's rooms, namely, the reception room, “smoker,” where liquors were freely dispensed, and the dining room, had varying attractions in their tawdry deco- rations of well worn tapestry and trappings. the furniture vied with the decorations. on the sec- ond floor were three rooms, two small, the other very large. these were all scant of furniture and with bare floors. the night in question was a cold, crisp one towards the latter part of december. between the hours of one and two o'clock, a solitary policeman, impatiently pacing his beat in the neighborhood of “bachelor's rest,” stopped sud- denly as he heard a muffled cry of “help! help!” he sounded a call for aid, and at the same time hast- ened his steps in the direction whence the sound pro- ceeded. as he drew near the club there was heard a din of voices, with mingled sounds of execrations and dire threats. two other policemen had come up, and the three in chorus demanded admission. no response being given to the request to “open up,” the lock was forced, the door opened and two stal- neither bond nor free. % wart conservators of the peace entered, while a third stood guard at the window. “ah, my gay bird, you catch no weasel asleep,” said the stern bluecoat, as he violently seized van courtney by the collar, as that spry young man came near him in his unceremonious exit by means of the window. “come with me, let us survey the field,” spoke the captor to his captive, as “lucky charley” was rudely jostled in the house. what a sight met the gaze of the law's defenders! callous hearted and accustomed as they were to scenes of brutality and shame, nevertheless, they in- stinctively drew back, stupefied and amazed. by the general and inquiring public, those not in- itiated in the mysteries of “bachelor's rest,” this place was looked upon as swelldom for the leaders of colored society. an imitation, feeble, of course, of the swell white clubs of the city. but here was a strange picture which struck a dis- cordant note on the pleasant sentiment which a washington constabulary had nursed for colored aristocracy. they were appalled. their sensibili- ties had received a severe shock. their idol was shattered. in one room were a number of men huddled about a faro game; apart from these was a poor fellow crouched in a corner of the room with an ugly gash just over his right eye. it was bleeding profusely. the man was frenzied, and too weak to stand. it neither bond nor free. was not easy to determine whether his weakness was caused by the loss of blood or from excessive use of intoxicants, for he had evidently been drinking very freely. many conflicting explanations were given as to the origin of the trouble, statements heightened and colored to suit the whims or prejudices of the narra- tor. the best and indisputable evidence was a wounded man, a tall, cadaverous individual, having in his sleeve a razor distended wide, and a gaming device. “you were all gambling, then?” inquired an officer, of the party. the proprietor, president of the club, or what shall we call him, spoke up: “no, sir; i allow no gambling in this house. these men were playing for fun.” “a faro game for fun,” chuckled the policeman. “i declare you all under arrest.” * another officer peered in the other two rooms. there was a little, old sideboard in one, with two empty whiskey decanters exposed to view, and a table containing a pack of playing cards. the other room had only its table and four chairs. while the inspection was in progress, the “black maria” had been driven to the door, and a squad of police alighted and took charge of twenty young men. the wounded man was carried below to the street and placed in the vehicle, where the others, in s * neither bond nor free. single file, awaited their turn. they all protested their innocence, and all looked meek except van courtney. “why do you arrest me? i was not in the row, neither in the room where the game was running,” with vehemence uttered van courtney. “when we go for game, we bag all we find,” tauntingly the officer replied. “it’s a d-d outrage to treat me like a dog. i’m innocent.” “tell that to the judge later this morning,” said the officer. one policeman whispered to another as he as- sisted van courtney in the patrol. then, turning to him, said: “we will let you go, as it does not appear that you intended to violate the law.” at this the president of the club said, “lucky charley is not more guilty nor less guilty than i am. i have violated no law. i have done every- thing i could to keep a respectable club. lucky charley was actually playing poker. i have just been told that he was playing for money, and this is positively opposed to our rules. he won the stakes by cheating. a fellow drew his gun on lucky charley and he squealed. but you can’t let him out. he was in the house when you pulled it; that’s enough,” said the president. “but i was not in the game—neither game,” de- clared van courtney. . neither bond nor free. chapter xiv. the wages of sin. when van courtney reached his boarding house about mid-day, following his carousal, he found a letter awaiting him. it was from clarissa bur- leigh, the girl whom he had so shamefully betrayed the summer before. he was already greatly de- pressed in spirits, and the recognition of the familiar scrawl on the envelope was by no means calculated to assuage his wounded pride. “curse it all,” he muttered, as he nervously broke the seal, and read as follows: “my darling charley! you won’t come to me. i am so unhappy. i feel miserable. i have been here for nearly a month, and you have not been near me. oh, charley, why did you fool me away from home, promising to marry me, and then set me adrift in this strange city? i have neither friends nor money. well, if i do not see you this night, then you’ll not see me again. meet me to-night at eight at the rock creek bridge. if you are not there by nine o'clock, you’ll never see me again. you won’t come to the house because neither bond nor free. you are ashamed to—”. here van courtney ceased reading the letter, crumpled it in his hand and tossed it into the open grate, where the flames soon devoured it. presently the bell sounded for lunch, but van courtney had no appetite for the meal. he re- mained in his room for a half hour or more, sitting with his face buried in his hands, his body swaying to and fro over the embers. he arose hurriedly, lighted a cigar, mounted his wheel and rode off to the treasury department, there to resume his work. when near the department he narrowly averted a collision with a coupé driven by a young colored man. van courtney thoughtlessly attempted to cross the street at the instant the carriage from the opposite way was approaching the curbing. “turn out,” shouted van courtney. “turn in,” said the driver. van courtney looked up at the speaker and exclaimed: “hallo, is it you, ed. strother?” “well, yes, it's strother.” “what are you doing in this place, and what does this horsey business mean?” “it means that i am a coachman.” “coachman, eh? well, i am on my way to work, but the sight of you unfits me for anything. how long have you been here?” “since october.” “have you been in this city for months and not neither bond nor free. looked me up? you know that i would have been only too glad to see and introduce you around as soon as you struck town.” “i am busy both day and night, and, besides, have no wish to burden you with my company.” “that is strange talk. i don’t understand you.” “would you not lose caste by taking me around? i understand that you move in the best society. i understand further, that your color and position have much to do with your social station. i have neither a clear skin nor position to recommend me.” “that's nonsense—mere stuff. i’ll take you safely through the lines. i will lead—you follow. see! my boy.” “guess i will move on,” said strother. “in a hurry?” “no, i have nothing to do until four o'clock, when i am to call at my employer’s office for him.” “wait. i will leave my wheel just across the way, and we will go to some lunch room. i'm as hungry as a wolf.” van courtney took a seat by the side of strother and they went to the dairy lunch. strother's pres- ence proved an insuperable barrier to the accommo- dation of van courtney. the waiter pointedly re- fused to serve them food to be eaten at that place, but would wrap them up anything they wished to purchase and take away. at this van courtney in- dignantly led the way out of the room. then to the weither bond nor free. and dirty, with its cheap food—its filthy newsboys and bootblacks sitting around.” “well,” said strother, “i’m not here to eat. i have come to see you eat.” van courtney fretted and fumed through the meal. strother looked on in silence. when the meal was over they left the dining room and drove leisurely back over the route they had come. van courtney was the first to speak. “old fellow, you haven’t yet told me how you came here.” “the story is short and simple enough,” said strother. “out with it, then. let me have it.” “i wanted to improve my mental condition, and thus i am here.” “school, eh? where are you.” “i am at howard law school—howard univer- sity.” “studying then—law? good enough. i, myself was at columbian for a while, but got marrying in my head, so had to shut down there.” “you mean that you are married?” “oh, no. i only thought of the venture at the time i was in school. it will be a long day when they trap this bird,” and he, by way of emphasis, tapped his forehead with his hand. “have a care, have a care,” slowly remarked strother. < . . neither bond nor free. “for you i am caring, for you i am caring,” van courtney broke out in coarse song. “you don’t improve any, i notice,” said strother. “no, my education is done for. but tell me, how does it happen that you have decided to study law.” “it was my employer's advice that induced me to take up law. my preference was some trade. i was put at the blacksmith's trade by my father when a small boy, and kept at it, working during school va- cations and after school hours, until i left home. that work, however, does not seem to pay nowa- days. i should like to be a machinist. it’s a gain- ful occupation, and besides, there are comparatively few of them in the south.” “you will never make a lawyer. it takes gab for the law,” remarked van courtney. “yes, that may be true in my case, but there are many exceptions to the rule. mr. robbins, for whom i work, is a lawyer, who has no gift of gab, as you call it. he has, however, a big practice, it seems. mr. robbins advised me to study law, prom- ising to help me along in my studies.” “then the boss will put up the stuff to get you through the school. i was wondering how you would manage to pull through on a coachman’s pay.” “no, you don’t quite understand me. mr. rob- bins will help me, allowing me free access to his fine law library. the money which i saved up while at neither bond nor free. home to pay my way through some trade school, will now help me through the howard law school.” “here's hoping you’ll skin through,” said van courtney, elevating his elbow, as if in the act of toasting him. then he was silent. a deep frown settled on his brow. his teeth were set over and against his lower lip, until it was pressed as if in a vise. he gazed around vacantly. there was a visible tremor in his frame. who shall deny that at that moment he did not have some mystic feeling, some strange fore- boding—presaging ill—as his frail bark was swept irresistible on over the bitter waters of marah to its awful destiny. “say, strother, she's in the city.” “whom do you mean?” “why, clarissa; haven't you heard it?” “no; it has been more than a month since i have heard from her. my friend, toussaint, wrote me last saying, among other things, that rev. burleigh's home had been despoiled.” “go on, what else was said?” he eagerly inquired. “that was all on that line,” answered strother. “i will tell you the whole story. last summer clarissa became infatuated with me, or, if you please it was a sort of love at first sight, you know, and to keep the thing going, i just deliberately made love to her in return. we got engaged to marry. i was, neither bond nor free. you see, only in fun. now the silly girl has come here to jack me up to make good my promise.” “i must be frank,” returned strother. “you have made a terrible blunder. you must marry that girl now.” “i’ll de d–d if i do.” “have you a sister?” “three of them.” “single or married?” “two are married. at least they are so far as i know.” “suppose some man should trifle with their affec- tions. how would you feel about it?” “they are in alabama; i'm here. they ought to have sense enough—and i know they have, to look out for themselves.” “but what if they did not?” “why, you bet i’d protect them,” and his eyes flashed fire. van courtney's countenance reflected the work- ings of his mind as it contemplated for an instant the dire consequences of a misapplied love—involv- ing heinous depravity—of which strother knew nothing. “you are quite right, for these seeming trifles often bring a train of evil.” “but hear me, i have not told you all. clarissa wants me to meet her to-night—this night, prepared to marry her.” neither bond nor free. “oh, i guess she'll give you a decent time in which to get the license and the minister.” “the girl is a fool. she's wild to get married. think of it. she threatens to commit some rash act if i do not show up before nine o'clock to-night.” “is it as bad as that?” innocently asked strother. “just that bad,” was the reply. “then, by all means, marry her. she has lost confidence in you—become desperate.” “yes, she's mad—perfectly beside herself.” “do as i advise you. don’t make a wreck of the poor girl. think of it. she is alone in a great city, away from father and mother, and every kindly in- fluence. you may save her from destruction by prompt action on your part. she's a good girl. i have known her since early childhood. she is but a child now, barely sixteen.” van courtney was agitated in mind over the probability of clarissa’s self-destruction if he did not promptly meet her with preparedness to marry her. “well,” said he, speaking very slowly, “i will marry her.” “i will then go with you to the clerk’s office,” said strother. “retgister's office, you mean. it's agreed.” “one—two—three—three o'clock has just struck. can't go. i am sorry. anyway, promise me that neither bond nor fref). throwing herself on him, and with despair, look- ing pleadingly in his eyes. “i am compelled to ask you the question in order to find out why you have summoned me here.” “summoned you here—” she drawled out; and then sharply said, “you add insult to injury.” “don’t get cross, little pet.” “you know that you have treated me mean—vile. you had me leave my home, now upwards of a month ago, promising to marry me as soon as i came here. you have never been near me since last summer, at h you have ruined me. i am now an outcast—no home—no friends. my mother is now ill abed from the misery you have caused me, and my father had, before i got your last letter, threatened to drive me from home, say- ing i had disgraced the family.” the girl paused, and covering her face with her hands, wept bitter tears of remorse. her sobs dis- turbed van courtney. he had not intended to ex- hibit the license to clarissa, still less to marry her. this license was only a precautionary measure to prevent a silly girl from the commission of a dread deed. “now, cheer up, girl, you have not yet heard my explanation. i have the best of reasons for not hav- ing seen you at once, on your coming to town. you know that nothing but some unavoidable circum- stance would have prevented me from meeting you neither bond nor free. on your arrival in the city. i, too, have had lots of trouble—people putting up jobs on me through envy and malice. i ought to have told you at first of the surprise i have for you. i will not tease you an- other minute.” here he drew from his pocket the license which had ben furnished him to wed cla- rissa, and handing it to her, he leaned forward and embraced her tenderly. in an instant she had dried up her tears to read the paper. “after all, you are real good. i am foolish to doubt you. i’ll forgive you all.” then frantically seizing his hands and swinging them to and fro in ecstacy, said, “charley, dear, when are you going to marry me?” “any time; to-night if you wish.” “to-night!” she exclaimed, wild with delight. “yes, to-night, my bird; but then”—assuming an air of studious earnestness, “another evening will do; it is too late now.” van courtney, leaning against the handrail of the bridge, was looking on the turbid and turgid stream below as its waters flowed on over jagged rocks. clarissa was nestling close by his side. neither one observed the approaching steps of the stranger until he was within a few feet of van courtney. he made pretense of passing them, unaware of their presence. then, turning half around, he uttered— as if addressing himself, the words, “mr. van neither bond nor free. “i have a little business with van courtney, which requires prompt attention.” “i know all,” said the girl, “and you don’t want to arrest charley. he's done nothing.” “what is your name, miss?” “never mind about that. he is mine.” “you are the girl—(here the detective extracted the warrant from his pocket to refresh his memory) —clarissa burleigh.” “that's my name. read me the paper if it’s about charley, please,” she asked in a plaintive voice. “you may read it for yourself,” he said, as he handed it to her. after having read it, she turned to van court- ney, saying, “charley, what did you tell the gentle- man?” “i’ve told him nothing. but you know that i am not guilty, and can prove it,” stammered the fellow. “they can’t arrest you, charley, if you are mar- ried to me. where's your license? show him that. we'll get married to-night.” the paper was passed to the detective, who, after perusing it, remarked: “it is good enough as far as it goes, but the trouble is it does not go far enough. you may never marry; besides my duty is plain— it has no reference to the conjugal state. my war- rant is to take the body of the culprit before the proper officer of the law,” neither bond nor free. “but, mr. officer, why should you want to take him away to prison when he will marry me to-night? won't you marry me now, charley,” she tearfully asked. “i have told you that already—before the officer came,” he doggedly replied. “well, i tell you what i'll do. you both are evi- dently sincere. the license attests your honest in- tention,” said the detective, looking directly at van courtney. “i do not wish to embarras you—either of you. i cannot, however, relinquish the custody of a prisoner. miss, since you are to be married to- night, i have no doubt that your father will be sat- isfied, and the ends of justice be fully met. you two go ahead. i will take the opposite side of the street. i must, however, be present to witness the ceremony, and to disarm the least suspicion. i will pose as a friend of the contracting parties.” when the boarding house of clarissa was reached the girl conducted van courtney to the landlady. he explained the object of his visit, inquired the amount of clarissa's indebtedness to her, settled the same, and hurriedly left the house, ostensibly in search of a minister who would unite himself and clarissa in the holy bond of wedlock. the detective, as he boarded the street car with van courtney, explained to him that he would not go too near the residence of the minister, but await his return on the outside. neither bond nor free. all. gossip had it that his father, an african prince, had been captured in his native land for the ameri- can slave trade. however that may be, “father” gay lived a useful and sober life, and died at a good old age, leaving behind him much land for two sons, the only surviving heirs, and, best of all, transmit- ting to his posterity a name untarnished—precious and priceless legacy | john gay was early in life a successful candidate for the favor of the people. he drifted into specula- tion and politics, and in both he was a winner. he was a shrewd, resourceful man, fairly well educated, industrious and modest. for many years until re- cently, he had, as the leading representative of the colored race at the capital, been called to occupy not a few places of considerable profit, trust and respon- sibility. as the years went by his wealth increased, so likewise his family. there were in all seven chil- dren, six of them girls. a lad just emerging from his teens, and an older daughter, were away, schooling in the north—two were married, the re- mainder at home with their parents. there were social demands to be met, and yield- ing to these, mr. gay built and furnished a palatial residence in a very desirable section of the city, on the site of the plain frame structure so long occu- pied by sire and son. john gay was eminently qualified to maintain a sumptuous home, for his real estate was assessed at – neither bond nor free), in common, but it was of the butterfly variety, fleet- ing and visionary. class three was the best prod- uct from the institution of slavery. in this group it is a matter of pride to name as members, ralph attaway, john and margaret lockley. and yet another class, not numerous but ah! terribly well defined. this is the riff-raff famed for its shiftlessness and licentiousness. if class one had a modicum of ease and contentment, it were well earned. these are bearing and most bear the brunt of all the ills of the race and also blaze the path for its future greatness. this class was the ad- vance guard—the flower, if you please, of the army of degradation. with the mass, it was simply a struggle for bread. whenever one could gain his bread without a struggle, why he left the mass and joined the class. candor compels the remark that ethel’s one hun- dred and four exquisite cullings from the big so- ciety bunch were lacking in variety of color. shall i whisper, fond reader, the truth that black pansies could not mingle where octoroons, quadroons and mulattoes congregate? the line was not so dis- tinctly drawn, however, among the large circle of the four hundred, although the blacks were eyed suspiciously here. the gay residence presented an animated scene one night in january, early after the family had taken possession. the occasion was a reception * neither bond nor free. in honor of a lady friend from new york—ethel's chum. the select, or “upper crust,” drawn from washington’s four hundred were out in force. they began to arrive a little past the hour of eight and increased in numbers until nine o'clock found a swarm of hansoms, carriages and cabs in waiting about the house. the presence of so many vehicles may be explained as due to the prevalence of a snowstorm, which had been raging since noon- time, and in consequence street car traffic was most effectually blocked. radiant and happy were the women in their vari-colored gowns, many of ex- quisite patterns. the men, for the greater part, were fine appearing, all faultlessly and appropriately at- tired, and among them some who had made their mark. t there was nothing wanting in the interior dec- orations of the rooms in which the guests were as- sembled. nothing was overdone—everything was in order. the furnishings were sumptuous and the color scheme of the walls and decorations artistic in the best sense of the word. in the library and drawing room, were gracefully arranged smilax and the orchid, while about a dais placed in the library for the band, were rare exotics, so massed as to completely hide from view the musicians. it was ten o’clock when the orchestra struck up the strains of the grand march which had been de- ferred until this hour awaiting the arrival of a cer- neither bond nor free. chapter xvi. literary life at the capital. the preliminary exercises of the blyden histori- cal and literary society being over, the president arose and said: “ladies and gentlemen: i will now introduce to you mr. james m. hughes of this city, who has been selected to present a paper for discussion, en- titled ‘the status of the american negro.’” mr. hughes spoke for about twenty-five minutes, dis- cussing in the main the treatment accorded the ne- gro in different sections of the country. he went back to conditions in the south during “reconstruc- tion” times. “we are accustomed,” he said, “to ask ourselves what is the remedy for existing evils meted out to us in this country? well, before we can find a remedy we must know the disease and its cause. i take it that all of our ills are traceable, directly or indirectly, to our unpreparedness for citizenship. after the reconstruction period the ballot was given the black man. he realized his weakness and unfitness for government. coming neither bond nor free. out of darkness into the noonday light of a splendid civilization—an active participant in political af- fairs, he perforce circumstances recognized white people as the proper governing power. the south, too, saw instinctively that the interests of both races required the intellectual and moral development of the negro. the republican party had imposed a harsh condition on the southern people at the ter- mination of the war. now we have a train of evil following in the wake of this wrong. the carpet- bag régime, with its manipulation of an ignorant and corrupt vote, is the fruit of the fifteenth amendment to the constitution. the intelligent and thoughtful negro now sees that it is manifestly essential to the prosperity of the south, and ulti- mately to the welfare of himself, that some restric- tion be put upon the ballot. in state and local elec- tions the negro, for the greater part, has always been the tool of the demagogue, while in national elections he merely votes his sympathy, remember- ing that he was made a free man and a voter by the republican party. i think that the greatest enemy to the negro, and the greatest obstacle to his progress is the politician, and, worst of all, the negro politi- cian. the colored man is taught that he is asserting his independence by voting against the very men to whom he must go in time of trouble. if the negro intends to improve himself and his condition, he must find a way to keep from being a solid force at neither bond nor free. the polls against the main body of the white people at the south. i have spoken somewhat at length, touching the educational, financial, moral and indus- trial outlook of the race. i will conclude by saying you must quit politics; put behind you all dreams of literary and scholastic attainments, acquire practical industrial knowledge, court and deserve the friend- ship of the best white people in your neighborhood. heed the advice of oscar richards, the leader of our race: ‘leave the negro problem to the south.’” as hughes finished his paper a dozen persons were on their feet to make reply to it. the speaker who opened the discussion said that he agreed “fully with the sentiments so ably pre- sented in the paper of mr. hughes.” he regretted, however, that the speaker omitted all reference to “lynch law—the one great topic of the day.” throughout the south the various legislatures make liberal allowances for the support of the col- ored public schools. according to the commission of education of the united states, the southern whites have contributed to the cause of education among our people at the south more than $ , ,- ooo, and the principal of the great southern insti- tute for the colored race says that of the $ , , contributed yearly for negro education, $ , , comes from the south. “i think that our teachers, ministers, leaders generally and the press, should bestir themselves neither bond nor free. shambling manner, and with husky voice betraying the nervous excitement he felt, said: “mr. president: my coming in your presence to-night is by mere chance. i am a stranger both to you and your city. i feel that i ought not to intrude myself on this notable gathering, and i should not do so, believe me, if my own thoughts were in ac- cord with the prevailing sentiment first voiced here. what concerns me most are not the views of the leader of this discussion, but rather the reflections of the speaker who was last heard, touching the character and worth of a man whose memory i re- vere. “let me here say that i honor the name and fame of oscar richards. he is a grand and good man—a splendid product of the new order of things. he is doing a good work—leading a highly useful life. we are now just beginning to estimate his worth. another generation will measure his work. but what of frederick douglass? was he not also a great and noble man? i need attempt no comparison of richards and douglass. they differ in their pur- poses as widely as their years and the times in which they were called to action. perhaps they were cnly alike in one respect, their conscientious convic- tion to duty—apart in all things else. douglass went forth with phillips and giddings and garrison to help clear the way for richards. the old and the young were then bond. douglass pleaded with the neither bond nor free. charged with having married a lady a few shades lighter in complexion than myself. i am not ashamed of that charge, and ask no man's pardon. what business has any other man with the color of my wife? and what business have i with the color of any other man's wife? let every man be contented with the color of his own wife, and cease to trouble himself about the color of other men's wives, and we shall then have much less trouble in the world. “‘washington, january , .’ “now, this letter is the conclusion of the whole tilatter.” toussaint sat down, apparently careless of the generous applause which came from the whole gath- ering. the fervid style of his oratory, the dispas- sionate treatment of the discussion and the presen- tation and effective reading of the autograph letter of the famous man, awakened enthusiasm in the breasts of the apologists of mr. douglass, and ef- fectually silenced the tongues of slander. the presiding officer invited attention to the sub- ject under discussion, adding that the speeches were of a digressive nature, which could no longer be tolerated. this remark silenced some persons who were eager to gain the floor—mainly to questions of privilege and personal explanation. one irrepres- sible arose and delivered himself as follows: “i wish to say just a word concerning the inter-mar- riage question. i, too, am opposed to miscegena- neither bond nor free. millions of them are in the south. the white pop- ulation of the southern states is about double that of the colored race. the negro does not assimilate with the white race, and thus he is considered as an alien. as i understand it, the southern white man regards us as either the active or sympathetic foe to law and order. we, at the same time, de- clare that his reason is blinded by his prejudice towards us as a race. we are, therefore, intensely suspicious of the white man's every movement in our direction. “there is a race problem and we must all real- ize its workings, and set ourselves to work to ef- fect a solution of it. earnest and eager men of both races are puzzling their wits as to the methods to be adopted which will aid the solution of this problem. there is no one way to solve it. there are many ways for its solution. first of all the white man must leave out the question of com- plexion and learn to judge us not by color, but by character. that is to be the only criterion. we must at the same time bear in mind that neither the occupation of the country nor its civilization are ours. “the whites must remember that we are not all degraded. there is only a small per cent of the negro race vicious and depraved. there is also the degraded class of poor whites, who never lose an opportunity to villify us. they are hounding us neither bond nor free. down and attempting to keep up a guerilla war of extermination. no, i will not dignify this thing and call it guerilla warfare. it is mobocracy, or, better, the kingdom of hell set up here on earth. where lynch law prevails, there civilization has fled to brutish beasts. mob law of to-day is, after all, but the last feeble expression of men—the under- lings of their ace—vainly seeking an excuse to in- augurate a reign of terror, having for its sequel the extermination of a race with which they cannot much longer compete. ku-kluxs, white caps, white liners, regulators and lynchers are all in- tended to accentuate race prejudice—which is the moving spirit of dread race antipathy and distrust. every one knows that a large majority of our peo- ple are peaceable, law-abiding citizens. we are no more nor less responsible for the criminal class of our people than are the white people. we are asked to help capture the scoundrels of our own race who commit the savagery that causes lynchings. we will do our best to root out and discourage every semblance of vice and evil; but if the whites having absolutely all the machinery of the law—all the guns and all the powder—cannot overtake and cap- ture the scoundrels, we are then powerless to do so. “let the whites, however, not despair, for judge lynch is making a fairly good record in his bloody work—and this without our aid. through the fiat neither bond nor free. of judge lynch , black men have been put to death in this land. some of these men were guilty of various crimes, others were guiltless of all of- fense. if the white men of the south would lend a hand and help us to protect our wives and daughters this act would prove a powerful incentive to en- courage us to protect their females.” “i had purposed,” remarked the president, “to contribute a few words to this most interesting dis- cussion, but the time limit for the debate has arrived. we have all, i trust, profited by what we have heard. from the trend of the discussion to-night i gather that the negro is constantly brooding over his present ills, instead of occupying his mind and time with better things; that the white man north is gradually letting go the negro, leaving him to toddle alone or fall. this last is as it should be. we may well pause and ask, ‘watchman, what of the night?' the answer of solemn warning is, that out of one blood god made all the nations of the earth to dwell together in peace. if men will not heed the warn- ing—if the discordant elements of both races will continue to sow the seed of discord—we will re- member that they who sow to the wind shall reap the whirlwind. thus spake my lord.” neither bond nor free. was memorable for three things: the large crop of candidates which it yielded for county offices, the acrimony engendered on account of the rivalry of office seekers and the open bribery and corruption everywhere visible among the venal voters. with a race having few members in these parts who could boast the art of public speaking on the hustings and platform, toussaint was easily in favor. he be- came almost famous in a day. he scaled the dizzy heights of distinction among the lowly at a single bound. his fondness for politics was not alto- gether a passion. he inherited a taste for the whirligig of public life from his father, who had before him been active in the memorable politics of reconstruction times. and years afterwards the elder ripley esteemed it a worthy privilege to take the boy toussaint by the hand and lead him to the precinct meetings, and there set him down in the midst of the new citizen, who, wrestling with the alphabet of politics, was chafing and taxing his lung power in calling “mestor cheerman,” and con- stantly rising to some “p'int o' order.” the better element of the colored citizens was generally conspicuous by its absence. toussaint was the new moses, whose peculiar mission it was to purify and build up the republican party in this benighted section. he was an inveterate reader, devouring indiscriminately history, literature, phi- losophy, together with desultory reading on the race neither bond nor free. he tied a young white missis up and whipped her; and the white folks all got down on him worse. and then they said they was goin’ to kill all the niggers and shet up the darky schools.” “that sounds like a fairy tale. the democrats are always trying to fool the ignorant of our peo- ple. it wasn't justice williams but justice haw- kins who had the girl whipped.” “yes, that's the name—hawkins,” said uncle john. “justice hawkins followed the law. the poor white girl had stolen something, and she was flogged for it just the same as your daughter, if you had one, or my sister would have been pun- ished had they stolen. the law was made by white men to disfranchise the negro voter, that is to pre- vent him from voting, and to degrade him and his race.” uncle john looked up in the speaker's face, shook his head ominously, then let it drop. he said nothing. “am i not right?” “yes, mr. ripley, you are right, mebbe, but it seems to me white folks ain’t goin’ to stan’ that.” “but they have got to stand that or worse. we are american freemen, and one man is as good as another.” “you is a man of learnin', and i reckon i hadn’t oughter dispute you. but it 'pears to me as we neither bond nor free. “no, it is not exactly electioneering. i am a race man. i mean to see to it that my race cultivates the true spirit of race pride, putting their own peo- ple before every other race. look at the white man; he honors his race. well, i want our people to look up and be true and fearless men. in a few weeks there will be an election for town and county officers. we have put up an almost solid colored republican ticket, a dyed-in-the-wool ticket. dyed- in-the-wool reminds me of the way the great fred. douglass spoke of his own republicanism. now i want you, uncle john, to be at the meeting to- night. it takes place on the court house green. i am to make the principal speech. come and let me know what you think of my doctrine.” “oh, i'm hearin’ of you. everybody's talkin' of toussain' ripley. people say you’re right smart. but what is it i was sayin’ about you jus’ now? oh, i know, i was a-sayin’ how—how you ought'n stop learnin’ children to go into 'lectioneerin’ busi- ness.” “yes, i answered you.” “i kinder didn't jus’ understan' you.” “well, it’s just this. i feel that i can be of more service to my race in politics than as a country teacher.” “well, if you stick to teachin’, who can’t tell what'll happen? you might some day be a big teacher like oscar richards,” neither bond nor free. “i would rather be true to my race than be a big teacher.” “isn’t richards true to his race?” “not in the best sense of the word.” “what do you mean?” “i mean just what i say. oscar richards is in- juring his race, and that beyond repair. he is teaching our young men and young women to re- gard the white people as their superiors—telling them that they must find a place amid the humble pursuits of life as they are not fitted for the higher stations to which all ambitious white people aspire. let me give you a sample of his teaching. a little while ago there was a fire at the state university, which destroyed some of the principal buildings there. you know that this is a white school. the superintendent of public instruction for the state urged the teachers in all the schools under him to send in contributions to aid in rebuilding the houses destroyed. what do you think? why, among the earliest contributions received was a fund from the primary department of oscar richards' institute. one bright little fellow, in his eagerness to help to rebuild a school which would for all time exclude him, brought a basket containing a dozen eggs, which he requested be sold, and the proceeds ap- plied to the university fund. why, i ask, was not this boy taught to save those pennies to help pay his neither bond nor free. own, or a sister's, or some other colored boy's way through school?” “i think that was a good thing, mr. ripley. his teacher was learnin’ him to do good for evil.” “better an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth, with such heartless reprobates as are turned out from that institution.” then he added abruptly: “well, i must leave you. of course, you will come to our meeting to hear me speak.” “yes, i will try an hobble out to hear you, but i don’t go roun much o’ nights.” political mass meetings in the peaceable county of e are usually well attended, and the negro suffragist may here vote and cheer as lustily as the rest, for there are none to molest or make him. afraid. toussaint reached the place of meeting unat- tended, and clambered to the top of the tall rickety platform, which stood like a scaffold against the sombre walls of the old court house. there was a dense mass of black faces, relieved here and there of its monotony by the sprinkling of mulattoes, and the fringe of white faces. apart from the crowd stood a dozen or more democrats. old man lock- ley, true to his word, had been on hand since dark, in order to maintain a position near the stage. on the platform was seated the white candidate for clerk of court, who was also chairman of the re- publican committee; the other white officer (can- neither bond nor free. negro domination follows swiftly on the heels of that other myth, social equality between the races. the last is well nigh dissipated; the first is the fruit- ful source of all our ills in the body politic. we have long ago learned to expect nothing good from a poor white man where a negro is in question, and your aristocracy have given themselves over to a reprobate mind—to open bribery and corruption. “in our last municipal election, the democracy had as its candidate for mayor a citizen whose name had hitherto been regarded as a tower of strength and a synonym for honor and integrity. but his managers went out into the market to buy negro votes—no attempt being made at conceal- ment. one paid off in checks, the other in cash. the negroes would enter from the east side, and being vouched for, emerge from the west exit with $ bills in their hands. in many instances, the pay- master pinned the bills on the negro lapels, and they circulated through the crowd, bringing recruits to their candidate's forces. the negroes were urged to vote promptly, as the price would soon drop from $ to $ . . thus you see that the better class of our people must hold themselves aloof from the debased men of all races, who continue to barter away their god-given rights as amer- ican freemen. “think of it, every man of you, no matter how black or how humble, no matter how ignorant or neither bond nor free. how poor, is an uncrowned king, and the ballot is your insignia of power—it is your royal sceptre. the king, however, should not defile himself. he should not leave his high estate and accept bribes. “and, again, think of your wives and children at home. these are your sacred trust. you are their chosen representatives. no delegated power conferred by man can equal yours. you speak with divine authority. your commission is from god. see that you bear his seal upon your brow. the ballot was given to protect not alone yourselves, but as well those who cannot speak for themselves. do not, i entreat you, fetter anew the limbs of wife and babe, born and unborn.” a mighty shout went up in approval of that last sentiment. continuing he said: “my friends, we have many dishonest and treach- erous people among us. we have the shiftless as well as the thrifty. and this leads me to say that we can never lift the race as a whole. i believe in the doctrine—the survival of the fittest. i believe in individual development. acquit yourselves like men. show to the white people that a man’s a man for a that. give the white man a wide berth. don’t push yourself on him. let him see that you regard yourself as his equal, and in moving among them do so without fear, favor or affection. if you are unable to do this, your inability becomes a con- neither bond nor free. vincing argument to show your inferiority and de- pendence. - “let us cease to dissemble. let us get together and elevate our best men to place and power and influence. “we will not stop with this county's contest. we will look the field over for suitable material for congress. this strikes me as the best way to de- velop the best negro. i am aware that there is a manifest tendency on the part of the white people to consider us only as a class—to segregate us, making for us a place in bulk. my plea is that the negro be let alone, and he will work out his own salvation. the white man, however, is not alone responsible for this never-ending color question. “it has been well said that the organized negro leads to the organized white man. it will be well for both races when the white man forgets the negro's color; but he cannot forget it until the negro himself forgets it, and this will not be possi- ble until the enemy both from without and within will cease to handle us like a herd of cattle, and we cease to consent to such an odious arrangement. the negro who insists upon recognition of his per- sonal merits as a man will surely secure good will and equal rights.” - “mr. chairman: (a voice from a democratic by- stander), will you permit me to ask the speaker a question?” neither bond nor free. the chairman: “i presume the speaker will yield.” the voice: “are you in reality opposed to raising the color question?” the speaker: “yes; i am unalterably opposed to it.” the voice: “so you seem to say, and yet you are industriously advocating the election of negro of- ficials solely on the ground of color. your talk is a strange mixture of inconsistencies.” toussaint continued, “we have a mixed ticket of white and colored men, and i only mean to urge their election on the ground of their merit and gen- eral fitness. it is the old cry you have just heard. whenever a colored man is being run for office, we are charged with drawing the color line, and yet we are expected to vote for white men for office with- out a murmur, whenever they bob up. who draws the color line then? “the negro is only partially free. it is a good adage that they who would be free themselves must strike the blow. many of you are unable to read and consequently cannot understand questions of public policy. let me give you an unerring touch- stone, which, when applied to every matter where your vote is required will teach you which road to take for your safety. find out your democratic neighbor's choice of men and measures, and then go and vote directly against him. neither bond nor free. “now, bear in mind that on tuesday next is elec- tion day. you have a supreme duty to perform. if you hope for good government, let your vote con- form to your wish. the coming fall will witness a struggle for party supremacy in the councils of the nation. if you will but do your whole duty tuesday—go to the polls and vote the entire re- publican ticket—you will thereby help smooth the road for a great victory in the presidential struggle. democrats are getting disgusted with their party, and are flocking to the republican party—thrusting aside the black voter. stand your ground, for your political salvation is in this party.” neither bond nor free. chapter xviii. a message from africa. nearly a year had passed since toussaint first beheld the object of his love. and now he seemed no nearer the goal than then. there had been but little correspondence between them during the period of their acquaintance. only a short while ago they had parted; she seemingly yielding to his entreaties. but she looked down and at her feet there lay a shadow which was deepening across the sea. he, proud and self-reliant, heard her voice, and was filled with expectancy. merna’s return proved indeed a sad one, for there she met her first great sorrow in the death of her mother, which occurred a few days after she had reached boston. now there was no one left upon whom she could lean for sympathy and guidance, save her uncle. she wanted to get out of the city, away from the scenes of its sadness and tur- moil, away from its loneliness and hopelessness. and she felt too that she could not longer re- main unemployed. the desultory service of as- meither bond nor free. suaging grief, comforting the distressed, minister- ing in sympathy and substance to the poor and needy, was henceforth to be reinforced by some gainful occupation. it was a season of great depression in business. what employment could willing hands find in bos- ton? true, merna was well educated and accom- plished, having received the best instruction that boston could offer. she, however, lacked fitness for any especial pursuit; and even though she might gain a place for which her training and tastes were adapted, would she not then be in the way of some worthy applicant who needed this work as a means of support for herself. this thought wrought upon her tender sympathy. “i would not, if i could, take bread from others— those who may need it. i should like to go south,” she thought. “there workers are needed, and i can afford to work for a pittance.” she at- tempted to persuade “dear uncle ralph” to give up business in boston and settle in the town of h - he shook his head gravely enough at this timid suggestion. he finally told merna that he and her mother had many years ago resolved between themselves never again to return to the south; and the fact that her mother was no more, served as a fresh reminder to keep his promise. ralph attaway was not slow to see that there must be a change of scene for merna, and that at ** neither bond nor free. once, or else her brooding might take on a more serious turn. and thus he proposed for them- selves a trip to the “dark continent.” “let us go over to africa and hunt up the little republic,” he laughingly remarked. merna expressed great joy at the prospect of visiting the land of her pride, and concerning which she knew so little. “do you really mean it, uncle ralph?” “yes, we will go just as soon as i can arrange my affairs.” at first thought it puzzled ralph to know whether to suspend business at his old fashioned stand, or to entrust its management and reputation to new hands. he decided, however, not to hazard all, but to close up his shop for a season. it was ten days later when ralph attaway and niece set out for new york, going thence to mon- rovia via liverpool. >k >k >k >k >k >k >k >k toussaint had received but a single letter from merna during her sojourn in africa, and that one was severely disappointing, in that there was not the least reference made to show the drift of her feeling for him. - he read the letter again and again, hoping each time to find some peg whereon to hang his hope. in one place she wrote: “you are young and aspir- ing; if you were here with me we could, hand in neither bond nor free. ? chapter xix. the black republic. merna attaway lived amid a quiet but charm- ing settlement, just a little way out from the tur- moil and excitement of boston life. there was nothing quaint nor picturesque in the architecture of the home of mr. attaway. it was simply a plain, goodly-sized two-story frame structure, gabled roofed with broad veranda fronting the street. yet the immaculate whiteness of this house, the stable and enclosure, and the pretty cropped grass lawn, with spreading trees shading on every side a tennis court, together with the twittering of innumerable swallows as they swarmed about the eaves of the cottage, afforded the curi- ous a hint as to the manners of the worthy people residing within. it was a bright balmy spring morning when the enterprising reporter of the “boston ” called to interview ralph attaway, who was again at home after his african tour. merna was on hand and greeted the news gatherer in her naive sweetness, neither bond nor free. and without the slightest ceremony. then she has- tened away for ralph, pausing to say that, “uncle ralph is never here so late, but since his voyage he has been somewhat indisposed.” there were many interesting objects in view to engage the attention of the argus-eyed reporter. on every hand there were evidences of the rare judgment and exquisite refinement of the young housekeeper. the nooks and crannies were filled with curios of this country and africa; besides, there were precious souvenirs distributed here and there throughout the reception room. , presently merna returned with an apology from “uncle ralph,” who felt too tired to see any one. “i should be willing to tell you something of my impressions, and what i saw in liberia, that is if you have a mind to hear it,” said merna with diffi- dence. this was the first intimation the reporter had received of merna’s sojourn in africa along with her uncle, and he, of course, agreed with alacrity to have her relate her experiences. in answer to his question she replied: “no, sir, i was not anxious to get back home. when i was in africa i felt that i wanted to re- main forever; but uncle was not willing to live there and i could not think of leaving him alone in his old age. quite contrary to my expectation, i found the climate temperate and healthy, especially at neither bond nor free. monrovia, where i made my stay. many residents of that city with whom i talked, told me that it was decidedly healthy thirty or forty miles back from the coast, and it is there that you will find the soil fertile and deep. “i know that you have heard much concerning the african fever. you see that i have escaped it (and she laughed). why, african fever, so dr. blyden says, is nothing more than malaria, such as is found in the swamps of the carolinas—the lagoon region—where fevers are hatched. he further as- sured me that african fevers are not easily taken. “oh, yes, the little republic seems to be progress- ing, especially when you take into consideration the circumstances under which it was established. you must remember that slaves in escaping from this country went to liberia with a twofold purpose— in search of liberty, also to help christianize their distant relatives. this colonization work began, i think, in . it was thirty-seven years later when the colonists ventured (having previously ob- tained the consent of the american colonization so- ciety)—to declare themselves an independent na- tion, modeled after our own government. “there are in liberia at least twenty important towns, among them monrovia, its principal sea port and seat of government. there are mayors, aldermen, public libraries, churches, schools, col- leges, professors and teachers, lawyers and physi- neither bond nor free. cians, merchants, warehouses, custom houses, light- houses, soldiers, militia, police, and in general all the essentials of a stable government. “it seems a wonderfully productive country. everything that can be grown in a civilized land will grow there. garden truck grows in liberia with surprising rapidity,—corn, wheat and other grain. tobacco and cotton will grow as rapidly there as in our southern states where they are in- digenous; and coffee, indigo and the sugar cane are the spontaneous products of the soil, and may be cultivated at pleasure. there is no winter, as you know, in liberia. there the hills are covered with perpetual verdure. picture, if you can, a stretch of beautiful flowers extending about forty miles. “the natives, often without tools or skill, and with little labor raise more grain and vegetables than they can either consume or sell. cattle, swine, goats, sheep, fowls and ducks thrive without feed- ing, requiring no other care than to keep them from straying. “well, i can remember only a few of the liber- ian products which are exported. cocoa, coffee, cotton, indigo, ivory, gold, tortoise shells, hides, iron, copper, rubber and palm oil are some of them. “yes, sir, i really think it would be a suitable place—indeed, the proper place of residence for the afro-american. in the first place the standard of morals is high there, for the piety of the first set- neither bond nor free. tlers has been transmitted to the descendants. me- chanics of well-nigh every trade are carrying on gainful occupations, and every child receives appro- priate schooling. “i am very happy to say that there is no race problem in liberia. there you will find neither mob rule nor lynch law. liberia is progressive, and its rulers are black. i believe, however, that greater prosperity would come to the little republic if the constitution should confer citizenship on white people along with those of african descent. of course, in the early days of the republic, it was doubtless a wise provision to have restricted suf- frage to persons of color, or else the blacks would soon have been driven from place and power. i think the danger line is now passed. money is needed, and the white people have it. with capital the country could not only develop what she has, but could reach out to the rich lands of the interior. “yes, sir, the country i speak of has great re- sources, and the american colored man, i repeat, can be utilized in the work of colonizing and in christianizing it. he ought to be a prime factor in that work. i share the views of prominent men in liberia, who have experimented with my people there. “no, sir, i do not believe in a gigantic coloniza- tion scheme. the time is not ripe for it. i believe, however, that our government should lend its foster- neither bond nor free. ing influence towards aiding in the development of the territory, which embraces more than , square miles. “assuredly, i believe in africa for afro-ameri- cans and their descendants, until the latest genera- tion. there are already in that country the eng- lish, the french and the german, but the climate is too torrid for them. i am not ashamed of my peo- ple. i am proud to be an humble member of a race that claims such celebrities as geoffrey l’islet, corre- spondent of the french academy of sciences; an- thony william amo, and benjamin banneker, as- tronomers; and alexander dumas, napoleon's gen- eral of division and called by him “horatius cocles of the tyre.’ there is the son and grandson of the famous general, novelist and dramatist, respectively, and there is dr. james mcclure, who carried away the first prize from alumni of the university of glasgow; and prof. edward w. blyden, another eminent scholar.” “you seem to believe in the ultimate triumph of your people in the distant republic, through the agency of anglo-saxon greatness,” remarked the reporter as he arose to take his leave. “i scarcely know how to answer your question. i suppose i should say both yes and no to it. cer- tainly, i believe in the triumph of my race—this be- cause i believe in the ultimate triumph of right over wrong. i do not, however, believe that mere neither bond nor free. service for god—bringing her life into more per- fect accord with his teachings. it may not be easy to believe that a young and attractive girl though possessing lofty ideals should interest herself in the race problem to the extent of spending her time during the heated spell in teach- ing nearly forty children, who, for the greater part, were in destitute circumstances. this was purely a labor of love and charity, for it was given abso- lutely without compensation. there was no diffi- culty in the way of obtaining pupils, especially since there was no charge for their instruction. the parents of the little ones were only too glad to be rid of them for a few hours, inasmuch as their presence at home was a hindrance to those of their superiors who would pursue outdoor work or pleasure. there were difficulties to be met with in the way of securing a place where merna could teach. there were suitable rooms in the basement of the first baptist church, in which sabbath-school was held, but how was merna to secure these, since she was known to only a few persons in that com- munity, and little interest was manifested on the part of those who had children to school. there is at all times an abundance of enthusiasm in church work, but it usually stops short of the school house. edward strother, who was at home on a visit from washington, endeared himself to merna by his indefatigable efforts in smoothing the way for her neither bond nor free. work. he it was who prevailed on the rev. bur- leigh and the trustees of his church to allow miss attaway to have her school at that place. there was some hesitation about the matter, but after two weeks of delay strother reported to merna that he had gained the consent of the church officers for her work there. the announcement of the opening of merna’s summer school was made from the pulpit of the first baptist church alone, for there was in the privilege conferred, a condition precedent that only the children whose parents were communicants in that church should be allowed to attend. the first school day brought together about sixty pupils—twice as many as could be accommodated in the room set apart for the purpose. again stro- ther's services were needed and were successful in securing an additional room, and he also volun- teered to assist merna in her self-imposed task. her school had been in operation just one week, and she was grappling with the practical realities of her work. it was recess hour, and strother had come into merna’s room to compare notes on their little ex- periences, as they were both novices in this new rôle. * “my, my, how the tots do try one's patience,” said strother. “some of them are queer. the things you wish them not to do, they are eager to neither bond nor free. “if you are not in a great hurry, i will go along with you and your brother, as i must pass the minister's residence on my way home.” swepsy said they would wait. “come, then, take seats and rest yourselves.” >k >k >k >k >k >k >k :k the hour for the dismissal of school had arrived, and soon the children were homeward bound. the little vixen was detained only a few moments to re- ceive a gentle reproof. then swepsy and jack dempsey accompanied by merna and strother set out in the direction of the minister's home. swepsy, a familiar figure in his church, was al- ready known to strother, who was made acquainted with jack through the sister. “mr. ed, i am real glad to see you. you been out to the north, ain't you?” “yes, i’ve been to washington.” “sho' 'nuff, that's where brother burleigh's young one is, i reckon; at least, i heard that she was out there. that 's my bizness here now—to tell him that brother jack saw that feller who used to go with her.” “where!” “where!” came in chorus from merna and strother. “jack,” said swepsy, “why don’t you talk? got any tongue? tell these folks where you saw that * . neither bond nor free. jack eyed merna and strother as suspiciously as though he believed they were calculating the con- sequences of some evil deed. he then slowly cleared his throat as if making ready for a trying ordeal. “i cum (ahem, ahem), from pasertaink: dat’s down in alabama-ma (ahem) i see a man dar at de train jes uz i cum’d to tek de kars.” “how did you know that it was charles van courtney?” “he tole me so—now hole on, dat ain’t de name he gub me, but he 'lowed dat he wuz from dis state. i dun forgit de name he gub me; but it warn’t any sich name ez yo' call. we nebber would ha’ knowed it was him, but sez he to me, ‘what you doin’ har. dis was at de train. i sez i cum har to git erway from the ole plantation where i stays. ‘well, whar you gwine, enyway?" sez he. “where i gwine? i been in de country, all dese y’ars, sez i,-‘eber sence de wah—on mars john's plantation.’ i tole him i had a sister in ole state, and ef she wa’n’t dead i’d like to see her. he axed me whar’bouts in de state, an’ i tole him dat i didn’ reck’n i know’d whar she wuz, but a teachar comed out my way who wuz a preacher too, and he axed me an’ some mo' han’s—at de church one sund'y—'lowed ef we knowed swepsy who use to 'long to mars john and was sole away befo de wah,” neither bond nor free. merna did not so much as smile this time. she saddened at the exhibition of such idolatrous super- stition. swepsy, like jack, felt triumphant. “so we are going,” she said, addressing merna, “to find brother burleigh, and lay the matter be- fore him.” “is it not terrible to blight a home, destroy a young life and wreck one's self as van courtney has done?” observed merna. “yes, and he deserves the full penalty of the law if he should be caught,” was strother's reply. the parting of the ways for merna and the strangers was reached,—strother accompanying merna to her aunt's home, swepsy and her brother going directly to the house of rev. burleigh. the pilgrims found the minister at home engaged in writing a letter to ethel, urging that wayward young woman to return to h . into the eager ears of mr. burleigh, jack dempsey rehearsed the tale of his discovery of van courtney and the in- cidents connected therewith. the news of the miscreant’s whereabouts had for mr. burleigh its terrible awakenings—it brought fresh to his mind a stranded child, his own, a grief stricken mother, also a keen sense of shame at his own persistent and criminal folly. in his self-abasement he cried out “i am a miser- able wretch!” neither bond nor free. “wretch!” repeated jack, rolling the word under his tongue as a sweet morsel, “dat udder feller's de wratch. jes’ hol’ on (and he began to spread out the herbs before the minister), i can fotch dat man back har. you tak dis high john, put it in water and carry it 'roun' wid yo’, and i’lay he'll be har moughty soon.” - mr. burleigh took the proffered roots, for he be- lieved it would gratify swepsy as well as her brother. when the preacher's company had left, he hur- ried to the telegraph office as fast as his feet could carry him, where he dispatched the washington detective agency, giving information as to the whereabouts of charles van courtney, a fugitive from justice. neither bond nor free. chapter xxi. * race problems. “whom the gods would destroy they first make mad.” it was about the same time that strother and merna were strolling leisurely along in the direc- tion of her aunt's home, that toussaint was wend- ing his way thither in quest of merna. as he drew near the house he saw the girl and her com- panion coming, engaged apparently in earnest con- versation. this sight was anything but inspiring to toussaint. it was not that he then, or had ever before suspected any rival for the affection of merna, certainly not from his honorable friend strother. but he madly reckoned every disap- pointment that came to him, where she was con- cerned, a rebuff, and this soured his nature and blinded his reason. he was completely crestfallen —crushed. thrice of late he had called to see merna, to welcome her return to the old town, and especially to press his suit, and thrice he had found neither bond nor i'ree. “you surprise me. your manner fills me with consternation. i must go,” she said. “then good-night, merna.” “good-night, mr. ripley.” “on the dear old place the shadows fall, a hage of summer twilight covers all, the waves lap gently 'gainst the river brim, the breezes murmur low their vesper hymn. “i stand alone and view the well-known scene, my thoughts are with the sad ‘it might have been.’ again my heart is throbbing with the pain of parting, and the longing that is vain.” merna tried her utmost to conceal her agitation from strother, whose eyes seemed to follow her own from the moment she returned to his presence, after toussaint had left her. the biennial conferences of the southern indus- trial institute were year after year growing in popu- lar favor. these were gatherings of the students and friends of the institute, to further the moral, material and industrial prosperity of the colored people of the south. at these gatherings the farm- ers, teachers and preachers met to discuss race problems, making an earnest search after the truth for the betterment of mankind. the conference, the evening in question, had under consideration mob neither bond nor free. law and the remedy. besides merna and stro- ther, there were present, toussaint, sitting well in the rear of the hall, also the rev. mr. burleigh, who wanted to talk over his trials with merna, and not having found her at home, had come to the con- ference, expecting there to see her. the discussion of the race question was quite animated, and mr. burleigh, not given to worrying over much, soon forgot jack dempsey and his story. at the conclusion of the reading of the paper on mob law, mr. burleigh was on his feet. “i wish to say that i find but little in the paper you have just heard to commend it to my favor; there is, however, very much in it to condemn. take, for instance, the assertion, this sweeping and thoughtless assertion that, ‘the remedy for lynch- ing is simply to cease the outrages and the lynchings will stop; continue the outrages and the lynchings will always follow. surely this is a specious propo- sition. as if in all sober earnestness there would be no lynching if there was no wrongdoer. i wish to ask my patient hearers what think they of the recent lynching of a young colored man, a graduate of this institution—lynched by some tennesseeans for no other cause than that a co-operative store conducted by the victim and two other men of his race was a successful enterprise? the other part- ners fared better—one was whipped, the other driven from the city where they had their business. neither bond nor free. every fair-minded man can see that the colored man is improving in every way, and yet in some direc- tions this progress is so painfully slow. the negro, however, is a better churchgoer than a christian. he needs to be a living christian rather than a talka- tive churchgoer. we should like to become a great people. well, mere insistence on our political rights, and heedless opposition to the white man will not make us great nor enable us to gain the sym- pathy and good will of the people among whom we must work out our destiny. “there is little organized social and business life among us. you know that united we stand, divided we must fall. it may be a hard truth, but it re- mains to be said that every disgraceful act of a negro tends to disgrace his race. you cannot off- set the crime of a black fiend by showing up a white fiend. it will not cure matters to point the finger of scorn at the five per cent. of white barbarians, holding them up to public contempt. if we do nothing more than this they will continue to slaugh- ter the five per cent of worthless negro brutes. we must realize now, if never before, that the white man is not on trial before the bar of public opinion. the white man has wrought out his civilization on the anvil of intelligent industry and christian manhood, and a splendid civilization it is. ours is to make a civilization, or else we must perish in the fierce light of the white man's civilization. bear in mind, i neither bond nor free. earnest activities. when our political ardor shall have cooled, when our zeal for place shall give way to useful living, the outlook for negro prosperity will be encouraging. “i do not, of course, advocate the repeal of the fifteenth amendment. i do not believe in a sys- tem of government which operates to disfranchise a people on account of race, color or previous condi- tion of servitude,-a system which is a manifest evasion of the federal constitution. i do not be- lieve in a property qualification as a pre-requisite to voting. a man's value as a citizen should not be made dependent upon the amount of property he owns. if we can have an educational qualification, so adjusted as to keep out the illiterate whites as well as blacks, it will meet my approval. massa- chusetts measures up to the requirements of the times. “it is the negro's condition, and not his color, that is keeping him down. the negro needs a peculiar kind of education, not because of his color, but be- cause of his condition. and the needs of the poor colored man are the needs of the poor white man— industrial training. look with me over this town and see our college and high school graduates loung- ing about and waiting for dreams to ripen into gold, or standing around with their hands in their pockets, while the hoe is rusting in the field, and the foreign laborer is filling the place we ought to neither bond nor free. discussion of the evening. to say that he was de- pressed in spirit and wounded in pride would but feebly express the plight of our hero. toussaint now regarded strother as a rival with all that the word would signify. strother had come between him and his dearest ambition. he would speak—this proud, imperious man—and make the assemblage forget the presence and words of stro- ther. merna should hear him, and the people judg- ing aright would award the palm to him. “the negro race,” said toussaint, “cannot pros- per so long as cant and hypocrisy, parading under the mask of reform, is given a patient hearing. the astounding argument has been made in your hear- ing that the negro in order to succeed with the white people must surrender his manhood, trample his bal- lot in the dust, practice self-effacement until he can march blindfolded to the rear. let me say that i am not here to kindle anew fires long since gone out, fires whose lurid glare swept destruction to countless homes in this great south. i prefer to indulge pleasing recollections and fervent gratitude. and yet, i must remind you that our freedom’ as frederick douglass has said, came to us not from any normal condition of things! it came at the cost of blood and treasure. the ballot is the fruit of a great struggle, and accursed be the hand that would nullify, restrict or take it away. we are living in a great age, in the midst of the enlightenments of neither bond nor free. a splendid civilization. this is a wonder age, and the most wonderful thing in it is, how an afro- american, before and afro-american audience, could, without blushing for shame, give expression to the ridiculous things which you have just heard. i have no patience with any man or set of men who want to place the negro in the rear of white people, —as though we are not fit to assume the burdens and responsibilities of government. the slavish fear which has come to some of us from years of bondage is well nigh passed away. but it is said in some quarters that we are too weak to en- force our rights. let us then begin to gather strength. some day we will be organized and strong. i only pray that when that day arrives we may be treated fairly and accredited all our rights. to-day we are not free, for no man is free who can- not enjoy a free man's right. the negro of this country is by the laws of god and man a citizen of this country. he is taxed as a citizen and enrolled as a soldier for the protection of state and nation, and yet he is hunted down like a deer, while the nation looks on powerless to help, and indifferent to his fate. “the mob holds full sway over the life and liberty of the negro at the south. the southern whites say that the negro is a bad citizen. how does it happen that he is so debased and despised now? during the war, when the armies of the neither bond nor free. felt partly responsible for the ills that had come to his household and to the prisoner. merna felt that she should have apprised mr. and mrs. burleigh of the wayward conduct of van courtney as from time to time she had learned of it through little bernice. this she regarded as her sin of omission, which, to her way of thinking, was quite as serious as one of commission. quite restless and disturbed in mind was she when toussaint called to see her on the day follow- ing the van courtney trial. he reckoned that her disturbed feelings were due to her sympathies aroused by the severe punishment meted out to van courtney. and thus he set about to criticise the course pursued by strother, who, he asserted, knew absolutely nothing about the merits of the case, but yet the state had convicted the prisoner upon his testimony. “mr. ripley, this is not the first time that you have spoken to me of mr. strother, in a cruel and vindictive spirit. i can tolerate it no longer. he is my friend, and if he were not, i should condemn your course. i do not wish to think less of you than i now do, but your visits of late are calculated to lessen, rather than increase, my regard, and i must therefore beg that you do not further impose your presence on me.” her speech was calm and dignified, but there was a trace of sadness in it. neither bond nor free. garet” had delivered her message to toussaint, he decamped most unceremoniously. merna, poor girl, sought refuge in the privacy of her room, where her thoughts of the final meeting with toussaint were a fresh discomfiture for a weary and oppressed soul. and thus we see that he had not only in- jured his cause by cherishing an enmity for strother —a man who had never done him the least harm— but he had in the process debased himself. a man ought always and under all circumstances to be generous to friend and foe, free from evil speaking and evil thinking, thus holding his lower nature in subjection to the higher one. no man can be either good or great until he learns to govern himself. a rash impulsive creature like toussaint is a constant menace to the peace of society—one who would in a frenzy slay both friend and foe. there is after all but one great thing in the world, and that is love. there are many despicable things in the world, but the worst is hate. let us return to jack dempsey, who, through the influence of swepsy, had secured employment with rev. burleigh as a man of all work about his home. clarissa after the trial of van courtney (against whom she was loth to testify) was again at home with her parents. they endeavored to persuade the girl to continue with them, but she was quite fasci- nated with the glare and glitter of city life,—so neither bond nor free. chapter xxiii. f o u r y e a r s l a t e r . four years had passed since the trial of van courtney, and now he was returning to the home of his parents, a pardoned man, but only a wreck of his former self, for he was suffering from an in- curable and fatal malady. a few weeks or months at most and the struggle would be over. strother had taken the pains to write to van courtney, soon after he reached his home, sending him some wholesome reading matter, and making a generous offer in which merna united to assist him in any way they could to regain his health. van courtney wrote in reply: “i am, of course, grateful to you for your kind offer to assist me, but there is little that you could do for me now. the truth is, i am in need of nothing which this world has to give. i want no sacrifice made for me, be- cause i merit none. i never made a sacrifice for anybody or to any purpose in all my life; but some- how i trust my worthless life may serve others as an example—a danger signal, to keep off the track. neither bond nor free. i hear that you are getting along nicely. i am glad to know it. i have read in one of the papers which you were good enough to send me that your alumi- num cannon had been patented, and that you had recently realized a handsome sum on your brain investment. and this too reminds me how i laughed when i heard of your contrivance, the sum- mer we met at the lawn party. i am glad to hear that you are now a successful farmer. but most of all i am proud to know that you have wooed and won such a sweet good woman as merna attaway. you are indeed happily mated. now i ought to have started out with my congratulations instead of my laments. but you will overlook everything, as i am scarcely myself these days.” in his modest way strother had told mr. robbins, his washington employer, of his invention, and the latter advised and helped him to secure a pa- tent and afterwards a market for the article. it was not very long before the young inventor had dis- posed of all his right, title and interest in his can- non to some speculator for a large amount of money;—the purchaser believing that the invention would be availed of by the government, in the war already begun, between this country and the king- dom of spain. and now all of strother's premeditated plans were changed, and thus he did not return to wash- ington and the study of the law, but remained at neither bond nor free. home and attended the southern industrial insti- tute, pursuing the higher branches, and learning the science of farming. during these years ralph attaway had passed away, devising all his property, and without reser- vation, to his favorite niece. that little summer school of bygone years had proven helpful in more than one way, for the com- panionship of labor on the part of merna and strother, had wrought a mutual sympathy and a community of interests which budded and blos- somed into a happy consummation, namely, a mar- riage, which occurred in the merry month of june, just a year ago. strother had brought his bride south, and they had settled down, hard by the good old town of h - sk >k >k >k >k >k >k >k clarissa did not tarry at home long, and she was soon followed by jack dempsey. a few months thereafter, and they became man and wife. clarissa then set to work to fashion jack after her own sweet will, developing the field hand into a city sport, in order that the pair—in the humble circles in which they moved, could “get by,” as the street gamin is wont to say. fortunately for jack he was not difficult to fit, and his employer, who had a warm spot for him, was disposed to keep his man decked like a magnate in his cast-off garments. but after a time jack lost his job, and then he neither bond nor free. my house, when they come from the picnic. but she did not tell me. i heard about the courtney man from mr. strother. but i suppose that wash- ington girl was put out about not getting the fellow that death cheated her out of ?” “no; miss gay writes me that she now has a new catch. she is engaged to a fellow that i know quite well; he lives in these parts. i have my suspi- cion that it is toussaint ripley.” “i don’t know him,” remarked swepsy, “but i have heard tell of him.” “there he stands now. he is the orator of the day.” “he’s a nice looking man. call him over here. no, hold on; he has already started this way, i believe.” * as toussaint approached within speaking dis- tance, rev. burleigh said: “mr. ripley, if you do not already know sister swepsy, let me make you acquainted with her.” toussaint bowed, and the two shook hands in good old southern style. “i was talking about you just a moment ago,” said mr. burleigh, addressing toussaint. “i hope it was complimentary, and yet i have little reason to expect anything good nowadays.” “oh, yes, it was all good that was said,” returned the minister. “it was only this, swepsy hastened to say, neither bond nor free. “brother burleigh said you was goin’ to get mar- ried.” - “not exactly that,” interrupted mr. burleigh. “sister swepsy and i were talking about miss ethel gay, and i remarked that i thought she and yourself might be engaged—that was all.” “no, sir; i am not making any new alliances. i feel more inclined to seek divorcement this new year.” “then you must be married already,” laughed the preacher. “no, i am neither married nor given in marriage. there are other divorcements, you must know, save those from the marriage bond.” “well, let's have it—out with it.” “the truth is, i am almost, if not altogether, a democrat to-day.” “and you are a fool to-day.” “yes, my god, you are right, brother burleigh. i ain’t got no use for a nigger democrat. i hate ’um. if i had a husband who’d vote the demo- cratic ticket, i’d tar and feather him an’ run him away from home.” “but, my sister, you must not be so severe on our friend.” “you want the truth, don’t you? well, there, you got it.” “friend ripley, i hope you will not preach that sort of doctrine in your speech to-day.” neither bond nor free. “i have no idea of trying to fasten my views upon others—for the present, at least. our people—the masses, i mean—are slow to grasp an idea—that is, they do not think. i realize that it will take time to have them see things in their true light—things which will make for the best interests of themselves and their posterity. but, speaking for myself, and myself alone, i feel as if i should this new year's day resolve to cut loose from the republican party and be divorced from it forever.” “and why, may i ask?” “certainly you cannot ask me why, for you have been accustomed to lament and bewail the status of the negro in this country, which deplorable state, you must confess, has been brought about by reason of the fealty of the black man to the republican party, his vote being given solidly for that party and against the democratic party. the policy of the republican party is to-day being dictated by the sons of the abolitionists, who are an altogether different set from the old-timers. for myself, i should prefer a monarchy to a republic governed like ours. the negro would have nothing to lose under a monarchy, but, on the other hand, he would be on terms of perfect equality with all other sub- jects. “i say it is impossible to be an honest negro dem- ocrat in the south,” gesticulated the minister. “you would vote with the democrats for the nominee of neither bond nor free. a democratic primary, knowing at the time that you have no voice in the primary which selected the gandidate? i am a race man, and believe that we would be taking a backward step to go outside the republican party to seek a remedy for the political ills from which we suffer.” “you speak as if all the democrats are in the south and confined to this state. i will admit that there are some bad democrats, as i well know there are many bad republicans. as the saying goes: “it is a condition and not a theory that confronts us.” i speak not of democrats in this or that state, but of democrats as representatives of principles in the nation. i would be a national democrat, especially when i call to mind the treatment i received at the hands of government officials in high places, some two years ago, when i held a small appointment under your republican administration. discourte- sies and discriminations, invidious distinctions and flagrant violations of the law were meted out to me by my superiors solely on account of my color. i only asked recognition according to position and merit. they chose, however, to make my official life a burden and my lot a hard one. protests to those immediately in charge of my work availed me nothing. finally, i brought the matter of my un- fair treatment to the attention of the authorities at washington. there my papers were pigeon-holed, no action ever having been taken in the matter. as neither bond nor free. a rebuke for the protests i had filed against the in- dignities heaped upon me, at the first opportunity i was recommended for dismissal on a trumped-up charge, and this ended my connection with the gov- ernment service.” “your experiences were a hardship to you per- sonally, but they were hardly serious enough for you to expect your race to renounce its allegiance to the republican party.” “the soldiers and the band’s comin’ and i’m gone,” interposed swepsy, excitedly. in her eager- ness to catch up with the crowd and follow in the wake of the procession, she had forgotten to say good-bye to her beloved minister. “as i was saying,” remarked rev. burleigh, con- fusedly, “no man should leave the republican party for a personal grievance.” “well, how about the murder of the negro post- master at lake city, and the infant in his wife's arms? if baker had been a white man his assas- sins would have been hunted down and hanged, even if their capture and conviction had drained the na- tional treasury and called into service the detective and armed force of the country. but, no, the re- publican administration is impotent—powerless, it is said—to protect an official of the government in the discharge of his sworn duty. is this, too, to be regarded as merely a personal offense?” “no, that was a national disgrace, and righteous- neither bond nor free. ly to be deplored. mark you, i am with you in sympathy, and am grieved to my heart when i think of our afflictions as a people, but let us not leave the old ship—the republican party—but stay aboard it. ‘let us stand the storm; it won’t be long, we'll an- chor by and by. this prejudice is god’s plan. we have, after all, much to be thankful for. let us be thankful that we are not living in africa, and that we are not in other parts of the world, as armenians and jews. don’t try to get away from your race. if you once join the democratic party, you will be alone, having no company at the south, where you will most likely remain. love your race, for the white man will never, no, never, accept you on terms of equality with himself.” “i don’t want to get away from my race—i only want to get away from the republican party, with its heartless sycophants north, and demagogues south. the negro is a standing joke. he is the plaything of every party and every section of the country, merely because he does not exercise any foresight with his ballot. mckinley could not have been elected president in without the negro vote. maryland and kentucky, west virginia and ohio, california and delaware, rhode island and connecticut were republican by the grace of the negro vote. so long as the negro will segregate and remain together in a body, he will accomplish noth- ing. why should the negro in any respect be neither bond nor free. through the surging mass of humanity that blocked the entrance to the first baptist church. shortly after he had finished his speech, in which he had been industriously sowing the seed of discord between the races, merna and strother were at home talking over plans whereby they hoped to improve the material condition of their race by placing them on a sure industrial footing. what we call race prejudice had given strother little concern in a personal sense. the men who looked down on him with scorn were to him objects of genuine pity rather than contempt. he did noth- ing to encourage enmity and create friction between the races. his mind and energies were wedded to a better service. he was no dreamer. he did not indulge in vagaries. he had never been the slave of despair, for on his forehead he bore the prophecy of hope. others might content themselves with speculating and theorizing, but for himself there was so much requiring instant performance. labor for others was his religion, and the greater the problem the greater the blessing. opportunities of usefulness were serious matters with him, for he had sense enough to know that his responsibility to his god was in proportion to those opportunities. he gathered all the forces he could about him, and bound them captive to his chariot. while others fretted and fumed about this and that “hard condi- tion” he took the bit firmly between his teeth and neither bond nor free. cheerily moved along up grade to his destiny. he was ever on the defensive, never on the offensive. and he won many a conflict with a stubborn foe with silence and smiles—effective weapons. once only can it be charged to him that he rebuked any man for his arrogance, and this was done good naturedly. it happened in this way: an implaca- ble “buckra-man” had referred in sarcastic terms to some white woman who attended the law school where he had been a student. “i reckon,” said his questioner, “them yankee women would set right close to you colored boys?” “i was quite busy with my books when at school,” replied strother,” so much so that i did not give any thought to sexes or colors. the presence of white women did not disturb me. the truth is i have no prejudice whatever on account of color. a white woman is quite as good as a colored one, that is, if she behaves herself.” “ah!” he stammered and then was silent, dazed by the directness of the speech. strother at this time was thirty years of age, a type of robust manhood, and having a mind richly endowed. he was calm and self-contained, also temperate in speech and action. he made no ene- mies and he lost no friends. he was a paradox, being reserved to the verge of coldness, and yet none was more genial in his dealings with men. he possessed the temperament of a genius, and the neither bond nor free. ? courage of a hero. i do not mean a hero in the every-day acceptation of the word, but in its broader and best sense, for he possessed in an eminent de- gree the quality of self-concentration. his whole aim seemed to be to fit himself more fully for the discharge of his arduous duties—opportunities. and in all that he did he adhered to the motto, “no excellence without labor.” he did not court the respect and confidence of men merely because it might in some way be helpful to him. he was a lover of men, and hence would grasp their hands and help them when he could. his powers of use- fulness, like those of the illustrious lincoln, “lay most conspicuous in his moral purpose.” wherever he was known, men, regardless of creed, color or party, honored and respected him for his manly bearing. strother had come in from the emancipation ex- ercises, and, finding merna perusing a book, crept up behind her, and, surprising her with a kiss, in- quired what she was reading. “let me read you these lines and you will, doubt- less, recall the author,” she replied. “the great problem is, after all, how shall one grow in sympathy and tenderness and generosity and consideration? how shall he feed on high thoughts and noble aims? how shall he be swift to discern and avail himself of those opportunities for usefulness to others which are the best channels neither bond nor free. the river's brink—trying to get away in small boats. “those who are looking for trouble are getting, i am afraid, more than they have bargained for. i have pleaded with the mob, but all in vain. the chief of police has also harangued the crowd, but they refuse to hear us, calling us “nigger lovers.” your minister here wanted to say a word, but the crowd threatened to wreak vengeance on him say- ing that the political doctrines which he and tous- saint ripley are disseminating were making negroes saucy and indolent, and that he is partly responsible for the crime of jack dempsey. some democratic associates, also republicans, have begged me to bring you face to face with the crowd, for we all believe that all classes and parties will give you a hearing.” “i am going with you, but i am sure that nothing i can do will alter the purpose of a mob. they don’t want to hear me; they want only poor jack dempsey.” strother's visitors returning to the scene of the great gathering gained may accessions on their way, for it was supposed that he himself was the criminal. the crowd instinctively fell back, open- ing a way to the spot selected , for the lynching. rev. burleigh dropped out of the ranks while the mayor and his democratic followers surrounding and shielding strother were hard pressed near a neither bond nor free. wagon, placed against an electric pole which shed its fitful glare on many an upturned face where “rea- son had fled to brutish beasts.” strother was lifted bodily in the wagon where he without introduction or ceremony said: “friends, i am here and against my will. i have been pressed to come by our fellow citizens, includ- ing the honorable mayor of our town.” “we don’t want you, strother,” shouted a voice. “we want that other nigger.” “let him alone,” shouted another, “he's decent, and behaves himself.” “i am glad to hear you say that you don’t want me,” continued strother. “i am sincere—i would not have come, but you know that the first duty of a citizen is to obey the law, and obey those whom you entrust to execute it. i know that i ought not to be here at this late hour, unless, perhaps, i can do some good; and i do not think that you should be here either unless you can do some good. but where is jack dempsey?” “we'll have him here before morning, and have him strung up,” came a voice in reply. “i want to serve you now as i have always tried to do. let us be calm, if we would reason to- gether. the law must be vindicated, and that with- out delay. now possess your souls in patience until morning, and then if the officers of the law do not bring the guilty to justice—that is all we neither bond nor free. should ask—i will join any one, or all of you, and together with your sergeant, under authority of law, we will bring the fugitive to prison. i have every assurance that his trial and punishment will be swift and certain and ample to satisfy the ends of justice.” “we will wait another hour,” said the leader of the mob. “and i will wait with you,” replied strother. in the meantime, strother, the mayor and his followers went among the people doing effective missionary work. nearly two hours had passed, but jack dempsey had not been found, and the crowd began to dis- perse. strother, the police officers, and a few others remained at their post, expecting any moment the return of the searching party with their victim. morning came and strother returned home, anx- ious and perplexed as to the fate of jack dempsey. it was near noon when rev. burleigh made the discovery that the door leading to his study in the church had been forced open. he immediately sus- pected that jack was secreted in the building. a careful search found the poor fellow crouched in a corner of the belfry tower. this information the minister conveyed to stro- ther, who advised that jack be turned over to the sergeant, who would see to the prisoner's safe keep- neither bond nor free. with his unnatural antipathy and resentment, and there are toussaint ripleys and asa burleighs who are doing far more mischief than good in the world. and yet, after all, there is no serious friction be- tween the whites and blacks of the south. and the domineering spirit of the anglo-saxon is not confined to the old slave master nor his son at the south, but it obtains wherever they set foot. the educated negro makes for peace, and his industrial training is the sure foundation of future usefulness. let him then make friends with the people with whom his destiny is involved. let him divide in- telligently in politics, but never rest content until his ballot is counted as cast. the self-interest of the whites—a ruling pasion with all men—will pro- tect the ballot in the black hand when it becomes a potent factor, determining, as the balance of power, the authority of men in political affairs. the negro boys and girls must be taught to en- courage race enterprises, to emulate the worthy of their race, to be charitable to the deserving around them, and to hear and respond to the distant cry of distress, whether it comes from flood, famine or other pestilence. let the children be taught to work, to love and to think,-all these by good fath- ers and mothers; and the present restless feeling will give place to useful living, not in the north, but here in the south, where race problems will then neither bond nor free. be seen as race blessings, for these make opportu- nities—god's choicest gifts. “opportunities fly in straight lines, they touch us but once and never return, but the evil we do goes in circles, and returns to the place from which it started.” the end. | clotelle, or, the colored heroine. &al of the $outhern states. by william wells brown, author of “sketches of places and people abroad,” “the black man," “the negro in the american rebellion,” &c. - “ask you what provocation i have had? the strong antipathy of good to bad. - when truth or virtue an affront endures, the affront is mine, my friend, and should be yours.” pope. b o s t on: lee & shepard, washington street. . to mrs. annie g. brown, my wtee, who, on reading the manuscript, so much admired thr character of clotelle as to name our daughter after the heroine, &his &nprettmbing $olume is most affectionately inscribed by the author. c l t e l l e. c h a p t e r i. the southern social circle. or many years the south has been noted for its beautiful quadroon women. bottles of ink, and reams of paper, have been used to portray the “finely-cut and well-moulded features,” the “silken curls,” the “dark and brilliant eyes,” the “splendid forms,” the “fascinating smiles,” and “accomplished manners” of these impassioned and volup- tuous daughters of the two races, – the unlawful product of the crime of human bondage. when we take into consideration the fact that no safeguard was ever thrown around virtue, and no inducement held out to slave-women to be pure and chaste, we will not be surprised when told that immorality pervades the domestic circle in the cities and towns of the south to an extent unknown in the northern states. many a planter's wife has dragged out a miserable existence, with an aching heart, at seeing her place in the husband's affections usurped by the unadorned beauty and captivating smiles of her waiting-maid. indeed, the greater portion of the colored women, in the days of slavery, had no greater aspiration than that of becoming the finely-dressed mistress of some white man. at the negro balls and parties, that used to be so frequently given, this class of women generally made the most splendid appearance. a few years ago, among the many slave-women of richmond, va., who hired their time of their masters, was agnes, a mulatto owned by john graves, esq., and who might be heard boasting that she was the d c. l. o. t e l l e. henry linwood paid great attention to isabella, which was looked upon with gratification by her mother, and became a matter of general conversation with all present. of course, the young man escorted the beautiful quadroon home that evening, and became the favorite visitor at the house of agnes. it was on a beautiful moonlight night in the month of august, when all who reside in tropical climates are eagerly gasping for a breath of fresh air, that henry linwood was in the garden which surrounded agnes’ cottage, with the young quadroon by his side. he drew from his pocket a newspaper wet from the press, and read the following ad- vertisement: - - n'b: seventy-nine negroes will be offered for sale on monday, september , at o'clock, being the entire stock of the late jolin graves. the negroes are in an excellent condition, and all warranted against the common vices. among them are several mechanics, able- bodied field-hands, plough-boys, and women with children, some of them very prolific, affording a rare opportunity for any one who wishes to raise a strong and healthy lot of servants for their own use. also several mulatto girls of rare personal qualities, - two of these very superior. among the above slaves advertised for sale were agnes and her two daughters. ere young linwood left the quadroon that evening, he promised her that he would become her purchaser, and make her free and her own mistress. - mr. graves had long been considered not only an excellent and up- right citizen of the first standing among the whites, but even the slaves regarded him as one of the kindest of masters. having inherited his slaves with the rest of his property, he became possessed of them with- out any consultation or wish of his own. he would neither buy nor sell slaves, and was exceedingly careful, in letting them out, that they did not find oppressive and tyrannical masters. no slave speculator ever dared to cross the threshold of this planter of the old dominion. he was a constant attendant upon religious worship, and was noted for his general benevolence. the american bible society, the american tract society, and the cause of foreign missions, found in him a liberal friend. he was always anxious that his slaves should appear well on the sabbath, and have an opportunity of hearing the word of god. c h a p t e r ii. the negro sale. as might have been expected, the day of sale brought an unusually large number together to compete for the property to be sold. farmers, who make a business of raising slaves for the market, were there, and c l " e l l e. slave-traders, who make a business of buying human beings in the slave-raising states and taking them to the far south, were also in at- tendance. men and women, too, who wished to purchase for their own use, had found their way to the slave sale. in the midst of the throng was one who felt a deeper interest in the result of the sale than any other of the bystanders. this was young linwood. true to his promise, he was there with a blank bank-check in his pocket, awaiting with impatience to enter the list as a bidder for the beautiful slave. it was indeed a heart-rending scene to witness the lamentations of these slaves, all of whom had grown up together on the old homestead of mr. graves, and who had been treated with great £ that gentleman, during his life. now they were to be separated, and form new relations and companions. such is the precarious condition of the slave. even when with a good master, there is no certainty of his hap- piness in the future. the less valuable slaves were first placed upon the auction-block, one after another, and sold to the highest bidder. husbands and wives were separated with a degree of indifference that is unknown in any other relation in life. brothers and sisters were torn from each other, and mothers saw their children for the last time on earth. it was late in the day, and when the greatest number of persons were thought to be present, when agnes and her daughters were brought out to the place of sale. the mother was first put upon the auction-block, and sold to a noted negro trader named jennings. marion was next ordered to ascend the stand, which she did with a trembling step, and was sold for $ . all eyes were now turned on isaballa, as she was led forward by the auctioneer. the appearance of the handsome quadroon caused a deep sensation among the crowd. there she stood, with a skin as fair as most white women, her features as beautifully regular as any of her sex of pure anglo-saxon blood, her long black hair done up in the neatest manner, her form tall and graceful, and her whole appearance indicating one superior to her condition. the auctioneer commenced by saying that miss isabella was fit to deck the drawing-room of the finest mansion in virginia. “how much, gentlemen, for this real albino!—fit fancy-girl for any one! she enjoys good health, and has a sweet temper. how much do you say?” “five hundred dollars.” “only five hundred for such a girl as this? gentlemen, she is worth a deal more than that sum. you certainly do not know the value of c. l. o. t e l l e. would be there with a prime lot of able-bodied slaves, men and women, fit for field-service, with a few extra ones calculated for house-servants, —all between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five years; but like most men who make a business of speculating in human beings, he often bought many who were far advanced in years, and would try to pass them off for five or six years younger than they were. few persons can arrive at anything approaching the real age of the negro, by mere obser- vation, unless they are well acquainted with the race. therefore, the slave-trader frequently carried out the deception with perfect impunity. after the steamer had left the wharf and was fairly out on the bosom of the broad mississippi, the speculator called his servant pompey to him; and instructed him as to getting the negroes ready for market. among the forty slaves that the trader had on this occasion, were some whose appearance indicated that they had seen some years and had gone through considerable service. their gray hair and whiskers at once pronounced them to be above the ages set down in the trader's adver- tisement. pompey had long been with jennings, and understood his business well, and if he did not take delight in the discharge of his duty, he did it at least with a degree of alacrity, so that he might re- ceive the approbation of his master. pomp, as he was usually called by the trader, was of real negro blood, and would often say, when alluding to himself, “dis nigger am no coun- terfeit, he is de ginuine artikle. dis chile is none of your haf-and-haf, dere is no bogus about him.” pompey was of low stature, round face, and, like most of his race, had a set of teeth, which, for whiteness and beauty, could not be sur- passed; his eyes were large, lips thick, and hair short and woolly. pompey had been with jennings so long, and had seen so much of buying and selling of his fellow-creatures, that he appeared perfectly indifferent to the heart-rending scenes which daily occurred in his pres- ence. such is the force of habit:- “vice is a monster of such frightful mien, that to be hated, needs but to be seen; but seen too oft, familiar with its face, we first endure, then pity, them embrace.” it was on the second day of the steamer's voyage, that pompey se- lected five of the oldest slaves, took them into a room by themselves, and commenced preparing them for the market. “now,” said he, addressing himself to the company, “i is de chap dat is to get you ready for de orleans market, so dat you will bring marser a good price. how old is you?" addressing himself to a man not less than forty. c. l. o. t e l l e. by the time the boats had reached memphis they were side by side, and each exerting itself to get in advance of the other. the night was clear, the moon shining brightly, and the boats so near to each other that the passengers were within speaking distance. on board the pa- triot the firemen were using oil, lard, butter, and even bacon, with wood, for the purpose of raising the steam to its highest pitch. the blaze mingled with the black smoke that issued from the pipes of the other boat, which showed that she also was burning something more com- bustible than wood. the firemen of both boats, who were slaves, were singing songs such as can only be heard on board a southern steamer. the boats now came abreast of each other, and nearer and nearer, until they were ocked so that men could pass from one to the other. the wildest ex- citement prevailed among the men employed on the steamers, in which the passengers freely participated. the patriot now stopped to take in passengers, but still no steam was permitted to escape. on the starting of the boat again, cold water was forced into the boilers by the feed-pumps, and, as might have been ex- pected, one of the boilers exploded with terrific force, carrying away the boiler-deck and tearing to pieces much of the machinery. one dense fog of steam filled every part of the vessel, while shrieks, groans, and cries were heard on every side. men were running hither and thither looking for their wives, and women were flying about in the wildest confusion seeking for their husbands. dismay appeared on every countenance. the saloons and cabins soon looked more like hospitals than any- thing else; but by this time the patriot had drifted to the shore, and the other steamer had come alongside to render assistance to the disabled boat. the killed and wounded (nineteen in number) were put on shore, and the patriot, taken in tow by the washington, was once more on her journey. it was half-past twelve, and the passengers, instead of retiring to their berths, once more assembled at the gambling-tables. the practice of gambling on the western waters has long been a source of annoyance to the more moral persons who travel on our great rivers. thousands of dollars often change owners during a passage from st. louis or louis- ville to new orleans, on a mississippi steamer. many men are com- pletely ruined on such occasions, and duels are often the consequence. “go call my boy, steward,” said mr. jones, as he took his cards one by one from the table. in a few minutes a fine-looking, bright-eyed mulatto boy, apparently about sixteen years of age, was standing by his master's side at the table. c. l. o. t e l l e. the examination commenced, and was carried on in such a nuanner as to shock the feelings of any one not entirely devoid of the milk of human kindness. “what are you wiping your eyes for?” inquired a fat, red-faced man, with a white hat set on one side of his head and a cigar in his mouth, of a woman who sat on one of the benches. “because i left my man behind.” “oh, if i buy you, i will furnish you with a better man than you left. i’ve got lots of young bucks on my farm.” “i don't want and never will have another man,” replied the woman. “what's your name?” asked a man in a straw hat of a tall negro who stood with his arms folded across his breast, leaning against the wall. “my name is aaron, sar.” “how old are you?” “twenty-five.” “where were you raised?” “in ole wirginny, sar.” “how many men have owned you?” * four.” “do you enjoy good health?” “yes, sar.” “how long did you live with your first owner?” “twenty years.” “did you ever run away?” “no, sar.” “did you ever strike your master?” “no, sar.” “were you ever whipped much?’” “no, sar; i spose i didn't desarve it, sar.” “how long did you live with your second master?” “ten years, sar.” “have you a good appetite?” “yes, sar.” “can you eat your allowance?” “yes, sar, - when i can get it.” “where were you employed in virginia?” “i worked de tobacker fiel'.” • “in the tobacco field, eh?” “yes, sar.” “how old did you say you was?” “twenty-five, sar, nex' sweet-'tater-diggin' time.” “i am a cotton-planter, and if i buy you, you will have to work in c. l. o. t e l l e. south, but are looked upon as geniuses in a small way, and who are not invited to all the parties in the neighborhood. mr. wilson was not an exception to this rule. the society into which he was thrown, on his arrival at natchez, was too brilliant for him not to be captivated by it, and, as might have been expected, he succeeded in captivating a plan- tation with seventy slaves if not the heart of the lady to whom it be- longed. added to this, he became a popular preacher, and had a large congre- gation with a snug salary. like other planters, mr. wilson confided the care of his farm to ned huckelby, an overseer of high reputation in his way. - the poplar farm, as it was called, was situated in a beautiful valley, nine miles from natchez, and near the mississippi river. the once un- shorn face of nature had given way, and the farm now blossomed with a splendid harvest. the neat cottage stood in a grove, where lombardy poplars lift their tops almost to prop the skies, where the willow, lo- cust, and horse-chestnut trees spread forth their branches, and flowers never ceased to blossom. this was the parson's country residence, where the family spent only two months during the year. his town residence was a fine villa, seated on the brow of a hill, at the edge of the city. it was in the kitchen of this house that agnes found her new home. mr. wilson was every inch a democrat, and early resolved that “his people,” as he called his slaves, should be well-fed and not over-worked, and therefore laid down the law and gospel to the overseer as well as to the slaves. “it is my wish,” said he to mr. carlingham, an old school- fellow who was spending a few days with him, – “it is my wish that a new system be adopted on the plantations in this state. i believe that the sons of ham should have the gospel, and i intend that mine shall have it. the gospel is calculated to make mankind better and none should be without it.” “what say you,” said carlingham, “about the right of man to his liberty?” “now, carlingham, you have begun to harp again about men's rights. i really wish that you could see this matter as i do.” “i regret that i cannot see eye to eye with you,” said carlingham. “i am a disciple of rousseau, and have for years made the rights of man my study, and i must confess to you that i see no difference be- tween white and black, as it regards liberty.” “now, my dear carlingham, would you really have the negroes enjoy the same rights as ourselves?” “i would most certainly.. look at our great declaration of inde- o l t.e. l. l. e. pendence! look even at the constitution of our own connecticut, and see what is said in these about liberty.” - “i regard all this talk about rights as mere humbug. the bible is older than the declaration of independence, and there i take my stand.” a long discussion followed, in which both gentlemen put forth their peculiar ideas with much warmth of feeling. during this conversation, there was another person in the room, seated by the window, who, although at work, embroidering a fine collar, paid minute attention to what was said. this was georgiana, the only daughter of the parson, who had but just returned from connecticut, where she had finished her education. she had had the opportunity of contrasting the spirit of christianity and liberty in new england with that of slavery in her native state, and had learned to feel deeply for the injured negro. georgiana was in her nineteenth year, and had been much benefited by her residence of five years at the north. her form was tall and graceful, her features regular and well-defined, and her complexion was illuminated by the freshness of youth, beauty, and health. the daughter differed from both the father and visitor upon the subject which they had been discussing; and as soon as an opportunity offered, she gave it as her opinion that the bible was both the bulwark of chris- tianity and of liberty. with a smile she said,— “of course, papa will overlook my difference with him, for although i am a native of the south, i am by education and sympathy a north- erner.” - mr. wilson laughed, appearing rather pleased than otherwise at the manner in which his daughter had expressed herself. from this geor- giana took courage and continued,— “‘thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. this single passage of scripture should cause us to have respect for the rights of the slave. true christian love is of an enlarged and disinterested nature. it loves all who love the lord jesus christ in sincerity, without regard to color or condition.” “georgiana, my dear, you are an abolitionist, — your talk is fanati- cism!'” said mr. wilson, in rather a sharp tone; but the subdued look of the girl and the presence of carlingham caused him to soften his language. - - mr. wilson having lost his wife by consumption, and georgiana being his only child, he loved her too dearly to say more, even if he felt dis- posed. a silence followed this exhortatian from the young christian, but her remarks had done a noble work. the father's heart was touched, and the sceptic, for the first time, was viewing christianity in its true light. - c. l. o. t e l l e. “ah! your case is a bad one; ef i don't do something for you, and dat pretty quick, you'll be a gone coon, and dat's sartin.” at this the man appeared frightened, and inquired what was the mat- ter with him, in answer to which sam said, – “i done told dat your case is a bad one, and dat's enuff.” * on sam's returning to his master's bedside, the latter said, - “well, sam, what do you think is the matter with him?” “his stomach is out ob order, sar,” he replied. “what do you think had better be done for him?” “i tink i'd better bleed him and gib him a dose ob calomel,” returned sam. so, to the latter's gratification, the master let him have his own way. on one occasion, when making pills and ointment, sam made a great mistake. he got the preparations for both mixed together, so that he could not legitimately make either. but fearing that if he threw the stuff away, his master would flog him, and being afraid to inform his superior of the mistake, he resolved to make the whole batch of pill and ointment stuff into pills. he well knew that the powder over the pills would hide the inside, and the fact that most persons shut their eyes when taking such medicine led the young doctor to feel that all would be right in the end. therefore sam made his pills, boxed them up, put on the labels, and placed them in a conspicuous position on one of the shelves. - sam felt a degree of anxiety about his pills, however. it was a strange mixture, and he was not certain whether it would kill or cure; but he was willing that it should be tried. at last the young doctor had his vanity gratified. col. tallen, one of dr. saxondale's patients, drove up one morning, and sam as usual ran out to the gate to hold the colonel's horse. - “call your master,” said the colonel; “i will not get out.” the doctor was soon beside the carriage, and inquired about the health of his patient. after a little consultation, the doctor returned to his office, took down a box of sam's new pills, and returned to the car- riage. “take two of these every morning and night,” said the doctor, “and if you don't feel relieved, double the dose.” “good gracious,” exclaimed sam in an undertone, when he heard his master tell the colonel how to take the pills. it was several days before sam could learn the result of his new med- icine. one afternoon, about a fortnight after the colonel's visit, sam saw his master's patient riding up to the gate on horseback. the doctor happened to be in the yard, and met the colonel and said,— “how are you now?” c. l. o. t e l l e. *. painted the crucifixion by the side of a writhing slave and would have broken up the true cross for pencils, so mrs. miller would have en- tered the sepulchre, if she could have done it, in search of an object she wished to find. the full moon had risen, and was pouring its beams upon surround- ing objects as henry stepped from isabella's door, and looking at his watch, said, - - “i must go, dear; it is now half-past ten.” had little clotelle been awake, she too would have been at the door. as henry walked to the gate, isabella followed with her left hand locked in his. again he looked at his watch, and said, - “i must go.” - “it is more than a year since you staid all night,” murmured isa- bella, as he folded her convulsively in his arms, and pressed upon her beautiful lips a parting kiss. he was nearly out of sight when, with bitter sobs, the quadroon re- traced her steps to the door of the cottage. clotelle had in the mean time awoke, and now inquired of her mother how long her father had been gone. at that instant, a knock was heard at the door, and suppos- ing that it was henry returning for something he had forgotten, as he frequently did, isabella flew to let him in. to her amazement, how- ever, a strange woman stood in the door. “who are you that comes here at this late hour?” demanded the half-frightened isabella. - without making any reply, mrs. miller pushed the quadroon aside, and entered the house. “what do you want here?” again demanded isabella. “i am in search of you,” thundered the maddened mrs. miller; but thinking that her object would be better served by seeming to be kind, she assumed a different tone of voice, and began talking in a pleasing infinner. in this way, she succeeded in finding out the connection existing be- tween linwood and isabella, and after getting all she could out of the unsuspecting woman, she informed her that the man she so fondly loved had been married for more than two years. seized with dizziness, the poor, heart-broken woman fainted and fell upon the floor. how long she remained there she could not tell; but when she returned to con- sciousness, the strange woman was gone, and her child was standing by her side. when she was so far recovered as to regain her feet, isabella went to the door, and even into the yard, to see if the old woman was not somewhere about. as she stood there, the full moon cast its bright rays over her whole person, giving her an angelic appearance and imparting to her flowing c. l. o. t e l l e. stopped humming, and the butterflies had hid themselves under the broad leaves of the burdock. without a morsel of dinner, the poor child was put in the garden, and set to weeding it, her"arms, neck, and head completely bare. unaccustomed to toil, clotelle wept as she ex- erted herself in pulling up the weeds. old dinah, the cook, was as unfeeling as her mistress, and she was pleased to see the child made to work in the hot sun. “dat white nigger'll soon be brack enuff if missis keeps her workin' out dar,” she said, as she wiped the perspiration from her sooty brow. dinah was the mother of thirteen children, all of whom had been taken from her when young; and this, no doubt, did much to harden her feelings, and make her hate all white persons. the burning sun poured its rays on the face of the friendless child until she sank down in the corner of the garden, and was actually broiled to sleep. “dat little nigger ain't workin' a bit, missus,” said dinah to mrs. miller, as the latter entered the kitchen. “she's lying in the sun seasoning; she will work the better by and by,” replied the mistress. “dese white niggers always tink dey seff good as white folks,” said the cook. “yes; but we will teach them better, won't we, dinah?” rejoined mrs. miller. “yes, missus,” replied dinah; “i don't like dese merlatter niggers, no how. dey always want to set dey seff up for sumfin' big.” with this remark the old cook gave one of her coarse laughs, and continued: “missis understands human nature, don't she? ah! ef she ain't a whole team and de ole gray mare to boot, den dinah don't know nuffin'.” * of course, the mistress was out of the kitchen before these last re- marks were made. - it was with the deepest humiliation that henry learned from one of his own slaves the treatment which his child was receiving at the hands of his relentless mother-in-law. the scorching sun had the desired effect; for in less than a fortnight, clotelle could scarcely have been recognized as the same child. often was she seen to weep, and heard to call on her mother. mrs. miller, when at church on sabbath, usually, on warm days, took nancy, one of her servants, in her pew, and this girl had to fan her mis- tress during service. unaccustomed to such a soft and pleasant seat, the servant would very soon become sleepy and begin to nod. some- times she would go fast asleep, which annoyed the mistress exceeding- ly. but mrs. miller had nimble fingers, and on them sharp nails, and, c l o t e l l e. with his gang of human cattle, of whom isabella was one. most quad- roon women who are taken to the south are either sold to gentlemen for their own use or disposed of as house-servants or waiting-maids. for- tunately for isabella, she was sold for the latter purpose. jennings found a purchaser for her in the person of mr. james french. mrs. french was a severe mistress. all who lived with her, though well-dressed, were scantily fed and over-worked. isabella found her new situation far different from her virginia cottage-life. she had frequently heard wicksburg spoken of as a cruel place for slaves, and now she was in a position to test the truthfulness of the assertion. a few weeks after her arrival, mrs. french began to show to isabella that she was anything but a pleasant and agreeable mistress. what social virtues are possible in a society of which injustice is a primary characteristic,-in a society which is divided into two classes, masters and slaves? every married woman at the south looks upon her hus- band as unfaithful, and regards every negro woman as a rival. isabella had been with her new mistress but a short time when she was ordered to cut off her long and beautiful hair. the negro is natu- rally fond of dress and outward display. he who has short woolly hair combs and oils it to death; he who has long hair would sooner have his teeth drawn than to part with it. but, however painful it was to isabella, she was soon seen with her hair cut short, and the sleeves of her dress altered to fit tight to her arms. even with her hair short and with her ill-looking dress, isabella was still handsome. her life had been a secluded one, and though now twenty-eight years of age, her beauty had only assumed a quieter tone. the other servants only laughed at isabella's misfortune in losing her beautiful hair. “miss 'bell needn't strut so big; she got short nappy har's well's i,” said nell, with a broad grin that showed her teeth. “she tink she white when she cum here, wid dat long har ob hers,” replied mill. “yes,” continued nell, “missus make her take down her wool, so she no put it up to-day.” the fairness of isabella's complexion was regarded with envy by the servants as well as by the mistress herself. this is one of the hard fea- tures of slavery. to-day a woman is mistress of her own cottage; to- morrow she is sold to one who aims to make her life as intolerable as possible. and let it be remembered that the house-servant has the best situation a slave can occupy. but the degradation and harsh treatment isabella experienced in her new home was nothing compared to the grief she underwent at being separated from her dear child. taken from her with scarcely a mo- ment's warning, she knew not what had become of her. c i, o t' e l l p. this deep and heartfelt grief of isabella was soon perceived by her owners, and fearing that her refusal to take proper food would cause her death, they resolved to sell her. mr. french found no difficulty in secur- ing a purchaser for the quadroon woman, for such are usually the most marketablé-kind of property. isabella was sold at private sale to a young man for a housekeeper; but even he had missed his aim. mr. gordon, the new master, was a man of pleasure. he was the owner of a large sugar plantation, which he had left under the charge of an overseer, and was now giving himself up to the pleasures of a city life. at first mr. gordon sought to win isabella's favor by flattery and presents, knowing that whatever he gave her he could take from her again. the poor innocent creature drcaded every moment lest the scene should change. at every interview with gordon she stoutly maintained that she had left a husband in virginia, and could never think of taking another. in this she considered that she was truthful, for she had ever regarded henry as her husband. the gold watch and chain and other glittering presents which gordon gave to her were all kept unused. - in the same house with isabella was a man-servant who had from time to time hired himself from his master. his name was william. he could feel for isabella, for he, like her, had been separated from near and dear relatives, and he often tried to console the poor woman. one day isabella observed to him that her hair was growing out again. “yes,” replied william;"you look a good deal like a man with your short hair.” “oh,” rejoined she, “i have often been told that i would make a better looking man than woman, and if i had the money i might avail myself of it to bid farewell to this place.” in a moment afterwards, isabella feared that she had said too much, and laughingly observed, “i am always talking some nonsense; you must not heed me.” william was a tall, full-blooded african, whose countenance beamed with intelligence. being a mechanic, he had by industry earned more money than he had paid to his owner for his time, and this he had laid aside, with the hope that he might some day get enough to purchase his freedom. he had in his chest about a hundred and fifty dollars. his was a heart that felt for others, and he had again and again wiped the tears from his eyes while listening to isabella's story. “if she can get free with a little money, why not give her what i have?” thought he, and then resolved to do it. an hour after, he entered the quadroon's room, and, laying the money in her lap, said, – “there, miss isabella, you said just now that if you had the means c. l. o. t e l l e. you would leave this place. there is money enough to take you to england, where you will be free. you are much fairer than many of the white women of the south, and can easily pass for a free white wo- nian.” at first isabella thought it was a plan by which the negro wished to try her fidelity to her owner; but she was soon convinced, by his earnest manner and the deep feeling he manifested, that he was entirely sin- cere. - “i will take the money,” said she, “only on one condition, and that is that i effect your escape, as well as my own.” “how can that be done?” he inquired, eagerly. - “i will assume the disguise of a gentleman, and you that of a ser- vant, and we will thus take passage in a steamer to cincinnati, and from thence to canada.” with full confidence in isabella's judgment, william consented at once to the proposition. the clothes were purchased; everything was ar- ranged, and the next night, while mr. gordon was on one of his sprees, isabella, under the assumed name of mr. smith, with william in attend- ance as a servant, took passage for cincinnati in the steamer heroine. with a pair of green glasses over her eyes, in addition to her other dis- guise, isabella made quite a gentlemanly appearance. to avoid con- versation, however, she kept closely to her state-room, under the plea of illness. meanwhile, william was playing his part well with the servants. he was loudly talking of his master's wealth, and nothing on the boat appeared so good as in his master's fine mansion. - “i don't like dese steamboats, no how,” said he; “i hope when mas- sa goes on anoder journey, he take de carriage and de hosses.” after a nine-days’ passage, the heroine landed at cincinnati, and mr. smith and his servant walked on shore. “william, you are now a free man, and can go on to canada,” said isabella; “i shall go to virginia, in search of my daughter.” this sudden announcement fell heavily upon william's ears, and with tears he besought her not to jeopardize her liberty in such a manner; but isabella had made up her mind to rescue her child if possible. taking a boat for wheeling, isabella was soon on her way to her na- tive state. several months had elapsed since she left richmond, and all her thoughts were centred on the fate of her dear clotelle. it was with a palpitating heart that this injured woman entered the stage-coach at wheeling and set out for richmond. "s. |'' | || || . | - * | | | | ||| | | *=> "tdi | '' \ '': l i' | | | te: | "i o' l (, t j. l. l. p. an errand into the cook's department to see who the girl was. he, how- ever, met her in the hall, as she was about going out. “whom did you wish to see?” he inquired. “miss gertrude,” was the reply. “what did you want to see her for?” he again asked. - “my mistress told me to give her and master. henry her compliments, and ask them to come over and spend the evening.” “who is your mistress?” he eagerly inquired. “mrs. miller, sir,” responded the girl. - “and what's your name?” asked henry, with a trembling voice. “clotelle, sir,” was the reply. the astonished father stood completely amazed, looking at the now womanly form of her who, in his happier days, he had taken on his knee with so much fondness and alacrity. it was then that he saw his own and isabella's features combined in the beautiful face that he was then beholding. it was then that he was carried back to the days when with a woman's devotion, poor isabella hung about his neck and told him how lonely were the hours in his absence. he could stand it no longer. tears rushed to his eyes, and turning upon his heel, he went back to his own room. it was then that isabella was revenged; and she no doubt looked smilingly down from her home in the spirit-land on the scene below. - on gertrude's return from her shopping tour, she found henry in a melancholy mood, and soon learned its cause. as gertrude had borne him no children, it was but natural, that he should now feel his love centering in clotelle, and he now intimated to his wife his determina- tion to remove his daughter from the hands of his mother-in-law. when this news reached mrs. miller, through her daughter, she be- came furious with rage, and calling clotelle into her room, stripped her shoulders bare and flogged her in the presence of gertrude. it was nearly a week after the poor girl had been so severely whipped and for no cause whatever, that her father learned of the circumstance through one of the servants. with a degree of boldness unusual for him, he immediately went to his mother-in-law and demanded his child. but it was too late, – she was gone. to what place she had been sent no one could tell, and mrs. miller refused to give any information whatever relative to the girl. it was then that linwood felt deepest the evil of the institution under which he was living; for he knew that his daughter would be exposed to all the vices prevalent in that part of the country where marriage is not recognized in connection with that class." c. l. o. t e l l e. features were not bad, lips thin, nose prominent, hands and feet small. his brilliant black eyes lighted up his whole countenance. his hair which was nearly straight, hung in curls upon his lofty brow. george combe or fowler would have selected his head for a model. he was brave and daring, strong in person, fiery in spirit, yet kind and true in his affections, earnest in his doctrines. clotelle had been at the parson's but a few weeks when it was observed that a mutual feeling had grown up between her and jerome. as time rolled on, they became more and more attached to each other. after satisfying herself that these two really loved, georgiana advised their marriage. but jerome contemplated his escape at some future day, and therefore feared that if married it might militate against it. he hoped, also, to be able to get clotelle away too, and it was this hope that kept him from trying to escape by himself. dante did not more love his beatrice, swift his stella, waller his sac- charissa, goldsmith his jessamy bride, or burns his mary, than did jerome his clotelle. unknown to her father, miss wilson could permit these two slaves to enjoy more privileges than any of the other servants. the young mistress taught clotelle, and the latter imparted her instruc- tions to her lover, until both could read so as to be well understood. jerome felt his superiority, and always declared that no master should ever flog him. aware of his high spirit and determination, clotelle was in constant fear lest some difficulty might arise between her lover and his master. one day mr. wilson, being somewhat out of temper and irritated at what he was pleased to call jerome's insolence, ordered him to follow him to the barn to be flogged. the young slave obeyed his master, but those who saw him at the moment felt that he would not submit to be whipped. - “no, sir,” replied jerome, as his master told him to take off his coat: “i will serve you, master wilson, i will labor for you day and night, if you demand it, but i will not be whipped.” this was too much for a white man to stand from a negro, and the preacher seized his slave by the throat, intending to choke him. but for once he found his match. jerome knocked him down, and then es- caped through the back-yard to the street, and from thence to the woods. recovering somewhat from the effect of his fall, the parson regained his feet and started in pursuit of the fugitive. finding, however, that the slave was beyond his reach, he at once resolved to put the dogs on his track. tabor, the negro-catcher, was sent for, and in less than an hour, eight or ten men, including the parson, were in the woods with hounds, trying the trails. these dogs will attack a negro at their mas- ter's bidding; and cling to him as the bull-dog will cling to a beast. many are the speculations as to whether the negro will be secured alive c e o t e l l e. or dead, when these dogs once get on his track. whenever there is to be a negro hunt, there is no lack of participants. many go to enjoy the fun which it is said they derive from these scenes. the company had been in the woods but a short time ere they got on the track of two fugitives, one of whom was jerome. the slaves im- mediately bent their steps toward the swamp, with the hope that the dogs, when put upon their scent would be unable to follow them through the water. the slaves then took a straight course for the baton rouge and bayou sara road, about four miles distant. nearer and nearer the whimper- ing pack pressed on; their delusion begins to dispel. all at once the truth flashes upon the minds of the fugitives like a glare of light-'tis tabor with his dogs! the scent becomes warmer and warmer, and what was at first an ir- regular cry now deepens into one ceaseless roar, as the relentless pack presses on after its human prey. they at last reach the river, and in the negroes plunge, followed by the catch-dog. jerome is caught and is once more in the hands of his mas- ter, while the other poor fellow finds a watery grave. they return, and the preacher sends his slave to jail. c h a p t e r xix. the true heroine. in vain did georgiana try to console clotelle, when the latter heard, through one of the other slaves, that mr. wilson had started with the dogs in pursuit of jerome. the poor girl well knew that he would be caught, and that severe punishment, if not death, would be the result of his capture. it was therefore with a heart filled with the deepest grief that the slave-girl heard the footsteps of her master on his return from the chase. the dogged and stern manner of the preacher forbade even his daughter inquiring as to the success of his pursuit. georgiana secretly hoped that the fugitive had not been caught; she wished it for the sake of the slave, and more especially for her maid-servant, whom she regarded more as a companion than a menial. but the news of the capture of jerome soon spread through the parson's household, and found its way to the ears of the weeping and heart-stricken clotelle. the reverend gentleman had not been home more than an hour ere some of his parishioners called to know if they should not take the negro from the prison and execute lynch law upon him. “no negro should be permitted to live after striking a white man; let c l " e l l e. the sun was just going down behind the trees as clotelle entered the prison to see jerome for the last time. he was to die on the next day. her face was bent upon her hands, and the gushing tears were forcing their way through her fingers. with beating heart and trembling hands, evincing the deepest emotion, she threw her arms around" her lover's neck and embraced him. but, prompted by her heart's un- changing love, she had in her own mind a plan by which she hoped to effect the escape of him to whom she had pledged her heart and hand. while the overcharged clouds which had hung over the city during the day broke, and the rain fell in torrents, amid the most terrific thunder and lightning, clotelle revealed to jerome her plan for his escape. “dress yourself in my clothes,” said she, “and you can easily pass the jailer.” this jerome at first declined doing. he did not wish to place a con- fiding girl in a position where, in all probability, she would have to suf- fer; but being assured by the young girl that her life would not be in danger, he resolved to make the attempt. clotelle being very tall, it was not probable that the jailer would discover any difference in them. at this moment, she took from her pocket a bunch of keys and un- fastened the padlock, and freed him from the floor. “come, girl, it is time for you to go,” said the jailer, as jerome was holding the almost fainting girl by the hand. * being already attired in clotelle's clothes, the disguised man embraced the weeping girl, put his handkerchief to his face, and passed out of the jail, without the keeper's knowing that his prisoner was escaping in a disguise and under cover of the night. c h a p t e r x. x. the hero oe many adventures. jerome had scarcely passed the prison-gates, ere he reproached him- self for having taken such a step. there seemed to him no hope of escape out of the state, and what was a few hours or days at most, of life to him, when, by obtaining it, another had been sacrificed. he was on the eve of returning, when he thought of the last words uttered by clotelle. “be brave and determined, and you will still be free.” the words sounded like a charm in his ears and he went boldly forward. clotelle had provided a suit of men's clothes and had placed them where her lover could get them, if he should succeed in getting out. returning to mr. wilson's barn, the fugitive changed his apparel, and again retraced his steps into the street. to reach the free states by c l o t e l l e . had heard that they disliked slavery. he, therefore, hastened toward the drab-coated men, who, on his approach, opened the barn-door, and told him to “run in.” when jerome entered the barn, the two farmers closed the door, re- maining outside themselves, to confront the slave-catchers, who now came up and demanded admission, feeling that they had their prey se- cure. “thee can't enter my premises,” said one of the friends, in rather a musical voice. - the negro-catchers urged their claim to the slave, and intimated that, unless they were allowed to secure him, they would force their way in. by this time, several other quakers had gathered around the barn-door. unfortunately for the kidnappers, and most fortunately for the fugitive, the friends had just been holding a quarterly meeting in the neighbor- hood, and a number of them had not yet returned to their homes. after some talk, the men in drab promised to admit the hunters, pro- vided they procured an officer and a search-warrant from a justice of the peace. one of the slave-catchers was left to see that the fugitive did not get away, while the others went in pursuit of an officer. in the mean time, the owner of the barn sent for a hammer and nails, and began nailing up the barn-door. after an hour in search of the man of the law, they returned with an officer and a warrant. the quaker demanded to see the paper, and, af- ter looking at it for some time, called to his son to go into the house for his glasses. it was a long time before aunt ruth found the leather case, and when she did, the glasses wanted wiping before they could be used. after comfortably adjusting them on his nose, he read the warrant over leisurely. “come, mr. dugdale, we can't wait all day,” said the officer. “well, will thee read it for me?” returned the quaker. the officer complied, and the man in drab said, - “yes, thee may go in, now. i am inclined to throw no obstacles in the way of the execution of the law of the land.” on approaching the door, the men found some forty or fifty nails in it, ... in the way of their progress. “lend me your hammer and a chisel, if you please, mr. dugdale, said the officer. “please read that paper over again, will thee?” asked the quaker the officer once more read the warrant. “i see nothing there which says i must furnish thee with tools to open my door. if thee wants a hammer, thee must go elsewhere for it, i tell thee plainly, thee can't have mine.” the implements for opening the door are at length obtained, and, after c. l. o. t e l l e. this order of the court she would have cared but little for, had she not been sincerely attached to her young mistress. “do try and sell her to some one who will use her well,” said geor- giana to her father, as he was about taking his hat to leave the house. “i shall not trouble myself to do any such thing,” replied the hard- hearted parson. “i leave the finding of a master for her with the slave-dealer.” bathed in tears, miss. wilson paced her room in the absence of her father. for many months georgiana had been in a decline, and any little trouble would lay her on a sick bed for days. she was, therefore, poorly able to bear the loss of this companion, whom she so dearly loved. mr. wilson had informed his daughter that clotelle was to be flogged; and when felice came in and informed her mistress that the poor girl had just received fifty lashes on her bare person, the young lady fainted and fell on the floor. the servants placed their mistress on the sofa, and went in pursuit of their master. little did the preacher think, on re- turning to his daughter, that he should soon be bereft of her; yet such was to be his lot. a blood-vessel had been ruptured, and the three phy- sicians who were called in told the father that he must prepare to lose his child. that moral courage and calmness, which was her great char- acteristic, did not forsake georgiana in her hour of death. she had ever been kind to the slaves under her charge, and they loved and respected her. at her request, the servants were all brought into her room, and took a last farewell of their mistress. seldom, if ever, was there wit- nessed a more touching scene than this. there lay the young woman, pale and feeble, with death stamped upon her countenance, surrounded by the sons and daughters of africa, some of whom had been separated from every earthly tie, and the most of whose persons had been torn and gashed by the negro-whip. some were upon their knees at the bedside, others standing around, and all weeping. death is a leveler; and neither age, sex, wealth, nor condition, can avert when he is permitted to strike. the most beautiful flowers must soon fade and droop and die. so, also, with man; his days are as uncertain as the passing breeze. this hour he glows in the blush of health and vigor, but the next, he may be counted with the number no more known on earth. oh, what a silence pervaded the house when this young flower was gone! in the midst of the buoyancy of youth, this cherished one had drooped and died. deep were the sounds of grief and mourning heard in that stately dwelling when the stricken friends, whose office it had been to nurse and soothe the weary sufferer, beheld her pale and motionless in the sleep of death. - who can imagine the feeling with which poor clotelle received the c l. o. t e l l e. r- intelligence of her kind friend's death? the deep gashes of the cruel whip had prostrated the lovely form of the quadroon, and she lay upon her bed of straw in the dark cell. the speculator had bought her, but had postponed her removal till she should recover. her benefactress was dead, and – “hope withering fled, and mercy sighed farewell.” “is jerome safe?” she would ask herself continually. if her lover could have but known of the sufferings of that sweet flower, — that polyanthus over which he had so often been in his dreams, – he would then have learned that she was worthy of his love. it was more than a fortnight before the slave-trader could take his prize to more comfortable quarters. like alcibiades, who defaced the images of the gods and expected to be pardoned on the ground of ec- centricity, so men who abuse god's image hope to escape the vengeance of his wrath under the plea that the law sanctions their atrocious deeds. c h a p t e r xx ii. love at first sight and what followed. it was a beautiful sunday in september, with a cloudless sky, and the rays of the sun parching the already thirsty earth, that clotelle stood at an upper window in slater's slave-pen in new orleans, gasping for a breath of fresh air. the bells of thirty churches were calling the people to the different places of worship. crowds were seen wending their way to the houses of god; one followed by a negro boy carrying his master's bible; another followed by her maid-servant holding the mistress' fan; a third supporting an umbrella over his master's head to shield him from the burning sun. baptists immersed, presbyterians sprinkled, methodists shouted, and episcopalians read their prayers, while ministers of the various sects preached that christ died for all. the chiming of the bells seemed to mock the sighs and deep groans of the forty human beings then incarcerated in the slave-pen. these im- prisoned children of god were many of them methodists, some bap- tists, and others claiming to believe in the faith of the presbyterians and episcopalians. oh, with what anxiety did these creatures await the close of that sabbath, and the dawn of another day, that should deliver them from those dismal and close cells. slowly the day passed away, and once more the evening breeze found its way through the barred windows of the prison that contained these injured sons and daughters of america. - c lo t' p , l. p. and the sea became rough. it was then that clotelle felt that there was hope of escaping. she had hitherto kept in the cabin, but now she ex- pressed a wish to come on deck. the hanging clouds were narrowing the horizon to a span, and gloomily mingling with the rising surges. the old and grave-looking seamen shook their weather-wise heads as if foretelling a storm. as clotelle came on deck, she strained her eyes in vain to catch a farewell view of her native land. with a smile on her countenance, but with her eyes filled with tears, she said, - - “farewell, farewell to the land of my birth, and welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves. i care not where i go, so it is ‘where a tyrant never trod, where a slave was never known, but where nature worships god, if in the wilderness alone.’” - devenant stood by her side, seeming proud of his future wife, with his face in a glow at his success, while over his noble brow clustering locks of glossy black hair were hanging in careless ringlets. his finely- cut, classic features wore the aspect of one possessed with a large and noble heart. once more the beautiful clotelle whispered in the ear of her lover, - “away, away, o'er land and sea, america is now no home for me.” the winds increased with nightfall, and impenetrable gloom sur- rounded the ship. the prospect was too uncheering, even to persons in love. the attention which devenant paid to clotelle, although she had been registered on the ship's passenger list as his sister, caused more than one to look upon his as an agreeable travelling companion. his tall, slender figure and fine countenance bespoke for him at first sight one's confidence. that he was sincerely and deeply enamored of . clotelle all could see. the weather hecame still more squally. the wind rushed through the white, foaming waves, and the ship groaned with its own wild and ungovernable labors, while nothing could be seen but the wild waste of waters. the scene was indeed one of fearful sublimity. day came and went without any abatement of the storm. despair was now on every countenance. occasionally a vivid flash of lightning would break forth and illuminate the black and boiling surges that sur- rounded the vessel, which was now scudding before the blast under bare poles. after five days of most intensely stormy weather, the sea settled down c. l. o. t e l l e. in due course of time they left for india, passing through paris and lyons, taking ship at marseilles. in the metropolis of france, they spent a week, where the husband took delight in introducing his wife to his brother officers in the french army, and where the newly-married couple were introduced to louis philippe, then king of france. in all of these positions, clotelle sustained herself in a most ladylike man- ner". - at lyons, they visited the vast factories and other public works, and all was pleasure with them. the voyage from marseilles to calcutta was very pleasant, as the weather was exceedingly fine. on arriving in india, captain devenant and lady were received with honors – the former for his heroic bravery in more than one battle, and the latter for her fascinating beauty and pleasing manners, and the fact that she was connected with one who was a general favorite with all who had his ac- quaintance. this was indeed a great change for clotelle. six months had not elapsed since her exposure in the slave-market of new orleans. this life is a stage, and we are indeed all actors. c h a p t e r x. x w i. the hero of a night. mounted on a fast horse, with the quaker's son for a guide, jerome pressed forward while uncle joseph was detaining the slave-catchers at the barn-door, through which the fugitive had just escaped. when out of present danger, fearing that suspicion might be aroused if he con- tinued on the road in open day, jerome buried himself in a thick, dark forest until nightfall. with a yearning heart, he saw the splendor of the setting sun lingering on the hills, as if loath to fade away and be lost in the more sombre hues of twilight, which, rising from the east, was slowly stealing over the expanse of heaven, bearing silence and repose, which should cover his flight from a neighborhood to him so full of dangers. - wearily and alone, with nothing but the hope of safety before him to cheer him on his way, the poor fugitive urged his tired and trembling limbs forward for several nights. the new suit of clothes with which he had provided himself when he made his escape from his captors, and the twenty dollars which the young quaker had slipped into his hand, when bidding him “fare thee well,” would enable him to appear gen- teelly as soon as he dared to travel by daylight, and would thus facili- tate his progress toward freedom. it was late in the evening when the fugitive slave arrived at a small c'l " e l l. e. coming through the window and slowly descending to the ground, holding under one arm the inanimate form of the child. another cheer, and then another, made the welkin ring, as the stranger, with hail burned and eyebrows closely singed, fainted at the foot of the ladder. but the child was saved. the stranger was jerome. as soon as he revived, he shrunk from every eye, as if he feared they would take from him the freedom which he had gone through so much to obtain. the next day, the fugitive took a vessel, and the following morning found himself standing on the free soil of canada. as his foot pressed the shore, he threw himself upon his face, kissed the earth, and ex- claimed, “o god! i thank thee that i am a free man.” cha pte r xxvii. true freedom. the history of the african race is god's illuminated clock, set in the dark steeple of time. the negro has been made the hewer of wood and the drawer of water for nearly all other nations. the people of the united states, however, will have an account to settle with god, owing to their treatment of the negro, which will far surpass the rest of man- kind. jerome, on reaching canada, felt for the first time that personal free- dom which god intended that all who bore his image should enjoy. that same forgetfulness of self which had always characterized him now caused him to think of others. the thoughts of dear ones in slavery were continually in his mind, and above all others, clotelle oc- cupied his thoughts. now that he was free, he could better appreciate her condition as a slave. although jerome met, on his arrival in can- ada, numbers who had escaped from the southern states, he neverthe- less shrank from all society, particularly that of females. the soft, silver-gray tints on the leaves of the trees, with their snow-spotted trunks, and a biting air, warned the new-born freeman that he was in another climate. jerome sought work, and soon found it; and ar- ranged with his employer that the latter should go to natchez in search of clotelle. the good scotchman, for whom the fugitive was laboring, freely offered to go down and purchase the girl, if she could be bought, and let jerome pay him in work. with such a prospect of future hap- piness in view, this injured descendant of outraged and bleeding africa went daily to his toil with an energy hitherto unknown to him. but oh, how vain are the hopes of man! c l. o. t e l l e. finding it easier to give shillings than half-crowns, jerome handed the woman a shilling, and again restored his purse to his pocket, glad that another woman was not to be seen. scarcely had he commenced congratulating himself, however, before three men made their appearance, one after another. “what have you done for me?” he asked of the first. “i am the boots, sir.” the purse came out once more, and a shilling was deposited in the servant's hand. “what do i owe you?” he inquired of the second. “i took your honor's letter to the post, yesterday, sir.” another shilling left the purse. “in the name of the lord, what am i indebted to you for?” demand- ed jerome, now entirely out of patience, turning to the last of the trio. “i told yer vership vot time it was, this morning.” “well!” exclaimed the indignant man, “ask here what o'clock it is, and you have got to pay for it.” he paid this last demand with a sixpence, regretting that he had not commenced with sixpences instead of half-crowns. having cleared off all demands in the house, he started for the railway station; but had scarcely reached the street, before he was accosted by an old man with a broom in his hand, who, with an exceedingly low bow, said, - “i is here, yer lordship.” “i did not send for you; what is your business?” demanded je- rome. - - “i is the man what opened your lordship's cab-door, when your lord- ship came to the house on monday last, and i know your honor won't allow a poor man to starve.” putting a sixpence in the old man's hand, jerome once more started for the depot. having obtained letters of introduction to persons in manchester, he found no difficulty in getting a situation in a large manu- facturing house there. although the salary was small, yet the situation was a much better one than he had hoped to obtain. his compensation as out-door clerk enabled him to employ a man to teach him at night, and, by continued study and attention to business, he was soon pro- moted. after three years in his new home, jerome was placed in a still higher position, where his aalary amounted to fifteen hundred dollars a year. the drinking, smoking, and other expensive habits, which the clerks usually indulged in, he carefully avoided. * being fond of poetry, he turned his attention to literature. johnson's “lives of the poets,” the writings of dryden, addison, pope, claren. * c. l. o. t e l l e. facturer, that gentleman received them with distinguished hcnors, and gave them a splendid soiree, at which the elite of the city were assem- bled. the sumptuously-furnished mansion was lavishly decorated for the occasion, and every preparation made that could add to the novelty or interest of the event. jerome, with his beautiful bride, next visited cologne, the largest and wealthiest city on the banks of the rhine. the cathedral of cologne is the most splendid structure of the kind in europe, and jerome and clotelle viewed with interest the beautiful arches and columns of this stupendous building, which strikes with awe the beholder, as he gazes at its unequalled splendor, surrounded, as it is, by villas, cottages, and palace-like mansions, with the enchanting rhine winding through the vine-covered hills. after strolling over miles and miles of classic ground, and visiting castles, whose legends and tradions have given them an enduring fame, our delighted travellers started for geneva, bidding the picturesque banks of the rhine a regretful farewell. being much interested in lit- erature, and aware that geneva was noted for having been the city of refuge to the victims of religious and political persecution, jerome ar- ranged to stay here for some days. he was provided with a letter of introduction to m. de stee, who had been a fellow-soldier of mr. deve- nant in the east india wars, and they were invited to make his house their home during their sojourn. on the side of a noble mountain, whose base is kissed by the waves of lake geneva, and whose slopes are decked with verdure to the utmost peak of its rocky crown, is situ- ated the delightful country-residence of this wealthy, retired french of ficer. a winding road, with frequent climbs and brakes, leads from the valley to this enchanting spot, the air and scenery of which cannot be surpassed in the world. chapte r x x xiv. clotelle meets her father. the clouds that had skirted the sky during the day broke at last, and the rain fell in torrents, as jerome and clotelle retired for the night, in the little town of ferney, on the borders of lake leman. the peals of thunder, and flashes of vivid lightening, which seemed to leap from mountain to mountain and from crag to crag, reverberating among the surrounding hills, foretold a heavy storm. “i would we were back at geneva,” said clotelle, as she heard groans issuing from an adjoining room. the sounds, at first faint, grew louder c. l. o. t e l l e. “i married him,” said clotelle, “because i loved him. why should the white man be esteemed as better than the black? i find no differ- ence in men on account of their complexion. one of the cardinal prin- ciples of christianity and freedom is the equality and brotherhood of man.” every day mr. linwood became more and more familiar with jerome, and eventually they were on the most intimate terms. fifteen days from the time that clotelle was introduced into her father's room, they left ferney for geneva. many were the excursions clotelle made under the shadows of mont blanc, and with her husband and father for companions; she was now in the enjoyment of pleasures hitherto unknown. c h a p t e r x x x v . the father's resolve. aware that her father was still a slave-owner, clotelle determined to use all her persuasive power to induce him to set them free, and in this effort she found a substantial supporter in her husband. “i have always treated my slaves well,” said mr. linwood to jerome, as the latter expressed his abhorrence of the system; “and my neigh- bors, too, are generally good men; for slavery in virginia is not like slavery in the other states,” continued the proud son of the old do- minion. “their right to be free, mr. linwood,” said jerome, “is taken from them, and they have no security for their comfort, but the humanity and generosity of men, who have been trained to regard them not as brethren, but as mere property. humanity and generosity are, at best, but poor guaranties for the protection of those who cannot assert their rights, and over whom law throws no protection.” it was with pleasure that clotelle obtained from her father a promise that he would liberate all his slaves on his return to richmond. in a beautiful little villa, situated in a pleasant spot, fringed with hoary rocks and thick dark woods, within sight of the deep blue waters of lake leman, mr. linwood, his daughter, and her husband, took up their resi- dence for a short time. for more than three weeks, this little party spent their time in visiting the birth-place of rousseau, and the former abodes of byron, gibbon, voltaire, de stael, shelley, and other literary characters. - - we can scarcely contemplate a visit to a more historic and interesting place than geneva and its vicinity. here, calvin, that great luminary c. l. o. t e l l e. c h a p t e r x x xv i. the return home. - the first gun fired at the american flag, on the th of april, , at fort sumter, reverberated all over europe, and was hailed with joy by the crowned heads of the old world, who hated republican institutions, and who thought they saw, in this act of treason, the downfall of the great american experiment. most citizens, however, of the united states, who were then sojourning abroad, hastened home to take part in the struggle,—some to side with the rebels, others to take their stand with the friends of liberty. among the latter, none came with swifter steps or more zeal than jerome and clotelle fletcher. they arrived in new or- leans a week after the capture of that city by the expedition under the command of major-gen. b. f. butler. but how changed was society since clotelle had last set feet in the crescent city! twenty-two years had passed; her own chequered life had been through many shift- ing scenes; her old acquaintances in new orleans had all disappeared; and with the exception of the black faces which she beheld at every turn, and which in her younger days were her associates, she felt her- self in the midst of strangers; and these were arrayed against each other in mortal combat. possessed with ample means, mr. and mrs. fletcher set about the work of assisting those whom the rebellion had placed in a state of starvation and sickness. with a heart ove, flowing with the milk of human kindness, and a tear for every sufferer, no matter of what color or sect, clotelle was soon known as the “angel of mercy.” the “general order no. ,” issued on the d of august, , by gen. butler, recognizing, and calling into the service of the federal government, the battalion of colored men known as the “native guard,” at once gave full scope to jerome's military enthusiasm; and he made haste to enlist in the organization. the “native guard” did good service in new orleans and vicinity, till ordered to take part in the seige of port hudson, where they ap- peared under the name of the “first louisiana,” and under the imme- diate command of lieut.-col. bassett. the heroic attack of this regiment, made on the th of may, , its unsurpassed “charge,” its great loss, and its severe endurance on the field of battle, are inci- dents which have passed into history. the noble daring of the first louisiana gained for the black soldiers in our army the praise of all americans who value republican institutions. there was, however, one scene, the closing one in the first day's attack on port hudson, which, while it reflects undying credit upon c. l. o. t e l l e . “a storm am brewin’ in de souf, a storm am brewin' now. - oh! hearken den, and shut your mouf, and i will tell you how: and i will tell you how, ole boy, de storm of fire will pour, and make de darkies dance for joy, as dey neber danced afore; so shut your mouf as close as deafh, and all you niggas hole your breafh, and i will tell you how. , “de darkies at de norf am ris, and dey am comin’ down – am comin’ down, i know dey is, to do de white folks brown | dey'll turn ole massa out to grass, and set de niggas free, and when dat day am come to pass we’ll all be dar to see! so shut your mouf as close as deafh, and all you niggas hole your breafh, and do de white folks brown! “den all de week will be as gay as am de chris'mas time; we'll dance all night and all de day, and make de banjo chime – and make de banjo chime, i tink, and pass de time away, wid’nuf to eat and nuf to drink, and not a bit to pay! so shut your mouf as close as deafh, and all you niggas hole your breafh, and make de banjo chime.” how to escape from prison was ever the thoughts by day and dreams by night of the incarcerated. plans were concocted, partly put into execution, and then proved failures. some of these caused increased suffering to the prisoners after their discovery; for, where the real par- ties could not be found, the whole were ill-treated as a punishment to the guilty. tunnelling was generally the mode for escape; and tunnel- ling became the order of the day, or, rather, the work for the night. in the latter part of november, , the unusual gaiety of the prisoners showed that some plan of exit from the prison was soon to be exhibited. . c. l. o. t e l l e . - “yes, that was the place,” replied the former. “i see that your husband has lost one of his hands: did he lose it in the war?” “oh no, missus,” said dinah. “when dey was taken all de men, black an white, to put in de army, dey cotched my ole man too, and took him long wid'em. so you see, he said he'd die afore he'd shoot at de yanks. so you see, missus, jimmy jes took and lay his left han’ on a log, and chop it off wid de hatchet. den, you see, dey let him go, an' he come home. you see, missus, my jimmy is a free man: he was born free, an he bought me, an' pay fifteen hundred dollars for me.” it was true that jim had purchased his wife; nor had he forgotten the fact, as was shown a day or two after, while in conversation with her. the woman, like many of her sex, was an inveterate scold, and jim had but one way to govern her tongue. “shet your mouf, madam, an hole your tongue,” said jim, after his wife had scolded and sput- tered away for some minutes. “shet your mouf dis minit, i say: you shan't stan dar, an' talk terme in dat way. i bought you, an' paid my money fer you, an i ain't a gwine ter let you sase me in dat way. shet your mouf dis minit: ef you don't i'll sell you; 'fore god i will. shet up, i say, or i'll sell you.” this had the desired effect, and settled dinah for the day. after a week spent in this place of concealment, jim conveyed clo- telle to leaksville, mississippi, through the federal lines, and from thence she proceeded to new orleans. the rebellion was now drawing to a close. the valley of the mis- sissippi was in full possession of the federal government. sherman was on his raid, and grant was hemming in lee. everywhere the con- dition of the freedmen attracted the attention of the friends of humanity, and no one felt more keenly their wants than clotelle; and to their edu- cation and welfare she resolved to devote the remainder of her life, and for this purpose went to the state of mississippi, and opened a school for the freedmen; hired teachers, paying them out of her own purse. in the summer of , the poplar farm, on which she had once lived as a slave, was confiscated and sold by government authority, and was purchased by clotelle, upon which she established a freedmen's school, and where at this writing, —now june, ,-resides the “angel of mercy.” a o o qf'ſ allhop/ " . . . . w * - - º -- - - º º --- * -- - aew&ii* * *... .º ºl{sangelfſ. sºlº & s s º / mwºllº nº. &braryº, ºf univers/ . 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-* --j. . . . * . . . . . . . * * -- º * - - * * * • *.*.* ºr rº, * * * * , * - -- - - * * * * * t * sº ".. - * -º- ^ - a -º- * - * * * -sº ºse * , - - - - * = º - - - - - * * * -". º … `--> -- -- t - º - f - --- *- : * - º -- – th - --- - -- -- * --- . -------> -- º a *…* * * * º -- * ------- __* -- tº t-- *, *. º ** ! ** - -- - : --- --- -- *. º - * --. * . - -: `-- º * - - -- - º- º, - º º * * * * * * * * º,” ºr .*.*.*.*.*.*.* * - …ſº º, . . . . . . . . **, *, *, 'jºãº sº … . . . tºº ºr ºr r r − . ºt. s º º ſº |- if º º º º *.* nº tº cº º ~ * s - - * º .* ~. ** an - --> > _*- - * - × * * - * ---- - º - --- *** **, ºr * . * -- - º --- ºr ºr -º * - - - . > e-, -- f º º --- --- • --- - *** - - - º * - - - - - * º - - -- - - - -- - -- -- - - - - -------- - * - - *…* --- - - - :- --- - * * * *-ºs- - --- * º \ u - º º - º º -- * : * * * --- - a -- ºf sº * ~ *** * * : * ~" º ºr º - - - ºfflº, vº. * ºn anº -º- -- - -- * , - - - ** - sº º - **** * º * º º º -*º f- º * > * º: - - - - -- * º: - - ------ - - - - º - - -- - - º - *- - º g- - º º -- - - - - º … -- --- *-* - º - º º -- -e . . . . . . . . . ** a ". ." * * ~ * * * * * * * * * * * : * : * * •. , , , º -*. . * º º * , , , º º tº ni , - - - - sº * ~ º º * , - - - --> --> * *- - * > tº a a "**. º -> * ^*. zº wisdom's call by sutton e. griggs $ $ $ / ſ “sit down before a fact as a little child, be prepared to give up every preconceived notion, follow humbly wherever and to whatever abysses nature leads, or you will learn noth- ing.”—thomas h. huxley. \ * to secure a copy of this book, “wisdom's call,” with postage prepaid, send cents to the national sentiment-moulding bureau, so. lauderdale street - memphis. tennessee the pºwº cppºmºn cºlº. mit. fºre. dedication. the one dear life which, in all the on going of time, / shal/ be al/owed to live upon this planet, came to me within the borders of the imperial state of texas. whatever others may say, shal/ / not, therefore, love her ? we//, / do; and to texas soil which fed me, to texas air which fanned my cheeks, to texas skies which smiled upon me, to texas stars whose fiery orbs searched my soul, chased out the germs of s/umber and bade me come to them, this volume is affectionately dedicated by the author, works of sutton e. griggs. “imperium in imperio'' “overshadowed” “unfettered" “the hindered hand” “the one great question” “pointing the way.” “wisdom's call" author's preface. the skill and the courage, the daring and per- sistence, the heroism, resourcefulness and mas- terful genius displayed by the sons of the white south during their four years of bloody travel and shifting fortunes from bull run's battle ground, by the way of shiloh, of gettysburg, of antietam and other fields of carnage, on and on, and on, to the dreary plains of hope-ending appomattox, settled for all time to come the question of thein- nate capacity of the white south for great achieve- ments. it is well that the south has had this lesson of her greatness coming out of the civil war, for, stand- ing midway of the world's civic forests, with the world's most stupendous sociological problem strapped to her back, hedged in with briers, brambles and darkness, her ears beset with the harsh tones of the vicious, the false tones of the demagogues and the half tones of the timid, the lesson is needed that she may have the faith in her powers necessary for the performance of the great task that is hers and the nation's. but there are other lessons of equal importance to be drawn from the outcome of this same war. the result of the war wholly unforeseen by the leaders vii. preface. of the south of that day, demonstrates that the white south with all of its acuteness of judgment is not by any means infallible, is not beyond the possibility of making grave mistakes. the result of the war also demonstrates that, with all of its power, the white south is yet not able to withstand the eternal drift of things, is not able to fight against the stars in their courses, is not able to thwart the purposes of the guiding hand of the universe however dis- tasteful the pathway mapped out may be. in view of the fact that the south can make mis- takes and can be ordered by eternal forces to re- trace her steps, an open ear should be ever kept at- tuned to catch dear wisdom's call. such we feel our message herein given to be. hence the name it bears. in “wisdom's call” we have striven to look at matters fundamentally, and feel that we have made a presentation which the white south can only re- ject or ignore at the cost of a silent, bloodless but costly struggle with eternal forces, which through the years will eat away her vitals. very respectfully, sutton e. griggs. vii; table of contents. chapter i. the danger of an unprotected spot. chapter ii. a luxury of great price. chapter iii. the national power as an asset. chapter iv. a better system for making men. chapter v. the preservation of the two races. chapter vi. southern statesmanship and the negro woman. chapter vii. how to keep the colored race from being a burden. chapter viii. the white man’s equity in negro education. chapter ix. the spirit of a people. wisdom's call. chapter i. the danger of an unpro. tected spot. we are living in a day in which great small importance is being attached to what things. was once regarded as the small, in- consequential things of the universe, a day in which the greatest and wisest among men do not consider it beneath their dignity to take note of what such lowly beings as flies, mosquitoes and rats are doing. since pasteur unfolded to the world the germ theory of disease, and demonstrated the presence in the human frame of tiny creatures, too small to be detected by the keenest eye when un- aided, creatures that feed upon and destroy the body, the minds of men have been very generally turned in the direction of small things. so small, so in- significant a thing as the house fly now stands charged with being a source through which typhoid fever germs are able to capture men and put them in ( ) wisdom’s call. jeopardy of their lives. - the sneaking chinch, small, timid and cowardly, daring not to leave its hiding place except under the cover of darkness, has at last been singled out as the agency by means of which the smallpox is spread abroad. tuber- culosis, the disease that vexes the soul of man, that has baffled the concentrated wisdom of the world and of the ages, is but the work of tiny germs of such size that hundreds of them can assemble upon the point of a needle without being visible to the naked eye. the discovery has been made that the bubonic plague, the terror of the nations of the earth, is transmitted from land to land by so humble a crea- ture as a rat that hides in the hold of a ship as it sails from port to port. it is now well known that the epidemics of yellow fever which in times past disor- ganized the business of states and nations, and con- verted whole cities into one great funeral procession, were organized and conducted by such tiny beings as mosquitoes which flew from the swamps and carried the disease from man to man. the suffering yellow fever patient strained his dying eyes in search of some far off mysterious providence that was hurrying him to an untimely death, while just above his head the mosquitoes were chanting in an unknown tongue the full story of his infection and his impend- ing dissolution. there are some who seem to be of making the opinion that the complete adjust- the negro ment in the south of what is called the small. race question will immediately follow the repeal or annulment of the fifteenth amendment to the constitution of the united wisdom's call. states. their cry is, deprive the negro of all politi- cal power; cause him to be absolutely helpless so far as affecting the situation one way or another is con- cerned; reduce him to the position of a governmental insect, and, they assert, our troubles will all be over. but small things, we have just seen, can give trouble. the fly does more harm than the eagle; the rat is more dangerous than the elephant; the chinch is far more to be feared than the lion. the negro, though reduced to a position of utter helplessness will be the source of unending trouble to the white south and to the nation. we have no reference here to any possible injury the negro might be able to in- flict by means of such strength as he could muster. very little, perhaps, as matters now stand, need be feared from that quarter. but it is the weakened position of the negro, not his strength, that is to be feared. the putrid body of a dead man lying at the bottom of a reservoir can poison the water of a city and thus slay more people than if the man were alive, dashing wildly through the streets of that city firing on the right and on the left. when in sixteen hundred and nine- a small teen a handful of uncivilized and help- beginning. less aliens was incorporated as slaves into the economic life of virginia, the great issues bound up in that act were hidden from the most astute minds of that day. utterly weak were those negroes; a condition more abject is hardly conceivable. and yet they were not without the power of doing harm. the system of slavery ramified the south, poured its noxious poison into wisdom's call. its life currents, marked its fertile fields for avoidance, transferred the seat of power to the northeast, north and northwest and finally became the bone of con- tention that provoked the most terrific war that the human family has thus far waged. “behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth!” but the advocates of the repeal of ºrian- the fifteenth amendment hold that tºr, said proposed repeal would not weaken the negro; hold that his position would be the stronger if he would but rest his case upon the sense of guardianship of his white neighbor, and not seek to have a voice of his own in the government. in fact there are some who seem fully convinced that the ideal situation for the south is one in which the negro is granted protection in the matter of hold- ing property, is granted the right of trial by jury, but is denied all voice in the matter of conducting the affairs of state. the contention is made that the occupying of this position on the part of the negro is not necessarily incompatible with the according to him of full protection, and as proof that an element shorn of the right of participation in the government can still be amply protected, the favorable treat- ment of women and children, non-voting elements, is cited. an instant's reflection will convince one that it is quite an error to base conclusions as to what can be done for the negro upon whatever degree of favorable treatment is accorded women and children. the known relationship of woman to the social side of man at once discloses the fact that even without citizenship she occupies a position of vantage that wisdom's call. in the very nature of things the negro man can never occupy with relation to the white man. the mother, wife, sister, potential wife or sweetheart, the co- partner in the work of pro-creation—these have a thousand chances for protection to one that the negro has as a simple contributor to the material side of civilization. the girl child is their woman in the em- bryo, and the boy a citizen in the embryo, and even the birds know how to protect their own eggs in pref- erence to protecting the fledglings of others. in view of the fact therefore, that the white woman and child are intimately interwoven in the social and civic life of the white man the protection that is ac- corded them cannot be pointed to as an example of what could be expected for the negro placed in a weakened position in the body politic. far better illustrations of what can better be expected of the sense of guardian- illustra- - - tions ship, unsupported by other considera- tions, are the treatment accorded negro women, who, where negroes are disfranchised have no social ties linking them to any of the sover- eign voters, and the status of the negro child, who if a girl, is not a future social queen of the white race, or, if a boy, is not a future citizen where ne- groes are denied the right to vote because of race. it is the universal plaint of the colored woman that she stands absolutely unprotected, that in the great majority of cases where an alleged offender against her honor is white she is laughed out of court, and further, that cases which would cause death were the racial connection of each party to the wisdom's call. situation reversed, are actually denied entrance into court. as to the hold that the negro child has upon the situation, we may readily judge from the mere fact that the desire in some quarters to have him grow up in ignorance prevents the more rapid growth in the south of a sentiment in favor of com- pulsory education. in short, the negro child is so weak in reference to its enjoying its rights, that it is able through that weakness to keep the white child out of its rights. here then, in the case of the negro woman and child we have clear illustrations of what it means to be dependent upon a mere sense of guardianship. to prove that the negro can safely conditions rely upon the white man's sense of have guardianship, reference is sometimes changed. made to the protection that was often given the slave by his master. but that protection was born of a deeper motive than that of simple guardianship. the greatest of all mo- tives, self-interest, inspired the master to protect his slave. but now that the negroes are free and there are no masters to guard their own interests by protecting their slaves, it is indeed poor reason- ing that would expect the same activity and, the same results under the changed conditions. no, the protection accorded to the slave is not in any sense an indication of what would be the plight of the negro resting wholly upon such sense of guard- ianship as might be developed in the white race. wisdom's call. nature's one great remedy for all nature’s situations threatening trouble is the remedy. instinct of self-preservation. that in- stinct is the only thing that can be relied upon to do full justice by the individual in- volved, that can be depended upon to be on the alert at all times and under all circumstances. whenever this instinct is forbidden to work, the element thus situated is in a weakened condition in the body politic. a toothless dog is certain to have more stones thrown at him than is one that can growl and show a gleaming row of sharp protectors when oc- casion requires. yes, the negro, denied the right to participate in the government, is in a weakened position, and we shall now proceed to show the harm to the whole body politic, the entire governmental fabric by virtue of his occupying this position. we shall first consider the psycho- when the logical developments, the effects upon state dis- the minds of men, that result from the criminates. course of the state in discriminating - against the negro, in putting him in a weakened condition. where the negro has the proper influences around him to guide him, his spirit will rise above and be unaffected by any course deemed unjust that the state may take, but to the unguided mind will come one of two conclusions. the victim of discrimination because of his race, will decide either that the state is right, that he is a being of a lower order—which conclusion robs him of his self-respect, or he will feel that the state is unjust, and bitterness will thereupon enter his wisdom’s call. spirit. in both cases the state has prepared a con- genial soil for the development of crime; for what better preparation can one have for a career of wrongdoing than a full supply of disrespect for one- self, or a spirit embittered through a sense of wrong done by organized society? the but the psychological influence ema- white nating from the attitude of the state ite man affected. reaches not only the negroes, but the whites as well, only in a different way. the white citizen feels that he must uphold the laws of the commonwealth and his mind begins to take on such form as is necessary for upholding the decrees of the state. those who are set apart by dis- criminating laws as the dominant class develop the feeling of occupying a superior station. it is the na- ture of a man to double his sense of being wronged whenever this wrong arises from a creature pronounc- edly beneath his level. remember the groanings of the lion when kicked by the ass. it was the source of the kick that troubled him most. so when the state by discrimination bids the white citizen to look down on the negro it is doubling the capacity of this white citizen to take offense. wherever state discrimina- tion exists it will be observed that the sensitiveness of the whites is quickened and that the sense of pro- portion as regards offenses committed by negroes is destroyed. here we have the philosophy of the mood that has sometimes led white men to kill negroes who have seen fit to say to them yes, in- stead of yes, sir. with the situation so richly ripened for crime by the course of the state, the story of wisdom’s call. while the voting element is able to reward, the non- voting element is powerless to punish. so the sit- uation logically paves the way for successful and un- rebuked lynching. the downward journey continues. down! perhaps the white man who formed down! part of a mob to kill a negro, a little later takes the matter in hand indi- vidually and seeks to have his own private killing of a negro. perhaps he is himself killed. but the right of self-defense is not one of the sacred rights of the submerged class. has not the butcher, the higher animal, the full right to kill the steer? and is not any steer which will not tamely submit to be killed a vicious animal? thus the negro, who kills a white man in self-defense, who kills righteously, being of the submerged class, is sometimes lynched or even burned at the stake for his exercise of the right of self-defense. these injustices that inevitably dog the footsteps of the submerged ones, cause heart- burnings and ranklings that so operate upon their spirits that the soil is the further prepared for an in- creased crop of crimes. but the evils begotten by the weak- character ened position of the negro in the body of whites politic are not by any means confined influenced. to the negro race. it is a matter of common knowledge that it is now ex- ceedingly difficult to convict a white man of murder even when his victim is a white man. for, the jurors that blunted their sense of the sacredness of hu- wisdom's call. man life when they freed the white man that murdered a negro, have had no moral grindstone on which to resharpen that blunted sense in time to properly avenge the death of a white man who died at the hands of a white. yes, the, character acquired in dealing with the negro is after all, character, a fixed part of a man, and will manifest itself in every walk of life. the southern white dailies are white wom- beginning to note the alarming num- en are suf- ber of crimes of murder and vio- fering. lence against white women on the part of their husbands that are being reported, and are tracing these crimes to the brutality begotten in the lawlessness practiced to- ward the negroes. hitherto the south has been her- alded far and wide as the home of chivalrous regard for woman-kind. not long since in one of our south- ern cities a white man killed his wife in a most deliberate manner and without the semblance of just provocation. the estimate of the value of human life had sunk so low that the white people felt it their duty to call a mass-meeting to voice a demand for the punishment of the wife slayer, and one of the south's greatest newspapers, located in that city, began an editorial crusade calling for the man’s punishment. just think of that! mass meetings and editorial proddings deemed necessary to secure the proper handling of a murder charge, the victim being a white woman of means and good standing! in this same city, a short time previously, a white man, with great deliberation, killed four un- wisdom's call. , arrive possessing in a marked degree a strain of brutality? a southern white man discussing the signs increasing brutality of lynchings, said appear. that the excesses were due to the fact that the best citizens were no longer present at the lynchings to hold the more violent and brutal in check. is that the case, or is it true that the mobs are now composed of young men and boys, as is so often asserted, who have been brought into the world since the prevalence of lynchings in the south? did those fathers who took part in bloody orgies a few years ago imagine that when they retired to rest in the early hours of the morn that their spirits shed their bloody moods as readily as their bodies got rid of their woolen coats? does the extra brutality of the mobs officered by the newer generation prove that the fathers got rid of the bloody taint as easily as was thought? re- cently a young southern white man deliberately threw scalding hot water upon his mother's back, and injured her to such an extent that her life was despaired of for a while. was the father of this boy at one time a member of a mob, and was this boy born during his father's career as a lyncher? who knows? to catch a further glimpse of what may be reason- ably expected of this newer generation born since the beginning of the reign of the mob in the south, read the following news items typical of what may be found in almost any day's paper. “thornton, ark. —news has just reached here of one of the most wisdom’s call. dastardly crimes that has ever occurred in the history of this county. , son of a prominent farmer of woodberry was shot and killed by his wife, to whom he was married less than a year ago. she was not satisfied with shooting him once but took three at him, and then cut his throat. those who saw the corpse say it was the worst mangled one they had ever seen.” again: “gainesville, ga.-because heremonstrat- ed with his son-in-law when the latter's children spoke disrespectfully to their mother the rev. - was hacked to pieces and killed with an axe by his son-in-law at the latter's home.” were the fathers of these two slayers members of mobs that tortured negroes? quite recently the white people of texas and those of georgia heard from their penitentiaries and were greatly shocked over the disclosures. the brutality revealed staggered them. but even now the white south has no adequate conception of the terrible brutality that reigns throughout the prison life of the south! what the convict guards are doing is illustrated by the following newspaper account of an incident that can be duplicated almost anywhere in the prison life of the south: “one of the convicts said that he was standing close to jamison when he was fired upon, and told of the killing in the following manner: ‘mr. reasonover came down the line with a stick in his hand and told jamison to wake up. jamison told him that he was working as hard as he knew how. mr. reasonover then struck jamison and said that he had told him to wake up. jamison wis dom's call. had his shovel in his hands, but not in such position that he could have struck mr. reasonover. mr. reasonover backed off about eight feet and pulled his pistol and shot.’ it was shown that jamison had shackles on his ankles when reasonover shot him. ‘this man had absolutely no excuse for shooting this convict,” said judge edington.” again: “columbia, s. c., ... w s y aged , was shot and instantly killed and mrs. dangerously wounded in the latter's restaurant here this afternoon by , a convict guard, following a dispute over a bowl of soup.” these things speak for themselves. the vast army of men engaging in these practices are also engaged in pro- creation and are having children born to themselves daily. cannot a blind man see that it is only a mat- ter of a few years before there will be a pronounced strain of brutality running through the entire life blood of the south? and will not the brutal strain once entire admitted into the life of a people, show life to be itself almost anywhere and everywhere? affected. if this strain ever fully comes to the white south, look for signs of it in a lack of reverence for aged men and women, in the existence of a marked indifference with reference to the welfare of children in general, in the increased insolence of children toward their parents, in the low estimate of the value of human life, in the re- volting practices of mobs which rack their brains in search of every conceivable method of torture, in the failure of legislatures to provide, or officials to wisdom's call. enforce adequate laws against the crushing out of child life through employment in factories, in the efforts of sons and daughters in the full bloom of life to push their aged and infirm parents from the stage of existence ahead of the natural hour in those hidden ways made possible through the privacy of family life. yes, if through that class that brutalizes itself on the negro, the strain of brutality creeps through inter- marriage into the entire life of the white south, look for the coming of the sad and shameful days here forecasted. the loveliest flower of all the south- chivalry land has not been the velvety red rose, doomed. nor the beautiful lily of the field, nor yet the magnificent magnolia. no, the loveliest of southern flowers has been the flower of chivalry, the tender regard for woman. when the strain of brutality comes, this flower is sure to die. an imitation thereof will no doubt be seen abroad in the land, but the genuine flower with all of its loveliness will be gone forever. yes, yes, the weakened position of the negro in the body politic causes the existence of a gap through which lawless- ness and brutality enter and threaten with their awful virus the actual blood of the white south. in yet another way the weakened anarchy position of the negro is threatening headed to poison the life of the whole south. southward. the pet aversion of the south is the anarchist, and its one great boast is that it has developed none of that brood. but is this true? there are two kinds of anarchists, the wisdom’s call. believers in a land without organized government, and in violence as the proper means for the over- throw of organized society, and the philosophical anarchists, who, though believing in a land without organized government, yet would overthrow govern- ment only by changing the thinking of men. the one goal at which all anarchists are aiming is a condition of society in which there is no law govern- ing men save the sentiment of the people as mani- fested on any given occasion. the anarchists, as stated, would attain this end by overturning in one way or another the laws now on the statute books, but is not the same end attained by the lifting of the spirit above the law? has not the south done this very thing? before you can move a race of thoughtful, civilized people, such as are the southern white people, there must be formulated a satisfactory philosophy of things justifying the course to be pur- sued. what then is the philosophy that underlies the tolerance of lynchings? here it is: whenever the law does not meet the prevailing sentiment of the people, it is perfectly correct for men to do what the situation seems to them to demand. let this code of ethics, formulated under whatever circum- stances may be, become firmly rooted in the minds of the southern whites, become a part of their re- ligion, and it will finally be put to use by the poor as against the rich, by labor as against capital, by the public official who is elected to enforce the law, as against an element desiring the law's enforcement. the outbreak of “night riding” in tennessee, kentucky and portions of indiana are but the wisdom's call. triumph of the feeling of lifting one's mind above the law as it stands, and the substitution there-for the law of one's mind. this is anarchy, only a quicker route than that being pursued by the avowed an- archists. there is no killing of officials, no voting to abolish governments; only the simple lifting of the spirit above the law, a thing first learned in deal- ing with the weakened negro. so this is the port toward which we of the south are headed, the living above the law, therefore the living without law, therefore anarchy. so far as the negro is concerned he feels already that he has entered that port, that he is being governed largely without law. but the negro is standing upon the prow of a ship, on whose stern the white man stands. if the prow of the ship has entered the port of anarchy bear in mind that the winds are yet blowing and the stern will soon follow the prow into the port. when, by and by, the work of long philosoph- ages in building up a sentiment of ical an- reverence for law in the soul of archist. the white race has been undone, when the philosophy of the anarchist has been generally accepted throughout the south; that is, when men grow to feel that it is higher and wiser to look to their own bosoms for the law rather than to the statute books, when each unit has be- come a law unto itself, then will these philosophical anarchists, chosen as mayors, judges, legislators and governors feel free to discard their oaths, ignore the requirements of the law and the mandates of constitutions, and govern according to their own wisdom’s call. notions of what is right and what is best. as an evidence of the fact that what is here asserted is not some idle dream, but a grim reality, note the fol- lowing editorial utterance from a daily newspaper published in one of the south's most noted cities. says that journal: “the head of the (naming its home city) municipal government it appears has undertaken to designate certain classes who shall be exempt from the ordinary operations of the law. it is a notorious fact that he has determined what laws shall be enforced, or at least what laws shall be ignored and nullified, but it is going a degree further when he makes a discrimination in those who shall be amenable to the laws restraints. that the mayor should issue individuals of cer- tain classes exemptions from police control is a high handed and entirely unwarranted procedure, to say nothing of the immorality it involves or the purpose that probably induced it.” a law may be passed against gambling but a philo- sophical anarchist in the mayor's chair will allow the dens to flourish all around. saloons may be abolished by law, but officials who are philosophical anar- chists will permit the existence of a greater number than before they were voted out. in the day when the philosophical anarchist is holding sway, contracts will be let, not to the highest bidders but to favorites. the results of white primaries, even, will be announced in keeping with the desires of election officers and not in keeping with the ballots cast. that the treatment accorded the negro is to bear fruit in the direction of disorganizing the life of the whites of the south by means of the philosophy wisdom's call. developed is strikingly illustrated by the turmoil existing in the state of tennessee. for months the daily newspapers cried out that a condition of political anarchy, unparalleled in the history of the state, existed. in the course of an ar- ticle explaining the situation a newspaper corre- spondent of one of tennessee's leading dailies said: “the fact is each faction is mortally afraid of the other. it must therefore be shown very clearly that there will be a square deal before anything will be done.” the memphis news- scimitar one of the strongest and most ably edited journals in the state, speaking of this same turmoil, says editorially: “it might all be set at rest by agree- ing that honesty shall be the rule of public life, and that our elections shall be held honestly, and the will of the people as expressed at the polls shall be the court of last resort. but we must confess that we are a long way off from this.” a white man, the president of a college in the state, in speaking of the tennessee situation said: “the trouble with us is that we are afraid to trust each other. we are suffering with a case of broken down conscience. we broke down our consciences in dealing with negroes and now we fear to trust one another because we know each other.” there is only one way of escape for only the south. it must lift the negro one way from his submerged position; there of escape. must be no points of necessary weak- ness. it was the undipped spot in the heel of the great achilles through which he met his wisdom’s call. death. weakness anywhere in the body politic will assuredly invite aggression. placing the negro where it is the natural thing to mistreat him, simply means that he will be mistreated, and that there will come a disorganizing of the souls of those who do the mis- treating. the suggestion that the fifteenth amend- ment be repealed is worse than idle. it would but fur- ther and inevitably invite the aggression that de- moralizes. what the south needs is not a weaker spot, but a wall of uniform strength, with not a single gap through which lawlessness may spring unhindered, and begin to work havoc with every- thing in sight, attacking with equal vigor the things that invited it and those that did not. whenever an effort is made to in- a sup- duce the dominant element of the posed white south to revise its attitude to- impedi- ward the negro with regard to the ment. suffrage the one retort of the past has been that political recognition for the negro will mean that social intermingling between the two races will certainly follow. we have demonstrated, we think, how the weakness of the negro in the body politic invites disease for the whole body, and any argument intended to influence the south to maintain, increase and perpetuate the weakness of this spot should certainly be subject- ed to the most careful scrutiny. how is this alleged breaking down of the social walls to happen? the white people have their churches, schools, newspapers, books and the fireside, agencies for the propaga- tion of the doctrine of racial integrity. does any wisdom’s call. one pretend to say that the white people of the south with all these agencies in their hands are so constituted that the negro race can vote its way into their social circles? but we need not theorize on these matters, for there are states in which the negroes are accorded political rights where results may be studied. maryland, west virginia, missouri and kentucky have large negro populations, accord the negroes the suffrage on terms of equality with the whites, and, though the political party accredited with traditional friendship for the negroes has from time to time been given control of those states, there has been no more breaking down of social lines than has been the case in mississippi. the men who have come to the front as a result of the one party system that has obtained in the south, but who might not fare so well if the strenuous political conditions obtaining everywhere else in the english- speaking world were introduced, may continue to shout that the ballot in the hands of the negro will mean a passport to the white man's parlor, but we are of the opinion that many of those who make this assertion for political effect are firmly of the opinion that all the voters of the world would not be able to vote the negro into the southern white man's parlor. the social life of the southern white people is projected upon a plane far out of reach of the mere ballot. ex-president eliot, of harvard uni- the two versity, is of that political faith that are distinct. now holds sway in the south, is highly esteemed in the south, and is the known sympathizer with it in its struggles. hear wisdom's call. a word from him: “as to the ballot, it seems to me reasonable that an educational qualification should be required, and that the payment of the poll tax is also an expedient condition for exercising the suffrage; but whatever qualifications apply to the negro should also apply to the white man. political equality seems to me to have nothing whatever to do with what is called social equality; but i recognize that the southern whites are not of this opinion. they believe that political equality may lead to social admixture, or at any rate, to an assertion on the part of negroes of a right to social intercourse with white people. so far as i know, this belief among southern whites finds no support in the practice of any nation, or part of a nation, in which a broad suffrage now obtains, and i regret its prevalence among southern whites.” in all candor, cannot the thought of social involvements be eliminated as a factor in this matter? cannot the great race that overcame its belief in witches, ghosts and hobgob- lins, grow to see that the negro's ballot is not a magician’s wand that will work the wonders ascribed to it, the wonder of establishing him in the social circles of the whites? permit a final word. a physician a final has an operation to perform on a person word. that has poison in his system. on the physician's hand there is one slight abrasion. without gloves he goes about the work of operating. poison from the body of the patient comes into contact with the physician's blood at the point of the abrasion on his hand. wisdom’s call. blood poisoning sets in and the physician dies. he was sound at every point but one. the better south may continue its heroic struggles to rear men of courage and honor, may continue to send forth into life its quota of pure and noble women, but all these will not be able to prevent the lawlessness, which enters the life of the south by way of the un- protected negro from eventually permeating all its veins and arteries, to the death of its fair name in the earth. its brooks will babble on; its flowers will bloom on; its skies will beam down as beautifully as of old, as of old; the chirp of the happy cricket and the song of the mocking bird will be heard as in the past, but with all this it will be a new south. anarchy, robed in a thin disguise, will sit upon the throne of government, and the eloquent, the bril- liant, and the famous will lie wounded and dying in the gutters of the streets of the cities of the south, and men of high degree will be seen swinging in the dawn of beautiful mornings on the borders of fresh made lakes, much after the order of the weakened negro, the unarmed picket whom anarchy easily thrusts aside in her march to her southern kingdom. - let there be a uniform citizenship. the true let all men have all rights needed for solution. self-protection. the sacred right of self-defense is as necessary to the moral health of a community as is the punishment for mur- der, and no one will or can be as alert for a man's protection as that man will be for himself. there- fore, let the negro have the ballot as a means of defense against negligent officials. only through wisdom's call. the negro's ability to protect himself in the way common to civilized society, will he be removed from the situation as a harm-inviting point of weakness. strengthening the negro's position in the body politic is a far better policy for the final good of the south than is the proposed policy of having him a permanent point of weakness. let all political parties north and south throw open their doors to qualified negro voters as to all other citizens. let the negroes enter the several parties, each according to his conviction on questions presented. with the importance, prestige and power that will come with his being a factor in the government, the negro will no longer be the point of weakness inviting assault, and the south, the nation and the cause of humanity will all be the gainers thereby. chapter ii. a luxury of great price. the it is very evident that large numbers of white people in the south yet esteem it a high privilege, a sort of civic luxury to be permitted to thrust the law aside, dangle the body of a negro from the end of a rope and fill the swaying form full of bullets. while they realize that the duly appointed administrators of the law can be relied upon to take the life of any negro condemned to die, the simple death of the ne- gro is not what is wanted. they desire to have the supreme satisfaction of knowing that they had a direct, immediate, personal hand in the taking of the negro's life. demonstrate to those who feel thus, as much as you may, that lynching is not a necessity, you are met with the thought that it is a luxury and is to be indulged in as in the case of other luxuries. luxury. benjamin franklin gave to the the price american people many little sayings paid for this which have helped them wonderfully, luxury. and one of his exhortations is that a man be careful not to pay too dear a price for his whistle. let us now take up the price ( ) wisdom’s call. that the south is paying for the luxury of lynching and see if it is not going contrary to franklin's ad- vice, see if it is not paying a million fold more for this alleged luxury than it is getting out of it. the state of south carolina has ever been noted for her spirit of independence and her sense of strength. she it was who threatened nullification in the days of andrew jackson, and she the first a few years later to lead off in the experiment of walking out of the federal union. in the course of a speech delivered not long since upon the floor of the united states senate the present senior senator from that proud state asserted the utter helplessness of his state and section in matters of controversy with the rest of the nation, due to the fact that the south in point of population now constitutes but one-third of the government. he called attention to the fact that immigration was building up the population of the north and west at the rate of a million a year, causing the augmenting of the congressional strength of those sections equal to an annual gain of five congressmen from this source alone, a source from which the south is drawing practically no strength whatever. with the north and the west already constituting two-thirds of the national strength, and going forward by leaps and bounds through births and the influx of foreigners, while the south's increase is limited in the main to births within its borders, this senator foresaw the constant and rapid dwindling of the relative strength of his section. the white people of the south have from time to time felicitated themselves upon the fact that they wisdom’s call. have not been afflicted with the undesirable class of immigrants, but there has been immigration of millions of sober, thrifty, industrious foreigners who would have brought strength to the south in every way, immigrants fully able to purchase the cheaper lands of the south and enter upon self-sus- taining careers. but why this avoidance of the south on the part of persons whose coming would be mutually advantageous? it has been due in large measure to the fact that the reputation of the mob has gone to the uttermost parts of the earth, and has created the impression that the southern section of the united states is nothing more nor less than a huge spot of blood; that red-handed murder walks our streets and promenades upon our highways, while justice, terror-stricken, has hidden herself in the deep recesses of some mountain cave. whether justly or unjustly such is the reputation that the mob has given our bonnie southland. of course our editors and statesmen can explain that things are not so bad as they seem, but the news of blood- shed is telegraphed to many more places than are the carefully worded explanations as to what the killings did not mean. another form of damage done the false im- south by the undue advertisement pressions. brought about by the actions of the mob is the conveying of the erroneous im- pression that the white women of the south are in constant danger of assault. it has been demon- strated by statistics that the white women of the south are relatively safer from such attacks than are wisdom’s call. the white women of chicago from the attacks of white men. the overwhelming mass of negro men accord the white women of the south the utmost deference and respect, and the negroes on the whole are every whit as ready to shield the women from harm as are the white men. they are the sons of their fathers. they are the sons of the men to whom the departing soldiers in the days of civil strife committed the care of their wives and daughters; the men who in every instance proved true to the sacred trust; who would have died to keep safe from harm the loved ones left in their charge. here and there vile whiskey and a life of debauchery have evolved a negro that has fallen so far from the common instincts of his race as to be guilty of the nameless crime, but he no more typifies his race, no more represents their overwhelmingly prevailing tendencies than benedict arnold can be said to be the normal type of the american revolu- tionist. the dust of the mob hides from view the sober faces of the ninety and mine faithful negroes, while the flames of the burning pyre paint upon the sky the vicious likeness of the offending one; so that, men with wives and daughters, misjudging the situation, hesitate about turning their faces south- ward. thus do false notions of the relative safety of the southern white women check the growth of the south. let not any one deceive himself evils with the thought that the mob can be travel. maintained as an institution that af- fects negroes and negroes only. as to whether the south is at all to have a civilization wisdom’s call. of law and order, even among its white citizens, de- pends upon its ability to give the negro the pro- tection of the law. no chain is stronger than its weakest link. the dog of lawlessness unleashed to torment and devour the negro will not return to his kennel until he has also throttled the master of the house. there is a unity to the social consciousness. the public mind cannot tolerate a given state of things with regard to one segment of the population without having a growth, perhaps silent and unob- served, of a similar line of thinking with regard to things far removed from that which first called forth the line of action tolerated. the men who invented the mob to cabin and deal with the negro little dreamed, hotel perhaps, that it woulderelong be sum- connected. moned to service to regulate the affairs of a reelfoot lake. let us recount a bit of history. 'tis night; we hear the tramp of horses. their riders, silent and masked, reverence for law overtoppled in the soul are piloting them to a lonely log cabin in which a negro resides. a few moments later they silently ride away leaving the swinging corpse of the black man that they have slain. time wears on. the principle of adjusting grievances or fancied griev- ances by the methods of the midnight band is estab- lished, is tingling in their brains, is living in the thought of the social body ready for emergencies not originally placed on the programme. time wears on. 'tis night; we hear the tramp of horses. their riders silent and masked, reverence for law over- toppled in the soul, are piloting them to a lonely wisdom's call. log cabin—no, we are mistaken—this time it is to a prominent hotel. when, on the following morning, the state of tennessee awoke it could hardly believe its eyes when it saw the bullet-pierced body of one of its first citizens, capt. quentin rankin, dangling from the end of a rope after the order of an humble negro. to those who think that hiding behind logs, dodging bullets, fleeing through forests, wading through bogs and swamps, suffering the pangs of hunger and thirst, dreading the sight of man, are luxuries, the enjoyment of which can be wholly con- fined to friendless negroes, we would say, “ask the distinguished white man, the partner of captain rankin, colonel taylor, who made his escape from the banks of reelfoot.” note how vig- orously he shakes his head to let you know em- phatically that the luxuries mentioned cannot be so confined, that they will eventually pass around. the night rider, troubling the white people of the tobacco-growing regions of kentucky and tennessee and threatening the cotton growers of the south are but the reincarnation of the ku klux klan, which was devised to handle the negro. and note the fact that they made their appearance immediately upon the heels of the recent general laudation of the work and methods of the klan. yes, in one way or another, the whole so- social body in its entirety is certain cial body to feel the effects of poison that it ad- affected. mits into any part of the body, be that part the sole of the foot or the crown of the head. it is of the highest importance that wisdom's call. it is the very irony of fate that white the southern negro, unwittingly woman enough, of course, blocks the path- barred by way of the southern white woman negro. to the ballot box. of all anglo- saxon self-governing commonwealths the southern states constitute the only section where women are wholly denied the right to vote, where not a breath of sentiment seems stirring in that direction. in australia, new zea- land and several of the northwestern states of the united states women have the full right of suffrage. in some of our northern and eastern states they have the suffrage to a limited extent, while in eng- land they enjoy the right to vote in all elections save those involving seats in parliament, and there are powerful influences at work to remove this one lim- itation. in finland, a province of russia, there are female members of the legislative body. in the sections of the world named the woman's suffrage movement has come forward upon the broad plea of the membership of women in the human family, holding that said membership constituted them the equals in point of rights of all other members. claims for the political rights of the negro have been pro- jected upon this same basis of equal membership in the human family. in closing its ears to this plea made in behalf of the negro, the dominant element of the white south attained that frame of mind that has created the peculiar phenomenon of one great english-speaking section existing in the twentieth wisdom's call. century with no woman's suffrage question with which to grapple. so here we have the attitude of the southern white man toward the negro so grooving his thoughts that it never occurs to him to enter save in a fixed, dogmatic way, upon the con- sideration of this question, which, more and more is engrossing the serious thought of the civilized world. thus do matters spread. industrial the spread education, devised as a special need is certain. for the colored youth, in a few years becomes the national fad for the white youth. the view of human rights adopted to re- strain the negro casts its shadow in such a manner that the anglo-saxon women of the world find no word of cheer coming from their southern sisters as they carry on their world-widestruggle for the ballot. it is true that the dominant southern thought may hold that such a state of affairs is ideal. our only contention just here is that a wholly foreign matter, or the line of thought engendered by a wholly foreign matter, is the controlling influence in the situation. and so will the virus of the mob spread. it may take the form of night riding, as in the case of cap- tain rankin, or it may distill its poisonous contempt for the forms of law into the hearts of individuals to such an extent that the street duel will be sub- stituted for criminal and chancery courts by the men of eminence of the south. laws against the manu- facture and sale of liquor have been passed in the south over the strenuous opposition of thousands. this work can be largely nullified by the mob spirit, wisdom’s call. the spirit of ignoring the recorded statute as the master, the regulator of the citizen's conduct. as americans we are optimistic; looking we believe in the future. yet we do ahead. not know what she has in store for us. the rich may grow richer, and the poor, poorer. financial depression, such as we have never before known, may come. the pang of hunger may be felt in the land. normal processes may be slow in setting matters aright. the distress cry of wife and babe may ring in the ears of the man al- ready mad from gnawing hunger. we have no great standing army. in that dark hour, if the mob spirit is still in the air, woe be unto this nation. how easy it will be for a maddened shout to rally a host, if the spirit of lawlessness be present. as the hunger-crazed hordes sweep through the streets, with no reverence for law in their hearts, no gleaming bayonets to inspire them with dread, well may those who have plenty in that day turn pale with fear. if there is riot and pillage and a total obliteration of all regard for what the law has to say, there need be no surprise, for the seeds of such behavior were sown when the mob was permitted to trample the law under foot and wreakits vengeance on the negro. england but recently entered upon such times of want and hunger as we have here pictured, and the deep ingrained reverence for law for which she has long been noted stood her in good stead. wisdom’s call. in view of the fact that what- treatment ever trend of thought, whatever of the warping of the spirit, whatever bent negro of character are developed in deal- the pivot. ing with the negro, are to become integral parts of the life of the south, well may it be held that after all the crucial, the testing point in southern civilization, the pivot around which all else will turn will be its treatment of this weak element of its population. the lesson of the bible account of the fall of man is not without force in this connection. the weal or woe of the whole human family is made to hinge upon the matter of eating or not eating an apple. this concept is true to life. a small soulless stone can derail a long line of passenger cars and send without warning hundreds of human beings, including the president of the road, into the presence of the great unknown. and so can the negro, even in an inert state, be come a determining factor in the life of the south. will the future find the south with a well or- dered civilization, affording soil and atmos- phere for its highest self to unfold and expand? has the south the ability, the strength in its soul to suppress the lynching of negroes? the answer to the first question is summed up in, and dependent upon, the answer to the second. ere it is too late, ere the habit of lawlessness becomes an ingrained racial trait to be handed down from sire to son, ere we behold the ugly fangs of the mob, grown sharp from gnawing the negro, buried in the vitals of our civilization, having reached this goal in ways un- wisdom's call. dreamed of, ere, we say, it is too late, let the south rallying to the cry of pulpit and press, bench and bar, jurymen and sheriff, grapple resolutely with the mob even when its victim is a negro. the com- plete dethronement of the mob is a crying need of the south. permit us to relate just here a dream a dream. that came to us in our waking hours. it was the last day of the argument of the cases of those accused of killing ex-senator carmack, of tennessee, and the attorney general had just spoken the closing word for the prose- cution. all eyes in the crowded court-room now sought the face of the judge, who, through his charge to the jury, was to take the next important step in the great trial. suddenly there was seen standing midway between the lawyers for the prosecution and defense a young man who at once began to address the judge in a firm, clear, resonant voice, vibrant with deep emotion. all eyes now turned toward this young man. “who is he? when did he enter? i did not see him until he was standing where he is now. where is his chair? he must have been sitting, else i would have seen him. what does he want?” such was the line of questioning and comment that ran through every mind in the court-room. “may it please your honor, i have a word which i would like to offer before this case finally passes from before the people of this state,” said the young man. wisdom's call. the judge bent forward and looked intently at the stranger, feeling that it was no ordinary personage before him, and yet unable to account for the strange procedure. “which side of this case do you represent?” asked the judge. “may it please your honor, i wish it to be clearly understood that i am not to touch one way or another the merits of the case before you.” - “well,” said the judge, haltingly, “your remarks would hardly be pertinent at this stage of the pro- ceedings, i fear.” “you, honored judge, represent the state of ten- nessee, a post of great honor and importance, but as between your judgment and mine you will have to surrender to me, for my post is more exalted than yours, and represents a superior jurisdiction. “i am the attorney of the cosmic forces, the forces that preside over the destinies of stars, of worlds, of men and things, the forces that determine the paths of storms, the outbursts of volcanoes, the rise and fall of nations, the forces that can crumple your proud state with as much ease as you can an empty egg shell.” the judge and the whole audience were so thrilled with the young man's eloquence that they were most eager for him to proceed. turning to the audience, the young man continued: “he, into the manner of whose death you are assem- bled here to inquire, was called by you a great man, and, independent of the manner in which he met his death, you regard his going as a great loss. wisdom’s call. “without expressing my approval or disapproval of the manner in which his life was taken, leaving that matter wholly and absolutely with the jury, i have come simply to say that some one of his rank and station simply had to suffer violence, or else the whole system of jurisprudence of the cosmic forces would have been upset, as i will presently make plain. “there are two lines of procedure along which the cosmic forces deal with the affairs of men. we allow those who constitute the governing forces of the earth to choose their own procedure, but after the choice is made we take charge of affairs and see to it that whatever happens to the lowly shall happen to the high. “he who thinks that the great creative force which fashioned the universe, which, with infinite pains, put under the reign of law all matter ranging from the humble atom to the largest of the distant stars—he who thinks that this force upon reaching human society grew careless and failed to arrange laws by which society is to live, and through the violation of which it must suffer or die, is vastly mistaken. for, whether men find it out early or late, there is a law of human conduct as exacting as any law in the realm of matter, and every deed that is wrong whether committed by a man singly, or by a group of men acting in concert, or by organized society, carries along with it a penalty that follows with as much certainty as a man's shadow follows the man. wrong and retribution are twin sisters, and wher- ever you see the former, know that somewhere near stands the latter. wisdom's call. “the bible, which we have given you as your earthly guide states the matter thus: “be not de- cieved; god is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” “our eyes have been upon your athens of the south for lo these many years. we saw and mur- mured not, when over yon bridge in lawless fashion you flung the form of a negro and took from him his life. “we saw, and murmured not, when officers of the law in your city chased a negro youth into yon river, where in easy reach of men and boats you allowed him to drown as you would a common rat. we saw this, and as is our custom, said nothing. “we recall the fact that one day a negro, who had been fined five dollars for vagrancy, was trying to improve what he regarded as a good chance to get away, when one of your guards shot and killed him for which offense your guard was never tried. “on numerous other occasions your officers have killed negroes who were accused of no crime what- ever, and said officers have not even been required to swear that they were telling the truth when they said they thought their victims were reaching for pistols. “all of this we saw and murmured not, because it is our habit to allow men and nations to sow exactly as they please. but we take charge of the seed sown, and with all the exactness of omnipotence, we render back in our own way, what is sown. “thus, it was only a matter of time when the reaping of the great among you was to begin. and wisdom's call. the end is not yet. remember the banks of reel- foot where your rankin so bravely met his end. “oh, bonnie southland, home of birds and ever- blooming flowers, where the winds blow softly and the sun in peculiar beauty rolls to rest in the evening sky, surrender yourself if you will to the pastime of lynching a helpless, perhaps a depraved and besotted negro, but know that through this one unprotected spot in your armor will come that insidious poison, disregard for the orderly processes of the law, which will ultimately send your noble rankins and your brilliant carmacks to untimely graves.” as suddenly as he had appeared the attorney of the cosmic forces vanished from the court-room and the great case was resumed. but the lesson that he taught upon the occasion of his brief visit is with us yet. jj chapter iii. the national power as an asseſ. some few years ago a southern white individual man was called into the service of the effort. national government to render aid to the cause of his country in a matter, international in its scope and of the most far-reach- ing importance. as he argued his nation's cause before one of the most eminent tribunals the earth has ever known, his ready flashes of wit, his erudition and cogent reasoning made a most favorable impres- sion upon the world's highest circles of thought. upon his return to his southern home with his in- ternational honors fresh upon him, he was duly banqueted by his fellow citizens who were keenly alive to the novelty of having one of their number attain unto international fame. in the course of his speech at this banquet he remarked that southern men had all along been accomplishing all that might be reasonably expected of individuals, but conditions had been such that they could not harness the national power to their gifts, which at- tainment would have immeasurably increased their opportunities for usefulness. ( ) wisdom's call. what a carnal weapon is to a man en- roosevelt gaged in physical combat, high official had a station is to the man who would lever. bring great things to pass. as matters now stand no citizen of the state of georgia is handed the national power with which to demonstrate his use- fulness to the world. hence, had president roose- velt, whose mother was a georgian, been born and reared in that state he would, perhaps, have gone through life without the presidency of the united states as an instrument with which to demonstrate his great powers. strong in himself, the exhibition of that strength so powerfully wielding the strength of the ninety millions of souls comprising the nation, will give him a place in history that would have been denied him had he lived and died the mere individual unpossessed of the national power. one of old asserted that he could move the world if but given a place where he might stand. theodore roose- velt was given as a lever the place of primacy in the world's greatest nation. the prestige of the presi- dency gave him the limelight of the world in which to stand. standing in this limelight, using his offi- cial position as a lever, he moved the world; moved it to applause when he brought the russo-japanese war to a close; moved it when through diplomacy he performed that modern miracle of converting the potential americo-japanese war-cloud that hung brooding in our western sky into a beautiful white dove of peace. without the national power, mr. roosevelt’s work would have been that of an in- wisdom's call. dividual of large capacity; with it, what he has achieved will stand out as the work of a mighty nation, speaking, thundering, toiling through him. it would indeed make for the uplift, an inspir- the inspiration, the glory of the south ing force. could its sons and daughters be given the boon of dreaming hopefully that it is within the realm of possibilities for them some day to have the national power as an asset in revealing to the world and leaving on record for coming generations, the full fruitage of their souls. desirous of knowing how many of the boys of her class were cherishing the hope of some day being president of the united states, a teacher took a vote on the question. all the boys save one testified by lifted hands that such a hope inspired them. the lad who had not so voted was asked why he did not cherish the ambition. the little fellow replied: “it ain’t no use; i’m a democrat.” in his heart the southern lad of to-day is saying: “it ain’t no use; i’m a southerner.” it would be atonic, a stimulus indeed to have the hope of national and international fame revived in the south. it would serve to summon into the public service the master minds, the geniuses that wait only for suitable conditions to call them into full bloom. washington, jefferson, marshall, jackson and calhoun are all products of the south, but they are of the past. the present day south has need of the quickening touch of men of to-day who are given the national power with which to do great things upon the earth. in this question is bound up the larger glory of the wisdom's call. south. it can but dwarf the spirits of its citizens to feel ever that they are in a sort of outlying prov- ince, doomed to serve in a nation whose larger glories and rewards are denied to them. in turning its thoughts to the matter what is in of bringing its period of isolation, the way. its condition of political exile to a close it is well for the south to meet squarely the question as to how far its attitude toward the negro contributes to this state of affairs, and what, if any, modifications of that attitude can be safely and honorably made. surely the prize is sufficiently great to warrant a patient consideration of the ob- stacles in the way. there are several factors which operate to withhold from the southerner the national power as an asset. the one-party system of the south, the absence of real, genuine testing political battles, the comparative ease with which men of mediocre talents get and stay in the lead, cause the front ranks of southern statesmanship (barring an accidental giant here and there) to be composed of men lacking in those qualities that can compel the admiration of the nation. the negro is a factor in the situation. there are certain states in which the white population has been in the past almost evenly divided politically, and the south has had about an even chance to have those states vote with it. dissatisfied with some conditions in the south the negroes have gone in large numbers into some of these pivotal states and have lifted them clearly out of the doubtful column. reference is here made to such states as indiana, west virginia and new wisdom’s call. jersey. even states that were at one time certain to cast their votes with the south have been rendered debatable by the influx of negro voters from further south. missouri, maryland and kentucky are in this latter class. the influences causing many colored people to leave the south are the fear of mob violence, lack of faith in the courts as the dispensers of even-handed justice, inadequate school facilities, laws aimed at disfranchisement unequally applied and the discomforts encountered in travel upon public conveyances. it would be a profitable investment for the south to study this exodus and remove every just cause of complaint. this would aid in keeping the negroes in the south, and would cause such as did leave to carry with them a ground-work of sympathy for southern aspirations. the attitude of the south toward unprepared the negro is a factor in still another for world way. our nation has become a world duties. power, and must deal with men of every shade of complexion. there are the black haytian, liberian and abyssinian; the brown filipino and japanese, and the yellow china- iman. the southerner who does not hesitate to proclaim his contempt for all complexions save the white, is deemed by therest of the nation as spiritu- ally unprepared to have charge of its foreign affairs as would be the case with a president. in sending men to the philippines, to cuba, to panama, to handle delicate situations, it is regarded as a prime requisite for the envoy to be able in dealing with wisdom’s call. questions of state to forget the complexions of the men with whom he has to deal. let us take the case of congressman hobson of alabama. his contempt for the black man has spread until it now likewise embraces the brown man of japan. should our nation be inclined to go south in quest of a young man to whom to lend the national arm with which to display his soul, and its choice should fall upon the famous young alabamian, we have no guarantee that he would not, when made president, bawl to the haytian minister to go to the back door; no guarantee that he would not kick the chinese minister down the steps and box the ears of the ambassador from japan. the rest of the nation, which, with what is the help of the negro, now shuts the asked. south out of the national accord, which denies the national power as an asset for the southern white man, asks, not that the south turn itself over to the control of anignorantelectorate, not that it lose its racial connection through amalga- mation, but simply that, in matters pertaining to citizenship rights it deal with every man according to his individual merit and not according tothe color of his skin. the potential glory of the south, imprisoned in the halls of the future, restlessly walking to and fro, anxious to be emancipated that it may fill the earth in behalf of the section it craves to serve, awaits with deep concern the final verdict of the south upon the proposition to have one law and one governmental practice for all men regardless of race or color or previous condition of servitude. :nzs :n :n :sn :sn :sn :sn :sn :sn (@@@@@@@@@@) iv. a better system for making men. chapter iv. a better system for making men. the scientists tell us that through- survival out the realm of nature there has been of the one long, continuous struggle for ex- fittest. istence, that in this struggle the weak have gone to the wall, leaving the earth to those that proved to be the fittest to meet the conditions that arose in the struggling. the species which now exist were made strong by means of this crucial struggle for existence through which they have passed. the necessity for traveling upon the water gave to the duckits webbed feet; burrowing beneath the surface of the soil gave unto the mole its nose of peculiar strength. the greatness of the united states is due in large measure to the fact that here, class distinctions have been abolished and the republic has been operated as a mammoth field whereon each individual has been made to battle against all comers, if he would enjoy the distinction of occupying first place. “not by inheritance, nor yet by favor, but by prevailing over the best of his fellows shall a man wear the victor's crown,” is the decree of america to her sons. - ( ) wisdom's call. the game of football typifies the genius of the american nation. the team that would have itself proclaimed the champion of the football world must be the one that has arisen through a series of vic- tories to the point where it gives successful battle to the team which has come up to meet it from the other side of the mount of struggle. striving, battling in desperate contests with forces wholly unfettered and sent upon him to test his mettle to the uttermost, is the native air of the young col- legian, as it is of his father also, toiling in the sterner realities of life. the value of such an atmosphere of well of struggle is at once apparent. there is reserve in man a reserve force that is only energy. called forth by the strangely quicken- - ing power of a crisis. a psychologist has advanced the theory that every man carries within himself a well of reserve energy which he can only tap in times of dire extremity. all men who have been called upon to struggle supremely, who have encountered crises of overwhelming force can testify that there is strength to which the soul falls heir only in the time of peril. in the supreme moment of struggle, every atom of power is mustered into service, and verily it seems that a new being is on the scene in every way outclassing the old. preparation for battle demands the careful strengthening of weakpoints, the careful development of one's powers, the thorough discipline of one's self, the close study of an opponent, the eager search for possible weaknesses, eternal vigilance against sur- wisdom’s cal . in a wholly incidental way, yet with striking startling clearness, the progressive evidence. movement going on within the ranks of the republican party has empha- sized the truth of what these eminent southerners have said. while the men from the south con- stitute the bulk of the opposition party whose function it is to lay bare the weak points in the policy of the party in control, yet it has been left to men within the republican party to make the great, illuminating, convincing speeches that have caused the nation to open its eyes and think. why did not southern men gather up these arguments and hurl them with dynamic force into the ranks of the american people, compelling attention? the facts, the arguments were all there awaiting the master hand to gather them up. but this task was left to la follette, cummins, dolliver, beveridge, all mem- bers of the party in power, whereas such service was due from the opposition party, recruited mainly from the south. not only is the statesmanship at decline washington being dwarfed, but the general. same tendency toward enfeeblement is seen in the brand of statesmanship that is being called into service at home. in com- menting upon a tennessee legislative body some- what recently in session, the nashville american in the course of a carefully argued editorial, had the following to say: “the weekly press is almost unanimous in its condemnation of the late legislature. * * * as wisdom's call. we have said before, the general littleness of the body, its petty conduct in many instances, its trades and combinations, the autocratic methods of self-seeking members, the quarrels, the cheap declamations and intemperate and undignified and unwarrantable pub- lic denunciations by members who should have shown a better sense of dignity and decency, the dishonesty in juggling with bills, the unreliability of promises— the general record and conduct of the body marked it as unworthy of the state or the approval of the people. what man of established reputation would care to be known as a member of the legislature just adjourned?” * when the hon. wm. h. taft was a the old younger man he was called to the south order vs. by his official duties, and while so- the new. journing there he came into intimate contact with many of the south’s giant minds which were bred in the great days pre- ceding our civil war and were the further quickened by those stirring times which tried men's souls. in later years mr. taft as a cabinet official was again brought in touch with the leadership of the south, and he could not but note the marked shrinkage in the brand of mentality that the south was putting forward. as from time to time mr. taft sat and conversed with some of the newer lights which the south had sent to washington, his mind ran back to the days of her giants. being a man of broad sympathies whose regard had been won by the many splendid social and mental qualities which he found the southerners to possess, it gave him personal wisdom's call. sorrow to note the falling off in the mental equip- ment of the statesmanship being produced in the south. it was mr. taft's opinion that it was the change from the two-party system of the past to the one-party system of to-day that had dwarfed the political genius of the south and was substituting men of mediocre talents for the great minds of former days. feeling thus with regard to the south and fearing that a solid south would be answered by a solid north until one of the political parties of the north might die and leave that section also in the hands of this same dwarfing one-party' system, mr. taft decided that he would so conduct his presidential office as to secure, if possible, two strong political parties north and south, vieing with each other for the control of affairs. he realized that in days of strenuous conflict there would be a premium on strong men, that both sides would seek for such, and that the result would be the pushing to the front of all that was great from all sections of the nation. “but what about our white pri- nature's maries? do they not furnish ample habits. room for our men to engage in the contests that breed great statesmen?” such are the questions which the white south will naturally ask, and we shall now proceed to demon- strate beyond the shadow of a doubt that the white primary system does not meet the demands of the anglo-saxon political genius. in view of the im- portance of this matter let us view it fundamentally. the tendency of nature everywhere is toward a wisdom's call. varied expression of the heart of things. out yonder in the open field where the hand of man has done no planting we find the flower and the fern; among the fowls of the air we have the beautiful bird of song and the solemn, hooting owl; in the matter of the seasons, there is the summer's heat, and there is the winter's cold; in the realm of the emotions we have joy and sorrow; in literature, the realist and romantic; in philosophy, the epicurean and the stoic; in the constitution of the human family, the male and the female. the minds of men are not all cast in the same mould and they do not, therefore, approach subjects in the same way. even when they have the same ends to attain they must approach them in different ways. charles lamb says that he can accept as true, the story to the effect that two men, who had never seen or heard of each other before, who had no grievances, real or fancied, against each other, met and proceeded instantly to pummel one another, each having perceived at the very first glance that the other was his born antagonist. in order that the human family may the two be sure to move forward, nature grants types. unto it men of a progressive turn of mind, men eager to press forward. it is this type that we behold instituting reforms and inaugurating revolutions. but the human family can attempt to go forward at such a pace that it will lose much of permanent worth that it has acquired. hence the need of conservatives. conditions are by no means what they should be wisdom's call. unless there is opportunity for the full, unhampered development of the opposing orders of intellect. our country stood sadly in need of those two great opposing statesmen, alexander hamilton and thomas jefferson. but for jefferson, we might have had a centralized form of government which would have prevented the diversity in state govern- ments and the free play of forces, essential factors in the glory of our country. on the other hand but for hamilton we might have had an aggregation of states void of that degree of national power so needful for us in our efforts to play our rightful part in the affairs of the world. america is proud of her nathaniel hawthorne, the great romantic novelist, but she is also proud of mr. william dean howells, her great realist. these men belonging to two schools of thought radically, fundamentally, ir- reconcilably different are both great ornaments to our literary life. one of the most dangerous features white about the “white primary” is its primary misleading name. it is not “white,” not white. is not a normal product of the white ra,ce. the white race stands for healthy division, not unwholesome congestion; for freedom of thought and expression; for an absolutely untrammeled field in which political plants may grow according as their respective natures require. by calling the primaries “white” the people of the south may be led to feel that they are having a white man's government. as we look out upon the world to-day, it must be conceded that a cramped wisdom's call. one-party political life is not the white man's method. the germans, the french, the russians, the english the spanish—all great white nations, have more than the one political party. the south, politically speaking, is the one great group of white people that is politically one-eyed. the narrowing of the south down one form to the one political party stifles that not suf- diversity of development in which ficient. nature so evidently glories and by means of which she accomplishes her tasks. it is not enough to throw open the doors of the “white primaries” and bid all white men enter. the mischief of the situation is in the fact that there is but the one political form provided for the situa- tion, whereas one political form is no more adequate for the expression of anglo-saxon political genius than the fern is capable of showing all that nature can do in the way of flower making. nature, who carefully and with wonderful exactitude arranges the human family into sexes, seeing to it that there is everywhere about an equal proportion of men and women born, also so shapes the minds of men that they will under normal conditions fall into different schools of thought in such proportion as is necessary for healthy development. the suggestion may be offered that . side the defect here pointed out, the failure ann- - -- - - pered. to provide for all orders of minds is practically cured by drawing no rigid line between the whites by allowing well nigh all the wisdom’s call. whites who so desire to participate in the “white primaries.” but this does not provide for the free and untrammeled—mark the emphasis, play of forces. the primary will be held under the auspices of the dominant party and will be called that party's primary. the great minds, assigned by the fiat of nature to lead the opposition, robbed of the power to develop a formidable following, must, upon en- tering the primary of the party to which they are opposed, remain very quiet, and content themselves with the simple function of casting their own ballots. for if they become too active they will be seized and cast out as strangers at the feast who have not on the wedding garments. it is readily seen, then, that when all is over the political field has not been threshed to the extent of its possibilities, as one side of the political genius of the race entered the pri- mary lame, halt and blind and was required to speak in muffled tones. if alexander hamilton and thomas jefferson, the two men whose opposing and yet blended thoughts gave us this nation that has hamiltonian stability along with jeffersonian free- dom, had both lived in the south under present day conditions, and jefferson's party had been the one overshadowing party, hamilton would have been practically a nonentity, creeping into jefferson's white primary with his one vote; and the common- wealth would not have gotten the great uplift re- sulting from the sifting of things to their very founda- tions by two great minds looking at things in ways that differ fundamentally. hamilton's activity would have been the one thing needed to stir jefferson to do his best, not hamilton's one quiet vote. but ham- \ isdom’s call. ilton could not have been active with any reasonable hope of success. his very activity would have been used against him. he would have been accused of coming into jefferson's household as a stranger to seek to control the household as against the head of the house. hence we can see that in the matter of furnishing an opportunity for the exercise of all sides of the political mind of the white race the “white primary” of the one dominant party is fatallyandinherently defective. however strenuously the south may strive to have both schools of thought to thrive in the one camp it can have no more success than the keeper of a zoological garden who tries to make a fish feel at home in a well built bird’s nest. it has often been observed that the discord democratic party as constituted to- accounted day lacks cohesiveness, has not the for. faculty of attaining unto a sufficient oneness of thought to make it effective as a governing agency. evidently the reason for this is that the south has but the one political home for the white man and men who are ordained of nature to oppose each other, radically, fundamentally, are forced to try to live together in this one home. what but an uneven journey can be expected when the mule, good in his place is hitched to a racing cart with the fleetest of race horses? hitched to- gether thus, neither the mule nor the horse can show his real worth. wisdom’s call. we have cited elsewhere the fact mistakes that individuals have in themselves ratified not wells of reserve energy that are not corrected. called upon except when grave crises come. the same may be said of so- ciety. it too has a well of reserve energy upon which it draws only in trying times. there is always a considerable portion of the public that takes but little part in the preliminary skirmishes pertaining to civic affairs, knowing of no evil designs and pre- suming that all will go well without activity on its part. this group constitutes society's well of re- serve energy. it sometimes happens that the few who do take part in the preliminary affairs are cor- rupted, or are misled, or exercise decidedly bad judgment. where there are two parties, the re- serve of the opposition party, seeing how the good people in the other party were caught napping, be- stirs itself and sees to it that its party does not make a similar mistake. when the general election comes off, all the reserve forces go to the polls to defeat and teach the erring ones to be more careful in the future. but where only one party exists this reserve force merely shrugs its shoulders and proceeds to ratify the mistake at the polls. thus it is that the south must jog along without the benefit of its reserve energy, against which mediocres and weaklings can hardly stand. before the eyes of the world to-day m e - - • p en or there stands a living illustration of the rinci- - ples? harm wrought by the one-party white primary system, a widespread evil affecting gravely the south and the whole nation. f - wisdom’s call. the nashville banner, edited by one mr. bryan of the most astute of southern editors, and the said in the course of an editorial that south. the hold of hon. william jennings bryan upon the south was as much a fit subject for study for the psychologist as for the political observer. when we look into the matter of the allegiance of the white south to mr. bryan we do find much that is peculiar. advocating prin- ciples wholly at variance with the practices of the dominant element of the south, silent for years upon the matter of the white south's attitude toward the negro voter—the south's one great question—that section has nevertheless insisted upon mr. bryan's nomination for the presidency, has steadily cast her votes for him, and has just as steadily elected men to the senate and house of representatives who have with equal steadiness voted against some of mr. bryan's favorite policies. such devotion to the personal fortunes of a man is perhaps without a parallel in the history of the politics of the english speaking race in modern times. when the soci- ologists of the future take up our era and study this phenomenon let them not fail to bear in mind that the absence of a normal political life in the south caused nearly all contests to be battles between personalities, caused the southern mind to be thrown to the personal basis, which basis allows men's personalities to assume large propor- tions in their minds, to the exclusion of the considera- tion of separating principles. there are many thoughtful minds that contend that it is this personal wisdom’s call. devotion to mr. bryan—not to his principles, but to him, that is the chief factor in the way of building up a strong opposition party in the nation. the person- al politics of the south have about south american- ized it, save of course as to the armed revolutions of such frequent occurrence. pause to think what this means! endangers the vast interests of the south and of political the nation are subjected to the decrees efficiency. of a voting element that in the very nature of things, is being trained by its system of politics to move along the line of personal attachments. the tendency fully acquired, pushes forward and makes itself manifest when vast and vital interests are involved. of course it is hardly to be feared that the tendency to follow men rather than principles will at any time lead to a clash of arms in our country as in south america, but the habit of mind engendered by voting according to personal attachments will however very materially impair the political efficiency of any group that indulges it. we shall now cite a case that will clearly illustrate the vast importance of the point here made. wm. h. seward was the personal choice of the majority of the delegates to the convention that nominated abraham lincoln for the presidency. lincoln often remarked jocularly, yet truthfully, that he had the honor of being nominated by a convention that wanted “the other fellow.” when the dele- gates became convinced that seward, the man around whom their affections were entwined would in all likelihood meet defeat at the polls on account of the wisdom’s call. welfare, but in the main the speeches are all devoted to the other fellow’s failings or alleged failings. what has this to do with municipal government? who cares a continental what one candidate thinks about another, or what one candidate says about another? what have opinions of individuals to do with the expenditure of the million and seven hundred thousand dollars poured into the treasury every year by the taxpayers? the american does not seek to decry candidates for municipal offices. it does not seek to hold them up before the public as a lot of incapables. but in not one single speech delivered so far in the campaign has there been a semblance of suggestion that would help nashville or encourage the hope of wise and economical government. on the contrary the campaign so far has been one of criticism of one or the other candidates by the opposing candidate. one man works himself into a frenzy over law enforcement. his opponent, seizing the cue, en- deavors to go him one better along the same line. another candidate says his opponent, an office- holder, voted to give 'steenth ward a sewer and voted against giving another ward needed improvements. the campaign is all personal. it is self-glori- fication on the one hand, and criticism on the other. the real needs of the city are never touched. what will or will not be of advantage to the com- munity which pays the salaries these candidates are all striving to reach is not of moment. and strange and unaccountable as it may seem, the crowds which stand around the speaking booths wisdom’s call. applaud personal attacks of the one candidate upon the other and at the same time hardly ever realize, after it is all over, that none of the speakers advanced a suggestion, idea orthought that made for betterment of the city government. and the american is not interested in the success of a single candidate in this primary, but it does have a very great interestin nashville. it would like very much to see men in the field, who could point out our shortcomings as a city and suggest wise and practicable remedies, men who know the city's needs and its resources, and who can show how to cut the cloth to suit the public pocket. there is no public advantage to accrue from crimination and re- crimination. nothing tangible comes from this sort of campaigning. what the people should be told is whether a or b or c can give them proper government at the lowest possible expenditure. they want to know how their taxes can be reduced; how they are to get more streets and sewers and lights; how the police and fire service is to be im- proved. these are the things they are interested in, or should be interested in, not what tom thinks of harry or vice versa.” nashville, tennessee is the great the educational center of the south, is system. thought by many to be the most cultured city below the mason and dixon line, and yet we have the above lament from its chief organ of opinion with regard to the childish plane upon which the political life of the city is projected. the fault is not with the candidates, wisdom’s call. nor yet with the people, whom the paper chides for their tolerance of the style of campaigning indulged in, but with the system under which the south is seeking to move forward, which drags political life to the basis of personalities as surely as the law of gravitation drew that apple to the head of sir isaac newton. this is the philosophy of the southern situation and can be no more set aside than can be this same law of gravitation. when politics descends to the simple strong level of a scramble for office on the minds basis of personal friendship, men of disgusted. large minds then steer clear thereof. big ships avoid shallow streams and great souls cannot be expected to take part in these personal scrambles. thus we have another weakening influence of the situation, the driving of the larger minds away from civic affairs. an editorial pertinent to the point here raised was published recently in the memphis commercial appeal. it was headed “just suppose” and ran as follows: “over a thousand men went into and out of the business men's club yesterday and took part in the election. the candidates themselves were active all day, and their friends were active, and interest was at white heat from daylight until sundown. the leading citizens of memphis took part in this election. perhaps one-half of the taxable wealth of this city was represented by the voters. suppose the people of memphis took as much in- terest in the election of candidates for political wisdom’s call. there was an element of the pathetic seeking to in the journeying of that memphis, import tenn., delegation to washington, d.c., greatness. to invite, to urge, to persuade the hon. wm. jennings bryan to abandon his nebraska home and come to memphis. the white south boasts of the purity of its anglo-saxon blood, claims that it is the most truly anglo-saxon section of the american people. why, then, with all of this richness of blood can it not manufacture great men rather than import them? mr. bryan refused to come to memphis to reside. that city could offer to him political preferment, unswerving loyalty, social attentions galore, and an opportunity to earn millions of dollars, but under existing conditions it could not give the atmosphere that breeds greatness in men. blessed is that man who is so situated that his environments call into service all that is great within him, and accursed is that man, what- ever his food, raiment, or lineage whose environ- ments issue no such call for the powers of his soul. out in the great west where mr. bryan resides, men cannot hide behind party names, cannot be sure that the halo of some fond tradition will secure the ratification at the polls of all blunders however grave. out there men must appeal to the judgment and consciences of their fellows, must be able to meet in fair and open fight men of opposing schools of thought, who have an equal chance to do battle for their convictions. it was upon this darwinian field of political battle that mr. bryan grew to greatness. it was there that he was forced to draw upon every wisdom's call. drop of his well of reserve energy, knowing full well that not an inch of standing room would be accorded him except such as he conquered and held by the strength of his own soul. and, thus, when he was asked to leave and come to a land where the one- party practice was slowly but surely murdering the political genius of the anglo-saxon race, he answered, no. we hear much of the havoc being medioc- wrought in the south by the bollweevil, rity’s path how it bores into the boll and saps the to the life out of the plant, but it is far less throne. dangerous to the south and to the na- tion than the insect of personal politics that creeps into the minds of men and eats away that consideration of great questions that has hither- to wrought mightily in the upbuilding of anglo- saxon institutions. in a very direct manner the welfare of the entire nation is bound up in this mat- ter of producing statesmen in the south. let us suppose that the processes which we have outlined become general throughout the south and the small minds worm themselves to the front and secure seats in the house of representatives. though they fall far short of representing the south at its best, by the same methods used to get to the front they can manage to stay there. the congressmen from other sections are tried first in their own pri- maries, and later in a general election, and a sifting, and eliminating process is constantly going on, but these men from the south escape the second fiery test at least and have the greater chance to remain. by the mere lapse of time they are car- wisdom’s call. ried forward to seniority on the great committees which really shape legislation. finally in the course of time, the rest of the nation unwilling to continue one party in power for too long a period summons the opposition party to take over the reins of govern- ment. the men from the söuth who have come to the front and remained there after the manner des- cribed, by virtue of their long stay are made chair- men of the important committees and thus assume charge of the affairs of the nation. some, who have become known to the people of their respective states through their long sojourn in the house of representatives, are sent to the united states senate and there have still greater influence in the matter of regulating the affairs of the nation. so, here we have the products of the one-eyed political system of the south, men who have never been subjected to the severe tests of which society is capable, placed in charge of the affairs of the richest nation on the earth. truly, truly has the nation a vast interest in the methods that obtain in the matter of choosing her rulers. for, so surely as the rivers run to the sea, the mediocres that are allowed to flourish and crowd into the background the able minds of the south will one day come to power in the nation and work whatever harm is to be expected of weakness exalted to the place rightly due to the man of strength. - but let us take even a closer view great of the injury wrought and the dan- tasks gers to be apprehended because needed. of the present political conditions in the south. the political isolation wisdom's call. of the south, its constant ignoring at the ballot box of those issues that are dividing the people of the rest of the country, has left national affairs to the care of other sections. this means that so far as its larger political life is concerned, the south has abdicated its seat on the throne of the government and has become like unto a governed province. it is no light thing for a great people to be shorn of the privilege of dealing with the larger affairs of its existence. likening the anglo-saxon mind unto a tree whose fruit is a sadly needed food for mankind, let the south deny it sufficient soil in which to sink its roots; deny it skies in which to shoot its branches, and unfold its buds; deny it sunlight and rain upon which it may feed, and it will shrivel, become barren, become the hiss and by-word of the hungry sons of men who come looking for fruit there- on, but find none. behold the fate of the jews! they why the lost their independence, had no great jews erred. affairs of state with which to deal, and therefore gave themselves up to sharp disputations on small matters. they developed such a passion for things of small moment that the coming of christ, the great seer, found them utterly unprepared to receive him. if they had had the larger affairs of their national life with which to deal, a means for the expansion of the mind and the racial soul; if they had not had their vision narrowed by the poring over the minutiae of the ceremonial law and the inconsequential traditions of the elders, it might have been that they would have escaped the odium wisdom's call. attached to the slaying of the christ, an odium that has clung to them throughout the ages as a veritable body of death. if a system is maintained in the georgia south which hems in and slays the pays strong minds, and pushes the small penalty. ones to the front, the people, led by small, warped minds will ultimately grow narrow of soul, blind to the demands of the higher life; and in some mad moment they may do that which will stain their name throughout eternity. look at imperial georgia! not being a factor in national affairs, she failed to furnish a field broad enough for the mind of one of her sons. lacking great national issues that would interest a people inclined to vote the one way regardless of the issues involved, this son of georgia decided to put saddle and bridle upon the primitive passion of racial hate and on this ride to glory. his campaign against the negro served to generate the atmospheric condition that caused the storm clouds of racial feeling to burst upon the proud city of atlanta and wash away the city's good name which thousands of true men and women had been years in building. another baneful effect of the one- in the party system is the fact that under its hands of operation only a small proportion of the few. the citizens, even among the whites takes part in governmental affairs. a glance at the returns from the regular elections or from the “white primaries” where matters are really wisdom's call. settled reveals this fact. but if the few who do take part in elections furnish good government the question might be asked as to what harm, after all, comes of the non-participation of those who have evidently surrendered a vital interest in civic affairs. much harm in every way as will presently appear! nature has not placed in the hands of man a chart of the earth, nor of the souls of his fellowmen that discloses just where she has deposited her richest treasures or bestowed her choicest mental and spiritual gifts to men. thus it is that man has been left to stumble upon silver, gold, diamonds, radium, brilliance of intellect, greatness of soul in most unexpected quarters. in california, at whose borders the voracious, land-swallowing pacific just happened to halt we find rich deposits of gold, while carelessly rolled in the mud of far away south africa we get our most beautiful diamonds. out of little greece came the world-filling mind of aristotle; out of little corsica came the mighty napoleon; out of the solitude of kentucky woodlands, came the human giant abraham lincoln; out of the manger in humble bethlehem came the immortal christ of god. in view of the fact that we know not where nature has planted the divine fire of genius, they indeed sin against humanity who institute systems that lull great sections.of the human family to sleep. in trying to escape evils of one char- sleeping acter, lo, they who have brought to hosts. pass the condition of affairs that has put the millions of the south to sleep and left matters in the hands of the few, have wisdom’s call. - rushed into the crushing embrace of another great evil. think of the millions of whites of the south who never go to the polls; look upon this vast, sleeping army and consider how much of genius, what trans- cendent powers that will not be called into service nature has without doubt deposited in the camps of these sleepers. grave problems are bearing down upon the modern world to vexits heart sorely. who knows but that in this great sleeping army of the southern whites there may be nature's grant of power to some soul or souls which, properly harnessed could move the modern world to its goal. the cry of the age for great souls would undoubtedly find somewhat of an answer from the ranks of these sleeping hosts. “perhaps in this neglected spot is laid some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; hands that the rod of empire might have swayed or waked to ecstasy the living lyre, * * * some mute inglorious milton here may rest, some cromwell, guiltless of his country’s blood.” it should be the one great dream of society to furnish conditions for the flowering of those powers that cause men to be able to add to the comfort, the delight, the glory of the human family for all time. alas, then, for those conditions in the south that put such great numbers to sleep. the evil sustained is not confined to other the possible loss of transcendent lines statesmanship. when the man of affected. public affairs goes to sleep he takes to bed with him the poet, the sculptor, wisdom's call. the artist, the man of letters. observe that contemporaneous with great rulers and great epochs, have been the great poets of the world. it was statesmanship manifested in the lives of strong characters that quickened the mind and imagination of shakespeare and equipped it for its loftiest flights. it was a victorian jubilee, the commemoration of a great reign, that fired the soul of kipling and enabled it to sing so appealingly of the “god of our fathers known of old, lord of our far flung battle line beneath whose awful hand we hold dominion over palm and pine.” let the mind but scan the world's great literature and note how often it is the deed of the man dealing with the affairs of state that awakens the genius of the poet. it is not enough to have merely a de- mocracy in name, a theoretical government of the people by the people. to get the benefit of the quickening power of a democracy the people must take part in the management of their affairs. we have shown elsewhere how that arouse the absence of strenuous political the contests works against the summoning sleepers. to the front of the reserve powers of the mind; how that the “white pri- maries” being wholly within the one household, do not furnish room for the development of men to represent fully the two opposing schools of thought, a division that has played such a vital part in push- ing forward anglo-saxon political life; how that the w sdom's call. loss of the national power as an asset is losing to the south its ability to multiply the influence of its choice minds and to enlarge the aspirations of its youths. now, add to these weakening influences the further consideration, that so much of its civic genius goes to waste through slumber brought on as herein pointed out, we clearly see what a dreary prospect is held out to the south moving along present lines. the people of florida have awakened to the fact that immense fortunes are lurking in the everglades, only awaiting the hand that will draw off the waters. the hitherto barren lands of the western wilderness are being reclaimed, called into service, and are now blossoming and blooming as the rose. oh, statesmen of america, what are swamps and deserts compared to the great areas of sleeping and unused men? holy writinforms us that “there is a mistaken. way which seemeth right unto a man but the end thereof are the ways of death.” over and over again in the history of the world has the truth of this assertion been demon- strated. the ancient greeks, a people of strong mentality cherished the belief that their glory rested upon the maintenance of the autonomy of the several greek states. the men who advocated this idea succeeded in thoroughly fastening it upon the minds of the greeks; but they caused the fading of the glory which they sought to sustain. for, the jealous guarding of the autonomy of the several states prevented the growth of a strong federation, which, like the coming together of the early english wisdom's call. kingdoms, would have secured a permanent place among the great nations of the earth. as the devotion of the greeks to the notion of autonomy proved to be the undoing of the greeks, so will the reliance of the white south upon the one-party, “white primary” system continue to bring to pass its decay in genuine political power. son of the white south, withdraw the course that frown directed toward your fellow to take. who would think his own political thought; encourage the two-party system regardless of your political affiliations; if needs be lead off in the work of emancipating your section from the thralldom of the one-party idea. it may be that this service rendered by you, this saving of your section from political death may be your crown of eternal glory. let the word go forth in all the south that each man is to think and express his own political thought, that divisions of opinion are to be encouraged rather than discountenanced, that no form of social ostracism is to be visited upon a man because of his political convictions, that politi- cal differences are not to be carried into the business life of the community, that the press of the south as a patriotic duty is henceforth to give ample attention to the sound contentions of opposition parties. under such conditions the genius of thomas jeffer- son and of the other great giants of the south will no longer object to reincarnation and will cheerfully come back to dwell in the bosoms of the youths of the south of to-day, thus ensuring the grandeur of the times in which we live. - wisdom's call. the south. in view of the fact that freedom of political thought is an absolute necessity for the south that cannot be dispensed with except at a. tremendous cost, it behooves it to walk up to the ob- jection here raised by this governor to decide whether it is a genuine menace, whose existence justifies the continued huddling of the south in the one political party, or, on the other hand, is a scare crow, frightful in appearance but absolutely harmless withal. a glance at negro nature and the circumstances surrounding the race will go to show that the negro vote instead of being a menace to the south can become one of its most helpful assets. being mainly of the industrial class whose prosperity is bound up intimately with the prosperity of the community, the negroes would be sure to keep a keen look out and could be relied upon to discover helpful policies by means of that peculiar sharpening of the vision that comes in the school of stern necessity. on one occasion a certain southern city was in the grasp of a railway monopoly and the only hope of redemption seemed to lie in having the city to vote substantial aid to a movement that sought another outlet. there was a sufficiently large satisfied class among the whites to prevent the securing of the required three-fourth vote from the white race in favor of the proposed aid. the negroes were ap- pealed to, and seeing clearly and at once the great benefit to the industrial class of the proposed move, they supported the proposition in such numbers as to make up for the more than one-fourth defection of the whites. the whole city now rejoices in what the negro vote made possible. wisdom's call. friends. a certain well known southern novelist in one of his stories pictures the unerring judgment of an aged negro servant who could read the character of the whites so well that he became the accepted guide of the family in doubtful cases and could seal the doom of a would-be acquaintance by an ominous shake of his woolly head. an important consideration to be chasm borne in mind is the fact that the can be negro race is not by nature revengeful, bridged. thus making it possible to close the gap between the white and colored people far more easily than the long drawn out political war between the two races would seem to indicate. we submit, here is a situation that offers a good soil for the controlling forces of the south to cultivate with the full assurance that every natural element points to a harvest of beneficial results. should the white people of the south see fit to discountenance the talk about the repeal of the fifteenth amendment and proceed to address themselves to the task of es- tablishing a working relationship with the worthy element of negroes it would be readily seen that the majority sense of the negroes would be in substantial accord with the majority sense of the whites. where such was found not to be the case a campaign of edu- cation would certainly bring about the desired results. it is to be observed that the religious divisions among the whites have parallel divisions among the negroes, and in all probability political divisions among the whites would mean corresponding divisions among the negroes, so that the efforts of the whites to wisdom's call. divide and strive strenuously to arrive at the best results would not be nullified by the solid massing and blind voting of the negroes. the wise handling of the negro vote the of the south would have a salutary northern effect upon the national interests of negro and the south. when in the course of the south. events it has seemed to be the time for the opposition party in the north to come into power, when there has been a decided tendency on the part of the majority sense of the whites of the north to make a shift in the control of affairs, fear of the south on the part of the negro voters of the north has caused them to be slow in taking such steps as would give the south national power. a careful analysis of the vote in many elections will disclose the fact that the control of the house of representatives, and of the electoral college has several times been lodged in the hands that favored economic policies out of harmony with the south's desires through the negro vote solidified by fear of the whites of the south. the negroes of the north are not ground on the whole toilers in the factories. for an at present they are largely denied alliance. work as factory hands. they do not therefore come immediately within that group of laborers that are supposed to be pro- tected by the tariff as now levied. their economic interests, whatever they are, would seem to be in line with those of the consumers rather than those wisdom’s call. of the manufacturers. it is generally held that the predominant interests of the south are those of the consumer, hence the consuming negro of the north would seem to be the natural ally of the southern consumer. but an unfriendly attitude toward the negro voter of the south serves to alienate the negro voter of the north and causes the south to pay millions of tribute annually that might be retained at home. it seems to be generally conceded that the tariff might be much lower than what it is without injury to the country, and a friendly spirit between the whites of the south and the negroes of the nation would perhaps long since have given enough congressmen favorable to the consumer's viewpoint to have insured the desired result. those who refuse to grapple with the the question of trying to find a working amend- basis with the worthy negro in political nnent matters, who prefer to continue the secure. policy of slowly murdering, through the one-party system, the political genius of the south in the hope that time will bring about the abrogation of the fifteenth amendment to the constitution, are hardly wise. president taft, representing the conservative thought of the nation, the element that believes more in evolution and development than in legislation as an adjusting force, says that the fifteenth amendment never will be repealed and ought not to be repealed. those influences in the north which have uniformly pleaded for the largest sympathy and trust for the wisdom's call. south, which strenuously opposed federal inter- ference in the matter of enforcing the fifteenth amendment are still insistent that the amendment abide in the federal constitution as the ideal toward which the nation is to work. these particular forces have the ascendency in the nation to-day. they urge that the task of squaring the life of the south with the federal constitution be left to the better element of southern whites, and they differ from those who would enforce the amendment only as to the best method to finally attain the end of having that amendment represent the actual conduct of the nation. to obtain the abrogation of the fifteenth amendment would involve the absolute overturning of the ideals of the north and the west, a total revulsion against democracy in general, the flowering in those sections of the caste spirit. the arguments needed to overturn the amendment would have to be fundamental in character and would carry down far more than the negro. no such general upsetting of ideals may be expected. the general drift is all the other way. nor need it be expected that the supreme court of the united states will run counter to the ideals of the nation as reflected in the constitution and in the enlightened public sentiment of the day. thus it is that the white south is destined to a long dreary wait if it is to sit by the nation's highway waiting for its ideals to be overturned. wisdom’s call. during this period will the mediocre roll call have so fixed his spirit upon the south of the fu- as to have fully snuffed out its political ture. genius, leaving it, like greece, the at- tenuated shadow of its former self? shall the south inherit all and bequeath nothing? from across the waters there have come out of the ancestral home of the anglo-saxon, burke and pitt, fox and disraeli, and hosts of others to inspire the youth of to-day. out of the loins of the south of the past sprang washington and jefferson, marshall, jackson and calhoun, fixed stars in the firmament of american statesmanship. but all of this is the output of the blood of the past. shall the south of to-day not add to the galaxy? in the roll call of the future, when our decade is reached and the names of our contributions to the ranks of the immortals are called for, will there be an oppressive silence to last throughout the eternal ages? shall we have no great names to keep our section and our era alive in history? it is not enough for the whites of the south simply to fill the house of representatives and the senate at washington with “just anybody,” for the togas of intellectual giants may be tightly wrapped about the bodies of intellectual pigmies. the south should divide; should have strenuous. battlefields which will summon to the front all the latent qualities of mind and soul. the negroes are no necessary menace. their majority sense can be appealed to in such a way as to yield a rich harvest to the common good. the cry of the hour, so far as the higher interests of the south are concerned is wisdom's call. this, is simply this: “give us men to match our mountains, give us men to match our plains, men with empires in their purpose and new eras in their brains.” let the white people of the south meet half-way the efforts of the worthy negroes to influence the political thought of their race that the better ele- ments of the two races may be found working healthily for the common good. such a consum- mation is indeed immeasurably better than the delivery of the throat of the political genius of the south into the hands of the strangling one-party system which according to the south's highest thought, leaves that genius, bleeding, gasping, dying upon the threshold of the period of the world's greatest enlightenment. wisdom’s call. as an illustration of the wide gulf the that can separate the respective meth- irish. ods employed by races when acting as aggregations, we call attention to the wide difference between the methods employed by the irish and those employed by the japanese. an irishman who in our day has attained unto an international reputation as a writer and student of irish affairs once said in the columns of the new york independent that the irish people would never obtain home rule for their country by means of a resort to arms, giving as a basis for his assertion the alleged fact that the irish people were so lacking in the quality of secretiveness that their leaders did not dare to adopt the plan of storing away arms from year to year, by which means alone they could hope to secure the equipment necessary to successfully cope with england upon the field of battle. he as- serted that the secret preparations which were car- ried on by the boers in south africa, which finally enabled that small body of people to surprise the world and put england to the supreme test could not have been carried on among irishmen because of the impulsive, out-spoken, non-secretive trait in irish character. as a result of the alleged presence of this trait in irish character, the irish leaders, so says our authority, have settled upon agitation as the fixed method of striving to advance ireland's interests; and thus the irish seek to keep the world stirred by their continuous outcry. so ireland is wisdom's call. the world's “* * * infant crying in the night, an infant crying for the light, and with no language but a cry.” but it cannot be denied that the irish by their chosen method have been able to push forward their cause very materially. the very opposite of the irish as the jap- pictured by this eminent irishman are an esee the japanese who are a secretive people. knowing themselves to possess this trait, and knowing how much they could make it count in their favor, the japanese were willing to engage in that life and death struggle with the rus- sians. one talkative, indiscreet jap located in the inner circle of japanese affairs could have affected very easily the whole course of the russo-japanese war. if a bare hint as to japan's initial move had but drifted out of those inner circles the russians would have been prepared for that night attack made before the issuance of the declaration of war, which attack carried disaster to the russian navy and gave to japan immediate mastery of the seas bordering the seat of trouble. without this mastery japan would have been woefully handicapped in the matter of transporting her soldiers across the waters to the scene of conflict. not only was secretiveness a factor in this initial move, but it played its part throughout the entire struggle. with the whole world asking with bated breath as to the whereabouts of togo's fleet, not one word of enlightenment came out of the wisdom’s call. silent east until the news flashed the world around that the wily japanese admiral had waylaid and annihilated the last great branch of the russian navy. here we have a marked contrast, the irish discarding secrecy altogether, while the japanese relied upon it as the pivot around which their policy and their destiny revolved. the white people of the south are the anglo- well pleased with their anglo-saxon . saxon tem-temperament, the mental and spiritual perament. constitution of their racial soul. they rejoice in the fact that there is written in the blood of the anglo-saxon race those elements which have permitted the flowering of the great civilization of that race. this blood has proven susceptible of sustaining a civilization based upon love of country, deep reverence for woman, love of home, hatred of tyranny, freedom of the individual, the inviolability of the plighted word, the faculty for dropping all internal differences and presenting a united front to a common foe. with it, blood is thicker than water. it does not swap horses when crossing a stream. not for a thousand years per- haps has the race voted an administration out of power during a war. it has a proven capacity for social efficiency, for the successful conduct of great governmental affairs with millions of free men working together without being in each other's way. this blood harbors a “restless discontented, burn- ing, striving energy” that insures the onward march of its civilization in spite of all obstacles of whatever nature thrust athwart its pathway. this wisdom's call. passing an ordinance of secession would make slav- ery secure; it paved the way for immediate emanci- pation. there has arisen in the south a set of men who have proclaimed themselves the special guar- dians of the purity of anglo-saxon blood, and they bestir themselves in season and out of season in search of ways and means to make sure that negro blood does not flow across the line into the veins of the white race. permit us to demonstrate how that this element constitutes the greatest of all the forces working for the mixing of the blood of the two races. as the question is grave and should be treated funda- mentally, bear with us, though for a time it may appear that we have left the subject. we shall re- turn. - - as we contemplate the workings nature's of nature, one of the most striking methods. facts that everywhere presents itself for our consideration is the diligence with which she seeks to equip her creatures so that they will be fully able to meet whatever conditions of life are to confront them. observe how the straw- berry, the grain of corn, and the hickory nut differ among themselves. nature, seeing that the career of the strawberry was to come to a close while the weather is yet warm, gave to it no covering. the grain of corn, having a longer journey to pursue, being very likely to encounter one jack frost ere the close of its pilgrimage, was duly provided with a shuck for a shield. after the fading and the falling of the leaves, after the summer and autumn have bidden the earth adieu and left it in the clasp of wisdom's call. advance toward the black complexion, preserved it and transmitted it in augmented form, on and on until a thoroughly black race was developed. but in the work of retracing her steps if she so desires, nature has a far better start. as a result of conditions existing in the days of slavery numerous persons are to be found who have light complexions but are classed as negroes. nature ever keeps under her jurisdiction the marital in- stinct which fact has begotten the aphorism, “there is no accounting for tastes.” taking charge of the marrying within the negro race, nature can see to it that the dark man and the dark woman take no marked interest in each other. it can incline the dark man to admire the woman of light complexion, and can prepare that woman to return the affections of the dark man. the same can be done for the dark woman and the man of light complexion. by regulating marriages on this wise, nature can see to it that the thoroughly dark complexion is eliminated. when a child is born in a family where there is one parent dark, nature can see to it that its tastes run in the direction of the lighter complexion, and that child's marriage can be so shaped as to continue the race toward the lighter complexion instead of returning in the di- rection of the darker parent. the process here outlined can go on until no one will be able to tell just where the negro race ends and the white race begins. the next step would be the blending of the two races and the blood of the millions of negroes of the south @ - -- irº - - -- sn - - --- - @ o ni ( @ n º ſº ni ſº ni ( @ , ni ( @ ) ( @)-- ( ©) - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - © n \ n vi. southern statesmanship and the negro woman. | :sn :snzºsn :snížsn :sn :sn :sn :sn :s ©(@@@@@@@@@) wisdom's call. cule and contempt when she tries to go to court but it may also be said that the white man who aspires to a relationship with her that means and can only mean in its larger consequences the whitening of the negro race and the ultimate blending of the blood of the two races, has it in his power to utilize the mob to wreak vengeance upon her for daring to repulse his advances. of course he could not openly avow such a basis for his grievance and gain support from the more respectable classes, but he could easily put forward some other ground for complaint, and, as a mob is not a judicial body that carefully sifts statements and searches for motives, he could in this way wreak vengeance upon the colored woman. permit us just here to cite a case woman that will clearly illustrate how the mob terrorized. can be called into action to chastise the colored woman because of her hav- ing repulsed the advances of a white man. there lived in one of the smaller towns of the south a mulatto woman of high standing among both the white and colored people. her husband enjoyed the good will of the whites to a marked degree and mainly through their influence held the position of principal of the colored school of the town. one day the colored woman in question had occasion to enter a white man’s clothing store for the purpose of making a few purchases. the proprietor waited on her and while so doing sought to converse with her in a familiar sort of way, calling her flatly by her given name. she had heard that he had said that he was desirous of the friendship of some nice-looking wisdom's call. colored woman, and perceived that he was trying to lay the foundation for improper advances toward her. when he leaned over to talk to her in an offen- sive manner, she said, “i would rather that you would not talk to me at all. just sell me the goods and let me go.” that afternoon the white man accosted this woman's husband and told him that he must send his wife to him to apologize or else he would wreak vengeance upon him. later, on hearing that the colored woman had said that she would never again set foot in his store this white man went to her place of business, ordered her to cease all criticism of himself, insisted that she had to pay his store another visit, and threatened to organize a midnight mob for the purpose of taking her out at night and severely whipping her. the affair between this white man and colored woman be- came known to the whites of the town and he succeed- edin lining up the white people on his side by stating that the trouble was wholly due to the desire of this woman to be called mrs. had the mob been formed the rallying cry, of course, would have been to keep a “smart” colored woman in her place, whereas she would have been receiving punishment for not having become the mother, perhaps, of a child which under the circumstances would have been so light of complexion as to be able to easily carry its share of negro blood into the white race. in a certain community in one of our preacher southern states some negro girls who driven out. had been led astray by white men listened to a sermon from the negro pastor, which caused them to discard their alliances. wisdom’s call. the disadvantage of the colored woman, but it is needed now and then to be used for the protection of the white woman, and therefore must be preserved even if it is diverted from time to time from the main purpose for which it is retained.” far from aiding the white woman the mob works injury to her cause. its methods often arouse the germs of evil in the bosoms of depraved negroes and the result is an increase of the very offense of which com- plaint is made. he is not a wise friend to the white woman who indulges in practices that brutalize and inflame the minds of beings by whom she is sur- rounded and among whom she must move. the interests of the white woman call for a decrease in savagery, not its increase. nor is this stubborn fact altered in the slightest by the other fact that the white mob has it in its power to kill with torture every savage that appears, for all the torture inflicted can not recall from the victim her horrible expe- riences. why then cause an increase of victims by increasing savagery? no, the mob is no help to the cause of the white woman. on the contrary the white woman’s white wom- most vital interests are bound up in an’s true the matter of protecting the colored interests. woman. whenever a white man takes up his abode in the negro race in mari- tal relationship it is some white woman's loss. he either fails to wed a white woman or if wedded, so divides his attention as to be far removed from what would be termed an ideal husband. thousands of unwedded white women in the south have been wisdom's call. anglo-saxondom, may it be hers to succeed in planting deep in the bosoms of her sons a feeling of respect for the colored woman, and with the re- straining influence of respect as a factor in the situa- tion the misalliances will assuredly be fewer in num- ber. as we view the matter, every in- sacred terest of the white race, if its one pas- atmos— sionate dream of an unmixed race is to be phere. fulfilled calls for the protection of the negro woman. she should be encouraged to speak out. the courts of the land should be thrown wide for her protection. she should not be left alone in her struggle to save her daughter from the wooer of the other race. the mob should be suppressed. the entire white south looking out for the ultimate purity of its own blood should in every way possible sound the slogan that the colored woman must have as sacred an atmosphere to sur- round her and her daughters as the best civiliza- tion affords. the colored woman is entitled to re- spect and protection in her own right, but if such a plea should fall on deaf ears surely the white south's own interests will be heard as they too cry aloud for the protection of the colored woman. chapter vii. how to keep the colored race from being a burden. - “why kill the hen that lays the gold- is crime en egg? since the negroes who are profitable? sent to the penitentiaries in the south by the thousands annually are so farmed out that they produce a handsome revenue for the state treasuries why should cool-headed business men of the white race be concerned about reducing the number of negro criminals? ought sensible men shed tears when, people of their own volition, break the law and are thenceforth put to work in such a manner as to reduce the tax rate?” but is the negro criminal a hen laying a golden egg? when all the facts are in, is the criminal in reality an asset, a paying institution? much depends upon what those who cost of are now shaping the destiny of the crime. south think on this subject. the first step toward a life of crime is a life of idleness. crime and steady employment are sometimes found in each other's company, but as ( ) wisdom’s call. a rule they are not very good mates. in order that he may have ample time and the very best oppor- tunities to plan and to execute his crimes, the man who decides to follow a life of crime, usually with- draws himself from honorable gainful occupations. being unemployed he can move about at will and is under no obligations to account to any one as to his whereabouts. his incoming and outgoing are not subject to the supervision of an employer. this idleness on the part of the criminal class, the idleness which precedes incarceration and is of an extensive and ever-present character, subtracts just that much from the stock of useful things that should be produced by the human race in its efforts to maintain itself. for the world to fare well, it requires the world to take care of the world; else some one is pulling a double load. when some are drones, it can only mean more toil for the toilers. multiply what is reasonably expected of the average man, by the number of idle, uncaught criminals now roaming the earth and you have the enormous loss that society is sustaining through their failure to engage in honorable pursuits. even those crimi- nals now in prison and at work, must have charged against them the periods of idleness and consequent loss to society that preceded their capture and in- carceration. not only does society suffer a negative loss through the failure of those gravitating toward the prisons to be producers, but the loss is also posi- tive in that the criminals, though not at work eat food and wear clothes produced by others, and are thus a drain on others. in the loss sustained by s wisdom's call. the people, because of the existence of the criminal class. such is the cost of the criminal in the negro general. let us glance now at the criminal. special opportunities of the negro criminal to pile up costs on society. since the day on which nathan stood before david to tell him of a wrong that had been committed in the latter's kingdom, (and before that day as weli) men have had a habit of viewing the sins of others with a greater degree of horror than that with which they contemplate their own. as sin draws nigh to a man's own door, through some magic process it sheds a portion of its hideousness, so that the man simply laments in himself that which he violently denounces in others. thus the white people of the south have an extra vial of wrath for the negro criminal, and this criminal has it in his power to uncork this extra vial. it is the function of civilization to lull to sleep the primitive passions of men; to keep securely tethered those powerful giants of wickedness yet found in the human bosom; to give to mankind a life of law and order. through toil and sorrow and the untimely death of countless thousands a measure of social order has been evolved, the giant passions subdued. but the perpetration of some peculiarly revolting crime by a negro often gives these giants an inspiration that enables them to break their bands and make wild rushes through earth. once upon a rampage, they batter down the fabric of the law, trample under foot the most sacred usages of civilization, and clearly reveal how much wisdom's call. hope, that kept your feet from going too far afield, that aided you to keep the path that has led you up to renown? the negro youth is human. he must have his ambition quickened; must have goals for which to strive; must have incentives to nerve him to breast unyieldingly the waves of temptations that dash against him; must hear a sound up yonder in the heavens of hope so charming as to drown the cry of the baser passions arising from the depth and im- ploring him to descend. º that negro playmate of yours who romped and wrestled and played marbles with you; who cheered you with his sunny laugh and the genial warmth of his nature; who, alas as a man committed that awful crime, which shocked the world and brought down upon his head the wrath of multitudes that wrecked your law in seeking to be rid of him—that man might have been so different if the white south had not denied to him all hope of rising in the sphere of civic duty! let the white south in every community take up the matter of judiciously honoring worthy colored men. the hon. wm. h. taft, trusting to an the goodness of heart of the white appeal. south, while insisting upon the justice of giving recognition to worthy ne- groes, yet left the matter to the white south, express- ing the hope that with the approval of that element of the population, the needs of the negro in this di- rection may ultimately be met in a larger degree than was formerly the case. may it come to pass that the white south shall fully realize that the negro ... -- } n o, irº -- - si ſº si -- - --- -- - - -- -- -- - , :sn n : silº n n :sn n sn ©(@@@@@@@@@) - - - - - - - - -- -- - - - - - - - - - - viii. the white man’s equity in negro education. ( ) ( ) ( ) (g) chapter viii. the white man's equity in negro education. the european mind is of an in- skeptical quiring turn, very much disposed to europe. examine with great care reputed hap- penings that are ascribed to supernat- ural agencies. while asia is the birthplace of all the great religions, europe has furnished all the great criticisms of them. peter preaching to jews, children of asia, proclaimed the resurrection of christ from the dead, and at the close of his sermon had three thousand persons asking for baptism. paul, preaching to greeks–europeans, was making progress it seems, until he mentioned the resur- rection, whereupon the greek mind revolted, mocked him and called for further explanation. prying is the abiding mood of the european mind, and it demands a look at the foundation stones of its temple of faith, even though the priest thereof stands in the doorway threatening death, and asserting that the proposed look at the foundation will assuredly over-turn the temple. sacred veils are ruthlessly torn from the face of every ( ) wisdom’s call. these african women told the white children of god, of the devil, of hell and its lurid flames, of the signs and wonders of the bible; told of those things by means of the solemn look, the quavering voice, the subdued whisper of awe; told the children with that impressiveness which can be found only where there is full faith on the part of him who tells. generation after generation of white children passed through this crucible. it is thus that the mind of the white south has been so wrought upon that it now has the capacity to absorb the teachings of the bible concerning supernatural oc- currences while other minds of european extraction are “storm swept and tempest tossed.” here is a matter of the deepest what it possible significance, fraught with a means. lesson so very plain that he who runs may read. nothing strikes deeper than the fundamental religious bent of the mind of a race, and yet we here have this bent of the white south taken in charge and affected in a way that attracts the marked attention of the world; for the orthodoxy of the south is known and spoken of by all men. out of the great fact here cited there comes a lesson of the utmost clearness, that the white people of the south cannot afford for their own sakes to be indifferent to the kind of life that flourishes near them. if white people sprang into the world fully matured the matter might not be so serious; but whatever the attainments of the race, each generation has to come into the world absolutely wisdom's call. in the masses of the negro race, written itself into the natures of the southern whites? in the besse- mer alabama mines, the superstition obtains among the negro miners to the effect that it is the most un- lucky thing in the world for a woman to go into the mines, and it is said that the white officials and employees connected with the mines have become very largely imbued with the same superstitious belief. shortly after having learned of the super- stition concerning the going of women into the mines, the writer had occasion to go into the mining district where the superstition is said to prevail. meeting a colored man who was a miner of that district we asked him about the existence of the superstition and then put to him the following question: “do the white men connected with the mines fear the entering of women into the mines?” with not the faintest hint of the theory that was at work in our mind, and without an instant’s hesitation, the young man said: “the foreign white men such as scotchmen and frenchmen who work in the mines do not have the superstition but the native white men, the southerners, do.” not long since a southern educator result of instituted an investigation of a certain an investi- southern university to find out to gation. what extent the students, all white, were superstitious. the following summary of his findings appeared in one of the leading daily newspapers of the state of mississippi: “one boy, for example, expressed his firm belief that if he picked his teeth with a splinter taken from - chapter ix. the spirit of a people. it is a matter of common knowledge physical that the environments of a people, the environ- forces of nature, such as the soil, the nnents. sea and the sun, the animal and the vegetable life all have their influence in shaping the habits, temperament and character, and therefore the destiny of that people. a familiar yet striking illustration of the powerful influence of environment upon the fortunes of respective peoples is the fact that the invigorating climate of the temperate zone has given to the men thereof a zest for the duties of life which enables them to become the rulers of those who dwell in the torrid zone where men's energies are sapped by the fierce rays of a blazing sun. a man sitting astride the equator, with a tropical sun beating upon his head, would perhaps hardly have the energy to read, much less to write a “paradise lost.” another formative, environing in- political fluence operating strongly upon a environ- people is the question of the relation- ments. ship of that people toward its neighbor. the mental attitude that the neighbor ( ) wisdom’s call. of his possessions and for a season placed in charge of his former slaves. where in all of human history has there been a case of a greater miscalculation than that which the white south made, and to what may it be ascribed, but to the fact that the negro was the southern white child’s environment and furnished food for the development of an exaggerated notion of its prowess, without which notion the civil war would never have been invited? not only did the yielding negro as an prolonged environing influence bring on the the war, but as such an influence he pro- struggle. longed the struggle and made it the more bloody. one of the facts that stands out most conspicuously with reference to the civil war is the facility with which the south furn- ished its armies with splendid commanders. the institution of slavery had given to the southerners the habit of command. the northerners, going to the war out of an industrial democracy, had to acquire step by step, the art of handling men, whereas with the southerner it was often an inheritance, handed down from father to son and accentuated through the constant exercise of lordship over slaves. when therefore, we behold the southern commanders marshalling their poorly equipped battle lines against their better fed, better equipped and far more numerous foes; as we see the skill of these confederate officers as commanders of men making up for the disparity of numbers; as we think of the length of the titanic struggle and glance around at the hundreds of thousands of graves, we must wisdom's call. admit the importance of the part played by the negro as a silent human environment when as a slave he furnished the material upon which the white south developed and sharpened its instinct for the exercise of executive ability in the matter of handling men. so much for the past. but the affecting negro is still here as a silent environing spirits. influence of great importance as will presently appear. it is very evident to all observers that while the south has in it men and women of an intensely vigorous spirit who have builded a new and prosperous empire upon the ruins of the former south which the war so largely des- troyed, there are also present in its life millions of dull, unaspiring, listless, spiritless whites who plan no great things for themselves nor yet for their children after them. philanthropists, sociologists and sundry classes of men and women have made a study of this un- aspiring element of whites in an effort to account for its utter lack of spirit. let us join them in the search. one of the great, all pervasive forces what spurs at work in the hearts of men, causing men on. them to exert themselves, is the desire to attain unto a sense of station, to reach that state of mind where they can feel that they are something when compared with something else, that they are beyond some point which all men would be glad to pass. the effort of the child to stand at the head of its class, the quest of the student of maturer years for degrees, the strivings of rich men for s wisdom’s call. the races they feel it incumbent upon themselves to keep strengthened the spiritual barriers between the two races. for the furtherance of this end there has been a careful cultivation of certain modes of thought with regard to the negro race. the more refined and cultivated among the whites confine their efforts to the cultivation of the thought that there is a difference between the races and rely upon the stressing of the fact of difference to keep each race in a distinct sphere. this thought of difference is what is used in the matter of having girls and boys move in different spheres. the editor of the new york independent, mr. william hayes ward, an un- compromising champion of the rights of the negro, in setting forth his attitude toward the intermarriage of the two races, stated that he would not desire a child of his to marry a negro, and stated that he would base his objections to his child, not on the ground of superiority, but upon that of difference. when the question of japanese immigration was up for discussion in congress a distinguished con- gressman from the south asserted that the influx of japanese was opposed, not because they were in- ferior, but because they were different from the american people. but some of the white people of the wrong south, especially a certain type of method politicians, have seen fit to make use of employed. the thought of superiority as an aid to the thought of difference. the back- ward element among the whites has it sung into wisdom’s call. the white man, does there not lurk harm for the spirit of the white race? let us here quote the words of the late chancellor hill, of the university of georgia: “the thing which the south cannot afford in its relation to the negro race is injustice; all history teaches that injustice injures and deteriorates the individual or nation that practices it, while on the other hand, it develops and strengthens the race upon which it is inflicted.” the white people of the south out- free yet number the negroes and hold the not free. political power in their own hands. our form of government permits a large measure of local self government. the su- preme court and the congress of the united states have ever been slow to interfere with the white south in the matter of the adjustment of the relations between the races, not exercising such powers as clearly belong to them under the constitution. in view of these facts the white people of the south are largely free to build up whatever sort of system they may desire. but be it known unto them that the high court of things eternal has decreed that all systems of caste shall finally wither the souls of the men that in- stitute them; that an unjust deed eventually breeds and hands back an unjust heart; that, in so far as the white people of the south, by legislative enact- ment or in the execution of the laws, practice dis- crimination supposedly in the white man's favor, and seek to lift him from the sphere of the operation of the law of the survival of the fittest, to that ex- tent they shall write lethargy, stupor, distemper in the hearts of millions of their kind. wisdom's call, in view of the mighty deeds done spiritual in the various climes of earth in the restless- years that have gone; in view of the ness a strenuous strivings of men of every vital need. kindred, tribe and tongue in this great age of the world, if the white south would hold its own, would develop a social body able to compete with the north, with france, with england and with germany, it must have that spiritual restlessness, that burning discontent which located in the bosom of the units of the anglo- saxon race has heretofore pushed that race forward into its present position of world-wide influence. but it cannot have the presence of this mighty influence, cannot have it, so long as there hangs over southern skies the dark shadow of discrimination distilling its poisonous dews over the souls of men, giving unto them a sense of satisfaction, intense in nature, causing millions to sit down spiritually, and quietly take their ease when they should be on the alert grappling with the great problems of human society. - - * º ~. º, ** º ------- º - -- - - university of california southern regional library facility hilgard avenue, los angeles, ca - r —- return this material to the library ." - from which it was borrowed. . . *-- -- gº. ~ * ºn º ºmm; º - at iibrary) º - a-v) = # = e º s > -- ~ s = - c. tº . . . ºr ºs - % dv) ^ - b e r k e l e y library university of california o c e e m c r a e, t e x as ocee mcrae, texas a novel of passion, petroleum and politics in the pecos river valley by ira lunan ferguson % exposition press new york loan stack z/€ g exposition press inc., park ave. south, new york , n.y. f i r s t e d i t i o n © by ira lunan ferguson. all rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form, except for short quotations in critical essays and reviews. manufactured in the united states of america. ii iii iv vii viii ix c o n t e n t s “you r wife is married to another man!” a new life—a new name flood of black gold senora juanita villaronga intergroup relations water politics sophisticates abroad housewarming his excellency, the governor o c e e m c r a e, t e x as c h a p t e r i "your wife is married to another manl" “hey, soldier | sergeant! hey there, sergeant!” the conductor urged as he shook the sleeping man, a soldier with the stripes of a master sergeant on his sleeves. smiling as he slowly opened his eyes, mike mumbled, “hi there, yourself.” “we'll be in lake couteau in about ten minutes,” and looking at his watch the conductor added, “due there at : , and we're right on time.” “thanks, bud.” the soldier waved at the conductor as he moved on. then mike straightened his lanky frame, stood up, stretching and yawning. he looked out of the wide coach window into the inky blackness of the minnesota night through which the powerful diesel engine of this chicago, milwaukee and st. paul railroad train thundered. the conductor was returning from the next coach. “won't be long now, soldier. pretty late at night to be getting home, isn't it? your folks coming to meet you? this is only a whistle stop for this train, you know. and the station agent locks up at : right after the last local in from the twin cities.” “no, i don't think anyone will meet me. i didn't tell them i was coming. sort of a surprise,” mike replied. “home on leave?” “better than that. i was just separated from the service. got in san francisco three days ago from japan.” “i see you've really been in the thick of things,” observed the conductor, pointing to the decorations on mike's chest. “must have been away a long time to accumulate all of those.” ocee mcrae, texas “too long,” mike mused almost to himself as the train eased to a smooth stop at the little station, ninety-four miles from min- neapolis. he jumped down from the train, swinging his duffel bag from his shoulder to the ground. the conductor waved, and mike returned the wave with a wide salute, the train moved off, gathered speed, and was soon lost to view in the black distance. mike looked about him. the little station was closed, as the conductor had told him, but there was a single light on a pole at the end of the platform. by that light he made out a street sign, “main,” and from it took his bearings. it had been way back in when he last stood on this plaform. he was then on his last furlough before being shipped overseas, and emmie, his brand- new wife of five weeks, was bidding him good-bye. . . . he turned up poplar street, and was soon knocking on a door, gently at first, then more vigorously. “maybe the folks are away on a trip . . .” but a cat sidled up against his trousers just as an upstairs window was raised and a sleepy voice asked, “who is it?” “it’s me, mom olson, mike. mike gulbranson, emmie's hus- band.” “dear heavenly father l’” she exclaimed. “i’ll be right down.” in a few seconds she was opening the front door to let him in. “mike, is it really you, son? let me look at you. yes, it's emmie's mike, all right. poppa, it's mike!” she reached for mike's hand, then, reconsidering, she kissed him as her husband came in to grip the soldier's hand and pat him on the back. “sit down, mike,” mom olson said. “this is awful. i mean . . . well, you see . . .” and she was overtaken by uncontrollable weeping. “mom!” chided her husband. “you don't want the boy to think you are sorry he is alive!” “heavenly father, no! you know better than that. it's only that . . . i am so mixed up, everything is so mixed up, i don't know what to say....” “now, mom,” mike soothed, “i’m not going to cause any trouble. i just wanted to find out for myself, to see if everything is all right with emmie.” “your wife is married to another man!” “but she's married to another man! they have a baby and are living in pennsylvania....” “yes, i know. soon after i was released from prisoner of war camp in germany, back in , a buddy of mine who came back to minneapolis checked down here somehow and found out for me that she had married two or three months before and moved east. but i just had to find out how it happened.” “mike, as god is our witness, i swear emmie was faithful. . . . oh, if we had only known sooner, years sooner, why she hadn't received your letters....” “you mean she didn't receive any of my letters? why, mom, i wrote and wrote and wrote, with not a word from her. my buddy couldn't find out why she hadn't written all those years. i don't mean while i was a prisoner of war, but before that, from the time i left the states; why, that was over a year, and i wrote regularly and often. i just don't understand!” “mike,” mr. olson said, “mrs. lindgren intercepted all of your letters except the first few, so emmie didn't receive any of them.” “so that's why she didn't write! but who's mrs. lindgren? what would she want to do that for when did you find out about it? what did you do to her?” mike demanded in mixed anger and confusion. º “mrs. lindgren was the postmistress here, son,” mom olson told him. “you don't remember meeting her, i know, mike, but she was the widow who ran the grocery store where the post office used to be. our children, ralph and emmie, and this woman's daughter, lou, all grew up together, went to school together, every- thing. and it was just about understood that lou and our ralph would marry some day. well, soon after ralph was drafted—that was just about the time you and emmie were married—he married another girl, the sweetest little girl you could imagine. he met her while he was at fort dix in new jersey. we didn't see her until after ralph was overseas, and we went to see their baby. ralph came back three years ago, and they have the loveliest little home. ... but as i was telling you, lou had always looked forward to marrying ralph, and she was awfully upset when he married some- one else. she went to pieces completely, they say, and mrs. lind- ocee mcrae, texas gren had to send her away to some institution. she never did recover her mind, it seems.” “but i don't see what that has to do with emmie and me,” mike interrupted impatiently. “it doesn't make any kind of sense, i know, but mrs. lindgren blamed ralph for her daughter's breakdown. and she wouldn't even speak to pop or emmie or me, just snarl sort of, whenever she saw us, cursing under her breath. and she would say the most vicious things to our neighbors about us....” mom began crying again. “oh, so that's it! she destroyed all your mail out of spite l" mike said. “yes,” pop olson said, “all of the mail from you. she knew that would hurt emmie—and mom and me too. and it did.” mom olson regained her composure and continued. “it was last december. mrs. lindgren had been sick in bed for a few days —that wasn't unusual, she had been sick off and on these last years. but what was unusual was that this time she sent for me, wrote me saying she was afraid the end was near, and she wanted to give me a message. mike, with dad and me there at her bedside, she confessed she had sworn vengeance on us—the whole family. but she'd been sly. she knew we would suspect her if she destroyed all of our mail, so she chose yours only. she said she wanted us to suffer a taste of the anguish she blamed us for causing her by let- ting ralph jilt her daughter the way she said he did.” at length mike broke the silence. “that's a very serious of— fense, tampering with the united states mail. did you have her prosecuted?” “the lord took it out of our hands, mike. she died in pain that night,” mrs. olson whispered between sobs. “that's too bad, but it didn't help us any. look at what she did to all of our lives,” mike said. “heartaches! mike, you can't know how emmie grieved—first because she didn't hear from you, and then when the telegram came from the war department telling her you were missing in action. son, you have no idea what that child went through. . . . it was i who insisted that she go to minneapolis and find work, just to help ocee mcrae, texas call her sometime tomorrow, or write to her...” pop olson began. “no, i'd rather see her, make sure she is all right, and explain about the letters. then i'll come back to minneapolis, maybe, and look around for a job.” at length his mother-in-law said tenderly, “yes, i guess the best thing for you to do is to go see her and straighten everything out. here, i’d better give you her address right now, son. she lives in a town called pittsville. i’ll write it all down for you.” mike merely glanced at the slip of paper before shoving it into a pocket. “let’s give the poor boy something to eat,” mom olson said. “he must be starved. why don't you men come along with me? it'll only take a few minutes to fry eggs and bacon.” with his arm on mike's shoulder as they followed mrs. olson, pop asked, “where did you come from, son, new york or cali- fornia?” “san francisco. came in from japan. got in minneapolis at noon yesterday. tried to look up a few fellows i knew, but couldn't find them. i fell asleep in the station and missed the seven o'clock train, so i had to wait for the : .” “here, son, sit at the table. dad, take the boy's coat.” “sure. then i can look at all those decorations. you must have given those germans a fit before they got you, mike! what's this one?” he asked, pointing to one of the ribbons. “that one is the eto ribbon with two battle stars. this one is a good conduct ribbon. this one is the purple heart; this is from the european occupation. here's my american defense medal, and this is the silver star,” mike explained, and continued, “but you should see some of my buddies. some of them have twice as many as i have.” “don’t be modest, son. you were a brave soldier, i can see that. i heard about that silver star for heroism over and above the call of duty. you don't fool me,” his father-in-law reproved him, smiling. mrs. olson was placing food before him. “eat, son,” she urged. she sat down across the table and watched him as he ate. she poured her husband a cup of coffee. “you’ve filled out, mike, ocee mcrae, texas “that's fine, but remember what i said, and write if we can help. write us anyway, let us know how you are getting along where you are.” mom kissed him good-bye, pop hugged him, and he left for the station, where he bought a ticket for pittsburgh via minneapo- lis. in minneapolis he had time to walk around the city, have luncheon, and see a movie. late that evening, he took the train for chicago, and was in pittsburgh the next day. after spending that night in pittsburgh, the next morning he did as pop had advised, taking a bus for pittsville, and found himself in a pretty little town on the punxutawney river. the olsons had told him that emmie was now mrs. lawrence whittaker, that her husband was manager of a hardware store, and they had a child sixteen months old—a little girl who was now walking and talking. mom had also said that emmie worked with her husband in the store, which was on the corner of lom- bard and spruce streets, just one block from their home. mike left the bus station with his duffel bag, and searched until he found a pleasant hotel at which he took a room. he washed up and then went out to find the whittakers’ hardware store. he found it. but decided he wanted to see emmie alone rather than going into the store while she and her husband were there. by asking around, he learned that emmie usually left the store around four o'clock to go home, apparently to prepare dinner, taking the little girl with her. waiting across the street at about four o'clock, he saw her come out. she looked lovely—more beautiful than he had remem- bered her. she was now, of course, about seven years older, more mature, with a matronly beauty. mike was a bit startled to realize he had forgotten that her hair used to be the rich honey-blond color of her little daughter's. he watched her holding the child's hand as they walked leisurely along the sidewalk up spruce street. he followed, waiting until she entered her yard, then walked rapidly up to her gate and called, “hey, mrs. whittakerſ” she turned and waited, smiling until he came up the walk to the porch. she said expectantly, “yes?” “don’t you remember me, emmie?” “your wife is married to another man!” “that's okay with me,” mike agreed. “you want to write it out, or shall i?” larry wrote out a statement: i, michael gulbranson, do hereby swear that i have renounced all claims on my former wife, emmaline, now mrs. emmaline whittaker, wife of lawrence whittaker. inasmuch as she married her present husband in , believing me dead after four years of not hearing from me, i solemnly promise to sign all necessary divorce papers that her lawyer may send me, in order that she may be morally and legally free to continue in her present happy marriage. i agree to her using my six years' absence and silence as desertion and grounds for the divorce, which i shall not contest. so help me god. signed this tenth day of april, . in her nervous state, emmie made many errors in typing the three copies larry suggested. mike signed all three. “one copy is for you, mike,” larry said, handing him one. “you can keep all of them. i know what's in it, and i won't need a copy. i'll send you my address as soon as i'm settled.” mike left the whittaker home, shaking hands with larry, pat- ting the little girl on the head, and waving good-bye to emmie, who could only sit and try to force a smile. larry and emmie looked at each other miserably after he left. “we’re not even married,” emmie moaned. “and the baby, our poor little baby! she's not legitimate. . . .” larry tried to comfort her, reassuring her that everything would soon be all right again. “i’ll have to leave first thing in the morning,” she said, looking around the little home in which she and larry, and now evie, had lived so happily. she was glad of the activity her decision to leave in the morning necessitated, and began packing, lightly, of course, because she knew she would not be gone for long. she called her parents in lake couteau to tell them what time to meet her plane in minneapolis. “i’ll write from lake couteau if i stop there, and then from reno the moment i arrive, dear,” emmie promised her husband as she boarded the plane in pittsburgh. ocee mcrae, texas “i think you had better telephone, emmie. letters take too long,” larry said, kissing both emmie and the baby again. that evening she did call, telling him she had left evie with the folks, and that they had driven her back to the airport in min- neapolis and she was calling from there. her plane was to leave for reno within the hour. “oh, larry, i miss you—i know it will seem like an eternity. i'll call you again the moment i have found accommodations in reno tomorrow, regardless of the hour. "bye, dear.” larry put down the receiver after talking with emmie, and strolled down to the store, just to get out of the house. he absently looked over the books, the stock. he was lonesome. he fidgeted around a while, then locked up again and went across the street to the drugstore to buy something with which to read himself to sleep. he casually glanced at the front-page headlines of the late edition of the newspaper. then he looked again, his eyes popping: army sergeant found dead man identified as michael gulbranson, age , identified through papers on body. hit-and-run victim's face smashed beyond recognition. larry couldn't believe his eyes. he went immediately to the police station. there he saw an officer, who took him to the morgue. “yes, that's mike, all right,” he told the captain on viewing the body. “he’s still wearing the uniform he had on when he was talking to us yesterday. and if you'll wait until she can come home, my wife can identify him for you, too.” larry knew he could not reach emmie. he would simply have to wait until she called again to tell her the news. “it does change our plans, emmie,” he told her, when she called the following day from her hotel in reno. “well, no, i don't know just what we should do about it, but you must come back right away. it's out of the question now to get mike's signature on di- vorce papers anyway. wire me from chicago, and i'll meet you at the pittsburgh airport.” “so much confusion!” emmie moaned over and over to her- “your wife is married to another man!” self on the return trip. she was completely unable to think clearly. larry would have to do that. . . . “now, dear,” larry counseled her as they drove to the morgue, “you don't have to say a thing; we really are not at all involved. but i want you to see for yourself.” “what do you mean we're not involved? how did you explain our interest in the matter to the police, larry? did you tell them i was once married to mike?” “i told them we knew him from before the war. that's all. he has his uniform on, you know.” at the morgue emmie steeled herself against viewing the maimed body. a glimpse of the head and shoulders, the decorated chest, brought tears, near hysteria. she nodded. “no no!” she cried. “we'd better take her out,” larry whispered to the policeman. alone in their car, emmie regained her composure to say, “larry, it can't be mike....” “yes, dear, it is. even though no one could recognize his face, his identification and clothes established that it is mike.” “no,” she insisted. “mike has brown hair. this man's hair is almost red. wait a minute! larry, mike lost a toe on his left foot while he was still in boot camp. take me back. i want to see if he has all his toes!” “now, just a minute, emmie. this could be a most convenient development for us. we have to be practical. if you tell the police you even suspect that dead man is not mike, they will start looking for him. or they might even inquire further into our interest in the case and come to the conclusion we may have murdered him. why, anything could develop. as it is now, our marriage is safe. let's leave it that way.” “but, larry, i simply must go back to see his left foot.” “no. mike is dead. emmie, get hold of yourself! i know you have been through too much these last few days, but now it's all over, and we can forget the whole mess. we must.... here, dear.” and he gently kissed her forehead and rested her head on his shoulder. in her weariness, she could protest no more. ocee mcrae, texas later that evening at home, emmie repeated her conviction that the dead man they had seen was not mike. “and if it isn't mike, we still are not married, larry.” “oh, yes, we are l’” he insisted. “we are married legally and morally, and you know it.” “but what if mike comes back again. ...? why, we can't ever be sure again,” emmie cried weakly. “emmie, whether that is mike or not, he certainly is not going to come back to see us again. i personally think it is mike. but if it isn't, as you say, there can be only one explanation—somehow mike killed the man and changed clothes with him. in that case, you know very well he won't be coming back here. he'd be a murderer, a fugitive from justice, and he'd know better than to return. now, emmie, please let's try to forget the whole thing.” and sitting down beside her, he once again put his arm around her, sharing his strength. “dear, look at me. you know i love you, and i want to spare your feelings. just put it out of your mind. we'll think about going back to lake couteau for a few days as soon as you are rested. i called your parents to tell them it is no longer necessary for you to get a divorce in reno, and they are more than willing to keep evie until we can both come for her. okay?” “okay, darling,” emmie replied feebly. c h a p t e r ii a new life-a new name someone would undoubtedly find the victim and care for him, either that night or early in the morning—of that mike was certain. “now what to do?” he asked himself. “can't go back to the hotel. only thing to do is move along.” and that he did, taking a bus to pittsburgh. the departure of the next bus, for indianapo- lis, was being announced over the loudspeaker system in the grey- hound bus depot as he alighted. “that's as good a place as any for my next stop,” he told himself, and moved toward the ticket window. “last call for the indianapolis special, leaving at : for steubenville, columbus, xenia, richmond, and indianapolis in lane !” the loudspeaker blared as he boarded the bus. mike found few passengers in the bus, and most of those were seated singly. he did the same. “might be able to stretch out and sleep,” he thought. the lights of the city—the factories, suburban homes, and passing cars—were left in the distance, and mike tried to find a comfortable position. he closed his eyes, but he could not sleep. through the window he watched the moon shift direction as the bus wound up and around curves. he picked out the dif- ference between stars and the lights of airplanes. but sleep would not come. mom and pop olson, emmie, the postmistress he could not remember having met, larry, little evie, the dead man—they all intruded on his thoughts each time he shut out the view from the window. the picture of the dead man, now identified as michael gulbranson, returned most frequently to his restless mind. “if mike is dead, i have to begin a new life. a new life, a new name....” and he sat upright. “no, i can't keep the same old ocee mcrae, texas name. ...” it occurred to him he would like to name himself after some great man. he thought of the “father of his country,” but somehow “george washington” seemed too commonplace. he con- sidered “abraham lincoln,” but that would be just too much of an oddity. he thought of the army officers he had liked most. one was colonel cromwell, then there was captain oliver, and there was colonel aagard, and major mcrae. “mcrae, that's it! mcrae, that's a good name!” and after toying with possible combinations of given names, he recalled having read as a boy of oliver crom- well. “oliver cromwell mcrae. o. c. mcrae. well, that's all right!” so that was settled. his name henceforth, then, would be o. c. mcrae. he could be called ocee for short. he sighed a deep breath of satisfaction, and fell asleep. his bus arrived in indiapanolis early in the evening. badly in need of rest, he decided to spend at least one night there, register- ing at a hotel where he had the first opportunity to use his new name. on the spur of the moment, he recorded his address as fort bliss, texas, his birthplace. after a good night's rest and a hearty breakfast mike—now ocee mcrae—left his hotel to look around indianapolis. he bought some clothes, a razor, and several local newspapers before returning to his room that evening to scan the help wanted columns. engineers, mechanics, teachers, social workers, tool and die makers—these were in demand. but no farm implement firm seemed to be in need of an employee. “ocee, old man, it looks as though you'll have to pound the pavement if you want to find a decent job you can handle in this town,” he mumbled to himself. when the following day's casual search produced nothing ap- pealing to ocee, he bought a small suitcase, packed his few belong- ings, and went to the railroad station in the early evening. “one- way coach ticket to kansas city,” he told the agent. “that will put me back in farm country!” he added amiably. “yes, sir! was out there visiting, myself, once. that town is famous for its steaks. man, they are good, too ! k.c. must be right in the heart of the cattle country. here you are, mister. that'll be $ . . next train leaves at : , track .” ocee mcrae, texas ily on him. in the army he had been surrounded all the time by thousands of men of all kinds, from all parts of the country, with whom he had had to live in close quarters. they were his “family.” even in prison camp he had been but one of hundreds of men living intimately together, planning together, looking out for one another. now he was alone. he missed the boys. he took out his address book, and riffled through the pages of the little book which held only twenty-five or thirty names. but then he remembered he could not get in touch with them now that he had changed his identity. in the duffel he had left in his hotel room in pittsville there were names and addresses of scores of servicemen, among them bert hanson who lived in kansas city, he recalled. again he reminded himself he could not even try to locate his pal. “maybe it wasn't such a bright idea to do what i did after all.” he scowled to himself. his brooding was interrupted by the con- ductor's announcing, “kansas city' next stop kansas city l’” “well,” ocee smiled to himself, “now we’ll see if it's true what they say about kansas city steaks!” in the dining room of his hotel, the waiter brought ocee's steak to his table still sizzling in the pan on which it had been broiled. it was at least an inch thick, he judged, and almost two pounds of meat! smothered with onions and garnish, accompanied by crisp french fried potatoes, tomato salad, sauces—“the works!” “i have to agree that kansas city has the best steak i’ve ever tasted,” ocee told the waiter. “thank you, sir,” he replied. “we serve only prime texas beef. we are glad to know you enjoyed it.” “texas beef" ocee repeated in disbelief. “why, i thought kansas was the farm center of the country....” “yes, but our primary crops are grains. kansas city is a live- stock center because cattlemen from all over the country ship their cattle here to be finished, fattened, on our grains, before going to market. now would you care for dessert, sir?” “ice cream will do. and more coffee. i have some thinking to do about this cattle business . . .” he said with his eyes atwinkle with the first wave of enthusiasm he had known since returning. a new life—a new name as the waiter moved off, ocee soliloquized, “i don't have enough money to start in the cattle business or even to buy a farm. my fifteen thousand dollars would be just a drop in the bucket. of course, with my knowledge of machinery and my experience in supplies and procurement in the service, i ought to be able to manage a big distribution company.... and, according to tex, not only is the lone star state the biggest, but everything down there is king-sized. maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea . . . .” ocee left the dining room to walk in the night along the city streets, stopping occasionally to inspect a brightly lit store window. his step quickened as his thoughts roamed far afield. “if i'm go- ing to launch a new life, i've got to make up my mind soon. those few thousand dollars won't last forever,” he reminded himself. “i’d better check on train schedules for texas i” he bought a ticket on an express to houston, leaving in the morning. the agent assured him that from there he could make connections to any point he later decided on. in the railway coach, ocee greeted the young army lieutenant who occupied the window seat next to his reservation number. “well, lieutenant, it looks as though we are going to travel to- gether for a while. going to texas, too?” “sure am! that's my home—little town near houston. and this time it's to stay!” and the two fell to exchanging experiences from their years in the service. the young officer mentioned that he had received his commission in the rotc at texas southern. “say,” ocee asked, “isn't that where those famous texas ag- gies come from?” “well, not exactly.” the lieutenant smiled. “i see that you, just like many people from the north i’ve met, don't realize that texas southern is a colored school, while the texas aggies are a white school.” ocee fidgeted, unable to think of an appropriate comment. but the officer eased the situation by discussing a bit of his own plans, now that he was out of the service. “my plans are not that definite. this is a sort of exploration ocee mcrae, texas trip,” ocee said. “i have a good idea what i would like to do, but i'm still searching for just the spot.” he elaborated on what he had in mind. “if you are looking for cattle country,” the lieutenant sug- gested, “you'll do better to go on up to the panhandle. but there's a booming oil business in the prairies just west of san antonio. it sounds to me that your abilities and know-how would be more valuable than cash in those new oil fields.” as their conversation progressed, a plan for the immediate future crystallized in ocee's mind: “if i go to san antonio directly, i could start out by bus there, and if i traveled only by day, i could look over the country, stopping now and then to get the lay of the land,” he said. “that's right. you couldn't miss that way,” the lieutenant agreed. “there is one place you really should see, though, before you leave the southeastern part of texas.” “you mean houston p” “well, houston's a metropolis, and you've seen other big cities all over the world. i was thinking you would like to see galveston. it's an island city—just like manhattan in that respect. but it's tropical. really something!” “well, i'll give it a thought. is it very far from houston?” “only about fifty miles. you catch the bus in houston and are there in about an hour, then . . .” but his directions were inter- rupted by the strident voice of the conductor who entered the coach, shouting, “all colored passengers gotta move on up to the last car forward.” and, passing ocee's seat companion, he added loudly, “an' dat means you too, boy!” “what... ?” ocee was taken by surprise. “the same old thing, buddy,” the lieutenant explained to ocee. “jim crow. i swore that if i came back alive, i would never ride another train or bus in the south. and you can stake your life on my word that this is the very last time,” he grumbled, rising to take his luggage from the rack above. “listen, i want to talk some more about texas. don't leave,” ocee urged. a new life—a new name “sorry, soldier, but neither you nor i would ever get to texas if we put up an argument. so long. and good luck.” he nodded grimly to ocee and strode forward up to the jim crow car, where all the other colored passengers were being herded. ocee reflected on the situation. on arriving in houston, ocee found that, just as the lieutenant had said, galveston was but a sixty-minute ride away. after spending a leisurely day in houston, he boarded a bus for the tropical isle the following day. there he went sightseeing along the broad, palm-lined avenues, enjoying the numerous flower beds nestled between the gleaming modern buildings of the downtown area. ocee was aboard another bus going back up galveston bay on his return to houston the next day, when he impulsively de- cided to inspect texas city, a bustling town where the bus had stopped briefly. he walked around the town of twenty thousand inhabitants, observing the business activity on the wharves and piers where ships, mostly freighters, from many foreign ports, were taking on cargoes of cotton, oil, chemicals, and other merchan- dise. always the friendly tourist, he stopped to pass the time of day with a guard at the gate to the huge monsanto chemical plant, the town's biggest industry. “they must have an awful lot of people working in there, don't they?” ocee opened the conver- sation. “i should say they do ſ” replied the guard. “you must be from out of town, mister, or you'd know all about this plant.” “you’re right. after more than five years overseas, i've been back in the states only—let's see. today is the fifteenth, and i landed in san francisco april third. so that makes it just a little less than two weeks.” “san francisco's a long way from texas city | did you come all the way down here to look for a job?” “not exactly. i did a little sightseeing in galveston, and now i'm going back to houston before moving on out to west texas to see about work.” “a man like you ought to be able to get a pretty good job here ocee mcrae, texas with monsanto.” the guard went into his public relations per- sonality. “they don't turn away anybody who wants work. if you want to look into it, go right on up through the gate and ask for personnel. you won't have any trouble finding it.” “no thanks.” ocee smiled. “i’m interested in working in the oil fields, or if nothing develops there, i’ll go on up to the cattle country. just thought i'd like to do some sightseeing before leaving these parts. but thanks just the same.” and he bid the guard good- bye to walk back to the bus depot. again in houston that evening, ocee had dinner, bought sev- eral newspapers, and went up to his hotel room to relax, smoke, and read in bed before falling asleep. he awoke next morning a little before ten, washed up, shaved, and went down to breakfast. he was eating leisurely when he heard the newsboys shouting, “ex- tra, extra! texas city burned to the ground ! read all about it! texas city another hiroshima! extra ! paper, mister?” ocee gave the boy a dime for the paper, and read the tragic early details of the holocaust in the town he had visited only the day before. “and if i had stopped over in texas city, who knows . . . .” there must be a god somewhere,” he thought to himself, “or i would have been there in that inferno, burned beyond recogni- tion.” he turned to a florid man sitting at the table next to his. “say, have you read this about the catastrophe down in texas city?” “why, yes, i was just reading about it. seems that hundreds of tons of explosives in the hold of a ship went off, starting a fire that's burning the city to the ground. awful, isn't it?” “terrible!” ocee said. “what makes me feel so creepy is that i was in texas city yesterday. went down to galveston sightsee- ing, and came back on the bus by way of route , so i got off there just to look around the town. came near staying over, too. if i had, i’d have been a goner!” “you go to church, buddy?” the other man asked, with feel- ing.” “once in a long while. guess i’d better start going, though. that was one close shave. and just think, a lot of fellows that a new life—a new name ested in paying fifteen hundred dollars to see one.” to himself ocee was thinking, “i’ve run up against sharpies and slicksters all over the world, experts in the art of flimflamming and confidence games. and i’m not going to let the first hick from texas i run into do me for fifteen hundred dollars! no sir!...” “but thanks, just the same for the offer,” he said aloud, smiling. “you don't know what you've just passed up, pardner,” ful- ler said. “i’ve met all kinds, but, brother, i’ve never met a guy before you who didn't trust me. i don't want your money anyway. wouldn't want a pardner who didn't trust me. no, indeedy! i'll find me somebody i can trust, that's what i’ll do!” and he rose, leaving indignantly. - ocee turned to add, “wish you luck, fuller. and no hard feel- ings, okay?” but the man was on his way out of the café, out of hearing. ocee noticed a group of men seated around a nearby table, all smiling and nodding in his direction. one of them moved toward ocee, saying, “put 'er here, mcrae. we couldn't help but overhear you brushing fuller off. that guy is a local pain in the neck, a ne'er-do-well wildcatter, who has stung more newcomers than you could count.” “yeah? his story just sounded too pat....” “but you'd be amazed,” said the other, “how many people have fallen for his line. he always takes them out to the same old well. say, come on over and meet some of my friends. maybe you can fit into one of our setups. we were just talking about help.” the other men in the group pulled up a chair for ocee as the two joined them. “what can you do?” one asked as an opener. ocee briefly outlined his experience, emphasizing his interest in machinery and his experience as first sergeant in the quarter- master corps. “name's randall,” the second man volunteered. “i think you'd be interested in an opening we have over at tosco. tell you what it is. i am with the tirabuzon oil field supply corporation— tosco; we manufacture and assemble the bulk of the tools and supplies for the fields hereabouts. and the business has grown so c h a p t e r iii flood of black gold the bulk of the local business of the tirabuzon oil field supply corporation, for whom ocee went to work as manager of the transportation division at a salary of five hundred dollars a month with bonuses guaranteed each year, was with established oilmen who needed replacement and repair parts for their rigs as they moved from digging to digging. “i have found over the years,” randall told ocee, during his first week with the firm, “that one of the best ways of a new man's getting the feel of this business is to actually see oil well drilling operations underway. i think it would be a good idea if you went out with me tomorrow to a field where a friend of mine, grant travis, is just getting his equipment assembled on the site of his first local venture.” randall took ocee out to grant's diggings, introduced the men, and left. grant, a tall, well-built, deeply tanned, vigorous man, had the look of the outdoors all over him. the two men liked one an- other immediately, as grant launched into his explanations. “i was lucky to pick up this used rig,” grant said, as he slapped the steel wing brace of the substructure. “this is the derrick or mast. see all those pulleys up there? well, a derrick is erected primarily to support those pulleys, and the cables you see running over them lower the drill pipe into the digging. over there are the engines, the draw works, and the slush pump. and this, here in the middle of the derrick floor, is the base of the rotary table. ro- tary drilling is about the only type you will see in these parts now. the drill pipe runs down through the rotary table, all the way down into the ground. a bit is fastened at the lower end of the drill pipe.” ocee mcrae, texas “the bits were the first items i was introduced to at tosco,” ocee said. “two things about them impressed me; i was surprised that oilmen lease or rent them rather than buying them outright, and the other thing was that i expected to find a bit something like a chisel—with sharp cutting edges.” “you weren't too far wrong. come over here and we can look at one. you see, the bits we use have rollers with teeth. then, when the pipe is turned, the bit rotates too, and these rollers grind out the rock.” “what happens when the bit gets dull? what can you do... ?” “that often happens. when it does, we have to make a round trip, as we call it. we have to pull all of the drill pipe up, change the bit, and then lower all the pipe with the new bit back down in the hole. that's where the derrick comes in handy again. some- times as much as ten thousand feet of drill pipe have to make such a round trip, so we break the pipe down into thribbles or fourbles —those are stands of three or four of the thirty foot joints of drill pipe—and stack those lengths in the derrick while we change the bit. it can really burn a driller up to get the new bit down there, and after making hole for about ten or twelve feet, blotto goes the new bit, so then he has to make another round trip. that is most likely to happen when they're drilling through especially hard rock formations.” “isn't that drill pipe lying on the horizontal rack?” ocee pointed. “right. some of it is—the %-inch pipe. those larger pipes are casing, and are of various diameters. you see, we start out using a -inch bit for a hundred feet or so of hole, and we put the largest casing in that portion. then we change to an eleven-inch bit, which makes a hole requiring casing of a smaller bore, and so on until we have a series of strings of casing, each a little smaller in diameter than its predecessor, so that one extends farther than the other, something like a telescope, down into the hole.” “you said you sometimes have as much as ten thousand feet of drill pipe down there. that's about two miles! how deep do you have to go anyway?” ocee mcrae, texas |'' get more work out of a crew than i can myself!” as big ben was called back to the operations by another workman, grant contin- ued, “yes sir! he's worth twelve of these boll weevils around in the oil fields !” “that's another one on me, grant.” ocee shook his head. “boll weevil, why that's an insect that destroys cotton, isn't it?” “not these!” grant laughed heartily. “we use the term to describe an unskilled oil field worker—anyone who, either because of inexperience or inability to learn, just isn't worth a darn" “oh, i see—actually such a person could do more harm than good....” “right. they can, and often do. the bulkiness of drilling equipment may deceive one into thinking its operation requires no more than gross control. but, take it from me, a high order of accuracy, alertness, and vigilance is required. and when i find a man who combines the traits of leadership and these attitudes and skills, i place him in a position of responsibility.” “that makes sense....” “it does to you and to me; but, ocee, you haven't been in the south long enough to have observed the patterns—even here in texas—which prevent just common sense from operating.” “i don't follow you. even in the short time i’ve been here, i've seen negroes working all over the place. you have two or three in addition to big ben, i can see from right here....” “true. but if you will analyze the jobs you have seen negroes —or mexicans, too, for the most part—doing, you will see that those jobs are always menial, or at least classified as menial. the pattern is that they are restricted to those classifications. now, a negro can do any type of highly skilled work as long as he is designated as a menial, and receives only the menial's pay. but as soon as he is given official recognition by the employer and is paid accordingly, the ‘pattern' has been violated, and there is hell to pay!” “what do you mean?” “well, the white employees often object, even quit, and other prospective employees won't hire on. or the suppliers may cut off flood of black gold your credit. why, i've even heard of and occasionally seen violence, fighting and destruction of a construction job.” “how could you risk all that?” “all of my men were with me—and with big ben. as you can see, his build, for one thing, gives him an advantage.” as grant and ocee moved toward the truck, they glanced back at big ben, who was on the monkey board high up the derrick, directing men on the floor as they swung the rotary hook to one side to engage the swivel bail. he was easily six feet three inches tall, well over two hundred pounds. “for instance,” grant continued, “he doesn't say ’sir' to a man simply because he has white skin. and the men respect him for it. his bearing—well, i guess it's dignity—and his competence just impress you.” “i see what you meanſ” ocee emphasized, as they jumped into grant's old truck and started back to town. “yes, he's a valuable man. i know it, and the crew knows it. it would be a long search to find another like him—white or colored l’’ “you’re lucky to have him.” “yes. but smart, too. i know which side my bread's buttered onl” jogging along on the eight-mile return trip to tirabuzon, ocee plied grant with detailed questions concerning some of the acces- sory equipment and parts he had become familiar with in the warehouse. “you certainly know this business! i'd say you are more conversant with the machinery than randall himself is, grant. been in it long?” “can't remember when i wasn't tinkering around an oil well,” grant answered. “i studied petroleum engineering in college, and i’ve been looking forward to this moment for years, ever since i graduated. this venture is a dream come true.” “this is the first time you're drilling a well of your own?” “right. you see, i graduated during the depression, and my first job was with the public works administration out of san antonio back in ' , working on a survey of oil lands. we knew then this area would be productive, but by the time the survey flood of black gold “he is. my wife raised a lot of sand when she discovered he had helped me in this venture. she wants me home there in fort worth instead of away off down here. well, anyway, he showed her that he had had papers drawn up assigning his entire share to our children l’” “brother | what a deal || of course, i didn't have in mind find- ing an arrangement quite so tidy.” “now, i tell you, if you can catch an oilman at just the right moment, when he's up against a stone wall and can't borrow or beg the money he needs to tide him over a stretch of bad luck... i've seen it happen to men who swore they weren't going to let any- body in with them, but in a pinch they had to or face the alterna- tive of losing everything and abandoning a well possibly just a matter of feet from oil.” ocee laughed skeptically. “yeah, i’ve heard of that, too. in fact the first day i was in town a guy propositioned me....” “not fuller l’” “that's the name.” “oh, no! i hope you didn't fall for his line!” “no.” “that's good. he tried it on me, too, soon after i came here about six months ago, and he's caught several suckers since then. no, of course, i didn't mean to advise you to jump into that type of a deal; i meant you could keep on the lookout for a bona fide setup. in fact, i’ll keep my eyes and ears open for you. well, here we are,” grant said, as he pulled up in front of ocee's boarding- house. “thanks, grant,” ocee said, extending his hand as he moved to leave. “and good luck!” smiling, grant shook ocee's hand and said, “this isn't going to be just luck; i know there's oil there !” much of the raw material used in the manufacture of drilling rigs, slush pumps, rod and sectional liners, rotaries, and swivels comes to the united states from europe through the port of hous- ton in the form of steel plates, bars, and rods. in the course of his flood of black gold coastwise and internal shipments play a large part in the tremen- dous volume of commerce we have here,” the director told him. impressed, ocee reluctantly took his leave to keep an appointment with the representative of one of his firm's suppliers. “with this new three-star motor supertimer,” the salesman explained to ocee at lunch in the marine room of the hotel where he usually made his headquarters while in houston, “oil wells can be pumped on a preset schedule to meet any field allowance— completely unattended indefinitely, as far as the programming or the electrical equipment is concerned.” “that sounds to be just about what one of our oilmen wants. he has a string of wells west of hernando county, where the power supply is none too reliable. now what about a power out- age?” “that's taken care of, too. you see,” and the salesman pro- duced another series of diagrams, “when an unavoidable stoppage occurs, any number of pumps restart in a fixed sequence, thus preventing overloading the power lines.” “now about the control unit itself,” ocee returned. “yes. i’ll give you the details on that, mr. mcrae. our unit is designed to do two things. first, it provides the means for get- ting the desired pumping schedule—hours per day and days per week. second, it provides seventy-three accurately controlled re- starting intervals—restarting time delays from zero seconds to as much as three minutes. this is the feature you need after power interruption such as you mention.” “you don't leave anything to chance....” “no, our supertimer leaves absolutely nothing to chance, mr. mcrae. unfortunate coincidental restarting of even two pumps is impossible. and, in addition, a small switch on the panel per- mits instant conversion from automatic to manual restarting when- ever it might be desired. this control has everything...” he broke off as he looked up, saying, “oh, excuse me, will you? those friends of mine i mentioned have arrived.” he rose to greet the two ladies as they approached. “miss saunders, señora villaronga, mr. mcrae. here, jane,” he said, as ocee moved to assist the señora. flood of black gold christi on a steamer of the mexican-american line, stopping at several mexican ports along the way down as far as veracruz. that's seven hundred miles down the coast, in the bay of cam- peche. the ship made only brief stops along the way, sailing on down the coast after a day in port at each stop until we reached tampico. we spent two days there, but we didn't do much sight- seeing. in veracruz we had four days, and stayed at a hotel in town. we saw a bull fight, a couple of cock fights, and went to a movie that turned out to be an american silent film with spanish subtitles! there are lots of pretty good movies—spanish—made in mexico and argentina now, though, i guess. all around, it was a good trip, and i imagine you'd like to take one like it sometime.” “that's too much for the first time! i think i'll settle for a little excursion down to monterrey in a couple of weeks!” ocee prom- ised himself. grant smiled understandingly. and so he did. arriving in monterrey late saturday afternoon, he sought out a large hotel, where he registered before calling juanita. to his surprise, it was only six blocks from his hotel to her home. he walked that short distance, observing the children congregating around the pushcarts of street vendors of candies and all sorts of sweets, the people passing the patterned tile park benches and store fronts without noticing them, the numerous churches. juanita introduced ocee to her widower brother, francisco, who was auditor for the city of monterrey. they shared the lovely home left them by their parents. it was constructed, as were most of the substantial residences there, of stucco, with tile roof and aquamarine tile floors. as juanita showed him the garden in the rear of their home, ocee told her of the patio at his hotel. “i’ve never seen anything quite like it. the rooms all open onto a veranda overlooking the patio. and the walls and floor and columns are covered with little pieces of colored tile arranged in patterns. there's a tiled fountain and flower urns of the same de- sign—very much like those you have over there.” “this is one area of mexican excellence—beauty,” juanita explained. “it is true that most of us do not have homes even as flood of black gold interrupted their casual conversation with news that the bit was dull again and would have to be brought back up. grant nodded and, turning to ocee, said, “you know, i'm lucky to have anticipated such costly delays. not that the bit rental is so much, but the crew has to be paid all during the round trip.” “do you think it will hold up the drilling for long?” “oh, no, not much. ocee, old man, it's not going to be much longer, even with these interruptions. when that well comes in, i'm going to fort worth and bring my family down here. i miss the wife and the kids more every day.” ocee glanced keenly at grant, and asked, “none of my busi- ness, grant, but is everything all right between you two?” “peculiarly enough, everything's fine, actually. we just don't see eye to eye on this oil business. here, let me show you a pic- ture of the whole family.” ocee looked at the group photograph taken on the boy's birthday. “brenda,” grant pointed out, “as you can see, is a dream. won the beauty title of miss coed while we were both at the university—she was a senior in arts college then, and i was in my third year of engineering. and this is sue; she was born in ' while i was traveling around with the pwa. and here's junior. i was home with the folks when he was born in , you know, working there in fort worth with the new- combe people. this is marilyn, our youngest, six years old.” “and who are the others? your wife's family?” “yes. her mother and father and helen—that's her kid sister. she's twenty-four. oh, you'd like her. she's on my side, telling brenda she wouldn't mind traveling around with her husband, if she had one, even if he wanted to ‘chase oil bubbles'—that’s what brenda says i’m doing!” “does she really think you are wildcatting?” “she says she can't see any difference between what i’m doing here and the work i was doing on the side with that wildcatting outfit, except that i was paid for working then l now i don't earn a cent until oil starts flowing, brenda just won't believe wildcatters operate on little if any first-hand survey information like i have— flood of black gold it's quiet, not much traffic. the kids would have a nice rumpus room, and plenty of space to run around in.” “sounds good! how did you manage to get a chance to buy it before anyone else—and at a bargain? oh, now i remember, you mentioned your father-in-law knows him.” “they are both alumni of the yale university law school. he's the best corporation lawyer in this area—or was before he became mayor four years ago—and brenda's dad is one of the best in fort worth. they see one another on business occasionally, and both have been going to their alumni reunions up in connecticut. he's a man about forty-seven, younger than brenda's father, but they are good pals. then, too, he's a trustee and senior warden in the church i attend, and i am junior warden. so we've seen quite a lot of each other since i came here. now he has all but promised to hold off putting the house up for sale until i'm in a position to buy it.” “what a deal! i wonder if i’ll ever be able to work up to a house like that....” “no reason why you shouldn't,” grant said, “but you need a wife first. say, what about you? are you, or, in the language of the subversive inquisitors, ‘have you ever been’ married?” “well, yes, i was once. but not now—don't have any family, really,” ocee replied, growing pensive. “too bad. don't you have parents, and ... ?” “they were killed in an automobile accident when i was still in high school.” and he went on to tell grant briefly of emmie, the circumstances leading to her remarriage, and of his spur-of-the- moment decision to come to texas and start a new life. “there's one thing that has me a little worried, though,” he confided to grant. “i think i should go back to pittsville someday to get everything straightened out—you know, maybe a divorce, and change my name legally.” grant had listened attentively throughout the recital, and looked over ocee's honorable discharge papers in the name of michael gulbranson. “a divorce is something you have to consider should you want to remarry, i suppose,” he told ocee. “but it does seem ocee mcrae, texas only reasonable that you at least start the proceedings to have your name changed. that's important—especially since you are a veteran.” “maybe the mayor could handle it before he leaves....” “possibly. i'll ask him. he could probably set the machinery in motion, at least.” and then, slapping ocee on the shoulder, he said, “yes, indeed! you certainly came to the right place, and i'm glad you chose tirabuzon to settle in. of course, our weather is much milder than those sub zero winters up there in iowa where you come from, but . . .” “believe it or not, grant, i was born right here in texas i’” “no kidding ! well, what do you know ! put her here, old man l’’ “yes.” ocee grinned, shaking hands. “my dad was stationed at fort bliss during the first world war, and my mother was with him. that's where i was born, three months before armistice day. then when the war was over, they went back to iowa.” ocee laughed. “dad was a regimental sergeant major. listen to him tell it, though, he was a more important man than the com- manding generall maybe he wasn't so far wrong. i was only a first sergeant, but those sergeant majors were really something.” “only a first sergeant, you say! now, i know something about those ranks even though i didn't get in the service myself. and i’ve heard that a first sergeant is the top man in his outfit. what branch of the army were you in p” “quartermaster corps.” “well, brother, a first sergeant in the quartermaster corps has a tremendous amount of responsibility, from all i’ve heard. you were sort of the ramrod of the company, weren't you?” “yes, i suppose so. the first sergeant is really the captain's right-hand man. he is in charge of the administration and house- keeping of his unit, a detachment or company. he has to look out for the physical welfare of the men in his outfit, he controls and issues passes and leaves, has to make up the morning reports, administers the sick book, and, as a matter of fact, sees after the general discipline of the troops. he is the leading non-commis- sioned officer in the company.” ocee mcrae, texas greeted him. “does this mean those tests you were having run this morning didn't turn out as you had hoped?” “that's about the size of it. it seems the oil-bearing stratum is farther down than we thought. of course, that's no catastrophe. but it does mean more power, more pipes and equipment, and a little more delay. i just arranged with randall to have the supplies advanced on credit.” “oh, sure. tosco will stick with you!” “coming out to the well after work? i have a feeling, ocee, that this hard layer isn't as thick as the survey indicates. and if i am right, we might go through it yet this afternoon.” ocee drove out in one of the firm's delivery trucks to find grant and his crew feverishly working over the rotary table. “we had a twist-off while i was in town today!” grant shouted at ocee. “what!” ocee shouted back above the din, not comprehending. “be with you in a minute.” grant worked with the men until they could take over. he walked over to ocee. putting his arm across ocee's shoulder, he said, “remember me telling you about buying in at the psychological moment?” “yes. who... ? what... ?” “the men couldn't have known, of course. i didn't myself until i had the results of the tests. but they attempted to pull too hard with this rig before i could get back with the additional power. the drill pipe twisted off somewhere down there. every- thing would have been under control if ... ocee, old man, there's no reason for me to pull punches now with you. if i don't borrow it from you—and i’ll need around ten thousand anyway—i’ll have to borrow it from someone else, and everyone in town knows enough about my prospects here to drive a hard bargain. there's oil not more than feet farther down. i know it! and everyone in town knows it.” “but what about your father-in-law? wouldn't he prefer to invest a little more than to have someone else in on the deal?” “that's a delicate situation; since he assigned his interest to the children, asking him for more help would amount to asking him to give my children another gift. brenda didn't approve of the original arrangement, and i'm afraid her sisters and brothers flood of black gold wouldn't look kindly on such an arrangement either.” “yes, i can see that, too. . . .” “do you have as much as ten thousand, ocee?” “yes, a little more, actually, including my savings here. you know i banked almost fourteen thousand dollars in san francisco on returning from the service. so it's settled. we'll make the ar- rangements tomorrow.” their lawyer, hubert nunnally, whom the mayor had recom- mended before leaving, was handling both ocee's change of name application and grant's purchase of the mayor's house, so he was the logical person to whom to turn to draw up the usual docu- ments providing for ocee's investing $ , in grant's well. in consideration of this sum, ocee received a percent interest in the well, with an option to invest in subsequent diggings as a junior partner with grant on conditions to be determined after the first well came in. “partner,” grant told ocee several days later, “i have a feeling this is going to be the day!” “i’ll be out right after work i've never seen a well come in. even if i didn't have a personal interest in it, i’d want to be there!” ocee assured him. “all right, i'll be looking for you. but just remember—noth- ing might happen, and then again everything might happen. and you may have a long wait....” “i understand. it'll be worth it. i don't mind.” ocee donned his field gear, boots and helmet, before leaving the plant. as he drove out, the fever of expectation rose, and when he pulled up to the diggings he sensed that the crew shared it, too. “i’ll give a hand there, grant, if you'll show me what to do. that way the time will go faster—this suspense is killing me!” and the men laughed as ocee lent a hand with the work. it was shortly after three o'clock in the morning when there was a deep rumbling sound like thunder under the ground and the men started yelling, “here she comes | here she comes | we've struck oil ſ” a column of mud and oil shot up into the air—it seemed about ocee mcrae, texas a mile high. actually it was only a hundred feet. the men were drenched with the black sticky stuff, but were dancing around like crazy, grant and ocee with them. grant yelled to the crew, “cap 'er!” and they set to work harnessing the black gold that was spilling over, back to the earth from which it came. “you brought me luck, ocee!” grant said, slapping his part- ner on the back. “man, you've got a black-gold thumb| you sure brought me luck!” “luck, nothing! you knew there was oil there, never doubted it for a minute!” ocee said. the crewmen, knowing ocee had provided the last, crucial financial backing, insisted it was he that had brought success to the project. and one of them shouted, “yeah? well, nobody's as superstitious as oilmen!” ocee mcrae, texas an unbeatable combination, what with your engineering and pro- duction know-how.” “don’t forget your own office experience and administrative know-how, either.” grant chucked him on the chest. “i suppose you are right, grant. as i look back on it, i’ve been lucky. everything seems to have turned out to my advantage. first, i took bookkeeping and typing way back there in high school. then i worked around machinery with that farm implement com- pany before going into the quartermaster corps. more office and managerial experience there. then the introduction to oil field machinery and operations over at tosco. just good luck all around !” “your experience has been varied and valuable, as a personnel office would put it, ocee. yes sir, we'll go far together in this business!” grant exulted. and the two men shook on it. the phenomenal luck of grant and ocee soon made newspaper headlines, and the two were swamped with local newspaper re- porters and photographers who came out to interview the “two new tycoons.” in the excitement, ocee cooperated wholeheartedly, but after the newspapermen left he realized with a start what he had done, and turned in consternation to his partner. “grant, i am worried about all this publicity. it might get back to pittsville!” “think nothing of it, boy!” grant waved his concern aside, “these are only local and texas papers, and lucky as we think we are, we certainly are not millionaires, not yet, that is. our little two-bit successes won't rate out-of-state notice. so you have noth- ing to worry about. if you are thinking about that business about changing your name, that's all been taken care of. your name has been legally changed according to the laws of the sovereign state of texas' forget it!” “that isn't what's worrying me. emmie doesn't have a divorce. technically, i am still married to her.” “are you worried that she might want to cut in on your dough?” grant asked flippantly. “no, nothing like that. she isn't that type of person. i know that. but, well, i may as well start at the beginning.” and he re- ocee mcrae, texas let people think this is me? this will be the easiest way out for emmie....” “i knew i couldn't go back to my hotel room, but then, i had only a duffel bag there, with my clothes and a few souvenirs. if this death was to look realistic, i had to leave everything. you know the rest of the story, how i came down here and changed my name. but now if emmie were to see the pictures, she would get all upset again about her marital status.” “ouch! now i see.” “and then there is another thing that has crossed my mind many times. i don't know how that switch in identification came off. the victim's true identity might have been established, and in that case who knows what kind of charges they may have against me? i must go back and straighten these things out.” “i can understand that, and how you must feel. when do you want to go?” “the sooner the better.” “all right, then. i’ll go with you,” grant decided. “would you? say, that's swell.” ocee sighed in relief. they tentatively planned to go to pennsylvania early the next week, immediately after conferences with the drilling crew. but it was only two days later, while ocee was alone in his office, that he looked up to see larry entering. larry followed by emmie. he got up slowly. “it is mike,” emmie cried to her husband. taking larry's hand, ocee said, “yes, and if you had only waited a few days, my partner and i would have been up there in pittsville. we were to leave tuesday. but how did you find me? did you... ?” larry handed him the newspaper clippings with pictures of himself and grant. “i did it for you, emmie,” ocee said. “i put my clothes and identification on that hit-run victim when i saw the accident, and decided to pull out.” and he told them the details of the incident. “you shouldn't have done it,” larry reproved him. “i came right back from reno when larry called to tell me señora juanita villaronga about it. but, mike, i knew that man wasn't you the minute i saw his hair....” “at the time she wanted to check to see if the man had all of his toes, but i was afraid of our being implicated if she upset the identification.” ocee smiled ruefully. “yes, i have only four toes on my left foot. i hadn't thought of that.” “it was through checking the victim's fingerprints against yours with your war record that the police ascertained that he was not you. the papers carried the whole story,” larry continued. “who was the victim?” ocee asked cautiously. “apparently, his true identity was never established. it seems when nobody claimed the body it was assumed he was a drifter. sometime later, we heard that a miner had told the police he used to work with a man of the victim's description, and that he had seen him in that area during the day when he was struck down. it turned out, though, that no family or relatives could be located, so no one really knows who he was.” grant returned from the field, breaking the painful silence which had paralyzed the little group. ocee made the introduc- tions and explanations. “well, it's quite a coincidence, your showing up just at this time,” grant said. “ocee was telling me only a couple days ago he wanted to go back to straighten things out, and i was going with him.” “we saw your pictures under a feature article in a pittsburgh paper about how fortunes are still being made in america,” larry said, and passed the clippings to grant. “yes, yes, that's ocee and me, all right. not bad of me, but doesn't do justice to you,” he said, turning to his partner. his casualness eased the tension somewhat, and the group came back to the problem at hand. they discussed the situation at length, and it was agreed that ocee's plans would be carried out, that he would go back to pitts- ville with grant within a week. larry and emmie returned to their home the following day. ocee mcrae, texas in pittsville, grant and ocee went first to the chief of police, and ocee laid bare the story before him. “why did you do it?” the chief wanted to know. “you should have known that you were compounding a felony and obstructing justice when you first of all failed to report an accident you had seen, and secondly when you deliberately put your papers on the dead man's body to obscure his true identity.” this ocee admitted. “it just happens that we knew that you did not kill the victim, although for a time we did suspect that. we found the car that had hit him, and from its registration traced the owner. he ad- mited all, and is now serving time. so your only crime was to obstruct justice. we'll have to book you, but i’ll release you under your own recognizance and get a ruling from the city attorney, maybe tomorrow. you come back at one o'clock tomorrow. by that time i will have his word on this mess.” when ocee and grant returned, the chief told them the at- torney had decided that ocee was in no way culpable, and as far as he was concerned was free to go about his new life. ocee ar- ranged with larry and emmie about the divorce, and he returned with grant to texas. “the junior partner of the travis-mcrae oil company to see you!” ocee said gaily, as juanita opened the door in response to his ring. “oh, ocee! how good to see you! come in francisco, it is hel ocee!” she called to her brother in the garden, as ocee whisked her off her feet and carried her through the living room. “if you will put me down gently, querido, i will be able to congratulate you properly,” she whispered, kissing his ear. he did. francisco grasped ocee's hand, juanita the other, and they burst out telling him how happy they had been for him ever since he called when the well came in. “but what is this ‘junior partner’?” juanita asked when the first wave of excitement subsided. ocee filled them in on the de- velopments in tirabuzon—the formation of the partnership, his ocee mcrae, texas “in mexico it is not uncommon,” juanita told him, “but in the states i know that even devout people hesitate to call attention to themselves in a restaurant by saying grace.” “no one should be ashamed to thank god!” francisco pro- nounced. “it isn't exactly shame,” ocee replied. “it just isn't the uni- versal pattern in our country, where there are so many different religions represented. most of us are christians of one denomination or another, of course, but there are also many jews, and then there are moslems and buddhists, and members of numerous other creeds in smaller numbers.” “you probably have touched on the explanation, there, ocee,” francisco said. “if you had one dominant or prevailing religion as we have here, the practices would be so widespread and generally accepted no one would feel conspicuous in following them. there is at least one disadvantage in such a situation, however. do you recall all that difficulty we had between the church and the state back here before the war?” “i don't remember the details,” ocee began. “please, francisco” juanita asked. sensing her reluctance to have the embarrassing subject of the conflict pursued, ocee said, “well, no matter what the differences were and how many hard feelings were exposed, i don't think the trouble could have been nearly so deep-seated nor the struggle so bitter as those experienced by many of the early immigrants to the united states who fled europe to escape religious persecution.” “although your country has had complete separation of church and state from its very inception,” francisco continued, “i am certain you still find the subject so highly charged with emotional- ism that it is difficult to discuss. and here in mexico that emo- tional obstacle to communication is most important when we are dealing with the multitudes of lower-class people, on whom the emotional hold of religion is strongest.” “why is it, do you think, francisco, that the poor people, who need religion least, seem to be most deeply involved emotionally with it?” ocee asked. “there you are wrong, my friend,” francisco said. “the poor señora juanita villaronga people need religion the most. the rich have many outlets—cul- tural, recreational, aesthetic. but what do the poor people have? with them, with the poor, work is not a source of satisfaction in the same manner nor to the degree and extent it is with the more privileged groups. especially is this true here in mexico. so re- ligion has its place, a unique place, filling a void in the lives of the masses of the people.” and so the conversation continued in this vein. before ocee said good night to francisco and juanita to re- turn to his hotel, he asked, “i wonder if it would be all right to go to church with you in the morning?” “why, of course, ocee!” juanita cried, pleased. “we would be more than delighted to have you with us. we usually go to ten o'clock mass on sunday, so francisco and i will be waiting in the car in front of your hotel at nine forty-five.” as ocee left them to walk to the hotel, he thought, “now what did i want to do a thing like that for?” try as he did, he could not remember when last he had been to church “i must not forget to take the wine with me in the morning and leave it in the car while we attend mass,” he reminded himself before falling asleep that night. ocee returned with francisco and juanita to their home after mass the following morning. “a little present, querida,” he told juanita, as he set a bottle of his favorite wine on the kitchen table where she was preparing tacos. “ah! thank you! let us save it for after dinner, ocee. i thought we could just relax and listen to music this afternoon, and the wine would be the perfect addition.” “um hum,” ocee was eying the pots and pans on the range. “you are a good cook! everything smells delicious already!” “i think we all do best those things we most enjoy, and i en- joy cooking and keeping house so very much i know i do them well.” “even if you couldn't cook at all, querida mía, i would beat a path to your door. i was telling francisco it's worth my coming all the way down here just to talk to you two. i honestly find the discussions we have, such as the one last night about the social ocee mcrae, texas function of religion, most stimulating. would you believe it, jua- nita, i cannot remember ever having discussed the major problem of religion with anyone before for more than one minute? but here with you, i am able to relax, and i feel more at home than i ever have before, and our conversations develop so freely....” “that being the case, it is plain what you must do, ocee,” juanita said coyly. “what?” “come down to see us every weekend! many of our friends are much better conversationalists than i am.” “hi, grant!” ocee greeted his partner late sunday evening. “how was your trip? how is everyone?” “everybody's fine. still excited at the good news from the field, of course. and they send their best to you—especially helen. she was impatient with me for not bringing you this time, so i prom- ised i would next trip. okay?” “sure, if we can both get away again at the same time and i don't decide to run down to monterrey.” “ocee, i’ve been thinking. this place is in the middle of no- where when it comes to making plane or train connections. brenda brought it to my attention that i spend more time getting to and from the airport in san angelo when i go up to fort worth than i have left to spend with the family. she suggested we get a small plane. but then i reminded her that they won't be up there much longer, and what we really need is a helicopter to get around in the field. what do you say?” “the helicopter will be a must; that's for sure. and the plane sounds good, too—you need it right now, and then it might even help me see juanita more often. but who's going to fly them?” “oh, didn't you know? i have a commercial pilot's license to fly helicopters and airplanes. you see, when i worked with the oil conservation program during the war, i had to learn to fly both types of aircraft in my field work. you were overseas, of course, but gasoline was a very precious commodity then. it was rationed. you had to have priority to get enough gas to drive a private automobile, so we relied on those planes.” ocee mcrae, texas “how much is the cub?” ocee asked, admiring the small plane's trim lines. “you can have it for twenty-five hundred dollars. that's his bottom price. he actually paid about twice that much for it. if you don't take it, i'll try to get three thousand or thirty-five hundred for it. my commission is all i can get over twenty-five hundred.” as he talked his eyes wandered over to a plane whose motor, it was apparent, was being overhauled. “that job over there is a military surplus plane, an at- . i sold it to a state senator last week, and we are fixing it up for him. the military used it for advanced training. not a bad little plane. but here is the cub, all ready for you.” grant and ocee went out to the plane, and grant entered the cockpit to take his seat at the controls. then ocee climbed in. they fastened their straps, and grant took off with as much ease as if he had been flying that particular plane daily. he flew around, down by the river, up chihuahua creek, with ocee carefully watch- ing his handling of the plane, wishing he could do it. “it’s a cinch, pal,” grant assured him. “you’ll be flying better than i can in a month.” “let’s buy it,” ocee said. “okay, it's all yours! except when i go up to fort worth, i'll be using the helicopter most of the time. and twenty-five hundred dollars is dirt cheap.” they flew around some more, and grant said, “we’ve gone about seventy-five knots. let's call it a day.” “why do you say ‘knot'? i mean i know it is a nautical or sea mile. but why would you say “nautical mile when you are over land?” “to tell you the truth, i don't know, ocee, why air people use nautical miles instead of land miles. the nautical mile is . land miles. i remember from engineering school that the nautical mile is one minute of the great circle of the earth's surface, which is not a perfect sphere, incidentally, as you know. the fact that the earth is not a perfect sphere is the raison d’être of the nautical mile, but i really am not too familiar with the details. i must look it up some time. one of my kids might ask me about that. and ocee mcrae, texas followed his contribution, he leaned back in his chair across from her to say, “how did we get off on that tangent? i’m the junior partner in tramco, remember, no etymologist!” “i know, querido, and i prefer you as you are—my friend, and grant's partner. i like that man very much. i know him, i feel, as well as if i had met him, because you speak of him so much. and i am honored, señor, so to know you both, and especially am i honored to be dining with a great oilman, the señor ocee mcrae, texas i’” “honey, that is really what i came back to texas for....” “you say came back. were you working in texas before?” juanita inquired. “no, i wasn't. but i forgot to tell you that i was actually born in an army camp in texas during world war i. my mother joined dad while he was stationed there, and then, after the war, they took me to iowa, where i grew up.” “so you are a born texan i i was quite right to refer to you as “ocee mcrae, texas,” was i not, querido?” “yes, my dear,” ocee said tenderly. “but let me tell you about our partnership. grant's a prince of a guy. he'll make a rich man of me yet. i have a per cent interest in the business now—oh, that doesn't sound like much, but if and when the entire field is devel- oped, and all those wells are flowing, we could be in the money.” “what will you do, darling, with all that money you have not yet made?” ocee laughed as he replied, “well, what does anybody do with money? for one thing, i will use it to make more money. i tell you what i would like to have someday, though—a huge texas ranch with thousands of heads of cattle.” “cattle? you like cows?” “i love cows l” juanita digested this bit of information, looking at ocee at first with disbelief and bewilderment. then her face crinkled into a broad smile and simultaneously they began laughing heartily. she stopped long enough to ask him, “what are we laughing at?” “we love cows!” he answered, and they went off again into gales of laughter. ocee composed himself to say, “you know, jua- señora juanita villaronga nita, i read an article in last sunday's paper. it was in the maga- zine section. this psychologist in answering a question asked by a reader said that two people who find it easy to laugh together and enjoy just being together the way you and i do are in love. do you think he was right?” juanita, sobered, quietly answered, “i think he was, oh, so very right, querido mio. and now”—she brightened—“we should think of our friends at home who await us. francisco is wondering what delays us. shall we go now?” when the waiter brought ocee $ . change out of a ten- dollar bill, the happy couple glanced at one another with laughing eyes, and took their leave. “there is only one regret i’ll have about leaving this house,” ocee told grant one evening, as they discussed the plans for mov- ing into the house grant had purchased from the former mayor. “now what could you possibly miss p brenda has seen to every possible comfort,” grant said, laying aside his pipe. “i’m certain you will have all the privacy you want, if that's what you are thinking about. those two rooms are yours!” “no, that's not it at all. i'll miss bella. and manuel, too. but mostly bella. she is such a sweet old lady—much like my mother would have been, i guess, if she had lived. she has won a very special place in my heart, somehow. it's too bad that her daughter died before her baby was born.” “yes, that was a tragic incident. she died from a water-borne disease, typhoid, i think. but you know it happens quite often among the very poor. they die off like flies, especially late in the summer when the water is so bad. and it seems death is no re- spector of persons, not even expectant mothers.” “manuel told me about that water situation some time ago. he says most of the poor people in hernando county depend upon springs or at best shallow wells, rarely more than twelve feet deep, for water. then when the water level falls after months of no rain, they can't afford to buy water from deep wells, but resort to using alkaline, often contaminated water from the rivers.” “well, ocee, if they were to boil it, even that water might not c h a p t e r v intergroup relations as the development of the field continued, so the travis-mcrae oil company, using the trade name “tramco,” flourished, with grant busy in the field, and ocee supervising the ever-increasing volume of business and office details—ordering parts, managing sales, recruiting field hands and office personnel, handling tax matters, investment expansion, and subcontracting arrangements. “did your ad bring in any employment applicants?” grant asked one evening as ocee came home late from the office again. “a few, yes. but those i’ve been interviewing for the office just aren't qualified to do the work i want. i need responsible, well-trained people—a secretary with initiative and imagination. who knows shorthand, not just a typist. and if we could get a good bookkeeper! as well intentioned as those clerks are, they have to run to me for every little thing. i don't have time to think any more! all day long i have to keep telling them, “do this,” “now do that’—it's wearing me down ſ” “you and every other businessman in these parts, ocee. i don't think there is an oilman who isn't on the lookout for competent clerical help. well, just be patient; i’m sure someone will come along soon. now, if i knew as much about those comptometers and files as i do about winches and bits, i might be able to help you out—evenings, of course, that is l’” the partners laughed. “i could use another good man, myself,” grant continued. “today again i had to make three trips into the office from the field and back. i thought the helicopter would solve the transportation problem, but now i think i’ll have to teach big ben to fly the plane so he can go with me around the field. ocee mcrae, texas then he could make the trips back to the office for parts, and things. but you can see what's going to happen there. if i move him up, i’ll have to find someone else to take over for him at the digging.” “couldn't big ben suggest one of the crew?” “why don't we go over to his house and talk to him about it? have you had dinner, though?” “oh, yes, i have. i must say miss fleming is good about hav- ing a meal sent in before she leaves. now, that's her speed—she is a dandy flunky, but she's no good as a secretary !” “one problem at a time, partner! i'll tell brenda where we're going,” grant said. “you haven't met big ben's mother, have you?” he asked ocee, as the two drove the short distance to the home where big ben lived with his mother, angela rodriques jack- son. “she had it pretty rough after her husband was killed in a rail- road accident. big ben told me it happened when he was only eleven years old. she worked to support the two of them until big ben completed high school.” “didn't she receive insurance or something after her husband's death?” ocee asked. “i asked big ben the same question. but it seems colored rail- road employees weren't covered by insurance. he once confided that his dearest wish is to take his mother up north where she can live free from discrimination. as you will see when we get to their house, she's a strikingly attractive woman. and big ben says he would like to see her marry again, but he realizes that oppor- tunities for her are scarce down here.” “why? there seem to be plenty of colored...” “she's mexican. i guess i forgot to mention that. big ben says she certainly does not want to marry an illiterate mexican— that's about the only kind she meets. he says the upper bracket mexican-americans avoid her because her husband was a negro. then, he said that there were no negro men of the type he would like to have interested in his mother in this part of the country who would consider marrying a mexican woman.” “i can see why he would want to take her where she can move more freely,” ocee observed. intergroup relations grant and ocee found big ben and his mother deeply en- grossed in books and papers. “benito helps me,” mrs. jackson proudly explained to her son's employers. “soon i–no, we will have earned my high school diploma by correspondence.” “now, madre, i don't...” big ben began. “benito” his mother interrupted. “the gentlemen have come to talk about business, not my academic accomplishments! if you would care to sit here, i will take the books away.” and the men seated themselves around the large oval dining table. within mo- ments, it seemed, mrs. jackson had replaced the books with cups of coffee and a tray of fruit-filled cookies, and disappeared into the living room. “yes, i think of two men immediately, mr. travis, who could handle promotion and responsibility,” big ben responded to grant's question. “there's sandy manning and jack roberts. both of them are good men, and would make good drillers and tool pushers.” r “jack roberts? i haven't had an opportunity to observe him very much. how does he get along with the men?” “he’s good. men like him, respect him.” “seems to me i heard that manning gambles heavily.” “roberts doesn't. of that i can assure you.” “good. then that is settled. now, big ben, here's what i have in mind. i'd like to have you work all over the field as my assistant. would you be interested in learning to fly the helicopter and the plane, and working directly with me?” “great! thank you!” and simultaneously he and ocee and grant extended their hands to seal the arrangement. the day after ocee employed a bookkeeper and stenographer, both mexican-americans, a delegation of the office employees came in to see him. the spokesman of the group said, “we can't stand for this sort of thing down here, mr. mcrae. mexicans are all right in their place, just like negroes, but we won't stand for any mixing !” ocee politely listened to the grievance, then rose to stand near his desk as he addressed the group. “here at tramco we are run- ocee mcrae, texas ning a business—not a social club. and if any one of our employ- ees has false notions about the nature of this organization, we will reluctantly have to accept his resignation. we're going to put people in jobs where they will fit best, and where their employ- ment will be in the best interests of the company. it so happens that pasquale aguilar and rosa bustamente are the best qualified bookkeeper and stenographer i could find. they are both business college graduates, with experience. now if any of you here know of a white young man or woman who is as well qualified for the jobs as these people are, have them here at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. but be very sure that they are good! what i am looking for are a bookkeeper and a secretary—not a white skinſ’’ then he looked over the delegation as he said, “that's fair enough, isn't it? any other objections?” they shook their heads uncertainly, and departed. the next morning at eight o'clock, members of the delegation were back on their jobs, busily working, and with no substitute white applicants for the mexicans' jobs. thus ended the miniature “insurrection.” it was not quite two weeks after this incident that a white woman clerk who had been a member of the delegation came to see ocee. after several seconds of awkward attempts, she finally blurted out, “mr. mcrae, there is something special i want to say to you, please, if you don't mind....” “why, of course, mrs. coleman.” ocee smiled at her. “what can i do for you?” “well, it's about that time we came to see you about the mexi- cans.” ocee bristled internally, wondering what was coming next. he thought the matter was over and done with, but the thirty-nine- year-old woman continued, “we were a little hasty, mr. mcrae, and after we got to thinking it over, why we decided to send some- body in to tell you we are sorry. so they picked me. especially since the tirabuzon hotel and the fair department store and the court house are hiring mexican clerks since you started it. personally,” she went on, “i always did say the mexicans are all right as long as they stay in their place.” she stopped, somewhat confused, and then began to walk backward toward the door. intergroup relations “well, that's very nice of you, mrs. coleman, and if you will stay a moment, i’d like to have you take back a word to the group for me. you tell them that everything is all right, and that i am very pleased with the way they have accepted our employment pol- icy, our new employees, and our merit promotion system. you might as well spread the word also that there will be a percent increase in everybody's envelope this payday.” “why, thank you, mr. mcrae! thank you, sir. thank you!” and the woman was so excited she stumbled over the wastebasket and almost fell in her haste to spread the good news. “... i didn't come back to texas to champion the cause of the mexican,” ocee was overheard explaining his employment policy to fellow members at the pecos valley country club in tirabuzon. grant had been instrumental in having him admitted to member- ship shortly after they became partners. “all we're concerned about at tramco–that's the travis-mcrae oil company, gentle- men—is seeing that we get the right people in the right jobs, be- cause tramco is in business to make money. it's as simple as that l” he finished as the friendly little group around him applauded. “you tell 'em, mcrael” shouted felton brewster, manager of the fair department store, “and while you are telling it, let us in on the travis-mcrae formula for making money. you two fellows must have a monoply on all the rabbits’ feet in southwest texas ſ” “not all of them,” bantered ocee, “but we're working on it!” it was a beautiful, balmy day in february, ocee's first winter in texas, and he was talking to big ben. “i grew up in the cold country, big ben,” ocee laughed, “but i don't think i'd ever want to spend another winter in iowa or minnesota. i liked it in ha- waii. . . .” “were you in hawaii, too, mr. mcrae?” big ben asked. “yes, nine and half months. you there, too?” “yes, in coming from the philippines. we spent about eight weeks in honolulu. boy, oh boy! i didn't want to come back to the states. that's one place in the united states of america where a man's a man.” ocee mcrae, texas “yes, i can understand how it must have been with you. so you were in the service; army?” and the men went on to talk about their war experiences. ocee discovered that big ben's father had been a regimental sergeant major, like his own father. and that started them off in real earnest. at length, ocee asked, “how old are you, big ben?” “twenty-eight the fourth of july coming.” “say! you're an independence baby!” and they both laughed. “why haven't you married?” ocee inquired. “i could ask you the same question, mr. mcrae. you are older than i am, aren't you?” “i’ll be thirty-one this coming august.” “well, i'll tell you, mr. mc...” “call me ocee, big ben,” ocee interrupted. “i consider you a man, and think of you as a friend.” ocee waited while big ben digested this. then the big broad smile broke, revealing his unusually fine, even teeth, and he said softly, “thank you, ocee. you are all man!” and, shifting his position, he continued. “but you asked me a question, why i didn't get married. well, i'll tell you. i have plans, big plans. i want to get rich, get a pile of money, clean money—oil wells or something. then i'll take my mother and go north. when i get there, i want to go to college, a university maybe, and make a gentleman out of myself. get me some educa- tion and get me some couth.” ocee laughed aloud at this. “what’s ‘couth’?” “you know, it's what you haven't got that makes you uncouth p’ big ben explained seriously, then waited indulgently until ocee's wave of amusement passed, and he resumed. “i want to be a col- lege graduate, then i want to go in business—not only to make more money. i want to make that down here. but i want to have something to do to keep busy and to give colored people jobs, like you do, mr. ... i mean, ocee.” ocee nodded, understanding. “then maybe i'll go into politics and be a congressman or something.” intergroup relations ocee did not laugh. he knew that there were negro congress- men already—from michigan, illinois, new york. and, looking at big ben, he said, “if another negro enters congress fifteen years from today, it might very well be you, big ben. but at the rate you are going, it will take a lifetime to make the kind of money you are aiming at.” they were quiet a few moments. “how much have you got saved up now?” ocee asked. big ben looked at ocee. the ancient, well-taught thoroughly ingrained lessons from both his father and mother and all the colored adults who had instructed him that he should never tell a white man his business now stilled his tongue. even in the presence of a white man upon whom he looked as a friend, he could not speak with complete confidence. he looked at ocee again, and decided he could risk going at least halfway with this unquestionably decent white man. actually, he had exactly $ , . in three different banks. so he lopped off three thousand, and said, “i’ve got $ , . so far in the bank. why?” “just thinking,” said ocee. “what do you mean by a pile of money, anyway? how much?” “oh, about $ , , maybe,” big ben replied. “a quarter of a million | well! that is a pile!” “that's nothing, compared to, well, compared to your money and holdings in tramco, mr. ... i mean ocee, or to, some of the fortunes around here. oh, i know that only a small number of people can make that kind of money, but i want to be one of them ſ” “big ben, the way to make money—real money, that is—is to invest, speculate, buy stocks, then know when to sell, and sell at a profit.” “i thought you bought stocks so you could get the interest on them.” “you mean dividends, don't you?” “that's it, dividends.” “no, it isn't quite that way, big ben. we do it the way the merchant does with his merchandise—buy only to sell later at a ocee mcrae, texas profit. that's the way money is made. you probably are thinking about bonds. that's a different thing entirely, and someday i'll tell you about bonds. of course, i don't know too much about the stock market myself, but we have a friend who is a stockbroker, and he knows all about these things. he advises us how long to hold on to a stock, when to sell. remember, these are purely specu- lative securities i am talking about.” “well,” grinned big ben, “i just never thought of myself or even dreamed of being a stockholder.” “how else did you expect to make the kind of big money you want, then?” “i sort of figured maybe i could save my money, then find somebody to go into partnership with on an oil deal, the way you and mr. travis are making it.” “i'm afraid you would find it tough getting in the oil business that way,” ocee said soberly. he knew that about the only way a colored man could make money out of oil would be to own some land on which there was oil, and to sell the leases at a stiff figure. aloud he continued, “this is by far the quickest way to make a killing, if you have the nerve to take the plunge. there are chemi- cals stocks, for example, that i'm thinking about, on which grant and i made over per cent profit last quarter, and ...” “five hundred per cent! why, that's an awful lot of money to make! you were right. a man can't make the real big money, that kind of a profit, working for it.” “very true, big ben. even a highly paid business executive, earning one hundred thousand dollars a year salary, could never save half a million dollars working, although he would earn a million in ten years. he would have to pay much more than half of that big salary in taxes to uncle sam. no, the way to do it is to invest—invest in stocks, business ventures, and so on. right now there is a big drought up in the panhandle, and the cattle are dying of thirst. well, there's a fellow who is making hundreds of thousands by going out there, buying up cattle dirt cheap, butcher- ing them, running refrigerator express freight cars in, and hauling the beef to processing points where the meat is inspected and dis- tributed. grant and i have an interest in it. the fellow needed intergroup relations some capital and came to us. we let him have ten thousand dol- lars, and in less than six months we had cleared over fifty thous- and dollars on our investment. you can't beat that, can you? and that man is making a fortune out of the deal for himself, too.” then ocee went on to give big ben a short account of other deals in which the travis-mcrae oil company had had a part. big ben listened with mounting interest to ocee's description of high finance. he was able to follow a great deal of what ocee said, but, as ocee had told him, a man had to have knowledge and experience and training in business to understand the intricacies and ramifications of investments. “that's one reason why i want to go to college and study business, ocee,” he said. “i'd like to know all i can about that sort of thing, so that i can make money for myself, and be in a position to help my people make money, too. there's an awful lot of money in this country, but, although negroes literally work themselves to death, they have only a very small fraction of the wealth in america.” “you’ve got something there, big ben. when you get right down to it, there's not a building or an industry in the south in which negroes haven't just about done the hardest work of con- struction. but the trouble is that for the most part, big ben, negro labor is unskilled labor. and that comes cheap. same thing with the mexicans. if you want the negroes to get ahead in the world, you have to see that they learn some skills. skilled labor is what com- mands the big money.” “there's only one drawback, ocee. what you say is true, but there are some negroes who do have the skills but who can't get jobs, on account of discrimination. no matter how skilled a negro girl could be in stenography and office work, she couldn't get a job in your office using her skills. you wouldn't dare hire her the way you hired that mexican girl, unless you wanted the ku klux klan to burn you out, and maybe worse. they might even mob the girl, kill her maybe. and you know that to be true, don't you?” ocee pondered this new aspect of the situation. that mexican girl, rosa bustamente, had been brought into the office as steno- grapher; and the fellow, pasquale aguilar, as bookkeeper. and, although there had been some grumbling, it was quickly silenced. intergroup relations just make yourself at home, because my home will be your home as long as i live. mother will look after you. hotels are fine, but nothing like a home. god bless you and yours....” “vaya con dios,” ocee said, gripping big ben's hands as they parted. and ocee thought of juanita. he had not been to monterrey for over two weeks because of the pressure of work, but his thoughts had been with her constantly. after bidding big ben good-bye, he impulsively called her. “what would you say to our having a party when i come down this weekend, querida” he asked. “i was just thinking that if i were to order them tomorrow, i could bring down some texas steaks and we could have an outdoors charcoal-broiled steak dinner with you and francisco and jaimie and the others. what would you say to that?” “wonderful! the last few days have been especially delight- ful—the weather's just perfect. and if you could manage to arrive at the airport at about three, francisco could meet you. oh! i am so glad you are coming !” the plans went according to schedule, with everyone enjoying the prime biftec immensely. they drifted back into juanita's living room in the early evening, where ocee and the men dis- cussed the state of the world as they relaxed over their drinks. “nice friends we have,” ocee remarked to juanita after the guests and francisco left. “i like them, but i enjoy them most when we are alone—just you and i,” he added, as he helped her stack the ash trays and glasses on the tray she held. he nuzzled his cheek against her silken face. “you are cute, and you smell nice too, my little gringisima,” he teased. and juanita laughed her tinkling laugh at his banter. “you know, honey, i've been more close to happiness since i’ve known you and been tasting real home life than i’ve been in all of my adult life. ever,” he told her, as she started to say something. “yes, that's right. it's so restful being with you. you are a lovely girl, juanita. you make a man happy.” ocee mcrae, texas juanita rejoined them to comment on the point ocee had raised. “that may be a factor, ocee,” she said. “we latins are entirely too mercurial, too hasty, hot headed, rash. we, that is, our men, do not think before we act. whereas you norteameri- canos will meet, get together, discuss and arbitrate your differences through use of the intellect, our men resort to force and violence, to fighting, war, and bloodshed, which never really settle any- thing, because neither side really wins in the long run. these things i once heard a united states statesman say.” francisco turned to his sister. “hermana mía, when you put it that way, you seem to be giving support to the feelings of super- iority many people in the united states have toward mexicans. i think it all goes back to the patterns of exploitation,” he said to ocee, “exploitation of the poor by the rich, of the weak by the strong, of the disadvantaged by the advantaged.” “i still can’t understand,” ocee contended. “you will find that type of exploitation in every country. mexico is not at all unique in that respect,” he insisted. “true. in the majority of the countries of the world, we see a very small upper privileged class, and a very large lower, im- poverished class—in india, china, and in many of our latin- american countries. in the united states, by contrast, you have a large middle class, with relatively small proportions of the people either extremely rich or extremely poor. now i know exactly what you are thinking—why hasn't a large middle class developed here in mexico?” “what i am wondering is why it has taken so much shorter a span of time to effect this economic realignment in the united states,” ocee defined his position. “here i can draw on my american education,” juanita said. “one of the most significant ideas i recognized in the thinking of the united states—in political campaigns, in the acts of the congress, even in the newspapers—was the belief in the worth of the individual, regardless of his socioecenomic status. it means that the vote is extended to everyone—from the poorest to the richest, and from the illiterate to the most highly educated. in contrast, in many of the backward nations of the world, including c h a p t e r v i water politics “mr. mcrae,” miss bustamente, ocee's secretary, approached him moments after he entered the office, “little ralph benning died last night.” “oh, i am so sorry.” “and we have heard of several other employees whose chil- dren are sick. in fact, mr. smith, the control clerk, called in right after eight o'clock to say he couldn't come to work because his wife and three of their children are sick.” ocee made a number of telephone calls, and then left word with his secretary that he would be first at the county health depart- ment, and later could be reached at the hotel, where he had ar- ranged to have a luncheon meeting with business associates and friends. “the facts are,” ocee explained to the little group after lunch, “that sewerage contamination renders the water of the pecos and the tirabuzon rivers unfit for human consumption without treat- ment. during the late summer months many—a majority, in fact —of our poorer residents in hernando county find their shallow wells dry, and therefore resort to using the raw, unsafe river water. the results we are all familiar with: outbreaks of gastro- enteritis. that is what the health department calls it.” “i can't understand why those people will insist on using that water when they know from experience what the consequences will be,” said jim manley, a druggist. amid rumblings of general agreement with the criticism, ran- dall raised his voice. “i’m a much older man than you are, manley, and perhaps i came from a more humble background than you water politics do, so i can understand. the reason is economic. it's as simple as that. the people using raw river water have no alternativel” “well, that may be true for some of the families that live in remote areas of the county, but it certainly isn't an adequate excuse for those who live near the city's water lines,” manley maintained. ray higgins, the district's representative to the state legisla- ture, and local real estate agent when the legislature was not in session, came to manley's support. “so-called public-minded citi- zens, such as randall here, and now you, mcrae,” he said, “have tried to pressure me every year about this water situation. but i am still of the opinion that anyone who is sufficiently industrious does have alternatives to using the ‘raw' river water, as you call it. you never will convince me that anybody has to drink dirty water if he doesn't want to and i’ve won re-election to the legislature four times with that position, so i'm not alone in thinking so!” at this the argument became heated, and it was difficult for attorney nunnally to make himself heard. “yes, everybody has alternatives, but let's look at them: . he could try to rent or buy a house supplied with city water. or...” “most of the people affected by this situation couldn't afford such a house—that's why they're living where they are!” grant interjected. “they could, if they wanted to " manley protested. “you just look at some of the cars those negroes and mexicans are driving, and then you'll think twice before saying they can't afford to move from those shacks!” “there is just one factor you are ignoring, manley,” ocee said. “i’ve personally talked with a score of those very people, and to a man they have told me they would much rather have a better home, but because of residential discrimination they can't buy the homes you'd have them live in ” and turning to higgins, ocee asked, “which one of those houses over on pipeline drive—or any other street that has a water main—would the owner agree to your selling to a mexican or a negro?” “oh, so now you're putting this on a racial basis” the repre- sentative flared. “not at all. i brought that out to emphasize the economics of water politics is just the group to do it. the job is cut out for us if we will only do it.” “don’t look at me!” randall said. “i am only the vice-presi- dent. dickerson has been laid up for almost six months now with that heart of his, and he hasn't been very active as president.” “well, you are vice-president,” ocee pointed out. “you have the responsibility of carrying on in the absence of the president, haven't you?” “up to a point, yes,” randall admitted, “but there is that point!” at this juncture, bill fletcher, of the tirabuzon wholesale grocery distributors, joined in. “mcrae is right, fellows. two of my drivers are at this very minute in the hospital with enteritis— two of my very best men, too. what do you say we have a call meeting of the chamber of commerce tomorrow night?” “make it the next night,” grant suggested, “i have to go to san angelo tomorrow on business, and i might not get back in time.” “well, what about it, gentlemen?” randall asked the group. “everybody agreed?” and, looking at the nodding heads, he an- nounced, “all right. call a meeting for friday night at eight o'clock in the same place at the hotel. i will send the notices out myself tonight.” at the chamber of commerce meeting on friday night, dis- cussion and debate on the water situation became rather heated as ocee pounded away at the inaction which was responsible for the current disastrous epidemic. “i think, gentlemen,” he impas- sionedly explained, “that the contamination of the water supply which resulted in these illnesses and deaths could be easily stopped by a plan i have in mind.” “let’s hear your planſ” shouted two or three members in unison. “well, for one thing we could set up a hernando county water authority that would zealously supervise water purification processes and look into the sewerage problem for not only tira- buzon, but for the six other major communities in the county. in ocee mcrae, texas other words, we could make it a cooperative enterprise, since it would be too much for tirabuzon alone to handle.” “what do you have in mind for this water authority of yours to do, mcrae? explain your plan.” “the water authority would handle the construction of a county-wide sewerage system, which would call for a trunk line from below tirabuzon to palm city, up the pecos river to lake liano road, with a branch-off at little bend, and one up the tira- buzon river to mendota's city limits on the south. a spur could run through mckissick and bonanza to the madera city limits, with the treatment plant located on the pecos river, just south of palm city...” “where is the money coming from to do all this?"interrupted randall. “the water authority would be empowered to issue $ , , in bonds to finance the system.” ocee had his answer ready. his suggestion was at first received with impressive silence by the group, who looked at one another significantly, nodding their heads. finally randall said, “you have given this an awful lot of thought, haven't you, mcrae? you must have spent quite a lot of time working out the details of such a plan.” “well, as a matter of fact, i did,” ocee admitted. “i feel per- sonally involved, what with so many of tramco's employees af- fected. my partner and i have discussed this situation on several occasions, so when this outbreak developed, it was with his support that i devoted so much time to interviewing officials of the health department, engineers, and the people who would benefit directly from such a project. of course, we could easily get sanitary en- gineers to work out the details of the plan—in fact, the outline i have just given you would undoubtedly have to be changed in the light of expert advice. but it's an idea anyway, and i wanted to put it before you, because i think that many of you, too, would like to see something constructive done, and done quickly.” after a few moments of apparent silent indecision, three or four members were seen to leave their seats and hurriedly confer with randall, who in turn whispered animatedly to certain others in the group, at the end of which activity bill fletcher rose to be water politics recognized. “mr. chairman,” he said, “if i am in order, i would like to nominate for the vacancy created by the resignation last night of joe dickerson as president of the hernando valley chamber of commerce, ocee mcrael” cheers and applause rocked the room. the chairman put down his gavel and permitted the rousing ovation. as the demonstration subsided, he announced, “this is somewhat irregular, of course. but joe dickerson did tender his resignation, on account of illness. therefore, it will be in order to fill his unexpired term in this manner. and i ask the question, is there a second to the motion?” there were several seconds. the chairman resumed, “it has been duly moved and seconded that ocee mcrae be elected presi- dent of this body. are you ready for the question?” there was a chorus of “questionſ” “all in favor say ‘aye.’” and the “ayes” thundered a unanimous roar of approval. “those opposed,” boomed the voice of the chairman over the uproar, but no one paid any attention to him, as everyone was thumping ocee and everyone else on the back and shaking hands all around. the chairman adjourned the meeting for the social session that followed. ocee was formally inducted into his new office as president of the chamber of commerce the very next week, and began imme- diately to appoint and work with committees assigned to alleviat- ing the emergency. they raised funds to finance a “water pool,” providing drinking water to all workers unable to buy it. they distributed thousands of pamphlets printed in english and spanish instructing residents concerning the dangers of “raw” water, and suggesting precautions to be taken to avoid contracting water-borne diseases. they enlisted the aid of the red cross and welfare agencies in providing hospitalization and emergency treatment for enteritis cases among needy families. the crisis passed, scattered rainfall came to relieve the water situation, and ocee was hailed for his effective leadership and organizational skill in meeting the emergency with action. he was given a citation by the mayor at a chamber of commerce appre- ciation banquet arranged by the small core of the most genuinely ocee mcrae, texas public-spirited citizens: randall, grant, fletcher, attorney nun- nally, felton brewster, and michael shaughnessy. this small group of men formed the nucleus of a committee which emerged within the next few weeks as spokesmen for the people who had directly benefited from the measures taken to meet the emergency. they were joined by a catholic priest, father pedro rosario, and a methodist minister, reverend eli bennett, who urged that pressure be brought to bear on rayburn higgins to initiate legislation the following session to provide the sewer- age disposal system for which ocee had formulated plans. “father rosario, reverend bennett, with all due respect for your suggestion, we already know how higgins stands on this matter, and i think to approach him would be an absolute waste of time,” grant told them at the first meeting of the nucleus group. “i hesitate to sound cynical, gentlemen,” randall took up the discussion, “but higgins and his position have a great deal of support in this community.” “but we saw how the community rose to meet the recent water emergency—you couldn't have asked for more wholehearted co- operationſ” the reverend bennett said. randall continued, “i’ve lived a long time, and i think i un- derstand people fairly well even though i may not have as much education as our brothers of the cloth, or you, grant. and of this i'm certain: everyone has enough of the “do-gooder’ in him to want to help out in an emergency such as we have just gone through. but when it comes to rationally acting to prevent a re- currence of such a situaiton, they just won't do it—especially when it means taking money out of their pockets over a long period of time.” “there is another thing we have to think about,” brewster said. “the majority of the voters here, the very people who keep higgins in office, really don't feel any need for changing the status quo. they have their water. now, if the poorer people could all vote, maybe we could replace higgins with a representative who would work in their interests.” “then what you are saying,” the priest summarized, “is that water politics we can't hope to put mr. mcrae's proposal into operation, is that it?” “well, i wouldn't go so far as to say that it's beyond the realm of possibility, father,” brewster said. “what i think we are doing, however, is trying to specify the obstacles in the way of its development.” the men fell to vigorous speculation as to how their long- range objectives could be accomplished, and as the night wore on they realized they had reached an impasse. “i suggest we all give this more thought, and as soon as any of us come up with a workable idea we get together again to dis- cuss it,” ocee said, and the little group agreed. the christmas holiday season was soon upon them, preoccupy- ing everyone's thoughts and time. but early in the new year, several of the men would gather at lunch, at someone's home, over a beer, or just on the street as they would meet, and their desire to forestall another epidemic the next summer would be reflected in their conversations. “as i see it,” fletcher told grant on one such occasion, “ocee is the only man who could put this plan over. if we could prevail on him to run against higgins . . .” “he has the personality for it all right,” grant responded thoughtfully to the suggestion. “but i don't know.... why don't we get the group together over at my house soon and work on the idea?” they all did meet the following saturday. ocee was pleased at the general enthusiasm for fletcher's suggestion. “but,” he told the men, “i can’t see how i could convince the voters to do anything they don't want to do, especially when i would be run- ning against a man who promises them he will do exactly what they want—which is nothing on this issue, of course!” father rosario entered the discussion. “i can see your point, mr. mcrae. but it occurs to me that you could win support for your own candidacy on other grounds. for instance, if i were a politician, i would establish as my platform the extension of the vote. this has always been one of my major concerns, because ocee mcrae, texas clientele will always seek him out! in fact, knowing as i do how he operates, i’d wager he will use the fact that he has run for public office—regardless of the circumstances or outcome—to his advantage. he's that kind of guy.” new enthusiasm was infused into the group as they concen- trated on mapping the details of their strategy, and within the following weeks a plan of action emerged, with oscar rideout, listed as “independent,” entered in the race against higgins at the same time ocee filed. randall and fletcher had volunteered to handle the advance publicity for ocee's campaign, including a brief biographical sketch about him to be given the local papers. “what do you think of this?” fletcher asked, as he handed randall the draft of the sketch, which read: full name: oliver cromwell mcrae age: birthplace: fort bliss, texas residence: years in county and district education: high school graduation, plus army leadership school certificate army communications school certificate army criminal investigation department school certifi- cate army administrative school certificate business: vice-president and treasurer of the travis-mcrae oil company, tirabuzon previous public of fice: none relatives in public office: none benefits: willingness and determination to do a good job. will work hard to serve the people of the district and state. courage to treat all people courteously, fairly, and impartially. young, in excellent health, and strong enough to serve the people long and faithfully with energy and zeal. will make a public official who is independent in his thinking, conscientious in his actions, and who has the welfare of the people of his constituency foremost in his thoughts. “looks good to me,” randall said after reading it. “couldn't we include something about his being president of the chamber of commerce, though?” water politics “sure! that's a good idea. here,” and he wrote an addition to the sketch. randall read: previous public office: none, but president of the hern- ando valley chamber of commerce. “now! that's just the touch it needed !” randall gave the draft his approval. “after it appears in the papers, we might decide to have handbills printed and distributed.” ocee had been writing juanita about his projected campaign for the legislature, promising weekly that he would positively take off the next weekend to visit her, but each friday he found himself so involved he had to call her postponing the trip until the following week. he did manage to leave, however, immedi- ately after filing, pleading he needed the rest before beginning the actual campaigning. “querida,” he told her, “i decided that, after calling so many times to cancel our plans, this time i would call to confirm them l” “ah! francisco and i and all our friends are so anxious to hear your campaign plans. we will expect you early in the after- noon, then, and you can tell them ſ” juanita cried expectantly. ocee was pleasantly surprised on landing at the little private field near monterrey to be greeted by a host of the friends he had made on his many visits to the home of juanita and francisco. in their demonstrative latin way, they made him feel like a conquering hero even before the battle had begun. as he went with them from the airport to juanita's home, his attention was directed to an impressive window display in a store featuring washing machines by an illuminated sign that read: más tiempo para el amor—“more time for love!” “i think i should get you one of those machines today, querida mía,” ocee declared. and the jolly banter that followed his teasing accompanied them all the way to the house. once there, however, he was bombarded with hundreds of questions about the campaign, some of which he laughingly and jokingly answered, trying to play down his role in the campaign, but sometimes he grew serious, discussing the basic issues. “if you can say there is one major issue, it is to do something water politics mexicans ! and we have coursing through our veins the finest blood...” “i do not forget our proud ancestry, hermano mío. but in america i am a mexican, and americans do not think like other people....” “the gringisima does! and so do many americans.” “yes, francisco, you are right; there are exceptions, and those exceptions but prove the rule. i do not propose to jeopardize ocee's political future by marrying him ſ” “this is insane! such a thing is not right! i want ocee as my brother-in-law i demand that you ...” but juanita did not let him finish his outburst. “shush, herm- ano! i know you love your little sister dearly, and i love you, too, for saying that. but we live in a very coldly realistic world. white americans look down on mexicans. i would be ostracized. ocee would suffer. that i cannot have.” “you women are peculiar persons. so you love the man so much that you refuse to marry him i ask you, hermanita, what kind of sense does that make?” “francisco, let me tell you what i have secretly decided. if ocee does not win the election, i shall most seriously consider marriage with him. but if he wins it, and of a certainly he will, i shall not marry him. francisco, i love him too much....” and she gave way to the flood of tears within her, as her brother tried to comfort her, patting her on the head, awkwardly trying to assure her thct he was not angry. he whispered, “nuestro padre en el cielo—our father in heaven, he will help, hermanita mía.” “since we last talked over the campaign plan,” ocee told the strategy committee, “i’ve compiled a list of some of the aspira- tions voiced by local citizens—improvements they would like to see in our district, and which are appropriate campaign topics.” “good man, ocee,” randall said. “but before we get into that discussion, shaughnessy has to leave early, so if it's okay with you, let's have him tell us, and rideout, here, what he has in mind.” “rideout's prime objective at all times will be to make his racist position ridiculously offensive to as many voters as pos- ocee mcrae, texas sible,” shaughnessy began. “lambast not only mexicans and negroes, rideout, but also jews and catholics and poor white trash, always lumping them together. you will be sure to antag- onize your audience, even though they may have no active sym- pathies for the disfranchised segments of our population. tell them that you personally know that god is a white man just like yourself, just like themselves, and then go on to say that there's nothing to all this talk about negroes and mexicans being made in the image of god.” shaughnessy stopped momentarily to cross himself, bowing his head, as father rosario coughed and blew his nose loudly. “but, as we agreed earlier, we must keep our objective in mind.” directing himself to ocee, he continued, “mr. mcrae, i suggest you concentrate on the voting. make your re- buttals to these racist arguments as straight-to-the-mark as pos- sible. hammer away at the idea that if any one group is denied the vote, every other group is in danger of being the next to be dis- franchised. tell them that the more people there are who can vote the better the government, emphasizing, for the benefit of the more thoughtful of your audiences, that newly enfranchised voters will support the demands of the voters who extended the ballot, adding strength and weight to their side in all subsequent elections.” “and this is where i could bring in all these ideas i’ve col- lected—like additional air and rail service, increased school ap- propriations, road improvements, and, of course, the water and sewerage projects,” ocee said. “precisely,” the priest agreed. “keep your speeches centered around the needs of the people.” rideout was thoroughly in the spirit of the intrigue now, and his mind was awhirl with ideas even more scurrilous than any the group could produce. “we’ve got to get in this intermarriage hoax—now, that's dynamite! why, i could accuse mcrae of ad- vocating intermarriage every time the matter of equal rights to the ballot comes up!” brewster contributed, “rideout, you tell them that you don't believe in intermarriage, no sir! but then, in keeping with this design of offending your audiences, you say that you stand for the water politics right of white men to have fun with mexican and negro women —but never to marry them! that will burn them up! even those who agree with you will think you are going a bit too far in thus offending the public morals and decency by saying things that everyone knows and lots of them condone, but are not considered quite the things to say in public.” and so the campaign started. ocee's schedule of appearances was made up by the committee, whereas rideout's program called for a series of ostensibly impromptu meetings at which he would establish his position, with subsequent appearances to be arranged as opportunities presented themselves or as he was able to create them. rideout confidently assured the committee he would cover the district thoroughly, suggesting he be compensated in propor- tion to the number of speeches he made. they set a figure for each appearance. “that's in addition to expenses, of course,” rideout drove his bargain. “good evening, ladies and gentlemen. this is styles smith with the eight o'clock news,” the commentator began his nightly broad- cast. “with the primary election less than a week away, the politi- cal scene in the th district, especially in the immediate environs of tirabuzon, presents greater personality contrasts and clearer delineation of issues than have been evident in local cam- paigns in this reporter's memory. the interest centers on the three- way race for the seat in the state legislature from this district, where the incumbent, the honorable rayburn higgins, is being challenged by two relatively new stars on the political horizon. as i have reported to you during the past weeks, the campaign of oscar rideout has degenerated into a mad, irrational fiasco. as one voter expressed it today, ‘i don't think anyone is taking him seriously any more. but a lot of us go on out to hear him, just like we would go to a circus to see a flame-eater l’ the two serious candidates who have emerged are, of course, representative hig- gins and ocee mcrae. however, more and more voters are asking themselves, ‘what is higgins for, anyway?” in the face of ocee mcrae's keen political sense, higgins' double-talk on the water ocee mcrae, texas and sewerage issues, and his reluctance to take a stand on the matter of revising voter registration laws apparently have weak- ened his support....” grant turned the radio off. “yes sir,” he said to brenda, “i’m mighty proud of ocee!” “understandably, dear.” his wife smiled. “and his winning so much popular favor reflects on your good judgment in taking him in as your partner, you know. so you have a right to bask in his glory! when mother called today, she said helen is following ocee's campaign with great interest, too. grant, do you think he is in love with juanita?” “i guess so, why?” “well, i was just thinking. remember how we met?” grant nodded. “vaguely ... no, not exactly.” “oh, grant! you do too ! don't you remember when you es- corted that little girl from san marcos with you to a tri delt dance? you weren't much of a dancer, so you just stood on the sidelines drinking punch and eating cookies. and was she furious! so she told me to fill a pitcher with punch, and i took it to you. don't you remember?” “oh, sure! it was good punch.” “not that! don't you remember that was when you first no- ticed me—as a woman, that is?” “i did? well! so how does that have any connection with juanita or helen... ?” “grant, you are teasing me! but i'll tell you what occurred to me. if, after ocee is elected, we could have a party and helen could be here, well, maybe...” grant put his arms around his wife, kissing her. “you match- making women! well, we'll see....” the international telephone service was so efficient that ocee was able to reach juanita from wherever his campaigning took him as readily as if she had been in the united states. so, as the cam- pain progressed, he found himself calling her frequently, not only to report on his experiences, but to keep asking, “and have you come to your senses about marrying me yet?” her replies were ever some variation of, “ah, querido, i am ocee mcrae, texas “i have to do what i believe is right,” she sobbed against his chest, “i have to live with myself.... i love you, and will ever love you. i want you to continue coming to me. but we can never marry. we can never have children. we could not marry in the church....” “we would not have to marry in the church,” ocee tried to tell her. “we could be married, well, at home by a minister, or get a license any where and be married by the alcalde....” “no, no, no. you do not mean that l” she cried. “that i could not do.” and she looked up at him with an expression akin to horror at the very suggestion of marriage outside the church. ocee was shocked at her vehemence. he stood up and held juanita upright. “we do not have to get married today, my dear girl,” he said. “i’m not much of a churchgoing man, but i respect your convictions. i know there is such a thing as getting a dispen- sation or release from marriage, even within the church. so will you promise me that before i come back week after next, you will go to your padre and tell him about what your husband did? i am sure that no priest—no church—would want you to be punished the rest of your life for what your husband has done. so will you promise?” “yes, yes, querido mío, juanita whispered, limply falling back into his arms, her tears washing his shirt front. he brought up the matter again on his next visit to see her. “juanita, you said you would see your priest about an annulment or dispensation, or whatever it is. did you?” “i saw him,” she said, “but he merely tried to comfort me with the thought that raoul may someday see the error of his ways and return to me. when i told him that i do not want him now or ever, all he said was, ‘he is your husband, daughter.’” “what can i do to talk sense into you! first one excuse, then another!” ocee gave vent to his exasperation. her only answer was a bucket full of tears. at that ocee let loose with a barrage of swedish expletives accompanied by gestures which shocked the tears from juanita's eyes. she could not help but let out a little peal of laughter as she water politics he relaxed, then smiled. “picked it up from olaf swenson from south dakota, who was in my outfit. he was born in swe- den, but his parents migrated to the united states when he was seven. we struck up quite a friendship during the two years we were prisoners of war together. he taught me how to swear in swedish at the german guards. it's very handy, knowing how to blow off steam without being understood ſ” “do it some more!” juanita playfully urged. “okay, i will,” and he opened up with a fluent outburst, this time in japanese. “and who taught you that?” she asked, amazed. “ningaso yamashita. he was a civilian employee during the occupation in japan. and he and i used to talk for hours on end about the midwest, since he had attended the university of min- nesota for a short while, and had visited iowa near the town where i was reared.” juanita had moved into ocee's arms as he stood talking of these experiences. “now say it in spanish,” she teased. “you wouldn't understand!” ocee tweaked her cheek, and they hugged one another, laughing, relieved. “you see, my gringisimo, we can still be happy together— just as we have been the last two years without being married. and we can be for two more years and then two more, if you will but come to me when you can. i shall always be waiting....” “i need to know something about the law,” ocee told grant soon after the excitement of his election subsided, “and i’ve been thinking it would be a good idea for me to enroll in the night classes of that law school in san angelo, the alamo law school. i've already looked into it, got the syllabus this morning. their classes meet monday, wednesday, and friday nights. i’d get my degree in three years.” “law would be of immeasurable value to you, you're right. oh, you could do it easily. and san angelo's only about miles away. you could fly that and be there in less than two hours, and come back after your classes. that's a great idea!” “well, i hadn't really planned to use the plane....” ocee mcrae, texas “of course, take the plane. what do you think we have a plane for, anyway? on those roads it would take you at least three hours to drive it just one way!” “that's true, too. all right, then, it's settled. and that way i could spend a little more time in the office—until the legislative session begins, at least. as you said when we made those promo- tions in the office, the force is quite capable of handling the work during my absences now.” so ocee enrolled in the fall term at the alamo law school, where his advisers assured him he would be qualified to take the bar examinations within thirty months. “how are the law classes coming along?” grant asked six weeks later. “just fine. it's been some time since i had to do any serious studying like this. in fact, i never did have to get down and do the kind of studying i now have to do. but it is interesting. we have been studying agency, contracts, real and personal property, torts . . .” “what’s this ‘tort’ p” “oh, a tort is simply a civil wrong, independent of and not involving a contract....” “okay, attorney, never mind. you've even started talking like a lawyer.” grant laughed. “it really isn't that bad. law isn't as difficult as i thought it was before i began reading it. well, i'll revise that, and say it isn't as difficult as i thought it was the first two or three weeks of school. now it is becoming quite clear. but you asked me about the curriculum. later we will take up equity, criminal law, evi- dence, pleading, trial and appelate practice, constitutional law, trusts, insurance, wills, titles, taxation, and so on and so forth.” “whew boy, you have your job cut out for you, haven't you?” “i suppose so,” ocee agreed, but added, “you are an engineer. law isn't as tough as engineering, you know that.” “in a way, yes, engineering is tough. but in engineering we deal with things we can actually see, measure, test, calculate. law requires a high level of abstract and verbal intelligence.” “so does engineering,” ocee argued. “engineering does re- water politics quire a high degree of spatial and abstract intelligence. i admit you engineers don't have to do as much talking as lawyers do, but you have to think as hard, or harder, and, in my book, any kind of thinking requires abstract intelligence and verbal intelligenceſ” “all right, ocee, have it your way. i ought to know better than get in an argument with a lawyer l’” the two men laughed heartily and shook hands, as men will do when they have enjoyed an argu- ment that ends in a draw. it was the fall of . grant's family had moved into their new home the week before thanksgiving, and ocee moved right along with them. “hello, ocee. won't you join us for a little while?” brenda greeted him a few days after they were all settled in the new home. “grant and i were just discussing the details of our combination housewarming and family celebration christmas eve. we wanted to be certain you will be here.” “oh, thank you, brenda, but i promised juanita i’d spend the holidays with her. i’ve been trying to get down there for several weeks now, but every time i think i have it all arranged, something comes up to make me postpone it. i really don't want to disappoint her again, especially since we've both been looking forward to christmas together so long.” “my family is coming up from san marcos,” grant said. “you won't miss me.” “oh, i don't know about that ſ” grant interrupted. “my part- ner is their main topic of conversaiton, and the family really wants to meet you.” w “you know i’d like to meet them too, and i’d like to see the folks from fort worth again, but . . .” brenda did not attempt to prevail on ocee to change his plans. she did mention to grant, however, that if helen were to come down a few days in advance of the party, she could probably con- vince ocee that he would enjoy the holidays more if he stayed. as the day of helen's arrival approached, a plan of action formed in her sister’s mind. “ocee?” helen asked, having been briefed by brenda to set water politics “i will, sister dear.” clearly helen considered the warning superfluous. “ocee is a nice man, helen. men like him, and the women are crazy about him—that little spanish venus, for instance. it would be perfect if you two could become interested in one another. you are twenty-six, and ...” “twenty-five, if you don't mind! it will be two whole months yet before i will be twenty-six,” helen corrected her in mock seriousness. “well, you know what i mean. mama and papa are worried about you, helen. we don't think you should marry a man you don't like. but you have turned down so many fine young men. we thought you and doug ...” “oh, him always bragging about his many women and his conquests. just like an adolescent. not for me, thanks!” helen scoffed. “all right, so he was an adolescent, only thirty-seven years old, but vice-president of an up-and-coming firm all right! all right!” she gave in as helen tried to interrupt. “then there was william jennings cameron the third.” “that's just what his trouble was,” helen said. “what was his trouble?” her sister inquired, curiously. “the third that's what!” helen screwed up her face. “he never could forget it. if he had been william jennings cameron zero, or better yet, just plain bill cameron, himself, things might have been different. and i don't like a man who dresses the way he does,” she finished. “what's wrong with the way he dresses? why, w. j. was a very neatly dressed...” “too neat for my taste,” helen retorted. “helen, you're absolutely impossible. who ever heard of turn- ing a man down because he is too neat!” brenda threw her hands up in exasperation at her younger sister. “sometimes,” she con- tinued, “i think you really...” “... want to develop into an old maid!” helen chorused with brenda, who had on so many occasions in the past uttered just that complaint. water politics just where to find plenty of cedar. and i was thinking after you called, helen, that we may be lucky enough to run across some mistletoe.” “oh, i can help you there! we used to gather it every christ- mas. if we can only find some red maple trees, we will be almost certain to find mistletoe growing on them. but you will have to do the climbing, ocee. i haven't been up in a tree, not even looking for mistletoe, for years i” “well, neither have i, when you come right down to it,” ocee teased. “in fact, it has been, now let me see. if i climbed a tree last when i was eighteen, then it has been fourteen years. if you can top that, i will climb all the maples for you!” “i could win that bet, ocee, if i were to say the last time i climbed a tree was when i was ten—then it would be fifteen years ago. unfortunately, though, i was climbing trees well into my teens. the family used to call me a tomboy.” “i can believe it! that's how you developed that exquisite col- oring and glowingly healthy complexion, by being a tomboy and playing outdoors for all those years. now didn't you?” ocee teased. “to tell you the truth, yes, ocee. it wasn't until i took this job i have in fort worth as private secretary to the president of the first national bank that i have been virtually a hothouse plant. and, oh, you can't imagine how i’ve looked forward to getting back to the country ever since brenda said i could gather the greens for decorations.” “we could buy them, you know—by the ton or carload Î" “oh, never! half the pleasure is in the hunting and finding ! i hope you brought a hatchet, ocee.” he had, and they wielded it to advantage, filling the station wagon to overflowing with cedar and mistletoe and a bit of holly they found near an abandoned home. the following two evenings, ocee and helen devoted to draping christmasy sprays around the columns at the front door, over the wide arch leading into the re- ception room, and above the windows there. “what would you think of hiding some mistletoe in the chandeliers, helen?” ocee asked. ocee mcrae, texas she nodded, pleased. “is it real?” he touched the playful dimple in her right cheek while standing on the bottom rung of the ladder. “can't you tell? it might rub out easily.” she held her head still as he gently tried to rub it out. “i like your voice,” he told her irrelevantly as he mounted the ladder to place the mistletoe. her voice was gentle and low, “a very excellent thing in woman,” according to shakespeare, who knew about such things, ocee thought to himself. “brenda, you'll have to help me out,” grant pleaded with his wife at lunch. “i swore i wouldn't tell a soul. i told him i would think about an appropriate present and let him know later.” “ocee?” “yes. he was completely at a loss, what with having to wire juanita flowers and apologies for canceling his holiday plans with her.” “oh! then he is staying!” “certainly . as though you and helen didn't know ! you women | he has been shopping. bought presents for the children this morning, and asked me what he should select for helen, ex- tracting a promise that i wouldn't tell you he had to seek my advice. well, i didn't know what to suggest—had to put him off, saying i’d give it some thought. now you've got to help me! what do you think she would really like?” “there's a lamé stole at the petite shop. i’ll call the clerk, and have her on the alert. just send him over there.” ch a p t e r v ii sophisticates abroad ocee was kept extremely busy. the legislative session was in full swing in austin, adding new demands to his heavy schedule which included the full program in law school, hours on the job in tram- co's office, getting around the country to see his constituents, at- tending meetings, and the thousand and one things a legislator has to attend to. “how busy can a man bel” helen petulantly asked her sister as the spring progressed. “it seems that every time we plan a weekend, and he knows i'm coming down, he dashes off on some “business’l” “now, dear, i'm certain it isn't deliberate. he gets so genuinely absorbed.” “i know ! so absorbed he doesn’t even know i'm alive! i wish i were another kind of girl—i'd tell him i love him!” “helen, this enthusiasm of his for the political life will surely taper off into a more reasonable pace, a pace he can maintain. then . . .” but helen interrupted. “oh, i know he is trying to do a good job, and of course he is busy. but if he were interested, he would find the time even to run up to fort worth to see me, or be in town when he knows i'm coming to visit you. i'll bet he goes down to mexico any time he feels like it to see that spanish siren of his ſ” “i don't think he has taken time for juanita, either. in fact, i have a feeling that things are cooling off down there in monterrey.” “i’ll bet!” helen disagreed. “i have to do something ! he is so nice...” and then, as a frown replaced her dreamy smile, she ocee mcrae, texas added, “that's just the trouble! he's just nice to me, and that is all ! i have decided to join the girls on that tour—that might make him miss me. then he'd see!” “what’s all this?” helen told her sister about the sixty-day tour some of her for- mer classmates from texas christian university were planning for the summer. “most of them are still single, too. so far, seven have committed themselves to the trip, and they have been urging me to join them.” “do you think it is a wise thing to do just now, helen? after all ...” “i was thinking that if i were to leave for a few weeks, and if i do mean anything to him, something might happen while i am gone, and his feelings might crystallize by the time i return.” “now that i stop to think of it, dear, there may be a great deal to what you say. men do need to be shocked sometimes, to have their eyes opened to what is right in front of them. you know, grant and i would like nothing more than to see you and ocee married. and it is about time you started your family if you are going to have one, helen.” “oh, brenda! please!” helen laughed as she hugged her sister. “one thing at a time!” “well, i'm certain we can prevail on ocee to be here one week- end before you leave. then you can tell him you will write reg- ularly....” “i wondered about writing, brenda. i thought i could write him every week, but that might be too often. what do you think?” “you write him as often as you can tell him all about your sightseeing, but keep it impersonal. you will see a lot of interest- ing places, and i know he will be glad to have you share them with him. ocee was overseas with the army, anyway, so he will prob- ably have seen some of the very places you will be visiting. by all means be sure to write! that's what i would do if i were in your place. you want to be positive he doesn't forget you!” helen spent only one day in tirabuzon before leaving on the tour. ocee and she sat up late, while he told her of some of the places and things he had seen during the war. “however,” he ocee mcrae, texas nouncement from a chicago paper big ben included with ocee's invitation. he's packing now.” and brenda read: dr. and mrs. lester s. crampton announce the engagement of their daughter, cynthia, to benito rojas jackson of texas and chicago. the bride-to-be attended wendell phillips high school, took her bachelor of arts degree at smith college, massachusetts, and is now a graduate student at the uni- versity of chicago, where she will receive the master of sci- ence degree in social welfare june . mr. jackson, a native of tirabuzon, texas, graduated from the hernando county training school there, and after a successful career as an oil well driller in his home state came to chicago to make his home. currently he is enrolled at the university of chicago school of business administration. the wedding will take place in the episcopal church of st. michael and all angels, june at o'clock, with the rev- erend c. straton demster officiating. after the church cere- mony, a reception will be held at the home of the bride's parents on elmhurst drive. the father of the bride-to-be, a fellow of the american college of surgeons and a fellow of the international college of surgeons, took his medical degree at howard university years ago, has practiced in chicago ever since, and is prom- inent here in professional, civic, and social circles. the mother of the bride is the former delores cunningham, daughter of the late bishop cunningham of the african methodist epis- copal zion church; she graduated from wellesley college and taught in the chicago public schools for several years. at present she is president of the chicago federation of wom- en's clubs, inc., and like her daughter, is a member of the delta sigma theta sorority. when his wife had finished reading the clipping, grant asked, “did the silver get off on time, dear?” “yes, i checked back with the jeweler's, and they assured me the service would arrive well in advance of the wedding. i really do hope they like the pattern....” “if you selected it, i know they will!” grant reassured brenda. “chantilly, wasn't it?” “yes.” grant stood at the french door looking out over the garden. ocee mcrae, texas eagerly waiting for them as they approached the house. “you remember mr. mcrae, madre. he and mr. travis came to see me at home that time....” his mother held out her hands, which ocee clasped warmly. “of course i remember your mentor . how is texas, mr. mcrae?” with that as a starter, it took ocee over an hour to bring them up to date about happenings in texas, especially in tirabuzon. “so you are our legislator now !” big ben congratulated ocee. “i was so glad when you wrote me about the election results. they have really got a good man in you! i know the fireworks started the day you took your seat!” and they went on to talk of texas politics. after a while, however, when big ben's mother was serving dinner to them, ocee switched the conversation. “tell me about yourself; we’ve talked enough about texas, interesting as texas is.” and big ben brought him up to date, telling him about his studies at the university, of contacts he had made, the college fraternity he hoped to make, and, of course, all about his bride-to- be, whom he had called before picking ocee up to tell her he would bring him around for a few minutes that evening to meet her. “cynthia knows all about you, of course, because if it had not been for you, who knows, i might never have met her ſ” big ben told ocee as they were finishing dinner. “i–we owe it all to you, ocee.” “nonsense! you took a chance and won; it was your money. i just helped to invest it. that's all.” “say what you will, ocee, but madre, cynthia, and i will be eternally grateful to you, and to mr. travis, too. i know what you did for me; but i won't embarrass you any more by dwelling on it. thanks again.” and he shook his friend's hand. “come on, let's show you the house and yard.” ocee followed as big ben proudly exhibited the beautiful home he had purchased soon after arriving in chicago. ocee mentioned that in general arrangement it reminded him somehow of grant's home in tirabuzon. big ben pondered it a moment and agreed that there was indeed a similarity. “one big difference, though,” he pointed out. “up here all the houses have full basements— something i never saw before coming here.” sophisticates abroad oritas can set a man's blood on fire.” but she consoled herself with the fact that she, too, was raven-haired and dark-eyed. brenda did write a letter helen received before leaving cairo. she told helen that ocee had been bitterly disappointed at the failure of his water and sewerage proposals to be accepted in the legislature, and how grant had urged him to attend big ben's wedding if for no other reason than to get away for a few days. on learning of ocee's reason for not writing, helen was torn with ambivalent feelings about her tour. “oh ſ” she cried to herself, “if i were with him, and if he would only let me, i could stand by him when things go wrong! but, no, here i am, and what do i think of the moment he doesn't write? oh....” she considered whether she ought to follow bessy mae, the only one of their party who had gone back. she had invented an excuse to fly home after three weeks. bessy's departure had been so precipitate that no one really knew exactly what had developed. but helen de- cided against it. “i have a responsibility to the other girls, too,” she rationalized. although all of the girls but five were older than helen was, she had been tacitly chosen as second in charge to betty eccleston, a motherly, robust blonde from san antonio, who was the accepted leader of the little group. “i just can't let them down.” she remained. the letter she wrote from bombay was awaiting ocee when he returned to tirabuzon. “the perfect welcome home,” he told himself, as he enjoyed her conversational report which all but transported him to the scenes she described. ... egypt, the land of the pharaohs how often i wondered what the country was like. in cairo we visited the museum, the citadel, and inspected world-famous bazaars with silks and spices from the orient mingling with chesterfield cigar- ettes and coca-cola from america. men walk along the streets dressed in long robes of gray, white, and blue, and most of them wear the fez, which is apparently the universal moslem headgear for men. i saw the sphinx, the pyramids, the nile, and took a short but epic ride over desert sand to see them. in karachi, the capital of pakistan, we were still in mos- lem territory. but here in bombay, we are in mystic, teeming india. our four-hour launch cruise to the island of Élephanta sophisticates abroad said. “he says in this letter, “i’ve been so lonely since you left, helen, please hurry home. i need you here, darling.’” helen's spirits soared, sustaining her through singapore, hong kong, and tokyo. by the time she reached hawaii, that romantic island paradise which all americans on the mainland someday hope to visit, thoughts of ocee crowded out serious attention to sightseeing. although she went along with the group to the many points of interest about which the other girls raved—bishop museum, the aloha tower, the pineapple fields and the mechan- ized picking they saw being done, the hula dances staged for their benefit, the rainbow falls, waikiki beach—all made little im- pression on her. the japanese garden was pretty, and she took pictures there, but she was impatient to return to the mainland and to ocee. she wrote him from honolulu, briefly touching on the usual sights. he had been in hawaii anyway himself, and she would wait until she got home to exchange her impressions of hawaii with him vis-a-vis. she ended her letter: “... and i’ll be back in fort worth nine days from today!” before mailing the letter, how- ever, she opened it to strike out “nine,” writing instead “eleven.” she and three of the girls decided to spend a couple of days seeing new york before returning to texas. “who knows,” she said to betty, “wedding bells may be ringing for me soon, and there might be a few things i could pick up in new york that i couldn't find in fort worth or dallas.” “heresy” betty chided. “no texas girl would ever admit such a thing—that is, to anyone but another texas girl, of course!” helen giggled, and hummed lohengrin to herself. on arriving in international airport in new york, betty called the waldorf astoria for rooms, while helen called her father in fort worth, asking him to wire her money to buy the things she needed. fortunately, the four girls were able to reserve a suite of communicating rooms. helen devoted her first morning in new york to the shopping, then joined the girls in sightseeing. after taking the circle cruise around manhattan, they visited the planetarium, rode through central park in horse-drawn carriages, were awed by st. pat- sophisticates abroad under the chair. the newspaper i’d been reading as i fell asleep was on the floor beside the bed. but something was wrong ! i looked at the radium dial of the clock on the dresser— : a.m. i looked over at the mirror on the dresser, got up to take a look. then it hit me—i’d stopped breathing ! that's ...” “oh, ocee, you poor darling,” helen clucked sympathetically. “that was an awful dream, just simply terrib ... ocee!” she sat up straight to look at him. “how can you say such a thing? you didn't really stop breathing, did you?” it took him quite some time to reassure her that he was still breathing. then she asked him again, “tell me about the business —that's pleasant! and tell me about law school. tell me all!” ocee shrank inside. now was the time to tell her, he reasoned, the story of his life before texas. he began, “about my past, helen, there is something i ought to tell you. you see ...” but she stopped him with a kiss. “not now, sweetheart. tell me about the future, or even the present, but not the past. we'll have lots of time after we're married to delve into your “wicked' past! so let's talk about the future. i see a bright future for you in politics—state senator next, and then governor...” “i have no political ambitions, honey.” “but if you should, darling, i’ll be with you all the way, even though it will mean a lot of work—all that entertaining, and your coming and going all the time...” “don’t worry, honey.” he tried to dismiss the subject. “noth- ing like that. i'm a businessman, remember?” “um hum. but what about the legislature?” she teased. “things are rolling along there, i think. maybe during the next session we'll find enough support to put through the water and sewerage proposals. if not then, certainly by the next election the franchise will have been extended to enough of the poor people and negroes and mexicans who will help us to get some of the things we want and need done to improve the state of texas. it takes votes at the polls to do things in the legislature,” ocee ex- plained. “apropos your political maneuvers, ocee, it wasn't the thing to write about, but it was really embarrassing abroad. people asked ocee mcrae, texas me all kinds of questions about our race relations, about our colored citizens. i must confess i found myself abysmally uninformed. darling, you have no idea how i felt, being put on the defensive that way in a foreign country. it got to the point that i hesitated to tell people i was from the south.” “you are not a southerner, helen; you are a texanl” ocee corrected. “thanks, darling. but you have no idea...” “yes, i do,” he interrupted. “i was overseas myself for a long time, remember? of course, it is true i was not reared in the south, although i was born here in texas. but i was an american, and overseas they gave me the same treatment. such things as, ‘what's the matter with you americans treating your colored citi- zens less than human?' or ‘who do you americans think you are, trying to tell other nations what to do when you treat your own citizens much worse than we do?’ and so forth and so on. well, honey, i'm no reformer. all i want are votes—everybody's vote. it's strictly a matter of business with me, politics, if you wish. i'll stay in the legislature until we get a few things done, like... but what am i doing, talking politics the night i become engaged why did you let me?” “because i like to hear you talk, my dearest. talk some more,” helen answered him, looking at him with devotion in her eyes. “when do we get married?” he asked, drawing her near. she thought rapidly. “what about a month from today? no. make it six weeks; that would give me more time.” “what do you need more time to do?” helen kissed him. “just things, nosey!” “all right, then six weeks it is. that makes it about september , right?” “just about. we'll check when we get home. and, ocee, one of the first things i would like to ask you to do is to give me a list of your friends and relatives you want to invite. i’ll need it this coming week, because i'll have to send the invitations out as soon as we can have them printed. oh! i have so many things to do! i have to choose my bridesmaids. mother will be just as ex- cited as she was when brenda married, years ago. suppose you ocee mcrae, texas as the wedding date approached, ocee had to compete with droves of helen's girl friends for her time weekends when he went to fort worth. “be consoled, darling,” she reassured him. “we will be alone together for the rest of our lives!” “i’m not so sure,” he said. “there will be the children....” “now, ocee, you aren't jealous of the poor little children.... oh! what am i saying !” she ended in confusion, and ran off to see what the messenger boy had brought. helen chose a ballerina-length gown of embroidered nylon tulle over white duchess satin. her fingertip veil of illusion was at- tached to a dainty crown encrusted with seed pearls. with a single white orchid, she carried the little white bible her mother and brenda had used at their weddings. her four bridesmaids wore fragile lace in tones of pastel green graduated to highlight the jewel-tone green gown worn by betty eccleston, helen's maid of honor. brenda, as the matron of honor, wore a waltz-length gown of embroidered chiffon over blue taffeta, and helen's mother chose a rose silk crepe. grant was ocee's best man, and helen was given in marriage by her father. after greeting the many dignitaries invited by her father, grant, and ocee to the reception, helen whispered to ocee, “at the first opportunity, dear, let's dash out.” they did. the happy couple spent a week in niagara falls, mecca of honeymooners, where ocee signed the hotel register, “mr. and mrs. ocee mcrae, texas.” from niagara, they went to new york city, where helen wanted to show ocee some of the town she had seen less than two months before. “and this time, you and i will ride in a hansom cab through central park all alone!” she promised. following three days of sightseeing, helen made a sug- gestion which endeared her to ocee forever. “darling,” she said quietly that afternoon, “why don't we spend a couple of days in chicago and go to see big ben and his wife before returning home?” ocee was subdued in his gratitude. “thank you, dear,” he said to helen, seriously. “i can't think of anything you could have sophisticates abroad whose husband is a united states senator? but i can't remember whether that colored man was a senator or representative....” “representative,” ocee filled in. “and what was the army officer's name?” “colonel barker.” “there, that should do it! mother will never believe it! we just don't meet people like these in our neck of the woods !” the next day, helen and ocee were genuinely sorry they had to leave big ben and his wife, as ocee said, “but the time has come for us to return to tirabuzon, and there to begin our life as ‘mr. and mrs. oliver cromwell mcrae’l” “it has been so good to have you with us, even for this short time,” cynthia said. “you have no idea how happy, how terribly happy, i am that we were able to come to visit with you,” helen told her. “we are very grateful to you for making these last few days of our wedding trip so pleasant. i only wish ...” helen could not say aloud what was in her heart, that she wished she could do the same for the jacksons should they come to texas. “don’t just wish, do come back soon and often l’” cynthia tact- fully supplied a happy thought to return the conversation to its pleasant note. “thank you. ... we will.... good-bye....” and they all waved; the women threw kisses as helen and ocee boarded their plane for texas. housewarming “do you think we could preserve much of this natural beauty— the oleanders, magnolias, dogwood?” “i see no reason why not,” ocee said, as they sat down on a knoll from which they could see the confluence of the pecos river and its tributary. “it’s really an oasis, isn't it? since i bought it in , i’ve seen a lot of land, but i can't think of another piece i would rather have. i used to come here, all alone, and tramp up and down all over the place, visualizing how someday i'd have a road along the pecos and the tirabuzon sides, and extend it along the property line in the back all the way down to the high- way. i'd like to have some cattle. do you think you would like a saddle horse or two?” “oh, yes! my grandfather up in dallas county still has a few, including the old mare on which he taught me to ride!” “well, you can almost see where our land ends back there.” ocee helped helen to her feet as he pointed to the west. “we could have pastures from here to the line. i tell you what, dear. let's make a deal. if you will handle the plans for the house, i'll be able to concentrate on improving the land. okay?” “perfect! next week is thanksgiving, and then you know how quickly the holidays are upon us, so we may not be able to accom- plish very much until after the first of the year. but i’ll look through my clippings, and maybe come up with a few ideas to take to the architect.” “... and, ocee, after i had shown him all these clippings, and told him the colors i wanted, and about the spanish style combined with modern, all he said was, “now, mrs. mcrae, i must have a clear idea of your needs—your living space needs !’” helen re- ported to her husband after her first conference with an architect from fort worth recommended by her father. “honey, you will have to help me!” “you see! you have forgotten our deal already!” “no, i haven't, it's just...” “okay. well, now let's see. oh, i don't know, either. living space—well, we'll need bedrooms and living room and baths, and a kitchen, i guess.” housewarming then, too, we will have to have at least three men to handle the farm and the grounds, maybe four. you see what bancroft can suggest.” “there is one other question he asked: when can he see the land, and inspect our home site. he said he is concerned about the contour of the site and mentioned something that sounded like ‘solar orientation.’ when i asked him to explain, he said he would try to situate the house so that the hot sun in the south and west would not beat down through the windows. sounds good, doesn't it? but i told him i would have to consult you about getting out to see the land.” ocee drew an outline of the land. “the contractor and i were going over the ground again today, and back here along the pecos we found that there was once a road. it's all grown over now, but he said he could follow the route, generally, working with the old bed as a base for our road. and we located an area right in here,” ocee pointed to the drawing, “where there must have been a dwelling at one time. judging from the regularity with which the trees are arranged, there were once citrus fruit and pecan groves on the land. before we begin clearing for the pastures, i think i’ll have ned stokes—he's the county agricultural agent— look at the trees.” “do you think that would be the best location for our house?” helen asked. “no, it isn't as desirable as the general area we had originally thought of over here.” ocee indicated the corner of the plot near- est the hernando highway. “the house could be so situated that we would have a view of the tirabuzon. there is a gentle slope down to the river all along this south side, here, whereas the road along the pecos runs high above the water, and i'm afraid any- where you might build a house over there, the water would be obscured.” “the people who lived over there must have chosen that loca- tion to take advantage of something,” helen said. “yes. the old road, undoubtedly. in those days, every decision hinged on practical, utilitarian considerations.” “puſh! they just didn't have any souls” helen laughed. “but ocee mcrae, texas going back to the location of our dream house, darling, when do you think mr. bancroft could inspect the site?” “well, this is the second week in november.... perhaps it would be wise for us to take him out there as soon as possible. then he could arrange with surveyors, or someone, to supply ad- ditional information as he needs it, because i imagine with all of these answers you have now, he could start drafting plans.” the new year saw contractors, surveyors, engineers, crafts- men, and architect beating a path to the mcraes' door. they came laden with samples, plans, questions. whenever ocee was free, he went with helen out to the land, or patiently consulted with the workmen, but with each passing week she found herself thrown more and more on her own as business and political demands took an ever-increasing share of ocee's time. it was a ritual with them. no matter how late ocee returned from the legislature or from the field or from his law classes, helen was waiting, bursting with the details of her progress report. “they hope to have the concrete poured on the high road by the end of the week,” she told him. “and which is the “high road'?” ocee laughingly asked. “oh, you know ! it's along the pecos—you described it your- self. that's where i got the name, and it has taken with the work- men, too. today the contractor told me the graders and rollers were putting the last work on the bed for the low road, too !” helen announced, placing her husband's dinner before him. “you little minx" ocee said, as he pulled helen to sit on his knee. “so what are you going to call the back road? the middle road p” “now you are teasing ! no, as a matter of fact, we do have a very good name for it, though—the lake road.” and, rising, she kissed him lightly, saying, “if you'll eat before everything is cold, i'll tell you about that, darling.” “okay, you tell me,” ocee said good-naturedly. “well, you really inspired this name, too, dear, when you facetiously told mr. stokes that we would dig a lake for the cattle, remember? and he took you at your word, and has worked housewarming end of the house, completely isolated, beyond the master bedrooms and the children's rooms.” “i can't understand a word you are saying, dear,” ocee shouted over the splashing of the shower. she raised her voice, “your study has sweeping north and east exposures; in fact you might even be able to see the lake. oh, but i almost forgot to tell you, mr. bancroft has added a row of ribbon windows directly above the passageway, so that the north side of the dining room and of the living room will be well lighted. it's easy to do, he said, because of the flat roof and the three levels of the house. and he said the light will heighten the effect of the ivory lattice against the turquoise background of the wall behind it. and look, darling,” helen pointed to the elevation on the blueprint of the arches between the dining and living rooms as ocee stepped out of the shower. “oops, water!” “here, it should wipe off. . . .” ocee supplied a dry towel. “these arches are a modification of the spanish theme i wanted. mr. bancroft replaced some of my latticework with the arches here, and then he has added the lanai all . . . .” “hold it! now what is that?” “okay, i'll show you just the way he showed me. oh! i'll get your clothes, first.” helen guided ocee to the dining room, where she spread out the blueprints on the table. “this is the living room, with the twenty-foot side along the passageway on the north, and the thirty- seven feet extending down toward the guest wing, just the way we had it the last time. but you see this long area flanking the patio from the living room past the dining room and over here past the family room to the edge of the carport? well, this is the lanai, and all of these rooms open out into it through a series of slender archways, and the wall on the patio side is my lattice with glass on the exterior.” “oh, like a porch, only different!” ocee said. “well ... maybe.... but don't you like the idea?” “i’ll suspend judgment until i see it!” “oh, honey, what could we do if you don't like it then?” helen asked in alarm. housewarming can take the lake road to the high road and then back down to the low road to the house. it's about five miles, according to the contractor.” as he drove slowly along the newly completed roads, ocee said, “i look forward to our taking this drive many, many times over the years, helen.” and looking approvingly at each palm he had had transplanted between those few originally among the cyprus, post oak, and willow originally there, he added, “we will see those palms grow tall and strong....” “like you, ocee,” helen said, snuggling up closer. as they approached the activity of the building, ocee said, “i’m afraid we can't take time to stop. i’ll drop you back home and drive right on to mendota.” glancing into the back seat, he said, “oh, i will have to stop to pick up my helmet, though. i thought it was in the car.” “that oily old helmet? oh, ocee! why not wear the hat you have on p” “that's my symbol | oh, i forgot. you weren't down here during the last campaign. my old helmet and i were never parted; it brought me luck then in the election just as it had in business, so it's my private and public symbol of success. besides, i like it!” ocee airily informed his wife. “you remind me of my father!” “every man should be attached to his helmet, that's what i say!” “no, silly! daddy held on to his old bedraggled slippers with a fervor none of us could understand. but mother solved the problem by occasionally throwing them out and replacing them with new ones at christmas time or on his birthday.” “now, you wouldn't do a thing like that!” as she jumped out of the car to run get his old helmet she said, “not until after the election, at least !” and promptly re- turning, she told him as she waved good-bye, “i’ll listen to your speech on the radio, darling.” “don’t wait up for me, dear. you need your rest.” “you were wonderful!” helen told ocee in the morning when she took his breakfast to him. “oh, i'll bet you didn't even listen! how could you be up so ocee mcrae, texas bright and early if you had?” he teased, rolling over to take another forty winks. “ocee! don't go back to sleep! your eggs will be cold. and if you open your eyes, i'll tell you what you said; for instance, “we need to be concerned about our water supply. it is true that we have a water purification plant, but it is not designed to remove the oily smell and taste from the river water we must use to sup- plement the usual sources during dry periods. what happened up in dallas could very well happen here. up there drinking water sold at twenty cents a quart following a drought. we don't want that to happen here.” ocee was now propped up on one elbow, smiling, as helen continued reciting his speech almost verbatim. “‘when the fresh water sources failed in dallas, water from the red river was used. but the red river water is six times as salty as it ought to be to taste good, and the dallas water purification plant is not designed to remove the salt from water. ergo, the city water was unpalatably salty, and the residents were driven to buy- ing drinking water at premium prices. now, our situation in hern- ando county is similar. our river water tastes and smells of oil, even after it has gone through our present water purification plant. as a result, during periods of drought, when we must rely on river water . . .’” “bravo!” ocee interrupted. “you mean you will vote for me?” “no. i mean you did listen!” “you seem to forget that i typed at least four drafts of the outline for that speech.” “oh, then you didn't listen!” “yes, seriously, ocee, i did. i was wishing all the time i were with you, and i was so proud of you....” “that's the spirit ! now let's see what we have to eat!” ocee's campaign for re-election to the legislature included a series of radio programs in which he was interviewed by members of the committee of supporters as he informally outlined his sewer- age disposal project and introduced the idea of the innovation in water purification he had tested and found practicable even on a housewarming small scale. subsequently, he appeared on television, mapping the details of the county-wide sewerage project. then he made personal appearances in each of the communities included in his proposal, concentrating much of his attention on groups, including the newly enfranchised minorities. in another series of television broadcasts, he invited leading citizens to appear with him, tasting river water after it had been processed by the small purification plant at his unfinished home. later, the engineers who had devised the process and equipment discussed with ocee on radio and television the installation costs and processing costs. as the date for the primary approached, ocee, on the advice of his strategists, arranged a final series of television and radio broadcasts, to which he invited cit- izens who had, first, been benefited by the measures he had initiated extending the franchise, and, second, who were vitally concerned about the water and sewerage situation. mrs. james crompton, white, the wife of a “roughneck,” as the unskilled laborers in the oil fields were called, was the first to ap- pear with ocee on the program. in answer to his questions, she replied, “my name is mary crompton. i have seven children.” “how old are they, mrs. crompton?” “ten, nine, seven, five, three, two, and the baby is six months. it was the two-year-old that had the stomach trouble from the water that time.” “how do you know it was the water that made the baby ill?” ocee queried. “the doctors and nurses at the health department and hospital said so. and thank you very much, mr. mcrae, for what you-all done for the baby. my husband and me wants to thank you-all very kindly, sir.” “not at all, mrs. crompton. you are quite welcome. it was not i, but the good people of tirabuzon who came to the rescue of our citizens, old and young, who were victims of that terrible epidemic a year and a half ago. by the way, mrs. crompton, do you and your husband vote?” “no, sir, we never did have the money to catch up on our back poll tax, but since you all fixed it so we don't have to pay no back taxes, me and my husband are fixing to vote this time, and my housewarming where, at the psychological moment, they could announce to you their long-range plans.” “oh, helen, i can't believe it! what with the conviviality of the occasion and the good liquor they had, i thought the boys were just carried away with enthusiasm. it will subside tomorrow....” “no. not tomorrow, nor next week, nor next year. you will see. it's only a little over a year before the campaign will get under way.” ocee paused before the mirrored door in their bedroom. “you, governor? why, that is ridiculous!” he told his reflection. he was graying slightly at the temples, which helen insisted made him look distinguished. he had filled out since coming to texas, and his former lanky six-foot frame was now substantial, impressive. and the semitropical climate of southwest texas had added to his deep suntan. ocee patted his hard, lean belly as he looked at himself. he now wore his favorite belt extended only one notch— less than an inch—beyond its length when he bought it in . he felt fit. he looked the part of the athlete he was on the base- ball field, where all year around he played with a group of young businessmen of the chamber of commerce. their team, los toros, never lacked opponents from other cities nor spectators whom ocee kept on their feet hoarsely yelling encouragement with his spe- cialty, pitching. he smiled at his reflection as he thought of the many women who had called him handsome. his one-sided grin through his thick, well-kept mustache imparted an air of “villain- ous virility,” as one of his admiring girl friends had put it. then he sobered, frowning at himself, and said aloud, “okay, so i'm not bad looking, so what? it takes more than good looks to be gov- ernor of texas i” “at the risk of breaking the spell, darling,” helen said, “i quote, ‘you’re good looking, and, believe me, son, that is an asset, and nothing to be ashamed of. you talk well. you're a naturall’ or don't you remember when daddy told you that?” she teased. “sure. but i'll bet devoted fathers-in-law will say the same thing to the present lieutenant governor, the attorney general, and the senators who will be in the running ! and they all have more influence ... more...” ocee mcrae, texas “nonsense!” helen cooed, as she pulled ocee down beside her on the chaise longue. “you will see l’” “all i see is oliver cromwell mcrae, junior, son of the next governor of texas ” ch a p t e r ix his excellency, the governor ocee's nucleus of political supporters in tirabuzon quietly ex- panded their range of contacts far and wide, beyond the limits of his district into the corners of all texas. the idea of “a man of the people for governor” attracted supporters in dallas, austin, fort worth, houston, san antonio, el paso, as well as in myriads of small communities unknown even to the map-makers. “i’m cer- tain randall and fletcher and shaughnessy and the rest of the committee have nothing but the best intentions, grant,” ocee told his partner, “but their efforts are arousing hopes i see no prospect of being able to fulfill.” “what brought that to your mind?” grant asked, as the two men strolled along the low road an early spring evening, in- specting the transplanted palms, as ocee so often did. “the councilman from custer city who came into the office today. he's about the fiftieth person who has dropped in to dis- cuss the support he could muster for me as a liberal candidate in his region. and he, just as the others, cites the hopes and aspira- tions of hundreds, thousands, of politically inarticulate citizens. i’m disturbed . . . .” “disturbed about what? your success in this district stems from your working in the interests of all of the people here. so what could there be disturbing about broadening the base to com- prehend the entire state instead of just this one little district?” “grant, you know as well as i do that if, as the committee now thinks, the lieutenant governor emerges as the machine candi- date, no one will have a ghost of a chance of winning against him. so what is the sense of encouraging these people who appeal to ocee mcrae, texas me as they offer support for causes i cannot realistically promise to further? for instance, councilman sands said today that for thirty years he has tried to get compulsory school attendance laws enforced in his community in east texas, where more than half of the citizens are colored. but, he says, the school board closes its eyes in inaction, preferring to have the colored children grow up in ignorance, rather than build additional school facilities for them. the point has been reached now where percent of the adult negro population is illiterate | or take the case of the harbor em- ployees down in gulfside. their spokesman told me last week that they have been attempting to organize unions down there for years, but that they have been consistently defeated in their ef- forts by local legislation banning labor unions. grant, these things worry me. i think of how meaningless democracy must seem to those illiterates, to those overworked and underpaid longshoremen, to those struggling farmers bogged down in the mud of the unim- proved roads of west texas, and to all of the other disadvantaged groups i’ve heard from. in my more idealistic moments, i want to dig right in and fight a winning battle to bring them some of the benefits they, as citizens, should share. but when i contem- plate the obstacles—the vested interests of inaction at best, not to mention active opposition to change—i feel i would be doing these humble people a disservice were i to tell them, as i would be in essence, in accepting their support for my candidacy as their leader and spokesman, ‘come on, let's all knock our heads against this stone wall of government-for-the-few; with your help i will break it down and we will rebuild on a new foundation: govern- ment-for-the-many.’” “i don't see how you can think you'd be doing them a disserv- ice,” grant said. “it seems to me that to champion the needs and hopes of those you call the ‘humble people' would be to render an inestimable service to them and to the state.” “not when i am foredoomed to failure, as i surely would be in challenging the political machine in power.” “you have less faith in the democratic processes than these ‘humble people' you are talking about, it appears. they haven't despaired of improving their situation. and they have sufficient his excellency, the governor “ridiculous!” porter snapped. “how could i argue against something like this....” and across the table he threw a clipping from the houston newspaper which carried ocee's latest speech. “read that!” he yelled. mcmannus read aloud: ... not all texans share equally in the prosperity of the state. pockets of need and want and unemployment exist. they must be rooted out by extending employment opportunities, so that every citizen of texas, irrespective of race or national origin who is willing and able to work, will find job opportunities according to his skills.... “all right, then, so you can't come right out and approve of discrimination. at least you could put the argument back on the old racial issue,” pinderhughes said to porter. mcmannus interrupted. “mcrae was up against that old line in his first campaign for the legislature, and he was able to rise above it.” “that was in hernando county l’” porter said, as he started pacing around the conference table. “now he's in the big time, and the competition is rougher. he won't get away with it on the state level ! i'll see to that,” and he switched on the intercom. “give me his file, miss buchannan. ... yes, mcmannus !” “boss, there hasn't been a gubernatorial election won in the state of texas in the last fifty years by a racebaiter,” mcmannus reminded them. “i know that. and the governor instructed me not to bring race out in the open this time, either. but i didn't promise not to attack mcrae personally,” porter said, as he opened the file his headquarters kept of all the literature circulated by ocee's sup- porters. “here, help me look through this stuff for a lead....” “... scrutinize the motives behind the suppression of labor unions, the discriminatory employment practices, the unequal wage scales maintained by entirely too many of our large employers,” ocee advised his state-wide audience in a speech broadcast from his tirabuzon headquarters ten days before the election. “scrutinize the motives, and these practices, and you will see that they are all operating to create a large reservoir of cheap labor consisting in his excellency, the governorſ name just a few, knew of my changing my name. they helped me with the legal arrangements. if we had only thought of it, we could have beaten porter to the draw ....” “how could anyone have anticipated such a development! but if we work fast, we may be able to turn this to our own advantage,” randall said, responding with vigor to the new challenge. “come on, let's go over to the headquarters, and get the rest of the com- mittee together.” within twenty-four hours, ocee's supporters throughout the state had photostats of the legal records and old newspaper an- nouncements of ocee's changing his name; they had pictures of ocee with the judge who handled the matter; they had photostats telephotoed from washington, revealing the brilliant war record ocee had made for himself as michael gulbranson. ocee had his fingerprints checked against those on his war record. everything clicked. and the story of ocee's seeking a new life in texas after returning from the war to find his wife married to another man hit the front page of every major paper in texas. ocee himself broadcast his reply to porter, simply, sincerely, saying, “in order to create a new life for myself, i came to texas, the great, rich, wide, and friendly land of texas, where opportunity is limited only by the sky. texas has been good to me. and now, under the name i have been legally given the right to use, i seek to demon- strate my gratitude to texas and the people of texas. as your next governor, i will strive to extend to every citizen of texas full access to the opportunities i have found here. “in this campaign i do not intend to indulge in personalities or in mud-slinging. i am much more interested in having the citi- zens of texas understand the positive aspects of the program i will bring you as your next governor than in telling you of the negative aspects of the situation at present. what we stand for in this campaign is much more important than what we stand against thank you.” “if they have distributed one, they have sent out half a mil- lion!” mcmannus stormed, as porter's executive council tried to assess the damage done to their efforts at a smear campaign by his excellency, the governorſ cans too. we would hate to have anything happen to that fine baby boy you got. but something will if mcrae §:quit! xx ocee immediately telephoned the police, who sent out two deputy sheriffs to guard the house twenty-four hours a day. then he called a hasty meeting of his advisory staff there at home to decide what should be done about this development. “that's the work of a crank i’” randall bellowed. “we'll get that mexican and squeeze the truth out of him if we have to beat his brains out !” fletcher blazed. “they would like to have us do something like that,” randall pointed out. “if we do anything rash now, we would be playing right into their hands and hurting our own campaign. i still say it's the work of a crank, and we should keep it quiet, while guard- ing the house and searching for the mexican.” “we must not let them hurt the baby,” ocee repeated. “the baby will be as safe as if he were in church, mr. mcrae,” the sheriff who arrived with the deputies promised. “i guarantee you that. my men, two of the best, are on the job and will be relieved by two other good men in the morning. yes, sir, your baby is absolutely safe!” early the next morning the sheriff returned to mcrae farms with the mexican in tow. “here he is, mr. mcrae! i told you we would get him in no time at all.” and they proceeded to question the thoroughly frightened mexican. it developed, however, that he knew nothing except that a tall white man had given him a dollar to deliver the letter, driving him in a light truck to within fifty yards of the entrance to mcrae farms. “did you get the license number of his truck?” asked ocee of the man. “no, señor, i don't think. the truck, she is like many others. more than this i do not know.” “would you recognize the man again if you saw him?” “si, señor, yes. i think. but maybe no.” “oh! what's the use! this boy doesn't know anything,” the sheriff grunted, turning to ocee. “maybe someone saw the man bringing him out here. we'll ask around, and let you hear from | b e a b* e. e. e. b e r k e l e y library | university of ' california search for accord search - for • accord lily burke o milestone book comet press books new york loan stack (, hq g- © copyright by lily burke all rights reserved manufactured in the united states of america < p- s pº, , º u search sº ſo º for maj accord {}{}{} s.he was filing catalog cards in the small library where she worked in the evenings as a volunteer. hearing someone approach, she looked up and saw a man standing and smiling at her. “may i have gunther's book called “inside africa'?” “certainly,” she answered as she got down from her stool. “but you can't take it out: it is a reference book only.” “yes, i know.” she went into the stack room for the book. he thanked her, read for about an hour, then handed her the book, saying, “my class begins now.” he was only supposed to place it on a certain table as he left the library, and his courtesy in bringing it to her made her remember the incident as she was walking home. the next monday he asked for the same book, followed her to the door of the stack room, making his acceptance of it seem a little personal to her. she had taken the library work when her other job had ceased, for she preferred this way of spending the evenings rather than being alone in her apartment. on her way to work the following mon- day, she hoped this reader would again appear. she was not disappointed, for at the exact time he entered the reading room. as he came towards her, she looked up and smiled, and asked “the same book?” he nodded in affirmation. as they were walking across the room, she inquired, “whose class are you taking?” “i don't know his name. it is the one at : today.” “i studied that course under professor mitchell. i hope to take his advanced class next fall.” it seemed strange that this small weekly incident became important to her: she would have distinctly missed him if a monday had gone by without his appearing. he now invariably detained her for a few minutes to ask her certain questions about the course. months later, after vacation at her summer place, she attended the first class session and found him sitting in the room. with no hesitation whatsoever, she went over and took the seat next to his, and asked, “how are you?” he looked up and smiled. “very well, and yourself?” she wanted to say, “i’m so glad you decided to take this class,” but instead, she asked: “have you read the assignment for tonight?” “no, i don't have the book.” “would you like to borrow mine?” “but you will be needing it.” “i’ve read it, and i think i'll remember it well enough to follow the lectures.” “thanks. in that case, i would like to borrow it. you know how hard it is to find a copy.” afterwards they walked down the stairs together, instead of taking the elevator. they said good-bye on the sidewalk. he crossed the street to the uptown entrance of the subway, although she realized they could have walked two blocks down to another entrance. during the short distance to her apartment she seriously wondered whether she really wanted to start this friend- ship. she was very excited that she had found him there, and his attitude seemed to start with the premise of an acquaintanceship established through their casual meet- ings in the library. to her he seemed very attractive, and his pleasant and natural response to her advances made her feel that he liked her. “but do i wish to go ahead?” she pondered. “such a relationship entails real problems. i don't feel like paying any attention to the foolish talk that his people will dislike us as much as mine will boycott us. those who would dis- like our going together are the type we wouldn't want to associate with anyway. why don't i let him decide? his position would be as equally difficult as mine, and i am sure he is aware of it. “but next wednesday i have promised to lend him the book. i just could not bring it. how would he take the excuse, ‘i forgot the book,' or the fact that i never even mentioned it?” as she felt entirely compelled to choose the seat next to his again, she also wished to take him the book. she was greeted with a broad smile the following week, and she responded, saying: “i didn't forget the book.” she consciously handed it to him before sitting down, so that those seated would see her give it to him. this gesture would show her class- mates that she knew him well enough to lend him the valuable book; she felt he would understand and appre- ciate her willingness to reveal a desire for his friendship. during the few minutes before class they talked about the subject matter for the evening. when they left the building, she managed to show him that she wanted him to walk with the group down to the far entrance of the subway, and he especially said good-bye to her. the next week this same group of students stopped in for coffee, and were able to find a table for six. on the sidewalk she detained him for a few minutes to say good-bye, thus particularly singling him out from the others. when he said, “i’ll be seeing you next week,” she felt that he also was beginning to look forward to the regu- larity of this event. these incidences took place in the gloom of night when faces were barely discernible to passers-by, or happened in class where everyone assumed a friendly attitude toward each other but which seldom continued beyond the confines of the building. after the next session she walked only with him on the sidewalk. consequently, when they reached the subway entrance he asked, “won't you have a cup of coffee?” she tried to keep her voice from trembling with ex- citement as she answered, “oh, i would like to.” they went on ahead of the others and he chose a dif- ferent restaurant. it was large, crowded and well-lighted. did everyone especially look at them or was she imagining it? as an escort he was unusually attentive, moving the chair for her to sit down, and helping her off with her coat. these niceties somewhat compensated for her sudden consciousness of appearing conspicuous, and his completely relaxed manner certainly helped her. she already knew that the pleasure of being with him had to override any embarrassment or criticism of their going together. the following week when they were leaving the res- taurant where they had leisurely eaten a snack, she turned towards him. “there's a movie i'd like to see, would you? it's a european film in a midtown theatre.” his startled expression said, “do you really mean it?” his voice acquiesced haltingly. “yes, i would like to go. can i phone you?” “my number is wa - . can you remember it.” by then he was more at ease, and answered, “i’m not taking any chances of forgetting it.” he wrote it down and they said good-night. would he call or would he not? actually, she had made the request. she had not stopped to question the propriety of her act. he had certainly been surprised that she had asked to go out with him, though he had not acted dis- pleased. should she stay around the apartment in order to receive his call, or should she try to forget it? his un- successful attempts to find her at home would give him plenty of opportunity to become convinced that he really wanted to take her to the movie. on thursday the tele- phone rang. she picked up the receiver. “this is philip benson speaking. my friend mary and i would like to take you to that show on saturday night. is saturday evening o.k. for you?” “yes. how nice of you. shall i meet you at the theatre?” “if you don't mind.” the time was arranged. she hung up the receiver. her first thought was one of relief. “so he has a girl friend and is not a married man.” simul- taneously, she was annoyed at the way her plans had materialized. “how stupid of me! of course if he isn't married, he has a girl friend. a tall, dark, handsome man, possessing a house and a good job. why shouldn't he have, and what a fool i’ve been not to think of it. just because he acted so pleasant to me is no reason for thinking otherwise. and this way of going means he is not willing to go out alone with me. he prefers that they, as a couple, take me as a friend.” with many compunctions she went to the theatre and had to wait fully twenty minutes in the lobby. when they came she stood up and went towards them. he quickly placed both hands on her shoulders for a moment and explained, “i am sorry we are late.” she was thrilled that he had touched her, and mo- mentarily forgot the much younger friend who was stand- ing behind him. she didn't wish to feel that he was merely being solicitous to someone older, someone to be respected. she also wondered if mary had been surprised at this rather familiar greeting. he introduced the young lady, and she asked if they would sit in the balcony where she could smoke. he sat between them, and occasionally spoke to both of them. she was constantly trying to detect the extent of their intimacy and did conclude that theirs was an acquaintanceship of long standing. as they left the theatre, he said, “we'll get a taxi and take you downtown. would you like a cup of coffee first?” she disliked this formal way of being taken care of and answered, “a taxi isn't necessary. the subway takes me within a block of my apartment.” he must think she would only wish to travel with them in the privacy of a taxi. mary spoke up. “you two have coffee. i can't, as i have to go to work very early. i live way out in the bronx." “it takes her longer to get to work than me, and i have to come from new jersey." “if you haven't time for coffee we won't stop,” louise answered. he was walking on the outer side by mary but she moved purposefully so that he walked between them. they put her on the downtown train while they took the uptown. she had a terribly empty, left-out feeling as she travelled back to her apartment. later at class she tried to act just the same to him. she didn't want him to think that she minded going to the movie with both of them, but she also wanted him to know that she was not interested in that sort of a relation- ship. she had originally asked him to be her escort: surely that should be as agreeable to him as to her. his bringing mary meant that he wished her to know that he already had a girl friend, but at the same time was quite willing to have a pleasant friendship with her. she was surprised and extremely pleased when, a day later, he came to the library. he asked for certain books and settled down to a two-hour study. when he put on his overcoat she went over to him. “if you'll wait a minute, i can go now,” she said. for the first time they were walking on the street in broad daylight, and she wondered if he shared her feeling of disquietude. evidently not, for he asked her if she would have a cup of coffee. she accepted, trying desperately not to mind if people stared at her. she was quite willing to forget the usual conventionalities in order to have this man for her friend, but she did not relish the idea of having to contend at the same time with another girl friend. as they left the restaurant, he placed his hand on her arm, detaining her for a few minutes longer, saying, “the show has changed at the same theatre. there is a very good foreign film this week. will you go with me?” she was delighted that he had asked her, but she wondered if there would be a repetition of their previous evening at the theatre. “at least i am not going to wait,” she decided. she de- liberately arrived ten minutes late, and found him sitting alone in the lobby. he came toward her eagerly, grasped her hand and pressed it very hard for a moment. his whole manner showed he had been afraid that she wasn't coming. that was a joyous moment, and for the first time she was to spend an evening alone with him. they sat shoulder to shoulder, and through the entire film she was con- stantly conscious of his nearness. he brought his face very close to hers whenever he made some remark about the picture and her imagination depicted this gesture as a caress. she was sorely tempted to move her leg ever so slightly so that it would rest against his which protruded beyond his seat. he went on the subway downtown with her, but stayed within the gates, explaining that it was very late. this was a seldom-used exit, and they were en- tirely alone. she stood close to him, intimating she was perfectly willing for him to kiss her good-night. he seemed to comprehend her intentions, but was not able to realize that such a fantastic thing could take place. every familiar step of that short distance to her apartment seemed trans- formed. she was extremely elated; he had definitely shown his willingness to start a deep friendship with her. as they left class the following week, he asked, “will you go to a show this saturday night?” “i'd love to. there's an amateur opera theatre near where i live. would you like to go there?” “yes, i would,” he quickly responded. “i can write for the tickets so that we can be sure of seats. do you mind if we don't know what opera they are playing?” “no, i'd enjoy any one of them. may i take you to dinner before the show?” “please come to my apartment instead. it's so much nicer that way.” later she regretted having turned down his invitation for he never asked her again. perhaps she hurt his feelings; he may have concluded that she didn't wish to sit through a long meal in a restaurant with him. she had first asked him to take her out, and naturally he wouldn't consider that there was any difference between going to a show and having dinner in a restaurant. un- consciously, it may have been true that she did not want this embarrassment and therefore had quickly refused, but she only admitted to herself that she wanted to be alone with him. “as you wish,” he answered. “what's the address?” she gave him directions as to time and place and they lingered in conversation many minutes before they said good-night. “shall i call you friday night?” “i’d like for you to, but it isn't necessary. you'll be at my place about six on saturday.” “yes, i will.” many days had to pass before that time, and she dreamed often of what might happen. surely he was as ready as she for that first kiss. would it mean as much to her as she wished, and would she satisfy him? that evening of his first coming to her apartment finally arrived. the bell rang, and she pressed the buzzer, and watched his walking up the stairs. she already loved the erectness of his figure, and the graceful agility of his move- ments, so unusual for such a large man. when he entered the apartment, she closed the door behind him. they were very close together in the small hallway. she raised her head and looked straight into his eyes, and that ges- ture asked him to take her in his arms. his kiss was long and possessive; when it became too intense she drew away from him; later she wondered why. that night when alone she felt she could live for a week on the memory of his kiss. however, she soon realized that it was foolish to be contented with this dream if there were something more wonderful in the offing. “do you mind if i take off my coat?” he asked. “of course not. i only planned for us to eat in the kitchen.” the dinner was ready, and they took a long time over the meal which they ate in the intimacy of her small kitchen. she could hardly believe they were sitting there alone, looking at each other across the table without the annoyance of prying eyes. she was very happy to find him so relaxed in this entirely new situation. he acted as if they had known each other for a long time. “you look lovely tonight.” she was overcome with joy at his compliment and barely managed to whisper, “it is for you.” as soon as they rose from the table it was time to leave for the opera. he helped her on with her coat, but even at that proximity she was timid about expressing her desire for another sign of affection. during the music he gradu- ally moved nearer to her so that their shoulders met, and they eventually found room for both elbows on the one arm of the seat. during the final aria, when she shifted her elbow a little, he found and held her hand; and, while leaving the theatre, he took her arm to guide her. when they had walked the few blocks back to her apartment she asked him to come in for a cup of tea. she was loath to bring this wonderful evening to a close. but he responded with, “no, thank you. it's too late. it will take me nearly two hours to get home at this time of night.” “did you enjoy the opera?” “i certainly did. it's the kind of thing i need badly. will you order seats when the program changes?" “i’ll check on the date with you first.” “no, don't trouble. any evening will be all right with me. good-bye, now. will see you at class.” he bent over her so lovingly that she thought he was going to kiss her right there on the street. what a blissful evening! merely having an escort was a great treat to her, and philip was such an understanding, appreciative person. as she walked the few steps toward home she could hardly recognize herself. the opera and dinner at her apartment became a part of their lives: they went every two weeks when the program changed. the atmosphere in this small theatre was very cordial. the audience consisted mostly of people who lived in the village and had friends among the singers. they were a class of music lovers who could not afford metro- politan prices, and were never critical of amateur render- ing of the operas. she had selected this form of entertain- ment for she knew they would be as graciously treated as any other couple in the audience. she had not been dis- appointed. each time they became more relaxed, they talked more during the intermissions, and learned more about each other. she even took special care to show the people around her that her escort was not merely a profes- sional or business acquaintance, but a person whom she knew very well indeed. his manner in the theatre was totally unconstrained; never once did he appear conscious that he was an unusual individual in the audience. during the music he often held her hand, and they did not take the trouble to applaud along with everyone else. but gradually she became impatient about seeing him only in classes and at the opera, yet at the same time she was fearful of jeopardizing their present, very satisfactory relationship. she could easily plan an evening in her own apartment, and thus solve her misgivings about his never returning there with her. she questioned whether he did not wish to enhance their friendship, or was nervous about leaving the house alone late at night. outwardly he had shown no aversion to visiting, even though he knew she had lived there for years. one evening she asked, “would you mind if i invited two couples to dinner next time you are here? i would like you to meet my daughter and her husband.” “no, not at all. from what you say about them, i think they must be very interesting.” he appeared casual, almost unconcerned, making her wonder why she had hesitated such a long time to bring about this occasion. evidently he wanted her children to know that he existed as her friend, or at least he did not mind their knowing. but as the day for the dinner grew nearer she became very nervous and excited and wished she had been content to leave things as they were. nevertheless, she was confident that this par- ticular daughter and her husband would be glad she had found a man who was congenial to her. they themselves had so many different types of friends that they wouldn't mind this unconventional situation even though their own mother was involved. the dinner was formal, carefully laid out on the ex- tended gate-leg table in the living room. the other guests were ruth and john, friends who attended the same class with them. ruth and her son-in-law, william, did most of the talking. philip was very quiet. the evening progressed so naturally that soon she was merely concerned as to whether she would have some time alone with him. would he stay after the other people left? this was a new situation for them. there had been the many times she had said good-bye to him on the street, and the occasions when they had left the apartment together, but never his being there intending to leave without her. while her daughter and william were putting on their coats, marie turned to philip, who was standing near her. “we are having a large party in a few weeks, and hope you and mother will come.” his answer was only, “thank you.” but louise said, “we certainly will come.” for at that moment she felt sure he would go with her. “we have to be at work early in the morning,” ruth explained, as she and her husband were preparing to leave. philip remained seated while ruth followed louise to the back room for her coat, and the two men continued to talk. she was very much afraid that he would leave with them. did he want to remain with her, or did he not wish to in- trude himself upon them? also did he not mind their knowing that he desired to have some time alone with her. she hoped her face did not reveal a tremendous relief when they finally went out the door in front of her while philip stood behind her. he immediately took her in his arms when the door closed and at last she was sure that he intended to stay be- hind with her. what an advance in their friendship—a proof that he was willing to accept her along with her chil- dren. the anxiety she had felt in planning this event had been worth while and to her utmost enjoyment they settled down to love making, different from anything that had happened before. for the first time she knew what a won- derful lover he could be. he was gentle, though persistent; he sensed the importance of mutual satisfaction. his ca- resses finally caused her so say: “i could enjoy it so much.” she wanted him to know that even at her age she could experience the utmost pleas- ure in love making. he had understood her, for he replied: “not now. it's so hard to get up and leave right afterwards. perhaps you could come out to my place?” “i'd love to.” his expressed hope for the future pleased her tremendously even though she was left physically un- satisfied. his asking her to come to his house came as a total surprise; she could not believe that he cared that much about her. ii when she arrived at class on monday he was already seated at the long table. she quickly hung up her coat and sat down next to him. he looked up from his reading, and seemed rather demure to her when he asked, “how are you this evening?” “fine, and how are you?” she thought, “how common- place a remark and yet how can he act any differently when we are not alone. he surely hasn't forgotten our last eve- ning together.” as the class straggled in, the general conversation turned to movies apropos their studies. however she had carefully brought the name of a book he might be able to use for reference in the article he was writing. she placed the note on the table. his hand held hers for an instant as he picked up the piece of paper. that one unnecessary touch told her that he also was thinking of their last evening together. she needn't think that her desires had progressed too far ahead of his. at the study table they sat far apart, however, beneath the table their knees were together—not pressed tightly together, but pleasantly, closely relaxed. generally he did not contribute to the class discussion but that eve- ning he twice volunteered information. they left alone and walked the two blocks to the subway entrance where he hurriedly said, while descending the steps: “good-bye, louise. i'm late for a meeting.” he said, “no,” for saturday night. “i must work on my report for next week. i will call you.” she remained standing where he had left her, completely stunned. was he angry about something, or was he truly in a great hurry? tonight she had really expected more of him. “did he regret having asked me to his house? does he live in a community where my appearance would cause much gossip among his neighbors?" there was no call from him on tuesday, nor on wednes- day by seven o'clock when she had to leave her apartment. “but, remember, he has no phone,” she tried to comfort herself. “and he told me how much he hated going to that restaurant-bar, because he had to stay around and talk to all his friends.” it was impossible to wait for a whole week without seeing him; by that time she wouldn't even be able to remember what had happened between them. after much deliberation she addressed an envelope to him and enclosed the short note: dear philip: walking home the other night i realized i should have offered to help you with your research, as i do help many other people. also, from what you hur- riedly said, i may not see you again for a whole week. i will meet you at the th st. library where you said you would be working at saturday morn- ing unless you phone me otherwise. yours, louise. p.s. you can find the material and i can copy it for you. she hesitated about signing it “yours.” she wanted this one word to mean more than “yours truly,” and she hoped he would interpret it in the way she intended. having mailed the letter, she was able to settle down to her daily tasks hoping her plans would materialize. now she was glad there was no call on friday. at five minutes after nine she was at the library, trying to wait confidently in the lobby on the ground floor. the outer door, then the inner, opened and closed. someone entered; she looked up. “no." again someone entered, and again “no.” when this happened four times, she was beginning to fear he wasn't coming. then the outer door opened, and when she looked through the inner glass door, she saw him. as usual he came very fast, smiling happily. bending over her, he squeezed both her hands together very hard. she could not speak for pure joy. “how long have you been waiting?” “only five minutes. let's walk up; it's only one flight.” “i have never been here before, have you?” he asked as he took her arm going up the stairs. all she said was, “yes,” for at a time like this she became speechless, overcome by the feeling that she really belonged to him. he had a list of dates and names of newspapers he wanted for reference. she wrote up three call cards, and they sat down at a long library table to wait for the bound volumes. he hung up his overcoat and came back for hers. his polite consideration of her in a public place made her very happy. no one seemed to bother about them while they were studying together, frequently working on the same large regular newspaper pages, while he explained to her the detailed material he was trying to find. but later, when he went with her downtown on the subway, many people stared at them. she did not care, but she noticed being singled out from the crowd, and she wondered if he minded. while waiting for his train on the platform, he took hold of her arm and remarked, “i do appreciate your coming today. you certainly taught me a lot about research.” “i don't feel like i helped you at all.” “but you did, and i'm going now to work on the mate- rial.” it was a crowded spot but she forgot about all the people milling around them, and was glad that the limited space made it necessary for him to stand so close to her. as usual she hated to say good-bye, and stayed with him until he took an uptown train. the next monday evening, as he was walking her home from class, she wished to plan something that would follow the intimacy of the previous night when they had been alone in her apartment. otherwise he might think that his love making had displeased her, and especially she wanted to hold him to his invitation to come to his house. he had given his report, and was discouraged about it. she con- soled him, stating that the length of time he had been al- lowed was totally inadequate for presenting the material he had compiled. “there's a class tomorrow night i'm going to start. do you want to go?” he asked her. “we only have one more session here.” “i’m not sure; in fact, i didn't know about it.” “but you will join?” “that makes quite a full schedule for me.” he turned and looked at her, appearing quite annoyed. “do you know when i have to get up to be at work by eight o'clock?” “six o'clock?” she queried. “no, five. i have to travel such a distance.” she thought, and wished she could have the courage to say, “how much easier for you if you lived with me on twelfth street.” they walked another block and he insistingly ques- tioned, “you will come tomorrow night?” her mind was occupied with something more immedi- ately important to her. she enjoyed being with him in class, but she was anxious for something more personal between them. “i’ll try to. but i was thinking that you should get your notes in better order. if i typed them for you, couldn't you work on them better?” “i certainly could. they would be easier to read, and i could get them organized. but the article would still have to be retyped. would you mind that?” “you know i wouldn't. but we would have to work on them together. i couldn't do it alone.” as he said nothing she anxiously continued, “how about saturday? will you come to my house or shall i come to yours?” with all propriety she could ask him, as he had previously suggested her coming to his place, even though he had given an entirely different reason for wanting her to come then. “i wish you would come to my place if it wouldn't be too inconvenient.” “i’d like to. but . . . .” she hesitated so long that he asked: “but what?” “it's your house, and they are your neighbors. have you thought of what they might say? i don't mind at all but it might make a difference to you.” “no,” he answered very emphatically. “no one would be thinking anything like that. no, don't you worry about that.” what did he mean? was he interpreting her words to mean something entirely different from what she had intended? by suggesting what people might suspect in her coming alone to his house, she had made him believe that she minded what they might think. in fact, she didn't care, and she was anxious to let him know she didn't; she was only afraid that what his neighbors might say to him later would prevent him from seeing her again. as much as she wanted to go there, she didn't wish to do anything that might break up their friendship. not knowing exactly how to answer him, she remained quiet, and he changed the subject by saying: “hope i'll see you tomorrow night. "bye now.” fearing that she had brought up something of a dissenting nature between them, she was happy to hear this more familiar way of saying good-bye. of course she did as he asked and went to the new class. he was not in the appointed room, so she waited with friends on a bench in the hall. when he stepped off the elevator, she said, “there's my friend,” and went to meet him. he greeted her with a smile. “so you did come after all.” they entered the class room; he helped her off with her coat and hung it up. this little incident was a real acknowl- edgment to everyone present that they were friends be- yond the confines of the class; they came and left together, quite oblivious of everyone else. they turned off fifth avenue, west on thirteenth street, which is a long, almost deserted street at night. she reached for his hand, and they walked with their hands and arms interlocked. many days had passed since this intimacy had been possible; she won- dered if he enjoyed it as much as she. she did not ask him into the apartment, as he had refused many times. he al- ways gave the same excuse about early rising. would he mention saturday? she would be forced to if he didn't, be- cause she wanted so much to be with him that day. at the corner where they often parted, he said, “i’ll call and give you directions how to reach my house on satur- day.” “oh, but you might forget. can't you tell me now?” “no, i'll call you tomorrow between four-thirty and five.” she didn't insist further, but said, “i hope you do, but you haven't always called when you said you would.” he walked away, facing her, smiling and saying, “i will call.” she had to believe him, though she distinctly felt his hesitancy about committing himself finally to his promise. perhaps he hadn't wanted to subject her to standing on the sidewalk taking notes from him while people were passing by. however, she went to the library at nine in the morn- ing, and kept herself occupied with her work. only ten minutes after returning to her apartment, the telephone rang. “oh, is it he?” yes, it was. he was especially loquacious, asking her how she had spent the day, telling her that he had left work early and would appreciate a long night's rest. finally he asked, “have you a pencil and paper?” “yes.” “here are the directions. take the a train up to the new jersey bus terminal at one hundred and sixty- eighth street. take bus sixty-three to glenwood, and get off at wendell place. this ride is about twenty minutes. continue walking a block as the bus travels. my house is the first one on the right of the next street. you have the address, haven't you? do you think you can find it?” “yes. i have written it down very carefully.” “you must give me time to clean up the place.” “don’t worry about that; i won't mind. shall i come out in the morning?” “yes, we have a lot of work to do.” “shall i bring something for lunch?” “no no; i'll take care of that.” the operator asked for another coin; they simultaneously said: “goodbye, will see you saturday.” then he asked, “you will come, even if i don't call you again on friday?” she did not stay home on friday night, because it had snowed steadily for forty-eight hours, and she was afraid he might call up to say the weather was too rough out in the country. she dressed leisurely and warmly saturday morn- ing, finding and wearing her best lace panties and slip. after trying on three pairs of earrings, she decided to wear none at all. she would take her portfolio instead of a pocket book. it looked professional and would substantiate his explanation to the other family occupants of his two-party house that she had come to help him with his writing. the telephone rang. she was frightened. “surely it isn't he. i just won't answer; i could have left by now.” but at the third ring she automatically picked up the receiver and said, “hello.” “i tried to get you last night, louise. i don't think you should come out. the snow is very deep here, and i have to clear my path and sidewalk. also i haven't cleaned up my apartment and i hate for you to see it this way.” what could she say except, “oh, i'm so disappointed. her on the telephone than ever before. and now he was unquestionably telling her she must come. she laughed. “are you asking me to come and help you clean up?” “yes, i'll never get around to doing it myself. i even left everything as it was.” “all right. but we have tickets for ‘the barber of seville' on friday. i ordered them for that night as we are invited to a party at marie's on saturday. do you remem- ber?” when he did not answer she refrained from telling him that she would like to go and work at his place during the day, and return with him to the party. she would tell him this plan on friday night at the opera. “can you come for dinner before the show?” “yes, i'll be there at six-thirty.” “that's good.” she would liked to have said, “even though we have seen each other often during the past weeks, in all that time i have not had one single kiss.” when her youngest daughter called her for a dinner date, she said, “come have dinner at the apartment. philip will be here; we have tickets for a show.” “shall i come?” laura asked. “why not? then you will get to meet him.” “are you sure you want me to come if he's going to be there?” this question gave her ample opportunity to reply, “you're right. i'd rather be alone with him.” however, she answered, “oh no. i want you to meet him.” hanging up the receiver she immediately thought, “will he get here before laura does? will i lose those precious moments i've been longing for these many weeks? but if he doesn't come first, perhaps she'll leave before we do. i certainly have acted foolishly. am i really in love with the man? do i unconsciously keep putting things in the way of our friendship, or do i now feel sure about everything, and therefore am anxious to go one step farther by having him meet and like my youngest daughter?” she was much more relaxed than she had been when her other daughter first met philip. she knew him much better though the interim had only been three weeks, and she was certain that he would like laura. her daughter came first. “i hope you aren't nervous, mother. i'm sure everything will be pleasant and easy.” “no, i'm not; i'm just excited. i always am when i'm going to see him. as much as i try to control myself, i get upset for fear something will keep him from coming. this is all mixed up with being so happy these days.” “you shouldn't be so intense.” “yes, i know. i do wish i could be calmer about it.” the buzzer rang, and as louise answered it, laura thoughtfully moved to another chair where she wouldn't see him enter the apartment. “we have company for dinner tonight,” she said to him. perhaps he didn't hear her as the door was still open, or he wasn't going to allow her words to make an exception to his way of greeting her there. when she closed the door, they both forgot everything except their being together. she vaguely understood that he must have been longing for this moment as much as she. the embrace was pro- longed and fervent, and her daughter could place no other interpretation on the long silence. she kept her hand on his arm as they went into the front room, as she distinctly wanted laura to know the extent of their friendship. the atmosphere during the meal was even more casual than she had dared to anticipate. laura's manner was very light and easy-going, while she told of her experiences as a social worker in a large hospital, and philip spoke of his wife's having been a hospital nurse when she was alive. laura had an engagement for the evening, and left while they were still seated at the table. philip immediately said, “i can't understand why such an attractive girl hasn't married.” this remark led to a lengthy discussion of the pros and cons of the man's and woman's part in marriage. she ex- plained that the older a woman became, the more she wished for freedom of action in the things of interest she had acquired during her unmarried years. “generally, a man doesn't like to give his wife such freedom.” “i don't know why not. he ought to be glad she is that way.” “but most men wouldn't agree with you. they might talk differently, but at the same time, they really would be jealous of their wives. i'm glad you feel that way about it.” she arose from the table and deliberately walked across the room and sat down in his lap. the repeated kisses, intense kisses, she felt should go on forever. why did she extricate herself from his embrace, gather up a pile of dishes from the table, and take them into the kitchen? he followed her, but she had ruthlessly interrupted their in- timacy. if she had only stayed where she was, they might never have gone to the opera, and might have spent the entire evening love making. why did that detestable char- acteristic of doing always what she should do instead of what she wanted to do have to crop up at such a crucial moment? or, was she afraid that, as she had asked for his show of affection, the situation was not truly indicative of his feelings? she knew, however, that he enjoyed the kisses as much as she did. walking home from the opera, she asked him if she could come out to his house the following day and return with him for the party that night. he said he would call her before twelve o'clock. after waiting until one-thirty she left but returned in a couple of hours, knowing he had plenty of time to call her again if she had missed his first call. nothing happened. it proved to her that she had taken an unnecessary risk by not waiting indefinitely for his call. very unhappy, she went to the party alone, feeling that for some unknown reason he had not wanted to go. it is true they would have gone to her daughter's home, and he would have been the escort of the hostess's mother, and everyone there would have been a stranger to him. under such circumstances would he have enjoyed the evening? perhaps she should have told him this would be an inter- racial party, though she always refrained from using this word in their conversations. when she was with him she knew that their love was reciprocal. but when she did not see him for a few days she always became afraid that she was only an incidental per- son in his completely filled life. in order to constantly re- assure herself that he did care for her, she would do such foolish little things as keeping his yellow bus # sched- ule conspicuously standing on her bureau. she loved this folder; it was so worn and frayed that he must have carried it in his pocket for months. this dirty little piece of paper represented a definite future for her. “he must have had something else he preferred to do,” she thought. “i must remember that he may be still going with his former girl friend. even though i'm with him have some proof that she really cared for him. she was more than glad to please him, even though their nearness might be noticeable to those sitting directly behind them. he hunted for her coat among many others. “this is yours, isn't it?” “yes, it is.” she was surprised and pleased that he recog- nized it, and he familiarly helped her on with it while she was talking to a friend of hers. he opened the door for her to precede him, took her arm as she got on the crowded elevator and waited for her on the ground floor. they were intimately contented as they slowly walked toward her apartment. on the corner of twelfth street and sixth avenue he stopped her to look in the window at the plans of a large apartment house in construction there. she thought that he, as a carpenter, was primarily interested in the diagram of the layout of the project. but he said, “this is where i should apply for an apart- ment.” she was astounded that he would even suggest the possibility of his application's being considered. “it's an impressive layout. i wonder how expensive they are.” “one hundred dollars and up,” he answered with assur- ance. “but i would be better off paying that rent than keeping up my place in new jersey.” when another couple approached the window she took his arm, led him away, and talked about something entirely different. hereafter, when she passed this apartment house she remembered the incident, and thoroughly blamed herself for acting disinterested in his applying for a place there. a totally diverse approach could have enhanced their friendship. even though she had cause to believe it would be impossible for him to rent an apartment there, even though he himself knew this problem when he sug- gested applying, she should have firmly acquiesced. he would have been pleased; he would have known that she, at least, felt he should be allowed to live wherever he wished. after walking a half a block she asked, “how about to- morrow night?” “it's wednesday. i'll see you at the writer's group in harlem. if i'm too tired to come, i'll call you between five and five thirty.” “i hope you can come because they'll be discussing your story.” soon they were saying those terribly frustrating good-byes on the street corner. in the morning she had a call from her daughter, marie. “can you have supper with the children? it's one of my teaching nights, and william is away in detroit.” “yes, i'll be there about five thirty. does that give you plenty of time?” she had agreed, as she always did, having acquired this habit over many years. immediately she re- membered she would miss his call if he were not planning to be at the study group. she had often intended to give him her daughter's number, but she felt that he would never call her there. he was not at the writers' session and she had not re- ceived his call when they would have made plans for the weekend. would he think she was avoiding him by not being at home when he had promised to call? would a whole week pass without her seeing him? was she again going to become steeped with doubts and fears? he had no telephone; he would try to get in touch with her a few times, and then give up, and she would have to wait patiently until next tuesday. this situation could have been avoided if she had only said “no” to her daughter's request. “but i was so sure he'd call some day later if he weren't at the club. of course there've been many times he could have called and not found me at home.” iii tuesday finally came. as she was going to be with him, she dressed very carefully. he would be wearing his cor- duroy jacket, having come straight from work, but she knew he liked to claim a well-dressed woman as his friend. the walk to fifth avenue only took a few minutes; she planned to arrive ahead of time. when she entered the building, he was standing there alone waiting for the ele- vator. the rapturous expression on his face as she went towards him was overpowering. she dropped her gaze as he took both hands and kissed her. his inarticulate murmur- ings of minged relief and joy said more than a hundred “i-love-you’s.” this time her intense emotion was recip- rocated. the embrace was brief; he must have seen the person who had entered the building immediately behind her. the three went up on the elevator. she started talking, totally ignoring the other man. she was so elatedly happy that she hardly knew what she was saying. “you missed an interesting session last wednesday. they discussed your story.” “i couldn't make it; i was too tired. remember we were both out the two previous nights.” she was glad that he wished the other man to hear this remark. “what did they say about your story?” “they liked it. i read aloud both yours and mine. i asked them to interrupt me whenever they wished. i took notes, and have some very constructive criticism for you.” by that time they were in the classroom. the chairs were arranged close together; they did not take the trouble to move them farther apart. after class, they had barely left the building when he turned to her. “i missed you very much this weekend. which day are you coming out to my place?” “do you prefer saturday or sunday?” she wished to be assured that mary no longer existed as his girl friend. his answer, “either day is all right with me,” confirmed her hope that he did not have to fit her coming into any other plans. however, she had to admit that perhaps he could appear at mary's apartment without even letting her know. she had always understood that it was more difficult for a man to abstain from love making, and she often won- dered whether the meager show of affection was sufficient for him during the progressing weeks, and now, months of their friendship. suddenly she heard him saying, “if you and i stay to- gether we will make a wonderful contribution with the articles we are writing.” she replied, “i have always hoped that our friendship would continue.” he said nothing else personal, but con- tinued with a rough sketch of his projected pamphlet on industrial workers in new york city. “i shall see you saturday,” she said as they parted. “i’d like to see you before then. won't you be at the library thursday afternoon?” “yes.” “i can't get there before four-thirty. can we go out to dinner after i look up a few references?” “i’d like to.” it was tuesday. she was to have dinner with him on thursday, and go to his home on saturday. something surely had augmented his desire to be with her. while they waited for class to begin, she had told him about buy- ing tickets at the metropolitan opera house for a per- formance of english dancers. when she had bought the tickets several weeks before, it had taken courage for her to decide that she would enjoy the evening regardless of the notice they attracted. the amateur opera house in the village was a small place, and in a district of the city where mixed couples are often seen. the “met” was quite a different proposition. her buying the tickets must have made him understand that she really cared for him. how could he know that she constantly lived in thoughts of him; he first came to mind when she woke in the morning, and he mingled in her dreams at night. these reflections were now seldom overshadowed with the doubtful possibilities of a future together. in his remark about their “staying together” she wanted to be- lieve that he was expressing much more than his few words conveyed; he had then made the first verbal commitment of a future for them. when he came to the library, she was at the far end, while the readers were up front. as he did not see her when he got off the elevator, he went back to find her, and walked straight up to her and kissed her. she turned her head slightly so that the kiss landed on her cheek. she was not sure whether the people up front could see them. after all it was her place of work, and she was on her job. to- gether they found the books he wanted, and he sat down with the other readers while she continued with her as- signed work. promptly at five o'clock, he came over to her and asked, “isn't it time to go?” in this way he forced her to remind the others that she had to close the library. everyone left on the same elevator but on the street they were the only couple who turned left. “where shall we have dinner?” he asked. “how about the restaurant on the corner of the next block uptown? i really don't care much for that place where we used to stop for a cup of coffee.” “that's my choice too.” the streets were very crowded at that hour; everyone hurrying to get home as quickly as possible after a day's work. consequently they walked close together, and he often took her arm: there could be no question that they were not accompanying each other. this was their first dinner together in public, an occasion she had regretfully refused many weeks ago. he seemed absolutely relaxed; she blamed herself that she wasn't. having a private escort was unusual for her; her disquietude could stem from that reason alone. she was nervous and over-talkative, trying to pay no attention whatsoever to their surroundings. after- wards she really felt uncomfortable during the short walk on the crowded avenue to his subway station. “i do appreciate your having dinner with me.” she quickly and spontaneously answered, “i should be thanking you. i enjoyed it so much.” “i will expect you on saturday whether i call you on friday or not.” “about eleven o'clock?” she questioned. “any time you can make it. i shall not leave the house all day.” as she walked the remaining block to her apartment, she was, deep down, comfortingly satisfied; she was abso- lutely sure she would be spending a whole day alone with him. while she thought of what the day might offer her, she remembered how little she really knew his personality or his daily habits. she slept well that night. she left her apartment a little after nine, although she could have gone much earlier. his directions were accu- rate; she had no difficulty at all. the bus driver questioned the name of the street where she asked him to stop, but when she insisted he helped her to find the address. the house was a stuccoed dwelling, white and modern, in dis- tinct contrast to the surrounding old-fashioned two-storied, gabled-roofed, wooden houses. the landscape consisted of rolling hills and many beautiful trees among homes which were built far apart. she walked across the uncovered piazza and rang the bell. the door was not opened for nearly a minute, but then he stood there smiling. he led her through the lobby into his sitting-room, then he took her into his arms in that firm possessive manner which immediately dispelled all the nervous tensions of her trip. she knew this was one of the most thrilling moments of her life, a moment she had been waiting for for many months. “what a beautiful house, so light and cheerful! what do you mean about it's not being tidy? i have never seen a neater place.” he laughed as he helped her to remove her coat, and she knew he had taken great care to have every- thing in readiness for her. “so many trees! it must be beautiful out here in the spring.” as she sat down on the sofa, he put one knee be- side her, his arm still resting behind her. he gradually slid down and sat close to her. she snuggled against him, fitting each curve of her body into his. he sat so much higher than she that her head only rested on his shoulder while his chin slowly stroked the top of her head. “won't you have a cup of coffee? i walked up to the bus twice to meet you; then i fell asleep on the sofa.” that ac- counted for the time she had waited for him to answer the door bell. she explained that she had made poor connec- tions with both the subway and the bus. “don’t let me forget to give you a more up-to-date sched- ule.” they had coffee; she refused anything to eat. “i see you aren't going to let me fatten you up.” she laughed as she said, “no, you certainly aren't. i ate a big breakfast before leaving.” when she arose from the table he took her arm and led her to the stairs which were part of the combination din- ing-room and kitchen. “my study is upstairs.” it was a small room with a large window stretching the full length of the wall, and the study table was equally as long. “oh, what a pleasant place to work! but i see what you mean about my helping you to clean up. what a desk!” he merely smiled down at her, placing both hands on her shoulders, “yes, i never get around to destroying any- thing.” “the books could be straightened out on the shelves.” she instinctively began to move some books front. as she worked he exclaimed, “i don't even know what's behind them.” “why don't you make another set of shelves along this wall? then you could also get rid of all those cardboard boxes.” “that's what i always plan to do.” they spent some time looking at his books; she was surprised that he had such a collection. “but let's go to work,” she said. he brought a chair from one of the bedrooms and squeezed it into the space next “you shouldn't work the whole time you are here.” she put her pencil down and leaned against him. “you don't really seem to want anything else.” “why do you say that?” “you act as if completely loving each other would alter our feelings towards each other later.” many minutes passed while he slowly rubbed his finger on the inside of her elbow. “i would like to discuss this with you. i don't think you want to get married again, do you?” “yes, i do.” “but you wouldn't consider marrying me.” his remark was not a question; it was a positive statement. promptly and emphatically, she answered, “yes, i would. the evening when i first asked you to take me to a movie, i had already decided i would marry you if you ever asked me to.” he did not answer; he showed his feeling of doubt by lifting her from the chair and leading her downstairs. however his actions contradicted his desires, because he asked her, “next friday night after the show won't you come back here with me?” she was temporarily annoyed; it was apparent he needed more time to think things over. she concluded, “he isn't ready yet, but i should be glad that he's only making me wait another week.” after supper two children from the neighborhood came in for ice cream and cookies. the younger one ate first and then played in the living room while waiting for his brother. there was beautiful music, and they sat in loving fashion, listening and talking. but from the sudden weight of his head as he leaned against her, she knew that he had fallen asleep. saturday was truly a needful day of rest for him. “it's getting late; i should be going home.” “i guess someone in your family will be calling you and wondering where you are.” “no one will call. they are quite busy with their own lives and are never much concerned about me. it's getting late now for them to be calling me for baby-sitting tonight. they'll never know i'm here.” she hoped he would frankly express his desire for her to stay: if he wanted her for next friday, why not now? as he did not answer, she appealed to him, “please let me stay!” his continued silence made her realize it was foolish to ask again; she must be contented with the pleasant day they had experienced, and remember his request for the following weekend. “i’ll get my coat and take you to the bus,” he said as he brought hers from the closet. she got ready, and then opened her pocket book which had been left all day on the chair where she had originally dropped it. she groped around for her change purse, but couldn't find it; neither was it in her coat pockets. wishing to be absolutely sure, she dumped all the contents of the pocket book on the sofa. she hesitated about saying anything. the money didn't matter, she had bills in a compartment, but what would she do without her keys. she went into the dining room and called up the stairs to him; that seemed easier than waiting for him to come down. “philip, my purse isn't in my pocketbook. i hate to say so, but one of those children must have taken it.” she knew he would come down looking very worried, so she continued, “i don't mind about the money or the purse. there was only some change. but my apartment keys were in one section. how am i going to get in to- night?” she sat down on her coat, looking extremely for- lorn. “you stay here. i'll go get the kids. they took some cigarettes last week.” these last words had no significance at that time, but later she had cause to worry about those cigarettes when she definitely became sure that he never smoked. he brought the children back with him, and they utterly denied taking the purse. she tried being pleasant, she attempted bribing them, but no approach was effective. in despair, she opened the outside door for them to leave, then returned to him saying, “let's forget about it. two of my daughters have keys for my apartment, but it will be very late when i get back to the city.” he took hold of her, in a positive manner, “i’m very sorry this happened, but you don't need to go back tonight. of course you will stay here.” she settled down near him, “you don't think i planned all this so i could stay.” he laughed and kissed her exposed ear, “don’t be silly.” but she continued ruminating upon such a peculiar co- incidence. “those children did me a favor, though it will be embarrassing tomorrow making up some excuse for needing their keys.” momentarily she dismissed the prob- lem because he seemed as contented as she. about another hour passed before he said, “i’ll go up and put clean sheets on your bed.” she went with him and helped him change the large double bed in the one room. there were twin beds in the other room; one was piled high with clean clothes, the other was very untidily made up. he found a blanket and a comforter, and handed her a towel and a wash cloth be- fore going downstairs. he did not say good-night, neither did she. she bathed, washed her stockings and panties, hung them in the bathroom to dry overnight, got into bed and read the open book on the little table. after a long time she turned out the light, but she was still awake when he came upstairs. he went into the other room although her door was left open. “aren't you coming in to say good- night?” his caresses were very affectionate, but she did not like the finality they seemed to express. as he was leaving her, she questioned, “you're not going for the night?” “you only asked me to come say good-night. i have to take a bath.” during the splashing of water in the next room, she pondered, utterly confused. it seemed she would have to ask him to come to bed with her. why? he, himself, had suggested it, this very afternoon, and also many weeks ago in her own apartment. he must not want this intimate re- lationship unless they were married, or else he had another girl friend. of course, both these contingencies could easily be true. but, even if they were, she was determined that this night should not end in this way, and she feared that he was not willing to take the initiative. she knew how miserable she would be during the ensuing days if he would not be with her tonight. when he came out of the bathroom and went directly into the other room, she waited a few minutes, then, not hearing a single sound, she called and asked him to come. “i’ll soon be there.” but she became terribly impatient when he did not come after she asked him a second time. why was he so hesitant? was she the first white woman willing to be his girl friend, and did this situation confront him with too many conflicting ideas? she had every reason to know he wanted her, but perhaps he felt she should be the one to make the final decision. throwing aside all her inhibitions she went into the other room and got into bed with him. he was faced away from her, but he immedi- ately turned and took her in his arms. they said nothing for a long time. when she was close to him, she wondered why she could ever have any doubts of his love for her. desperately she asked, “why not? won't you tell me why not? there must be someone else.” she would never suggest that he had a much deeper reason for not wanting her. “yes, there is.” but his passionate grasp of her entirely negated his words. “how foolish of me. i should have known. but you have been so nice to me that i was beginning to think differ- ently.” but when he gave no response, she asked, “does she also want to marry you?” quickly and positively he answered, “no.” greatly re- lieved and temporarily satisfied with his answer, she did not force herself to ask why. even though the conversation was too intensely problematic, they were both enjoying the pleasure of bodily contact. she was surprised when he started talking, “there is something else worrying me. you will be sacrificing so much if you married me.” “i don't think so. i really don't: and i've thought about it a great deal.” he continued, “and if we shouldn't get married, i would never forgive myself for doing this to you.” she had a sincere and spontaneous answer to these words. “i don't look upon this as your harming me. you shouldn't either. you will be giving me a great pleasure.” he held her even closer. “there's one more thing. if you would be willing to marry me, i'm sure i'm going to do so much with my writing that you'll never regret it.” what more revealing thoughts could she expect from handed her the empty purse. she thanked them effusively, and they grinned as if they were terminating a very agree- able incident. when she opened the section for the keys, she found them there. “look! here are my keys. what a relief! i won't have any trouble now.” “i’m glad they brought them back, but they shouldn't have gotten away with the money.” “don’t worry about it. most parents have this problem with children at this age. i could tell you some interesting stories about my own grandchildren.” he walked with her to the bus, put her on, and followed along the side to say goodbye once more, when she sat down next to the window. his whole manner told her he was glad she spent the night. as she travelled into the city, she felt calm and unperturbed one minute, while the next she wondered how much she had to fear from that “some- one else.” he had said that this other woman did not wish to marry him; but how could that be true unless she were separated from her husband without having a divorce. also, equally important, was the question of whether he loved two women, for she was positive he loved her, even though he had never actually uttered the words. he had never thanked her explicitly for all her typing; he had naturally assumed that his attitude towards her conveyed his thanks; in the same way, he must think that he sincerely showed his affection for her without having to express it verbally. they had dinner and went to the opera; they were casual about holding hands, their relationship had gone beyond that stage. he asked her to come to his place the next morning. the events of that evening were a repetition of many others they had spent together, but how differently she felt; she was completely secure in her present position. when she rang his bell the next day, the little boy of the other apartment opened the door. “hello, mr. benson is down in the basement.” she thanked him and went into the living room, took off her coat, glanced around the place, already feeling that this house somewhat belonged to her. as she went down the steps leading from the dining room, he heard and saw her coming, met her at the foot of the stairs, and barely kissed her. she was puzzled, but as he glanced over her shoulder she turned and saw an open door leading out to the backyard of the house. she understood that he feared they were not alone. he was sawing lengths of two-by- fours, making a partition in the basement. “don’t let me interrupt you. i'll go upstairs and work on your papers.” “i’m through with what i was planning to do this morn- ing. don't sit down anywhere here; you'll soil your good clothes.” he was dressed in carpenter's overalls and work shirt. “i’ll change before i come up. why are you so late?” “i’m sorry.” she had purposely chosen this hour; she didn't want him to think she was too anxious to see him. when he joined her upstairs, he continued complaining. “you remember i told you i had to be at a funeral at one o'clock. shall we eat something now?" he opened the refrigerator and took out a container of milk. “i brought a pineapple-cheese cake from your favorite bakery. will that and coffee be enough before you go?” “yes, but i'm wondering what you will have for lunch.” he was examining packages in the freezer compartment. “don’t worry. i'll find something.” “there's fish here in the freezer; i'll take it out. i'm sorry you came late because i do have to leave in about an hour.” having eaten, they sat on the sofa. his arm held her near to him; it was a very precious hour for both of them. then he went to the cleaners to get his black suit. later, she followed him upstairs, and sat on the couch in the little open alcove, talking to him while he wandered back and forth getting dressed. he kissed her good-bye very affectionately, and said he would get back as soon as he could. of course she had expected that her being there would be more important to him than his attending the funeral. a fellow workman had died and he felt obligated to the widow to see that the union was well represented. “i’m going to straighten up your study while you're gone.” “all right. but don't work too hard.” he turned again at the head of stairs, and all day she cherished the look he had given her. “i won't. i hope you won't be gone long.” she im- mediately started to work, remembering the experiences acquired from her former writer-husband that not one single piece of paper was to be destroyed. there were many magazines, scattered all over the house. these she as- sembled and piled in chronological order, though carefully leaving the opened ones on his little bedside table. she gathered his notes into neat piles, more or less as she found them. she wanted to throw away the old newspapers, but she realized he had kept them for clipping. the letters were a real problem. she put them in a large folder, sys- tematically arranged according to date; but she did not include the bills, tax receipts, car papers, etc., which were all left carelessly opened on top of everything. a few un- opened advertisements she felt justified in destroying. she had accomplished a great deal when she finally washed the glass top of his desk, and neatly replaced everything in compact piles. the shelves seemed simple in comparison. she dusted the books as she tried to find room for all of them. she noticed the one she had asked him to lend her many weeks ago; he had said a friend had not returned it. she opened the fly leaf and read the message, “to my dear friend philip, constance, .” the writ- ing was somewhat of a revelation, but certainly no shock, for he had told her there was “someone else.” however, this was a different person from the mary who had come to the movie with them; but the date, , showed they were both recently, if not currently, a part of his life. it should be a comfort to know there were two women friends, not one, neither of whom then would necessarily be an intimate friend. but she soon learned that such as- sumption was not the case. she decided to put away the huge pile of clean clothes all crumpled from the washing machine. she folded and assembled the pieces. there were pink and blue percale sheets, pillow cases and towels to match. there were his work shirts, socks and handkerchiefs, and underclothes of separate shorts and shirts. she arranged them carefully in the numerous drawers which were nearly empty, though she often hesitated, wondering if he would find things when he needed them. when she opened the last and bot- tom drawer of the bureau which she had been using for his socks and handkerchiefs, she was startled at the sight of women's garments; sweater, slacks and bra. on top was the bra, neatly folded as a woman would put it away. she picked up these clothes, held them against her, measuring them across her bosom and waistline, trying to figure the comparative size of this other woman. here was the proof that he had not fabricated a story to prevent his starting an intimate relationship with her. however, she tried to think that the circumstances surrounding these clothes belonged permanently to the past. he must have known the garments were there, and he had outwardly shown no uneasiness when she told him she would tidy up the place while he was gone. she knew that neither he nor she would ever mention the clothes. her great desire, well considered and planned, was to dissolve the past without any discus- sions. wishing to be downstairs when he returned, she made a cup of tea and a sandwich, not wanting to take the trouble to cook anything. she found a current magazine in the un- opened mail, and read while she ate. time passed; she realized he had been obligated to go to the cemetery, in- stead of leaving after the church ceremonies. hours later, she ate again, not knowing when he would come; finally she went upstairs, undressed, bathed and settled comfor- tably in bed to read. it was eleven o'clock when she heard the closing of the front door, and his quick steps on the stairs. he came towards her eagerly, kissing her many times on her mouth, face and neck, showing he had sincerely been longing for her. “i was nervous all afternoon. i couldn't refuse taking the trip to the cemetery which was way out in butler, and then driving back to new york. the first time anyone left the group, i said good-bye and took the bus home. you must stay tomorrow to make up for this.” this was such a sincere and convincing story; everything was dispelled from her mind except the joy of having him back. he left the room, but immediately returned. “this looks like a different house. how could you do so much? i will never let it get that untidy again.” she only smiled, very happy to have him so appreciative. he left, but soon came back. “my bedroom, tool you are wonderful!” “i expect to be repaid.” “you will be in just a few minutes.” this second night with him was far better than the first. she was completely contented, knowing from the very be- ginning that she was going to enjoy herself fully. they both calmly assumed that this particular pleasure was a desirable aspect of their friendship. for the first time, he said, “i love you, sweetness.” even though they were in the large double bed she could not go back to sleep: she slipped gradually from his arms without waking him, and got into his bed in the other room. as soon as she heard him stir in the morning, she went back to him. putting one arm under her and drawing her lovingly to him, he said, “so, you don't like to sleep with me. did my snoring keep you awake?” “no, you weren't snoring. i just haven't slept with any- one for such a long time that i couldn't fall off to sleep.” but he still insisted, “you don't like to sleep with me.” “well, i'm here now.” “yes, and i'll never get up and leave you if i stay a min- ute longer. i'll have breakfast ready in fifteen minutes.” with a final kiss, he left her. the day was one long-stretched-out joyous event. they worked on the revising of his article; they read the news- papers and listened to the radio. he cooked an interesting and tasty dinner, and she was beginning to feel she could really be a part of his life. naturally, she was disappointed when he told her: “i have to dress and go look for the electrician; he came last week when i wasn't here.” “i wish you didn't have to go.” “i need more wiring in the basement. i won't be gone long,” he assured her. she thoroughly believed him and went upstairs to talk with him while he was getting ready. he put on a white shirt, and his best suit and shoes; she told him how handsome he looked. she never questioned his dressing so immaculately only to go look for an elec- trician. certainly he liked to be well-dressed for his neigh- bors one day during the week. it was about six o'clock when he left. kissing her good-bye, he said, “i won't be gone long.” “i don't want to take a bus any later than eight.” “i’ll be back before then,” he assured her. shortly after he had left, the door bell rang. when no one from the other part of the house answered it, she opened the front door. a lady asked, “is mr. benson in?” “no, he isn't.” she had some papers in her hand, so louise asked, “can i help you?” “i have to write an important letter which should be typed. he would let me use his typewriter.” “well, come on in. i'm sure it'll be all right. i use his typewriter and will be glad to do it for you.” “all right, if you say so. but i can type it myself.” they went upstairs to his study, and louise helped her with a detailed letter to the company which insured her car. she decided this was an opportunity to speak of the car which always stood by the side of the house: she had not wished to ask him if it were his. “i wonder if mr. benson has his car insured.” “i guess he has, because he lent it to a friend who drove it all last winter. did he get a driver's license?” “that i don't know.” “i don't think he has driven a car for years, and he doesn't like learning all over again.” “i can easily understand that; he's such a busy man.” “i must go now; i left the kids alone. thank you very much for helping me.” “don’t mention it. i hope you get it all straightened out.” “good-bye, and thank mr. benson for me.” after she had left louise realized that she hadn't asked the lady her name, but supposed philip would know who she was. her book was very interesting; she did not realize the passage of time. she was surprised to find that her watch read seven-thirty. she studied the schedule, checked and discovered that buses only went to the city every hour on sunday nights. she had just missed one, and figured to herself, “he'll surely be here to put me on the next one.” when he didn't come, she got her coat and pocket book, took out her bus fare and started to leave. it was dark and the streets were unfamiliar; she wasn't sure of finding the in-going station. her indecision appalled her; being afraid of new situations was not characteristic of her. she argued that she should go, if only to show him he couldn't treat her so unkindly. “why didn't i go at six when he left? then the day would have ended with such pleasant memories.” but she had been expecting him any moment for the past two hours; by now, she hated to take the next hourly bus. hers was a half-time library job beginning at one o'clock; she could easily go to town after he left in the morning. she went to bed, being quite willing to excuse him as he sel- dom had a chance to be neighborly . . . “i'm sore at you,” were her first words, but as soon as he began caressing her she forgave him. he meant so much to her that she couldn't waste these valuable moments by being disagreeable to him. she did manage to say, “i should have gone home when you left.” “no, i wanted you to spend the night.” “but you were gone so long.” “i didn't find the electrician after all, but i left word for him to come.” naturally she was very curious to know what he had been doing all those hours, but she remained steadfastly determined never to be petulant or inquisitive while she was with him. her doubts and fears about the future she kept to herself. “i’m not coming out next weekend.” - laughing pleasantly at her, while kissing her, he said, “now don't tell me that's because i left you alone this evening. you already said you were going to your place next weekend.” he was partially undressing while he talked to her. she sat propped up against the pillows. as he left the room, he said, “don’t fall asleep till i get back.” she knew the next hour would be worth all the hours of waiting. he seemed anxious to be with her, and entirely contented with her nearness; she felt confident that she was the only one he intimately loved. whatever he had been doing this evening, he had not been making love to some other woman. again he complained that she had left him the night before. “tonight i'm leaving you, as i have to set the alarm for the morning. there's no need for you to wake so early.” but he lingered, and she hoped he would fall asleep and stay there. she had been lonely for him these many hours; she did not mind how much sleep she might lose; she knew it would be all of two weeks before she would again be here with him. during that time she would not believe this had happened unless her whole mental and physical being were permeated with reminiscences of him. how- ever she did not try to detain him when he finally kissed her good-night. when she heard the alarm clock in his room the next morning she quickly got into bed with him for a few pre- cious moments before he had to leave. for that short while he held her so strongly that she thought he would hurt her. after breakfast, he came to say good-bye, and reset the alarm at the hour she requested. “i’ll see you tomorrow at class.” she was jolted back to a world of reality, and managed to say, “yes, you will. don't work too hard.” “i won't. "bye now.” she had a cup of coffee and a piece of toast. the bus was crowded, but she found an empty seat; she had to stand during the long subway ride downtown. by the time she was back in her own apartment, the weekend was already fading into a pleasant dream. “but everything did happen, and i'm going to see him again tomorrow night.” above everything else, she kept constantly remembering what he had said on sunday morning. “my first wife liked it that way, too.” wasn't he thus acknowledging that she was his second wife? bered that time long ago when the three of them went to a movie together, and she had detected their intimacy by a very slight side remark mary made to him about his taking care of something at his house. he had pleasantly answered her question in the affirmative. the incident was so fleeting that she had never given it another thought until now. also did the clothes in the bottom drawer fit this woman? and were those her cigarettes that had been upstairs? the handwriting all along the sides of his pages of notes had worried her because she was never quite sure it was his. he generally printed his writing, but he could have used regular script when scribbling notes on the margins. the formation of the letters was a little too per- fect, more often attributed to a woman. was this mary's writing? the thoughts dwelling on these incidents she had defi- nitely decided to relegate to the past. she would try to live from day to day in the happiness of present events. he, only, had the problem of making a decision between the past and the future. nevertheless, she had to confess to herself that if mary were also the possessor of the clothes, she was unhappy about her meeting him tonight at class. why worry? why not casually say something to him about the young lady's being in the back of the room, and not staying for the class and that she looked like his friend mary. perhaps his answer would relieve her. could his ex- uberant spirits on the walk home be attributed to his relief that she did not question him about the lady waiting in the back of the room? she was suddenly brought back to the immediate pres- ent by his asking, “what time is the show friday night?” “eight-thirty. we won't have to leave the apartment till eight.” “i'd have to rush if i went out to new jersey. i'll change and clean up at your place. i like to relax a while before starting out again.” she noticed that he didn't ask for per- mission to come, but took it for granted that she would be willing. “i’m becoming firmly entrenched in his life; he already treats me as if i belonged to him.” lingering on the sidewalk, she said, “i did enjoy the weekend at your house.” “it was the best one i ever had.” this remark told her that all the pleasant part of it had been theirs, and she should not allow herself to think otherwise; no pessimism should overshadow the thought that he did love her very much. “i’ll phone you friday after work.” she knew he wouldn't; it wasn't necessary. these words were his habit- ual way of saying good-bye to her. was he that unsure of his position with her? “i’ll expect you anyway.” the following three days passed calmly because she had many happy memories of their weekend together. even her job was easier. underneath the mind that was doing the necessary mental work was a continuous subconscious feeling of his existence. while travelling on the street she could totally indulge in thoughts of him, conjuring up things he had said and which she loved to dwell on. he did not telephone, but she prepared dinner and dressed for the evening. previously she had been nervous under similar circumstances; tonight she was annoyed that he was late. he came in apologizing; he had met a friend who had held him in long conversation. she noticed that he was not particularly concerned that he had kept her waiting an hour. was this his method of procedure now that he knew her so well? or had he deliberately shortened the time so that dinner would consume the only hour left before the show? perhaps he didn't want there to be time for a repetition of the love making that had taken place at his house. she admitted that he had not been at all passion- ate in his greeting; he had been the first to break away from her. did he regret the events of the weekend, and not want her to take them too seriously? must she again settle down to a go-slow policy, letting him always take the initiative? he went to the bathroom to dress while she warmed up the meal. as he sat down in the chair which she now always associated with him, she said, “the food won't taste very good; i tried to keep it warm.” “it tastes good to me.” he nearly always made some ap- preciative remark about the delicacy of the dishes she pre- pared for him. “you are hungry and tired. i know you're glad it's friday night.” “when are you leaving for the country—tomorrow morning?” “early; about nine o'clock. they will pick me up here in the car. during the winter i accumulate a lot of things to go out there, so they'll come by for me. why do you ask?” “i was only curious.” “i hoped you were asking because you wanted me to go out with you after the show, and return in the morning.” why did she say this? even if she thought that was why he had asked, it was for him to say so, not her. and when he made no reply, she knew she had made a foolish mistake. “let's give ourselves plenty of time,” he said. when they ate in the kitchen, as they generally did, she always left everything just as it was when they got up from the table. cleaning up later was not a disagreeable chore when he had been the guest. they travelled uptown on the subway. she loved the way he stood close to her, protecting her from the onrush of people, and he placed his arm around her shoulders as they went through the crowd at the theatre entrance. he acted like a regular opera-goer, and apparently was not disturbed about the unusualness of their situation. she was proud to have an escort who took such care of her. at intermission she refused his suggestion that they get something cool to drink, but she said, “i don't mind if you leave me.” she felt relaxed sitting there, and was shy about con- fronting the many people in the lobby who would look at them curiously. he stayed with her, and she hoped her refusal did not hurt his feelings. they talked about the grandeur of the performance. on the way home she said, “it's very late. you don't need to go downtown with me.” “i don't mind at all.” “i’ll miss you over the weekend.” “so will i; but you'll be coming out next week, won't you?” “yes, i will.” she waited with him on the subway plat- form, hating to say good-bye. when they saw the light of his advancing train, he leaned over and kissed her, saying, “thanks for a wonderful evening. i'll call you monday night.” there were tears of mingled joy and fear in her eyes as she slowly walked the few steps to her apartment. // the next monday she did not hear from him, although she had two telephone calls at the time he would have tried to reach her. neither conversation was long; she de- liberately cut them short without appearing rude. she would have to be patient. classes were over for the summer, but he assured her that he would be seeing her as usual. he could arrive at the library at four-thirty, or he could call her apartment while en route home. she never knew when she may have missed him because of these al- ternate possibilities. one afternoon a fellow assistant of hers at the library had said, “i forgot to tell you that a man was here to see you last wednesday. he also came the wednesday before. i didn't mention it as i thought it wasn't important.” she looked up from her work and directly asked him, “was he a negro man?” “yes, he was.” she became very indignant, and angrily asked him, “was it up to you to decide if that were important to me? i'm helping him with his writing.” “i’m sorry i didn't tell you before,” came his apologetic answer. this information caused her to remain late at work on wednesday, hoping he would come. she was planning to spend friday night with one of her sisters, and would not be home if he called her then. she reasoned that if a person had never had a telephone, and were not used to that familiar medium of communication, it would take time to acquire the habit of using such a convenience. to him, perhaps, seeing a person is a real satisfaction; telephoning is only a useless substitute. thus she tried to explain his many failings to telephone her as he had promised. she sat down and wrote him a letter, then revised it. dear philip: i have been gone so much that i may have missed your phone call, and tomorrow night if you call about the weekend, i won't be here. please call me saturday around six. otherwise, i'll come out early sunday. we should be able to get the next installment of your article ready for typing. i'll bring the first installment; also the cards. i've been working, also writing for myself. till i see you, goodbye. yours, louise. hope you haven't been working too hard. she decided that this letter gave him the opportunity to call and ask her to come out on saturday night, but, if he didn't, it left her free to go there sunday. he expected her, he had said so; but that was a week ago, and she just couldn't go without first letting him know. constantly she had to keep reminding herself how hard he worked, how tired he would be at five as he changed from subway to bus, althought she did wish that he would want to go to the corner after supper and telephone her. she left early sunday morning taking with her his typed notes—fifteen pages in all—, the box of cards she had copied for him, his washed shirt and sweater that he had left at her apartment, and the cover she had made for the big bed. the trip was quick and easy: with the new sched- ule she made perfect connections. he was very glad to see her; his loving embrace held her tightly as she clung to him, and she blamed herself for having been at all doubt- ful of his ardent reception. he was fond of lifting her from the floor as if to toss her to the ceiling. she was a tall woman, weighing a hundred and thirty-five pounds; he certainly showed his height and strength in being able to lift her so easily. “i called you this morning. what time did you leave?” “about nine. were you going to tell me not to come? i'd have come anyway.” his loving manner justified her making such a bold assertion, and his answer assured her that everything was all right. however she was not pre- pared for his saying, “no, but i wanted to let you know that i have to go to long island this afternoon to see some friends. each weekend i was supposed to go and i can't put it off any longer. i hope you won't mind.” “that's all right. i've planned things to do here. you won't have to stay too long?” “i’ll be back as soon as i can.” they sat down while she unpacked her handbag, and showed him the typing and the cards. he did not thank her, and she did not want him to. “can we have a cup of coffee before we go to work?” she asked, remembering that she had not needed to make this request on her first visit. he really was becoming accus- tomed to her, and she was pleased. they soon went upstairs to his study. his handwritten notes were terribly confused; cut-backs, inserts, different series of page numbers. she marvelled at the perfect copy she produced after hours of labor; she knew he did not comprehend the time it entailed. his spelling was good, but often the sentences were too long and involved. she read the manuscript out loud, and would sometimes ask for clarification of meaning, but she never changed even a punctuation mark, much less a word or phrase, without first getting his approval. during the course of reading, understanding and revising the writing, sentence by sentence, she never fully grasped the complete content of the subject matter until she was typing the manuscript later. consolidating ideas and deleting extra- neous matter were problems for their next reading. his nearness distracted her; it was nearly impossible for her to concentrate on the work. unconsciously, she was annoyed that she couldn't be devoting the time to something more personal. they had not seen each other for a whole long week; she sensed his impatience too as they slowly made progress. suddenly he pulled back his chair, stood over her, and raised her chin for an all-absorbing kiss, as he took the pencil out of her hand. he lifted her bodily from her seat, and guided her into the front room. he stripped the un- made bed of the soiled sheets; she had noticed that he was occupying this large bed, and that there was but one pil- low. together they spread two sheets, and a blanket; he brought another pillow and put on two clean cases. as she undressed she realized it was mid-afternoon, all his pre- vious confusions about their going to bed together must have disappeared. she was in bed when he returned. com- pletely seeing the splendid frame of his strong body was a new and wonderful experience. they said nothing; their bodies craved each other intensely. they did not linger close together very long before he said, “i can't wait, how do you feel?” “i’m ready, too.” his passionate caresses were so incon- ceivably satisfying that she would have liked to prolong them. however, this time she gave him the first considera- tion. afterwards they rested, without talking or sleeping: he held her closely, still fondling her. finally he got up, bathed, dressed, donned a white shirt, and went downstairs, saying, “no more work today.” she bathed and followed him. he prepared lunch and she hoped he had decided to stay at home. friends of his, man and wife, dropped in on their way from their long island home to a summer place in the oranges. as both men were carpenters, housing became the subject of gen- eral conversation. when a project in the village was mentioned richard asked why so many people preferred to live in that part of the city. she started to answer, thinking the question was meant for her, but philip spoke up im- mediately, dissertating at great length on the desirable features of the village. he wanted his friends to know that he had become familiar with it through his association with her, as he often turned to her for confirmation of his ideas. when they started to leave, the wife said to louise, “get philip to bring you when he next comes to see us.” “thank you. i certainly will. but i wish you'd drive out some time to my place in the country. i have many flowers and shrubs i'd like to give you which might be different from yours.” “we would like to do that.” this lady's complexion was so light that louise wondered about her. perhaps they didn't know whether she was white or not. she naturally fell into a southern accent when she was with soft-talking people; already she had acquired a deep sun-tan. at four o'clock, he said, “the sooner i go, the sooner i can get back.” she wanted exceedingly to persuade him to stay. she felt that she could, but would later regret having kept him from carrying out his plans. she frequently battled with a puzzling contradiction; would she better gain his affection by showing greater dependence upon him, or was it best to allow him to follow freely his own impulses? she knew he wasn't going away because he didn't enjoy being with her, and she longingly hoped that her being a white woman was not a disquieting factor in his feelings toward her. did he constantly think of her as being different, and need a chance to spend not too many consecutive hours with her? before leaving he went through the freezer compart- ment and they decided on chopped beef for a late meal. she refrained from asking him when she might expect him. she simply said, “i’ll have dinner ready for you.” “you eat when you get hungry. cook mine, too. i can warm it up.” therefore she should expect him to be late. she sewed by hand a new pink rayon binding on one of his worn blankets; she read, cooked and ate. hours passed. she thought, “he could come back if he really wanted to be with me. but he satisfied himself physically before he left, so he can forget about me.” however this interpreta- tion of his failing to return was unkind and unjust; she must always remember that he had many friends and asso- ciations. she had only known him a few months, and couldn't expect him to give up all his past connections for her. when he came he offered apologies while he made love to her. “other visitors came and wanted to drive me back to the city. i shouldn't have waited for them. i would have gotten here sooner by myself.” she gladly let herself be caressed, but said, “it has been an awful long time.” “i’m sorry. did you make up my bed?” “no, i thought you would sleep with me.” “you really don't mind? where are my pajamas?” this question startled her. how could he think she would know? it had been two weeks since she had been in his house, but he treated her as if she belonged there. “you did a wonderful job on the old blanket.” “thanks.” “i never knew that was possible. was it worth such trouble?” “i didn't mind doing it.” “and this new cover brightens up the whole room.” he leaned over the bed to kiss her. “you are so thoughtful. no one ever treated me as well as you do. no one, not even my wife.” she could easily have followed these remarks with a complaint of his leaving her for so many hours. but, as al- ways, she refused to inject anything unpleasant into their companionship; she could only influence him through kindness and consideration. getting into bed, he said, “the alarm will wake you in the morning, and i don't like that.” “i’ll want to say good-bye anyway.” his chin rested on the top of her head which was faced away from him, his arms and hands held her closely and one leg lay on the full length of her body. they enjoyed as much bodily contact as possible and were peacefully relaxed in this position. “you are my sweetness.” “i am; i hope i always am.” she knew she would be able to sleep the night through in his arms. when the alarm rang the next morning, she offered to get up and make his breakfast. “no, i wouldn't think of letting you.” he came in to kiss her a number of times, but she fell asleep the minute he went downstairs. coming back up from the dining room to kiss her good- bye, he said, “i’ll be at the library this afternoon, or i'll call you.” often he had not fulfilled this promise, so she prepared kissed her good-bye when she was lying in bed, she waited for him at the library. actually she was positive he would come, and dressed as nicely as she could while on the job. she was thrown into terrible despair when he did not come. if he hadn't wanted her at his house for the week- end, he could at least have seen her at work. walking home, she thought, “if nothing else happens, i do have his manuscript which he will want. what is the reason for his silence?” the telephone rang about six o'clock, and she was actu- ally trembling when she picked up the receiver. but a woman's voice asked, “are you mrs. morgan?” “yes, i am.” “my name is irene walker. i'm calling for an interview- ing job you told mr. benson about. i want to find out if i can qualify. as he didn't know the details, he asked me to call you direct. i'm a teacher of social science in a bronx high school.” “this is an interviewing project my daughter is doing. if you have a telephone, i'll ask her to call you for an appointment. when did mr. benson tell you about this job?” “last saturday night when he took me to a dance.” she dared one more question, “you’ve known him a long time?” “oh, no. we were at a big dinner lately and happened to sit at the same table. i have a six-seated car and drove a crowd home afterwards. that was the first time i met him.” “he certainly is a nice person,” she attempted to say in an off-hand manner. irene agreed, gave her telephone number, and louise said her daughter would contact her. she would have sat down and cried, but the conversa- tion had already made her late for a dinner engagement with friends. in fact, the door buzzer was ringing as she rose from the telephone. under such circumstances she couldn't think uninterruptedly. she was terribly disap- pointed that it hadn't been his call. she was too dazed to order her meal, and asked her best friend to take care of her. she hoped no one would notice how upset she was. what a desperate situation; he only wanted her help in his writing, the love making was only of secondary im- portance to him, while to her it meant so much. she had to honestly admit he hadn't sought her for a whole week; and now this episode. should she forget about him—or try to forget? “god, it would be hard! i couldn't bear to lose him,” she inwardly moaned. it was true that his seeking a new friend in irene showed that all the past ones with whom he had been so intimate were evidently no longer impor- tant to him. or he was a person who habitually had many casual girl friends at the same time, which was a character- istic not to be drastically condemned. she reasoned that when philip had failed to reach her on the telephone, he had assumed that she had gone on friday evening to her country place for the weekend. then he had telephoned irene and made the date for last saturday night. it was absolutely ridiculous of her to ex- pect him to stay around his place alone for two whole days. irene had given the impression that this occasion was only of an incidental nature. how long should she wait for him to get in touch with her? she must have some courage; everything couldn't end this way; and she must keep remembering that he did love her, did want her, did need her to help him in his writing. on tuesday she again stayed till five o'clock at the library without his coming. each day she became more frightened; no longer could she dwell on the wonderful times they had experienced. she felt the necessity of plan- ning some definite contact very soon before he got into the habit of doing without her. her months of associa- tion with him must have raised his standards in regard to a woman companion. she considered that irene fitted cor- rectly into a new relationship for him. as she was teaching social science in a high school, she would be a college graduate, not a working-class woman, and could immedi- ately help him in his writing. his intense desire to write had been the means of starting their friendship, and it was perfectly feasible that irene could equally help him. she was sure to be much younger and appeal to his youthful characteristics; their friendship had started with a dance engagement. his going out with irene would be free from any of the embarrassments of the unusual circumstances of going with her. truly she was using every available means to look as young as possible, and never once had she detected any difficulties arising from an age differen- tial. she was used to being older than the men she had known, and had never attributed that factor as a reason for her marriage's collapse. the next day a wonderful opportunity arose at the library. an editor of a small magazine was complaining to her of his problem to obtain material for his monthly. “i've a short story written by a friend of mine which you might like to read. its subject matter is appropriate for your magazine. i know you can't tell without reading it. shall i bring it to you?” “yes, i would like to read it.” “i’ll take it to your office one day soon. it might fit your requirements.” this story was philip's. she had edited it for the writers' group they attended in harlem. it had been accepted for publication there as soon as they compiled a journal, but one was free to publish elsewhere. he would be very pleased to have it printed in a regular monthly magazine. if philip failed to get in touch with her for this coming weekend (and she had determined that he must make the next move, however difficult it was for her to wait), she would then write him a little note about his story, asking for his permission before sending it. this planned inci- dent was something of future possibility to cling to: if she were compelled to start all over again with him, she did hope that past events would be of assistance. all the state- ments he had made about her not really wishing to marry him may have been his reasons for not wanting to marry her. for certainly it was an easier and much kinder way of representing the difficulties of an intended marriage. she ruminated, as she had often before. “it’ll take time. i've been too impatient, and i'm now suffering for that reason.” all these considerations became inconsequential by wednesday night. she could no longer carry on her daily tasks with such uncertainty hanging over her. she had started this friendship through her own initiative; he must evidently think it proper for her to make the advances when he failed. might she not be suffering when it was totally unnecessary? why wait any longer to send the following note? dear philip: do you mind if i take your story to the editor of a magazine which we both know? he said he was short of material and would be glad to read it. i have finished typing the section of your manu- script which i brought in; it was difficult as i hadn't taken enough notes on the correct paging. call me if there is any reason why i shouldn't come out on saturday to work on the next part. yours, louise. she wrote many notes before she decided on this particu- lar one which had no indication whatsoever of her conflict- ing thoughts during the many days since she had last been with him. and somehow, writing it and mailing it, dis- pelled her anxieties. she had a very slight fear that he would telephone her not to come. during the following day she gradually built up the previous contented feeling about having someone who cared for her. her daughter, marie, left two of her children with louise while she took the eldest child to the doctor. “did the woman call you about the interviewing job?” louise asked her. “yes. she's studying for another degree at the same col- lege where i'm teaching. she met me there last night.” “what is she like? she seemed very nice over the tele- phone. will she qualify?” “oh, sure. it's a pity she doesn't live in glenwood where the interviewing is to take place. it will cost us an extra dollar for her carfare each trip even though she uses her own car.” “oh, yes: her tunnel fare. is she very young?” “no, she must be older than i: she has been a widow for seven years. she is a competent person; thanks for finding her.” philip's name never entered into this discussion, though both of them were aware that irene had been brought into the picture through him. //i not hearing from philip, she took the nine-thirty bus at one hundred and sixty-seventh street. she was trembling with excitement; she had not seen him, nor spoken to him for twelve long days. how would he greet her? she had very little faith in her attraction for him; she always felt he might decide she was too old for him. she was entirely familiar with the streets which immediately preceded her bus stop, and the final walk of a block and a half did not even appear to exist. first the cement walk to the house, then the porch, then the door bell and the opened door. she dropped her pocket book and package when he took her in his arms, so that she could cling to him as strongly as he held her. instantly his overwhelming possessive grasp of her dispelled all her fears. he took off her coat, and while he was hanging it in the closet, she gazed out of the window at the beautiful spring greenness, trying desper- ately to gain control of herself. when he again held her against him, she completely gave way to her emotions and began to cry. “what is the matter? please don't.” he kissed her franti- cally. “i’m so glad you're here!” “don’t pay any attention to me. i often cry for pure joy. i've missed you terribly.” “so have i. i never could get you on the telephone. what have you been doing since i last saw you?” “when you didn't come to the writers' club, i wasn't able to tell you about the tickets for friday's opera. not hearing from you at all, i went out to my place for the weekend. then i worried during the week for fear you had come to the library after i had left. but let's forget about everything now.” all the time she was talking he was gently trying to soothe her. “i got your note. you didn't have to ask me about my story.” “i thought i should.” “you know it was all right to send it.” she had planned to speak about irene, and was deter- mined to carry out her decision. she nearly wavered, for it seemed so cruel and unnecessary to spoil such a happy re- union. it would be much simpler not to mention the in- cident, because the moment she was with him all misgiv- ings disappeared. how could he be so glad to see her if there were anything amiss between them? “your friend called me about the interviewing job. i gave her marie's phone number, and she has already quali- fied. since i hadn't heard from you in such a long time, i asked her when you had spoken to her. she told me you took her to a dance on saturday night. i know i shouldn't mind, for, not hearing from you, i went out to the country. but i wanted you to know that i really think you are a regular don juan.” she realized that her words were very stilted, and badly presented, and to him they must have sounded like a prepared speech. he did not answer. she was sitting with her head on his shoulder and could not see his face, therefore she couldn't tell how these words had affected him. many hours later when they were outside, and the neighbor across the street came over to talk to them, he said to louise, “she's head of the club that had the dance on saturday night. she asked me to bring a partner.” “yes, irene said you met her a short while ago at a dinner.” she wanted it understood that she knew this friendship had developed very recently. however, his she didn't hesitate about going out. she found an old bench in the backyard, which was a large, completely wooded, secluded spot. he soon joined her, and as they walked around he asked her the names of the trees, which ones he should cut down, which he should leave. a man came to find out something about his car, and she followed them to the front of the house, picked up a trowel, and be- gan digging out the dandelion plants in the lawn. he sat on the porch steps watching her. “i’m glad you know which are the weeds.” “yes, they always grow better than anything else, and will ruin your lawn.” the neighbor across the street came to speak to him; he nodded to her, and said, “good morning,” when philip introduced her. she was embarrassed. she felt that everyone was curious about her, even though they were pleasant. but as long as he seemed glad to have her outside working with him, she was willing to stay and act as naturally as she possibly could. she supposed that it was not unusual for a lady friend to be there—she remembered the sweater and slacks in the bureau drawer upstairs—and she appreciated their friendliness toward her, even though her being there might seem strange to them. “the two maples i planted here have died. i wonder why.” “they are too big to transplant unless you cut them back and plant them twice as deep as they were before. let's try to make a small oak tree grow here.” they found a two-year-old perfectly formed oak in the backyard. under her directions he dug straight down the full length of the spade on all four sides of the tree, bring. ing up such a huge chunk of earth that none of the roots were exposed to the air. “isn't that too heavy to carry?” she noticed how the muscles of his arms protruded as he lifted the great mass of dirt and tree. he had to walk carefully to balance himself under the weight, and she again marvelled at his strong, compact frame. he had already prepared the spot by pull- ing out the dead maple and digging much deeper. when he dropped the oak off the spade, the hole was entirely filled. “how wonderful!” she exclaimed. “that little tree will never know it has been moved. i'll get some water to settle the roots.” she went around the house to the back base- ment door. later they found some plants of privet hedge which had grown in the next vacant lot where trimmings had been thrown away. there were only six plants, but they could be the start of a hedge along the front of the lawn. they also dug up a clump of daffodil bulbs which she had seen blooming there in the early spring. he was fascinated watching her breaking them apart from the original mass, and planting them separately about every six inches in a trench he made along the side of the porch. “we're doing all this work for someone we don't even know ... i'm planning to sell this place. it's neither in the city nor the country.” hesitating only a moment, she replied, “the ideal way is to have an apartment in the city, and a real country place like mine. you should see how isolated it is, and very crude in many respects.” “i hope to spend some time there this summer.” “yes, you really must.” “i have to renew my driver's license, and get a new battery for the car. the man who borrowed it wore out the battery.” she remembered what the lady who came one night to do her typing had said about his not having a license be- cause he had not driven a car for many years. she had defi- nitely implied that he did not relish the idea of learning all over again. “summer is coming, and i hope you'll soon do it.” she got up from where she was sitting with him in the back- yard, saying, “i must go in and wash my hands. the dirt seems so uncomfortable the minute i stop working.” “i’ll be right in. i want to stake the plants to keep the children from tramping on them. they play here freely when they're not in school. i'll ask a neighbor to water them this week.” “won't you let me cook lunch?” “sure, if you want to. there's some fish i took out of the freezer. will i have time to take a bath?” “yes, fish takes a long time.” she went into the house wondering if she possibly could be the same woman who had been so horribly despondent for the last two weeks. she again swore to herself she would never doubt his affec- tion for her. one does have to combat the philosophy of acquiring pleasure from being miserable; that phase had never existed in this present situation, though she had often been guilty of such foolishness in the past. “before i become too contented i'd better find out if he's going to stay here this evening.” while they were sit- ting on the sofa after lunch, she asked in an off-hand man- ner, “do you have to go to town today?” “yes, to a meeting at four o'clock. i'll only be gone an hour.” laughingly she replied, “don’t lie to me like that. you know it takes nearly an hour for you to get there. i'll give you four hours for the whole trip.” “i won't be gone that long.” as he made no motion to leave, she said, “i remember many weeks ago you referred to your first wife. would you mind telling me about your second wife?” there was such a long pause that she regretted having said anything; she waited patiently, sincerely hoping he would answer. “as to a first, second or third wife, i hope it won't be long before i'll be married again.” as she was sitting enfolded in his arms, she asked natu- rally, “are you proposing to me?” again his complete and tantalizing silence; she was too timid to push the matter any further. this peculiar sentence remained for much future contemplation. he certainly dismissed the whole past in one swooping statement, while he refused to com- mit himself to a future. her daughter, marie, had asked her one day why she wanted to marry philip. “why aren't you contented with such a pleasant companionship? i can't see why you want to get married; i never could see any reason for marriage except to have children.” “it's all very well for you to talk like that. you are hap- pily married with four children, while i have to look for- ward to a lonely old age. i'd think my children should be glad if i were to marry again. they would be relieved of any responsibility for me.” “what a foolish and unnecessary reason for wishing to get married.” “well, that's really one reason, but not the main one. i'm in love with him, and want to live with him; and i don't think he wants to have an affair with a woman he loves and respects without marrying her. there are cer- tainly many unsolved problems in our relationship, but one thing i do know—if he asks me to marry him, i shall.” she wondered if there had been a selfish motive in her daughter's trying to dissuade her from marrying philip. her mother's having a negro friend would not worry her or her husband, but if that person became her step-father, then the situation might appear quite different to her. but at this time in her life, she resolved to follow her own inclinations. when philip left she settled down to the dismaying pos- sibility of his returning at eleven o'clock or even later. her only encouragement was the way he had dressed. he wore a sport shirt and a corduroy jacket; therefore he must be attending an outdoor meeting. he had ironed a shirt to wear, and she had asked him, “can i iron and mend these other shirts while you're gone?” “why not. i'd appreciate it.” there was much coming and going from the other occu- pants of the house, but she had learned to pay no attention to the door bell. if it were meant for philip, the person knocked at his living room door afterwards. he, himself, walked in at eight o'clock. “oh, i'm glad you came back so soon.” “i told you i would,” he said, leaning over to kiss her. “have you eaten supper?” his greeting was almost me- thodical, as if he had experienced this identical situation with her for many years. “no, i waited for you.” “just sit right there, and i'll make something simple. i picked up a half-gallon of ice cream. hope you like rasp- berry.” “it's one of my favorites. but what a quantity!” “i always keep it in the freezer,” he said, opening the refrigerator. “and don't the children of the neighborhood know it.” she thought he would comment on the neat pile of shirts on the sofa; she had purposely kept them downstairs. per- haps he didn't like to be beholden to her for such thought- fulness; maybe he felt that mending his clothes was a gesture bordering on too complete domesticity. truly, as she sewed on buttons, mended necks and elbows of the shirts, she felt drawn very close to him. inwardly, she pic- tured herself an indulging wife. later, as they were going upstairs, she said, “the bath- room is yours. i bathed this afternoon.” “shall we change the bed? those are the same sheets we used the last time you were here.” “oh, no, let's don't bother; they're clean enough.” they talked a long while. he told her about the tre- mendous crowd at the outdoor meeting on one hundred and twenty-fifth street. “a good cause brings people out by the thousands.” “what were the speeches about?” “equal school opportunities for everyone.” the love making was perfect. there had become es- tablished between them a certain pattern of his slow, long- drawn-out tendernesses, and her passionate acknowledge- ment of pleasure, so that the final fulfillment of desire came to them simultaneously. even the fading off period was more prolonged, and the complete relaxation was of a deeper profundity. they slept the night through together. his least movement woke her. she liked to watch for his first recognition of her being there. his smile came before his bodily acknowledgement of her. he got up after one hurried kiss, but came back to get into bed with her. “how nice that it is sunday morning and you are here. but you won't object if i write up a few notes first on what we were discussing last night. i can use the material in my next article.” “as long as we have time left to revise the typing i brought. have you any more pages ready for me?” “no, i haven't. my job has seemed harder than usual this week. you have to get used to these first warm days of summer.” “i remember how it was when i was working.” “aren't you doing any writing of your own? you shouldn't let my work keep you from doing your own. i thought you were planning to write a novel.” “i am, but it isn't going very well.” their conversation dwindled off into silence; she was surprised to learn that he had something on his mind more important than talk- ing. early morning love making was a new experience for them. however, the idea of using the stored-up energy of a good night's sleep in such a way was certainly agreeable to her. his being completely rested did add to the fervor of his embraces, and she had no reason to worry about his needing sleep. they had the whole day ahead in which they would be together, and the marvelous feeling of be- longing to him would be with her constantly through the daily activities. finally he asked her what she would like for breakfast. “you decide. anything will taste good to me.” immedi- ately after breakfast he went upstairs for a couple of books and paper and pencil. he shoved everything out of his way on the kitchen table, and started reading and writing. she cleared away the dishes, found a current magazine, and settled comfortably in the other room which was only separated by a large opened doorway. he was absolutely oblivious of her, or, at least, he gave every appearance of being totally removed from her. she watched the intensity of his concentration on his work. in retrospect, she could easily obliterate twenty-five years from her life, and be right back with her writer-husband. after an hour of dead silence, she went to him, raised his head, and he kissed her absent-mindedly. “i’ll only be a little while longer. then we'll work to- gether on your notes.” but she knew there would be an- other session of waiting; she didn't mind, it was a pleasure to watch him. she strongly hoped he would accomplish what he desired with his writing. during her married life she had experienced the difficulties surrounding the pub- lishing world. but philip had access to a wide group of magazines and papers unknown to her, and his writing was of a higher caliber than one generally found in these peri- odicals. he seemed only concerned with his ability to write, and she did not know to what extent his work had been published. was she wrong to encourage him in this way? but, after all, she had not started the idea; he was well ensconced in this desire when she met him. while he was working she prepared a chicken dinner, and after eating, they spent many hours revising her typing of his notes. it was raining; she felt secure in his being completely settled down for the entire day. he seemed to have become so used to her; she forgot everything but the joy of having him there. after supper, he said “let's take the radio upstairs where we can really relax.” “may i wear your bathrobe?” “should i have turned on the heat? it's so damp and chilly.” “no, i'll be warm enough in bed.” after reading and music, he turned to her. he kissed her, and asked: “you won't care if i go sleep alone? i'm tired. when i wake later, i'll come in to you.” she agreed, even though she preferred him to stay. during the night she was barely conscious of his crawling in under the covers and stretch- ing one arm over her back and shoulder. after breakfast he told her, “we are shifting to another project this week, and i won't be working today.” “i must go away. two of my grandchildren always come to my place for lunch; they like it better than lunching at school.” he came and stood by her at the window: she leaned against him, dreading to leave. “stay a little longer.” he led her over to the sofa, and sat her down, and put his arm around her. “i wish i were five years younger.” this seemed the opportune moment to dispense with this hidden anxiety of hers. “why do you feel that way about it?” “i would have five years more of happiness ahead of me. but that isn't what worries me.” she couldn't make herself say, “i hate being older than you,” but he knew what she meant. “you shouldn't worry about it. i want you to know that i don't feel that way about it at all,” he declared most convincingly. “you are always so sweet to me.” he took hold of both hands separately, and held them very tight, and tried to say something further. she didn't question or encourage him; his few words had comforted her, and she feared he might say something which did not include her in his future plans. she knew his age quite accurately: he told her the story of his being refused en- listment in the first world war because he was too young. again she started to leave. “i really must go. now you have a room in town, i'll see you oftener.” “shall i call you early in the morning when i'd be sure of reaching you? what time do you get up?” “a quarter to eight. i listen to the eight o'clock news while eating breakfast.” “so, could i call you a little earlier, not to interrupt you, or find you in the bathroom?” she knew he had to be at work at eight. “sure. i'd love hearing from you the first thing in the morning.” “i’ll be at the library this afternoon or i'll call you.” why did his last remark have to be these oft-repeated words which seldom came true? she must, if possible, plan something specific. “you can't call me for i'll leave the apartment at one and not return till ten-thirty. i'm going from work to dinner at marie's; she asked me to take care of the chil- dren while she teaches. william is in denver. why don't you come to the library and go there with me? you'd get to know the children.” there was no enthusiasm in his voice when he re- sponded, “i’ll go with you to dinner, if i come to the library.” she knew from the way he spoke, that he would do neither. if she hadn't told him her plans, he might have come to the library, and then she could have manipulated his visit to see the children. did he think she was only asking him there because the adults were away? when any members of her family were brought into the conversation, she could instantly detect his estrangement. as long as they were alone together everything ran smoothly. but the out- side world did exist, and he would have to accept her along with her family. perhaps she had failed to let him know that she would willingly adopt his friends, though she had tried to convince him of this every time the op- portunity had arisen. particularly, he had asked her to go to the harlem club; she had gone, and had enjoyed know- ing his friends there. he did not prepare to leave the house with her. as they kissed good-bye, she again said, “it has been a wonderful weekend.” he thoroughly agreed. “i’ve never had a lovelier one.” he was still holding her: he had a completely free day ahead of him, and wanted her to share it with him. but finally she tore herself away from him. outside, she walked over to the little tree they had planted, examined it and the hedge plants. she knew he was watching her from the window, and was thinking about that mornings planting activities. while she was traveling home, she was more peaceful than she had ever been since she had known him. he had been very loving and considerate during those two days. he had stayed with her the whole time except for the afternoon meeting, and he had talked to her frankly about many of his past experiences. what particular incident had changed his attitude towards her? perhaps her working outside had shown him she didn't wish to sneak in and out of his house, hoping the neighbors wouldn't see her; instead she openly was quite willing to appear as his friend. or was he gradually becoming more willing to have them in love with each other? she remembered his calling her “sweetness” many times, even asking, “why are we such sweetness to each other?” her answer had been, “because we love each other so much.” when the telephone rang about eight o'clock on tues- day night, she was not surprised to hear his voice, “this is philip benson calling. how are you this evening?” “fine, and yourself?” “never felt better. did you have any trouble getting in yesterday morning?” “no, i had a seat on both bus and subway. when did you come in?” “not till late afternoon; that's why i didn't come to the library.” “where are you now?" “in brooklyn.” “why don't you come over for a while?” there was quite a long wait; she feared his reply. to date, he had never spent the evening without previous arrangements. “i’ll be there at nine,” came his emphatic and positive reply. she hung up the receiver, actually singing for joy—an old familiar song—“i have a wonderful feeling everything's going my way.” she could hardly believe she would be seeing him again in an hour, that they were not going out anywhere, that he was spending the evening alone with her. as usual she had taken off her street clothes, and was wearing her house robe. “i won't trouble to dress,” she thought. “but, perhaps, i should. he might think i'm ex- pecting an intimate evening. if so, the suggestion should come from him.” she bathed, and dressed carefully and simply, putting on earrings, and a little perfume, and wearing a new pair of bedroom slippers she had recently bought to replace her old shabby ones. “i mustn't get too excited. something might happen to detain him.” it was impossible to read. she worked on some hand sewing, leaving the clock in the other room to keep from continually checking the time. when the buzzer rang, she jumped nervously, rose quickly, and found him at her apartment door. “there was no light in the entrance, and i wasn't sure which was your bell. i didn't want to take any chance of ringing someone else's, so i came right up.” instinctively she knew he would prefer to come in without attracting any attention whatsoever. his greeting, while very loving, told her that she should not expect anything more familiar for the evening. this idea did not disconcert her; she no longer felt the need of trying to advance their relationship; everything was progressing so perfectly. he made himself comfortable among the pillows on the couch instead of choosing an easy chair. she snuggled beside him with her head on his shoulder. they talked of many things, mainly current events. she was constantly astounded at his analyti- cal interpretation of every day happenings, of his knowl- edge of the importance of those events in the life of a working man. she realized that his intelligence far out- rated hers—she had had an academic college education— especially in the field of american history. in his compan- ionship with her, philip was looking for more than a casual love affair. the responsibility would be great; she won- dered if she would be capable of shouldering it. experi- ences with men in the past should have taught her that a permanent relationship must be founded on mutual in- terests. she was glad she could sincerely help him with his writing. “let's have a cup of tea. i'll heat the water.” he followed her into the kitchen, still talking. “i don't have any cake tonight. i didn't know you were coming. will bread, butter and jelly be all right?” he merely nodded his head and smiled, sitting down in his usual chair, and continuing with the discussion. the present situation of an election in harlem showed how the people there were really fighting for their rights. when she asked him to explain the intricacies of the daily events, she was inquiring about a subject of vital importance to him. he continued his dissertation after they had eaten and returned to the living room. he stayed two hours: it was a quiet, restful time of such deep understanding. they made no further plans; it ap- peared conclusive that such evenings would become habit- ual. for many days her thoughts of him were completely characterized by a feeling of eventual fulfillment of what she so ardently desired. even when days, a whole week passed without hearing from him, she did not grow dis- couraged. this time she hoped to have the strength to wait patiently until he again called her. he had tele- phoned her of his own volition; he had come to spend the evening with her, and she naturally expected him to come again. however, something disagreeable must have happened after he had left her apartment alone. if that were true, he certainly would never mention it to her, even if it did have an influencing effect upon his coming to see her. the house was a regular tenement-type building of five stories with four apartments on each floor, and all the tenants were italian except herself. originally she had moved there with her three daughters just after her divorce, be- cause the rent was very low. from there, her children had gone through city schools and colleges, and two of them had married. now her grandchildren frequented the place, and she couldn't even imagine living anywhere else. she often wondered whether he perceived the impossibility of uprooting her from these familiar surroundings. many of the occupants of the house had also become grandparents while living there, and she had a pleasant passing word with her neighbors in the halls or on the street. during the winter she seldom met anyone coming or going, but in the summer many people in the house congregated on the steps of the building. she feared it wouldn't be very long before they would be gossiping about her. with daylight- saving time it was still light when she and philip would leave together in the evening. everyone had recently spo- ken to her as usual and she keenly hoped nothing unpleas- ant would happen. two years previously, a negro girl, a friend of her daughter's, had lived with her until she got married. her boy friend frequented the house continually. they had been treated cordially by people in the house, and no cri- ticism was made until she left. then the landlady asked louise not to have another negro girl as a room mate. “i didn't say anything to you, mrs. morgan, but a num- ber of the tenants objected. i explained that the young lady was only staying until she could find an apartment.” “thank you, mrs. mario. but you know they have no grounds for complaint.” this friend had been a woman; a man would give a double reason for comment; for even though he were a white man, neighbors would be curious about her going out with him. he may not have had any trouble in the house. she reviewed the whole evening, trying to remem- ber if anything untoward had happened. it was true she hadn't asked him when he would be back: she felt that his appearing, so soon after spending the weekend with her, was his acknowledgment of a greater surety in their friend- ship. it might have been a great mistake to show no desire for love making; he might have considered that she wished to go back to a more formal basis. constantly she feared that he might think the difficulties involved in their re- lationship were too discouraging. perhaps some neighbor of his had made some disparaging remark regarding her being at his place over the weekend. what other reasons could there be for these long periods of silence. in every way he had declared his love for her, and she had expressed her total willingness to accept his love. assuredly they had never discussed the practicalities surrounding marriage; but after knowing her for six months, he must understand that her daily demands were very simple. for instance, early in their friendship she tabooed taxis for two reasons: added expense was a con- sideration, but her main idea was to let him know she was perfectly willing to travel with him on buses and subways. such methods had always been her means of transporta- tion. why alter her habits when she was with him? how- ever, when she preferred to eat in her apartment rather than go to restaurants, he should only think that she wished to be alone with him, even though dining at home was cheaper. many weeks ago she had told him she had a small but permanent income; but as to his finances, she never questioned him. //ii when the weekend drew nearer, she did not write him a note. she knew he would expect to find one when he went out to new jersey. she could picture his mulling through that week's accumulation of mail, hunting for her familiar handwriting. he would then understand that he should have telephoned her during the week if he wanted her to come. however, if he were as unsure of her as she often was of him, he would be very downcast when there was no word from her. she brought from the country some privet hedge plants dug from around and under her own hedge. if she didn't hear from him on monday she would go out to his place and plant them along the same row where they had started a hedge together. it would be an unusual way of showing him she could not easily be brushed off. on monday night at eight-thirty he called. how thank- ful she was that she had patiently waited. “this is philip benson calling. i tried getting you twice this evening and found your line busy. did you enjoy the holidays in the country? i didn't call you because i knew you would be leaving.” “william is away, so my daughter and i went alone, taking along six children. we only stayed one night. it's still hard to keep warm out there during the nights. i would have come out to your house if you had called me during the week.” he didn't answer this remark, but said, “i have a tele- phone here in brooklyn. take the number down, so you can reach me.” it was apparent that he expected her to call him, not the usual reverse order. “your tenants also have a phone in new jersey. i did think of trying to get you there.” “why didn't you come out anyway? i don't know what their number is. sometimes they've told me that i was wanted on the telephone, but i never went. but if you call, tell them who it is, and i'll come to the phone.” why wouldn't he generally go to the telephone when he re- ceived a call? it was comforting to hear that she would be a privileged person in this respect. “i brought some more privet hedge plants from the country, but they will keep for the weekend. how are the things we transplanted?” she asked him. “they are all as green as when we put them in. it has rained quite a lot.” “where are you now?” “in brooklyn.” “why don't you come over? it isn't very late.” “i was planning to come tomorrow evening. i could get there much earlier and spend a long time.” “all right. that's fine. remember we have tickets for “rigoletto' for friday.” “this coming friday?" “yes.” “isn't that the plot about the jester?” “yes; i'll have to read it again before we go. did you get the car ready?” she knew that her mentioning the car would indicate she wanted him to take her out to her place in the country. “everything is o. k. except the insurance which i hope to get this week if i have a day off from work. i don't think we should travel without, do you?” she noticed that he didn't mention renewing his driver's license. had the lady who came to use his typewriter been correct in her state- ment that he had not been driving for a long time? “no, i agree. there are so many accidents these days.” “what did they say about my story?” “they liked the content, but wanted you to rewrite it entirely. what do you think?” “it isn't worth it. i'd rather spend my time on something more constructive.” “i think you're right.” “i’ll see you tomorrow at eight. it's been such a long time. good-bye now, and be good.” the intimacy in the expression of those last two words overcame her with ex- when philip came the next evening she immediately told him about anna's call: otherwise she might forget. also she wanted to see if he objected to her letting anna know that he frequented her apartment. she was relieved that he acted amicably to the prospect of an interview, and never questioned her about making the telephone appoint- ment for him. they both forgot all about the incident. she had dressed in an old but becoming black cotton dress with white striped collar and cuffs which strikingly set off her most flattering sun tan; she certainly looked more youthful than usual. her careful dressing had been well worth while. “you look lovely tonight.” holding her passionately and kissing her many times, he exclaimed emotionally, “i never can remember how lovely you are.” she already knew this was to be an unforgettable eve- ning. as she was talking his whole face stroked her face and neck, and both his hands held her tightly. she disen- tangled herself to fetch the notes she had compiled for him at a small exclusive library uptown. sedately she sat down to show the pages and explain the deletions she had made. but he insisted upon holding her again, pulling her down on his lap, leaning over and kissing her so long that she ceased to object. she succeeded in struggling out of his grasp to say, “you can't do this to me without knowing what it will lead to.” “well, do we have to wait till this weekend?” “of course not.” but she remembered that always be- fore tonight he had limited the degree of love making in her apartment. even with her consent he hesitated, not completely sure of privacy except in his own house. she was in no hurry, being absolutely confident of the outcome. she did not think it was possible to enjoy herself more than ever before, but she did. somehow, being fully dressed and in her own living room, added to the joy of succumbing completely to this tremendous and infrequent pleasure of being loved. afterwards, as he was gathering up all his clothes to take them to the bathroom, the tele- phone rang. as she said, “hello,” she hoped her voice sounded com- posed. it was anna. louise kept up a running conversation with her. philip needed time to be ready to take the re- ceiver. when she felt a quick kiss on her ear, she said to anna . . . . “philip is here, would you like to speak to him?” “certainly; i won't be long.” philip took the receiver from her and said, “hello, how are you? it is good to hear your familiar voice again.” louise thought, “if he had said that to me in that pleas- ant manner of his, i would have felt he was expressing real affection, and yet he's now only making a polite remark to a casual friend. perhaps i do overestimate his feeling for me.” she listened further to the one-sided conversation, and noticed that it did not culminate in a definite appoint- ment, though he expressed willingness to help. she did not know whether the person to be interviewed was a man or a woman and therefore was glad when the conversation ended in a desultory manner. he lingered for another hour; his calm and loving manner stored up deep comforting thoughts for any future misgivings. she concluded that he had entirely made up his mind that night that he wanted her. all his inhibitions about a sexual life together seemed to have disappeared during those two weeks of separation, while she had defi- nitely decided to be contented with an affair even though it did not end in marriage. perhaps one's daily existence would be less hectic and there would be fewer emotional upheavals if one could be unmindful of the regular con- ventionalities. early in their friendship she had excitedly looked forward to announcing to her relatives and friends that she was getting married again, but this desire had been supplanted exclusively by the successive events in the actual love affair. subsequently he had convinced her that nothing would be able to destroy his feelings for her, and she had become assured that she could trust him to plan their future together. having lunch with her eldest daughter, joan, a few weeks previously, louise had told her she was dating a friend. her daughter had pleasantly responded, “i know how much you must enjoy going out again. how long have you known him?” “nearly a year; but we've only been going out together lately. it's wonderful to have someone interested in me again.” louise and this daughter had been most intimate friends all during joan's first marriage and the six-year interval between her divorce and second marriage. during that period louise had become very devoted to her four grandsons; she was constantly taking care of them in the evenings after her job. her daughter worked also, but between them they managed to look after the children. joan's concealed dislike of being dependent upon her mother had perhaps been one of the major reasons for her remarrying. unfortunately, she had chosen a man who was entirely incompatible with louise; he firmly believed in the superiority of men, and definitely disliked a woman who showed too much capability. consequently, the rela- tionship between mother and daughter was immediately curtailed to such an extent that they seldom saw each other during the winter months. joan gave up her job and was able to take care of her children without her mother's assistance. louise had grieved over these circumstances which had robbed her of almost daily contact with her grandsons. the family had moved to brooklyn, and she only saw the boys when they stopped at her apartment on their way to music lessons in the village. during the summer joan took her family to the country, while her husband horace remained working in the city. he would go out for weekends only. her daughter, marie, also brought her children to the country for the summer. during those months louise spent as much time as pos- sible with her grandchildren. louise had never parted from any of the original acreage which had been bought during the first years of her mar- riage. there were a number of buildings on the place, and over the years each member of the family had been accom- modated. marie and her husband had converted a large barn, originally built of hand-hewn beams, into a dwelling. the big house was understood to belong to joan and her family, and they occupied it during the summer months; while laura had a small newly-built combination garage and dwelling. farther down the road, but still on the same property, her former husband lived with his new wife and their two sons. when joan married a second time, louise moved out of the large house which she had been occupying with her daughter and the children. she stayed in a small, poorly- built, and rundown shack which could be made livable for the warm months of the year. leaving the house where she had spent all the happy years of her marriage had been an emotional wrench; and even to this day, in the early spring and late fall, she always stayed alone at the big house on weekends, away from the city. perhaps it was a morbid pleasure to reminisce alone over those joyous years, but she was now hoping this new friendship with philip would completely dispel the thoughts of the past. she turned to joan and said, “philip has a car, and i hope we'll be going out to the country over the weekends.” “you mean he will stay up at your shack?” “yes, why not?” “you're the head of the whole community, and don't you think there are certain proprieties you should adhere to?” “yes, to a certain extent. but i'm old enough for it to be relatively unimportant what i do.” “that may be your attitude, mother, but i wouldn't want horace to get sore and make all of us come back to the city. he doesn't care whether we are out there or not. it's really more convenient for him if we stay in town. i did hope everything would be peaceful this summer. why couldn't you go to town for weekends instead of having him out there?” “are you implying i shouldn't have him come out there unless i'm married to him?” “yes.” what a strange coincidence. had this conversation been a very deceitful way of making joan agree to her marriage with philip? when they started talking she had no such intention, but during the development of pros and cons she realized that she was forcing her daughter to take a certain position. when, some day in the future, joan might be opposed to this marriage, louise could say to her, “but you wished me to marry philip many months ago.” “i didn't know he was a negro then.” her reply would be, “i’m the one who's marrying him, and that makes no difference to me whatsoever.” “but think how you will be harming your children and grandchildren.” “sincerely, i don't think i'd be harming anybody. i've made up my mind that at my age i'm entitled to do what i wish. perhaps this is extremely selfish, but for months i've only been concerned over a happy future for me and philip,” louise would say. “mother, have you really considered how your brother and sisters will treat you?” “of course i have thought about it a great deal. as you know my brother means more to me than anyone in my immediate family. he met philip at my apartment. after- wards i asked him if it would make any difference to him if i should marry philip. his answer was, “of course it wouldn't, but i don't envy your position having to make such a momentous decision.' he further said, ‘think about it carefully, and if you ever want to discuss it with me, please do not hesitate.' i never mentioned it to him again, but he has treated me the same as always.” “how about your sisters?” joan still would insist. “i can't tell how each one will act. just my getting married again is going to give them all a jolt. i believe i'll lose only one, because i have meant very little to her for years. the other three won't be pleased about it, but i think each one will finally come around to accepting the situation. if they don't, i feel that what i'm going to gain will more than make up for what i lose.” “getting back to your plans for the summer, mother.” “don’t worry about it. i'll manage things in such a way that your vacation and the boys' won't be ruined,” said louise. thus she was making her daughter's happiness of para- mount importance—in complete disregard of the selfish intentions she had been expressing. however, she could run the risk of having philip out in the country without joan's suspecting his presence. the houses were so far apart that the thick foliage of the trees, and the curves in the road, completely hid one from the other. if the chil- dren, riding up and down the road on their bicycles, noticed a parked car at her garage they would never men- tion it to their mother; they had quickly learned not to court any trouble from their stepfather. //iii she prepared a dinner for friday night that could be cooked for an indefinite length of time. she did not expect him to be prompt. “i hope i'm not late.” philip greeted her apologetically. “yes, you are; but the longer this dinner cooks the better it will be.” as he took off his coat he asked, “how much time do we have? i had forgotten whether the show begins at eight or eight-thirty.” “it begins at eight, but we still have plenty of time.” she picked up from the chair the package he had dropped, thinking of how much trouble it had been to keep up with this clean shirt all day long. handing it to him she asked, “are you going to new jersey tonight or in the morning?” “neither; i may not even get out on sunday.” at one time such a remark would have thrown her into panic, but she had become accustomed to knowing that things sometimes turned out better than he depicted. “oh, i'm so disappointed. don't you remember that i said i could come out this weekend? and i've the plants to set in the ground.” what was he planning to do? every- thing had been so wonderful between them just a few evenings ago. “you can go out anyway. i'll give you the keys to the house.” “all right; but i won't enjoy it by myself. i would cer- tainly have gone to my place if i had known you weren't going to new jersey.” she was no longer afraid of the consequences of expressing her complaint honestly. “i think i can make it for saturday night. if i don't, i'll surely be out sunday morning and we don't have to come back until monday.” well, expressing her disappointment so candidly had had the desired effect, and she was deter- mined not to be upset. he was tired, and they should have eaten before she brought up any controversial subjects. hadn't she already steeled herself for a cooling-off period to his latest advances? if he hadn't had this opera date, she supposed there would have been the usual long absence. as they walked the few blocks to the performance, he told her how constant his work was on a rush contract, and that he had to work on saturday. also, at one o'clock, he had an appointment with richard to meet a man who wanted a house built. this interview would be of uncer- tain length, and he wouldn't know just when he could get there. all she thought was, “he has already said he will be out on saturday instead of sunday.” his extreme tiredness was very apparent. during one of the scenes she felt the weight of his shoulder leaning against hers, and looked up to find him asleep. at inter- mission she encouraged him to go outside for a little air. “shall i bring you something refreshing to drink?” “no, thanks. i don't really want anything.” he was only gone a few minutes and when he returned he told her he had placed his house with a real estate agent in new york, and thought he would have no trouble in selling it. “what price have you put on it?” “twenty thousand. that is cheap the way things are now.” “are you going to carry the mortgage if you don't get cash?” “no, the buyer will have to borrow from a bank. i'd rather sacrifice a few hundred dollars now than have the trouble and uncertainty of collections on a mortgage.” “are you selling the furniture with the house?” “that's one thing i wanted to ask you. do you think i should?” this was a difficult question to answer in an off- hand manner. the very idea of his asking her made her feel he was figuring on her wishes for the future. she was compelled to glean such notions from what he said, for he never actually spoke of any future together. “yes, i would.” was he also thinking that she had furniture in her apartment in new york, and in her shack in the country? “i’ll be glad to get rid of the responsibility of the place. i can pay a hundred dollars rent for a new york apart- ment, and be as well off financially as owning and renting the place in new jersey.” he had made this remark so many times that perhaps he hoped she would say it wasn't necessary for him to rent a place in new york city. his asking her about selling the furniture might be leading to a discussion of the possibility of his living on twelfth street with her, although he would never speak of it unless they were married. this was a strategic opportunity to reveal a problem uppermost in her mind, but it still took great courage to say, “marie tells me of a continual turnover of apartments in the district they live in. that community is becoming quite interracial. there is a new building next to theirs where a number of negroes, as well as a mixed couple, are living.” he did not say anything; she hadn't expected him to. although she hated terribly to bring up such a subject she did feel the dire necessity of letting him know they could live in a neighborhood close to where she now lived. if her apartment on twelfth street were not feasible, she hoped to stay near the music school which her grandsons attended. she sadly realized that she could never get any closer to him if he refused to talk of all the conflicting ideas she had brought to his mind. as they were walking home, she took his arm when a car suddenly swerved round the corner. but he held her hand instead, and kept hold of it until they reached her block. standing on the sidewalk at her corner, he said, “i’ll give you the keys to the house. there isn't any food. will you buy some?” and he opened the bill section of his wallet. “you don't need to give me any money.” “why not? get what we need for the weekend. you look around and figure it out.” it was a new experience to take money from a friend, also the keys for his house. as money matters had never been discussed between them, it would be insulting to philip to make any issue about taking it. he had certainly said it was to be spent for their meals together. “i nearly forgot to ask you where i can find the trowel and spade.” “the trowel is on the table with the tools in the base- ment; the spade is in the room partition with the lumber. why don't you wait and let me help you plant them?” “if i put them in tomorrow we can water them twice before leaving. that will give them a better chance to get rooted. it won't be as good a job as the last time when we dug up the plants right there. it was much cooler then, too.” she started to move away from him, not minding to say good-night. “i’ll come as soon as i can. what time do you plan to leave in the morning?” “if you aren't going to be there, i won't have any reason for hurrying. i'll leave about ten o'clock.” he came back close to her again, and looked at her in a way that gave her such intense satisfaction. “i’ll try to call you between eight and ten.” “so long. i'll see you tomorrow. i'm glad you don't have to go all the way out to new jersey tonight.” she paid not the slightest attention to his habitual remark of calling her, not even trying to analyze any more his reason for saying it always. however, she did consider how many hundreds of times women had anxiously awaited the ful- fillment of his promise. “thank goodness,” she thought, “no expected call is contingent upon my tomorrow's plans.” the next day she caught the ten-thirty bus, and was at his house before eleven, relieved to find that the other occupants were not there. she deposited her package of plants in the cool basement, planning to set them out after “you are tired.” “i am. the man did not show up though we waited two hours. i promised richard that i would go back to his home tomorrow.” but such an explanation did not take care of all the many hours he had been away. “oh, how horrible! do you really have to go? isn't it all the way out on long island?” “well, i'd like to know what it's all about. this may be something very good. richard and i would work together, and be our own bosses. the whole thing depends upon what kind of a house the man expects to get for the money he's willing to pay. but i'll call in the morning to be sure of the appointment this time.” what a weekend! and she could have spent the days outside at her own place where marie and william were having old friends whom she had been sorry to miss. she made coffee and he ate cake as well. did her being there mean enough to him to compensate for her disappoint- ment of spending two days practically alone? but he was now with her, and she should think of nothing else but the immediate pleasure of being with him. “i’m going up to take a bath. i was afraid to get in the tub for fear you would come just at that moment. i knew you didn't have your keys.” when she came out of the bathroom he was lying down, stretched out across the bed. she sat down by him, saying, “you really are very tired tonight.” “oh, no.” he quickly sat up as if he understood she was inferring he was too exhausted to sleep with her. “i was only resting while waiting for you to get through in the bathroom.” she took up the book she was reading. “i notice you were writing a review of this. you made some good criti- cisms. i hope it was published.” “no, i never continued any further than what is written on those notes.” “you were doing too much at the time?” “i was.” “what a pity. i wonder if there were any constructive reviews published.” “may have been, though i didn't see any.” it was not long before he came back to her and took her in his arms, comforting her for his long absence. when he held her so endearingly, she could easily feel completely sure of him, and simply said, “you may be gone all day, but at least i have you at night.” he lovingly acknowledged her remark without saying anything. later during the intensity of his love making he murmured questioningly, “i hope this will always belong to me.” “oh, i do hope it will.” he was justified in making this fervent request, as she previously, under similar circum- stances, had anxiously asked if he belonged solely to her. even though she faltered over thoroughly believing his affirmative answer, it had helped her to endure patiently the unpleasant situations which seemed to be constantly occurring. as usual on sunday morning he cooked an appetizing breakfast. while they were lingering over the meal, he said, “i could see your plants when i came in last night. you filled out the complete row. they look so nice and fresh.” “i didn't plant them until sundown, and i watered them a lot. we'll water them again this evening. then they should grow all right.” when she began stacking the dishes, he said, “i’m going down to start the washing machine.” “how about towels and pillow cases and your pajamas?” “all right; if you want to collect them, i'll use the machine twice. i'll go phone about that appointment; i won't be gone but a few minutes.” he kissed her, for he never failed to, either coming or going. while washing the dishes she smelt a burning odor, and opened the door leading to the basement. smoke came in, and she hurried down to pull the plug of the washing machine. what a nuisance. perhaps something was broken. the tub was full of the second wash which he had left in a soap solution. there was a scrubbing board; evidently the tenant did not use the electric washer. she wrung out the clothes from the machine when she found that the water was clear, and hung them on lines strung around the basement. she was washing the second batch, hoping to finish before he arrived, when she heard his steps on the stairs. “what happened? i could smell the machine when i walked in the front door.” “i don't know; i'm terribly ignorant about electrical things. i was afraid that you had overloaded the machine because of my suggesting to do other clothes.” “no, i didn't put in any more than usual. don't worry about it; it hasn't been serviced for a long time. but why are you washing those things?” she was quite intimidated at the sharp way he spoke to her. “please let me get them out of the way. it'll only take a few minutes. you go on back upstairs.” he obediently left. when she finished, she found him sitting on the sofa reading the newspaper. she sat down, pulling his arm up and around her shoulder, and asked, “what's the verdict?” “the man and his wife will be at richard's between one and two. i should leave here at twelve.” she was bitterly disappointed. “oh, i'm so sorry. all the hours we were going to spend on your notes will be gone.” “i hope to be back so that we can work on them this evening.” “i’ve taken the chicken out of the freezer. i'll fry it about six o'clock.” “no, wait till i get back.” then she felt unsure about the time of his return, but she tried to eliminate anything doubtful of their spending the evening together. the morning passed too quickly. she did not suggest helping him with his notes, because she knew he should completely relax during those few hours. they read the papers, con- sulting each other on items of mutual interest. they had sandwiches and coffee and fruit juice. she had to control herself to keep from crying when he said good-bye. he appeared both guilty and despondent at leaving her, but he assured her he would be back to spend the evening. she stood at the window watching him. a little boy ran up to him, and philip picked him up and tossed him up into the air. she could see the child laughing as he returned safely to the upstretched arms. she gazed after him until he disappeared around a far corner. she went upstairs to work on the typewriter. at inter- vals she drank a cup of tea, and finally fixed herself a sandwich. at seven she replaced the chicken in the freezer, brought up the dry clothes from the basement, folded them neatly, and put them away in their respective drawers. she opened the bottom drawer of the bureau and looked at the woman's clothes there. she almost felt con- trition now about what had happened to the wearer of those garments, judging she had been the cause of bringing great unhappiness to someone. if that woman had experi- enced the same difficulties she was having with philip, she most likely had given him up in despair. here she was, spending a weekend practically alone, but somewhat con- tented at being in his house taking care of his things. at eleven she suddenly realized that perhaps he wasn't coming back at all. he had his room in brooklyn, and he had gone all the way out on long island. she read for another hour. she knew he had no keys, and wouldn't like disturbing her if he found the house dark; so she left the light on in the hall, hoping he would be able to wake her. however at two she turned out all the lights, and tried to sleep. she ruminated over the following words which she was planning to say to him: “they did ask you to bring me along when you next went to see them. did you think i would refuse or did you not want me to go? please tell me honestly. i have been here alone for hours, and i could have been enjoying my- self with you and your friends.” he might say, “i thought you wouldn't want to go; if you had wanted to, you would have asked me.” and this was to have been her answer: “but couldn't you have given me the privilege of accepting or refusing your invitation. i think you actually wanted to go alone; you didn't wish to take me along as your friend. when we are out on the street together you don't seem to mind at all. won't you tell me why you don't want to take me to your friend's home?” this kind of question she had planned never to ask him; she only conjured them up when he so appallingly disappointed her. the next morn- ing she contemplated writing him a note, feeling it was important to leave some communication. he had given her four dollars; she took two of them, put them on the little table by her bed, and wrote on the piece of an old envelope, “you didn't eat here this weekend. i have the keys.” it was drizzling; the lawn and new plants looked re- freshed. would she ever see them again? she expected he would put off calling her for days, not knowing how she would react to his leaving her there alone. she wouldn't wish him to apologize for not coming back, but . . . “don't you think i deserve an explanation. were you afraid i would start raving at you, as has happened to you in similar past experiences? therefore you weren't plan- ning to call me for many days, giving me time to cool off from any intended upbraiding? i've seldom mentioned your periodic neglect of me. but sometimes i think you're a very irresponsible man. under utmost pressure, you can do things punctually: you attended class regularly, and are faithful to your job; but you certainly do delay action when difficulties are involved.” these words, though they contained a great deal of truth, were never spoken. he called her on tuesday night, when she had not approached him on monday. for the first time he did not use those formal words, “this is philip benson calling.” he had finally drifted into a more personal manner. he gave no introduction whatsoever, for to her “hello,” he posed the familiar question: “how are you tonight, louise?” “i’m all right.” all the negative things she had planned to say were immediately dispelled at the sound of his voice. “but what happened?” “i’m terribly sorry. but i wouldn't have gotten home until long after midnight and i had to be at work at eight. i just came over here to my room in brooklyn. you know all the travelling i would have to do.” “i know. but i was so disappointed. try to figure out what a lonely weekend i spent.” “i’m really sorry. i'll make it up to you. i just couldn't get away until it was very late. what did you do?” she thought how that little note and the two dollars would puzzle him and convey how much he could hurt her. “i put the chicken back in the freezer. will it be all right that way?” “yes. of course it will.” “and i brought up the clothes out of the basement. i didn't leave till the nine o'clock bus. why don't you come over?” surely he would be willing to please her momen- tarily. “i haven't anything to wear but my work clothes. i ended up on sunday with my good suit which i have worn during all the rain of the last two days. i just took it to the cleaners. can i come by tomorrow night and pick up that book i asked you to get?” “sure, but that sounds as though you're not going to stay.” “no, i can't. i've two meetings tomorrow night, the real estate group and the co-op later on in the evening. will you be free thursday night?” “yes, and you be sure to save it for me. i want to tell you about an offer from a friend of mine at the library. he wants to finance you for a couple of months this fall so that you could finish the article you're writing.” “that isn't necessary.” “but don't you think it is worth considering?” “i don't have to. i'll explain it to you when i see you. be good, now, i'll see you tomorrow.” the next morning louise called joan, “is george com- ing to lunch on his way back from the dentist?” the grandsons continued to go to the dentist very near to her apartment. she was planning to spend the day with her brother, and would leave sandwiches for the two children who came every day, and were not surprised when they found the apartment unlocked and no one there. if there were any probability of a grandchild's coming, she did not fasten the door: she left a note explaining her absence, and instructions for their having something to eat. joan answered, “wait till i turn off the washing ma- chine. i want to talk to you.” there was a foreboding tone in her voice, but louise tried to ignore it. speaking pleasantly, when her daughter returned to the telephone, she asked, “how are the children? you must be very busy with all the activities of the last days of school.” “yes, and also getting ready to go to the country. that's what i want to talk to you about. i'm so anxious to have a peaceful summer. of course i don't know anything about your life with your boy friend, but please don't bring him out to stay in the country.” “you asked this once before, and i told you i wouldn't have him out over the weekend when horace is there.” she was impelled to suggest that joan herself would not assume such an attitude. “this is a selfish demand, but i really wouldn't consider moving out if there were the possibility of anything dis- agreeable happening this summer.” louise was flabber- gasted: it was difficult to imagine that her daughter had recently become so dictatorial that she could make this fantastic request of her mother. she answered frantically, “why, joan, that sounds like real blackmail. you know how much it means to me to have the children out there in the summer time. i wish you wouldn't discuss this further. it gets me so upset, and brings back such awful things to my mind. we've been getting along so well lately. are you actually saying it's all right to have him stay out there if i'm married to him, but that otherwise you have the right to object?” “yes, i suppose so.” “but there's no need to get into a terrible argument about this. i wish i had never mentioned him to you, if it's only going to cause such trouble.” there was never any moment during this conversation when she could have said, “if you really knew entirely what you're objecting to.” as she hung up the receiver her greatest annoyance stemmed from not being com- pletely outspoken with her daughter. if joan could de- liberately demand that she forego the pleasure of having philip out in the country during the summer, she did not feel any moral obligation to tell her daughter that he was not a white man. her merely giving this information would intimate the possibility of an objection; by never mentioning this fact she was definitely establishing the idea that this condition should make no difference, either to her daughter or to herself. conscientiously, she knew that through her associations with philip during the past months many conventional prejudices that she may have inherently possessed had disappeared. but joan, who once had the same liberal viewpoint as her two sisters, had been greatly influenced to the contrary during her present marriage. again came the thought, “will joan remember this conversation? am i using the same underhanded tactics as she? what will she think when she finds out the com- plete story?” ix philip arrived promptly at marie's house the next eve- ning. louise had called him to tell him that she would be there instead of at her own apartment. he was dressed in his best suit, and looked very trim and handsome. at last, after all these months, he had come to this particular address where she had tried so often to bring him. “my, what a beautiful place!” he exclaimed. the front door opened directly onto the outside steps, so they did not greet each other as usual. when he removed his rain- coat he kissed her; this would be still another familiar spot now characterized by a happy memory of him. she took his arm and led him to the far end of the living room. “let me show you the house. they took down a parti- tion here, making the kitchen a part of the whole room. they wanted to be with their guests while cooking and serving a meal, so they moved up all the equipment from the basement floor.” “did william make all these cabinets and shelves?” “yes, isn't it perfect? it took some figuring with such a small space.” “i did the same work in my kitchen, you remember; but i used formica tops instead of wood.” “that's best when you have tenants. but doesn't the wood look better when the kitchen is part of the living room?” she showed him the second floor, and the three children's rooms on the top floor. surrounding his second marriage. she expected, some day, to learn that this had been a somber event in his life. “i bought material for covers for the twin beds. you liked the other cover; it helped to make the upstairs much brighter. i never mentioned this when you said you wanted to sell the place and move into new york.” “you are right. don't make them now.” such definite, almost commanding words whenever the subject implied a possible future together always filled her with an uncer- tain feeling. but the “now” at the end of the sentence was significant, and she clung to what that word might signify. she wanted to ask him how things had developed in regard to the building of a house with richard, but as he did not mention it she supposed the prospect had fallen through. she always hesitated about being too inquisitive of his financial circumstances, at the same time questioning whether he interpreted this characteristic as total indif- ference to his affairs. on the following night she determined not to have any intimate love making; she was convinced that thus he would be more anxious to spend the weekend with her. what was the advantage of having a man in love with you if he didn't care about spending much time with you? they had spent very few hours together last weekend; she hoped that program would not be repeated. she would do her utmost to plan differently. as soon as he entered the apartment she could detect his tiredness; he was loving but not passionate. she even sus- pected that he would not have objected to her sitting in an armchair away from him, but nevertheless she took her usual place among the pillows. she encouraged him to talk of the two meetings he had attended the previous evening. she did wish he would dispense with some of his unneces- sary activities and spend more time in restful study. he constantly fumbled the ring on her finger, but he never once kissed her. she was glad that he knew he would be most welcome without the usual diversion of love making. “would you like a cup of tea and perhaps a cheese sandwich?” “yes. i ran short of money today and wish you'd lend me some. i underestimated what i needed, and left my bank book in new jersey. i only collected one dollar for that book. should it have been one-fifty?” “no, the second edition came out at a dollar.” she got her purse which had a small roll of bills, but he refused anything over a dollar, saying he could get more in the morning. he was hungry; she concluded that he hadn't eaten supper. she had bought choice pastries, and he en- joyed sandwiches and many cups of tea. “you remember richard and his wife?” “certainly.” well did she remember the incident of his failing to take her when he went to see them. “they want to come to your place to get the plants you offered her.” “i’m glad of that. i'll give them a map of the route. you'd come with them, wouldn't you?” “of course.” was this his way of acknowledging that he didn't intend to get his car ready for their travelling back and forth? “are you planning to go to new jersey for the week- end?” she asked him. “one of my grandsons is playing in a concert on friday night, and i promised him i'd go. marie's family is driving out at three that afternoon, so i think i won't go at all.” “i hadn't planned to go, but i might change my mind. i wouldn't have gone there last week if you hadn't been there.” how difficult; still no real progress toward his needing her. he seemed downcast, but complacent and completely relaxed. “i hope you'll decide to go. i did want to get more of your notes to type.” “you don't realize how tired i get on the job.” “oh, please don't say that. i really do. i thought you could rest better on saturday, and we'd work on your notes on sunday.” she desperately asked, “don't you want to spend that time with me? if you have other appointments, i'll go to the country.” his totally uncompromising answer was, “when are you going to the concert?” “eight o'clock.” “i’ll call you at seven about the weekend. as to my writing, i'm going to work on a job steadily for the next four months, and then quit. during the winter i'll write. you know i've had many things published over the years; reviews and short articles in newspapers and periodicals.” “that's wonderful. you never told me before. and i'm so glad i'll be able to help you.” she cuddled closer to him, and he said, “i’ll appreciate it. but what time is it? i think i must be going.” before he had a chance, she said, “you’ll call me at seven.” at the door, when he was kissing her good-night, she asked, “you do love me?” “you know i do.” his way of holding her should have left no doubt in her mind. but the next evening at seven- thirty he called to say, “i’m not planning to go to new jersey tomorrow. i'll bring the keys over to you early in the morning so you can go out.” “but i don't want to go if you aren't going.” was he with total aplomb dismissing her entirely from his week- end activities, or was he sincere in saying, “i just don't want to get involved with all the problems out there: i've been working very hard this week.” later how thoroughly she regretted that she had not placidly followed along with his suggestion of bringing the keys to her. it was stupid not to have agreed. he had come last week when she was there, even though he had originally said it would be impossible. “then i'll spend the morning working. could we go to a movie later on in the day? then on sunday, if you feel rested, we can go to your place.” she still persisted that it was natural for her to think he would wish to be with her. as she knew nothing of the possible demands made upon him by some other friend she could not estimate the com- parable reaction to conflicting requests. “oh, sure. when will be most convenient to you?” “i’d like to see a foreign film.” “there's a theater for french and british films on forty- second street. i'll call you between twelve and one to- morrow. be sweet, now.” these arrangements were so much better than going out and waiting all day for him. she happily worked all saturday morning; she did not go downstairs to get her mail for fear he would call at just that moment. it was unbelievable that she wouldn't hear from him, but she didn't. regretfully she wished she had taken the keys when he asked her to. by sunday she could stand the suspense no longer and picked up the receiver to call the brooklyn number he had given her. there was no answer. so he was not tired, not resting on a sunday morning, but simply doing something he preferred rather than being with her. she went back to her translating for a few more hours, then decided he might have gone to new jersey, expecting her to come there. this was a slim chance, but she clung to it. she forgave him for not calling was the chance she was taking, for it was easier to be in action than to sit and brood at home. the trip seemed immeasurably long. her keyed-up excitement had some- what subsided by the time she arrived. she rang the doorbell. the man in the other apartment let her in. she said, “hello,” and thanked him. she didn't like this particular situation of running after a man, and she tried to act as nonchalant as possible. she didn't knock on philip's door; she merely let her- self in, feeling sure he was upstairs. she was surprised to see a vase of red roses on the living room table; not a florist's bouquet but a bunch picked from a garden. there were many dirty dishes on the table containing scraps of uneaten food: as she passed the cabinet she noticed a large piece of cooked meat in the frying pan. she dropped her bag, and hurried upstairs. he was not there. she stood and trembled, gazing blankly at that beautiful quilt of theirs. she stayed upstairs long enough to see that the bed was carefully made up with two pillows as she had left it on monday morning. his old trousers and sport shirt and two pairs of shoes were in her room, the nearest spot to where his good clothes hung in the closet. the iron was standing on its heel in the alcove where he had hurriedly left it. she felt she was right in concluding he had not slept there the previous night; he had only come out today. she went back downstairs, dreading to examine the dishes on that table which she liked to consider was hers. yes, there was no use trying to deceive herself. two com- plete places were set with many dishes, and had been used, and the meal had been a sumptuous one. she left, and walked as far as a bus bench. she sat down to decide what to do. had he been there when she telephoned and con- cluded that it was she, and left to avoid her; or had they previously finished their meal and gone to a movie? if she returned she wouldn't be too embarrassed when they walked in and found her sitting there. it would be so unusual to the other woman to find a white woman there that she could most easily explain that she had come, as was actually true, to help philip with his writing. ten minutes must have elapsed before she went back and found that there was no one to answer the door. she had approached the house from the opposite direction, so there was the agonizing possibility that someone had seen her coming and would not let her in. she returned and waited calmly for the in-going bus. she found the last vacant seat far in the back, sat down and cried bitterly. she was incapable of reasoning: she was deeply jealous of that other woman's sitting and eating in her place, and having all those hours with him—hours which would have been hers if she had only accepted his proffered keys. in the future she would always do what he asked of her. she did not blame him; he had figured that, since she did not come out in the morning, she wasn't to be expected. perhaps his guest was the lady from across the street; it would be natural for her to bring roses from her garden. he had told louise about receiving a letter from her, say- ing she was returning from the virgin islands where she had been doing social work. she was a divorced woman with two children. it could also be possible that he had brought mary out from the city for the day. but her grief was justifiable, for no matter what solution she might use for solace, the truth remained that they could have spent the day together. she was outwardly composed when she reached her apartment. she settled down to constructive work, and waited patiently for the next communication from him. after all, if she had followed her own common-sense views, and never left her apartment, what suffering she could have saved herself. she longingly hoped that his tenant would not tell him that she had been there; he might be wholly annoyed with her, and never get in touch with her again. through all her misgivings she still had faith in his love for her, and would do her best to keep it. she would certainly in the future require from him her privilege of seeing people who might totally disapprove of their rela- tionship, therefore she also should not deny him any pleasure of association with past acquaintances. in fact, should she not be relieved that she would not be respon- sible for all the pleasures he might desire? however, she hoped that she would ascertain from him what this occa- sion had been. as soon as he got home from work on monday she called him. “this is louise.” “how are you?” “not so good. i didn't have a very nice weekend.” “i called you twice on saturday and found the line busy. did you go out to the country?” “no, i stayed right here and worked both days. you must not know how to dial my number; i don't remember having a single call on saturday.” if the line were busy how could he ask her if she had gone to the country. what she should have said, but did not wish to, was, “you are an absolute liar.” he gave no further explanation, assuming that his statement of finding her line busy was sufficient excuse for breaking their appointment. but he must have known that she knew better. he further committed himself by saying, “i missed you very much.” again, thinking of his kitchen, she wanted to refute this statement. instead she said, “i’m calling you about anna. she got in touch with me again about that projected interview. i placed the time tentatively for tomorrow night, but she will call me to confirm the date.” louise was afraid she might never hear from him again; accordingly she planned this contact having no personal nature. “tomorrow will be o. k. with me. any night this week except wednesday. shall i come to your apartment?” “yes, she seemed to think that would be the simplest way. the woman writer you are to interview has a car and will drive down. she said it shouldn't take more than a half hour.” “will it be all right if i come over at eight?” “sure.” “see you then. be sweet now.” but she wanted to be really sure that he would come. “oh, another thing . . . about a carpenter for my shack in the country. my son-in-law is even having a hard time making the man complete the odds and ends at the barn. he thinks he'll never get around to doing anything for me this summer. you mentioned coming out with richard some week when you weren't on a job in the city.” “yes, i'd like to. first i’ll have to see what has to be done, and then get in touch with him. perhaps i might not need him. we'll talk about it tomorrow night.” “all right. good-bye now.” that was the extent of the conversation with no mention of how he had spent the weekend. she had doubly assured herself she would be seeing him tomorrow, and was willing to leave everything in abeyance till then. he had acted as usual, just as under- standing, as kind, even as loving. but uppermost in her mind was that dining room table revealing that two people had eaten a meal in his house. by the time of his arrival the next day the episode of that horrible trip had lost its most drastic memories. after all, most important was the fact that she was seeing him again; judging from the telephone conversation, his atti- tude toward her was no different. she always opened the door a few inches to watch his coming up the stairs. he walked very erect, and very lightly for such a large man. when he reached the landing, she opened the door com- pletely to receive that big familiar smile; she barely closed it, before he was holding her tightly. she immediately ceased to think of anything; his embrace surmounted all perplexities. he kept hold of her as they walked into the living room. “i missed you over the weekend. i went out to new jersey on saturday, spent the night, but came back early sunday.” was this statement true? he wouldn't have told her this if he had known she had been there sunday; and it was unlike him to go away and leave a table full of dirty dishes. he must have made this remark to excuse himself from not coming to the telephone when she had called. otherwise he would say he went out on sunday, and had a neighbor in for dinner. she sincerely hoped it was untrue that he had gone out on saturday. she hadn't been able to account for his two pairs of shoes in what she called “her room.” she had instinctively concluded that he had not spent the night, for she had never known him to make up a bed. everything was as tidy as when she left last monday morning. if he had spent the night there saturday, deep shadows of his having been with “someone else” loomed up—someone who would make the bed as neatly as she had made it. “i didn't call you sunday as i thought you had gone to the country.” “yes, you passed me up for two weekends.” “not two, only one.” that was the strategic moment to inquire what he had done during those two days; but she did not ask. nothing valuable was to be gained from find- ing out what had happened. she released herself from his arms, and went into the bedroom saying, “i have some- thing for you.” she came back with a book and some typewritten pages. “i thought you'd like to go over this article with me. i translated it from the french and should have taken it in. but i saved it; i knew you'd be interested. as i read it, will you help me with the passages that aren't entirely clear. do you mind?” “of course not. i appreciate your saving it for me.” she was most content when working with him, sitting very close together, his arm around her, his hand toying with her free hand, asking each other questions, formu- lating ideas and criticisms of the article. when she stopped to turn the first page, necessarily having to take her hand from him, he kissed her on her neck under her ear. “it was good of you to keep this for me to read. it certainly helps to clarify the events of the past week.” they read through the complete manuscript without an inter- ruption other than remarks about the content. “anna is not coming?” “no, i didn't confirm the date with her in time to get in touch with the other woman. it's too complicated a deal with four people involved. she has your phone number, and you'll have to work out an appointment together.” he drew her close to him, taking the papers from her, saying, “about the job at your house. i would like to come out and see what it's all about.” “there isn't much to do. it's a roof job, and is too dan- gerous for the young boys. two years ago my nephew and i shingled the outside of the cabin. that's comparatively simple, although we did finally have to erect a scaffolding about twenty feet high.” she hesitated not an instance to add, “there's plenty of sleeping space for both of you to come out and stay.” “i hope it won't be necessary for richard to come.” “so do i. when you need a helper there'll be plenty of boys anxious to take on.” “and they're often better than another man. i'm get- ting the car ready. do you take route the whole way?” “yes, except the last eight miles. i’m used to making a very accurate map, but i hope we can go out together. if you're too busy this summer, it would be wonderful to go in september which is a perfect month.” “but if i have a few days off between jobs, i'll get out.” again it came to mind that he wouldn't want to start out in his car with her accompanying him from his house. “that will be fine.” but to herself she pondered, “i really do not understand this man. one minute he un- knowingly gives the impression he doesn't want to be out there alone with me, the next he distinctly asserts he would like to do the job without richard's help. perhaps his adjustment problems are far greater than mine.” “let's have a cup of tea.” when she took the quart container of milk out of the refrigerator, he said, “i prefer milk,” knowing he could be assured of her acceptance of his preferences. “it's better for you.” how could she introduce any doubting questions into such a harmonious atmosphere? when they finished eating, he took her arm, consciously leading her into the other room. when he was entirely consumed with making love to her, he kept repeating, “you mean so much to me.” here was her opportunity. “i’m not going to let anyone take you away from me.” “i love you, sweetness.” “no one, no one, is going to take you away from me.” she clung to him as passionately as he was holding her. “you look so pretty lying there.” but the same idea persisted, and almost hysterically she reiterated, “no one, no one.” while he was dressing, and she was lying in bed indulg- ing in that extreme joy of watching him, she said, “the people in the house whom i have known such a long time act no differently since they have seen us going out to- gether.” no answer from him. his manner made her wonder if something disagreeable had happened when he was leav- ing the apartment alone, something he didn't wish to communicate to her. finally she said, “that's nice, isn't it?” “it certainly is.” she disliked saying such things, disliked acknowledging that such precarious things ever entered her mind, and only mentioned this after much delibera- tion. surely it was as important to him as to her if he could casually frequent her apartment. “how do you stand for the rest of the week?” “laura is having dinner with me tomorrow evening, and i have to baby-sit for marie on friday.” “so you are free on thursday?” “yes, i'll find something interesting we can study like the article tonight.” she turned on the lights as they wandered into the sitting room. “i’ll bring over my notes to work on. i have them with me in brooklyn. did i tell you my tenants are leaving next friday?” “no, you didn't.” “i’m going to be very careful about the next people i get.” as he brought up the subject of new jersey, she said, “when i remember how i was left here all alone last week because i didn't take your keys, i'm saying now that i want to come out next sunday. will you be there?” “i plan to be. the people have been paying rent by the week, for they weren't sure when they were leaving. so, i'd better go out. but i want to begin organizing myself in brooklyn.” “my younger sister wrote me to meet her at my brother's on saturday. this get-together happens only once a year so i couldn't refuse. she wants me to drive back with her to new jersey, and spend the weekend. i could leave sun- day morning, change at washington bridge, and arrive in early afternoon at your house.” “any time you can get there. the sooner the better for me.” “it will be the last week i'm free. i've promised everyone i'll go out to the country during their vacations.” “i’ll miss you.” “i’ll come in sometimes. and you said you'd come out.” “when is our next opera?” “not for over three weeks. i hope you'll be out before then.” they were sitting together on the couch. he always held her endearingly after they had been making love. he con- tinued to want her as close to him as possible. his yearning thoroughly convinced her of his devotion. he again said, “you mean so much to me.” “there are many ways of meaning a lot to each other. what we have just had is important.” “but not the most important. all the other things we have together mean more to me.” “perhaps so, but we have to enjoy both.” “you are right.” his firm grasp strengthened her un- believably. they sat very quiet for a few minutes. she longed to know his innermost thoughts. “but i must go. time passes so fast when i'm with you.” “we'll be together on thursday. you needn't phone. just come when you like. i'd be glad to make supper for you.” “no, i feel better if i sleep for an hour after work. i'll be over around eight.” she followed him to the door for a final kiss, and when he left she dropped down in the first chair, exhausted with happiness. could he be two men? if he were, she was per- fectly contented with the one she had, and willingly would forget about the other one. she would never ask him what had happened last week; the future was what really mattered. at exactly eight on thursday the telephone rang. there was no formal greeting; by now there was a mutual under- standing that she would recognize his voice. it comforted her that he had at last dropped that formality. “how are you this evening?” “fine, and yourself?” “i called to tell you i can't come over.” “oh, why not?” she had constantly been looking for- ward to spending another perfect evening with him. she was generally so lonely at night. reading, sewing, listening to the radio, all had some satisfactory diversion, but during the happy years of her life she had always been surrounded with people. “i wrenched my back at work yesterday afternoon.” “oh, i'm so sorry. is it very bad?” “i haven't seen a doctor, because i've been afraid to travel to manhattan where he has his office.” “does it hurt you when you're perfectly still?” “no, not at all. but as soon as i move, the pain comes back again. it's at the very end of my spine.” “did you hurt yourself when you stooped over sud- denly?" “exactly. how did you know? i wasn't lifting anything heavy. i just leaned over to hammer in a nail.” “yes, but you did it too quickly, and without bending your knees enough. once i hurt myself that way while i was picking up my shoes from the floor. i was flat on my back completely strapped with adhesive tape for a whole week. even now, when i lift anything too heavy, or type steadily for too many hours, the pain slightly comes back on my left side.” “that does sound like the same thing. i felt so weak all day that i thought i might have to go to the hospital. but you encourage me that it isn't too much to worry about.” “not as long as you can be up and around. i do hope you will be all right tomorrow.” “oh, by the way, i forgot to give you that dollar i borrowed the other night.” she didn't care about the dollar but was glad he remembered it. “forget about it. but did you get the two dollars i left on the little table at your house?” “yes, i did. you know you didn't have to leave it. and the note, what did it mean?” “i wanted you to know that i was sore at you for not coming back that night.” “i don't understand that.” “what did you say? you don't understand that i was hurt when you didn't come back.” “i did explain it to you later.” “yes, you did, and i forgave you. but at the time i wrote that note, i was very unhappy about it.” it seemed so diffi- cult to make him know how much she really cared. “i know. i'm sorry. be sweet now.” and the way he said these particular words always pacified her. “do take care of yourself. if you don't feel much better tomorrow, try to see a doctor.” at noon, the next day, it seemed perfectly natural and right that she should call him. when a man's voice an- swered the telephone, she had to be sure, so she asked, “is this philip?” “yes.” “how are you?” she was not telling him who she was; she wanted to test his recognition of her voice. “oh, louise. i'm much better.” “i’m so glad.” “good of you to call.” “i was anxious to know how you were. you really had me worried yesterday. the mere mention of a hospital frightens me.” “it was as you said: the third day i would be better. and i am.” “can you walk around without pain?” “nearly. i'm going out now for a few errands to see how i make out.” “are you planning to go back to work on monday?” she felt that an answer to that question would be the most ac- curate way of ascertaining how he was. “i certainly hope to. i also want to go to new jersey on sunday. will you be coming out?” did he want to know in order to be with her or avoid her? and wouldn't he have to go out on saturday, or at least arrive there before her on sunday, to clean up the telling evidence of that dining room table? “yes, i'll be at my sister's on saturday night, but can come to your place about noon sunday. is that all right?” “sure, we'll work it out together.” so, it wasn't entirely all right, it had to be worked out later. she wished she weren't critical of his every word; but circumstances had forced her into this inquisitive position. “will you feel like coming over tonight?” she asked. “i’ll see when i get going. if i can't make it, i'll call you anyway. what time are you leaving tomorrow morning?” “i’ll leave about nine. it takes so long to get to my brother's on staten island.” “if i don't get in touch with you tonight i'll call before nine in the morning, and we'll make plans for sunday. thanks for calling.” “you knew i'd be anxious about you.” “you can hardly realize how much i appreciate your calling.” he said these words with intense emotion. “i wanted to,” she responded as lovingly as she could. “thanks again. "bye, now.” he had been overcome with her thoughtfulness. she was beginning to understand what a lonely man he was in the midst of all his friends. he had once said that if anything drastic happened to him, no one would know or even care. at that time, this remark told her that he evidently hadn't beginning to take these requests seriously, as he had been very reliable about calling her lately. “at my sister's house. it's a new jersey number. do you want to take it down?” she gave the number and he repeated it. “but you don't sound as if you should be going any- where tomorrow. if you can't get out, i'd like to come over and see you. what is the address there?” he gave it to her, although she already had it. she had learned, when working in an office, the technique of ex- tracting an address from an operator when you only knew the telephone number. truthfully, she now felt more comfortable as he had willingly given it to her. “i’m going to the doctor's across the street this morning.” “did you come into manhattan yesterday?” “no, i only walked around here for an hour. i felt so unsure of my feet that i rented a cane.” “you did too much. rest is the only thing. if you can't get over to your place tomorrow, couldn't i go and collect the rent?” “i'm afraid not. i sent a friend of mine over to look at the place, and when he got there they wouldn't let him in, although i had phoned just an hour before.” “that sounds bad. perhaps they had to leave, and he wouldn't think of looking to see if their car was in the yard.” “no, he wouldn't think of that. it was raining too. he had to turn around and come back to the city.” “that's a shame.” “i hope i'll be able to go out tomorrow.” “if you rest all day. let's leave it at that. if you don't call me sunday morning at that number, i'll come over to your place.” immediately she realized that this method was rather risky, as he might be hesitant about calling her there. as sincere and honest as this whole conversation appeared to be, she was conscious of making it difficult for him to re- fuse seeing her on sunday. only a week had elapsed since someone else had been spending the hours with him out there. actually that appalling trip to his house seemed far away, for she had been in communication with him con- stantly during the week, and he hadn't once failed to follow through on his promises. “all right: that's good.” “what busses can i take other than the which only runs once an hour on sunday?” “you can take the or the also on the city side of the bridge and get off at the monument. you walk out by the union market. do you remember how that is?” “oh, yes, i can easily find the way from the monument.” it was on that particular bus bench that she had sat last sunday contemplating her dilemma. “hope to see you to- morrow, but do take care.” “i will, "bye now.” she did not think he had injured himself badly; he had only slightly strained a muscle. as she had experienced the exact accident she knew it was only a matter of time before he would be completely cured. perhaps she could persuade him to stay in new jersey for a few days. this would not be selfish of her, as she would market and cook, they would work on his notes, and he would be assured of perfect rest. school was closing for the summer, and marie was taking her children out this week. no one would be coming to her apartment for lunch. she had al- ready announced she wouldn't be on her job much longer. was it hazardous to be looking forward to spending a few days alone with him? how much they would both enjoy such a vacation! x she went to her brother's seabeach cottage and her youngest sister joined her there. they all three spent a pleasant day together. his wife served a simple lunch, al- though she did not eat with them. while driving back to her sister's home, louise said, “i won't be able to stay all day tomorrow. i've a dinner date in the city.” “that's a pity because i've a wonderful pork roast, and walter will be there, too. do you have to leave that soon?” “my friend said he would call me by eleven if we could have dinner together on monday instead of tomorrow.” “who is this friend? does he really mean that much to you?” louise had never failed to spend the entire weekend when visiting this sister. generally, she stayed through sunday night, taking the early commuters' train to the city. “i’m sorry, but i can't go back on my promise.” “i wish you would. how long have you known him?” “i’ve known him for quite a while, but we've only been dating lately.” “what's his name?” why such a question, though names do often indicate a great deal? “philip benson.” “what does he do?” “he makes his living as a carpenter, but also delves in real estate, and writing. you know how much i like car- pentry, and of course i'm interested in writing.” “you sound so mysterious about something. are you really taking this man seriously?” “more or less. you can't ever tell how things will turn out.” “i can't imagine your wanting to marry again.” “i don't know why not. but that possibility is a long way off.” not hearing from philip, she took the eleven-thirty bus to washington bridge, crossed to the new york side, then took another bus back across the bridge to glenwood. briskly she walked the many blocks to his house, excited at the thought of seeing him instantly. she noticed that his car at the side front had been moved a few feet closer to the house. when she rang the bell, the lady of the other apartment answered. “isn't mr. benson in?” “no, i don't think so.” “i’m expecting him.” she tried to open his living room door, but found it locked. “will you please let me go through the kitchen to his apartment?” “certainly.” “was he here yesterday?” this was a foolish question, but her thoughts became addled when she saw that the car had been moved. “he may have been, but i didn't see him.” “he tells me that you are moving.” she wanted this woman to know that philip was a friend whom she knew very well, that she was justified in coming to his home without his being there. “yes, we need a bigger apartment than this, and the place we are getting is nearer to my husband's job.” “that's the night of the real estate board.” “so?” “i don't like to inconvenience you, but would you come out tuesday night?” naturally, she was overjoyed at his request. “the way things have turned out these last weeks, i concluded there's some reason why you don't want me to go there.” “that's foolish. you've already done so much for me.” what was the matter? he still did not regard their relation- ship as a mutual giving and taking; he still had the attitude that she was always doing him a favor, therefore he could not realize how bitterly disappointing he could be. her not wishing to pry into his personal affairs he must have interpreted as indifference. often on the telephone he had told her he would explain something when he saw her; she would not question him further. she left it to him to take the initiative to divulge what he had meant. he must have concluded that his problems were unimportant to her. “you know how much i want to come.” if he were mis- representing the circumstances, she was going to remain simply truthful. “i’ll be there at six o'clock.” “i’ll go earlier to avoid the traffic. i'll take a loaf of bread; everything else is out there.” “then i'll see you tomorrow night. be sweet, now.” and he really sounded so loving. logically, she should contem- plate the possibility of her going and his not showing up. nevertheless, she was perfectly confident that he meant what he said, but then she decided to call him back. she had to let him know that she often doubted these telephone promises; that she had some fear he might be deceiving her. “i’ve decided i'm not going tomorrow night.” “why not?” “well, you know the way it turned out yesterday and the week before. you said you did not feel well enough to go out. i must tell you i called you late last night. i couldn't sleep thinking you might have gone to the hos- pital or might be staying in new jersey. there was no answer on your phone.” “i was here. i must have been asleep.” there was com- plete silence from her. possibly this was true; he was a heavy sleeper and she didn't let the telephone ring but twice. she had quickly concluded he wasn't there, because he had told her the telephone was on a little table close to his bedside. “somehow i can't help but feel that you don't want me out there.” “i don't know why you should feel that way about it, louise.” his tone of voice was truly despondent. “don’t you want to come?” “of course i do.” “so you are coming?” how anxious he was to draw this happy conclusion. “go before the heavy traffic. someone will be there to let you in. i'll be there at six.” his voice sounded relieved. “you are sure?” “unless i get sick on the job, i'll be there.” she believed him thoroughly. perhaps she had gained from expressing her lack of confidence in his promises. one of her grandsons was being graduated from gram- mar school. he had asked her to the exercises and to lunch afterwards. she was thrilled at the invitation; the circum- stances surrounding that household were gradually becom- ing pleasanter. she hoped so many people would be there that her daughter would not again speak of philip; surely joan would not persist in bringing up the subject. she had twice emphatically expressed her views on the subject. the graduation and the lunch were pleasant. everyone said good-bye to her, adding, “will be seeing you on friday for the whole summer.” at the last minute her daughter handed her a package which she had carelessly dropped on the sofa. “what is this?” “oh, it's only a loaf of bread.” “won't you take a couple of cans of grease to make your soap? i'm trying to clean out the refrigerator.” “i’m not going back to the apartment or i would.” “oh, that's all right.” the loaf of bread, and ‘the not going back to the apartment' must have put some ideas into her daughter's head, but neither one of them said anything further. she took the a train in brooklyn and stayed on all the way to the th street bus terminal. as it was four o'clock there were only a few people waiting in the lines. the par- ticular bus which went all the way to his house carried pas- sengers who preponderantly were negroes, but she no longer paid any attention to this characteristic. she ceased to wonder if people looked at her questioningly. the little two-year-old girl was playing in the open doorway, and her mother said, “how are you?” “it's a beautiful day, isn't it?” she was turning the knob of his living room door while she spoke and finding it locked, she said, “i’ll have to trouble you to let me in the other way. mr. benson did hurt himself quite badly. that's why he hasn't been out. i expect him this evening.” her own dirty dishes were still on the table; that aspect itself had a most calming effect. she took two packages of frozen vegetables out of the freezer, made herself a cup of tea, and began straightening up the place most carefully. she instinctively wanted him to benefit from her innate tidiness; he must be growing tired of always doing these little things for himself. surprisingly enough, she found herself totally engrossed in a magazine article when he opened the door. she jumped up and went towards him eagerly; and his whole attitude portrayed great happiness and relief at finding her there. he did not hold her very long; she knew why. he was dressed in his work clothes, and he was hot, tired and dirty. “are you hungry?” “starved. haven't had anything but a cup of coffee since breakfast.” “i won't take long. you should eat more on your job.” “it's way out at the end of the canarsie line where there are no restaurants. will i have time for a bath?” “sure.” she went to him for another kiss before he started up the stairs. “the lady whom your daughter wants me to interview is across the street. i saw her drive in just now. i'll go over and get her after we eat.” this was not the lady of the dance engagement many months ago. marie was looking further for people to help in her project. they sat on the sofa, barely talking, her head on his shoulder, and his arms tightly holding her. gradually she dismissed all the pressures which had been hanging over her. “it is relaxing out here, if the trip weren't so trying,” was the way he expressed his complete satisfaction. after a while he asked, “shall i get my neighbor to come over or should we go there?" “do just as you think best.” “if we go, we need only stay as long as we like.” she had finally convinced him that she wanted to know his friends; she was only slightly hesitant when she said, “all right. let's go over there. i'll take my bag as it has a note book and pencil.” as many times as she had stood gazing out the window, both upstairs and down, she had never succeeded picturing herself crossing the street with him, and mounting the steps to the porch of the opposite house. however, now that this occasion had arrived, she felt unperturbed, almost to the point of being unconcerned. he acted as if this visit were a common occurrence. she already clearly understood how respected he was in his neighborhood. the intonation of the voice when someone spoke to him carried an expression of deference. he called out some name as they stepped on the porch, and a woman opened the door, saying, “if you're looking for mrs. johnson, she's up on the top floor. just go on up.” she smiled very pleasantly at louise. the house be- longed to mrs. johnson; she had rented it while she had been away in the virgin islands. not wishing to turn out her tenants, she was temporarily living up in the attic. “i wouldn't go up without letting her know,” philip answered. “she has a lot of people visiting. it's all right to go up.” after mounting one flight of stairs, he knocked at the door leading into the second flight, and opened it at the same time. “hello, come on up,” a woman's voice called. philip answered, “you don't know who it is.” stopping by to make a possible appointment. if they thought she was staying the night at philip's, she could never detect from their manner that they suspected any infringement of propriety. also it seemed strange to her that philip did not seem concerned about what they might think of their relationship. “i think she'll be sorry she turned down the job after she's had time to think it over.” “perhaps so. she was entertaining a lot of people, and wasn't in a mood to take anything seriously. she certainly is an attractive woman.” “i entirely forgot to ask her about her children the other day.” he was reminiscing, and she quickly followed through with the remark, “when she had just come back home?” “yes.” this question was all she wished to ask, but could these few words substantiate the idea that this lady had been his visitor on her fateful trip to his house? the whole series of events could well fit into this assumption, and she intuitively felt there was no reason to be sadly concerned about philip's friendship with this particular person. they stopped to see how the plants of the new hedge were growing, and she showed him the top of four new leaves which had grown out of the little oak tree they had transplanted. “i’ll get the keys for the car; i want to see if it's running.” she watched him through the venetian blinds, wander- ing around. evidently he didn't know where the keys were. she went in and took them out of the china closet, and handed them to him. they both got into the front seat of the car. the battery immediately ignited; she even thought he was considering driving. “i wish i had my driver's license. i've been so busy lately that i let the permit run out. now i'll have to begin all over again.” “that's a shame.” she remembered the lady's telling her of his inhibitions about getting a driver's license. he surely would have found time to pass the test, if he hadn't been nervous about driving again. “but i'm glad the car's in running order again.” “so am i. it will be so much easier to get to the country by car than by train. i wish you'd let me pay for the insurance.” he never answered, and such silence made her uncom- fortable. they sat on the front steps for a while, then he said, “let's take the radio upstairs.” “i opened all the windows so it would be cooler.” she took a bath, and was in bed reading when he came up with the radio. he kissed her, while he was starting a music program. “because of your back, i guess there won't be any loving tonight.” he didn't say anything, but he was smiling as he left the room, thus giving her some satisfaction as to what might happen. she was propped up with pillows and acted as though she were completely absorbed in her book. she pretended not to be aware of his returning and stretching himself out the full length of the bed. how long could she read? she turned the page, but she would have been non- plussed if he had asked her its contents. finally he took hold of her arm, turned her towards him, and laid down her book on the side table. she said, “wait a minute.” she sat up and put out the light, and shut off the radio. “don't you want a pillow?” “no, i'm comfortable this way.” she shoved both pil- lows away and lay down beside him. he put his arm under her, drawing her close to him. with one question from her, he started talking about how much she meant to him. “but you couldn't be as happy as i am at this moment.” “you make me much happier,” he whispered. slowly he became more tender, more loving. she was afraid to give way to a passionate acknowledgment of his caresses, not knowing whether he dared risk hurting his strained back. she instantly knew when he had made his decision in her favor; then the togetherness of their love making became all important to her. their actual loving and being loved were never characterized by any conflicting thoughts; during this nearness to him she always felt he belonged solely to her. “i'd better sleep on that side next to the radio; then i can turn off the alarm before it wakes you.” she moved over to the other side and arranged the pillows. physically exhausted, he fell asleep in a few minutes, but she mulled over the events which had occurred since they were last there together. while she dozed off her last thoughts were of sitting among his friends in that small crowded attic room. his willingness to take her along when he visited his neighbors was something she had been craving for months. the way he had serenely introduced her to these people was most gratifying. he woke without the alarm, groaned despairingly at having to arise so early, kissed her briefly, even abruptly, for which she could scarcely blame him. when he came back after eating breakfast, he lingered lovingly. he raised her from the pillow, possessively holding her and kissing her. “i’m going to miss you.” “i’ll be in town in exactly two weeks. have you marked that date on your calendar?” “yes, i won't forget; you know i won't.” he suddenly started to leave. she sensed that he did not wish to go through with the regular formality of saying good-bye. but at the door he turned back. “smith didn't bring me the rent. he works on a night shift, and is generally here when i leave in the morning.” “shall i ask him for it? that would save you a trip out here before they move.” “no, you don't need to worry. i'll phone them from new york.” he kissed her once more. when she heard the front door close, she got out of bed and watched him walking away so brisk and erect, with a paper under his arm. could she conceive of a life without him? no, she couldn't even imagine how she was going to exist without seeing him for two whole weeks. she sincerely hoped he too would be constantly thinking of her. she always prepared her own meals without going into the joint kitchen. there was an electric hot plate and she took water from the bathroom. she was eating breakfast when there was a knock on the door near to where she was sitting at the dining room table. “come in.” “is mr. benson here?” “no, he's already gone to town. if you want to give him the rent, he said you could give it to me.” “did he say that?” he should be convinced; hadn't her staying there all night proved her intimacy with mr. benson? “certainly. i'll give you a receipt.” “all right. he uses any little scrap of paper.” he gave her twenty-five dollars and she made a receipt on the back of an envelope in a discarded pile of mail on the bottom of the stairs. “that pays for this last week. we're moving saturday.” “thank you. i guess you'll be seeing mr. benson before you leave. he'll be out friday or saturday.” she was genuinely pleased to get the money, and save philip another trip from the city. wanting to be sure of a seat on bus and subway, she did not leave until nine o'clock. on the way to her apartment, she bought a quart of milk and a loaf of bread, relieved that the children were in the country and would not be coming for lunch. she was thoroughly exhausted and desired to be alone. a night spent with him was relaxing, though physically tiring. she dumped herself down on the bed and slept for a solid hour, thinking, as she dozed off, how he would be compelled to spend the entire day working hard. that evening she telephoned him at five. he was there, having quit work at four-thirty. “i called you right away to let you know you wouldn't have to call your tenant. mr. smith came in this morning and gave me the rent.” “that's fine. you realize you saved me a trip out there.” “how was your back today? i was worried about your taking that extra trip, and still not getting the money.” “the trip was well worth while. wasn't it to you?” she merely said, “yes,” but in such a loving tone that he called her “sweetness,” the first endearing term he had used over the telephone. “will you be able to come over on thursday evening?” she asked. she didn't want to say explicitly that she wished to give him the twenty-five dollars. it would be her last evening in town; she assumed he would naturally wish to spend it with her, regardless of any money transaction. when he had said good-bye to her the other morning, he had dropped on the table by the side of the bed the dollar bill he had borrowed weeks before. “i’ve a number of things i must do, so i'll be late, but i'll call you and let you know when i'm coming. she re- membered that fifty dollar check made out to the tele- phone company with the stub designated as “deposit on phone.” he had left the check book lying open on his living room table and this revelation caused her to ponder over the extent of his real estate activities. why would he make such an expenditure if he were not expecting material gain? such a large deposit generally was only required for a business telephone installation. she simply wished to consider that most of his activities were of a non-personal nature. she often contemplated the idea of his planning to substitute for his physical labor another and less tiring method of making a living. she hoped she had influenced him to consider the possibility of an easier existence. “do be sure to come.” her youngest daughter, laura, would be at her apart- ment sometime during the evening, and louise had re- marked to her, “that's fine. philip will be here, and you've only seen him once.” “i’ll be in the country nearly every weekend this sum- mer. won't i be seeing him there?” “that's a moot question. of course i haven't told philip about what joan said. i'd never speak to him of anything like that. instead i've been trying my best to get him to come.” “well, mother, you can count on me to help you if any- thing disagreeable should happen. i can't forget the time when horace ordered william's friend off the back porch when he came to get some water.” “yes; although i wasn't out there at the time, i fully remember the incident. but these circumstances are differ- ent. we naturally won't go near the big house. i know i can depend on you but let's hope it won't be necessary.” later in the day laura called to say she was driving out early with a friend, and would not be having dinner with louise. “i’ll be seeing you there.” “yes, you will.” she dressed carefully. she had told philip to come when he could and that he need not call her beforehand. he neither called nor came. at least, she was pleased he had not thought it important to collect his twenty-five dollars. he would call her tomorrow night, and would hear the operator say, “that number has been temporarily dis- continued. there is no forwarding number.” would he have any regrets that he had not come to see her on the last night she was to be in town? xi the day had finally come for leaving new york for the summer. she had delayed this event as long as possible. other years she had left a month earlier, glad to escape from the city heat. however this year philip had kept her in town. she wanted to see him as often as the opportunity arose; also she was somewhat afraid of losing him when conveniences and proximities were removed. her tele- phone meant communication with him: whenever it rang her first thought was of him, even though at some particu- lar time of day it would have been impossible for him to have been calling. she hated to telephone the operator and tell her temporarily to discontinue her service. in the country she could walk to her sister's house on the prop- erty, and from there she could call him, but it was ex- tremely inconvenient for him to reach her. if he called her between four and six she would, most likely, be down at the lake watching over the children, and would hear a real hefty yell of “louise, phone!” but any other time of day, a call for her necessitated someone's going up the road quite a distance to her little cabin. she herself had no method of conveyance, though there were plenty of bicycles and cars on the place. on tuesday, while sitting on the lake shore, joan came over and dumped her baby into louise's lap, saying, “i’m going up to muriel's house; horace is calling me at six. he waits till the long distance calls are reduced. you don't mind holding him, do you? i must take russell; his father always wants to speak to him.” strangely enough, it had not occurred to louise how simple it was to speak to philip. when her daughter re- turned and took the baby, she changed from her swimming suit, and went towards her sister's house. she just couldn't call philip unless she were alone; for if her conversation were the least bit stilted, he would be liable to misunder- stand. her sister was on the tennis court; many of the children were playing croquet, so she hopefully went into the house which was always wide open during the summer months. someone was watching television in the other room, but that did not worry her. her voice shook so badly when she gave the number that the operator asked her to repeat it. the telephone rang twice, and then the receiver was picked up. “benson.” this surname sounded very businesslike. “how are you?” “oh, louise, where are you?" what joyful excitement in his voice. “in new jersey.” initials and philip's telephone number. how wonderful that he was not so far away after all; perhaps she could connive to speak to him often. her impatience at being in the country immediately subsided. what did she really care if everyone eventually discovered she had a definite interest in town? actually it was a whole week before she called him again, as it was too difficult to find a time when he would be there, and she would be alone in the room with the telephone. she did not mind someone seeing her telephon- ing, but she would not be able to assume that intimate attitude so familiar to him. to his reply, “benson,” she made the usual query, “how are you?” “oh, louise. how good of you to call. how is it in the country?” “much cooler than where you are, and the swimming is nice. i am nearly as dark as you now.” “i’d like to see you. you'll be coming in for the opera?” it would be so restful to go with him as a light “colored” person than as a white woman; could such interpretation be possible? “yes, on thursday, as i've a number of things to do. i'll spend the day with my brother on staten island. are you free on that night?” “i can come over later. i've a friend in the hospital i should go and see.” “when are the visiting hours?” “between seven and eight. i can be at your place at nine.” “good. you won't be hearing from me again before that time. my phone in the city is disconnected, you know.” “yes, i found that out. what have you been doing?” “trying to hang venetian blinds.” “that shouldn't be hard.” “the window frame work is not finished, and it's hard to hang them inside the frame.” “wish i could do it for you.” “so do i.” “thanks a million for calling. the sound of your voice cheers me very much. "bye, now; be sweet.” “i’ll see you thursday, and please try to keep the week- end open.” there were very few trains from this out-of-the-way place in new jersey. over the years the train service had gradually become less adequate as highways had increased. she chose the only regular commuter train which left the little lakeside village at six-forty in the morning, taking new york business men to work promptly at nine. her nephew and one of her grandsons had a summer job beginning at seven-thirty, and were willing to take her to the train a half hour earlier, assuring her they would be paid for that extra half-hour. she was excited at the pros- pect of seeing philip that very evening, and needed the train trip to adjust from one environment to another, from a situation of being in great demand for many diverse reasons to one of being entirely alone in her apartment. this transition proved to her how much she wanted philip. she was the oldest of a family of seven, and had been trained from childhood to tackle duties as soon as they presented themselves. punctiliousness was engrained in her character, enhanced by the hope of having time for the things she herself wished to do. an analogous situation was inherent in her married life. there were three daugh- ters, not far apart, and she had no help with any of the household duties; instead there had been the added work of typing all her husband's manuscripts. during the sea- sons spent in the country she had learned all the tasks associated with carpentry, such as plastering, painting, calcimining and “doing over” antique furniture. garden- ing, both vegetables and flowers, was one of her favorite activities. later in life, she had taught her grandchildren, as well as many others, how to swim, play tennis and croquet. naturally she did not pursue some of these strenuous sports now, but she was still a part of them in her guidance of the younger children. any moment some- one in the community might appear at her cabin for a tool, a paint brush, or merely her advice about fixing some- thing. she realized that this background led to effective congeniality with philip. he was a man of many physical abilities; she could detect his appreciation when she thor- oughly understood and reacted to the problems connected with his job. also she was perfectly aware of much that was involved in the writing world, and could carefully follow his ambitions in that field. arriving at twelfth street, she rang the bell of her next door neighbor and was invited in for a cup of coffee. “how well you look, mrs. morgan.” “being in the country is good for anyone.” this neigh- bor was a real friend; they constantly exchanged household pleasures and difficulties. “the gas man came this very morning, and i took him into your apartment to read the meters.” louise sat down by the table, marveling at the extreme cleanliness of her neighbor's kitchen. “thank you very much. i should get a much smaller bill as i haven't been here. if you hadn't let him in i would have had the same bill as last time.” “shall i give you your key?” “i'd like to have it. my brother is selling his place in staten island and moving to florida. he wants to leave some things in my apartment. i promised him a key.” “you're going to miss him. he never fails to come see you one day during the week.” she left the room but soon came back with the key. “yes, terribly. he and his wife have already asked me to visit them, but that doesn't take the place of having them here.” “i’m sorry. i know how you must feel.” “thanks. i can't stay any longer; i'm on my way out there to spend the day. i'll be seeing you later.” as she opened the door to leave, she turned and asked, “do the people across the hall have a telephone?” “yes, but i never like to use it. that's why i appreciate so much using yours.” her neighbor was a typical short, stout, italian woman who always had a protective motherly attitude towards louise although there was only a slight difference in their ages. she had been most kind to louise's former roommate. “you know i cut mine off for the summer. but i must say good-bye now. thanks for everything.” while travelling to staten island, she counted the hours before she would be seeing philip. he had almost become a dream instead of a real personality during the past full weeks. she had not spoken to him since tuesday. he could not communicate with her, but she had no fear whatsoever that he would not come to her apartment that evening. she even wished that the hours of expectation would move slowly. she was surprised when he arrived hours ahead of time. “how lovely you look! country life does agree with you.” kissing her many times, he held her away from him, then close to him. “i’ve missed you so much.” “do you really like my sun tan?” “it's most becoming. it makes you look wonderful!” he kissed her again to emphasize his enthusiasm. “i take a long swim every day which is good for one's figure.” “you don't need to worry about your figure.” “you would say that.” she left him for a minute, saying, “let me get the rent i collected.” “thanks for getting this. it was so good of you to call me when i can't call you.” “you know i've missed you too. it was real hard to ad- just to a program without you. has it been very hot working?” “yes, but i don't mind it. we're not entirely closed in like so many working people. and i've cross ventilation in my room at night.” the bell rang. “this is laura. she said she would come by for a while. no, don't trouble to put on your coat. it's too hot.” she went to open the door. “how are you, mother? many happy returns of the day.” laura handed her a small package. “how are you, philip?” “fine, and yourself?” “i’m all right for this hot weather.” louise opened the package, although she was reluctant to do so. she knew philip would be embarrassed that he had not given her anything. it contained a bottle of perfume. she thanked laura. “it was nice of you to remember. i want to plan your birthday present with you later.” she went to the kitchen and returned with a tray of ice tea and pineapple cheese cake. “this is philip's favorite pastry from sutters.” turning to him she asked, “when is your birthday?" “the fourteenth of this month.” “that's mine too,” said laura. louise was aware of this coincidence and thought it would be pleasant to refer to it when they were both there. philip said, “you're the first person i know who has the same birthday as mine.” “the same here. when are you coming out to visit us in the country?” “not during the summer months. i work so hard that i never feel like going anywhere for the weekend.” louise spoke up. “he’s coming out there in the fall when his work slackens. if the carpenter doesn't fix my cabin this summer, we're going to work on it in september, though i still hope the man will do the roof as he con- tracted. we can find plenty of odd jobs around the place.” “i’m taking my vacation during the two middle weeks of august. can you come out during that time?” louise could tell that her daughter was especially anxious to convey to philip that he would be most welcome. “i have friends who want to drive out to get some plants your mother promised them. we might be coming while you're there.” “i hope you can.” “how's your job working out for the summer?” louise asked. “it's much easier than during the very cold winter months. there aren't nearly as many ward patients. i do like my new apartment. when i'm at home in the after- noons the children on my floor have the habit of using my bathroom while their fathers are asleep. i'm certainly learning spanish the simplest way; everyone i meet in the halls expects me to answer when they address me in erty, and this the large shingled house with many white doors and windows. i still think of it as a barn. it's marie's house. i may be there, but if i'm not they will direct you up the road to my little cabin.” “that's very plain.” he folded the sheet and put it in his pocket. he didn't say, “we'll be sure to come.” she was left with the feeling that he had not absolutely de- cided, but she was at a loss to know what further incentive she could offer. later, dwelling on why he didn't come, she remembered giving him directions to stop at marie's house. this precaution had seemed most important at the time. but should she have directed him to her cabin where he would be completely confident of his reception? of course, louise knew he would be cordially received at the barn, but philip might not be so sure of his position. “let's turn out the lights so we can open the curtains all the way. it'll be much cooler.” “how good to be with you again. you seem far away when you leave the city.” “it won't be for many weeks; if it weren't for missing you, i'd be contented out there.” he held her tightly, caressing her more and more, until he asked, “is it too hot for loving?” “no, not for me. but it's much cooler in the other room.” he followed her, pulling off his shirt as he walked. there was enough light in her apartment, coming in from all the surrounding windows, to see one's way around when her lamps were all turned off. “laura looked beautiful tonight, didn't she?” she asked him. “not so lovely as her mother.” she never completely undressed as he did, because his gradually disrobing her was a pleasurable entree to their love making. it had been two weeks since they were to- gether, and it seemed as though they were having the extreme pleasure of finding each other for the first time. as he caressed her, he said, “don’t be in any hurry. we've got plenty of time.” “i won't.” “isn't it nicer to be slow?” “do you enjoy waiting as much as i do?” “i don't know. but it's best when we come at the same time.” he was muttering with the pleasure of it, and it was not long before he fell asleep, leaving her arm and leg in a very cramped position. moving might wake him; she would let him rest as long as she could. keeping still was to her advantage also, because he would not linger when he woke up. finally she became so uncom- fortable that she was forced to change her position. he stirred, woke, kissed her, and complained, “i must be going.” “i wish you didn't have to.” while dressing, he asked her when he should come for their opera date the following night. “you’ll come for supper, won't you?” “yes, about six-thirty.” “i’ll have something cold.” she watched his every move- ment. intimate memories of him were now scarcer, and therefore more precious. it was never too hard to say good-bye when she was positive she would be seeing him the next day. he came promptly at six-thirty. she had prepared a cold supper of tuna fish salad, hard-boiled eggs, lettuce, toma- toes and cucumbers, all arranged on one large platter. there was cold milk and pastry for dessert. on the table was his favorite monthly; she watched him pick it up, glance quickly at the cover, open it, look for their favorite author, and start reading. she did not interrupt him; she was pleased that he appeared very much at home; that he had reacted quickly to her thoughtfulness of having the magazine on hand. she placed the food from the refrigerator on to the table, and called him. receiving no response, she slowly went into the other room, where he was standing reading, absolutely oblivious of his surroundings. she watched the intentness of those broad shoulders before she took his arm. he bent over, and kissed her; he dropped the book, saying, “i’m sorry.” “that's all right, but aren't you hungry?” “yes, i am.” “it's only a cold meal.” “isn't that best for this kind of weather?” as he sat down in his usual seat between the table and the stove, he asked, “what did you do today?” “some odd-and-end shopping for people in the country. i’m used to going barefooted most of the time out there, and these cement pavements certainly are hard on your feet in the summer. i rested this afternoon. were you able to get a rest before coming here?” “yes, i feel fine. this food tastes good.” “i hoped you'd like it.” “i gave the place in new jersey to a broker friend of mine, and left the key with the neighbor across the street. he has already taken two prospects to see the house.” “he'll sell it to get his commission.” “i don't know; there aren't many people who can afford that price. borrowing from a bank is always difficult for us, and is becoming more so lately.” not knowing how to answer these remarks, she said, “i know you are relieved to have someone handle all these things for you.” “he'll push the situation while i wouldn't.” “would you like a cup of coffee to finish off?” “no, thanks. should we be going along? i hate to rush.” “yes, have you had time to read the plot?” “no, the book you gave me is in new jersey.” “i’ll take my book. it will go in this larger bag. first, i want to give you something. please don't mind, because i planned this quite a while ago.” she handed him a small box as she pulled his arm around her; he wouldn't be angry with her if he were holding her as he opened it. “it's beautiful!” she enjoyed his great enthusiasm over her small gift—a tie. “do you like the color? red is my favorite, and i hoped it would be yours.” “it is, and it feels like pure silk.” he kissed her. “would you believe what i told you, if i said this is the second birthday present i've received in my whole life?” she had to believe him, though such a situation seemed incompre- hensible. he must have meant in his later life. he was a member of a large family, and she could not conceive of the absence of regular birthday festivities, though pecuni- ary conditions could have caused lack of exchange of gifts. they left the box on the bureau and hurried away barely arriving in time to get their seats before the doors opened for the general public. “we must come earlier next time,” he said, as they settled comfortably in this familiar place. she was assured, though perhaps wrongly, that he never minded being con- spicuous in this large audience. when he wanted a pro- gram for her he casually asked people to let him pass, and appeared totally composed at troubling them to move. “i got your letter the day after you phoned me. it had been put in the wrong box. you said the carpenter was going to start on your house. did he?” “no, he's working for a contractor who always starts another job as soon as he finishes one. he won't get around to my work till the slack winter months.” “i’m starting a new job for five weeks. i'd like to come out after that. we shouldn't let it be too late in the fall.” “you're right. but there's plenty of wood to keep warm in the evenings and early mornings. i've a great big old iron stove in the cabin. but if it gets too late in the season, all the kids will have gone back to school and it'll be hard to find a helper.” “i do really think i'm going to be free in five weeks.” “i hope so.” she did not explicitly tell him she figured on having the roof fixed before he came, because she felt he was using the carpentry as an excuse to come. he now knew the details of the communal set-up well enough to realize that his appearance would be a revolutionary event unless he had some specific reason for coming. she had given him the map; he would decide when to appear with some of his friends. but it would be difficult to explain his staying alone with her at the cabin, even though he was supposedly her carpenter. however, he seemed to have decided upon this method as the most feasible, and she shouldn't question him as to its validity. distinctly he felt relieved to place his coming on a non-personal basis. he read the plot while they were waiting for the per- formance to begin. “you said it was a super-comedy, and it certainly is. i'll enjoy something light for a change.” “but i bet it won't be one of your favorites.” before the first scene was over, he was holding her hand, and he gently fondled it intermittently during the evening. she was happy, but not entirely, meditating about the morrow. during the walk back to her apartment she asked him his plans for the next day. “i have to do a lot of running around in the morning, but i will come over as soon as i can.” “are you planning to go to new jersey?” “no, i don't think so.” “shall i fix supper for you?” by that method she could be sure of his coming, though she had never yet seen him for three consecutive days and should not be surprised at whatever happened. “i’d like that. but don't go to much trouble.” “another cold meal will be all right?” “of course. if i'm not there by six you call me, and i'll let you know when i'm coming.” later she understood that was a foolish arrangement as she would leave her apartment to telephone, and he might arrive at that exact in oment. “i’ll be there after four o'clock, and you can come with- out my calling you.” she was wary about the prospects of all the things he had to do; saturday was a much-needed holiday for a regular working man. they stood on the street corner talking for quite a while, and his last words were, “i’ll see you tomorrow.” she was confident he would; the whole evening had been perfect. she would hopefully dream of being with him again the next day, because she had asked him to keep the weekend open for her. next day, she visited her father-in-law. she still thought of him in that category, marketed for a nice supper, called philip from the drugstore about three, thinking he might be in his room. there was no answer. she returned to the apartment, made chicken salad and a green salad, and settled down to read. when he did not arrive by six o'clock, she followed his instructions, stepped across the hall to call him from her neighbor's telephone. he was not in. she naturally concluded he was on his way to her apart- ment, and she should patiently await his arrival. perhaps she should have gone to the country that morning, and saved herself the disappointment of not seeing him again. she did not go to a movie for fear she would miss him; by nine it was useless to expect him. the superintendent's door had been open when they left the apartment the previous evening. she was talking to philip, as they wandered through the hall. however she vaguely remembered the door slamming shut. had there been more to this incident than she was aware of, something of a hostile nature that he perceived, something that would make him hesitant about coming back? she set the alarm for eight in the morning, knowing that he arose at that time on sunday. sleeping was not easy; she could not find any reading that would engross her attention: she could not help thinking he might be in new jersey. how could he become surfeited with her during the course of two wonderful evenings, when he had not seen her for a long time? but that unexplained table set for two had been a reality; however desperately she tried to dismiss it from her mind, the memory would become very clear when he failed to keep his promises. the next morning she dressed quickly and went for the sunday newspaper, and had difficulty in finding a public telephone booth available. she was trembling with anxiety when she dialed his number in brooklyn. when there was no answer, she was bitterly disappointed; he could not have left so early in the morning; he must have spent the night in new jersey after telling her he was not going there. he might have stepped out for a newspaper, so she called him again at eleven, then at three. she sat in the sun in washington square for a couple of hours, and called him again at six. would he come to her apartment without communicating with her? most unlikely, but there was a slight possibility he might, so after trying unsuccessfully to reach him at eight, she went back to her apartment and waited. why had she turned off her telephone? that ingrained habit of economizing whenever possible should have been surplanted by the far more important consideration of his communication with her. he knew she was not leaving the city until monday. she refrained from calling him at eleven; his failing to answer would only confirm her miserable suspicions. xii “how did you enjoy the trip to new york, mother?” joan asked when they were sitting at the lake the next afternoon. “i had a wonderful time. we went to the opera friday night. laura came in for a little while on thursday when philip was there.” “i’d like to meet him.” “no, i don't think you would. basically he's a very liberal-minded person.” “what do you mean? does laura like him?” “yes, very much. she feels the same way about people as you used to before you married horace. for instance, she has moved into an apartment because the rent is very low. it's an old building and all the tenants are puerto ricans. she's very happy there; the neighbors are friendly to her.” “i wouldn't mind living under those conditions.” “i think you would, judging from the many incidences you've told me about the children and the puerto ricans in their school. you always seem to have an unkindly approach to the problem, one of assuming that colored people are inferior. i'm glad to see that you haven't made the children feel the same way. they remain totally un- prejudiced in their attitude toward any of their fellow students.” “oh, mother, you love to theorize and have no practical approach to the every-day problems of the public schools.” “i’m sorry if you misunderstand me. i know there are trying situations, and i'm only suggesting how to make it easier for you,” answered louise conclusively. “are we planning to have a campfire supper down here this eve- ning?” “yes. everyone is joining in. do you mind taking the baby while i go to receive horace's call?” “no, not at all.” he was a beautiful child—a year old, blond, blue-eyed, and very much like his mother who was fortunate in hav- ing six extremely handsome sons. when joan returned and took the baby, louise said, “i promised philip i would call him today. i'll be back later.” of course she had not promised him, but felt there was no harm in declaring something that she would have most willingly done. she was no longer nervous about making this call, as the routine had become habitual. however, she still refrained from making a collect call, and would rely on the operator to reverse the charges if he so desired. “that's a shame. are you planning to drive out with richard and his wife?” “i haven't spoken to him lately. i can call him tonight.” “you said they liked to plan things far ahead of time.” “i’ll call him. i was now writing you a letter.” “please mail it.” she almost wished she hadn't called him. it would be wonderful to possess a letter from him, something tangible that she could cherish and read many times. “but i've talked to you and explained everything.” “please send it anyhow. won't you?” “good-bye, now; take care.” she hesitated, hoping to hear that endearing term, but he ended by saying, “good- bye.” after such a conversation she was completely at ease again, willing to forgive him. each day she expected his letter. she had received a christmas card from him last year, but this would be the first letter. he had always shown such appreciation of the few notes she had written him. when days passed without receiving it, she sat down at the typewriter and wrote to him: dear philip: i have watched daily for your letter. did you not mail it even though you said you would? my brother has sold his house and has to leave on the first of september. i just received a letter from him asking me to come in this weekend. i'm reinstating my telephone, as i've rented the apartment to a friend of laura's for the month of august. i'll leave here early friday and spend the day on staten island, and would like to see you in the evening: will call you, or you call me around six when i'm sure to be back at the apartment. i feel so selfish being out here while you are working during such hot weather. i tried to get you on the phone yesterday, and will try again tonight, but in case i don't reach you, i'm writing this note. please plan differently on saturday from last time, as it's difficult for me to get into the city, and seeing you is the main reason why i come, believe me or not. as ever, louise p. s. the carpenter never got in touch with me at all. she mailed this letter, undecided whether or not she was foolish; she felt that perhaps she should wait for his letter. however, he would be very pleased to hear from her, and why shouldn't she give him that pleasure. on tuesday there was no answer when she called him at the usual time of six o'clock; it was well she had mailed the note. an hour later her sister came from the house while louise was sitting on marie's lawn with the children. when she saw that muriel was taking the car from the garage, she realized that she would have another chance to reach philip. “i’m going with a couple of the boys to a movie. would you like to come along?” “no, thanks. i seldom go to a movie even in the city, and out here i can't imagine sitting in a theater. may i use the telephone? i'll pull the door closed when i leave.” the pleasant relationship between these two women was never understandable to any visitor not knowing the com- plete family background. the situation could best be ex- plained by a certain incident which happened when her daughter marie was asked by one of her guests, “why is your mother so friendly to your father's wife?” “she is her sister.” “i didn't know that. it is unusual, you must admit.” “yes, i never take the trouble to explain it to my guests, but i naturally thought you already knew.” “no, even though your mother is a great friend of mine, she doesn't talk about the past.” the house was completely unoccupied. paul, muriel's husband, was teaching for the summer. there was not the slightest possibility of any unforeseen intrusion. would he be there now? she asked the operator to make a collect call; therefore her name would be announced to him for acceptance of the call. he spoke first. “how are you, louise? thanks for call- ing.” “i didn't get your letter.” “i didn't mail it.” “why not?” “i never finished it after i talked to you.” “i did ask you to send it. was there anything in it i wouldn't want to read?” “no, how could there be? i'll tell you what was in it when i next see you. when are you coming to town?” “on thursday.” “good.” “will you be free that evening?” “it seems there was something i had to do then. i can't call you, can i?” “yes, i wrote today to have the phone turned on, as i have rented the apartment for the month of august. have you many plans for the weekend?” “no, none at all.” that was a gratifying statement to hear; his answer was both quick and positive. planned. are you going out this week?” “no, the hot weather has made it hard to work. i'm staying here and resting.” “then i'll be seeing you. please do me a favor. call operator and insist upon their turning on my phone. tell them i wrote a few days ago, and that it should have been on by now.” “all right, mother. i'll make it an emergency.” “thanks a lot. i want to come over and see your sculp- ture while i'm in town.” “do come. i've finally fixed my apartment the way i had planned to have it.” at five o'clock she could hear the dial signal and not a tantalizing dead silence. she immediately called him, knowing most likely that it was too early. later when she got a busy signal on his telephone she was relieved; she would soon be talking to him. but when the busy signal was persistent, she concluded he had taken the receiver off the hook in order to rest. at seven he answered. she would not dwell on the fact that he could have called her, but the idea did make her uneasy. her first words were, “who is this speaking?” “this is philip benson.” there was consternation in his voice, followed by relief, when he discovered it was she. were there constant demands over his telephone, and her voice only signified something easy for him to cope with? “oh, louise, how are you? how did you find your brother?” so he had received her letter. “i haven't seen him yet; i am planning to spend the day with him tomorrow.” “when did you get in?” “not till one o'clock. i didn't like to ask anyone to put me on that early morning train.” “and i've missed you. good-bye, now, and be good.” she no longer lingered, not thinking of any other means of appealing to him. should she attribute his lack of en- thusiasm to the debilitating effects of his job? that expla- nation was the one he had honestly presented to her. however she did resent the fact that his meetings were of such importance, while it was perfectly justifiable to forego evenings with her. would she ever honestly admit to herself that his being with her was not always of para- mount importance to him? she thoroughly blamed herself for having left the city and consequently breaking the continuity of their companionship. had he not then intui- tively concluded that her being with her family was of far greater importance to her than occasional evenings spent with him? should she return to her original plan of never asking him to do anything? would she then run the risk of losing him altogether? it had seemed correct tactics to let him know that the boys had fixed the small lower roof of her house, but that she had left the big roof for him. if he still had qualms about appearing in such a large family grouping, she must constantly let him know that she sincerely desired him to come. she hoped he wouldn't think she was only interested in his mending her roof; surely he comprehended that she was merely using that job as an excuse to bring him to the country. the next day when she returned from staten island, it was six-thirty before she was able to call him. she won- dered distractedly what had happened, but remembered all the excuses he had given her. she dared not think of a weekend without him, and tried disconsolately to concen- trate on something of a physical nature. she rummaged through her drawerful of materials, and picked a large ness, remembering that marie and william had not asked him to dinner at their house, when ordinarily an invitation should have followed the dinner together with them at her apartment. even though he was very fond of her, he normally preferred an easier course, one which ended by being very detrimental to her wishes. if having to share him with someone else were necessary, she was determined to fight for her portion. she had, years ago, divorced her husband because she had eventually become tired of shar- ing him with her younger sister. of course, that situation had been entirely different; she had been compelled to contend with the gradual development of an unsolvable problem involving three people, and the ultimate solution had been for her to give way. if there had been no chil- dren, she might have acted differently, selfishly clinging to her rights. but they were reaching an age of under- standing and a divorce was the only method of retaining the children's respect for their father. those past events concerned her no longer, but should she not have gained some beneficial experiences to help her in her current dilemma? while starting her friendship with philip, she had soon learned that she had competi- tion; but the relationship had slowly developed under these circumstances. no matter how discouraged she often became, she continued to believe she would eventually establish something permanent between them. however, it would be difficult to telephone him from the country on tuesday, because paul, her sister's hus- band, would be in the house having returned from his summer's teaching job. louise had succeeded in planning privacy for her calls to philip, but now she had the possible presence of still another person to cope with. since she had appeared, frequently and regularly, all during the sum- mer to use the telephone, louise must have established in her sister's mind the fact that she was interested in someone in the city. all the items on her part of the telephone bill were for the same number. now, paul, her former hus- band, would consider it peculiar for her to have occasion to make a long distance call: it would astound him to know that she had found someone to occupy her attention, and he would innately resent the idea. these details were unimportant to her except from the standpoint of philip's acceptance in the community. it was true he could spend days there without actually meeting paul, but at the same time there was the constant possi- bility of their meeting at the lake or at marie's house. this daughter's “barn” was directly across the road from her father's house; in fact, both families used the same well for their water supply. they were very near the lake, and the tennis court, and the center of outdoor activities. louise seldom saw paul, and had learned to dismiss him entirely from her mind even at that proximity. she knew that if philip appeared on the scene everyone would be outwardly polite to him, but there might be fearful reper- cussions of resentment from paul and his wife. she recalled an incident the previous summer when a guest of hers in the country became sick and she had gone down the road to her sister's to telephone for a doctor. her sister had asked, “are your guests negroes?” “no.” “if they were, i would question whether this doctor would want you to take her to him for treatment.” she had said nothing, but was really ashamed that she had been cowed into silence. longing deeply to speak to philip, she decided to make the attempt and luckily found no one in the lower part of count people in this house among my very best friends. if prejudices are involved, you should consider the fact that my friend speaks perfect english without an accent; also that his ancestors have been americans for generations.” these remarks, portraying characteristics which were in complete contrast to many people in the house, had not been necessary. when she left her landlady, she wished to believe that the visit would have been as pleasant even if mrs. mario knew that she was going out with philip. the earliest possible time that he could be home from work was four-thirty. she called him then, at twenty- minute intervals, and only let the telephone ring twice; if he were trying to get her, she did not want his line to be busy. a week ago he had confirmed that their opera tickets were for august the first. her many unsuccessful attempts to talk to him during the week had prevented his knowing that she would also be occupying her apartment along with her tenant. he would hesitate to call if there were any possibility of hearing a stranger's voice instead of hers. firmly convinced that he would have communicated with her if he knew she were there, she once more dialed his number. she was startled when the receiver was picked up, and she could barely manage to say, “hello, how are you?” “oh, louise, where are you? don't we have tickets for tonight?” “yes, have you been trying to get me on the phone?” “i didn't call you because i wasn't sure you'd be there.” “i’m sorry i didn't have a chance to let you know. the lady isn't here and won't be back till after midnight. i didn't prepare any dinner because she has taken over the kitchen.” would be their only time of intimacy during the entire evening. she had chosen a place where the atmosphere was very quiet and casual, where no one paid any attention to any- one else. as they sat down at a table, and the waiter handed them a menu, she said, “please order the meal, then i won't have to get out my glasses.” “do you want to start with a drink?” “no, i don't need anything to make me feel any happier.” he laughed appreciatively, saying, “i agree with you.” she manipulated the conversation so that he did all the talking: he spoke of his job, his meetings, his place in new jersey, his writing. he must have been fully aware that she never touched on his personal life, never asked how he was spending the weekends without her. “but how has it been in the country?” “wonderful. plenty of rain to keep the gardens and the lake fresh. i'm looking forward to your coming out.” “yes, after this job is over.” “why couldn't you go out on the train with me tomor- row morning? i spent the day with my brother, and there's nothing to keep me in town.” she was most doubtful of his answer, but was assured that this was the propitious moment to ask him. if he were committed for the weekend, his answer would be a projected telephone call. “when would we go?” so, he would consider it, or was he only stalling for time to ponder her momentous re- quest? “there's a ten o'clock train. would that be too early?” “i’ll call you before nine.” “can't you be more definite? somehow i'd rather you'd say no right now, than having me look forward to some- thing that might never happen.” he placed both his strong, large hands on the table, practically clenching the cloth. slowly and most seriously he asked, “are you sure you want me to come?” “of course i am. don't you want to?” again there was a long pause. “won't everyone be out there?” “yes, but what difference will that make? they are all used to lots of company and take everything in a very off-hand manner. if we think you shouldn't stay at my shack, there's a small house that william and the boys built for extra guests.” he did not answer. she perceived she was asking too much of him, too unexpectedly, so she said, “we've all evening to think about it. isn't it getting late?” he arose and went over to move her chair, and kept hold of her elbow while they were leaving the restaurant. he always took her arm at each street crossing, and at times when they wanted to pass a slow-moving couple. they stopped often to look at all sorts of interesting things in the varied window displays; they found their seats without any difficulty. “it's nicer to be on time,” he said as he helped her take off her jacket. “i forgot to bring the book.” “don't you know the plot?” “it’s “die fledermaus.’ i’m not very familiar with it, but i can give you a brief outline.” even though the lights had not yet been turned out, she put her hand in his while she was talking. on the way home she said nothing, hoping that absolute silence would cause him to speak of the morrow. but he talked of the opera, comparing it with others they had seen. “these evenings have meant so much to me.” “we'll go again when the fall season opens, won't we?” “certainly.” when they arrived at her apartment house, she asked, “won't you come in?” “no, i’d better not.” “jeannette won't be here yet if you're worrying about her.” instead he took her arm and led her along the street to the corner. “about tomorrow. if you're here at nine o'clock that will give us plenty of time. wear sport clothes; that's all you'll need.” this way of speaking would unquestionably conclude that he was going. but he did not respond. she would never fathom the intricacies of his thoughts in re- gard to his appearing in the country. once when marie had asked her how she had enjoyed the trip to the city, she had also questioned, “how's philip?” “fine,” louise had answered. “but i don't think he'll come out, though i again asked him.” “i think you are expecting too much of him.” “how do you mean?” “he barely knows anyone here. i can see that he wouldn't want to come.” “you may be right. but wouldn't he enjoy it if he once got here? i wish i could persuade him to come.” “good-bye now, and thanks for a wonderful evening. i'll call you at eight,” were philip's parting words. “good-bye, but i do hope i'll see you tomorrow.” she had made her request as genuinely as possible, and could find no other grounds for insistence. “i’ll call you at eight.” he repeated these words, as he was slowly backing away from her and smiling at her. instinctively she felt she had failed but had gained a greater understanding by inviting him. promptly at eight the next morning the telephone rang. “hello.” it was possible the call might be for jeannette. “how are you, louise?” “all right, and you're going with me?” “no, i'm afraid not. i already had an appointment for today and wasn't able to change it.” she realized that his mind had been made up last night; he couldn't have reached anyone so early in the morning. “when are you coming back to town?” “i don't know,” she said despondingly. “what's the matter?” “i’m disappointed; i really am,” and he must have understood that she could hardly refrain from crying. “i’m sorry. won't i be seeing you again soon?” “i don't know. why don't you try to come out with richard and his wife?” “i’ll call him and see if we can plan it. "bye, now, and be good.” she returned to the country that very morning with the full intention of dismissing him from her mind until she heard from him. there were plenty of extremely engross- ing things to occupy her attention. two of her grand- children had asked for algebra lessons prior to their beginning this subject in the fall. this class she added to the regular hours of french with three of the children. laura was coming for her two weeks' vacation, and she expected to spend many pleasurable hours with her. she admitted that she had failed completely in her efforts to have philip come to the country, and had decided to make no further attempts. not knowing anything of the possible involvement with some other woman, she could only hope it was fraught with as many problems as their own rela- tionship. every time she remembered his last words, “be good, now” the tears would come into her eyes, and she would try desperately to strengthen herself with the thought that “i know he does love me.” when she was most despairing, she wondered if this affair would materialize in the same way as the last one she had experienced. it had been many years since she had built up a friendship with a neighbor who owned a cot- tage adjacent to hers in the country. when his wife was in europe one summer, he had asked louise to drive out with him from the city, as he lived around the corner from her apartment on twelfth street. they had known each other casually for years; his wife and children would often come to swim in the lake during hot summer afternoons. each weekend they travelled back and forth to the city, and then one day he asked her to have dinner with him. afterwards they went to a broadway show. such engage- ments became frequent, and before she was entirely aware of the situation, she was hearing from him, in one way or another, almost every day. he was tall and handsome; so alert and vigorous that he appeared much younger than his years. his whole manner, in public as well as when they were alone, was very much the same as philip's. when she was with philip her mind would often revert to the similar circumstances with her former friend rather than to reminiscences of her husband. paul was not a tall man; he was no taller than louise; she often thought this con- dition irked him during their married life. her relationship with her neighbor abruptly ceased when his wife returned from europe, but was renewed the following summer when she was in california. he was a reserve officer of world war i, and was recalled to duty in world war ii. he even became so engrossed in his friend- ship with louise that he invited her to spend the day sightseeing with him through the naval yards of phila- delphia. by then, he had admitted the impossibilities surrounding his married life, and had even declared “i love you, but i can do nothing about it.” that visit through the navy yards had evidently shown the people with whom he worked that he was not fully committed to his wife; for it was nearly a year later, when she was begin- ning to look forward to another pleasant summer with him, that she received his wedding invitation. he had married his secretary. louise had given him the courage to break with his wife, even though she had not been the one to benefit from that change. though this incident hurt her pride, she did not suffer as intensely as when her own marriage dissolved. she was determined now to do everything possible to prevent a repetition of such tragedies. how proud she would be if she could introduce philip, so tall, large and good-looking, so easily approachable and so personable. by now, she was thoroughly convinced that she wished to bring him to the country as her friend. xiv during the day the thought of a possible telephone con- versation with philip always dominated her activities. she would try once more to speak to him, as the difficulties involved would be inconsequential if she were successful in finding him there. the call went through without delay, and she soon heard his voice. “louise, how are you?” “pretty good; are you planning to come out?” “yes. i'm glad you called. i was going to write you. i saw richard and fanny on sunday and they want to drive out to your place.” “that's wonderfull do you still have the directions?” “yes. i was writing to say we would be out on saturday if that would be all right with you.” “sure. i'm always here, when i don't come into town.” she was not whole-heartedly enthusiastic over their com- ing; it was not easy to shift instantly into this unexpected situation. he must have detected that there was something wrong about the way she was acting, for his next words were, “i was sorry to miss going back with you on saturday.” so- that insistent invitation of hers had produced the desired effect. “yes, so was i. are you really coming this time?” “yes, don't you worry.” “i made this a collect call. when will you get here on saturday?” “about noon. don't fix anything. we'll bring a lunch.” “take down this phone number; you can call if you have any trouble finding the place.” “thanks. "bye now, and be good.” she left the house quickly, hoping she would meet no one until she could reach the lake shore which looked deserted. she sat down and cried, releasing all the pent-up emotions of the past weeks. the sound of his voice alone always intensely affected her. could it really be true that he was coming? it would take a while to adjust to the actual fact that he would be here on saturday. she had laura to thank for this event's finally taking place. she had suggested the real reason for her past failures, her the large house. her daughter, joan, had asked if she would like it, as she had a similar piece. “i'd love to have one piece of good furniture to look at.” “you certainly do have a lot of junky pieces, but since the children painted them all the same color, this room really looks nice.” “i'm glad you think so. i've become so accustomed to it that i don't mind it any longer.” this was the daughter who lived in the house with all the beautiful antiques which louise had acquired and refinished through the years. when she would stop in the afternoon to wait for her daughter and the children to go swimming, she generally sat on the lawn. she was not yet able to consider casually that house and its contents as belonging to someone other than herself. however, this summer she had taken utmost pains to reestablish her former pleasant relationship with joan. indicative of their present companionship was an incident which happened when they were having supper over the outside fireplace. joan turned to her mother, saying, “it’s a good time to use the phone because daddy and muriel have gone to an early movie.” “thanks a lot for letting me know. i'll get something to eat when i come back.” this had been one of those times when she had happily found philip there answering his telephone. when she returned and sat down on the grass by joan, she said, “it was good of you to tell me. it's much more satisfying to talk when the others are not around.” “yes, mother, i understand that.” she thus had an ink- ling of a confidential adjustment arising between them, and wished this achievement would be fraught with no further difficulties. but what would happen when philip and his friends arrived? joan seldom left her own house over the weekend when her husband was there. during those days she pre- pared complicated, even luxurious meals, and often had to edit and proof-read the little magazine which they jointly published. the children were more restricted from their usual sport activities by their stepfather who strongly be- lieved in making them work during their vacations. there- fore the occupants of the upper house seldom met or mingled with the weekend guests at marie's house. if philip and his friends stopped at the first house, marie would direct them up to louise's cabin. saturday finally came. should she wear her usual sum- mer costume of slacks and sleeveless blouse, or dress con- ventionally? she decided on the former. examining herself in the looking glass, she ruled out any cosmetics except a little lipstick. her face was more youthful than he had ever seen it, and her smile would add greatly to her appear- ance. he wouldn't be able to say, “how lovely you are,” but she would know he was thinking it. she had only met these friends once at his house on a sunday morning when fanny had asked philip to bring her to their home on long island. she wondered then whether they suspected the intimacy of her relationship with him, whether his words and actions, so familiar to them, had shown them that she was spending the weekend with him. how formal should she be now that they were coming to her house? merely having philip there would be enough joy; she would not need anything else. it was eleven o'clock; they should be here at any mo- ment. her house was always very cool as it was situated on the hillside, surrounded by many large trees. however, it was a hot day, and they would have been travelling for nearly two hours on cement highways, and would appreci- ate something cool as soon as they arrived. she did not have any drinks to offer, but had prepared a large pitcher of iced tea with lemons, the beverage she always made as her contribution to the outdoor picnics. she sat on the porch and waited. she no longer noticed the cars which passed within thirty feet of her front door; long since she had ceased to recognize the owners of indi- vidual cars, except those of her immediate neighbors. there were some reckless young drivers who whizzed past her house, but generally the cars slowed down for the steep curve, especially as the road bed was rocky and often treacherous. eventually she noticed a car ascending the hill at a slow pace, gradually creeping closer to her side of the road. yes, it drew up onto the thick vegetation in front of her, barely leaving room for a passing car. she quickly went down the many steps to the road. “hello. i hope you didn't have much trouble finding the way.” she looked toward the driver's seat where richard would be sitting, although she expected that all three would be in the front. philip was there, on the outside. he jumped out quickly, took the few steps to reach her, strongly grasped both arms, and would have kissed her if she had given him the least encouragement. she was afraid to look him straight in the face; her glance would reveal too much. instead she went forward to greet her other guests after a brief, “how are you?” to richard she said, “was my map clear enough?” “i did the driving and philip did the directing.” “and?” composed at last, she looked directly at philip. “we had no trouble at all,” he said, smiling affection- ately at her. he gave her the impression that he was totally at ease, expressing himself freely before his own friends. taking fanny's hand as she was getting out of the car, louise asked, “don't you think it's pretty country out here, or is it too wild for you?” “i like it, but i wouldn't want to live here for the year round.” “you're right. it's only nice in the summer.” “shall i leave the car here?” asked richard. “it would be better to put it at the garage entrance, if you can give that building such a fancy name. cars often come fast around this bad curve.” philip took things out of the car under fanny's direction, and they followed her up the steps. “it's a cute little house,” said fanny. “yes, as long as these two carpenters don't start examin- ing it with too critical eyes. they'll find many things wrong with this place.” “the white windows look nice on the shingling.” “thanks. i painted both windows and trim of the whole cabin, and my young nephew and i shingled the place two summers ago.” as they went into the house, she said, “i’ve something refreshing to drink. i'll get it from the basement.” “can't i get it for you?” asked philip as he followed her, realizing the opportunity of being alone with her for a few minutes. “i like this place, louise. it really appeals to me.” “i’m so glad. mind your head: this basement has a pecu- liar entrance.” she went down two cement steps on the front of the house, opened a large solid wooden door which swung inside over three railroad-tie steps leading to a dirt floor. “i guess you men are ready to eat, aren't you?" asked fanny. “sure, aren't you?” louise took the radio, typewriter, and all papers and books off the large circular table in the center of the room, and brought plates, cups and saucers from the open shelves of the kitchen section. she uncov- ered an iced cake she had made in marie's oven the day before. “my, that looks good!” “i wanted to show philip i could make a cake even in the wilds of new jersey.” he came over at mention of his name, took hold of her arm, saying, “you don't generally make them that big.” “no, and most often i cheat by buying you pastries at sutters nearby.” it was a nourishing meal with delicious and varied sand- wiches, fruit, coffee and cake. under philip's guidance the conversation soon turned to events in the current crisis in the middle east. louise said little, only proffering a leading question now and then. she again marvelled at his interpretation of the world situation, and his wide knowl- edge of conditions in the countries they were discussing. she was happy to discover that he naturally surmised that his friends, as well as she, would be in complete accord with the ideas he was expressing. they lingered a long time at the table: the total relaxation was most comforting to her. “what needs fixing on the house, louise?” asked philip. “lots of things which aren't apparent at first glance, because the whole place looks so worn-out.” “won't you show us?” “sure. the roof leaks in a few places, depending on which way the wind is blowing. i'll take you upstairs. be careful. these steps are a work of genius, and are too close together.” richard followed them, laughingly declaring, “i see what you mean. they were built for a small child.” “if you examine them carefully you'll see the builder was economizing on lumber. you can take two steps at a time, but even then they are very tricky.” turning to philip, she took his arm and pointed to the ceiling, “as you can see, a number of the underboards have to be removed, and i want that done before the rafters start rotting.” “yes, you're right. there don't seem to be too many.” “and i'd like to tear off all the old rubberoid roofing, even on the good part, and get rid of that excessive weight before putting on modern composition shingling.” he looked down at her appreciatively. “you certainly know a lot about carpentry.” “i’ve actually done a lot in the past. i like it more than any work, though now i've descended into the category of a helper. this could be a nice big spare room, if the floor were better supported. i'm afraid of having too much furniture up here.” a chair and table and twin beds were all it contained. “how's the front porch? you said the boys did the little back roof.” they started downstairs. louise was last, and when she had slowly descended the peculiar steps, she found philip alone. “richard and fanny decided to go for a walk up the road.” she stepped on the porch, and called, “there's a lovely lake on the left, and my neighbors are perfectly willing for you to walk in off the road and look at it.” he would know when they were approaching. here was an opportunity wherein she had every reason to believe she would receive some definite commitment from him. he came over to kiss her as she was still lying on the bed; this kiss, immediately after making love, was such a perfect way of saying thank-you; she appreciated it most and remembered it longest. he started to say something when they heard approaching voices. she arose immediately and stepped out on the porch to greet them, not minding if her countenance glowed with intense satisfaction. “it's beautiful country, isn't it?” “yes, that lake is perfect,” said fanny. “you’ll have to drive down and see mine. its shore line isn't as beautiful, but it's more convenient for swimming.” “we should be thinking about driving back. we have to go all the way out on long island,” said richard. “we mustn't forget the plants i wanted to give you. i'll get the shovel and a basket.” she couldn't go to her daughter's house where it was possible to dig up numerous perennials, both flowers and shrubs. she didn't feel equal to facing the situation of taking her friends there. it would be difficult at best, and, although her daughter and the boys would be polite, horace, if he put in an appearance, would be disagreeable. even when she was entirely alone, she carefully avoided him over the weekends. as an alter- native, she began digging up her own plants which had been nurtured in strategically planned spots. “are you sure you aren't robbing yourself?” asked fanny. “oh, no. i can always replace these with plants from the old house. it's good for them to be moved a number of times. i'm sure you know that; philip has told me you have such beautiful gardens.” giving away these plants had been an idea of major importance for many weeks, and nothing should stand in the way of fulfilling this par- ticular promise. the privet hedge she had planted at philip's had been obtained before joan's family had come for the summer. while she and fanny were wrapping each plant sepa- rately in newspapers, and placing them in an old half- bushel basket, louise asked, “why don't you stay over till tomorrow? there really are three rooms in this little shack, and i've plenty of food.” “thanks for asking us, but we've company coming to dinner tomorrow.” “what a pity. you know you are most welcome.” “perhaps we can come out again. it's so peaceful here.” “do come prepared to spend the weekend.” she turned to philip who had come to offer his assistance. should she ask him to stay? her expression showed her wish, and the look on his face caused her to remark confidently, “wil- liam has to drive in tomorrow afternoon, as he needs the car in town next week.” “i’ll stay and go in with him,” said philip in a very matter-of-fact tone. turning to richard, he explained, “i want to figure out what material is needed for this house.” she was not prepared for such a marvelous turn of events, and hoped she did not show astonishment at his decision. she had to say something immediately, and made the trite remark, “that's fine.” being very conscious of a noticeable pause, she quickly asked, “wouldn't you like to see how my daughter and her husband have fixed up the old barn?” philip picked up the heavy basket and took it out to the car. the four of them got in and drove past the big house where joan lived, but when they reached laura's little place, louise said, “let's stop and see if we can give my daughter a lift down the road. she generally goes swimming at this time: please wait a minute.” she stepped out of the car. as she approached the house, she called, “laura.” “yes, mother,” her daughter answered from the front window. “won't you drive down with us?” “i’ll be right there.” she neared the car, and as they both got in, laura spoke. “philip, how are you?” “well, and yourself? these are my friends, fanny and richard.” to them he said, “meet laura.” she smiled at them. “do you like it here?” “yes, very much,” said fanny; and richard added, “we sure do.” “they have a place in south orange but it's not real country like this. these men are interested in seeing the renovations on the barn,” said louise. when they stepped out of the car, laura went ahead with philip, and entered the house with him. louise fully understood that this daughter would gladly do her utmost to see that everything passed off pleasantly. no one was there, however, and they roamed around at will, examining the huge room, the fireplace and balcony which led into upper bedrooms on either side of the building. “it's tremendous,” said richard. “i like the way they have kept the lines of the original building. the rooms at either end would make a large apartment in the city.” laura and philip had disappeared. “i think they've gone down to the lake where everyone gathers in the afternoon. shall we go down?” to be a tacit agreement that her entering the scene would not interrupt the conversation. casually and most will- ingly these children of hers were accepting philip into their midst. when there ultimately was a pause, philip turned to her. “did fanny and richard leave?” “yes, they were worried about the long drive home. he said he'd see you on the job monday.” “he’s right about that.” marie turned to her mother. “won't you have supper with us? we're roasting hamburgers and marshmallows down here.” there was no noticeable comprehension that philip hadn't returned to the city with his friends. “thanks. we'll be glad to. what can we do to help?” noticing the open fireplace, philip jumped up saying, “i’ll lay the fire.” “you don't need to,” said william. “the children always do that. come up to the house and have a drink.” philip moved questioningly towards louise. “i have to change. you go ahead. i always wait until all the children get out of the water. they're not allowed in unless an adult is around.” “they're having such a good time: how will you ever get them out?” “i’ll manage somehow, and i don't want a drink.” he left her there. as she sat facing the children she heard people approaching from behind, and recognized the voices of muriel and paul. she wondered if philip had had time to reach the path leading to the barn, or whether he had met them before the walk separated into two parts. as she was the only adult left at the beach, would they realize he had stayed behind to talk to her? however, she need not worry, as she felt there was no reason for their called to their departing figures. “we are showing pictures early.” “o. k. we'll be over.” the food tasted especially good cooked over the open fire. the whole atmosphere was completely relaxed; louise was quietly grateful for everything. toasting marshmallows was a never-ending task; for even the adults were willing to eat them as long as the children would toast them. finally marie asked, “who's going to put out the fire?” john immediately started hunting for something that would contain water. “i will. it's my turn.” as they all leisurely wandered up to the house, there was no question in louise's mind that philip was not enjoying every moment of this family gathering. he acted as natur- ally as if he had been a participant many times previously. he hadn't spoken to her during the entire meal, but he came over and walked with her up to the house. they spread around all over the large room as william used one of the walls for the screen to show the pictures. no one seemed to notice when muriel and paul joined the group, for all the lights had been extinguished. people occasionally asked questions; however, william's informal, rambling commentary was sufficient explanation. laura left with her father and muriel immediately after the pictures, though she usually waited to walk up the road with louise. leaving her behind with philip, the only other guest, might be cause for speculation, but momentarily william and philip were deeply concerned with examining the projector, while louise remained seated on the couch. william said, “have a drink before you leave.” at this request, philip walked over and joined louise: she waited. “if you can't answer, then i must be right. please, can't you say something?” they had arrived at her little cabin. she preceded him up the steps, sat down on the porch landing, leaving room for him, feeling that if she turned on the light and entered the house she might never have an answer. he stood two steps below her. “i don't want to say the wrong thing. so much has hap- pened today. please let me think about it.” he helped her to arise as he kissed her in a very conclusive manner. she understood his dilema; she was used to giving way to the other person. as lightly as she could, she said, “look. we went away in such a hurry that i didn't lock the door.” “does it matter?” “no; except during the winter months. hunters are liable to break in then.” as they entered the room, and she turned on all the lights, she said, “i’ll make a cup of coffee.” “don’t trouble for me.” “a glass of milk, then?” “is it down in the icebox?” “yes, here's a flashlight.” when he came back with the milk, she was pulling down the blinds. “you see i did succeed in making all my blinds work. you can appreciate my problems if you examine them closely.” he laughed and came over to her, putting his arm around her, and holding her closely. she was relieved that he was again relaxed. they drank and munched on sweet crackers. why was she embarrassed at bringing up the subject of going to bed? true, he had never slept the night at her apartment; she had always stayed at his house. this huge room, so brightly lighted, had never been associated with anything of a personal nature; she generally con- sidered it as belonging to the grandchildren and all their activities. “i’ll show you about the water situation by cleaning my teeth first.” “i don't have a tooth brush or a razor.” “i’ll get you both.” she found them for him. “i forgot to tell you the toilet is in the garage.” “in this vast outside do i have to know where the toilet is?” she laughed aloud. “no, of course you don't, as long as you protect my front lawn. as it is, i've a hard enough time making the grass grow. i'll make up the children's couch in the little room. it's large enough for me.” “you don't have to. isn't this bed big enough?” for an answer she leaned over and kissed the top of his head as he was still seated at the table. while he was washing and cleaning his teeth she sat down on the edge of the bed, slipped all the straps off her shoulders, put on the night- gown which was under the pillow, stood up, and her clothes fell to the floor. “that's too quick for me,” he said, as she got into bed. she sat up and talked to him in this big room where all personal details took place. in his house they had used two rooms, and it had not appeared so much like living to- gether. “we were a large bunch of girls brought up very strictly by english parents. discreetness was of major importance to them.” “so you weren't southerners even though you were born in virginia.” “no, we had no slave background.” “i could tell that.” “i vaguely remember having negro servants when we were very young: but there were so many of us girls that we soon took over all the housekeeping.” he turned off the lights, opened the front door to let in a full current of air, got into bed, and took her into his arms, “at last,” he whispered hoarsely. “it's hard to believe we are here alone together.” “my sweetness.” a total calmness pervaded her every thought. it was foolish to dwell on any problems between them. they had had their passionate pleasure in the after- noon. tonight they were completely content to be lying in each other's arms while he lovingly caressed her. they talked of the happenings down the road. he fell asleep first. slowly and carefully, she moved away from him, and settled comfortably on the outer edge of the bed, knowing that his nearness would keep her constantly perusing the day's events. she was awakened by the first birds singing at dawn, but many moments passed before she was fully cognizant that he was lying next to her. she gazed at him minutely, realizing that, more than ever before, there was a chance of belonging to him, of being with him continuously, and going everywhere with him. true, he was dark- skinned; he could not be considered a sallow-complex- ioned white man. he had curly hair, and a nose with wide nostrils, large deep black eyes, a high forehead, a well- formed mouth without heavy lips. he was a handsome man, asleep or awake. she slipped out of bed without waking him, dressed, put a kettle of water on the stove, and went to the base- ment to fill the bucket from the spring. when she re- turned, he was dressed. he came and took the heavy “i’m so happy to hear you say that.” “i know you sympathize, but you can't possibly under- stand.” he said this with such vehemence that she dared not refute it. “but that's true also to a certain extent with me when i'm with you. can't you see it would be?” “that's what i'm saying. i don't want you to be up against it too.” “i completely forget, because i love to be with you so much.” she raised her face close up to his; he kissed her, but automatically. his glum countenance told her that he would not say anything more. in replying, he would eluci- date all the social difficulties that would arise for her. he would speak of the disagreeable occurrences in his every- day life which would then also be shifted upon her. there had always been a mutual understanding of never discuss- ing these foreboding conditions. when she was with him, she insisted upon assuming the attitude that they did not exist, hoping thereby to convince him that she really would not be so terribly burdened with such problems, if he would only be willing for them to share them together. “how about a second breakfast cup of coffee?” he jumped up, grasped both her hands to lift her from the grass. “i’d like it.” he was gratefully thanking her for being kind enough to drop any further discussion. when they entered the house, he took something from the pocket of his coat hanging on the wall. “i forgot that i brought you some late magazines. i thought you might not get them out here.” “how thoughtful of you. i'm starved for them. reading becomes very essential: it's only on occasion that the daily newspaper gets into my hands after being read by the whole community. one of the main reasons why i put in electricity was to have the news over the radio.” “i'd miss a newspaper.” “i should have it mailed direct to me. but you know my real life is in the city. nine months in the year i seldom think of anything out here.” “as i say, i have no real interest in anything in glen- wood.” “yes, but those i care about go back to the city when i do.” while they were drinking their coffee, he said, “i mustn't forget to figure out the material for this house.” “you’ll need the six-foot ruler. i’ll write down the in- formation.” they went upstairs to calculate how many boards would be needed for the roof; also into the basement to figure on extra porch supports; and into the little back room to plan for the siding and a floor. outside, she asked for his estimate on the number of bundles of wood shingles needed to cover the back room like the rest of the house. “i should seal in the walls of these two rooms.” “i like it this way. the pictures are so interesting.” “but they won't last very long; they are only tacked on. i won't worry about the walls now; it's best to fix the essentials first.” she had carefully written all the figures. watching him in action, discovering how efficient he was in all the details of his trade, was a great delight to her. “you don't seem to mind this one bit.” “i began to make things with hammer and nails when i was about six years old under my father's direction, and i've always liked that work better than any other.” he how much she missed him. “you seem so far away and lost to me.” he fondled her most lovingly, saying, “i’m often think- ing of you.” they were in no hurry to reach a climax of love making; both appreciated their complete isolation, and their lack of any conflicting pressures. “why did i ever reach the place where this could give me so much pleasure? i'll be unhappy again when you leave.” “and i'll miss you very much. i do dream of you,” he told her. “i wonder if it's the same dream i have.” “what's yours?” “that we're together like this.” “anything else?” “yes.” “that he came to you like this?” “yes.” “and when did you wake up?” “when he left me. it was nearly as good as reality.” “sweetness. please take a long time; i want to give you as good a time as i can.” “you're always so wonderful to me.” “you mean so much to me.” they had no idea how much time had passed when he said, “i’ll have to find out when william's going back to the city.” “he’s going alone, so he may not leave till after dinner tonight. there'll be plenty of time if we wait until this afternoon. however, if we walk down now, we'll get a luncheon invitation. would you rather do that or stay here?” to performing all the tasks of daily existence just when and how she wished. would living with him soon tend to lose its glamour, and the added duties become burden- some? moreover, would he always care for her as he now did? would she add sufficient pleasure to his life to keep him satisfied with her? above all, if she were married to him would she cease worrying about the time he would spend away from her? she rose, slipped out the back door, and sat down on the large apple tree log in the side yard. the slight bang of the shutting screen door must have awakened him, for she heard his steps on the grass. he stood behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, and she raised her head so that he could kiss her. “did you sleep?” “i certainly did, and i feel fine. should we go down to the barn now?” “yes, i suppose so.” “you sound doubtful.” “you know why.” “why?” he asked with real concern in his voice. imme- diately he had fallen into a sudden reserve which took him away from their intimate closeness. she could effec- tively bring him back to her. “here we are alone together.” “yes, i know.” he was distinctly relieved to hear her forthright and meaningful answer. “i wish i could stay longer, but i have to complete the job we're now on.” “how much longer does it last?” “two or three weeks, depending upon how many apart- ments the contract covers. we never know.” “you'll come out again?” “yes.” “this next weekend?” “i'd like to come when i can stay and work on the house. i've begun to like this place.” she merely rubbed her shoulder closer against him in happy acknowledgment of his words. “i’d like you to come for a weekend's rest. we could figure out the train and meet you at the station. it isn't a bad trip.” when he didn't agree, she knew he was thinking of the easy journey by private car, and how unpleasant it might be by train. in all the years she had travelled the route to her little village, not once could she remember having seen a negro on the train. however, she wondered if this reason made him hesitate, or did he not want to see her again so soon. if he couldn't reply to this simple in- vitation, how could she expect him to make any statement more compromising? “what do you think?” “i’ll have to see.” such a foreboding, noncommittal statement. she made the motion to leave, and they started down the road, hand in hand. she became very nervous when they approached joan's house and moved away from him to the other auto rut in the road. her caution was unnecessary as no one was outside. “the boys must have finished their work and gone down the road. they always leave as soon as they can get away.” there was no answer when she called to laura at her little house. “we'll see her down at the barn.” marie's car was the only one parked there; joan's was farther down the road in front of her father's house. louise said, “i’m glad they don't have company.” did his relaxed manner really portray his inner feelings? she wished it were possible for him to imbibe the social atmos- phere of this family when no one was around to disagree with their gracious manner toward everybody. there seemed to be a slight flicker of embarrassment when they walked into the huge balcony-room and found the family having afternoon tea. this feeling was quickly dispelled when william jumped up to meet them. “will you have a drink? i know louise will take tea.” “thanks. when are you going back to the city?” “about eight. i hope to avoid the sunday traffic by going late. are you going in with me?” “yes, i planned to.” marie broke into the conversation, “have supper with us. we sort of expected you down to dinner.” as she looked directly at philip, he answered, “we were busy looking over the house.” william asked, “are there many problems?” “yes, but i like working when i'm not under pressure.” “so do i. come, look at the little house i made for extra guests.” the two men left through the open door. “mother, you look simply wonderful!” said laura. “thanks, dear. i feel that way. but did your father say anything about philip's being here?” “no, don't worry. nobody's going to say anything about it.” “joan and the boys will join us for supper after she puts horace on the train,” said marie, wishing to state the exact circumstances. “joan! well, i don't know. but, of course, the boys will act all right.” “she won't even know that philip is your friend, if that's what's worrying you. as to the way she will treat him, she's an entirely different person after she has put horace on the train.” with consternation still in her voice, louise asked, “shall we go for a swim?” “yes,” and marie called to the children upstairs, “come put on your bathing suits.” louise left alone, changed at the bathhouse, swam down to the dam, and stayed with one of the boys who was fish- ing off the spillway. she didn't want to be around when joan came back from the station. it would be so much easier if her daughter concluded philip was a friend of william's. their looking over the little house would be a wonderful way of increasing friendliness. in just that short length of time philip would realize that william's manner was truly sincere, not the snobbishness of a patronizing host. any unkind opinion which he might have harbored from william's neglecting to invite them to dinner would disappear. she brought philip back to the barn today be- cause she was sure of his being cordially received. but she was not prepared for the predicament of his meeting joan. wandering reluctantly up the path louise saw joan sitting in a deck chair by the slate-covered picnic tables. philip was standing, leaning against a tree, talking to her. louise stopped: neither of them had seen her. it was possible to retrace her steps, go along the edge of the lake, then through the woods, entering the house from the other side. she hesitated; such cautious action would be cow- ardly. the two seemed to be in complete accord. his back was towards her; she would be approaching her daughter's face. surely there was something she could say in an off- hand manner as she passed them on the way to the kitchen. though her heart was thumping violently, she decided to go ahead. she relied on philip's understanding her actions, whatever she said. when his back was still towards her, and she was within twenty feet of joan, she said, “i’m going in to help marie with supper.” “are we having it out here?” “yes, you don't need to come in.” she continued walking, and soon reached the steps leading to the porch. going into the kitchen, she dropped down on the first available chair. she looked at her daugh- ters and sighed, “you were right.” “yes, we told you not to worry.” “i can hardly believe it.” “you should know what a social man he is,” said laura. “it has taken me all summer to get him out here. to think that i was most afraid of this particular incident. look how she is enjoying herself talking to him.” “and you can rest assured she will never speak of him to horace.” “i hope not. but i must go out there. let me carry something.” she picked up the large basket filled with utensils and glasses. “i don't want him to think we're talk- ing about them.” she knew he would come forward to take the basket; no introductory remark would be needed. “let me take that.” “thanks. i'll go back for something more.” “why don't you sit down and let me help?” it was per- fectly natural for her to smile at his making that polite remark, also it was most usual for her to comply. “all right. marie will tell you what she needs.” she sat down next to joan, asking, “where are the boys?” “playing tennis or swimming. they'll be here as soon as they get hungry. who is this man? he introduced himself by saying, ‘you must be marie's sister?’” “yes, he's a friend of theirs. he seems to be very nice, doesn't he?” “yes, he does. but there they come.” everyone was carrying something. william had the biggest load—a large watermelon. the children gathered round the laden tables. both families had taught them, at a very early age, to take care of themselves at mealtime; when they ate outside there was a total lack of formality. edward, who had the ferocious appetite of a fast-growing boy, would make way with four frankfurters unnoticed. the huge watermelon would disappear very quickly. this fruit was a favorite dessert, and the children loved the contest of trying to spit the seeds the farthest. george, age fifteen, had left his bow and arrows leaning against a tree. “nobody touches these,” he had cried. individual property ownership was pleasantly estab- lished in this large group of boys. after they had eaten, philip stepped up to him, when the game had started again. “may i try one?” he asked. “sure. our target is the post on this side of the tennis court. you have to stand over there.” he pointed to a marked spot on the grass. philip took the bow from george. “how strong is the string?” “you can't break it.” “all right. this is new to me. i'll replace the arrow if i lose one.” “don't mind that.” philip put the complete strength of his muscle into action, and the arrow went beyond the length of the court, right over the top of the target post. george looked at him admiringly, “my, that was some shot!” “but i missed the target. it was my first try.” with her words, “it's all right,” he gave her a parting kiss, quick but expressive. “you’ll be back?” “yes, i will.” “the time will pass quickly.” as the car pulled out, she hurried through the lilacs, and across the road to the wooded trail which led to her cabin. it was impossible to carry on a desultory conversa- tion with joan and the boys as they all walked up the road together, and she wouldn't be sure of saying the correct thing about philip if his name came into the discussion. the others would understand her abrupt departure. alone she could indulge in the pure joy of recalling what had happened, and would definitely conclude that he would return the next weekend. she would not think of the former times when he had failed to fulfill his promises. his acceptability in this in- timate family gathering should have made him feel less hesitant of becoming a part of it. but to probe deeper into his feelings—had he reached the conclusion that he wished to become a part of it? a vast difference exists between relief at being accepted and a true desire to take advantage of this acceptance. there could not be permanent happi- ness in their relationship if it were only based on an acceptance of him in her environment. his affirmed and exclusive affection for her was the most important factor; the social aspect could only be an aid to enhancing his unquestioned devotion. she had warned him of the prejudices of her son-in-law, horace. always, she had explicitly emphasized the fact that joan and her sons did not agree with him. only on the surface did they conform, merely to keep peace in their daily activities. had not joan's attitude toward philip today proved to him the truthfulness of her depiction of her daughter? he really liked joan, and the feeling seemed to be reciprocal. the attractive personality of the man had overridden any possible prejudices. looking backward, she realized how much she must have progressed lately towards accepting correct ideas of the treatment of all people. she must always remember joan had been brought up in the same atmosphere as her two liberal-minded sisters. the next day, as she neared the lake, she noticed that joan and marie were sitting engaged in conversation, while they minded the children. laura had gone back to her job in the city. she overheard marie saying, “yes, we've known him for some time.” “is he connected with william in his work?” “no, he isn't. he's only a friend.” this was the propitious moment for her to reveal her friendship with philip. what was to be gained now by further deception? joan had certainly shown that she liked him; she was presently asking her sister about him. she spoke up, “he’s really a friend of mine.” “of yours!” joan looked up with great surprise. “yes. you sound as if it were astonishing for me to have a friend.” “no, mother. i didn't mean it that way. but i am puzzled.” “i have known him for a long time through my library job.” “he doesn't seem like a writer.” “no, he's a carpenter. but he does write magazine articles and i help him edit them.” would joan realize she was describing the man whom she had talked about months ago? she would have difficulty in grasping the fact that he was supposed to be her ‘boy friend." she decided not to say anything more; she would relieve her daughter of the necessity of answering. pausing a few seconds, she added, “i’m going to get ready for a swim.” as she left she noticed that neither of her daughters continued their conversation. marie must have agreed that it would take time for joan to assimilate this information, and present discussion would have no value. later, during the week louise asked marie if william had called her from the city. “no, he never calls during the week unless his plans have changed.” “then he'll be out friday night? will laura come with him?” “i suppose so: she generally does, though i didn't hear her plans for this weekend.” “horace isn't coming out,” said joan. “he’s visiting a friend in the adirondacks.” “that'll make it easier for you,” louise put in. now she had every reason to hope philip would come. she felt confident that joan would again be pleasant to him. no one had spoken of the probability of his returning; it was best to conclude that circumstances would develop affably. moreover, he would be spending most of the time at her little cabin, and would seldom see the other members of the community. on friday, marie asked louise to stay down the road and have supper with her and the children. she gladly accepted. “when is daddy coming?” “there's plenty of cold milk in the ice box.” she tried to get away from him. he kept hold of her. “i don't want anything. we stopped to eat on the way out. william thought everyone would be in bed.” “did laura come out with you?” “no, she was going to the shore for the weekend.” she wanted to know what had happened on the trip and, point- blank, asked him, “do you like william?” “i certainly do. he's really sincere.” “his wife and children are the same way.” those few words were sufficient to convey what she wanted to know, and his very presence corroborated his statement. “it's very late. we should close the door and open a couple more windows.” “why take the trouble?” she had to think of a quick answer; she didn't want to say that a neighbor might drive by and see them sitting there, or later see them getting ready for bed. “we'll turn out most of the lights instead.” then he understood her and said, “oh, i'll close the door till we get in bed.” “that's right.” “i brought toothbrush and razor this time.” “you didn't need to trouble.” “and this for you.” he handed her a small box from his pocket. he had never given her anything; she kissed him before opening the package which contained a pair of ear-rings. “oh, how beautiful! how sweet of you!” he was tremendously pleased that she liked them, and said, “i never gave you a birthday present.” “i know, but we've started a certain project which i'd like to help him finish.” “i thought you said you weren't working.” he gave her his familiar, good-natured smile, picked up the axe, and turned to wave his hand at them as he followed george. joan looked up at her mother expecting to say some- thing. “please don't say anything. everything will be all right. horace isn't out this weekend.” as louise spoke these words, she looked pleadingly at joan. “i wasn't going to say anything to upset you,” was her daughter's answer. some minutes elapsed before she added, “he seems to be a man everyone can like.” “i’m awfully sorry i misunderstood you. i concluded you were going to say something else. you're right about him. there's a reason why i got to like him so much.” “yes, i can see that, but i must go. good-bye.” she picked up the small jar of rice from the porch floor. “you’ll be down for supper?” “i suppose we will.” what a great relief. the better side of joan had won over her recently acquired prejudices; philip, unaided, had brought about a happy solution to a foreboding prob- lem. joan would continue to be pleasant to him when they were with people who were his friends. how far she would go with this attitude would still remain prob- lematic. in the city she never saw her daughter in her complete family gathering; her engagements were only luncheon appointments. she seldom saw horace during the whole winter season. joan rarely came to her apart- ment; she was tied down to a life with very small children. the summer season would soon be over; she could return “i tried often to get you on this phone after you were in the country.” “i’ve only been here off and on all summer.” he gave this information so unconcernedly, and yet remained com- pletely unrevealing when she tried to glean any further facts about his summer. naturally enough, his city habits had not been discussed when he was with her in the country, and she was wholly unprepared to discover any mystery about where he was living. “been staying in new jersey?” “no, just in and out. since i saw you, i took off time and went for a short trip south. i've just gotten back.” this information did satisfactorily explain her failure to hear from him since he was in the country, and he may have tried to reach her lately. “you went to see your relatives?” “yes, my brother and his wife, and my married sisters in wilmington.” “how are they?" “pretty well. everyone was glad to see me. i hadn't been down for a long time.” “they must have been.” it was easy to talk to him about events which did not involve her. but he wasn't a casual acquaintance, though the conversation sounded as if he were. “i think i'll take a trip to florida next month to see my friends there.” she remembered his saying these exact words in the spring, and how happy she had been when he entirely dismissed the idea. “and i know he won't go this time,” she thought. “i hope you don't go. i'm so glad to hear your voice again. i thought you'd come out there once more.” “i had no way of getting there.” promptly at six, the next day, the telephone rang. fortunately she was alone and could completely respond. george had left for his music lesson after a brief half hour with her. “how are you, louise?” “very well, and how are you?” “well, just so-so. i can't really complain but i'm very tired. how did you make out?” “they've not organized a seminar yet. the prospects looked discouraging. they're too busy getting the regular classes going. did you figure out one?” “no, not yet. i'm sorry about the other.” “so am i; and i offered to help get one started. where are you now?” “broadway-nassau subway platform.” that was only ten minutes away from her; the oppor- tunity of seeing him was very feasible. she could picture his standing in the telephone booth. he was tired; he was dressed in his working clothes. he would distinctly avoid seeing her under such conditions; he was careful how he looked and dressed when he was with her. however, she loved to think of him in his basement, dressed in old khaki pants all covered with paint. he had then warned her against sitting down anywhere for fear of soiling her suit, but she had gone to him, intending that he embrace her as usual. he must have been pleased that it made no difference to her how he looked. “why don't you come over?” “i’m too tired; i must get some sleep.” “i do wish you would.” when there was no answer to this plea, she continued, “you're on your way to new jersey? but there isn't much chance to rest with that big family around. do you still have your own refrigerator “can i come over?” “i wish you would.” “i’ll be there in an hour.” her bravado attitude then failed her, and there was a pleading tone in her voice, when she asked, “are you sure?” “yes, i will. "bye now.” he was coming. how did she look tonight? tired or rested? how should she dress? what would he say? how would he act? the very fact that he was coming showed that everything should be as it was formerly. she must gain something from his having gone; had he not in- stantly called her upon his return? the thought of mary completely disappeared. when the buzzer sounded, her heart started thumping violently. with tears in her eyes she watched his coming up the stairs. she could see the top of his head because he kept close to the banister even when making the turn on the landing; she gloated on the sturdy swing of his free arm, the eagerness of his stride. she opened the door fully, then closed it. when he took her in his arms, her mind became totally blank, though she seemed to hear his murmurings: endearing monosyllables. he finally picked her up and carried her into the living room; she still clung to him while he kissed her many times. she waited; he had to be the first to speak. “i’ve missed you.” “so have i, but you didn't have to go and leave me.” “yes, i did.” “why?" “i had to find out something.” he paused, but she re- fused to assist him. “it’s a long story.” “but you have to tell me.” “i can't do without you.” “you don't really mean that. from what you've just told me, i can't believe it.” “i wouldn't be here if i didn't.” the statement could be true. she had momentarily learned her real position in his life. he need not even have come tonight. she was so worn out emotionally that she started to cry. he became frantic with his caresses. “i love you, sweetness, don't you know i love you?” hours later, when she was alone, and physically relaxed and comforted, she tried to think rationally. something had to be done. in helping herself she would also be help- ing mary who should have her freedom from both these men who promised her nothing. perhaps she should move to some part of the village new to both her and philip. truthfully she couldn't conceive of philip staying with her on twelfth street; therefore, how could she expect him to consider such a plan? here, whenever they left the build- ing together, she was nervous about meeting people in the hallway, and he must have intuitively felt that her familiar composure changed when they left the privacy of the apart- ment. if she moved to an entirely different section where she would be a total stranger, she would build up new contacts with neighbors and storekeepers. these people would become acquainted with her as a friend of philip's, and would accept or reject her in that role. under those circumstances it would be much easier than trying to fit him into her present environment. laura and marie and her family would come to see her wherever she lived. if she moved nearby, her grandsons would stop in occasion- ally, and she could still have regular lunches with joan and the small children. the next time she was with him she would broach this subject. pleasure to spending the day working with him. she would not find out if the tell-tale garments of the other woman were still in that bottom drawer: either their absence or their presence would involve her in per- sonalities. she stopped to look at the hedge they had planted. although she was in no way superstitious the thought came to mind, “if only our love could grow so well.” she rang the bell; he came immediately. “hello. how are you?” she preceded him into his sitting room. while he was taking her coat to the closet, she inquisitively glanced around, trying to surmise the extent of their privacy. she held herself aloof from him: she did not approach him. “what's this?” he went to her, literally grabbed both her arms, and demandingly kissed her. he then held her away from him. “what are you up to?” she gave in completely. she couldn't refuse him any- thing, and she did so want to be loved. “i’ve come to work.” “i know, but i'm so glad to see you.” he sat her down on the sofa, holding her closely. she was slow to respond; she was altogether wrapped up in the memories of this room; she could not quickly appreciate being there again. “it's been a long time since i was here. the place seems tidy.” “i try to keep them from using these two rooms. they don't need them. but they do use one of the bedrooms upstairs.” “i thought they would. i'm glad the children don't mess up this nice furniture. i should make covers for these chairs.” they didn't work very long before she said, “i'm afraid we're too tired to do any more.” “and aren't you going to let me thank you?” in this very room, months before, there had not existed the question of thanking her; his demand then had been coupled with the desire to satisfy himself. even though she was deeply relieved when he held her closely, she said, “not this time.” he insisted, but she remained firm in her determination not to slip back easily into the past intimacies connected with this house. however, she had to present some ex- planation. “it just seems different out here.” “are you saying you won't come again?” “no, of course i'll come if you want me to.” “i do want you to. we accomplished so much today.” “let's gather up the material i'm taking.” they put the sheets in a large envelope. she literally dragged her feet down the stairs, realizing fully what she was voluntarily sacrificing. “must you be going so soon? won't you have supper with me?” she didn't trust herself to stay until the evening. “if you'll let me go right afterwards.” he walked with her to the bus, and they waited for it standing close together. she wished he would say some- thing about their next meeting. when she sighted the bus coming around the corner, she could no longer remain quiet; she wanted some comforting prospect to cling to. “you'll be working on your notes and not coming to town this week?” “yes, but i'll be coming in one day. i'll call you. thanks for coming out.” he put twenty-seven cents in her hand, as he helped her on the bus. he walked along the side to say good-bye. her parting smile must have been rather sad, for she felt very disconsolate. she was afraid to dwell on what he might be thinking. did he really know how much she loved him, or would he conclude that she was more unattainable than ever? she had been to his house many times, and had always willingly made love there. she hoped her changed attitude would make him realize she wanted something more definite. confused and disheartened, she had again left herself stranded on a would-be telephone call. marie called to say her friends were not leaving for an- other month. they hadn't yet told their landlord, nor publicized the fact among their friends. they would co- operate with her so she could manage to rent the apartment when they left. “how much rent are they paying?” louise asked. “unbelievably little. it won't amount to much more than you are paying there, as the increase would only be ten or fifteen per cent. renting situations around here have remained quite decent. you haven't said for a long time that you were thinking of moving.” “no, but i'm really serious about it this time. i'll talk to you about it.” “all right. i'll keep this in mind.” the whole week went by without her hearing from him; the suspense was almost unbearable. if he were working on his article, he would be unavoidably reminded of her, but had she endangered the likelihood of his calling her. meanwhile she plugged away at her own writing during her free hours. she almost wished he were still in florida so that the telephone would have no significance. laura always had dinner with her once a week which was a pleasurable break in the regular routine. they sel- dom spoke of philip. her daughter instinctively surmised that louise didn't wish to talk about him. on monday, shortly after she had eaten supper, the tele- phone rang. “oh, it's only one of the children,” she thought. “but it might be he.” “hello, louise, how are you?” “all right—and yourself?” “never felt better. i'm able to work again.” “on your notes?” “yes.” “oh, i'm so glad.” the ardent way she said this must have made him feel her devoted concern. “are you in town?” here she was again dropping back into the old habit of making the approach. “yes, are you free this evening?” “i’m staying here and working. can't you come down?” “i was going to ask if i could. i'll be there in a half-hour. i brought some papers i want to discuss with you.” how could he be so casual about something so utterly important? and he spoke as if it were a daily habit of his. his manner portended nothing of a hazardous nature; she only must coddle such thoughts. would he be loving or would he have assumed that stand-offish attitude she had inculcated into their last meeting? she dressed meticu- lously, changing many times before she finally decided what to wear. lately she had not worried about being older than he; this original problem she had forgotten; it had been disregarded for more important considerations. ecstatically she received his greeting; he showed more affection than she could ever have dreamed of. she could continue to have that joyous feeling of his never wanting to cease holding her. perhaps he was right in his prolonged absences, perhaps he feared bringing their relationship to a saturation point. but along with such ideas would always creep in the memory of his faithfulness to mary. tonight would she speak of her again? he had had weeks to dwell on their previous conversation regarding her. had those words in any way altered his reaction to the situation concerning the three of them? “you look lovely tonight.” “your being here does that to me. it isn't always true.” “that i can't argue. but i do forget when i don't see you. “i don't ask you to forget.” he laughed and took her in his arms again. “you are my sweetness.” but she did not remain long in his embrace; undoubt- edly there would be perfect love making for that evening, but he had given another reason for coming. “you brought along some of your work. would you read it to me?” “you read it to me.” they settled down together on the couch. that wonder- ful feeling of being so close to him both mentally and physically. surely such joy would continue. after two pages she interrupted her reading. “this is very good. you really know your subject mat- ter.” “i should, after all that research.” “and it's comprehensive without being too weighty. you've proved your points statistically, and at the same time have made it easy to read.” “thanks. but i wanted you to criticize it.” “let me read it through first. then we can go over it in detail.” project, 'way up town. their apartment will be vacant in a month, and they're willing to cooperate in every way so that i can rent it.” “that sounds good, but there are always a lot of diffi- culties which come up.” “you know more about it than i do. but do you like the idea?” “i do. i hope it works out.” but there was something on her mind of greater impor- tance than moving. “have you been writing?” “yes, you'll be proud of me. i'm going right along. this article has been hanging around so long that i'd like to finish it and start on something else i've planned.” “what's that?” “with a little more research i can use the same material and write about conditions over the whole country.” “that would be interesting. if you could work from state to state you'd end up having a book. wouldn't that be wonderful!” “it certainly would.” they went upstairs to his study, and she showed him the typewritten pages she had brought. “i hope you won't think i've made too many changes. when you read it aloud it still sounds like you're talking.” “let me read it.” in his eagerness to see it, he nearly snatched it from her hand. she watched him closely; she could tell he was pleased. the changes were not too apparent; they didn't alter the meaning or the style. he would never know how hard she had striven to attain these results. “you've made this read so well. how did you do it?” smiling at him, she shrugged her shoulders, intimating “if you'd stay at my apartment while you're working during the week.” she drew away from him, raised herself enough to lean on her elbow, and steadfastly gazed down at him. “yes, i would.” she kissed him fervently, sincerely be- lieving him. “and you'd help me fix up the new apartment?” “sure, i’d like to.” “i must get ready to leave.” “stay a little longer.” “someone might be coming upstairs, and i left all my clothes in the bathroom.” while he was dressing, she dreamily murmured as if she were talking to herself, “what plans we were making.” he came over and sat on the edge of the bed, and began toying with her hand. she could tell from the look on his face that he was attempting something momentous. never- theless, she could hardly believe he uttered the words, “weren't we planning to get married?” “were we?” “i was.” he raised her up and held her against him and she asked, “could we go down to your sisters in wilmington?” “would you do that?” “i’d always planned for us to do it that way.” in iii. b e e e. e. f. Łibrary university of california davis | --------------------- - ------ .- - - - == ----- ، ،~~~~） --- - - ~~~~ ~ ~ ~ ！, -- --- _ ·*aeaeae - under the cottonwood the cottonwood a saga of negro life in which the history, traditions and folklore of the negro of the last century are vividly portrayed. by katheryn campbell graham sº { ) & º º § under § wendell malliet and company publishers - • new york * . . . . a ry jn.vfr. ty of califorma }}* vis under the cottonwood copyright, , by katheryn campbell graham all rights reserved. no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the pub- lishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine or newspaper. f i r s t e d i t i o n printed by theo. gaus' sons, inc., new york, n. y. dedicated to my darling daughter benzell [hapter i * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * v- a vava wºº va vava vava wavº • * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * when notified that the president of the united states had signed the emancipation proclamation, jake stearns, a slave for twenty-five years, was washing woolen socks for a battalion of confederate soldiers. since the feet were as stiff as boards, he had made a red- hot fire under a big black iron wash kettle and dumped the socks into boiling water, seasoned with strong lye soap. with a big wooden paddle, he stirred and stirred the contents until they disintegrated into small clumpy masses. when he saw this his short stocky frame shook violently and greasy sweat hurried down his round brown face, for he knew or imagined the consequences. just in time to relieve this unpardonable situation, a tall man with a sallow bearded face galloped up on a swift steed. with excitement in both his voice and eyes, he jumped from his saddle, waved both hands frantically over his small shaggy head and shouted, “all you blacks is free; we jes' got the news. don't know what'll happen. we ain't got orders frum headquarters yit.” no sooner said than he swung himself back into the saddle, kicked the brindle steed furiously in the flanks and sped away to the next crowded camp. stunned by the sudden news, the score or more of black men that were cooking dried beans and corn bread, for fear of criticism, exchanged only furtive glances at odd moments. many things ran through their puzzled minds, but before they were able to express their approbation, uncle neb, the oldest one among them, said advisedly, “boys, be kerful; you ain't free yit. don't make no sho'. jes' let you' hearts jump; you be ca'm. we's been prayin' fuh dis thing fuh yers and it's hyer. free, free, thank god o'mighty, free at last.” by this time, jake, with his old hat under his arm, stood in the crowd, panting. he had scrambled up the steep incline, for he had seen the messenger and heard the news. every muscle in his round face punched out and every tooth in his head was visible. before the others were conscious of his presence he yelled, “so ah’m uh man.” these words thun- dered in their ears and the neighboring woods sent them rush- ing back to him. “abe lincoln said so an’ it must be true. with an ol' fiddle an' two dollars in mah jeans, ah’m free.” very little dinner was eaten that day. soldiers with worried looks on their already tired faces gathered in small groups and spoke reluctantly in low muffled tones. the black men moved nervously around. the only audible sound was the dishes that now and then fell from their unsteady fingers. being in such a confused state of mind the submissive slaves washed some of the dishes several times. at five o'clock a big husky fellow thrust his head in at the kitchen door; it was the captain. every nerve in their bodies tightened. the rigid frown on his face caused them many apprehensions. he stood with his right forearm resting on his round hip and his fingers flitting at his back. with a deep bass voice he gave this injunction, “boys, we're leaving to- night. have all baggage packed and ready to move by nine.” “yas suh ! cap'n,” they answered in chorus. the restless blacks snatched and grabbed the well worn baggage and pushed it into old army boxes. a foot often assisted in mashing the contents into corners. by a quarter of nine, all wagons were loaded and tense drivers sat in their seats. no moon came out to guide them. the mules and horses pulled long and hard before reaching the main road. the squeaky old wagons, aided by the sound of pounding hoofs, grew monotonous, and by midnight every man and animal longed for rest. it was a warm night for that time of year; the earth was as dry as powder. some of the boys threw blankets on the hard ground and rolled up in them. uncle neb and jake found a little mound fit for a bolster and rolled up together. they needed no one to lull them to sleep. their heavy eyelids soon closed and they were at peace with the world; but the mules and horses, tied to near-by trees, snorted and stamped, making so much noise that uncle neb, harried by uncertainties, got up. looking in the direction that the light was peering, he couldn't belive his eyes. they had camped in an old grave-yard. in his fright, he grabbed jake by both shoulders and stood him on his feet. “jake, wake up, boy; dese hosses and mules is been seein’ ghoses all night. ah knowed sump'n wuz wrong wid 'em. look, boy, we'se in a graveyard. hosses sees ghoses, jes' lak dey sees duh win’.” this confusion awoke those sleeping on the ground; seeing was believing. while the teams were being harnessed, the groggy soldiers climbed into the big smelly wagons to finish their naps, and as the yellow sun crawled lazily behind the distant azured hills, the long procession moved on silently. they travelled for several days before jake or any of the cooks heard more news. they worked as if nothing had happened, but silent prayers were being sent up to their maker. a courier finally overtook them and delivered the vital message. it was hard for jake to think of separating from his master jim. when a lad of thirteen years, he had been given to him as a christmas present. jim had always been kind to him, yet the urge to be a man of his own mind had constantly haunted him. he wanted a wife and family and to be able to go to his own house at night, as he'd seen free men do. after supper, he sat on an old tin lard can turned upside down, waiting for his master. he'd never been free but he knew he could work and take care of a family; he'd taken care of master jim and his horses a long time. some of the slaves threw brushwood on the bonfire, and through the flame jake saw several men coming toward him. one he recognized as his master jim. he was a handsome silvery blond, raw-boned, nearly six feet tall and wore his cap low, just over his eyes; so he had to raise his head a little in order to see well. “where's jake?,” he inquired of the first slaves he en- countered. “hyer ah is moster jim.” jake rose and met him. “you’re all through with your work?” “yas suh, ah is.” “you’ve heard the news, i'm sure. this seems to be our parting. you've been with me for years. i'm not going home, but i've made arrangements for you to go.” jake had been staring at the ground all this time, but when master jim said he wasn't going home, jake quickly raised his eyes; these words seemed to stab him. “whut you go do, moster jim? yo' pappy will be lookin' fuh you.” “yes, jake, but my friend here and i are going to travel about for a few weeks. i don't know where.” “ah know, moster jim,” came the quick reply, “but you cain't go 'bout dat way. duh yankees is uvry whurs; dey still kin git yuh. ah don't want tuh go home 'thout you. whut will ah tell yo' pappy?” jake said pleadingly. “he’s spectin' me tuh bring you back.” master jim had to smile, but as he spoke he patted jake. “don’t take it so hard, jake; i'll soon be there and you can take care of me as you always have, and i'll pay you. there's a bunch of soldiers going your way early in the morning. i've arranged for them to carry you to nashville. that's ten miles of home; you can walk the rest of the way. you've served me well, i only wish i had something to give you,” master jim said somewhat pathetically. jake didn't want his master to have a feeling of remorse. he knew he had a kind master and that counted with him more than gold. the few times master jim and jake had discussed freedom, master jim had expressed a desire to have something to give his most faithful and grateful servant when the time came, as he believed it surely would. master jim fixed his eyes on the ground and held his unshaven bearded chin between his thumb and forefinger. jake knew he was worried and tried hard to console him. whenever he tried hard enough, he'd always been able to convince his master; but this time his most prized arguments seemed to fall short. the truth about the whole thing was that neither was prepared for the parting. “dat's all right; don't you worry 'bout dat. you'se nuver raised yo' han' tuh hit me one time, an' god will bless you. very few kin say 'bout dey moster whut ah kin. when you come home, ah'll be dah an' will kere fuh you.” “good bye, jake. get your things together.” “good bye, moster jim. ah’ll sho' miss you.” “we'll miss each other; look for me in a month or two.” master jim walked away. his slender straight form soon faded in the heavy darkness; but jake, his faithful servant, nervously separated their belongings and stuffed his into an old knapsack, then stretched out on his pallet and dreamed of the many happy days he and his master had spent together driving through the country or visiting neighboring towns to enjoy the courtesy of friends and strangers. during the long journey home with the discharged soldiers, he never spoke unless spoken to; his thoughts were wandering like a fleecy morning cloud. when jake stearns stepped in the back door of his mother's cabin, it was the beginning of an early spring. in the green fields that extended for miles, he saw hundreds of slaves chopping cotton and each head was keeping time with the hoe as it danced in a rhythmic swing between the stalks. new life was in evidence; the barns had been whitewashed, the flowers and trees were re-robing, the birds and chickens were singing noisily to their broods, and the new frisky colts and calves were exhibiting shiny colorful coats. as he sat in a profitless frame of mind, gazing at and admiring the many changes on the old farm, the brass dinner bell, hanging high between two oak poles, rang. immediately the big field seemed to be moving forward. the swarming throng ran to the ends of their unfinished rows, dropped the hoes, and made for their dingy cabins, from which the odor of cabbage, turnip-greens and cornbread was exuding. at the sight of his mother and brothers, jake stepped in the doorway with both hands bracing the narrow frame that held an old plank door and shouted, “dair's uh man in duh house.” tossing their heads a little to the back and then to the side, they caught every word; instantly their bare feet were slapping the hard earth faster. “it's jake, it's brother jake,” cried out zeke almost breathless. “mammy, he's come, our oldest brother is come frum war.” with blubbered faces they sat, prisoners of hope, listening to the horrible description of the paralyzing fear of war. with inexpressive countenances, they stared into space. “yas, ah’m hyer. ah’m duh man in dis cabin. abe lincoln said so, an' it sho' is true. moster jim turnt me loose an' tole me good bye; he went travellin' wid uh fren', but will come home in uh munt uh two. some say he's goin' tuh git married, but ah got mah doubts. it wuz hard fuh me tuh leave moster jim, he's been so good tuh me. i'se drew his fine hosses frum town tuh town uh long time.” jake took the old fiddle from the wall, eyed it as he put it gently in his lap, and continued, “i’se played dis ole fiddle at meny uh dance an' he give me duh money, an’ mammy, ah brung hit nearly all tuh you. i'se free but ah'll allus take kere uv moster jim. ah got mah free papers; all duh work ah do now ah gits pay fuh it, yas indeed.” as a result of this unexpected situation, fear gripped the poor negroes. they had talked of freedom as long as they could remember talking about anything, but now it was a bigger word than they could comprehend. what was its real meaning? how would the slave owners interpret it? with her eyes fastened on “the pride of the family,” aunt mamie wiped her wet face on the corner of her old blue cotton apron. “son, mah chile, is we free? we ain't heerd nothin' 'bout it, but ef you sez so, ah knows we is, fuh you'se allus been uh truf-ful boy; ah knowed dis wuz comin' by my feelin's but ah couldn't tell when. where's we goin' at?” “jes be ca'm, mammy; dey all knows it but dey's jes goin' tuh make yawl work 'til dey have tuh let you go. we kin hire ourselfs tuh mr. stearns. you jes worry 'bout gittin' loose frum dese white fo'ks. dat's uh big uhnuf job.” whispered conversations were prevalent in every cabin. struggling hearts beat with another rhythm. slave owners were cognizant that the news had spread over every planta- tion, because the returned blacks had frequent opportunities to remind them. spring passed and nothing eventful happened; summer was in full sway when strained anxiety and bored patience were relieved by the long expected news. si stearns, master of the plantation was a tall lanky man, six feet; his forehead was as a rigid as a rub-board and the splenetic frown that was stamped on his face caused every- one a little uneasiness. he was never peremptorily sure him- self of his next move. with a quick step, a nervous and dis- dainful air, he entered each cabin and in a few well selected words, delivered reluctantly the pressing message. he had decided himself to move his family to texas, and as he'd always found happy coöperative faces in aunt mamie's cabin, he asked them to go with him. to this request they con- sented gratefully. this was a triumphant hour for the slaves. at first they were filled with ecstasy and bewilderment, but when they revived sufficiently, they cried, prayed, shouted, and gave thanks to their maker for weeks. throughout the entire south, four million started on their perilous journey, homeless and without a cent, yet happy and always showing patience, a virtue that is characteristic of the negro. some of si stearn's slaves hired themselves to him, but most of them left. some hired to other planters, some camped in empty barns and others, being excited, took to the woods, not knowing where they were going or what to do. for weeks the woods were full of the homeless creatures that had gathered from near-by plantations. some had only a little clothing and food that was given them by their masters. the timid ones had nothing; but a few who were thoughtful took whatever necessities they managed to escape with. they didn't consider it stealing but simply taking a few things that they'd help to earn. in several places the woods caught on fire and caused many of them, as well as people living near, to fear for their safety. it was may of the next year when the caravan started for the lone star state. heavy rains had washed out most of the dirt roads and this made the journey long and strenuous. the agony of labor stole many pounds from both men and animals. after reaching texas, it took a month or more to find a good location. land was a bit higher than they had ex- pected it to be, either for renting or buying; however, si stearns bought a plantation of two hundred acres. their crops were successful and the seasons began to slip by. the third year of their freedom found zeke married; their only sister, chloe ann, engaged; tim big enough for a good field hand; and jake had saved a little money and was desperately in love. their nearest neighbors, the carters, had always lived in texas. old luke carter had taken a beautiful slave girl for a wife and had reared a large industrious family, three boys and six beautiful girls, of the creole type. he was ever mind- ful of these girls; many nights he sat up with a shotgun across his lap to protect them. he owned a large plantation, but worked only enough of it to keep his family living comfort- ably. sunday afternoons, jake was seen wearing his best and calling on nancy, cream of the bunch, as he styled her. on his return one night he wanted to discuss the subject of marriage with his mother, but he got cold feet, and it was put off for weeks. one day, as she was sputtering round in the back yard stirring lye hominy in the family wash pot, gather- ing up eggs and whatnot, he thought this an opportune time. sidling up to her with both hands in his front pockets and spasmodically jerking up his trousers, he mumbled; “mammy, i’se worked hard, saved uh little money and now i'se thinkin' 'bout axin' nancy tuh marry me. you knows moster jim learnt me how tuh read some. ah knows ah kin take kere uv uh wife. you kin live wid sister; ah'll help you; dat is, ef nancy haves me. ah'll nuver fergit you, mammy; ah nuver have. ole man trimble is divided some land up an' is sellin' it to us cullord folks. ah'd lak mighty well tuh have some uv it.” with a broad smile stealing over her plump face, aunt mamie nodded in approval. “yas son, i'se willin'. you is been uh good chile an' you'se plenty ole. nancy is ez purty ez uh speckled pup and ah'd lak mighty well tuh be her mammy too. don't be shame; all gals wants tuh marry an' nancy cain't find uh smarter husban'.” she stood akimbo, tossed her head to one side then quickly to the other, showed her pearly teeth as she continued, “you ain't bad lookin' yo-sef; you'se lak yo' mammy.” jake, dis- playing his ivories in response said, “thanks, mammy, ah'm glad you'se pleased.” light-hearted, he swaggered down the ashford road to see old man trimble. he felt he'd stand a better chance with nancy if he were buying land. he found the old man branding cattle. twisting his old hat almost in half and dig- ging a hole in the ground with the toe of his right boot, jake eyed the old man and said cautiously, “mister trimble, ah hyers you'se sellin' lan' an' ah'd lak tuh git sum frum you. i'se saved uh little money.” the old man rubbed his eyes in amazement when he saw the young negro standing before him. he spat ambier through his teeth several times before answering. “why-er yes, boy, and i hear you and yo' mammy is got some good lookin' corn. i'd ruther have it than money, mine's go be short. how much land do you want?” “ah'd lak mighty well, sur, tuh have uh half block on duh street you named after yo-sef an' on duh north side uv dat street, so's duh north win’ won't blow in mah front do'. ah kin cut mah kitchen do' in duh west side. how much money will dat be, mister trimble?” he cleared his throat huskily, squinted one eye and slowly growled, “well, a half block's wurth, let me see, 'bout one hundred seventy-five dollars, that's right.” he paused to see how jake would take it and branded another calf. this was very high, especially when land was selling in some parts for fifty dollars an acre. jake hardly knew what to do; but at that, it was the most desirable land offered at that time to colored folks for residence. “well, boy, that land is cleared off and it's rich ground. you can't git no better ground here. how much money you got?” “ah got twenty-five dollars fuh you now; when we gether duh crop, ah'll have mo', cain't say how much,” drawled jake. “i’ll take that and you pay as much as you kin in corn. when you pay all of it, i'll give you the deed. that's a good start, boy.” he scribbled a few words on a dirty piece of paper he found in his pocket, and handed it to jake. “here's your receipt.” “thanks, thanks, mr. trimble; ah’ll see you dis fall. kin ah plant winter greens on it?” “yes, jake, i'll have it staked off by the last of next week. i'll sell you them green seeds too.” happy-hearted again, jake put both hands in his pockets and whistled all the way down to the bottom where a dozen or more men were making sorghum and selling it for two-bits a gallon. in the fall the greens were planted and in a short time they were half a hand high and the whole place looked like an emerald velvet carpet. “mammy, nancy's goin' down tuh see mah green patch. hope she'll lak it.” “son, ah speks she's seed it already, but anyhow you take her. she'll think you'se uh smart boy an' you is. jes' be yosef, she ain't had no beau like you. no use 'pologizin', go long an' ax her whut you wants too. she might make you wait uh day ur so, but she'll say yas; ah’ll bet my boots tuh dat.” as the anxious lover entered nancy's gate that afternoon, the dogs in the cow lot wagged their tails and began their usual howling and barking to announce the coming of a visitor and when jake stepped on the porch, the front door slowly opened to welcome him. nancy was dressed, her black hair brushed back as sleek as a peeled onion and her calico dress stiff enough almost to stand alone. their two mile walk ended at jake's gap. “jake, dis is duh bes' green patch in town. i'se seed 'um all. you'll make lots o' nickels an' dimes, an' you know dey counts up. did you say you'se buyin' dis groun' tuh build uh house on?” jake gave himself a little twist and a broad smile that lighted his countenance stole across his face. he looked at the ground and answered slowly but convincingly. “yas, nancy, ah is. you see, ah give mr. trimble some money, an’ late dis fall ah’ll give him some mo', an' some cawn too. it won't take long tuh pay fuh it.” satisfied that he had made a hit, he thought it best to change the subject as quickly as possible. “we kin go frum hyer down to duh big sto', nancy. ah wuz dair yistiddy. they's got lots o' good sweets.” jake was never happier in his life. after taking nancy home that evening, he went to his cot and dreamed till morning. the family got up at four o'clock; chloe-ann was having her quilting party. the hog hocks and greens had to be boiled and corn pones made. the ginger bread, sweet potato- pudding and fried pies had been made the day before. the men were to do the barbecuing and chop the winter wood while the women quilted. by seven o'clock, the cow lot was filled with wagons, buggies, and hacks of all descriptions, and the pasture full of stock. there was plenty rope for the children to make swings and jump-ropes. the women sang all the songs they knew as they worked; jennie, having a high soprano voice, led them. the men talked of good times ahead as they slapped the hot sauce on the delicious barbecue. in the early afternoon, the feast was spread. wooden horses with long boards laid on them served as tables. they ate until they were full up to the neck; even the dogs, cracking the tasty bones, wagged their tails in appreciation. jake and nancy put their dinner in large tin plates and sauntered down to the creek. jake hadn't eaten since early morning but he wasn't hungry. he was trying hard to think of suitable words to ask nancy to be his wife. nancy had noticed that he was a little nervous and sensed his predicament. they sat under the tall oak, looked into the clear cool water and minced with the food. jake looked far into space and felt for nancy's hand. he played with it idly as words stumbled from his lips. “nancy, you listenin'? uh-uh-you know, we's been sweet- hearts long uhnuf fuh us tuh know dat we loves one uh- nudder. ah wants you fuh mah wife. ah kin take good kere uv you. ah’m buyin' lan' an’ tryin' tuh be somebody.” nancy blushed and her voice was husky as she tried to answer. “ah hopes we kin git uhlong bein’ man an' wife ez well ez we did bein’ sweethearts.” a pair of mating robins flew near them and jake took nancy into his arms and covered her pretty face with kisses. at the close of the day, a dozen quilts and six heavy comforters that were made from discarded coats, pants and woolen dresses were finished; and too, the wood was stacked high. many of the young folks married that fall. these new families with a brighter future than their ancestors' promised to be worthy citizens and help in the making of a great nation. as this was a prosperous year, many families were able to make a down payment on a little spot of ground or buy some sort of an old nag and a wagon. on his way one day to take another load of corn and to make a payment on his place, jake saw coming toward him a man riding a white mule that seemed to have springs in his sway-back. the man bounced up and down like a jumping- jack and was hitting the mule, first on one side then on the other, with rope lines. the sun being in his face, it was impossible for him to identify the rider until he was in speaking distance. “hello, jake, that's good corn. sell me that load, will you?” “oh, it's you, mr. sims. ah guess it's all duh same. ah tuk mr. trimble fo' loads. he jes as soon have duh money, ah reckon.” “yes, yes, turn round and empty up in my barn. jes' been to the gin. cotton is up three points and we'll git good money. i'se saved mine back for several weeks. i knowed it would rise.” that afternoon when jake went for mr. trimble to balance his little book, he found the old man fuming. news in penhook travelled fast. someone had seen him emptying corn in mr. sim's barn and had wasted no time in informing mr. trimble. the mean-spirited crank looked at jake like a savage bull. his evil mind, ever pregnant with cowardly ideas, took little time to mete out jake's punishment. “so you let that rotten cuss have my corn, did you?” snorted the old man. “i told you i wanted corn; not money. old sims is my worst enemy. now, i'm going to cut a triangle piece off the south side of your lot, and the point is to be on trimble street. i'll spoil your only corner; you'll learn after this to stick to your trade.” thus his irritation being vented, he put the money jake had given him into his pocket, made a few figures in the book, and strode off. jake went home broken-hearted, but didn't tell his mother. “for lor's sakes, who is dis? come hyer, jake; hyer is yo’ moster jim an' he's lookin' good too,” said aunt mamie as she stood akimbo in the doorway. jake was seated comfortably at the little kitchen table, eating his favorite dish of turnip greens, corn-meal dumplings, and hog jowl; but when his mother said, “moster jim,” he lost his appetite. “why, moster jim, whut uh purty span uv hosses, an' you drew 'em all by yo-sef.” “yes, jake, i had to learn to drive. i came for you to drive me to dallas. we won't be gone long.” “yas, sur, hit seems natchul tuh drive you roun’. when you goin’?” “in the morning.” “ah'll be ready, moster jim; ah feels lak travellin' mah-self. mammy, git mah shirts ready.” as usual, master jim had no special mission, but being as restless as a healthy cub, the urge to wander struck him and he had to obey. the morning sun caught them ten miles from penhook. “jake, we'll stop for dinner at lewis miles' farm; he's got some pretty girls. i like to talk with miss emily.” “yas, moster jim; she is uh purty gurl. ah'd love tuh see you marry her. you need uh wife an' some chillun tuh take kere uv you. ah worries 'bout you,” answered jake as he jerked the lines nervously. “well, i'm a rover and it seems i can't be satisfied to do anything else. when i'm teaching school i can hardly wait for the last day. guess i'll always be like this,” said master jim as he stared idly in the neighboring woods. jake stretched his eyes and answered quickly, “not ef you make up yo' min'. you'se uh smart man an' alluz wuz, but you got tuh make up yo' min' an' stick to it. i'se been tellin' you dis all duh time. after a three weeks uneventful trip, jake and master jim returned for the winter. ehapter ii * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * m r. stearns hired jake to haul his winter wood from pine creek bottom. it was a long way and hard pulling for four oxen, but having a sympathetic and understanding driver, mr. stearns felt they could make it. when jake put the last quarter of a cord on the long wagon, he gave a sigh of relief. the oxen also seemed to understand. it had been raining and the red clay hill a mile away was slippery. jake knew this and intended to be careful, but just before reaching there, he fell asleep. he always rode old ned, the left rear oxen, because he thought him sure- footed; but as they began their climb, ned stumbled over a rock and jake fell under the front wheel of the wagon; his right collar bone was broken. mr. stearns got the best doctor in town to attend jake, but the best one knew very little about fractures. jake was unable to work for a year; but the following fall, he began building his two-room house and finished it in time to move his bride in for her christmas baking. cookies, gingerbread, and fried pies were stacked high on the kitchen shelves. this was the most enjoyable christmas since freedom. in every house it was evident that the “horn of plenty” had descended. at four o'clock christmas morning, the little community had awakened; by five, heavy raps on doors or the cheerful shouting, “christmas give,” was heard outside. it is a southern custom that if anyone catches your “christmas give” before you catch his, you must respond with a gift of some sort; so everyone keeps on the lookout. at the baptist church on christmas eve night, presents for the children were hung on the tall cedar tree, and a big turkey dinner with all the trimmings was served christmas day to its members. elder bivens, a heavy set dark man with a magnanimous soul, was pastor of the flock. since he could read and write, he taught his congregation bible verses that helped them to live in the fear of the lord. his little church was crowded every sunday morning and night, and the people contributed freely; many tithed. you could always hear good singing at his church and whenever the spirit moved them the congregation shouted to their heart's content. a race that knew scarcely anything but sorrow, on hearing appealing scriptures and beautiful songs that touched on their past experiences or spoke of a brighter future for them, would naturally be moved to tears. many people fail to understand this and enjoy making fun of their worship. for a number of years at odd times, jake had served as an apprentice under john travis, who owned the largest saddle-tree shop in the county. as his family had increased, jake felt he should spend his leisure profitably, so he built a little store on the southwest corner of his lot and began making saddle-trees. his trade grew more rapidly than he had expected, and three years went by before he returned to the farm. he had helped to supply nearly every farmer in the county with a good saddle. he also bought a supply of shoe repairing tools, and in one corner of his shop he mended shoes during the winter season. on saturdays, housewives sent their butcher knives for him to sharpen on the big grindstone. little sam, his oldest child, was large enough to pour the water while his father turned the heavy stone and held the blades tightly against it until the edges were shiny and sharp. jake bought a good span of mules and rented the old curtis farm; chester, abe, and his wife, lizzie, moved into the only log cabin on the place, and helped him. lizzie planted watermelon seeds between the young stalks of cotton and corn and watched them diligently. she knew just what it meant to find a sweet, cool melon smiling under the thick vines at harvest time. when their crop was laid by, they began chopping out a field of cotton for mr. stearns about a mile and a half from town. nancy carried them hot boiled dinner. one day near noon, they were attracted by the sound of pounding hoofs; at a distance they could see a figure leaning forward on a fast running pony. they knew it was nancy; jake threw down his hoe and ran to meet her. he heard a piercing howl. this told him that she was being chased by a hungry panther. he grabbed his shotgun as he passed the wagon and, when they neared him, he fired into the foaming mouth of the beast that was ready to spring on the back of the pony. children now seemed to come almost as fast as the years. nancy was expecting a new baby within a few months. this incident proved exciting. when her breathing became normal, she mumbled, “he’s followed me fuh two uh more miles; mah pony almost give out, but ah kept talkin' to 'im.” jake made a pallet for her under the wagon in the shade and left lizzie to see after her while the men went back to the field. jake's crop got a good stand before the hot weather set in; it was waist high and full of squares by the middle of august and the second week of september they began their picking. the white and green patch with human heads bobbing up and down seemed much alive. the singing of cotton pickers in the broad fields was strikingly impressive. as the crew worked, they kept time to their singing by a slight nod of the head, sway of the body, and with their fingers as they nimbly pinched the white locks from the pointed boles; but abe's loud clear voice could be heard above them all as it floated like a white cloud through the crystal air. the waves and stops he made in singing “o lord, what a mornin’” gave the birds in the neighboring woods a challenge. saturday at noon, when the first week's picking was over, jake and abe took two long wagons full of cotton to hancock's gin. tony, the chunky little gin hand, jumped into jake's wagon, unhooked the big black pipe and with it sucked all the cotton out of the wagon. he then put the pipe into abe's wagon and the same process followed. monday morning jake took two bales of cotton to the square located in the center of the business district where cotton samplers and buyers make quick work of it. he knew what each field hand would receive and the amount mr. curtis expected, so out of his first money there was a little left to be put in mr. joe's bank. that fall, jake sold six bales of cotton and two hundred bushels of corn. with all of his debts paid and a larger bank account than he had ever possessed, his most sanguine hopes had been realized. like a grizzly, he turned in for winter. since success had smiled on many negro share- croppers, it was easy for them to borrow money. each year more ventured in farming. several little grocery stores and three or four barber-shops were opened. the freedmen began to feel that they too were destined for a great future. saturdays the little barber-shops were full of customers getting ready for sunday. the town's gossip was well washed out there. aunt mamie, jake's mother, quit field work and spent all of her time as mid-wife. she had little or no competition because the few white doctors in the community didn't care to be bothered with delivering negro babies. she was also an expert root-doctor for such things as cholic, cholera-morbus, fever, and children's diseases. the little town welcomed many homeseekers that fall. the good news of fertile soil, and favorable climate had been heralded in several states and the newcomers tried to get settled before the winter set in. jake and old man si stearns were curing meat in the huge smokehouse when alice, mr. stearns' niece, called from the door. “uncle si, a messenger's here who says he was sent by mr. hal smith to see father.” mr. smith and her father were friends but they differed on secession, mr. smith being in favor of the union. “i wish you'd come over and hear what he has to say.” “yes, alice, i'll come.” the two cut across the cornfield with alice and walked into the back door in time to hear it all. the messenger was speaking excitedly. “mr. gordon, mr. hal smith has learned from military authorities the names of men who have been active in defending the state against secret enemies living in communities nearby, namely, the “bushwhackers” and your name is among the number. i was sent with instructions to flowers were loaded with blooms, the crops were good and the whole place seemed enchanted; but this was too good to last. trouble began brewing again and george gordon's friends sent a messenger from penhook to tell him that it was unsafe for him to remain in texas. his darkest hour was at hand he thought; truly this was his gethsemane. trusting that his brother-in-law, si stearns, and friends could stay the apparent danger and provide the safety he so much needed and desired, he hid in a dense forest west of dallas for eight long weeks; this period seemed years to him. all of this time he was alone except when some friends secretly carried him food. this could not be done by members of his family for they knew they were being watched, so two of his friends performed that service. had he not maintained his faith in god, he would have become a raving maniac. george gordon's children often visited the two friends who lived near this forest and when the servants were well out of sight they strolled down the road and slipped into the woods where they usually found their father sitting on a stump reading the bible. with only a canopy for a shelter, this once robust man, at the sight of his children, would fall on his knees in supplication to his maker. their hearts were so rent upon parting, the children would wish that they hadn't come. following one of those visits from his children, gordon decided he could no longer live in this way, so one dark night he left again. shortly after he left, a garrison of federal soldiers were stationed in dallas. many men for slight offenses were thrown into prison until they were able to pay what the officers demanded. si stearns took jake and serveral other field hands to his brother-in-law's farm and remained until it was in good shape. the gordon children decided to rent the farm as it proved too much of a task for them. jake was glad when the work was over because his family was large and he was much needed at home. his children were stair-steps but sam, jim, oscar and lena were large enough for good field hands; the smaller ones were left home. chapter iii * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * “p appy, pappy, sister's done cut my belly,” said a whiny little voice on the outside. jake found little saul at the back door of his shop, holding up his apron and pointing to his round brown “tummy” that had a few scratches on it. “where's yo' sister?” “pappy, i didn't, i didn't do it; he done it his-sef 'cause i wouldn't give him my black-eyed peas,” said lena as she came running out of the house. “come, saul, pappy'll put sump'n on it. lena, you run, honey; git yo' basket an' pick up dese eggs layin' over dis yard. dese lazy hens won't go to duh nests in hot weather.” “yes pappy, but mama wants you. sam is having trouble with his pony,” said lena as she jumped up and down. nancy was in the kitchen cooking dinner and mumbling to herself. “whut's wrong, mama?” jake asked as he slowly walked in the door. she shook her forefinger violently as she rattled off, “ah tol’ you not tuh buy dat wile pony frum bill scales. uh hoss- trader is no man tuh buy uh good hoss frum. dey's hyer tuhday an' gone tuhmorrer. sam's pony is got duh botts an' whilse he went tuh duh sto' fuh uh nickel's wurth uv lard duh wile thing run off. he's gone lookin' fuh 'im; po’ little feller.” “hol' you' hosses, miss nancy, dat pony cain't git fuh. after ah feeds mah mules, ah’ll go look. mah cawn's low. ah gotta go to duh country an' buy up some. well, hyer's sam wid his pony. whut you cryin' fuh, son? tie him up an' come in.” sam had them close all doors and windows before he'd talk. he showed more excitement than they'd ever seen in him before. he whispered, but eyed the doors and windows suspiciously. “pappy, ole man simmons wuz goin' up red hill in his buckboard buggy and my pony run so hard and fast up the hill by him that it scared his hoss and it runned away and turned the buggy over. i don't know if it kilt the ol' man or not.” this gave nancy more reason to reprimand jake for buying the sick pony. “yes, ah guess dese white foks will kill mah whole family,” groaned nancy. “ah! you worry too much, mamma. sam, who saw him fall p” “noboby, pappy; i kept runnin' after my pony. i didn't stop to see how bad he wuz hurt; i wuz too scared.” “well, you jes keep still. ef nobody seen you, ah know he didn't; he wuz too busy fallin'. ah'll go up town an' see whut ah kin hyer.” jake threw a rope over his mule's head and rode off. he purposely went by old man simmon's house and happened to see aunt mag coming out of the big side-gate. anxious to tell the news she hailed him. “jake, did you hyer 'bout ole man simmons gittin' hurt?” asked aunt mag in a loud whisper. “naw ant mag. when?” “'bout uh hour uhgo, ah recken. he will drive uh frisky hoss, tryin' tuh act lak he's young an' duh fool thing run off, turnt dey buck-board buggy over on him an' broke some ribs. he's in duh horspital.” “dat's too bad. who seed him fall?” “nobody, it happened his son wuz comin' home an' fount him rollin' in duh dirt. he jes won't be his age. now, ah got tuh come back an’ milk dese cows, he allus done dat.” aunt mag threw the small hoop over two palings to fasten the big gate. this was all jake wanted to hear. he rode a few blocks farther and turned for home. the bright pleasant summer, with picnics and barbecues, did not last long enough. jake kept busy, especially on saturdays, selling stove-wood; the wood-yards would not sell less than four-bits' worth, but he sold from two-bits' worth up. nancy's elberta peach tree was late-bearing, but the peaches were unusually large. she called her young sons, jim and oscar, to gather them. both were eager to climb the tree, but oscar, being more agile, ran faster and was up in the tree shaking it when jim ran up. quickly the tree was stripped except for one large rosy peach far out on a small branch that extended over a paling- fence. no amount of shaking or throwing would move it. oscar became impatient and ventured out a little too far on the limb. it broke and he fell in a whirl, snagging his throat on one of the sharp palings of the fence as he hurled to the ground. jim ran for help. when jake reached the boy, he was unconscious. dr. haymond, the oldest white doctor in town, was immediately summoned. “jake, i've never seen or heard of such an ugly snag in anybody's throat. this boy is dying. get me some cold water, he's 'bout bled to death anyway. all you darkies will have sharp paling fences, they're dangerous; some morning you'll find a colt or calf hanging up on them. get me some more water, i've about stopped the blood. look here, this boy's got his eyes open, looking at me. hello, boy. can you talk?—no,-he's injured his vocal chord. he's sure looking, don't quite understand what's happened. don't let people crowd the house or make him talk. i'll be back the first thing in the morning. if he frets, give him these tablets.” “yes, dr. haymon', yo’ orders will be carried out, sur. do you think he'll git well?” “frankly, jake, no. but i can't tell how things will turn out. i'll do my best.” little oscar grew pale and thin. sinking spells that almost sapped his life out occurred frequently, and for months there was a battle for existance. dr. haymond wasn't much of a doctor; one could see that he was guessing what next to do. oscar was a brave little snipe and passed through the ordeal uncomplainingly. dr. haymond himself said that providence was taking care of him; it was the little fellow's perseverance and determination to win that saved him. after months of suffering, new life crept back and he slowly regained his strength. his high pitched voice was gone; he spoke strainingly in a loud harsh whisper that grated on ones nerves. he could whistle. a succession of quick brilliant chirps was his signal of distress; a long loud whip notified them that he was near or had heard them calling him. barefoot time was welcomed. the old swimming pool, picnics, and barbecues offered many temptations. the stearns had as big a time that summer as the last. jake bought a hack and they went about more than ever, to help their little son gain strength. late one night, heavy, deafening raps on the front door awakened nancy. she shook jake vigorously. “jake, jake, somebody's knockin'; wake up.” he gave a lengthening stretch, turned over, and then called, “who's it? whut you want dis time o' night?” a miserable victim of anxiety and fear answered, “it's me, it's zeke, brother jake. annie is having labor pains an' she wants nancy to come hep ant zilphy. she's mighty sick dis time; ah sont dr. moore on. ant zilphy is uh little scared somehow.” jake and nancy's feet struck the floor almost at the same time. “yas,” they both answered. “we'll go. come in til we gits dressed. jake kin set in duh kitchen wid you an’ keep duh fiah hot an' water boilin,” said nancy. extremely distressed, zeke sat with his right fist under his jaw, holding up the weight of a heavy head. “ah sho don't need dis baby. ah got fo' an' cain't hardly feed 'um. wurk's scace an' ah ain't been doin' much lately.” “zeke, don't cumplain; duh lord will hep you feed 'um somehow. you see how he heps me. come on, we's ready.” before they reached the gate, they heard annie's agonizing groans. “zeke, dat you?” came a shaky voice from within. “yes, ant zilphy; jake an' nancy is wid me.” “shet up so much foolish talk an' come in hyer. don't you yit realize dat yo' wife is in laboh? git dat coffee pot on; duh doctor says annie's mo' scared dan she's sick.” the little hut was in a flutter. zeke was still ‘down in the mouth.’ his mind seemed to function backwards. shortly, the doctor stuck his head in the kitchen door and announced the arrival of a four-pound boy. nancy took the tiny red squiring creature, washed, greased, and dressed him, as jake and zeke looked on. the baby let out several more jerking squals and elsie, the oldest child, rolled off her sagging, rickety cot and ran over to welcome him. nancy was a good hand with babies. she gave it a few drops of sweetened water on a little rag that made him lick out his little red tongue for more. aunt zilphy came in and sat down to drink her black coffee and to admire the little stranger as annie brushed its thick black hair with her hand. as they were enjoying the little fellow, a choking cry, followed by fast, jerky, muffled squalls from annie's room, announced the arrival of another newcomer. aunt zilphy threw up both hands and ran into the room. “lorzy, doctor, it ain't uhnudder one is it? whut is dese chillun go do wid so many babies?” the doctor wrapped it in swaddling clothes and handed it to aunt zilphy and she in turn passed it on to nancy, as she had laid the other one on the cot. a heavy jarring of the house and rolling stove-wood caused all eyes to look in that direction; behold, there was zeke, stretched out in a manner dead. both arms were extending outward and his eyes were closed. the doctor had to leave the care of annie to aunt zilphy while he attended zeke. dr. moore soon saw that zeke had fainted. a few simple drugs brought him around to his senses. the sight of two babies was too much of a shock. a third time all eyes were inquiringly turned. it was elsie, standing in the corner and crying for dear life. “whut on earth is wrong wid you, elsie?” demanded jake. between hysterical sobs, she stammered, “one baby's uhnuff; i won't nuver git tuh play. i cain't see atter two whilse ma works; i hope dat ole doctor man won't fetch uhnudder one.” jake had a large family of six boys and two girls. he didn't have much time to give master jim; nevertheless, their friendship remained the same. jake had named his second boy for master jim; the other boys were a little jealous because master jim would give his little namesake a big quarter and to the others he'd give only a nickel. little jim would poke out his chest and walk about like a bantam rooster. circus posters were all over town and the children had seen them. they served as a stimulant for work. the children picked the long rows of cotton uncomplainingly, with the thought of seeing the circus as a reward. bright little faces saw the sun as it came up that saturday morning. helter-skelter they ran from room to room, putting on their bright calico shirts. “uncle tim is here to go with us to the circus, pappy.” “yes, lena; he'll be lots o' hep. we promised tuh buy our feesh frum duh church stand tuhday. some uv duh brothers stayed on pine creek feeshin' all night an' sister zilphy is cookin' it in her wash pot;” said jake as he filled the water keg. “but pappy, mrs. givens is our neighbor. she kilt twenty chickens and two hogs, and i want some of her barbecue. they wuz cookin' potato pies las' night, an' this mornin' they made ice-cream.” “come on, chillun, an' eat yo' breakfast. you don't want much dis mornin'; you'se too filled up wid goin' tuh duh circus.” “whut you got, mama?,” asked jake as he put the chairs and boxes up to the table. “ah got biscuits, 'lasses, meat, an' grease. you don't need no eggs; dat's uhnuff,” said nancy as she poured the thick molasses into each little tin plate. the children were so happy they could hardly eat. jake gave each one a slice of fried salt pork and poured grease over the molasses. then the sopping began. they had about finished when oscar came running in and jumped on his box. when he looked in his plate, tears rolled from his soft brown eyes down to his little primped mouth and dropped from his chin. “pappy, pappy,” he whimpered, “my dreece is don tuh sleep.” this was a fine, cool fall morning; a playful breeze came through the little kitchen window and blew across the table. oscar's grease had gotten cold and stiff. nancy reached for the big black skillet on the back of the stove and poured some sizzling hot grease over his molasses. this warmed up his plate and he smiled as he sopped away. “lena, run tell yo' mamma to hurry. ah's hitched up and everything is in duh wagun. we cain't be late; duh parade is at ten o'clock. hey tim, where's uh good place fuh duh childrun tuh see duh parade? thought ah'd go down mill street near duh show groun’ in duh chism fiel' an' dey kin set in duh wagun, an' see it when it leaves an' when it comes back.” “dat's jes whut ah's go say, jake. you cain't git uh better place,” answered tim. “say brother jake, ah's been lookin' at dem cottonwood an fruit trees me an' you sot out uh long time uhgo. dey'se growed so fast, duh cottonwood at duh gate spreads out lak uh umbrella.” “yes, tim, duh one at duh gate is beat all duh res' growin'. ah planted it fuh uh shade tree. mammy comes over an' her an' nancy sets under it all afternoon an' sews an' duh childrun simply lives under it. it's shade dair all day. duh udder trees is done well. duh peach an' apple trees give us all duh fruit we need fuh cannin' an' dryin'. come on, childrun, it's seven uh clock; we mus' have plenty uv time. set down, sam. don't ever stan' up in uh wagon; both dese mules is fools an' is liable tuh start any minute. got yo' cookie bucket mamma you children set still. yo’ uncle will be in duh back wid you, an' me an’ mama will do duh drivin'. all ready?” “yes pappy, we's ready,” they all shouted. “whut uh prutty day. duh elephants ken sho' off dair babies, duh clowns kin run over duh streets an' cut capers, an' bes' uv all, duh cages will be opun an' green-eyed men an' wimmin will be settin' in duh cages wid duh lions an' tigers.” jake jerked the lines briskly as he continued, “came pat, git uhlong. dan, you'se gittin' lazy; come on boys.” they rolled along, waving, bowing, and hollering at neighbors and friends. saul and little joe counted the tele- phone poles. “we mus' miss town, brother jake; duh crowd's too big. go bonham street tuh mill,” said tim. the two fat mules rushed down the dusty street and were first to pull their load into the vacant lot under a big oak tree. jake gave the children a drink of ice water out of the keg and they had time to get out of the wagon and stretch their legs before the parade. “pappy, the parade mus' be started; here comes the balloon man. kin we have one? we got money.” “yes sam; you childrun have been smart. you picked lots o' cotton fuh yo' pappy dis fall. ah wants yuh tuh have uh good time. hey, mister balloon man, seven balloons, please.” “pappy, i want a red one that blows up,” chirped lena as she jumped about. “i want a blue one on a stick,” oscar whispered. “i want a gween one,” lisped little joe. “git off my new shoes,” shouted sam as he gave jim a bustling shove. “i shined my toes so they look lak gold, so don't spoil 'um.” “they's no gold; they's jes brass-toed boots lak mine,” squealed jim. “boys, stop dat scrappin' 'bout yo' shoes. don't git on sam's boots. he spent uh half-hour shinin’ dem toes yestiddy. hyer it comes, duh parade is comin'. duh animals if furs. dem's duh camels; some have one hump an' some have two.” “look pappy, way down the road, at the elephunts. they's the best animals in the circus an' the strongest. i bet that big rusty one there in front is as strong as sampson,” blurted out jim. “oh i look at the woman in the lion's cage. gee, i wish i could ride with a lion,” said sam. they discussed each animal and wagon that passed and the clowns that made even the baby laugh. “this is the las' uv it, childrun; when de ole kalio pipes up, dat' all,” drawled jake. “pappy, that's a steam piano; the teacher said so,” lena shouted gleefully. “well, whutever it is, it's allus las'. ah'll take duh bucket an' go get some red lemonade. duh parade will be back by hyer in uh hour; you childrun kin play uhbout.” at two o'clock, jake took the small children in the side show and tim took the four large ones in the big tent. nancy stayed at the church stand. they walked around looking at the animals before the circus started. they fed the monkeys candy and peanuts. the elephants were the last. tim thought he'd have some fun, so he gave the largest elephant a piece of chewing tobacco. before the keeper knew what had happened, jumbo struck tim with his long trunk and knocked him tumbling on the ground. as the furious jumbo lifted his mighty trunk again, tim scrambled to his feet and ran through the frightened crowd. jumbo tried to break the chain on his big foot; he roared and bucked, but tim was gone. the children ran him a close second. he raced down the path to the field and fell headfirst into the wagon. “well,” he said, “ah'se through wid circuses.” but, what a day for the children; they sat frightened stiff, their money gone and they saw no circus. it's said that elephants never forget; and it must be true, for the next year when that same circus came to town tim went to the parade and sat on the edge of the sidewalk, he and jumbo spied each other about the same time. jumbo made a dash for him, but he crawled swiftly on his hands and knees through the crowd until he found an open space, and he didn't stop running until he fell in aunt mamie's back door. he swore again he'd never go to another circus. hog-killing time was right around the corner; everybody began stuffing their hogs with corn and more corn. they expected a blizzard in three or four weeks, and their hogs had to be ready. the second week in december brought a heavy snow; hogs were squeeling all over town. jake killed five and smoked the meat in his old corn crib. si stearns had been dead a year, but he had taught jake all the tricks in curing meat. mr. joe, master jim's brother, who was president of the bank, hired jake to cure meat for his mother; he said he knew it would taste like his father's. mr. joe had not married, and jake couldn't understand why such a fine-looking smart man didn't want a family, and he would tell him so whenever the opportunity came. one morning the sparkling white snow filled the air and soon the earth was carpeted. the snow remained for two weeks; boys and men passed almost hourly selling big jack- rabbits for a dime apiece. red crackling fires were kept going in the big fireplaces. the old men sat in the corners cross-legged, smoking their cobpipes, parching corn and roasting sweet potatoes in the ashes, but aunt mamie preferred raising her flannel skirts and warming the back of her legs before the warm fire. the children looked like pictures in a frame, peeping through the frosted windows, drawing figures with their fingers on the moistened panes as they blew their breath against them. the children hated to miss school because the board of education had sent to nashville, tennessee for two good teachers. the two big concerts that were given twice a year were well attended. the boys met every friday night and learned to harmonize, and anxious parents attended the rehearsals. often dogs and cats on the outside misinterpreted their harmony, and thinking they had some angry opponents on the inside, turned up their tails and fled. on cold nights, jake allowed the boys' quartette to rehearse at his home, as his son, jim, though quite a young lad, was the tenor. jake enjoyed seeing as well as hearing his son make the high tenor notes. jim would toss his head to one side, close both eyes, open his mouth one-sided, and begin. the lead tenor had a strong nasal voice; he'd drag and slur the tones, but everyone liked it. the favorite song in their repertoire was “the bull dog on the bank and the bull frog in the pool.” at whole or half notes, where they had the opportunity, they'd hold the chord; often it was sour but it went over. “jake, dis is christmas week an' you ain't brung nothin' fuh duh childrun. you'se commenced drinkin' agin an' dat means we'll have nothin’,” said nancy piteously. “whut's wrong, nancy; ah'se allus give you an' dese childrun plenty tuh eat an' wear. you cain't criticize me. you'se go have yo' christmas.” “you could borrow money frum mr. joe,” she answered. “hey, jes hol' yo' hosses; wait ’til tuhmorrer, nancy.” the next morning, jake arose with the sun as usual, fed the stock and started toward town; but he stopped in the saloon and swapped yarns with the staggering crowd until it was too late to get in the bank. nancy and the children looked for him all day. at eleven o'clock that night a high wind rose; tubs, tin buckets, and pans on the long bench out- side were blown helter skelter over the backyard; whenever the house creaked, nancy would jump to the door. about midnight, provoked at his own stupidity, jake imagined he had nerve enough to face a raging lion. he'd y go scrap it out with her. the sharp wind sprinkled bits of silver snow in his face. he, with both hands in his pockets, struck out in a pace across john's field. the bridge in front of the big gate was rotten and he fell through it. in the dark he pushed around in the slippery mud and, in scrambling to his feet, he kicked a gunny sack that rattled as if there were tin pans in it. the brisk air had sobered him up. he opened the bag, quickly ran his hand about in it and felt toys and other things. someone had hidden it or a drunken man had lost it. with his wonder bag across his shoulder, he went his way with a merry heart. nancy opened the door. without a word, he thrust the sack into her hands. jake eyed her carefully as she pulled out each toy or dainty and commented on it, for he was as much surprised as she. never had she seen such expensive toys, delicious cookies, candies, nuts, and raisins. he swore he'd never tell her where they all came from. jake was a good provider, but when he was worried he'd start drinking. the years seemed to skip by. his children were obedient and industrious. they had about concluded that jim would study medicine. one sunday morning, the whole neighborhood was much perturbed. peter smith, a neighbor's boy, had run away. his father advertised for him in the dallas news. weeks passed and the family heard nothing. jim, now a handsome brown lad, and as the family called him, their “best looker”, had taken the matter of peter's disappearance seriously. he wondered after all if it wasn't a good thing to leave home awhile, so one fine morning the neighborhood was stirred about him. for months the family watched and waited in vain for his return. jake looked at the almanac and counted the months. “jim is been away fuh six months. ef he ain't dead, he means tuh stay, ah reckon. he could write us; ah'se been good tuh all mah childrun,” whined jake, “an' he jes lef" widout uh word. he nuver did sass me; none uv mah childrun done dat. somehow ah got uh funny feelin' mah boy may be in trouble. he won't bother nobody, but he'll do his darndest if he's mistreated.” “pappy, you worry too much about jim; he knows how to write,” said oscar. jake and nancy worried for weeks door into a field; i set there for a while and the cool air helped me. i got up and walked to a farmhouse. when i tried to explain, they knowed more than me. i stayed there four days and they put me on the train and sent me home; when i send for my money i'm going to pay them for all they've done for me, and when i leave home again, i'll be a man.” jim was soon able to do chores around the house. “pappy, i come through tremble grove just now and saw jim standing there with an axe in his hand. i hollered, “hey, don't stand there; git to work'. he didn't say a word but stared at me and when i get here i find him eating dinner. i know i saw him,” cried lena. “i know i saw him.” “oh no, sister,” giggled jim. “i haven't left this place today.” “lena, wuz jim standin' uh walkin’?” inquired her father. “he was standing, leaning on his axe-handle,” lena replied quickly. “well, ef he wuz standin' he'll live uh long time; but ef he wuz movin' he wouldn't be uh long liver. nancy, you know jim wuz born wid uh veil, or caul, over his face an' he sees ghoses. ef lena had one over her face, duh doctor didn't tell us; but ah 'blieves it. she seed her cousin ed's wife after she died. duh difference between her an' jim is she's scared uv ghoses an' he ain't.” most of the neighbors' children were marrying, but jake thought his children too young to think of it, so he tried hard to turn their minds in other directions. he was counted among the wealthy negroes in his community. for many years his children worked hard on his farm, but just before his farm was paid out his oldest boys began courting the girls and he feared they would leave home before his debts were all paid. jake had been working long hours mending old shoes he'd bought from the white folks to sell during hard seasons. “come mama; pappy is done fell out in the shop,” called sam as he came running almost breathless. nancy got there in time to help the men bring jake to the house. “he’s unconscious,” said elder simpson, their next door neighbor. “it happened so quick. we wuz talking. he complained uv feeling dizzy, then he fell over; his pulse feels uh little weak, better bathe his face.” “yes elder. he's been workin' too hard duh las' few weeks,” added nancy. they rubbed him with camphor oil to keep him warm until the doctor arrived. the doctors always had to clear the room before they could do anything. whenever anyone in penhook had to send for a doctor all the neighbors came in to see what he had to say. “he’s had a stroke of paralysis on his right side,” announced the doctor. “you say he's a fiddler, cobbler, and farmer? all those occupations require the use of the right hand extensively. this right side has been weak since his collar-bone was broken and he has used it too much. he won't be so active, i'm afraid. he's lost complete use of his side. i'll do what i can for him.” jake lingered for ten weeks before he was able to be about at all, and nancy said he was as cross as a sore-headed bear. his activity being suddenly snatched away gave him numerous worries. the boys looked after the crop as best they could, he supervising while in bed. before the season was over, oscar married lucy malory, a short, plump, brown-skinned girl, weighing about two hundred and as lovable as she was fat. they moved to dennison. this upset the boys, as oscar was one of the best workers. jake could walk, but dragged his right foot and held his right hand that had withered slightly close to his waist. he put a stock of groceries in the little store, but liberal credit soon had him on the rocks and too, the boys had big crowds hanging around at nights that stole the sweets from the showcases and boxes. uncle jake was astonished to find that one boy named rob could suck nickels and dimes up through an aperture where he dropped his money in the drawer, when no change was to be made. saul became manager and he kept it open exactly six months. the longs then rented the store; they sold for cash. about two o'clock in the afternoon, mr. long, a little black spindle-headed man, would walk from one side of the porch to the other, throw his head back, cover one side of his mouth with his slim hand, and shout about his wares. soon he had a crowd; they liked to hear him say, “hyer’s yo' spare-ribs and kansas city sawshits, hoghocks, and black eyed peas, hot stage planks—right hyer.” the children in the neighborhood tried to have a nickel to buy a large hot ginger cookie (stage-plank). lena married jeb cannon, a tall heavy-set brown-skinned man that was a cotton sampler and jim married reesie hoggins, a pretty black girl; but she had asthma like her daddy. uncle jake worried over his children's marrying, but zeke told him he couldn't keep them always. he had been fortunate; he had reared six boys and two girls. he had to sell his farm; the boys were unable to carry on after jim and oscar left. those who remained, except sam however, rated among the best cotton-pickers in the county. saul picked four hundred, joe three hundred and fifty, and fred over three hundred pounds. they worked for farmers who could bring them home at night. the next year, poor nancy began to droop around and jake sent her to oklahoma city to stay with lena awhile; but she grew worse, came back home, and took to her bed. she was a sensitive neurotic type, so was unable to help herself. the children came, summoned the best doctors, but her disease was stubborn and yielded not to medical treatment. her sallow skin clung tightly to her bones. she suffered about two months, then lapsed into a coma. the children took turns in sitting by her bedside; she was never left alone. after a week's close vigil, the hour came when lena could scarcely feel her pulse. jake held a small mirror to her nose and a little moisture formed; he knew there was still life in her body. the family gathered around her bed and in a few minutes she gave a little yawn and the last breath slipped softly out of her body like a shadow into the night. nancy stearns was gone. most of the neighbors went to the circus the day after her passing. the hoggins family walked down on mill street to see the parade leave and return to the circus grounds. just as they got seated, “whoa, min, whoa,” sounded a big voice. they looked back and there was uncle jake seated on his nag. he’d always gone to the parade, so evidently thought he'd get into a place and hide from everybody, but everybody seemed to see him. his neighbors were dumbfounded at seeing him at the parade and his wife laid out on the cooling board; however, it passed like a shadow. uncle jake mentioned it to no one and no one spoke of it to him. nancy was laid to rest in the old benevolent grave yard. lena stayed home a week to get the house in order for the remaining family. ellen, the baby, who was now thirteen, took the place as housekeeper. one day after a hard day's cleaning, lena sat on the edge of the porch in deep thought; suddenly she jumped up and ran to the old store where her father and several men were sitting. “pappy, i heard mama cough three times, just as plain,” she said hysterically. the old men told her it was her imagi- nation, but she continued sobbing out, “no, it was mama's voice.” many things happened to disturb uncle jake's frame of mind. often he and ellen were left alone nights. when she went to bed, poor uncle jake would cry as he thought of nancy and the happy times they had in rearing their large family. he could depend on sam's coming in before or about midnight. uncle jake grew more feeble with the years; the four- room house had run down. it needed a new roof and his taxes had to be paid, so the only thing left to do to straighten things out was to sell two lots. the children promised to send money but the boys always forgot and lena had little to send. joe, a tongue-tied, carefree lad, never got any higher than the fourth grade; he wouldn't tax himself long enough to accomplish anything. ellen said when she was in his grade he acted as judge by deciding the boy or girl that read best. however, he never entered the contest, himself. ellen was the only one of the family in school now. she was a smart girl, but was becoming sensitive about her cheap clothing. the people called her a “mollyglasco girl,” (madagascar) meaning a pretty dark girl with straight hair. joe turned out to be a perfect nuisance. he hired himself to mr. greer to carry groceries for two dollars a week and board, but this amount didn't satisfy him; he'd come home late nights, pull off his shoes at the door, tip in, and steal his father's change out of his vest pocket. he ventured out a little farther and stole a big red rooster from a neighbor and was put in the calaboose. this was the first time any of uncle jake's children had been incarcerated and it upset him ehapter iv * * * * *-* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * under the big cottonwood tree that stood by the gate, old men would gather and sit for hours telling of their happy and sad experiences. uncle jake, a conversationalist of note, was a character worth knowing. his daughter, lena, moved back from oklahoma and brought her seven-year-old girl, little mamie, to stay with her father while she worked. these old men thought little mamie a very fine child, always smiling and ever ready to run to the store and fetch their much prized “star-navy tobacco.” often when she came running almost out of breath and handed one his small parcel of tobacco she would hear two or three of them sending up a sentence prayer. each pronounced a benediction of “good luck” upon her because she was ever patient with old folks. she went to the old well four or five times on a hot day to get them cool water, and passed each person two or three gourds full; they'd stick out their trembling tongues, smack their lips vigorously, and make loud scraping throat noises and say—“ah, dat's good and cool, chile, thanky,” or “dat's duh bes' water in town, gimme uh nudder one, honey—yas, god bless you.” this old well was one of the first dug after freedom, and was known to contain the coolest water in town. on hot days people who passed, stopped to be refreshed. two gourd dippers hung on nails on the posts. every year it had to be walled up with new planks. people leaning against it as they drew up the heavy bucket, that swung from side to side, pulled the planks apart. its water was as clear as a crystal. on the first day in may, all the people in the neighborhood gathered to read their fortunes for the ensuing year. at noon, they'd get a mirror and throw shadows in the well; if they saw scales a bit over a hundred, and she a two-hundred and fifty pounder. with his big jet black felt hat pulled down low over his eyes, he trudged slowly along, leaning on his cane and now and then brushing his long white chin whiskers with his left hand; and she, with a gingham dress, big gathered waist apron, and a blue or white stiff bonnet, dipped in the same pace by his side. every fall he'd move up to petty or high- town; he and his wife would cook for the children while they picked cotton. they'd come home whenever a circus came to town. however, every two or three weeks old man hoggins came down to bank their earnings as he didn't feel it safe to keep too much money out of the bank. just before christmas they'd move back home. if their money gave out before the next cotton season, mr. henderson would let them have groceries on time, as they'd traded with him for years, and were good pay. jess bean, an eccentric old “smart alec", uncle jake nick- named “jack-ass” because of his conceit and ignorance. of all the men he was the most obnoxious. he was a farmer, but kept his hair saturated with sweet bay rum that you could smell a block away. his wife died and in a few months he married a young strapping black girl that held her body stiff to her waist, who “trilby walked” by swaying her plump hips from side to side. when they passed, the neighbors peeped out of their doors and windows to get a hearty laugh. aunt zilphy said, “dat darky is yaller and natchurlly he's got good hair. he slicks it so a fly would slip and break its neck, puts dat durby hat on one side his head, swings dat merhogney cane on his ahm and prances lakuh shetlun pony by dat gal's side.” after his marriage he rented his little farm out and moved on the west side of town and got a little job as janitor at a grocery store down town. he then considered himself entirely out of the old men's class. captain sims, an excellent carpenter, was captivated by a sense of his own importance, he considered himself much too young to associate with the crowd, so he hardly ever sat down. after his wife died, he tried to demonstrate his youth by running most of the time, especially when he passed the bushy cotton-wood where the old men with rheumatism and other isms were sitting. they called him the “running fool.” he claimed to be taking health exercise, but the old men had their opinion. peter moore, a club-footed mulatto, married a girl that was half mexican, and younger than his daughter by his first wife. he was a butcher and worked at the slaughter pen. they had six children that were stair steps. he kept them round, fat and greasy on neck-bones, chitterlings, and scrap meats that he brought. he was so jealous of his wife that he didn't have much time to visit with the crowd, but managed to make a weekly round to inform them of the number of sheep, hogs and cows the little town consumed that week. surely enough the neighbors admitted that his jealousy was justified; one night when he went home, the children were crying because their mother had run away with a strange man. reb jones, a short squatty, kinky haired braggart whose i. q. was about fifty, spent most of his time giggling like a silly fool. uncle jake said when it came his turn to tell a joke he'd tell the same one every time and beat everyone laughing at it. with his little one-horse hack, he'd haul the washer- women's clothes for a dime a bundle; his speckled brown and white mare did a fair cake walk up and down those narrow dusty streets. he began collecting his bundles early and was always on time, with eyelashes full of dust, looking like an ash-cat, and cutting on a stick when the crowd gathered. they said he never tried to whittle out anything, but would take a piece of nice white pine and cut it away. another thing that perplexed the old man was that they were never able to make him understand that he should talk as little as possible to the tax-assessor. however, he usually concluded by saying, “i’se no po’ man, ah owns mah place, ah do. me and hetty bought it frum mr. gunner.” he thought his wife a fine cook, so often on a flowered dish he'd bring some heavy ginger cakes, pass them around and spend too much time himself in complimenting them. harry melon, a smooth-shaved, tight-mouthed, carefree loiterer always had his mouth too full of tobacco to do much talking. he was a good listener, a hearty giggler and a big eater. his nickname was “wolf” because he'd often tell his family that he was as hungry as a wolf. he was thought to have money, but as lazy as he was, sitting for hours in one place, whittling idly on a stick, only raising his head now and then to exude a gob of tobacco juice, you couldn't see how anyone could associate him with money. he picked cotton in the fall and cut a precious little wood in winter. he had a carpenter make him a strong box about % ft. by % ft. and fastened it with a pad-lock. his poor wife spent hours when he was away trying to open it. she thought it contained california gold. he could sit longer than any of the old men, without talking or nodding. he had a large sickly family, but his wife supported it. often in their presence was john dumas, a half white, curly haired negro of herculean statue that was a magnificient liar. some of his lies became famous, especially the one where he successfully moved a well from a front yard to the back. he told his tales so often and with such consummate skill that he believed them himself. crowds of school children would stand on street corners and listen with wonder and admiration at the rompings of his brain children. the old men began giggling when they saw him coming. not a one of them had many teeth, and it was a show to look around at the different mouths opened wide and displaying old snags of every descrip- tion. all chewed or dipped and the brown juice dripped from mouth corners and long grey chin whiskers and mustaches. they were anxious to hear the new lie. dumas never failed them; he usually had several. tim jenkins, an obstinate, queer sort of creature, at one time was handsome—every feature nearly perfect. his reddish brown complexion and black wavy hair mingled with grey were attractive at the age of sixty. he was a chronic drunkard, and never joined the crowd until thoroughly stewed; then he'd come down the street gesticulating to them and staggering every step as his clear high voice rang out singing “some forty years ago.” he was a man of moods and moments. with unflinching determination he insisted on monopolizing the whole conversation by telling of his escapades with women when young. if anyone tried to wedge in on him, he'd raise his voice and corner him off. he was “cock of the walk.” he bored the old men to the quick; they'd squirm and spit, but they had to listen until he decided to go elsewhere. he loved his two children dearly when sober, but when tanked, he'd try putting the boy in the well or else have his family running and hiding in neighbors' houses as he looked for them with his shot gun. paul otter, a tall dark man with high cheek bones, was said to be part indian. he'd been a hunter all his life, loved the woods and its inhabitants, understood the habits of animals and birds, knew where they hid themselves during all the seasons and too, knew their usefulness to man. a long black weather-beaten overcoat flapped religiously at his heels winter and summer; whenever he pulled it off he said it would rain, and it really did. people called him a human camel. before going on a long hunting trip he calculated the number of days he'd be away, so would eat enough to last him those two or three days; taking food was only a bother, he said. in the afternoon he'd bring his game to town to sell. whenever he had a pole-cat and the east wind escorted him, you'd catch the aroma an hour before his arrival. his wife declared he grunted more than four sets of twins with the tummy ache. his sore feet kept him limping. one day he had on new shoes and said they didn't hurt when bought, but they were now, “nigh killing” him. the children discovered that he'd been too lazy to look down when putting them on and had them on wrong. he had four fat, sleek black hunting dogs that accompanied him on every trip. a rustic picture they made after a successful hunt. he had rabbits, squirrels, and opossums hanging at his sides and back, a string of fish in one hand and his guns fastened around his neck with a leather strap, and steadied with his right hand. the dogs trailed behind him with tongues out, tired eyes half closed and walking in a slow dragging pace like their master. all the town folks knew him, and enjoyed watching him as he passed with his heavy catch. joe hopkins, a thin nervous little man with soft white hair, was the most unassuming person you ever met, but pathetic because he was totally blind. his soft peaceful voice corre- sponded with his mannerisms. he was a man of few words; he’d sit for hours and only shake his head for or against an issue. little mamie would go for him and some friend passing would assist him in getting back home. he was uncle jake's favorite. from professor prosser, a stocky, black, muffled jawed eyes in a twinkle, he'd begin his story. as he giggled and glibbed along, wiping his slobbering mouth with first one hand then the other, his voice would spasmodically modulate from a high to a low pitch and vice versa. he'd ramble along and if he happened to stagger to the end, he would give a loud convulsive laugh that either amused or disgusted one. they had a good joke on uncle meek. at one time he became seriously ill and lingered for months, barely able to creep around, so he decided to end it all. he went into his old floorless privy setting about forty feet from the house, wired the door tightly inside, and cut his wrist. the pain was so severe, he didn't take time to unwire the door, but jumped about violently, unloosening the old privy from the ground and dragged it up to the house on his back where his good wife released him. the doctor came and said he needed the bleeding; afterwards he got well and strong. the old men said he got well after all the “bad blood runned out.” henry minter an aristocratic mulatto was known as “free henry.” he was the wealthiest of uncle jake's pals. when a young man he bought his freedom and when he married he bought his wife. this was a puzzle to the old men. it mattered not how many questions they popped to him, he'd evade the answer to this puzzle. uncle jake was acquainted with a few slaves from the minter plantation; they said henry was their master's son and was more like him than any of his boys. they were often seen in close conversations. their master, they said, gave him money and plenty of it. free henry had twelve children and most of them had good homes. one of uncle jake's boyhood friends was clem gillum, a snappy little black midget of a man with a soft clear voice and a laugh that rippled like a brooklet. he was now seventy and almost blind, but a little of the old ginger still remained in him. he wore his hat over his eyes and when addressed would turn quickly, bow and smile when he responded. he'd been married twice; the children by his first wife, lizzie, had many friends. two of his daughters, ann and lill, lived together on levacca street. it was like going to a show to visit these girls when they felt like talking. if they happened to be listening, at interesting points ann would twist herself around, sit akimbo, stare surprisingly at lill and drawl out, - “li-l-l, did you hear that?” lill would drawl back, after she'd opened her large eyes, and shaking her head, “a-n-n-, no, never, um-um-u-m.” the inflection in their voices was extremely comical and entertaining. uncle clem had a brother, tom; the two were “wampas cats” in their young days. uncle jake often made uncle clem tell of their experiences as country preachers. both were good singers. tom picked a guitar and clem remembered the bible verses. on sundays they'd go to country churches, pose as preachers, then sing and preach a little, tell hard luck tales and take up a collection. they'd been quite successfull in biardstown they heard there were several wealthy planters. christmas was near, so they practiced their best to go before this congregation. it was a clear bright day and people had filled the church by i o'clock. their program went over big and a heavy collection was given them. as they were singing their closing number, a devout old sister came in late, and pranced down the aisle keeping time to their music. when she looked up, both hands went over her head, “deacons”, she screamed, “dese ain't no preachers, ah know dese boys.” no sooner said, than clem and tom made for the door, the deacons and men after them. as they went out of the door clem heard the old sister screech, “you devils is go fall in duh jaws uv hell.” they cut across a field, the men still chasing them, but the boys were a little too fast. when they jumped the barbed wire fence and were going across another field they could still hear the men calling for them to bring back the money. the tall, dry weeds made an easy place to hide themselves. they thought they were safe, when clem fell into an old well. he said he heard the words, “you devils is go fall in duh jaws uv hell.” he just knew he was falling in hell; the place even felt hot and he expected the devil to come up to him. tom called down, handed him a pole and pulled him out. this ended their preaching. these, and many other interesting characters presented this lively picture; and during the long summers until late fall for many years, people of different races and of many stages of life hung over the rail fence or came inside and sat on a box or the thick green grass and spent many happy hours conversing with these old men who were peacefully enjoying their freedom. [hapteh w * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * hey, it's you, mr. weatherly yas, dis ole cotton-wood tree have been hyer fuh years. ah raised mah childrun under it an' dis hyer is mah little grand girl, mamie; she's smart, you bet. she kin read, write, an’ ciper. guess you keep busy dese days being justice uv duh peace?” “oh, yes, yes, i'm kept busy all right. i'm out now just to get some fresh air and exercise—but i'm mighty glad to see you; both of us are in our sixties, but you bet we haven't always been.” mr. weatherly turned to mamie, jake's pretty grandchild, and smiled at her kindly. “say, girl, yo' grand-pap here was the finest fiddler in latimer county. he played my wedding march and nobody nowhere's 'round could of played a better one, no sirree.” rolling her big soft brown eyes first from her grandpa, then to the speaker, little mamie only nodded her head and smiled. “yas, mr. weatherly, dat wuz uh big night wuzn't it?” jake said. ah kin see you now in yo' fine black broad-cloth an' yo' wife, miss may, in her silks and laces.” “dese young folks now-a-days don't know nothin' 'bout purty dancin'. dey hug up too close; you cain't see duh winmen folks' fine clothes.” uncle jake tried hard to please his white friend and admirer, and certainly spared no pains in emphasizing each point with hand, head and voice. he slightly pinched that old southern pride that always exists in old timers. mr. weatherly swallowed audibly before answering. “you’re right, jake, and the waltzes you used to play can't be beat; they had three or four parts to 'um. you could tell a whole love tale to your best girl while dancing one piece. these waltzes now are just too short. i can see myself now with the tip of my index finger in the top of may's head, she a-holding out her skirts, turning round and round like a top and a-waltzing and me a-waltzing after her. them was the days.” “yas, yas, mr. weatherly, the waltzes now sound lak duh owl's tune tuh me. you know his thribin-toe song dat's short an' thumpity-bumpity.” uncle jake gave a throaty laugh and slapped his left leg hard and fast. mr. weatherly brushed his long grey whiskers briskly with his hand while enjoying uncle jake's humor. “my wife was a pretty girl. when i look at my daughter now, so much like her mother, i can hardly keep back the tears. her mother left us years ago and i've—i’ve—well, i've never been the same man. sorry it wasn't me instead of her. i wanted to go first because i feel that it would of been easier for my family. since i'm the head and was fortunate to see my children of age in the sight of the law, i'd liked to have died first, yes, to show them how to die, as i've shown them everything else.” he sighed and then said, “sorry you're all crippled up, jake. cain't you walk at all?” shrugging his stooped round shoulders a little, and brushing his long white beard with the clumsy fat fingers of his left hand, he breathed deeply and finally answered in his usual way, the question that had been asked him hundreds of times. “cain't walk much, sur, but mah health's good.” “hello mr. weatherly.” a little twisted figure paused to speak to the justice of the peace. “where are you going with such a load on your back? you're too old a man for that, mr. mawbry,” answered the justice. “it's feed fuh my chickens. my old hack broke down and i must git the feed thar some way!” as he spoke the last word he had walked to the big gate. “good day,” he mumbled. uncle jake and mr. weatherly watched the decrepit figure wobble down the street a long way before speaking. “now there's a white man i’ve known for years. he's always been poor and always will be. his body is drawn in a most peculiar shape, yet he can walk a longer distance than i can,” said mr. weatherly. “he’s crippled up worse then me, but he kin walk an' ah cain’t,” replied uncle jake. “where's your master jim now?” “well, mr. weatherly, ah jes don't know zackly. ah think he's teaching down in brazos bottom. he wuz hyer last year dis time.” “it's gettin' late. i'll be goin'. here's a dime. get that girl to run and get you a chew of star-navy tobacco.” “oh, thanks, thanks, sur, goodbye an' good luck to you, mr. weatherly.” he watched the justice start away and then said, “mamie, go fetch some cool water. hyer comes elder simpson. you know he's allus dry.” “i’ll fetch out the boxes too, grandpa; i see uncle meek a-coming they're both tired and will want to sit down.” both men, seeing the justice of the peace, tried to hobble down to uncle jake's before he left. both were too late, but were bent on finding out his mission. “w-e- - -, hello, jake. wuzn't dat ole man weatherly ah seen leaving hyer?” asked elder simpson, his inquisitive next door neighbor. “yas, elder, it wuz, an' he's uh good man, too. old big tom lived on his plantation. do you 'member him? he nuver had tuh do no farm work. he made money fuh his-self an' his moster too, wroppin' hair. in dem days white an’ black men wore long hair you know, an' ole tom guaranteed to make yo' hair grow fuh uh dollar. ah went tuh one uv his sadday night hair wroppin's. he called his strings magic wonders an’ it tuck twenty minutes tuh wrop uh head. ole tom sho had some grip. he pulled mah hair so tight, ah almost felt him wroppin' mah skelp. when he wuz through ah managed tuh stagger home somehow. ah crawled up in bed an' rolled an' tumbled till almost day. mah hair wuz wropped so tight ah couldn't shet mah eyes. ah tried sleeping wid dem opun an' couldn't, so when ah coudn't stand it no longer, ah got up an' after cussin' ole tom an' his magic wonders a-plenty, ah snatched dem white rags off mah head an' throwed dem in duh fiah place. mah head wuz sore fuh more then uh week. dat ended mah cravin' long hair.” after shuffling their feet, patting their thin thighs with open hands and laughing hilariously at uncle jake's good joke, both men wanted to match him. elder simpson, having had many varied experiences during the dark days, took the next turn. “ah jes knowed mr. weatherly wuz too good uh man tuh 'blong tuh dem night rider devils. why dey broke up uv'ry meetin' ah ever had till we scared duh day lights out uv 'um. one night when duh meetin' wuz hot an' sister liza wuz singin' one uv her good ole hymns, ed come uh runnin' an' told us dem night riders wuz uh comin'. we blowed out dem candles, run out duh do' an' hid in duh bushes. two dozen uh mo uv dem devils on big fine hosses come uh ridin' up an' jumped off at duh do'. dey run inside duh ole hut an made uh light. we had our pocket knives sharp ez razors an’ we wasted no time in cuttin' off duh right stirip from each saddle. duh furst man out tried tuh clamb in his saddle an couldn't find his stirip. he give uh wile holler; his gang come uh racing out. each man after him found his right stirip on duh groun’. dis scared dem good. dey thought god wuz uh punishin' 'um. dey come dair laklions, but they left dair lak lambs, bless you. dey didn't git tuh beat nobody dat night—devils. after dat we nuver wuz bothered no mo' at meetin's. dese times is hard now fuh us, but ah’m glad our children wuzn't born in dem days. duh lord pertects dem dat loves an' serves him. dem days had tuh go, jake. dey jes had tuh.” by this time several old men had joined them and as the elder reverently finished his story their heads were bowed as if they too were thanking the great almighty that the chains and shackles that once bound them were broken—broken, they hoped, forever. “yas, elder, dem days had tuh go. no man is fit tuh own uh nudder man.” said uncle jake solemnly. elder crossed his legs and bowed his head as if praying and answered: “dis ole world is goin' tuh roll an' tumble. dair's goin' tuh be no peace in it till all dis hate is wiped out, fuh acts - say somethin' lak dis: “out uv one blood created he all races uv mankind to dwell on duh face uv duh earth.” the little crowd was silent for a few minutes until jake's ellen came running across the street and said she saw her brother jim coming through collin's big pasture with a satchel. the old men looked at each other and sighed. only uncle meek spoke. “jes uh day too late,” he whispered. “hyer is mah boy, jim. whut fetches you, son? did you know yo' wife ressie wuz buried hyer yistidy?” said uncle jake. “yes, i did, pappy. i have a way of knowing all things like that, that's why i'm here. don't you remember i was born with a veil over my face—well i see and converse with ghosts like i do anyone else. sometimes i speak to people and i don't know whether they're ghosts or real folks. at night i'm never sure unless i'm walking along with some one and they ask me who i'm speaking to.” “some little gimlet headed nigger wid buck-shot hair fetched her body hyer frum roxton. she's got uh mont old baby boy. dis nigger tried tuh play high tone; he brung uh ole lady uhlong tuh see after it. dey say he pertends he's so crazy 'bout it. dey left las' night.” “i know, pappy, he broke up my home; when i was out, he was in. one day i doubled back and caught him in my house, and i give him a devil of a good beatin' and then swung the first train out of there and went to cado. his name is otto smith.” “all ah know son, is dat he tries his bes' tuh sho' out. who kers 'bout him uh his brat either ſ” uncle jake put his big hand to his mouth and whispered, “duh winmen folks say duh baby looks jes lak little mamie an' all duh rest uv mah grand childrun. it's uh purty brown boy wid curly hair. it's yours, dey say. no sich lookin' darky could have uh good lookin' baby lak dat.” “i don't know, pappy, he was at my house as much as i uncle jake shook his head knowingly and continued, “ef ah could uv seed it, ah could tole 'cause ah know uv'ry chile dat got ole jake stearns' blood running through its veins. son, rev. minter uv duh big baptis' church wuz hyer lookin' fuh you. better go see him. you wuz sich uh good han' 'round his place. he's got hundreds uv chickens, an' two big orcheds. he's counted ez one uv duh rich white men in duh county now.” “i’ll go tomorrow, pappy; where's my two children?” inquired jim. was “old lady hoggins is got 'um. dey's got no money. you won't have no trouble gittin' dem.” jim worked out to rev. minter's for nearly a year before the big surprise came. about dusk one saturday when every- body had done their week's shopping and were sitting on their front porches, a hack drawn by two large black horses stopped at old man hoggins' gate. a woman dressed in black with a baby got out, and went inside. such a noise over a baby you've never heard. r. b., one of old man hoggin's grand boys passed uncle jake's and told them that a woman had brought his aunt reesy's baby. the women in the neighborhood went down to look it over and slipped back by uncle jake's to let him know it was sure a stearns' baby. jim couldn't stand the excitement; he went over to his uncle zeke's for the night. the woman who brought the baby had some friends in penhook; the next day she went to visit them. night came, and she didn't return. they never saw or heard of her again. otto smith could see plainly that the keen featured, brown, bustling boy was really a stearns. “oh! mamiel hyer’s another grey horse. run, before he passes. how meny have you spotted?” mamie came running around the house like a whirlwind, “thanks, grandpal this is the eightieth one; i'll have to spot a hundred before i'll get a surprise present.” “yas, childrun have been spottin' grey hosses ever since ah kin 'member. dey say it's good luck an' ah recken so, fuh dey keep on doin' it,” said uncle jake to his companions. to spot a grey horse or mule you touch your tongue with the tip of your forefinger on the right hand, next touch the palm of the left hand, then double up your right fist and hit your left palm again. this must be done very fast. as you do this you add one more horse to your number. “elder, don't ah hear duh missus callin' you?” turning quickly on his stool and holding his ear in a listening attitude, elder simpson answered loudly: “yas, yas, ah’m uh comin', lucy.” he looked back as he started. “ah’ll be back, jake.” “mamie, go git me some star-navy terbacca. dis is mah last chaw; den you kin go play uhwhile.” as mamie ran out of the gate, james, uncle jake's nephew, came in. “hello, james. whut's on yo' min' son?” “hello, uncle jake, i'm jes a little up-set. you see, we're soon to have a baby in our family and we can't decide on the doctor. the two 'round here jes don't suit. the women think dr. reems is too frush. he's always jokin' and most of the time his jokes is vulgar and dr. simpson is too young. he looks like a boy. he ain't got much strength, either. last week when zula had her baby she kicked him in the belly and he landed in the fireplace. the women had to help him out. if fire had been in it he would of ruint his-self.” uncle jake laughed until he cried. wiping his eyes he stumbled out:-‘‘why james, dat gal zula is ez strong ez uh mule an her foot is ez big ez uh mule's; let her kick you an' ah'll bet you won't be standin’ either. it's natchul fuh duh winmen folks tuh think dr. simpson is too young, but he's thirty an' he's goin' tuh marry soon. give him uh chance. we have tuh patternize duh boy. he's studied in uh big college an' he's put his-self in dat place, so try him out; he knows duh upter-date way tuh do things—so-spose you do try him. he wuz raised right up hyer wid all uv yawl an' we have tuh make him uh success. ah sho' hope you do.” chuckling again and wiping his running eyes, uncle jake asked: “what did po' doc say after dey pulled him out duh ashes?” james showed disgust both in his expression and voice as he quickly answered: “that's it, he didn't even say “dam;’ he jes grinned and brushed his seat. they say he sho' kept a watchful eye on both zula's big feet afterwards.” “james, you know ah lak dr. reems, but he talks too much. ah know, when he's uh round wid wimmen. some good man is goin' tuh knock him in his big mouf an' he'll be mo' respectful. he's fine wid men.” “you’re right, ole zula is strong. i'll give dr. simpson a trial. glad i come by, uncle jake; i knowed you'd ease my mind. good-bye.” “goodbye, james, and good luck. and mamie you're back, bless you. we's goin' tuh see mah mammy in duh mornin', you better git yo basket fixed up.” mamie jumped straight up and clapped her little hands as she chirped, “oh, granpa, i'm so glad. who's going to take us this time?” “reb is coming by after church an' take us in his hack.” “that's fine; it's such a nice long ride down main street. the horses hoofs hit the paved street so hard and i like the sound of it. and too, granpa, your body sways with the horses', it's so much fun. i'd like to go every sunday.” on sunday morning, as you walked down the narrow streets, the savory odor of beef-steak or liver and onions, ham and eggs, or fried chicken and shoe string potatoes served with hot biscuits greeted you from the kitchen windows and doors. the children looked forward to sunday breakfasts. uncle jake was up early and sitting on the front porch when uncle reb drove up. he had had his bath saturday night, and was feeling unusually good. he called little mamie as he reached for his crutch. “come chile, uncle red is hyer. come, sam an' hep me git in duh seat.” little mamie, with her basket of goodies, was the first one out and in her place. she always sat in the middle. as the old mare trotted down the street, uncle jake was bowing and speaking to friends on each side. he looked down and smiled at little mamie with her streamered hat pushed on the back of her head and two braids hanging down. she held her basket tight in her lap, for she wanted everything to be in place. the old mare walked up to the gate and stopped. uncle jake called, “hey, who's dair? is brother tim inside?” twin boys about ten years of age cane running out of the house. mamie piped, “hello, nid! hello nod!” then tim peered out. “oh, it's brother jake and little mamie. mammy will be glad to see you.” when he lifted little mamie down she ran into the house right into grandmammy's outstretched arms. still folded in one of grandmammy's arms she set the basket in the old woman's lap and as she lifted one foot high off the floor, she pulled the white cloth back and whispered in her great grand- mother's ear; “see—here's soft candy, cookies, white rolls, and sausage. you have no teeth, but you can eat it.” then she took the old lady's hand and pressed two nickels in the palm. “and this is for your smoking tobacco,” she said happily. grandmammy patted the child and nodded her head. “you is uh dear chile. you'll always have good luck. you think uhbout me more den any uv mah great-grand-childrun. duh others seem tuh fuhgit uh 'bout dey old grandmammy. a'm eighty-six an’ ah ain't walked in five yers. ah ain't got much longer tuh live an’ ah got uh lot tuh tell you. ah use tuh be uh kind o'doctor. ah kyored babies an' dey mamas an' ah tuck off watts. ah’m gonna tell you now how tuh take off watts. after ah tell you ah cain't do it no more an' after you tell it, you cain't do it no more. shet duh do'.” little mamie listened carefully as grandmammy explained the process. when she felt she was sure of it, she opened the door and ran out to find her cousins nid and nod, happy in the thought that she had a cherished secret. uncle jake sat on the porch and waited until tim dragged his mother out in her old rocker and placed her beside him. two invalids, a mother and a son, reviewed their past and prophesied for the future of their children and grandchildren. son, like mother, never spoke discouragingly of his affliction, fearful lest someone might think he was ungrateful for the many good fortunes that had been his privileges in life to enjoy. when they returned home that afternoon, aunt sophie, a neighbor, had her paper and pencil ready. she came out on the porch and called across the street to uncle jake. “oh, jake, jake, let little mamie come over hyer an' write me two letters.” “yas sophie, hyer she is,” said uncle jake. “little mamie, come hyer little credder, an write me two letters,” called granny sophie. “yes, granny, i'm coming right now.” after mamie put her basket down she ran across the dusty street to granny's. “come on honey. i'se go give you some turnip green wid corn meal dumplins' in 'um an' some sweet pertater puddin an' uh cup uv lye homly. go in duh little room an' git duh geogify off'n duh wash stand.” little mamie was in the fourth grade and she felt she could correct her grand-aunt's english. “granny it isn't geogify, it's geography. we study it at school.” granny's pride was a little touched and she fairly went up in the air. “chile, it's geogify. it's been dat all mah days. you got dat frum yo' cousin minnie, teachin' over at dat school house. she's been tuh fishes' college at nashvull, tennessee; if dey learns you lak dat, she better stay at home. dey's jes so proper up dare, dey'll be callin' god, git, terreckley. dese white fokses comes round hyer fuh dey close, axin' fuh mah baby chile an' dey calls her arezonia. dat's not her name. ah named her an ah aught tuh know. her name is arzoney, after duh place arzoney, way out west, out younder by californey. now go on honey chile an' write callie. don' you say all dat foolishness,” said granny, as she patted little mamie tenderly. penhook, texas, august io “dear callie, we is all well and hope's when you git dese few lines dey will fin' all yawls duh same. yo mammy wants tuh see all uv yawl mighty bad. how is duh chillun? i'ze done kot you two mokin' burds. sen' me uh little money uhlong tuh git uh little grub. be sho tuh come down at hog killin' time. we's got two big sows, and one fat pig. put me up uh few glasses uv jelly an' some peach zerz an' fetch 'um wid you. ev'ry body axis 'bout you. ah gits little mamie tuh write; she is uh good chile. ah cain't git none uv my grandchillun tuh set still long uhnough tuh write. bring her uh little sump'n when you come. dallas is uh big town an' she wants sump'n frum up dair. write at once, yo' ole mammy sophie jones. thanky so much little mamie. come on now, an' git uh pan. “can i take some of it to grandpa, granny? he loves your cookin' so much,” said little mamie pleadingly. “yes, chile, take it over home but you bring duh pan back when you gits through.” “thanky, granny, and good luck. good bye.” “goodbye little mamie. you'see a smart chile, writin' 'round here, and no bigger dan tom thum.” little mamie and her grandpa just finished their meal when several of the old men came in and sat down to hear about his mother, who had lived to such a ripe old age. “come right in, elder, you an meek, ah see clem comin'. dis is been uh nice day.” said uncle jake. “yas, but it's too dry. duh farmers say dat dey needs rain bad. ah cain't see why dey don't look fuh uh black snake. ah nuver seed hit fail. ef you kill uh black snake an' hang it high, it'll sho rain. ef you hang uh gret big one, uh cyclone will come.” “you'se right, meek. er black snake will sho bring rain. you know; ah’m got some injun in me. mah granny wuz uh full blooded injun, an' dey allus hung up snakes when dey wanted rain. hyer comes duh lodge sisters. ain't dey dresses stiff an' uh rattlin’?” “yas, jake; dey's uh switchin' too,” chuckled elder simpson. all eyes were turned on the three sisters. uncle jake always made some cute remark that caused the ladies to blush as well as giggle a plenty. “hop light, ladies; duh cakes all dough. don't min' duh wedder since duh win’ don’ blo’,” blabbed out uncle jake, as the women approached them. “good evening, good evening, genermens. how is yawl?” said the women as they blushed, giggled and kept in the same step as they pounded the hard side-walk with their broad cuban heels. “whut uh russel uv skirts. dey knows how tuh hol'um up high too, so you kin see duh lace an 'broadry on uv'ry petticoat. ole millie wears six petticoats, so ah hyers,” said uncle reb, after discharging two gobs of well-chewed tobacco. “look at dem purty bois 'd arc blocks on dat wagun. who's buildin’ roun hyer, jake?” asked uncle clem. “ole man kinkade, down on birmingham street. he's buildin' ten fo' room houses tuh rent. ah hyers dat oles' boy uv his ain't wurth ah barbee buttan, but dat's natchul, whar dar's uh big family. duh bad part is, he's named fuh his daddy. ah gits so disgusted when ah thinks 'bout mah joe named fuh uh banker, and he's duh no countes' chile ah got,” said uncle jake, as he shook his head. “mr. joe's uh courtin' now. he's head uv his sunday school, an' uh girl frum norf is come tuh play duh orgun fuh him. mah boys tells me when duh furs street car wuz put on duh tracks las' sunday dat him an' dis gurl had duh frunt seat. dey could look straight at dem mules' heels. he's been banker in dis little town fuh twenty yers. it's time he's uh marryin', an’ raisin' uh family; he's way past forty.” “you’re right, jake, but ah thought he wuz uh lakin' one o' dem nesbit girls.” “no elder, he won't marry in dat family.” uncle jake said assuredly. the picture that presented itself in this little town on monday mornings was striking. women with bundles of white folks' clothes on their heads; old men with worn out, muscle bound or lame nags, (often called quilting frames) hitched to rickety carts, and with white bundles stacked high in them, plodded up and down the narrow dirt sidewalks and streets. women met on certain corners or under shade trees and had their monday morning's chat. sunday's church doings or the price of the bundle they happened to be carrying usually furnished the topic of discussion. one dollar was the price for washing and ironing a good sized bundle of clothes belonging to a family of three or four persons. a bundle that brought one dollar and a half was entirely too large for the women to carry; the old men would gather those. soap and starch were in the bundles, but the women furnished lye for boiling and fuel for ironing. by twelve o'clock, the long clothes lines in the spacious back yards were filled with clothes that seemed to be snow white when the hot sun hit them. char-coal men, as the women called them, came around in the late afternoons with charcoal put in bushel sacks; but about half of the long wagons were filled with loose coal so the women could buy from a nickel's worth up. uncle jake lived on one of the main thoroughfares and he and his old friends would have something to say to all the passersby. “hyer comes lyin' harry. whut's duh matter wid him, singin', ‘at duh cross' as loud as he kin?” “don’t know, reb. cain't 'magine why he's so all fired happy, a liar; he's headed dis way, we'll soon find out. look at him, cryin' an wipin' his face wid his coat sleeve,” said elder simpson. harry had once lived in the neighborhood and all the old men knew him to be a rogue. he was stopping every one he met to tell them of his conversion. he turned in the gate and began shaking hands heartily with the old men, and tears hurried down his glum face. “hello, uncle jake, hello, all uv yawl. i jes mus' shake yo' hands. i'see happy, my soul's konverted and duh devil cain't do me no harm. i jined church las' night at duh revival. yes sir, bruthers, yes sir. elder simpson, i knows how you feels when you gits 'ligion. i got it. i saw sump'n wrapped in white and i knows i’se konverted. i'm happy; ooooeee! scuse me, bruthers, i gotta holler. somepin’ inside got tuh git out. uncle jake, i'se fessin'. i wants all yawl to scuse me an furgive me. i have tuck a many stick uv wood frum yo' wood pile, uncle jake. las' winter, i jes lived in yo' wood pile. i knows you'll furgive me. i knows you will.” “yas, harry ah'ze glad you is got konverted an' 'cided tuh do right. ah been knowin' all duh time dat you thought mah wood pile wuz yo's. it's good you'se 'fessin' when you is, 'cause mah wood pile is somewhut low an ah’d lak mighty well fuh yo' 'ligion tuh force you tuh bring some uv it back. money is skace an' mah married childrun is scattered, an ah’m tryin' tuh git in mah winner wood. ah'd sho 'preciate it ef you could see fit tuh pay uh little uv it back.” harry stared at the ground. if he heard uncle jake, no one knew by his response. when he did speak, he continued confessing. “yes, i'se sho’ been a bad nigger in my days; now i'se turned 'roun’.” as he said this, he stuck his right heel in the ground and turned himself swiftly around several times. “i’m goin' tuh shout all over dis town. good day, genermens, i want yawl tuh pray fuh me.” harry went on down tremble street singing and confessing. “he’s a hard feller tuh handle. he's been at mah meetin's. ah’ve got atter him 'bout his sins fuh yers, but he would't pay me no min’. i'se not tuh judge, but ah'm skeared his 'ligion ain't much,” commented the elder. the summer had been hot and short. the old men soon left their arbor house and moved inside; most of them were unable to go much during the cold days, but elder simpson lived next door and he spent quite a bit of his time enjoying the big fires in uncle jake's fireplace. it was late in november and the weather was crisp. sam got up early and made things ready for killing hogs by breakfast. “pappy, uncle peter is here to stick the hogs fuh us.” “go right ahead, sam; ah’ll hobble out dair time you drag 'um up tuh scald. come out, elder, we's jes killin' two tuhday an dey's sho fine. ah know duh biggest will tip duh scales fuh three hundred.” when uncle jake got outside, half the hair had been scraped from both hogs and the snow white skin was spotless. about four o'clock little mamie came running into the house and threw her books on the old marble top dresser. “grandpa, have they cleaned the hogs yet?” “yas, honey. you's jes in time.” her uncles had saved her some pieces to roast and she was soon at work. “come sit near the fire, grandpa. i'm roastin' us the melts and some liver. look at my two bladders. will you lend me your new pipe stem so i can blow them up " “finish yo' cookin' furs, den we'll fix duh bladders. she's goin' tuh be uh good cook. ah kin tell by her seasonin'. give elder uh piece uv dat liver, it's good. don't git so nigh duh big blaze. pull red coals frum under duh pot wid yo' shovel—dat's right, put on some mo' liver. we'll git lots o' lard frum dese hogs, nigh uhnuff tuh las' duh winner. we'll render it up tuh morrer. elder, ah'll sen' yo' missus some cracklin's fuh bread. have yo' noticed how fat all duh folks git dis time o' year? it's eatin' all dis good hog meat,” said uncle jake in a satisfied tone. “yas, ah’ve noticed it. dey stay quite fat dis season uv der yer,” answered elder simpson, after swallowing a hunk of liver. “sam, you git tuh cleanin' dem chittlin's son, fore dark. we'll soak 'um two days, den dey'll be fit tuh cook. dere's no better eatin' then chittlin's an cracklin' bread. fetch me a 'nudder piece uv liver, mamie; ah'll make mah sepper off'n it. fetch some corn bread too. dese hogs is prutty an' white. dey's cawn-fed an' duh meat is firm; we've crammed 'um wid cawn fuh uh mont now an' it makes uh diffrunce. slop-fed hogs is got soggy meat. saul will have tuh trim 'um close; he'll cut 'um up an we'll have tuh make sawshits tuh night.” three of uncle jake's boys were kept busy until long after dark. several neighbors saw the big fire in the back yard, and came to take a look at the hogs. each offered a suggestion. uncle jake wasn't the only one in the neighborhood killing hogs. big fires in the back yards had the street almost as bright as day. “saul, go git yo' sister ellen. she stopped by duh church tuh hep decorate fuh duh sociable tuh morrer night. she's young an' we have tuh be kerful wid her. she's duh baby chile an' it's all yawls dooty tuh see atter her.” “pappy, here's ellen now. somebody's with her,” said saul. “who is it son?” “it looks like jim gill.” “jim gill ! why dat dirty rascall he's thirty ef he's uh day. let him come in. ah’ll fix him.” ellen was a little afraid to walk home with jim, but she had heard the older girls say there had to be a beginning. they stopped at the gate to talk and this made uncle jake furious. he had scrambled to the front door and jerked it open. clearing his throat, he leaned on his crutch and pointed to them with his cane. “ellen! you come in hyer. an' fuh you, jim gill, you git out quick. ah'll git mah fingers tangled in yo' dam gills an' tear 'um out. you're nyerly ole uhnuf fuh ellen's daddy. she's not courtin' yit. git out! don't let me ketch you wid her agin.” when he had finished expostulating, jim was turning his second corner. poor ellen was afraid to go in the house, for well did she know that her father would keep her dodging behind the kitchen stove pipe as he tried to hit her with his cane until one of her brothers came to her rescue. as she passed him he struck at her with his cane, but ellen was too quick and this peeved him. he almost fell as he turned to follow her, but saul interceded and assured him that she wouldn't see jim again. “uncle sam, you'd better come fix up this fire in the fireplace, it's low. better bring a back log too. there's so many good hot ashes and hot coals. i want to roast some potatoes. can i?” “yes, mamie; bring your potatoes on. i’ll help you cover them. oh, you have them we'll dig a hole in the ashes in the far corner. now, put your potatoes in and cover them with ashes first, then put the coals on top so they won't burn before they cook. i hear somebody coming. wonder who it is p” little mamie wasted no time in getting to the door and unthumbolting it. it was her mother. “hey, ellen, bring the big lamp in here. i can't see how to cut up these hogs. this little lamp keeps smoking. yaw'l kin make out with it,” said saul. sister lena, you can season the sausage. they're ready.” “we’re coming, saul. who all killed hogs today?” “about six families; why?” answered saul. “well, i was going to fix up plates to send around. we don't need to send meat to them that killed, de we pappy?" “no, daught', meat's meat.” after lena seasoned the sausage, she cooked some to see how it tasted. her daddy declared they were the best they'd ever had. she then filled small tin pans with scrap meat and sausage and sent them to neighbors who didn't kill that day. “wist you'd start dem livers an' lights ter cookin' tuh night an' git duh seasonin' in. ellen kin finish 'um; she don't understand yit how tuh cook frush meats, but she's uh lurnin'.” “mamie have you forgotten your little speech 'bout, “it's hog killin' time?” y “no mother. i'll show you.” the child began reciting almost before she got to the middle of the floor. it's hog killin’ time i when duh weather's crisp an cole, an all nature's fas' uh sleep, duh men foks git tuh-gether but duh hogs begin tuh weep. duh big pots start tuh bilin', ev'rything is jes sublime, 'cause we's go enjoy ourselves it's hog killin' time. dey hang duh hogs up on uh pole, high in duh air you know, den scrape duh thick hair off dair backs till dey is white ez snow; no more hard luck stories, duh ole south's in her prime, ev'rybody's happy, it's hog killin' time. duh chillun settin' 'roun duh fiah, roastin' melts an livers, makes no diffrence to dem, let fish stay in duh rivers. mammy cooks duh chittlins, foks stuff till its uh crime, no one tries to diet it's hog killin' time. . foks don't fuhgit dair neighbors, dey're lookin' fuh dat plate, stacked wid spare-ribs an sausage, why dey meet you at duh gate. pshaw ez fuh chicken an shortcake ah wouldn't give uh dime, when ev'rybody's friendly an' it's hog killin' time. as she finished reciting, they heard blood curdling screams on the outside. “whut's all that screamin' about? who is it? see, sam.” “yes, sister, it sounds like sadie. she's the only one that can holler that shrill around here.” “run, sam, and stop talking. oh, yes, it's sadie, i know it now. listen how proper she's yelling and trying to wave her voice when it's high. that's the way she sings; all in ripples.” in a few minutes sadie's mother's yard was full of excited folks. sadie had been married to a fashionable gambler a few months and he had committed suicide on lee street. the crowd followed sadie as she ran up the street screaming. people joined them all the way and when they reached lee street, the crowd was enormous. uncle ed's two-horse hack was hired to take the corpse to his sister's home six blocks away. since sadie was his wife, she should have walked next to the hack, but she was too grief stricken to walk fast. uncle ed, being hard of hearing did not know that the crowd wasn't right up with him. when he did happen by instinct, he said, to turn around, he saw the crowd nearly a block away. he forgot and called over the dead: “say thar, whut you boys and gals doin' back thar whut you think i'see gwine do wid dis hyer dead man?” he waited until the crowd caught up with him and made one of the boys climb into the seat beside him. then he drove so slowly the crowd passed him and he had to show disrespect to the dead again by driving fast to catch up with them. since there hadn't been a suicide in the little town in five years, this was the topic of discussion. on the day of the funeral, there wasn't standing room in the yard. eyes and ears were wide open. they wanted to hear every word that fell from rev. jenkins' lips. they knew he'd land him safe in hell and surround him with tongues of fire. but his sister was quite an intelligent woman, having lived in chicago and new york with the folks she worked for; so she gave them the surprise of their lives. the ceremony was short. after a prayer and two hymns, the funeral procession was on its way to the graveyard that morning at io o'clock. those who were speak a word from the time she left home until she returned, only to say, “good day” to mr. joe. before she had hardly gotten home, she began, “grandpa, why did you grin so when miss lucille said you look like uncle remus? i've seen uncle remus' picture in a book, and you don't look like him.” “baby, you'se too fussy 'bout things. ah don't kere nothin' 'bout uncle remus. guess he wuz uh good story teller. mos' ole men wuz in slav'ry.” said uncle jake as he wriggled about in his wicked rocker to get comfortable and hoping at the same time that little mamie wouldn't ask more questions. “don’t go on so, chile; go git yo' grandpap a cool drink uv water.” hands in her big gingham apron and slowly mumbled: “mr. polices, it's mine. i don't know much 'bout the fight, only that uncle jake's two boys wuz standing here drinking soda pop when the two jeffrey boys come in and started cuttin' on 'um.” “yes, yes, i see, just a little scrap,” said one of the officers. “the jeffrey boys live right next door. they've nearly kilt jim and saul; don't know if they'll live or not,” whined callie. “that's nothin', we don't want them; we just come to see that no further trouble happens. everybody that don't belong in here an' ain't a-buying nothin' git out! ! !” commanded the officers as they pointed to the door with their clubs. thus, their duty being performed, they left.— after the doctor finished his butchery job, the boys were taken to their little shack on tremble street where their crippled father sat crying pitiously and friends and relatives stood around trying to console him. seb ran ahead of the two hacks and kept the crowd back. “uncle jake, they're bringing jim and saul home. the doctor's just got through sewin' 'um up. guess if i hadn't happened up, both of yo' boys would of been done with. i beat them jeffreys off with an ole fence pallin'. they're bringin' the boys in now.” uncle jake reached for his crutch and some one helped him to stand on his feet. with tears rushing down his fat brown cheeks, he snuffled and talked between sobs as he followed the boys to their cots. “fuh duh life uv me; whut's all dis? mah boys don't e'um carry pocket knives. dey is called duh best boys in dis town. cain't see why dese jeffreys tried tuh kill 'um. ah didn't know dey had any enemies. l-o-o-k at dis crowd l— don't let 'um all come in dis little room. dey's uhnuf tuh kill me an' duh boys too. git 'um out uv duh yard, seb, git 'um out-out.” at that moment a thin brown girl, dressed in a middy and skirt elbowed her way through the crowd; she was almost frantic. with a shrill voice she called out: “let me through this crowd is saul hurt? where's he? let me in here! s-a-y, big boy, who're you? let me in. oh, git back—is you folks crazy? let me—in " all eyes turned questioningly on her. uncle jake could bear the shock of it all better than he could this, a strange street woman tearing into his home at such a time. being humiliated is expressing it mildly. he knew this would start tongues to wagging. “who is dat frush wench comin' in hyer, seb? she's orderin' folks uh round lak she lives hyer. ah don't lak her looks, ah don't lak her voice, and ah don't lak her. fetch her tuh me, ah wants tuh fin' out whut she knows 'bout dis trouble.” seb was a bully around men, but he confessed being a coward in the presence of any woman. he thrust his long hands in the pockets of his jeans and slow-dragged up to her and whispered, “say, girl, uncle jake wants you; come with me.” she straightened her bow tie, gave her middy several jerks at the bottom, then turned and reluctantly followed seb. “ah’m dese boys' daddy. who is you an' whur did you come frum?” she looked straight at him and smoothed her hair in front with both hands before speaking. “i—i, sir? i'm lilly.” “yas, you got uh mighty pyore name. do you know mah boys?” lilly opened her big, flashy eyes and breathed heavily, then answered; “i-i know saul, sir.” “do you know duh jeffreys?” she turned quickly, looked straight at him again and answered, “no-no sir, i don't.” uncle jake scowled, gritted his teeth and in an undertone roared: “dat's uh bare face lie.” her whole body twitched; she shifted her weight first from one foot then to the other; she stood before him looking wherever her eyes happened to fall. he could see that she was clever and he was forced to admire her for it. his remarks were sharp and piercing, but she stood unmoved; never did she show one sign of anger. uncle jake continued: “gurl, ah think you'se at duh bottom uv it all. ah don't want mah boys runnin' 'round wid no strumpets. git out o' hyer an' git out quick, you alley strumpet, or ah'll crack yo' head wid mah crutch.” saul, though only a few feet away in the next room had listened to the whole conversation and was wiggling impatiently on his cot. he knew it was his time to speak and he did so unhesitatingly. “pappy, pappy, don't do that. lilly's just a friend of mine. she knows nothing about this trouble. let her stay; you know both my sisters and little mamie are in oklahoma. she only came to help, i know.” - the doctor had been washing his hands in a little tin wash basin in the kitchen and came out wiping them. he knew his patient must be kept quite and as comfortable as possible. when uncle jake saw him rushing out, he called to him. “doctor l—oh doctor, how bad is dey hurt? can you kyor 'um?” “not if you keep up all that racket, uncle. let the girl go talk to saul. she'll be of some service; you have no women around here.” the doctor, possessing a little strain of familiarity him- self, gently patted the girl as he spoke, “go, girl and see what saul wants. your boys are in bad condition. jim is cut from the back of his neck almost to the front. if the front was as deep as the back, he would have been dead. saul was fortunate in having on a thick leather belt. he is cut from the middle of his lower back, coming around his right side across his abdomen to the middle of his left side;—well, almost clear around his waist. just missed by a fraction of an inch cutting his intestines. when he walked into my office he was holding them in his hands; don't see how he made it. now, old man, i don't know this girl, but it's clear that saul is in love with her. do as i say; let her stay. i can see that by her all-fired nerve that she'll see to it that my orders are carried out.” uncle jake wept bitterly; he nodded his hoary head and answered, “thanks, doctor, it's uh hard pill, but ah'll try tuh swaller it. it's duh furs' time uh harlot's hung uhround dis house, and tuh think dat our smartest boy is duh cause uv it. ah wanted tuh make uh lawyer out uv him. ah e'um bought books, but he wouldn't study. dis mus' o' been duh reason. ah’ve seen too many winmen, an ah put mah stamp on her when ah furs' looked intuh her dancin' eyes. sam, it's nigh mornin', aint it? yo' ole pappy is havin' lots tuh go through in his ole days. glad yo' mammy don't have tuh stan' dis. duh anguls tuck her uhway.” sam put his hand on his father's shoulder, sat down and tried to console him. “pappy, i don't know this girl either, but i don't think she's so bad. let people talk; we must do what's best for our boys.” “you'se right, son; ah’ve lived long uhnuf tuh know dat most folks have got uh skeleton in duh closet dey's hidin'. ah know 'bout some uv 'um mahself in dis hyer town.” uncle jake didn't like to talk about his friends and acquaintances. he'd been in penhook for years and knew the history of every family; but when push came to shove, he'd explode, and folks knew it. “ole molly's been hangin' round hyer fuh hours gittin' news,” he continued. “her mammy had five childrun, all different daddies an’ she wusn’t married to uh single one uv 'um. let her start. fetch duh lamp in hyer, son and write yo' sisters tuh come home and you go tuh yo' uncle's farm an' git yo' brothers, joe and fred, sometime tuhday.” everything calmed down in the little shack. with morning came a gentle rap at the door. lilly wiped her eyes with her fingers, got up from the big rocker, stretched several times and then went to the door. “come in doctor, come in; your orders have been carried out. i've set here nearly all night; nobody got by me, either. both boys have rested nicely. will you let the nurse off duty for a few minutes? i must go for some clothes. saul wants me to nurse both of them, if you'll agree.” “sure, you're a faithful nurse, lilly. i twice agree.” “boys, we're going to have some hot days. too bad we have no hospital here, but we'll do our best. remember, you're to have no company. that girl says she'll nurse you and i believe she will; with the assistance of your brothers, she'll be able to get along,” said the doctor. some one rode in the yard on horseback; sam rushed to the door and found mr. joe. “hello, sam, what's happened to the boys just saw a line or two in the morning's paper.” uncle jake had heard his voice and was scrambling for his crutch. “come in, mr. joe. ah jes' knowed you'd come, when you heard it. mah boys have been nearly kilt by dem jeffreys an’ ah don't know whut uhbout. rekin' ah’ll nuver know. all ah know is dat jim nearly got his head cut off and saul nearly got cut half in two,” uncle jake said weakly. “that's very unfortunate, jake, but don't you worry. the doctor here, says they're doing fine. i've given him an order to get anything he needs from our dry goods store; i’ve given him another order to nelson's drug store, and if it's money, come to me at the bank. get anything that will make the boys comfortable. i know how you've raised them. they're good boys. i'll be going now. i should be at the bank at : .” “thanks, thanks, good luck to you, mister joe. good day, sur.” the ever faithful mr. joe, whenever a stearns, black or white, was in trouble, always came to their rescue; not only with consuling words, but with finance. lilly appeared in the door with a big bundle under her arm. “was i gone long? uncle jake, i'll have your and the boys' breakfast in a jiffy. sam, make a fire in the kitchen stove. mush and milk for the sick boys; hot biscuits, bacon and scrambled eggs and coffee for us. how's that?” “your fire is ready, lilly, and the water's scorching,” said sam. it wasn't long before the odor of fried bacon and coffee filled the house. “sam, dat gal might be uh little hep, but she's so frush. wish she'd be uh little mo' ca'm; folks wouldn't notice it so much. ah hyers she's uh fine cook. saul says so; guess he knows.” “sure pappy, we'll think she's all right for saul's sake. she handled that crowd last night better than a policeman. don't know what we'd done without her. you see what the doctor says. it takes nerve to get by; don't think i can criticize her about her nerve. saul loves that gal; he whispered to me last night that he's going to marry her. i asked him if one of the jeffreys liked her and he didn't answer.” “son, mah reasoning hardly ever fools me. ef he marries dat gal, he's uh-doin' it to spite one uv dem jeffreys. nobody seems tuh know her. uver'ybody's axin' who she is. ah’m uh wonderin' mahsef where'd she stray frum. duh doctor says she's uh good nuss. she's had trainin' somewhar's. she didn't jes grow; she's too smart. she won't answer no questions 'bout hersef. somewhur's ah speck she's got uh po’ pappy lak me dat's uh prayin' fuh her.” all the long hot summer the boys rolled on their cots; when they were able, their cots were carried under the big tree. lilly kept the little shack clean. people changed their criticisms to compliments. - mr. joe and his brother, leslie, came every week to see that the boys were comfortable, as they always said. lena, ellen and little mamie came home, but lilly still remained the head nurse. the trial was to come up in late summer, but the jeffreys got around, paid off some lawyer to fix up things and they didn't go to jail or to trial either. uncle jake left it in the hands of the lord. “grandpa, i see mr. leslie coming on horseback.” “do you chile run, take dese knives and rines in duh back fore he gits hyer. he knows ah’m uh clean man.” the child quickly threw the rines into the tin bucket and ran to the hog pen. “whoa, queen! jake, this is the first time i've caught you alone, and i'm glad. i want to tell you about brother joe. his sunday school is having a picnic at pine creek and i'm on my way out there. they left early this morning.” “dat's fine, mr. leslie. do you belong tuh church yit?” “nope, but i'm thinking 'bout it. that girl that come from up north to play the organ at church is got her cap set for brother joe and by golly, he's got his set for her too. we heard she's a poor girl. her pa raised her. she worked in the church all her life. when she got big enough to go to college, the church up there, sent her. she learnt to play the organ at college. she don't know nothing much but church concerts, sociables and picnics, and joe likes that but the church folks is whispering about that a poor girl like that won't know how to act in a wealthy man's house.” “all winmen learns quick how tuh spen' muney, don't bother uh'bout dat; and he needs uh wife bad,” broke in uncle jake. “he needs a wife and i believe she'll make a good one. the church folks is jealous. they think he should marry cilla, but he somehow can't like her well enough to marry her. he won't talk much about it, but i think he's about got his mind made up on his girl. i'll go out there. my wife and children are looking for me to be there in time to eat with them.” mr. leslie kicked the mare lightly in the flank, as he waved good-bye to uncle jake. on his way, he overtook other men. they rode along clucking to their horses and talking about conditions in penhook. the merry voices of the children penetrated the woods and reached them a mile away. they rode up near the crowd and tied their horses in the shade. after speaking to his family, mr. leslie looked for his brother joe. ethel, the girl from the north, was teaching the children games. he saw several men examining the trees. he joined them and kept his eyes busy searching in every direction for his brother. they walked toward the creek where some were fishing and others frying fish; a little to the right of them, under a big oak, sat joe and cilla. joe appeared a little restless, but cilla was rattling off like the wind as she pulled the petals from a flower. mrs. james rang a little brass bell, calling those who had wandered away from the crowd to come to dinner. two wagon loads of wooden horses and planks had been emptied and as the men made tables with them, the women spread the long white cloths. ethel dismissed the children and helped mrs. thomas, a good old loguacious sister in the church, who was her land-- lady to spread her dinner. mr. joe had asked that they spread next to his sisters. rev. kelley asked the blessing and the hungry crowd began reaching for the barbecue, chicken, hocks, vegetables and all kinds of sweetmeats. little hattie barbour, a youngster about eight years, jumped up from the table to give her doggie a good bone, and fell on a hatchet that someone had carelessly left near their kin walk uhroun', but saul have got tuh be kerful. he sets up, dough.” “here's a dollar. it'll help you some.” “yas indeed, duh boys kin eat mos' nigh anything now. little mamie, run and git it, honey. thanky, thanky, mr. leslie. how wuz duh picnic?” “there was a big crowd and they had a good time. i've heard them talking about brother joe's sunday school picnics, but this is the first time i've ever been. think i'll go every year. it's about six o'clock; i must be on time to supper. my wife is a crank about that.” “yas, miss jessie is. she learnt mah joe how tuh wash dishes, an' he kin git uh job in any hotel.” “goodbye jake, i'll see you next week. hope the boys will continue to improve.” “goodbye an' good luck, mr. leslie.” uncle jake smiled, leaned forward, and watched mr. leslie and his pony fade in the dust. chapter vii * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * faintly through a cloud of dust a one horse rickety hack could be seen approaching. the driver's thin body swayed from side to side as his old nag trotted along. “hey, mister, stop, this is the pla-place. this is ja-jake's house.” uncle jake and several of the old men were sitting under his big tree; he caught the familiar voice. he squinted his eyes and, with an inquisitive frown, leaned forward in his old arm chair. finding his voice at last he spoke: “who you got in yo' hack, cap'n? well, well, efit ain't moster jim an' he's drunk ez uh biled owl. mamie run tell yo' uncle sam an' saul tuh come hyer, quick. just uh minute cap'n, mah two boys will take him out. where'd you git him?” uncle jake asked anxiously. “he jes come in off'n that train; i seed him staggerin' 'round and he give me fo' bits to fetch him out here,” said the driver. seeming a bit impatient because his boys hadn't shown up, uncle jake lifted his crutch two or three times in an effort to get up himself. though many years had passed since master jim owned him, that same old tie that once bound them was just as strong. he could say what most men of his race and age could not say. his master had been kind to him. “sam l—saull come, boys. take poor moster jim in duh house an' git ez much sweet milk down his craw ez you kin—yas, uh quart, ah know he's drunk uh whole gallon uv whiskey tuh be dis drunk. dis is uh smart man, an' edicated too; but he jes won't let whiskey be. it's duh ruination uv him. take him on in, boys; no use me cripplin' in. ah can't see atter mahsef. elder simpson, guess ah ought'n complain, he's been so good tuh me. his daddy give me tuh him fuh uh christmas present when both uv us wuz young. ah've been taking kere uv him ever since. duh family thought since he wuz so fond uv me dat ah'd be able tuh hep him, but nobody have ever hepped him fuhgit whiskey. he's nuver been married, not because duh girls didn't want him, but he's nuver had will power tuh stop drinking long uhnuff tuh git serious 'bout uh girl. ah use to play duh fiddle fuh dances miles uh'round. most uv duh time ah wore his white shirts an' other fine close. he didn't take mah money neither, it wuz mine, yas indeed. ah mus' git in duh house now tuh see how duh boys is comin' on. dey's done dis so much an’ nuver complain. funny thing, when moster jim is sober he talks lak uh nue yok banker, but when he's drunk he studders so bad you cain't understand him. yawl don't have tuh go; jes stay hyer. ah'll be back. dey's bringing lena's husbun' in today on dat : uh 'clock train. he's been down at clarksville working at duh compress. dey say somebody's done pisoned him in whiskey; he's drunk uh lizard uh somp'n an' he's having fits. ant sue duck is sposed tuh kyore all kinds uv fits. she'll be hyer when he comes.” “jake, dey don't kunjure now ez much dey use tuh; maybe somebody got some uv his hair, if dey did, dat's bad, but ant sue duck kin git him straight,” said elder simpson, confiden- tially. “yas, ah think so too, elder. lena wrote dat he thinks people is cats. ef day's black, he calls 'um black cats. if dey's yaller, he thinks dey's yaller cats. he tells everybody tuh scat.” elder simpson held his whiskered chin and chuckled out, “well, jake, he'll think ant sue duck is uh little black kitten, won't he?” “saml come hep me in duh house, son,” called uncle jake as he whisked his old crutch in place. “yes, pappy. glad you're comin'. master jim's havin' a whiskey fit. he says varmuts is after him.” staring into space, master jim's face quickly changed into many caricatures. at the sound of a crutch thudding the naked floor and a lame foot dragging after it he jumped up in bed and with a loud stammering voice yelled: “ja-jake, it's you. come get m-me, come g-get m-me. take that big snake off m-me, and the one- r-round my-wa-wa-waist, and the one r-r-round m-m-my neck. h-help!” uncle jake caught the thin white hand in his chubby left. “lay down, moster jim. ah’m hyer. ah won't let nothin' bother you. hold mah han’; hold it tight. cain't you see me; you'se lookin' in space. don't worry. ah got you. ah’ll see after you ez long ez ah kin left dis ole lef’ han'. ah’ll nuver fuhsake you. mah house is yo'se; me an' mah childrun still loves you. others kin turn dey backs on you, but ah'll fuhgive you fuh mistreatin' yosef; ah knows you cain't hep it. cain't you swallow uh little more milk?—all right, ah won't make you; you're uh sick man, but you'll feel better when you vomuks. saul, where's little mamie p. she's so scared when moster jim comes drunk. find her an' let her run an' play. what's duh matter wid you, sam? why you runnin' so?” “pappy, moster jim's brother, joe, is comin'. he's on horse back.” a cold silence filled the little room. a light from the fire-place flickered and fell on the sleeping face of an old man in the last of his sixties. the top of his bald head was shining and the few strands of long hoary hair above each ear were being wafted about by a gentle breeze that happened to be passing. too well did uncle jake know that some onry cuss had betrayed him. the sound of the horse's hoofs pounding the hard ground in the front yard made his heart beat hard and fast. “hey jake, where are you?” “o, come in, mr. joe, come in,” said uncle jake nervously. “mister joe, please don't take him, mah boys don't min’. ah’m 'fraid no body understands lak me. he'll soon sober up now. he's not jes drunk; he's sick. his stomach won't hold nothin' an’ah knows whut tuh do fuh him when he's lak dis. it'll most nigh kill him ef you take him in dis fix,” pleaded uncle jake. placing his trembling hand over that of his once master's, uncle jake pled with both eyes and voice. “please mister joe, don't take him. ah don't think ah could stand tuh see him leave me in dis fix. you know how he feels by me, he knows ah’m his friend. yo' daddy tole me tuh see after him an' ah've done it fuh yers. do let me be true to mah trus'. moster jim's got uh world uv confidence in me an' jes fuh dat ah knows you'll let him stay.” “since you made the promise to my father, i'll let him stay. here's two dollars, jake; you're just too honest,” said mr. joe. uncle jake squeezed the bills tightly in his good hand and pressed the clinched fist to his chest. tears welled in his eyes, but he smiled through them in acknowledgement of a victorious battle. “thanks, thanks, mr. joe, good luck tuh you,” whined uncle jake. his two boys stood also, pleading with their eyes to mr. joe not to take him. ellen and little mamie were in their little room door- peeping and listening to the dialogue. their eyes were big and tearful. they too felt near to moster jim. “grandpa the old gray mare is in the corn patch.” turning quickly to one side and pushing his crippled leg with his left hand, uncle jake answered: “mamie, come hyer chile. moster jim's sleep. say, baby, whose settin' in duh yard? is elder simpson gone yet?” “elder simpson and uncle dick are still out there grandpa.” he shuffled his feet several times and rolled his eyes in disgust and drawled out: “just ez ah thought; dey heard uv'rything. it'll be all over dis hyer town fore mornin'; but neither uv dem kin hyer good, so maybe after all dey don't know nothin'—ole buzzards. cain't see why folks don't stay home sometimes, specially when dey sees you busy, just wants tuh be nosin' 'round. ah’ll cripple out and see whut dey knows,” growled uncle jake. “here, take your crutch, grandpa. i'll hold your cane till you pull up on the foot of the bed. uncle saul, come help grandpa off the porch.” uncle jake held his head down and mumbled all the way to the porch. he didn't want the family's business to get out; in fact he didn't want any one to speak unpleasantly about moster jim not even his own brother. “hey, genermens, genermens, how's it wid you? have duh city clock struck fo' yit, elder?” “naw, jake; it will soon. how's yo' moster jim comin' on p’’ looking down and frowning as if searching for the right word, uncle jake muttered: “well—he's sorter so;-sleep now, he'll be better by mornin'. guess you hyered whut his brother joe said?” “no, no, we couldn't hyer him; dem men is making so much noise uhcross duh street dair wid dat ole wood saw, we couldn't even hyer oursefs talk. what did he say?” asked elder. uncle jake stroked his whiskers in his usual way when well pleased, cleared his throat wildly, then answered: “oh, well, he's always sorry tuh see him in sich uh fix;-he said jes 'bout what he usually allus say when moster jim's drunk. what 'bout duh 'lection, think ole man mccorklin will win p” “no chance fuh him uh 'tall. stevens will be our next mayor,” said uncle harry. “ah voted dis mornin'. dey sont uh cab fuh me. ah nuver seed so meny drunk men in mah life. mccorklin had bought two barrels uv beer an' uv'rybody dat voted fuh him could drink uh belly full. ah didn't want his old sour water, so his men give me fo' bits. ah kin use dat. it's dangus fuh winmen folks tuh be on duh streets on 'lection days. ah do know ef dey would let winmen vote, duh polling places would be decent, cause men won't lough winmen tuh see 'um lolling round lak hogs.” said uncle jake. elder reached for a gourd full of water, wrenched out his mouth and gulped down several swallows before speaking: “yas, and duh sooner dey let winmen folks vote, duh sooner we'll have men in dese offices dat will mean something to duh cullord man. by duh way, ole whistlin' alex passed hyer whilse you wuz in duh house. duh law showed him uh trick. he's an ole brag dat ah’ve nuver laked. he's jes duh bigges' nuisance in dis town. ah lak whistlin', but his sounds lak thunder claps, nuver heard sich deafening sounds in all mah life. dey jailed him las' week. he wuz whistlin' up town an' showin' out, had uh big crowd 'round him; duh officers called it disturbin' peace. now it's 'gainst duh law fuh him tuh whistle inside duh city limits; he must go in duh woods.” “good, elder, glad somethin' stopped dat ole fool.” answered uncle meek. “look here, granpa, i've picked two gallon buckets full of beans. i'll go and sell them.” “mamie, bless you, chile. you'll sell 'um. run uh long. she's uh sweet little thing, don' know whut ah'd do wid-out her. elder, do you 'member dat ole white man dat come hyer four uh five times to zamine her head when she wuz uh baby? he wuz uh free-nol-o-gy. he said we could make uh missionary uh somethin' big out uv her. we's nuver had no trouble wid her; she loves school an’ she comes home uv'ry day an' tells me uv'rythin' she's learnt in her books. she's learnin' me too. ah kin reason out uh lot o' things she says. when she furs' started talking, she studdered bad; she'd hit her little thighs wid her hans. we done mos' nigh uv'rything tuh stop her. duh bes' thing ah think wuz we made her drink out uv uh brass bell; dat's uh shore kyore fuh studderin'. we used so meny good remedies. duh dish-rag slappin' will kyore it too. you take uh wet dish-rag an' slap 'um quick in duh face an' scare 'um but her grandmammy wouldn't do it fuh she didn't want duh little thing tuh be scared uv her, an' lena wouldn't do it neither. we broke her tho; nobody would ever think she studdered.” “no dey wouldn't jake, she's got uh nice voice,” answered uncle meek. elder simpson had a way of swinging his right leg across his left knee with his left hand sticking between them, especially when he approved of something. he had watched little mamie since birth, and was always ready to shower compliments on her. “yas, yas, she is differunt frum most childrun. ah’ve nuver seen her frown; she's ez happy ez uh lark. when her grandpa calls her she jumps ez she answers. oh, she'll sell her beans,” said elder simpson assuredly. the child was four or five blocks away knocking on a door when the dialogue ended. “whose knockin'? come in ” “it's me, lady; it's mamie. i've got a big gallon bucket plum full of string beans for a dime and grandpa says he'll give me a nickel for every gallon i sell. won't you buy them, please ma'am p” said little mamie wistfully. “no honey, we had beans today. whose nice chile is you?” “my mamma's name is lena, my grandpa is uncle jake and we live on tremble street. these beans are nice and fresh, i just picked them. you can keep them several days and they're only ten cents. now won't you buy them this time, good lady?” begged the child. “guess i'll have to buy them after such a fine speech. i know yo' grandpa, i see him ev’ry time i’m up that way, settin' under that big tree, but i never have time to stop. i do remember you now. here's yo' dime, come back again and talk to me. you're a sweet little chile,” said the woman as she smiled and wished she could kiss those little brown cheeks and gently pull one of the long braids. little mamie jumped straight up and held her dime tightly in her hand; giving a big bow and smiling graciously, as she said: “thanks, thanks, lady and good luck to you ma'am.” the afternoon was dry and still and in a distance the old men heard someone clucking to horses. all heads turned at the same time as if on pivots. two thin gray mules pranced up to the gate and stopped. the driver's back formed a perfect rainbow curve and his small head swung far out from his shoulders. after unloading his tight mouth, by spitting several gobs of ambier on the front wheel of his wagon, he was able to speak: “hello, thar, jake, kin you sell these watermelons? these is georgia sweets, i counted 'bout twenty ur more loads o' melons twix here and town; no use me wastin' more time. let me unload 'um; git whut you kin fur 'um and take half the money. i'll be back in town sadday —my mules is tired, i live ten miles, it'll be midnight now when i git home.” “all right, unload 'um, mr. shipley. ah'll do mah best. “how's crops down yo' way?” “not much uncle jake, we's done wid choppin' cotton, but it's so hot the corn's nigh burnt up. a good rain would help lots,” answered mr. shipley as he pitched the melons out of the wagon into saul's big hands. “mamie you'se jes' in time. git yo' book an' take down dis load o' melons, see how much it will be if you git uh nickel fuh duh little ones an' uh dime fuh duh big ones. you an’ me will git half duh money an’ mr. shipley duh other half. come in, reb; an' clem have seats.” “it's all counted now grandpa. won't you let me cut a big one so’s all of us can have a piece?” she reached in the fork of the tree and got the butcher knife. “ah—! listen to her rip—she's a peach.-grandpa, you take this big piece so you can scrape the rind and drink the juice. we'll take the slices.” “hep yo' selves genermens. little mamie is shame tuh tell you, but ef you spit yo' seeds in uh pile, she kin git dem up quick,' an' don't break yo' rinds in sich little pieces. she takes dem to duh hogs. me an' her keeps our little summer arbor room clean; we cain't stand flies. she says she learnt in school dat flies carry diseases.” uncle jake had turned his big spoon over and was scraping as he talked. “hey grandpa, don't make such long hard scrapes; that juice is flying all over me and everybody else.” “ah seen uh big load o' yaller meat melons down duh street, duh seeds wuz jet black; dey showuz purty an' ez sweet ez honey.” “yas, reb, but ah jes cain't git der satisfied taste out uv yaller meats lak ah kin out ole reds, answered the elder. elder, ah see you'se puttin' in yo' winner wood, whut you payin' fuh it?” said uncle jake, after spitting out a mouthful of seeds. elder simpson stretched his long neck, cleared his throat lustily and spoke prosperously: “it’s three dollars uh cord, but mah boy, dr. simpson, is takin it fuh uh debt; folks won't have money now till fall an' duh country folks offers him uv'rythin' but duh baby.” with a basket of clothes on her head, one under her right arm and a bucket in her left hand, sister tinnie, a big lodge member, stopped under the shade to rest. “how's you men? sees you enjoyin' dat good red boneless ham.” “yas, sister tinnie, it's sweet too. we jes heard dat yo' lodge is givin' uh hog-hock sepper at duh hall tonight. is it so p” - “no, sir, it can't be, uncle reb, ah’m duh foremost leedenest member an' ah don't know nothin' 'bout it. we's to have dem hog hocks nex' week. we's to have pertater pies and other things too. dis sun am sho' hot but dem white folks is spectin' dey rags an ah gotta take 'um. you know ole bret johnson is a po’ man now and dey ain't got meny changing clothes. when dey set us free, he had three hundred niggers; he los' plenty money. reckon he'll make a good crop dis yer. he's got two farms planted in cotton and cawn. ah’ll go long now. good day, genermens.” “good-day, sister tinnie,” they chimed together. “mamie hyer's two winmen wantin' melons. wait on 'um an' be sho' tuh keep dat po' white man's money straight; he needs it ez bad ez we do. me and moster jim drew all over dis county. we went to uv'ry barbecue an' picnic we hyerd 'bout. whenever we passed uh church uh school house an' dey wuz havin' uh picnic we allus stopped. moster jim didn't know whar he wuz goin' noways. sometimes uh farmer would ax him tuh stay three uh fo' days. country folks had plenty den. dey yards wuz full uv hogs, chickens an' turkeys. he wuz uh good lookin' man an' duh girls wuz crazy 'bout him cause he could use sich big wurds, but sir, do you know when we lef’ dem houses he hardly ever spoke uv dem gurls. he had uh rovin' min’. his daddy hated it but whut could he do? one time we wuz gone two monts. his daddy got oneasy. we could uv come home, but we jes didn't. did you call, sam? moster jim's waked stay here ez long ez you please, genermans. mamie, ef moster jim is better, we'll go tuh see mammy, sunday. ah know she's lookin' fuh us.” “i’m saving my nickels so i can take her some soft candy and some other things too. she's my great-grandma and i love her. she tells me many sad stories about slavery. i'm glad her mistress wasn't cruel to her; i can't see how anyone could mistreat her, she's so kind and sweet.” “be quiet chile. when you git to be a bigger gurl, you'll read in yo' hist'ry book 'bout uh good man name abraham lincoln dat set us free. we'll talk uhbout dis agin; moster jim is uh-callin' me.” whenever moster jim got on a drunk, uncle jake said it “simply tore him to pieces.” the occupants of the little four room house welcomed moster jim whenever he felt like coming. uncle jake had only one bed to offer him and that was his own, but each time he gave it up willingly. he and his boys had worked two days before they could get moster jim's stomach to acting anyways like right, but on the third night his condition was so improved that uncle jake had him move to the back of the bed and he took his place on the front. when moster jim was at his worse, uncle jake sat up all night in his old wicker rocker and nodded, or lay across the foot of the bed whenever he could. early the next morning when sam went to work he slammed the old back door and little mamie woke up. every- thing seemed so still she thought she'd peep to see how moster jim was coming on. as she tipped to the door that led from the little room where she and ellen slept, to her grandfather's big room, a strange sight greeted her. there in the old wooden bed lay two old men, both with white hair and long white chin whiskers, one white, one dark brown, peacefully sleeping. once master and slave, now friends; but the tie that once bound them was just as strong. no one could manage master jim like his former slave. when liquor dominated him, and vile words poured forth, uncle jake had only to speak: “now, now, moster jim, be still—you be still, you'se sick, you'se jes sick, don't you talk no mo', go to bed.” he always spoke with the utmost kindness and patience and if he were near him would take his hand and pat him with his left. moster jim would respond in the same low tone: “yes, jake i'll go to bed.” and he did. neighbors who happened in after he got better, thought it remarkable how calmly they spoke to each other and more wonderful how they obeyed each other; both had soft, musical, southern voices. folks wanted to come to see him, but uncle jake positively refused even to let his best friends see master jim when he was very sick. only the family were allowed and they tipped about so he could sleep. uncle jake declared most folks, it mattered not how nice they were, talked too much and all his life he made it his business to give them as little as possible to talk about. after master jim began to improve, he'd let him sit in the yard and get a little fresh air; but if a crowd began to gather he had the boys take him in the house. both white and colored in penhook understood. even the officers of the law never meddled. he remained one week. lena washed and ironed his clothes, pressed his suit, brushed his black felt stetson, and sam shined his shoes. “moster jim, you's goin' down in brazos now. ah wish you'd be kerful. you'se uh ole man and can't do things you use tuh. you nuver haves aches an pains lak ah do, an you'se older then me; you kin walk good, an you oughter be proud uv it an thankful. won't you promos me you won't git in sich uh fix no mo'? it's too hard on yo' body.” uncle jake begged master jim in such pathetic tones he promised right away, as he usually did, that he'd never drink another drop. “yes, i'm going back down home; i call brazos bottom home as i stay there most of the time and i’m going to let liquor alone. don't know when i'll be back, but i promise jake, not to come as i did this time,” said master jim. neither uncle jake, nor anyone else could understand master jim. it mattered not how drunk he happened to be, he never once forgot uncle jake's name or address, but as soon as he got into the little shack, he'd often lose consciousness. uncle jake carefully watched the tall figure with unsteady legs as it went slowly down tremble street and turned up birmingham to catch the old mule street car that would take him to the station. master jim had taken up so much of uncle jake's time, he had almost forgotten poor joe. times around it and tied it tightly. this was one of their sure remedies for lifting the palate. she then turned the handle of the spoon over, put a little salt and pepper on the end of it and touched the palate. “now, den, joe, mah boy, you oughter feel better by now. go lay down; ah'll gether some uv dem little red and yaller termaters frum yo' pappy's garden an make yo' some soup. he's got uh little fever.” “thanky hannah—when you hyered frum yo' chillun on duh prer?” “magnolia come down las' sadday; she said ole man simon is got good heavy cottun. dey picked out two bales fuh him deysefs. her husban, mike, is duh onres’ cuss ah ever seed. he'll wurkuh while an den he's got tuh play uh while. he claimed he wuz sick one day an couldn't go to tuh fiel. she tol’ him tuh see after duh dinner. when dey went to duh house at twelve uh 'clock, he had uh gang dair an dey'd been gamblin'; he'd gambled uh way duh money he had in his pockets an' evun had gambled off her pot uv green cookin' on duh fiah. dey makes good money uv'ry fall, but mike throws uh way haf uv it an' her an' her chillun haves tuh suffer. good day, genermans. jake, sen' little mamie fuh duh soup dis s'evenin.” “baby chile, grandpa's got uh head-ache. mah coffee ah’m fred wuzn't strong uhnuf. ah got uh nickel,-run down to duh sto' an git some arbuckle coffee.” “can she make coffee, jake?” asked elder as he gave a broad grin.” “yas, she'll come an' git duh coffee mill an grin' it an' den she'll soon bring it out hot an' steamin'.” “mamie bring me uh dime bottle uv garret snuff please, mah teeth is all 'bout gone an ah kan't chaw terbaccer.” said uncle meek. most people ground their own coffee. uncle jake's little coffee mill looked like a small box with a handle on top that you turned round and round. the coffee fell below in a little drawer. “elder, ah wuz in duh garden early yistidy mornin' an' ah seed you takin' out duh big slop jar; whut wuz dat red top you had on it?” “joe, you git two stick uv wood fuh duh fiah. it's gitten too low; sam will put on uh back log when he comes.” “pappy, noise don't hurt little mamie; she's playing ‘hully-gull.” she's cryin' 'cause she lost so meny pekons,” cackled ellen. “you teases her too much. yo' hans' is too big to play wid her, you kin allus guess whut she's got in her little fis'. frum now on when you play 'ole grey hoss' uh ‘hully-gull' uh whuever it is wid her, don't you have over six in yo' han’.” “pappy that's not fair. you ought not let her play if she can't play right,” blurted ellen, angrily. “hyer baby chile', take grandpa's pekons. ah can't pick 'um out no way,” said uncle jake as he reached his big left hand in his old coat pocket and got it full of large pecans a neighbor had brought him from mr. moore's pecan farm. little mamie smiled as they fell in her lap. a heavy rap on the door caused all eyes to look in that direction. ellen jumped from her seat and unbolted the door. it was alvin with the long loose pockets of his old over-coat bulging with fruit and peppermint candy. he quickly stepped inside, shook the rain from his slouched brown felt hat and sat down. “we've had lots uv hard rain today. it's rainin’ out there now,” said alvin. he handed little mamie a big, red stick of candy. “she gits duh furs'. how's yo' year? yo' eyes is uh little red.” “i feel better mr. alvin, thanky sir, for the candy,” said little mamie, as she kept counting her pecans. alvin gave everyone around the glowing fire an apple, a few english walnuts, or a piece of candy. “joe, git dat betsy-bug out dat can an fetch it hyer. ah’m sorry sam kotch jes' one. little mamie is so skerry ah’m uh fred she'll jump an it won't git in her year. ah’ve hyerd all mah days dat you'll nuver have year-ake no more ef you git dat blood in it. “now alvin, uh betsy-bug ain't got but one drap uv blood in his body an' dat's in his back. you opun his back an' let dat one drap git in her year.” “ah’ll try, uncle jake. “lay yo' head on mah knee, chile; now be still, don't jump, it won't hurt; it'll feel lak duh medicine yo' mama puts in it dat she got frum duh doctor. yo' right year is duh one dat's hurtin' wurse ain't it?” “yes, mr. alvin.” she shut her eyes very tightly, gritted her teeth and expected something strange to happen. alvin opened her ear with his little finger and broke open the bug. little mamie heard it and jumped. she felt some- thing hit the side of her ear; he had missed his mark. he then took uncle jake's strong pipe and blew warm smoke in her ear and stuffed it with cotton. they ate their dainties and told stories for more than half an hour before they noticed that fred had gone to bed. “fred, when did you go to bed ain't you goin' to the party? lizzy ann said you wuz to take her,” said ellen surprisedly. “not me, not if i kin hep it. i don't lak lizzy ann. her hair's too short,” said fred, then covered his head. “yes, i heard her say myself that nothin' wuz short 'bout her but her hair and that wuz growin; she thinks she's so stylish,” snarled ellen. “her hair grows too slow for me. i lak long haired girls lak minnie mae.” before fred had hardly finished speaking, someone ran upon the shaky porch and thumped several times on the door. ellen ran and unthumbolted it. “oh, it's henry, lizzy ann's brother. come in.” “naw ellen, i ain't got time; is fred here?” asked henry, as he shook the rain from his old sleazy hat. “there he is over there on his cot,” ellen giggled, as she pointed. “fred, lizzy ann is waitin' for you to take her to the party.” “henry, it's been rainin’ nearly all day; i didn't think she'd want to go on a night like this.” “it's not rainin' now, it's jes sprinklin'. it'll be nice an cool whilse you dance.” “son, did you promos tuh go wid lizzy ann? ef you did, git right up, sur.” “yes, pappy i did, but who'd have a party on such a night as this. set down, henry, and wait. i'll soon be ready,” growled fred. ellen giggled frantically as she played “old grey horse”. fred understood it all, and when he went out of the door, he made a face and shook his fist at her. “pappy, fred is scared to go down to lizzie ann's house. she lives in ‘frog town' and he's got to go through them hanted woods.” “ah know ellen. ah hated tuh see him go, but he had no business tuh promos uh gal he's go take her somewhurs den git in bed.” “guess ah'll be goin', it's slacked up. ah don't want tuh git wet. goodnight all uv yawl.” “goodnight, mr. alvin, come again,” they all shouted. “do yawl hyer dat dog uh howlin', he's been howlin' fuh two nights. he's on lee street.” “yes, reb; you know tillie's mammy is low sick. las' night uh hoo-owl wuz hooing an' dey couldn't quiet tille; she jes knowed her manny would die, fuh duh dog wuz howlin' at duh same time dat duh owl wuz hooing. course both is duh sign uv death. it don't mean her mammy, but somebody in dat neighborhood. tillie is allus been uh little pickeryunance. las’ week when it lightened an thundered, dat gal fell on her knees and started prain'; lightenen' couldn't strack her house; dey's got duh spensive kind uv lighten' rods runnin' down uv'ry corner uv duh house an uh half-dozen rods over five feet high wid bulbs on 'um on top uv duh house. dey's duh twisted kine. when lightnen' stracks dem it runs down in duh groun.” heavy footsteps on the porch attracted their attention. uncle jake smiled at little mamie, “wonder who dat is on der gallry now?” - “it's my mammal” shouted little mamie. ellen opened the door, that was her job at night. “you sho' late tuh night, lena; you said miss lucas wuz havin' uh big supper. dat's why ah sont sam.” lena kissed her little girl and put the “thanky ma'm pan” in her lap. she divided the fried chicken, biscuits, baked yams and chocolate cake with those around the fire. after uncle reb gobbled down his handful, he got his old hat on the floor beside his chair and remarked: “dat's sho' good eatin chillun, ah'll be goin.” “come back again, reb.” “yes, ah will, jake, if ah lives and nothin' happens.” the old timers felt they were very polite when they said, “if i live and nothing happens.” “pappy, git sam to fix our bed; last night nearly all the slats fell out, didn't you hear them? they made so much noise i thought they woke everybody up. we had to get up an pull all the others out so we could sleep.” “ellen, when yawl git ready tuh turn, you mus' turn together,” said uncle jake, jokingly. “git some wire an' pull duh sides closer, son; dem slats is uh little short, lak mine. ah don' see why you got up. mine fell out las' week. jes duh ones frum duh middle on down to duh foot fell out. me an' sam wuz settin' up. we jes sot dair.” “sister, elder brown is havin' a rivival at his church. las' night the mourners bench wuz full; the preacher that wuz hepin’ went on the outside and tried to git all the foks dat wuz hangin' in the winders to come in. they had lots uv converts. elder sims is a 'vangelist. he's carrin' on the meetin' fur elder brown; all he do is go' 'roun' havin' big meetins'. i'll git the bed fixed an go down for a while.” “sam i'blieve i'll go too. i do love good singing,” said lena. “we's late. i know we cain't get no seat.” “we'll go see. if we cain't, we'll come back; it's slacked up out there now.” answered lena. ehapter viii * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * the old men stretched their necks like giraffes whenever they heard the roll of wagon wheels or the sound of horses' hoofs, so eager were they for others to join them. a span of grey mules stopped at the gate and a husky young man jumped off the front seat and reached for the hand of his father, who had ridden to town with him. “howdy, yawl, how's you been up hyer?” “come in, clem, we's tolerable. don't see much uv you.” “nope, jake, mah eyes is gittin' wurse. ah kin see only uh few feet uh head uv me, an dat's not clear. ah gits tuh come tuh town when mah boys come fuh grub.” “how's crops down yo' way?” put in elder. “bad, bad, duh boll-weevils is nigh ruint all duh cottun. duh furs' pickin' wuzn't ez good ez our scrap pickin' is allus been. we won't make uh nuf dis yer tuh pay rent. “all duh farmers dat pass, tell us duh same thing, an' dey pass by hyer frum duh bes' farms in dis county,” answered elder simpson. “hiram brung us some uv dem weevils in uh jar. ah kin see dey'll be hard things tuh kill. he said dey foun' sumpin' tuh kill 'um, but it ruint duh cottun. some smart man up norf will fin' uh killer fuh 'um,” continued elder. the boll-weevil had begun to destroy the young cotton. the farmers were unable to find anything to stop them. “dis is go be duh hardes' yer we've seed since we've been hyer,” complained uncle clem, as he shook his hoary head. “we didn't have much luck wid hogs uh chickens. we's got black-eyed peas an sweet an' 'ish 'taters. ole man sims is uh hard man tuh rent frum. ah don't know whut he'll say uh'bout us not havin' all his money. he didn't raise no cotton hissef, but he specks you tuh raise it. mah boys is go cut an sell wood, but you cain't git but two dollars an' a half a cord fuh it an' we live so fur, dey'll have tuh leave home at o'clock in duh mornin' tuh make it hyer an' back, an' it's hard pullin' fuh duh mules.” “clem, we's got tuh face some lean yers, ah reck'n. elder, kin you tell us duh tale uh 'bout duh lean yers in duh bible? dat was seben; we's hopin' dis won't be dat long.” “yas, jake, dey had hard times fuh seb'n long yers.” elder cleared his phlegmy throat wildly and began. the old men had often heard him relate this story; it was one of their favorites, but he seemed to tell it more effectively this time. all of them felt that they were facing hard times and only the lord knew how things would come out. after he had finished, each one commented on it; uncle jake was last. he had been worrying over the situation for weeks. he knew whenever north texas failed in cotton, the year would be hard. “mah chillun uhway from hyer is done promosed tuh sen' me uh little money. ah got three cords uv wood in, an' ah ordered mo'. we's got one hog an one jig, jes couldn't feed no mo'. sam is go get yams frum duh doctor's farm. ah thinks we go have plenty freezin' weather. me an' sam will git uh apple box or ole tub an put dem taters down in hay an' keep 'um under mah bed. dat ole kitchen uv min' is got so many cracks, dey'd freeze in dair; an it's nothin' wurse den fros' bitten taters. ah keeps fiah in mah fiah place all duh time. duh taters ah keeps under mah bed ain't nuver froze yit. we's got uh gunny sack uv black-eyed peas, an fo' sacks uv dried fruit—peaches an apples. ef we's kerful, we kin make it through, if we live an' nothin' happen.” “jake, duh lawd takes kere uv all good folks; we don't need tuh wurry too much.” elder tried to give wholesome advise to his friends when they were perturbed. most of these old men had passed the age of usefulness, and had to depend on their children to care for them. “hyer's mah joe wid his gallun uv buttermilk. dat boy kin drink mo' buttermilk wid cawn-bread crumbled up in it den uh little, he mus' uv been marked wid buttermilk.” “ah hyer's mr. johnny's whistle. ah hopes he's got uh letter fuh me frum mah daughter in arkansus. she said she wuz goin' tuh sen' me uh ticket,” said uncle reb. “how long is dat boy been our mailman, jake?” “nigh on ten yers, reb, but you 'member his daddy wuz 'fore him.” while they were talking, mr. johnny's horse trotted up to the gate; his little sulky swayed several times, after the horse stopped. mr. johnny was a poor white boy that everybody liked. he knew everyone and had something to say that pleased them. “howdy, howdy yawl; this is a pleasant day. wisht i had time to swap a few with you.” “howdy do, howdy-do, mr. johnny.” all grinned, waved and shouted. “uncle jake, here's a letter for sam.” “yas sur, get it little mamie.” “is you got uh ledder fuh me, mr. johnny?” “yes, i have, uncle reb. it's from your daughter in arkansas.” the postman in small towns are very accomodating. mr. johnny knew what uncle reb wanted to know. “git it chile. dat's duh one ah'm lookin' fuh. ah'se nuver rid uh train, but ah’ve pintly made up mah min' to. she says it's uh river down by her house an ah kin feesh.” “that'll be a nice trip.” mr. johnny slapped the lines on his horse's back as he spoke the last word. sam drove up behind him with dr. rogers' boys, one four and the other one six years old. their father was considered the wealthiest and finest throat specialst in town. “hello little mamie, hello uncle jake and uncle reb, and-and” whenever they stopped, they were waiting for sam to tell them the names of the other old men. they enjoyed coming down in the colored part of town. they could make as much noise as they pleased. sam told them the names of people they passed on the streets and they were calling aunts, uncles, and children by their names and nicknames all the way. old maude, the big, lazy horse, wanted to stop when they began shouting to folks, but one of the boys would shake the whip over one of her eyes and she'd pull on slowly. “dem chinches lak to et us up las' night. we have scalded duh bed wid boilin' lye water, an' we've put coal-oil on duh mattruss, but it don't do no good. sam got two big ones in my coller. dey het me so hot, ah sot up in bed an fanned fuh haf uh hour. dis week we's go git uh new cotton mattruss. dem hay ones is chinch alters. dey goes through dat thin cloth an stays in duh hay an' at night ez soon ez you blow out duh lamp dey begins tuh wurk an' dey do's uh good job uv it too.” “jake, ah thinks dem things gits in lumber uv ole houses,” said uncle clem, “dey's hard things tuh gid rid uv. ah don' know which is wurse; chinches ur flees. mah boys is got so meny huntin' dogs 'roun', when you set in duh yard, dey hops all over you. some uv 'um is stick tights; dey's little ones. dem fellers git in yo' flush lak duh red chiggers in duh cottun patch. you cain't hardly see 'um dey bore right in you,” continued uncle clem. “ah sees julie mae settin' behin' duh house uv'ry sunday after dinner crackin' lice in her childrun's heads, and dey's uh cryin' fuh dear life. she's got six and it takes some time fuh her tuh git 'round tuh each head. her sister, sally, comes down and heps her sometimes. duh po’ childrun's heads is white 'round duh edges wid nits. dey loves little mamie, but we cain't lough her tuh play wid 'um. ef dem things get in her hair ez long ez it is, and in ellen's thick hair, we'd 'bout have tuh cut they's off. we put mukkury's ointment on dey heads once in uh while tuh keep 'um out.” “all yo' chillun's got good hair, jake. dey oughter, yo' wife had white fokes' hair,” put in uncle meek. “you'se almost right. oscar is got duh wurs' hair in our family an' it ain't kanchy-donchy,” said uncle jake proudly. “lena is pertickler 'bout little mamie. she keeps her clean and wid good shoes on. she buys kudekura salves fuh her hair; it's fo’t bits uh box an kashie bokays soap. dat's two bits uh bar.” “dat's right, lena keeps her chile clean an' in school. duh whole town gives her credit fuh dat.” said elder as he reached for another drink the child had brought him. his master jim and his father speak of places being in litigation and he used the word whenever he could stick it in. “ole man hoggins is tried two times to dig a well on his place. dey struck water dis mornin', but hit's hard. dey's go cover it up an' dig near duh east corner uv his lot. jake is you seed all dem school teachers hyer tendem duh normal school? duh town's ful uv 'um. dey stifikets is out.” uncle reb had been to town and he was trying to tell all the news he had heard. “yes, reb, lots uv 'um pass hyer in duh mornin's. dey's gitten hard on 'um. ole kinkad's son went to college up north, he's the superintender. duh paper pintly said dat he ain't go let nobody, black uh white teach, school in dis county 'thout duh right papers. he's go do duh zaminin’ hissef.” uncle jake leaned over, whispered and giggled: “but ah hyers you kin buy one uv dem stifikets fuh twenty-five dollars.” “duh schools in duh county lasts only two uh fo’ monts; he order do sumpin 'bout dat. ah brung you uh few watermelon seeds, jake. dey's duh rattlesnakes. soak 'um in water over night an' dey'll come right up.” “thanks, reb. emma lef’ word fuh you tuh go atter her washin' at ole miss easter's. ant zilphy quit washin' fuh her las’ week. she said when she tuck miss easter's clothes las' week, dey looked so prutty an' white dat tuh compliment her, she said, ‘zilphy, you'se sich uh good wash 'oman, when you die i'se go put uh wash board at duh head an' one at duh foot uv yo' grave.’ zilphy wuz bilin'. she preached all duh way home, swearin' she wouldn't put her foot in miss easter's house uh gin. look at dat fine load uv chickens.” bowing and at the same time waving a hello to the white farmer who had driven up to his gate, “you better come in an' res' yo'sef, cap'n ; you've drew uh long ways dis mornin' ain't you?” “yes uncle, i've been on my way since four o'clock. have you seen meny chicken wagons go by?” “nope cap'n, ah ain’t. whut yo's sellin' um fuh?” “i want fifteen cents fuh fryers an two-bits for these big fat hens,” slowly replied the farmer. “you want uh good price, don't he reb?” “dat's uh big price, cap'n,” answered uncle reb. “i know, but they're corn fed uncle.” “whut's yo' turkeys go be wurth?” inquired uncle jake. “i must get fo' bits for my hens and six bits for the gobblers to make anything.” “you go down church street an' way out uh mung duh rich whites. mos' all dese foke's roun' hyer is got chickens an’ few turkeys. duh big stores down on bonham might buy some, but ah ain't tellin' you you'll git yo' price.” “pappy i'm coming with your dinner,” said ellen as she stuck her head out of the little window. “bring it on sister, i'se good and ready fuh it. did you git duh buttermilk?” “yes, pappy.” “ellen, break me uh little bush. ah kin fan duh flies ef dey bothers. git dat bigges' box an' put it ez close tuh mah cheer ez you kin, so ah won't have tuh reach so fur.” “here's a wet towel, so you can wipe your mouth, pappy. i hate to bring your buttermilk out here; you get it all in your moustache and whiskers.” “you'se too pertickler. whut's dat, baby?” uncle jake had almost finished, when lena came up walking slowly, holding a big black umbrella over her. “set down, daught an res' yo' sef. me an mamie is go plant some seeds when duh sun gits uh little low. elder is been plantin' all dis week; ah seed him early dis mornin' scoutin' 'roun’. mah rumatisum is been botherin' me uh little. ah thinks dis copper wire i'se got 'roun' mah ankles is 'bout lost its strength. mr. leslie brung me sum good bug juice dis mornin. ah'll make me some bitters when ah git some asafetidy an' stuff; it'll hep me.” “i hear the band playin' on the corner, pappy. the lodge is givin' a picnic on buttermilk branch tomorrow.” said lena. the children ran like rabbits and grown ups followed, hurrying to the corner to see and hear the band. mr. gillum's big bass horn roared above all the other instruments. the barefooted children danced the possum drag and other familiar steps in the middle of the street. the heavy sand didn't retard them. no one noticed the dust; when the band stopped playing, the musicians as well as all the listeners looked like ash cats. “uncle jake, it's after seven. i come fuh ellen and little mamie to go to the church festibal.” “all right, miss charidy; take good kere uv mah childrun.” the sisters had three long tables in the yard in front of the church. they asked passersby to eat supper with them. the moon shone brightly and they needed no lamps. the large vacant space back of the church served as a playyard for the children, ellen and the older girls led the games. soon miss charity came out and made them come and spend their nickels. hot tamale loaf, a hot fish sandwich, a hog hock, ice cream, or jelly cake were all five cents an order. the children sat on the grass, took their time and enjoyed every mouthful. the next morning was sunday. rev. hicks, a minister from oklahoma was to preach. at eleven o'clock, every seat had been taken. rev. hicks liked for folks to enjoy his sermons, and let him know it by some a-mens now and then, but sister charity went to the extreme. she began shouting early during his sermon and continued to the end. at times he'd pause to let her finish her loud screeching screams. often members had to lean forward and turn their ears toward the pulpit to hear. after the services, the members came up front to shake hands with rev. hicks and compliment him on preaching such a soul-stirring sermon. he kept his eyes on sister charity. she was busy talking to those who were leaving. when he started home with sister reesie for dinner, he saw sister charity standing near the gate. he walked up, shook hands with her briskly, and asked, “what might be the name?” “i’m charidy hoggins,” she quickly replied. “you enjoyed my sermon; i noticed you shouted most of the morning. i'd like to know just what i said that touched you most; i might want to use it again, sometimes.” charity looked at him in disgust. she stiffened her neck, rolled her eyes at him, and answered, “huh, man! ah didn't hyer a word you said, ah wuz servin' my god.” rev. hicks caught sister reesie by the arm and walked on. the children had been rehearsing for weeks for a concert that was to be monday night. professor rucker, from dallas, moved to penhook and had trained them. the program was to be inside the church, but afterwards a big sham battle was to take place on the outside. little mamie liked everything but the sham battle. she couldn't conceive of a thing like that being carried out without someone getting hurt. she talked it over with her grandpa and confessed that she was scared, but didn't want to be called a coward. professor rucker had bought dozens of roman candles. he had arranged the children in two long lines, facing each other, but she asked to be in the one near high street. she had noticed that the barbed wire fence had been tied up, so people going to church could crawl under. mamie decided to take part in the concert and line up for the sham battle, but when all were busy lighting the fireworks, she'd slip under the wire fence and run home. monday night came too soon. the concert proved to be quite entertaining, and the huge crowd went outside to see the sham battle. the children were jubilent. they grabbed for the longest and largest shooters, but little mamie was down-hearted. she could imagine something terrible happening, all those kids running and pointing those things at each other. benson cook, police officer living on high street, heard the noise and saw the crowd. his wife had been ill for weeks, so he came over and told the pastor and professor rucker that they'd have to stop the noise. a white officer of the law had spoken and the show was off. little mamie was never so happy; she just knew the lord had something to do with it. she didn't have to run and no one ever suspected her of being a coward. the weather turned very warm. the hog pens and duck holes were breeders for mosquitoes and other pests. uncle jake and sam put beaumont oil around his pig pen, but some neighbors wouldn't use it, and he declared that was the reason they had to fight summer pests. “baby, git duh ole smokin' bucket. ellen said she put a pair uv ole raggity wool britches behin' duh kitchen do'. cut off one leg. some red coals is in duh stove, git dem, put uh few pieces uv kinlin wood on 'um an' den put on duh ole britches leg. dese muskeeders is so bad.” uncle jake had a little green bush fanning and hitting at mosquitoes as he talked. he didn't believe in using things the drug store sold for keeping away pests; he had his own prescriptions. “gradpa, that makes such a bad smell,” she whined and turned up her little nose. “huh, ah'd ruther smell wool uh smokin' then be et up by dese big things; dey's nearly big ez gallernippers. mose tibbs is frum lusana, an he says duh gallernippers is so big duh fokes have tuh screen in dey beds. he could be uh lyin', ah ain't been dah. sam brung us uh sack uv injun peaches. when you get through wid yo' work, we'll eat some wid salt.” “grandpa,” said little mamie with a joyful gasp, “this will be a good night to tell us riddles and stories. i'll get the children after while. is elder coming back?” uncle jake wiggled his body and stretched his eyes as in disgust before speaking. “you know he will ef he sees fokes hyer.” little mamie started her smoke. it wasn't long before those mosquitoes who had been singing, “cousin, cousin”, were far from the cotton-wood tree and mamie's gang seated on the grass to hear stories and riddles. uncle jake began, “now childrun, ah'll tell you whut happened jes 'fore duh war wuz over. dey wuzn't many banks ez dey is now. anyway, some folks didn't want tuh risk dey money in 'um. dey buried dey gol' an' silver an' green back. dis cap'n ah'se go tell you 'bout had fit uh battle an' his men whupped out duh enemy an' tuck all dey muney an' grub. he had some trusty men, ez all cap'ns do. dey waited till dark uv duh moon tuh hide dis money. den dey tried tuh fin' big trees dat dey wuz sho wouldn't be cut down tuh bury money by, 'cause it would be easy anytime tuh fine. dese men foun' uh big oak tree an' at midnight dey went out wid duh cap'n tuh hide dey tresure.” uncle jake cleared his throat and spit several times to let that soak in. he knew at the word, “midnight”, just how the children would feel, so he put strong emphasis on it. he got what he expected. they shrugged their shoulders, exchanged excited glances and moved closer together. at midnight, they imagined ghosts of all kinds were walking about. uncle jake drew his whole left hand across his mouth to dry it, and continued, “duh men mesured uh foot an’ uh haf frum duh norf side uv duh oak. duh cap'n writ dat in his little book. den dey dug an' dug uh deep, deep hole—feets deep, an' den dey put uh big irun pot uv gol' an' silver in dat hole an’ kivered it up. duh cap'n had uther marks tuh let him know whar duh place wuz. he watched dis place hissef an’ rid by uv'ry day. it tuck weeks fuh things tuh settle. dey had tuh be sho dey'd have no mo' trouble wid duh enemy 'fore dey lef’ fuh home. dey sauntered 'roun', scourin' duh woods an' country 'bout um, til duh ordur wuz given tuh pack up. duh cap'n an' trusties den stol uh way frum duh cumpney wid pick an' shovels tuh git duh money.” uncle jake tore off a small piece of tobacco with his front teeth and chewed a bit. he wanted to be sure each youngster was paying attention before he made this crucial point. “now in diggin' fur muney, you cain't talk you mus dig, an’ nuver udder uh soun’. ef you do duh muney will sink further in duh groun’.” to emphasize this point, uncle jake opened his eyes their widest, and struck his knee with his open palm. the children flinched again and tried to move still closer together. “j-e-s”, he slurred out, “ez dey wuz ready tuh lif' it out, uh man spoke up an said, ‘give me dat pick ax'; duh pot sunk two feets in duh groun'. duh men opened dey moufs, but duh cap'n flapped his heavy arms up an down, tellin' 'um tuh hush.” the children's mouths gapped wide open, but they put their hands over them and gave audible sighs. “dey den started diggin' sum mo' an j-e-s when de wuz 'bout tuh lif' it out dis time, duh cap'n wuz too anxious. he spoke, ‘give me dat crobar'. well sur, he wuz digusted wid wants back hyer?', he said, ‘what in duh hell an damnation do you want back hyer?' at dese wurds duh house give uh mighty shake. pans, pots, an' cheers all fell on duh flo'. po' rev. miles throwed down dat bible an' fairly flew.” elder simpson had dramatized the last part of his story so forcibly that he was standing when the last word was spoken. the children sat waiting for more, but he left them as usual, up in the air. he had started out of the gate. “why elder,” they called, “did anybody ever get that money?” “childrun, childrun,” broke in uncle jake, “you better go y play uh-while. duh moon is shinin’. [hapter ix * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * the schools in penhook were good. the superintendent took pride in showing his friends and visitors through them. several of his friends came up from austin and he tried to get to his large negro school before it dismissed. he wanted the children to sing for them, but he drove up to the gate a few minutes after four o'clock and the children were coming down the stairs. his friends complimented the children's orderliness in leaving the grounds, but couldn't understand why they had so many books. it was impossible to study so many in one day. “i’ll go right in and see buford,” said the superintendent hotly. “these negro children are carrying so many books under their arms it's making them bow-legged.” the superintendent didn't know that the children brought all kinds of books from home; old almanacs and everything. they wanted people to think they were in high grades. some of those books were never opened at school. the principal couldn't understand why the superintendent was so enraged, because he knew his teachers used only the texts that were on the book lists for each grade. he hadn't noticed the children having too many books. this one building housed all the children from the first grade through the graduating class. little mamie waited nearly every day at the gate until the graduating class came out and begged to carry two or more of the big thick books. some of the children used geographies to stack the books on; little mamie found an old atlas around home to stack hers. she could turn the books sideways and have two large stacks, then they fitted nicely under her arm. all the people they passed remarked about such little children being in high grades and studying so many books. they just knew they were smart. little mamie on this particular day happened to turn in her gate loaded down. she dropped the heavy books on the grass and began separating them. “lors, little mamie chile, whut you doin' wid so many books? you didn't leave hyer wid 'um.” holding up four books, mamie said, “grandpa, these are your almanacs and these two big ones belong to addie. she is in the graduating grade. wasn't it nice for her to let me bring them this far?” “but baby, you is too little tuh fetch sich uh big load. yo' little back will sink lak ole man stacy's hoss. you'll be sway backed.” addie came whirling through the gate while they were talking. “thanks for bringing my books little mamie.” “you’re welcome, addie. i hope you'll let me bring them again.” “addie, whut is dat big black book uhbout?” “uncle jake, that's my latin book,” said addie proudly. “hit's jes uhbout duh bigges' one ah sees you got.” “yes, and it's the hardest one too, uncle jake,” she answered arrogantly. “kin you read uh little bit fuh us out uv it?” “yes, uh–let me see.” addie turned and turned, but finally turned back to the first. uncle jake and a host of old men were patiently listening and looking. “here's what it says, “gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres;” blundered addie. “dat's prutty talk. now tell us whut you said.” addie blared her eyes, swallowed a time or two and began; “it says, “all gaul is divided into three parts.'” after this she shut her book and whisked out of the gate. she didn't want them to ask her any more questions. “i must be going; mama's waiting for me.” uncle jake turned his head, squinted both eyes and frowned. “elder, did you hyer whut she said? she said “all galls is got three parts to 'um.' ah'se killed many uh animal, an' ah’ve heped clean 'um too. ah didn't know dat; all duh galls ah'se seed jes' had one part, ah members dat.” elder chewed and groaned and spit several times and reflected a second or two. “well, jake, dey's talkin' 'bout people's galls,” he responded advisedly. this settled the question. there was no need for further discussion. elder simpson was a well-read man and could usually put them at ease on any subject. when little mamie came from school she was anxious to tell the old men all she'd learned that day from the pretty red book, “a child's book of health.” they had been talking about teeth, and the next day they were to study about tobacco. none of the old men had many teeth, but they listened so as to instruct those around who did have them. mr. snow, her teacher, had also been talking to them for weeks about honesty. the next morning the children were in their seats bright and early. every one had read the lesson over carefully the night before. the teacher began by giving a short talk on tobacco, then enlarged upon what the book had said by giving many examples. this was all new to the children, because nearly every grown person in their homes either chewed or dipped. one of their daily chores had been to run to the store for star-navy tobacco or a five or ten cent box of levi garrett's snuff. they bucked their cute eyes and gasped; some of their hearts even beat a bit faster. what could be more startling? little mamie had heard her grandpa and the old men say that tobacco sweetened the breath and cleaned the teeth. others had heard this and more. when he had finished, he asked all those who dipped or chewed to be honest and stand up. lucy may, a large fat dark girl, sitting in the rear of the room stood up, but hung her head down to one side, and stared at the floor. “there's one honest one,” shouted the teacher with his big bass voice. “who'll be the next?” he waited for awhile, looking over his glasses from one side of the room to the other, like a minister seeking sinners, and as no one else stood up, he walked a little toward lucy may. all the children in the front seats turned around to see and hear it all. “now lucy may, since i've explained to you as best i know how, the harm of tobacco and snuff, i'm sure you're willing to quit. do you dip or chew?” lucy may wiggled about a little and whined, “ah dips, 'fesser.” “if you make up your mind to quit dipping snuff, you can.” he talked and talked, until his tongue must have been tired. tears began to roll slowly down lucy may's cheeks. the teacher and children both knew by this, that she had been converted. “now what have you to say about it, little girl?” the teacher asked. lucy may began bawling and she twisted herself many ways. when she quieted down a little, she blurted out, “fesser, ah 'blieve if ah quits dipping snuff, ah'll die.” she then flopped down in her seat and hid her face in her folded arms. the children began giggling, but when the professor tapped loudly on the desk with his long switch, they stopped immediately. professor snow was a man of herculean stature, very dark, with a pleasant smile, but meant every word he said, and the children knew he didn't “spare the rod.” “how did you begin dippin’?” she raised her head high enough to be heard: “when mama sont me fuh her snuff, she'd tell me to open it an scrape off the top. she said the top wuz pison. it smelt good to me; i begin tastin' it, an frum that i started dippin'. mama gives it to me, now.” “some day, lucy may, you'll regret you ever started such an ugly habit.” professor snow saw that he hadn't put this lesson over as he had hoped to, and thought best to end it right there and then. this discussion had made him a little warm, so he went outside. whenever he left the room, he trusted the children to stay in their seats and work. he drew himself a cool drink of water from the well. the children listened to the old squeaking wheel as the rope slipped through. standing outside awhile, he looked in several directions and wondered how and when next to tackle that subject. he then walked around and went in his back door. the children were facing the front, so their backs were to him. he stood inside and watched them. every little head was down. slowly, he swayed up front, each child looking up as he passed his desk. they liked to see him walk as much they'd tried to please him, and caught the worst of it; all were glad when school let out. when little mamie got home she found the old men discussing hard times. “baby chile, you come? ah didn't know hit wuz fo' o'clock.” “yes grandpa, it's after four; didn't you hear the city clock strike?” “naw, baby; ah didn't hyer it. aunt tiny wants you tuh come an' see whut you kin do fuh her chickens; sam will go hep you. genermens, she is uh good little root an urb doctor. she's lak mah mammy. duh chickens 'roun' hyer is dying up wid limber neck an she's kured her's an she is made over fo' bits kyorin' other folks chickens. tell 'um whut you do, baby.” little mamie smiled at receiving such high compliments. she walked over, sat on the arm of the old wicker chair, put her arm around her grandfather's neck so's to feel at ease while talking: “uncle sylvester passed, and i told him my chickens had limber neck and he told me to pull a strong feather from the wing or tail and ketch up the skin on the back of the chicken's neck and run the sharp point of the feather throught the skin, then jerk the whole feather through. this cured all of mine; in a day or so their necks began to straighten up. uncle sam goes with me and do what i tell him. i'm a little scared.” “she allus wuz uh little nervis 'bout sich things. she's easy tuh git sick at duh stumock too. we don't have no trouble wid her gittin' sick, only wid year-ache, an' ez soon ez we kin git uh nudder betsy-bug we'll kyore dat. we tried it once but duh blood didn't git in her year. clem's gran'-boy passed hyer, comin' frum duh doctor. he had stuck uh rusty nail in his foot. she tole him whut tuh do an' in uh few days, dat boy come back up hyer wid uh shoe on dat foot an give her uh dollar. he didn't go to duh doctor no mo'; she kyored it. cain't you tell 'um how you kyored his foot, baby?” she tucked her little head a bit and smiled. “yes sir, grandpa. aunt magnolia told me how to cure such things; she said nails were poison. i told him to take a tablespoon of snuff and one of baking soda, mix them together, then pour vinegar over it and make a paste and put it on his foot about twice a day and a fresh one at night. if it hurt, or began to draw, pour more vinegar over it. if it's a finger, use a teaspoon full. it matters not how much or little you make up, take an equal amount of snuff and soda. i write down all such things. many times i have told people what to do and they've come back and paid me.” “yawl knows it takes uh pison tuh kyor uh pison. ah hyered ole folks say long uh go dat when sody is mixed wid snuff, it's pison. go on now, you and sam; it's gettin' late.” he patted her little hand tenderly, as she got up to go. “reb, you drives through town takin' white folks clothes uv'ry day. do you see meny bales uv cotton?” “not meny, jake, an dey's duh littles', tightes' things ah ever seed. ah didn't know dey could gin sich norrer bales. not much buyin' in duh stores on sadday lak dey allus is durin' duh cottun season. not much loud takin' an’ terbaccer spittin' on duh square dey ain't got duh money. mah wife wuz in town sadday. she said uh few farmer's wifes wuz dah, but not meny wuz spendin' muney. times is go be tight all right.” “it's gittin' dark an' cool too; ah'll git fred tuh hep me in. let's set on duh porch, genermens.” ellen got the chimmeys cleaned and lamps lit early. when little mamie returned ellen had cleaned her chimney. she gave her a nickel because she never could be satisfied with a chimney after cleaning it. it didn't sparkle like ellen's. fred went in and began playing on the old box piano. saul had bought it for ellen and little mamie; it was the only piano in the neighborhood. he paid fifty dollars for it and the neighbors thought it was good as new. whenever a piano player passed, someone would grab him by the arm and take him over to uncle jake's to play. ham johnson was the best pianist in town; often he'd come down and entertain the good folks. he'd play all the new pieces, but his favorites were, “maple-leaf rag” and “kaldonia.” fred knew only two pieces—a waltz and a march. he played so loud, you could hear it almost two blocks away when the windows were open. he'd play the waltz for about an hour, then turn to the march; it was simply nerve-racking. the family didn't know how to stop him so his father suggested taking the lamp out, but fred didn't mind this. he soon learned to manipulate as well in the dark as in the light. the only thing that stopped him was freezing weather; his fingers got too stiff. that winter a number of new boys came from the farms, as there was nothing to do, and went to school. professor buford had the best school in the county. he knew latin, greek, and everything a person should know to be educated; the superintendent said that. these boys hired to white families and worked for room and board and a very little money. at school, ellen got acquainted with one of these boys, ned jones. his friends said he was fortunate, because he worked for judge kinkade, one of the richest men in town. after supper he and a friend would come down to sit by the big red fire; each would bring ellen something they had left from supper. the “thanky-ma'm pan” was welcomed at anytime. ellen would giggle nervously as she unwrapped the packages; hot, buttered biscuits, juicy steak, or pork chops, ginger bread or tea cakes and many other good things were in them. she'd count the persons around the fire, then take a biscuit, pull off a piece of steak or pork chop and give it to her father, and a piece to little mamie and to whoever else happened to be there. she'd then mince on the other herself, until it was all gone. these boys were frequent visitors during winter. the days were so short and cold that uncle jake saw very little of his old friends except elder simpson, who lived next door and uncle reb, who lived the second door from him. both were more active than he. christmas was nearing, but no one said much about it. some people had hams, preserves, nuts and other things they managed to hide away, while others had very little or nothing. wood had gone up to three dollars and a half a cord and people were going out to the north of town, trying to find coal on the railroad tracks. christmas came on friday, but the sunday before when the people of that little town awakened, the ground had a thick, white carpet of snow. it was the deepest uncle jake had seen in texas. his boys dug a path to the gate, then shoveled what they could from the side walk; it was above their knees. their wood pile also had to be uncovered. they couldn't find the old wash bench, the tubs, or black iron kettle; they too were completely covered. lena couldn't go to work; it was too bad for a woman to try to plow through the deep snow. little mamie was glad, for so often when her mother kissed her good-bye in the morning, she'd lie awake and cry; she declared when she grew up, she'd stop her mother from working so hard. the little old stripped kitchen was colder than an ice box, and anyway no one ever wasted wood during such tight times by having two fires; they were happy if they kept one going. they cooked on the fire place. food tasted better, and more seasoned, anyway. after their good breakfast of fried salt pork, hot biscuits and molasses, lena sat wondering what she'd have for dinner. there were eight of them; her father, four of her brothers; sam, saul, joe and fred, little mamie, ellen, and herself. if her brothers, jim and oscar, had been there, the family would have been complete. somehow she wished for them. she knew these at home almost expected her to create some- thing good to eat out of nothing. little mamie went to the window and drew something on every frosted pane with her finger, then looked for the children who lived across the street. “o grandpal here's some men with rabbits. the snow comes up to their knees, but they have gunny sacks wrapped from their thighs on down.” uncle jake grabbed his stick and turned his chair toward the window. “go sam, and see how they sell 'um. that's just whut i want to cook for dinner.” “all right sister, who's got the money?” “you see how much they want a piece for them, we'll find the money. won't we pappy?” “yes daught, an' ef we fall short, duh baby will open her snuff box she's got pasted up and let us have it. we'll pay her all back an some tuh boot.” sam rushed to the door and two brothers, tom and frank, had two dozen or more big jack rabbits; they said they'd been out since four o'clock. “whut they wurth a piece boys?” “we must git fifteen cents. this snow is so deep, we've been hours gittin' here. we kilt nigh fifty, an is sold 'um all but these,” said tom. sam opened the door and stuck his head in: “sis, they's fifteen cents a piece.” “here's the money. git two, brother.” sam took them out of the back door, skinned and cleaned them in a jiffy. joe brought little mamie's three legged study table near the fire while fred helped ellen bring in the biscuit tray, the three-legged iron skillet and other things lena wanted. saul had roasted two dozen or more yams in the hot ashes. they were done, and he raked them on the hearth to one side. “there's no use frying peach pies. we can eat yams for desert,” said lena. she first fried the rabbits good and brown, and stacked them high on a big platter; then made a skillet full of gravy and emptied it in a half gallon bucket and set it near the fire to keep warm. several times little mamie had to take it up so her grandpa could spit in the ashes in that corner. she always jumped because it sounded like a glass of water being emptied on the hot ashes and coals. he had a big wad of tobacco in his jaw and she couldn't persuade him to throw it out. lena held the tray in her lap and made it full of dough. sam had the skillet the right temperature. he had raked out a few red coals and put them under the skillet and loaded the top of the skillet with the same kind. lena pinched a small piece from the dough, rolled it in her hands and put it in the skillet; these were fist biscuits. when she had filled the skillet, sam put on the lid. he took care of them while his sister made more and laid them on a pie plate. whenever he lifted the lid with the iron poker, little mamie looked too, and let everyone know how they were progressing. the first skillet full was a golden brown. she pulled one from the pack, opened it, dipped it into the gravy, gave one piece to her father and the other to her little girl. the gravy bucket had to be moved again so uncle jake could spit out his well chewed tobacco. three skillet fulls were baked; then what a dinner | the rabbit tasted better than chicken and the yams with hot gravy over them couldn't be beaten. as they ate, they looked out the window, talked about the scenery and enjoyed it. the long icicles hanging from the porch made the picture ideal. little mamie didn't have much to say. she had to have the yam with the most syrup running from it. everyone laughed as usual when she did or said something cute. no one had to go to work, so they took their time, cracked the bones, and ate the marrow. a dog would have had slim pickings. they washed the dishes there on the hearth. as the last pan was being carried out, elder simpson turned into the gate; his boys had shoveled some of the snow from his side- walk. he had suddenly become a little lonesome and thought he'd see what the stearns were doing. “ugh, jes' in time; glad we's through. dese is hard times tuh have tuh divide yo' little grub, an’ elder sho' laks daught's cookin'. he's got mo' money then we is; he saved muney when he wuz preachin'. his members paid him well an' fed him well an' he had sense uhnuff tuh save some muney.” heavy stamping on the porch to rid his shoes of the snow was followed by several taps on the door with his cane. ellen opened it and invited him in. saul got up and gave him his seat, and went to the back of the room, got a box and brought it near the fire. “well it smells good in hyer. yawl's been eatin’.” uncle jake giggled satisfactorily. “yas elder, we bought rabbits frum duh johnson boys. we's havin' tough weather, as all uv us 'spected; dis is duh wus' snow ah’ve seed in dis part uv duh country. not meny travelin' tuh day.” “dey cain't travel. dis is duh wurse weather ah've seed since ah’ve been in texas. º ah brung you folks some onions fuh seasonin'. dey don't keep so good an ah don't want 'um tuh freeze when somebody kin eat 'um. we don't use meny.” “thanky, elder simpson,” said lena as she took the large bag, “we love onions; i put them in lots of things i cook.” “grandpa, this is a good time for stories. won't you and uncle jake shook his head, “nothin—ole mistruss said it wuz her fault. dat frunt do' should nuver been opuned. she bought uh nudder one but she kep' dat do' shet.” little mamie clapped her hands and jumped around. “that's a good story, grandpa; i like the way it ended. poor little boy, i'm glad they didn't whip him. now elder, it's your time to tell one.” “ah don't know chile—a good story—let me see;—. ah'll tell you 'bout two boys on our plantation dat wuz partners. dey run tuhgether all duh time. dey wuz pickin' scrapcottun in duh bottom an' dey spied uh sweet tater patch nex' tuh it. dey dug some wid dey fingers an' filled dey shirts full. dat night when dey went home, dey hid dey taters in duh bushes till dey went by mammy julie's an' et dey beans an’ bread. dey hurried to dey cabin, put duh taters in duh hot ashes, an' talked till dey wuz done. dey wuz tired, so dey stretched out on duh flo tuh res' till duh taters cooled. me an ike happened up an’ seed dem good cole yams an' duh boys fas' uh sleep, so we et 'um all but one an' put duh peelins' by dey feets. duh one we didn't eat, we broke in two an' rubbed it on dey moufs an' lef.” elder laughed, shuffled his feet about, spit and hee-hawed as if it had hapened recently. everybody waited, but it seemed to be the end. “well elder, what did the boys say? did they ever know who took them?,” inquired little mamie anxiously. elder jumped, as if he'd forgotten he was telling a story. “yas, chile, we went in late. furs' we peeped through duh cracks an’ listened an' hyerd dem skussin' it; dey couldn't understand. dey rally though dey it 'um, but couldn't recollect when; both wuz rubbin' dey heads. we walked in an' dey rolled dey eyes at each udder an' stopped talkin'. dey said nothin' 'bout it, an' you know we didn't.” “that's a good one too elder simpson,” little mamie shouted. in a few days the snow had about gone. sam and saul made a big snow man in the yard for their little niece. things moved along slowly, but christmas came much too soon. they had very little money to spend. the churches had christmas trees for the children. lena bought her little girl a small blonde two-bit doll, a small set of pewter dishes, a story book, nuts and candies. the night before christmas everyone smiled as little mamie busied herself hanging her stocking in a safe place. it was a good stocking; her mother paid two-bits a pair for them, the best lisle thread hose worn by children; little mamie couldn't stand holey or patched stockings. she went to bed early so santa would surely stop; the others sat up late enjoying riddles. sam had just gotten his fire made christmas morning when someone knocked on the door. little mamie heard it and jumped out of bed, hollering “‘christmas give', to everybody in this house and on the porch.” it was cousin susie may. “‘christmas give' tuh all yawl. here's uh orange i foun' on the groun'ſ santa claus must of dropped it. i wonder who it 'blongs to ?” “it's mine, cousin susie may. i know because i don't see none in my stocking and i asked for one.” “all right, chile, take it. i think's its yours, too.” the whole house was soon astir. cousin susie may handed uncle jake a bottle of hard cider. “here's yours, uncle jake.” he gripped the neck of the bottle with his old left, “whut is it, chile –ah jes knowed you'd think 'bout yo' ole uncle. dis is jes whut it takes on christmas mornin' tuh make things lively. thanky an good luck to you.” all day long uncle jake was the recipient of many presents. no one was more complimentary or appreciative than he. aunt zilphy and her daughter sent him some fine chocolate cake and good wine. that night they sat around the fire eating nuts and candies. some one tipped on the porch and knocked and yelled out: “hello, yawl in there, ‘christmas give’.” ellen ran to the door. it was alvin buckner with a big paper bag. he began handing out fruits, nuts, candies and tobacco until it was all gone. “dat's fine, mighty fine mah boy. ah didn't think you'd fergit uncle jake dis christmas. dis is been uh good day fuh me an ah nuver expected it. times is been hard, but it don't look much lak it tuhday. how's yo' white foks, alvin?” “dey's fine, but dey didn't have much ez dey allus haves; duh turkey wuzn't ez big an' dey didn't have ez much cumpney.” he reached way down in his overcoat pocket, looked surprised as he only found a hole. he reached around, caught his coat at the bottom and shook everything to the corner and smiled, “hyer it is. ah knowed ah put it in dis pocket, but it slipped through dat hole.” he handed uncle jake another package. many friends came in to wish uncle jake a merry christmas. “hello, hello uncle jake. this is new years day and i come to eat some hog jowl and black eyed peas with you.” “o, yas, johnny mah boy; tell ellen tuh give yuh some. you ought tuh have good luck dis yer.” “i’ve et peas at six places and befo' the day's gone i'll make it to many more.” “you'se been uh good boy tuhday, is you? on noo yers day, try not spen' so much money an' allus have some in yo' pockets. ah tells mah chillun tuh try an' not lose dey temper 'cause whatever you do ur say duh furs day uv duh yer, you'll do it all duh yer. eat lots uv black eyed peas 'cause dey's lucky beans.” on new years day nearly every southerner cooks hog jowl and black eyed peas. this has long been an established custom; they are supposed to give you luck. about nine o'clock they noticed the wind had changed to the north. sam kept putting on big logs and they kept moving up closer to the fire. few houses were under-pinned and the wind whistled all under them, blowing old pans and everything about. sam had to chink a few cracks that were uncovered. at eleven, ellen crawled in bed. little mamie waited awhile for her to warm it. they had a big feather bed and nothing was prized more highly in such weather. that night they had another heavy snow and were trapped in again. many people and animals suffered. the county had to go to the rescue of some of its citizens. it was considered a disgrace for the county to help anyone, so the destitute families that received aid kept it a secret. the children were kept from school almost a week, but when they returned, pieces were given out for the oratorical contest that was to take place the following april. little mamie was chosen as one of the two speakers in her class. during the long nights she learned her piece and recited it so much that even her grandfather knew parts of it. her piece was, “the gambler's wife.” her mother trained her. uncle jake said he could just see the whole thing; he'd seen men gambling and knew they should be at home and he'd also given money to buy food for their hungry children in such cases. the most beautiful picture to him was where she got on her knees and said the prayer. he just knew she'd get a prize. - things moved along slowly, and at last april came in with heavy showers, but the weather cleared off before the fifteenth, the night for the concert. long before night, the people began passing. they had to be early in order to get a good seat. uncle jake sat on the porch and watched them; he'd often remarked that his grand- child was more like him than any of his children. all the contestants sat on the front row in order of their appearance. at : p. m. the first speaker, george washington arlington, from the first grade hadn't arrived; his teacher had given him up. he lived on the south side of town and his mother, a listless sort of woman said it didn't matter about his piece, he was too little to go about nights, but she put on her best and sat on the back seat with the new style hat, “a brazen heifer,” on the back of her head. when the principal went upon the stage to call for order, little george bounced in the back door. seeing no one in his seat, he ran and climbed into it. he looked as he did when he left school that day, bare- footed, bareheaded, and a pair of dirty overalls on, but he was a cute little black boy, much too small for his six years. he could hardly wait for his number to be announced. his piece was a little reminder to grown-ups about saying “dont”, so often to children. his voice was just loud enough and his pronounciation perfect. he smiled and also frowned in the proper places. his mother sitting in the rear of the room was shocked; she'd never heard his piece before, as his teacher taught it to him. the crowd applauded wildly. he won the first prize in his division and so did little mamie. both went home as happy as larks; uncle jake was waiting with open arms to congratulate their little girl. sam came in the gate with both hands in his pockets and spasmodically jerking them up and twisting himself as if his trousers were falling off. “pappy, uncle stony bracely is low sick an' his little old wife, aunt sue duck is so noisy she won't let him die in peace. the house an' yard is full of foks; the doctor says he's dyin'. she keeps runnin'up to his bed sayin’ ‘bracely, bracely, stop ‘zistin' god. stop ‘zistin' god.” she says he's holding on to this sinful world. it seems like she is too; she's older then he is. nobody kin stop her, so they sent for her preacher to come an try to set her down.” “is dat so sam? poor bracely. dat 'oman is partly worried him whar he is now. she's uh smart little trick an’ good at kurin' kungured people, but ah caint stan' no 'oman dat talks ez much ez she do. she allus wuz uh put on. when she's in chuch, dey tells me she shouts all over it an' ef she's mad at anybody, she's sho tuh set by dem, give uh big yell, throw both arms out, an' give 'um uh back-hand lick in duh mouf.” “she do pappy. ain't i seed her? nobody's got no faith in her shoutin’.” all that week the children in the fifth grade were begging relatives and friends to give them something for the dinner. nearly every year the children of each grade gave their teacher a big dinner and invited the principal and all the other teachers in the school. for many reasons, these dinners were becoming very unpopular. in little mamie's room, there were many large girls who came from the county; their fathers were farmers. queenie, one of the large girls whose mother worked for some wealthy white folks, had heard about a new kind of green ice cream. the name of it was “green ice” and it cost $ . a gallon. none of the children had heard of it; queenie had no trouble collecting the money. little mamie gave fifteen cents. a gallon sounded big to the children and too, they were sure queenie knew what she was doing. the teacher had nothing to do with it; she left everything in the hands of the big girls. friday morning the sixth grade children were there bright and early. the big boys borrowed all the other teacher's tables, put them together in the front of the room and the big girls put on the white cloths and dishes. some of the children went home at eleven to get the hot roasted, and fried chicken and other meats. some had hot pies and cakes that had been baked that morning. some of them ran all the morning, going up town or to the store for some things that had been forgotten. little mamie went a little before eleven for her roasted chicken, and dressing; she wanted to be on time. there were fourteen teachers; two of them were men. at twelve o'clock the teachers came in. the big girls did the serving. the little children kept peeping in to see if they could help, but the big girls shewed them back. finally a bigger girl was placed at the door to keep it closed so they couldn't even peep. the teachers ate a good dinner and when they left they thanked the big girls. miss jennie, their teacher, went out with them. when the little children were called in, nearly everything had been eaten up. little mamie didn't really care for anything but some of the green ice cream, but she nor any of the little ones even got to see it. the big girls told them it was just enough to serve the teachers. those who insisted on being given some were told they were fussy, and to hush, else they'd be put out. little mamie was glad to go home, so she could cry. that afternoon she hurried to tell her grand- father all about it. she knew he'd sympathize with her. uncle jake had been looking for her. “what's duh matter, baby chile. you is cryin'.” she ran and put her arm around his neck and sat on the arm of the old wicker. “grandpa, after i give queenie more money than anybody, i didn't even see the green ice cream. the big girls didn't let us in the room while the teachers were eating, so we don't know who ate it all up.” he patted her hand gently, “don’t cry. tuhmorrer when sam gets paid, he'll give you two bits an' you kin go tuh town an' git some. you know whar duh sto' is, don't you honey?" she smiled contentedly, “yes, grandpa, i know where it is.” she ran inside, took off her school dress, pulled out of the pocket the first letter she'd ever received from a boy. she dallas news an' some other papers. wages is low in most places.” the boys listened as they sat on the grass with their hands folded in front of their raised knees. they had decided to go and nothing could stop them. “we read the dallas news,” said ned, who acted as spokesman. “we seen some men that had just come from up there. they said wages wuz good.” “why did they leave, son?” inquired elder. “well—i guess, well i think they are going back,” said ned when he found words. ellen came and the boys were glad; the old men were making it too hot for them. they didn't value their advice; it was a little pricking. “up norf is no place fuh country boys.” “naw it ain't elder, dey might suffer. dey tells me it's so meny people up dah, dey don't take time tuh speak tuh you,” said uncle reb. “mah son's wife she went up dah one time.” that night the boys left on the eight o'clock frisco. ellen and several friends went to the station to see them off. they had an enjoyable trip, but when they got to st. louis, only a few miles from their destination, they heard that the work had given out, but they went on. that afternoon two homesick boys prowled the streets of a small town with little money. surely enough, the work had given out; they went every place, even to the small churches, but found nothing. they bought fruit from a vegetable man. he told them that work couldn't be found round town. their money soon gave out. all sorts of things ran through their minds, especially ned's. if they had money, of course, they'd go straight back to penhook. when the pangs of hunger really struck them, ned had a bright idea. “frank, that old vegetable man is always got a pocketfull of money. if we got his bag, we'd catch a freight to st. louis and then go to texas.” “how kin we git it? he watches you so close; he has got a roll of bills all the time.” “we'll ketch him early when he leaves home around five o'clock. one will buy and the other give him a dazing lick with a club. we kin make a git away. if we git lost in dodg- “‘filthy lucre' i didn't earn it, and i won't have it.” as these and many other things ran through his mind, it began to rain, a light sprinkle, then a heavy downpour. he jumped from side to side, but in a short while he was almost knee deep in the water. his eyes often wandered near the money sack; it was floating about. after several attempts, he crawled from under the bridge and started toward the railroad. at the thought of having no money, he ran back and grabbed the floating bag, and after relieving it of its contents, threw it far under the bridge. for hours he had tramped around in mud and water. his feet and legs were wet, and he shivered in the cool june air. he hadn't walked far, before a freight came crawling by. the next morning he bought some clothing at a second- hand store in east st. louis and caught a train for oklahoma. before he left penhook, he had gotten a letter from his brother, alfred. he had offered him a job in the hotel where he worked, but big brothers always wanted to boss, and he didn't much want to go, but now he had to. alfred put him right to work. that next week a drummer came in and asked to see all the help. the manager told him many were off that time of day, but if he waited until after six o'clock dinner, he'd have them come in. at dinner, this drummer sat where he could see all the waiters as they came in from the kitchen; ned was among them. one of the boys noticed him pull out a picture from his inside coat pocket and managed to get behind his chair as he looked at it. it was ned. he rushed into the kitchen and told alfred. all the boys gave ned what money they had in their pockets, and told him to go. this drummer kept watching for ned to come in again, and when he didn't show up, he asked for him. the boys kept stalling him off by saying he would be in shortly, or he had gone upstairs, and ned got away completely. when the detective made himself known and showed ned's picture, it was too late. this scared ned more than anything else. where in the world did he get his picture? he wished a million times he'd never left penhook. he went to cleveland and spent the winter. ellen heard from him all the time, but wondered why he had changed his name. the following year, he ventured to dallas, sent for ellen and they married. he had always been a healthy, strong boy, but now he coughed all the time. ellen couldn't under- stand, until he told her of his wanderings and asked her to forgive him. he just knew the hours he spent under that bridge would be the cause of an early death. it would have been better if he had worked it out like a man, as frank did. ellen had been in dallas two years when she went back to see her father. her baby boy, three months old, had a bad cold, but she went on just the same, for she knew the old women in the neighborhood knew exactly what to do for him. when she arrived, the old men were swapping jokes as usual. they shook hands with the baby and wanted to hear about the big town, dallas. “dat ole dago 'oman who use tuh sell you things wuz hyer las' week, ellen. ah bought dese galloses; dey's good an' strong. ah give her uh dime; she'll be back nex' week fuh her fifteen cents. she had uh gret big new grey valise. she tuck duh top off, an' stacked her goods in it ez she showed um. she had uh little uv uv'rything. she tickles me uh-sayin', ‘want some nice good puddies?' she axed fuh you.” “hyer’s mister johnny. is ah got uh letter?” “yes, uncle jake. it's from hugo. ain't fred over there?” “yas he is, an’ ah hopes it's frum him. he's lazy uhbout writin'. ellen, come hyer an' git dis letter. mr. johnny, how's mr. henry? ah knowed dat boy's daddy, an' now he's heddin' our post-office.” “he’s fine, uncle jake, about the best we've had.” ellen waited until the old men left and read the letter. “whut is it, ellen?” “it's from fred, and he's married ada lee.” “married dat ole 'oman? she's too ole; mah childrun don't know how tuh pick nobody. “all uv mah childrun is good lookin' but one an' dey ought tuh be. yo' mammy wuz ez putty ez uh april peach. she wuz uh mulatter wid cole black hair. she had little keen features.” uncle jake smiled before beginning on himself. an' ah wuzn't uh bad looker mahsef. mah hairs not kinky kids. she weighs nigh ontuh two hundred an' fifty pounds. big an' fat, an' got five childrun. ah nuver would uv courted uh 'oman lak dat. “an' dat joe uv mine won't nuver marry. he's duh meanes' chile ah got; he cain't git uhlong wid hissef. hyer comes elder; put dat letter up. ah don't want him tuh hyer me talkin' 'bout mah childrun, but ah sho’ don't lak none uv dey pickin'. ah’m uh high tone man mahsef.” sam come tuh see her dat night, she had uh pot uv chicken giblet soup fuh him. “we had uh tough time, but still we wuzn't sad all duh time. dere wuz plenty gwine on tuh keep yo' laffin’,” con- cluded hiram. “dat's nothin’,” said uncle jake gingerly, “we's duh hap- pes' race in duh woil. we kin fine fun in uv'rything an’ do you know dat keeps our mines frum worrin' so. guess we'd all been nigh dead ef we hadn't been able tuh see duh funny side uv life. “las’ week when rev'rn tibbs’ funeral passed, uv'rybody wuz sad. tears rolled down mah cheeks ez duh long per- cession passed. jes' in front uv duh las' wagun was 'nappy tom', duh big, fat, black rascal. he wuz ridin’ dat jackass of his'n an' his toes wuz draggin' in duh dus'. genermens, ah had tuh hol' mah mouf, an' uv'rybody else did too.” “well, ah had uh easy sort o' master,” said uncle harry proudly. “he’d give us sadday after dinner an' all day sun- day off. we had uh good time at our quarters nearly uv'ry sadday night; in duh summer, we had dances, an’ niggers frum other plantations would slip off an' come over. duh big house wuz high off'n duh groun' an' ah had tuh stack wood under duh kitchen an' porch. one night ah wuz stackin' wood an' duh chimley felt so warm ah laid down by it an’ tuck uh nap. ah heard master talkin' an' ah crawled further under by duh fiah place an' listened. “master lak jokes, so ah tol’ him ah could tell him whut he wuz talkin' 'bout dat night. 'course ah heard him an' it wuz easy. he got so he axed me nearly uv'ry day whut wuz he talkin' 'bout. it got so ah had tuh go under duh house mo' den ah wanted tuh. “he said ah wuz smart, an’ bragged uhbout it. ah wuz his fortune teller. his frens went coon huntin' an' he bet dem fifty dollars dat ah could tell dem whar dey'd been. when ole master called me, he said, ‘harry, whut did dese men do las' night?' ah wuzn't no fortune teller. ah didn't know, so ah twitched an' wriggled, an’ finely said, ‘master, you kot duh ole coon at las'.' “ole master yelled out, ‘ah tole you he'd know you kot uh coon.” dey axed me all kinds uv questions, but ah jes' laffed. after supper ah called master outside an' tole him all. ah didn't want him tuh lose his money. ah meant dey kot me a-lyin'. he didn't see it 'till ah splained it. dat settled mah listenin'.” “come on in, ant sophie, you an' ant betsy. set down an' res' uh while, we're hyer talkin' 'bout our mosters. guess you ladies wuz ole uhnuff tuh 'member dem days,” said uncle jake, shyly. “yas sur,” both of them blurted. “well ah wuz lucky,” said ant betsy. “ah wuz quick an’ smart an' dey kep' me at duh big house, but ah'd slip down tuh duh cabin tuh see mah mammy. she'd kiss me an' sen' me back. ah nuver shell fuhgit when mah mammy tuck sick. ah guess ah wuz 'bout eight. ah'd slip tuh duh cabin an' she'd feel under her piller an' give me uh piece uv cawn bread. ah went one day an' she wuzn't on her bunk. dey tol’ me she wuz daid, but ah thought she'd come back. ah kep' slippin' down dere, thinkin' an' hopin' each time ah'd fine her. ant tinnie, duh ole cook, seed me an' she said, “chile, whure's you been?” when ah tole her, she said, ‘lawdy honey, yo' mammy nuver will come back. she's daid an' dey put her in uh hole in duh cole, cole groun', she'll nuver come back tuh her baby no mo'. ah wuz hurt; ah grieved fur days. ah had uh pappy dough, an' ah begin tuh slip an' look fuh him in duh fiel'. later somehow, ah heard dem at duh house talkin' 'bout lincoln an' when ah went down tuh duh cabins, ah heard all duh niggers in duh quarters whisperin' 'bout lincoln. one said, ‘hurrah fuh lincoln.” ah caught it right uhway, it sounded prutty tuh me. ah happened tuh think 'bout it one day when ah wuz doin' mah work 'roun' duh yard. ah jumped straight up an' down and yelled tuh duh top uv mah voice, ‘hurrah fuh lincoln l hurrah fuh lincoln l' one uv duh cooks hurd me an' run out an’ tol’ me tuh hush fuh ole master would whup all duh hide off'n duh niggers on duh plantation. b'lieve me, ah quieted down. yawl, genermens, no doubt is heard dat ah teached school when ah wuzuh young gal. after freedom when mah pappy hired me out, he'd pintly say, ‘give her uh dollar uh mont, vittals, clothes an’ learn her in uh book.' ah knowed booker made. we had uh good time on christmas. moster would let us have uh party; ef it rained, we had it jes' duh same. we danced by duh light uv duh moon. moster said tuh use candles wuz wasteful. we invited darkies frum other plantations. dere wuz uh boy name jeb dat wuz bes' buck an' wing dancer you could fine anywhur's. we'd sweep duh dirt flo' an' he'd dance all over it. moster made money off'n him: we made his music by singin' an' pattin'. - ole mistruss died an' her own gurls wuz scared tuh sleep by deysefs. some uv us had tuh go uv'ry night an' sleep at duh foot uv dair beds; dey wuz scared dey mammy wuz comin' back an' hant 'um. when freedom come, ole moster wuz worried anyway, an he knowed he'd be broke when dem three hundred slaves lef" him; so when he foun' out dat it wuz so, he tuck an' drunk two bottles uv strick-nine. one wuzn't uh nuff, ah guess. he said he'd druther be dead an' in hell, an' ah reckon he went on, 'cause he sho' died.” “well sister we's glad we kin talk 'bout sich times bein’ gone an' we hope nuver to return,” said uncle jake sympa- thetically. “give dem some frush water, paul.” “ha! ha! ha! ah have tuh laff when ah think uv how tough ah wuz,” said uncle paul. “ole henry otter wuz uh little consumpted man an' he hired uh big clumsy over-seer. ah wuz ez big ez he wuz, an' he wuz skeered uv me. to punish me, he'd make duh winmen foks hol' me down face up, an' pur col' water in mah nose. he done it so much ah learn't tuh hol’ mah breath uh long time an' it didn't strangle me. ah allus takes mah time. ah nuver hurry, it's no use. ah nuver work uh walk fas'. ah takes mah time now, an' tuck mah time den, an’ dat sho' made dat ole over-seer mad; he didn't know whut tuh do wid me. now wuz ah glad when freedom come. ah jumped fo' feet, an' clopped mah heels.” “hyer's elder simpson. come in, it's so hot tuh day, uv'rybody is makin' fuh dis shade. han' elder uh gourd uv water, paul,” said uncle jake in his usual welcoming voice. “jess, you'se allus had uh easy time. yo' moster wuz yo' daddy an' he treated you white. ah allus heard dat you jes' ez soon be uh slave ez free, would you?” “no, jake, ah'd druther be free. ah did have all ah wanted tuh eat an' wuzuh little stuck up—uh biggity sort uv niggah, but i'se glad jes' duh same. ah learnt tuh read some, but brother luke could uv learnt mo' then me, cause he tuck young master tuh school an' he tried tuh learn him, but he was too confounded lazy. duh rascal nuver wanted tuh do nothin' but hunt an' feesh. ah 'member well, when duh con- fedret soldiers drilled in front uv our house. it wuz where duh ole depot is now. ah wuz 'leven years ole. when ole mistruss wanted me tuh do any work, she had tuh give me uh big lump o' brown sugah', yas ah wuz spoilt. yawl know ole liza jackson dat lives down by duh school house. she b'longed tuh mah master's brother. she wuz duh biggest liar on duh plantation; she wore dat belt. she tol' duh white folks dat all duh slaves on jinin' plantations wuz fixin' tuh rise up 'gainst 'um an' dey wuz goin' tuh steal hosses an' guns an' go jine duh yankees. some uv dem quick-tempered white men gathered up all duh slaves tuh beat 'um, an' ole master an' his brother come up. dem wuz some mad white men. dey cussed an' tol' 'um day wuz bigger fools den duh slaves. dey made 'um sen' uv'rybody back to duh cabins an' tuck ole liza an’ made her say she wuz lyin'. she done dat, an’ ah hates her tuh dis day. she lied den, an' she's still uh-lyin'. yes, gen- ermens, a'm glad ah kin set ez long under dis shade ez ah wants to, an' nobody calls. yes, ah's 'specially proud ah'se free.” “ah run in uh gret conversation, didn't ah?” said elder simpson in his ministerial tone. “ah prayed fuh dis, night an' day an’ nuver stopped. at work, at duh table, uh in bed, ah prayed tuh almighty god tuh hyer duh prayers uv mah uh-pressed people. yas, ah wuz prayin' tuh mahsef all duh time. many uh night ah crawled out mah bunk an' prayed till nigh day an' ah knowed mah god would hyer an' ansuh duh prayers uv uh ole preacher. mah ole master wuzuh po' man, who wanted tuh be rich bad; he didn't own many slaves. he had two children, uh boy an' uh girl an' duh boy thought duh sun rose an' sot in me. he slipped tuh mah cabin at night an’ learn’t me tuh read and write. ah could read better dan ole master, but he didn't know it. all duh white foks wuzn't mean. some uv dem felt fuh us, but wuz uh fred tuh speak up. whenever master ed sont us tuh other plantations, he'd grease our mouths wid meat skins tuh make slaves an' mas- ters on other plantations think we had plenty meat. ah tell yawl, how foks started eaten' chittlin's. sich po’ masters ez mine give dey slaves little meat. we'd kill duh few hogs he had, an' all we got wuz duh feets en heads— never hams. dey tol' us tuh throw duh guts uh-way, but duh darkies on ole johnson's farm tol' us tuh clean 'um, wash 'um good, let 'um soak in salt an' water two days, den cook 'um. we did. dey had uhnuff fat on 'um tuh season 'um good. dey give us cracklin's frum duh lard an' we put dem in duh bread tuh season it. slaves enjoyed dem so dat white foks started eatin' 'um too, an' soon darkies had little uv duh chittlins. b'longin' to uh po’ man wuz hard. we wuz glad fuh mo' dan one reason tuh git free.” “elder, ah knows you is tellin' duh truff. ah went 'bout lots mahsef an' po’ slaves learnt tuh cook an' eat anything. dey eb'n begin cookin' danderlion greens dat grows in duh woods. ef yawl ain't et none, you've missed sumpin'. git some uv dese slav'ry winnin dat go out getherin’ dem on sad- day to git you uh nickel's wurth. dey's duh bes' greens ah ever et, specially if dey's cooked wid meat skins,” said uncle jake as he shook his head an' smacked his lips. “now jake, you lived lak uh white man,” put in peter moore. “you don't know duh life uv no slave. ah b'longed tuh duh stearns too, but tuck mah wife's name at freedom instead uv mine. she b'longed tuh ole jess moore. uv'rybody, 'cludin' ole moster, wuz glad tuh see you drive yo' moster jim up in his fine buggy wid two fine steppin' hosses. we called you uh big niggah, but not stuck up. yawl would leave an' we wouldn't hyer frum you in weeks. ole jim stearns wuz shouh spote. when freedom come, ole master stearns give us uh little grub an’ all our clothes an' sont us on. some didn't give duh po' slaves nothin', specially clothes. i'se bought uh little place on birmingham street an' i'se glad tuh come in an' go out when ah wants tuh, an' set up ez late ez ah pleases. no runnin' an' hidin' now.” “ha, ha, peter talks lak he's duh only one glad he's free. ah’m hyer,” shouted little old noisy uncle clem gillum. the old men laughed and yes'd him. they began spitting ambier and clearing their phlegmy throats. it was some time before uncle clem could continue; however, he was a little proud of himself. he liked to throw in a little humor to give himself as well as others time to cackle a little, before beginning on the main part of his speech. water was the next thing in order. little mamie had brought a bucketful and they hastily gulped it down. “well, genermens, ash cakes wuz mighty good den, but batter cakes is better now,” continued uncle clem. “ah wuz duh little niggah dat knowed uv'rybody's business. ah wuz ez slick ez uh eel. ah'd slip 'roun' duh back uv duh cabins, peep through duh cracks, uh lay under one corner uv duh flo' an' look an' listen. dey called me smart, but ah wuz jes' uh run uh'roun'. mammy nuver knowed whar ah wuz at night. ah have got up out uv bed an' slipped out. one night when ah wuz under mose an’ matilda's house, dey fotched out two dozen uh mo' aigs; two other wimmen wuz dair. dey kerefully cracked uv'ry aig uh little an' wropped dem in wet paper an' put dem in duh hot ashes. soon dey wuz poppin' an' dey pulled dem out on duh harth. dey sho smelt good, an' mah mouth wuz watterin'. jes' ez all uv 'um got salt an' pepper an' pulled dey seats close up, de do' opened an' in walked ole mistruss. well sir, dey wuz sho’ some sick an’ scar'd. dey looked at each other ez if dey wondered who had done it. when ole mistruss axed 'bout it, mose said matilda stole 'um, an’ matilda said mose stole 'um. dey thought dey wuz goin' tuh git uh beat- in', but ole mistruss went out laffin'. it tuck dair appetites an' mine too. dey et uh few uv 'um an' lef' duh others on duh harth; ah wuz sorry dey didn't git tuh enjoy 'um. we had two uh three big dances uh yer. duh white foks laked tuh hyer us sing an' see us dance. ah wuz one uv duh dancers; ah could cut duh pigeon wing higher den anybody. we'd put thick merlasses on our hair tuh hol’ it down. it done vary well at our christmas dance, but at our summer dance when we got hot, dem merlasses run down our backs, in our faces, an’ in uv'ry derection. our shirts duh nex’ day wuz ez stiff ez dey'd been starched. dey had tuh be throwed in water. you know we had no screens, an' duh flies swarmed 'um thick.” “our master wuz rich an' we had plenty,” spurted in uncle reb. “mam mammy nuver let us e'um play wid none uv dat po' white trash 'roun' us, fuh dey wuz allus stealin' sumpin' an' layin' it on little niggers. ramon wuz our preacher. he could tell you all uh about duh bible an' could say uh lot uv verses, but he couldn't read uh lick. ah don't know who learnt him the verses; he wouldn't tell us. ole master didn't want tuh ketch you readin' uh bible uh tryin' tuh preach. he wuz strict 'bout dat. ah worked in duh fiel'. we raised mo' cottun dan any- body nigh us, an' tuck bales an' bales tuh duh gin. we made our black sorghum uv'ry yer, kilt lots o' hogs, an' raised uh big garden an' had uv'rything anybody else had. did yawl card yo' hair? well we did. we didn't have com's. duh little gals' hair wuz kep' short too, fuh lice got in long hair. none uv uz wuz sold frum our mammy's an' when free- dom come we wuz all tuh gether.” “dis is uh fine meetin' tuhday. glad ah sot down on duh grass an' lissened. ah didn't 'tend tuh git loose, but ah cain't set still,” said sister jennie. “mah mammy drew uh two hoss plow in duh fiel' an' ah tuck dinner tuh duh fiel' hans. duh cook packed haf gallun buckets in uh clothes basket an’ sot it on duh chilluns' heads. uv'ry han’ got uh half gallun bucket. beans, peas, merlasses, cawn-pone, cabbage, crop- collards an' sich things wuz in duh bucket. me an' sum uther chillun had tuh take uh meny load. ole moster had so meny slaves he didn't know 'um, but duh mean, low-down overseers did. - ole mistruss wuz so big when ah got her out uh clean aprun, ah'd give her one string. she'd hol' it 'roun’ tuh her back. ah'd take duh odder string an' go 'roun' her an' tie it. ah had tuh be quick, too, 'cause she walked wid uh stick an' she'd use it. ole susie, uh big 'oman, done duh washin' an’ all duh chillun ez big ez me, brung duh water frum duh spring. ole mistruss tole her tuh give all duh little water-niggers uh beat- in’ uv'ry week, so we wouldn't git imperdent, an’ dat nigger done it too. ole mistruss had uh boy name buss 'bout mah age an' dat little rascal tol' uv'rything he seed an’ dat he didn't see. we chillun had tuh go tuh duh cow lot an' fetch duh milk too. when four uh five wimmens would milk uh piggin full uv milk, dey would put it in uh bucket an' set it on our heads an' ez soon ez we tuck it we'd run back. slaves frum other plantations called us stuck-up 'cause master smoot give us two linsy dresses in duh winner an' two yaller cotton dresses in duh spring an’ summer an' uh underpiece. we had plenty tuh eat—we kilt plenty hogs. we got duh chime bones, uh flitch uv baken an' all duh chittlin's an' livers an’ lights. shoes! ah nuver wore uh shoe till surrender. in winner, our feet cracked up so bad dey looked lak dey'd been cut opun. moster must uv been frum englan', fuh ah 'member when three hogs-heads uv china wuz sont frum dere, an' his daugh- ter's weddin' clothes come frum dair. one sunday when patience had made some fis' biscuits an’ cooked fried chicken, injun joe, her sweetheart frum uh nud- der plantation, wuz settin' in duh winder upstairs eaten’. he wuz uh big thing, haf-nigger an' half injun. duh patter-roll- ers come fuh him. it wuz seben on hossback. he tol' 'um he didn't move fuh nobody when he wuz eatin’. when he started downstairs, he picked up uh big stick uv wood out duh fiah-place, it wuz haf burnt up. he went down an' throwed fiah uv'ry way. dey tuck out an’ nuver bothered him no more. anyway duh darkies tied grapevines on low tree limbs an' down low in all duh roads an' paths, an’ dem patter-rollers fell off hosses. some hosses fell an' broke dey legs, so dey stopped ridin' an' walked. dey didn't git tuh whup meny niggers den, cause dey couldn't ketch 'um. ole rob on duh nex’ plantation called us dam spoilt nig- gers. durin’ de war we heard cannons an' guns, moster didn't go; he sont uh man in his place an' tol’ him he'd take kere uv his fam’ly. duh man got kilt, an' when duh war wuz over, duh 'oman come an' axed him fuh sump'n an' all he give her wuz uh ole lousy ca'f. ah reckon hit died—it looked sick. after surrender, moster smoot tol’ us tuh work all duh yer an' gether duh crop an' he'd give uv'rybody rations, jes' lak he'd be doin'—food an' clothes, den we could leave. all his slaves stayed. mah mammy's husban' wuz one uv his main han's. duh nex’ fall, mah step-daddy got kilt on uh tractor an' moster smoot tol’ me he'd give me three dollars uh mont tuh do duh milkin' an' cook fuh hired han's. ah wurked uh whole yer an' when he started tuh go tuh richmon' tuh run in uh 'lection ah axed fuh mah money an' he pintly said ah'd stole his chickens an’ needed no money. when ah tol’ him we had chickens an’ ah didn't haf tuh steal, he grabbed uh stick an’ tried tuh ketch me; ah tuck tuh duh woods. he lef’ dat day fuh richmon' an' we moved. so glad ah'se free, ah gits plenty tuh eat. ah got chick- ens an' uh garden an' bes' uv all, ah got uh fedder bed; sum- pin' ah'se longed tuh sleep on. ah'se seed 'um beat ole mistruss' bed up so high, ah wondered how she got up in it. well, ah got duh same kine. in summer ah puts it at duh boddom an' duh mattruss on top. in duh winner, ah puts it on top, beats it high an’ ah rolls over in it an' 'joys mahsef. lors, here comes little peter, 'scuse me, but ah mus' come again an' finish.” “yes, sister jennie, you do come some mo',” said uncle jake, “ah’m hyer uv'ry day duh sun shines. hyer comes ant zilphy. she kin fix up uh good 'un,” said uncle jake, as he chuckled a bit. “whut's dat? whut's all you lazy, good fuh nuthin' gen- ermens doin’ hyer in duh cool? swapin' jokes, jes' swapin' jokes ah reckon,” said aunt zilphy. “you sho'lly wouldn't talk 'bout 'spectable genermens lak dat, you'se too high tone. we use tuh be good waguns, but we's 'bout broke down.” said uncle meek. “who did you b'long tuh in slav'ry f" said elder simpson, inquiringly. “well, ah'se been workin' duh live long day. guess ah orter set down an' cool off. ah'se uh good 'oman yit. ah wuz duh smartes' little nigger on bill jones' plantation, ah could out-smart eb'n dem parruts. white foks use tuh pay big money fuh trained parruts. we had two uv 'um an' dey sho could talk. one staid in duh kitchen an' one in duh house. duh one in duh kitchen would say, ‘nigger eatin'; nigger eatin' chicken.” dey would git louder an' louder when dey talked. oh, ah hated dem things. ah stole mah grub an' put it in mah bosom an' munched on it. ah kep' uh willer tooth brush in duh corner uv mah mouf, an' dey thought ah wuz chewin' on dat. ole' jones had plenty money, but wuz too stingy tuh live decent hissef. now dey wuz 'sposed tuh be foks dat had uhligion. slaves on plantations fuh miles wanted tuh b'long tuh mos' jones. dey heard dat he let his white preacher preach tuh us. yas he did, but whut did dat lyin ' preacher say. dey called all us an’ tol’ us tuh sot down on duh groun’ 'roun' him; ole moster an' mistruss wuz settin' dah wid him. ah kin see dat preacher now an' his fo' sons in bed-tickin suits. he said, “all you niggers mus' be good niggers, obey yo' moster an' mistress an' dey will give you plenty grub. be good niggers—stay home, marry on yo’ own plantation, hit's got good strong darkies on it. when duh good lord call you, he'll let you set in duh hine seats an' some in duh kitchen in heab'n.” all uv us had tuh shake our heads, ‘yas', but not uh darky dair 'bleved him. ah’ll see fuh mahsef whose go git duh frunt seats. ah’m go hav' one o' dem frunt seats. ah know dat, yas sur. when freedom come, master give us uh little grub in uh bundle. mos' uv us went tuh ole ned roberson's planta- tion an' hired tuh him. we stayed dair 'till we come hyer. i'se 'joyed mahsef in dis hyer texas. it's uh good town. “you'se right, sister zilphy. we's all had uh good livin' hyer,” answered elder simpson. “ah'se been uh sittin' hyer lissenin' tuh yawl, but none uv you have went through wid whut ah is,” said uncle ezrul, a dark, tall lanky old man about six feet two, who always had some sort of problem on his worried mind. “ah'se been sold twice on duh oxun block. once when ah wuz uh boy ten an' once when ah wuz eighteen. ah nuver will fuhgit dat las' time ah wuz sol'. it wuz tuh ole judge kinkade an' ah wuz thar 'til freedom. uv'ry man wanted tuh have duh mos' money, own duh mos' darkies an' duh bigges' plantation. in dem days duh white foks went tuh church uv'ry sunday. after you driv' 'um up in dey fine carreges, you'd go home an' come back efit wuzn't too fur. we knowed uv'rythin', fuh somebody slept under dat church house uv'ry sadday night an' listened on sunday. on monday, we knowed it all. some run uh way on whut wuz called "duh undergroun’ railway'. good northern white genermens an' free slaves would slip you off. you'd travel on dark nights. in duh day you stayed at some good white man an' 'oman's house who wuz helpin' you tuh excape, uh you'd stay in uh dugout ur under uh bridge. you travelled 'til yo' got tuh uh northern state, ur canada; ez much trouble wuzuh brewin' ez ale. ah ain't no edicated man, but elder, ah'se uh man uv reasonin' power an' mother wit. dese united states histry books dey studies in school ain't right. ah’ve had mah gran' chillun read dem frum kiver-lid tuh kiver-lid.” as uncle ezrul spoke, his right hand made a clean sweep from as far as he could reach on his left side going to his right. “dey ain't got all uh'bout duh battle uv shiloh an' lots uh things is out. dey ain't one word uh'bout duh darky, only dat he wuz uh slave, uv'rybody knows dat, but uv'ry- body don't know how he hope at war time. all crops wuz raised an' uv'rythin' done, dat we had tuh do. ah axed ole gen'rl kinkade tuh write uh book uh'bout me an' other slaves dat stayed an' pertected dey fam’lies, but he shooed me uh way an' say, 'well, ezrul you wuz dependable an' ah ain't go let yo' starve an' when yo' die ah's go bury you. ah ain't got time now tuh write no book, but maybe some day when ah ain't so busy. here's fo' bits, go see mah ma an’ wife at duh house. dey talk uh'bout dey good niggers all duh time'. dat's all i'se got outen' him. ole massa said ah wuz big an' strong, an' not scairt o' nothin', so he wuz leavin' me tuh shoot anythin’ dat bothered his wife an' three chillun. ah’d uh done it too. ant cora an' susie slept upstairs wid dem, an’ ah had uh bunk in duh kitchen wid two guns. ole missus wuz uh scary, nervous, little credder. she could hear mo’ dan uv'rybody else tuh- gether. ah had tuh make meny uh track uhroun’ dat house especially on windy nights. a good brave slave was lef" on uv'ry plantation. ah ain't heard uv narry one betrayin' dey trusses. ah's been fussin' 'bout dis ever since ah'se been free. duh mo' ah talk, duh fudder uhway ah gits.” poor uncle ezrul had talked until he was weak. every- one present had heard him tell this story as many times as they'd had time to listen to him. it seemed to lie heavily on his mind and heart. “who knows, ezrul”, said uncle jake compassionately, “who knows; some day uh good southerner will write in hist'ry whut you want, not only dat but perhaps duh monermont you'se been speakin' uv to duh faithful an' hones' servants fuh pertection’ dair fam’lies durin' war times will be put up.” “maybe so, not in mah ole state but yo' 'ristocratic state tennessee, it is duh southern state dat ah perdicts mought do it,” said uncle ezrul. “all yawl’s done tol’ yo' slav'ry time 'sperence, guess ah'm uh little late, but ah wuz dah, yas sur, ah wuz dah,” said aunt hannah, who happened to be passing and heard the last part of the story. as she leaned on her folded arms that were resting on the old plank fence, she began, “chillun, ah feel lak praisin' duh lord uv'ry time ah think uh'bout bein’ free. elder, cain't yo' raise uh tune? ef you cain’t, ah kin.” aunt hannah threw back her head and began singing, ‘before ah'd be uh slave, ah'd be buried in mah grave, an' go home to mah master an' be free.” those present joined in the chorus. when she finished, all were blowing their noses and wiping their eyes. then she began, “ah marr'd in slav'ry. yawl knowed how it wuz—we stepped backwards over uh broon handle an' dat wuz all. ah had fourteen chillun; some uv dem wuz sol'. ah'll nuver see 'um on dis side. ah wuz uh fas' breeder an' mos' duh work ah done wuz tuh carry water. in two weeks ah wuz up an' wurkin'. ah'd give dat baby uh sugar-tit an’ put it under duh wagun in duh shade an' ah'd go tuh wurk. ah wuz uh gret han’ tuh play uh jew's-harp. ah jes' loved any kind uv music. somebody give me one, an ah set out tuh learn it an’ ah did. ah learnt uh few tunes. ah'd set up late at nights tryin' tuh play it. all duh slaves in duh quarters tol’ me dat duh devil wuz goin' tuh fix me ef ah kep' it up, 'cause it wuz duh devil's music piece. one dark night ah happened tuh be lookin' at uh big crack in duh cabin ez ah wuz playin' uhway. all at once, ah seed two big, rollin' eyes comin' up; dey got bigger an' bigger. it scairt me so, ah jes' knowed it wuz duh devil, so ah jumped off'n dat box an' throwed dat jew's-harp so fur out dat do' it nuver could be fount. in stepped elex; he sho' laffed. he said he didn't mean tuh skeer me, he jes wanted tuh see who wuz in dah. you know dat wuz uh habit wid all uv us, tuh peep through dem cracks. some kep' 'um stopped up, 'specially in winner, but in summer it wuz cooler tuh leave 'um opun. dere wuz lots uv wimmen in our quarters an' slaves frum other plantations would come to court 'um. on dark nights you could see little lights bobbin' up an’ down ef you looked down duh big road. it wuz dem pine splinter torch lights dem slaves had tuh light dair way over to our plantation. some uv 'um marr'd too. ah's in mah sixties, but ah’m uh prutty good 'oman yit. ah 'member dem yankees duh furs' day dey come, an' wuz ah glad. ah jes' called dem anjuls in men's clothes. ah didn't want dem tuh hurt ole master uh ole mistruss, uh take dey things, but ah wanted 'um tuh see it dat we wuz free. no man orter own anudder man. don't keer how he looks uh who he bees. it ain't right, it's too much. chris' didn't own nobody. he didn't own uh place tuh eb'n lay his haid.” “yas, ant hannah, we all knows yo' fellin's. ah had uh easy time. all ah done mostly wuz tuh drive moster jim uh- roun' tuh diff'runt towns,” said uncle jake in a melancholy tone. “whoa, maudie! hello foks, we's jes' done widole man ricks' two-room house. he had money tuh pay fuh it all.” “we's furs' straight, tom. dat's uh fine hoss you got, an' uh good little sulky. you'se been ridin' tuh work in it uh long time. yas, ah wuz tol' dat ole man ricks saved dat money in slav'ry time an' is jes' spendin' it,” said uncle jake. “tom, ah knowed yo' daddy, an' you git mo' an’ mo' lak him uv'ry day,” added elder simpson. “yep, mah daddy tried tuh buy me. ah wuz his only chile. he nuver married, ez hit wuz 'ginst duh law fuh him tuh marry mah mammy, an' her master wouldn't sell her ur me tuh him. he offered him five hundred dollars fuh me when ah wuz jes' uh little feller. mah mammy's oldes' gurl wuz sold an' after freedom, we wrote letters back tuh tennessee, an' sont dem tuh duh baptist church an' ah fount her. she come out hyer stayed uh while an' went back.” “ah've heped uh meny mother fine her chile. dem's called enquirin' letters. lots an' lots uv kinfolks is fount each other through churches. they's still doin' it yit.” “dat's true, elder simpson. tom ain't only uh carpenter, he's uh fiddler,” said uncle jake. “ah'll take one uv dem watermelons, jake. it'll eat good 'fore dinner.” little mamie was on the job. “thanks, thank's tom, come agin,” said uncle jake. “ah knows mo' dan would be good fuh me tuh say eb'n ef it is freedom. ah knows lots uv darky business an' lots uv white foks' business an' it's too mixed up. ah don't think no man ought mistreat his own chillun, his own flush an’ blood, an' some uv 'um didn't. ah could tell yawl things dat would make duh hair rise on yo' haids; yas sur, an' so fur ez niggers wurkin', dey started little darky babies wurkin' ez soon ez duh hippins wuz tuck off. first dey picked up chips in uh basket, an' frum dair dey fetched wash water in little buckets an’ little gals had tuh rock babies in cradles an’ fan duh winmen in duh summer time wid fans made out uv fedders. old man goodrich stopped by las' week. he said dat darkies couldn't take kere uv desefs an’ it wuz too bad dat we wuz free. ah can't see how he would think uv sayin' sich uh thing when no nigger sot down; all uvum worked. ah 'mem- ber well, after surrender, white foks didn't know much uh'bout wurk, 'specially winmen. some darkies naturally stayed wid dem, others dat had been mistreated, tuck tuh duh woods lak rabbits. dey had nowhars tuh stay; it wuz uh mess. moster jim wuz good tuh me an' he is yit. 'course ah don't hardly see him now. he's uh smart man in duh haid. he don't want much. ah nuver could understan' him, neither could his pappy. he ain't got no mean nasty temper lak some foks. ah use tuh wear his clothes—course we slept tuhgether when we went tuh uh place an' he couldn't git no cot fuh me. he'd tell 'um ah'd sleep on duh flo’ but bless you, he'd say, ‘jake, you'se tired; you'se drew' me uh long ways tuhday. come an' res' yo' tired bones on dis bed wid me." wuz ah glad! time ah struck dat hay, ah went tuh sleep. somehow he had uh rovin' disposition. goin' nowhere's perticler, but jes' goin'. he didn't lak much cumpney, he'd go in his room after sepper an' stay thar, 'les his daddy called him out. he nuver had much money, 'cause he didn't make much. well, ah see some uv you is gittin' restless an' sleepy. little mamiel come chile, cut five uh six uv dem georgia sweets an' give uv'rybody uh big slish. ehapter xi * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * hello uncle jake, and all yawl. dis is a fine day; you'se well, i hope.” all the old men spoke at once, answering in their usual way. uncle jake led most conversations. “hello, simon, we's jes tolerable; come in, hyer's uh box, set down. ah hears you had uh mighty big weddin' mah boy; tell us 'bout it.” simon possum-grinned, wiggled a little and started: “yes, uncle jake, i did. susie had to have a church weddin' cause she's been a little sunday school girl all her life and her grandma zilphy raised her and the ole lady wouldn't stan’ fuh nothin’ else. the church wuz decorated wid red, white and blue paper and big sun flowers. when the music started the man waiter walked wid suzie and the woman waiter walked wid me. i come in the back do' and suzie in the front do”. when we walked up to elder zemus, me and suzie wuz standin’ together. i wuz so scared my head seemed heavy; i had to try two or three times befo' i could look up and when i did, i looked straight at two rows uv white folks; the ones i work fuh and the ones ant zilphy work fuh. one of my legs started tremblin', i don’ know which 'n now an' the mo' i tried to steady it, the mo' it shook, and too, uncle jake, i'se been uh slippin’ roun' uh little wid zula, you know how tough that gal is and i heard she wuz goin' to reject when duh preacher axed if anybody had any rejections; now you kin imagin the fix i wuz in.” the old men giggled, slapped their legs and began spitting as usual. simon had to wait a few minutes before he could resume his story. “when the preacher finally said “if anybody rejects, speak now uh forever hold yo' peace; i nigh fainted; sweat rolled off me lak a bucket uv water had been pitched on my head, an' it seemed to me that he wuz goin' to wait ferever; ever secon' i'magined i heard zula yell out. when that preacher started talking again i sho' wuz a glad nigger. when the weddin' wuz over me and suzie and the man waiter and woman waiter got in a surrey and went tuh my house. i started payin' on that house you know a year ago. everybody followed us fuh aunt zilphy an’ suzie's kin folks had cooked hog foots, chickens, pies, cakes an' ice cream an' lord knows whut all an' they had tuck it there fuh the exception.” simon rolled his palms together and turned his head to one side as he contiued. “it wuz a big time. everybody wuz congratulatin' us and wishin' us luck. it wuz the biggest exception ever given after a weddin' in this town—so they all says. the lady waiter helped suzie git the buttons and pins loose and put on her gown, but i tol’ the man waiter i could take my clothes off by myself. the second night they stormed us. all kinds of pie pans and other pans and groceries wuz piled high on the kitchen table.” “you two is good chillun an' ah knowed you'd git lots uv presents,” added elder simpson. “mr. joe is building uh mension down uhmung duh rich folks an’ ah’m goin' down tuh see it. he's go marry dat girl frum up norf. folks is uh sayin' she won't know how tuh act in uh rich man's house but ah tell 'um all she'll learn. ah never yit seed uh woman who couldn't spen' muney; he's lots older den she is. he's go have uh big weddin', duh bigges' folks in duh county is go 'tend, frum duh mayer on down. ah tol' 'um las' week ah won't come; ah's jes' too broke up in mah limbs. saul is go hep pass 'freshments.” “jake, dem stearns don't fuhgit you; hits mighty fine,” said elder simpson in a complimentary tone. uncle jake looked elder straight in the eye as he remarked, “ah don't fuhgit dem neither.” uncle jake always called himself “’ristrocractic,” and a “somebody.” “mr. joe is been uh big hep in dis town; he heps all, black an' white farmers uhlak. mr. leslie tol’ me yestidy dat mr. joe is been takin' dis’ girl on all duh exkurzions down in south texas. he tuck her to duh dallas fair. his church folks is 'bout reconciled; she's uh smart little trick, dey have to lak her. dey tell me she don't talk much; ah say hits 'cause she's smart, ef she don't talk dey caint criticize her. uh still togue is allus in uh wise head. mr. leslie had uh bad col’; ah tol’ him tuh go home an' make hissef some mullen tea an' put uh little bug juice in it. he nuvver wuz too healthy, he's been thin an' pale all his days. his mammy use tuh rub his ches' wid suet an’ liniment. “jake hyer's duh rogers boys passin' wid cottun. they's three wagons wid two bales on uh wagon,” said elder. uncle jake had his back to the street but he stuck his cane in the ground; caught hold of the side of his rocker and with the aid of his left foot turned himself around. “lors, whut fine cottun dese boys is got! dey daddy oughter git out uv debt dis fall. we'se seed lots uh big bales pass, jes', uh few tight lookin' ones. some uv dem bales will fetch fifty dollars. glad dis yer is better'n las'. duh streets is full uv peddlers; duh po' white folks dat don't want tuh pick cottun is peddlin' uver thing dey kin. dey knows foks got money. some uv 'um sets hyer fuh hours talkin'; dey think ah knows all duh cullered foks who'll buy dey junk, but ah don't.” “i’se noticed dat sumbody is allus smart uhnuff to tell you how to spen' yo' money,” said elder as he laughed heartily with his mouth wide open displaying his shiny tooth- less gums. all that day and many others the old men counted and commented on the wagon loads of cotton that were either going to the gin or to the square to be sold. uncle jake was glad when saul came home these nights as he wanted to hear about the elaborate preparations that were being made for mr. joe's wedding. saul said he knew the wedding would cost plenty of money because they kept him and several others running to different stores with big orders, even the flowers would run up into money. uncle jake heard the patter of little mamie's feet; he knew one of his boys was coming. it was saul and he'd been away from home two nights and little mamie ran to meet him. “yestidy wuz uh prutty sunday; did you get tuh sunday school.” “yes, elder; i helped opun up.” “ah wuzn't feelin' good an' didn't go. what wuz duh lesson 'bout?” charity looked surprised at elder simpson and quickly answered. “why, i don't know; 'bout jesus, i recken.” “very well, charidy; ah'll ask sister millie. ah know she wuz dair.” “no, she wuzn't elder, but she passed by duh church when sunday school wuz goin' on. i seed her fuh i wuz settin' by duh winder. i always sets there and sees who pass duh church an' don't come in. i must be goin', i must do some washin'. yawl have a good time settin' here in the shade wid nothin' to do. you sho have lots uv cumpney, uncle jake. goodbye, genermens and good luck.” “goodbye, charidy,” they echoed. elder simpson was disgusted; he sucked his gums and snarled, “dat gal is thirty-five if she's uh day, settin' by duh winder watching folks pass, ah wonder ef she counts 'um. she's got uh gurl 'bout ten years old; ah know she's got more sense then her mammy now. that scoundrel hiram davis seduced po' charidy an' left her an' dat chile fuh duh ole folks tuh see after.” “little mamie says sometimes she leans out duh winder an' watches folks ez fuh ez she kin see 'um, an' her little gal answers more questions 'bout duh lesson than she do,” said uncle jake. long wagons drawn by strong mules and horses came to town early every morning for cotton pickers. one morning little mamie was awakened by the heavy rolling of the wagons. she peeped out of the window and saw two long wagons filled with children and their parents; how she wished she too could go to the white fields. their gallon tin pails held beans, potatoes and other good things for their dinner. she could scarcely recognize all of them, for on their heads were wide flappy straw hats and around their necks were either sweat rags or cotton sacks. this group of good natured happy folks entertained them- selves by singing to and from the fields. when the day was over the tired horses and mules with strained muscles brought the drowsy field hands back to humble homes, then around the supper table the cotton weights were carefully summarized and after the food for the next day's dinner was prepared, the smokey lamps were blown out and they crawled in their hay beds for the night. it was lonesome in penhook these days; many of the large families moved to the cotton patch so they could begin picking early. on saturdays the men would come to town for supplies. they had a good time saturday nights, for they would have fish fries or dances. charidy came creeping in the gate and sat on a box. “you come home sick frum duh cottun patch didn't you?” “yes, uncle jake; i had chills and fever. i had a chill ev'ry other day. i shook so you could hear by teeth chatter. mammy brought me home so dr. simpson could give me some medicine; he's the best doctor in town for chills and pneumonie. i feel so much better today, i'm going up to petty tonight to see the folks; i'll be back monday. i wonder, uncle jake, if little mamie will let me use her suitcase. i'll take good kere of it.” “ah don' see why she can't; go ax her.” little mamie had a new suitcase her mother paid $ . for so she could visit some relatives in oklahoma; it was only paper, but little mamie thought it very fine. she let charidy have it willingly. charidy's folks had expected her, so they met her at the station. that night they had a big fish fry and ice cream supper; mose, the banjo picker, was there and they danced until daybreak. whenever he played and sang his favorite tune, “ah’m my mama's oldest chile, ah’m too young to marry, marry,” the old floor rocked and popped under its weight. sunday night an unexpected rain came, and monday they couldn't work; so charidy stayed with them until tuesday. the next morning her brother took her to the station. the black, gummy mud often held the mules in their tracks for a second or two. the train was two hours late and the three short benches ah knows more uh'bout meat then all them teachers put tuhgether. dat calf ain't got no germs in him, ah tell you, an’ dat's dat an' you keep still. ah tol' you he's too little.” “yes, grandpa, i'm studying physiology and it says that animals die from diseases like people. meat should be inspected before it's eaten.” “huh ! guest you and dem teachers don't eat dead meat.” “not when the animals die, grandpa.” “dat school is good fuh some things, but not fuh uv'rything. ef dey nuver eat nothin' worse then uh po' little innocen' calf dey'll be all right. foolishness—dey's jes' uh bunch uv nice-nasty foks over dair. hush uh'bout dat calf an' git on over to dat high flutten school. somebody's knockin' sam, go to duh do'. “oh, it's you, zeke.” “mammy is sick an' duh doctor says she can't live. ah got uh buggy out hyer; she wants tuh see you, brother.” “how long she been sick?” “jes' since yistidy.” “git my clean blue shirt out duh little trunk an' hep me put it on son. dig uh hole down in duh ditch after sun-down an' bury dat calf. ah’ll be back tuh night ef mammy is better; ef not, ah'll be back when ah kin.” the doctor was leaving when they reached the house. uncle jake inquired of his mother's condition. the little room was dark, but he could see a smile steal across her face as he entered. zeke helped him to the bed and he took the doctor's seat and stroked her forehead tenderly with his left hand. he knew it was cooling; she was unable to talk, but waved her hand. all day she lay in a coma and chloe-ann gave her medicine as directed. she bathed her face in warm water and rubbed her almost lifeless limbs with suet and soda. near night she seemed improved; but this didn't surprise jake, as he remembered all the signs that his mother had taught him. “sister, ah'll go home; mammy won't die tuhnight. ah 'member her telling me meny times dat she wuz born in duh mornin' an’ folks allus die 'bout duh same time o' day uh night dey wuz born; dat is, ef it's uh natchul death.” “yes, brother jake, dat's right; ah 'member mammy saying dat too. ah got no place fuh you tuh sleep; dis shack is little. come back tuhmorrer ef you kin.” uncle jake was unable to sleep that night. he turned the scroll of his memory back to where he first remembered his mother crying as she sang and tucked him in his little bunk filled with hay which served as a matress, and how he wondered why she always cried. he thought of his boyhood days; of the christmas that he was given to master jim; the horrible war days, the news of freedom, his return to his mother's cabin, his courtship and marriage, his children, and his grandchildren. had he not been blessed? he realized that his mother was leaving him and he was in his late sixties and had never joined church, but she had had her name on the church roll since freedom and had kept herself in good and regular standing. he knew that he had been a good man and raised his children to love and fear god, yet before man he made no confession; why was this? the only excuse he could give was the disgusting, rotten preachers. one he had had confidence in had borrowed money and failed to return it, another had seduced a girl, another he thought of was a notorious liar, and still another was a drunkard, and to cap it off, old rev. simon's wife caught him slippin' in elvira's house with a young gal that had a little package under her arm and when she managed to snatch it away from her and open it, it contained a white night gown with a pretty lace yoke, a crochet edge at the bottom and was smelling strong with “white rose” cologne. such carrying on among the divines was just too much. he wrestled with himself as did jacob with the angel; finally he came to the conclusion that after all he alone was . responsible for his soul, and right then and there he was converted and too, he had known some good preachers. sam came to wake him. he had never been asleep but he felt new; yes, he felt that newness in life that never wears away when a man chooses to walk in the footsteps of his elder brother. at the breakfast table uncle jake turned his coffee cup down in the saucer so the grounds would settle on the sides and he could tell his own fortune for the day. he turned the cup around this way and around and around the other way and so on until he was satisfied that every ground had settled some place. he then turned the cup up and shaded it with his thick clumsy hand; as he gently peeped under his raised thumb he nearly jumped from his chair. “look, look, bad news.” in less than an hour, zeke stepped in the door. “brother, mammy is gone; ah jes' come to tell you.” he expected it, yet it shocked him. little mamie among others tried to console him as he hid his face in his weak arms that were folded on the kitchen table, and sobbed. with the aid of his crutch he scrambled to the floor; sam and zeke caught him by the arms and led him to the little front room. he tried to steady himself, but his grief was too weighty; he let his crutch fall to the floor and leaned on the old black box piano and wept bitterly. between sobs he gave out commands. “go tell all our folks; go tell mr. joe, he'll pay half uv her funeral bill an' we have tuh pay duh udder. we'll have duh funeral sadday; mr. joe won't be workin'.” on the day of the funeral, aunt mamie's house inside and out was full of children, grandchildren and great-grand- children. it took six two-seated hacks to take them to the graveyard and they were packed in like sardines. the procession slowly made its way to olive baptist church; little mamie expected them to turn north on church street after leaving pine bluff, but they turned jordan, a street of lewd women and saloons. she had never been down this block; though she was just a little anxious to see how it all looked, but she shut her eyes tight and hid her face in her hands to keep from being contaminated. uncle jake felt himself almost as a good a man as he'd ever been, so he looked from side to side and thought of the days when he was a bit younger. aunt mamie was eighty-six years old. she had been a good old woman, so elder dumas soon preacher her to heaven and the procession made its way to the old benevolent graveyard. at the grave songs were sung and the men folks took turns in filling up the grave. uncle jake almost fainted when he heard the hard lumps fall noisily on the wooden box that held the black coffiin. his boys picked him up and put him into the hack. when he left he waved at her grave and between convulsive sobs mumbled: “goodbye, mammy, goodbye. ah'll meet you, mammy; yes, ah'll meet you.” the old hack moved slowly out of the big gate and uncle jake's head fell on the shoulder of his oldest son. the following day also held a big blow for uncle jake. after breakfast saul same in and said, “we’re goin' to arkansas, pappy. since lillie had that fight with sadie smith and the gal nearly bit her finger off, she says she can't stay here. that finger pains her so at night she can hardly sleep. the doctor don't seem to be able to cure it; it's two months now and it's swelled as much as it ever was.” uncle jake made a long scraping noise in his throat several times before speaking. “son, ah knowed she'd have trouble. sally is got blue gums an' asthma besides. her finger is jes' pisoned. she's lucky dat duh doctor ain't all ready done tuck it off. lilly's bad temper goes 'gainst it too. people dat's got high temper it takes dem longer tuh git well than it do anybody else. dey 'cites deysefs. dat gal lillie is uh scrapper, she kin cuss, but she cain't fight. she skares duh winmen so bad dat dey tries tuh kill her 'cause dey think he's goin' tuh kill dem. you'll be kerful, won't you? live lak yo’ ole pappy is raised you; lillie wuz raised in dat cuntry, you wuzn't. she knows duh folks.” lillie's folks lived in fayetteville; whenever she got tired of working and wanted to dissipate a little with her sister she'd tell saul that she was pregnant and thought it best to go to her mother and sister the last two months. saul was anxious for children so he'd consent. after having a romping good time, visiting her old haunts and crowds a few weeks just before the “blessed event” was to happen, she'd send poor saul a telegram stating that she had slipped and fallen and lost the baby; he need not come as she was getting along nicely. lilly pulled two tricks like this on saul and he believed them. people in arkansas hadn't forgotten lillie. they hoped she had changed. she went to church her first sunday night in town and put a dollar on the collection table and cried when she shook the preacher's hand so they knew she had changed. saul got a job at the brick yard and rented a house next door to one of lillie's church sisters. before a month's time lillie was throwing old tin cans and other rubbish over the fence; she claimed the russels insulted her. saul thought he'd reprimand joe russel for insulting his wife and it ended with saul in jail. the day the trial was set, saul sat in court all day, and they didn't have his trial; the next day the sheriff led him into court again and the judge was trying a murder case. when all attention was centered on this case, saul had an idea. he went in search of the toilet and walked out of the door; no one noticed him. once outside he made his get-away up an alley; he left town and lillie followed the next day. she promised as usually to do better. both got jobs in another arkansas town and bought fine furniture. the neighbors were glad to have such prosperous folks come in their community. lillie visited a little too much and began to tell outrageous lies. a dispute arose over borrowed groceries with the sims. they fussed and cussed over the back fence. lillie wanted to show her superiority, so one sunday afternoon when the sims were entertaining friends in their back yard, she started; “you damn niggers better keep still over there; i know you're talking 'bout me. i can't be strained up with such trash. i'll give you a good cussin' out and tell you where you come frum and where i'm goin' to send you.” the sims were humiliated. they never said a word; but planned to get rid of her. they knew saul was a good man but he'd have to suffer because he was her husband. they snooped around and located lillie's bed and decided to blow up that corner of the house. a dark night was chosen. the dynamite went off about ii: p.m., and tore off a corner of the house. no one ventured near until officers were summoned. a big crowd had gathered in the street to see what had happened. the officers finally came. when they threw their flash lights in the far corner, they saw lillie and saul sitting on the side of the bed; they hadn't realized what had happened to them. that morning lillie had given the house a good cleaning and moved her bed. they had a narrow escape; saul was completely unnerved. he left this little town and went to fort smith. he knew the old saying, “rolling stones gather no moss” was true, but he knew he'd never be satisfied there. they worked well together for several years. they bought a home, then chickens, hogs, rabbits, and a buggy and horse were added later. they got along fairly well until “shine” morgan, one of lillie's old friends came to rent a room from them. he had met with a sad accident while beating his way on a freight train, both legs were cut off. “shine” had traveled extensively and had learned much. he taught lillie how to make beer and they bootlegged while saul was at work. “shine” discovered that he loved lillie. he knew they could make a good living; she was a good cook and he was good at making beer and many kinds of wine. lillie was his wife by day and saul's at night. he wanted her all for himself so by his cunning, persuaded her to leave saul. after a hard day's work, saul went home expecting a good hot meal, but instead the neighbors informed him that his wife had run away with “shine.” he reported it to the officers and the next day, the morning paper carried a short article headed: “a negro woman runs away with a legless man.” saul didn't write his father because he knew that neither he nor any of his people had any confidence in lillie. it turned out just as they'd predicted. saul went to church every sunday and took an active part in the sunday school. about this time he met a pretty brown skin, neatly dressed widow and courted her about a year and they married. lillie appeared about this time and tried to break them up, but saul was fed up on her and threatened her with the police. saul's people didn't know of his second marriage for two years. [hapter xii * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ils the first sunday in may the little christian church was full before eleven o'clock. uncle jake was to be baptized. he got up singing and talking that morning, and after breakfast peter long, the barber, came over and gave him a haircut and shave. everything pleased the old man. the sun came up beautifully, he had a good breakfast, and sam and peter long dressed him. now he asked for his hat, so's to be ready when one of the members came for him. as sam and joe walked with their father down the aisle and sat with him on the front seat, sister lucy began singing. “there's a great camp meetin' in the promised land.” everybody joined in and the little church fairly rung. they sang two more good songs, and elder givins prayed and then preached a short sermon. there wasn't a dry eye when they began singing, “oh, carry me to the water” and uncle jake was led down the ladder into the baptistry. everybody knew him and every- body wondered why such a good man had never had his name on the church roll. little mamie, now in the junior class in high school, sat on the front seat too, with her grandpa. her head was bowed throughout the services. she was a little embarrassed; how she longed for it all to be over. she was hearing so much whispering. she understood an old, foxy sister to say, “an old man over sixty, wid grandchildrun, jes' givin' his heart tuh god; it's uh shame, chillun.” she wished so much to tell the old sister that her grandpa said some folks names were on the books, and that was all. if a person's heart was right and god knew it, that was enough. in fact, man's thoughts didn't count, for romans - says: “but why dost thou judge thy brother? or why dost thou set at naught thy brother? for we shall all stand before the judgement seat of christ.” it mattered not; uncle jake was happy. he shouted and cried and talked from the time they led him into the baptisry until they took him out of the church to change his wet clothing. when the services were over, many people shook his hand and congratulated him for his brave stand. some of them meant it, but many of them were false pretenders, and he knew it. this little church had communion every sunday. being crippled, uncle jake was unable to go often, but the good bretheren seldom forgot him. some one often came, prayed with him and gave communion. when they shook hands with him, mamie discovered that they gave him a nickel or dime. she didn't like this, as her grandfather was getting along as well as some of the members who gave him; and too, he hadn't contributed regularly to this church and she felt they shouldn't make a sacrifice and give him anything. little mamie wrote her uncles and told them of her graduation the next year. they had made her many promises, as she was the first in the family that had gone so far in school. after all the letters were written, someone stepped upon the porch. she opened the door and her uncle jim walked in. he was married to lizzie, a widow that lived on sol tibbs' farm. he had lived there three years and was very much discouraged. “pappy i've sho' had a taste of slavery, and i won't stand it. i’ve made good crops every year and ole man tibbs takes all my money. he charges more than double for everything, and when his bookkeeper straightens up with you, you are still in the hole. i can count myself. i didn't go through the eighth grade for nothin'. brother oscar is in cleartown, washington and i am going to ask him to send for me. little mamie, get your pencil and paper and write this letter.” “i’m ready uncle, what do you want to say?” chord. this meant for the children to turn their backs to their seats. the second tap and chord meant to sit down and the third meant to turn around straight in their seats. then the bell was rung again, which meant to begin work. professor buford belonged to one of the small methodist. churches, he loved it and gave not only his time but his money. he had his school children learn some of the psalms. one monday morning, he felt quite religious, having had a fiery sermon on sunday, so he had his junior class turn to page in an english book. he wanted the selection read well, so he called on hettie, the best reader in the class. being jubilant over having been chosen to read first, hettie jumped up, hurriedly turned the leaves, found the page and began reading very loudly. “page ' , subject: “the twenty-third spasm.” the children yelled and laughed. a fresh little fellow yelled out, “oh, that's the “twenty third pslam'.” professor had to smile himself, but didn't intend for the children to take the fun to an extreme. after such confusion he thought the children's minds were far from religion, so he changed the subject. after recess might be a better time, so he gave them a written lesson. during the recess period, so many things went wrong. at least the principal thought so. he seldom frowned, but his brow was closely knitted the whole period. when the bell rang, the children were extremely noisy in getting to their lines and when they marched in, the peppy march miss landers played made them feel a bit lively. they didn't march, they “stomped”; the old stairway swayed and screeched. the last pupil swung himself through the door with a twirl. professor buford was right behind him and missed a step or two as he hurried on the platform. some one in the rear of the room was “out of order” as he termed it. “stop that noise, and stop it quickly,” he stormed. all the pupils were seated by this time; those in front jumped. they didn't know why he stormed as he did. lucius, a big, husky, light brown six-footer, weighing more than the professor, but who had always had a soft, even temper, jumped up from his seat in the rear and stormed back at the professor, “you talkin' to me?” professor buford was a good fighter, but he didn't want to tackle big lucius. yet, he didn't want all those children to think him a coward. the three high school classes sat in his large room or the auditorium. he stood, eyed lucius, trying to see if he had any fight in him before speaking. finally he drawled, “yes, i'm distinctly talking to you.” “well,” shouted lucius, “that's all right then,” thus said, he gently took his seat. every child had perked his ears and had turned around, looking at lucius. they wanted to see what would happen. such an unexpected climax! they laughed and giggled until some fairly cried. professor had to laugh himself; he didn't fool some of those children. they knew he didn't want big lucius to jump him. professor considered the whole morning spoiled. at noon the children were hungry. they hurried home and partly forgot the morning's doings. the one o'clock bell rang and they were more orderly after marching in; the professor called his cicero class to the front. little mamie, like a number of others, had studied hard the night before and hoped the professor would allow them to read it. it seemed whenever the passages were easy and musical, he liked them too, and often read all the beautiful parts and left the difficult passages for his students. surely enough, after they stumbled over the difficult paragraphs, everyone in class held up his hand, but just as they had expected, the professor began with a high-pitched voice as if he wanted every one in the room to stop, look and listen. “o tempora, o mores! senatus haec intellegit, consul videt hic tamen vivit, vivit?” then with a sweeping drawl that he used when interpreting latin, “oh the times, oh the customs the senate—” before he finished, three small boys came pacing in, one handed him a note. this stopped the class. the professor reached in the chalk trough and got a switch as he went down from the platform. “well, sammy, what's wrong?” snatching his little hand from his pocket, he pointed defiantly at mack. “this here boy tuck my 'simmons.” “where did you get the persimmons, sammy?” asked the professor properly. sammy wiggled, twitched and swallowed. bought a hat and they insisted that she wear it to school one morning. this is what she expected, so the next morning she was later than usual. they had about given her out. devo- tional exercises nearly over, they were arranging their books in their arms for passing to rooms. the door opened and in popped nettie with her hair puffed in large curls all around her head, and a very small, dark, cheery-red felt hat with two feathers sticking on the side, sitting right on top of her head. her little face looked lost. the students sniggered, and nudged one another. professor buford stared interroga- tively. don was about the only person who did not laugh. at recess, nettie wanted to whip all the girls. she said they didn't know style, her hat came from chicago. the girls said they knew one thing; don's money had been thrown away. that spring, nettie and don began to spat. he didn't care, for he'd been watching mamie a long while, and had de- cided that she had grown enough to go with him. his club gave a dance and he invited mamie. he didn't know she could dance so well; she could even make the run, when two-stepping or waltzing. mamie didn't take don seriously; she considered him too big a flirt. she knew four girls who said they went with him, and had heard one grabbed his hat one night and he had to go home with her before she'd give it to him. one afternoon when mamie and elsie were returning from town, they were passing jones' corner. it was crowded with boys and men as usual. don crossed the street in front of them. he had on one of the latest tan high roller hats; mamie thought she'd never seen such a handsome lad in all her life. she'd just seen the hats marked five dollars in win- dows downtown. she decided then and there that she loved don. the people of penhook looked forward every year to at- tending professor buford's graduating exercises. mrs. tibbs had honored the present class by inviting them to her wedding. neighbors and friends loved mrs. tibbs, and they planned an elaborate affair. torch lights were hung in the yard and all the big lamps in the neighborhood were borrowed and placed in the rooms. the big, swinging lamp hanging from her parlor ceiling had been shined, and a new number two fancy chimney had been bought for it. the windows were raised high so those stand- ing outside could see. lo, they had forgotten to ask someone to play the wed- ding march, and rev. sims was standing in the middle of the floor, ready to tie the knot. the high school students had assembled at one end of the porch, mrs. harris came rushing out and asked who could play the wedding march. tom hadn't arrived; little fat hat- tie, a neighbor of mrs. tibbs and a good musician, sat on the porch with her class mates. she tried with perceptible hes- itation to explain that she couldn't play the wedding march without the music, and no one had told her to bring it, but mrs. harris not only insisted, but pulled the timid girl up from her seat and escorted her to the piano and commanded her to play. hattie, shaking from head to foot, looked around and rev. sims waved his hand for her to begin. without further hesitancy, she pounded out three heavy chords, then struck up “fred douglass’ funeral march.” “oh, that's a funeral march,” giggled mamie. the bride came switching through the door smiling, with chin up, leaning coquettishly on her brother's arm, and the stocky groom, with his face knotted as if he recognized the music, supported by a friend, whisked through another door. his eyes were blinking and mamie just knew that he sensed something wrong. mrs. tibbs, still calm, smiled blushingly, as she stopped in front of the minister. hattie played softly as the minister spoke. the moaning strains were anything but pleasing to a musical ear. the students on the porch giggled all during the ceremony. when hattie joined them, they teased her good. her round, chubby face, covered with beads of perspiration, expressed disgust as well as embarrassment. it didn't matter; mrs. tibbs smiled through it all. the following friday night, mrs. price invited the gradu- ating class to a dance at her farm. her husband had built a new house. an orchestra of four pieces from dallas was in town play- ing very reasonably for parties, so the men and boys collected enough money to pay them and the girls and women were to take the eats. at the scheduled time, six two mule teams stood in front of mrs. price's door, ready for the nine mile jaunt. all the way out to the farm, the musicians played and the boys and girls sang; the night was ideal. the full moon gave forth a bright light, and the slight breeze that escorted them, made everyone comfortable. people for miles around heard the music. the saxaphone's weird notes, and the tricky com- binations of the clarinet forced some of the farmers to get up from their beds and come to see who and what it was. the musicians were in the second wagon; some of the boys rode with them. they reached the farm at nine o'clock and the crowd was good and hungry. the women and girls opened their baskets and put the food on the long tables. mrs. price had baked three country hams. others brought fried rabbit and chicken, biscuits, salads of different kinds, cakes, pies, canned fruit, and condiments. the men stretched out on the long porch and harmonized until the old gong was sounded. they ate awhile and danced awhile. mamie declared she was having the best time of her life; others sanctioned her re- marks. about eleven-thirty, the violinist broke his “e” string. the crowd thought their fun over, as he'd forgotten to bring any strings, but jack fulton, a grocerman who came with them had been to dallas, had met these musicians there, and knew their tricks. he produced a handful of strings of all kinds for the violin and bass. the musicians, convinced they couldn't work their small town trick on the penhook gang, played un- til one o'clock. on the way back, they sang until everyone except the drivers fell asleep. at seven o'clock, mr. price woke mamie up and told her to run home and go to bed. uncle jake and sam were ex- pecting her. she fell across the bed, too tired to talk. sam removed her shoes and she slept far into the afternoon. when she awoke, she went over to her cousin lucy's. the preacher had been by, and said some of the deacons had told him about the dance, and he was going to turn all of his members out of church, as it was against the rules and regu- lations of a baptist church for its members to go to a dance. he didn't blame the children so much, but mrs. price, being superintendent of the sunday school, should know better than to lead his flock away from the fold. mamie only laughed. she said she knew that was just big talk; mrs. price raised more money for the church giving concerts, carnivals and pic- nics than all the other members put together, and she knew they weren't thinking of turning her out. they'd find some way to wiggle out of it, furthermore, if she did have a little argument about it, she wouldn't mind, for she'd had just “one scrumptious time.” uncle jake had little to say about it. he used to play for dances and he couldn't see any harm in it as long as the young folks had some old heads along. [hapter xiii w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w w a w w w w w w w w w w w w w there were eighteen members in the graduating class — fifteen girls and three boys. professor buford selected six as class speakers and asked them to hand in subjects early in march. - mamie got mrs. price, a member of her church and one of the teachers, to help her. mrs. price graduated in nash- ville and was considered the best in town for writing orations. mamie and mrs. price chose, “something yet to be at- tained” as her subject. the first week in april the oration was finished and in the principal's hands. he read and re- read it—cut out here and there. he cut out every part that mamie and mrs. price thought beautiful. when spoken to about it, he'd put it in again in such stiff language, that it didn't sound like the same thought. mamie was a good speak- er, but her piece had been cut and changed so much every time she spoke it, that she became quite discouraged. mrs. price at last found a solution. she told her to prac- tice it as it was first written at home, and as it had been cut when at school. this made her learn two orations, but she did it. the songs that year were beautiful. the whole program had been carefully arranged. the invitations were ordered early, and gotten out in plenty of time for everyone to decide on the presents they were going to send the graduates. a week before hand, mamie began to receive gifts. her uncle saul sent her shoes and a silk slip. the other uncles must have forgotten, for they sent nothing. her mother in cleartown, washington with her brother jim, sent money for her dress and other things, the last of april. the superintendent and principal secured the city arena it from his hip pocket. she knew it was a forty-five, so she threw both hands over her ears and screamed for tom to let the cur go. he wasn't worth it. but in the skirmish he was tripped and his gun sailed against the pot-bellied stove in the corner. candy beans flew in all directions. it was a glass pistol. he saw that tom meant business, so he sneaked into the next compartment and remained until the train pulled up to the next squatty station, his destination. the next day they ate dinner in memphis, on beale street. tom wished for a piano so he could play the “memphis blues.” the sidewalks were crowded that saturday. mamie grew tired and went back to the station, but tom met several roust- abouts from penhook who knew him because he was the “fes- ser's son” and felt he had to let them show him the city. they told the gang about his piano playing, so when he left them, he'd spent most of his change and the little that mamie had given him to keep for her. on arriving at freed university, a complimentary and inquisitive teacher informed them that she'd been there for years and had discovered that all texas students could do one of three things well: sing, play the piano, or dance. she was anxious to know just what category they came under. mamie politely replied, “tom’s an efficient pianist, but i-i’m just a listener.” sunday, mamie didn't see tom at all. he didn't come to a single meal and she feared to ask for him. she knew it was easy for piano-players to get acquainted and she knew too, that tom would just as soon sit up all night and play for a dance and stay through part of the next day if the dance con- tinued—too good natured to say “no.” how she wished she could boot him all the way back to the university it would meet with the approval of his father she knew, but his mother usually found an excuse for his mis- takes. mamie had never been away from home before, so she cried all day. the cook offered her sweet-milk, the girls gave her candy, but nothing sufficed. so many things ran through her mind. she wondered if she did right to leave don greer, or her old grandfather who had always needed her. she won- don't listen to the tales they tell you, don't you weep or sigh; for i love you, my virginia, love you 'til i die!” how mamie wished she were as demonstrative as virginia. she wondered if she'd have many beaux while at college. she just couldn't write mushy love letters. she loved don, and she believed he loved her. he was an intelligent lad and understood her; she didn't have to say silly things in letters like virginia did. mamie and virginia worked hard saturday, beautifying their room. after sweeping and dusting, mamie cleaned the lamp chimney, while virginia polished the brass lamp. the old whatnot proved too small for their postcards and photo- graphs; the window panes were too small to dry all their hankies at once. on the outside of jorry hall on saturday mornings, the window panes with white hankies pasted on them had the appearance of a peace station. that night two tired girls gladly tumbled between white sheets. - “i’m sure glad i got away from that texas gal”, slowly drawled out virginia. “do you know she even made me let her read my letters from home. i wanted to see some texas gals, but i didn't want to roost with one. none of them are lady-like. they're as wild as bucks; all they need is horns.” virginia blibbed and glibbed about texas trash. when she'd finished, mamie reached upon her own head and felt carefully. “what's the matter, chum ? got a headache?” asked vir- ginia compassionately. “no, virginia, but i do think i feel horns sprouting.” poor virginia jumped out of bed before speaking, “you're not a texian l’” shouted virginia. “texan, dear,” corrected mamie. “now, little girl, don't ‘bus yo' pants’; yes i'm a texan, but i'm a girl like you. i can love and i can hate. all your information about my state is bunk. a texan, virginia, is a noble character, has initia- tive. there's something captivating, or fascinating, i should henry running a close second to some of them. mamie and virginia were the first to leave. when they thought the coast clear, out they ran, whirled around the corner and mamie ran into miss henry; both fell. mamie scrambled to her feet, ran into her room and jumped in bed with her shoes on. so many doors slammed at once, they confused miss henry. nellie gray ran out with a pair of night pajamas on, and miss henry knew she saw a man in the bunch. it was ma- mie's first time to see a girl in sleeping pants; she marvelled at it, too. when the hall matron came up, all the girls were gotten out of bed, the rooms searched. nellie had changed her pants to a gown and they didn't find the “man.” what a joke. poor miss henry had a headache for three days. things were happening in penhook too. ned started coughing in november and nothing seemed to do him any good. dr. simpson told uncle jake he had t. b. and should go to oklahoma to his father, as ellen's child would be born in eight or ten weeks. she couldn't do for herself, and ned too. she had lost her first child with whoop- ing cough. later he had to quit work, and sitting around the house peeved him. he fussed and fumed about every little thing. it was during this time, that uncle jake felt he discovered ned's dirty intentions. before his illness uncle jake noticed at times he'd come into the house and refuse to speak to him. if he brought ellen some dainties, he'd sit by until she ate them up, and wouldn't let her give her father any. he, nor ellen could quite understand his actions, so uncle jake became suspicious and refused to eat anything that he, at times, felt his duty to give him. ned's father sent for him. a few days before he left, he gained courage enough to say, “well, old man, i'm going to my father. i hope i'll get well up there drinking fresh milk and eating good food. ellen is your baby child and this place belongs to us. the law in the state of texas says that. we could fix this place up, and live happy with our children.” uncle jake only listened to the young man as he outlined his plans for the future. he so much wanted to ask him if he wouldn't appreciate a home he'd bought himself more than one some other person had labored for. at nights when he came from work, ellen and uncle jake observed how he'd run to his little trunk, slip something from his pocket to the tray and lock it. they couldn't find a key or borrow one that would fit. while he was talking, all these things ran through uncle jake's mind, and he came to the conclusion that ned had been trying to think of an easy way of getting rid of him; perhaps poison him. when he went to his father he took only a suit case and the key to his little trunk. ellen and uncle jake tried more than ever to open the trunk. finally a locksmith passed, and they got him to open it. it was just as uncle jake had sus- pected; in the tray were a number of small bottles and boxes with the skeleton head and cross-bones on them. only a few were written on. one had strychnine, another a kind of ar- senic, and a large bottle of iodine. ellen threw up both hands. “pappy, with all this, he must of intended poisoning both of us.” “no, ellen, he wanted tuh use duh one dat he felt might do duh wurk wid-out anybody findin' it out. he wanted tuh know duh easiest an' quickes' killer dat would make duh doc- tor say it wuz natchul. duh lawd showed me dis thing, so ah could be kereful, an' ah wuz. ah ain't et nothin' he fotched hyer fuh uh long time. he's got duh gallopin' kon- sumption, an' cain't las' long. he coughs too hard; he's 'bout wore hissef out. he'll nuver git back tuh sen' his soul tuh hell fuh killin' me; at least dis sin won't be on him. ah don't know, he might have meny mo'. po' chile, ah hopes he re- pents 'fore he die.” “pappy, i didn't want to tell you, but he cut up all my good clothes; when i'm able to wear them i won't have a de- cent dress. i don't know why he'd do such, unless he doesn't want me to go any place, and i can't imagine when he had time to do it, as i haven't left the place lately. i discovered it the other day when i went in the drawer for a silk handkerchief to wipe my eye when i got something in it. i haven't found my silverware and i almost know he didn't take it.” “well ah’m glad we're out uv it. it's bes' fuh bof uv us; dat feller didn't mean nobody no good.” i. it was late in the afternoon before they arrived at the arm. ellen could see that ned had only a short time to live. he smiled and talked to the baby, but wouldn't let her name him ned, nor would he name him, as he'd heard it bad luck to name a baby after a sick person or have a sick person name it. in a few days ned died, and mr. jones paid ellen's fare to her brother in tulsa. she stayed there a week and her brother sent her on to penhook. she wondered about his name. her husband had sug- gested letting little mamie name him; then she'd feel she should help care for him. this ellen did, and little mamie gladly sent back william rex as the name. mamie loved the negro spirituals that were sung at chapel every day before noon. many visitors came to hear the students sing. most white visitors asked for, “swing low, sweet chariot.” mamie took piano lessons only one term. her mother couldn't pay for them, and miss yabber, a coarse, clumsy, heavy-jawed woman who had charge of funds solicited for students, paid no attention to her pleas. she had her to write letter after letter, and mamie knew they were correct, be- cause her english teacher looked them over. she must have thrown each one in her waste-paper basket. no results ever carne. during her four years around college, she thought miss yabber the only unfair official; she had pets. she let a cer- tain girl take music lessons who couldn't even keep step to a march. the first months passed swiftly. when mamie received the money for her seventh month's bill, her mother wasn't able to send it all. she went over to the treasurer's office to pay what she had. many students were there, paying bills, so she went in the book room and stood around and kept peeping in to see if they had gone. mr. fairmont, the treasurer, couldn't hear very well and seemed to think everyone was like himself, for he shouted his words instead of talking. she peeped in for a third time and dean bright, the chorister, stood at the far end; she didn't fear him. he had heard many hard luck tales. she whisked in and pushed her money quickly under the iron bars of the little window. “i haven't all my money, mr. fairmont and—and my shoes need to be half-soled,” said mamie hesitatingly. “oh, your feet are on the ground !” came the loud re- sponse, just as someone pushed the door open and three well dressed girls walked in. “keep out enough to have your shoes mended,” continued the gruff speaking treasurer. too embarrassed to hold her head up, she took the money and pushed it deeply into her coat pocket. “you’d better come over and join the mozart society, little girl; i know you can sing, by the way you open your mouth,” said a kind, soft voice. mamie turned, and dean bright stood near her. “i—i don't think i can read notes well enough, but i'd just love to join,” she answered modestly. “you come over saturday night. if you can't read notes, i'll have someone teach you.” “thanks, dean bright.” the three high-brows were listening. they heard what the loud mouthed treasurer said, but he spoke that way to every- one. they too heard what dean bright said, and she knew they were jealous. all the way over to the hall she repeated, “i know you can sing by the way you open your mouth.” what a compliment as soon as she got inside her room, she locked herself in, went straight to her mirror, opened and closed her mouth a dozen or more times to see if she under- stood what he meant. saturday evening at p.m., mamie and two others ap- peared before the examining committee. all three were scared stiff. the committee, consisting of two boys, struck up a lively conversation; then the one seated at the piano began playing familiar songs. the bunch joined in the sing- ing; a short test followed. all three passed, and were given seats in the mozart society that night. mamie's friends wondered how she got in so quickly; even her room-mate couldn't understand. because of their lateness to meals, the matron took the girls' saturday night dancing privilege from them. nell, a foxy-headed good timer, took the law in her hands. she rounded up a crowd of girls, and went in the music room on the first floor and started a lively tune. the room was soon too crowded to turn in, but everyone swayed to the rhythm of the jazz in some way, until the matron came as usual and stopped the fun. the girls couldn't understand why they were never able to carry out just one impromptu affair. some went grumbling to their rooms, while others followed nell on the second floor to another music room. mamie and virginia went to their room and made fudge over the big lamp. just as things were going good and the girls thought everyone had forgotten them, the matron of the second floor eased up to the door and locked them in until the girls' matron came. what scrambling! only one way to escape, and that by a window. nell had had a good rearing, but wanted her way in all things. she jumped out the window, landed on the concrete walk and broke her leg. what a furor this created; nell's leg broken and a dozen girls with privileges taken for months. the next sunday when the girls sat on the lawn talking about the trouble, a half dozen handsome student doctors went into the drug-store across the street. they thought the girls were looking for four-leaf clovers, so they bought a box of chocolate bon-bons and threw them one at a time to the girls. the last day of school rolled around and mamie started on her way to her mother in yakima, washington. she had never ridden such a long distance before. on the fourth day she gave the big, ugly porter money to send her mother a telegram, but he put the money into his pocket. no one came to the station to meet her, but the town being small, and it having been announced at church that sister lena's daughter was coming from college, she had no trouble. a brother of the church saw a strange girl get off the train and went to assist her. early next morning lena started to work, mamie got up too and after a hearty breakfast, she walked up town. in a window beautifully decorated with wedding regalia for june brides, she spied a light pink frock that attracted her. some- one tapped her on the shoulder. “oh it's you, mamie. you must be lena's daughter. my, your skin looks as soft and smooth as gingerbread,” said a richly dressed white woman. “yes, and you must be mrs. sears. thousands of thanks for your kindness to my mother, and for the many needful things you sent me,” answered mamie. “you must come out tomorrow with your mother. i want the children to see you. you'll let us see how long your pretty hair is too, won't you?” mamie blushingly replied, “i’ll come tomorrow with mother, mrs. sears.” mamie's uncle jim lived in cleartown near an indian reservation. the squaws, with chubby, dirty-faced papooses on their backs, had made a path across his back yard. they were on their way to the railroad station where they sat on the platform and begged, while others plodded lazily from store to store in search of food. when they received govern- ment checks, their ponies galloped many times to town and other places, looking for firewater. she went to visit her uncle, and he bought her several nice dresses for school. she enjoyed hearing him tell of tramps and ghosts. he declared he couldn't at night tell live people from ghosts. the only way he knew, was when someone with him informed him that they had passed no one. tramps came to his house for water, salt, matches, sugar and other small necessities. jim said tramps had all houses marked near railroads. if you were kind to them, they never disturbed your place; but if your place bore an unfriendly mark, you should never leave home. six tramps dressed in new overalls came for water about dusk, one saturday; mamie noticed one didn't talk. when they started away, she said, “oh, the one that stood back and didn't talk is a girl!” “why do you say that?” asked one of the boys. “she doesn't know how to walk in pants, and her face is too soft and smooth,” answered mamie. the girl laughed, nodded her head ‘yes’ and went lag- ging behind. every day, as long as they were in the town, she came and talked with mamie and her aunt. she had run away with a neighbor sweetheart, but she looked as if she'd like to be home again with mama. mamie said cleartown seemed to be imprisoned. the giant mountain walls made her sad. the hop fields out from yakima, with women, men and children in them, were different from the large cotton farms in texas. it made her nervous to see them cut the winding vines from the frame racks with long jack knives. they stripped the hops and leaves in baskets and the foreman was kept busy running over the field to check the baskets, for the contents soon withered very low. when mamie returned to college in the fall she joined the tanner art club and the temperance society. she won a medal in the temperance oratorical contest. this year passed uneventfully—hard work, but everyone expected it. her third year, she succeeded in getting six dollars a month aid by washing or wiping dishes in the pantry twice a day. whenever a girl didn't want to work, she'd give mamie or some other industrious girl fifteen cents, the standard price for washing dishes after any meal. mamie was always avail- able after supper. fifteen cents would go a long way. you could buy good sandwich at richford's for a nickel; five pieces of pinochi at myrtie's for a nickel, and carfare down town, only a nickel. her third summer was spent in cleveland, ohio, working out in service. lena had gone there with a wealthy family. jubilant over the thought of only one more year in col- lege, her little trunk was soon packed and set in the hall; the sight of it constantly reminded her of the long, hard year ahead. a friend had invited her to spend a few days in louis- ville on her way to school. a club had an elaborate dance for visitors. mamie had heard that kentucky often raved about her pretty women, fine horses, blue grass, and good “likker.” she had hoped to be able to get a peek at the first three on the list, so at the dance she met the beautiful ladies, and at the fairground the next day she saw the fine horses. miss henry, matron of the fourth floor, had asked for mamie to be monitor on that floor. mamie also received aid her last year, so with this assignment, she only worked in the pantry once a day. she was now available twice a day to work for someone else. the year rocked along, she hardly having clothes enough to get through. ellen, living on the home place with her invalid father, took seriously ill and her indolent husband as usual had no money to get medical aid. ned jones, her first husband, had had a violent temper, but he did provide for her. a year after his death she married norris green, a little, lazy, talk- ative fellow who went to school only a few years; ellen said he thought he knew more than the teachers. lena and mamie both away made it hard for uncle jake. he had to ask the women in the neighborhood to come over at their spare time and help out. dr. simpson, a neighbor, and about ellen's age, went once and found out they had no money so he wasn't at home when they went for him again. dr. simpson couldn't be blamed too much, for so many people in penhook owed him; he grew tired of promises. a dr. williams who had just come to town came too late. poor ellen looked up at the enlarged picture of mamie hanging on the dingy wall and told the doctor if she were there, she'd run all over penhook to get someone to relieve her. all the people in that little town were sympathetic until it came to putting out a little change. the neighbors knew ellen needed immediate attention, but no one offered assist- ance until too late. they knew lena would see to it that they got their money back, but no one could spare a few dollars, so ellen passed. a few hours before her passing, she asked the neighbors to help her invalid father and sam see after her two boys until lena and mamie came to stay with them. uncle jake cried from the beginning of her illness. he felt she would never recover. neighbors and friends poured in and cleaned up the place. uncle jake couldn't go to the funeral; besides being crippled, he had a weak bladder. he sat on the porch in his old wicker rocker to receive sympathies and the little change the good folk dropped into his hand. when the pall bearers brought the casket out of the house to put it into the hearse, the men stopped on the porch for uncle jake to see the last of his baby—the first of his eight children to die. he had to talk to her and call her his baby. when the hearse drove slowly away, he almost swooned; it was too much for an old man. from that moment his strength began to fail. “jes' sick ten days,” he kept whisper- ing to himself. as the old sexton began to toll the bell, the greer's low- ered the shade in their father's bedroom, but he made them raise it. mr. greer had been ill for a year or longer; don had to discontinue his law course and come home. two fun- erals that week had passed. the greers were anxious for the people to get inside the church, because they knew the sexton would toll that bell as long as he saw a person coming. noth- ing seemed to excite mr. greer; he often remarked that when a man panted for breath like a dog as he did, he wasn't for this world long. fred came from hugo and took ellen's older boy, willie, home with him and ellen's shiftless husband took the baby to live with his sister, who had two children of her own and didn't want him. ellen died in march. uncle jake said that it seemed that june would never come. early in april, uncle jake began receiving company under the big tree. the women in the neighborhood took turns in taking him dinner. sam and uncle jake had planted a good garden, and the women got vege- tables to help out. often some friend gave him a nickel or dime and this bought his milk and tobacco. late one saturday afternoon, ellen's husband came and demanded his wife's belongings. uncle jake protested, be- cause he knew ellen bought them by washing and ironing. to show his authority, he took the tablecloth, tore it in halves, then dragged the old leather davenport out the door and put it in a wagon he had hired. the neighbors begged him to leave the things for the children, but this made him worse. he went back into the little shack and cleaned it of every- thing he thought belonged to ellen. this caused uncle jake more grief; he started in crying all over again. ellen's death had completely unnerved him, and he asked nearly every passerby the day and date of the month. he had them tell him just how many days before mamie would be home. zeke even got out the almanac and figured it for him. lena in cleveland, and mamie at college were both wor- ried almost sick about conditions on the old place. every day now, mamie expected her graduation expenses. mail was brought to the girls' dormitory twice a day. she watched patiently for her name to appear on the long list posted outside the matron's door, but to no avail. two weeks passed, and no letter from her mother. she knew illness would only keep her from writing; it caused her a thousand apprehensions. the first day of the last week, her name appeared on the list. she whisked in and had the letter half read before she left the room. instead of forty dollars, the letter contained four. what could she do? not enough to pay her board bill. too broken-hearted to hold her head up, she rushed into her room and fell on her knees. this was time for earnest prayer, not idle tears. she began, “o merciful father, i thank you for all your goodness to me. please make my mother well and strong, and too, send a friend at once to help me. . . .” she didn't go down to dinner, and at supper she ate very little. her heart wreathed in sorrow; she had to struggle to keep the tears back. miss henry, matron of the fourth floor, complimented mamie for her work as monitor; the girls on that floor liked her too. during the study hours between seven and nine p.m., they'd run out to mamie's table and give her candy, fruit, sandwiches and other dainties. mamie's table and lamp were in the hall every night at least ten minutes ahead of time. as she sat down at her table this night with many per- plexing questions before her, her head fell on two clasped hands and she sent up a silent prayer. so absorbed was she in her thoughts, she didn't hear miss henry's soft tread. “are you ill, mamie p” said a soft, sweet voice. “i—i—well i don't feel so well, miss henry,” she slowly answered, with head half-raised. “you’d better let me make you a glass of limeade.” mamie raised her head and tried to smile. “thanks, miss henry, but i don't want to trouble you.” “you're worried, mamie. tell me about it. i may be able to help you,” said miss henry calmly. there was some- thing in miss henry's voice that wouldn't let her hesitate. before she realized it, she had told her the whole story. “you needn't worry any longer about money, only about your mother. i have money i made while teaching in africa. you come to my room tomorrow at noon and i’ll have money for your board, photographs, ring, diploma, and fare home.” mamie smiled through her tears, though her lips quivered as she spoke. “well, you're the friend i've just been praying for. the lord is good; i shall never forget this experience. i hadn't finished my prayer.” mamie snapped her eyes quickly until they were clear. “i’ll just need money for my board, diploma and fare home. i'm too happy not to receive a dummy for a diploma. you know that's what happens when your bills aren't paid, “mamie explained quickly. no dear, you'll have everything. i wouldn't have you to relive unpleasant experiences of your commencement. you could never speak of your graduation without a feeling of sad- ness,” said miss henry advisedly. “you're right; i'd never thought of that. one would dislike to have unpleasant memories of her graduation, just as you say miss henry, and you're the woman who shall have the place in my heart next to mama's.” “that's sweet of you, mamie; i'll appreciate it. come to my room tomorrow at noon. oh, i'd better go make your limeade.” miss henry quickly opened her door. saturday before commencement, the janitors brought the trunks from the attic. some of the girls' trunks were as large as those used by drummer's; some were of medium size, but mamie's was a small man's trunk that her cousin in cleveland gave her. she was ashamed of it. her room-mate under- stood, but she couldn't explain to everyone. anyway, few people sympathize with a person when he has nothing; she'd heard her grandpa say that. she hoped the janitor would leave hers near the corner, as her door was the first around the corner of the hall after leaving the freight elevator. she'd hoped lots of things about that trunk. she kept a steady look- out for it. some girls are so glib-mouthed and unladylike, and too, their words hurt so. one janitor, a sleek, little, black, loud mouthed fellow, happened to bring it down. as plainly as her name was writ- ten, he could not read it, or else wanted to be fresh and talk to some of the girls—rather the latter. she heard him ask some girls to read the name. two or three shouted, “mamie cannon” and pointed to her door. she could have just brained the little dumb cur. when everything seemed quiet, mamie stuck her head out of the door and intended to drag the little trunk inside, but meddlesome luttie swung her big self around the corner, “mamie is that your little trunk? i couldn't put my under- wear in that little thing. haven't you got another one?” growled the fluffy-mouthed girl. mamie never said a word, but gave her the “eyeball roll” that most women are noted for, and slammed the door. again she wished she had that little pin-headed janitor by the nape of the neck and so far as old luttie was concerned, she con- sidered her a dummox. she knew she wouldn't have that little trunk always, for her superintendent in penhook had given her a job for forty-five dollars a month, so she poked her chest out, but locked the door as she carefully folded her few clothes and put them into the trunk. she knew she had less than anyone in her class, but not one was happier; she'd been able to stay four years, had a degree and a job. mamie went down into the laundry to press a few pieces. the girls were busy ironing and pressing commencement clothes. they had a good time in the laundry, especially on saturdays. the janitors kept the big brick furnace red hot, and each girl had two irons. it was fun tying strings on your iron, and when they caught fire and burned, the irons got mixed up. all the girls tried to get boards near the windows so they could see the boys as they passed. during the last week, the girls sang gleefully as they packed for home. on the night before leaving, they gathered on jorry hall steps and sang spirituals and the few popular songs that were allowed. many of the girls cried as they sang. the program ended with a dance in the dining room. commencement morning brought a bright, cheerful sun, but mamie had an honest-to-goodness headache. she couldn't even drink her coffee at breakfast, but at io: she and her classmates were on their way to chapel. every minute she thought she'd have to leave her graduation program, but somehow she managed to sit through it all. when she stepped upon the rostrum to receive her diploma, she almost staggered. she reached for her diploma, smiled graciously and turned the tassel on her cap with it. she felt strong and happy that sec- ond, but when she sat down, her hard thudding headache started again. the last number on the graduation program is always the “hallelujah chorus” and all former members of the mozart society are asked to come in the choir stand. mamie knew it would be a long while before she'd come to a commence- ment; how she wished she felt able to enjoy it. after the program, mothers and friends rushed up to congratulate the graduates. mamie knew no one came to see her; she smiled and thought, “as poor as job's turkey.” she began elbowing her way through the crowd. miss henry caught her just before she had gotten across the street. “mamie, your mother isn't here, but i’m acting in her stead.” she gave mamie a big hug and a round kiss on her cheek, “congratulations,” she said joyfully. “you've been wonderful, miss henry. i'll have to try and tell you how i appreciate your kindnesses when i feel better. i have a sick headache; i’m sure i've worried too much about mother. i'll get a letter today, if she felt like writing. she always sends letters to arrive at opportune times,” said mamie. “it's just a nervous headache. go over to the nurse's room, she'll give you something,” added miss henry. miss henry was a white teacher who had spent io years in africa as a missionary and mamie loved her dearly. the trunks were taken to the station the next morning and at seven o'clock that evening the long bus rolled up and the students piled in. students going to and through mem- phis crowded in the dingy coach. by nine o'clock mamie had curled up in her seat and was fast asleep. some students talked and giggled all night. crops in that section of the south had been laid by, and the next day at every station, negroes and poor whites awaited the arrival of every passenger train and swarmed inside, drinking up the ice water. as the train rolled off, hats waved in the air to accompany the yells. no one met her at penhook. she rode on the street car to leroy street and took a short cut home across downey's field. she had to crawl under two low barbed-wire fences, but she only weighed ninety-seven pounds and didn't mind. someone in aunt sophie's back yard saw her rolling under the last fence and called uncle jake. his eyesight had always been good; he'd never worn glasses; he could see her. she ran across the narrow dusty street with tears dropping from her chin. she embraced her dear grandpa, and both cried bitterly; neither called ellen's name. it was the first time ellen hadn't met mamie when she returned from any trip. that evening she went to see ellen's baby, little pete. the aunt began to look about, she didn't know exactly where he could be. mamie helped look for him. he'd crawled up on his mother's old davenport and gone to sleep. mamie wanted the aunt to keep him a few more days, but if she was that careless with a child two years old, anything could happen, so she took him home and he slept with uncle jake and sam. the four-room shack had to be papered and new furniture bought, before mamie could even stay one night. mr. joe let her have money. she had three rooms papered, but the kitchen she papered herself with old newspapers. the old privy had tumbled over. she and her uncle sam tried to prop it up one night, but it fell over again. mr. amos, a carpenter friend of uncle jake's, came and straight- ened it up for them. the scavengers had a new wrinkle in penhook. instead of cleaning the out-houses at night as of old, they had certain days on each street to put big galvanized buckets, sprinkled with strong disinfectant, under each open seat. if the out- house had one hole cut in the seat, they left one bucket; if it had two holes, they left two buckets. the property owner paid accordingly. they distributed and collected buckets on thursday on tremble street. as there were few alleys, the men would come through your front gate, throwing the heavy buckets from hand to hand, and on reaching the big truck, pitch them in place. the odor remained most of the day. mamie invited her company to come any day except thursday, as she could never tell what time the “old wagon” would be around. l the cleaning all done, and everything in order, she began asking remedies for whooping cough for little pete, as he didn't get any better. his braids were long and thick and he wouldn't allow them to be combed. one hot day mamie gave him a warm bath, oiled him with olive oil, gave him a piece of bread in each hand and had his hair cut off, before uncle jake, busy entertaining some friends, looked around. “lorzy, honey, whut is you doin'? duh chile will sho' there was a pin on the floor between the chairs where they sat and the point turned toward them. he said that's a sure sign of good luck to both. these things and more ran through her mind as they sat and chatted. both had been successful so far; both were college graduates and had jobs. she wondered about their marriage. - don knew mamie had an independent disposition and he admired her for it. she'd never tell him of their financial struggles. sam and the little boys returned. don gave the children a nickel apiece. mamie was so afraid they'd spend that money when they needed both meat and lard, she found an excuse to follow them into the house. both of the children loved her, so they put their nickels up to buy a good breakfast. don and mamie resumed their college chatter. sam had helped uncle jake on the porch. two shots next door attracted their attention; someone screamed. mamie and don ran inside and peeped out. old man alexander shot at his young wife; he told officers he caught her in devilment. he shot her through the upper arm, only a flesh wound. the officers took him to jail, and after the doctor treated her arm, she ran away with her young lover. don was sorry all this happened; however, he had an ex- cuse to get inside the house, and once inside he'd straighten everything and he and mamie would be as they once were. it didn't take much to kindle the old flame, as each were anxious to be with the other; so after that sunday, don was mamie's “steady” and both were happy. always pulls her dress up to her knees, showing her crooked, knotty legs. her neighbors say she brags about her pretty big legs; she gave a good show. and last night when we went to church, rev. hodge told the members that he'd leave if they paid him his two hundred dollars. how he fussed and fumed. uncle abe smith didn't wait until he had finished, but when he said, ‘i’d leave tomorrow,' uncle abe jumped up, leaned his little spindly head to one side, and pointed his long, thin fore-finger at him, and with his high wiry voice, answered; “well, elder, ef yo' means dat, we'll see whut we kin do 'bout it in duh mornin'.' he nearly broke up church; the people surely laughed. i know one thing, rev. hodge didn't answer him; neither did he say any more about money. everyone knew he was bluffing. uncle abe has a good job and rev. hodge knew he could get up his money. uncle abe's oldest daughter got so angry. she said her father always spoke out of turn. he had embarrassed them so much by answering a minister in the middle of his sermon. when mamie asked for lying dumas, the old men laughed. “he’s in shee-kaigo, a big town. he lied out hyer; he's got plenty territory up thar,” said uncle reb. poor uncle reb seemed to be brooding most of the time. he had lost his wife and now lived with his son. he didn't like his daughter-in-law's cooking. she couldn't make good gingerbread. he got mamie to write to his daughter in arkansas to send him a ticket. he was too feeble to gather up the white folks clothes for the wash-women, and this made him more miserable. he liked arkansas, he'd been there once. uncle jake loved music, and often spoke of the old songs. uncle reb had been a good singer in his time, so whenever he came, they sang, if the spirit moved them. one of their old favorites was, “boggy, boggy—boggy boy's boggy. prettest gals ever ah seed wuz— in boggy, boys—boggy.” another one: “rabbit up the gum stump, coon up in the holler ef yo' git him out duh holler ah'll give yo' silver dollar.” two small places on tremble street. in one house he moved his little shoe shop; the other he rented. alvin buckner startled her more than anyone; he had quit visiting the old men. after ellen's death, big mary came to live with uncle jake and the two boys, sam and joe. she was to keep the house clean and cook for them for a place to stay, but alvin fell in love with her, rented a house on the west side of town, and moved her into it. never had mamie seen the time when mr. alvin didn't come to their house every day. the only time he missed was when it rained or snowed too much to travel. her grandfather's eyesight and hearing were about the same, but he'd grieved over ellen and had gotten thinner and more feeble. she talked to her friends about the great change in the old men. there never were more than three or four of them there at one time and she'd seen as many as a dozen; she remembered, because they kept her running into the house for chairs and boxes and bringing water. little willie and pete, ellen's boys, now played around their grandpa's old wicker chair, combing his hair, sharing goodies people brought him, and asking questions. [hapthh xv * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * iluring the long summer days, mamie and uncle jake found it difficult to take care of their expenses. sam jobbed about making a few cents some days, but most days made nothing. mamie wrote her uncles, but as saul expressed it, he had taken care of his father and since she had a job teaching, she should look after her grandfather, who had always given her a home. they seemingly couldn't realize that mamie's work began in the fall and she couldn't draw any money until she made it. many parents were anxious for mamie to teach summer school, both to keep their children off the streets and to help them in subjects that they were weak. at first she refused, but so many insisted, and too, she and her grandfather and ellen's children were hungry at times; so she decided to teach a few weeks. the parents secured the green hill methodist church, as it wasn't used very much. the congregation was small and had services every two weeks. the minister, rev. botts, a single man, lived in the old parsonage next door when in town and ate with one of the members. the first monday in july, mamie and her assistant, lula belle, enrolled thirty children. each child had his twenty-five cents which paid for a week. every day one or more new students enrolled. many friends came to visit; people in penhook felt it their duty to put in a visit as soon as possible to encourage the teacher. the first week went off smoothly. monday morning of the second week, the children came filing in. about one-third of them gave her notes instead of the promised two-bits. most of the notes stated that the mothers would pay as soon as they washed and ironed the white folks' clothes, others said when papa gets paid, and many other excuses. him. it was his summer home, and i think nothing would be more appropriate, the weather's ideal,” she added snappily. “whut yo' go do fuh seats?” asked sister luvenia. “oh, we have boxes and the neighbors will bring chairs. the men can sit on the grass. and elder rivers, i'd like for you to preach from ii timothy, - , which reads, “i have fought a good fight, i have finished my course, i have kept the faith.’” “yes, mamie, i think that quite suitable. we'll be goin'; i'll see you again before the funeral.” the sisters were disappointed, they went out grunting; when out of hearing distance, sister tiny had to speak or burst. “lors, dat gal out uv college, she's got mo' supersticions 'bout her den i is. i ain't nuver heard sich. college didn't cure her foginess.” “she is full o' foginess”, sister luvenia commented, “college didn't hep her none. her grandpappy's funeral should be at duh church.” “so, so,” answered sister lutetia. “well, sisters, the child has been in the old man's care most of her life. he's taught her to be obedient and truthful. if she wants to carry out her grandpa's wishes, i don't think we should criticize her too much,” said the pastor moodily. “since i’ve thought the matter over, i think it would be the right place to have it; so many people remember the old man there.” elder rivers went home, but the committee of women stopped at sister lutetia's house still to express their disapproval of a funeral in the yard. willie, ellen's boy, asked his cousin, mamie not to make him go to the funeral, because he got sick when he went to his mother's. little pete, only two years old, didn't understand. nearly everyone is penhook tried to come to uncle jake's funeral. before two o'clock, people had gathered in the spacious yard. the undertaker and some of the men of the neighborhood brought the big black casket out of the house and placed it on the silver stretchers. the women brought out the flowers. frank, the young embalmer, about six feet two, dressed in his black broadcloth prince albert, sat at the head of the casket. he brought this style from chicago. undertaker walker had a hard time getting business. everyone wanted undertaker garner, mostly to see frank officiating. his long, black coat swung gracefully from side to side as he stepped briskly about seating folks before the funeral started. then the way he directed them to view the body afterwards by making gestures with his long arms and large white gloved hands, was a little out of the ordinary. folks in penhook prided themselves about keeping up with the styles. the ministers sat facing the people. on the first row in front of the casket, sat mamie, four of uncle jake's six sons, his sister, chloe-ann, and his brother, zeke. on the second row, sat mr. joe and leslie stearns and uncle jake's nieces, nephews, and other relatives. friends and neighbors were sitting on boxes, but most of them sat on the grass. after two hymns and a prayer, elder rivers took his text from ii timothy - as mamie had requested. he read it twice, “i have fought a good fight, i have finished my course, i have kept the faith.-” each minister present spoke of uncle jake's patience. he never seemed to tire; he didn't complain about his affliction; he only asked the maker to give him food, raiment and shelter. he had a sunny disposition, a kind word and thought for everyone. elder luke's short talk was a good moral lesson. he said, “if a man could smile, live without complaint with an affliction like uncle jake's, how should others live who were more fortunate?” at the close of the services, sister luvenia led, “shall we gather at the river?” after everyone passed around and had a last look at their old friend; the family cried, bent over the casket and spoke of their love for him. on the way to the cemetery, they passed several neighbor- hood stores. the store keepers closed the doors when they saw the procession coming; it was an old custom in that little town to close all business places when a funeral procession passed to show respect for the dead. uncle jake at one time kept a little store; so well did all of them remember that whenever a funeral passed, his store door was always closed and his head uncovered. people living near the cemetery were standing around the open grave when the procession arrived. at the singing of for his four or five dollars as other men did for sixteen or more. mr. jenkins promised to pay sam of he'd get him more cotton pickers, as he wanted to gather his crop before cold weather or rain set in. when mr. jenkins came to pay sam one morning, they went on jone's corner. the noisy crowd looked around as the big team stopped. sam appeared a little uneasy; he didn't know how things would turn out. he knew too, that mostly vags and the gamblers hung out here; the working class hardly tarried, but mr. jenkins felt hopeful, so he began without a word from sam, “well boys, i wants cottun pickers. how meny kin i git fur monday morning?” he drawled out. “cap'n, hits jes' lak dis. ef you fetch yo' cotton patch on dis corner here, we'll pick it fuh you,” shouted loud-mouthed alex. “yas sir, cap'n, mah mama's name is wurk, an' ah promised ma-sef never tuh hit her,” giggled wide-mouthed seedy. that was enough for mr. jenkins. he slapped his mules on the back with the lines, and drove off. the crowd hee-hawed and applauded. mr. jenkins drove two blocks before he spoke, “sam, them dam' niggers don't wank to work. sumthin' ought to be done 'bout it. here's two-bits for yo' trouble.” sam held out a cupped hand and when the mules stopped at the corner, he slid off the seat and said shyly, “thanky, thanky, sir, mr. jenkins,” as he sheepishly cast an inquisitive glance at the farmer. christmas came and went without much fussiness. people had little money, they killed hogs, had plenty of meat. only a few bought turkeys from country wagons for cents apiece. the children's cheap toys were soon broken up and forgotten. march came rollicking in, the chickens' drinking pans, old tin slop-jars and other junk rolled noisily over the spacious back yards. mamie came home from school and laid down on the living room floor. her mother became uneasy. she'd never seen her do this before, but mamie assured her that the heavy wind had made her a little sleeply and tired. it was tuesday, march i ; trees were putting on a little greenery, robin red- don started down the street with her, but swooned to the ground. he had tried hard to save their house and had gotten too warm; the night's working and walking were tak- ing effect. by noon, food wagons filled with pickled hog feet, ba- loney, cheese and bread, went through the streets where negroes were located. mamie had found her trunk, put on a clean dress, brushed her hair, and started on shiloh street to a friend's home. she would have looked nice, but her only little hat had been mashed flat and it just wouldn't look right. at the corner of tremble and twenty-seventh streets, she saw a food wagon standing. the men refused to give her food, stating that dressed up niggers must have money. friends standing around the wagon pointed to the place where mamie's house had stood and after much persuasion, one of the men softened up enough to give her a half hog foot and a loaf of bread. mamie had to cry; if she had had money, where could she even buy anything, and why was it so no- ticeable when a colored girl tried to clean herself up and look decent—“well,” she said “why couldn't people be sympa- thetic, regardless of color?” the next morning, volunteer investigators came around. they wanted to know the number in families and where they expected to be located, so food and clothing could be sent. lena's visitor refused her aid, because mamie had a job. she wouldn't even give her anything for ellen's two children. she tried to explain that they had nothing, and school wasn't in session. it would be at least three weeks before mamie could draw any money, if then. when the visitor, a young college graduate, who asked more questions than necessary, started away, lena asked why such an intelligent-looking person had no sympathy. evi- dently this last statement struck the visitor, for the next morning she returned and gave lena a half-order for gro- ceries but nothing else. mamie had gone up to the “thanky ma'am house,” as they called it, a large building on the west side of town that remained standing, and used for supplies that were sent in daily from other towns. mr. joe had been chosen by the chamber of commerce to be chairman of supplies. the small crowded room of people were chatting merrily in spite of their condition. when mamie asked to see mr. stearns, the man at the desk informed her that he could an- swer all questions. she finally persuaded him to take a note in to mr. stearns, and soon he came back and pointed to her to go into his office. mr. stearns wasn't too busy examining the mail on his desk to smile, ask her to sit down, and listen patiently to what she had to say. “well, i see you've had a little difficulty in getting sup- plies,” he said sympathetically. "don't worry, i'll write your order myself. let's see, five in family. i'll give you two beds with mattresses and blankets, one cot, two wash- tubs and a rub-board, and three chairs. mamie let the little boys use boxes until we get more supplies—and let's see,_a cooking stove—.” “but mr. joe, please pardon me for interrupting, but i've seen those little stoves the colored people are getting. i didn't know they made cooking stoves so little—er, er, er— must be a number , er, er—.” mr. joe threw back his head and laughted heartily be- fore she could find her words. “what kind of stove do you want, mamie p” he asked. “we want the largest stove you're giving away. and the tubs, we need three-a large one for washing, and two small ones for rinsing, please, if it is possible.” “you’ll get all that, mamie—i’ll send a large stove, large utensils to go with it, and a double grocery order. when you take this grocery order to ferris grocery company, tell mr. ferris he's giving a fifty pound sack of flour with a half order instead of a twenty-four pound sack.” “thank you a thousand times, mr. joe,” said mamie happily. “glad i can help you. “what about your house? have you seen about it?” “no, we have no money. we'll have to wait and see who's putting up houses for folks on time.” “come up to the bank when we move in our temporary quarters and i’ll see what i can do.” “good day, mr. joe, and thanks again.” mamie knew mr. joe would help them. as she walked down the street, her mind was busy think- ing fine thoughts about mr. joe. in all her life, she had never seen him show one bit of prejudice. he was president of the largest bank in town, president of a large department store and what not, but he was polite to everyone. when- ever she went in the bank, he shook her hand and had her to sit down and tell him about the family. whenever she met him in his big store, or on the street in the main part of town, he shook her hand just the same, and had a little chat. if people tried to walk in the footsteps of christ as did mr. joe, truly, this would be a world of happiness and plenty because prejudice and everything akin to it will destroy or disrupt a great people or nation. as she stepped into the door of the grocery store, mr. ferris was going out. “mr. ferris, i have a message for you. you're giving a fifty pound sack of flour with a half order and—.” before mamie could finish her statement, mr. ferris reddened and shouted to her, “don’t tell me what to do! i don't take orders frum niggers i” “very well, i was simply delivering a message from mr. joe stearns,” mamie answered hotly. at the name of mr. stearns, he became anxious to accept the message. he soft- ened a bit, and inquired, “well, i didn't understand what you meant, girl, what did mr. stearns say?” “i'm afraid you'd better call mr. stearns or go see him, mr. ferris,” she replied, and walked away. friends and acquaintances admired lena's stove; in fact, her family had more than any colored family in town. it all explained itself when they learned that mr. joe stearns man- aged the supplies. he never forgot the stearns, black or white. after two weeks, school opened. the warm, spring days proved very helpful. the children could go to school, for they needed little clothing. people planted gardens on every available spot. tents and temporary houses were erected. lena rented a tent for fifty cents a week from a man who lived in the country, but saturday, after school had closed for the year, a lumberman came down tremble street in- quiring for lena and mamie. how surprised they were when they were told that mr. joe stearns had sent him to see the kind of house they wanted mamie spent a week drawing plans for a five-room cot- tage, and getting carpenters to figure on it. saul came from oklahoma and helped build the house. it was shapely and attractive when finished. fred sent the paint, a light buff. lena and mamie planted shrubbery and flowers; mr. sims, a jack-leg carpenter, built the hog-pen, wood, and chicken houses. they were to pay mr. joe twenty-five dollars a month when mamie was teaching, but during the summer they didn't pay anything. mr. joe wanted only the principal; he didn't charge them any interest on the money. attorney harrison, a sympathetic, christian white gentle- man, put up many beautiful houses for the poor colored people and charged a very small monthly payment. the people loved him; they declared the lord had sent him and at such an opportune time. with a broad smile that light- ened his face, he'd walk or drive through the colored section and listen patiently to their complaints and tried as far as possible to make them happy. things rocked on; crops for two years barely paid for planting them. lena cooked at a boarding house, mamie taught school and sam jobbed around at whatever he could find. willie, ellen's older boy, went to school, but little pete was left with mrs. hervy, a cripple woman who charged five cents a day for keeping him. he kept her company during the cold winter days; she didn't want to charge anything, but she needed thread to make her quilts. the school boys ran little willie in home every day after school. he would run home and call for his aunt to open the door, and he'd run in her arms and cry. his aunt got tired of this, so she told him the next day he came running, she was going to lock the door so he couldn't get in, and after the boys licked him good, she'd let him in and she would give him a good licking herself. willie knew she meant this, so the next day when jimbo stepped by his side and called him “fatty,” he surprised him by opening his chubby hand and slapping him in the eyes. .” [hapter xvi *-*-* * *-*-*-*-* * *-*-* wa - wavº º va -- *-*-- - - - - - - - - - wave wave-va va va va wavº vº-va - vav- * v- the world war had the country in a confused state; volunteers were rushed to training camps. when men were drafted into service, don and his friends had to go to the city hall to be examined. the last question asked them was if their mothers were able to earn one dollar a year. most of them hummed and hawed and mumbled “yes”, or made long explanations. don, being the last in line, noticed that all the boys were sent into the same room. when he was asked if his mother could earn a dollar a year, he politely answered, “no, sir, she cannot.” don knew this was a foolish question. anyone who could get about at all could earn that, so he thought he'd answer it foolishly. all were sent to camp except don, but he volunteered to do “y” work in pennyman, virginia, where a shell-making plant had been erected. a few of penhook's boys went over-seas, but most of them were in training camps when the armistice was signed. the little churches prayed night and day. of the many colored boys who went from penhook, only one didn't return. the little town attributed this to prayer; all the boys who had graduated, or attended a college, returned. the people in penhook became more and more interested in civic improvement and everyone seemed to be contented until a sad catastrophe fell upon them. strong men wrung their hands and cried. some fright- ened citizens moved away, never to return, while others re- mained to help penhook stage a comeback. both white and colored citizens speak in low, almost restrained tones, when referring to this catastrophe. it's true that some things cannot be forgotten, but one feels bet- in something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue, according to the old custom. mrs. jacobs, a neighbor who had always been interested in mamie, made plans for the wedding. assisted by her husband, who had a general knowledge of everything and another neighbor, mrs. dalton, the decorations were made simple and beautiful. mamie did not like a big church wedding and if she had, she didn't have money enough to have one. mr. jacobs built an arch on the porch and put electric lights around the rim. mrs. jacobs, with her deft fingers, assisted by mrs. dalton, decorated it with white flowers and maiden hair fern. that monday night as the victrola sent forth a marvelous voice singing “o promise me,” mamie, beautifully gowned, came out of the living room door on seth hamon's arm and don and his sister rose, came through the bedroom door. they met on the porch and rev. hamon, seth's father, married them with an elaborate ceremony. they didn't have a ring ceremony, for mamie would not let don get a ring on credit, but reverend hamon had them kneel while he read a long passage. that was new in penhook, and more talked of than a ring ceremony would have been. don wanted so much to get mamie a diamond ring. he liked to show off a little, but mamie told him no one should wear a diamond who couldn't pay cash for it. furthermore, she didn't need a diamond; she'd never had any finery, so such things didn't bother her. she often remarked that some folks kept miserably strained up trying to pretend they had more than they did. she thought it very foolish. they taught one year in penhook and the president of an insurance company for whom don had been working, on the side, for three years came to penhook and asked him to go to los angeles and acquaint the west with the company. mamie had gone to summer school in nashville. don wired her and she came home. when she arrived, don had de- cided that he'd go alone; if he succeeded, he'd send for her; if not, he'd come back. mamie listened patiently, then an- swered, “don, you can't succeed without me. you are more easily discouraged than i am and to make it short, if you still want me for your wife, i'm going with you.” tuesday morning, the nurse went out of the room and left mamie standing at the foot of her mother's bed. as she stood there thinking of the prayer her mother had al- ways prayed, “lord, please let me live to see my little mamie old enough to take care of herself”—her mother slowly opened her eyes, though at first she seemed to be peering through a fog, then her eyes blinked fast as she stared at mamie. she sat up in bed, smiled and said, “well, it's mamie, my baby! how are you?” “i’m fine mother, and how are you this morning,” an- swered mamie. “i’m just fine,” she answered in her high pitched tone. before mamie could get around to the side of the bed, she had lain down and was back in a coma. “how wonderful! how wonderful! mother did speak to me ! i know now as i've always known that “there is a god’,” she said to herself. “he answered my prayer.” when she told several friends about it, they listened with- out commenting. they knew they had to raise lena up to give her water from a spoon. mamie had either been dreaming, or it surely was a miracle. early wednesday morning, lena passed quietly away. when the news was broken gently to mamie, she fell on her knees and sent up a silent prayer. before she had finished, someone interrupted, “who you go git tuh come fuh yo' mammy, mamie whut undertaker is you go have?” when mrs. dalton, her faithful neighbor, lifted her to her feet, the same question was asked again. she didn't look around to see who it was; she didn't want to know. “mother isn't cold yet; i'll send for an undertaker in time,” she answered slowly. in penhook, the undertakers had runners, or persons who tried to get funerals for them. they began to annoy a fam- ily too soon; relatives often wished they were more discreet. poor sam could hardly be consoled. he said he didn't know what would become of him, so when mamie told him he and little pete were going to california with her, this relieved him. willie was in oklahoma with his uncle saul. mamie sent telegrams to all her uncles. saul and fred came; jim wired he couldn't come. mr. garner, the undertaker, came for the body, but brought it back to the house friday afternoon. neighbors and friends sat up all night; the funeral was saturday. just before going to the church, mamie stood by the casket with her uncles, her mother looked so natural. someone caught her hand and began speaking words of comfort. she turned, and it was mr. joe. how faithful, always on hand, espe- cially in time of sorrow or trouble of any kind. it was a beautiful day and mamie knew that both her grandfather and mother were pleased. don sent his sister, rose, a telegram to have dr. simpson attend the funeral to see after mamie. mrs. dalton, their neighbor, a large and strong woman sat with her. mamie remained until the sermon was half over; she could stand no more. dr. simpson met her at the door and had her to remain outside in the cool november air. her pulse, of course, beat a little fast, but that was to be expected. she didn't get out of the car at the cemetery, for she couldn't stand to hear the hard clods falling on the box. when the grave was filled, flowers arranged on top of it, she looked and spoke of the beautiful flowers. in two days, with her business settled, she, sam, and little pete left for los angeles. after teaching a short while she had to resign because she hadn't been teaching long enough to get a leave of absence. the doctor teased don a bit. she told him to expect twins. he seemed much alarmed, so she asked him to give her one of the babies. poor don didn't intend to create the impression that he didn't want his children. he knew it would be much work for mamie and too, his salary was inadequate. however, he planned to help at spare moments. all smiles at the thought of having two children to call him “dad,” don made prepa- rations for twins. a few weeks later old doc stork brought him one little baby girl; he had to express his disappointment. don sent the following message to his mother and sisters: “just arrived. i am a girl. weight % pounds. mother and i are fine. my name is donna. signed, baby greer.” donna's sister, rose, answered the telegram and addressed it to “the dearest baby in all the world.” a letter followed stating that she and her sister, pinkie, had covered the town. she took one side of nearly every street and pinkie the other, announcing the arrival of their baby. a few weeks after the baby was born, mamie wrote these lines: two angels two angels visited our home. one was garbed in a mid-night robe, it came, it took a soul away. but within seven score days another angel garbed in a snow white robe came, and brought a soul. one took; one gave; was this not fair, since we couldn't have the pair. mamie took little donna to penhook to visit the folks soon after her first birthday. nearly everyone came to see don and mamie's baby. she was a pretty, cute and friendly child, and always willingly went through all her little tricks for them. on their return to california, they visited their uncle saul and wife who lived in oklahoma. ellen's older boy, willie, lived with them. don's sisters and mother wanted to see little donna every two years, so when she was three, don went to a convention in san antonio, texas, and took donna to see his folks again. his mother became ill while they were there, and in a few weeks after their return, she passed away. saul had always wanted to see california and after mamie's visit, he began making preparations. while don was in texas attending his mother's funeral, mamie had a letter from her uncle. he'd been working for the railroad and had succeeded in getting a pass to california. in a few weeks they arrived and liked it so well, they decided to return later and live. use only his old ford, but no, he'd use the nash sometimes. the brothers even mentioned this. if don hadn't been a good talker and too, shown the boss a mortgage due that spring on his home, he would have been put out; but he was allowed to remain and was able to pay off his mortgage. time had rolled around again for donna to visit rela- tives in penhook. she wanted to see her aunts, but didn't like being cooped up in jim crow cars. this was the thanksgiving season. they had little time, but had many things planned. the first night they were there, grace had a party for them; every day was full. mr. joe had asked mamie to bring her daughter around to see him, but as they mostly went in the summer, the weather was too hot to take her about; but this time mamie had planned that he should see her. mr. joe had been one of the most prosperous white men in the county, but unfortunately had lost everything at the beginning of the depression. “donna, we're going to see mr. joe today. mrs. garner is going to send her chauffeur and car for us; mrs. garner was my first teacher. they're the wealthiest colored folks in town and they've been undertakers here for years. i wish they would come to california; you can't beat southern hos- pitality, but we'd do our best,” said mamie. “there's the horn now. we can't keep him waiting.” they rushed out and johnnie held the car door open. “hello, young man. do you know where mr. joe stearns lives?” “yes i do, miss mamie. he moved on a little short street back uv the big house he used to live in. you know when his bank busted they tuck all his stuff away frum him. he's a po' white man now. he lives wif his widder daugh- ter. he built her a little house on the back uv his lot when she first married.” johnnie talked calmly and sympathetically. he didn't forget to slow up wherever a new house had been built, or improvements of any sort had been made. “well, i'm so sorry all this has happened. penhook has built up quite a bit since we were here, especially right along “sarah, this is mamie and her daughter, donna. i want you to hear her play the piano; mamie says she can whistle too.” he had them to take off their coats, then escorted them in the front room and asked donna to play on the baby-grand piano he'd bought years ago. - mr. joe anxiously watched little donna all the time she played. “why that girl even sits at the piano like she means business, and i like that. sarah, you play your piece,” said mr. joe in his same soft kind tone. “oh grandad, i just play ‘o solo mio'”, answered little sarah shyly. “play that, and sing it. mamie wants to hear it, don't you mamie p” “sure i do, that's a beautiful number,” answered mamie. little sarah played and sang her number. she had a lovely vo ce. “donna, you've played the piano beautifully, and mamie has played and you whistled two lovely numbers for me. i was wondering if you can accompany yourself and whistle,” said mr. joe. “yes, i can,” was her quick reply. mr. joe was thrilled. “i’m glad you children came to see me.” “yes, mr. joe. i can't come to town without seeing you. this is the first time i've seen your little grand girl. i'll give her a dollar to buy some fruit and ice cream. “she knows how to do that, mamie. don't go out the side door, come this way, out of the front door, it's nearer.” he walked to the car with them. after they had gotten inside he leaned on the open door for quite a while. he seemed to hate to have them leave. “goodbye, mamie and donna,” he said as he slowly closed the car door. “goodbye, mr. joe; so glad we saw you,” they both chimed. the chauffeur drove off in another direction to show mamie the east part of town. he noticed she said nothing about the new houses. s | come on donna, miss annie doesn't hear well. her daughter, lizzie mae, lives with her. we'll go in this side door,” said mamie. miss annie, lizzie mae, and other members of the family were watching them as they drove up. all of them rushed to the door. “come in mamie. when did you get to town?” asked lizzie mae. “we've been here two days—just had to come to see you folks.” “yes, you better not come to penhook without coming to see us,” answered miss annie. “we've been over to see mr. joe. he looks very well, and so does miss cora.” “yes, but mother cried when we left,” put in donna. “what's the matter, mamie p” asked lizzie mae. “i’ve been told that mr. joe has lost almost all his life's savings. he looks well, but a bit shabby. i'm accustomed to seeing him dressed as well as any man in town; well, better than most of them,” said mamie. “well, mamie, uncle joe is in his seventies and i don't think he minds much,” said lizzie mae sympathetically. “it’s true he's lost most everything he had, but he doesn't worry. his wants aren't what they once were.” “yes, those are almost my exact words, aren't they, donna? we know that he has lived a profitable life. he is rich in experiences. he has made large investments to charities and education for other people, investments which haven't depre- ciated and are yielding a rich return to society today. guess we shouldn't worry about him, but about ourselves. if one's savings of a life time are all going to be of the kind that can be swept away by a depression, your life has been a failure.” “that's true, mamie,” answered miss annie. “brother joe is very well satisfied with his church work. he doesn't speak of his disappointments and failures.” after a conversation of more than an hour, mamie left miss annie and lizzie mae feeling better than she did when she went there. mamie then went to the new cemetery and put flowers on º greeted them. how beautiful everything looked mamie said always after visiting other places, california reminded her of a circus, everything so colorful and lively. even the people welcomed you back with warm, gracious smiles. [hapteh xvii * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * the postman handed mamie a news- paper. the front page carried a long article on the death of mr. joe stearns. he was brought to penhook when a small boy, grew up to manhood, and became one of the leading citizens. mr. joe lived with his only child, a daughter. he had lost all his worldly possessions and was trying to run for mayor of the city when he became seriously ill, lingered only a short time, and passed away. the closing of this great and useful life, like a book of the past that had served its purpose, would soon be forgotten. he was given a grand funeral. people turned out in large numbers, brought flowers, and praised his past deeds. how happy he would have been if he'd been given those flowers and had compliments showered on him while he could enjoy them,--but that's life. his daughter knew he'd been a friend to the colored people, and many loved and respected him, so this statement was in the paper: “all of my father's negro friends who wish to attend his funeral services and go to the cemetery may do so, as arrangements have been made for you. come to the methodist church at first and main streets at two o'clock saturday.” had mamie known it in time, she would have wired flowers. how could she ever forget mr. joe's kindness? however, she felt happy over the thought that she had sent him a large box of california fruit and had written him a long letter, thanking him for his interest in their family. don had been successful in los angeles with the insurance company that sent him there. his membership of over two thousand rallied at every call. the different departments had were anxious for don and mamie to go inside and see the marble soda-fountain, but don refused; he felt the crowd a little too rough for little donna. one of the penhook boys owned this drug store and a large restaurant in the rear, that opened on a side street. their friends paid for two rooms in their largest hotel for don and his family. they had a good night's rest and ate breakfast at five o'clock the next morning at green's restaurant, as it never closed. donna refused to eat her hot cakes, because the cook wiped the long pan with a big gunny sack. don explained that he had to cook so many at one time, that it was necessary to use something large. he tried to assure her that it was clean, but she shook her head and asked for toast. “we've been treated royally by all attendants so far, but from now on is the test. it's a whole day's hard driving from here to penhook; we'll be in the deep south. i'll fill the car with gas here; i don't know where our next stop will be. “donna,” continued don, “don’t you rush into the rest rooms until your mother calls you.” “yes, donna, you wait. i'll tell you what to do.” “yes mother; do you remember how scared i was the last time we went to texas and the man made us sit in that little end of the coach by ourselves?” said little donna in a whisper, with her eyes opened their widest. the roads through texas were grand. at every little town, folks peered at the license plate. often someone said, “look! from californie l’’ at their next stop they were tired; mamie got out first, as strangers are usually kinder to women. it was at a gas station; two attendants rushed up to the car. one began cleaning the windshield, and the other asked what they wanted. as they both smiled and were friendly, don and donna jumped out. “fill her up”, said don as he rubbed his large brown hands together. “yes sir,” both men answered. mamie had strained her eyes looking for the rest room labeled, “for negroes,” but as she didn't see one she thought it best to ask. “do you have a rest-room here?” she finally asked one of the men. “yes indeed ma'am, at the corner to your right,” came the polite reply, as he pointed, “and there's plenty of ice water in the cooler over there,” he added. mamie had seen that one; it had “for ladies”, but she didn't know just how they interpreted it. she and donna rushed into the little ante-room, and there were two white women with several children, sitting on the couch and in the rockers. mamie had noticed the license plate on their car; they were from mississippi. though they were in texas, and from mississippi, they didn't seem a bit surprised or alarmed because negroes came in. several bystanders asked don about conditions in the states which he had visited, and he didn't hesitate to tell them that the depression had struck everywhere and his advice to people was to stay at home where they were best known, unless they had money to defray their expenses. “mom, you and donna get in the car. i want to roll in penhook before seven o'clock,” said don as he slowly pushed his long fingers into his gloves. when they were on the way and mamie was certain they out of hearing distance, she commented: “don, i looked over every door there and over the rest room doors and i saw ‘ladies' or ‘gentlemen'. i couldn't believe my eyes. never before have i seen this; no discrimination, just as it should be. i am glad to think the south is changing gradually. i was born here and naturally i want to feel free and happy in the land where i first saw the sun.” they found conditions the same as far as they went into the south. the attendants at gas stations were courteous, polite, and helpful. don's two sisters, rose and pinkie, and a host of friends were sitting on the spacious front porch watching every car that turned the corner. about dust, don rolled into penhook. he drove down main street and through town; they recognized some familiar stores. as he turned to go into the negro section, he struck dirt streets. “well, donna, we're here. this is our birthplace. notice how people are sitting on the porches and calling to those on the sidewalks; this is truly southern style. when we turn the next corner i can show you my home place,” said don happily. donna stretched her little neck and tried to see everything. she always sat in the front seat with her dad. “here they are here they are,” shouted rose, as she sprang from her large rocker and ran to meet thm. pinkie, though not so demonstrative, was just as happy. they were hungry, and pinkie wasted no time in dishing up the fried chicken and vegetables. while they were eating, they told them about all the penhook folk who lived in california and in turn, they heard the penhook news. they spent five days, and each day proved to be too short. the following saturday night, don and mamie walked around, hoping to relive childhood experiences, and as usual, there were church suppers, both at the churches and in the front yards of some of the members. tables covered with white cloths and big dishes of fried fish or chicken, were set near the paling fences to entice customers. penhook would always have those little nickel entertainments, it seemed, where they realized from $ . to $ . and thought that big profit. they stopped at jones' corner and saw a host of friends. men still stood under the big, swinging electric light and daintily dressed girls and women promenaded, looking for their beaux or went to one of the little restaurants to buy a saucer of red ice crean, and chat. they went in mamie's cousin melinda's chili-joint and talked awhile; aunt hester, melinda's mother, called mamie into the kitchen. “mamie, chile, is you seed yo' mammy's uncle henry's boy, ike p he's out dair somewhurs.” “no we haven’t, aunt hester. how have you been? you're looking so well. here's four-bits to buy yourself some snuff.” “thanky chile, you'se still lak yo’ ole gran'pappy.” mamie tried to get her off that subject. southerners made her so tired looking up long lost relatives. everyone she had looked up or had looked her up, had no money or job. melinda came rushing in with a stack of dishes from the front, and aunt hester scraped the garbage in one plate and threw it out of the back door. when the old hog heard the door open, he came grunting up to the light and began to eat. “aunt hester, you have a hog out there !” “yes mamie; we allus put uh hog at duh back uv our eatin' places. dey eat up duh scraps an' gits fat in no time; we's got two out dair.” the sand was as heavy as ever. one's feet sank in the loose earth and it was like plowing to walk through it. they turned down tremble street and were stopped about the middle of the block in front of a small house, where several women selling refreshments sat in the yard near a small table with a number two kerosene lamp setting in the center of it that gave off a dim light. “hyer's miss mamie an’ mr. don | won't yawl come an' buy sumpthin' frum us? dis is a festibul fuh our church. we's got frush feesh caught in pine creek, and a slish uv. bread fuh a nickel an' ice cream fuh uh nickel uh saucer.” “we've just eaten, dicie, but i'll buy each of you a saucer of cream,_how's that?” “that's fine, mr. don, it sho' is,” said dicie as she grinned and gave three small glass dishes to sister myrtle who sat by the small cream freezer. “miss mamie, where 'bouts is yawl livin' at?” dicie inquired. “we live in los angeles.” “oh—y-e-s,” dicie drawled out, staring up as if searching for information, “i knowed yawl lived in one uv dem big towns, los angeles uh mississippi, one.” “we'll be going; hope you ladies sell out,” said don as they walked away. “yas mr. don, we's got fo' bits already.” mamie and don made it around to four church suppers, chatted with, and treated many friends to refreshments. their last stop was at the holiness tent, where it seemed the meeting had just begun. they walked up just in time to see lottie, a school mate of theirs, walk up behind solomon, her husband, who happened to be standing outside of the tent talking to a girl she'd warned him about and strike him such a blow on his head with a half paling, that it almost broke up the meeting. solomon's derby hat was the only thing that saved him. it was wedged so tight over his ears, that two men had to cut if off his head. this book is due on the last date stamped below books requested by another borrower are subject to immediate recall library, university of california, davis book slip-series nq e . graham, k.c. t under the cottonwood. g library university of california davis tºm b e h d l e & – ... . . . . . . . . . . . . . º ºw. º - º -------- -- - º - -- - - - - - /st ?s) Ř =<ſøe’eºaeg.<ſeº an historical novel by oscar micheaux author of %, case ofmrswingate second edition book supply company publishers morningside avenue new york / - / /e copyright, . by oscar micheaux set up and electrotyped all rights reserved no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission of the author. other books by oscar micheaux unlike anything you ever read! “the case of mrs. wingate” by oscar micheaux nazi activity inside black america; the wealthy mrs. wingate; the strange and bewildered kermit early; beautiful bertha schultz and her cunning brother, heinrich, negro nazi spy, and the philosophical sidney wyeth combine to make this a most interesting, unusual and exciting story. illustrated, pages, price $ . . eighth large printing! “the story of dorothy stanfield’” based on a great insurance swindle—and a woman! a stirring novel of strange adventure, love and absorbing human interest, as intense, sus- penseful and dynamic as an atomic bomb! don't fail to read this exciting novel. illustrated, pages, $ . “the wind from nowhere” a truly great novel of contemporary negro life. the unforgettable story of martin eden, young negro builder of an agricultural empire in the dakota wilderness, wherein he alone was black, and a beautiful and mysterious girl, to make this the strangest love story ever told. tremendous is the word for it! illustrated, pages, $ . . postage, cents extra each book. printed in the united states of america ps .g. * iſs p- / acknowledgment /??? ////// for a long time i have been desirous of bringing forth a novel dealing with the conditions our country faced from about to . since retiring from the produc- tion of motion pictures in , and returning to writing, i have written and caused to be published, three novels, which plots i was able to select very successfully from among the stories i filmed while making pictures some years ago. i had merely to select and rewrite whatever one of the old stories i liked best, which in fact, was not nearly so arduous as creating a new theme entirely, and, due to the fact that the story had been worked out very carefully when it was filmed, i found that it made a better and more convincing novel after i had worked it back to story form. accordingly, after deciding to do an historical novel as my next publication, i went back to my old file of motion picture scenarios and found one that just fitted my purpose: a scenario from a novel by chas. w. ches- nutt, published almost fifty years ago. i had filmed the novel twice. first, as a silent picture in the early twenties, and as a talking picture early in the thirties. it dealt with a “free” negro family in north carolina. it began shortly before the outbreak of the civil war, and ended shortly after the close of the conflict. the story made no mention, however, of abraham lincoln, the dred scott decision, john brown, or the civil war, all among the most turbulent, grave and exciting events in our history, and which events were taking place during the period of this story. but the story provided a splendid background to work in these characters and events as i saw fit, and which i desired to do, and i feel that the reader will be pleased with the way it has been handled. i am very happy, in the meantime, for the privilege of having known mr. chas. w. chesnutt, who died in , and acknowledge with gratitude, the assistance provided by his book of that period which i have drawn upon in the rounding out and completion of this novel. respectfully, o scar miche aux new york city, new york january , dedicated to those who believe in liberty and freedom for all. &aete, one it is the year . ever since “uncle tom's cabin,” a novel by harriet beecher stowe, exposing the horror and cruelty of slavery began publication in as a serial story in the national era, america had begun to grow more restless than before regarding the institution of slavery. then, on march th, , exactly two days after the inauguration of james buchanan, a southerner, and the choice of the south as president of the united states, there was handed down by the supreme court of the united states a document called the dred scott de- cision, of which roger brooke taney of maryland, chief justice of the supreme court, at the time, was the author. this decision shook america from stem to stern—as the country, especially the north, never had been shaken before. since few people know and ever have read the facts in this case, let us reach back into history—more than a hundred years—to , in fact, and detail briefly the facts in the case. in , dr. john emerson, a surgeon in the united states army, went from missouri, a slave state, to illinois and later to fort snelling, an outpost in the territory of wisconsin. he took with him a negro slave named dred scott. ordered back to st. louis, dr. emerson left fort mas querade snelling in . with him went dred scott and a negro woman by the name of harriet, whom dred scott married while on the steamboat on the mississippi river before it reached the boundary of the state of missouri. in due time harriet gave birth to a daughter, and, later, to another daughter in st. louis. dr. emerson died in . the negroes then became the property of his widow, but mrs. emerson moved to mass., leaving the negroes in st. louis under the care of taylor blow, son of peter blow who had been dred scott's master in virginia. taylor blow was at a loss as to know what to do with dred scott and his family. he finally took scott to the law firm of fields and hall in st. louis in the hope of finding some solution to the problem. after listening to a recital of the events from the time scott was taken into illinois and wisconsin, the lawyers being of the abolition minded sort advised scott to sue for his freedom. this, scott proceeded to do, setting forth the contention that under the missouri compromise act (which prohibited slavery in the domain north of the compromise line, except in the state of mis- souri) he had been emancipated by reason of his residence in illinois and wisconsin. after years of litigation, the case of dred scott came before the supreme court of the united states at the de- cember term of , on a writ of error. the paragraph in the decision which brought forth all of the criticism—the storm of criticism that was to come, (the italics are the author's) follows: “they have, for more than a century, been re- garded as beings of an inferior order, and are alto- * -i t mas querade gether unfit to associate with the white race, either in social or political relations; and so far inferior in fact, that they have no rights which the white man is bound to respect; and he might justly and lawfully be reduced to slavery for his own benefit. he may be bought and sold and treated as an ordinary article of merchandise and traffic wherever a profit might be made of it.” among the countless number of criticisms, by almost every leading and outstanding man of that day, abraham lincoln said: “it is not only erroneous, but vile and mon- strous.” as stated above, while the decision was ready and could have been released in december, , it was not published until march , —two days after the in- auguration of james buchanan. regarding this, abraham lincoln, in a public speech shortly after, asked: “why was the decision held up? . . . why the delay for reargument? why the incoming pres- ident’s advance exhortation in favor of the decision? and why the hasty after-endorsement of the decision by the president and others?” in march, , senator seward, of ohio, accused taney and buchanan of conspiracy. he charged that dred scott had been used as a mere “dummy” in a political game. roger brooke taney in his prediction that the decision would stand the “test of time and the sober judgment of the country, and would endure for a hundred years, per- haps longer,” was decidedly in error and he lived to see that it added only fuel to the bitter controversy going on between the north and the south which was not decided until lee surrendered to general grant at appomatox z mas querade court house a few years later, after the most viciously fought war of all time. we now go back to the year of , to the career of abraham lincoln, and that of an adversary of great abil- ity; a man whose brilliant intellect not only made him well known to the people of his time but also intrigues the reader of today; and because of the events that followed, his name will be discussed for generations to come. that man was stephen a. douglas. he was born in vermont but migrated to illinois where he engaged in poli- tics. at this time, , he had just arrived in springfield, illinois, from washington. called the “little giant” (he was only five feet two inches tall), he was powerfully built for a man of his height, with an unusually large head upon which he wore a buff of long, carelessly kept hair. one was aware of his striking personality at a glance—seeing him left no doubt as to his remarkable genius and influence. he arrived in the capital of illinois early one night and was met at the railroad station by a brass band and torch- light procession which escorted him to the hotel, where he was requested to deliver a short address. “i have come home,” he said, “as i have done so many times before, to give an account of my stewardship. i know the democrats of illinois. i know they always do their duty. i know, democrats, that you will stand by me as you have always done. i am not afraid that you will be led off by those renegades from the party (he was referring to sev- eral men who had been prominent in the democratic party but who had recently deserted the ship) “who have formed an unholy alliance to turn the glorious democratic party mas qubrade over to the black abolitionists.” he was striking especially at abraham lincoln. “democrats of illinois,” he yelled loudly. “will you permit it?” the street shook with voices en masse: “no! no! never! never.” douglas’ blue eyes flashed; his lips trembled. “i tell you,” he went on firmly and passionately, “the time has not yet come when a hand full of traitors in our camp can turn the great state of illinois, with all her glorious history and tradition, into a negro worshipping, negro-equality com- munity! illinois has always been, and always will be, true to the constitution and the union!” and he gracefully wished them goodnight. the torches, the brass band, and the crowd vanished; the street was empty! on the afternoon of the next day, douglas spoke; he talked for almost three hours. had not the missouri com- promise been practically wiped out by the omnibus bill of ? was not the real question whether the people should rule, whether the voters in a territory should con- trol their own affairs? if the people of kansas and nebraska were able to gov- ern themselves, were they not able to govern a few mis- erable negroes? the crowd went along with him. they seemed to enjoy it, and cries came: “that's so! hit 'em again, stephen, etc., etc., etc.” the speech over, three ring- ing cheers were given for the “little giant,” and he left the auditorium a very happy and proud man. abraham lincoln, who occupied one of the front seats, had listened to him carefully and had whispered occa- sionally in the ears of friends who, judging from their chuckles, had found his remarks quite amusing. when it m. as querade was over, lincoln walked down the main aisle at douglas' side, joking with the senator. only a few years before, douglas had made lincoln a loan of $ . , lincoln having signed a note and later repaid it. they had argued together on the streets, in court- rooms, churches, schools and grocery stores. to a pretty young woman abolitionist who told doug- las after his speech, that she didn’t like his address, lincoln interposed, “don’t bother young lady. we’ll hang the judge's hide on the fence tomorrow.” and he did. when the young woman insisted later to lincoln that he had no business laughing and joking during such a brutal speech, lincoln answered that maybe he ought to feel a little guilty. as to slave-holders’ way of looking at slavery, it didn’t hurt him so very much. “i have heard it all my life,” he said, “and as the boy said about skinning eels, ‘it don’t hurt 'em so very much; it has always been done. they’re used to it.’” there had been a saying around the court-houses, “with a good case, lincoln is the best lawyer; but in a bad case, douglas is the best lawyer a state ever produced.” mas querade growth of slavery. “wherever slavery is, it has first been introduced without law. the oldest laws we find concern- ing it, are not laws introducing it, but merely regulating it as an already existing thing.” he gave five sound reasons for hating it as a monstrous injustice. and he added, “let me say that i think i have no prejudice against the southern people. they are just what we would be in their situation. if slavery did not now exist among us, we should not instantly give it up. this i believe of the masses north and south. doubtless there are indi- viduals on both sides who would not hold slaves under any circumstances, and others who would gladly introduce it anew if it were out of existence. “we know that some southern men do free their slaves, go north and become tiptop abolitionists, while some northern ones go south and become most cruel slave- masters. when southern people tell us that they are no more responsible for the origin of slavery than we are, i acknowledge the fact. when it is said the institution exists, and that it is very difficult to get rid of in any satisfactory way, i can understand and appreciate the saying. i surely will not blame them for not doing what i should not know how to do myself.” was this oratory? debating? the man, abraham lin- coln, was speaking to thousands of people as if he and another man were driving in a buggy across the prairie, exchanging their thoughts and views. he was saying that, if all earthly power were given him, he wouldn’t know what to do as to slavery. there were not ships and money to send the slaves any- where else; and when and if shipped anywhere else out- masquerade side america they might all perish; might all die. “what then? free them all and keep them among us as underlings? is it quite certain that this would better their condition? i think i would not hold one in slavery at any rate, yet the point is not clear enough for me to denounce people upon. “what next? free them and make them politically and socially our equals? my own feelings will not admit of this, and if mine would, we well know that the thought of the great mass of the white people will not. whether this feel- ing accords with justice and sound judgment is not the sole question, if indeed any point of it. a universal feeling whether well or ill founded, cannot safely be disregarded. we cannot, then, under the circumstances, make them equals. it does seem to me that some system of gradual emancipation might be adopted, but for the tardiness in this, i will not undertake to judge our brethren of the south.” and yet while he could not say what should be done about slavery, where it was already established and operat- ing, he was sure it would be wrong to let it spread north. “inasmuch as you do not object to my taking my hog to nebraska, therefore i must not object to you taking your slave. now i admit that this is perfectly logical, if there is no difference between hogs and negroes.” the south had joined the north in making the law that classified african slave traders as pirates and provided hangings as the punishment. “if you did not feel that it was wrong, why did you join in providing that men should be hung for it? the practice was no more than bringing negroes from africa to such as would buy them. but you never thought of hanging men for catching and sellina mas querade wild horses, wild cattle or wild buffaloes or wild bears.” the speaker at times was, in a way, lost from his audi- ence, as though language had not been invented for what he was trying to say. he referred to the man whose busi- ness it was to operate a sort of “negro livery stable,” buy- ing and selling slaves. “he watches your necessities and crawls up to buy your slave, at a speculating price. if you cannot help it, you sell to him; but if you can help it, you drive him from your door. you despise him utterly. you do not recognize him as a friend, or even as an honest man. your children must not play with his children, but they may rollick freely with the little negroes, but not with slave dealers’ children. “if you are obliged to deal with him, you try to get through the job without so much as touching him; you hope that he will not offer to shake hands, for if he did, you would have to refuse to. you instinctively shrink from the snaky contact. if he grows rich and retires from busi- ness, you still remember him, and still keep up the ban of non-intercourse upon him and his family. now why is this? you do not so treat the man who deals in corn, cot- ton, tobacco or potatoes. “over the country are , free black men. at $ a head, worth $ , , . how comes this vast amount of property to be running about without own- ers? we do not see free horses or free cattle running at large. how is this? all these free blacks are the descend- ants of slaves, or have been slaves themselves; and they would be slaves now, but for something which has operated on their white owners. what is that something? is there any mistaking it? in all these cases it is your sense of jus- mas queradi tice and human sympathy continually telling you that the poor negro has some material right to himself—and those who deny it and make mere merchandise of him, deserve kickings, contempt—and death! and now why will you ask us to deny the humanity of the slave, and estimate him as only the equal of a hog? why ask us to do what you will not do yourselves? why ask us to do for nothing what two hundred millions of dollars could not induce you to do?” he drew a line between his position and that of the abolitionists. “let it not be said that i am contending for the establishment of political and social equality between the white and the blacks. i have already said the contrary.” he reasoned that the application of what douglas called the “sacred right of self-government” depended on whe- ther the negro was a man. “if he is not a man, in that case he who is a man, may as a matter of self-government, do just what he pleases with him. but if the negro is a man, is it not to that extent a total destruction of self-government to say that he, too, shall not govern himself? when the white man governs, that is self-government; but when he governs himself and also governs another man, that is more than self-government—that is despotism. if the negro is a man, why, then, my ancient faith teaches me ‘that all men are created equal!’ and that there can be no moral right in connection with one man making a slave of an- other. what i do say is that no man is good enough to gov- ern another man without the other's consent. i say this is the leading principle, the sheer anchor of american re- publicanism.” the speech was three hours long. through most of it, mas querade lincoln spoke as though he were not debating or trying to beat or crush an opponent, but rather as though he was examining his own mind, his own facts and views, his own propositions and the demonstrations of them. and again he was no philosopher at all; he was a sad, lost man chanting a rhythm of the sad and lost. “little by little but steadily as man's march to the grave, we have been giving up the old for the new faith. nearly eighty years ago we began by declaring that all men are created equal; but now from that beginning we have run down to an- other declaration that for some men to enslave others is a 'sacred right of self-government.’” (he was hitting what douglas had said and declared loudly, full on the chin.) “these principles cannot stand together. they are as op- posite as god and the devil. whoever holds to the one, must despise the other.” he painted the “liberal party throughout the world,” watching slavery, fatally violating the noblest political sys- tem the world ever saw.” and he intimated his knowledge of the movement on foot to extend slavery from the black race to certain lower grades of white labor in saying: “is there no danger to liberty itself in discarding the earliest practice and first precept of our ancient faith? in our greedy chase to make profit of the negro, let us beware lest we ‘cancel and tear to pieces' even the white man's charter of freedom.” the speech came to an end. the crowd that heard it scattered out of the state house to their homes. douglas felt the sting. he frequently interrupted lincoln, but to no avail. the cold logic of the tall man held every man's and woman's attention who heard it, all of whom went mas querade away thinking and talking about what he said. the papers, north and south, commented on it and the slavery ques- tion anew, and became more interested in what it would all come to in time as a result. it was for years the bone of contention between the north and south, and was by now obvious to every american that somewhere, sometime and somehow, it would reach a showdown with such results as only time could tell, which brings us up to the real begin- ning of our story. %ažte, %tee in the little town of fayetteville, north carolina, perched on the banks of the cape fear river which flowed to the sea, there lived, among approximately , other people, two professional men, who visited the offices of each other, and who had much interest in common. one, archibald straight, was a lawyer, and had served at one time as judge of his county. the other, younger than the judge by a few years, was a physician, known as doctor green. they were, at this hour, as was almost everybody all over america, especially those who took life seriously, de- bating the dred scott decision and its effect on the nation as a whole. “i tell you, judge straight,” dr. green was saying, “the decision was fine and a perfect clarification of the circum- stances, regardless of what the north insists on calling it. it put the negro race, if you can call them a race, in their place and right where they belong, and i think the coun- try will quit arguing so much about the slavery question from now on and let us southerners alone; leave us to attend to it as we best know how, and them to attend to their own affairs and quit meddling so much in ours.” “all very well, dr. green. that is how you see it, view it.” “naturally. a man has a right to his opinion, hasn’t he?” mas querade “oh, of course, dr. green, of course.” “well?” “but it is not going to turn out as you say.” “then how is it going to turn out?” “to be frank and honest with you, doctor, i really don't know.” “but you have an opinion, don’t you?” “of course. by all means, of course.” “then what is your opinion?” “that we are about to face the most serious crisis in the history of the country.” “how do you arrive at such an opinion?” “by several ways—almost every way.” “you are not clear, judge straight. all you imply seems vague and indefinite. please try to make it plainer.” “i will if you’ll agree to face facts and conditions, views and convictions as they are, and not as you would like to have them.” “i agree to that—now shoot.” as they talked, judge straight did not see the door to his office, or at least he was not looking in that direction, but dr. green was, and as he looked out of the door which was open, a curly haired mulatto boy of about fifteen years of age walked up and was about to mount the steps that led to the entrance when he happened to raise his eyes which met those of dr. green's who looked at him curiously. the boy bowed lightly and pausing, backed up, hesitated, then turning, walked away. dr. green watched him, still curiously. judge straight, who was talking, looked at dr. green and upon seeing his eves elsewhere, turned to follow the direction until it mas querade rested upon the object. when they did, the boy walked past his window, turned to look through same, and, upon finding both men looking at him curiously, quickened his step and went on his way. out of the sight of both men, they turned to look at each other, a question in the eyes of both. dr. green was the first to speak. “who is that boy?” “that boy?” judge straight repeated, then turned to look in the direction the lad had taken, then turned back to dr. green. “that was johnny northcross, molly northcross' son. you know her, don't you? they live out of town aways, on the old wilmington road in a nice little cottage setting back quite aways from the road. they call it the house behind the cedars.” “yes, i remember now. i’ve seen the lad before, of course, many times, but just now . . .” “what?” the judge was curious. “he was coming here. your face was turned the other way and i knew you didn’t see him, but i did. he started to enter the office. i think he was coming here to see you, but noting that i was here, it seemed to—sort of change his mind.” “yes?” the judge now turned and looked wonderingly out of the door that opened on the street. “yes, i am sure he was on his way to see you—in fact, i know he was for he seemed to have dressed up for the occasion.” “that is rather strange,” the judge said, musingly, then turned back to green. mas querade “i wonder what he wanted to see me about?” “couldn’t say,” said the dr., shaking his head, “but he was coming in the office for that purpose, i am sure.” “well,” the judge went on as if to dismiss any serious thought about the boy, “if he was, he’ll be back. he'll per- haps knock around for awhile and come back, so forget about it and let's get back to what we were talking about.” “of course, yet—" “—yet, dr. green. what now?” “i’m still thinking about that boy.” “johnny northcross?” “and that’s his name?” “of course. just a nice little colored boy, very mannerly and, for a negro, intelligent too.” “who does he belong to?” “to his mother. he's a free negro, you know.” “a free negro? yes, come to think of it, i remember. now let's see, who's his father, since you say he belongs to his mother, and is a free issue?” judge straight smiled. dr. green was looking at him a bit oddly. “i thought you knew that, too...” “well, if you want the truth, he looks a great deal like richard northcross, one of our wealthier planters, but of course—” “he couldn’t be related to richard. i regret to advise you, but he is.” “now what’re you talking about?” “about that boy’s father. he’s richard northcross, our wealthy planter.” dr. green turned to look at judge straight quickly, then relaxed into a half smile of under- standing. mas querade “another one of those cases, eh? well, it's little wonder that the north is so critical about slavery. what hap- pened and how? you seem to know. tell me the story, the old, old story.” “this boy's mother belonged to jefferson wainright, you remember him?” “the plunger who went broke many years ago and moved away?” “exactly. well, this boy's mother, molly, belonged to wainright's wife, but wainright knew that she was his blood daughter by one of his slave women, and he pre- sented her to his second wife, who was years his junior be- fore he went broke. when he was sold out at auction to satisfy his debtors, he had richard northcross to bid molly in. she was then very young, but old enough to satisfy men when and if it came to that—and it soon did, shortly after northcross bought her. he made his wife a present of her, and mrs. northcross assigned her to the duties of personal maid. - “when molly was eighteen, she turned up pregnant. northcross married her off to one of his slave men, whom she had been sort of going with, so i am told, which is mostly grapevine gossip and i shouldn’t be telling you about it.” - “i’ve asked you to, so, go ahead. i’m finding it interest- ing.” “when the baby came, it was as white as snow, and, the man northcross had married her off to—a coal black darkey—knew it wasn’t his, the negro knew it too, so he ran away. northcross never made any effort to track him down and find him. sort of guilty around the conscience, mas querade i guess. well, northcross’ wife knew whose child it was and as soon as molly was strong enough, she hustled her right off that job. she made northcross provide for molly and her child, so he purchased the cottage where she has lived since, that house behind the cedars. he has kept her there since and has continued to be intimate with her, for she has had two children since, one of whom is still living. a little girl, i imagine, two or perhaps three or four years of age, and that's another one of those stories, so common all over the south.” dr. green suddenly started and consulted his watch. “dang it,” he cried, jumping to his feet. “i just remem- bered that i have an appointment at my office—and i’m overdue now.” he crossed quickly to the door, where he turned only long enough to wave at judge straight, then he was gone. as he left the office, he turned to look up the street in the direction in which johnny northcross had gone, and saw him, standing on a corner one block away, with his eyes in his direction. he thought again about the clean. curly headed lad and since he saw him leaving the judge’s office, wondered what it was he wanted to see the judge about. %aete, ew, although no provisions had been made anywhere in north carolina to educate negroes—not even free ones, johnny northcross possessed a very complete literary training and was in his second year high school in . this had been made possible by the wife of fritz ober- mark, who operated a tavern in fayetteville, and who had come to america from germany a few years before, bringing his wife and children with him. the obermarks objected to slavery; objected to it so much until they refused to send their children to the pub- lic school, due to the school's refusal to accept even free negroes as students. mrs. obermark, before her marriage to fritz, had been a high school teacher in germany and was thorough in her work down to the last detail—in short, mrs. obermark was a good teacher. so shortly after settling in fayetteville and opening his tavern for business, fritz built a small school on his farm on the outskirts of fayetteville and installed his wife as teacher. she proceeded to teach her own children and offered to teach negroes for a small fee; all who wished to attend. many free negroes, therefore, were given an opportunity to educate their children, among whom was a negro family living near, by the name of fowler, of whom we will say more about later in this story. among the others, was johnny northcross. mas querade the obermarks, as quickly as they were able to, installed a library in their little private school and sought all the books that were available. since they opposed slavery, they were soon regarded as abolitionists, and soon got in touch with abolition societies all over the north. when mrs. obermark wrote of what she was doing, or at least trying to do, and that she needed funds to develop a library, she soon got the funds—and no end of books, among which was more than one copy of “uncle tom's cabin.” natu- rally all her pupils, old enough to understand what it was about, read quickly, and re-read, mrs. stowe's immortal book. by the time he was fifteen years old, johnny northcross had read it three times, and was terribly moved by it. but it was not until he read the dred scott decision, which put him to thinking all out of proportion to what he had before, and, in the end, made him determined to do something for himself about it. he decided to talk with mrs. obermark concerning it, since he had heard her ex- press much indignation regarding the subject. he sought a time when they were alone, to broach the subject, and he did one afternoon after school had been dismissed. “according to the dred scott decision, mrs. obermark, no colored person can ever hope to be anything, regardless of how hard he may try.” “oh, johnny, that is not true, it is not true at all and you must not feel that way,” mrs. obermark cried, very much surprised and taken aback. “you are intelligent and ambitious, and you will be a successful man some day. just be patient and after you've finished school, go forth into the world and prove yourself. that is the way to look at masquerade life, johnny.” “but, according to this decision, that is impossible. it says in plain words, and seeks to show and prove, that negroes are beings of an inferior order and that we are unfit to associate in any way with white people; that we may be bought, like they buy cotton and tobacco in town; and that we may also be sold to the highest bidder. my mother was sold at auction.” “but you are free, johnny. nobody owns you.” “that is true, but i am not a citizen; i have no rights that anybody is bound to respect. then how can i, under such circumstances and conditions, ever hope to be any- thing; ever hope to be anybody—and i do want to be something. i had hoped to be somebody.” - “you are something now, johnny. a very intelligent and, ambitious boy. in less than two years you will have learned all that i can teach you. then—” “—what?” “you will go forth into the world and make a name for yourself; soon become somebody.” johnny northcross shrugged his shoulders. “you’re very kind, mrs. obermark. but according to mr. justice taney, it just can’t be done. he used up—oh, so many words to convince everybody who reads that very long decision, that negroes can never hope for anything, free or otherwise.” “old judge taney is a southerner, and filled with race prejudice. don’t take his vile decision of the dred scott case seriously. think more about what brave men—like abraham lincoln say.” “president buchanan says the decision is right and prop- mas querade “a lawyer, johnny?” “yes, mrs. obermark. do you think i can?” “well, if that is what you've made up your mind to be- come, i—suppose so; but you could succeed in something clse much quicker, i think, and also much easier than to become a lawyer.” “nevertheless, that’s what i want to become, a lawyer, a great lawyer.” ~ mrs. obermark was taken aback. when she insisted that johnny would succeed, she hadn’t thought about his be- coming a lawyer. it did not take her long to understand how far fetched was such an ambition; how difficult, how very difficult this would be for him. she had hoped he would take up some sort of trade. negro men—even though slaves, were often fine carpenters, blacksmiths, me- chanics. there were some free negro contractors and builders. all these lines were open to them, which was why she had insisted that johnny could be somebody; could succeed—but now to want to be a lawyer, well, that was so different, and so difficult for even a free negro in the south, that she hardly knew how to encourage him, or to even try to encourage him. “you should, i feel, if you want to be a lawyer, wait until you have finished your education—that is, the kind that i can give you, johnny, before you decide fully about becoming a lawyer.” - - “i’m sorry, mrs. obermark, but i’ve been thinking about it for a long time.” “about what for a long time, johnny?” “of becoming a lawyer.” “oh, you have, have you, johnny?” masquerade “for a long time, mrs. obermark.” “and that is why—you've been reading into those law books in the library?” “that is why, mrs. obermark. i could read a whole library of law books. i feel like i could read all the law books that i see in judge straight's library.” “judge straight's library?” “yes, mrs. obermark.” “do you know judge straight.” “yes, ma'am; but i doubt if he knows me. i've run er- rands for him and he should know me; but he may not. he is a very great man, mrs. obermark, and i am sure he must be very wise in the ways of men.” “he is, johnny. judge straight is a very learned man, and a very good man.” “that is what i’ve thought, and why i've decided to go to him and talk to him about my plans.” “your plans, johnny?” “yes, mrs. obermark. my plans to become a lawyer.” “oh.” “i feel that he will tell me the best way to become one.” “you think so?” “that's how i feel. i think he can best tell me how to go about it; the best way and all that, you know.” “you think so?” “i am sure he will. don’t you think he will?” “i—i rather feel that he will. at least judge straight will be honest with you, and, since you seem to have made up your mind about it, i think judge straight is just the man you should see and talk to about it.” mas querade “that's what i had decided, and i’m going to see him to- morrow morning.” johnny took his books and went home then, leaving mrs. obermark to close the school and go home, thinking; thinking about johnny northcross and his strange ambi- tlon. %aete, &e after john ny northcross reached home, he did the chores, for his mother had several cows that had to be milked, hogs that had to be fed and a team that had to be bedded down each night. he ate his dinner, talked with his mother and played with his young sister, rowena; then did some reading and checking of his studies for the next day, then it was bed time. he retired earlier than usual, not to sleep, for he was not sleepy at all. he wanted to think, and to plan some more about how to become a lawyer. “lawyers have first to be educated,” he surmised. if he studied hard, he would learn in another year just about all mrs. obermark had said that she could teach him. he had, as has been shown, decided to call on old judge straight the next day and have the talk, but after further consideration, it would be best to call and talk with judge straight after he had completed his education; at least all that mrs. obermark could teach him and all that he could secure in fayetteville. he lay awake for two hours before he could decide fully to wait another year before calling on the old judge and lay his cards on the table. during that period, the controversy in the north and especially in illinois over the slavery question, developed greater intensity, and every week the papers which the wealthy white ladies of fayetteville took and would give to mas querade him when he went to take butter and eggs and vegetables which they produced, grew more interesting, and he would read what they said about it with keen interest. especially interesting to him, was the series of proposed political debates between abraham lincoln, regarded now as one of the leading abolitionists of the country, and senator stephen a. douglas, of illinois, whose state sov- ereignty favored the south and the perpetuation of slav- ery. the first debate was to take place at ottawa, illinois, august , . johnny northcross knew that the major part of the debate at least, would appear in the following week's papers, so he made himself patient and waited for the days to go by. in due time he was given the papers that carried the debate, and chose a time when he would not be interrupted, and have nothing to do so that he could read at least one side, perhaps the other later. he unfolded the paper, and there before him, covering one entire page, was senator douglas’ argument. he read it with eager anxiety. “ladies and gentlemen. i appear before you today for the purpose of discussing the leading political topics which now agitate the public mind. by an arrangement between mr. lincoln and myself, we are present here today for the purpose of having a joint discussion, as the two great political parties of the state and union, upon the prin- ciples in issue, between these parties; and this vast con- course of people gathered here from all over, shows the deep feeling which pervades the public mind in regards to the questions dividing us. “prior to this country was divided into two great mas querade political parties, known as the whig and democratic par- ties. both were national and patriotic, advancing prin- ciples that were universal in their application. an old line whig could proclaim his principles in louisiana and mass. alike. whig principles disregarded boundary or sectional lines. they were not limited by the ohio river, nor by the potomac, nor by the lines of the free and slave states, but applied and were proclaimed wherever the constitution ruled; or the american flag waved over american soil. so it was and so it is with the great democratic party, which, from the days of jefferson until this period, has proven itself to be the historic party of this nation. while the whig and democratic parties differed in regards to a bank, the tariff, distribution, the specie circular, and the sub-treasury, they agreed on the great slavery question, which now agitates the union. i say that the whig party and the democratic party agreed on this slavery ques- tion, while they differed on those matters of expediency to which i have referred. the whig party and the demo- cratic party jointly adopted the compromise measures of as the basis of a proper and just solution of this slav- ery question in all its forms. henry clay was the great leader, with webster on his right and cass on his left, and sustained by the patriots in the whig and democratic ranks who had devised and enacted the compromise meas- ures of . “in , the whig party and the democratic party united in illinois in adopting resolutions endorsing and approving the principles of the compromise measures of as the proper adjustment of the question. in , when the whig party assembled in convention at balti- masqubrade more for the purpose of nominating a candidate for the presidency, the first thing it did was to declare the com- promise measures of in substance and in principle, a suitable adjustment of the slavery question. (applause) my friends, silence will be more acceptable to me in the discussion of these questions than applause. i desire to adjust myself to your judgment, your understanding and your consciences, and not to your passions or your enthusi- asm. when the democratic convention assembled in bal- timore in the same year, for the purpose of nominating a democratic candidate for the presidency, it also adopted the compromise measures of as the basis of demo- cratic action. thus you see that up to - , the whig party and the democratic party both stood on the same platform with regards to the slavery question. that plat- form was the right of the people of each state and terri- tory to decide their local and domestic institutions for themselves, subject only to the federal constitution. “during the sessions of congress of - , i intro- duced into the senate of the united states a bill to or- ganize the territories of kansas and nebraska on that principle which had been adopted in the compromise measures of , approved by the whig party and the democratic party in illinois in , and endorsed by the whig party and the democratic party in national con- ventions in . in order that there might be no misun- derstanding in relation to the principle involved in the kansas and nebraska bill, i put forth the true intent and meaning of the act in these words: ‘it is the true intent and meaning of this act not to legislate slavery into any state or territory, or to regulate their domestic institu- masquerade tions in their own way, subject only to the federal consti- tution.” thus you see, my friends, that up to , when the kansas and nebraska bill was brought into congress for the purpose of carrying out the principles which both parties had up to that time endorsed and approved, there had been no division in this country in regard to that prin- ciple except the opposition of the abolitionists. in the house of representatives of the illinois legislature, upon a resolution asserting that principle, every whig and every democrat in the house voted in the affirmative, and only four men voted against it, and those four were old line abolitionists. “in , mr. abraham lincoln and mr. trumbull en- tered into an arrangement, one with the other, and each with his respective friends, to dissolve the old whig party on the one hand, and to dissolve the old democratic party on the other, and to connect members of both into an abolition party, under the name and disguise of a repub- lican party. the terms of that arrangement between mr. lincoln and mr. trumbull, have been published to the world by mr. lincoln's special friend, mr. james h. math- eny, esq., and they were, that lincoln should have shield’s place in the senate, which was then about to become va- cant, and that trumbull should have my seat when my term expired. lincoln went to work to abolitionize the old whig party all over the state, pretending that he was then as good a whig as ever; and trumbull went to work in his part of the state preaching abolitionism in its milder and lighter form and trying to abolitionize the demo- cratic party and camp. in pursuance of the arrangement the parties met in springfield in oct. , and proclaimed mas querade their new platform. lincoln was to bring into the aboli- tion camp the old line whigs, and transfer them over to giddings, chase, fred douglas and parson lovejoy, who were ready to receive them and christen them in their new faith. they laid down on that occasion, a platform for their new republican party, which was to be thus constructed. i have the resolutions of their state conven- tion then held, which was the first mass state convention ever held in illinois by the black republican party, and i now hold them in my hands, and will read a part of them and cause the others to be printed. here are the most important and material resolutions of this abolition plat- form:— “‘ . resolved, that we believe this trust to be self-evi- dent, that when parties become subversive of the ends for which they are established or incapable of retaining the true principles of the constitution, it is the right and duty of the people to dissolve the political bands by which they may have been connected therewith, and to organize new parties upon which principles and with such views as the circumstances, and the exigencies of the nation may de- mand. “‘ . resolved, that the times imperatively demand the reorganization of parties, and repudiating all previous party attachments, names and predestinations, we unite ourselves together in defense of the liberty and constitu- tions of the country, and will hereafter co-operate as the republican party, pledged to the accomplishments of the following purposes: to bring the administration of the government back to the control of its first principles; to restore kansas and nebraska to the position of free terri- masquerade tories, that as the constitution of the united states vests in the states, and not congress, the power to legislate for the extradition of fugitives from labor, to repeal and en- tirely abrogate the fugitive slave law; to restrict slavery to those states in which it exists; to prohibit the admission of any more slave states into the union; to abolish slavery in the district of columbia; to exclude slavery from all the territories over which the general government has ex- clusive jurisdiction; and to resist the acquirement of any more territories, unless the prospect of slavery therein forever shall have been prohibited. “‘ . resolved, that in furtherance of these principles we will use such constitutional and lawful means as shall seem best adapted to the accomplishment and that we will support no man for office under the general state gov- ernment who is not positively and fully committed to the support of these principles, and when personal character and conduct a guarantee that he is reliable, and who shall not abjure old party allegiance and ties.’ “now, gentlemen, your black republicans have cheered one of those propositions, and yet i venture to say that you cannot get mr. lincoln to come out now and say that he is in favor of each one of them. that these propositions, one and all, constitute the platform of the black republi- can party of this day, i have no doubt; and when you were not aware for what purpose i was reading them, your black republicans cheered them as good black republi- can doctrines. my object in reading these resolutions was to put the question to abraham lincoln this day, whether he now stands, and whether mr. lincoln today stands, as he did in , in favor of the unconditional repeal of the mas querade fugitive slave law. i desire him to answer whether he stands pledged today, as he did in , against the admis- sion of any more slave states into the union, even if the people want them. i want to know whether he stands pledged against the admission of a new state into the union, with such a constitution as the people of that state may see fit to make. i want to know whether he to- day stands pledged to the abolition of slavery in the dis- trict of columbia. i desire him to answer whether he stands pledged to the prohibition of the slave trade between the different states; i desire to know whether he stands pledged to prohibit slavery in all the territories of the united states, north as well as south of the missouri compromise line. i desire him to answer whether he is opposed to the acquisition of any more territory, unless slavery is pro- hibited therein. i want his answer to these questions. your affirmative cheers in favor of this abolition platform is not satisfactory. i ask abraham lincoln to answer these ques- tions in order that when i trot him down to lower egypt (he meant cairo and extreme southern illinois) i may put the same questions to him. my principles are the same everywhere. i can proclaim them alike in the north, the south, the east and the west. my principles will apply wherever the constitution prevails, and the american flag waves. i desire to know whether mr. lincoln's will bear transplanting from ottawa to jonesboro, arkansas. i put these questions to him today distinctly, and ask an answer. i have a right to an answer for i quote from the platform of the republican party, made by himself and others at the time that party was formed, and the bargain made by lincoln to dissolve and kill the old whig party, mas querade and transfer its members, bound hand and foot, to the abolition party, under the direction of giddings and fred- erick douglas. “in the remarks i have made on the platform, and the position of mr. lincoln upon it, i mean nothing personally disrespectful or unkind to that gentleman. i have known him for nearly twenty-five years. there were many points of sympathy between us when we got acquainted. we were both comparatively boys, and both struggling with pov- erty in a strange land. he was more successful in his occu- pation than i was and hence more fortunate in this world's goods. lincoln is one of those peculiar men who perform with admirable skill everything which they undertake. he was then just as good at telling an anecdote as now. he could beat any of the boys wrestling, or running a foot- race in tossing a copper; could ruin more liquor than all of the boys of the town together (somebody called loudly “liar”) and the dignity and impartiality with which he presided at a horse race or a fist-fight excited the admira- tion and won the praise of everybody that was present and participated. i sympathized with him because he was struggling with difficulties and so was i. mr. lincoln served with me in the legislature in and we both retired and he subsided, or became submerged, and he was lost sight of as a public man for some years. in when wilmot in- troduced his celebrated proviso, and the abolition tornado swept over the country, lincoln again turned up as a mem- ber of congress from the sangoman district. i was then in the senate of the united states and was glad to wel- come my old friend and companion. whilst in congress he distinguished himself by his opposition to the mexican masquerade war, taking the side of the common enemy against his own country; and when he returned home he found that the indignation of the people followed him everywhere, and he was again submerged, or obliged to retire into private life, forgotten by his former friends. he came up again in , just in time to make the abolition, or black repub- lican platform, in company with giddings, lovejoy, chase and frederick douglas, for the republican party to stand upon. trumbull, too, was one of our contemporaries. he was born and raised in old connecticut, was bred a federal- ist, but removing to georgia, turned nullifier when nullifi- cation was popular, and as soon as he disposed of his clocks and wound up his business in georgia, migrated to illinois, turned politician and lawyer here and made his appearance in as a member of the legislature. - “these two men, having formed this combination to abolitionize the old whig party and the old democratic party, and put themselves into the senate of the united states, in pursuance of their bargain, are now carrying out that arrangement. matheny states that trumbull broke faith; that the bargain was that lincoln should be the senator in shields' place, and trumbull to wait for mine; and the story goes that trumbull cheated lincoln, having control of four or five abolitionized democrats who were holding over in the senate, he would not let them vote for lincoln, and which obliged the rest of the abolitionists to support him in order to secure an abolition senator. there are a number of authorities for the truth of this besides matheny, and i suppose mr. lincoln will not deny it. having formed the new party for the benefit of desert- ers from whiggery, and deserters from democracy, and masquerade having laid down the abolition platform, which i have read, lincoln now takes his stand and proclaims his aboli- tion doctrines, and expressed his opinion anew regarding slavery. let me read a part of them. in his speech at springfield to the convention which nominated him for the senate, he said: “‘in my opinion it will not cease until a crisis will have been reached and passed. a house divided against itself can- not stand. i believe this government cannot endure half slave and half free. i do not expect the union to be dis- solved; i do not expect the house to fall; but i do expect that it will cease to be divided! it will all become one thing, or all the other. either the opponents of slavery will arrest the further spread of it, and place it where the public mind shall rest in the belief that it is in the process of ultimate extinction, or its advocates will push it forward until it shall become alike lawful in all the states—old as well as new, north as well as south.” (“good, good!” and cheers) “i am delighted to hear you black republicans say ‘good!” i have no doubt that doctrine expresses your sen- timents, and i will prove to you now, if you will listen to me, that it is revolutionary and destructive of the exist- ence of this government. mr. lincoln, in the extract from which i have just read, says that this government cannot endure permanently in the same condition in which it was made by its framers—divided into free and slave states. he says that it has existed for about seventy years thus divided and yet he tells you that it cannot endure per- manently in the same principles and exist, divided into free and slave states. hamilton, jay and the great men of - mas querade that day, made this government free to do as it pleased on the subject of slavery. why cannot it exist on the same principles on which our fathers made it? they knew when they framed the constitution that in a country as wide and broad as this; with such a variety of climate, produc- tion and interest, the people necessarily required different laws and institutions in different localities. they knew that the laws and regulations that would suit the granite hills of new hampshire and vermont, would be unsuited to the rice plantations of south carolina, and they there- fore provided that each state should retain its own legis- lation and its own sovereignty, with the full and complete power to do as it pleased within its own limits, in all that was local and not national. one of the reserved rights of the states was the right to regulate the relation between master and servant, on the slavery question. at the time the constitution was framed, there were thirteen states in the union, twelve of which were slave-holding states, and one a free state. suppose this doctrine of uniformity, preached by mr. lincoln that the states should all be free or all be slave had prevailed, and what would have been the results? of course the twelve slave-holding states would have overruled the one free state, and slavery would have been fastened by a constitutional provision on every inch of the american republic, instead of being left, as our fathers wisely left it, to each state to decide for itself. here i assert that uniformity in the local laws and institutions of the different states is neither possible or desirable. if uniformity had been adopted when the gov- ernment was established, it must have eventually been the uniformity of slavery everywhere, or else this uni- mas qubradb formity of negro citizenship and negro equality every- where. “we are told by lincoln that he is utterly opposed to the dred scott decision and will not submit to it, for the reason that he says it deprives the negro of the rights and privileges of citizenship. do you desire to strike out of our state constitution that clause that keeps slaves and free negroes out of the state, and allow the free negroes to flow in, and cover your prairies with black settlements? do you desire to turn this beautiful state into a free negro colony, in order that when missouri abolishes slavery, she can send one hundred thousand emancipated slaves into illinois, to become citizens and voters on an equality with yourselves? if you desire negro citizenship; if you desire them to come into this state and settle with the white man, if you desire them to vote on an equality with your- selves, and to make them eligible to office, to serve on juries, and to adjudge your rights, then support mr. lin- coln's and the black republican party, who are in favor of the citizenship of the negro. for one, i am opposed to negro citizenship in any and every form. i believe this government was made on the white basis. i believe it was made for white men, for the benefit of white men and their posterity forever, and i am in favor of confining citizenship to white men, men of european birth and descent, instead of conferring it on negroes, indians and other inferior races. “mr. lincoln follows the lead and example of all the little abolition orators, who go around and lecture in the basement of schools and churches, reads from the dec- laration of independence that all men were created equal, mas querade and then asks: how can you deprive a negro of that equality which god and the declaration of independence awards to him? he and they maintain that negro equality is guaranteed by the laws of god, and that it is asserted in the declaration of independence. if they think so, of course they have a right to say so, and so vote. i do not question mr. lincoln's conscientious belief that the negro was made equal, and hence is his brother; but for my own part, i do not regard the negro as my equal, and positively deny that he is my brother or any kin to me whatever. lincoln has evidently learned by heart parson lovejoy's catechism. he can repeat it as well as farnsworth, and he is worthy of a medal from father giddings and frederick douglas for his abolitionism. he holds that the negro was born his equal and yours, and that he was endowed with equality by the almighty, and that no human can deprive him of these rights, which were guaranteed to him by the supreme ruler of the universe. now i don’t believe that the almighty ever intended the negro to be the equal of the white man. if he did, he has been a long time demon- strating the fact. for thousands of years the negro has been a race upon the earth, and during all that time in all latitudes and climates wherever he has wandered, or has been taken, he has been inferior to the race he there met. he belongs to an inferior race and must always occupy an inferior position. i do not hold because the negro is our inferior that therefore he ought to be a slave. by no means can such conclusion be drawn from what i have said. on the contrary, i hold that every right, every privilege, and immunity consistent with the safety of society in which he lives. on that point i presume there can be no diversity masquerade of opinion. you and i are bound to extend to our inferior and dependent beings every right, every privilege, every facility and immunity consistent with the public good. “the question then arises what rights and privileges are consistent with the public good? this is a question which each state and each territory must decide for itself. illi- nois has decided it for herself. we have provided that the negro shall not be a slave, and we have also provided that he shall not be a citizen, but protect him in his civil rights, his life, his person and his property, only depriving him of any political rights whatsoever and refusing to put him on any equality with the white man. that policy of illinois is satisfactory to the democratic party and to me, and if it was to the republicans, there would be no question upon the subject. but the republicans say that he ought to be made a citizen, and when he becomes a citizen, he becomes your equal, with all your rights and privileges. they assert the dred scott decision to be monstrous because it denies that the negro is or can be a citizen under the constitu- tion. now, i hold that illinois had a right to abolish and prohibit slavery as she did, and i hold that kentucky has the same right to continue and protect slavery that illi- nois had to abolish it. i hold that new york had as much right to abolish slavery that virginia has to continue it, and that each and every state of this union is a sovereign power, with the right to do as it pleases upon this question of slavery and all of its domestic institutions. slavery is not the only question which comes up in the controversy. there is a far more important one to you, and that is, what shall be done with the free negro? we have settled the slavery question as far as we are concerned; we have pro- mas querade hibited it in illinois forever; and in doing so i think we have acted wisely, and there is no man in the state who would be more strenuous in his opposition to the introduc- tion of slavery than i would. but when we settled it for ourselves, we exhausted all our power over that subject. we have done our whole duty and can do no more. we must leave each and every other state to decide for itself the same question. in relation to the policy to be pursued to- ward the free negroes, we have said that they shall not vote whilst maine, on the other hand, has said that they shall vote. maine is a sovereign state, and has the right to regulate the qualification of votes within her limits. i would never consent to confer the right of voting and of citizenship upon a negro; but still i am not going to quar- rel with maine or new york for differing from me in opinion. let maine take care of her own negroes, and fix the qualifications of her own voters to suit herself, without interfering with illinois, and illinois will not interfere with maine. so with the state of new york. she allows the negro to vote, providing he owns two hundred and fifty dollars worth of property, but not otherwise. i would not make any distinction whatever between a negro who held property and one who did not. “now my friends if we will only act conscientiously and rigidly on this great principle of popular sovereignty, which guarantees to each state and territory the right to do as it pleases on all things local and domestic, instead of congress interfering, we will continue at peace with one another. this doctrine of mr. lincoln's among the institu- tions of the different states, is a ew doctrine, never dreamed of by madison, or the framers of this government. masquerade mr. lincoln and the republican party set themselves up as wiser than these men who made this government, which has flourished for seventy years, under the principle of popular sovereignty, recognizing the right of each state to do as it pleased. i believe that this new doctrine as preached by mr. lincoln will dissolve the union if it suc- ceeds. they are trying to array all the northern states in one body, against the south to excite a sectional war be- tween the free states and slave states, in order that the one or the other may be driven to the wall. “i am told that my time is up. mr. lincoln will now ad- dress you for an hour and a half, and i will then occupy a half hour in replying to him.” mas querade serious. he turned to judge straight. “just how could this be done. i mean, what procedure would have to be employed?” “that's simple enough. secession.” “secession? you mean that the southern states might— secede from the union? that would be dissolution all right.” “exactly.” “but can they do that?” - “i see nothing to keep them from seceding but a strong president.” “what about buchanan?” “weak as water.” “yeah?” “couldn’t be weaker.” “he was the choice of the south. in fact, they seemed to have forced his election on the country.” “because he assured them, and they believed him, that he wouldn't interfere with the slavery question. don't you recall that the dred scott decision was held up until after he was inaugurated; and that he commended the decision highly?” “of course, but i didn’t know that was the reason it was held up,” dr. green said with a frown. “that was why—and you see what the public at large is saying about it.” “and they don’t ever seem to get through talking about it, criticising it and tearing it to pieces.” “and they won't quit talking about it and tearing it to pieces, either. they'll be doing so long after both you and i are dead.” mas querade “just what is this country coming to, anyhow—and it is all about slavery? will the north ever let us alone and leave us to handle the negro in our own way?” “never as long as the south insists on holding him in slavery.” “wasn't the dred scott decision supposed to have set- tled that; the position of the negro both north and south, so chief justice taney said?” “but abraham lincoln has just said, ‘a house divided against itself cannot stand.’” “yet douglas made a very intelligent reply to that, in his speech which you've just read.” “but his argument in favor of the most,” he said, “lacked conviction. the thing failed to get over. after reading it, what are you thinking, about what douglas said or what he quoted lincoln as saying? in addition to his ‘house divided’ argument, his "this country cannot en- dure permanently half slave and half free.” that argu- ment goes home; it puts you to thinking,” judge straight insisted. “it keeps you thinking, and all americans who have heard it and will hear it—and there is everything to prove it.” “what, for instance?” “all this slavery agitation. lincoln says that it will all in the end be one way, or the other, meaning it will be ‘all slave' or ‘all free.’ well, since the north has freed the slave of her own volition, and declares over and over again that slavery is a crime against civilization, and that all men are created equal, do you believe that any of them are going to back water and repermit slavery back in their domain?” “no,” dr. green replied, shaking his head. masqueradb “then there is but one thing left, if the country is to endure permanently.” “slavery will have to go,” dr. green ventured. “and there is where the trouble lay. the south will never consent to that without a fight, they will secede from the union, one by one or in a body. “there is the greatest problem of it all. president buchanan will do nothing to prevent it. as stated, he's a weak man and should never have been made president of these united states, but the south put him in. that is why lincoln dissolved the old whig party. it had out- lived its usefulness. it accepted slavery as an institution, against the wishes of the tide of abolitionism, sweeping the north. in fact, there was little or no difference be- tween whiggery as it stood and democracy, except the south preferred the democratic party. so it was easy to put over buchanan as they did in , with the result that we now have the republican party, a new institution, that opposes slavery as its main issue, and, take it from me, they are determined to abolish slavery, one way or the other in due time—and they have the man at the head of it, with the will to carry out and put into effect their platform.” “you mean abraham lincoln, of course,” said dr. green nodding his head up and down. “well, judge, let us look forward two years. both par- ties will be out in the open to elect a candidate for pres- ident. who will it be? name the man that will be put for- ward by the democrats first.” “stephen a. douglas.” “stephen douglas! but he's a northerner.” “straddling on the slavery issue, designed to hold the masque rade south and hoping to carry some of the northern states. after buchanan, a southerner is out. the south cannot elect a president alone. some northern states have got to vote along with her.” “i can understand that. then you feel at this time that it will be douglas? versus who?” “abraham lincoln.” “good heavens, no!” archibald straight shook his head sadly, but firmly. “he’s just as sure to be nominated by the republican party as if he were already nominated.” “and if he is—” “he is pretty sure to become the next president of these united states.” “and in the event that he is elected?” “the south is liable to secede.” “and that will be the end of this country under its present name, the united states of america?” “it could be, if abraham lincoln was another james buchanan.” “now what do you mean?” “just what i say, dr. green. if abraham lincoln was no stronger willed than our present chief executive, james buchanan.” "then you think that as president, lincoln might ob- ject?” “i mean more than that.” “more?” “that lincoln will not accept secession.” “but if they secede, how can he prevent it?” straight looked at green and smiled. then raising a mas querade finger, went on. “lincoln will declare that they are a part of the union and will refuse to recognize secession.” “then that means war?” straight nodded his head up and down. “then, while we are at war, lincoln may—” “—declare the slaves free.” “but in such an event, it will be a long war, a long and bitter war, but the south should win.” - “if war comes, that will be how they feel about it, but in the history of most wars, perhaps all that stretch over years, it is always the side with the greatest resources, with the most money, who win—in the end.” “but it will be different if the north and south ulti- mately find themselves at war.” “perhaps.” - “well,” dr. green said, rising to his feet with a deep sigh. “i hope none of this will happen. nothing but the election of abraham lincoln and his ideas about the negro could cause the south to want to break up the union.” both men were standing now, and dr. green turned toward the door. straight followed him. at the door both paused and looked out into the street. it was a beautiful north carolina day, as clear as crystal and was pleasant outside. turning back to judge straight, dr. green, his face very serious, said, “i certainly hope it won’t happen, judge. i hate to pic- ture our great union being broken up, torn asunder. knowing what we do and seeing things as far in advance as we can, they surely ought to be able to work out some sort of compromise.” - “if we had a strong willed president we might be able mas querade to. while i don’t want to hear this repeated,” and straight paused to glance around, “i think the best way to avoid what is bound to be the greatest catastrophe of all times, would be to put through a constitutional amendment to purchase the slaves from their owners outright and set them free.” “that would be the cheapest way in the long run,” dr. green said nodding his head. “but it would take a strong man in the white house to work that out. the country needs a president who is a leader—and buchanan is only a figurehead—and a mighty poor one at that.” both men, as judge straight concluded, shook their heads sadly, and dr. green turned to leave the office. as he stepped forward, both happened to look up the street and their eyes fell upon johnny northcross, coming in that direction. “are you looking at what i see, judge?” “i can’t help seeing what you are looking at.” “do you recall that about a year ago he came to call : ) in you?” “i do, but he never came back.” “he’s on the way back now,” and with a smile and a slap on the back, green left the office and judge straight went back to his desk. &aete, seven judge straight had no more than got seated and opened a newspaper when he heard footsteps coming up to his of- fice, enter, and pause briefly when inside, whereupon he raised his eyes and met those of johnny northcross, look- ing straight at him with a sort of bold, defiant expression. “well,” he began, “young man, what can i do for you?” john northcross crossed the room then and paused. across the table, at which the judge sat, looking up at him. “sir,” johnny northcross began, “i want to be a lawyer.” “god bless my soul,” the judge exclaimed, in shocked surprise, but somewhat amused, due to the suggestion seem- ing so far-fetched, coming from a negro boy. “it is a singular desire from a singular source and ex- pressed in a singular way. who the devil are you that wishes so strange a thing as to becoming a lawyer—everybody's servant. have a seat,” and he pointed to the chair which dr. green had just vacated. “and everybody’s master,” johnny replied calmly. “i refer to becoming a lawyer.” he pulled the chair back then and sat down, turning as he did so to face the old judge. “that is a matter of opinion and open to argument, young man,” the judge now went on. “there may be, i admit, a small grain of truth in what you say.” as previ- masquerade ously shown, judge straight knew johnny—just knew him. he had never as far as he could recall, exchanged words with him. so being, he preferred to reply in words of apparent ignorance. “who are you, anyhow, mr. would-be-lawyer?” “john northcross, sir.” “john northcross, eh?” the judge repeated thought- fully, thinking the while of richard northcross, the boy's father. he looked at the boy closely now, to compare him with his father. then he relaxed and smiled just a little. the boy was the image of his father. judge straight smiled to himself as he considered the irony of it. “and, where do you live, johnny?” he decided not to let the boy think or feel that he knew who his father was, nor anything that went with it. “a short distance out of town. on the old wilmington road in a place they call the house behind the cedars.” “that is near the obermarks, isn’t it? on the right side of the road as you go out of town?” “yes, sir.” “i’ve noticed it. whom do you live with?” “my mother, mis’ molly northcross.” “i see,” the judge mused. “she’s a widow, isn’t she?” “yes, sir.” “and you want to be a lawyer?” “yes, sir.” “how'd you let such a-desire, pop into your head?” “i like the idea. i’ve read some law books. i like it.” “you want to be a lawyer. you are aware, of course, that you are a negro.” “i am white and i am free, as all of my people have mas querade been before me,” johnny replied, boldly, defiantly. this is what he had decided to do—be bold and defiant and claim to be white. he knew richard northcross was his father, that he was illegitimate; born out of wedlock; but he had thought about all that; had thought it all out months before. he was looking straight at judge straight now. long ago he had decided that this was what he should do. maybe the bluff would work. in the next moment, however, he became aware that it wasn't working, still he decided to continue his defiance. “you are black, and you are not free,” judge straight exclaimed, and met his effort at defiance and challenged it. “i say that i am white, and i am free. all my people are free.” “some of them,” the judge replied calmly. he didn't intend to tell the boy which ones were free. “you are black my lad, and you are not free, and it is just about impossible for you, under those circumstances, to become a lawyer. no person of african extraction has ever become a lawyer in fayetteville, so i'm surprised at you coming forward with such a suggestion. it is vain.” “i still want to become a lawyer.” “but consider the difficulty of realizing such an ambi- tion in the south. you may be, perhaps, a ‘free’ negro; but at that you are not a citizen. you cannot travel with- out your papers; you cannot vote. you could not secure accommodations at an inn; you cannot be out after nine o'clock at night without your permit. if a white man struck you, you dare not return the blow, and you could not testify against him in a court of justice.” “if he struck me and i could not return the blow, ac- mas querade cording to what you say, and i could not testify against him in a court of justice, then it would not be a court of justice. it would be a court of injustice.” “perhaps you’re right, but they still call it a court of justice, and, regardless of what you say about being white, i repeat, you are black and you are not free.” “it all sounds so strange; so unlike all that you white people say, that you write about, what you preach—but don’t practice.” “did you ever hear of the dred scott decision?” “i read it,” the boy replied calmly. judge straight started, and looked at johnny with a new expression in his eyes. “you read it? then—” “it may all be true, what that decision said; but the declaration of independence says that “all men are cre- ated equal.” what about that?” “i’m afraid they were not thinking about—colored men when the framers conceived that, johnny.” “abraham lincoln says that it meant all men, regard- less of their color, creed or previous condition of servitude. what about that?” - * “that’s what abraham lincoln said; but abraham lin- coln is only a politician. judge taney, the author of the dred scott decision, said otherwise. judge taney is chief justice of the inited states supreme court—and his word, and what he said about dred scott is law, the law of the land.” “regardless of all that, judge taney meant ‘negroes.' i still insist that i am white and i am free, and i want to be- come a lawyer.” mas querade “somewhere, sometime you had a black ancestor. one touch of negro blood makes the whole person black and you won’t be able to get away with claiming to be white.” “why shouldn't it be the other way, if the white blood is so much superior?” “because it is more convenient as it is—and more profit- able.” “it is not right.” “i agree with you, but that is the way it is, and, i’m afraid, the way it's got to stay.” “i had thought that i might pass for white. there are lots of white people darker than i am.” “humph. everybody around here knows you; and know you to be a negro. where did you get the becoming a lawyer idea, anyhow?” “it is not an idea. it is an ambition.” “have you talked to anybody else about—this ambition of yours?” “i have,” the boy replied. “your mother, perhaps?” “no,” johnny replied, shaking his head. judge straight looked very much surprised. “then pray who?” “to mrs. fritz obermark.” “you mean, fritz obermark, the tavern keeper's wife?” “i went to school to her. she taught me all i know.” “did she teach you to want to become a lawyer?” “no sir.” “if you spoke to her about it, what was her reaction? what did she say?” “she didn’t say.” “what do you mean. you say that you talked to her mas querade about it, now you advise that ‘she didn't say.’” “mrs. obermark is a very kind woman.” “i agree with you. a fine woman, a christian woman.” nodding his head in agreement, johnny went on to ex- plain: “after i read the dred scott decision, and that a negro has no right which a white man is due to respect; that we are no more than a bag of potatoes, a bale of cotton or a sack of corn, and that we may be bought and sold by anybody who desired to make a profit, i was very dis- couraged.” the judge nodded his head up and down understand- ingly, and listened to the boy's story with keen interest. “but i’ve been reading what abraham lincoln has been saying up there in the north, and i have lived on in the hope that what judge taney decreed in the dred scott decision, might somewhere, somehow, be wrong, so i de- cided to talk about it with my teacher.” “that was the proper thing to do.” “she said that what judge taney said was not true; that his decision was cruel and inhuman; and that i should not think about it; that i should, in fact, try to forget it as much as i could. she said, and has always said, that i could succeed—that i would succeed and be a very successful man some day if i tried hard enough.” “are you willing to try hard? very hard?” “very hard, judge. i am willing to do anything to be somebody.” “but just why a lawyer? it would be far easier for you to succeed doing something else. what did mrs. obermark suggest?” masquerade “she implied that i could in some other way, though she didn’t say that i couldn’t become what i want to be, a lawyer.” - “and that was how it started; you talked with mrs. obermark; you told her that you wanted to be a lawyer. well, she must have said something, one way or another.” “i told her that i was going to talk to you about it.” “oh, you did? what did she say to that?” “she said that was the proper thing to do; that you were a fine gentleman and a wise man; that you would best tell me, and to come and talk to you.” the judge felt flattered, in spite of himself. he had been inclined from the outset to regard the boy lightly. now he looked hard at him, a slight frown on his face. “and you are—really serious about what you say, of be- coming a lawyer?” “i couldn't be more serious about anything.” “this is all so strange and unusual, also—impossible. i hate to tell you to give up such an ambition.” - “please don't tell me to give it up.” thereupon the judge looked hard at him again, and rising to his feet, strolled across by the window and looked out at a huge magnolia tree that stood in the back yard. johnny sat where he left him, staring up at the judge hopefully. judge straight was in a quandary. off hand he was ready to dismiss the whole thing as the insane dream of a fool- ish boy. he turned to look at the boy, and their eyes met. judge straight was annoyed. he couldn't ignore the anxiety and expression in the eyes of this boy who wanted to be a lawyer. he presently returned to his chair and called the boy by name. masquerade “yes, sir, judge straight?” anxiously, hopefully. “i am going to drive out of town tonight to see a man. what you’ve talked about is right now—well, we won’t talk about it any more, but if it is convenient, come back to my office tomorrow and see me—anytime will do.” the judge rose to his feet then and waved the boy, who was trying to shower him with thanks and gratitude, toward the door and following him to it, closed and locked it be- hind johnny. %aaten & e not far from where molly northcross lived, out on the wilmington road in the house behind the cedars, lived a family, a negro family by the name of fowler, henry fowler and his large family, a wife and twelve children. henry fowler was a tall, black and powerfully built man and one of the best carpenters and brick and stone masons in the state. he was so good, in fact, that over twenty-five years before, when slaves were not priced as high as at this period of our story, henry fowler purchased and paid for himself. one thousand dollars was the price he paid, $ cash and the balance in notes, which he paid off in less than one year-—and then he bought his wife beautiful, healthy, brown-skinned slave woman, for whom he paid (part cash and notes) $ . so at the time of our story, henry fowler had been free most of twenty-five years and had, during that period, bred and raised his twelve healthy and strong children, seven boys and five girls, all of whom were born free, and so henry fowler and family were the most prosperous and highly respected of the free negroes who lived in and around fayetteville. the family and molly northcross called themselves neighbors, although the fowler's two hundred acre farm was three miles away from the house behind the cedars. all the fowler children had attended mrs. fritz ober- mas querade mark's private school and the older ones had learned all that she knew how to teach them, and were intelligent, well raised children. fowler was a building contractor, and had been for many years. they complained that his prices were rather high; but most preferred to pay them on the grounds that when henry fowler built your house, your barn or any- thing clse you wanted erected, frame, brick or concrete, it was built—and would stand the test of storms, wind, rain —and years! henry fowler and his family were reading people, and kept themselves well informed on topics of the day, in- cluding the furious controversy going on all over the north regarding the slavery question. “they say,” he said one night at the dinner table, after they had finished their meal, but had not gotten up from the table. “they say,” he repeated, “that if abraham lin- coln gets the nomination for president on the republican ticket, the south will promptly, if he's elected, secede from the union and set up their own government, under the name of the confederate states of america.” - “god help us,” echoed matilda fowler, his wife. “why do you say that, mama,” said selena, their oldest daughter, who had just been graduated from oberlin col- lege, oberlin, ohio. the family was very proud of her. “why, my dear,” her mother replied. “can't you see what will happen to our people; i mean our people still in slavery? the entire controversy is about the slavery ques- tion. the north wants slavery abolished; the south wishes to retain it. if they secede from the union, the negro down here may never be free.” mas querade selena was thoughtful. in all they had talked about at oberlin, so very much of which was about slavery, no one had ever put it that way. yet—turning to her father. “what do you think about it, papa?” fowler lowered his paper thoughtfully. “i agree with your mother. our people's only hope for an early freedom, if this happens, is for abraham lincoln, if he be elected, and the south secedes, to prevent it—and he can only do so by force of arms.” “but if the south should win?” selena suggested. “then it might be a long, long time before the race is freed, if ever. but that won’t happen.” “the south says it will,” selena went on, her face seri- ous. “all the southern papers declare that if the states go to war, the south will win and win quickly.” “if she wins,” observed her father, judiciously, “it will have to be quickly, but from what i have learned about abraham lincoln, he is not the kind of man that gives up quickly. if the south forces a war by attempting to secede, we are going to learn a great deal more about abraham lincoln than we now know.” - “you think so?” “all you've got to do is follow his speeches. i've read all that douglas has said, and all that lincoln says in reply to him.” “what do you think of douglas?” “a politician, pure and simple, playing both ends against the middle.” “what do you mean by 'playing both ends against the middle’?” "trying to satisfy both sides, the north and the south, mas querade in the hope of getting enough votes to be elected pres- ident.” “they tear everything he says to pieces at oberlin.” “oberlin is a hot bed of abolitionism,” her father said calmly. “we expect that from there.” “frederick douglas spoke there a month ago. i wrote you about it.” “yes, we know. how was he received?” “they raved about him. people came to hear him from all over northern ohio. he was magnificent. i was proud of him. oh, father. he just makes you feel things. he says that within ten years there will be no slavery anywhere in the united states. he said that it will have to go. he also said a great deal about a man he called john brown.” “a conscientious abolitionist. he has been turning kan- sas upside down. they say that he is crazy.” “i don’t believe it,” selena said, insistently. “the south wants us to feel that all abolitionists are crazy. they say that harriet beecher stowe is crazy—or at least was when she wrote uncle tom's cabin; they call it a pack of lies. they say there never was a man as mean as simon legree; that a man just couldn’t be that mean.” “they also say,” interposed mrs. fowler, “that the dred scott decision was all right.” “they would liken us to a sack of wheat and a bale of cotton,” cried selena indignantly. “oh, you ought to hear how they deride it at oberlin! they say that roger brooke taney should be impeached for writing it. they call it the most infamous document ever conceived by the mind of man.” “all of this agitation about slavery can’t go on indefi- mas querade nitely,” fowler said. “it’s got to break up somewhere, somehow.” “‘a house divided against itself cannot stand,’” selena quoted. “ah, those are words by abraham lincoln that will never be forgotten as long as america lives. also, ‘this country cannot endure permanently, half slave and half free.’” “immortal words, selena,” mrs. fowler cried, and made a supplication. “immortal words. the lord will not let this crime against himself and man endure. someday we will all be free, now let us pray.” whereupon she bowed her head in prayer and henry fowler offered the prayer. when it was over, they rose from the table, just as leonard, one of the younger boys of the family, burst into the room, crying: “johnny northcross has disappeared! johnny north- cross has disappeared! nobody has seen him for three days! he's disappeared!” “what do you mean, boy, disappeared?” his father cried, grabbing him and forcing him to face him. “that’s what happened. i was by his house. his mother says he has.” all the family had gathered now around leonard and his father. all were excited. “all his mother will say is that ‘he’s gone. my johnny's gone!’ and falls to crying.” henry fowler paused and turned to look in the faces of his family. “well, henry,” mrs. fowler cried. “what are you go- ing to do, just stand there speechless? have the boys hitch horses to the buggy and let's get up to molly's and see what this is all about. it must be a mistake.” mas querade a half hour later the fowler family joined others in the yard of the house behind the cedars and went into the house where they found molly crying. neighbors who had arrived sooner were comforting her as she sat crying. her small daughter, rowena, clung to her skirts and she was crying, too, although she was too young to know what it was all about. but she understood by the seriousness on everybody's face that something had happened. henry fowler, who was looked up to by the negrocs as a sort of leader, came forward and stood over molly. the others moved back respectfully to permit him to ques- tion her. - “is what we hear true, molly? it must be a mistake.” “it ain’t a mistake, mr. fowler. johnny's gone, gone, jes' gone.” and again she lowered her eyes and gave up to tears, using her apron to dry them. “but—what do you mean, just gone, molly? how could a big boy like johnny just—disappear?” “that’s how it happened, mr. fowler. johnny just dis- appeared. disappeared three days ago.” “but maybe he—got lost in the woods. if that's so, we'll find him. perhaps he may have gone to visit—old mose allen, the hermit, who lives deep in the woods. johnny is sort of—venturesome, you know. if so, we'll go look for him. we’ll—” “tain’t no use, mr. fowler. you won’t fin” him.” “maybe he—might have gone to see della, the conjure woman?” “he didn’t believe in conjurism. he was afraid of old della. he didn’t go there. i don’t know where johnny went, 'cept that he's gone. he told me he was going away, mas querade and that he'd never come back; that nobody that's living around here would ever see him again.” “but why?” henry fowler insisted, in amazement. “please don't ask me. all he said when he came home the last time was that because of that old dred scott decision, a niggah couldn’t be anything and never would be, and that he couldn’t stand it and was going away for good. he said goodbye to me and little sister, and said that he'd never come back. and then—he just walked out the door and i ain’t seen him since.” henry fowler had listened to her carefully, and saw that he could learn no more about johnny from her at the pres- ent time, so motioning to the others, he went outside and they followed him. outside he turned to them and said: “johnny was always inclined to dream somewhat, now that i come to think of it. he has evidently gone away, but i’m sure that he'll come back soon. it does all seem strange and peculiar, but i advise you all just to be patient, and wait and not bother his mother any more for awhile. she's all upset now, so it’ll only make her suffer more if we continue to hang around and bother her, so go back to your homes and wait, just be patient. i’m sure johnny'll return soon.” he left selena there to help comfort the distracted molly, and loading the rest of the family he had brought with him into the buggy, they returned to their home, where when alone again with matilda, he resumed his query regarding johnny. “why did he go away like that, henry,” mrs. fowler asked, and looked at him curiously. “he must have had a reason. what reason?” mas qubrade “i didn’t say what i thought up there where all could hear it, matilda. but johnny always possessed peculiar- ities. he is one of these many negroes that would like to be white, perhaps he planned to go north somewhere and pass for white, who knows? i wouldn’t put it past him.” “he could do that, of course, but why would he leave like that, his mother to be so unhappy and all that?” “negroes like that develop strange ambitions, nobody knows what kind of an idea they may get.” “do you think he’ll ever come back?” “some day, maybe, but not soon. i’m sure of that, not soon,” and henry fowler shook his head, rose to his feet and went outside. and so it was. johnny northcross had disappeared. as far as those who knew him all his life were concerned, the earth could have just opened and swallowed him. that was how completely he disappeared—and was never seen by those who knew him, except one, in fayetteville again. %aete. &ae we leave north carolina, molly northcross and the fowler family, and move northward, to a small town at the junction of the potomac and shenandoah rivers, near where the states of maryland, virginia and west virginia intersect. it is late in the year of , and a strange event is taking place. abolitionists had been writing, singing and praying for negro freedom for thirty years. the sweet tempered rev- erend samuel j. may had long ago tried to slow down his fellow abolitionist, william lloyd garrison, with saying at one of their meetings, “mr. garrison, you are too ex- cited—you are on fire.” the reply of the veteran agitator, was, “i have need to be on fire, for i have icebergs all around me to melt.” at the yearly meeting of the anti-slave society in framingham grove, near boston, on a fourth of july, garrison had read the fugitive slave act, had then read the court order of a federal judge, handing a fugitive slave back to its owner, and had then lighted matches to both documents, crying as they burned, “and let all the people say amen!” the “amens” were shouted and then garrison raised high above his head a copy of the constitution of the united states, read its clauses that sanctioned slave prop- •y .- / ) masquerade erty, declared it the source of all other atrocities, termed it the original “covenant of death and agreement with hell,” set a lighted match to it and held it up burning as he cried, “so perish all compromises with tyranny, and let all the people say ‘amen’.” henry ward beecher had held mock auctions of slave women in his brooklyn church; “uncle tom's cabin” was selling in editions of hundreds of thousands of copies; of writing, talking and singing there had been much. in hundreds of runaway slave cases in the north, there had been little and big riots and clashes; in kansas, had been civil war and terrorism. now out of kansas came a man who stole horses, ran slaves to freedom and for the sake of retaliation and ter- ror, burned barns, and killed men who dared block his way, without trial or hearing. asked why he had killed young people, he had answered “nits grow to be lice.” he had come to kansas from ohio and new york, a child of may- flower pilgrim fathers. both his grandfathers had fought in the revolutionary war; at his house his children had partaken of prayers and scripture readings morning and night as they were reared in his solemn household. as he mixed with the abolitionists of the eastern states, he told them action was wanted, bold deeds! not a moses giving laws, nor a jeremiah with lamentations, but a samson not afraid to pull down a temple if it brought his own death. a lesson could be taken from joshua whose ram's horn brought down the walls of jericho. “one god and man can overturn the universe,” he said often. he was through with talk. some agreed with him. the thousands of dollars he wanted for rifles, pikes, wagons mas querade and stores were given to him by wealthy and respectable citizens who secretly agreed to call the affair a “speculation in wool.” they spoke and wrote to each other, asking “how is our speculation in wool getting along?” on monday, oct. th, , telegraph dispatches to all parts of the united states carried terror and strange news. at the junction of the shenandoah and potomac rivers, where the states of maryland and virginia touch borders in a rocky little town called “harper's ferry,” the telegraph wires had been cut, a united states government arsenal and rifle factory captured, the gates broken and the watchman made prisoner, and virginia slaveholders taken prisoners and locked up, and their slaves told they were free and should spread the word of freedom to all slaves everywhere. all this happened between sunday night and monday daybreak. it was a monday mystery. what was happen- ing? was a slave revolt starting? would the next news tell of rebellion? slaves repeating the nat turner insurrec- tion? only on a wider scale, with a list of men, women and children butchered in their looted or burned homes? the country breathed easier on tuesday, when captain robert e. lee, commanding marines, rushed a little engine house, where eighteen little men inside had fought till all were dead or wounded except two. in a corner of the engine house they found an old man with a long, flowing beard, who said that his name was john brown. “who sent you here?” they asked. “no man sent me here,” he replied, calmly. “it was my own prompting and that of my maker, or that of the devil, mas querade which ever you please. i acknowledge no man in human form.” “what was your object in coming?” “i came to free the slaves,” he said. his gaze into space made him seem saintly; like a messenger from above. “and you think you were acting righteously?” “yes, my friends, righteously. i think you folks are guilty of a great wrong against god and humanity. i feel it right to interfere with you to free those you hold in bondage. i hold that the golden rule applies to the slaves, too.” “and do you mean to say that you believe in the bible?” “certainly i do.” “don’t you realize that you are a seditionist, a traitor, and that you have taken up arms against the government of the united states?” “i was trying to free the slaves. i have tried moral per- suasion for the purpose, but i don’t think the people in the slave states will ever be convinced that they are wrong.” “you are mad and fanatical.” “and i think you people of the south are mad and even more fanatical. is it sane to keep millions of men and wom- en in slavery? is it sane to think that such a system can last? is it sane to suppress all who would cry out against this system? and to execute all who would interfere with it? is it sane to talk of war rather than give it up?” the state of virginia gave him a fair trial on charges of murder, treason and inciting slaves to rebellion. north- ern friends gave him able lawyers; he was found guilty; a mas querade ory among young men. it is the young who count. for himself, he was fifty-nine years old, but the average age of those who had captured harper's ferry with him, and flamed in a scarlet deed before the world, was twenty years and five months. yes, he would go to his hanging. he would write a last message; before going to the noose he would hand another prisoner a scrap of paper with the writing: “i, john brown am now quite certain that the crimes of this guilty land will never be purged away but with blood. i had, as i now think, vainly flattered myself that without much blood- shed it might be done.” on the day of his doom, the shenandoah valley was swept and garnished by sky and weather beyond the , guardsmen with rifles and bayonets. he could see blue haze and a shiny sun over the blue ridge mountains. “this is a beautiful country,” he said, smiling as he gazed out over the timbered mountains. “i never had the pleas- ure of really seeing it before.” and he may have thought that he missed many shenan- doahs of life, shining valleys that would have lighted him into pronouncing the word beautiful, wistfully, yet he was not a wistful man. he was a man of doom; believing in his right to doom others and the power of god to doom wrongdoers everlastingly. speaking through his bars, he had told one, “all our actions, even all the follies that led to the disaster, were decreed to happen ages before the world was made.” it was all settled for him, so long before and he was only walking as god had ages ago preordained that he should walk. the mas querade sheriff asked, “shall i give you the signal when the trap is to be sprung?” “no, no,” came the even word from the white beard. “just get it over with quickly.” what john brown believed came true; his ghost did walk. the governor of virginia, the jailer who had kept him in the lock-up, talked about the way he died, without a quaver or a flicker, cool, serene; he died as great vir- ginians had died; he was an artist at dying. emerson, thoreau, victor hugo, compared him to christ, to socrates, the great martyrs who had met death bravely, firmly. wendell phillips said, “the lesson of the hour is insurrection.” the abolitionists chanted halle- lujahs. the anti-slavery men had regrets. stephen a. douglas called for a law to punish conspirators, quoting lincoln's house divided speech and seward’s irrepressible conflict speech to which that republican politicians and their “revolutionary doct: ines” had incited john brown. lincoln spoke at troy, kansas, on december , the day john brown was hanged, and made an appeal to southern sympathizers. “old john brown thought slavery was wrong, as we do. he attacked slavery contrary to law and it availed him nothing before the law that he thought him- self right. he has just been hanged for treason against the state of virginia; and we cannot object, though he agreed with us in calling slavery wrong. now if you undertake to destroy the union contrary to law, if you commit treason against the united states, our duty will be to deal with you as john brown has been dealt with. we shall try to do our duty.” the plunge of john brown into the darker valley be- mas querade yond the shenandoah kept echoing. sweet louise alcott referred to him as “saint john the just,” and longfellow whispered to his diary that the hanging of brown marked the “day of a new revolution, quite as much needed as the old one.” brown had been so calmly and so religiously glad to be hanged publicly before all men and nations, that he could not be dismissed lightly from the thoughts of men. even those who agreed with stephen a. douglas, speaking in the senate, that brown was a horse-thief and murderer, were puzzled at the old man writing to his family: “a calm peace too, fills my mind by day and by night,” and to a clergyman, “let them have me; i forgive them, and may god forgive them, for they know not what they do.” the hanging of john brown renewed the nationwide agitation against slavery. the number of anti-slave so- cieties increased in numbers, uhen somebody conceived the idea to draw huge paintings, to be displayed along the high- ways, all over the north. these paintings showed john brown on the gallows, the rope around his neck, his long gray beard flowing all over his breast. his eyes were large and raised to heaven, his hands outstretched, reminding one of some strange and saintly patriarch, making appeal to god. on the same long billboard, was the scene of a beautiful octoroon slave girl, on her knees, hair down over her shoulders, eyes down, bent and crying while a brutal auctioneer stood over her, his mouth wide with the words, “how much am i bid?” below, hands up, pointing at the girl, were a group of slave-traders, some with a string of blood hounds, held in the other hand, all seeming to bid for the helpless girl. beneath these huge paintings that could mas querade be seen from a quarter mile away, were these captions: “this is slavery.” and under brown's picture “he gave his life to end this sin against god and man. will you join with us to drive it from the face of the earth?” the response was terrific. john brown became a martyr, and lives as one to this day. perhaps he will continue as a martyr until the end of time. although slavery got started almost with the first settlement of the country, and had grown and flourished for a hundred years or more without many people paying to it so much attention, it now pos- sessed seemingly, the minds of all the people in the north. “down with it, down with it and — long live john brown!” rang and echoed louder and louder the country over. the more conservative people shuddered with fear as to what it would come to. lincoln’s “house divided against itself, cannot stand,” speech became a byword. everybody seemed to have learned it by heart and seemed never to get tired of saying it, repeating it over and over. also, “the country cannot endure permanently half slave and half free.” and the people believed it, they said it, sang it, preached it, and in this state of excitement, rolled out and , the fatal year in the history of america, came in. %aaten ee it is now the year . we pass over the early months of that year with regrets as the nomination of abraham lincoln for president on the young and new republican ticket, was most interesting; but if all the interesting events in abraham lincoln's life were chron- icled, it would take a whole shelf of volumes, so we pass over the nomination and come directly to the election campaign in the fall of that year. the campaign between lincoln and stephei, a. douglas, nominee for president on the democratic ticket, was more interesting, controversial and exciting than their series of debates in illinois in . douglas was stumping the country; it seemed a losing fight; he went on, tireless; his friends were amazed at the way he wore out, went to bed, rested, got up and came back to the fight again. he told a boston crowd: “when you asked your repre- sentatives why the pacific railroad had not been made, why the mail systems had not been reformed and carried on with vigor, why you have no overland mail route to the pacific and no steam lines, you are told that the slavery question occupied the whole session. all great measures that affect the commercial interests, the shipping interests, the manufacturing interests, the industrial interests of the country, have been lost for want of time. there never will masquerade be time unless you banish forever the slavery question from the halls of congress and remand it to the people of each state and territory.” and he told a new york crowd: “if lincoln should be elected, which god in his mercy forbid (a voice “amen’ and laughter) he must be inaugurated according to the constitution and laws of the country. ... yet if the with- drawal of my name would tend to defeat mr. lincoln, i would this moment withdraw it.” democrats of the southern wing of the party sent jef- ferson davis to dicker with douglas; if all contenders would shake hands and join on one candidate they would sweep the election; douglas said it couldn't be done; too many of his friends would go for lincoln. among business interests in the east, douglas was able to stir a fear of what would happen if lincoln were elected and the country was split with civil war; trade would go to pieces. “i think there will be the most extraordinary efforts ever made to carry new york for douglas,” lincoln wrote to thurlow weed, the new york republican politi- cal boss. “you and all others who write me from your state think the effort cannot succeed and i hope you are right. still, it will require close watching.” replying to a south- erner, he wrote of receiving many assurances from the south, “that in no probable event will there be any for- midable effort to break up the union.” he hoped and be- lieved “the people of the south had too much good sense and good temper to attempt the ruin of their government rather than see it administered as it was administered by the men who made it.” mas querade again and again came letters—just precisely what would he do with slavery if clected? would it not be wise to say plainly that he wouldn’t interfere? one he answered, “those who will not heed or read what i have already publicly said would not read or heed a repetition of it.” he quoted: “if they hear not moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded though one rose from the dead.” replying to a pro-douglas louisville editor, he wrote, “for the good men of the south—and i regard the major- ity of them as such—i have no objection to repeat seventy and seven times. but i have bad men to deal with, both north and south; men who are eager for something new upon which to base new misrepresentations; men who would like to frighten me; or at least fix upon me the char- acter of timidity and cowardice” (he was hinting at james buchanan). what he would write would be seized upon as an “awful coming down.” the letter closed, “i intend keeping my eye on these gentlemen and not to unneces- sarily put any weapon in their hands.” dick yates, who was soon to become governor of illi- nois, and whose son was elected and served a term or two as such, more than forty years later, was telling of a pretty young bride who handed a bridegroom a thousand dollars after their wedding night. and the bridegroom told her, “lizzie i like you very much, but this thousand dollars doesn’t set you back any.” from this yates went on, “if lincoln has all the other qualifications of a statesman, it doesn’t set him back any with us who know and love him, to know that he was once a poor hard working boy. “we know old abe doesn't look very handsome, and masquerade some of the papers say he is positively ugly.” yates was also saying on the stump, “well, if all the ugly men in the united states vote for him, he will surely be elected.” enemy newspapers rolled up his past, claiming that he had said that thomas jefferson was a slave-holder who “brought his own children under the hammer, and made money out of his debaucheries,” particularizing that “a daughter of this vaunted champion of democracy was sold years ago at public auction in louisiana, and pur- chased by a society of gentlemen who wished to testify by her liberation their admiration of the statesman who “dreamt of freedom in a slave-embrace.” this lincoln designated as a base forgery, “which my friends will be entirely safe in denouncing.” the campaign was in its last week. millions of people had by this time read his words of two years ago in the house divided speech. they struck the soft, weird key- note of the hour. “if we could first know where we were, and whither we are drifting, we could better judge what to do and how to do it.” twice, since he had first spoken, the corn had grown from seed to the full stalk and had been harvested. in a book he had carried, it was said, “all rising to power is by a winding stair.” as he went higher it grew colder and lonelier. the last leaves were blowing off the trees, and the final geese honking south. winter would come and go before seed corn went into the ground again. at last came the day of election, nov. , . from nine o'clock on, lincoln sat in the springfield telegraph office. lyman trumbull arrived from alton and sum- masquerade marized reports. “we’ve got 'em, we've got em!” then came a telegram. “hon. a. lincoln: pennsylvania , majority for you. new york safe. glory enough. s. cameron.” out in the streets, and up around the state house, crowds surged, shouting: “new york, , majority for abe lincoln.” lines of men locked arms and sang “ain’t i glad i joined the republicans.” they sang and cried until they were hoarse. the count showed lincoln winning by , , votes, a majority of nearly a half million over douglas. but fif- teen states gave lincoln no electoral votes—and in ten southern states he didn't get a count of one popular vote! mas querade union than out of it if our people are but wise. property suffers in revolutions,” he pointed out. “the institution is based on conservatism.” stephens had noted the dimin- ishing supply of slave labor and wrote his belief that with- out fresh supplies from africa, slavery would be replaced by free competitive wage labor. - among the fire-eaters clamoring for secession were those who made a business of buying, breeding and selling slaves. a planter from georgia had told the national democratic convention, “i have had to pay from $ , to $ , a head for good niggers, when i could go to africa and buy better darkies—all i can bring back for $ a head. i tell you and plead with you, gentlemen of the democratic party, of which i am a life long member, to put in your platform at this convention, a promise to restore the slave trade—and i will subscribe $ , to your campaign fund!” this was too much for democrats, who upheld slavery even, and he was hooted down. a reporter on the new york tribune dug up a strange fact in south carolina. on the tax lists in charleston, for the year , he found the names of “colored people” who paid taxes on slaves which they owned; the class included eleven indian families who had consorted with negroes. secession was the creed of state sovereignty, which douglas had said so much about in the years before. it was now kicking back and proving a boomerang for not even the learned douglas had thought or foreseen that it would give the state the right also to secede from the union as they were now doing, and stand by themselves in a separ- ate existence when it chose to do so. mas querade - john c. calhoun and other figures of austere life and heroic proportions had taught this with a logic that to southerners seemed inexorable and unconquerable. yet the fact must be recorded with this, that davis, stephens and other high counselors of the south, in their letters and speeches at this time, did not advise secession. the leaders were yancey, rhett and others. they cried, “the irre- pressible conflict is about to be visited upon us by the black republican lincoln and his fanatical, diabolical re- publican party.” once secession was accomplished by its radical manipu. lators, southerners, till then conservative and advising against disunion, fell in line as patriots whose first oath of allegiance was to their sovereign state, their country. they quoted decatur: “our country! in her intercourse with foreign nations, may she always be in the right, but our country right or wrong.” and the charleston mercury published dispatches from northern cities under the heading “foreign news.” those who demurred, reasoned and lifted warnings against disunion and secession were many, but their efforts were useless against the onrush of those who took lincoln's election as a signal for a time of change. there were those who looked on lincoln as alexander stephens did in a letter to j. henley smith, a fellow georgian, five months before the election, saying: “what is to become of the country in case of lincoln's election, i do not know. as at present advised, i shall not be for disunion on the grounds of his election. it may be that his election will be attended with events that wil: mas querade change my present opinion, but his bou-election would not be sufficient in my judgment to warrant a disruption —particularly as his election will be the result, if it occurs at all, of the folly and madness of our own people. if they do these things in the “green tree,” what will they not do in the dry? if, without cause, they destroy the present gov- ernment, the best in the world, what hopes have i that they would not bring untold hardships upon the people in their efforts to give us one of their own modeling? let events shape their own course. in point of merit as a man, i have no doubt lincoln is just as good, as safe and sound, as far as the south is concerned, as buchanan, in spite of all the criticism heaped on buchanan by the north, and would administer the government so far as he is individually con- cerned as safely and as honestly and faithfully in every particular. i know the man well. he is not a bad man. he will make as good a president as fillmore did, and perhaps better, in my opinion. he has a great deal of practical com- mon sense. still, of course, his party might do mischief. if so, it will be a great misfortune, that our people brought upon us . . . we have nothing to fear from anything so much as unnecessary changes and revolution in govern- ment ... i shall, of course, vote for douglas.” the “green tree” grew. one by one the six cotton states of the lower south joined south carolina in leaving the union and declaring their right to self-government and self-determination, under the “state-sovereignty idea.” a strange silence met all this. nothing was heard from ste- phen a. douglas for or against it, at this time. he seemed to be standing quietly on the sidelines, looking on, won- dering perhaps, why he hadn't thought that perhaps his mas qt erade preachment hadn't encouraged the secession idea, now that it was here. the southern delegates met at montgomery, alabama on feb. th, , days before abraham lincoln was to be inaugurated. they organized a provisional gov- ernment, called the confederate states of america, elect- ing jefferson davis, of mississippi, president and alexander stephens, of georgia, as vice-president. conventions in north carolina and arkansas, deliberated, and joined the confederacy. in tennessee, the voters balloted , to , in favor of secession, the union strength coming from the mountainous sections, where there were few and hardly any slaves, showing that the whole idea of seceding and breaking up the union was due to disagreement be- tween the north and the south with regard to negro slavery. in virginia, three to one of , votes, were in favor of “the mother of presidents” going into the confeder- acy. the one third against it were from the western part of the state, which disagreed so completely that it “se- ceded” from virginia, stayed in the union, and became west virginia. - in texas, governor sam houston refused to call the legislature and tried to stop secession—but was bowled over. arsenals, supplies, post offices and ships were taken over by the new government. no one was arrested—as john brown had been two years before, tried for treason and hanged, for capturing one single arsenal. fort guns fired on a ship at sea. president buchanan, the vaciliator, nerv- masquerade ous, distracted and intoxicated most of the time, pro- claimed fast day publicly, and moaned privately that he was the “last president of the united states.” “the union is falling to pieces all around me and i don’t know what to do about it” he was quoted as saying. well meaning men of splendid intentions and generous hearts sprang forward with compromises, arrangements, and suggestions; special committees and conferences of duly appointed delegates met, spoke, protested, argued and adjourned. southern congressmen resigned and left wash- ington; there were enough votes one january day to admit “bleeding kansas as a state in the union.” the charleston mercury, in an editorial, derided, “what a union!” while southern radicals were calling lincoln a fanatical, diabolical abolitionist, wendell phillips sneered at him and called him the “slave hound” of illinois. robert toombs read to the new georgia legislature a defense of secession written and published by horace greeley. the advice of greeley was: “let the crying sisters depart in peace.” boston heard phillips declare: “let the south march off, with flags and trumpets, and we will speed the parting guests. let us not stand upon the order of her going, but go at once. give her forts, arsenals and sub-treasuries. give her jewels of silver and gold, and rejoice that she has de- parted. all hail disunion!” frederick douglas, the great negro abolitionist, after a visit to see lincoln, in springfield, was asked what he thought of secession. he replied quietly: “it is not what i think about it,” and turned his eyes in the direction of mas querade lincoln's home which he had just left. “wait until that man back there speaks. it is what he thinks of and about it, that counts.” smiling, a smile the reporters did not un- derstand until lincoln read his inaugural address on the facade of the capitol, one month later, he went on his way. while all this was going on, secession and disunion, let us turn back for a moment, to little fayetteville, rest- ing quietly on the banks of the cape fear river and see how our old friends judge straight, dr. green, and, in the country, the fowlers were taking it. “well,” sighed dr. green, “secession seems about com- plete now with texas overriding its governor and coming in. i think that just about completes the confederacy, and we are no longer a part and parcel of the united states of america.” judge straight smiled, and grunted. “says who?” he said, looking hard at green, who turned to him in some surprise. “says who? what do you mean?” “says i, and i mean that all this seceding, grabbing post offices, arsenals, custom houses and etc., is all very prema- ture.” “it has already been done. the confederate states of america is now a fact, a republic within itself. what do you mean by calling it premature?” “just what i said, and which is just what it is, no more.” “you talk in riddles or parables or—will you explain why it is not now a government in itself?” “wait until abraham lincoln speaks.” “abraham lincoln! he's the cause of the whole thing. if mas querade he hadn't thrust himself into the situation, this—none of this, would have happened.” - “listen to me, dr. green. haven't you studied and weighed this whole thing, thought it out clearly and with- out bias?” “i’ve certainly given it a lot of thought.” “it’s too bad the whole south didn’t do so, before it went to such an extreme, by which i mean, seceding from the union and setting up this so-called ‘confederacy, with- out even waiting to see what lincoln was going to do.” “but every effort was put forth to ascertain his views— what he planned to do and all that, but up to now even, there has been no answer.” “there was none due.” “none due!” dr. green exclaimed in shocked surprise, “now what do you mean?” “that abraham lincoln was duly elected as fifteen other presidents have been before him. he said a lot of things before and during his campaign for the presidency. his speeches, the platform and all that had been published widely, and everybody knew just where he stood, and what he stood for before they voted for and elected him.” “he was known as the greatest abolitionist in the coun- try.” “very true, but he said time and again, that he would, if elected, uphold the constitution. he couldn't himself change that, so why all this breaking up and seceding be- fore the man is even inaugurated?” “it’s because they expect him to do something radical about slavery.” “the whole country has been against the spreading of mas querade it. they haven't permitted a slave state to be admitted in years. slavery has long since been confined to where it is.” “but the south felt sure that if he were elected, he planned to interfere with it. they have seceded in order to beat him to the punch.” “like a group of children, small children. why couldn't they wait until he was inaugurated; wait until they heard and read his inaugural address; it is most certain that he will set forth such plans, if any, with regards to the insti- tution at that time. at least, in all courts it is the rule to hear a least one side of the case, and both sides most times before rendering a decision. if the south had to secede, they could have at least waited until lincoln was inaugurated, heard and read his address to the nation, after which they could have seceded and broke up the union just as well afterwards as before.” “well,” dr. green sighed, “there is plenty of logic in what you say, but they have seceded and set up their own government where the north can no longer bother them about keeping negroes in slavery, so that is that.” “i have the feeling that the trouble hasn’t really started yet.” dr. green looked quickly and intently at him. “if lincoln in his inaugural address, does not recognize the confederacy, and these states right to secede, and says they are still a part and parcel of the union, the same as all the states that haven’t seceded, then what?” “then it is war.” “war sure enough, and a real war.” “the north will then have to conquer the south, and restore the status quo.” “which is exactly what i expect them to do.” . mas querade “you mean,” her father said, “about the war and—all that?” “i mean about, just about everything,” selena replied, hardly knowing just where to start. “well, i read that there is great activity down there, preparing for the—expected war.” “and how!” selena exclaimed, and shook her head as if to emphasize how active it was. “all you see and hear are recruits, drilling, drilling and drilling everywhere, morning, noon and night.” “you don’t mean to say so,” her mother exclaimed, seeming amazed. “who are they preparing to fight?” “the north, mother, the north and the yankees—and how they seem to want to fight.” “well, i declare. getting all ready to fight with the war not started?” “it is in full blast in charleston—and how badly they want to fight. why, they’re just war crazy.” “it’s an outrage,” her father commented, his face seri- ous. “the people of the whole state should be ashamed of themselves. talking about lincoln starting the war, when the man has done nothing but get elected to the presidency —and he didn’t do that, even. the people did it.” “not the southern people, and especially not charles- tonians. i doubt if he got a hundred votes in that town.” “how did they manage to reach such a-radical conclu- sion, anyhow, dear?” her father queried curiously. all eyes now went to selena, who, taking her time, started to tell them how. “in the first place, charleston, seemingly, more than anywhere else in the south, resents, more than any other mas querade southern spot, the north's continued interference with their slavery question. they argue that the negroes who are being held as slaves are not kicking and seem satisfied, so why has the north got to shed so many tears about the situation? “they honestly feel this way about it. why, would you believe that there are more than negro families down there, free negroes, who own slaves, negro slaves?” “oh, no!” her mother exclaimed. “the records show that they paid taxes on almost negro slaves—owned i tell you, by negroes themselves.” “and what kind of people are these negroes?” from her father. “good looking ones, mostly, almost white with a few mixed with indians. they live mostly, these slave owners, in a very fine section of town and to themselves, and are as proud as rich southerners themselves.” “god help us,” mrs. fowler cried, throwing up her hands. “why, they went so far as to try to organize a negro unit to get ready to help the whites there, lick the north.” “hush your mouth!” - “they certainly did. the only thing that seemed to chal- lenge it was that, they all wanted to be officers.” “what do you mean?” “when they reported, it was found that nobody had en- listed to fight exactly. the set up was: forty-three officers and one private.” the whole family laughed uproariously. “what are they saying about lincoln down there?” “just about everything. they say he'll never be inaugu- rated; that there are at least a half dozen spots where he is mas querade to be assassinated on the way to washington, so he will never get to be president at all. “there are other rumors which say he will; and that he will be inaugurated in chicago, under the watchful eye of the army, and will go to washington afterwards, but that he will be killed before he gets to sign a single bill.” “what do they have to say about his silence; just why he hasn’t said what he plans to do, if and when he ever be- comes president?” “they have an answer for that, too—in fact, they seem to have an answer for everything in charleston. one of the big boasts is, that if they try to force lincoln on the country—disregarding the fact that he has been duly elected, and is due to take his seat, that a confederate army will be waiting just outside alexandria, virginia, and will promptly cross the potomac, march into wash- ington and take over the capitol and everything else and install jeff davis as president and alexander stephens as vice-president instead of lincoln and hamlin. “another thing they are whispering is that hamlin has some negro blood and that he will have to be killed at the same time with lincoln, as having a vice-president with negro blood would be a greater disgrace than letting lin- coln take his seat.” all of which brought more laughter from the family, it was so obviously untrue and absurd. “charleston is filled with slave-traders, and it is talked around there that after the south has licked the north and taken the whole country over, the first thing congress will do is to repeal the law that prohibits importing any more negroes as slaves. they say they will repeal all laws that confine slavery to slave states, and pass a new one that masquerade - permits owners to have slaves anywhere and everywhere in the united states; and that slave-traders will be allowed to import all the negroes from africa for new slaves that they can bring. they declare that a movement is on foot to import , from west africa to be shipped to texas, mostly, and, that after the war is over and the south has licked and killed off most of the yankees, the brave young confederates who have been responsible for winning the war, will be given free land in texas and be permitted to purchase up to five or six slaves at a top cost of $ each as a reward for winning the war.” in justification of secession, the south carolina con- vention issued two papers. one, an address to the people of the slave-holding states, reported by r. b. rhett; the other, a declaration of the causes of secession, reported by c. b. memminger. respecting the members or the dele- gates to the convention's point of view, this declaration to us, seems so interesting that we have decided to reproduce in full same herewith, with the exception of two long and early paragraphs, going back to . “the people of the state of south carolina in conven- tion, assembled, on the nd day of april, a.d. , de- clared that the frequent violations of the constitution of the united states by the federal government, and its en- croachments on the reserved rights of the states, fully jus- tifies this state in its withdrawal from the federal union; but in deference to the opinions and wishes of the other slave-holding states, she forbore at that time to exercise this right. since that time, however, these encroachments have continued to increase, and further forbearance ceases to be a virtue. “and now the state of south carolina, having resumed her separate and equal place among nations, deems it due to herself, to the remaining united states of america and the nations of the world that she should declare the immediate causes which have led to this act. mas querade - “the constitution of the united states in its fourth article, provides as follows: “no person held to labor or service in one state under the laws thereof, escaping into another, shall, in conse- quence of any law or regulation therein, be discharged from such service or labor, but shall be delivered up, on claim of party to whom such service or labor may be due.” author's note: one of the most unpleasant sights of that period to northern people, opposed by sen/iment and human sympathy to slavery, was the spectacle of see- ing a helpless negro, who had run away from bondage, being turned over by the local sheriff to slave-hunters from the south, who were invariably wicked and vile of char- acter and speech. the more such recoveries, the greater the objection grew toward it, hence the local state laws nulli- fied the federal fugitive slave act which was passed against the will of most northern legislators, but who ac- quiesced to keep “peace in the family of states.” we return now to south carolina's cause for secession. “this stipulation was so material to the compact, that without it that compact would not have been made. the greater number of the contracting parties held slaves and they had primarily evinced their estimate of the value of such a stipulation by making it a condition in the ordi- nance for the government of the territory ceded by vir- ginia, which obligations and the laws of the general gov- ernment, have ceased to effect the objects of the consti- tution. “the states of maine, new hampshire, vermont, mas- sachusetts, connecticut, pennsylvania, illinois, indiana, michigan, wisconsin and iowa, have enacted laws which mas querade either nullify the acts of congress, or render useless any attempt to execute them. in many of these states the fugi- tives are discharged from the service of labor claimed, and in none of them has the state government complied with the stipulation made in the constitution. the state of new jersey, at an early day, passed a law in conformity with her constitutional obligation; but the current of anti- slavery feeling, running so high, has led her more recently to enact laws which render inoperative the remedies pro- vided by her own laws and by the laws of congress. in the state of new york, even the right of transit for a slave has been denied by her tribunals; and the states of ohio and iowa have refused to surrender to justice fugi- tives charged with murder, and with inciting servile insur- rection in the state of virginia. thus the constitutional compact has been deliberately broken and disregarded by the non-slave-holding states; and the consequence follows that south carolina is released from her obligation. . . . we affirm that these ends for which this government was instituted have been defeated and the government itself has been destructive of them by the action of the non- slaveholding states. those states have assumed the rights of deciding upon the propriety of our domestic institutions; and have denied the right of property (property referred to in all cases was that of human slaves) established in fif- teen of the states and recognized by the constitution. they have denounced as sinful the institution of slavery; and have permitted the open establishment among them of societies, whose avowed object is to disturb the peace of, and eloin the property of the citizens of other states. they have encouraged and assisted thousands of our slaves to mas querade leave their homes; and those who remain, have been incited by emissaries, books and pictures, to servile insurrection. for twenty-five years this agitation has been steadily in- creasing until now it has secured to its aid the power of the common government. observing the forms of the constitution, a sectional party has found within that arti- cle establishing the executive department, the means of subverting the constitution itself. a geographical line has been drawn across the union (they were referring to the mason dixon line) and all of the states north of that line have united in the election of a man to the high office of president of the united states whose opinions and purposes are hostile to slavery. he is to be entrusted with the administration of the common gov- ernment because he has declared that "this government cannot endure permanently half slave and half free,” and that the public mind must rest in the belief that slavery is in the course of ultimate extinction. this sectional combination for the subversion of the constitution has been aided in some of the states, by ele- vating to citizenship, negroes, persons who, by the su- preme law of the land, are incapable of becoming citizens. (please recall the dred scott decision). and their votes have been used to inaugurate a new policy, hostile to the south and destructive of its peace and safety. on the fourth day of march, next, this party will take possession of the government. it has announced that the south shall be excluded from the common territory; that the judicial tribunal shall be made sectional, and that a war must be waged against slavery until it shall cease throughout the united states. mas querade the guarantees of the constitution will then no longer exist; the equal rights of the states will be lost. the slave- holding states will no longer have the power of self-gov- ernment, or self-protection and the federal government will have become their enemy. sectional interest and animosity will deepen the irrita- tion; and all hope of remedy is rendered vain, by the fact that the public opinion at the north has invested a great political error with the sanctions of a more religious belief. we, therefore, the people of south carolina, by our delegates in convention assembled, appealing to the su- preme judge of the world for the rectitude of our inten- tions, has solemnly declared that the union heretofore existing between this state and the other states of north america is dissolved, and that the state of south caro- lina has resumed her position among the nations of the world, as a separate and independent state, with full powers to levy war, conclude peace, contract alliances, establish commerce, and to do all other acts and things which independent states may of right to do. %aaten ?earteen in the many stories on the life of abraham lincoln, the story of a plot in baltimore to assassinate lincoln as he passed through that city on his way to washington, became so persistent that alan pinkerton, the great de- tective of that period and many decades after, was sent with a large staff to investigate. he succeeded in arresting a large number of men, but broke up such a danger if there ever were any real danger, and accordingly, lin- coln reached washington safely and on the th day of march , in the early afternoon, gave the world the finished address which follows below. his speech went to a wide realm of readers, who searched and dug into every line and phase of it. reason and emotion wove through it —and hopes, fears, resolves. it was momentous to lincoln and the country because it told why he would make a war if he saw a war as justified and inevitable. he read the address. “fellow citizens of the united states. in compliance with a custom as old as the government itself, i appear before you to address you briefly, and to take, in your presence, the oath prescribed by the constitution of the united states, to be taken by the president, before he en- ters on the execution of his office. i do not consider it necessary at present to discuss those matters of administra- tion about which there is no special anxiety or excitement. mas querade “apprehension seems to exist among the people of the south that by the accession of a republican administra- tion, their property and their peace and personal security are to be endangered. there has never been any reasonable cause for such apprehension. indeed, the most ample evi- dence to the contrary has all the while existed and been open to their inspection. it is found in nearly all the pub- lished speeches of him who now addresses you. i do but quote from one of these speeches when i declared that ‘i have no purpose directly or indirectly to interfere with the institution of slavery in the states where it exists. i believe i have no lawful right to do so, and i have no inclination to do so.” those who nominated and elected me, did so with full knowledge that i had made this and many sim- ilar declarations, and had never recanted them. and more than this, they placed in the platform for my acceptance, and as a law to themselves, and to me, the clear and em- phatic resolution, which i now read: “resolved, that the maintenance inviolate of the rights of the states and especially the right of each state, to order and control its own domestic institutions according to its own judgment exclusively, is essential to that balance of power of which the perfection and endurance of our poli- tical fabric depend, and we denounce the lawless invasion by assumed forces of the soil of any state or territory, no matter under what pretext, as among the gravest of crimes.” “i now reiterate those sentiments; and in doing so, i only press upon the public attention the most conclusive evidence of which this case is susceptible; that the prop- erty, peace and security of no section are to be in any wise mas querade endangered by the now incoming administration. i add, too, that all the protection, consistent with the constitu- tion, and the laws that can be given, will be cheerfully given to all the states, when lawfully demanded, for what- ever cause—as to one section as to another. “there is much controversy about delivery up of fugi- tives from service or labor. the clause i now read is as plainly written in the constitution as any other of its pro- visions: “no person held to service or labor in one state, under the laws thereof, escaping into another, shall in conse- quence of any law or regulation therein, be discharged from such or labor, but shall be delivered up on claim of the party to whom such service or labor may be done.’ “i take the official oath today, with no mental reserva- tions, and with no purpose to construe the constitution of laws by any hypocritical rules. and while i do not now choose to specify particular acts of congress as proper to be enforced, do suggest that it will be much safer for all, both in official and private stations, to conform to and abide by all those acts which stand unrepealed, than to vio- late any of them, trusting to find impunity in having them held to be unconstitutional. - “it is seventy-two years since the first inauguration of a president under our national constitution. during that period, fifteen different and greatly distinguished citizens have in succession administered the executive branch of the government. they have conducted it through many perils, and generally with great success. yet, with all this scope of precedent, i now enter upon the same task for the brief constitutional term of four years, under great and - * masquerade peculiar difficulty. a disruption of the federal union, heretofore only menaced, is now formidably attempted. “i hold that, in contemplation of universal law and of the constitution, the union of these states is perpetual. perpetuity is implied, if not expressed, in the fundamental laws of all governments. it is safe to assert that no govern- ment proper ever had a provision in its organic law for its own termination. continue to execute all the express pro- visions of our national constitution, and the union will endure forever—it being impossible to destroy it, except by some action not provided for in the instrument itself. “again, if the united states be not a government proper but an association of states in the nature of contract, can it be peacefully unmade by less than all the parties who made it? one party to a contract may violate it—break it, so to speak, but does it not require a vote of all to law- fully rescind it? “descending from the principles, we find the proposi- tion that, in legal contemplation, the union is perpetual, confirmed by the history of the union itself. the union is much older than the constitution. it was formed, in fact, by the articles of association, in . it was matured and continued by the declaration of independence in . it was further matured, and the faith of all the then thir- teen states expressly plighted and engaged, that it should be perpetual, by the articles of confederation in . and, finally, in one of the declared objects for or- daining and establishing the constitution was to ‘form a more perfect union.’ “but if the destruction of the union by one or by a part only of the states be lawfully possible, the union is less mas querade perfect than before the constitution, having lost the vital element of perpetuity. “it follows from these views that no state upon its own mere motion can lawfully get out of the union; that re- solves and ordinances to that effect are legally void; and that acts of violence, within state or states, against the authority of the united states, are insurrectionary or revo- lutionary, according to constitution. : “i therefore consider that, in view of the constitution and the laws, the union is unbroken and to the extent of my authority i shall take care, as the constitution expressly enjoins upon me, that the laws of the union be faithfully executed in all the states. doing this i deem only to be a simple duty on my part; and i shall perform it, so far as practicable, unless my respectful masters, the american people, shall withhold the requisite means, or, in some authoritative manner direct the contrary. i trust this shall not be regarded as a menace, but only as the declared pur- pose of the union that it will constitutionally defend and maintain itself. “in doing this there need be no bloodshed or violence; and there shall be none, unless it be forced upon the na- tional authority. the power confided to me shall be used to hold, occupy and possess the property and places bc- longing to the government, and to collect the duties and imposts; but beyond what may be necessary for these ob- jects, there will be no invasion—no using of force against or among the people anywhere. where hostility to the united states, in any interim locality, shall be so great and universal, as to prevent competent resident citizens from holding the federal offices, there will be no attempt to n. masquerade force obnoxious strangers among the people for that ob- ject. while the strict legal right may exist in the govern- ment to enforce the exercise of these offices, the attempt to do so would be so irritating, and so nearly impracticable withal, that i deem it better to forego, for the time, the uses of such offices. “the mails, unless repelled, will continue to be fur- nished in all parts of the union. so far as possible, the people everywhere shall have the sense of perfect security, which is most favorable to calm thought and reflection. the course here indicated will be followed unless current events and experience shall show a modification or change according to circumstances actually existing, and with a view and a hope of a peaceful solution of the national troubles and the restoration of fraternal sympathies and affection. “that there are persons in one section or another who seek to destroy the union at all events and are glad of any pretext to do it, i will neither affirm nor deny; but if there be such, i need address no word to them. to these, how- ever, who really love the union, may i speak? “before entering upon so grave a matter, as the destruc- tion of our national fabric, with all its achievements, its memories, and its hopes, would it not be wise to ascertain precisely why we do it? will you hazard so desperate a step while there is any possibility that any portion of the ills you fly from have no real existence? will you, while the certain ills you fly to are greater than all the real ones you fly from—will you risk the commission of so fearful a mis- take? “all profess to be content in the union if the constitu- mas querade - tional rights can be maintained. is it true then, that any right, plainly written in the constitution has been de- nied? i think not. happily the human mind is so consti- tuted that no party can reach to the audacity of doing this. think, if you can, of a single instance in a plainly written provision of the constitution that has ever been denied. if by the mere force of numbers, a majority should deprive a minority of any clearly written constitu- tional right, it might, from a moral point of view, justify revolution—certainly would, if such right were a vital one. but such is not our case. all the vital rights of minori- ties and of individuals are so plainly assumed to them by af- firmations and negations, guarantees and prohibitions, in the constitution, that controversies never rise concerning them. but no organic law can ever be framed with a pro- vision especial to every question which may arise or occur in its practical administration. no foresight can anticipate nor any document of reasonable length contain, express provisions for all possible questions. shall fugitives from labor be surrendered by national or state authority? the constitution does not expressly say. may congress prohibit slavery in the territories? the constitution does not ex- pressly say. “from questions of this class spring all our constitu- tional controversies, and we divide upon them into majori- ties and minorities. if the minority will not acquiesce, the majority must, or the government must cease. there is no other alternative, (the south in seceding, was guilty of this and they knew it as well as did lincoln) for continu- ing the government is acquiescence on one side or the other. masquerade “if a minority in such case will secede rather than ac- quiesce, they make a precedent which will in turn divide and ruin them; for a minority of their own will secede from them whenever a majority refuses to be controlled by such minority. for instance, why may not any portion of a new confederacy, a year or two hence, arbitrarily secede again, precisely as portions of the present union now claim to secede from it? all who cherish disunion sentiments are now being educated to the exact temper of doing this. “is there such perfect identity of interests among the states to compose a new union, as to produce harmony only, and prevent renewed secession? supposing that, in a state, one county or two or three, decide to secede from the rest of the counties in that state, where would the state soon be—any state; every state? “plainly the central idea of secession is the essence of anarchy. a majority held in restraint by constitutional checks and limitations, and always changing locality with deliberate charges of popular opposition and sentiments, is the only true sovereignty of a free people. whoever re- jects it does of necessity fly to anarchy or to despotism. unanimity is impossible; the rule of a minority, as a per- manent arrangement is wholly inadmissible; so that re- jecting the majority principle, anarchy or despotism in some form is all that is left. “i do not forget the position assumed by some, that con- stitutional questions are to be decided by the supreme court; nor do i deny that such decisions must be binding, in any case, upon the parties to a suit, as to the object of that suit, while they are also entitled to very high respect and consideration in all parallel cases by all other depart- masquerade ments of the government. and while it is obviously pos- sible that such decisions may be erroneous in any given case, still the evil effect following it, being limited to that particular case, with the chance that it may be over-ruled and never become a precedent for other cases, can better be borne than could the evils of a different practice. at the same time the candid citizen must confess that if the policy of the government upon vital questions affecting the whole people, is to be irrevocably fixed by the supreme court the instant that they are made, in ordinary litigation between parties in personal actions, the people will have ceased to be their own rulers, having to that extent practically resigned their government into the hands of that eminent tribunal. nor is there in this view any assault on the court or the judges. it is a duty from which they may not shrink to decide cases properly brought before them, and it is no fault of theirs, if others seek to turn their decisions to political purposes. “one section of our country believes slavery is right, and ought to be extended, while the other believes it is wrong and ought not to be extended. this is the only substantial dispute. the fugitive slave clause of the constitution and the law for the suppression of foreign slave-trade, are each as well enforced perhaps as any law can ever be in a com- munity where the moral sense of the people imperfectly supports the law itself. the great body of the people abide by the dry legal obligation in both cases and a few break over in each. this, i think cannot be perfectly cured, and it would be worse in both cases after the separation of the sections than before. the foreign slave-trade now imper- fectly suppressed, would be ultimately revived, without re- mas querade striction in one section, while fugitive slaves, now only partially surrendered, would not be surrendered by the other. “physically speaking, we cannot separate. we cannot re- move our respective sections from each other, nor build an impassable wall between them. a husband and wife may be divorced, and go out of the presence and beyond the reach of each other; but the different parts of our country cannot do this. they cannot but remain face to face and intercourse, either amicable or hostile, must con- tinue between them. is it possible then, to make that inter- course more advantageous or more satisfactory after sep- aration than before? can aliens make treaties easier than friends can make laws? can treaties be more faithfully en- forced between aliens than laws can among friends? sup- pose you go to war, you cannot fight always; and when, after much loss on both sides, and no gain on either you cease fighting, the identical questions as to terms of inter- course are again upon you. “this country with its institutions, belongs to the peo- ple who inhabit it. whenever they shall grow weary of the existing government, they can exercise their constitutional right of amending it, or their revolutionary right of dis- membering it or overthrow it. i cannot be ignorant of the fact that many worthy and patriotic citizens are desirous of having the national constitution amended. while i make no recommendations of amendments, i fully recog- nize the rightful authority of the people over the whole subject, to be exercised in either of the modes prescribed in the instrument itself; and i should, under existing circum- stances, favor rather than oppose a fair opportunity being masquerade afforded the people to act upon it. i will venture to add that to me, the convention mode seems preferable in that. it allows amendments to originate with the people them- selves instead of only permitting them to take or reject propositions originated by others which might not be pre- cisely what they would wish to either accept or refuse. i understand that a proposed amendment to the constitu- tion—which amendment, however, i have not seen, has passed congress to the effect that the federal government shall never interfere with the domestic institution of the states, including that of persons held to service. to avoid misconstruction of that what i have said, i depart from my purpose not to speak of particular amendments as far as to say, that holding such a provision to now be implicd as constitutional law, i have no objection to it being made express and irrevocable. “the chief magistrate derives all his authority from the people, and they have conferred none upon him to fix terms for the separation of the states. the people them- selves can do this also if they chose; but the executive as such has nothing to do with it. his duty is to administer the present government, as it comes to his hands, and to trans- mit it, unimpaired by him, to his successor. - “why should there not be a patient confidence in th ultimate justice of the people? is there any better or equal hope in the world? in our present difference is either party without faith of being in the right? if the almighty ruler of nations, with this eternal truth and justice, be on your side of the north, or on yours of the south, that truth and that justice will surely prevail by the judgment of this great tribunal of the american people. masquerade “i am loath to close. we are not enemies, but friends. we must not be enemies. though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affections. the mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battle field, and patriot grave, to every burning heart and hearth- stone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.” eaea, teen abraham lincoln felt strangely relieved when he completed his address. it had been on his mind for weeks. he had suspected, before he was elected, that there would be trouble activity from the south in the event that he was elected. but he hardly expected it to go as far as it had. as he watched the states, from his home in illinois, after he was elected, proceed to withdraw from the union stead- ily, he became fully aware of his position long before the time came for him to go to washington. he all but knew, and hadn’t expected buchanan to do anything to discourage it, although as the southerner's choice, four years before, he felt that buchanan might have held up secession until after he was inaugurated. however, he realized when he failed to, just how weak and cowardly buchanan was; and that if the union was to be reconstituted, as it were, it would be up to him, after be- coming president to restore the status quo. he was compelled to stand where he was for two and one half gruelling hours to shake hands with thousands, most of whom, if not all, wished him well. they studied him, observed his grave face and were grateful as they walked away, that they had shaken hands with a man who would either fail or succeed in the greatest task ever im- posed on a president. they loved and admired his speech and told him so, ma ouerade - over and over again as they passed by and clasped his hand. they admired the logic, the sound reasoning and the time- liness of all he said; but many realized as well as lincoln did, that it would fall on deaf ears in the south, that was bristling and anxious to be at war. the mexican war had been only a skirmish and over with very quickly without much bloodshed or loss of life. lincoln was able to foresee that peculiar and unfortunate mania which make people crave to fight—especially as the south was viewing it, when they thought their rights were being interfered with —the right to maintain and extend slavery as they wished. while the whole south clamored and succeeded in bring- ing secession, charged lincoln and his abolitionists’ ideas as the cause of bringing it about, at heart it knew that it was not lincoln singly at all. they knew that a wave of abolition had been sweeping over the north for years; that uncle tom's cabin had been the first incident to inspire it more rapidly than before; and that the dred scott decision had added fuel to the flames, also that the hanging of john brown, a year before election, added the straw which finally broke the camel's back. the south knew that it was a house divided against it- self, and that somewhere, somehow and sometime, the house would fall. so it chose lincoln's election as the psy- chological moment to tear it down. the south possessed a group who wielded great and al- most undue influence in rushing her into secession pre- maturely. this was the same group which had been shap- ing the policy and destiny of the south, politically, for years untold. these were the slave-traders and large slave- owners. mas querade in all that has been said or shown with regards to the relation between the north and the south, there was not shown any serious difference of opinion on important is- sues. the dissension was confined exclusively and positively to the slave-question and it was the slave-issue that had now torn the two sections asunder. not all the people of the south favored slavery. it was a problem which they found themselves born into. they consoled themselves with the feeling, when it annoyed their consciences too much, to say to themselves that they never created it, they found it. it was an institution that the present generation had inherited, and no leader seemed to come forward with a program or a pattern bold enough and brave enough to change it. meanwhile the slave-traders, breeders and exploiters of slave-labor, found it profitable, seared their consciences, if many ever had any, and planned how to make it more profitable. naturally it was they who found northern sentiment so confounding to their trade. from southern tenn. north, there was growing a larger number of run- away slaves. they talked, the whole north, of an “under- ground railroad,” stretching all the way from cairo al- most to pittsburgh, where slaves found their way—and then were helped across the ohio river by abolitionists. in the limited number of cases when they were able to trace and locate the fugitives, somewhere north of the ohio, they were compelled to go to a federal judge and get a court order to carry the slave back. unless they could succeed in doing this secretly, and if by any chance those who were succoring or concealing the runaway, discovered it, the officer or officers were threatened, and often at- mas querade - tacked and forced to run away themselves to avoid being beaten, not to count being ostracized. often if those hiding the runaway had the chance and the time, they frequently took the runaway to another section—even into canada which granted no extradition. on the whole, the north gave the south no co-operation whatever, in helping to re- turn runaway slaves. behind secession, lincoln knew, there was much of this, and, with secession being urged and clamored for by the slave-traders and heavy slave-owners, was all that, that has been detailed above. once free of northern interference, the slave-trader and slave-breeder felt that he could oper- ate without molestation or interference. these men had planned in the meanwhile, that if and when this finally happened, they would get a bill through in the confederate congress to restore the slave-trade, after which they could put headhunters in africa to work, rounding up thousands of native africans to be brought across the seas and placed in service. after lincoln finally completed the two and a half hours of hand-shaking, he was driven to the white house, seated beside buchanan. he sat there quiet and solemn, his mind occupied with the problems soon to be, and they exchanged few, if any, words. buchanan knew that lin- coln neither liked nor admired him, and had criticized him often and roundly because of what lincoln knew to be true, that buchanan was a political pawn and a coward. so seated side by side as they rode from the capital to the white house; the incoming and the retiring president had little if any interests in common. arriving at their destination, buchanan admitted mr. masquerade “that means broken with no slaves to work for them to make back some of what they are losing, and will continue to lose.” “that's it. they are so proud, and so boastful, that it will be a hard pill to swallow, but swallow it they must. they asked for it.” “do you think, before it is over, that they may call on us colored people, to help out? that will mean colored soldiers.” “i am sure they will have to. it's my belief that it's go- ing to be a long war, and when wars run into years, they call on just about every able bodied man available.” “if that happens, what about—your sons, my brothers?” “they will have to do their duty. i shall wait and while waiting, will prepare.” &aate, sateen as predicted and expected, the south got way out in front during the early months of the war, reporting no end of victories before the north could even seem to get organized for war. this made the people back home in the south very cheerful, buoying their hopes and giving them reasons to believe that the war would be over very soon and that the south would come out victorious, in the end, as was being reported from the front, at the beginning. and, as was also to be expected, many people of the north and quite a few from the south whose sympathies were still with the union regardless of the fact that the states in which they lived had seceded from the union, began to become very much discouraged and there was no end to complaint and criticism, much of which was di- rected at lincoln himself. some of the criticism and com- plaint amounted to downright and unfair abuse. as early as july, , lincoln had already prepared and read an early draft of a proclamation which he had almost decided to issue. he read it to his cabinet on july , , and it agreed to the document, but a few thought it would be taken more seriously—in fact, would have greater effect if it were proclaimed aftër the union armies, growing stronger and more effective daily, yet who had failed to win a major battle thus far, had won a major battle. lincoln acquiesced to this suggestion, and turned - mas querade his eyes back to the battle-fields and shortly after there was fought the great battle of anteitam creek, with all its slaughter of men and horses. this was the major battle the union had been hoping to win, and all the north and their sympathizers in the south, became imbued with a great and new hope. meanwhile, one of the most influential men of that day was horace greeley, editor and publisher of the new york tribune. greeley had been growing restless by the weeks. the fact that he had committed himself unfavorably when secession started, by his words: “let the erring sisters go in peace,” kept him earlier from expressing himself, as he now did, on the progress of the war. though not formally allied with the garrison abolition- ists, he had, through the columns of the new york tribune, persistently denounced slavery. his criticism was framed in an open letter to lincoln, headed by the caption: the prayer of twenty millions in it, he demanded that lincoln definitely commit him- self to emancipating the slaves, as the hardest single blow he could shoot, or that could be shot at southern rebellion. in this attitude, greeley spoke for a large and powerful anti-slavery element in the north. lincoln's reply, justify- ing the war as one for the preservation of the union, is one of the most notable of his pronouncements. greeley's prayer of twenty millions follows: “to abraham lincoln president of the united states dear sir: i do not intrude to tell you—for you must know al- mas querade ready—that a great portion of those who triumphed in your election, and of all who desire the unqualified suppres- sion of the rebellion now desolating our country, are sore- ly disappointed and deeply pained by the policy you seem to be pursuing with regards to the slaves of rebels. i write only to set succinctly and unmistakably before you what we require, what we think we have a right to expect, and of what we complain. i. we require of you, as the first servant of the repub- lic, charged especially and pre-eminently with this duty, that you execute the laws ... ii. we think you are strangely, and disastrously remiss in the discharge of your official and imperative duty with regards to the emancipating provisions of the new con- fiscation act. those provisions were designed to fight slav- ery with liberty. they prescribe that men loyal to the union, and willing to shed their blood in her behalf, shall no longer be held, with the nation's consent, in bondage (he meant the negro slave) to persistent, malignant trait- ors, who for twenty years have been plotting and for six- teen months have been fighting to divide and destroy our country. why these traitors should be treated with tender- ness by you, to the prejudice of the dearest rights of loyal men, we cannot conceive. iii. we think you are unduly influenced by the coun- cils, the representations and menaces of certain politicians hailing from the border slave states. knowing full well that the heartily, the unconditionally loyal portion of the white citizens of those states do not expect nor desire that slavery shall be upheld to the prejudice of the union—for the truth of which we appeal, not only to every republi- masquerade can residing in those states, but to such eminent loyalists as h. winter davis, parson brownlow, the union central committee, of baltimore—and to the nashville union— we ask you to consider that slavery, the inciting cause and sustaining base of treason. the most slave-holding sections of maryland and delaware being this day, though under the union flag, in full sympathy with the rebellion, while the free labor portions of tennessee and texas, though writhing under the bloody heel of treason, are unconquer- ably loyal to the union ... it seems to us the most obvious truth, that whatever strengthens or fortifies slavery in the border states, strengthens also treason, and drives home the wedge intended to divide the union. had you from the beginning, refused to recognize in those states, as here, any other than unconditional loyalty—that which stands for the union—whatever may become of slavery—those states would have been, and would be far more helpful and less troublesome to the defenders of the union, than they have been, or now are. iv. we think that timid counsels in such a crisis cal- culated to prove perilous, and probably disastrous. it is the duty of a government so wantonly, wickedly assailed by rebellion, as ours has been to oppose with force, in a defiant, dauntless spirit. it cannot afford to temporize with trait- ors. it must not bribe them to behave themselves, nor make them fair promises in the hope of disarming their causeless hostility. representing a brave and high spirited people, it can’t afford to forfeit anything better than its own self- respect, or their admiring confidence, for any government, even to dispel the affected apprehensious armed traitors that their cherished privileges, may be assailed by it, is to mas querade invite, insult and encourage hopes of its own downfall. this rush to arms of ohio, indiana, illinois, is the true answer at once to the rebel raids of john morgan and the traitorous sophystries of beriah macgoffin. v. we complain that the union cause has suffered, and is now suffering immensely from mistaken deference to rebel slavery. had you, sir, in your inaugural address, un- mistakenly given notice that, in case the rebellion, already commenced, were persisted in, and your efforts to preserve the union, and enforce laws, should be resisted by armed force, you would recognize no lawful person as rightfully held in slavery, by a traitor. we believe the rebellion would therein have received a staggering, if not fatal blow! at the moment, according to the returns of the most recent elections, the unionists were a large majority of the voters of the slave states. but they were composed in good part, of the able, the feeble, the wealthy, the timid—the young, the reckless, the aspiring and the adventurous, had already been largely lured by the gamblers and negro-traders, the politicians by trade and the conspirators, by the unjust, into the toils of treason. had you by then proclaimed that rebellion would strike the shackles from the slaves of every traitor, the wealthy and the cautious would have been sup- plied with a powerful inducement to remain loyal. vi. we complain that the confiscation act which you approved is habitually disregarded by your generals and that no word of rebuke for them from you has yet reached the public's ear. freemont's proclamation and hunters: order, favoring emancipation were promptly annulled by you; while halleck's number three, forbidding fugitives - masquerade from slavery to rebels to come within his lines—an order as unmilitary, as inhuman, and which received the hearty approbation of every traitor in america—with scores of like tendency—have never provoked even your remon- strance . . . and finally we complain that you, mr. pres- ident, elected as a republican, knowing well what an abomination slavery is, and how emphatically it is the cause and essence of this atrocious rebellion, seem never to inter- fere with these atrocities, and never a direction to your military subordinates which does not seem to have con- ceived the interests of slavery rather as against that of freedom. vii. on the face of this wide earth, mr. president, there is not one disinterested, determined, intelligent cham- pion of the union cause who does not feel that all the at- tempts to put down the rebellion, and at the same time hold up its exciting cause are preposterous and futile— that the rebellion if crushed out tomorrow, would be re- newed within a year if slavery was left in full vigor— that army officers who remain to this day devoted to slav- ery can at best be but half-way loyal to the union—and that every hour of deference to slavery is an hour of added and deepened peril to the union. i appeal to the testimony of your ambassadors in europe. it is freely at your service, not at mine. ask them to tell you candidly whether the seeming subserviency of your policy to slave-holding, and slave upholding is not the perplexity, the despair of states- men of all parties, and be admonished by the general answer. viii. i close as i began with the statement that what an immense majority of the loyal millions of your country- mas querade men require is a frank, declared, unqualified, ungrudging execution of the laws of the land, more especially, of the confiscation act. that act gives freedom to the slaves, coming within our lines, or those who may live at anytime near—we ask you to render it due obedience by publicly requiring all your subordinates to recognize and obey it. the rebels are everywhere using the late anti-negro riots in the north, as they have long used your officers treatment of negroes in the south, to convince the slaves that they have nothing to hope for from a union success—that we mean in that case to sell them into a bitter bondage to de- fray the costs of the war. let them impress this as a truth on the great mass of their ignorant and credulous bondmen —and the union will never be restored—never! we can- not conquer ten millions of people united in solid phalanx against us, powerfully aided by northern sympathizers and european allies. we must have scouts, guides, spies, cooks, teamsters, diggers and choppers from the blacks of the south, whether we allow them to fight for us or not, or we shall be baffled and repelled. as one of the millions who would gladly have avoided this struggle at any sacri- fice but that of principle and honor, but who feels now that the triumph of the union is indispensable, not only to the existence of our country, but to the well-being of mankind, i entreat you to render a hearty and unequivocal obedience to the law of the land. yours, horace greeley” president lincoln saw fit to make reply to the letter from an old friend, and so, in a few days, mr. greeley mas querade found the following on his desk at the office of the new york tribune in new york: executive mansion washington, d. c. august , dear sir: i have just read yours of the nineteenth, addressed to myself through the new york tribune. if there be in it any statements or assumptions which i may know to be erroneous, i do not here and now controvert them. if there be in it any inferences which i may believe to be falsely drawn, i do not here and now argue against them. if there be perceptible in it an impatient and dictatorial tone, i waive it in deference to an old friend, whose heart i have always supposed to be right. as to the policy i seem to be pursuing, as you say, i have not meant to leave anyone in doubt. i would save the union. i would save it the shortest way under the constitution. the sooner the national authority can be restored, the nearer the union will be “the union as it was.” if there be those who would not save the union unless they could at the same time save slavery, i do not agree with them. if there be those who would not save the union unless they could at the same time destroy slav- ery, i do not agree with them. my paramount object in this struggle is to save the union, and is not either to save or destroy slavery. if i could save the union without free- ing any slave, i would do it. and if i could do it by freeing all the slaves, i would do it; and if i could do it by freeing some and leaving others alone, i would also do that. what masquerade i do about slavery and the colored race, i do because i be- lieve it will help to save this union; and what i forbear, i forbear because i do not believe it would help to save the union. - i shall do less whenever i shall believe what i am doing hurts the cause, and i shall do more whenever i shall be- lieve doing more will help the cause. i shall try to correct errors when shown to be errors; and i shall adopt new views so fast as they shall appear to be true views. i have here stated my purpose, according to my views of official duty, and i intend no modification of my oft-expressed personal wish that all men, everywhere could be free. yours, a. lincoln since abraham lincoln and his cabinet had been think- ing and planning some radical and drastic move to shake the south from end to end, and, in that way seek to bring her back to her senses, which she seemed to have lost al- together, as they saw it, or weaken her in every possible way they could, and in that way make ultimate defeat so obvious that they would give up sooner than might other- wise be the case, horace greeley's carefully and thought- fully as well as thoroughly conceived letter, urging emanci- pation, had much to do with what very shortly transpired. lincoln had long since come to realize that freeing the slaves was an inevitable step in ending a quarrel that had been going on for thirty years. north and south had quar- reled and fought in congress over the slavery issue until there was little more to fight about. he knew that if the south was willing to look at it fairly and squarely, there masquerade was but one thing left to do—end slavery in one way or by another. but because the south claimed such a heavy investment in human flesh, and since the institution had grown into a giant before many of the present generation had been born; endless men, almost, calling themselves ministers of the gospel, had spent years explaining that god almighty in- tended the negro to be a hewer of wood and a drawer of water; the white man's slave, and while few actually made themselves believe it, they acted and pretended so so com- pletely until many had succeeded in fooling themselves. most of all, they resented the north interfering in what they felt was their constitutional right, and the fugitive slave act upheld this assumption, and the north, to get along with southern legislators perhaps more than for any other reason, had acquiesced, and was a party to that law and other compromises which continued slavery. dislike to it in the north had long since become an obsession, so it was fight, fight, quarrel, quarrel—and fight eternally, over negro slavery. %aeter seventeen - slavery in america, lincoln knew, and every other sober minded american knew, was older than the union itself —much older; almost as old, in fact, as white settlement itself. to attempt to change it by the mere stroke of a pen, in spite of what all the north was clamoring for, took courage, thinking, planning, consideration. yet, admit- edly, something serious had to be done. by now, consid- ered a disease—the very worst a free country could have saddled into its constitution, lincoln finally concluded to take the move that made history, and is perhaps known to more people up to this day than any other document ever conceived. accordingly, therefore, on the nd day of september, , he issued, effective january , , the: e m a n c ip a ti o n p r o c l a m a t i o n by the president of the united states of america a proclamation whereas, on the nd day of september, a.d. , a proclamation was issued by the president of the united states, containing among other things, the following to wit: “that on the st day of january, a.d. , all persons held as slaves, within any state or designated part of a state , mas querade the people whereof shall be in rebellion against the united states, shall be then, thenceforward and forever free; and the executive government of the united states, including the military and naval authority thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of such persons and will do no act or acts to repress such persons, or any of them, in any efforts they may make for their actual freedom. “that the executive will on the first day of january aforesaid, by proclamation designate the states, if any in which the people thereof, respectively shall then be in re- bellion against the united states; and the fact that any state or the people thereof, shall be in good faith, repre- sented in the congress of the united states by members chosen thereto at elections wherein a majority of the quali- fied voters of such states shall have participated, shall, in the absence of strong countervailing testimony, be deemed conclusive evidence that such state and the people thereof are not then in rebellion against the united states. “now, therefore, i, abraham lincoln, president of the united states, by virtue of the power in me vested as commander-in-chief of the army and navy of the united states in time of actual armed rebellion against the authority and government of the united states, and as fit and necessary war measures for suppressing said rebellion, do, on the first day of january, a. d. , and in accord- ance with my purpose so to do, publicly proclaim for the full period of one hundred days from the first day of above mentioned, order and designate as the states and parts of - states wherein the people thereof, respectively are this day in rebellion against the united states the following, to wit: “arkansas, texas, louisiana (except—he named par- masquerade - ishes, one of which included new orleans) mississippi, alabama, florida, georgia, south carolina, north caro- lina and virginia (except the forty-eight counties desig- nated as w. virginia), and also as berkeley, accomac, northampton, elizabeth city, york, princes anne, and norfolk, including the cities of norfolk and portsmouth and which excepted parts are for the present left precisely as if this proclamation were not issued. “and by virtue of the power and for the purpose afore- said, i do order and declare that all persons held as slaves within said designated states and parts of states are, and henceforward shall be, free; and that the executive gov- ernment of the united states, including the military and the naval authority thereof will recognize and maintain freedom of said persons. “and i hereby enjoin upon the people so declared to be free to abstain from all violence, unless in necessary self- defense; and i recommend to them that in all cases when allowed, they labor faithfully for reasonable wages. “and i further declare and make known that such per- sons of suitable condition will be received into the armed services of the united states to garrison forts, positions, stations, and other places, and to man vessels of all sorts in said service. - “and upon this act, sincerely believed to be an act of justice, warranted by the constitution upon military necessity, i invoke the conservative judgment of mankind and the gracious favor of almighty god.” opposition to the emancipation proclamation naturally the document met with a storm of criticism, mas querade derision, defiance and all the angry words the south could think and hurl at it, but what was most surprising how- ever, was the opposition it aroused in the north. the criticism, of course, was mainly from the democrats, northern democrats. it was left to the legislature of illi- nois, lincoln's own home state, which had gone demo- cratic, and was known to be the stronghold of copper- headism and a bigoted organization known as the knights of the golden circle, to advance the most capricious criticism. they even met and passed the following reso- lution: “resolved: that the emancipation proclamation of the president of the united states is as unwarrantable in mili- tary as in civil law; a gigantic usurpation at once con- verting the war, professedly commenced by the adminis- tration for the vindication of the authority of the consti- tution into the crusade for the sudden, unconditional and violent liberation of millions of negro slaves; a result which would not only be a total subversion of the federal union, but a revolution in the social organization of the southern states, the immediate and remote, the present and far-reaching, consequences of which to both races can- not be contemplated without the most dismal foreboding of horror and dismay. the proclamation invites servile insurrection—a means of warfare, the inhumanity of diabolism of which are without example in civilized war- fare, and which we denounce, and which the civilized world, will denounce as an uneffaceable disgrace to the american people.” the strange case of johnny northcross is not exactly a story of the civil war; the early events, however, run- ning concurrently with important events that led up to the war, and its outbreak, must have brought the reader to feel that it is in most part, a war story. it was the author's intention at the outset, however, to make the war, leading to the issuance of the emancipation proclamation, a part of the story. that having passed, we now return to the case of johnny northcross, the happen- ings at fayetteville, the setting of our story, and to the people and circumstances surrounding it. before doing so, however, let us pass briefly over the events which followed the emancipation proclamation, such as the greatest battle of the war, and sherman's march to the sea, during which was fought the battle of atlanta and the burning of that city, all for the purpose of splitting the south wide open. the northern armies were now converging in northern virginia, planning the ultimate invasion of and capture of richmond, the southern capital, which had been moved from montgomery, alabama. lee's army, we find now in the valley of virginia, heading northward mysteriously, forcing hooker's army to hold where they were to block whatever was lee's purpose. that purpose was to keen hooker's large army from concentrating toward rich- mond, and with lee heading northward through the val- . mas quer ade ley of virginia, presumably for harrisburg, the capital of pennsylvania, caused lincoln to retire hooker, placing general george e. meade in charge, who swung the armies about forthwith to block and intercept lee's bold attempt to spread the war by driving on harrisburg. accordingly, the two great armies made contact and came together at a little town southeast of harrisburg, called gettysburg, where on the morning of july st, , began and was fought, the greatest battle of all times, the battle of gettysburg. all day and late into the night of july st; with reinforcements arriving to assist each army hourly, the mighty battle raged on. all through july nd, it raged, into the night of the second, into the third day of july, during which longstreet's great assault was launched and finally repulsed. it was lee's hope to have caught meade short of men and cavalry; and to have crushed his armies before they could reach full strength. this done, lee planned to sweep for the atlantic coast, reaching there somewhere between wilmington, delaware and baltimore, swing south, cap- ture baltimore—and then the most important prize of all, the city of washington itself. it was a daring and bold vision which depended on crushing meade's army, thereby clearing the way. robert e. lee was too smart a general to leave a union army be- hind to catch him in the middle, between harrisburg and the east coast. by nightfall of the third day of july, with the battlefield by this time an inferno of flying shells, the dead and the dying, lee saw that meade's army had reached full strength and would be able to hold out—yes, more; that it would ultimately crush his own armies. when the - mas querade sun rose, therefore, over the hills of the bloody battlefield the morning of july th, the union scouts brought back the cheering news. - lee was retreating! and this retreat continued, into the battle of the wild- erness, where he faced the great general grant for months; through the remainder of , into back, back, lee continued and was forced to fall until in april of that year; the two generals met at appomatox court- house and lee surrendered to grant, and the war was soon over; the south had been subdued; the slaves freed, and the country faced a new problem—to make the negro a citizen all over the united states, and reconstruction with which we will not attempt to deal, but pass over every- thing and return to fayetteville—and the house behind the cedars. it is now the year of , just twelve years since johnny northcross disappeared so mysteriously and had never been seen or heard of in fayetteville since. where did he go? was he still living or had he died? this brings back into our story the fowler family, via a younger son whose name was frank, a playmate and school mate of rowena northcross, who was only a child when her brother disappeared so mysteriously. rowena by now, had grown to young and beautiful womanhood, and was the belle of negro fayetteville—and frank fowler's suitor, although not declared, everybody seemed to understand that frank liked rena and rena liked frank and that some day this fine young couple would be wed. everybody but mis’ molly, rena's mother, mas querade who had other plans, which we will explain more fully when we get to them. frank was too young to follow his brothers, five of whom had been sent by their father north to join the union army and had fought there. when the war was over all the boys returned home but one, the middle one, whose name was lawrence, and who had fallen at the fort pil- low massacre. henry fowler brought the news, a telegram from the president himself, and frank, who was then only old enough to understand a great sorrow, never forgot it. they were dining. his father and two or three of the children had gone to fayetteville and returned while the balance of the family were dining. he looked up as his father entered the room and knew there was something wrong. he stopped eating and waited, which wasn’t long, for as his father reached his mother's side at the foot of the table, he burst into tears, the first time frank had ever seen his father cry, as he laid the telegram by his mother's plate and sobbed: “lawrence is dead.” his mother, who had been expecting something to happen, threw up her arms and burst into tears. selena and the other girls gathered around her, crying too, but sought to calm and pacify their mother. it was the first death in the family of fourteen and all took it grievously. all were sad for weeks and months; but that was in . now we are relating events of . most of the older children had married and moved away to their own homes where many had children, but frank near the last of the twelve children, lived at home with his parents. his father had taught all his boys industry. he had bought more land mas querade dried the dishes and put them away. molly was seated in her rocking chair, sewing at something and rena sat at the dining room table, figuring out an estimate that frank had left with her for a set of buildings which he wanted back the next day. they heard dogs in the neighborhood barking, which meant that somebody was near or ap- proaching, and looked up, askance. then they heard foot- steps on their front porch. there was a pause while molly and rena looked at each other, then turned their eyes toward the front door, where, by this time the footsteps were directed and a moment later, there was a knock at the door. again molly exchanged glances with rena, then nodding, said: “i’ll answer.” rising to her feet she crossed into the hall where she was out of the sight of rena, who waited and listened. - without opening the front door, but looking out as if through it, mis’ molly called and rena, hearing her, lis- tened intently. “who’s there?” “a gentleman,” came back the answer, then a pause. “does mis’ molly northcross live here?” “yes,” was the guarded answer. “i’m mis' molly north- cross. what do you want?” “i have a message to you from your son, johnny.” "oh!” molly exclaimed, in shocked tones. rena, in the dining room, heard her and rose quickly and excitedly to her feet. a key turned, the door was opened, and, swing- ing it wide, molly looked up and into the face of a smiling stranger. - “you’ve got a message from my son, you say?” she asked mas querade with great anticipation. “is he sick—or in—trouble?” she was so excited that she forgot to invite the smiling and pleasant stranger inside for the moment. “no. he's well and doing well, and sends his love to you, and hopes you’ve not forgotten him.” “forgot him? no, god knows i ain't forgot him! but come in, sir, come in and tell me more about my son.” the stranger entered and molly closed the door behind him and after she had closed the door, she chanced to turn and face the man, who at the same time was in the act of turning in the lighted hall to face her. “when did you last see my son?” she inquired of him now, nervously anxious. “i have never met your son,” he replied, with a peculiar twinkle of the eyes which she did not understand. her face fell. “then the message comes through you from somebody else?” “no,” he replied, calmly. “directly from your son.” she scanned his face with a puzzled look. this bearded young gentleman who spoke so politely and was dressed so well, surely—no, it could not be! and yet— he was smiling at her now through a mist of tears. an electric spark of sympathy flashed between them. “john!” she suddenly cried, raising her arms. “john, my john! it is johnny, my son!” “mother—my dear old mother!” he cried. the next moment his arms went out, and into his embrace went molly northcross, his old and happy mother. &aate. &aeteen we now return to —the day johnny northcross visited and had the prolonged conversation with judge straight at the latter's office in fayetteville just twelve years before. it will be recalled that judge straight rented a horse and buggy at the livery stable that night and drove into the country, presumably to see some one. whom did judge straight drive into the country to see? he drove out to the northcross plantation to see richard northcross; and concerning northcross' illegitimate son, johnny. he found northcross idle, lounging in the library, read- ing his papers. “well, judge straight,” he cried, as the judge was ushered into his presence. “i’m glad to see you; a sort of glad surprise for i was not expecting my old friend.” after being offered a seat, the judge requested him to close the library door as his visit was of confidential nature, and he wished to be alone with northcross. by the serious frown upon the judge’s face, northcross had construed that the visit concerned something serious, so seated to face the judge, northcross went directly to the point. “what's up, judge? by the serious frown you are wear- ing, and the fact that you've driven this far into the coun- mas querade try to see me, i am sure it must be something rather seri- ous, so let's come directly to it.” as northcross talked, the judge's eyes stared into space before him, thoughtfully. he now turned to northcross. “are we—quite alone?” “quite alone, judge, so you may proceed.” “i wouldn’t wish mrs. northcross to overhear what i am here to talk about. it would not be best, in fact, if that be possible, for mrs. northcross to know anything about why i am here to see you.” “i can relieve your mind on that point, judge. mrs. northcross is in raleigh for a short visit.” relief was evident promptly on the judge's face, and, relaxing, he turned to northcross, got to his feet and stood over him, and went on: “it might prove somewhat embarrassing to you at the outset, northcross, but however you accept it, i feel it my duty to appraise you of a serious fact.” “all right, judge, all right,” northcross exclaimed, ris- ing now to face the judge. “go ahead with whatever it is, by now i have grown about used to anything that might pop up in my life, about the only thing i haven’t experi- enced thus far is death. i haven’t died yet, so go ahead with what you came to see me about, and have no anxiety about how i will accept it.” “thank you, richard,” the judge now said, “for taking it so philosophically.” he looked back at the chair he had just risen from. “well, let’s be seated and i will begin.” both took seats again, and, with northcross' eyes on him, judge straight began. - mas querade “i’m here to see you about your son, richard. molly's boy.” northcross started, almost violently, his jaw dropped, his eyes opened wide and he glared at judge straight cau- tiously and sharply. “my—what?” - judge straight shook his head, patiently. “i was afraid i would surprise you, northcross, perhaps shock you.” northcross arose, trod the floor back, forth, then sat down again, his eyes for the moment, on the floor. judge straight, who had remained seated, just waited, patiently. finally richard northcross raised his eyes to the judge, and the judge went on: “shall i explain—how it happened?” nodding his head up and down, northcross said: “yes, do judge straight. please do.” he swallowed then, deeply and judge straight went on. “he came to the office today. i have seen and know him, as most people have and do in fayetteville; but i don’t recall ever having exchanged any words with him. but from his strange visit, and all he said, it was evident that he had planned to call on me for a long time. well, today he called.” “yes?” from northcross, a bit anxiously. “yes. today he came to see me, and spoke these words forthwith: 'sir, i want to be a lawyer.’” “a lawyer?” northcross exclaimed, surprised. “you’re surprised—almost shocked. well,” the judge went on amiably, “so was i. i was inclined to dismiss it as of no consequence, but he wouldn't let me.” “wouldn’t let you?” masquerade “no,” the judge replied, shaking his head negatively. “but—” - - “you’d better hear me through first, richard. i think you'll understand better.” the judge paused and adjusted his position, then went on : “as i was saying, i was inclined to dismiss the query, but not him. he apparently had been thinking it out for a long time, and was determined, now that he was before me, to see through what was on his mind.” “strange—but interesting. please go on, judge straight.” “i reminded him that he was a negro, of course, and that he was aware of the fact. “i am white,’ he replied, stoutly. “i am white and i am free,’ he took care to re- mind me. still not inclined yet to take him seriously, i sought nevertheless to discourage him so i replied, as con- vincingly as i knew how: ‘you are black and you are not free.” he stuck out his arm, rolled up his sleeve and said: “there are plenty of white people darker than i am. i want to be a lawyer!” i reminded him of the dred scott deci- sion, which he had read and he tore it all to pieces, quoted from abraham lincoln, and kept on insisting that he wanted to be a lawyer. “frankly, northcross, the boy's persistence annoyed me at first, but as we talked on and i became convinced more and more that he was sincere, had thought out all he was there to see me about, carefully, i tried to show that if he really was as anxious as he insisted to be somebody, some trade or industrial pursuit would be far easier to acquire. he was interested in nothing else but of becoming a law- mas querade yer and stuck to it. i got up, walked over by the window and tried to think of some way to get rid of him. as i stood there, i turned once to look at him and our eyes met. and there was where he got me. there was an expression in that boy's eyes as he looked straight at me that i shall never forget until the longest day i live. “i asked him if he had considered how difficult it would be for him to become a lawyer. his answer was a sugges- tion which i could see he had thought out carefully. he said, ‘i have considered that i might pass for white.’” judge straight was silent for a moment as if to let richard northcross think, too. northcross was thinking, too; he had been thinking all the while judge straight talked. “well, there it was,” judge straight said and shrugged his shoulders. “what he suggested was so full of logic that i was taken aback. he could easily pass for a white boy anywhere he isn’t known, which put me to thinking. as you know, northcross, there is no chance for him to be- come much of anything as a negro–even a free negro; but as a white man the boy might manage to become some- thing, especially when he seems possessed with so much natural intelligence—so much resolute determination. “well, i was cornered; he had touched my human sym- pathies. all his life is before him. as stated, as a negro, he could never become much of anything; but as a white man —well, who knows what heights he might reach in fifteen or twenty years? “i didn’t want to argue any more but i had to tell him something. so i told him to come back tomorrow. mean- while, i had decided when i told him to come back to come out here and see you and talk it over with you tonight.” mas querade “what am i to do about it?” northcross wanted to know, speaking for the first time. his question seemed to judge straight rather blunt, and angered him slightly. he replied, and his reply was as blunt as northcross' sugges- tion. - “what are you to do about it, northcross? the boy is your son, isn’t he, though born out of wedlock. you won’t deny that—to me?” “no, archibald,” richard northcross replied rising to his feet. “but you know as well as i do that—matters of that kind, we try to—” “—keep hushed as much as possible. it is not exactly any concern of mine and i have never said anything to you about your—past depredations, nor do i come here now as a condemner.” - “i know, judge, i know you have not. the whole thing is embarrassing when you come to think of it, to con- sider it, and it is unfortunate that so many of we—slave- holders allowed ourselves to be so—careless. it is true, my relations with the boy's mother is as old almost as slavery itself. our fathers before us did it—the beautiful and pas- sionate slave-girls were so tempting; we found having in- tercourse with them so easy, so convenient. young, pas- sionate, many of us found them far more satisfying to the loins than intercourse with our own wives. i found molly so. even to this day i would rather go see her than offer my wife sexuality. but all of this is beside the point. the mis- take is history, johnny northcross is my son, the same as those by the woman i married. it’s all because of this con- founded thing called slavery.” he seemed to think of something and while he had been striding back and forth, - mas querade he suddenly sat down, leaned toward the judge and stared hard at him. “what do you think about all this agitation going the rounds about the institution, judge?” before the judge had time, however, to frame an opinion, northcross went on : “what do you think of abraham lincoln and his aboli- tion preachments? i think he's going to bring about a big confusion in regard to it before it's all over. well, archi- bald, i hope he will, or something else will happen to bring the confounded practice to an end. it is the only way it will ever end—via some crisis, a war maybe; a war be- tween the north that is against it, and the south that wishes it upheld. “do you know, straight,” he went on rising quickly to his feet, “that i am against slavery—and always have been?” judge straight looked up at him, and richard north- cross met his stare squarely, without a flinch. “yes, archibald, i, a slave-owner and holder, with my father before me one, and his father before him a slave- holder—yet i am, and always have been unalterably op- posed to the institution and between you and me, i have long prepared for the day when mine would be freed by me, or by a war that will end the dirty practice all over these united states—end it for good!” “are you sure you know what you are talking about, richard?” - “just as sure as your visit to me tonight. i am sure that within four years i shall no longer be a slave-holder; so sure that i will not, that for the last ten years i have sent mas querade thousands of dollars north to new york and boston, so that if i am ostracised for taking action according to my conviction, i won’t have to live as a poor man.” “this is a revelation!” “among the many things i have for years disliked about it, is these indigent, lying and hypocritical preachers who are subsidized by slave-breeders and traders, and stand in our pulpits and spend hours pretending to convince us or trying to, that it was ordained by the almighty that the black man should be a slave—and point to ancient facts, twisted to fit their lies, to prove it. it is all so terribly wrong and mistaken. the truth is that the south has been rocked into a slumber, superinduced by downright lazi- ness into believing these lies. the fact is, they’re too god- damned lazy to do anything about it. “i’ve been following this man lincoln—and the plan he has suggested to end it, since a majority of the american people are so set against it. that plan is a compensated emancipation by which he would have the federal govern- ment float a huge bond issue and purchase all the slaves and set them free.” - “i’ve read his offer, which he repeats as often as pru- dent,” observed judge straight; “but the public doesn’t seem in the mood to consider it seriously.” “the south is too lazy to think about it on one hand, and then, the confounded slave-traders and breeders are the ones who are most cold to any plan to end slavery, be- cause it is their way of making money. they know no other way, and they control the south politically so the rest of us are just helpless in their hands.” “that may be true, northcross,” judge straight ob- mas querade served judiciously, “but how can you account for the north's lack of enthusiasm? with a tide of abolitionism sweeping the whole country up there, it would seem that they should show more interest in the plan. how do you account for this lack?” “i’ve studied that, too, and here is why they are cold to it. they don’t like the idea of paying for human be- ings. in fact, from what i’ve been able to find out, the idea of paying for a human being, even though the purpose is to set that person free is revolting to most. they insist on freedom without compensation—and, as you know, there is where they disagree. the south has had slav- ery so long and there is so much propaganda going on among us that it is right and just, and that the north leave us alone to handle the slavery question as we feel best, that there seems little possibility of emancipation on any kind of terms short of war—and war is destructive and expen- sive, but through a civil war with the north subduing the south is the only way i can see it ending.” “i’m afraid you’re right, northcross, afraid you are right and war is such an unhappy and terrible thing to an- ticipate.” “especially when you feel convinced as i do, that it could be compromised and avoided—but i’ve talked clear away from the subject.” they were both standing and had been unconsciously walking the floor. “well, let's get back to molly and the boy, my boy, yes, my son, and as strange as it may seem, i love the lad just as much as i do my legitimate children.” this caused the judge to perk, and he replied. mas querade - “i’m indeed glad to hear you say that, and i hope you understand my position in the matter.” - “i understand it fully, judge straight, purely an act of sympathy and a high regard for humanity. just what more of we men who have begat children by our slave women need to possess. well, i could have done worse. i freed molly before the boy was born. at least the boy has never been a slave, so getting back to what you have called to see me about—but sit down, judge straight,” he broke off abruptly to say, pointing to a chair. “sit down.” judge straight obeyed, and northcross then took a chair, made himself comfortable and turned to the judge, his face serious. “so the boy wants to be a lawyer, eh? i’m glad to hear that he desires to. high ambition. i like that.” “i’m glad to hear you say that, too, richard. he not wants merely to become a lawyer. he's determined to be- come one.” - “good,” northcross exclaimed, and seemed highly pleased. “how do you feel about it, archibald?” “well, i think he should have assistance in his ambition. that is why i took it upon myself to call out here and talk with you about it.” “i’m agreeable, but how can we go about accomplishing such an end?” “by sending him away—far enough away to leave no connection with his past, his mother, his sister; away some- where to study law, passing for white as he does so.” “i see. our white people won’t like such an idea, you know, if they found out about it. they are dead set against bright negroes passing for whites.” mas querade “i understand fully, northcross; understand so fully that i wouldn't be a party to it except under these circum- stances—all because the boy is so determined to be a law- yer, and you know that would be impossible, almost, if he continued as a negro.” “of course. weil, we're in a crack, you because of my sins of iniquity,” and northcross smiled wryly. judge straight smiled the same way. “well, judge, had you for- mulated any plans?” “i have, which follow. i know a law firm in charleston, well enough to send the boy to with a letter, and not well enough for them to inquire too deeply, i hope, about the boy's parentage. i plan to write them that he is an orphan but sprang from good stock.” judge straight looked at northcross, and northcross found himself raising eyes that met those of judge straight. both lowered their eyes but both understood in that exchange of expression just what each had thought; and what judge straight had implied. “the boy will have to change his name, and i have de- cided to suggest walden, johnny walden.” northcross looked up, nodded agreeably. judge straight went on. “i now suggest that the boy's father advance a limited sum of money for the education of the boy.” “a practical idea, straight. very practical. i, of course, am to provide these funds?” . “you, of course, richard.” “agreeable, archibald, go ahead.” “all this is contingent on the boy being willing to fore- go his past completely. as i mentioned, he must forego his mother, his sister—he must forget fayetteville and all the life and people around here whom he has known. when mas querade - - we send him away to charleston to become this lawyer he seems so determined to be, he is to go as john walden whom nobody here has ever known. get the idea, rich- ard?” “fully, though that will be hard on molly. she loves the kid so.” “i’m aware of it, but in taking this step to help the boy, we are diverting from our whole course of life and that of our friends. he must be willing to make a sacrifice for so great an opportunity.” “i fancy that he will be.” “that is what i think.” during the next few minutes they agreed on the sum to be turned over to judge straight to be sent to his friends in charleston to defray all the boy's expenses. judge straight agreed to call on molly and get her consent after he had laid the plans down to the boy, who needless to say was agreeable to every term and condition. so, as we see, it was arranged thusly and johnny north- cross quietly disappeared. his mother was not told whence he was going; just advised by judge straight to say that johnny had gone—just gone. as we already know, molly obeyed. and now, as we also know, twelve years later johnny came back. %aaten ament, “i didn't think,” molly sobbed, “that i’d ever see you again.” he smoothed her hair and kissed her. “and are you glad to see me, mother?” - “am i glad to see you? it’s like the dead comin’ to life. i thought i'd lost you forever. johnny, my son, my darling boy!” she answered, hugging him tightly. “it seems,” he said, his voice coming as if from far away, “that i couldn’t continue to live without seeing you, so all of a sudden, dear mother, i decided to come back—and here i am,” and he drew her close again, and again he kissed her. “you’ve grown so tall,” she said now holding him at arm's length and looking him up and down. “a fine gentle- man! and you are a gentleman now, johnny, ain't you? sure enough? nobody knows the old story. i stuck to what i promised; i just said 'you wuz gone', but how it hurt me, son. i cried for years, son, cried for years about you, i missed you so.” “i understand, mother, i understand, and how i hated to hurt you. but it seemed at the time that it just had to be. slavery was everywhere; the dred scott decision tried to convince the world that a negro was nothing, could never be anything—and i wanted so to be somebody, mother. i always wanted to be somebody.” mas querade . “and now, praise be to the lord, you are somebody, ain't you johnny? i’m sure you are, for you look like some- body, maybe a fine and outstanding gentleman?” “well, mother,” he said, thoughtfully, as if weighing his words. “i’ve taken a man's chance; and have tried to make the most of it; and i haven’t felt under any obligation to spoil it by raking up old stories that are best forgotten.” he paused now to sweep his eyes around the hall and, in doing so, they fell and then rested on the old books which were there when he left. he pointed to them. “there are the dear old books. have they been read since i went away?” “no, honey,” she replied, shaking her head, “there has been nobody to read them 'cep'n rena, and she doesn’t take to those kind of books as you did. but i’ve kep’’em dusted clean, and kep' the moths and the bugs out of 'em, for i hoped you’d come back someday, and knowed you’d lak to fin' 'em all in their places lak you lef’’em.” “that’s mighty nice of you, mother. you could have done no more if you had loved them for themselves. but where is rena,”—he paused now to look around. “she must be grown up by now, a fine and beautiful child, i’ll bet.” “i’ve been so glad to see you that i’d forgot about her,” his mother replied a bit embarrassingly. turning toward the dining room now, she called: “rena, oh, rena!” the girl was not far away. she had been standing where her mother left her listening intently to every word of the conversation, and kept from coming in by a certain con- straint that made a brother whom she had not met for so many years seem almost as much a stranger as if he had not been connected to her by any tie. - mas querade “yes, mama,” she answered, coming forward. “rena, child,” molly began. “here's your brother, johnny, who's been away for so long. but he's come back to us at last, so tell him howdy.” as she came forward johnny turned to meet her, and opening his arms, drew hºr to him, looked into her eyes fondly while she blushed furiously and kissed her affec- tionately. as had been stated she was a tall girl, but he towered above her in quite a protecting fashion; and she thought with a thrill how fine it would be if she could walk up the street with such a brother by her side! she could hold up her head before all the world, oblivious to any glance of pity or contempt. she felt a very pro- nounced respect for this tall gentleman who held her blushing face between his hands and looked steadily into her eyes as if with a well defined purpose. “you’re the little sister i used to read stories to and whom i promised to come and see some day. do you re- member how you cried when i went away?” “it seems but yesterday,” she murmured. “i’ve still got the dime you gave me.” he kissed her again, then turning they walked into the dining room and took a seat together on the old couch which was there when he left. he reached up, took his mother's hand and drew her down on the other side of him, then placed an arm around the waist of each. after kissing each again on the cheek with a loud smack he turned and looked into rena's eyes fondly and said: “you’re a very pretty girl, rena,” and smiled, a smile in keeping with his feelings at the moment. “now, johnny,” molly interposed at this point, with a mas querade . tender frown. “you’ll spile her if you ain't keerful.” “no, he won’t, mama,” rena asserted, stoutly, “he’s flattering me, i know. he talks as if i was some rich lady who lives on the hill,”—(the hill was the aristocratic portion of fayetteville)—“instead of a poor—” “—young girl who has “the hill’ to climb,” johnny replied smoothing her hair with his hand. her hair was long, silken, glossy and smooth, with a wave like the rip- ple of a summer breeze upon the surface of still water. it was the girl's great pride, and had been sedulously cared for. “what lovely hair. it has the proper wave to add to your beauty, sister.” - - “oh, brother, you must not flatter me so,” she pro- tested, half seriously. “if you keep on, i can’t promise that i won’t get spoiled—and i’m sure you don't like spoiled people.” “no, i don’t like spoiled people, darling; but i’m not afraid of spoiling you. our mother, i can see, has reared you well.” he smiled at molly who was made very hap- py by him doing so. then turning his eyes back to rena, he went on a bit reminiscently: “i think my little albert favors his aunt rena some- what.” “your little albert,” both women cried simultaneously, turning suddenly to him and in anxious surprise. “then— you have—a—child?” “oh, yes,” he replied calmly, “a very fine baby boy.” they began then to purr in proud contentment at this information and made minute inquiries about the boy and its mother. they inquired more coldly about the child's mas querade mother of whom they spoke with greater warmth when they learned that she was dead. they hung breathlessly on his words as he related briefly the story of his life since he left years ago the house behind the cedars—how with a stout heart and an abounding hope and self-confidence he had gone out into a seemingly hostile world and made fortune stand and deliver. his story had for the women the charm of an escape from captivity, with all the thrill of a pirate's tale. with the whole world before him he had remained in the south, the land of his fathers, where, he conceived, he had an inalienable birthright. by some good chance he had escaped military service in the confederate army, and, in default of older and more experienced men, had undertaken during the rebellion the management of a large estate which had been left in the hands of women and slaves. he had filled the place so ac- ceptably, and employed his leisure to such advantage, that at the close of the war he found himself—he was modest enough to think, too, in default of a better man—the hus- band of the orphan daughter of the man who had owned the plantation, and who had lost his life upon the battle- field. - johnny's wife was of good family, and in a more settled condition of society, it would not have been easy for a young man of no visible antecedents to win her hand. in due time, after he had been graduated from the law school in charleston, he had taken the oath of allegiance and had been admitted to the south carolina bar. rich in his wife's right, he had been able to practice his profession upon a high plane without the worry of sordid cares, and with marked success for one of his age. mas querade “i suppose,” he concluded, “that i have gotten along at the bar for lack of better men. many of the good law- yers were killed in the war which almost ruined south carolina, because i suppose, they seemed to have taken it more seriously than the rest of the south. many of those who were not killed in battle, were disqualified; while i had the advantage of being alive and of never having been in arms against the government. people had to have law- yers and they gave me their business in preference to the carpet-baggers. fortune, you know, favors the available man.” his mother drank in with parted lips and glistening eyes the story of his adventures and the record of his successes. as rena listened, the narrow walls that hemmed her in seemed to draw closer and closer, as though they must crush her. her brother watched her keenly. he had been talking not only to inforin the women, but with a deeper purpose, conceived since entering the house and deepened as he had followed during his narrative the changing ex- pression of rena's face and noted her intense interest in his story, her pride in his success, and the occasional wistful look that indexed her self-pity so completely. “and i’spose you’re happy, johnny?” his mother ad- vanced when he stopped talking. “well, mother, happiness is a relative term and depends, i imagine, upon how nearly we think we get what we think we want. i have had my chance and haven't thrown it away, and i suppose that i ought to be happy. but then, i have lost my wife whom i loved very dearly and who loved me just as much, and i'm troubled about my child.” - mas querade “why?” they demanded. “is there anything the matter with him?” “no, not exactly. he's well enough, as babies go, and has a fairly good nurse. but the nurse is ignorant, and is not always careful. a child needs some woman of its own blood to love it and look after it intelligently.” mis' molly's eyes were filled with tearful yearning. she would have given all the world to have warmed her son's child upon her bosom; but she knew this could not be. up to this time mis’ molly had not thought of the chasm between her son and her. now it came back with such a shock that she found herself actually trembling at the thought of it. johnny walden had not been talking about the success of the boy who had gone away just twelve years ago. he had been relating the success of another lad—a white boy. the son who sat between her and his sister was not a colored boy. he was fully and unattainably white. all he had talked about was the success of a white boy. and there lay the chasm; the deep river that could never be bridged. johnny walden had risen and was succeeding in south carolina as a white boy, and it was there that the uncrossable line began. there was no reason under ordi- nary circumstances why she could not go to charleston and take care of johnny's little boy. rena was old enough and responsible enough to look after their home. then the boy could have what he needed, a flesh and blood care. but since her son was living as a white man in charleston, was presumed to be a white man by all his friends and clients, taking her back with him would never do. oh, of course it would be understocq that she was just a good old mam- my looking after the child. but she knew and she under- mas querade stood that he would know, that sooner or later, somewhere and sometime, somebody would begin to suspect the truth. in due time the truth would become a reality—and soon john's castle would fall! no, john could never take her back with him to south carolina—but he could take rena. yes, because people had been saying ever since she was born, and were still saying it. “oh, rena, you look just like a white girl.” “did your wife leave any kin?” she asked johnny, cautiously, carefully, but with some effort. “no near kin, mother. she was an only child.” “you’ll be gettin' married again, maybe?” “no,” he replied. “i think not.” / he was still looking at rena, his purpose becoming more obvious, the longer he looked. - “if i had some relation of my own that i could take into the house with me,” he said reflectively, “the child might be healthier and happier, and i should be much more at ease about him.” the mother looked from son to daughter with a dawn- ing apprehension and a sudden pallor. when she saw the yearning in her son's eyes, she threw herself at his feet and cried out loudly: “oh, john! don’t take her away from me! johnny, darlin’ don’t take her away from me for it will surely break my heart to lose her.” rena dropped to her knees and placed arms about her mother's neck and cried words into molly's ears: “there, there, mother. never mind. i won’t leave you, dear, mama dear. your rena’ll stay with you always and never leave you.” mas querade johnny smoothed his mother's hair with a comforting touch, patted her cheeks, soothingly, lifted her tenderly to her place by his side, and put his arm about her. “you love your children, mother?” - “they’re all i’ve got,” she sobbed, “and they cos’ me all i had. when rena's gone, i’ll want to go too, for i'll never see her again, and i can’t bear to think of it. how would you like to lose your one child?” “well, well, mother. we’ll say no more about it. so let's change the subject and you tell me about yourself, and about the neighbors, and how you got through the war, and whose dead and whose married—and everything!” the change of subject restored in some degree his moth- er's equanimity, and with returning calmness caused a sense of other responsibilities. “good gracious, rena!” mis’ molly cried, all of a sud- den, just recalling. “johnny's been in the house an hour, an' ain’t had nothin' tu eat yet! hurry to the kitchen and fix him a good dinner.” no sooner spoken than rena was up and gone. turning to her son, “would you like—a piece of rabbit, john? frank fowler brought us two fresh- killed ones this morning when he left the work on his way by to have rena figure out.” “rabbit! why, mother, by all means! i was reared on rabbit and have never lost my fondness for it. by all means fix some for me.” “rena, oh, rena?” from the kitchen, “yes, mother?” “fix your brother some of the rabbit frank brought us this morning; also some of that sweet potato pie we had for supper.” mas querade when johnny heard the name of fowler called, his mind, of course, went back to the large family who lived three miles away down the road when he went away. he remembered frank as being about nine years old when he left. now his mother was speaking of frank, and the work he left for rena to figure out when he was by that morn- ing. what kind of work? from the way she spoke, frank, whom he realized must have grown up and was now a man, must have some interest in common with the family. per- haps with rena. he would say nothing about it right now, but he would soon; very soon. now that he and his mother were alone for a few mo- ments while rena was preparing the meal, he decided to re- turn to the subject that was uppermost in his mind. “of course, mother,” he said, calmly. “i wouldn’t think of taking rena away against her or your wishes. a moth- er's claim upon her child is a high and holy one. of course she will have no chance here, where our story is known. the war has wrought great changes, has put the bottom rail on top, so to speak, for awhile at least; but it hasn't wiped that out. nothing but death can remove that stain, if it doesn’t follow us even beyond the grave. here she must forever be a negro–a nobody! think of a pretty girl like her, living until death the life of a nobody. “with me, she might have a chance to get on in the world; be a somebody. with her beauty and intelligence, she might make a good marriage. i did well, with nobody to push me forward so that i could meet, as i later in some way managed to do, the best people. think of the advan- tage that she would have right off from scratch. if i mis- take not, she has intelligence as well as beauty?” mas querade “yes,” molly sighed, sadly. “she's got good sense, plenty of good sense. she has been thinking of taking up school teaching. the yankees have been starting them every- where, fo' po’ white people and niggers, too, so she was sayin' 'tuther day, that she could teach and take care of frank's work, too.” “now this frank, you keep talking about, and his work. is that the little frank fowler who used to play with her, and, they seemed rather—at so early an age, fond of each other?” “yes, johnny, that's frank.” “m-m. i see,” johnny said, a bit musingly. “frank fow- ler, eh?” “yes. he's a fine big man now and so industrious.” “industrious? how?” “he’s a carpenter and builder.” “in the footsteps of his father. i hope he is as industri- ous. his father is a fine man—even if he is a negro.” mis' molly looked at him quickly. johnny did not meet her gaze. “you spoke about rena doing some work for him. what kind of work?” “she keeps his books, works out his estimates for new construction. oh, they are very fond of each other—get along fine together.” “what do you mean, get along fine together, mother?” “well, just that, i guess. they seem to agree on and about everything.” “you wouldn't infer, that they are possibly—liking each other?” “they might be. that's what everybody is saying.” mas querade “please come to the point, mother. the people are say- ing—what?” “that they guess they'll be marrying each other by and by.” “mother!” he exclaimed, and when mis’ molly looked up, she found his eyes flashing fire. “why, johnny! what's the matter?” “the matter, mother! what do you suppose i think is the matter? my sister, perhaps to marry a-black man!” “oh, johnny, of course i understand you now. i’m sorry.” - “sorry? why have you let it develop? i was just saying how, if you let her go back with me, she might meet and marry a gentleman, by that, i meant, of course, a white man.” “yes, johnny, i know what you mean and i said i was sorry. but rena and frank have been friends since they were babies; just seemed to take to each other from the start and they just grew up that way. i didn't want to see her get to like a dark man, but what could i do? frank, even if he is dark, is such a manly fellow—just about everything a young man should be or could be. so what could i do? i’ve said nothing for it or against it. it just grew up and there it is.” “well, that decides everything.” “decides everything?” “rena must go back with me to charleston when i re- turn, regardless.” “oh, johnny, my son, please don’t say that.” “it is said, mother. but we must say no more now. we will undertake to get rena off to bed as early as possible - mas querade tonight, then you and i must have a talk, a long and seri- ous talk—about rena. that is all—now.” by the clink of dishes, both knew that the meal rena was preparing was about ready, and no sooner had they thought about it than her cheerful voice called them. they turned and arm in arm marched into the dining room. &aaten aeet, due “now, mother, listen to me closely and very carefully. i will be patient with you, for i know and understand that what i am going to talk about seems so far-fetched, strange and unusual in procedure that i hesitate to start talking.” “you are my son, johnny. you have succeeded beyond my fondest dreams. i admire and appreciate whatever you plan to say, and i will try to understand you, son.” “very well, mother. it is about rena, my sister, your daughter. beautiful, intelligent, sweet and her whole grown-up life before her.” mis' molly nodded her head understandingly. “as it stands at this moment, there are two courses that she might follow, two lanes, as it is, leading into long years to come. which shall she choose, that is for you and i to decide, i hope, tonight, dear. “you tell me that she is very fond of frank fowler, her colored play and school mate. if she stays in fayetteville, in all probability, she will marry him, and, since both are ap- parently healthy and normal, their marriage would bring about a new generation in a few years; a generation of ne- groes. - “if she should return with me to charleston, with her beauty, her intelligence and charm, she will meet a new set of people, a superior group of people, god's chosen - masquerade people, white people. she could soon make a place for her- self, an enduring place. the fact is, the place has already been made, just waiting for her to come forward and step into it.” “if she followed you over there, johnny, she could never come back to me. i know what that means and you know what it means. if rena steps over there, crosses that line, there is no returning. she will be gone from me forever— and i love her so, my las’ one!” “yes, that is an unhappy—even a selfish outlook; but consider it the other way. she can stay near you and marry frank fowler, a black man, have a house full of brown children to join that long and hopeless brown pro- cession with their heads bowed, marching away, away and away under that dark shroud, unknown and unknowing, but marching onward and away to—god knows where! nobody can save them, for they have long since been con- demned to remain hewers of wood and drawers of water. nobody can change this outlook for negroes—god him- self cannot change it!” he paused and drew closer: “you see, mother. i am on the inside. as a white man i talk to them, and, thinking i am like themselves, white, they talk to me. we talk long and often among ourselves— about negroes. it is always about negroes. they talked about them before the war for years and years and years. then when there was nothing left for them to talk any longer about, they went to war—with each other. the world knows the result! the north triumphed—for a while—and now they are trying to make of the negro what it took hundreds of years for the white man to be- come. they think it will work—but the south knows m a sover ade otherwise. it will not work and it is not going to work for they are not going to let it work! “this is what they talk about between themselves all the time. how and what to do about the negro to topple him from that weak little pinnacle he seems to have at- tained with the help of carpet-baggers and scalawags. he talks about it and soon he will have plans ready to shove the negro back, they say, where he belongs. i’ve lived as a white man long enough to learn much about them; south- ern white people. they nurse their prejudice and hatred— especially toward the negro. they’re setting traps for them, and, sooner or later, watch what happens. he'll be forced out of politics as quickly as he has been put into it. he has just been put there. he doesn’t know what it is all about, so, not knowing, he does not know how to de- fend himself. they will trick him. in time to come, i won’t predict how long that will be coming, but he won’t be able to vote at all. the north is not going to keep sol- diers down here with loaded guns and drawn bayonets to protect his so-called rights forever. as soon as they get a sympathetic president, they'll get close to him; they know how to get what they want, and they’ll show him that keeping these white men down south, away from their homes and their families is a mistake, and then gradually the troops of occupation will be withdrawn. as quickly as this has been accomplished, watch these white people get busy! “they'll drive the negro out of politics and the high places so fast and so completely until he won't be able to understand how it was done. i mean it, mother, even if they have to start a long period of lynching. they are al- mas querade ready talking about an order whose members will dress all in white and carry fiery torches, who will ride through the night to frighten and drive negroes out of these places of power that they have been lifted into. “now, beautiful rena, is that what you want to happen to her? when she can just as easily return with me to charleston, and with a little training etc, she can step out as a fine lady, marry a rich and fine gentleman in due time —and be free all her life. not only her, but her children, her children's children, into the future, a hundred years hence, to be remembered and talked about. “i know it will seem hard at the outset; but in ten, fif- teen or twenty years at the most, mother, you will die and then our last tie with the negro race will be severed, soon thereafter, forgotten.” the tortured mother could endure no more. the one thing she desired above all others was her daughter's hap- piness. her own life had not been governed by the highest standards, but about her love for her beautiful daughter there was no taint of selfishness. the life her son had described had been to her always the ideal but unattainable life. circumstances, many beyond her control, and others for which she was in a measure responsible, had put it for- ever and inconceivably beyond her reach. it had been conquered by her son. it now beckoned to her daughter. the comparison of this free and noble life with the sordid existence of those around her broke down the last barrier of opposition. “o lord,” she moaned. “what shall i do without her? it'll be lonely without her, johnny, so lonely.” “you’ll have your home, mother—the house behind the : mas querade cedars,” walden said, tenderly, accepting the implied sur- render. “you’ll have your friends and relatives, and the knowledge that your children are happy. i’ll let you hear from us often, and will try to let you see rena now and then. but you must let her go, mother. it would be a sin against her to refuse.” “she may go,” the mother replied brokenly. “i’ll not stand in her way. i’ve got sins enough to answer for al- ready.” walden watched her pityingly. he had stirred her feel- ings to unwonted depths, and his sympathy went out to her. if she had sinned, she had been more sinned against, than sinning, and it was not his part to judge her. he had yielded to a sentimental weakness in deciding upon this trip to fayetteville. a matter of business had brought him within a day's journey of the town, and an overmastering impulse had impelled him to seek the moth- er who had given him birth and the old town where he had spent the earlier years of his life, although he had de- clared on leaving it so mysteriously, that he would never return—and meant it. they talked and made plans until late into the night, then both retired. john was happy when he sank into the deep feather bed that he had slept on before he left home, and it was late the following morning when he awakened. his mother and sister had risen at their usual time, and rena was just finishing the estimate frank had left with her when her mother came to the table and sat down to face her. rena folded the estimate and put same into a catalogue envelope she kept at the house for the purpose, then turned to face her mother, a question in her eyes. mas querade “rena, how’d you lak to go and pay your brother, johnny, a visit? i guess i might spare you for a little while.” the girl's eyes lighted up. she would not have gone if her mother had wished her to stay, but she had always regarded this as the lost opportunity of her life. “are you sure you don't care, mama?” she asked, hoping and yet doubting. “oh, i’ll manage to get along somehow or other. you can go and stay until you git homesick, and then johnny'll let you come back home.” mis' molly said this with her eyes downcast, for she had a feeling that if rena went, she would be like johnny, never come back, except under cover of night. she must lose her daughter as well as her son, and this should be the penance for her sin. that her children must expiate as well the sins of their fathers, who had sinned so lightly, after the manner of men, neither she nor they could foresee, since they could not read the future. the next boat by which walden could take his sister away left early in the evening of the next day. he left them and went to a hotel, with the understanding that the next day would be devoted to getting rena ready to return with him to charleston. &aate, ament, ao ---- john ny walden, recalling that it was judge straight who had really given him his big chance in life, felt that it would show the proper gratitude if he called on the old judge while in fayetteville and expressed his thanks in person. so, after standing at the front window inside of his mother's home and watching the road carefully to see that no one would see him, when he left, he ventured out and a half hour later called at judge straight's office. the judge was not in but the door stood open and walden en- tered to await his return. there had been few changes in the office. the dust was a little thicker, the papers in the pigeon hole of the walnut desk were a little yellower, the cobwebs in the corner a little more aggressive. the flies droned as drowsily and the murmur of the brook below was just as audible. walden stood at the rear window and looked out over a familiar view. directly across the creek on the low ground beyond, might be seen the dilapidated stone foundation of the house where once had lived flora macdonald, the jacobite refugee, the most romantic character of north carolina history. old judge straight had had a tree cut away from the creek side opposite his window, so that this historic ruin might be visible from his office; for the judge could trace the ties of blood that con- - mas querade nected him collaterally with this famous personage. his pamphlet on flora macdonald, printed for private circu- lation, was highly prized by those of his friends who were fortunate enough to obtain a copy. to the left of the win- dow a placid mill-pond spread its wide expanse, and to the right of the creek, disappeared under a canopy of over- hanging trees. a footstep sounded in the doorway, and walden turn- ing, faced the old judge. time had left greater marks upon the lawyer than upon his office. his hair was whiter; his stoop more pronounced; when he spoke to walden, his voice had some of the thrillness of old age; and in his hand, upon which the veins stood out prominently, a decided tremor was perceptible. “good morning, judge straight,” the young man said, removing his hat with the grateful southern deference of the young for the old. “good morning, sir,” the judge replied with equal courtesy. - “you don’t remember me, i imagine,” walden sug- gested, with a little smile upon his face. “your face seems familiar,” the judge returned cau- tiously, looking at him closely, “but i cannot for the mo- ment recall your name. i shall be glad to have you refresh my memory.” “i was johnny northcross, sir, when you knew me.” the judge's face still gave no immediate light of recog- nition. “you sent me away to school....” “ah, now i remember you full well!” the judge ex- claimed of a sudden, extending his hand with great cor- mas querade . diality, and inspecting walden more closely through his spectacles. “you went away a few years before the war.” “yes, sir, to south carolina.” “so you did, so you did. well, i’m glad to see you again after so many, many years. i would have never known you, and i doubt if anybody else in this town will remember you. meanwhile,” and the judge paused to point to a chair. “sit down and tell me something about what has happened while you’ve been away.” walden told him his story in outline, much as he had given it to his mother and sister, and the judge seemed very much interested. “and you married into a good family?” “and have a child.” “a—boy?” walden nodded affirmatively, and smiled with pride. “and you are visiting your mother?” “not exactly. i have seen her, but i am stopping at a hotel.” “h-m! are you staying long?” “i leave tomorrow.” “it's well enough. i wouldn't stay too long. the people of a small town are inquisitive about strangers and some of them have long memories. i remember your case well, which was strange and unusual and i was rather appre- hensive regarding it. that you have been able to surmount the obstacles, became a lawyer as you so much desired to be, and have succeeded, is much for you to be thankºul for and i am very much relieved. but custom is stronger than law, and in your case, custom is law. it will be worth your while here to be careful. don't meet and talk with mas querade - - her mother frowned. she'd rather not see her go away that way; but soon she would be gone and never come back. that is what kept popping into her mind regarding her going back with johnny. she'd never come back; he'd never come back; she might not ever see either again, and to hold back tears and not just break down completely, taxed all her strength. she had thought about it all the night through. passing for white, she knew, was danger- ous; it was risky and uncertain. the more she stayed away from their past; away from people she had been reared with and knew, the better the chance. anyway it went, it was risky and dangerous, and she would be thinking about this for months to come, maybe years. “well, you may go with frank; but don’t stay long and don’t talk much. get back as quickly as you can and we'll put in the time getting you ready to leave on the next boat which leaves tomorrow night.” “if you’ll drive me down to where you're going to erect these buildings, frank, i'll like that.” - “of course, rena. i’ll be glad to,” frank replied, and was thrilled to have her ask him. “but i can’t stay long, frank. we’ll have to get back very shortly.” she said these words for her mother's bene- fit; loud enough for molly to hear her from the kitchen. and then she was relieved. she was anxious to get away with frank. her brother's return had been such a surprise, and a thrill, that it had swept her off her feet—and made her at the time, forget frank and their plans for the future. but after they pushed her off to bed, she lay there for hours, thinking about it mas querade. and by the time morning arrived, she was in a deep quan- dary, profoundly disturbed over the outlook. she realized after her brother had won her mother over to his plans for her, she would have to go back to south carolina with him. he was now a rich man with a wide range, back there, of influence and friends. and while she was quite content with her life in fayetteville, looking forward a year or two ahead as she was, to the time she would marry frank and go live with him, all of which in one single night had been changed. it left her upset and greatly excited. it meant her whole future life would be changed. she was happy and proud over the thought of her brother's success; of his ability to pass for white and get away with it; but she had never an- ticipated or craved such a thing. she was a colored girl, and had never considered that she might go away and pass for something that she was not. she could appreciate what a thrill this might be to some vain creature; to swell them up and set them to hating negroes, for that was the way it always turned out. if they passed for white, they always hated and shunned negroes thereafter—and she had never craved any such thing. she had therefore been waiting anxiously for frank to come by, and had planned to have him take her for a drive —not a drive for pleasure exactly, but a visit to their little glade in the forest, where they often went to talk and pass a happy hour with each other. as they drove away, she looked back over her shoulder as if to see if they were being followed, which she knew, of course, was not true. but she was on the anxious seat and frank noticed it. she wanted to talk to frank, the one mas querade into town to see old judge straight today. he's stopping at the fountain hotel and will return to our house tonight again.” "what mystery here? johnny northcross, back.” “his name is no longer johnny northcross, frank. he is now john walden, and has been ever since he left.” frank gazed hard at her and in amazement. “he is also no longer a negro. ever since he left here, he has been passing for white. in charleston where he lives, he married a wealthy white man's daughter. the girl's father was killed in battle, the girl, who married him, is dead. but he has a little boy. he lives in a mansion in charleston, and—oh, frank, he wants me to go back to south carolina with him.” rena broke into tears now and did not see frank's eyes and mouth open wide. she covered her eyes with her ker- chief and wept woe-begone for fully a minute before she could calm herself. “so he wants to take you back with him, rena?” “yes, frank, to look after his little boy and meet his friends.” “which means that you will have to pass for white also . . .” “that is what i hate about it; i hate everything about it.” “but you will have to do as your brother and mother wish, rena. has your mother consented?” “she had to. she didn’t want to, but my brother is a great lawyer, convincing and persuasive. he practically forced mother to consent.” mas querade “well,” said frank with a deep sigh. “that is that, rena.” - “but i don't want to go, frank. don't you understand? i don't want to go. i don't want to pass for white. i don't exactly like white people and never did. i don’t want to go stealing over there like a thief in the night; fright- ened and scared. i don't want to be white, even if i can pass without any trouble.” “but if your mother has consented, and your brother is expecting you to return with him, it really doesn’t matter just what you think or how you feel about it.” “but what about you, frank? you haven’t consented. do you want me to go?” “of course not, dear; but what i want or think can’t matter. you will have to go, rena.” “but if i go i’d have to leave you, frank. i don’t want to leave you. i don’t want to go. i want to stay right here.” “i’m sorry, dear. i know how you feel, but look at it their way.” “you mean my brother's way.” frank shrugged his shoulders resignedly. “you say that johnny is a rich and influential man now, has wealthy friends, all white people. don't be silly, my dear. this is a rare and unusual opportunity. you must do as they ask you to.” “but what about you, frank? i am thinking about you. if you say you don’t want me to, i’ll refuse and stay right here. after all, that is what i want to do.” “if you did, they would charge it to me—and hate me. i don’t want your mother and your brother to hate me, rena. you must go with him. i’ll manage somehow.” º mas querade frank was not an outwardly emotional boy; but his heart at the moment was paining so; just seemed like it would break. he was dazed, bewildered. the world, which had seemed so bright and hopeful an hour ago, was whirl- ing around him, and he could do nothing but try to be brave. rena had hidden her eyes with her kerchief and was crying again. as he turned to try to comfort her, a large tear dropped from his eyes and ran down upon his work jacket. it was the end of everything for him. his castles had fallen, rena was going away and he had to sanction it. “you see, rena, over there, with your brother rich and powerful, life can mean so much to you. besides, you've said that he has a little boy that has no mother. the child needs a mother. you can be that mother. as for me, i'm a man. father always told me that i must expect some kind of trouble in life. and he taught me to prepare for it, so please don’t cry any more, but just prepare to go to charleston with your brother, and don’t worry about me. i’ll manage to get along somehow. i will be here where i can comfort your mother. think of what taking you out of her life is going to mean. you’re all she has.” rena was weeping now without restraint. frank turned his mule about and drove her back toward the house behind the cedars. by the time they reached it, she had become resigned to her task, and was stronger. he helped her into the house and as they entered, her mother asked from up- stairs if it were she, calling that she would be down in a few minutes. frank turned to go and rena grabbed him. although they had been schoolmates, playmates, and everybody was now expecting them to marry, they had never, in some peculiar way, exchanged a kiss. it was rena mas querade who now broke that virtue, for, with a suppressed little cry, she threw her arms about him and kissed him, full on the lips, repeating it one, two and three times, then, as if she could stand it no longer, after squeezing him to her, broke and ran away and upstairs. frank stood where she had left him a moment, tears welling up in his large, dark eyes, then as if to let nobody see him cry, turned abruptly and let the house. &aaten aeat, %tee rena and her brother took the night boat to wil- mington, which left fayetteville at eight p. m. johnny or- dered her to “meet him on the boat,” by which rena knew that he was taking no chance of them being recognized. frank took her to the boat, and helped her aboard, all the way to her state-room. inside, and alone, she again fell into his arms, she wanted to weep all over again but he would not let her, and took his leave almost immediately after the embrace. “if anything goes wrong, dear. remember. you can al- ways come back to me. i’ll be waiting.” the next moment he was gone. still weeping, but drying her tears, she dared open a window. she saw him as he crossed the deck below, walked across the gang plank hurriedly, climbed into his buggy, in which she had enjoyed the happiest moments of her life, when he drove her about the countryside—and he was gone. she waved at him hopelessly, knowing that he couldn’t see her, drew the shade down and turned—to look into the eyes of her brother who had opened the state-room door unheard and was standing looking at her. “why, johnny,” she cried, frightened, “i—didn't hear you open the door. you frightened me.” he closed the door, after stepping into the room and crossed to her. “my state-room is next to this. i heard you when you—entered, and—” mas querade - “you—heard, after i entered?” he nodded his head affirmatively, looking straight at her all the while. “i’m sorry,” she said, simply, and turned away. he came closer, up behind her and put his arms about her waist and leaning over, kissed her on her cheek. “i’m not going to scold you for what you did, dear. i understand. it is hard to change to a new life overnight; hard to get away from those you've known—and liked, for such a long time.” he paused then while she said nothing. finally, he squeezed her upper arms which he held. “i’ll go out on the deck now, if you don’t mind, and you can draw the curtain and look out if you like. after the boat leaves, i’ll be back, and then we’ll have a long talk, sister, a serious talk.” she turned as he was leaving and their eyes met as he was going out the door. he smiled at her oddly and closed the door. she heard his footsteps go down the narrow hall- way to the deck, and then she sank upon a chair, strangely, or was it emotionally, exhausted. a few minutes later the boat pulled out, backing up a bit, then the engineer reversed the motors, and the large flat boat swung out into the channel of cape fear river and headed southeast for wilmington, where it was due early the following morning—and rena had left fayette- ville for the first time in her life for a long trip. would she ever return? she closed her eyes in a fit of bewilderment and doubts. sighing deeply, she rose to her feet and remov- ing her hat and coat, decided to try and be brave. shortly afterward, her brother returned to her cabin, knocking on the door first. this, of course, was after their mas querade tickets had been taken up and they were not likely to be bothered again. - “i’ve ordered a light meal brought to your room, dear. we will eat it here, then—the talk.” the meal served and the dishes taken away, walden turned to her, his face serious for that “talk.” “now, dear sister. i didn't attempt to go into this back there,” jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of fayetteville. “i felt it would be better to wait for this moment when i knew we would be all alone and sufficient- ly relaxed to digest everything properly.” “i agree with you, johnny. i am sure that was the best.” “i suppose you understand what is before you, dear?” “i—hope i do, johnny, but i am anxious to hear what you have to say.” “a very important thing to explain, rena, is, that your past life is behind you and that includes—frank. it even includes our mother.” rena sighed, audibly, and he moved closer, knowing that it hurt to the quick and she needed consolation. “i know what i just said hurts, rena—it even hurt me, more than twelve years ago, and i wanted to go away. i was so anxious to become a lawyer that when judge straight informed me that he had made arrangements for my education; that i must leave my past—even my name back there in fayetteville, i was the happiest boy in all the world. yet, as i stole away like a thief in the night, i was sad and unhappy. i kept thinking about mama and you, kept on and on and it seemed for a long time my heart would simply break and i would die. “yet, as you know, i did not die, but lived on, sur- mas querade mounted mighty obstacles and rose in due time to success. in time i forgot the grief, overcame my sorrow and the great loneliness that beset me, as it must now beset you, and —well, you know the rest of the story.” “it was all so wonderful, so brave on your part,” she said quietly, “mama and i are both proud of you. i'm sure that you know best, even if it does all but break my heart to leave fayetteville and go away. i want you to know that in doing so, however, brother, that i’ve decided to be brave— and try to see it through as you did.” “i am happy to hear you say that, rena; happy and en- couraged. at least it won’t be as hard for you on the one hand, as it was for me, for i was alone, on my own, where- as, everything is prepared for you. just about all you have to do is to be brave and strong; resolute and determined— and forget the past. the future, that is up to me in a great measure—and i am prepared to see it through.” “thank you, brother,” she said, meekly. “i will do my best.” “fine! now where will we start?” “just a word before you do, johnny,” she said, laying a hand on his wrist. “i’s saying this because, in anticipa- tion of what is coming, this is so often on my mind.” “go ahead, dear, and by all means tell me what this is that is so much on your mind.” “well,” she began, hesitatingly. “i’ve been told that meeting and mixing with white people is not as hard as when you encounter one of us in doing so.” “us? what do you mean?” “that meeting them when one is passing inclines to— make one self-conscious; un-nerves you. in short, frightens mas querade you when you meet their gaze. that is what i mean, and what is worrying me.” - “is that all that is worrying you, rena? go ahead, un- burden yourself, dear.” “that's the worst of it.” “i’m so glad you brought that up—and now, dear. i was trying to find a way to come to it so that you would know. now that i see it is on your mind, it relieves me.” “thank you, johnny. i am glad.” “if you were alone as i was, this could possibly upset you in the life you are about to step into. but there is where i can help so much. you see, to begin with, it is more our self-consciousness that makes us that way than anything else. we think that what we think they think, and give ourselves away when if we could just forget all about it, it wouldn’t matter at all. what you must learn to do, rena, is to just think you are a white girl, and it becomes much easier, so much easier. now, you must in this case, not do much thinking at all. just remember that you are my sis- ter; and that all negroes think i am a white man. so think- ing, they don't turn to look at me the second time, and, the second time harder. as my sister, you understand, they will not doubt what you are and will not, therefore, look again at you with that penetrating expression, see?” “yes, i see, brother, and i also understand.” “good, rena, you are catching on readily. now, i have not decided all this without doing a lot of thinking also. i’ve decided to place you in a private boarding school until next summer, the end of the term to be exact. in that school, you will meet a lot of white girls, the best white girls. you will learn through them and with them how mas querade white people think, act and do. this should get you ac- customed to their ways of doing and to a degree, of think- ing. then, next june, when you leave the school and come to live with me, you are my sister, just out of boarding school. this will do away with much explaining about your past. when a girl is just out of boarding school, peo- ple rarely dig further into her past. they just take it for granted that you’ve been in school and before you went there, you were too young to know and understand much , about anything that would interest them—and usually that is the end of it. “meanwhile, before you enter school, i will lay out what you are to do and say to the nice girls that you will meet there at the school. leave that to me for the present. one of the many things. i like about you, rena, is your fine modesty and silence. if you were inclined to talk a lot, this move i am making would endanger us both, for, sooner or later your inclination to talk would crab the whole works for you would most surely say too much. i don't mind tell- ing you at the outset that you and i both will for a long time—in fact, almost forever, be trodding on thin ice and just a slight mistake can and will ruin us. i have never for- gotten that, but thus far nobody has decided to dig into my past and demand an accounting. they will be less in- clined to about my sister, but all the while we must simply be careful.” “i agree with you fully, my brother, and i shall be care. ful at all times. i would be very unhappy if i felt a careless word or move on my part would upset all that you have struggled these long years to achieve.” “well said, rena. i will be patient with you at all masque rade times and help you as much as it is possible for me to, to forget the past. time only can heal that, and i have al- lowed for that.” he rose to his feet now, and she followed suit. he crossed to the door and she came up beside him. he kissed her goodnight and went to his state-room. inside his stateroom and alone, john walden relaxed completely—the first time he had permitted himself to do so since reaching fayetteville, three days before. relaxed, he began to plan his sister's future. when he went to bed two hours later, he had concluded just how he would go about and engineer this great mas- querade. if we were using captions at the beginning of each chap- ter, we would begin this chapter with the caption “the other side—a negro no longer!” meanwhile, rena, under the sponsorship of her brother, begins here and now, her great masquerade as somebody else, which inspired the title of this story. we will now proceed with the strange, and often sensational, events that follow, as the result of this masquerade. shortly after rena finished her preliminary training at the girl's school, and returned to her brother's old co- lonial mansion on the outskirts of charleston to make her home, the wealthy and aristocrats of the town staged a tournament, or a sort of pageant which was well attended by the better class, to some degree by the poor whites, and even a few negroes bought seats and watched the activities from the bleachers. rena and her brother attended. at this tournament rena was introduced to one of south carolina's most at- tractive widows, a young woman by the name of mrs. janie newberry. since mrs. newberry was attracted to rena's brother, she found the sister the exact vehicle to use for seeing more of johnny. by showing kindness to rena, she saw a means of making john more grateful to her. z mas querade at the tournament rena also met a wealthy young aristocrat from north carolina, who happened to be a client of her brother, by the name of george wendell try- on, scion of an old and wealthy north carolina family. george was only , tall, athletic and handsome. back where tryon lived, his mother had been planning his future, which included designs for his ultimate mar- riage to a beautiful blonde called blanche—the rest of her name was leary. tryon had found her amusing and tol- erable, but after meeting his lawyer's sister at the tourna- ment, he lost all interest in the girl his mother had selected for his wife, and had eyes for no other but rena walden; rena had taken her brother's name when she returned with him to pass her future life, and to experience new associa- tions as a white girl. by this time rena had begun to come to herself, al- though the past—her secret she preferred to think of it as —was almost constantly in her thoughts; and all this meet- ing white people, dining with them, dancing with them and listening to their talk, was still bewildering and con- fusing to her. as yet, however, she had not blundered, neither talked too much nor embarrassed her brother. george w. tryon was a fine fellow, and while rena never let herself become infatuated with him, she found it possible to be nice and agreeable, and thought that if she were a white girl, and not merely masquerading as one, it would be quite casy to fall in love with him as he seemed, from their first meeting, to be falling in love with her. she let him do the talking, as she allowed just about everyone she’d become acquainted with do, since “cross- ing over,” but she had developed the tact of a good listener, y mas querade and her silence and good listening, seemed to have won her friends. they called her “shy” and this accentuated her modesty, all of which added to her popularity—especially with george tryon, who was soon a regular caller at her home, and took her out frequently. by and by george wendell tryon told her that he loved her and asked her to be his wife. she delayed her reply, but promised to give him her answer in a week. after george left her that night, she went to her broth- er, and said: - “george told me that he loved me tonight, and asked me to marry him.” “oh, how wonderful, dear!” her brother exclaimed with great enthusiasm. “and did you—consent, dear?” rena shook her head negatively, whereupon the happy approval on her brother's face became clouded with a frown of anxiety. - “but rena, dear, half the girls in charleston would give their lives, if george tryon asked them to marry him. he's the smartest catch of the season, wealthy, dignified, aristo- cratic—and a swell fellow. why did you refuse him?” “i did not refuse him, johnny. i merely said that i would give him my answer in a week.” “oh, that is better, much better, and takes a load off my mind. why did you wish to wait a week, however?” “i felt that i should talk to you about it first. the next reason was, johnny, i'll try to be frank—i was afraid.” “afraid? afraid of what?” “oh, johnny,” she cried, bursting into tears. “you know what i am afraid of.” . mas querade “there, there, dear. of course i know; but you must not let that stand in your way. i've said, repeatedly, “let the dead past bury its dead.’ i’ve told you that you must think you are white—and defy all sentiments to the contrary.” “i’ve tried to, johnny, and i’m still trying. but it's hard to forget that i–i am not a white girl. and if george knew the truth, would he want me then; would he love me just as much as he says he does?” her brother sprang to his feet. she could see that she had disturbed him; had upset his equilibrium. after a few strides he paused and stood over her. “unless we can forget and live down our ‘skeleton in the closet,” there is neither future nor happiness for either of us, rena, or for my little son, albert. all our futures depend upon our being strong and resolute and—” “—being successful deceivers, john. i’m sorry, i know you are right, and i hate to upset you.” “then why do you?” “i don’t know, i don’t know. all i can think of is what george would say or do if he ever learns the truth.” “let’s look at it another way. in whatever move we take, you’ve got to take a chance. let's consider if you married george and ‘took the chance,’ and that if you got through the first years and had children as a healthy and normal girl like you must expect.” “i follow you.” “after three, four or five years, he in some manner might find out, then what?” “yes, then what?” mas querade . “he would be confronted with the future of his own flesh and blood; his children, his children's children, then what could he do?” “i—think he would have to-see it through, yes.” “that is the way to look at it. oh, i know how much you dislike the idea of deceiving a man from the outset, but george tryon is a sensible man. he would be shocked and angry. he would perhaps even hate you for awhile. but under such circumstances, however, he would have to cool off—in fact, he would cool off and consider the circum- stances. he would in due time come to realize that while you may have deceived him, under the circumstances, he'd realize that there was no other alternative. he’d under- stand that you had done nothing wrong; that you were the nice, modest girl he fell in love with after all, only—” “—that i was not what he thought i was all the while; that i was not a white girl and never had been; that i was a—negress, the most despicable creature that god in all his power and glory could create; and that i had deceived him brazenly and willfully, for all the while i was letting him make love to me, i knew that i was a negress, the daughter of a slave woman, an illegitimate—and a bas- fard?” “oh, my god, rena, my god—and please hush! hush this moment and say not another word.” “i’m so sorry, john. i hated to hurt you, but what i said was on my mind. i had to get it off, one time or another; one way or another. and now that i have, i feel better, stronger. go ahead, johnny, and say what you will.” “what is there left for me to say, after all you just said? i'm so shocked and mortified until i am—oh, just beaten.” | mas querade he sat down then, weak and limp, and gazed for a time straight before him at nothing. “don’t be discouraged, brother. i tell you, it was on my mind and until i could get it off—confess my feelings to somebody, i couldn't seem to go on. now, let us look at it in its real light, after which we can go about making ad- justments as i feel we should. “first, i had thought of confessing the truth to george,” she began, whereupon her brother became taut, sprang quickly to his feet, his mouth flew open. she raised a hand and stayed it. “please let me finish, dear. before i had rehearsed the idea in my own mind, even, i dismissed it, for it would not have mattered so much to me. it would ruin you however, so the idea was out. what i am trying to explain, johnny, is, that if i go through as you have planned, with this mas- querade, i must prepare myself. i must, in short, admit to myself that i am masquerading; keep on thinking of it to myself in that way until i can feel justified in my act. in other words, to act, one can’t go on feeling innocent and modest. they must ‘play at it’ all the while, be at least partially conscious of what you are doing. that is the way. i see it. i’ve got to become an actress. once i am complete in that role and have crucified my conscience, i might be able to tell george that i love him, too, and be his wife, bear his children, and then, if he ever learns the truth, stage a great scene: tell him cold and hard to his face that i fooled him; and that it is too late, if we have the children as we would have every reason to expect, to be mortified at his discovery and to brand me. i must be able to stand before him, cold and hard and say: ‘had i told you the mas querade truth before you married me, do you suppose that you ever would have? you know you wouldn't! i knew it and now you know it. but, in justice to myself, i was a nice girl, virtuous, pure and simple. i have made you a good wife, bore you lovely children, in spite of the fact that i was born out of wedlock, the daughter of an aristocrat slave- master, the offspring of a helpless mulatto slave woman. knowing all this, and what you would have done had you known it before making love to, and marrying me, what do you think that i should have done? “’what is done, is done. around us are your children, my children. if you must hate me, hate them, too; but i have them to love and caress until i die. there is no law against what i have done, and if you now wish to leave me, you must leave your children, too. now my master, what?’” - - “oh, rena, my sister, my child. i never knew all this was in you,” he moaned, his face dejected, upset, bewil- dered, downcast. she crossed to him and tried to comfort him. “i am the same little sister that i have always been, johnny. i love you and i love your little boy. i want to rear him to be—like his father. i can wish no more; but deceiving a man has been preached against in every novel of the kind that i ever read. all have pointed that a woman should “confess’ her sins, her past, to the man she would marry. you know, and i know, and george wendell tryon knows that i cannot confess our secret to him, so what? if we go on, i will have to at least harden myself and marry the man with no thought or intention of ever telling him the truth. once that hard, i might be able mas querade seem to want to blame us if they fail. according to you, and logic, i had a chance to better myself by coming here with you. surely from the standpoint of logic, any negro who could walk into the best white society as you have installed me in charleston, is far better off than continuing through life as a negro–the best of negroes. “strange, and i didn’t want to; but you sold mama on the idea, mama told me to go. i am ready to go through with it as has been bargained, clear up until i die, now that i have started. all i wanted was for you to under- stand how i felt, brother. once you know just how i feel, and realize that i will be playing a role when i do, then i am sure i can do it better. i wanted you to know just how i would do it. that is all, johnny. now get up and think it over for a week, until the time is due for me to give george my answer. before i do, we will talk again, see?” - she got him to his feet then, sad and dejected. yet, for johnny walden, there was no alternative but to do as she had asked him to. mas querade wealthy family who had owned quite a large number of slaves before the war, and still possessed all the land which had been in the family for more than a hundred years. “this girl, whose name was gertrude poray, was sort of a creole type and as beautiful as any woman you ever saw. but to make a long story short, somebody had busi- ness up in the cane river country, and while there, learned the truth about miss poray.” “and what was that?” mrs. newberry wanted to know. the others held their breaths in anxiety. “miss poray—was a negress!” “go away from here!” mrs. newberry exclaimed, her mouth and eyes wide. rena opened her eyes, too, but only swallowed. - “a nigger, so help me god!” mrs. milbank reiterated. exclamations of surprise were heard throughout the group, all alike—full of amazement! “but—what,” mrs. newberry said, “ever possessed her to think she could get away with—such a fraud?” “well, they were rich, they had owned slaves; the family did not, and never had, associated with negroes. additionally, they were light enough to pass for white, so it didn’t seem to upset her in the least.” “you—you mean she stayed on in new orleans after they learned the truth about her; that she had nigger- blood in her veins?” “nothing different. she declared that she was just as white as any white person in new orleans; that she was rich; that her parents had sense enough to avoid service in the civil war, that is, confederate service, and that all new orleans could go to hades. that she was white, even if she mas querade did have negro blood in her veins, and she'd like to see what they could do about it. incidentally, the family. owned the st. louis-royal hotel where she was staying. so she stayed on in new orleans until she was ready to leave and when she did, it happened to be on the same train i left on, passing for white, of course, and is in new york now, waiting to sail for europe, where, i was told, she plans to make her future home; and where, no doubt, she can marry a white man without so many people ob- jecting.” “the nerve of her! what did the man she was engaged to do about it?” “oh, he quit her the moment he heard that she had ne- gro blood; quit her cold—and ran away.” laughter. “well, the effects of her masquerade was on when i left new orleans. the best white people of new orleans have decided to issue a questionnaire. i mean the social and elite. they are setting up a sort of ‘social registry,’ whereby every desirable person applying for membership, is to fill out this questionnaire, which will trace their ancestry back, preferably, to the family's arrival in america. if this can- not be done so handily, back at least to their great-grand parents. they are determined hereafter, before they admit people into their circle, to find out who they are and what they are, thereby avoiding any possibility of letting any more mongrels into it. i stopped over in atlanta on the way home, and they were talking about doing the same thing there. they said that since the carpet-baggers had come down from the north and put the darkies into poli- tics, there were attempts to do the same thing in atlanta; mas querade bright negroes with money, intruding themselves into white society—the nerve of them!” “i think we should set up something like that right here in charleston,” mrs. newberry declared, looking around, to be met by nods of approval from nearly everybody present, except rena, who merely opened her eyes in feigned surprise whenever any of them happened to look at her. “the ambition of every nigger who happens to be the off-spring of some rich white man by a mulatto slave woman—and all of you present know that charleston is over-run with these kind of darkies, is to up and ‘pass for white' and as i see it, unless we band together here, as you say they are doing in new orleans and atlanta, who knows how soon we'll wake up to find a lot of light- skinned negroes in our midst, passing themselves off as one of us.” “the most disgraceful thing that could possibly happen to the proud people of our fair city,” mrs. milbank said. “not all of you know it, but we have quite a number of negroes right here in charleston who owned slaves, and, as far as i have been able to ascertain, they have a little circle of their own and do not associate with the other negroes. i think most of them will bear watching, how- ever.” all present agreed with her, and as the meeting broke up, it was tentatively agreed that at an early date another meeting would be called with a view to setting up a local ‘social registry’ in charleston, to find out who was who before accepting unknowns as members. mrs. newberry drove rena home after the party, talk- masquerade ing all the while about her plans regarding the social registry. “don’t you think it’s a good idea, dear rena?” “i’m sure it is,” rena managed to say, and was relieved that mrs. newberry didn’t look in her direction and had not looked at her directly during the discussion. dazed, after mrs. newberry drove away, she went to her room and went to bed; she was so spent and upset, that she sent word she had a headache and didn't care for any dinner. alone in her room, she permitted herself to relax and to think over what had been discussed at the party. she saw only one solution, if it could be called that; she could wait and watch to see if the social registry plans became a reality—and if they started to set such a thing up, there was but one alternative left to her—to disappear quietly or announce, for the protection of her brother, that she was leaving to make her home in new york. this, of course, would be a lie, for she knew nobody in new york and had never been there. it meant that she would return to fayetteville, marry frank fowler, and forget as quick- ly as possible, with great relief, that she had ever tried to pass for white. until then, however, she decided not to say anything about what had occurred to her brother, for the ordeal they had gone through a few days before was quite as much as she wished to see him burdened with for the present. - the next great problem on her mind, was her reply to george tryon's proposal, which would be due in a few days. for days following mrs. newberry's party in her honor, mas querade rena was beseiged by doubts and fears; misgivings domi- nated her every thought. meanwhile, having been placed on the footing of an accepted lover, tryon's visits to the house became more frequent. he wished to fix a time for the marriage, but at this point rena developed a strange reluctance. “can we not know each other for a little while?” she asked. “to be engaged is a pleasure that comes but once; it would be a pity to cut it too short.” “it is a pleasure that i would cheerfully dispense with,” he replied, “for the certainty of possession. i want you all to myself, and all the time. things might happen. if i should die, for instance, before i married you—” “oh, don’t imagine such awful things,” she said, brave- ly, thinking of mrs. newberry and the prospect of the social registry. - “i should consider,” he resumed, completing the sen- tence, “that my life had been a failure.” “if i should die,” she went on, boldly, becoming con- scious that she was beginning to develop her acting ability, and being able by now to realize that she was acting, “i should die happy in the knowledge that you had loved me.” “in three weeks,” he went on, “i shall have finished my business in charleston, and then there will be but one thing to keep me here. when shall it be, dear? i want to take you home with me.” - rena did some fast thinking. if she had to continue this masquerade; had to, for the sake of her brother, marry george wendell tryon and mrs. newberry did not start her social registry action before three weeks, she could masquerade marry george and go back to north carolina to live with him as his wife. in that way she could avoid being checked as regards her antecedents. well, she thought to herself, it is all an act, an act that might have to last a life-time, so why not play her part as she had planned and make her- self, for the present at least, agreeable. “i will let you know,” she replied, with a troubled sigh, “in a week from today.” it occurred to her only then that she had promised to give him his answer in a week, four days before. to her surprise—and relief, he did not com- plain. instead, he said very patiently: “i’ll call your attention to the subject every day. in the meantime,” he asserted, “i shouldn’t like you to forget it.” rena's shrinking from the irrevocable step of marriage was due to a simple yet complex cause. stated boldy, it was the consciousness of her secret; the complexity arose out of the various ways in which it seemed to bear upon her future. our lives are bound in such strange ways, with the lives of our fellow men. it had not been difficult for rena to conform her speech, her manners, and, in a meas- ure, her mode of thoughts, to those of the people around her; but when this readjustment went beyond mere ex- ternals and concerned the vital issues of life, the secret that oppressed her took on a more serious aspect, with tragic possibilities. a discursive imagination was not one of her characteris- tics, or the danger of a marriage of which perfect frank- ness was not a condition, might well have presented itself before her heart had become involved. under the influence of doubt, and fear acting upon love, the invisible bar to masquerade happiness glowed with a lambent flame that threatened dire disaster. - “would he have loved me at all,” she asked herself, over and over again, “if he knew the story of my past? or, having loved me, could he blame me now for what i can- not help?” there were two shoals in the channel of her life, upon either of which her happiness might go to shipwreck. since leaving the house behind the cedars where she had been brought into the world without her own knowledge or consent, and had drawn the first breath of life by the in- voluntary contraction of certain muscles, rena had learned in a short time, many things; but she was yet to learn, that the innocent suffer with the guilty, and feel the punish- ment the more keenly because unmerited. she had yet to learn that the old mosiac formula, “the sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the children,” was graven more in- delibly upon the heart of the race than upon the tables of sinai. - then again came to her that question, would george tryon still love her if he knew all? the man who loved the negress in new orleans, had thought he loved her un- til he learned the truth—then he was positive that it was all one great mistake and ran quickly away. would george tryon do the same things in regards her? she had read some of the novels in the book-case in her mother's hall, and others at boarding-school. she had read that love was a conqueror, that neither life nor death, nor creed nor caste, could stay its triumphant course. her secret was no legal bar to their union. if rena could forget the secret, and tryon should never know it, it would be no masquerade obstacle to their happiness. but rena felt, with a sinking of the heart, that happiness was not a matter of law or of fact, but lay entirely within the domain of sentiment. we are happy when we think ourselves happy, and with a strange perversity, we often differ from others with re- gards to what should constitute our happiness. rena's secret was the worm in the bud, the skeleton in the closet. “he says that he loves me. he does love me. but would he love me if he knew?” she stood before an oval mirror brought from france by one of her brother's wife's an- cestors, and regarded her image with a coldly critical eye. she was as little vain as any of her sex who are endowed with beauty. she tried to place herself, in thus passing upon her own claims to consideration, in the hostile atti- tude of society towards her hidden disability. there was no mark upon her brow to brand her as less pure, less inno- cent, less desirable, less worthy to be loved, than these proud women of the past who had admired themselves in this old mirror. “i think a man might love me for myself,” she mur- mured pathetically, “and if he loved me truly, that he would marry me. if he would not marry me, then it would be because he didn’t love me.” she had the sudden impulse again to tell george every- thing and throw herself upon his mercy. other than simply masquerading, she was everything he had built her up in his mind as being. then, as quickly as the impulse had advanced itself, it died. the secret was not hers alone; it involved her brother's position, to whom she owed every- thing, and in less degree, the future of her little nephew, whom she had already learned to love so well. there was masquerade left to her but two courses of action: to marry tryon or to dismiss him. she let escape a deep and sickly sigh and taking off her clothes, went to bed, in the hope that sleep would make her forget, for that night, at least. hours passed before she went off to sleep, however. she kept thinking about george tryon, trying to draw a pic- ture of how he would look and how he would feel if he, in some way, should learn her secret. she also visioned how mrs. janie newberry and mrs. milbank, and the others she had met at the card party, would look and feel if they, too, found out. - she was surprised when she awakened the following morning, feeling rested, that she had been able to fall asleep at all. - ! &aete, aeat, sa rena’s heart was too heavy with these misgivings for her to keep them to herself indefinitely. she had decided to keep the matter of the proposed social registry to herself a while longer, but the rest she would take up with johnny. accordingly, on the morning after the second conver- sation with tryon in which he insisted that she give him her answer and set a date for the wedding, she went into john's study where he usually spent an hour after break- fast before going to his office. he looked up amiably enough, but beneath this attempt at amiability, she was sure she detected a slight frown. he read trouble in her face and conjectured, she felt sure, that he was in for an- other ordeal as of a few days before. “well, rena, dear,” he began, forcing a smile through his fear. “what is the matter this time? is there anything you want—money or what? understand me when i say that it is my desire to satisfy your every wish.” he had found her very backward in asking for things she needed. generous with his means, he thought nothing too good for her. her success thus far, had gratified his pride, and justified his course in taking her under his pro- tection. “thank you, johnny. you've given me already more than i need. it is something else.” his frown deepened, he mas querade . steeled himself for another trying ordeal. he hated or- deals. they upset and annoyed him, left him unfit for work ahead. “i am not going to upset you as i did the other day, dear brother,” she said and forced a smile. “i am sure that i will have no occasion to upset you that way again.” “thank you, rena,” he said, and she was happy to see that he breathed a sigh of relief. “george has been after me again regarding his proposal; and wants me to set a date for my marriage to him. it wor- ries me. i'm afraid to marry him without telling him, and, as we debated the other day, i cannot tell him; i can never tell him. i suppose that if he found out afterward he would cast me off. but, as we also agreed, that is the chance i'll have to take. at the best, if he did, he would cease to love me, even if he didn’t cast me off.” she would have liked so much at this point, to have told him what the man engaged to the creole gertrude poray had done when he found out in new orleans, that she had negro blood, but that would have added to the unpleas- antness of the situation, which under the best circum- stances was unpleasant enough. “if he does not know it, i know i shall be forever think- ing of what he would do if he should find it out; or, if i should die without his having learned it, i should not rest easy in my grave for thinking of what he would have done if he had found out.” º walden had listened with grave and serious face at her comprehensive statement. he rose and closed the door carefully, less some one of the servants might overhear the conversation. in such cases, he was more liberally endowe masquerade with imagination than rena, perhaps, and not without a vein of sentiment, he had nevertheless a practical side that outweighed them both. with him, the problem that op- pressed his sister had been in the main a matter of argu- ment and self-conviction. once persuaded that he had certain rights or ought to have them, by virtue of the laws of nature, in defiance of the customs of mankind, he had promptly sought to enjoy them. this he had been able to do by concealing his antecedents and making the most of his opportunities, with no troublesome qualms of con- science whatever. but he had already perceived, in their brief intercourse, that rena's emotions, while less easily stirred, touched a deeper note than his, and dwelt upon it with greater inten- sity than if they had been spread over the larger field to which a more ready sympathy would have supplied so many points of access;—hers was a deep and silent current flowing between the narrow walls of a self-contained life, like the spreading river running through a pleasant land- scape. walden's imagination, however, enabled him to put himself in touch with her mood and recognize its bearings upon her conduct. he would have preferred her taking the practical point of view, to bring her round to which he perceived would be a matter of diplomacy. “when did he last talk with you about it, dear?” “last night, johnny.” “my poor, dear child,” he began, with deep sympathy. “i’m afraid you’re taking too tragic a view of this thing all around. marriage is a reciprocal arrangement, by which the contracting parties give love for love, care for keep- mas quaerade ing, faith for faith. it is a matter of the future, not of the past. what a poor soul it is that has not some secret cham- ber, sacred to itself; where one can file away the things others have no right to know, as well as things that one himself, or herself, would fain forget! we are under no moral obligation to inflict upon others, the history of our past mistakes, our wayward thoughts, our secret sins, our desperate hopes, or our heartbreaking disappointments. still less are we bound to bring out from the secret cham- ber the dusty record of our ancestry, whereupon i re- peat: let the dead past bury its dead. george tryon loves you for yourself alone; it is not your ancestors that he seeks to marry.” having listened to him carefully, she could appreciate now why they called him a good lawyer; a great lawyer. he had summed up her case, their case, and he had done so eloquently, logically. unfortunately, she realized that she was not a lawyer, to be able to answer him in rebuttal, at which times, the logicalness and the eloquence is often shot full of holes. she only had one answer, which was a ques- tion: the same question she was repeating, over and over again, the question she was sure must have become mo- notonous to him, but in spite of its many repetitions, it was still new to her. “but would he marry me if he knew the truth,” she again persisted. walden paused for reflection. he would have preferred to argue the question, as he had been, in a general way, but felt the necessity, and the responsibility of satisfying her scruples, as far as might be. he had liked tryon from the | mas querade very beginning of their acquaintance. in all their inter- course, which had been very close for several months, he had been impressed by the young man's sunny temper, his straight-forwardness, his intellectual honesty. tryon's deference to walden as the elder man had very naturally proved an attraction. whether the friendship would have stood the test of utter frankness about his own past was a merely academic speculation with which walden did not trouble himself. with his sister the question had evidently become a matter of conscience,—a difficult subject with which to deal in a person of rena's temperament. “my dear sister,” he replied. “why should he know? we haven’t asked him for his pedigree; we don’t care to know it.” especially when we have a live skeleton, resting in the closet so close by, she thought and would have liked to have said, but decided not to interrupt him. meanwhile, he went on : “if he cares for ours, he should ask for it, and it would then be time enough to raise the question. you will, in time, learn to love him, i hope, and will in due time, wish to make him happy if you marry him.” “yes, oh, yes,” rena exclaimed with fervor. “well, then,” walden went on to say, “suppose we should tell him our secret and put ourselves in his power, and that he should then conclude that he couldn't marry you? do you imagine that he would be any happier than he is now, or than if he should never know?” ah, no! she could not think so. one could not tear love out of one's heart without pain and suffering. masquerade - there was a knock at the door. walden opened it to the nurse, who stood with little albert in her arms. “please, suh,” the girl said, with a curtsey, “the baby's been cryin’ fo' mis’ rena, and ah 'lowed she mought want me tu fetch’m, efit wouldn’t 'sturb heh.” “give me the darling,” rena exclaimed, coming for- ward and taking the child from the nurse. “it wants its auntie. come to its auntie, bless its little heart.” little albert crowed with pleasure and lifted its small lips for a kiss. walden found the sight a pleasant one. if he could but quiet his sister's troublesome scruples, he might ere long see her fondling beautiful children of her own. even if rena were willing to risk her happiness, and he to endanger his position, by a quixotic frankness, the future of his child must not be compromised. - “you shouldn’t want to make george unhappy,” he re- sumed when the nurse retired. “very well, would you not be willing, for his sake—to keep a secret—your secret and mine and that of the innocent child in your arms? what ever we do, or are doing what is unethical, it cannot be blamed on the child. surely he has had no part in this— masquerade as you choose to call it. would you involve all of us in difficulties merely to secure your own peace of mind? doesn’t such a course seem just a wee bit selfish? think the matter over from that point of view, and we'll speak of it later in the week. i shall be with george all the morning, and i may be able, by a little management, to find out his views on the subject of birth and family, and all that. some men are very liberal, and love is a great leveler. i’ll sound him at any rate.” he rose to his feet then, and kissing the baby, left the mas querade room to go to his office in downtown charleston, leaving rena to her own reflections, to which his presentation of the case had given the subject a new turn. it had never be- fore occurred to her to regard silence in the light of self- sacrifice. it had seemed a sort of sin; her brother's argu- ment had made of it a virtue. it was not the first time, nor the last, that right and wrong had been a matter of view- point. tryon himself furnished the opening for walden's pro- posed examination. the younger man could not long re- main silent upon the subject uppermost in his mind. “i am anxious, john,” he said, “to have rowena name the hap- piest day of my life—our wedding day. when the trial in edgecombe county is finished, i shall have no further business here, and shall be ready to leave for home. i should like to take my bride with me, and surprise my mother.” mothers, walden thought promptly and decided to execute an understanding forthwith, are likely to prove inquisitive about their son's wives, especially when taken unawares in matters of such importance. this seemed a good time to test the liberality of his client's views, and to put forward a shield for his sister's protection. “are you sure, george, that your mother will find the surprise agreeable when you bring home a bride of whom you know so little and your mother nothing at all?” in ad- dition to planning a shield for himself and sister, john hap- pened to know that mrs. tryon had built up blanche leary to be her son's bride. tryon had felt that it would be best to surprise his mother. as he viewed it, she would need only to see rena to approve of her, but she was so far prejudiced in favor masquerade of blanche leary that it would be wisest to present the argument after having announced the irrevocable con- clusion. rena herself would be a complete justification for the accomplished deed. “i think you ought to know, george,” walden went on, without waiting for a reply to his question, “that my sister and i are not of an old family, or a rich family, or a distinguished family; that she can bring you nothing but herself; that we have no connection of which you could boast, and no relatives to whom we would be glad to in- troduce you. you must take us for ourselves alone. we are —new people.” “my dear john,” the younger man replied warmly, “there is a great deal of nonsense about families. if a man is noble and brave and strong, if a woman is beautiful and good and true, what matters it about his or her ancestry? if an old family can give them these things, then it is valu- able, indeed. if they possess them without it, then of what use is it, except as a source of empty pride, which they would be better without. if all new families were like yours, there would be no advantage in belonging to an old one. all i care to know of rowena's family is that she is your sister; and you'll pardon me old fellow, if i add that she hardly needs even you. she carries the stamp of her descent upon her face and in her heart.” “it makes me glad to hear you speak in that way,” wal- den returned, delighted by the young man's breadth and earnestriess. “oh, i mean every word of it,” tryon replied. “ances- tors, indeed, for rowena! i will tell you a family secret, john, to prove how little i care for ancestors. my maternal mas querade great-great-grandfather, a hundred and fifty years ago, was hanged, drawn and quartered for stealing cattle across the scottish border. how is that for a pedigree? behold in me the lineal descendant of a felon!” walden felt much relieved at this avowal. his own state- ment had not touched the vital point involved; it had been at the best but a half truth. but tryon's magnanimity would doubtless protect rena from any close inquiry concerning her past. it even occurred to walden for a moment that he might safely disclose the secret to tryon; but an appreciation of certain facts of history and certain traits of human nature constrained him to put the momen- tary thought aside. it was a great relief, however, to im- agine that tryon might think lightly of this thing that he need never know. “well, rena,” he said to his sister when he went home at noon: “i’ve sounded george.” “what did he say?” she asked, eagerly. “i told him we were people of no family, and that we had no relatives that we were proud of. he said he loved you for yourself, and would never ask you about your an- cestry.” “oh, i’m so glad,” she exclaimed joyfully. this report left er very happy for about three hours, or until she be- gan to analyze carefully her brother's account of what had been said. walden's statement had not been specific, he had not told tryon the thing. george's reply, in turn, had been a mere generality. the concrete fact that oppressed her remained unrevealed, and her doubt was still unsatis- fied. she compared his case of one hundred fifty years ago mas querade with hers as of the date. if an ancestor of hers had stolen over on the white side of society four generations ago, but had developed through the long years that followed with credit, she would perhaps be proud to boast of it at this time, the same as george had boasted of his that morning. rena was occupied with this thought when her lover next came to see her. tryon came up the sanded walk from the gate and spoke pleasantly to the nurse, a nice looking mulatto girl who was seated on the front porch, playing with little albert. he took the boy from her arms and she went to call miss walden. rena came out, followed by the nurse, who offered to take the child. “never mind, mimy. leave him with me,” tryon said. the nurse walked discreetly over into the garden, re- maining within call, but beyond the hearing of conver- sation in an ordinary tone. “rena, darling,” her lover said, “when shall it be? sure- ly you won’t ask me to wait a whole week. why, that's like a lifetime.” rena was struck by a brilliant idea. she would test him herself, then and now. love was a very powerful force; she had found it the greatest, grandest, and sweetest thing in the world. tryon had said that he loved her; he had said scarcely anything else for weeks, surely nothing else worth remembering. she would test his love by a hypothetical question. - “you say you love me,” she said, glancing at him with a sad thoughtfulness in her large dark eyes. “how much do you love me?” - masquerade “i love you all one can love. true love has no degrees: it is all—or nothing.” “would you love me,” she asked, with an air of coquetry that masked her concern, pointing toward the girl in the shrubbery, “if i were albert's nurse yonder?” after a quick glance at the nurse, and relaxing into a new smile, he turned back to her: “if you were albert's nurse,” he replied, with a joyous laugh, “he would have to find another quickly, for within a week we should be married.” the answer seemed to fit the question, but in fact, try- on's mind and hers had not met. that two intelligent per- sons should each attach a different meaning to a simple form of words as rena's question was the best ground for her misgiving with regard to the marriage. but his love for the moment, blinded her. she was anxious to be con- vinced. she interpreted the meaning of his speech by her own thought and by the ardor of his glance, and was satis- fied with the answer. “and now, darling,” tryon pleaded, “will you not fix the day that shall make me happy? i shall be ready to go away in three weeks. will you go with me?” “yes,” she answered, knowing that she was lying, but she was by now resigned to whatever was going to happen. she was at last willing to gamble her future and forget the past, if she could get away with it. she was also at last on the great stage of life, and she had started acting. would it last until she died? &aete. &eat, sevee the marriage was arranged for the thirtieth of the month, immediately after which tryon and his bride were to set out for north carolina. walden would have liked it much better if tryon had lived in south carolina; but the location of his north carolina home was at some dis- tance from fayetteville, with which it had no connection by steam or rail, and indeed lay out of line altogether of travel to fayetteville. rena had no acquaintance with peo- ple of social standing in north carolina; and with the added maturity and charm due to her improved oppor- tunities, it was unlikely that any former resident of fay- etteville who might casually meet her would see in the elegant young woman from south carolina, more than a passing resemblance to a poor girl who had once lived in an obscure part of the old town. it would of course be necessary for rena to keep away from fayetteville; ex- cept for her mother's sake, however, she would hardly be tempted to go back. on the twentieth of the month, walden set out with tryon for the county seat of the adjoining county, to try one of the lawsuits which had required tryon's presence in south carolina for so long a time. this destination was a day’s drive from charleston, behind a good horse and the tria' was expected to last a week. mas querade “this week will seem like a year,” tryon said ruefully, the evening before their departure, “but i’ll write every day and shall expect a letter as often.” “the mail goes only twice a week, george,” rena re- plied. “then i shall have three letters in each mail.” walden and tryon were to set out in the cool of the morning, after an early breakfast. rena was up at day- break that she might preside at the breakfast-table and bid the travelers good-by. “johnny,” rena said to her brother that morning. “i dreamed last night that mother was ill.” “dreams, you know, rena,” her brother answered with a smile lightly, “go by contraries. yours undoubtedly sig- nifies that our mother, god bless her simple soul, is at the present moment enjoying her usual perfect health. she was never sick in her life.” for a few months after leaving fayetteville with her brother, rena had suffered tortures of home-sickness; those who have felt it know the pang. the severance of old ties had been abrupt, but complete. at the school where her brother had taken her, there had been nothing to re- lieve the strangeness of her surroundings—no schoolmate from her own town, no relative or friend of the family nearby. even the compensation of human sympathy was in a measure denied her, for rena was too fresh from her prison-house to doubt that sympathy would fail before the revelation of the secret, the consciousness of which op- pressed her at that time like a nightmare. it was not strange that rena, thus isolated, should have been prostrated by homesickness for several weeks after masquerade leaving fayetteville. when the paroxysm had passed, there followed a dull pain, which gradually subsided into a resignation as profound in its way, as had been her longing for home. she loved and she suffered with a quiet intensity which her outward demeanor gave no adequate expression. from some ancestral source she had derived a strain of the passive fatalism by which alone one can submit uncom- plainingly to the inevitable. by the same token, when once a thing had been decided, it became with her a finality, which only some extraordinary stress of emotion could disturb. she had acquiesced to her brother's plan; for her there was no withdrawing; her home-sickness was an inci- dental thing which must be endured as patiently as might be, until time should have brought a measure of relief. walden had made provision for an occasional letter from fayetteville, by leaving with his mother a number of envelopes directed to his address. she could have her let- ters written, enclose them in these envelopes, and deposit them in the post-office with her own hand. thus the place of walden's residence would remain within her own knowledge, and his secret would not be placed at the mercy of any wandering fayettevillian who might perchance go to that part of south carolina. by this simple means rena had kept as closely in touch with her mother as walden had considered prudent; any closer intercourse was not consistent with their present station in life. the night after walden and tryon had ridden away, rena dreamed again that her mother was ill. better taught people than she, in regions than the south carolina of that epoch, are disturbed at times by dreams. mis’ molly had a profound faith in them. if god, in ancient times, had !. mas querade spoken to men in visions of the night, what easier way could there be for him to convey his meaning to people of all ages? science, which has shattered many an idol and destroyed many a delusion, has made but slight inroads upon the shadowy realm of dreams. to mis' molly to whom science would have meant nothing and psychology would have been a meaningless term, the land of dreams was carefully mapped and bounded. each dream had some special significance, or was at least susceptible to classifi- cation under some significant head. dreams, as a general rule, went by contraries; but a dream three times repeated was a certain portent of the thing defined. rena's few years of schooling at fayetteville and her months at charleston had scarcely disturbed these hoary supersti- tions which lurk in the dim corners of the brain. no lady in charleston, perhaps would have remained undisturbed by a vivid dream, three times repeated, of some event bear- ing materially upon her own life. the first repetition of a dream was decisive of nothing, for two dreams meant no more than one. the power of the second lay in the suspense, the uncertainty, to which it gave rise. two doubled the chance of a third. the day fol- lowing this second dream was an anxious one for rena. she could not for an instant dismiss her mother from her thoughts, which were filled, too, with a certain self-re- proach. she had left her mother alone; if her mother were really ill, there was no one at home to tend her with loving care. this feeling grew in force, until by nightfall rena had become very unhappy, and went to bed with dis- mal forebodings. in this state of mind, it is not surprising that she now dreamed that her mother was lying at the mas querade point of death, and that she cried out with heart-rendering pathos:— “rena, my darlin,’ why did you forsake your po'ole' mother? come back to me, honey; i’ll die ef i don't see you soon.” the stress of subconscious emotion engendered by the dream was powerful enough to wake rena, and her moth- er's utterance seemed to come to her with the force of a fateful warning and a great reproach. her mother was sick and needed her, and would die if she did not come. she felt that she must see her mother—it would be almost like murder to remain away from her under such circum- stances. after breakfast she went into the business part of the town and inquired what time a train would leave that would take her towards fayetteville. since she had come away from the town, a railroad had been opened by which the long river voyage might be avoided, and, making al- lowances for slow trains, the town of fayetteville could be reached by an all-rail route in about twelve hours. calling at the post-office for the family mail, she found there a letter from her mother, which she tore open in great ex- citement. it was written in handwriting she recognized, and was in effect as follows:— my dear daughter:—i take my pen in hand to let you know that i am not very well. i have had a kind of misery in my side for two weeks, with palpitations of the heart, and i have been in bed for three days. i’m feeling mighty poorly, but dr. green says that i will get over it in a few days. old aunt zilphy is staying with me, and looking after things tolerably well. i hope this will find you and johnny . mas querade enjoying good health. give my regards to johnny and i hope the lord will bless him and you too. cousin billy oxendine has had a rising on his neck and has had to have it lanced. old man tom johnson was killed last week while trying to whip black jim brown who lived down on the wilmington road. jim has run away. mary b. has an- other young one, a boy this time. there has been a big freshet in the river and it looked for awhile that the new bridge would be washed away. frank comes over every day or two and asks about you. he says to tell you that he doesn’t believe you are coming back any more, but he hopes that you remember him. he is very good to me and brings over shavings and kindle- wood and made me a new well-bucket for nothing. it is a comfort to talk to him about you, though i haven’t told him where you are living. i hope this will find you and johnny both well, and do- ing well. i should like to see you, but if it's the lord's will that i shouldn't, i shall be thankful that you have done the best for yourselves and johnny's child, and that i have given you up for your own good. your affectionate mother, molly northcross rena shed tears over this simple letter, which to her ex- cited imagination, merely confirmed the warning of her dreams. at the date of its writing her mother had been sick in bed with the symptoms of a serious illness. she had no nurse but a purblind old woman. three days of pro- gressive illness had evidently been quite sufficient to reduce her parent to the condition indicated by the third dream. mas querade the thought that her mother might die without the pres- ence of any one who loved her, pierced rena's heart like a knife and lent wings to her feet. she determined to go at once to fayetteville. returning home, she wrote a letter to her brother, en- closing their mother's letter, and stated that she had dreamed an alarming dream for three nights in succession; that she had left the house in charge of the servants and gone to fayetteville; and that she would return as quickly as her mother was out of danger. to tryon she wrote that she had been called away to visit a sickbed, and would return very soon, perhaps by the time he got back to charleston. these letters rena posted on her way to the train, which she took at five in the aft- ernoon. this would bring her to fayetteville early in the morning of the following day. - l i &aea. ament, . t war has been called the court of last resort. a lawsuit may with equal aptness be compared to a battle—the parallel may be drawn very closely all along the line. first we have the causus belli, the cause of action; then the vari- ous protocols and proclamations and general orders, by way of pleas, demurrers, and motions; then the prelimi- nary skirmishes at the trial table; and then the final strug- gle, in which might is quite as likely to prevail as right, victory most often resting with the strongest battalions, and truth and justice not seldom overborne by the weight of odds upon the other side. - the lawsuit which walden and tryon had gone to try did not, however, reach this ultimate stage, but, after a three day engagement, resulted in a treaty of peace. the case was compromised and settled, and tryon and walden set out on their homeward drive. they stopped at a farm- house at noon, and while at the table saw the stage-coach from the town they had just left, pass, bound for their own destination. in the mail-bag under the driver's seat were rena's two letters; they had been delivered at the town in the morning, and immediately remailed to charleston, in accordance with orders left at the post-office the evening before. tryon and walden drove leisurely home through the pines, all unconscious of the squares of white paper moving along the road, a few miles before them, which a mas querade . mother's yearning and a daughter's love had thrown, like the apple of discord, into the narrow circle of their happi- ness. they reached charleston at four o'clock. walden got down from the buggy at his office. tryon drove on to his hotel, to make a hasty toilet before visiting his sweetheart. walden glanced at his mail, tore open the envelope ad- dressed in his sister's handwriting, and read the contents with something like dismay. she had gone away on the eve of her wedding, her lover knew not where, to be gone no one knew how long, on a mission which could not be frankly disclosed. a dim foreboding of disaster flashed across his mind. he thrust the letter into his pocket, with others yet unopened, and started towards his home. reach- ing the gate, he paused a moment and then walked on past the house. tryon would probably be there in a few min- utes, and he did not care to meet him without first having had the opportunity for some moments of reflection. he must fix upon some line of action in this emergency. - meanwhile tryon had reached his hotel and opened his mail. the letter from rena was read first, with profound disappointment. he had really made concessions in the set- tlement of that lawsuit—had yielded several hundred dol- lars of his just dues, in order that he might get back to rena three days earlier. now he must cool his heels in idle- ness for at least three days before she would return. it was annoying, to say the least. he wished to know where she had gone, that he might follow her and stay near her until she should be ready to come back. he might ask walden—no, she might have had some good reason for not having men- tioned her destination. she had probably gone to visit some masquer ade be happier if he knew the note was paid and the money used as he intended. - “if you go to fayetteville, call on my cousin, dr. ed green, and tell him who you are. give him my love. i haven’t seen him for twenty years. he used to be very fond of the ladies, a very gallant man. he can direct you to a good lawyer, no doubt. hoping to see you soon, your loving mother, elizabeth tryon p. s. blanche joins me in love to you.” this affectionate and motherly letter did not give tryon unalloyed satisfaction. he was glad to hear that his mother was well, but he had hoped that blanche leary might have finished her visit by this time. the reasonable inference from the letter was that blanche meant to await his return. her presence would spoil the fine romantic flavor of the surprise he had planned for his mother. it would never do to expose his bride to an unannounced meeting with the woman whom he had tacitly rejected. there would be one advantage in such a meeting: the comparison of the two women would be so much in rena's favor that his mother could not hesitate for a moment between them. the situa- tion, however, would have elements of constraint, and he did not care to expose either rena or blanche to any dis- agreeable contingency. it would be better to take his wife on a wedding trip, and notify his mother, before he re- turned home, of his marriage. in the extremely improbable case that she should disapprove his choice after having seen his wife, the ice would at least have been broken before his arrival at home. “by jove!” he exclaimed suddenly, striking his knee with his hand, “why shouldn't i run up to fayetteville while - - mas querade rena's gone? i can leave here at five o’clock, and get there some time tomorrow morning. i can transact my business during the day and get back the day after tomorrow; for rena might return ahead of time, just as we did, and i shall want to be here when she comes; i'd rather wait a year for a legal opinion on a doubtful note than to lose one day with my love. the train goes in forty minutes. my bag is al- ready packed. i'll just drop a line to george and tell him where i’ve gone.” he put rena's letter into his breast pocket, and turning to his trunk, took from it a handful of papers relating to the claim in reference to which he was going to fayette- ville. these he thrust into the same pocket with rena's let- ter; he wished to read both letter and papers while on the train. it would be a pleasure merely to hold the letter be- fore his eyes and look at the lines traced by her hand. the papers he wished to study, for the more practical purpose of examining into the merits of his claim against the estate of duncan mcswayne. when walden reached home, he inquired if mr. tryon had called. “no, suh,” the nurse answered, to whom he had put the question; “he ain’t been heah yet, suh.” walden was surprised and much disturbed. “the baby’s been cryin’ fo’ mis’ rena,” the nurse sug- gested, “an i spec’ he’d lak tu see you, suh. shall i fetch him?” “yes, bring him to me.” he took the child in his arms and went out upon the pi- azza. several porch pillows lay invitingly near. he pushed them toward the steps with his foot, sat down on one, and mas querade placed little albert upon another. he was scarcely seated when a messenger from the hotel came up the walk from the gate and handed him a note. at the same moment he heard the long shriek of the afternoon train leaving the station on the opposite side of the town. he tore the envelope open anxiously, read the note, smiled a weak and sickly smile, and clinched the paper in his hand unconsciously. there was nothing he could do. it had been done for him—by the strange hand of fate. the train had gone; there was no telegraph to fayetteville and no letter could leave charleston for twenty-four hours, go- ing to fayetteville. the best laid schemes of mice and men go wrong at times—the staunchest ships are sometimes wrecked or skirt the breakers perilously. life is a sea, full of strange currents and uncharted reefs—whoever leaves the traveled path must run the danger of destruction. wal- den was a lawyer, however, and accustomed to balance probabilities. “he may easily be in fayetteville a day or two without meeting her. she will spend most of her time at mother's bedside, and he will be occupied with his own affairs.” if tryon should meet her—well, he was very much in love and he had spoken very nobly of birth and blood. walden would have preferred, nevertheless, that tryon's theories should not be put to this particular test. rena's scruples had so far been successfully combated; the ques- tion would be open again, and the situation unnecessarily complicated, if tryon should meet rena in fayetteville. “will he or will he not?” walden asked himself. he took a coin from his pocket and spun it upon the floor. “heads, he sees her; tails, he does not.” : : masquerade the coin spun swiftly and steadily, leaving upon the eye the impression of a revolving sphere. little albert, left for a moment to his own devices, had crept behind his father and was watching the whirling disk with great pleasure. he felt that he would like to possess this interesting object. the coin began to move more slowly, losing momentum, and was wabbling to its fall, when the child stretched forth his chubby fist and caught it ere it touched the floor. %aaten aeat. &ae tryon arrived in the early morning and put up at the fayetteville hotel, a very comfortable inn. after a bath, breakfast, and a visit to the barber-shop, he inquired of thc hotel clerk the way to the office of dr. green, his mother's cousin. “on the corner, sir,” the clerk replied, “by the market house just over the drugstore. the doctor drove past here only half an hour ago. you'll probably catch him in his of fice.” tryon found the office without difficulty. he climbed the stair but found no one in except a colored boy, seated in the outer office, who rose promptly as tryon entered. “no, suh,” the boy replied to tryon's question, “he ain’t in now. he's gone out to see a patient, suh, but he'll be back soon. won't you set down in de private office an’ wait fo’ ‘im, suh?” tryon had not slept well during his journey and felt somewhat fatigued. through the open door of the next room he saw an inviting armchair, with a window at onc side, and upon the other, a table strewn with papers and magazines. “yes,” he replied in answer to the boy's invitation. “i’ll wait.” he entered the private office, sank into the armchair, and looked out of the window upon the square below. the view mas querade was mildly interesting. the old brick market-house with the tower was quite picturesque. on a wagon-scale at one end of the public square, a weightmaster was weighing a load of hay. in the booths under the wide arches, several old negro women were frying fish on little charcoal stoves— the odor would have been appetizing to one who had not breakfasted. on the shady-side stood half a dozen two- wheeled carts, loaded with lightwood and drawn by two diminutive steers, or superanuated army mules, branded on the flank with the cabalistic letters “c. s. a.,” which rep- resented a vanished dream, or “u. s. a.,” which, as any negro about the market-house would have borne witness, signified a very concrete fact. now and then a lady or a gentleman passed with leisure step—no one ever hurried during those days in fayetteville—or some poor white sandhiller slouched listlessly along toward a store or bar- room. - tryon mechanically counted the slabs of ginger bread on the nearest market-stall, and calculated the cubical con- tents of several of the meagre loads of wood. having ex- hausted this view, he turned to the table at his elbow and picked up a medical journal, in which he read, first, an ac- count of a marvelous surgical operation. turning the leaves idly, he came upon an article by a southern writer, upon the perennial race problem that had vexed the country for a century. the writer maintained that owing to a special tendency of the negro blood, however diluted, to revert to the african type, any future amalgamation of the white and black races, which foolish and wicked northern ne- grophiles predicted as the ultimate result of the new con- ditions confronting the south, would therefore be an eth- masquerade presence would suggest life and hope and healthfullness. “my dear boy,” the doctor exclaimed cordially, after tryon had introduced himself, “i’m delighted to meet you —or any one of the old blood. your mother and i were sweethearts, long ago, when we both were pinafores, and went to see our grandfather at christmas; and i met her more than once, and paid her more than one compliment, after she had grown to be a fine young woman. you're like her, too, but not quite so handsome—you've more of what i suppose to be the tryon favor, though i never met your father. so one of old duncan mcswayne's notes went so far as that? well, well, i don’t know where you won’t find them. one of them turned up here the other day from new york. - “the man you want to see,” he added later in the con- versation, “is old judge straight. he's getting somewhat stiff in the joints, but he knows more law, and more about the mcswayne estate, than any other two lawyers in town. if anybody can collect your claim, judge straight can. i’ll send my boy dave over to his office. dave,” he turned and called loudly to the sleepy looking colored office boy. “yassuh?” dave replied, waking quickly and hustling to his feet, stood before the doctor. “run over to judge straight's office and see if he's there.” “yassuh,” dave replied and dashed quickly away, doc- tor green turned back to tryon and continued. “there was a freshet here a few weeks ago, and they had to open the flood-gates and let the water out of the mill pond, for if the dam had broken, as it did twenty years ago, it would have washed the pillars from under the masquerade judge's office and let it down in the creek, and—” it was dave, who had been to the judge's office. “uh, dr. green, jedge straight ain’t in his office jes' now, suh. naw, suh, he ain’t in his office.” “did you inquire of anybody when he'd be back?” dave's face fell. he swallowed guiltily, then, shaking his head: “naw, suh. you didn’t tell me to ask dat, suh.” dr. green shook his head hopelessly, looked across at tryon, who smiled at the humor of it, then turned back to dave with a deep frown on his face. “well, go back now and inquire.” “yassuh.” dave replied, as if relieved, and turning dashed back down the stairs again. “the niggers,” dr. green turned back to tryon to ex- plain. “are getting mighty trifling since they’ve been freed. before the war that boy would have been around there and back before you could have said jack robinson. now, the lazy rascal takes his time—just like a white man.” dave returned now, more promptly than from his first trip. “jedge straight's dare now, yassuh. ‘e done come in.” “i’ll take you right around and introduce you,” the doc- tor said, rising to his feet with tryon following suit. the doctor was a talkative man and never seemed to stop long enough to get his breath. “i don’t know whether the judge ever met your mother or not, but he knows a gentleman when he sees one, and will be glad to meet you and look after your affair.” they were leaving the office and ap- proaching the stairway, when something seemed to occur ( masquerade to him and he caught tryon by the arm, paused, and turned back. w “see to the patients, dave, and say i’ll be back shortly, and don’t forget any messages left for me. look sharp now!” he exclaimed, raising his hand in a gesture of warn- ing and looking hard at dave, who just grinned back at him and sat down in a comfortable seat, preparatory to taking another nap. “you know your failing!” again dave grinned, and before the men reached the bottom of the stairway he lay back and was fast asleep. they found judge straight in his office. he was seated by the rear window and had fallen into a gentle doze. the air of fayetteville was conducive to slumber. a visitor from some hustling city might have rubbed his eyes, on any but a market-day, and imagined the whole town asleep; that the people were somnambulists and did not know it. the judge, an old hand, roused himself so skillfully, at the sound of approaching footsteps, that his visitors could not guess but that he had been wide awake. he shook hands with the doctor, and acknowledged the introduction to tryon with a rare, old-fashioned courtesy, which the young man thought a very charming survival of the man- ners of a past and happier age. “no,” the judge replied, in answer to a question by dr. green, “i never met his mother; i was a generation ahead of her. i was at school with her father, however, fifty years ago—fifty years ago! no doubt that seems to you a long time, young man?” “it is a long time, sir,” tryon replied. “i must live twice as long as i have to cover it.” “a long time and a troubled time,” the judge sighed. “i mas queradr. could wish that i might see this unhappy land at peace with itself before i die. things are in a sad tangle; i can’t see the way out. but the worst enemy has been slain, in spite of us. we are well rid of slavery.” “but the negro we still have with us,” the doctor re- marked, his face really serious for the first time. “for here comes my man, dave. what is it now, david?” his ques- tion was sharp and his eyes were hard on the boy. he had a suspicion. - “doctuh green,” dave said. “ah fugot to tell you, suh, dat dat young ‘oman wuz at de office agin' befo' you come in, and said fo you to go rat down an’ see uh mammy ez soon as you could.” “ah, yes, and you’ve just remembered it! i'm afraid you’re entirely too forgetful for a doctor's office. you for- got about old mrs. latimer, the other day, and when i got there she had almost choked to death. now get back to the office,” he said sharply, waving a threatening finger at dave, who shied away with that silly grin as before on his face. “and remember that the next time you forget any- thing, i’ll hire another boy; remember that!” bowing apologetically, dave backed out of the office and in the door, turned and ran away. doctor green, with flashing eyes, had watched him out of sight, now turned back to his companions. “that boy's head,” he remarked, touching both his tem- ples, “reminds me of nothing so much as a dried gourd, with a hand-full of cow peas rattling around in it, in lieu of gray matter. an old woman out in redbank got a fish- bone in her throat, the other day, and nearly choked to death before i got there. a white woman, sir, came very masquerade near losing her life because of a lazy, trifling negro.” “i should think you would discharge him, sir,” suggested tryon. - “what would be the use?” the doctor rejoined. “all ne- groes are alike, irresponsible, except that now and then there's a pretty woman along the borderline. take this pa- tient of mine, for instant—i’ll call on her after dinner. her case is not serious. thirty years ago she would have made any man turn his head to look at her. you know who i mean, don’t you, judge?” “yes, i think so,” the judge said promptly. “i transact a little business for her now and then myself.” “i don’t know whether you’ve seen the daughter or not —i’m sure you haven’t for the past year or so, for she's been away. but she's in town now; and, by jove, the girl is really beautiful. and i’m a judge of beauty. do you re- member my wife thirty years ago, judge?” “she was a very handsome woman, ed,” the other re- plied judicially. “if i had been twenty years younger i should have cut you out.” “you mean you would have tried,” the doctor replied with a laugh, which brought a smile from the other two men. “but as i was saying,” the doctor went on. “the girl is a beauty; i reckon we might guess where she got some of it, eh, judge? human nature is human nature, but it’s a damned shame that a man should beget a child like that and leave it to live the life open for a negro. if she had een born white, the young fellows would be tumbling over each other to get her. her mother would have to look after her very closely as things are, if she stayed here; but she disappeared mysteriously a year or two ago and has been mas querade at the north, i’m told, passing for white. she’ll probably marry a yankee; he won’t know any better, and it will serve him right—she's only too white for them. she has a very striking figure, something on the greek order, stately and slow-moving. she has the manners of a lady, too—a beautiful woman, if she is a nigger!” “i quite agree with you, ed,” the judge remarked dryly, “that the mother had better look closely after the daugh- ter.” “ah, no, judge,” the other replied, with a flattered smile, “my admiration for beauty is purely abstract. twen- ty-five years ago when i was young—” “when you were younger,” the judge corrected, and smiled enigmatically. “when you and i were young,” the doctor continued in- geniously. “twenty-five years ago i could not have an- swered for myself. but would advise the girl to stay at the north, if she can. she's certainly out of place around here.” tryon found the subject a little tiresome, and the doc- tor's enthusiasm not at all contagious. he could not have possibly been interested in a colored girl, under any cir- cumstances. he was sure of that. and he was engaged to be married to the most beautiful white woman on earth. to mention a negro woman in the same room where he was thinking of rena seemed little short of profanation. his friend, the doctor, was a jovial fellow, but it was surely doubtful taste to refer to his wife in such a conversation. he was very glad when the doctor dropped the subject and permitted him to go more into detail about the matter which formed his business in fayetteville. he took out of mas querade his pocket the papers concerning the mcswayne claim and laid them on the judge's desk. “you’ll find everything there, sir, the note, the con- tract and some correspondence that will give you the hang of the thing. will you be able to look them over today? i should like,” he added, a little nervously, “to go back to- morrow.” “what!” dr. green exclaimed, vivaciously, “insult our town by staying only one day? it won't be long enough to get acquainted with our young ladies. fayetteville girls are famous for their beauty. but perhaps there's a loadstone in south carolina to draw you back? ah, you change color! to my mind there's nothing finer than the ingenuous blush of youth. but we’ll spare you if you'll answer one question —is it serious?” - “i’m to be married in two weeks, sir,” tryon replied, blushing deeper. the statement sounded very pleasant, in spite of the slight embarrassment caused by the inquiry. “good boy!” the doctor rejoined, taking his arm famil- iarly—they were both standing now. “you ought to have married a fayetteville girl, but you people down toward the eastern counties seldom come this way, and we are evi- dently too late to catch you.” “i’ll look your papers over this morning,” the judge said, “and when i come from dinner will stop at the courthouse and examine the record and see if there's anything we can get hold of. if you’ll drop in around three or four o'clock, i may be able to give you an opinion.” “now, george,” the doctor exclaimed, “we’ll go back to the office for a spell, and then i’ll take you home with me to luncheon.” masquerade tryon hesitated. “oh, you must come! mrs. green would never forgive me if i didn't bring you. strangers are rare birds in our so- ciety, and when they come we make them welcome. our enemies may overturn our institutions, and try to put the bottom rail on top, but they cannot destroy our southern hospitality. there are so many carpet-baggers and other social vermin creeping into the south, with the yankees trying to force the niggers on us, that it's a genuine pleas- ure to get acquainted with another real southern gentle- man, whom one can invite into one's house without fear of contamination, and before whom one can express his feelings freely and be sure of perfect sympathy.” mas querade hand, it dawned upon him slowly that he held also one of the links in a chain of possible tragedy which he himself, he became uncomfortably aware, had had a hand in forg- ing. “it is the walden woman's daughter, as sure as fate! her name is rena. her brother goes by the name of walden. she has come to visit her sick mother. my young client, green's relation, is her lover—is engaged to marry her! is in town, and is likely to meet her!” the judge was so absorbed in the situation thus suggested that he laid the papers down and pondered for a moment the curious problem involved. he was quite aware that two races had not dwelt together, without their blood in great- er or less degree; he was old enough, and had seen curious things enough to know that in this mingling the current had not always ran in one direction. certain old decisions with which he was familiar; old scandals that had crept along obscure channels; old facts that had come to the knowledge of an old practitioner, who held in the hollow of his hand the honor of more than one family, made him know that there was dark blood among the white people— not a great deal, and that very much diluted, as, so long as it was sedulously concealed or vigorously denied, or lost in the midst of tradition, or ascribed to a foreign or an ab- original strain, having no perceptible effect upon the ra- cial type. such people were, for the most part, merely on the ragged edge of the white world, seldom rising above the level of overseers or slave-catchers, or sheriff officers, who usually could be relied upon to resent the drop of black blood that tainted them, and with the zeal of the proselyte masquerade to visit their hatred of it upon the unfortunate blacks that fell into their hands. one curse of slavery was, and one part of its baleful heritage is, that it poisoned the fountains of human sympathy. under a system where men might sell their own children without social reprobation or loss of prestige, it was not surprising that some of them should hate their distant cousins. there were not in fayetteville half a dozen persons capable of thinking judge straight's thoughts upon the question before him, and perhaps not another who would have adopted the course he now pur- sued toward this anomalous family in the house behind the cedars. “well, here we are again, as the clown in the circus re- marks,” the judge murmured. “almost fifteen years ago in a moment of sentimental weakness, and of quixotic loyalty to an old friend, who, by the way, had not cared enough for his own children to take them away from the south, as he might have done or to provide for them in his will which he perhaps intended to do, i violated the tradi- tions of my class and stepped from the beaten path to help the misbegotten son of my old friend out of the slough of despond, in which he had learned, in some strange way, that he was floundering. and now, the ghost of my good deed returns to haunt me, and makes me doubt whether i have wrought more evil than good. i wonder,” he mused, “if he will find her out?” the judge was a man of imagination; he had read many books and had personally outlived some prejudices. he let his mind run on the various phases of the situation. “if he found her out, would he by any possibility marry her?” mas querade “it may be the unwisest thing i ever did,” he said to himself, turning to his desk and picking up a quill pen, “and may result in more harm than good; but i was al- ways from childhood in sympathy with the under dog. there is certainly as much reason in my helping the girl as the boy, for being a woman, she is less able to help her- self.” he dipped his pen into the ink and wrote the following lines:— madam:—if you value your daughter's happiness, keep her at home for the next day or two. this note he dried by sprinkling it with sand from a box near at hand, signed with his own name, and with a fine courtesy, addressed to, “mrs. molly northcross.” having first carefully sealed it in an envelope, he stepped to the open door and spied a group of negro boys, one of whom the judge called by name. “here, billy,” he said, handing the boy the note, “take this to mrs. molly northcross. do you know where she lives—out on the old wilmington road, in the house be- hind the cedars?” “yas, suh, ah knows de place.” “make haste now. when you come back and tell me what she says, i’ll give you a dime.” he handed the boy the note, and then as he was doing so, he had a more considered thought. he paused, looked at the boy with this thought in mind. “on second thought, billy, i'm afraid i may be gone to lunch when you come back, so here's your money,” he added, handing the lad the coin. just here, however, the judge made his mistake. very - mas querade few mortals can spare the spring of hope, the motive force of expectation. the boy kept the note in his hand, winked at his companions, who had gathered as near as their awe of the judge would permit, and started down the street. as soon as the judge had disappeared, billy beckoned to his friends, who speedily overtook him. when the party turned the corner of front street and were safely out of sight of judge straight's office, the capitalist entered a grocery and invested his unearned increment in ginger- bread. when the ensuing saturnalia was over, billy finished the game of marbles which the judge had interrupted, and then set out to execute his commission. he had nearly reached his objective point when he met upon the street a young, apparently white lady, whom he did not know, and for whom, the path being narrow at that point, he stepped out into the gutter. he reached the house behind the ce- dars, went round to the back door, and handed the en- velope to mis’ molly, who was seated on the rear piazza, propped up by pillows in a comfortable rocking chair. “laws—a mussey:” she exclaimed weakly, “what is it?” “it’s a lettuh, ma'am,” and to the boy, whose expanding nostrils had caught a pleasant odor from the kitchen, and who was therefore in no hurry to go away. “who’s it fer?” she asked. “hit’s for’ you, ma'am,” the lad replied. “who’s it frum?” she inquired, turning the envelope over and over, and examining it with the impotent curi- osity of one who cannot read. “f”um ole' jedge straight, ma'am. he tole me tu fetch it to yuh.” then, after another sniff, he turned to mis’ molly solicitously. mas querade - “is you got a roasted ‘tater you could gimme, ma'am?” “sholy, chile. i’ll have aunt zilphy fetch you a piece of ‘tater pone, ef you’ll hole on a minet.” she called to aunt zilphy, who soon came hobbling out of the kitchen with a large square of the delicacy, a flat cake made of mashed sweet potatoes, mixed with beaten eggs, sweetened and flavored to suit the taste, and baked in a dutch oven upon the open hearth. - the boy took the gratuity, thanked her, and turned to go. mis’ molly was still scanning the superscription of the letter. “ah wonduh,” she murmured, “whut ole jedge straight c’n be writin’ tu me ‘bout? oh, boy!” “yes'm?” the messenger answered, looking back. “can you read writin’?” “no’m.” “all right. never mind.” she laid the letter carefully on the chimney piece of the kitchen. “i reckon it’s somethin’ mo’ ‘bout the taxes,” she thought, “or maybe somebody wants to buy one of my lots. rena’ll be back ‘terectly, and she'll read it and fin’ out. i’m glad my children have been to school. they never could have got where they are now if they hadn't.” %aate, %t, due mention has been made of certain addressed envelopes john walden, on the occasion of his visit, had left with his illiterate mother by the use of which she might communi- cate with her children from time to time. on one occasion mis' molly, having had a letter written, took one of these envelopes from the chest where she kept her most valued possessions, and was about to enclose the letter when some one knocked at the door. she laid the envelope and letter on a table in her bedroom, and went to answer the knock on the door. the wind, blowing across the room through the open windows, picked up the envelope and bore it into the street. mis' molly on her return, missed it, looked for it, and being unable to find it, took another envelope. an hour or two later another gust of wind lifted the bit of paper from the ground and carried it into the open door of the cooper shop. frank picked it up, and observing that it was clean and unused, read the superscription. in his conversations with mis’ molly, which were often about rena—the subject uppermost in both their minds,- he had noted the mystery maintained by mis’ molly about her daughter's whereabouts, and had often wondered at this peculiar silence. as we know, frank was an intelligent fellow, and could put this and that together. the en- velope was addressed to a place in south carolina. he was aware, from her remarks, that rena had gone to live in mas querade south carolina. her son's name was john—that he had changed his last name was more than likely. frank was not long in reaching the conclusion that rena was to be found near the town named on the envelope, which he carefully preserved for future reference. for a whole year frank had yearned for a smile or a kind word from the only woman in the world that mattered. although of a dark complexion, frank fowler was little short of handsome, and there were plenty of girls in and around fayetteville who would have welcomed his atten- tions. after rena disappeared so mysteriously, and, know- ing that they had been greatly devoted to each other, frank's parents were hoping that he would give up the thoughts of rena, whom they had learned enough regard- ing, to feel that she had gone back with her brother, and since they knew he was passing for white, could only con- clude that he had taken her back to do the same thing. this angered them. there is always a division between dark colored people and light ones, and the dark ones are for- ever ready to accuse the other—that is the lighter ones, of being “stuck-up” and “think they are better than us.” it also angers the dark ones, this thought. convinced that frank was still thinking about rena, and, perhaps living in the hope that something would hap- pen and that she would return, frank fowler's father took it upon himself to speak seriously to his son about the situa- tion. “it’s time now, frank, for you to be looking around and considering some nice girl who will appreciate your effort to better yourself and perhaps make some girl a good hus- band. while the northcross' haven’t been bad neighbors, : : º mas querade and we were all led for a long time to think that you and rena would—find something in common with each other, it is obvious that her brother has overruled you. so why not write her off your memory and pay some attention to girls who are not expecting to “pass for white?” when rena came back unexpectedly at the behest of her dreams, frank heard again the music of her voice, felt the joy of her presence and the benison of her smile. there was, however, a subtle difference in her bearing. her words were not less kind, but they seemed to come from a re- moter source. she was kind as the sun is warm or the rain refreshing; she was especially kind to frank, because he had been good to her mother. if frank felt the difference in her attitude, he ascribed it to the fact that she had been white, and had taken on something of the white attitude toward the negro; and frank, with an equal unconsciousness, clothed her with the attributes of the superior race. only her drop of black blood, he conceived, gave him the right to feel toward her as he would never have felt without it; and if rena guessed her faithful devotee's secret, the same reason saved his worship from presumption. a smile and a kind word were little enough to pay for a life's devotion. on the third day of rena's presence in fayetteville, frank was driving up front street in the early afternoon, when he nearly fell off his cart in astonishment as he saw, seated in dr. green's buggy, which was standing in front of the fayetteville hotel, the young man whom he had seen, only the day before, at rena's house, in a photograph standing beside rena, and under which he had read, “from rena to george with love,” and had concluded rightly, that this was the man who had come into her life when she masquerade went to live with her brother; to do as he was doing, pass for white. he paused to take a closer look at the man, and then sat back convinced beyond a reasonable doubt. he tried to figure out the combination, but could reach only one conclusion: he was rena's engaged sweetheart, here by some strange and mysterious train of events, now languish- ing for a while at least, in fayetteville! frank was quite certain that rena didn't know of his - presence in the town. frank had been over to see mis’ mol- ly in the morning, and had offered his services to the sick woman, who had rapidly become convalescent upon her daughter's return. mis’ molly had spoken of some camphor that she needed. frank had volunteered to get it. rena had thanked him and spoken of going to the drugstore during the afternoon. it was her intention to leave fayetteville the next day and return to charleston. frank realized in a flash if tryon saw rena, it would surprise him; surprise her; the situation would very shortly explain itself—and then! he sighed and shook his head. suddenly, then, frank was assailed by a new thought; a very strong temptation. was it the devil working within him? if, as he surmised, the joint presence of the two lovers in fayetteville was a mere coincidence, a meeting between them would almost surely result in his discovery of rena's secret. meanwhile, the voice of the tempter was whispering softly into his ear: “if she's found out,” the voice was saying, “she'll come back to her mother—and to you. . . .” he hesitated only briefly, realizing of a sudden that he had never done anything to be ashamed of. his love for her was not of the selfish kind. he put temptation aside, and mas querade applied the whip quickly to the back of his mule, with a vigor that astonished the animal and moved him to un- wonted activity. in an unusually short space of time, he drew up before mis' molly's back-gate, sprang from the cart, and ran up to mis' molly on the back porch. “is rena here?” he demanded breathlessly. “no, frank, she went uptown about an hour ago to see the doctor and to git me some camphor gum.” frank uttered a groan, rushed from the house, sprang into the cart and goaded the terrified mule into a gallop which carried him back to the market house in half the time it had taken him to reach mis’ molly's. “i wonder what in the worl’s the matter with frank,” mis' molly mused in vague alarm. “ef he hadn’t been in such a hurry, i’d a axed him tu read jedge straight's let- ter.” she sighed, and adjusted her position uneasily, and then said to herself: “well, rena’ll be home soon.” when frank reached the doctor's office, the first thing he noted was that the doctor's buggy had moved from in front of the hotel to the front of the doctor's office, and rena's lover was still seated in it as before. we have ex- plained previously, that the doctor's office was located over the drugstore which stood on a corner. frank ran upstairs and was met by dave, whom he asked if rena had been there. “yeah,” dave replied, and came forward and paused at top of steps that led downstairs. pointing with a finger, he went on: “she wuz heah a lil' while ago, and said she wuz gwine downstairs to de drugsto'. i wouldn't be 'sprised ef you didn’t fin’ helh down dare now.” mas querade —footprints of the god of war, one of whose temples had crowned this height. for many years before the rebellion, a federal arsenal had been located at fayetteville. seized by state troops dur- ing the secession of north carolina, it had been held by the confederates until the approach of sherman's victorious army, whereupon it was evacuated and partly destroyed. the work of destruction begun by the retreating garrison was completed by the conquerors, and now only ruined walls and broken cannon remained of what had once been the chief ornament and pride of fayetteville. the front of dr. green’s spacious brick house, which occupied an ideally picturesque site, was overgrown by a network of clinging vines, contrasting most agreeably with the mellow red background. a low brick wall, also over- run with creepers, separated the premises from the street and shut in a well kept flower garden, in which tryon, who knew something of plants, noticed many rare and beautiful specimens. mrs. green greeted tryon cordially. he did not have the doctor's memory with which to fill out the lady's cheeks or restore the lustre of her hair or the sparkle of her eyes, and thereby justify her husband's claim to be a judge of beau- ty; but her kind-hearted hospitality was obvious, and might have made even a plain woman seem handsome. she and her two fair daughters, to whom tryon was duly pre- sented, looked with much favor upon their handsome young kinsman; for among the people of fayetteville, per- haps by virtue of the prevalence of scottish blood, the ties of blood were cherished as things of value, and never for- mas querade - gotten except in the case of the unworthy—an exception, by the way, which one need hardly go far to seek. the fayetteville people were not exceptional in the weaknesses and meanesses which are common to all man- kind, but for some of the finer social qualities they were conspicuously above the average. kindness, hospitality, loyalty, a chivalrous deference to women,_all these things might be found in large measure by those who saw fay- etteville with the eyes of its best citizens, and accepted their standard of politics, religion, manners, and morals. the doctor, after the introductions, excused himself for a moment. mrs. green soon left tryon with the young ladies and went to look after luncheon. her first errand, however, was to find the doctor. “is he well off, ed?” she asked her husband in an anxious whisper. “lots of land and plenty of money, if he is ever able to collect it. he has inherited two estates.” “he’s sure a good-looking fellow,” she mused. “is he married?” “there you go again,” her husband replied, shaking his forefinger at her in mock reproach. “to a woman with marriageable daughters, all roads lead to matrimony, the centre of a woman's universe. all men must be sized up by their matrimonial availability. no, he isn’t married.” “that’s nice,” she rejoined reflectively. “i think we ought to ask him to stay with us while he is in town, don't you?” “he’s not married,” the doctor rejoined slyly; “but the next thing, he's engaged.” i mas querade he noticed his wife start, ever so slightly, and then she changed, promptly. the next words confirmed the fact that she had. - “come to think of it,” she said, “i’m afraid we wouldn’t have the room to spare, and the girls would hardly have time to entertain him. but we’ll have him up several times while he is here. i like his looks. i wish you had sent me word that you were bringing him. i'd have had a better luncheon.” “make him a salad,” the doctor suggested, “and get out a bottle of the best claret. thank god! the yankees didn’t get into my wine cellar. the young man must be treated with genuine southern hospitality—even if he were a mor- mon and married ten times over.” “indeed, he would not, ed—the idea! i’m ashamed of you. now, get out, hurry back to the parlor and talk to him. the girls may want to primp a little before luncheon; we don’t have a young man to call every day.” “beauty unadorned,” the doctor replied, “is adorned the most. my profession qualifies me to speak upon the subject. they are the two handsomest young women in fayette- ville, and the daughters of the most beautiful—” “don’t you dare say the word,” mrs. green interrupted, raising her hand, but with placid good nature. “i shall never grow old while living with a big boy like you. but i must go and make the salad.” at dinner the conversation ran on the family connec- tions and their varying fortunes in the late war. some had died upon the battlefield, and slept in unknown graves; some had been financially ruined by their faith in the “lost cause,” having invested their all in the securities of the mas querade confederate government. few had anything left but land, and land without slaves to work it was a drug on the mar- ket. “i was offered a thousand acres the other day, at twenty- five cents an acre,” the doctor remarked. “the owner is so land poor that he can’t pay the taxes. they have taken our negroes and our liberties. it may be better for our grand- children that the negroes are free, but it was confoundedly hard on us for the north to free them without giving us anything for them.” “i have heard, dr. green,” tryon suggested at this point, “that while abraham lincoln was campaigning for election, that he often suggested compensating the slave- holders for the negroes and setting them free. that seemed like a fair and reasonable idea, since the north was swept so by the abolitionist fever.” “yes, you are right, and abraham lincoln did say a great deal about that very thing and often; and now, years later, when we’ve had a chance to cool off, the war and the defeat that followed, cooled us all off, but while he was say- ing it, nobody would listen, and he could get nowhere with the idea. the south insisted that the north let her alone about the slave question, but the north had the abolition fever and refused to call off her abolition dogs. i do believe at this time, however, that if the south hadn’t rushed to secede and set up the confederacy even before lincoln had a chance to take his seat, that he would have, sooner or later, gotten the country to listen to reason, do what he often suggested, floated a big bond issue and paid us for our niggers, and there would have been no war and we would have all the money we blowed in trying to beat the yan- mas querade kees—when we never had a chance, the niggers would have been freed and would now be working for us instead of trying to boss us as the carpet-baggers have them doing.” “well,” tryon said with a sigh. “i guess it's too late to cry over spilled milk.” “we’ve got plenty crying to do and no money to buy handkerchiefs to wipe the tears,” dr. green opined. “they exalt our slaves, but it is only temporarily. but they have not broken our spirit and cannot take away our su- periority of blood and breeding. in due time we shall over- throw the stupid niggers and regain full control. the ne- gro is an inferior creature; god has marked him with the badge of servitude, and has adjusted his intellect to a servile condition. we will not long submit to his domination. i give you a toast, sir:” raising his glass, filled with fine claret: “the anglo-saxon race: may it remain forever, as now, the head and front of creation, never yielding its rights, and ready always to die, if need be, in defense of its liber- ties!” “with all my heart, sir,” tryon replied, who felt in this company a thrill of that pleasure which accompanies con- scious superiority. “with all my heart, sir, if the ladies will permit.” “we will join you,” all three replied in chorus, lifting their glasses. the toast was drunk with great enthusiasm. “and now, my dear george,” the doctor exclaimed, “to change one good subject for another, tell us who is the fav- ored young lady?” “a miss rowena walden, sir,” tryon replied promptly and proudly, vividly conscious of four pairs of eyes fixed - masquerade to exclaim, consulting his watch suddenly. “i must be go- ing!” he got quickly to his feet, turned to look at tryon who stood up, too. “will you stay with the ladies awhile, or go back down- town with me?” “i think i had better go with you, sir. i shall, if you re- call, have to see judge straight.” “very well, but you must come back to supper, and we'll have a few friends in to meet you. you must see some of the best people.” the doctor's buggy was waiting at the gate. as they were passing the hotel on their drive downtown, the clerk came out to the curbstone and called to the doctor. “there's a man here, doctor, who's been taken suddenly ill. can you come in a minute and look at him, sir?” “i suppose i’ll have to,” the doctor said with a bit of a frown. after finding his kit, he turned to tryon. “will you wait for me here, george, or will you drive on down to the office? i can walk the rest of the way.” “i think i'll wait here, doctor,” tryon replied. “i’ll step up to my room a minute and be back by the time you’re ready.” it was while they were standing before the hotel, previ- ous to alighting from the buggy, that frank fowler, pass- ing by in his cart, saw tryon and set out as fast as he could to warn mis’ molly and rena of his presence in the town. tryon went up to his room, returned after awhile, and took his seat in the buggy, where he waited fifteen minutes before the doctor was ready. when they drew up in front of the office, the doctor's man, dave, was standing in the mas querade doorway, looking up the street with an anxious expression, as though struggling hard to keep something upon his mind. the doctor got out and approached him. “anything wanted, dave?” he asked. “dat young ‘oman's been heah agin', suh, and wants tu see you bad. she's in de drugsto’ now, suh.” the doctor, without another word, went into the drug- store. “bless gawd!” dave said to himself with a deep sigh. “ah remembered dat. dis heah recomembrance a mine is gwine git me intu trouble ef i don't look out, and dats a fac’ sho’.” tryon sat looking at the boy with an amused smile on his face, wondering to himself if the negro race was as stupid as they were accused of being; or if the whites, by classifying them as inferior for so long that they had sim- ply convinced them against their will of being stupid. at this point the doctor came back to the buggy and touch- ing tryon, whispered in an undertone. “just keep your seat, george, until i have finished with the young woman, and then we'll go around to judge straight's. or, if you’ll drive along a little further, you can see the girl through the window. she's sure worth looking at if you like a pretty face.” tryon liked one pretty face: moreover, tinted beauty had never appealed to him. more to show a proper regard for what interested the doctor than from any curiosity of his own, he drove forward a few feet, until the side of the buggy was opposite the drugstore window, and then looked in through the window. - between the colored glass bottles in the window he could mas querade sce a young woman, a tall and slender girl, like a lily on its stem. she stood talking with the doctor, who held his hat in his hand with as much deference as though she were the proudest dame in town. her face was partly turned away from the window, but as tryon's eyes fell upon her, he gave a great start. surely, no two women could be so much alike. the height, the graceful droop of the shoulders, the swan-like poise of the head, the well-turned little ear— surely, no two women could have them all identical! but, pshaw! the notion was absurd, it was merely the reflex in- fluence of his morning dream. she moved slightly; it was rena's movement. surely he knew the gown, and the style of hair-dressing! she rested her hand lightly on the back of a chair. the ring that glit- tered on her finger could be none other than his own. the doctor bowed. the girl nodded in response, and, turning, left the store. tryon leaned forward from the buggy seat and kept his eyes fixed on the figure that moved across the floor of the drugstore. as she came out, she turned her face casually toward the buggy, and there could no longer be any doubt as to her identity! when rena's eyes fell upon the young man in the bug- by, she saw a face as pale as death, with startling eyes, in which love, which once had reigned, had now given place to astonishment and horror. she stood a moment as if turned to stone. one appealing glance she gave—a look that might have softened the adamant. when she saw it brought no answering sign of love, or sorrow or regret, the color faded from her cheek, the light from her eyes, and she fell fainting to the ground. %aete, %tº ao -- the first effect of tryon's discovery was, figuratively speaking, to knock the bottom out of things for him. it was much as if a boat on which he had been floating smoothly down the stream of pleasure had sunk suddenly, and left him struggling in deep waters. the full realization of the truth, which followed speedily, had for the moment reversed his mental attitude towards her, and love and yearning had given place to anger and disgust. his agita- tion could hardly have escaped notice had not the doctor's attention, and that of the crowd that quickly gathered, been absorbed by the young woman who had fallen. during the time occupied in carrying her into the drug- store, restoring her to consciousness, and sending her home in a carriage, tryon had time to recover in some degree his self-possession. when rena had been taken home, he slipped away for a long walk, after which he called at judge straight's office and received the judge's report upon the matter presented. judge straight had found the claim, in his opinion, a fairly good one; he had discovered prop- erty from which, in case the claim was allowed, the amount might be realized. the judge, who had already been informed of the incident at the drugstore, observed tryon's preoccupation and guessed shrewdly at its cause, but gave no sign. tryon left the matter of the note unre- - masquerade servedly in the lawyer's hands, with instructions to com- municate to him, any further developments. returning to the doctor's office, tryon listened to that genial gentleman's comments on the accident, his own con- cern in which he, by a great effort, was able to conceal. the doctor insisted upon his returning to the hill for supper. tryon pleaded illness. the doctor was solicitous, felt his pulse, pronounced him feverish, and prescribed a sedative. tryon sought refuge in his room at the hotel, from which he did not emerge again until morning. his emotions were varied and stormy. at first he could see nothing but the fraud of which he had been made the victim. a negro girl had been foisted upon him for a white woman, and he had almost committed the unpardonable sin against his race of marrying her. such a step, he felt, would have been criminal at any time; it would have been the most odious treachery of this epoch, when his people had been subjugated and humiliated by the northern in- vaders, who had preached negro equality and abolished the wholesome laws decreeing the separation of the races. but no southerner who loved his poor, down-trodden country, or his race, the proud anglo-saxon race which traced the clear stream of its blood to the cavaliers of england, could tolerate the idea that even in distant generations that un- sullied current could be polluted by the blood of slaves. the very thought was an insult to the white people of the south. of tryon's liberalism, of which he had spoken so nobly and so sincerely, had been confined unconsciously, and as a matter of course, within the boundaries of his own race. the southern mind, in discussing abstract questions, relative to humanity, makes always, consciously or uncon- ! masquerade sciously, the mental reservations that the conclusions reached do not apply to the negro, unless they can be made to harmonize with the customs of the country. but reasoning thus was not upon a mind of nature rea- sonable above the average. tryon's race impulse and social prejudice had carried him too far, and the swing of the mental pendulum brought his thoughts rapidly back in the opposite direction. tossing uneasily on the bed, where he had thrown himself without undressing, the air of the room oppressed him, and he threw open the window. the cool night air calmed his throbbing pulses. the moonlight streaming through the window, flooded the room with a soft light, in which he seemed to see rena standing before him as she had appeared that afternoon, gazing at him with eyes that implored charity and forgiveness. he burst into tears, bitter tears, that strained his heartstrings. he was only a youth, she was his first love—and he had lost her forever! she was worse than dead to him; for if he had seen her lying in her shroud before him, he could at least have cherished her memory; now, even this consolation was de- nied him. the town clock—which so long as it was wound up reg- ularly, reeked nothing of love or hate, joy or sorrow—sol- emnly tolled the hour of midnight, and sounded the knell of his lost love. lost she was, as though she had never been, as indeed she had no right to be. he resolutely determined to banish her from his mind: see her again, he could not; it would be painful to them both; it could be productive of no good to either. he had felt the power and charm of love, and no ordinary shock could have loosened its hold; but this catastrophe, which had so rudely swept away the mas querade ground work of his passion, had stirred into new life, all the slumbering pride of race and ancestry which charac- terized his caste. how much of this superiority was essen- tial and how much accidental; how much of it was due to the ever-suggested comparison with a servile race; how much of it was ignorance and self-conceit; to what extent the boasted purity of his race would have been contami- nated by the fair woman whose image filled his memory. of these things he never thought. he was not influenced by sordid considerations; he would have denied that his course was controlled by any narrow prudence. if rena had been white (for in his creed there was no compro- mise), he would have braved any danger for her sake. had she been merely of illegitimate birth, he would have over- looked the bar sinister. had her people been poor and of low state, he would have brushed aside mere worldly con- siderations, and would have bravely sacrificed convention for love; for his liberality was not a mere form of words. but the one objection which he could not overlook, was unhappily, the one that applied to the only woman who had as yet, moved his heart. he tried to be angry with her, but after the first hour he found it impossible. he was a man of too much imagination not to be able to put himself, in some measure at least, in her place; to perceive for her the step which had placed her in tryon's world, was the working out of nature's great law of self-preservation for which he could not blame her. but for the sheerest acci- dent—no, rather, but for a providential interference, he would have married her, and might have gone to the grave unconscious that she was other than what she seemed. the city clock struck the hour of two. with a shiver . masquerade which a boat was due to leave at nine o'clock. as the hack drove down front street, tryon noted idly the houses that lined the street. when he reached the more scattered district of the town, there was nothing to attract his attention until the carriage came abreast of a row of cedar trees, beyond what could be seen, the upper part of a large house with dormer windows. before the gate stood a horse and buggy, which tryon thought he recognized as doctor green's. the driver stopped and looked at him. “why have you stopped here?” “didn't yuh wish tu see de doctuh?” the driver asked. “i told you to drive me to the boat,” tryon said to him a bit sharply. “will you therefore turn around and drive me there?” “yassuh, yassuh! i guess i made a mistake.” he turned round then. meanwhile, tryon's curiosity was aroused. “can you tell me who lives there?” and he jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the house they were just leav- ing. “yassuh, yas, suh! a cullud 'oman, suh,” the man re- plied, “a mis' molly northcross and her daughter, rena, suh.” a planned, and all around masquerade—even to chang- ing her name to fool him, or the white race, perhaps engi- neered years ago by her brother. tryon smiled and shook his head. the vivid impression he received of this house and the spectre which rose before him of a pale, broken-hearted girl within its gray walls, weeping for a lost lover and a vanished dream of happiness, did not argue well for try- on's future peace of mind. rena's image was not to be easily expelled from his heart. eaea, a, . back in charleston, walden awaited events with some calmness and some philosophy. he could hardly have had one without the other; and it required much philosophy to make him wait a week in patience for information upon a subject in which he was so vitally interested. the delay pointed to disaster. bad news being expected, delay at least put off the evil day. at the end of the week he received two letters—one addressed in his own handwriting and post- marked, fayetteville, n. c.; the other in the handwriting of george tryon. he opened the fayetteville letter first, which ran as follows:— my dean son, frank is writing this letter for me. i am not well, but thank the lord, i am better than i was. rena has had a heap of trouble on account of me and my sickness. if i could of dreamt that i was going to do so much harm, i would have died and gone to meet my god without writing one word to spoil my girl's chances in life; but i didn’t know what was going to happen, and i hope the lord will forgive me. frank knows all about it and so i am having him to write this letter for me as rena is not well enough yet. frank has been very good to me and to rena. he was even down to charleston and saw you and rena there, and the fine house you live in, but he didn’t let either of you see him. he - mas querade never said a word about it to anybody, not even me, until after what has just happened. he didn’t want to make any move that might hurt rena. he is the best friend i have got in town, because he does so much for me, and won’t accept anything in return. (he tells me not to put this in about him, but i want you to know it.) and now about rena. she came to see me and i got bet- ter right away, for it was longing for her as much as any- thing else that made me sick, and i was mighty miserable. when she had been here three days and was going back the next day, she went up town to see the doctor for me, and while she was up there she fainted and fell down in the street, and dr. green sent her home in a carriage and came down to see her. he couldn’t tell what was the matter with her, but she has been sick ever since and out of her head, some of the time and keeps on calling on somebody by the name of george, which was the young white man she told me she was going to marry. it seems that he was in town the day rena was took sick, for frank saw him on the street and ran all the way down here to tell me, so that she could keep out of his way, while she was still uptown, wait- ing for the doctor and getting me some camphor gum for my camphor bottle. old judge straight must have known something about it, for he sent me a note to keep rena in the house, but the little boy he sent it by didn’t bring it until rena was already gone uptown, and, as i couldn't read, of course i didn’t know what it said. dr. green heard rena running on while she was out of her head, and i reck- on he must have suspected something, for he looked kind of queer and went away without saying anything. frank says she met this man on the street and when he found out she masquerade wasn’t white, he said or did something that broke her heart and she fainted and fell down. i am writing you this letter because i know you will be worrying about rena not coming back. if it wasn't for frank, i hardly know how i could write you. frank is not going to say anything about rena passing for white and meeting the man, and neither am i; and i don’t suppose judge straight will say anything, because he is our good friend; and dr. green won’t say anything about it, be- cause frank says that dr. green's cook nancy, says that this young man george stopped with him and was some cousin or relation to the family, and they wouldn’t want people to know that any of their kin was thinking about marrying a colored girl. the white folks have all been mad since j. b. thompson married his black house-keeper when she got religion and wouldn’t live with him any more un- less he married her. the white people was so mad about what she did that they are preparing a bill, so i hear, to pre- sent to the legislature, prohibiting whites and colored from marrying from now on. all the rest of the connections are well. i have just been in to see how rena is. she is feeling some better, i think, and says give you her love and she will write you a letter in a few days, as soon as she is well enough. she burst out cry- ing while she was talking, but i reckon that is better than being out of her head. i hope this may find you well, and that this man of rena's won’t say or do anything down there to hurt you. he has not written to rena or sent her any word. i reckon he is very angry. your affectionate mother, molly northcross masquerade - you as other than a white man, as you may gather from the tone of this letter; and while i cannot marry your sister, i wish her every happiness, and i remain yours very truly, george w. tryon walden could not know that this formal epistle was the last of a dozen that tryon had written and destroyed dur- ing the week since the meeting in fayetteville. hot, blister- ing letters, cold, cutting letters, scornful, crushing letters. though none of them was sent, except this last, they had furnished a safety-valve for his emotions, and had left him in a state of mind that permitted him to write the forego- ing. %aete, %t, zaan rena was convalescing from a two-weeks illness when her brother came to see her. he arrived in fayetteville by an early morning train before the town was awake; and walked unnoticed from the station to his mother's house. his meeting with his sister was not without emotion: he embraced her tenderly, and rena became for a few min- utes a very niobe of grief. “oh, it was cruel, cruel!” she sobbed. “i shall never get over it.” “i can understand it, my dear, i can understand it full well,” johnny replied soothingly. “i can understand it only too well and i am to blame for it. if i had never taken you away from here, you would have escaped this painful ex- perience. but do not despair; all is not lost. tryon will not marry you as i had hoped he might, while i feared the con- trary; but he is a gentleman and will be silent. come back and try again.” “no, johnny, i couldn’t go through it a second time. i managed very well before, when i thought our secret was unknown; but now i could never be sure. it would be borne on every wind, for aught i know, and every rustling leaf might whisper it. the law, you said, made us white; but not the law nor even love, can conquer prejudice. he spoke of my beauty, my grace, my sweetness: i looked into mas querade me. i seemed as white as he is. he might have gone any- where with me, and no one would have started at us curi- ously; no one need have known. the world is wide—there must be some place where a man can live happily with the woman he loves.” - “yes, rena, there is; and the world is wide enough for you to get along without tryon. that is what i am think- ing of now, and what i think that you and i should discuss, make plans for, and concentrate on doing.” “for a day or two,” she went on, not seeming to have heard or taken his last words seriously, “i had hoped he might come back. but his expression in that awful moment grew upon me, haunted me day and night, until i shud- dered at the thought of my ever seeing him again. he looked at me as though i was not even a human being. i had grown fond of him, against my will, for i never felt it was exactly right to fall in love with a white man, but i no longer admire him. i would not marry him if i were white, or he were as i am. he did not love me or he would have acted differently. he might have loved me and have left me—but he could not have loved me and looked at me so.” she began to cry again, and in a few seconds was weep- ing lysterically. there was little he could say to comfort her. presently, as if by force of will, she hushed and dried her tears. walden was reluctant to leave her in fayetteville. her childish happiness had been that of ignorance; she could never be happy there again. she had flowered in the sunlight; she must not pine away in the shade. “if you won’t come back with me, rena, i’ll send you to some school at the north, where you can acquire a liberal - mas querade education, and prepare yourself for some career of useful- ness. you may marry a better man even than tryon.” “no, if i ever marry, it will not be to a white man. i will never be able, as i think about it, to forget the look of hatred, vile contempt and downright cruelty, if he finds that i am colored. you have been successful in what you did, and the family will have to be satisfied at that, but i will never run the risk of having another white man look at me as tryon did, never, until the longest day i live! be- sides, johnny, i’ll never leave mother again; she is too in- nocent and too old to make another sacrifice as she tried to this time for our benefit. god is against it; i’ll stay with my own people.” “god has nothing to do with it,” walden retorted, a bit impatiently. “god is too often a stalking horse for human selfishness. if there is anything to be done, so unjust, so des- picable, so wicked that human reason revolts at it, there is always some smug hypocrite to exclaim, ‘it is the will of god.’” “god made us all,” rena continued dreamily, “and for some good purpose, though we may not always see it. he made some people white, and strong, and masterful, and— heartless! he made others black and homely, and poor and weak—” “and a lot of others—'poor white' and shiftless,” wal- den smiled, and then burst into laughter. “he made us, too,” continued rena, intent upon her own thought, “and he must have had a reason for it. per- haps he meant us to bring the others together in his own good time. a man may make a new place for himself—a woman is born and bound to hers. god must have meant mas querade me to stay here, or he would not have sent me back. i shall accept things as they are. why should i seek the society of people whose friendship—and love—one little word can turn to scorn? i was right, johnny; i ought to have told him. suppose he had married me and then had found out?” to rena's argument of fore-ordination walden at- tached no weight whatever. he had seen god's heel planted for four long years upon the land which had nourished slavery. had god ordained the crime that the punishment might follow? it would have been easier for omnipotence to prevent the crime. the experience of his sister had stirred up a certain bitterness against white people—a feel- ing which he had put aside years ago, with his dark blood, but which sprang anew into life when the fact of his own origin was brought home to him so forcibly through his sister's misfortune. his sworn friend and promised brother- in-law had thrown him over promptly, upon discovery of the hidden drop of dark blood. how many others of his friends would do the same, if they but knew of it? he had begun to feel a little of the spiritual estrangement from his associates that he had noticed in rena during her life at charleston. the fact that several persons knew his secret had spoiled the fine flavor of perfect security hitherto marking his position. george tryon was a man of honor among white men, and had deigned to extend the protec- tion of his honor to walden as a man, though no longer as a friend; to rena as a woman, but not as a wife. tryon, however, was only human, and who could tell when their paths in life might cross again, or what future temptation might feel to use a damaging secret to their disadvantage? walden had cherished certain ambitions, but these he masquerade mis' molly, in all probability, care to leave home and friends and the graves of her loved ones. she had no mental resources to supply the place of these; she was, moreover, too old to be transplanted; she would not fit into walden's scheme for a new life. “i left her once,” rena said, “and it brought pain and sorrow to all three of us. she is not strong and i will not leave her here to die alone, this shall be my home while she lives, and if i leave it again, it shall be for only a short time, to go where i can write to her freely, and hear from her often. don’t worry about me, johnny. i shall do very well.” walden sighed. he was sincerely sorry to leave his sister, and yet saw that, for the time being, her resolution was not to be shaken. he must bide his time. perhaps in a few months she might tire of the old life. his door would al- ways be open to her, and he would charge himself with her future. “well, then,” he said, concluding the argument, “we’ll say no more about it for the present. i’ll write to you later. i was afraid that you might not care to go back just now, so i brought your trunk along with me.” he gave his mother the baggage check. she took it across to frank, who during the day, brought the trunk from the depot. mis' molly offered to pay him for doing so, but as usual, he would accept nothing. “my son, johnny is here,” mis' molly said, “and he wants to see you. come into the settin’ room. we don’t want folks to know that he's in town; but you know all our secrets, and we can trust you like one of the family.” mas querade - frank followed mis’ molly into the sitting room where johnny rose to his feet as they approached, smiling. “i’m glad to see you again, frank,” walden said, extend- ing his hand and clasping frank's warmly. “you’ve grown up since i saw you last, but it seems you are still our good friend.” “our very good friend,” rena interjected with a happy smile. “thank you, frank, and i want you to understand how much i appreciate—” “—how much we all appreciate it,” rena corrected, and seemed more happy still. “i’m afraid you are all saying too much about nothing. we've been neighbors all our lives; there are no men around to help the ladies out, and it costs me nothing but a little time, which i have to spare, so why shouldn’t i be a —good neighbor” he looked from one to the other and bowed astutely. rena felt proud. here was the man she could always trust—always had trusted. walden, as if speaking for the family, again thanked him for his kindness and turned his attention to his mother and sister, then, frank, still deprecating the idea, turned and left. johnny walden left by boat the same night; and a new life lay before rena northcross, back in her old home and to her old name. mas querade - deal. with an effort he put the whole matter definitely and conclusively aside, as he had done a hundred times already. yet, no sooner than he had done this, again appeared her face, as he had seen it before the drug store when she turned and their eyes met; there was that pathetic and pitiful expression, touching deep down into his heart and seeming to say, “oh, george, i’m so sorry. now you have found out, but i didn’t want you to. i would have done anything to have saved you this. now you know and you are going to hate and despise me; yet, i am the same rena you have been thinking about all the time. the fact that i am the same, as you have found out, i am still just as i was before you found out. can you not therefore find it in your heart in this brief and fleeting moment to think of me as you have and speak to me and call me to you— only for a little while, george? afterwards, there will be such a long time for you to hate me; but i feel that i could endure it more easily if i could feel in this one look that you have not begun to scorn and hate me so much.” always, it was those eyes that haunted him, those soft and tender, pitiful and helpless eyes—but afterwards, as they recurred to him and he could not call her back, it pained him. and the more he fought to cast this memory off, the keener the pain. he could only think of her as the tenderest, the sweetest and the most lovely girl he ever knew. all that was wrong about her was that which she could not help; god himself could not help or change it —a negress! - yet, when he could be reasonable—even with himself, he found himself arguing: “she is more white than dark; . mas querade she is more of myself than of that hateful drop of dark blood that makes marrying her impossible!” oh, what a cruel world. the world that the white man, his race, had made. some white man, and he must have been rich, a gentleman and proud, was rena's father. she could not have been the offspring of either a slave-catcher, an over-seer, or a poor white man at all. and yet—“what's the use” he would conclude and after trying to blank his mind and imagination, only to find himself living right through it all, over and over again. returning to his home after an absence of several months in south carolina it was quite apparent to his mother's watchful eye that he was in serious trouble. he was absent-minded, monosyllabic, sighed deeply and often, and could not always conceal the traces of secret tears. for tryon was young and possessed of a sensitive soul— a source of happiness or misery, as the fates decree, to those thus endowed, the heights of rapture are accessible, the abysses of despair yawn threateningly; only the dull mo- notony of contentment is denied. mrs. tryon vainly sought by every gentle art a woman knows, to win her son's confidence. “what is the matter, george, dear?” she would ask, stroking his hot brow with her small, cool hand as he sat, nursing his grief. “tell your mother, george. who else could comfort you so well as she?” “oh, it's nothing, mother—nothing at all.”—he would reply with a forced attempt at lightness. “i guess i am somewhat on the anxious seat about—our business and es- tate. people owe us; the country is still unsettled; nobody seems to know definitely just what is going to happen, po- masqueradb be old enough to marry. a woman less interested than miss leary would have perceived that there was something wrong with tryon. miss leary had no doubt that there was a woman at the bottom of it—for over what else should a youth worry but love? or, if one's love affairs ran smoothly, why should one worry about anything at all? miss leary, in the nineteen years of her mundane existence, had not been without mild experiences of the heart, and had hovered for some time on the verge of disappointment with respect to tryon himself. a sensitive pride would have driven more than one woman away at the sight of the man of her preference sighing like a furnace for some ab- sent fair one. but mrs. tryon was so cordial, and insisted so strenuously on her remaining, that blanche's love, which was strong, conquered her pride, which was no more than a reasonable young woman should do who places success above mere sentiment. she remained in the house and bided her opportunity. if george practically ignored her for a time, she did not throw herself at all in his way. she went on a visit to some girls in the neighborhood and remained away a week, hop- ing that she might be missed. tryon expressed no regret at her departure and no particular satisfaction upon her re- turn. if the house was duller in her absence, he was but dimly conscious of the difference. he was still fighting a battle in which a susceptible heart and a reasonable mind had locked horns in a well-nigh hopeless conflict. reason, common sense, the instinctive ready made judgments of his training and environment—the deep seated prejudices of race and caste—commanded him to dismiss rena from his thoughts. his stubborn heart simply would not let her go. mas querade er, in a small way, to do something for the advancement of those who had just set their feet upon the ladder of prog- ress. the new-born desire to be of service to her re-discovered people was not long without an opportunity for expres- sion. yet the fates willed that her future should be but an- other link in a connected chain: she was to be as powerless to put aside her recent past as she had been to escape from the influence of her earlier life. there are sordid souls that eat and drink and breed and die and imagine they have lived. but rena's life since her great awakening had been that of the emotions, and her temperament made of a con- tinuous life. her successive states of consciousness were not detachable, but united to form a single if not harmonious whole. to her sensitive spirit, today was born of yesterday, tomorrow would be but the off-spring of today. one day, along towards noon, her mother received a visit from mary b. pettifoot, a second cousin who lived on back street, only a short distance from the house behind the ce- dars. rena had gone out so that the visitor found mis' mol- ly alone. “i heard you say, cousin molly,” mary b. said (no one ever knew what the b in mary's name stood for—it was a mere ornamental flourish) “that rena was talkin' 'bout teachin’ school. i’ve got a good chance for her, if she ceah’s to take it. my cousin, jeff wain, ‘rived in town dis mawn- in’, f'm way down in sampson county, tu git a teachuh fo' de niggah school in his distric'. i suppose he mighta got one from ‘round newbern, ah goldsboro, ah some ob dem places east, but he ‘lowed he'd laktu visit some ob his kin an’ ole' frien's, an’so kill two birds wid one stone.” mas querade “ah’ll fetch him ‘roun’ disebenin’ ‘bout three o'clock,” the visitor said, rising. “ah mus' hurry back now and keep him comp'ny. tell rena to put on her bes’ bib and tucker; fo’ mistah wain is puticulah too, an’ i’ve already been braggin' 'bout heh looks.” when mary b., at the appointed hour, knocked on mis’ molly's front door—the visit being one of ceremony, she had taken her cousin round to the front street entrance and through the flower garden where mis’ molly was pre- pared to receive them. after a decent interval, long enough to suggest that she had not been watching their approach and was not over-eager about the visit, she answered the knock and admitted them into the parlor. mr. wain was formally introduced, and seated himself on the ancient haircloth sofa, under the famed fashion-plate, while mary b. sat by the open door and fanned herself with a palm- leaf fan. mis' molly's impression of wain was favorable. his com- plexion was of a light brown—not quite as fair as mis’ molly would have preferred; but any deficiency in this re- gard, or in the matter of the stranger's features, which, while not unpleasing, leaned toward the broad mulatto type, was more than compensated in her eyes by very straight black hair, and, as soon appeared, a great facility of complimentary speech. on his introduction, mr. wain bowed low, assumed an air of great admiration, and ex- pressed his extreme delight in making the acquaintance of so distinguished-looking a lady. “you’re flatterin’ me, mr. wain,” mis' molly returned with a grateful smile. “but you want to meet my daugh- mas querade ter befo' you begin thow'in' bokays. excuse my leavin' you. i’ll go fetch heh.” she returned in a moment, followed by rena. “mr. wain, “low me to introduce you to my daughter, rena. rena, this is mary b's cousin on her pappy's side, who's come up fum sampson county to git a school-teacher.” rena bowed gracefully. wain stared a moment in gen- uine astonishment, and then bent himself nearly double, keeping his eyes fixed meanwhile, upon rena's face. he had expected to see a pretty yellow girl, but had been prepared for no such radiant vision of beauty as this which now con- fronted him. “does—does yuh mean tu say, miz northcross, dat—dat dis young lady is yo’ own daughter?”, he stammered, rally- ing his forces for action. “why not, mr. wain?” mis' molly asked, bridling with mock resentment. “does yuh mean tu ‘low that she was changed in her cradle, er is she too goodlookin’ to be my daughter?” promptly into his fat head, jeff wain saw a chance to drive home a telling blow of flattery, with a view to win- ning mis’ molly over to his side right quickly. “my deah miz northcross! it would be wastin’ wo'ds to say dat dey ain’ no lady too good-lookin’ tu be yo' daugh- tah; but youah lookin' so young yo' se’f dat i'd ruther tookin’ heh fo' yo' sistah.” that did it! mis’ molly was so flattered that she actually blushed all over, closing her eyes and moving from right to left, left to right before she was able to go on. “yas,” mis' molly rejoined, trying very much to be - masquerade straight had written, might, it was clear, be viewed in sev- eral aspects. the judge had written him concerning one of immediate importance. it would be much easier to discuss the subject in all its bearings, and clean up the whole mat- ter, in one comprehensive interview. the importance of this business, then, seemed very ur- gent for the first few hours of tryon's journey. ordinarily a careful driver and merciful to his beast, his eagerness to reach fayetteville increased gradually until it became necessary to exercise some self-restraint in order not to urge his faithful mare beyond her powers; and soon he could no longer pretend obliviousness of the fact that some attraction stronger than the whole amount of duncan mcswayne's note was urging him irresistibly toward his destination. the old town beyond the distant river, his heart told him clamorously, held the object in all the world to him most dear. memory brought up in vivid detail every moment of his brief and joyous court-ship. each tender word, each enchanting smile, every fond caress. he lived his past happiness over again down to the moment of that fatal discovery. what horrible fate was it that had involved him—nay, that had caught this sweet, delicate girl in such a blind alley? a wild hope flashed across his mind; perhaps the ghastly story might not be true; perhaps, after all, the girl was no more a negro than she seemed. he had heard sad stories of white children, born out of wedlock, aban- doned by sinful parents to the care or adoption of colored women, who had reared them as their own, the children's future basely sacrificed to hide the parent's shame. he would confront this reputed mother of his darling and wring the truth from her. he was in a state of mind where mas querade - . any sort of fairy tale would have seemed reasonable. he would almost have bribed some one to tell him that the woman he had loved, the woman he still loved (he felt a thrill of lawless pleasure in the confession), was not the descendant of slaves—that he might marry her, and not have to have before his eyes forever anon the gruesome fear that some one of their children might show even the faint- est mark of the despised race. at noon he halted at a convenient hamlet, fed and watered his mare, and resumed his journey after an hour's rest. by this time he had about well nigh forgotten the legal business which formed the ostensible occasion for his jour- ney, and was conscious only of a wild desire to see the woman whose image was beckoning him on to fayetteville as fast as his horse could take him. at sundown he stopped again, about ten miles from the town and cared for his tired beast. he knew her capacity, however, and calculated that she could stand the additional ten miles without injury. the mare set out with reluc- tance but soon settled resignedly into a steady jog. memory had hitherto assailed tryon with the vision of past joys. as he neared the town, imagination attacked him with still more moving images. he had left her, this sweet flower of womankind—white or not, god had never made one fairer! he had seen her fall to the hard pavement, with he knew not what resulting injury. he had left her tender frame—the touch of her finger tips had made him thrill with happiness—to be lifted by strange hands, while he with heartless pride had driven deliberately away, without a word of sorrow or regret. he had ignored her as com- pletely as if she had never existed. that he had been de- mas querade ceived was true. but had he not sided in his own deception? had not walden told him distinctly that they were of no family, and was it not his fault that he had not followed up the clue thus given him? had not rena compared her- self to the child's nurse, and had he not assured her that if she were the nurse, he would marry her the next day? the deception had been due more to his own blindness than to any lack of honesty on the part of rena and her brother. in the light of his present feelings they seemed to have been absurdly outspoken. he was glad that he had kept his dis- covery to himself. he had considered himself very mag- nanimous not to have exposed the fraud that was being perpetrated upon society; it was with a very comfortable feeling that he now realized that the matter was as pro- found a secret as before. “she ought to have been born white,” he muttered to himself, adding weakly, “i would to god that i had never found her out!” drawing near the bridge that crossed the river to the town, he pictured to himself a pale girl, with sorrowful, tear-stained eyes, pining away at the old house behind the cedars for love of him, dying, perhaps, of a broken heart. he would hasten to her; he would dry her tears with kisses; he would express sorrow for his cruelty. the tired mare had crossed the bridge and was toiling slowly up front street; she was near the limit of her en- durance, and tryon did not urge her. they might talk the matter over and if they must part, part at least they would in peace and friendship. if he could not marry her, he would never marry any one else; it would be cruel for him to seek happiness while she was de- mas querade nied it, for, having once given her heart to him, she could never, he was sure—so instinctively fine was her nature— she could never love any one less worthy than himself, and would therefore, probably never marry. he knew from a charleston acquaintance, who had written him a letter, that rena had not reappeared in that town. he should discover—the chance was one in a thousand— that she was white; or if he should find it too hard to leave her, ah, well! he was a white man, one of a race born to command. he would make her white; no one beyond the old town would ever know the difference. if, perchance, their secret should be disclosed, the world was wide; a man of courage and ambition inspired by love might make a career anywhere. circumstances made weak men; strong men mould circumstances to do their bidding. he would not let his darling die of grief, whatever the price must be paid for her salvation. she was only a few rods away from him now. in a moment he would see her; he would take her tenderly in his arms, and heart to heart they would mutually forgive and forget, and, strengthened by their love, would face the future boldly and bid the world do its worse. %aaten &t, & t the evening of the party arrived. the home had been thoroughly cleaned in preparation for the event, and dec- orated with the choicest of the garden. by eight o'clock the guests had gathered. they were all mulattoes. all people of mixed blood were called “mulattoes” in north carolina. there were dark mulattoes and light mulattoes. mis' mol- ly's guests were mostly of the light class, most of them more than half white, and few of them less. in mis’ molly's small circle, straight hair was the only palliative of a dark complexion. many of the guests would not have been cas- ually distinguishable from white people of the poorer class. others bore unmistakable traces of indian ancestry, for cherokee and tuscarora blood was quite widely diffused among the free negroes of north carolina, though well- nigh lost sight of by the curious customs of the white peo- ple to ignore anything but the negro blood in those who were touched by its potent current. very few of those present had been slaves. the free colored people of fay- etteville were numerous enough before the war to have their own “society,” and human enough to despise those who did not possess advantages equal to their own. most of the free negroes did not become free by pur- chasing themselves as henry fowler did, and later his wife. they were free because some planter begat a child, or sev- eral children, by a slave woman, and their consciences irked . masquerade eye, the full and slightly drooping lower lip—which might have given a student of physiognomy food for reflection. but whatever the latent defects of wain's character, he proved himself this evening a model of geniality, presum- ing not at all on his reputed wealth, but winning golden opinions from those who came to criticize, of whom, of course, there were a few, the company being composed of human beings. when the dance began, wain extended his large, soft hand to mary b., yellow, buxom, thirty, with white and even teeth, glistening behind her full red lips. a younger sister of mary b's was paired with billy oxendine, a funny little tailor, a great gossiper, and therefore a favorite among the women. mis’ molly graciously consented, after many protestations of lack of skill and want of practice to stand up opposite henry pettifoot, mary b's husband, a tall man with a slight stoop, a bald crown and full dreamy eyes—a man of much imagination and a large fund of anecdotes. two other couples completed the set; others were restrained by bashfulness or religious scruples, which did not yield until later in the evening. the perfumed air from the garden without and the cut roses within, mingled incongruously with the alien odors of musk and hair oil, of which several young barbers in the company were especially redolent. there was a play of sparkling eyes and dancing feet. mary b. danced with the danguorous grace of an eastern odalisque, mis’ molly with the mincing, hesitating step of one long out of practice. wain performed salutatory prodigies. this was a golden opportunity for the display in which his soul found de- light. he introduced variations hitherto unknown to the mas querade dance. his skill and suppleness brought a glow of admira- tion into the eyes of the women, and spread a cloud of jealousy over the faces of several of the younger men, who saw themselves eclipsed. rena had announced in advance her intention to take no active part in the festivities. “i don’t feel like dancing, mama—i shall never dance again.” “well, now, rena,” her mother argued, “ob cose you're too dignified, sence you been sociatin’ wid white folks, to be hoppin’ ‘roun’ an’ kickin' up lak ma'y b. an’ these other yaller gals; but of co’se, too, you can’t slight the comp'ny entirely, even efit ain’ exactly ouh party—you’ll have to pay ‘em some little attention, 'specially mr. wain, sence you're goin’ down yonder with him.” rena did what, conscientiously, she though politeness re- quired. she went the round of the guests in the early part of the evening and exchanged greetings with them. to sev- eral requests for dances she replied that she was not danc- ing. she did not hold herself aloof because of pride; any instinctive shrinking she might have felt by reason of her recent association with persons of greater refinement was offset by her still more newly awakened zeal for humanity; they were her people; she must not despise them. but the occasion suggested painful memories of other and different scenes in which she had lately participated. once or twice these memories were so vivid as almost to overpower her. she slipped away from the company and kept in the back- ground as much as possible without seeming to slight any one. the guests as well were dimly conscious of a slight bar- rier between mis’ molly's daughter and themselves. the mas querade time she had spent apart from these friends of her youth had rendered it impossible for her ever to meet them again on the plane of common interests and common thoughts. it was much as though one, having acquired the vernacu- lar of his native country, had lived in a foreign land long enough to lose the language of his childhood without ac- quiring that, fully, of his adopted country. miss rowena walden could never again become the rena northcross who had left the house behind the cedars no more than a year and a half before. upon this very difference were based her noble aspirations for usefulness—one must stoop in order that one may lift others. any other young woman present would have been importuned beyond her powers of resistance. rena's reserve was respected. when supper was announced, somewhat early in the evening, the dancers found seats in the hall or on the piaz- za. aunt zilphy, assisted by mis' molly and mary b., passed around the refreshments, which consisted of fried chicken, buttered biscuit, pound-cake and egg-nog. when the first edge of appetite was taken of, the conversation waxed animatedly. homer pettifoot related, with minute detail, an old, thread-bare hunting lie, dating, in slightly different forms, from the age of nimrod, about finding twenty-five partridges sitting in a row on a rail, and kill- ing them all with a single buckshot, which passed through twenty-four and lodged in the body of the twenty-fifth, from which it was extracted and returned to the shot pouch for future service. this story was followed by a murmur of incredulity— of course, the thing was possible, but homer's faculty for exaggeration was so well known that any statement of his mas querade - was viewed with suspicion. homer seemed hurt at this lack of faith, and was disposed to argue the point; but the sono- rous voice of mr. wain on the other side of the room cut short his protestations, in much the same way that the ris- ing sun extinguishes the light of lesser luminaries. “i wuz a member of de fus’ legislachu after de wah,” wain was saying. “when i wuz up fum' sampson in de fall, i had to pass th’ough smithfiel’. i got in town in the aftuhnoon, and put up at de bes’ hotel. de lan’l'od didn't hab no 'spicion’ but what i wuz a white man, and he gim- me a room, an' i had suppuh an’ breakfus', and went on tu rolly nex’ mawnin’. when de session wuz ovuh, i come along back, and when i got tu smithfiel’ i drive up to de same hotel. i noticed, as soon as ah got dare, dat de place had run down conside’able—dare wuz weeds growin' in de ya'd, de winduhs wuz doity, an’ eve'thing ‘roun’ dare looked kinda lonesome and shiftless. de lan’lo'd met me at de do"; he looked mighty down in de mouth, an sezee:— “looka heah, w'at made you come and stop at mah place widout tellin' me you wuz a black man? befo' you come th'ough dis town i had a fus' class bizness. but when fo'kes found out dat a nigger had put up heah, business drapped rat off, and i’ve had tu shet up mah hotel. you oughta be 'shamed of yo'se’f fo ruinin’ a po’ man w'at hadn't never done no ha'm tu you. you've done a mean, low-lived thing, an' a jes' god’ll punish you fo' hit. “de po’ man ascually bust intu teahs,” mr. wain con- tinued maganmously. “an’ ah felt so sorry fo' him—he wuz a po’ white man tryin’ tu get up in de worl’—dat i hauled out mah pu'se an’gin' him ten dollars, an’ he peahed monstrous glad to git hit.” mas querade “how good hearted! how kin'!” the ladies murmured. “hit musta done credit to yo' feelin's.” “don’t b'lieve a word ob dem lies,” one young man muttered to another, sarcastically. “he couldn't pass for white, onless it wuz a mighty da'k night.” “ef he stopped in a white hotel anywhere in no'th ca'lina, he slipped in and hid in a closet while the clerk wuz out,” the other said which brought a laugh from both. upon this glorious evening of his life, mr. wain had one distinctly hostile critic, of whose presence he was blissfully unconscious. frank fowler had not been invited to the party—his family did not belong with mary b's set. rena had suggested to her mother that he be invited, but mis’ molly had demurred on the ground that it was not her party, but mary b's, and that she had no right to issue in- vitations. it is quite likely that she would have sought an invitation from mary b., but, as we have previously ex- plained, frank was dark, that fact would not harmonize with the rest of the company, who would not have mis’ molly's reasons for treating him well. the fact is, frank had never been invited to attend a party conceived for light negroes only, so was not disappointed, for he did not or had not expected to be invited. he knew that rena would have invited him, but she had explained that they had simply let mary b. hold the party at their house be- cause hers was too small; and to make frank feel better about it, rena informed him that other than greeting the guests, she would take no part in the festivities. upon leav- ing frank then, rena had smiled much like she used to, and when their hands happened to touch as he was turning to mas querade and his heart was happy. there was a settee just large enough for two and as she sat down she patted the seat be- side her for him to sit there, and he did. before rena came up and while frank stood outside looking at the dancers and the party in general, his eyes fell upon jeff wain. he did not know him, and had never seen him before, but having heard that he had come to fayette- ville to get a teacher, he studied wain unseen. the longer he looked at wain, the less he liked him; the less he trusted him. to his fancy, wain's style and apparent skill were af- fectation, his good-nature mere hypocrisy, and his fre- quent glances at rena, that of a sly hawk upon it prey or quarry. he had heard that wain was unmarried, and he could not see how, this being so, he could help wishing rena for a wife. frank had resigned himself to the possibility when she went to charleston with her brother, of her probably marrying a white man—who would have raised her to a plane worthy of her merits. in wain's shifty eye, how- ever, he read the liar—his wealth and standing were prob- ably as false as his seeming good humor. he doubted rena's falling for such a man, but he was chagrined to see mis’ molly, prodded on by mary b., to be completely sold, ap- parently on this pompous looking creature. “nice party. i should think you would be dancing,” he suggested to rena as they sat there side by side. “no, frank, i don’t feel like it. i don’t plan to dance ºr tonight.” this answer was pleasing to frank. if he could not hope to dance with her, and he didn't plan to upset the party by masquerade ing it. “jest one, darlint. i don't think you're treatin' my company jes' right, ef you don't.” “you’re goin’ all the way to sampson county with him alone,” her mother interjected, “an' it'd be just as well to be on friendly terms with him.” wain himself had followed the women. “sholy, miss rena, youah gwine to honah me wid one dance? i'd go away fum dispahty sad at hea’t ef i had’nt stood up oncet wid de young lady ob de house.” as rena, weakly persuaded, placed her hand on wain's arm and entered the house, a buggy came up front street, concealed by the intervening cedars until it reached a point from which the occupant could view, through the open front window, the interior of the parlor. masquerade scious than she of the external contrast between her part- ners on this and the former occasion. she perceived, too, as tryon from the outside had not, the difference between wain's wordy flattery (only saved by his cousin's warning from pointed and fulsome adulation), and the tenderly graceful compliments, couched in the romantic terms of chivalry, with which the night of the handkerchief had charmed her ear. it was only by an immense effort that she was able to keep her emotions under control until the end of the dance, when she fled to her chamber and burst into tears. it was not the cruel tryon who had blasted her love with his deadly look that she mourned, but the gallant young knight who had worn her favor on his lance and crowned her queen of love and beauty. tryon's stay in fayetteville was very brief. he drove to the hotel and put up for the night. during many sleepless hours his mind was in a turmoil with a very different set of thoughts from those which had occupied it on the way to town. not the least of them was a profound self-contempt for his own lack of foresight. how had he been so blind as not to have read the character of this wretched girl who had bewitched him? tonight his eyes had been opened—he had seen her with the mask thrown off, a true daughter of a race in which the sensuous enjoyment of the moment took precedence over taste, or sentiment, or any of the higher emotions. her few months of boarding-school, her brief association with white people, had evidently been a mere veneer over the under-lying negro, and their effects had slipped away as soon as the intercourse had ceased. with the monkey-like imitativeness of the negro, she had copied the manners of white people while she lived among - mas querade them, and had dropped them with equal facility when they ceased to serve a purpose. who but a negro, he conceived, could have recovered so soon from what had seemed a ter- rible bereavement?—she herself must have felt it at the time, for otherwise she would not have swooned. a woman of sensibility as this one seemed to have been, should natu- rally feel more keenly, and for a longer time than a man, an injury to the affections; but he, a son of the ruling race, had been miserable for six weeks about a girl who had so far forgotten as already to plunge headlong into the child- ish amusements of her own ignorant and degraded people. what more, indeed, he asked himself savagely—what more could be expected of the base-born of the plaything of a gentleman's idle hour, who to this ignoble origin added the blood of a servile race? and he, george tryon had honored her with his love; he had very nearly linked his fate and joined his blood to hers by the solemn sanctions of church and state. tryon was not a devout man, but he thanked god with religious fervor that he had been saved a second time from a mistake which would have wrecked his whole future. if he had yielded to the momentary weakness of the past night—the outcome of a sickly sentimentality to which he recognized now, in the light of reflection, that he was entirely too prone—he would have regretted it soon enough. the black streak would have been sure to come out in some form, sooner or later, if not in the wife, then in her children. he saw clearly enough in this hour of re- vulsion, that with his temperament and training, such a union could never have been happy. if all the world had been ignorant of the dark secret, it would always have been in his own thoughts, or at least never far away. each fault mas querade drove around to mis’ molly's. rena's trunk was strapped behind the buggy, and she set out, in the company of wain, for her new field of labor. “oh, mother,” she whispered, as they stood wrapped in a close embrace, “i’m afraid to leave you. i left you once and it turned out so miserably.” “it’ll turn out better this time, honey,” her mother re- plied soothingly. “goodby, child. take care of yo'se’f an yo’ money, and write to yore mammy.” one kiss all around and rena was lifted into the buggy. wain seized the reins and under his skillful touch, the pretty mare began to prance and curvet with restrained impatience. wain could not resist the opportunity to show off before the party, which included mary b's entire fam- ily, and several other neighbors, who had gathered to see the travelers off. “good-by to fayetteville! good-by, folkses all!” he cried, with a wave of his disengaged hand. “good-by, mother! good-by, all!” rena cried as with tears in her heart, and a brave smile on her face she left her home behind her for the second time. when they had crossed the river bridge, the travelers came to a long stretch of rising ground, from the summit of which they could look back over the white sandy road for nearly a mile. neither rena nor her companion saw frank fowler behind the chinquapin bush at the foot of the hill, nor the gaze of mute love and longing with which he watched the buggy mount the long incline. he had not been able to trust himself to bid her farewell. he had seen her go away once before with every prospect of happiness, and come back, a dove with a wounded wing, to the old mas querade nest behind the cedars. she was going away again, with a man whom he disliked and distrusted. if she had met mis- fortune before, what were her prospects for happiness now? the buggy paused at the top of the hill, and frank, shad- ing his eyes with his hand, thought he could see her turn and look behind. “look back, dear child, towards your home and those who love you,” he whispered to himself with a deep sigh. for who knows more than this faithful worshiper what threads of the past fate is weaving into your future, or whether happiness or misery lies before you? &aete, zoºt, the road to sampson county lay for the most part over the pine-clad sandhills; an alternation of general rises and gradual descents, with now and then a swamp of greater or less extent. long stretches of the highway led through the virgin forest, for miles unbroken by a clearing or sign of human habitation. they traveled slowly with frequent pauses in shady places, for the weather was hot. the journey made leisure- ly, required more than a day and might with slight effort be prolonged into two. they stopped for the night at a small village, where wain found lodging for rena with an acquaintance of his, and for himself with another, while a third took charge of the horse, the accommodations for travelers being limited. rena's appearance and manners were the subject of much comment. it was necessary to ex- plain to several curious white people that rena was a wom- an of color. a white woman might have driven with wain without attracting remark—most white ladies had negro coachmen. that a woman of rena's complexion should eat at a negro table, or sleep beneath a negro roof, was a seeming breach of caste which only black blood could ex- cuse. the explanation was never questioned. no white per- son of sound mind would ever claim to be a negro. they resumed their journey somewhat late in the morn- ing. rena would willingly have hastened, for she was anx- mas querade ious to plunge into her new work; but wain seemed dis- posed to prolong the pleasant drive, and beguiled the way, for a time, with stories of wonderful things he had done and strange experiences of a somewhat checkered career. he was shrewd enough to avoid any subject which would offend a modest young woman, but too obtuse to perceive that much of what he said would not commend him to a person of refinement. he made little reference to his pos- sessions, concerning which so much had been said at fay- etteville; and his reticence was a point in his favor. if he had not been so much on his guard, and rena so much ab- sorbed by thoughts of her future work, such a drive would have furnished a person of her discernment a very fair measure of the man's character. to these distractions must be added the entire absence of any idea that wain might have amorous designs on her; and any shortcomings of manners, or speech were covered by the broad mantle of charity which rena in her new found zeal for the welfare of her people was willing to throw over all their faults. they were the victims of oppression; they were not re- sponsible for its results. toward the end of the second day, while nearing their destination, the travelers passed a large white house stand- ing back from the road at the foot of a lane. around it grew wide spreading trees and well-kept shrubbery. the fences were in good repair. behind the house and across the road stretched extensive fields of cotton and waving corn. they had passed no other place that showed such signs of thrift and prosperity. “oh, what a lovely place,” rena exclaimed, enthusias- tically, pointing at it. “that is yours, isn’t it?” mas querade “no, we ain't got to my home yit,” he answered. “dat house belongs to der richest people 'round heah. dat house is ober in de nex’ county. we're right close to de line now.” shortly after they turned off from the main highway they had been pursuing and struck into a narrower road to the left. “de main road,” wain explained, “goes on to clinton, ‘bout five miles ah mo' away. dis one we're turnin’ into now will take us to my place, which is 'bout three miles further on. we'll git dare now in an houh ah so.” wain lived in an old plantation house, somewhat dilapi- dated, and surrounded by an air of neglect, and shiftless- ness, but still preserving a remnant of dignity in its outlines and comfort in its interior arrangements. it had belonged to a wealthy and successful planter, who had gone off to war and been killed. rena was assigned a large room on the second floor. she was somewhat surprised at the makeup of the household. wain's mother, an old woman, much darker than her son, kept house for him. a sister with two children lived in the house. the element of surprise lay in the presence of two small children left by wain's wife, of whom rena now heard for the first time. he had lost his wife, he informed rena sadly, a couple of years before. “yas, miss rena,” he sighed, “de lawd give her, and de lawd tuck her away. blessed be de name ob de lawd.” he accompanied this sententious quotation with a wicked look from under his half-closed eyelids that rena did not see. the following morning wain drove her in his buggy over to the county town, where she took the teacher's ex- amination. she was given a seat in a room with a number mas querade of other candidates for certificates, but the fact, leaking out from some remark of wain's that she was a colored girl, objections were quietly made by several of the would- be-teachers to her presence in the room, and she was re- quested to retire until the white teachers should have been examined. an hour or two later she was given a separate examination, which she passed without difficulty. the ex- aminer, a gentleman of local standing, was dimly conscious that she might not have found her exclusion pleasant, and was especially polite. it would have been strange, indeed, if he had not been impressed by her sweet face and air of modest dignity, which were all the more striking because of her social disability. he fell into conversation with her, be- came interested in her hopes and aims, and very cordially offered to be of service, if at any time he might, in connec- tion with her school. “you have the satisfaction,” he said, “of receiving the only first-grade certificate issued today. you might teach a higher-grade of pupils than you will find at sandy run, but let us hope that you may in time raise them to your own level.” “which i doubt very much,” he muttered to himself as she went away with wain. “what a pity,” he said, watch- ing her out of sight and shaking his head sadly, “that such a beautiful and such an intelligent woman, should be a nig- ger! if she were anything to me, though, i should hate to trust her anywhere near that saddle-colored scoundrel. he's a thoroughly bad lot, and will bear close watching.” rena, however, was serenely ignorant of any danger from the accommodating wain. absorbed in her own thoughts and plans, she had not sought to look beneath the mas querade surface of his somewhat overdone politeness. in a few days she began her work as a teacher, and sought to forget, in the service of others, the dull sorrow that gnawed at her heart. while she busied herself with enthusiasm to her new found work, she was entirely unconscious of the fact that jeff wain was planning also, and secretly, the most practi- cal and quickest way to a courtship with her, with a pos- sible view to ultimatc matrimony. she was also uncon- scious of the fact that almost in sight of the small school- house wherein she was teaching, had the trees been cleared away, reposed the great mansion where she would have now been living, and as mistress, had her masquerade not been revealed, and the fact that she was not a white girl, found out by george w. tryon. mas qubrade bareheaded, stepped outside and looked at the children playing. miss leary started, opened her lips and, pointing to rena, cried: “oh, what a pretty girl!” she exclaimed. “there,” she added, as tryon turned his head toward her, “you are too late. she has retired into her castle.” with a little sigh of disappointment, she turned to look at plato, a suggestion in her eyes. “oh, plato?” she asked. “yas, misses?” plato replied, prancing around the buggy in great glee, on the strength of his acquaintance with the white folks. “is your teacher white?” “no, ma'am, she ain’t white; she's black. she looks lak she's white, but she ain’t.” tryon had not seen the teacher's face, but the incident had jarred the old wound; miss leary's description of the teacher, together with plato's characterization, had stirred lightly sleeping memories. he was more or less abstracted during the remainder of the drive, and did not recur to the conversation that had been interrupted by coming upon the schoolhouse. the teacher, glancing for a moment through the open door of the schoolhouse, had seen a handsome young lady staring at her. miss leary had a curiously intent look when she was interested in anything, with no intention whatever of being rude. beyond the lady, rena saw the back and shoulder of a man, whose face was turned the other way. there was a vague suggestion of something familiar about the equipage, but rena shrank from this close scrutiny and withdrew out of sight before she had an opportunity to mas querade identify the vague resemblance to something she had known. miss leary had missed by a hairs-breadth the psycho- logical moment, and felt some resentment toward the lit- tle negroes who had interrupted her lover's train of thought. negroes have caused a great deal of trouble among white people. how deeply the shadow of the ethio- pian had fallen upon her own happiness, miss leary of course could not guess. mas querade ask you something very personal.” she turned and looked suggestively at the gaping pupils. “the school may take the morning recess now,” the teacher announced. the children filed out in an orderly manner, most of them stationing themselves about the grounds in such places as would keep the teacher and the white lady in view. very few white persons approved of the colored schools; no other white person had ever visited this one. “are you really colored?” the lady turned to her to ask, after the last child had left the room. a year and a half earlier, rena would have met the ques- tion by some display of self-consciousness. now, she re- plied simply and directly. “yes, ma'am, i am colored.” “well, it's a shame. no one would ever think it. if you chose to conceal it, no one would be the wiser. what is your name, child, and where were you brought up? you must have a romantic history.” - rena gave her name and a few facts in regards to her past. the lady was so much interested, and put forth so many and such searching questions, that rena found it more difficult to suppress the fact that she had been white, than she had formerly had in hiding her african origin. there was about the girl an air of real refinement that pleased the lady; the refinement not merely of a fine na- ture, but of contact with cultured people; a certain re- serve of speech and manner quite inconsistent with mrs. tryon's experiences with colored women. the lady was in- terested and slightly mystified. a generous, impulsive spirit —her son's own mother—she made minute inquiries about mas querade - --- --- ] “well,” mrs. tryon began, pleasantly, “i called on the girl you were so excited about yesterday, dear blanche.” leaning forward anxiously. “oh, you did, mother? i’m so glad. and, how did you find her?” “just like you said—the most beautiful creature, i think, that i ever looked at, and just about the nicest; the most congenial.” “oh, really!” blanche exclaimed, enthusiastically. “i wish i could have been with you. did she tell you her name?” “she did, for i not only asked her that, but no end of other questions, i was that interested. well, her name is rowena northcross.” she paused briefly but neither was looking at george, or they could not have missed seeing that he started up, almost violently. he listened then, con- trolling his breathing and excitement with an effort. “and she's really a colored girl?” from blanche. “the most amazing thing! she admitted it freely, too.” “that was very sweet of her, i think,” blanche said. “that is what i thought, also,” continued mrs. tryon. “she didn’t seem to be uppish in the least, just a nice, love- ly and sweet girl that no one could help but like. to be frank with you, i fell in love with her myself, and, if she hadn’t admitted being colored, i would have invited her here to be my guest some week end. as it is, i asked her if she ever happened to pass by, to stop in and see me—and if she does, i plan to be nice to her, and i want you and george to be the same way—a perfect lady, even if she has to be a colored person.” “i’ll be glad to be nice to her. mrs. tryon,” blanche said, mas querade quickly. “i do hope she comes by, too, for i am curious to talk to her myself.” “i promised to come to her exhibition, the last day of school, and i want you, and george too, to go with me.” “oh, i’ll be so glad to, mother.” she turned to george, who was thinking about rena. in spite of the fact that he had put her out of his heart, and had been trying to get her out of his mind, he was happy to hear what his own mother was saying—that rena was a lady, all he had felt she was. in those moments he was thinking of her brother, too. he was beginning to see things clearly. he was beginning to understand that it had not been rena's plan, or perhaps desire even, to go to charleston and pass for white; to fool people and intrude herself on white people. it had all been her brother's scheme; he could see through it all now, and instead of trying to hate rena, as he had not been very suc- cessful at doing, he should have been hating john for the masquerade. he heard blanche saying something, and with a start, turned to her with a: “did you address me? what were you saying?” blanche repeated what she had asked, and he promised to think about it. the servants were serving their meal now, and all fell to eating and said no more about rena, just then. &aete, ent, vee rena had found her task not a difficult one so far as dis- cipline was concerned. her pupils were of a docile race, and school to them had all the charm of novelty. the teacher commanded some awe because she was a stranger, and some, perhaps, because she was white; for the theory of blackness as propounded by plato could not quite coun- terbalance in the young african mind the evidence of his own senses. she combined gentleness with firmness; and if these had not been sufficient, she had reserves of character which would have given her mastery over much less plastic material than these ignorant but eager young people. the work of instruction was simple enough, for most of the pupils began with the alphabet, which they acquired from webster's blue-back spelling book, the palladium of south- ern education at that epoch. the much abused carpet-bag- gers had put the spelling book within reach of every child of school age in north carolina, a fact which is often over- looked when the carpet-baggers are held up to odium. even the devil should have his due, and is not so black as he is painted. at the time that she learned that tryon lived in the neighborhood, rena had already been subjected to a trying ordeal. wain had begun to persecute her with marked attentions. she had at first gone to board at his house, or, by courtesy, with his mother. for a week or two she had considered his attentions in no other light than mas querade those of a member of the school committee sharing her own zcal and being interested in seeing the school success- fully carried on. in this character wain had driven her to the town for her examination; he had busied himself about putting the schoolhouse in order, and in various matters, affecting the conduct of the school. he had jocularly of- fered to come and whip the children for her, and had found it convenient to drop in occasionally, ostensibly to see what progress she was making. “dese chillun,” he would observe sonorously, in the presence of the school, “ought to be monst'ous glad tu have de chance ob settin' unduh yo’ instruction, miss rena. i’m sho' eve’body in de neighbo'd ‘preciates de privilege in habin' you in ouh midst.” though slightly embarrassing to the teacher, these pub- lic demonstrations were endurable so long as they could be regarded as mere official appreciation of her work. sincere- ly in earnest about her undertaking, she had plunged into it with all the intensity of a serious nature which love had stirred to activity. a pessimist might have sighed sadly or smiled cynically at the notion that a poor, weak girl, with a dangerous beauty and a sensitive soul, and troubles enough of her own, should hope to accomplish anything toward lifting the black mass, still floundering in the mud where slavery had left them, and where emancipation had found them—the mud in which, for aught that could be seen to the contrary, her little feet, too, were hopelessly en- tangled. it might have seemed like expecting a man to lift himself by his bootstraps. but rena was no philosopher, either sad or cheerful. she could not even have replied to this argument, that races mas querade must lift themselves, and the most that can be done by others is to give them opportunity and fairplay. this, the south at that period and for a generation or more after- ward, was most unwilling to do. the white man himself had not dipped that deep into philosophical education. while there were a few like mrs. tryon, broadminded enough to be able to foresee that ultimately an educated and trained negro would be in time an asset to the south helping to raise the general standard to a higher plane of thought and action, there were too many who thought the other way and succeeded in holding the whole south back, themselves included. rena's was a simpler reasoning; the logic by which the world is kept going onward and upward when philosophers at odds and reformers are not forthcoming. she knew that, for every child she taught to read and write, she opened, if ever so little, the door of opportunity, and she was hap- py in the consciousness of performing a duty which seemed all the more imperative because newly discovered. her zeal indeed, for the time being, was like that of an early chris- tian, who was more willing than not, to die for his faith. rena had fully and firmly made up her mind to sacrifice her life upon this altar. her absorption in the work had not been without its reward, for thereby she had been able to keep the spectre of her lost love. her dreams she could not control, but she banished tryon as far as possible from her waking thoughts. when wain's attentions became obviously personal, rena's new vestal instincts took alarm, and she began to apprehend his character more clearly. she had long ago. learned that his pretensions to wealth were a sham. he was . mas querade a nominal owner of a large plantation, it is true; but the land was worn out, and mortgaged to the limit of its se- curity value. his reputed droves of cattle and hogs had dwindled to a mere handful of lean and listless brutes. her clear eye, when once set to take wain's measure, soon fathomcd his shallow, selfish soul and detected, or at least divined, behind his mask of good-nature a lurking brutality which filled her with vague distrust, needing only occasion to develop it into active apprehension—oc- casion which was not long wanting. she avoided being alone with him at home by keeping carefully with the women of the house. if she were left alone,—and they soon showed tendencies to leave her, on any pretext, whenever wain came near—she would seek her own room and lock the door. she preferred not to offend wain. she was far away from home and in a measure in his power, but she dreaded his compliments and sickened at his smile. she was also compelled to listen to his relations sing his praises. “my son, jeff,” old mrs. wain would say, “is de bes' man you eber seed. his fus' wife had de easies’ time an’ de hap- pies' time ob ary woman in dis settlement. he grieve’ fo' ch a long time, but i reckon’ ‘es gittin' ovuh hit, an’ de nex’ ‘oman wat marries 'm 'll git a box ob pyo’ gol’, ef i does say hit as his own mammy.” rena had thought wain rather harsh with his household, except in her immediate presence. his mother and sister seemed more or less afraid of him, and the children often anxious to avoid him. one day, he timed his visit to the schoolhouse, so as to walk home with rena through the woods. when she be- mas querade emotional fires, at the very time when her school duties, owing to the approaching exhibition, demanded all her energies, rena was subjected to a physical and mental strain that only youth and health could have resisted, and then only for a short time. the fault of almost every sensitive and ambitious per- son, is the burden of imagination, often almost uncurable. when rena learned that the fine house and plantation that she had admired so much on her way to sampson county to teach, was the home and property of the tryon family; and that is was the place george tryon planned, while he was engaged to marry her, to bring her to live as his wife, her imagination went to work. it continued to burden her, regardless of all her efforts to throw it off in the days that followed. what annoyed her most, was the fear that he would feel that she had taken the school to be near him, in the hope, no doubt, of involving him, per- haps, in a new scheme of her own—and which happened to be the very way he was taking it. mas querade confession of the brother, in which he had spoken of the humble origin of the family, had been, consciously and un- consciously, the most disingenious feature of the whole miserable performance. they had tried by a show of frank- ness to satisfy their own consciences. they doubtless have enough of white blood to give them a rudimentary trace of such a moral organ; and by the same act to disarm him against future recriminations, in the event of possible dis- covery. how was he to imagine that persons of their ap- pearances and pretentions were tainted with negro blood? the more he dwelt upon the subject, the more angry he became with those who had surprised his virgin heart and deflowered it by such low trickery. the man who brought the first negro into the british colonies had committed a crime against humanity and a worse crime against his own race. the father of this girl had been guilty of a sin against society for which others—for which he, george tryon— must pay the penalty. as slaves, negroes were tolerable. as freeman they were excrescences, an alien element in- capable of absorption into the body politic of white men. he would like to send them all back to the africa from which their fore-fathers had come—unwillingly enough, he would admit, and he would like, especially to banish this girl from his own neighborhood; not indeed that her pres- ence would make any difference to him; except as a humili- ating reminder of his own folly and weakness with which he could very well dispense. of this state of mind tryon gave no visible manifesta- tion beyond a certain taciturnity, so much at variance with his recent liveliness that the ladies could not fail to notice it. no effort on the part of either was able to effect his mas querade mood and they both resigned themselves to await his lord- ship's pleasure to be companionable. for a day or two tryon sedulously kept away from the neighborhood of the schoolhouse at sandy run. he really had business which would have taken him in that direction, but made a detour of five miles rather than go near his . abandoned and discredited sweetheart. but george tryon was wisely distrustful of his own im- pulses. driving one day along the road to clinton, he over- hauled a diminutive black figure trudging along the road, occasionally turning a hand spring by way of diversion. “hello, plato,” tryon called, “do you want a lift?” “sure, mars' geo'ge. kin ah ride wid you?” “jump up, plato.” plato mounted into the buggy with the agility to be ex- pected from a lad of his acrobatic accomplishments. the two almost immediately fell into conversation upon per- haps the only subject of common interest between both. before the town was reached, tryon knew, so far as plato could make it plain, the estimation in which the teacher was held by pupils and parents. he had learned the hours of opening and dismissal of the school, where the teacher lived, her habits of coming to and going from the school- house, and the road she always followed. “does she go to church or anywhere else with jeff wain, plato?,” tryon asked. “no, suh, she don’ go nowhar wid nobody, excep'n ole elduh johnson ah mis’ johnson, an’ de chillun. she use to stop at mis’ wain's, but she's stayin' wid elduh johnson now. she allus makes som'a de chillun go home wid heh fum school,” plato said, proud to find in george an appre- mas querade . delivered with due secrecy and precaution, ran as fol- lows:— dear miss walden:—you may think it strange that i should address you after what has passed between us; but learning from my mother of your presence in the neigh- borhood, i am constrained to believe that you do not find my proximity embarrassing, and i cannot resist the wish to meet you at least once more, and talk over the circum- stances o four former friendship. from a practical point of view this may seem superfluous, as the matter has been definitely settled. i have no desire to find fault with you; on the contrary, i wish to set myself right with regard to my own actions, and to assure you of my good wishes. in other words, since we must part, i would rather we parted friends than enemies. if nature and society—or fate, to put it another way—have decreed that we cannot live to- gether, it is nevertheless possible that we may carry into the future a pleasant, though somewhat sad memory of a past friendship. will you not grant me one interview? i appreciate the difficulty of arranging it: i have found it almost as hard to communicate by letter. i will suit myself to your convenience; and meet you at any time and place you may designate. please answer by bearer, whom i think is trustworthy, and believe me whatever your answer may be, respectfully yours, g. w. t. plato gave rena tryon's letter at the school. after read- ing the same carefully, she took it home and read it again, then decided to mail her reply. mas querade the next day but one, tryon received through the mail, the following reply to his letter:— george tryon, esq. dear sir:—i have requested your messenger to say that i will answer your letter by mail, which i shall now proceed to do. i assure you that i was entirely ignorant of your resi- dence in this neighborhood, or it would have been the last place on earth in which i should have set foot. as to our past relations, they were ended by your own act. i frankly confess that i deceived you; i have paid the penalty and have no complaint to make. i appreciate the delicacy which has made you respect my brother's secret, and thank you for it. i remember the whole affair with shame and humiliation, and would willingly forget it. as to a future interview, i do not see what good it will do either of us. you are white and you have given me to understand that i am black. i accept the classification, however unfair, and the consequences, however unjust, one of which is that we cannot meet in the same parlor, in the same church, at the same table, or anywhere, in social intercourse; upon a steamboat we would not sit at the same table; we could not walk together on the street, or meet anywhere publicly and converse, without unkind re- mark. as a white man this might not mean a great deal to you; as a woman, shut out already by my color from much that is desirable, my good name remains my most valuable possession. i beg of you to let me alone. the best possible proof you can give me of your good wishes is to relinquish any desire or attempt to see me. i shall have finished my work here in a few days. i have other troubles, of which you know nothing, and my meeting with you mas querade would only add to a burden which is already as much as i can bear. to speak of parting is superfluous—we have al- ready parted. it was idle to dream of a future friendship between two people so widely different in station. such a relation, if possible in itself, would never be tolerated by the lady whom you are to marry, with whom you drove by the schoolhouse the other day. a gentleman so loyal to his race and tradition as you have shown yourself, could not be less faithful to the lady to whom he has lost his heart and his memory in three short months. no, mr. tryon, our romance is ended, and better so. we could never, under the circumstances later discovered, have been happy. i have found a work in which i may be of service to others who have fewer opportunities than mine have been. leave me in peace, i beseech you, and i shall soon pass out of your neighborhood as i have passed out of your life, and as i hope to pass out of your memory. yours very truly, rowena. northcross mas querade from well; she had never, since her illness, quite recovered her former vigor—but the inconvenience to others would be the same, and her self-sacrifice, would have had, at its very first trial, a lame and impotent conclusion. she had as yet no fear of personal violence from wain; but under the circumstances, his attentions were an insult. he was evidently bent upon conquest, and vain enough to think he might achieve it by virtue of his personal attraction. if he could have understood how she loathed the sight of his nar- row eyes, with their puffy lids, his thick, tobacco-stained lips, his doubtful teeth and his unwieldy person, wain, the monument of conceit that he was, might have shrunk even in his own estimation, to something like his real propor- tions. rena believed that, to defend herself from persecu- tion at his hands, it was only necessary that she never let him find her alone. this, however, required constant watchfulness. relying upon his own powers, and upon a woman’s weakness and aversion to scandal, from which not even the purest may always escape unscathed, and con- vinced by her former silence that he had nothing serious to fear, wain made it a point to be present at every pub- lic place where she might be. he assumed, in conversatich with her which she could not avoid, and stated to others, that she had left his house because of a previous promise to divide the time of her stay between elder johnson's house and his own. he volunteered to teach a class in the sun- day school, which rena conducted at the colored metho- dist church, and when she remained to service, occupied a seat conspicuously near her own. in addition to these pub- lic demonstrations, which it was impossible to escape, or, it seemed, with so thick-skinned an individual as wain, mas querade she knew that she had almost reached the limit, and was haunted by a fear that she might break down before the week was over. now her really fine nature rose to the emergency, though she mustered her forces with a great effort. if she could keep wain at his distance and avoid tryon for three days longer, her school labors would be ended and she might retire in peace and honor. “miss rena,” plato said to her on tuesday, “ain’ it ‘bout time i wuz gwine home wid you?” “you may see me home tomorrow, plato, dear,” she said and smiled upon the boy sweetly. he did a handspring as if to reward her for the smile. after school plato met an anxious-eyed young man in the woods a short distance from the schoolhouse. “well, plato, what news?” “i’se gwine tu see her home tu'morrow, mistah geo'ge.” “tomorrow!” tryon exclaimed, a deep frown covering his face. “how very unfortunate! i wanted you to go to town tomorrow to take an important message for me. i’m sorry, plato—you might have earned another dollar.” to lie is a disgraceful thing, and yet there are times when, to a lover's mind, love dwarfs all ordinary laws. plato scratched his head disconsolately, but suddenly a bright thought struck him. “can't i go to town fo you atter i’ve seed her home, mistah geo'ge?” he waited anxiously to hear tryon's re- action to this suggestion. “n-o, i'm afraid it would be too late,” tryon returned doubtfully, shaking his head as he did so. “den i’ll have tu ax heb to lemme go nex’ day,” plato said with resignation. the honor might be postponed, or, if mas querade thing. plato was proud of the fact that he once belonged to the tryon family. he could not conceive of any one so powerful as george tryon, unless it might be god, of whom plato had heard more or less, and even here the comparison might not be quite fair to mr. george, for he was the younger of the two. it would undoubtedly be a great honor for the teacher to be escorted home by mister george. the teacher was a great woman, no doubt, and looked white; but george tryon was the real article. mr. george had never been known to go with a colored wom- an before, and the teacher would doubtless thank plato for arranging that so great an honor should fall upon her. george tryon had given him fifty cents twice, and would now give him a whole dollar. noble mr. george! fortu- nate teacher! happy plato! “very well, plato. i think we can arrange it so that you can kill the two rabbits with one shot. suppose that we go over the road that she will take to go home.” they soon arrived at the schoolhouse. school had been out an hour, and the clearing was deserted. plato led the way by the road through the woods to a point where, amid somewhat thick underbrush, another path inter- sected the road they were following. “now, plato,” tryon said, pausing, “this would be a good spot for you to leave the teacher, and for me to take your place. this path leads to the main road, and will take you to town very quickly. i shouldn't say anything about it to the teacher at all; but when you and she get here, drop behind and run along this path until you meet me— i’ll be waiting a few yards down the road—and then run to town as fast as your legs will carry you. as soon as you masquerade are gone, i'll come out and tell the teacher that i’ve sent you on an errand, and will myself take your place. you shall have a dollar and i’ll ask her to let you go home with her the next day. but you mustn't say a word about it, plato, or you won’t get the dollar, and i’ll not ask the teacher to let you go home with her again.” “all right, mistah geo'ge, i ain' gwine tu say no mo' de’n ef de cat had mah tongue.” mas querade ated by a letter which she had that morning received from her mother, in which mis’ molly spoke very highly of wain, and plainly expressed the hope that her daughter might like him so well that she would prefer to remain in sampson county. having been near this pompous and deceiving creature for two months; and having learned from personal con- tact, what a scoundrel he was, having also heard him re- ferred to as about the worst scoundrel the community possessed, she sighed unhappily, and tried to forgive her mother for what she was in no position to know—or even find out. - plato, bright-eyed and alert, was waiting in the school yard until the teacher should be ready to start. having warned several smaller children who had hung around aft- er school as though to share his prerogative of accompany- ing the teacher, plato had swung himself into the low branches of an oak at the edge of the clearing, from which he was hanging by his legs, head downward. he dropped from the reposeful attitude when the teacher appeared at the door, and took his place at her side. a strange premonition of impending trouble caused the teacher to hesitate. she wished for some strange and unaccountable reason, that she could not understand, that she had kept more of the pupils behind. something whis- pered that danger lurked in the road she customarily fol- lowed. plato, as she looked down upon him, seemed insig- nificantly small and weak, and she felt miserably unable to cope with any difficult or untoward situation. “plato,” she suggested, “i think we'll go around the other way tonight, if you don’t mind.” mas querade - - visions of george tryon disappointed, of a dollar un- earned and unspent flitted through the narrow brain which some one, with the irony of ignorance or of knowledge, had mocked with the name of a great philosopher. plato was not an untruthful lad, but he seldom had the oppor- tunity to earn a dollar. his imagination spurred on by the instinct of self-interest, rose quickly to the present emer- gency. “i’se afraid you mought git snake-bit gwine roun’ dat way, miss rena. mah bre'r jim, kilt a water-moccasin down here yistidy ‘bout ten feet long.” rena had a horror of snakes, with which the swamp by which the other road ran was infested. snakes were a vivid reality; her presentiment was probably a mere depression of spirits due to her condition of nervous exhaustion. a cloud had come up and threatened rain, and the wind was rising ominously. the old way was the shorter; she wanted, above all things, to get to elder johnson's and go to bed. perhaps sleep would rest her tired brain—she could not imagine herself feeling worse, unless she should break down all together. she plunged into the path and hastened forward so as to reach home before the approaching storm. so complete- ly was she absorbed in her own thoughts, that she scarcely noticed that plato himself seemed preoccupied. instead of capering along like a playful kitten or puppy, he walked by her side unusually silent. when they had gone a short distance and were approaching a path which intersected their road at something near a right angle, the teacher missed plato. he had dropped behind a moment before; masquerade thick woods increased the gloom. suddenly a blinding flash of lightning pierced the darkness, followed by a sharp clap of thunder. there was a crash of falling timber. terror- stricken, rena flew forward through the forest, the under- brush growing closer and closer as she advanced. suddenly the earth gave way beneath her feet and she sank into a concealed morass. by clasping the trunk of a neighboring sapling she extricated herself with an effort, and realized with a horrible certainty that she was lost in the swamp! turning, she tried to retrace her steps. a flash of light- ning penetrated the gloom around her, and barring her path, she saw a huge black snake—harmless enough, in fact, but to her excited imagination, frightful in appear- ance. with a wild shriek she turned again, staggered for- ward a few yards, stumbled over a projecting root, and fell heavily to the earth. when rena disappeared in the underbrush, tryon and wain had instinctively set out in pursuit of her, but owing to the gathering darkness, the noise of the storm and the thickness of the underbrush, they missed not only rena but each other, and neither was aware of the other's pres- ence in the forest. wain kept up the chase until the rain drove him to shelter. tryon, after a few minutes, realized that she had fled to escape him, and that to pursue her would be to defeat rather than promote his purpose. he desisted, therefore, and returning to the main road, sta- tioned himself where he could watch elder johnson’s house, and having waited for awhile without any sign of rena, concluded that she had taken refuge in some friend- ly cabin. turning home disconsolately as night came on, he intercepted plato on his way back from town and mas querade pledged him to inviolable secrecy so effectually that plato, when subsequently questioned, merely answered that he had stopped a moment to gather some chinquapins, and when he had looked around the teacher was gone. rena having not appeared at supper time and for an hour later, the elder, somewhat anxious, made inquiries about the neighborhood, and finding his guest at no place where she might be expected to stop, became very much alarmed. wain's home was the last to which he went. he had surmised that there was some mystery connected with her leaving wain's, but had never been given any defini- tion about the matter. in response to his inquiries, wain expressed surprise, but betrayed a certain self-consciouness which did not escape the elder's eye. returning home, he organized a search party from his own family and several near neighbors, and set out with dogs and torches to scour the woods for the missing teacher. a couple of hours later, they found her lying unconscious, only a few rods from a well defined path which would have soon led her to the open highway. strong arms lifted her gently and bore her home. mrs. johnson undressed her and put her to bed, ad- ministering a home remedy, of which whiskey was the principal ingredient, to counteract the effects of the ex- posure. there was a doctor within five miles, but no one thought of sending for him, nor was it at all likely that it would have been possible to get him for such a case at such an hour. rena's illness, however, was more deeply seated than her friends could imagine. a tired body, in sympathy with an overwrought brain, had left her peculiarly susceptible to the nerves because of her forest experience. the exposure mas querade for several hours in her wet clothing to the damps of miasma of the swamp had brought on an attack of brain fever. the next morning, she was delirious. one of the children took word to the schoolhouse that the teacher was sick and there would be no school that day. a number of curious and sympathetic people came from time to time and suggested various remedies, several of which, old mrs. johnson, with catholic impartiality, administered to the helpless teacher, who from delirium gradually sank into a heavy stupor scarcely distinguishable from sleep. it was predicted that she would probably be well in the morning; if not, it would then be time to consider seriously the question of sending for the doctor. mas querade “hoddy, mistah geo'ge. w’at was dat you say?” “why are you not at school today?” “ain’ got no teacher, mistah geo'ge. teacher's gone!” “gone!” tryon exclaimed, with a sudden leap of the heart. “gone where? what do you mean, anyhow?” “teacher got los’ in de swamp night befo' las’, ‘cause plato wa'nt dere to show her de way out'n de woods. el- duh johnson foun' heh wid dawgs and tawches an’ fotch heh home, an’ put heh tu bed. no school yistidy. she wuz out'n heh haid las’ night, and dis' mawnin’ she wuz gone.” “gone—but where?” “dey don’ nobody know wha', suh.” leaving plato abruptly, tryon hastened down the road toward elder johnson's cabin. this was no time to stand on punctillo. the girl had been lost in the woods in the storm, amid the thunder and lightning and the pouring rain. she was sick with fright and exposure, and he was the cause of it all, and now he felt the responsibility keenly. she hadn’t known he lived in the vicinity; had come down to teach the little negro school honestly and willingly, to help her distressed and ignorant people. she was acting in the best christian interests and no person had a right to in- terfere with such work—and he had! by bribery, cor- ruption and falsehood, he had brought misery and suffer- ing. white men of honor and character did not submit to such low things. their honor was too high; and they would, under no circumstances whatever, be guilty of such an unprincipled thing. as it was, rena, now at last before his eyes, the innocent, for she would have never come to charleston and deceived him had it not been for her broth- mas querade er. he had learned since that she went back to see her sick mother on an errand of mercy; and it was even on an er- rand of mercy that took her inadvertently to the drug- store, where he made the discovery—and acted so beastly as a result of it. as he rushed to elder johnson's to inquire about her; and to offer his services in the search for her, george tryon felt guilty and almost hated himself for the thing that he knew now he was responsible for. he must learn at once what became of her. reaching elder johnson's house, he drew up by the front fence and gave the customary “halloa,” which sum- moned a woman to the door. “good-morning,” he said, nodding unconsciously, with the careless politeness of a gentleman to his inferiors. “i’m mr. tryon. i have come to inquire about the sick teacher.” “why, suh,” the woman replied respectfully, “she got los’ in de woods night befo' las', an’ she wuz outen heh min' mos ob de time yistidy. las’ night, she musta got outa bed an’ run away w'en eveh body wuz sound asleep, fo dis mawning’ she wuz gone, an’ none a us knows wha’ she is.” “has any search been made for her?” “yas, suh, my husban’ an’ de chillun has been huntin' roun’ all de mawnin', an' he's gone now to borry a hoss tu go fudder. but lawd knows dey ain’ no tellin’ wha’ she'd go, lessen’ she got heh min’ back atter she lef.” tryon's mare was in good condition. he had money in his pockets and nothing to interfere with his movements. he set out immediately on the road to fayetteville, keep- ing a lookout by the roadside, and stopping each person he met to inquire if a young woman, apparently ill, had been seen traveling along the road on foot. no one had met mas querade such a traveler. when he had gone two or three miles, he drove through a shallow branch that crossed the road. the splashing of his horse's hoofs in the water prevented him from hearing a low groan that came from the woods by the roadside. he drove on, making inquiries of each farmhouse and of every person whom he encountered. shortly after crossing the branch, he met a young negro with a cart- load of tubs and buckets and piggins, and asked him if he had seen on the road a young white woman with dark eyes and hair, apparently sick or demented. the young man answered in the negative, and tryon pushed forward an- xiously. at noon he stopped at a farmhouse and swallowed a hasty meal. his inquiries here elicited no information, and he was just leaving when a young man came in late to din- ner and stated, in response to the usual question, that he had met, some two hours before, a young woman who an- swered tryon's description, on the lillington road, which crossed the main road to fayetteville a short distance be- yond the farm house. he had spoken to the woman. at first she had paid no heed to his question. when addressed a second time, she had answered in a rambling and discon- nected way, which indicated to his mind that there was something wrong with her. tryon thanked his informant and hastened to the lil- lington road. stopping as before to inquire, he followed the woman for several hours, each mile of the distance taking him farther away from fayetteville. from time to time he heard of the woman. toward nightfall he found her. she was white enough with the sallowness of the sand- mas querade by the white man, had changed rena very much. while he was confident that she still cared for him, there was a change and he had not attempted to intrude himself upon her, giving her time to come back as nearly as possible, to what she once was. he had always known that mis' molly hadn’t wanted him for a son-in-law because he was dark; and he had ob- served her favoritism toward jeff wain, because that one was brighter, had beautiful straight, or almost straight black hair, and was a bigger liar, because he had fooled mis' molly into believing that he was rich and powerful in the county wherein he lived. when rena had departed for sampson county to teach, frank had reconciled himself to her absence by the hope of her speedy return. he often stopped to talk to mis' molly about her. several letters had passed between mother and daughter, and in response to frank's inquiries mis' molly uniformly stated that rena was well and doing well, and sent her love to all inquiring friends. but frank observed that mis’ molly, when pressed for the date of rena's return, grew more and more indefinite; and finally the mother, in a burst of confidential friendship, told frank of all her hopes with reference to the stranger from down the country. “yas, frank,” she concluded, “it’ll be her own fault ef she don’ become a lady of proputty, fo' mistah wain is rich, an’ owns a big plantation, an' hiahs a lotta hands, an’ is a big man in the county. he's crazy to git heh, an’ it all lays in her own han’s.” frank did not find this news reassuring. he felt that wain was a liar and a scoundrel. he had no more than his mas querade intuitions upon which to found this belief, but it was none the less firm. if this estimate of the man's character was correct, then his wealth might be a fiction, pure and sim- ple. if so, the truth should be known to mis' molly, so that instead of encouraging a marriage with wain, she would see him in his true light, and interpose to rescue her daughter from his importunities. a day or two after this conversation, frank met in the town a negro from samp- son county, made his acquaintance, and inquired if he knew a man by the name of jeff wain. “aw, jeff wain!” the countryman replied, slightingly. “yas, ah knows him, an’ don’ know no good ob ‘im. one ob dese heah biggity, braggin’ niggahs—talks lak he owns de whole country, an' ain’ wof no mo'd’n i is—jes' a big bladder wid a handful ob shot rattlin’ ‘roun’ in it. had a wife when i wuz dare, an’ beat heh an’ ‘bused heh so she had tu run away.” this was alarming information. wain had passed in the town as a single man, and frank had had no hint that he had ever been married. there was something wrong some- where. frank determined that he would find out the truth, and, if possible, do something to protect rena against the obviously evil designs of the man who had tak- en her away. in spite of the fact that mis' molly had not told him, and did not seem to want to tell him, when rena's school would be out, he had in a round-about way learned that the term was for only two months, and reck- oned correctly, that the school should let out the coming friday. he decided to go there and hang around one or two days mas querade . of rena, young and beautiful, her friendly smile, her pen- sive dark eyes. he would soon see her now, as he visualized it, and if she had any cause for fear and unhappiness, he would place himself at her service—for a day, a week, a month, a year—a lifetime, if need be. his reverie was broken by a noise ahead of him, and he strained his neck to see what it was. then he started. a wretched looking old negro woman stepped out of the thick underbrush into the road, and paused to look around, her large white eyes seeming filled with fear and excitement. the eyes finally rested on him and he started again. “della!” he cried suddenly, for it was no other than della, the conjure woman, who used to dwell on the edge of the swamps near where he was born. he recalled as he looked from the creek up at her, that it had been years since he had seen her. he thought she had died, but there was the same wretched looking witch-woman, standing in the road, looking down at him. his mule had finished drinking by now, and he urged her forward and upon the bank of the branch and beside della. “who is you?” she said, peering up at him closely. “seems i’ve seen you befo’ somewha.” “i’m henry fowler's son, frank, della. what are you doing here? i haven’t seen you for a long time. i thought you—were dead.” the old woman grinned, opened her eyes wider, which made her seem more wretched still, showed her haggled teeth, then as quickly became serious. “i left fayetteville and came down heah a long time ago. i had a sister who was older—she has died since, and mas querade she lived where i now live. i came to take care of her and she died, so i’ve lived there alone since. but i’m wasting time. something terrible's happened. a putty young gal is at mah house, sick, terribly sick. i found her on the edge of the swamp this mawnin’ while i was looking fo' snake root and grapes. she's awfully sick—terribly sick and needs a doctuh, boy, the child needs a doctuh. she's out of heh head, and needs a real doctuh. i cain’ do heh no good.” “rena!” frank cried, “could this be—rena?” “that's heb name—she was teaching school down the road fudder. ah hurd dem call heh name, and it wuz rena, dat's hit, rena. well, boy, she's terrible sick, fever, maybe pneumonia, who knows.” “get into my cart and take me to her, della. i don’t know what this is all about, but i was on my way to sandy run to take her back to fayetteville and to her mother. come with me and i’ll drive to your cabin. which way?” della pointed to the right. after a few steps they came to a narrow lane, barely wide enough for the cart, that wound and twisted through the woods. they must have gone almost a mile when they came to a little clearing, and a cabin in the woods. from a mud and stick chimney, smoke curled upward, indicating habitation. frank piled out of the cart and followed della inside the cabin, where, in a corner, lay rena, stretched on a homemade bed, but on a feather mattress, tossing and tumbling restlessly, and out of her head as he could see. frank leaned over her, placed his hand on her forehead to find it hot and burning with fever. “rena, rena, my poor child, it is you. how did this happen?” - &aate, zoºt, & e realizing that rena, out of her head, would toss and tumble, and that frank would have great difficulty keep- ing any covering over her, della pinned the covers around rena's body, allowing enough room for her to turn over, to even toss and still remain covered, after which della sent frank on his way back to fayetteville with his pre- cious treasure. they bathed her face and neck with cold water from a spring, and while rena continued to talk wildly at intervals, frank was relieved to observe that, after a time, she sank into a restful sleep and continued that way for many miles on their way back to fayette- ville. as they journeyed on the long trek back to the house behind the cedars, frank could hear rena talking wildly, but from, which he could gather what had happened—at least an idea, before she became sick. “yes, i know you, jeff wain, and i want nothing to do with you, so go away from here!” silence, then, but after a time: “you wicked creature. i saw you coming down the road to meet me with a cunning smile on your face. forcing yourself on me when i had tried to convince you in every way i knew how, that i was not interested in you—or your lies. the people all around you told me about you- f masquerade when he encountered, at the side of the road, elder john- son, della and several other negroes, whom he went up to to make inquiry, and who told him that she had been found and had been taken directly back to fayetteville from della's cabin in the woods. if anything could have taken more complete possession of george tryon at twenty-four than love successful and triumphant, it was love thwarted and denied. never in the few deep, delirious weeks of his courtship had he felt so strongly drawn to the beautiful sister of the popular lawyer, as he was now driven by an aching heart toward the same woman stripped of every adventitious advantage and placed, by custom, beyond the pale of marriage with women of his own race. custom was tyranny. love was the only law. would god have made hearts to yearn for one another if he had meant them to stay forever apart? if this girl should die it would be he who killed her, by his cruelty, no less surely than if with his own hand he had struck her down. he had been so dazzled by his own su- periority, so blinded by his own glory, that he had ruth- lessly spurned and spoiled the image of god in this fair creature, whom he might have had for his own treasure. whom, please god, he would yet have, at any cost, to love and cherish while they both should live. there were dif- ficulties—they had seemed insuperable, but love would surmount them. sacrifices must be made, but if the world without love would be nothing, then why not give up the world for love? he would hasten to fayetteville. he would find her; he would tell her that he loved her, that she was all the world to him, that he had come to marry her, and take her away where they might be happy to- mas querade º , gether. he pictured to himself the joy that would light up her face; he felt her soft arms around his neck, her tremulous kisses upon his lips. if she were still ill when he arrived, his love would woo her back to health. if dis- appointment and sorrow had contributed to her illness, joy and gladness should lead to her recovery. he urged the mare forward; if she would but keep up her pace, he would reach fayetteville by nightfall. dr. green came out of the front door of the house be- hind the cedars, his kit in his hand, his face serious. wait- ing on the outside, their faces anxious, stood mis' molly, frank, mary b. and homer pettifoot and billy oxendine, who, having heard of rena's illness and return home, wanted to know more. “now, folks,” dr. green said, removing his hat and wiping the perspiration from his forehead. “rena is an awfully sick girl. all the exposure and the long ride while ill from sampson county back here, has developed into the most serious attack of typhoid pneumonia, from which she will be fortunate if she ever recovers. in the meantime, she must not be allowed to see or talk to any- body until she passes the crisis, in about ten days. she's a very, very sick girl. i’ll send my visiting nurse to look aft- er her as much as she can, otherwise you will have to do so, molly. i’ll come to see her twice a day myself. but un- derstand—and if you fail to do what i say, rena may never recover.” naturally they all agreed to follow his instructions and he left. as he came to the crossroads after leaving the house behind the cedars, he ran into george tryon, coming mas querade now that the idea of crossing over and passing for white, was impossible. north carolina is not large enough but that sometime, somewhere and somehow, paths must cross and the masquerade would sooner or later be discovered— as it very quickly was—and the bottom would fall out of it all—as it did. “my poor mother, then, who really loves you, but is so influenced by the customs around her, and which she grew up under, planned to marry me off to jeff wain, down in sampson county, not knowing as i suspected all along, and very quickly found out, that the man was a scoun- drel, and just abut every other impossible thing that a man could be. i never would have married him. all the while, frank, you—the faithful one, the ambitious one, and the only unselfish one of them all—has been neglected. i am happy that i am recovering. when i am fully well again, i want to do something, even though it be ever so little, for my people—your people, our people. meanwhile, what are your plans, frank? before all this started, i am sure you were about to launch on a career for wider accom- plishments. now tell me, dear, and take your time, just what have you decided, and what do you want to do. if you are still interested in me as you once were, then what do you want me to do?” “i will answer your last suggestion first, rena. i will come right to the point. i–want you to-marry me dear. if you love me.” “oh, frank! i still love you. i have always loved you. while to please my brother, and to do as i knew he wanted me to, i–thought i was about to learn to love somebody else, but i soon discovered that it was only you, frank, general library - u.c. berkeley ||||||||||||| bddd elº" uc-nrlf b vcau in d+f eitel turner wousa 'suur om flores mojom budere marked .-.. ..-..-...----- all -- man in the cane by mentis carrere vantage press • new york univ. library, univ. calif., santa cruz first edition all rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form copyright, , by mentis carrere published by vantage press, inc. west st street, new york , n. y. manufactured in the united states of america library of congress catalog card number: - a to my late father isadore carrere fighting mosquitoes at every step, jimmy dixon left his river bend home and walked briskly down the placquemines parish public road. as he proceeded parallel to the west bank of the mississippi, he fingered the knapsack on his shoulder, assuring himself that his book was in the bag. to his right lay field after field of nearly full-grown sugar cane, their long, slender leaves creaking under the weight of morning dew. jimmy hadn't been out that early in the morning since his return in early spring from the army. taking a deep breath, he puffed his lungs with the cleanly rinsed air, then turned off the road into a narrow winding path through tall bloodweed. hordes of mosquitoes came up at him out of the underbrush; he quickened his steps, flailing at them with a palmetto brush. in a moment he would see the shanty, and that's all he expected to see; he would not think of awakening her at this time of morning. antonia, sweet little angel! he could still feel her arms locked about his neck and her pliant body pressed close to his. her goodby in the shanty doorway with the lamplight falling across her shoul- ders, her gentle, light-olive face turned to the starry darkness, would be with him for a long time. through her smile he had seen the tears in her hazel, young-girl eyes. he turned a bend in the path and there she was, just as he'd left her the night before in the doorway! he eyed her with astonishment and delight, then broke into a run, calling out, “antonia, you haven't been standing there all night, i hope!” "i'd be crazy to do that, wouldn't i?” she laughed. “i went right to bed so's i could be up early to see you again.” “but we said our goodbys, and i wasn't going to come by again till i got that hundred dollars. remember?” "i knew you'd be by again, jimmy.” he stepped close and picked up her hands. “i appreciate it horse and waited for jimmy to catch up. again their eyes met. jimmy stared as he walked, lester as he sat. “hop in, jimmy. i'll give you a lift." "a lift, eh,” said jimmy, and threw down his knapsack. he grabbed the reins and said quietly, “you won't drive off this time until i've had it out with you." "take it casy, fellow,” said lester, and began grinning. “it's about time we evened things up,” said jimmy, and moved his hundred and eighty-five pounds close to the buggy. lester frowned. “you can't settle your beef that way. we might both get hurt." "i'll take that chance." “why keep fighting about it? we've both been to france, haven't we?" “so what?" “so the big thing i learned there was when bullets were flying and shrapnel was digging holes right at your feet, you look around and you see a colored boy in the same kind of uniform as your own. you look at him and begin doing a little thinking. that's why i'm offering you a lift. i want to even up things with you too, but not in the way you do.” jimmy spat on the ground. “pretty speech, but it won't work. this is pay-off time, and i owe you a pretty good sum." lester sat up erect. “damn it, i ain't afraid of you!" jimmy glared at lester a long while in silence. abruptly, he thought of antonia and he dropped the reins, picked up his knap- sack and started away. “let's be friends, jimmy," lester called out, starting up the horse. “you mean it?” said jimmy, looking back. "i mean it.” "okay, i'll ride with you." after an awkward silence, lester told jimmy he was going to louise to bid his grandpa goodby before taking the morning train for new orleans. “i'm going back to l. s. u. to continue my law course,” lester finished. "you're lucky,” said jimmy, thinking of his unfinished course at tuskegee and what it had cost his dad. “lucky, how?" "you can go to louisiana state. i can't.” "why don't you go to southern university?” “calling that school a university don't make it one." "we gotta face facts, jimmy. we still got jim crow hereabouts, and besides, colored people make trouble in mixed schools—just by being there. you'd be knocking your head against a stone wall trying to get into a white school.” “i never tried to get into one. i'm just saying it's something i can't do." "all right, make the best of what you can do. get too bitter about it and you'll be six feet under before you know it." “in other words, stay in my place, eh?” “only because you have to, jimmy." “plenty reason to be bitter, if you ask me.” lester turned his head and eyed jimmy sharply. “keep it up, fellow," he said slowly, "and you're going to be swinging off an oak tree.” "like hell i will!” they turned a curve in the road and louise, a plantation almost two miles wide, loomed before them. at the entrance gate jimmy and lester shook hands. lester drove off to big house, while jimmy turned into the cart lane and walked to the teamshed across the pasture. field hands were sitting around waiting to be hauled to the fields. a white man was slouched in his saddle. jimmy went up to him. "sir, i'm looking for work. you hiring anyone?" the man looked jimmy up and down, rolling his wad of tobacco to the other side of his mouth and grinding it between stained molars. “sure i need hands. need a hell of a lot of 'em.” he hesi- tated. “but not your kind!" "i'm a good worker.” "you talk too smart, like you had book-learnin'. smart niggers ain't good for nothin', never.” the overseer turned his horse around. jimmy glanced around. black and brown field hands were watching him. turning on his heel, he retraced his steps through the big gate and continued south on the public road. “damned bastard!” he said aloud, and switched angrily at the mosquitoes all around his head. jimmy climbed the levee. he'd go to saint agnes, ten miles away. after a mile of laborious walking on the uneven levee top, he saw a droopy-headed, razor-back mule pulling a dump cart along the public road, which was dotted with mudholes-his reason for walk- ing the levee. the driver looked up. "hi yuh, jimmy! ain't seen yuh sence us was in france. how's bidness?” "pigbelly, you old scamp! how far down you going?” “i'ontown. an' yuh?" “saint agnes.” “whul, come on. what yuh waitin' fuh?" jimmy climbed into the cart while it was still in motion, put his knapsack on the floor and sat on a board that rested across the two sides of the lopsided vehicle. south of rushville, which was known as “nigger bend,” they waved at the truck farmers plowing between long rows of orange trees—now a white, now a black. “them mens don't have no white man ridin' b'hin' 'em,” said pigbelly. "they own their own land, pigbelly—which makes a big dif- ference." "it sure must!" while the cart was sliding in and out of ruts, jimmy jumped to the ground to kill several black flies that were boring into the back of the mule at a point where her tail couldn't swish them. climbing back into the cart, he related his experience with the louise overseer. “tha's all that white man calls yuh-jis nigger?” asked pigbelly. “wasn't that enough?” "ah sees yuh ain't worked on no plantation b'foh. ah has an' ah's been cussed at plenty from boss mens which ride in the saddle. they's gwine cuss yuh too if yuh work on a plantation.” sally's shadow was directly in front of her now. it was time for a bite. jimmy took two sandwiches from his knapsack and they ate while the hubs of the two-wheeled cart moved back and forth with a clumping sound. “yuh get riled over jis bein' called a nigger," said pigbelly abruptly, pausing in his chewing, “and yuh ain't going to be a live nigger long." “that's what you think," said jimmy. “but i think different." leaving irontown on foot, jimmy withdrew a book from his bag and began to memorize a poem he'd pasted on the inside cover: a capsule of pleasure, a barrel of grief, so runs the life of man; none is exempt, there's no relief, men try to escape but none ever can. climbing to the top of the levee, he saw two smokestacks loom- ing in the distance. a lightning rod spiraled above a smaller chimney in the midst of miles of sugar cane. that would be big house. jimmy went on toward it, walking faster, and the house presently came into full view, its white-painted surface glistening in the after- noon sun. a black man was trimming rosebushes on both sides of the three-foot pedestrian lane that led in from the public road. another black man in tattered field clothes, his hair knotted into thousand balls, dragged bare feet after him as he ambled to the public road from the big house lane. jimmy jammed the book into his knapsack and called out, “hey, fellow!" "hi, and whar yuh gwine?" "right here. looking for work." "got plenty here. facts is, they's too much work fuh me even.” “my name's jimmy." "ah’m sammy. ah's the yahd man here. ah ain't no fiel' nigger.” "huhn,” jimmy grunted and descended the levee. he crossed the road and entered a large wooden gate that stood open. just inside the entrance, to the right of the cart lane, was a castor bean tree and a clump of weeds. north of this section a vegetable garden flourished. as he approached the living quarters of the plantation hands, colored children of school age were darting in and out of the cabins. these houses of two, three and four rooms presented an assortment of rotting galleries, broken banisters and lime-scaled walls. on the front steps of a cabin, two old brown-skinned women were sitting quietly. “good evening,” said jimmy. “tol'ble, son, jis tol’ble," said one of the women. "my name's jimmy.” "mah name's lucy. and this here's mah sister jenny. ah got the rheumatiz bad, son.” “well, it's good you can take things easy." “can't do nothin' else,” said jenny. “we's done spen'us days,” said lucy. "now us is jis waitin'." "you get a pension?” "pension? us jis pen's on us chilluns and gran'chilluns." they laughed and jimmy laughed with them. “i'll be back some- time,” he said. he reached the fence that separated the living quarters from the pasture. he turned here and walked south toward the shops, where men were moving about from one task to another. in the far west corner of the pasture stood the whitewashed mule stable. under a tree in the center of the yard sat the watering tubs. a mule was drinking, her head submerged to the eyes in the freshly pumped river water. jimmy entered the blacksmith shop where colored men were hammering plowshares, colters, traces, doubletrees and singletrees. the biceps of the men bulged as they lifted their arms, hammered three times on the red-hot iron, then bounced their hammers several times on the anvils and back to the hot metal. in the harness room repairmen were sewing mule collars, rivet- ing saddles, attaching bits to bridles and splicing ropes. “lookin' fuh work, boy?” asked a harness tailor. “yep, any chances ?” “lots o'chances. yuh from the city, eh?” "nope, river bend." “yuh talks proper, lak them city boys.” at the railroad siding men were unloading carloads of mer- chandise—boxes of brogans, sacks of cornmeal, barrels of salt pork and sacks of oats. “you're sure getting in lots of stuff,” said jimmy. "all fuh the commissary,” said a stalwart brown man, throwing down a sack of sugar on the floor of a waiting cart. " 'ceptin' the eats. they's fuh the mules.” teamsters were backing up their cartloads of corn in the shuck into a large barn. in an open section of the field, workers were pitching hay onto carts, others were filling wheel ruts in the head- land. a man approached on muleback. it was sammy. "where's the boss?” asked jimmy. "i want to hire in." “go down yonder to the li'l back gate, then turn to yoh right at that li'l buildin'. tha's the buggyhouse. when yoh gits there turn to yoh lef' and go straight till yoh gits to them commissary steps. yoh'l fin' mist' joe tillman there." at the end of the trail jimmy saw a white man with a rugged face, long, graying eyebrows and a heavy head of slightly gray hair sitting under a chinaberry tree and writing in a ledger as he talked to a black man. “where'd you work last, boy?” he asked, not lifting his head. "governor warmoth's place, suh. tha's whar ah work las'," said the applicant, fidgeting with his hat. jimmy fell in line behind three other applicants. “did you say your name was finnigan?” asked the white man of the applicant just ahead of jimmy. “yas, suh, tha's right, suh.” "never heard of a black irishman before. how 'n hell did you get such a name?” “mah pappy he done got it from his pappy, an' his pappy done got it from—” "all right, all right-you're hired.” jimmy moved close to the table, knapsack securely on his shoul- der and both hands at his sides. the overseer raised his furrowed brow. "nigger," he snapped, "take off that hat! don't you know better than to stand before a white man with your hat on?" of the applin tha's right, irishman jimmy was slow to take off the hat. the overseer jumped to his feet. “you want to get knocked down?" he shouted. “no, sir, i don't.” "say that again, and say it like a nigger!" "no, suh, i don't, suh." the overseer sat back down, eyeing jimmy suspiciously. he swung his pencil up and down on the ledger as if trying to figure out whether jimmy had been trying to be sarcastic. abruptly, he snapped, “what's your name?" “jimmy dixon, sir." "huhn!" the overseer held his head back, staring at jimmy down his nose. "you look like a nigger but you don't talk like one. where you from?”. "river bend, sir.” tillman leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head. “how old are you?” "twenty-two." the plantation boss looked curiously at jimmy's knapsack. after a moment he leaned forward to pass his hand over its bulky sur- face. “what you got there, boy?” “working clothes and such, sir." “what else? what's this here thing here?” “oh, that, sir? it's a book." the overseer turned the book over and read aloud, "frederick douglass, by booker t. washington.” he looked up. “you can read this book?" “yes, sir." jimmy stood uneasily in the long silence that followed. he had to have that hundred! finally, he said, “won't you give me a chance, sir? i'm a good worker." “hell,” said the overseer loudly, "a nigger with book-learning ain't no good! he just gets more trifling." "you're wrong, sir. i—". tillman jumped to his feet. "shut up! get a li'l book-learning and right off a nigger wants to sass a white man.” he flopped down in his chair. “i'm sorry, sir." "sorry, eh?” tillman folded his arms, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair. he eyed jimmy coldly for fully a minute, then said, “maybe i will give you a chance-maybe i will." he smiled craftily. “maybe you don't know you're a nigger yet. or do you?" "yes, sir." “hmm. take number fifty cabin and report to the teamshed before sunrise in the morning. henry'll have something special for you." “thank you, sir.” jimmy reached for his book. the overseer slapped a hand on it. “i'll keep this here. get going!" “but, sir—" “i said, get going!” jimmy, hat still in his hand, started away. “just a minute, you!" jimmy stopped and looked back. "wipe that damned look off your face, or i'll fire you before you start.” jimmy did the best he could. “okay, get going—and don't let me see that look on your ugly black puss again.” jimmy went on, gripping the hat tightly. on the street facing his cabin, jimmy gazed at the scaly white- washed planks that formed the outside walls. walking to the gallery, he kicked at the rotting joist on the ground. he opened the front door and stood staring at the dirty floor. a bunk, nailed to the wall under the window, was the only furniture in the house. a stiff, dust-covered mattress lay upon wooden slats. . jimmy hung his knapsack on a hook jutting from the grimy wall, then stared at a ragged garment hanging from a nail. he spread it on the floor, forming a v with its short legs. a slit in the back ran up to the waistline. governor splits! he threw the female underwear in the fireplace and went outside. on each side of the doorway sat an open barrel on cypress blocks three feet high. a wooden trough from the roof brought rainwater from the eaves into the barrels. wiggletails were racing around in the shallow water. jimmy turned and stared at the rear of big house. a cistern on tall brick pillars was screened against insects. on his way to the commissary to get a broom and a couple of boxes, he fell to the ground to avoid being swarmed by low- aying bees. “why the hell don't you guys gang up on the over- seer?” he said through set teeth. “why me?” at the commissary he found a middle-aged clerk opening up crates. the man glanced up, but continued to draw nails. the store was a hodgepodge of crates, bulging sacks and barrels. open con- tainers of grits and other coarse staples stood exposed everywhere. the clerk finally put down the nail puller. "what you want, boy?” "a broom, sir." the clerk hesitated. “stranger in these parts, ain't you?” "sort of.” the clerk handed jimmy two brooms which he'd pulled down from the ceiling rack. “take your choice.” jimmy picked one. "how much?” the clerk passed a hand over his graying moustache. "what difference it makes how much?” he reached for the account book. "i want to pay for it now.” the clerk turned over the book's pages. “what's your name?" he asked. "jimmy dixon, but you won't find it there." "it ought to be here." “how could it be? i haven't bought anything here yet.” “you working here, ain't you?" "just hired in." “then your name's here. and here it is— jimmy dixon." he started to write. "i said i'm paying cash.” jimmy took a silver dollar from his pocket. “how much?” “four bits.” jimmy took the change and went his way. the clerk smiled and completed the entry. at the rear of the store jimmy picked up two boxes from a stockpile and went to his cabin. he started sweeping and the dust rose in clouds. stepping outside, he picked up a tin can, dipped it in the amber-colored water in the barrel and sprinkled it on the floor. he swept the walls, raking down cobwebs and lime scales. he then turned the broom around and jabbed at the sealed mud- daubers' nests against the ceiling. they fell, exposing newly born insects. he finally swept the floor clean, dusted the bunk and spread a sheet over the mattress. at sundown, when he crossed the yard, field hands were rushing home from many sections of the plantation. some carried scythes, others shovels and pitchforks. plowmen rode on their one-planked slides, their plows resting securely under angle irons forged to fit the shares and bolted down to the front end of the plank. team after team passed him, the artful plowmen bobbing up and down on one foot behind fast-trotting mules to steady their conveyances when riding over rough spots. the sweaty mules, relieved of harness, rolled in the dust. many got as far as their backs, with their legs kicking in the air. a few turned from side to side. jimmy watched the mules bury their faces in the drinking tubs, swallowing water through their nostrils and mouths. their thirsts quenched, the mules trotted off to the stable and waited impatiently for the stableman. they stood alert, cars pointing forward, tails switching with anxiety for their oats, corn, hay and blackstrap molasses. a mule came forward to meet the stableman. she got into step behind him, nuzzling his shoulders. he broke into a run. the bars were let down and all the mules tried to squeeze in at once. one of them, forced to back out, bent her ears sharply and kicked her way into the stable. jimmy laughed and went on to the commissary. at the store field hands were passing in and out through the doorway. a man asked for four bits worth of saltmeat. the clerk cut off a hunk from a shoulder and handed it to him. the man walked out of the store and the clerk made an entry in the account book. another wanted six bits worth of cornmeal. the clerk scooped up two large bags of the meal from a barrel and handed them to the worker, who went his way. another entry was made in the account book. a tall blond man came from an anteroom and began waiting on customers. jimmy fell in line. that other clerk meant trouble for him. "next!" the new clerk called out. “how much is your saltmeat?” asked jimmy. the clerk stared at him. “listen, boy, i'm here to dish stuff out to you. how much meat you want-two bits, four bits or what?” “that depends on the amount i get.” "what you worryin' 'bout? get the amount you want-this store'll carry you." “i'm sure it would.” “all right, what you want?" he spat. "two pounds, please.” the clerk threw the meat on the scale. "two and a quarter pounds. what else?” jimmy bought a lot of other food items, pricing each one as he went along. "that's all, sir. how much?” he asked. the clerk, ignoring jimmy's question, reached for the account he jimmy bought lot of other food items pricing, cach one as book. picking up the pencil, he looked at the quiet field hands, who were watching. he turned back to jimmy. “what's your name?” "my name? i'm paying cash." the clerk looked stern. “come on, nigger, i got to charge this stuff!" "i've told you i'm paying for it.” “hell and be damned!" the clerk shouted. he went to the senior clerk. “bill, got a smart nigger here that wants to pay cash. what'll i do?" bill turned to look at jimmy. “take it. and complete the trans- action, too." the young clerk faced jimmy. “four-fifty,” he said, a wry smile on his face. jimmy paid and went on his way. jimmy was at the teamshed before sunrise. field hands were pouring out of their cabins, those with scythes and shovels going directly to the field. others stood at the shed waiting for team carts to take them to work. jimmy looked around. he knew henry would not be a white man, because joe tillman had not told him to see mr. henry. a heavy-set dark-brown man came up to him and said, “my name's bigman." "mine's jimmy. i'm looking for henry.” "henry? that's the li'l nigger over yonder with spurs on his brogans.” jimmy thanked bigman and went up to henry. "i'm jimmy," he said. "good. wait here fuh me. them teamsters don't look like they's awake.” upon henry's approach, the teamsters bestirred themselves with their hitching—some to carts, some to mowing machines, some to plows. others mounted the bare backs of their collared mules and rode off to their plows in the field. henry headed for a team cart that was ready. “git aboard!” he ordered. “the sun's risin'!". the teamster cracked his whip and the rumbling cartload of workers was off to the field. henry returned to jimmy. “follow that cartload of hay over yonder,” he said, and smiled thinly. at the hay barn the driver climbed on the load of hay and plunged his fork into the fodder. he leaned on the handle as jimmy approached. “yuh gwine work here, podner?” "guess so, why?" "nothin'. ah's jis wonderin'” henry got off his mule. "git in the loft, jimmy, an' pack hay tight g’inst the rafters.” jimmy stumbled over ears of corn in the barn and climbed a stepladder to the loft. at the window he picked up a pitchfork. so this was the special job joe tillman had planned for him! the teamster pitched hay through the window, the only opening in the loft. jimmy dragged it and packed it away. the more he tugged at the dry fodder, the more the teamster pitched it at him. he scratched his back to ease the sticking of sharp particles. wiping his moist face, he listened to the teamster sing: you ah done sont fuh yoh pa an' yuh done come. boy, this a man's job! make no mistake! bossman 'spects yuh make hay hum, but ah jis knows yuh won't las', by jake. ! cts the teamster drove off. jimmy, pulling at the hay, cleared his throat and spat out the gray accumulation. the bright outside gleamed through an aperture. “damned stuff!” said jimmy aloud, and threw himself on the floor. he put his head out the window and inhaled deeply. his breathing spell was short-lived. in rolled another cart, stacked high. "how yuh doin', pod?” “all right.” jimmy squirmed to minimize the hay pricks. his blue denim shirt stuck sweatily to his skin. on the third load sat another worker. jimmy perked up. he could use some help. henry rode up. “joe,” he said, “help ben chunk it in, an' when jimmy give up, take his place. if he still hol' out, come back to the fiel'." the two men jammed the window. puffing, jimmy tugged and packed. his wet denims hugged his legs. water, dripping down his thighs into his brogans, made a slushing noise when he walked. he cleared the window and saw the cart roll off. tillman wasn't the only one after him. field hands were getting a kick out of his misery. the whistle blew for breakfast. jimmy descended the ladder and alopped down on a pile of corn. he ate greedily from a tin bucket. at twelve he went to his cabin and changed into dry clothes, and, after eating, he lay across the bunk, rolling from side to side to relieve the dull ache in his back and hips. he was thinking of antonia and her soft lips pressed tightly against his when finally he fell asleep. three sharp blasts from the drain-machine whistle woke him with a start. doggone! he stretched and yawned. sliding to the door, he slipped on his shoes and dragged himself out of the shack. he stuck with the hayloft until the end of the week, which finished up the hay harvest. teboy elbowed his way out of the group. “ah ain't talkin' 'bout yoh winnin's," he said. “it's yoh 'vestment.” “jimmy here kin write,” said clark. “let him write down us names an' the amount each say he got comin'." teboy faced jimmy. “good idea. write down the names o' these niggers, jimmy.” jimmy produced a pencil, but didn't have any paper. clark picked up a piece of paper bag from the willows and handed it to jimmy. jimmy hesitated before touching the bag. “is it clean?”. as the men sang out their names and the amount each said he'd invested, jimmy wrote it down. adding the figures, he found the sum to be three times greater than the cash teboy was holding. teboy looked around at the expectant faces. “would yuh peanut gamblers be satisfied with what me an' jimmy say do?” the men agreed. teboy and jimmy stepped to one side. in a few minutes they returned to the group. teboy spoke up. “us knows bigman had one dollar comin' to him, 'cause he done shot foh bits twice and lost. the rest gits a even divide with what's lef’.” “hell,” grumbled clark, "some o' them niggers didn't even play no dice. yuh givin' them money too?”. “yuh done said already yuh'd leave things to me an' jimmy. now, shet yoh goddamned mouf an' take what yuh gits! “here, take yoh buck,” he said to bigman. “ah's got three dol- lars lef'. tha's thirty cents for each o'yuh squawkers. come and git it an' no bellyachin'.” the men left the batture joking about who got bunged up the worst. jimmy followed to the levee. these guys seemed to fight just for the hell of it. the last saturday in the month, jimmy left for the field in high spirits. it was pay day. all of his thoughts were about how much he would save out of the seventeen-fifty he'd earned for the month. in the field, he took a stone from his pocket and whetted his scythe. as he mowed down the cocklebur bushes, he wondered why buddy bones and charley patterson had expressed a dislike for pay day. at eight o'clock, he picked up his breakfast bucket and sauntered over to where buddy and charley were plowing. he stood on the freshly plowed earth watching the team approach the headland. buddy was sitting lady-fashion on a rawhide saddle that was girded to the left hind mule. his fork rein was fastened to the hame of the saddled mule. he sat idly while the six mules crept along, cropping whatever green growth they could reach. charley, walking behind the plow, barely lifted one foot before the other. “gee way!” yelled buddy, finally reaching the headland. the two lead mules moved to the right, their traces slackened. the two center mules followed. the driver guided the two hind mules to keep them from swinging around while the plow was still turning over the earth. on the headland the plow dragged on its moldboard to the next furrow. charley pulled the wiregrass from the colter and cleared the dirt from beneath the plowshare with a wooden paddle. jimmy joined the two men as they sat on the plow beam to eat their breakfast. “i heard what you fellows said yesterday about pay day. why don't you like it?” charley chewed thoughtfully. buddy said, “us don't git no money on pay day. how come us ought to like it?” “yeah, how come?” asked charley. “commissary gits all us makes. all us gits is a settlement!" "an' it ain't never in us favor," piped buddy. "all ah gits is, . 'buddy, yuh owes the commissary only foh dollars an' six bits this mont'.' hell, ah don't care if pay day never come!” "don't you guys know if you bought more at the commissary than you make during the month?” asked jimmy. "us don't know nothin'!” said charley. “us buys and them clerks writes. us don't know what they's done writ.” jimmy stood up to go. "hell, i don't think i could keep on working that way.” as he slow-dragged behind the plow, charley yelled to jimmy, “yuh'll see this evenin' at the pay counter!” after dinner, charley and buddy went to jimmy to settle an argument. "jimmy," said charley, “this here crazy nigger's been tryin' to tell me that down in river bend white folks an' niggers play poker together. ah tell buddy white folks in the souf don't do that.” “sure,” said jimmy, “they play poker together. they eat together too. some of 'em even sleep together.” “shucks,” said charley, “white mens sleeps with black 'omans here, too-in the loft, 'gainst haystacks, an' in the cane." jimmy didn't mean that way. he meant living together as hus- band and wife like his maternal grandmother and grandfather, who had lived together for sixty-one years without benefit of marriage; and like his aunt sarah, who was living with a white man for whom she had borne three children. "yoh aunt done tuck up with that white man jis like some niggers does here,” said buddy. "well, not exactly. black folks who take up can still marry if they want to, but white and colored can't by law.” "they ought to go norf and git married,” said charley. “they tells me they ain't no law 'gainst it up there." "they'd have to stay there if they did.” “they's living together now an' the white folks ain't doin 'em nothin',” said buddy. “that's true,” said jimmy, “but you know how white folks are." “what yuh mean?" “just this. if a white man and a colored woman take up, the white folks say that's the white man's privilege. but if they marry, white people say that's social equality. so the laws forbid it.” that afternoon, the hands were knocked off early and at four o'clock jimmy was standing in the crowd before the plantation store. one by one, stragglers joined the crowd, and shortly jerry gordon, the boss, was taking his place behind the counter. standing near him were the sugar-mill engineer and the senior store clerk. joe tillman stood in the doorway. gordon turned to the right and spoke to the flaxen-haired book- keeper, who called out, “john bailey!”. “yas, suh, ah's a-comin'." “three dollars for you, john," said gordon, handing the worker the money in silver. "buddy bones!" buddy, a frown on his face, stepped slowly to the counter. “one dollar and ninety cents for you, buddy." quickly, buddy took the money. it had been several months since he'd drawn that much. “bill cunningham!” bill was told that he'd broken even but could get anything he wanted from the plantation store. dejectedly, he went to his quar- ters. his sick child needed medical attention. “max danmark!" jimmy moved in closer. "max, here's two dollars. you drew the same last month. must be budgeting yourself.” "yah, suh. ah means, no, suh, boss. ah ain't humbuggin mahse'f. ah jis buys what ah needs, tha's all." gordon smiled. “teboy dowden!" teboy pushed his way through the crowd and walked briskly to the counter. "two-fifty for you,” said gordon. teboy stood motionless. “here, don't you want this money?" teboy scratched his head. he didn't know exactly how much he had coming to him, but he knew he hadn't eaten fifteen dollars worth. gordon slammed the silver pieces on the counter. “take it and go!” he snapped. "yah, suh, but it seem like—" “beat it!” teboy picked up the money and left. "jimmy dixon!" while jimmy was hurrying up the steps, jerry and his book- keeper went into hushed consultation. “get your daybook, jim," said gordon. the senior clerk gave jerry the book opened up to jimmy's name. "six dollars,” gordon grumbled. he pushed the book aside and scowled at jimmy. “don't you eat, boy? don't you wear clothes? how do you live?” jimmy stepped closer. “what do you mean, sir?" "you bought only six dollars worth of provisions this month. you can't live on that.” "i bought more than that, but not here.” "this commissary carries everything you need. you work here, you buy here. why run credit elsewhere?" "credit?” said jimmy, frowning. “i paid cash for what i bought elsewhere, just as i did for the stuff i bought here." “cash, you say? what do you mean you paid cash at this store? this book shows you owe six dollars.” "i paid that man and that one." jimmy pointed to the store clerks. jerry rose. “shut up, nigger! you don't know what you're saying!” "oh, yes, i do!” joe tillman rushed toward jimmy. "these white men wrote what you bought in that book. are you callin' them liars? answer me!” gordon glanced at the quiet field hands standing about. “cut it, joe,” he said with a movement of his head. gordon was silent for a moment, then said, “step aside, boy, i'll see you later." jimmy followed gordon through a gate in the counter. in an anteroom jerry sat down behind a desk and began to fondle a lead pencil. jimmy, standing in front of the desk, eyed a chair in the corner. he'd better stand, he knew. "where'd you learn to read and write?” jerry began. "in school, sir.” “i didn't know this parish had schools for your folks." "it hasn't. we pay taxes, too, but only whites get the schools. so i went to new orleans to school.” jerry spat on the floor. “here, take this money.” “would you please count it, sir.” gordon spread the money on the desk—two fives, a one, and a fifty-cent piece. jimmy's frown deepened. “i earned seventeen-fifty, sir, and i want it.” gordon's bluish-gray eyes scrutinized jimmy sharply. “don't forget, boy, you're talking to a white man!" “how could i forget?” gordon bit his lips. “up the river where i came from, you wouldn't dare talk to a white man like that.” “i have read about the lynchings there, sir." gordon pulled six dollars from his pocket and slammed them on the desk. “take it, god damn you, and get out!" jimmy shoved the money in his pocket and walked through the store. at the door, the older clerk asked him, “did you get your money, boy?" “why don't you ask the boss?” he retorted. at home, jimmy stretched out on his bunk and yawned. he looked at his seventeen-fifty. it was tough to earn and tougher to collect. he rolled over on his side and fell asleep. . . . jimmy was awakened by loud knocking on his door. he sat on the edge of the bed and listened. the knocking was repeated more sharply. he stood up. "who is it?” “teboy." “all right,” he called out sleepily, "wait a minute.” he stooped and fumbled around for a match, lit the kerosene lamp and pulled open the door. teboy stepped in. “what's wrong?” "ain't nothin' wrong. ah comes to git yuh fuh the boys at the hangout.” “what's up?" "nothin', 'ceptin' us done see yuh talkin' to the white folks like yuh was mad. us done 'spicion 'twas 'bout yoh pay. the boys wants yuh to tell 'em 'bout it." "can't make it,” said jimmy drowsily. “tired, gotta get some sleep." gently, he pushed teboy out, closed the door and stumbled back into his bunk. teboy put out the lantern and shook jimmy by the shoulder. jimmy, waking with a start, saw eyes peering at him in the night dark. he sprang to his feet and ran into the willows. the boys laughed, teboy lit the lantern and called out, “whar yuh gwine, jimmy?” jimmy turned back. “all right, you guys!" "boy, kin yuh sleep!” said teboy. “six o' us done fetch yuh here on the mattress an' yuh ain't never turned over. yuh jis snored louder.” jimmy slipped on the trousers teboy handed him, then sat down on the mattress. "what's the big idea?” he demanded. "jimmy, tell us how yuh's able to argue with the white folks, an' us can't,” spoke up bigman. isaac butler, jr., came out of the dark and sat beside jimmy. "we ain't never hear no nigger talk back to the white folks like yuh done done today.” "us knows it was 'bout yoh pay," said teboy, " 'cause us seen mist jerry a-lookin' at them books an'a-talkin' to mist' joe an' them.” jimmy studied the crowd that encircled him, then he carefully explained that, if the workers knew how much time they'd put in during the month and their daily rate of pay, it should be easy for them to figure out how much they had coming at the end of the month. said butler, “we all knows somethin' 'bout the time us puts in an' how much we gits a day, but how 'bout them deducts?" "yes, them goddamned deducts!” yelled bigman. “tha's whar us gits all messed up." "when you buy on credit, you should write it down, including what you paid for it. then, on pay day, you deduct your purchases from your earnings. the balance is what you should receive in cash.” “that sounds all right,” said a man from the rear, “but how'n the hell kin us keep them 'counts when us don't know figgers from frog piss?” "tha's it to a pee!” said another. “talkin' 'bout pee,” said buddy bones, “one o' them bullfrogs done peed on mah hands oncet, an' yuh oughta seen the knots it done raise!" "is yuh sho it wasn't yo 'oman what done piss on yuh?" asked butler. "shet up, yuh sons o' bastards!” yelled teboy. “can't yuh niggers be serious sometimes?". “keep my ol' woman outa this!" shouted buddy bones. “when she puts knots on me, it ain't with what she pisses with!” “yuh sho o' that?” called out butler. “sho o' what?” “damn it to hell, you bastards,” teboy yelled, “i'm tellin' yuh to git ser’ous! an' no more talkin' 'bout what pisses with what, where or who!" “yuh know somethin'?” said butler. teboy barked at him, “shet yo’ damned mouf, ah done tell yuh!” “but this time ah's ser’ous. i means it." “go 'head then, but it better be serious.” “if us chilluns went to school like the white chilluns, then us could git them to do us figgerin'!". clark rose. “nigger, us thought yuh was gwine say somethin',” he said to butler. "in the fust place, yuh knows they ain't no schools fuh nigger chilluns, an' in the secon' place, how'n hell we's gwine buy 'nough outa that commissary if us chilluns don't work in the fiel' to help us feed 'em?” "hell!” said charley. “what difference is it if us kids work or not? the white mens keep all the money, anyway.” bigman scratched his head, then got up. “yuh niggers kin talk 'bout yoh chilluns gotta work in the fiel' to he'p they pappy an' mammy, but daggummit, they ain't no use us tryin' to argue with the white man 'til us git some ejication!" "we ain't gwine never start argufyin' then," said ted, walking slowly through the crowd, " 'cause yuh sho can't git no ejication widdout no schools.” jake thompson stood on a log, waving his arms. “hol' ev’ything! hol' ev’ything! ah's got it-mens, ah's got it!" teboy was curious. “what yuh got, jake?” he pointed at jimmy. "he kin learn us!" sammy jones, who had not shown a spark of interest until this moment, stepped to the front. this was something he had to get straight. he stood there listening to the exclamations. “that sho is it, mens!" "tha's the answer!” “jake's got it right!" “and it ain't no frog piss, neither!" bigman had his doubts. “jake got the answer all right, but would it work? would mist' jerry an' them stan' fuh it?" clark morgan stepped forward. "if mist' jerry knowed his han's was learnin' somethin' he'd raise hell an' break it up, but what fool nigger here gwine tell the bossman if jimmy learns us?” "it done been did b'foh,” said charley, “an' all the damned judases ain't done died yit!” “if any black bastard here tell the white folkses,” cried teboy, "us'll yank out his tongue!” sammy hastily stepped out of the limelight and sat down at the far rear of the crowd. "yankin' his tongue out is all right by me,” said bigman. he turned to jimmy. "how 'bout it, perfessor? yuh kin learn us right here on the batture, can't yuh?" the far rear, his tonguw 'bout it," jimmy sat in troubled silence, listening to the remarks that followed bigman's question. “what yuh done done today give us hope, jimmy.” "yuh jis can't let us down now." “they jis ain't no chance fuh us niggers widdout a ejication." jimmy got up. "listen, boys,” he said slowly, "i came here to work and make a few dollars. i'm getting married in the spring, so i need the dough. if i taught you guys, i'd lose my job. then where'd i be? my girl's getting her things together. i can't let her down.” zed, who'd been silent, got up. "ah don't want no paht o' this here ejication stuff! all mah life ah's been eatin' outta the com- missary an' livin' in the quarters. tha's all right with me. yuh niggers is lookin' fuh trouble. ah's gwine home to liza." “don't pay no 'tention to zed,” said jake. “he's always sca'ed an' gwine home to liza." “yeah,” said bigman, “they's a nigger like him in every pile. every plantation got one." jimmy looked around at the faces. "in effect, that is exactly what i said to you fellows a moment ago—that i couldn't be involved because of the girl i loved. besides, i'm not going to be here long- about forty more days. what could i do in that time, especially with the boss already against me?" ted passed in front of the light, shaking his head. “he done turn us down, boys,” he said dejectedly. “hell,” said jimmy, “you guys ought to know i wouldn't just turn you down. you know i'm for you all the way. but ..." the men whooped and whistled, slapped one another on the back, skylarked. jimmy wasn't given a chance to go on. he'd said all they wanted to hear. after a moment, he turned away. “help me take my mattress back, boys. i got to get some sleep." jerry turned around. “sammy! now where did that damned nigger—" “there he is, going around the buggyhouse." "sammy, come back here!" sammy crept back. jerry collared him again. “what else did this jimmy say to you boys?” sammy twisted his neck, gulping. "you're choking the nigger, jerry,” said daniel. “he can't talk.” jerry loosened his grip. “talk before i slap hell out of you!" “the boys done ax jimmy to learn 'em figgers an' words.” "did jimmy say he would?” sammy nodded. “jail ain't no place for a nigger like that,” said daniel, looking upset. “the swamps would be better." sammy sneaked off again. he was crawling under the fence when jerry called to him. “sammy, damn you, come back here!” sammy dragged himself back. "get in the buggy and go for mister joe. bring him back with you!” sammy crawled in, and as he passed the boys in the lane he didn't turn to speak. he knew they would think he was acting up, but he just couldn't look one of them in the eye. it was nearly noon, and jimmy was still talking to the group that surrounded him in the lane. "okay, boys,” he said finally, “just one more story, then i gotta go." most of the men had been either too young or too old for the draft. the war had rolled through its bloody climaxes far off- a million miles or so—and some of its implications were difficult and obscure. and yet members of their own race had been there; they could not hear enough of such men as needham roberts and henry johnson, who had captured a score or more of germans by their expert use of bolo knives. "you means to tell me that needham an' henry was nigger soldiers an' them germanses was white folkses?” asked booker. “they were black american soldiers,” said jimmy. “an' the 'merican white mens done let them nigger soldiers hunt down white folkses in france like white mens hunts down niggers in this here state?" booker shook his head. “ah jis can't git that th’ough mah thick skull!”. "huhn,” jimmy grunted. “in war, when white folks fight white folks, they use not only black soldiers but even bugs and jackasses!” holding a package under his arm, bigman stood on the levee gazing at the group in the lane, hoping they might see him. he slipped the package behind his back when he saw jerry gesticulating as he talked to daniel. finally, charley looked up. "boys, he done got back. le's go!" they ran toward the levee, beaming with enthusiasm. teboy waited for jimmy. zed, too, had remained behind. “ain't yuh comin', zed?” asked teboy. “no, ah's—” “ah knows—yuh's gwine home to liza. go, but keep yoh damn trap shet!” jimmy walked along in silence, teboy beside him. “it sho's gwine do mah soul good when ah compares mah count with that commissary book jis foh pay day!” jimmy grunted. on the batture bigman handed jimmy the package. “i done buy all the store had,” he said. jimmy unwrapped the package as forty-eight men sat on logs in a semicircle. he laid the slates and pencils down. "listen, fel- lows," he said, looking at the men intently, “i hope you understand this is serious business and that i'm sticking my neck out.” running a careful glance over the men, he picked out the smallest one and stationed him on the levee. another he placed on the batture south of the group, and another to the north. baptiste, the levee lookout, walked slowly up and down, looking in all direc- tions. the two placements on the batture stood on logs that enabled them to see clearly from the levee base to the water's edge. because of the heavy growth of willows, they could see only a short distance to the north and south. in the group optimism ran high. using the palm of his hand and the index finger to simulate a book and pencil, buddy said, “man, nex' pay day ah's gwine tell mist jerry when he done tell me how much ah owes the commissary that he's wrong, 'cause mah count here what ah done kep' says different.” charley produced a memorandum book. “ah's gwine start nex' week writin' down what ah buys from the store.” jimmy called the class to order. “now, all you men who already know your alphabet raise your right hand and step to one side.” not a hand went up. jimmy changed the wording. "how many of you guys know your a b c's?” faces brightened, but nobody answered. jimmy wrote on the twelve slates the first three letters of the alphabet and gave one slate to each fourth man. "you men who have slates copy these three letters, a, b and c. they're the first three of the alphabet." awkwardly, their plow-stiff fingers grasped the slate pencils. "booker, that's a pencil you're holding, not a hoe handle. hold it between your thumb and forefinger like this.” they held their pencils to the slates, but not one of them dared to make a scratch. booker held up his hand. “perfessor, how'n hell yuh start this here thing, from the point at the top, the sides, er this here li'l ladder in between?” jimmy showed him, then stepped aside to the next one. booker started at the extreme left of the slate and drew a line an inch across. he turned the slate around and drew a slightly diagonal line across the horizontal one. then he drew another line on the right end a little longer than the first. he looked at the character. it resembled the figure he'd seen on the locomotive of the train called the four spot. he shook his head, then got up. “perfessor, us wants to learn how to figger an' write words, not this here chil' stuff!” “tha's right,” said charley, "how kin us figger with these things?” “there's no other way to begin,” said jimmy, smiling. they began to pore over the letters in earnest. slates began to screech under the dull pressure of pencils. jimmy went from one to the other. “booker, you're doing all right, but your letters don't have to be so big. ... dick, that's perfect. ..." a quarter of a mile south, sammy sped west on a lane that led to a house of poplar siding and cypress stave roof. tillman lived there with his wife and two daughters. hitching his horse to the back picket fence, he ran up the steps into the kitchen without knocking. sally, cooking the sunday dinner, struck at him with a large stirring spoon. “yuh ol' good- fuh-nothin' nigger, don't yuh come in here a-scarin' me like dat! git out! ah ain't got nothin' here to gi'e yuh!" sammy threw up his hands to ward off the blows, then took the spoon away from sally. “ah don't want none o' yo'l grub! ah eats white folkses food at mist jerry's, ah'll have yuh to know that.” "git out!” she yelled, and kicked at his shin. “they ain't no good in yuh!” sammy slipped under the kitchen table. “ah done come to fetch mist' joe. mist' jerry done sent me.” sally spat at him. “yuh wait here, ah'll go call mist' joe—an' don't go dippin' y'ol dirty han's in nothin', needer!" tillman entered the kitchen. “did mister jerry say what he wanted with me?" "naw, suh. he jis say go git mist' joe quick." tillman started for big house, but paused when he heard jerry talking excitedly behind the buggyhouse. "all i want is to jail the nigger, get him out of circulation,” jerry was saying. "i agree with you," said daniel, “but i still say the swamp is a better place than the jail.” jerry introduced his friend to tillman. the two men shook hands. “what's wrong?" asked tillman. “that nigger, jimmy, stirring our niggers to revolt! he's at it now in the lane. look at him! we'll have him locked up!" "what lane, jerry?” jerry stepped into the open. “they were there only a few minutes ago!" he grabbed sammy's shirt. “where'd the boys go?-and none o' your goddamned evasive answers either!" sammy twisted against jerry's hold. “talk!” shouted jerry, and slapped him. “ah done seen 'em go no place,” sammy managed to get out, "but ah 'spects they's down on the batture shootin' craps." thrusting sammy to one side, jerry turned to tillman. “better investigate, joe.” “i'll go with you," said daniel. they got into the buggy and drove through the field on a head- land to another lane so as not to approach the men on the batture directly. reaching the public road, they climbed the levee in a curve. on the batture they crept stealthily northward through the thick willows. suddenly, daniel stopped. “look at that nigger!” he pointed to a man standing on a log. “yeah," said tillman, "something's up. follow me.” slowly they moved toward the base of the levee, walking in a stooped position along the revetment. the sentry stared intently toward the levee. watching him closely, tillman and daniel crouched low. the sentry gasped, then backstepped. “stop where you are!" commanded daniel, digging into his back pocket. shaking all over, the sentry watched them in a state of mind bordering on panic as they walked toward him. “what you niggers doing here?” asked tillman harshly. "nothin', nothin', mist' joe, 'ceptin' maybe a li'l game." "you're a black liar! the law don't bother niggers for shooting craps. what you on the lookout for?” the sentry drooped his head, stalling. “it's like this, mist joe, ah,” “shut up, ben-you've lied enough! get going, i'll find out for myself.” shoving ben ahead of him, tillman pressed forward through the willows, now crossing logs, now meandering around them, daniel following closely behind. the willow trees thinned and tillman jerked ben around, pointing. "a li'l game, eh? you god damned liar, you!" the white men watched jimmy, their expressions grim. "jimmy's urging those niggers to revolt,” said tillman. “keep ben here while i creep closer." he went forward quietly, placing his feet carefully to avoid breaking driftwood with a popping bang. finally, he was able to make out words. he stopped and listened. he heard: "jack, you're doing fine. in a few years you'll be able to keep your commissary account. . . . bigman, you had your doubts yesterday that you were being paid correctly. if you keep up the good work the boss'll be paying you all he owes you. ... now, pete, let me hear you repeat the alphabet down to l.” pete cleared his throat. “a, b, c, c, c—" “go on,” urged jimmy. “what follows c?” pete stood uneasily, eyes focused on the willows around him. “come on, pete, what follows c?” jimmy saw that pete had i stiffened. “pete, you're gray in the face. what's wrong-are you sick?” the pencil fell from pete's hand. “mist' joe!” he yelled. “come on!" the men scrambled frantically to their feet and darted into the willows. tillman rushed into the open. “what's going on here?” he demanded. jimmy made no reply. teboy and bigman, who had kept their seats, bowed their heads. tillman stepped close to jimmy. “i said what's going on here?” jimmy stepped back a little. “stand still, nigger, a white man is talking to you! you're organizing these niggers to think they're as good as white men. i heard the stuff you're drilling into their heads." "in a way, what you're saying is true,” said jimmy quietly. "why, you goddamned son of a black bitch!" tillman yelled, almost frothing at the mouth. “you'll be driving these niggers crazy!” teboy faced the overseer. “mist' joe, jimmy ain't drivin' nobody crazy. us is jis learnin' a, b to c's—tha's all.” tillman felt the blood rushing to his head. if these niggers could stand up to him now and they couldn't even recite the alphabet, he shuddered to think what would happen after they had learned to read and write. he grabbed jimmy by the arm. “i never should have hired you, you black bastard!” he yelled. “i should have known you wouldn't work.” "who packed your hay in the loft?" asked jimmy calmly. “why, you—"tillman made a pass at jimmy with his free hand. jimmy ducked. "mist' joe,” said bigman, stepping close, “don't hit jimmy, please. us done stand fuh a lot on this here plantation. us done see all us labor grabbed up by that commissary year in an' year out, an' us done tuck it. but don't hit jimmy, mist' joe." tillman gazed at bigman as if in shock. “now it's you, eh?” he ground out. “now it's you, and then another, and then an- other—" uncontrollable fury took hold of him and he let go of jimmy's arm and lunged at his throat. "not that, joe!” yelled daniel, pointing into the open. “and not now! come on, let him alone. maybe jerry'll listen to reason now!” sammy, shivering in sudden misery, walked away. jimmy wouldn't have a chance! gordon appeared at the edge of the side gallery. “sammy, hey, sammy!” he called. “yas, suh, mist' jerry, ah's comin'." “drive the buggy around to the front gate, then come in and get mrs. jerry's suitcase. hurry up!" mrs. gordon and her little girl were taking the northbound train to new orleans. the train came rumbling around a curve at the little flag stop. sammy, on gordon's command, rushed into the center of the tracks and flagged the engineer with a bandana. before getting on, mrs. gordon called out, “save me some venison, jerry." "yes, dear,” said jerry, "if we bag any." sammy blinked. so the boss was sending his family away be- cause he was going “deer” hunting! he began to feel sick to his stomach. it was five o'clock when he hitched the horse of the last comer to the post. he didn't know when he'd seen so many horses hitched to the front picket fence. he looked toward the kitchen. his mother was standing in the doorway. she waved to him and he ran through the gate into the inner yard. nothing was worrying him now, his stomach felt good again. chicken and rice and the trimmings! thinking about jimmy could be postponed a bit. after dinner he sat on the commissary steps, his head drooped between his knees. what could he do now to save jimmy? what could he undo? nothing, he knew, not a thing. damn it, he was going to his woman's house. he'd done enough thinking. he'd go to rachael and get some loving. he ran down the steps and was halfway to the quarters when he saw teboy coming. oh, oh! he whirled around and headed back to the commissary. “yuh ugly bastard!” called teboy after him. sammy stopped. teboy came up to him. “look up here!” he said. sammy dug his chin in his chest, trying to hide his face more. “now i knows yuh guilty, yuh black ape,” hissed teboy. “yuh ain't done tell the white folks nothin', is yuh?" cy, the comming. oh, oh, was halfwo, “ah knows ah done wrong, but don't tell the white folkses, teboy. don't tell 'em. yuh knows ah gits mah grub from mist' jerry's kitchen. please don't tell the white folkses!" “ah ain't gwine tell no white folkses nothin'. but why'n hell yuh's always tellin' 'em somethin'? 'stead o' yankin' out yoh tongue, ah oughta ram it down yoh th’oat an' sink it in yoh greedy belly!" he let go of sammy's collar and sammy fell back against the wall, bumping his head. he wrung his hands and begged, “jis don't tell the white folkses, teboy-please!" teboy was walking the floor again. “shet up!” he snapped. he kept walking in deep thought. abruptly, he said, “what time is them mens gwine to git jimmy tonight?” "ah hears them say at nine o'clock." the sun was falling fast behind the trees. teboy snapped his fingers. “pull off them rags o' your'n an' han' 'em over," he demanded. sammy trembled. “what yuh gwine to do to me, teboy?” "nothin'. but hurry! ah ain't got no time to lose.” “if yuh gwine beat me up, don't do it on mah nekked ass.” "ah ain't gwine ť tech yuh now, but hurry, ah tells yuh!" teboy picked up sammy's clothes. “now git in that bunk. i reckon you'll stay there now till ah gits back.” he rushed out the back door. with sammy's clothes securely under his arm, teboy hurried across the back yards of several cabins before crossing the street to jimmy's. he glanced over at big house and saw white men pacing back and forth on the front gallery. others were sitting at tables, talking with much hand waving. teboy walked along casually so as not to arouse suspicion. as he passed zed grannison's cabin, zed poked his head out the door. “whar's yuh gwine?” he asked. teboy stopped. of all people, that guy had to see him! “gwine to lucy to see if she kin wash them here dirty duds.” with zed watching him all the way, he cut diagonally across the quarters, skirted lucy's house to the front and doubled back along the street. four cabins east, he started toward the back yard again. he glanced toward zed's. the door was closed. the next house was jimmy's. he tapped lightly on the door. "jimmy,” he called softly. “jimmy, lemme in.” a click of the bolt and teboy slipped into the cabin and sat down on the bunk. “what's wrong?" asked jimmy. “you look like you've been told you are going to die!" "not me—you is, if yuh keep talkin' so loud. ah done snuck here. nobody must know." "what are you talking about?” “jimmy, yuh gotta git-tonight! 'foh nine o'clock. white folks gwine take yuh to the swamp.” jimmy grabbed teboy's shoulders. “why?” “that bastard sammy! he done tol' them about the edjicating!" jimmy reached for his knapsack. he threw in his sunday clothes and shoes, then reached into his food box and took out a hunk of bread, two hard-boiled eggs and a slice of saltmeat. wrapping the food in a piece of brown paper, he thrust the package in the bag. he picked up the cane knife henry had given him to cut cane with on monday morning. that gadget had been to help him earn the hundred he'd come to saint agnes to get. he'd better take it along too. teboy went to the door, opening it a little. “better wait,” he said. “ain't quite dark 'nough yet, jimmy. us'ns better not make no slip ups.” they sat down on the bunk to wait, and teboy said, “yuh done open us eyes to a lot o’things, jimmy. we likes yuh foh that.” "don't praise me too much, teboy. what i did was against my will and better judgment. all i wanted was to do my work and take home a hundred dollars. now i may not even take myself home.” teboy went again to the back door. night had fallen and the darkness had been quickened by a low-hanging black cloud. he turned and extended his hand to jimmy. “it's dark ’nough now. ah'm gwine. watch yoh step, jimmy. us'll meet ag'in, don' worry.” they gripped hands. “we might and we might not,” said jimmy. teboy went out and was soon lost to sight. leaving the kerosene lamp burning, jimmy walked cautiously to the cart lane. there he stood for a minute looking and listening, then went on. at big house, light flooded the gallery. he turned off the cart lane near the gate and had taken only four steps when he heard a quick move a few feet to his left. he froze in his tracks, but whoever it was had already detected him. a shadowy figure rose out of the weeds and a voice shouted, “make a move and i'll plug you!" jimmy started to say something. "shut up and throw up your hands!" jimmy obeyed. "higher!” he'd heard that voice before, and suddenly remembered. it belonged to the man who had been with tillman on the batture that morning. resting the cold muzzle of a revolver on jimmy's neck, daniel frisked him. he jerked the cane knife from the knapsack and dashed it to the ground. “george! daniel george!” he moved his fingers over the man's chest, searching for his heart. it was thumping slightly. "george!" he shouted close to daniel's ear. daniel did not budge. tillman mounted his horse and galloped to big house. he ran up the front steps. “jerry, come quick! call a doctor—it's daniell" "where?" "in the lane, stretched out!” tillman ran down the steps. “follow me!” dragging chairs screeched under the weight of rising men as they threw their cards on the tables. an overseer ran to the tele- phone, then back to the gallery. “burt, get the vet!” he yelled. "doctor can't come!" puffing hard, gordon bent over daniel. he shook him and called his name. “completely out,” he said. he loosened daniel's collar. "take him to the well. we've got to revive him!" six overseers took hold of the injured man and hurried down the lane past the quarters, then across the stable yard to the well. tillman lowered the bucket and drew it full of water. he poured it on the man's head in a steady stream. daniel stirred a little. "more water, joe.” gordon's fat body was shaking like a soft pudding. "more water, quick-we've got to find out who attacked him!” down went the bucket. frantically, tillman pulled at the rope. he poured water on daniel's head and dashed the rest in his face. daniel began moving his head from side to side. jerry rubbed his friend's hands. “daniel, daniel, who hit you?” the georgian mumbled through his teeth. tillman drew an- other bucket of water. he threw it hard into daniel's face. daniel sat up, gasping. he rubbed his chin and said weakly, “i'm all wet.” “who struck you, daniel?” "struck me?” the klansman gazed at gordon through glassy eyes. "how many niggers ganged you?". “niggers? ganged me?” daniel frowned. the plantation manager placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and shook him. “how many of my niggers jumped you?" it was nine o'clock and river bend was asleep. among the few residents stirring about was aunt hannah, who was in the kitchen preparing her next day's meal. now a field worker, aunt hannah was a former slave who had never known her father. her mother, whom she remembered only faintly, had been sold down the river when hannah was a small girl. as a house slave, hannah had developed a hankering for book learning. one day she astounded her mistress by asking her to teach her to read and write. very soon she was secreting her mistress' books in her room at night, where she would read by candlelight behind a bolted door. she was the only black woman her age in river bend now capable of reading and writing. many sought her advice on personal prob- lems. the young folks loved her, too. she was walking out of the door to cross the gallery that sep- arated the house from the kitchen when she heard the rapid hoof- beats of a horse coming up the road. hurriedly, she dipped a bucket of rainwater from a barrel under the eaves of the house and ran inside. she closed the door and opened the south window, listening hard. she knew the animal was not galloping, but racking. it could be no one else but pierre crozat, since his horse was the only animal in the bend with that peculiar gait, and pierre was the only one who ever rode him. where was pierre going in such haste? as he passed the house, she heard him clearing his throat. it was pierre, all right. he always hawked as if he were tearing off the roof of his mouth. she closed the window and moved to the center of the floor, standing in deep thought. whenever pierre rode hastily into the night there was trouble ahead! footsteps on the gallery startled her. “aunt hannah,” she heard. it was tony. she opened the door. "what you doing out this late at night?" she asked. “looking for sport. he hasn't been home in two days. i knew he came here at night sometimes, so i thought i would look in.” "haven't seen that dog in several days. won't you come in?” the cajun truck farmer stepped inside. "you hear pierre go by?" asked aunt hannah, lifting the cloth from her rising rolls. “who could miss that racking horse?” "that horse on the road at night reminds me of my girlhood days, when galloping horses up and down meant trouble for some poor slave.” "in that respect things haven't changed much.” "some people have changed, though." aunt hannah sat down. “pierre, for instance." "pierre's been a changed man since they made him a police juror and appointed him to the lafourche levee board." tony rubbed his stubby beard. "he used to be one of us, but now he hobnobs around with plantation managers, snubs his friends and spends the public dough for his private profit." tony opened the door to go. “if there was any justice, someone should be chasing pierre.” as she made herself ready for bed, aunt hannah kept wonder- ing what pierre was up to. was he out after a colored man? she knelt down to say her prayers, and prayed that he wasn't. then she blew out the lamp. riding hard, pierre turned into a lane that led to a farmhouse not far from the public road. at the house he dismounted and tied his horse to a gallery post. he ran up the steps, his potbelly shaking, and pounded on the door. “who is it?" “me, pierre. a nigger attacked a white man. rush over to the oak. we're forming a posse!” pierre hit the road again, going north until he came to a double farmhouse. one side was occupied by the white owner and the other side by his colored foreman. on the gallery pierre lifted his fist to knock on the door but hesitated. he wasn't sure on which side marcus lived. finally, he knocked “who that?” the foreman called out. "what you want?” “hell . . . nothing!” he switched to the other door. living next to a nigger—and marcus was supposed to be a white man! marcus threw open the door. “what's up, pierre?” “to the oak, marcus! nigger hit a white man. he's in the cane!" from house to house the same message, and by ten o'clock pierre was making his last contact in the area. riding up to mike's house, he called his name loudly. there was no reply and pierre called again, then banged on the door. finally, he jumped off the gallery and went around to the bedroom window. he rammed the side of the house with his heel, yelling to mike to wake up. “damn a man who sleeps that sound!” he fumed. he fired his revolver twice, and was about to fire again when the window shot up and mike poked his head out. “why don't you wake up like a white man?” pierre shouted. mike rubbed his eyes. “what's wrong?” "a nigger—he split open a white man's skull! get to the oak! there's a man in the cane!" jimmy had four miles more to go before he would get to aunt hannah's. he knew he was in serious trouble, but as yet there was no special feeling about it that he could call fear. he was feeling a lot more disgusted with himself than frightened. how in hell had he gotten into this mess? if they caught him, he'd die ... that he knew. but he was not thinking about that. as he crept along, alert to all sounds about him, he kept thinking that, in some way or other, he had failed his girl. if he died, how would antonia ever understand? a half hour later he reached the lower line of louise plantation. at that point, the old and the new levee met. the old levee ran abreast of the public road, while the new ran along the water's edge. should he continue by the old levee? should he switch to the new? except at the north and the south junction, the distance between the two levees was a quarter of a mile. here the heavy growth of willows and the drift logs scattered among them pre- sented a veritable no-man's-land. he'd better stick to the old route. a short distance from the upper junction, he came to a spot where the weeds had been mowed. he climbed the levee. at the top he saw a light about a half mile south. it was on land! he turned to look again a half minute later. this time there were six lights and they were moving toward him. he broke into a run and kept running until he had reached the north junction of the two levees. breathing hard, he cast a quick glance behind him. now there were two groups of light. one was on the old levee, the other on the new. they were following both levees to be sure they would not miss him! fear gripped him now with a suddenness that made him sick to the stomach. he dug his fists into the pit of it and bent over, spewing onto the ground the eggs and the hunk of bread he'd eaten a good distance back. then, reeling, he turned toward the cane field. it was too matted at this point to hide in; besides, it was strange to him. he ran down the levee to the batture and dropped behind a drift log among the willows. their lights beamed on the batture, the posse came to a stop opposite his hiding place. tillman climbed the levee. “the nigger shouldn't be far from here," he called back. he spurred his horse. the posse streamed after him. for a long while jimmy lay there without moving. without sound, his lips kept forming the words, “thank god.” as yet they hadn't spread out, but were keeping together and were on the move. thank god for that, too! finally, he crept across the batture to the levee and, with utmost caution, began making his way north. in river bend, pierre had organized his deputies and assigned them in pairs. while riding from one of these pairs to another, he ran into tillman and his posse. "halt!” yelled tillman. "save your breath,” pierre called out, recognizing the voice. “everything here is under control—the levee, road, batture, rail- road tracks and the headlands. but what you bums doing with them lanterns lit? want to be good targets ?” "hell,” said tillman, “i never thought of that. put them lights out, you guys!” “who's the nigger we're after?” asked pierre, bringing his horse closer. "calls himself jimmy dixon.” "tall nigger? can he read and write?” “that's him! why?”. “you want that nigger, you'd better keep his name out of it around here. you just say a tall nigger on the loose, armed with a gun. no other nigger will be out tonight except this one-not with word around we're out to string one up." “damn, he's just another nigger, ain't he? what's his name got to do with it?” "lots. river bend ain't your plantation.” tillman slapped his horse and turned to go. “damn a place that'll protect a nigger against white people! such white bastards ought to be strung up too!” the posse galloped down the coast. pierre rode on leisurely. of all niggers, it had to be jimmy dixon! even his own son lester had talked of jimmy dixon as if the nigger had been a white man, telling pierre about dixon's fighting in the war side by side with white soldiers and eating when they ate, all of them sitting in a circle on the ground and talking. lester hadn't fought with dixon, but he'd heard of dixon's bravery; and lester himself had sat and ate with niggers on the battlefront. pierre's fat belly jounced up and down as his racking horse headed for one of his pairs of deputies. "i'll tell them all a nigger with a gun. just a nigger with a gun—and he's in the cane." but jimmy was not in the cane. passing the row of giant pecan trees that adorned the front yard of old man charley's place for three hundred feet along the roadside, he knew he had but a few miles to go. aunt hannah would help him—she'd know what to do. a little farther on, he heard a horse stumble on top of the levee. he fell to the ground and held his breath. the animal was trotting. jimmy crawled to a clump of weeds near the base of the levee, scaring out a cottontail that lit out with scurrying feet. the rider turned on a flashlight and beamed it on all sides of him. from where he lay, jimmy could see the glint of a rifle lying across the rider's saddle. the rider went on and jimmy waited a minute, then got to left and go on a half hundred feet, then to the right just as far, then forward again. he kept up this twisting about, not caring how lost he got for the time being. the north star would help him, he knew, if only he could see it. suddenly, he felt weak and dizzy. his legs shook and he sat down with a plop and just sat there, feeling foolish and about to faint. far behind, he could hear men shouting, but their voices were not coming closer. presently, he could not hear them and suddenly he wanted to burst out laughing. for the moment, he had outwitted them, all of them but the impulse to laugh was short lived. now they knew for sure where he was. he was in the cane. he was right where they wanted him. the dizzy weakness came back and he took out what little food he had left in the knapsack and wolfed it down, ravenously hungry. and no wonder, he said to himself. he had thrown up, hadn't he? he'd been running on an empty stomach. no wonder he was dizzy and weak! he thought of this and he felt like laughing again. “i should have brought more food,” he said aloud. “but wait'll i get to aunt hannah's!” he got up, feeling refreshed, and began pushing on. only a short distance away, antonia was sleeping. but he had to get to aunt hannah's first. his hunger was still with him, though. the gnawing began after he'd taken less than a few dozen steps. and with the gnawing, the weakness came back, also the dizziness. he began stumbling and falling, and, finally, he lay there on his stomach, too exhausted to go on. “damn it to hell,” he said aloud, and shook his head. a drowsiness he could not shake off was enveloping him. it felt wonderful. he closed his eyes, put an arm up under his head and gave in to it. “just a minute,” he muttered. “i'll just sleep a minute. ..." rustling leaves scattered as jimmy leaped to his feet in the early morning, aiming his gun. the cold noses of two bloodhounds sniffing eagerly against his face had awakened him with a start. he shot the dogs, both of whom fell over without a whimper and jerked dead. "that'll do it,” he muttered. “they won't have much trouble finding me now.” a creaky noise in back of him made him spin around. another dog! jimmy backed up alongside the next row of cane. the dog advanced, growling, watching him with hostile eyes. "i hate to kill you,” said jimmy and pulled the trigger. the plunger struck a low-hanging pea vine and the gun failed to discharge. jimmy jerked the hammer loose and again took aim, but a hissing sound close by scared him so badly he couldn't pull the trigger. congo snake! jimmy plunged into the gully and back- stepped. at that instant, the dog sprang at him. simultaneously, the coiled reptile struck out with its full three-foot length. jimmy fell back on a growth of cane, breaking it with a crackling sound. the snake missed his hand, caught the dog under the throat and dropped to the ground. jimmy, staring, staggered to his feet, picked up his cane knife and hacked the grayish-black snake in two. the center of the writhing body was as thick as his own biceps. gripping the cane knife tighter, he moved toward the jerking, agonized mongrel. the sheriff, tillman and pierre tramped back and forth on the east headland, trying to decide what next to do to drive jimmy from the cane. "we know the nigger's in there," said the sheriff, “because two shots from the field stopped our dogs.” pierre held his potbelly with both hands and spat out tobacco juice. “there ain't no doubt about that. but what's got me is what stopped the third dog?” tillman lit his pipe. “that's it! since there wasn't no more pistol shots, the question is—who's dead, the dog or the nigger?” “i think it's the nigger," said pierre confidently. the sheriff walked away. “i'm not so sure about that.” the bloodhounds had been good hunters. they'd tracked down many a nigger for him. big pete, the mongrel, was a good hunter too. he had been raised from a pup with the bloodhounds and had received substantially the same training. given half a chance, pete could tear a man to pieces. the sheriff stood and gazed at the matted cane. it had been risky to send those dogs in there alone. but what else could he have done? a deputy pushing through the tangled field would have made a good target for jimmy. the sheriff came back, passed a hand over his unshaven face and said, “we haven't decided what to do to get hold of that nigger. we cant't burn him out-the field's too damned green!” pierre emptied his mouth of the lifeless tobacco wad and took another bite of cut plug. “by god, we can't burn him out, but we sure'n hell can cut him out!" “sure!” agreed tillman. “why didn't we think of that in the first place?" pierre looked at his watch. “we'll start cutting after dinner!” at one o'clock, four cane carts bearing one hundred cutters came to a stop on the headland opposite the square of cane in which jimmy was hiding. jumping to the ground, the workers hung their empty dinner pails on the barbed-wire fence alongside the road ditch, then slowly walked toward their respective rows and waited their turn to fall in. while standing around, some of the men whetted their knives. others lit pipes or rolled cigarettes. still others took bites of cut plug, chewed and spat brown juice in every direction. a few of the old women raised gunny-sack aprons and took out corncob pipes from the pockets of their gingham dresses. the cutters represented a cross section of the working people of river bend, ranging in years from fourteen to seventy-five, and in color from black through brown to yellow and white. a few of the men were white. the males wore the typical field clothing of the parish-blue denim pants and shirts, red handkerchiefs around their necks, heavy cotton socks, brogans, and old felt hats or corduroy caps. the women's cotton dresses were rolled at the waist and tied with a string, which raised the long skirts slightly below the knee. their heavy cotton stockings were either blue, tan or gray, and their shoes were light-weight brogans. some wore old hats, others tignons. the overseer, of cajun-irish descent, short in stature, small bodied and wearing a long, thick mustache, rode about the headland on his shaggy-maned mare, talking and joking with the cutters. the leading cutter, a brown-skinned man of sixty-nine, started cut- ting on the second row from the ditch bank. his partner, a white man and son of the leader's ex-master, took the third. a black boy of eighteen worked next to the leader and a young mulatto woman next to the white cutter. these four constituted the leading crew. the leader and his partner carried the “heap rows,” where all cane harvested from the set was thrown into heaps. the boy and girl carried the “fy rows,” which received all cane tops and other debris from the set. they began by drawing the cane toward them with the hooks on the backs of their knives, shucking the stalks and chopping off the tops at the last usable joint. then the two heap-row partners cleared a section between their rows, and the denuded cane stalks were cut at the base and thrown into a pile. set by set, the other crews began to cut. the piles grew rapidly as the field flattened out behind the cutters. by the time the last group had fallen in, the first had penetrated so deeply into the field that the line resembled the hypotenuse of a great triangle. cane knives now rang like so many dinner bells, while green tops and dry leaves rustled like a brigade of stiff petticoats on the march. on the ditch banks the sentries moved along with the cutters, keeping a sharp lookout for the inevitable break of jimmy from the cane. the overseer rode from ditch bank to ditch bank behind the cutters, stopping here and there to engage them in conversation or to tell a joke. on the headland pierre and the sheriff sat in their saddles, their faces cheerful and confident. there was no way possible for the man in the cane to escape. on the other side of the field tillman rode beside monty, the cajun overseer. commenting on the luxurious growth of the ribbon cane, they turned toward the north ditch bank. "gimme a chaw, monty,” said a mulatto boy on whose row the overseers had stopped. bill labat, the octoroon partner of the boy, stopped cutting and spat a mouthful of brown juice on a cane heap. “how old is you, boy?” “nineteen, unc' bill.” labat resumed his cutting. “you ought to be home suckin' yoh mammy's tiddies 'stead o' axin' for a chaw o' tobacco.” the boys in hearing snickered. the girls grinned. "hush yoh mouf, bill,” said sarah, bill's wife and fly-row partner, “ 'foh you make that boy say somethin' he ain't got no business.” the boy insisted, “come on, monty." tillman gazed at the boy, then at monty. wasn't monty going to tell that nigger where to get off? no nigger would call him joe and get away with his teeth. monty smiled at the boy, then pulled out a hunk of cut plug and handed it to him. tillman stared in amazement as the boy bit off a piece of the hard tobacco and handed it back. talking to another cutter, monty held the cut plug in his hand. tillman was sure monty would throw the hunk away. but monty bit off a chunk right where the boy had bitten, then put the balance in his pocket. tillman threw up his hands. “god damn!” he said, and rode off to the headland. it was now midafternoon. the cutters were cutting faster. all along the line cane knives rang out with sharper sounds. the con- tinuous swishing noise of cane tops was louder, and stalks thudded on heaps with increasing frequency. it was getting late, and the workers had to cut down the stretch before knocking off. meanwhile, from the center of the field, jimmy pushed his way through the cane, trying to determine what the noise was he'd heard. the nearer he got to the cutters, the more puzzled he became. were the overseers coming after him? he stopped. what was that ringing sound? he thrust his head forward. cane knives! he began to shudder, his knees gave way and he sank to the ground, his head in his hands. if only he could think! antonia! antonia! great sobs tore at his throat. the cane knives rang on, still far away but relentlessly coming nearer. those workers were his friends. did they know it was jimmy they were trying to cut out? softly, hardly drawing his breath, he pushed his way toward the cutters, then paused and looked down a matted row of cane. he could see all the way to the end, could see white men riding around in the field, rifles across their saddles. he was trapped! he crossed to another row and again pressed forward, moving to the south. now he could hear voices. he kept going, creeping with the utmost care. someone was cutting ahead. he listened. just one cane knife, a solitary worker. quickly he hid behind a cluster. aunt hannah stopped shucking and topping. what was that noise? a jack rabbit? she could eat a leg of rabbit for supper. keeping her cane knife in striking position, she sneaked ahead, glad that she was alone. abruptly, she stopped. head on one side, she stared into the cane. “jimmy!” she gasped. she rushed into the cane and threw her arms about him. “my boy, my boy!" jimmy rested limply in her arms. “it's me they're after," he said, his eyes filling with tears. she released him almost roughly. "we can't be sitting here then- we have to do something! and quick!” "talk to the river bend folks," begged jimmy. “tell 'em it's me, aunt hannah." aunt hannah's wrinkled face twisted. “no, jimmy, they'll start fighting with pierre. the overseers will come, and before you know it there'll be killings.” she could see the mangled dead, the weeping women, the burials. “no, they've first got to organize, get a leader." "but what can we do now?" she stared all around her, her eyes flashing. “we start digging a hole-right here!" they fell to their knives, digging into the soft earth with their cane knives. finally, a shallow grave had been dug. they lined it hurriedly with dry cane leaves. "now lie down, jimmy-be quick!" jimmy stretched out on the dry leaves while aunt hannah gathered more. she spread them over him, allowing for air passage over his nose. cutting off some green tops, she spread them over the leaves. then, as she gazed at the “grave,” tears started running down her cheeks. "son, be patient, please,” she said, and turned away, moving with fearful erectness. working again, she crept ahead of the group. after disposing of her denuded stalks, she kept topping off until she reached jimmy again. she piled more tops on him. “it's me, mon cher,” she whis- pered. looking around, she could see sentries moving about on the field. overseers were riding around on horseback, and the waterboy was trudging back and forth. she called for water and the boy tramped toward her with two full buckets. "why don't you put one o' them heavy buckets down, son?" she said. “here, put it on my row.” she indicated a spot near jimmy's head. “then i won't have to call you when i want a drink, and i'm awful thirsty." now jimmy's head would be safe. no one would ride over that bucket. she resumed her cutting, glancing back repeatedly. pierre rode up, stopping his horse just short of where jimmy lay hidden. aunt hannah threw down her cane knife and went to the bucket. stand- ing in front of the horse, she dipped some water out and sipped on it slowly. after exchanging a few words with her, pierre moved on. she heaved a sigh of relief and settled down to work again. two cutters plodded toward the water bucket. aunt hannah glared at them. after drinking, one of the men sat down to tie his shoelaces. aunt hannah's mouth quivered open, her eyes blazing. she trembled for jimmy. “that's just the point!" presently pierre's yardman rode alongside the police juror and handed him a note. pierre read: “white man murdered in saint ann swamps. investigate.” the note was to the sheriff and was signed by the district attor- ney. he gave the message to the sheriff. after reading it, the sheriff told pierre to continue patrolling the section until tomorrow. "i'll borrow a set of hounds from saint bernard and track the nigger to hell if we have to!" he gathered his men and galloped up the coast. having learned of the sheriff's plans, aunt hannah picked up her dinner bucket and hurried away, mumbling, “dogs! dogs! bring on your ol bloodhounds!" in the room, aunt hannah held the girl in her arms. "listen, honey, i came to tell you—" "tell me what, tante hannah?” “i came to tell you, the man in the cane" “yes?" "he's jimmy." bewildered, antonia stared at the old woman. “tante hannah- you must be joking!” “i ain't joking. it's the truth.” still staring, antonia's eyes filled with terror. “hélas! bon dieu, quelle surprise!" aunt hannah caught her as she started to fall. “honey, get hold of yourself. you've got to!” the brown eyes flashed with fire. “they'll kill him!” she screamed. “where is he? i must find him!” she broke loose from aunt hannah's grasp and ran out the door. "come back here!" cried the old woman. “antonia, come back here!" dugas sprang from his chair and rushed down the gallery. antonia threw herself into his arms. “what's going on here!” dugas led his weeping daughter back into the bedroom. “tante hannah, what you said to this gal?" "mon cher, mon pauvre jacques!” moaned antonia. “quel dom- mage! he's the man in the cane!” “what you sayin', gal? you know jimmy's on saint agnes!" "no, françois, he's in the cane," said aunt hannah. “he's the man they're after." dugas leaned against the wall. he stared into the darkness. aged phantoms moved before him. he could hear the agonized screams of black death in the swamps, in the lonely woods. “but the cane's cut,” he said at last. “where is he? where is jimmy?" "he's safe. but we gotta go after him. first, i want you to go for albert, george and joe.” she walked over to him and placed a hand on his arm. "trust me, françois. tell the men to hurry. don't tell them why." door of her room. aunt hannah cast a quick glance at her, then hurried over and patted her on the shoulder. “trust your tante hannah, honey.” she turned and followed the recruits down the lane to the gate. her stride was long, her back as straight as a soldier's. “you men take the levee,” she ordered. “i'll stay in the road." jimmy lay uneasily under the cane tops. there was no more swish- ing of cane leaves, no more banging of cane knives. cautiously, he moved his right shoulder. the cane tops rustled. but his position was unbearable. if only he could get up and stretch! gradually, he moved his arm from beneath the creaking leaves. he cleared a space over his eyes. the black mask of night greeted him. field mice, lizards and small scorpions moved about the cane leaves. they had come out for their night's foraging. a mouse crawled over his face. he blew on it and it ran away. he shud- dered. that could've been a muskrat out of the ditch. he heard the shuffling noises of footsteps of a sudden, then his name being called. it was aunt hannah! her voice was low, guarded. “get up, jimmy,” she whispered. “we've come to get you.” jimmy happily extricated himself and followed her mutely to the east headland. the four accomplices greeted him in whispers. “lie down on this homemade stretcher," aunt hannah com- manded. he obeyed without question. “now, my boy, don't let any part of your body or clothing touch the ground.” she turned to the men. "go on now, and be careful.” picking up the stretcher, the men walked across the headland and slid it through the barbed-wire fence that ran along the road ditch. aunt hannah followed through the fence with jimmy's cane knife and knapsack, then preceded the stretcher bearers up the levee and headed south. the stretcher-bearers descended the levee to the batture. ambling along, they became alarmed at the cracking of driftwood under their feet. they changed their course to the willows. here, they had to change again. tilting the stretcher to negotiate the willows might throw jimmy off, they knew. they took to the water's edge, walk- ing in and out of gorges. this bobbing up and down was harder, but a lot safer. they heard a sudden "who!" jimmy jumped. the carriers stopped at the door and listened before going out on the gallery. returning, she could hear pierre's racking horse on the road. she walked to the edge of the gallery to see in what direction he was going. somehow, she had a feeling that pierre was just a little sus- picious about her log. and, too, he had given her an inquiring look in the field. riding south in haste and flashing his light, pierre passed the house. aunt hannah took a deep breath, then went inside with jimmy's plate, bolting the door behind her. jimmy ate as heartily of the second plate as he had of the first. "i knew i'd get into trouble if i taught those boys to read and write. but here were guys who worked year in and out and were too ignorant to know what they had coming to them on pay day.” aunt hannah took a sip of coffee. “you did the right thing, son.” “maybe so, but i didn't get the hundred i went after." there were footsteps on the gallery. the dish of sagamite fell from jimmy's hand. he kicked off his slippers and jerked on his shoes. “my pants, aunt hannah, my pants!" the old lady hurried to her feet and threw his trousers at him. a light tap came on the door. aunt hannah stood close to it while jimmy quickly put on his pants and shirt over his pajamas. he shoved his pistol into his pocket and hid in a corner behind the four-posted bed, cane knife in hand. the knock came again, louder. “tante hannah!” called a sweet voice. aunt hannah quickly opened the door, but only wide enough to admit antonia. promptly, she bolted it again. “where is he, tante hannah? where's jimmy?” jimmy came out fast from his hiding place behind the bed. he caught the girl in his arms. “antonia! antonia!” he buried his face in her soft hair. she clung to him, choking with wild sobs. “jimmy, oh, jimmy-i am so afraid!” jimmy hugged her closer. “why are they after you, jimmy? why do they want to kill you?” "shh, honey,” he whispered. “i'll be all right now." “please hold me forever, jimmy!" faces when aunt hannah's tap came on the door. "it's me, tante hannah.” antonia opened the door. with her was tony. the door bolted, the four sat down and aunt hannah eyed jimmy and antonia closely. “did she behave while i was gone, jimmy?” she asked, smiling. antonia hid her face. "tante hannah, sometimes you say the funniest things!" "hmm,” said aunt hannah and looked at jimmy. tony looked at jimmy's discolored eyes and bruised face. “they really meant to get you, boy!”. “they still do,” said jimmy. “aunt hannah told me your story. the first thing is to get some men together. we'll show these damned overseers!” tony got up. “with plascide we'll complete our plans in the morning." aunt hannah turned to antonia. “i think you'd better go with tony, sugar ... or the man in the cane might get you!” antonia hid her face again. “i don't care if he would!” she whis- pered. "antonia!” gasped aunt hannah. jimmy smiled and embraced antonia, kissing her eyes and lips. "come early tomorrow," he said in her ear. “i love you, angel.” after the door had closed behind tony and antonia, aunt hannah took jimmy's hands in hers. “i hope to god you come out of this safely, jimmy--for her sake, too. if anything happened to you, she'd be lost-she'd never look at another man, jimmy.” at ten o'clock the next morning, two bloodhounds were led upon the field by their trainer. the sheriff and his deputies had returned from the murder investigation and were standing on the headland where the cane had been cut. tillman was there with daniel george, who was now well enough to join the man hunt. presently, pierre rode up with five more overseers from near-by plantations east and west of the river. the sheriff strode across the headland to face tillman. “if them dogs follow the trail to another stretch of cane, we'll have to follow 'em this time.” “yes," said tillman, “that nigger mustn't get away this time." "when we get him," said pierre, “we'll have to rush him out o' here the back way." “why the back way?" “people here might give trouble.” “hell, we'll shoot the bastards down. them bend niggers need to be taken down a peg, anyhow.” "it wouldn't be just niggers we'd have to shoot." daniel joined the conversation. “you mean white men here would try to stop the sheriff from hauling a nigger they thought had tried to kill a white man?” "at least they would if we caught the nigger we're after," said pierre. as the warm sun crept higher overhead, a crowd of eager spec- tators was forming at the scene to see the dogs take up the scent of the man in the cane. the dog trainer patted the hounds on the head. one of the dogs extended his tongue, whipped it around both sides of his mouth and swallowed. "i'm ready," said the trainer. "got anything for these pups to smell?” the trainer held a handkerchief to the dogs' noses. they'd picked it up in jimmy's cabin. after getting the scent, they lowered their heads to the ground and sniffed across the headland until they came to a row near the center of the square. the trainer, holding the leashes, followed the dogs in a half-running gait down the field. a few yards from the headland, the dogs cut across several rows to the south, smelled their way back to the row on which they had entered the field and went west. they kept zigzagging until they had reached a spot about half- way to the square, then whirled south and raced across the field, stopping within a row of the ditch bank. they pranced about, their noses dragging on the ground. retracing their steps, the dogs went to the north ditch bank, where they stopped and whined, then slowly came back over the same trail, carefully smelling at every step until they reached jimmy's hiding place. they pawed at the leaves and barked furiously. coaxed by their trainer to move on, the hounds turned eastward on the same row, barking harder and faster as they sped along. the trainer's face brightened. the man-hunters gathered at the fifty-ninth row to watch the dogs as they bore toward the east headland. the sheriff shouted, "they've got the trail now, boys! just look at them dogs hunt!” within six feet of the headland, the bloodhounds stopped, puzzled. their trainer followed. pierre said, “by god, what's wrong with 'em?” “maybe they need to open their noses with vick's salve," offered a spectator. the trainer jerked his head proudly. “nothin's the matter with them dogs. the nigger you're lookin' for didn't leave this field on foot." "he didn't ride out on horseback," said tillman, "and he sure'n hell didn't fly out.” "trainer, you ain't trying to tell us you think the nigger's still in this patch, are you?” asked the sheriff. "your guess is as good as mine, ben. them dogs 'll follow a nigger to hell if his scent's on the ground, but if it ain't there they just can't take it up.” “this ain't no guessing game,” said pierre, “and i know what i'm beginning to think about them dogs." "hell, mister! you seen what them dogs done on the field. you seen 'em zigzagging here and there. if that nigger went out o’here on foot, hands or knees, them dogs would o' followed the trail. what's more, i'll pit them dogs against bloodhounds from any place.” "we ain't interested in canine comparisons,” said daniel. “up in georgia where i come from, we don't fool around with niggers like this." “i can believe that, mister." the sheriff knitted his brows and squinted his eyes. if jimmy got away, jerry wouldn't like it. he was up for election next year, too. “just a minute, men,” he said. “this arguing ain't gettin' us no place. let's come down to earth. now, we know the nigger was in this cane before we cut it down. we know he was in there when it was only half cut-the barking of the dogs, the two shots, the dogs' silence. then three dead dogs—two shot, a third hacked-are proof of the nigger's presence. yet we came to the end of the rows without seeing neither hair nor hide of him. he slipped through the tightest cordon i've ever drawn around a nigger.” "you're right, ben,” said pierre, “but, by god, the nigger didn't just vanish. either he walked out or ran out. and if them hounds was any good, they'd keep up the trail!” the trainer patted the dogs. “all right, you smart guys, since you know the nigger was in this square of cane, why didn't a hundred cutters and a couple dozen men with guns see him come out?" daniel stepped close to a cane heap. he was tired of this bicker- ing. that nigger had to be found. he'd struck a white man. "at what end of the field did the cutting start?” he asked. "on this here end,” said pierre. “then the nigger must've left the field on the other end." “maybe so, mister georgia-man," said the trainer, “but you seen them dogs go down about halfway of the field. you seen 'em cross and recross, turn and return, tracing and retracing their steps until they stopped here. also, you seen them dogs smell their way “i tell you, mandy, that gorilla was a strange one—white like a sheep! then a black ghost, he come an' help fight the gorilla.” bob jefferson stood hands akimbo, his cane knife pointing backwards. “stella,” he said in his soprano voice, “you can dream moh in one minute standin' on yoh feet than a dozen people snorin' all night!” gene norbert, a short, decrepit old man with white hair, was sitting at home arguing with himself as was his habit, when the herald stopped at his house. “you say the man in the cane ees jeemmee?” he asked. “that's right, unc' norbert.” "chiens! cochons! ah weel feex 'em.” rising with difficulty, he reached for his cane. “ah weel feex 'em!” he hobbled off in the direction of the man hunt. the herald paused at the man-hunt scene. “it's jimmy they're after, folks. jimmy dixon!” tongues stopped wagging. the crowd was shocked into silence. finally, a young cajun surged through the crowd. he stood facing the man-hunters. “did you hear what he said, pierre? is it true the man in the cane is jimmy dixon?" pierre didn't answer. he sat on his horse looking off into space. the young man persisted. “is it true, pierre?” still ignoring the white man, pierre rode alongside the sheriff. “wonder how'n hell that name leaked out!" "i wonder,” said the sheriff, frowning. tillman and daniel rode up. "i guess you know what that means, ben," said pierre. "what does it mean?” asked daniel. "trouble!” said pierre with emphasis. "we lock up people who disturb the peace where i come from," said daniel. one by one, men and women joined the group, swelling the assemblage to nearly a hundred. pierre's own field workers were there. “why ain't you folks cuttin' cane?” he asked, meeting them. “right now, pierre, we'd rather raise cane!” snapped a mulatto woman. "you knew who the man in the cane was. why didn't you tell us?” cried another woman. "go back to your work!” yelled pierre. "like hell we will!” said a cutter. they surged past pierre. he followed, looking worried. the crowd had swollen to nearly two hundred people of mixed emotions—some angry, some curious, some thrilled. “what you got against jimmy, pierre?” asked a cajun. "nothin'," replied pierre dryly. “you been knowin' that boy since the day he was born,” said a middle-aged white woman. “his folks and you was children together. but you huntin' 'im down like the leader of a georgia mob! how come, pierre?” "an' look, miss emma, pierre got a georgia man out there!” said a colored woman. "boo-ooh!” yelled the crowd. a huge, muscular black man stood before his colleagues. “folks, i'm a peaceful man, but i just can't stand here an' let them overseers take jimmy. let's chase 'em!" the crowd remained silent. "don't try to buck the law!" cautioned the sheriff. “them planters with guns!" retorted a cajun. "they the law, too?” the crowd shuffled closer. the sheriff shifted his position to the right. “better see what you can do with 'em, pierre. i hate to shoot them cajunized niggers and niggerized cajuns!” "in the name of the law, friends!” said pierre. "why—" “yeah, folks," one of the crowd taunted, “let's put jimmy in jail! let him rot there! but do it in the name of the law!”. "that boy busted a white man's head!” blurted the sheriff. "the white man must've had it comin' to 'im!" tillman placed his hand on daniel's shoulder. "here's the white man the nigger cracked over the head! show them, daniel.” daniel took off his hat. “look at the gash! the nigger beaned me with a piece of iron!” "ah, put on your hat, mister,” said a mulatto woman. “we ain't bothered about you. it's jimmy we's worried about!" “what you doin' here, anyway?" asked a tall brown man. a black sawmill worker stepped before the crowd, signaling for silence. “folks,” he said, "the sheriff here done make a heap to do 'bout the law. but i done seen the law in action round bogalousa when them black sawmill hands was askin' foh moh pay! the first thing the law done was put the handcuffs on the leaders and haul 'em away to the washington parish jail. but them mens ain't never got to that jail! on the way, some other law tuck charge, an' in a li'l while them leaders was no moh. now, ah ain't tellin' you what to do, but don't let jimmy dixon get lynched too!” the crowd surged forward again. "ain't you people got no sense?” whined pierre. “ain't you got no respect for the law?”. twelve men, white and colored, rode up on horseback. "shoulder arms!" barked pierre to his deputies. “we'll show them fools!” andrew quickly lifted his rifle. a deputy next to him knocked it down and stood on it. the other deputies didn't move. “by god, i said shoulder arms!" mike stepped forward. “pierre, we got relatives out there." “them folks are our friends," said another deputy. “we ain't gonna shoot 'em!” daniel spurred his horse and rode around in a circle. “in all my life," he yelled in disgust, “i've never seen white men and women make over a nigger so much!” he turned his horse to face pierre's deputies. “ain't you guys white men?" there was no answer. daniel pulled on the reins and rode up the coast in a fast gallop. he'd show that bunch of niggers and nigger-lovers they couldn't fool with a real white man! he counted the armed men that would be on his side-pierre, tillman, the sheriff and his three deputies, six overseers and the five he was going after. eighteen of them! damn it, he'd show that crowd! around a curve a couple of hundred yards away where the cane field ended and truck farming began, daniel stopped his horse abruptly. he called the overseers, who were strung along the edge of the cane with rifles lying across their saddles. they trotted to the public road. “what's wrong?" asked one. “we need you boys. niggers gettin' out of line!” he turned his horse. "come on, follow me!". the overseers galloped behind daniel. thundering around a curve, the posse was now in full view of the crowd. they came to a halt at the feet of the spectators. "scatter!” daniel roared. those in the path of daniel's horse fell to one side. “disarm them men, sheriff!” demanded leblanc, the mulatto leader of the twelve men. “there's gonna be bloodshed!” "i don't take orders from niggers," said the sheriff. "better do as henry said, ben," warned paltron, a cajun colleague of henry's. “how many times do i have to repeat that i'm the law here?” “that's why we're asking you to do something you're the law!" eleven of pierre's deputies went into a huddle. mike emerged. "ben,” he said, "if you don't disarm them men, we'll have to do it for you!" he turned to daniel. “we'll give you fellows just one minute to drop them guns!" the other ten deputies took up positions at vantage points. slowly, mike approached daniel. the georgian gazed at him contemptuously. “you must be mad!” he yelled. “do as mike said,” roared leblanc. daniel bristled, but only for a short time. he was now sur- rounded by twenty men with leveled guns. “cajuns! niggers!” he exclaimed, and dropped his gun. the weapons of five overseers dropped to the ground. the crowd gazed in amazement. pierre puffed his fat jaws. the sheriff looked on helplessly as mike gathered the arms and tossed them to his colleagues. “now, you overseers and this georgia man, get down off them horses!” ordered leblanc. tony rode up hurriedly. "folks, i've something to say to the sheriff.” “what is it, tony?” the sheriff lifted a miserable face. “ben, jimmy dixon is ready to surrender, but you got to give him protection." “where's the nigger ?” asked ben angrily. tony looked at the overseers. “i can't tell you with this mob around.” "mob!” the sheriff alared. “be careful how you speak, tony. these men are here to help enforce the law!" “ben, these men are here for revenge and you know it!” “the sheriff gets who he damned pleases to help him round up criminals.” pierre spat a mouthful of tobacco juice to the ground. “it might pay you to keep your nose out of this, tony." “your nose is in it, pierre-right up to your neck! and it shouldn't be. do you remember how our ancestry was kicked out of acadia a hundred and fifty years ago? well, you've joined the same kind of mob!" "bravo!” yelled the crowd. "ben, you're hunting an innocent man,” said tony. "innocent! but he struck a white man!" “the white man started it. jimmy struck back in self-defense." "i'm neither judge nor jury, only a cop. the nigger tried to kill a white man. he attacked a white man. that's enough for me!” daniel placed himself between the sheriff and tony. "no nigger should put his dirty hands on a white man!" with a dramatic gesture he snatched off his hat. “the nigger struck me right here. see the mark?" "i know all about it,” snapped tony. "as a white man, you should tell the sheriff where the nigger is.” "my first duty is to keep an innocent man from being mobbed.” he turned to the sheriff. “what about it, ben? what about jimmy's protection?" “it's your duty as a citizen to—". “duty!" broke in tony. "sheriff, you've got a bunch of men they started toward the railroad tracks. the leading guards spurred their horses to a gallop. the sheriff and jimmy followed close behind, with the sheriff's deputies in the rear. tillman and the overseers rushed toward their horses. "wait!" yelled tony. “you fellows can't leave here until six- thirty. you too, pierre. we're taking no chances!" andrew started to sneak off. “you're in that bunch too, andrew," snapped tony. "i'm going and nobody's going to stop me!" blurted an overseer pierre's ex-deputies, armed with their own revolvers, surrounded pierre and his colleagues. tony regarded his unwilling guests intently. a mob was as close to jimmy as a telephone was to any one of this group. daniel lit a cigar. “this is unconstitutional,” he said, trying to appear contemptuously at ease. mike laughed. “look who's tryin' to lean on the constitution!" pierre rubbed his potbelly. "i'm still the police juror here.” "and you're still with the overseers!” snapped tony. one of the lit a cigarily at ease “the five spot,” as the evening southbound new orleans, fort jackson & grand isle train was commonly called, came to a stop at the railroad crossing that served as one of the stations from river bend. the sheriff, his retinue of officers and the prisoner got aboard. they stepped into the combination baggage car and jim crow coach and occupied the wooden seats. while the train was rumbling on to the next station a half mile away, the conductor came into the jim crow coach, yelling, “fare!" he lumbered toward the sheriff, punch in hand. the sheriff handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “how many, sheriff?” "seventeen." "seventeen? them nig-them too?” “they're my deputies.” the baffled conductor shook his head, punched the receipts and ambled back to the other coach, muttering, “nigger deputies!" the train rolled and rocked on its uneven tracks, stopping to discharge or take on passengers with the frequency of a streetcar the jailer stared. “lock who up? i don't see nobody with handcuffs.” the sheriff pointed to jimmy. “that one.” “who them other fellows?" “guards for the prisoner.” “i mean them niggers.” “them, too." the jailer grunted. he unlocked the jailhouse door and flung it wide open. a few of the guards slipped in ahead of the prisoner. the jailer bristled. “hey, you guys, i ain't lockin' y'all up. stay outside with them guns!” henry smiled. “some'll be inside and some'll be outside." the jailer locked the door and rushed ahead of the guards down the corridor to a vacant cell. he pushed jimmy in and slammed the door. "pushing him wasn't necessary," said mike, and his eyes narrowed. the jailer stood gazing at mike while dangling his bunch of keys. then he turned and walked up the corridor and sat down just inside the front door. “that guy's so used to pushin' black boys 'round that he do it without thought,” muttered henry. he and three other guards went to the jailer. “we all would like to see over the jail on both floors." the jailer stared at henry, passed his hand over his forehead, got up and said, “follow me.” like the first floor, the second was filled with black and brown prisoners. they met a trusty carrying two buckets. "what the hell is stinkin' so?" asked fouche. “nigger dung,” replied the jailer. “you mean the prisoners have to squat over them buckets?" “that or shit on the floor." henry and fouche sat opposite jimmy's cell. the other four deputies selected for duty for the first half took up positions outside. after an interval, fouche, a cajun, strolled over to where the jailer was sitting. “how many birds this cage holds?” he asked. “seventy-five. right now we have sixty-nine, with the nigger you're guardin'." “i don't see any whites." “why should you? jail's here for niggers." “why 're most of the guys in here?” “jumpin' commissary bills, vagrancy and cuttin' other niggers.” “jumpin' commissary bills ? i thought it was against the law to jail a man for debt!" “that's the law all right, but them niggers is charge with stealin'." “most of the prisoners here are serving time, i suppose." the jailer let go a volley of brown spit. “i'd say only about half of 'em. the rest is waitin' trial.” “how long they got to wait?". “that depends. some of them niggers have to wait for six months if they get in here just after the court term ends.” “you mean six months in jail without a hearing?” "sure. when the judge is in another parish holdin' court, there ain't nothin' else to do." "if convicted, a prisoner gets time off, i suppose." “hell, no!" back in river bend after tony had dismissed his unwilling guests, joe tillman and daniel george rode slowly down the road. a carriage passed them driven by a stringy-haired youth. in it sat a matronly woman and four young women. the most beautiful was dark-complexioned. daniel gazed at her. “well, i'll be damned!” he said. “look at that mulatto wench riding with those white folks!” "shh," said tillman. “them's pierre's folks.” "the mulatto gal, too?” "she ain't no mulatto. she's pierre's daughter. so are the other three girls. the older woman's his wife and the mother of them girls. the boy is their son.” “pierre's daughter? hell, she's lots darker than lots of mulattoes i've seen.” the two men galloped on. armidé touchard passed through a side door to the jailer's office. he was a tall man with hollow cheeks and shoulders, the latter giving him a perpetual bent-over appearance, not one of senility but of aggressiveness, as if he were constantly about to wrap his long arms about any person he was talking to directly. his forehead was unusually high, and not because of any loss of hair. a great amount of bushy iron-gray hair jutted upward in all directions from his head, an unruly mass that had embarrassed him since childhood but which, actually, gave him a look of extraordinary distinction. his tallness was accentuated by his skinniness, but he did not in the slightest appear frail. a face almost lincoln-like above his long neck had in it such strength of character and dignity that one scarcely noticed the sparseness of his frame-especially after he started talking. his voice was both mellow and direct and gripping, no matter what he might at the moment be talking about. when he smiled, the hollowness in his cheeks vanished, being replaced by immense wrinkles that quivered out of an inner motivation impossible to fathom, for he was known to smile just as often in anger as he did in mirth. "i'm touchard, attorney touchard,” he said, “i want to see my client, jimmy dixon.” the jailer, remembering that he had seen the attorney five years before in the famous crozat-guichard case, said, “yes, mr. touchard.” jimmy's guards recognized him as he came in. as the cell door slammed behind him, touchard asked, "are you jimmy dixon?” “yes, sir.” “i'm armidé touchard, your attorney." “tony eskind told me to expect you, sir.” "have you had any visitors?” "the district attorney and joe tillman just left my cell.” "i hope you were brief with them.” “i was, sir." jimmy then related his experiences on saint agnes plantation. touchard rubbed his chin. “what witnesses can we get from saint agnes?" "witnesses!” jimmy exclaimed. “everybody there knows what happened, but would anybody tell the truth?” he thought for a moment. “yes, we might be able to get one to talk. his name is teboy dowden.” "how would i go about getting him ?” “tony will arrange.” touchard got up off the bunk and his head almost reached to the ceiling. “stand on your constitutional rights. refer all ques- tioners to me.” the cell door opened and tony stepped in. “the train was late," he said. "tony,” said jimmy, “there's a man on saint agnes named teboy. we need him as a witness. would you try to get him?”. “contact me when you do," said touchard. “i want to question him.” “hunh,” said tony, “that's going to be a tough one!" “we must have him.” “i'll do my best.” tony turned to jimmy. “you're on pins and needles to ask me about antonia. i can see it in your face, jimmy. but i got to tell you she's sick in bed. got hysterical after you left. we had to call in the doctor." jimmy jumped up. he looked up imploringly into his attorney's face and said, “mr. touchard, i've got to get out of here on bond. i know judge rochon has never let a colored man out on bond, but my girl's health is in danger. i love her and she loves me- we're engaged to get married.” “yes, jimmy," said touchard. “yes, i know. i understand—but court does not open until monday after next. meanwhile, your girl is out of her mind. she's scared. a week to her now is like a year.” he patted jimmy's arm. “jimmy, i'll go see her myself. i'll talk to her. i'll tell her you are in no danger now. that you're not being mistreated. that you'll be out on bond after court opens. she doesn't need medicine from a doctor. she needs spiritual medicine. i'll give her a good big dose of it, and when court opens i guarantee you she'll walk in smiling, dignified and proud.” "thank you, sir,” said jimmy, tears in his eyes. the jailer clanged open the door. tony and touchard stepped into the corridor and followed the jailer out. a few days later attorney touchard stepped briskly into tony eskind's parlor and sat down. “this is your saint agnes witness," said tony, pointing to teboy. “his name's teboy dowden.” "good,” said touchard. “had any trouble getting him?" "well, it wasn't too easy. we got a guy from a colored settle- ment across the river to hire in on saint agnes. his name's jake smith. on account of the state law making it a felony to entice field hands to leave the plantations, jake had to be very careful how he went about it. then after he contacted teboy he had a hard time convincing him that he should leave.” touchard looked at teboy. “what's the matter, don't you want to get jimmy out of jail?” “yes, suh, but ah jis don't like gettin' all mixed up in white folks' bidness," said teboy. "somebody's got to get mixed up in white folks' business if a guy like jimmy is to get justice.” “that's what jake done tell me, but you see, mister, ah jis got one neck!” "hunh!” grunted touchard. “draw up a chair and sit here beside me.” teboy sat down and touchard went on: "on the witness stand i'll question you. then you will be cross-questioned by the district attorney. and all the time the jurymen will be looking at you, and so will the judge. but there'll be nothing for you to be afraid of. all you got to do is answer the questions truthfully, to the best of your knowledge.” teboy listened to the attorney attentively, watching touchard's gestures, his wrinkled grimaces, his aggressive directness. touchard on the second monday after jimmy's arrest, aunt hannah sat in the parish courtroom in deep thought. she contemplated the pro- found silence of her white and colored friends and ventured the thought that their solemnity, like her own, could be attributed to the fact that they were sitting in a room that symbolized justice. sitting in a courtroom to her was like sitting in church. in both houses serious business was transacted. however, she went to church only on special occasions-baptisms, christenings, weddings, wakes and funerals. she never attended regular services because she couldn't stomach hearing the minister preach fatherhood while being a party to the denial of brotherhood. the jim crow practice of the church was anything to her but brotherhood. what's more, the church had helped to keep her a slave, and white preachers hadn't even yet stopped twisting the meaning of the scriptures to justify a slave class based on color. what was worse, she believed, black preachers were in tacit agreement in order to make a soft living. she glanced across the room. her mind had been so absorbed in the lawlessness of the law—the divine as well as the secular- that she'd almost forgotten that another interested group was sitting in the courtroom. with the overseers were pierre and andrew ogden. since pierre knew everyone connected with the defense, some of them being his employees, she wondered if he felt strange at his connection with the forces arrayed against them. chewing tobacco in silence, pierre didn't appear happy. she thought andrew looked compla- cent. his beady eyes showed him capable of anything loathsome. she thought she saw on the faces of jerry gordon and daniel george not only amused contempt, but a slight fear that justice might appear on the scene. as for the others, their behavior indi- cated light hearts. some wore an air of merriment, others non- chalance. to the latter group everything was in the bag. i died down to whispers, the judge said, “mr. touchard, you have gone out of your way to make bold and slanderous remarks about the good white people of this parish!” "your honor," said touchard, lowering both arms to his sides and standing up as erect as he could, “i am prepared to prove my statement!" the spectators waxed into silence as he faced them. his eyes roved over them until they met pierre's. he smiled and turned to the judge. “i shall not, your honor, disturb a portion of my audience with the same answer as i gave then. however, i object most strongly to the district attorney's request that my client plead guilty to crimes to which he is innocent. mr. adams' advice is raw and defenseless!" the smile on touchard's face slowly uncreased. his eyes nar- rowed and his lip corners went down. he was in a fighting mood. "would the district attorney have made the same suggestion to a white defendant?” he spoke sharply now. "would he have advised a white defendant to plead guilty because his word had no standing in court against that of a black man? does the word of an american citizen carry less weight in court when his face is black? does it carry more weight when the citizen's face is white? since when, in law, has white become a virtue and black its antithesis?” the spectators gazed at touchard, spellbound, while the judge sat with hands folded. jimmy drew his feet back against the rung of the chair and leaned forward to absorb carefully every word his attorney said. "mr. adams is presumptuous," continued touchard. “his state- ment is sheathed in the tradition that all black men are unequal to all white men. his advice to my client is a psychological stab at justice. it is legal mockery and is reprehensible to every decent, fair and just instinct. in the first place, my client, mr. dixon—" the judge rapped for order. the planters and overseers were protesting touchard's calling jimmy “mister." the judge continued tapping his mallet. “please, gentlemen, come to order!” finally, the talking and protesting ceased. man has said nothing that would indicate in the least that he wouldn't vote in an unbiased manner if sworn in to judge this case. i object to his disqualification!” the two attorneys wrangled over the prospective juryman for some time. finally, the judge grew weary and dismissed the venireman. adams and touchard continued to object to the intended jury- men, the prosecutor on grounds of residence, the defense on active plantation connections or sympathy for the views of the planters. at noon the judge recessed court for dinner without a single juryman having been chosen, a record for the court in which the defendant hadn't been white. when court convened after dinner, the district attorney and the defense attorney continued to clash over those called for jury service. now a planter or overseer was called, objected to, fought for and dismissed. now a resident of river bend went through the same procedure. judge rochon gave a sigh. he looked at his watch. “do you attorneys realize that time's aying and we don't even have one juryman as yet? i would appreciate you gentlemen meeting me in my chambers." in his chambers, the judge tore into the attorneys. “you guys got to stop this nonsense! we've got to draw a panel-no? or yes ? adams, you can't pack a jury box with all overseers; and you, touchard, you are not going to have a panel chock-full with river bend cajuns.” "listen, rochon, with me it's either overseers or nigger lovers, and it won't be nigger lovers!” touchard's face began to crease in a smile of restrained fury. he said, “be reasonable, rochon. i'm only trying to give a colored man his freedom, but adams has got to look after his boss's interests.” "i don't like your humor, touchard!” snapped adams. "really, don't you?” touchard's smile became a mask of sar- casm. “i'll take my chances with rochon's suggestion." back in the courtroom, the judge rapped for order. he called the sheriff and spoke to him in low tones. the sheriff gave the jimmy entered the courtroom under guard and sat down. he winked at antonia, then gazed at her new dress with the slightly v-shaped neck draped over her firm, round breasts. she cupped her chin and smiled. judge rochon breezed in. "hear ye, hear ye ..." droned the clerk, and court was in session for the second day. “gentlemen of the jury,” began adams, “you have been sworn in to hear the case of the people versus jimmy dixon and to pass judgment. this court has never had a more important case before it, never a more dangerous defendant!" he stared at the accused. “jimmy dixon is not an ordinary nigger criminal. he's vicious! look what the charges are: one, try- ing to kill a white man! two, organizing plantation hands to destroy their boss and benefactor, jerry gordon. three, willfully killing two bloodhounds belonging to this parish!”. he walked past jimmy and stood close to the jury box. “the first charge alone is sufficient for you to hang the defendant!" planters and overseers nodded. “as an honorable body of white men devoid of all sentiment, but desiring to do justice, you will vote to convict jimmy dixon!” adams turned to face the audience, then sat down. the sheriff, called to take the stand, identified jimmy dixon as the “boy” he'd arrested in river bend against "great opposition and under unusual circumstances.” “what were those unusual circumstances, sheriff?” asked adams. “the manner in which the defendant slipped through our cordon without being seen or heard." “did the defendant resist arrest?” "he did.” “your witness, mr. touchard." “no questions," replied touchard. all. pierre was called to take the stand. the district attorney ques- tioned him. “mr. crozat, is the defendant, jimmy dixon, the person you were asked by the sheriff to arrest the last sunday night in september?” pierre cleared his throat. “yes, sir.” “that is all.” again touchard declined to cross-examine the witness. “mr. joe tillman,” called the clerk. smiling, adams asked, “mr. tillman, is the defendant, jimmy dixon, the boy whom you hired on saint agnes the last day in august, nineteen hundred and nineteen?” “yes, sir." "did you hire other niggers that day?" “i did.” “did you hire jimmy dixon as readily as you did the others?" “no, only after some thought." "why did you hesitate? wasn't he a strong-enough-looking buck for your plantation?”. touchard sprang to his feet. “i object, your honor, to the term 'buck'!" “the district attorney will please rephrase his question,” said the judge. adams again asked the question, leaving out the word “buck.” tillman said his hesitation to hire jimmy was due to "his suspicious looks." “while in your employ did the defendant say anything or do anything to justify your suspicions of him?" “yes.” adams then went into details about the charges against jimmy. “mr. tillman, it was you who found daniel george in the cart lane that sunday night after he had been struck down by the defendant. tell the court about it in your own words.” "when i entered the cart lane i saw something lying across the path resembling a log. i rode closer. my hair rose on my head, standing straight up! it was a white man! i rushed to his side. mr. george was out cold and bleeding like a stuck sow!" “what did mr. george tell you when he was revived?” “'the nigger hit me with a piece of iron!' he said.” “what nigger was mr. george talking about?" "this one, jimmy dixon.” "your witness." “mr. tillman,” began touchard, “just what are your require- ments for a field worker?”. "he must be a good nigger and a good worker.” “you hired other hands when you hired the defendant. were you suspicious of them, too?”. "no." “why were you suspicious of jimmy dixon?" "well,” tillman hesitated, “the nigger just didn't talk right." "you're in court, mr. tillman, and offensive terms are out of place here., in court, mr. tillmahe nigger just didn there was a buzzing in the planter section. "what did you mean when you said jimmy dixon didn't talk right?" "well, he was insulting!" "come, come, mr. tillman. plantation bosses don't take insults from black men. didn't you object to jimmy dixon because his diction denoted a degree of intelligence not found in ordinary field hands?" "no, no!" “i can hear you better if you don't scream. now, when you found daniel george in the cart lane did he have a revolver on him?" "i didn't search him." “didn't you know he toted a pistol?” "no!" “that's all.” adams called the plantation veterinary to the stand. “did you dress the wound of daniel george the last sunday night in september?” asked adams. "yes, sir.” "how wide and deep was mr. george's wound?” "about a half inch wide and skin-deep." "your witness." "doctor mark," began touchard, "you said the wound of daniel george was skin-deep. did it seem to have been made by the trigger of a pistol?” "i couldn't say. you see, it was my first time dressing the wound of a man. up to that time i had dressed only galled mules and razor-slashed niggers.” "that is all, doctor mark.” jerry was called. "mr. gordon," began adams, “when did you discover that jimmy dixon had organized your hands to kill all the white people on saint agnes?” “the same day he tried to kill mr. george.” "what was the defendant's conduct while in your employ?”. “at the pay counter he demanded money he wasn't entitled to and sassed me out because i didn't give it to him.” “that is all, mr. gordon." touchard rose slowly. he stepped in close to the witness and folded his long arms, a smile creasing his cheeks in deep furrows, a smile that was neither friendly nor forbidding. "mr. gordon, who were the visitors at your home the sunday night you found daniel george unconscious in the cart lane?” "since when can't a white man have visitors without being questioned about it?”. "who were they?” “i don't remember." touchard moved closer and the smile began curving into a sarcastic grin. “why did daniel george leave your house and company to walk alone in the dark that night?” “he went for a stroll.” "was he armed?” “don't answer that question, mr. gordon," snapped adams. "judge, your honor," said touchard, not moving his eyes from gordon's, "the question's in order. i demand an answer!” “answer the question, mr. gordon.” “i don't know if he was armed.” "why were your other guests armed with revolvers and equipped with bunches of hemp rope?” “i hadn't noticed it if they were." touchard turned and walked to the table. he picked up a package and slowly unwrapped it. “where have you seen this pistol before, mr. gordon?” "i've never seen it before." the spectators could see that the grin on touchard's face was beginning to make gordon nervous. even while unwrapping the gun, he'd kept his eyes on gordon's ruddy face. now he laid the pistol on the table, then walked slowly back to the witness, as close as before. “mr. gordon, do you know the defendant?” “casually." "didn't he work on your plantation?” “yes.” “jimmy worked on saint agnes for a full month. why did you refuse to pay him his full wages?”. "don't answer that question!” shouted adams. "your honor—" began touchard. “answer the question, mr. gordon,” broke in the judge. "i paid him his full wages.” “yes, mr. gordon, you did, but only after jimmy dixon fought for it. isn't that so?” "i paid him, i told you." "when you found out that you couldn't hold out on jimmy dixon as you did your other field hands, why didn't you fire him instead of bringing in others to help you hang him?" gordon's face flashed with anger. jumping up, he slapped his chest. “who do you think i am? do you think you're talking to a nigger ?" touchard pursed his lips and just stood there, staring at gordon. “your honor,” adams shouted, "the defense attorney is delib- erately insulting the witness! furthermore, i object to the question!” rochon smiled. “sustained!” his voice was resonant. touchard backstepped to the table. he picked up another pack- age and unwrapped it slowly, tantalizingly. judge rochon leaned forward, staring at what touchard had unwrapped. it was a book. touchard held it up, then opened it and turned the pages until he came to a page headed: “september, , payroll account.” he began reading aloud: "ben jones, one dollar; sarah hapgood, one dollar and fifty cents." jerry gordon, his face flushed, stared at the ceiling. “do you recognize those names, mr. gordon?” asked touchard. "i do not!" touchard resumed his reading, picking names and figures at random. gordon denied knowing any of the names, or anything about the figures. “do you recognize this book, mr. gordon?” “never saw it before." “that's possible. after all, a man who manages a half-dozen plantations can't see everything he controls.” touchard faced the bench. “your honor, may it please the court, i request that the clerk read the title of this book to the jury.” the jurymen waited in silence. tillman shuffled his feet and whispered to pierre, but jerry gordon betrayed no interest. the judge hesitated. then, finally, in a low voice scarcely audible to the spectators, he said, “read it." “payroll account, saint agnes plantation, jerry gordon, man- ager,” read the clerk. after much fidgeting gordon shouted, “how did you get hold of that book?" again touchard pursed his lips. “i am the questioner, mr. gordon.” daniel brewed in anger. he got up and began loudly, “judge, your honor—" touchard's voice came in louder to cut him off. “your honor, this man is an attorney. he knows better than to yell at the bench from the floor. he should be led from this room!” "order!” said the judge. reluctantly, daniel sat down. “your honor," said touchard, “i offer this payroll account as exhibit number one.” adams leaped up, shouting, "that book represents stolen prop- erty! in justice to the witness, it cannot be entered as evidence!” the judge regarded both touchard and adams in silence. "to permit this exhibit to stand,” continued adams, “would obstruct, yea, defeat the wheels of justice! it is immaterial and must be rejected!” anxiety shrouding his face, judge rochon leaned forward. “the exhibit stands," he said quietly. for a moment jerry gordon stared ahead, writhing in mental anguish and rage, then, abruptly, with fists on his hips, he sprang up. “don't you planters out there see what's happening here? don't you see you're being drubbed along with me?". “we see! we see!” cried a dozen voices. they got up and rushed to the aisles, but were encountered there by the river bend guards and pushed back into their seats. agitated, the judge sounded his gavel. “one more such demon- stration and i'll have the room cleared! please, mr. gordon, control yourself.” "i'm sorry," said gordon. "proceed, mr. touchard,” said rochon. touchard was smiling. “that's all, mr. gordon," he said and sat down. the judge ordered court to adjourn until two in the afternoon. under a tree on the batture, aunt hannah spread an oilcloth. she uncovered a basket and took out a dish of fried chicken, home- made bread and a jar of peach preserves. “fall into this stuff," she said to antonia and tony. after they'd started to eat, she asked, "well, tony, what do you think of the case so far?”. "touchard's doing all right,” said tony. "still i wouldn't say it's in the bag." “suppose the jury isn't listening to mr. touchard?” worried antonia. “suppose they convict jimmy?” she stopped eating. “i wonder what they're feeding him in that awful jail now." after eating, aunt hannah strolled alone through the grounds of the courthouse. she was walking leisurely among the vehicles in the hitching station when she noticed a team of mules hitched to a cane cart standing some distance away. she wondered at once why it wasn't hitched to a post like the other teams. she noticed also daniel george sat in the witness chair with hands crossed and elbows resting on the arms. he was the first witness called after the judge had reconvened his court. “mr. george,” began adams, "the last sunday night in septem- ber, you were attacked by a nigger. is he in this courtroom?" "your honor,” cried touchard, coming to his feet like a jack- knife springing open, “i demand a retraction from the district at- torney! either he call my client by name or use the word defendant!" "all right, all right," said adams. “i'll put the question this way: is the african boy who attacked you on saint agnes that sunday night in this room?" again touchard was on his feet. “your honor, my client is american. not african. i object to the term!" "but your honor," asked adams, “what's wrong with the word ‘african'?” "nothing's wrong with the word 'african,' your honor," said touchard. “but the district attorney is using it contemptuously!” adams bit on his lower lip. “the one who knocked you speech- less, mr. george, is he in this room?" daniel pointed to jimmy. “there he sits, sir." “tell the court how jimmy picked a fight with you before he clubbed you with a piece of iron.” “i had been taking a walk down the road and, immediately after entering the gate on my way back, i could hear someone approach- ing. i slowed up, and a few feet from me i could see a big nigger with a knapsack on his shoulder and a piece of pipe in his hand. he brushed my shoulder with his dirty bag. 'be careful what you're doing,' i said. without a word he hit me over the head with the pipe. from then on i didn't know anything." "show the jury the scar on your scalp where jimmy dixon clubbed you." “quiet, you!" snapped the judge. touchard yawned and gordon, puffed to the breaking point, yelled out, “it was stolen at the same time my payroll record was!” “order!” said the judge in a courteous tone. “proceed.” touchard yawned again, patting his mouth, then said, “judge, your honor, i offer this revolver which bears the name of the owner, daniel george, as exhibit number two." smiling, he sat down. already adams was on his feet. "your honor, it has not been proven that mr. george was struck over the head with that pistol, or with any gun at all, for that matter!” the faces of the planters brightened. “this pistol,” adams went on, “is stolen property and i object to its being placed here as an exhibit!” touchard stood up and said calmly, “my client had never seen daniel george alone before the said party attacked him. what's more, my client has been in jail since arrested. how else could he have obtained the revolver if he did not do so when daniel george attacked him? your honor, this exhibit must stand!” “judge, your honor," said adams excitedly, "mr. touchard has strayed a long way from the path of truth to impress this jury that his client is innocent. now he asks the question, 'how else could he have obtained the revolver?' frankly, your honor, he can't answer that question. the court cannot supply it, neither can the witness. there is but one answer—the defense stole it! stole it to bolster up his case. the exhibit cannot stand!” touchard rose slowly. “your honor, this revolver that lies on the table, bearing the name of the klansman, daniel george, was the same weapon dixon used to club the witness. it was the same gun used to slay the sheriff's bloodhounds. it must stand!” "your honor,” said adams, trying hard to smile calmly as touchard was, “we're simply delaying the completion of this case. i refer to this bickering over an article that cannot be entered as an exhibit. the defense has not proven and cannot prove that this instrument was used to club mr. george or to shoot the sheriff's dogs in the cane. can the defense produce the bullets from the car- casses of those dogs? can it do that? it cannot! i demand, therefore, that the court reject the pistol as an exhibit!” touchard whispered to jimmy, “aunt hannah should have extracted those bullets when she went for you that night.” gordon and his colleagues were beaming. the district attorney had cornered touchard! the judge smiled at gordon. “objection sustained!” he said. his lip corners down in disgust, touchard said, “that's all, mr. george.” the tenseness that had prevailed among the planters and over- seers relaxed. they kept looking around at each other, exchanging smiles. things would go their way now. “next witness," said the judge. “sammy jones!" called the clerk. sitting up stiffly, sammy pretended he had not heard his name called. zed nudged him in the ribs. "man, dat mean yuh!” sammy paid him no mind. "sammy jones!" the clerk yelled. sammy swallowed hard and looked up. “ya-aas, ah's here,” he drawled out and kept sitting. the judge smiled. the audience tittered. gordon shook his head. the district attorney didn't find it funny. "don't you know your name?" asked the clerk. "yas, suh, mister, ah knows it.” "well, come on up here!" "up there, suh?” “yes, up here!" "you mean now, suh?” the clerk began looking purple. “yes, now!” he yelled. "yah, suh, ah's comin'.” sammy finally got up. daniel whispered to gordon, “i still say your sammy is the sorriest nigger i ever saw." "look at the smirk on jerry's face,” aunt hannah said to an- tonia. “he can laugh, but sammy is as much his product as the sugar cane he grows." antonia scarcely heard her. the trial seemed to be going all wrong to her, and when the gun had been denied entry as an ex- “i did not say with the help of god,” cut in rochon sharply. “i said, so help you god!” he had to stop, for the courtroom again was rocking with laughter. he did not rap with his gavel, but per- mitted the laughter to subside. then he said, “so help you god means that god will not have mercy on you when your day comes to stand up before him if your record shows you have told a lie in court under oath.” “jedge, ah sees what yo' mean," said sammy and looked upward, a frightened look on his face. “now," said the clerk again, "do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you god?” sammy placed his hand on the bible. "yas, suh, yas, suh, ah does." answering the district attorney's questions, sammy said that he knew jimmy dixon, and that he was sitting at the table “next to that ge’man tha's 'fendin' 'im.” “now, sammy,” said adams, “tell the court what you heard jimmy dixon tell the hands on the batture that saturday night he called them together-how they should beat up mister joe and mister jerry." sammy gazed at adams expectantly, as if hoping he would go on to say that sammy would not have to answer this particular question. when adams just stared back at him, he said, “ah ain't done hear jimmy say nothin' 'bout how he done want the boys to beat up mist' joe and them.” “come on, sammy, you're under oath." adams' expression had gone from a smiling one to impatient sternness. “tha's what ah knows. ah knows ah's on the oats, suh. tha's why ah's already done tell yuh the trufe. fuddermore, jimmy ain't done call nobody together. the boys done fotch him from his bed theyse'f while he was sleepin'." the crease in adams' brow deepened. “what did jimmy say to the boys on the batture that night?" “jimmy done tell the boys that night he don't want to learn 'em from no books, 'cause he knowed the white folks don't want they niggers to know nothin'. 'sides, he say he would lose his job. an' he say he love a girl and don't want nothin' to happen what might make him in trouble.” adams gritted his teeth. "shut up, nigger, you're lying!" he turned to touchard. “your witness," he said in disgust and flopped into his chair. smiling gently, touchard rose. “what did mr. gordon say to you when you reported to him that jimmy had promised to teach the workers on saint agnes to read and write?" "you mean, mist' jerry?” “mister jerry.” "well, ah guess ah's gotta keep on tellin' the trufe.” “the whole truth." “well, mist' jerry, he done got madder'n hell!” “what did mister jerry say he would do to jimmy dixon?” “mist' jerry sont me fuh mist' joe.” “what did mister jerry say to mister joe?" "mist' jerry done say, 'joe, yoh nigger's actin' up ag'in. yuh better call the boys.”” "judge, your honor,” shouted adams, “the defense is taking advantage of this nigger's ignorance to pry lying answers out of him. i object to his line!" “your honor, the witness is answering my questions freely." "continue.” “what boys did mister jerry want mister joe to call?” "don't answer that question!” cried adams. "but ah knows the answer, mister!" "give the court the answer," prodded touchard. “them overseers an' them other mens what come to mist' jerry house, come to take jimmy away to the swamps." “thank you, sammy, that's all.” adams looked worried. he got up. “your honor," he said, “i object to the testimony of sammy jones on the grounds of incom- petency and irresponsibility. i demand that his whole story be ex- punged from the record and that the jury be instructed to disregard what he said.” “your honor," said touchard, rising and looking bored, “sammy “well, mister white man, yuh knows ah's been on saint agnes fuh a helluva long time. an' all the time ah gits mah place to stay an' mah grub from the commissary. tha's all ah can git, so tha's all ah wants. yuh see, us niggers jes' can't git around that. now, this ejication stuff, ah knowed it wouldn't work with the white mens. so me, ah figgers they ain't no use in no nigger makin' trouble foh hissel with the white folks.” touchard smiled. “very true, zed. that's all." “court's adjourned until ten tomorrow," announced the judge. at five-thirty that afternoon, the southbound train stopped at west point-à-la-hache. four cajuns and three men of color got off and walked toward the river. dressed in hunting clothes, their rifles and shotguns swung from their shoulders in drab-colored cases. rifle bullets and shotgun shells hung from belts around their waists. they boarded the ferry and steamed across the river along with other passengers. on the east bank they were met by tony. “good work, joe,” he said. tony guided the men down the batture, where jake smith and the six men he had brought from saint sophie in a cane cart were waiting after darkness fell, they built a fire; and with guns hidden in the willows, the fifteen men settled down for the night. it was friday and the third day of the trial of the people vs jimmy dixon. news of the court proceedings of the first two days had reached the ends of the parish, mostly by word of mouth. two schools of thought were particularly interested—the group that de- plored the fact that the arrest of a colored man was tantamount to conviction, and the group that saw in the trial a threat to things as they were. the latter group, representing the plantation interests, lamented the fact that it had taken more than two hours to arraign, try and convict the defendant. the judge entered and talking ceased. the clerk sang the usual “hear ye,” and court was in session. adams rose. “judge, your honor, the state rests its case tem- dalll. porarily. d was on his bod in jimmy's. witness called couchard. touchard was on his feet. he called and questioned a few char- acter witnesses who testified in jimmy's behalf. teboy dowden was the first material witness called. “how long have you lived on saint agnes?” asked touchard. "ten years, suh.” “do you know the defendant, jimmy dixon?” “yas, suh." teboy said he had seen nine white men with coils of rope suspended from saddles ride up to the big house the same sunday that jimmy left the plantation. further questions developed that he had gone to jimmy's cabin to warn him “that the white folks would take him to the swamps that night.” “on that night did you see a pistol or any other firearms in jimmy's cabin or on his person?”. “naw, suh.” "you saw jimmy packing his knapsack. what did he put in it?” "he put in a sammich, some clothes an' a cane knife.” "your witness, mr. adams." tan't call the distiway. didn't yoidn't steal no adams strutted toward the witness stand and stared at teboy. "why did you run away from saint agnes?" “ah didn't run away, suh, ah jes' lef?." "nigger, don't call the district attorney a liar. you stole mister jerry's account book and ran away. didn't you?” “no, mister, ah didn't run away an'ah didn't steal no book an' no nothin'." "when you went to jimmy's cabin that sunday night, you did so to make plans against the white people on saint agnes, didn't you?" “no, suh, to warn him—" “stop lying!" “ah ain't lying, mister." “what? oh, what's the use of questioning a lying nigger!” adams, wiping his face, flopped into his chair again. teboy left the stand and went to his seat. “call jimmy dixon,” said touchard. jimmy sat down in the witness chair and stillness quickly fell over the courtroom. the judge stared at him and adams snorted. jimmy looked down to where antonia was sitting, and they stared into each other's eyes. he could tell by her weak smile that she was deeply worried. his mom, her eyes glassy with tears, looked the other way. aunt hannah sat stoically. jimmy looked back into antonia's eyes and smiled. it was barely a smile, but in it was a message to her to sit up a little straighter, to hold her chin up, to be more dignified. she stared back a moment, and abruptly gave him back the same kind of smile, sitting up erectly and looking proud. jimmy nodded, then directed his attention to mr. touchard. "mr. dixon, how long did you work on saint agnes plantation?” “the whole month of september, nineteen hundred and nine- teen.” "was there any complaint about your work during that time?" "not that i know of.” "why did you have difficulty collecting your month's earnings on saint agnes?” "the commissary had charged against me six dollars worth of merchandise that i had paid cash for already." touchard walked up close to the witness chair, the gentle smile wreathing his entire face in soft, amiable wrinkles. "miss dugas—” a concerted snort came from the planters' and overseers' section. touchard turned slowly to glance their way, his expression un- changed. he turned back to antonia. “they object to my calling you miss dugas,” he said softly. “however ...” he said, and paused; “however, miss dugas, do you know the defendant, jimmy dixon?” "i do,” said antonia, her voice clear and strong, "and i shall always want to know him!” plascide couldn't help it-he chuckled aloud. at once there were catcalls from the overseers' section. judge rochon pounded with his gavel. “order!” he said loudly. a hush settled again over the courtroom. even the planters and overseers sat forward slightly, curious to know why touchard had called antonia to the stand. “miss dugas,” said touchard, "would you please tell the court why jimmy dixon went to saint agnes in the first place?" "to earn one hundred dollars, so that he could come home and marry me. he said he needed one hundred dollars to put in with what he already had. he was going to buy me a bed—” “when does a nigger need a bed?” somebody yelled from the overseers' section. "order!” rapped judge rochon. he looked down kindly at antonia and said, “go on, please.” “a bed for our home. and other things. and things for his mother. that's why he went to a plantation to work. it was not just to saint agnes he went. it was to any plantation. it just happened he got his job at saint agnes. and that's when the trouble started.” "what trouble, miss dugas?” "well, jimmy, he hates trouble, but when those men there asked him to help them, to teach them to read and write, he just couldn't refuse. he knew it would mean trouble if he were caught, but jimmy just can't refuse to help anyone who needs help. that's why he's in this awful mess.” "why do you love jimmy dixon, miss dugas?" antonia looked down at her hands, embarrassed. she clasped her fingers tightly and said, “he's so good and so clean, mr. touchard! so wonderfully clean and decent. jimmy is a gentle person, too. and all he wanted to do when he set out to earn his one hundred dollars was just to do that and nothing else. he is not interested in making trouble. he hates trouble. but when a man is—”. adams was on his feet. “i object, your honor, to this farcical con- clusion to an already incredibly ridiculous trial. the witness is en- deavoring to convey to the jury the illusion that the defendant is a white man-calling him clean and decent and gentle and not inter- ested in making trouble. it is obvious that the defense attorney has coached her at length. she keeps calling jimmy dixon a man. a man! jimmy dixon is a nigger, and there is no way around it-no matter how much the defense attorney tries working on the heart strings of the jury, bringing into this case the incidental matter of a love affair!” touchard's smile broadened. “we don't then have a man on trial ?" adams glared. “i told you what we have on trial.” "not a man?" "your honor, i object to the defense attorney's arrogance and his insinuations that jimmy dixon—" judge rochon held up his hand. “please be seated, mr. adams,” he said, not unkindly. “proceed, mr. touchard.” adams turned to look at the spectators, a stunned look on his face. then he sat down, folded his arms and stared at the floor, his forehead creased in a rageful frown. "miss dugas," said touchard, "if jimmy dixon is freed of the charges upon which he stands trial, where are you going to live?” "right where we've always lived, sir, in river bend. jimmy never made trouble in river bend. if he were one to make trouble, he would have made it long ago—but in river bend he is respected by both white and colored. jimmy is a peaceful man, mr. touchard. except when he is forced to defend himself against someone who is trying to take his life. and when our babies—" adams leaped up. “your honor, i object to this witness remain- ing on the stand! she was brought up here only to wring the hearts of the jurors! love affairs! marriage! do those terms apply to niggers? they meet a girl today, sleep with her a week, or a month, or a year, and the next year they're sleeping with somebody else. or the next day! marriage! how many niggers are there who actually get married? they've no more respect for marriage than they have for their jobs, the way things are getting to be. wanting to learn how to read and write—for what? to cut cane? to get into bed with another nigger the minute they're through with the last one? clean and decent! show me a single nigger who knows the meaning of such words and i'll—”. “they don't have to know the meaning of such words,” cut in touchard quietly. “they don't have to have a dictionary to define their rights to being human beings. all they need be is human beings, and they're just as much human as you are or i. but you need object no longer. the defense rests its case temporarily.” adams, taken aback, whispered to the clerk, who sang out, “daniel george will please take the stand.” "mr. george, before you were struck over the head by jimmy dixon that sunday night, did he act in a suspicious manner? if so, tell the jury about it.” "it was dark but i could see the nigger as i was nearing the gate. the nigger stopped and looked around. then he walked a few feet more, stopped and looked around a second time. then he got moving to a trot, turning his head from side to side.” “where were you when jimmy struck you on the head?” “just inside the gate.” “what did he say before he struck you?” “nothing." “then the defendant tried to kill you without provocation?" “yes.” “what did jimmy strike you with?” “the piece of pipe he held in his hand.” “thank you. that is all.” “mr. george," said touchard, “that sunday night in question passed into history as one of the darkest ever seen in these parts. many couldn't see more than five feet ahead. now, how could you i have seen the defendant walking and stopping so many times, even trotting, in such a short distance ?" “i saw the nigger." “offensive names are objectionable to people of good breeding. while i am questioning you, i demand respect for my client.” daniel stared contemptuously. "could you have been hiding somewhere waiting for the de- fendant to pass-in a clump of weeds, for instance?' "i was facing him.” “were you not hiding in a clump of weeds near the gate when you ordered the defendant to stop?” “no!” "mr. george, are you a christian?” "do i look like a jew?" “are you a member of the ku klux klan?" “yes." “what office do you hold in that mob—i mean organization?" daniel braced himself. “in the unconquerable fraternity of the ku klux klan, i am a kleagle.” touchard picked up the revolver. “for once your answer is truthful. the inscription here says you are a kleagle.” adams bounced up. “your honor, the court has already ruled that gun out!” "you just testified that you were struck by jimmy dixon just inside the gate. yet you were found cold about fifty feet from the entrance gate. hunh!" tapping a pencil against his cheek, touchard surveyed first the jury and then the spectators. “so the witness on the darkest night in twenty years, when a man couldn't even see his own hand when stretched before him, saw the defendant walk, stop, run in a dogtrot, stop, and finally come to where he was stand- ing! so, this witness, clubbed senseless and motionless, fell fifty feet away! i ask you, gentlemen ..." an outburst of laughter exploded among the river bend group and the judge rapped for order. touchard faced the judge. “your honor, i move a dismissal. the state has not proved its case. it has proved only a conspiracy on the part of the arresting authorities and the plantation owners to brow- beat and rob the defendant!" adams rose. “i object to a dismissal, your honor. the jury is here to decide.” "objection sustained. court's adjourned until one o'clock." aunt hannah nosed around the courtyard. she watched with interest a conversation between the white driver of the cane cart and a white man she had seen sitting in the courtroom. she strolled leisurely down the levee where the saint sophie and river bend group was sitting about on logs. when she got back to the courthouse grounds she was surprised to see that a tarpaulin had been thrown over the body stakes of the waiting cane cart. in the courtroom she saw daniel george staring scornfully at jimmy. “touchard didn't tell him enough about the klan," she said to antonia. “in the seventies and eighties the klan and its cousins, the knights of the white camelia, spread terror over this parish by yanking black men from their homes at night, tarring and feathering them, even whipping and killing some, because they dared to vote or tried to." she glanced at the clock on the wall. the session for the after- noon would soon begin. she surveyed the planters and the over- seers. “i don't see andrew ogden,” she said to antonia. “i don't see the bums that sat with him, either.” judge rochon took his seat. “are you lawyers ready for argu- ment?” "not yet,” said touchard. “tony eskind, please take the stand.” tony came forward. "mr. eskind, take this pistol. where have you seen it before?” “jimmy dixon handed it to me before his arrest.” “tell the court how jimmy dixon told you he came in pos- session of this revolver.” "jimmy told me he knocked it from the hand of daniel george with his knapsack when mister george was marching him back to the quarters the last sunday night in september.” "that is all." adams rose quickly. "where and when did you see the defendant the night he slipped from the cane?” “don't answer that question," said touchard. "your honor, my question is simple. i demand an answer!" “the witness will answer the question,” said the judge. tony looked at aunt hannah. "it was somewhere between the cane in which he had been hiding and my house." “what particular spot?”. "i don't remember." adams squinted his eyes. “you don't remember! why don't you remember?” “because i cannot recall the spot in which he was standing when i saw him." “your honor, this witness is perjuring himself!" “prove it, mr. adams, and the court will take proper action.” a frustrated look on his face, adams said, “that's all.” “go on with your argument, mr. adams, if you're ready.” adams faced the jury. “gentlemen of the jury, evidence has been produced by the white witnesses for the state to convince you that jimmy dixon is guilty. he is guilty of attacking a white man with intent to murder, guilty of fomenting an uprising against the white people on saint agnes plantation, guilty of slaying three dogs belonging to the people of this parish.” a door slammed by a sudden gush of the gulf wind. the audience stirred uneasily. adams continued, “he must be found guilty. not because he's a nigger—but being a nigger, he struck a white man! this in itself should draw the death penalty! the white man's superiority must be preserved at all costs. you can maintain it!" daniel cleared his throat, while jerry listened in silence. "my opponent has tried to discredit that humble band of chris- tian patriots that saved the white man's government in the seventies and eighties. he calls them by uncomplimentary names, but this jury must realize how the klansmen prevented the best blood on earth from being trampled under the shiny heels of vicious niggers!” adams walked away from the box. suddenly he turned and strutted back. "look at that boy there!" he pointed to jimmy. “look, and you'll see a threat to white civilization! you must remove that threat. you must do so because this nigger's color is not accidental but designed by an all-wise, all-seeing, all-knowing, all-just al- mighty as an eternal mark of inferiority, which cannot be improved by education–because it is a divine mark that is as abiding as the ages!” aunt hannah moved irritably. “thank god, we've done away with nigger-voting forever. yes, niggers have got rights, too—rights to live and work-but that does not license them to trample upon the rights of white people!" adams paused. his friends' bright faces pleased him. he took a long breath, then moved closer to the jury box. “jimmy dixon wasn't satisfied with trampling on the rights of his white employer, he had to lay his dirty black hands on a white man! men of the jury, that sort of thing could destroy our god-given heritage! for that alone you must find him guilty!" he placed both hands on the rail of the jury box and said in a low voice that was almost confidential, “if you free jimmy dixon you will precipitate the doom of civilization.” he straightened up and burst forth. “this case is only a spark of nigger violence! stamp it out before a flame of nigger atrocities breaks forth. vote guilty!" he flashed a look toward the audience, breathing hard. the planters were grinning and looking cheerful. again he faced the jury. “gentlemen, when you retire to your room don't forget white womanhood-your wives, your mothers, your daughters, your sis- ters, your sweethearts! then return to this room with the decision: 'we, the jury, find jimmy dixon guilty!'” clearing his throat repeatedly, the district attorney sat down. touchard rose slowly, taking a full minute to unfold his long limbs and torso. then he cracked the joints in his fingers and walked leisurely toward the jury box. on the way there he paused to sniff at the air around his head. “what's that smell?” he mumbled and went on to the jury box, saying, “must be the district attorney's argument." adams glared, while a titter arose from the river bend section which was quickly quieted by a few taps of the judge's gavel. several of the jurymen had started to smile, but all quickly realized their position and put their faces back straight again. "gentlemen of the jury," touchard began, “you are here con- fronted with a situation the like of which has never existed in this courtroom before. it is not a question of the people versus jimmy dixon, but it is a question of an intelligent black man versus the plantation interests! it is a question of a worker refusing to permit his wages to be swallowed up by the commissary system. “the district attorney would have you believe that civilization is at stake if you do justice in this case—that is, if you vote to clear jimmy dixon. but let me tell you, civilization would be at stake if you don't! for if the freedom of one man is denied unjustly, the freedom of all of us is in jeopardy, notwithstanding the race and complexion of the defendant! make no mistake about that! “now, neither white civilization nor white supremacy is the issue here, although civilization itself has taken a terrible walloping in this trial!” he turned to adams. "purity of the white race!” again he faced the jury. “it's a myth! the district attorney has used it as a shibboleth and it should carry no weight with this jury. "it is plain that the district attorney is in collusion with the planters to persecute my client. only two of the prosecuting wit- nesses have told the truth, sammy jones and zed grannison. you cannot convict the defendant on perjured testimony." he turned to face pierre. "white blood!” again he faced the jury box. “don't let mob phrases influence your verdict. if you do, you will be helping the swindling plantation system make an example of jimmy dixon!". a tall juryman hooked his shoe around the spittoon and dragged it closer. he spat a mouthful of brown juice into it, sat back again to listen. “yes, jimmy dixon killed the sheriff's dogs. he had a right to protect his life. yes, he clubbed daniel george on the head. "order! order!” shouted the judge. the disturbers crammed the aisles, while the river bend guards rushed toward jimmy. “throw those men out!” commanded the judge. “and don't let them in again!” the overseers stampeded toward the door. aunt hannah leaped to her feet. “henry! henry! keep that door bolted! don't let a single man out! look at the grins on their faces!” henry raised his rifle. the other guards rushed forward and pushed the men back into seats. still on her feet, aunt hannah was watching. when the aisles were cleared, she gave a long sigh and sank into her seat. judge rochon rose, a queer, baffled expression on his face. “old woman, i'm giving the orders here! if you were not such an old nigger, i'd hold you in contempt of court. now, you get out!” she got up slowly, a secret smile touching her lips. with great dignity she walked to the door, unbolted it and went outside. tony and plascide followed her. the judge sat in deep thought. finally, he sent an appealing glance at the sheriff. “to avoid any more disturbance, sheriff, get those overseers out of here!" quickly, the men started toward the aisles, but the guards pushed them back into their seats. the sheriff sent the judge a look, shrug- ging his shoulders. the frustrated judge turned a sickly yellow. he sat for a time in silence. finally, he nodded to adams. adams made the most of what had happened. here was a perfect example of nigger rule! nigger guards shoving white men around like they were niggers too! “men of this honorable jury, retire to your room and bring back a verdict of guilty!” the judge cleared his throat. “jurymen, attention! the evidence in this case is quite clear to me and should be to you. you must ignore the outbursts in this courtroom, especially that of the old woman. and—and this is important—where white men rule, peace is assured. retire to your room.” as the jurymen filed upstairs to their room, the judge instructed: the white driver turned toward the courthouse with the steady, cold fixity of an old marble statue in the park. as henry kicked the door, aunt hannah gave an uncontrollable start. then, yawning, as if half asleep, she sauntered slowly to the south end of the stone porch, took off her colored bandana and put on a white one. teboy, waiting on the levee, caught the signal. he rushed down the batture. aunt hannah leaned against the pillar of the porch. in a few minutes, a cartload of driftwood came rolling over a ramp south of the courthouse. over the levee and down the other side of the ramp, the cart rumbled to the public road, then turned sharply into the lane. "we, the jury,” began the scrawny, sharp-faced foreman, "find—” he came to a full stop when feet began to scuffle in the planter section. he turned to the judge. rochon, assuming a mask of sternness, glared over the heads below. all was still now. all eyes were bolted fast to this spare, black-suited figure. “we, the jury, find jimmy dixon”-he paused—“not guilty!" in the hush after the sigh that followed these words, a shot suddenly was fired in the planter section. at once, elbowing men and screaming women stampeded toward the exit, but were stopped by henry and four other guards who were at his side. “get back! get back!” yelled henry. “nobody ain't gonna leave this room!” guards moved up and down the aisles, searching for the pistol. “take your nigger-loving hands off of me!” snarled an overseer. “which shall it be, search you or club you?” asked the cajun. a guard came up with a pistol. he examined it. “it's a toy blank pistol!” he cried out. “it was a signal! a prearranged signal!” the district attorney made a furtive retreat to his office. rochon, with a harried look, sneaked off to his chambers. the sheriff followed. touchard, calmly, a broad smile creasing his hollow face, moved slowly along the jury box, shaking the hand of each man in turn. "i thank you,” he said simply. “you too, andrew!" “nigger, if this was only caddo parish!” jake's fist triggered forward. andrew fell to the ground and came up with both hands in the air. aunt hannah moved along with tony, watching the slightest movement of every captive. a smile came to her lips and flickered away. "tie 'em up!” ordered tony. “get back ’g’inst the wall!” commanded jake. hastily, the defiant men shuffled back to the courthouse wall. jake's cohorts surrounded them. two men moved toward the white cart driver with plowlines. tying him, they threw him into the cart. two others faced andrew. “don't touch me!” snarled the mob leader. jake tapped him lightly on the head. andrew slumped to the ground. "gather up their arms and throw 'em in our cart," said tony after all twelve of the mob had been tied and thrown into the cart. the saint sophie driver dumped his false load of wood to the ground, then mounted the saddle. teboy sat in the saddle of the white driver, while jake smith and six others climbed in beside the twelve bound prisoners. “drive to davant!" ordered tony after the rest of the men had climbed into the other cart. “then take the main cart lane and head for the swamps!" the drivers popped their whips. the two teams stretched their traces and the tranquil air was filled with the curses of wailing, frustrated men. "mount your horses!" commanded jerry. planters and overseers sped to the hitching posts. led by tillman, they galloped across the area toward the lane. “stop!” screamed daniel, waving his hands. “come back! your guns!” tillman whirled around, staring in blank dismay. suddenly, he said, “follow me!” he led them to the sheriff's arsenal. they dismounted and made for the back room, but were startled by the muzzles of ten resolute guards. "niggers again!" yelled tillman. “cajuns, too,” said daniel. “ah, they're all niggers,” said tillman in disgust. the teeth of the river bend guards gleamed in a delighted smile. the bluish gun barrels did not waver. a wind drifted up from the gulf and whispered hotly in the trees. somewhere a horse whinnied and a mockingbird broke into song. “niggers agan coid daniel.. tillman in disgust... delighted aunt hannah elbowed her way through the crowd and into the courtroom. the interior was almost deserted. where were they? catching her breath in a surge of suspicion and fear, she ran toward the judge's chambers. touchard emerged through a door. “where are they?" she cried. the lawyer's eyes lighted. “stop worrying, they're all right. go see for yourself.” he pointed to a stairway in a corner of the room. as aunt hannah approached she could hear antonia's soft voice: "j'en suis si heureuse, mon cher. oh! comme je t'adore!" aunt hannah paused. leave them alone? an immense smile came into her face. she saw antonia in a corner of the stairway nestled in the curve of jimmy's arm, his cheeks resting against her rich brown hair. "mon brave” "oooh! hein! c'est comme je pensais," broke in aunt hannah like a rooster crowing. “look here, you two, it's time you got married. et bientôt.” jimmy jerked away from antonia, a smile on his face as big as aunt hannah's. he hurried to aunt hannah and hugged her to him. "you sweet—" he began, and couldn't go on. a tear rolled down his cheek and he hugged her tighter. “oh, you are wonder- ful!” he whispered. “how can we thank you for all you have done for us?” "pooh, pooh,” said aunt hannah, beaming. “there's no other like you, tante hannah!” cried antonia. she crowded in, hugging aunt hannah as best she could with jimmy ahead of her. aunt hannah pulled away from both of them. she slipped a hand into her dress pocket and withdrew a small pocketbook. she took from it five twenty-dollar bills. “here," she said, trying to look severe, “is the hundred dollars you wanted so badly, jimmy.” jimmy's arms fell limply to his sides. “aunt hannah, i can't take your money. please—". “don't be silly—it ain't mine! all my life i haven't been able to save that much. here, take it, and stop looking like a lamb lost in the woods. it's from your friends in the bend extending you and antonia their best wishes. you wouldn't want to hurt their feelings, would you?” jimmy gazed at antonia, then back at aunt hannah. he took the money from her hand. “one hundred dollars," he said softly. “one hundred dollars! all this trouble over one hundred dollars.” he looked at antonia and began laughing as softly as he'd spoken. “one hundred dollars, sweetheart. how wonderful!" antonia was crying and couldn't answer. “will you two please stop being so childish?” exclaimed aunt hannah, looking exasperated. “father jones is outside—and the parish clerk is in his office.” “father jones?” said jimmy, turning to stare at antonia. "the parish clerk?” "that's what i said, jimmy!” aunt hannah got between jimmy and antonia and took their arms. she walked out of the courtroom with them, her chin up and her eyes wide open, as if daring anyone to stop her, as if saying, "make way, everybody-for love!” the river bend guards were still alerted. they stood in groups, their guns at rest, but their hands shifted uneasily along the polished barrels. when jimmy and the two women emerged from the court- how often, toward the fall of twilight, had he watched ducks flying over in just that way! memories were crowding inside him-of childhood, of eager youth, of war, of all that had happened since the day he'd demanded a fair accounting of his wages—days that were like years, days in which he had learned the real meaning of brotherhood and the full meaning of love. ... he awoke with a start, turned slowly and looked at the sleeping girl beside him. why hadn't he told her? he stared at her and began getting impatient. he hadn't told her because—well, what does a man do on his wedding night? talk about the future? "antonia, antonia,” he said, and began shaking her. “huh?” she woke up beautifully, her eyes wide and young, her lips open a little, beckoning. he kissed her passionately. “antonia, i must tell you—" he began. “shh,” she whispered. “just let me look, jimmy." “shh, yourself, mrs. dixon. i've got news for you, and don't smile. your man, your big strong man is—” he paused and kissed her again, gently. then he sat up and looked down at her, sternly. “pierre approved of it at once, little wife. i've got a job.” “a job?" “teaching." “teaching?" “a school-for grownups. not kids, honey. for grownups.” antonia closed her eyes and at once they were wet with tears. “thank god," she whispered. “a school, finally, in river bend- for people, too." “colored people, angel—from six to sixty, or more, if they wish to learn how to read.” "pierre really approved of it?” “and a lot of others here." antonia opened her eyes. she looked up at jimmy, and her lips curved outward. “jimmy,” she cried out abruptly, "love me love me, jimmy!” jimmy, smiling, sighed happily. uc-santa cruz | b e l e. b. d. e. . ll brary univer's ity of cat ifor nia six nta cruz Ży esanction of caw josh ua henry jones, j.r. by sanction of law by joshua henry jones, jr. mcgrath ‘publishing company college park, maryland reprint mcgrath publishing company reprinted from the copy at duke university library of congress catalog card number: - manufactured in the united states of america by arno press, inc., new york copyright, by b. j. brimmer company first printing, march, dedicated to my father and the man i revere and most deeply respect next to him, the honorable james m. curley, mayor of boston. books by mr. jones toems of the four seas, the heart of the world, and other poems • by sanction of law chapter i colonel park lauriston sat in the shadiest corner of the wide veranda ornamenting two sides of the magnifi- cently roomy, many-gabled, “big house” as it was still known by all the pensioners of this south carolina plan- tation, from the negro field hands to the tenantry and overseers. as he sat, sheltered beneath an enormous spread of white oak branches a soft near-spent gulf breeze bore up to the nostrils of this typically aristocratic south- erner the deliciously combined odors of flowering jas- mine, green bay and honeysuckle though it was almost the fag end of the summer season. it was to him like a breath from an oasis in the midst of a hot, sandy desert. the house stood at the rear of one of those old-fash- ioned gardens in which grew well-trimmed, dwarf cypress and juniper trees as well as many other specimens of shrubbery and trailing vines; planted and grown in artis- tic relation to their general appearance, and calculated to satisfy the eye for beauty whether it saw them from the big white sandy road on which it faced, or from the veran- da from which colonel lauriston now gazed and medi- tated. over all this the very house itself towered with a dignified aloofness as if to defy neighborliness with the traffic that passed its distant front gate. the day was one of those hot sultry mid-august times when nature seems parched and gasping. before colonel lauriston, on a tete-a-tete table, stood a glass of refresh- ing julep from which he sipped luxuriously languid swal- i by sanction of law lows at the same time slowly fanning himself with a wide palmetto leaf. the attitude, the slow, leisurely deliberate movements and the calm expression about the glinting yet kindly eyes of grey indicated that he was in a happy, complacent state of mind as if conscious of a duty done. and he was satisfied in spirit for he had just ridden in after a trip over the wide fields of his estate where blossoming cotton rows drooped and a veritable sea of silking corn swayed with languorous precision that almost caused one to drowse and dream hypnotically. this ride had been tor- rid beneath a still more torrid southern sun and colonel lauriston was now resting, glad to be beneath the shade and protected from the stifling heat that simmered up from a parching earth. the sun was not more than three hours from setting now and colonel lauriston studied the shadows, extend- ing from trees and shrubbery over the plush-soft lawn divided in weird twistings by a white gravel walk and driveway. from this contemplation his eyes roved to the little particles of light that filtered through the leaves of the great over-reaching oak. “drat it all,” he mused, “this heat is hellish. here it is, ‘lay-by' time and not a cooling breath stirring. wish 'twas time to go north with lyda—” before he could say more a delightfully musical voice called from within the house: “daddy, did you call?” colonel lauriston lifted his head deliberately to speak, by san ction of law changed his mind which refused to be distracted from its reveries, then sipped from his glass at the same time set- ting his fan in renewed motion. his meditative mood gripped him again. while busy with his thoughts his eyes lifted and his vision fixed itself on the distance across the field and along the ribbony road on which a vehicle of some sort could be seen approaching. the colonel’s eyes narrowed in effort to more clearly discern the object approaching. the pu- pils of his eyes also contracted, behind the lids, to beads of steel as the vehicle raised its trail of hot parched dust then he turned again to his fan and julep with: “old john can’t hide himself even in his dust.” the thought caused the colonel to chuckle with mirth at his joke till his spare frame shook him almost into an out- burst of laughter. “in a devil of a hurry, too, for this time of day,” he added as an after comment, still intent on the approach- ing dust cloud. he turned for a moment to his refresh- ment and when his eyes next took in the figure, man and vehicle were turning into the open gateway at the front of the lawn a quarter of a mile away and wheeling brisk- ly up toward the veranda. the team showed no slacken- ing of pace till buggy and passenger had rounded the curving approach and swung up to the hitching post under the tree whose patriarchal fifty-foot branches spread themselves about the front of the house and its veranda as if to guard and protect it from all the vicissitudes of weather whether winter storms or summer suns. by san ction of law this giant white oak was indeed a patriarch of the plantation. it was planted in colonial days by the found- er of the house of lauriston and encouraged to grow through succeeding generations till now it had become the most venerable and venerated bit of the estate except pos- sibly the dining room plate and furnishings. these also had been kept intact and handed down from head to head of each succeeding generation of lauristons. colonel lauriston was himself now almost as much a patriarch as was this oak and the “big house” itself. a tall, indian-straight, spare-limbed man beyond middle age, with aquiline features and the grace of kings in his every motion, thoughtful eyes and high well-formed fore- head set off by grey mustache and thinning hair. as the buggy, horse and man stopped, creaking, pant- ing and puffing at the post: “hello, john,” was the colonel's greeting. “fu-fu-fu-fu-tuh, hello park,” stammered the visitor. the two men had been neighbors and cronies since boy- hood with that comradeship that grows between friends of long standing. “aren’t you ’fraid you’ll leave some grease on the road traipsin' 'long at this rate, john? it’s no time for fat men like you to be fussing 'round country roads.” the colonel smiled broadly as he spoke. “fu-fu-fu-fu-tuh grease your grandad. ef youall fu- fu-fu-tuh had s-s-s-some o' my grease you'd fu-fu-fu-tuh have asthma,” retorted the visitor. “they’ll sure have to provide a new spring board in . by san ction of law hades when you jump off, john. your three hundred pounds 'll sure break the one they’re usin’ now,” twitted colonel lauriston. having no ready reply to that sally, old john marley good-naturedly joined in the laughter into which the colo- nel burst as he scored on the peculiarity of his boyhood chum and visitor. old john’s falstavian sides heaved like billows with each chuckle. the heft of john marley had been the source of joking between the two men for years, though good-naturedly. old john took both his bulk and the twitting of his friend philosophically. “light, john 'n come up,” offered the colonel hospit- ably, when the joking ended. old john started to ease his proportions which had seemed to spread themselves out over all the seat of the buggy, tilting the body on its springs in such a degree as to threaten overturning the vehicle. “look out! look out!” shouted colonel lauriston, “it’ll tilt over 'tother way on the flyback, if you don’t look out.” the prediction was false, however, for climbing out of this buggy was no new experience to old john. he finally accomplished the process, dragged his flacidity up the steps to the high veranda and swung over to the corner in which the colonel had been sitting, seated himself in a handy stout rustic oak rocker of home-made design, built for support rather than ornament and began fanning and puffing. colonel lauriston seated himself again before his drink and called: by sanction of law “lida | lida p’ the voice that had called to him when he first began to rest again echoed from within some recess of the house. “yes, daddy,” she responded. “bring another glass of mint, girl. company’s come,” colonel lauriston requested. the two men sat in silence for a few moments, old john marley puffing as he rocked back and forth and fanned to cool himself, colonel lauriston toying with his glass. as they waited the screened door was pushed quietly open and a tall girl, not yet fully entered into the first flush of womanhood, lithe and full of vibrant vitality appeared carrying a tray on which were two glasses of cool, tan- talizingly refreshing julep. she seemed a silver blond-haired goddess as she stepped across the threshold onto the veranda with a free swing indicative that she had not yet been spoiled by any affec- tations or vanities. she bore the tray like a hebe, her summer frock, neither tight fitting nor loose, clung to her form just enough to give emphasis to graceful proportions. the eyes of both men followed her fondly as she ap- proached and placed their glasses, removing that from which her father had been sipping. old john noted every motion with approving eyes, in- wardly commenting on the fact that she possessed her father’s eyes except that they were larger and more of the dreamy kind, with long lashes to match her hair. her hair hung down her back in one long full heavy braid as is the style of simple, unaffected girls brought up in an at- by san ction of law mosphere of simplicity. her face had the general con- tour of a greek statue and conscious of the fact that the elder man was studying her, her cheeks flushed to the deli- cate pink of a shell from the sea, from her forehead along her aquilinely aristocratic, sensitive nose to her well chis— eled chin. old john noted the coloring and added to her con- fusion by remarking: “d-d-d-don’t you fu-fu-fu-tuh mind me, lida. you're a right pert girl and your daddy's pride. i fu-fu-fu-tuh hope you'll be mine too, in a way, some day.” she could stand no more but hurried confusedly into the house where her blushing might not be seen. the two men watched the figure of the retreating girl in fond silence seemingly having forgotten their refreshments. old john was the first to speak. he slowly turned his head from the door through which the girl had vanished as if loath to lose the vision and half expecting that she would return, sipped then drank heartily. placing the half emptied glass on the table he turned to colonel lauriston. “fu-fu-fu-tuh i was fu-fu-fu-tuh thinking, park, that your girl would make a good match for my john. fu-fu- fu-tuh seeing's we’ve been fu-fu-fu-tuh friends and neigh- bors fu-fu-fu-tuh so long and our fu-fu-fu-tuh families been neighbors before us. it would fu-fu-fu-tuh be nice to have our fu-fu-fu-tuh acres joined that way. we'd fu-fu-tuh leave the pair mighty nigh, fu-fu-fu-tuh the whole of hebron county between us when we go. and it would by san ction of law fu-fu-fu-tuh sort o'ease my way over the fu-fu-fu-tuh line if i knew john had a wife like lida fu-fu-fu-tuh to watch out for him and raise his family. colonel lauriston remained silent several moments then asked: “how's john feel about it? — you know lida’s my only girl and i won’t force her to anything. her ma's not here to look after her and i’ve got to. i believe in letting her choose for herself when the time comes but i’m not any too durned anxious to see her go from me even to your son john. besides, it’s no use doing her courting for her; and i don’t believe john’ll take well to us old codgers meddlin’ either. we're a pair of old doddering fools to think of it. you know colts have got to have their heads a little or they don’t break well to harness.” “i fu-fu-fu-tuh, i’ve fu-fu-tuh talked with john and got his slant. he likes the girl purty well. fu-fu-tuh give them a chance to fu-fu-fu-tuh be fu-fu-fu-tuh together some and you’ll fu-fu-fu-tuh have another son and i’ll fu-fu-fu-tuh have a daughter. it won’t fu-fu-fu-tuh take two healthy young people like john and lida long fu-fu- fu-tuh to be holdin’ hands and lookin’ calf eyes at each other if they fu-fu-fu-tuh run together a little. you've fu-fu-fu-tuh held the girl too fu-tuh much to herself. fu- fu-fu-fu-tuh give her some company. fu-fu-tuh give her company.” “yes,” colonel lauriston's eyes narrowed as he spoke. “you mean give her john's company. well, i don't mind telling you. i don't hanker after your land. it's made by sanction of law you too durned much like a—a—a—a—,” here colonel lauriston became lost for a fitting adjective with which to describe the mass of fatty flesh before him. “i’ve got enough for lida and her bub, elvin and as for company, she’s going to have that for i’m leaving next week for the north where lida’s to have a year at school and see some of the world and have company. your john’s a likely enough boy but he’ll have to take his chances with the test. “my elvin's finished off his schooling up there and it’s done him a mighty sight o' good. he comes home this fall and lida goes for her chance. when she gets back if john's willin’ he can pop like any other man — same's you and i did, and take his answer. but as for me joining hands and plotting with you for that event, i tell you there’s too many chances o' his bein’ an old porpoise like you when he ages for me to go yelling for him to be my son-in-law. we’ve been good friends john — and good neighbors but man, durned if i want any of your fat on my hands.” old john began to stammer a reply but before he could frame the words from around the corner of the house there came screams and shouts of a woman in raving mad- ness and anger. “let me go, you rascals! let me go! don't you dare touch me. i will see him. where's the old varmint? where's he – where’s he?—” her screams became unin- telligibly hysterical as she swept into view, two of the by san ction of law screaming to the servants to grab the whip. at her shout and the sight of the blow the two employees caught the whip and held it. mrs. gorton's fury seemed to change then and she railed like an infuriated witch. “you’ll drive me off my place, will you? —” she raged. “after all these years. park lauriston you’re vile — you’re rotten — you-you-you dog! after all i’ve done for you — after all i’ve been to you since your wife, the mother of that girl, died. now when i’m getting old and no longer useful you’ll put me off your place, will you? the day'll come when you’ll be sorry — the sorriest man possible. you, with your pride of family. you’ll be sorry park lauriston. there's justice for every wrong. this may be my punishment but neither the blood of the carterets, nor the beauforts of which you boast will save you. my day will come and from this time on i — i — curse you and your family.” her hysteria seemed to subside with the imprecation pronounced in this most dramatic way, her hands up- lifted and her face toward the skies. her whitening hair, straggly and fallen in disarray, added to the weirdness and solemnity of the curse. as she lowered her head and turned away her hysteria changed to tears. lida was clinging to her father protectingly, wide-eyed in wonder and trying to understand it all, her face toward the woman on whom she had always looked as a godmother but who was suddenly turned her enemy, fearing the imprecations and yet preserving a haughty pose. “yes,” continued the woman addressing her words to ii by sanction of law lida. “stand there in your pride and protect him. you don’t know him and it’s a good thing you don't.” her anger rose again and she waved her hand as if to take in the whole sweep of the plantation. “you’re all cursed,” she shouted. “your whole house is cursed and i’ll live to see the day when ruin will stalk in your midst and you’ll regret this day and doings. the whole brood of lauristons is cursed.” colonel lauriston had caught his daughter in his arm protectingly now as they stood listening to the woman’s ravings. when she ceased and turned away, lida began to weep silently, depressed by the maledictions. colonel lauriston led her gently back into the house, the girl shuddering and asking between her sobs: “what does she mean, daddy? what does she mean?” some of us reach maturity out of youth so gradually as to make the change unnoticeable; others bridge the gap in a night or a day while others are made men and women in an instant, by some great catastrophe or incident that sees us children one moment and adults the next. we face some great issue in life and the facing it makes over our natures and we become men and women. with the scene through which lida lauriston was just living she was leaving her youth and insouciance behind her. life was gripping her in its whirl. she seemed to sense the change yet could not fathom it. when her question remained unanswered, between her sobs as she clung to the arms that enfolded her, she asked again: i by sanction of law “daddy, what did she mean? she-she-she was so hor- rid.” convulsive sobs were causing her body to shudder as the tears flowed again. “never mind, child,” colonel lauriston comforted. “we'll be leaving for the north next week and be out of her way. she can’t harm you anyway. she meant noth- ing. i just put her out of the crossroads house today and she's mad.” the scene was exceedingly painful to the three remain- ing on the veranda after the woman had departed followed by the servants. colonel lauriston's face was frightfully distorted with spasms of passion surging through him as well as the miserable, shuddering and hysterically weeping lida as she half reclined in his arms. the situation was also painful for old john marley; so intensely painful that when the ragings ceased with the maledictions and father turned toward the door with his daughter, old john waddled toward the steps without at- tempt at adieus. he turned only long enough as he was about to descend to his buggy, to see colonel lauriston half leading, half supporting the almost swooning girl into the house at the same time saying: “never mind, child — there now — never mind — dont cry any more. i’ll take you right away and you’ll soon forget the tauntings of the old woman. don’t you go and mind what sally said.” “but daddy, she str-str-struck you,” lida sobbed in an- other outburst. “and-and-and-said such horrid things.” colonel lauriston resorted to the pet name he had given i by sanction of law his daughter when but little more than an infant so deeply was he moved to console the girl. “never mind, nubbins — never mind, honey — forget her—we'll get ready and go north as soon as possible.” he knew this was the one thing his daughter had set her heart on and had been planning for as well as dreaming of for some time and this appealed to him as the suggestion that might most easily cause her to forget the present un- fortunate affair. “we’ll get away the first of the week and then you’ll forget. the winds up there'll bring back the calm to your soul and the color to your cheeks.” as he spoke he stroked the silver blond head that lay on his shoulder till the convulsive sobs grew fewer and fewer and finally quiet gripped lida again. colonel lauriston and his family differed much from most of those most noted in south carolina largely be- cause of the long line of illustrious ancestors through which the name had run from colonial times to the present. be- cause of the boast of lineage in which blood was mingled that of huguenots from the carterets, the oglethorpes, cordovas and the middletons, the family was one of the most exclusive in the state and only after the war of the states when the whole social fabric of the south was de- stroyed did the blood of less illustrious persons enter into the strain. in keeping with that background, colonel lauriston had insisted that his family preserve the purity of diction that would mark it from the remainder of the natives, hence neither he nor any of his household had al- lowed themselves to be affected by the nasal drawl so char- i . by san ction of law acteristic of the south. not only did colonel lauriston scrupulously study himself to avoid this but he sought by education and the training of his children to prevent them from musically gliding over their words. to make sure that they remained untouched by the habit adopted all about them he had his children educated by correctly speaking tutors and instructors, surrounded them with persons who spoke only the purest language and sent them to schools in the north to secure their education. it was in keeping with this custom of his that he had planned for his daughter, lida, to have a year in the north at some finishing school before she should assume her place at the head of his domestic household, taking the place of his wife who had died when lida was but a child. i chapter ii market square, in that northern city to which colonel lauriston had brought his daughter for her year of polish and cultural finish was a busy mart on this delightful au- gust morning when they arrived. the change from the stifling heat of the south to the entrancingly cooling blue new england sky and sunshine had already worked ad- ditional wonders in the cheeks and eyes of this flower of the carolinas. the former were delicately pink tinted and the latter wider opened at the sights unfolding to her in this new world; sights new to her but so common to this staid old university city that they passed unnoted and ignored. to lida, however, whose horizon up to this time had been bound by vast fields of growing cotton, corn and wheat, broken here and there by forests of oak and tall pines this was a veritable fairy land from which she could see the wide blue bay with ships coming and going, tugs busily puffing away with their monstrous loads at their sides or trailing along behind, the tugs seeming like and reminding her of ants about her own home who tackled and carted away loads many times larger than their seem- ingly frail bodies and who, for their strength had always been a source of wonder and marvel to the girl. she was also reminded, as she watched the small tugs with their buffers of plaited rope at their bows steam up to some giant craft, of pictures of buffalos she had seen, with bushily lowered heads charging across the plains. i by sanction of law “look, daddy, aren’t they wonderful? it doesn’t seem as if they could pull those monstrous ships. how can they do it?” as she stood watching one of these little ants of the sea swing a ship of leviathan-like proportions from her slip, and point her down the bay, musical laughter of girl- ish delight rippled from her throat. even colonel lauris- ton caught the spirit of his daughter and smiled happily as he enjoyed her chatter and comment, pleased that she was delighted and that he had been able to provide such joy for her. at her laughter also, even the matter-of-fact old new englanders to whom such a sight was so common as to be beneath their notice paused, looked at the girl in her frank pleasure, then stopped also to enjoy the scene as if viewing it for the first time. colonel lauriston stood for a few moments allowing lida to take in the scenes that moved in panorama before her ere warning her that they had to finish their journey. as she stood gazing, entranced, down the harbor toward the sea, colonel lauriston, loathed to break the spell that held the girl, finally drew forth his watch and reminded her: “come, lida, child, we must be going.” “oh, daddy, this is a wonderful place. i know i shall love it!” she exclaimed enthusiastically. without answering, colonel lauriston aided her into the taxicab that had been summoned when they alighted from the conveyance by which they had come from the train to the square. he gave the address of their destina- tion to the driver, then settled back, glad to see his daugh- ter in such a happy mood. he had determined to place by san ction of law her in one of the most fashionable finishing institutions in new england, miss gregory’s school for girls, noted all over the country for the careful training and the standing given it among select schools, largely because of its prox- imity to one of the larger universities of the east, in the shadow of whose greatness this girls’ school basked. nestling among the elms for which the city was fa- mous, on a prominence around which the wealth and aris- tocracy of the city was grouped, the main building of miss gregory's school sat fronting a well kept lawn, the elms and lawn combining to create the picture of some mon- astery of heavy stone masonry. this structure had once been the home of an eccentric millionaire who toiled to accumulate, then erected this mausoleum in which he planned to pass his declining days overlooking the city below and amusing himself counting the passing small craft on the seekonk river which passed the rear of his wide garden. when the mansion was built it was then the fashion of new england aristocracy to acquire immense acres of land, build imposing structures on some prominent and well chosen part of it, fence in the entire plot with a high stone wall and make a fairy garden out of a portion of the en- closed land in the rear of the house, while utilizing the other part for garden purposes. such had been the history of the ground now occupied by miss gregory's school. the entire plot covered some twelve acres with this three- storied cupola-studded castle-like building, now ivy over- run standing as a bar to entrance if viewed from the front; i by sanction of law and like a monarch counting his fields if viewed from the distant rear. running vines covered most of the stone wall, save at the corners where parapets like outposts were built. in former years, as the cherry and pear trees ripe with tempting fruit stretched their tantalizing branches over the wall, every passing school boy on his way to swim cast longing eyes, but the height of the wall prevented any yielding to temptation. also in the spring the garden seemed a veritable sanctuary for migratory birds who rev- el in the freedom of the place and its security as every breeze wafted to the street odors from blossoming flowers and trees. gradually as the city grew to and beyond the estate those who lived on the opposite sides of the streets bor- dering it were treated to the beauty within, their upper windows allowing clear view of the entire place. the flowers and the gardens were still a feature as were also the birds in spring, but where there was other- wise silence and quiet now that miss gregory’s school occupied the place, in the springtime and summer where bird songs once charmed and tempted the passerby to pause and listen, now there was the merry laughter of girls at fun. where once the cherries and pears tempted passing boys now these were plucked from within by dar- ing hoydenish girls, who once in a while in their daring peered over the wall at the passing city from their perches in the overhanging branches or sometimes dared discre- tion and the wrath of some instructor or governess to toss i by sanction of law fruit to passing youth in a spirit of flirtation and in their exuberance of youthful spirit. when once the fruit was thrown there would be a bashful half-smothered scream and the youth would look up just in time to see a face quickly disappear. it was to this school on brook street, that colonel lau- riston brought his daughter after having carefully studied the catalogues of more than half a hundred institutions which offered to do for her what his ambitions had planned. the carriage drew up to the walk leading to the heavily carved, brass-knockered door and the two stepped to the street. a bevy of eager curious-eyed faces watched the colonel and his daughter pass their luggage to at- tendants and then walk to the door. the school was just in the midst of fall opening and older students were watching for the return of friends and the incoming of new pupils. as father and daughter reached the door it swung wide to welcome them and they were soon seated in a large high vaulted reception room while the servant sought miss gregory. arrangements for the year were soon completed and lida enrolled as a pupil. having installed lida in the care of miss gregory and satisfied himself that she would be well protected, colonel lauriston departed. miss gregory, a small, calm, moth- erly-faced woman whose hair was but just tinging grey, whose popularity with her girl proteges was due to the sympathetic heart she possessed and the tactful way she had of persuading the girls to conduct themselves as she o by sanction of law wished, formed a liking for lida from the first meeting. the pupil from the south seemed so fresh and new to the great world into which she had come that her very shyness drew the sympathy of the educator and the two uncon- sciously became friends though friendship was unpro- fessed till later circumstances brought them together more intimately. lida was miserably lonesome at the departure of her father but as is the way with youth in good health these pangs were forgotten in the excitement of surroundings and new acquaintances except at night upon retiring and upon awakening. then tears would come to her eyes de- spite her efforts at repression. at such times the world became utterly desolate till after she had been at the school a week miss gregory chanced to be passing her room and thinking the girl asleep touched her cheek with a caressing hand to find it moist. without a word she bent over the girl and kissed the tear spot tenderly. impulsively lida clasped her arms around the woman’s neck and wept till her grief was spent while miss gregory soothed her nerves with cheering whispers. this experience cemented the friendship be- tween the girl and woman more closely. “never mind, child,” miss gregory whispered. “go to sleep. in the morning there’ll be mail for you and you’ll be happy.” as she spoke a great maltese cat, which had followed his mistress as was its custom, climbed to the girl's arms and began to purr softly, at the same time rubbing. its i by san ction of law nose against lida's hand in a friendly way. “there, now!” whispered miss gregory. “you’re sure- ly one of the family. see! mopsie has adopted you and he’s very particular as to his friendships. there aren’t five girls in the school with whom he's on such friendly terms as he is with you at this moment.” involuntarily the girl’s hand moved over the fur of the cat's back and smiles replaced the tears. the cat, as if to prove his entire friendliness turned then lay down con- tentedly on lida’s arm to sleep under the stroking of the girl’s hand. “well, i never!” exclaimed miss gregory. “i’ll soon be jealous of you, miss lauriston. mopsie never sleeps in any arm but mine.” with that she kissed the girl tenderly on the cheek again. lida held the hand to her cheek as she replied: “i love you. you're kind and your kiss was just like my mother's used to be.” “you poor child!” was all miss gregory could say, though her heart was full of tenderness. “what you need is loving — and you’ll have it.” as she spoke a flood of full harvest moonlight filled the room, enveloping the three, it seemed a place of enchant- ment and in this enchantment lida soon slumbered her lonesomeness forgotten while the elderly woman’s thoughts retraced the years to the time when she was a girl at school, her mind as flooded with the memories as the room was of moonlight. as the girl slept she tiptoed gently from the room back to her own apartment where she sat by sanction of law for many minutes gazing out of her window into the soft silvery-dewed night while memory conjured up romance after romance of other days. miss gregory's predictions of letters for the following morning were true for when lida awoke with the sun, re- freshed as if out of a very pleasant dream, two letters on her dressing table attracted her. with a bound of glad- someness and pleased exclamations she was out of her bed and kissing the envelopes in an abandonment of joy as she noted that both were from her father. feverishly she opened both before reading either. one told of his arrival in new york and of his meeting with old friends whom he had not seen for years and the other mere per- sonal, telling of his loneliness for her and his solicitation for her ease and health. it was truly a paternal letter, full of tenderness and cheer. also was enclosed a check for spending money. miss gregory was waiting in the doorway of her apart- ment as lida started down the hall toward the stairway leading to the dining room when the summons for break- fast came. the former was wondering how the girl would act toward her after a night's rest; whether the experience of the evening had impressed the girl as it had her. im- pulsively as lida espied the matron she rushed to her and threw her arms about the woman in a girlish embrace. involuntarily miss gregory gently placed the girl's head on her shoulder where it rested for a moment then the two started down the stairway together, lida telling of her letters and the check. by sanction of law “i suppose you’d like to make a shopping trip after breakfast,” was her smiling comment. “i’d love to,” was the enthusiastic reply. “very well, we’ll organize a party and i’ll chaperone you.” in the dining room the plan was announced and the invitation extended to any of the girls who wished to ac- company them. breakfast was replete with chatter rela- tive to the tour and when the meal ended there were sev- eral who expressed a wish to go. the group started and by a ten minute walk down the hill on which the univer- sity stood they were in the shopping district and soon ab- sorbed in their tour. with the party was a girl who had been three years at the school, louise comstock, whose room was opposite that of lida’s and who because of being neighbors with the girl had been her most intimate companion about the school. these two made but small purchases on the trip and soon wearied of walking from store to store. both she and lida wished to return to the school or to simply walk about the streets down town. the others in the party, however, demurred, and after some debate it was decided by miss gregory that miss comstock and lida should return to their rooms, the older girl being in charge of the newer. the groups then separated at the arcade, the two retrac- ing their steps while the remainder of the party continued their shopping. lida and miss comstock had reached market square and were chattering in delightfully girlish by san ction of law unmindfulness, greeting other passing and repassing groups of girls bent on similar errands. from time to time parties met and collected here and there obstructing the sidewalk and overflowing into the street busy in their world of youth and education, hailing and greeting each other, waving hands and smilingly exchanging introduc- tions oblivious to all except their little worlds. youth is all self center whether it is boy or girl youth and particular- ly college or higher school youth. the scene was merry with a merriness that was in- fectious. even staid business men were forced to smile patiently as youthful femininity elbowed them off the side- walks and into the street in blissful thoughtlessness; others, accustomed to all this and similar scenes year after year paused in their peregrinations to recall days when they were equally full of vibrant life, health and optimism. the square was filled with happiness and smiles. even the blue-coated police who seemed unusually numerous in the square seemed happy. - also the blue, undulating bay seemed to smile in the sunlight; to smile back to rows of hucksters whose teams flanked the bridge at the right and who hawked their wares to the passerby with varying tones and syllables that added to the crescendo of vocal utterances to be heard. as the two girls started across the square for the climb up the hill to the school, from their left and around a corner from the direction of the railway station came the sound of band music and the tread of marching feet. chapter iii youth always dislikes to miss any entertainment, even such minor amusement as a small parade, being able to extract excitement from the dullest of marching bodies. lida and her companion were no exception. at the sound of the music one clutched the arm of the other as the two paused. “oh, listen,” cried the older girl. “a band! — some parade. oh, goody! we’ll see some fun. that’s ripping! we'll have something to tell the other girls.” lida’s heart was full of expectancy also. there are few parades in the country and none with martial music, particularly in the south. for this reason, though she had witnessed some parades, on circus days when she had gone to lexington, near her home for a visit, the music of this band was so lively and the occasion to unique in her life that she was almost in an hysterically excited state. the two girls stood arm in arm, listening in eagerness while the noise of the parade approached but was as yet unseen, around a further corner of the square. as they stood, a band behind a large american flag, came into view. accompanying this flag was another emblem of the or- ganization of street car men. a banner announced that they were on strike and were parading to their hall for a meeting. on they came, into the square till the entire body, some five hundred of them were in view. as the head of the procession reached the square proper they were met by a by san ction of law as they struggled a cobblestone swirled over lida's shoulder and crashed against the skull of a citizen who im- mediately lost consciousness and slumped, though the com- pactness of the crowd about him prevented his body for a moment or so from falling to the paving where it was later trampled into an unrecognizable mass. both girls now began screaming as the horror of their predicament grew. in the midst of the confusion, just as lida was losing control of her senses and becoming entirely mad she was conscious of a strong voice over her shoulder. “i’ll protect you, ladies,” it said. “don’t get nervous. don’t get nervous. steady now! steady!” there was something so commanding about the voice; something so vibrant, confident and reassuring that lida’s courage which had been forsaking her began to return. she tried to see who was behind her but failed. the soothing positiveness of the assertions she heard was re- storing to her a calmness that a few moments before she was ready to believe was impossible. her companion, however, was still screaming and battling. before she could collect her senses further the voice commanded, still in that vibrant calm assured tone: “turn about now. turn till you face me.” the voice seemed now to be having the same effect on miss comstock as it had on lida for she ceased to scream. both girls, with every sway and twist of the crowd wrenched their bodies till they were turned in the direc- tion they had been commanded to take. with each give and surge of the crowd they gained more freedom of move- by san ction of law ment. when turned completely about they clung to each other desperately and looked for the face of their rescuer. his back was now turned to them but he talked to them over his shoulder. “now catch my coat and cling for life. don’t let go for anything, and keep behind me,” he shouted. the girls battled till they were pressed closely against his back; so closely that they breathed with difficulty. he waited till he felt the clutch at his coat and the clinging arm about his waist. tall of shoulders and ruggedly set up he was almost complete protection for the girls on their front. as they clung frantically to him he started to make a path through the fighting mass. fists were flying and blows were aimed in promiscuous as well as disinterestedly generous profusion at the head of the young man who acted as their protector. lida was self-possessed enough by now, thanks to the healthy outdoor life to which she had been bred that her nervousness was leaving her. they moved toward the outer edge of the crowd with slow, disputed steps. lida looked up at her protector and marvelled at the coolness with which he fought for them; how he parried blows aimed for him and through it all waded toward the rim of the mass and safety. twice his head was tilted back by the blows which were rained on him. once lida felt his progress halted and his body tremble. she thought he was about to sink and inwardly uttered a prayer for strength for him. his dark almost curly hair, which fell about his face was shaken by sanction of law back from his brow again and again by blows. being taller than most of those about him he was a target for almost every other fighting man. police clubs swung at him at the salme time that fist blows came his way. he parried them all with the deftness of a ring master but never faltered in his advance toward the safety zone. once a giant fist landed a bone-cracking blow against his chin and his head sank to his breast for an instant but was raised again. the blow bruised the flesh and blood flowed freely in a slow stream from the open wound. he shook his head and lida felt a drop of the warm fluid on her cheek. it was a disagreeable sensation but she dare not release her grip to remove it and in an instant forgot it. at that moment she was conscious of more freedom of movement and realized that they were almost free. a few steps more and what had seemed hours but had really been but a few minutes ended; they were approaching the wall of a tall building. willing hands, at the outer edge of the mass reached for them and pulled them free. as she became aware of this a heavy stone came hurtling through the air from the midst of the mass and straight for the man rescuing them. she shrank herself and tried to shout a warning but could utter no syllable. she heard the crash of the stone for she had closed her eyes from the sight, and felt the body of the man weaken. she pressed him more tightly about the waist as if to hold him in sup- port. he faltered an instant. the pressure of her arm seemed to revive him. he struggled on. a moment more and they were safe. the girls still clung to him, however. by san ction of law without a word he rushed them along the side of the build- ing to which they had come and to a drug store on a further corner, through the rear entrance of that and again into the street but beyond the riot zone. as they emerged from the store a taxicab was passing. the driver was seeking safety, fearing the mob would soon turn that way. without preliminaries the young man halted the cab, opened the door, hurried the girls into it, shouting: “east side! — east side! quick!” the driver pulled his levers and drove rapidly up the hill past the university and toward the vicinity of miss gregory’s school. the girls were still in such a frantic state of hysteria, though subdued, that when the cab halted they feared another assault. asked where they wished to be driven, lida who was the more composed of the two decided they would walk, having seen the school cupola a few streets away. their rescuer started to ac- company them but they demurred. miss comstock, who had been weeping silently regained self control as they walked away. the driver realizing that the young man was in need of medical attention turned on the power and hurried to find a physician. the simple life of the southern country girl had given her a constitution to which “nerves” were unknown. due to this she was the more composed of the two girls, the less shaken as they started down the street to the school en- trance. miss comstock seemed to sense this strength and clung shiveringly to lida’s arm. the latter was the first to speak. “wasn’t it awful?” she commented, half mus- i by sanction of law ingly. her companion shuddered and clung to the arm she had grasped. “a street fight.” lida continued, her mind retracing the events. “i wonder what it was all about? — i surely thought we’d be killed — and we would have had it not been for him — oh!” she cried, standing still at the new thought that intruded. “oh! we didn’t get his name. — how rude! — and he was hurt too.” then turning to miss comstock. “did you see how his head was bleeding. poor man. he must be frightfully hurt.” she suddenly pictured again the flying stone as it crashed against their rescuer’s head. her heart filled with stifling pain. she too began to weep as she recalled their struggle to reach safety and the risk this unknown man had run to save them, hysterical reaction forcing the tears and sobs. “i shall love him all my life — love him and no other man.” she vowed amid her tears. miss comstock, who was now regaining her composure proved consoling as she offered: “he certainly was brave to risk his life for us in that mob. — did you see his face? —such deep brown eyes — such a smile — and such cour- age! — i wonder who he is! his face seemed familiar.” “poor man! we were a pair of selfish sillies not to think of getting his name so we could thank him. thanks would be such small pay, though, for what he did for us. it's perhaps better that we don’t thank him.” “i wonder if he was badly hurt?” miss comstock asked sorrowfully. by san ction of law “badly hurt. poor — poor man! he's k-k-killed” lida sobbed sympathetically as she thought of and analyzed the struggle, recalling the blows she knew struck his head and shoulders. “i hate mobs!” she exclaimed vehemently. “mobs are such brutal things. why do men fight and kill anyway?” miss comstock looked at her companion. “why, i thought you people in the south were used to mobs” she said. “oh, they don’t count. only niggers get hurt in them. besides my folks don’t indulge in those things. southern mobs are composed of the poor, the rough and the people new to the country. the better class whites are above that sort of thing. i hate those mobs too, she added. a mob’s a mob and savage at the heart whether south or north, in america or timbuctoo.” the girls had now reached the school and were soon detailing the story of their experiences, to the teachers and girls who gathered about them, having noted the disarray of their clothing. lida’s hat had been entirely lost and her hair tumbled about her face, her waist and skirt almost in ribbons and miss comstock in almost the same condi- tion. they were still in the midst of their recital which had been freely interspersed with spasms of weeping as they recalled frightful portions of their experiences. they talked alternately, at the same time and sometimes with a half dozen chattering at once but all being understood by sanction of law when miss gregory and the others who had made the trip burst in on them. “oh, my girls!” she exploded as she gathered them both weepingly in her arms, “i’m so relieved — so relieved.” with this she kissed them both in her excess of emotion as she held them. “i’m so glad you reached home. i was afraid you had been caught in that mob down street and either hurt or killed. we just missed being caught in it ourselves and saw ambulances rushing wounded to hospitals and stations. wasn't it awful? — such fighting i never saw. there was no regard for women and chil- dren or anything else. i’m so glad you escaped and were not in it.” “oh, but they were,” one of the girls answered. “they had the thrillingest experience imaginable. even to being rescued by a handsome hero. i envy them.” at this everybody burst into laughter thus banishing another ap- proaching storm of weeping. “they were just telling us about it when you returned.” the speaker continued. “what?” exclaimed miss gregory, as she held each girl off at arm’s length and inspected them, fear in her heart again. “were you hurt? were you hurt,” she asked frantically anxious. “oh, why did i let you leave us!— why did i?— think what might have happened!” “oh, but we’re all right now,” lida volunteered. “–a little shaken but that’s all.” at this miss gregory became authoritative again. “get right to your rooms, girls” she commanded to those who had been grouped about lida and miss comstock. “right chapter iv truman bennet was so weakened from loss of blood and dizziness due to the last blow he had received before he rushed the girls to safety that he feared he would faint while they were in the cab with him. it was only exercise of the giant will within him that he held control of himself till the girls had left him. had he not been afraid of distressing them with his wounds he would not have allowed them to quit the carriage till safely at their homes. as it was when they turned from him, as he watched them down the street, he smiled weakly for an instant then the world blackened and his eyes became sightless while his body slumped to the street, his knees crumpling under him. he knew not how long he had remained unconscious. it seemed eternities, suddenly he opened his eyes again and reached his hands to his head as if to ease the pain just above his ear. he felt the soft blood-matted sticky wound and remembered again. he struggled to his feet but slumped again, this time barely being conscious of the face of the cab driver looking back at him. when he regained consciousness again he was on the operating table in the relief station to which he had been rushed by the cab driver and was being bandaged as a kindly doctor who had heard the cab driver’s story was saying: “young man, you came very near to being a dead hero at this time. you’d better thank your lucky stars you have been getting your football training at the university. by san ction of law almost any other man would have been dead. i suppose the picture of that pretty face you rescued kept you up.– now the romance begins.” truman continued to follow the movements of the phy- sician but only half consciously, not yet realizing that it was dr. bayard tansey, physical director of the uni- versity who was speaking. dr. tansey continued to talk smilingly. “you, i’m talk- ing to. look at me with those brown eyes. i suppose you only see the face of a pretty girl now. all men are like that. go daffy for a pretty face then wake up after they married. – you’ll do the same as the rest, if i get you well. guess i’ll let you die. — no, on second thought, if you die you won’t know what i know about women and every man ought to know at least as much. — besides they need you on the football squad yet awhile.” he was just about to be puzzled at the still silent gazing eyes and to wonder if there was not a blood clot on the brain which paralyzed his patient’s senses when a film which seemed to envelop truman’s head faded away and intelligence ca . dr. tansey noted the change. “ah, i thought i’d bring you to after awhile. you had a narrow squawk, boy. here taste this.” he held a medicine dropper to the patient’s lips. the pungent fluid cleared away all the mental clouds and truman tried to rise. “steady, now. not so fast.” dr. tansey stepped to the table and gently pressed bennet back to his reclining posi- by sanction of law tion as he spoke. “you mustn't do that,” he continued. “you’ll spoil all my plans for you.” bennet again essayed to rise, the effect of the drops administered to him now having fully cleared his brain. with the attempt, however, he felt a stinging pain in his head, lifted his hand to ease it and slowly pulled it away as he touched the huge bandages in which his head was swathed. “what’s the matter, doctor?” he asked. “nothing, only i’ve just saved st. peter the disagreeable task of kicking a perfectly good athlete out of heaven and preserved real promising football material from a burning.” “yes, i know all that rot but what am i doing here? and where's the girl — where's the mob — who hit me with that brick?” “ah,” exclaimed the doctor. “i know you’re better now. you’re a poor hero, even if you did do a good job in rescuing two pretty girls out of a pretty mess.” “two girls! — two girls! — why, i only saw one.” bennet answered his brain now flashing back pictures of the mob and the struggle. “all the same — two or one — what does it matter?” the doctor replied shaking his head in a whimsical man- ner. “you’re a lost child now bennet. you saw beauty in distress, looked into her soulful eyes — and yielded to circe's power — plunged into a fight that was none of your affair, – got your head cracked — and you’ll be loony by san ction of law for the remainder of your life. all for a girl — a skirt — a woman with large blue dreamy eyes.— “oh, don’t deny it,” he continued as bennet raised a hand to protest and defend the girl, though still weak from the battle, the loss of blood and the operation. “- i got it all from your ravings while under the anaesthetic and i was operating, and from your cabby. boy! your constitu- tion’s iron, i guess. you raved like a mad one over the girl.” “by jove, doctor tansey, she was worth all the risk. you ought have seen her. — a hebe — a juno — a min- erva – a – a – a – goddess. that’s it doctor, a god- dess.” bennet's eyes sparkled as he pictured the girl in his mind. dr. tansey, the idol of the football team, in fact of all the athletes at the university, burst into loud laughter at this. beneath his exterior of sarcasm and raillery all those who came in contact with him at the emergency hospital knew he was a man of sympathy for youth, particularly youth suffering from injury. he adopted this attitude to- ward those young men who came to him from the football, baseball, track field or the gymnasium on the hill with their injuries in order to test their sincerity, their vitality and their spunk. at the outburst of bennet's he was pleased for he knew that the vitality of this young swarthy giant of manhood had not been sapped to danger point and that recovery would be rapid. even his chin hidden by an imperial cut of hirsute adornment seemed to reflect the joy he felt at by sanction of law the discovery that bennet was not in danger any longer. he had formed a special liking for this black-haired foreign looking american and there was more than ordinary joy in his laughter when he exploded after bennet finished speaking of the girl. he raised his hands above his head in token of surrender, as he exclaimed: “gone, gone, gone! completely gone! goodbye bennet. that blow on the head set you off completely. it knocked the man out of you and turned you into a fool lover. i suppose you’ll be off your game for the remainder of the season and you’ll be mooning up and down the street in front of miss gregory’s school from now — ” bennet almost set up from the chair on which he was still reclining at the words. “that’s where she's from? that’s where she's from?” he asked. dr. tansey gave no answer. “i know it! i know it!” “– doctor take me to a ward — please take me to a ward. — how long shall i be here? —that's it. that’s it!” dr. tansey was replacing his scalpels in their case after carefully cleansing them. he was so deliberate in his movements as to be almost tantalizing. as he placed the last one in its place and folded the case he looked at bennet and there was approval in his eyes. the blood was flushing the latter's face again. dr. tansey walked over to the chair, took a wrist in his hand and counted the pulse. “you’ll—never—be” he was tormentingly deliberate, “cured.” he looked at bennet to see the effect of the words and when he saw the disappointed look in o by san ction of law the boy’s eyes, he added “– till — you're married to her.” with that he burst into laughter again and pressed the hand he held in warm friendship. bennet gave the hand a returning grip then a twinkle came into his eyes and he said “bring her on and i’ll marry her now.” “now i know you’re hopelessly foolish,” dr. tansey replied. “no man in his senses would be willing to marry a girl when he had no prospect ahead of him and at the start of his senior year in college. and if i thought you meant any such thing as that i’d go get that brick that laid you out and present it to you again.” bennet was no longer listening to the doctor, however, his mind was searching out the girl. exhaustion was creeping over him also, and he began drifting off to sleep as the physician and an attendant whom he had now summoned trundled the wounded youth off to his ward. as bennet was being lifted into his bed dr. tansey, immaculate in his suit of white duck eased the bandages about the wounded man’s head, whose eyes were becoming more and more drowsy as he half muttered: “get me well, quickly, doctor. she's a queen.” it was several weeks before bennet was sufficiently re- covered to leave the hospital and return to college and several weeks longer before he was able to take part in the football contests scheduled for that fall. he was greatly missed by the entire team. the strike had long since been settled and the clash of police and workmen almost for- gotten. so rapidly do human events follow one another. i by san ction of law those incidents in our lives that shock us today are gone and forgotten tomorrow. all adding to the sum of life and experience; all making history as we move toward eternity. chapter v there was one place, however, where the scenes of that day were never forgotten and among the girls of miss gregory’s school the incidents were told and retold with romantic variations and speculations. to lida mention of the day's events were becoming seemingly distasteful for she would never speak of them; but away from her studies and in her room, alone, the pictures of that scene ever recurred and with the picture came the image of her hero of the occasion. she wondered what had become of him; whether he had died of his wounds, whether he had recovered; who he was and why she had never met him again to thank him in person. often she pictured to herself scenes in which they met and she had thanked him for his bravery. at such times a crimson flush tinted her cheeks and suffused her neck clear to the shoulders as she shyly thought of actions her heart told her she might be led to perform in her gratitude. constant picturing of these scenes had created in her a shy distrust of herself and a constant conflicting struggle for and against such a meeting. if they ever did meet again she hoped it would be by accident and she would be taken unawares for otherwise she felt she would run from the meeting. as thoughts of his condition came to her she would be filled with pity at the memory of his wounds. this pity more and more often awakened tender thoughts and she wished she might have been near to nurse him, to care for by san ction of law his wounds and to show by nursing how she appreciated his unselfish efforts to rescue them. when pity awakens tender thoughts love is just over the fence within easy call. so when these moments of pitying came bennet loomed to her as an unknown hero and she treasured the thoughts in her heart as a girlish romance too sacred to be disclosed. hence it was that all reference to the events of that day became outwardly distasteful to her; so seemingly distasteful that her schoolmates ceased to attempt to discuss them with her. to all the girls of the school the events of that day were sources of wonderful romances. each treasured the stories told in her heart and pictured herself enviously as the heroine of the occasion. while lida refused to allow her- self to be drawn out and to expose the inward dreams of her heart for general discussion, not so louise com- stock. though she confessed she was too excited and distracted to see who it was who rescued them she knew he was big and strong and dark and foreign looking and that was enough for her. she was frank in her expressions of love for him and delighted in picturing meetings with this unknown hero. also she felt a growing conviction that she knew him. each night at the hour for retirement a group of girls would gather in one of their rooms, and in the darkness or under the moonlight which they allowed to shimmer through their curtained windows they would build ro- mance upon romance with themselves as heroines and the unknown rescuer as hero. by san ction of law “when i marry him,” louise comstock announced one night as the girls were gathered in her room and were romancing, “i’ll not let one of you girls come to the wed- ding. i’d be afraid of you all. i’d be jealous.” “why, louise!” several exclaimed at once. “yes, i’m too ravenously in love with him to let you girls have a look at him.” that was as much as she had opportunity to announce for all the girls pounced on her with sofa pillows, sheets, cushions and whatever soft thing they could battle with and soon louise was being smothered beneath an ava- lanche of feathers while all the girls were screaming and laughing with the fun. so furious was the battle that miss gregory was called from her suite by the noise to subdue them. lida, who had been soundly sleeping, wandering amid pleasant dreams was awakened by the noise and commo- tion. as she roused the moon from a bright october sky flooded the room with its silver sheen that was almost a dreamlike day. the great pale disk, round and bright as only a harvest moon can be, was almost over head, causing the still clinging autumn leaves of the elms whose branches spread from sidewalk to sidewalk to make a dark fairy bower beneath them on the street. through these falling leaves, now thinning with the accumulations of frost there danced and sparkled on the street little bright silver patches between the dark. when the girls had been quieted lida tried again to close her eyes and sleep but the brightness of the moon, the by sanction of law clearness of the sky showing through the treetops, and the quietness of the street all seemed to cast a dream spell over her that she could not overcome. casting a robe about her and gathering some cushions about her feet she drew a chair and sat by the window looking out on the dew-sprinkled lawn and the street along which it ran till her gaze trailed itself out into the distant sky where only a few stars twinkled; and out where her thoughts could roam at will. there was an entrancing stillness about the night with all the earth in slumber, the whole scene spreading out like some fairy garden over which some witching spell had been cast. as she sat, there came over her a loneliness, a dreaminess, that caused her to sigh aloud. her heart seemed especially filled with tenderness and pity tonight as she sat, her elbows on the sill, her hands cupped and her chin resting in them, a lone teardrop hanging like pearls at the corner of each eye. a breeze, gentle and almost warm rustled the light silken sleeves of her gown and the lacy trimmings at her throat. almost unconscious- ly her voice gave sound to the thoughts running through her mind. “i wonder,” she sighed, “if we'll ever meet? — i’d just like to tell him how much i thank him — he's the hero of my heart — and always will be. — oh, i wonder if he's dead — poor man.” at this thought she bowed her head and wept silently. as she bowed her head in tears a figure at the base of the great elm near her window stirred as if to move. it was not the intention of the figure to play by san ction of law eavesdropper on a girl. as the figure moved the girl raised her head again. the figure hid behind the trunk of the tree again. to move would have been cruel to the girl as well as to have disclosed himself in a despicable act. one impulse prompted him to bolt and run while the delicate sense of honor and sympathy also cautioned him that to move would have been to disclose to the girl that she had been overheard and to have caused her shame. he de- cided to remain hidden and to preserve the secret of her anguish. “i am so lonely.” lida sighed. “so lonely without love. without his love. i love him. i do love him. i wonder if he lives. i’d give the world to know if he ever thinks of me — if he's dead. he can’t be dead though, for some sense would have told me.” it is the first impulse of human beings when they have been religiously taught, when in the midst of great emo- tions; in the face of great difficulties and in the face of great crises in their lives, if never before, to pray. the first prompting of lida’s heart in her mood was to pray and she lifted her face to the sky as she uttered the words: “oh god, thou knowest my heart; thou hast given me love; give me the one i love.” the first impulse of truman bennet, for it was he who stood beneath her window, was to disclose himself. he realized, however, that he was in the presence of too deep a sentiment, too sincere an emotion and too reverent an occasion to spoil it all by disclosing himself, however much his heart leaped with gladness at the discovery that the by sanction of law feelings that prompted him were also so deeply moving the girl on whom his heart had set itself. he longed to make himself known yet felt the impropriety of intrusion on such a sacred hour in the girl’s life and on such a sacred event. he resolved to treasure this maiden's secret, however, and never to take advantage of the knowledge he had gained that he was loved by her. “i shall prove ever worthy of that love, though i never attain it, so help me god” he solemnly swore. as if her prayer was answered there stole over lida a calmness and serenity that was like the night itself. her soul seemed satisfied and after drinking in the blissfulness of the night scene a few moments longer she sighed audibly then slowly closed the shutters and retired, to peaceful slumber. truman bennet when he was able to leave the hospital had lived, dreamed and hoped for nothing so much as to meet the girl he had rescued and become acquainted with her. having learned from doctor tansey’s conversation that she was a pupil at miss gregory’s school he had ended his evenings by strolling by the great school and its high stone walls hoping for another glimpse of the face that haunted him, or for a chance meeting that would make them acquaintances. it was on one such errand as this that brought him alone and lonesome by the school this night when the girls were at their pranks and lida had awakened. as the figure stirred and the shutters opened to the night he was so selfconscious of his errand that he thought it must be known to someone in the school by san ction of law and that this person had opened the window to tell him to move along and mind his own business; also not to be lurking about the school like a thief in the night. this was the thought that prompted him to step behind the trunk of the friendly elm and hide himself from view. having hidden himself when he discovered the girl in her musings he realized what a shameful though unintentional predicament it was in which he was placed and the embarrassment of the girl should he disclose himself, so when the panic of his soul subsided he reasoned that it were better to remain hidden than to be the cause of any discomfiture to the girl. as he realized the state of the girl's heart toward him the last vestige of youth in him vanished and in its stead came manhood. so do events shape and reshape our beings; so do we rise or fall to meet circumstances. those who have the character measure up to events that con- front them, and those who lack that character to measure up, shrivel and dwindle. it is by such as this that we succeed or fail. truman bennet walked on air as he returned to his room that night. yet the seriousness of realizing that he had the heart of a girl in his keeping even though un- pledged and undisclosed sobered his happiness and caused him to sit by his window long hours before he re- tired for sleep. he debated with himself what his course under the circumstances should be. “shall i,” he asked himself, “go to this girl whom i love and confess my love then ask for hers, or shall i keep by san ction of law silent? what would i have done had i met her. what a fool i was to go near that school. what a fool i am any way! how can i love or let myself love when i have my way to make. to confess that i was within hearing of her voice would be to lose me whatever chance i might have. she would consider me a cad and rightly. no, i could never do that. she would have nothing to do with me then. no, the only thing i can do is to trust to chance. i love her, though. love her with all the being in me. “i wonder if she would understand? i doubt it. she seems a timid thing; and yet no, she is not timid. what shall i do? i don’t know. yet they say, ‘faint heart ne'er won fair lady.” — i guess i’ll let circumstances guide me. no, that's shirking. ah, i have it. i shall pass her window again each night and some night when she's awake i’ll begin to talk as if to myself and tell her who i am and that i love her. perhaps she'll understand then and if she really meant what she said tonight i’ll know then i can act. if she really loves me, boy, oh boy, the world is mine!” that weighty question settled to the satisfaction of youth bennet was soon abed and asleep. he awoke sev- eral hours later refreshed and with a song in his heart. youth always sings in the morning hours. it seems ap- propriate. youth is morning and morning the youth of the day—so youth, song and morning go hand in hand. with bennet's first waking hour came the picture of the scene witnessed the evening previous. the memory filled him with happy dreams again and as he pictured the form at by san ction of law the window, leaning out into the dewy night while the soft wind was causing lida’s long loosely combed hair to wave back and forth about her neck and throat the vow he had overheard so filled him with joy that his eyes filled with tears of pain. he looked from the window of his room into which the sun was shining but saw only the silver moon- light of the night before and the image at the window. “oh, god, how i love her!” he exclaimed fervently while tears filled his eyes. “what a wonder girl.” his thoughts became seriously sobered again as he added, “god help me to prove a man to her. may i never fail her l’’ truman bennet’s injuries had been so serious that his services were practically lost to the team for the season and by the time he was in condition to play the season was over. his mental state, also was such as to cause dr. tansey to deny permission for him to enter into any of the contests. with nothing to do but study and dream of lida, bennet found himself each night strolling by the window from which the girl’s confession had been made, hoping for another glimpse of her yet fearing to be seen lest he be recognized. there was no chance for a meeting since he knew none of the girls at miss gregory’s school and had no chance for an introduction. his soul was agonized alternately with despair and hope. fortune smiled on bennet, how- ever, most unexpectedly. i chapter vi both schools had now settled down to the routine of book life for the winter when announcement at the college and at miss gregory’s school told of the reception to the president of the college, an annual affair to which the girls of the school were usually invited. this first social function of the year for the college was usually a bore to most of the professors and the students alike. while informal, there were so many strangers among the freshmen and guests, there was little chance for making acquaintances. those who attended, in the large reception room of the common dining hall, appropriately draped for the event, sought little groups here and there to renew acquaintance or to be introduced to newer comers. except for the professors and teachers who came from year to year and the older of the students the entire affair was dull. some of the younger classmen tried to dance after being presented to partners, others sat off in corners talking light conversational chatter. bennet was just be- ing bored with the affair and preparing to greet the presi- dent then leave when he thought, “ah, she might come. she's new and some of the girls may bring her. perhaps i’d better wait.” he was about to pass into an adjoining room to seek a corner from which he could watch the door when he was halted by a call from dean ira sandager. “here, just a moment, bennet,” he beckoned. bennet turned to the speaker who stood in a small group and by sanction of law walked over to dean sandager. the latter taking the young man by the arm drew him into the group beside him, smiling. “you’ve met my friends?” dean sandager asked bowing toward those standing with him. bennet smiled as a young man and two young women greeted him with outstretched hand, at the same time exclaiming, “hello, bennet” the girls merely nodded. “oh, yes, we’ve met,” bennet laughingly shook hands. one of the young women of the group stood partially facing another group with whom she was speaking. she heard the voice of the newcomer and instinctively turned. as she did so her eyes met those of bennet. both were unguarded in their meeting. a vivid crimson colored lida lauriston’s face for an instant then she blanched as her eyes drooped. bennet almost gasped in his surprise, the smile waning on his face. there was an awkward stillness for a moment. one of the young ladies in the group, however, turned to bennet, with: “miss lauriston, i don’t believe you've met mr. bennet. miss lauriston, mr. bennet.” bennet's head was in a whirl. embarrassment over- came him. he stammered and struggled to master him- self. he wanted to extend his hand but resisted. lida was flustered herself at the surprise of the meeting so suddenly with the man over whom she had often dreamed. the situation was fast becoming awkward when the young woman who spoke first added: “miss lauriston is new here. i’m sure you’ve never met. — she's here at miss gregory's for the first year.” by san ction of law bennet inwardly thanked the speaker for the words. it gave him opportunity to recover somewhat. lida was still silent. “he’s one of our heroes, miss lauriston,” dean sandager offered. “one of our athletes.” “oh!” was all she could gasp before dean sandager continued. “he’s off the team this year, because of ac- cident. got mixed up in that mob of strikers and got hurt. —you remember seeing the stories in the papers. they say he rescued some girls, too. — never got the straight of it. — bennet never would talk of it and the papers never identified him or the girls.” he was resting his hand fondly on bennet's shoulder as he spoke. the latter was embarrassed to perspiration. lida was too overcome to say anything of what she might and as conversation lagged, dean sandager turned to bennet, with, “get the ladies some refreshments, bennet.” glad of an excuse bennet turned and was off to do the errand after learning the desires of those in the group. lida looked after the retreating form of bennet as he passed behind a grouping of fernery and palms into the refreshment room. on returning all sought seats about the room. neither lida nor bennet was aware of the manner in which they became paired as they thought of the event afterward, but when they started for the side of the room they found themselves together. bennet's heart was pounding a tattoo against his coat. he looked helplessly at those ahead of him. lida too was still embarrassed. there were not seats enough for them by san ction of law all together, lida and bennet being in the rear were left without. “you’ll have to find seats, bennet,” said dean sandager waving a hand. “-not room here.” “all right, sir,” he answered; then turned toward one of the adjoining rooms. as they started to enter, lida still embarrassed and feeling that her emotions would be dis- closed under the light, exclaimed: “oh, let’s don’t sit here. let’s walk. i can eat my salad walking. i’ll feel better. — let’s don’t eat. — i don’t want to eat.” bennet was of the same mind and taking the plate she offered placed them on a table while they continued through the rooms to one unoccupied. neither of them spoke, each glad to be with the other yet afraid to trust to their feelings. bennet remembering the moonlight scene hesitated, not wishing to remind the girl of the circum- stances under which they had met, if she had forgotten and she, remaining silent lest she say too much. she felt, however, that she must thank him. she realized that it was for her to express thanks for the rescue, if the subject was to be mentioned at all. they walked on like two bashful children. at last lida determined. with a deep intake of breath she began. “mr. bennet!” she paused to control her emotions, all the little speeches she had planned and rehearsed were forgotten as wave after wave of blushes suffused her face. bennet waited, himself as little under control as she, happy to be with the girl of whom he had been dreaming by san ction of law constantly and yet dumb for her very presence. at last lida continued. “mr. bennet — i have long wanted to know you and to thank you for the service done me that day.” bennet longed to take her tenderly in his arms, he had so often pictured the hope of such a right. he mastered the desire, however, remembering that he had sworn not to let her know he had overheard her vow that moonlight fall night. he waved a hand as if to pass the incident off lightly with: “oh, it was a pleasure to serve you. i am glad i could help.” “you not only helped, you saved my life. — i can never hope to thank you sufficiently” she said fervently. “you need not thank me. i would do it over again tonight and willingly.” his voice vibrated like the basso of some stringed instrument. “that’s noble of you. and i’ll never forget it.” her voice was sincerity itself. “i don’t think i'd say never, miss lauriston. never, you know, is a long while — and sometimes, under stress we say things we soon forget — or may wish to forget.” “but i know myself. besides your bravery was noble indeed and i’d be mean to forget it. i couldn't, mr. ben- net— i couldn't. i only regret i have no way of showing you how much your noble action means to me.” “there is a way, miss lauriston — a real way — a way i'd appreciate to my dying day.” “you’ve only to make it known. when i think of the way you struggled to save us; of the mad mob that was by san ction of law about us, and of your wound — oh, it was cruel — cruel —cruel — and to think you did it for two unknown girls.” “not for two, miss lauriston, but for one — for you.” this was said in such a solemn tone that the girl, who had been looking off across the wide quadrangle of the campus turned quickly to him. there was a sadness in the tone that was convincing. the emotions that surged in both were two strong for utterance. for reply lida touched his arm with the gentleness of a zephyr. for some reason bennet was seized with a feeling of deep depression, as the arm still rested on his sleeve he said: “there is one way in which you might please me, miss lauriston, and that is by permitting us to know real friendship. i hope i don’t ask too much.” “why, i already look on you as my friend and you always will be my friend. i could not be anything less.” “friendship means something deeper to me than the word ordinarily means. once a friend, always a friend, with me. friendship means understanding, sympathy, in- terpretation of moods, generosity of spirit.” “it means all that and more to me also. effort to im- part happiness; a sharing of sunshine and clouds of life, loyalty. those are some of my ideas of friendship and when i say you have my friendship and always will have it those are no idle words.” with the words they clasped hands. there was sud- denly and unconsciously an upturning of her face toward his which looked down toward her. his arms stole about by san ction of law her and her head drooped in his simplicity of frankness, to his breast while he whispered: “heart of mine, i love you — i love you — i love you and always will. that is the friendship i want. i always have since first i saw you and i always will. it is not friendship i want — i want love — i want you. i want you as i have wanted nothing else in life.” his voice trembled with deep emotion which overmastered him. lida remained motionless for a few moments filled with happiness and the consciousness that her love was returned while tears filled her eyes. suddenly she said: “mr. bennet, i am a simple girl. i have not been long out in the world. i don’t know the ways of the world. what i said i mean. i have been told that men talk light- ly and seldom mean what they say when they talk of love. your words make me supremely happy for my heart has been yours. please don’t deceive me. i love you as only an honest true-hearted girl can love and i trust you. i hope my trust is not vain.” this was said so earnestly and honestly bennet was breathlessly pained. “i suppose it is brazen to be telling you this so frankly but i was brought up to be truthful and natural. you asked for my friendship. it is yours — my heart is yours — i trust you. if you deceive me i shall die. i know so little of the world and its ways. if you don’t really love me, please don’t deceive me. take back your words and though i’ll never forget them and will love you for them, i’ll forgive you and we’ll part friends.” as she concluded she looked up at bennet's face which by san ction of law was still turned to hers. there was infinite tenderness written there. tenderness that was so strong as to make lida regret her words. he pressed her head back to where it rested on his breast while he said: “i know men, these days, speak lightly of love and pledge themselves without meaning to be serious. i am not of that kind. as i honor my mother so i mean my love to be true; so it shall be true. as we live and breathe my heart is yours and always will be. my love, i love you. let me whisper it again, i love you and ever will.” “if you really love me” the honesty of her heart in her words, “then night is day to me. there is no world but this in which we live, you and i. nothing shall come be- tween us. nothing can come between us. where you go my heart will be; where you are my dreams will attend you.” “ah, love of mine,” bennet breathed, “those words are sweet. sweetest i have heard since years ago when my mother used to sing us as children to sleep.” lida drew a deep intake of breath. “speaking of mothers” she said, “i have a token i would like to have you wear as emblem of our love and in memory of this night.” “i need no other emblem than your love, girl of mine” bennet whispered. “oh, but, truman—” “say that again, please,” bennet interrupted “it sounded so charming coming from your lips.” by san ction of law “it’s my mother’s ring, truman, and i’d like to have you wear it. just for me.” “i also have my mother's wedding ring. i hope you'll keep it for me and may it guard you as it has me.” she touched it to her lips as she answered: “i shall love it— and treasure it.” lida and bennet had forgotten time and were only re- called to their senses when louise comstock came into the room and exclaimed: “oh, lida, i have found you at last. i’ve been looking everywhere for you.” when she recognized bennet as lida's escort a spasm of pain and smiles in combination passed over her face and she turned suddenly back into the great reception room. “oh!” was the only word she uttered. when next noted by any of her friends she was bidding them goodbye, her wraps about her and her escort waiting. o chapter vii the spell under which lida and bennet had been in- fluenced for the while was now broken and they returned to the reception room in time to see louise departing. lida started from bennet's side toward the girl but before she could reach louise the latter was halfway down the steps and running for the car which awaited them. “why — why — wh-wh-what’s the matter with louise?” lida asked turning to bennet. “she never acted like that before.” “i don’t know,” bennet replied, “never mind her, girl of mine. you’ll see her at the school and perhaps she'll explain. i’m sure i don’t know.” “but that’s so unlike louise. i can’t understand it. i must go home and see what is the trouble.” lida was not long in preparing for her departure and as she stepped from the reception room to the vestibule and started down the steps toward bennet she seemed a queen stepping from some previous century and back into life. bennet noted the lightness of her step and the happy beauty of her face. his entire being thrilled with gladness at the thought of having her love. bennet ushered her tenderly into the car and they were off. the distance was so short from college to school that almost before they were seated the automobile in which they were riding drew up at the entrance to the school. they were loath to leave. “oh, here so soon?” lida asked. “do you regret the shortness of this our first ride, girl by san ction of law of mine?” asked truman, again his voice vibrating like some melodic basso string. “i don’t want to go in,” she confessed. “i wish we might just ride on and on and on into the night and out of it into the daylight and beyond — anywhere, so long as i’m with you.” “that’s noble of you, and i love you all the more for it. the stars of this night are my witnesses. i’ll ever take care of you so that you ride only in happiness.” bennet pledged confidently. youth reckons so little on circum- stances and consequences. at the pledge she touched her head to his breast for an instant, as if silently to drink in the intoxicating ex- perience. “i didn’t know love could be so good,” she sighed. her head rested but a moment, however, before the driver had dismounted and was opening the door for them to alight. bennet lifted her lightly from the car and escorted her up the steps and into the vestibule. there they stood a moment in parting embrace. “i hate to leave you — don’t go, truman, my love. i wish we might never part. i hate so to let you go. this is the happiest hour of my life. do you blame me then for wanting to prolong it?” she asked. “how could i blame the one i love. if parting be pain- ful to you how much more painful must it be to me. i have been heart hungry for love like yours. “i’ll try to be both mother and sweetheart to you, tru- man. — i must say goodnight now and yet i hate to. good night dear heart—may god’s best angels guard you. by san ction of law as sleep overtakes me tonight i’ll whisper your name, truman.” “good night. heaven has been good to me in giving me you. a gift i shall ever cherish. a gift in which i already feel i am envied. how happy i am!” “let’s try and temper our happiness, truman, so it will last. i want our love to last; not be like the love of so many nowadays. with so many it is a case of off with the old love on with the new. i could not love that way. one lasting love mine shall be.—good night, dear—and may god keep you.” bennet, as he reviewed the scene walking to his room failed to recall how he reached the street. his happiness was so intoxicating as to have cheated his memory of the moments intervening between his farewell with lida and his reaching the sidewalk in front of the school. when he found himself he seemed to be gliding above the sidewalk and not touching the ground at all. this was the begin- ning of a happiness that continued until long after the holidays and well into the spring term. this being bennet's last year in college the lovers busied themselves, between studies, with planning for their home. prom week came, one of the annual institutions of every new england college, a time when books were forgotten and the heart of youth was the only serious study under- taken. girls at miss gregory's were busy with their party plans, their dresses and their beaus. the engagement of bennet and lida was well established in the minds of all the girls despite efforts on the part of the two at concealing by san ction of law the fact from the general public. all the girls were aware of the state of affairs with the single exception of the head of the school. with proverbial consistency the only person who should have known most of all of the engage- ment was the one person who did not, miss gregory. following the encounter of louise comstock with lida and bennet at the president’s reception intercourse be- tween the two girls was strained and difficult. lida was so centered in her studies and bennet, that she gave little heed to the incident and the two girls having no classes together, any personal contact or confidences was easily avoided, particularly since louise made a very studied effort to escape contact where possible. from the hour of the recep- tion, however, there came over louise comstock a mood that changed her from a happy hearted and usually frank girl into a quiet, taciturn and somewhat morose miss. the occasion for the change disclosed itself, when les- sons aside a group of the young women had ensconced themselves in the corner of the great reception room on the main floor of the school, amid a profusion of sofa pillows and were discussing partners and escorts for the dance, the feature of prom week. “paul will be here from yale, just think of that girls!” chattered one of the group. “yes, and harry will come to take me. he wrote me yesterday that he could get away,” spoke up another. louise comstock was just coming into the room from one of the upper floors when several of the girls spoke at once: by sanction of law “who’s going to take you, to the dance, louise?” she hesitated and flushed before speaking. she had had sev- eral of the young men from college inviting her to be their guests but had refused them all. she was hoping for an invitation from one, but that one never realized, so never asked her. pressed for an answer, as the girls grouped themselves about her she waved them aside with only the words, “wait and see.” “oh, i hate mysteries. why make one of this, louise. come on, be a sport, tell us. i’m not afraid to say, paul will take me. harry is to take madge and we each know who the other girls’ fussers are. who's yours.” “wait and see,” was all she would answer. with that she departed. when she left, however, there was deter- mination in her mind. it was rather a bold move and she flushed as she determined but decided to go through with it. going to her room she hastily scribbled a note, donned her wraps and left for the street as if to mail it. she walked toward the men's college and when near there es- pied a small boy peddling papers. “take this note to the address on it — and here’s a dime for your trouble.” the urchin took the note in his soiled hands, looked at the dime then read the address and answered, knowingly, “yes miss. any answer?” “no. just say i’m waiting” she suggested. the youngster made his way across the campus to the main college hall and up to bennet's room. after rapping on the door and being bidden to enter, the boy asked: by san ction of law “is mr. bennet here?” “this is mr. bennet,” answered truman at which the note was handed to him. the boy waited while bennet read: dear mr. bennet: i know this is unconventional but i would like a few words with you. i’ll be waiting at the main gate. the girl you rescued. at reading the signature bennet immediately thought of lida but the note not being in her handwriting he realized it was not she who wished to see him. he had forgotten louise for the time. he reread the note and stood gazing at it till recalled by the words of the news- boy who was still waiting. “she’s a swell dame that's waitin’ for youze” he volunteered hoping for another tip, knowing from ex- perience the prodigality of college boys, particularly where note carrying was concerned. he was disappointed, how- ever, for bennet instead of handing him another coin or making any remark got into his hat and coat and strode down the stairs. at the gate he was greeted with an ex- tended hand, and: “how do you do, mr. bennet?” bennet raised his hat and smiled, a little bit puzzled; then waited for the girl to speak again. “i suppose i’m very bold and i’ve lost in your estima- tion but i’ve wanted for ever so long to let you know how grateful i was for the way you came to our rescue that afternoon last fall. at first i did not know who you were, by san ction of law and could not thank you; then i have not seen you very much since, and there has been no opportunity.” “oh, there's no need for thanks, miss — miss — com- stock?” he recalled the name at mention of the rescue. “i sincerely hope you are recovered and have not suffered from the experience.” louise placed her hands over her heart to still the perturbation there but failed. her breath came in short puffs and confusion suffused her face. she was glad to note that bennet had not embarrassed her by failing to remember her. “i shall never forget your bravery, mr. bennet — and i can never thank you enough. you don’t know how often i wished for the opportunity to personally express my gratitude,” she exclaimed. “it never came so i sought it tonight. do you think the less of me for it.” “on the contrary i honor you for the frankness you've shown. in these days of flappers and feminism it is thoroughly in keeping with the times that you should act with freedom.” “you’ll think me bolder still and less feminine when i tell you that i have a great favor to ask of you” — she touched his arm as she essayed to speak. “now don’t pledge your- self till you know what it is. that wouldn’t be fair to you. i have a special reason for asking. — it is that you allow me to be your guest at the dance.” the two had been walking slowly along the twilight brightened street. when she made the request, bennet halted and faced the girl, surprise almost taking his breath by san ction of law away. bennet thought of lida then wondered. he looked at the girl at his side and saw only earnestness and sin- cerity in her face. at first he was on the point of denounc- ing her but at sight of the seriousness mirrored in her countenance he controlled himself and was all sympathy. “you can’t really mean that, miss comstock. you're joking” bennet managed to say. “i’m in deep earnest, mr. bennet.” the tone proved her sincerity. the solemnity with which the words were uttered and the expression on the girl’s face were convincing. they had paused in their walk and stood facing each other. there was a long silence in which the nervous breathing of each could be heard. one could also almost hear the throbbing of the girl’s heart. bennet spoke at last, in his deep vibrant voice. “pardon me. i couldn’t sense it at first. i’m sorry— very sorry i cannot, however much i like to oblige a lady and relieve her of the embarrassment of such a situation. i would not have had this happen for the world. why, —don't you know of my engagement — miss comstock you can’t be serious. i’m engaged to miss lida lauriston. didn’t you know that?” “engaged to lida? oh-h-h-h—i didn’t know. i didn’t know. i didn’t know.” at these words the girl was over- come with a fit of weeping for a few moments, great spasms of grief shaking her entire body. suddenly, with tears blinding her she wheeled and hurriedly — almost ran from him. chapter viii bennet's heart was full of compassion for the girl and her distress over her disappointment, knowing what depth of feeling must have prompted her to make such a request of him. he returned to his room, a feeling of deep misery enveloping him because of the unavoidable hurt he had given the girl. yet what could he do? he tried to discover wherein he had been to blame for placing the girl in such a situa- tion, yet could find no such occasion. true he had known her casually since the previous year when they had met but they had never been in each other's company for more than a few minutes at each time and he had never given her any attention. he felt that he must have been to blame in some way and yet could recall no occasion. he was miserable over the situation, being of high ideals as to his conduct with girls. he puzzled for some time over the situation, as he sat at his desk when he had returned to his room but try as he would to find wherein he was to blame for the situation he could not. his heart was heavy as he retired and for the first time in many weeks closed his eyes without the picture of lida lauriston in his mind. rage, confusion, humiliation and chagrin surged through louise comstock's being as she ran from bennet and started back for her school. rage because she had failed to find in him the response she desired; chagrin to think that he loved another girl when she loved him so, con- by san ction of law fusion at the thought of the position in which she had placed herself, in his estimation and humiliation at the thought that she must attend the reception, if at all, alone having refused all other invitations hoping to be invited by bennet. tears of blinding anger flowed down her cheeks unheeded as she hurried along. self pity at her disappointment filled her for a time and then anger returned. it was not anger, however, directed against bennet. they say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned but while this may be true louise found no anger in her heart at this moment against bennet. her anger was against the fate that permitted another to have what she sought, a man’s heart and love. she reached her room she knew not how, without being observed by any of the other girls and threw herself sobbingly on her bed where she lay for several hours alternately crying softly and groaning in anguish. bitterness filled her being and for a time she was overwhelmed with desire to die. she refused to leave her room the following day, re- maining all day without food and with the shades drawn, her tears having been exhausted, her anguish having brought upon her a raging headache. when the other girls found she was ill each offered to remain with her and to help in whatever way they could, to relieve her. all their proffers were refused, however. o chapter ix it was late in the afternoon when lida heard of the illness of her friend, and with the compassion of one whose heart is filled with love she hurried to her friend’s room. love chastens some persons causing them to feel more deeply the sufferings of others, and it has such an effect on some of those in love that they feel more tenderly to— ward all suffering. true love, by reflection, so radiates itself that its effects are felt on those even not the direct object of that love. it was so with lida. she was so completely in love herself that the intoxication of it ex- panded to take in those about her. it was in this gentle, expanding mood that she approached the door of louise comstock’s room, turned the knob softly so as not to disturb the girl if she was sleeping and tiptoed gently in and toward the bed. menacing calmness had succeeded the spasms of weep- ing and the paroxysms of grief that had racked the girl’s body and mind for the past twenty-four hours and she lay, quiet on her pillow, eyes half closed revolving in her mind a new determination, the idea of which had come to her but shortly before and had given her the relief her emotions needed. her face was still twisted as if from pain, thus taking on a new aspect, new to the louise comstock her companions had known till then. there was something almost diabolic in the smile that saved her face from distortion completely. lida approached the bed and was about to speak when by san ction of law the reclining girl raised herself on her pillow, resting on an elbow, hair streaming over her shoulders and gown in disarray, eyes dilated to fury dimensions while she pointed to the door. “get out of my room — i hate you — i hate you,” she almost hissed. “go-go-go” – she repeated in frenzy. “no, i won’t go, louise, you poor dear. you're suffer- ing.” lida concluded the girl was out of her mind. “go-get out,” the reclining girl almost screamed. “i don’t want to see you.” “you poor dear. i won’t leave you. you're suffering. won’t you tell me what ails you and let me help you?” lida persisted pityingly. “i want none of your help — i want none of you” louise still raged. lida wondered what had come of the girl. she was not long in ignorance, however, for louise continued. “you’ve come here to tell me truman bennet is to take you to the reception. come here to gloat over me with your conquest — come here to torment me. get out — i want nothing to do with you.” lida was about to speak but the girl interrupted. “don’t say a word. i know. he told me — you're engaged — you’re engaged. yes, you’re engaged but you’ll never marry him. you’ll only hurt him. your pride won’t let you.” lida attempted to protest again but the girl raged on. “you’ll never marry him, i say, when you know that by san ction of law you’re engaged to a man with negro blood in him. he is a negro. do you hear me? he's a negro.” lida waited for no more. she bolted from the room and left the girl screaming the words that burned into her ears and into her heart. she knew not what to do. she rushed to her room and locked the door, cast herself on her bed, feeling as if the world was strangling her, smother- ing her and stifling her. she gasped, clutched at her throat and tossed. she wanted to cry — wanted to think, wanted to scream but was powerless in the grip of what louise comstock had said. one moment she thought the girl must be mad, stark mad and the next doubt and the possibility of her words being true sent panic into her soul. she turned and faced the ceiling, staring wild-eyed, on through the top of the room into space. as never before she was wishing she had a mother to whom she could turn and talk. there was nothing but despair for her. helpless black despair. what if the words of louise comstock were true? what if there was blood of that de- spised race in his veins. he surely did not look like one with a trace of negro blood in him. true he did look like a foreigner. as she began to analyze the face and features of bennet she could detect no trace of negro blood in him. his swarthiness, however, gave her some cause for doubt. she seemed to be caught in a tangling net of circumstances that was gripping her more and more strongly as she be- came weaker and weaker. she could not cry. the situa- tion was too appalling for tears. what could she do? as she pondered she pictured, almost for the first time since by san ction of law leaving home, mrs. cottman as she pronounced the curse on the lauriston family. she decided to return to louise's room and make sure she had heard aright and that the girl was insane. thought of the possibility of the words being true, how- ever, deterred her. she wrestled with the torturing situa- tion alone. she was on the verge of insanity herself from thinking over the words. her lips became dry and parched; her room stiffling to the point of suffocation. the hours rushed by and she was still neither near relief nor able to think herself free of the situation. along toward midnight the moon rose and along with this a slight breeze began to stir. with a sudden gust of wind a shutter at her window swung open and the beams of a soft night – shining moon streamed into the room. as the light came in she recalled the night in the fall when she had prayed from that window to be given the man she loved. as she lived through that scene again relief seemed to come to her and tortures to vanish from her mind. as they disappeared in their place came a resolution to seek the facts as to louise's statements from bennet him- self. she felt so sure her worries had been baseless, and the words of her schoolmate those of a raving irresponsi- ble madness, that at last sleep overcame her and she dozed into fitful dreams. the sun was high in the morning sky before she opened her eyes again. when she did, however, her worries returned. both her heart and head began to pain intensely, maddeningly. the words of her school- mate again burned themselves so hotly into her soul that by sanction of law she sickened at the thought. doubt as to their truth and fear that they were true surged through her in alternating waves. when she recalled the so many persons of her own district and section at home who were mulatto or lighter, and who had a trace of negro blood in them the words of louise seemed too painfully, torturingly true. she had never given such things a thought before. what was she to do now? she had given her pledged word as well as her heart to this man. what if he was of negro blood. she felt she could not bear the thought. she, in whose veins ran the proud blood of many of the historic families of her state, blood of colonists, revolutionary blood, and the blood of the best families of the state. she wept till she became tearless and intense burning hot pains shot through her temples and eyes. all thought became maddening. she felt she could no longer endure the strain. she must know the truth. so engrossed was she in her problem that she failed to hear the rapping at her door when the maid came three times to arouse her for her classes and so that the room could be tidied up for the day. as noon approached at last the maid became alarmed and notified miss gregory. the latter who had also learned of the indisposition of louise comstock be- came alarmed lest an epidemic was about to be discovered in the school. this she dreaded and it was with much ap- prehension that she hurried to lida’s room. when miss gregory reached the room, however, lida had returned to her former decision, which was to see by san ction of law bennet and to learn the truth of the accusation from him. her whole body was in agony; head seeming to split and eyes burning like coals of fire. miss gregory, quick to sense the fact that lida’s trouble was mental, in her motherly way went over to the girl and placed an arm about her waist as she tried to comfort her. “tell me your trouble, dear, won’t you? i'll help you” she urged. “no, you can’t help me, i’m afraid. i must face this alone.” lida spoke with determination tinged with misgiv- ing and a sense of hopelessness. the sympathetic, motherly tone, however, brought tears to the hot eyes of the girl again and she burst into a paroxysm of weeping; miss gregory gently pulled the head of the weeping girl to her shoulder, and the two sat on the wide divan at the side of the room, the girl weeping and sobbing heartbrokenly. “tell me what troubles you, child; i’ll help you. — don't cry any more,” miss gregory pleaded in a motherly way. lida only shook her head between sobs, however, feeling that she could not confide her trouble to anyone. her storm of grief passed after a time, and sobs ceased to shake her body as miss gregory’s calm voice soothed. “i promised your father i would look after you like a mother, and if you continue to cry your heart out in this manner your father will blame me.” at the mention of her father lida again felt tears surge to her eyes but bit her lip and fought them back. after by san ction of law swimming pool, adjoining the gymnasium had been board- ed over and here and there little bowers had been erected into which couples could be persuaded with but little effort, between dances, where they could sit and chatter. the wide veranda surrounding two sides of the building on the outside, overlooking the track field had been turned into little paradises also, and it was here that bennet had planned to have a few moments alone with lida when she arrived. he was all expectancy and anticipation. it had become known long ago about the college that he and lida were engaged and his classmates as well as underclassmen were watching the romance with interest. being one of the committee of arrangements he was unable to escort lida to the dance but was on the watch for the taxicab that would bring her and some of the other girls whose escorts were also on the committee. the worry with which lida was troubled had made her rather reticent and during the ride to the campus she was silent while her companions chattered and laughed. her large eyes seemed to have become larger and more blue, her face was pale with a radiance that was almost evanescent. bennet was on the steps of the gymnasium waiting when the cab arrived and the girls were aided to alight. as she stepped from the cab lida’s heart seemed as if it would choke her with its loud beating. in his evening dress, as he rushed down the steps to meet her, he seemed to her like a roman deity, joy in her presence radiating from his face, the delight of his love showing in by san ction of law his eyes. her own eyes drooped and for a moment her face flushed as the call of her heart pushed back the evil dreams that had been torturing her for the past few days. she trembled and went weak for a moment, seeming about to sink to her knees. bennet's touch revived her strength, however, and her arm rested in his hand as he aided her up the steps and piloted her to the reception room. a dozen eager youths sought dances with her but all were refused though so gently that none felt hurt. as she returned to the dance hall bennet noted the lines of worry and the darkly circled eyes which drooped and did not meet his in the frank comrady way that had been customary. “what’s the trouble? he asked, gently trying to puzzle out the attitude. for reply she clung heavily to his arm and said: “take me away, truman, please. i want to be alone— with you — i want to ask you something.” the serious- ness of her tone struck wonder to his soul. he led the way into the open air to the balcony which he had chosen as his particular trysting spot. as lida saw the spot and noted that it adjoined several similar ones, she whispered; “not there — not there. — i want to be alone with you, where we can talk alone.” without a word they descended the stairs leading to the track field and started to walk along the cinder path used by the sprinters. the scene was dark except for the lights shining from the briliantly lighted dance hall which they had left and the electric lights from the street corners by sanction of law some distance away, on corners of the quadrangle. having noted the seriousness of the girl in her whispered request truman waited for her to begin speaking and wondered. lida was at a loss how to begin the subject, though the question seemed to be burning at the end of her tongue. when they had nearly reached the corner of the field in which the track for sprinters started she halted, her arm still resting on that of her escort. truman stood facing her as she almost clung pitifully to him. as they stood, suddenly her head drooped and she began to sob softly. her anguish communicated itself to him. “lida, mine, what’s troubling you,” he asked, a world of tenderness in his voice. for reply she sobbed all the harder. he pleaded to be told her trouble. at last her grief seemed spent and she looked up. “truman, i love you, and i don’t want to hurt you. i trust you and have trusted you with my life. i—i—i— don’t know what to do.” she burst into a fit of passionate weeping again. all the love of her heart seemed to go to this man and she wanted him as she had wanted nothing else in the world. fear to lose him if she asked the question and he became offended rivalled a fear that the words she wished not to hear might be spoken. “i don’t know what to do,” she sobbed again. “you’ll not hurt me dear, unless you persist in weeping and not telling me what your trouble is. nothing can hurt o by sanction of law me so long as i have your love. tell me what the matter is.” for answer she reached up and gently caressed his cheeks with both hands, much as a mother soothes the child she loves. at last she mustered the courage she sought. “truman, – i am of a southern family, proud of its ancestry, which runs back for generations in its history to the early colonists and further. you can have no un- derstanding of the pride that runs through us.” he at- tempted to interrupt her. “no,” she pleaded, “don’t inter- rupt me. hear me out then answer me one question i'll ask. “my family has been one of slave holders for genera- tions back. our lands have been tilled by slaves, our homes have been built and cared for by slaves till the civil war. since that time descendants of those slaves, former slaves and their children have cared for me and mine. as servants and slaves i have cared for them and they for me. but the attitude has been that of superior and inferior. it has been bred into us as children. we knew and know nothing else. “it is only just recently that i have come to realize that times are changing — have changed. new conditions have arisen and are arising. despite the fact that i see these changes, the teachings of generations, the pride of the south grips me. i see former slaves and children of former slaves acquiring property, education and mounting to success yet i cannot go back of traditions. “it is one of the boasts of my family that we were i by san ction of law never unkind to our slaves, nor have we been unkind to our tenants. we have been their patrons, even to those who have risen in wealth and education beyond the station of tenant and slave conditions. i was always aloof from their condition. it did not touch me.” here lida paused for a moment, her hands still resting on bennet's should- ers, her eyes looking up to his, a yearning in them. “only recently have i begun to live and to know life— to know what life means. just as i was beginning to learn there comes a cloud and — and — i — i — i — i’m almost lost.” tears filled her eyes but she continued bravely. “i’m almost lost. just as i began to know what love is, they tell me something to spoil it all. they say you have slave blood in you. tell me, truman, is that so? is it true that you have colored blood in you?” “if i say it’s so, what will you do?” he asked. “i don’t know, truman — i don’t know.” she clung piteously to the lapel of his coat, awaiting his answer, her soul tortured with anguish. there was a stabbing pain in his heart, so sharp as to cause him to gasp for breath. bennet wrestled with himself as he had never before, debating whether to speak truthfully and risk the loss of her love for truth or to temporize. at last the dominant character of his nature triumphed and he resolved to speak the truth. he caught the wrists of lida’s hands as they clung to the lapel of his coat, lifted his head, as his better nature won and, gripping her wrists till they pained her, in the tensity of his emotion, he told her: by san ction of law “yes, i’m of that race. — there is negro blood in my veins. – not slave blood, however — the blood of men is in my veins and of my ancestors and parents. – there's nothing shame-worthy in my blood. none of us are re- sponsible for our birth. our responsibility is the use we make of life. i have been taught that color counts for nothing. it is what we are. — therefore i forget color. besides, of what color am i?” lida’s head drooped and she sobbed. “why couldn’t you have told me this before. why couldn’t i have learned it before? oh, god, what shall i do?” “it never occurred to me that it would make any differ- ence,” he defended. “i loved you and you loved me, of what matter anything else? i gave no thought to ances- try, either yours or mine. when we marry we don’t wed ancestry, we wed not tradition, but one another.” “i’m sorry,” was all she said. “take me back, tru- man, please.” as they neared the gymnasium, bennet felt her body shudder and turned to her tenderly. he held her arm tightly to comfort her and was conscious there was no shrinking away as he had half expected from this new turn of events. when they reached the steps and started to mount she turned, with: “no-no–. not now—i want to go home—take me home.” forgetful of her wraps in the reception room, she turned toward the waiting line of taxicabs. truman dis- by san ction of law patched one of the attendants for her cloak and hat, then when these came, bundled her into the taxicab, started to give directions, when she asked, pleadingly, “aren’t you going to take me home?” he silently stepped into the cab with her and they started for the school. the ways of women are past un- derstanding. they are at once a source of torture and delight. truman realized this as he pondered over the evening in the small hours of the morning when he had left the girl and was reviewing the scenes through which he had lived that night. when he was handing her out of the cab at the door of miss gregory’s school, he was res- cued for the moment from the despair into which his heart was buried as lida, without a word, put her arms about his shoulders and kissed him with all her heart. without a word she ran lightly up the steps and was gone, before he had time to recover from the surprise of the action. chapter x so bitter was his despair at the dashing of all his hopes that he failed to analyze lida's last act. all the world suddenly seemed to have lost its brightness. youth, so prone to building castles of air, had been busy with ben- net’s ambitions and dreams during the past few months, so busy that he had not seemed to be living on earth but on some planet far away, peopled by but two persons. one short half hour had spoiled all his dreams and filled his heart with bitterness. even her last kiss failed to console him. he seemed to have lost interest in life it- self. instead of ordering the cabman to return him to the dance, bennet dismissed the man, without so much as a word, after paying him his fee, then began to walk away from the school. forgetting that he was one of the committee and his presence was needed to aid with the entertainment, he continued to walk past the campus and along the quiet shadowy streets of the residence section as in a daze. without realizing what he was doing he turned back after a time and walked toward the college, bitter thoughts coursing through his mind; bitter at the fate that was his; bitter at the loss of the girl he loved and bitter at condi- tions which up to this time, he had never faced. he was nurtured and reared in an environment which had never before brought the subject of his race or nationality before him except in a vague indefinite way. there are some cities and towns in the united states by san ction of law where color is not heeded and men and families are judged by their character, success and citizenship, because the invidious propaganda of southern caste hopes had not penetrated. it was in such a community that ben- net had been reared and schooled. nor had his com- panions at college given him cause to think seriously of such matters. his family, because of their stability and success finan- cially had been rated one of the best in the little town of bremen where he had been schooled, and bennet's life had been uneventfully one of ordinary youthful progress. his father was a college man, his mother a refined school teacher and though they knew of the potentialities of prejudices, had purposely hesitated to burden their chil- dren with any such hampering outlook on life. they took their places in the citizenship of the town, were accepted at the rating on which they placed themselves, that of ordinary citizens, and raised their children in such an at- mosphere. when it came time for bennet to attend college his school was selected and he matriculated along with two others from his graduating class. he had never tried to conceal anything about his origin. it simply did not oc- cur to him that any explanation would ever be necessary. little did he dream that the most serious blow of his life was to come to him from this cause. he was awakened from his dolorous thoughts by the strains of music from the dance orchestra as he had un- consciously turned his footsteps toward the college again. by san ction of law at the sounds he remembered that he was one of the com- mittee and began to hurry back to the hall. suddenly he realized that to return without lida would call for ex- planations and decided to continue to his room. here he threw himself into a morris chair where gloomy thoughts engulfed him. dawn was lighting the eastern sky in streaks, great beams of light flashing intermittently brighter and brighter across the house and tree tops when bennet's thoughts returned to the present. taxicab after taxicab rolled and rumbled away from the gymnasium as the last of the dancers departed. at last the chatter of departing couples and their chaperones ended. he sat at his window looking toward the east. as he sat the great ball of fire that gives life to daylight and its hopes climbed the horizon and pierced his eyes. the whole sky was burnished crimson. bennet noted none of these things, however, his entire body was numbed and his mind in a daze. great calamities sometimes affect persons in that man- ner. they are robbed of their senses, overwhelmed at the immensity of the weight seeming to crush them. bennet seemed to be affected in this manner. he gave no heed to his surroundings, till a pair of pigeons alighted on the window sill in front of him. the persistent efforts of the male to win the attention of his mate, the struttings, coo- ings, and other antics compelled attention. just when the male pranced in front of the mate to begin billing the lady pigeon changed her mind and flew away. the sur- prise of the bird left behind, the chagrin of defeat and the by san ction of law seeming loss of companionship anticipated, recalled ben- net back to the present with such a snap of realization that he almost laughed outright at the bird. “that’s the way of life, old bird,” he said. “disap- pointment steps in just before success.” at the sound of his voice the remaining bird took wing. bennet's eyes followed till the pigeon was lost to view. as he looked over the trees his thoughts turned to lida. the despondency spell was broken, however, and though heart was still heavy, youth is so prone to quick reactions that he began to wonder what she was doing and how she had passed the night. he wondered if she was as miser- able as he. “she can’t be,” he mused. “what has she to lose?” little did he realize that lida, too, was suffering as had he. torn between pride and the clamor of her heart she was in a state bordering on insanity. she had not re- tired but sat, the picture of desolation, by her window weighing all the recent events of her life as they passed in kaleidoscopic sequence before her. she was sitting thus, toying with the ring bennet had given her when they plighted their lives to each other, when suddenly she felt an arm steal about her waist and the gentle voice of miss gregory sounded in her ear. “let me help you, dear. i know you are in deep trou- ble. tell me. trouble that is shared soon flees. you need not let a quarrel with louise spoil your life, or temper.” intuitively miss gregory knew that no girlish quarrel was the cause of this condition in her pupil. she took by sanction of law this indirect method of getting the girl to talk. lida turned slowly toward her, looked at her for several sec- onds, sighed, and as she did so her lips began to tremble, while her hand sought that of miss gregory as if for com- fort. “miss gregory,” lida finally spoke. “were you ever in love?” “foolish child. every woman, at some time in her life has loved, whether successfully or not.” miss gregory consoled philosophically. “i mean, did you ever love, hard enough and strong enough to give up everything for the one you loved.” “yes, i loved hard enough for all that. but i did not have the courage to give up everything for love. that’s why i'm at the head of this school.” “do you regret giving up your love?” lida probed. “let me tell you, child,” miss gregory said with a sigh. “no sacrifice can compensate for the loss of love to a woman. and when once a woman loves, never does she forget that love. if i had my life to live over again, if i could recall the lover i once had, nothing would stop me from going to and with him, even to the ends of the earth.” “nothing, miss gregory,” lida asked sadly, pathos in her voice. “nothing, dear.” miss gregory bent close to the girl. “nothing is worth so much to a human being as love. in fact nothing in life whether of humans or animals is worth more than love. it is love that rules the universe. love that rules us. we rule animals best, not by force but by by sanction of law the love and kindness we show them. it is love, of a di- vine kind that sways the world and keeps us from catas- trophe after catastrophe, cataclysm after cataclysm. but as for humans there is nothing so beautiful or so satisfying to a woman as the love of a good man—her man.” “but suppose, there are differences?” lida persisted. “there can and should be no differences. there were differences in my case and these differences, mere shad- ows, have caused me many a night of tears and regrets. family should not count, nor should religion.—and finan- cial circumstances least of all. so long as tastes are in harmony, desires and ambitions dovetail, nothing should matter.” “but, miss gregory, suppose there's difference in na- tionality?” “the question of love between two persons is a matter of individuality, personality and nationality should not matter any more than religion. god gave us the gift of love, or rather breathed into us the spirit of love, which is him- self, before he divided us into nations and races, or re- ligions. i have learned to know this after bitter experi- ences.” lida nestled closer to the elder woman as if the words comforted. she still had some questions to ask for she sighed pathetically. miss gregory drew the girl closer to her as if to encourage her to talk. before lida could frame another question, however, miss gregory continued ruminatively: “the trouble with most of us is we love not truly.” by san ction of law “oh, miss gregory, how can you say that?” lida asked. “it is true,” was the defense. “we love form, social po- sition, public approbation, grandeur, wealth, and many things when we men and women should love character, gentility, good breeding, soul, ideals, moral courage, beau- ty of spirit in persons. i neglected to see these and have been left a lonely aging woman.” “but you have your school and the love of your girls. you are dear to them and they must be to you,” lida offered. “true, but what love can compensate a woman for the love of a strong good man and children? no, my dear, if you truly love a man and he loves you, follow your love and your heart.” “but, miss gregory, my case is so different. you don’t understand. i—i—can’t tell you.” lida burst into a fit of weeping again. miss gregory stroked the head that now lay in her lap. as she stroked the girl’s head she soothed her with: “you poor child. don’t worry, it will all come out right.” suddenly lida sat up, looked into the eyes of the elder woman then asked: “miss gregory, could you, -would you marry a man of the colored race—a man of slave race, if you were of a family that had owned slaves?” miss gregory paled and almost swooned. “oh, god,” she said, “is that the trouble? you poor child, no wonder you worry. what a calamity! what an awful calamity.” she began to weep herself. lida looked on in wonder- i by-san ction of law ment not knowing what to think. miss gregory, how- ever, through her tears was picturing the calamity to her school, and the scandal news of such an affair would create among her pupils; she saw her school wrecked since par- ents would no longer send their children to her place as a select school for finishing. she saw her livelihood vanish- ing, and panic seized her. tears dried and horror gripped her heart. “you don’t mean that, dear girl.” she finally managed to say. “what will your father say? what will every- body say. where did you meet him? oh, forget him, forget him, forget him. such a thing is impossible! such a thing would only mean trouble. don’t think of it. who is he? tell me.” “i’m afraid it’s too late now, miss gregory. i love him,” lida said simply. “who is he? where did you meet him? how did it happen?” a thousand questions rushed in panicky fash- ion through the elder woman’s mind. lida looked at her adviser in amazement. “why, you just said nationality shouldn’t count. what did you mean?” “not that, not that, not that,” miss gregory wailed. “i never dreamed of that. you will ruin us all, ruin me, ruin my school—oh, god, what shall i do?” “then you didn’t mean what you were just saying?— you were just trying to comfort me. all your fine words were empty?—and i thought i had a friend,” she ended pathetically. by sanction of law the elder woman was silent till the silence was be- coming painful to the two. lida essayed to speak again. miss gregory, her head still bowed, the chin cupped in a hand, her elbow on the arm of the morris chair, was still silent. the words she had spoken to the girl were still repeating themselves in her mind. did nothing matter? she was asking herself. as she debated she recalled her own broken romance of early life, how this had spoiled her life and caused her heart to wither and dry till she opened this school. her romance had been broken because of proud parents and the question of wealth but it had been broken just the same. now after sacrificing love for wealth, her family had lost their wealth, her father and mother had died, the former of grief over financial losses and she had been left cheated out of both wealth and love. lida had risen and was standing at the window of her room looking onto the street. as miss gregory thought the lines deepened in her face till it became drawn and somewhat hard and pale. the silence was tense. finally she sighed deeply. lida turned and the teacher beckoned the girl to her. “lida,” she said, “i am here as teacher, counsellor and guide to my girls. what i said a little while ago i meant. nothing in life should outweigh love, if we are truly to be happy. the question of whether we are to sacrifice love for other things is a matter for each to decide. i know human nature enough to say that women look on love and marriage differently than do men. if a woman loves a man she cares not who he is or what he is. if she decides by san ction of law that a man can make her happy and keep her happy, she cares not who or what he is. most of us, though, are color cowards and public opinion cowards. we fear what the other fellow will say; what the other girl will say. “for a girl to marry a colored man requires heroic courage, here in america. there are many such mar- riages, it is true, but none between a girl of your standing and rearing and one of that race. i don’t think the man ought to ask the girl to make such a sacrifice.—” “oh, he hasn’t asked me,” lida hastened to defend. miss gregory waved her hand impatiently at the inter- ruption. “for a girl of your standing to take such a step means the sacrifice of home, family, friends, wealth; the causing of bitterness, heartaches on the part of your family and much doubt as to the success of the experiment. you will be cut off entirely from your friends and associates who will see only that you have thrown your life away; you will be without companions except such as he, from his choosing may bring to you and such an act can mean only trouble and grief, for you. i have known some hap- py marriages of the kind, and see no reason why such unions should not be happy except that conditions in america are not ripe for such. the world is too full of prejudice. in some other country it might be successful. it has been successful — it would be successful. the question is, in your case, is he worth the worry and sacri- fice to be entailed? “i think not. i would advise, before your romance goes by san ction of law too far, that you forget it. when i spoke of forgetting, it was before i was thinking of what the story of such an alliance would mean for me and my school. i am getting to be an old woman now, and this has been my dependence. therefore, you will understand and forgive me, for the outburst, selfish as it was. for your own sake, lida, child—for your own sake i would advise you to forget this romance. it is your first, and a girlish romance. it will be easy to forget. there will come a greater love in your life some day and you will look back on this romance as a girlish dream and be glad you did not take the step you contemplate.” “has that been your experience, miss gregory?” lida asked. “oh, no. but my case was different. i was in love with a white man.” “you loved, though, didn’t you?” lida persisted. “yes.” “you still love, don’t you?” “yes.” “and that is true love, isn’t it? you didn’t care what the man was, you just loved him?” miss gregory bowed her head in assent. “well, i have loved and do love. i did not ask what manner of man it was i loved. i know him to be a man and i love him. it is too late now to talk forgetting. i’ll never forget him. how can i forget what my heart wants as it has wanted nothing else in my life. besides he saved my life and i owe it to him. i would go to the ends of the earth with him. what if he by sanction of law has colored blood in him, he also has white blood, and ex- cept that, to me he stands out above all the men i have known. he is no different from any other man.” miss gregory now saw that it would be useless to argue further with lida but decided she would do what she could to thwart any further intercourse with lida and her lover, even though as yet she had not learned the name of the young man. she reasoned that the name would be easy to secure when once her plans were made, since she could get the information from some of the other girls in the school. when she saw lida becoming excited over the subject she dismissed it with: “well, my dear, we'll talk things over again later. you'll be excused from classes today, now get some sleep and i’ll send a nurse to look after you, then perhaps, to- night i'll come and talk it all over with you again.” with that she kissed the girl and was gone. chapter xi as she passed from the room the weight of the world seemed on her shoulders and her face bore lines of trag- edy. she knew that to oppose her will to the will of a young girl in love was but to aggravate and drive the girl more quickly into the arms of her lover. such is the perverseness of young people; has been and always will be. she decided that such a course would not do. miss gregory decided that the best thing to do was to find out who the young man was, try to prevail upon him to give up the girl and that failing, to seek some other means of breaking up the match. that there should be no match she was determined. she would not allow her protege to throw her life away. she had just reached her room and fallen weakly into her study chair by the little table at which she did most of her work when she had a sudden inspiration. on the instant she touched the bell near the base of the study lamp. a maid responded. “ask miss comstock to come to me immediately, if possible, please.” the maid departed and in a few minutes louise com- stock stood wonderingly before the head of the school. “sit down, please, miss comstock. i wish to talk with you. how’s your headache? better, child?” she in- quired. “yes, miss gregory, thank you.” miss comstock re- plied. “what made you ill, dear? you didn't attend the re- by san ction of law ception at the college the other night. that's unusual for you. what was the trouble?” miss gregory was watching the expression on the girl's face keenly. she noted immediately upon asking the question, the spasm of pain that swept over the counte- nance, saw the eyelids flutter and droop and the lips twitch nervously. she also thought she detected a tear. immediately she surmised the trouble and asked: “had a spat with your escort? she asked shrewdly. “too bad,” she continued kindly and philosophically. “i hope the differences are all mended or soon will be.” when louise remained silent, miss gregory continued. “i did not ask you here to hurt you. i want to know something about a young man. what sort of a man is truman bennet? the young man who rescued you and miss lauriston?” at mention of the name the girl looked up with a gasp of surprise. she gazed at the elder woman intently as if to read the reason of the question. miss gregory returned the look and waited. for a moment louise wondered whether to speak truly or not. finally she seemed to de- tect a flicker of a friendly smile about miss gregory's lips that invited confidence. without a word she arose, stepped over to the chair at which the teacher sat, rested on the arm with her own arm about the shoulders of the elder woman, then bent over and tenderly kissed miss gregory’s forehead. with that she burst out, “oh, miss gregory, how did you know? how did you know?” her tone was joyful, believing that the older woman, whose by san ction of law duty it was to know all the secrets of her girls in some way, divined the fact that louise was in love with truman bennet. miss gregory, thinking of lida, preferred to preserve si- lence, and wait. with a sigh of contentment and consolation at the thought that she had a friend in whom she could confide, louise spoke tenderly and softly. there is no solace for a troubled soul so welcomed as the ear of sympathetic friend. it was the first time louise had had opportunity for unburdening her heart to anyone and she was glad of the chance. with a voice softened almost to a whisper by the emotion which moved her, she said: “truman bennet, miss gregory, is—is—,” the girl hes- itated, seeking words for describing him, while miss greg- ory waited. suddenly she burst out with, “oh, miss gregory, i can’t describe him. he's my ideal.” miss gregory turned to look at the girl, saw the rapt tenderness of her face, guessed at the emotions which moved her and made a mental notation, then asked: “what does he look like?” “he’s tall, swarthy, like a spaniard or a moor, with brown eyes.” “where does he come from? who are his parents?” “he’s in the graduating class at college—he's a senior. from one of the little towns of the state. i don’t know his family, except that they say they are—” louise hesi- tated as she remembered the nationality of bennet. “he’s by san ction of law a perfect man and a gentleman, however,” she hastily added as if in defense. from the emotion detected in the girl at the beginning of the conversation, miss gregory had expected a rap- turous description of the young man. when she found the girl loathed to speak of bennet, and then only in terms of quiet praise and defense, she realized that louise, too, entertained a deep emotion for bennet. with this realiza- tion she asked: “have you seen him often?” “yes, when at games and at other times the boys give. he's very popular. i’ve never been in his company much. he's the young man who saved me during the strike riot last fall.” “oh, i see.” she turned to the girl with: “would you marry him?” the two looked straight into each other's souls at the question, louise hesitated a moment, then dropped her head as she answered. “yes, miss gregory. i would if he asked me. but he won't—he won't.” miss gregory arose, stroked the girl's head then walked to her window and gazed to the street. “maybe he will,” she said — “maybe he will. that is all dear.” louise, hesitated, still seated on the arm of the chair from which miss gregory had risen. she wanted to speak her heart but maidenly emotions prevented. slowly she left the room, half cheered, half disheartened, and full of wonder. ioo by san ction of law for some minutes after louise had departed miss greg- ory continued to gaze from the window down the street far into the past to where the romance of her own life had begun and ended. despite the promptings of what she considered her duty, the picture of a youth and girl cross- ing a meadow in a rich coloring of spring sunset, smiling happily at each other and planning the many things they would do, now that they had pledged their lives and had promised to love each other. she was the girl and the youth a young man, son of humble parents whose few- acre farm adjoined the country estate of her parents. the picture of this romance conjured again from the past pleaded with her in the case of lida and bennet. stern reality of the present, the duty she felt to her school, to herself and to the father who had entrusted the girl to her care and training, all argued against romance. the argu- ment was too strong and romance lost. with tears in her eyes, reminders of her own bitterness, she turned away from the window determined upon a course of action. she would interview bennet and convince him of the fu- tility of pursuing the course he was on. while summoning a messenger she penned a polite note asking “would mr. truman bennet be kind enough to call at the office of miss gregory, of miss gregory's fin- ishing school at . o'clock or as soon thereafter as was convenient.” with the note dispatched she sat at her desk to await an answer. with a feeling that she was trespassing guilt- ily where she had no right, she waited, wondering whether ioi by san ction of law when the messenger reached his room with the note from miss gregory, he seemed on the verge of insanity from his suffering. at the first knocking at his door he resolved not to answer. when the knocking was repeated, determinedly, however, he shouted, petulantly, “go away. get away from that door and don’t bother me.” he was just about to hurl a handy caraffe of water against the door to emphasize his desire to be left alone, when the voice of the messenger called: “mr. bennet—mr. bennet—i’ve got a note for you.” “who is it?” bennet asked. “me,” came back ungrammatically. “it’s me, the mes- senger boy.” “what messenger boy. i don’t want any messenger boy.” “i’ve got a note from miss gregory’s school for mr. bennet. is that you?” at mention of miss gregory’s school, bennet leaped from the couch on which he had been reclining. he leaped so quickly as to jump out of the bedroom slippers in which his feet were encased. he was across the room in an instant with the door opened. in his pajamas and dressing robe, with his hair dishevelled, and a white band- age about his head he presented such a ghostly wild ap- pearance that the boy was on the point of bolting. ben- net grabbed the missive from the outstretched hand, tore the envelope open and read the formal scented note miss gregory had sent him. in puzzlement over the signa- ture he lifted his hand to his forehead and unconsciously io by sanction of law pushed the bandage from his forehead, pressing his hand there instead. for a few seconds he failed to comprehend the note. visions of lida came to him; fear that she was ill, or that something had happened to her almost had him frantic. suddenly he recalled their parting and realized that this could not be so when she had not the feeling for him that he had for her. the boy waited patiently. finally he said: “there's an answer. she said i was to wait for it.” “oh,” gasped bennet. “yes, yes—oh, there's an an- swer. — tell her i’ll be there. tell her i’ll — i’ll — be there.” with that he closed the door and began to prepare for the visit. youth quickly reacts against emotions and by the time bennet had finished a cold shower with a brisk rubdown, his mood of gloom had almost left him and he found his headache gone. he was once more looking sanely at life and wondering what could be the meaning of the invitation to call. his toilet was deliberate and careful as was always his way. when he left his room, his mates across the hall were so surprised at his immacu- lateness of dress and his quick recovery from tormenting illness that they believed he had suddenly gone insane and watched him intently. fear that, in his madness he planned to harm himself, several of them followed down the stairs and halfway across the campus, at a discreet distance, however. when he turned into prospect street and started in the io by san ction of law direction of miss gregory's school, they decided he was on his way to call on lida and, with the wisdom of college youth, concluded that bennet's illness was due to a love quarrel and that he was on the way to a peace conference. for a few moments longer, after they had paused in their pursuit, they gazed steadily at bennet, watched his steady, firm, though hurried stride, clapped each other on the back as they chuckled, hooked feet, with hands resting on shoulders, then did a one-foot dance. chapter xii bennet was not long in reaching the school and was ushered into the office. this was a large, high-ceiled room with but little furniture save a rug in the center on which was a wide flat-topped desk of heavy oak, an office swivel chair behind it and a straight backed chair in front and facing the office chair. there were one or two other chairs at the sides. on the walls were reproductions of ruins of the parthenon at rome, a front view of the school from which several students looked, standing on the steps, a landscape, and a trophy of some hunting ex- pedition. he stood hat in hand, hesitating before seating himself, when from an inner room opposite the entrance door, miss gregory appeared, extending a hand and smil- ing as she greeted him. her nerves had been in such a condition as she waited that she was still aflutter and de- spite her efforts at self control she could feel her face al- ternately flush and pale. “mr. bennet, i’m glad you came. i see you got my note.” before he could frame a reply she turned, took her seat and beckoned bennet to the chair opposite the desk, with: “won’t you be seated, please.” as he turned to the seat indicated, miss gregory be- came self possessed enough to study bennet. she noted the frank open countenance; the confident poise, the clear brown eyes, the firm chin, well chiseled lips, that indi- cated kindness, the brown wavy hair falling back from the high forehead and realized that he was just the sort of ioé by san ction of law young man who would catch a girl’s fancy. she could see, however, that he was unconscious of his attractive- ness and power; that he was unassuming and modest by his bearing. she almost decided not to go through with what she planned. the lines of her face softened for an instant and her grey eyes became pitying. this feeling of pity recalled her to her task, however, and after hesitat- ing, while bennet waited, she sighed then began. the grey eyes became cold. “mr. bennet,” she said. “i have a very unpleasant duty to perform.” she paused as if hoping bennet would say something. he remained quiet, however. “you know, my school is very select. we cater to the most particular families. we take pride in the care we take of our stu- dents, the cultural training we give them and the standing of the families patronizing us. “you must realize how careful we have to be that our girls are preserved from contact with others than those of the social set to which they are accustomed. there are those among my pupils whose ancestry dates back to fam- ilies of the nobility of england; others who spring from colonial stock and others along whose family tree may be traced generation after generation of distinguished citizens. “i mention these things,” she continued, when, after a pause, bennet still chose to remain silent and to hear her out, “to show how utterly out of place and unsuccessful associations and marriages along the lines i have indi- cated would be. “take yourself, for instance. popular and well bred io/ by san ction of law though you are. for i have learned that you are one of the most popular young men at college, you could not hope to contract a marriage with one of my girls, however friendly you might become with one of them.” “was it for this,” bennet asked, calmly, “that you asked me here?” miss gregory’s face turned pink as she bowed her head in acknowledgment. as he spoke, bennet's mind flashed to a paragraph of the declaration of independence, which he had learned at school. “all men are endowed with cer- tain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” at her acquiescence, bennet sat back in his chair as he said: “miss gregory, from a study of the mayflower band's history, the history of other colonists, and early settlers, it would seem that there is much in the life of these that might be left buried in the coffins of the past. there are things in their lives of which present day descendants don’t care to boast. to rattle the dry bones of ancestry may not be the wisest act for some of us. so far as herit- age is concerned, i can boast of as much as they. per- haps more. i have as good breeding behind me as the best, my family may not be as wealthy but it certainly has as good training as any in america. i have been as care- fully and as well reared. so i don’t see how the things you mention concern me.” “yes, my dear boy, but you don’t understand.” “i understand enough to know that a lady has invited io by san ction of law me here to insult me. if that is good breeding, please ex- cuse me.” with that he started to rise. miss gregory be- gan to fear her mission would fail. “oh, be patient,” she exclaimed. “hear me. you don’t understand. “you are different, don’t you know. all you say might be true of any other race and nationality but yours.” “race? nationality? of what race and nationality am i?” “you are colored, are you not?” “what do you say?” “i? — i can’t say. i ask you.” she parried. “i am of mixed blood. there is a strain of colored blood in me. but i am much honored in the blood. there is a strain of white blood in me, and i am much honored in the blood, for both bloods are one. to have the blood of a former slave in one's veins is not of itself a disgrace. many of our early settlers were slaves before coming here or the descendants of slaves. they are none the less men for that. therefore i say it is of no matter so long as i prove a man whether there be one strain or many strains of blood coursing through my veins. it ill becomes a woman and a lady, who prides herself in an- cestry and good breeding to make an invited guest the butt of insults. besides, what does this interview mean? why was i asked here?” in a last final effort, miss gregory took in a deep breath, leaned across the desk and said: “you have as- sumed,—dared to fall in love with one of my girls. she io by san ction of law in her innocence has taken a fancy to you. i asked you here to show you the folly of such an affair; to appeal to your judgment and reasoning, your regard for the girl; your gallantry, to break away from any such affair.” “go back on my word, forsake my pledge and thereby prove myself a cad?” bennet exclaimed, thinking of lida. “you ask what will never be. i could never consider my- self a man or square myself with my idea of manliness by such an act. besides, what would become of the girl?” “oh, i’ll look out for her. if you pass out of her life she will soon forget you. her’s is only a girlish infatua- tion. besides, you know she could never marry you even though you had all the wealth and breeding in the world. your race is against you. the girl doesn’t love you. she doesn’t know what love is.” at these words, and remembering the talk on the cinder path the night of the promenade, bennet began to feel that perhaps the words of miss gregory were true. his heart sank. he arose to end the interview. miss greg- ory believing she had scored, stood also and as a bit of parting advice, said: “miss lauriston could never love you and is only car- ried away for the moment with the newness of her life. forget her, my boy. find some other girl and wed in your own race and be happy.” bennet turned his eyes blazing with anger he could no longer restrain. he towered like a righteous young god before miss gregory who quailed. “miss gregory, what you have said may be true. i iio by san ction of law don’t believe it. miss lauriston is not a girl to love lightly; nor is she a girl to pledge her word and go back on it. until she tells me of her own volition that she did not mean what she said i’ll take her word for it. and whether she does or not, my love is hers. it will always be hers and all the powers of hell cannot prevent me from loving her.” with that he stalked from the room. miss gregory, feeling that her mission had failed, sank back into her chair, her head on her arm on the desk. bennet, despite his passion was more than half convinced that miss greg- ory was right in saying that lida did not love him, and was passing down the hallway to the door, in a pall of gloom when suddenly he heard the swish of a dress and felt someone grasp his hand, pressing into it a bit of paper, then closing it tightly again. he turned at the touch of the hand but the act was so quick that whoever it was had disappeared in a room at hand before he could catch more than a glimpse of her. he was still thoroughly angry when he reached the sidewalk. he almost forgot the little slip of paper which he clutched. suddenly he paused, opened the paper and read: “i love you, with all my heart. i love you. no matter what happens. i love you and always will. lida.” the effect was instantaneous. he lifted his head and laughed with joy. to miss gregory, who was watching his departure, the laughter was puzzling and mysterious. she felt that she had argued in vain and was beaten. iii by san ction of law mons came, curiosity to know what had brought him to the school and where he had gone prompted her to go to the head of the stairs. she was just in time to see him being ushered into the office of miss gregory. at first she was surprised but suddenly with the wise intuition which her experiences were giving her she reasoned that miss gregory must have summoned the young man with the determination to break off their affair. indignation swelled her soul at the thought and she also feared that miss gregory, in her determination, would of- fer insult to bennet. she was too well bred to do eaves- dropping, though the temptation was strong. for a mo- ment or so she was in a quandary what to do, then her mind hit upon the plan of waiting till the interview was over and assuring bennet of her regard for him despite what had been disclosed. it was due to this that truman found himself in possession of the note that so cheered him. nothing so fills a man with daring as the knowledge that love given is received and returned. it was this that made cave men battle; it was for this that kingdoms have been overturned; it was for this that histories have been changed and remade; and it is but as god intended. when we are filled with that divine spark, we humans, no obstacle is too great to be overcome. cowards become heroes and criminals become saints. with the words of the note burning themselves into bennet's heart and brain he trod air and walked with the step of a hercules capable of accomplishing any set num- ii by san ction of law that there was much trouble in store for her. “yet,” she decided, “his love is worth it all. we grow up to meet, make and face our own circumstances. i have my life to live and must live it. i’d rather live it with love than without.” with that conclusion, after sitting far into the night she prepared for bed and retired, a happy smile on her face, the reflection of happiness of heart. miss gregory also was sitting up until late in the eve- ning pondering over the events of the past few days and particularly the interview she had with bennet. she felt she had made an impression on the young man as she talked with him and also that she had won him over so that it would be easy to break off any associations. when bennet, however, tossed his head back and laughed, the act she had witnessed as he departed, she became puzzled and felt less sure of herself and the success of her plan. she was not to be outwitted, however, in her determina- tion. before she retired she had decided on her next course. she would appeal to the faculty of the college to impress upon bennet the futility of his plan, the sad con- sequences and they would be able to bring pressure to bear that would have a sobering effect on the young man. “i’ll prevent him from graduating, if he persists,” she determined as she shook her head to emphasize the de- termination. “i’ll let him know a thing or two. that child must be saved. that’s all there is to it. she must be saved. i’ll see the president tomorrow.” with that action settled in her mind she retired. ii chapter xiii with miss gregory to make a decision was to act. it was but living up to this characteristic the following morning when, after having gotten her classes well started she set off for the college administration building for the purpose of laying the facts before the president and en- listing his aid. coming to the large, imposing, ivy cov- ered structure which, with its atmosphere of quiet, gave the impression of studiousness and culture, she stepped in- to the reception room, sent her card to the president and was shortly ushered in. the president, a short, quickly nervous acting man, whose rotundity of body gave one the impression of a city alderman, accustomed to and enjoying the good things of life, smiled and bounced to his feet as miss gregory came into the room, his massive head with its heavy thatch of just-turning grey hair nodded vigorously at the same time that he smiled broadly. all he needed was the apron and a butcher knife to have seemed the inn-keeper in some old world village. these two had had many meetings before for the pur- pose of adjudicating differences and matters relating to the students of one school or the other. it was in antici- pation of some such trouble that dr. dennig greeted miss gregory on this morning. despite the fact that they had met on many other occasions there never was an occasion for such a meeting but that the genial president had tried to grasp the hand of the head of the girls’ school in a way ii by san ction of law to give the impression of affection for her. it was always a flabby sort of grip that miss gregory, when she spoke of the incident at all with her intimates, had described as “clammy.” as he stood, this morning, he reached for the hand again, with: “why, good morning, miss gregory! how do you do?” miss gregory failed to notice the extended hand or to recognize the greeting except with a bow. “to what am i indebted for this so early a visit on such a spring morning? i hope it is an errand of love—a—a—a personal errand, i mean.” here he tried again to reach the hand of the woman. miss gregory tightened her lips and sat in the chair at the side of the desk. when she still remained silent though smiling to conceal her dislike of the man and his mannerisms, dr. dennig continued: “i suppose some of my boys have been flirting again. or rather that your girls have been tempting my boys and you come to blame them for being led on. you know, i can’t blame my boys, when i’m so hard hit myself by the —,” here he bowed again as best he could over the front elevation of himself, “director of the school. i—” before he could continue, miss gregory interrupted with: “dr. dennig, don’t be a fool all your life. remember you’re head of this institution and conduct yourself ac- cordingly. i have come to complain of one of your boys and i want your help. i want the help of the entire fac- ulty.” by san ction of law “ah, is it as serious as that? that you deem it a fac- ulty matter?” “you’ll see how serious it is,” she snapped. “i’m all attention then, proceed,” he directed. “i have a southern young woman in my school, who comes from a proud, very proud and distinguished fam- ily. she and one of your students have fallen desperately in love.” “i don’t see that that is such a serious matter. young men and young women have fallen in love before, even as you and i,_i beg pardon, even as i with you. that’s a characteristic of youth, you know. so long as they ob- serve the laws of society, what matters to us? they’ve done so in other years here and i presume this will not be an off year in the matter of announced engagements when graduations take place. why worry?” “but, you don’t understand. this engagement is folly —perfect folly, besides it will wreck a young girl’s life and will wreck my school.” “my dear miss gregory, have you not learned yet that youth will brook no interference when it comes to its love affairs. at least not in these modern days. in our day—” “i beg pardon,” she interrupted. “in my day,” dr. dennig corrected hastily, “parents and guardians had much to say concerning the companions of youth and choices for mates but times have changed. we are in a new day. young people have more freedom. they take more freedom—demand more and when we old fogies attempt to interfere its like trying to harness an un- ii by san ction of law broken texas pony. now my advice is to let this matter severely alone.” “but, you don’t understand. you don’t understand.” “but i do understand. i understand you fear that this match if consummated will wreck your school. fie on that. you fear needlessly. no love affair ever broke up a school.” “this one will—,” miss gregory persisted “and if you don’t act, it will break yours up also.” “never.” dr. dennig shook his head pompously. “well, hear me out anyway then decide. this girl, i say, is a southerner, with spirit of the south in her being. she has fallen in love with a man of colored blood—fal- len in love with bennet—truman bennet.” dr. dennig sat back in his chair without a word as if stunned and gazed from the window across the campus arched over by stately elms of generations growth. thus he sat for fully five minutes. miss gregory waited si- lently, the fingers of his hands touching as in the attitude of prayer. at the end of his meditations he turned to miss gregory, with: “what would you have me do?” he finally asked. “bennet is an estimable fellow, well liked, and would never be taken for one with colored blood in him. he is manly, too. i’ve watched him through his four years. besides he finishes next month—graduates. we can’t command him to cease loving the girl, if she cares for him. we can’t expel him for that. it seems as if you must work on the ii by san ction of law girl if you desire to break the match. that’s your play, miss gregory.” miss gregory stamped her foot as she said: “call a faculty meeting and have him before it. de- mand that he cease his attentions or suffer the penalty of not receiving his degree.” “but he's earned his degree,” dr. dennig insisted. “the faculty awards degrees. the faculty can with- hold them for whatever purpose they see fit. it is within your right. put it to a vote and you will see the faculty will bear me out,” miss gregory still argued. there was another long pause while dr. dennig studied the distant view across the campus. finally he said, with a deep intake of breath through his teeth: “i’ll call the faculty meeting, if you’ll come before them, state your case, make your own plea and then let them vote.” “i’ll come — surely — yes,” was the positive answer. “but, i’ll make this stipulation,” dr. dennig persisted. “bennet shall have his chance also.” “is that necessary?” returned miss gregory with a feel- ing of misgiving. “it is. he has committed no crime—and i don’t be- lieve the faculty will sustain you. — however, we’ll see. i’m neutral,” added dr. dennig raising his hands to em- phasize the words. “i’ll vouch for the faculty.—thank you, dr. dennig,” miss gregory said with a positiveness she did not feel. i o two parted at the door. miss gregory was determined to see that she had her way and set about to canvass the members of the faculty with whom she was friendly, in effort to enlist them on her side. those she won over, she pledged to her support without telling them what she wanted. “just vote with me and for me at the meeting when the subject comes up,” was what she asked them. all unmindful of the storm brewing about their heads, conscious only of the fact that their love was mutual and growing stronger, bennet and lida contrived to meet for a few moments each day and filled up the remaining time of their existence writing to and thinking of each other. they lived only in the moment and their love, as is the way of youth. they had decided, each to return to their respective homes after school ended, inform their parents, then if objections arose to meet at some to be appointed place there to marry and start their wedded life. bennet had already secured a commission to travel for a large business firm and it was planned to combine business with their honeymoon abroad. the day of the faculty meeting, due to the activity and energy of miss gregory, found the session permeated with subdued curiosity and an air of mysterious tensity. neigh- boring members viewed each other with wonderment, none knowing just what to expect. dr. dennig was as mystify- ing as possible, for instead of the usual smiling suavity of greeting, and the joking banter with which he was accus- i i by sanction of law here dr. dennig stated the proposition that had been put to him by miss gregory, detailing the story. when he concluded he said: “in order that you may judge and decide for yourselves i have asked both miss gregory and the other principal concerned to appear before you. i shall first call miss gregory.” with that he touched a bell at his elbow and miss greg- ory entered. “miss gregory,” dr. dennig continued, “i have laid the matter before the faculty and will allow you to pre- sent your case.” miss gregory then stepped to the table and after fac- ing the gathering for a second, said: “gentlemen, i’ll be brief and to the point. i am sorry to do this but feel it is my duty and that you will feel it your duty in the interest of all concerned to concur in what i shall ask you. “miss gregory’s school and this college have been neigh- bors, and i might say friendly neighbors for years. the pupils at my school and yours have formed many happy friendships, most of which have been fortunate. i have rejoiced in the close associations of my school and yours; of my students and yours. the reputation of my school has been built on its exclusiveness, the care exercised over the pupils, the training given them and the culture they absorb. your college has been built on the success of your teaching and the principles you teach and the type of men you turn out. all that is admitted. i by san ction of law “there has arisen a rather unfortunate circumstance which we all owe it to ourselves to amend at no matter what sacrifice. i promise you that i shall exercise more care in the future. one of my pupils whose family and traditions bear me out in my action of opposition has un- fortunately taken a fancy to one of your students whom she cannot marry and should not be allowed to marry. i don’t want drastic action unless all other efforts fail. i have tried to dissuade the girl and have seemingly failed. i have tried to dissuade the young man in question and have failed. i appeal to you now, for aid. i would ask you gentlemen to summon the young man, impress upon him the enormity of the differences in his circumstances and hers, and assure him that should he persist he will not be allowed to graduate.” “who is this young man?” dean sandager asked. the same question was on the tongue of several others. “truman bennet.” “bennet — bennet, bennet — why he's all right,” came from several sections of the room at the same time as professors recalled their contact with bennet and his bear- ing in college. miss gregory’s face flushed for a minute at the seeming hopelessness of her task. “do you mean to say,” she asked, leaning slightly over the table in her intensity, “that you don’t know who and what he is, after four years spent with him? don’t you know that he is colored; that he has negro blood in his veins? he can’t be allowed to form an alliance with a southern girl of breeding and refinement such as lida i by san ction of law lauriston. you cannot allow it! you must not allow it! what will become of my school if such a thing happens?” her voice was now raised almost to a shrill in her excite- ment. “this thing must not be.” “perish the thought!” “never, never!” “the fool! that's what comes of too much education!” “we’d lynch him in the south for such a thought even!” this last from one of the newer and younger members of the fac- ulty who had come from one of the southern schools. about the table could be heard the other exclamations while some of the older heads and those who knew bennet best either remained silent or voiced half-hearted approval. the young man who spoke of lynching, donald arm- strong, became so excited he arose in his seat and shaking his fist at the air, his face almost purple, exclaimed: “the brute! i knew it! i knew it! i always knew it would never do to educate “niggers.” we must preserve the white race pure. i knew if we allowed them to be edu- cated the next thing they would be wanting to marry our daughters. i wouldn’t let him graduate. i’d flunk him. i’d expel him for such uppishness. we know, in the south how to handle such. we know how to keep them in their places.” for a few moments there was a general hubbub, with everyone voicing opinions and trying to speak at once. when noises lessened, dean sandager, his white hair thrown back from his fine high serried forehead, stood, stroked his patriarchal beard which covered his white i by san ction of law mations. you should be the last to shout that shibboleth, son. the last to shout it. “i suggest that before we do anything for which we should entertain later regrets we have the young man him- self before us. hear his side of matter. i’m sure he’ll give a good account of himself.” armstrong subsided and there were shouts and hand- clappings of approval when dean sandager had finished. as the latter seated himself, dr. dennig turned to him with: “i have already summoned the young man and he ought to be here.” another tap of the bell, a hurried message and the door opened as truman bennet stepped before the faculty. dean sandager, his heart yearning like a father’s to the young man, stood as bennet entered. dr. dennig, the president also rose. the others remained seated. dean sandager stepped to bennet's side and escorted him to the table, the place where miss gregory had stood, she hav- ing retired to one of the chairs against the wall. before dean sandager seated himself again he rested his hand on bennet's shoulders as if to impart courage for the ordeal. dr. dennig lost no time in coming to the point. “ben- net,” he said, “you are faced with a very serious predica- ment. you are summoned here to say whether or not you shall be allowed to graduate with your class or be ex- pelled from college. upon your answer depends it whether the faculty votes for the one or the other. you can save yourself from trouble if you will here and before us all by san ction of law give us your word that you'll not see miss lauriston any more; that you will not communicate with her or in any way seek to associate with her. “i may also say that your further association with her is distasteful to miss gregory, to some members of the faculty and would be decidedly so to the young lady’s fam- ily. in fact a persistence in your attitude will mean not only a faculty vote but trouble, endless trouble for you both. what have you to say?” bennet listened to the words then with one hand min- isterially thrust into his bosom where the coat was un- buttoned, with a voice so passion-spent that his words came with almost percussive explosiveness spoke. there was the agony of a tortured soul in every syllable, having sensed immediately the import of his summons. as he faced them with the confidence of youth, yet the gravity of age, he said: “gentlemen of the faculty:—as i read your faces, hear your charges and study the gravity of your countenances i am led to ask myself whether i’m among christians or heathens, leaders or slaves, friends or foes. i had thought that during my four years here i was among friends. “this that you propose to do, in fact already have done, might easily be catalogued among the crimes of the ages. you have set yourselves to the task of preventing the most moral, the most human, most natural act of life, the per- fectly cosmic mating of two souls. “you threaten me with expulsion from your school. not only that. you seek to deprive me of something i by san ction of law i’ve earned and paid for in cash and honest effort. you may deny me certification of my accomplishment. you cannot withdraw that which i have absorbed under these old and stately elms and in these class rooms and under the guardianship of those of you whose lives are worthy of emulation. “therefore your proposal if carried out would fail of accomplishment except as it branded you as hide-bound, narrow and bigoted. your action would but brand you as inhuman, unchristian — unmoral. that i differ from you in blood you may claim. yet how false that claim. the blood of all men is human. complexion is external. there is as royal blood in my veins as in yours — as in the best of you. the blood of kings pulses from my heart; the blood of the king of life and death; of god our king courses through my veins. wherein are you more royal than i? how long is america to dwell in the gloom of prejudice? how long are men of thought and leadership to allow blind caste bigotry to shape our common desti- nies? “i want my diploma as a right fully earned; as a mat- ter of justice; as a matter of law. i’ve earned it by study, by expenditures, by loyalty. as for the halting of my course; the turning aside from my purpose; repudiating of my pledged word, first halt you the tides; reshape the course of day through night; still the wheels of the uni- verse, yet only death shall rob me of my will to, -right to love the one i love.—unless it be the lady herself. i by san ction of law “this breast of mine knows what a gem she is.” he waved his hand defiantly. “keep your diploma, deny me, if you will, the honor of standing with my classmates and receiving certification in public at your hands. you can- not deny me my right to love.” i o manhood and character. i know no prejudices except that based on personal dislike because a man’s heart is black through lack of principle. the boy is right. as right as god is right. if we do such an unoodly thing as is pro- posed this institution will rot and crumble to decay, for it will have proven false to every principle on which it is built. it will belie every truth it has taught. and if we do vote for such a thing i’ll quit my post for the lecture plat- form and will tell the world what hypocrites we are. “what have we to do with the personal affairs of one who has broken no college rule? do we want to brand ourselves, as he says, as unchristian? i think not. i for one will take part in no such action, and if it comes to a vote i’ll vote no, though i vote alone.” “here too, here too, here too,” came from three or four of the older men. several of the younger professors and instructors remained silent. three or four, however, among them armstrong, cried: “i’ll quit before i’ll stand for it. yes, yes, yes.” dr. dennig rapped for order. after securing silence he said: “well, gentlemen, it is a sorry moment but i’ll put the matter to a vote. i would say, however, before we un- dertake it that whatever our action let us decide it to be secret and not for the public.” “if the board does right, i’ll agree, otherwise i won't.” stated dean sandager. “i have lived right. according to my belief in christ and christianity. i’ll die that way. i by san ction of law ...and i’ll never give in to foolish, narrow prejudice so un- just as color prejudice is,” he added. “why the whole world is prejudiced against black men,” shouted armstrong. “why blame prejudice on the south; every section is prejudiced against him.” “yes, the world may be prejudiced but that doesn’t make it right. and i deny that all the world is prejudiced. to the shame of some americans they have tried to make it so — but not all — and it will never be so. god never intended it to be so.” “you northerners are prejudiced, just as we are,” re- torted professor armstrong. “those who are, are honestly so, even though they have been misled by your propaganda and lies. you of the south are hypocrites.” “you lie.” dean sandager’s eyes blazed. “young man,” he said, “i’m old and can’t resent your insult in the only proper way, therefore i’ll control myself. i say, however, i do not lie and leave it to the fair minds of the remainder of the board to say if i do. “i say, southerners are hypocrites in their prejudice. we of the north who are misled into evidences of preju- dice have been honestly misled and blinded by propaganda and false utterances of one kind or another or some low passion has been persuaded. when we are thus misled and form a prejudice we live up to that prejudice by avoiding contact with the man or race against whom we feel the prejudice. you of the south shout race inferiority, i by san ction of law and prejudice and yet have all sorts of associations, legiti- mate and illegitimate with those against whom you are prejudiced. “if i am prejudiced against a man i want nothing to do with him; neither his service nor his presence. you of the south shout prejudice but want to hold onto that against which you are prejudiced; want to keep it near you; want it to nurse you, feed you, support you, toil for you, create your wealth, minister to your wants higher and lower. fie on such prejudice and fie on you professor armstrong with your hypocritical protests. why, all your south is you owe to the negro, even your education.” armstrong had arisen from his seat and was walking menacingly toward the dean by this time. several of the men sought to halt him. he swung them aside and strode on. dean sandager stood like an indignant deity. “let him come,” he said. “let him come. i can take care of myself.” armstrong was withered by the fire of the old man’s eyes and halted when within a few feet of the elder man. when he halted, dean sandager con- tinued: “yes, armstrong, you’re a hypocrite and a coward.” the two men glared at each other for a minute. ev- eryone was breathless with pent up emotion. even dr. dennig seemed petrified into inaction. finally he recov- ered himself enough to rap excitedly with his fist on the table for order. “gentlemen, remember. be dignified. be dignified.” in order to prevent further clashing he hurriedly added: i by san ction of law “we’ll vote by secret ballot on the question. the secre- tary will prepare the ballots.” “vote secretly,” exploded dean sandager. “vote se– cretly? my god. quit ye like men! quit ye like men!” he urged, using the biblical quotation he had often used in exhorting his classes during lectures. despite his urging the secret ballots were prepared and placed at each man's side. after a sufficient time had been allowed for judgment, dr. dennig asked: “has everybody voted?” he was assured that they had and ballots were collected, placed at his side. the secretary counted them off. there were twenty-four men present and twenty-four had voted. the secretary read off the votes aloud. they were: “yes, yes, no, no, no, yes, no, yes, yes, yes, yes, no,” the count was becoming agonizing. the secre- tary still droned the count. no, no, no, no, no, no, yes, yes, no, no, no, yes.” audible sighs were heard all about the table as the count ended. it was found that bennet's diploma would not be withheld. “thank god!” breathed dean sandager. “god is a just god and right has won.” “i resign,” shouted armstrong. “damned if i’ll stay at any such college.” “you were just a little ahead of me, young man. i was about to ask for your resignation,” quietly offered dr. dennig. dean sandager turned and grasped the presi- dent’s hand, shaking it warmly. there were tears of nerv- ous joy in his eyes. he could not speak. dr. dennig, i thank you for showing me the way.” dean sandager shook his head. “no. it’s you. i never doubted you, dennig.” the faculty meeting adjourned in confusion immediate- ly. dean sandager and dr. dennig leaving the room to- gether, others of the faculty departing in groups discussing the affair and its result. professor armstrong was loud in his denunciations of all who voted against him. no one gave heed to him, however, as he walked from the room grumbling: “i won’t stay with a lot of cowards and weak sentimentalists. i’ll go where real white men live.” despite the efforts of the faculty to keep the matter secret, professor rumor, head of one of the most im– portant departments of any college group, soon had the story whispered about and discussed from various angles. members of bennet's class, however much they knew of the affair, liked him so well they never mentioned the sub- ject in his presence. events moved rapidly toward commencement and the attending functions. when miss gregory found that she could not prevent bennet and lida meeting or communi- cating, she was at her wit’s end. she hesitated to write south to lida’s father, fearing that such publicity would follow the impetuous old southerner that her school would be injured. she hoped that separation for the summer would serve to cool the friendship. the more she thought of this possibility the more she became convinced that this by san ction of law would be the fact. how little she knew the strength of the bond between the two or their natures! instead of thoughts of separation, these two, in their moments of meeting, were planning how to continue their communications and finally their plans for wedding. each resolved to return home at the end of their work and in- form their parents. “do you think that wise,” bennet asked, as they strolled under the elms of the east side a few days before com- mencement, happily reverting to the topic always upper- most in their minds. “it’s the only fair thing to do, dear,” lida returned. “daddy may rave, for a time, but” (with the confidence of youth) “i’ll make him see it my way. i know i will.” “i don’t know, blossom girl,” bennet replied, using the pet name which always awakened tenderness in him most deeply as he addressed her. she had always seemed to him like some fresh blooming wood blossom, he ex- plained when he first addressed her in that term. “old men are rather positive at times. and i’m afraid harm will come to you. why go south at all? why not get married and go to my home then go away as we had planned, writing the news to your father.” “that’s not a bit like you, truman. it wouldn’t be fair. and i want to be fair. i will be fair in all i do. i love you with all my heart and always will but i love my father, too. remember he's been father and mother to me for a long time. i’ll be as fair with him as i will always be with you.” i by san ction of law “bless your heart,” he breathed tenderly. “have it your way. i feel though, that we are in for trouble under that plan.” “why let trouble bother us? you have my heart,” she shyly answered. “well,” he yielded, “i’ll let you go but you must return to me in a month or sooner. you know we sail on my commission shortly after and i’m to take my best beloved bride with me.” “i’ll go home and see my folks then meet you and be married. i’ll also tell my people of our plans.” under the elms they strolled arm in arm unmindful of all else save themselves till the warning clock on the first meeting house told of the hour to retire. “oh, i didn’t know it was so late,” exclaimed lida as she counted the strokes of the midnight bell. leaning more heavily on bennet’s arm, she indicated a wish to re- turn and the two retraced their steps. as they reached the steps of the school the two stood facing each other. a young moon was shyly peeping, through the heavy branches, on the stillness of the scene. “god has richly blessed me. my heart is full. i’ll wade through death itself for you, little girl.” there was that vibration in his voice and such seriousness in his face that lida almost felt a pain of happiness in her heart. “i like you best, when you say things like that,” she breathed tenderly. “they seem so real and true. you don’t know how happy you make me.” the great mother impulse in the girl caused her to cling closer to bennet by san ction of law and to reach her hands up to his face and caress his cheeks. “he has blessed me, too, man of mine.” she blushed as she uttered the words and realized what she had un- consciously said. the feeling in her heart had forced them to her lips, the woman in her overcoming the maidenli- ness. she was so confused she kissed him suddenly and ran lightly up the steps and was gone. bennet watched her retreating form lift like a vision up the steps, and stood waiting for her to turn and look at him again. he stood so for a few moments and when she failed to look back, bared his head, lifted his face to the sky and said, fervently: “god grant that i shall be always worthy of her — that i’ll always make her happy.” he turned to leave, his soul still in the universe of his love. lida reached her room and looked from her win- dow. he failed to turn but she blew him a kiss from the tips of her fingers then sank by the window sill where tears of sheer happiness filled her eyes. commencement day found the college yard filled with hundreds of shouting, laughing, handshaking graduates of the famous old school, all returned to do honors to their alma mater and to renew friendships as well as to give ac- counts of their activities since the previous gathering. campus was decorated as only college youth, with un- limited imagination can decorate for their friends and rela- tives on festive occasions. fathers, mothers, sisters and brothers, all proud of their individual candidate for degree strolled about the grounds, meeting friends of other years or renewing acquaintances formed since arrival. i by san ction of law in their caps and gowns the candidates for degrees were assembling under the guidance of their chief marshal and aids. the scene was one of kaleidoscopic, ever changing colorations. the band was discoursing lively tempting music; here and there couples unable to resist the appeal were swaying to the strains. prominent among those gathered were the parents and family of bennet. the father, a dignified, kindly-eyed man, with a smiling, genial face, hair turned iron gray, walked erect, head lifted, about the yard, his wife, a delightfully motherly soul on his arm. behind them or at their side, never still, flut- tered a daughter, laughingly waving to acquaintances, newly made or those of longer standing, a charming bit of human vitality, a bit chic and yet wholesome. this was certainly a marked family. mrs. bennet was rather grave in her serenity and seemed preoccupied with pride in the popularity of her son, her eyes following him everywhere as he moved from one group of friends to another. this was a proud mo– ment for her as well. as they walked about, bennet hailed them in passing, with: “hello, father. having a good time?” the elder man only smiled. bennet lifted the serene face of his mother and kissed her cheeks. “mother i’m happy today.” his happines showing in his face. “you ought to be, my son. this is a day i’ve long prayed to come to you. make the most of it.” i o by san ction of law “yes, boy, it's your day,” the father added. “don’t mind us. we'll get along.” “i’ve only one other wish, truman,” mrs. bennet of. fered in dignified tenderness. “what’s that, mother?” he questioned as he placed an arm about her waist. “that is to see you happily married. when that comes then i’ll be completely happy,” she replied looking stead- fastly at him in her maternal way. “i like that,” chimed in the sister. “where do i fit in this merry scheme. it seems not at all.” at this all laughed, while the mother turned to her saying, “your time'll come soon enough. soon enough.” “mother, i’m happy and i hope to be happily married soon.” the mother’s face clouded for a fleeting moment, then she said, “well, all i ask is that she is a good girl and that you are well mated.” “i’ll tell you all about her when we get home.” “got her all picked out?” laughed the sister, clapping her hands. “oh, how romantic. won’t the wedding be fun?” at the conjuring up of which she laughed again and clapped her hands. before they could say more the band began to sound assembly call for the parade to chapel for awarding of de- grees. slowly the procession marched across the campus to the half-sad-march music heard from year to year. the girls of miss gregory’s school had already been seated in a special gallery of the chapel as invited guests. in this i i by san ction of law group was lida, her eyes strained for the sight of but one, her heart a-flutter. this was her first attendance at such an affair and the experience was thrilling. her eyes sought bennet and once having located him she saw no one else during the entire program. after the orations and the distribution of the degrees the assembly was dismissed. truman sought lida as the crowd passed out and laid the diploma, so hardly won, in her hands. without being noticed the girl gracefully and with a feeling of tenderness that it be- longed to him, raised it to her lips. there was time for no more. bennet was called to his class for the return march to the campus and lida rushed to her room to depart for her home. it had been ar- ranged for her to leave immediately, miss gregory wish- ing to get her started for her southern home as quickly as possible. it was only because lida had asserted with posi- tiveness that she would not go till after the commence- ment exercises that miss gregory gave in to that extent. she had wished the girl to leave before commencement was over, in order to separate her as soon as possible from her lover. lida won her way, however, to the extent of this compromise in plans made for her. all this had been explained to bennet the night before and was understood. when lida reached her room she carefully packed the diploma in her trunk where it would be protected and with time to say adieu to but few of the girls remaining, was whirled away to catch the federal express for the south. i chapter xv where all was festivity and lightness yesterday, today there is solemnity, silence and gloom. this was true of the campus at the university after graduation. where one day the lawns were alive with throbbing, laughing, happy humanity, the next the place is deserted, students having departed for their homes or summer activities, their par- ents returned to their homes and the buildings closed. in the midst of a scene like this an express team drove up to one of the dormitories and with clatter and clutter, the driver, with his helper, bundled trunks and bags into his team. as the last piece of luggage was placed on the team, professor armstrong stepped out of the building to pay the driver and get his check. at that moment dr. tansey turned a corner, coming from the gymnasium where he had been winding up his work for the year preparatory to departing also. “hello, armstrong,” was his greeting. “where’re you bound? looks as if,” nodding in the direction of the bag- gage on the team, “you’re going on a long journey, as they say.” this said with a laugh. “yes, it's a long journey. i don't intend to come back. i’m going south where white men are white men and stand by one another,” he vowed. “oh, bosh, can’t you forget that bennet episode? how some people nurse a grudge! the boy's all right. i know him,” dr. tansey exclaimed impatiently. “you’re another of those soft hearted sentimentalists. i by san ction of law to hell with you,” professor armstrong exploded. “oh, don’t be a grouch. have done with that bosh. he's a man, and a whiter man than you, in many respects. here, we take them as we find them, white or black.” “well, i’m off. got to catch a train.—good-bye!” pro- fessor armstrong ended the conversation by offering his hand in farewell. “good-bye, old man. hope you have a pleasant vaca- tion and land somewhere suitable in the fall. if you don’t,” with a sly teasing wink, you may come back here and learn something. good-bye. — oh, by the way,” as an after thought. “i may see you this summer. i’m go- ing south shortly myself to study some features of yellow fever contagions and typhoid. i’ll be making some ex- periments and may run into you.” “if you come, let me give you a tip. leave your north- ern ideas up here. don’t bring any of your equality the ories down there. our people don’t stand for that. we’ve got our ideas about how to handle the blacks. and we do handle them. we won’t have anybody interfering. if you remember that you’ll get along, otherwise you won’t. —look me up if you’re in my district.—good-bye.” with that he turned and was off, walking rapidly across the yard toward the street leading to the station. dr. tansey, with his characteristic whimsical smile playing about his lips watched the retreating figure. “conceited, prejudiced ass! poor fellow! he won’t ad- mit the world moves,” he murmured. “he thinks because his skin is white he's supreme and a black man’s dirt un- i by san ction of law der his feet, even one with so little colored blood as ben- net—and the peculiar thing is that there are so many like him. they want their way for themselves and ev- erybody else. they can be brutes, coarse, inhuman ani- mals and yet because they are white they are all right. what bosh! what fallacyl and the funny part of it all is that we, most of us, let them have their way.—up- hold them in it.—i suppose it’s because we dislike bother and fuss. we had one big fuss,” he continued his mus- ings, “over the same kind of question and i suppose want to forget about it now. just the same, they’re wrong and we're wrong. we're to blame, too. we’ve been fed up on a lot of propaganda about white supremacy — the white man’s burden and a lot of other rot till we half believe the stuff ourselves. that’s what’s the matter with us. – i wonder how long that sort of thing will last? i wonder. well, i’ll see some of this race question myself this sum- mer first hand, then i’ll know.” dr. tansey was still following the departing figure of professor armstrong as he soliloquized. he stood still gazing in the direction in which armstrong had now dis- appeared after his soliloquy ceased, his mind ruminating on the question. suddenly his thoughts returned to the present and he whirled and walked away from the college. his mind was indistinctly filled with pictures of atrocities and cruelties of which he had read as practiced in the south. i back in the little town of bremen, bennet, with his father, mother and sister, arrived without incident, after the graduation exercises. the first few days of the return were filled with social affairs, visitations and congratula- tions on the part of the friends of the family for the young man. there were letters from lida, on her way home and replies such as only two happy lovers, separated for a time can write. it was after the receipt of one of these one morning that bennet's face became serious and his attitude thoughtful. while in this mood his father came upon him. bennet still held the letter in his hand and was looking off into the distance. “what's the matter, boy? — when will you marry the girl? — why don’t you tell us about her?” he asked with- out giving the young man a chance to reply. “that’s just what i was thinking about.—telling you.” he looked at his father. “no better time. who is she? — and what’s she like?” the elder man asked. father and son had always been frank with each other, a comradeship having been established between them from the time truman was a lad and preserved more closely than is the case between most fathers and sons. “well, dad. she's a wonder.” “they all are at your time of life,” he answered philo- i by san ction of law sophically. “it takes time and patience to prove that. still what’s she like?” “she’s a southern girl, whose family can be traced back generations and generations; to old colonial days; to old slavery days,” bennet answered proudly. “what! you don’t mean to say she’s a southern white girl?” “yes.” the elder man shook his head solemnly and sadly as he exclaimed, “poor boy! poor boy! impossible! impossi- ble l’” what’s impossible about that?” “everything,” he exclaimed hopelessly. “everything. forget it. don’t think of such a thing. you're dooming yourself. – you'll be throwing your life away. don’t think of it. i’ve brought you up — you and your sister— in an atmosphere and midst environments where you would not be brought into contact with such a thing. i did this for your best. you don’t know what prejudice is. you don’t know what you are planning for yourself. “forget it, boy. forget her. there are estimable girls up here in this section who would make you an excellent wife, and a charming daughter for me and your mother; one that we could welcome into the family with pride and with loving hearts. we can’t do that with this girl. be- sides, there are white girls of the colored race, fully as charming, intelligent and beautiful as any white girl in the south. you could be happy with one of them. you will never be with this girl. besides you will never marry her. i by sanction of law —her parents will not allow it. no, boy, forget her. does she know that you are of mixed blood?” he asked. “yes, she knows all. and that makes no difference to her. it did at first but she loves me and i love her.” the elder man bowed his head in his hands. “forget her, boy. it will only mean pain and suffering for you both otherwise.” “no, dad. i’ve given my word in pledge to her. and she's given hers. i’ll not give her up as long as she holds to her mind. why dad, i couldn't and be a man. i won’t. that’s all. i won't.” “youth feeds at the breast of impatience,” exclaimed the elder man half to himself. “it is only when time has dried up the food sources that experience can gain a hearing.” “you’re wrong, father. wise youth observes and stud- ies the experiences of others then maps his chart accord- ing to the drift of the winds of his own life and the strength of his ship — his soul.” “i’ll tell you, boy. in setting your course as you’ve planned you’re running into the trade winds of prejudice and proscription. you’re bringing harm to the girl you say you love; alienating her from her own poeple — her own family; her outlook on life has been different than yours; bringing her into a life of loneliness. she will be deserted by her own people.” “won't you and mother accept her?” “yes, boy. we'll accept any good girl whom you bring to us. we are not prejudiced. you’re asking a mighty big sacrifice of her when you ask her to quit her own people.” i by san ction of law and i can’t command you, else i’d forbid it. i predict for you, though, if you persist in your fool-hardy act, misery and failure. — and these things in you, my first born, will bring an old man’s heart in sorrow to the grave. “oh, truman! truman, my first born, my pride! don’t wrench my heartstrings till i fall into my grave a broken man. don’t do this monstrously rash thing. give up this foolish love. be a man and master yourself.” “yes, but of honor? what about my honor — my pledged and sacred word?” he asked. “there are rights above such honor as you cling to,” stated the father. “there is no honor in rashness that would wreck many lives.” “what about breaking the heart of the girl who's trust- ed you with her love — her happiness?” bennet asked. “her love, with her southern slave-holding background can’t but be passion; her happiness in you but visionary. there is no real love there. when passion dies her love will die,” the elder man prophesied. “never. her heart’s too simple and honest. i have her happiness in my keeping. let her fail me if she will. i’ll not fail her nor myself. not if all hell prevails,” tru- man protested. “when you speak as you do i can’t believe you ever knew love. you married for convenience and have lived a sham life; outwardly honorable but in- wardly hollow.” “tut-tut-tut, boy. let’s not quarrel. hasty words on- ly mean sorrow and regret,” the elder bennet ended, walking away. iso by san ction of law father and son held no further talks on the subject, each seeming to avoid the topic. at each mail, however, when letters would be received by truman, in a hand- writing all had come to know, the elder bennet would watch his son reading eagerly the written words, see the lighting on the face and the happiness for the remainder of the day and shake his head sadly. mrs. bennet, though told by her husband, gave no outward appearance of knowing the state of affairs. she sensed in her woman’s way, however, the depth of her son's regard for the girl and pitied him at the same time that she hoped the girl would prove as loyal as she knew truman would be. mrs. bennet's motherly understanding was shown a few days following when there was no letter. as she passed his chair at the breakfast table she allowed her hand to rest for a moment on his shoulder. truman was gloom while his sister teased him about the girl and the letter that failed to appear. when on the third morning no mail was received, the elder man was tempted to utter an “i told you so,” but a warning look from the mother prevented him. the sister also out of consideration began to dislike the girl who did not write to her brother when he had been expecting and had been receiving daily communications. days lengthened into more than a week when on the morning of the tenth day when no letter had been re- ceived in answer to repeated telegraph messages, truman announced, at breakfast, that he was going away. the elder bennet’s head bowed, as he muttered, “i know it.” i i by san ction of law mrs. bennet's eyes filled with tears though she gave no evidence of her feeling. bennet’s packing was hastily done and when ready to leave he kissed his mother. as he did so, she murmured, in his ear, “god keep you from harm, my boy — and bring her back to us.” for response, truman gave her a bear hug and a resounding kiss. when he parted with his father at the station just as the train was pulling out, the two gripped hands in man-to-man fashion, the youth look- ing steadily and honestly into the eyes of his elder. “whatever happens, boy, remember we are yours. play fair. take care of yourself and come back as soon as possible. you’re going into the devil’s own country. god keep you safely.” i chapter xvii dr. tansey, when he returned to his office after the en- counter with professor armstrong began to make ready his own affairs preparatory to departing for the south on his mission of science, and his study of malignant forms of yellow fever and typhoid. when all his affairs were placed in order he boarded a train for new york, from which place he set out by boat for charleston, south carolina, his first stopping place. his ship had been out two days before he was able to be about the deck, owing to his inability to withstand the effects of seasickness. no matter how many times he had taken trips he always was seasick the first two days out. because of this illness he failed to learn that another pas- senger, with whom he was acquainted was also taking the trip. this was truman bennet. in mid afternoon on the third day out, dr. tansey felt able to forsake his stateroom for a little time on deck and climbed the saloon stairs. the effort was a struggle to him, in his weakened state but he finally made the dis- tance and was resting his hands on the railpost to steady himself as well as to find a location unengaged when he almost lost the strength of his legs and sank back down the stairs. he gazed across the deck straight into the eyes of truman bennet. bennet could not believe his eyes for a moment; when he realized it was the doctor, he sprang across the deck in two leaps and was just in time to save i by san ction of law the physician from falling. the latter’s face had gone pale with surprise and pleasure. “dr. tansey” bennet exclaimed wringing the hand he had clasped. “well, bennet,” the other returned. “you’re the last man i expected to see on this boat. what are you going south for?” “i’ll ask the same of you, doctor? where are you bound? jove, this is a treat.” “i’m bound on a scientific mission. i suppose you’ll say the same thing. i’ll bet i can guess, though,” as an after thought. “i thought you were cured of that blow on the head you got last fall. too bad! too bad! my surgery is getting way off. i thought i had you cured.” both men laughed happily, as truman piloted the other to a seat at his side of the ship. after bennet had seen that the doctor was comfortable he also took a seat. “have a cigar,” said dr. tansey, tendering bennet the case as he took one himself. “no, thank you. don’t smoke.” “this is off-season now. you won’t be breaking train- ing by smoking. i won't tell the coach,” chafed the doctor. “you know i never smoked,” bennet smiled back. “no, i don’t know anything about it. put it this way. i never caught you smoking. how’s that.” the two men laughed heartily again. doctor tansy was happy as a boy. he was very fond of bennet, in his own way. “where's the young woman? i didn’t know she was in i by san ction of law the south. what's she doing down here this time of year?” “somewhere up in the palmetto state, i don’t know where. — have the address. – going to find out.” dr. tansey looked at the young man shrewdly — studi- ously, for some minutes then asked, “does she know who you are?” “foolish question. do you think i’d deceive the girl i loved?” “i beg pardon, old boy. i wanted to be sure.—you're either a fool or you’ve got the nerve of ten brass monkeys. — no fool like a young lover,” added the doctor, para- phrasing the old saw. “know anybody down here?” “not a soul that i’m aware of.” “well, you’ll have to be very careful. these people are very funny. they’re very touchy on the race question. so, talk but little. mind your own business.” — after a considerable pause.—“what you need is a guardian angel — or a keeper. — you'll get along, i guess.” “oh, i realize the dangers. i got an idea from professor armstrong,” vouchsafed bennet. “by the way, he's down here somewhere,” continued dr. tansey. “he’s rabid on the subject. but he's as mild as a june day compared with some. i don’t believe i’m going to get along down here. so have a care. have a care, son. where’re you stopping, when you get to charleston?” “don’t know. some hotel.” “humph! — better come with me — till you start in- land.” i by san ction of law “all right, doctor. thanks, very many thanks.” the remainder of the voyage passed very pleasantly. doctor tansey recovered his sea legs rapidly and before the trip ended was debating the negro question with the best of them on board. he defended the black man so vehemently that the captain of the ship deemed it wise to caution him, when they were just about to enter charles- ton harbor. dr. tansey and bennet were, as was their habit, standing far up in the bow of the ship when the captain saw them and leaned out of the pilot house to shout: “hey, doctor!” dr. tansey and bennet whirled. “come up here,” he beckoned. the two men lost no time in accepting the invitation. when they stepped into the wheelhouse, the captain gave the wheel to another officer and turned: “you men are from up north. i’ve heard some of your talk and i want to caution you for your own good. better let that subject alone down here. it’s a southern question and we’re — they’re settling it in their own way.” “why do you people insist on having your own way with the question?” asked dr. tansey. “because we know the black man best. we love the black man — in his place.” “under your feet, i suppose?” “well, pretty much so. you’ve got to keep him down in his place. this is a white man’s country. this is a white man’s civilization.” i by san ction of law “are you afraid to let anybody else have a little bit of it? the white man is supposed to be fair. i always hear the boast about anglo-saxon fair play. i see but little of it, though, as i travel about. i’d like to see more. why do you people in the south insist on foisting your beliefs upon everybody else? don’t you give anybody else credit for knowing anything besides yourself. are you afraid of your own laws — of your own selves. you act as if you were not sure of your own ground.” “no sir. — no sir. not where the negro comes into the discussion. they’re no good. never were any good — and never will be any good.” “if i remember history at all, they were very good when the plantation owners marched away to fight to keep them slaves, and they remained behind caring for the families and farms of those who were fighting to hold them in bond- age. — it strikes me that is a pretty good sort of a man to cling to. anglo-saxon civilization can’t show anything any better than that. besides, though you may not admit it, the negro is the bone and sinew of your financial and economic structure. the south lives off the negro. “it strikes me that they are pretty good when they are the backbone of your country economically. they may be lazy and shiftless but it seems to me they do all the work; at least all the real work. of course, your white collar work — work in the shade; where the hours are short and the labor nil you people shine. i’ll bet there'd be an aw– ful howl sent to heaven, if by any chance, there should be i by san ction of law a sudden exodus of black men from this section. why your industry would be paralyzed. “you tell that stuff to the marines,” dr. tansey con- tinued. “i think the white race all over the world has been too easily gulled by you folks and your doctrines. most of the blacks i’ve come into contact with have been at least on par with the whites, and better than many of those we welcome from european countries. no, cap- tain. thank you for your advice. prudently, it is well given, but just the same it’s the white race that’s largely at fault, and it’s time the white race got onto its job. you people are blessed and don’t know it.” “just the same, you’d better mind your own business and keep mum on the negro question, if you want to stay here.” he took the wheel again, as if to end the conversation. dr. tansey and bennet left the pilot house for the deck below and stood at the rail as the ship passed fort sum- ter, lapped by the muddy waters of the harbor. as the ship rounded up to her pier, from the wharves of cotton bales, barrels of resin, and other products waiting to be shipped north, there rose, seemingly a small battalion of negro stevedores and roustabouts, shouting, laughing, singing and dancing, waiting with eager hands to grasp the hawsers that would moor the ship so they could begin their task of unloading and reloading the vessel. at the pas- senger gangplank stood a dozen or more boys of all shades, hands covered with white gloves, ready to step aboard ship by san ction of law and assist the passengers in debarking and departing for their various destinations. dr. tansey and bennet stood at the rail watching the scene. bennet, unaccustomed to the sight of so many black faces was awestruck. dr. tansey had experienced scenes of animation such as this many times in his travels. after the two had stood in silence for a time, allowing bennet to absorb the variety of the life, dr. tansey turned to him with: “there, bennet, is your first rub with and against the negro problem as the south faces it. just watch those fellows unload ship. yet the captain calls them no good, lazy and shiftless. could you get a white man to work like that in this climate? i guess not.” i chapter xvii “why there are more black than white people here!” exclaimed bennet as they were shown to their rooms in the great southern hotel, after their ride from the ship. “not quite, but almost,” answered dr. tansey. “and they seem to be minding their own affairs.” “yes,” was the laconic reply. both men were standing at the window of their hotel watching the panorama passing before them on the street below. there were well dressed colored men passing along the street; well dressed white men and women; some ragamuffins, pedlars, persons in automobiles with negro chauffeurs, and tip carts drawn by mules and driven by black men, winding in and out in front of automobiles and street cars. except for the number of black, brown, yel- low and white faces, the scene might easily have been one of any large bustling northern city. as the two men stood looking, suddenly a street car came along to the intersection of the street just as a dump- cart driven by a tall rather aged negro and drawn by a mule, was crossing. the cart was in the middle of the street before the street car reached it. dr. tansey and bennet looked for the car to halt to let the tip cart pass. what was their surprise and shock to see the motorman clang his bell and drive the car straight into the tip cart. there was a resounding crash of breaking wood, an un- earthly scream from the driver — and a thud of mule and man to the ground where the car shoved the mass along o by san ction of law for ten or fifteen feet crunching wood, bones and flesh in one mass. bennet turned sick. dr. tansey closed his eyes at the sight, then opened them again with “my god!” on his lips. as they looked the motorman dismounted from his vestibule, after backing his car off the mass, went to the scene, looked at the mule, then into the mutilated face of the driver. after discovering that he was nobody known to him he threw the hat carelessly down on the face again, mounted his car, while the conductor with the aid of bystanders, tried to pull the mass off the track. failing in this way they left the mule in the street, backed the car to a turnout and continued on their way. as they started away, dr. tansey and bennet made for the door. dr. tansey turned to the young man, and almost shouted the command: “stay here.” he rushed to the street, muttering, “i never saw anything so deliberate. the brute. the brute.” when he reached the spot, he could hear the exclama- tion: “too bad. too bad.” he thought they were pity- ing the driver, till one of the men added: “yes, that mule's worth one hundred and forty dollars.” “mules be damned,” exclaimed dr. tansey. “what about the man!” “him? — humph. you can get a nigger anywhere. mules are valuable.” dr. tansey, his being burning with indignation bent over the prostrate form to see if the man was alive. as he knelt, from the crowd came the words: “who’s he? who's he. some stranger. some nigger-loving stranger?” by san ction of law dr. tansey stood erect, his eyes blazing, “you’re a lot of brutes,” he exclaimed. “cold blooded brutes.” there were menacing sounds in the crowd but no action started. soon the animal ambulance arrived and man and beast were piled into the same vehicle to be hauled away. the foreman of the street cleaning department in that district arrived and ordered the spot sanded. dr. tansey went back to his room, muttering, “this is humanity. this is civilization. no attempt — not even the semblance of an attempt to arrest the man for cold blooded murder.” dr. tansey was still laboring under tense excitement when he returned to his room. bennet was pacing the floor and declaiming at the brutality of what he had seen. “why did you want me to remain here, doctor?” “shut up and don’t bother me,” dr. tansey exclaimed petulantly in his excitement. “but i can take care of myself. i’m no child,” bennet said. “no, but you’re a hot-blooded fool youth. — i don’t want to see you die yet, — before you learn a few things. the best thing you can do is to keep quiet. you're in a strange land; among strange people. hold your head — and your tongue, till you get your bearing. till you’re ac- climated.” with that he sank into a chair, his attitude the picture of gloom. the spontaneity of his nature, however, refused to al- low him to remain in such a state for long. the picture began to fade from his memory. bennet had returned to the window, and was gazing on the passing show, intently by san ction of law interested in the new faces of the new show unfolding be- fore him. finally dr. tansey left his chair and stood at his side. “what a wonderful land if it was only human,” he commented. “and this is an historic old city, too. full of traditions. full of memories — full of experiences from which could be woven many a romantic story that would thrill. all forgotten — all lost save to a few of the old families who hold aloof from the new, the modern, the bizarre and the cruel. “off there,” he continued, pointing to the right across the tops of mercantile and other buildings, “stands st. michael's church, proud of its history, its traditions and its associations, venerable and venerated. off here,” in- dicating another direction, “is st. phillip's, towering feet in the air, its beacon shining at night, a welcome to all while at its foot, for the visitors, lie the remains of such men as calhoun, gadsden, rutledge and pickens. all men who have made the name of charleston to stand out as the athens of the south. “and yet, with all its associations, and history of which to be proud, we can witness such a scene as we saw a little while ago. i wonder what the old huguenots and acadi- ans would say if they could come back and see the intol- erance, the bigotry and the hatred of these days! bennet, the world’s wrong! at least this part of it. the quicker you and i get out of here the better.” “i’d like to see more of this town before i go back by san ction of law home. somehow i like the atmosphere of the place,” ben- net offered with a wave of his hand. “well, i’m going to get out of here and up into the swamps where i can do my work and get away as quickly as possible. i advise you to lose no time in doing the same.” “where and when do you plan to start?” bennet asked. “armstrong told me that up near his country, along the edisto river i’d find plenty of material for investigation and i guess i’ll start for there as soon as possible.” “my nearest post office is orangeburg. i go out into the country from there,” said bennet. “good, we'll go along together as far as there. let’s see. orangeburg’s on the way to columbia,” dr. tansey was studying his map intently. “you turn off at branch- ville to the north from the main road leading to augusta. it will be nice riding through rather picturesque country. we’ll start in the morning, eh, bennet?” “all right. meantime i’m going to look around this old town for a while.” “better not go far, and let nothing disturb you. “you know, not all southerners are barbarians such as we came into contact with today. they are human if you hit them right. the trouble is they are like a lot of north- erners. rather than make a fuss they simply shrug their shoulders and blind their eyes. there are a lot of them even in this old town. the trouble is, they’ve allowed themselves to be half convinced of what the evil-minded and coarser ones rant about and simply shrug their shoul- i by san ction of law “yes, sir. what kind of a rig do you want. i’m the proprietor.” even dr. tansey was surprised at the announcement. he knew many black men were in business in the south, and thriving, but hardly expected to see one in charge of such a business, and speaking such language. “i want to go to orangeburg, in the morning. i’ve a friend with me, a stranger, and i want him to see some of the country.” “all right, sir. what time? and where shall i call for you?” “better call at six o'clock at the great southern hotel. we want to get a start and avoid the heat.” “yes, sir — all right, sir. – who shall i call for?” “dr. tansey. we’ll be up and waiting for you.” “yes, sir.” having selected the car and arranged the details, dr. tansey returned to his hotel. bennet had returned also and the two talked for some time over their experiences and observations, before dining, and adjourning for the wide veranda of the hotel where they sat in silence listen- ing to the discussions of those about them. travel where you will in the south, one characteristic of the southerner you will always find. he is curious about strangers. they make it a point to always find out, if possible who every visitor is, where he hails from and what his business is. the native charlestonians, who vis- ited the great southern were no exceptions. from the time dr. tansey and bennet had registered and shown i by san ction of law active interest in the accident early in the day, there was a constant curiosity manifested about them. bennet had been followed and watched as he left the hotel for his walk and dr. tansey had been trailed. by some ties of neighborliness born of years of mingling com- munities are drawn together. where each knows the other for miles around the presence of a stranger is sig- nalled from house to house and native to native. such was the case upon the arrival of bennet and dr. tansey. the people of charleston as in most southern communi- ties guard their traditions, mannerisms, hobbies and odd- ities religiously. if you are prepared to join with them in their beliefs and practices you are welcomed. if you dif- fer with them and differ positively you are marked and left to complete isolation. there were a dozen or more men grouped about the veranda when dr. tansey and bennet finished their meal and joined the assembly, taking seats at one side. all turned in their seats, to watch the two men, as they walked over to a corner of the veranda and took vacant seats pre- paratory to viewing the promenade of those on the street a floor below. dr. tansey was indulging in his cigar while bennet was silent, his mind intent on lida and his home. after the two men had been seated long enough for the cigar dr. tansey was quietly smoking to be nearly con- sumed, the natives who had been sitting about grew rest- less because of their silence. on the veranda were men ranging from young to middle age, tall and wiry, for the by sanction of law most part, some dressed neatly and others not. they talked of every subject under the sun from farm pros- pects to fertilizer. dr. tansey was just about to suggest retiring, having ficked his cigar stub into the street when one of his near- est neighbors turned with: “pretty nice town, ain't it, stranger?” “very nice, what i’ve seen of it,” offered dr. tansey. “you people take great pride in your city, as well you should. it has a history to be proud of.” the veranda guests were pleased. “yes,” continued the first speaker. “we’re right pert proud of our town. even of our blacks.” “they seem to be making great progress,” commented dr. tansey. “i see they’re in business and making them- selves substantial citizens.” “oh, as much as we allow. we don’t plan to have them go too far. you know they out number us here.” “yes, i recall. that’s pretty true of nearly all the south, i believe,” was dr. tansey's comment. “yes. that's the reason the problem looms so large to us down here. that's why you people up north don’t un- derstand it. — i can tell you’re from up north by your talk.” “yes, we are,” dr. tansey admitted. “as a matter of self-preservation we have to keep them in their places, even the best of them,” continued his neigh- bor. by san ction of law “what do you mean, the best of them? i thought you people held them all to be the same.” “no, there are some who own property, are educated and substantial. but we can’t allow them to put on any airs, else they'd think they were white folks and get fresh.” “then it’s not so much their inferiority as it is a mat- ter of self-preservation,” suggested dr. tansey. “i’d not say that,” suggested another of the group. “a black man is a black man and can’t be compared with a white man no matter how much money he accumulates, or how educated.” dr. tansey shrugged his shoulders. “i can’t under- stand you people and your arguments,” he said. “you don’t believe a negro is the equal of a white man, do you?” he was asked. “since you ask me, i’ll tell you. i believe in the con- stitution, and the declaration of independence. to my mind there are only two kinds of men in this counrty. in fact, in the world—good men and bad men. color neither makes goodness nor badness. the mere color white, per se, is not a badge of superiority, purity or goodness. “as to whether one man is or is not the equal of an- other, that wholly depends on mental ability, character and the quality of man he is. a man may be white and be the most desperate and vile being in the world. he may be black, yellow or red and be the same. all de- pends on his environment and circumstances of existence. i think the world war fully demonstrated that.” i by san ction of law “i don’t give a damn how educated a black man is; how much money he has accumulated, how much character, as you call it, he may have, god never made a black man to be the equal of the white, and no nigger is as good as i am. we were made to preserve civilization, to further cul- ture and to rule. and we do rule here in the south,” ex- ploded the southerner. “i hate a negro,” he continued. “they are all brutes no matter how much education or culture they have. un- der the skin they are brutes. we know the negro down here.” dr. tansey shrugged his shoulders, as he replied: “i can’t understand that instinct which makes a man hate a thing or animal and yet keep that animal so close to him as domestics are to your households. if i dislike a china- man i don’t want a chinese cook. if i dislike a black man i don’t want one about me or my house. on that premise your position is faulty and your shoutings fal- lacious. you people are all wrong. and the sooner you find it out the better for the country. you can’t always keep subdued and under your heel a people who have made the advances the blacks have even in the face of all odds. “besides aren’t you preparing your own funerals? what a man sows that shall he also reap. no words were ever truer. right now, even as you claim to know the negro, you don't know him. you don't know what he's thinking. you don’t know what’s in his heart. you talk about civ- ilization, culture, christianity. you don’t know the words. o by san ction of law “as far as i can observe, the negro is the only real christian. had he not christ-like qualities his soul would have been so embittered long before this that the whole race would have been a group of mad anarchists. sup- pose they were not real christians? suppose for one day they all should run amuck? what would happen? just think, of your servants, your workers developing the craze for blood, for one single unit of twenty-four hours. what a holocaust. let me just hint — poison in your coffee or other food; dynamite in your factories or under your homes. “bless your god that they are a spiritual, large heart- ed, forgiving, patient and loving people. you’re teaching the use of force by example, tantalizing by debauching their children, maddening by the bullet and torch, and driving to despair by your injustices, and feeding the fires of a volcano. only deep spirituality, great christianity and nobility of soul, in these people, prevents an eruption so violent that the whole world would be shaken. “if religion means anything; if christianity is more than a sham and cloak with you, let justice rule and righteous fairness prevail.” “you talk like some new fool minister,” his neighbor sneered impatiently. “seems to me you’ve learned a lot for being here so short a time,” commented another. “oh, we know how to take care of all that. keep ’em scared of you. keep ’em scared of you,” asserted still another. “you ought to be last persons to talk of negroes being scared,” retored dr. tansey. “they didn’t scare in the by san ction of law he watches white america. don’t you think they are studying you and your professions of christianity? — don’t be fooled. you are being weighed — america is being weighed, christianity itself is being weighed. every form of religion except one, the catholic, has been spoiled. and mind you i'm not a catholic. the bugaboo of preju- dice is but a bugaboo after all and christians ought to be above it. “i can’t,” dr. tansey continued, “for the life of me see how it is that you people have been able to foist your be- liefs and theories, and misrepresentations so thoroughly upon the rest of the world. my god, but the world is gullible, when you think of it. “here you people have maligned a race, distorted the truth about a race; and so painted a race as to make that race the most shunned in all the world when as a matter of fact all races are about on par. race for race, none may be considered better than the other. it is our white civilization that has spread most of our evils. we’ve set the example. every newspaper is full of criminal narra- tive, reports of injustices. it’s a good thing our examples are imitated so little.” “we’ve got to, and you’ve got to protect our women from the brutes. you don’t have that menace in the north so much as we have it down here. we’re on the ground and know what we talk about,” the first speaker defended while his companions nodded vigorous assent, indicating that he had scored heavily. “that’s another fallacy. —what about their women? i by sanction of law a southerner ought to be ashamed to mention that sub- ject. let's see, there are about twelve million black peo- ple in this country — that is, people with negro blood in them. i think statistics will bear me out in the statement that more than four million of that number are of mixed blood. now who mixed that blood? it was not the black man. you left your women behind with him when you went to battle in the civil war. you found your women safe when you returned, even though you were fighting to keep him slave and serf. no, i tell you it is a white prob- lem. i tell you, america — and particularly that part of america south of mason and dixon's line, ought to be ashamed of itself. it ought to be in so contrite a mood at the wrongs perpetrated on a harmless race that they should be working tooth and nail to right that wrong, rather than steeping themselves further in wrong. “think, gentlemen. here was a race brought over by force, sold into bondage by force, subjected to all manners of brutalities, by force, its blood mixed because you were the masters, and instead of seeing your wrongs you gloat in your mastery and prate of civilization. race inferiority and race superiority! what a mockery! oh, what’s the use? i’m going to bed.” every man on the veranda was on his feet as dr. tan- sey and bennet who had remained quiet all this time arose. the anger in each man was growing. “you say harsh things about a country in which you are a guest, stranger.” “harsh but true, gentlemen,” dr. tansey waved his i by san ction of law hand as he stood facing them. “harsh but true. — calm yourselves, gentlemen. calm yourselves. we won’t fight over it. at least i won’t. you invited my opinion. i gave it.” “you evidently don’t intend to stay long in this sec- tion,” observed one. “as long as i wish. there are good white men down here, who think and feel as i do. many of them, who know the truths that you and i know. for the sake of peace they have allowed the cruel to triumph. but i tell you, gentlemen, some of these days this very class of which i speak will so arouse themselves over your de- pravities and brutalities, – that right and justice will tri- umph. until that time let brutality have its sway. this is not the first time i’ve been in this section. i’ve long known of the brutalities and barbarities practiced down here in the name of civilization. every day is filled with some tragedy and you know it. no one section is free. but, hell! what’s the use? come on, bennet, let’s go to bed. good-night, gentlemen.” dr. tansey and bennet strode past the group and into the lobby of the hotel to the elevator and to their room. dr. tansey fully expected to be set upon before he left the veranda and was surprised when not attacked. he was surprised at his own vehemence and outburst, as he considered it afterward. i chapter xviii bennet was just exclaiming, “my, doctor, but you raved.—talk about my holding my tongue”—when there was a tap at the door and to their invitation to enter the door opened and a benign white haired, dignified man in clergyman’s attire stepped into the room. he held out a hand as he said: “i don’t know your name but i want to thank you for the talk you gave. it was courageous.” dr. tansey accepted the extended hand with: “dr. tansey’s my name and this is my friend mr. bennet.” “glad to know you, doctor — and mr. bennet. my name is buntin, windsor buntin — i’ve an episcopal parish up country away. — i’ve been trying to make these people see the error of their ways but have had no suc- cess. they simply ignore my preaching and my church. you've no idea how bitter they are.” “never mind that, father, your work will show some day. — i should not have spoken so but couldn’t help my- self. i witnessed a sight today that coupled with others i’ve seen made by blood boil. i wonder the colored peo- ple don’t rise up in rebellion. and yet they’re a docile people, so spiritual that they prefer to have patience.” father buntin, turned to go then wheeled again, ex- tending his hand, saying: “your words have given me new courage; new hope. i shall work on. thank you, good night.” a strong grip gave mutual courage as the two by san ction of law men stood, hands clasped. after a moment the clergy- man was gone. dr. tansey and bennet soon retired and it was not long thereafter before the heavy breathing of the former told bennet that his companion was sound asleep. bennet, however, lay awake a long time, thinking over the ex- periences of the day, and lida. his mind was filled with her. after the conversations on the ship and his experi- ences and observations in charleston he was ready to be- lieve that she had been persuaded to give him up. “and yet,” he debated with himself, “she knew all these things before she promised.” her words at their last meeting sounded in his soul: “i love you, and always will.” despite all the doubts that assailed him, this expression with her image cheered till he slept with a smile about his face. dr. tansey was the first to awaken in the morning and by the time he and bennet had prepared for their trip the chauffeur, engaged the previous day, arrived with the car. it was a packard and its well oiled engine purred musically, as the two fares piled in their luggage, prepara- tory to departure. just as the sun was burnishing the waves of the harbor and reddening forts moultrie and sumter they started from the hotel and after skirting the suburbs, headed for the open country along the road to augusta. as they sped along the flat countryside, great fields of cotton lay spread before them interspersed here and there with other fields of corn. acres and acres of full blown cotton, in the by san ction of law a short distance from where a group were resting, having come to the end of their rows. a few were laughing, but most of them were serious. suddenly, as dr. tansey and bennet watched them interestedly, there seemed to rise from the ground itself a rumbling, rounded harmony. both men turned, mystified, from one side to the other, looking off in the distance wondering if the strains came from some home in which there was an organ. the chauffeur, who had been silent throughout the ride offered, as he tinkered with his engine, an explanation; “they’re singing,” he said, lifting his head in the direction of the grouped laborers. the two men could not understand the words, which were pronounced with an accent, suggestive of a french patois and an english inflection; a characteristic of all speech in the vicinity of charleston. the music, however, was marvelous. to dr. tansey it was like the prelude to an offertory played by some master musician on a great organ. the blending of the voices was such as to make the music seem like some weird paean, each group of tones standing out just enough to make the drum of the ear quiver with the sound which brought delight to the hearers. dr. tansey and bennet studied the singers, their eyes turning first from those producing the bass tones to those carrying the melody. there was a haunting, semi-sad, plaintive shade to the song, with here and there the soprano of the women and the altos rising above the other voices while the lower tones seemed to moan their way from the diaphragms of i by san ction of law the singers to their throats and out into the air. the song was one of the old slave melodies — a spiritual. the words, as dr. tansey afterward learned, were: i want to be with jesus, for christ has set me free; i want to be with jesus, and sing for liberty. there was such deep pathos in the song that for a few moments both men stood as if transfixed. to dr. tan- sey’s heart there came a gripping pain of sympathy while his eyes filled with tears. he turned aside to brush them away, and when he turned back again bennet was in the act of putting a handkerchief to his face. there seemed to be a wailing note in the song, as if they were crying out against conditions which hemmed them about, and against which they were helpless except for the faith which their singing instilled in them and the hopes that filled them of a better day to come. the leader of the song had just stepped to another row of cotton and started toward the other end of the field still singing when a man, evidently the overseer, rode up from somewhere out of sight. the crowd was now moving along down the lanes of cotton when the man, a raw- boned, sandy-haired, fiery-eyed man, wearing a wide brimmed slouched hat, came into the group swinging a seven-foot four-braided whip with the end knotted. “here, you black devils. get to work! get to work!” with that he swung the whip viciously, the lash catching two of the women in its swish. one gave a groan and the i o by san ction of law other bit her lips in agony of pain and in an effort to re- press the anguish she felt. the tall, lanky black who had led off with the singing and hoeing stopped and looked angrily at the man, gripping his hoe menacingly. he kept silent, however. “none of your impudence, obed, or i'll brain you,” shouted the foreman. “let me catch you all loafing again and i’ll cowhide every durned one of you.” the negro spoken to, lifted his head toward heaven as if in prayer, then turned to his hoeing. the overseer turned to the men in the automobile. “you have to drive them. they’re so lazy. you have to keep at them and use force, too,” he offered in ex- planation. “you use force, all right” — commented dr. tansey drily. “i’d like to see if you’d not be a lot lazier if you had to swing a hoe in that sun on that hot field. i know i would.” “oh, that’s a nigger's job. not a white man’s.” “suppose they decided to quit you. who’d do the work.” “nobody 'round here would hire my hands, 'less i said so. that's the rule. besides i feed 'em. they’ve got to work for me.” “don’t you pay them in cash for their work?” “sometimes.” “how much?” “thirty-five cents a day.” “my god!” exclaimed dr. tansey. “thirty-five cents i i by san ction of law a day to work in that field — from sunrise to dark. my god! and you call them lazy.” “well, who's going to do the work? — who'll i get to work my farm?” the overseer exclaimed. “and you drive them with a whip for that pay. i won- der they don’t all leave you.” “if they did that i’d break their backs. durn them,” returned the overseer. “well, we must be going. good day,” was dr. tan- sey’s parting. with disgust in their hearts the two men resumed their journey. they had passed branchville and were on the orangeburg road going through a long stretch of pine woods, talking of commonplace things, bennet's mind still centered on lida and their imminent meeting, when suddenly dr. tansey listened acutely, above the purr of the automobile. they had just passed a little copse at the rear of which sat a small house. dr. tansey listened again. bennet, too, had heard. “what was that?” he turned to dr. tansey. “stop, driver,” the latter ordered. as the car came to a stop, off to the right of them from the woods a little way from the road came the most awful screams and groans. both men leaped from the car and started for the spot. “watch out for snakes,” cautioned the chauffeur. “they’re bad about here.” neither man paid heed to the warning, however, but rushed to where the groans and screams had sounded. in the midst of the thicket, lashed to a holly tree, with i by sanction of law back bared to the waist was a brown skinned girl, cry- ing and groaning, blood running down her back. at her side, with coat off and sleeves rolled up was a man with a ministerial vestee and collar on, swinging a lash. “i’ll teach you to steal,” he puffed vehemently as he swung the lash again. at the swish of the whip a large welt stood up from the girl’s back, from which blood be- gan to flow anew. bennet was ahead of dr. tansey, this time, his eyes blazing. he was just in time to catch the lash as it de- scended for another stroke. he only caught part of it, however. his grip had been in the middle. the tapering end of the lash wound itself about bennet's shoulder with just a tip touching his flesh, raising a lump and firing his soul with madness. he jerked the whip from the man’s hand, the force of the pull throwing the lasher off his bal- ance and toward bennet. as the man fell toward him, bennet's fist shot out and caught the man flush on the jaw. he went down. “i’ve seen about all of this i can stand, you brute,” he growled, his voice subdued with pent up emotion. “stand up and take some of your own medicine.” the man began to grovel at his feet, his senses clearing enough to make him realize that if he stood he would be struck down again. bennet stood over him, feet ex- tended, poised for another blow. “don’t hit me. don't hit me,” he begged. “i’m a min- ister. i just wanted to teach her a lesson — not to steal.” by san ction of law “i didn't steal nothing. 'fore god i didn’t steal noth- ing,” moaned the girl. “get up,” commanded bennet, “before i brain you. a big hulk of a man like you to be beating a woman. a minister — pah!” as they were talking, a rather pretty-faced white wom- an came toward them, holding her hand high displaying a purse. “george, i found it — i found it. just where i put it on a shelf back of the clock on the mantel. i’m so glad i found it.” the girl was crying softly now, though her flesh was trembling as it bled. she was still tied to the tree. the minister’s wife took in the scene and the two strangers, then turned, without a blush or a glance at the girl to the house. “free that girl,” bennet commanded. the minister had now replaced his frock and busied himself untying the thongs that bound the girl. “i meant no harm. they all do it around here. i wanted to teach her not to steal. my wife had lost her purse,” he offered as if in palliation. “shut up!” blazed bennet as he stepped toward the min- ister, his fists clenched again. “you shame the name of minister. you — you — devil.” the girl, still crying with pain, threw her discarded clothing over her shoulder, covering her wounds, when freed, started off through the woods. “if i had my gun here i’d kill you. white men don’t interfere in one another's affairs with their servants 'round here.” by san ction of law “go get your gun. i’ll wait here,” commanded bennet. the minister departed, the girl following still crying under her breath. the two men watched him disappear and enter his house. they waited some minutes longer and when he failed to make good his threat they returned to their car and were on their way again. “what a miserable country this is,” commented bennet, as they started. “yes, miserable, for some people. it’s a beautiful land, though, were it not for such things as these and — snakes. and yet, bennet, we don’t know half. it fairly sickens me when i think of the crimes wantonly committed in this land.” chapter xix due to the roundabout way they had to travel, because of swamps and small streams over which there were no bridges, it was well along in the afternoon when they reached orangeburg. they came into the city from the south, over a long bridge stretching across a swamp through which the waters flowed like a river. the edisto river, however, was at the town edge of the swamp, a narrow dark stream, deep and mysterious, bending in and out on the border of the town. across this the car rat- tled and sped along the highway into the center of the old city. stores lined the main street, that ran from the river clear across the town and into the adjoining country on the other side, after crossing the railroad track. on the river side of the town its boundary was fringed with small houses of the poorer residents, with a section adjoining in which the colored population lived. most of the large stores were on main street in this section, having spread toward the river from the court house and yard in the center of a small mall. this mall and court house were historic, having stood since colonial days, the center of all life of the town and fenced in, by tall trees growing about it. at the rear, two churches raised their tall spires while in front was the imposing new post office building, the better class barber shops of the town, a couple of the main stores and the high school for white pupils. on the other sides were a i by sanction of law drug store, and residences of some of the older families. main street divided itself at the mall so as to take in the square then rejoined itself on the further side. along the continuation of this street for about a mile toward the railroad were the wide residential estates of the older families, the sallees, the dibbles, the felders, the motts and the harleys. beautiful southern estates, well preserved, with their colonial and slave day traditions seeming to show in the very austerity and dignity of the gate-posts and driveways. there were a few stores conducted by negroes on the opposite sides of the street, a large livery stable or two, two garages and other less pretentious residences. all other streets either paralleled this or crossed it at right angles. across the railroad on the left was what had once been a park owned by claflin university, a school for negroes. this had been divided now into house lots and dwellings erected. at the rear of this were other old resi- dences, and a farm belonging to the state college; while to the north and back from the section, opposite the low squat station was what remained of claflin university with its campus. opposite and beyond this stretching out into the country were farm lands owned by the two insti- tutions, residences of other wealthy families, including the andrewses and websters, from carpet bag days. orangeburg boasted of but one hotel, situated near the court house, it was here that all the county gathered to trade news and horses, or other products up for barter. to this the chauffeur drove dr tansey and bennet. by san ction of law “well, boy,” dr. tansey said as their luggage was car- ried in. “you’re in the heart of the south now. here’s where i leave you for a time. you will continue on to the country for your girl and i’ll hunt germs. go cautiously. keep your head, and your tongue, get your girl and get out. that’s my advice. see and don’t see.” lida lauriston was indignant at the manner in which miss gregory hurried her out of town, when commence- ment was over, and bundled her into a train headed for her southern home. she would have been still more in- dignant had the girl known the real cause for the hurry. from the staid old new england town, to new york, lida’s every thought was of bennet and the desire she had to remain with him a little longer. the more she thought the more indignation burned at her heart. she planned and replanned the many things of which she would write him. when new york was reached she handed the porter a letter to be mailed. in this was her heart. she told of her sorrow at leaving him, her indig- nation against miss gregory, of the company of girls she had met on the train. when philadelphia was reached, with the change of scenery and the faces of the people, thoughts began to shift from scenes she was leaving to those of her home. she dreaded the meeting with her father and appreciated the storm that would rage about her head when she broke the news that she was to be married. she counted on the great love her father had always shown for her to win her way through the ordeal. through- i by san ction of law out the remainder of the trip till the train pulled up to the station at columbia, where she had asked him to meet her, her thoughts were centered on this encounter. for the first time in her life she somewhat dreaded meeting her father. her heart was set, however, and whenever a young girl envelopes herself in the strength of true love she steels herself for any ordeal. the train pulled into columbia from across the yellow santee river, past the penitentiary and on into the center of the city in the midst of a summer downpour. it was not a showery affair but a set rain with lowering clouds floating overhead in a southwesterly direction, making gloom for the surrounding scenery and filling everyone with a feeling of depression. she spied her father before he did her, pacing up and down the platform in his tall spare dignity, erect and eager. he was looking through the coaches as he walked, but missed his daughter till she landed with her luggage which the porter set at the corner of the station while she ran along the platform. as she neared him she called out: “daddy!” the southerner turned in his tracks and swept his daughter into his arms where she nestled crying softly. “daddy, daddy, dear daddy, it’s good to be with you again.” colonel lauriston, stern old disciplinarian that he was, struggled to master his emotions, but despite himself and biting his gray moustache the tears flowed from his eyes. only one who has loved an offspring with all the devotion by san ction of law of a parent can appreciate the pent up emotion that sought expression as the old man clasped his daughter to his heart. he seemed unwilling to ever release her. at last he freed her, however, and held her at arm’s length while the tears still flowed. for a moment or two they stood thus, the father’s eyes caressingly roving over his daughter’s form. finally he spoke a little softly and wistfully, as if musing more to himself than speaking to her. “the days have been long — so very long, child.” “did you miss me as much as that, daddy?” she threw her arms around him again in affectionate embrace. “i missed you also.” “bless your heart,” was all he could trust himself to say. the station porter’s move to lift the luggage and carry it away ended the touchingly domestic scene to which the passengers had been witnesses. linked arm in arm father and daughter passed down the platform and around the corner to the awaiting carriage. the drive out into the country to the ancestral home of the lauristons for lida was one of continued delight ex- pressed in exclamations as she passed familiar sights along the way. for colonel lauriston the drive was perfect since he had his daughter at his side. he enjoyed sitting back in the carriage, listening to lida’s talk and studying the changes a year had made in her. as they rode the clouds broke and the sun shone as if to smile a welcome. there had been decided changes in her. her face had matured, taking on a more womanly expression; the cheeks i by san ction of law seemed to be fuller and more delicately tinted; her lips a little more rounded and redder with the wine of life. colonel lauriston also noted a little more firmness about the well-chiseled rounded chin. in the midst of one of her bursts of admiration she turned to him as she felt his scrutiny. “why, daddy, have i changed so much that you are try- ing to get acquainted with me over again. have i grown so much as that?” he smiled as he said: “i do think i’ll have to get ac- quainted again. you've changed and improved. your year has done you good. you're now more than ever the image of your mother.” “i may have changed outwardly but inwardly i’m not changed. i’m still lida,” she exclaimed, raising his hand to her lips affectionately. “i don’t know about that. i have a suspicion that you must have met someone who's changed your heart just a little. and i fear my girl won’t be with me long.” “no one can take your place, daddy,” she replied evasively. “oh, it’s not that. i know i won’t be with you always and i’d like to see you settled in a home of your own be- fore i go. i’d sort of hoped you might find some nice young man up there. did you, lida?” the girl’s blushes betrayed her. “there — there, i thought so,” her father teased, not- ing her embarrassment. “tell me about him. i might as well know first as last.” i “as serious as that, is it?” colonel lauriston remarked shrewdly. his daughter made no comment, becoming suddenly pensive as she thought of bennet and her mind raced back to him. conversation for the remainder of the trip was spasmodic, colonel lauriston seemingly being content to have his daughter again under his eye and she absorbed in her dreams. in her reverie she retraced the events of the past year back to her leaving home. at this point she turned suddenly to her father. “oh, daddy, what’s become of aunt sally gorton. is she still here?” “yes, – still here.” a spasm of pain at the reminder flitted across his face. “that was awful, daddy — the curse she placed on you, i mean.” “i thought you'd forget that superstition up north, my girl. only a superstition — only a superstition,” he re- peated. “yes, daddy, but she whipped you. — ugh!” she shiv- ered. “i can feel the pain of it yet.” “the whim of an old woman, lida. — the whim of an old woman,” he repeated. the carriage by this time had rounded a curve in the road disclosing to view a wide expanse of cotton fields, with here and there patches of woods. set back at the edges of the woods at varying distances apart were houses i by sanction of law of the foremen of the lauriston plantation, the landed tenantry, and the squat dwellings of the negro hands. in the midst of the grouping was the saw mill with its piles of sawdust and discarded slabs over which lida had romped as a child. between adjoining fields of growing crops which seemed to be waving their welcome greeting, wound the white sanded road like a ribbon passing house after house till it came to the gate of the lauriston mansion. nestling back in the woods, some distance from the road on the opposite side to the lauriston lands, and two miles away behind the copse of woods around which the road had curved, was the less pretentious home of old john marley. lida stood as these familiar scenes came into view. “hello, everybody,” she shouted as she waved her hand joyously over the expanse that had opened up to view. “hello, everybody.” tears of joy dimmed her eyes as she thought. — “home again.” she rested her hand gently on her father’s shoulder as the carriage gave a lurch but held her balance, looking through her tears over the landscape. taking in here and there groups of laborers who halted in their work as they beheld the carriage and knew that the daughter of the house had returned. lida gripped her handkerchief and waved it at first one group and then another. hats and hands were waved in response. the carriage never halted till the horses came panting up to the wide piazza and rounded up to the hitching post. i by san ction of law all the domestics of the household had swarmed to the door and onto the piazza as the carriage rolled up, from the aged bandana-decorated cook and ruler of the household mammy wing, to malinda the table girl and joe the chore boy. as the carriage halted, mammy wing, with her fat arms pushed the crowd aside, and started to meet the young girl. she had no more than made two steps, how- ever, before lida had mounted to the piazza and was swept into the old woman’s embrace. “poor honey lamb,” was all the old woman could say, tears halting further speech. while still in the embrace of the old woman, lida was reaching out and shaking hands with everybody. joe the chore boy was busy with the luggage, when lida espied him and cried, “hello, joe, aren’t you going to shake hands?” the boy dropped his bundles and bowed, then shook the proffered hand. they were still grouped about the girl when colonel lauriston ordered: “be gone. everybody. get to your work.” with that all scattered, and lida was ushered into the house. in the rural south formalities are forgotten. thus when the news spread that lida had returned, neighbors for miles around began to call. these calls continued till far into the night and colonel lauriston’s heart filled to the bursting with pride as he exhibited his daughter to his admiring neighbors and extolled her accomplishments. i chapter xx it was far into the morning of the following day when lida opened her eyes, following a sleep with pleasant dreams. as she awoke the sun was streaming into the room from high in the heavens. for a brief spell she sur- rendered herself to the luxury of being at home and in her own bed, sending her thoughts northward to bennet. as she built her air castles of romance an intense longing to see her lover gripped her. picturing scene after scene in which the spirit of bennet was present, she began to realize how difficult it would be to break the news of her engagement to her father. long, long she argued with herself that her case was different, that bennet was no different from anyone else except as his character and personality stood out above and beyond that of any other man she had ever met. she contrasted bennet with the people of colored blood with whom she had come in contact during her life but could see nothing in him that was like them. he was as far removed from the plantation hand type of her father's lands and those of their neighbors as she was. after becoming hopelessly in- volved in speculations for a time she swept all these aside with the words: “i don’t care. i love him. he's all the world to me. come what will my heart and life are his.” with that decision she arose, threw about her a dress- ing robe and wrote him a letter full of her heart. “dearest one:”— she wrote. “it is morning and i am i by san ction of law at home. how good it seems to be again with those asso- ciations and friends who were yours from childhood. ev- erything seems the same. the people are just as hospit- able, just as homey, just as loving. life is sweet to me. sweeter to me since i know i have the love of the best man in the world and my love is his. just think what a difference a year makes in one’s experience. a year ago this time i was but a girl. now i have seen some of the world, have known some bitternesses, much joy and now know what love is. it is so different from what i used to imagine. i can now understand the love that christ gave to the world. for you have awakened in me such a deep love that i reverence the world for it. my love for you seems to make me see the world in such a different light that i see good in everything. even the twigs of white oak in the yard as they sway in the breeze seem to whisper of love. if my love for you can make the world seem as it does to me, how wonderful must be that love which god gives to humanity. i seem to ask nothing of the world but your love; seem to want nothing but to look up into the sky and to know without seeing the words written there that i have your love and as you love me so does the great god. i have not yet told daddy of my love for you; that i have found the man of my heart. i shall do so today. i pray god to give me strength for the ordeal. i know it will be an ordeal but i shall be brave, dear, for your sake — for the sake of our love. he perhaps won't see it by san ction of law as i do, but he loves me and loving me i hope to convince him. when i go to him i shall have your hand in mine, in thought, and that shall cheer me along. since knowing you i have learned how blind prejudice wrongs many. it is unchristian, unholy. it has spoiled the whole of christian living in this land of ours. oh, i have learned a lot since knowing you, dear. prejudice has made a mockery of religion. what a farce religion has come to be because of the spectre prejudice has built up among us. in what a poor light we of this land must stand before the eyes of the world ! in what a poor light we must stand before the poor untutored colored people who are our servants. what an example we set for them! i shall be different from this on, thanks to the love you have awakened in me and some day perhaps all this land will be different. then right will triumph and justice pre- vail, as they do not now. i anticipate a storm when i give the news to daddy. pray for me and with me, dear, that i may have strength and success. remember that wherever you go, wherever you are, night and day, my heart is with you, my hopes are in you. living or dead i am yours and always will be. well, dear, it is nearly noon and i must be dressing. give me your heart’s love always and i shall ask no more. trustingly yours, l. the letter finished lida rang for her maid and after her bath was soon dressed. her father was waiting on the veranda when she appeared. i by san ction of law “hello, daddy,” she greeted him effusively as she swept down on him, placing both arms about his neck as she kissed him. his arms clasped her long and tenderly as she sat on the arm of his wide rocker. “are you tired, after last night?” he asked, tenderly. “oh, no, daddy. it was wonderful, wasn’t it?” “we’re all glad to have you back with us,” he said tenderly. “even the blacks. they had a celebration them- selves after you retired.” “it’s good to be loved so well, isn’t it, daddy?” “yes, my child. love of your friends, love of your neighbors and love of your servants, make life worth while. now that you’re back i suppose someone else will be claiming your love, eh, child?” “i don’t know, daddy.” “i shall be a jealous and lonely old father, when that time comes.” “you won’t need to be for whoever loves me must love you.” “yes, but i may not love him, for he will be taking the jewel of an old man’s heart.” “sh-s-s-sh-sh.” she warned, a finger on his lips. “don’t talk that way. daddy will always be daddy to me.” “i’d like to see you well married and settled, lida, be- fore long. i’m getting old now. my days are few before i shall be called to join those now under the sycamore. i want to see you married and in a home of your own be- fore i go. — there are several good boys about here, sons of good neighbors. it would be nice if you could find one of them satisfactory. by san ction of law “who, for instance?” “well, there's old john marley's son, little joe.” lida remained silent as the colonel named over the young men he had in mind. “there's george danielson, james ferdick, john knott. all sons of good men. young men who are steady and native.” “well, i don’t care for any of them. they’re all too stodgy. besides little joe may be like his father. im- agine me the wife of a couple of hundred pounds of grease. just fuh-fuh-ſuh-tuh, imagine it,” she mimicked. at the picture conjured up by the mimickry both laughed. “well,” continued her father, when their laughter ceased, “old john and i have been neighbors for years and years and his place adjoins mine. he comes from good stock, too. i understand little joe thinks a heap of you, too.” “it won’t do any good, daddy. i don’t want any of them.” colonel lauriston detected the wistful tone in lida's voice. he studied his daughter shrewdly. she blushed under his scrutiny. “ah,” he said as she averted her face. “you’ve found someone while at school. eh, i thought that would hap- pen. well, he’ll have to prove himself to me.” “oh, he can do that,” she championed in brave admis- sion. “you won’t like him though, and i’m sorry for that because i’m going to marry him.” “whether i will it or not? would you defy your father? the father who nursed you like a mother from a little tot i by san ction of law “if he's manly and upright i’ll like him, perhaps; if he treats you right and is worthy of you.” “he’s more than manly and upright. he is one man in a thousand, daddy, and i’d go to the ends of the earth with him and for him.” “even forsaking me?” he queried. “even forsaking you. my love would not be true other- wise — and it is true — as true as life,” she said solemnly — so solemnly that colonel lauriston was convinced and bowed his head. he remained with his head on his chest for several minutes while lida stroked his hair tenderly as if to ward off the blow her next words would give. “you won’t like him, daddy, and i’m sorry — so sor- ry.” “why won't i like him? why are you so sure?” he gripped her hand fiercely, not knowing what to anticipate. lida stood facing him. he also arose and towered in front of her, awaiting her answer, his eyes snapping and his nostrils dilating in excitement. in this crisis lida did not flinch or wince. she looked straight into his eyes, the woman in her coming to the fore. there was tenderness in her eyes and face, yet determination. colonel lauris- ton was over matched in this. he slowly sank back into his chair, awaiting her answer. “you won’t like him,” lida pronounced the words slowly and with hesitation, “because — because he is not of my, not of our blood. he has colored blood in him.” for a moment colonel lauriston was stricken dumb with the shock of the news. his tongue seemed paralyzed. oi by san ction of law he looked up at his daughter, his face wildly distorted and agonized, the flesh sagging in wretched lines, as the import of the news came to him. his hands trembled as with palsy when they reached to grasp those of his daugh- ter. “you can’t mean that, child. you’re joking. — it’s a poor joke, though, lida — that’s a ghastly joke.” “but, daddy, it’s no joke. i’m in earnest.” “i forbid it.” the colonel had mastered himself again. he had now risen from his chair, rage consuming him. “i forbid it,” he shouted. “i’ll disown you. — i'll kill you first. — it shan’t be. my god! it shan’t be.” in the face of this crisis lida was calmness personified. she faced her father's rage and tempestuous outburst with surprising assurance. colonel lauriston in his tempest strode from one end of the veranda to the other. mutter- ing and cursing bitterly between threats. “to think that a lauriston should ever come to this. to bring this disgrace on my family — my name. it shall never be — how did you ever meet this man? — where did you first meet him? — though you be of my blood if you ever do such a thing i’ll disinherit you — i’ll cut you off — put you out. a villain to steal the heart of my innocent daughter. oh, why did i ever send you away from me? why didn’t i keep you at my side and under my own eyes. woe — woe is me. i’m truly cursed.” “but daddy, it's no disgrace to love, if one loves truly.” “shut up,” he commanded in shouting tones. he had never before used such a tone to his daughter. she o by san ction of law flinched under its volume and shrank away, resolution still written on her face. “you talk of love. — you don’t know the meaning of the word. i’ll not let you throw yourself away.” there was calm determination of a fixed purpose in the entire attitude of the girl and colonel lauriston realized that it was the family will pitted against his and that this will would not be broken. it was now a battle of will powers and colonel lauriston knew that no argument or persuasion would turn the girl from her purpose. know- ing this his rage began to mount again and as it mounted he began to rave in such violently blasphemous language that lida was forced to close her ears. he cursed god, man, devil and all the universe in his desperation, in the impotency of his rage. after half an hour he seemed to have exhausted himself and the storm that wracked him was spent. lida had made no attempt either to halt him or to leave for her room. for some minutes after colonel lauriston ceased to rave he still walked the veranda inter- mittently throwing back his head and shaking it much as an angry bull does when in a rage. finally he turned and entered the house leaving the girl puzzled, alone on the veranda. as he left her, lida sank into the chair he had vacated, bowing her head on her arms in prayer. it is characteristic of great simple souls that when in distress they turn to prayer. it was so with lida. lack- ing the comforting council of a mother her only consola- tion was in prayer. tears of sorrow trickled slowly be- tween her closed lids. her mind tried to frame a prayer o by san ction of law “well, dear, i must close now. i hear my father still pacing the floor below and it is almost three o'clock. i shall try to sleep for i know tomorrow will be a hard day for me. i shall dream of you, however, and the time when we shall be together. i am so lonesome, truman — lonesome for you. i would ask you to come to me so that we two could fight and master the situation together, i am so weak! but i know what a danger that would be for you and so i must bear it alone. i shall be brave for your sake, though, and our love shall carry us on.” she signed, sealed and closed the letter, then without calling for her maid, whom she had dismissed long ago, she prepared for bed. daylight was streaking across the southern sky, however, before she was able to close her eyes. it was far toward mid-day when she awoke with a start, conscious even before she opened her eyes that someone was in her room. she slowly opened her eyes to look into the fiery orbs of her father. he had finished reading her letter of the night before. her face flushed in anger at the intrusion and the discourtesy of the act of opening the letter, even though the act was performed by her father. for several moments the two stood gazing at each other, the father's look being one of menace and threat, the girl's that of anger. suddenly colonel lauriston’s face became so distorted with rage that he seemed another man. he stepped to the bed. lida did not flinch or avert her gaze, though believing, in his madness, he was about to do her harm. she was the first to speak. o by san ction of law “daddy,” she said, “i would never have believed a lauriston capable of the ungentlemanliness of opening another's letters. — give me my letter.” colonel lauriston stared so wildly at the girl that she began to believe he was out of his mind. “give me my letter, daddy, please.” “no!” he thundered with such vehemence that the vi- bration of his voice seemed to shake the wall. his face was now that of a demon. he leaned closer and closer to the girl. her eyes never left his. he raised his hands while his eyes fixed themselves on the pale pink whiteness of her lace bound throat. his fingers moved spasmodical- ly. lida recalled his threat to kill. “i’ve a mind to kill you — choke you to death — you — you — you — ungrateful child. i—i—i—will kill you.” he bent closer to the pillow on which lida’s head was resting. suddenly just as he was about to lay hands on her a medallion of lida’s mother, revealed itself from be- neath the enfolding lace, due to her heaving breast just as wild hands were about to clutch the throat of the girl. colonel lauriston’s madness turned to an expression of horror. with a cry as of great pain he snatched the medallion from about the girl’s neck, snapping the rib- bon that held it and strode from the room, crying, “oh, god! that i should live to see this day.” he bore the crumpled letter with him. “oh, god, i’m mad — i’m mad! cursed and mad!” as the door closed behind him lida leaped from the bed. chapter xxi when colonel lauriston left lida's room he went di- rect to his stable whence he dispatched a messenger to old john marley. “ride, boy,” he commanded. “ride like hell and tell old john to come to me right away.” “yes suh,” was the boy’s response as he thrust his heels into the sides of his unsaddled mount. old john was at home, sitting on his porch, fanning himself and puffing. the ride was a little better than two miles and both horse and boy were panting at the end of the trip. “mistah lauriston done tole me to come and ast you to cum tuh him right away. sump'n very 'portant’s de mat- tah, suh.” “it fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh must be important to send you on his favorite horse, gallivantin’ across these sands at this time of day.” “yes suh — yes suh,” was all the boy would say. “all right. go down to the barn and tell that lazy sam to hitch up and bring my buggy here.” the boy lost no time executing the order and shortly old john was easing his heft into the buggy. “fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh — watch out, when i get in,” he cautioned his man. “don’t let the durned thing tip over.” the servant bore down as best he could to balance the vehicle till old john was comfortably spread over the seat. he released his grip and handed the reins to his employer then stood aside hat in hand. colonel lauriston's mes- o by san ction of law senger was still at the stable giving his horse a rub down and a rest before starting. this horse was the boy’s per- sonal favorite and the animal seemed to respond to af- fection by rubbing his nose over the lad’s back as the lat- ter bent to his task. after the horse had rested sufficiently he too started on the return trip, much more slowly, how- ever. when he passed the veranda, colonel lauriston and old john were bent over, head to head. the colonel was gesticulating wildly and talking forcefully, while old john was all attention. as old john marley listened to colonel lauriston quietly, the only evidence of any excitement in his flacidity was the ruddy flush showing in his face and the increasing rapidity of his breathing. from time to time he nodded his head in encouragement, or uttered a monosyllabic oath. at last colonel lauriston leaned back in his chair as if concluding his narrative. he had been detailing to his old friend and crony the story of his daughter and the situation he was called to face. “to think that one of mine should have come to this,” he exclaimed pathetically. “but, by god, she will not.— she will not. — she will not marry him. i’ll see her dead first.” “i fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh tell you what, park. the best plan is to marry her off to one of our boys right away. let her fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh marry my boy — fuh-fuh-fuh- fuh-tuh young john. you remember i’ve said that same thing for the past year.” “yes, you did, john,” colonel lauriston agreed. o by san ction of law “you’ll have to fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh keep good watch on her to see she don’t up and run off on you. girls in love are varmints.-i’ll tell you. — let little joe come and take care of her. she’ll soon learn to like him and before long they can get married. he can guard her from running off, too.” “oh, god, to think that it would come to this!” ex- claimed colonel lauriston. “to think that i would have to set a watch over a child of mine to keep her from harm- ing herself and bringing disgrace on all of us.” “it’s fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh her own good, park. better fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh to guard her and marry her off to little joe than fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh have the other thing,” stam- mered old john marley sententiously. colonel lauriston looked long at the speaker, his dis- gust at the proposition causing him to writhe more and more inwardly. at last he spoke. “john, i almost hate you.” he stood and walked a short distance away then returned and continued, “but i guess i’ll have to give in. lida will balk.” “fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh what do you fuh-fuh-tuh care? my john ain’t a scarecrow.” “no. — neither is a porpoise,” colonel lauriston com- mented drily, looking at old john’s bulk. the latter merely gave a slight gesture with his hands. “john needn’t annoy her — and he won’t. he'll just be around handy when she’s out walking or riding.” colonel lauriston thought a moment then spoke. “john may not like the idea himself.” by san ction of law “he’ll like it well enough. he likes lida now more than ever and will know how to manage it. let the two run together a few days and you’ll see.” “very well,” colonel lauriston agreed. “he fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh wants to marry lida and when i fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh tell him that she wants to fuh-fuh- fuh-tuh throw herself away on a nigger he'll be mad fuh-fuh-fuh-tuh enough to kill for her. you just fuh-fuh- fuh-fuh-tuh leave that to me.” colonel lauriston walked away from the man, his head bowed in silence. old john lifted his three hundred weight from the creaking seat and waddled to his carriage and was soon driving away. left to herself, lida continued in her room for the re- mainder of the day weeping for her lover to come to her aid. she refused all nourishment and comfort offered by her maid, chloe. it was far into the night when she final- ly grew calm and her eyes closed in fitful slumber. when she awoke the following day she was ill from wor- ry and weeping. for a long time she lay tossing in bed, fever of anguish burning her soul. through all her tor- ture she revolved plans for escaping and returning to the north and truman. she knew it was no longer possible to get a letter through, since she was convinced her father would take care that no mail left the house without his inspection. while she was still puzzling over her predicament the maid entered the room with tea and toast. the aroma of the tea and the odor of the freshly made toast tempted her appetite. io by san ction of law for walking. she descended to the first floor expecting to meet her father and another storm but he was absent. glad of the respite from further scenes she passed to the veranda and down the steps to the drive and started to- ward the road. she had just reached the gate and turned toward the woods a half mile away where her brook tossed its waters over the falls when she looked up to see young john marley approaching, hat in hand. “howdy, lida. — i s'pose i should call you miss lida but you’ve always been lida to me.” the girl paused in the middle of the white sanded road, wonder in her eyes that she should be meeting anyone so suddenly at this time in the day, a sun bonnet swinging in her hand. she resented the tone in which she was ad- dressed; she resented also his appearing at such an inop- portune time. “i thought you were working,” was her comment. “i thought i'd pay you a call,” marley explained. “without being asked?” lida queried. “neighbors don’t usually have to ask, about here do they?” “if they call in the heat of the day. besides, i’m in no mood for company today, mr. marley.” lida started to walk on. “mr. marley now, is it?” he asked. “it used to be john and lida. i wish it could be so still.” “the wish is not mutual. besides if you’d respect a lady's wishes and want to know what those wishes are it is to be alone.” i by san ction of law “sorry, can't oblige you. i want to talk to you and this is a good opportunity.” “we’ve nothing in common, mr. marley and a gentleman will not annoy a lady with his presence when his presence is undesired. i may as well be frank with you. – yours is.” “well, i’m here and i’m going to have my say. i’ve known you ever since a boy and always liked you. i like you more now and want to marry you. lida, i want you for my wife.” “so this is a proposal, is it? despite objections.” “your father doesn't object.” “no, but i do— and i’m the principal. besides, i don’t love you and never will, never could for that matter. and another thing, i’m in love with someone else. engaged to him.” “i know all about that. you’ll never marry him. — never have a chance. no use trying. — they won’t let you off this place.” “won’t let me off? who'll stop me?” she asked as she stamped her foot angrily. “i won’t for one,” marley stated. “i’m going to watch to see you don't.” “you call that the act of a gentleman — you call that the act of love, do you?” “yes, it’s to save you from yourself.” “oh, you’re just offering yourself as a victim to save me from marrying the one i love!” she exclaimed indig- nantly. i by san ction of law before he could utter a word she swung her hand to his face with a resounding smack. “take that, you insulting wretch.” marley clapped his hand to the reddening spot on his face and looked at the girl in blank surprise for a moment. in that instant lida turned and started back for the house, realizing that to go to the cave which had been her secret place of comfort for years would be to dis- close it. as soon as marley recovered he bounded to her side biting his lips to control his anger. “you’ll not marry me, eh — i insult you, eh? well, you’ll never marry anyone else much less your white nig- ger and if he comes down here we’ll kill him — and you too.” when lida looked at him too indignant for words, he continued: “i know all about it. i’ve been told. i’ll not let you out of my sight.” with her eyes blazing as with anger of an amazon, lida faced him and pointed down the road and across the fields to the marley home. neither said a word. her lips were drawn across her teeth in such tensity of emotion as to make them bloodlessly white. marley could withstand the gaze no longer. he turned and walked away. lida returned to the house and her room. she fervently wished for some way to escape. both she and her father seemed to avoid each other for the next few days, though at night she could hear colonel lauriston pacing the floor of his room or the veranda till far into the night. each time she attempted to walk about the place she soon discovered that marley was on hand i chapter xxii orangeburg and all sections of lexington county, by tradition, custom and every other habit-forming agency still clung to one rural institution. this was “big mon- day,” the first monday in every month. all matters were reckoned from this day. it was the day when bills were paid and contracts were renewed; when the farmers and planters went to town to sell their produce. it was also the day of horse trading. (sometimes night long journeys by those who lived dis- tances away and whose means of travel were slow moving mules or oxen was the rule.) from all along the main roads leading into orangeburg, however, according to the distances from the city, caravan after caravan, joined the procession to arrive by early morning. from every side road there streamed into the main artery teams of all descriptions city bound. along the sides of the road as daylight approached, and the vicinity of the city was reached, could be seen various campers. negroes and whites in their various groups, sometimes asleep, some- times sitting by camp fires. the more wealthy of the farmers, who could afford faster vehicles, such as auto- mobiles and fast stepping teams disdained to break their night's rest by such early starts. they all planned to be on hand during the day, however, and would never miss. stores made ready for a rushing business in all kinds of trade till late in the afternoon. extra clerks were hired and counters were loaded with goods, of all descriptions. by san ction of law planters, discuss crop conditions and banter jokes. de- spite his erudition and the fact that he had espoused the profession of teaching he was still at heart a southern planter, revelling in the ways of the planter, talking cot– ton and corn and wheat and “nigger farm hands.” it was anticipation of this enjoyment that professor armstrong awoke, looked out of his window upon the day, and was glad. he was happy to whistling when taking his bath, whistling softly, however, so as not to disturb other sleepers. his toilet ended he descended to the piaz- za which stretched before the front of the hotel, surveyed the rows of empty chairs and stepped across the street to the various groups of farmers. by some he was known and greeted familiarly, by others he was unknown till he made some comment on the weather, their crops or their equipage. the southern planter never stands on ceremony. everyone speaks to everyone else and when once conversation was begun all barriers between men were down, and professor arm- strong was soon the center of a laughing, handshaking jolly group of farmers. after an hour or more spent in making the rounds of the courthouse, professor armstrong realized it was breakfast time and turned to the hotel dining room. he entered the room and was about to seat himself when his glance was directed across the room to one of the side tables where the pose of a diner presented a certain fa- miliarity to him. he gazed for a moment, then exclaimed, under his breath, “dr. tansey. well, well!” with that by san ction of law “i still can’t see why white men should fight over ‘nig- gers.” we fought over them once. i don’t think they’re worth bothering with to that extent any more.” “same old armstrong,” exclaimed dr. tansey. “dear fellow it’s not a question of fighting over them. it’s fight- ing for the right. and we'll always fight for the right till the right triumphs. and right will never triumph until every man, woman and child in america, regardless of race, color or creed or circumstance has a fair and a square deal. the american conscience will never let the question lie still. might does not make right any more than two and one make five. it is this instinct of america that makes her great. the desire for and the determination to be right. america will never be right till the wrong of color prejudice is eradicated and all men get justice.” “why bother with them. i can’t see. they’re a bur- den to the country. they’re lazy and worthless, unre- liable and shiftless.” “who made them so, if all is as you say. where's the blame? you know, as you make the statements, how- ever, that they are false — as false as fool’s gold. where would your wealth be if you did not have them to work your fields? if you did not have them to cheat? how long can you or would you work in the hot sun of this land to till your fields. – about two hours. you call them shiftless yet they’re amassing much property despite handicaps faced by no other group. i see lots of evidences of it right around me here. you call them unreliable, they were reliable enough to take care of your lands and o {{ t by san ction of law families when your fathers went to war to keep them in slavery. — no, armstrong, your statements are all false and misleading. these people are a vast asset to the south and some day the south will realize it. perhaps too late. “if the south could only see it,” dr. tansey continued, “if you could only see it you would try to make the best citizens possible out of them; encourage them to become better citizens, make their living conditions better, their health conditions better and their moral conditions bet- ter.” “moral conditions. ha-ha-ha. that’s a joke. they have no morals.” “tut-tut-tut. the shoe's on the other foot. and sup- pose they had no morals, who has set them the example for centuries?” “the southern white man is the most moral on this hemisphere. he is the preserver of civilization — of anglo-saxon purity of race.” “don’t talk rashness, armstrong. don’t talk rashness. the very complexion of your town belies you. the com- plexion of every southern town or city belies that state- ment. don’t talk balderdash.” “we protect the purity of our women,” boasted pro- fessor armstrong. “yes, at the expense of the purity of another race. that is not preserving race purity. the purity of your women needs no protection, it is the purity of southern manhood that needs protection and the purity of black i by san ction of law women. when out of twleve million black persons in this land more than a third of them are of mixed blood, the white southern man ought to hang his head in shame. you've not an argument to support you and the best thing to do is to set about righting the wrongs done, then con- science will be free. first set your own house in order and all things will be added.” “you’re talking a lot of theories,” professor armstrong gestured. “we, down here, are faced with the practical workings out of life. if you want to see real conditions, you have the best chance in the world today. today is court day. come with me. court will just be sitting when we will have finished.” “i’ll be delighted. i have often wanted to get into the midst of this question.” “all right, you’ll see.” professor armstrong was right. by the time they fin- ished breakfast and prepared themselves for the street, those having business with the arm of south carolina law, as administered in orangeburg, were just assembling. a steady stream of persons were passing through the court- yard gates and assembling in the building. armstrong and dr. tansey joined them. once in the building they continued with the crowd seeking the municipal criminal session, held in an old-fashioned high vaulted room, un- changed since the structure was first built. in fact the courthouse looked back on a very respectable antiquity of slave trading. almost all the seats in the already stifling, stuffy court by sanction of law were taken. over in the corner near the “pen” professor armstrong sighted two vacant seats and worked his way to them, aided by one of the sheriffs. the day was sultry, with a stagnant, drowsy, sleepy air pervading the room despite the fact that the windows were wide open. men and women of all colors and in various stages of undress, some exuding the odor of sweaty clothes, some of tobacco smoke, filled the place. the negroes huddled into one corner, some of them, torn straw hats in their hands, trousers suspended by one string, some barefoot and others with dilapidated shoes on, while here and there in the crowd was a rather better dressed, man or woman, mulatto or black, all puffing, fanning and panting with the excitement. dr. tansey noted in a corner near the judge's desk a block platform and above it shackles, reminding him of the auction block of slavery days. about them bustled a colored court runner or a lawyer looking after a client. the better class colored person was defended by some white lawyer friend, the smaller cases being attended to by men of their own race. dr. tansey and armstrong had just time enough to take in the scene when a tall lanky sheriff, arose, pounded his desk and droned, “the cote.” all who were seated stood. justice was speedy. invariably, in the minor cases where whites, mostly young men, involved in brawls and small offenses, they were reprimanded, warned and freed. when all these except one or two were disposed of, the by san ction of law cases of the negroes were called. most of these were more trivial than the others, being accusations of loitering, vagrancy, pettit larceny and brawling. invariably sen- tences of differing lengths to the chain gang were meted out to them. appeals were useless. usually after a woe— begone look, a hopeless pleading with eyes for sympathy and leniency they were mercilessly sent to the chain gang, from where they were paroled to the various farms. thus dr. tansey surmised, were the farm hands recruited. invariably they were allowed but a few words when asked to plead guilty or not. “boss, yer honoh,” they would start, “i didn’t do nothing. “thirty days in the gang,” would be the interruption of the judge. the court room was almost cleared of cases. in the rear of the restricted side of the room, huddled into a small group were four colored persons, one a young girl, who was weeping silently, two elderly persons, a man and a woman, and a young brown skinned youth, tall and rugged, manly and clean looking. in fact the group was in decided contrast to the prisoners making up court cases, disposition of which the two men had witnessed. at intervals the old woman would lean tenderly over the weeping girl to comfort her. the man sat grimly watch- ing the judge, his face muscles as taut as graven images, his arms folded across his breast, a veritable ethiopian sphinx. the judge, a rather florid, puffing, medium sized per- by san ction of law the judge was about to rise from his chair when from the rear of the room a woman's voice rang out. “just a minute, your honor.” the judge sat erect with a snap as if jerked up by some rope. dr. tansey and professor armstrong turned quickly to note the speaker. the young woman, for such it was, was advancing toward the bar, her eyes blazing, her finger pointing menacingly at the judge. several bailiffs started for her as if to protect the judge. “your honor,” she said, “do i understand that you are letting this man off with a fine on a charge of this kind. a crime against a woman of my race would be called rape. is not this rape, also? i was in the adjoining room when this girl was attacked. i heard the threats he made and the struggle when he forced her to his will. i demand he be prosecuted as any other criminal. “this is a court— supposedly a court of justice,” she continued. “if there ever was an injustice — if there ever was a travesty — if there ever was a farce it is the way this case is disposed of.” “are you an attorney?” “no, i’m not. would to god i were. i’m human, though, and i come from a section where human beings are treated like human beings and brutes like brutes re- gardless of color.” “are you interested in this case?” “yes, i’m interested, and i’ll see it through.” “your name, please.” “louise comstock.” by san ction of law “well, louise, you say you’re from a different neck of the woods. i presume from the north. — well, here’s a bit of advice. go back north to your mother's kitchen and don’t go meddling in affairs that don’t concern you. court’s dismissed.” with that the judge gathered his books and papers and stepped from the bench toward his room. the girl’s face was flushed to the color of a blush rose with confusion and indignation at the treatment accorded her. she stood, a blaze of anger, watching the judge retire, fierce impreca- tions in her soul. “you shame the name of womanhood!” was all she could venture to say. dr. tansey was just stepping to- ward her to calm her anger and advise her that her in- dignation was carrying her too far, when professor arm- strong noted the girl who had been wronged. “my god,” he exclaimed. “ione felding!” then he turned to dr. tansey. “doctor, that’s the daughter of my laundry woman. judge — judge—” he started for the door through which the judge had departed. “judge,” he shouted, “come back here.” then thinking of the young white man who had perpetrated the outrage, he turned to look for him. “where's the young dog,” he said. where's the young dog?” louise comstock went over to the group of colored people. she took the girl's hand. “never mind,” she comforted, though realizing how lame and hollow the words must sound in the girl’s ears. “never mind, i’ll take you away from this land where you’ll have protec- by sanction of law tion.” the girl was weeping freely now on her mother's shoulder. the father's tongue seemed to be freed and he was pronouncing bitter curses against the land. the scene was so distressing that dr. tansey felt an ungov- ernable desire to get away from it. grabbing professor armstrong by the hand he almost pulled him to the door. “come on,” he urged, “let’s get out of here!” they were just in time to see the young man trafford stepping from the gate at the end of the short walk to the sidewalk. he was smiling brightly at the successful ter- mination of his episode. he had just reached the side- walk, however, when there stepped from behind one of the teams hitched near, the young colored man who had been comforting the girl in the court room. trafford looked up into the eyes of the young man with a tri- umphant smile and started to pass on. the young colored man stepped up to him, however, and without a word of warning struck trafford a blow that sent him reeling against the picket fence, dazed for an instant by the sur- prise of the attack. the assailant started after him again to continue the assault when a dozen men, who had been in a group near- by rushed to trafford’s aid. the young colored man saw them coming, however, and met the first to reach him with a blow that sent the rescuer also tottering away. before the attack could be carried further, two police officers rushed in, fighting their way through the now gathering crowd and placed the colored man under arrest, rushing him through the yard of the courthouse, into the building by sanction of law the nigger's girl. he's always doing that. lot of the young hellions are doing that — sewing their wild oats. guess we’ve all done it more or less. pooh! that’s nothin'. as long as there's a good looking nigger girl about there’ll be white boys hunting for them. it’s fair game too.” such was the drift of the conversation heard by arm- strong and dr. tansey as they stood a little aside from the crowd studying the group. “by god, i’ll see that that thing stops,” swore pro- fessor armstrong. “tansey, i know that girl and her whole family. good people too — law abiding, and bring- ing their children up right and according to law. her mother’s been my laundry woman and the laundry wom- an of my family for years. — poor, of course, and simple — but law abiding and honest.” dr. tansey was tempted to say, “this is some of your southern justice and right,” but remained silent. the two men were still within the yard of the court- house when a squad of police arrived and dispersed the crowd. there was some show of resistance for a brief time, here and there being heard mutterings of anger against the negro, but soon the street was tranquil and the ordinary business of big monday resumed. dr. tansey and armstrong walked across the street to the piazza of their hotel. as they neared the door they heard a group of men just leaving a store inquire of two standing at the edge of the curbing: “what was the trouble over there?” indicating the spot by san ction of law across the street where the crowd had gathered. “don’t know, exactly. somebody said a nigger insulted a white woman.” “what d'you know about that!” exclaimed the first speaker. “times are getting awful — time to call a halt. they ought to be run out of town — did they get the nigger?” “yes, he's in jail.” “good time for a necktie party, eh — teach them a les- son.” “hanging's too good for them. they’re worthless, no good and a burden anyway. thanks — see you later.” the group separated. i chapter xxiii dr. tansey and professor armstrong had just seated themselves when they noticed, coming from the court- house, louise comstock. “i’ve seen that young woman somewhere but can’t place her,” said dr. tansey. “yes, i recognize her too — i’ve met her somewhere — i don’t know where.” louise inclined her head slightly as she passed them, remembering that they were in the courthouse when she made her plea. as she bowed, both men raised their hats and dr. tansey approached. “pardon me. i seem to have met you somewhere but can’t say where. it was good of you to defend that poor creature today.” louise extended her hand. “i know you. you're dr. tansey — at the college — and this is professor arm- strong. i also know you. i’ve seen you many times while i was at miss gregory’s school. being but a school girl, you paid no attention to me.” “oh, you’re one of miss gregory's girls, are you? i was quite sure i knew you. — you’re a long way from home, though, i may say. — you’re not a southern girl,” professor armstrong observed. “my people are from the south originally but i was born north and have lived there all my life. i came south to study conditions a little this summer and was prepar- ing to visit a friend of mine, miss lida lauriston.” by san ction of law melt a heart of stone. he threatened her with setting the mob on her for assaulting him; threatened to have her father hung and finally used force. i didn’t realize what was happening till he had gone and left the girl crying. i went to her and found her in a pitiable heap. it was i who insisted on arrest. but what good did it do? they lynch colored men for far less than that.” both men hung their heads in silence as she passed in- to the hotel and to her room, her eyes still filled and over- flowing with tears. the street had entirely regained its serenity now and the sun was high in the heavens. dr. tansey was the first to break silence. “let’s have luncheon,” he said. professor armstrong was agreeable and the two men passed into the dining room. following the meal each passed to his room for a nap, as is the custom in the south during the heated portion of the summer days, at least for those who have the leisure. it was late in the afternoon when professor armstrong, freshened from his sleep and a bath, knocked on dr. tansey’s door. “awake, doctor?” he asked. “yes, come in,” the doctor invited. “hope you’re rested.” “feeling fine.” “doctor,” began professor armstrong. “i’ve been thinking over things since i left you and believe i’m be- ginning to see them differently. this affair of ione feld- ing's this morning came pretty close home to me. man, i’ve known that family ever since i could toddle. her by san ction of law older sister, who's married is just about my age. — ione is younger.” “she certainly was a pathetic bit of humanity, there in the court room this morning.” “yes, she was, and the way those eyes of hers appealed to me in their dumb brown helplessness when she saw me! i tell you, man, i’ll never forget them. trafford didn’t get half what he deserved from that fellow.” “what can you do about it now?” “there's nothing to be done about it now. but i’m beginning to believe that conditions that permit such things with such ease are not right.” “keep on. that's old man conscience working on you. follow him and he’ll set you right too.” “no, i think it’s the personal interest i have in the girl.” “old man conscience, just the same,” dr. tansey shook his head sadly. “he won’t let you rest nor will he let the american people rest till right is right and jus- tice and fairness obtain for all. — now you can under- stand why men battle for right. once get old man con- science to work and give him any sort of free play then any question is safely solved.” the sun was now hanging far over in the western sky and evening approaching. from the window of the room in which the two men sat could be seen the tall cold angular stone and masonry jail, across the other house tops, with its iron-barred windows standing out in bold relief, cutting a vivid outline in the otherwise crimsoning by san ction of law sky. dr. tansey looked from the window to the jail. the eyes of professor armstrong followed his. “and to think,” continued the latter, “that poor fellow cooped up somewhere in there for trying to protect his own.” “keep on, keep on, conscience — you’re gaining,” thought dr. tansey, though he made no comment. before he could frame any satisfactory comment a bell- boy rapped on the door and reached in with the after- noon papers. dr. tansey took one in a casual manner, offering another to professor armstrong. “what an infernal lie!” exclaimed dr. tansey. “what a hellish, fiendish lie!” professor armstrong looked from his paper to the face of the doctor, waiting for explanation. dr. tansey held the paper he was reading toward his friend. “look at that. — look at that!” professor armstrong glanced at the publication held before him. in glaring head lines letters fully six inches deep, fairly screamed the words: “white girl assaulted negro under arrest riot narrowly averted on main street shortly before noon by arrest of man charged with crime threats of lynching followed white populace in angry mood may seize jail at sundown, talk, burn prisoner and entire negro section heard.” then followed a harrowing story purporting to tell of the assault. dr. tansey began reading the narrative in- dignantly. by san ction of law read a paper like this and they don’t approve of the wrongs done to black people. they’ll arise and assert themselves sometime. give them time.—give them time.” “meanwhile all manner of hell’s to pay, eh? if there starts a riot tonight where will your better class whites be? safe in their homes. if a negro is caught armed, he'll be shot down. white rioters will be given every freedom for sway of their bestiality, however. they will be able to shoot down negroes with impunity.” “oh, don’t be so hard on us, old man. we’re not all bad.” “that’s true, armstrong. pardon me. i forgot. let’s go down to the piazza. perhaps i exaggerate.” suiting action to words the two men descended. the piazza was crowded. twilight was fast coming on, and here and there a star began twinkling in the red gold sky. along the streets preparations were being made to light lamps, while negro workers, were hurrying to their homes, anxious, worried looks on their faces, fear in their hearts. they had been warned by the police and were eagerly heeding the warning. there was an ominous silence en- veloping the city. hotel guests as well as others seemed to sense it. few words were being spoken and these in undertones from neighbor to neighbor. everyone was restless, the very air was depressing and mysteriously heavy. chapter xxiv along the street, as darkness closed in, a light flashed here and there from post to post. in the square, about the courthouse the electric lights sputtered and spifft, flicker- ing intermittently till the carbons had adjusted themselves, as the current was turned on, until finally the entire square was a brilliant blaze. now a lone horseman passed gallop- ing down the main thoroughfare, sitting stiffly in the sad- dle, his hat down low over his forehead. shortly he was seen to return accompanied by another horseman. two police officers in uniform passed along the front of the hotel swinging their night sticks, also silently. the sun had now gone and the stars were out, the milky way show- ing almost so brightly with its sprays of stars, as to seem to cast a shadow along the street. now groups of silent figures were seen walking past the hotel. most of them went in the same direction. again there passed several more horsemen, all silent. singly and in pairs some of the guests at the hotel who were sitting on the piazza arose and either entered the hotel or sauntered down the street in the direction the other walking groups had taken. dr. tansey turned to professor armstrong. “profes- sor, there's something mysterious in the air. i feel it.” “so do i — something uncanny. i don’t like it. it’s almost ghostly. ever hear southern ghost stories?” “no.” “well, they tell many a one about here. — make your o by san ction of law hair stand on end, some of them. — stories of old civil war days, or pre-slavery days. the blacks used to tell them to me and i tell you they made me feel creepy. that’s just the way this night is making me feel.” suddenly from down the street in the direction in which the crowd had gone there rang out on the night air a shot. all the air was quiet for a second except for the echo of the shot reverberating across the night sky. those re- maining on the piazza keyed their senses to the situation, listening expectantly. two more shots in succession and then a fusilade greeted them. at that professor arm- strong leaped to his feet: “my god!” he whispered. “a lynching.” dr. tansey also leaped up, still listening. the minds of both men were filled with events of the morning. “this must not be. that man is innocent, armstrong. inno- cent,” he exclaimed, catching the purport of professor armstrong’s words and realizing the truth of them. “we must stop them before it is too late. come, armstrong.” “hold on a minute,” warned armstrong. “we’d better not get mixed into this thing.” “get mixed into it. man, you know the truth. all this comes from that paper’s story.” “yes, but you don’t know the temper of a southern mob.” “where’re your best men now? they ought to be heading this thing off. get a few of them from some- where. do something! do something! come on!” “wait a minute. if you must go, better be armed. you . i by san ction of law can’t tell what’ll happen,” cautioned professor armstrong. “have you a revolver?” reaching into his rear pocket professor armstrong drew from its holster a blue steeled six-shooter. “here, take this. i’ll get one from my room. wait for me.” “hurry then, we may be too late as it is.” professor armstrong was gone but a matter of seconds but it seemed like ages to dr. tansey. they were the only persons remaining on the piazza now. while wait- ing for professor armstrong's return, dr. tansey’s mind travelled over miles of distances and there flashed before his memory many scenes through which he had lived, re- viewing them with a vividness never before known to him. they all traced in succession to the present time, ending with the picture of this man being strung up to a tree, his life sacrificed to the mob spirit, an innocent victim of their fury. though impatient for professor armstrong to join him there was no trace of excitement in his system, every act, every thought, every motion of muscle was impressive- ly deliberate. “hurry!” he urged as professor armstrong returned. down the street they started following the direction in which the crowd had gone. they had but reached river street when they ran headlong into a mass of seething, rushing, scrambling humanity. where had all these peo- ple come from so silently and in such numbers. there were young men, old men, middle aged men, women, girls and boys in the crowd which was now for the first time showing signs of boisterousness. to dr. tansey the by san ction of law the man addressed turned a long look of surprised inquiry at dr. tansey. after a long scrutiny he asked: “protect a nigger prisoner? who ever heard of such a thing.” before any reply could be made the two men walking the prisoner between them came down the human aisle. the boy’s eyes were wide and staring with fright. one white man on each side grasped an arm firmly. the boy looked pleadingly from one face to another as he passed. there was no pity there. they spat at him instead. some kicked at him front and rear. some tried to strike him. as the leaders made a circle about him under a tall elm with wide overhanging branches, dr. tansey heard the boy say, in prayer, “oh, god. you know i’m inno- cent. save me.” dr. tansey was jostled away before he could hear more. he had satisfied himself, however, that this was the same youth he had seen in the courthouse in the morn- ing. to confirm his conclusion he turned to professor armstrong, “that’s the same young man?” he asked. professor armstrong replied in the affirmative by nodding his head. before more could be said a sea of twisted, leering, white faces closed in about the group. exultant, blood-hungry yells, menacing and terrible rang in the prisoner’s ears. fiery eyes now glared at him, shrill, rau- cous voices cursed him and hands seeming like long bony talons seemed to reach for his throat. “get a rope. — get a torch. — get a light’ood knot,” were directions shouted. dr. tansey could stand no more. by sanction of law he mounted the steps of the courthouse near which he stood, looked over the madly yelling crowd which was fast getting from under control of the leaders. “men,” he shouted. for a moment his voice attracted them and there was a hush. he seized the advantage. “that man is innocent,” he shouted. “the devil he is. we know. the papers told the story. we know.” they shouted him down. he tried again. “that man is innocent,” he shouted at the top of his lungs. they paid no heed to him. “lynch him. lynch him,” shouted a hundred voices. “burn him. burn him like the dog he is,” shouted others. the crowd had now become one struggling, seething mass. men with ropes had arrived. insanity reigned. into the very midst of the raging group sprang dr. tansey, re- volver drawn. professor armstrong, now having con- cluded to help the youth followed the doctor. they fought their way to the side of the youth. a dozen hands were reaching for the rope which was now about the young man's neck, eager to swing him into eternity. four hands grabbed it. “don’t touch that rope,” commanded dr. tansey, his eyes blazing, his revolver drawn. the action was so sud- den and surprising the four men drew back for a second. other hands, however, grabbed the rope. recovering from their surprise the four men rained blows on dr. tansey, under which he was falling when he suddenly clutched the trigger of his revolver. as he shot, the body of the boy was pulled high into the air. a hundred shots by san ction of law rang out and the body was riddled with bullets, by those without the inner circle. while they were shooting the body full of bullets, four men were beating dr. tansey to the ground. professor armstrong grabbed the falling man and pushed the crowd back. the mob was blood-mad by now and cared not whom it seized. professor armstrong was now fighting to save his friend, forgetting the riddled body swinging back and forth from the limb of the tree, neck broken and life gone. he was just in time to drag the sinking body of dr. tansey to safety when he heard a screeching and screaming on the outskirts of the crowd. professor armstrong paused in the act of laying the body of dr. tansey on the ground to see what the new commotion was about. as he raised himself, an unearthly weird and mournful screech greeted his ears. “save me! save me!” screamed a woman’s voice. it was mailie felding, elder sister of ione, who, nearing childbirth, could not rest at home, feeling that some awe- some thing was happening. following the crowd from the jail at some distance, she paused transfixed with fright and terror at the courtyard to witness the lynching and had been discovered by some of the mob. “here’s another nigger,” they shouted. “lynch her. lynch the minx, before she gives birth to another brute,” they shouted noting her condition. professor armstrong saw the wild look on the girl’s face but recognized who she was. “by god, they’ll never do that monstrous thing,” he murmured. by san ction of law “save me. somebody save me. i ain’t done nothin’. help! save me!” she screamed. “i’m coming, mailie,” professor armstrong answered as he plunged fighting now like a demon, into the mob. he was shooting as he came. man after man fell. he paused not to see whether they were dead or only wound- ed. his revolver, however, was soon emptied. he strug- gled on using the weapon as a club. he reached the girl but before he could lay a hand on her she swooned away and he was knocked unconscious. up her body was jerked with a snap that broke the spinal cord with a loud noise. those who had been fight- ing professor armstrong, now madly called for a rope for him. he was still unconscious from the blow when a rope was pulled about his neck and about to be thrown over a limb also. in that moment, however, one of the leaders cuffed the men who were pulling the rope. “that’s a white man. durn you. don’t you see.” he swung his fists right and left, at the same time repeating, “that’s a white man. that’s a white man.” his blows and his words finally penetrated into the brains of the attackers and they allowed the rope to be pulled down from the limb of the tree. the man who rescued professor arm- strong carried him along up the courthouse steps and into the corridor of the building. there he left the uncon- scious form and again joined the mob which had by now lost all semblance of sense. they were trampling all over the spot, pushing, jostling and fighting. as they swayed, a hundred feet passed over the body of dr. tansey, by san ction of law this gasolene storage was the first barrier reared by the negroes to protect their property. a little further in, where the better class dwellings were located a number of them, heavily armed had gathered, determined to sell their souls and their property at as great a cost to the at- tackers as possible. a race war impended. luckily the inspiration of the gasolene warning had sufficed to sober the crowd and they were slowly dispersed. back in the courthouse professor armstrong awoke to consciousness to find a death-like stillness pervading. he was puzzled. he felt at his side a cold wall. he tried to think where he was, finally recalling the mob and its struggle. from his proximity to the wall he thought he must be in some vault, because of his lameness, left for dead. he felt above him but could touch nothing. he reached to his other side and touched only empty space. finally he raised himself to his hands and knees then de- cided to follow the wall to its end. he brought up against a blank wall as he went forward. he decided to try the other direction. as he turned his hand came into contact with a rope. he dropped it with a shiver. after crawl- ing some distance he detected a streak of light. coming to this he felt about and discovered a door. raising him- self to a standing position he touched a knob, turned it and opened the door. the glare of the street light dazzled him for a moment. he blinked then stepped out. a cold shiver ran up and down his spine as he looked down and saw the rope, stretching from his body to the floor, a noose end about his neck. he suddenly remem- by san ction of law bered all then. “my god, what a narrow escape!” he ex- claimed. “great god! and to think that this is ameri- ca — that this is the south.” he cast his eyes to the left but turned them quickly away sickened at the view. the two bodies, that of the boy and his sister, still swung from the elm limb. he closed his eyes, his knees sagging. he recovered himself, shortly. then thought: “where's dr. tansey.” with the question he recalled with vividness the fighting and the fact that he had borne the stunned body of the doctor to the side of the court- house. he turned his face in that direction then fainted dead away. dr. tansey’s body lay stretched out, the clothing a mass of rags and tatters. all life crushed out, flesh and clothing enmeshed in gore, with the trampling of many feet — an horrible sight. the view overwhelmed — sickened him. the horrible truth of the gruesome tragedy enveloped him and he was unable to stand. he slowly sank to a sitting position on the steps, his head cupped in his hands. he was too dazed and misery-stricken to think for a time. all he could see was the wretchedly mangled body of what was once his friend. a great pain gnawed with slow agony at his heart. he wanted to weep but tears would not come; just this deadly hurtful pain in his breast and the horrible pic- tures of the past few hours burning themselves into his consciousness. for many minutes he sat mute, no sign of activity about him save the slight rustling of the leaves in the trees. he dared not look up, for even at the suggestion of the lift of o by san ction of law swaying were as vivid to him as if the bright sun of day- light was shining upon them. after a few minutes’ struggle he mastered his nerves and again opened his eyes. he started down the steps, the rope pulling behind him. frantically, fear in his heart, he gripped and snatched it from about his neck and hurled it from him where it fell on the dew-wet grass. he stag- gered down the steps and started for his hotel. the ex- ertion was too much for him, darkness came to his widely staring eyes and oblivion into his mind. the last con- scious moment he recalled afterward was an impression he had of falling over a steep precipice — falling — falling — falling! chapter xxv it was long after daybreak when the police relaxed their vigilance in guarding the negro district. there were still smouldering flames in the small area which had been burned. despite the fact that all seemed quiet and as if nothing had occurred, those of the colored population who usually were astir before this hour and on their way to their places of work refused to leave their homes. in the downtown section, not a negro could be seen and the whites began to awake to the awfulness of the situa- tion. like a bad conscience on the morning after there was feeling of remorse in some. most of those who had taken part in the mob, however, and their friends began to visit the scene of their diabolical outbreak. there was no remorse in them, however. they were prompted by sheer curiosity. the newspapers carried stories of the night's work but not the whole story. there was no mention of dr. tansey or professor armstrong. the parts they played came out later. for the most part the crowd gathered on the sidewalk, leaned against the railing and gazed at the swaying bodies and the two lying on the grass — the one that of dr. tan- sey, the other that of professor armstrong. they believed that all four bodies must have been those of negroes. “i thought we lynched only two niggers,” remarked one to a bystander. “so did i. there are four bodies, though.” “i only remember two,” said a third. by san ction of law one spirit, bolder than the others, now that the sun was shining, started for the gate. “i want a piece of that rope for a remembrance. i’ll show it to the next one of them that gets fresh with me.” “so do i. — so do i. — me too,” various others re- peated as they followed the leader into the yard prepar- ing to cut ends from the dangling ropes. they had each secured, a piece of the rope and started for the gate again when, as they were passing the body of professor arm- strong, the latter regained consciousness, opened his eyes, turned over and started to rise. with a yell of fear the four souvenir hunters tossed their bits of rope into the air and ran. professor armstrong staggered to his feet, looked wildly at the retreating four as they broke through the crowd, then cursed them. “cowards — brutes that you are. run, you curs who call yourselves men — white men at that. behold your work, and but for providence i might have been one of them, pointing to the general direction of the three bodies. you don’t know what you’ve done. killed three inno- cent persons, one of them white, just to please your greed for blood. “behold your work, you beasts. you’ve killed a white man. — a real man — as well as two absolutely innocent human beings. god will curse this town for this as he will curse this whole land unless you change.” with that he strode toward the gate. the crowd, in awe, stood aside to allow a path through which he walked. by san ction of law professor armstrong crossed the street, haggard and hol- low-eyed from his experiences, and made for his hotel. “there’s a white man’s body over there in that yard,” he said to the clerk at the desk, pointing to the court- house. “a white man killed by that mob last night. get the body to some undertaking place.” orangeburg awoke in a remorseful mood. when the better families, whose domestics had been frightened into hiding during the night while the rioting was at its height, failed to show up for work the first realization of what had happened came to them. when their morning paper re- counted the wild happenings of the night before and the barbarity of the scenes they came to a greater realization. when, however, an extra edition was cried into their faces, announcing that one white man had been accidentally killed by the mob, his body trampled on and mangled, the horror of the affair sank into their souls. it was well toward noon before the bodies were cut down and removed from the courtyard. not until after judge gauvin had come to hold court and viewed the re- mains. when he stood at the gate, about to enter, with the crowd of morbid spectators gaping at the still swaying bodies, he realized that the man and woman were innocent also that he knew in his heart where the guilt lay, he hung his head, after ordering the bodies removed. his self control was so shaken by the gruesomeness of the sight that he had recourse to his closet for stimulant, which he always kept on hand. the body of dr. tansey had been borne away early in the morning, soon after by san ction of law professor armstrong had notified the clerk. all day, however, there was a continual crowd passing and re- passing the spot, souvenir hunting, or just morbidly curi- ous. the bodies of the negroes were turned over to rela- tives who prepared them for burial. as if in remorse, some of the white families sympathetically offered the stricken ones aid in their bereavement. but for the re- mainder of the city business proceeded as if nothing un- usual had occurred. trafford was hurried out of town by his family when it became noised about that he had been the indirect cause of the tragedy. rev. father winsor buntin in his little country parish, as he read the story recalled the meeting with dr. tansey in charleston. his heart was heavy. he bowed his head in meditation sitting in front of the little mission that had been his home as well as the center of his work. as he pictured the scene, he murmured, tears filling his eyes: “father forgive them, for they know not what they do. how can men be so cruel,” he thought. “so brutal! i must hurry into town. he was a stranger in a strange land. i’ll pray for the repose of his soul.” arriving at orangeburg, father buntin hurried to the hotel and from there learned of the plans for the funeral. learning from professor armstrong that the body was to be shipped north after a few simple exercises, he re- quested that he be allowed to conduct the services. “gladly, father. i was wondering whom i could get to conduct the services.” professor armstrong's legs were still shaky from his ex- by san ction of law swollen, rushing width, drove along till the water was al- most awash with the hubs then reversed his levers and started for the shallows again. “where’re you going?” asked bennet showing impa- tience. “can’t go through there, mister.” “why you were almost half through then, i could see the other bank.” “yes, but that was just where the stream was deepest. it would have been over the motor before long.” “too bad. — can’t we hurry?” “have to go 'roun, state road way.” “how far?” “’bout ten miles.” bennet groaned inwardly but sank back into his seat. the machine purred its way along the state road, when once that was reached, and bennet was content to watch the panorama as field after field of crops passed in one long kaleidoscopic view. this road took bennet far over by way of fort motte, over the long, red, clay hills and winding roads between muddy fields of staple cotton and swaying corn. here and there was a group of huddled dwellings about which little black, brown and yellow chil- dren played, while their elders were to be seen in the fields, hoeing the cotton or ploughing corn. beyond fort motte the roads became sandy and slow for motor vehicles. it was late in the afternoon when the chauffeur turned in his seat to say: “we’re 'most there now. "tain’t far now to colonel by sanction of law pulled a gun and made the family turn back to the old house.” “why didn't your friend go on to the new place?” “go on. lordy. ef he had gone on he’d a gone on plumb into eternity. that white man would a shot up that whole family and got scot free. — he’d a shot that family to death then claimed he was assaulted and noth- ing would a’ been done about it. “colored folks have got no rights out here,” he con- tinued. “the young folks get restless and go away. the old folks, born here, are afraid to move for fear of worse. — they stay. they rent on shares or lease and the shares never run up enough to pay bills, and so the leases never run out.” “you don’t mean to say the white landlords cheat.” “oh, no. they don’t cheat. the figures never run right and the land never produces enough. you never heard the saying, ‘ought’s a ought, and a figger’s a figger; all fur the white man, none for the nigger.’ well, that’s about the way things run in the country. if a black man questions the figures of his landlord, that black man is impudent and must be put in his place, by the lash or the bullet, or the rope. what can we do?” sensing the hopelessness of the question and the fu- tility of an answer, bennet remained silent. they had just passed through a swampy stretch of roadway bor- dered by a thick growth of gall berry bushes when sud- denly there smote their ears a most unearthly scream. it seemed, not like one in pain but more in fright and horror. by san ction of law bennet reached over to the front seat and touched the driver on the shoulder. they were just at a bend in the road which hid them from a further view. the car was throttled down and was but barely creeping along, both men listening for the sound. again the scream. this time it sounded closer. at the same time there sounded, as if in answer a long, low, half bellow, half groan, rising to a crescendo of a siren fire alarm and then diminishing till it ended in something like the distant roar of a lion. bennet began to feel creepy. he thought of hyenas and other wild animals, then recalled that he had never heard of any such inhabiting this section of the country. he reached for the revolver, dr. tansey had forced him to carry. the black chauffeur, frightened at first, regained his composure, turned in his seat and whispered: “alligator!” before bennet could reply again came the screams of fright, like that of a frightened woman. bennet thought it must come from some animal caught by the alligator and was being devoured. they had just turned the curve of the road, the machine in low, when a horrible sight greeted them. in the middle of the road stood an elderly white woman, a bonnet thrown back from her head. her eyes horror-stricken with fright. while some forty feet in front of her, disputing the roadway was a young alligator, about seven feet long, jaws wide open, showing rows of ferocious fangs, his body lifted from the ground by its feet. every time the woman turned to retreat the reptile opened its jaws wider and bellowed. when she faced it, however, by sanction of law it refused to leave the road on which it had been surprised and beat the road into dust clouds with its tail. the wom- an was so frightened she failed to hear the machine come up behind her. before bennet realized what the chauffeur was doing, the latter had stepped from the car and was seeking a piece of wood with which to frighten the reptile from the road. bennet, however, noted a towing rope in the bot- tom of the car and thinking he would like to have a live specimen to take with him north, stepped from the car, rope in hand. the woman was just about to scream again when ben- net’s voice sounded in her ear. “keep still, we’ll save you.” while the chauffeur was returning with a broken sap- ling, bennet, rope in hand climbed a nearby tree, whose branches overhung the road. from one branch to an– other he made his way till directly over the reptile, then making a slipnoose he slowly lowered this down in front of the alligator. the reptile's eyes were so blinded with anger that he paid no heed to the noose as it touched the ground in front of him and was slowly dragged about his head till well behind the neck of the brute. the tension was too much for the old woman and she swooned, slumping to the middle of the roadway as she saw the rope about the reptile's body. the alligator, seeing the motion of the woman’s body falling, grew wilder in its anger and lashed the road furi- ously with its tail, at the same time bellowing fiercely by san ction of law the bellow, however, was shortened as bennet tightened on the rope and lifted the brute from the ground till only the rear feet and tail were touching. the bellow became a scream as the reptile fought and struggled with this new danger which sought to choke him. in the dashing, swinging, swaying fight, the suddenness of the capture turned the bellowing into screams that were half coughs, bennet was almost hurled to the ground from his lofty perch. “round the tree, 'round the tree,” shouted the chauf- feur. “throw the rope 'round the tree.” bennet struggled to do this when he caught the advice. wrapping his legs about the trunk of the limb, wrestler fashion, he fought and pulled till almost exhausted. final- ly he managed to lift the alligator from the ground and tie the rope securely to the limb. panting and gasping after his struggle he returned to the ground. the elderly wom- an was just regaining consciousness when he reached her. the alligator was twisting, turning and struggling wildly, his body swaying from one side to the other, in the effort to free himself. the woman opened her eyes, then seeing the alligator swinging, closed her eyes again, shouting: “kill it! kill it! kill it!” bennet tried to lift her to her feet but she refused to rise. repeating the request, “kill it.” bennet was still trying to sooth her when the chauffeur returned from the car with bennet's revolver. going close to the white glistening belly of the reptile, he aimed the revolver at a point just between the shoulders and o by san ction of law fired twice. at the second shot the alligator’s struggles diminished, a small stream of blood issuing from the wounds made by the bullets. “too bad. i wanted him alive,” was all bennet said as the chauffeur returned him the revolver. gently the lat- ter lifted the woman in his arms and bore her to the car, dispatching the chauffeur for some water from the stream they had crossed. bennet moistened his handkerchief when the man returned and gently laved the woman’s forehead. this soon revived her. at the opening of her eyes and returning memory, with a smothered scream she threw her arms about bennet and began to cry. she was soon soothed to calmness, however, by bennet who convinced her that the reptile was dead. “ugh !” she shuddered as calmness returned. “that’s the first time i ever met one of the things on the road and i’ll never come this road again. — i never knew them to come so far from the river before.” “they come out to lay their eggs,” offered the chauffeur in explanation. “yes, so i’ve heard, but never met one before.” “you must have frightened him as much as he did you,” smiled bennet, reassuringly, as the woman clung to his hand. “do you feel well enough to travel?” he asked so- licitously. “if you do, i’ll take you to your home and set you down.” “god bless you, and bring you a good wife,” the old woman replied. “it’s sally gorton that thanks you, boy. old sally gorton. i’ve been in these parts nigh onto six- by san ction of law well go back. park lauriston ain’t going to let nobody but john marley marry his lida.” bennet's face flushed more as the woman continued. “no sir. that’s all settled. they’re two proud families and the old men have fixed it up so’s lida and young john can hit it off together.” “what's the matter? won’t they let the young lady choose for herself?” “not much, they won’t. seems lida went north last year and got herself mixed up in some scandal and now they’re all against the girl. she's practically a prisoner till she makes up her mind to marry young john. they’re a cursed lot, with all their pride.” “what do you mean?” bennet bristled defensively, sur- prised out of his determination not to make known his errand. “i chanced to meet the young woman, in the north and found her to be exceedingly ladylike.” “going to call, are you?” mrs. gorton asked. “that was my plan. i chance to be passing through, and knowing that she lived in this vicinity thought i’d call.” “well, you won’t be welcomed. i know.—park lauris- ton's too proud to let any strangers call on his child. be- sides, i tell you they’ve fixed it up for young john to marry her.” “i thought they didn’t do those things here in the south. thought they allowed the girl to choose,” bennet commented. “huh, you don’t know the lauristons. though they by san ction of law live in the country they’re all pride — with nothing to pride over, either. — true they’ve got a lot of old names in their families. but they’ve got other things too, and one of them's park lauriston.” “evidently you don’t like the family,” bennet remarked drily. “why should i? didn't park lauriston throw me off his land last year? me, an old woman, who'd befriended his family and nursed his children after their mother died and cared for them? no, i put a curse on the family. let lida marry young john marley. when they’re mar- ried i’ll tell them a thing or two that’ll curse them all. the whole brood.” the car was gliding along quietly and came to a clear- ing off the road at the back of which nestled a small house from whose chimney arose smoke suggesting that the evening meal was in process. “that’s my house,” mrs. gorton indicated. they turned into the roadway leading up to it and drove up to the little garden patch with its path leading to the door behind a lattice covered with roses. the sun was setting in a large red ball through the trees, while far off to the east, over the woods darkness began to creep up the sky. there was a sound of cutting wood in the distance, with a rich voice yodling an evening tune in tempo with each axe-blow, as the echoes carried both from forest patch to forest patch across the cotton fields. “better come in and eat with us. not much of a table but what i have you’re welcome to. besides, you can’t by san ction of law and saw a man behind a plow, driving a team of horses in a field of head high corn, the reins from the team thrown over the man’s head which was beneath the wid- est-brimmed straw hat bennet had ever seen. the smell of the freshly plowed earth, the green blades of corn and the general brightness of the air filled bennet with sudden resolution. he sprang from his bed, hurried his toilet and was soon in the yard behind the rose trellis. not seeing mrs. gorton or her son he started for the road, determined to walk about this country a little before going to the lauristons. the earth, moistened with the dews of night, was just being dried by the sun. the leaves under the shade of the trees were still damp. vigor and vitalizing joy made bennet stride along with a heart full of strength and a smile on his face. he walked along the edges of the growing corn and fairly reveled in the verdure that spread out before him. he was just about to retrace his steps so as to be pre- pared for the noon meal when he turned into a cross road and noted a woman approaching, her head down. she was walking slowly as if in deep meditation. he de- termined to get a glimpse of her face to see if she bore out the traditions of the south. the woman approached to within twenty feet of him before she realized that she was meeting someone. she raised her head and bennet looked into the eyes of lida. the girl was changed almost beyond recognition. there were great dark circles about her eyes which had become hollowed and sunken. the pink of her cheeks was fading. by san ction of law she looked up, halted for a moment as if unable to be- lieve her eyes then stumbled, half fell toward him. he sprang to her in time to prevent her falling. “my darling,” he murmured. “truman — truman — truman — say. “god has answered my prayer.” bennet lifted her tenderly and folded her to his shoulder where she lay her head, weeping silently. bennet was too moved for words. he could only press his cheek to hers while his arms held her tightly till her spell of weeping exhausted itself. when her tears ceased to flow and her heart stilled its flutter, she looked up shyly into his face. her arms folded tenderly about his shoulder and their lips met. “how i’ve prayed and hoped you’d come, dear. i have wanted you — needed you so,” she sighed. “i wrote you several times after getting your last let- ter. not hearing from you i wondered what had hap- pened and came down to see,” was his simple explanation. “take me away, truman. take me away.” lida's eyes filled again as she spoke. “after i’ve seen your father,” said bennet. “don’t do that, please. he'll kill you. — he's said so. please don’t think of that,” lida begged in alarm. “he got one of my letters asking you to come. — he's placed a guard over me — he wants me to marry someone else—don't you see? — don’t you see it can’t be that way,” she cried wringing her hands. ” was all she could o by san ction of law bennet soothed her but held to his determination. as she yielded she said in explanation: “i have waited so long for you to come—i have wanted you so much and i need you so much i dread any further parting.” he embraced her tenderly while saying: “thank you, dear girl for that. it's worth wading through hell for, and i’ll not leave you again. when i go you go with me, and we’ll be married. i must first, however, have your father’s refusal or consent.” “it will never be consent, dear. but tell me, where are you stopping. whom do you know about here. —when did you get here,” she prattled happily on, her mood shift- ing, not waiting for answers to any questions. when she paused, bennet said: “i stopped last night with a mrs. gorton, back on the road here. i came from orangeburg yesterday.” at the mention of mrs. gorton, lida gave a little gasp. bennet turned to her questioning. “why, what's the matter? wasn't that all right,” he asked. “ye-e-e-e-e-e-es, i suppose so. how’d you happen to stop there?” she queried. bennet then recounted the experience of the day before, telling of the alligator episode and aunt sally's hos- pitality. when he concluded, lida said: “she dislikes us — i don’t know why. — she even pro- nounced a curse on us last year,” lida stated half in so- liloquy. i by san ction of law “not to the man who has to stand guard over me,” lida retorted indignantly. “i won’t stand for your follow- ing me any longer. and i tell you now i’ll never marry you. i — i — i’ll kill myself first. i want no more of your insults.” marley ignored the words but indicating bennet, asked: “who’s your friend?” “a real friend and a true gentleman,” replied lida proudly. “your northern friend, i suppose?” marley continued. “northern or not he's chivalrous enough not to impose himself on a lady when he's not wanted — and he's not cowardly enough to spy on a girl. he's too much of a gentleman for that,” she ended. marley started toward the girl. bennet quickly placed himself in front of her; menace in his attitude. “the lady has said that she wants none of your company. – you'd better go. stand aside,” he warned. he took lida’s arm and walked by marley, passing be- tween him and the girl. when they had gone a few paces the latter turned to the couple. “so that’s your northern white nigger is it. well, we treat 'em all the same down here. better watch out or he'll be decorating a tree too.” neither lida nor bennet heeded the insults or taunt, though bennet felt a tremor in his companion’s arm. they passed on. when they reached the road that led to lida’s house, the girl turned to bennet. “i’m sincerely sorry i can’t take you to my house to- night. i’ll get word to you tomorrow, however, where we by san ction of law may meet. and then, truman dear, we must get away.” bennet looked at the drooping girl at his side, saw the lines of forlorn weariness manifested in the face and a great pity welled into his heart. he was reminded of the figure of eurydice as she must have appeared to orpheus when the latter looked back to see if she was much changed by her journey in the land of proserpina. she seemed so weak and helplessly suffering that he longed to snatch her away from the present into a golden bright future. “dear little girl,” he said, “i am just beginning to know what you must be enduring for my sake. i love you so i don’t want harm to come to you. it kills me to see you suffer so. would you be very lonesome should i go away. — would it relieve you of your suffering?” lida looked up, touched his arm, tears dripping from her lashes. “it would serve no good purpose to leave me. i’d — only — die. i cannot — and will not marry another. it is too late now, dear. how would my love fare with you away?” “ah, but i only bring suffering to you. — and i can’t bear to see you suffer. my love is not selfish enough to feed upon your suffering.” lida shook her head in a sad negative. “i thought over all these things when we walked down the cinder path at college that night of the reception. you know, a woman looks at her love differently than a man. she weighs the cost. a man simply sees the object of his love, wants that by san ction of law love and strives to possess. not so a woman. she cal- culates the cost, the obstacles, the chances of happiness and weighs the character of her man. when once she makes up her mind nothing changes her. i love you truly, and always will. i’m not one to love lightly.” “i know that, dear, and i love you as sincerely. what love, however, can endure to see the object of that love suffer. suppose i were suffering as you must be. would you want to do differently than i?” he asked tenderly. “i’d try to get you out of trouble as speedily as pos- sible, but i’d never leave you,” lida suggested. “take me away, please.” “i believe you — and bless you for it. i’ll take you away tomorrow. i must be honorable, though, in the taking and honorably say to your father that i am taking you. at least i owe him that.” lida smiled, as she stood on tiptoe to reach her lips to his. “aufwiedersehen, then.” never had words a deeper meaning to bennet than these. he clasped her to his heart in a long embrace. “aufwiedersehem,” he repeated, tenderly. he stood watching her till she passed in at her gate far down the white sandy road and turning waved to him. as she tripped up the steps and entered, bennet lifted his hat and bowed reverently then turned to retrace his steps to mrs. gorton’s. once there he lost no time in asking for a chance to re- main with her for a few days. he liked the locality so well, its picturesqueness and scenery. her family was by san ction of law dog in his tracks? i'd have killed them both,” she heard. “there's plenty of time to kill,” was marley's senten- tious answer. “well, he's got his nerve with him. i thought you were going to watch lida and take care of her. what sort of a husband would you make if you can’t protect her.” it was again elvin’s voice she heard. “i’ll protect her all right, all right when she's my wife. i went down to the stables for a minute and when i came back she was gone. i went right after her though,” mar- ley explained. “yes, you went right after her — and was too much of a coward to protect her when you found her,” sneered elvin. “we don’t want him about. first thing you know they’ll be eloping.” “that’s just what we will do,” observed lida mentally. she was on the point of taunting them with the fact but decided that discretion was better and continued to her room then locked the door securely behind her. “it’s to be one woman against the pack of you now,” she resolved. during the remainder of the afternoon her maid, chloe, was the only person she allowed to enter. she busied her- self packing what belongings she considered her personal property. this occupied her till time for the evening meal which she ate in her room. as darkness came on she looked from her window at the familiar haunts and one by one bade them a mental farewell. “i wonder, when, if ever, i’ll see you all again. it’s a sad way to leave you all, my friends, my woods, my hero chapter xxviii long she remained at the window going over the events of the past year and dreaming of bennet; wondering if he had retired yet and if he had thought of her. she won- dered if he realized how happy he had made her by com- ing in her time of need. all the world about her was in slumber and darkness such as is only known to a southern night. here and there a lightning bug flashed in the trees and shrubbery of the garden. a cricket chirped and a locust sang his quavering raspy number. lida was still looking from her window, when, at her door, there sounded a faint and excited knocking. “miss lida — miss lida — miss lida,” the voice whispered. lida returned regretfully from her dreams. she felt her way to the door. she recognized the voice as that of chloe, her maid, and opened the door. the girl’s eyes were so wide that they shone even in the darkness. “miss lida,” the girl reached out to feel for her mis- tress’s hand. lida touched her. “i’m here, chloe,” she said. what’s the trouble?” the girl silently closed the door then stepped close to lida. “they’s sumthin’ goin' on. sumthin’ mystery- like — very mystery-like.” lida waited for details. “young mr. lauriston done gone off in the dark. took his gun and gone off. john marley gone with him too. yessum, gone with him too. i was sitting on the steps by by san ction of law no sooner was the plan framed in her mind than she began to plan for its execution. "quick, chloe,” she said. “go to the barn and bring me my horse, never mind sad- dling him.” the maid departed. “they'll wait down at the cotton gin till all their crowd have come. i hope that will give me a chance to beat them,” she reasoned. hastily throwing about herself a heavy wrap she went to the yard to await the coming of the horse. she heard the steps and realized that if she galloped, footsteps would be heard and her plan discovered. “quick, chloe, some burlap bags. bring me some quick.” the girl was gone and in a few minutes returned. “some string — some string. oh, why didn't you think of some string: quick, girl, some string,” she whispered excitedly. before the girl could offer any explanation lida had shoved her in the direction of the house again. chloe ran nimbly up the steps and into the kitchen, returning soon with a ball of twine. having been on familiar terms with the horses of her father's place since girlhood it was not difficult for lida to tie the burlap mufflers about the feet of the horse. with that done she led the animal to a block and was soon mounted. cautiously she started and breathed a sigh of relief as she noted that the footsteps of the horse could scarcely be heard. the animal stepped out gingerly at first but soon be- came accustomed to the mufflers. as far as the gate at the end of the lawn, lida walked the horse. the cotton gin was somewhat to the rear of the house and off to the left of the road about a half mile. once into the highway i by san ction of law she struck the animal in the side with her heels and urged it into a gallop. the hoofbeats could barely be heard. lida smiled at the fact. it was a ten-minute ride to the gorton house. as she neared the house a hound challenged and raced to the gate. lida dismounted and soon made friends with the dog. this accomplished she led her horse to the yard fronting the house, hitched him to the trellis and then started for the rear. bennet had been unable to sleep and was sitting at his window watching in the direction of the lauriston house, hence, when he heard the hound he was all alertness. when the horse came to the yard and he heard the creak- ing trellis, he was all attentiveness. he waited for a rap- ping at the door and when none came started to peer from his window. until someone rapped he would not disturb the family. he was still waiting when he heard faint foot- falls coming around the corner of the house. in the dark- ness they recognized each other. lida’s tension relaxed as her heart filled with joy that she had been in time. joy forced tears to her eyes. “truman—truman—truman,” she whispered, a great tenderness enveloping her. “is that you?” “lida, heart, what are you doing here at this time? you ought to be home,” he cautioned. “sh-h-h-” was her warning. “you’re in danger. they’ve planned to kill you. — oh, god, how can men be such brutes?” she agonized. bennet climbed through the window and leaped lightly to the ground. by san ction of law moving slowly back and forth indicating that her way was still safe. she was almost half way home when this time she de- tected the sound of galloping of many horses still some distance away. wheeling her mount to the left she de- liberately entered a nearby cotton field and was soon hid- den from view. once in the field and behind the roadside hedge of trees she dismounted and stood by her horse's head lest he neigh and make known to the riders that someone else was about. the riders soon passed them and were on their way to the gorton home. with these once behind her, lida breathed a sigh of relief and be- gan to cry softly. bennet comforted her and she soon regained her com- posure. now she hurried the horse till near her own yard when they slowed down to a silent walk. into the yard they came like spectres. “here we are, at last. thank god,” she breathed, as she dismounted with the aid of bennet’s hand. “i’m going to hide you in our attic for tonight, and tomorrow you must get away.” chloe, the maid, was still waiting in the darkness for the return of her mistress and turning the horse over to the girl, lida led the way to the attic. “you’ll have to make the best of it for tonight, dear, and be sure to keep quiet. i’ll come to you when the coast is clear tomorrow and get you away. i have a cave where i used to play when a girl. i’ll see if that’s safe and then take you there till we can get away.” by san ction of law “you’re a trump of a girl. god has been good to me to give me your love. i pray god i’ll always deserve it,” he said fervently. “you’re a brave, jewel of a girl.” she clung to him in a long embrace then silently stole back to her room. once in the room she recklessly threw herself across her bed and surrendered to tears as a relief to her emotions and a relaxation from the excitement of the past hours. it was well toward morning when she regained control of her nerves. her body was still wracked by great dry sobs at intervals when she heard the footsteps of her brother's horse in the yard. she heard the horse led to the barn and the young man return, then enter the house. the heaviness of the steps indicated the anger of the man. lida listened intently, anger gripping her body and resentment at the atrocity of which he would have been guilty had she not thwarted their plans. she listened eagerly for any indication of whether elvin suspected how truman had been saved. he was grumbling and mutter- ing as he undressed and prepared for bed. footsteps back and forth in the room which was across the hallway from hers told lida of his retirement act. the thud of a shoe sounded. lida held her breath awaiting the fall of the second shoe. this came shortly and then she heard her brother’s slippered feet shuffling about the room. presently his steps passed her door on the way to the bath room. as he passed lida heard him say: “must have heard us. – durn him, - it's lucky he got away. — but he can’t go far — we'll get him today.” by san ction of law at that threat lida shook a clenched fist in the direc- tion of the bath room. “never, if i can help it,” she vowed in answer to the threat. she listened further to the mutterings of disappointment uttered by her brother, then finally succumbed to the drowsy feeling which followed her night of excitement and exertion. bennet, immediate- ly that the door was closed and the girl gone, stretched himself on the floor near it so as to prevent any sudden intrusion, should those who sought to harm him discover his hiding place. he could not sleep, however. long he lay awake staring into the darkness of the room and pon- dering over his course of action. in the face of all the dangers he was causing, he wondered whether it was right for him to bring so much trouble on the one he loved with all his being. “which is the truer love,” he argued with himself. “to persist in wooing the girl i love in the face of such hardships as i am bringing on her for the sake of that love, or to sacrifice that love for the peace of mind and bodily ease of the object of my love? — which is the truer love? “i love the girl with all the devotion within me. i shall love her all of life till the end of time for me. which is right? to give her up and continue loving her or to take her and flee. once out of this uncodly country our loves and our lives would run smoothly. — i can make her happy, and will make her happy—.” thus through the long hours he debated till finally he swept all doubts from his mind as to the true course with the decision, “oh, why worry? we’ll get away today and forget this land.” chapter xxix lida had taken her maid into her confidence and won the girl's support to her plan. it was this. bennet would dress as one of the farm hands, wearing a wide brimmed palmetto hat pulled well down over his face, leave the house and be piloted to the secret cave, after his face had been blackened. already lida and the girl had been over to the cave and made it comfortable with a good meal there to welcome bennet. from there, at night, when the coast was clear, the couple would make their escape and flee. in twenty minutes after leaving the clothing, lida again knocked at the door. this time a deep brown-skinned bennet greeted her. “will i pass?” he asked as he stood before her. lida looked at him in his garb, inspecting him from head to foot. “you look like a native,” she confessed. “i don’t like you that way and you’ll have to get out of it as soon as you get to the cave. i want you as you are to me. — just you.” bennet touched her hand gently to his lips. “hurry,” she warned. “we’ve only a little while. they’ll be com- ing back. when you leave the yard go straight to the field at the back of the house. there's where the hands are at work. walk along by the fence to the end of the lane. when you get there a girl will be waiting. follow her.” bennet again kissed her hand. “i don’t like to do this, lida, mine. it’s not fair — but i suppose it’s best.” by san ction of law as if by inspiration, when she heard her brother make his threat, she was reminded of this cave and thought it an ideal place for hiding. when she awoke in the morn- ing she hurried to make preparations to take bennet there. she and her maid had made two trips to the place and had refurnished it from her girlhood days, providing a camping outfit and a table and chair. when bennet reached chloe she pointed to the trees. “see that tree,” she said. “you’all hav to clum up to wher’at hole is. thas yo' home fur now. miss lida’ll be here soon. she’ll tell you’all de rest.” from the tree there hung a grapevine rope, leafy and heavy with green grapes, this entwining about the limbs of the tree above and losing itself in curtains of florida moss. after giving her instructions the girl wheeled and was gone. bennet looked at the tree and after stepping off some fifteen or twenty feet ran toward it and leaped as high up the trunk as he could, climbing up the re- mainder of the distance, with the help of the grapevine rope. as he reached the heavy limb extending into the cave he paused to view the sight within. here was a cave, well lighted from the sun shining through the spray, about as deep and as high as a large room. far back in a corner was a book shelf with a few volumes on it, while on the opposite side at the wall was a camp table covered with food. between the two was a cot covered over with a couple of horse blankets. “well, of all things,” he exclaimed. “who’d have thought such a thing possible. as dainty a room as could oi by san ction of law outfit, a very happy time could be spent here.” at the words suggesting happiness, bennet's face clouded. “it would be a happy place for you were it not for me,” he said sorrowfully. “what do you mean?” lida asked. “i mean that by my loving you i’ve brought trouble to you. i can’t bear to see you suffer,” bennet returned. “why, i’m not suffering. can anyone suffer who loves really and truly? and does not love counterbalance any suffering? it is a joy to suffer for the man i love. it makes love all the dearer. it is what makes life worth living now. why i’ve only lived since i’ve known you.” “if all these experiences have been yours what must mine be, to whom you are life itself — to whom you are dearer than life?” bennet's voice was low and vibrant with feeling. “it is i who have learned to live since lov- ing you. your love has opened the world to me — made me realize that i’m a real part of the universe. i under- stand better now, the light of the stars at night; the light of the moon, and the very darkness itself since your love has come into my existence. i can better sense the mo– tion of the universe about us because of your love, and my heart, my heart, o, how i love you!” he had taken the girl into his arms and her head lay confidingly and contentedly on his shoulder. the world itself seemed forgotten. they stood silently after the speech for some minutes, each dreaming and looking into space. bennet was the first to be recalled back to the present. o by san ction of law “won’t they miss you at the house?” he asked. “why should i care? i’m with you. that’s enough.” “yes, but you know we must get away tonight or to- morrow at latest. we have to plan for that.” — after a moment’s pause bennet continued. “and yet, dear heart, i wonder if i’m right in taking you away from all you’ve known and loved in your growing years?” lida turned to him. “you just said you loved me.” “yes, it is this love, – the very strength of it that makes me hesitate to ask you to leave all and go with me—to make such sacrifices as you are making, to endure what i am bringing on you.” lida stood away from him suddenly. as she did so a small silver and pearl handled revolver dropped from her bosom. bennet, surprised, stooped to pick it up. lida also reached for it at the same time. their hands met warmly. bennet grasped the weapon. he held it before him in his open palm. “what’s this for?” he asked. “lida’s face flushed as she laid a hand on his shoulder. “that was to save you, dear. i — i — didn’t want any harm to come to you.” bennet looked at the girl so intently that her eyes drooped. “the only one who could have wished me harm would be your brother or marley. would you have shot them for me?” lida leaned her head on his breast and clutched the lapels of his coat as she began to weep. “i love you more than anything else in the world. i would kill even — to — save you.” o by san ction of law bennet placed his arm about the girl and comforted her. he looked at the face below his own and then at the re- volver in his hand while into his mind came kipling's words about the female of the species. he lifted the girl's face till their lips touched in a lover’s embrace. then he handed the revolver to her and pulled one of his own from his pocket. “that’s enough protection for me,” he said. “i don’t believe i need that as long as i have two good hands,” he added. “you’ll be careful, always, won’t you, truman?” she warned solicitously. “yes.” “for my sake, truman, you'll always be careful?” she asked again. “don’t you worry, little girl. i’ll take care of myself. better be getting back to the house. they’ll be missing you.” “oh, i forgot all about your breakfast. you must be starved,” she turned to the table. “well, there is a decided emptiness somewhere about me. hadn't thought of it before, though,” he laughed. “you poor boy. and chloe and i brought food here for you this morning.” she turned to the little table and lifted napkins from the luncheon. “come,” she said, “let’s eat.” bennet lost no time in placing the table where he could sit on the cot and lida on the chair. “all the com- forts of home,” he said. “god bless our home,” he added. the two sat and soon devoured the food, both being by san ction of law hungry and like two children at play over this meal. when the meal was finished, lida gathered the dishes together. “i’ll leave them here we may want them again,” she said. “i’ll wash them though, and you can dry them. come on,” she invited. bennet jumped to the task with relish. leaning over the cliff, lida allowed the water to wash each dish then handed it to bennet who dried each as it was handed to him. “this is great fun,” she smiled as she handed him the last glass. “like camping out, or living as the early set- tlers and pioneers did. what a glorious time they must have had.” “yes, and many a hardship,” bennet added. “all for us, though, and the land we have,” lida ob- served. when the table had been tidied lida decided to re- turn to the house. it was after noontime then and hur- riedly sliding down the grapevine rope she looked up to give a last warning to bennet. “be careful now,” she said. “i’ll be back before sundown.” with that, after blowing a kiss to bennet from the tips of her fingers so daintily that bennet was almost tempted to descend and get a real one, she turned and was soon lost in the shadows of the trees. bennet turned to his hiding place, and being drowsy, took one of the books from the shelf and started to read. he was not occupied long with this, however, before his eyelids drooped and he stretched out on the couch, sound asleep. it was far into the afternoon before he awoke again. by sanction of law “time will never righten things to the extent that my father or my brother will change. i know you’re white so far as blood, bearing and character are concerned. and the rest makes no difference to me. down here, though, people see things differently and time will never change them. “i don’t want to live down here. i want to be where you are. i want to be where my love is — and that’s with you. i don’t want to leave daddy, just yet, though. i may never see him alive again when i leave,” she proph- esied. “i think it best for your sake that i go back alone. it will be sad for me. — life will be gone but the memory of you will always be with me. can't we let the love we feel remain in our hearts, – can’t we treasure each other though far apart, for having known and loved each other? i have never intended that my love should bring you harm — that it should cause you a moment’s pain.” “you’ll cause me more pain by leaving me. life will be dark and drab without you.” “still i don’t think i’m worthy of all the sacrifice you’re making.” “am i the only one making sacrifices?” she asked. “aren't you making sacrifices for me? your family opposes the match as well as mine. you are sacrificing them, why should i cling to mine. we have our own lives to live. we have our own ways to make in the world. you, yourself have said that. i’m willing to make my sacrifices for you, just as you’re willing to make them for me.” by san ction of law wash his face, eh. well, i’ll do it for you.” after remov- ing all the stains she looked at bennet tenderly. “there,” she said, “you look like the man you are, not like some- one else.” she soon started down the ladder again and on reaching the ground called: “i’ll be back before dark. cheer up. don’t be lone- some.” io chapter xxx lida’s heart was light as she neared her home despite the troubles that swirled about her. so lighthearted was she that she was whistling gaily. her brother heard the tune and watched her as she crossed the yard. seeing her gaiety aroused his resentment against the girl and her lover. he looked at her long and steadily, a scowl on his face. as she reached the top step he grew suspicious of her happiness. she was about to pass him and enter the dining room when he caught her by the shoulder. “here! where’ve you been?” he demanded abruptly. she whirled from under his grasp and stood facing him, piquancy and daring in her attitude. “what matter's it to you?” she asked. “no girl’s got any business running about over the coun- try alone.” “indeed? since when? — i’ve done that all my life. at least until you and daddy, appointed mr. marley my guardian?” she taunted. “you need a guardian, all right. you ought to be put away,” elvin observed. “and why?” elvin refused to answer. suddenly he pointedly asked: “where's that — that —” he hesitated then continued — “bennet?” “how should i know,” she answered innocently. “you knights of the old fields ought to know best. didn't you find him last night?” ii by sanction of law “no, we didn’t find him, but we will and when we do —.” he did not finish the threat for lida whirled snap- ping her finger in his face. “that for your threat. i’m ashamed of you all. — murderers at heart. murderers in soul. — and all for what? all because i want to marry the man of my choice.” “yes, but he's got black blood in his veins. and no sister of mine will ever marry a black man. — no! by god, no.” “ellie, brother of mine, he's as white as you — and in some ways whiter,” lida taunted. “he may be white in skin but a drop of black blood in his veins, you know what that makes him, down here.” “it doesn’t alter his manhood or character, or human- ness. and from what i’ve seen of southern chivalry he overtops all of you. you men are chivalrous superficially. at heart you’re just animal. i’ve had chance to think over some of the things i’ve seen down here lately and they don’t compare very favorably with chivalry. every woman is fair game to you men, whether she is black or white. it little becomes any of you to talk. “besides birth is a mere matter of accident. we can’t help what we’re born but we can improve on circum- stances and environment. and i’m beginning to believe that there’s as much nobility in one race as another, taken man for man.” “well, you’ll never marry bennet. this country won’t stand for that kind of a marriage,” her brother predicted. i by san ction of law “g'long with you. didn’t i have him at my house? didn't he save me from a 'gator in the road 'tother day? if he's black then you’re black. but what’s he done, that you should run him off in the night and go hunting him in the daytime?” she looked from lida to elvin and back to lida again. “he wanted to marry lida,” elvin blurted out. “fancy a man with black blood wanting to marry my sister.” “he’s as good as you,” defended lida hotly, “and a lot better.” “i don’t give a hooting hang, he won’t marry you. i'll see you both dead first.” then turning to mrs. gorton. “mrs. gorton, tell her how preposterous the thing is. my father is already losing his mind over the affair.” “park losing his mind? park losing his mind? not over that. he's got better sense. he's got a lot of pride but his family is cursed. i told him so last year. i tell you so now. what right's he got to lose his mind over lida’s marrying the man she wants? what difference does it make if there is black blood in his veins. most likely there’s some black blood in the veins of all of us. perhaps there's some in mine. i know there's some in park’s and therefore there's some in yours, elvin, and some in yours too, lide. go on, marry your man, if he's good. don’t mind these airs.” elvin reeled as from a blow at the news the woman im- parted. for a few seconds he was dazed. his eyes went wide. he looked at his hands, studied his fingers, the bony, hair-covered, vein-bursting back of his hands, in a by san ction of law bennet came and stood beside her. “too bad — too bad,” was all he said. “now we can’t get away tonight. it’ll probably rain a couple of days.” “we can wait.” “you won’t mind staying here?” she asked doubtfully. “of course not. you'll be visiting me, won’t you?” “certainly, goosie,” she twitted. “i must be getting back now before it gets dark.” in a few moments she was gone and bennet was alone. i by sanction of law “what she said’s not true and i’ll prove it. she said there's black blood in my family and if she's lied then she'll take back the words or take a beating,” he threat- ened while his face scowled. “aunt sally’s been in this world a long time and may know a lot about us we don’t ourselves. you can go look- ing in old closets for skeletons if you want but here’s one that won’t. if aunt sally said anything like that about me, i’d say she was crazy and let it go at that. you know lots of our ancestors, mine and yours, weren’t all purists or saints just as you’ve not been. i say forget it,” marley advised again. “so or not so, i want to know,” elvin insisted. “come on, saddle your horse and let’s go. we’ll get there before midnight.” “well, if you must go, i suppose i might just as well go with you,” marley yielded. “suppose you find what she says is true? what'll you do about it? you can’t change the blood now. you’ll best forget about it,” he again exhorted. elvin was obdurate, however, and it was not long be- fore the two men were on the road to orangeburg and the courthouse. they reached the city an hour or so before midnight and, after seeing their mounts well rubbed and in their stalls for the night went to the planters hotel where they secured rooms for the night. marley was soon asleep but elvin lauriston was so disturbed over the events of the day that sleep refused to visit him for sev- eral hours. i by sanction of law both men were astir early the following morning and were at the courthouse shortly after the doors were opened for business. the city had now recovered from the hor- rifying mental state which the lynching and deaths had created and life was resuming its usual tenor. there were more than a dozen loiterers about the fence near the gates, mere idle, indolent citizens eager to debate any subject with his neighbor, or to expound theories on how to man- age everything from the street cleaning to farming and directing the universe. as elvin and marley entered the gate and started for the door this group turned from their weighty discussions, to the visitors, following with their eyes till both men were lost to view inside. their curiosity satisfied to that extent they turned to their task of viewing the pageant of passing life across the street, after expectorating and shifting their tobacco to the other sides of their mouths. elvin strode to the clerk's office followed by marley. the clerk a dapper, little, quick-motioned individual met them as they entered, at the same time rubbing his hands like a country salesman. “good morning, gentlemen,” was his blandishing greet- ing. “can i help you in any way?” elvin lost no time in explaining his errand. “you have here the records of births, deaths and marriages?” he asked. the clerk bowed and smirked again, “oh, yes,” he re- plied. “records of black as well as white people?” elvin asked again. by san ction of law “well, sir,” the clerk smiled ingratiatingly. “we have the records of the whites as far back as colonial days but those of the blacks are only of recent years. you know marriages among blacks got but little attention from our fathers in the old days. hence those records are not com- pletely kept, except as to slaves and their owners.” “may we see the records?” elvin asked. “certainly, sir. they’re kept in the basement. you may find the place dusty,” the clerk explained apologeti- cally. “it’s been years since they’ve been used.” as he spoke he was piloting the two to the basement of the courthouse and into the far regions off in the right hand corner. the basement was poorly lighted except for the oil lamps resurrected by the clerk and as they walked rats and mice were heard scampering from under the feet of the visitors, excited over the intrusion to what had been for years their unmolested domain. as the men walked, in the dim light marley and elvin espied in front of them a large, mouldering, oaken door of a design, hand carved, no longer in architectural vogue. to this the clerk approached and from a bunch of disused keys selected a long rusted one and inserted it into the lock. as the key creaked its way into the lock the scam- pering of many more vermin feet could be heard. the lock turned with difficulty. after several attempts the lock yielded and the knob turned. the clerk placed his body against the door and it also yielded, though stub- bornly. as it opened the long rusting hinges squeaked so sharply as to make the spine twist nervously. a gust by san ction of law littlejohns — and — ah, here you are. here you are,” he finally exclaimed excitedly. lauriston hurried to him and bent over his shoulder peering at the page in a leath- er bound volume of unusual dimensions. “there's dr. frederick lauriston who attended gen- eral oglevie in the revolutionary time,” marley contin- ued. “he married — let’s see. he married,” his finger traced across the page. “he married elizabeth cooper. their three sons married white, all right. and, – the male children of the next generation married white; and the next generation; and the next generation,” he con- tinued to trace, while elvin looked over his shoulder fol- lowing the tracings. “and the next,” he continued. “ah,” he drew a long breath. “here it is. here it is,” marley exclaimed excitedly. “see, see, one of the sons in this gen- eration, a lawyer, married out of the race. see, elvin, there it is, sure's you’re born. married elspeth with- erspoon, femme de couleur. well, well, well. femme de couleur. that means colored woman.” elvin was speechless. he stared vacantly at the words written on the page and standing out before him from an- other day and time. he could not believe the words though they seemed to stand out in two-inch size. his breath came quick and in pent up bursts; his eyes wid- ened and seemed to bulge from their sockets. his com— panion’s finger rested at the expression. the room was so still a mouse gnawing in the far corner of the room could be heard. marley was the first to break the spell. “well, well, by san ction of law well,” he continued. “who’d ever have believed it.” elvin recovered his breath. “my god,” he exclaimed. “she was right. — aunt sally was right!” “that's nothing,” comforted marley. “let’s look at some of the others. see here. here's another — and here's another femme de couleur marriage. they must have been pretty white and pretty women for that.” “turn over to your own family. let's see that,” sug- gested elvin. “not by a durned sight!” exclaimed marley positively. “not by a durned sight! what i don’t know i don’t want to know. let the dead stay dead. you wanted to know about yours and you found out. i don’t want to know about mine. i know enough,” he announced emphati- cally. “why almost every family, somewhere along the line, seems to have spoiled the strain,” observed elvin. “what a land. i wonder if these people knew their origin?” he asked indicating the pages containing the family names. “of course not,” exclaimed marley. “did you know yours?” a cold moisture dampened elvin’s forehead as he stood in the cold clammy vault. “these books and records ought to be destroyed. suppose bye and bye somebody else sees them?” “yes, just suppose,” suggested marley facetiously. “they must be destroyed,” murmured elvin musingly. “they must be destroyed. come on john,” he urged. “i’ve seen enough.” by sanction of law was like the roll of continued distant thunder. the wind, too, was beginning to freshen into a gale. lida's hair blowing to the wind despite her efforts to control it. as they stood a jack rabbit bounded across their path on its way to a burrow in the furze near the edge of the woods. a squirrel followed closely behind, chattering in a fright- ened way, as it ran. a flock of crows that had been feeding in a field nearby, flying in the wind, cawed excitedly as they passed. a pair of blue jays, also fluttered by. the rumble grew louder as the velocity of the wind increased and the trees began to sway far over as if to seemingly almost bend and snap. unconsciously fear seemed to grip the hearts of the two as they stood helplessly looking from one to the other. they were just about to start back for the woods and the cave when from far across the woods to the south could be seen a funnel-shaped blue-black cloud, darker than those which formed a background to it. this funnel-shaped cloud twisted and gyrated from one side to the other coming ominously on toward them. truman’s arm was about the waist of the girl while she leaned unconsciously toward him for protection. they gazed at the cloud as if entranced out of their wills. the gale was so fierce by this time that they scarcely kept their footing. truman uttered but two words: “a cy- clone.” into lida’s face there crept not fear but confi- dence. truman realized that to run for the woods would be to court danger of death from flying tree branches and by san ction of law ter was still struggling and trying to stand to the wind. his hair was blowing straight back from his head, sand slashing his face and bringing tears to his eyes. he was raving incoherently. bennet reasoned that, since the wind was blowing across the woods, he would be fairly safe if he could make the stump not far away. pausing to measure distances ac- curately, and to gauge the angle at which he would have to be carried by the stump he wanted to reach, after tak- ing colonel lauriston by one hand, he stepped out and both were borne to the trunk of the tree. colonel lauris- ton lost his balance in the struggle and was half dragged, half blown across the distance. bennet clinging to his hand. throwing the elder man to the ground, he fell prostrate across his body and grasped the stump, holding for dear life, at the same time locking his legs in a scissors grip about the elder man's body. he was not a moment too soon for the apex of the cyclone was upon them the next minute. the roar was deafening. sand and dirt blew in blinding gusts. truman felt his body lifted and pounded to the ground till it seemed he was breathless. colonel lauriston tried to rise, but bennet forced him to lie prone by pressing his locked legs about the man’s body. suddenly the fury of the storm abated. the cyclone had come and was gone. as soon as the fury was spent, bennet released his grip on the old man and arose. he rushed to where lida was still on the ground. she had swooned. colonel lauriston was now running around on by san ction of law which by luck had not been blown over by the storm, be- ing out of its direct path. they were within a quarter of a mile of the house when lida realized the danger into which bennet was running. suddenly she paused, consterna- tion at the thought, bringing a look of wildness to her face. “better not go any further, truman,” she said gently. “you’ll be discovered if you do.” bennet realized the truth of the words but asked, “hadn't i better go a little further? will you be able to manage?” lida indicated that she could. darkness was now ap- proaching and bennet yielded. “i’ll come to you as soon as possible tomorrow, dear, and we'll leave tomorrow night. i’ll have to make plans to see that daddy will be cared for before i go.” “that will be all right, lida,” bennet consented, and re- turned to his hiding place. elvin slept most of the day following his return home and was only awakened by the howl of the storm and the frightened noises of the animals in the barn, and the negro hands, who gazed on the storm with awe, while at the same time huddled into a group, they mumbled prayers. he had given no thought to lida or his father until he saw the couple coming out of the approaching darkness along the lane leading to the house. without a word to his sis- ter he assisted his father into the house and his room, where the servants soon had the old man prepared for bed while lida caused hot drinks to be made and given him. she was busy most of the morning of the following day by sanction of law securing medical attendance for colonel lauriston and making plans for his care. she and elvin met but twice during the day and then spoke to each other only in mono- syllables. at last plans were completed to her satisfac- tion and she started for the woods to meet bennet. as she walked down the lane leading to the woods elvin was looking from his window. “ah,” he muttered in surmise. “she’s not going into that woods for nothing. she's meeting him there, durn her. well, she'll meet him the last time today.” with that he turned into his room loaded his revolver and started to follow her. when he left the house lida was now lost to view and he hunted in the woods some time before he discovered a trace of her. lida and bennet had met and were walking at the edge of the forest planning their departure, unmindful of the menace stalking them down. “do you know, truman, there are but two regrets that i have at leaving this place.” “i know you must love it, lida mine. — i know how you must feel. in a way i’m sorry to take you away. — it's your home.” “that’s it. it is all the home i have known. how ex- istence changes as we go through life. — here's the spot that has known all my childhood joys and happiness— all my little troubles and cares and worries. yet i’m leav- ing them — and willingly for—” she looked up tenderly at the young man at her side, then softly said — “you.” as she spoke she pressed the arm to which she clung, a by sanction of law little more weightily. she looked out on the drab fields of cotton swaying in the gray day. “i shall miss you, land of my home, however many pains i have known here. i shall miss you beloved woodland, and most of all i shall miss my cave.” bennet looked down at her, deeply touched. “never mind, some day perhaps we'll come back and they will be glad to greet us.” “i hate to leave my father in the condition he is. and if your life were not in danger every moment you remained i wouldn’t go away. i wonder if he’ll ever recover and become reconciled?” tears filled her eyes. “dear daddy,” she said. “i love you and am sorry.” “i’ll wait, lida mine, while you nurse your father. i’ll go away and wait, though i should miss you just as the falls would miss the water if the creek’s path were turned away. i should be mighty lonesome. i’d go and wait though.” “i know you would, truman. but i could not go on without you. harm would come to me here. what would i do without you now? heaven only knows what i’d have to endure once you’re gone. — no, we must go. i’ll have to leave daddy to the care of the servants and his friends here for a while. perhaps time will change things. no new land ever has the same reverence that a childhood home has. we must come back — sometime.” “we'll come back, as you wish, whenever you wish, lida.” they walked along in silence for a few moments when by san ction of law selves. why interfere? i’m no longer a child. think of the love we bore for each other as children. think of the times we used to romp and play together. never was there quarrel between brother and sister till now. these woods, these fields, we’ve roamed together, you and i, hand in hand, in the love that has been ours. must it be death for me, for i will die if truman is hurt; must it be death only that will satisfy you? have you no heart? are you all beast?” — “oh, shut up! if you’re determined to marry this man then i’m determined to stop it. even if i have to kill him first and then you. i was a fool to not shoot you both down. i’ll get my hands on his throat, however, and choke the very life out of him. then i'll attend to you. when a girl won’t look out for herself it is for her blood relatives to look out for her.” bennet had removed his collar and was in the act of re- moving the soft wool blouse he wore when elvin finished, stripped to the waist, the muscles developed in his outdoor life and at college standing out in sinews of arms and shoulders, pinked into condition. lida, after speaking, seeing that neither tears nor pleas would avail began to weep softly again when bennet halted in his preparations to comfort her. placing the free arm about the girl’s waist, he drew her to him and whispered. “never mind. i’ll protect you. i have you and god on my side. we'll win.” “but he'll kill you. — he'll kill you. then what will be- come of me. i’d rather die by your hands than by his.” bennet drew her to him and kissed her tenderly, still tug- by sanction of law ging to free his arm from the blouse. elvin started toward the couple. lida stepped into his path in front of bennet and raised her hand. “stop!” she commanded. “i warn you, elvin. i love you as a brother even though you do this monstrous thing. i love you, but if you kill him i’ll kill you. i'll kill you,” she panted hysterically. for answer elvin struck the girl a blow with the flat of his hand. “get out of the way. you'll get hurt.” the surprise of the blow as well as the pain sent lida reeling and stumbling at the side till she fell sprawling on the pine needles. “you dirty yellow dog!” bennet exploded as he rushed in madness toward elvin. “to strike your own sister down like that.” the two men met in mighty primeval clinch, brute against brute. between his teeth, after the first impact of blows exchanged, as they clinched, bennet con- tinued, “i did not intend to kill you but for that i’m going to throttle you as i would a raging dog.” the two men swayed back and forth around the open space each striving for a blow to advantage and each ward- ing off ponderous swings then clinching and wrestling for mastery. “save your breath to cry for help,” countered elvin. “you’ll need it, and get none.” they breathed in great explosive hisses and grunted as they tugged and struck out at each other and reeled over the spot. elvin caught bennet a terrific swing on the jaw in an unguarded moment as they came together and the by sanction of law latter retaliated with a body blow that sent the former sagging in the knees. they lost the semblance of men, their faces bleeding, and with their hair tousled, their eyes glaring like wild animals, they struggled and grunted. once bennet's foot slipped on the bed of pine needles and he almost went down. elvin was over him in an instant gripping for the throat which was his objective. as he leaned over, bennet, with a supreme effort twisted to one side and threw his adversary off balance for a moment. that instant, however, was enough for his purpose. he was on his feet quick as a flash, the grip which had been slowly coming closer and closer to his throat broken, and elvin hurled several feet away. while the two men were struggling, lida regained con- sciousness and struggled to her feet to lean against a tree. she watched the two men, torn between two desires. she wished for her lover to win but prayed that the blood of her brother’s death would not be on his hands. at the same time she agonized over the fear that her brother would be victor and she would see her lover die. she leaned against the tree, her eyes staring wildly at the two men, her features distorted by the agony she endured, of fear and hate combined, her fingers digging into the bark so ferociously that the nails were torn and bleeding. she could not scream. she could only stand transfixed with horror. bennet seemed to be tiring, and elvin, gloating in the realization pressed for victory. bennet’s arms seemed to drop for a flash, from protecting his jaw. that flash was by san ction of law elvin’s grip relaxed completely as he passed into uncon- sciousness. bennet laid the hands over his head and began working them back and forth, as in the case of a drowning man. lida stood still at the tree her body half bending over toward the pair transfixed in horror at what she was beholding. bennet leaned over the prostrate form of his victim, slowly moving the arms back and forth at the same time pressing in and out with his knees at the sides of the man. after a few moments of this he listened at the heart. there were faint heart beats. “thank god,” he breathed. “thank god, i’m no mur- derer.” he leaned over and listened again. the heart beats were stronger. “he’ll live,” he said aloud. at the words lida came out of her trance of horror and fell pros- trate on the ground again. the hoise of her fall brought bennet to his senses of her presence. he turned to her. “my god,” he exclaimed. “lida, – lida — lida, dear,” he exclaimed as he rushed to her side, bent over and lifted her into his arms. “lida, lida.” he shook her gently. “lida — lida, wake dear.” he shook her gently again and at the third time she opened her eyes. “truman, – oh, truman—you’ve killed him. —you’ve killed him.” “no,” he said, lifting her to her feet. “brace up. he's not dead.” “and to think that he tried to kill you. — it was hor- rible — horrible, horrible,” she continued. “are you sure he's not dead?” she asked. chapter xxxiii dusk was just creeping under the clouds as they left elvin slowly breathing but still unconscious. “we’ll have to get out of this land tonight dear. that’s all. if he wakes and finds us still here, nothing will save us.” bennet gathered up his clothes and started toward the cave, half guiding, half carrying lida in his arms. she was almost too weak to walk from the ordeal through which she had passed. by the time they reached the falls she had re- covered, however. bennet prepared to wash the blood from his body and face. lida was all tenderness now. “let me do that. let me do that. — here, bend over.” bennet leaned over the little stream as directed while lida dipped the handkerchief he offered her into the water and tenderly laved his wounds. there were great scratches on his arms and body where elvin’s nails had dug in their effort to get a grip. his chin was swollen and bruised from the blows, landed there and his body was a mass of welts and blotches. an eye was almost closed. about the throat whole inches of flesh had been torn away. lida closed her eyes from the sight as she carefully bathed and dressed them. that finished she said: “i’ll hurry home and get what things we need, and we'll have to get away in the darkness. – we’ll have to use two horses.” “where's the nearest minister?” bennet asked. lida blushed in the growing dark. by sanction of law him in the doorway, touching his arm affectionately. “come in children. come in.” father buntin noted shrewdly the condition of bennet's face and commented: “youth will ever fight for love, eh, boy?”—so you're running away? —well, you’re both of age and know your own minds.” “yes, father, we love and want to marry,” bennet said simply. “this is a serious step you take. few young people realize nowadays how serious. they become enamored of a face or the eyes or some other feature and immediate- ly believe themselves in love and want to rush to the altar. love and marriage are serious things. they present serious problems both of the present and future. have you considered all these things?” “we have, father.” father buntin looked long and silently at bennet. “if it were not for the difference in feature i should say i had met you somewhere. let’s see.” he stroked his chin ministerially. “ah —” he sighed. “i have it. aren’t you the young man i met at charleston, with dr. tansey?” bennet nodded his head affirmatively. “that's it. — that's it. you're mr. bennet. — i sense it all now. you came down here to get a girl. well, she seems well worth coming for — and fighting for,” he added. “i take it you're eloping.” bennet nodded. “in that case you're in a hurry.” “yes, father.” “we'll lose no time then. daughter, step this way. — by san ction of law now join hands,” he commanded as they stood side by side. the ceremony was soon over and the prayer pro- nounced. after both had shaken hands with the clergy- man and started for the door, father buntin touched ben- net on the shoulder. “you knew of the fate of poor dr. tansey, did you?” bennet whirled. “no, i hope to see him in the city.” “well, you won’t,” father buntin said solemnly. “he’s dead.” father buntin then gave lida and bennet a brief story of the events leading up to the killing of dr. tansey. “i only hope his death will have some effect on the people down here. it was a sad thing, my boy. my heart bleeds for the people here. dr. tansey was a brave outspoken man. an honest and a fearless man. never will i forget the bravery he showed in challenging the attitude of the southerners toward their black neighbors. a good man has gone. many more will go unless the people turn from their ways. unless they get more of christ in their hearts. unless they live more the life of the saviour.” “dr. tansey was a saintly man, and my friend,” added bennet. “he was a saintly man. i tell you all the godly men are not in the church. there are some great souls whose lives are the best sermons, and dr. tansey’s was one of these. i think the people are beginning to feel remorse. if his death can but have the effect of putting more of god into the hearts of the people of this section and the by san ction of law his father, a feeling of horror enveloping him. before he could frame a question, however, as to details, the colored servant continued, apologetically. “i didn’t mean to let him get outa my sight, suh. but i went to git him a drink and when i cum back he's gone. i didn’t mean to lef him go, knowin’ he ain’t right,” tapping his head to suggest bereft mind. elvin was still silent, his mind dazed at the calamity which overwhelmed him. the servant continued. “next i hyeard a commotion out in the stables. the horses was a-trompin’ and kickin’ and neighin'. i go out theah and come to the stall of the big bay, who's making most of the fuss and under his feet is mistuh lauriston, daid. oh, lordy, trompled down by that horse.” the domestic could say no more, his voice choked and tears began to flow freely. “my god! what a horrible end.” again the words of the clergyman came to his ears, “unto the third and fourth gen- erations.” elvin lifted his head to the sky. “oh, god, help me,” was all he could say. “it is more than i can bear.” as he uttered these words he felt the hand of the col- ored servant grasp his arm and pull him gently toward the door to enter. he removed it from his arm only to grasp it firmly in his hand. “william,” he said. “your heart is simpler than mine but it’s also nobler. i’ll never forget you. i’m going to treat you and your people like friends hereafter.” “thass all right, suh, – thass all right. we all loves you, suh, an’ we’ll stick by you. we'll tek care of you — an’ miss lida.” chapter xxxiv reaching orangeburg about a half hour after sunrise, bennet and lida, unmindful of the tragedy behind them, stabled their horses then enquired their way to the little railroad station at the east end of the town. once here, bennet purchased tickets for new york and asked when the next train for columbia and the north would leave. informed that one would depart in half hour, bennet sought a small lunchroom to which he was directed by the ticket agent, secured a lunch and reappeared. he and lida disposed of their hasty meal, the locomo- tive was heard at the lower end of the town. bennet ushered her into the coach, disposed of their baggage and seated himself beside her. lida watched the station agent, a thin-moustached, spare man of middle age ordering the baggage and mail placed aboard, then heard the locomo- tive puff itself into action. as the train left the station she leaned back in the coach, her heart saddened by the mem- ory of her father whose image she could not force from her mind. at columbia they sent a wire to elvin telling where the horses had been stabled and directing that he call for them there. “we’re married,” the message read. “and on our way abroad. take care of father till i return.” elvin fingered the message a long time when it reached him in the afternoon. his thoughts turned from the father whose body lay silent in the room, being prepared for burial, to his sister. “life — death — pawns of fate,” by san ction of law “no — no — no — don’t interrupt me. you don't know how sorry i’ve been — how sorry. — i’m glad you're mar- ried and i’m glad lida is the girl. i’ve learned a lot since i saw you last. i’ve learned that prejudices we hold are wrong. i’ve decided to try and right some of those wrongs. i saw some horrible things in the south; things i was ashamed of; things america ought to be ashamed of; things america will be ashamed of some of these days. “professor armstrong —” “oh, professor armstrong? is he up here too?” ben- net interrupted. “yes, after dr. tansey’s awful death — you heard about that?” she rattled on. “no? — he died, killed in a mob — trampled on as he and professor armstrong tried to prevent two innocent persons from being lynched. they failed — oh, it was horrible — horrible. professor armstrong was so shocked at the conditions that he has decided to devote his life to changing conditions. – i’m going to help him. the south is wrong—wrong—wrong. “professor armstrong is going to start settlement work in the south and try to get the white south to help better the conditions. by bettering conditions of the colored people, which is their duty, they will better their own. it’s a glorious work. — i was just on my way down to meet him now. congratulations and may your lives be full of happiness. lida, i adore you.” she kissed lida heartily. —“on your honeymoon? well, good luck to you. i’m awfully glad you’re married.” “we were just on our way to book passage for eng- land,” bennet explained. b b l le? library university of california santa cruz a- aunt sara's wooden god aunt sara's wooden god by mercedes gilbert mcgrath ‘publishing company college park, maryland reprinted from the copy at the reprinted from the copy at duke university library of congress catalog card number: - manufactured in the united states of america by arno press, inc., new york copyright by the christopher publishing house ( sº i- at , |^ &_ foreword miss mercedes gilbert, who comes from florida to broadway as one of america's leading negro actresses, returns again to the deep south for the scene of her first novel, “aunt sara's wooden god.” this is an authentic every-day story of thousands of little families below the mason-dixon line, bound to the soil by poverty and blackness, but living their enclosed lives always in the hope that some- day some one of them may escape the family group and go on to higher things. their tragedy is that there is so small a foundation on which to base such a hope. the wooden god of miss gilbert's novel is a mulatto country boy, worshipped by his mother, but himself unable to fulfill the faith and belief she has in him, balked as he is by poverty, the color- line, and his own inner weaknesses born of conceit and fear. that he lives and dies a hero to aunt sara, although he tortures and hurts so many others, constitutes the ironic tragedy of this book filled with little pictures of the rural and small-town life of the south. those readers who enjoyed “jonah's gourde vine” or “ollie miss” will find in “aunt sara's wooden god” a kindred volume. langston hughes vii aunt sara's wooden god chapter i “ah’m gonna lay down my burden down by de river side down by de river side down by de river side “ah’m gonna lay down my burden down by de river side ain't gonna study war no more.” sara lou's song trailed off to a whisper as william's voice, raised angrily, broke the silence of the early morning. “you’re a liar! and a meddlesome black fool! and i’ve got a good mind to smash your ugly face in,” william shouted. “mister gordon jes' tole me yuh done borried money from him an' said ma sent you to get it, an' ah know he wouldn't lie on nobody,” jim retorted. “yes, you know it's the truth 'cause mister gor- don said so, and he's a white man and can't lie,” william sneered. “no! it ain't dat, ah jes' knows yuh, an' what a liar yuh is ” jim's remark raised william's fury to a murderous pitch. picking up a long stick that lay near by, he raised it threateningly. “shut up, you black fool, before i knock your head off.” “you ain't gonna let your wooden god an' aunt sara's wooden god corn-stalk jesus fool you into hittin' me,” jim taunted; his voice, though quieter than william's, carried a convincing quality of determination that william knew meant more than mere words. sara lou ran as swiftly as her two hundred pounds would permit towards the barn from where the angry voices of her sons seemed to be coming. the early july morning had dawned hot and op- pressive, and byron, a small farming village in central georgia, stirred itself sleepily. dew lay like carpet upon the green grass that covered the surrounding woods. overhead numerous brightly colored birds flitted from tree to tree chirping loudly, unheard by sara lou as she called: “yuh will-y-um ! yuh j-i-m! will-y-um! stop dat fussin' dis moment l” william dropped the stick he held quickly, and turned to greet his mother, his face still flushed with a dull angry red that showed to the roots of his dark brown wavy hair. “yuh boys aught'er be shame uh yo'selfs, blood brothers an al’lers fussin' an' fightin', jes' cause yo' pa done died an ain't nobody but me to try an' keep yuh straight,” sara lou scolded, as she stood between the two boys, looking directly at jim. jim started to speak, but changed his mind and walked slowly away. what was the use, he thought. he could gain nothing by trying to tell his mother of william's latest deception. no matter what he said, his mother would take william's side. he was slow of speech, while william had answers ready before questions were asked, and their mother hung on every word he uttered. he was her god. next to her religion, she worshipped him. to her aunt sara's wooden god his words were always soft and honey-coated, while to jim, william used a patronizing tone which made the younger boy's blood boil. but their mother could not detect the underlying sneer in his smooth words and she usually blamed jim for the frequent quarrels between the boys. sara lou watched jim as he walked away in the direction of the gordon plantation. a little pucker in her usually smooth fair brow showed plainly the anxiety of her thoughts. in the depths of her large black eyes lurked the troubled expres- sion which for the four years of her widowhood had dimmed the bright cheerfulness of former years, when her husband, john, had been the staid prop on which she leaned and watched her boys grow to young manhood. a sigh escaped her lips, as jim's figure receded in the distance. how like his father he was, she thought—the same slow steady tread, his father's height and color, the same quick flare of temper, and equally quick forgiveness. her mind drifted back over the years to the day, twenty years before, when she first met john carter. he had come to byron, to pick cotton, and had lin- gered on after the cotton picking season had passed. owen gordon, the richest white farmer in byron, had hired him as a steady farm hand, but that had not been the main reason for his sojourn in byron. he had seen sara lou, then a tall, fair young woman of twenty; her large black eyes had looked beyond him the evening he first saw her standing in her little cabin door on the outskirts of the gordon place, but something sweet and soulful in their aunt sara's wooden god depths had made him want to talk to her and know her better. he had asked about sara lou, that night, as he sat out in front of the little log cabin where he boarded with lucy salisbury, the village midwife and root doctor. (aunt salisbury, as she was lov- ingly called by the villagers,) gave her snuff brush, a tiny oak twig, a swish as she pushed it with her tongue from one side of her bony cheek to the other, and spat out a long string of brown snuff before she answered. then, turning her feeble, squinty eyes heavenward, her jet black face seemed to take on a purplish hue as she exclaimed: “lawd uh mercy man, yuh ain't gone an' took no notice uh dat strumpet is yuh?” and without giv- ing john time to answer she continued. “dat gal jes' naturally ain't no good, cain't ever be no good, none uh her folks fore her was no good, dey was jes' a bad lot an’ dat's all dere is to it.” “whut yuh mean, a bad lot?” john questioned, mildly enjoying the distressed look on aunt salis- bury's bony black face, almost invisible in the dim moonlight except for the white string with which her hair, short and thin, had been wrapped so tight, that her homely face looked strained and witchlike. “jes' dat, son, yuh see ah done knowed dem all, from her great grandma down to her, an' all uh dem 'cept sara lou's ma, done had half white bas- tard chillun.” “how did sara lou's ma escape?" john asked laughing heartily. “well, to start wid, her great grandma, hester, b'longed to de saunders family back 'fore surren- der. she was a pretty yeller gal jes' like sara lou aunt sara's wooden god is, an' de fust thing you knows she had a baby for old mister frank saunders, old missy saunders gits suspicious 'bout it bein’ his chile an' makes him sell hester. owen gordon's father, charles gordon, bought her and put her to keepin' house for um. well, charles gordon had a half brother who was jes' de limit when it comed to women, white or black. wid him it didn't make no difference. it was jes' any woman who he could lay down wid, so he took right out after hester's daughter, ida, soon as she was knee high to a duck, an' when she was fourteen she had a baby for that man and they named her charlotte. about a year after dat ida's ma hester died, an' old man charles gordon went to live in macon an' ida stayed at de gordon house to work for his son owen gordon, who had jes' got married. well, owen and his half uncle had a big fuss, an' the uncle skinned out an' went some where up north, dat was de last heard uh him. ida took charge uh de gordon house and raised charlotte right dare on de lot.” aunt salisbury interrupted her recital with a loud chuckle as reminiscences of ida passed through her mind. “lawd, son, dat ida was a caution. twan't long 'fore she was sure runnin’ dat gordon home, an’ when owen gordon's sons was born, first lawrence an' den some years later franklyn, ida jes' took dem in charge and raised dem so dey wouldn't mind nobody on earth but her. she was a strong-willed woman as ever i seed, ida was. well, her gal charlotte grew up right pretty an' 'bout de time she was seventeen, owen gordon had given us a little piece uh land an' de logs and some uh de men aunt sara's wooden god had built a church, our calvary that we still wor- ships in, an' de next year durin' cotton pickin' time a young preacher named sam smith come here to pick cotton an' decided he'd jes' stay on an' preach in de church an’ farm. well, den de fun started,” aunt salisbury laughed, as she produced a box of railroad snuff from the pocket of her apron, and putting the stick she had been chewing into the box she moved it back and forth as she nodded her head on her bony neck with a gluttonous sound of sup- pressed mirth. “lawd, son, when ida found out dat de new preacher, sam smith, had his eyes on charlotte, she didn't let no grass grow under her feet. she started plotting right den how she was gonna marry charlotte to dat black man so as to try an' live down dem half white bastards hur ma and hur done had, an' den she figured dat would be a good way to git back at us byron colored folks dat had all'ers called dem de gordon niggers. heh, heh, heh,” she chuckled. “ida had dat preacher sneakin' up to de gordon place every night to dere cabin back uh de gordon kitchen, where she'd feed him chicken an' all de good things she could sneak out to him, an' den she ranged it for him and charlotte to run off to macon an' git hitched.” “what happened after they got married?” john asked as aunt salisbury paused in her story to rub her snuff brush over her few charred teeth and spit out her long brown string of snuff. “well, when the folks found out what had hap- pened, dey got powerful mad and planned dat dey would stay away from de church, de next sunday, aunt sara's wooden god . knees vigorously and hobbled towards the cabin oor. “well, de gal is jes' human, an' ah sur' ain't blamin' her so much,” john said as he knocked the ashes from his pipe and walked slowly towards the gate and called back “ah’m sure gonna try an' git dat gal tuh marry me, eff’en she'll have me.” and john carter kept his word. it was several weeks later when he got his first opportunity to talk with sara lou, he had walked around her cabin and found her sitting in the back door, her baby william held tightly in her arms, tears falling freely upon the face of the sleeping child. it was a cool autumn afternoon and when sara lou looked up to find him smiling at her, the serious expression in his eyes had brought a quick smile to her lips as she asked. “whut yuh want, mister?” “nothing special, sister, ah was jes' passin' an' ah thought i'd jes' stop an' git acquainted,” john answered, his smile broading to a grin. “well den, you better be on yo' way, cause dey ain't nothin' yuh nor nobody else kin do fuh me,” sara lou answered, wearily passing her hand over her straight black hair that hung to her waist. “ah ain't so sure 'bout dat, dere's lots ah kin do. in de fust place, dis garden is all runned down, ah kin fix dat,” john assured her, glancing over the little ragged garden that grew near the cabin. sara lou had argued and tried to send him away, but he could not be gotten rid of, and thus their friendship had started, but to all of john's en- treaties that she marry him, she turned a deaf ear. “no, john, ah'se got my baby william, an yuh aunt sara's wooden god ain't gonna take him an' me an' ask no questions, an' ah ain't gonna answer none,” she would always answer to his pleading. “listen heah, sara lou, ah swear ah won't never ask yuh nothing 'bout william an ah'll treat him lak my very own long as ah lives if yuh'll marry me,” john promised from time to time. but it was a year later before sara lou consented to become his wife, after the news had reached byron of franklyn gordon's death in an automobile accident in new york. owen gordon had spoken quietly that morning when she came to bring his laundry. “i’m leaving this morning for new york, sara lou. mister franklyn has been killed in an acci- dent,” he said simply. and sara lou, not daring to answer, had nodded her head and abruptly left the house. she had heard from time to time about franklyn's escapades in new york. owen gordon had never mentioned him to her but news somehow travelled in the small village, and franklyn's wild drinking and gambling had drifted back to byron. a week later, sara lou became the wife of john carter; and until the day of his death he had kept his word, never to ask questions about william. he had treated the child as his own son, even spoiling him to some extent, for which sara lou rebuked him with: “now, john, yuh'se spoilin’ dat boy, an’ dat ain't right, 'cause he got hard 'nuff disposition now to fight down.” “don’t yuh worry 'bout william, sara, he's uh aunt sara's wooden god smart chile, an’ nuthin' ain't gonna spoil de young 'un”, john would excuse. a year after they were married, jim was born, as black as his father, but a good-looking little chap. but even the birth of a son of his own did not change john towards william. until the day of his death he had never shown any difference in his treatment of the boys, and william had loved and honored him with all his heart. if he had ever had any doubt that john carter was his father, because of the neighbor's children's hints and jibes, he never showed it and for sixteen years life ran a smooth course for the carters. john was a beloved deacon in the little calvary baptist church, and sara lou's kindness to the villagers soon won their love and respect. her ever-willingness to aid them in their trouble, answer the call of sickness and distress among them, had made her a favorite, and they lovingly called her “aunt sara.” she turned a deaf ear to the taunts the neighbor- ing children threw at william, and when he came to her sobbing that they had called him a half white nigguh, consoled him with: “sticks an' stones kin break yo' bones but names ain't never goin' to hurt yuh, son.” even as a small child he showed tendencies of a willful tempestuous nature, but she enthroned him in a place in her heart that no other human being could ever reach, excusing her partiality with the thought that he would need all the love and tender care she could give him to help him overcome his faults. and thus life had run along, smoothly and hap- pily for sara until her husband's death. but, for aunt sara's wooden god the last few years the frequent quarrels between william and his brother had distressed her more than she cared to admit. jim loved william with all his heart, but he could not overlook the streak of deception that he saw, more plainly than anyone else, under william's smooth exterior. his fear for his mother's hap- piness was greater than anything else in his life. he knew that she worshipped william and did not want her to be disappointed in him. on william's part, there was a deep dislike for jim that had always been latent in him from early childhood. the realization irked him that jim was legitimate and had a real father. he would be tortured with jealousy whenever john carter cast a kindly glance at little jim. and he would take any little remark directed at himself as bitter criticism. these flaring feelings had persisted with the years, but after john's death, he had stopped trying to conceal them, but allowed them to burst out in frequent quarrels and disagreements with his half brother. sara lou had watched the growing dissension with fear and foreboding. her eyes filled with tears, as she laid her hand tenderly upon william's shoulder, and asked: “what's the matter, son? what makes you and jim can't get along? don't yuh love one another?” “oh, it ain't me, ma. jim is always fussin' 'bout me stayin' in macon—going to high school.” william answered, placing his arm affectionately around her waist. “thar yuh go—makin' love to yer ole mammy, as usual”, she chuckled, her face showing the pleas- aunt sara's wooden god ure she always felt when near her handsome elder son. william, a head taller than his mother, was straight and slender; his features, like hers, were finely molded; his hair dark brown and curly, match- ing well his smooth fair skin. with a pleased little sigh she clung to him, loving the way he petted and fussed over her. “ah been wantin' yuh an' jim to come an' git yo' breakfuss. it's nigh on to five uh clock an' yuh gotta git to macon to yo' business,” she said, push- ing him before her towards the house. “ain’t much doin' in my pressing shop right now, ma. folks wearin' overalls lots an' they don't need no pressin' shop for 'em,” william remarked. “what was that jim was sayin' 'bout mr. gor- don?” sara lou asked. a note of concern crept into her voice. “oh, nothin', ma,” william answered hastily. “only he and mr. gordon both think i should be here workin' on the farm instead of tryin' to get a better education.” “that's all right, son. some day me an' jim goin' to be mighty proud of you when you'se carryin' the gospel.” william was silent for a moment. then, looking toward the gordon plantation he observed: “mr. gordon's sure left lots of work for jim while he's in europe!” “an' jim'll git it all done. dat sho' is a smart boy!” “but he'll be gone a long time, ma. there ain't no need 'er jim tryin' ter do it all in a day when aunt sara's wooden god there's so much right here on our place that needs bein’ done,” william complained. “now willyum, yuh jes' leave jim do things his own way. dass how come mr. gordon laks dat boy lak he does. white folks laks things don' right 'er way an' not put off ontell de las' minute.” “well, can't we have our breakfast right 'er way, ma?” william asked with a laugh. “we sho' kin!” sara lou smiled and a few mo- ments later they were seated at the table, before them a steaming breakfast of fat side, hot corn bread, molasses and coffee. sara lou bowed her head as william prayed—a routine never neglected in their home. “i’m goin' to ride to macon this morning with reverend johnson. he's going in to see the doctor,” william was saying. “ah’m glad he is caise he ain't been feelin' so well lately,” his mother replied, full of concern about her ailing pastor. “he’s a good un for yuh to pattern atter, will- yum, when yuh starts preachin’,” she added, look- ing at him proudly. her desire to make a preacher of william was the greatest thing in her life, and although william wasn't so keen about becoming a preacher, he made her think he was, and after all it would afford him a chance to lead a life of ease and he hated work. “he’s all right, 'nough, ma, but he ain't educated and when i starts preaching, i'm goin' to be well prepared,” he answered. “but he's chuck full 'er religion, and dat's whut counts wid de lawd, william.” aunt sara's wooden god “and the lawd ain't 'gainst us preparing our- self to carry his word either, ma.” “ah knows dat, william. dat's why ah let yuh go to macon to high school, but jes' de same, don't yuh git all puffed up wid pride caise pride goes 'fore a fall, de lawd says.” william's face flushed over his mother's rebuke, as he lowered it over his plate, but when he raised his head again, he was smiling. they had finished breakfast when jim entered the kitchen. placing a basket of fresh vegetables on the table, he seated himself to eat his belated breakfast. sara lou smiled fondly as, passing, she patted his shoulder, and hurried away to her many morning tasks. jim, a reticent boy of medium height, stocky and as his mother put it, “the spittin' image of his father', claimed only one resemblance to his mother and brother—his eyes which were large and black. un- like william who was a brilliant scholar, he had learned little in school; his brain just did not seem to grasp even the simplest rudiments. the farm had been his teacher. he loved it, un- derstood cattle, could doctor them when sick and bred them better than the oldest farmers around byron. since his father's death he had become the head of the house as far as earning the living was concerned. sara lou's home like the other negro cabins, had at first consisted of two rooms in which they lived, cooked their meals and slept. her husband, john carter, had however, enlarged it with two rooms built under the eaves known as a jump, adding a front and back porch downstairs and a little shed- aunt sara's wooden god like kitchen. it was by far the best of the negro homes for miles around. “see the garden's doing nicely, jim,” william ventured, as jim settled himself at the table. “could do bettuh, if ah had some help.” “you spend too much time working over at mr. gordon's. maybe that's why you can't get more done here.” “not half as much time as yuh spend sittin' 'round in dat school or foolin' 'round in macon loafin' and pretendin' yuh wanna learn something so as yuh kin preach,” jim retorted hotly. “you don't know what you're talkin' 'bout. jes’ 'cause you're ignorant ain't no reason for me to be. i'm tryin' to be better myself.” “yuh ain't never goin' to better yo'self! it jes' ain't in yuh. ah done heard 'bout yo' carryin' on in macon,” jim threw over his shoulder, as he rose and walked away. “don’t you talk to me like that, you black ape. i've got a good mind to smash your face in, any- how,” william cried, catching up with him and shaking his fist under his nose. sara lou, coming in to clear away the breakfast things, saw the situation. “now whut y'all fussin' 'bout?” she asked push- ing them apart. jim turned and walked away. sara lou watched him, a sigh escaping her lips as she said to william : “dat boy sho's got uh temper!” “yes, he's always fussin' wid me 'bout attending school. you should speak to him about it, ma, once and for all.” aunt sara's wooden god “ah sure will, son. he ought to be sham'er his- self an' yuh studyin' to git ready to carry de gospel but dat comes uh him not havin' religion an' dere by de needed grace to carry on.” “i wish reverend johnson would come on by. i wanna get going,” william said, anxiously looking in the direction of the minister's home. “it is funny he ain't sho'ed up yet. yuh bettuh run over dere an' see whut's hol'in' 'im, willyum,” his mother advised. william hurried away, anxious to visit the par- sonage anyway, as it afforded him a chance to see the minister's sixteen year old daughter, ruth, whom he and jim had both loved since they were small tots. his mother watched him walk jauntily away, hat- less, the sun now high in the skies beaming brightly down on his curly brown hair. a sigh trembled upon her lips, as she wondered what the future held in store for her two boys so different in body and mind. aunt sara's wooden god chapter ii the reverend peter johnson's little log cabin built near the calvary baptist church was little more than a mile from the carter home. reverend johnson and his daughter, ruth, whose mother had died in child birth, eked out their meager living working in the cotton fields and in their own little garden and with the few dollars the members of his church grudgingly gave him from time to time. ruth was a pretty dark brown skin girl. her short black curly hair framed a small oval face, the chief attractiveness of which lay in her large black eyes set wide apart, sparkling roguishly beneath long silky lashes. this morning an anxious look was in their depths, as she faced william, who greeted her with: “hello, ruth, you look brighter 'en the sun.” “go 'lon' wid you, william. you'se all'ers making pretty speeches,” she smiled, alluring dim- ples playing hide and seek in her cheeks. william's heart beat rapidly, as he looked into her eyes. an almost overwhelming desire to take her in his arms sent his blood coursing wildly through his body. “ah was jes' about to come to yo' house to tell you dat pa is too sick for drivin' to macon dis morn- ing, an’ our ole horse bess to top it off, done tooken sick las' night,” she was saying. aunt sara's wooden god “i’m sorry to hear that, ruth, but i'm glad i gotta see you agin 'fore leavin'.” “you jes' seed me las' night in church, william,” ruth laughed. “yes, but i ain't had no chance to talk to you wid jim moonin' 'round lookin' at you like a dying calf.” “an' how does uh dyin' calf look, william p” ruth asked sweetly. “just like jim does when he looks at you.” they both laughed heartily and ruth, anxious to change the subject, remarked. “when yo' school goin' to open, william p” “in october, an' i'm gonna try and make two terms in one this year, if i can”, william replied, a trace of pride in his voice. “you sho' is smart and allers was. ah ain't never seed a body dat kin learn fast as you kin no- how.” william's voice was low and tender when he re- plied: “i want my success to be yours, ruth. prom- ise me you'll marry me when i finish school.” he pleaded, trying to look into her eyes which she had lowered to her feet, restlessly digging little holes in the soft earth. visions rose before her of a bare- foot boy and girl driving home a cow. the boy, william's brother, jim;-in his slow passionless voice had said, as he lifted her to the broad back of the cow. “ah loves you, ruth. les' you an' me git mar- ried.” “ah loves you too, jim, but us ain't old'er 'nough,” she had answered, hanging her head. “but we could git engaged,” jim had urged and aunt sara's wooden god “ah hope he gits 'ligion dat'll last 'im longer den de last he got, ma,” jim laughed. “go 'lon' boy, youse all'ers pokin' fun atter some- body's 'ligion. you bettuh git some yo'seff,” sara lou chided. “don’t worry 'bout me kaise when ah gits it, ah'm gonne keep it sho'nough.” “dat's zackly whut luke done said, but last sad'day night dat low corn liquor he drinked done tole 'im to beat sally nigh 'bout to death an' he promised if she wouldn't jail 'im he git some mo' an' ah goin'ter help de pore debil keep his hocks outter de jail house.” sara lou moved toward the gate, as jim rolled on the porch with laughter. “umph, dat boy sho is uh causon,” she grumbled, walking down the road, the crunching grass be- neath her feet making even rhythm in her ears. on each side of the road tall leafy trees threw fitful shadows across her path. occasionally, a wagon passed her, the driver call- ing a greeting or offering her a lift for sara lou was the most loved person in the little settlement. hurrying on, her voice floated back in snatches of her favorite song. “ah’m gonna lay down mah burdun, down by de ribber side down by de ribber side ah’ gonna lay down mah burdun down by de ribber side ah ain't gonna study war no mo'.” a thin column of smoke curled up from the one room cabin that was sally brown's home. aunt sara's wooden god “huh !” sara lou grunted, as she looked over the sordid wreck the place had become, “lawd, ain't it jes' terrible how triflin' some folks kin be.” sally, a tall, black woman of twenty-five, stand- ing in the door, greeted her happily. “an' sara, ah sho' was scared yuh wuzn't comin'.” “well, ah's heah. whar's dat no 'count luke? ah thou't last 'vival when he confess 'ligion we wasn't gonna have no mo' trouble wid dat scamp.” “he’s sleepin'. come on in ” sally whispered, leading the way into the cabin, where luke lay fully clothed upon a wooden bunk built to the wall. “now look'uh heah, luke brown, you wake up an' do it rite now,” sara lou demanded. “awrite an' sara,” luke muttered sitting on the side of the bed rubbing his eyes with his tightly balled fists. “come on an' git yo' vittels, luke ” sally called from the hearth where a pot of peas was cooking over a small bed of glowing coals. “he don't need no vittels, sally,” sara lou said impatiently, catching him by the shoulder. “whut he need is de grace uh god, an' he don't need no full stomach to git it on. git down on yo' knees, luke, an' pray !” luke knelt sheepishly, and sara lou started her prayer. “o lawd, come intuh dis house an' call luke brown by his natrul name. make 'im know dat you is god, an' 'side you dere is no odder, dat he gottuh die, aunt sara's wooden god an' dat he got an ebber dyin' soul to save, paralyze his throat agin' dat poison liquor dat's killin' his soul an' drivin' 'im from yo' presence. lawd, ah knows dat you kin unlock doors dat's locked, an' ah want'uh ask you dis mornin' heah me lawd, to unlock de door uh luke brown's heart an' walk in an' take yo' riteful place. wake 'im up dis mornin' lawd to de sense uh his duty. ah know you is a prayer answerin' god, an' ah want you to bend down yo' ear, an' hear my prayer for dis heah sinful man.” sara lou prayed on and on while luke fidgeted from knee to knee, at times sitting back on his heels. five minutes passed. sara lou's voice rose higher and higher, as she called down every kind of calamity on luke's head, if he refused to change. sally from her corner amen’d and moaned. luke peeped slyly from one to the other and groaned aloud. sara lou's voice rose louder, be- lieving the groan came from a contrite heart. rais- ing one knee slowly, luke gave a loud shout and springing to his feet, darted out of the door, sally turned just in time to see him disappear. “look uh luke, an' sara,” she shouted. spring- ing to her feet she started in hot pursuit of the flee- ing man. across the field luke raced with sally close be- hind him and sara lou waddling after them as fast as her feet would carry her two hundred pounds. but he had a good start and soon vanished from aunt sara's wooden god view. sally, realizing her defeat, waited for sara lou, who soon reached her side. “you think he got 'ligion, sally?” sara lou asked breathlessly. “ah don' know an' sara, but ah sho’ does thank yuh for comin' an' trying to save de po’ debbil.” “well, anyhow, we got ole satan on de run. praise de lawd for dat!” sara lou rejoiced. “how's all yo' folks, an' sara?” sally asked, as sara lou turned to go. “jes' fine, sally. willyum done gone back to macon dis mornin’. he's doin' fust strate in his pressin' business dar, an' learnin' lakuh house afire in school.” “ah sho' glad to heah dat, we'se all crazy 'bout dat boy.” “yeah, he de top uh de pot an' some day he gonna make his ole ma mighty proud uh 'im, sara lou smiled. “ah heah dat de rev. ain't so spry, an' sara.” “no, he ain't so good. ah’m goin' tuh stop by dar on my way home. de sisters uh de chu'ch aid gonna meet at my house dis atternoon so ah gottuh hurry. so long, sally!” “so long an' sara !” sally called, as sara lou walked hurriedly away and was soon out of sight, hurrying back home to the many duties that awaited her. aunt sara's wooden god chapter iii the day began to show signs of intense heat. swarms of flies made buzzing sounds overhead. the midday sun beamed mercilessly down upon the hard, dusty, red clay road. the door of reverend johnson's cabin was propped open with a pine wood knot. in the clay fireplace a low fire glowed, over which aunt salis- bury bent, stirring a pot of boiling roots which sent out a sickly bitter aroma. reverend johnson, a little dried up brown skin man, propped up in a large armchair near by, watched her wearily, pain distorting his wrinkled face. for over forty years aunt salisbury had doc- tored the village ills and as she expressed it, “catched dere babies for dem.” her anger rose in hot heat against anyone who dared call doctor clark, the white physician, who lived down in the village. “yuh all jes' don't b'lieve in me kaise ah'se yo' own color,” she would complain when anyone sug- gested his aid was needed on a case. sara lou's entrance brought a bright smile to the minister's face. she'd always been his best friend even in the days when the church had been arrayed against him, and had prevented his little family from going hungry many times. aunt salisbury grunted a greeting from the hearth and turned again to stir her pot. aunt sara's wooden god “mah rev. you sho' do look pert for a sic' man,” sara lou beamed encouragingly. “yeah, but he was 'neih dead an' ah'se had a hard time pullin' 'im through. ef dat dere doc clark had’uh come 'roun' heah wid his no 'count pills, he'd uh been gone for sho’,” aunt salisbury complained. “aw he ain't so bad off, an' salisbury,” sara lou smiled. “but whar's ruth?” she added, look- ing around the neat, sparsely furnished room that served as bedroom and kitchen for the minister. “ah sent her to de village for lin'ament. mine done bein’ run out,” reverend johnson explained. “lawd! ah could uh sent jim for it, rev. dere ain't no use uh de chile walkin' all dem miles wid a strong boy lak jim nearby,” sara lou said, bustling around, looking into the cupboard to see what was on hand for dinner. seeing that they were well provided with food, she expressed her willingness to be called upon any time she was needed, and de- parted for home, grumbling to herself that the sick minister needed a doctor. she would send jim to summons doctor clark, she decided, as she walked around the back of her house, where jim was busily engaged drawing water from their deep well, to fill the large wooden tubs which were used to do the family wash every tuesday morning. “lawd boy! you sho' don't forgit nothin', does you?” she chuckled. “nothin’ dat concern you, ma.” “as soon as you'se through, run down for doctuh clark to come see 'bout de rev. he rite sick dis aunt sara's wooden god mornin' an' ah ain't gonna let 'im sit dere an' die 'thout me doin’ what ah kin for 'im.” “awrite ma, ah'se on de las' tub now,” jim re- plied speeding up his work. jim's information when he returned some time later, that the doctor had gone to macon and his wife did not know when he would return greatly dis- turbed his mother when they seated themselves for dinner at noon. “lawd! ah'se sho’ sorry to heah dat!” she com- mented, as she dished up a large plate of collard greens and fat side for jim. “willyum sho' would 'joyed dese greens an' corn bread if he wuz heah”, she finished regretfully. “an' he would uh found fault wid dem bein’ too greasy for 'im to digest,” jim replied before he thought. “how come you allus findin' fault uh yo' brud- der?” sara lou asked regarding him with a frown. “aw, ah ain't findin' fault uh 'im, ma, ah'se jes' tellin' de truth”, jim smoothed, bowing his head as a signal for his mother to bless the food. sara lou prayed a lengthy prayer instead, in which she asked god to give her boys understanding hearts toward each other. jim knew it was a re- buke for what he had said, and ate his meal hur- riedly. pushing his plate back, he rose, stretched his arms above his head, and gave his body a vigorous shake. “ah jes' can't eat no mo', ma. ah ain't got much appetite nohow,” he explained. “lawdy boy! you done ate two plates full. yo' aunt sara’s wooden god appetite bound to go when you gits yo' belly full.” sara lou laughed looking up at him affectionately. jim reached over and patted her shoulder and turning abruptly, left the room. sara lou's eyes filled with tears. she had never showered affection upon him. his touch had somehow had the feeling of a starved animal begging to be noticed. “dat boy is as steady as an ole mule,” she mused, brushing away a tear. “jes' lak his pa, po john, i know he ain't happy in heaven wid nothin' to do but flyin' 'roun’.” an hour later the living room that was usually kept closed, was almost filled with the members of the church aid, wives of hard working farmers. the meeting every monday afternoon was a great event in their monotonous lives. ella jones, a tall, skinny brown-skin spinster, who, when she walked, made you think of many bones loosely put together, was secretary of the club. sally ann peck, a portly woman with a rather pleasant round face, a shade darker than ella, seated herself in the far corner of the room. she was a newcomer in byron, having lived most of her forty years in macon. coming to byron dur- ing cotton picking season to work, she had decided to stay. she and martha green, a thin, little black woman lived together in a little one room cabin over by the branch. they both were grass widows, their husbands having left them several years previous. from the first day of their acquaintance the two women had never agreed on any subject. there had been constant fights between them for five aunt sara's wooden god years, but to the amazement of the settlement they continued to live together. sadie smith, mary ella lawson, and a few others made up the membership of the club over which sara lou presided as president and treasurer. the women had been working hard for five years, try- ing to raise enough money to fix the parsonage but money was scarce and hard to get, and after five years of hard struggle, there was little more than fifty dollars in the treasury. today they would decide on some way in which twenty dollars more could be added. after a lengthy prayer by martha green, ella jones adjusted her glasses, and holding her book at arms' length before her, started reading the minutes of the last meeting. “de meetin' ob de church aid met las' monday atternoon at an' sara lou carter's house, she bein’ de pres'dent and trea-sure. two dollahs an' ten cents was turned ober to de trea-sure an' sara, leabin’ ten cent mo' to be turned ober by sis'ter martha green.” ella lowered her book and looked at martha green over the top of her horn rimmed glasses meaningly and continued: “fifty dollahs was den paid to brodder slack henderson for work he gwine to do on de parson- age, leabin' two dollahs an' thirty-five cents in de trea-sure. dat's all sis'ters,” ella jones said, drop- ping back into her chair. “dat's good, sis ella. all in favor notifie by sayin' ah!” sara lou said taking over the meeting. “now while ah'se on my feets,” she continued, aunt sara's wooden god “ah want to ast whut you'all 'cided to do to git dat twenty dollahs balance fuh slack.” “ah move we gib uh barn party”, sally ann sug- gested. “we ain't gonna do nothin' uh de kind l de las' un we gib de young folks danced an’ dat's agin de church rules,” martha green objected vigorously. “shucks, dem whut danced ain't 'long to the church nohow. dat's de trouble wid you folks. you jes' too narrow. when ah lived in macon de church was allus givin' parties an' de young folks allus dance an' ah ain't seed no harm it done 'em,” sally ann came back sharply. “how 'bout givin' uh donkey party?” sadie smith asked timidly. “aw we kaint, kaise somebody done stole de don- key an' ben johnson whut allus draws de donkey, done gone off an' don't nobody know when he's comin' back,” martha green informed. jim's entrance at this moment interrupted the meeting. he had just come from the parsonage, where he had found reverend johnson prone on the floor of his cabin; having fallen there while try- ing to get into bed. before he finished speaking, the women were on their way to see about their stricken pastor, their hearts filled with fear that they might be too late. eager, loving hands undressed and laid him be- tween cool, clean sheets. they then rushed around getting in each other's way in their anxiety to help. but reverend johnson lay still with open, unseeing eyes, his mouth twisted to one side, unable to utter a word. a deep guttural sound came from his aunt sara's wooden god throat, as a tiny froth moistened the corners of his mouth. ruth, coming in a few moments later, hovered close to his bedside, as sara lou bathed his head with cold water and tried to force a few drops be- tween his lips. some of the women rubbed his hands with hot salt and did all of the many things they had heard would help in a case that plainly showed paralysis. all afternoon neighbors came in steady streams. women busied themselves brewing coffee and lay- ing out the food they had brought over for the watchers at his bedside. the church aid members sat huddled in a corner of the room softly singing spirituals and offering prayer for their sick pastor. slowly the afternoon faded into twilight. the long hot summer night with many sounds from the dense woodland that surrounded the little settle- ment closed in around them. owls hooted in the trees near by. crickets filled the air with their screechy song. near the cabin a dog howled dis- mally, sending a shiver over the waiting household. night passed and the first faint streak of early dawn sent many of the farmers and their wives home to do their chores. there was no change in the sick man's condition except that he seemed weaker. a cold sweat had accumulated upon his forehead, which the neighbors observed with a sad shake of their heads. sara lou sent a message to william by a farmer driving into macon asking him to come home at once. another hot miserable day came to add to their misery. to sara lou's distress nothing had been aunt sara's wooden god heard from doctor clark, who had not returned from his visit to macon. the sun again hid itself behind the western horizon. stark dark midnight encompassed them. sara lou patted up the sick man's pillow and straightened the bed covers in an effort to make him more comfortable and passed quietly into the next room for a cup of coffee. finishing her drink, she again seated herself at the head of the bed, noticing that the covers she had straightened before leaving the room, were again thrown aside. she leaned down to pull them into place, and drew back with a scream. “lawd sakes, folks! de rev. is gonel he done slipped away from us jes' as quiet,” she cried, tears streaming down her face. ruth fell sobbing across his body. women added their cries to the din and soon the cabin was a sway- ing mass of screaming people, lamenting the pass- ing of their pastor and friend. aunt sara's wooden god “you ain't 'exactly blind yo'self, martha. any- how you jes' jealous kaise he don't pay you no mind.” “no ah ain't. ah jes' ain't forgot dat he's got uh wife. effen she is done gone off an’ lef’’im.” “yeah, you jes' 'members dat kaise he don't notice you.” “ah ain't nothin' uh de kind. you'se jes' uh fresh 'oman, sally ann peck. h'it ain't no wonder yo' husband done gone an' lef' you.” “lis'en to dat!” sally laughed loudly. “whar's yo'un gone to and why, when he lef' you six years ago? folks sho does say some curious things 'bout why he packed hisself off.” “aw shet up, loud moufl” martha grumbled, un- able to find words strong enough to silence the laughing sally ann. much to martha's relief, sara lou put an end to their argument when she entered the cabin to see how they were getting on. both women went about their tasks and were soon chattering together again pleasantly. - out in the little calvary churchyard men were busy digging a new grave in which the reverend peter johnson would be laid to rest thursday after- noon. night found everybody from miles around gathered to keep the wake. ruth, worn out with crying, lay quiet upon a cot in the corner of the room. william, who had arrived from macon during the afternoon, helped his mother get the people seated. at his word the singing was started and through the long summer night their songs, low and mournful, wafted out upon the air. aunt sara's wooden god the day of the funeral dawned bright and clear. long strings of wagons wended their way to the church. ministers from the adjacent counties took their places on the rostrum. william had been chosen to read the scripture and sit with the min- isters on the rostrum, looking down upon the crowded church with solemn eyes in which gleamed the pride he felt in his position. jim, looking up at him seated there, could not help feeling proud of his intelligence and importance. the sun had begun hiding itself in the west be- hind mountains of soft pink clouds when reverend johnson was finally laid to rest in the calvary churchyard, and ruth became a member of the carter household. william, placing his hand tenderly upon her shoulder, as she stood later that evening ready to accompany sara lou and jim to the parsonage to get her things, said consolingly: “now, don't worry yourself sick, ruth. you can't do your father any good by worryin'. he was prepared to go. you'll just have to give him up, and try and meet him in heaven some day.” “ah know, willyum. ah want to be brave an' should oughter be to show an' sara ah 'preciate her givin' me uh home. but rite now ah jes' can't help missin' pa,” ruth replied, her eyes misty with tears. “you must feel it's just as much yo' home as it is ours, ruth, an' we're glad to have you heah,” sara lou told her kindly. william watched them walk down the wide road, ruth between his mother and jim, her slight form swaying in perfect rhythm as she walked. a aunt sara's wooden god mixture of jealousy and fear filled his heart— jealousy of ruth's and jim's proximity and fear that jim, whom he knew had heard about his gam- bling and other misdemeanors in macon, would some day tell his mother, gripped his heart. there were times when religious fervor held and swayed him under its spell. but his was a change- able nature, cold, hard and calculating, ready to move heaven and earth to have his way. he loved money; pitting his wit against the other fellow's to gain something for nothing thrilled him, and made him a slave to gambling. of late his luck had been bad. he had lost in continually trying to win back his losses, and had lost money his mother and jim gave him from time to time to buy things for the farm. these thoughts haunted him as he sat alone on the steps of the front porch where he had seated himself when the trio left him. sally ann peck and martha green spoke to him from the front gate. “we ain't aimin’ to 'tain you brudder willyum, if you goin' out, only we'uns 'thout dat y'all would kinder enjoy dese hot rolls and preserves for sup- per. an' brudder willyum, we wants to tell you how grand you wuz at de reverend's funeral,” sally ann continued, beaming with one of her brightest smiles on william. when he answered he was once more the suave young deacon they all loved. “come on in, sisters, the folks will be back soon," he called, leading the way into the house. sally ann and martha followed eagerly. “ah 'clare things sho is happenin' roun' heah. one time dar wuzn't uh thing goin' on. but now de aunt sara's wooden god rev. done tooken sick an' died almost de same day. minds me uh de sayin' you'se heah today an' gone tomorrow,” sally ann said with a resigned air. “ain’t it de truth?” martha echoed. “yeah, martha, jes' de odder day you wuz sayin' you wished somethin' would happen an' you sho' done got yo' wish. an' salisbury done tole you 'bout wishin' up things,” sally said, turning to martha scornfully. “’nother thing. you wished up dat storm las' month sayin’ dat it wus so dry. you wished it would rain so de ground wuz soaked through an’ it rained steady one whole week.” william laughed heartily as the two women glared at each other, and martha, not wanting to be rebuked before william, retorted angrily. “aw, shucks, an' salisbury's allus beatin' up hur gums an' cookin' roots. kain't nobody wish up nothin' nohow, kin dey brodder william?” martha asked turning to william. “’course they cain’t,” william smiled. “when you goin' back to macon?” martha asked, anxious to change the subject. “i haven't decided yet. i might go tomorrow but ruth is so upset, i feel like staying and trying to cheer her up in some way,” william answered. “dat's you, brudder willyum, allus tryin' to help odder folks,” sally ann commented. “ah wish lot uh other folks wuz lak dat,” martha said, casting a meaning glance in sally's direction. “dar you go, martha green,” sally spoke up hotly. “castin' yo sly remarks. you kain't speck us to be lak brodder willyum, he lives close to de aunt sara's wooden god lawd kaise he gonna carry de gospel. you ain't bent down from carryin' too much 'ligion nohow.” martha started to give sally a sharp reply, but william cut in. “now sister, you mustn't quarrel an' you shouldn't judge for fear you be judged by the same judgment the bible teaches us.” sara lou and ruth's voices, as they came up on the porch, cut short the discussion. william stepped forward quickly, to help them with their bundles. “lawd ah'se tired i" his mother gasped, sinking into the nearest chair. “we came ober to bring you some vittels,” sally informed. “ah sho thanks you sis-ters. me an' ruth is purtty much hungry ah 'speck.” “ah ain't hungry,” ruth said listlessly. “but you must eat an’ keep up yo' strength, chile. dar ain't no need uh you gittin' all sick and skinny,” sara lou said kindly. “yeah, jes' brace up an’ be cheerful, ruth. de rev. is done gone an' you kain't live by de dead. you'se young an' got uh long time 'fore you, so enjoy yo' life while you'se able,” sally ann added cheerfully. “dar you go, sally ann peck,” martha snorted. “dat ain't no way to talk to ruth kaise she got to moan 'bout her pa's death. you jes' cry much as you want to, ruth. don't you try to be careless lak dis 'oman heah whut ain't got no heart a-tall.” “let's talk 'bout somethin' else, sisters,” aunt sara begged. “ruth's awrite an' ain't got no cause to moan 'round. she's in good hands an' 'course she gonna git cheerful.” aunt sara's wooden god sally ann and martha soon bid the family good- bye and hurried home to the many duties that awaited them. sara lou refused ruth's offer to help get supper. “no, chile, you jes' sit down an' rest,” she said kindly. “i tell you what we'll do, ruth. come on out and let's take a walk,” william offered, taking her hand in his. they walked through the sweetly scented woods that surrounded the farm. at their heels, jim's old dog towser ran barking loudly. william tried to cheer her with vivid descriptions of his last school term, and his plans for the future, but ruth was silent and unresponsive, the deepen- ing shadows of dusk gathered around them, and ruth complained of a headache, so they returned to the carter home in silence, each busy with their own thoughts. when they entered the yard, jim was seated on the front porch and greeted them with a happy smile. william's heart filled with jealousy as he saw the happy light in ruth's eyes and the animation he could not arouse became evident when she seated herself beside jim. excusing himself early, he went to his room de- termined to leave the next morning for macon, where he hoped work in his pressing shop, and lively nights in the broad street haunts he frequented, would obliterate the unhappiness he suffered seeing ruth smiling and happy with his brother jim. aunt sara's wooden god chapter v the early morning sun cast fitful shadows through the half-opened window upon the floor of the little back room behind william carter's pressing shop on broad street in macon. the room was close and filled with a musty odor, mingled with a smell of stale beer, bad liquor and decaying food. the floor of rough dirty boards was strewn with bottles and bits of a torn deck of cards. in the center of the room stood a rickety table covered with a mixture of bottles and bits of bread and drying sparerib bones. swarms of flies made their invasion known, as they buzzed from place to place and rested for brief spells on the face of slippery, william's helper, who stirred occasion- ally to brush them away, and settle himself in a more comfortable position on the cot pushed close to the wall on which was thrown a dirty quilt. his face, a brick colored yellow, covered with dirt and freckles, was thin and wrinkled, not so much from age as from sickness and exposure, for slippery was still in his early thirties—a thin, stooped, me- dium-sized man, whose past life was little known to the crowd around broad street, where he had re- cently drifted, from where, no one, not even william, knew. turning with a groan, his feet slowly struck the floor, as he sat up on the side of the cot and stretched his arms above his head. for a moment he sat look- ing around the room, his hands pressed tightly to aunt sara's wooden god his aching head, then slowly he dragged himself over to the back door of the shop which opened into an alley running the length of the block behind the dingy front negro business places. hanging on a nail just outside the door was a rusty basin which served as bath tub and dish-pan for the place. slippery took it down gingerly, filled it with water and started washing his face with his hands, scoop- ing up the water and letting it run down over his face and neck. someone passed down the alley and helloed. he answered gruffly without turning to see who the speaker was. loud knocks came from the front of the place. someone was banging to get in. slippery slouched into the room wiping his face on the first thing that his hands came in contact with, which happened to be an old shirt, and with an oath, started hurriedly towards the front door. “hey, slippery, whut you tryin' to do, sleep all day?” the query came through the door. “who de hell's business is it, if ah do?” slippery answered, as he opened the door and faced cotton eye, who stood grinning with a pair of pants hang- ing on his arm. “well, lil' ole business man, is dat any way to greet uh customer whut comes all de way pass dozens uh cleanin' shops to bring yuh work?” said cotton eye grinning broadly. “whut you want done to dese pants?” slippery asked, taking the pants and throwing them on a chair piled high with crumpled suits. “want 'em scrubbed, man, an' pressed. dat's whut ah wants.” aunt sara's wooden god “you would want dat today when my head is achin' an’ ah feels nigh ready to die.” “but you'se in business, ain't you? an' how you gonna pay de rent ef we'all don't fetch you work?” “oh awrite, cotton eye. sho i'se glad to have yo' work but dat don't make me not feel sick, does it?” “sick or well, ah wants dem pants tonight. daddy jenks is openin' up his place back uh de pool parlor wid dancin' an' he's got some purtty gals whut'll be 'round an' one uh dem gals is uh hum- dinger. ah done seed hur. she's from chicago. whew, some gal, ah says.” “from chicago?” slippery asked, turning quickly to face cotton eye. “dat's whut ah said. but whut's dat to you? you ain't neb'ber said you come from dere.” “an' ah ain't said yit. ah jes' wanted to make sho whut place you mentioned.” “ha, ha, ha! you sho is a slick 'un, slippery but ah almost got yuh den, didn't ah " “whut you mean almost got me kaise ah didn't quite git whut yuh said?” “well, we'll let it go at dat. say when is william de parson comin' back?” “you bettuh not let him heah you call him dat. dat's one sho thing.” “huh ! ah ain't scared uh 'im even if you is. ah'se done knowed him since we wuz babies dere in byron an' ah'll call him anything ah wants to. who is he, anyhow? everybody in byron knows dat he ain't born rite.” “whut you mean, ain't born rite, cotton eye p” “why, ole man john carter wuzn't his pappy. he's uh white man's chile—jes' uh plain bastard.” aunt sara's wooden god “whut diff'rence does dat make? how does you know dat you ain't one nor me nor eve'ybody. for whut we knows. we all know who our fathers wuz 'spose to be but can we prove dat dey wuz you ain't shouh nobody but yo' ma an' even if uh pusson is born, what didn't habe uh lawful pappy, does it hurt 'em any? an’ if dey wuz lawful, did hit help 'em any? my pappy wuz 'spose to be lawful an' uh preacher, an' whut am i? nothin'. it's up to us all whut we make uh ourselves not who our ma or pa was.” “awrite, friday, youse rite to take up fo yo' rob- inson crusoe. he sho is been uh friend to you but ah ain't neber been crazy 'bout no half white nigger. dey's tuh biggity an' thinks dey is better den us blacks, an’ ah jes' don't lak 'em.” “dat de trouble now. we ain't satisfied fo de white folks to fin' fault wid us, we'se jes' got to fight one 'nothur jes' kaise we all ain't de same color. whose fault is it, anyhow? kain't nobody make demselves, don' you know that? an' to white folks, whether you is black or yellow or brown, you is jes' uh darky, so shut yo' trap up 'bout color.” “awrite, us ain't gwine fight. how'd yuh make out in de game las' nite?” “rotten. loss every penny ah had to dat ole pusley sugar kid.” “whew i dat boy sho is lucky.” “oh! ah don't b'lieve it's jes' plain luck. ah b'lieve he's crooked but none uh us can ketch him, dat's all.” “it sho is funny he don't never start winnin' 'til atter he's had de deck in his hands. den if he picks aunt sara's wooden god uh queen, it's right on de bottom. do yuh think he nails de cards dat quick?” “well, yuh knows dat's why ah went on home. he cleaned me right quick.” “yeh but if ah eber finds him nappin', he's a gonner fo sho.” “dat's it. how you gwine ketch him nappin’?” cotton eye asked dubiously. “ah'll ketch him, don't yuh worry an' when ah does, dere'll be plenty uh trouble stirrin’,” slippery answered menacingly glancing towards the desk in the corner of the shop, where despite william's ad- vice to the contrary, he kept his revolver loaded and pushed carelessly under some papers in the drawer. “well, ah got to hurry on, slippery. ah'se workin' today,” cotton eye remembered, moving slowly towards the door. ah jes' had to have some money kaise dat new gal's ober at daddy jenks an’ she's some queen, b'lieve me,” he sighed. “hur name's ethel myers but see heah slippery, i ain't figurin' on no opposition in dem quarters.” “don’t worry. ah ain't interested,” slippery assured him. “well, ah'll be pushin' on. so long. have dem pants all slicked up by five o'clock,” cotton eye called over his shoulder, as he sauntered slowly down the street, both hands in his pockets and whistling a popular blues. half-way down the block he met william walking rapidly with his small bag swinging at his side. they had known each other from infancy but there had never been any friendship between them. in fact, ed- ward knowles, which was cotton eye's real name, aunt sara's wooden god had been the worst boy in byron and had spent so much time in jail that marshall bailey had asked him to just leave byron and not come back, as he was an expense to the county. he had been given the nickname cotton eye because of his large eyes, which seemed to sit on his forehead and were a glaring white except for their small black pupils. he was extremely tall and slender, almost skinny, his color a shiny black but his broad smile, which showed all of his even white teeth, usually won the hearts of the fair sex and made him many male friends as well. william merely tolerated him as there was noth- ing else to do, but it was a superior tolerance which cotton eye felt and resented. his lips parted in a quick smile at sight of william. “gee, boy, glad to see yuh back. how's byron?” he asked quickly. “oh, byron's fine, cotton eye,” william an- swered, as he tried to pass on down the street. “how's my aunt sofia an' yo' ma p” cotton eye continued almost blocking william's path. “yo' aunt sofia's right poorly, cotton, but ma's fine.” “now dat's too bad 'bout aunt sofia. sho wish ah could see hur,” cotton eye replied earnestly. “well, i guess in a case like this you could run down to byron. i don't believe old marshall bailey would object to you seein’ the only mother you ever knew when she's sick.” “yeah, willyum, ah mought try it but say, whut's to become uh ruth now dat hur pappy is dead? who's she gonna stay wid?” aunt sara's wooden god been dead drunk when ah went to bed,” slippery answered shortly. “you’d better lay off that bad liquor. it don't do nobody no good,” william warned. “don’t ah know it, but whut else yuh gonna do when you'se disgusted an' broke, bill?” “had bad luck last night again, eh?” “yep and how ! in fact, been havin' it ever since you went to byron. a new guy blowed in town wednesday nite dat's cleaned eve'ybody but daddy jenks an' he jes' won't play him.” “who's he?” “oh, some fellow dat calls himself sugar kid. brought plenty dough wid him an' done 'tached ebe'ybody else's to his'en since he's been heah.” “what does he play, slippery?” “georgy skin an' whut luck!” slippery had been sweeping all through his talk with william and started out the front door to sweep the sidewalk that ran in front of the shop when he remembered that he had a letter for william. he leaned the broom against the wall and hurried back into the place, and after searching through the table drawer for a moment, handed william the letter. “jes' came yistiddy, bill. ef yuh hadn't come back today, ah wuz gonna send it on down to byron to you.” “no, slippery,” william spoke up quickly, after he had scanned the postmark. “don’t ever send my mail down there. jes' keep it 'til i come back.” william sank into one of the two rickety chairs and frowning, read the letter which was from one of his creditors. a sigh escaped his lips. slippery aunt sara's wooden god coming in from his sweeping, looked at him with deep concern. “whut's wrong? anything ah kin help straight- en out?” he asked. “no,” william answered trying to pull himself together. “there isn't anything that anyone can do.” “must be very serious, bill.” “no, slippery, jes' a man i owe, wants his dough. have you got any money?” “not uh lousy cent. ah got cleaned out for sho las' nite. “that's bad news but i guess i can find some way out.” “we’se got lots uh work hangin' 'round an’ if de folks calls for it, dere'll be a little money on hand,” slippery informed. it was friday. most of the people who patron- ized the shop, got paid on saturday and the work would have to be ready so they spent the remainder of the day working steadily. evening brought a good many customers in for their clothes. to most of them it was the only suit they had, and they all would attend daddy jenk's blow-out, dressed in their sunday best. cotton eye appeared promptly at five and retrieved his pants which were all scrubbed and pressed and looked nothing like the dirty rag he had brought in earlier in the day. “lawd, slippery, ole boy, you sho' did do uh good job on dese pants, but shux dey don't look nothin' lak de coat now. 'speck ah better fetch it over an' let yuh knock hit off wid yore hot iron. you wouldn't mine doin' dat, would you?” he asked. aunt sara's wooden god “no. for fifteen cents ah wouldn't mine doin' it at all,” slippery answered. “you sho is tight, slippery. heah ah brings yuh all my work an' yuh 'fuses to do me uh li'l' favor.” “cotton eye, you knows we charge forty cents for a suit. why do you want to try an' get it done for the twenty-five cents you paid for your pants?” william asked. “awrite, awrite, we won't argue 'bout it,” cotton eye answered disappointedly. “an' anyhow, whut yuh want to weah a coat for p” eddie nolan, known to the bunch as red shirt, asked from the chair where he had sprawled in his underwear waiting for slippery to finish press- ing his pants. “yeah,” slippery echoed, “you ain't been wearin' no coat. why de big desire to dress up?" “shirt sleeves is a write far as dese macon janes is concerned.” cotton eye explained. “but ain't ah done tole yuh dat uh queen from chicago gonna be ober dere an' maybe she ain't use to seein’ de boys in shirt sleeves an’ ah want to make uh hit wid hur.” the boys all laughed heartily and cotton eye grabbing his pants, left in a huff. “wear uh red silk shirt. dat'll make uh hit wid hur,” red shirt called after him. “ah'll leab dat for you to do, red shirt. dat's how you got yore name,” cotton eye called back. william's pressing business was located across the street from daddy jenks' more imposing pleasure emporium, a large building with a pool parlor in the front and a large room in the back used for dancing. overhead were furnished rooms and a large room aunt sara's wooden god his prosperity was an unquestioned fact in the community. he even boasted a brand new ford sedan and a chauffeur. kongo, the misshapen mute who drove for him, was more or less his own pro- perty. daddy had rescued him from the gutter when a lad of ten, whose half-witted brain seemed only to emerge from its stupor where cars or machinery of any kind were concerned, but the mere fact that kongo drove the car for him and did his every bid- ding made daddy jenks quite a personage among his associates. he had visited new york the previous summer and had come back with new ideas for his place, had brought a second-hand piano and hired a trap-drummer. three girls from a show that had been stranded while playing the colored vaudeville house had ap- pealed to him for aid, and he had taken them in to help entertain his guests. ethel myers, one of the girls, had been rather glad to remain in macon for a while. it was a new field and ethel, for certain reasons, did not want to go back to new york nor home to chicago, where she was always getting into trouble. she was a clever dancer and a good-look- ing girl, light-complexioned and medium height, with a mass of short curly hair, framing a face of small fine features. ethel knew her good points and made the most of them. she could sing as well as dance, and had a dashing personality. the word conscience meant nothing to her. she was out to get what was coming to her. of the three, ethel was the star with undisputed rights. daddy jenks, a good business man, had struck a good bargain with the girls, who were to receive rooms, board and a percentage from the drinks sold aunt sara's wooden god for entertaining and keeping the place lively by dancing for and with the customers. he realized in trying to run his dance hall at a profit to keep the men spending, there had to be girls around—girls that could be depended upon to stay until closing time. the place had been newly painted, and colored lights hung from the wall. in one corner stood the second-hand piano and drums. little tables lined the sides of the wall with a space left in the center of the room for dancing. a crude counter had been built across one side of the wall. the small ice- box behind it held soft drinks. white mule could be obtained by giving a certain sign. the room, a fairly large one, running the full length of the build- ing, could be entered through a door from an alley that ran behind the place. at nine o'clock the music started, and the place was soon filled with sweating, swaying bodies. aunt sara's wooden god good talker an' is educatid awrite, but outsider dat, you ain't nothin' like uh preachin' man aught'er bel” slippery said, eyeing william closely, his brow slightly wrinkled in an effort to read william's mind. “it's 'cause ma wants me to be a preacher, i guess, and because in my heart or somewhere, there is a part of me that loves honor and right livin' and helpin' others.” “ah knowed dat by de way you helped me. ah was nigh 'bout dead and everybody but you was scared uh me, sayin’ dat ah had de con. ah sho was down when you picked me up.” “well, to be truthful, there was some selfishness in that. i figured if you ever got well, you could help me with the shop.” “yeah, but de chances was sho slim uh me gettin' well but you tooked me in an' got uh doctor for me and everything. paid out yo' good money and didn't even know me. youse awrite, willyum, ah'll say dat for you an’ ah ain't never gonna fergit you.” “i try to be, slippery, but i certainly do make a mess of mistakes for all of that.” “us all makes mistakes. ain't nobody perfect.” “yeah, but i suffer for mine because they worry me. i feel ashamed of some part of me, the part that holds me back when i want to do right and makes me do wrong.” “lawd, boy, to heah you talk a body would think you'd killed somebody.” “maybe i have.” “whut!” slippery almost jumped from his seat. aunt sara's wooden god william laughed long and loudly at slippery's agitation. “sit tight, slippery,” he said between the laugh- ter that shook his shoulders. “i was only joking. 'course i ain't killed nobody and sure hopes i never will.” “boy, you sho had me scared ſ” “no, slippery, it's money that's worryin' me. i needs lots of money right through here. i've got to have it or all my plans are busted. that's all !” “well, you might git lucky an' win it. dere's sugar kid 'roun' heah dat's got gobs uh dough. maybe you'll be de one to break 'im.” “yeah, maybe, with the luck i’ve been playin' in lately, there's a fat chance of me breakin' anybody.” “well, at least it's worth tryin'.” “no, i guess i'd better let well 'nough alone. i sometimes wonder why some people have all the luck and others never seem to git anywhere,” william mused, continuing. “there's my brother jim. everything he touches seems to prosper. he's lucky with our crops even when other folks' cotton fails or the bugs eat it up. he gets good money for every bale he turns out. then 'sides mr. gor- don pays him to take care of his place. now that he's in europe, jim's in full charge. he's gonna sell the peaches and keep the money ’til mr. gordon gets back. he never asks any questions—jus’ takes jim's word for everything. i couldn't get a break like that.” “gee! dat sho is some break. it's uh wonder dis mistuh gordon wouldn't have uh white man lookin' at’ter his place.” “not as long as jim is around. he's known ma aunt sara's wooden god all her life, and my folks as far back as my great grandmother was born right on his place. he thinks uh lot of ma and likes jim because he took to farm- ing. he don't like me much—thinks i want too much education and as jim don't crave none, he's right down his street.” “does jim make much money for him? maybe dat's why he's so crazy 'bout 'im,” slippery asked, setting his chair which had been tilted against the wall, firmly on the sidewalk, while he rolled a cigarette. “well, he don't make any too much, 'sides mister gordon's rich and don't have to depend on his place any, but he likes to make it pay something. jim will make over a hundred dollars when he sells his peaches. 'course he'll have to pay some of it out to get them picked, but not much.” “lawd! i'd be scared to keep dat much money 'round me, but maybe jim banks it.” “well, he should, but he don't. he keeps it over at mister gordon's house in his safe.” “dat sho' is a mighty risky thing to do, seems to me.” “that's jes' what i'm thinkin', slippery. jim thinks it's the safest place. maybe it is. but mister gordon's place is right on the main road and lots of no 'count people travel that road.” “even if dey was to break in an' take de money, nobody would blame jim, would dey?” “gordon wouldn't, but old bailey, the marshall, and the other white folks might. they ain't got none too much good blood for jim 'cause gordon left him instead of a white man in charge of the place,” william replied. aunt sara's wooden god slippery, his chair tipped back against the wall again, watched the stream of women and men pour- ing into daddy jenks' place. now and then a cough shook his slight form from which he quickly recov- ered rather breathlessly. “you’d better put on your coat,” william ad- vised. rising slowly he entered the shop to return short- ly with his coat and hat on. william looked up, as he stepped out of the door. “goin' over to daddy jenks' to see whut's up an' to get another look at dat sugar kid's dough. kin yuh let me have uh dollar?” he asked. william handed him the dollar and taking his chair, started for the door. “i b'lieve i'll mosey over there too and see the sights. wait a minute,” he called over his shoulder. a few moments later they walked into the crowded dance hall where the fun was at its height. the center of the room had been cleared of dancers and ethel myers had the floor. she was in the middle of a song, a low, moaning blues which she sang, as her body swayed back and forth to the rhythm of the music. couples sprawled at the tables, others stood in knots around the room. white mule and soda pop flowed freely. everybody was watching the girl, who, when her song was finished, broke into a wild dance. the crowd applauded loudly when her dance ended. turning to bow to her appreciative audience, she saw slippery standing just inside the door. her eyes dilated as if she had seen a ghost. the piano and drum started up a loud jazz num- ber and slippery walked quickly to her side. aunt sara's wooden god “want 'er have dis dance?” he said loudly. then under his breath he spoke closely to her ear. “don't lose yo' head, ethel, ah wanna talk to you.” she quickly recovered herself, as slippery guided her around the room in a slow drag. “ain’t dere some place whar we kin talk?” he whispered. ethel nodded and they danced over towards the door that led into the pool parlor. there they slipped into a dark hall. “what you want to say, jessie?” ethel asked, as she slipped free from his arms. “nothin' much—only dat you don't know me. git me? an’ if you say you do an' start shootin' off yo' head an' beatin' up yo guns ahm gonna make macon too small to hold yuh, dat's all.” “well, i ain't got no call to go 'round here braggin' 'bout knowin' you. you ain't no prize package to know, nohow.” “ah jes' wants to warn yuh, kaise 'round heah ah’m jes' slippery an' nobody don't know anything but dat—not even whar ah comed from, and it ain't gonna be none too healthy for you if you put 'em wise,” slippery warned. “don’t worry. i'm out to 'tend to my own busi- ness, jessie, and that's about all i kin do.” “not jessie, jes' slippery. yuh git me?” “awrite, say, who's the slick-lookin' guy dat you was standin' next to over dere by the door? i mean de high yellow boy wid de good clothes on," ethel asked, nodding her head towards the dance hall. “dat's de man i work for—willyum carter.” “you wouldn't mind knockin' me down to him, would you, slippery?" aunt sara's wooden god with slippery he only had to say he needed the money for something and slippery would make out on just enough money to buy his food or a few dimes with which to gamble. at times he was lucky, and shared his winnings with william. for thief though he was, he appreciated the kindness william had shown him when he was a stranger and down and out. ethel had no actual crime lurking in her past— just general worthlessness. true, she had been picked up several times in chicago, for street soli- citing but had drawn only minor sentences. her brother, a prominent chicago attorney, had become disgusted with her way of living, and paid her to leave town because of the disgrace she had brought her family. she had gone to new york and pro- cured work in an uptown cabaret as an entertainer. soon tiring of that line of work, she had drifted from the chorus of one small show to another, until she finally left town with a small troupe that had gone on the rocks in macon. daddy jenks' proposition had come as a god- send. at least it offered a place to eat and sleep, and whatever could be picked up on the side, and a certain amount of protection from the law. knowing her past, slippery did not like the idea of introducing her to william. to a certain ex- tent william was his hero. he did not drink, and was ambitious to study and better himself. that he loved to gamble, he did not hold against him. why shouldn't he try his luck? he was a man and if he didn't have a fault, it would not have been natural. besides, the temptation was too strong for any real man to resist, especially when he needed aunt sara's wooden god he kin take uh pair of dice or uh deck uh cards an' send you home barefooted.” “who dat whut can do so much wid dice an' cards?” a voice asked from the door. a mur- mur went around the room. the speaker was the stranger known as sugar kid, who, although he had been in macon only a few days, had gathered in all of the boys' loose change and had them scared to mention cards or dice in his presence. nobody knew exactly where he had come from nor what his right name was. some said that in jacksonville he called himself sugar kid and that was all anyone knew of his identity. he was a large pompous person with smoothed brown skin and large features. his eyes were small and in them lurked a crafty look. his large full lips hung loosely on his mouth. his large flat nose with its wide nostrils seemed to be always scenting some- thing. there was an air of bravado about him and from the day he came to macon, the crowd around daddy jenks' place had taken a dislike to him, which grew as he cleaned the boys one by one of their scanty bank roll. daddy jenks was the only man who did not fear him, but to others he was poison. william had not met sugar kid, but intuition told him that the speaker was the much-talked-of- gambler. he realized that slippery's bragging might get him into a mess as he did not want to play with the few dollars he planned to use otherwise. but william loved to gamble and could not bear to be thought beaten in anything. he had promised him- self to lay off games for awhile, but with sugar kid standing there glaring at him, his blood became aunt sara's wooden god fired with a desire to put him in his proper place at any cost. then, too, ethel's remarks had to be lived down. the boys had laughed at him, a thing he could not endure. her remarks caused them to look at him in a way he did not like. in view of them, she had poked fun at him. he would have to do something to make them forget her insinuations or things would be said that would cause him to have to flatten out a few of them. he would show them that he could meet the man they all feared. sugar kid walked slowly over to where william stood in the center of the room. there was an in- dolent smile on his face, as he slowly looked him over and winked to the others standing looking on. “so, youse de guy whut craves to git rid uh some dough p” he asked sneeringly. “well, i can't say that i exactly craves to git rid of any dough, but i do crave annexing some of yours, an’ kin do it if i try,” william answered nonchal- antly, looking the gambler over. “atta boy, william i.’” slippery shouted. “well, whut yuh say to playin' a li'l' skin?” sugar kid asked. “o.k. by me,” william replied. “well, less go. ah’ll play any uh de odders whut wants to take me on,” sugar kid said loudly, look- ing around the well-filled room. “there's only one thing i want and it's such a li'l' thing i know you won't object,” william said looking straight into the other's eyes. “what's it?” “i want someone else beside you to deal the cards,” he answered slowly. aunt sara's wooden god “how come yuh wants dat? is dere any objection to us dealin' to one 'nothur?” sugar kid asked, a trace of annoyance in his voice. “yes, there is, and if daddy jenks will give us a new pack an' a dealer, we'll start l” william an- nounced calmly. “but i don't see any sense in havin' no stationary dealer,” sugar kid objected. “well, i do, and if i don't get one, i don't play,” william replied with finality. a general murmur of approval went around the room, but none of the boys dared express an opinion that would in any way show their disapproval of the swaggering sugar kid. sugar kid, sensing their feeling and not daring to object, for fear of putting himself in a bad light with the boys, con- sented to william's demand. daddy jenks placed a table to one side for the game, and called one of his boys to deal. the music struck up for the dancers to continue but everyone was absorbed in the game that was about to be started. ethel myers sided over to william's side and placed her head on his arm. william turned and looked up into her face coldly. “don’t play him, carter,” she said softly. “i hear he's plain poison around here.” “don’t worry 'bout me,” william retorted. “i’ve got his number.” and then announced loudly. “i’m goin' to bet on the queen, queen ethel, and when i wins my first five dollars, it goes to buy a present for the queen.” everyone laughed and sugar kid frowned his dis- pleasure. aunt sara's wooden god “why don't you lay down heah den?” ethel said, sitting on his knee and running her fingers through his thick curly hair. “no. i think i better go to my own room,” try- ing to get up. “whar's yo' room?” “er, 'bout ten blocks from here—with my cousin.” “why walk ten blocks when you kin stay heah?” kissing him. “come on, william, don't be so mean. ah ain't so bad, an’ ah sho is strong for you hot papal” ethel coaxed, turning back the bed and pat- ting the pillows into place. william stood up and stretched, and made a step towards the door. ethel playfully caught him and pushed him until he sat on the side of the bed. sit- ting beside him, her arms stole up and rested around his neck. pulling his head to her shoulder, she kissed him passionately again and again. william accepted her caresses with no pretence of returning them, his blood tingling with passion, hot and overpowering. ethel talked softly as she removed his shoes, and unfastened his shirt and re- moved it. throwing her arms around him she pushed him back across the bed. her body soft and warm lay close beside him for a moment. his arms reached out eagerly and drew her to him in a long, warm embrace. aunt sara's wooden god chapter vii william's eyes opened lazily, and slowly trav- eled around the unfamiliar room. the cheap mus- lin curtains fanned in and out of the small open win- dows. slanting shadows of late afternoon shed an ephemeral light across the dingy uncovered floor. his eyes found and rested on the form of a woman aranging a tray on a small table near the center of the room. yes, it was ethel. it all came back to him with startling clearness. he sat up quickly on the side of the bed. ethel, looking up from her preparations of the tray, saw him. “come on, william, an' eat yo' dinner while it's hot,” she called pleasantly, siding up to him. “i don't want no dinner,” he answered shortly. “whut's de mattuh, william?” ethel asked anxiously, noting his frowning countenance. “oh, nothin'. i jes' don't like being here when there's so much work over at the shop to do.” “you just as well eat now, it's all fixed. dere ain't much you kin do nohow. it's pretty nigh six uh clock.” william ate sullenly and hurried away with a gruff good-bye. he was thankful for once that the usual crowd that blocked the sidewalk in front of daddy jenks' place gossiping and telling jokes, had taken a recess. slippery looked up from his pressing, as he en- tered the shop. neither spoke; but slippery easily guessing where he had spent the day, felt vaguely aunt sara's wooden god uneasy. he realized william was in for a world of trouble getting mixed up with ethel. one by one the gang dropped in for their things that had been left for cleaning, and to loll around and talk about william's triumph over the brag- ging sugar kid. “boy, oh boy, dat's one snake what ain't so pop- ular roun' dese diggin',” cotton eye laughed. “ah sho is glad yuh took 'im for his dough, willyum !” “me too,” red shirt added. “ah thought sho some uh us was goin' uh hafta step on his head an' flatten 'im out 'fo 'lon', but ah guess dis'll kind uh cool him off.” “yeah, but he'll be rarin' up agin, don't you worry!” slippery reminded them. the laughter and talk went on about the game of the night before, the boys counting up their small store of change with which they hoped to give sugar kid his next battle later that night. ten o'clock daddy jenks' juke was crowded. music and dancing was in full sway. sweaty bodies pressed close together, moved squirmingly to hot jazz tunes, perspiration running down their faces. women twisting their bodies, working their hips up and down seductively, dragged themselves around the room, every movement an invitation. if ac- ceptance occasioned an absence of a few moments, each couple boldly returned unashamed. a close sour odor hung in the room, sickeningly oppressive. there was a heavy smell of bad corn liquor, stale beer, unwashed bodies and dim lights blotted out by the shadows of the dancers, swaying back and forth through the fetid air. loud tin- panish music was heard from a broken instrument aunt sara's wooden god pushed against the wall on which an overalled in- dividual beat unmercifully, his feet stamping out what his hands failed to bang. ethel slowly dragged herself around the room in sugar kid's arms, her eyes turned expectantly to- wards the door every time it opened to admit a newcomer. sugar kid, noticing her agitation, asked sneeringly. “whar's yo' high yaller boy friend?” “who you mean, sugar p” ethel asked, innocently looking up into his face. “go on gall you know who ah means—de high yaller wid de white folks hair dat took my dough. ah seed 'im comin' out uh yo' room late dis after- noon.” “now look uh heah, nigguh, don't you go med- dlin' wid my business,” ethel exploded angrily. “aw ah ain't tryin' to queer yuh, kid. ah laks yuh an' could do heap more fuh yuh den he kin.” “fat chance you'll git to do anything for dis sweet mamma,” ethel laughed in his face. “don’t be too sho, gal. yuh may be glad to hang on to sweet papa sugar fo' long.” “don’t fool yo'seff. you jes' ain't my style an' never will be,” ethel taunted. “no, baby an' you ain't dat boy's style neither an’ nebber will be. he's high falutin' an' gals lak you is jes' out, far as he's concerned. he thinks he's a wooden god,” sugar kid sneered. “ah’m good as he is. my brother's uh lawyer an' uh big man in chi,” ethel informed him with spirit. “an' his sister is whut? ah'll let you say it.” ethel jerked away from him angrily. “yo big aunt sara's wooden god black hunk uh nothin’,” she hissed. “lemme loose dis minute!” “not on yo' life, sister!” sugar kid avowed, taking a firmer grasp on her arm. “yuh gonna dance an' lak it!” ethel danced on in silence until sugar kid pushed her away in disgust and slouched out of the room. a few moments later when william appeared in the dance hall, she nodded her head at him indifferently, and pulled cotton eye, who was standing near her, finished her dance determinedly. “well, ah see you'se back to try yo' luck again tonight,” sugar kid remarked, walking over to william, who stood looking at the dancers. “yeah, i'm sticking around,” william answered nonchalantly. “well, yuh know dat luck is a mighty change- able thing. take papa sugar's advice an' don't try to ride 'em too hard.” “don’t worry about me—just look out for your- self. i can take care of william.” “awrite big boy. whut yuh say we play up- stairs in de clubroom tonight?” sugar kid asked, a smile that could have meant anything, wreathing his smug countenance. “o.k. by me,” william answered, moving to- wards the stairs. “come on, fellows. let's git de game started. my hands is itchin' an’ dat's de sign uh money.” sugar kid called to the fellows scattered around the room. “not so fast,” daddy jenks remarked from be- hind the counter. “eve’body's gotta drink to my health tonight. i'se jes' become a grandpa. my aunt sara's wooden god “ah’ll say it is ” the crowd shouted. “three cheers for dad's daughter and grandson.” + + sugar kid finally succeeded in getting his crowd together, and the game was on. ethel had had no chance to talk to william. she felt hurt. daddy jenks' recital had gotten under her skin in a way that she would not have admitted, as in her mind she turned over the incidents in her childhood. the environment and the advantages that had been given her, which she had thrown away to become a nobody. walking over to the counter she called for a good stiff liquor which she drank hastily, then another and another. her conscience numbed by the potent moonshine, she was soon dancing and laughing again. finally, pushing the other dancers from the floor, she danced in a wild, primitive, sensuous manner. her hips twisting, her body quivering, her mood changed to savagery. the crowd lining up, around the room, looked on, clapping their hands in delight. she pulled her dress higher and higher above her knees, her head thrown back in defiance. pausing in the midst of her exhibition, she climbed from a chair to the top of the battered old piano; where she opened her lips to sing one of her course blues. but the alcohol and dizzy twirling had gotten the better of her and she dropped heavily into the arms of some of the by-standers. slippery, who had just come into the room, helped to take her upstairs to bed, where she lay in a drunken stupor. in the clubroom the game went on steadily. the aunt sara's wooden god atmosphere was tense. william was dealing, his small stack of money lay on the table before him. slippery placed his small pile of change on the table, and took a card. the deal went around. sugar kid won. again the cards were spread out. each player picked his card. swish—swish—the cards were turned from the pack. first slippery then william lost and so on around the table. sugar kid swept their money in. slippery, losing the last of his few pennies, stepped aside. “you'se out 'fo you'se in,” sugar kid taunted. “whut's it to you? ah play my own money, don't ah p” slippery asked angrily. “awrite, bo. ah wasn't meanin' no harm. ah was gonna let yuh have uh blind,” sugar kid re- torted. “when ah wants anyt'ing from you, ah’ll whistle !” “yeah. yuh mought git yo' mouth puckered up an’ my fist mought keep it dat uh way.” “ah ain't gonna have no arguin' 'round heah. dis is gonna be uh peaceful game so both uh yuh shut up!” daddy jenks reminded them. hour after hour the game went on, sugar kid taunting the boys spitefully, as one by one they dropped out, their money disappearing into his pockets. but he wanted to break william and al- though he was losing at almost every turn, he stuck with him longer than any of the others. “they call dis game georgy skin, but ah'se a florida boy whut kin teach you georgy punks uh lot uh points,” sugar kid grinned. william was down to his last five dollars. reach- aunt sara's wooden god with the last money from the cash register be- fore him, the gang begged him to quit, but daddy jenks was fascinated. a power stronger than him- self held him. he played on, sometimes winning on a card only to lose again more than he had won. his last dollar lay upon the queen of diamonds, face up. he lost. “yuh wanna quit, dad?” sugar kid asked, cun- ningly gorging him on. “no, ah ain't nebber seen a meat man on earth whut could clean ole daddy jenks,” he answered testily. “ah’ll write yuh uh check, sugar kid. let's play.” “ah don't lak checks, daddy!” sugar kid an- swered. “but ah'll tell yuh whut, ah’ll play yuh for dis clubroom, three chances each. if ah win, ah runs it. if ah lose, ah pay yuh whutever it's worth. whut yuh say?” “no. ah won't do that!” daddy jenks answered slowly. “ah guess ah'll quit!” “an dey say dat you was de greatest gambler 'round heah—was is de rite word l’” sugar kid jeered. “whut yuh mean, was ah still is de best gambler 'roun' heah!” “but you sho is slippin', daddy!” sugar kid taunted. “ah ain't slippin' nothin' uh de kind.” “well, yuh jes' damn scared den!” “ah ain't never been scared uh no man an' ah ain't yit. you put up uh hundred dollars an' if ah lose, ah’ll make yuh out uh lease for uh year on de clubroom,” daddy jenks replied coolly. aunt sara's wooden god “don’t do it, daddy!” william begged, laying his hand on daddy jenks' shoulder. “mine yo' business, son. when ah want advice, ah sees uh lawyerſ” daddy jenks flashed back. “all right, daddy, it's your funeral,” william replied. “yeah, but ah ain't buried yit. whut yuh say, sugar kid, let's get started.” daddy turned to sugar kid impatiently. “sho thing. let willyum deal,” sugar sug- gested. “no, not me!” william spoke up, quickly. “ah'll deal 'em,” slippery offered. “an' ah’ll deal 'em so sugar kid can't look through 'em lake he seem to been doin' all night!” daddy jenks' card was the last to fall for the first deal. the crowd was jubilant. again he and sugar kid picked their respective cards. swish- swish-went the cards to the table. sugar kid won. the cards were again shuffled, and spread on the table face up. each picked their card. tense silence pervaded the room. it was the last deal. the on- lookers scarcely breathed. slippery held the pack tightly gripped in his hand. swish-swish—the card fell to the table. one, another and another. then daddy jenks' card flipped off, as a sigh went around the room. sugar kid had won. daddy jenks sat as if in a dream. he had lost his clubroom, where he had reigned for many years, and with it went the best part of his profit. his body slumped in his chair, as his head rested on the table. sugar kid had slipped quietly from the room. slippery examined the cards carefully. yes, they were all right. the seals had been broken be- aunt sara's wooden god fore their eyes. silently they filed out, leaving the old man alone. william was the last to leave. the first faint streak of dawn was coloring the sky, as he made his way through the semi-darkened streets. after a ten minute walk he reached his cousin sissy's house and let himself into his room, where he lay for hours, thinking of his muddled life in the city. aunt sara's wooden god chapter viii sunday was a great day among the simple farmers in byron. they rose early and hurried to and fro, doing their usual chores before church time when everyone, saint and sinner, were wont to gather for worship. people came from far and near in wagons to which were hitched any kind of animal from horses to oxen. the settlers, who lived a distance from the little meeting-house, hitched their con- veyance to the young saplings that grew in pro- fusion around the church, and remained all day. some brought their dinner in slat baskets and others, who were more fortunate, ate with neighbors, who lived nearby. between the services they gossiped and enjoyed the day like a group of children. the day showed promises of being a fair hot one. jim and ruth did their chores laughing and playing as they worked. sara lou standing on the steps of the back porch threw out hands full of corn and called the cackling chickens to their feed. in the distance birds sang airily. an air of peace pervaded the farm. the field of snow white cotton stood tall and erect, and as jim put it, “nodding” to him to get ready for the picking. putting away the empty pan from which the chickens had been fed, sara lou bustled around the kitchen preparing breakfast and putting the finish- ing touches to the dinner, which had been cooked saturday. she always entertained for dinner a good aunt sara's wooden god many of the farmers, who lived too far away to return home until after the last service. a large cured pork ham lay on the table beside a fathen that had been baked for the occasion. sara lou viewed with pride a large iced cake and two apple pies, as she tried to count her guests—her hand held before her checking off each one with a finger pulled down to her palm. “ah guess ah'se got vittels 'nough ” she mused. “but dere's allus some dat jes' comes in whethur yuh ask dem uh not. now lemme see—dere's hilda an' hur husbun', ben, an’ dere four chillun, dat make six altuhgether an' dere's ole man pettiebone an' 'riher an' de dausies. now how many is dat? lawd, ah'se done lost track. anyhow dere's de preacher. umm, seems lak ah done count uh hundred to say nothin' 'bout cousin ella an' jerimah an' dey six young 'uns. ah guess ah better let ruth put 'em down on paper. ah sho is sorry william ain't heah. he's allus such uh help when my ole brain ain't wukkin' rite.” she gave the big pan of batter bread an impatient push into the oven, and turned to lift the skillet from a hook behind the stove, smiling to herself, as she cut—a small chicken into four parts. “ah guess jim'll purty nigh drop dead at de thought uh me killin' one uh my best pullets for sunday breakfuss but ah wanted to have somethin' real nice for ruth. she's such uh comfort. wonder whut could 'er keep willyum in macon anyhow he done clean forgit dey gonna call uh new preacher today an' 'ull need his advice.” the chicken was soon frying and sputtering in the grease. the odor of bread and boiling coffee aunt sara's wooden god filled the kitchen, as sara lou moved to and fro stopping to mop the perspiration from her brow on the corner of her apron. taking down three plates from the shelf, she wiped them carefully and put them on the table, pausing in her work, as a voice called from the front of the house. “yo hoo, is yuh in, cousin sara p” “yeah, ah'se heah”, she answered loudly. turning, she gasped in amazement, as her cousin ella appeared in the doorway. on each side of her clinging to her calico skirt were her two younger children, her husband jerimah and the four older boys close behind her. “lawdy, cousin sara,” ella exclaimed breath- lessly, “ah was dat scared we'un wouldn't git heah in time for breakfuss. our ole hoss done took sick and we done had to leave home dat early we ain't had no time for vittels so we hurried on heah to eat wid yuh'all. ah tole jerimah it would be awrite wid you.” “course it's awrite, ella,” sara lou answered not over enthusiastic at the prospect of having six more to feed, who would also be on hand for dinner, and it would be just like ella to stop by for a late lunch after the evening services. jim and ruth brought the two pails of fresh warm milk to the kitchen, and washed up for break- fast. sara lou grumbled inaudibly as she added six more plates to the table. jim laughed softly at his mother's chagrin, and cast uneasy eyes toward the yard, where ella's boys were playing. “yuh better keep yo' eyes on 'em, ma,” he warned. “de las' time dey was over heah, dey pulled up nigh all uh my new plants, an' if dey pull aunt sara's wooden god breathe when his two hundred and fifty pound wife was with him. “huh, ah jes' wish jerimah would tech my chillun,” ella remarked, giving him a look that seemed to wither him up like a flower beneath a scorching sun. he opened his mouth to speak, but closed it meekly. jim looked at ruth and they turned their heads to hide the laughter that showed in their faces. “you allus talkin' 'bout my chillun, cousin sara, but you ain't done sich uh good job uh bringin' up wid willyum,” ella said, and the next moment realized she had tread on dangerous ground. “whut you mean, ella, talkin' 'bout my willyum. lak dat?” sara lou asked sharply. “oh, nuthin', cousin sara, but . . jim's hostile look cut her off. she changed quick- ly to: “folks says dat he sho is spendin' lot uh time in macon dese days, not even comin' home most uh de time on sundays.” “well, ah'se satisfied an' it ain't nobody else's business. dey allus did pick on my willyum jes' kaise he's got mo' sense dan de rest uh dese ignorant nigguhs 'roun' heah,” sara lou replied with spirit. “dat's zact’ly whut ah tells 'em,” ella said, look- ing at jim sheepishly. “jim, we better hurry an' do de dishes for an' sara,” ruth said, rising, looking down at the side of her dress which one of the boys seated near her had smeared with molasses. “no, you ain't gonna wash no dishes, ruth !” sara lou spoke up. “you an' jim git ready for church. ah can wash dese dishes in no time an } % aunt sara's wooden god ah'se ready 'cept for puttin' on my clean apron so yuh'all run on upstairs an’ don't be late.” ruth looked reluctantly at the table filled with dirty dishes and smeared with molasses and crumbs, as ella gathered her brood and herded them to the back porch to wash them up for the meeting. jerimah, eager to get out of his wife's opulent presence, slipped out into the yard to smoke his long stemmed clay pipe. jim went quietly upstairs, his thoughts of wil- liam, wondering just what ella had intended saying. he had no doubt that she too had heard some of the talk that drifted into byron of william's life in macon. he wondered how long these stories could be kept from their mother whose adoration and faith in william was pitiful. at any rate, if he could prevent it, nothing would ever reach her ears that would tend to lessen that faith, he resolved, hurriedly changing to his sunday suit. he and ruth would be walking to church alone today. william was usually along, making him look home- lier than ever by comparison. ruth in sara lou's room across the hall, could hear him moving around. quietly she slipped across the hall, and tapped lightly on the door of his room. “come in,” jim called after a moment's silence. “whut you hidin’?” she asked, as he turned from the dresser, where he had shoved something into the half-open drawer. “'tain't nothin’,” jim answered bashfully. “ah’m gonna look an’ see,” ruth laughed, as she pulled the drawer open. “why, jim, whut you aunt sara's wooden god doin' wid dis mail order book?” she questioned, spreading it open on the side of the bed. “lookin' atter uh purtty marryin' dress,” jim answered, turning the pages. ruth looked in rapturous silence at the bridal array pictured there. “ah was jes' thinkin' how purtty yuh'd look in dis 'un,” jim said, pointing to the sheer white dress with sweeping train. “why jim, you know we could never git uh dress lak dat. it'ud cost lotta money but it sho is swell,” ruth sighed. “it's twenty-five dollars an’ dat is uh heap uh money. does yuh lak it, ruth p” he asked, putting his hand caressingly on her shoulder. “’course ah do, jim. ah ain't never had uh silk dress nohow.” “well, we'll jes' wait an' see. maybe some day yuh'll wear it,” jim promised, taking her hand in his tenderly. sara lou's voice called from downstairs, inter- rupted their dream. ruth and jim kissed, and ran downstairs to join her. “yuh'all sho does tak uh time to dress,” she grumbled, as they walked briskly to the little log church nearby. a low murmur went around the assembled wor- shippers as they entered the building. william had not entered with them and they were eager to find out why. reverend thomas, a small, dried up man with a shiny bald spot, whom as sara lou remembered, had always conducted the services whenever the church was without a preacher, stood behind the aunt sara's wooden god rostrum, adjusting his horn rimmed glasses, which had a habit of sliding far down on his small flat nose. “well, sistuhs and brudders,” he wheezed through his nose. “it’s become my duty to take de place uh our dear departed pastor dis morning.” the congregation peeped at each other sheepishly. they all knew that reverend thomas would preach at least two hours, if some of the deacons seated on the rostrum did not stop him or he had to stop from sheer exhaustion. “ah'se gonna take my text in revelations in de words uh john— “an dese are dem, who done washed dere gar- ments in de blood uh de lamb,'” he announced, looking over his sliding spectacles. the congregation settled themselves more com- fortably. they knew when reverend thomas chose revelations, they were in for an all-day session. sister spencer, a little old dried-up, brown woman, who, ever since sara lou and some of the older settlers could remember, had held the place of honor as the best moaner in the amen corner, settled herself more comfortably, pushed her snuff brush to a secure corner of her mouth, and started her plaintive moaning, “preachee, brudder thomas, preachee!” and kept it up except for the few mo- ments she dozed. reverend thomas preached on. brave souls amened and every now and then shouted a loud “hallelujah!” “help 'im lawd!” jim slept faithfully through the long sermon, re- fusing to awake even to ruth's nudging. even sara aunt sara's wooden god lou snatched a few nods occasionally. somebody started a hymn. the congregation joined in sleep- ily. gradually they shook off their drowsiness and gained in volume in their singing until reverend thomas, no longer able to talk loud enough to be heard above their blatant voices, sank into his seat, wearily mopping his brow with his large red cotton handkerchief. the congregation now fully awake, sang lustily, swaying to the rhythm of the song. “in de morning when de lawd says hurry . . .” until one of the deacons, jaffus simms, raised his hand, bringing their song to an end. “brudders an’ sisters,” he began, and after clear- ing his throat several times continued. “us done hearn uh powfull sermon dis mornin', an' 'fo ah raise de collection, i wan' to ask yuh'all is anybody heah present got uh preacher in mind dat we kin call to pastor dis church now dat we'se widout uh leader uh dis flock? 'course brudder thomas heah is uh ordain preacher, but we done asked him, as we'se allers done, in de pass when we was widout uh shepard an' he done refused.” “an' ah rises to say, brudder simms, dat de reason is dat ah ain't so strong as ah uster be, an' ah couldn't stan' de strain.” thomas interrupted, rising from his seat, panting from his exertions. “thank yuh, brother thomas,” simms acknowl- edged, and continued: “i don't zackley see how we'se gonna git any whar wid brudder william carter not heah, him bein’ de junior deacon uh dis church as well as de clerk. is dere anythin' wrong wid 'im, sister carter?” turning to sara lou. sara lou hastened to reply. “lawd no, brudder simms, i guess he done stayed in macon 'count 'er aunt sara's wooden god 'portant business but he'll be heah bright an' early next sunday.” “well, ah moves eff'en ah kin git uh second, dat we wait ontell next sunday when we'ull have brud- der willyum wid us,” simms put to the congrega- tion. after the members gave assent to their wil- lingness to wait, the matter was put aside and the services closed with the benediction. ruth and jim, taking advantage of sara lou's being besieged on every side with questions about william's absence, walked home alone. “you know ruth,” jim said thoughtfully, after they had walked a distance in silence, “ah wish we could git married right uh way.” “jim, you sho is for hurryin' up some things an’ slow 'bout other things,” ruth laughed. “ah wants you, ruth. somethin' insider me is jes' cryin' for yuh honey.” “an' ah done tole you it's bad luck to marry while you're wearin' black for yo' folks!” “ah don't b'lieve in dem signs. ah wants to be sho uh you, an' 'sides ah been havin' uh spell uh mighty bad dreams lately.” “dat's b'lievin' in signs, jim,” ruth reminded him. they both laughed at his contradictory moods and hurried home to start putting dinner on the table before sara lou's many hungry guests arrived. everyone sara lou expected for dinner came and almost as many more. they had to be fed in sec- tions, the grown-ups first and a second table for the children. after dinner, the men strolled around the farm smoking their pipes, while sara lou and the women sat on the front porch stirring their neatly chewed brushes, deep in their boxes of rail- aunt sara's wooden god road snuff, everybody enjoying themselves and re- laxing for the big meeting to be held that night when the much-talked-of “swamp angel” would preach one of his stirring sermons at their own cal- vary. excitedly they talked of the many things they had heard about his fiery sermons, how he could be heard for as far as a mile away, and the many souls he gained for the lord, how at the climax of his preaching, he placed the bible upon his shoulder and walked the aisles of the church, the building trem- bling under his three hundred pound tread. thus the afternoon passed and the evening found them again in the little church, where for more than three hours the swamp angel preached his sermon of fire and brimstone and lived up to all the things that had been told about his mighty power to rock the very depths of a sinner's soul. jim, his mother and ruth walked home after the meeting in silence, each busy with their own thoughts, and sara lou hurried straight upstairs to bed. dis- appointment over william's not coming home or sending a message to say why, filled her heart but she would not for the world have let anyone, not even jim, know it. “come on, ruth, less you an' me eat some vit- tels,” jim, who was always hungry, suggested when he and the girl were alone. “ah don't want nothin' to eat but ah'll come an' keep yo' company,” ruth consented. jim pushed her playfully into a chair at the table, and placed a glass of milk and a slice of cake before her, taking his place beside her a moment later with a plate filled and overflowing with food. “ah had dis vittels hid in de stove. ah was aunt sara's wooden god scared dem starved out old stickin' plasters was gointer eat up everything today,” he laughed. “no wonder you dream all kinds uh dreams,” ruth smiled. “jes' look whut you goin' to bed on.” “dis ain't nothin' but uh bite. you ought'uh see whut ah does eat som'times.” “well, don't complain 'bout bad dreams den, jim.” “gee, boy, you sho can hug!” ruth com- plained a few moments later when jim, having fin- ished his meal, caught her in his arms. “ah loves you so much, ruth, dat it makes me scared sometimes,” jim whispered, kissing her be- fore he let her go. “an' ah loves you more den so much,” ruth re- turned, playfully pinching his round cheeks, and running lightly upstairs where she lay awake think- ing for a long while beside his mother, who was sleeping soundly. after a day of excitement and bustle, everything was still. outside firebugs flitted to and fro, making the only light to be seen for miles. another sunday had come and gone in the peace- ful village. everybody had put on their sunday best and served god in their own simple way. monday would find them again in their grimy rags —busy, hard working farmers intent on their daily tasks. aunt sara's wooden god monday when william awoke, it was raining— a steady down-pour. the dampness that seethed through the partly paneless window had awakened him. he searched around for a few old rags to shut it out, and crept back into bed. it was one o'clock when sissy returned from gathering up her numerous bundles of washings. william had fallen into a heavy sleep. hurriedly she made a fire in the kitchen stove, and warmed up the remainder of the sunday dinner, adding a batch of butter milk biscuits and setting the table for two. “git up, boy, an’ less eat. lawd ah ain't never seed a body dat sleeped de whole day through 'thout' dey was sick,” she chided. william rose, stretching sleepily and soon joined her in the kitchen. “you bettuh drink some 'uh dis sassfrass tea. it'll bring yuh out,” sissy suggested. william reached for the tin cup sissy always kept on the back of the stove and poured a cup of the hot tea. “willyum, how come you didn't go home sat- tiday night?” she asked, setting the plate of hot biscuits on the table. “i didn't feel well and i know it would've wor- ried ma,” william replied, busily helping his plate. “dat's you, willyum, never wantin' to worry no- body wid yo' troubles,” sissy agreed, looking at him fondly and adding: “ah sho wish som'times dat ah had uh thought uh somebody 'sides myself, 'fo ah ups an' runs off lak ah did, but no, ah jes' hated tyin' myself down wid lots uh promises to one man an’ kaise ah was sot on doin' my own choosin' an' aunt sara's wooden god week you been telling me the same lie—you'd pay in a few days and i'm fed up with you,” stevens re- torted angrily, shaking his finger under william's nose. “whew ſ” slippery grunted, looking after the merchant when he walked away. “dat white man sho is mad.” “yeah, and i sure am in a tight place. where'm i gonna get thirty-five dollars?” william groaned. “man, is you askin' me? yo' goose sho is cooked kaise dat other white man whut you owes ten dol- lars done been heah an' said de self-same mourn- ful words dis mornin',” slippery informed. “instead of paying off those debts saturday morn- ing when i had the money, i had to hold it and lose it back saturday night. i had just as well pack up and start traveling if jim ever finds this out.” “maybe you could borrow de money from daddy jenks,” slippery suggested. “not a chance, slippery. i owes him now, and now that he's lost his club room to sugar kid, he'll be tighter than nick's hat band.” “you think sugar kid 'ud loan it to you?” slip- pery asked hopefully. “no, he don't like me. maybe i could borrow it from ethel,” william mused, his face lighting with hope. “don’t make me laugh, william. dat broad got pulled in dis morning for fightin'. 'course daddy jenks got her out but whut li'l' money she did have, she done turned it over to him for payin' her fine.” “well, that's that and to tell the truth i don't wanna get under no obligation to her nohow.” “dat's one time you is so right. ontell you is aunt sara's wooden god perfect, dat gal's pizin. whutever yuh do, stear clear uh dat drunken hussy. she'll git you in uh mess uh trouble,” slippery advised. “ah guess ah’ll take a chance and ask sugar kid. he can't say nothing worse than no,” william ven- tured, ignoring his warning. “ah b'lieve he'll let yuh have it jes' for biggity. he's got gobs uh money an' loves notuhriety. he'll jes' love to brag 'bout havin' to help you out. ah'll go over dere an' git 'im.” suiting his words to action, slippery was gone, returning in a few mo- ments followed by the swaggering sugar kid, who guessed that the cause of william's sudden desire to see him was to ask a favor. he was none too popular with the gang but william was, and it would be a good thing to have him under obligation to him so that he could use him to win the confidence of the boys to continue gambling in the club room he had won from daddy jenks. yes, he would do what- ever william wanted of him, provided it was not too large a sum, he decided, but he would be sure to get evidence of the favor in black and white. then if william attempted to show off, he could put him in his place. “yuh craves to see me, carter?” he asked, step- ping into the shop, rolling the big black cigar he was smoking from side to side between his beefy lips. “yes, sugar kid,” william answered, backed up by a wink from slippery, who walked through to the back of the shop. “sit down,” william offered, and continued pleas- antly. “i want to ask you to lend me some money for a few days.” aunt sara's wooden god “how much money?” “'bout thirty-five dollars.” “whut's yuh got dat's worth dat much 'cause ah gotta have some kin'er security for my money, yuh know,” sugar kid said, shrewdly pulling out a roll of bills. “i’ll give you my word that i’ll pay you in thirty days,” william smiled. “no suh’reel ah ain't dat dumb, carter. ah gotta have black an' white dat don't fool nobody, for my hard cash an' you gotta write it out dat effen you don't pay me in thirty days, ah kin take over dis shop,” sugar kid replied, his eyes running estimatingly over the small stock of pressing equip- ment in the place. “all right, sugar kid. i’ll give you a note prom- ising to pay in thirty days or turn the shop over to you,” william consented. sugar kid made himself comfortable, puffing his cigar in hard quick puffs, as william hunted in the drawer of the table for pen and paper, and in a few moments passed the note over for sugar kid to read. he studied it carefully, spelling out the words slowly and passed it back to william. “now sign it, william, good an' clear in big let- ters,” he directed. william signed the note, as he laughingly re- torted, “you’re a good business man, sugar. i'll grant you that.” “tries to be, carter,” sugar kid admitted, count- ing out the bills and placing the note carefully in his wallet. “ah don't want yuh to think dat ah don't trust you neithur jes' kaise ah ask for dis note. ah jes' aunt sara's wooden god laks to be on de safe side but ah’m glad jes' de same to do you uh favor.” “and i sure thanks you,” william acknowledged, almost having to grit his teeth to hold back the words he would have liked to say to the big brag- gard. “dat's de way to feel, carter. ah wants all uh you boys to feel dat when you plays wid me, every- thin' is on de up an' up. now dat ah’m de boss over dere at de club room, ah'se yo' friend an' ah wants you to help me make de boys know dat kaise ah b'lieve you for one done been thinkin' diffunt,” sugar kid hinted. “forget it, sugar kid ' that girl's remarks up- set me friday night. you're all right with me.” “dat's how ah loves to heah you talk kaise ah wouldn't ever thought uh lendin' nobody but you dat much dough. ah laks yuh an' dis is gwine tuh be strickly private 'twix us.” “mighty nice of you, sugar kid,” william acknowledged. slippery stepped into the room as soon as sugar kid cleared the door, a broad grin wreathing his homely red face, struggling to control his laughter until sugar kid was out of hearing. he puffed an imaginary cigar and imitated the lolling gambler. “gee, dat nigguh gives me uh laff, he'll keep it uh secret. ha, ha! he kin hardly wait to git cross de street to spread de news but ah’m gonna fix 'im. ah’m gonna git dat paper off'en him 'fo he kin say scat an' den let him try an' collect his ole measly thirty-five dollars,” he avowed. “you better say you reckon,” william laughed, hurrying out of the shop to pay stevens the money aunt sara's wooden god which would at least save him in that direction, and wondering what would be the next mishap to befall him. neither he nor slippery dreamed how much trouble that small slip of paper would cause them both. aunt sara's wooden god chapter x john stevens was surprised when a short time later, william appeared at the store and paid over the thirty-five dollars and said in his usual blunt way. “i hated to have to be so severe with you, wil- liam, about my money, but business is business, and right now it's as bad as it can be, and i need money to carry on. you people are easy going. you jes' live today with no thought of tomorrow, and have to be shaken up to get anything out 'er you.” “that's all right, mr. stevens. i'm glad to get it off my mind. i ain't making much money now in my shop, that's why i haven't paid it before,” wil- liam replied. “you know i can't see why you don't stay home and help your ma and jim with the farming, william p” “i’m attending school here. that's why, mr. stevens.” “didn't you go to school in byron? yo' pa, john carter, ain't never went to high school, and he was as good 'er farmer as there was anywhar. you young darkies make me sick, hanging round go- ing to high school, and when youse come out all finished, all you'll do is loaf.” “i’m going to college when i finishes and i’m not going to loaf when i'm all through, neither,” wil- liam answered shortly, hardly able to hide his anger. but before he left the store, he and stevens were laughing and talking pleasantly, and he had accepted aunt sara's wooden god an offer from the merchant to ride to byron with him saturday. the rest of the week he loafed around his shop while slippery did the little work that had been brought in. the days were hot, bringing thunder storms that did not help the suf- ferers in any way except to make the streets sloppier and the air more stifling, and bring in their wake swarms of mosquitoes that made the long close nights a torture. the streets were filled with strangers, their dirty, sweaty overalls sticking to their bodies, as they loitered around broad street, filling up on white mule, playing pool and georgia skin or dancing in daddy jenks' back room to rancorous tinpanny music. sure-foot-jack, a six foot policeman, who had been so nick-named because of the fact his foot never failed to connect with the part of the anatomy at which it was aimed, was kept on the alert hunt- ing out vagrants. william felt sick of the whole thing. even slip- pery's coughing and spitting around the shop, wher- ever it suited him, got on his nerves, and sugar kid whose greatest fear was the law, had taken to sit- ting around the shop almost all day, much to his displeasure. so he spent most of his time in ethel's room laying half clad on the rusty iron bed, pushed close to the window, while ethel, happy to have him around, brought his meals up to him from one of the many dingy little restaurants. saturday came at last and william rode home in stevens' car late in the afternoon. his mother and ruth were seated on the front porch when he stepped out of the car. aunt sara's wooden god “lawd heah's my boy,” sara lou exclaimed hap- pily, running to the gate as fast as her rheumatic legs could carry her. “yea, the prodigal is here,” william remarked. “you ain't no prodigal, son. kaise yuh ain't done nothin' wrong,” his mother laughed. “you jes' comin' home to yo’ ole ma whut loves yuh. “howde mr. stevens. ah clean forgot my man- ners, bein’so glad to see dis heah boy.” “jes' fine, aunt sara. thought while i was coming out, i'd jes' as well give william a lift.” “an' ah'se sho thankin' you for it, mr. stevens. 'member me to de misses, when you gits home. lawd don't look lak ah helped to nurse her, time done pass so fast.” “no, it don't, aunt sara, not with all the six young uns she's got hanging round her skirt tail now. how's your cotton comin' on p” john stevens asked, looking towards the field in the distance. “jes' fine. jim says dis gointer be de best crop we's had ſ” “wal, i'll be moving on aunt sara. you ain't heard nothing from gordon, is you?” he asked, as he turned the car in the direction of his place two miles further. “no suh, not uh word since way lass month. guess he'll be gone a spell.” sara lou called, to which william added his thanks for the ride. “mighty fine uh mr. stevens bringin' yuh home, willyum,” sara lou said, looking after the fast disappearing car. “sure was, ma,” william replied, seating himself on the edge of the porch at ruth's feet. “come on in an' git yo' supper, son, we done aunt sara's wooden god eat but ah put yuh uns whar it ud keep hot,” sara lou said, playfully pulling william to his feet. “ah'se gotta 'sprize for yuh,” she said later as she set a generous portion of ginger bread before him. “i’ve got a mind to eat it first,” william threat- ened. “dar yuh go jes' lak when yuh was uh little boy, wantin' to eat yo' dessert fust. mind out or ah’ll take it way from yuh,” his mother teased reaching for the plate. “ah’ll be good ma, 'clare to goodness i will. see, cross my heart and ah’ll give you a big kiss to boot,” william teased, as he caught the hand that held the plate and drawing her to him, smacked a kiss on her cheek. “lawd boy, you'se de beatinest for makin' a body do whut you wants done,” his mother laughed. as he ate, his gaze rested on jim and ruth, whom he could see through the window, their heads close together, tying a vine that had broken and lay across the path. he could not help a pang of hot jealous anger that gripped his heart. he had been a fool to think that ruth did not care more for jim than she did for him. there was a look in her eyes, as she looked up into his face that told plainly that she did. he felt ashamed of the murderous thoughts the knowledge brought him and wondered could he give up the hope of winning her. one thing he was sure of, he had never liked jim and at that moment he hated him, and would like to have swept him from his path, no matter how. he was slowly finishing his meal, absorbed by his aunt sara's wooden god jealous thoughts when his mother sat at the table opposite him. “you think yuh gointer finish school dis year, william?” she was asking. with a start he brought his thoughts back to the present, answering, “i’m sure of it, ma. it won't be hard for me to make two terms when i get started.” “dat's fine, son, an’ ah’m goin'ter lay by a little money from de cotton dis year for when yuh starts in de preachin' school. ah jes' knows you goin'ter be de finest preacher dere ever was, willyum. ah'se wearin' out my knees prayin' for dat one thing an’ ah gointer keep rite on prayin', an’ ah knows dat god gonna answer my prayers.” “thank you ma. i'm going to do my best.” “dat's all we kin do, our best all de time an' not git too proud an' puffed up kaise god don't want us to be too proud.” “i know ma but sometimes i don't feel like i really know what i wants and i tries so hard to make myself satisfied with what blessing i have but, oh, i don't know, ma, it just seems like a lots of different devils fighting inside of me, making me want to do wrong and makin' me not able to do what i really wants to do. ah! don't mind me, ma. i'm kind'er talking crazy now, ain't i?” sara lou, tears filling her eyes, reached over and patted her favorite on the shoulder. “my pore boy,” she murmured. “ah knows jes' whut yuh means. dere's lots uh things william dat ah'se allers prayin' you'll escape. maybe ah should tell 'yuh 'bout' 'em, but ah ain't got de courage.” tears of remembrance filled sara lou's eyes as aunt sara's wooden god her mind traveled back over a past that was filled with things she would have loved to forget. wil- liam caught and squeezed her hand, and rising quick- ly, walked around the table and placed his arm around her shoulder. “don't ma,” he whispered huskily. “don’t mind me, willyum. ah’m gittin' ole an' ah guess sometimes ah does git crazy ideas. ah'll jes' set dese things 'way an we'll go an' sit on de porch an' sing some hymns. dat'll cheer us up. dere ain't nothin' lak singin' god's praises to cheer a body up,” she whispered, closer to william than she had ever been, even in the days she had cuddled his brown curly head on her breast and tried to figure out what the future would hold for her illegitimate child, who would always walk in the middle of the road, not being able to get a firm footing on either side. “yes i guess when you sings you ain't got no time to think about the things that worries you,” wil- liam said thoughtfully, but there was no enthusiasm in his voice and his mother looked at him inquiringly. “whut's troublin' yuh, willyum?” she asked, placing her hand on his shoulder tenderly. “'tain't nothin' much, ma. nothing that you can help,” looking beyond her searching eyes. “but maybe ah kin help. tell me son.” “well for one thing, ah needs some money. the shop ain't been doing so well lately and i owe a debt i've got to pay right'er way. if you could let me have the money, i'll pay it back as soon as i start making money.” “’course ah'll let you have de money. ah ain't been botherin' wid lookin' atter things 'round heah aunt sara's wooden god uh late. ah'se jes' left it all to jim an' ah don't know dat he's got any money left atter de spring seed buyin' but ah knows we'll have some jes' soon as we sells dis cotton crop.” “but i needs it the first of next month, ma.” “den ah'll find out whut jim's got. ah could allers go to mr. gordon when he was heah.” “there ain't much chance of me getting it then if you expects to get it from jim,” william replied hopelessly. “ah don't know why you two boys is allers 'gainst one 'nother. it's jes' plum pass understandin', will- yum. sometime ah wonder ef'fen yuh loves one 'nother uh tall lak brudders aught to.” “it ain't my fault, ma. jim is just so set against me stayin' in macon and tryin' to get an education. jes' because he don't care for school, he can't see why anyone else should, and thinks i’m throwing away lots of money when the fact is i don't have none to throw away.” “don’t blame him too much, son. he jes' lak his pa was, hard-workin' an' no frills but he got uh good heart an' you is jes' lak ah was 'fore you was born, cravin' atter learnin' and wantin' to be some- body. yuh two is far uh part as de east an' west but ah sho wish you'ud try an' git long together,” sara lou sighed. “i do try, ma, but jim is stubborn and don't seem to even like me,” william complained. sara lou shook her head slowly and led the way to the front porch, where jim and ruth were seated on the steps. jim turned and looked at his mother and william as they came out of the house. he could see from his mother's troubled expression that aunt sara's wooden god something was wrong and wondered what william could have been saying that disturbed her. he had not seen william since he came home an hour earlier and although he was glad to have him home, he never made a fuss over his visits and now calmly helloed in his slow, undemonstrative way. ruth sat in a low rocker at sara lou's side, and william seated himself on the step she had just va- cated beside jim. the early twilight brought a breath of coolness after a day that had been hot and sultry. the heavy odor of honeysuckles that clung to the porch was sweet with fragrance. sara lou, rocking back and forth, started singing one of her favorite spirituals. ruth's soft soprano mingled with the deeper melody of the two boys as song after song floated upon the r. william's thoughts drifted in comparison to the noisy music of daddy jenks' dance hall with its sor- did crowd shouting discordant blues. the quiet peace of his home engulfed him with a mood of spiritual longing. he hated macon fiercely for all of the corruption it had brought into his life during that brief spell of emotion. he wondered how he had been able to stand it so long. new resolutions formed in his heart. his mother's plaintive singing smote his heart. “go find my sheep,” her voice crooned soft and effectively, bringing hot tears to his eyes. he felt relieved when she rose and announced it was time to go in and have their usual evening prayer. lighting the kerosene lamp that stood on the little marble topped table in the parlor, sara lou aunt sara's wooden god opened the bible to the twenty-third psalm, and passed it to william to read. “william, you lead us in prayer dis evening. you ain't home much an’ ah laks to hear yo' voice in prayer. it kin'er gives me mo' stren'th to carry on,” she said when he lay the book on the table at the end of the reading. william knelt obediently. he knew what his re- ligion meant to his mother and although he did not feel like praying, after he started, he poured out his soul to god, tears of repentance flowing down his face. sara lou rose from her knees feeling better than she had during the two weeks he had not come home. “come on, ruth chile, less us go on upstairs, an' leave dese boys to dey seffs. maybe dey want'uh talk wid one 'nother widout us womens hangin' 'round,” sara lou remarked, playfully pushing ruth up the narrow stairway before her. william and jim talked for a while about the cot- ton and the gordon peaches that jim was busy pick- ing with luke brown and slack henderson assisting him. “what are they bringing, jim?” william asked interested. “twenty-five cents uh bushel an' it looks lak ah'm goin' to have 'bout five hundred bushels,” jim re- plied proudly. “we ain't gonna have no peaches this year to amount to anything i notice,” william remarked. “no ah jes' set dem trees out lass year an' ah didn't 'speck much ud dem dis soon but next year dey gonna be loaded.” “how 'bout the watermelons and canteloupes?" aunt sara's wooden god william asked, turning the leaves of a book that lay on the table. “not so bad but dere ain't gointer be no money but de cotton money dis year an' when we gits uh few things dat we needs to fix up de place, dat'll be all gone. ah’m doin’ all ah kin dis year so as next year we'll uh have some spare money. ma's so set on you goin' to atlanta to dat preachin' school,” jim said, trying hard to keep out of his voice the trace of impatience he felt towards his brother's ambition. william did not answer. he knew that school was a sore spot with jim, and he did not want to start an argument, not just now when he needed a favor anyway. “i’m sleepy. guess i'll go to bed so that i can get a little rest. got to be in church all day to- morrow,” he said instead. “you laks bein’ in church all day, william but ah jes' hates to sit dere an' heah dem ole sisters uh moanin' an’ de preacher gittin' all het up an’ spittin' 'round. ah don't mind de singin' and prayin' but dey keeps at it too long to suit me,” jim complained. “why jim, anybody to hear you wouldn't think you was brought up in a christian home an' by a mother like ma.” “you mean dey'd be sprized to see dat ah kin tell de truth. most uh dese folks 'roun' heah would say de same thing effen dey wasn't scared uh whut de others 'ud say effen dey heard 'em, but ah ain’t. ah'ud heap ruther be home hoein’ cotton or somethin'. ah b'lieves in god same as everybody else does, but ah knows dat most uh dat loud aunt sara's wooden god preachin' is jes' uh bluff to cover up de fact dey don't know nothin' 'tall 'bout de bible an' it makes me sick.” “but don't you ever let ma hear you talk like that. it would make her sick in bed,” william cau- tioned, adding: “and i don't like to hear you talk like that myself cause some day i intends to be a preacher.” “an' when you gits to be uh preacher, effen yuh ever does, you gointer be plenty learnt an' yuh ain't gointer preach long for fear de folks'll forgit to put plenty in de collection plate,” jim laughed. william felt a wave of anger rising within him but he hid it with a smile, as he said. “never mind, jim, jes' wait till you get religion. then we'll see how you feel about it. i bet you'll want 'er be sittin' in church all day.” “ah'll be jes' lak ah is now, plain an' strait. re- ligion or nuthin' ain't gointer change me, an' effen dey ever makes me uh deacon, de fust thing ah'se gointer do is vote dat ole brudder thomas don't never be lowed to preach agin long as he lives,” jim declared. “what has poor brother thomas done now that you're ready to shut him up forever and break his poor old asthmatic heart?” william asked, laugh- ing heartily at jim's serious mien. “he ain't done nothin' but git up lass sunday an' preach for two solid hours.” “how did they ever stop him?” “some uh de folks jes' got to singin' an' he couldn't talk louder den dey could sing so he jes' shut up. boy it sho was funny.” william could not help joining in the laugh jim aunt sara's wooden god was enjoying. he could imagine he saw brother thomas gasping for breath and preaching on and on. “but william dat ain't nothin' to de one dey calls de swamp angel dat preached lass sunday night,” jim went on and william listened again to a lengthy description of that preacher. - “honest jim, it's a sin to make fun of god's mes- sengers like you do,” he said at the end of his re- cital. “ah ain't makin' fun uh dem. ah b'lieves in dem when dey preach good sound gospel but jes' jumpin' 'roun' makin' lots uh noise don't mean nothin'.” “well anyhow, we'd better be getting to bed,” william said, leading the way. jim closed the front door and followed. they undressed in silence. it had been rather pleasant to laugh and talk together without ending in an argument, jim's thoughts ran. he loved his handsome wayward brother and did not even sur- mise that deep down in william's heart, he disliked him and always had. he had played his cards well and managed to keep cool for a point and long after jim had fallen asleep, william lay planning how he would try and get a loan out of jim by playing up to him pleasantly. aunt sara's wooden god most of the evening and to ruth's relief, william walked almost the distance home before he said the things she had been praying he would not say. “some day when my dreams come true, ruth,” he began, “i wants you to be my wife. will you promise?” it was all she could do to keep from telling him that she and jim were engaged but they had planned to keep it a secret, and she would not tell even wil- liam although it would perhaps keep him from forcing his attentions on her. instead she answered simply. “ah can't say whut ah’ll do dat far off, william.” “it don't have to be far off. we can marry now an' while i’m away in atlanta, you can jes' go on livin' with ma,” william persisted. “but ah don't love you dat uh way, william. ah jes' feels toward you lakuh sister.” “do you feel the same towards jim p” william asked, determined to have his answer or know whether jim was the cause of her evasiveness. “let's don't talk uh 'bout it,” ruth evaded, as some of the church members caught up with them. martha green and sally afin peck dropped back beside them to talk about the new preacher. “ah b'lieves we all gointer like de new preacher,” sally was saying. “he don't preach all night lak some uh dem does an' whut he says is de gospel truth.” “yeah, dat jes' suits you, sally,” martha broke in. “you don't lak to sit church 'long nohow. as for my part, ah don't know as ah’m gonna lak him uh tall. he puts on too much airs.” and the battle was on as usual. ruth thought of aunt sara's wooden god what her father had had to contend with, how these same people had fought him when he first came to their church and wondered why it should always be so with every new preacher. william ended the discussion by letting them know he was going to back the new preacher in every way, and martha, not wanting to oppose any one brud- der william was for, fell to finding many good points in the sermon and decided after all, the new reverend hooper was all right. sally ann laughed heartily at her sudden change of heart and they were again off on one of their usual arguments. “ruth, think over what i asked you,” william said when they were again alone after bidding the two women good-bye. she did not answer, but quickening her steps, passed into the house and ran lightly up to her room. × xk k monday morning jim realized his fears had been well-founded although the storm had done no serious harm to the cotton except to beat some of it down a bit, which could be fixed by filling in the rows with the dirt that had been washed away. but other damage had been done. the cotton house-roof had been partly blown away and the posts that held the long rails that made the fence around the field were in many places down and needed immediate repair- in . william rose early and helped jim and ruth with their work, deciding to stay a few days and help with the repairs, which surprised and pleased jim. aunt sara's wooden god “ah'll be mighty glad to have yuh helpin' me, william,” he said warmly. and sara lou, always alert to the best in her be- loved son, remarked happily. “dat'll be jes' fine, willyum. ah sho will be happy to have both my boys 'roun' workin' together an' me an' ruth cookin' hot dinners for yo' hun- gry mouths. lawd, it'll mind me uh times when yore pa was livin' an' you an' jim was helpin' him wid de farmin’.” “an' ah’ll help too. dere's lots ah kin do,” ruth added. “lawd chile, you can't do nothin' to suit dem two men 'side cook an' wait on 'em,” sara lou laughed. “we'll see 'bout that, ruth. you may be useful in keeping me an' jim from fightin' before the week is over,” william remarked. “now don't you two go an' git in no fight kaise ef'fen you does, ah'll jes' switch yuh both,” their mother warned. they all laughed heartily at the mental picture of her switching them and started the day merrily, working first on the cotton house roof. sara lou hummed happily as she worked around the house, a contented smile wreathing her round face. “come heah, ruth an' take dis bucket uh grub an' some milk over to julie for de new baby she got," she called when the dishes had been washed and dried. “ah'se ready an' sara,” ruth answered, taking the pails. “you hurry back, ruth. ah clean forgot julie. her breast done dried up an' dere ain't a blessed thing for dat pore little mite to nurse on. dat hus- aunt sara's wooden god ban' uh hearn is too lazy for anything. jes' sittin' 'roun' waitin' for cotton pickin' stead 'er gittin' out pickin' up uh nickle or two. pore julie is smart uh nouff when she ain't got uh new baby to keep 'er in bed.” “an' dat ain't often she ain’t,” ruth said, as she hurried away. william and jim worked steadily all morning and returned to their job after the noon day dinner. that night they sat out on the porch after supper to get a breath of fresh air and sara lou laughed and talked and led in hymns until time to retire. several times during the next day william tried to get up courage to ask jim to let him have some money. he felt sure there was none on hand to be had but jim stood well with everybody around byron, and could borrow money any time he needed it. besides he knew he had received some money for the peaches he had already delivered to mr. carmicheil, who ran the general store and shipped crates of fruit to northern markets. the money was owen gordon's but jim could lend him some of it if he cared to, and as gordon would not be home until after the cotton was picked and sold, it cer- tainly could be replaced. every now and then william glanced at jim working a short distance away. they were work- ing in the gordon orchard stripping the peach trees of their last remaining luscious fruit. late that afternoon, william unaccustomed to working so steadily, complained of being tired. “go on up to de house an' rest uh spell,” jim advised. “an' close de windows an' lock up while you'se dere,” he called, as william walked away. aunt sara's wooden god after closing the windows that had been opened to air the house out and locking the door, william stretched himself out on the back porch to rest and in a few moments was drifting drowsily into a light sleep. ruth's voice calling jim from the back gate awakened him. “come on in ruth. jim's in the orchard,” he called to her, sitting up. “it's really you ah wants. ah got uh letter for you, william,” she smiled, handing him the letter. william glanced quickly at the envelope. it was from macon and looked like slippery's writing. what on earth could have made him write, he won- dered. certainly nothing that would make him happy, he decided before tearing the seal. ruth was looking toward the peach orchard, where the outlines of jim's figure could be seen moving to and fro among the shadows of the trees. “ah’m gointer run over dere an' scare jim,” she laughed starting towards the orchard. william read the letter carefully and tore it into small bits, kicking them under the sand with his toes. the letter was worse than he had expected. creditors hounding the shop and sugar kid hang- ing around bragging to the boys that in a few weeks he would be running the shop. his heart filled with anger towards jim. how easy it would be for him to help him out. he realized he had made quite a few mistakes but if jim would only let him have enough money to square himself he would not be a fool again, he promised himself. he could see jim and ruth talking under the trees. jim was handing her a large yellow peach from one of the crates. she was smiling her thanks aunt sara's wooden god prettily. fierce hatred filled his heart. he re- sented everything about the homely, ignorant, cool- headed jim, who although his inferior in looks and learning, possessed the power to make him feel small with his calm, clear vision and busy useful life. ruth waved a cheery goodbye as she passed through the yard, and he waved back to her listless- ly, and sat for a few moments trying to calm the emotions that filled his heart. when he walked over to where jim was busy sorting peaches, he was coolly smiling. “did yuh rest any?” jim asked. “yes, a little but i just received a letter that made me feel more tired than i was before.” “bad news?” “yes, it sure was bad news and i want to ask you to do me a favor.” “whut is de favor, william?” “i wants you to loan me some money.” “how much an' whut for, william p” jim asked, looking for the first time at william. “well as much as i dislike asking a favor, jim, i'm behind in the rent of my shop an' last month i , borrowed some money to pay it when it was due and now i've gotta pay the money i borrowed back an' the rent again too. i ain't been makin' nothin' and i gave a fellow a note on the place, and i know it'ud worry ma if i lose the shop.” “how much money does yuh need?” “fifty dollars would square everything and i’d pay you back as soon as i make some money.” “ah haven't got fifty dollars, willyum an' besides ah knows dat you'se lyin'. you borrowed money to pay mr. stevens wid atter me givin' yuh de aunt sara's wooden god all 'bout yuh gamblin' in macon an' everything ah knows 'bout yo' doin’,” jim threatened. “and if you do, i'll smash your ugly black face in, you stingy good-for-nothing fool,” william hissed, and, completely losing control of himself in face of what he realized was failure to get his aim, he struck jim full on the mouth, taking him by sur- prise, but not for long. jim's fist shot out catching him on the point of the chin, and william reeled, almost falling to the ground. the fight was on. back and forth blows rained. they fought like mad beasts until a hard blow from jim, the stronger of the two, sent wil- liam to the ground. jim stood over him for a moment undecided whether to pull him to his feet and knock him down again or to walk away and leave him where he had fallen, but as william lay still, realization dawned upon him that he was not faking but unconscious. quicky drawing water from the well nearby, he bathed his face and lifting him to his shoulder, carried him to the gordon porch, where he worked over him until he regained consciousness and was able to stand. jim felt sick and ashamed of what had happened and tried to tell william how sorry he was but william gave him no answer, as he carefully brushed the sand from his clothes, and walked out of the gate, his head high, hate and anger raging in his heart. all the pent- up feelings he had had against jim for years filled his heart. he would make him pay for beating him that afternoon. there were several ways. he knew them all. he had taken over the farm which was as much his and his mother's and ran it, spend- aunt sara's wooden god ing the money as he saw fit. he would put an end to that, he vowed. jim sat where william had left him. his head bowed in his hands. it was the first real fight they had had since they had grown to manhood and al- though william had struck him first, he blamed him- self for losing his temper to the extent he had. it had been so pleasant the last two days working and talking together. it was a relief to them both when ruth told them on reaching home that their mother had gone over to sally brown's cabin, as sally was sick and alone. “she sayd for yuh to bring me over dere soon as supper's over, jim,” she said. and as soon as the dishes were washed and put away, jim and ruth went over to sally's, leaving william sulking at home. sara lou looked up as they entered, a wave of disappointment passing over her face. “whar's willyum ?” she asked anxiously. “you didn't say for him to come so he stayed to home,” ruth answered, sensing something had hap- pened between the brothers. “no. ah ain't sayd but ah thou't him hearin' dis pore chile was so low sick, he'ud want to pray wid her.” “he's jes' tired, ma. you know willyum ain't use'ter workin' hard all day lak we'uns,” jim ex- cused. the long, hot night passed slowly. jim sat with his mother while ruth dozed in a chair nearby. neighbors dropped in from time to time, and sara lou cared for the sick woman and prayed for her recovery but deep in her heart, she was worried. aunt sara's wooden god something had gone wrong at home. she felt it, but said nothing. martha green and sally ann peck came during the early dawn and relieved the others, and sara lou, ruth and jim hurried home, but william had gone, leaving a note for his mother that he would be home early saturday afternoon. aunt sara's wooden god chapter xii during the next few days william sulked around the shop planning in his mind some way of hurting jim severely for his imagined wrongs. his two years in macon had changed his entire outlook on life and brought out all of the worst there was in his twisted make-up. at first he had enjoyed spend- ing most of the summer on his mother's farm, not that he helped any with the work if he could get around it, and contrived most of the time to get around it, leaving it entirely to jim, while he lay under some tall leafy tree on the smooth green grass and read or dozed in the welcome coolness of its shade. but each year he found excuses to stay more and more in town, where the lights and laughter suited him better, and the convention of the staid farmers could not reach him. even if the hot mid-summer days with sudden drenching thunder storms did de- press and madden him, as he sat around his little windowless shop playing cards with the boys, there was always daddy jenks' place, where there was music, cold soda pop, cards and dice and an occa- sional game of pool to liven things up. during july and august, the city was filled with riff-raff that drifted in to prey upon the farmers, who drove in daily from nearby farms to sell their products. with their small proceeds they would make straight for some place of amusement, and aunt sara's wooden god fill up on bad moonshine while their hard-earned money disappeared over the gambling tables. sugar kid profited nightly by their losses and strutted around days, his bead-like eyes shining, as his hands jingled the silver that lined his pockets, very much pleased with himself, but frightened at the interest the law was taking in his and other gambling places. a general cleaning up was in progress and his place might be raided at any time but he made up his mind to get his while the getting was good. every time william entered the club room, he patted his pocket affectionately, and felt an exultant joy in the fact that in another week the thirty-five dollars william owed him would be due. he would either have to pay it or pass over his little shop. but william, apparently not aware of his presence, was coolly aloof and indifferent. sugar kid's arrogant attitude nor ethel's amorous advances interested him in the least. in fact, ethel made him sick and he frankly told her so, and pro- ceeded to ignore her entirely. ethel, more in love with him than ever, tried every known trick imaginable to win him back but in vain. sugar kid watched the little drama with a keen feeling of satisfaction. he liked ethel for him- self and told her so and she laughed in his face, but he felt that sooner or later she would realize that william would have no more to do with her and turn to him. “see yo' high yaller is givin' yuh de gate, gal,” he taunted, as they danced around daddy's back room. aunt sara's wooden god “whut's dat to you, ole fat head,” ethel snapped back. “it ain't nuthin' to me but it jes' goes to prove whut ah done tole yuh. he thinks he's too good for de sun to shine on. 'roun' heah puttin' on airs, goin' to school, jes' kaise his mammy's got little cotton growin' an’ is fool 'nough to let him lay 'roun' wid his lazy seſſ.” “huh. de pot's callin' de kettle black,” ethel laughed. “you ain't done uh day's work in yo' life, sugar kid.” “but ah ain't puttin' on no airs an’ makin' out how great ah am when all de time ah’m jes' uh gambler.” “dat's kaise you ain't got no education. as for gamblin', ah don't see no harm in william playin' cards effen he wants to. he don't smoke nor drink.” “but he hangs out wid you an’ dat's bad 'nough,” sugar kid sneered. “it sho is kaise he ou'ter stop it an' give you uh chance,” ethel came back. “aw well, ah ain't doin' no worryin'. he done borrowed money from me an' ef'fen he don't pay me back, ah’m goin' uh take dat shop uh his or collect my money from dat dotin' mauh his'n,” sugar kid said, walking away. sugar kid's remark about william owing him money worried ethel. she knew that william would not want his mother to know about his having to borrow money or losing his shop. a little later she decided to go over to the shop and offer to help william pay off the debt. it would be a good excuse aunt sara's wooden god to have a talk with him and if she did him a favor, it would also win him back to her. the front door of the shop was open and she walked in and started through to the back room, where she could hear william and slippery talking. she stopped for a moment at the door. she could not catch their softly spoken conversation. william was talking rapidly and slippery was saying little but agreeing to what william was saying. a chair creaked across the floor as one of them stood up and not wanting them to find her trying to eaves- drop, she slipped out of the front door and across the street again. “say gal, why don't yuh git wise to yoseff an' stay on dis side uh de street,” sugar kid grinned, as she reached the other side. “shut up an' mind yo’ own black business,” she retorted with spirit. “come on in an' have a drink on me,” sugar kid invited, and seating themselves at a table with a pint of corn before them, they were soon laughing and talking, the best of friends. later when william went to his room out at sissy's. slippery dropped into daddy's to play a game of pool. ethel's pent-up anger for william, inflamed by bad liquor, flared up at the sight of the little sickly red man. “come on over heah, william's lakey, an' have a drink wid decent folks,” she called. slippery ignored her remark but sat down at the table gulping down a big drink as a bracer. as the liquor began to take effect sugar kid became very taikative and bragged about having lent.william thirty-five dollars, pulling out the note william had aunt sara's wooden god given him to prove it. waving it in ethel's and slippery's faces, they were compelled to read and reread it to please him. fumbling he pushed it back into his pocket and continued pouring drink after drink down his throat. the night wore on. slip- pery left them and sugar kid staggered upstairs to his room. the next day when he looked for the note it was gone. vaguely he remembered taking it out of his pocket the night before to show it to ethel and slippery. slippery had stolen it, no doubt to pro- tect william, he decided, and would give himself away, and then he would be justified in beating him up for picking his pocket. but that night fresh disaster came to the gambler. his place filled with players was raided. few es- caped but most of them were taken to jail and re- leased the next morning with light fines. he, himself, did not fare so well and was held without bail for running a gambling house. “dey liable to keep dat nigguh in jail all sum- mer,” slippery remarked, when william returned to macon and they talked of the luck that had made them two of the few that had not been caught in the police net. “that sure will be a break for me,” william declared. “an' ah b'lieves yuh gointer git dat break kaise dat ole judge don't care much for 'im kaise he don't b'long in macon and de way he done looked at dat darky was lak he'ud jes' soon keep 'im in jail for- ever.” “i know daddy jenks is glad. now he'll have his clubroom back agin.” aunt sara's wooden god “you know, william since ah comes to think 'bout it, ah b'lieves daddy done put de white folks on dat nigguh anyhow kaise dey tells me dat daddy was upstairs in de club room an' as soon as he went downstairs, de white folks rushed in,” slippery said with conviction. he had meant to tell william that he had stolen his note from sugar kid the night be- fore but decided, as william had outlined a plan by which they both could profit, he would not men- tion the note, as william might get cold feet and abandon their plan so william, with no knowledge of sugar kid's being helpless to harm him, rejoiced that at least the day of reckoning was delayed. things were once more normal over at daddy jenks', who again took over the club room and ran it full sway. ethel, peeved over william's indifference, went on a wild spree, keeping the dance hall lively with her songs and squirming dances, but gradually the old passion she had awakened in william flared into life again and he was once more spending his nights in her room. two weeks had passed since he and jim's fight. william had not been home. he dreaded facing jim, and stayed away. saturday came again. wil- liam rose early and helped slippery finish what work there was on hand, determined he would go home, jim or no jim and he would take slippery with him, as he had done several times during their acquaint- ance. saturday night he and slippery rode to byron with a farmer, who was returning home. his mother welcomed slippery, and tried in every way to make him feel at home but jim, who had aunt sara's wooden god never liked him, could not entirely hide his resent- ment and ruth kept out of his way as politely as possible. sunday was by no means a pleasant day for any- one and william, who felt the hostility, appealed to his mother. “ma, i'd think you'd teach jim to be at least civil to folks,” he began. “lawd, son, whut jim gone an' done now?” she asked in alarm. “well, i invited slippery out here so he could attend church seeing he won't in macon an' jim acts like he's afraid he'll steal the doors off the house.” “ah thought jim was treatin' 'im real nice, seein’ dat he don't lak him,” his mother replied. william said no more but when the time came for them to go to evening services, the strain of watching and praying all day that jim in his out- spoken way would say nothing that would start an argument, proved too great for her and instead of going to church, she went to bed with a severe head- ache. all day monday after william and slippery had gone, she bustled around in a state of excitement and by evening she was worn out and again ill. “it sho is uh shame how willyum does things to upset ma, bringing dat no count slippery out heah,” jim complained. “ah don't b'lieve he means to upset her. he's jes' tryin' to be kind to slippery seein' he's uh stranger an' sick,” ruth defended. “ah guess he got you fooled lak everybody else, aunt sara's wooden god ruth, but as for me, ah don't b'lieve dere's no good in him,” jim replied. “why jim, ah’m 'sprized at you, speakin' lak dat 'bout yo' own brother,” ruth exclaimed, looking at jim, who stood calmly regarding his feet. “ah can't help it, ruth, and brother or no brother, yuh gointer find out willyum is uh bad lot, someday.” “when we gointer start pickin' cotton?” ruth asked, anxious to change the subject which she realized was embarrassing to jim. “nex' week, ah got lots dis year an' ah gotta start early kaise ah ain't able to hire nobody but luke to help. ma's so determined to let william have some money to put side for his schoolin' in atlanta.” “ah’m gointer help you jim, an’ ah kin pick uh lot an' you don't need to pay me nothin’,” ruth said, putting her arms around jim's neck and laying her cheek against his. “ah sho'll need yo' help, ruth, but ah hate to have you pickin' cotton in de hot sun.” “shame on you, jim. ah’m useter pickin'. ah done picked for pay since ah was eight years ole. how is it gointer hurt me?” “awrite, we ain't gointer augue 'bout it honey.” “is william comin' heah to pick any, jim p” “lawd no, he jes' goin'ter sit an' wait ontell us gits it ginned an' sold an' den hold out his purtty yaller hands for his share.” ruth laughed heartily. “jim,” she said, “ah know whut's de matter wid you. youse jes' jealous uh william kaise he so light-skinned and you ain't.” aunt sara's wooden god “no, ah ain't but he's so biggity an' stuck up. ma's fair as he is an' look how sweet she is.” ruth gave him a poke between the ribs, and ran away to do some unfinished work in the house. jim turned to his garden that needed his care and worked until dark with it. work and routine meant every- thing to him. friday he received the balance of the money for the peaches. he felt proud and happy knowing he had done better than even owen gordon had ex- pected. his mother was surprised when he gave her the twenty dollars he had taken out for his labor but ruth refused his offer to buy her a dress. later that evening sara lou trudged down to the village general store and bought it for her anyway. “an' sara, you'all shouldn't uh done dat. ah'se 'nough expense as it is to y'all,” ruth pleaded. “chile, you does 'nough work 'roun' heah to pay for uh little ole calico frock,” sara lou assured her. the week passed happily. even with the many duties that filled each day, jim and ruth found time several afternoons when the sun disappeared be- yond the western horizon to wander hand in hand over the flat fragrant woodland, saying little, con- tent and ready to burst into childish laughter at the little nothings that amused them. most of these excursions ended at the old hickory nut tree, where with a few strands of hair they had become engaged. sitting there, they would plan their future and return home swinging hands and singing songs. monday proved an ideal day to start picking cotton. bright with cloudless skies, long before aunt sara's wooden god sunrise, jim was in the field, his long sack slung across his shoulders. the cotton seemed ready to burst from its bowls. sara lou busied herself with cooking and household duties but late that afternoon she shouldered her sack and laughingly teased. “lawdy, you youngsters is slow. heah ah done filled my sack in no time.” “dis my fourth, an' sara an' jim not wantin' me to pick,” ruth smiled proudly. “well at dis rate we'all 'ull be through 'fo' de rest uh de folks 'roun' heah gits started,” jim bragged. all around busy people were laughing and work- ing. bits of song floated upon the air. wagons of cotton passed down the red clay road on their way to the gin. happy children picked at their parents' sides. at night men gathered at the gen- eral store to discuss how many sacks they had picked during the day. everybody was busy and happy. sara lou's home was the happiest of them all for this year there would be more money than there had been since john carter's death. she breathed a prayer of thankfulness for her many blessings, and smiled as she remembered how even marshall bailey had complimented her on having two such fine sons. saturday came round again and sara lou having finished her sunday cooking, stood on the front porch waiting for a glimpse of her darling boy, her face brightened with a smile. but she was doomed to be disappointed. a farmer returning from macon handed her a letter sent by william explaining he would not be home this week-end as aunt sara’s wooden god his cousin sissy had been seriously injured and he would have to stay in macon with her. “huh, dat's jes' lak willyum, takin' on every- body's troubles,” she remarked when later she showed the letter to jim. aunt sara's wooden god chapter xiii august passed swiftly. soft fluffy cotton held the attention of the farmers, who worked from sun- up until darkness gathered, making their task im- possible. sara lou's little cotton house was fast being filled but william did not come home, not even for the usual week-end. jim said nothing, as his mother querulously complained about his absence. to his mind the excuse william gave in the let- ters his mother received from him, of having to stay with sissy, were just lies. but for once william was telling the truth. he had gone to his room late one night and found sissy lying on the floor bleeding profusely from several long gashes inflicted by one of her latest men friends, a strapling six- footer. william had hurriedly summoned a doctor and for weeks the wounded woman had hovered be- tween life and death. she had few friends in the dismal little alley she made her home. most of the women hated her be- cause she kept to herself. the few, who had wormed their way into her home, remembered her sharp tongue and ready fists, and stayed away henceforth. when william appealed to some of the women to come to his assistance in caring for her, they laughed in his face. “let some uh dem injun folks she done bragged 'bout she comed from look at’ter her,” one fat, jet- black woman taunted, remembering how sissy had aunt sara's wooden god bragged about her long straight hair and copper colored skin having come from indian ancestry. “yeah, yuh bettuh ask ole chief squattin' in de corner to sit wid 'er,” another chimed in and wil- liam turned away disgusted to start what proved a trying four weeks at sissy's bedside, relieved at times by ethel, who on hearing the news of his cousin's injury, rushed to his aid. but even the nearness of death did not soften william's heart towards jim. instead he had plen- ty of time while sitting idle through the long nights to conjure up the smallest grievances of his child- hood when their father, john carter, had taken jim's part against him. he brooded over imag- inary and real wrongs until his heart filled with hate and seemed almost bursting with longing for revenge, but no one, who saw him daily, would have believed beneath his suave smiling personal- ity, a tumult of rage and hate burned fiercely. to sissy he was perfection. “lawd, william, ah jes' kain't figure how come you is so diffunt from the rest uh yo' folks,” she said, as she and william ate breakfast the first morning she was able to be up. “ma offered to come an' see you, sissy, but i begged her not to, cause they pickin' cotton an' jim needs her home,” william said. “yeah, an' sara is kind lak you is. ah kin'er glad she didn't com' to see me in de fix ah was in.” “now that you're better, sissy, i'm gonna ask ethel to stay with you while i run out home satur- day.” ºsho william, you go see 'bout an' sara, but aunt sara's wooden god don't bother askin' ethel. ah kin take care uh my- seff now.” so william wrote his mother he would be home saturday and all day friday he and slippery worked steadily finishing up the work that had been left in the shop. late that evening slippery donned the one good suit he possessed, and slipping his well- oiled, shiny pistol in his pocket, departed for a visit to a nearby village, where as he put it, “de gam- blin' was good.” saturday afternoon william closed the shop, and took a late afternoon train for byron. sara lou saw him, as he came swinging down the road, smiling brightly. throwing his bag on the porch, he caught her in his arms and kissed her affectionately, and holding her at arms' length looked at her admiringly. “go 'lon' boy, whut yuh doin' 'zamin' yo’ ole ma to see if she done growd uglier?” she asked, chuck- ling happily. “uglier? why, you're the prettiest girl in the world to me, ma,” he answered, hugging her close. “lawd, william, ah sho don't see how any gal in de world kin resist you, effen yuh makes love to dem lak yuh does to me.” “i ain't tried it out on any gal yet, ma. ah'm practising on you first,” william laughed. “well, you is purtty nigh purfect,” she smiled, as she hurried in to complete preparations for his supper. william walked out on the back porch just as ruth came up with an armful of kindling. “hey william, how'se you feelin' after yo' sick nursin' job all dese weeks?” she greeted. aunt sara's wooden god arguments in the midst of which william and his mother left them at their gate. the day passed uneventfully but pleasantly. when time for the evening service came, jim com- plaining of being tired, stayed home. “dere's uh 'vangelist preacher gonna preach to- night, jim. ah sho wanted you to heah 'im kaise it's high time you try gittin' some religion,” his mother remarked, hoping to change his mind. but changing jim's mind was no small task and to her pleading, he simply answered: “ah jes' don't feel good an' ah don't want 'er sit up half de night when ah'se got so much work to do early in * ... ? ) y de mornin'. and she, william and ruth departed without him. in ruth's mind there was a doubt as to jim's not wanting to attend the service. she was sure he had overheard the conversation between william and herself when she had expressed a de- sire to attend high school, and the knowledge that she was not entirely satisfied had disturbed him. she heartily wished she had not said anything about school. after all she was content as things were. it was just william's presence that brought it to her mind. william's presence always disturbed their quiet peace, she remembered. jim sat for a while on the front porch thinking of ruth, william and the future. he had never dreamed that she was not contented to just become a farmer's wife. the bit of conversation he had overheard, disturbed him. she was young. per- haps after they married, she would rebel against the monotony of the only life she had ever known. william would be preaching, going from place to aunt sara's wooden god thinking of the harm she had once done to the place, he tried to catch her but failed. “effen she's still 'roun' heah when ah goes home, ah'll catch de critter an' take 'er home to de marshall. ah bet he's huntin' every whar for dat crazy onery fool dis minute,” he thought, going through the back gate. the house, built several yards back from the low picket fence, looked like some deserted castle, its large, colonial pillars gleaming white against the dark foliage of oleander bushes. vine covered, its veranda extended the length of two sides of the house. the dining room at the back with its nu- merous long, green blinds added to the ghostly as- pect of the place. jim walked around the kitchen. suddenly he stopped and could have declared he saw a dim light moving about in the dining room, but tried to dis- miss the idea as only imagination. “huh !” he grunted, “de next thing ah'll be b'lievin' in ghosts,” trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that possessed him. there it was again. he was sure this time. someone was moving around in the room. he could see the light, first on one side, then on the other. for a moment, he stood stark still, watch- ing the window, fascinated. his first feeling of fright soon passed, and gliding up to the porch cau- tiously, he picked up an old lantern, he had left there, lighted it, and moved noiselessly to the back door, slipping the key he always carried into the lock. he turned it slowly. a rasping sound came from within. someone had gone out through the side window that opened on the veranda. aunt sara's wooden god rushing quickly into the now empty room, hold- ing his lantern high, he dashed for the window, which the intruder had left open. there was no one there. the oleander bushes obstructed his view beyond when he tried to pierce the darkness of the grounds. giving up the effort as fruitless, he re-entered the room. something white near the window caught his eye. stooping he picked it up. just a small piece of soiled paper, he decided, and started to throw it away. a jumble of figures were written across its creased surface. nine stood out clearly, followed by the word right. another number that looked like five. he spelt out the word—left. there was something strangely familiar about the writing. his heart almost stopped beating. it was the combination of the safe in william's hand- writing. he had seen it all his life, and had copied pages of words and figures he had written in an effort to help him learn. walking over to the safe he noticed for the first time that it was standing wide open. he ran his hand into its depths. the money he had so recently put there, was gonel he remembered william had wanted that money. he had copied that combina- tion and gave it to someone to steal it for him. he could easily guess who—slippery. well, they would not get away with it. brother or no brother, he would have them arrested. he decided—but even as he made the decision, thoughts of his mother filled his mind. william was her idol. she would never survive the blow. it would break her heart, and william was not worth it. hastily before he had a chance to change his mind, he tore the paper aunt sara's wooden god into small bits. he would just have to replace the money and not let her know anything about it. of course, william would have to answer to him for this night's work. he would not be as easy on him as he had been when they last had an encounter. suddenly he thought about the small bag of an- tique jewelry that owen gordon kept in a secret drawer in the safe. if that was gone, it would be a different story. reaching again into the safe, he felt for and pressed a small spring. trembling he pulled out a small shammy bag that contained nearly one hun- dred pieces of old jewelry, heirlooms of several generations. breathing a sigh of relief, he dropped it into his coat pocket, and stood so absorbed with his thoughts that he did not hear soft footsteps, as someone entered the room. marshall bailey and his wife returning home from macon where they had spent the day, saw their old mare grazing at owen gordon's back gate. the marshall got out, intent on trying to coax her home. he noticed the figure of a man emerge through the window, look around, and enter the house again. cautiously he slipped to the porch and peeped through the blinds. he was amazed to see jim take something from the safe and slip it into his pocket. slipping into the room, he faced the startled boy. “jim, will you tell me whut you's doin' snoopin' 'roun’ gordon's house this time 'er night?” he asked sternly. “why, mr. bailey, ah jes' happened to walk over heah an' while ah was heah, ah thought ah'd see dat everything was locked up good, an' den ah aunt sara's wooden god seed uh light in dis room so ah comed on in, but whoever it was in heah dey had done got out 'er dat window,” jim replied, indicating the window through which the marshall had just stepped. an incredulous look in the marshall's eyes brought to his realization the seriousness of the situation. “well, go on whut else happened?” the mar- shall asked testily. “nothin', but ah ain't seed uh livin' soul an’ when ah looked in de safe, mr. gordon's money dat ah put in dere from de sale uh his peaches was gone.” “how was the safe opened?” “wid de combination, mr. bailey.” “who knew the combination?” “nobody but me an’ mr. gordon. he done tole me to put his money in dere an' mine too in case ah had any.” “are you sho nobody knew it but you two p” “dead sho. ma ain't even knowed it.” “so you thought you’d come heah and take the money out tonight and pretend it was stolen, is that it?” “ah 'clare 'fo de lawd ah didn't take de money, mr. bailey,” jim answered, almost sobbing. “was that all that was in the safe, jim p” “yes suh,” jim answered, forgetting in his agi- tation the bag of jewelry he had slipped into his pocket. - “a likely story,” the marshall said, his voice hard with disbelief. “but ah been watching you ever since you came in here from the porch, where you no doubt went to make sure there was no one around.” walking over to jim, he ran his hand aunt sara's wooden god quickly into his coat pocket and drew out the bag of jewelry. opening it on the table, he poured out its glittering contents. “huh, larceny after trust is whut ah calls it,” he said, sweeping the jewelry back into the bag and catching jim by the arm, he pushed him through the door before him. aunt sara's wooden god chapter xiv jim's arrest was the biggest shock the little settle- ment had ever had. for months nothing else was talked of. cotton and even church receded far into the background, as the farmers discussed the sur- prise of it and the outcome of the trial set for early november. sara lou engaged one of macon's best lawyers, john hayden, a former partner of owen gordon's, to defend jim, who through the lawyer's efforts, had been released on bail the wednesday following his arrest. there had been a very tearful scene at the carter home when his mother, william and ruth had re- turned from church and found him in marshall bailey's custody. the marshall had been waiting to question them, but there was nothing they could say that would help jim, and amidst his mother's tears and prayers and ruth's pitiful sobs, he had been taken away. ruth had torn aside the secrecy of their engagement and begged to be taken to jail with him. marshall bailey had been glad when it was over, and jim was landed safely in the little leanto jail. but lawyer hayden was hopeful. the evidence to his mind was too flimsy to win a conviction. he also felt sure that jim, although not guilty, knew who had committed the robbery, and was trying to shield the guilty party. but as time passed, he aunt sara's wooden god found that getting him to talk would be a harder job than he had anticipated. jim refused to talk, persisting that he knew noth- ing but the bare facts he had already stated to the marshall. “is there anyone who visits your home that you have reason to suspect?” the lawyer asked him. “no, suh, not uh soul,” jim answered positively. “could anyone except yourself have at any time seen that combination without your knowledge?” “no, suh. ah kept it hid all de time an' ah ain't never recollecked it bein’ missin'.” “did your brother know you had that combina- tion?” the lawyer asked, looking straight into jim's eyes to see the effect his question would have on him. but if jim was taken by surprise he did not show it, as he calmly answered. “yes, mr. hayden, william knowed ah had it, but he ain't never seed it.” “well, jim, ain't that slick nigger that works 'round his shop in macon been visiting your home?” “yes, suh. he done been dere lots uh times, but ah watched him an' he ain't never been upstairs whar ah keeped de combination,” jim answered, without batting an eye. after a moment he con- tinued: “anyhow, he was in spring valley, william tole me, dat sunday night.” “yes, i know he has a trip to spring valley as an alibi, but i'm investigating its authenticity,” lawyer hayden said, rising to indicate the inter- view was over. jim realized, as he rode back to macon that he was throwing away the only chance he had of clear- ing himself, and would perhaps have to suffer for a aunt sara's wooden god crime he had not even thought of committing, but it was the only way to save his mother from a life- time of suffering. she knew that he was not guilty, but if he told what he knew, william could easily be proven the culprit, and break her adoring heart. his blood boiled to think that even now, william was again in school posing as a martyr to the stu- dents, who sympathized with him for having a brother under suspicion of robbery. through the remaining days of october, jim worked doggedly up and down the rows of cotton, cleaning up the last fragments. ruth worked tear- fully at his side, blaming herself for the tragedy. had it not been for her remarks to william about school which jim had overheard, and worried about, he would have been in church with them that night. he had stayed home because he felt angry and hurt. one evening she sobbed out her self accusation to sara lou, as she helped with supper. “don’t you feel dat’uh way chile. dey would 'er 'cused jim anyhow, effen he had uh been in church jes' kaise he's de only pusson dat knows dat ole com- bination,” sara lou comforted, tears filling her eyes. “anyhow, dese white folks is mad 'roun' heah kaise mr. gordon done left jim in charge uh his place, but don't you worry, honey, he gointer come out uh it 'thout uh bit uh trouble.” but ruth did worry, and as days passed into weeks, she became just a shadow of herself. black circles appeared under her eyes. her shoulders drooped and she grew years older. and sara lou for all her assurance of the outcome of jim's trial being acquittal, worried herself sick in bed. the once happy home became sad and silent. no more aunt sara's wooden god songs floated out upon the still night air. the family retired almost at dusk, to lay and restlessly toss throughout the long night. neighbors, who loved them, not wanting to see the sorrow that had befallen them, stayed away as much as possible. william, conscience-stricken, did not come home saturday, making excuses of having to study hard to keep up with his school work; while in macon he and slippery spent sparingly the fruits of their crime for fear of detection. as the time for the trial drew near, speculation as to its outcome was rife among the farmers. sally ann peck and martha green nearly came to blows because of their difference of opinion. martha had said as they walked home from church: “lawd, ah jes' kain't see how jim kin be so in- nocent uh dat robbin' when don't nobody else know dat combination but him.” “you shut yo wide mouth up 'oman. dey ain't nobody found out whut went wid de church money you was keepin'. you is de lass one whut aught'er go layin' blame on folks,” sally came back hotly. “is you 'sinuatin’ dat ah ain't tole de truth when ah said dat de money was stole out 'uh my house,” martha asked threateningly, shaking her fist under sally's nose. “ah ain't 'sinuatin' 'nothin' but ah is sayin' dat folks whut lives in glass houses gotta watch out when dey throws stones.” “yeah, you is somebody to talk. you ain't got no husban' uh yo’ own an' you'se allers sneakin' 'roun' at’ter somebody else's. folks is talkin' 'bout running you out'er byron right now,” martha snorted. aunt sara's wooden god “ah sho ain't sneakin' at’ter yo's, martha, kaise he done left you years ago 'bout dat jones boy an' you readin’ de bible down by de branch in de moon- light,” sally laughed. “ah gotta good mind to wring yo' neck for dat remark, sally ann peck,” martha retorted beside herself with rage. “don’t let yo' wooden god an' cornstalk jesus fool yuh, 'oman nor yo' good mind, neither, no matter how good it is,” sally retorted. martha gritted her teeth and walked away, throw- ing over her shoulder. “don’t you never speak to me agin long as yuh lives.” and although the two shared the same two room log cabin, jim's trial was over before they spoke to each other again. jim, the subject of all their discussions, worked on silently, as the days swiftly passed. there was no malice in his heart for the brother who had wan- tonly placed him in the shadow of the chain gang— only pity for his weakness and for his mother, try- ing so hard to hide her real anguish from him. bright sunshine, warm and cheering, the morning of the trial, mocked the anguish within the hearts of sara lou, ruth and jim, as they rode the ten miles to the county seat of peach county. william, silent and making a fine effort of grieved con- cern, rode beside jim on the front seat of the wagon while sara lou and ruth sat behind on a board laid across its body. sara lou's cousin, ella, jerimah and their six children drove in their team behind them and al- most of the entire population of byron greeted them aunt sara's wooden god when they rode up to the one story frame court- house. when the , doors were opened at nine o'clock, the building was soon packed, and the trial started by lawyer hayden's insisting that a jury be im- panelled instead of the customary judge presiding and deciding the case. after many objections and discussions, a jury of twelve sturdy farmers was selected, and the case proceeded. william, the first witness called, could tell noth- ing except he and his mother and ruth were in church the night of the robbery. he knew nothing of the money paid jim for the peaches and had never seen the combination of the safe. his mother, next called, proved a difficult witness. her testimony collaborated with william's exactly, but the judge and lawyer had a hard time keeping her to the point, as she insisted on telling how mr. gordon trusted jim and how she had brought him up in the fear of god. “we ain't askin' you aller that, an' sara. we'all knows that gordon done gone off and left a par- sel'er you niggers running over his place instead’er a good, honest, white man and this is what has come of him doing it,” judge graham, a former resident of byron and a friend of owen gordon's informed her. sara lou's sobs became louder and louder, until the judge dismissed her from the witness stand and asked that she be taken from the court-room. ruth was next called. she proved the most damaging witness of the trio. the judge deter- mined to establish a reason for the usually trust- aunt sara's wooden god worthy jim turning thief, questioned her relent- lessly. “didn't jim always take you to church?” she was asked. “yes, suh,” the answer came soft and quivering. “were you two in love with each other?” “yes, suh. we is.” “were you engaged to be married?” “yes, suh, we is.” “didn't he promise to buy you pretty clothes?” ruth raised her eyes and looked around the court-room as if seeking someone to aid her, and the judge had to repeat the question. “we jes' looked in uh catalogue an' was admirin' uh dress,” came hesitatingly. “and he promised to buy it for you, eh?” “not zackly, suh, he sayd it'ud look mighty nice on me.” - “what else did he say?” “dat some day ah might wear it.” “that's just the same as promising it to you, ain't it?” “yes, suh. ah mean, no suh,” ruth sobbed dis- tractedly. “well at any rate, there was a reason for jim wanting this money desperately,” her persecutor announced. and ruth, realizing that her testimony had been unknowingly damaging to jim, burst into a torrent of uncontrollable weeping. lawyer hayden was on his feet, his face red, his eyes blazing. “judge, your honor,” he shouted. “this is no love affair. this jim carter is on trial for robbery not for being in love.” aunt sara's wooden god chapter xv on the evening of the next day sara lou sat in her bare, clean dining room. her cane bottom rocker swayed back and forth in even rhythm with her sobs. her friends, sally ann, martha, ella, sally brown, reverend hooper, and a few others sat grim-faced and sympathetic trying to console her. they had just returned from the county seat, where jim had been convicted and sentenced to five years in the chain-gang. reverend hooper rose and bade them kneel while he carried jim's case to a greater judge than judge graham. for almost an hour he prayed, and as they rose from their knees, martha green sang softly, helped by the others. “ah’m leanin' on de lawd.” “dat's jes' whut ah’m doin’,” sara lou declared, as the song ended. “he’s uh good one to lean on, an' sara, but effen yuh could 'ford to git dat lawyer hayden to git uh 'nother trial for jim an' have it in macon, it might help de leanin’,” sally ann remarked earn- estly. “lan' sakes, sally ann, you don't trust de lawd for nothin’,” martha chided. “course ah trusts him but sometimes he kind 'er slow to act. lak de time my ole man joe was 'cused uh stealin' in macon. ef'fen ah hadn't been workin' for dat big lawyer man dat took up joe's case, he'ud been in de gang till now.” aunt sara's wooden god all eyes were turned on sally ann in horror but undaunted, she continued. “to tell de truth, ah should 'er let 'im gone to de gang kaise ah had to work uh whole year to pay de lawyer an' 'fo ah was throu' payin' 'im, joe he ups an' runs off wid uh trifflin' gal dat was stayin' wid us.” “huh, served yuh right,” martha grunted, and to avoid further discussion of the matter, sally brown started another song. william, who had been walking around to get away from the sight of his mother's suffering, came into the room and hinted that his mother needed rest, and they bade goodnight and hurried away. william assisted his mother up to her room, where ruth, who had been preparing the evening meal, served her, and for the first time in sara lou's busy life she was unable to leave her room for a week. as strength came back to her during the week that followed, her first concern was william. “you must git back to yo' school, son,” she said, as they sat around downstairs for the first time since jim had been sent away. “i will, ma, soon as you feels all right again, but i'm in no mood for study,” he replied obedi- ently. “you jes' git in de mood. dere ain't nuthin' heah to do an' us jes' kain't give up. we jes' gotta trust in de lawd. he's gointer make every- thing all right an’ bring de guilty to judgment.” “ah sho wish ah could b'lieve lak dat, an' sara,” ruth remarked sadly. “but things lak dis makes me b'lieve sometime dat de lawd ain't much bothered 'bout whut comes to us folks.” aunt sara's wooden god “why, ruth, dat ain't no way for you to talk!” sara lou exclaimed in surprise. “it sure ain't no way for a christian to talk. maybe if jim had got religion instead of making fun of preachers and the church, this might not have happened to him,” william said with an air of pious dignity. “religion ain't got nothin' to do wid it. ole judge graham is uh deacon in his church an’ ah ain't never seed nobody act any more unfair den he did tryin' jim,” ruth exploded angrily. “when is you seen them act fair when there's one uh us on trial?” william asked quietly. “dey jes' takes it for granted dat we'se guilty 'fo we'se tried, but ah thank god dey ain't de judge when it comes to gittin' to heaven,” sara lou smiled, happy with the prospect of that far off reward. ruth's reply filled with defiance shocked them both. “shucks, ah ain't wantin' to have to wait ontill ah gits to heaven to have uh little happi- ness,” she said, walking out of the room. later that evening some of sara lou's neigh- bors dropped in to see if there was anything they could do for her, and for a while they all sat around talking, trying to forget the tragedy that had befallen them. “william, ah want yuh to write mr. gordon a letter an' tell him whut done happened,” sara lou said when she, william and ruth were again alone. “all right, ma. that's a good idea! do you know his address?” “ah jes' know dat he done write jim from a place called london. ah got de letter heah so aunt sara's wooden god send it dere,” handing the letter to william, who wrote the long, rambling letter his mother dic- tated, telling owen gordon the details of the rob- bery and begging him not to believe jim guilty. “i’ll mail it first thing in the morning, ma,” william promised, sealing the missive. “awrite son, an’ tomorrow is tuesday, you go back to school.” “i will, ma,” william promised, glad to get away from home, where everything reminded him of the crime he had committed. things had turned out far different from what he had planned. he had had slippery take the money because he needed it to pay the debts he owed and to spite jim, whom he knew would have to replace it, but he had not dreamed that the outcome would be as it was. in fact, he blamed jim for going to gor- don's house that night when he might have been in church, and wondered why fate had sent mar- shall bailey by just at that time. but now that it had happened, he could not find one spark of pity in his heart for jim. if it had not been for the suffering the whole thing caused his mother, he would have been happier than he had been in years. “ah wonder effen lawyer hayden could git my boy uh new trial?” his mother's voice brought him back to the present. “maybe so, ma, but it'ud cost a lot of money,” he answered without enthusiasm. “lawd, ah'd sell de roof from over my head to git jim out'uh dat prison!” sara lou declared. “let’s wait a while and see what mr. gordon says when he writes,” william suggested. aunt sara's wooden god “ah sho' hopes he answers right 'er way,” ruth breathed hopefully. sara lou rose reluctantly and stretched her arms above her head. she had been sleepy and on the verge of going to bed for some time, but the pros- pects of lying awake thinking until far into the night had kept her putting it off. “ah’m goin'ter carry my ole bones to bed, chil- lun,” she said, moving towards the stairs. “ah’m goin' too, an' sara,” ruth said, rising. william caught her hand and pleaded. “please don't go, ruth. i've got a new book i want to tell you about and it's only eight o'clock anyhow.” ruth reluctantly resumed her seat. she did not want to hurt william's feelings but would rather have been anywhere than alone with him in her present state of mind. “why didn't you tell me you and jim was en- gaged?” his first question brought an uneasy flush to her face. “'cause jim an' me promised to keep it uh secret an' we wasn't goin'ter marry nohow ontill ah was out uh mourning.” “now that jim's in prison for five years, you ain't aiming to wait for him that long, are you?” “sho' ah am i ah'ud wait twenty years for jim.” “but you're young and i loves you, ruth. would you rather sacrifice five years waiting for him than marry me?” “please william, don't talk lak dat. it ain't fair to yo' brother when you knows dat ah done prom- ised him, an’ anyhow ah ain't goin' to listen to yuh,” ruth answered, rising. aunt sara's wooden god chapter xvi the next morning, william left byron to return to his studies. he tried to get a chance to speak to ruth alone before leaving, but she steadfastly avoided him and greatly disappointed, he left to catch his train. he had lost considerable time; but it would mean nothing. studies had never even been an effort to his alert brain, and before the week was over, he had caught up with his classes, and was again spend- ing his leisure time over at daddy jenks' with ethel. for long hours she would sit beside the bed and watch him as he lay stretched full length upon it, his eyes closed, one arm thrown carelessly above his head, letting her fingers linger for a moment upon his face as they glided on through his soft curly hair. as she waited for him to open his eyes or in some way respond to her caresses, she loved him with all the love of her starved warped soul. william stirred uneasily and pushing her hand aside, sat up on the side of the bed. “whut's de matter, william, did ah wake you up?” ethel asked softly. “no.” “are you angry wid me, honey?” “no.” “well den, ah got something ah wants to talk to yuh 'bout,” she persisted, sitting on the side of the bed beside him. “ah been thinkin' long time, wil- liam, dis ain't no place for you. why don't you aunt sara's wooden god come on up north wid me whar you kin 'mount to somethin' some day. you kain't ever be nothin' heah. you may finish school an' become uh stomp knockin' preacher, but dat ain't no good for you when you could do so much better.” “i’m not leaving georgia, ethel, now or no time ! i belong here, and i'm gonna stay here. i guess you think because i hangs out 'round you, i ain't never gonna be no good. well, i'll show you, i'll stay away!” william retorted sharply and dashed an- grily from the room. ethel's harsh laughter followed him until he was out of hearing. once again he swore he would keep away from daddy jenks' gang and ethel. he loved ruth mad- ly. her clean, sweet beauty, fascinated him. with her as his wife he would be safe from himself, his weakness and passion; and able to make of him- self the great man his mother wanted him to be. he went straight to his room and was thankful that sissy was out. for several hours he studied and read, and before getting into bed, knelt and prayed that god would give him strength to do the things he wanted to do. but getting rid of ethel was no small task. she hung around his shop night and day, sometimes sober, but more often drunk and in an ugly mood. “yuh think you kin ditch me jes' lak dat?” she said—snapping her finger under william's nose the next afternoon. “ethel, i've got to study and i've got lots of re- sponsibility and can't be bothered,” william ex- plained. “aw, yeah? well, you gonna be worried uh aunt sara's wooden god hell'eva lot an' before ah’m through, ah won't be de only one botherin' yuh, neither,” she returned, rushing out of the shop. but william continued to stay away and she drank more and more, and tore things up in general. jim had been in prison two weeks when william got sufficient courage to visit him. he hated the trip. the chain gang held a horror for him that made his visit a torture, but his mother had asked him to go, and he could not refuse. jim had intended telling him what he had found in the gordon dining room, the night of the rob- bery, and make him promise by holding the knowl- edge of his criminality over his head, to stop being a hypocrite and live right for their mother's sake, but the presence of the guards prevented him from doing so, and he treated william civil in their presence—not because he wanted to. it was almost time for him to leave when he said casually: “it sure is a shame the way ruth is worry- ing, jim.” “whut's she worryin' 'bout more den usual?” “well, she's young and realizes five years is a long time to be engaged.” “did she say dat?” “no, she wouldn't say it for the world, but she thinks it, and she did say something like that to me when i was home last.” “ah don't want 'er to wait five years for me, william. it jes' wouldn't be fair nohow.” “well, don't be too hasty, jim, in tellin' her that you don't. mr. gordon may come home, if he gets aunt sara's wooden god “dear ruth: dis is jes' to tell yuh dat ah ain't holdin' yuh to our engagement kaise five years is too long to ask you to wait. jim.” “shucks, ruth, dat boy is crazy! don't yuh pay dis no' 'tention,” sara lou said, drawing ruth into her arms. “ah don't know whut maked him write me lak dat, an' sara,” ruth sobbed. “he jes' scared he gointer have to stay in dat place five years sho' 'nough an’ dat's worryin' him,” sara lou consoled. “when we goes out dere, he goin'ter take dat all back.” “ah don't know effen ah’m goin' out dere, an' sara, not rite uh way nohow. ah knows jim well 'nough to know he don't never joke. ef'fen he say our engagement is broke, he means it, an’ ah ain't gointer worry him 'bout it, kaise he got 'nough to worry 'bout as it is.” ruth spent the rest of the afternoon wandering in the woods that surrounded the farm. for a long time she stood looking at her and jim's hickory nut tree, where their hair had been buried years back. when she returned home she found william, who had come home as usual to spend sunday, sitting with his mother. he had brought her a new book, and a box of candy for his mother to share with her. his witty jokes soon had them both laughing and in a measure feeling better than earlier in the after- noon when jim's letter had so cruelly hurt her. william was diplomatic and took sides with jim, excusing his action with the hopelessness of facing aunt sara's wooden god years in the terrible confinement of prison. after ruth had gone to bed, he and his mother sat for a while talking. “ah goin'ter bring dat boy to his senses when ah goes out to dat prison,” she declared. “if i was you, ma, i'd let them settle it them- selves. you know how stubborn jim is. he might not like you interfering.” “dat's rite, son,” sara lou agreed. “ah won't say uh livin' word, less'n he mentions it hisseff.” william went to sleep that night relieved and pleased with the progress he had made in breaking up jim's engagement. he was now removed as a rival, and with time and the many ways he would use to win ruth, everything would be in his favor. he had feared more than anything else his mother's asking jim why he had written that letter, and jim, in turn, telling her and ruth what he had said dur- ing his visit. aunt sara's wooden god money right now, ah’m goin'ter scatter you all over de state uh georgy,” sugar kid retorted angrily. “not so fast !” slippery spoke up, reaching for his gun that he kept in a drawer nearby, and walk- ing over to the door where sugar kid was standing, he continued: “you is one snake, sugar kid dat ah's jes' dyin' to step on an' flatten out, so yuh better git out uh heah an' stay out 'fo' ah does jes' dat!” sugar kid backed out of the door quickly, and walked across the street cursing the two of them roundly under his breath, his mind made up to get even with slippery, if it was the last thing he ever did. “ah guess dat's de last uh dat snake, askin' for dat thirty-five bucks,” slippery laughed. “i don't know about that, slippery. sometimes i feels that i aught'er give him that money. it might cause lots of trouble yet,” william replied, thought- fully. “aw you'se jes' uh tender, william. ah knows how to handle dese darkies 'roun' heah. dey don't scare me.” “’course i'm in my rights. he insisted on me writing a note that i owed him the money and if i pay him without getting it back, he can produce it later and make me pay him again.” “well, whut yuh worryin' 'bout den? jes' forgit it !” slippery advised. “gee, whut's all de commotion over at daddy jenks'?” slippery exclaimed a moment later, when a loud scream carried him to the door. a large crowd had congregated in front of daddy's place and several policemen were struggling with someone as they dragged them towards the aunt sara's wooden god patrol wagons standing near the sidewalk. wil- liam and slippery looking on from their door, tried to make out who the struggling culprit was. slip- pery no longer able to control his curiosity, crossed the street, returning in a short time with the news of the fracas. ethel, who had gone on a drunken rampage, had been the unwilling struggling prisoner. daddy jenks had tried to keep her quiet and had almost succeeded when sugar kid came in and started raving about what he was going to do to william and she had broken loose again, and grabbing daddy's ice pick, had gone for sugar kid. the police had to be called, finally, to keep her from committing murder. “ef'fen dat gal ain't careful she goin'ter git runned out'uh dis town l she done been in court four mondays hand running,” slippery remarked. “she sure can raise cain, all right. i don't see how she gets away with it,” william said, worried over the outcome of the trial, when mention of him might get him into an unpleasant situation. “well, she stands in wid de deputy sheriff. dat's how she gits way wid it. ef'fen yuh don't know,” slippery was glad to inform him, hoping it might keep him away from ethel henceforth. but william ignored the remark and turned the subject to other things. later that evening, he left the shop to catch a train home remarking laughingly to slippery, as he went out of the door. “see you monday. be careful of sugar kid. don't let him get the drop on you.” “don’t worry. ah been wantin' to bump dat aunt sara's wooden god bird off long time an eff'en he starts anythin’ dat'll jes' be my chance,” slippery called cheerfully. late customers started dropping in to get their clothes and slippery had his hands too full to think further of sugar kid. cotton eye, among the last to call, was in a particularly talkative mood, when he flopped down on a box to wait while slippery put the finishing touches to his one and only suit. “gee boy,” he said between mouthfuls of peanuts, he crammed into his mouth from his overall pockets. “dere sho is been some tall doin's 'roun' heah today. dey tells me dat ethel done gone to jail an’ dat sugar kid is raisin' hell over at daddy jenks.” “whut's he raisin' hell 'bout?” slippery asked. “well, for one thing, he swears dat he goin'ter plug you full uh holes de fust time yuh steps foot in daddy's place, an’ dat's got daddy all hot an’ both- ered kaise he don't lak nobody startin' nothin' in his joint.” “daddy needn't be kaise ah ain't scared uh sugar kid. ah’m goin' in de place any time ah gits good an' ready. ain't nothin' to dat bag uh wind no- how.” “all ah gotta say, slippery, is jes' watch yo' step !” “ah kin take care'uh myself. don't you worry.” “ah ain't gonna, but ah jes' hopes ah be dere when de fun start. ah wouldn't miss it for nothin’,” cotton eye grinned, handing slippery the money for his suit. it was almost eleven o'clock when slippery closed the shop for the night and walked slowly over to daddy jenks. a tremor of excitement passed over the crowd standing around when he entered the aunt sara's wooden god fore anyone could recover sufficiently to stop him, was gone. pandemonium reigned. men fought to get out and soon the club room was as clean as if no one had been there. sugar kid lay still upon the floor, rilled by a single bullet from slippery's gun. x -k sk william, just seventeen miles away from the trag- edy, slept peacefully through the night. he had set up late with his mother, who was almost over- come with the joy of having received a letter from owen gordon, who had just reached london, and found her letter awaiting him. “jes' to think, willyum, mr. gordon goin'ter be home soon, an' he goin'ter git my jim right out'er dat chain gang,” she had said, her eyes filled with tears of joy. “don’t get yo' hopes too high, ma, cause after all, maybe mr. gordon won't be able to get jim out, and maybe he won't want to nohow. after all, he's white, and he might believe like the other white folks, that jim did steal his money,” william re- plied, avoiding his mother's happy face. “'deed he ain't goin'ter think dat jim did no stealin' an' 'nother thin', he ain't lak no other white folks. he's jes' mr. gordon lakhisseff an' de smartest lawyer dere ever was an' he laks jim an' he goin'ter git him out, yuh'll see.” “i hope so,” william assented, bidding his mother good-night. until after midnight he lay wondering whether owen gordon's home-coming would in any way affect his secret of the robbery, which he felt was safe between slippery and himself. aunt sara's wooden god ruth, who had gone to ella's to help care for one of her boys, who had been taken suddenly very ill, returned early sunday morning. the child was worse and flla wanted sara lou to come and see what she could do for him. “land sakes, why don't dey git uh doctor? ah ain't no doctor!” sara lou grumbled, putting on her clean white sunday apron to go to ella. “you chillun jes' go on to church. dinner's cooked an’ effen ah don't git back by night, william you bring ruth over to ella's at’ter de night services.” “ah may come over dere 'fo' dat an' sara,” ruth replied anxiously, as she did not like being left at home alone with william all day. sara lou was on her way happily trudging the distance between her and ella's home, her thoughts on the end of her trouble being near. snatches of happy songs burst from her lips every now and then. between the prayers of thankfulness she mur- mured: “my boy gonna soon be home. i kno it lawd.” later william and ruth, after attending morning services, stopped by to see deacon simmons, who had been sick for several weeks and then came home to have their dinner. “lord, william, it jes' beats me how dese pore igno'ant folks 'roun' heah kin lay sick an' not git de doctor—jes' leavin' an' salisbury stew up roots for dem an' makin' 'em think dey's conjured,” ruth remarked, as they cleared the table. “yes, ruth, it is a shame. you know sometimes i get so tired of this place, i can hardly stand it. i'd like to go up north some place where things are different and our people gets somewhere. wouldn't aunt sara's wooden god, if it was love that made her feel so sorry for him. she didn't want to promise him anything but when he rose and sat beside her and gently drew her to his lap, she did not resist but lay pensively in his arms. as he covered her face with kisses she felt dizzy and weak and afraid to stand, fearing her limbs would not support her. “honey, you do love me,” he whispered close to her ear. trying to release herself, she pleaded feebly. “oh, ah don't know, william. ah want to think. please let me go!” gently assisting her to stand, he watched her as she staggered haltingly upstairs to her room, where she fell upon her knees before her bed, trying to close her eyes and shut out the memory of his face but she could not. she could still hear his soft pleading voice whispering in her ears. she did like the way he took her into his arms. his passionate kisses still smarted her lips. a thrill crept delicious- ly over her body, as she remembered the way he held her close. suddenly her thoughts frightened her. she was just a wicked sinner and out of wickedness could come nothing but sorrow and disgrace. clasping her hands she prayed for guidance, tears flowing down her cheeks, as she silently rocked herself back and forth in agony and repentance. aunt sara's wooden god chapter xviii william walked back and forth in the room down- stairs, where ruth had left him. in the grip of alternating hope and despair, his passionate love for ruth and the desire to have her for his wife so filled his mind, he did not hear the light taps on the back door until they were repeated several times. mechanically he passed through the short hall, opened the back door and started as if he had seen a ghost, as slippery ducked quietly by him into the room and sank into the nearest chair. “what on earth are you doing here?” william whispered, looking around the room as if expecting to see someone spring out from behind the furniture. “keep yo' shirt on, bo, an' ah'll tell yuh,” slip- pery answered shortly. “ah’m in trouble an' wants you to help me git 'way.” “what kind'er trouble—been raided for gam- bling?” “god. ah wish it was jes' dat. no william, it's serious dis time. ah killed sugar kid.” “my god, slippery, that's awful!” william ex- claimed paling. “yuh tellin' me? but ah’ll git out uh dis. ah been in tighter places den dis an' got out,” slippery bragged. “but spose the marshall sees you coming out'er my house? don't you see what a mess you'll get me in?” william asked, taking a cautious peep from the half-opened door. aunt sara's wooden god “dat's all you ever think of—yo’ own yaller skin. ain't ah in uh worse mess an' whose de cause uh it all? you, if yuh ask me—helpin' you out. dat's what got me in dis spot and yuh know it. wasn't for you, sugar kid wouldn't uh picked on me,” slip- pery rattled off, for the first time in his life angry with william. “how come you to kill sugar kid is all i wants to know and it ain't no need'er you getting mad be- cause i'm worried 'bout the outcome,” william re- plied, frightened at the attitude slippery had taken. “he picked uh fuss wid me in uh crap game. ah begged him to keep way but he comed on an' ah saw uh razor drop from his sleeve. he put de crooked dice in jes' to git uh chance to cut me. ah didn't want to shoot him. ah swear ah didn't but ah had to. ah jes' had to. it was his life or mine. you know why he was mad wid me? 'twas 'bout dat money you owed him an' ah had to shoot.” slip- pery whimpered on and on almost breaking under the strain of fear. “well, it's done and here's all the money i've got,” william interrupted, handing him a small roll of bills and assisting him to his feet. “suppose they catch you, slippery?” he asked when they reached the door. “effen dey do, put dis down in yo' little red book. ah won't bring you into it even if dey string me. ah swear it, william. heah,” he added, as he stood in the doorway, handing william the note he had stolen from sugar kid's pocket. “when did you get this?” william asked, looking hard at the crumbled piece of paper. “ah took it offen sugar kid sometime ago.” aunt sara's wooden god “why didn't you tell me you had it, slippery?” “ah didn't want to, not den,” slippery answered, slipping out the door and sliding around the house towards the back fence. william tore the note into small bits and turned to go back into the parlor but drew back. ruth was standing in the hall door. “you scared me ruth. how long have you been there?” he asked. “soon after slippery came in,” she answered calmly. “then you heard?” “yes every word slippery and you said. ah didn't want to eavesdrop yuh'all but ah jes' couldn't help it, william,” she answered wearily. “poor fellow, he's in trouble, ruth.” “yes, because of something you've done. he's uh murderer an' you'se jes' as bad.” “why ruth!” william started. “keep still, william. you'se jes' uh mean, low hypocrite gittin' people into trouble. dat's whut you is.” “ruth, you don't know what you're sayin'.” “aw yes, ah do. ah heard slippery promise yuh not to tell on yuh, no matter whut happens. he must know something dat you'se scared stiff he'll tell. ah see through you now william. dat's why ah was al’lers scared uh you an’ to think ah almost made myself b'lieve ah loved you,” ruth cried al- most in tears. “but you do love me, ruth. i'm not as bad as you think,” william pleaded, trying to take her hand. “don’t yuh touch me, william carter,” she screamed, shrinking from his touch. aunt sara's wooden god “i’m going to touch you,” william said slowly through clenched teeth. “i love you and i'm gonna make you love me and even if you don't, you'll be glad to marry me.” ruth, frightened by the look she saw in his eyes, backed away, her hands before her face. william pulled her into his arms and pinning her hands behind her back, kissed her lips, her neck, her shoulders, pressing her to him in a close suffocating embrace, his breath coming in short quick gasps, as his hand slid over her throat and down the neck of her dress until they touched her round full breast, the touch of her warm flesh firing the passion of his body until he trembled violently from head to foot. his usual calm was gone. in its place a savage passion swept all else aside. ruth, weak and exhausted, felt her strength failing her, as she fought to free herself. “william aunt sara !” a loud voice called from the gate. william came to his senses with a start. his arms dropped to his side, as he straightened himself and ran his hand over his rumpled hair, trying to collect his scattered wits and finally stumbling to the door. he faced kenneth bailey, the marshall. “see you been sleep, william. sorry to disturb yuh but has you seen dat fellow dat works in that shop in macon with you, this afternoon?” the mar- shall greeted. “why no, mr. bailey,” william answered slowly, almost afraid to hear the sound of his own voice. “wal, he done killed 'er nigger in macon an' i thought maybe seeing he worked for you dere, he aunt sara's wooden god “thank you ruth,” he stammered brokenly. ruth turned to enter the house and at the door, turned and faced him leaning heavily against the wall. “ah didn't lie to save yo' skin. ah did it because of an' sara. she loves an' trusts you. it's all she lives for. you're her wooden god an' ah couldn't even to save my own life hurt her.” “but ruth, i want to beg you to forgive me,” william pleaded, following her into the room. “please forgive me. i wasn't myself this afternoon. i wants to be good. i swear i do but sometimes there's something inside'er me, i jes' can't control. i wants to be a christian and do all the great things ma expects of me but i don't know why. there's so many different parts of me. i can't understand myself. i swear i wish i was different.” tears were running down his cheeks as he dropped into a chair and covered his face with his hands. she could not help a feeling of pity that filled her heart. “ah’m going to church. ah don't know whar from dere,” she said simply turning away to go up- stairs. “now, i've lost you forever, ruth. i can't go on livin' knowin' that. before god i can't,” william's voice sounded so hopeless and desperate it fright- ened her, as she walked up the stairs. when she returned to the room a moment later, marshall bailey was again at the gate talking to william, who sat on the steps of the porch. as she came out, he was saying: “yas siree. we caught that fellow slick as grease over dar by the school house. my man's aunt sara's wooden god slippery was brought in. he wanted to satisfy himself once more by hearing it from slippery's lips that he would not be involved. monday afternoon he visited the jail and offered to get a lawyer for him but slippery flatly refused to let him and went on trial a few days later un- defended, except for defense given him by the state. he flatly refused to tell anything of his former life, and at the start was handicapped. the state was bitterly arrayed against the stranger who came from god knows where, to commit a crime within its bounds. there were many witnesses to the crime, but none could swear sugar kid had a weapon. the razor found near his body went un- identified and could have belonged to any of the two dozen men who were in the room at the time. it did not take long for slippery to be found guilty of manslaughter and the judge in sentencing him to twenty years in the chain gang, lectured him on how lucky he was not to have drawn a first degree murder sentence. ethel myers, who had been arrested for drunken- ness and disorderly conduct, fared better and was let off with a suspended sentence and ordered to leave town at once. - at one stroke william found himself rid of the two people he feared most and made up his mind henceforth to settle down to school and business and live a better life. for the rest of the term he made greater strides in his studies than ever. aunt sara's wooden god “chillun,” she said, “we jes' gotta live closer to de lawd den we'se been livin'. ah jes' keeps uh prayin' dat my boy'll git out uh dat prison an' ah’m sho god goin'ter answer my prayer in his own time.” “well, an' sara, wid faith lak youse, god jes' gotta heah yuh,” sally ann agreed. “an it'ud pay us all to have mo' faith den we'se got,” martha green said, casting a meaning look in sally's direction. “dere yuh go, martha, sweepin’ fo' somebody else's door when de dirt is knee deep 'fo yo’ own,” sally came back hotly. “now den sisters, less don't have no cross words,” sara lou begged. “you sho is right, an' sara,” sadie smith ap- proved, looking with disgust at the two women, who could never be together long without a battle of words. ella brown read the minutes of the last meeting and plans were discussed for the coming big camp meeting to be held at calvary church in which sara lou was again taking an active part. long after the meeting was over and the women had gone home to attend to their many duties, sara lou sat alone thinking, wondering whether owen gordon's home- coming would really mean her boy's release from prison. he had been very good to her in the past years, sharing with her a secret she had never di- vulged to any other living soul. through all the years of her life he had befriended her but after all, time and his trip might have changed him. at any rate, she made up her mind she would pray and hope and wait, and let the future take care of itself. aunt sara's wooden god chapter xx all day monday in macon a steady downpour of misty rain had fallen. by afternoon the streets were covered with soft sticky mud. the air was close and murky. william had spent a restless night and felt ner- vous and doubtful of the outcome of his examina- tions that were to begin that day. contrary to his usual custom, he was bewildered and confused on the very subjects that during the term he had been so sure of. the buzz of voices irritated him and kept his mind wandering from his books. he had tried to study at home but his mother's information about owen gordon's return had upset him. school would be closing soon, and if jim really was par- doned and returned to the farm, all the humiliation he felt he had endured before, would be heaped upon him again. he longed to get away from it all to some place where he could live his life like he pleased and not with his mother's expectant eyes upon him. he didn't want to be a preacher any- way, he decided. thoughts of slippery in the same prison with jim and ruth's reproachful eyes kept annoying him. the teacher called his name several times before he realized he was again holding up the class, but at last the long april day was over. school was dismissed. he passed out of the room hardly see- ing the smiling faces around him. their cheery goodbyes were answered with an absent grunt. aunt sara's wooden god how he kin put on airs when he gits ready,” red shirt commented, as he walked away. “dat's de trouble. he ain't nuther one thing nor de other an' he's always 'twix' an' between in his mind. jes' studyin' an' plannin' to 'stonish de world some day wid his learnin' an' sometime wantin' to give it all up an' jes' be nacherel. dat's how he 'pears to me,” snake declared with a shake of his bullet-shaped head. cotton eye looked up from the hand he was la- boriously trying to make win him a few pennies. he was proud of the fact that he was the only one of the boys that knew william's history and said: “it's dat boy's ma dat keeps him all upsot wantin' him to be uh preacher an' him not wantin' to be kaise it jes' ain't in 'im but dat's de way wid de whole family. dey allers wanted to be somethin' dey wasn't. den at’ter dey all had done borned half white bastards, dey'd marry some preacher man an' put on mo' airs den de law allows. his grandma done it an' den his ma followed suit. dey's uh mess.” “who's dis man gordon whut william's brother jim is in de gang for robbin’?” snake asked. “he’s de finest white man whut ever lived. he sho is done lots for an' sara, william's ma. "course de folks says dat his son was william's pa. ah don't know nothin' 'bout dat but ah does know he mighty good to her,” cotton eye explained. “dere's somethin' funny 'bout de whole thing,” snake remarked. cotton eye turned to look up and down at snake, who was seated behind him before he replied: “you bet yo' life dere is. but don't yuh try to figure it aunt sara's wooden god o use'ter be, dere wouldn't be much danger but she done grieved so inside an' ain't eat right in so long, he 'fraid it's serious. she's restin’ right now. he gived her something to keep her quiet.” but william was gone. he stood looking down on his mother, who in her delirium, tossed and called his name. all through the long night he sat motionless, moving only when some of the neighbors asked him to so that they could attend the sick woman. doctor clarke had returned and found her worse, her fever rising rapidly, and held out scant hope to the distracted man who, as he sat and watched at his mother's bedside, blamed himself for her ill- ness. his lies and sins had brought about her ill- ness and might cause her death. remorse ate at his heart. he had sent jim away to prison—jim, who slaved about the place, saving her steps and worry. a battle raged within him. a silent prayer trembled upon his lips, asking god to spare her life. repentance filled his soul, as he pleaded with the lord for a chance to right the wrong he had done. he felt sick and ashamed of the past. if she lived, he would tell her all and on his knees beg forgiveness—he promised himself. quietly he slipped from the room just after midnight, and wandered into the dark, silent woods beyond the farm. driven relentlessly on and on by the tumult of black despair that engulfed his wretched soul. early the next morning ella's husband, jerimah and the minister found him on his knees, his body bent double until his head rested upon the damp ground, moaning and praying, as tears streamed aunt sara's wooden god down his cheeks. they lifted him to his feet and led him back to the house, up to his room, where he lay all morning. the soft voices of the church aid sisters' songs finally brought soothing sleep to his tortured brain. aunt sara's wooden god chapter xxi six months of long, hard, drab days of toil in sun and rain passed slowly for jim, shut away from the things he had always loved. may, the most beautiful month of the year, brought little cheer to the boy, who had lived the happy-go-lucky outdoor life of the farm. watching flowers, birds and green things grow and breathing in the fresh fragrant air of the flat fertile fields had been his very life. came times when he felt he could not endure another day, the torture of the close smelly prison, the grumbling, grouchy com- panions that surrounded him, but each morning found him in his usual place ready to start another day of work and struggle. slippery's incarceration had not surprised him. he wondered how he had escaped as long as he had. he had never liked slippery and had resented his visits to his home, and the thought of having to work day by day beside the man he felt sure was the cause of his imprisonment, maddened him. not that he altogether blamed slippery. william had taken him in, sick and penniless, for just the pur- pose he had later used him for. as day after day they worked along the road, a feeling of pity filled his heart for the man, who was dying with consumption. sometimes he was hardly able to move from place to place, but was driven on by the guards who disliked his stubborn, sullen ways. aunt sara's wooden god jim tried to ease over to him and help in some way to lighten his work but the guard checked him and sent him to the further side of the road. “hey, you lazy red nigger, get to work and quit stalling,” jim heard the guard call to slippery as he moved away. looking back, he saw slippery knocked to the ground. “now carter, you kin get him 'way from heah,” the guard called. a half hour later, slippery opened his eyes. jim was kneeling beside him, bathing his head. he looked up stunned. “how's yuh feelin' now, slippery?" jim asked kindly, “ah’m awrite,” he answered gruffly turning his head away. that night jim lay awake thinking of the day of horror that had just passed. it made his blood boil to think anyone could so cruelly strike a dying man. he was puzzled as to why slippery had taken the attitude he had towards him. he seemed friendly with all the other prisoners, but he scarcely spoke to him and tried to avoid him at every turn. he fell asleep thinking of his mother and ruth and dreamed that slippery and william with long whips, one on each arm, were chasing him towards a deep ravine filled with long, wriggling snakes. he awoke, weak and perspiring. it was sunday and many visitors would visit the prison. almost everyone would have a relative or friend who would call except slippery. no one dur- ing the few months he had been in prison had come to see him. william had made one joint visit to him and jim—but that was all. slippery did not aunt sara's wooden god seem to care, and as he often expressed himself, “ah'se glad dere ain't nobody to come heah moanin' over me. dey'd make me sick'er den ah ez.” “but ain't you got no folks uh tall?” someone had asked. “none dat knows whar ah is or would miss me if ah was planted,” he answered with no trace of regret in his voice. jim wondered as he glanced at him, lying on his bunk gasping for breath whether there had ever been anyone who had cared for him. the guard brought his reveries to an end. his visitors had arrived. he rose quickly and followed him to the room where they were waiting. he noted with a sinking heart that his mother was not with ruth and the preacher, reverend hooper. “ah’m sorry, jim, but an' sara ain't comin'. she ain't feelin' so well,” ruth explained. “william done stayed home wid’er so de rev. heah comed 'long wid me.” “howdee jim,” reverend hooper greeted cheer- ily. “ah’m all right, rev. it was mighty good 'er you to come out heah wid ruth but ah hopes ma ain't serious,” he continued, turning to ruth, who avoided his eyes as she answered. “no, she's jes' feelin' kind uh down, but ah got good news for yuh, jim. she done hearn from mr. gordon an' he'll be home soon an' goin'ter git you out uh heah.” “dat's good news, sho 'nough. effen he jes' don't b'lieve ah stole dat money an' tried to steal his jewelry,” jim remarked hopelessly. “you knows mr. gordon knows you bettah den aunt sara's wooden god dat an' he's de smartest lawyer dat ever was. an’ sara says dat he kin git yuh right out,” ruth replied earnestly. “now ain't dat somethin' to be thankful for, jim?” reverend hooper asked. “yeah, it sho' is, but ah ain't gointer git too thankful ontell it done happens,” jim insisted. for the rest of the visit ruth talked cheerfully about the farm and related the gossip of the settle- ment, careful to make no mention of william. ella had a new baby girl, and one of the jones' girls had gotten into trouble, and the man had refused to marry her. they laughed heartily, at the picture she vividly portrayed of the girl's father roaming around with his double barrel shot gun under his arm, looking for the guilty man to make him marry her. sally ann had married the reverend hanson, who pastored a church in a small village a few miles from byron and had gone there to live, re- turning every few days to visit martha green and have their usual verbal battle. for the first time since his imprisonment jim laughed and talked unrestrainedly, and enjoyed their visit which came to an end too soon. ruth was gone before he realized it. he had had no op- portunity to ask her how she and william were get- ting along or if she had wanted to break off their engagement, as william had led him to think. william had always gotten what he wanted in the past, he thought bitterly, and there was no doubt he had succeeded in getting ruth's consent to marry him. a short time later, as he sat on the side of his aunt sara's wooden god bunk thinking of the happy times he and ruth had enjoyed at home, one of the guards called him to assist in moving slippery, who had grown worse, to another part of the camp. after they had made him comfortable and jim turned to go, slippery stirred and opened his eyes. he asked in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper. “will you pray for me, jim?” “effen mr. myers say ah kin. ah’ll do my best,” jim replied, turning to the guard standing nearby. “go uh head, jim. prayers ain't goin'ter hurt him nohow, ah reckon,” the guard consented. and jim, frightened and bewildered, knelt be- side the cot, and for the first time in his life, prayed aloud. the guard had walked to the other side of the room, and stood waiting to take jim back to his side of the prison. as he started to rise, slip- pery touched his arm and jim leaned closer to hear what he wanted to say. “ah’m goin'ter git you out 'uh heah, jim. me an' william done dat stealin' an’ ah’m goin'ter tell 'um so,” he whispered. “for god's sake, don't do it, slippery. it'ud kill ma. promise me yuh won't never tell,” jim pleaded, glancing fugitively to where the guard stood looking out of the window. slippery looked up at him unable to understand his wanting to turn down a chance of getting out of prison. slowly, with great effort, he tried to raise himself. he would call the guard and tell him any- way. he opened his mouth to speak, but a long stream of blood gushed forth. he fell back, weak and exhausted. aunt sara's wooden god jim was hustled quickly back to his place, and through the long night he lay awake, his heart filled with the fear of slippery's reviving and telling the guard the story of his brother's guilt—the revela- tion of which would bring new sorrow to his mother. >k xk # sara lou was again able to come downstairs and watch luke work in the field, planting and caring for the farm, but for two weeks she had hung be- tween life and death. william, his ambitions and struggles forgotten, had scarcely left her bedside, turning over in his mind plans of the many ways he intended telling her the sins he had committed, which had brought sorrow to their home and beg- ging her forgiveness so that he could start all over with a clear conscience to live a better life. as days went by, he put it off until she was entirely recovered. sara lou's thoughts were as usual for his wel- fare. “lawd, william, yuh ain't goin'ter finish school dis year effen yuh don't git back to macon,” she moaned. “i ain't worryin' 'bout school, ma, long as you needs me,” he assured her, patting her shoulder tenderly. several days later he left for macon, determined when he next visited home, he would without hesi- tation tell her everything. during the few weeks before commencement, he worked hard, and seldom went near daddy jenks' or saw the old gang. each aunt sara's wooden god week, he received a letter from ethel, but they went unanswered. he was through with all of that i she was out of his life forever, he told himself. but in that particular, he was mistaken, for ethel's return to chicago had been met with little enthusiasm from her brother, a lawyer and one of the city's most respected citizens. ethel had dis- graced him in the past, and he did not try to hide his annoyance at her return to disgrace him again, and told her so in no gentle manner. for a while, the girl was on her guard and tried to do right but years of wild living and her love for liquor soon drew her back to her old south side haunts and be- fore a month had passed, she was in jail again. her brother paid her fine and demanded that she leave chicago but ethel, older and wiser, made her de- mands also that he send her money each week, if he wanted her to stay away from chicago. in the end, he agreed and ethel boarded a train for atlanta deciding that after all, her trip had done some good. william had not written her, but she was determined that being in atlanta where he would be attending school during the next winter, she would make him renew his friendship with her. on reaching atlanta, she wrote him again, but receiving no answer from her letter, she became blue and disappointed, and went on one of her pro- longed sprees, laying for days in a drunken stupor. a thought formed in her mind. it would be good to steal into macon and demand a show down with him, and she boarded a train immediately for macon. daddy jenks, who was again running his place aunt sara's wooden god sinking heart that perhaps after all, he had decided to prolong his stay abroad. on occasions when she passed his plantation, the sight of its dilapidated condition made her heart sick. the house had been nailed up, but grass and weeds over-ran the place. “po' mr. gordon,” she would mumble. “he sot so much store by his orchard. now look at it— weeds an' eve'ythin' jes' chokin' dem trees.” tears would burn her eyes, as she remembered how her husband, john, and later her son, jim, had worked so hard to make his the finest orchard around the country. “my jim would’uh been heah now keepin’ dat place spick an’ span effen some low life skunkin' thief didn't git 'im in prison.” trudging on, the many kind deeds owen gordon had done for her family and herself would fill her mind, and her confidence thus restored in his help- ing jim to freedom, would make her happy and content to wait. she had wanted to visit jim, but her illness had left her weak and emaciated. she did not want him to see her that way as she felt sure it would worry and upset him. ruth's trips to the prison always brought her the news of jim's cheerfulness, and with that she had to be content. william had accompanied ruth on her last visit there and had returned home silent and morose. his mother wondered what had happened to worry him, but william had told her nothing. he had long ago made up his mind that his confessing to her the many slips he had made, during his two years in macon could not do any good, and would only worry her. the information he re- aunt sara's wooden god ceived at the prison concerning slippery's condition frightened him. for days the sick man had laid in a coma, but if at any time he revived, william felt sure he would tell the truth about the robbery and he would be made to suffer for his deed after all. he fervently prayed that slippery would die before regaining consciousness and trembled every time he saw marshall bailey approaching the house. his mother noticed his agitation, but said nothing, trying in every way to dispell whatever there was worrying him with thoughtful kindness, which like coals of fire, burned into his soul. aunt sara's wooden god chapter xxii it was a beautiful morning early in june when owen gordon stepped from the pullman car to the station platform in macon. macon had not changed much during the year he had spent abroad. after all, it was good to be home again. he removed his light felt hat and ran his hand slowly over his fast, thinning gray hair that had once been a luxuriant dark brown. his face round and smooth, showed little signs of his sixty odd years. an anxious porter ran forward to assist him with his bags. yes, it was the same old darky, who had carried his bags when he went away. with a merry twinkle in his eyes he pressed a dollar bill into his wrinkled black hand. old sam nearly dropped the bags when he saw the bill and looking up to see who the liberal white man was, who could afford to give him a whole dollar, he recognized owen gordon. “lawdy mussy, if it ain't mr. gordon hisseffl” he exclaimed. “ah sho is glad to see yuh, boss.” “glad to see me or the bill, sam p” “no, suh ! ah's dat glad to see yuh–ah 'clare ah is.” “all right, sam. see how quickly you can get me a taxi then,” gordon smiled. “yess suh. thank yuh, suh. ah gits one 'fo yuh kin say scat,” sam replied, gesticulating wildly to a passing taxi. aunt sara's wooden god owen gordon leaned back meditatively, as he rode to one of the macon's prominent hotels. there was business he would have to attend to be- fore going out to byron. the year he had spent in europe passed pleas- antly through his mind. he had been sick and al- most hopeless during the few days he had spent in new york consulting specialists about the ailment that had worried him for years. they had advised a trip abroad and complete rest, and he had con- tinued his journey. his sojourn in london had lasted only long enough to attend to business, and to leave strict orders with his solicitors that no mail from the united states be forwarded to him. he wanted to be free to wander and rest. he smiled as he thought of the peaceful weeks spent in north- ern france followed by a month in switzerland— happy weeks near the alps, and the ideal spot he had finally found in southern italy, where the cli- mate and quiet peace had restored his health and peace of mind. he had spent the greater part of the year there, eating plain, wholesome food, dress- ing simply and spending most of his time out-of- doors. his physician had finally pronounced him cured, and he had taken the first boat home, glad to be back in the quiet of his byron home, where his plans to live peacefully with sara lou to take care of his house and jim carter to look after his orchard, stretched before him pleasantly. on reaching london, sara lou's letter had given him quite a shock. there was no doubt in his mind of jim's innocence and that he had been made the victim of some smart criminal. he made up his aunt sara's wooden god mind that jim would at least get another chance to prove his innocence, as he would do all he could to have the guilty party brought to justice. at his hotel he unexpectedly ran into richard hayden, an old friend and associate. “gordon, you're the very man i’ve been wanting to see. when did you get in town?” the lawyer asked in greeting. “just arrived this morning, hayden.” “i guess you've heard about the little affair out at your place?” “yes, sara lou wrote me. her boy's in prison.” “that's what i want to talk with you about, owen. that boy got the rawest deal i’ve ever seen. i de- fended him and judge graham convicted him in his mind before a witness was heard. why, the boy knows no more about that money being stolen than i do. i thought at first he was trying to shield some- body but i found out i was wrong. he's been rail- roaded to the chain gang simply because you left him in charge of your place when some of those byron crackers thought they should have had the job.” owen gordon listened attentively to the lawyer's lcng explanation, his eyes studying the point of his shoes, but his mind drawing a mental picture of the trial that had sent jim away for five years' hard labor. when he spoke, he had made up his mind as to what would be the best move to make under the circumstances. “think i'll be calling on graham day after to- morrow,” he said simply. richard hayden told him all the details of the trial adding his belief that the thief could be found aunt sara's wooden god place, but i'm gonna find out what you failed to find—who really robbed my safe.” “go 'er head! personally, i'm not interested. i ain't no nigger lover an' it don't matter to me what becomes of 'em.” owen gordon's eyes flashed angrily, as he turned to the judge. “now you listen to me, graham, your father and i were partners. he died a real southern gentle- man and out of respect for him, i'll take what you're insinuating, but don't you forget that i am every inch a white man, the same as you are, but unlike you, i want to see everybody get justice. even if jim was found in my house with my jewelry in his pocket, the money taken from my safe he had put there, and had he wanted to, he could have kept it. he knew that, and as for that old jewelry, he had had every opportunity to take it for the past four years, had he wanted to. i’ve owned more niggers than anyone else around here, but i’ve never been accused of being unjust to 'em or of loving 'em either.” “i’m sorry, gordon. maybe i have been too hasty in my words,” the judge apologized. memories of indiscretions of his own youth which had somehow never been discovered, passed through his mind and shamed his declarations of hatred of negroes. they parted good friends and he decided that although he would do nothing to help him get jim pardoned, he would do nothing to hinder it. a few days later when gordon again conferred with hayden he was surprised to find how closely the lawyer had checked up on william's activities right after the robbery. aunt sara's wooden god “you don't suspect william, do you hayden?” he asked looking at him quickly, a startled ex- pression in his eyes. something in his voice brought back to the law- yer's mind bits of gossip he had heard concerning gordon's son franklyn at william's birth. he answered cautiously. “well no, but a nigger called slippery that worked around his shop, has since been sent up for murder and i’ve been checking up on his movements. the night of the robbery he could have easily slipped out to byron from spring valley between the time he was seen in a game there, and returned.” “maybe you're right, but who is he in the mean- time?” “an all around bad character. he visited the carter home several times, and i’ve got a fellow over at the shop now trying to find out something about his past.” “who’ve you got there?” “they call him cotton eye.” “yes, i know him. he's a slick thief—will steal anything he can lay hands on, was born and raised in byron. have him here tomorrow morning and we'll question him,” gordon said in parting. early the next morning a frightened cotton eye was ushered into the office where owen gordon and hayden sat. “there ain't nothing against you this time, cotton eye. mr. hayden and i want some information about this fellow slippery,” gordon greeted to put him at ease. “ah ain't found out nothin' 'bout him 'ceptin’ dat he comed from chicago an’ dat his fust name is aunt sara's wooden god jessie. a gal named ethel myers done tole me dat,” cotton eye answered sheepishly. “that's good. i've got a friend in chicago who's one of the best detectives in the country. i'll get him on the wire and in a few days we'll know all there is to know about this slippery,” gordon com- mented. “by the way, cotton eye, where is this ethel myers you spoke of, now?” lawyer hayden asked, turning to cotton eye, who was edging towards the door eager to get away, before owen gordon re- membered. his last encounter with him had been in court where he was being tried for stealing one of his best hogs. “she puttin' up at daddy jenks' when she heah,” he answered hastily. “you can go now, cotton eye. keep your eyes open and if you find out anything else, let hayden or i know,” gordon said dismissing him and press- ing a five dollar bill into his hand. he pocketed the bill and backed, grinning, out of the door. their call to chicago brought plenty of informa- tion concerning slippery's checkered past and law- yer hayden and owen gordon pinned their hope of getting jim out of prison on slippery's forced confession, if he really did do the robbery. a few days later with the information in their briefcases, they visited the chain gang for an inter- view with their suspect. but on arrival, to their disappointment, they found they were a day too late. slippery had died during the night without making a statement of any kind that would in any way help their case. aunt sara's wooden god chapter xxiii although owen gordon and lawyer hayden tried in every way to get jim's case before the board of pardons during the next few months, it was never brought up, and jim, always a model prisoner, re- signed himself to serve his alloted time. sara lou aged rapidly when the realization that owen gordon, the best and smartest man on earth to her mind, was powerless before the merciless men who held jim's freedom in their hands. william finished school that winter and came home happily displaying his diploma. sara lou was happy and to add to her good fortune, owen gordon finally got the board to consider jim's case. she would not allow herself to hope too much for fear of again being disappointed but went about her work with a constant prayer on her lips for jim's eventual release. the winter had been made miserable for ruth. william's constant pleas and protestations of love had worried the tenderhearted girl. sara lou had also unwittingly added to her di- lemna as afternoons when they sat sewing, she too had added her plea for william. “yuh know, ruth,” she had said one evening, “ah ain't never said nuthin' to you, 'bout my boys seein’ dey both loves yuh and ah loves yuh too, but ah kind uh scared for my william goin' to dat atlanta. if he'd up an' marry de wrong kind uh woman it 'ud ruin his life kaise he allers is been kind aunt sara's wooden god uh restless an' it'ud break my heart. you is de only purson dat kin save him kaise wid you for his wife, he'ud be settled an' happy.” ruth had made no answer. sara lou's tired eyes filled with tears had touched her heart as william's pleas had never done. she loved her and could not bear the thought of the sorrow that would come into her life if william disappointed her. that evening she had slipped away to sit under her hickory nut tree and prayed for strength to do the right thing, but as the weeks wore on, her re- sistance had become weaker until finally to please and comfort his mother, she had promised to marry william before he entered college. and now with the knowledge of jim, perhaps be- ing pardoned, and at home again; she wondered how she would ever be able to face him now that she was engaged to william. but none of their problems worried william. his first scare of owen gordon's finding out he had his safe robbed over, he had become his old confi- dent self, had learned much about farming, even taking over jim's work in the gordon orchard, be- coming very friendly with—owen gordon whom he had always thought disliked him. there had been times when his restless nature had cried out against the monotony of the dull drab life of the farm and times when he had longed for the soft, sensual caresses ethel had lavished so freely. but he had fought hard against his passions and prayed for strength to overcome them, spending most of his time in church. he had become a senior deacon, and in the pastor's absence, conducted the services. it was a late afternoon in june. sara lou wiped aunt sara's wooden god husband. dat was an' salisbury's mojo” dat you used on him,” martha laughed. “ah ain't used no mojo but whut god gine me. it's too bad you don't try usin' some to git slack henderson dat's been hangin' 'roun' yuh for de lass six years,” sally hinted. aunt salisbury's overtaking them, ended what would have been a heated argument and the con- versation turned to other things, for they all feared aunt salisbury whose charms were supposed to make snakes and lizards crawl about under the skin of her victims often causing their death. ruth still loved jim and realized it would be diffi- cult for her to face him. she was unhappy as the days passed, watching sara lou working around the house preparing little things for jim's return. she realized her only escape from the situation she found herself facing would be to run away. mrs. carmicheil had asked her to go with the family to valdosta. she would go. it would only be for a few months, but it would afford her time to think clearly away from the overwhelming influence of william's love-making. but trouble was brewing for william from an- other source. ethel, who had seen him seldom since his graduation, had not given up hopes of having him again as her lover. she was now living in at- lanta and had managed trips to macon where he had at times joined her for a few days. it was on one of these trips he told her of his approaching marriage and firmly dismissed her from his life, but it was not her idea to let it remain so. she wrote him again and again, begging him to come to macon, aunt sara's wooden god to them, making it hard to realize that ethel, who stood looking down upon him, was not an unpleasant dream. “yeah, it's me in de flesh an' not uh ghost,” she said stepping back unsteadily. “what're you doin' here, ethel?” william asked realizing that she was drunk, and would be hard to handle in that condition. “ah’m heah cause ah’m fool 'nough to still love you and wanted to see you,” she answered shortly. “but i asked you never to come to my home,” william said angrily. “ah know yuh did but ah ain't payin' dat no 'ten- tion,” ethel laughed harshly. “now that you're here, what do you want?” “ah want you to go to macon wid me.” “and i say i'm not going.” “well, in dat case, ah’ll stay rite heah an' meet you' ma an’ dat country wench, you goin' ter marry an' tell 'em 'bout us an’ lots’uh other things yuh might not want 'em to hear.” “you can't scare me, ethel, into doing anything i don't want to do. you should know that so get outer here this minute,” william retorted, ad- vancing threateningly towards her. ethel threw her head back and laughed heartily, and when her laughter died, said coolly: “ah ain't goin'ter budge uh god damn step less'en you go wid me, william, an' when ah gits through tellin' yo' folks whut ah knows 'bout you, dey'll drive you out lakuh dog—you damn gamblin', lying, cheatin', yaller bastard.” her voice rose higher and higher as anger and aunt sara's wooden god whiskey swayed her emotions, frightening william to the extent that he would have done anything— even murder to get her away from his home. he decided there was nothing to do but go with her, if only a short distance from the house, and get rid of her and come back. placing his hand on her arm, he said calmly: “there's no need'er carryin' on like that, ethel. i'll go to macon with you. wait till i leave a note for ma.” a few moments later, they were seated in the car speeding towards macon. william seated in the back of the car, looked on in disgust as ethel reached under the seat, drew out a pint of corn liquor, placed it to her lips, and took a big drink, leaning back crazily, passing the bottle to kongo, who drank and grinned up at her. then leaning low over the wheel, he let the car out to its limit— faster and faster they raced over the smoothed red clay road. the car swerving crazily from side to side, at times the wheels hung dangerously over the edge of the narrow road, threatening to topple over into the deep ditches dug on either sides. once they miraculously missed colliding with a passing truck, and a few yards further missed by inches running over a low stone wall on a bridge built over a narrow stream. at each narrow escape, ethel and kongo laughed with glee, but william, seated in the back of the car with his eyes closed—to shut out the sight of his drunken companions and the nearness of death, breathed a prayer. his life of sin and selfishness passed in vivid clearness through his mind; as they raced on through the gathering dusk. aunt sara's wooden god once he cried out in desperation, “for god's sake, ethel, don't let kongo drive so fast!” and ethel's voice came back harsh and bitter above the noise of the motor. “whut de hell difference does it make? i'm bound to go to hell anyhow some day so why keep de devil waitin’?” william remained quiet and bewildered, the rest of the journey—as the car with its three strange occupants shot like a streak through the night. x + xk in the meanwhile, sara lou and ruth had walked in the opposite direction almost to ella's house, when the older woman stopped and stood for a mo- ment thinking. “whut is it, an' sara?” ruth asked, noting her troubled expression. “ah don't know, ruth, but ah jes' feel lak turnin' 'roun' and goin' back. jes' uh funny feelin' done run up an' down my spine lak dey say yuh feels when uh rabbit done jumped over yo' grave.” “oh, tain't nothin' an' sara. jes' yo' nerves,” ruth assured her. “all de same ah’m goin' back. you jes' keep on to ella's. maybe me an' william'll come over dere later on to-night.” and ruth watched her, as she turned and started back towards her home that she had just left. then walking slowly she continued in the direction of ella's home. sara lou gathered speed as soon as she was out of sight of ruth and stumbled along as fast as her aunt sara's wooden god at the mention of william's name she appeared promptly in the doorway. “whut he say, jim?” she asked, a shade of anxiety in her voice. “dat he been called away on business, dat's all,” jim read. “well, ah feels better knowin' whar he is,” she said relieved. the table soon resembled a feast. “dis heah is my sunday dinner but you kin eat it all an’ ah'll cook more if yuh wants to,” she laughed, seating herself opposite jim who ate spar- ingly while she talked on and on about william, ruth and the new preacher; how the members had begun to fight him and wanted him sent away be- cause he had not been able to get his wife to move to byron. everything she could think of she re- lated. “lawd, ah jes' bout talk yuh to death, jim,” she laughed. “ah enjoys jes' hearin' yo' voice, ma,” jim re- plied, a little tremble in his voice. he lowered his head over his plate to keep her from seeing the tears that sprang quickly to his eyes. “yeah, but you jes' wait ontell de neighbors heahs youse home, den dey goin'ter rush over heah an' 'tween sally ann peck whut done married dat rev- erend hansom an' martha green an' an' salisbury an' ella an’ de rest uh dem, dey goin'ter talk yo' head off.” the evening passed pleasantly. ruth did not re- turn from ella's because a storm came up suddenly, and continued furiously until after midnight. jim and his mother planned the work to be done around aunt sara's wooden god the farm, and chatted happily, glad the rain had kept their neighbors away. jim wanted to be alone with her, his first night home, but much of the hap- piness he had enjoyed was spoiled for him by his mother unknowingly when she said earnestly just before they retired: “jim, dere's one thing ah wants to ask yuh to do for me an' dat is try an' have uh little more pa- tience wid yo' brother willyum. he's been kind'er restless heah uh late, an’ ah don't want him to up an' leave home lak ah scared he'll do, if you'all gits to auguin’ lak you did 'fo you went uh way. will yuh promise me you'll try, jim?” jim turned his head aside. fear and anger burned in his eyes which he would not for the world have had her see. william had sent him to prison. he had suffered two long years and now his mother was asking him to kiss the hand that had betrayed him. it hurt and crushed him, but he murmured his promise. “an' jim, dere's something else, ah want to talk to you 'bout. it's ruth. she done promised to marry william. that goin'ter be de best thing dat could ever happen, kaise william loves her an' she kin make him happy an' contented. 'course ah knows you thought dat you loved ruth when yuh'all was chillun, but you done tole her in dat letter dat you changed yo' mind 'bout marrying her so now dat her an' william goin'ter git married, you ain't go- in'ter do anything to make dem feel bad, is yuh son?” she pleaded, laying her hand affectionately on his arm. jim shook his head in the negative, not even aunt sara's wooden god chapter xxiv when william reached macon in spite of ethel's entreaties that he accompany her up to her room, he went straight out to his cousin sissy's home and to his old room. sissy, surprised and worried over his unexpected visit and the strange strained ex- pression on his face, tried to find out what had hap- pened to cause his sudden appearance. “is anythin' happened to cousin sara?” she asked, as william threw himself across the rickety iron bed in a corner of the room. “no, ma's all right,” william answered wearily. “is jim done comed home? ah heard he was to git out dis week.” “he hadn't come home when ah left, sissy.” “well ah guess ah’ll be on my way. ah'se goin' to some kind uh shinding wid my new man. ah sho hopes he's uh good spender caise ain't nothin' makes me as mad as uh cheap skate hangin' round showin' off.” sissy looked at william expectantly as she talked, but for once the mention of a new man brought no kidding smile to his lips. wrapping her snuff box in her handkerchief and shoving it into her pocket, she shook her head doubtfully as she closed the door and stood for a moment thinking. “dere's somethin' done happened to dat boy,” she decided walking slowly away from the house. left alone, william lay for several hours looking aunt sara's wooden god up into the rotten rafters that held the leaky roof in place, his thoughts a tumult of jumbled memories. his wild ride from byron to macon with two drunken companions, his nearness to death and dis- aster, and association with the sordid creature, who would in time complete the wreck he was making of his life, frightened and awakened him. he saw himself as he had never seen himself before, selfish, weak, mercenary—a thief. the thought sickened him. the spoils of his crime had done him no good, but had sent his brother to prison branded for life. a dry choking sob rose in his throat. what had jim ever done to deserve the sin he had committed against him, he asked himself. why had he hated him so unjustly. in his heart he could find no answer. he was just rotten, unworthy of pity or the confidence his mother had in him. slowly he slipped to his knees, sobs shaking his shoulders, a torrent of tears smarting and blinding his eyes as a prayer for forgiveness tumbled from his lips. throughout the long spring night he prayed stripping his soul in humble repentance, putting from him all the excuses he had used in life to cover his sins. it was almost dawn when he arose and stumbled from the house. the sight of the squalor of dirty streets and slovenly kept houses as he stumbled along, reminded him of his own life. something within him rose in rebellion. why should he remain shackled to the past? he would get away from it all, and prove the truth of his mother's often re- peated remark. - “son, yuh done comed from good stock, yuh jes' aunt sara's wooden god different from dese folks round heah an' yuh kaint help showin' it.” he would show it—he would get away from everyone he had ever known and work out his own future without even the help of his worshipping mother. the sun rose hot and glaring. he did not feel it as he trudged wearily on. his throat became dry and parched but he did not slacken his pace until he reached the dense woodland beyond the city limits where he sank to the grass under a tall leafy tree. afternoon faded into twilight, and darkness with it's relieving coolness ushered in the night as plan after plan passed through his troubled brain. it was near midnight when he retraced his steps towards the city, but his mind was made up, and a new peace filled his soul. early monday morning he wrote ruth a long letter expressing his regrets of not being able to see her before she left for valdosta. one phrase he had written in his letter puzzled her. “it will be a long time before you see me again and when you do, it will not be the william you have always known.” she could find no meaning for his words, it sounded so different from the self-confident boast- ing william she knew. of one thing she was glad —he had not asked her to answer his letter so she need not worry about hurting him, as she knew she would some day when she told him definitely she could not keep her promise to marry him. on his way to mail ruth's letter, he met a farmer from byron who told him of jim's being home. he was glad and thanked god in his heart for settling aunt sara's wooden god work.” he countered, “and furthermore you got a bad cough now dat ought'er be tended to.” “yes, i am, daddy, and i wants to. i've just been lazy, that's all,” william replied with con- viction. “but maybe yuh could git something lak store work whlut ain't so hard, willyum.” “no, daddy, i don't want no easy job. i wants to sweat, and work so hard, i won't have time to think,” william replied earnestly. daddy was puzzled. it just did not sound like william. what had come over the boy, he won- dered, trying to find an answer in the strange hard face before him. “ah don't know 'bout nothing right round heah. ah'se got uh brother whut works at uh saw mill down in florida, but dat's hard work an' uh long way from heah,” he ventured after a moment's thought. “i don't care how hard it is, or how far. it's the only thing that'll make a real man of me, daddy.” “well ah can't help sayin' ah lak yo' spunk. ah allers thought it was in yuh, boy, an' effen you sho' you means whut youse sayin', ah’ll give yuh uh letter to my brother an' if you ain't got nough money, ah’ll stake yuh. de mill's fifteen miles fuhm jacksonville, jes' uh flag station but you kin git dere awrite. it's called johnson's. ah ust'uh go out dere to meet pay days an’ dere's lots uh money in circulation out dere awrite.” “thanks daddy, i'll get there all right and i'll send you back your money as soon as i get started,” william replied, a relieved look in his eyes. “there's just one thing more i want to ask you, aunt sara's wooden god round heah a nickname. ah guess de boys'll jes' bout call you yaller,” b.b. laughed. “dese other boys heah,” he indicated, taking in the group, “is spider, full breaches, tin pan, long john an' dis little fellow heah is big boy,” he laughed pointing to two hundred pounds of bronzed bulk. “i’m glad to know you all,” william acknowl- edged cordially, looking around the group. there was not the same open friendship in their eyes that b.b.'s held and william sensed he would have no easy time making these men like him. “now 'bout work,” b.b. continued, walking towards his shanty, william falling in step beside him. “ah guess yuh kin git uh job round heah, as we is short uh hands right now. most uh de boys done gone down in south florida to work at uh new saw mill down dere in nocotee caize de wages is bettuh den dey is heah.” “yeah,” full breaches put in. “de wages is bettuh an' de crackers is bigger an' bad’er,” the men laughed and william joined in heartily. “we'll see 'bout yuh gittin' on in de morning an’ yuh kin bunk wid me effen yuh wants to, yaller boy. ah ain't married so we all kin batch together,” b.b. offered. “thanks, i'll be glad to,” william replied. later that evening he met aunt silby who cooked for b.b. and the rest of the unmarried men. “ah see ah got'uh take care uh dat cough you got,” she commented, as she bustled around getting the supper of collard green fat pork and corn pone on the table. william felt at home with b.b. and the kindly old woman, and spent his first night at the mill hap- aunt sara's wooden god pily dreaming of the good he could do among these people, who while they were not educated nor learned in the ways of the outside world, were honest and happy to do their job well. he won- dered whether he could find the same contentment they had found, and tried to feel that he was one of them. it would be hard to curb the old feeling of superiority he had always had but he was deter- mined to try. wednesday morning b.b. took him to see the “big boss” as lemuel johnson was called by his negro mill hands. he was a big man standing al- most six feet tall, his ruddy face topped by a mass of red bushy hair and loud voice made him a force- ful figure, but he was known throughout the state for his fair treatment of employees. his keen blue eyes seemed to look right through william, as he remarked: “well, you don't look like you'll make much of a millhand carter, but i'm short so i'll give you a try.” it was settled and he was put to work piling lum- ber. it was hard work under blazing sun that burned through his rough work shirt into his tender skin, often there followed drenching rains that soon passed leaving him wet and sticky. but william sang with the other men and tried to forget his misery. “ah got'uh gal, huh man, ah loves my gal, huh man, ah piles dis rail, huh man throws it high, huh man cause ah loves my gal, huh man till de day ah die, huh man.” aunt sara's wooden god “say yaller boy, how come you allers tries to get away to yo'seff when ah comes round? ah could sure go for you,” she coaxed. “don’t mind me. i'm just not interested,” wil- liam replied. “well, it ain't no sense uh you workin' yo'seff to death in de mill. you jes' don't fit round heah. ah could be mighty nice to yuh effen yuh'd come to jacksonville an' let me,” she offered. william smilingly refused, but a few nights later he kept a rendezvous with her in the depths of the dark pine woods. he emerged feeling ashamed and disgusted. later that night when b.b. came to the shanty from a game he found william stand- ing knee deep in a big wooden tub of hot water scrub- bing himself as if he wanted to tear the skin from his body. “gee, yaller, you sho is hankerin' for bein’ clean, washin' dis time uh night,” he laughed. william said nothing. he was sick at heart. after all his promises he had found himself weak and still a prey to the lust that had come near ruin- ing his life before. >k >k >k june passed, and july with its hot long days dragged slowly but came to an end eventually. dur- ing the spring and summer he had written his mother regularly. he had received no letter from ruth, but his mother had taken pains to mention her in every letter he received. she was still work- ing for the carmicheils in valdosta. of jim his mother said little but she was careful to tell him aunt sara's wooden god how glad owen gordon was that he was trying to earn his money for his schooling. he often won- dered why his mother had always been so desirous of his knowing owen gordon's interest in his wel- fare and related to him every opinion he offered. as august came in, william felt the long hot days harder to endure. he had saved most of his money each week and had long since sent daddy jenks the money he had lent him. he was glad the men around the mill seemed to have learned to like him better and had stopped teasing him as he sat reading while they played cards or dice nearby. the woman who had lured him into the woods had not returned to the mill the following pay day, and when he heard that she had gotten into trouble and was working out a sentence on the prison farm, he could not help feeling relieved, and thanked god fervently he had been saved from another affair such as he had had with ethel. he became more reticent than ever and spent more time reading the bible. “say whut yuh say fellows we make yaller heah de preacher uh dis outfit p” full breaches suggested one night, as they played cards. “dat's uh good idea, den when de old reverend coleman don't show up, we kin have church any- how,” b.b. agreed good-naturedly. from then on everybody around the mill called william, “preacher” and on the sundays the old minister did not show up, he carried on the sunday school for the children and read and discussed the scripture later for the mothers and fathers. he would not let them call it preaching, but they con- sidered it better sermons than the reverend cole- aunt sara's wooden god man had ever preached, and william was happy— his only worry was the dry hacking cough that had held on through the spring and summer. september with its long rainy days had almost gone when lemuel johnson called william, who was piling lumber in long even stacks under the shed at the back of the mill. “say you yaller nig . . .” he started when wil- liam interrupted with: “i heard you the first time, boss,” turning his head to hide the angry flush that mounted to his forehead. “well, i was gonna say i wants you to run this wench machine here. mister casper who's been running it, won't be round any more. i've been noticing you, you ain't any too strong and maybe you can handle this machine better'n you can them logs. nothing to do but sit and pull handles. b.b. will show you how, course it's a white man's job, but i guess you'll do for a spell,” he finished, walk- ing away. he had seen the flush of anger on wil- liam's face but somehow he liked him, and what he had heard of his sober habits, made him like him better. the new job was easier and paid fifty cents more a day and william was pleased. he had been work- ing at the mill four months and except for one occa- sion when he had gone to the city to buy new clothes, he had kept his promise to give up gambling. on that trip he had yielded to the temptation of trying his luck in a skin game in one of the places he and b.b. had visited, and after an hour's play, had found himself relieved of almost a month's pay. it had taught him a lesson he thought he had learned back in macon and strengthened his determination aunt sara's wooden god on and on her soft pleading voice would break the stillness of the night. pain would clutch jim's heart and he would join in silently with his mother's prayer for william's return. during the spring william's letters had come regularly and sara lou had been happy and proud of his independence in wanting to earn the money for his college course. planting and helping jim get the place running smoothly had taken much of her time. ruth spent the entire summer working in valdosta and she had all of the housework to do as well as work in the field and over at the gordon house. there had not been even time for her usual care of the neigh- boring sick or the church aid but they had been happy months. jim had fallen into his usual steady plodding from before sunrise to late at night. owen gordon's orchard and the garden that he insisted on planting, had taken a great deal of his time but he had gotten them all in shape and kept them going nicely. july had passed. the cotton had claimed much of his attention, but he had kept busy trying to for- get the terrible experience through which he had passed during his eighteen months in the chain gang, awaking some mornings afraid that he would find himself chained to his bunk. he had become more reticent than ever—thinking much and speaking only when he was compelled to. august with it's hot blistering days and swarms of flies and mosquitoes brought a new interest to the settlement. the much-talked-of swamp angel was to hold the big mid-summer revival meeting at their own calvary. saint and sinner from far and aunt sara's wooden god the aisle. sara lou ran forward and caught him in her arms but he gently disentangled himself and started telling the congregation how his soul had been saved while in prison. on and on he talked be- tween the tears, walking up and down the aisle in his fervor. men and women on all sides amened and shouted, as for almost an hour, the usual silent jim swayed the congregation. sara lou's cup of happiness was filled. she shouted all the way home and neighbors rejoiced with her until the little village became fired with their religious zeal. the following sunday she walked beside him as he was going to the river to be baptized. some- how her thoughts kept going back to the sunday when william had walked thus to the river. he had looked so tall and handsome and different from the others. her heart ached for the sight of him, the touch of his hand, but she consoled herself with the thought of him some day walking at the head of his own converts, maybe a larger crowd than this. through the months that followed william's let- ters became shorter and less regular but they con- tinued to cheer and encourage her. then came october when they ceased entirely. she lived on each day with the hope that the next day would bring the letter she longed for. but day after day brought disappointment. her shoulders began to sag, grief and despair showed in her eyes. owen gordon stopping by to leave some orders with jim, one day, saw the many lines that furrowed her face, the purple shadows around her eyes and with pity guessed the cause. “when you hear from william, find out how aunt sara's wooden god much that school you're so set on him attending is going to cost, sara. i guess i can let you have the money,” he said kindly, as he was leaving. “dat'll be fine, mr. gordon. ah sho thanks yuh an' ah’ll be rite glad to tell him,” she replied grate- fully. but no letter came from william. laggingly she helped with the cotton and trudged to the post office without results. ruth, who now worked for and lived with mrs. carmicheil, who had come back to her home in byron, visited her often but could not get up suffi- cient courage to talk to her about william, her heart was broken because jim continued to avoid her. she longed to talk it over with him, and beg him to forgive her for seeming to accept william's love. one day, as she walked out to the hickory nut tree under which the strands of their hair were buried, she saw him hurrying away. she called him and when he did not answer, ran and overtook him. “listen jim,” she began anxiously, “ah been tryin' to git uh chance to talk to you but you jes' keeps out 'uh my way. why do you do dat?” “jes' kaise yuh done promised to marry william,” he answered, walking on. “ah ain't never goin'ter marry william. ah loves you jim 'fo' god ah does,” she pleaded. “yeah, maybe yuh thinks dat now dat william ain't heah but ah ain't so sho,” he quickened his steps. “ah ain't never loved william, jim,” ruth al- most sobbed. aunt sara's wooden god “how come yuh promised to marry him den?” jim asked. “ah ain't never promised to marry him. he jes' talked me into sayin' ah guess ah would. please, jim, don't think ah ever loved william kaise ah ain’t. dere was times ah b'lieved ah hated him but he jes' kept pesterin' me and you had wrote me we wasn't engaged no more.” jim walked a few paces ahead in silence as ruth, trying to keep up with him, pleaded. “less us make up jim an' marry.” “not till william comes back and tells me wid his own mouth you an' him is broke up,” jim answered firmly. and ruth realized it would do no good to argue with him further. jim had always been stubborn and set in his ways. with the cotton all picked and ready to be ginned and sold, jim had more time to himself and spent most of it in a manner sara lou had never known him to before. several times she walked up on him hidden behind the barn, his bible across his knee, studying it laboriously. “whut's yuh doin' readin' de bible so much uh late, son?” she smiled. “oh nothin' ma. ah jes' lookin' up de sermon de rev. preached lass sunday,” closing the book. “you ain't thinkin' on bein’ uh preacher, is yuh, jim p” she asked seriously. “maybe ma. rite now since dey done made me uh deacon, ah might be called on to say somethin' some time an' ah laks to be shouh whut ah says,” he answered. sara lou smiled happily. jim's conversion had aunt sara's wooden god for years been her daily prayer. if william was only home or if he would only write and say he was all right, she would be very happy. but as october drew to a close and november passed slowly, her sorrow became almost desperation. ruth now sel- dom came to see them. mrs. carmicheil was kind and had given her a nice room but there was lots of work which kept her busy. sara lou, her tall form becoming more bent each day, found a strange consolation in her daily visits to the post office, although she received no mail. neighbors gossiped and tried to guess what had hap- pened to william but sara lou always on the alert to shield him, would explain: “ah guess maybe my william done jes' gone to atlanta and started in dat atlanta preaching school tryin' to 'sprise me wid de news when he's all straight an' everythin'.” walking from her house they would discuss her excuse and shake their heads sadly over the deep silent sorrow that was eating at her vitals. long nights in december dragged on with just herself and jim, who was always reading now. sit- ting alone—waiting—always waiting to hear some- thing from her beloved william. the approaching holiday season held no joy for her but she prayed unceasingly that they would bring her boy home, and lived on her faith. x x x monday morning, christmas eve dawned bright and clear with a crispy chill in the air that sent one's blood coursing delightfully through his veins. a aunt sara's wooden god holiday spirit filled the otherwise dull village of byron with excitement. early shoppers idled around the general store discussing the topics that interested them most. in the tree lined streets children shout- ing with happiness ran beside their parents, who dragged large green christmas trees from the sur- rounding woods. at the little wooden railroad station the usual loafers lounged around, their jaws protruding with huge wads of tobacco. long streams of brown spit spattered the tracks, as they diligently whit- tled slender wooden sticks and waited from force of habit, the incoming train. it's three short blasts were soon followed by a grinding stop. a single passenger alighted. no one recognized in the pale, stooped emaciated man, as he walked slowly down the three wooden steps to the street, the straight handsome william carter they had all known. early in december daddy jenks' brother had re- turned to the saw mill and been told about the stranger who had inquired for him, saying he had brought a letter from his brother. he had written at once to daddy jenks, telling him about william having been shot, and although he had recovered from the serious bullet wound, he was still in a jack- sonville hospital seriously ill with tuberculosis, and no one knew who his people were nor from where he had come. daddy jenks had lost no time getting to jackson- ville, and william had awakened from an after- noon nap one day to find him and ethel standing at his bedside. he had felt happy and relieved when daddy explained ethel's presence with: “ethel's aunt sara's wooden god my wife now, carter. ah couldn't git rid uh de pest so ah ups an’ marries her.” daddy had scolded him for not letting him know he was sick but william like most tubercular patients, had not considered his condition serious and expected to be able to go home any day soon. it had taken several weeks for him to get sufficient strength to make the trip, but daddy and ethel waited and brought him to macon with them. but he had insisted on making the journey to byron alone and daddy had reluctantly let him have his way. during the seventeen miles' ride, he sat motion- less staring unseeingly at the fast moving scenery from the window. the months he had spent at the mill, the weeks he had suffered in the hospital not wanting to let his mother know because of the anguish the knowledge of his illness and accident would cause, the long, restless nights filled with thoughts of ruth whom he realized he could never possess—passed through his mind in retrospect. stumbling feebly through the short streets of the village, visions of his home with its green, cool, fer- tile fields stretched inviting arms to him. he would be well and strong here in no time, he told himself over and over. an automobile came swiftly towards him. he raised his head as it came abreast. owen gordon at the steering wheel saw him and stopped the car beside him, saying quietly: “get in, william, i'll take you to sara.” jim, mending a broken place in the front porch, lay down his hammer and came quickly to the side of the car when it stopped at the gate. owen gor- aunt sara's wooden god don assisted him in getting william into the house, leaving as soon as he finished getting a bed ready for him in the parlor downstairs, with an abrupt: “i’ll send doctor clarke right out, jim.” alone again in his car, his hand hastily brushed a moisture very much like a tear, from the corner of his eyes. sara lou, who had been hastily summoned to the bedside of aunt salisbury whom old age was re- moving from her world of roots and herbs, had been mercifully spared the anguish of seeing wil- liam brought home dying with tuberculosis and took it better than anyone imagined she would when she came home and found him there. even doctor clarke, who told her in the kindest possible way that william would hardly live to see the new year, was surprised that she did not break down entirely. but after her first uncontrollable burst of grief, her real characteristic ability of self control exerted itself as she, seated in her favorite rocker in the dining-room, swayed back and forth, moaning pitifully. “ah done ask god to send him home to me an' he did. ah ain't tell him how. ah jes' sayd please send him home. ah al’lers loved him with all my heart. maybe too much kaise god is uh jealous god an' ain't wanted me to worship no other god but him. maybe dat's why he takin' him from me kaise ah worshipped him. oh lawd, have mercy on my pore boy. save his soul if yuh kaint save his body, lawd?” prayers and tears mingled in a steady stream all day while the minister and church aid members grouped around trying to console the grief-stricken aunt sara's wooden god and caused him to break you'alls engagement but i loved you, ruth, i still loves you. it's been the only real thing in my life. but jim loves you too and you love him. i know it now and i want him to know it too. you two must marry and be happy, after i'm gone. promise me you will.” he closed his eyes, exhausted. a coughing spell racked his frame. jim hastily raised him in his arms and placed a glass of water to his lips. ruth looked at jim timidly, as he rose to place the glass on the stand. “ah'll marry you, jim if you still wants me,” she whispered. “’course ah wants you, ruth,” he replied look- ing into her eyes, his heart beating suffocatingly. william's eyes were again open. he smiled up at them. a single word fell from his lips. “brother.”—his eyes closed again. he lay still. jim looking down on him, wondered why he should love him so much after all the wrongs he had heaped upon him. his heart seemed ready to burst with sorrow because he knew his brother would soon leave them forever. their mother came softly into the room and kneel- ing beside the bed, buried her face in the covers at his side. tenderly jim knelt beside her and assured her that william had not left them but was just resting quietly. outside the early dawn cast fitful shadows through the leafy boughs of the trees that grew near the house. jim placed his arm around ruth's waist, and led her over to the window to watch the sunrise painting the skies a rosy pink beyond the aunt sara's wooden god “ah'm gonna lay down my burden, down by de ribber side down by de ribber side down by de ribber side . . .” william's eyes closed slowly. his hand rested upon his mother's bowed head. she gathered him closer into her arms. his smiling lips became still and set, his body stiffened. ruth and jim kneeling on the other side of the bed, hid their faces in the covers. sara lou leaned down and kissed his pallid lips and straightened his body upon the narrow bed. then burying her face on his breast, sobbed wildly. bravely the women sang on to the end of their song. “ah ain't gonna study war no more.” (the end) |- - - | | ， | （） - ||× │ │ │ ： ſuae |× ſae | | | | | . （ſ. ： |- || |- |（）|| \， \， |× | } | （）ſuae | |- || ） （~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~） . · |-- - - --- -.- - - bertrand smith acres of books long beach blvd. long beach, calif. low- j. case of /l. |agate “then, on our wedding night,” said mrs. wingate after a pause, “he broke down and made a shocking confession!” thiecase of cº-º-º-. wingate oscar micheaux author of “the wind from nowhere” s book supply company publishers morningside avenue new york univ. library, univ. calif., santo cruz. copyright, by oscar micheaux set up and electrotyped all rights reserved no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission of the author. th edition other books by oscar micheaux “the masquerade” a powerful historical novel, based in part on a boy's (johnny north- cross), peculiar reaction to the bar sinister, and the monstrous dred scott decision, most infamous document ever conceived by the mind of man; of his beautiful quadroon sister, rena: the men who fell in love with her—and the strange and unusual circumstances that were the result of it! illustrated, over pages, $ . “the story of dorothy stanfield’” based on a great insurance swindle—and a woman! a stirring novel of strange adventure, love and absorbing human interest, as intense, sus- penseful and dynamic as an atomic bomb! don’t fail to read this exciting novel. - illustrated, pages, $ . “the wind from nowhere” a truly great novel of contemporary negro life. the unforgettable story of martin eden, young negro builder of an agricultural empire in the dakota wilderness, wherein he alone was black, and a beautiful and mysterious girl, to make this the strangest love story ever told. tremendous is the word for it! illustrated, pages, $ . . postage, cents extra each book. printed in the united states of america ry, univ. calif., santa cruk copyright, by set up and electrotyped all rights reserved of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission of the author. th edition other books by oscar micheaux “the masquerade” al novel, based in part on a boy's (johnny north- historic he monstrous dred r reaction to the bar sinister, and t , most infamous document ever conceived by the mind of autiful quadroon sister, rena: the men who fell in love the strange and unusual circum” that were the illustrated, over pages, $ . he story of dorothy stanfield” man! a stirring novº of interest, as intense, * fail to read this exciting reat insurance swindle—and a wo ure, love and absorbing human namic as an atomic bomb! don't illustrated, pag”, $ . om nowhere” o life. the unforgettable f an agricultural empire and a beautiful r told. “the wind fr temporary nº negro builder he alone was black, e strangest love */ eve it novel of con eden, young wilderness, wherein girl, to make this th he word for it! , pages, $ . postage. cents extra each book. printed in the united states of america to alice b. º % ( ) ſº leading characters in the order of appearance heinrich schultz a negro nazi spy, sent by adolf hitler to the u.s.a. to report on american activities from the negro ſections. kermit early aſsisting him from the inside. a highly educated but mys, terious negro, who is dissatisfied with the way his race at . treated in america. florence wingate wife of a millionaire textile magnate, who becomes strange. ly involved with kermit early, and is the cause of his pe. culiar silence. sidney wyeth - - a motion picture producer and author, who refuses to make a “hate” picture kermit early has written, and around whom much of the story revolves. marie coleman his aſsiſtant. edrina winson - a stage-struck actress, who didn't mean sidney wyeth any good. bertha schultz heinrich's sister. sent to america to assist her brother, who fell in love, and changed her view point. hans schiller a german secret agent, in charge of subversive activisies in america. dr, gustave von barwig a ruthless and heartless nazi who, angered by bertha's falling in love with an american, orders her to commit . diabolical act. time: through . place: america. racters of appearance ltz ºri ſpy ent by adolf hitler to the u.s.a, ſo ſmerican activitieſ from the negro ſections. ºn from the inside. a highly educated but ſº ro, who iſ intified with the way his “* america. (gate who becomeſ ſha' ° milionaire textile magmaté, ańh kermit early, and is the cause of hiſ ſº 'ſt’, i * * picture producer and author, who refuſeſ hº tº picture kermit early has writté", and around of the ſtory revolveſ. n iſ. º actreſſ, , , in mº" sidney wyeth any ſca fo aſſif her brother, who tz sent to ” iter. sen! () - * und changed her piet” point. j. case o/ //... lºngate chapter | he europa, transatlantic luxury liner was three days out of new york, bremen, germany, bound. this was, of course, prior to september , . it was a beautiful morning in the late summer of a year the world was soon not to forget. the sea was both calm and smooth, as smooth as glass, hardly a ripple other than that stirred by the forward driv- ing of the huge liner, visible on the surface of the water. every stateroom on the liner was not only taken but filled, upper and lower, to the port holes. passengers had been informed on arrival at the pier in new york that they would have to share their quarters with others, reasons for which became obvious a few days later. the people of the world were in a state of apprehension. every newspaper in america, england and the world over was blazing in conspicuous headlines that negotiations regarding the fifteen mile corridor to danzig through poland, had been suspended, and that adolf hitler was preparing to invade poland. england and france had clarified their positions: that they were through with appeasing hitler, and that if he invaded poland, there would be war. his answer was to continue the preparations he was making. aboard the liner, germans returning to the fatherland, said that the jews were the cause of it, that in some strange and peculiar way, they were directly and indirectly responsible for every war that had swept europe since before napoleon. in the debates going on all over the ship, those of german sympathies declared that among those involved with the jews in the threatened outbreak was no other than franklin d. roosevelt, president of the united states. they argued that poland would have let hitler have the corridor that he was demanding, if england and france hadn't urged poland not to grant it, that they would back up and protect her, but that england and france would never have taken the stand they did if the case of mrs. wingate roosevelt had not assured them that america stood solidly behind them and not to appease hitler any further. but our story is not a history of the outbreak of world war number two, but about some of the circumstances that was the result of it. among the passengers returning to germany aboard the liner on this final trip across the seas was one baron otto von mueller and his wife, the baroness ernestine. baron otto was an important figure and high up in the affairs of the national socialist party in germany. he was one of the few aristocrats of the old school, active in hitler's set-up, who still retained his titles and estates, which were near potsdam. baron otto and his fraulein at the moment were standing by the rail of the steamer, gazing out across the sea when they were attracted by footsteps and a shadow, which crossed behind them, as a man walked up to the rail a few feet away and leaned his el- bows thereon. they turned slightly and gazed across at him, then turned to each other, exchanging expressions of curiosity. as if by instinct, they turned their faces again toward the stranger, studied him a moment, then turned to each other again in curiosity. “i wonder who that young man is,” mused the baron idly, and turned again to glance over his shoulder at him. the steamer was in high speed, doing about thirty knots an hour and the spray from below sprinkled their faces with salt water, from which they did not turn because, combined with the soft morning air, it was rather pleasant. “a negro, too,” replied the baroness, after another glance at him. “yes, i've been wondering who he could be.” “he doesn't look exactly like the colored people we saw in america, yet he must be one of them,” ventured the baron. “maybe he's an actor or a musician. we often see them in ger- many.” the baron turned and glanced at the negro again, then shook his head. - “no. he is neither. doesn’t have that kind of appearance. and i'm not even sure if he is an american negro.” the baron was thoughtful a moment, as if trying to recall something. then, con- tinued. “now that i remember, i heard him giving an order in the salon k the case of mrs. wingate this morning, and in perfect german.” “then he is not an american negro,” she said. “it's possible that he could be a german after all. we do have a few, especially in the rhineland since the last war.” “but he couldn't be,” said the baron. “he is obviously older than any of them.” again they surveyed the object of their curiosity, who seemed completely unconcerned and as completely oblivious of their pres- ence as well as curiosity. instead, he drew away on a cigarette, flecked the ashes from the end of it and gazed out over the waters. the baron turned to his wife, his eyebrows puckered. “the more i look at him,” he said, “the more i seem to recall having seen him before somewhere. must have been a long time ago, but there is something familiar about his face. i have a peculiar feeling, away in the back of my head, that i've seen him some- where.” “maybe you saw him in america after all. maybe in washington. we saw lots of nice looking, highly educated colored people down there. maybe he is one of the professors of that big colored school we drove by one day, the one on the hill, above washington. many of them might speak german. many—” the baron again cut her off by a shake of his head, his eyebrows contracted. “no. he is, i’d wager, not a professor, either. and if he was, he would have spoken german slowly, picking each word and he would have had an accent. this man spoke it as well as i do, without any hesitation whatsoever. no. it must have been in germany and some years ago, for had it been lately, i would remember it.” “then, if so, whereabouts in germany?” his wife insisted. “i can't recall, ernestine, i can't recall.” “well,” she said, with a sort of sigh, “since we're both so curious regarding him, why not try to find out who he is? it should prove somewhat of a diversion. i've been rather bored during the whole trip. almost nobody we know to talk to. so do some thinking and some planning and find a way to get information about this curiosity,” she finished blandly. “that's a poor way to put it, ernestine,” he said, in disapproval. “i understand, otto,” she exclaimed apologetically. “i’m bored and i'd appreciate something to lift me out of the dumps, as they the case of mrs. wingate say in america. out of the dumps,” and she laughed lightly to herself. at that moment dinner was announced and turning, they made their way across the deck toward the dining room, turning as they reached it, to see the colored man heading the same way. it was some time before they were seated at a table and their order taken. then, and what to them seemed an unusual coincidence, when they looked up from the menu, it was right into the face of the colored stranger. all started, exchanged glances, then turned to him and bowed respectfully. he returned the bow and they had a chance in that glance to study him more closely. he was obviously handsome. he possessed a strong chin, eyes full set but determined. closer to him, they could see that he was german all right. he possessed all the characteristics, even though one of his parents was obviously a negro. he wore his hair, which was curly, in an attractive pompadour. he was obviously tall, though they could not tell how tall he was since he was seated. it was not until they were leaving the dining salon and had bumped into him as they were coming through the door, that the baron got his opportunity to speak to him without just “butting” in. “oh, pardon me, please,” cried the baron, smiling. “as much my fault as yours, baron. i accept your apology, and in turn, offer you mine,” said the negro. the baron started, then smiled relieved. the baroness smiled too. “oh, you know me?” said the baron in surprise, drawing his wife to one side to be out of the way of people, going in and out of the salon. “yes, i know you, baron von mueller,” he said, easily, and smiled. “i can see that you've forgotten me, however.” “indeed, but this is a pleasure.” he paused to turn to the baroness. “he knows me, ernestine. now i'm sure that i’ve seen him before.” “he’s been insisting that he had,” she said. “oh, pardon me again, my fellow,” cried the baron hastily. “this is my wife, the baroness ernestine von mueller, mr. or is it herr?” “just plain heinrich schultz, baron otto, of berlin, thank you,” he said. turning to the baroness, he removed his hat and acknowl- edged the introduction. the baroness extended her hand. “now let us find seats,” cried the baron, “before they're all taken. the case of mrs. wingate a frightful crowd aboard this liner. i’ve never been surrounded by so many people in all the trips i have made on it.” “lots of people,” said schultz. they started across the deck, the baron leading, but nervously glancing at the negro. “i’m anxious to get seated somewhere and comfortably and hear you tell where it was you met me. now—” “by the way, baron,” suggested schultz, “we can perhaps find seats at the lower end of the ship. it's shaded down there at this hour and might be more comfortable.” “a brilliant idea, my good fellow,” cried the baron, gratefully, “a brilliant idea indeed!” they turned now and a few minutes later were seated comforta- bly at the rear of the liner, where they could see the water as it was being churned by the propellers, driving the great ship forward, homeward bound to germany. “now,” said the baron, removing his hat and relaxing. “i want to tell you at the outset that the baroness and i were very curious about you.” - “we’ve been wondering who you were ever since leaving new york. so now if you won't mind telling us, we'll be very pleased,” said the baroness, anxious to get into the conversation. “now, herr schultz, where did you know me and how long ago was it?” “and how do you, a-colored man,” interjected the baroness, before schultz could answer, “happen to speak such perfect ger- man?” “well,” said schultz. “i should. i was born in germany.” the baron and his lady started, exchanged expressions, then looked again at schultz. “you—were—born in-germany?” exclaimed the baron, a bit incredulously. turned to look at the baroness, then turned his eyes back to schultz. “i was born in germany,” schultz nodded. “my mother is living there now, also some sisters and brothers.” “and was it there—in germany, i mean,” said the baron, “that you—knew me?” schultz nodded and smiled. “born in germany,” mused the baroness, as if to herself. “you, a the case of mrs. wingate colored man, born in germany?” “oh, there are quite a number of colored people in the reich who were born there, especially since a portion of the rhineland was garrisoned by colored troops after the last war,” said schultz. “so you got started after the occupation,” said the baron. “no, i was born shortly after the war started. the occupation was after it was over.” “naturally,” said the baron hastily. “now as regards to where i knew you,” said schultz. “do you remember a colored boy who used to shine your shoes in the lobby of the foreign office in berlin they called him henry " gazing quickly at him, the baron's eyes flashed in recognition. “little henry ! well—” he exclaimed. “do you mean to tell me that you are—that lad?” “that lad grown up, baron. i am little henry.” “well, i declare ſ” the baron exclaimed and reaching out, grasped schultz's hand and holding it tightly, looked across at the baroness. “do you remember, ernestine that i used to tell you about the little colored boy who shined my shoes, who seemed so ambitious and always on the job? well,” he said, relaxing but still holding onto schultz's hand, “this is that little boy, grown into a fine, big man!” “hold on, otto,” the baroness spoke up quickly, her eyes flashing somewhat triumphantly. “i happen to have known him also when he was still that active little shoe-shine boy, as you call him.” the baron turned to her in surprise. “you?” he repeated. “yes otto. the times i met you at the foreign office i noticed him shining shoes and on several occasions i had him shine mine, too.” “this is indeed a pleasure,” said the baron, finally relaxing his grip on schultz's hand. “a pleasure that is most interesting.” he turned again, more calm now, to look schultz up and down. “grown into a fine, tall, handsome young man.” “and is he handsome!” cried the baroness, admiringly. both paused to look at schultz anew. they seemed to admire him. “well, tell me, my lad,” said the baron. “what has been happen- ing since? you seemed to have gone places. in fact, you must have gone places, returning to germany—like this,” and the baron pointed at him. the case of mirs. wingate “i’m returning to germany, baron. it is still my home, although i’ve been in america on—on business for the past few months.” “indeed! do you mind telling us something about yourself? we are interested.” “we are very interested,” added the baroness. “shipboard, you understand, herr schultz, is a good place to make acquaintances; it is a still better one to resume old ones,” and the baron and his wife laughed lightly. the baron paused and glanced skyward. the sun was now shining straight down on them. “the sun,” said he, glancing up at it with a frown, “seems to have caught up with us, and it is a bit warm.” “very warm,” added the baroness. “it is uncomfortable.” “why can't we retire to our stateroom? it will be pleasant down there now with a port hole open,” suggested the baron. “why not?” said the baroness, rising to her feet. the others followed. the baron took schultz's arm, bowing somewhat astutely. “do you mind going with us?” “i don’t mind.” “just a minute, otto,” said baroness ernestine, as they started away. “perhaps the young man has some one—” “i’m all alone, baroness ernestine,” said schultz quickly. “so we continue as we started,” said the baron, as they proceeded to their cabin. a few minutes later they were seated comfortably in the baron's stateroom, where they resumed their conversation. “now, my good fellow, time is on our hands and we're in the mood to hear your story.” “i’m sure it must be interesting,” smiled the baroness. “it's got to be interesting. from a shoe shine boy to a-what?” “not so fast, baron otto,” laughed schultz. “not so fast. it might be from shoe-shine boy to a gangster, and, since i'm traveling as you see me, to a ‘big-time gangster.” “big shots,' they call them in america.” both paused uncertainly and glanced at each other. schultz quickly patted the baron on the arm as if to reassure him, which caused the baron to smile again. “nothing like that, i assure you.” the case of mes. wingate “start with when you left your job in the foreign office lobby.” suggested the baron. “no, otto. i want to hear the story of his birth; about his father and mother, and how he happened to be—in germany.” “sure,” cried the baron, enthusiastically. “that's the place to start.” “who was your mother, your father. which one was colored,” in- quired the baroness. “start from the beginning—tell us your whole story.” “there's nothing so interesting about it as all that, i assure you,” smiled schultz, modestly. “but since you insist, i'll try to tell it. when you've been bored enough, i'll try to understand and finish before you begin to sigh.” and then he laughed deprecatingly. “we will not sigh, because we will not be bored.” “just like going to an exciting motion picture and listening to interesting dialogue. that never bores anybody,” assured the baroness. “my mother was, or is, for she is still living, and as i think i re- marked, in germany.” - “see,” said the baron, thoughtfully. “then—it is your father who is colored p” “my father was colored; an american negro who got into germany shortly before the last war. he was a cook.” “pardon me for again interrupting,” said the baroness, leaning forward. “but in reference to your father. you say 'was'?” “was, because—he is dead. but before he died, he took up residence in germany—just stayed there. meanwhile, he met my mother who was a waitress in the hotel, where he cooked, they soon learned to like each other. she taught him to speak german and in due time, married him. a year later, i made my appearance,” he paused now to smile at the humor of it, in which they joined. “and still two years later a sister came. they had two children, then, a boy and a girl and were very happy. then the war broke out! the call of the sea got into my father's blood again and he finally shipped out aboard the emden.” “the emden l’” the others exclaimed, awed. “the famous raider!” echoed the baron, ominously. they were beginning to understand now why schultz's father was dead. they looked at schultz, whose head was bowed. he reached over and the case of mrs. wingate patted his wrist kindly, and shook his head sadly. “the greatest raider the world ever knew,” said the baron, rem- iniscently. “the emden did her part for the fatherland.” “as you perhaps recall, baron,” schültz was saying. “the british finally caught up with her.” “yes, i remember all about it, my boy. caught up with her and sent her to the bottom off the coast of south america.” “well,” said schultz, sighing. “that was the end of the emden, and —” “—all of those aboard her. both my wife and i recall the whole, tragic story.” “we never saw him again,” said schultz. “war is a terrible thing. and we are on the verge of another. if i had my way, which is not as the fuehrer sees it, there wouldn't be any. we should wait—at least a year, as i see it, before invading poland. but—” and the baron shrugged his shoulders, helplessly, throwing out his hands as he did so. “let herr schultz go ahead with his story, otto. we won't get into another war, at least until the feuhrer invades poland.” “when the war was over, my mother took my sister and moved down into the rhineland. maybe you recall that they had stationed some colored soldiers from america there?” “we remember all about it, my lad,” said the baron. “she met another colored man down there. a very fine fellow. they started going together and later he married her. when the troops were withdrawn and returned to america, my mother went with him and took us children. - “we had started grade school before leaving germany, so we continued after reaching america. my mother spoke english very well and had taught us as best she could, but our stepfather was well- educated and in america, where we heard nothing but english, except from our mother at home, we went right through grade school and entered high school in the fall when our step-father died. as quickly as my mother could adjust matters, she moved back to germany. her husband had left some $ , worth of compensation insurance, which was sent to my mother in installments by the united states government and that was a great help to her in sending us through school back in germany. that was during the time i shined shoes the case of mrs. wingate to help out, and when i used to see you at the foreign office.” “now we are up to when you left your work in the lobby of the foreign office.” - “i left there to go to college.” “to college?” said the baroness. “that was nice. where?” “heidelberg.” “oh,” cried the baron. “to heidelberg great school!” “after we finished heidelberg, our mother wanted us to know french. i wanted to take a course in diplomacy. my sister refused to let me go alone. so she sent us both to the sorbonne in paris.” “now we're getting somewheres,” said the baroness. “after the sorbonne, what?” “a job back in the foreign office.” “but not shining shoes any longer,” she said and they all smiled. “no,” said schultz. “in an office. i was interested in america from the german standpoint. i felt i could be of service to the reich by returning to america to study the conditions, treatment and reactions regarding the negro there.” “being of negro extraction, i can see your point,” said the baron. “thank you,” replied schultz. “i don't like the way america treats negroes. they continually play them down, down, down, until most of them are in a way, discouraged and do not know it. it is deplorable that so many people, , , of them, should be treated so.” “yet president roosevelt has been fomenting a war because of the way he feels we are treating the jews,” said the baron. “when and if war comes, we shall always blame the jews and president roosevelt for it,” cried the baroness, vehemently. “what did you learn about the jewish situation, if anything, in particular, in america?” inquired the baron, evenly. “they are the leading tradesmen there as elsewhere. as regards the negro, he runs almost everything in their neighborhoods.” “and exploits them unmercifully,” said the baron. “unmercifully isn't half of it. in a way they enslave them,” said schultz. “what is the negro's reaction?” “my people,” said schultz, after a brief pause, “seem by nature to be lackadaisical, care-free and easy-going.” the case of mrs. wingate “an african characteristic, descended down through hundreds of years.” “but they should be growing away from that by this time,” said the baroness. “i observed that many seemed to be very well educated.” “but education alone has failed to free them,” said schultz, seriously. “theirs is about the most involved problem i know of. i am deeply interested in it. i have thrown myself into it and have been studying it very closely. while there, among other things, i made a very fine contact. this contact, in particular, happens to be one of the highest educated negroes in america. he has also made the race question there, his life's study. it is such an involved situation and it cannot be solved in a hurry if ever at all. yet, as i see it, i can be of great help to the reich by returning there, going into it heart and soul and keep germany informed regarding that angle.” “in the event of war, you can, as i see it,” said the baron, “be of great help in that capacity to the reich. if war fails to result from the fuehrer's invasion of poland, the information you can stock in our foreign office will be indispensable and well worth your research.” “that's the way i see it,” said schultz, obviously deeply moved. “being of negro extraction, in case of war, i can operate almost without restriction or restraint. having such a low opinion of the negro, playing him down at every turn and insisting on confining him to the rôle, i might say of—clown, comedian and idiot, they won't be expecting any of them to be gathering information and reporting on what's going on.” “man,” cried the baron. “i begin to see your angle. if war comes, they'll be watching every german in america.” “but being of negro extraction, and living among the colored people, they won't be watching me—unless, of course, i become very careless.” “that is the finest plan i’ve heard for a long time,” cried the baroness, enthusiastically. “i think this should be brought to the attention of the fuehrer himself. you are going to meet him at berchtesgaden soon after our return, otto. why—” laying a hand on her wrist and patting it the baron said, “i’d decided to do so, ernestine, and i will. meanwhile, go on, please.” “i’m glad you see and appreciate the logic of it, baron otto,” said the case of mirs. wingate schultz, warmly. “i am returning to germany to take the matter up with von ribbentrop, whom i feel sure will agree to my returning to america soon for the purpose i've just explained.” “and you say you've developed satisfactory contact already?” “very satisfactory, baron. this man knows the negro situation from every angle. he is naturally resentful, as all sensitive and in- telligent negroes are as regards it. so he is willing to work with me. in fact, he is already working with a group of germans in chicago and milwaukee who are financing his efforts thus far and they have the ground work laid in a big way to start things as quickly as we decide to begin. “roosevelt is too busy sponsoring the jewish cause and trying to kick hitler in the shins, because of having put the jews in their place in germany, and letting them fill him full of sympathy—for them and the way germany is supposed to be treating them, to give much thought to the negro situation.” “america has been so misinformed regarding the true jewish situation in germany, that they simply do not know what it is all about,” said baroness ernestine, impatiently. turning to schultz suddenly, she added. “do they really love the jews that much in america?” schultz laughed. “oh, it's not that bad, baroness ernestine,” he said, “nobody pretends to love the jews, and to the credit of the jews, i'll admit that they do not want anybody saying and pretending that they do. all the jew is interested in back there, is making money, and to do so he must cheat, at least does cheat, steal, exploit, lie and do about everything but commit murder. he is the same the world over. in a way, it is their religion, inherent and traditional, and as far as i’m concerned, i just take them as they are and try not to think so much about it.” “a sensible way to look at it, too, herr schultz,” commented the baron. then, after a moment's thought, he turned to schultz with a new thought. “speaking of america's disregard of what the negro population thinks, and of the tendency to play them down, that's their english tradition. england originated it; that contemptible disregard for the thought, ambition and views of darker peoples, i observed this the case of mrs. wingate tendency you speak of while in america, unless they have an emo- tional interest in some group, like the chinese at the moment, for instance. being proud of your country, i presume that you, as most germans, are given to reading a great deal, herr schultz?” queried the baron. “yes, baron otto, a very great deal, some of it, current works of fiction and the more serious magazines and books.” “then do a bit of reflecting. although japan is obviously one of the great nations of the earth, you rarely observed any books in america translated from the japanese. now did you?” after a brief reflection, schultz shook his head in the negative. “no, i did not.” “i know you didn't because it wasn't there. yet, you don't have to think very hard to recall a number of books, translated from the chinese, do you?” “a long list of titles,” said schultz. turning to the baroness and nodding his head vigorously, then back to schultz. “just picture how stupid! it confirms what we are talking about. only when they are emotionally inclined, do they evidence an interest in the darker peoples.” “that's what i found right there in america, baron. people, who were born there, been living there since the country was settled, almost. and as you say, the same thing obtains also in england, but they are more diplomatic and cunning as regards it.” “well, for your benefit, herr schultz, if you don't already know it, some day america is going to awake, or be awakened to a sudden realization that they're making a serious mistake as regards japan. instead of meddling with the way we are supposed to be treating the poor, persecuted jew in germany, america had better begin to read some japanese books and acquaint themselves with what japan may be thinking, planning, and doing. if they do, they might get a shock,” insisted the baron, shaking his head, sagely. “it has never crossed their minds. the rich jewish politicians with their money and their propaganda are completely in the spotlight over there. nobody seems to be concerned about what japan is thinking or may be planning to do,” said schultz. “but that isn't america half as much as it is roosevelt. in truth, the masses of americans are resenting it. they don't care any more about the the case of mrs. wingate jews in america than we do in germany. i found a great under- current of resentment and hatred back there which someday will break out suddenly.” “he has managed to hoodwink the american people for the time being, but in due time there'll come a day of reckoning.” “and when it does, watch things begin to happen,” and herr schultz laughed ironically. “you’ve been over there several months, how is he able to do it, herr schultz?” inquired the baron, crossing a leg and lighting a cigarette. passing them around, he looked at schultz and waited for him to answer. “it began in the election of . in the throes of a great depres- sion and impatience, they voted hoover out, because they charged him with the country's condition, although he wasn't responsible for it any more than you or i. but they were impatient and promptly voted against him at the election in . they were not at the time, voting half as much for roosevelt, as they were against hoover. anybody on the democratic ticket would have been elected. it happened to be roosevelt who was running. elected he immediately began to spend. “first, since there are more labor votes than there are in any other group, he led labor to feel that they would be allowed to take over industry and run it, which meant, according to their philosophy, shorter hours and more pay. they got it, with five days work a week, six days pay, forced by sit down strikes. “the jewish votes meant something: their money to help finance the campaign, more. to get this, he began the fight on hitler which may plunge the whole world, indirectly into war before it's all over. he implied that if they would vote for him and help carry new york where their greatest power is concentrated, he'd kick hitler on the shins and make him behave himself.” the baron and his wife laughed. “we come down now to the poor people and the negroes, the dis- organized elements, but who comprise the greatest number of votes of all. relief checks got them. they labored under the impression that “he was taking it away from the rich, the dirty, cruel rich people, and giving it to the poor, which, as they put it, was the way it ought to be. so he got their votes almost in toto.” again the baroness and the baron laughed heartily. schultz himself the case of mrs. wingate the case of mrs. wingate many. i found a great under- r do in ge - ºrica than we ck there which someday will sentment and hatred ba † to hoodwink the american people for the time - s day of reckoning' time there'll come a dº yy herr º does, watch things begin to happen, and he ed ironically. en over there several months, . ” inquired the baron, crossing schu º them around hº looked at swer. . in the throes , the election of ºº out, because tº charged ihle for it tence, º: although he wasn't º: ºd ountry's cond * were impatient and prºn. yºn, wereº.". the election.”’’...re against hºº. to be elt, as they been elected. " happened he immediately began to - there , was running abor votes than owed to take how is he able tº do it, leg and lighting * itz and waited of a great depres- was compelled to laugh. “well, it's too long a story for me to tell. i wouldn't finish by the time we reach bremen, so i'm going to lay off now,” and he took his handkerchief and dried his forehead. “you have certaintly acquainted yourself with the conditions in america, all right, herr schultz,” said the baron. “and how !” cried the baroness, “as they say in america. you know the answers, and baron otto, i assure you, will talk the whole matter over with the fuehrer when we meet him at berchtesgaden in a fortnight.” all rose to their feet and prepared to go on deck again. it was late afternoon, and was delightful on the broad decks. smiling, a few minutes later they were strolling together there, looking out over the sea, which was beginning to get rough. the sky had become overcast and there was a suggestion of rain that might develop into a storm before morning, currº ii e proceed now to introduce the second important charac- w. herr heinrich schultz, of berlin, being the first, in the de- velopment of our story. so let us now meet mr. kermit early, a.b. of atlanta university, m.a. of the university of chicago, and finally the crowning degree, ph.d. of harvard. kermit early was the contact schultz referred to in his conversation with the baron and baroness von mueller, and was considered one of the most highly educated negroes in america. tall and brown, growing a bit ponderous around the waistline with age, kermit was not exactly what colored women referred to as a “pretty” man, but he was handsome. his hair was soft and curly, threatening at this period of his rather strange and unusual life, of growing thin just above the forehead. it was early's eyes, however, that attracted one's attention more than anything else. he had pretty eyes, noticeable the moment one met him. his thorough academic training was reflected in his appearance. no one could meet him the second time without concluding that he was anything but a man of great mental training. nevertheless, kermit early had been embarrassed as almost every intelligent and dignified negro has been, at one time or another, in his career by having some white man snap his finger at him and call: “hey, boy,” and offer him a quarter to carry his luggage or do some other menial task. a portion—the greater portion, in fact, of the training he had acquired had been during the past six years and since he had been graduated from high school back there in wakefield, georgia, where it had all begun. early represented a strange and peculiar position in american society. to begin with, for the past several years he seemed to have gone out of circulation, as it were. before that time and shortly after the case of mrs. wingate finishing school and getting his final degree, he had been very pop- ular, although during his entire career nobody had learned or knew very much about him. he was too highly educated to talk to and mix carelessly with the current run of negroes, or to have much in common with them. he persisted, however, in the statement that he was a “race” man, which about every negro claims to be, educated or otherwise. but as we started to explain, nobody, however, knew much about kermit early, with all his literary training. in due time you will understand why they did not. like a great many educated negroes in america, early was dissatisfied. with all his training, he had not, as most negroes, learned much if anything about the art of making money. early insisted that nobody in america seemed to know how to do that but jews. so it's little wonder how and why he had be- come allied, with a subversive group, operating out of chicago and milwaukee, and had come to hate jews as others did, blamed them and america for any adverse condition that existed anywhere and when and where it did not exist, by their conduct, debate and discussion, they built it up and made it adverse. the pro-germans whom he had long since been operating with as an associate, were agreeable to blaming america for the way the negro was treated, and which, of course, was due to their contact with kermit, who had not, we repeat, and as most negroes, learned the art of making money. rarely did they blame themselves for it. it was far easier to charge it up to race prejudice, on the part of the white man and to hate him as most educated negroes do, regardless. since all subversive groups realized that it was unpopular to preach their philosophy from the housetops, or to talk with anybody but those known to share their views, it is clear that few if any negroes, therefore, knew much about kermit early. he didn't even fraternize with women, which so many had tried to encourage him to do. some wondered if he cared for women, for if he didn't, he must be a fairy, but none ever got well enough acquainted with him, except a few years back when he had taken a part in the promotion of negro fairs, pagentries and the like and as far as they knew, he wasn't a fairy or a pie face, nor was he charged with going into the bushes, various negro terms for perversion. almost immediately after securing his doctorate from harvard, . the case of mrs. wingate early became affiliated as co-editor of a so-called socialist publica- tion, the other editor being a. phillip merivale. it was during this short-lived period as co-editor that kermit early reached his greatest popularity. up until the depression, negroes placed a greater value and more importance on education than they did after, since the depression rather let them down in being just educated. it didn't buy food, pay rent or purchase clothing, so a great many, a very great many, were forced onto the wpa. not kermit early. as we shall presently see, at no time in his career, was he ever in any financial danger. the publication hook-up did not last long, although a. phillip merivale and kermit early became two of the leading and most popular negroes in america during the time it did exist. they seemed to represent a new philosophy on negro life. neither was a republican, or a democrat, so could not be “bought out” to often sell their race “down the river”, by a good job, a scholarship or an award. nobody knew if either was offered such, but on general principles it was considered that they must have had many offers, for they were welding great influence toward helping or inspiring the negro to become more militant. it had long since become a custom that when anybody wanted to get rid of a trouble- some negro, who threatened with his big mouth to make matters unpleasant, the best way to shut his mouth was to give him a good job, good only from a negro standpoint. after that he invariably launched on a career of “keeping negroes quiet,” by going about the country making speeches and advising those who persisted in insisting that “something ought to be done,” in reminding them that “the time wasn't right” for that and that and so and so. in such instances, the time never became right and after the first or second burst of steam,on the part of the persistent negro, the matter usually died and most soon forgot what they were “persisting about.” we have, let us pause to explain, digressed so completely from the story we started out to tell, that we must apolo- gize. we will now try to return to it, by discussing kermit early, and what had transpired in his life before leaving wakefield. it was late afternoon around the same time heinrich schultz and baron von mueller were returning to germany. early entered an apartment building, crossed from the elevator, turned a corner, went teie case of mrs. wingate a few steps, then turned into an alcove at the end of which was a door. it was one of those deluxe apartment buildings on the south side of chicago which negroes had run white people out of when they invaded the section a few years before. this building was one of the finest on the south side, and accordingly, one of the most expensive. inserting his key, early opened the door, glanced at several parcels of mail, mostly advertising, on the floor, including a few letters, stepped across the threshold, closed the door, stopped, picked up the letters and what nots, sorted through them as he crossed the room and entered a comfortable living room. as he did so, his eyes fell on one letter, post-marked atlanta, and sent via air mail the day before. he smiled indulgently at it as he recognized the handwriting. he was always pleased to receive letters with that handwriting. the writer was his one great pleasure, diversion and sole interest in life. he decided to make himself comfortable before breaking the seal. so laying everything on the table where he paused, he crossed the room, removed his coat and hat, and took a comfortable robe from a hanger, and which the writer of the letter referred to, had made him a present of the christmas before. he then walked into his bedroom, removed his shoes, carrying the robe with him, loosened his tie, unbuttoned his collar, exchange his shoes for comfortable house slippers, left his bedroom, crossed into the bathroom where he re- mained a few minutes, and returned to the sitting room. there he picked up the particular letter, sat down, adjusted himself com- fortably, broke the seal, withdrew the contents, spread the sheets out before him and started to read. a moment later he recoiled violently. “what's this,” he cried aloud, sitting erect and gazing excitedly into its contents, which began as follows: atlanta, georgia thursday, p. m. my darling kermit: - arrived safe, a week ago, stopping over in nashville to visit with some friends on my way home. guess you received my wire in which i explained my delay in reaching home. i would have written sooner, but i have delayed doing so due to a very important reason. by that, kermit, dearest, i mean that what i have been praying for is a reality. in short, kermit, i am pregnant; i’m going to have a baby. the case of mrs. wingate it was this which brought such a shock to the quiet and unas- suming kermit early. he rose and standing, looked again at the letter. “what does she mean — going to have a baby?” he exclaimed out loud. “has she gone crazy? she can't have a baby, - she can't dare to t” he strolled across the room and then turning, came back, paused, and gazed excitedly into space. “but florence, you can’t do this! don't you understand? you can't go having a baby! it will spoil everything — everything!” he turned and walked the floor again, trying to understand if he was awake, or asleep. - true, she had wanted a baby ever since it all started, but both understood too well why it was insane to even think about it and they had not talked about it much lately except during their moments of sexual excitement, when she always cried, “i want a baby, i want a baby, kermit, i want a baby!” he sat back down and began to read the paragraph again, hoping that he had been mistaken. but it read the same way the second time, so he went on further into it, hoping that she might be joking. “i failed to come around again, which is the second month i’ve missed, so it is obvious that i am in family way, and can look forward in due time to becoming a happy mother as i have so long wanted to.” he rose again from his seat, paralyzed with excitement. “has she gone cragy, blind and completely insane,” he said half to himself, and beat himself with the fist, in which he held the letter. it is obvious by his actions that the writer was not kermit early's wife—! that would be enough under ordinary circumstance to upset a man and annoy him when he realized as kermit early did, that the forthcoming blessed event was his. - the writer was not only not kermit early's wife, she was a white zwoman! and not only a white woman, but a wealthy and aristocratic white woman, scion of one of the oldest families in the south—and the wife of a wealthy white man! the owner of a string of textile mills, stretching from virginia across both carolina's to northern georgia. several times a millionaire! all of which sounds too fantastic to even think of — until we relate how it started, and how it developed. to understand it more the case of mrs. wingate fully, let us go back a few years, while kermit early was still in high school and florence wingate, the writer's name, née, adair, were both in wakefield. if you were now back to those days and had lived in wakefield, you would have heard florence adair, as beautiful . as a goddess, referred to as the “prettiest girl in wakefield” the most shapely, and by those closest to her, but by those only, as the most passionate! her parents were descended from one of those families you meet so often when you travel south, who “had been wealthy — before the civil war,” when they owned anywhere from a hundred to a thousand slaves. - it seems that every white person you meet with any ancestral pride and heredity, from the south, has descended from a family who “owned many slaves,” during the days of slavery. but florence adair's great-grand parents had owned many slaves and had been wealthy during that period. they had gradually lost everything until all that was left was a memory and a position of respect among the leading white people of wakefield. her father was cashier of one of the two banks, earning enough, by being careful, to maintain their position, to keep the younger children in school and send the girls away to a boarding school, two negro servants at $ . each per week, the balance in food and old clothes. and so we meet the adairs. florence had spent two years at a girl's school in virginia from where the lady dean had written her mother to “be very careful with florence, always. a lovely girl, kind and good,” and as we know, beautiful, - but so passionate until it was difficult for her since she was twelve to control it! “try to get her married off to some young man as quickly as pos- sible,” the dean went on to say in her letter to florence's mother just before graduation. “otherwise,” she continued, “you might be sorry — and she's too nice a girl for anything sordid to happen to her.” as to kermit early, his father was a barber, and so was his father's father. he conducted a barbershop for white trade in wakefield, now in the third generation of its existence and ownership, so kermit possessed, as far as negroes went, tradition of a kind. all his forebears had been educated. his father had shaved and knew most all of the “best white people” in and around wakefield and had been doing so for years. they were highly respected by these white people. his brothers and sisters had all been to school in atlanta; some had gone the case of mrs. wingate north. his sisters had all married and at no time had any played the role of concubine to white men. though all were pretty, shapely and attractive, they had escaped this blight and scourge. so kermit's mother and father, then in the afternoon of their lives, were happy and contented with no plans to go north and get away from the mean white people of georgia. kermit finished high school at sixteen and it was around this time when florence adair, who knew him and started, in passing the bar- ber shop, by hitting him lightly without letting on and would call, “hello, kermit,” in reply to which he always smiled and replied, “how do, miss florence” and nobody thought anything about it. it was shortly after florence returned from the boarding school in virginia when passing by the barbershop, which was located in the heart of the town's small business section, that she had paused, caught his hand for a brief and fleeting moment, squeezed it and when he looked up in surprise, stuck her tongue out at him and made a mis- chievous face. leonard warner, his boy friend who worked at the drug store two doors away, had happened by chance, to be looking out the window and saw it. he strolled along a few minutes later, paused, leaned toward him and buzzed: “saw that adair gal squeeze your hand and make a face at you awhile ago. better be careful, kermit, that gal's dynamite.” “what do you mean, dynamite?’ “she's as hot as hell. needs a man, plenty of him, but she's too sensible to play around with white boys carelessly. her mother watches her like a hawk. she don't want nothing to happen.” “whew l’ cried kermit. “it wouldn't be hard to go for her—and i don't mean maybe.” “i agree with you, but we're down south. negroes are not supposed to even know pretty white girls like her, and she's the prettiest one in town.” “you’re telling me! but take it easy, boy. i ain't thinking about acting a fool.” “if you do, it won't take 'em long to have you dangling from a limb.” “and it's me that knows it. i ain't thinking about florence adair.” the case of mrs. wingate “but she is about you. i've seen her giving you the goo, goo two or three times.” “quit your kiddin'.” “i ain't kiddin'. that gal's hot, as hot as fire and i’d be willin' to bet that she would go with a niggah if she had half a chance.” “not this niggah, 'cause i ain't givin' her no chance to get me lynched.” “every white boy in town would give half his life to just feel her, but she's got plenty sense. she ain't going to let any of them fool around and set her up.” “wonder if any has ever got next to her?” said kermit. the other shook his head. “i doubt it.” “why p” “as hot as she is she's got sense enough to realize that if she started playing around, she'd be having every white boy in town. “that right,” said kermit. “she couldn't control herself.” “but if she could steal into a back room somewhere, she'd take a chance on some nice looking, educated colored boy like you to play with.” “not me, nevuh.” cried kermit, and laughing, went into the barber shop. it was around this time when short skirts became very popular for the second time in a decade. florence shocked wakefield by coming out in one that barely reached her knees. with beautiful, rounded and shapely calves like she possessed and slender ankles to add to it, with a wealth of heavy, golden hair, which covered her shoulders, when she went through the streets, almost everybody turned to look at her, especially her beautiful conspicuously dis- played calves. a few weeks went by and it was getting along towards the end of the summer. kermit was looking forward to entering atlanta uni- versity that fall, so was trying to make a little money so as to have some spare change to spend when he went up to the big city, as atlanta was referred to in wakefield. he had, therefore, had his shoe shine chair repainted and made more attractive; a cushion to make it more comfortable when they sat on it, and parked it on the sidewalk every day and solicited shines from every white person who came by whose shoes seemed to need it. occasionally, a white woman the case of mfs. wingate . got a shine, but he was careful never to speak to her unless she first spoke to him. one day, about the middle of the afternoon when everything was quiet, he was sitting by his chair, reading a magazine and did not notice or seem to hear a pair of footsteps come up to him and stop. conscious after a moment that some one was near, he raised his eyes, and the first thing that met his gaze was the beautiful legs of florence adair. / “kermit,” she said, at which he was on his feet and bowing, solicitously. “yes, miss florence. what can i do for you?” “can i–get a shine?” she said, evenly. “why, of course, miss florence. i’ll be glad to shine your shoes, and i'll give you a good one, too, i sure will.” “thank you, kermit,” she said and held out her hand for him to help her upon the chair. he took it and was thrilled by the softness of it. he lifted her and she seated herself in the chair, rather care- fully, he thought. “do you mind, kermit,” she said, after she was seated and had adjusted herself, he recalled later, rather carefully, “letting me see your magazine while you shine my shoes?” “of course not, miss florence,” he cried, reaching and picking it up. he was in the act of handing it to her, when his eyes, on the way up, fell on an object, where they halted, lingered a moment, during which he almost lost his balance. a fleeting second, and he recovered sufficiently to complete what he had started to do, hand her the maga- zine, to find her looking at him out of half-closed and subtle eyes. his breath came short and he was so nervous that he fumbled among the polishes. he dared raise his eyes again—and there it was, still exposed to his gaze! never since the day he was born had he been so tempted | so tempted to-commit suicide! after fumbling the polishes again, he dared steal another look, then breathed an unheard sigh of relief to see that she had closed her limbs, ending the agony. he was perspiring all over: his brain was in a whirl. as explained, kermit early's people were the best colored folks in wakefield. his sisters had never worked in the white folks kitchen. the family had lots of pride, had raised their children well, to control their passions, among other things, and not be common like most negroes. the case of mrs. wingate so kermit did not run around; he had never been intimate with a girl and hadn't ever really thought much about it. now the picture he had seen, which she had deliberately exposed to his view, had him almost insane. he managed to shine her shoes, which didn't need it at all when he looked at them. so he knew that she had come for it to purposely show him what he saw he thought about his con- versation with leonard. then florence adair was playing him. flor- ence adair he realized now, would be willing to make a date with him if he'd let her. - well, he didn't intend to let her do anything of the kind. he was ambitious; he had visualized a future, the first part of which was to complete his education, to go places thereafter — and he couldn't realize any of these living things by letting a passionate and designing white girl, get him hanged to the limb of a tree! when she got down off the chair, she held a coin toward him and in taking it, which was a quarter, she said, softly, “keep the change” and squeezed his hand again, then turning, left him, to pause when a few steps away to smile back at him over her shoulder. two doors away, leonard was standing, watching all that had hap- pened through the window of the drug store. as soon as convenient and he could slip away, he strolled across to kermit, who was sitting beside his shoe shine stand, still trembling as he was seeing over and over again, the picture she had brought, and posed it full into his face. “’lo, kermit,” said leonard. kermit started, and looking up saw that it was leonard, sighed. “hello, yourself, len.” “i saw it,” he said, easily. kermit looked up, quickly. “you saw what?” “don’t try to kid me, kermit. you know what i saw.” “yeah?” - “yeh. that adair gal. she's going to get you lynched yet.” “not me.” “if she keeps on coming by here, making a play for you like she did just a while ago, some dirty old white boy who'd like to get next to her himself is going to see it and then—a dead nigger.” “it was all her. i did nothing.” “i know you didn't, but if somebody decides to start accusing you, nothing you could say about what you didn't do would mean a thing.” - the case of mirs. wingate “i know it. i wish she'd let me alone.” “if she don't, you ain't going to live very long, i can tell you that.” “if she'll only let me alone for a few weeks, she won't have a chance to bother me thereafter. i'm going away to school in atlanta in september.” “better go now and be sure to keep on living.” “i wish i could. but there's a few things i’ve just got to do before i leave. in the meantime, don't you go telling anybody what you saw, or that this little gal is making passes at me.” “i’m too good a friend of yours and of any other niggah, to do that. but take a fool's advice, get out of wakefield before she gets you in trouble.” and with that, leonard turned and went back to the drug- st re. kermit early kept thinking about what he saw, and became conscious for the first time in his young life that women had some- thing to fire a man's imagination, a man's desire — and unhappiness! almost every waking hour from that day on was a disturbing hour. he had always pictured that men and women should meet each other intimately only after they had married. now he was conscious of a change. what florence adair had showed him was giving him a new slant on life. he tried to shake it off. it was annoying, yet he couldn't. still he knew that he must; that he had to. if he was going up to atlanta to enter college and put in four years of hard study, he had no time to go indulging in lurid dreams, fantasies and all that went with it. yet the dreams went on and the fantasies joined in and the calm peace and boyhood he had enjoyed was all changing. still kermit early had lots of will power, and by sheer force of will he put the tempting picture out of his mind and forced himself to be again like he was before it happened. florence adair continued to pass the shop as she had been since he had known her; but she could never catch his eye. he was always looking elsewhere when she made an appearance. but this peace was not to continue. florence adair was passionate, and she was designing and impelled by her maddening passion, she planned a new way to force her attention on the colored boy she had by now begun to admire beyond just sexual desire. the sunday before kermit was to leave for atlanta, was one of his best days for shines. cotton and tobacco were being marketed, money was in circulation, and the men were free with it and he had the case of mrs. wingate made nearly five dollars when he dragged his chair back into the shop from the sidewalk where he had made so many shines and so much money. he was very happy. inside, he was cleaning up, preparing to go home to get dressed then to go down on railroad avenue, the negro broadway, and spend his last sunday for a long time in wakefield, having a good time. suddenly he heard a light knock on the front door. he was not sure so paused and listened, more closely. presently he heard it again, this time a trifle louder. he was in the rear of the shop. he wondered who it could be. he peered through the large glass windows, with drawn blinds, and could see an outline shadow of someone. so thinking it was, perhaps, leonard, he went forward and opened the door. some one slipped in and by him so quickly he hardly saw who it was until he closed the door and turned — and lo and behold, it was florence adair! fright seized him. “oh, kermit,” she cried facing him excitedly. “i—” “miss florence!” he managed to gasp, and then choked before he could say more. cold fear running down his back, he began to tremble from the effects. “i know, i know,” she cried, hurriedly and in subdued voice, laying a consoling hand on him. “but take it easy, kermit. i'm not going to stay long.” “please go now, miss florence, quick before some white person sees you." please go, for god’s sake, miss florence, please go!” he cried, beseechingly, almost in tears. he reached to open the door but she grabbed his hand and held it tightly. “please, kermit,” she cried, trembling all over with amorous anxiety. “i’m lonesome, kermit, so lonesome, i want to talk to you. i won't take long. please listen,” and she drew him closer to her. he resisted but in her excitement she seemed stronger than he, and before he knew it she had drawn him so close until her hot breath was in his face, as he cried: “what on earth do you want to talk to me about?” he was so frightened by now that tears were running down his cheeks; his teeth chattered. she looked at him oddly. “you — you know what you saw when i came for the shine? i—i want you to-to put your arms around me now kermit. put your arms around me and hug me. squeeze me tight, kermit.” she tried . - the case of mirs. wingate to draw his hand around her waist. “please go, miss florence. i didn't see anything. please in heaven's name go, leave the shop before the white poeple find out and come and lynch me. please go, miss florence,” he whined, pitifully. still she persisted — more now than ever. “yes, you did, kermit,” she whispered. “i arranged my clothes so that you would; so you couldn't help seeing it. i saw you start, so i know you saw it. so please hug me now, kermit. i want you to,” she said, holding his right hand as in a vise. he beat his side with his free hand. “oh, miss florence, why do you want me to die. i ain’t never done nothing to you; i haven't ever done anything to anybody. please go, now, that's all i ask you to do, please go – quick.” “take it easy, kermit. i'll go quickly after you do what i ask you to; as quickly as you do what i want you to.” she said, holding onto his hand as for dear life and trying to force it around her waist. “i’ve been planning to have you do so for a long time, kermit. i was watching from across the street and rushed over as quickly as the people all got out of sight.” he was weeping by now without restraint, like a helpless child. she tried to shake some sense into him, but failing, she became thoughtful, her eyes closed as if with a new purpose. she loosed his hand and glaring at him through half-closed eyes, she whispered: “listen, kermit and be sensible. i let you see everything i had and now i want you to — do what i ask. i don't care anything about the white people in this town or anywhere else. i’m burning up with pas- sion and i’ve got to have some satisfaction. i can't afford to fool with any white man, but nobody will suspect that i would with you. we're all alone here in the shop. there's a cot in the back room. i know it's there for i’ve seen it when i’ve been here to get my hair trimmed. i want you to go into the back room with me for a few minutes. i don't want to get you hurt, but you'll either go back there and do what i want you to, or i'll — open the door and screamſ scream as loud as i can, do you hear?” “oh, miss florence, you want to get me lynched, you want to get me lynched god help me and let me pray.” he started to his knees, but she jerked him so hard that he had to stand erect. “quit the whining and come with me to the back room, do you the case of mrs. wingate - hear?” again she shook him. he trembled all over and his teeth chat- tered. “will you go, or shall i open the door and scream?” “i’ll — i'll go, miss florence. it won't do any good because i'm too scared to think, much less do what you're asking me to. oh, god, forgive me.” without further words, she half-lead and half-dragged him towards the rear, with him still crying, tears flowing now all over him. back there she sat down on the cot and tried to drag him down, but he managed to stand. she tore his trousers open and—just then somebody shook the door. both gasped. she rose quickly to her feet and glared excitedly in that direction. again the door was shaken. she now looked around quickly. there was a back door. she rushed across to it. it was locked but the key was in the lock. she turned it, slipped out, closed the door softly and a moment later he heard her footsteps rush away toward the alley in the rear. he sighed bewilder- ingly. then somebody shook the door again. he heard talking outside. somebody else had come up. it was the mob, he was sure, gathering to lynch him. “they've come for me,” he cried to himself. then looking down, he buttoned his trousers. then after he had dried the tear marks, he walked toward the door, his heart in his mouth, but rubbing his eyes to pretend that he'd been asleep. opening the door, he got another shock! there stood dump oakes, the town policeman. he was talk- ing with two other white men, all three of whom turned to look at him. his eyes opened wide with fear, but oakes smiled broadly, as he cried: “hello, kermit. don't be afraid. i'm not here to arrest you,” and he laughed good-naturedly. the other men turned and walked away. “i was asleep in the back room, mr. oakes. you woke me up.” “that's what i thought, kermit. how you niggers can sleep, too!” kermit laughed like a “nigger.” never had he been so glad to play the good darky as he played it now. “my wife told me to get my shoes shined before i came home to dinner. she's going to have company this afternoon, and said she didn't want me looking like a bum. but i forgot all about it all morning. then when i came, i saw you'd moved your stand off the sidewalk. so i decided to take a chance and rattled the door. i’d decided you'd gone home, so was about to turn away when i heard you shuffling the case of mrs. wingate this way,” and he laughed again, good naturedly. “all right mr. oakes,” he cried, so happy that oakes had come in the nick of time. “i’ll be glad to fix you up. i'm going to give you a shine that will make your company look at your shoes. i sure will. get right up on the stand, mr. oakes, please,” he said. laughingly oakes obeyed. “you saved my life, boy. i sure am glad you decided to take a nap before going home.” he pushed his big feet hard down against the holders so that kermit could do a good job, took off his cap, wiped his big, red face and relaxed against the back of the chair while kermit went after his shoes as he had never shined a pair before. sitting there in his apartment in chicago, kermit early stirred, having lived through the first episode of his acquaintance with florence adair. he shifted comfortably, got up and found himself a drink of ice water, set the silver pitcher, after taking a big drink, where he could take another later, let his mind drift back again into his yesteryears. it was near the close of his second year at atlanta university. in atlanta he had, out of the sight of florence adair, got himself under control again, and had put in two strenuous years of study and was hopeful of being able to finish and get his a.b. six months in advance of the usual four year period. while his parents paid his tui- tion, he tried to make his board and room rent by working after school hours at a cleaning and pressing shop. he often thought of florence adair, wondered if she had gotten married and often sighed, happy in the thought that he had escaped from the worst temptation he ever experienced. he knew he would never forget the fear that he lived through in the few minutes she had tried to force him to risk his life. all this fear had left him by now. atlanta was large enough and cosmopolitan enough in its reactions to pay little attention to what anybody did. he had met and knew colored men since coming there who boasted freely of having white women and met them frequently at private houses, where they talked about it and nobody paid any attention to it. colored men were frequently even caught with white women and arrested. good lawyers invariably got them off at the most with a fine, the greatest danger, and one that couples were care- the case of mrs. wingate ful to avoid, was the police. if the officer decided to shoot a negro, caught with a white woman, the negro was just dead, and most times that was the end of it. so kermit liked atlanta. when he finished atlanta university, his plans were to go north to chicago and secure his m.a. degree there. he was happy. all negroes are happy when they can have freedom. and atlanta was easily one of the freest towns in the south for a negro. he had been to deliver some clothes to a house in peachtree circle and was on the way to his room when he heard a squealing of brakes, and somebody vigorously blowing a horn. he kept on, not thinking it was to attract his attention, so the horn was blown again, louder and longer. he paused and looked in that direction. somebody stepped from a fine cadillac coach, waved their hand and called: “kermit, oh, kermit! come here!” he looked at who was calling more closely, then smiled when he recognized florence adair. he crossed to where she stood, waiting for him. she was smiling all over and reached out her hand which he didn't hesitate to take, when he came up. “kermit early, you,” she exclaimed and seemed very pleased. “and you, miss florence. i’m surprised, but glad to see you again.” “and i’m more than glad to see you, kermit,” she said, looking him up and down. “you’re looking fine.” “thank you, miss florence, and so are you.” “thank you, kermit. i feel fine. how are you anyhow?” “oh just fine, miss florence, just fine.” “you look it. how are you getting along in school?” “i expect to graduate six months ahead of schedule.” “wonderful,” she cried and beamed. “i’m so glad to hear it.” “thank you, miss florence. meanwhile, how is wakefield?” she started. - “oh, wakefield,” she repeated, a little absently, “all right, the last time i was down there.” he expressed surprise by a flash of his eyes. “the last time you were there?” - “yes, i'm living here now, you know.” “oh, you're living in atlanta? “yes, kermit, been living here since i married.” the case of mrs. wingate “since you married and so you're married? that's fine, mrs. — ” “—wingate is my name now. i married a man by the name of wingate.” “oh, you did? wingate?” he murmured, thoughtfully. then raising his eyes, “he wouldn't happen to be related to the textile wingate, i suppose?” “he is the textile wingate.” “oh,” cried kermit. “a very rich man!” her reaction didn't seem enthusiastic. instead, she merely shrugged her shoulders lightly. “i’ve been married a little over a year,” she said. “isn't that fine,” he exclaimed. “well, i'm not surprised. you're a very pretty lady, mrs. wingate. you were entitled to marry some rich man.” again she shrugged her shoulders lightly, and still failed to register any enthusiasm. instead, she seemed at the moment more interested in him. - “what are you doing, kermit, other than going to school?” “i’ve got a little job in a pressing shop, working after school, saturdays and holidays.” “i see. do you like it?” tº he shrugged his shoulders carelessly. “it’s just a job, mrs. wingate. i get almost enough to eat on and pay my room rent: “wouldn't you like a - better job?” “anything that is better than what you have is just that much better.” - she was thoughtful a moment, then raised her eyes. “step into the car,” she said, swinging the large door wide. he stepped inside. she moved over under the wheel to give him room to sit down beside her. “how'd you like to come and work for us, kermit? for — me?” he turned to look at her, not making reply at once for no reason that he could understand. as he caught her eyes, she lowered them momentarily. both were thinking of what happened back in wakefield. he pushed it away and started to reply, a reply which she seemed to be expecting, and, as we shall see, was prepared to counter even before he began to make it. “i’m very thankful for the offer, mrs. wingate—” the case of mrs. wingate she raised her hand before he could get the “but” out. “now, now. no ‘buts', kermit,” she said, chidingly. she shifted, and went ahead more firmly. “the fact is, kermit, i’ve been wanting to get in touch with you for sometime. i even wrote to friends back in wakefield to advise me where i could reach you. they weren't suc- cessful and i was much disappointed. now that coincidence has favored me, i want to at least have a long talk with you.” then to herself, i have to be careful or i'll frighten him away. feel my way, get him interested. meanwhile, kermit felt he might get out of it by explaining about his school hours. “you understand that i’m going to school, mrs. wingate; about to graduate from college and that requires lots of study. i don't really have so much time. i — ” “i’ve considered all that, kermit. i want to see you complete your education. i admire you for your ambitions and always have. we can arrange the work you are to do at your convenience. we — i can offer you a better job, bigger pay. i know you aren't getting much where you're working now. you said almost enough to buy your meals, pay for your room. that's not enough, kermit. you need more spending money so that you can go see a movie now and then, gad around a bit. i’ll — see that you get enough to do so.”. she paused and sought for words. she was thinking fast, she wanted to get in her part before he made his decision. he was listening to her. “by the way. why not drive me out to the house where we can talk the matter over in detail? i live straight out peachtree, in buck- head. you know where that is, sorta out in the suburbs.” he knew where it was and that only the rich and aristocratic lived there. wingate. one of the richest men in atlanta. he turned to look at her. he was thinking that her husband must be much older than she. it was usually the way. rich man married to a young and pretty girl. that was white people's way. they got all the breaks. then suddenly for no reason that he could understand, he turned and smiled his consent. “i’m glad,” she cried, happily. “thank you. which way and where do you want to go?” “i’ll show you.” - he got out then and went around the car and opened the door on the driver's side. she smiled at him sweetly, and moved over. he got in and took the wheel. the case of mrs. wingate he was strangely relieved. she was the little girl he knew back in wakefield again. of a sudden the events there jumped back into his mind and paraded again before him. but they were in atlanta now, big and free atlanta and he wasn't afraid any longer. if mrs. wingate wanted to play with him, he wouldn't be afraid. atlanta was too big and too busy for anybody to care what went on, or what some- body else wanted to do. oh, what a feeling, just to be free, not afraid and he wasn't afraid any longer. “now turn at the next corner,” she said, pointing her finger in that direction, “to the right into peachtree street and just drive straight out that street until after we go under a railroad. that's the southern. we live about five blocks on the other side of it.” he obeyed her and both became strangely silent and formal, like mistress and servant. this continued all the way to the mansion she pointed out for him to turn into. he drove the car up to the steps where he stopped it and looked at her. “now,” she said, “tell me what time you can come to see me tomorrow p” - “classes are over at : . i’ll go to the shop and make my deliveries which may take until five o'clock. then i could, if you wish me to, come directly here.” “supposing that we make it say, at between five and six?” “that'll be all right, mrs. wingate. often there aren't so many deliveries to make and i get through earlier.” “that'll be fine, kermit. i’ll be expecting you at between five and six tomorrow.” she paused and he got out quickly and ran around the car and opened the door on her side, took her hand, which was still as soft as it was back in wakefield, and assisted her to the steps, leading up to the house, where she turned thanking him again, went inside. he went to the street where he would catch a peachtree street car which would drop him off at peachtree, and whitehall, near five points, from where he planned to go down on auburn avenue. in spite of the many negroes, the noise, and the excitement he found on auburn avenue, he couldn't put mrs. wingate out of his mind. he kept seeing the picture she had pushed into his face in wakefield over again; her visit to the shop and her effort to get him to make a fool of himself. he recalled her saying so many times, so the case of mrs. wingate many more than he thought necessary, during their conversation. “i want to talk to you . . . i want to have a long talk with you . . . we'll talk matters over.” what could she mean by all that? she was mrs. wingate now, married to a rich man, no longer florence adair, who didn't want to fool around with any white boy and get talked, about, become disgraced. wakefield was too small to get careless in. he realized that there was nothing to do but wait and hear what she had to say on the morrow. she had done all the talking, and made all the movements back in wakefield. she did most of the talking and made all the arrangements about his calling to see her that afternoon. however he felt, he knew he would let her continue to do all the talking, the next day and the next and as long as he worked for her. that was the sensible thing to do. let white people offer to shake your hand; let white people speak first, let white people take the initiative in everything when it came to dealing with negroes. then you wouldn't ever get in trouble. atlanta was big, and it was free, but it was still down south. then he thought about her husband, whose name was often in the papers. she was married now and she was no doubt, he conjec- tured, being satisfied. maybe she had put all she tried to have him do, of what she showed him, out of her mind. she'd ought to have, but had she? well, he’d soon see. until he completed his deliveries just before five the next day he had lived through a maze of imaginary events, anxiety. it seemed the time would never pass, but as time does, it always passes. during those waiting hours he thought of about everything. he even re- called how white men had colored women back in wakefield. so common. with the exception of his sisters, the town had few pretty colored girls that white men had not had or did not at one time or other, play with. he recalled how they'd put pretty ones who let themselves get careless, drunk and finally get locked up; and while they were in the hoosegow, white deputies, constables, and arresting officers would slip into the cells and demand sexual intercourse on a bargaining basis with the poor unfortunate girls. sometimes they were kept there several days while three or four of the officers satis- fied their lust before they would let them out. “white people can be so dirty, crackers especially,” could always be heard in the negro section, “a jig ain't got no chance.” most the case of mrs. wingate pretty colored girls had to go north to keep from being forced to be intimate with white men. even when they married, they had to often submit, and very often come up with white babies when their hus- bands were black men. most negroes, therefore, had a grudge against white people, and if they were educated and sensitive, they hated them. so during the night early began to develop a desire to get even. if he could have a pretty white woman, he could feel that he was getting even in a small way for some of the wrongs white men forced on colored women since the south began. in a conversation with a friend on his way to his room that night, he listened with strange interest to what the other seeſhed anxious to talk about. “plenty niggahs got white gals in atlanta,” said the other. “really?” “sho.” “whores.” - “naw. white gals from these small towns. when they get to atlanta and up no'th, the first thing they wants is a niggah. i’ve heard 'um say: ‘white men always layin' 'round with niggah women. i'm going to have all the niggah men i can stand up under, the first chance i get” and he laughed. shortly after five p. m. the next day, he knocked on the back door of the wingate home in buckhead, and waited. not for long, for she had been waiting for him and opened the door. “kermit. you're on time. come in.” he entered. “why didn't you come to the front door? i was looking for you there. when i saw you going around to the back, i had to run all the way back here to let you in.” “i’m sorry, mrs. wingate.” oh, it's all right, except we've got to walk all the way back to the front now to get upstairs where i’ve arranged to talk to you. follow me, please,” and smiling, she led the way toward the front. early followed her out of the kitchen, into and through a large, attractive dining room, which opened into a large, wide hallway. out of this whirled a winding stairway to the second floor. she mounted the steps as he came up, paused to smile at him like she had back in wakefield. he hesitated. “why don't you smile, kermit,” she said, looking at him. “this the case of mrs. wingate is atlanta. people are too busy here to pay any attention to their neighbors or anybody else. so relax, take it easy. be real.” she smiled upon him again, sweetly. - “now come and walk beside me, not behind me, always behind like an old cow's tail,” and she laughed again. he grinned. “that's bet- ter,” she said. “now come on. you and i are going to have a long talk.” she turned now and he dared walk beside her to the top of the stairway, where she paused, and affected tiredness. “some steps, eh, kermit?” he looked down. “they're pretty. the whole house is pretty.” “yes, the house is pretty” she said with a peculiar emphasis on the house. he became conscious that in some way she was acting a bit peculiar. he wondered why. “now we start back to the rear again,” she said, turning and reach- ing, took his hand and dropped it after they had started. there was a long hall up there, too, but not as wide. they passed bedrooms, all gorgeously furnished, on the way back. then, just before reaching the end of the hall, which opened on a porch, she turned sharply to the left and bumped into him. she was closer to him now than ever, and he found himself looking straight into her eyes. he caught his breath, for in hers was the same thing he had seen when she looked at him in the barber shop that day. “i should have told you that we would turn.” the collision had brought them to a stop. she took his hand again and this time held onto it, loosening it only when they reached a door, where she paused and took some keys and unlocked it. he didn't know what to do. she opened the door, walked in, turned. “come in,” she said, smiling. he entered. she turned and latched the door after he entered. “this is your room, kermit.” “my room?” he repeated in surprise. “of course. i want you to stay here.” “oh,” he echoed, and looked around the room a bit curiously. “i’ll show it to you.” she walked ahead; to one side was another door which when opened, displayed a large closet. “your closet. don't you think it's nice and roomy? it'll keep your clothes nice and clean.” “sure is nice, mrs, wingate.” the case of mrs. wingate “when we're in the room alone, kermit, call me florence. i’ll like that better.” “i could never get used to addressing you like that, mrs. wingate.” “try it. you will — after a while.” she led him a few steps and opened another door. “your bath,” she said, going inside. he followed. it was nice. with a large tub and shower. he never thought he would ever get to live in such a room. there was a whole rack of towels, soap, everything clean, immaculate. she turned to face him and smiled again. “like it?” - “yes, maam, but — ” “no buts. now i'll show you the rest of it.” she left the bathroom then, he following. there was a fine bed, with a light over it, a table on one side. “so you can check through your studies in bed and at leizure. i fixed all this myself — after you left yesterday.” he didn't know what to say, so said nothing. but he did like it. she led the way now around the bed to the other side of the room, where she opened another door. another closet. he looked in. “two closets. one for your trunk, so it won't spoil the looks of the room, by setting around in the way.” “my,” he managed to say. she smiled at him, then led the way now to a door at the rear, opened it. it led to the back porch and a few feet away a pair of stairs led downward to the floor of the porch below. “a back entrance so you won't have to come through the house when you return to the room at night.” he smiled appreciatively. she stuck her thumb in his side playfully as she led the way back into the room, and paused over near the bed. “two large windows, so that you can open them and get cool air at night.” “it’s too fine a room for a – servant, mrs. wingate.” “not for you, kermit. you're an educated servant. you have imag- ination, you need a chance to develop it, i want to help you develop yourself.” “you’re very kind, mrs. wingate.” “you can’t say ‘florence?’” “oh, mrs. wingate, no. i — ” the case of mrs. wingate “oh, all right. yet, i’m going to teach you how before it's all over.” there was a large, overstuffed chair; and an occasional one, with a small low table between. “sit down,” she said, pointing to the overstuffed chair. he obeyed. she sat on the occasional chair, moving it a bit closer to his before doing so. “now we'll have that talk,” she said. about what, he thought. why was mrs. wingate doing all this for him? he was to soon see. he tried to push his chair away a little. “oh, don't kermit. quit being afraid. i don't like you being afraid of me.” - he grinned, sheepishly. what was all this leading up to, he won- dered. it was what he'd thought he'd like a few hours before. he had dreamed and visualized such a situation. now that it was upon him, he was plainly frightened. she looked at him and understood, so smiled reassuringly. “remember what i said. we're in atlanta now, not wakefield where it was sensible for you to be scared. don't be that way any longer. nobody is going to know, nor pay any attention to what you and i do up here,” so saying she slid her chair closer to him again. he sighed and looked bewildered. “i’m sorry, mrs. wingate,” he said. she sighed, so he didn't finish what he started to say. “i want to tell you what's on my mind and what i’ve been planning to do after meeting you yesterday, if you'd quit looking so fright- ened. won't you just try to act like you — know me, so that i can * he sighed and tried to perk up. - “i’ll try to, mrs. wingate.” she moved her chair up against his now and seemed to be trying to decide just where and how to start. she reached over and unfolded his hands, took the right and laid hers on it. she stroked his hand then. “now remember, kermit, anything that happens between us, you and me, understand, it's me that did it. i want you to feel comfortable and safe at all times. you'll be all right after you get that fright out of yourself. you see, you're educated. that always makes a difference. you know how far to go, and i — trust you. what you must do from now on is trust me. let us try to be mutual. in public it is one way here in this room, it will be, i hope, as we want to make it, i want to the case of mrs. wingate make it.” she was so nice, he was thinking now. she reached over with her free hand, placed it under his, and stroked the top of his hand with her other. he sat there completely helpless, leaving everything to her. “but your husband, mrs. wingate. your husband, so rich, so — ” she jerked her hands away and flashed her eyes, impatiently, rising to her feet. she stood over him and seemed to go through some strange transition. he looked up frightened, a fright that she did not see, for she was looking over his head into space, as if some terrible revolution was going on within her. he stood up. “i’m sorry if i — i said something you didn't like, mrs. wingate.” she looked at him oddly, then relaxing, smiled, turned and sat back down and motioned for him to do likewise. he obeyed her. she took his hand again and stroked it. he looked on vaguely. “you spoke about my husband. that's what i want to tell you about, all about, and then — perhaps you'll undestand.” she dropped his hand and covered her face with hers. a moment later she lowered them and turned to him. “it’s hard to talk about it and you will be the first person that i have. i — i don't see how i can tell anybody else — not even my own mother.” again she paused, covered her face with her hands again and wept this time. she took out a kerchief and dobbed her nose and her eyes, shook her head and turned again to him. “you could never understand, kermit, nobody can unless i tell them. it isn't anything that i want to advertise. but i'm going to tell you, kermit, tell you because i know you can be trusted to keep a secret as i have done since the first night i married him.” “you mean, miss florence, your — wedding night?” he had a strange suspicion now and was beginning to understand. “my wedding night!” she exclaimed, and in a moment became a wild-eyed tigress. “my wedding night! i had no wedding night — i've never had one; i never will have a wedding night.” eyes flashing fire, she gazed into space, a hopeless something. he looked hard at her, and managed to say: “why, miss florence — what — do you mean?” again she re- laxed. she seemed so unhappy that he was almost tempted to lay a con- the case of mrs. wingate soling hand on her. in fact, he started to, then paused, hesitated and drew it back. she raised her eyes, tears flowing down her cheeks, in time to see it. his eyes were soft with sympathy. “just what i said, kermit, i've never had a wedding night; i never will,” and again she fell to weeping. face down, she sobbed the words. “everybody envies me, thinks i married so well when they should be pitying me, pitying me,” and she wept. “miss florence, please. i'm so sorry to see you so — unhappy. why, all this? you have a fine home, a husband, a rich husband. isn't he good to you?” face still down, eyes hidden, she nodded her head up and down. “yes, kermit, he's good to me, just as good as he can be.” “then, why — ” she sat up, proceeded to wipe her tears away. “my husband, kermit, is not a - normal man.” he recoiled, eyes wide. “not a - what l” he cried. she looked at him out of sad, pitiful eyes, nodding her head as she did so. “not a normal man, kermit, if you know what that means.” “oh,” he echoed, and didn't know what else to say. his mind then went back to an incident, an incident that all the world had followed a few years before. a murder trial. it happened in georgia, so she would remember it; she would know all about it. “i’m a passionate woman, you know that, kermit. you know as no one else does, how my passion lead me — almost to desperate measures. still i never did cross the border. except when i tried to make you play with me, i never made an advance to a man before or since. but all my life i’d dreamed of that night, my wedding night when i could relax into all the excitement that only wedding night can give a girl. so imagine when that night came, here in this house where he brought me, he broke down and made a shocking confession, instead. all the future, children, sweet babies that every healthy girl longs for and expects, never to be mine.” she fell to weeping again at the thought of it. he stared at her and thought again about the trial of a man who was not normal and the terrible tragedy that was the result of it. “but he can't help it. he was born that way. and, strange as it may seem, and as disappointed as i am, i don't hate him for it. i feel the case of mrs. wingate sorry for him. he is so much older than i, and i didn't want to marry him from the beginning. but my people were poor but proud, es- pecially my mother. my father was getting old and the bank was plan- ning to retire him. my sisters and brothers were in school. we hated to take them out — it would have been a tragedy, a calamity with my family struggling so hard to keep their chins up. so — i — consented to marry him. i felt that a sacrifice on my part would save my people — and it did. and now — i’m paying the price.” she shook her head sadly, hopelessly. “do you mean when you say that your husband is not a normal man, that he was, perhaps, like — like leo m. frank?” she sat quickly erect, eyes wide. “leo m. frank!” she exclaimed. “how'd you happen to think of him?" “they said that he – was not a normal man.” now let us go back a few years; to the trial of leo m. frank. frank had been sent to atlanta from brooklyn, to manage a pencil factory. he was charged with killing mary phagan, a young irish girl, employed at the factory, a few years before. he was charged with luring her to the factory where he planned to have an unnatural relation with her. the trial was more sensational than usual because frank was con- victed on the testimony of a simple, ignorant negro. because of this fact, a powerful new york daily paper, came to his assistance, employed the great william j. burns, himself, imported him into atlanta, and with unlimited money to fight the case, suc- ceeded in throwing everything out of gear and a governor, who later was retired from public life for a commutation he granted, changing the jury verdict which had convicted frank and sentenced him to be hanged. in the negro's testimony, he related how frank practiced unnat- ural relations with certain women who satisfied him for pay. but frank wanted nicer women, in this case a girl, who was innocent. in his passionate state, the negro testified, that he'd act like he was crazy. he went on to relate how frank arranged with him to be on hand on this particular day, and that he'd fooled mary phagan into coming to the factory so that he could be alone with her. he proceeded then to arrange matters to fit into the scheme of things, by having the negro the case of mers. wingate take up his watch at the foot of the stair, after the girl came and went up stairs to get her pay. “so i,” the negro testified, “took up my watch at the foot of the stairs and waited.” he went on to say how he overheard frank talking to the girl; of him making an advance and of her refusing. “you see,” the negro testified frank said, “i’m not built like other men.” when asked what he meant by that, the negro said that frank went down on women. - the judge at this point called a recess and when court resumed the next morning, only men were permitted in the court room to hear the testimony of the negro who went on to explain what he meant by “going down”. - he testified that when the little girl refused, frank was so impas- sioned and desperate that he attempted to make her. this brought on a struggle. she got her fingers in his face and scratched him so until he had to strike her to make her turn him loose. “i wanted to be with the little girl but she refused me,” the negro said he told him. “then we got to struggling and she got her fingers in my face and scratched me something awful. i had to strike her to make her turn loose, but i guess i struck her too hard. she fell and hit her head against something and then she lay there still like she was dead.” the part that created so much excitement and made everybody, who heard the testimony, want to kill frank, was when the negro told that while the little girl lay on the floor, unconscious and helpless, frank committed the unspeakable act. examination of the girl's vagi- na afterward revealed that she was a virgin, had been tampered with, but there was no fluid to reveal that it had been in the natural way. through, his passion cooled and picturing the girl rising from the floor when she came to and staggering into the street in her con- dition to make atlanta ring from end to end with what she would tell and show was too much for frank. crazed, he found a cord, tied it around her neck and strangled her to death. he then called the negro from the stool and had him help try to dispose of the body. they took it to the basement where frank ordered the negro to put it in the furnace and burn it. at this the negro balked and refused. frank pictured then that if he could get him intoxicated, he would while in that condition, do it. so he gave the negro money which he took and went to a boot-legging joint nearby, as prohibition was in the case of mirs. wingate effect in atlanta. the negro went there and got so drunk until he became sleepy and went home to have a nap and when he woke up, it was too late. frank, in the meantime, wrote murder notes and put them around the body in the hope of throwing suspicion on the negro. and since georgia was notorious for lynching negroes, it was frank's hope that with suspicion cast toward the negro, a mob would gather and lynch him so quick, that suspicion would be diverted from him. he reckoned wrong, for they did not lynch the negro but a year or two later, when the governor was persuaded to commute his death sentence to life imprisonment, frank was taken from the prison by twenty determined men from marrietta, georgia, home of the girl, who stormed the prison farm hospital where frank was recovering from a wound a fellow prisoner had made, trying to cut his throat. they carried him miles to the town where the little girl had lived and hanged him to the limb of a gum tree. “leo m. frank,” florence was saying after a pause. “yes, my husband is like frank. so now, kermit, you understand. just like frank,” she repeated and looked at him helplessly. “oh, it's too awful to think about. my life here in this big empty house, is a life — of hell!” again she wept in self pity and again he felt sorry for her. “some day, and i think of it so much until i imagine at times it is about to happen, i feel i'll go crazy. oh, i can't stand it longer, kermit. i just can't go on putting up with it!” she rose to her feet and walked the floor. he sat there and just looked at her and felt sorry for her. her life he could now understand, must be terribly unhappy. she had, on the one hand, everything, on the other, nothing. she returned to the chair after a time and sat down again. “in spite of imposing myself on you back there in wakefield the way i did, i've been a nice girl. i’m still a virgin insofar as any sexual actions are concerned, but i have to put up with so much punishment, in a way, to satisfy him until i'm worse off always than i was before. i've still got to go on being careful. i dreamed of a man, a fine young man since i. was twelve years old. i wanted to be embraced, hugged and kissed, but was afraid to let any white boys do all this back there. it was then that i began to notice you. i kept looking at you; i kept thinking about you. then i would look at you again, and i noticed that you had pretty eyes, such beautiful eyes.” she leaned over to look into his more directly. he was forced to the case of mrs. wingate smile. she smiled too, the first time, it seemed, for a long time. “you have got pretty eyes, kermit, beautiful eyes. hasn't anybody ever told you that you have before?” he was forced to smile again, but said nothing. “have they?” she repeated. “i don't know,” he lied modestly. “you’re telling a story,” she said and reached out and took his hand again. “i think you have,” she said, cuddling them. “did you think i was a-bad girl, the way i acted? i mean, in wakefield?” “oh, miss florence,” he cried. “you mustn't talk to me like that. it won’t ever do, ever.” “why won't it?” she cried, and bouncing up, sat quickly down on his lap. “you know, kermit,” she said, with him really frightened in earnest now. “there are white girls, many white girls, who'd like to be nice to some colored man. in fact, there are many who'd like to have a colored fellow if they had a chance.” “i wish you'd get up, miss florence. this isn't right at all.” “it is,” she pouted. “and i won't get up. i want to sit here and i want you to want me to.” - “i don't want you to,” he said. “you do, but you're just scared. when are you going to get over it?” “never.” “oh, kermit. why don't you be nice to me?” “i have no right to. this still down south, even if we are in atlanta.” - “if we were up north, say in chicago, for instance, wouldn't you— like to —then?” “we’re not up north. i wish you'd get up.” “i’m trying to be nice to you but you keep on being scared, a fraidie cat.” she looked at him now, deep into his eyes, and smiled, sweetly. “such pretty eyes,” and she shook her head with admiration. “let me kiss them,” and leaning forward she kissed his brow, then kissed his lips. - “oh, my, so soft, so sweet. do you know, kermit?” he was silent. “i like you.” she leaned over and kissed him again. “i’ve always liked you.” and leaning forward, kissed him again. “i’m always going to like you, even if you won't kiss me back, i'm mad,” she said, poutingly, the case of mrs. wingate and rose to her feet. paused, and looked down at him at a sort of profile from where she was standing. she sighed deeply, took a turn around the room. she came back and sat down on the chair, then turned to him, now seriously. “i’m interested in your education, kermit.” “thank you, miss florence.” “i like being called miss florence better than mrs. wingate, i don't feel that i am a mistress. but getting back to what i started to say. i am interested in your future. i don't want you to think that i am only interested in — but we haven't got to that. i'm interested in your getting your education, and from now on, i'm going to help you — if you'll let me.” “that's very kind of you miss florence.” - “i’m all alone in this big old house, except for mammy, who does the cooking and i bring in another woman twice a week to do the cleaning. “now, you see, by you being here in this room, you'll be lots of company. you don't know how lonesome i get, so lonesome i don't know what to do. so after i met you yesterday, i came and fixed this room up so that it would be so nice and comfortable until after you've stayed in it a while, you won't want to leave.” “that is very kind of you.” “if you can have a nice place to study and prepare any writings, you can get along so much better.” “i’m terribly grateful to you for that.” “are you, really, kermit?” “i would be most ungrateful if i was not.” “thank you. that encourages me.” she got up and crossing, sat down on his lap again. “do you like me, kermit?” “i don't know, miss florence. i’m all confused, my brain's in a whirl.” “still scared.” he sighed. “well, i'll just have to be patient and give you time.” “don’t you think i ought to be going?” he said, stirring. she glanced at her wrist watch, and with a light sigh, got up. he . followed. they were close and he towered over her. she looked up at the case of mers. wingate j him and smiled. he was forced to smile too. “you’re tall. i like tall men. i like to look up to a man.” he smiled now, indulgently, but said nothing. “when are you going to move in?” she said. he crossed toward the door, thinking as he went and she followed. at the door, he paused and turned to face her. “whenever you say.” “how about tomorrow night?” “okey by me,” said he. “then i'll look for you tomorrow night, around ten o'clock. does that suit you?” “yes, maam.” he turned now and placed a hand on the knob. she came closer. “wait a minute.” she came up and looking up into his eyes, placed her arms about his neck and kissed him three times. relaxing, she smiled up into his face. he opened the door and she called. “good night, kermit.” “good night, miss florence.” he went down the steps which were but a few feet away as he heard her close the door and was gone. kermit early came back to himself again, sitting there in his com- fortable parlor, from his reminiscences, and looked around him, down at the letter which had started him out on it. he sighed pleasantly, for in truth, he had begun to enjoy it. this strange drama of his own life and the woman whose letter to him had set him out upon it. he glanced down at it, read another paragraph, but found his rem- iniscence more interesting at the moment, so slumped right back to where he left off. he hadn't acquired very many clothes, only enough to change about twice and present a neat appearance daily at class. there were many nice girls of his own race in his class, some of whom smiled at him and by doing so, invited him to be more friendly. he was friendly to them, but was too engrossed in his studies to go any further. they sighed and would look at him a bit oddly, then sigh again and usually let him alone after that. when he got up the next morning, and before hurrying off to class, the case of mirs. wingate he began packing the most of what he had into two large suit cases, planning to finish doing so when he returned from making his de- liveries that afternoon. - his studies at the school that day were more strenuous than usual, which served to make him forget florence wingate and he was relieved, for he had grown strangely anxious for that night to come, and the exacting studies that day made the time seem to go quicker. when he got to the shop, he was given piles of suits and dresses to deliver, and the use of the side car to do so in, whereas he usually made most of his deliveries by foot. by the time he had finished, returned to his room, completed his packing, being able to get all he possessed into two suit cases, the time was drawing near. he had taken the books which he kept in the room, some volumes of reference and research to school, where he planned to carry them to mrs. wingate's when he was fully settled. he went to the landlady's room when he had completed his packing, knocked on her door and paid her, telling her that he had secured a better job, but one that required him to stay on the place. she was sorry to see him go, but glad he was able to pay her in full, and not resort to the usual alibi, which always ended in never paying. she wished him god speed, promised to “pray” for him, and around nine o'clock he left with his belongings. he had to transfer to the peachtree car at five points, which car put him off almost in front of her home in buckhead. remembering the back stairway, he went around the big house and found his way up the backstairs, and then as he set his suit cases down and started to find a key to admit him to his room, was cha- grinned to realize all of a sudden that he had forgotten to ask her for it. he bit his lips in vexation, then reached out to just try the door as a matter of course, and started when it opened. he breathed a deep sigh of relief, stepped inside, felt around the wall beside the door, found a switch, turned the lights on, went back to the porch, picked up his belongings, and returning with them inside, set them in the middle of the room and going back, closed the door and paused to take a survey of his new surroundings. he crossed the room and opened the door that led to the inside of the house and paused to listen. all was silent and he wondered if mrs. wingate was in or had gone out, or retired. he heard a ticking the case of mers. wingate and turned and found upon looking that she had placed a handsome clock on the table near his bedside, which he could look directly into the face of while in bed. he smiled his thanks and closing the door, removed his hat and coat, rolled up his sleeves and put in the next half hour, unpacking and arranging his possessions in and about the room. through, he sat down at the table, over which a subdued light pro- truded, which he switched on, got up, went back to the door and switched off the one that lit the entire room, returned to the table and checked through his studies, to come up in class the next day for another thirty minutes, at the end of which time he was conscious of a drowsiness, so got up, removed his clothing, found his pajamas, and switched on the light over the bed. he turned the covers back after switching off the table light, pressed up and down on the middle of the bed with his hand, was relieved and pleased that it was soft and springy, then got into it and was more pleased still. what a wonderful set-up, he thought. never had he been even near so much complete comfort. he could surely study hard and go right on through his class until the end of the session, living in such a per- fectly, delightful and comfortable environment. far away from noisy negroes, where he would never be disturbed by police sirens, arresting some fool negroes who'd got into trouble by drinking and fighting which so often ended in the police station on decatur street. not even a grady hospital siren, buzzing through the streets to haul a negro to the hospital who'd been shot or had gotten into a stabbing fray. just solid comfort and peace. he sighed happily, reached up, switched off the light, and a few minutes later was entering slum- berland when he heard a slight knock on the door and slowly opened his eyes. he was not sure, so listened more closely until it was re- peated. he sat up in bed, turned on the bed light, and looking toward the door, called: “yes.” some one tried the door, and it was only then he remembered that he had forgotten to lock it and was annoyed. the door was opened softly — and he started up in great surprise, for, wearing a striking silk negligee, over which was a dark robe, with her hair down over her shoulders, stood mrs. wingate. he uttered some sound, and looked the case of mrs. wingate around. his robe was across the foot of the bed, and she had entered the room and he could not get it without exposing himself, so sud- denly slid downward, drawing the covers up around his throat. she turned and locked the door behind her this time and also latched it, then turning, came across the room to the bed and sat down on the side of it and looked at him. he was really frightened this time and she, observing it, smiled at him and reaching out, patted his cheek. “will you ever get over being frightened — dear,” she said and leaning forward, kissed him. he closed his eyes and groaned. “oh, kermit, please. please don't act like that. i’m really not going to — hurt you.” he opened his eyes and looked at her, blank like. as he did so and she smiled down upon him sweetly, he caught a faint odor of rich perfume. “we, you and i, kermit, are all alone here. nobody is in this big house but us. mr. wingate is in new york, where he'll remain for a week or ten days longer. got a wire from him to that effect this after- noon. so please loosen up, relax, unbend and begin to try to be nice to me.” she slapped his shoulder, hard, then coming closer, kissed him again, once, twice, three times, then sitting up, looked down into his face. “now,” she said, patting his cheek, “doesn't that show that i mean all right by you?” and she smiled down at him again, stood up, re- moved her robe, crossed to a clothes tree across the room, in her negligee, with him staring at her back. she hung the robe up, turned, posed as if for his benefit, then returned to the bed, stood over him to smile down at him again in her negligee, under which she had on a fine silk nightie. as she stood there he could see the outline of her body, silhouetted through both. she turned now and sat down again on the side of the bed and smiled at him. he still gazed at her blankly and said nothing. “this is some affair, isn't it?” she said, and laughed lightly. he shook his head dumbly but managed to smile, “i don't know.” “you don't know? why, kermit, use your imagination. you have plenty, with all the education you have. must i make all the over- tures? all the advances? just picture now, a - a beautiful, white girl, married to an old man, an old man who has never, because nature created him in the image of sodom or gomorrah, i don't know which. maybe both, but he has gotten himself married to a pretty, the case of mrs. wingate passionate young girl, who has been waiting practically all her life for a wedding night. then, wedding night and all this beautiful girl's expectations. in her bedroom, dressed like she is now, waiting, waiting. then to her he comes, falls on his knees and weeps. she's surprised, she doesn't know what about, but is afraid, listens. he confesses to her through his tears, that he is not a normal man. he should have used leo m. frank's words, but guess he didn't think of them. ‘you see, i'm not built like other men.” the young girl was not much more than a child, a tender virgin that authors since the beginning of time have been writing about, will go on writing about. she's young but at last understands and falls weeping. pours her whole heart into her tears. he tries to explain it away; tries to show her his way, which frightens her more. she had heard of such ways and knew then and there, and would keep on knowing, that she wanted none of it. he begs, he pleads, he cries, but she drives him from the room and locks the door behind him, returns and tries to die. “but the pretty young girl does not die. she lives on to suffer and die over and over again, a living death. then out of somewhere comes a stranger dark and handsome, with pretty eyes. he is afraid of her, speaks no words, makes no overtures. just sits and listens to her, but listens so beautifully. this stranger happens to be a - colored boy, therefore love between him and the princess, the southern princess, is a forbidden thing. he knows it and she knows it. he doesn't propose try to override this tradition, but she doesn't care. she is hungry, hungry for affection, and she likes this dark and handsome young man, even if to love him is forbidden. maybe that makes her love for him sweeter. anyway, she doesn't care anything about the old tradition. she has but one life to live, it is her life and she proposes to get something out of it — even if she has to impose herself upon the handsome, dark-eyed and shy young man. “she casts aside everything, and on a night when he returns to the room she has prepared for him with her own dainty hands; a room in which she thought only of how comfortable she could make it, all for him. he likes the room. that is what he thinks as he arranges his clothes and papers and what-nots about it. then retiring happy and contented, he falls into a peaceful sleep. but the fairy princess, who is real flesh and blood and passion was not asleep. she had been waiting and watching, knew when he arrived, for she heard his the case of mrs. wingate footsteps go around to the rear, come up the back stairway, pause at the door and could feel his annoyance when he realized he had forgot- ten to ask her for the key. then he tries the door — and to his surprise, relief and delight, it was not locked at all and opened when he turned it. the princess had thought of all that as she had of everything else and had arranged it. “so the dark lochinvar enters the room, turns on the light, looks around. is pleased. more pleased than he had ever been regarding a place to live. he then arranges his things around the room she had prepared so thoughtfully. he finds a table where it ought to be where he could spread his studies upon; a light over the table where it ought to be. he sits a while and goes through and prepares his studies for the next day's classes. finally, conscious of drowsiness, the fine young man of ancient extraction, rises, removes his clothing, gets into his pajamas, tries the bed with his hand and happy to find it comfortable, gets into the bed, and is more pleased still. he sighs and says to himself. “solid comfort, how good.’ then, after a time he drops off to sleep, to be awakened, soon by a knock on his door. he becomes frightened, suspicious that it is the princess. and it is, for she had been waiting all this while, waiting for him to finish his day's activities and retire, and then she comes in. “and now kermit, i am back to reality. i’ve told you my story. you understand that the man i'm married to is a husband in name only. you know enough about me by now, and i want you to feel sorry for me. i need your pity, i need your sympathy. i have grown so strangely fond of you until you've become a peculiar part of my life, and you will always remain so. the fact that you're afraid is no more, under the circumstances, than can be expected. so i am taking over, making all the advances, all the overtures. now — just one more thing. switch off the light, please.” he obeyed her. it was light enough in the room to note a shadowy movement only, but bright enough for him to see her take off her negligee, heard her kick off her slippers, and before he was aware of what she was doing, she had pulled the covers back and crawled into bed beside him! and that was how it all started. kermit sighed and rising to his feet in his apartment in chicago, poured himself another drink of the case of mrs. wingate ice water, swallowed it, let himself enjoy its cooling effect for a moment and then strolled over by the window and looked out into south park- way, stretching wide and busy below. “and now she's going to have that baby she's been wanting since it all started,” he sighed. “a wealthy and aristocratic woman, married to a tycoon, in family way by a negro. what a situation!” he turned and walked back across the room, paused at the table, beat his hands thereon, and feeling helpless and unable to turn any way to try think some way out, he sat down and gave himself up again to reminiscences. that never-to-be-forgotten night in atlanta was how it started, or how it had gotten off to its start, but only the start of it. it had soon developed into a perfectly mutual relation. he soon began to like mrs. wingate, who insisted from that night on that she was in love with him and didn't care who knew it. she told him that he had brought happiness into her life when she had despaired of ever being happy. every night, when mr. wingate was away, and which was often, was a wedding night for them. they never seemed to grow tired, always seemed to be new to each other. they never disagreed, got angry or quarreled. never had two people so widely separated from a social point of view become so completely suited to each other. yet their entire relation was based on sexual intercourse, which, as we understand had to seem clandestine. in fact it wasn't, but by the nature of it, it had to seem that way. it was mutual, nothing more, nothing less. as we know, kermit was poor as are most negroes. mrs. wingate was rich. under the circumstances, it was not like a woman in this condition, to let a man who meant much to her, go wanting. so she soon bought kermit all the clothes he needed. yet he never asked her for anything. he found it hanging there in his room when he returned. circumstances favored their relations. mammy was too old to know or suspect what was going on, for at no time did kermit early, by nature careful and conservative, get careless. the woman who came twice a week to clean never observed anything. the wingates had a country home and farm, mostly as a diversion, which served hand- somely. mrs. wingate liked to go out there, and kermit always had to drive her. and every time almost, they went out there, he had to serve her in the way she wanted to be served. it seemed to appeal the case of mirs. wingate to and please both. always shortly after they arrived, and again before they left. all mutual, all agreeable, all pleasant. “i love you, kermit,” it seemed to please her to say, and she repeated it as often as she had a chance. “as i look back on it, i guess i must have fallen in love with you back there in wakefield. but i’m ashamed now when i recall how bold i was as regards you. i will never forget your fear, your fright, and how i had to add to it that sunday. my darling,” and she would then nestle her beautiful head on his shoulder and he would comfort her. he had long since begun calling her by her first name, which always pleased her. in due time he graduated from the university, and together they discussed and agreed on his next move. it was to be to the university of chicago, where he decided to major in administrative management. so kermit went to chicago and mrs. wingate followed him there a few days later. he stopped at a colored hotel on the south side, while she checked in at the palmer house. he could go there to see her for they have always permitted negroes to stop at the palmer house without restriction. so there they would have dinner together, go to shows, be completely sociable in every way like two free people. she helped him select the apartment where we met him, opened an account in his name at one of the big downtown banks with a substantial deposit and gave him the pass book and a supply of check books, large enough to last him for a full year. “when the bank returns your cancelled vouchers at the end of each month, dear,” she told him, “please send me the yellow sheet,” which meant that she would see that his balance was always ample. - kermit early was not an extravagant man and she liked that, not because he was by disposition conservative, but it showed that he was not out to exploit her. so she was forever urging and insisting that he spend more, use more for his needs. when she came to chicago even afterwards to visit him, she checked in at the palmer house, but spent most of her time at the apartment on the south side. she had always liked to cook, and he liked to do marketing, so they enjoyed life in the apartment, where she insisted on preparing the food. even while living at her house in atlanta, she would do this, bring it up to his room, and there eat and drink with him. “you should, kermit, dear,” she said, during one of her many visits to the windy city, “plan to take about two more years after you | the case of mrs. wingate get your masters at the university here, go in for a doctorate.” “oh, florence,” he cried, “i think i have enough. i’m planning to quit after getting my master and find something to do, go to work.” “that's fine of you, but ten years hence, the two years you spend now, won't be missed, during which time you wouldn't go far enough for it to mean anything, anything at all.” “but i’ve been — on you so long, florence. it's – “i understand, sweetheart,” she said softly, “and i like you better for feeling as you do about it,” and she paused then and kissed him twice. “but your destiny will begin more quickly if you continue your studies and get your doctorate. i’ll like it better, too, but of course you've got to do the deciding.” “we've always agreed, haven't we, dear?” “sure have — in everything.” he had sat down now and she crossed and sat on his lap, something she'd never gotten tired of doing, and something he never got tired of having her do. he placed an arm about her waist, she an arm around his neck. “we’re so happy, aren't we, kermit?” “so happy, florence. you've certainly proved a real companion. stood shoulder to shoulder with me through thick and thin.” “where would you like to take your doctorate? had you con- sidered where?” “no, dear, because i was planning to call it finis when i get my master. i should go to work.” - “but if we finally decide that you should have a ph.d, what school would you like to go to get it?” “where would you rather i go?” “to harvard,” said she. “harvard | whew i’” “i want you to get it from a school that'll give you the most pres- tige.” “well, harvard's that place.” “then it's to harvard you go.” “so expensive, dear.” “not much more, if any, than the university of chicago.” he was silent. “let’s not think about the expense. i won't be satisfied until i see that ph.d. behind your name, and a harvard sheepskin on the wall.” > y t; the case of mrs. wingate “you’re so sweet, florence and so good.” - for this she kissed him again. “i won't ever, it seems, get entirely used to you.” - - - she looked at him and frowned, pouted a bit. “oh, kermit, why?” “i don't know,” he sighed thoughtfully, gazing at nothing. “every time i kiss you, it always seems like the first time.” “funny,” she said, playing with his tie. “i feel the same way about you. everything we do and every time we do it, always seems like the first time.” for answer he drew her closer. she put her face beside his, cheek to cheek and sighed happily. “isn't it wonderful, kermit? i mean, just you and i? how little did we think when i used to pass and strike you playfully, back there in wakefield, and stuck my tongue out at you, and — ” “— made mischievous faces,” he cut her off to say and laughed. “ — that it was going to come to —all this.” “to all this, dear.” she relaxed a bit now, was thoughtful a moment, then turning her face to him. “if you say the word, i’ll divorce mr. wingate, and — ” “ — marry me?” “yes, kermit, divorce him and marry you.” “i wish we could be married. as happy as we are, if we could only feel that we were man and wife — well, i'm sure we would both feel better about it.” “if you say the word, i’ll go to atlanta, tell him frankly that i'm in love with you and ask him to give me a divorce.” “you can’t afford to do that, florence.” “and why not?” she said, turning to face him. “for so many reasons, i don't want to start enumerating them.” “well, enumerate a few, for instance.” - “your people for one thing.” ſov “that's the least to keep me from doing it.” “it would be considered an eternal disgrace by every white per ºn you know.” “all the white people in the world don't mean half as much to me as you do, kermit, and i mean that.” - “i believe you.” “you’ve brought me more happiness than i thought i would ever ~ the case of mrs. wingate know, compelled to take it as we are, too, like this.” “we'll have to keep on taking it this way.” “if we were man and wife, i could have—that baby i want so badly.” “i wish you could.” “if you let me divorce him, we could start getting one, two, three— a gang, maybe,” and she laughed. “right away.” he patted her cheek fondly. “no, dear,” he sighed. “we'll have to be satisfied taking our hap- piness this way. if your husband — died, for instance, then it — ” turning to him playfully, yet with a sudden and strange something in her eyes. “maybe i should kill him,” she said and laughed, but there was still that peculiar look in her eyes. “like ruth snyder,” he suggested, humorously, “and go to the electric chair for your trouble.” the peculiar expression had left her eyes by now and she relaxed. “the only reason i haven't divorced him of my own accord is because he is so good to me, and i feel sorry for him. he can't help his condition — ” “and since matters are going along as well as they are, why upset them?” said he. “getting a divorce from him to marry a poor, strug- gling student, doesn't look like the sensible thing to do, even if you do love the poor struggling student, a colored man, whose future success is as indefinite as judgment day. no, darling,” he went on seriously. “let’s postpone and forget the idea. i think you're very fortunate that he does not interfere with you.” “it is rather unusual, isn't it, but he never has. he is a very busy man, spends half his time at his new york office, but he never has advanced one word of criticism. i have a feeling that he knows there is somebody else, and because he is — like he is, he feels that — il, that's the way it is and — ” “ — the way it is going to stay,” said kermit with finality and emphasis. “but the baby, kermit,” she continued, and was again emotional. he looked at her. “if i don't have a baby before — it's too late, i'll feel that i have lived in vain.” “well,” he sighed, “i’d like one, too, but — oh, dear,” and his tone was somewhat hopeless, “how can you and i go to having a baby — the case of mrs. wingate under the circumstances?” “as for me, i'm willing to forego and forget the circumstances,” florence said, “and just have it, let the future take care of itself. once i have a baby i don't care what happens after.” again he looked at her. and then he sighed again. “i’m tempted so often to — leave the rubber off during the tender period. if and when i do, i'd be pregnant in thirty days,” she went on, boldly. he started, and his eyes were curious as he looked at her. she returned his gaze quietly. “but — but, dear!” he began. “i won't for a while, until you've finished your education at least.” his sigh this time was one of relief. she smiled into his face now and kissed him. he returned it profusely. she stretched her mouth open now and looked drowsy. he looked at her and smiled tenderly. “getting sleepy, sweetheart?” “m-m.” “want me to put you to bed?” she nodded and looked cute. he kissed her for it. “i want a bath. will you come in and scrub my back?” “like i always do?” “like you always do. i miss you so much when i'm away.” “do you?” “i do, so much, darling.” “i’ll try to make up for that every time i massage you while you're here.” “thanks, sweetheart.” “i’ll go in now and turn on the water.” he lifted her bodily, got up, set her down in a chair, turned to pat her cheek, then went to the bath and a few seconds later, she heard the water pouring into the tub. when he came out he was carrying her robe. she stood up and let him take her clothes off. she liked at such times to play helpless. disrobed, completely, he put her robe on and she went to the bath- room, followed by him. he tested the temperature of the water, while she removed the robe, stuck her toe in the water and pulled it back, quickly. “too hot, honey?” “too hot, darling,” she said. “i’ll fix it,” and he increased the flow of cold water. as she stood the case of mrs. wingate there waiting beside him, he glanced around at her and was reminded of a goddess as the artists paint them. a goddess on a september in orn. “now try it,” he said, getting up. she stuck her toe in it again and relaxing, let her foot settle to the bottom of the tub and smiled as she put the other foot in and sat down. “oh, my,” she cried. “this feels so good.” “glad to hear it,” he said as he prepared the sponge and brushes nd leaning over, soaped her body, thoroughly, then began the massag- g by rubbing her shoulders and back, down to her hips. “oh, kermit, that sure feels good. if you knew how much i enjoy the comfort you give me, you wouldn't ever want to let me go away.” “i miss you as much, perhaps more than you do me.” “that's impossible, but we won't quarrel about it,” she said, holding p first one arm and then the other, to let him massage them. he had once worked as a masseur, so knew something about it. “now stand up,” he said when he had massaged her upper body :ompletely. she did and he massaged her hips and lower limbs, which eemed to satisfy her even more. through, he let the water out and with a heavy towel, proceeded to dry her body, while she relaxed and continued to enjoy as fully as she had the bath. through, and after he put her robe about her, she left the bathroom and strolled back into the bedroom. outside, she crossed to the bed, removed the robe so that her body could air, thoroughly, and which she also enjoyed, and then sort of aired her hair with a large comb she kept beside the bed so that it dried more thoroughly. coming out of the bath, he glanced across at her, and was reminded of the mona lisa painting, she looked so beau- tiful. he found her nightie and stood over her while she worked a bit longer at her hair, then laying the comb down, looked up at him smilingly, and he dropped it over her shoulders, helping to fit it around her, turned back the covers, adjusted the pillow, then turning, lifted her and laid her down. adjusting the pillow beneath her head, he took the comb and spread her hair about over the pillow so that it could continue to dry, while she closed her eyes and seemed to enjoy the little things he liked to do to make her comfortable. through, he turned the bed light out over her head and crossing the room, sat down at a table and proceeded to work through his the case of mrs. wingate studies for the next day's classes. again kermit early came back from his reminiscing during which he seemed to have dropped off to sleep and when he sat up and looked around, he rather half-way expected to find her. instead, he glanced down at the letter which was still in his hand, and sighing, started to read it again. “it just happened this time, darling. i didn't do what i've so often threatened to, and wanted to. this time it got by me somehow and i had nothing to do with letting it. i am happier nevertheless, because it has, since i cannot, at least, feel that i’ve been indiscreet. “i know this news will upset you, perhaps very much, but i am too happy to let it annoy me. i won't have to say any- thing about it to him for five or six months yet, during which time please leave it to me to decide how and what best to do. i think you know that i’ve always been able to face and deal with any situation that involves you and me and instead of being upset and frightened with the realization, i feel strangely relieved and more happy over it than upset. with our baby on the way i am forced to reckon with something that we have avoided all these years. after it has been dealt with, as i shall deal with it, have no fear, then i can come to you and we can be married and the father of my child will be my own, good, lawful husband as i have so wanted you to be all these years. “so write me a long, sweet letter, kermit, dear, and try to be as happy about it as i am. - lovingly, “f l or e n c e " kermit early sat there for a long time, just gazing into space. he did no further reminiscing. after graduating from the university of chicago, he had gone on that fall to harvard, where he entered for his final course. she joined him and together they took an apart- ment in boston, where she visited him as regularly as she had while living in chicago, provided for his needs, kept him amply supplied with funds, opening an account for him at one of the branches of the first national bank there, and so kermit early finished, secured his ph.d, which was what she wanted. he then set out in life to do things, and as we know, hadn't done so much, but his close friendship with mrs. wingate had continued without interruption through the the case of mrs. wingate years and they were as much devoted to each other at this time as they had been from the beginning. - he had returned to chicago and made it his home again, and had for some time past refused to accept anything from her, though she watched over him and was ever ready to advance assistance. then he met the leaders of the subversive group with whom he had become finally allied. they paid him well for his activities, and he found him- self, as far as finances were concerned, quite independent. it was through the subversive group who were plotting against america for the benefit of the third reich, that he met heinrich schultz. being of the same race, although schultz was a nazi, their interest became mutual at once because both resented vigorously the way the negro was played down and treated in america. both being highly educated, these facts became more exaggerated with time than might have otherwise been the case. after a brief association, both had agreed to fight it to the bitter end at whatever cost. and so they had developed their interest in common, and since the white men they were allied with provided ample funds with which to back up any activities they felt inspired to propagate, kermit had been busier than ever before, working out a plan which he had laid before them and schultz just before he started back to germany. among the people kermit knew and had in a measure become friendly with, was one sidney wyeth, of new york, for years america's only negro motion picture producer. during the summer he met and had long talks with wyeth, who was in chicago, writing a novel he had set up a company and published some months before. wyeth had been forced to suspend the production of pictures for lack of funds, and they had talked about it. wyeth told him that he was writing the novel and planning to sell it to make a living since he was a good salesman. early had thought about it and hinted to wyeth that he might be able to help him get back into pictures. naturally, wyeth was interested, but early had formulated no plans as to how he would proceed before wyeth finished his novel and returned to new york to publish it. it was just before schultz sailed for germany that a plan became sufficiently fixed in kermit's mind. the group he was allied with — a branch of the national socialist party of germany, and the leaders were very much interested in his plans. they also of course, hated the case of mrs. wingate jews and were desirous of reducing their influence wherever they could. actually a failure, kermit early was not unlike many negroes who thought they could succeed by just getting a great amount of education and acquiring more degrees. they continued in school until many became old men, were prone to blame somebody for their failure, never admitting even to themselves that they were failures. so blaming the white man and hating him with it, per see, kermit had included the jew, and because the philosophy of nazism was anti-semitic, his associates readily approved his suggestion when he laid it before them about going to new york, persuading sidney wyeth to produce a motion picture, the purpose of which would be to expose the jew, and make negroes hate them, by showing in the picture how the jew was unmercifully cheating and exploiting negroes. “great, kermit! that's the best plan you could have thought of. but in the meantime, have you taken it up with this man?” “no, because i hadn't thought it out that far when he was here.” “then you aren't sure that he will do so?” “not until he consents.” “if he should refuse?” “he needs money and wants to get back into making pictures. every man who ever made pictures, always wants to go on making them. the jews thought he was making a lot of money and that there was big money in making colored pictures because when they hap- pened at a theatre where one of wyeth's was playing there was always a crowd. if he talked with the owner of the theatre which in most cases was a jew, also, they were told that negroes liked colored pictures and ‘gang' pictures and urged them to get into it and make so . “the one thing he did not tell them and what neither thought of but if they did, it would have been the same, was that wyeth wrote his own stories, directed them, and that wyeth understood negro philosophy and what pleased them only as a negro could understand. “feeling that they knew it all, these jews finally jumped into making colored pictures, with more money to spend on them at their command than wyeth had or could perhaps get. they hired white scenario writers in hollywood, those struggling ones, to do the * the case of mrs. wingate stories. these men, of course, would try to do anything to make a little money and they were not paid much by these producers, but just to do a story that they could actually see later on the screen, fully produced, was enough to make these struggling writers do it cheap. “so they started out to write stories about negroes, with as much knowledge regarding the innerlife of the negro, as they had about the inner life of chinese in chungking. these producers hired certain negroes, educated ones, too, but yes-men, to advise them, who gave them the wrong kind because the ones they hired didn't know any better. well, they jumped into making negro pictures with a big fan- fare. they had the support of the negro newspapers who gave them plenty of printers ink. nobody had sense enough to realize that while negroes might like negro pictures and gang pictures, as advised, they did not picture the negro as the gangster. so when they came forth with pictures showing negroes putting other negroes ‘on the spot' and forcing them to pay off through the usual protective association the negroes laughed at them. “but the jewish theatre owners were behind them — at the start. promised bigger rentals than they'd ever divided with wyeth on the assumption that these better made pictures from the coast would draw better, until after two or three, which not only failed to draw better, but soon drew so badly that many theatres quit playing them. wyeth, alone, with no money and trying to get along, was forced out while the jewish producers lost their bankrolls, went broke and the entire mak- ing of colored pictures, due to their interference, collapsed, and wyeth had to quit and turn back to writing novels to make a livng.” “interesting. then — ” “as i view it,” said kermit, “if you folks will advance wyeth some money to resume the production of some negro pictures, of his own, i'm sure i can persuade him to make one or more, for us that will expose the jews and the way they cheat and exploit us.” “great! if you can just get wyeth to do it. in the event that he will not, however, isn't there somebody else?” early shook his head in the negative. “he is the only negro in america that has ever made a motion picture. wyeth has an uncanny insight into negro life. if he makes the kind of picture we have in mind, it'll serve our purpose. it'll make the negroes sensitive to the way he is being cheated and exploited and the case of mes. wingate he's liable to break loose any time and anywhere and tear jewish business in the negro neighborhoods to pieces.” “okey, we're behind you. as we understand it, we're to finance all the pictures, including your exposee picture, for wyeth.” “that's it. by offering to finance his own pictures, wyeth is to direct and produce ours, which i have already written.” “we've read it and it has our o.k. it should inspire lots of negro riots against jews all over the country. now what?” “i want to go to new york and see wyeth, where i may remain until schultz gets back from germany.” so it was decided upon and agreed, and a few days later kermit early left for new york. charter iii arie coleman, stenographer, office girl, bookkeeper and m. assistant to sidney wyeth, pushed open his office door on this particular morning, as she had been doing for years, and entered. across the door of the office was written, wyeth pictures corporation. after removing her hat and coat and hanging them in their usual place, the first thing she did as she had been doing for years, was to pick the mail up off the floor, where it had been pushed through the door by the postman, sort through it, open, examine all letters, telegrams and etc., then get busy answering them. during the past year or so, the picture business had been slowly dying. their pictures had all been “played out”, and wyeth, as we already know, had been pushed out of making pictures by jewish interests from the pacific coast, and other jewish interests in the east, who felt it could be made very profitable. after two or three years of making pictures, spending money and exploiting them, this was found not to be so, so as quickly almost as they had entered the limited industry, which for twenty years theatre owners in the negro sections of the country had considered as wyeth's because he had made the first full length all colored cast one, and so many of the ones that had been produced since until it was considered his line and nobody had sought to interfere seriously. everybody connected with it, including the few hundred theatre owners the country over in colored neighborhoods understood that colored people wanted to see themselves pictured on the screen as they were, and not as white people were prone to visualize them, mostly as clowns, comedians, idiots, and as the negroes put it, “just plain fools.” ... " so sidney wyeth, called the pioneer negro motion picture pro- ducer, more than twenty years before, had started making the kind the case of mes. wingate of colored pictures that pleased them, starting off with one from a very popular novel he had written. it was a “silent” and had achieved immediate success. since, he had made no end of the same kind, from the standpoint of theme. and it was some fifteen years before, when as a pretty young girl, just graduated from high school, that marie coleman had come to work for him and had continued to do so ever since. so marie sorted through the letters, amongst them this morning, being a telegram. she looked at it a moment. neither the company nor wyeth received many telegrams any more, for they had been de- pendent almost entirely for more than a year on the sale of the book that wyeth had written, set up a company to publish and was fortunate enough to get it to going before they went entirely broke as picture producers, and the company had been able to keep marie on in her job. so most of ber work was recording orders for books, wrapping them and mailing them. rarely did they receive a telegram any more, whereas during their picture days it was mostly telegrams, often more, than a dozen daily and an equal amount sent out. so when her eyes fell on the telegram, she crossed to her desk with the handful of letters, found her letter opener and opening the telegram, unfolded it, looking first at the sender's name. it was a night letter, addressed to her boss. she smiled after reading it and shook her head a bit amusingly, turned, crossed into wyeth's private office and laid it on his desk, where it would look him directly in the face when he came and sat down. she returned to her desk in the outer office then, and with the letter opener, proceeded to open letters, take out money orders, some cash, which they advertised could be sent as a deposit on books ordered, an occasional check, all of which she would pile together, write the name and address from whom received, and was going along nicely when she heard a knock on the door, lightly, timidly. she looked up and called: “come in.” the door was slowly and timidly pushed open as if by a child, so she paused and looked up curiously. a dark face finally made its appearance and she looked up to see that it belonged to a man. being dark, the man, of course, had to be a negro, by this time he had . the case of mers. wingate gotten far enough to look around the office, scared-like “please come all the way in, mister. it is a business office, open to anybody that has any business to attend.” after sweeping his eyes about the room, and ducking his head, slightly but which movement reminded her of a rabbit, before ven- turing from a hiding place. presently he turned his eyes towards her and peered at her a moment, oddly, - “yes?” she said. - he looked at her more closely now, and ducked his head in that pe- cular but amusing way again. “’scuse me, miss,” he began, then paused to look around the office again as if to make sure. “but is dis de wyeth’ pichuh co. office?” “yes, this is the wyeth pictures corporation office?” marie rose to her feet then and moved toward the door, which he had managed with caution and a measure of stealth to get through and close behind him. “can we serve you?” again he looked around, ducked his head in that slight way this time to remind her of a chicken that had been frightened out of its wits to realize when it was over that he was still living and safe. presently turning to her again, he looked her up and down. she was inclined to be impatient but as he looked her up and down as tho’ she was a statue or some oddity, she showed amusement. “this negro is funny,” she thought. “yessum,” he said. relaxing a bit now and removing his hat which he seemed to have forgotten. “my name is jackson, miss.” “thank you, mr. jackson,” she said and bowed slightly. “fountain jackson. fountain iz my udder name.” “so i'm presuming, mr. jackson.” “well, miss, i has a story.” “you have a story?” “i has a story.” “that's interesting,” she said, looking him over now. she didn't see anything, so was wondering where it was, but he was talking again. “it’ll make a fine pitchuh, madam. ah knows hit will.” “indeed!” she exclaimed, elevating her eyebrows and struggling hard to keep from bursting into laughter. instead, she tried to be respectful, courteous and patient. the case of mrs. wingate “so you have a story, a good story and feel that it will make a fine picture?” she looked him up and down for the sign of a script more seriously this time. “well,” she said, going on. “where is it?” then holding out her hand, “may i see it, please?” - looking at her oddly, after again ducking his head in that funn way, he didn't seem to understand what she meant. “i asked you,” she said, “to let me see your story, don't you understand p” - he looked more puzzled now than ever and shook his head in the negative, slowly. marie was vexed. “i asked you,” she said again now, “to let me see your story.” al- most in pain from trying to understand what she meant, as simple as it was, he managed to turn, look at her, and ask: “you — you mean?” and pointed at her a bit, helplessly. “i mean where is your story?” she cried more emphatically, “where's the manuscript?” - - “aw,” he cried, trying to show some intelligence. “you means de – de — mannerscripf” helpless, she nodded her head kindly toward him. “yes, mr. jackson. that's what i mean. the script.” whereupon he started, and she sighed, for she saw she would have to go all over it again, she couldn't guess, how many times. “oh, our dumb people,” she sighed, but not aloud, and to herself. jackson was more helpless now than ever, so all he could do was to utter, help- lessly: - “aw.” “oh,” she said, quickly. “oh, what?” then seeing she was getting nowhere, she made a final try. “haven't you a - script? you say you have a story. then if you have a story, you must have written it out on paper in words, and that would be, then, your script. now where is that? let me see it please,” and she reached out her hand again and made an impatient gesture with it. \ “uh, scrip,” he repeated, still not understanding but trying to. “a scrip,” he muttered more to himself than to her. then looking up at her with a bold effort: - “no, maam, i ain't got no scrip. i has a story, but i ain't got no – scrip.’ - “then what are you talking about, anyhow ° the case of mrs. wingate “i has a story awright, but no scrip as you call hit.” she looked at him with pity in her eyes and sort of nodded to make him feel more comfortable. he went on now with more confidence, warming up. “yessum, i has a story awright. hit's a story ob mah life. it'll make a lub pitchuh. ah comes heah to tell you all about hit.” she sighed, helplessly, hopelessly. “it stahts out lak dis.” he adjusted himself to tell it to her, when she raised her hand. “just a minute, please.” she smiled, and turning, went to a cabinet, where she found an old scenario, large and voluminous, for sidney wyeth when he wrote, always had a story to tell. she returned to where he was standing, walked up beside him and displayed the script under his eyes. she then opened it and went on to explain: “now this, my dear sir,” she began, “is a scenario, or script, as we call them to avoid long words.” “um-m,” he mumbled, glancing down at it, and up at her and bowing agreeably. “this is what we make the picture from.” he um-m'd again, then pointing, interjected, his eyes, brightening. “ah fugot to tell yuh, miss, that i is a actuh, too, an' i c'n play de he-man lead in dis story. also, i has a gal who wants to play de swee' ha’t, you understans' de female lead, ah du leadin’ lady.” he smiled up at her now, satisfied that at last he was getting somewhere. “thank you,” she said, “but just a moment, please, and let me ex- plain.” - “yessum,” said fountain, respectfully. “before we can do any casting, or let you do any, the story must be written first, and then put into continuity form,” at which his face went dark. she was obviously — anything she said — too deep for him. she handed him the script then, which he took a bit gingerly, an looked at it oddly. w “if you feel at all serious about what you’ve tried to tell me, then . i suggest that you take this,” she said, pointing to the scenario, “set down over there in that chair,” pointing to it, “examine this and try to get some idea of what it's all about, see?” he didn't, but he nodded his head, agreeably. so he obeyed her. she lead him across the room to a chair and seated him on it, with the script. “now when you feel that you have some idea of what this is all the case of mrs. wingate about, i'll be glad to talk with you again,” bowing and smiling upon him sweetly, turned and went back to her work. she didn't get to sit down again before she heard footsteps coming down the hall, familiar footsteps, which moved quickly and she knew that they belonged to sidney wyeth. she turned to meet him with a smile and the usual word of wel- come as he entered and closed the door. he glanced at jackson as he passed by and went on into his office, followed by her, with the letters that came that morning in her hand. she took his hat and coat as he removed them and hung them in the proper place, and after he had become seated, laid the letters before him and picking up the telegram, began: - “now before going into the business of the day, mr. wyeth, here is a telegram from our boy,” and she smiled down at him as he looked up in impatient surprise. “you know who i mean, of course,” and she spread out the wire before him. “he is, as you see, in baltimore.” he glanced up at her, then taking the wire, did as she had, read the signature first, then turning to marie, “i didn't know he was in baltimore.” “he left here saturday night for baltimore, at least, that is where he said he was going, and since the telegram is from baltimore, it is obvious that he did go there — but read the wire and you'll un- derstand what happened.” wyeth read the heading without interest, and then the message aloud: “i fell downstairs here sunday night and fractured my hip. had to be carried upstairs after the accident, as i couldn't walk. don't know how badly i am injured until they take me to the hospital for an x-ray this monday. will send you the details, special, after i’ve been examined. “carter thompson” “and so he fell downstairs and broke his hip, eh? too bad it wasn't his head | that old dumb, round pretty head, filled with nothing but frog eggs and rain water,” said wyeth disgustingly and impatiently. “why mr. wyeth,” cried marie, affecting a shock. “how can you be so unkind l’” he looked up at her quickly. “oh, excuse me, marie. of course i’m sorry.” then after a the case of mrs. wingate moment's thought, looked back up at marie. “what was he doing in baltimore, anyhow?” he cried, impatiently. “you should know,” smiled marie. “i should know? what do you mean, anyhow?” “he met her at one of the schools where you were reviewing your book . . . .” marie was tantalizing that morning. “at one of the schools where i was reviewing my book?” “and while you were doing it, so was carter doing his usual, too,” and she laughed, amusingly. “you mean — ” “making love, of course.” “oh, of course.” - “and it wasn't in a hotel this time, mr. wyeth.” “then where was it?” “can't you guess?” “oh, i haven't the time to think about where that crazy, good- looking negro met any girl, for all he did and has ever done is to goo goo with first one and then the other.” “but he told me you were with him when he met her.” “me p” - “yes, mr. wyeth, you. he told me you were with him when he met her; when it all started.” “oh, fiddlesticks, marie. let's forget that simp and get down to business.” he looked at the mail. “how was the mail this morning p’ “monday's mail is always good,” she said, picking up the letters. he smiled as he saw several checks, money orders and one dollar bills, then thinking, turned to her, jerking his finger over his shoulder. “who's the glook outside? what does he want?” “oh, yes, him,” said marie, as if just remembering fountain. the office was quiet as both listened a second. then motioning for silence, marie tip-toed across to the door, peeped out and smiled. she turned to wyeth and beckoned. he got up and came over by her, peeped out. across the reception room, jackson with his legs sprawled apart, was fast asleep. as they looked at him and smiled, the script on his lap fell to the floor and woke him up. he jumped to his feet quickly and marie opened the door and crossed over to him. “well,” she said, taking the scenario he had picked up and handed back to her. “what do you think of the idea by now, mr. jackson?” the case of mrs. wingate “oh, de story was fine, miss. yes, mam, jes' fine.” he placed hat on his head and turned as she said: “thank you, mr. jackson.” - “tankey, miss.” then, shuffling. “well,” he said, sort of saluting her. “ah’ll be seein’ yuh.” finishing the salute, he turned and left the office. marie was smiling when she returned to mr. wyeth. “so you got rid of another,” said he with a laugh. “why, mr. wyeth !” exclaimed marie. “they come in with a big idea about a story, with themselves invariably cast in the leading role, their friends in the other ones. you show them a big script, which is about the most involved looking something you ever saw when you don't know what its all about. you set them down over in that chair, they look at it, get a headache, go to sleep and when they awaken, they've forgotten what they came to the office for,” and he laughed, heartily. she joined with him and when it was over, they both turned to their work for the day. f chapter i v - dolf hitler sat down as the air around him resounded with thunderous applause, mixed with salutes of “heil hitler! heil hitler!” he had been speaking, his greatest and longest ad- dress since he became chancellor, the greatest chancellor since bis- mark, it was freely said. he had spoken for two hours and twenty minutes. it was his last speech before invading poland, one week later. into that speech adolf hitler had put everything. he reviewed his ac- tivities since becoming chancellor, and germany long before becoming so. as he had been doing since his rise to power, he attacked and tore to pieces the treaty of versailles which he exhorted, sought to enslave germany, took away territory, which incidentally he had succeeded in restoring and intimated strongly that more would be taken. austria and czechoslovakia as we know, and as all who heard him knew, had never been german territory. austria, since the dismemberment of the old dual empire, he argued, perhaps truthfully, desired to become a part of the reich. the people of czechoslovakia as the world knew, however, had no desire to become any part of the reich, and had been “sold down the river” a year before, to appease the fuehrer, but was not enough to do so — and now poland, which as the world knew, had declared against any further appeasement. every german leader from over all the reich was present in person at berchtesgaden to hear the fuehrer on this sunday, which before it was all over, was to be called a fatal day, and his speech, short waved throughout the entire world, was to be later remembered as a fatal speech. in one week, at the head of his legions, the most powerful army the world had ever seen, adolf hitler had planned and prepared to invade poland, wipe this government off the map — and begin what was in the years to come, his ignoble end. in his long speech, all can surmise that the jew had by no means been left out. he was charged with about everything that had gone the case of mrs. wingate wrong with germany during the last war, causing her of course to lose that war. “international jewery,” he argued, “will, if we are not careful, destroy europe in due time as it was about to destroy germany and was the greatest contribution toward our losing the last war. if war comes again, which we pray will not, it will be due to the jew and his effort to exploit the world, culture, art and everything that has made us a great people, the master race, for profit. “and no man has given him half as much encouragement and assistance in again disturbing the peace of the world than franklin delano roosevelt, president of the united states,” he declared, loudly, pointing his finger in the direction of america. “all of you know,” he went on, “that we want no quarrel with america and there is no quarrel between the people of germany and the people of america. it is all the result of roosevelt playing politics at the expense of the good relations existing between the two countries. this danger, and i say that it is a grave danger, is being agitated and propagated and instigated entirely by the influence of the rich jews in america. why was our ambassador virtually sent home and relations between our two countries practically broken off long before all this started?” he asked. “the jews. i stopped their exploiting germany, drove them out of the high places where they were able to do so much damage, so much harm, but i did not, nor has germany in any way, begun to even think of doing to them, what america is doing to percent of her population, right there in america. in this i refer to the negro population over there. germany has never lynched a jew and perhaps never will. yet in america, which roose- velt represents, lynching negroes is a national pastime. they pay no attention to it. it has been going on since abraham lincoln freed the negro, before that a slave. it has gone on and from all reports will continue unabated, while roosevelt fumes and frets and points his finger across the ocean to germany and cries: ‘how dare you treat the jew as you are doing? i want you to stop it, stop it now, once and for all, else i’ll, kick you on the shins, adolf hitler.” he reminds me so much of a spoiled baby. fretting and fuming and playing up to the lordship in england, endangering the peace of the world, all because of international jewery, determined to go on exploiting the world and all its people for gain so that he may feel safe. as you know we have operated on and successfully cured the disease of jewery the case of mrs. wingate in germany. and never again in our time will it be allowed to develop to the proportions it had and endangered our national existence. “i have just been given a full and complete report on america, among other things, of the treatment of the negro there, of the failure and neglect regarding him, his views and condition. remember, there are , , colored people in america, constituting % of the entire population, against , , jews, or about %. - “yet these four million jews have more influence with the present administration over there than forty million catholics who are mostly white people and the entire negro population. why is that? they are non-christians. they did not help to build america like the germans did. it was the germans who went into the middle states years ago when it was a wild prairie, a wilderness, where nothing but the buffalo, the wolves and indians lived. it was the hardy german settlers who blazed this wilderness and turned it into the fine agri- cultural empire, with beautiful and prosperous cities and communities, it is today. did the jew go from the shores of persecuted europe, as he claims, and make conquest of anything? no! he waited safely here in europe where there were plenty of people to steal from, cheat and exploit, until after when america had grown to its present pro- portions before he went there in any great numbers. he never did go into any wilderness and develop it for the benefit of civilization. oh no, he found cheating and bargaining and exploiting so profitable right in new york, where almost half of them still live, that he didn't need to go and expose himself to the rigors of conquest as our hardy germans did. of the % not in new york, % of the balance are scattered in and around the larger cities, where now he is combined and organized and is wielding a greater influence on the foreign policy of america than all the other forces over there combined. “if the world should ever again be plunged into war which god forbid, rest assured that it will be the jew who will be the cause of it.” among those present and who had closely listened, to every word adolf hitler said, was the japanese ambassador. smiling occasionally, he would turn to a companion and whisper something in japanese and then both would nod in agreement, turn back and listen to more. it was when hitler referred to america's disregard of what the negro thought that they seemed most interested. they had been re- ceiving reports for a long time from their spies in america, that the case of mrs. wingate america had developed a disregard for japanese culture to the point where the race was being held almost in contempt by the political administration there, all of which was resented, but nothing japan could do, they claimed, could get america to take japan's position, as they viewed it, seriously. it was hitler's criticism regarding the way america treated the negro and his emphasis on lynching, compared with the fact that germany had never lynched a jew, that gave them something to justify the veiled criticism and growing dislike developing among the japanese for america. “some day and not many months away,” whispered the ambassador to his companion, “we’ll knock that smirk and american contempt into a cocked hat; we'll shock them and that high hat from stem to stern.” he did not smile when saying these words, but his face was dark with a smoldering hatred. while waiting for the day hitler was to make the speech he had just finished, baron von mueller had been admitted to an audience with hitler, at which von ribbentrop was present. “he is, i venture to guess, about the most informed man on american affairs in general, and most especially as regards the badly treated negro, over there, in our service,” said the baron. “you mean this young schultz,” said von ribbentrop with interest. “exactly who i mean.” the baron went on then to relate his meeting with schultz aboard the europa. hitler showed interest, so the baron proceeded to repeat schultz' plan to return to america and report on conditions relating to the negroes position there in detail. “in the event we are ultimately forced into war with america, this man ought to be of great value to the reich,” said hitler. “of uncalculable value, adolf,” said the baron. “the fact that america does not take the negro seriously, and is not likely to because of tradition, schultz would be able, living as he will be and does, among the negroes, to gather valuable information and keep us informed as to any moves that may be of value to us,” said von ribbentrop. “he has all the intelligence which having been born and raised in germany only could give him. during the years he lived in amer- ica, he learned to speak the best of english, so he fits into our scheme of things perfectly. he told me, and which interested me more than the case of mrs. wingate - anything else,” the baron said, “that through the negro servants sailing on ships down into the caribbean he plans to find out, if and when war should come between america and germany, the sailing time of most of the coast-wise vessels to the west indies and south america, and to keep our submarine commanders informed as to when they sail ... " - - “a splendid idea!” cried hitler, striking the table loudly with his fist as his eyes flashed. “i can see and understand this kind of leak regarding information to come from the negro by all means send him back to america, promptly, provide him with ample funds to carry on his work and,” turning to von ribbentrop, “keep in touch with him and let me know at intervals, just how he is succeeding.” in due time, therefore, heinrich schultz received a call to see von ribbentrop at the foreign office, where he met the baron again, and for more than an hour he was questioned, which questions he was able to answer to their entire satisfaction. in the end he was pro- vided with ample funds and assured full and complete support and co- operation, and a few weeks later, taking his sister bertha, with whom we will become better acquainted in due time, schultz again set sail for america, via italy, since england and france had declared war on germany and the blockade had gone into effect. so they traveled south to genoa and set sail for america aboard the italian luxury liner, conte de savoia. chapter v idney wyeth sat in his office, struggling betwen trying s to keep awake and reading a magazine, not having much success with either. marie had left for the day, so it was after office hours and he was alone. nodding away and fighting to keep awake, for he really couldn't sleep in comfort except when he was in bed, he was presently aroused by a knock on the outer door. sitting erect and not feeling sure if he heard a knock, he waited and listened. it was repeated the second time and louder. the door was not locked, so rising, he crossed through his office and pausing in the doorway, called across the reception room: “come in.” the door was pushed open and a tall, brown-skinned man with pretty eyes, which one had a way of noticing the moment he looked at the owner, stood on the threshold. “kermit early—of all people!” exclaimed wyeth, and crossed the reception room to meet him with outstretched hand, as early stepped forward with his hand extended. “sidney wyeth,” cried early, as they grasped each other's hand. “my old friend and my good friend!” “well, well,” said wyeth, beaming on the other, “the first time i recall seeing you in new york since you were co-editing the so- cialist magazine, a long, long time ago,” at which both laughed. turning now, with a swing of the hand. “come in the office,” said wyeth, and closing the outside door, followed early into his private sanctuary, pointed to a comfortable seat and crossing around and behind his desk, sat down, and turned to smile on the visitor. “where did you come from, anyhow the last time i saw you was in chicago,” “while you were writing your book,” kermit reminded him. “that's right. i returned to new york shortly after, published it - the case of mrs. wingate and have been engaged in the business of selling it ever since to make a living.” “that's interesting,” said kermit, and was thoughtful a moment, presently raising his eyes to wyeth and studying him a moment. if wyeth was down from making pictures to selling his book to make a living, he ought to be able to interest him in what he had come to new york to get him to do. “i came from chicago,” he said, simply, answering wyeth's question. “you’ve been around chicago for quite a while now.” “it's home. the only one i know,” explained kermit. “i like chicago,” said wyeth. “like it better than i do new york. have always liked it, although new york is a freer city for negroes to live in now.” - “you think so?” queried early. “i know so. i live in new york but spend lots of time in chicago. see you out there, so am pretty well acquainted with both towns. the southerners are able to wield more influence in chicago than they can here.” “well, i don't know,” said early, not entirely convinced. “but i do know, kermit. and it's a strange thing how it all came about.” - “what do you mean?” “how the negro happens to be freer here than in any other city in america, barring boston.” “i’d like to hear how,” said kermit, relaxing, lighting a cigarette and crossing his legs, preparatory to listening. “the jews did it,” said wyeth. early started, sat straight, eyebrows contracted. “what do you mean, the jews did it?” “it isn't easy to explain and is a long story,” said wyeth. “still it is true. there's a negro detective here, been on the force a long time, and he was the first one to explain all about it to me fifteen years ago when i met him in atlanta, down there with wm. j. burns on the frank case.” “the frank case,” repeated early. “do you know about that?” “down there when they tried and convicted him.” - “is that so,” mused early, his mind going back to that night with the case of mrs. wingate florence wingate, at her home on peachtree, a long time ago. he brushed it away, because wyeth was talking. - “according to this detective, there was plenty of prejudice and discrimination going on in new york until the jew began, through larger numbers, to enter and wield a greater influence in politics. they were out to set him in his place along with the negro, but the jew had too much power and too much money to back it up to let them get away with that. so he found that if he expected to be free, he'd have to carry the negro and other minority groups along with him. they decided that everybody living in new york should be free, so he had to drag the negro into the campaign, along with himself, so as to reduce discrimination to a minimum, and that's how the negro happens to be freer in new york than in chicago, although they'll refuse a negro in a few places in both towns yet—at least try to when they get a chance.” “i agree with you on most you say, but i'm not convinced on all you say, especially about the jew being the cause of this freedom.” “it wasn’t because of any particular love for the negro that the jew did this. he's too busy making money, and finding other ways of how to make more, to think much about the negro, but freedom for everybody in new york was the only way he could be assured of freedom for himself. we just happened to be in the way and have been benefitted because of it.” - since kermit, as we know, was in new york to get sidney wyeth to direct a hate picture, purporting to expose the jews exploitation of the negro, and had been thinking about it and planning it for so long, it is obvious that he couldn't permit the jew to be made a hero and not find some objection. realizing like the educated and sensible man he was that he could get into a big argument, that might inter- fere with the purpose for which he was in new york, he decided, for the moment at least, to by-pass the subject and turn to something else. so lighting a new cigarette, drew away at it and blew a cloud of smoke into the air, then relaxed comfortably, and went on. “well, how’re you making out with your book?” he inquired, laconically. wyeth shrugged his shoulders. “not bad, early,” he said, simply. kermit glanced around the office. the case of mrs. wingate “you haven't made any pictures lately.” “not for over two years,” said wyeth, and early detected a sort of sigh, a regrettable sigh. “a few years ago i was saying that i was wedded to making pictures and would continue to make them until i died—or at least was forced by old age, perhaps, into retire- ment. and now, at middle age, still living—and haven't made a picture for over two years. i guess i may as well call it quits.” “there's no reason why you should quit,” said kermit, sympathet- ically. “you’ve developed maturity from the standpoint of character- ization; you possess from long experience, that insight into human emotions so essential to the telling of a story. why should you think about quitting or even retiring?” again wyeth sighed. “but it costs money to make motion pictures, kermit,” he said. inwardly kermit smiled and felt encouraged. he waited and listened while wyeth went on to explain. - “yes, it takes a lot of money, even to make a colored picture. i'm not sure if i ever want to fool around with it again.” “meaning what?” asked kermit. “that there's hardly money enough in it to justify the cost and effort.” - - “you mean that the actors—” “no, no. that is the least of the effort. it's the unions that they put on you. force you to hire a dozen men and pay them a lot of money for a few hours work when you don't need but six. it's not the negro actor who gives you the headaches. they are so anxious to get into a picture and to later see themselves reflected on the screen until many, not real actors, of course, would be willing to work for nothing, which i never did let them do for me. then, since the crowd on the coast butted in and got white boys to write negro stories that soon died right before the negroes' eyes, and got the owners of the odd theatres that we play disgusted, they cut down so on the rentals i was getting for a picture, that it became a tragedy. that's what i mean. in short, it developed too many headaches and i got tired of it.” “these producers whom you say butted into your little set-up, what became of them? where are they? aren't they still making pictures?” the case of mrs. wingate “hell, naw!” exclaimed wyeth. “they quit as quickly as i was forced to. no, they’ve all gone with the wind to god knows where!” “then you have the field again, all to yourself f. i’m sure it wouldn't take long for you to get our group back to appreciating the kind of pictures you know how to make again.” “i suppose not, but i haven't that kind of money and i don't feel like taking a chance of upsetting my little book business, which i am developing very satisfactorily and in truth, getting along better in it than i ever did in pictures, where, of course, i handled more money.” “i understand,” said kermit, agreeably. “i don't feel like going out here begging a lot of jews to put up money to make pictures with any more. just don't feel like it. i know, i’ve done it before and i could do so again, perhaps, if i had to, but, as stated i just don't feel like running the risk of spoiling the business i’m in to go out chasing somebody elses cash when i am setting here in perfect peace and making a good living in the book business.” “yes but you're due to do bigger things, wyeth. you're a man with vision and imagination.” - “i can employ that more effectively, perhaps, writing novels, i'm sure. if i have half as much as you say i have, i can express it more effectively in telling stories on printed pages. it doesn't take much money to do that, just a lot of hard work, a lot of thinking and i like to think.” - - “that's where you're unlike the most of us,” said early and laughed, wyeth laughed, too- . º “but the book has got to be published.” “i can do that myself, too i published the one i'm selling now.” “i mean in a bigger way.” - “publishing a book is simple a simple procedure compared with making pictures. if i make a picture it's got to be well and expensively enough made to be appreciated by at least negroes when it reaches the screen. but regardless how well and in the case of a negro picture, expensively made, it couldn't get beyond being shown in about theatres catering almost exclusively to negroes. the major picture business has long ago been taken over by wall street. it is a huge and gigantic industry and trust, operated through about a half dozen or more what you call ‘major film companies, who own *- the case of mrs. wingate or control all the best theatres not only in this country, but in europe, especially england and south america. these big film companies reciprocate their pictures with each other. ‘i’ll play your pictures, in the theatres we control’ they say in effect to each other, “if you'll play ours in those you control.' and so it goes. if i spent a million dollars to make a colored picture and if it was as good as the best picture ever made, i couldn't play it anywhere except in what they call negro theatres, unless i could persuade one of the major companies to release it, and they're not interested that much in negroes and what negroes are either thinking or trying to do. “now, for the sake of argument,” wyeth went on. “if i write a book, or anybody else for that matter, and the book is interesting, so interesting until it absorbs and compels you to read it through to see how it comes out, there's nothing to keep me from selling it to white people, and they will read it just as quickly if a negro wrote it as anybody else, depending on how interesting and exciting the story is, no more, no less.” - - “then why aren't you doing that with regards to this book? i read it and i think it is damn good.” “that's what everybody who reads it says,” agreed wyeth. “i find that white people like it as well as negroes and say so, for the interest is human; but i didn't know when i wrote it like i’ve learned since, that if i hope to interest the white people who review books for the big metropolitan dailies, that i’ve got to write a shocker.” “a shocker, what do you mean?” queried kermit. “just what i say,” insisted wyeth. “you see, kermit, and this is some of the many things i’ve found out since writing my book, which is a novel narrative of contemporary negro life. currently, white reviewers are not interested in a novel of modern, intelligent, negro life. at least they don't think they are original and as to my present book, for that reason, i don't think they read it when it was sent to them. i didn't send it to but a few and getting no response, i saved the books and sold them and didn't try to secure reviews very hard. “now, to begin with, most of them have a fixed idea as to how the negro should be. first, they'd prefer him to be funny, to continue funny and stay that way until the end of the story which would make them laugh a-plenty. if anybody would or could write that kind of the case of mrs. wingate story, and i can write it, if i wanted to, his book would be far more popular with the reviewers than the kind i've written. i'm not going to use up my energy writing that kind, however. i’m too concerned with the mental, moral, social and economical development of this awful race of ours, to go into a seance and write a whole novel about a fool. we're fools enough, i'll admit, but our condition and our future, is too serious for me at least, to treat it in the light of plain and simple comedy. “happily, hardly anybody else has been able to write that kind of story to their satisfaction for so long until they've had to read some- thing else; something about the negro in the form of a novel that nobody happens to write, perhaps more than about once every five years. we've had one novel by a negro author that seemed to please them for a while at least.” “nature's child is the one you refer to, i suppose,” suggested kermit. “yes,” agreed wyeth, “and another, and an entirely different kind, but one that leaves the negro stranded, as usual, but which they are buying as no negroes at least have ever bought. i’ve heard no reader say that they liked it, but they are buying it and reading it, and that is all that matters from the publisher's point of view—and the author happens to be a southern white woman.” “you mean passion,” said early. “just that.” - “but both these books let the negro down. they pick him up in the dog house, as it were, and leave him right where they found him, in the end.” - “nature's child sent us to the electric chair, so in that respect, you're mistaken,” and both laughed heartily. “passion takes us to the graveyard of despair and hopelessness—and leaves us as you say, right there. all of which supports my contention. they have grown to look at us through distorted eyes. we're not supposed to have a contemporary life like other americans. i don't suppose that any of them are actually aware of it, but i am. i know that if i ever write a book that the critics are going to open and read through to the end and then write reams about, i’ve got to develop the negro and carry him through a peculiar maze of events, and these events must be real and as he reads them, remember that what i say is true, though the case of mrs. wingate seemingly fantastic. if i hope to arouse their interest at all, i've got to, in short, shock him to his vitals. “i’ve been thinking how i could write such a book. any book that i write has got to, however, treat the negro as he is, and leave him in the end, decent and respectable. i'm sure it can be done, but it's up to me or some other negro that knows how, to do it. if not, he will continue to be distorted all out of proportion, and played down, which seems to be the popular current way to treat him in fiction. but i have talked clear away from the subject. i don't think i finished asking you what i started out to from the beginning.” kermit smiled. “what you've talked about, i assure you, is more interesting than whatever you started to ask me about. in the meantime, and before getting down to what i'm here to see you about, for i have come to new york, especially to see you.” “indeed!” exclaimed wyeth, his eyebrows raised. “this is an honor.” - “not an honor, but coldblooded, down-to-the-earth-business. but before we go into that, i’d like to ask you a few questions.” “fire away,” declared wyeth. “i guess i can answer. i’ll try to anyhow.” “they are intimate questions, direct and to the point, but questions you might feel are a bit—impertinent.” “my mind is as wide open as the dakota prairies from where i came,” laughed wyeth. “so fire away, ask me anything you like. get it off your chest and your mind.” “how do you feel about the jewish situation, the jews themselves, i mean?” inquired early. wyeth paused, his smile vanished; he turned to look curiously at rermit. “how do i feel about the jews?” he repeated. “why about the jew? why not at the same time and as well, about the italian, the greek, the chinaman—about anybody? i don't understand you.” “you’re covering too much territory,” said early. “after the second generation all other nationalities, except the china: an and us, of course, become more or less molded into one group. white amer- icans. only the jew remains outside the realm, he never changes. he may claim to be an american if he's born here, but—” “—he is, the same as everybody else who's born here, including us.” the case of mirs. wingate “i don't mean it just that way. what i meant to say is that in his dealing, association and otherwise, he remains always a jew.” “i agree with you in that respect. and for the jew's own benefit, that is unfortunate, for after all is said and done he is a white man, just as white from the standpoint of pigment, as any other white person.” “now you're getting somewhere,” said kermit. “i suppose my asking such a question appears a bit odd, far fetched as it were, for currently we have only a passing interest in the jew. we meet him only when we go into his store to buy something. beyond a business transaction like the purchase of clothing, or food or otherwise, we have no interest in common with him. but i had a very good reason for asking the question i did as you will, if not presently, ultimately see and understand.” at the moment wyeth, by his expression, did not understand. “now, while you were writing on your book in chicago, you told me that the jews were responsible for your being forced to suspend making pictures. i happen to know, personally, that you have gone along in the making of colored pictures very successfully for a number of years. yet within two years after they combined and be- came a competitor, you've been forced to suspend, and after you were forced out, they folded up and disappeared as competitors, also. why?” “well, regarding the statement about saying that jews had forced me to suspend, i didn't mean it literally. i want to explain that i just have a way when i refer to certain people by emphasizing their race. if we talk long, you'll hear me say those negroes or we negroes or us negroes or those italians or that greek and so on down. when i speak that way, due to having grown more emphatic than necessary, for i should just say those persons, or something else. well, to cut a long story or explanation short, i didn't mean anything in particular by it.” “still you did say the jews had put you out of business,” argued kermit. - “any competition in the matter of making motion pictures is jewish competition, for the show business and the picture business, especially is greatly monopolized by them. anyway, answering your first question, ‘what do i think of the jews'? i still don't know what the case of mrs. wingate - you mean. but i have no particular opinion regarding them any more that i have an opinion about any other group,” said wyeth. kermit shrugged his shoulders. - “i simply asked how you felt about them.” “you must have had a reason. a man of your training, education and contact, wouldn't just ask such a question without a reason. out with it?” kermit looked at him as if he didn't care to go any further at the moment, but suddenly said: - “then you like jews, maybe? is it possible that you consider him a friend of the negro; of ours?” “i don't consider him anything of the kind. he's as good a friend of the negro as he is of anybody else, but being a friend of anybody's isn't exactly his forte. he's too involved in trade and commerce, cold business and profit. why should he lose any time or thought being a friend of ours? as i said it isn't worth his time or thought.” “well, i suppose not. but—” and then he broke off, and didn't finish what he started to say. wyeth was curious by now, so he made a gesture and went on: “now, early. lay your cards on the table. why have you asked me such a question, anyhow?” turning to him more frankly than before, kermit looked straight at him and replied: “because, wyeth, i’m in a position to do you some good; to pos- sibly help restore you to making pictures. yes, that's it. to help you.” “that's very fine of you, i'm sure. i don't know just how you can help me. meanwhile, if you are in such a position, and you may be. you're not a man to make such a statement unless you know whereof you speak. still, there is, perhaps, a string tied to this help you speak of, yes or no?” “maybe,” replied kermit with a little shrug of the shoulders. “once a man has made pictures, the desire to continue is, i think, forever with him. i made almost fifty full length feature photoplays, and i would make more if i had the money. before i quit two years ago, i had prepared three very fine stories, broke them down and had two rehearsed and ready to produce—then i was let down by somebody who had every reason to have financed the making of them; somebody who would have profited even more than i.” “still they let you down.” - the case of mrs. wingate “they let me down.” “bet he was a jew.” wyeth looked up and smiled. - “i can get you the money, all you need, more than you've ever had to make pictures with before,” said kermit, evenly. “if you're willing to do a little—compromising.” - “you’re a bit vague and indefinite on the one hand, while you hold a beautiful picture up before me with the other. just what kind of a compromise? you've got me curious now.” kermit suddenly glanced at his watch, then looked up at wyeth. “it'll require quite some time to lay the plan before you in detail, and i don't care to go into it just now. in fact, i've an appointment elsewhere, and am over due now.” he rose to his feet, wyeth fol- lowed, an expression of disappointment on his face. kermit extended his hand in a perfunctory manner, which wyeth took. “i’ll get in touch with you maybe tomorrow, or within a very short time. we'll take our time and go to the bottom of the matter. i believe you'll come with me when you understand fully what it's all about. meantime, so long and goodby until you hear from me.” grasping wyeth's hand, he shook it and turning, left the office and went to meet mrs. wingate, who was coming up from atlanta to meet him. chapter v i - at a small restaurant on the first floor, then returned to the office and went to work on a new book sales campaign plan. he was therefore very much interested in being alone, especially after early ran out on giving him any more information as regards that strange, vague plan to secure him funds to resume the produc- tion of pictures. - - he had been at work an hour or more and had about completed the first draft of the plan in long hand and was about to move into the outer office and type it when there was a knock on the outside door, so soft and low that he was not sure about it. with a frown of im- patience on his face, he listened and presently it was repeated, a bit louder. - getting up, he crossed to the outer door and called: “who is it?” there was no answer and this annoyed him, so striding across the reception room, he took hold of the knob, jerked the door open im- patiently—and then started, perceptibly, his mouth agape as he did so. for there before him stood a very beautiful girl, attractively dressed and smiling up into his, a moment before, very impatient face. “oh,” he sort of breathed, and swallowed like a guilty boy. “miss vinson.” “yes, mr. wyeth, me. i hope i'm not disturbing you. you looked so impatient when you jerked the door open, you frightened me. i'm a bit afraid now and feel that i should run away,” and she started to turn, but reaching out quickly, he caught her arm and led her into the room, closing the door behind her. “by no means, miss vinson. i—i-” “—what,” she said, looking up at him coquettishly. “well, i wasn't expecting anyone, and i thought you were some person calling to apply for work in the pictures. we are not making a fter early left, wyeth went downstairs, ate his dinner the case of mrs. wingate any just now and i was busy and—” “didn't want to be annoyed? well,” and she turned as if to go out the door, and again he caught her arm and went on profusely. “please no, i didn't mean you. not you at all. i’m glad you came. it is a pleasant surprise and i welcome you. so let me take you right into my little private sanctuary and make you comfortable.” she made eyes at him, but permitted him to lead her into his office, close the door, and find her a comfortable seat. he had met the girl, whose first name was edrina less than a week before on seventh avenue. he was on his way to the office, while she was in company with a song writer by the name of donald howard, a hang-around-the-show-man, whom he had known for a long time. she impressed him very much. about years of age, she was tall, but not too tall and she was slender, still not too slender. sort of a keen looking, light brown skinned girl with beautiful dark hair, dark eyes and pretty teeth, which showed when she smiled. she looked keen and very intelligent and interested him then and there. they had talked about a star of his, whom she admired and it was during this conversation on the sidewalk that he invited her to call at his office sometime. and now before him she sat, looking as sweet, he thought, as sugar, smiling across at him. she wore a cute little hat that permitted her beautiful dark hair to stand out conspicuously from under, with a feather on the top, reaching above it, and a little veil, that crossed her nose about half- way, that set off her appearance, and he was greatly flattered as he gazed across at her. howard told him that she had been on irvin c. mantan's show the season before, doing a turn and a couple of songs, and that she might be interested in working in pictures before the show went out again, and told her to call and see him about it. “well, edrina,” he started, looking at her with unrestrained ad- miration, “if i may call you that.” “you may, of course,” she said sweetly, and smiled back at him and seemed more beautiful than ever. he was conscious that his heart was now beating faster. - “thanks,” he said, and seemed much pleased. “since you've been so nice as to call, in response to my invitation, i want you to relax, take it easy and i hope we can become better acquainted.” the case of mrs. wingate “thank you, mr. wyeth,” she said, bowing her head a bit. she had a soft, pleasant voice. - “and, incidentally, when you get to know me better, my first name is sidney. you won't need to be so formal. sidney is only one word, while mr. wyeth requires two,” and they both laughed and felt more comfortable. - “i’ll start calling you sidney now,” she said, elevating her eye- brows, beautifully. “that is—if you want me to.” - “i want you to, edrina,” he said seriously. “do you really,” she said, leaning forward slightly, also anxiously. “yes i do, edrina, seriously.” she relaxed against the back of the chair and seemed to sigh her next words more than just say them. “you said that so beautifully, until i'm almost tempted to believe you; to believe that you really meant it.” “i was never more sincere in my life, edrina,” he said, leaning toward her, his face more serious than it had been for a long time. his smile was gone and he seemed deeply in earnest. “you must feel that i do mean it, edrina,” and shoving his chair forward, drew closer and laid his hand on hers. she waved at him with her free one, deprecatingly, as if to say, “go on. you're kidding.” he read that in her eyes and grasping her hand a bit, cried: “you know, edrina, and this has been on my mind since i met you. that with a little encouragement i could become very much interested in you.” she pretended to pout and looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, then shook her head. “now, now, mr. wyeth and excuse me for being formal again, but i'm afraid you're turning out like all the rest. when i had begun to hope—even believe that—you were different.” he paused and relaxed, and then she suddenly grew anxious. she was not sure if he understood that she was only joking. he was speaking. “i don't claim to be so different from other men, if any, even. but i do know that i have a great many responsibilities, so many until it does not interest me to jive or to try to jive a girl, as they say. i’m sure that i have more to keep me occupied than the average run of our men, i mean, colored men.” the case of mirs. wingate “if you're responsible at all, and obviously you must be, you're more than most colored men, i admit. responsibility is something that few even pretend to have, or assume, at all.” - “from the moment i met you last week, there was something about you that appealed to me,” he now said. “there you go again, dear sidney. trying to kid me,” she made the usual deprecating sound with her tongue between her teeth and shook her pretty head teasingly. - “please edrina,” he went on, holding her hand between his two. “i ask you to believe me—you must believe me,” he pleaded, sincerely. he was close to her now, and she became more serious as she looked at him. “do you want me to, sidney?” “i do, edrina, seriously.” she seemed at a loss for a moment how to proceed, what to say. lowered her eyes to think, then looked up at him: “and, if i do?” “i will never let you down,” he insisted, earnestly. pausing, like one cornered, and not knowing where to go, for there was no escape, she presently sighed. - “well, i don't know. i’d like to believe you sidney—in fact, i even want to believe you. but a girl gets let down so badly and so often these days until she doesn't know whom to trust, who to believe.” he looked at her closely, thoughtfully for a moment and the grip he had on her hand was relaxed. his look at her now she thought, was a bit hard. - “who’s been fooling you?” he asked rather bluntly. immediately she became a show girl, in other words, a bit tough. “who, me?” she threw back at him coldly. “yes, you,” he said, his expression by now was tempered with a oit of amusement, which she didn’t catch and understand at once. “i haven't let any man fool me, sidney—and i don't intend to.—” “—let me,” he assisted, cutting her off and pointing at himself. now he was himself again. he smiled on her, kind and tenderly, so much so until she could no longer doubt him. he squeezed her hand. “oh, i’m so sorry, edrina. i didn’t intend to be unkind, or to anger you.” she laid a hand on his, and looked tenderly up into his eyes. “keep on talking and acting like that, sidney. i'm sorry if i hurt the case of mrs. wingate you. i didn't intend to; i don't want to.” she smiled upon him re- assuringly. then, squeezed his arm: “i–i do like you, too—a little, and that's why i came here to see you tonight—alone.” feeling that she'd said enough, she lowered her eyes and affected sadness. after a pause, she raised them again. “now will you—believe me?” “i believe you, edrina. so let's agree on that at least. let's believe each one is interested in the other and get fully acquainted. what do you say?” she smiled up at him now, happily, and stuck out her free hand: “shake, partner,” she cried, enthusiastically. “it’s a dealſ” and they grasped hands like two pals. then laughing, they both auto- matically rose to their feet. “now, where do we go from here, partner?” said edrina, and waited for him to make the next move, a smile spreading over her face. “well,” said he, cheerfully. “i’m free, single, disengaged and hungry again, although i ate only three hours ago. do you happen to feel the same way?” “have you ever met a show girl in harlem that wasn't?” both laughed heartily at this, and moved toward the door, paused again and faced each other. “in that regard, mr. wyeth, i don't claim to be any different from the rest of us up here. we're always hungry, so hungry in fact, that we seem to stay that way to avoid getting hungry,” and they laughed so much at that until they leaned against each other and felt closer as a result. they moved into the reception room now, still laughing. pausing after a time, he turned to face her. “i’ve always said that if a man made any money at all, he could hardly go bankrupt, eating. and i don't mind feeding a hungry girl at the same time. so everything is mutual. where do you want to go?” she reached up and adjusted his tie, which made both feel more intimate, as she replied: “it’s your money that we're going to eat and drink on, sidney, dear. you choose the place,” and looked up at him. he tickled her chin with his fingers, and she smiled as though it pleased her. “no, no, dear eddie. there must be some place you'd like to go better than just any place. i want to please you, understand?” she nodded her head and found something to fix at on his coat, the case of mrs. wingate vest, tie or shirt. she was silent. he went on. “so you name the place, dear girl, and it is there we will go.” she looked up into his eyes now kindly, trustingly. “you are a nice fellow after all,” she said, softly. “frank, plain, honest and big-hearted like i’d hoped you were, and, i'm afraid,” she sighed, “i’m going to learn to like you, maybe a lot, if you keep on being nice like that, before it's over.” she paused to look up at him coquettishly. he could no longer resist her appeal, and then he dared. he leaned down and her eyes opened like she was a bit frightened, but wishing to please him as he'd said he wanted to please her, she met him half way, and they kissed. each underwent a sudden thrill. the kiss had been so tender, so soft, and so sweet until both were lifted up, by the contact, as it were, to strange and dizzy heights. impelled by an irresistible force, which neither understood or could longer resist, he kissed her again, and then he placed an arm about her waist and kissed her again and again. then holding her close, so close they could feel each other's heart beat, he sighed and relaxed and was forced to turn his eyes away. “oh, me. you—you—overwhelm me, sidney. overwhelm me so until i've forgotten where i am, what i’m doing. you asked me something before it started. i can't remember now what it was.” “i asked, dear edrina,” he said, looking down into her eyes, his arm still about her waist. “where you wanted to go?” * . “oh, yes, yes, of course,” she said hastily. “pardon me for for- getting so quickly.” “i fear that i could go on forgetting in exchange for such moments as have just passed, beautiful, exhilarating, never-to-be-forgotten moments.” - “oh, sidney. you can even be—romantic, when you try. i’ve always viewed you as cold, distant, and domineering.” “great goodness,” he cried, affecting fright. she giggled. “well, i have.” she said, protestingly. “i met you only last week, but i’ve known you for a long, long time.” “really?” - - “who doesn't know sidney wyeth? you're the only one of our group to make pictures. i’ve seen your pictures, many, many of them. i liked them, too. they say you make the best of all the colored pic- the case of mrs. wingate tures, and i know they draw great crowds. they say, the theatre owners, that when they have a wyeth picture, every day is a holiday.” “thank you.” “you haven't made any for quite some time now. at least i haven't seen any?” “no, i haven't.” “why?” “oh, dear, that's a long story—too long for us to go into now. i'd rather talk about you—and me.” she smiled up at him sweetly, and he kissed her again, quickly. she shook her head at him and pointed an accusing finger. “never would i have believed anybody if they'd told me you were like this,” she accused him, tantalizingly. “neither would i. i'm surprised at myself, but i'm sure there's a reason.” - “what reason, may i ask?” he looked at her. “i'm looking at the reason. easily and plainly, you.” “oh, dear, dear,” she cried, and leaned on him. he squeezed her close. she relaxed and looked up. “before i forget again, i'd like to go to the—bamboo inn.” - - “to the bamboo inn.” he repeated after her. “then,” and draw- ing her close, kissed her once more. “it's to the bamboo inn, we go!” laughing, happily, he turned, his arm sº around her waist. he switched off the light with his free hand, turned the night lock, swung the door wide open, and relaxing his hold around her waist, waved her into the hall before him, fol- lowed, turned, closed the door, rattled it from the outside to see that it was locked, and together they left the building for the bamboo inn. carris vii yeth and marie were hard at work in their little office in harlem the next morning when a messenger with a spe- cial delivery letter entered the office. marie signed for the letter, looked at the postmark, smiled, knocked on wyeth's door and entered. wyeth looked up with a slight frown, then relaxed it when he saw her face and the smile and the letter, which she opened as she talked. - - - “well, the special is here from our boy.” wyeth looked at the letter, then with an impatient wave of the hand told her. “go ahead and read it. i don't decipher many of his words very easily.” thompson was not related to either. referring to him as “our boy” was a joke. “dear mr. wyeth,” marie read. - “supplementing my telegram of recent date, i was going from the bathroom to my room at miss gentry's home here when i slipped and before i could regain my balance, fell to the floor, rolled down the stairway to the bottom. they had to carry me upstairs as i couldn't walk. in addition to fracturing my hip, my face was badly bruised also. today an ambulance came and took me to a hospital where i was x-rayed three times, then brought back to miss gertry's. “the doctor told me to stay in bed for a week, then move around on crutches for two or three weeks longer. by this you can understand why i've decided to stay in baltimore indefinitely. besides, i’ve been offered three jobs already, so this is to ask you to please get my laundry alld belongings from the room at mrs. morgan's and send them to ſne.” marie paused and looked down at him. “well, what do you think of it?” she ventured. he looked up at her a bit absently. his mind seeming to be on something else. he shrugged his shoulders. “what am i supposed to think,” said he. “the letter speaks for it- self.” - - the case of mrs. wingate “of course,” said marie, “with your mind on your business and so much planning, you would hardly understand. but when thompson fell downstairs at miss gentry's home, he did not, figuratively land on the floor at the bottom of the stair. he did in a physical sense, of course. but in spirit he landed smack dab into her arms. get what i mean?” “i think i do, but it couldn't be as serious as all that.” “wait and see what happens — but i have no right to take up your time by gossiping about thompson. i'll continue it with my mother at home tonight. there are other matters of importance to command your attention this morning.” “for instance, what?” “i made an appointment for you to receive and talk with mr. early, of chicago at eleven this morning.” “oh, yes.” he glanced at his watch. “yes. he said that it was very important that he see you, so he's calling promptly at eleven and asked me to be sure to keep you in the office until that time.” “that's just fifteen minutes away. i'll see him,” and then as if to himself, “i wonder what he wants to talk to me about, anyhow " “i haven't the least idea,” said marie, and he started and looked up at her and smiled. “i was talking to myself, marie. i was thinking aloud to myself. still it is just as well that you heard.” “what ever it is, it seemed most important to him, that he see you, so i wouldn't like you to forget and go out as you so often do.” “i won't forget that i won't go out.” and then again he mumbled to himself. - “this kermit early has always been a sort of man of mystery. he isn't married; i never see him with a woman, yet i'm sure he isn't a fairy. he seems to live well, has what he wants, yet has nothing to do with anybody that i've ever seen. so what, exactly, does he do, and what has he got against the jews? something strange and peculiar about the whole thing.” then relaxing, and looking up at the girl. “well, he'll be here presently, so i'll just wait and see.” he called her and by the time he had dictated the letters to be answered that morn- ing kermit came and was shown into his private office by marie. “now picking up where we left off yesterday, wyeth, you intimated the case of mirs. wingate that you'd like to be financed so you can make a series of new pictures.” “i would be interested, yes.” “and i said that i was in a position to get the money for you to make them with, correct?” “correct, — with a string tied to it, you also implied.” “there is a condition.” “and what is that condition ?” “that you produce a certain kind of picture that we are interested in having made for our use.” - “why have you singled me out to make this certain kind of picture?” “because of your uncanny insight into the conditions we want this picture made around. i consider you the only man in america able to do this to our satisfaction.” y “that would seem like a compliment, but before i become enthus- iastic, an enthusiasm superinduced by the vision of having enough money once in my life to make some pictures. i do not wish to be worried crazy with fear: the fear of being unable to pay off before it is finished.” - “you will be relieved of all financial worries if you go with us. i can assure you as to that.” w “all's well enough thus far. what kind of picture is this that you want me to make for you and your associates to release?” “a picture exposing activities of the jew for the benefit of our group; to be shown, primarily, to our group.” “m-m. i was afraid it would be something like that. too bad.” “why too bad?” said early. “you need money, don't you? you've said you'd be glad to have real money to make some pictures with once? if you had real money you could make the kind of pictures you are capable of producing, couldn't you? you've never had that kind of money, so what?” “but i have never made a hate picture.” “but you do hate jews, don't you? they forced you out of making pictures? messed up the business you set in motion years and years ago?” “but i don't hate jews. i don't hate anybody.” “after all they did to spoil your business?” “they didn't go into it to hurt me; to put me out of business. they went into it on the theory that they could make some money. they the case of mers. wingate had a right to.” early paused before going on. “but they put you out of business, they — ” - “the negroes didn't like their pictures, and stayed away from the theatres in such great numbers when they played them that they were forced to suspend, give it up. it was just my bad luck the way things turned out. that doesn't give me any leave to go off sulking, to start a campaign of hate.” “but consider what it can mean to you? put you back on your feet more solidly than you have ever been " early insisted. “i’ve considered all that, early, but i'm simply not a red a com- munist or a nazi. i hold no brief for jews. many times during my fights with them to try to get a decent rental price for my pictures, i’ve often felt like killing them, they seemed so mercenary. but i'm too concerned with the deficiency of the negro, and i'm too involved in trying to improve or help improve the condition of our group, to have any time to hate jews.” “jews are the scourge of america. they are the greatest disease in our economical and political life. some day you're going to admit, along with everybody else that the jews are the cause of this war, the last war, all the wars since modern civilization; wars that have destroyed millions of people in europe.” “maybe so, and if it is, it will continue. my going out here and producing a hate picture isn't going to change it.” “it’ll help expose the dirty chiselers in the eyes of negroes. that's worth something.” looking at him more closely. “who’s behind all this, anyhow, kermit? not negroes, of course?” “oh, no.” “naturally they wouldn't have that kind of money, and if they had, it isn't something that they would be sponsoring. in short, it just isn't negroes, is it, early?” - “no,” admitted early. “i thought not,” said wyeth. “then who?” “i’d rather not say. all you have to do is just give me your word that you'll make this picture and leave the rest to me. only this i can say at this time. these people hate jews and feel it is a patriotic duty to expose his methods, his exploitation, his chiseling and his cheating.” the case of mes. wingate “a strange patriotic duty. why not call it by its right name, a hate duty.” “i don't see it that way.” “supposing for the sake of argument that i made this picture. where would you show it, with the jews owning most of the theatres? people can be persuaded only to go to theatres to see pictures in any large numbers.” “that is not a part of your responsibility. all you're to do is just produce the picture. the rest is our responsibility.” “i couldn't, kermit, as much as i’d like to get the use of the money you promise for doing so. my heart wouldn't be in it, and when my heart isn't in a thing, i don't do much good at trying to do it.” turning to him seriously. “do you know what i could do so much better than that.” “what?” asked early. - “make a picture exposing the negro. his laziness, shiftlessness; his wasteful tendency and his irresponsibility — a whole lot that is so completely wrong about him; so unnecessarily so; things that he could so easily, with a little effort, correct and make right. a picture exposing the negro for his own good. i’d like to title it, “go look in the mirror, you fool! that thing looking back at you, is yourself.’ by this, it is meant that the negro is made up of about everything that is contrary to his own welfare. his word is no good, and i repeat, he is ir- responsible, trifling and lazy, wasteful and extravagant. we even hate each other. heard a speaker while in chicago writing my book say that no negro has ever risen to power and success by the help of negroes. consciously and unconsciously, he hates his own kind, doesn't want another negro to get ahead of him, and if he can, will reach up and pull him back and down and tramp on him. education has neither changed or improved this condition. in fact, the more educated the negro is, the more he seems to play his fellow man down, hold him in contempt, laugh at anything he attempts to do and lauds the white man at every turn. he doesn't hesitate to betray his fellow man to any white man who'll pay him. “does the jew play such cheap politics? you know he doesn't. the jew is the world's oldest and most successful merchant. he is re- sponsible, employs hundreds of thousands of people right here in america. do we? i know, we've been free only years and haven't the case of mirs. wingate got that far. at the rate we are going, hating and anxious to keep each other on a level with ourselves, how far do you suppose we will have gone in another eighty years? “no, there is so much wrong with our group and we need to be exposed for our own benefit more than anybody else, that it seems vain even to go thinking about exposing jews.” “well, wyeth,” said early, rising to his feet, and smiling. “i ex- pected you to refuse to do what we want you to do at this time. i'm here in addition to persuading you to make this picture, also to wait and meet somebody else, due here in a few days from abroad. so don't make up your mind now, just take it easy and keep thinking about it. after all, you could make the picture and use a fictitious name, not your real name. i've decided that you only can do this pic- ture, from a story i have written, like nobody else can, and i’m going to stay on your tail until you consent to do it,” he paused now to look at his watch. “it's noon and what about going downstairs and having a bite of lunch with me?” a few minutes later, seated in a booth with a couple of bottles of beer before them, while they waited for their order to be prepared, they couldn't help overhear a conversation between two colored women, seated in the booth behind them, that amused them. “dey want no tuhkey to be had, so i decided to buy a chicken instead,” said one, whom the other was calling lucy. “none to be had up heah in ha'lem,” said helen; “but plenty down town fo' white fo'kes. so dat's wha’ i went and got mine.” “you did?” cried lucy, amazed. “sho did, and i got a good one, too.” “well, i decla’,” cried lucy, and her tone indicated her chagrin. “well, gittin' back to what i stahted tu tell yuh.” “sho. go ahead. i’m interested. meantime, why you think we couldn't get tuhkeys in ha'lem when dare wuz plenty downtown p’’ “dey was a ceiling on’m, and dey been puttin' so many ofays in jail fo' ovuh chargin', until dey was afraid to, and ef dey can't steal frum and cheat us niggahs, dey won't be bothered wid going regular to oblige us. so dey wouldn't put dem selves out to go an buy tuhkeys to sell to niggahs and just make a ceilin' profit.” “well, gittin' back to what i stahted tu yell yuh. have anudder the case of mrs. wingate drink,” and she proceeded to pour it. “sho.” early and wyeth smiled at each other as they listened to the women. “i goes into dis sto. the man was busy in de rear and when he seed me entuh, he motined fo' de woman to go wait on me. she was fat, lak most ofay womens is, especially aftu dey gits mai'ed and has a kid or two.” the other laughed. “so she bustles up to me, smilin’. ‘c’n i serve you, lady,” she said, gracious like.” “they knows how tu flattuh you,” said the other. “and how,” cried lucy. “well, she smiled at me, and says: “a chicken? nice, fat, tender chicken,' and pointed to a pile ov'm dis- played in the front window. i pointed to one i lacked, so she picks it up and throws it on the scale. - “how much p” i asked. “she looked at it. ‘dollar ninety-eight.’” “seemed kinda high fo’ the size. ‘how much a pound?' i asked. she didn't seem to want to say. instead she repeated, ‘the chicken is a dollar ninety eight cents.’ and i calls back just as loud. “how much is the chicken, a pound, woman? you sell it by the pound, don't you?' my niggah was beginnin' tu rise now. she glanced toward the man, who shook his head, and then turning back to me she said ‘ cents'. i looked at the scale. it registered % pounds. i did some figurin' in my mind. ‘come on,' she calls, “do you want it or not?” at cents a pound, the chicken would total about a dollar and fifty eight cents. “how come a % pound chicken to cost a dollar and ninety eight cents,” i asked, loudly. she picked the chicken up an threw it back on the pile with the others, and turned to wait on somebody else. i stood there, glarin at heh, fightin' mad. i looked right at her cheat anudder niggah right befo' mah eyes, but he just out and paid what she asked without doing any checkin’.” “or thinkin’,” said the other. “that's it. no thinkin', jes' let a duhty ofay cheat his eye balls out and not know it, even.” “it’s a shame.” “hit's going on all ovuh ha'lem, ofays cheatin’ niggahs, and nig- gahs not known' it even.” - the case of mirs. wingate “i wanted to ruch ove de countah and grab dat ofay bitch and beat heh yes, yes all ovuh dat sto. but de culud papers had been say’n so much about us niggah's fightin', ready tu fight at de drop of a hat, swearin’ and black guardin'.” “de'se ofays uz enough to make us fight.” “ain’t it so.” - “las’ tanksgivin’,” said helen, “i was shoppin on eighth avenue and stopped in front of a sto wha a nice lookin' young tuhkey was displayed. de ofay inside saw me and come out an asked me to come in and sold me the tuhkey, i taught, cheap.” “it always seems dat way,” said lucy. “jes' seem's dat way,” admitted helen, “but it all ‘jes seems.” lucy laughed. - “when xmas come, i was shoppin' christmas mawnin' fo anudder tuhkey and stopped in front ob de same sto' again. the same ofay come hustlin' out, recanized me and asked me in de sto' to buy annud- er tuhkey. he jes' named a price lak dis woman did tu you 'bout de chicken. i keep on askin’ ‘how much a pound?' he finally named it, but i could see he didn't want to, and dat made me 'spicious. i paid him and when i got outside, i sorta tested de weight of distuhkey up and down and it seemed lighter dan it oughta be. i went into a sto' next do'. i asked de man to put dat burd on de scale, which he did. it was nearly fo' pounds sho’t ob what it was supposed to be, and was i mad! i go back to dat sto' and he saw my niggah wuz up. i raised my finguh and beckoned to him. he come up and tried to be mad. i didn't caeh nuthin’ bout dat. it wuz me dat was mad, sho’ nuf mad. i said 'you been cheatin,’ white man, and onless you gimme back du money you has cheated me out uv, i gwine 'pot you to de law.” “dat did it, i bet,” laughed lucy. “i’ll say it did. de co’ts know dese ofays in ha'lem cheat, so when you haul 'em dare, dey go befo' de jedge wid one strike against dem befo' they staht. dey hates to be called to co’t on cheatin' cha’ges. so this ofay foſkoes ovuh a dollar rat quick, and sulks back to de rear of de sto.” “dey has a way of weighin' something heavy on a scale dat only weighs a few pounds, wid de reg'lar scale hid under de countuh wha y the case of mirs. wingate he can change rat quick. so on dese shot scales, he throws somethin' heavy and you can't tell how much it weighs. he then says, 'so much or so much' and you get cheated tu death and don't know what hit's all about.” “an talk about liahs dey 'cuses us niggahs ob bein’ liauhs, but we is amatuehs compa'd wid dese ha'lem sto' keepuhs.” “you heard them,” said kermit, with a smile. “those are some of the things i want to show up.” “oh, i’m aware that there's a lot of cheating going on. everybody knows that the negro is exploited in many places, shamefully, but i don't agree that your method will stop it. it'll perhaps make it worse, in a different way.” “you have a chance to do a great racial service by jumping right into making this picture — even if you wouldn't be getting a chance to have your other pictures financed, you should be racially patriotic enough to do it for the good of our folks. if a few thousand of our folks could see a picture telling the same kind of story those women have just related, can't you see what it would mean? they would start to checking up on these merchants; begin to look at the scales and ask a few questions. it might take more than one picture to open their eyes. maybe two, three, four, maybe a series, but it ought to be done and it ought to be started right away. “did you ever hear the story of the snake, the rattlesnake and the negro " said kermit. - “no,” replied wyeth. “what kind of a story p” “a parallel. i take the jew as he is, and all these women have said, is no more than i expect to hear, and we will go on hearing it until the end of time, for it is current to expect the jew to cheat, the same as a snake is expected to bite. now i'll tell you the story of the snake, as nearly as i can remember a fellow telling it to me, many years ago. “a negro, as the story goes, was coming along a dusty country road one chilly morning. he didn't have many clothes on, just a shirt and overalls, was bare-footed and shivering himself, when he met a rattlesnake in the road, and the rattlesnake was crying.” wyeth laughed. w - “the rattlesnake,” went on kermit, “was crying—tears in his eyes and he appealed to the negro as follows: “brother, please save the case of mrs. wingate me. i'm cold, almost frozen and unless you save me, i will surely die.’ “‘how c'n i save you, mistah snake?' asked the negro, pausing to look down at him. ‘take me, brother,’ said the snake, ‘put me inside your shirt next to your body where i will get warm, please do that and save me.' . “so the negro, as the story continued, gathered the rattlesnake and put him inside his shirt next to his flesh and went on down the road. presently he felt a movement and looked down. the snake had become warm and had stuck his head out of the shirt and was looking up at the negro boldly, and as the negro's eyes met the snake, he stuck his tongue out like he meant to do something. the negro stopped and looking down at the snake, cried ‘hey, you, what does this mean?' “‘that i'm going to bite you,' replied the snake and flashed his forked tongue at the negro, threateningly. “‘but, but,’ cried the negro. ‘didn't you tell me back dare when i picked you up and put you inside my shirt, dat — ” “‘yes,’ replied the snake, flashing his red and ugly tongue at the negro again, “but i'm a snake.’ wyeth laughed. “so a snake is supposed to bite, regardless how much he is be- friended, or who it is that befriends him and that means that a jew is supposed to cheat, regardless of the circumstances or who you are.” both laughed heartily. \ - “thats the inference, early,” said wyeth, “which of course, is only an inference for, while many mercenary and perhaps, struggling and ‘don't care’ jews do cheat, i have in mind a lot of jews that have done, and are doing, a great deal for posterity, and who can not be charged with being mercenary even.” “what do you mean?” inquired kermit. “what about julius rosenwald, for instance, the father of the negro y.m.c.a. p.” “oh, well, he was different.” “isn't the example he set, along with a lot of other rich but kindly jews and what they have done for mankind and the negroes, especially in the case of rosenwald, to be credited as against the activities of these jews, whom the story compared with the snake?” “i suppose so,” said early. his tone indicated that he would like to change the subject, the case of mrs. wingate “rosenwald paid for and caused to be erected more than , school buildings for negroes in the south, left a revolving fund to pay part of the teachers' salaries and to maintain and keep the schools up indefinitely. this, in addition to helping to finance every negro y.m.c.a. and y.w.c.a., as far as i know in the entire united states. “i chose to consider acts of this kind when you insist that i ought to make a picture designed and conceived to make negroes hate jews. it wouldn't be right, early and you know it wouldn't be.” at this point the waiter brought the food they had ordered and they fell to eating. late in the afternoon of this self-same day, in berlin, germany, henrich schultz and his sister bertha, a year younger, left the for- eign office where they had been in conference with von ribbentrop with regard to their mission to america. as we know, even hitler himself had approved the mission, so they were enthusiastic when they left von ribbentrop. germany was sending hundreds of agents to america at the time, but since war had been de- clared on germany by england and france and the blockade put into effect, all ships, including the europa, were held in german ports and schultz and his sister, a medium sized, beautiful and affectionate girl, started for america via italy. - because she was so devoted to her brother, bertha schultz had fol- lowed him off to heidelberg and then to the sorbonne and had majored in the same studies that he had taken, and was therefore the best assistant he could have chosen and he had persuaded the foreign office to give her a commission, along with his, so the two, considering themselves fortunate, were happy to think they would be together in america, work together and be close to each other. bertha had not been to america since her mother took her and the rest of her children back to germany many years before, so looked forward to their returning with anxious and happy anticipation. accordingly, therefore, in that year, late autumn, bertha and heinrich set out for america, journeying southward to genoa where they had reserved passage on the italian luxury liner, conte de savoia, scheduled to sail from there a few days later. bertha had been told about heinrich's tie-up with kermit early, the case of mrs. wingate so looked forward to meeting him. heinrich had cabled early when they were leaving and about what day they would arrive. he had also cabled early a sum of money with which to rent a suitable apart- ment in the negro section in harlem where they could work from and not be suspected or molested. on the way across bertha and heinrich encountered many ger- mans, all headed for america as secret agents of the reich. the ship seemed to fairly swarm with them, men and women, all assigned, more or less to different cities, but all over america. some were as- signed to south america, but via new york where most were to remain awhile, possibly to check up on conditions in america so that they could compare the sentiment on reaching s. a. there was a ball every night in the huge salon of the ship, plenty of wine, beer and schnapps. they were wined and dined daily, being singled out it seems because of their color, and the object of much curiosity. many told them of individuals they were to meet on arrival in new york, chicago, milwaukee and other cities; names that later became conspicuous in newspaper headlines for subversive activity. they were met at the pier by early, who shook hands with both, then ushered them into a taxi, where they were driven to the pennsylvania hotel, where they met mrs. wingate, kermit having checked in there until schultz would arrive, after which all planned to take apartments in the negro section in harlem. when mrs. wingate was introduced to bertha, young and beautiful and so highly educated, for a fleeting moment she experienced her first jealousy. in that moment she pictured kermit, with all his super- education possibly falling in love with this beautiful and gorgeous creature. she became so jealous, that she decided to accompany them to harlem the next morning, to examine the apartments that kermit had leased, one for bertha and heinrich, the other, and in a different building, for themselves. that night she decided to talk with kermit about her baby, due to arrive in six to seven months. she artfully maneuvered the conversation around to the subject in a roundabout way, and was relieved to have him bring it up instead of her. “now about the baby, florence,” said kermit, crossing his legs and lighting a cigarette, which he passed to her, then lit one for him- self. “have you decided just what to do about it, i mean, as regards the case of mrs. wingate “m-m,” she mumbled and continued to hide her face. “but why, and of whom?” she sat up again, her eyes on the floor. “that girl you brought here, that very pretty girl.” “you mean the schultz girl?” “m-m.” - “well, of all people.” she turned and throwing her arms about him, cried just a little. then, drying her eyes. “oh, it was silly i know, and i had no reason to feel the way i did -— even for the short moments that i did.” “you most surely did not. i — ” “oh, i’m not accusing you of giving me any reason for you didn't. but it is just natural that a woman might feel that way about another, especially about one young and so beautiful as she is. don't you think she is beautiful ?” “well,” said kermit, after a moments thought, “come to picture her, i suppose so.” “she is. don't misunderstand that. one of the prettiest girls i ever saw, anywhere.” “is she really all that beautiful?” “why of course, kermit. rich color, large, beautiful, soft dark eyes. just about everything, including the most perfect shape i ever saw a girl have.” “couldn't be more perfect than yours.” ‘oh, yes. i might have had perhaps, a pretty shape some years ago.” “you still have, darling.” she looked at him and smiled. he reached over and kissed her. “thank you, sweetheart,” she said. “but we've been sweethearts so long. it would be very easy for me to begin to get jealous of my darling, see?” “let's return to the subject we started to talk about.” “our baby. of course, dear.” * he looked down at her stomach. she followed his eyes. “oh, it will not begin to show for months yet.” “no?” “of course not, darling. women don't usually begin to swell up until three months before their time. i won't begin to get out of shape for a long, long time yet.” the case of mfs. wingate “in regards to mr. wingate?” “since i’ve been wanting the baby for so long, i am resigned to what i have to do. he knows that i’ve always wanted a child and he, in addition to not being built like other men, is deficient otherwise, and could never become a father.” “how unfortunate.” “so, unfortunate, yet that's the case. so i'm all ready when i return to atlanta, to take him into my room and tell him the whole story.” “i wish you didn't have to,” he said sympathetically. she looked down at him. “thank you, darling. i wish that i didn't, but i’ve been happy since i married him, only because of your coming into my life. that has meant more to me than anything which could have happened. i’m still a young woman, and i’m still entitled to some happiness. since god only can be responsible for his misfortune, to tell him the truth and have it over with and as soon as possible, is the best way out as i can see it, so that is that and i’m ready to have it all over with him and be free so that we can get married and give our child a name when it arrives. “now since that is settled about as much as it can be before i tell him, let's talk about something else.” “what, for instance?” “that man heinrich schultz and his sister, especially, his sister.” he laughed and pinched her cheek. “no, i'm not jealous any longer, dear.” “then what?” “curious.” “curious? i see. about what?” “their mission to america.” “they're german agents, which is confidential, you understand.” “of course i understand, dear, and any talking and asking ques- tions will be only of you and with you.” she was thoughtful a moment. “all right, darling. what do you want to know?” “he is the fellow you’ve been telling me about for some time.” “yes. he was here during the past summer and that was when i met him,” the case of mrs. wingate “i see. where, dear?” “in milwaukee.” “milwaukee? that's a german city is it not?” “not now. the town was founded and settled in the beginning by germans.” “then they would be german sympathizers, pro-germans, you'd call it?” - “i guess so, darling.” “with this country so pro-english, in time don't you think there might be some sort of — collusion?” kermit was thoughtful. “this country is made up of so many kinds of groups and races and elements, it is rather difficult to figure out just who is who and what is what.” “i guess that is true, but just what is your position in this whole affair, dear?” “i represent the negro angle. my position is to advise and direct the negro side of the set-up.” “now at this time, what are you supposed to do?” “get a colored fellow up town by the name of sidney wyeth to make a picture showing how the jews cheat and exploit negroes, and to show it to negroes all over the country.” “somebody should make a picture showing how they cheat and ex- ploit white people, too. they cheat and exploit everybody, including themselves, when they can. i despise the funny-eyed creatures. they don't care anything about anybody or anything except the almighty dollar. i'm with hitler for putting them in their places. we need a hitler over here.” kermit was beaming. this was the first time he had talked with her in detail about what he had been doing for a long time. now to have heard her say what she had, which was so agreeable along with his plans, that he felt he could talk more about it with her. “i’m glad to hear you express yourself as you have, florence.” “most southerners hate jews.” “i know they do, but i wasn't sure as to how you felt about them.” “what does this man wyeth think? how does he feel? is he going to make the picture you and your associates have planned?” kermit's face fell. she noticed it and became anxious, “he hasn't agreed to yet.” “why not? what is he waiting for?” the case of mrs. wingate “well, he says he isn't a red; that he doesn't hate jews, that he's not anti-semetic, that—” “maybe he loves them.” “no, he doesn't particularly love them. he seems to be a sort of pacifist in spirit, doesn't hate anybody.” “well, what are you going to do about it? can't you get somebody else to make it?” “he’s the only one who can put the feeling that ought to go into the picture in it, in order to stir negroes into action.” “is that so?” “yes, i'm sorry to say, for unless i can succeed in persuading him to do it, we might have a big hole knocked in something i’ve planned very thoroughly and sold my group on the idea, one hundred percent.” “then what do you plan to do?” “oh, i haven't given up hoping that in some way i can ultimately get him to do it. i've just started trying. i intend to keep on after him.” florence was thoughtful a moment, then turned her eyes to his. “i suppose this schultz is interested in getting wyeth to do it, also p” “oh, very much so. he thinks i’ve got his consent and he's under the impression that production is to start shortly.” “now what are you going to do?” “i haven't had time to tell him what wyeth thinks about it yet.” “of course not, with him just arriving this afternoon.” “that's it. i won't say anything about it, unless he asks me, until i show them to their apartment and get them settled. that'll take a week, meantime, i'll go see wyeth again and try to get him to see these jews as i do.” “meanwhile, i have an idea.” “yes p” “this sister of schultz, if neither you nor he can get wyeth to do so, why not sic her onto him.” “you mean, get her to try to persuade him?” “of course. as pretty as she is, and so obviously intelligent, she might succeed where you fail.” “that's an idea.” “is wyeth married?” the case of mrs. wingate - “no,” said early. “he’s single.” “not married and i don't suppose she is?” “i haven’t heard, but don’t think so.” “well,” she said, rising from his lap and pausing over him. “you keep that suggestion in mind and if you fail to budge wyeth, then take it up with her and her brother with this in view.” “smart idea, florence, and i'll keep it in mind.” “do you have tickets for the show, sweetheart?” “i do. haven't been to a floor show for some time, so it’s about time we begin to dress.” they dressed in evening clothes and went out to one of new york's leading downtown night clubs and saw a good floor show. the next morning early took schultz and his sister, via taxi, to the apartment he had leased for them, high up on a hill in harlem; in that section they call “sugar hill”. “so this is harlem,” said bertha, looking out of the taxi window after they left th street. “black harlem, miss schultz,” kermit explained. “here we enter the largest negro city in all the world, a city within a city.” “it seems a bit — ordinary,” she commented, looking at the crowd of negroes, idling, playing and carrying on boistrously and loudly on the sidewalks, as the taxi spun along. “it is ordinary, extraordinary,” laughed kermit “and otherwise. within the environs of this black city within a city dwell more than , people of our group, at least, my group,” said he, correcting himself, not knowing just how bertha might regard herself. “include me, too, mr. early. i am a german first, but a negro always. i am in sympathy with the negro and his struggle to reach a higher plane of thought and action. i have come here to dedicate my future, as it were, first to the service of our fuehrer, and the third reich, at the same time to the negro and his peculiar problems. i want to study it from the inside and ground up. maybe in a small way i may be able to mean something before it is all over. i hope so, at least.” “our people present a peculiar problem here. held down so long by southern white people, they almost consider themselves failures. a long time ago i heard a great leader, called booker t. washington the case of mrs. wingate say that the hardest task in all his life had been to convince a colored man that he could be anything.” “booker t. washington was a great man,” said heinrich, thought- fully. “about the first book i remember reading when we lived in america, was a story of his life, called up from slavery.” “i read it, too, heinrich,” said bertha. “don’t you remember that mother bought it among other gifts at xmas time and you and i used to struggle over who was to read it first and then mother had us draw straws.” “that's right, sis. i remember it all now.” “and who won?” inquired early, smiling at one, then the other. “he did,” said bertha, looking at him fondly. “my brother has always seemed to be strangely lucky.” “really?” said kermit. “really, mr. early. ever since he was a child, luck seems to have followed him. just consider his good fortune in being able to get this commission for each of us. i wouldn't have missed coming to america for anything.” “we were fortunate in that regard,” said heinrich. “because if i don't miss my guess, if we hadn't when we did, we might not have gotten out of germany for a long, long time, maybe not until the war was over — and it's going to be a long war, early, longer than even the fuehrer himself anticipates.” “you think so?” said kermit. “i know so. i made a careful study of conditions while in this country last spring and summer. this country is so pro-english and the jews wield so much unnoticed power, that the whole world may be in it before it is over. the jews want america to get into a war with germany.” “do you think so?” said early. “i’m sure of it. through it they visualize a way, if america should win, of over-throwing hitler, whom they hate, of course.” “how do they feel about it in germany?” “too early for many to have formed a definite opinion. currently, however, the consensus of opinion is that hitler will tear into france next summer and take paris before either england or france can prepare. they are dreadfully unprepared, while germany has been getting ready almost ever since hitler came into power. the entire the case of mrs. wingate reich is a beehive of preparation right now.” “while america sleeps and roosevelt plays politics,” suggested kermit. by this time they had reached the building where he had leased their apartment, so pulled up at the curb. kermit helped both to the sidewalk and a few seconds later they were speeding to the floor upon which the apartment was located. it was one of the best. had seven rooms and two baths. he got it for a smaller rental than current because it was larger than most negroes could afford, and the leasees prohibited many things that were permitted in other buildings in harlem, where, if one was able to pay the rent, most anything went, including an occasional shooting and now and then a murder. bertha and heinrich were well pleased with the place, checked and rechecked it from one end to the other, and arranged to go down town the next day and select their furniture. cºrris viii idney wyeth was called to washington by telegram regarding the sale of his book, so got into his car the next morning and drove down there, leaving marie to look after matters while he was away, as she always did. after attending to the immediate business that called him there, he went milling around the theatres as he had always done when he had pictures to book. driving up new jersey avenue to where it ends and u street begins, and just as he crossed florida avenue, his eyes fell on the front of the howard theatre, where a show seemed to be playing. he circled a few blocks and a few minutes later parked his car on a side street and went into the lobby and was looking at the pictures when he saw that it was irvin c. mantan's show. and while doing so, among the pictures who should he see but one of edrina's. he started. he had been too busy since the night she called on him at the office and he took her to the bamboo inn, to think much about her, but as his eyes spied her picture, he decided then and there to look her up and renew what had started out to be, he thought, a very pleasing affair. when the curtain rung down that night, he hurried around to the stage entrance, something that he had never done, but was excited. he wanted to see edrina. - so parking himself after getting inside, he met the performers on the way to their dressing rooms, hoping that edrina would pass that way to her dressing room, so that he could speak to her and let her know that he was in washington. presently she came along, hurrying with her eyes down and had almost passed him when he reached out and caught her arm, where- upon she turned with a frown on her face, to have it disappear sud- denly, as, on looking up her eyes fell on him, and her frown disap- peared, her mouth opened. the case of mrs. wingate “why, you!” she exclaimed, happily and carried away with delight. “sidney wyeth, you, you, you!” throwing her arms about him she embraced him right there, without regard to the others. with show people, such scenes invariably go unnoticed. “oh, oh, oh!” she exclaimed, hugging and squeezing him. “i'd kiss you if i didn't want to spoil your sweet lips for later with all this old make-up on mine.” she relaxed then long enough to look up at him, her expression too happy for words, and cried: “where did you come from anyhow, and if you knew i was here, why didn't you wire me so that i could have been made happy, waiting and preparing for you? why —” then breaking off and looking around, she caught his arm, and said: “but come to my dressing room. i'm so glad to see you.” so saying she half-pulled and half- dragged him up a flight of steps and around and through a narrow hall to her dressing room, where she let him in, then closed and locked the door behind them. she found a chair and sat him down upon it and started again, talk- ing so fast and with so much enthusiasm and delight until he couldn't say anything. he hadn't been able to even greet her yet. “i was so frightened when i saw you, i liked to have fainted. for a moment i thought you were a ghost. oh, dear!” she laughed then and he joined her. “now, darling,” she said, patting his cheek, “just try to be com- fortable and patient while i get out of this makeup and costume, and i'll be right with you.” so saying she patted his cheek again, and dis- appeared behind a screen where she started to talking to him again, though neither could see the other. “you know, sidney,” she called. “they say you never hang around back stage or run after show girls. is that so?” “i don't know.” he didn't know what else to say. “you don't know? then who would? it wouldn't be because — you don't care for — women?” - “what are you doing,” he called back. “feeling me out?” “maybe.” “i’m not a fairy, if that's what you're trying to find out.” she laughed but seemed satisfied. “i’m back here because i'm in- terested in you. i wanted to see you.” “did you, sweetheart?” the case of mirs. wingate º “of course i did,” he replied, stoutly. “i’m so glad. you've perhaps been too busy to pay any attention to women, is my guess.” “i’m trying to develop my book business. that takes up all my time.” * “i’ll bet. are you out of the picture business altogether? aren't you going to make any more?” “i don't plan to right now.” “well, regardless how busy you are, you may have somebody on your hands from now on, if i have my way about it.” “my, my. sounds good to me.” “i’ve been thinking about you ever since that night together in new york,” she called, and he could hear her getting out of costume and removing the grease paint. “really?” he said. “really, sidney. are you glad to hear me say that i have?” “sure am.” “you’re so — so different from any man i ever knew.” “is that a compliment or a – condemnation?” “a compliment, of course.” “i like you, edrina.” “oh, sidney, do you?” “cross my heart.” “but i can't see you,” both laughed. “i’ll be patient and wait.” “i’ll be ready in less than two minutes, sweetheart.” “take your time. we won't know the difference this time next year.” she laughed. “you have a sense of humor, too,” she said, coming from behind the screen, smiling and as beautiful as she was when she called on him at his office a few days before. “i dressed so quickly until i'm not sure i did it correctly. but i didn't want to keep you waiting.” “that was awfully sweet of you, dear heart.” “now look me over and tell me if you see anything not just right,” she said, holding her arms out like a dress model, and turning from right to left, left to right. “my slip is not showing beneath my skirt, is it? speak now or forever keep your peace,” she said, at which both the case of mrs. wingate laughed. he looked her up and down carefully. “everything is hunky dory, eddie.” “don’t kid me. if you do i won't like you.” “no, honey,” he said. “i looked you over carefully as you posed and turned like a model. you look all right.” “i wanted to be sure, since i'm going out with you and i want to look nice when i do, although you haven't even asked me to.” “the fact that i was waiting backstage for you, is the best evidence that i wanted to see you, and that meant that i wanted to go out with you.” “i’m glad you do. the evening is yours and all the other evenings while we're in washington and anywhere else the show goes, as far as i’m concerned.” “this makes me very happy, edrina,” he said, sincerely. - “before we get too far away from the subject, i'm asking you again do i look all right?” and again she posed like a model, turning from left to right, right to left. “you look all right, sweetheart. this is the second time i looked you over.” “thanks,” she said sweetly, and seemed to be satisfied at last. “then we'll go.” she took his hand and led him across the small room to the door and started to put a hand on the knob, then seeming to think of something she paused and looked up at him. for a moment he didn't seem to understand, then suddenly gathering her in his arms, he , kissed her passionately. she quivered for a moment and trembled, too. when she could do anything, she sighed, deeply. “oh, my! yours are the sweetest kisses, so warm, so soft, so passionate!” he squeezed her to him and kissed her again, as pas- sionately as before, and again she quivered and trembled and sighed, deeply. “oh, dear,” she managed to gasp, more than say, and swayed perceptibly, her eyes closed bewilderingly and he had to hold her. the chair upon which he had sat was near and he moved over to it, sat down and took her on his lap, where he embraced and kissed her again, and again until neither knew how many times. then holding her close, her face against his. - “i don't know whether its just emotion, infatuation or a thing called love,” he sighed, “but what ever it is, it's took me over completely.” the case of mes. wingate “call it love, sidney,” she whispered, “then tell me that you love me.” she buried her face on his shoulder for a moment, and when she raised it, there were some tears which she had to find her kerchief and dry. “if you were anywhere but on the stage, darling,” said he, hesi- tatingly, “i would do so gladly, and without hesitation, for then i could be sure of myself, be sure of you. but eddie, darling. i'm – i'm afraid of show girls, i — i’m almost afraid of you because you are on the stage.” she sat up straight now and looked hard at him, then she got to her feet and he stood, too. “but i'm not a show girl in the sense you mean it, sidney, dear. until a year ago when i went out with mantan, i had never been on any stage. i had never even thought of going on one. so you see, darling, i can't be called a show girl in the sense you mean it.” “i hope you understand the kind i mean. the stupid kind, playing up to some cheap white man who has produced the show — not always having produced it, just hanging around it. the kind who are ready, ever to play up to such men, go out with them, to bed with them, laboring under a vain theory that he's going to ‘do something’ for her, and as a result she starts ‘doing something' for him, first. i mean that kind, i've seen them, and i've met them. in the matter of a show, they seem to be always around, pawing over that trash. they anger me, they humiliate and lower the standard of our race and i want no part of such. that, dear eddie, is why i've never hung around stage doors and run after show girls, as they say. i am so completely opposed to so much that goes on backstage with many of these shows until that aversion has become an obsession. i may be wrong, but if i got to liking you, as i am beginning to, and then sooner or later i came to catch or meet you pawing over some old white man, as, i said, i've seen so many of our girls do, i'd feel like killing you and myself, even for having let myself fall for you, understand?” “i do, darling, and i don't blame you at all. if you ever caught me doing anything like that, i hope you would kill me then and there, for i'm a nice girl, sidney. i've never done anything like that and i can assure you, i never will. now are you satisfied ?” he nodded, but not too enthusiastically. she saw now that his con- victions and his prejudices, when asserted, were deep, and any girl who won his love would have to be a serious girl, and above all, the case of mirs. wingate a moral girl and even edrina knew that not all the girls who worked in shows, night clubs and cabarets were so ecstatic. - “there could be something in what you just said, dear,” he was saying now. “and you wouldn't have to be — be bad just because you're in a show as so many show girls are. i know some girls on the stage who are as nice as many girls raised in the best of homes. but it is so often and so commonly said by white men who work around negro shows, and produce them, that they can have any colored girl they want. that is what makes it hard for me to — get interested in any show girl. but now i am interested in you. i hope, from the way i am talking, dear, that you don't think i'm a nicey, nicey, boy. i simply don't want to get interested in any old loose girl, if i know what i’m doing. in fact, i won't let myself become so interested.” “i’m a kind of girl who tries to be sensible, sidney, and no sen- sible girl would let herself become careless as you've just explained. i understand. no good man's going to fall for any loose, bad girl. he may run around with them, play around with them, take all they're silly enough to offer which in most cases is everything, but when he gets ready to marry, he looks right over their heads and doesn't see any of them at all.” “i believe you, edrina. right now i think you're a fine, intelligent and sweet kind of girl and i do like you. i could soon learn to like you much more. but if you stayed on the stage, matters might not always continue as they now are. shows experience varying forms of fortune, often misfortune. and when they get into these bad breaks, that is when a girl might be persuaded to try save the show often at the expense of her good name. i hope that doesn't happen to you while i’m liking you. but there are angles that do not include having white men and being common. i'm thinking of the first day i met you.” he seemed reflective now, thinking back those few weeks before. “the first day?” she said, also reflectively. “yes, edrina, that first day. i’m thinking of how you kept talking about the stage; kept insisting, as it were, of how you liked it. you — ” “but — but,” she cut him off quickly, to argue. “that, sidney, was before i met you, knew you — before you entered my life. before i could know that i was going to — like you.” she looked up at him so sweetly here, so appealingly that his heart for the moment went out the case of mirs. wingate to her, and he smiled down into her face, kissed her quickly and as he looked at her and continued to listen, she went on: “isn't it possible that in such a case, i might become subject to change? by which i mean that if you began to like me seriously and — didn't want me to stay on the stage, i might quit?” “that would be provincial, and i am not provincial, and i’m still not rich.” “not rich? i didn't say anything about—money, dear,” she looked up into his face and did not understand. “after all, edrina, acting is an art, a very fine art. if a girl has real talent and was able by her acting, or singing or dancing, to ul- timately get somewhere, it would be provincial for some man to make her give it up just to please him.” “i’m listening, sidney, but i confess that i don't know what you're getting at,” said she. “i’ll get to it in time, and then you will understand. if a girl has real talent, and is ambitious as i can see that you are, the thing to do would be to produce a show for her. that would mean financing it and managing it and so controlling it that a dear wife would not be exposed to temptation and be forced to — yes, sell her body for the benefits of some white man who'd tell her he had somebody who would, per- haps, bank-roll the show if some particular girl in the show would be nice to him.” “oh,” she breathed, and looked away, then up at him. “i see what you mean now.” “i am not rich enough to produce a show. in fact, i am not in- terested in stage shows, unless it would be a big broadway grosser — but show business is not on my mind. for the present i am in the book business, a publisher. the kind of a girl i would be happy to fall in love with, if such happened, would be a nice, educated and intelligent girl who would be satisfied to marry me and let me place her in a com- fortable apartment in new york and just be happy to be my wife and look after me. that's the limit of my social ambition now. i’ve met and like you and you're in love with the stage, perhaps you expect, at least hope, to go places on it.” he relaxed now and sighed. “that's why i don't know just how to feel about you. you seem to have all i want, but you're on the stage, you like it, you say you'd leave it if i wanted you to, at least that is what you imply. but if the case of mrs. wingate you still like the stage and had to quit just to please me, that wouldn't leave me in such a favorable light, in your estimation, now would it?” “no, darling,” she said, slowly. “it would not.” he drew her to him, and squeezed her. she liked it and looked up in his face so kindly, until he was moved to say: “but listen, edrina, you don't know, may even never know, how hungry my heart is and has been for so long until i can hardly re- member how long, for the love of a good woman. a love like that can often do so much for a man, can spur him onward, possibly before the end, to dizzy and successful heights. that is what so many men's wives have done for them and the men have been glad to say, every day, publicly and otherwise. ‘whatever success i seem to have achieved, it has been my wife who has inspired it.” how many men, and god only knows how many, have despaired, felt they could go no further and were ready to give up and quit, but their wives would not let them. they believed in their men and insisted and gave them no peace, so they tried again and maybe again and again, until in the end, complete success, security and happiness, and it is a fine thing in such a case to feel that some one near you, like a wife, made you do it. “i guess this all sounds, to negroes anyhow, who have failed too often as men of destiny, fantastic and foolish, and why am i saying all this now? it's not the time and place. i came here to take you out to a restaurant, where all show girls want to be taken after the show. as it is, i’ve given you a lecture in philosophy. so let me relax, honey, and let's get going and forgive me.” as he finished, he looked down into her eyes and indulged in a big, broad smile. she smiled, too. “thank you, darling,” she said and raised her lips. drawing her close he kissed her with a resounding smack, and, swinging her around, opened the door, she turned when outside and locked it behind them, and together they went down the dimly lighted stage hallway, down a flight of stairs, around a corner and out into a washington night. getting into his car, they turned into florida avenue, around a corner and back into new jersey avenue and away to a restaurant, which he knew served good food. carris ix he schultz’s had completed the furnishing of their apart- ment and were comfortably settled and heinrich had been down to meet other nazi spies, and had a long conversation with hans schiller, new york agent and was asked to keep in touch with schiller constantly, since something sensational was expected to break at any time. “how're you coming along with the colored picture? the one to show the colored people how the sheeny's are taking them for a ride?” - “to be frank about it, schiller,” said schultz, “i haven’t taken the matter up with early, my negro contact man since i arrived.” “ought to get right on it, schultz. as i see it, a powerful motion picture showing just how they are being systematically exploited by these kykes should prove timely to stir things up in the colored sections.” “it’s a sure way to start them on a campaign of destruction. the jews run more than half of all the business in the negro sections here, chicago, detroit, philadelphia, baltimore and washington and other spots,” said schultz. “a finely directed picture, filmed in the form of a good melo- drama would prove about the most powerful single instrument to- wards inspiring some good race riots all over the country, that. i can think of. how do the colored people feel about the way they're treated here in new york?” asked schiller. “seem to be contented as far as i can see. my folks, you see, aren't inclined to bother much if nobody bothers them.” - “that's why a good picture, the kind early has outlined, ought to get them started into action. what about this fellow wyeth, who's to make it. does he hate jews?” “i haven’t taken the matter up with kermit, but i will. he and his lady friend are having dinner at our apartment tomorrow, and i'll the case of mrs. wingate take it up with him at that time,” said schultz, rising. schiller rose and followed him to the door. “do that as quickly as possible, schultz, and let me hear from you. the whole group of us are interested.” “you’ll hear from me no later than next week, i promise.” “okeh, schultz and so long.” “so long, hans.” bertha, who took pride in the fact that she was both a good house- keeper and cook, had prepared a sumptous dinner to entertain kermit early and mrs. wingate. heinrich, who was domestically inclined, was helping her and she had a chance to ask him something that had been on her mind. “this mrs. wingate, heinrich,” she began. “just who is she and what is her relations with mr. early?” “she's his girl friend.” - “oh, his girl friend. m-m. a southerner?” “yes. from atlanta.” “isn't that a bit—unusual? a white woman, and a southerner, friendly with a-colored man?” heinrich shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “understand they've been going together for a long time,” he said. “they seem to have a perfect understanding and appear to be very fond of each other,” said bertha, as she hurried about her work. “something a bit strange about the whole thing. it seems they've been going together for years, many years. i have a feeling that she put him through school.” “i wouldn't be surprised,” said she. “he doesn't say much about it, and i hesitate to butt in and ask him, but i did gather from a conversation with him and other things that i've managed to piece together, that they knew each other as kids in a little town in georgia. of course they didn't get very far down there, but later on in atlanta, he went to work for her.” “is she-a married woman?” “so i understand. husband's a rich textile man in atlanta—owns a string of mills all over the southeast.” “great goodness,” exclaimed bertha in amazement. “and he lets her come to new york to see—a negro man, stop at the same hotel, the case of mrs. wingate d—” z “—live together in the same rooms.” “whew i’’ cried bertha. “this is a strange case.” schultz smiled and shook his head. “and as far as i can see, she's very fond of him.” “crazy about him! it's her money, i'm sure, that has been behind him for years.” “you know,” said bertha, putting a roast into the oven, “i caught her looking at me a bit oddly the night we arrived, while we were visiting with them in the hotel.” “jealous, i bet,” heinrich laughed. “i don’t think she need be.” “kermit has too much sense to play around with his bread and butter.” “have you spoken to him about mr. wyeth yet?” “haven't had time, but i plan to when they call tonight.” “hasn't he said anything about it? how mr. wyeth feels about it, if he'll do the picture?” “i’ve a suspicion that he hasn't consented to, otherwise, even as busy as we all have been, i think kermit would have said something about it.” - “especially when he is so anxious about it. who wrote the story? it is to have a story? “by all means. kermit wrote the story.” “it should be interesting. he's had lots of experience along the lines he is working, and with such a thorough education.” “he’s a ph.d.” “now, kermit, how are you coming along with the picture?” said schultz after they had dined and retired to the parlor to smoke and talk, the night of bertha's dinner.” all eyes were turned on early, who answered, with a bit of embarrassment. “i have only had one short and one longer talk with wyeth since i arrived?” said kermit, a bit evasively. “and p” “he doesn't seem to share our views with regards the jews.” “you mean, that he – is not altogether agreeable to — making the picture?” “we really haven’t gotten to the bottom of the deal yet. i saw him the case of mirs. wingate twice and the last time, talked at some length regarding the matter.” “what did he say?” “oh,” said kermit, a bit uncomfortably, “he argued that he wasn't a red, that he didn't hate jews; didn't go in for hating anybody and all that.” - “pardon me for making a suggestion, mr. early,” said bertha. “but if he isn't agreeable to doing it, couldn't you — get somebody else to direct and produce it?” “that's the trouble,” spoke up mrs. wingate, as if coming to kermit's rescue. “as i understand it, this sidney wyeth is the only man capable of directing the picture, effectively. i've read the script and it is deep, the story, far-reaching and intense. as i see it, it would take a most intelligent director to bring it to life on the screen and make a realistic picture.” t bertha looked at her brother, who shook his head, obviously dis- appointed. “it’s a picture that only a negro could direct, effectively, bertha,” said schultz, with a look at his sister. “i hear you, all of you, speaking about the man wyeth. just who is he?” inquired bertha, looking from first one then to the other. “he’s a negro with terrific imagination and an uncanny insight into negro life in general,” explained kermit. “he is also an author. has written a fine novel which i found so very interesting.” “a writer, too,” exclaimed bertha. “i’d like to read his book. i wonder where i can get a copy?” “at any book store, i guess,” said mrs. wingate. “no, florence,” said kermit. “he hasn't pushed it through book- stores. if she wants to read it, i'll get a copy and bring it to miss schultz from his office. i saw a whole stack there the other day.” “where is the office?” said bertha. kermit told her. “then i'll go there and get a copy of it myself. maybe i'll get to meet him and see what kind of a man this is that all of you seem so interested in.” “he’s out of town,” said kermit. “i called there today and the girl said he was away.” “then if there is somebody at the office, i could get a copy, the case of mrs. wingate anyhow p' inquired bertha, looking at early. “mr. schultz,” suggested mrs. wingate at this point. all turned to look at her. “i told kermit the other night, that i thought it would be a good idea in the event kermit and you were unable to persuade mr. wyeth to do the picture, to send bertha to see him. sometimes a pretty woman — ” “why, mrs. wingate,” exclaimed bertha, blushing modestly. mrs. wingate raised a hand. “such a pretty girl like you, miss schultz — ” “oh, mrs. wingate, no.” “no?” said mrs. wingate, turning to look at her in surprise “oh, i didn't mean that i wouldn't go. i'm glad and willing to try do anything my brother and mr. kermit asks me to. i objected to your calling me beautiful. that's what i meant.” mrs. wingate relaxed and smiled. then looking around. “i don’t think we will need to argue about that. the gentlemen present, i am sure, will agree with what i said.” she turned to bertha and smiled patronizingly, while bertha blushed, furiously. in washington at about this same hour, sidney wyeth, by ar- rangement with edrina the night before, had agreed to wait for her after the show in his car around the corner from the howard theatre. it was a pleasant night and wyeth was glad when he recognized her footsteps and her voice as she hurried to the car. after making her comfortable in the big, soft, cushioned seat he crawled under the wheel beside her, and turned to her. “now, sweetheart,” he said, “instead of going to a hot, stuffy and noisy restaurant tonight, how about some good, old time barbecue, some ice-cold beer, and a ride into the country to eat and drink.” “oh, that'll be too sweet for words,” she exclaimed, clasping her hands joyfully. - a half hour later found them drawing to a stop, deep in a soft- shaded woodland, into a glade, as it were, where the moon looked down upon them with a smile. it was a night for romance, a spot for lovers. “isn't this spot just too beautiful for words,” cried edrina, looking around and up into the shadows of mighty oaks, through the leaves of which floated a soft breeze. turning her eyes to him now, she placed the case of mrs. wingate a hand on his arm, looked up into his eyes, softly, and cried: “really, sidney, i — i believe you are really romantic after all.” “oh, no, sweetheart,” he protested. “i am not and never could be. but i can appreciate nature and beauty — and a very lovely girl” — and he kissed her quickly. “now let's eat our barbecue and drink the beer before it gets warm.” through, a few minutes later, he turned to edrina. “edrina p” “yes, sidney,” she answered softly, giving him her undivided attention. “right now i'd like to forget the serious side of life and play at — making love.” “why, sidney,” she exclaimed, looking up at him, her eyes wide with well-affected surprise. then relaxed as quickly, and came closer. “why play at it, dear? why not live it, feel it, say it?” pausing, she looked up into his face expectantly. he placed an arm about her waist, whereupon she got closer and made it easier for him. “i do want to, edrina. i’d really like to, so much.” he said, his face serious. “then please, sidney,” she said, grasping his hand and holding it and stroking it, “do go ahead,” she breathed more than said. he drew her close and kissed her, he squeezed her, then kissed her again. she sighed deeply, passionately, her hand resting on his shoulder. “this is heaven, sidney, heaven. there is so much — feeling in your kisses, so much — passion!” she closed her eyes, and seemed to just dream. “i wish i dared admit that it is love, edrina.” “oh, sidney, what else can you call it?” “i don’t know, edrina.” “you’ve taken life and everything that went with it so seriously all your life, dear, that you are really afraid of love when it comes to you.” - “i’m not afraid of love, edrina. i'm afraid of the stage. i've been thinking about that all day long; ever since i left you last night.” “but you do like me, don't you, sidney? a little at least?” he looked down at her. . “if i spoke the way i feel, edrina, i would say much more than that.” the case of mirs. wingate “then why don't you, sidney? why do you pause and hesitate? i explained all about that last night, didn't i?” at this he frowned, then went on: “i — i think, or feel, we should go slower, get to understand each other better before we get too deeply into the emotional side. don't you think so, dear.” “i do, sidney.” “now getting right down to facts, i must appreciate that you're on the stage and that you like it, am i right?” - “y-yes, i guess so,” she managed to say, uncertainly, and waited. “the fact that you have spent only one season there and didn't get stranded or have to go hungry as is so often the case, is very important to remember.” - “how so?” “there's a tragedy connected with the stage that may be awaiting every one who is ambitious to become a part of it. for instance, you like the stage; you've had just a taste of it and you want more,” he said, thoughtfully, gazing into space. “what's all this got to do with us, sidney. you and — me?” “plenty, edrina. it'll explain itself in time. please be patient.” looking at him, she sighed a bit, impatiently. “howard put you on the stage and you're grateful to him for having done so. you should be. in view of the way you feel about it, that is only right and proper; the way you should feel.” turning to him, this time more impatiently. “why are you saying all this, sidney?” “i’m coming to something. i'll arrive there presently and then you'll understand,” he said. making herself comfortable and as patient as she could, she sighed lightly again and listened. “go on, sweetheart.” “getting back to donald, you're more than grateful to him.” she is forced to turn now and look at him, a question in her eyes. he seemed to want to annoy her now; to upset her calm, as it were. was it because he was telling a truth that didn't seem to her necessary, and that she'd rather not hear? “now returning to the stage and as i have said, you like it and you're hoping to go places on it.” - “well ?” - the case of mirs. wingate - “there's something more, and it is more serious, but i won't go that far now. i'll just wait and cross that bridge when i get to it. now i'll explain about my side of it.” “yes, sidney.” “i don't want to go liking some girl then find out after sober con- sideration that she is not altogether free.” “free ?” “that's what i mean, edrina. you are not free as far as i’m con- cerned, by which i mean that it might not be wise for me to let myself get to liking you — i mean, seriously.” turning to him again, she said. “won't you come right out and say what you mean, sidney, and quit beating about the bush?” “i mean that if i let myself go to liking you, say, a lot, in time i might want you all for myself. i might even want to marry you.” she turned to him quickly, now, her eyes lit up with a glad joy. a happiness mingled with hope but restrained by fear. she said just one word then, but a word that had a world of meaning. “well . . . .” “if i wanted a wife, i’d want one who would be at home when i returned from a hard day's work, at the end of a day.” again she uttered just another word, the same as before. “well . . . .” “but in love with the stage, all ambitious to go places on it, you might not be at home when i got there. you might be here or a hun- dred places far away. anyway, you might not be at home to greet and welcome me, and that, then, edrina, would not be a home; it’d simply be a place to go.” she understood what he was getting at now. “oh,” she cried. “that is what i mean, edrina. i admit that it may sound a bit selfish and i'm sorry. but i've done some planning, maybe a lot of planning and in all my planning, i’ve pictured a wife who would be at home when i returned with open arms and passionate lips to greet me, to welcome me; with the home clean, and neat and cozy; with tasty food cooked, hot and steaming ready to serve me.” and again she cried, ecstatically. “oh . . . .” “now that could hardly be possible, with a wife off traipsing the case of mrs. wingate around with a show, and i have no interest whatever in the kind of show, yet would have to put up with it and her being with it out of consideration to her in order to get along. so now do you see, edrina, what it can all add up to?” “i see sidney and i understand, but i also see and understand that you're not through yet. you have more to say, so go on while you're at it and say it all. say everything you're thinking about — get it off your chest.” “there isn't much more, he said. “in plain words, i don't think it wise for me to go falling in love with a show girl. i want to be happy with the girl i marry. i want to just think and feel that she's every- thing in the world to me and while i realize that it is hardly possible for a man and woman to fully agree about everything, i do hope that my wife and i are agreeable as to the fundamentals of life to- gether. and that first wish is for her to be home at all times and she couldn't be there and off with some old show, too. naturally, under those circumstances, i'd expect to provide that home and supply the means to keep it comfortable so as to have it the way i wanted it. and that, edrina, is what i mean.” “you are completely within your rights, sidney, a man's rights. and yet, in spite of all you say, you are, i think, a bit strange about the whole thing.” “i think the word ‘practical' would fit better.” “maybe, then, i am not practical,” she said, testingly, “if that's what you mean.” “that is another thing i dislike about show people and show work. it fires them with fantastic illusions; makes them forget the essential things in life, and replaces it with an illusion, which so often turns out to be a delusion” he said, with a frown. she looked at him. “as for instance?” “we’ve all got to eat, provide a place to sleep, buy clothes to wear, pay rent and a thousand other things. we cannot do this on illusions.” “well?” “i’ve seen no end of actors slip out on room rent; they seem espe- cially fond of jumping board bills. beating people too poor to afford it, so poor most times until it is pitiful. these performers have talked, sold them an illusion about big things, big applause, forty weeks work, big pay and got them so enthused until they trust the man and look the case of mrs. wingate forward to some of these big things the performers are going to do, to happen—only to wake up some morning to find the actor, and all the illusions, gone with the night.” “you are certainly hard on performers,” she said. “not hard on them; only on the things they do and that they are given to doing so much until i can seem to hear it echoing all around me. as i said, if and when i marry, the thing i would want to think of first is a place to take this wife, a place to set her down and provide for her.” - “oh, would you, sidney,” she cried, grasping his hand. “why of course i would, edrina. what else would i be expected to do?” - “then sidney,” she cried, sort of crawling upon him, “if you said you loved me, you'd — ask me to — marry you and then you'd set me up in a nice apartment — and all that?” “i’d try to, edrina. in fact, i would.” “then speak, sidney, say it now,” she cried, as close to him as she could get. he smiled down at her paternally, then kissed her. “oh, edrina, we can't just rush into anything so important, so serious and all that in a hurry. without going around together for awhile, to see if we can get along, see if we are temperamentally suited to each other in many ways, otherwise, our wedding night and our honeymoon might all be broken up with quarrels; of ‘well, i thought so and so and you ought to have done this, or that.' no, dear, i’ve lived too long to let what might be only an infatuation, turn into a tragedy.” “there it goes again,” she sighed, and relaxing, slumped back into her seat. “why can't we just love and be happy and let responsibilities wait until later. you're so serious until you incline to spoil things,” she sighed, complainingly. “and there is even more to consider than what i’ve said, edrina,” he said. she looked up at him, divided now between tears and anger. “even more than what, sidney?” “it’s about — howard.” she straightened in surprise, this time glared at him. “about howard well, what about him?” “a whole lot. i — i think you're — in love with him.” “i — am — what?” she started and cried out, shocked-like. she moved away so that she could get a better look at him. “i’m — in — the case of mrs. wingate love with howard!” he reached over and patted her. “there, there, now.” he said, consolingly. “don’t get so excited. still, and i repeat, i think you are in love with him.” she sighed deeply, placed her hands on her hips, glared at him this time without restraint and exhaled: “well, people!” “you're shocked because — it is possible that you didn't even know it yourself. it might not have even occurred to you that you were.” looking hard at him, she shook her head sadly, hopelessly. “haven't you been going around with him ever since he put you in the show?”. relaxing a bit, she is forced to think a moment, then admit. “well, yes, but i'm not in love with the man, never have been and never will be.” “are you sure?” he said, looking at her so closely that she is forced to flinch and turn her eyes away, sigh deeply, and shake her head as if to say, “what more?” “you’ve been quite contented while going around with him; you haven't quarreled or fought as most show people do.” “sidney, please don't be ridiculous!” she cried, exasperatingly placing her fists on her hips. “you’re still going with him, aren't you? not unhappy while in his company, are you?” “but i tell you sidney wyeth, i do not love the man! isn't that enough?” “it would be — if you meant it,” he argued. “maybe you even think you do. then maybe-” and he broke off and paused, thoughtfully. “maybe,” she repeated, looking hard at him. then “maybe — what?” - - “howard has something to say about it . . . “now what do you mean?” she said, frowning impatiently. he smiled amusedly, still seemed a bit hard around the corners of his mouth as he looked at her. - “i’ve been told that howard is not a marrying man. he's past and he's never married any woman yet. still, he's the great lover. so sedate and agreeable, so easy for a woman to like. i call him the little prince.” she turned to glare at him, closed her mouth tight, then opened the case of mirs. wingate it again to cry: “you've become not only ridiculous but utterly impossible. please drive me back to town.” he was silent now, but turned to look at her. he felt that he hadn't handled it as he ought to have. that he should have been a bit more discreet. he was a bit sorry that he had said all he did. “i’m sorry, dear,” he said, stepping on the starter. he backed the car up and turning around, started back to washington. glancing at her, he could see that she was angry and kept her gaze straight ahead. he sighed, increased the speed, and the huge car dashed through th night. - chapter . k - arie coleman was busy, typing a letter at her desk, and had just finished when the door opened softly. she looked up and then started, perceptibly. for therein stood one of the most beautiful girls she thought she had ever seen. it was bertha schultz. she paused as marie looked at her and registered surprise, then got to her feet. bertha took a step forward and closing the door behind her, spoke. “pardon me,” she said, pleasantly, “but is this the office of mr. sidney wyeth?” - “it is,” replied marie, courteously, pleasantly. “won't you come in and — ” paused to look around, eyes fall upon a chair, to which she pointed: “be seated?” “thank you,” said bertha, and marie thought that her voice was as beautiful as her face, as perfect as her figure. - she came close enough now for marie to feel her presence. “i am interested in a book, wheh i understand mr. wyeth has written. is this the place where it is published?” - “yes,” replied marie. “this is the place. would you—lke a copy?" “i would very much, thank you,” replied bertha. “the price, please?” marie told her and went for a copy, bringing it forward and showing it to her. “my, how beautiful,” cried bertha, as she took and began to examine it. - “thank you.” said marie. “everybody admires it. shall i—wrap it?” holding her hand out for it. - “no, no, thank you. i want to sketch through it. i’m sure i’m going to enjoy reading it very much.” “i’m sure you will. meantime, please be seated.” marie pushed a chair forward and rewarded her with a pleasant smile. bertha sat down. the case of mrs. wingate "on second thought, i think i'll take an additional copy, if you don't mind.” “we'll be delighted, thanks.” marie went for the other copy. “and you may wrap that copy, please.” “sure,” called marie, and proceeded to do so, returning presently with it wrapped and sealed. bertha counted out the money for both copies. “i want to send this one to a friend,” said bertha. “that'll be nice, i'm sure,” said marie. bertha smiled, sweetly. marie smiled back at her and sitting down, hoped that the other wouldn't hurry. who was the girl she thought. didn't seem like a new yorker, nor any other girl she knew; had ever known — and so pretty, my! she found herself saying this over and over again, daring to look at her out of admiring eyes. she was speaking now, and handing her a card, which marie gladly took. “here is my card. my name is bertha schultz. i have just returned to — america, and i’d like to talk to you, if you don't mind.” marie looked at the card again. it was engraved, and as rich as the name written there was beautiful. “thank you,” said marie, rising and bowing. bertha acknowledged by rising and bowing. they were both standing now. “my name is marie coleman,” and marie reached into her desk and found her card. it was not engraved, and she felt a bit cheap. all cards should be engraved. she would have some engraved as quickly now as she had a chance. meantime. “i’m glad to meet you, miss schultz,” said marie. “my compliments to you, miss coleman.” “thank you,” said marie. they both sat down again. “you’ve been — abroad, miss schultz?” “i have, miss coleman, attending school,” replied bertha. “oh, that is wonderful. do you know when you entered, i got the impression that you, well, i don't know why i felt the way i did exactly,” said marie, “but i was sure you were not a new yorker and — for that matter, not from anywhere else that i could think of. so i was right. you've been abroad, attending school. where, may i ask?” “of course. at the sorbonne in paris, more recently.” “at the sorbonne in france! my, magnificent! and you attended the case of mrs. wingate some other school over there, before that?” “i’m a graduate of heidelberg.” “heidelberg my, my, but you have been attending schools, all right, such great schools.” bertha smiled. marie looked at her with un- expressible admiration. no wonder, she thought now, she had been so greatly impressed. it seemed to stand out, such extended educa- tion, in the girl's every move, every expression. and with all that, she seemed like a nice girl, an agreeable sort of person. she knew she was going to like her. - “i’ll be glad to talk to you, miss schultz,” she said, relaxing com- fortably, as she waited for the other to speak. bertha was inspecting the book again and seemed pleased. she looked up at marie, and reminded marie of schumann-heink, dead a long time, but as marie studied her, she kept thinking and comparing her with the great german soprano. held her head like schumann-heink had, was re- fined, possessed everything, she thought, that training, educa- tion and good manners could give a person. recalling her words, marie thought, and recalled now, that the girl had a slight german accent. she wondered if she was part german. it was obvious to marie that one of her parents was german, and she suspected if so, it must have been her mother, she didn't look like the offspring of a colored mother by a white man, not in america. she was sure she was not. “looks like it might be interesting. i shall start reading it as quickly as i return home. meanwhile,” and she looked up at marie. “i was going to inquire for it at the bookstores, some bookstore downtown, then was told that i might get a copy at the office. since that was closer and handier i came here and am glad now that i did.” - “i’m glad you did, too,” smiled marie. “isn't the book on sale at most of the book shops?” “no, miss schultz, it is not?” “is not?” she looked down at the book again, turned the jacket back, admired the attractive binding with “my, how pretty. every- thing about it is pretty, so well gotten up in every way, nice print, easy to read, yet not large and unsightly.” “thank you. mr. wyeth, the author, has good taste about every- thing he does. he personally supervised the layout in addition to writ- ing the book,” said marie. “indeed! mr. wyeth must be an interesting man.” the case of mes. wingate “i think so,” replied marie. “is he – related to you?” inquired bertha. shaking her head: “no,” said marie. “i just work for him.” “oh.” and bertha looked down at the book again. “i would like to know why the book is not on sale at all the shops, if you don't mind?” - - “i don't mind telling you, but hope you'll understand when i do.” “i’ll try to, i assure you,” said bertha, looking at her. “first, mr. wyeth has not been to them and tried to get them to stock it.” - “i — ” bertha started, but broke off. then after a pause decided to go on. “i was hoping that i might meet the author, since this is his office.” - “mr. wyeth is out of town.” “out of town,” exclaimed bertha. her expression showed how keenly she was disappointed. “oh i'm so sorry.” “i am, too,” said marie. “i’m sure that he would be glad to meet you, too.” “thank you,” said bertha, and smiled appreciatively. “will he be gone very — long?” there was a note of anxiety in her tone. “i really couldn't say, miss schultz. mr. wyeth is a bit un- predictable. he leaves most times suddenly and without saying any- thing, or where he is going, and may return the same way.” “so sorry,” sighed bertha. “this is his real name, then, is it not?” “yes,” said marie. “plain sidney wyeth. no middle name. he's very plain and unassuming.” “is he?” “yes,” replied marie. “and if i do have to say it myself, he's a very fine man. i’ve worked for him for many years, so i think i should know.” “you should, and i’m sure you do,” said bertha. “i’m glad to hear you say that. now i’ll know what to — expect.” marie lost her smile for a moment. wonder overspread her face instead. bertha looked up and saw it. “oh, you're wondering what my interest could be, aren't you? well, none in particular. mostly curiosity. i've never met a colored author.” “i guess not. we haven't very many. in fact, very few active in the case of mrs. wingate writing, none at all in the publishing field.” “no p” said bertha. marie shook her head. “no, i thigh mr. wyeth is about the only one, and his novel there, is the first one by a negro author to be published in quite a long time, at least three or four years.” “indeed p” “i’m afraid so. our people haven't gone in for writing so much for quite a long time. there are quite a number of new books about the negro, a novel or two in the lot but they’ve all been written by white people.” “is that so?” said bertha, and seemed much surprised. marie looked at her. as highly educated as she obviously was, why didn't she know. - “you didn’t know p” she asked. “i’ve been in europe for so long until i am — a bit out of touch with conditions in america.” “oh, i understand.” “otherwise i should know some of the things you're forced to tell me,” said bertha and smiled. t “not exactly. having been through two great schools and all the studying it must have taken,” said marie, “you couldn't have had much time to keep acquainted with conditions in america.” “that is it,” said bertha quickly relieved. she didn't want to have to say too much about herself, and nothing about what she and her brother were in america to do, of course. still she was curious and being by nature an ambitious, serious-minded sort of person, she was anxious to learn much — a very great deal. “we were discussing colored authors and what they are doing in america at this time,” she said. “exactly nothing—that is, almost nothing,” said marie. “i’d like to know. could you tell me, perhaps, why?” marie shrugged her shoulders. “that's why i'd like you to meet mr. wyeth. he's wonderfully well-informed. in fact, one of the most informed men in america about most anything you can think about, talk about. he could tell you anything and about everything you’d like to know, and especially as regards our group.” “that's why i wanted to meet him.” the case of mirs. wingate “anything that i know and can tell you about is due to my close association with him, otherwise i might not know half as much.” “i think you're very well informed and most interesting, too,” said bertha. marie smiled appreciatively. “we were talking about colored authors. you didn't finish telling me,” said bertha. “no,” said marie. “i didn't because there is so very little to tell. we have several columnists on the colored papers. i don't go in much for column reading, so don't know much about what they write. am sure it is interesting, however, else the newspapers wouldn't keep publishing what they write, week after week.” “how many colored men and women, would you say, are depend- ing on what they write for their living,” inquired bertha. “mr. wyeth is the only one i know,” said marie. - “it doesn't seem possible , , , and no more than one—at most two or three—receiving sufficient royalties to live on ?” said bertha in surprise. “the word “royalty' is greek to negroes. we have several music writers and recording artists who might know what the word means,” said marie. “but that would be all.” “it's really deplorable,” said bertha, shaking her head sadly. - “such amazing deficiency.” - “i’m forced to agree with you. but assisting mr. wyeth in the sel- ling of his book, i know much more about books and that they are writing practically nothing at all along that line.” “and again i’d like to know why?” said bertha. and again marie shrugged her shoulders. “i don't know, miss schultz. i do know that they are not making many serious attempts, either. mr. wyeth and i discuss it frequently. he says that, as a whole, the negro isn't a very interesting writer, beyond negro history, some kind of poetry and essays, because he is too academic. many are calling themselves anthropologists. they write a great deal about the origin and development of mankind, especially of man hundreds and thousands of years ago, which they learned in school, but seem to know little about the man in the street today, his idiosyncrasies and all that. but of how to make a dollar in a coun- try that is strictly capitalistic, and where the possession of wealth, the - case of mes. wingate measured in dollars and cents is the role, and has been since the coun- try was founded, he knows exactly nothing.” “too academic, i can see,” commented bertha. “entirely too aca- demic for his own good,” and she shook her head sadly. “to write what people will buy and read, the first thing is to know people, living, breathing and moving around people; people of today,” quoted marie. “and to know people, mr. wyeth says, you've got to meet people, study people, find out what they are thinking, learn all about what they are doing, how they do it. he calls many of our educated negroes, “academic idiots,” whereupon bertha burst into laughter. “you sure have to and that is what i mean when i quote mr. wyeth as explaining the negro's failure. he doesn't study people, he's not in trade, commerce or industry. he doesn't produce much if anything worth-while, so when he attempts to write it is mostly from an aca- demic point of view. in other words, he has acquired all he knows in school, or most of it, anyhow, and schools cannot very well teach you what to write about when people want to know about people.” “so you don't think the colored people — our people.” bertha corrected herself. she knew that it would be best in speaking of negroes to refer to them as ours and us instead of as somebody else, “are succeeding very well as writers.” “a large share of our educated group, who depend on teaching and white collar work, have tried to educate themselves into success, by either remaining in school, or by going back and acquiring one degree after another until, loaded down with degrees, as mr. wyeth puts it, and starving to death, he does not, unfortunately, seem to know much of anything at all.” “that is most unfortunate,” commented bertha, and shook her head sadly. “just what do they produce, anyhow?” “arguments, mostly,” said marie and laughed. bertha was forced to join her. “and trade and commerce, what do they sell; what do they have to sell ?” “religion mostly,” said marie, humorously. “they sell religion from every angle, retail, wholesale, in the basement, attic, on the street, everywhere. it's the biggest stock in trade with them, heaven, religion and heaven.” -- *- - - - - - * ºf the case of mrs. wingate “by all means, miss schultz,” exclaimed marie, sincerely. “i want you to come by again, as often as you want to. i've enjoyed talking to you so much and am sure we have much more to talk about, now that we are acquainted. so come by any day, every day that is con- venient for you to. in that way, sooner or later you'll have to catch mr. wyeth in.” “thanks for the invitation, and don't be surprised and above all, annoyed, if you see me again soon — sooner if it wasn't that i am going to plunge right into this book and i’ll probably have it read by this time tomorrow.” both laughed. “i am anxious for you to come back and meet mr. wyeth. when he finds a person interesting, he will ask plenty of questions. i can't do that, ask people so many questions, so much about themselves, but he can. i would, however, like to know more about you.” “then why not ask? i shall be glad to tell you.” “oh, i will, in time; but mr. wyeth, if he finds you as interesting as i have, will ask you all about yourself right away and won't mind it. but to his credit, i can explain, he asks them in a way that you . won't mind, maybe, at least most people answer them without seeming to mind,” laughing again; they smiled at each other and bertha finally took her leave and marie listened as her footsteps died away down the hall. she went back to her chair and thought about this unusual girl, and kept on thinking about her all that day while doing her work. - ". - " - - , chapter x i yeth's taking edrina out and dining her each night after the show, was not lost on members of the cast. in fact, it had become the subject of much gossip, especially among the ladies of the chorus. in their dressing room two girls, not alto- gether fond of edrina on general principles, were having much at the moment, to say about her. “have you heard about edrina running around with sidney wyeth, the motion picture producer,” said angel, putting on her makeup, eyes in the mirror in front of her. angel was tall, tan and very shapely. mantan specialized, among other things or styles, in the tall, tantalizing kind. “i was looking out the window at maw williams when he drove her back last night,” said maude, not so tall, yet not too short but round and plump with attractive calves, goo, goo eyes, and kissable lips. before she went on the stage a few years before, maude was called the prettiest girl in deweese street, lexington, ky. on the show they called her “cutey.” “what's the low down, anyhow? edrina's donald howard gal.” said angel, wincing aloud as she pulled a long hair from her brow. “you mean was,” said maude. “i mean is,” corrected angel. “for she still is, regardless how much love sidney wyeth tries to make to her. she's crazy about that little west indian monkey and i don't mean maybe.” “perhaps you're right,” agreed maude. “anyway,” observed angel, “how come her running around with wyeth, anyhow?” - “maybe she's tryin' tu win a home. sidney wyeth has dough.” “that's the first show girl i ever saw him look at the second time. he doesn't seem to go in for us.” “ain’t it so, i’ve often wondered if he’s ‘high hat. x * x the case of mes. wingate “but gettin' back to edrina,” said angel. “yes, of course,” from maude. “i tell you she's crazy about donald howard and it's me that knows. but as you just suggested, since donald doesn't spend anything but his time, entertaining any girl, maybe edrina's decided to flirt with a home and a man who can keep it up,” said angel. “if she could land wyeth, it would mean a home and a man who could take care of her. i imagine he's the kind of man who would take care of a girl,” said maude. “lucky girl if she can. i wish he'd look at me. i’d grab him and run. anything to get out of this old show work. i'm so tired of it.” “there's no future in it at all,” sighed maude, wearily. “it’s a dog's life i tell you, and its me that knows it.” “not you, sugar,” grinned angel, shifting to the other side of her face. “me.” “we both know it,” said maude, with a sigh. “all we show girls know it.” “except edrina,” corrected angel. “she doesn't.” “yes, she does,” snapped maude. “but she's just vain. you see she had a little luck. i mean, thus far she hasn't been stranded and forced to go out and sell her yes, yes, in order to eat or get back to new york. that’s what i mean.” “and because donald howard's sorta sponsorin’ her,” said angel. “she’s fool enough to think she's goin' places.” “she is sure nuts,” laughed maude. “all donald howard's ever done except stage this cheap show for mantan, was to — ” “—rehearse,” assisted angel, cutting her off and finishing her sentence. - “rehearse is right,” laughed maude. “and how he can rehearse!” “the rehearsenist man that ever lived.” - “remember “old man evil?’” said angel. “when i rehearsed from april to october in the thing? do i remember it? you should ask me if i’d ever forget it.” “rehearsed from april to october. opened in november, ran two forced weeks, and — ” - “—closed as usual, and—” “ — without pay. and you have the nerve to ask me if i remember it!” and she laughed a hard, bitter, laugh. “you and i and a hundred the case of mrs. wingate other po'niggah puhformers, or would be performers, all too hongry to be called real, standing around the stage entrance of the old lafayette with our dispossesses, pray'n 'tu gawd we would get some money, just a little money for all our work, not counting months of rehearsals, on account of that little slick-haird shiek.” “what a night that was, aw, what a night!” sighed maude. “niggah performers was sure desperate,” said angel, retrospective- ly. “they'd have killed howard if they could have gotten their hands on him.” “all of which happened before this silly edrina got into the show business. if she'd been there with a dispossess in her hands like the most of us — ” - “ — all of us,” corrected maude. “yes, all of us. anyway, had she been, maybe she'd have some sense by now and quit dreaming.” “it's been such a long time ago, and it was such a bitter experience, until i've tried to forget it. but since you brought it up, just what happened, anyhow?” “the police had to come and escort him away. three ov'm, don't you remember?” said angel looking across at her. after puckering her eyebrows, maude perked up. “sure i do now,” she exclaimed. “three cops on motor cycles.” “sure. they put him into a taxi. then one got on each side of the taxi and the third one behind it and sailed away with that little niggah up seventh avenue,” they both laughed. “and that's how he got away,” said angel, still laughing. “now along comes this silly edrina thinking she's going places because he's behind her,” sighed maude, shaking her head sadly. “she will,” said angel, the meaning of which maude didn't catch. turning to the other, curiously. “huh?” “i said she will,” from maude humorously. “where?” “to the po'house,” laughed maude. angel laughed, too. they both laughed. “to the po'house is right,” and again both laughed. “that's why i say,” continued maude, “that if this sidney wyeth the case of mrs. wingate is serious in the attention he's paying her, and she's got any sense at all, she'd better grab him and run—” “—and keep on runnin' after she gets him; keep on runnin' until she gets out of sight and sound of show business.” “you’re tellin me,” echoed maude. “but she won't,” said angel, face more serious now. “how come?” said maude, turning again toward her. “because, she won't have sense enough. that's a colored woman, you know.” “maybe you're right,” said maude. “love and labor is our motto.” “we’ve been treated so bad and for so long until we just can't seem to be sensible when a good man comes along,” said angel, ruefully. “ain’t it the truth,” agreed maude. “what makes us that way, any- how p” “just born that way; born for bad luck and a hard time. my grand mammy says they were that way in her day; when she was a girl. she says that they were fightin' over yalluh men, givin' them their money and letting them make a fool ov'm, the same way as they're doing nowadays.” “i guess we just won't ever have any sense. now take this edrina for instance,” maude went on. “and wyeth and howard. wyeth must be liking her a little, else he wouldn't be feeding her every night and asking nothing.” “asking nothing?” inquired angel, turning to look at her. “what do you mean?” - “i mean taking her out every night and spending money on her and not going to bed with her.” “oh,” echoed angel. “don’t you think he's gettin' any of it?” “i don’t think so.” “how would you know?” “oh, i wouldn't know; but i don't think so. he drives her up to the sidewalk, kisses her good night and drives on away. that's what i see him doing, so am sure he isn't forcing her to go to bed with him.” “some man! i never seen a niggah who'd spend fifty cents on a gal if he didn't demand her to go to bed with him and — ” “ — spend the night,” laughed maude, “all night,” and both laughed. “maybe he's a — ” the case of mes. wingate “naw, he ain’t,” cried maude, quickly. “how'd you know?” “he don't act like one, don't talk like one,” said maude. “maybe he's savin’ it until he marries her.” “there are men like that.” “what do you call them, such a man?” “virtuous men,” and both broke into laughter. “they say edrina's got good stuff, too,” said angel. “they say when she puts her arms around them and begins to whine—” “aw, go on, gal,” said maude. “you’re gettin' real dirty.” “gettin' back to wyeth, and howard. if wyeth should marry her she'd still keep howard as a sweetie on the side, and in time, run a good man clear off. now watch and see if i ain't right.” “she couldn't be such a fool,” said angel deprecatingly. “but she is and it'll all be about this little old show business; i'm tellin' you. she thinks she can sing; that she's a soubrette, when all she can do is squeal right loud. but she'll fool around, tryin' to do so and by an by wyeth’ll go on about his business and let her alone.” “ain’t it too bad how some gals gets all the breaks and the rest get the boot? if ever i gets a chance to marry a good man, i wouldn't ever go running around with any no-account one, believe me.” just then somebody knocked on the door, and both started and looked around and angel called: “yes ?” “mr. mantan,” the voice called. “are you there?” “sure, mr. mantan. maude and i are both here, made up and ready to go on.” “all right,” he called back and they heard his footsteps pass on down the hall and a moment later heard him knock on the next dressing room door. carris xii eanwhile, sidney wyeth had left washington and donald howard had come down from new york and now sat in a booth, in a restaurant, across the table from edrina. “i believe wyeth likes you,” he said, toying with a fork. he pres- ently picked up a glass of water and took a sip. howard was born in the west indies, had been educated in america, had gotten away - from the usual accent, but said words with such care until one won- dered if he didn't have some monkey in him anyhow. edrina smiled, looked up at him cooquettishly, while howard went on: “there's your big chance. you may win a movie contract — and a husband at the same time.” “quit trying to kid me, donald.” “i’m not trying to kid you, edrina,” he insisted, smiling laconic- ally. edrina didn't answer. “sidney wyeth is steady, sticks to what he's doing. that's the kind of man that makes a good husband.” “but i don't think he's interested in me — at least that way,” ventured edrina. “additionally, i’m not exactly interested in pictures, anyhow. i prefer the stage first, last and all the time.” “i’ve told you that it is passing, edrina. this kind of show, especially. it's liable to break down and pass out entirely any day. the theatres we've been playing have mostly given up running stage shows. they've all gone into playing pictures exclusively.” there was a frown on howard's face as he finished. edrina felt it a good time to express a far-fetched ambition. “what's the matter with broadway? shows seem to be still popu- lar down there.” he looked up, smiled, then frowned again. “an illusion — a far-fetched illusion,” he said and laughed depre- catingly. the case of mrs. wingate “but i like illusions, donald,” smiled edrina. “to play down there has always been my ambition, the height of my ambition, of my dreams.” - - “have you got anything to sell to broadway? they're not hot for negro drama. maybe something good, dirty and low down, but noth- ing that you'd like so well.” ( “i can sing,” she said. he looked at her. “not the kind of songs they want to hear a colored girl sing on broadway. then again, shows don't stay there forever, at least all of them. they close sometimes after the first night—and a bunch of bad press notices the morning after. it's too much of a gamble,” he said, but she had ideas of her own. “but i’m from kentucky, where gambling is a virtue. i like to gamble; taking chances thrills me. since only one horse can win, we often bet on the wrong one. we kentuckians can take it, dear. we swallow our disappointment and wait until derby day rolls around again,” she persisted, with a fine gesture. but he was not impressed. “all you say is fine fiction, edrina, but in new york you have to eat, pay rent and keep going, win, lose or draw. if you lose nobody cares; but suit yourself, dearie. it's your bread, butter and future you insist on gambling with. but if you happen to throw craps, don't complain and try to say that i didn't tell you, at least try to warn you against taking chances up in the big town.” “i’m still willing to take the chance,” insisted edrina bravely. “you can get into enough trouble with a show like this, even. there's nothing sure about it. some morning you may wake up and find there's no place to play, which is what we may be confronted with before many weeks. the theatres don't want to be bothered with a lot of people backstage, fighting and demanding money, getting drunk and carrying on as they often do. i wish you wasn't enthusiastic about the stage, dear. it's too unpredictable, too uncertain.” then breaking off suddenly, he looked at his watch and started. “meantime, it's near show time and i want to see what these new people i'm putting in the show looks like before the curtain rises. let's eat this bite and get going,” and he fell to eating. wyeth had gone down into virginia to stage a campaign through the schools in several towns, so on the way back to new york in his the case of mrs. wingate car, stopped in washington, and, of course looked in on edrina. the show was due to close at the end of the week and move on west to pittsburg. donald howard had returned to new york. back stage, he was waitng for edrina to make her change. pre- sently coming from behind the screen where she made it, she stood before him smiling. at the sight of her his face lit up with sincere de- light and he exclaimed: “my, my, but you sure look nice tonight, dear.” “think so,” she said, then turned from right to left, left to right, her arms poised like a model, displaying a dress for the benefit of a customer. he looked her up and down with care, at her skirt to see if her slip might be showing. it was not. “everything is okeh, honey bunch,” he said, approvingly. “i think you're more beautiful than i have ever seen you look before tonight,” his face beaming. “jive,” she said, playfully. “but thank you for the words, never- theless.” “i mean it honestly, edrina,” he insisted. she paused thoughtfully, then raising her eyes to his. “it's the dress you like. it's new. i bought it at a store down on f street today, and have been waiting to wear it in the hope of pleasing you. so i'm glad you like it and thanks. i wish you liked me as much as you seem to like the dress.” “i do like you, edrina. i’m very fond of you. i've been thinking about you all the while i was away, and was anxious to get back where i could see you again and be with you before going on through to new york.” “you won't leave before i do, will you?” “i think i’ll have to.” - “please don't, but sit down sweetheart,” and she adjusted the single chair which was in the room. he sat down. she moved closer but stood looking straight into his eyes. - “let’s have a serious little talk before we go out, darling,” she said, and her face was serious and very sober. he looked up at her and taking her hand, pulled her down on his knee, where she nestled close to him comfortably, an arm about her waist. they exchanged a kiss, and he was emotional again, she was also, so he squeezed her. “when you begin to like a person and you go away from them the case of mrs. wingate a while, it is interesting to feel the reaction, sensational reaction,” he said. “down there in virginia where i've been, i met so many nice girls. teachers in the schools, many of whom were young and attrac- tive; they made me welcome and listened to what i talked about, bought my book, many schools, the whole faculty, that is, where they were getting any money.” “what do you mean, getting any money?” “i didn't mean any money, sweetheart. they all, of course get something. but in about half the schools the pay of the colored teachers has been put on a par with that of the whites, and in those schools they have money, were able to and did buy books, whereas in those where the old scale still obtains, where they were getting from about two-thirds down to about half the pay the white teachers are receiving, it was not so hot and i felt sorry for them and didn't mind if they didn't buy as well. i understood that they couldn't afford it, poor things. but what i started to say, dear, was that in spite of meeting a lot of young and pretty teachers, several times a day, just as quickly as i was out of their presence, i’d fall to thinking about you; at times with such violence until many times, i felt like turning around and coming back where i could see you.” “oh, my,” she cried, an arm about his neck but looking straight into his eyes, “but that thrills me. old serious-minded darling like you are, to think of me and want to come back before you were through is thrilling, dear, to say the least,” and she ended by giving him a big kiss, and squeezing him tight to her. “now tell me more about what you thought about,” she said. “i l’ke to hear it.” “i hardly know how to start, i just thought about you all the time, that's all. haven't you ever did that?” “of course i have, silly. i've been doing the same thing about you ever since you left. just thinking about you every day, every hour in the day, almost every minute in each hour.” “oh, darling, no,” he protested. “but darling, yes,” she cried. “now if you thought about me all the while you were away as you say you did, then maybe it was because you've begun to like me a little, yes?” “you mean a great deal, edrina. not just a little,” he said and seemed to mean it. he squeezed her so close now until she could feel and faintly hear the beating of his heart against hers, hers the case of mirs. wingate against his. he breathed a deep sigh. “you can feel that something, edrina, can't you?” he whispered, hoarsely. she nodded her head, then started to complain: “but you don't trust me, sidney, and that — hurts. it pains and makes me sad and unhappy, so unhappy.” she started crying now and began to feel for a kerchief. he came forward with one and dried her tears instead, meanwhile, stammering at something which she didn't seem to hear, or at least to understand. “you — you don't trust me and that's why you're holding back. i — i do believe you like me some, enough to make me happy and contented, but it makes me feel bad to think that you have distrust all mixed up with your liking, and i don’t like that.” “maybe you're right, and if that is so, i’m sorry,” he admitted. she sat straight now and using her kerchief, dabbed at her eyes. “and that's what i want to talk to you about.” he looked at her, and in doing so she was forced to meet his eyes. then suddenly with a burst of passion, he kissed her boldly, and that started it all over again. “oh, sidney,” she cried, tears starting, and her face torn up and slightly distorted, “when you do that, i — just lose all my com- posure, my control. kiss me again, you mean old darling,” and around his neck went her arms again, and the next few seconds were given up to a passionate exchange of kissing and embracing. after a time she relaxed again, and went on: “if you trusted me,” she said. “we could mean so much to each other, and it would make me so happy.” “if you could influence me into trusting you, dear heart, that would make me happy, too, very happy,” said he. “but what can i do to make you trust me, sidney? i’m doing everything i know how to make you. i can’t think of anything else that i’ve not already done to make you do so,” she ended by looking at him appealingly. meanwhile, he was thoughful, adjusted himself and she rose up a moment to let him do so. then pulled her back down on his knee. “i’ve trained myself all my life to accept others,” he began, "as i find them. and in that respect, regardless of the fact that i think you're more deeply enamoured of donald howard than you like to admit, even to yourself, i am willing to take that chance.” the case of mirs. wingate “then, what, dear,” she asked. he shifted uncomfortably, and a frown crossed his features. he looked at her and she met his gaze. “it's this show business.” “the stage, sidney,” she said, quite frankly, and patiently, where- as he had expected her to explode, blow up, as it were. “yes, dear” he replied, looking at her. “the stage and shows. i could put up with your being with a show as long as you're single, but you see, edrina,” and he broke into a frown. she leaned forward and kissed his forehead, and then stroked his cheek kindly. “yes, sidney,” she said, kindly, patiently, “go ahead, get it off your chest. tell me everything that's worrying you.” “i want a companion and the best companion for a man is a — wife. but i want my wife at home. i want to feel that that is where she is, and —” again he broke off and she understood. he didn't want to tell her that she should leave the stage if she wanted him to marry her. she squeezed him as if to reassure him. she'd try to clear up this whole misunderstanding, if she couldn't, at least she'd make a try. “oh, so that's what the hold back is all about, eh?” she cried, eyes dilated, with inspiration. he looked at her. “mostly.” he said, and waited. “then what do you want-me to do, sidney darling?” her question rather caught him off guard. for a moment he was puzzled, still not altogether satisfied with all he had said up to now, he frowned again, and went on: “it is not what i want, or what i might command, edrina. what ever you do is up to you.” “up to me, sidney?” she asked, slightly puzzled. “just what is up to me, darling?” - “the stage, edrina, your work on it. i don't want any girl for a wife, my wife, traipsing around all over the country with a show. yet, i know that you like the show and stage show work. so well until it would become a choice between the stage and me,” he said, argumentatively. “then the choice would be you, sidney. i'd give up the stage,” she said, and by saying so, implied that that was all settled. he looked up quickly, hopefully, and a bit surprised. but not for long. he was r the case of mrs. wingate still not convinced. after a moment of serious thought. “i wish i could believe you,” he said with something akin to a sigh. t “what do you mean, ‘i wish i could believe you’,” she said now, looking hard at him. - “just what i said. i wish i could feel convinced that you mean what you say. maybe you even think you do yourself — now.” she sighed, a bit hopelessly. he patted her reassuringly. “you see, edrina,” he went on. “that is the way you feel now. after awhile, however, you’d begin to feel different. liking the stage as you do, you'd think about it. then it would occur to you that you hadn't wanted to give it up, but that in order to please me, you were forced to and then at the first disagreement, you'd get mad, but always you'd be thinking that i made you give it up. who knows that such a continued reflection, might in time become an obsession, your obsession.” “you mean sidney,” said she, “that altho' i promised to, i’d still want to continue the work, and — ” “— do like most women. finally leave your husband, your children, if that happened, and go back to it. that has happened before and it can happen again and it is that which i'm afraid of.” “but i’ve said that i’m willing to give it up; i've tried to imply that you mean more to me than any stage, all the stages. why must you continue to doubt me?” “because, away down in the bottom of your heart, behind all that you are insisting at this moment, you doubt yourself. why? i can seem to see right through you and your ambitions, edrina. you are little short of insane about it. you might promise to give it up, as you have just promised — and even intend as you feel now, to do so. then along one day would come mantan or howard, or both, with a proposition. “supposing by that time i have become devoted to you; you have become a part of me, of my daily existence; that i love you, love you truly and am happy, you are happy, too. we have a happy home. you wouldn't really want to change it, but you'd keep thinking; you'd build castles in the air, great castles that are a part of the stage. then you'd begin to work on me. you'd tell them to leave it to you, you’d bring me around in time. then it would be, just for a the case of mrs. wingate . little while, dear, only a little while. to please you, for isn't it the function of man and wife to want to, and try to, please each other? so i would try to please you, and let you go. if the show had any measure of success, that would continue into weeks, into months. oh yes, you'd perhaps write me every day, send me telegrams, think of me and say 'my poor, darling husband. he wants me so. i must get back to him, and all that. even as much as i wouldn't want to, i would be forced to put up with it and perhaps would. but supposing the show began to totter, to waver and threaten to fail? then somebody connected with it might come to you. they've done it before, they'll do it again. some old funny looking ofay might become interested. he might not have any money, but could interest some other funny looking ofay possibly to put up a little dough to carry on. but in order to get him to do this, inducements would have to be made. you have a soft, pretty body. i'd like to fondle that body, but i'm one of these rare idiots who exist only in the minds of a novelist. i'm willing — and even want to wait until that wedding night. i haven't asked you to — to go to bed with me, have i?” she nodded her head in agreement. “it doesn't mean that i am not a normal man. i am, in fact, pas- sionately normal. but all my life i’ve pictured waiting until the wedding night to take all a girl can offer a husband. “but would these ‘hounds of the baskerville's, view it that way?' the delivery of your pretty, soft round body might be the price of this ofay keeping the show going. i know show business. if they were convinced that it would, they would keep on after you to deliver —and get mad and hate you in the end if you didn't. they'd advance the argument that it meant work for a whole lot of people, people that this ofay didn't want. all this seems sordid and bitter, but a girl ambitious for the stage and hoping for success there, a colored girl under present conditions, is most likely to be forced, before it was all over, to sell her body, trade it many times, to keep the show going by pleasing some confounded ofay, and edrina, that's why i'm holding back; why i—oh, i’m sorry that i let myself begin to like you.” “oh, sidney, darling,” she cried dramatically. “please believe me when i say, when i insist, that i would do nothing of the kind. i the case of mrs. wingate would give you everything i have and do everything in my little heart to make you comfortable and happy. won't you please, oh, please believe me and trust me to do what is right.” she patted his cheek, kissed his lips, pawed over him, caressed his hands and kissed his forehead. meanwhile, sighing deeply: “i wish i could, edrina. i don't see why i don't after all your protestations, but away in the back of it all, i can't forget that you like the stage, and it is that, more than what might happen, for it will surely happen if you stick to these shows long enough, that i can't get out of my head.” he stood up after the above words, and raised her to her feet. she moved around him, however, to try to force him to look at her, into her eyes, which he avoided. “i’m sorry i let myself like you,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “i’ve by-passed this for years. i mean, liking show girls, which has been my environment because i didn't want to get into a squeegee as i am in now. i’m not condemning stage shows in general, but i know that the day of tab shows like this is about at its end. so when i see you all ambitious to go places in one, i know where it may end up and i don't want any part of it.” he now walked around the small room with her following and pleading with him; insisting over and over that she was not in love with the stage and would quit any time he asked her to, but he was adamant. he had more to tell her about it, so after a few turns up and down, he paused and faced her and went on: “i never had any confidence, patience or interest in tab shows when they had plenty theatres to play. i know too much about them. many performers are given to indulging in unnatural relations back stage, and if you suppose i want a wife in such an environment, then i’ve lost my sense of morality—and i haven't.” “i tell you sidney, for the hundredth time, that it doesn't mean that much to me and i'll quit — i'll quit tomorrow, if you say.” “i’m not asking you to upset the man's show; i'm not asking you to quit at all. i'm only debating what might come to pass if i mar- ried you and set you up in an apartment then set out to try and be a good husband. a few weeks of happy wedded bliss, maybe, but as long as you're as fond of it as you are, it would return. the first rehearsal that you heard of going on, you'd be hanging around it. as pretty as you are, they'd sure be propositioning you, i know it. the case of mers. wingate you couldn't help feeling flattered. the fact that you'd hang around is the best evidence of your interest, otherwise you wouldn't be there. aw, hang it,” he cried abruptly and disgustingly. “instead of being happy as i’d like to be over liking you, i'm miserable,” and he started walking again. “but why be miserable, sweetheart. i’ve told you that i’ll devote my whole life to making you happy. can a girl promise more?” “no, edrina, she cannot,” he said and sighed, deeply, like he was getting tired. she looked up into his eyes. “still you're not convinced. i can see it in your eyes; i can feel it. please sidney,” she went on. “you can't do this to me,” and she emphasized it by breaking into tears and beating her two fists against his chest. then turning her back to him and giving up to tears, she sobbed: “i’m due some consideration. i”—she was forced to break off because he caught her and turned her about to face him suddenly. “i really want you, edrina. i want you heart, body and soul. can't you see, and can't you feel how unhappy it would be to have you go and leave me after i had become devoted to you?” she pulled away and again turning her back on him. “you say such fine things, and then you unsay them with so many other words that take the feeling out of the good ones you've just said. you—you just—hurt me. treat me like—like i didn't have any heart at all.” she now turned back and looked up at him, her eyes filled with sad tears. he met her gaze and seemed so miser- able and unhappy. she laid her hands gently on him and let the tears go unchecked. “how could i go away from you or do anything you didn't want me to if i loved you and loved you dearly doesn't loving a person mean trying to please them; trying to make them happy and con- tented ” she said. with a sigh as if to give up, he shuffled, and said: “there isn't much more i can say, i guess. i’ve become so fond of you until it is difficult to resist your appeal much longer.” “i give up almost everything dear to a woman: modesty—almost throw myself at you, and still you won't say that you love me. what kind of a man are you anyhow, sidney wyeth !” “just a poor, unfortunate one who wants a wife to be good to him; to be home when i get there, to love and care for me, to kiss and the case of mrs. win gatf fondle me, and to repeat it when i leave. that is all.” “then you don't believe i'd do all that? that it would make me happy to do so? * “i think you would do all that, edrina, and make a beautiful job of it. i believe you'd be so good and sweet to me, i’d be the happiest man on earth; but i'm afraid that one day in the midst of this bliss, when i returned home—” he broke off and turned his face away. she didn't follow him this time, but just stood looking at him, sadly, pitifully. he turned back to her and tried again to be brave and honest. “that is why i don't want to say that i love you, edrina. still, you know that i do,” he said. she made no answer for she had spent herself for words to try to convince him of her fidelity. he moved toward the door now. she stood still, saying nothing, doing nothing. at the door he paused and turned back. . “so come, dear,” he called. “it’s time to go. there's no use for us to argue longer. when you're convinced regarding all we’ve talked about, convinced yourself, then you'll come to me and say it and when you do i’ll believe you. you feel that you mean it now—but you don't. and i won't say that i love you until you convince me and say so of your own volition.” she still stood where he had left her, face down, but crying no longer. she had listened soberly to all that he said. now she turned and walked slowly towards him. he looked down at her sadly, but said no further words. then suddenly, and in a burst of emotion, pent-up emotion, she threw her arms about him and cried : “oh, sidney, sidney !” and fell to weeping all over again, this time, as though broken-hearted. it was minutes later before he had succeeded in calming, her, and they were able to leave the dressing oo . outside, he put her in the car and drove her straight to her room, and kissed her good night. as he drove away, he decided that since he was so bewildered and upset, to drive on through to new york that night, which he did. ºn xiii wo days later in new york, he received the following telegram: “how could you leave town with- out coming by again to see mep dis- tressed. show moving on to pittsburgh tonight. please write me at once, care of elmore theatre there, then call me pitt - , p.m. sunday night. your heart-broken e d r i n a wyeth turned his entire attention to his work at the office for the next few days to try to forget all about it, at least until sunday night, when he would call her. he arrived at the office while marie was out, having reached new york around five a.m., sought a few hours sleep, then hurried to the office, feeling no worse for his night's drive from washington. he hurriedly penned edrina a brief note, sealed, stamped and went into the hall and posted it, special. no sooner had he returned to his desk when marie came back from lunch. she stopped and cried in surprise: “why, mr. wyeth, you, back!” she relaxed then and crossed to him, shaking his hand. after removing her hat and coat she brought her note book and pencil and for an hour took letters and checked accumulated matters, which needed his attention. “now,” said he, at the end of that time, “that everything is started again, what's been happening since i’ve been away?” “plenty,” replied marie. “plenty?” he repeated, curiously, a bit anxiously. “just what i said,” said marie. “nothing sensational, altogether. only the usual number of murders up here, women have been killing i * the case of mirs. wingate their husbands and men, sort of reversing the order in harlem,” and both laughed. “well,” said he, still smiling, “since we don't happen to ever be involved in any of the murders, being of the peaceful variety, what's been going on at the office that might be of interest to me?” “well,” she said. “you’ve had a visitor, among other things.” “a visitor? a process server, perhaps,” he said, and she laughed. “we seem to be about caught up on suits. old film suits, the book business is too inconspicuous to attract suits, it seems.” “nobody thinks we are making enough money to make suing us worth while,” said he and they both laughed again. “but getting back to the visitor. if not a process server or the marshal, then who?” “the prettiest girl you ever saw.” “a pretty girl?” “i must change that. you haven't seen her. the prettiest one i ever saw, just about, at least.” “and she called here to see me? are you sure it was not to see thompson? that's who all the pretty girls come to the office to see.” “not this girl. i don't think she'd take a second look at thompson. especially, after she looked at him once and saw there was nothing in his pretty round head, nothing on his face but a smile, that eternal and winning, or intended winning smile. no, she was here to see you, and is coming back.” - “my, this is getting interesting. a pretty girl to see me, oh, no. there must be a mistake, unless it was somebody trying to get into the movies?” - “no,” said marie, with a twinkle, but quite firmly. “she wasn't trying to get into the movies.” “then whatever could a pretty girl want to see me about, if not to try to get into the movies? come on, 'fess up, else i'll think you are playing a joke on me.” “no,” said marie. i’m not playing any joke. the girl was here, bought a copy of the book, then decided to take another copy, and paid me for both. i invited her to be seated, which she did and we then had a long, interesting talk.” “well, that was $ . worth of interest at least, and purchases are always interesting to us. exactly, then, what did she want?” ~ the case of mirs. wingate “to be frank about it, i don't know,” admitted marie. “she didn't tell me. but she's coming back, so if you'll be patient and in the office for a few days, you will get to meet her for she will be back.” “m-m,” he mused, thoughtfully “not only is she one of the prettiest girls i ever saw, but one of the nicest.” said marie. r “a colored girl?” - “she wouldn't mean that much to us.” “oh, of course. i wouldn't be saying all this about—a white girl. “of course not,” he said, understandingly. “added to this,” said marie, “she is one of the most intelligent.” “you mean,” queried wyeth, “educated?” “i mean both,” replied marie, with restrained enthusiasm. “i found her educated, intelligent, refined and just downright nice, with all the rest.” “she seems to have impressed you, i must say, and greatly.” “and she will you, when you meet her,” marie insisted. “go on, i’m really interested by now. as stated, she seems to have made a great impression on you.” “and i repeat, she will on you, when you meet her, too.” “how do you know?” - - “because you like intelligent people, sensible people. people who have something interesting to talk about. and, oh, in my enthusiasm, i forgot to explain that she's read your book—took it home, sat down, so she said, and didn't get up until she finished the over pages of it. she said she liked every word; said that it was magnificent, is now reading it over again and studying it this time, and wants to talk with you about it” “i’m glad,” he said, modestly. “she said that in addition to a fine and interesting story, well told, that there is so much sound and interesting philosophy throughout the whole book. she insists, among other words of praise and de- light, that it is easily the most interesting and worth-while novel of negro life ever published, and i was sincere when i agreed with her.” “that's saying a great deal,” he commented. “well, i don't know,” she observed. “what has a negro written during the last few years about us, at least, that could be called fine the case of mrs. wingate and beautiful, unless it is the story told in your book.” , “nothing so fine and beautiful,” said he, “but the white people, and especially the critics, sure raved about ‘nature's child’.” “‘nature's child' " she exclaimed, vehemently. “that sordid, filthy, and foul narrative, built around the adventures of a trifling, worthless, good-for-nothing, unfortunate negro ! incidentally this girl has read it and shares the same views of most of us negroes regard- ing it.” “what is there about this girl that has put you into such a state of excitement and enthusiasm f what's her name?” “schultz, that's her name. bertha schultz,” said marie, finding and showing him the card that bertha had given her. he looked at it and seemed to admire it. “m-m. sounds like a german name,” he mused. she looked up. “i think she's of german extraction,” said marie. “and, come to think of it, i think i recall that she had a slight german accent.” “you’re getting into deep waters. a colored girl, highly educated and intelligent, critical, and with a german accent? now who is this person?” “she’s been here twice and each time i have found her so interest- ing, until i’ve been fascinated, and haven't asked her so much about herself, but now that we discuss her, there is something just a bit mysterious about her.” “becoming mysterious now. go on.” “well,” she said, “come to think of her, that's my impression. she appears to have all she needs, dresses tastily, but very conservative. she says that she is engaged in research, but didn't say who for.” “so you discussed nature's child, eh? had she read ‘passion’?” “yes.” - “and what did she think of it?” “she wonders why our group are so excited about it.” “a strange sort of book.” “must be something. it's become a best-seller overnight. we are selling as many of it without trying very hard, as we are your book.” “our people have an inferior complex,” he said, thoughtfully. “and are not aware of it. if a negro wrote anything like that and played them down half as much as they are in this book, they'd the case of mrs. wingate - want to have him killed—shot at sunrise,” she said, shaking her head. - “i got so i couldn't express an honest opinion in my pictures. yet those were the kind that drew. i'm finding that i like writing. i can say what i feel and not have some theatre owner jump on me and want to cut our check, or cancel my picture because some negro came out of the theatre and said: “how come he put something like that in a picture? we're trying to get away from that stuff.’” “the negro,” observed marie, “wants history, especially as far as he's concerned, obliterated. he wants the public to feel that he started right here on seventh avenue, with all thought of slavery and bondage rubbed out.” “but getting back to miss schultz.” “yes, of course. we've digressed, as we often do,” and looking up at him she smiled, tolerantly. “it is both strange and peculiar how we negroes and our white americans differ so with regards to us.” “we're as far apart from the standpoint of views as two groups could be. now with regards to nature's child, which miss schultz and i discussed at great length, we can see nothing but a story of the worst side of us, yet the white people called it the great “psycho- logical' novel, which we debated, too, and tried to understand what they meant.” “and—” he started and broke off. “that the psychological angle was simply the psychology of a worthless, depraved negro under favorable conditions, to commit a foul and horrible crime. it seems so easy for them to conceive us in any distorted role, and so hard to picture us as just plain ameri- cans, living in most part, a normal, conventional life.” “they don't consider that we have or live a normal and conven- tional life,” he said, blandly. “it seems that way,” she said with an unhappy sigh. “now this miss schultz. did she say where she attended school. you referred to her being educated" “educated—and how !” exclaimed marie. “at heidelberg and the sorbonne.” “whew l’” he cried. “graduated from both.” the case of mrs. wingate “whew " he cried, shaking his head. “i can see you and her talking for hours.” “i can't imagine myself being able to talk to anybody with so much education as she must have.” “but she's easy to talk to. asks a lot of questions—like you, for instance,” and she looked up at him with an amused twinkle, which made him smile. sidney wyeth had a reputation for asking people more questions than any other man. “i told her,” went on marie, “that you'd ask her all about herself. i’d like to be around when you and her meet.” “has she met thompson?” he asked. she looked up, amused. “do you know, that sap ran in one day while she was here.” “and p” “when he saw her, he went into action quick, and then almost as quickly as he started, stopped.” “why?” “she began to ask him questions; questions that he could have answered readily, if traveling all over the country as he has with you had taught him anything—but of course, thompson knows nothing but to make that silly attempt at love, which didn't get to first base with her.” “then what happened?” “he sneaked away after a few minutes and let her alone.” “what's he doing in baltimore, anyhow ° “oh, this teacher, whom he got mixed up with down there, has put the rascal to work.” “yes?” “and how. you know that he could never get anything to do, being a musician, you always tried to get him to go out on a gig over the week-end, to pick up some extra money.” “he was never able to get a job during all the years he was with us. i remember, and how.” “not a single one, not even a gig; but all that's changed since she got hold of the boop down there.” “how so?” “she finds him jobs, and as quickly as he loses or gets fired from one, she quickly puts him on another. his hands are as hard as a the • case of mfs. wingate laborer’s.” both laughed at this. “good for the teacher.” “he came back to the office after he met miss schultz, but she had gone. looking around, he stalled a moment, then finally said to me: “who was that old smart gal, and what does she think she is anyhow " “and that's what i'm curious to find out. who is this girl, and what's it all about anyhow?” “you’ll soon find out,” she said, and smiling, plunged into her work. over at the schultz apartment in the meantime, matters were just so-so. mrs. wingate had returned to atlanta, leaving early on the anxious seat, since they had decided that she should tell mr. win- gate about her baby within three months, and at the most favorable opportunity. early had left the hotel when she went away and took a moderate apartment in another section of harlem and came ovel to the schultz's more or less every night. heinrich had business most every day, staying late into the night downtown with hans schiller, where they were making plans to be put into immediate operation, provided america was ultimately pushed into the war on the side of england. bertha reported on her visits to wyeth's office, advising that he was still out of the city. meanwhile, early was anxious for a showdown on getting wyeth's consent to do the hate picture, so he was kept busy preparing for this showdown by compiling a mass of facts to try show wyeth why he should do it. while bertha's calls at the office were not to spy, they naturally talked about wyeth and the fact that he was out of the city, which kept kermit from calling for this showdown until he could catch wyeth. as was generally known, america wanted none of europe's war, but was being slowly pushed in that direction. down at hans schiller's office, this fact was debated freely, and their movement to keep america out of the war had a long and popular following, and meetings and plenty of speaking every night, always found a group ready and anxious to listen. father coughlin came in for lots of praise. his anti-semitic leaning was daily becoming more the case of mirs. wingate obvious, and his picture decorated the walls of many places especially in yorktown. - at his room the night after wyeth returned to new york, he sat down and wrote edrina the following letter: dearest edrina: “i decided after leaving you, and all of a sudden, to return to new york, so of course, i had no chance to communicate the fact to you since i had just left you. in addition, i am given to acting on impulses, and which i did, as explained. also my office needed my presence, and am glad i came back as there was so much unfinished business on my desk that it was well for me to have returned for now that has all been cleaned up and i feel much better for having returned. “hanging around washington would only have caused me to grow more fond of you and i am too fond of you, under the circumstances, already for my own good. in this case it seems to be more love, more pain, so what! how- ever, i will call you at pittsburgh sunday night as you've asked me to, but to be frank about it, i think it best for us to end our little affair at the earliest opportunity while i still possess some self-control, leaving you to continue your stage ambitions without discouragement on my part. “frankly, i am sorry for both of us, and take full respon- sibility for letting it go this far. but it will be easier to agree to disagree now and have it over with, leaving you free to continue on the stage which you love so much, with- out having to listen to my objections and pointing out dire possibilities, than to prolong it. “in conclusion, please believe me when i say that this hurts me more than it could possibly hurt you, all things considered, but i believe that in the long run, you will be glad i have taken this stand, to forget each other and re- main - “cordially and sincerely “s id n e y w y e th" when edrina received the letter in pittsburgh, it made her sad, for at the time she was lonely, and the letter naturally added to this feeling of melancholy. “oh, sidney,” she weeped. “how could you do this to me—and i’ve learned to love you so.” she felt sure that she loved him, the the case of mrs. wingate cold and reserved sidney, as she pictured him. she cried herself to sleep that night. came sunday, a beautiful day. the state didn't permit stage shows on sunday, so she managed to get through a long, boresome day, trying to read so the time would go faster. it seemed ages before eleven o'clock that night finally rolled around, with her expectantly waiting. promptly at the appointed hour, the call came through. however hard a time as she was having to try to convince him that she could be the kind of girl he wanted for a wife, she knew that she could depend on him to keep his word. so picking up the receiver, she called: “yes. miss vinson on the phone.” she had never heard his voice over the telephone before, so she was not at first sure that it was him. “this is sidney in new york, edrina. how are you, dear?” after writing her such a letter, now he was talking so nicely. in a moment she was crying, but managed to reply. “oh, sidney,” she sobbed. “i received and read that awful letter, and how could you send anything like that to a poor unhappy girl like me?” - “i’m sorry, dear,” he replied. “it hurt me to have to write it, but i think we ought to face facts as they exist and not try to brush them by and make out like they are not there. so i was just trying to be frank and honest with you, that's all.” “listen, sidney,” she cried, interrupting. “i understand you and please don't scold me. a girl alone in the world as i am, has to make a living, her living, and i have always tried to make an honest one. is that right, sidney, or wrong?” “it's right, of course, edrina. i—” “you intimated from the beginning that you cared for me and i have been awfully happy about it ever since; but you won't say more, so what can i do? well, if you won't speak, you leave no alternative, but for me to do so. to prove that i am sincere and want to please you, i've decided to quit the show here when it closes next saturday night and go home for a while to louisville. so it is up to you from there on. i love you, sidney, and—goodbye.” so saying, she hung up so abruptly that on the new york end, he was surprised the case of mers. wingate and shocked, and thought for a moment that the phone had gone haywire. in his room then, it was he who was both upset and annoyed. he had been thinking seriously of calling it quits. he found now that he had become more fond of edrina than he thought, than he had planned to become. he still knew, and realized it from the outset, that he had no intention of falling in love with a show girl, any show girl. so he rose to his feet and walked the floor for a long time, trying to make his mind up what to do. one thing he could neither overlook or forget, and that was that he had hurt her, and that was neither right or fair. because she was stage-struck and harbored dreams as regards it, was not enough to condemn her; to injure her and make- her feel as she evidently was feeling. and the fact that he had no confidence in any show girl, show girls could still have hearts, that could be hurt as well as any other girl, and he had never gone in for hurting anybody and then remain callous to the injury he had caused. so the longer he walked the floor, the more did he become convinced that he should now do something to appease her. still, stubbornly, he refused to give in. he undressed and went to bed to sleep it off but sleep refused to come. so he sat up, got up, walked around again for a while, then ended it all by sitting down at a table to pen her the following note: dearest edrina: “you have upset me entirely and completely. i cannot stand to see you hurt and unhappy like this, because of me. i do love you, edrina, if i must say it. i love you more than i realized. i fear that before it is all over it will be you who will be breaking my heart. “now, if you really mean to give up the stage, my dear i hope it is of your own volition and not just to please me, and think you can be content and happy for the rest of your life as a plain and simple housewife, then i ask you, dear edrina, to marry me. - “i will lease a nice apartment for you here in new york and when the time comes, go with you and we can pick the furniture together to your own taste . . i am willing to do anything that i know how from now on with a view to pleas- ing you and making you happy . . . my only hope in doing so is that you will not, sooner or later, break it all up by the case of mrs. wingate slipping out and going back on the stage again. if you feel that you don't care to do this, i'll try to make you the best husband any girl ever had . . . - “my cards are on the table now, where i have laid them, face up. from now on it is up to you. please try to under- stand and appreciate before you answer, that you are still free, and can refuse and reject my offer and that i will try to accept it, if to the contrary, graciously and in good spirit. if you do accept it, however, try to understand that i've always wanted a fine, dignified and intelligent lady for a wife and such a kind of woman wouldn't want to go traip- sing off with some show, and the kind of show you are now in, one liable to close at the end of any engagement and without notice. “i do not want that kind of a girl, now or ever for any wife of mine, which i hope is plain and clear. “now please think this all over, soberly and carefully, before you leave the show and while still in pittsburgh, and still later on while vacationing in louisville, and wait and then, if you care to, you can give me your answer. please understand that i do not wish to influence you in any way; just want you to act on your own in considering my offer, altogether. as long as you are single you are free to think and do as you wish to without any regard for me. i want to feel that if you marry and come to live with me as a wife, i want it to be a good wife as i shall, in turn, try to be a good husband. it takes more in each case than mere affection and emotion for either of us to be successful in such an event. it is up to both of us to exert an effort, to make an occasional sacrifice and think of how each other might feel about a decision of importance thereafter before ar- riving at such a decision on our own. “if all i’ve tried to say is now clear and understandable, dear, then write to me at your earliest convenience what you want me to do, and i will try, gladly, to comply with your every wish. “affectionately, “s i d n e y’’ after reading it through and deciding that it was about what he wanted to say, wyeth folded it in an envelope, sealed and stamped it and laid it on his clothes, to be posted when he got up a few hours later, for it was now long past midnight and he was relieved to feel that he could sleep at last, which he did after retiring. he the case of mrs. wingate went right off to sleep and didn't awaken until hours later, feeling fresh and entirely rested. two afternoons later in pittsburgh where she had received the letter in the afternoon mail, edrina was happy and was in the act of shouting for joy and reading it over again when there was a light and familiar knock on her door. “it couldn't be donald,” she thought aloud, for he was in new york, or at least was supposed to be. anyway, after a pause, she called: ~ “come in,” turned and waited, eyes on the door. it was pushed open, and, stepping through, wearing a flashy fedora hat, carrying his cane, for donald always carried a large, heavy and attractive cane, and dressed up as slick as a shiek, was no other than whom wyeth called the little prince himself. edrina's mouth opened, but he spoke first. “aw, edrina, i'll bet that you're surprised,” and laughing, closed the door as she cried, shocked like. “why donald, you!” she had the letter in her hand and didn't want to let him see it, or to talk about it just then. “i arrived about an hour ago. got a telegram from mantan to join him here, which i will talk about later.” he was hanging up his hat and cane and turned in time to catch her trying to conceal the letter behind her. - “au, au, au,” he cried, pointing at her. “you’re hiding something from me, honey bunch. you don't have to do that,” he said, coming up to her. “i’m the daddy that understands all things and sympa- thizes freely, if sympathy is needed, you know, kid.” she tried to side-step his curiosity by changing to something else. “no need to, you know, for here i am, in the flesh,” and he laughed, jauntily. “in the flesh and in person. now come,” he said, “what are you trying to hide?” he tried to see what it was but she kept on turning so that he could not. “why—why didn't you—let me know?” “sit down, donald,” she said, drawing up a chair and as she did so, he could and did see the envelope. “oh, a letter. only a letter. why were you trying to hide it from me?” “oh, i didn't want to talk about it—just now at least.” “i see,” he said, sinking down on the chair. she continued to the case of mirs. wingate stand. she was dressed only in her lounging robe, and of a sudden one of her teaties poped forth and hung out. he smiled as she quickly covered it and smiled, embarrassingly. “bet i can guess who the letter is from,” said he, ignoring the sudden exposure. she didn't answer, so he went on. “must have said something of importance; maybe asked you to marry him, eh?” “oh, donald,” she said evasively. “you mustn't ask me such questions. such intimate questions. i told you i didn't want to talk about it just now. now you want to know all about what he said.” “just a friendly interest, edrina.” he paused, thought a moment, then looked up. “it is from sidney wyeth, isn't it?” her silence confirmed his words. “i’m glad, edrina. i've been hoping for this, and i hope he has asked you to marry him. if he has, grab him and run. he's a good man, will make you a fine husband. i'm—" and then he was sudden- ly cut off. “but donald, dear. i—” she started, her face suddenly emotion- al. he raised a hand, a commanding hand and kept her from saying more. he got up and walked up to her, his eyes straight into hers. “don’t be a fool, girl. i mean that.” he looked hard at her and she understood what he meant. “if you’d—” woman-like, she began again, and again he raised a hand, his eyes flashing impatiently. “i’m not, edrina,” he began sharply. “we’ve been over that time and time again, enough so that you ought to understand. you do understand, but you're still vain and full of illusions, and i've been trying to get that out of you ever since and you know it.” “well,” she said, “i just—” - “i can't do you any good. i've made it as plain as i could, over and over again that i'm not a marrying man; and that i don't want any wife. but i won't stand in a good man's way. you've got to eat, pay room rent, purchase a change of clothes now and then and all that takes money. you're liable not to be able to do any of these things, fooling around with this kind of a show. and you'd be sure to go hungry waiting on me. you've got a chance now to step into a berth of security. don't fool around and let it get away. grab the man i tell you and run and keep on running along with him, and the case of mrs. wingate forget me and show business in general. there's nothing to it any more.” he walked across the room now, his hands behind him. she looked after him and tried to weigh what he had said. it seemed hard for her to do so and she was still not satisfied. by a window, he paused and looked idly out over smoky pittsburgh, and twiddled his thumbs behind him for a moment, then presently turning, came back across the room to her. “if wyeth has asked you in that letter to marry him, write him ‘yes’ today, then do whatever he wants you to from then on, get what i mean?” she nodded her head lightly, still anxious to begin what she had wanted to start, all over again. he saw it and his frown deepened. “and again, and for the last time, give up any ideas about me, secret or otherwise, and this show, too, for that matter,” he said and turned away again. she looked at him, then stepped forward and catching up with him: “what do you mean—about the show?” she said and waited, curi- ously, a bit anxiously. he turned and looked at her a moment be- fore answering “it's closing.” “closing?” she echoed, startled-like. “yes, edrina. closing here in pittsburgh saturday night, this saturday night and not the next or the next,” he said, and turned his eyes away. - “oh,” she breathed in surprise, and lowered her eyes thoughfully, and in spite of her telling wyeth over the telephone two nights before that she was leaving the show, she was obviously disappointed, keenly so. meanwhile, howard turned back and continued: “we had only three weeks, two in washington and this one here. we tried hard to get more, but were not successful, so we’re closing saturday night, and that is that. it’s the same old story, more theatres and more theatres are giving up stage shows, preferring to take their chance on pictures. they say they don't want to be bothered with stage hands and orchestras and performers and union demands. it's too many headaches and arguments for the extra money they make, so again, that is that,” and he shrugged his shoulders resignedly. “so the show is closing,” she murmured, more to herself than to the case of mrs. wingate him “and i don't have to quit after all.” he heard her and turned to her. “so you were going to-quit, anyhow,” he said, a note of surprise in his voice. “on account of wyeth?” she nodded affirmatively. “oh, so it's gone that far, eh?” again she nodded, her eyes down- cast. “he didn't want you in a show, did he?” she shook her head to indicate that he didn't. / “good. and keep it that way. you should be happy.” “i’m glad you told me. i was going to give mantan my notice to- night,” she said slowly. “won't need to now. that's why mantan sent for me, for me to dish out the bad news. he's gone back to new york. i've got to stay until the end of the week and face the music if there isn't enough in the till from our share to pay off saturday night.” “i hope i get what's due me. i need it to go home on. i'd like to have a few dollars left after i get there, too.” “i’ll do the best i can. most of them will want fare back to new york, and that has to come out first.” “i’m going to louisville,” she said. “to visit your mother and sisters? that's nice,” said he. “mantan will perhaps organize another show in new york, don't you think,” she said. the show was still on her mind. “or, maybe, rearrange this one?” - “perhaps. it's his living, you know.” “i was thinking,” she began hesitantly. immediately his face lit up again with a deep frown, and he glared at her: “don’t do it, edrina,” he exclaimed, “for if you are doing any thinking or going to do any, i know what it will be about—shows. that's on your mind so completely until its become an obsession. i can't see why you don't do a little thinking and try to be sensible.” “now, now, donald,” she said, putting a hand on his arm, more calm than he expected. “don’t get so excited and so quickly. i'm going to take your advice and marry wyeth and be as nice to him as i can.” again he turned upon her with impatience and sus- picion. “what do you mean by being as nice as you can’’ he said, his eyes glaring at her. the case of mirs. wingate “just that. isn't that all i can do? be as nice to him as i can be?” “sounds a bit suspicious to me,” he muttered, not entirely satis- fied. “you’d better be sure it's good and nice and not just partly. if wyeth was some ham actor, with a head and mind full of illu- sions and a hot dog only in his stomach, you'd probably be terribly concerned and worried about him. as it is—well, what's the use,” he said, shrugging his shoulders in disgust. “i’m going to marry him and be a good wife,” she insisted now, a bit more positively. “now does that sound all right?” “sounds better if you mean it and intend to stick to it,” he agreed and seemed a bit more satisfied. “there was something else on my mind that made me sound a bit indifferent,” she said now. “that's what's worrying me at the moment.” “what is it?” he said, turning and coming closer. “if i marry wyeth, i've got to get a-divorce first,” she said, her eyebrows knitted. “oh,” he echoed, in another tone. - “and that's what's worrying me,” she said moving around, her face clouded with annoyance. she twisted her hands and didn't seem to know what to do. - “can you—get it? will that little darkey you're married to out in louisville give it to you?” “oh, yes,” she said, reassuringly. “he wouldn't go to the trouble to contest it. besides, we've been apart for years. he doesn't care.” “that's another reason for your going to louisville, eh?” “yes.” - “then why are you—worried?” he asked, and looked at her. she looked back at him with a deep frown. - “why?” she exclaimed. “you should know. it takes money to get a divorce and you know that i have none.” “the money,” he muttered, as if to himself and thoughtfully. “yes, of course.” - “so what am i going to do?” she said, still frowning, and look- ing at him, helplessly. he walked around the room, thinking deeply as he did so. presently paused, perked up, turned and looked at her, eyes flashing with an idea. “i have it!” he exclaimed, raising his hand and gesturing with the forefinger of same. the case of mirs. wingate she turned to him with a hope that flashed suddenly across her features. - “have what? the money?” his smile and enthusiasm was replaced quickly by an impatient frown. “oh, no, of course not.” her face fell then and she muttered in a sort of undertone. “i thought not.” she said, turning her eyes back to him. “then what is this sudden and big idea that made you say, i have it?” “i meant that i had an idea where you could get it.” “oh,” she said, and relaxed without enthusiasm. then as if to: see just what he was talking about, turned back to him. “where?” she asked. “from wyeth?" - “from wyeth !” she exclaimed “what do you mean, from wyeth?” a “just what i say. from wyeth,” he insisted, coming closer. “you’re crazy,” she said and turned away as if in disgust, then after a step or two, turned back. - “i haven't even told him that i was married. he doesn't know that i am. then”—she said, breaking off, “oh, they say you never had an idea that ever got anybody a dollar. now you're proving it.” “then tell him,” said howard, ignoring her last remark. she turned to glare at him. “how do you suppose he's going to feel? haven't even told him that i was married, now to up and tell him that i am and to give me the money to get a divorce so that i can marry him is some nerve, hump!” and she turned her back on him as she finished. “oh, girl,” he said, taking hold of her and turning her about to face him. “quit being a child. you're a grown woman and all grown women have been married at least once, most maybe two or three times. anyway,they've always been married once and wyeth would understand that.” she paused and her eyes took on new hope. she turned back to him. “do you—think i—could,” she said as if she was daring. “think you could—what?” he didn't seem to understand. “tell him that—that i’ve been married?” “of course you can,” he cried. “and—an'—he wouldn't get angry?” the case of mrs. wingate “get angry! what for? of course you can tell him. you should tell him everything. be frank and honest for once.” “oh, if i only could,” she murmered with a sigh, more to herself than to him. “but why can't you? wyeth is, among other things, a practical man. that's another reason you should grab the chance to marry him. he'll be easy to live with if you could start being frank and honest and truthful with him. then he'd trust you.” “yes, trust me.” she turned to him again. “you know, that's what’s been the holdback. he hasn’t been inclined to trust me.” “why?” he said, looking straight at her. “been reading your mind, maybe? sees you're crazy about the stage—stage-struck, yes, that's it and he isn't going for that for the simple reason that he knows, like everybody seems to know and appreciate but you, that there's nothing to it.” y “not only that, but he's said so much about—bad morals among show girls.” “he is right.” “says they have white men—even play up to them and run after them if they have a chance.” “they do. he was right again.” “but i don't do that, never have and i never will.” “you never have. that is true. you can't tell what you might do if you keep on fooling around with show work.” “that's what he says. that's what he's been afraid of.” “smart man. he's looking ahead. still, he's asked you to marry him, hasn't he?” “finally. that's what's in this letter.” she held it up. “good,” he cried. “that can be the end of his distrust, providing you don't do anything to bring it all up again. it's up to you, but you'd better play straight, and don't think you're going to be able to play double and fool him. he knows too much about show business, show people and negroes all combined not to be able to see through anything.” “but getting back to the matter of a divorce,” she said. “you think then. i should sit down and write him a letter.” “a nice, sweet letter,” he said. “and tell him the truth?” the case of mrs. wingate “the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you god.” “and i–maybe i could say that i—i haven't—any—money?” “yes, all that, edrina.” “—and—” “no more. he'll understand even if you didn't say that you had no money. being a broad and practical man, he'd know you wouldn't have any; that no negro ever has any.” “oh, wouldn't that be wonderful!” she exclaimed, ecstatically. “what would be wonderful, edrina?” he inquired. - “that i could tell him i’ve been married, haven't a divorce, but want one; and that i haven't any money to—” “stop there. you needn't say any more. he'll understand and send it to you. besides, he'll send you extra money to take care of you while you're in louisville, and money then to come back to new york when you're ready to marry him.” “and—and you think he'd do—all that?” “i know he will,” said howard, stoutly. “that's what i meant when i said that he's a man, a real man. even you have learned that most negroes are full of nothing but jive, and promises, and—” “—like you—never have any money,” she said, “yes, donald, i know that. only thing.” “now what?” “i wish i had told him that i’d been married.” “oh, forget about it. as a practical man, he'd rather you had been married, at your age. men don't go for old maids.” “i’m not old,” she cried, and affected anger. “old enough. but getting down to business. so you'll do as i say? sit down, write him a sweet, tender and honest letter and tell him everything?” “i will, donald.” she said. he picked up his hat and cane now and walked toward the door. she followed. there, he turned back for a last word of counsel. “and edrina, from now on try to be sensible, understand?” “leave it to me, dear. i’ve got plenty sense.” “then start right now to using it and keep it up from now on good night.” “good night, donald,” she said, smiling, and closed the door be- hind him, carris xiv t his office in new york, late the next afternoon, sidney wyeth received a special delivery letter from edrina, which read: “darling: - “your sweet, sweet and loving letter is at hand, saying that you love me and asking me to be your wife, and has made me the happiest girl in all the world. “since i had to all but propose and beg you so hard to trust me, and to believe in me, my answer is almost unnecessary. but since it pleases and will make me so happy to say yes, i accept and will be your wife. i do love you, sidney, however much you have argued to the contrary, and i will try to be the dearest wife to you that any man ever had. now i am going to try to start out by being honest, frank and truthful to you. “because you never gave me any encouragement whatsoever, sidney, dear, you kept me in a state of fright and of fear that i would displease and add to your distrust in me. i was honestly afraid to tell you that i have been married, and that if you want me to be your wife, i’ll have to first get a divorce from the man i married when i was a mere girl, and have been away from for so long until it doesn't matter. “to get a divorce, which i plan to secure while in louisville, will take money, dear, money that poor edrina does not have. so i guess you will scold and make me unhappy all over again for not having told you, but as explained above, i was afraid to. “i am hoping, oh, so much, darling, sidney, that you won't get angry now, but will be sweet and patient, write me a darling letter and forgive me and promise to love me forever as i plan to devote my life to loving you. “with oodles of love and a thousand kisses, may i remain “affectionately, “e d r in a* the case of mers. wingate wyeth smiled as he finished the letter, and then raising it to his lips, kissed it. without delay he reached for a fountain pen on his coat and wrote her. dearest edrina: “yours of recent date, just received, and thank you. you didn't say if you were well or anything about your health, so i presume that you are well, otherwise you would have said so in your dear letter. - “please, my dear, don't feel bad about what you didn't tell me. i surmised that you had been married, and in no way feel either discouraged or disappointed that you have been, and felt that you'd have to get a divorce if and when you consented to marry me. i also surmised that you wouldn't have any money to get it with, so am assuming this expense. “however hard i seemed to have been, it is clear that after love, always comes responsibility and expense, both of which i expect to assume. this is one of the many reasons that girls should try to be a little sensible. love is the sweetest thing on earth—but flies out the window quickly when there is no food around to eat. “i will, therefore, go immediately to the post office and forward you a registered and insured letter, enclosing the cash so that you won't even have to spend a lot of time being identified so as to get an order cashed. if you will write me before leaving pittsburg where you will be in louisville, i'll send the money so that it will be wait- ing when you arrive there. i will enclose a little account book so that you can keep a record of expenditures, starting a sort of budget system before we marry even, since i am sure you will find this in the end a very satisfactory way of keeping a record of expenses. i presume that you will retain a lawyer and enter proceedings for a divorce as quickly after you arrive in louisville as is convenient. and, of course, i shall be glad to hear from you, among other things, as to when it might be granted. naturally, i will be anxious to know when i may expect you back in new york to become my darling wife. “until i hear from you, please try to think of me as “lovingly yours, w “s id n e y'' when marie arrived at the office the next morning, she found that wyeth had been in and had gone to jersey, by the words of a trite note, and she knew it would be to stage a sales campaign of some kind over there. she knew that wyeth was a restless person, forever on the go, and, moreover, if he spent any unusual sum of the case of mrs. wingate money, the first thing he'd think of would be to get it back as quickly as possible. so since he left the office so early, she had a suspicion that he'd spent a larger sum than usual, so opened his drawer and looked at the newest stub in the check book. it was there, as she suspected. $ . to “cash” for “personal.” woman like, she had stolen a peek at edrina's messages and letters, which he left in the middle drawer of his desk, and never locked it during his absence. no sooner had she closed the desk drawer and came out into the reception room, than in walked bertha schultz, dressed more beau- tifully than ever, smiling and peeping into wyeth's office at marie, in the hope that at last she was going to catch him in and meet him. “oh, bertha—i mean, miss schultz,” she began. “you mean just what you said,” bertha exclaimed. “don’t we know each other well enough by now to drop some of the formality?” “why of course,” cried marie, glad that bertha had called. she was pretty well caught up with her work, would have to stay at the office and was glad that somebody had come in for her to talk to. “then it is agreed. we're going to call each other by our first names from now on,” said bertha. “o.k.” said marie extending her hand which the other grasped and held, then both broke into laughter. bertha again glanced into wyeth's office and marie shook her head, sadly. “oh, no,” cried bertha, her tone tense with disappointment. “please don't say that i have—missed him again?” “i’m sorry, but i just came in a few minutes ago and i missed him even.” “oh, i’m so sorry,” cried bertha and looked it. she sighed and marie got a new idea. “well, let's get comfortable. he's gone for the day, and i haven't much to do, so let's take seats in his office and just talk.” she led the way, and pointed to a large comfortable leather chair to one side, or in the corner of the room, while she sat down in wyeth's chair behind the desk, which was leather, large, roomy and com- fortable. “my,” cried bertha from the large leather one in the corner, “but this is a comfortable chair.” marie smiled across at her. the case of mrs. wingate “so is this one,” and she swung backward and around to face bertha. “i’m the executive lady in charge, miss schultz. i'll hear your complaint now,” she said in a deep, bass voice. “by all means,” replied bertha, affecting her role with humor. “well, your honor. it is like this. i've been to this office no end of times to meet and talk to a certain gentleman called sidney wyeth. he seems to absolutely refuse to be here when i call. what can i do about it?” “well,” said marie, then placed her chin in her hand and pre- tended to think deeply, which brought forth a laugh from both. “maybe-mr. wyeth doesn't care to—meet me,” suggested bertha timidly. “oh, no, bertha. that's a mistake. the fact is, he is anxious to meet you.” marie paused. “guess we can't do very good at play, so let's stay serious.” - “all right, darling,” said bertha sweetly. “confidentially, bertha,” marie went on, “mr. wyeth has got himself mixed up with a girl.” “oh, a girl,” repeated bertha. “yes,” replied marie. in a mood to gossip. “a show girl, and that was not his intention.” “no?” “absolutely not. my boss in all the years i’ve worked for him, and as many girls as he has worked during all that time in the many pictures he made, has always been careful not to let himself become entangled with any. now, when we have suspended making pictures for over two years, he should fool around and let a show girl hook him is more than i can get used to.” “but, my dear marie, i understand that mr. wyeth is a man of decision, quite old enough to—” “do what he wants to, yes. but mr. wyeth has not wanted to let himself become involved with any show girl, and this escapade is something that just slipped up on him.” “well, it doesn't seem like any of our business, but i can't blame myself if you want to talk about it. i know it'll be interesting to listen to.” “i brought it up for the reason that if he hadn't done so and hadn't sent her a hundred dollars just this morning, he'd have been the case of mrs. win gate here in the office and you’d have met him.” “but-" objected bertha. marie raised her hand. “i just wanted to explain that when he puts out that much money for something he has no business doing, it makes him feel guilty and to get it off his chest, he jumps out early and he won't stop now until he's made it back—and perhaps that much more before he stops—and i mean he'll have it back by tomorrow night.” “from the way you put it, he must be a good salesman,” com- mented bertha. “that isn't half of it,” cried marie. “he’s a master salesman— and doesn't seem to be selling at all.” “how's that?” “just goes along in an easy, unassuming way, plain and simple, but gets into people's confidence and they fall in line and do what he wants them to, without seeming to be aware of what they are doing.” “remarkable.” “he’s a most remarkable person, that's why i hate to see him all worked up and perhaps engaged to any show girl.” “aren't show girls nice?” “some of them.” “only some?” “only some, bertha. ever been around them much?” bertha shook her head in the negative. “well, i have. lots of experience with them from helping mr. wyeth make pictures.” “you, helped him * said bertha, anxiously, curiously. “oh, yes. for years, his general assistant. that's where i got acquainted with show girls—and their ways, from chorus girls up.” bertha was listening to marie closely, marie continued, not under- standing of course that bertha hoped to find out something about wyeth's intention and inclination. having failed to meet him, she had been unable to tell her brother and early anything they were anxious to know. now as marie was in the mood to talk, maybe to gossip only, it was a chance to find out just how wyeth reacted to various angles which might help her to know more about him without marie suspecting just why she was so interested. “many of the show girls are bad,” went on marie. “most when .the case of mirs. wingate they start—at least, are young and vain, subject to flattery, which they get lots of, and that perhaps gets them started—and how so many do perform” exclaimed marie and shook her head woefully. “i hardly know anything they wouldn't do. i suppose white show girls are just as vain and carry on the same as do our girls, but they can do so without being noticed, because the men they play with are men of their own race. but our colored men, except mr. wyeth and mr. mantan, rarely run their shows. so the girls are at the mercy of the men who promote the shows, run the night clubs and hire our girls. as a result, and feeling that if they are ‘nice' to these italians and jews who operate the night clubs, they'll get to go places, it seems logical for them then to play up to these men, under- stand?” “of course,” said bertha. “i follow you. please go on.” “well, as a result, their conduct as a whole is just rotten. most men operating night clubs, grills and cabarets, are sporting life characters, gamblers, and ofttimes, former pimps and racketeers, so playing around with the women forced to work for them is their specialty. in fact, directly or indirectly, they keep most of them, the owner or his managers, and nobody has complained more about this than mr. wyeth. so you can see why i am provoked that he should go and let himself become all enamoured with one, send her money and i'm afraid, plans to marry her.” “really?”. “well, i think so. he wouldn't be sending her $ . if he hadn't planned something like that. he isn't a man that runs around or keeps women like most show men.” “no?” “oh, no. in all the years i’ve worked for him, i don't think he has ever kept a woman.” “he’s not married, as i understand it?” “no, he isn't married,” replied marie. “ever been p” - “yes. a long time ago. had trouble, something sad and which ended with a tragedy and it was that which caused him to start writing.” “i see. what are his inclinations p’’ “a domesticated man, entirely; a marrying man, and would make the case of mrs. wingate the right kind of girl a good husband for he is home loving and wants a home. but he's off on the wrong trail and i know it, and i'm annoyed.” “i don't wonder. just who is the girl? did you ever meet her?” “yes, i met her. she seemed to be all right.” “is she-pretty?” “quite pretty,” replied marie, “but she's stage struck and i’ve a feeling that no good is going to become of it and before it's all over, he's going to be sorry he let himself get mixed up with her.” “this is interesting,” said bertha. “mr. wyeth is an interesting man and a good man, and has no business getting himself mixed up with any actress.” “you know, as you talk about him, i begin to associate him with the man in his book.” “it is, in a measure, his own story,” said marie. “his life of hell.” “i knew it!” exclaimed bertha, rising to her feet and coming over to marie and sitting down on the desk to face her. “from the moment that story began, there was something about it that made it read, in most part, anyhow, like the events had actually happened.” “yes, they happened,” said marie, “and the tragic part about it, is that it happened to him, to sidney wyeth himself.” “this is so interesting. and the girl he wrote at such length about?” “that was his wife.” - “oh, my l’exclaimed bertha, her eyes opening wide. “just think of it. according to the story, she seemed like a good girl?” “she was.” “is that so?” exclaimed bertha again, all interest. “but she was weak.” “yes,” said marie. “that, if you studied the book, was the cause of all the trouble.” “the book is a fine study of human psychology.” “a wonderful study,” said marie. “and now he's in love with a-show girl,” said bertha, looking down. “thinks he is,” said marie. “but you don't think it is genuine, real?” “it could be, if she'd do right by him.” “what do you mean?” the case of mes. wingate “as i view this girl before she went out again with mantan's show, she has stage ambitions, is stage-struck.” “oh,” echoed bertha. “knowing mr. wyeth as i do, his engagement to her is with the understanding that she's to leave the stage.” “and you don't think she will want to.” “when a girl is stage-struck, nothing but to stride across the stage before the footlights will ever satisfy her.” “then you think that she may have agreed to give it up just to please him?” “that's it exactly,” said marie. “and as quickly as she's married to him, she'll find a way to go back on the stage and being closer to him then than she could ever get before marrying him, she plans to then persuade him to let her?” “my, how plain you make it,” exclaimed marie, smiling up at bertha. “but that's just the way she has it all planned.” “to fool him,” suggested bertha. “it would amount to that,” observed marie. “isn't a very good way to hold a husband.” “you nor i would do it, but this edrina, that's her name, is a show girl. and as i’ve said, i don't know anything they wouldn't do. so inveigling mr. wyeth into marrying her, knowing all the time that she doesn't intend to keep any promises she's making be- fore he marries her, is small besides what she's liable to put over on him after.” - “if mr. wyeth is—as you've described him, a sensible man, he should see what he's letting himself in for.” - “he hasn't let himself love, or fall in love with any girl for so long until she's sort of swept him off his feet—for the time being at least.” “maybe only for the time being.” “i hope so.” “she’ll probably overstep herself somewhere.” “that's what i'm expecting to happen. still, he might just rush blindly and desperately into it and up and marry her before he gets wise to the snare.” “does this edrina, as you call her,” suggested bertha. “go with any other man?” the case of mrs. wingate “with a music writer by the name of howard.” “oh.” “i know him and know that she has not only been crazy about him but still is, another reason why i'm provoked at mr. wyeth's action. “i know that i must meet mr. wyeth now,” said bertha. marie looked at her. “do you know, bertha. you're the type of girl i'd like to see mr. wyeth fall in love with.” “me?” exclaimed bertha, pointing to herself, and laughing. “i didn't mean exactly you, bertha,” explained marie. “i meant the kind of girl you are.” “but why,” said bertha, “why, like me?” “because you are the kind of girl he's always admired. a refined, highly intelligent girl. a girl whose refinement and intelligence wouldn't let her stoop to and do horrid things like many of our girls in america would stoop to.” “oh, but you flatter me, marie. flatter me too much,” and bertha sought to laugh it off. “please don't get me wrong, dear,” marie insisted. “i know nothing about your personal affairs. you even might be already married, as far as i know. i am, you understand.” “i know it,” said bertha. marie paused and looked up at her, a question in her eyes. “a friend of yours told me. we talked about you and it was she who told me that you were married. - “and happily so. meanwhile, i was about to explain—” “—about me,” said bertha, cutting her off. “well, darling, i am not married, not engaged, have no fellow, though i did go with a boy in germany before leaving there, but he's in the army and i'm in america. so you know now that i am free, single, disengaged and the only man i’m interested in, other than my brother, is mr. sidney wyeth, who, as you know, i am most anxious to meet.” “well, that makes it mutual.” “mutual?” “yes. i want you to meet mr. wyeth, and i promise to get hold of him and keep him here until you do. i may need your help to keep him from making a fool of himself.” the case of mrs. wingate “i’m sure i'll be glad to help you in any way i can.” “you may be able to, in a way that you don't know. i don't know how now, myself. but getting back to mr. wyeth, when i finally corner him in the office, i'm going to slip across the hall to another telephone and call you.” - “oh, will you, darling,” cried bertha, slipping off the desk and standing. marie rose to her feet, too. “i will, bertha, with the understanding that you dress and come right down.” “will i? and i can dress quick, dear. oh, you've made me so happy until i must—” and breaking off, she bent forward and kissed marie impulsively. they put arms about each other now and walked out into the reception room. in louisville, kentucky, in the meantime, edrina's sister had just signed for a telegram. another sister, followed by her mother came up. the mother's face showed anxiety. “telegrams always frighten me,” said the mother, waiting anx- iously for it to be read. “i hope nobody has died.” “nobody has died, mother,” said carrie, unfolding the telegram. “i’ll bet it's from edrina.” “it is,” said alice, behind her, reading it over carrie's shoulder. “so glad,” said the mother, with a sigh of relief. “read it out loud, please.” “it's from pittsburg,” said carrie. “am going to be married to sidney wyeth, the motion picture producer and writer. quitting show saturday and coming home from here to get a divorce from arthur, love “e d r in a ’’ “there, lord. i knew something was happening,” cried the mother. “i felt it.” “going to marry mr. wyeth, eh?” mused carrie, thoughtfully. “that’s fine.” “and who, pray, is sidney wyeth?” cried their mother, perking up, curiously. - - “he’s the man who makes most of the colored pictures we take the case of mrs. wingate you to see, mother. don't you remember seeing his name on the screen p” “yes, now that you mention it. i do remember seeing that name on most of the colored pictures i’ve seen. my, he should have money,” she said, and seemed cheered. “he’d have to have, to make pictures,” said carrie. “it takes lots of money to make them,” said alice. they turned and walked back through the front room to the kitchen, from where they had been called when the messenger came with the telegram. “i hope she treats him right and doesn't go to playing around,” said mrs. graham. edrina arrived late the next day and was greeted by all, including her old mother, who cried between sobs, as she embraced her: “edrina, my darling. we're so glad to see you.” an hour or so later the three sisters were together in the kitchen, while alice and carrie prepared the dinner. naturally the news that she was engaged to be married to sidney wyeth, the negro race's only motion picture director and producer, was considered little short of a triumph. “how'd you happen to meet mr. wyeth, anyhow,” inquired alice. “oh, just ran into him one day on the street,” answered edrina, a bit breezily. “and you think he fell in love with you—” “—at sight,” replied edrina, easily, smiling as she cut her sister off. “i saw it while he was being introduced. saw it in the way he looked at me.” “isn't that interesting,” cried alice, exchanging expressions with sister carrie. both turned admiring eyes now to edrina, who smiled and seemed to be pleased. “who introduced you to him, edrina?” inquired alice curiously. “donald,” replied edrina, and smiled as both sisters started, obviously surprised. “donald !” both exclaimed in chorus. “oh, it just happened,” said edrina. “donald and i were coming up seventh avenue; mr. wyeth was crossing at th street and we met at the corner, so donald, naturally, introduced us. donald and he have known each other for years.” the case of mrs. wingate “i see,” mused carrie, then turning to her: “i thought it was donald,” she ventured. - “so did i,” said alice joining carrie. “it was donald who you've been telling us about,” said alice. “ever since you went on the stage.” “donald in all your letters,” said carrie. “well,” said edrina, and hesitated. “i’m sure you must have liked donald very much,” said alice. “much more, perhaps, than you do mr. wyeth,” said carrie. “you’ve never written us anything about him, so from where did he appear so quickly” “well,” began edrina again. “mr. wyeth, perhaps, has money? isn't he a man of-means?” from carrie, and she glanced across from edrina to alice, whose eyes were on edrina. “why, carrie!” exclaimed edrina, affectaciously. “that could make some difference,” suggested alice. “yes,” from carrie, “a very great deal of difference,” and she looked across at alice, who seemed to be thinking just about as . she was. “on the other hand,” said alice, after a brief but thoughtful pause. “it is possible, after all edrina has been writing us about donald, for more than a year, a whole year, that donald might not be a marrying man.” - all of which vexed edrina very much, but she was trying hard not to show it. “are you really in love with mr. wyeth, edrina,” inquired carrie, “or, are you—” “—just marrying him to get a home?” suggested alice, cutting carrie off, who was about to ask the self same thing. by this time, edrina's control which she had lost for a moment, returned and came quickly to her assistance. “now is it just right to ask me such questions?” “you’re still in love with donald, edrina,” cried alice, looking at her closely, and speaking very boldly. “and knowing, perhaps, that donald is not a marrying man,” ventured carrie, daringly, “you're marrying mr. wyeth for money and for money only.” the case of mrs. wingate “shame on you, edrina,” said alice, and shook her head and made a “twt, twt, twt,” sound with her lips. cornered, caught un- prepared for this chiding, edrina was near tears, while carrie tried to modify it by a forced laugh. yet with more to say, went on: “meanwhile, she'll keep on going with donald, and—” “—having him just the same. oh, edrina, edrina,” and both she and sister alice laughed. “but that's new york for you,” said carrie. “you’ve caught on up there, edrina, bravo, bravo!” “oh, hush, hush,” cried edrina, withdrawing a kerchief and dabbing her nose and her eyes. “how can you talk to me like that, both of you.” turning now, she hurried away, across the dining and reception room and up the stairway, just as their mother walked in, and turned to see edrina, kerchief to her face disappear up the stairway. now she turned to her other two daughters and with a frown on her face, began : “i overheard the last of your conversation. why did you want to embarrass your sister like that?” alice and carrie turned back to their work now and were silent. “it was a mistake to draw her out the way you did,” complained mrs. graham, severely, looking from first one to the other. “we didn't start out to do so, mother,” said carrie, defensively. “no such thought was in our minds,” said alice. “we got started talking, and it just happened, that's all,” said carrie, and seemed to feel badly because they had embarrassed edrina. “i’m sorry that it had to be,” said mrs. graham. “to be frank about it, i was afraid it was that way, but you shouldn't have gone as far as you did.” ^_ “i’m sorry, mother,” said carrie penitently. “and i am, too,” chirped alice. “well,” sighed mrs. graham, with finality. “there's nothing that can be done about it now. it'll make her feel bad, with her here, i’m sure, on mr. wyeth’s money, for how could she pay for a divorce unless some man is putting up the money?” “and it sure isn't donald,” said carrie. “lord, no,” confirmed alice. “i heard her reading a long telegram to mr. wyeth over the phone the case of mrs. wingate * just before she came into the kitchen, and in the end, i heard her say ‘send it—collect’.” - “i was hopeful when she first returned. hoped that she liked mr. wyeth and planned to make him a good wife,” said mrs. graham. “right after sending mr. wyeth the telegram collect, she called off another to donald—and paid for it,” said carrie, whereupon mrs. graham shook her head, sadly. “now i'm going to be worried. no good can come of a woman trying to play two men. i'm afraid, before it is all over, that edrina's liable to make a mess of it all.” “still,” observed carrie, “if mr. wyeth is the man i'd imagine him to be, he ought to understand.” “maybe he does and maybe he doesn't,” broke in mrs. graham. “it's edrina. she has no right saying a lot of honey words to one man and all the while, in love with another.” “why hasn't she married donald,” said carrie. “she's talked and written enough about him to have been married to him a long time ago.” “maybe mr. howard has something to say about it. he hasn't, i'd bet, asked her to marry him,” said mrs. graham, her face still serious. “she's skating on mighty thin ice, if you ask me,” said alice, at which all three sighed and continued to think about edrina, who was now upstairs. “i’m sorry, if she doesn't really care for mr. wyeth. from the way she described him to me, and from other things i gather, he seems like a good man and might make her a fine husband.” “and he seems to want to badly, too,” said alice. “it’s been going on, it seems, ever since woman was woman and man is a man,” said mrs. graham. “the same old thing. in love with some man who either doesn't care, is not worth the feeling, and at the same time, ready to make a fool of another, possibly a good one.” as she finished she turned to leave the room, mentally very much disturbed. pausing, she turned back for a last word. “it isn't going to work, it isn't going to work at all,” and with that she dragged herself out of the kitchen. late that night edrina, in her kimono and alone in her bedrpom with her hair down and feeling comfortable, finished penning the the case of mrs. wingate following note to sidney wyeth in new york: “arrived home safely and have told my mother and sisters all about you, and they are pleased and in love with you already. “i’ve engaged a lawyer to apply for my divorce and he says that he expects to secure a decree in ten days to two weeks. he is charging me $ . to get it and i have paid him half of it down as a retainer.” she paused briefly, to think of what more to say, and tipped the end of the pen between her teeth, thoughtfully, presently setting it down, started out again. “i do nothing but think of you, dear, morning, noon and night. every day will seem an age until it is all over and i return to new york and your arms, never to leave them again; and soon there- after we shall be married and belong to each other for good. “my folks, in the meantime, are giving me a shower as quickly as i have secured my decree, and it is too bad that you can't be here, so that everybody could meet and fall in love with you as i have.” she paused to stretch her mouth wide and was conscious that she was becoming drowsy. knowing that no more letters would be picked up from the mail box that night, she didn't close the letter, but laid it aside and prepared for bed, chapter x v yeth was doing so well in the sale of his book in north- ern jersey, that he just drove by the office each morning for a full week, glanced through the mail, jotted down some instructions for marie, and was gone every morning when she ar- rived. in the meanwhile, after her last talk with marie concerning the story in the book as being inspired from wyeth's own life, told in the third person, bertha was reading it again and studying it very closely this time as she did so. - among the characteristics reflected in the development of the story, was, among other things, that of a man void and free of any ostentation and pretence. this was debated at some length in the story. another angle which interested her, was his views with re- gards to the intermarriage of races. since america as a whole, was opposed to the institution, wyeth had written of it in a most interesting way. he drew the picture of a girl, presumably white and as far as she knew, until it all came out in the end to the contrary, was a white girl. it was purely co- incidental for her to fall in love with a colored man, who refused her love because he thought she was white. elsewhere he criticised the negro for his failure to assume more responsibility, and his tendency to blame the white man for his con- dition, claiming it to be due to the under-privileged life he was forced to live and to race prejudice. he referred to that as the easiest way out. he pointed out very forcibly, that while that excuse, worn threadbare by this time, might be easy to hold up in place of suc- •cess and possession, that in the end, however, it got the negro nothing. she compared wyeth with kermit early, with so much academic training until, as she viewed him, he was largely unfit for real suc- the case of mrs. wingate cess and had not achieved it, had found the white man's prejudice to be such a stumbling block that he was making a supreme issue of its results. she also thought of and brought his relation with mrs. wingate into her mind's picture. mrs. wingate, a wealthy and aristocratic white woman, who was really in love with this colored man. she had inquired of the whereabouts of the author of nature’s child, having planned, in her research and the information she was turning over to her brother, to ascertain in detail any information that might later be of value to the reich. she could not find out much about the author of nature's child other than that he lived on long island, was married to a white woman, and seemed to have gone into retirement after the success of his book, which although shortlived, was phenominal while it lasted. she had also investigated another negro author, who had written a book of research, which she found very interesting and exhaustive, and had sent copies of it back to germany. like the author of nature's child, this one had also married a white woman and she wondered at all this; was it customary for negroes, after achieving some measure of success, to marry white women? was it because women of their own race did not quite come up to their ideas, socially and otherwise? she didn't think wyeth would marry a white woman. truly the negro in america, she found, presented the most unusual situation. he seemed to be the most interesting when he was in some way involved with the white man, the women often only as a concubine, which was the subject and background of the novel, by a southern white woman called passion, and which she found the negroes buying in greater numbers than they had ever bought any book, so she was told by local booksellers in harlem. the story was filled with the words “nigger” and “darkies” and of the term “darkies in their place,” and all through, was repeated “they knew their place and stayed in it” to which they were violently opposed, and would become very angry if such terms were expressed about them by negroes. yet, here was the case of a white woman, a southern white woman who put them in the “dog house” at the beginning of her story—and kept them there through- out and didn't let them out in the end—and they were buying and reading the book as they had never bought any book, including the the case of mrs. wingate bible. it was baffling and she couldn't understand it at all. surely there was much for her to study and find out, and this added to her anxiety to meet sidney wyeth and to have a long talk with him, and to meet him again and have more talks, for, according to marie, he was a negro from whom she could find out things she wanted to know, things and matters of current interest. this, she soon found out, negroes in general did not possess and seemed to take little interest in. if they were educated they were invariably aca- demic, academic to the point that he was more ignorant of current events, especially those concerned or related to trade, industry and commerce than he was with historical facts. she recalled that marie had told her about their inclination and love for anthropology, and how so many aspired to become one and even dared call them- selves an anthropoligist. something that not one person in a thou- sand in everyday life would understand, and who wouldn't care if they did not. “when you talk with mr. wyeth,” marie had said. “if you have occasion to know what banking in wall street and all over america is all about, he can tell you. if you went south and would like to know what you would meet on the way down there, he could tell you all you wanted to know about philadelphia, how the streets run even. on then toward washington, he would tell you about the great dupont family in wilmington, del., home of the greatest chemical corporations in america which bertha would have appreciat- ed knowing, being aware that germany was the home of the greatest chemical products the world over. yet in wilmington, the duponts were the greatest runner-ups. “but few negroes would even know what that was all about. it wouldn't concern ‘anthropology', so they would be as dense regarding it as of the forests you would en- counter in the heart of canada. “the negro could talk to you about washington, because there our group hold more white collar jobs than anywhere in america, and many would be aspiring to get a better one. he could tell you about the color line there among negroes, and that there is where they want to be regarded as aristocrats. because in washington there live a thousand well paid colored school teachers, aristocrats of the negro race, aristocrats without money, and where nobody wants to see anybody get ahead of anybody else, themselves especially. the case of mrs. wingate where selfishness reigns among each other supreme, and where no negro is appreciated unless white america has placed their stamp of approval on him, first. “then,” marie had told her, “they get in the honored ones way, until they can't move around, wine, dine and flatter them almost to death. that is washington and our people could tell you all about that. “going on south then through virginia and the carolina's, you meet endless colored people, but few of the intelligensia could tell you that there is the dynasty of ‘ls-mft' lucky strike, the world's best tobacco, or of camels and chesterfields which they are fond of smoking, but it is of little interest to them where the tobacco is grown that goes into them. no, he wouldn't know that and is not interested in finding out. “he would know that other than from california, oranges and grapefruit and lemons come in large numbers from florida, about the only commodity and fruit that he would know where grown; but continuing across georgia, alabama and miss., he would also know that there is the home of king cotton, but he hates those states and that section so badly, due to the way he is treated, and kept in his place’ until he wouldn't want to talk much about them. “jumping from the mississippi river to the pacific coast, about the only thing in that section that he wanted and could talk to you about would be of negroes who had inherited oil lands in oklahoma; but mr. wyeth could and would tell you that there were more wealthy negroes in the cane river country in louisiana, where many negroes, born of a white father before the civil war, were slave owners, negroes, a hundred years ago who owned each other, and whose descendants still live on the feudal estates that they inherited. he would tell you of a strip of sandy and hilly land along the eastern edge of texas, a strip of country, miles long by miles wide, which negroes owned almost entirely up until years ago. “but why and how, you might ask, did this come to happen? and mr. wyeth would tell you then of how hardy old negroes from the plantations of louisiana and arkansas right after the civil war, with their families treked westward in covered wagons into texas and settled in what is now the richest valleys there. he would tell you about how the whites frightened them with the first ku the case of mrs. wingate o klux klan hoods and fiery crosses and virtually forced them off these rich, black lands. compelled them to flee eastward, back in the direction from whence they had come, but not as far back. for when they reached the sand hill country on the eastern edge of texas, land that every settler had rode across and ignored, and feeling that they would not be bothered or molested, they settled there where they lived in peace for fifty or more years until one morning in when the news ran down through the gut, that oil had been discovered. then back to the hills came the white man, and for ten years he turned it into a land of litigation, persuasion and coercion. but at least half the negroes stuck by their guns. they held on and in time, because it came under federal observation and supervision, managed to retain his rich oil lands, and that today is where the richest negroes in all america live.” “and why would mr. wyeth know so much about all this, and all these others, with so much education and so many degrees, know so little?” “not little, bertha,” cautioned marie. “nothing.” “well ?” “because they teach nothing about negroes in our schools but the history of slavery and the war that ended it. they teach nothing about the negro's part in our great country since then or of today. our educated negroes know mostly, only what they learned in schools. they try to find out little about themselves thereafter. the negroes chief interest and great concern is to find the best possible job, and the jobs they give and grant to negroes are not the best jobs, under- stand?” - “i can,” said bertha, “but still you haven't explained why mr. wyeth should know so much about all the things you've told me.” “because, dear bertha, sydney wyeth is an observing man, living down to earth and concerned with the things, like white men, that make, and has made america great. even before he started making pictures, but especially afterward, he had occasion to travel all over the country to book his pictures in the negro theatres, scattered all over creation, and on these long trips, seated in his car, he saw things and he asked about them. they interested him and he found out from day to day, week to week, month to month on these long trips, what they were all about, and so—” the case of mes. wingate “— he knows and that is why he can—” “— talk about anything you or anybody else might want to know,' said marie, “except, of course,” and marie smiled, “anthropology and the origin of man,” and they both laughed. “mr. wyeth can tell you only of what man is doing today, not a thousand years ago, at least, not very much about it,” and again they laughed. “so, marie, dear, you have made me more anxious to meet your boss, but never, no never, is he in. always,” bertha complained, “he is out—gone before i reach the office, so what? will i ever meet him p ever?” marie sighed and shook her head. and then the very next morning, bertha, while cooking her breakfast, had a telephone call, which, of course she answered. it was from marie, at the office. “oh, bertha, he's here; he's in,” she cried, almost frantic. “you mean, mr. wyeth?” bertha cried. “nobody else. so, darling, eat your breakfast, for i can hear it cooking, eat it and hurry down here—run ſ” “i’ll run,” said bertha, and ate so quickly until she didn't realize it. a few minutes later she walked into the office of the wyeth pictures corporation, to see the object of her desire, sitting at his desk, busy talking over the telephone, and a few minutes later she had been introduced to him by marie, who left them alone to talk—and they talked! y cºrris xvi & o you're miss bertha schultz." wyeth began, after being introduced and having invited her to become seated. he looked at her, seemed to be pleased and smiled amiably. she returned the greeting. “yes, mr. wyeth,” she said, prettily. “i’m miss schultz,” and they both laughed, for they were thinking how many times she had been to the office to see him. “i’m inclined to feel that i know you, miss schultz, since my assist- ant has said so much about you and seems to admire you very much. i want to apologize at the outset, however, for being absent so often from my office, where i am supposed to do business and meet people,” he said. “oh, that is all right, mr. wyeth,” replied bertha, so pleasant he thought and so perfectly agreeable. “you’re a very busy man and i can appreciate your being absent, busy developing your sales in the field which is the best place i am sure, to do so.” he glanced at her with new interest. she had just made an ex- pression of intelligence. he could see by that one remark alone the kind of girl marie had described, an intelligent and understanding sort of girl. “thank you, miss schultz. you summed up the case in a few words. i don't know whether you understand much about business from the negro viewpoint, but my experience for a long time has been, that if we are to succeed in only a small way, it is necessary for those of us desirous of success to lead in the effort.” “thank you so much, mr. wyeth. i am interested in finding out as nearly as i can, exactly what the negro is doing, and from all i've been able to learn, you are about the most informed man in a broad and general way that the race possesses.” looking at her, wyeth thought of what marie had said; that the the case of mirs. wingate * girl was of german extraction, of fine intelligence and possessed self-confidence. he was interested in her, and was curious to know more about her, to talk with her, perhaps, about the things she knew. he couldn't know, of course, the many reasons why she wanted to talk with him, and of the things that might be of interest to adolf hitler that she was to find out. “no one could read your book, either from the standpoint of entertainment or psychology, and not appreciate your intelligence and mass of information, mr. wyeth,” she said sincerely. “then you have read it?” he said, a bit anxious to feel her out; see just what were the reactions of this girl who had spent so much time in europe. her reaction could be different than one so close to the things he had attempted to write about. “twice, mr. wyeth.” - “twice?” he said this in such a way that she had to explain it was not necessary to do so in order to understand it. all the comments he had heard had been to the effect that it was very simple, easy to read and understand. she read what he was thinking and quickly said: “i didn't read it the second time because i did not fully understand it the first time.” “thank you,” he replied and smiled, a bit relieved. “i fully understood it the first time, and that,” said she, “is why i read it the second time,” and she smiled sweetly, hopefully. he now understood and liked her. she was making it easy. “you’re a very interesting person, miss schultz.” “please don't flatter me, mr. wyeth,” she said and blushed, and he thought, as bertha had told him, of the great schumann-heink. “i enjoyed reading it, mr. wyeth. it was not merely enjoyable and interesting, but it left you feeling something.” - he was thoughtful for a moment, then turned to her: “digressing for a moment, there have been two books published during this decade of especial and peculiar interest to our group. i'll take first the last one only recently published.” “you are referring to passion, i suppose,” she offered. “exactly. just what was your reaction to it?” she shrugged her shoulders lightly. “you found,” he said, “it interesting?” the case of mrs. wingate “yes, i found it interesting,” she admitted. “but you didn't find in it a book which you would say that you— liked p” - “oh, no,” she exclaimed, quickly “and yet our people, we negroes i mean, are buying that book in greater numbers than any current book ever published.” “you don't say so!” she exclaimed, somewhat surprised. “they are doing just that.” “and it—oh, it has so many words, situations and so much that i imagine they would dislike; that they would complain about.” “yes, it has all that, and there is no escape in the end from the bastardy the book puts them in-yet they are buying it as they have never bought any book that i ever heard of before.” “it's amazing!” “it shows, among other things, that tragic realism interests them. while it is a terrible book, a dirty and very much soiled sort of book, from a moral point of view, i’m glad the woman wrote it. it has helped me.” she looked at him, not quite understanding. “i have enjoyed picturizing the negro in his true state in such books as i have written, and in the many pictures that i have made.” “yes, pictures,” she said, sitting up. she hoped he was going to say more about pictures. “but they won't let me!” her eyebrows wrinkled. “i don't—quite understand you.” “it would take too many words to explain, then still you might not understand. but what i mean directly is that when i try to do this, film the negro realistically, there is so much complaint on his part, and i meet so many theatre owners that refuse to play the pictures, especially in washington and a lot of other places, too, that i don't dare picturize him as he actually is, and at no time or in any picture have i used such words and terms as this white woman uses to describe him. in short, she puts the negro in the dog house at the start of the book and she keeps him there throughout the entire story, and locks him up there to stay for good in the end and still they buy the book, and nobody says: ‘oh, i liked it,” still they buy it. we handle it and are selling as many copies through our mail order department as we are of mine. why i like writing a the case of mrs. wingate is that you can express your opinion, use words that fit best, and nobody annoys you with squawks and kicks and so much of that which dogged me all through the years that i made pictures.” “indeed!” she exclaimed and was anxious for him to go on. “oh, yes. it was amazing. now the truer my pictures are to negro life as we negroes experience and know it, the better they draw and the better they liked them; but there was always somebody com- plaining to the manager that he or she didn't like the picture and questioning why that man was doing and saying the things he did. we're trying to get away from all that stuff you hear them say. they have no regard for history. they would have history obliterated, wherever they can exert any pressure or influence, especially if it showed him in the roles we all know he played, prior to the civil war. he would have the world feel that he began right out there on seventh avenue, from the beginning. in fact, it is so hard for one negro to please another that one becomes despaired.” “amazing.” “amazing but true. to begin with, he refuses to take any of us seriously unless the white man puts his stamp of approval on us first. the very thing he would have you crucified for doing, saying or portraying, the minute the white man says something fine about it, immediately it becomes classic with them and we are then praised and lauded to the skies.” “why?” she asked. “really, miss schultz, i don't know,” he said shaking his head. “nothing leaves you so baffled as the novel passion, which if a negro had written and the white people were not buying as they are, too, he'd demand the author, if he were a negro to be shot at sunrise—and this runs right down through those of the intelligensia, including the many organizations, conceived and operating for the benefit of a higher millenium as regards us. this southern woman has been invited to speak to endless groups of negroes and they are falling over each other to hear her, because she has written a book, picturing the negro in the lowest strata of society that he could possibly be. nowhere in the book has she honored him. she puts words in a colored doctor's mouth in the story, expressing a wish and a desire to marry a girl who has been the concubine of a no-good white man.” “i agree with you that in this respect,” she said, “they are— baffling.” the case of mrs. wingate “i once heard a speaker, a colored orator of renown say that no negro has ever achieved great success with the help of one another, and it is true. white america, we all agree and admit, seems to view us, especially the contemporary negro, through a distorted vision. he seems to want to keep us in the dog house, as it were, talking, when he puts words in our mouths, always in dialect, rolling our eyes, being funny at all times, or if he is forced to accept us from another viewpoint, he will readily do so but as criminals, morons, de- generates—anything but what the most of us aspire to be, good americans living a moderate and conventional american life. in fact, he seems to want to feel that we have no contemporary life. and yet, any negro, who aspires to rise above the common masses, has got to please that white man and in some way, conform the negro to his point of view, otherwise he is ignored and crucified. and so by this kind of silence, we are crucified by the leaders of our own race, who refuse to take us seriously because the white man has neglected to do so.” “very interesting, mr. wyeth,” she said. “in just what way, if any, has this affected you, and especially your book?” - “that is a long story.” “is it?” she said. “why have you made no effort to get your book on sale at most of the book shops?” “i have, and am, miss schultz, sort of feeling my way into the depth of what i consider a rather intricate situation.” she nodded understandingly, and listened closely. “meanwhile, i am finding out by going slowly, yet persistently, no end of ways that might ultimately get me somewhere. by that, i mean, that i am able, by concerted effort, to make a good living and keep my assistant steadily and profitably employed, by building up the sale of the book, and perhaps other books, directly to the masses.” “i follow you,” she said. - “it was the same way in the production of pictures. the negro on the street is with you when you make an honest but worthy effort, and he will buy what you produce. just get it to him and he will do the rest. it is the so-called or would-be leader who, in the end, fortunately, is not very effective, who lambasts you, tries to ridicule you, hold you up to contempt and tries to keep you stale- mated.” the case of mirs. wingate “how can you explain such a-a peculiar phenomenon?” bertha queried, her brow wrinkled. “yes, how can you?” wyeth repeated. “it would take so many words to explain it that i might be here until noon trying to do so. i brought it up because i don't want you to feel that the white man holds us back as much as this very group i refer to would have you think. through such philosophy as he practices, he helps to hold himself back. he refuses even more, i fear, than the white man to recognize and appreciate merit and ability, constructive ability, within our group and by his activity and conduct makes our lot harder. most of this, in a word, is due to nothing but pure selfish- ness.” - “i understand, but—i—hardly know how to-accept it.” “you could hardly,” he said, understandingly. “you see,” she went on, as if to clarify her lack of knowledge of the things he was talking about. “i’ve spent the last ten years, most of it at least, in school in germany and france, and—” “—which has left you a bit ignorant of conditions here in america,” he interrupted her and smiled, nodding his head. “but now that i am—back, you see, i am anxious to learn all about us—and any condition or circumstances that involve us. i might tell you that learning these things is to be my future work. naturally i am axious to start finding out all i can and as quickly as i can. that is why, among other reasons, that i have been so very anxious to meet you.” “thank you, miss schultz,” he said pleasantly. “i admit know- ing a great deal about our group here in america, but i hope i don't sound boastful or egotistic in making such an admission. for so many years i made motion pictures, and i had to find places to play them all over america, any place where there were enough of our group to make it profitable.” - “i am especially anxious to have you tell me more about—making pictures,” she said, raising her pretty hand. “but there's something i would like you to tell me right now, and i will ask you to tell me before we get too far away from it.” “of course,” he said, and waited. as she poised for the question he watched her closely, and again was reminded of her extremely germanic extraction; and again he thought of the great madame schumann-heink. to him as he the case of mirs. wingate studied her, she was the strangest colored girl he had ever met. she did not have the usual negro inclination, accent, composure; she was anything but a colored girl in the way he knew them. and yet, she was colored, this was obvious in the brownishness in her other- wise bluish eyes, the wave of her hair, the darker color of her skin, which should have been, according to her mannerisms, real white. - “before i went—to europe,” she began again. she was still having difficulty in representing herself as an american. speaking of it so often confused her. “i heard so much of how the negro had made such wonderful progress in the years since the civil war. i don't hear nearly so much about this—progress now. why?” “we don't say nearly as much about our progress since the great depression swept the country during the past fifteen years, but which has been over long enough to forget most of it. until the depression, which was when there was so much said about progress, we thought we had made much.” “had we ?” “in a way, yes, but it was mostly academic. decidedly academic.” “not material, industrial, commercial or economic?” “no, it was not,” he said. “it was mostly academic, but un- fortunately, was confused with the material, if you didn't go very deep, or investigate very far. still, we seemed to have had more economic success before the depression than we are enjoying since, but i insist on the statement that before the depression our so- called progress was still more academic than material, but a greater value was placed on that academic success before the de- pression than we have since valued it.” bertha listened carefully to his every word. “i recall the statistical reports back in those days which were in effect that we had so many people who had graduated from college, so many from high school, so many doctors, so many lawyers, so many teachers, so many preachers, so many churches, and so many this and so many that. when the depression swept over the country, and thousands of these various grades of graduates were forced on relief, and to grab and take any kind of job that could be created, for our government went into the creation of jobs, such as through the medium of the wpa and other works administra- tions, much of what we had reckoned as assets, lost value completely. the case of mrs. wingate when it moved on and left them stranded, destitute, what had before been considered an asset, was a pitiful liability and it was the de- pression that perhaps made us realize we hadn't made so much prog- ress after all as we were inclined to boast of; that much of this so- called progress was merely potential. it most assuredly was not material, and we found we couldn't buy food, clothing or pay rent with it. just before the great depression, there had been an orgy of buying, purchasing homes in which to live, to rent and exploit. on most of these purchases only a small payment was made, but through and during this period of inflation, it was enough to transfer the property, mostly only by contract, to the purchaser. within a few years then, the purchaser was considered the owner of much property, as it were. it looked like we were going places, only to have the depression destroy and wipe out these potential values so quickly that it left the previous and temporary holders dizzy. had you lived here during the worst of that period, you would have been forced to agree with the rest of us, that we were finished—that the end for the negro had come, because we educated ones and all, in plain words, were just nothing. “that, then, miss schultz,” he finished, “is why you don't hear so much about our progress and achievement at this time.” “you have made it so clear. well, what about now?” “now? yes, now. well, miss schultz, that is hard to say. we've had a wave of prosperity for several years. it would seem that after having survived such a calamity as the depression, that most of us would be sensitive about it and try to avoid going through such another condition by conserving our earnings, but we are not.” “oh, no?” “there's always some conservative people, and this applies to many of our group, who didn't go on relief during the depression; didn't go on it because they had managed their earnings carefully and though terribly restricted, didn't sink that low. the same situation applies now. in the sale of the book it is our privilege to meet many people and come to understand this condition very well. there are some people who have money all the time, subscribe for the book and pay for it whenever it is offered for delivery, but there are others who, if you don't get it to them between friday, their pay day, and monday morning, won't have anything left to pay with after that date. they are just careless, wasteful and extravagant, that's all.” the case of mrs. wingate “with regard to the church and the colored preachers, what in- fluence do they wield?” “enough to live quite comfortably, regardless, and by such in- fluence as he has, makes those who belong to the church the most conservative. their promise is better, and they strive to keep it far more than the ones who do not belong to or are not active in some church.” “you think so ° “i know so. if it wasn't for those who are associated with some of the many churches, i don't know what would become of us. i'm inclined to feel that we would almost disappear as a worthwhile group. those women who are the pillars of the colored church, do more to hold us together and make us as responsible as we are, than any other influence, which is still not sufficient.” bertha glanced at her watch. “i know that i must not continue to keep you away from your work at such a time of day, mr. wyeth,” she said, rising to her feet. “so i will get out of your way, but it is my wish to talk with you again, a great many times, if this can be arranged.” “i am sure we have interests in common, miss schultz, and will be able to meet again many times and talk about what seems to interest you, and most assuredly does me—the condition of our group here, which is a stupendous problem.” “a tremendous problem is putting it mildly,” she said as he followed her into the reception room. marie paused in her typing to get up and smile at them, and put her arm about bertha's waist. “i know that you both have found common interests,” she said, “and you haven't got started yet.” “but we will and i hope soon,” said wyeth, smiling down on the two girls. “miss schultz here,” he said, looking at her, “is going to prove a very interesting person to talk to, i can see that now.” “he likes that kind of person, bertha,” said marie. “his com- plaint is that he cannot talk to many of us, that we don't take matters that seriously.” - “mr. wyeth is a wonderful man,” said bertha, smiling up at him. “i could listen to him talk forever!” all broke into merry laughter at this, then with a bow and another smile, wyeth turned and went back into his office, closing the door behind him, cºrn, xvii n louisville, edrina's shower turned out to be quite i an affair. her mother and father and their mothers and fathers before them were all born in louisville and as youngsters had all been educated. her mother, as a girl, was both beautiful and refined. her father was tall and handsome. her grandfather was a half-breed indian, her grandmother a beautiful mulatto. so endrina was descended from the best colored people in the town of ‘marse henry w. watterson.” they therefore went all out to make edrina's engage- ment to sidney wyeth a popular event by inviting all the best negroes of louisville, which included most of the colored doctors, lawyers, school teachers, especially the principals of the many negro schools, the undertakers, insurance men, two bankers, head- waiters from the leading hotels, all combined to make the affair a popular event. with a large portion of the dollars that wyeth had sent her, which was enlarged by gifts from her brothers, edrina had pur- chased and dressed for the occasion as few colored girls had ever dressed for anything in louisville. at the moment, the party was at its height. a local orchestra had been engaged, two girls with the best voices had also been retained and rendered solos that gave the party zest and entertainment. after much insistence, edrina con- sented to give a rendition which she had sung with mantan's show, knew how to “sell” it and having just finished the song, was sur- rounded at the moment by many admirers. she was presently taken in charge and questioned regarding her engagement to wyeth, whom everybody knew to be the race's only negro motion picture director and producer. “will you continue on the stage after you marry,” she was asked, “or retire to the life of a house-wife?” “oh, i could hardly give up the stage,” edrina replied, with her the case of mrs. wingate most gracious smile. “my public would hardly let me. i expect to open in a new play shortly after my return to new york,” she informed all who heard, and was pleased with the animation the remark created. “will mr. wyeth approve?” she was next asked, whereupon edrina answered with her sweetest and most attractive smile. “he may not want to, but—” and she brought her large and beautiful ostrich feather fan down in a large and illustrious sweep, “i shall attend to that,” and she smiled her best and bowed, again pleased with the flattery. after a dance with professor jones, principal of the central high school, and a drink of punch with dr. maxwell andrews, louisville's leading negro surgeon, she permitted the headwaiter of the great brown hotel to sit out a dance and then danced with charles weston, president of the monmouth, leading negro insur- ance company of kentucky. - she brought her stage training into effect that night—and donald howard knew how to train a girl in the art of etiquette, and edrina was at her best for the occasion, carrying off all honors. when the guests departe- shortly after midnight, everybody was talking about edrina; how she had improved since going to new york, and in the heart of every girl who attended, she was the secret subject of much envy. everybody was pleased with the success of the party, but her mother, who had overheard her speech regarding the stage, and was, as usual, worried and took her in tow when they sat down for a moment's relaxation after the last guest departed. “i’m awfully worried about you, edrina,” she began and shook her head. “it’s bad enough to marry mr. wyeth, who seems like such a good man and not be in love with him.” “who said i wasn't, mother?” she lied, glibly. the success of the party had added to her ego and self-confidence, also to her ability to lie and fool even herself. actually she had the feeling that she was in love with wyeth. “not me, i'm sure,” she finished, her head high. “no, not you, of course, edrina,” said her mother. “but don't try to fool a mother who raised you, and even if you have been to new york and are able by your bizarre and vivacity to fool the guests as the case of mrs. wingate i saw and heard you fool them tonight, you cannot fool me. you're in love with this donald howard and no other. you are not in love with mr. wyeth.” getting dramatically to her feet and sweeping around the room with stage-like precision, edrina faced her mother. “oh, mother, don't say that—please don't say it! i can't under- stand why you, carrie and alice keep on intimating that i'm not in love with the man i'm going to marry, and that, instead, i'm in love with donald howard. positively and absolutely, i am not in love with donald howard, and would not marry him if he was the last man on earth!” - “hush, my child, please,” her mother replied, and waved her down with a motion of her hand. “sit down and quit aeting. you're not on a stage and i’m not one of an audience. i'm your mother and what i want to talk about is for your own good. so please quit acting, dear, and sit down and listen to me.” “well,” sighed edrina, petulantly, but sat down as requested. “now, dear,” mrs. graham began. “as i said, i’m awfully worried about you and i wouldn't be feeling as i do if there wasn't a good sound reason for it.” - “but what reason, mother what have i done or said to leave you worried as you insist?” “tonight you told everybody within hearing distance that you could not afford to quit the stage; and that you expected to open in a new play immediately upon your return to new york.” “oh, well,” said edrina, deprecatingly. - “that was only for show; to make you appear big in the eyes and ears of those who heard you. still, it is truthfully what you would like to do, now isn't it?” her mother insisted, pointedly. edrina shifted uncomfortably, but made no immediate reply, so mrs. graham went on : “you said it all as a grand gesture, but behind the gesture was ambition, and you plan to persuade mr. wyeth to consent—after you marry him, to let you remain on the stage, now isn’t that true?” edrina shifted more uncomfortably, and turned and tried to change the subject. - “i’ve promised to be a good wife to mr. wyeth; the best wife i know how to be. now isn't that enough?” the case of mrs. wingate “of course—if you mean it.” “oh, mother,” cried edrina, springing to her feet, and starting all over, but her mother caught her by the arm and pulled her back down again. “sit down and be patient. you don't want to listen to me because the truth hurts and you want to supplant truth with camouflage, dramatic gestures.” - - “everybody who i talked with tonight said such fine things,” said edrina. “but alone with you and my sisters, you start insisting that i don't mean mr. wyeth any good; that i'm marrying him for security only; and that i’m planning to fool him, and—” “—you're not going to succeed, dear. that is what i want to caution you about; that in planning as you are, in the end you'll find out that you are only fooling yourself.” “i’ll be glad when it is all over; when the lawyer calls or writes me and tells me the decree has been granted, and that i’m free to return to new york. i thought you were going to be glad to see me and—” “we are alliglad to see you, edrina, and if we could feel that you intended to do right by the man you've agreed to marry, we'd all be with you, but i'm your mother and carrie and alice are your sisters. we know you and we can see right through all that you are fooling everybody else with.” “so what?” cried edrina, as if deciding to face the music and have it over with. “just quit playing around and try to be true to yourself if you are unable at present to be true and faithful to the man you're about to marry. you send him a telegram collect every day, and you call him by telephone almost every night, in each case, collect, and you say so many sweet words to him, assuring him in almost every breath of your fidelity, of your anxiety to please him and make his life the happiest he has ever known. and you send donald howard telegrams and pay for each one out of the money mr. wyeth is sending you. you call donald after you talk to wyeth, and you charge the calls on our telephone, i–’” “—i’ll pay for all of them before i leave, mother.” “i’m not talking about that. you'll pay for them, i know—out of more money mr. wyeth sends you, not out of anything donald sends the case of mrs. wingate or has ever sent, and you try to make me believe that you're not in love with this donald. edrina, how can you!” edrina began to cry. then breaking suddenly off, she faced her mother bravely and boldly. “please, mother, believe me. i won't let you down. just store that in the back of your head and think and charge me with anything you like, but believe me when i say that in the end i won't let you down.” she crossed over to her mother, bent over, kissed her, and patted her cheek. mrs. graham sighed deeply. “your promise to me is just as good as all those you are making to sidney wyeth and will be broken as promptly when and if the time comes,” and mrs. graham, sighed again, more deeply, more hopelessly. “i don't care how you feel—now, or what you say, mother dear. all i ask is that you leave mr. wyeth to me. i know how to handle him, so just leave him to me, dear mami, and watch what happens.” she bent over and kissed the elder woman again and again patted her cheek and then turning, crossed the room and went upstairs to her room. two days later the lawyer called her and told her that her decree had been granted, and to call at the office to sign the papers and etc. the etc. meant of course to bring the rest of the money. she called western union immediately and wired wyeth the news; and that she would be ready to leave for new york as quickly as she heard from him. - when wyeth got her telegram, he understood, and understood, also, what she didn't say. by now she knew that she didn't have to always ask for what she wanted. - two hours later a telegraph messenger walked across the porch of edrina's home in louisville, and when he crossed it on the way out, edrina held a western union check for a hundred dollars, which she kissed, and two days later, she started back to new york where she was met at the penna. station by sidney wyeth, who kissed her, took her bags and hat box in charge, carried them to his car, followed by her. he helped her into the front seat, smiled down at her, then went around the car and got into the driver's seat. he looked at her, smiled again, squeezed her hand, then drove her uptown to harlem, and to a restaurant where they used to go when it all started, retired to a the case of mers. wingate booth they used to sit in, and gave their order to the waiter. a half hour later they were in a heated argument. it started over some remark he made about what happened to some show people recently, and having decided to change him over on her way from louisville, she chose it to begin her campaign. it brought immediate response. “but why do you dislike show people so, dear?” she began, in- nocently enough. “i ask you, sidney, is that just right and fair? why are you so against them ” he looked up quickly and in great surprise. “against show people? what do you mean, edrina?” he wanted to know. “well,” she said, slowly, carefully. “you’re always ready to play them down.” “i merely related how, after rehearsing six weeks here while you were away, some fifty or more were taken to philadelphia, where they had been promised work all winter, but actually played just one flop week. that half of them were stranded over there, unable to get back. in philadelphia, think of it, only ninety miles away, and can't get back.” “but they can't help it. a man like you should feel sorry for them,” she said, seemingly anxious to provoke his impatience. “i do feel sorry for them, but that won't get them back to new york, nor will it compensate them for rehearsing the entire fall. i merely criticised their taking such chances. the actors equity association would not have permitted such a-travesty, but they waived equity, and did it on their own. that is all that i criticised. they shouldn't have allowed themselves to take such chances on a turkey show.” “people have got to get along somehow, is how i see it,” she argued. “there's a war going on in europe. it may involve america before it is over. there's plenty of work and good pay. nobody needs sym- pathy who ignores these conditions and permits themselves to be inveigled into a turkey show that's stranded half of them in phila- delphia, $ . worth of railroad fare away from new york.” “still i feel sorry for them and you ought to feel the same way,” she said. the case of mirs. wingate “do you call that being sensible or practical ?” he argued, wonder- ing why she had chosen to make an issue of an incident, foreign to both. “they weren't paid for the flop week they played, even.” “and because of their misfortune, you're against show people,” she insisted. he turned to look at her more closely. “listen, dear, i don't understand why you brought this up and chose to argue about it, unless there is some ulterior motive behind it. well, what is it all about? speak up, dear, get it off your chest.” “how can i reason with you when you're so prejudiced against show people?” she argued. “they've never done anything to you, have they? then why do you dislike them so?” she looked at him, and the very expression with which she did so seemed to him most unreasonable. “i tell you for the dozenth time, edrina, that i'm not against any- body nor do i dislike show people. you're not so concerned with that as you pretend to be. there's something on your mind, honey. i, can smell it. you've been doing some thinking and planning. so don't sit there, beating around the bush, trying to make a mountain out of a mole hill. just come on out with what it is.” edrina was momentarily cornered. she had been planning, a single track planning, that didn't include what he might think about it or anybody else. she hadn't been very clever in starting it. was it because she was overly anxious? too anxious to get on the subject, and to have him agree with her, then she was going to be very sweet and persuade him that he was all wrong about shows, and that she was right. up against a brick wall—in a blind alley, as it were, she reverted again to the same thing which by this time had become monotonous. - “i still say that you're against show people,” she began all over again. “is this a round-about way to see if i have changed in regards to your work on the stage? it sounds like it,” he said, looking straight at her. she didn't look at him, but kept her eyes on her plate instead. “if it is, for your information, i haven't changed at all. if the recent debacle in philadelphia has meant anything as far as i'm concerned, i'm more set against it now than ever. we've just had a very good demonstration of what badly financed, careless show pro- the case of mfs. wingate duction can come to. i'm most emphatically set against it and don't want nor will i have any wife of mine, messing around with any kind of a show. it's all a gamble at best, and why should i permit a cheap gamble in which the stakes are lowest at best to interfere with my home and comfort and happiness? as i used to tell you, i know too much about the whole cheap effort to get enthusiastic and have never been enthusiastic about them since i went into the show busi- ness, years and years ago, so that is that.” his tone was hard and firm as he tried to eat a mouth full of food, and there was a severe frown on his face at the same time. “see,” she cried, pointing a finger at him, accusingly. “i told you that you were against show people, and just then you admitted it.” he looked up a moment, and frowned more deeply, but wishing to avoid a further argument, lowered his eyes and said nothing. “you just hate show people—hate them,” she cried, and looked hard at him and was still looking hard at him when he raised his eyes again and met hers. “mantan's getting up a new show. you haven't been here long enough to have been told about it, so somebody must have written you at louisville that he was.” she couldn't answer, but it was donald who had written her that he was. he had merely said that mantan was getting a new show together as a matter of news and not with any thought of putting ideas in her head. wyeth was still looking at her and now went on: “is that what this is all about?” she made no answer and lowered her eyes to her plate and said nothing. he knew that it was this that was on her mind, and that she would not be happy until she had called on mantan—to find if he had any part in it for her. he grunted. he was angry now and wanted her to know just how he felt. he was additionally angry be- cause she had assured him over the telephone, at his expense, night after night that she had given up all such ideas and ambitions and was ready, as quickly as she returned to new york, to be all his own and make him happy. now hardly before she arrived, she had staged an unreasonable argument, in the hope, as he could see, of getting his consent to resume show work. “i’m still standing where i have stood all along. i want my wife in my home. i want a fine, dignified and intelligent woman for a the case of mrs. wingate wife and you can't maintain any such position surrounded by a lot of swearing, immoral and blackguarding vandals as these shows, most of them at least, are made up of and i won't stand for it. in short, i won't have it.” she didn't answer because she didn't know how, so he went on, in a muttering tone now, more to himself than to her, - - “drinking, smoking weeds, swearing and running around back- stage almost naked, and nobody caring, hunh! pawing over stage hands and cheap white men, thinking they can do something for them when the man is hardly making enough to take care of himself. but they think that being a white man he can do something for them so start out to ‘be nice' and persuade him to do so by pawing over them, inviting them to their homes, going to bed with them—crazy nuts.” edrina glanced up, was glad that his eyes were down and that he didn't see her. she was a bit frightened now and realized that she had chosen a bad time to win him over and was sorry she had started out to, so soon. she was in a quandary as to what to do, how to turn. presently she tried a new angle, which turned out to be just as bad. “mayle you don't feel that i am good enough for you,” she suggested. she said this with her eyes down on her plate but could see him raise his and look at her, felt it. “you have everything i want in a wife, edrina. you come of good people back there in louisville. a friend of mine told me all about them; a friend who used to know you in louisville, said that you were considered a nice girl out there, that you had been raised well, and that you had fine intelligence. but since getting a little taste of the stage, you're stage-struck. you think you have something that the public wants. maybe you have, but it's too long a gamble to find out through the medium of a turkey show. i said all along that i wanted your consent of your own volition, with the understanding that you'd be satisfied to be a housewife only. and that's what you promised of your own free will, say what you may, feel as you may, but i didn't demand it; was careful not to. i’m sure you understood my sentiments, that any demand on my part might influence you, contrary to your wishes.” - “i’m willing to be a good wife, sidney. but i’ve got to tell you the case of mrs. wingate that i hate to see you so set against show people, that's all. they've never done anything to you, so—” “all right, edrina, all right,” he said, cutting her off. “since you feel as you do about it, supposing that we postpone our wedding awhile? until you've made up your mind, definitely, just what you want to do. let's wait. what do you say to that?” before she could answer, for she had no answer then to make, he glanced at his watch and started. “good gracious,” he cried. “we’ve been here, arguing for an hour and a half. i called your landlady and told her to wait, that i'd have you there an hour ago. she said that she was due to go out and we're imposing on her by being late.” he called the waiter, paid their bill. “now let's go,” he said, and without further words, rose to his feet, and together they left the place. the next morning, around noon, at the hall where mantan was rehearsing, assisted by howard, edrina put in her appearance. after greeting them and listening to compliments and kind words about her coming marriage, edrina broached the question regarding a part for her. howard didn't seem to understand what she was talking about and dismissed the question and proceeded to talk about some- thing else. she resumed her question, this time insistently. “i tell you, edrina,” said donald, complainingly, “i didn't write any part in the show for you.” “but you can,” she replied, insistently. “it’s not too late yet.” turning impatiently, he looked sharply at her. “what about wyeth? aren't you supposed to be getting married to him very shortly he doesn't want you in this show—any show. what about him?” she tried to ignore his question. “hasn't he bought you a divorce? the divorce you've been talking about getting for more than a year, but never had money enough to get?” still edrina made no answer. he went on, laying aside his other work and looking straight and hard at her. “hasn't he been sending you money, taking care of you all the while you were in louisville? you wrote me that you bought a swell dress for your party with money he sent you? who sent you money to come back to new york on as i've told you, i didn't write any part in this little show for you, for i wasn't thinking about you in the case of mrs. wingate that regard. i thought i was giving you a chance to get a good man and a good home and security, and now, no sooner have you hit new york than here you come running, wanting to know about a part in this cheap show we're rehearsing. what kind of a game are you trying to play, anyhow f" he wanted to know, still looking hard at her. turning to him at last and affecting tears with a dramatic gesture to fit, she held out her hands toward him: “i love you, donald. i've always loved you. i want to be in the show so that i can be near you, close to you.” glaring at her with unbounded impatience, he swore: “well i'll be goddammed !” and then sprang to his feet, boiling all over with anger. “i’ve doubted your honesty and sincerity all along, but i did think, at least hope, that you had a little sense.” she had risen, and now held her arms out to him appealingly. “i love you, donald. that is all i know. please listen to me, dear. i want to be in the show so as to be near you all the time.” “shut up!” he all but screamed, glaring at her, and brushed aside the hand she tried to lay on his arm. “you little fool, you god- dammed little fool! after all i’ve said, after all my pleadings, you turn out just as i feared all along. you goddammed little fool,” he cried and stamped his foot—he was that angry. shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he turned and walked away from her, across the room and stood by a window, looking outside at nothing, while he patted his toe on the floor impatiently. he stood there a moment, his back to her. then as suddenly, he turned and walked back to where she now sat, and standing over her, he glared down at her and went on: “so you've been playing wyeth for a sucker, eh?” “oh, i'll marry him if you say so,” she said, glancing up and shrugging her shoulders. “trying to make a fool of the man, hunh? but you're not fooling him, oh no! if he hasn't seen it already, he will quickly enough. he'll see right through your cheap little scheme to play him for a sucker. and when he understands what its all about, he'll throw you over— and hate you!” he paused a moment as if to let his words soak in, take effect. “throw you right out on your can!” “and remember that when he does, and the things that are going to result, happen, they're going to happen, not to him or anybody the case of mrs. wingate else, edrina. they're going to happen to you, you god dammed little fool!” he turned his back on her and trembled with anger, as his foot played a tatoo on the floor. she was weeping now, pitifully. “i’m not making a fool of myself, donald, regardless of all you say. it's only that i love you, just love you, that's all.” she finished and gave up to her tears now. he looked down at her without sym- pathy or feeling. - “do i have to tell you again, after all the many times i've told you before, that i am not in love with you or any other woman? when a man loves a woman, the first thing he thinks about is to marry her. i've never asked you to marry me for the simple reason that i’ve never been in love with you, and for the second reason that i’m not a marrying man. so please, oh, please cut this “i love you, donald,' out, and never say it to me again. even if i cared enough for you to consider marrying you and was a marrying sort of man, i wouldn't have you when i see what a cheap game you've been playing with one of the best men in show business. if you haven't any better sense than to play around with your bread and butter as you have in this case, what a dumbbell any man would be to trust and believe you. so go your little way from now on. i'm out of it and hope i'll see you so hungry that your tongue will be hanging out. a gal as crazy as you deserves nobody's sympathy and won't be getting it. if i run into wyeth i'll tell him to quit fooling around with you; you haven't sense enough to treat anybody right, in- cluding yourself, you goddammed fool.” with this and another hard look at her, weeping now with face down, he turned and left the office, slamming the door behind him, anºn, xviii n spite of donald howard’s anger and swearing, i edrina continued to hang around the rehearsal hall, and finally caught mantan in a charitable mood one day, and feeling agree- able toward all mankind, as well as obliging, he agreed to give her a part. “just a small part—in fact, a bit,” he said, “but if you just must be on the stage, you can have it.” after her thanks and tears, she wanted to know what kind of a part. “a singing part, edrina. i think it will be clever to have a nice girl in a cute dress, come out during the run of the show and sing a couple of nice, clean, popular songs.” “oh, thank you, mr. mantan,” she cried, gratefully, “thank you. i am sure it will be just what the show needs.” she clasped her hands in an ecstasy of delight and joy and when she went to her room, was so happy until she decided to call on sidney wyeth at his room as quickly as the show opened, which was the following week. she hoped he'd go to see the show. it would be like him, she conjectured, to look in on it and when he saw her come quietly out on the stage in a nice, pretty dress and sing a nice, cute and pretty little song, maybe he wouldn't be so hard on her; maybe he would repent, take her in his arms, and set a date, or ask her when she was ready to marry him. she waited until after the show had been running three nights before making the call, which she did one night after the finale. he had retired and lay trying to read some of the manuscript he was at work on. she knocked so lightly, he was not certain if any- body was there. she repeated it and hearing him move, called: “oh, sidney. may i—come in p’’ the case of mrs. wingate * he recognized her voice, so got into his slippers and robe and crossing the room, opened the door. she was standing there, dressed in the suit and hat she had worn when she called on him at his office in the beginning; and when he had liked her so much. maybe he might again, at least she hoped he would. “hello, dear,” she cried, softly, and dared smile at him, sweetly. “hello, edrina,” he said, carelessly. “sorry to wake you up,” she said, apologetically. “i wasn't asleep,” he said. “come on in,” and swung the door wider so that she could enter. she did and pausing, turned to face him after he closed the door. “now go right back to bed, you old farmer,” she said, smiling up at him, so sweetly until for a fleeting moment, she reminded him of the time when he was most fond of her. he merely grunted, and turning, went on back to the bed and got into it, after stepping out of his slippers, and sat there to face her, his back propped against the pillows, with his robe still on. she sat down on the side of the bed to face him. “they say you almost never stay up late.” for answer he grunted again. “they say,” she went on, “that you go to bed with the chickens.” he grunted a bit again for an answer. “i’m not going to keep you up late, my farmer,” and she laughed lightly, a little, forced laugh. “yes,” he said, a bit grudgingly, she thought. “the farm is still with me. i guess it will never leave me. i still think of those days out west there on the southwest of , dream of those old days, long for them, too. yes, the farm is still in me, i guess it will never leave me.” “especially when you won't let it,” she said, chidingly. she had planned before calling, however, that she wouldn't argue with him about show people tonight, and accuse him of being against them. she had planned to steer entirely clear of this angle. “i’ve quit trying,” he was saying. “i guess it's because i like farming. i hated to give it up, but four dry years and four crop failures forced me to. i couldn't help it.” then turning to her in a changed tone. “well, how do you like the new show?” she started, pretending to be surprised. the case of mrs. wingate “how did you know that i was in it?” “i saw it,” he replied calmly. “oh, you did,” she exclaimed, guardedly. now was the great moment. did he like it? what was he going to say about her part? “well, how'd you like it?” “oh, it seemd all right—i guess.” “you guess" she repeated. “what do you mean by you guess? is it because you—don't like shows?” there it was again. it just slipped out. she realized that in her eyes he stood convicted of hating show people. she was relieved when he didn't get angry or become impatient. all he did was to turn to her slightly and inquire: “who said i didn't like shows? i go to them right along.” “i’m surprised,” she said, a bit sarcastically, but which seemed to be lost on him. “you seem to have a distorted opinion when it comes to me and shows,” he said. “i don't altogether understand you at times, i admit,” she replied. “i’m all right,” he said. “i thought you were very good in the little part you have.” that pleased her and she was encouraged to go on. “thank you, dear. didn't you think the little part was nice and clean p” - “oh, yes, but—” and he broke off, as if deciding after starting to say nothing further, not to finish it. - “but,” she spoke up. “but, what, my dear?” “oh, nothing,” he said and shrugged his shoulders to indicate that what he started to say had best be left unsaid. “but you must have had something on your mind, then decided not to finish saying it. i'm curious to know what it is. won't you finish it, please?” - again he shrugged his shoulders and glanced at his manuscript. “you admit the part is nice and clean.” “yes, now.” - “you’re the strangest sort of person,” she said complainingly. “what did you mean by now, anyhow " - “that they often make changes in shows, quick changes. it all de- pends.” “you’re baffling. i haven't the least idea what you're hinting at the case of mrs. wincate - what do you mean by quick changes?” “that tomorrow you may be called on to do something else, something different, entirely different,” he said. she sighed. “i’m stymied. this something else, you mention. well, what, for instance?” he glanced at her, then let his eyes run up and down her. she fol- lowed his gaze, then looked straight at him. “what are you thinking?” “that you have a nice form, attractive limbs, nice rounded breasts, mantan might decide to make you one of his models, take your clothes off and display that body, most of it, anyhow. all of it, in fact, that the law will allow him to, and the law doesn't pay much atten- tion to what the negroes do in harlem, so long as it isn't murder, and they don't take that over seriously, especially when the murder is confined to one negro killing another.” “you’re a crepe hanger. why are you so hard to please?” “there's nothing to please involved,” he answered, matter-of- factly. she was getting angry, and felt like saying something sharp. “what i mean is that he's liable to change your nice little part to something not so nice, see?” “never!” she exclaimed, stoutly, sitting straight and fast. “let's hope not, but still he may, who knows?” “he’ll never take my clothes off,” she said, indignantly, rising to her feet, posing, then turning, walked away a few steps and turning again, came back and resumed her seat on the side of the bed. “he took his wife's off a long time ago. why shouldn't he yours— if he thinks it'll help the show?” “the next thing you'll say is that he'll be turning me over to a white man to play around with, to get the fay man to put some money behind the show.” “no, i won't say that, because as long as i’ve known him, and i know he's been plenty hard up at times during those years, i've never heard of him selling any colored girl down the river to a white man. i’m not afraid that he'll do that.” “i still say he'll never take my clothes off and show my body. he's always going to keep me in nice, clean parts. i'm a nice girl with the case of mrs. wingate plenty of modesty and he knows it.” “they all had the same thing—until he decided to sweeeten up the show, pep it a bit, and nothing peps up a negro show as much as naked girls. he has to play lots of midnight shows in white houses, and midnight shows mean hot shows, red hot and the more naked the show, the hotter, and better they like it.” “nevertheless, he won't change my part. the people like nice songs sung by nice girls like me. all the people haven't filthy minds like you imply, so what if he does have the chorus girls display their bodies? i’m not a chorus girl.” “they won't care anything about those nice little songs you're singing. they'll want to look at something, and you have, under your clothes, what they might want to see.” “you’re impossible.” “think so?” he said and looked straight at her. “what are you trying to get at, anyhow * she said, her voice raised. he waved at her with his hand. “you don't have to shout. i hear everything you say clearly.” “i’m sorry,” she said, her voice lowered, “but you just seem to want to rub it in. and this to the girl you've promised to marry.” “you’re a sweet child,” he said, turning to look at her, pitifully, frankly. “and i'm sorry you're stage-struck. we might have been able to make a go of it, if it wasn't for that—in spite of the fact that you don't love me but do our boy, donald.” . “leave him out of it, and say what's on your mind,” she snapped complainingly. “okay, sister. it shall be as you wish. but i haven't anything particular on my mind. i was saying that people who go to midnight shows, and a very great many who go to see them regularly and right at the theatre you're playing in, want their stage entertainment, when it comes to a colored show, hot; as hot as harlem is supposed to be. and if this idea pops into mantan's head, or into levine's, who operates the house, he'll strip-tease you. before it's all over they're liable to take that nice little dress you're wearing clear off, with the slip under it along with it, and send you out there stripped clean, as naked as a jay bird's baby.” jumping to her feet indignantly, as he finished, both angry and impatient, she glared at him, leaning over him a bit as she did. the case of mrs. wingate “sidney wyeth,” she cried out loudly, “how can you think such things much less express them in the way you're doing? i didn't think it of you. i'm surprised. you're just narrow-minded. to think that i’d stand for anything of the kind. you must be crazy!” and she posed over him impatiently, tapping her toe on the floor. “wait and see. i saw the show from the audience, not from in front of the footlights,” he said, calmly, shrugging his shoulders and smiling tolerantly. “now what do you mean?” “sitting through it and forced to feel the reaction around me, i have the feeling there's going to be some changes made—and they might not be long in the making.” - “you’re utterly impossible!” she cried, stamping her little foot, and turned to walk up and down a few times, and then came back. “and besides, would you stand for such a thing?” he looked up at her quickly. “me?” he cried, pointing to himself. “what do you mean about what i’d stand for p” “why, as my husband do you mean to say that you'd let irvin c. mantan take my clothes off and parade me back and forth across that stage and display my body?” “i wouldn't want him to, if i were your husband,” he said. “what do you mean now by you wouldn't want him to ?” she sat down again and got as close as she could, leaned toward him a bit temptingly, and in a lower voice: “as your wife, sidney, dear, my body would belong to you, only you, and not to the show or irvin mantan to parade for the benefit of those loud and noisy negroes who attend the theatre.” she leaned forward and before he could do anything, kissed him, tempting him almost beyond control, but he sat up quickly and coldly went on: - “but i’m not your husband, edrina.” “but you're going to be, aren't you, sidney?” she insisted, laying a hand on him gently, and looking up into his face appealingly. he took her hand and laid it gently aside. she frowned at this, as if to say: “why did you do that?” instead she said, very soft and very low : “that's what i mean, sidney.” his reply was prompt. he didn't hesitate. “i’m sorry, edrina, i was going to be your husband and wanted the case of mirs. wingate to badly. but you walked out on me, broke your promise and thereby our engagement. so the engagement is off. i release you from your promise.” he finished coldy and formally. this chilled her, hurt her to the quick. still she decided to keep on trying. so she reached again for his hand. “but sidney,” she began, with great effort. she seemed to realize that it was now or never. for a fleeting moment he was again tempted. she looked so sweet and appealing; it would be so easy to reach out and take her in his arms, crush her to him and hold her there, hold her there and keep her there—all night! in the end, self-control came to his assistance, and he decided to pass it up, all of it, and go on being as he had been all his life. “you broke the agreement, edrina, not me. you threw me over and went back into the show. you're free from now on as far as i’m concerned. so it's up to you to manage matters your way and take the consequences.” - "but sidney,” she cried, squeezing his hand and fondling it. “you love me. i can see it in your eyes and you want me, i can see that in your eyes, too. why struggle against fate as you are; you've fought against it all along, and why? i'm yours for the asking— more, for the taking . . . why don't you—take me, sidney.” she tried to get him into a position so she could kiss him, but he kept away from her. “if you were in love with me when i–went back into the show, you're still in love with me now. you couldn't put me out of your heart that quickly. going back into the show and into a nice little part like they've given me, couldn't change your love to hate, now could it, sidney?” “i don't hate you, edrina, on the contrary, i feel sorry for you, and you're going to feel sorry for yourself before it's all over.” “why do you say that? sidney.” “i don't know right now, but i feel it; i feel something, something that's going to happen real soon, and when it happens, it's going to happen to you.” she sat erect, the words bearing down on her. donald had said those same words. “when it happens, it's going to happen to you.” angered suddenly, she sprang to her feet. “it isn't going to happen—not to me, anyhow.” she now turned and walked the floor. he looked at her sadly, as though he pitied her the case of mrs. wingate - and that made her more angry. “it won't happen to me, because i won't let it happen to me, that's what! i won't let it happen to me. donald said those same words to me when i called on him to put me back in the show. he was angry and swore at me because i came back. he said i should have stayed away and married you, been nice to you, and—” “—what else did he say to you, edrina?” he inquired, looking straight at her. “what did you say to him to make him angry, so angry that he swore at you?” she paused, suddenly taken aback, caught off guard and couldn't answer, or didn't dare answer. but he read the answer in her face, in the way she hesitated. - “you went to him and told him that you loved him, didn't you, edrina, which meant that you didn't love me, now isn't that so? you told him that you loved him and wanted to be in the show so that you could be near him, close to him all the time, but he didn't see it the same way. to be near him would be to be on him when things got tough, and he didn't want that; he wouldn't stand for that. he knew you didn't love me and i knew it, too, but was willing to marry you in spite of that and take a chance. i was going to marry you and take the chance and hope for the best. but you kicked that over and rushed to howard, who didn't want you on him and chas- tised you for the way you were acting, and in the end i bet he walked out on you, now didn't he?” she made no answer and turned her face away. he put his feet on the floor now, got into his slippers and stood up. walked over to her and being much taller, towered over her as he went on. “then you went over his head. you saw mantan and caught him in a good mood. mantan has more heart than howard. he felt sorry for you and he created a little part and put you in it. the kind of part you wanted, a nice little part in which you're allowed to wear a cute little dress, look cute and sing two nice little songs. that done, you waited until you were sure i'd seen it, then you came here and felt that i wouldn't be so hard; that i’d changed my mind about your being in a show in general, and you've played your cards carefully. offered me everything, more than i asked for, yes, i know. all very tempting, edrina, and if i wasn't the kind of fool i am, god help me, i couldn't have resisted you. unfortunately, you're a poor the case of mirs. wingate judge of men, real men, edrina, for real men stand for something. even if i had accepted you, took your clothes off and kept you here all night, it wouldn't have lasted. real men have principle, they stand for something, and what they stand for cannot be appeased by a woman throwing herself at them. i could have had you from the beginning, and maybe i've been a fool for not taking you. but i wanted a wife to love and respect and live with until i die, and to do that i had to choose a woman that i could respect and trust. you've proved in the final analysis that i couldn't trust you. just as you've tried to tempt me by offering me your body just now, and before, for that matter. sometime, some place and somewhere, you'd give it to somebody else to tempt and if you’d been my wife, it wouldn't have made any difference. that's what i mean, edrina. i guess you'll hate me from now on, but your ideas of life and men, my kind of a man, anyhow, has been all wrong, and you might as well know it now as to find it out later, after we got married for if we had, it wouldn't have lasted. we're just not suited to each other, and that, edrina, is that. i’m sorry.” so saying, he sat down on the side of the bed and lowered his eyes. she stood there for a time. presently she turned to look at him and sighed. then she walked slowly toward the door. he got to his feet and followed her. at the door she paused and turned to look up into his face. there were tears in her eyes and again he felt sorry for her. “and this—this means that—it is all—over between us, sidney?” she said. he sadly nodded his head. “i'm afraid that it does,” he replied in a low voice. “and—an—you—don't love me any more, sidney?” “it isn't a question of love, edrina.” “then what is it, sidney?” “a question of policy.” “policy?” “yes, edrina. policy and—principle.” “principle?” “yes, edrina, as i’ve said over and over again. a man has to stand for something, and a woman ought to, also. you see, before you went on the stage you would have understood all this and you would have appreciated it and agreed with it. but your stage ambitions the case of mrs. wingate have warped your viewpoint. in a way, being on the stage would not matter all that. but the way you are, does. and you can't see any other way. it is possible that somebody might cast a big show, a big broadway production and they might want you for a real part, and in which you might get somewhere by playing. and then again you might be left in the kind of show you are in indefinitely, sub- ject to all the influences that go with it, and i don't want any girl i marry in any such environment, subject to temptations, and that is why it is best, much for the best, that we end it here and now and go our own ways.” “and you—you're not going to-be sorry, sidney?” “more than sorry, edrina. it would be easier to go along with you, for you have so much that could mean lots to me, but in the end you'd drag both of us down and neither would be successful or happy. i'm not going to be sorry, i'm already sorry. it isn't easy for me to send you away, but i’ve got lots that i want to try to do be- fore i die. in the end i must try to do these things, otherwise i’d feel that i’ve lived in vain. i’m sorry, edrina. this is going to make me most unhappy, but there is no other way. good night.” “good night, sidney.” he opened the door and she took a step, then turned to look again up into his eyes and again he was sorry for her. he leaned over and kissed her, and she grasped and held on to him until he repeated it three times, then with a sob she rushed out into the night, and he closed the door behind her. the case of mrs. wingate and because he had a reputation for being big-hearted, created the bit and which had pleased her to do so much until he was happy to think that he had made an ambitious, stage-struck girl happy, too. yet, as a showman, he knew as well as levine that for the theatre's kind of audiences, the bit didn't mean a thing. levine was talking again and mantan, of course, was forced to listen. zº “no, her entire part in the show doesn't mean a thing.” “you don’t think so p” “i know it doesn't,” argued levine emphatically. then, as if possessed by a sudden thought, he turned to irvin and looked hard at him through the large rimmed glasses he was wearing. “can she dance?” irvin hesitated, then lied: “a little.” “m-m. i notice that she has a nice body.” irvin wondered what he was thinking. he didn't have to wait long for he turned to him in his quick and abrupt way. “then take off her clothes and have her do a jungle romp.” irvin started. that was not only a radical but an abrupt change. he wondered if it was not an impossible change. through irvin's mind there quickly ran the recollection that no girl ever work- ed at this theatre who possessed a nice body, that levine didn't, before the end of the engagement, suggest displaying that body, unless hers was an act so sensational otherwise that merely displaying her body wouldn't mean as much. inwardly, therefore, he sighed. edrina's body, stripped, therefore, was to levine's mind more attractive than the little songs she was singing, “hasn't she a pretty body?” said levine, turning to him. “don’t you think so?” irvin had to admit that she had. “then let's sell it,” cried levine, and that, irvin knew, was final. it was curtains for edrina's little act; the end of leisurely strolling across the stage, holding her hands and squeaking the two songs which she thought were getting over in a big way. as we see, levine didn't think so. “you can teach her the routine in a day and a night,” said levine. “then have her ready to open sunday in the change. that's the deadline. if we give them a good hot show sunday, it might enable us to do some business after that, including sunday, for the rest of the week.” - the case of mes. wingate levine ran down the list and told him about the other changes, at the end of which time, he turned again to irvin, who spoke first. “how many shows have you planned for sunday?” he asked levine. “if you're able to whip her into the act as i have it in mind and it is good and hot, six.” levine answered thoughtfully, as he rechecked the whole thing in his mind. “whew l’” “it's because the show is dying—in fact dead already. if you've whipped this girl's change into a hot, wiggly and twisty rhumba, with a jungle background and music in keeping with the performance until they like it, it will take two shows to sell it. you know as well as i do that if they like it, they can sell the last four, and will, as they leave the theatre.” - “guess you're right, mr. levine,” sighed irvin. “i know i’m right, so it's up to you. you won't have enough com- ing as your share to give them a token payment at the end of the week, much less a full payment, unless you do something to bring them in this theatre, starting sunday.” irvin left the office and strolled to where he encountered howard, looking glum and unhappy. howard knew the show was dying, too, and always short of money, he knew that he wouldn't get much or anything at the end of the engagement, and that was why he was looking glum and feeling more glum than he looked. he looked at irvin and read the annoyance in his face. “well ?” “levine's squawking.” “i was afraid he would be. been waiting for it.” “yeh, howling his head off so has ordered changes.” “been expecting it. go on,” said howard, listening. “call rehearsals after the show.” “okeh, irv.” “we'll rehearse all night tonight.” “okeh, boss.” irvin turned then and left howard, went to look for edrina, to tell her the bad news. he knew it would break her heart, and he hated to have to do it. then consoling himself with the words “show business,” shrugged his shoulders, braced himself for the ordeal. added to this, he could tell her that it was levine's the case of mrs. wingate orders, and levine was the payoff. it had to be done. so with a deep sigh, he sought edrina and found her happy and serene in her dress- ing room. performers like her, could never see that a show was dying. if the three front rows were filled, they'd say “we’re knocking them dead” and all the empty seats behind the first rows wouldn't mean a thing to them. he knocked lightly on her door. he didn't have the heart to do so briskly or loudly. “come in,” she called in a sweet voice, and turned to greet him with a smile as he pushed the door open and entered, eyes down- cast, but she didn't notice that. . “oh, mr. mantan,” she cried, on seeing that it was he. “you!” and she was glad to see him. she guessed that his visit was about herself right quick. it was to tell her that the songs were getting over big; that the audience were raving about her. that would sound nice to her pretty ears, so she turned to welcome him and the message he was bringing. “yes, me, edrina,” he said in a tired voice and sank onto the chair she offered. she stood near and waited, wearing her best smile as she did so. he glanced up at her, and she was looking so innocent and happy that he groaned, inwardly. “how could he do it,” then de- cided to prolong telling her as long as possible—a few minutes anyway. “you wanted to see me, mr. mantan,” she ventured, after he failed to explode the news she was expecting; that she was waiting for. in that moment he realized that he could prolong it a few minutes longer. she looked so comfortable and happy with the two dresses she was wearing in her act, spread out and perfumed, making everything seem so sweet and pleasant. “yes, edrina,” he dodged. “in my office.” the office where he had just left levine was a general sort of office for the stage manager, the show manager, and levine when he was back stage. he sighed. so irvin called it for this occasion, “his office.’ he supposed he could, perhaps be a little more official telling her there than in her cozy little dressing room, where she could burst more easily into tears when she heard what he had to say, than in the little, cold, manager's office. “thank you, mr. mantan,” she said sweetly. she was wondering now. maybe he was calling her there to tell her that her act was the case of mrs. wingate going over so big that he felt it warranted a raise in pay. “soon?” she asked. he had risen to his feet and opened the door. he turned back to her now, and replied: “yes, soon, edrina,” and then left before she could see that his eyes were deeply troubled. he heard her say, “thank you, mr. mantan,” as he hurried away to the little office. after primping herself, powdering her nose and making her face lcok a bit prettier, edrina called at the little office and knocked on the door. another girl in the show was coming toward the office and as edrina knocked on the door, she looked up and saw her, and smiled when she realized she'd beat the other girl to mr. mantan. she was still smiling as she opened the door and entered mantan's office. knowing that it was her, he pretended to be busy, didn't look up, but called over his shoulder for her to come in and kept at what he was pretending to do without looking up. “sit down, please,” he said, taking on his most serious and busi- ness-like expression, “i’ll be with you in a couple of minutes.” “thank you,” she said, and obeyed him, sitting down in the only other chair in the room, which happened to face him when he dared look up, which, of course, he had to after a few seconds. presently he raised his eyes and faced her. “levine's kicking,” he said, abruptly. she started, not understand- ing at first, what he meant. she only knew by his expression that it was not to raise her salary. she swallowed a moment, then managed to say: “kicking?” breathed deep and looked surprised. “yes, kicking—and how !” “i—i—don't understand,” she said. “the show's dying, if you understand what that means.” still, she was confused, so repeated after him: “dying?” - - “dying dead. so, he demands changes” . . . . . and lowered his eyes to the piece of paper on which he had been figuring. - “changes?” she said, and met his eyes when he raised them from the desk. “yes,” said mantan coldly. he had complete control now and was ready to dish out the bad news, regardless of what effect it had on her. “yes, changes, and your act is the first change he's suggested.” the case of mrs. wingate her heart fell. quickly she recalled wyeth's words at his room a night or so before. “they make quick changes in those kind of shows. you're doing something today. they might ask you to do something entirely different tomorrow,” he had said, among other things. she had decried the idea, insisted that they would not change her act. she was sure the people liked it, so how dare they even suggest changing it? she heard herself faintly. “my act,” she managed to say with an effort. “he didn't mean mine,” said mantan. “i’m not a pretty girl like you.” he looked her up and down now, and she followed his eyes and wondered what he was thinking, what he was planning. “yes,” irvin was saying, without looking into her eyes. “you have a fine, rounded and attractive form, edrina. can't say as i had ever noticed it as closely before,” and he continued to study the lines of it as he watched her. “you said something about my act,” she reminded him and he came back to himself, and looked up, smiled, then quickly got serious again. “yes, so i did,” he now said hastily. “well, he wants you to take your clothes off and do a jungle romp.” - she started, violently, all her pride and ego gone completely. “a what?” she cried, looking hard at him. she refused to believe at the moment that he meant what he said. “a jungle romp, and i'm to take my clothes off? oh, mr. mantan, you're joking, surely.” he answered by shaking his head to indicate that he wasn't. “i—i don't understand,” she said, chokingly. “it's levine's orders. he's the payoff, you know,” he said coldly. “what—what is a jungle romp, anyhow " she asked. he smiled tolerantly. “well, it's a creation, or a creative dance,” he started to explain. “but i'm not a dancer, mr. mantan, you know that,” she said insistently. “he asked me to make you one.” “make me one?” she exclaimed. “how can you or anybody else make a dancer overnight. i—” “it isn't exactly an interpretive dance. that is, it is a combina- tion dig-a-dig-a-do, a shake dance and rhumba.” “oh, mr. mantan, no!” she cried, near panic now. the case of mfs. wingate for answer he only shrugged his shoulders resignedly. “it's levine's orders. and, i repeat, he's the payoff, you know,” and he shrugged his shoulders again. “but he surely couldn't have meant me, mr. mantan. i—i thought what i am doing was—all right; i thought it was getting over fine.” “that's what you thought, edrina. i'm sorry, but it wasn't. these harlem negroes don't care anything about nice, clean songs.” “but you know i can't dance, mr. mantan, never tried to dance a lick in my life.” “as i started to explain,” he said, leaning forward. “you don't have to exactly know how to dance for you do not exactly dance. i can teach you what he wants you to do. the main thing is to keep moving and to wear as few clothes as is possible. in fact, you will not have on anything but a sort of a little something down there,” and he pointed to her midsection. “oh, my god!” she exclaimed, and again she thought about what sidney wyeth had warned her that they might do. there were tears in her eyes now, and, looking at her, mantan felt sorry. back in nashville where he was born and attended school, his father, long since dead, had been a preacher and a school teacher, while his mother, still living, had been the principal of a large negro grade school. they were, he could never forget, stickers as regards morality, and although the show business had forced him to strip many ambitious girls of their modesty, he had never gotten fully used to it. so it pained him to see edrina sitting there with tears running down her cheeks. “what do you mean by ‘i won't have to exactly dance,’” she wanted to know now, looking so pitiful and distressed. again he shrugged his shoulders. “mostly shaking,” he said and shook his shoulders. at last she understood. she was to strip virtually naked, get out there and wiggle and shake and do the hootchi ma kooch. “oh.” she cried in horror, and covered her eyes with her kerchief and cried bitterly. “a shake dance,” she sobbed, without even the benefit of a skirt. “a shake dance,” she got up and tried to look at him through tear- filled eyes. “oh, mr. mantan, how can you, how can you!” and she lowered her face and covered her eyes. the case of mrs. wingate “now, now, edrina,” he said kindly. “don’t take it so hard, and above all, don't put it on me. “then on whom?” she looked at him sobbingly. “levine. i told you that it was levine's orders.” “a shake dance, oh, mr. mantan, no. please say that i don't have to—to get out there and try to please all those negroes, by wiggling and twisting like a kooch dancer.” mantan was annoyed. “i can't defy levine, and neither can you or any of us.” if you disobey him, he'll swear not to use any of us on the stage of his theatre again. it is the only spot where we can work in harlem, almost the only place where we can work in new york, short of broadway, and broadway is a long way from us. you know i can't afford to have him say that to me.” seeming to realize further crying was useless, she sat up, dried her tears, and after a moment's thought, again turned to him. “and if i refuse,” she dared ask. he shrugged his shoulders and replied promptly. “well, that would be one way out, the only way. but you'd just be out of the show, that's all.” she again lowered her eyes and again began to cry. “i can, of course, and as you know full well, get a gang of girls to do it, but he suggested you, so if you want to stay in the show, there is no other alternative.” edrina knew that harlem was overrun with girls specializing in the ‘shake'. “i’m sorry for you, edrina,” he said, sincerely. “i heard you were engaged to marry sidney wyeth, and i was hoping that you would do so, and quit fooling around with these shows. there's nothing to them any more. wyeth would have made you a good husband, for he is steady, is a good business man and would have stood between you and that old wolf that howls outside. but he wouldn't have vou as long as you insisted on messing around with the stage. on the other hand, if you just had to be seen, he would have considered you, i'm sure, for a role in pictures. that would have been much better. then when you were not working in pictures, you could have been in a nice apartment with no worry about pay days and skip-pay days. if we can't bring more people into the the case of mrs. wingate theatre right quick to see this show, we won't be able to pay off when we close. so he figures as to how with you doing this jungle romp and the other changes that he's suggested, that that will pep things up and bring the darkies in, starting sunday, and if it does, we'll all get some money when we close. so what do you say?” and he slapped his thigh in a gesture of finality. she sighed deeply, then nodded her head sadly, in assent. he started to get up, then thinking of something, sat down again. “what has happened with your engagement to him, anyhow? i mean to wyeth " “nothing,” she said quietly. “nothing?” he repeated, and looked closely at her. “aw come now. something did happen. i’d bet. what was it? you can tell me.” “there's nothing to tell,” she repeated, evenly, her eyes away. “i saw sidney last night.” - “you did?” he cried, and seemed surprised. “he didn't want you in this show, did he?” she admitted with a shake of her head. “i was hoping by having the nice little part i’ve been playing that—” “—yes, yes, i understand,” he said, cutting her off. “you were hoping by doing a nice, mild little part that he'd relax and everything would be all right. well, it didn't work and i know wyeth. he has never had any confidence in these shows even when they had places to play, plenty of places. he used to tell me that they would play out. then, when talking pictures came along, he said they were through, completely; but there would still be broadway shows, big, gorgeous and expensive productions and some times dirty shows, too filthy to be allowed on the screen, but little shows like this, they were through. now he's quit you. being a woman, you won't admit this, but i can see that that is what happened. i was afraid it would happen when you started to hang around the rehearsal hall. you like the stage and are wedded to the idea, but he knows too much about it to want you in it, or any other show of the kind. so he gave you your choice, the show or him. you cut the hog by choosing the stage, but hoped to win him back, maybe and that's why you went to see him last night, not knowing that this was going to happen today.” he was through now and stood up. she remained seated and he the case of mes. wingate knew that she would stay in the show and try to do the part. again he was sorry for her. it was now or never, and he gave her one last chance. “well, i'm sorry. if you think wyeth might still relent and marry you, don't take this part. quit the show and go and tell him. if he still says no, just hang around, be nice and in time he'll get sorry and take you back. if, on the other hand, you take the part, get ready to rehearse all night tonight and all night tomorrow night, then count it over, for when he hears about and sees you out there, almost naked, shaking and twisting your body, he will be through and put you out of his life forever.” he paused and looked down at her as if to give her time to decide. then, after a time. “well ?” - “i’ll be at rehearsal tonight,” she said, without looking at him, but rising to her feet, walked by him on the way out. he shrugged his shoulders, stepped outside, turned and closed the office door and went the other way. as he did so the girl who came up as edrina entered, bit her lip, stamped her foot, and swore in an undertone. she wanted to talk with mantan, but he was so worried about edrina that he forgot and ignored her. she had heard the con- versation between edrina and him. she was thinking about what they had said as she turned and walked away, chapter x x ertha schultz stopped by the office next morning, observed that wyeth's office door was open and knew by this time that he was out and gone. if and when he was in, it was always closed, so she greeted marie, with a kiss, they had become that intimate and friendly. “i’ve got hundreds of books to ship, dear,” said marie, flashing a sheaf of orders under bertha's eyes. “since passion was pub- lished, the negroes, anxious to read it, were told they could get it at bookstores, and when they went there, our book suggested itself to them and they've been placing orders, which come in small lots through stores, but still more directly from the customers themselves. so we're simply swamped with demands for it.” “that's fine,” said bertha. “and—” s “i have to wrap all these books, make out c.o.d.'s on a large share, which means a lot of work to get them in the mail. so that—” “—is why you are swamped with work, eh?” “exactly,” said marie and sighed. “then, dear, let me help you,” she said and proceeded to take off her coat preparatory to doing so. “oh, really, bertha,” cried marie. “i didn't mean that when i complained.” “i’m going to help you, dear,” insisted bertha. “and i'll be glad to. you know, marie, in germany the women work, all germans work and they don't dislike it. everybody is raised and taught from childhood to work. that is why german people are so—aggressive, i think they call it. i’ll be glad to help you. this kind of work is letting me get soft, and i’m glad to do some real work. so tell me what you want me to do,” with which she made a gesture of im- patience, and marie could see that she meant to help. the case of mrs. wingate “but the pay, i–” “who said anything about pay?” said bertha. “i’ll perhaps learn something about the book business which will be beneficial. so come on, say what i am to do,” and she impatiently snapped her fingers. “well,” said marie, “if you just must.” “just must is the word,” said bertha with decision. “just must and i must, so let's go on from here,” marie laughed and patted her kindly. “oh, bertha, you're a darling girl and i love you,” and marie placed her arm about her and embraced her. “i’m sure everybody must like you. “and i like you, too, marie. i think you're the finest girl i ever met; that i ever knew,” cried bertha, squeezing her. “in the mean- time, when mr. wyeth comes back, he'll be cheered if all the orders have been filled, so let's get busy.” “he will that,” said marie. “now, since you insist on helping, we'd best go back in the stock room where we keep the books and start from there. “then,” said bertha, “it is to the stock room we go,” and she turned in that direction. marie placed an arm about her and they went back to the stock room where they worked without pause until noon. they went downstairs then to a restaurant, chose a booth and sat across from each other. “now i guess we can do some talking,” said bertha. “about what, for instance” “mr. wyeth, the boss,” said bertha. “oh,” cried marie, and smiled. “well, what do you think of him by now, since you've met and talked with him?” “oh, fine,” said bertha, smiling and looking the part. “he is a nice fellow, isn't he?” said marie. “more than a nice fellow,” said bertha, enthusiastically. “a fine fellow.” “it's me that knows.” then she paused and frowned. “what's the matter?” said bertha, looking at her concernedly. “i’m worried about him,” said marie, and her frown deepened. “and why?” “that girl?” “oh, the girl. how do they seem to be getting along?” said bertha. the case of mirs. wingate “i’m not sure. she's back in town—and in the show on th st.” “so what?' “it isn't what he should have done. getting mixed up with a show girl, getting himself engaged to one. it isn't going to work out.” “now, now, marie,” said bertha, “you shouldn't take it that way. i'm sure mr. wyeth must know what he is doing. i think you should trust him and leave it to him to do the sensible thing.” “maybe all of us have to make some kind of a mistake sooner or later, but for mr. wyeth to make the one he seems about to make, is more than i can stand and just not say anything about it.” “i’m so sorry,” said bertha sympathetically. “tell me more about it.” - “there isn't much for me to tell,” said marie. “it is of course his affair and in everything since i’ve known him he's been so level- headed and has made so few mistakes—never one like this, that i don't know what to do, what to say.” and she frowned and took a sip of water as if to drown it. “where is the girl now?” “in that show on th street.” “oh, i thought she was in louisville,” said bertha. “she returned a few days ago, and is doing a turn in the show down there this week.” - - “i’d like to see her.” “i’m planning to take you to see the show. there's something i want to find out about her first.” “oh p” - “mr. wyeth is not the kind of a man that a show girl would be falling overly much in love with.” “what do you mean?” inquired bertha. “that girls like her usually go all overboard on some good- looker like thompson, you remember, and who used to work for us.” “yes? of course i remember the fellow thompson. seemed very much in love with himself. so that's the kind they usually fall for, as you put it?” - “that kind or a musician. just one thing is sure about the kind of men they fall in love with. he must be no good,” she finished and bertha laughed. - “i mean it,” insisted marie seriously. “it is hardly within their the case of mrs. wingate capacity to love a good man, for a good man would not indulge them in a lot of illusions.” “illusions, eh?” and bertha laughed again. “illusions are right. they'd want somebody, when they are stage crazy, to tell them that they were going to put them on broad- way, or book them for weeks over one of the big vaudeville circuits. mr. wyeth, you see, would not tell her anything like that. he never has told any of the girls he used to work in pictures any tales about going places. “most of them want to be fooled; they want somebody to tell them that after they've appeared in this picture, or that picture, and do just as they tell them to, they'll get a seven year contract in holly- wood and be flown out there in due time. i’ve heard him tell them repeatedly. ‘listen. this is just a colored picture, to be shown in a few hundred theatres, mostly to colored people. we are giving you so much and so much to work in it, but please don't get the idea that it's going to be shown on broadway, or that a big fat contract to go to hollywood is going to follow. they don't know anything about us in hollywood, and would not care if they did. so if you're satisfied to work for the sum we agree to pay you, do your work well and should you happen to stand out in the scenes when we screen the rushes, we'll play you up in the trailer and on the posters as best we can, which in the end isn’t much.' all of which, wouldn't make him appeal so much to her. besides, he's just a plain man, and stage girls don't go overboard for plain men, either.” “she's probably calculated that he has money, and that, as you see, could interest her,” suggested bertha. “it could and should, although mr. wyeth has no big money. but if that's what she's playing for, she'll fall down on the job. our women don't know how to treat or play up to a man who could and might be willing to help them. they set out to play that kind for a sucker and give the money they get to men like thompson.” “i’m learning things,” smiled bertha. marie laughed. “what's become of this fellow, thompson, anyhow p” “oh, cried marie, suddenly. “i knew there was something i wanted to tell you. well, old tall, dark and handsome got hooked.” “hooked?” inquired bertha, and marie laughed as she saw the case of mirs. wingate bertha didn't understand. “i shouldn't use so much slang, especially when talking to you. they didn't teach you american slang in heidelberg or at the sor- bonne. but getting back to thompson. the teacher took him to rich- mond and married him.” “oh, really,” cried bertha. “she did exactly that.” “tell me all about it,” cried bertha, anxiously, smiling. “well, it started when he met her in baltimore, when he drove mr. wyeth down there and around to the schools where mr. wyeth reviewed his book and would then sell it. he developed it into a nice business, and took thompson along to assist him.” “assist him, eh?” said bertha. “did he make a good assistant?” “naw,” cried marie disgustedly. “no p” “positively not. mr. wyeth couldn't interest him in learning or trying to learn anything about it. but since most schools are filled with young lady teachers, and thompson was tall, dark and hand- some, with pretty, slick black hair, all he needed to do was to make a play for the teachers, many of whom would make a play back for his benefit and that was how it all started.” “in baltimore?” “in baltimore,” said marie. “he met this particular teacher one afternoon while mr. wyeth was reviewing his book at a school, made goo goo eyes at her, and she goo-gooed back at him. he met her that night and it got started. - “after mr. wyeth finished his campaign in baltimore, he sent thompson back to complete deliveries, and while there he ran into this teacher again. she was about ten years older than he, had been married three times, and was seasoned in the art of inveigling men, so he told me.” - “but, ten years older than he, why would he—” º “—i’m coming to that. why would he play around with a woman ten years older than himself, is what you were going to say. well, you see, thompson had a habit of getting a few dollars from girls when matters could be so organized.” “oh, i see,” said bertha. “he was one of those kind of men.” “not altogether so. wasn't smart enough. thompson didn’t have the case of mrs. wingate a lot of brains, and the kind of men you're thinking about have to have a lot of sense—of a kind, do you understand?” “yes, i understand,” agreed bertha. “thompson, as i explained, didn't have that much sense; but since mr. wyeth couldn't get him interested in what he was doing, and he was around with him meeting these teachers, and being admired by them, and being in the love making business and needing more money, he had long since made a practice of giving them a long pitiful story about his boyhood.” “his boyhood?” “he was a timid sort of boy, he'd tell them and would cry easily, and while young, as many children do, with a weak bladder until they grow older, would wet the bed and his father, a hard-up farmer in the dust bowl section of the west, where farmers more or less had a hard time, would punish him for it.” “oh, that was unkind and thoughtless,” cried bertha. marie smiled and pointed at her. bertha didn't seem to under- stand. - “that was how it worked,” said marie. “you see, when i told you about it, you felt sorry for him.” bertha laughed. “and that was how and why these girls would feel sorry for him, want to sort of mother him and take on over him and when he saw they were taken, he'd take them for a few dollars through some bad luck tale. he did it so much and for so long that it possessed him; he wasn't happy or satisfied unless he was at least trying to work it. well, he got acquainted with this teacher. thompson, i know, had about despaired of making good on his own, so had a vision of marrying some rich woman and in that way, getting along. but he had no realization of what wealth was exactly or what it meant. this teacher's mother, however, was buying a home, and they lived in it, and her grandmother owned another, at least was sup- posed to and after going out with thompson and getting his num- ber, this teacher, as stated, ten years older, and vain and liking young men, especially good looking ones, decided to take him for a husband, and started out to play her cards accordingly. when mr. wyeth sent thompson back to baltimore to complete these deliveries, she had a chance to play her cards, for when he got back here, he told the case of mrs. wingate me what he did. he told her he was a bit hard up and looked sad. she stroked his pretty dark hair over his round head, and handed him $ . .” - “five dollars.” “yes, five dollars.” “and finally got him for a husband?” “for a five dollar bill,” said marie. bertha burst into laughter. “yes,” said marie, “she ultimately got him for a five dollar bill. she had married three times before in baltimore and the fact was the subject of much gossip. one of the three men, a very bright one, she married twice. so when she got ready to marry thompson, she took him off to richmond, over to a little river town nearby and there married him.” “and that is why i hayen't been seeing him around the office of late,” said bertha. “she put him to work, real, hard work, out at sparrow point, maryland, that's what she did, and he hasn’t been up here but once since, which was the time you met him.” “meanwhile, you’ve gotten entirely away from mr. wyeth's romance. i'm interested in hearing more about him and this—show girl, you were talking about,” said bertha. “of course,” said marie. “i guess you think i'm such a gossip.” “you’re a woman,” said bertha and smiled understandingly. both laughed then. “as regards mr. wyeth and this show girl,” and marie let escape a sort of hopeless sigh. “i don't know how to feel. i’ve always hoped mr. wyeth would meet the right kind of girl and make a sensible and happy marriage, but i can't see this tie-up, can't see it at all. i've hoped he'd get a good wife for several reasons.” “among which, for instance?” - “that he's on the road to real success at last. as simple and as insignificant as it may seem, his publishing business is the most promising thing he has ever done.” “is that so?” said bertha seriously. - “it is. his friends think he's all through because he has suspended making pictures, but he's doing far better, for himself, in the present business than he ever did in making pictures.” - the case of mrs. wingate “seriously?” said bertha, thoughtfully. “seriously, and i know.” “you should,” said bertha. “i’ve been closer to him in both lines than any other person, and i'm in a position to see and know what's going on, and he's on the road to go places, writing and publishing his own books and selling those by others, the kind that best appeal to our group, at the same time. “by which, you see, if he had a nice, sensible girl, like—like you, bertha, for instance.” “oh, not me, marie,” and bertha blushed beautifully. “i know, i said something like that before, but i didn't mean you exactly, bertha. i did, however, mean a girl like you. why, with a smart wife by his side, if no more than to let him keep his mind on what he's trying to do, nothing but death or serious illness could stop him.” - - “i do hope he'll get the right kind of wife,” said bertha sincerely. “that is why i'm so annoyed by his taking up with this show girl. i get mad almost every time i think about it.” bertha had become suddenly and strangely silent, and marie looked at her. seeing that she was preoccupied, marie said nothing. but bertha was thinking. thinking of her brother, of adolf hitler, and what she had come to this country, promising to do; of how she had sworn to first serve the third reich; that even now she was sup- posed to be at work on sidney wyeth, helping to interest and ulti- mately persuade him into making the hate picture, the first schedule on their program. and, instead, she was seated in a common restaurant high up in black harlem, talking about nothing, as it would be viewed by those to whom she had to report. all this went through her mind in a flash, whereupon she came back to herself and to marie's presence across the table, and re- laxing, smiled at marie and took a sip of water. “please pardon me, dear,” she said, apologetically, and reaching across the table, laid a hand on marie's as if to reassure her. “i just happened to think of something; something back in germany.” “you—you have a-deep interest in germany, bertha,” ventured marie, guardedly. she didn't want to seem too inquisitive. by now she was aware that there was something a bit peculiar and mysterious the case of mrs. wingate about bertha. it was not altogether clear exactly what she was doing, yet she was sure it was nothing to be ashamed of. but as friendly as they had become and were, she was sure that there was something, perhaps a very great deal, that bertha had not told her about her work. beyond a certain point she seemed vague and indefinite and secretive. she had wondered about her unusual interest in wyeth, more than just common interest. was there something that she wanted to have wyeth do, and if so, what? yet she knew she couldn't ask her and wouldn't. it might embarrass her, and she liked her too much to risk that. still she wished she could find out more. “you were speaking about mr. wyeth,” she heard bertha saying, and became conscious almost for the first time, that bertha was holding her hand. holding it, she was sure, to reassure her. she smiled across at her and caught her hand and squeezed it as if to reassure bertha. “i think we should talk about something else, bertha,” she said. “besides, here comes our order, and eating it will keep us busy for the next twenty minutes.” arie and bertha had agreed before bertha left the office the day before, to go shopping downtown together on saturday afternoon, and bertha was to meet marie at the office and go on from there. accordingly, bertha called and we find them in the office before leaving, talking about the thing nearest to them. “i met and had a long talk with one of the girls in mantan's show on th street last night,” marie was saying. “and she told me the show did fairly well the first week, but got off to a bad start on the hold over and that levine was in a panic, and ordered changes, some quick and radical changes.” - bertha, who was fast learning much about the negro by her asso- ciation and talks with marie, listened with close interest. - “she said that mantan then called in edrina, that's the girl mr wyeth has been engaged to.” “has been " said bertha. “you mean, is, don't you?” “i mean what i just said,” said marie. “all right, dear. please go on. then what?” “i’m coming to that, all that,” she said. meanwhile, bertha glanced over her shoulder towards wyeth's office. “he was in early this morning, but drove away shortly after i arrived. i think he's gone up to new rochelle, for the day,” said marie, following bertha's glance at his office. “he seems so industrious, so full of energy, always up and going.” “he is that. up and going most times, gone,” said marie. “that's why i'm on the anxious seat about him; to get this crazy show girl out of his system, if i can.” bertha smiled patiently. “and i think,” said marie, “at least hope, strongly, that's about the case of mirs. wingate what's happened.” marie paused, and bertha patted her shoulder gently, as she waited for her to go on. “this girl in the show, who happens to be a friend of mine, told me that mantan called edrina to his office after the order went out that they were going to change the show, and that she went into the office, all smiles and high-hat. but when she came out, she could have been bought for thirty cents, the way she looked, and that she was crying. then, according to this girl, they were all called into rehearsal and kept hard at it until about two-thirty a. m., when everybody was told to knock off and go home, but edrina and the piano player. “then what?” “she didn't know, but that she thought mantan was teaching edrina some new routine, which was supposed to be sensational.” “but what has this to do with her engagement to mr. wyeth " “oh, yes,” cried marie. “i forgot that part of the story. the girl said that while edrina was in the office she went there and while waiting outside to see mr. mantan, overheard them talking; and that from what she could gather, mr. wyeth had walked out on edrina after she went back into the show.” “walked out on her, eh?” “i’m not sure, but the girl said, from what she could gather, that mr. wyeth had become engaged to edrina only after she promised to quit fooling around shows. so the fact that she went back into this, was contrary to what he wanted, so he quit her.” “the plot thickens,” said bertha and laughed. “and becomes more interesting,” said marie. “well, i wasn't through. the girl said that she thought mantan was teaching edrina to shake.” “shake?” cried bertha. marie had a good laugh. - “i guess you don't understand what all these harlem terms mean.” - “i surely don't understand what you mean by shake. what does it mean, anyhow, marie?” said bertha, all curious. having seen it done often, marie proceeded to give her a slight demonstration. “good gracious, you mean, that—that she's going to do something the case of mirs. wingate like—that?” bertha's expression indicated how she viewed it. “oh, a whole lot more than that. that was just a counter sample. - “no wonder they say such—such terrible things,” said bertha, wearing an amazed expression, “about harlem. shaking, whew! so indecent.” “i agree with you, and so does about every decent person. still they come up here and thrill and cheer to the indecency. they call themselves ‘slumming'.” bertha shook her head, sadly and sighed. - “not only does a girl have to shake herself almost to pieces to do it, but she must strip almost naked, into the bargain.” - “naked oh, marie, no!” “oh, bertha, yes,” said marie. “naked,” bertha repeated, and again shook her head. “i said, almost, bertha, dear.” “oh, almost? how almost?” “i want to take you down there to see the show tomorrow night, dear, then you'll see how “almost’.” " “me, to see a show like that, and you, oh, no, marie! i'm still decent, even if i am living in harlem,” argued bertha. “we haven't sunk that low, really, have we?” marie embraced her. “it's not as bad as all that, although this girl friend of mine says that they are grooming it to be ‘hot, red hot'.” bertha looked at her again and shook her head. “but why—why do they permit so much indecency up here?” bertha wanted to know. “is it be—because it is a colored section, and the white people don't care what they do?” “in a way, yes, but not altogether so. they feel that a show has got to give them something they can't see downtown in order to bring them up here, and no doubt the management of this theatre intends to bring them up at whatever the cost.” “poor harlem,” sighed bertha and again shook her head. “but getting back to what i started to tell you, the girl said that they plan to start edrina doing her new act sunday.” “sunday, too.” “oh they start and do the most bold things on sunday. not so tfie case of mrs. wingate -> unusual at that. hitler started this war, which is liable to grow into an awful war, on sunday.” bertha looked at her quickly, sharply, then as suddenly relaxed and made no answer. “well, i intend to see it and i won't like you as much as i do if you don't meet me and go with me.” “oh, marie, must i?” “i heard you tell mr. wyeth that you wanted to find out all you could about negroes.” “but i didn't mean going to—to an—indecent show.” “i guarantee that you won't be overly embarrassed or harmed, dear, so just make up your mind, for i'm going to take you with me,” said marie. bertha gave her consent by a sigh. “another reason i have for going, and taking you with me,” said marie, going on. bertha looked at her, a question in her eyes. “mr. wyeth will be there.” bertha started, and turned to look at marie with a new interest. “oh, he's—” “no,” corrected marie, cutting her off. “he’s not going with us.” “but—” “—when he goes there he goes on sunday, and when he hears that they have changed the show, he'll surely be there.” “oh, i see. i guess i understand better now.” “he'll want to see what they have her doing.” “of course.” “and when he goes there, he's usually alone, and generally goes along between seven and eight o'clock.” again bertha looked at her, a question in her eyes. “yes, usually alone. other than this old crazy girl whom he's allowed himself to get mixed up with, he's never had many, if any girl friends.” “are you sure?” “of course. it isn't that he doesn't care for women, but he seems to find more interest with his thoughts than with the most of them.” “if you weren’t married and i know happy with your husband, i’d suspect you of having a deeper interest in mr. wyeth,” said the case of mrs. wingate bertha, and winked, playfully. “go on,” she said. “i’ve worked for him so long until he seems like a brother and a father to me, all in one,” said marie, smiling. “i can understand that.” “and you’d want to see somebody like that, if they were getting married, to marry the kind of woman they needed; a woman who would place his interest first and look after him, wouldn't you?” “of course,” agreed bertha. “getting back to mr. wyeth,” resumed marie. “as i started to explain, he usually goes to the show between seven and seven thirty and sits in the section furthest over. i’ve been to the show and always see him seated in that section. now we must be there, waiting when he comes in.” again bertha looked at her quickly, curiously, a question in her eyes. "because i intend before the show is over, if possible, before this girl comes out to do her new act, to be seated behind him, as close as i can get, or we can get, and watch his reaction.” “oh, i follow you now,” cried bertha, and she seemed to under- stand at last. “when we leave the show, i'll know if he still intends to marry her. now do you understand what i am getting at?” “i sure do, dear. what time shall i meet you and where?” “in the lobby of the theatre at about six-thirty.” “i’ll be there.” “wait until i arrive, if i am not there. i’ll buy the tickets.” “but—” “i’ll buy the tickets. now let's get on downtown to do our shopping,” so saying, she put bertha ahead of her and went through the door, closed and locked it behind her, then arm in arm they left the building. edrina sighed as she took her dresses off the hangers late that night after the finale, kissed them, wept over them for a moment, and sighed again as she folded and placed them gently in her suit- case to carry home. she knew she would need them no more as long as she stayed in the show, and it had suddenly become necessary for her to stay in the show, for it was now her only means of earning the case of mrs. wingate a livelihood. sidney wyeth had quit, walked out on her, as it were, and she was not feeling good about it. no girl feels good when a man quits her. if there's to be any quitting, the girl is supposed to do it. in her case she had been given no chance, no choice. she knew when he led her to the door and kissed her goodnight it was goodby, too. he had kissed her just to keep her from feeling so bad, but he was through. that he had been steeling his heart against her for some time, ever since she had developed the argument in the restaurant on returning from louisville, that he knew he had enough of her. he had said it was principle and seemed to put a firm emphasis on it. and now as she folded her nice little dresses and gathered her two songs, and put them in the suitcase with the dresses, she realized that when she left the theatre the next night she would be con- sidered by all those who saw her, and by those who knew her, as . another kind of a girl. she thought of the matron, and of the girls at the ywca which place she had been working, and had quit to go in the show, of their modesty and ideas, what they would think of her when somebody told them that she was doing a naked dance down at the theatre. it was a dismal outlook. “oh, well,” she said to herself with a deep and tired sigh, “i asked for it, and now i’ve got to take it,” and she sighed and was a very unhappy girl when she left the theatre, alone. she had mastered whatever it was that she was to do to mr. mantan's satisfaction, although he had almost killed her, teaching her how and she was tired, dead tired. she went directly to her room and to bed. mantan told her he'd wake her up the next morning, and continue to put her through the routine until the show opened. it was not a difficult routine but an intricate one. in it, she did about everything a theatrical producer's mind could conceive. to remember all that she was to do, would be the harder. being an intelligent girl with a good memory, however, she was not afraid of forgetting which followed which. she only knew that she hated to do it, but realized now that she had to or else. - when she opened the door of her room, the first thing to greet her eyes was a special delivery letter which had come that night from her mother in louisville, while from her mother, she knew cºrn, xxii ertha schultz did not rise early the next morning, which was sunday. back in germany she lived with her mother and half brothers and sisters on a small farm outside of berlin. and although the past six years had been spent in school, in paris and heidelberg, she managed to spend two months in the middle of the summer at home and loved the little farm, where they had raised many of the things that helped to feed berlin. marie had told her that wyeth was born on a farm, and that just before start- ing to make pictures, had spent eight years as a master farmer in the dakotas where the fields were wide and the farms large. she intended to talk with wyeth about it as soon as they could get around to it, so she thought about her home and the folks back in germany. germany had overrun denmark, norway, belgium, the low countries and france and was charging like mad into russia since she came away and everything seemed to be over, the end of the war was near. but in reading the papers and keeping herself inform- ed regarding events, she knew the war wasn't over; that germany, obviously a winner, was still not a winner, but from the tone of her mother's letters, she realized that the people of germany were under the impression that they had won, and were only waiting for england and russia to capitulate. she dared wish it could get over quickly. germany winning, of course, but she was too close to what was going on in america, the bitter resentment, the intensely pro-english senti- ment, especially on the part of the president, to indulge long in this vain hope. she thought about wyeth, and that she was to help pursuade him to make the hate picture, and wondered, soberly, just how she would go about it. she liked mr. wyeth, and she couldn't at this distance, visualize very clearly just how she was going to persuade him to do something she had a feeling that he didn't want to do. the case of mirs. wingate | besides, she didn't hate jews as hitler had been training germans to do. she disliked many of their mercenary ways, and was meeting lots of things here and finding that they were more mercenary in america than in germany where there were not nearly so many. from what she understood and saw going on all over harlem, it would be easy to stir negroes against jews into action, and by such could understand what the hate picture that kermit early had written and planned to have wyeth film, could do to throw them into a siege of hatred and destruction. yet, she wasn't enthusiastic over the idea. it was something, she fully realized, in the position she had accepted and assumed, that had to be done if only as a matter of policy. after tossing about for half an hour, she fell asleep again and was surprised on awakening to find that it was nearly noon, so rose, took her bath, prepared breakfast for herself and brother, and after he left the apartment, sat down and wrote her mother a long letter. promptly at the appointed time, late that afternoon, she found herself in the lobby of the theatre, attractively dressed, and looking more beautiful marie thought, than she ever seen her. a crowd was pouring into the theatre; a few were leaving. she hadn't been there long when she felt some one touch her, and turning, looked into the smiling face of marie. after greeting each other they entered the theatre lobby where they had to wait in line. standing, waiting, therefore, they could not help hearing the comment by those leaving the theatre. some men who chose to linger a few minutes on the way out, were very definite about what they had just seen. “what did you think of the show, anyhow " said the first one, turning to the other. “oh, so, so,” observed the other. “it wouldn't be worf a quatah if it wasn't fo’ dat gal.” “you mean the gal doin' the naked dance?” “sho.” “youse right. i wonduhs was she naked, shonuff.” “seemed lak she was.” “and man, she's sho got some purty teaties.” “you tellin' me!” and they laughed. “dey wuz bouncin’ round on her breas lak li'l rubber bubles. i’d sho laktu hold dem bubbies in mah hand fo jes” a minet.” “gwan, man, hush yo mouf.” and again they laughed and left the the case of mrs. wingate lobby. bertha and marie exchanged expressions. another couple coming slowly out with the crowd, paused to comment. - “and when she'd stop, stomp her foot, den shake dem hips, aw man!” - by the loud music from inside, the show had broken, and a large crowd came out now, filling the lobby as they did so. when the lines grew thinner, they were permitted to enter. marie decided to stand in the rear where she could watch the door, and see wyeth when he entered, but seated bertha in an empty seat and told her to watch the picture, while she waited for wyeth to appear. bertha became interested in the picture, but found it hard to watch and listen to it, and keep looking up at marie. about seven-thirty, however, she nudged bertha and whispered in an undertone: “there he goes.” bertha rose to her feet and together they watched him, followed him with their eyes until he found a seat in the section marie had said he would find one. they crossed and found two near the aisle, a few rows back. “as quickly as the picture is over,” said marie, in a whisper, we'll be able to get seats right behind him.” “supposing he should look back.” whispered bertha. “he won't look back, unless somebody starts a fight—and we'll take a chance on that at least.” they both laughed, turned their eyes toward the screen and picked up the story and watched the picture to the end. as marie suggested, at the end of the picture, half the people rose to their feet and left the theatre and before the crowd standing and waiting could pour down the aisles, they stole forward and got two seats almost directly behind wyeth. it was fully an hour later before the theatre became suddenly quiet, the lights dimmed and the house was almost dark, when the curtain rose and the orchestra began playing the famous diga-dig- ado, which was followed by a sensational chorus performance. this was presently blended into an african native dance, in which drums supplanted almost every other instrument. then came some fast dancing, a lot of wiggling and twisting, and finally edrina put in her appearance. the house came down with applause. it was obvious then what the crowd was waiting for. watching it quietly from his seat, wyeth wondered, after the the case of mrs. wingate shock of seeing the girl he had been about to marry, dash from the wings, to all appearances, entirely naked. there was an expres- sion from every auditor in the theatre, an expression of “oh,” and “ah's.” the orchestra then played loudly, giving her a chance to dash back and forth, in an assumed dance, which, by a close observer, could be seen to be no dance at all, but a well-faked camouflage, staged by the ingenious mantan with careful and well-ordered precision, to seem like a sensational dance. bertha and marie clasped hands after an “oh,” as she made her entry, and continued to hold hands, while edrina put on her act. they watched and studied her, and associated her as the future wife of the man sitting before them whom both admired. they could hear whispered expressions all about them, debating if she was wearing any clothes at all. - “that gal's naked, or i'm a liar,” one argued. “naw she ain’t,” said another. - “how come? where are her clothes p” “well, she ain't got on much, but she has something over her—” “ain’t it a shame. that gal doin' a naked dance. yuh know who she is p” - “naw. who?” “she's the gal who used to wait table at the y. remember, she used to wait on us.” “sho, i remembuhs now. her name's—” “edrina vinson.” , “sho, sho, i remembuhs her now, shonuf. and now, edrina vinson doin' a naked dance.” “she sho can do hit—now look at heh.” edrina was now doing an imitation of the hootch, which in the words of colored america, stopped the show. mantan had taught her how to stamp one foot hard on the floor, then follow it up by an abrupt twist of her hips, followed by a wiggle, more twisting, how to go as low to the floor as possible, then bring her midsection up and hit at some invisible object in front of her. all the while, her rounded teaties were putting on an act of their own, due to her continued twisting and wriggling. although bronzed, they at- tracted as much attention as if they were bare and looking at it, and listening to the reaction of the thrill-packed theatre, bertha and the case of mrs. wingate marie were sure they heard wyeth emit a slight groan on more than one occasion and sadly lower his eyes. at such times, marie would squeeze bertha's hand and nod her head towards him. the act was prolonged for several minutes and they wondered at her ability to hold out so long. finally the dance was brought to a climax when the music, mounting higher and higher until it reached a crescendo by a terrific and deafening roar, and edrina dashing from right to left, left to right for what seemed an interminable time, fell in a dramatic sprawl on the floor. the curtain came down and the house broke into deafening applause. they kept her, wearing a robe, coming forward at least half a dozen times for encores, and wyeth, watching it all quietly, and knowing how anxious she had been to catch the spotlight, wondered if she was pleased, now that she had it. after what seemed an age, however, the house lit up and marie and bertha let him leave before they rose and followed him, keeping him in sight as they did so. on the sidewalk he paused wearily, to look around and hesitate a while, during which marie came up behind and touched him. he did not start, but turned and when he saw who it was, seemed re- lieved. “oh, marie,” he cried. then his eyes fell on bertha. “and miss schultz well, i declare l’” “and we declare, mr. wyeth,” said marie. “were you in the show?” and he turned and nodded his head toward the theatre. “yes,” said marie. “you were, too. how'd you like it?” he shrugged his shoulders, and they caught his complete reaction. “it was interesting, i guess.” “especially the girl,” said marie. both girls watched him closely. he frowned, and they knew he couldn't take it and was through. “where are you going from here?” “where?” he repeated absently. “oh, i don't know. to heaven, maybe, or—” “don’t say it,” cried marie. “are you driving?” he pointed to his car, standing at the curb. “why not drive a couple of lonely girls around the block?” “why not,” he said, apparently anxious for company against his the case of mrs. wingate thoughts which were pounding the walls of his brain like a trip hammer. - “then what are we waiting for,” said marie, glibly. she pushed bertha beside him where she took his arm. he seemed surprised and turned to look at her. marie rushed around and took his other arm, smiled up into his face. “now, what have i fallen into,” he cried, and for the moment forgot the tragedy of what he had just looked at. “two pretty girls taking an old man in charge, my!” - “you’re not old,” said bertha, softly as they crossed to the car. he looked down at her and their eyes met. knowing that he must be tired and awfully lonely, bertha felt it her role to comfort him, so squeezed his arm and again he looked at her out of his sad eyes and she felt sorry for him. when they reached the car, marie opened the door and taking hold of bertha, helped her into it. - “in the middle, beauty,” she said. wyeth started around the car, but she laid a hand on him. “supposing you let me, this time, yes?” “sure, baby. glad to have you,” he said and seemed relieved. “okay. meantime, crawl in, beast, and take a seat on the right side of beauty.” all laughed. he smiled a bit awkwardly at bertha when he found himself that close to her, while she blushed, beautifully. marie slammed the heavy door, and went around to the driver's side, opened the door and crawled under the wheel, reached her hand across bertha after an “excuse me,” and said to him, “the key, please.” “of course,” he said, found it quickly and handed it over. she inserted it and stepped on the starter. “where do you want to go?” marie asked, looking across at him. he made a gesture. “you’re the driver and the boss. go where you want to.” “fine,” she cried. he turned to bertha. “you heard him give me permission. well, i'm going to show bertha what great highways we have out of and into new york.” “i’ll be so glad,” cried bertha enthusiastically. marie pushed her over, and, of course so close to wyeth that she found herself squeezed a bit against him. the case of mrs. wingate “put your arm around her shoulder, mr. wyeth, then we'll have more room.” wyeth did so, and bertha was thrilled. “incidentally, miss schultz, there's plenty room for three in this seat.” “not with me driving,” said marie, and winked at bertha. they were sailing up st. nicholas avenue now, to th street where she turned into st. nicholas place and at the end of it, at th st., they entered the speedway and coasted along it more than a mile to the street that would carry them to the saw mill river road. the moon was shining bright, lighting up the road into an almost silvery daylight, and bertha, her eyes on the scenery, was all excitement. “so beautiful!” “never been out this way?” inquired wyeth. “no, mr. wyeth. i haven't been out of new york since i’ve been here,” she told him. they were close enough to feel each other's flesh and both were strangely thrilled by the touch. “then you've been missing a great deal,” he said. “i’m sure i have by the sight of all this,” and she nodded to the passing landscape. “it is beautiful for miles out this way,” he said. “all the way up into new england, and still beautiful after you get there.” “wonderful,” commented bertha, and was conscious that being so close to him, with his arm behind her, touching her a bit, was pecu- liarly satisfying. “before you go to sleep, mr. wyeth,” called marie, eyes on the road ahead, “before i go to sleep?” he echoed, looking at her. “he always goes to sleep when anybody else drives the car, bertha,” marie said, the remark directed to bertha. “so you can count on him losing consciousness completely before we reach the merrick road.” “the merrick road,” he exclaimed, surprised like. “why not?” said marie. “why shouldn't we go for a real ride, now that i have charge of this big, fine car, with a pretty girl between you and me,” and she giggled. “i know you're too much of a gentleman to fight with me across such a sweet girl as bertha.” the case of mirs. wingate “bertha is a sweet and pretty girl,” he said, smiling down into her eyes. “marie is given to flattery,” said bertha, but was blushing neverthe- less. “she couldn't flatter you, miss schultz. you are a pretty girl, and more beautiful because you are so nice to everybody, with it.” “and now you team with her against me,” complained bertha. all laughed at this and paused while wyeth dug into his pocket for a dime to pay the toll across the henry hudson bridge. by the time they reached it and crossed it and started for the merrick road, he stretched his mouth wide in a sigh. marie nudged bertha, who was afraid to look at him, but understood what marie meant. before they reached the merrick road, as marie had predicted, wyeth was fast asleep, and they dared look at him, then at each other. “i was hoping he would stay awake until we reached the first toll gate, but he beat us to it.” “poor fellow,” said bertha kindly, and looked down at him where he was by now, snoring lightly. . “the reaction has set in. she's behind him now and the trouble she would have made him, with it, and i’m happy,” and marie sighed like she was satisfied. - “i don't see how any girl could disregard him.” “they wouldn't if they understood him,” said marie. “the trouble with her is that she didn't understand him and never would have learned to.” “i can understand it better now.” “he didn’t deserve such a fate, such a misfortune to interfere with the realization of a great ambition,” said marie. “you mean writing.” “i mean writing, yes.” “i wonder how she feels by now,” said bertha. “perhaps bad—for awhile. but being stage-struck, she'll get over it.” “i wouldn't be surprised.” “we'll drive to new haven, to a place i know on dixwell ave- nue, have some refreshments, then return to new york?” “how far is new haven from new york?” the case of mrs. wingate “about seventy-two miles.” “that is the home of—” “—yale university.” “yale, of course. that's one of america's great schools.” “yep. with harvard it is one of the oldest and the greatest.” “i’d like to see it in the day time.” “some day if all turns out well, we'll make mr. wyeth drive us up here again, only this time we'll go all the way to boston, where on the way we can see both yale and then later, harvard, too.” “harvard?” “harvard university. that's where mr. early got his doctorate.” “so i was told. i shall be thrilled to see it.” “i know you will. so will i. i've never been there, but have always wanted to visit it, as well as boston and much of new england.” “i imagine it is very much like old england.” “it is, so i’ve been told,” said marie. they glanced again at wyeth. who was completely lost in a deep and peaceful sleep by ow. “he needs it,” said bertha, looking at him kindly. “and how,” said marie. “and you think he's completely through with the girl back there?” “completely.” “it might be for the best.” “it is. decidedly for the best.” “i’m glad if it is.” “so am i. now my worries are over. meanwhile . . . .” “meanwhile p” “if some nice girl should take an interest in him, it would help him to forget her without so much effort.” bertha didn't answer, but she understood what marie was hinting at. back in new york in the meantime, the show was out and edrina, wearing a heavy, quilted robe, was relaxing in her dressing room, after the most strenuous day she had ever had. mantan had brought her the robe, to “keep you from catching cold after your act,” he said. “don’t neglect to put it on immediately after you quit dancing, after the first curtain. you can't afford to catch an awful cold.” so edrina sat there alone in her dressing room after the day's the case of mrs. wingate performance. six times she did the act that day and had been re- warded by more applause than she ever thought she would get. the house had roared with applause all day over an act she had not dreamed one week before that she would be doing. but what would the reaction bef she knew that she would be considered a ‘shake' and hootch dancer from then on, and nobody but a cold, bold and indif- ferent sort of girl would want that, regardless of how much applause she received. during the moments she was thinking about all this, at the front of the house, henry levine, manager of the theatre, was talking with irvin c. mantan. he was smiling and rubbing his hands be- cause he was happy. from the jaws of almost complete failure, the show had been snatched back into a howling success, all because of him, for hadn't it been he who thought of having edrina vinson do the naked dance? “well, mantan, she saved the show.” “yes, mr. levine,” said mantan. “it seems that way.” “our receipts are three times as much as they would have been, had we tried to drag the old show through the day.” mantan said nothing. levine had the floor. “so i think we should do some- thing for edrina as a gesture of appreciation.” “that's right. i think we should,” agreed mantan. “so we'll go back stage and tell her and present her with—say, $ . as an expression of our appreciation.” mantan agreed with him, knowing, however, that levine would take all of it out of his share at the end of the week. but he said nothing. at least, levine's suggestion, put into operation, had saved the show, and in a way he was glad, for now he would be able to completely pay off at the end of the week. furthermore, he knew and levine knew, that there would be a line waiting on the sidewalk at the box office the next morning to get in the theatre; and that when he wired the managers at phila- delphia, baltimore and washington to come to new york and see what he had to offer, and when they came and saw how the show was drawing, it would repeat in all those places, whereas he knew that he wouldn't have secured a single date but for the wiggle he had taught and got edrina to do. taking irvin's arm and smiling down the barrel of his long nose, levine led him from the office and to edrina's dressing room, back- the case of mrs. wingate stage, at the rear of the large theatre. in response to their knock on her door, edrina wearily called, “come in.” smiling all over and followed by mantan, levine entered. “ah, edrina,” he began, in his perfect english. he was born in this country, educated in the best of schools, and as a result, spoke the most perfect english, with no kind of accent to indicate that he was a jew. but he looked so completely jewish that one was re- minded on looking at him, that he must have been descended direct- ly from israel himself. “you were wonderful, my dear,” he said, crossing to her and daring to gently pat her on the shoulder. “thank you, mr. levine,” she said. she did not raise her eyes to meet his. they were, however, on the wall across the little dressing room, where in an elongated shadow, silhouetted there, his nose stretched clear across it and reminded her in her befuddled and aggravated condition of a shadowy apparition. he ran his hand into his pocket and withdrew a large roll of bills that she could see without looking up. “and now, edrina,” he began again, turning to smile at mantan, standing near. “i told irvin that since your new act has practically saved this show, that we ought to do something for you as an act of our appreciation for what you've done.” he paused now long enough to count out the amount. then looking down at her, and smiling, while she glanced again at the wall across the room, where his shadow and the large glasses he wore and his long nose, were so distorted that they were comical. she thought about snow white and the seven dwarfs, especially about the old hag in it who was so evil. - levine was talking again. “so, edrina,” he said, carefully, and laid the bills on the table before her. “we are making you a present of $ . as a token of that appreciation.” he finished, stepped back, smiling and rubbing his hands. “thank you, mr. levine,” she said, picking up the bank notes and for the first time, taking her eyes off the silhouette of his shadow on the wall across the room. levine was very careful to use terms “we” and “us” and mantan knew full well why, regardless of the case of mrs. wingate the fact that edrina's new act had changed a dismal box office out- look, mantan knew that when they went to settle at the end of the engagement, it would be “you” and “yours,” which meant that the extra $ . would come out of his share entirely. with a fine bow, a few more kind words, levine turned around and left the office, with mantan following, leaving her alone. gone, she looked at the money which she needed. since wyeth walked out on her, she was brought quickly to realize how helpful he had been at all times. she never had to ask for anything; he seemed to understand when she needed money and it was always forthcoming. she sighed as she folded and put the bills in her purse. “well,” she sighed again. “twenty-five dollars is twenty-five dollars, especially when you need it—and do i need it!” consciously she knew it was time to put him out of her mind, but she kept seeing his tired, sad face; his deep frown, and recalled their affair. “it's all over,” she said half aloud, and felt sorry for herself. “how could he, or any other sensitive man, be happy seeing his future wife out there before , people, cavorting as i was compelled to, shaking and twisting my body—six times in one day—and with hard- ly any clothes on at all. i don't blame him,” and again she sighed, this time, hopelessly. she thought about the wedding night that he had waited for and planned. donald and other men did not talk about wedding nights. they talked about that night, but sidney wyeth had waited and planned a wedding night; a wedding night that never came. no, she thought aloud and to herself, there would be no wedding night for her and sidney wyeth. he was gone out of her life, she knew now, forever. in the midst of these reflections, there was a light knock on her door. she was so absorbed in her thoughts that she wasn't sure about it, so waited for it to be repeated. it wasn’t. the door was pushed open and when she looked quickly around, it was into the face of donald howard. he rarely knocked the second time. he just came on in. donald hadn't visualized any wedding night. be- fore leaving new york to go out with the show the first time, but after he had sold her on going on the stage, he'd had his wedding nights. and they had thrilled to many wedding nights during the entire first tour, all over the country. as far west as kansas city: north to chicago, south to new orleans. so donald had missed the case of mrs. wingate nothing. only sidney wyeth had. he missed everything she had to give him. by this time, and for a long time since, donald's entering her dressing room without invitation or a second knock, was like z husband, entering his wife's bedroom after ten years of wedded life. “oh, donald,” she heard herself say. “you.” “yes, me, edrina.” he crossed the room, found a stool that was near, drew it up, sat down and smiled at her somewhat oddly. was it, she wondered as he did so, a smile or a smirk. “well, kid,” he said, looking at her in whatever way she wondered it was. “you put it over. yes. you put the show over big, and you're in for the season now.” “thank you, donald,” she replied quietly, and wondered if he was thinking about how she felt; how she must be feeling after her daring performances; wondered how he would feel now, regarding her as a kooch and shake dancer, instead of the nice, pretty girl from louisville, singing a darling little song. she seemed to catch some inference from his words “in for the season now.” then he must know, or did he know? no, he didn't know, but he understood. he understood and meant when he said “you're in for the season now” that sidney wyeth had walked out; that he was not going to marry her. and after the bold performances, of course he understood and he was taunting her, not complimenting. he also meant that since she had been put into such a role, she would have to stay in it. never again could she be permitted to go back to playing current roles. “i heard washington calling levine as i came by the office, about the show, so we're booked for washington, as soon as we can get there. that means that sam steinbeck'll set us in the quay in philadelphia, and then the dunbar in baltimore, then back to pitts- burgh, on to cleveland, then detroit and into chicago. so, kid,” he said, rising to his feet, “you’ve put it over, and you won't have to worry about engagements for the next ten weeks, maybe longer, and that, you know, is something. a whole lot if you're asking me.” he moved across to the door and opened it, then seemed to think of something, or had he saved it to tell her at this particular moment, when he was about to leave her? the case of mrs. wingate “oh, by the way,” he said, pausing, and turning back to her. “guess who i saw leaving the theatre a few minutes ago?” without looking up or at him, or making any effort to guess, she said: - “i give up, donald. who?” “sidney wyeth,” he said calmly, but watched her carefully as he said it. she started, perceptibly, then glanced at him, to catch him smil- ing across at her with that smirk, written all over his face. she looked at him for only a second, then lowered her eyes back to the table before her, with what he said, beating against the walls of her brain until she could almost hear out loud, “sidney wyeth !” the words seemed to echo, over and over again. then wyeth had seen her; had seen her out there before throngs, all but naked! she realized now that he came to see her in her humiliation, but to be told that he had been there, which meant that he had seen it, seemed to shock her almost insensible. howard was talking again, his voice seemed to come from far off, but she understood what he was saying; and she understood still more clearly what he meant. “yeh. sidney wyeth, with a couple of pretty girls.” again she was shocked. she sat up straight, and looked at him vaguely. and there it was again, on his face, not a smile but a tantalizing smirk. it seemed to please him to taunt her; to remind her what her career had come to. sidney wyeth, at the theatre with two pretty girls— after walking out on her less than three days before. sidney wyeth, who had not gone with any girl for years, so she had been told. yet, to watch her humiliation, he had come to the theatre, bringing two pretty girls. donald happened to come into the theatre just as bertha and marie came up to wyeth and didn't know that until then, he had been alone. it would seem at the time he saw them, that wyeth had brought them to the show. donald had stood for a moment and watched them, then strolled by, nonchalantly, hoping that wyeth would see, call and introduce him to the girls. but as we know, wyeth was suffering so from the shock of seeing the girl he had been engaged to marry a few days before, that he did not notice howard pass by, go a few steps, then turn and retrace his steps. so from the front of the theatre, howard had watched them until * the case of mrs. wingate they drove away, then timed his call to tell edrina and make her, already feeling bad, feel worse. he knew that marie was wyeth's stenographer, but who was the other girl? such a pretty and apparently high-class girl! that was the impression bertha gave everyone who saw her. and that was the kind of girl donald liked and would have given anything to meet. watching them until they turned and disappeared, he had wondered who the girl was. he asked somebody about her, somebody who didn't know any more about her than he did, but who professed, when asked, to know. “that was one of the walden girls,” he told donald. “walden girls, eh?” “yes, one of the walden girls of westchester.” so with this in mind, and strangely anxious to see edrina hurt, more than being forced to do the disgraceful act had hurt her, he kept thinking about it and planned to tell her when the show was over, so that she could have it to think about all night. “one of them,” he was saying now, “was sure a pretty thing; as pretty as a picture, and she was hanging on to wyeth like she liked it.” “as pretty as a picture and hanging on to wyeth's arm like she liked it,” echoed and reechoed through edrina's mind. she was not looking at donald, but she was gazing wide-eyed into space before her. she was wondering now if wyeth had not been playing her— and yet! if he had been playing her, then why hadn't he gone the limit, at least as far as he could have? surely a man playing a girl as this would seem, would have taken what she had to give him, would have partaken of it—unless he was a fairy. “oh, no,” she cried to herself. “he isn't a fairy.” no, he hadn't done anything or said anything to give such an impression. he was just one of those rare persons called ‘virtuous’ men. “i’ve been hearing of her,” donald was saying now. he guessed again and as we shall see, was strangely right. “hear she's just returned from europe. been in school in france, and from all appearances, she looked it—some girl!” edrina now found herself suddenly afire with jealously. he had been playing her. while professing so many words about love, he had, all the while, been seeing this pretty girl, perhaps making love to her, and all the while, making a fool of her.” the case of mrs. wingate “i understand,” donald continued, “that she is one of the walden girls, of westchester.” “westchester, eh,” edrina was saying to herself now. “west- chester, rich and aristocratic, westchester.” she was conscious of suppressed rage. she hadn't been good enough for him. no girls in harlem had been good enough. going with a girl from west- chester; westchester where only the ‘dicty' negroes dared to reside. so she had been played for a sucker, not him. he had deliberately gone to westchester and brought her to harlem on a slumming party, brought her to the theatre to show her the girl he had been playing around with; and they had sat together in the theatre and looked at her cavort all over the stage, virtually nude for the benefit of thousands of noisy negroes. sat there and saw her humiliated as no modest woman could be so completely humiliated. and when it was all over, they had left the theatre, perhaps laughing about it and feeling sorry for a girl who would condescend to attempt such a dance. now that pretty girl that donald has described so aptly; that highly refined girl who had been to school in europe, had just returned and was living in aristocratic westchester, could think about and remember her with contempt; think of her as a common woman who had been engaged to marry an author and a motion picture producer; who could have the satisfaction of feeling that she had saved a good man from mak- ing a grievous mistake. thinking of her, edrina, as a mistake. she became so angry that she rose to her feet, locked the door so that donald could not walk back in and see her like she was. she didn't want him to have the satisfaction of seeing her angry; seeing her suffer for the mistake that she had made so he could say “i told you so.” yet she was so angry that she walked the floor for half an hour, angry as an enraged tigress, trying to hate sidney wyeth; hating, without much effort, the girl that donald said he saw him with. and yet, with all her anger and accusations, she couldn't seem to get much satisfaction out of hating, or trying to hate the man she had been engaged to. the more she thought of him after becoming calm again and her anger had subsided somewhat, the less she could hate him. for in all her thinking, she could not recall any time, in- stance or place where he had been guilty of doing anything but trying to show her that her ambitions would in time spell her down- fall. she sat down and through her mind ran his words: the case of mrs. wingate “they'll strip tease you if they think making you as naked as a jay-bird's baby will help the show.” how this did echo and reecho now in her memory. “they make quick changes in these shows.” quick changes— and what a quick change! just when she thought she was doing well and was going to be able to prove to him that she could stay on the stage and be nice and clean and as dignified, perhaps, as that pretty girl from westchester, she was suddenly called and forced to learn a routine, take off all her clothes, as he said they might do, and go out there and do a dance that in one day had, perhaps, made her the most notoriously talked about woman in harlem. she could picture the people, and the women especially, as thinking of her, and pointing to her, as the woman who did that naked dance on th st. being so pointed out and looked at, they could hardly think of, or ever recall her as anything but a notorious woman. in her spell of rage during which time she walked the floor, trying to hate him as much as she had told him, only a few days before, that she loved him, but in which she could never feel entirely satisfied, she was in the end forced to admit, at least to herself, that it was all her fault. in her stage ambitions she certainly had never pictured being a kooch and shake dancer. indeed no. if she had been told, and anybody had, or could have shown her, that was what it would come to, end up as, she would, as she recalled it now, most surely have quit the stage and run—run as far away from it as she could get. which would have been into the arms of sidney wyeth, ultimately to become his wife. but as she sighed deeply now and realized that she couldn't stay in that dressing room all night and would have to leave it and go home, she took the blame for it all. she would, she realized and ad- mitted to herself, with regret, have to keep on kooching and shak- ing, as that was the only way left open for her to make a living. then she thought of alice and carrie and her mother and the doctors and the “big” negroes back in louisville, all of whom knew sidney wyeth by reputation, and would be watching the colored papers to see when she was marrying him; be calling up her sisters and inquiring when it would be taking place. what could she now tell them to pass on to the folks, the best people, back there in louisville? and then she recalled, suddenly, something that took the case of mers. wingate place in the theatre while she was doing her act. she had seen a light flash and it now came to her that it was, perhaps, a reporter, and he had taken a picture of her. as she continued to think about it, it occurred to her now that it might be reproduced and used on the theatrical pages of the next issues of the negro weeklies, all of which circulated in louisville. as her people bought those weeklies, and they would see her just as she was cavorting all but nude—and all would conclude right quick, that it was over; and that sidney wyeth would not be marrying her after all; after all her display and boasting while in louisville! she lowered her eyes and cried, cried like her heart would break. never could wyeth or anyone else have showed her, much less prove to her, that she would come to this—and so quickly an hour later edrina dragged herself into her room, sat down, looked hopelessly and sadly into space, with not a friend, she felt, in the world to turn to and admit that she had been vain and mistaken. with an effort she rose, removed her clothes, and went to bed at last. cºrrºr xxiii lorence wingate had returned to atlanta, and on f arriving there, she entered her home on peachtreee street with determination to at last tell her husband. the truth; tell him that she was in family way by a colored man and proud of it! he was away, as he so often was, in new york, in new york at the same time she was, but neither knew of the other's presence, and of course she would not have contacted him, if she had. it was an ugly situation. she had made up her mind on the way from new york to tell him the whole truth, and have it over with. before doing so, however, she decided to visit wakefield—perhaps for the last time, for she knew that when word went around down there of what she had done, one of the finest flowers of the old south, married to a colored man, old barber early's son, she would never dare show her face there again. if she went now, before it all hap- pened, she would be welcomed, treated as only the wife of one of the richest men in the south would be treated, and which she knew, would be her farewell. her mother had been suspicious of something; had a feeling that she had a lover on the side for a great many years, and had hinted at and tried on several occasions to find out more. yet, as far as she had been able to learn, nobody suspected that other man to be a negro. it was perhaps about the last thing anybody there would have suspected. nobody in wakefield would even dare associate such an idea with the former florence adair, scion of one of the south's oldest and proudest families. she did appreciate her people's position in the matter, however, even though she had made the sacrifice for their benefit. still, the south and southern people are sentimental, with their pride. the thing then to do, as she conceived it, was to drive down to wakefield, the case of mirs. wingate accept all the hospitality as of old, and while there, force herself, if she could, to forget kermit early—as if she could ! the very thought of it made her smile. for the further she got away from him, the more she found herself thinking of him. ever since she discovered that she was going to be a mother, he had become more dear to her, and more beloved. the south could never understand a love like hers for a negro. they would not be- cause they would never even consider such a possibility. the whole idea of a white woman in love with, and married to, a negro, was too far from their minds! yet florence wingate knew kermit early as no other woman could know a man. she was closer to him than a wife could be to a husband. during all their years of association, which had been of the forbidden type, and because of the thought ever present that it was forbidden, they had found each other's companionship more compassionate, had indulged each other sex- ually more than any man and woman would ordinarily indulge— and now with a child on the way, she found herself turning to him more than could otherwise have been the case. because she could not tell anybody the great joy of becoming a mother, the greatest desire of her life, she had to keep it a deep secret from all but kermit, so it is obvious how much at such a time, he meant to her. but as we have seen, florence wingate was a resolute woman, accustomed to responsibility. she had put kermit early through school, all the way up to a doctor of philosophy, the highest degree to be secured, and from the greatest school in america. from the days when she, as a young girl, used to stick her tongue out at him and frighten him back there in wakefield, hers had been a career of initiative and responsibility. so now, as she checked over what she was to do there in the confines of her home in atlanta, she was pre- pared for her greatest task, her greatest responsibility. as we know, she couldn't, in going to wakefield, tell anybody— not even her mother, that at last she was going to become a mother. they had hoped and looked for it during the first five years of her marriage to mr. wingate. then, when it failed to happen, it had, in their minds, dwindled to a hope, but long since that spark had died and nobody expected her to have a baby any longer. what a pleasure, therefore, and what a triumph it would be to now tell them there would be a “blessed event” after all. the case of mrs. wingate without letting herself think any more about it, which would have been to confuse her mind with no end of thoughts and plans and new plans all of which would only annoy her the more, two days after she arrived in atlanta, she was in her huge limousine, rolling south to wakefield where she arrived just before noon, to the surprise of all. “why, darling,” her mother cried. “why didn't you write to me— even wire me as early as this morning when you left atlanta, that you were coming so that i could have made some preparations?” “i’m sorry, mother,” she said, blandly, “but i just got back from new york, decided of a sudden to come down here, pay everybody a visit and return to atlanta—and perhaps to new york very shortly.” “you haven't been here for so long,” her mother said, shedding a tear as she assisted her with such baggage as she had, “we thought when you did come you'd stay a long time. we would be glad to have you do so.” “i’d like to, dear, but when i plan anything that way, it never happens at all. so i took a notion last night to drive down. i didn't want to write or wire—didn't want to do anything but just come on down and see you and wakefield, all right quick, and get on back to atlanta before anybody knew entirely what happened.” “of course we're glad to see you if only to look out the window and see you pass through the town, since its been so long. how is mr. wingate?” “fine. i haven't seen him for a few weeks, but he's expected back from the north this weekend and we-we'll be together then, thank you.” - “i’m glad. well, dear, make yourself comfortable while i go out and see if we can get you a good dinner.” so saying her mother left her,and she was relieved. no sooner had she, than she went back to the car and drove around and called on a few of the many friends of the family. conscious that this would be her last trip, no doubt, to wakefield, she wanted to see, meet and talk with all the people she had known all her life. it was a peculiar feeling to meet them now, kiss the wives and daughters and embrace the old men and play with the children, and feel all the while that she was saying farewell to them all; and that teie case of mrs. wingate never would she see them again; never again to face any of them; never to dare to do so. - she sighed when she got back to the house and sat down to one of the last meals she would ever eat at her mother's table. back in new york in the meantime, kermit early had been doing some planning and some preparing, too, to get sidney wyeth to pro- duce the hate picture which he had taken so long to prepare. this fact had kept him on the payroll of the subversive organizations in milwaukee and chicago for such a long time. so kermit early was ready at last to go to the bat for a complete show down with wyeth. he had talked with heinrich about it at much length, and had schultz more enthusiastic than ever about it. “when you've had two or three long talks with wyeth, showed him all the angles, and how the jews, if anything, are not only not a friend of the negro, but indirectly their enemies, i'm sure he'll see the logic of it all and ultimately come in with us.” “i’m prepared to show him all that and go the limit. there's so much i want to tell him; so much that he ought to know; so much that the negro race in america should know, and who will go into action quickly if they can be shown.” “and it's the best way to show them and the world what a louse the jew is; that he is the most selfish of all people, caring nothing for anybody, any place, anywhere; caring nothing for anything but the almighty dollar. wyeth's got to be shown and convinced that in making this picture he is doing what adolf hitler has so ably started, and which will, in the end, reduce the influence of the greatest group of parasites the world ever knew—the thieving, steal- ing, lying and cheating jew. damn him!” and heinrich rose to his feet and walked the floor of the apartment, while he and early went deeper into their plan. as we have already debated, and perhaps will have occasion to debate more and more in the development of our story, the negro, to a large degree is seriously mis-educated. in some manner the im- pression went forth, that what was needed to help solve. their great problem, was education. so right after the civil war when the negro was given the right to vote, and because he had not been trained in how to keep and hold it. he had lost, as all america knows, that right in the south, but the theory of more education as a solution of his the case of mrs. wingate grave problem, still existed. so in many families, with honest, hard working and diligent negro mothers and fathers, who have been mak- ing sacrifices so long to give their offspring an education, the idea is an obsession. plainly the theory is still in effect, to a large degree, that he can be educated into success. kermit early was a victim of that widespread misconception. as we know, he managed to acquire all the education the greatest schools in america could give him, assisted by florence wingate's money, which had made it easy and convenient for him to acquire. yet now after all the education, the love and assistance of an aris– tocratic white woman, kermit early was in effect, a failure, in the sense we measure success in america. but kermit early, if he was aware of it, was not admitting it. it is a question if he had thought of it in that sense. in america, regardless of how much the negro might say to the contrary, he has never been put into a position of great respon- sibility beyond managing schools for negroes and supervising civic organizations for his own welfare. during the days of slavery, they were afraid to entrust too much to the negro, not because they fear- ed he would fail, but because they feared it would set him to think- ing. they didn't want that. if he began to think, about the first thing he would concentrate on and ask, would be why he was a slave and the white man free. to put him in a position of respon- sibility during such times would have inspired him to think and per- haps, keep on thinking. so thinking on the part of the negro was discouraged in as many ways as could be managed. he was given the unrestricted right to worship god, for in that respect since nobody has ever returned to either prove or disprove the theory of the hereafter, getting religion and worshipping was en- couraged during the entire period of slavery. so when he was freed, worshipping and looking for his great day after death had become a fixed idea with negroes. but shunting and avoiding re- sponsibility had also become a part of him. he was not keenly anx- ious to assume it and that, with few exceptions, prevails today. as stated, the belief that education would fit him better for life, and would ultimately do more than anything else to solve the problem that his existence in america presented. this theory still exists, and many negroes struggle for years to get through school the case of mrs. wingate with only a vague idea and feeling as to what they are going to do after they secure so much education. in the case of kermit early, he hadn't exactly planned at the outset to acquire all the degrees he later found himself in possession of. it was his plan and ambition to go to atlanta university and to continue there until he had gradu- ated. he had not even planned to secure a master, beyond that, and it never entered his mind to acquire a ph.d. it was due to his intimate association with mrs. fiorence win- gate, who was more responsible for his going all the way in educa- tion. mrs. wingate having taken up with him, as has been explained, and from then on provided the means that made it easy for him to continue in school. - he started, as we also know, to do big things, even before securing his doctorate, but with mrs. wingate at his elbow, not only asking but insisting on providing the means an educated man should have, he was not forced to earn a living out of it. it was assumed by both he and mrs. wingate, whose wealth was so convenient to his needs, that he needed time to put his plans into action. so it turned out that nothing kermit attempted actually paid his expenses. he understood commerce and trade only in a general way. there was nobody to hire a colored man for what he was able to do. there was nothing left, he soon found out, but to go down south and teach school. this he could have gotten, but nothing short of a deanship of a real school would have even been considered. then, there was a distinct disadvantage of being associated with any school. that disadvantage was mrs. wingate's and their affair. to get all they secured from their relations, it was necessary that they first be independent. the next was secrecy. never given to much talking as has been shown above, his relations with mrs. wingate made him more secretive. any position he might have taken in the south, in any school, would have necessitated mrs. wingate's coming there to see him. this couldn't even be thought of, much less considered. so to make what could be a very long story very short, it was not until kermit became associated with the subversive group in milwaukee and chicago, that he began to secure enough income to take care of himself. naturally this attracted mrs. wingate's attention. at last, as she viewed it, kermit was coming into his own, and she was cheered. not that she minded carrying the case of mirs. wingate the burden, for she didn't, and would have gone on doing so indefi- nitely without complaining or perhaps thinking of it over-seriously. but she was cheered when kermit started receiving an income in keeping with his long schooling. since kermit had to sell them some- thing for their money, and with them knowing little or nothing at all about the negro as a group, he was not questioned and the one hundred dollars a week that they paid him was considered by them, in view of their plans, a good investment. america was now alive and flooded with german agents, and the jew and his position in america as compared to the position hitler had reduced them to in germany, was a splendid issue for debate. kermit's plan to expose and start reducing his freedom and oppor- tunity by the production of a hate picture was so logical, and in keeping with their plans, that they were all enthused. by now he knew they were waiting to hear what was happening, how it was coming along. so kermit was on the spot and was most anxious to show some kind of results at an early date to keep them satisfied. we have forgotten thus far in our story to explain that in race prejudice, segregation and many restrictions that hold the negro back, many have found,this to be the best alibi that could be conceived as an excuse for failure, and have preferred to give up making a real and sincere effort on the excuse that they were not given a chance to get ahead. no man was more fully acquainted with this than sidney wyeth. he knew it and regarded it as a major negro excuse and was impatient with it. he felt that it was time they were offering some- thing better. but sidney wyeth knew that nothing delighted many of the educated ones of his race more than to be able to blame somebody or some condition for their failure. in the various propaganda combinations against the jews both in america and abroad, one of the outstanding ones was that the jew had too much ! that he had far more than his share, and that he was continually seizing more avenues and arteries of commerce, thereby depriving somebody else of their opportunity. this was one of kermit's excuses and he sincerely believed it to be true. this justified, as he saw it, something radical, if necessary, to crush jewish power and influence. naturally with heinrich schultz, a disciple, follower and ardent believer in the philosophy of adolf hitler, he subscribed to this idea, and had talked it over time the case of mrs. wingate and again with early. it was decided to pay wyeth a visit, several visits if necessary and to go to bat with him until convinced one way or the other. “i’ve never been around where they were making a picture,” said kermit, “otherwise, i’d attempt the direction and production of it myself. but i know enough about it to realize i'd probably make a mess of it.” - “we'll see wyeth,” said heinrich. “i’ll go along with you. i'd like to meet him anyhow.” “meantime, what does your sister say about him?” “plenty. she talks about him all the time, thinks he's a great fellow.” “fine. but has she said anything about feeling him out?” said kermit. “no, she hasn't. feels that she has not known him long enough and hasn't got matters around to that point yet.” “of course,” agreed kermit. “meantime, we'll call on him.” “maybe you'd better call him up and—make an appointment?” suggested schultz. “no,” said early, and shook his head. “why?” “he’s a plain sort of person. doesn't appreciate much ceremony and putting on on the part of negroes. says we're all too poor to be officious. so the thing to do is to just walk in on him, sit down and talk,” explained kermit. “okay by me,” smiled heinrich. “when?” “now,” said early, promptly rising to his feet. “then what are we waiting for?” said schultz following kermit. a half hour later they were sitting in wyeth's office waiting for him to come upstairs from the restaurant, where he had gone for his lunch. “well, kermit,” he cried, on his return, grasping the other's hand, heartily. “it’s been a long time since i've seen you. i've been thinking about you. don't know just why?” “and it's been a long time since i’ve seen you, too, mr. wyeth.” he then introduced schultz. “miss schultz’ brother p” “that's how they are related,” said kermit, looking him over. the case of mrs. wingate “well, i hope you're as bright and intelligent a man as miss schultz is a girl,” said wyeth, cheerfully. “i admire miss schultz very much.” “thank you,” said schultz. kermit smiled. “meantime, be seated, gentlemen, and tell me what i can do for you.” all became seated, the door was closed, wyeth looked from one to the other, a question in his eyes. “it’s what i called to see you about, shortly after i came to new york, wyeth,” kermit began. “you mean—a—picture?” .” exactly.” “i see. you still intend to make it?” “and i’m still interested in having you direct and produce it.” “i don't like the idea of hate pictures, mr. early.” “it is not exactly a hate picture, if i may be excused for inter- rupting,” interposed schultz, leaning forward. both looked at him. “when you consider how the jew neglects to do even little things for the negro that he could just as well as not do, but looks upon us as too insignificant and not worth that much, it riles you,” said early. “possibly,” said wyeth, and waited. “in the matter of the motion picture, for instance,” suggested schultz. “we would get a far better play, perhaps, if he wasn't controlling the industry as he is. the south's hatred for us keeps us from be- ing cast in better parts on the screen than is given us. it also keeps us off the radio,” said early. “i’ve been hearing a great deal about that,” interrupted schultz at this point. “that we can't get on any of the big commercials with an all-colored show on account of the south. just how do they man- age to keep colored people off?” “easily and simply,” replied wyeth, calmly. “a company pro- ducing a standard brand article, for instance, deciding to feature an all negro show, signs a contract to broadcast the show over a national network, including a chain of stations, a large number of the case of mrs. wingate which lay south of the mason and dixon line. all may seem well until the broadcast starts, whereupon most of the southern stations “button’ the program, put on records or have a local program ready and put it on during the time the negro program is supposed to be on all over the country, until the program time, usually a half hour, has expired, then they go back to the network. in that way we are deprived of making any of the big money that the white people re- ceive for entertaining over the air. as a result, except as an occa- sional guest artist, we are confined to 'sustaining' programs, the pay for which is mostly very small, or for which we receive noth- ing at all, just the advertising it might give us.” “of what good is such advertising?” schultz wanted to know. wyeth shrugged his shoulders, then went on to explain. “if it is a quartette or a choir, singing mostly spirituals and hymns, it results in somebody, somewhere, wishing to have these singers come to their town for a program in person, for which they pay something, often a net sum and in that way the few negroes that belong to the quartette get a break.” “so we are ruled off the big air programs, eh?” said schultz, frowning. “and confined to singing spirituals and hymns, just before noon on sundays, with the usual old time darkey sermon, plenty of moaning and shouting, and that, except on rare occasions and as a guest artist, now and then, are the roles we are confined to, on the radio in america.” “now getting back to our role on the screen, controlled almost completely by jews in this country. he is not certain about his position in the public eye, understands that the south wants the negro kept in his place in any story filmed,” said early. “so instead of giving us a play in an outright negro picture, nationally released and exploited, the jew hesitates to make it on the ground that many southern theatres might not book it and show it, so he keeps away from any stories that show the negro in any intelligent or favor- able light, writers write the negro out, if the part is not so import- ant and if this cannot be done, he substitutes some other nation- ality, if this is possible. any way it goes, the jew makes little or no effort to give our group an intelligent and dignified role on the screen when he could just as well do so. he uses the south's objec- tiie case of mrs. wingate tion to negroes when the south hasn't perhaps thought of it and might not object at all.” “that's a dirty jew for you,” cried heinrich, “the selfish sons of bitches just don't care. yet by his money he's able to purchase plenty of propaganda and make the world think, especially america, that he's being unmercifully persecuted by hitler,” schultz went on, angrily. “we'll soon be in this war,” cried early, vehemently, “and it'll be nobody but the goddamned jews who got us in it!” “that is what germany is afraid of,” said schultz now, walking the floor. pausing in front of wyeth, he pointed his finger at him, as he went on: “germany has never wanted a quarrel, much less a fight or to go to war with america. above all else, germany would like to stay at peace with this country. i know that. “but rich jews and their great international bankers hate hitler, they feel that if they can get the united states into the war, that the combined nations can lick germany and overthrow hitler, so by propaganda galore, created, built up and exploited by jewish trickery, they are pushing america as straight into the war as she can be pushed.” “don’t forget our president,” said early and laughed. “i’m not,” said schultz, “for it is through him that they are working.” “possibly not. yet he's given and is still giving a lot of money to help negroes. more than negroes are giving to help themselves,” said wyeth. “but go on. i'rn listening.” “in the meantime, we are interested and are here to talk about what the jew is doing to keep the negro down,” said early, look- ing at wyeth. “while posing and having us believe that because he is persecuted, too, that he has an interest in common with us, that he is the negro's friend. do you believe that?” said schultz. “of course mr. wyeth doesn't believe it. i can't understand, after the way he's been treated by the jew sons a bitches, why he seems to insist on standing up for them as he does,” said early, a bit angrily, frowning. “you’ve been making pictures for a long time, you're the only negro who has ever made and released more than one motion picture. you know that they butted into your little end of the business two or three years ago, made a mess of it, then quit, left the case of mrs. wingate it and went on seeking a better way to make money, didn't they?” “well, they had a right to,” said wyeth. “this is supposed to be a free country, you know.” “but the fact is they did just what i said they did, didn't they?” “not to force me out, exactly. they had ño personal interest in messing up the little independent production business i had built up. they thought there was money to be made in it. they thought that being jewish with plenty of money to work with and the usual jewish self-confidence they could make a reasonably profitable busi- ness out of it. so with this bigger money, they took a flyer at it, found it wasn't all it was cracked up to be by negroes, please understand, who hoped to profit by it, so they withdrew and refused to put any more money in it, and went about their business.” “but not until they had put you out of business,” said schultz, pointedly. wyeth shrugged his shoulders. “i’ve never been able to understand mr. wyeth's complacency regarding it,” said early, turning to schultz. both looked closely at wyeth. “if they put more money into it and made better pictures—” began schultz. “—not better pictures, mr. schultz,” said wyeth, cutting him short. “smoother pictures, a little more expensive from the stand- point of sets and detail, but not nearly as interesting from the standpoint of entertainment. in short, as mr. early implied. the jew does not take us seriously. he takes us only as he sees us. we are not in trade, commerce or industry seriously. we can't borrow money from the banks as he is able to do, to promote or exploit anything. we're just negroes as he sees us, looking for a job, or some other way to make a living. so when he was sold the idea of making negro pictures, nobody told him that he should get negroes to write the stories.” “more contempt. if he was going to make a jewish picture, the first thing he'd think of was a good jewish writer to prepare the story,” said early. “but he has many seasoned jewish writers to write anything he might want to film,” said wyeth. “you mean that we don't have plenty of negro writers?” the case of mes. wingate “no, we do not. we have a few, yes.” “then,” early went on. “why did he get white men to write the negro stories they ulti- mately filmed, that was what you were going to say,” said wyeth. “exactly,” said early. - “nobody said anything about negro writers, none came around to sell them any idea of writing the story to be filmed—but white writers came around seeking the assignment.” “naturally.” “naturally, early,” said wyeth. “yes, naturally the white man came around and showed and convinced them that he could write the kind of story they wanted; that he knew a great deal about negroes. almost every white person thinks he does, so in lieu of no negro putting in an appearance and selling them himself, which he . could have done and if he had the kind of story that was filmable, they wouldn't have been hard to persuade to buy the negro story instead of the hackneyed effort of the white man. but since no negroes showed up, as we never show up for anything but a cheap job at so much per, nobody ever thought that the story ought to be written by a negro who understood negro thought and the negro angle as well.” “well?” said early and paused. “that is why, with all the jew's faults and his apparent neglect as regards our group, when he could do something for us, since he is in the money, when you analyze it, you'll find that it is our neglect and indifference more than anything else that keeps us out of the bigger and better things. if we have anything to say about it, it is usually impractical and unworkable. if there had been intelligent negroes doing any writing for the screen at the time they started out to make those pictures, the pictures would have been more suc- cessful because they would have been down the street the negroes travel, in the language that is familiar to all us negroes. in the story the white man attempted this was not true. the writers put a lot of words into the negro actor's mouth that he never would say. the pictures looked good, like a meal might, but when you ate it or attempted to eat it you didn't find it palatable, didn't have the taste you looked for or expected. result, you get up from the meal dis- gruntled and dissatisfied, not always knowing just what was the the case of mrs. wingate matter with the meal. that was the effect their pictures left on the negroes who went to the theatres to see them. pictures that did a lot of talking but said nothing. result, the jews who made them couldn't and never did understand what the matter was, and the negroes who went in at first to look at them and stopped going, didn't know. he knew that something was wrong; that they were not interesting, but he didn't understand why. being given, long since to charging his race with failure, he now blamed the negroes for the uninteresting pictures turned out. negroes who had nothing to do with it. but in keeping with our hatred for each other, the negro charged the colored actor with the failure. said he didn't know how to act. the fact is, we negroes have so little confidence in each other, that it seems to give most of us a peculiar satisfaction when we can charge failures to ourselves, and then go out and most shamefully run each other down.” “still this doesn't, as i see it, absolve the jew,” declared kermit, a deep frown on his face. “he cheats and exploits the negro by rent gouging, and in a hundred other ways. he should be exposed" “maybe so,” said wyeth, soberly. “but i find so much at fault within us and ours that it keeps me so busy thinking and trying to improve the negro's condition that i have no time or enthusiasm for trying to show the jew up when at least the jew is getting along all right for himself.” “what do you mean?” said kermit. “just what i say,” said wyeth. “the jew has successfuly built himself in this country and he knows the art and business of making money.” “but he’s a cheater.” “maybe so, but he hasn't chosen the negro as the only one to cheat. if he is a cheater as you insist, he'll cheat a white man as quickly as he does a negro.” “but he does cheat negroes and exploits them more than he does the white people, gentiles, i mean.” “if he does,” said wyeth, “that is because the negroes think less and are easier to cheat than anybody else.” “and you think that's all right?” said kermit. “of course it is not all right, but as long as the negro isn't com- plaining, why jump on the jew and try to make trouble?” the case of mirs. wingate “i don't agree with you.” “it comes right back to what i've said already. the negro is shiftless, thoughtless, wasteful, lazy and extravagant and doesn't give a damn if he is. now you feel that something ought to be done to reveal how the jew is taking advantage of all this.” “i do,” said early. “well, since we are the victims, wouldn't it seem appropriate for the negro to be awakened to his own perils?” said schultz. “that is the object of the picture, to wake him up, let him see in vivid and unforgettable scenes and convincing dialogue just what the jew is doing to him,” insisted early. wyeth sighed, but still wasn't convinced. - “shouldn't that be enough to convince you of the logic of mak- ing such a picture, wyeth?” said schultz, leaning forward. “i agree with you that something ought to be done to wake the negro up. but i do not agree that a hate picture, which, when shown would cause the negro to revolt, cause him to go out and break up things, destroy property, for that is too often his re- action. this would be plain suicide and i do not want to be a party to it.” the men looked at each other. “we ought to accept it and say nothing about it,” said kermit. “i’ll put it another way,” said wyeth. “i’ll make a compari- son.” “all right,” agreed kermit and waited. “everybody knows the negro is deficient in the many ways i've just related; he's lazy, irresponsible, shiftless, with so many faults that he should, if he could be persuaded as a group, get serious and try harder to improve his condition.” “yes?” “still he doesn't, and all america, especially the south, has grown accustomed to accepting him with his faults.” “why the south?” “because they accept and bear with him more down there with all these faults than the north does.” “i don't understand you,” said schultz. “i’ll explain. down south they don't want negroes voting, they avoid any form of social equality as they call it.” “i understand that.” the case of mers. wingate “but if you are of good character, have a reputation for honesty and hard work, they will help you far more readily than they will up in the free north.” “just how ° from schultz. “in all kinds of ways.” “just what kind of ways, for instance?” “the banks for one thing, will lend a negro money down there.” “won't they do so up north, with the same security, with the same rating?” “they positively will not. the negro has no standing or rating that will enable him to borrow money in the current sense, north or south. but the south puts your character first, lends a limited amount on the assumption of character and extends them credit in many other ways that helps the negro from an economic standpoint. in other words, the south accepts the negro along with his faults, and feels that with all his faults, the negro has to be taken care of and does take care of him.” “what has that got to do with the jews cheating and exploit- ing him?” - “you’ve preached that philosophy in your pictures,” said early, “leading the negro to a mirror and forcing him to look in that mirror and have implied that the creature who looked back at him was us, nobody but us.” wyeth laughed, so did schultz. early was forced to smile even. “but i have never preached destruction in any picture as a way to improve our lot, for it distinctly is not the proper way.” “our picture does not preach destruction.” “but if shown, it might create destruction, which is another point of debate.” “how so?” from schultz. “that the negro is given to destruction; that he for some peculiar reason seems to delight in breaking up things. he does it everywhere, but seemingly more in the larger cities north than in the south, for instance. it is a well-known fact that he is given to breaking up and destroying any neighborhood he moves into and , takes over.” the other men were silent. they knew wyeth was speaking the truth. with their own eyes, they saw it going on in harlem, the case of mrs. wingate in chicago, everywhere negroes move into and live. only the constant watching by policemen could seem to estrain them from destruction. even sidney wyeth couldn't explain this tendency, no negro can. yet it goes on more currently in the free north than in the oppressed south. always destruction on the part of the smallest boy, girls even, never construction. the strangest failing america knows. no doubt environment has much to do with the tendency but that the tendency to destruction seems to be everywhere is a fact no negro can or will deny. “we are almost a half million strong here in new york,” went on wyeth, “but there is hardly an example of construction on our part going on anywhere in new york other than churches. some- body else builds a section sometimes for us and when they put men in uniforms to watch it, and by so doing, they manage to keep it fairly decent, otherwise our children and our grownups proceed to destroy it as if it was put there for them to mutilate and destroy. but the towering misfortune among all the other unfortunate situations in which we live and are involved, is our failure to catch on and learn how to produce anything. that's what i mean. the negro has not, after eighty years of freedom and billions of dollars spent to educate him, learned anything about producing as a means of making money, and improving our lot, and helping us to be free. the jew knows how.” - “he already knew how—” - “that is no discredit to him. knowing how to make money and making it and having it has long since made him sensitive to the responsibility of his community. everywhere in new york and other cities where jews live, you need only look around you to see something that he has built, from his own synagogues, young men's and young women's hebrew associations, and hospitals to no end of other structures.” - “well, he has the money—has made it to do it with.” “shouldn't we do the same things?” “we’ve been free only eighty years,” said early. “that's longer than the jew has been in this country. there were only , jews in america in . that was fifteen years after we had been freed.” “you’re forgetting that the jew was in trade and commerce before t the case of mirs. wingate anybody else.” said early. “well, he is a builder and by his thrift and industriousness, is able to provide employment for thousands of his own people and more employment for thousands of others,” said wyeth. “do we? no. have we built anything—even for ourselves in harlem, brooklyn, or anywhere else, except a few churches—and most of the ones we worship in were built by white men; built by them for white people. yes, i know, the white people became frightened when we appeared and at the sight of us, turned and ran, and we simply moved in and took over. we have a fine ywca and a still finer and larger ymca in new york, both built by white people for us, but not by ourselves. “those, gentlemen, are some of the reasons why i can't see going out and making pictures designed to stir up strife and hatred by one group against another. i admit the jew has his faults, plenty of them, but we have far more; faults that could be corrected by us for our own benefit. personally, i don't mean much, and making the negro pictures i have made didn't mean much. all i can do now is a little preaching through the pages of an occasional novel for a more sensible effort on the part of our group, of whose responsibility or irresponsibility, i am a part. if you can conceive some way in which i can be of assistance in a broader and more helpful sense, i’d be glad to join and go along with you. but this is not your plan, however much you might say to the contrary. “i don't know just who is behind this plan of yours, to produce a picture to make negroes hate jews and stir up trouble, but i can guess it to be some subversive group or groups, inspired from berlin, for adolf hitler, and is not for the benefit of the negro, but more to bring about chaos and trouble here in america. i wouldn't be interested in anything like that, regardless of the way we are brow- beaten and held back in our own country. as bad as this is and as much as i dislike it, i realize that it might be worse,” said wyeth. “i’m sorry but i'm afraid, gentlemen, that you'll have to count me out.” by this time it was plainly obvious to both men that sidney wyeth was not going to be persuaded by them, at least, to direct and produce their picture. still resolute and determined by disposition, however, schultz went on : “i’m sorry, since we're in position to get the finances for you to - the case of mrs. wingate º resume the production of pictures, that you do not agree with us.” “i’m sorry,” said wyeth, simply. “the people who are advancing the money to make our picture, stand ready to advance an even larger sum to finance the production of those that you want to make. i’m told there hasn't been any colored pictures made, except a few insignificant productions, since you sus- pended; and that our people are anxious to see some good ones, so by helping us, and us helping you, we all benefit. don't you think that is very reasonable?” “yes, fair enough.” “then supposing you take it under advisement. it doesn't have to be made right away, and we'll see you and talk about it again, later on.” with these words, schultz rose to his feet, followed by early and wyeth. there was nothing further for wyeth to say, so when they left all were as agreeable as when they arrived. on the way downstairs and up the street, the two men talked it over however, between themselves. “in spite of his objections, i still feel that we can ultimately get him at least to direct it,” said schultz. “i hope so,” said early gloomily, “but how?” “i don't know just now and can't say,” schultz replied, “this much i do know, that we won't succeed in getting him to do it as we had planned it.” “i agree with you,” said early. “bertha,” schultz went on to say, “seems very much interested in him. i'm wondering what her interest is.” “i’d say personal,” suggested early. “maybe so,” said schultz. “well, she's a girl.” “a pretty girl and an unmarried girl,” said early. schultz glanced at him. “she knows what she wants to do, even if it is personal.” - “but if we ever succeed in getting wyeth to direct and produce this picture, it'll have to be your sister who gets him to do so.” “that’s what i am afraid of.” - “so deciding, supposing that we count ourselves out and leave it to her to do whatever she can to persuade him to,” said early. “i guess that is about all that’s left for us to do,” said schultz. both men lapsed into silence, then, increasing their pace, disap- peared up the street toward sugar hill. - y carris xxiv arie and bertha had not seen each other since they drove wyeth, still sleeping, to new haven, where he awoke and accompanied them into a tavern where they had refreshments. wide awake and refreshed he drove them back to new york. when he awoke in new haven, he didn't know that he had been asleep, so all had a good laugh over it, and enjoyed their ride back to new york, during which time both the girls went to sleep, and then he had the laugh on them. it was the roar of an elevated train overhead that awakened both with a start—and they weren't aware they had been asleep until awakened by the heavy elevated cars rumbling southward overhead the way wyeth was driving. naturally, bertha was anxious to see marie a few days later and talk about wyeth, and while at the office, wyeth entered and invited her into his private office. seated, he smiled across at her and it pleased her to smile back at him. “i’ve been thinking about something which i'd like to ask you, mr. wyeth,” began bertha. “fire away, miss schultz. will try to answer anything you ask.” “why don't you put your book on sale at the bookshops? surely there are a great many people who would be glad to pur- chase it, if it were where they could see it?” “no doubt, but i have just neglected to do so. but before one makes any concerted effort along such lines, it is customary to send the book out to the newspapers for review.” “well, haven't you done that?” she inquired. he was thoughtful a moment. then looked at her. “shortly after the book came out, i went to chicago where i had planned to start to do this. we were still in the picture business and the case of mrs. wingate written, at alternate intervals, more about nature's child. in fact, she seemed to have fallen in love with the book, and took a de- light, every time she had a chance, of saying something about it in her column. so i called at her office. while waiting, i saw some one open the inner door and peep out, and imagined later that it was she; but her secretary finally came forward and asked me what i wished. i displayed my book, which she took and went into the office where she stayed a few minutes then returned with the report that the lady didn't feel it prudent or good policy to meet the authors of books she was expected to review, since it might influence her opinion regarding the book. but that if i cared to leave it she would give me her reaction within the next two or three weeks in her column. frankly i was disappointed, since i. knew that few authors ever call on reviewers; that the books are mailed to the literary department of the various newspapers and the authors would have no occasion to be calling on the news- papers as i was doing in chicago.” “naturally,” said bertha, wonderingly, but waited for him to go on with his story. - - “there was nothing i could do, of course, but leave the book as i had gone there to do. i would liked to have spoken with the lady, but since she had decreed otherwise, i left the book and went on across town a few blocks to the literary department of another paper. the literary editor there was not in, so i left the book and watched both papers for their reaction. “that was in september. i followed the literary pages of both papers until the following january—and i've never, even to this day, seen or heard any comment or review.” “you don't mean it!” exclaimed bertha, in great surprise. “while in chicago i arranged with a large school that was located near the negro section of one of the suburban towns there to show one of my pictures, at which showing i planned to review the book and solicit some sales, which i have since de- veloped very successfully. i was referred to the principal, a very fine white lady, a least they said she was, and i found her congenial. i showed her the book and she was very much interested—until she examined it.” “just what do you mean by that?” inquired bertha, the case of mrs. wingate issue. i decided then not to seek any more reviews.” “i understand you better now. but surely they must have read the book,” said bertha, her face drawn into a serious frown. “i’m in no position to know if they did or did not.” “if they read it, they would have been almost forced to say something about it, and it couldn't have been anything but favor- able,” she now said insistently. “that is why i am forced to feel that they did not. i doubt very seriously if either of the literary departments of these two great papers ever read the book or had anybody read it. it is my opinion, when they sketched through it as this principal of the school did, looking for dialect and comedy, crime or degeneration, all of which seems to interest them about negroes more than con- ventional negro life, and i’m not forgetting the crime angle which made nature's child so popular with them, and they found none of this which they were looking for, i don't think they read the book or went to the trouble of getting anybody else to read it. any- way, nothing was said about it, and that is what happened to me. as a result, i decided to say nothing further to white people about it and, as stated, sent no more copies for review, deciding since our group liked the book so well, better, from all that i could hear, than any negro book they ever read, that i would just go ahead and sell it in such ways as i could learn and develop, and be satisfied. and that is why it is not on sale in the shops.” “i’m surprised,” said bertha, “for it is such a splendid story, so interesting from beginning to end, and has so much human appeal that i can't understand anybody reading the book and not being impressed.” “i don't know if i have explained it, but white america, a long time ago, set us negroes in a sort of groove. by that i mean that they developed the view that the negro was first a clown, a come- dian and an idiot, conceived and born into the world to amuse white people. and in spite of the fact that we have been free eighty years; that billions of dollars have been spent to educate and make us apparently like any other american, we still remain in his picture eye, just the same as we were supposed to be before we were freed. funny, in a measure, but pathetic. so he seems to insist on us being one way or the other. first, and preferably, the case of mrs. wingate funny, so as to make them laugh. but if he can't get a laugh at the thought and sight of us, then he can and does associate us in any other way, except in a contemporary way. it seems that to change this we'll have to get them in a corner and almost, at the point of a gun, literally say: ‘now, white man, i’ve been educated by and in the same course of study that you have. about the only difference between us is that you are white and i am black, or brown or at least a negro. anyway, i eat the same kind of food that you do, prepared as you have yours. i breathe like you, walk like you and in most ways, talk like you. you have, as a group, far more money than i have, and you have the preference of jobs. i must accept what i can get, but for three generations a portion of us only have talked in dialect, fewer as the years go by. all of us do not roll our eyes, show our teeth and act in all the fool ways you think we ought to.” “it seems we've almost got to go that far to make him under- stand that we are not essentially a different people. for instance, a few months after these other incidents, i made an adaptation of my book to a play. i've read plenty of plays and, of course, been to see many on the stage, so i know that the manuscript of the play i made from my book was well done and an interesting script. i sent a copy to each of fifteen leading american stage critics all over for comment with a letter advising that i knew this was a rather unusual procedure but that i was planning to pro- duce it on broadway in the near future and would like to hear what they thought of the idea—what they would think of a play of modern, intelligent negro life. not a single one answered or wrote a line about it. they reacted the same way the papers had to my book. which left me in a quandary. what was i to do, what was i to think? their lack of interest in both cases was the same. white america, as i’ve said, has the negro typed, they have us set in a groove that she has chiseled according to her own idea and style, and there we are supposed to stay and be satisfied. “that is one of the reasons i feel that negroes are not trying to write anything. he doesn't know how to write according to the white man's philosophy regarding us, and if he writes accord- ing to his own, he can't get it published, because the white pub- lishers just can't see it. as a race, we've never been called on to the case of mrs. wingate write anything for the screen, very little for the radio, and from the standpoint of books and magazine articles, well, we're just out. and, unfortunately, we seem to accept the spot they have set us in, and for the present seem to have given up making any serious attempt to change it.” “that is deplorable,” said bertha, shaking her head, sadly. “de- plorable to say the least.” “deplorable is the word. it all boils down to what i have felt necessary for a long time. that it is up to the negro, and the negro alone to work out his own salvation in the arts, the sciences, the motion picture, and to some extent, the radio. unless we are willing to do this, we are just sunk.” “it surely seems that way from what you say,” she said, then paused to look at him a bit oddly. “would you believe me when i explain, mr. wyeth,” she said, sudden-like, “that you're the only one that i’ve talked to, i mean, in our race, who seems to take it that way; that seriously.” “i’m not surprised. most of us don't take anything seriously. everybody has money now and we don't give a tinker's damn about tomorrow. that is negro america.” “but—they—they can't go on this way forever. surely something is going to be done about it, something will be done to change it,” she went on earnestly, seriously. “don’t let it trouble you too much, miss schultz,” smiled wyeth. “don’t let it trouble you more than it is seeming to trouble them, for if you do, you might be unhappy. they are not. we are given to taking things so easy until you can't but wonder that most white people fail to take us seriously, why they are so inclined to look upon us as clowns, comedians and idiots, and are so unwill- ing to accept us in the ordinary american way.” “but they are not all that way, are they?” “of course not. in fact, most of us are different, but they do not consider those as a majority. their contact is confined to a small minority, mostly to the servants who work for them, the girls, who take care of their children, the women, who cook for them, the men, who clean up after them, shine their shoes and look after them, more or less in a menial way.” “what about the teachers, the doctors, the white collar workers?” the case of mrs. wingate “they don't meet them. most white people do not know that they exist. and with regards to this class, with many exceptions, of course, they present another side of our complex problem.” “in just what way, please?” “a very great many of them are selfish. downright selfish and when they have a good job themselves, they don't waste many tears about the others not so fortunate.” - - “this is a new angle. i haven’t been told about them.” “you wouldn't be, because that is the kind a girl like you would meet, become associated with and be so close to that you might not be able to see just how selfish and—often despicable they are.” “you seem to have gone deeply into the problem of the negro in america,” she said. “you know more about his conditions than anybody i've met.” “i hope you will become better acquainted with them.” “i do want to,” she said eagerly. “i don't know just how you will go about finding out. i could help you, to some degree, but it is not convenient at this time.” “what do you mean? would you mind explaining?” he looked at her, then he thought for a moment and looked at her again. -. “i’ve been contemplating going on an extended sales tour into the south. i have covered some of it but this is the best time of year to go further. my errand, of course, will be in the sale of my book. i am building up a very successful business, and i like the work. it pleases me and brings me closer to the negro than i have ever been and i have boasted of having been closer to the masses in the production and distribution of pictures, than any- body else. but the sale of my book brings me face to face with not only the masses but also the classes.” “oh, mr. wyeth,” she cried, shifting anxiously. i am so interest- ed in what you are talking about. i would be glad to-to share in some of all this contact you speak about. won't you please tell me all about it—everything?” she moved her chair a little nearer his as she finished, and looked so anxious that he was forced to smile. “this trip,” she went on. “just how are you going to manage it, where will you be going?” the case of mrs. wingate ] “all the way, if i have my way about it, from here to-browns- ville, texas.” “all the way from here to brownsville, texas? that is—” “away southwest, nearly , miles, on the texas and mexi- can border.” “oh, how wonderful! please go on. on this trip you will—ex- ploit your book?” * “that is the purpose. it amounts to simply getting in my car right here in new york, and going” on from here, stopping at all the schools that i can conveniently contact, and when i have gotten as far south as philadelphia, i will review it to as many groups as i conveniently can. i shall carry a substantial supply of books with me, but all the orders that i cannot fill as i go along, marie will take care of from the office. so i just drive on and on and meet people, as i said, in schools and from philadelphia south, most of those i visit, of course, will have colored teachers. so i can make a dozen or so of these institutions a day, five days a week. i try to get to a key city to spend the night, and there i meet more groups who seem to like to hear me talk, and all my talk in the end brings out the matter of the book, so i sell many and learn lots of things of interest to go into other books.” “how wonderful! no wonder you are so well-informed,” she cried enthusiastically. “now, who will go with you on this— trip?” he shook his head. “nobody, just me and myself and—come to think of it, i'll probably carry my gun.” “by yourself and only your gun?” “it will be in the autumn. back where i was raised in southern illinois i used to hunt in the fall. i learned to be a very good marksman. so on this trip, too, i'll carry my shot gun, possibly a rifle, but assuredly the shot gun. here and there, when i see something to shoot, i stop the car, get out and take a shot at it and often bring down what i shoot at.” - “this is too wonderful for words and how i envy you. i would give—half of my life to go on a trip like that.” “it would enlarge your education wonderfully,” he said. “but i would not know how to go—by myself,” she said, and looked at him, a question in her eyes. “i don't know much about the case of mrs. wingate shooting except what i was taught at school, shooting at clay pigeons, at marks and the like. i haven't fired a shot gun since.” “that is why i stated that it is unfortunate that you can't make such a trip.” - “with you, maybe?” again he looked at her, and seemed embarrassed. “with me? that wouldn't be quite in keeping with—with, society, i don't think,” he said a bit hesitantly. “i am not in society,” she said readily. “i am not on a job to study and learn anything about society in particular. i—could go with you.” “oh, miss schultz. not with me.” “i’m sorry,” she said, apologetically. “i—i guess i spoke too hastily. i guess you—you wouldn't want a woman with you. i'd perhaps be—in your way.” “i wouldn't say that,” he said, his face reddening in spite of the brown of his skin. “and you wouldn't be in my way. it is only that i–i hadn't thought of anything like that.” “i’m sorry,” she said and was then silent. he didn't know exactly what to say, so said nothing. after a smile, which was as if to reassure him, she rose and left, he thought, a bit abruptly. outside, she spoke to marie. “i’m going home now,” she said, pausing to glance over her shoulder in the direction of wyeth. then in an undertone. “when mr. wyeth leaves the office, do you think he will be gone all day?” “he’s getting ready to leave now. when he goes, he won't be back any more today,” replied marie, looking at her curiously and wondering what she was thinking, maybe planning. “when he leaves, i want you to call me.” “of course,” said marie, wondering more at her strange actions, what she had on her mind. “then please do that, won't you? i'll be waiting right there by the phone for your call. i’m going now,” she reached and quickly kissed marie on the cheek, and turning, left the office without further words. marie looked after her, more curious than ever over her actions. a few minutes later, wyeth came out of his office with his large case, in which he usually carried about two dozen books so as to have them if he might need them. he paused to consult the case of mrs. wingate his watch, then advising her that he was going north to white plains for the day, left. she was going to ask him something about bertha, but he seemed in a hurry; he was always in a hurry, so she didn't get a chance to do so before he was gone. she sat silent for a few seconds, wondering what is was all about. then pick- ing up the telephone, she called bertha. the answer was immediate for bertha immediately picked up the receiver at the other end. “it's marie, bertha.” “has mr. wyeth left the office?” - “yes. that's what i called to tell you.” “thank you, dear. now—will he be back soon?” “he won't be back at all—that is, not today,” replied marie. “oh, i’m so glad,” cried bertha. “so glad?” called marie. “i don't understand you. what's this all about, anyhow?” “i’ll catch a taxi and come right down. i’ll tell you when i get there,” and without another word, hung up. a few minutes later bertha rushed into the office, breathing a bit heavily from running up the stairs. “bertha!” marie exclaimed, and rose to her feet. bertha came closer and embraced her. she turned to look in wyeth's office. “he is—gone?” she asked. marie nodded her head. “then, we can—sit in his office?” “of course, bertha.” “meanwhile, i can wait until you work.” “i am caught up. we've made the shipments for the day. anything else can wait.” they both went into wyeth's office, where marie took his chair, bertha in the one she had sat in half an hour or so before. “tell me now, bertha,” marie began, “what is all the excitement about? why are you all of a sudden, so strange, so excited?” bertha looked at her for a moment. w “didn't you overhear us talking?” “of course i overheard you, in a general way,” explained marie. “but i didn't listen to what you were talking about in particular.” “then you didn't hear him, that is, understand his saying that he have caught up with your the case of mrs. wingate was going on a trip, a long trip south?” “oh, something, but of course i knew that he had planned it for some time. what has that got to do with your being so ex- cited ” “i want to go with him.” “bertha i’’ “i want to go with him, marie,” bertha cried excitedly, al- most in tears. “but—bertha, mr. wyeth is a man, and you—a girl.” “that is why i am so excited. but i want to go with mr. wyeth on this trip.” “are you losing your mind? a nice girl like you, riding all over the country with a-man?” “i want to go. i know it may not look just right, yet here is a chance, my chance to find out something it is most important that i learn. to be with mr. wyeth for days, would give me the oppor- tunity to learn it. i want to go with him.” “but—but—mr. wyeth would not take you. mr. wyeth is a gentleman, and not that kind of a man—” “i know, marie, and i understand how he would feel about it.” during the night, she had been kept awake, thinking about such a trip; of the long days and nights when they would be so close to- gether, closer than they could possibly be elsewhere or under any other conditions. she did not say that she had some strange desire to go with him. all she knew was that she wanted to go; that she wanted to be with him on this trip. “i want you to help me find a way, to plan a way,” she cried and grasped marie's hand which she had reached and picked up. marie looked at her closely. “i don't understand you,” said marie. bertha looked at her, sighed and shook her head. “maybe i don't understand myself. i only know that i want to go with mr. wyeth on this trip, and because i also know that it doesn't look just right that mr. wyeth, being the kind of man he is, might not want to take me, i'm appealing to you. it is only you who can persuade him to take me. i—” “furthermore, bertha, it is a business trip with him. he has been on them before. he did well. he will know this time how the case of mrs. wingate to do better. he will be working, reviewing his book a dozen times a day, everywhere, to endless groups, including preachers and teachers, insurance agents—no end of people. he is well prepared for what he is going to do.” “i understand all that, marie, dear.” “you might be in his way. trying to be nice to you might slow him up. he is a restless, energetic sort of person. he wouldn't like to be slowed up. he-’” “i wouldn't slow him up, marie, darling. furthermore, instead of being in his way, i could—help him.” “help him?” cried marie. “help him how " “why, in many ways,” bertha replied, readily, rising to her feet, too excited to remain seated longer. she moved a few steps, back and forth, twisting her hands. presently she stood over marie, who looked up at her. she paused. “i’d like to help you, dear bertha,” said marie, kindly, taking her hand now and fondling it. “you know i am your friend, your best friend.” “and i am your best friend, too, marie, dear. you know that. i love you better than anybody else i know. i want to go with mr. wyeth. you are smart, you are intelligent. you can think of some way.” she paused to sit down on the desk before marie, and facing her went on : “now, darling, you must help me. you must find a way to per- suade mr. wyeth to let me go with him.” marie looked at her a moment, bit her lip and frowned, lowered her eyes to think, looked up at her again. “another thing, being a single man, with you near him, might it would be hard on any man that close to a girl like you, to resist becoming interested.” she looked into bertha's eyes and bertha blushed and turned her's away. - “mr. wyeth, as you know, has just escaped from the clutches of a woman who didn't mean him any good.” “but marie, i’m not that kind of woman. i would not could not injure mr. wyeth as she might have injured him.” “no, you would not and you could not, because you are a nice girl, the kind of girl as i have hinted before who would be—nice for the case of mrs. wingate mr. wyeth to-like. i wish you and he learned to like each other.” “oh, marie,” cried bertha, sweetly, modestly, daring to take a quick look into her eyes. then lowering her eyes again she played with the finger nails on the hand that was free. “of course, mr. wyeth is his own boss. i have nothing to do with what he thinks or does,” said marie. “but you are interested in him,” said bertha. “i am, bertha, like a big sister. i enjoy looking after his interests and he likes me doing so. the point is, just how could anything like this be arranged?” and she lowered her eyes. bertha, quick-witted by nature, training and disposition, was doing some thinking, too. she turned to marie with a sudden idea. “i could hire myself to him, be his secretary, for instance,” bertha said suddenly, and was more anxious. marie looked up, then smiled. “why smile, marie? couldn't that be arranged?” “but you are already employed, you already have a job,” bertha shrugged her shoulders. “my job is and always has been, to find out things about negroes, to become acquainted with their condition, their position in ameri- can life in general, and to compile that information. it is obvious to you and to me, marie, that instead of this trip being a hindrance, it could be of great help; it would mean more information the acquisition of which i desire, more than anything else. i could learn more on this trip than i could otherwise find out in years. mr. wyeth is a practical encyclopedia of information. i could go with him as his secretary, helping in many ways.” * - “to sell books, that would be the way you could help him; the way you could possibly help him lots and not be in the way, by helping him to sell his book. you wouldn't want to do that; no- body ever wants to help do that—and it is so simple, so easy.” “why wouldn't i? in fact, i’m sure i would enjoy helping him that way.” - marie looked up with a new interest. “you mean, bertha, that you—wouldn't mind helping him sell the book?” “of course not, and why not?” marie looked at her seriously for the first time, drummed the fingers of her hand on the desk before the case of mrs. wingate her. then looked up at bertha again. “if you feel that you would like to help him that way, it might be arranged, at least considered, but only after you think it over. are you sure that you would like to help him that way?” “i tell you, darling marie, i would like to help him in any way. the more i think about it the more i know i want to, and i would. i’ve told you that i would like to be more active. that would give me a chance, and i wouldn't be any old stick-in-the-mud; i'd throw myself into the work. i bet i’d help to increase the sales immeasurably. i can operate a typewriter; i know shorthand. i could be a wonderful secretary, a secretary who'd try to help and cooperate. oh, please, marie, say that you'll try to per- suade him to–to let me go with him.” “let me think it over, by myself,” said marie, rising to her feet. as if to get bertha for the moment out of the way so that she could think, clearly and without interruption. then she took her and pushed her down in the chair. “you sit there, and stay seated while i think it over.” - bertha smiled up at her like an obedient child. marie walked away, then up and down a few times then finally turned to bertha. “mr. wyeth is my boss, and he's a good boss. been a good one for years and years. i was unhappy for only a short while, be- cause i saw he was about to get into trouble, and he didn't deserve it. i’m not going to let anybody else get in his way and mess him up.” bertha started to protest, but marie hushed her, by laying a finger over her lips, and pointing at her. “you wouldn’t do that, and i’ not afraid about that. the only thing i'm uncertain about is—something else. something about— you.” “about me?” cried bertha, starting to rise. - marie pushed her back and reassured her by smiling. “take it easy, bertha, sweetheart. what worries me about you is that you are so pretty and so nice and congenial and in so many other ways so good, that—that—well, supposing mr. wyeth, after being so close to you for days, closer than two people could be otherwise than as man and wife. supposing that he should begin to like you.” bertha had been listening to her tensely, hanging onto marie's every word. now she slumped back, with an, “oh, marie.” the case of mirs. wingate “if i was a man like mr. wyeth, lonely, with nobody in love with me, me in love with nobody, and i found a fine girl like you right at my side, ready to assist me in a thousand ways, as i know you would be ready, willing and glad to help in any way—every way, am i so strong-willed that i could resist such a presence and— not become, possibly, interested?” “but mr. wyeth would not be interested that way in me, marie.” “why couldn't he?” “be—because. oh, he just wouldn’t, that's all,” and bertha, her eyes lowered, blushed furiously. marie stood up and looked down at her, and then it suddenly occurred to her, why she was on the anxious seat. it was because there was something about bertha, as much as she liked her, that was secretive; something that bertha had not and did not tell. what was it? looking down at her she went on seriously. - “you see, bertha, there is something a-bit mysterious about you which you have not told me. i don't know what it is, and i de- cided when it occurred to me shortly after i met you, that i wouldn't ask you. i do not believe it is my part to ask you. i am not asking you now. i believe, however, that it is something to do with this war, in some strange and peculiar way. oh, hang it, i can't seem to make my meaning clear,” and marie stamped her foot, to indicate her agitation. - bertha, in the meanwhile, knowing that marie was speaking the • truth, of course, knew why. she also knew that what she hadn't told marie nor anybody else; knew that it was something she would never tell, remained silent, terribly embarrassed, for she was sorry that it was that way. finally she took marie's hand, still with- out looking up, and went on to say, to admit. “there is something, and i know it is that something that has worried you, yet it is something confidential and i don't want to talk about it. if you are my good friend, you will just understand that there is something and won't say anything about it again. i can only tell you that it is nothing—that is against you, or our race, or anybody in particular. it is just something that i can't talk about. now do you understand?” she dared look up at marie now and there were sincere tears in her eyes, and marie understood and the case of mrs. wingate was as she should have been, sorry for bertha. “darling,” she cried, and standing, moved closer to bertha. “i understand enough to trust you, to want to help you because i know you need kindness and sympathy.” bertha was weeping now. “i—i like mr. wyeth, marie,” she said between her sobs. marie looked long at her. “oh, i don't mean that i am—in love with him. i am in love with no man—at least i don't think so. so you don't have to worry about that. i do mean when i say, however, that if there is any man that i am particularly interested in, it is mr. wyeth.” “you mean, bertha,” marie was saying now, “that—that if on this trip. if mr. wyeth should begin to—like you, i mean, seriously, that it would—be all right?” without raising her eyes, bertha nodded her head slowly in the affirmative. “but this something that i cannot talk about, i–i'm not free. i won't be free until—until this war is over.” she now rose to her feet and walked away, and with her back still to marie. “and be- fore the war is—over, something might happen,” she continued. “it might happen to me, and if it did, i would—never be free.” as we know, bertha meant her allegiance to adolf hitler, of what she had sworn, before leaving germany to do, or try to do; but whatever the case, her life, her efforts and her duty were first to the third reich, to germany, her fatherland—and adolf hitler. that is what she meant and could not say. “it is all so strange and—so fatal,” said marie, standing close be- hind her. “this subtle something—but i won't say any more about it. i am satisfied. in the meanwhile, if mr. wyeth should begin to like you before this trip is over, he would not embarrass you. it would have to be you who made the overtures, and by what you say, i can see that you are not free to do that, not now. but if all or any of it should come to pass, it would have to be you who would take the initiative. mr. wyeth might grow to like you, but he would keep it to himself. he would never force it on you. he would not believe that you would or could ever fall in love with a plain man like him.” bertha was emotional again and turning, threw herself into the case of mrs. wingate waterbury and hartford to take jobs. she was to stay on each job only as long as it was necessary to get the lay of things. they had hinted that being so pretty, she might be able to inveigle bosses and foremen into “talking” and in which way get closer to the guarded departments. possibly be able to plant an incendiary or time bomb here and there where it could do the most damage. she had heard them debate the idea and plan to plant these bombs, if unable to in the precision departments and works, then in the lunch rooms and recreation departments, with the bombs timed to go off during lunch and recreation periods when the explosions would kill and maim more people. all of which she viewed with horror and as nothing short of plain murder. the more she heard it debated and planned, the more repulsive the whole scheme became to her. sooner or later, however, she was able to see, she would be called on to go into action and attempt some of these plans they were devising. the fact that to do this would kill and injure scores of inno- cent and defenseless people didn't seem to matter at all—in fact, recalling a remark of hans schiller, to the effect that the more it killed, the merrier, and the more the effort would be considered as a long step towards success. after learning of wyeth's proposed trip, she was quick to appre- ciate that if she could slip quietly away with him, she would be un- available to engage in or commit any of the dastarded acts. she had been sent to america at the outset to investigate con- ditions pertaining to the negro; of his treatment and of his reaction to that treatment. plain and simple research, the kind of work that she had prepared herself at both heidelberg and the sorbonne to do, and not to commit sabotage, destruction and plain murder. there were plenty men—and even women, among those sent here, however, who were perfectly agreeable to doing anything they were asked by the leaders to do, in so long as it could be considered for the “dear fuehrer.” she had even tried to bring herself around to their way of thinking, since they were all supposed to be united in a common cause. but she had failed in the effort miserably. she just couldn't accustom herself to such ideas and sleep good. immediately—even as wyeth related his plans to her, she decided to by pass all the subversive efforts, if she could, that was going on the case of mrs. wingate downtown and go away with sidney wyeth. during the night that followed her conversation with him, she found herself picturing her- self on such a journey. it would not only make her unavailable, when it came to carrying out, or attempting to carry out their nefarious tenets, which she knew that in due time she would be called on to try perform, but the trip itself would provide the opportunity to gather so much widespread information, even if only in a general way. then there would be the pleasant association with a man she liked, to go with it. in meeting wyeth and what conversation she had exchanged with him, it was her wish to get into a position where she could, if possible, be closer to talk with him still further. so the more she thought about the trip, the more the desire to go possessed her. lorence wingate stayed two days in wakefield, was f careful of what she said, even to her mother, dropping no hint about her plans, then returned to her home on peach- tree street in atlanta, where she found a message from her hus- band. it was from charlotte, where he wrote her on hotel station- ery, that he had his chauffeur meet him and would make the rest of the journey to atlanta by motor, stopping over in a few places en- route, but that he would, however, endeavor to reach atlanta by saturday night. seated by a window, she counted the days, only a few away. she sighed. close to it, she was conscious now that she dreaded it, yet realized that it had to be done and the sooner the better. yet, as she contemplated leaving mr. wingate, who had never been a real husband to her, she was strangely sorry. for more than ten years she had tried to endure him. she had even permitted him to satisfy himself in his own way. as she stood there thinking about him and about kermit and about her people, she decided that before she left him she would let him satisfy himself again, as revolting as it always was to her. she moved across to a comfortable chair and thought about her baby. this seemed always to compensate for any sacrifice, for everything. it made her brave and resolute. a child was what she had done it all for. now, since the child was on the way, she felt equal to any task, any burden that might be forced upon her, for the great privilege. as she sat there, looking out into the street, it became dark, slowly, very dark, so dark that she got to her feet and going to the window, looked out at the sky, which was overcast. a wind was blowing, a soft wind, but a wind that felt like it was preceding a storm. it had been hot and sultry for two days, and everybody was looking for the heat to be broken by showers, but as she looked up at the heavily overcast sky, then heard the rumble of distant thunder, with a flash of lightning that frightened her, she realized that it might be more than a shower. a storm was approaching at- the case of mrs. wingate lanta, coming down from the northwest. mammy was busy lowering windows upstairs. she could hear her and florence now hurried to lower the windows downstairs. a few minutes later the storm broke. daring to look out at the row of trees that lined the wide street, she could hear and see limbs being torn by the wind from them and fall crashing into the street. light- ning, great flashes of it, lit the dark outside up into a silvery like shimmer. the rain came down in torrents and it continued to storm all through the afternoon and into the early hours of the night. she had just finished her dinner and mammy was clearing away the dishes when the telephone rang. she went to it and when she answered, some one asked if she lived there. she answered in the affirmative. the operator said it was long distance calling from somewhere in south carolina. she became anxious. she tried to think who would be calling her from south carolina. after a time, she could hear voices from the other end, then a man's voice said: “i am trying to get mrs. wingate, are you mrs. wingate?” “i am,” she replied, and was very curious by now. there was more talking on the other end, which she could pick up in bits, through the receiver. then the man who had been talking to her. began again. “i would like to talk to mrs. florence wingate.” “i am mrs. florence wingate,” she said, and waited, while the person seemed to turn and exchange more words with others, appar- ently in the room. she heard another voice, talking evidently to the man on the phone. “that's the name on the identification card. mrs. florence win- gate,” and he called the street number, “atlanta, georgia.” “all right,” said the voice on the phone, but to her. “all right, i'll tell her. you've put it on me, so i'll tell her.” “what could it mean?” she asked herself, now very anxious. “hello,” called the voice. “hello,” she replied. “are you mrs. wingate?” “i am mrs. wingate.” “mrs. florence wingate, and you reside on peachtree street, in atlanta?” - “i am mrs. florence wingate and i live on peachtree street in atlanta, thank you. now what do you want; what is this all about?” the case of mirs. wingate “this is sergeant winslow, of the highway patrol, at florence, south carolina, mrs. wingate.” “yes, i hear you, and i understand. what has happened? why are you calling me?” - “to tell you that a mr. wingate, residing at that address in at- lanta has been—” somebody interrupted again, but only for a mo- ment while she held her breath, “–has been killed.” “been killed !” she exclaimed. “i don't understand. you say mr. harold wingate, has been—” “—killed, madam. i’m awfully sorry, but somebody had to give you the sad news.” “do you mean to tell me that—” “—mr. harold wingate, the textile merchant and mill owner has been killed in an accident.” she was near to fainting now, but as we have described her before, mrs. wingate was not a weak woman as women go, but strong and resolute. a woman, because of the unusual manner in which her life had been diverted, and because of having to assume responsibilities that few wealthy women, or women of wealthy husbands, have had to shoulder, had become used to many things. now she was steeling her nerves to a -tragedy. her husband had been killed ! she could hear the sergeant's voice again. “yes, madam, he was killed while crossing the southern railway tracks, north bound tracks, during a blinding storm. he evidently, or the driver evidently, didn't hear it, the car seemed to have stalled. it is our opinion that they didn't hear the approach of the train. the driver jumped out and escaped and mr. wingate, from all appearances, started to, but failed to get clear of the tracks, when the train crashed into his car, killing him instantly and wrecking the car, which we found half a mile down the track, after the storm had subsided. sorry madam. are there any instructions you wish to give us?” “yes,” she said, faintly. “hold the body until i arrive, i will leave by train as quickly as possible.” “thank you. kindly call the police station at florence, south carolina, when you arrive.” “i will,” she said faintly, and hanging up the receiver, sat there, bewildered, like—trying to fathom what it all meant. she couldn't, for a long time, get used to it. meanwhile, mammy coming down the hall, paused on seeing her looking so pale, came forward. cºrrºr xxvi arie coleman did a lot of thinking regarding her con- m versation with bertha schultz after bertha left. and at home, bertha did a great deal more. bertha saw in such a trip, the greatest opportunity she would ever have to study and learn the negro, and the conditions that controlled and influenced him. she could buy a car, and she could cover in it the negro section of the country all over—but without sidney wyeth, and his wealth of gen- eral information regarding every place and every condition that would be brought under her observation and discussed as only he was able to discuss it, made thinking of going alone seem vain, useless. she thought of it and continued to think of it all over again and the more she did so, the more convinced she became, that she'd just have to go with him. in the meantime, marie in her home, was talking with her mother whom she was always glad to turn to for counsel. “why don't you take it up directly with mr. wyeth, dear,” her mother was saying. “i am planning to, but it has me on the anxious seat,” said marie. “i am wondering what he is going to think of the idea. i'm wondering how having a pretty girl, sitting beside him and going with him every- where, staying in the same hotels and all that, is going to appeal to him p” “well, all i can see is for you to talk with him about it. he's always been very broad-minded.” “yes, i know,” replied marie. “that's what's making me hesi- tate. i don't know just how to approach him on it. he's a very scrupulous person, you know.” “choose a time and place to bring it up, then talk about it.” “i was so glad he got out of that other mess without me having to say anything about it.” “that was most fortunate. what about that girl now?” the case of mes. wingate “oh, i don't know. i haven't thought much about her after that night when she pranced around on the stage as naked almost as the day she was born.” her mother laughed. “i guess it was seeing her that way, exposed to everybody's gaze, that finished her with mr. wyeth.” “i think he had finished with her before she did the dance. he went there and looked on to feel sure that he didn't want her,” said marie, and again her mother laughed. “what about bertha maybe that will turn out to be a match?” “i don't know, i wish it would, but there is something bertha hasn't told me.” - “why?” “she can't.” “you mean she won't?” “no, mother, i don't mean any such thing. i think that she would like to, but she simply cannot.” “what is it?” “that’s what i don't know; what i can't understand.” “have you talked with mr. wyeth about it?” “no, but i want to.” “then why don't you?” “do you feel that i should?” “by all means.” “then i will. at the first opportunity.” “meanwhile, does she seem to—like mr. wyeth?” “i think so.” “you think so. very much?” “she seems to a great deal. i don't know if it is that kind of interest. bertha is so highly trained. she is so far above and beyond foolish people; so far away from doing foolish things.” “i’m glad to hear it. that, i should think, is the kind of girl mr. wyeth needs, the kind it seems that he would want.” “it is, and he would like a girl like her.” “then what is he waiting for?” “oh, he'd never make any passes at her.” “why not?” “she's too pretty. it would be hard for her, even, to convince him the case of mirs. wingate and the next day marie did. wyeth gave her the chance. “how is miss schultz?” he inquired of marie, after they got through the letters and he had signed and was handing them back to her. “fine,” replied marie. “glad to hear it.” “yes?” “she left rather abruptly the other day. i had something i wanted to talk to her about.” “what, for instance?” “my trip.” “oh, your trip. what could you have wanted to talk with her about?” “oh, nothing in particular. just tell her about it, i guess. she seems so interested in the serious side of life, and i think i'd have enjoyed telling her more about it.” “by the way, mr. wyeth,” she said carefully, evenly. “had you thought about taking anybody with you on this trip?” “not exactly. why?” “oh, i don't know.” “you're not thinking about digging up thompson, perhaps?” “lord, no!” “then why did you ask me if i was thinking about taking any- body?” he paused and looked at her, a question in his eyes. “i was thinking about—bertha.” “berthal you mean miss schultz?” “miss schultz.” “what ever made anything like that suggest itself to you?” “oh. i don't know. maybe i had a reason.” “this is getting a bit deep. why would you associate miss schultz with going on a trip like this with me?” “maybe miss schultz.” “come, marie, you're talking in riddles. miss schultz, i am sure, hasn't thought of anything of the kind.” “hasn’t she?” “what do you mean, anyhow ° “have you thought much about miss schultz, mr. wyeth?” “well,” he said, slowly, thoughtfully, “no further i guess than that the case of mirs. wingate she's a nice girl, an intelligent girl, the kind of a girl i admire, the kind of a girl i could like without much effort.” “i see.” “you see—what?” “have you observed that in some respects, she is—a bit secretive?” “explain yourself.” “that there is something she hasn't perhaps told us, told me, at least?” “oh, yes.” marie turned to him abruptly, and looked hard at him. he was very calm, unexcited. “i’m asking what you mean?” said marie. “just what you suggested; that there is something she has not divulged. incidentally, i understand what that is,” said wyeth, slowly. “what is it?” marie asked. r she rose to her feet, stood over him. he looked up at her, still calm, quiet. - “that she's german,” he said “a german, yes, i know that.” “that she's also a german secret agent,” he said. “a—what?” she cried. “a spy.” “oh, mr. wyeth, no!” “but, mrs. coleman, yes.” marie dropped into a chair, out of breath. “well, people!' “didn't you understand—that—that she was " “of course not,” she cried. “i have all along,” he said with a smile. “and haven't said anything about it?” “perhaps i thought you knew. you should have.” “why should i?” she wanted to know. “you’re an intelligent girl, at least that's what i've been taking you to be all these years.” “but bertha, a spy, i can't believe it.” “a nazi spy,” he said. “great god!” “sent to this country along with others, by the german foreign the case of mrs. wingate office to check on american activity.” “are you joking?” said marie, bewildered. “of course i am not. america is literally swarming with nazi agents, checking on everything that's going on in this country.” “but bertha, and her brother?” she cried. “i can't believe it.” “they are both spies; he's the chief one.” “i’m astounded,” said marie. “i’m not.’ “you can buy me for a nickel. and you've been talking with her, just as though being a nazi spy didn't mean anything.” “why should it?” “now you are getting worse,” she exclaimed. “why shouldn't it?” “because it shouldn't. they’re colored, interested in the welfare of the negro as well as we are.” “but nazi spies. aren't you going to report them to the fbi?" “of course not.” “but—but why not?” “because i don’t want to.” “but they will be reported,” she said. “not unless you or i do it.” “i’m dumbfounded,” she said, excitedly. “take it easy, marie.” “what am i to do?” she blurted out, looking at him oddly. “just what you've been doing,” said he. “you mean, be—nice to her, and—all that?” “of course,” said he. “but how can i now, knowing what—you've just told me. what are you going to do?” “go on just as i have been.” “admiring her and being interested in her,” said marie. “sure,” he smiled. she shook her head and didn't for a moment know what to do, or say. “you see, marie, hitler is smart. all germans are smart, as smart, almost as americans, who think they're smart, are dumb and badly informed, which is the reason they're in trouble; why they're going to be in greater trouble. some of these mornings we're going to awaken a shocked nation; so shocked that we won't know what the case of mrs. wingate has happened until it has happened—and then it will be too late!” “what are you talking about?” - “that the germans have got our number. hitler is wise in many ways. i don't know fully what it is all about. in fact, i admit i don't know anything about it at all. just a feeling, but after talking with bertha the first time, i could see what had been done. they were born in germany, of a negro father, whose father before him was a german. he was lost on the emden, a notorious raider during the first world war. the emden sank lots of ships before a british man-o-war finally caught up with her and sank her off the coast of south america. i was a young fellow at that time but remember it well. nobody was saved. so that was when and how they lost their father. “their mother brought her and heinrich to this country, after she married another colored man, a soldier this time, stationed after the last war in the rhineland, and who brought her and these two kids to this country where they lived some eight or ten years, long enough, as it were, to become very thoroughly americanized. then he died and she took bertha and heinrich, youngsters, but old enough to know a lot, back to germany and put them through schoool. if the truth was known, i bet that they had assistance from their govern- ment. anyway, they were thoroughly educated in germany, and later, in france.” - “at the sorbonne.” “the harvard of france.” “they are both doctors of philosophy.” “german thoroughness.” “evidently,” “now, grown up, as wise in the ways of the world as training can make them, they are sent back to this country to—” & spy.” “well, don't condemn them for that. only smart, intelligent and well-trained people make good spies. people willing to put their country ahead of everything else—all else. “in a way, i respect their position, and the way germany has honored them. compare it with the way we are treated here in our own country. played down, kicked around, ignored, all because the south insists on keeping us in “our place'. heinrich knows that as the case of mrs. wingate negroes, living up here in harlem among us, that they won't be watched; that they can operate freely, get valuable information re- garding the movement of ships, dispatching of convoys, and relay it on to germany, nobody the wiser. hitler knows it, so they have his complete cooperation with plenty of money at their command to work with, see?” - “that's why she wants to go on this trip with you,” marie said. he started, paused, looked at her. “i can see through all her anxiety now. cunning anxiety,” said marie to herself. “what did you say?” “she wants to go on this trip with you.” “she does " - “to spy on what you are doing, what the negro is thinking— everything.” “that's interesting,” he said, and lowered his eyes, thoughtfully. “you puzzle me. meanwhile, what about this man early. is he a nazi spy, too?” she said calmly. “no,” he replied, shaking his head. “why not? if the others are?” “kermit is working with them, rather, with some subversive group, but he isn't a nazi spy, for he's an american negro.” “what about that white woman he's going with; that rich white. woman, from down south?” wyeth smiled. “lucky negro.” “now what do you mean?” “just what i say. kermit is one of these highly educated negroes, educated beyond his scope. he's been mixed up with some subversive group for quite a while. he was mixed up with them while i was writing my book in chicago, two years ago.” “and you knew?” “of course i did, marie. but what if i did? he's a negro just like us, trying to get along. he's too highly educated to get any- thing to do, so if somebody chooses to pay him something for—” “—doing nothing.” “oh, no, you're mistaken. he's a very busy man.” “doing what?” “trying to get me to make a hate picture, for one thing.” the case of mrs. wingate “a picture to make negroes hate jews?” “something like that.” “are you going to? you hate jews, don't you?” “no,” he said. she looked at him. “after all they've done to you?” he ignored the remark. “after all that some of them have done to you, at least,” she corrected, “i think you'd hate them.” “i don't hate anybody. it's bad philosophy. besides, some jews have helped me.” “i know.” “of the $ , it cost to get my book out, over $ , was ad- vanced by jews.” - - “i know that, too.” “so shouldn't i be grateful ?” “i guess you should.” “i am, but even if this hadn't been done, i’d still feel as i do.” “i thought you hated jews. you curse them often enough.” “i curse negroes still more.” “and how !” they both laughed at this. “they say you're hard on negroes.” “i’m not. they're hard on themselves, but don't know it.” “i guess you're right. but getting back to miss schultz and this trip.” “that's what we were talking about.” “knowing as you do now, that she's a nazi spy, you won't con- sider taking her now.” “i’m favorable to the idea.” again she looked hard at him. “you mean that you’d consider taking that girl on this trip with you, knowing that she is spying on our country and sending the information back to germany?” “she isn't doing it exactly that way.” “then what way?" “hitler has sent her and her brother here to gather information for germany, about the way the negro is being treated, to coun- teract the complaint about how they are treating the jews. some- the case of mrs. wingate body higher up among their agents has perhaps asked heinrich to have me make this hate picture to stir up trouble.” “well, isn't that enough to stop everything right here; to expose them. wouldn't that be our duty, our patriotic duty?” “yes, and no.” “now what do you mean?” “in sending them to a far country to find out something about our condition for whatever value it might ultimately be to germany, is showing, in a way, a greater interest in negroes than our own country is doing without great pressure being brought to bear, and so far as i'm concerned, i’m glad of it. hitler has been able, away off there in germany to realize that , , negroes can mean something, regardless of the fact that our own country is unwilling, or seems so anyhow, to take us that seriously.” “i agree with you there.” “i am not sure about her brother, for he is shrewd and cunning and would go as far in the interest of germany as the most ruthless nazi. but his sister is simply trying to help him. she isn't so sure about herself, but behind all this, she is not a mata hari. she's just a nice, sweet and intelligent girl and i am sure she has no ulterior or sadistic purpose in wishing to go with me on this trip.” “what else could she want to go for?” “well,” he said, thoughtfully, “she's had a lot of education forced into her head. like most german people, she is not afraid of work, and sees in such a trip an opportunity to broaden her viewpoint.” “she seems to be fond of you. what does that mean?” “i wouldn't know. i can't imagine, much less picture, any pretty girl like her becoming interested in me, further than for the informa- tion i could give her.” “how do you feel about her?” “i’ve already said that i admired her. i even like her,” he said. marie sighed. “then?” “i’m willing to take her along if she wants to go.” “wants to go?” ... • - “yes. do you think she would really like to go?” he asked, a bit anxiously marie laughed, kept on laughing. º the case of mrs. wingate “why are you laughing?” he asked. - “about you asking if she wants to go when she is all but insane to do so.” “really?” . “oh, mr. wyeth, you should have heard her pleading with me to get you to let her.” he smiled now, all over his face. “you mean to say that you would take her,” she said, surprised. “listen, marie, what are you interested in f" by her expression, he could see that she didn't understand. “you would like to see us sell a lot of books, wouldn't you?” “of course. you know how much i want to see this go over.” “then, take it from me, marie, as energetic, intelligent, pretty, willing and glad as she is to work, she can help sell so many books that you'll have to hire three or four extra people to help you ship them.” “you think so?” she said, looking at him in surprise. “think so?” he echoed. “i know so. i've always needed somebody like that to help me. i never hoped that i'd meet anybody who wanted to and could.” “she wants to—badly.” “you mean, to help me sell the book?” he asked, anxiously. “exactly that. she said she would be glad to act as your secretary, do anything you asked and wanted her to do, and that she would be happy to help sell the book above all else.” “then it's a deal, marie, and you can tell her whenever you are ready that i accept her offer. why, when i introduce her to the teachers in all the schools i plan to call on; in the churches on sun- day; to groups of negro insurance agents—to all kinds of negroes, everywhere, as miss schultz, doctor of philosophy from heidelberg and the sorbonne, they'll go crazy.” “i can see them falling for that.” “and how ! why, she'll have the children running home to get money from their parents to buy the book. they will be glad to do that, in the hope of a smile, in the hope of being remembered by her. in fact, every teacher will be afraid not to buy if she just smiles and acknowledges an acquaintance with them for fear she might for- get them.” the case of mrs. wingate “i can see that häppening. as crazy as they are about highly educated people, they won't want to let you take her away.” “they sure won't. so let me take her along. you can take care of shipping all the books we'll need, but i'm telling you that with her assistance, i'll never again have half the chance to sell as many books as i will on this trip.’ - “i’m relieved,” sighed marie. “i was afraid you wouldn't even con- sider it. you don't have much patience with women, you know.” “no, i do not. not when they are forever holding me up, fixing at themselves, then nagging me about what i ought and ought not to do.” “she won't do that.” “i know it, and that is why i am agreeable to taking her along.” “maybe you'll be falling in love with her.” “don’t be a fool, dear. a pretty girl like her wouldn't think of falling in love with a plain somebody like me.” “don’t be too sure about that,” said marie. “i wouldn't want her, after i misunderstood a fine friendship to say, ‘i don't like you that way.” no, don't think i’m going to make a fool of myself.” “you came near doing so not long ago,” said marie, with a know- ing glance. then smiling, a twinkle in her eye, she adjusted her clothes and sat down “oh, you mean my show girl.” “nobody else.' “i slipped out of the nozzle before it tightened. she didn't care anything about me.' “she was playing you for a sucker.’ “that's what i discovered.” “in time. i was praying for you,” said marie, happy and relieved, now. she went back to her work, smiling over her shoulder at him as she did so. the case of mrs. wingate negro is thinking and doing, if he is thinking and doing anything really worth while. she wants to know what the white man thinks about all this, too, and if he is considering what the negro thinks and is doing, very seriously.” “she likes your plain, simple and down-to-the-earth philosophy. she said she could listen to you talk forever; listen to every word for in everything you say you reveal something; something she wants to know.” he smiled modestly. “take kermit early, for instance, with all his education, all the way from high school in a small town in georgia, through atlanta university, the university of chicago, with a ph.d from harvard, and the best he's able to do is to try to get you to make a picture to cause negroes to hate jews.” “speaking of him, i understand the white woman who put him through school and paid for most of the education he has, lost her husband.” “is that so?” said marie “i ran into schultz at a newsstand downtown the other day and he showed me an account about mr. wingate having been killed while crossing the railroad tracks during a blinding storm and i remarked to schultz that he had the same name as kermit's girl friend. he smiled and told me that it was kermit's girl friend's husband.” “well, that should mean a break for kermit,” said marie. “i said something about it to that effect to schultz and he said kermit didn't talk much, but that he thought it would be, too, and that she might marry him soon, now that her husband was out of the way.” “what do you think of early,” said marie, looking at him. wyeth shrugged his shoulders. . “oh, i don’t know.” “you’ve known him a long time?” “yes. several years.” “yet you don't know much about him?” “no more than i have just said.” “umph!” “what do you mean by that, marie?” w the case of mrs. wingate “oh, nothing in particular.” “nobody knows much about kermit early. years ago he and phillip merivale edited a weekly, and threatened for a while a new era in negro journalism. but before, or at least while they were, everybody was talking about how highly educated both were. dur- ing that period, negroes were reckoning the success of each other largely on how much education one had. so early and merivale were on most everybody's tongue, especially the tongues of the intel- ligentsia,” said wyeth. - “then what happened?” she asked. again he shrugged his shoulders. “what happens to most negro efforts, and has been happening ever since i can remember. the publication needed dough. they didn't have any, of course, but nobody expected them to, being only a pair of young fellows, with lots of training, academic training. any- way, the publication needed money, and they didn't have it, didn't know how to get it, and were, perhaps, too impatient to just stick and make the paper pay, so they disbanded and the paper ceased to exist. merivale, later on, went out and started the organization which has made him one of the leading negroes in our race today. he's a real success.” “he is sure that. about the only leading negro that the masses trust, believe in and follow.” “he has a good income from the organization he founded and has built to success. when a negro has money, is actually successful, he isn't inclined to be penurious and little like a great many of our would-be and so-called leaders are. it is poverty that so often warps and twists the negro all out of proportion, due to a lack of the wherewithal. it is because he has no money and worse, because he does not know how to make any, that makes him like he is more than anything else.’ “are these the kind that booker t. washington referred to as “just educated’,” suggested marie, and smiled. “they thought, while getting it, that the education would make money for them. as they viewed it while in school, all they had to do was just finish, get their degree, and all would be well.” “maybe that is what kermit early thought?” “perhaps. but i wouldn't know, he has always, as far as i can the case of mrs. wingate learn, been a sort of man of mystery.” “maybe it's that wealthy white woman he goes with. maybe she's been providing the money to help make him this ‘man of mystery'.” “i wouldn't be surprised, and that may be another reason for his keeping so much to himself. i’ve seen them together in chicago. i wouldn't be surprised that going with her has had lots to do with his silence and seeming mystery.” “if you go on this trip, you won't get to make this hate picture he seems so anxious for you to direct,” said marie. “i wouldn't direct it if i wasn't to go on the trip. i haven't any- thing against jews, even though some of them are often, it seems, rather mercenary.” - marie laughed, and moved over to her desk. “what shall i tell bertha when she calls or comes around?” “well,” he said, moving across to the door, preparatory to leav- ing. “maybe i'd better leave that to you. only this, i do want you to be nice to her, marie.” “are you falling in-love with bertha, mr. wyeth’ “why, marie!” “oh, you'll never tell her that you are, but you do like her, don't you?” e “i do like her, yes. and i want you to keep on liking her, too.” “just like i have been f" - “just like you have beci., marie.” “all right, mr. wyeth. i will. about her brother, excuse me for holding you up, but i've wanted to talk with you about him for some time. what do you think of him?” “he’s a per cent nazi, out and out, and in a way, i'm—well, afraid of him.” she looked up, quickly. “i mean,” said wyeth, eyebrows wrinkling, “that he is, or could be, and might turn out to be—well, dangerous, before it is all over.” “this is interesting. if he is likely to be dangerous, and i suppose you mean, to american welfare, mightn't he—involve his—sister?” “he might.” “she would be expected to follow his lead; do whatever he wanted her to?” “yes.” the case of mrs. wingate “then is it—prudent to continue this interest in—bertha p" “if i take her on this trip, yes.” “now, perhaps you're putting yourself in for something.” “i don’t think so.” “getting back to her brother. so you fear he may be—dangerous to the country's welfare—in time?” “i feel sure that he will.” “aren't you going to do anything about it, say anything about it?” “i don’t know.” - “don’t you feel that you—should f" “i—i don't know.” - “you’re rather vague and—indefinite. is it because of his—sister?” “oh, no.” - “then why?” - “maybe it's because of america's attitude toward us. we've been over this before. naturally none of us negroes like the way we are treated.” “none of us,” said bertha. “and i repeat. we don't like the way they play us down, keep us down, and think we should be satisfied; that we should be happy about it.” w “it is really funny the way they feel about us, compared to the way we feel about ourselves.” “we are as far apart as heaven and earth.” “so you don't feel that you ought to say anything or do any- thing about heinrich " “no. besides there's nothing i can say, nothing i could do now. he hasn't done any of the things he is likely to do—when the time comes —yet, so there would be nothing for me to do or say now, even if i wanted to. maybe i wouldn't do or say anything when i know that he's stirring up trouble.” - “you think maybe, then, that finding out should be the duty of " “–america herself. as i see it, he's going to have an easy time of it when the time does come.” “why so?” - “because nobody will be watching him. nobody is expecting negroes to do anything but cry about the way they are treated. they won't ever be checking to see what we are doing—until after it is the case of mrs. wingate done, at least. heinrich will be able to work without being suspected or molested.” “just what do you think he's likely to do, as a starter, for in- stance? now that you are definitely decided not to make this hate picture. they won't have that to start trouble with.” “i look for them to find some other way, providing they don't get somebody else to make the picture.” “it’ll have to be some other way. for if you don't direct the pic- ture, it won't be made. i overheard them while waiting for you, say that. in the way they talked, i'm convinced that if you don't direct it, it might not be made.” “then it won’t be made.” “you feel sure then, that you won't make it?” “i’ve never guessed that i would or would not. i simply never in- tended to.” “i believe they sent bertha in to try to persuade you.” “perhaps. “but after meeting you, she's become so interested otherwise until i don't think making the picture is that important to her, any more.” “i hope not. she couldn't persuade me to, either.” “i’m sure she couldn't, but i don't think she will try to persuade you to do so very hard.” - “heinrich wants it made as part of what he is up to; but it's ker- mit early's big idea. i think he's sold somebody the idea that he will get me to make it, and he doesn't want to be let down on it.” “now about what you think they might do to start some kind of trouble between negroes and jews. what?” “race riots.” “race riots?” “of course.” “but how will they go about developing a race riot?” “easily.” - “but how " she insisted. “oh, there are many ways. a few hired agitators, perched on a step-ladder, facing the sidewalk in a negro section. on seventh and lenox avenues here in new york, for instance.” “i’ve seen them on ladders up and down those streets and have been seeing them on ladders like that for years.” f the case of mrs. wingate “first, she'll help me sell more books than i can otherwise sell, with all the plans for doing so that i have in mind.” “i follow you.” “the next, by the time we leave, and if she goes, of course, i'll have completed the voluminous manuscript of my new novel that i've been working on these many months. with her complete educa- tion, and being so close to me, she can help put it into the shape i want it, understand?” - “of course. you always have your manuscripts thoroughly edited by some highly educated person, before sending them to the typesetter. having such a complete and thorough education, she can check it intelligently without interfering with or interrupting your work, and, being close to you—” “—can go through it, sentence by sentence, putting it into such perfect rhetoric and grammar until by the time you get back and turn it over to the printer, it will be as you want it, letter per- fect.” “exactly, marie. i should have a finer script than i’ve ever had a chance to have, before.” - “i agree with you.” “i knew you would. maybe this time i might have a novel that white reviewers will read.” “let’s hope they will.” “also the would-be negro reviewers, who borrow the book, as they did in the case of the review the woman gave it in the courier,” and wyeth laughed. “she didn't review the book, even after borrowing somebody's copy and writing her impression. it was a ridicule.” “that's it,” laughed wyeth. “not a review, but a ridicule,” and they both laughed. “they'll give us a review if the white papers speak well of it but with the white people viewing us, either as a bunch of clowns, comedians and idiots on the one hand—” “—or a criminal, moron or degenerate on the other, what can we look forward to ?” she said. “our people are a mess. it's amazing when you think of it. why do we hate each other so?” , “the most unfortunate part about it is, that so few seem to be .* the case of mrs. wingate conscious or aware of the contempt we hold each other in,” said wyeth. - “the fact that the negro race hasn't produced a novel in almost five years, hasn't seemed to have occurred to them at all.” “they don't do that kind of thinking,” said wyeth. “not a day passes that we don't get from one to a dozen letters— often more, from people who buy your book and read it, praising it to the skies. yet when our so-called reviewers say anything about it, it's a knock, a ridicule.” “meanwhile, getting back to the white press.” “we’ve gotten entirely away from what we were talking about." “it was about the white people whose work is to review books,” said marie “i’ve tried to write it so they will. they keep me so angry and out of patience by seeming to deliberately say: “write that story in dialect, negro, with plenty of clowning, comedy—or create some distorted characters like in nature's child, and to a degree, like in passion, where the negro is kept in his place' or may frighten somebody, especially the reviewers.” “i’m glad you thought of all that before you started writing.” “i have written the story the same as i have all the stories i’ve ever attempted. according to my philosophy of life, and to please myself. i have simply tried to conform, and include such startling situations which i believe, at least strongly hope, may inveigle them into reading the first hundred pages, anyhow. if they’d read even the first pages of my present book, they would have to read it all and—” “—like it,” said marie, interrupting him. “but when they open it, looking for dinah and old sambo, or a dice game or some old darkies moaning a lot of spirituals and hymns, at least don't find some dialect, they close it and lay it down and give it away, perhaps, to the colored porter or maid and the book never has a chance.” “they may not read this one, either, but let's hope they will.” “i have put the most i know, anyhow, into it. beyond that i’ve got to gamble, so we'll wait and see what happens. meanwhile, hope for the best.” “one advantage that you have over any other writer, black or the case of mrs. wingate white, is the fact that you publish and sell your own books. they can never keep you out of some measure of circulation. however, the whites receive this new book, if they decide after it is published to read and accept it at all, or do not do so, we know in advance that our group are going to.” “i believe they will like it, too,” he said hopefully “they'll rave about it, and buy enough to continue to make our little company prosperous,” said marie “that's something to be thankful for; that we can always count on a good living from the sale of any book i write, and that i like.” he was at the door now and she got to her feet. “so it will be all right to tell bertha you'll take her with you?” she said. “i’m leaving it to you, marie,” he replied, opening the door. “i plan to draw her out before i tell her that you will. there's more to find out about bertha before i will be satisfied to again like her after what i’ve learned.” “well, be good to her whatever you do,” he said, and turning, went down to the hall on the way to the stairs and his car. carris xxviii few minutes after wyeth left the office, bertha schultz rushed in, almost out of breath with anxiety and excitement. marie smiled easily as she heard her footsteps, rushing toward the office door. bertha's steps were ever firm, and direct. bertha, the nazi spy girl, knew what she wanted to do, who she wanted to see. as she opened the door and looked in, her eyes seemed more blue today than they had before. marie looked at her out of different eyes. she was not looking at bertha, the girl she had begun to admire and to love from the day she met her. she was looking at another woman, yet the same person in the flesh. she was looking now at bertha schultz, an international spy. it gave her a peculiar feeling. she had read of women spies; of mata hari, and her cunning adven- tures. now she was face to face with bertha schultz, in the service of adolf hitler—bertha schultz, a nazi spy. “oh. marie,” cried bertha, evenly, but with restrained excitement, as she walked stealthily-like into the office, glanced toward wyeth's office, saw the door was open and knew by that that he was out. she breathed a sigh of relief, then crossed to marie, not having noticed that marie had been looking at her closely, studying her, weighing her in the balance, as it were. “bertha,” marie exclaimed, this time deceitfully, rising to her feet. bertha crossed over to her and smiled. “i’m so glad to see you today,” bertha said, and relaxing, smiled again at her and marie couldn't help but feel she was a sweet girl, kind and tender, just like the girl she always thought her to be. “if mr. wyeth has gone for the day, may we-" and she pointed toward the office which had a fine desk, a leather sofa, and two comfortable chairs which they had become accustomed to talking from, until sitting in them while doing so had become a habit, the case of mirs. wingate “of course, dear,” said marie, and reaching out her arm, let it encircle bertha's slender waist. together they entered the private office and took the seats they had become used to sitting in. “this is such a comfortable chair,” sighed bertha. “it is comfortable, bertha.” “and now, what did mr. wyeth say?” she asked, suddenly lean- ing forward. marie turned and looked at her a moment before an- swering and in doing so, studied her and thought of her connections again. she wondered if she would ever be able to look at her and think of her without a lot of ugly thoughts intruded. “well,” began marie, thoughtfully. “we talked about it,” so say- ing she looked at bertha who met her eyes directly. bertha did not flinch or turn away. in that moment marie began to admire her again. she was not a weakling nor a coward. bertha schultz was still a brave and resolute person, ready to squarely face whatever she had to face. “you talked with him?” “i talked with him, bertha, rather, we talked about it.” “i see,” said bertha, thoughtfully. then looked squarely at marie. “and what did you decide?” marie did not reply immediately, but lowered her eyes momen- tarily, then raised them to bertha. “as i told you, dear. mr. wyeth has planned this trip with a view to selling his book, only.” “i understand that, marie.” “when he goes out to do that, he doesn't like to be interfered with in any way. “i both understand and appreciate that also.” “shortly after the book appeared, he took carter thompson with him to help sell it.” “and p” <> “after trying in every way he knew how, and failing to get thompson to do anything but make love to the younger teachers, he gave up in disgust and said that he would never try to get anybody to help him again. nobody.” bertha started, her jaw dropped. she :ooked discouraged. . “then, he-he doesn't want me?” she said, slowly. “i didn't say that,” said marie. the case of mers. wingate immediately bertha's eyes flashed with a new hope. “but, he doesn't intend to make the same mistake again.” “you know i wouldn't deter him, marie.” “he hadn't planned, as stated, to take anybody with him. you must appreciate bertha, that for a man as serious-minded as mr. wyeth is, and going on a trip which has been planned as long as he has planned this—ever since he got the book out and found that this kind of trip would pay, that to consider changing anything so im- portant at such a late date, isn't quite in keeping with his way of doing things.” “i’ve thought of all that, too, dear marie, and i am willing, as i told you, to do anything mr. wyeth might wish me to, if he will only take me.” “you know that he is very plain, doesn't like a lot of show and ceremony, and doesn't like to have his time taken up with any such things. he has a way of jumping into his car when he is ready to go somewhere, and going. has no patience with women who insist on him waiting while they do a lot of primping, powdering and putting on.” “i have never primped or put on, marie. i don't even use lipstick; i rarely use powder,” “he always gets up early. in making these schools and insurance offices, it is often necessary for him to be at a school or an office around eight o'clock. maybe he has to drive some miles to get there by that time, so he can speak to the teachers before they begin their classes, to the agents before they leave their office. if he is by him- self, he doesn't have to worry. just jumps up, gets into his clothes, steps on the gas and within a half hour or less, is where he wants to go. nobody to wait for and make him angry or get him impatient. -nobody to complain about what he does, or doesn't do. are you sure you'd be willing to put up with all that?” “it is exactly what i would like to do. why, on our little farm on the outskirts of berlin, marie, we rise with the chickens, get a lot of work done this time of year before the sun rises. german people raise their children to work hard, and work all the time—and not mind it. that is what i’m used to doing; what i'd like to do. i could be of so much help to mr. wyeth. he'd find me waiting to go when- ever he was ready. he'd find me ready to help sell his book, lots of the case of mrs. wingate go on. she knew that in all the years she had worked for him that he had been at all times on his own; that he had never had any en- couragement from his race who never understood nor even tried to understand just what he was doing or was trying to do. she knew that whenever the negro newspapers had a chance to knock and injure him, they had seemed to delight in doing so, although profes- sing great admiration for him and saying a lot of fine words, but which for some peculiar reason, they never printed. she knew that wyeth had long since given up hoping they would and was succeeding, not by their help or cooperation, but in spite of it. she knew that although they had sent the book to only some three white newspapers for re- view, because in failing to get any notice of any kind from them, that he had ceased to send out more books for that purpose. he had gone on and learned to sell the book in numbers large enough to make their little company independent and prosperous, a fact that few knew and none believed. she knew that many colored papers asked for copies, which he sent until he found that somebody on the paper merely wanted it, none made any effort to review it, which wyeth knew was due to the fact that the white papers had not done so. wyeth hadn't expected them to and had found that he didn't alto- gether need it, if making more sales was why. she knew and he knew that their people, thousands of negroes all over the country, liked the book, praised it to the skies, told of how good and interesting it was to each other, and kept their mail filled with a stream of orders, as the result of their mouth to mouth advertising. so many people, unbiased and unprejudiced could not be wrong. they were told by letter and otherwise how much they liked the book. she knew, and had read, and so had wyeth, about every novel for the past ten years that negroes had written, which were not many. the publishers had them on their lists and sent all books by negroes to them for ex- amination and had done so for many years, in the hope that wyeth might find it possible to film them. mr. wyeth had been anxious to do so, and was ever hoping that he might find something good and had paid about the only money any negro ever received for the screen rights to a book, whenever wyeth thought that he could do anything with it at all. - she knew, also, that if wyeth hadn't been a writer, given to con- ceiving a plot about negroes whenever one was needed to film, after the case of mirs. wingate . reading it, that he wouldn't have been able to make the great number of motion pictures that he had filmed, for there would have been no stories to make them from. in the very short while the jewish promoters attempted to make negro photoplays, the colored papers had given them miles of space and publicity. she presumed that they had gotten some money for it, but during all that time, wyeth, who had made the first negro feature length picture, and since more than all the others put to- gether, was ignored by the negro newspapers just as if he had never filmed a single one. and yet, although he had suspended producing pictures because he was finding that publishing his own books was more profitable for his own efforts, the great amount of printer's ink that had been given by the colored papers to the white people's efforts, had been unable to save those producers and keep them going all had failed and quit within two years and left the field in disgust after losing all the way from many thousands to one hundred" thousand dollars for their efforts. now in his early forties, sidney wyeth had reached sound ma- turity and knew what he was doing. given to the art of characteriza- tion, he had had twenty years of practice in writing and making pictures, and knew pretty well what it was all about and was about to finish a novel, to interest both races with enough sound sensation- alism, to compel the indifferent reviewers on white newspapers to possibly read it. marie felt that if they did, they would give it a good review, and if they read this one, they would, no doubt, send for their present book which they would then read and like and give a favorable review. she was glad they had not sent it out for general reviews when it was published, at which time it might not have been read by many, the same as the few who did get it and had failed to read it. - now what sidney wyeth needed more than anything else, marie knew, was intelligent assistance. in all the entire negro race, with as many educated ones in proportion, as there were in the white race, it was thq hardest job of all to hire anybody that could do anything. the war was on and the demand for stenographers had about ab- sorbed all the colored girls the same as the white girls who could operate a typewriter. she knew that the negro race had few persons with any sort of executive ability to help build a small corporation . the case of mrs. wingate with splendid possibilities into a larger and more substantial one. besides, the negro mind didn't seem to run that way. they made fair clerks for white people when white people wanted to hire them, but when it came to salesmen, they knew little or nothing and cared less. so she was sidney wyeth's sole support. she managed so that with only a little assistance, she could take care of the work of several peo- ple. it was necessary. wyeth had long since given up hoping to get any man to help at all. now they were offered the help of a brilliant girl, a girl who could be of tremendous assistance and who was begging for the chance; a girl who would never go off on another job, but a girl who could only be used in the capacity she was applying for while wyeth was out of town, which would be, happily, for several months. being satisfied by now that bertha would help wyeth as no other person would be capable of, yet feeling that to make it seem that he was not sure if he wanted her or not, would permit her to impose certain conditions that might be necessary. so marie frowned, looked wise and serious, and continued to keep bertha on the anxious seat. “we're both so afraid that—that it might not be just the proper thing,” she was saying. . - “please trust me to do the proper thing, marie. please believe that i will,” pleaded bertha. marie looked at her, cold and business- like. - “there is another important thing. i said something about it before.” “yes?” “is it just the proper thing for a girl, a pretty girl like you, bertha, to be riding around alone with a single man?” “i know that is something that has to be—adjusted,” said bertha, and the frown on her face was evidence that she had considered how it might look. “people might be inclined to-talk.” “that is possible, but between a lady and a gentleman, this shouldn't be overly difficult. mr. wyeth is a gentleman.” “mr. wyeth is a gentleman,“ said marie. “and i-am a-lady,” said bertha. “you are a lady, bertha, a fine and beautiful lady.” . “and i am not afraid to—go out with mr. wyeth; to travel all the case of mrs. wingate over the country, sitting there by his side.” - “have you consulted your—brother, about doing so?” “i have,” replied bertha. “he—trusts me.” “will he—trust mr. wyeth?” - “if i trust mr. wyeth, my brother will trust me with him.” “i see. well, bertha.’ “yes, marie,” replied bertha, and rose to her feet and crossing, paused, and stood over marie, so anxious until marie was forced to reach out and lay a hand on her, whereat bertha relaxed a bit and sat down on the desk before marie and made herself patient. “if you promise not to—make mr. wyeth fall in-love with you.” “oh, marie. mr. wyeth is not going to fall in love with me,” cried bertha, blushing in spite of the seriousness of the situation. “any man would fall in love with you, bertha, as pretty as you are and as nice and agreeable, any man would, so however you might talk, insist and feel, any man would under the circumstances, fall in love with you.” “i don't altogether agree with you, marie,” she said, still blushing. “but if mr. wyeth should, i—wouldn't be angry.” she turned her eyes away now. “now, bertha,” cried marie, pointing a finger at her. “if you play around with my boss and then let him down, i'll be angry and never like you again,” and looked at bertha, tantalizingly. “oh, marie,” cried bertha, throwing her arms about her and cry- ing just a little. “i would always treat mr. wyeth right—regardless what—what happens to me.” she was quiet and then turned away, and marie knew why. bertha was thinking of her commitment; her pledge to the third reich, whereby it came first and she didn't know what the subversive organizations spying on american activities might demand of her, what sacrifice. bertha’s freedom did not be- long to her, not even her own life. if it were not for those solemn commitments, bertha would be free and if bertha was free, she be- lieved she would like sidney wyeth, that in time she might even marry him. with a wife like bertha schultz, no heights would be im- possible for him to reach. but, and she sighed to herself. bertha was first committed to the service of germany, and germany might become ruthless in its demands on her. who knew. she didn't, and she knew that - the case of mrs. wingate bertha didn't. so she decided to make it as easy for the poor girl; as easy as she could. if wyeth took her away on a long trip and kept her, she would be at least free until she returned. furthermore, she would be where her brother, whom wyeth did not trust, could not easily reach or influence her. and thinking of this, it occurred to her that before telling her that mr. wyeth would accept and take her with him, she could demand that bertha agree, and have her brother agree, that in consideration for taking her, she would have to agree to continue with him for the entire trip, and have her get her brother to agree to let her, so that he could not suddenly recall her from some far-off point, to leave wyeth stranded, as it were. so she called bertha. - “now, bertha, i’m contemplating asking mr. wyeth to consider your offer.” “oh, darling, you make me so happy,” cried bertha, turning, too happy for words. “just a minute, dear, before you take it for granted. there is a condition involved, if i do.” “yes, marie?” “if mr. wyeth condescends to take you, it will be only after you agree to certain things.” “i’ll agree to anything if he will just take me.” “very well, bertha.” marie moved up to the desk, found a pad and pencil. bertha stood beside her and waited. “note number one,” said marie, putting it down on the pad. “you agree, if mr. wyeth consents to take you, to do anything he asks you to, considering that he's a gentleman and that he wouldn't expect or ask a lady to do anything not in keeping with her duties.” “of course,” agreed bertha. “second, if mr. wyeth agrees to take you and he finds your assis- tance helpful, he would naturally like to feel that he could expect you to continue to assist him as long as-he was on the trip, for the period of the trip.” “of course, and i agree, cheerfully,” said bertha. “about your brother. supposing that he should decide to call you in to help-help in what he is doing, and what you have, no doubt agreed to assist him in doing. you must bring a letter to mr. wyeth from your brother, agreeing to let you continue with mr. wyeth the case of mrs. wingate during this entire trip.” “i’ll do that,” said bertha. “my brother will agree.” marie paused now and thought of how she would get wyeth to cover as much of the country as he could and take as long as he could so that heinrich could not have bertha do some sabotage work or something else as mean and contemptible. “i shall be glad to continue with mr. wyeth as long as he desires me to,” said bertha. “he often stays away a long time. he might decide when he got to texas to go all the way to—california, for instance.” “i wish he would. i’d like that even better.” “well,” said marie, pausing, “i’ll check through all the conditions and make a record of them and have them ready tomorrow for you to read. meanwhile i'll talk with mr. wyeth again about you, and if he is agreeable, and you are agreeable, maybe we can get together.” “please do, darling,” cried bertha as marie rose to her feet. “as i’ve said, i can learn so much about what i want to know on a trip like this, and from mr. wyeth that i shall be agreeable to any terms or conditions that he might impose. i'll help him and he will be glad that he took me with him, i assure you of that.” marie believed her and was glad, even though she didn't intend to let bertha know how glad she was, marie came to the office earlier the next morning than usual as she wanted to be sure to catch wyeth before he went out. “so,” she said, smiling after opening the door. he was sitting at his desk, hard at work and she knew, would be going in thirty minutes. “i beat you to it today.” “beat me to it, marie? what do you mean, beat me to it?” she came into his office before removing her hat and coat, paused to face him. “i mean, mr. wyeth, i got here before you got away this time, see?” “oh,” he said, smiling and relaxing. “that is nothing. maybe i was going to stay in the office all day today.” - “with that case of books,” she said, pointing to it, “and the car half full? i could see them when i came in,” and she laughed. she turned now and removed her coat and hat and coming into his the case of mrs. wingate office, sat down. he turned to face her. “i had to see you today because i’ve got to give bertha her reply, and wanted to talk with you again before i did so.” “i see,” he replied. “and what did she say? how does she feel about it?” “oh, she's crazy to go, but after talking about her brother yester- day and that you didn't trust him, it occurred to me that we'd better tie her up as best we can, before agreeing to take her.” “that was very thoughtful of you marie, and, timely.” “that's how i felt about it. since they are both spies, and as you say, with him liable to call her in, maybe, to pull some sensational act of sabotage if he takes a notion, and get her mixed up in it, i thought we'd better take such precautions as we could now, when we have a chance.” “i’m glad you thought about that, too. i positively do not trust heinrich. i don't believe there is anything he wouldn't do if he thought it might please hitler. and in that respect i mean as much as murder.” “i think you ought to report him.” - “if i did they would jail bertha as a suspect and keep her jailed for the duration. would you want that done?” “oh, no,” she cried, hastily. “i hadn't thought of that.” “then until heinrich has planned a murder, don't think or say any more about reporting him. if our america were half as consider- ate of negroes as they ought to be, they'd put some smart negroes on the fbi and they'd sooner or later, catch up with the subversive activities of heinrich schultz—and kermit early, for that matter, and put them both out of circulation. since, however, they refuse to take negroes seriously enough to watch them and their activities, then let them take the consequences. this much i will promise you, however, and that is when they begin to inveigle bertha to the ex- tent that her life and freedom is in danger, then i may do some- thing. until then my lips are sealed. now what,” he said, changing the conversation. - “i believe that since you have made everything so clear, that bertha can be of great help to you.” “i know she can.” “not only a lot of help, but a great deal of comfort. i think she the case of mrs. wingate r - - will look after you personally and if you're going to be gone so long and travel so far, that is something worth considering.” “thank you, marie.” “so i haven't told her that you would take her. i've just let her feel that you might, and will keep her on the anxious seat for a while longer yet. meantime, i am making everything so exacting, until she'll be willing to do everything she can think of to make the trip convenient and successful.” “i think she would do that anyhow, but there is no harm in making the conditions seem severe. one thing i like about it, and will prolong the trip as long as it may be necessary, is that it will take her from under heinrich's influence and be sure to keep her out of trouble that much longer, anyhow.” “that's how i feel about it. i even went so far as to demand that she bring a letter from her brother, agreeing to let her stay with you during the entire trip, or no go.” “good! bertha is a good girl. i don't think she would ever do any- thing she'd ought not to unless somebody like her brother, to whom she is greatly devoted, would make her.” “that's how i feel about her. so now that that is understood, when i see you tomorrow i'll have everything ready and sealed, as it were.” she rose to her feet, thought of something else, turned to him. “when do you think you will get away?” “within the next few weeks.” “then i'll reckon that way.” started toward the door, marie thought of something else and turned back to him. “in the meantime, i don't see why you wouldn't take a couple of girls to a show and a night club, maybe, before you go away.” she smiled and he laughed. - “of course i will. when, dear one?” she shrugged her shoulders, perked up, looked rather cute. “i’m giving you a chance to be with bertha,” she smiled again mischievously at him. “i know that's what you want to do, but i'll help you get used to each other by going along one time. well, we'll let you know,” and she went back to her desk and to work. “now heinrich,” said bertha, at their apartment a few hours later. “mr. wyeth is going on a very long trip in connection with the the case of mrs. wingate - sale of his book and i’ve asked his stenographer to let me go with him.” “why, bertha, go on a long trip like this with a-man and alone?” he frowned a moment. she patted his shoulder and sat him down. she had more influence in some ways over him than he over her, con- trary to what marie and wyeth were thinking. yet, when he asked her to do something, she always did it without questioning the logic of doing so, most times. she sat down across the table to face him. “i wouldn't have considered it if i hadn't seen in going on it, the biggest opportunity i could ever get to study conditions all over the country.” “and maybe on the trip persuade him to make our picture,” he added, with some enthusiasm. she did not react immediately to the suggestion but replied off-handedly: “perhaps. the main thing is to accompany him on the trip, be close to him. he will talk, i will talk. he likes people to ask him intelli- gent questions. i like to ask those kind of questions.” “and how !” “so from such a trip, i should return about the wisest person among the secret agents of our country.” “you should that.” - “his stenographer in the meantime, is smart.” “how sop.” “she wants a letter from you stating that you won't recall me before the trip is over.” “how long will the trip take—but that's all right. type the letter,” he said, rising. “i’ve got to meet a doctor gustave von barwig, from stettin, due in this noon via argentina.” “who is he?” “one of hitler's closest advisers, being sent to america to take complete charge of activities in and around new york.” “what about hans schiller?” “he’s never been in complete charge. meanwhile, he'll act as one of von barwig's advisors.” “what is going on, anything in particular?” “confidentially, they're expecting japan to pick a quarrel with america and england and while hitler's armies are crushing russia, the case of mrs. wingate japan will declare war on america and england and draw much of their force off to defend their interests in the pacific,” said heinrich. “big doings.” “i’ll say. i hope wyeth doesn't keep you too long. i might be need- iny you most any time if these things happen.”. “i hope it won't force me to run around with those silly women i've been meeting in yorktown.” “who knows,” heinrich laughed. “if i go on this trip, i won't be here for them to annoy me.” “easy, sister, they're of great help to us.” “i guess so, that is why i have tried to be nice to them, and will continue to be, but i don't like them.” “you seem to like the girl marie, and are especially fond of sidney wyeth.” “mr. wyeth is a lovely man.” “what is this, sis? are you—falling for mr. wyeth?” he looked at her quickly, curiously. “why, heinrich! as if i dared like anybody that way. my life, like yours, and my first duty is to the cause of the third reich.” “of course, but that doesn't keep you from liking somebody, and you do like mr. wyeth?” - “i do, heinrich,” she said, with lowered eyes. “m-m. i thought so. how much?” - “i don't know, heinrich.” he smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “write out that letter so that i can sign it. i must get down to schiller's office to meet the herr doctor.” bertha typed the letter carefully. heinrich signed it and rushed out to join hans schiller and others, to go meet the herr doctor, coming in from germany via the argentine. bertha was getting dressed preparatory to going out when the telephone rang. she answered promptly. “bertha,” said marie from the other end, recognizing her voice. “oh, marie, darling.” “come down.” “of course. right away?” “right away, precious.” “that's a darling,” said bertha, her hopes high. she hung up the the case of mrs. wingate receiver, finished her dressing, and in half an hour was seated in the comfortable chair in wyeth's office. - “did you get the letter?” inquired marie. “from my brother, you mean?” “from your brother, bertha.” bertha handed it over. “well, that part is settled,” said marie after reading it, “and mr. wyeth has agreed to take you with him.” “oh, marie,” cried bertha, rising from her seat, rushing across to marie, and throwing her arms about her. “i’m so happy, darling, so pleased,” she cried, between kisses on marie's cheek. “i won't ever get through thanking you,” she now all but cried. “i’m glad. i hope it works out.” - “it will work out, marie, dear. i’ll see that it does.” “you have a great deal of self-confidence, bertha.” for answer, bertha smiled and shrugged her shoulders. she sat down and marie was pleased to see her so happy and so greatly relieved. “now when does mr. wyeth plan to leave?” “in a few weeks.” “fine. that'll give me time to have you both up to dinner.” “really?’ “yes. meantime, mr. early's girl friend from atlanta is back in town. would it be all right to invite them?” - “of course.” “well i wanted to know how you and mr. wyeth felt about it be- fore inviting her.” t “it will be all right with mr. wyeth. i’m speaking for him, too.” “then i’ll invite them,” said bertha. “please do. i’d like to meet this mrs. wingate. a white woman, you say?” - “a very pretty white woman, rich, dignified and refined.” “indeed. rather unusual.” “it is. very unusual, i’ve thought.” - “what do you think of mr. early p" marie wanted to know, casually. “i don't know much about him,” said bertha, shrugging her shoulders. “he and my brother seem to have a great deal in common.” marie would have liked to ask her more about her brother; she the case of mrs. wingate ~ “so i understand,” said marie. “a ph.d.” “that's right. a doctor of philosophy.” “and you are a doctor of philosophy? from the sorbonne or heidelberg” “the sorbonne. both my brother and me.” “whew,” cried marie. “makes me feel like i'm a dumbbell.” “oh, marie, no. how far did you go in school, anyhow?” “high school, teacher's course, then two years during which i majored in business administration.” “you have as much practical education then, as a doctorate could give you. beyond what you know is a whole lot that one rarely needs; that one rarely has occasion to use. how far did mr. wyeth go in school?” said bertha. “not very far.” “he’s a graduate in the philosophy of life; of common sense and knowing what to do, what to think, how to think, the greatest edu- cation a body can possess.” - “i agree with you. meantime, we were talking about this mrs. wingate.” “talked right away from her,” laughed bertha. “well, she's a widow now and i'm wondering if she and kermit are going to get married.” “has he said anything about it?” inquired marie. “no,” replied bertha. “he doesn't talk so much.” “let’s try to draw her out at the dinner,” suggested marie. “all right. i'm with you. we'll try to do so. she seems quite talkative.” “is that so?” “seems to want to.” “do you think kermit would object?” said marie. “i don't think so. in a way, she seems to wear the pants.” “she should, if she's paid for all the education he's got,” said marie and laughed. “and she's from georgia?” “atlanta,” replied bertha. “next to mississippi, they tell me that's the worst state in the union,” said marie. “how so?” from bertha. “how so?” and marie looked at her. carris xxix ow kermit, dear,” said mrs. wingate, settling into a n comfortable seat beside him on the sofa of their apart- ment in harlem. “can we talk about something very im- portant for a few minutes?” “why, of course, florence. i shall be glad to.” “thank you, dear,” she replied. her face took on a serious ex pression now. she paused briefly as if trying to decide just how to start and where to start. “it’s about the estate.” kermit was listening, attentively. she saw she had his undivided attention, so went on. “the will was duly probated, and thanks to mr. wingate's sa- gacity, he left a will that was easy to probate. one half of the estate to me, largely in trust with one of the banks in atlanta, the balance to his relations, so nobody will have to go to court and spend a lot of money on lawyers. i'm glad it is that way, as i'd dislike so much to go through a lot of court proceedings.” mrs. wingate didn't say, since it was not necessary, that if she had to go into court in georgia later on, after marrying a colored man, that it would be most em- barrassing. she knew better than anyone just how the white people of the south, all of those she had met and knew through all the years of her life, would regard what she was about to do—marry a colored man. all would be strangers to her from then on. it was a choice between the man she loved and had been a companion to these many years, and the white people of the south, on the other hand, and she had long since made her choice. “i announced that i was moving to new york, and got everything settled in such a way that i won't have to go south again for a long time, if ever.” “you could, by yourself, dear.” she shrugged her shoulders. laid her hand on her stomach and sighed. the case of mrs. wingate “in a few months now we'll have our baby. that is all i'm in- terested in. i can forget everything that is behind me without much effort, while we look to the future.” “to the future, florence,” he said, and smiling, reached out, placed an arm about her waist and drew her closer and kissed her. she relaxed a bit, tired like, laid her head on his shoulder. after a time, she lifted it, thought for a moment, then turned to him. “when shall we get married?” he turned to her. “whenever you say, dear.” after a brief thought, he turned to her: “now that you are—free, do you really want to marry me, darling,” she looked at him in surprise. - “why, of course, kermit. that is what i have wanted to do all these years. why do you ask such a question?” for answer, he squeezed her. then looking into her eyes. “i just wanted to hear you say it, darling,” he said. “now that you are free to see if that could make any difference.” “oh, darling,” she cried, throwing her arms about him and hugging him. “nothing could make a difference with me about you. i'm so happy now that it is all over and we are free to marry, until it bewilders me.” she relaxed her embrace, looked at him a bit oddly, then shook her head. “i can't seem to realize that we are free; free to become man and wife at last. it makes me—sort of dizzy, dear.” she looked into his eyes again and again he kissed her, patted her cheek. “then everything is all right, sweetheart. we'll be married just as quickly as you say.” “where?” she asked. he paused, thought a moment, turned back to her. “oh, down at the city hall, perhaps?” she frowned. “no. i want to be married by a-preacher, a minister of the gospel.” he thought again and looked at her. - “there's a church downtown, called ‘the little church around the corner’. lots of people get married there.” again she frowned, then stuck her mouth out and pouted. “i want to be married up here in harlem; by a-colored preacher.” he smiled, patted her cheek, relaxed happily. “that'll be so much easier. i’ll get any kind of preacher you want, i mean, any denomination, and, we'll be-married right here.” she the case of mrs. win gate clasped her hands, then relaxed again and thought for a moment, turned to him “i have it,” she cried, her eyes lighting up with delight. “all right, honey. what do you have?” said kermit. “let’s arrange to be married at the schultz's " “okeh, dear.” then after a pause. “but i’ll have to speak to heinrich and his sister about it first.” “naturally.” “but it'll be all right. they've invited us to dinner. maybe we can arrange to be married at this—dinner?” “oh, that would be too delightful for words, darling.” cupping his cheeks with her hands, she kissed him with a loud smack and then stood up. he followed her “i’ll take it up with them today.” “who have they invited to dinner, other than us? do they know many people?” kermit was thoughtful for a moment, shook his head. “i wouldn't think so.” “maybe they're going to invite this man wyeth " “wouldn't be surprised. and the girl who works in his office. she and bertha seem to be very friendly.” “speaking of mr. wyeth.” mrs. wingate walked over by the window, adjusted the light, turned to face him. “what's happened to your deal? is he going to direct the picture?” kermit's face fell, his smile died. “i’m so sorry, dear. you have such an interesting story, have worked on it so long and so hard. why won't he?” kermit shrugged his shoulders. “the same old thing.” “don’t like the “hate the jew’ angle?” “that’s it.” “i don’t understand. the jews ruined his picture business, messed it, as you say, all up. still he won't go in for exposing them for what they are, a bunch of chisling sheneys?” “both schultz and i went to him while you were away, argued it out pro and con. we didn't get anywhere. still refuses to make it." she looked at him, at a loss for a moment what to say, “what about his sister, i mean, bertha schultz? has she tiied to do anything?” the case of mrs. wingate “yes. she's been working on him, in a way.” “in a way? what kind of way?” - “he’s about to take a long sales trip. she's persuaded him to let her go with him.” “oh!” she exclaimed. “that ought to do it.” “i hope so,” said kermit. mrs. wingate was thoughtful again. “is this mr. wyeth a-single man?” kermit nodded. “yes. he's single.” mrs. wingate smiled. “if he takes her on this trip, he's almost sure to fall in love with her, a pretty girl like she is.” “that shouldn’t be hard to do.” - “i’ll say. i would if i was him. i hope you don't go to doing so be- fore i marry you,” she smiled and pinched his cheek, chidingly. “she's a pretty girl and a smart girl.” “keen as a razor's edge.” “you say she seems to like mr. wyeth?” “appears to.” “that way?” “i don't know. maybe.” “well,” she said and shifted so that the light was in her face. “if he takes her on a trip like this, she ought to be able to get him to do whatever she wants him to, before it's over.” “i hope so,” said kermit. “meanwhile, please find out from miss schultz, if she is inviting him to dinner. i’d like to meet him myself,” said mrs. wingate. “i will. he's interesting.” “is he—good looking?” “plain,” said kermit. “plain,” she said, “but that wouldn't make much difference with bertha. it's brains that count with her.” “and he has the brains, you think?” “too much. if he wasn’t so smart he'd have accepted our offer; be working on the picture by now.” - “i still believe she can get him to direct it—if she tries hard enough.” “that's it,” said kermit. “do you think she's really interested in trying to get him to do so?” “heinrich is. she'd do anything to please him.” the case of mrs. wingate “then the thing for you to do, as i see it, is to put plenty pressure on heinrich,” mrs. wingate said. - “i’ll do that.” “we'll have a chance to study them all very closely at the dinner. meanwhile, suppose i go on a shopping trip downtown? i want to select something to get married in.” “i’m due to meet heinrich downtown today.” “downtown, eh? where?” “at hans schiller's office, to meet doctor von barwig.” “more germans. this country seems to be swarming with ger- mans lately.” “it is.” - “trying to keep america out of the war?” “that's it. trying to keep america out of the war,” said kermit. “think they'll succeed?” “i don’t think so.” “why?” “the jews are closer to roosevelt. they want it and roosevelt is itching to get into it. that's what the jew influence is doing to him. nobody in america wants to get in the war but roosevelt, the jews, and the british.” - “they carry a lot of influence, i mean, the british.” “and how. for instance,” “what?” “have you noticed that a very large number of the screen actors lately are english?” said he. “most all of the best ones, the highest paid ones,” she said. “the jews are behind that. all this is indirectly pushing us closer to the war. it may be necessary in order to save the british em- pire.” “this country is terribly pro-english. always has been.” “especially the south,” he suggested. “they adore royalty.” “don’t leave out the president and his wife.” “just take the whole country, and you won't miss anybody,” said kermit and laughed. they turned now and went into the dining room. chapter x x x he telephone rang in wyeth's office and marie picked up the receiver and called, “hello,” and then recognized bertha schultz's voice from the other end, apparently very , much excited. “what is it, bertha?” marie now called back, sitting up and taking notice. “if you're going to be at the office another half hour,” she cried, “i’ll tell you. i am coming right down.” she hung up without saying another word. as marie hung up and looked around, she found wyeth looking at her from his office. he had left the door open and couldn't help hearing some of the conversation. “what's going on? a new murder in harlem that shouldn't excite anybody.” marie smiled, got to her feet, came into his office and sat down. “it was bertha,” she said. “berthal” “yes,” she replied, “she was all excited about something.” “i wonder what it could be?” he said curiously. “didn't take time to tell me, but said she would be right down,” marie said. “in the meantime, how did you two come out regarding the trip yesterday?” he now said, looking at her with some interest. “oh, all right. she's ready and raring to go whenever you are.” “good! i can see a lot of books moving out of our stock room very soon now.” “you seem to have lots of confidence in bertha's ability to help you,” said marie. “bertha's got what it takes to do just that. but best of all is her willingness to do it.” the case of mrs. wingate “i guess that can mean a great deal. she's planning to have us up to dinner soon.” - “really?” “yes. she's to let me know today when she is going to give it. she's inviting kermit early and that white woman he goes with.” “yes?” “she asked me if i thought she should include her.” “is that so. why?” - “well, she said that she didn't know if it would be proper to do so. mrs. wingate is a southerner, you know.” “from georgia, where they eat negroes.” “what do you mean?” she seemed curious. “i mean, they are hard on negroes,” he laughed. “we talked about that yesterday,” said marie. “i told bertha that georgia was the home of judge lynch.” “and what did she say?” he began to laugh. “she thought he was some man. i had a hard time making her understand that he was only a figure of speech; that the term meant lynching.” - “then what? how did she react?” “one thing she said during the conversation that surprised me,” said marie, “was that they play up america's lynching of negroes in germany something terrible.” “good!” he cried. she looked at him in surprise. “that's good propaganda for us. i knew they did, not only in germany but all over europe, even a great deal in england.” “is that so?” cried marie, in surprise. “they do just that. that is why america is not so highly respected, even in south america, where they play it up, too.” “i didn't know that.” - “well, it's so, and that is what the south with all its prejudices and everlastingly playing us down, and—” “—white supremacy up—” “—is doing for our america. we are making the whole world into a lot of hypocrites. to get our money, which roosevelt and his new dealers seem anxious to give away to everybody who'll just pre- tend to be friendly to us, they must smile in our faces and tell the administration that we are the world's great democracy, which—” the case of mrs. wingate “—doesn't include negroes, of course.” “of course not. that's the south. they never get tired trying to keep us in our places. as a result, they give the whole country a bad name. actually, america isn't really popular anywhere, and the way the south insists on treating us is the cause of a share of it.” - “and with the south running the administration at washington, politically—” “—there's nothing that can be done about it. but getting back to bertha and what she talked about yesterday.” “well, she said that germany regards america as a great big joke, implied that they consider us stupid, but being rich and having so much money we are able to force our opinion and ideas on many people who kowtow to us to get some of it. but she didn't say anything about south america.” “she might not know so much about it. her brother would, how- ever. you can bet he'd know all about it. i really think they hate us more in south america than they do in germany.” “oh, sure. the fact is germans, not even hitler, hate us. they're annoyed, of course, for the help we are giving england whom they really do hate, but germany, even if soon at war with us, does not hate us. after the last war there was a greater friendship when it was all over between the americans and the germans than between england and the united states.” “why so?” “the germans are in a way, a better people than the english. the english, including the negro west indians here in this country, tend to be egotistic and arrogant. out west where i come from, there were so many germans and they were, along with the scandinavian people, the best people i’ve ever met in all america. big-hearted, honest, splendid farmers, the best kind of neighbors—just good people and personnally, i'm sorry hitler invaded poland and russia and started this terrible war. if he had just been patient he'd have finally gotten the fifteen mile corridor through poland, for poland would have ultimately given in to him. but he'd had too much success in getting austria and czechoslovakia. it made him over-confident, so he started a war that is going to all but ruin the whole world before it is over. in the end it will be his end, whereas, had he been patient, he would have come out on top completely and been looked upon the case of mrs. wingate and admired as the greatest man in the world.” “do you think so?” questioned marie. “i know so,” said wyeth, firmly. “why, at the outbreak of the other war, the kaiser was considered the greatest man in the world of that day, which you can't understand very well at this time, but he was and so was hitler—in fact, so is hitler at this hour.” “but they hate him.” “naturally, but if he wins this war, he'll be lord of the world.” “what about the way he's treating the jews?” she said. wyeth shrugged his shoulders. “if germany loses the war, that'll help the jews some, but not as much as the people might think. unfortunately, nobody likes the jews anywhere in the world. they put up with and tolerate him actually here and in england, but nobody loves him, nobody trusts him. it has been that way since civilization began; it will be that way as long as civilization lasts and most of the people worship god.” “you seem to like them.” “it isn't a matter of liking, as far as i am personally concerned. i have always believed in tolerance, and most people are the same way. but in time of war, and more so, after wars when we get back to the work of readjustment, it doesn't work so well, that is when the forces of evil within men begin to assert itself; when hatred begins to break forth into flame and assert itself. that is when you see how men feel—but i don't want to get into a long discourse on the troubles of the world. i'm just a poor author, trying to sell his own books, and am satisfied with the good success i'm having. besides, if i recall correctly, we were talking about bertha schultz, who—” “is due here any moment,” said marie, getting to her feet and then pausing to listen. - both heard a pair of footsteps coming down the hall rather hurriedly, and looking at wyeth, marie nodded her head and said in a low tone, “that's her right now,” and she crossed into the recep- tion room just as the door was pushed open and bertha entered. “oh, marie,” she cried. “i just had to see you. i—” then she broke off for wyeth's office door was open and her eyes fell upon him sitting there. he smiled, and bowed when their eyes met, the case of mirs. wingate “it is all a bit confusing to me. my mother, a white woman, mar- ried two colored men. in germany, it wouldn't mean any more than one white person marrying another, but in this country, it's—” “—very different, miss schultz,” said wyeth. “so different that if they wanted to get married in georgia, where the lady hails from, they could not.” “what—do you—mean?” bertha exclaimed. “just what he says, bertha, dear,” chimed in marie. “the laws of the state of georgia and all the other states down there—” “—and several states up here, in the north and in the west, have laws against the same thing,” interposed wyeth. “but don't let that concern you. the state of new york permits intermarriage, and that's all that matters in this case. kermit early and this mrs. wingate have a perfect right to marry each other in new york and most northern states, so just forget about it. mrs. coleman and i are animated because of certain phases of it. we both wonder how it came about. mrs. wingate, a wealthy and aristo- cratic southern woman, whose husband, a millionaire, just killed recently. yet, they seem, mr. early and mrs. wingate to have been sweethearts for a long time, which was while her husband still lived. none of our business, of course, but the circumstances are so unusual—” “—extraordinary, would be a better word, mr. wyeth,” said marie. bertha looked on, still a bit bewildered. “extraordinary is the word, miss schultz. it just isn't done here in america, as far as i can recall. so naturally, mrs. coleman and i are both curious and anxious about it.” “and now that we are invited to see it take place it will be the big- gest thrill i've ever had a chance to experience,” cried marie, gleefully. “well,” said bertha, emitting something of a sigh. “we'll all get to see it, so it'll be more interesting to me than would have other- wise been the case. i’ll be anxious to witness it now myself.” “what sort of looking woman is this mrs. wingate?” said wyeth. “oh, she's pretty,” said bertha, promptly. “is that so?” mused wyeth. “and about how old? older or younger than mr. early, would you say?” “i’d say about two years younger. of course i wouldn't know.” “of course not, doesn't matter.” the case of mrs. wingate “we'll all get to meet her and talk with her,” said marie, then pointing at wyeth, “and you—dance with her,” then laughed, bertha laughed, wyeth looked embarrassed “my boss, dancing with a pretty white woman—oh, my,” cried marie, teasingly “i can't recall,” said wyeth, “if i have ever danced with one. not a southern one, at least. in fact, i’m sure that i've never danced with a white woman at all.” both the girls looked at him and pointed their fingers at him, teasingly. * “it'll be a big night for mr. wyeth,” marie kept on, tantalizingly, “dancing with a rich, southern white lady.” bertha smiled and looked at wyeth with new concern. “he'll get to dance with you, too,” said marie, chidingly. bertha blushed, furiously. “oh, marie,” she cried, and lowered her eyes. “as big a thrill as it may give him to dance with mrs. wingate, it will give him a still bigger one to dance with you.” bertha blushed more, and when she raised her eyes to look at wyeth, she saw that he seemed highly elated, and that made her blush the more. “oh, marie, please hush! mr. wyeth will get to dance with me lots, maybe, when we go on the trip,” and she raised her eyes to look at wyeth, and in that moment bertha schultz got a feeling that she was beginning to like sidney wyeth. as he looked at her, he felt a strange and peculiar reaction. he din't dare let himself think what it was, but bertha did. for the moment she forgot that she was a nazi spy, in this country to gather information and send it back to hitler; she forgot everything for the moment but the fact that she was a woman, and sidney wyeth a man. that sidney wyeth was a lovely man, and a lonely man and that she could be not only a great help to him in his honest and sincere efforts towards success, but that she could be of comfort to him. had they been alone at the moment and closer together, he might have said something and her reply would have been soft, tender aud agreeable to whatever he said. and then as suddenly she forced all of this out of her mind, and re- turned to the commonplace. “well,” she said, getting to her feet. “may i consider everything settled ” “as far as we are concerned, bertha,” said marie, “yes.” she turned to wyeth, who was standing. “is it all right by you, boss?” the case of mrs. wingate “all right by me, ladies,” he said, agreeably. “then we'll consider it settled,” said bertha, moving toward the door. “i’ll leave you now,” she said, pausing and turning back to wyeth in the doorway. “i’ll find out from my brother just what day mr. early and mrs. wingate would like to be married, then i'll set the date for the dinner and let mrs. coleman here know. will that be all right, mr. wyeth?” “perfectly all right, miss schultz.” “then i'll bid you good morning,” she said, sweetly, bowing a bit, and smiling happily. she moved into the reception room then, fol- lowed by marie, who closed wyeth's office door behind them and followed bertha across the reception room and bid her goodbye at the outer door. she turned and coming back, knocked on wyeth's door and entered. - “well,” she said, pausing, “what do you think of it?” “it'll give us something to look forward to; something to think about.” “i agree with you. i'm already thinking about it, this mrs. win- gate and mr. early.” “a rather strange case.” “stranger than fiction, if you ask me. how did it all start, and where?” “schultz and i talked about it the day we met downtown and he told me that her husband had been killed. he didn't know so much about it, but more, of course, than i did, as he met this mrs. wingate in chicago when he was out there and i suppose kermit had said something about it to him.” “where did he meet her, and how ° “down in a little town in georgia where they both came from, it seems.” “in georgia. but how could two people, so far apart socially, meet and start to like each other in a little town in georgia, a beautiful white woman and a negro?” said marie. he shrugged his shoulders. “you’ve heard me say that kermit early doesn't talk, and i don't know. all i know, or have found out is that she put him through school and has been friendly and intimate with him for years, over ten, so i understand.” “and now she's going to marry him.” the case of mrs. wingate “yes, marry him.” “he’d better not go back to georgia with her afterwards,” she said. wyeth laughed. - “if he does, he'll never leave georgia,” and they both laughed. “of course,” said wyeth, “both of them know all about that and when and if she goes to georgia from now on, it will be alone.” “i’ll sure be glad to see her, meet her and talk with her. this is one time i’m going to look into somebody's business and study them." “it should prove interesting.” “ought to give you something to write about.” “there is plenty to fire the imagination. if i knew their whole story, i bet it would make interesting reading.” “if you'll agree to make kermit's hate picture, bet he would agree to tell it to you,” she said, and smiled. wyeth joined her. “that is one way i could get it.” “but you won't,” suggested marie. - “i won't.” - “bertha managed to get in a word about it, if you noticed.” “and swerved right away from it so quickly that i couldn't express an opinion much less an answer,” he said, smiling. “bertha's a smart girl,” “and shrewd with it into the bargain.” “i’ll say.” - “yet there is something about her, so sweet and feminine, that she-’’ “—gets you. that's what you mean. and she's got you,” said marie, pointedly. “now there you go,” he said, chidingly. - “but she likes you. i saw it awhile ago. so if you like her, it is mutual.” - “i don't know,” he said and sighed a bit. “it's her work, her mission to america that restrains any more expression. if the war ended tomorrow, she'd be an entirely dif- ferent girl. then she could be herself. now when she is about to, she thinks about what she was sent here to do and holds back.” “that's it, i understand.” the case of mrs. wingate has given me all the happiness i’ve ever had, so you come first, in my life. in the past, of course, i've had to live a sort of-double life; a dual existence, as it were, but from now on that must be changed.” she paused and he took her hand to comfort her. he saw that what she wished to say was a bit hard, as close to each other as they were. what florence wingate was trying to make clear was that now that she was marrying a colored man, she could and would have few if any white friends from that day on. such as she might have would be new friends, mostly in new york. these old friends and acquain- tances in atlanta and wakefield, when they heard what she had done, would be through with her forever. she had thought of and considered all that, years before, so she was prepared to change over when the time came—and the time is now. “one thing schultz asked,” he was saying, “was if we would like anybody present; if bertha should invite anybody?” “whom, in particular, did they have in mind. did he say?” “i don't think anybody but mr. wyeth and his secretary. as i told you, bertha is very friendly with this mrs. coleman and had invited them to dinner before thinking about inviting us. then when we decided to get married, and they suggested tying it up with the dinner, mr. wyeth and mrs. coleman were naturally included, see.” “of course, dear, and i will be glad to have them witness our little affair.” “then it will be all right for them to come?” “i want them to. i don't know anything about mrs. coleman, of course, and i haven't met mr. wyeth, but you know that i am anxious to. so when you see mr. schultz, please tell him that i am anxious to meet their friends.” “would you like them to invite anybody else?” “not unless they want to and you want to. maybe some of your old friends?” “oh, i don't care to dig up any. it's been so long ago, and i'm interested in only a few at present. i don't think the schultz' have many friends, except the white people they are associated with downtown. i think bertha planned to only have mr. wyeth and his secretary and us, so if they haven't planned to invite anybody else, it'll be all right with me to just confine the party to those already invited and let it go at that.” the case of mrs. wingate “then let it remain as is. and now, dear, i'll return to what i started to talk about and i think we should be perfectly frank with each other and face our new life in harmony.” “you mean, florence, that in—in marrying me, ours will be a new life—especially yours?” “i guess we can call it that.” “it will be that,” said kermit. “from the day you marry me you— you're a white woman in a social sense no longer. it is a sacrifice you will have to make when you marry me.” “i’m prepared to do so, kermit. in fact, i'm anxious to get started at doing so.” “when the child comes, you also understand, that it will be con- sidered a-’’ “—colored child. yes, i understand. majority will not obtain in a matter of this kind. you're at least one-fourth white, but our child will be considered a colored child, so i am satisfied to be a colored zwoman from now on.” “you’ll still be a white woman; a white woman married to a colored man, unwelcome, however, on the white side, your lot will be with negroes from then, on, and—” “—that is what i resigned myself to a long time ago and am ready and anxious to get started at it. i want you to direct me in this change as you call it,” and she smiled. “i want you to help me make myself agreeable to this new order. i suppose, after all, however, that i’m not the first white woman to marry a colored man?” “no, dear. there are plenty of others. in chicago, there is a circle that includes only mixed couples. i was to an affair they gave out there once.” “was it—interesting?” she asked, curiously. “oh, nothing unusual. because of mr. wingate's wealth, yours will be different, i fear. if the papers find it out—and they will, we may get a lot of notorious publicity. reporters from many papers may call to see us, take our pictures, and print them.” for a moment she seemed a bit frightened, then steeled her nerves to the coming ordeal as she had been doing since she fell in love with kermit early. “you—you think they will—do all that, kermit?” “they won't miss doing it.” the case of mrs. wingate “then—then, if they do, and, i have a baby so much sooner than i would be—due to, that—that wouldn't sound so good, would it?” “i guess not, dear,” he said. she was silent, thinking deeply a moment, then went on: “i—i don't like—scandalous notoriety. if what you say happens, i think we ought to—to go away for awhile. to-to, oh, where could we go for about six months; where they wouldn't know just when —the baby came? all europe is at war. we can't go there?” kermit was thoughtful. she was holding onto him like she was dependent on him—she was dependent on him. he could feel her trembling slightly. “we could go to-south america, dear. we could find a haven down there to sort of hide away, then go to some big place a couple of months after your delivery, then return here.” “but that would interfere with your work, dear; with your mak- ing the picture?” he shrugged his shoulders. “you come first, florence. unless i can get to the picture before we leave, it'll have to wait until we come back.” “oh, i dislike so much to-" he stopped her. “that's all right, florence. i won't mind. our baby is the important thing now. if we go to south america, take ourselves into the andes mountains or off to patagonia, there will be no newspaper reporters around to expose our family life and use it for headlines. so about two months before it is due, we'll sail quietly away from here.” “perhaps go by plane. i’m expecting america to be drawn into the war any time. if we are, germany'll fill the gulf of mexico and the carribean with submarines. we might be torpedoed. we'll go there by plane.” “meanwhile, let's not let that worry us any more right now.” “no, dear. let's think about the wedding.” “by the way, florence,” he said, and his mind seemed to be on something. “yes, dear?” “about your—your folks back in wakefield?” she sighed. “they'll just have to-take it,” she said. “but you must be thinking, at least must have thought, just how the case of mrs. wingate it would—react on them?” “i have thought of it, kermit, been thinking of it for years. when i went down there last, i planned it as my final visit. i saw them again, later, of course, when they came to atlanta to mr. wingate's funeral.” “will you write, maybe, and tell your mother that—you are going to get—married?” “i’ve thought of that, too. it will be best that i not do so.” he turned to look at her. she read what he was thinking. “you see, if i write and tell them that i'm going to get married again, they'll tell everybody in wakefield. tell all our old friends. then, if, as you say, the papers got hold of it and published our pictures, it—” “—would put them on the spot,” he said, interrupting. “so if i say nothing about it and they read it in the papers, the shock will be all at once—oh, kermit, i don't care,” she said and began to cry. he took her in his arms to comfort her. “i’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he said, patting her shoulder while she continued to cry. “i’m so sorry. after all they are your parents. and there are your brothers and sisters to think of. i’ve thought of all that, and that is why i asked you the other day—” and he stopped. “there, there, dear. we have been happy together. we'll soon enjoy a greater happiness. we're going to be married. there is no law in heaven against two people marrying that love each other. be- cause of the customs of this country, however, it will be considered in georgia, anyhow, wrong and a crime against society. so we must just forget wakefield and georgia—and my people. that's all.” he tried to smile, but she could see that he was conscious of the sacrifice she would be making; could see that it pained him to have her do so, and florence wingate knew that it would take him a little while to get over it. at that moment she felt a quick, sharp pain in her stomach and started. he turned quickly to her. she laid a hand on it. “dear,” he cried, and placed an arm about her. “just a little pain. i think women begin to have them when a child is on the way. i'll go see a doctor.” “i will take you—” he said, then hesitated when it occurred to him that she had best go alone. there would be nobody to do any thinking if she did. after they were married,—he would take her - the case of mrs. wingate to a colored doctor in harlem, but—it was best for her to go to see one now, downtown and alone. “i’ll find out if it is my pregnancy that's causing it. i'll go this afternoon. now i'd better let you go. shall i—get up and—fix you some breakfast?” “no, honey. i'll get up and go meet schultz and get a bite down- town while there. now be sure to go downtown and see a doctor and find out about those pains.” “i’m sure they are due to pregnancy,” she said; “but i'll find out if they are.” “please do. go to a good doctor, have him examine you thor- oughly.” “i’ll do so and tell you all about it when you come to dinner to- night.” he kissed her then and she lay back to rest, feeling strangely tired. bertha and marie had a great deal to talk about, at her apart- ment, where they had come to from the office. “well,” said bertha. “my party is all set. i had my brother call mr. early and tell him that it was all right this morning, then they' arranged the date.” “when p” from marie. “next thursday at p.m. is the date okeh with you?” “sure. i'll tell mr. wyeth about it in the morning.” “i do hope he can arrange to come,” said bertha, a bit anxiously. “he will.” “sure?” “i’ll make it sure,” said marie, and bertha seemed satisfied. “we’re not inviting anybody but mr. wyeth and you, mr. early and mrs. wingate, but if you and mr. wyeth want to—” “—we won't want to, dear. we're both too anxious to meet mrs. wingate and—sorta study her. another thing, and mr. wyeth told me to warn you.” “warn me, marief warn me about what?” “that as quickly as the newspapers find out that the wealthy mrs. wingate is going to marry a negro, they'll storm this apartment for a story.” “you think so?” she said, looking up at marie anxiously. the easr. of mrs. wingate “i’m sure they will. ‘wealthy white widow, marries a negro', is news and this lady's husband was a millionaire textile manufac- turer, and a southerner. with his widow getting married to a negro will be news, big news. so mr. wyeth says if you don't want this news to break and spoil your dinner party, to have mr. early and mrs. wingate keep very quiet about it. after they marry, it will have to break; but if nobody knows about it before it happens, it will not interfere with the party. otherwise a lot of reporters will be ringing your bell and spoiling our party.” “i’ll tell heinrich about it as quickly as i can get hold of him. i'm sure he wouldn't want a lot of reporters coming here.” “they'll sure be here. as quickly as they hear about it.” “i’m glad you told me. i'll call heinrich—no, he'll be home shortly, then i'll tell him.” - “then see that everything is kept strictly quiet,” said marie. “thank you, dear,” said bertha. “meantime, i'm going to get here between two and three next thursday to help you get ready.” - “maybe i can hire somebody.” “why do that when i can help do a better job, bertha. so every- thing is set. i'll be seeing and hearing from you, no doubt, before next thursday.” “since you insist on helping, i’ll call you and have you help me do the marketing. i'm a bit out of practice. then again, you'll know what they might like to eat, better than i do.” “i know all about what they like, mr. wyeth especially. when he goes to a dinner, he goes to eat. throws formality and ostentation out the window, eats his fill and enjoys it.” “then do help with the shopping. it will please me so much to feel that mr. wyeth enjoys his dinner.” “after he eats, i'll see that he does some dancing, otherwise he'll sure fall off to sleep.” bertha laughed. “he will. i know him. whenever he eats well he goes right off to sleep.” again both laughed. “i hope he won't do that at my party,” said bertha. “he can't help it, unless he does something to keep himself occupied. he won't want to at your party. he will be too anxious to talk with mrs. wingate and we both want to be present when he the case of mrs. wingate does so. we must not miss that,” said marie. “yes?” - “by all means. he'll ask her a thousand questions and bring out all we'd like to find out about her.” “you think he will—do that?” said bertha, anxiously. “i know he will. he's just itching to do so.” bertha laughed. “or- dinarily i would object to it. but at this party i'll want him to,” said marie. “but you said he will go to sleep.” “not the way i have it planned. you see, immediately we have dined, i intend to have him dance with mrs. wingate.’ “i see.” - “that will interest him, not that he will care so much about it, but it will interest him and put him in a talking mood. now as i plan it, i want him to dance with her first, then you, then me, then back to her, by the end of which time he will be wide awake and ready to start talking to mrs. wingate.” “heinrich says that she is anxious to meet mr. wyeth.” “yes?” from marie. “very anxious to. i think, among other things, she wants to feel him out regarding mr. early's story, the one he wants mr. wyeth to direct.” “then that's enough. if she is anxious to meet and talk with him, and i tell him that she is, we can leave everything then to him. in two hours we'll know more about mrs. wingate than we could learn if we saw her every day for a year.” “i could listen to him talk, it seems, forever,” said bertha en- thusiastically. “it will be mrs. wingate who is going to do the talking—answer- ing his questions. he won't do much. she will do it all.” “oh, won't that be fine. i met her the first night we arrived and as i recall, she was rather curious about me, and has been every time i’ve met her since,” said bertha, “now she is anxious to meet and talk with mr. wyeth.” “and he is anxious to meet and talk with and study a wealthy white woman about to marry a negro. before we leave this place that night, he will have brought out everything of real importance in her life. now watch and see if he doesn't,” and again they both smiled, and marie took her leave. . the case of mrs. wingate while it was being made. then, as stated, go far away to south america as they had decided. the next thing that entered her mind and persisted in occupy- ing a great deal of her thoughts, was her future as the wife of a colored man. looking forward to becoming a mother had inspired her to develop some associations. she and kermit had been entirely alone, hadn't developed a single friendship in all the years they had been together. she had many associates in atlanta, but owing to her husband's peculiar deficiency, she had never grown very enthusiastic about the friendship down there, seeming to keep thinking about him and conscious of a fear that many of his friends might be the same way. her chief happiness, therefore, had been kermit. now that her husband was dead, thereby removing the task of having to tell him the truth as she was about to when it happened, and she was at last free, she was happy to know that she was soon to be married, to a man she loved, and was now looking forward to the life she was to live afterward. she knew that if she made new friends and developed any sort of association, it would be up to her. kermit, as we know, by disposition was quiet and not given to doing so, was growing more fond of keeping to himself and not making friends as she could readily see. if she was to live the life of a white woman married to a colored man, she realized that most of these new friends would be colored people. she would, in order to make friends and have friends when her child arrived, have to find and select these friends, so having to do it, she was anxious to get started, and the first start would be the night of their marriage at the schultz'. she didn't want to see many present that night—just those few who would be there, would be enough. she wanted to feel her way, and from what she had heard about sidney wyeth, that would be the best person, of all others, whom she would best want to meet. - they procured their license at the city hall, the afternoon of the wedding and were stared at by the clerk and by others who heard them apply, which curiosity they ignored and left the office as quickly as it had been secured and breathed a sigh of relief when it was over. it had kept them both on the anxious seat. after they left the clerk's office, those employed gathered around and studied the application. one, a girl, was the first to speak. the case of mrs. wingate “florence wingate, born in wakefield, jasper county, georgia. last residence, atlanta, georgia.” raising her eyes a bit excitedly, “i’ll bet that's the mrs. wingate whose husband was killed crossing the railroad tracks in south carolina not long ago.” “oh, no,” said another. “i read about that. he was a very rich man. several times a millionaire. that couldn't have been his widow, going to marry a-negro.” “it wouldn't seem so, but that's the same name. he lived in at- lanta, and i’d bet that she's his widow.” “she was pretty and refined; you could see that.” “and was wearing the finest diamond on her engagement finger i ever saw.” - “that's the widow of the wingate who was killed, i tell you,” in- sisted the girl who had suggested it in the beginning. “well,” said the clerk, who had issued the certificate. “there's one way we can find out—and quick.” - “how's that?” “by telling the reporters when they come around this afternoon about it; describing the couple.” “that'll be news. “rich white widow to marry a negro’.” all laughed and returned to their work. when the reporters called just before the office closed, they told them about it. the reporters evidently considered it news, the way they dashed away to their offices where most of them aired their suspicions to the editor and were sent out to find out more about it, and get their pictures for publication. they didn't succeed in locating the couple at once, thanks to kermit early's tendency to stay in the background. we turn now to the party, with kermit and mrs. wingate arriving at the schultz apartment, dressed appropriately for the occasion. mrs. wingate was wearing a rich, light blue afternoon dress with a corsage of white orchids, while kermit wore a dinner jacket, also made up especially for the occasion. they were admitted by heinrich who also wore a dinner jacket. a moment later, they were being introduced to wyeth and marie, and as they already knew bertha, who came from the kitchen to greet and make them welcome, they were seated and marie and bertha returned to the kitchen to continue preparing the dinner they would serve before the ceremony which had been arranged for ten p. m. the case of mrs. wingate “that's what took me there.” “for what?” “oh, to book my pictures. they're always glad to get them. played every one i've made.” “is that so?” “yes, mrs. wingate. that, of course, as stated, is what took me to wakefield.” * - “i understand that you—you're the only—colored man who has ever directed pictures. is that true?” “i guess so. i'm the only one who was that crazy,” whereupon he laughed and was joined by the others present. “i think that is wonderful,” she said, appreciatively. “in fact, i consider it an achievement.” “oh, i managed to make a living doing so for almost twenty years,” and he smiled again. - “for nearly twenty years!” she exclaimed. “now isn't that re- markable,” and turned to the others. “don’t you think so?” they nodded and agreed it was but wyeth didn't. “oh, there is nothing remarkable about it. i started out by writing a novel, then somebody sold me the idea of making a picture from it. i hired a stage director to help me do so. he didn't know anything about motion picture direction, but learned enough while we were making it to see what it was all about, after which i directed them myself, and that is all.” “all! what more?” she wanted to know. “what more? and in addition to being a motion picture director, you are also a writer.” he smiled. she went on. “i’ve read your latest book.” “oh,” he exclaimed, modestly. “you did or just sketched through it?” “sketched it? by no means. i read it, word by word from the beginning to the end. read it in chicago shortly after it was pub- lished. i liked it.” “really, or are you just saying that to make me feel good?” “oh, mr. wyeth, no. i don't like your saying that. i read your book and i liked it, enjoyed reading every word of it and have been reading part of it again, only recently.” - “i thank you. glad you liked it. if i don't like a book it's hard for me to read it.” - “well, i think everybody likes it that reads it. i'd like to see some the case of mirs. wingate of your pictures. sorry i missed them in wakefield and atlanta.” “they weren't shown where you go.” - “how is that?” she looked at him quickly. “well, in atlanta you'd go to the fox, loew's grand, the para- mount, capitol and such theatres as those.” “yes. i’ve been to all of them.” “my pictures were shown only in the colored theatres, down on auburn avenue, decatur street, ashby, west mitchell and in the colored neighborhoods only. that is why you never had a chance to see them, even if you had wanted to at the time.” “i’m sorry. are there any of them being shown in new york now? up here in harlem? if so, i'll go to see the first one that will be shown.” he shook his head. “they've all been played out. i haven't made any for over two years.” “you haven’t. why not?” “oh, for one reason and another,” he said, with a bit of a sigh and a shrug of his shoulders. “just for what reason, do you mind saying?” she asked now, solicitiously. “oh, for lack of money to make them with for one thing.” “lack of money? can't you—get the money?” she was getting close to what she wanted to talk about now. she was watching him anxiously, weighing every move, every gesture, every word. “oh, i suppose so; but it wasn't so profitable when i laid off. to get back into it, i'd have to give up my present work, books, in which i am doing very well, so wouldn't like to give up to go out and get money from somebody to make them with.” “maybe it wouldn't be so hard,” she ventured, suggestively and glanced at kermit and heinrich. they were interested, were becom- ing anxious. he saw it and understood why. he didn't want to get into an argument or bring up the hate picture at this time, so tried to change the subject. “oh, you know when you give up something and get started doing something else and have some success, it's rather hard to go back to something you've quit.” “i understand making pictures is—fascinating. i'd think you'd want to keep at it,” she said suggestively. “i liked it. didn't think i would ever quit during all the years i the case of mrs. wingate made them.” he paused and sighed, perceptibly: “you should not have to quit, mr. wyeth. why, you're the only man of your race to ever direct and produce pictures. i think it is a grave and serious mistake for you to quit. i think that deprives—even your race of an achievement. of course you are a man of decision. you perhaps know better than anybody else what you want to do.” “i'm afraid i must agree with you. i may, of course, return to making pictures, but not until after i have put what i am doing on a solid and satisfactory basis.” “and how long do you think that will take?” she asked, eyes still on him. he smiled and again shrugged his shoulders. “who knows. it might never.” “oh, mr. wyeth, not that, i’m sure. if it is for lack of money, i am sure that can be solved.” she paused briefly to look around at kermit and heinrich, both interested, she could see by their anxious expressions. their eyes told her to go on. she turned to wyeth, with an idea that had just at that moment popped into her head. as we know, she knew all about kermit and heinrich's offer to finance the cost of producing other pictures, with the understanding that he would direct and produce their hate picture first. it hadn't worked. now she had a new idea and decided to execute it—at least advance the idea at once. “i am interested in your—genius, mr. wyeth. i've been told so much about your, shall i call it, uncanny insight into human nature; the reaction of human emotions, until i would be willing to consider —assisting you, if it is agreeable.” - he looked at her. what did she mean? she had caught him for the moment, off guard, unprepared. ‘i mean, mr. wyeth, that a man of your ability in the production of pictures, shouldn't just quit as you say you've done. i can appre- ciate what you are doing and since writing and making pictures are related, it would seem that you could—could do both, no need to give up one for the other.” “well, no. making pictures would not mean that i would have to give up my literary efforts, but in the past, i don't think i—” - “now, mr. wyeth, pardon me for cutting you off. but in the past, as i understand it, it rather strained you to-finance your pictures, did it not?” “strained me? it all but ruined me,” and he laughed, ironically. the case of mrs. wingate she nodded her head in understanding. “naturally, under such a strain, you couldn't think of anything else, much less do anything else. now is that correct?” “absolutely.” “then, mr. wyeth,” she went on, surprisingly intelligent, he thought. “if you were relieved of the financial worry and respon- sibility; if somebody, for instance, should take that over, leaving you free, absolutely free to concentrate all your energy, your genius and effort on just making the picture, directing and doing whatever was necessary to turning out a first-class product, wouldn't that interest you?” she paused and waited for him to reply. he glanced at kermit and heinrich, who said nothing, but mrs. wingate understood what he was thinking about and raising a pretty hand, went on quickly. - “i mean, mr. wyeth, if somebody wanted to help you do some- thing for which you are so capably fitted, and i am sure you would like to do, and that somebody would be willing to do this without attaching any kind of string or condition whatever, to having you do so, wouldn't you be willing to reconsider?” “well, i'm afraid i would seem stubborn if i didn't. that doesn't mean of course, that—” “—you are consenting to do anything that is not agreeable to you. what i want to make clear, mr. wyeth, is that whatever might be advanced would not put you under any obligation to do anything not agreeable to you. all this is just a suggestion, possibly just an idea of mine. what i would like to do would be to call you up, say, very soon, at your office and make an appointment to—come and see you and air what is on my mind. would you be agreeable to-seeing me, and hearing what i have to say?” “why, of course i would. in fact, i would be glad to welcome you and listen to anything you have to say.” “thank you, mr. wyeth,” she said, smiling so sweetly at him that he was flattered. “then you may look for me to call at your office very soon, and again let me thank you.” he bowed in reply to her smile and wondered what new angle she had in mind to help kermit out. just then the phone rang and bertha came from the kitchen to answer it. after a word, she looked at mr. wyeth and told him that it was for him. he got up and went to it. he was ex- pecting to hear from a bookseller in philadelphia and it was he who the case of mrs. wingate was on the other end. he had left a note on his door where he would be and where to call. the jew who spoke very broken english advised that he had come for the hundred copies of the book, and would he mind coming to the office and giving them to him. wyeth consulted his watch, called miss schultz and asked her if he was gone for half an hour, would she mind. marie came up and wyeth explained to her what is was for. they agreed that he could go, but to be sure and come right back. - . he went into the reception room and explained that he had to go, but would return very shortly, and a few minutes later was in his car on his way to the office. bertha and marie returned to the kitchen, and to talk. with wyeth gone, both heinrich and kermit turned anxiously to mrs. wingate. she proceeded to explain. “it occured to me all of a sudden,” said she, “that i could offer to finance wyeth's own pictures, let him make them first, then, while he was doing so, to work on and perhaps persuade him to do ours after he finished his own.” the men looked at each other, then turned back to her, a big smile on their faces. - “what an idea,” exclaimed heinrich enthusiastically, turning from mrs. wingate to kermit, who was beaming. “it seems the madam has outsmarted us,” cried kermit, turning to florence. “why didn't you suggest that angle to me long ago, darling?” - “it’s a brilliant angle,” cried heinrich. “by saying nothing about our picture, but advancing him the money to make his, we put him under a moral obligation to make ours. what an idea!” he turned back to mrs. wingate, who had suddenly become thoughtful. “i’m not sure if he would go in for it if he thought it was this other money he was using,” she said, her face serious. then looked in the direction of the kitchen, she motioned them to keep quiet. “i don't want his stenographer to overhear us. let's move—” she looked around the room. “over there by the window.” they rose now and crossed the room. “i will think it over, and you both do some thinking, too; but my idea is to call on him alone, as i suggested. since i could finance his pictures if he will let me, then i think it would be better for me to advance the money, don't you think?” she turned to kermit. the case of mrs. wingate “if you think it best and care to, dear,” he said. “i think he would accept it and be more likely to let me than he would if he thought it was this other money. i have a feeling that if we work it this way, he can be persuaded to ultimately do it.” “i agree with mrs. wingate, early,” said heinrich, both turning now to kermit, whose face was highly animated with the hope that wyeth might be persuaded. “from the little conversation i’ve had with him thus far, i'm sure he won't make it the way you've been trying to get him to. but once back into the swing, with no worry about money and able to concen- trate as he has perhaps never had a chance to before, i think it will soften him and then, with a little persuasion, we will get him to make ours.” “again i agree with mrs. wingate, kermit,” said heinrich. “then, heinrich,” said kermit. “it looks like we'd better turn it over to the mrs. and let her do whatever she can with wyeth.” “he’s a man, i venture to say, of deep convictions,” said mrs. wingate; “a man who wouldn't go back on an obligation.” she looked at kermit, and kermit understoodd when she continued: “it will be necessary for me to see mr. wyeth, and to get together with him at the earliest possible moment, so i plan to see him tomor- row, no later than the day after. when he returns, therefore, i will suggest that i see him tomorrow afternoon, and arrange an appoint- ment accordingly.” the men agreed with her. they returned to their former seats now to wait for wyeth to return. meantime, while this was going on, the reporters from all the big dailies, had been and were still very busy. long distance calls had been made to atlanta, and all had ascertained that the mrs. florence wingate who had called at the license bureau with one kermit early, colored, was the one and the same mrs. florence wingate of peach- tree road, atlanta, and were now all combing harlem to try to find out more about it; to locate the couple, photograph them and have their stories and photographs ready for the morning and early after- noon editions of their papers. word had got around to the reporters of the associated press, in- ternational news and the united press, and they had men on the job to seek and find the couple that were due to be married, carris xxxiii hen wyeth returned from the office, heinrich put a dance record on the combination radio and phono- graph, a fox trot, which was very entertaining; made all present feel like dancing. mrs. wingate looked at him and smiled. “do you dance, mr. wyeth p’ she said. he smiled a bit awkwardly. “i used to—when i was young,” he replied and laughed. “young,” she cried, and stood up. “why, you're not old.” she made a step toward him and he stood up. “would you mind dancing with—me?” she said and held up her arms. he was embarrassed and flushed, but he realized that he couldn't refuse a lady, so put his arms about her and did the best he could. it wasn’t bad, and looking up into his face with a pleasant smile, she chided him. “why, you're a good dancer,” she said, and relaxed comfortably into his arms. he was embarrassed and wondered if the two men saw how flushed his face was. he was doing his best. it was the first time, he could recall, ever dancing with a white woman. she was a splendid dancer, light on her feet and before he was aware of it, was enjoying it. again she raised her eyes and looked at him. and again he flushed. he had plenty of imagination, which was now on fire. her body was soft and seemed to fit into his arms as if she had been made for them. terribly excited, he exerted him- self to avoid missing a step and embarrassing both. “you have a good sense of humor, mr. wyeth,” she said, smiling up at him. afraid he would blunder or make a mistake, he managed to inquire. “a sense of humor, mrs. wingate?” “yes, mr. wyeth. a splendid sense of humor.” “i don't understand you.” “why, mr. wyeth,” she said, somewhat surprised. “i mean that you are a wonderful dancer. i’ll bet you've won prizes.” the case of mrs. wingate “i haven't danced,” he laughed, “for years. i was afraid i'd for- gotten how.” - “indeed!” she exclaimed, “but you haven't. as well as you do, you'll never forget. you say you haven't danced much in recent years?” “hardly at all.” “i’m surprised.” “why so, mrs. wingate?” “because it is so—pleasant to dance with you, i'd think you danced a great deal.” he smiled at this. _ - “i was fond of it many years ago. when i was much younger.” “to hear you talk one would think you were really old.” “i’m not so young any more.” “and you are—not married, mr. wyeth?” “not so fortunate, mrs. wingate.” “why not?” * “oh, i don't know. because nobody will have me, i guess.” “that sense of humor again. i said you had a good one,” she said chidingly. the music stopped and they relaxed. she took his arm and led him toward the window. “why don't you marry bertha she's a nice girl, intelligent, and so very pretty.” “oh, mrs. wingate,” he cried, abashed. “miss schultz couldn't be expected to like anybody like me.” “and why not? i think she would. have you tried making love to her p” - “out of the question,” he said, flushing in spite of himself. “i haven't tried making love to any woman.” he experienced a feeling of guilt, as he recalled edrina. “but a man like you should be married, mr. wyeth. i bet you'll make some nice girl a fine husband.” he looked at her, and was sur- prised to find himself able to talk so freely with her. she was interest- ing; she was entertaining. she was talking again. “you must pay attention to miss schultz. she's the kind of girl for you. you need a fine, highly intelligent and dignified girl for a wife. she's that kind of a girl, don't you think?” “i do, and i am rather fond of miss schultz. but i wouldn't make the mistake of trying to-make love to her.” the case of mirs. wingate “i’ll bet she wouldn't discourage you. just try and see how she reacts.” again he looked at her. she met his eyes and smiled back, he was growing to like mrs. wingate, but he wondered at her amiability. he did not know and he could not understand what mrs. wingate had planned. she wanted to know colored people, interest- ing and worthwhile ones. she was finding him all they had de- clared him to be. she decided to list him among those friends of the future that she planned to make. meanwhile, heinrich had turned the record over and was play- ing the number on the other side. wyeth looked across the room and saw early standing alone. he turned to mrs. wingate: “i’m sure you wish to dance with the lucky man now,” he said. taking her hand then, he led her across to kermit who insisted that he continue to dance with her, but he would not hear of it. so with his arms about her, they danced away, with mrs. wingate smil- ing back at him and making him feel more abashed. he wanted a drink and crossed the parlor then into the dining room where he found bertha and marie setting the table. with the music shutting out their being overheard by kermit and mrs. wingate, they now turned to tease him. “did you see him, bertha,” cried marie, pointing at him. bertha looked at him teasingly. “oh, how. dancing with the gorgeous and beautiful bride-to-be.” “and was he dancing, dearie!” cried marie and laughed. “i’m jealous,” said bertha, pouting a little. “jealous?” said wyeth, wonderingly. * “shouldn't i be? you haven't danced with me. you haven't even said anything about dancing with me.” “but i—i would be glad to, miss schultz,” he said, quickly. “then take her and proceed at once,” said marie, coming forward and taking bertha by the arm and leading her up to him. wyeth was flushing all over with embarrassment. “the music is going, go on into the parlor, boss, and do your stuff.” all but pushing them together, she ushered them into the parlor with: “i’ll finish setting the table, dear, now go on.” a moment later wyeth found himself going around and around with bertha in his arms, his face burning with the blood that had rushed to it. he looked down at bertha, who was as soft to hold and the case of mrs. wingate as good a dancer as mrs. wingate. she looked up to meet his eyes, blushed, lowered hers, but tightened her hold on him which pleased him, and, as he had with mrs. wingate, tried to do his best. during the short time the dance continued, he caught mrs. wingate looking at them and smiling meaningly, which he didn't know how to take. bertha seemed pleased and to be enjoying the dance, which ran out a minute or two after they started, and bertha, with a pleasant bow of thanks, excused herself to rush away to the kitchen, where she began to get the meal ready to $erve. a half hour later, all were seated, with kermit and mrs. wingate beside each other, and wyeth at the head of the table, where he could look at and converse with mrs. wingate without any effort. “so you've been all over my home state, mr. wyeth,” she said, as they were being served. “i like to be in georgia at least twice a year.” “why only twice, mr. wyeth?” “twice in particular. in the summer when the peaches are in ful! bloom around columbus and fort valley, then again in the fall dur- ing pecan picking time. i have enjoyed going from atlanta, via motor, to jacksonville, florida, which takes you right down through the heart of the pecan and cotton territory.” “doesn't it thrill you?” said mrs. wingate. “nothing like it.” “wakefield is in the heart of the same kind of territory. in fact, we have fine soil around wakefield.” “deep, red and rich,” said he. “red and rich is the way to describe it,” she said, and sighed a moment. “dear old georgia, in spite of all the mean things they often say up north about it, is a great old state and i love it, but kermit doesn't,” ventured mrs. wingate, looking at him, with an affected frown, whereupon kermit paused to look at her kindly. “it’s a great state, all right—to stay away from,” said kermit. other than wyeth and mrs. wingate, the others didn't understand just what he meant, although bertha and heinrich, looked up and tried to be agreeable. “did you ever hunt any in georgia, mr. wyeth?” “i sure did. one fall, down around albany.” “at albany? you've been there, too,” exclaimed mrs, wingate the case of mrs. wingate - enthusiastically. - “hunted squirrel and quail, shot a few rabbits, too, down there.” “wonderful! it is a great place for game shooting.” “plenty to shoot.” “i’ll say. ever been to augusta " “on the chattahoochee? lots of times. they have two theatres there and they played my pictures and i’ve been going to augusta ever since i started to make pictures.” “if you keep talking about pictures, you'll have to let me see you make the next one.” “it’s interesting work, but not so interesting to look at.” “why not?” “oh, most of the time is taken up getting ready to shoot. then you shoot a minute or two, then go back and lose another half hour fixing, rehearsing and then you shoot again, maybe, for two minutes. so to look on soon bores you.” - “nevertheless, i'd like to see you make one. and speaking of pictures, while it's on my mind, will it be all right for me to call at your office about say, three, tomorrow afternoon?” “why, yes, mrs. wingate. i'll make it a point to be there.” bertha and marie exchanged a meaning glance, then turned their eyes to the others, who went on. “you say that you—like atlanta?” “oh, fine. i've always liked it. i’ve spent lots of time in atlanta. in fact, i lived there for six months several years ago—right after the leo m. frank trial.” “you did ſ” she exclaimed, pausing and looking quickly at him. kermit looked at him, too. the others wondered what it was all about. “the trial had just closed when i arrived there to spend six months early that year. the trial was on everybody's tongue.” “and how,” she cried. she looked at kermit. “he was down there at that time, too.” “oh, you knew mr. early then?” “sure. we've known each other since we were kids. were you in wakefield around that time?” - “i went through there about that time, which was while i was not much more than a kid myself.” the case of mrs. wingate “kermit's father ran a barber shop on the main street of the town. he still lives there, but doesn't do any work in the shop any more.” “and your people, what did they do there?” “until he was retired two years ago, my father was cashier of the first national bank.” “oh, a banker, eh? then you come of rich folks?” “no, mr. wyeth,” said mrs. wingate. “not rich. my great- grand parents were, a long, long time ago. they owned more than a hundred slaves, and thousands of acres of land, before the civil war, but the war broke them and while my people have always stood well in georgia, they were not rich.” “mr. wingate was, however,” said wyeth. she shrugged her shoulders. “i’ve seen his name on mills all down through the south—the wingate mills is how the signs read over the top of them,” he said, then looked at kermit, who was living up to his reputation, saying little. mrs. wingate looked at him, and smiled. she turned to wyeth. “will you be going to georgia again soon?” . “i’d like to go there this fall, during the open season, to shoot par- tridges,” said wyeth. “why don't you,” said mrs. wingate. “it would be a splendid di- version. i'm sure you'd enjoy it.” wyeth laughed. she looked surprised, frowned a bit. “why do you laugh mr. wyeth " she inquired, looking straight at him. he paused, respectfully. - “i must apologize,” he said now, a bit meekly. “why an apology?” “for not explaining that i couldn't give up what i am trying to do long enough to run down to atlantic city over a week end, much less take the time to go all the way to georgia to shoot quail. that's for people with more money and more leisure time than i can afford. that is why i should have explained before breaking into laughter, which you could hardly, under the circumstances, have understood. i'm sorry.” “i believe you're being overmodest, mr. wyeth,” said mrs. win- gate. “i believe that you have adopted modesty as a mode of con- duct to the extent that it has, perhaps, become an obsession. with a little planning i'm sure you could find the time to run down to geor- the case of mrs. wingate gia, shoot quail and rabbits and go opossum hunting at night—just have a grand time. with all the good food you could get to eat. i'm sure you wouldn't regret such a trip—even if you had to make just a wee bit of a sacrifice to do so,” she said, insistently. “you’ll make me very unhappy if you keep on talking about it. it would be a throw back to my youth. i use to hunt every fall when i was a boy—until i left home.” “and where is your home, mr. wyeth? where were you born, and where did this—genius begin to sprout?” “please, mrs. wingate. you'll make me think i'm somebody, if you keep on.” “well!” she exclaimed, elevating her eyebrows. looked around at the others, who agreed with her by the expression on their faces. “but i was born in illinois, down in the lower end of illinois, near the town of cairo, if you ever heard of it,” he said. “i certainly have. in fact, who hasn't heard of cairo? down in egypt, they call it,” and she laughed. all of those present exchanged expressions, turned to look at wyeth and mrs. wingate who were easily the center of interest. - “and that is where you attended school?” “yes, mrs. wingate.” - “there's a state school about fifty miles north of cairo. is that where you got your college training?” marie laughed. those pres- ent turned to look at her. “please pardon me,” she said, lowering her eyes. “what for?” from heinrich. marie looked up at wyeth, who smiled, turned to the others. “she was compelled to laugh when mrs. wingate inquired about my college training.” turned to mrs. wingate. “i didn't get any college training, mrs. wingate. i know where the school is that you refer to. that's the southern illinois state normal, and the town is carbondale. i’ve been there often, but not to attend the school.” “do you mean to tell us, mr. wyeth, that you—never went to col- lege; that you didn't actually graduate from any college?” “he never went to any college, mrs. wingate—not even to high school. he did reach the eighth grade in a country school down where he came from,” said marie, speaking for him. she turned to look at him, as all the others were doing. the case of mrs. wingate on, even if i do seem to flatter you.” he laughed, turned to the others. “mrs. wingate and i seem to have the floor, talking about exactly nothing. we are wonderfully well represented here tonight, with so few of us. we certainly ought to find something to talk about that would interest us all.” he turned his eyes to bertha and heinrich now. “we have mr. schultz, and his delightful, sister, bertha, from berlin—all the way from berlin, germany. i could talk a great deal about berlin—rather, i could ask a lot of questions about berlin.” “you can talk about berlin: ask miss schultz those many questions which you claim you'd like to ask, some other time” interposed mrs. wingate, “right now i want to talk about you.” she paused to look at the others, a question in her eyes which all present seemed, by their expressions, to answer in chorus. “go ahead, mrs. wingate,” said heinrich. “i’m certainly enjoying listening to you and mrs. wyeth. i can keep on listening.” “by all means,” joined bertha. “please do go on.” “now, mr. wyeth,” cried mrs. wingate, triumphantly. “it’s been moved and seconded that we continue, you and i, to talk. so, will you—proceed?” “all right. but where, and about what?” “your book.” “my book?” “your book.” “which one?” “which one p” she asked. “yes,” he replied. “which one? i’ve written a new one.” “oh, a new one,” echoed mrs. wingate, surprised. “i didn't know about that one. i’m talking about the one we've all read.” “oh, that one. you see, when i finish a book, i soon forget about that one. all my thoughts are about the one i'm either going to write or am writing. meanwhile, what is it about the one you've read that you want to talk about?” “the girl in it, mr. wyeth.” “the girl?” he paused and his eyebrows contracted. turned to her. “which girl? there were two girls and i think i said a great deal about both.” - “i agree with you. in fact, i want to ask you about both. but i'd the case of mrs. wingate like to talk about the one you had your hero to-quit; walk out on. because—” “—what?” “be—because he thought she was a -white girl.” “oh,” he exclaimed, and smiled. “you weren't altogether kind—to her.” she said this a bit softly, seemed momentarily embarrassed, looked around at the others. all who had read the book were thinking. they glanced unconsciously at kermit. they were putting two and two together. they under- stood that mrs. wingate was associating herself with the story now; associating kermit with it, too. kermit hadn't walked out on her because she was a white girl. of course, she was thinking of herself, also. there was no parallel in the two cases. she hadn't let kermit early walk out on her. “you’d—rather not talk about it, perhaps?” she said now, glancing across at wyeth, hesitantly. “oh, i don't mind,” said wyeth, readily. then turning to her in a changed expression. “do you think you’d—like to-talk about it?” as he finished, he glanced unconsciously around at the others. they were all thinking about the same thing. mrs. wingate and kermit early. all wondered why she brought the subject up; wondered why she wanted to talk about it. “why did you have the hero leave her when she told him with so much feeling, so much pathos, that she loved him?” “that was my inspiration.” - “but you put it into words. he admitted that he loved her—more than any person in the world, and she cried so. i felt sorry for her. i even cried with her, when i read that part.” everybody's eyes were on mrs. wingate now. the situation had grown strangely tense. not only were they looking at mrs. wingate, about to marry a colored man, and associated her naturally with the white girl in the story whom wyeth had his hero to quit. “you can, of course, understand my reaction to the situation in your story, because—i’m about to marry a-colored man,” and she looked at kermit, who was embarrassed and didn't know how to feel. “you’ve considered, of course, everything. . . .” said wyeth, “everything, mr. wyeth.” “and are satisfied ?” the case of mrs. wingate “i’m satisfied. now after what you showed in your story, what is your—opinion?” “i don't wish to express any.” “but you do have an opinion?” “perhaps.” “after what you said in the story, i'd like to hear it.” “i think we should talk about something else,” he said. “i’ll change the subject,” she said and forced herself by an effort to seem cheerful. “thank you,” said wyeth, and seemed relieved. “but i’m still going to talk about the story in your book,” she said, somewhat defiantly. “i’m glad that it interested you that much,” said wyeth, agreeably. “you painted a beautiful picture of the other girl. i mean, the colored girl.” º - “you think so p’’ “you most assuredly did. seems like it was actually taking place.” “thank you.” “but behind it'all, i could still see the picture of the other girl.” “i suppose so,” said wyeth. “that was because he loved her, wasn't it?” “yes, he loved her.” mrs. wingate seemed more satisfied now. “those other people: her father and her sister, who were so awfully mean. about the meanest people a writer could create. were they— real people?” “real people, mrs. wingate,” he admitted. “i thought so,” said she. “in fact they were all real people, weren't they?” - “oh, mrs. wingate, please.” “and one of them—was you,” she said and laughed now, somewhat brazenly, or was it desperately. she had wanted to marry kermit for ten years. why was it playing on her emotions so now, wyeth wondered. she was talking again. “and did they, mr. wyeth, do all the terrible things you had them doing?” “most of it.” “it doesn't seem possible, as i think about them, for two people to be se—mean, so heartless.” - the case of mrs. wingate “there are lots of such people, maybe,” he said. “i agree with you,” she said, and thought about how the white people, friends of hers and of the family for generations, were going to think—and act, when they heard about what she was about to do. then she forced it out of her mind. bertha rose, followed by marie, and served drinks. mrs. wingate took a strong drink. she was not a drinking woman, had never drunk anything very strong. she had never been drunk. felt like getting drunk all of a sudden. then decided it wouldn't look nice. but she did take a large drink and kermit looked at her a bit anxiously. feeling better, she turned again to wyeth. she wished it was possible for her to meet him again, to talk with him at great length. “you built the last hundred pages of the book up to a tremendous climax. it fairly thundered with action—and drama" “thank you,” he said and smiled, modestly. “your ending was so beautiful. i read and reread it and cried again.” he smiled. he was interested. she went on. “of course that was purely fictional, the end, i mean. wasn't it?” “why?” and he looked straight into her eyes. “because the girl didn't have any negro blood in her as you showed, which made it possible in the end for him to marry her without—transgressing tradition. she was actually a white girl and when he left her to go to chicago and become engaged to the colored girl, he went out of her life altogether. wasn't that the way that part ended?” “so inquisitive, mrs. wingate. so exacting,” he said and forced a laugh. - “because, mr. wyeth,” she said rather boldly and defiant, glanc- ing at the watch on her wrist. “within an hour you're going to wit- ness the transgression of a tradition. i’m not afraid. i defy it.” paused to look across at kermit now, then turned back to wyeth, with more defiance in her eyes and tone than ever. “i’m a white woman. i love a colored man and have been in love with him for ten years, ten years, understand? and i’m going to marry him. yes, marry him right here tonight, and i don't care anything about what the white people are going to think about it!” she paused now and looked at the others, a bit helplessly, the case of mrs. wingate “maybe, after a while you will write a story about us—kermit and me. a white woman who loved a colored man—and was proud of it!” she laughed now, a bit hysterically. “proud of it!” laughed again, then lifting her partly filled glass, emptied it. the situation had grown more tense, more embarrassing. nobody said anything, nobody dared say anything. “i want to ask you, mr. wyeth. i'm asking you because you are, i'm sure, broad minded and liberal in your views. the question may seem rather—difficult to answer, but i want you to answer it.” she paused now and looked him straight in his eyes, bravely, even though defiantly. “what do you honestly think about the intermarriage of races?” the question was a difficult one, a bold one, an embarrassing one. every one present knew that wyeth didn't dare to answer it honestly, frankly. they were anxious to hear what his answer to her question would be, however, since she had asked it, and expected an answer. wyeth answered more promptly than they expected. “i consider it every man and woman's privilege to marry whom they choose. i have no other opinion as regards it.” “thank you. now i’m going to be more bold than i have already been tonight, then i'm going to hush. quit talking. i've said too much already, and kermit, here, is burning up, i know. but i've just got to get this off my chest.” “what is it that you want to ask, mrs. wingate?” said wyeth, calmly, evenly. she turned and looked straight at him before going on. “would you—marry a white girl if you were in love with her?” he started, looked around at the others, who were all looking at him. “if i was in love with her and she with me, ’’ “—what?” said mrs. wingate, pointedly. “i would.” “but you'd be careful not to let yourself fall in love with one, to begin with, i'd bet,” and mrs. wingate laughed, a strange mocking laugh. “that is all, folks,” and she bowed to those present, who smiled and was glad it was over. just then the doorbell rang, and bertha excused herself and hurried away to the door, returning a few seconds later to advise that the minister had arrived. “and now the minister,” said wyeth, looking from mrs. wingate the case of mrs. wingate “pardon us, folks, but we're from the press. just heard about the marriage. we wonder if you'd mind, giving us a story and posing for some pictures?” they turned to wyeth, immediately identifying mrs. wingate because she was the only white person present. they had to guess which was the bridegroom, however. “do you mind?” said one, coming up to wyeth, “posing with the lady for a photograph?” “but i am not the lucky man,” corrected wyeth, turning to kermit, upon whom he laid a hand. “here is your man.” - “oh, pardon me,” immediately they posed the couple, who were taken so completely by surprise that they didn't have time to protest. flash after flash followed, then single poses, profiles, straight on, sitting, standing, just about every pose they could think of. by the time this was over, they sat the couple down, and plied them with a number of questions, and before either could object, they had their entire history, from birth to the present time. as quickly as they had burst in on them, just as quickly did they leave, leaving every- body and especially the couple, confused and bewildered. - “what's it all about?” cried mrs. early. “what do they want with all they have asked; with all the pictures they took?” “you’ll see by tomorrow morning's papers,” said wyeth. “you mean,” cried mrs. early, “that—that they will—publish our pictures in—the papers?” “every paper from here to san francisco, mrs. early, allow me to compliment you. from canada to the gulf of mexico,” said wyeth. “oh, no!” she cried, brought to a sudden realization of what it was all about; that every paper would include the atlanta papers; her picture, standing now beside kermit early, her husband, a negro. publish it all conspicuously for them to read in atlanta, in wake- field. when she got to wakefield, in her mind, she closed her eyes as if to try to shut out the sight. this had to be. kermit early was now her husband, had been her sweetheart since she was little more than a girl but nobody knew anything about it until tonight. now everybody would know about it before the sun went down the next day. t “oh,” she sort of choked. “i-i didn't understand what it was all about.” “don’t you like to see your picture in the papers? most people the case of mirs. wingate would be glad to, mrs. early,” ventured marie. “you have to be an important person to get your picture in all the papers.” “but—but,” she stammered, nervously. “we are not important, kermit and i, are we kermit?” he laid a comforting hand on her. “they won't do this, will they? they won't dare do it. we didn't give them permission to do so, did we?” “when they were allowed to enter the place and we permitted them to photograph us, that was our consent. they'll do whatever they want to with the pictures, dear,” he told her calmly. - “you—you mean, kermit,” she said, excitedly, “that, that we can't do—anything about it?” he shook his head, while she raised a jeweled hand to her face, looked around her bewilderingly. she didn't know what to do. everybody's eyes were on her. “let's—let's go home, kermit,” she cried suddenly. her face, all could see, was torn with worry, anxiety, for she was thinking of wakefield; she was seeing a picture of her mother reading the papers, about what she had done; she was seeing a picture of all her mother's neighbors and friends after they read it. they could not look hard at her, snub or avoid her; but they could her mother, her poor, helpless mother. strange, but she hadn't thought of that until this moment, she had been able to keep her association with kermit early secret and from her mother for so long, that it hadn't occurred to her that it would reach her mother this way. her poor mother, down there in wakefield, alone, to be pointed at and snubbed. this was too cruel for her to stand, for her to think of, even. she could stand all their snobbery, their contempt, for it was she and she only who had married a negro. ~ but she was in new york, deep in the heart of harlem, where she didn't have to see them, hear them—but what about her poor, help- less mother? as they rode to their apartment a few minutes later, she was so distressed with the thought of it that she hid her eyes and cried. ker- mit tried to comfort her—by placing his arm about her, but he could not shut out the picture she was seeing, the words she was hearing them say to her poor mother. never since it all started so many years ago had she been brought to realize so vividly what she had done. she had a picture of her mother when she read the papers next day, and the next day and all the other days as long as her mother had … xxxiv he former mrs. wingate didn't get to sidney wyeth's office at three p. m. the next day after the wedding and party, because she was in too much trouble. it was for- tunate for them, she and her husband, kermit early, that the apart- ment they had rented had an observer through which they could look and see who was outside, and those looking through the observer from the inside, couldn't be seen well enough to be recognized. for from nine a. m. of the morning after, until late the same night, a stream of reporters beat a path to their door. after a time they dis- connected the bell, and a few minutes later, reconnected it, because, while the bell did not ring, they pounded on the door, which was more annoying than listening to the bell ringing. neither dared venture out, due to the annoyance of curious people who insisted on bothering them until around noon, when kermit called the police department about their predicament, and officers were sent to keep people from bothering them further. in the meantime, the afternoon papers had featured their mar- riage with stories, and their pictures as conspicuously as had the morning papers, and every newspaper in the country published it and had a story about it, along with their photographs. so before the sun went down the day after their wedding, mr. and mrs. kermit early were the talk of the entire country. º but it was the southern papers, that carried more than a story. many of them devoted their entire editorial section to it. under sensational captions, they published editorials that were read by all the subscribers and purchasers of their papers, as few editorials were ever read, the case of mirs. wingate social equality is here! negro's marriage to wealthy southern white woman most sensational event in years / so began an editorial in the memphis gazette: for years the south has been warning america regard- ing social equality; that negroes, if given an opportunity, would intrude themselves into white society. the south, for generations has preached the necessity of white supremacy. for generations the south has also tried to show that it was necessary to keep the negro in his place. but the vain and selfish north, always delighted to laugh at and decry such ideas, and pander to the negro vote, has always played down such insistence on the part of the south. well, in an apartment in the negro section of new york, known far and wide as harlem, it happened last night. social equality with all its threat to white society is here. mrs. florence wingate, a wealthy aristocratic and re- fined white lady, product of one of the oldest and proudest families in all the southland, took unto herself a negro, one kermit early, for a husband. occasionally a white woman marries a negro. but until last night, such marriages have not been taken seriously for several reasons. first, if the white woman who partici- pated in it was wealthy, the marriage on her part has most often been inspired by sexual desire. such marriages, most- ly to a negro butler, or a chauffeur, rarely lasted long be- cause, after such women's passions have been satisfied over a period, they have found that living with somebody so far beneath them socially soon became boresome, tiresome and ultimately impossible, and they usually left such negro hus- bands and went their way. on the other hand, marriages between white women and colored men have been and are, the result of being thrown together via employment or other contact, and have repre- sented at best, only white women of the middle class, but most of all such marriages have been between white wom- en of the lower classes, many of the underworld, who have lost all social responsibility, have become prostitutes the case of mrs. wingate ~ and would marry anything called a man. such marriages, therefore, have not been taken seriously as they do not threaten society. but the marriage of mrs. florence wingate, widowed only a few weeks go by the death of her many times a millionaire, mill owning white husband, to kermit early, a highly educated negro, a doctor of philosophy from harvard university, entirely changes the social picture. while the marriage on the part of this wealthy, southern white widow, was no doubt inspired in the main, as most all. such marriages, regardless of class, by sexual desire, ker- mit early was not a butler, a chauffeur or a negro pimp, whom mrs. wingate would tire of shortly, but an intensely thoughtful negro. from the standpoint of intellect, mrs. wingate's equal, if not superior. a negro, no doubt, who has been far-sighted enough to see and understand that he could and would profit immensely by such a marriage. while this has not been discussed or debated to any great length, it is the highly educated negro who threatens our social existence—and the marriage of kermit early, negro, to a scion of great wealth and the finest blood, of the south, is not to be dismissed and forgotten, and unless the north sits up and takes notice, and passes laws, perhaps, as every southern state has on its statute books, prohibiting marriage between whites and negroes, and joins with the south in every way it can, to keep the negro in his place, they will soon rue the day they granted the negro so much freedom. the macon, georgia chronicle, in its editorial column, which paper is widely circulated in wakefield, went on to declare: yankee north, what now? it has happened as the south has so long predicted; and at last is here. social equality. a rich and beautiful white woman, a southern white woman, mind you, has taken her- self a negro husband. not an ordinary negro, but a highly educated and no doubt, interesting negro. a man that she can look up to, respect and admire, for only such could inspire a southern white woman to so disgrace herself, and her family—and the south in general, knowing that, the case of mes. wingate of all things she could do, this would be the most unforgiv- able. it took a generation of political manoeuvering to get the negro out of politics in the south where carpet-baggers from the north put him, as a tool to exploit the south, help. less and poor after the disastrous civil war. but through persistent bravery and patience, the south finally recover- ed, has managed the race situation so well that lynching has declined until it has almost disappeared. the white people and the negro who lives here get along fine to- gether, due to the fact that the negro knows and keeps in his place, and is no longer a threat to our society and white supremacy, if it were not for the north, which persists in meddling into our way of life. the travesty of a wealthy and aristocratic southern white woman marrying a negro, a highly educated negro, previously from the south, could not have happened here, nor anywhere else in the south, be- cause our laws, put on the statute books by far-seeing white statesmen, a long time ago, would not have permitted it. but the yankee north, with its pampering and playing the negro against their own interest for political gain and power, does, in a great measure, serve to defeat what the south has done. this couple could not have become man and wife anywhere south of the mason-dixon line, but they could, and did, slip off into the free north, and there stand side by side before a negro minister and hear them- selves pronounced husband and wife—to the eternal disgrace of american society! - - the birmingham scimitar went on to say: the only thing missing at this wedding, was the wife of the president. she should have been on hand to give the bride away. we feel sure that she would have been glad to do so, and, perhaps, invite them to the white house for their wedding reception this, people of the south, is what, due to the north, and their ideas about negro free- dom is beginning to happen. social equality is the word for it. the south has said much over a long period of years, and warned persistently and repeatedly that this is what would happen if restraint was relaxed as regards the negro. the case of mrs. wingate the south has done everything they could think of to keep the negro in his place, and as far as his actions in the south are concerned, the problem is settled and has been for a long time. but as long as the north persists in their so-called idea of freedom for everybody just that long will the highly educated and scheming negroes like kermit early, try to do what happened in new york last night! every negro who reads about this wedding, will be thrilled. even in our southland, where he will not publicly say anything about it, but before the sun goes down on another day, it will be debated among them quietly and secretly, and how many others, of this highly educated class, will plan, if he or she can, to repeat what kermit early did last night. if and when kermit early and this white woman have a child or children, who will benefit by this white woman's great wealth: they won't want to be like other negroes. they will remember that their mother is a wealthy white woman; that their father is a doctor of philosophy from the greatest university in the western world, and that they will be too good to marry one of their own race, so will seek to marry a white person. if they fail here, or to find such association agreeable, there will be plenty of poverty-stricken white people in europe who will be glad to trade a royal name for an american fortune, even though the possessor of the wealth be a negro. that is the only thing that you can call it: social equality. and the marriage that took place in new york last night will do more to foment unrest and inspire social climbing on the part of the negro than anything that has happened since the civil war ! the atlanta morning and evening papers, known to be the most liberal in the south, published only the facts in the case, but did not run any editorials on it. but those and the macon papers, one of which went the limit editorially, reached wakefield and soon the sleepy little town was ablaze with gossip, much of which soon reach- ed the ears of mrs. adair, mrs. early's mother—and as was to be expected, shocked and mortified her. she shut herself in and didn't go out the entire day. neighbors and friends of old, kept adroitly out of sight, but curiosity seekers passed before the house and linger- the case of mes. wingate have done such a terrible thing, married a nigger.” - “please mother, don’t let's talk about that now. we'll talk about it after you arrive in new york. we'll have a long talk. maybe then you'll understand, but i won't go into that now.” “but—but—darling, i–i don't know if i can get to new york. i'm sick now. i need the doctor, but i' afraid to call doctor ware. i'm afraid * “mother, listen, please.” “yes, dear.” “i’ve thought even of all that; that doctor ware might act so that you would feel bad if you called him. but there is a doctor who will come to see you.” “what doctor, dear? we've never had any but doctor ware. what doctor?” - florence was silent for a moment. her mother listened, anx- iously. “mother?” “yes, florence?” “call doctor johnson.” “doctor johnson? who is he?” “he’s the colored doctor. his office is down on railroad avenue.” “a nigger doctor? oh, florence!” - “please mother. take it easy. don't continue to abuse yourself. doctor johnson is a young man and a good doctor. a better doctor than old doctor ware. but you won't need to call him. i'll call him. i'll tell him to come and see you. i'll ask him to take care of you; to drive you to macon and put you on the first train, in a drawing room and send you on to me in new york.” “but florence.” “please, mother, do what i ask? if you keep fretting you'll get worse; maybe die. so just be quiet and lay down until dr. john- son arrives. i think he keeps a nurse. i'll ask him to bring the nurse and take care of you until you reach macon. if he thinks it advisable, to send the nurse on with you to new york. now do you hear, mother p” - “yes, i hear, darling.” “then sit down and take it easy until the doctor arrives. i’ll call him from here and if he can't get there for awhile, i'll call you back and tell you when he will arrive. now is that all right, dear?” the case of mrs. wingate “i—i guess it will have to be. i'm here all alone, and all this trouble has upset me. i’ll do what you say.” “all right, then, mother. i'll talk to the doctor now. please be quiet, take it easy and be patient.” after a few more words she hung up and immediately asked long distance to call dr. johnson, the negro physician, down on railroad avenue. dr. johnson had closed his office for the might, but was still in it, checking his accounts when the phone rang. picking up the receiver, he said: - “hello, dr. johnson talking.” “dr. johnson, this is mrs. kermit early, in new york. i’m the former mrs. wingate of atlanta.”- at the mention of her name, dr. johnson got a shock, recoiled so violently that he almost fell from the chair. before him were all the daily papers that were sent to wakefield, and all of which he had read and was glad to close the office so that he could read them over again. he knew florence as negroes know white people, prominent white people and although he was only a small boy when kermit early left wakefield to go north, he also knew early. and now a call all the way from new york from a woman whose picture was in all the papers before him, was a distinction, and he stammered a bit before he got himself, on hearing her voice, under control. how- ever, he did very quickly and called back: “you mean, that you are—” “mrs. kermit early, nee mrs. florence wingate, and i am calling you on urgent business from new york, doctor johnson.” “yes, mrs. early, thank you. i think i understand. i will be glad to serve you in any way i can.” “very well, doctor johnson. you know my mother, mrs. adair?” “yes, mrs. early. i've seen your mother. i know where she lives.” “well, dr. johnson, i've just talked to her, and the events which you may have heard about have so shocked her that she is ill. you have heard about it, have you not, dr. johnson?” “i have, mrs. early. i have read about it. it is in all the papers.’ “then you understand, dr. johnson?” “i understand, mrs. early, and i repeat, i will be glad to serve you in any way i can. just say what you want done.” t the case of mrs. wingate johnson had to pause a moment to enjoy. the next moment he put his feet hard on the floor and twenty minutes later was ringing the bell at the adair home. old, but still healthy, destined to live a great many years, mrs. adair was suffering only from shock and fear. not a single white person, other than her children had called to offer a word of condol- ence, not a single one had rung the door bell to give her a word of kindness, and she was not surprised. she knew that what florence had done was the one thing no white person in the south would or could either condone or forgive. so when doctor johnson called, was admitted and showered her, along with the nurse, with kindness, it was more than the poor soul could stand. and after a few minutes of being treated again like she had a heart and soul, she fell to weeping and the doctor had the nurse put her to bed and prepare her hot food which she ate and enjoyed, for she had been too upset by it all to even eat. he left the nurse with her, with instructions to administer to her every need, left the house, but called early the next morning to see how she was faring, to find her up and well and ready to leave for new york as quickly as arrangements could be made to that effect, which she wanted made as quickly as the doctor could effect it. after a long talk over the telephone to mrs. early in new york, the doctor agreed to look after the home, which she would close, but which mrs. adair, wanted to feel was being looked after. the doctor had an old colored woman whom he knew would be glad to stay there, keep it up and be happy in doing so, and so advised mrs. early accordingly. “very well, dr.,” mrs. early said. “i will go to the bank and wire you $ . at once. $ . please give to my mother, for expenses for her and the nurse to new york, the balance as a retainer to you on account of service. so you attend to everything and look after the home. i will send you funds regularly for the upkeep and pay for the woman you put there. now please wire me from macon col- lect just what train you put them on in macon and what time it will arrive in new york.” the doctor was flattered to do everything he could, and did it well, and two days later wired florence early in new york that her mother was on the way and what time she was due in new york, wºn, xxxv zº idney wyeth understood why mrs. wingate failed to keep her appointment at his office the day after the wedding. , she called him the next day, however, to apologize for failing to keep it, which he graciously accepted. in fact, he was relieved that she did not. he had suddenly decided to finish and get his new novel out before going on the proposed trip, so called bertha and ex- plained to her that he would not go as soon as at first planned; that he would like to finish the new book and publish it before going, and which would delay the trip into the autumn. she was agreeable, al- though, was obviously, by her tone, disappointed. “in the meantime, i have the manuscript almost completed and i wonder if you'd mind going through it for me, making it english perfect and improving it in other ways, or wherever it needs it in general?” wyeth asked bertha. “i will be glad to help you,” she said, “if you feel that i am capable of doing so, mr. wyeth.” “i can't think of anyone whom i have more confidence in to do it, miss schultz.” “thank you, mr. wyeth. i appreciate the confidence you have in me. now when would you like me to call and begin to check it? or would you prefer bringing the script to our apartment and we could start to check it here?” “why, since we might be bothered here, and it is no trouble for me to call at your apartment, if agreeable to you.” “that will be fine, and i shall look forward to seeing you. now when p” “i am not engaged tonight, so can bring it up there around eight o'clock?” . “then please do so, mr. wyeth. i’ll be waiting for you.” “i’ll be there, miss schultz,” he said and hung up. he paused to stretch himself, then went out and had his dinner. promptly at -* the case of m rs. wingate eight, he rang the bell at the schultz apartment and was admitted by a smiling and neatly dressed bertha, who welcomed him pleasantly. “i want to thank you for a wonderful dinner night before last, miss schultz.” “oh, thank you, mr. wyeth,” she said, “but you are due to thank mrs. coleman more than me. she supervised its preparation.” “then i want to thank you both. it was a fine dinner, and i en- joyed it and really had a good time up until—” “the reporters came,” she said, finishing the sentence for him. “have you seen the papers?” she said, and then before he could answer, she went on. “but of course you have.” “who hasn't: what a write-up they got!” he said, shaking his head. - “in every paper in new york,” she said. “in the united states,” he corrected. “i suppose so. my brother bought several out-of-town papers and they all had a big story about it, along with their pictures.” - “you ought to read the editorials about it in some of the southern papers,” and so saying, he took some from his pocket. she moved over close to him to examine them, which pleased him strangely and seemed to please her. she then read two of the editorials out loud at his request. “my, what emphasis they put on it. i don't understand,” she said, lowering the paper and looking at him, inquiringly. “is all they say, possible?” “nothing to it,” he smiled and shook his head. “just two people, one white, the other colored, in love with each other, have long since found an interest in common, and have sealed it by getting married, and that is the beginning and end of it.” “do you think so?” she said, looking at him closely. “of course, the south would make much ado about it because of the fact that a wealthy white woman married a negro which alone is enough to throw their social ideas all out of kelter.” “and—you don't think it will have any such results as they imply; that they even say?” “none whatever.” “you don't think it will inspire other negroes to—want to emu- late them p’’ “it may not happen again in ten years. as to our race trying to the case of mrs. wingate emulate them, that is silly. in the first place, few negroes are even thrown into any association with the whites, and almost never with white people as wealthy as mrs. wingate happens to be.” “i suppose not.” “negroes and whites, especially whites of the upper and wealthier classes never meet socially, north, south, east, or west. we negroes really have little to interest any white people, much less a wealthy one.” “one of the papers,” she said, looking around as if to find it. she could not without rising, so sighed a bit and went on, giving find- ing the paper up, perhaps as not worth while, “gave a very good story of how it started. back in that little town in georgia, and said some- thing about her financing his education.” “we all knew that, at least i did.” “my brother did also. in the meantime, she seemed very much interested in you.” wyeth looked at her and smiled a little. “it made me a-a bit—jealous,” she dared to say, and when he turned to look at her quickly, she lowered her eyes and blushed. “looks like you are developing a sense of humor,” said he, look- ing at her shyly. she raised a pair of beautiful eyes to him. “a sense of humor?” “a sense of humor. meaning, jealous of the lady.” she laughed, blushed, went on. “but i was.” “oh, miss schultz.” “i felt it very much when i looked out and saw her dancing with you. she seemed so pleased, and you seemed the same way.” “miss schultz l’” “i felt better after you—danced with me.” “thank you.” “you don’t believe me?” w “i refuse to.” “i’m sorry. i wish you would. in the meantime, maybe we'd better get to work on your story?” “i think we should, too.” she lowered her eyes in a way that he always liked to see her do. he pulled the heavy manuscript out of his portfolio and handed it to her. her eyes opened in surprise, as she took and examined it a moment. “gracious, what a manuscript!” she exclaimed, looking at it as the case of mrs. wingate “i’m glad to feel that you know how,” he said. her eyes had been lowered to the script, she raised them back up into his, and smiled at him again, sweetly. her hand was still on his arm. she seemed to have forgotten it, but he hadn't. he looked down at it, she followed his gaze, blushed, furiously, drew it away, looked up at him, blushed again. “i think you are due some compliments yourself,” he now said, in a low voice. she looked up quickly in surprise. “me? for what?” he smiled down into her eyes. he hadn't in- tended to but in the moment he couldn't seem to help it. “for being such a lovely person, such an agreeable assistant, so nice about—everything.” “oh,” she said. “that is nothing.” kept her eyes downcast, but the blood was in her face. “i think it is,” he heard himself saying. “i think you are.” she looked up at him again now. his face was afire with what he felt. she saw it and her heart in the moment, went out to him. “do you think i am, mr. wyeth really?” “really, miss schultz. i do think so. i think you're about the most wonderful girl, about the nicest girl—the loveliest girl i ever met, and i–” and then he broke off. hesitated. she looked quickly up, her face aflame with a feeling she didn't quite understand, herself. “—what, mr.—wyeth " - - “i—i—oh, i'm afraid to say it,” and he lowered his eyes. again her small hand went forward quickly. placed it on his arm. looked up into his eyes frankly, honestly. “please do, mr. wyeth,” she said. he raised his eyes and theirs met. what was in hers was in his. was it affection? “i—i don't think i–ought to, bertha-that is, miss schultz.” her hand on his arm tightened, the fingers around his wrist, trembled even. “please call me bertha-that is, if you want to.” “do you want me to?” he asked. “i do,” she said, and lowered her eyes, but kept her grip on his wrist. - “then i have a first name. maybe you might try calling me—by it,” he said. she looked up at him. “sidney,” she said and lowered her eyes again. “it’s a pretty name.” - the case of mrs. wingate “i’m glad you think so.” “i’ve always thought so. there is something, in the meantime, on your mind, sidney,” she was saying now, eyes lowered, but daring to glance up, only to lower them again, as she went on. “why don't you—get it off? say what it is; what it is that you're feeling.” he was silent and she noted it, looked up, a question in her eyes. “i'm afraid to,” he said, calmly but frankly. “must—i say it for you?” she asked, eyes downcast. “i would like you to,” he said. “you want me to say that—that you—like me, sidney?” “i do like you, bertha. at the same time, i'm afraid that you— that you are not free. that is why i–i don't want to say so much— now, at least.” raising her eyes to his now, into which had gone suddenly a softness. “you’re—so wonderful about everything, sidney. so understand- ing, and—i trust you, and—like you, too. i like you a whole lot. but you are right about what you said; that i am—not free. i am not free, sidney, and because i am not, i am sorry. sorry for myself, sorry for you.” “that is the way i feared it was. it is because of that that i don't want to say much more—just now.” “you’re a darling,” she said, eyes down, tears flowing; she was using a kerchief. he moved closer. he placed an arm about her waist and she made it easy for him to do so. “i—i understand everything, bertha, and i want to—help you.” she was weeping now and laid her head on his shoulder. he placed a hand beneath her chin, tilted her head back slightly and kissed her lips. she did not draw away but returned the kiss, and wept harder. he didn't kiss her again. he was sorry for her. he squeez- ed her hand and she did not resist. he knew at last that he loved bertha schultz and that she loved him. he knew and appre- ciated that bertha was a german agent, a nazi spy, sent to america by no less a person than adolf hitler on a mission; with a task to perform. he knew that this mission might call upon her to do many things subversive, and he was sorry that such a sweet and beautiful, tender and lovable girl was shouldered by such a nefarious task. yet he understood that she could not be free as long as it lasted; that she couldn't stop it and feel that she was doing her duty. he decided then and there, however, to keep bertha from doing … xxxvi rs. early was waiting at the pennsylvania station m for the train that was bringing her mother from georgia to new york, to arrive. it was late as most trains were at the time, so she found a seat, purchased a magazine and made herself comfortable, and patient. meanwhile, mrs. adair, aboard the train which had just left north philadelphia, was relaxing comfortably, and was enjoying the ride. dr. johnson had been able to secure a drawing room for her and the nurse. the papers were still publishing something about her daughter's marriage to a negro, so mrs. adair decided since every- body knew about it and were talking about it, to talk to the nurse, whose name was betty, about it. she began to do this before the train had gotten out of south carolina. when she heard florence called, she recalled that it was while crossing those same tracks that mr. wingate had been killed, so turned to betty abruptly. “did they say florence, betty?” “yes, mrs. adair. this is florence, south carolina.” “florence, south carolina,” she repeated more to herself than to the girl. “this is where mr. wingate was killed.” “were you—speaking to me, mrs. adair?” said betty who had been sitting, but had risen quickly and now stood by the old lady who looked up at her quickly, a bit surprised. “no, betty. i was talking to myself, but sit down there,” pointing to the seat facing her. “maybe i might talk to you. i want to talk to somebody.” betty sat down. the old lady looked at her closely. “you look like an intelligent girl, betty.” betty flushed, didn't know just how to answer. after a pause, during which she framed a simple reply, she spoke: “thank you, mrs. adair. i try to be.” the case of mrs. wingate - “well,” mrs. adair went on. “you are an intelligent girl and a nice girl. too bad you're not a white girl.” “i’m satisfied to be just what i am, mrs. adair.” mrs. adair looked at her again. “have you read that new novel, passion, betty?” “yes, mrs. adair. i've read it.” “what did you think of it?” “it was interesting,” she replied. “but did you like it?” “it wasn't a story that one would, i think, exactly like, mrs. adair. not the way i see it, anyhow.” - “i’d think that the colored people would dislike it. that educated colored girl in it, in love and pregnant by a scalawag white man who couldn't marry her. who didn't want to marry her.” “colored and white people don't usually marry each other,” said betty. “nobody expected the man to marry the girl.” “yes, but he got her in family way. according to the law of god and all that is holy, he was due to protect her.” “he tried to, in a way,” said betty, simply. “sure he did. gave a big, black, buck of a nigger money to marry her.” betty laughed. “i read the book but i didn't like it. didn't like anything about it, but it had lots of truth—too much truth, maybe. and maybe that's why lots of us people in the south don't like it. yet we're all reading it. that will make the book, or help make it, at least, a financial success.” - - - “i’d think so,” said betty. “this race question, strange thing, isn't it, betty?” “i'm afraid so,” said betty. after some hesitation, like as though she wanted to say some- thing and didn't know just how to start, mrs. adair finally picked up a paper, turned to mr. and mrs. early's pictures and held them up to betty's gaze. “been reading about them, betty?” “yes, mrs. adair. i've been reading about them.” “the woman's my daughter.” “so i understand, mrs. adair,” said betty. the case of mirs. wingate “a sort of passion in reverse, betty.” - betty smiled, said nothing, waited respectfully, her hands folded in her lap. betty was raised in wakefield. had been trained to listen to white people when they talked and answer when spoken to. “naturally it's got me all upset. i’ve had to leave my home. born in wakefield, lived there all my life. then this had to happen—and i was afraid to meet anybody i've known. i’m running away now, like a criminal, in a way. nobody has said a word to me, not a word in a town where i’d lived until nigh onto seventy years. isn't that some- thing, betty?” “i'm afraid so, mrs. adair. i'm sorry.” “i’m sorry for myself, betty. yet what can i do? the woman who did this, and whose picture you see in that paper is my daughter. a beautiful woman, betty, a rich woman.” - betty looked at the pictures. “she is beautiful, mrs. adair.” “ten years ago she was considered the prettiest girl in wakefield, belle of the town.” she picked up the paper, looked at the pictures, shook her head, hopelessly. . “the man. he used to live there, too, was born there. went from this town about the same time my daughter married mr. wingate, a rich mill owner, in atlanta. i know his father, knew his father's father. fine niggers. ran a barber shop there for generations for white trade. fine niggers, i tell you, respected by everybody in wake- field—and now he shows up in new york, head full of fine educa- tion—and marries my daughter, a white woman.” she lowered her eyes to cry. - betty came over on the seat beside her, placed an arm about her and comforted her. after a good hearty cry, with betty comforting her the best she could, she sat up, pointed to the seat facing her, whereupon betty moved over and sat down again to face her. “my own daughter, to break her mother's heart. do something like this when she knew that they would never, never as long as there is a speck of blood in their veins, stand for or forgive. why, even the dogs in wakefield like me; they bark at and play with me when i pass along the street. and, over night, i lose every friend i have—almost every soul in wakefield. i think even the dogs, are mad about it. i can picture them running away when they see me now, howling with their tails between their hind legs. i don't see why she the case of mrs. wingate she understood and florence knew she understood, what she was talking about. “i had the hardest time keeping nice while still too young to think of getting married. it was then it started. i was sensible enough to realize that i couldn't play around with white boys back there in wakefield, so i turned and tried to make kermit satisfy my desires.” fier mother's eyes opened wider. “but he refused. he wouldn't let me, i tried to make him. i kept on trying to make him until i virtually ran him out of wakefield. he had to leave his home because i kept after him so.” again mrs. adair opened her eyes wide. “so all this kermit is being charged with, is not his fault. it was not his doing. it was me. me, mother; please get that straight in your mind at the outset. not kermit. me, mother, me! “you know all about how i met mr. wingate; you knew that he was old; that i did not love him, but consented to marry him and finally did to help you, my brothers and my sisters; to give them their chance in life.” “yes, i remember and understand all that, daughter,” said mrs. adair, with lowered eyes. “it turned out to be a greater sacrifice than any of you thought; than any of you ever knew.” - mrs. adair looked up. she found her daughter looking straight at her, with eyes that seemed to burn holes through her. “what do you mean, florence?” “as badly as i needed to be married, needed to have a husband to satisfy all that nature had put into me, the night following the after- noon that we got married in wakefield, and went to atlanta, where we stopped over that night on our honeymoon to europe, mr. win- gate broke down in our bedroom and made a shocking confession.” mrs. adair started. “florence, what do you mean?” “he told me that he was not a normal man, mother.” “what l” cried mrs. adair. florence, still looking straight and hard at her, nodded her head. “he told me there on our wedding night, that he was not a normal man, mother.” “you mean?” “that he was like—like—leo m. frank. you remember the frank the case of mrs. wingate “i’m glad, mother. i had hoped that you would. kermit and i will be leaving in a week or ten days.” “just one thing, darling,” said her mother. “the girl i brought with me from wakefield. i would like to ask her to stay with me, if she wants to. being from wakefield, she understands me better, i would feel that—” “i’ll ask her to. if she's agreeable, i'll call dr. johnson and ask him to release her.” “oh, then i will soon get used to it. being from wakefield, i won't be afraid of her as i might be of some of these northern darkies—” “now, mother, that is one thing you must not do; that you must get used to not doing.” - mrs. adair was bewildered, turned to florence. “did i–make a mistake, dear?” “yes, mother, you did. you musn't call colored people “darkies' and “niggers' up here. they don't like it. they don't like it in wakefield, but they have to take it down there, so just shrug their shoulders and pretend it doesn't matter. it does, and you must get used to using the word ‘colored’ and “negroes' and then you won't make anybody angry.” “of course not. i’ll be careful, darling. we shouldn't call them such names in wakefield, and i will be glad to quit calling them by those ugly names.” “now the next thing, mother. in marrying a colored man, i knew that my future association would be mostly with them. while you don't have to, it will be well if you just try to get used to that, too. you won't have to associate with anybody that you don't want to. new york is where nobody pays any attention to anybody else, unless it is mutual. you can live right in this apartment for ten years and they wouldn't try find out who you were from next door. so you can live right here, in the way you want to live. the town is filled with churches and you can go to any one of them that you want to, come on home and do what you want without being bothered by anybody. i hope the girl who came along to attend you will want to stay in new york for awhile at least, for she will make a better companion for you than anybody up here.” - “that's what i want, honey. somebody for a companion and betty currºr xxxvii fter having declared their love, bertha and wyeth found it easier to greet and welcome each other and to work together. they both seemed happier after that, and started going together regularly. he began to take her to shows and to moving pictures, dining together frequently and going for long rides in his car, growing more devoted to each other as time went by. meanwhile she was assisting him with his completed manuscript and was improving the reading of it tremendously, without adding, as she admitted, a single thing to the story that he had told. her assistance was simply making the story easier to read, and more beautiful in its general construction. bertha enjoyed the work and wyeth and marie were pleased to have her so near. all three had much in co m. he provided a desk for her near marie's in his office and she spent considerable time there and neatly retyped the manuscript after going through it carefully. it was a voluminous mass—when he finally wrote finis at the end of it. before retyping, as stated, she went through it, sentence by sentence with the most infinite care, and both were greatly satisfied with it as they turned it over to the type- setter. “i want you, bertha,” he said, as they sat in his car in a glade of a forest in tarrytown, where they had driven for a sunday's out- ing, and from which spot they could look down on the lazy waters of the hudson as they floated south to meet the salt waters of long island sound, “to read the proofs with as much care as you have checked the manuscript.” “you know how glad i will be to do so, sweetheart,” she said, her little hand in his, his arm about her waist. - “you have changed my whole life, bertha. in spite of the fact that you cannot marry me until this awful war is over, and i am not asking or expecting you to, you have brought more happiness and the case of mrs. wingate contentment into my life than i have ever known,” he said with a happy sigh as he squeezed her. “i’m so glad to hear you say that, sidney, dear. words are inade- quate to express how much you have brought into my life. i'm so happy, in spite of that which you spoke of, until i want to sing a little prayer every night when i retire; every morning when i arise, to thank god for it. i love you so much that nothing else matters. it just thrills my heart to think that i have you; that we have each other,” and she laid her lovely head against his and just sighed with contentment. “in the meantime, kermit and his wife just suddenly disappeared. disappeared as if into nowhere. i wonder why?” she was silent a moment, and he turned to look at her. “she told me before she left, dear, but in confidence, why.” “oh,” he cried, then broke off and didn't ask her to tell him. she sat up straight, looked at him, then patted his cheek. “i’ll tell you, dear, because i know you won't repeat it to anybody.” “you don't have to tell me if you don't wish to, darling,” he said. “but i wish to, sidney. mrs. wingate is going to have a baby in a short while.” “oh,” he cried, understandingly. “that's why they went away so suddenly, eh?” - “yes. if they stayed here and she had it, long before it would be due according to the date they married, it would—” “—look bad—and might get into the papers,” he said understand- ingly. “that's it, and is why they decided to go away where no one here would know anything about the time when the child was born.” “very sensible on their part.” - “that's what i thought,” said bertha, “since their marriage created such a furore, the birth of a baby so soon after they married might get a whole lot more unfavorable publicity at this time, so they are trying to avoid that.” “i’m rather glad they had to go away when they did, however," he said. she looked at him, inquiringly. “he had been after me for a long time to direct and produce a picture from a story he had written and was most anxious to bring out. a hate picture designed to make negroes hate jews and put the case of mrs. wingate them into action as far as they were able to go, against them, and i didn't want to do it.” “i know you didn't, sidney, and i, too, am glad he went away since i know that you didn't want to make it.” “that was what she was going to come and see me about, after making the appointment the night of their wedding.” “but when the newspapers came out and threw them all out of balance,” said bertha, “added to which, she had to send for her mother down in georgia, where they had ostracized her so, that she couldn't stay there longer, all on account of her marrying a colored man; and then having to go away to keep from being talked about again, so she had to give up seeing you.” wyeth smiled. “i knew it, and am relieved. i suppose he had sold her on the idea and she had plans to try to persuade me to do so, but in another way.” “a way that they didn't get to. meantime, just about when do you think we'll get away on our trip?” she wanted to know. “in october.” “october? i will be glad when the time comes, dear,” she said. he looked at her. her face was serious and she did not turn to meet his eyes. she was thinking about her brother. he had been busier than ever lately. ever since von barwig arrived, meeting after meeting had been the order of the day. her brother told her that japan was planning on attacking america very shortly; and that in view of the fact that america was considered by germany to be practically in the war on the side of england, and that if and when japan attacked america, would be the signal for germany and italy to declare war on america. he told her that when this happened the long delayed plans that had been formulated, and were still being whipped into shape, downtown would go into effect, and that he hoped wyeth would not take her away, as he was sure they would be needing her very soon. she had to pretend that she would be ready to do whatever they wanted her to, but she wasn't enthusiastic about it any longer. ever since she had met sidney wyeth and become impressed with his philosophy, she was conscious that the purpose they might assign her to carry out, would be very distasteful. she had not told her brother that she was in love with sidney, although she found him leoking at the case of mirs. wingate her often a bit oddly as if with a feeling that she was, but he was too deeply enmeshed in what he was doing to talk about it, and she was glad that he did not. she had become, in fact, far more interested in sidney wyeth and what he was doing than she was in carrying out the wishes of adolf hitler. since she and wyeth had declared their love for each other, she found herself thinking more about her future life in america, as the wife of the man she loved, than of the glory of adolf hitler, who at this time was rolling across russia, well on the way to the volga, and who, at the time, was expected to capture moscow, an expectation that was shared in by the entire world. - what bertha was thinking most about at the present, however, was to get away where her brother could not reach her very easily to send her on any subversive mission. she was still going downtown, meet- ing a lot of women that she did not care about and never had, but who were the busiest people she ever met, “keeping america out of the war,” they called it, while all the while, america, she knew, was headed as straight for it as she could go, and according to her brother, would be in it by the first of the coming year. she relaxed after a time and sat back in her seat. “will we be going anywhere near this place where you used to live in south dakota, sidney?” “no, dear, not very near.” he looked at her quickly and smiled. “oh, i’m sorry. you talk so much about it; of how you settled there and lived in a sod house all by yourself, and seemed to have been so happy and hopeful; regarding the future, until you've got me thinking about it, too. thinking about it and hoping some day i will see it and, perhaps live with you those years again which you've said that if you could have had—me, then, that you would never have left there.” - “had it been possible for me to have known you then bertha, and to have had your love and help as you are giving it to me now, i would still be there, with, no doubt, a large and fine family by this time.” “oh, sidney, no,” she cried and hid her face on his shoulder. “we’re going to have that family yet, bertha, dear, even if we can't go back to that farm i developed off there in south dakota.” for an- swer she squeezed him and both wished then that they could drive to a magistrate or a minister and be married and start to having the the case of mrs. wingate family both dared dream about. then the thought of war with it's millions of young men dying, with other millions now living and happy and hopeful who would die before it was all over, came to them and they dismissed all ideas of any immediate happiness in marriage—and decided to be content just to love each other until they could do better. october came as it has been coming once a year since the beginning of time, and wyeth's new book was ready. they had busied themselves, compiling a list of thousands of names and addresses of people who had bought the other book, copy for newspaper advertisements and about everything needed for marie to work with, while with a goodly supply of both books, bertha and wyeth left early one morning, heading southward on their long planned trip. pearl harbor on the morning of december the seventh, which was sunday, they awakened to hear over their portable radios, somewhere in the south- land, that japan had launched her sneak attack on america at pearl harbor. america was at last in the war, but from a direction nobody had been expecting her to enter it, are to be drawn into the con- flagration | º, xxxviii ell, dear bertha,” said wyeth, when they say. w down to breakfast together just before noon that fatal sunday. “it is here. america is at war.” “isn't it terrible, darling,” she said, shaking her head sadly. he shook his head helplessly. - “i knew it would come. i’ve been afraid it would for a long time,” he said. “my brother told me that it was brewing, and that the japanese ambassador would call on secretary hull during the hours of attack as a gesture.” “with all due respect to our secretary of state, i thought his answer to japan was most stupid,” said wyeth. bertha looked at him. “japan has no doubt planned this move for a long time, and now when it seems that russia is completely licked and may be broken up as a result of the war, who knows. still, i was flabbergasted when i read his reply to japan, ordering her to do all those things when it should have been obvious to anybody that since japan had gone as far as she had and at such cost she wasn't going to turn back com- pletely just because our secretary of state asked her to.” “my brother said that america would find japan a more bitter and ruthless enemy than germany.” “i’ve never trusted japan, and i agree with your brother. it sure looks bad for us. i'm afraid it's going to be a long war and a hard and bitter one,” he said, with a sigh. “will it make any difference in your immediate plans, dear?” she asked, her eyes on him anxiously. “none, bertha. i'm too old for the army, and i cannot help my country in any way by changing my plans,” he said. bertha seemed relieved when he said that, and turned to eating her breakfast with a greater relish, the case of mrs. wingate in the meantime, back in new york, heinrich had been called by order of dr. herr von barwig to the office of hans schiller to meet with most of the other german agents operating in the eastern area. activities were in full force. the call, as stated, had been sent out by the herr doctor, who knew well in advance of japan's carefully planned sneak attack on pearl harbor; and who knew also that it would be followed by a declaration of war on amer- ica by germany and italy. all of which had been planned by hitler and mussolini to coincide and follow japan's sneak attack. von barwig also reckoned, and well, that promptly after all this happened, a nation-wide dragnet would be thrown all over amer- ica to uncover and stop as quickly as they could be found, all sub- versive activities which had spread and were operating in no end of places under the guise of “america first,” and other “patriotic” organizations. this activity had become so general that it was going on to a small degree in the streets of most towns. solicitors were everywhere, contacting and soliciting joiners right in the streets, and in broad daylight, all directed from one central point under the super- vision of dr. von barwig. knowing that all such activities would fall immediately under suspicion, and would be promptly investigated by agents of the fbi, von barwig had called this meeting for the purpose of, among other things, disbanding insofar as further meetings at that particular address were concerned. “the fbi,” he said, addressing the agents assembled, “will go into action on a scale far more sweeping than ever before. it has started already and it is only a question of a few days, possibly only a few hours, before we will be investigated. so it would be foolhardy for us to attempt to continue meeting in this hall.” he then advised all present to wait for a call from him, designating where to meet in the future. “in the meantime,” he went on further to advise, “secure some kind of a job. the best you can find, and fitted to your likes and what you can best do, but get a job so that when and if you happen to be questioned, you can answer satisfactorily and avoid being taken to police headquarters and investigated. every man and woman of ger- man extraction and with german sympathies will fall under suspicion and immediately after the fuehrer declares war on this country there - the case of mps. wingate will be wholesale arrests. many will be jailed, mostly on suspicion. so now while all is still free and clear, get busy; get your story straight; let it be a logical one, and stick to it when and if you are hauled in. we have a long list of good lawyers in our ranks, so do your part and we'll see that you are properly defended in the event of arrest and attempted prosecution.” after the meeting heinrich met hans schiller in a tavern, where, over their beer, they had a long talk. “what kind of a job do you plan, heinrich " said scihller after he had drunk deeply from his stein, which he now set down before him, and waited. - “i’m already employed—in a way,” said heinrich, toying with his stein, his eyes on it and a smile on his face. schiller looked at him in some surprise. “i doped this thing out,” schultz went on to explain, “a long time ago, when i had a feeling it might come to this.” “so,” said schiller. “how come on and let me in on something.” his eyes still on his fingers as he toyed with the stein, heinrich raised them to hans now, and became a bit serious. “i’m sorta tied up with a little, struggling negro newspaper in harlem. i'm their star reporter—and part owner of it, into the bargain,” and then he smiled again, as if to himself. “what's this?” said hans. “sort of a joke?” “no,” replied heinrich. “strictly on the level.” “is that so?” said schiller, a touch of doubt still in his tone. “well, let a fellow in on it. tell me about it.” “i don't mind,” said heinrich. he took a swallow from his stein, then went on. “to know colored people, you've got to be one. in spite of having been thoroughly schooled in nazism, i lived for ten years before that in america. those were my adolescent and tender years when certain things become a part of you. those ten years gave me a certain outlook on life in keeping with the way the negro is treated in this country, and the sympathies i developed in his cause during those ten years still linger with me, so i am able to alternate into his philosophies as readily as i want to. i am at war, along with the reich, against america, but i am in sympathy with the negro in his fight here for a greater freedom and am out to help when and however i can.” the case of mr.s. wingate you owe me for, i can't print your paper tonight, and that's final. i’ll have to pie all the type and give up printing it altogether. i’m sorry, but that's the way it stands!’ “those poor devils pleaded so long and so hard until their throats were dry; they couldn't do much more now than make gestures with their hands, but i could see that this was one time the printer was going to stick to what he said. they had to give him some money, and as i’ve told you, being colored, they didn't have any but were ‘going to’ have some—soon, of course. meantime, they had to have the paper on the street the next morning, or else they were a pair of cooked geese. - “the printer, as if convinced that he wouldn't get any, started to leave the place and came toward the door. just as he reached me, i raised my hand and he stopped. “i couldn't help overhearing the- controversy,' i said. ‘may i ask what is the trouble?' just as if i didn't know. he went on to tell me, while they cut in with this alibi and that alibi. he would wave them down and start all over again, and they in turn would start all over again with more and new alibis. i listened for a couple of minutes while he tried to tell me, but could never finish for their butting in. finally i raised my hand and, stopping them from trying to tell their side, i said: “‘these fellows are friends of mine. why don't you give them a break p’” “‘a break!’ he shouted loudly, throwing up his hands. “that's what i've been giving them. breaks, nothing but breaks. now i must have a break—$ . or else!’ “he was in a new rage and started past me out the door, when i laid a hand on his arm and said, reaching for my wallet with the other hand. “all right, my friend.' i counted out $ . and looked at him. he looked at the money hungrily. “i haven't $ , , but here's $ . that belongs to somebody else, but i'll take a chance and give it to you on their account, providing you print the paper as you are due to tonight. is it a deal?’” “then what did he do?” asked schiller, curiously. “he took it, of course.” “and printed their paper. then what?” from schiller. “i became part owner.” - schiller laughed. the case of mers. wingate “hate them like poison. they tried to play along to get american dollars, but they simply will not go all out as many of the other s. a. states have done, regardless,” said heinrich. “the doctor is all set with communications. you get the low- down on when the ships will sail, turn the information over to us, and old doc will shoot it on in code to the argentine, and they'll relay it to the commanders of the u-boat wolf packs as they are called, and—bingo, another ship goes to the bottom.” “as easy and as simple as taking candy from a baby—in a great big and supposedly smart country like america,” and heinrich smirked. “it doesn't seem possible.” “it wouldn't be possible and so simple in my case if it wasn't because they play the negro down so. a few smart negro dicks on the fbi milling around harlem and they'd soon catch on to my racket and throw me in jail.” “maybe they'll be sending some up there if they get suspicious as to where the leak is coming from.” “never,” said heinrich, shaking his head. “why not?” schiller wanted to know. turning to him, then taking a big drink of beer, heinrich set the glass down and went on, his face dark with resentment. “it’s the south.” ~ “the south?” echoed schiller, not understanding. “that's what i said. the hand of the south, reaching out to cow the negro, discourage him and keep him as they put it “in his place'.” “you’re talking greek now.” “i’m talking german, a language that we both understand. and i tell you that it is southern influence and control that keeps the de- partment of investigation from even hiring any negro for secret service, much less training any in the art. although practically one third of the people south of the mason-dixon line are negroes, only a few towns down there have negro police, and when they do have they are supposed to confine most of their arrests to negroes.” “you don't say,” exclaimed schiller, amazed. “you, a german, wouldn't know that, of course, and i wouldn't if i wasn't a negro, living with and putting up with all that is forced on them. but i know that always during a democratic administra- the case of mirs. wingate manders of the u-boat wolf packs lurking off our eastern shores. not only once, but many times, rescued seamen from sunken mer- chant ships, told the same story: that after they had been torpedoed, many of the commanders would surface their craft and call across to such of the crews as had survived the explosion and sinking, to inform them that they knew just when they had sailed, and knew when they would be coming along and that all they had to do was just be patient and wait, which they had done, and that they would then laugh and order their craft to submerge. meanwhile, at the schultz apartment on sugar hill in harlem, heinrich had a visitor. it was schiller, with whom he was in heated debate with at the moment regarding the war. “well,” said hans, cheerfully, a big smile of satisfaction lighting his face. “it looks like everything is all over but the shouting,” and felt greatly cheered. “as i see it, it'll be impossible for this country to replace enough of the ships that our u-boats are sinking, in time to defeat hitler. it just can't be done,” he cried, convinced in his own estimation that it could not be and rose to his feet and walked up and down for a few minutes. this was schiller's way. a rest- less and determined person, he was estimating the progress of the war and felt sure that hitler would win it. “perhaps not,” said heinrich, “but they're sure going to try like hell. i’ve been looking in on all their efforts from the state of maine to the virginia capes, and i have never seen such feverish activity. if the fuehrer beats them, he'll have to start doing it in a mighty big hurry, and go like hell before those thousands of ships they have set to building, go sliding down the ways.” this annoyed schiller, and he started walking again, back and forth, up and down, presently paused. “you mean, ship building?” “i didn't mean skiffs. also every other kind of building that will produce goods with which to shoot at hitler.” “well, that's what you think. germany's won the war and all that's left to do is for the united nations to sue for peace and stop the slaughter and the losses while there's still something left for them to start over again with.” he started to walking the floor again im- patiently, then pausing, turned and pointing a finger at heinrich, cried : the case of mrs. wingate “getting back to what we were talking about, heinrich—sinking ships off the east coast here. at the rate they are being sunk, how in hell are they ever going to catch up? build as many as we are sinking?” “at the rate our u-boats are sending them to the bottom, they'll finally develop a better measure of protection. they'll have to. this high rate of sinkings can't continue.” “understand that they've decided to withdraw all oil tankers al- ready. that'll burden the railroads which already are overloaded.” “the herr doctor was telling me,” smiled heinrich, “of how the commanders, contacting him via short wave, were laughing about how easy the tankers were to hit. they said that they could release a torpedo as far as three to five miles away—release them if they wanted to while still submerged, and hit one of those quarter-of-a- mile long fellows, with perfect ease. they say that it's like taking candy from a baby,” and both laughed. “now there you are. what are they going to do about it?” “you mean the shipping, the coastwise shipping?” “that's what i mean. all their destroyers are tied up, convoying the ships going to england.” “that is why we have such a free hand on this side of the atlantic. they haven't any destroyers to protect convoys, south—but they'll get some by and by and my little racket will play out. besides, when i see this begin to happen. i've sense enough to turn to something else to mess matters up and make it hard for them.” “what do you have in mind?” “i could manage to wreck a few trains. i’ve made a careful study of how. and by the time i’ve gotten around to it, i’ll know better how,” and heinrich winked at schiller and poured another glass of beer. the former mrs. wingate, now mrs. kermit early, living with her colored husband at a hacienda, far to the south of buenos aires in patagonia, had been taken to the nearest hospital in that far off country and had given birth to a pair of twins, babies, a boy and a girl, and both she and kermit were delighted. as we return to them again in our story, she had left the hospital with a spanish nurse to take care of the little ones, returned to the chapter x | / idney wyeth and bertha schultz had completed their trip, which had been prolonged by wyeth, not merely to keep bertha from being returned any sooner than possible to where she would again come directly under the influence of her brother, but because they had developed such a complete measure of success, that staying out paid and paid well. wyeth's new book had become, to an appreciable degree, a best seller, and the demands from bookstores and other sources, required their attention and service in new york and, immediately following their return, they were compelled to enlarge their office space. bertha, who by now knew as much about it as did wyeth and marie, became an executive and was given her own office and a stenographer. meanwhile, the war had been going its destructive way, but england and america, after meeting no end of disaster, defeats and loss of territory in the pacific, which japan had seized so quickly that it didn't seem possible, were at last beginning to see the light in the clearing. montgomery had stopped the “desert fox” at el alamein. not only had he stopped him when the whole world had expected the early fall of alexandria and the capture of the suez canal, which benito mussolini had thrown italy into the war to secure, but were expect- ing in due time, cairo, further down the nile, to capitulate. instead, after turning rommel back at el alamein, montgomery's th army had fell upon the far flung legions of adolf hitler's african corps, and chased them clear across north africa, finally catching up with them and cornering them at bizerte, where the . entire army was forced to surrender. but rommel escaped by plane to italy, where americans joined with the famous th army, to drive the axis from sicily, onto the famous boot, where after stalling them for months at cassino, finally broke through, drove on north through the case of mrs. wingate ger he was to find out in due time, than it should have been, for his own safety—and that of his country. watson was sociable—and talked, freely; told everything he knew. heinrich listened with keen interest, to everything he said, interposing a question now and then. so in the language and slang of negroes, watson spilled his “guts”. soon, heinrich knew more about the war officers' trip west- ward than watson himself. at a point, heinrich raised his hand and said: “while passing through iowa, on the way from the pacific coast a long time ago, i recall crossing one of the highest bridges i ever saw.” “that's on the northwestern,” cried watson. “sho. we cross it on the way to omaha, just west of boone, iowa, over the coon river.” “over the coon river, eh?” “sho. about ten miles west of boone.” “it is sure one high bridge,” said heinrich reminiscently. “said to be the highest in the world.” replied watson. “over feet from the bridge to the river. so high that all trains slow to twenty miles an hour when they cross it.” “it that so?” - “sho is, brother. i’m the one who knows. you'll find me a man who is informed. i can tell you about every railroad in america, especially west and south. “so these high officials will be passing over that bridge if they go west to the coast?” “sho. but i haven't told you the whole story,” said watson, swell- ing with pride. - “no, watson?” “naw, man. dey asked fo’ me through the office. dey told old giltzow to hold me in reserve or dey would go over another rail- road. so old a. w. sends fo’ me and told dem not to sign me out on any other car, but to hold me in reserve for this special party of nuthin' but big men.” “they know a good man, watson,” said heinrich, patting his shoulder. “in the meantime, i'm due to go to omaha soon and i'll plan the trip so that i can go on the same train that hauls your car.” “why not do that, boy? we'll have a good time all the way to the case of mrs. wingate omaha. plenty good food, good whiskey, nothing but scotch. wish you was going all the way to the coast.” “sorry i won't be.” heinrich decided then and there to go to omaha, beforehand, stop off at boone, go out to the high bridge, and study for his own bene- fit, the best way to handle a delicate situation. the next day he took an earlier train to boone where all trains except the streamliners change engines and crews. most trains re- main there for ten to twenty minutes, but the streamliners from only five to ten. he carefully checked the pacific coast limited into boone, and out of boone to the high bridge, which took exactly eleven minutes. it was one minute later when the train reached the center of the structure, where you looked straight down into the coon river, which seemed like a small rivulet, it was that far away from the bridge. he made a pencil note of everything and observed that after the train reached the west end of the bridge, the engineer pushed the speed forward and after it hit the level country west of the river, went up to near a hundred miles an hour, retaining that rate of speed right into council bluffs, on the iowa side of the missouri, directly across from omaha. he took a day train the next morning back from omaha, and viewed the bridge more carefully, noting that there was a high grade on either side at the approach of the bridge. in boone he hired a taxi to take him to a small town just across the river, to view the bridge from the highway and while they were passing through the valley of the river, a train passed over the bridge. it looked like a toy, it was so high above him. returning to boone by the same taxi, he double checked on it, mentally, and when he took the next train from boone back to chicago, he had all the information that he needed, and decided to wreck the pacific coast limited the night it passed over that bridge with the chief of staff and other high officials of the government, including both the secretary of war and of the navy. his plan was a simple one, depending for success on everything working out according to plans. - as a precaution, he decided to reserve a seat to omaha on the the case of mrs. wingate that when the train slowed before reaching the bridge, all he had to do was to open a vestibule door, jump off and roll down the embankment to safety, then get to his feet and wait for the explosion. he then set out to play watson and his two girl friends to the limit by putting on a big party, making the popular night spots, and finding out anything else he wanted to know from watson. in all the maneuvering to gather information that heinrich had engaged in, during which he was perhaps responsible for sending more than one hundred american merchantmen to the bottom, on the east coast, he found it popular to be free with funds. the na- tional socialist party had seen to that before he left germany, so money was no object. - anybody but negroes would have, in time perhaps, grown suspi- cious at such cheerful spending, and begin to ask where he got so much to spend. but negroes rarely, if ever, concern themselves with where anybody gets money, or how. all they concern themselves about is, if they have it—and spend it. if you spend it you're a good fellow and you have the key to their homes and hearts. so heinrich had it and heinrich spent it; and heinrich was popular. he was handsome into the bargain, with soft, pretty slightly blond hair, which in itself was unusual. there are few negro blonds. instead, they refer to all such negroes as “marinny” darkies. not only did heinrich blow them to a big party one week before watson was to play host aboard the private car to the highest offi- cials in the united states army, but when they arrived at the apart- ment, he made each girl a present of a crisp, new $ . bill—and that finished it. the girl he stayed with almost wore him out that night trying to demonstrate her gratitude. he insisted the next morning, that since he might not be around chicago much longer, that they put on another big party the night before he and watson left to go west, to which, of course, agree- ment was unanimous. to be sure that nothing would interfere with his plans, he suggested taking the girls downtown the afternoon before to do “a little shopping”, to dinner afterward, and then to the regal theatre where one of the big colored bands would be playing, then to the club de lysia for a final party. while heinrich, as we have shown, was busy preparing to wreck the great pacific coast limited, with more than a hundred human - the case of mrs. wingate filled with negroes—” and he broke off and raised his eyes to smile, cunningly. hans greeted his smile with another fully as cunning. “just how could something be made to happen, herr doctor?” inquired schiller, naively. “if one of our adherents should venture to ‘turn the trick, some one who hasn't done anything for the cause for a long time.” “like heinrich's sister, bertha, for instance.” “yah, bertha hasn't done anything for the cause for a long, long time, if i remember correctly.” “she has never done anything.” “most regrettable, most regrettable, indeed, hans. why have you permitted such neglect; such gross neglect?” “well, i've sort of left that to heinrich.” “heinrich has done well—enough for both, perhaps, but his sister took the same oath to our fuehrer, at the same time as did heinrich. now since she has been so neglectful, why not put her on this job?” “why not?” agreed hans. “she ought to be able, without attracting any suspicion, to get close enough to the president's wife when she comes to this golden gate ball room to speak, to-" “—toss a little pineapple, maybe . . .” and hans laughed, a cold, hard and diabolical laugh. von barwig smiled naively. “just what is the girl doing, that she hasn't been around for some time to help the cause along?” “understand she works in a negro publishing house up in harlem.” “works in a publishing house, eh? well, she's a very thoroughly educated girl. she should be well fitted to work in a publishing house. who runs the business?” “belongs to a fellow by the name of wyeth.” “wyeth?” the herr doctor repeated, thoughfully. “where have i heard that name before?” “from heinrich and me. he was the fellow whom heinrich and early tried so hard to get to direct early's picture.” von barwig struck the table so hard and loud that the glasses trembled. - “that's it! thought it sounded familar. so he's the guy whom they tried to get to direct the picture—and he ran out on them, eh? must be a jew lover.” “he insisted that he didn't hate jews, and repeatedly refused to the case of mrs. wingate - “yes, dear?” said bertha as she came up. “a mr. hans schiller to see you,” she said, waving in his direc- tion with her right hand. bertha started, and frowned visibly. cross- ing to the door, cracked it and peeped out at hans, waiting for her. she closed the door and paused to think a moment while marie waited. presently she crossed to leave bertha's office and that brought bertha back to her presence. she started, and then smiled. she had, in that second, thought so much about schiller, and what he was calling to see her about, that she had forgotten marie's presence. as marie came up, she stepped aside and thanking her, said: “send him in, please.” marie bowed and opened the door. bertha crossed back to her desk and sitting down, was facing the door when hans entered a moment later. recalling that he and her brother were closely associated and had known each other back in germany, and while she was very annoyed at having him call, she realized that he had perhaps been sent, so she decided to do her best to be agreeable and courteous. rising up after he entered her office, and coming forward to meet him, she stretched out her hand and cried, in her best german: - “ach, herr schiller, i am glad to see you again,” and grasped the hand that he extended. after exchanging greetings, she invited him to be seated, and moved a chair near to hers, waved him to it, then sat down herself and turned to face him with a forced smile and a forced cheerfulness. they exchanged some more formalities, and talked about her brother. she told him, which of course they already knew, that he was in chicago. in fact, they knew much more than bertha did about heinrich and what he was doing in chicago, and were in telephonic conversation with him almost daily. in fact, heinrich had long since quit talking to or telling bertha anything regarding his sabotage activities, and in truth bertha really knew little if anything about what he was doing. looking around the office presently, hans turned to her and smiling. “you seem to be fixed up very comfortably,” he said, and looked at her large, new desk; at the comfortable office chair she was sitting in. - “thank you,” replied bertha, pleasantly. “i like it.” “you should. i'm inclined to envy you,” at which bertha smiled, the case of mrs. wingate deprecatingly, and wished he would tell her what he was there to see her about. she was on the anxious seat, so anxious, in fact, that she was vous. “do you just—work here,” he went on. “or do you—have an interest in the business?” “oh, just work here, hans. that's all. helping them out for the present,” she said, causually. “i see,” said hans, carelessly, but watching him, she was sure that she caught a slightly evil glint in his eye. “in the meantime, i won't take up much more of your time.” “oh, that is all right, hans. glad to see you again.” “and i am to see you, bertha. haven't seen you downtown or heard anything from you for so long that we’ve been wondering what happened.” “nothing in particular, as you see,” she said, apologetically, and made a little gesture with her hand. “i want to apologize for my neglect to drop by or run in more often, however. but i am all right, as you see.” “still ready for—any service in the cause, i suppose,” he said, as if feeling her out. she hesitated very briefly before replying, during which delay his face clouded visibly. “of course, hans. always ready to serve our fuehrer; always glad to be of any service to the reich.” “good,” cried schiller, promptly and seemed relieved. “have you—something in mind, hans?” she asked, testily. “me, oh, not me, but the boss has.” “oh,” echoed bertha, and her heart fell. she had a sudden and peculiar premonition. she had an ugly vision. “well,” to herself, “what is it?” he was talking. “the herr doctor has some plans, so he sent me up to see you and tell you to come down and see him—real soon, if possible.” “i see,” said bertha, evenly, steeling her nerves for the worst. “when p” - “well, if it isn't too much trouble, he'd like to see you—tonight, maybe.” he was looking hard at her now and his eyes were as cold as steel through the pretended smile and ease on his face. he did not take them off her, so she was afraid to frown, to even think. the bertha that wyeth knew and loved, suddenly faded from view, and the case of mers. wingate -- *- the nazi bertha took its place and her face became hard and cold to meet the situation she knew she was in now. while she was still the human bertha, she started to tell him that she had an engage- ment that night. she knew, however, that if she said that, it would make it bad for her. the fuehrer came first. “very well. where?” “the same place. his hotel.” “what time, i mean, at what hour?” “nine o'clock. there will be others there when you arrive.” “very well, hans.” she stood up now and if they had been where nobody could hear them, they would have exchanged the salute: “heil hitler!” as it was, they exchanged a silent one with the rais- ing and stretching out of hands in the usual way, then turning, both in a goose-step like way, they crossed to the door, where bertha put her hand on the knob, but before opening the door, she repeated: “the hotel, at nine o'clock. i'll be there. good day.” “good day, miss schultz,” he said in english, and stepped outside. she followed and opened the reception room door leading into the hall, and bowing to each other again, he left. bertha closed the door behind him. marie was listening to his footsteps go down the hall outside. bertha turned from the door and paused thoughtfully, seemingly unaware of marie's presence until she looked up and upon seeing her, forced a sweet smile, and turning went back to her office, closing the door behind her. her action was not lost on marie, however, who knew without being told, for, of course, there was nobody to tell her anything, that schiller's visit meant bertha no good. . she heard no sound in bertha's office after she went back in there, and she had a vision of bertha in the throes of sudden unhappiness. she knew that she had restrained much happiness out of defer- ence to what she had been sent to america to do. she had never gone in for a good time completely, and she was ever sorry for her, for she knew that bertha wanted to. now, after feeling that she might be let alone for the duration, after which she would be free, she is suddenly the recipient of a visit and certain instructions, which she knew would not add to the girl's happiness. this was confirmed a few moments late when bertha came out of the gase of mrs, wingate the floor while he sat there and just looked at her for a time, presently rising to his feet and going over by her. as he paused by her side where she was standing with eyes down and shaking her head slowly and hopelessly, he chanced to glance at the negro papers, spread out on the table and started as he read about the president's wife coming to the golden gate ball room. like a shot had struck him, he got an idea then and there what it was all about. bertha had been ordered to assassinate the president's wife when she came there. that was what it was all about. she could not, he knew, tell him or admit that that was what she was so upset about—but he knew now! - the headlines about it in the papers gave it all away, and the fact that bertha had the papers, every one of them that carried a headline account announcing the event. otherwise, he asked him- self, why did she have them? she had become suddenly calm. he raised his eyes to see why, and found her glaring with a wild and seemingly faraway hope in her eyes. slowly she turned those strange eyes to meet his, and whispered. “there is but one way to save me, sidney, just one way to—save me from myself.” “what way, bertha ” he asked. she reached and laid a hand on him, looked in his direction but saw nothing, her eyes being wild-like and opened so wide until they seemed unnatural. “you’ve known all along, from the very beginning that i was a spy. yet you at no time thought of reporting me as you had every right to do in the interest of your country. i knew all along that you knew too, and i learned to love you more because i knew i could trust you. i've been commanded by the forces who control my destiny, to commit a diabolical deed. i must at least try to do so. it has been so well planned that it might succeed, and i–i don't want it to, sidney.” she was back to herself again now and tears were again in her eyes. he placed an arm about her now and drew her close. while she wept on his shoulder, he said: “what is it, berthaf what do you want me to do?” “report me, sidney, tell your country that i am a nagi spy and | the case of mrs. wingate slow-thinking watson could get to put her on. he was making a play for high stakes, according to his fuehrer, so didn't want to begin to act until the time came and it was necessary. he naturally had no interest in the girl beyond his play, so didn't want to be bothered until the show started. it was the gayest party he had ever staged, everything going off just as he planned and engineered it. seeming to be drinking as much as they, he was careful not to drink much of anything and when they retired that night, with the rest pretty well stewed, he was as sober as the lord, and woke up early the next morning, looked at the girl sleeping soundly and snoring beside him and heard the alarm go off that watson had set to awaken him. watson awoke when it went off all right, raised up, looked at it sleepily, then turned on his side and went promptly back to sleep. fifteen minutes later heinrich got up and going into watson's bedroom, awakened him. “great goodness,” cried watson, sitting up and fully awake. “and me gotta take de biggest white fo'ks in de noo nited states wes' dis mawning''” he started to scramble into his clothes when he paused and looked up to see heinrich standing smiling down on him, chidingly. “brother, but how you can sleep,” said heinrich. watson grinned. “tankey, pal. yuh saved mah life.” “oh, you'd have awakened in time,” said heinrich, turning to go back to his room, then paused to turn back as watson called: “yeh. when dem white fo'kes called me fum de ya'd's, maybe. den ole man giltzow, de sup’ntendent 'ud come out to de ya'd, all de way fum downtown tu gib me 'ell.” heinrich laughed good naturedly, and waved at him. “all right, watson. i have to make the same train myself, so forget about old man giltzow and catching hell, and chase on over there and be ready to receive your passengers when they arrive.” “i’d bettah be. and since you woke this fool niggah up, i’ll be johnny on de spot.” - “well,” said heinrich, “i’ll be up ahead and will be seeing you later.” - “sho, fellah. sho, sho.” cried watson, cheerfully. “be sho’ tu cum back. i'll be lookin' fo' yuh.” the case of mrs. wingate listening, his ears keen, he did not hear any after effect; that roaring and tearing and grinding that should have followed as the train fell, car by car from the bridge and tumbled into the waters of the river below. why? he was puzzled, then started with a new realization. he heard the explosion all right, but now as he recalled it, it hadn't seem to come exactly from the direction he was expecting it; as it should have, straight down those tracks. it had come from below the tracks, far below. but why? to satisfy his curiosity, which was tensely aroused by now, he ran down the tracks to the foot of the long, high bridge and pausing, could see clear across it, and saw the rails all the way across — and there was nothing amiss anywhere. -- “well i’ll be damned,” cried heinrich. “i’ll be god damned ſ” the pacific coast limited had hit the long, level stretch on the other side of the coon river bridge now, the stretch that led into council bluffs across the missouri river, just east of omaha, and the diesel engineer had pushed the throttle forward and the stream- liner was doing fully miles an hour and would keep it up until within ten miles of council bluffs, after which the train would have to cross another bridge before rolling into the union station at omaha. the explosion had naturally caused a world of excitement. every- body was asking everybody else, what had happened, how it hap- pened, where it came from, and who was responsible. conjecture, followed conjecture. the consensus of opinion was that a nazi spy had tried to wreck the train as it crossed the high coon river bridge but had failed somehow. - nobody as we know, knew the truth but watson. even a stupid negro can become very sensible and close-mouthed when it might be necessary for his own safety and salvation. watson knew that if he talked this time, he would have to say more. he would most surely be relieved of his duties at omaha, taken up town, thrown into jail and, questioned, and cross questioned by about everybody, including a gang of newspaper reporters, and in the course of this all, most likely be struck, maybe beat up, because he couldn't tell any more than what he knew, which they might not choose to believe. if he didn't talk, say anything, nobody would suspect him. for nobody had. he didn't know that he would be about the last chara, xliii f y keeping near bertha, placating her in an almost endless number of ways, so that he was able to keep her mind off what she was scheduled to do, wyeth managed to keep hope alive in her breast, during those days that led up to the fatal night, or the night that was to prove fatal, perhaps, to millions of people all over the world. only at night when he was not and could not, of course, be with her, did she become discouraged and verge on panic, and often fail to get the proper sleep. schiller and other agents of von barwig came to her apartment on several occasions at night during this time to check on her, study her and see if she was likely to break under the strain of thinking of it. but as has been explained on occasion, many times before, bertha schultz was a brave girl, with plenty of will power and able to direct her movements at will, and so far as they were able to see, every time they called, she was standing up well, no threat of cracking under the strain and that they could count on her to be strong and ready when the time came. during these visits they gave her little peace. over and over again they sought to impress upon her the necessity of doing it; that it was for the cause of their dear fuehrer, who was battling bravely to the inevitable end of the war he had imposed upon the world, which, of course, was not the way they put it, so it was the least she could do, when theirs was such a great opportunity, to commit the act. nobody, they told her, but stupid americans would permit their first lady to go around the country, exposed to such hazards, with- out a group of agents to surround and keep anybody from getting near enough to her to do what bertha would be able to the night she came to harlem. “it's just like heinrich told me. they don't take the negro uc-nrlf b furlough from hell john t. flemister hom furlough from hell furlough from hell a fantas y by john t. flemister exposition press new york univ. library uc santa cruz exposition press inc., park avenue south, new york , n.y. first edition © by john t. flemister. all right reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form, except for short quotations in critical essays and reviews. manufactured in the united states of america. duplicate ms abp gift · publisher copy related to man, and accordingly each act of creation is a preparation of the earth for his abode. light, as the primary condition of all life, the heavens as ministers of the earths, the dry land, for his home, “grass for his cattle, and herbs for the service of man.” the alternations of day and night, the one for his works, the other for his rest; fish, fowl, and flesh for his food; the beasts of burden to lighten his toil. the work of each day of creation has its specific ap- plication to the requirements and the comforts of man, and is recorded with that special view. creation was regarded as a progressive work, a gradual development from the inferior to the superior order of things. thus it was with the earth's sur- face; at first, a chaotic mass thence gradually brought into a state of order and beauty. thus also with the different portions of the universe, the earth before the light, the light before the firmament, the firmament before the dry land. thus also with the order of living beings; firstly, plants; secondly, fish and birds; thirdly, cattle; and lastly, man. order involves time. a succession of events implies a succession of periods; and ac- cordingly moses assigns the work of creation to six days, each having its specific portion. the manner in which these acts are described as having been done precludes all ideas of time in relation to their performance. it was miraculous and in- stantaneous when god said, “and then it was,” but the progres- siveness, and consequently the individuality of the acts, does involve an idea of time as elapsing between the completion of one and the commencement of another, otherwise the work of creation would have resolved itself into a single continuous act. the period assigned to each individual act is a day, the only period that represents the entire cessation of a work through the interposition of night. that a natural day is represented in the expression “evening was, and morning was” admits, we think, of no doubt. the interpretation that evening and morning equal beginning and end is opposed not only to the order in which the words stand, but to the sense of the words elsewhere. the hebrews, though regarding creation as the immediate act of god, did not ignore the evident fact that existing materials and intermediate agencies were employed both then and in the subsequent operations of nature. with regard to the earth's body, the hebrews conceived its surface to be an immense disk, supported like the flat roof of an eastern house by pillars that rest on solid foundations. but where those foundations were, on which the "sockets" of the pillars rested, none could tell. the more philosophical view of the earth being suspended in free space seems to be implied in the book of job. other passages seem to imply the existence of a vast sub- terranean ocean; the words, however, are susceptible of the sense that the earth was elevated above the level of the sea. beneath the earth's surface was sheol, the hollow place, "hell.” it extended beneath the sea and was thus supposed to be coterminous with the upper world. gathered as zeno was reviving me. i faintly heard remarks to the effect that i was drunk, i'd suffered a heart attack, and so on. as i looked up and saw zeno, again i almost fainted, and might have, had it not been for the strong, pungent re- viving salt that he moved slowly back and forth beneath my nostrils. it would have been positively senseless to say why i had passed out, for no one there would have either understood or believed me. you see, zeno and i were brought up together and had always been the very best of friends. zeno, however, had been dead for many years. he was killed at a very early age. to be exact, he was twenty years old at the time of his death. this i know to be a fact, for i attended his drunken wake. all the old-timers were junk drunk. i was also at zeno's funeral. his only relatives were a sister, a brother, and his father. zeno had hated them all. after watching them lower his body into the earth, i said to myself, “so long, zeno, and may god bless you." zeno helped me up, picked up my purchases, and placed his hand under my arm, for i was still weak from the fainting spell. he then proceeded to walk me home. not a word was spoken. i was absolutely too frightened to utter a word, and furthermore i had suddenly developed an uncontrollable attack of diarrhea. i was even diarrheaing down my socks and on my shoes. i looked up at zeno, for he was well over six feet tall. he still wore that senseless and deceitful grin. as we had been brought up together, he knew where i lived, and he piloted me to the vestibule of my home. as boys we had both enjoyed the same kinds of sports, and often tried to excel each other. i was still nervous and excited. i couldn't find my keys. zeno rang the bell and kallie opened the door. when she saw zeno, she too, passed out. kallie had always had a phobia for the dead. she, too, had been at zeno's funeral. as youngsters, they sort of had a crush on each other. it had never developed into anything serious, though; just puppy love. zeno picked kallie up, carried her into the living room. he put her on the couch, then took from his pocket the reviving salt he had previously used on me. he moved it slowly back and forth under her nostrils, and she came to, took one look at zeno, and passed out again. this time, right before my eyes, zeno disappeared. never before had i seen a person evaporate. i left kallie lying there in her unconscious world and went to the bathroom to clean myself up. after washing myself and changing my clothes, i returned to kallie. she was reviving. she looked around and asked, “where is he?" i, of course, replied that i didn't know. kallie jumped up, ran swiftly out the front door, and has never since returned. there were but few times in our lives that kallie and i had ever been separated. kallie could run faster than anyone else i have ever known. i ran after her, calling, but to no avail. once she had turned the corner, she was out of sight and she stayed that way. for about an hour or more i phoned all her acquaint- ances, but no kallie. i called the police department and the hospitals and even the morgue. the answer was still the same- no kallie. the experience of seeing a dead man return, followed by kallie's running away from home through fear, finally became significant. this was the answer to the sinister feeling that both kallie and i had experienced. my biggest worry now was kallie, but at the same time i wondered where zeno had gone. this man whom i knew to be dead and buried had brought devilish bad luck into my life. his appearance in itself was phenomenal. i was in my bedroom, nervously fussing around, when he appeared again out of thin air. once again diarrhea sent me rushing to the toilet. when i returned to the room, questioned him about kallie's disappearance. he smiled in the nasty, conceited way, as only he could, but said nothing. after finally regaining my composure, i said, “aren't you leon zeno?” he still didn't reply, so i continued, “you are supposed to be dead. i was at your funeral. and when they lowered you into the earth i witnessed it. now i ask you, what in hell are you doing here?” zeno smiled again, and this time he spoke. "i am here on ch. “i began to regain consciousness. i did not understand. i could now hear. my eyes were closed, yet i could see through my lids. but i couldn't move. the imps, their job well done, had departed. “the embalmer awakened from his deep slumber, checked my body, and was satisfied, thinking he had performed a perfect job on his corpse. he called in several of his fellow workers and bragged to them about the perfect job he had done. they looked at my body and then congratulated him. one of them took my arm, raised it, and let it fall, as if he didn't believe i was dead. i was watching their every move. i wanted to scream at the top of my voice. i knew this would make their hair stand on end, and i tried and tried, but couldn't convey a sound. they finally turned out the lights and departed. "three other bodies were in the room with me. i tried my best to communicate with them with my eyes. the next day was my funeral, and you, bennie, were there when they buried me. yes, i saw you, kallie, the undertaker, and the grave- diggers. nobody in my family came to the cemetery. and you know, bennie, out of all those whores i was intimate with, none, but none, came to say farewell. “after my coffin was lowered into the earth and covered, and everyone had gone, i was sucked out of that coffin faster than a hurricane. all this happened underground, faster, faster, and faster. i couldn't judge whether minutes were passing-or hours, days, weeks, months, or years. i felt myself going down, down, down. all of a sudden i began to gasp. i thought i was drowning-yet i couldn't drown. i was burning from the intense heat-yet i didn't burn up. it was black, black, and i couldn't see anything, bennie. i shouted as loud as i could. “this is truly hell. i was surprised and amazed at the sound of my voice. i began to feel for my body, yet i could feel nothing. i was still going down, down, down. i began to hear other sin- ful souls screaming and shouting and cursing god. they wanted to drown, burn, die—but couldn't. “this depth beneath depth is a mixture of burning water a million times hotter than molten lava, and its flames are consuming. 'how can one live eternally like this?' i screamed out. i lived my whole life over. in this short time, as much as i hated my family, i called on my sister to come and help me. i screamed for my brother and my father to please, please come and get me. i called on kallie, and oh, how i pleaded! then, bennie, i called on you with all my strength to come to me. i said, 'goddamn you, bennie! goddamn you, bennie, you s.o.b.! my damn friend, come to me. save this sinful bastard, bennie!' “then i remembered that while i was on earth someone said to call on him and he would hear. it was then, in this lavish, burning hell, that i called on god, amid a torment of screaming demons. ‘god! god! god! oh, my god, hear me! please, sweet god, hear me! give me one chance, god. save me! help me, my god, for i can't stand this any longer.' “then, all of sudden, like flash of lightning, a red flame shot past me as i was still plunging down. it went by me so fast, it was unbelievable. above all the noise of the sinful souls i suddenly heard a laugh, a laugh that could be heard as far as earth, over and over. i had never heard such a powerful and frightening laugh. then this flame appeared and stopped in front of me, and began to plunge down with me. the fleeting flame spoke the word 'zo,' and both of us stopped plunging. the flame slowly began to form into a shape, and there before my burning eyes stood the master of evil, the hater of good. he spoke in english-for he speaks all languages. “hello, zeno.' his voice was clear, his english perfect, his volume incomparable. you have been here in hell for twenty years. i have watched you constantly, even before you arrived here. do you love me, zeno?' “ 'yes, dear sir,' i replied. “address me as master satan.' “ 'yes, master satan,' i replied. “'good. now you are going back to earth on a furlough from hell.' then he laughed. isn't that something? a furlough from hell. he said my mission would be to tempt three hundred and eighty million mortals to kill themselves. 'i will come back and brief you on the last blackness.' "in hell, as i have learned, we have the first blackness, the second blackness, and the last blackness. satan then departed with a loud wowu! and i began descending again while satan ascended. i observed, after satan's departure, that a change had come over me. i was now cursing god most vehemently. i was cursing heaven boundlessly. i was damning all that was good. i was denouncing all the other demons around me, as i continued to plunge, plunge, plunge. the sight of this devil, this evil and hellish satan, had put the finishing touches on me. i was now throughly instilled with his hatred for everything. “on the last blackness, he arrived. not in person, but in spirit. i heard his all-powerful voice call out, “zeno! zeno.' "it was then that my voice bellowed with almost as much volume as his. yes, master satan! “satan continued: “do you feel as if you are i?' “ 'yes, master satan, i feel all evilness. “ 'i will convey to you immortal powers. i am one hundred thousand miles up from your position at the top of this dastardly pit, removing the gates so you can pass through at my com- mand. look up, zeno! look up! can you see me?' “as i raised my burning heavy head upward, there he was removing the widest and tallest gates i had ever seen. “ you can now see through to the bottom of the deepest ocean, into all countries, through the thickest of walls, but always remember, zeno, keep your back to the sun. never let the sun meet your eyes.' “ 'yes, master satan.' “'i now convey to you a contact will. this added immortal power will allow you to mentally contact any mortal in any part of the earth. i convey to you the immortal power of conversion. this you can use to advantage. you can be black, white, asian, or any color or nationality. zeno, do you feel a new sensation penetrating your sinful carcass?' “ 'oh, yes, master satan.' “ 'that is immortal speed. you will be in a position to travel or fly faster than anything on earth. the first day you arrive on earth, you can touch mortals; but remember, after that you cannot touch a human. you are empowered with temptation. you are now as powerful as i-almost, zeno. only i can com- of reconciliation was not shed, that atonement, which is op- posed to the accusations of satan, but only as a promise, satan still possessed a right over men, and could plead this right before god, day and night. so satan was in heaven till the ban of sin and death resting on humanity was broken. all creatures, the heavenly powers as well as the creatures of earth, owe their existence to the creative agency of christ. also the whole universe, in its two great divisions, the worlds of earth and heaven, owes to christ alone, the restoration of harmony. satan is the greatest accuser ever created. when he was cast down from the office of accuser in heaven, his voice was heard before god no more. the day of acceptance in your christ has dawned, and satan s angels, those rebel spirits whom he led away, are cast down with him into the earth, where now a new conflict is about to be waged in a very short time ( ), “a calamity in the sky," a war between the devil and his massive giants and the archangel michael and his band of angels. for thousands of years master satan has been planning the invasion of heaven, although after being cast out of heaven to earth he is now cast into the bottomless pit, bound and rendered harmless. he doesn't have to execute through actions or works; his greatest power lies through suggestion of thoughts. the war in the sky therefore will be led by a well-trained former earthman known as zeno. the fall of the angels and the fall of man brought a curse and destruction into the terrestial world, and also into the celestial spheres. into the abodes of the holy angel, this twofold catastrophe introduced disturbances, private loss, a retardation of the highest and most perfect development, harmonious grada- tion, and perfect consummation. demons are spiritual beings who are enemies of god and possess the power to afflict man not only with bodily disease, but with spiritual pollution also. they believe in the power of god, and tremble. they recognize the lord as the son of god and acknowledge the power of his name, and they look forward to the judgment to come. these demons are as in- "to answer your first question, there are three different in- terpretations. the sons of the elohim were explained as being sons of princes, or men of high rank, who degraded them- selves by contracting marriages with the daughters of men, that is with women of inferior position. a second interpreta- tion, perhaps not less ancient, is that the sons of the elohim were angels. the interpretation that is now most generally received however, is that the sons of the elohim were the family and descendants of seth, and the daughters of men (adam) were the women of the family of cain. now we have a new interpretation, that the sons of the elohim are the servants of worshipers of false gods (taking elohim to mean not god, but gods) who are supposed to have belonged to a distinct pre-adamite race. the daughters of men, it is contended, should be rendered 'the daughters of adam' or adamite women, that is, those descended from adam. these last had hitherto remained true in their faith and worship, but were now perverted by the idolators who intermarried with them. as for the nephilim: they were not the offspring of the sons of the elohim and the daughters of men. the nephilim were on the earth in those days. they are said to be of the canaanite tribes. it means the fallen, that is, the apostate ones, or those who 'fall upon' others, violent men, plunderers, freebooters, and so on. “in consequence of the grievous and hopeless wickedness of the world at this time, god resolved to destroy it. 'my spirit,' he said, “shall not always dwell or bear sway in man, inasmuch as he is but flesh.' god had put the breath of life in man and also a spiritual part, capable of recognizing, loving and worshiping him, but man had sunken down so much into the lowest and most debasing of fleshly pleasures that he had almost extinguished the higher light within him. and his days thereafter were to be a hundred and twenty years, the dura- tion of his life in the future." this boat, or chest, as some people call it (said zeno), was made of gopher (cypress) wood, a kind of timber known for its lightness and durability. the planks of the ark, after being put “we will walk on the clouds, bennie, and that is why they will be trained in some of the knowledge of satan. all our soldiers will be in the form of little children in white, advancing with their heads bowed as if in reverence.” “what kind of weapons will you use, zeno?" “psychological weapons, bennie. angels were created never to die. however, satan, having once been an angel, says they can be frightened. our weapons are tiny spears that upon contact create a deafening noise. satan says this will frighten and confuse the angels, and that we can conquer them and heaven.” “do you think your plan will succeed?" “i don't know, bennie. but if it does, look out world!" “zeno, did you hear about the russians orbiting into space?" “of course, but they were not the first ones to go that high. you see, bennie, at one time in the life of men the whole earth was of one language, one speech. a group of men were journeying from the east and found a plain in the land of shinar; they liked it and dwelt there. “after discussing different subjects, one conceived the idea of making bricks and baking them thoroughly. they had bricks for stone and lime for mortar. they started laughing and jesting, and one said, 'let us build a city and a tower so tall that the top may reach into heaven.' another said, let us make us a name before we are separated and scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth.' these children of men built the tower rapidly, and it was soon reaching into heaven (which actually made them truly the first men in outer space). the lord said, behold, the people are one, and they have all one language; and now they have builded this city and a tower reaching heaven. now nothing will be restrained from them, which they have imagined to do.' the lord thought that was too much, and he confounded their speech so that when one of them asked for mortar or brick, he could not be understood by the other. the lord scattered them abroad upon the face of all the earth, and they left the city and tower. the name of that city, bennie, was called babel, because it was there that the lord confounded the language of all the earth, and it was also from there that the lord scattered them abroad upon the face of all the earth. all of this happened during the genera- tion of shem, son of noah, yet the fact remains that the first men into outer space happened to live thousands of years ago.” “one last question, zeno. give us your opinion of the great white race.” “yes, bennie, but always remember one thing: all white folks ain't bad ..." how a snow imbecile can consider himself greater than a black imbecile. all white folks ain't bad, really, but some of them inherit bad manners, as a friend showed me after i accepted an invitation to have dinner with him and his family. my friend had three daughters, two sons, and of course, a wife. she was a very attractive and charming woman. to gaze at her you wouldn't believe she had borne five children. our hostess called us to dinner, to which we all immediately responded. we took our seats at the table. there was no blessing. we enjoyed ourselves delightfully, and after dinner we relaxed, watched television, and conversed. a little while later our host got up and went to the bathroom, which, incidentally, was next to the living room. he sat on the seat with the door wide open, and you guessed right. he was a natural stinker, but all white folks ain't bad. the american negroes are fighting for their right to vote today, most of them not really knowing that negroes voted in the south many, many years ago. the records prove that the last negro voted in virginia in . the law at that time said that if you owned the requisite amount of property and complied with other conditions, you could legally vote. negroes in the north were somewhat free and allowed to vote. abraham lincoln said, “i am not ashamed to confess that twenty-five years ago, i was a hired laborer, hauling rails on a flat boat; just what might happen to any poor man's son. i want every man to have his chance, and i think a black man is entitled to one in which he can better his condition; when he may look forward and hope to be a hired laborer, and finally to hire men to work for him.” that is the true system. abraham lincoln was a snow man who did most to prove that all white folks ain't bad. of course, old abe also said that if he could save the union without freeing any slaves, he would do it; if he could save it by freeing all the slaves, he would do it, and if he could save it by freeing some and leaving others alone, he would also do that. what he did about slavery and the colored race he did because he believed it helped to save the union. history also records that richard m. johnson, a democratic vice-president of the united states, had colored daughters of whom he was very proud, and his was not an exceptional case. several presidents of the united states have been accused of racial catholicity in sex. but all white folks ain't bad. be it known that the north was not abolitionist; it was overwhelmingly in favor of negro slavery, so long as it did not interfere with northern money-makers. on the other hand, there was a minority of the north who hated slavery with perfect hatred, and treated negroes as men. congress approved the fourteenth amendment, which became a part of the con- stitution. this amendment made negroes citizens by declaring that “all persons born or naturalized in the united states are citizens.” when congress passed the reconstruction act of , the governments of the ten unwilling states were swept away, and these states were divided into five military districts, each district under army rule. the soldiers were to keep order and organize a new state government, more to the liking of congress. in forming these new governments, congress ruled that the south- ern snows who had fought against the union would not be allowed to vote and hold office. the fifteenth amendment also protected the negro. it stated that no citizen should be kept from voting because of his race or color, or the fact that he had once been a slave. the white folks running the government, by law, enabled many ex-slaves to vote and hold office, although they could not read, write, or understand the workings of government. the illiterate negroes holding office became easy victims of selfish snow men who sought to gain control of the southern governments. these snow northern carpetbaggers saw a chance to get rich quick, and flew to the south. the southern snow scalawags who opposed secession now thought they could gain something by favoring the north. the carpetbaggers and scalawags were strictly interested in wealth and power, rather than rebuilding the south. the carpetbaggers, scalawags, and negroes formed a republican party in the south. the carpetbaggers and negro is what has the negro contributed to the united states? my answer to the snow imps of satan, who have been misinformed, and the good snow people who also have been fed adverse propaganda is this: the civil war was definitely won by the american negro. if the negro slaves had not de- cided to fight on the side of the north, the war really would have been won by the south, and therefore the union would have been destroyed. this, of course, is why, from genera- tion to generation, from century to century, and until this present day, the southern snow man pretends to hate the ne- gro. actually, and in all reality and truth, it is the northern snow man the southern snow man despises, but he, the south- erner, cannot get even with the northern snowman because of the north's power and riches, so he constantly preys on the negro. the northern snow man, also an imp of satan, and even more so, if possible, rules in secret and darkness. the northern snow man's mode of action is pursued by satanic antagonists. the northern snow man is like a snake in the grass. his con- stant effort is to depress, dishearten, and weaken the already weak negro race by psychological, hostile, contemptuous, and ignominious treatment. the southern snow brothers of stalin, hitler, and krush- chev definitely let you know where you stand. so if the negro was responsible for the north's winning of the civil war, the negro basically contributed to everything that the snow population in the united states possesses today-such as thriv- ing plants, factories, industries, counties, cities, states, homes, and apartment buildings. four million negro slaves fought and won this success for all the american snows. now the negroes own no factories, plants, or industries. why? because the northern and southern imps of satan possess a proviso never to allow the negro, as a group, to advance. all the industries in the united states are manned by snows of all creeds and nationalities, but not negroes. the snow folks helped each other all the way, lending money and advice to new ideas, but when the negro came forward with creative ideas the snow men either stole them, bought him out for a small fee, or just deliberately took them. many of your successful ideas in indus- try today were originally a negro's ideas. can you imagine snow men stealing, lying, and cheating a negro? well, they are doing it every day, which only proves that all white folks ain't bad. speaking of stealing reminds me of a story of a negro riding on a streetcar in chicago some time ago. a snow man sitting behind the negro saw a bedbug enjoying himself on the negro's shoulder. the snow man reached out to knock it off, and the negro said, “oh, no you don't! leave it alone, dammit! you snow folks got everything; now you want our bedbugs too. leave it alone!” white folks! white folks! whatcha' looking at me for? i just came to tell you it dead ain't long. although unionism is on the move where the american negro is concerned, it too has been hypocritical. the a.f. of l. has always been anti-black, and the negro didn't receive a break until the birth of the c. i. o. there are many local unions whose by-laws prohibit the negro from becoming a member. some of the same local members we fought with, ate with, slept with, and even went to bed with the same snow gal during the war, will not permit us to share an equal dignity with them in peacetime. unionism has done more for the prog- ress of the negro than any other movement, including the fed- eral government. after unionism rids itself of its corrupt lead- ers, it will definitely be the greatest single movement on earth, even surpassing the great uncle sam. it will be through union- ism that free medical aid will be won. homes will be bought through unionism, and at the lowest prices. people will soon be going to union offices to find jobs instead of to factories, or their employment offices. this, of course, is my prophecy, yet at this writing unions are as prejudiced as any industry. only one negro is on the executive board of the a.f.l.-c.i.o., and united states; county and city and state officials are still raid- ing and ravishing public funds. negro americans are constantly intimidated in the south by monkeyshine snows. when any city or state is overrun by or abused by certain ungracious groups, the federal government should not hesitate to move in and protect its citizens. there are many negro communists in the united states, just as there are white commies. i sincerely believe that all so-called negro reds actually hate the democratic govern- ment, and come hell or high water, would do anything to des- troy it. the american snow man's policy has always been anti- black inside and outside the continental limits of the united states. the way the american snow man has low-rated and slandered the negro century after century, it's little wonder that the twenty million negroes in the sweet land of liberty aren't communists. to all negro communists i have this to say, “the almighty russians are white too, and although they are using you for exploitation purposes, think what they have really done for the american negro all these years. what are they doing for you inside russia? do negroes help to run the soviet government? do negro doctors or lawyers practice in russia? do negroes own their own businesses in russia? the communist party itself is good only for its leaders, and even their lives are constantly in danger. the big-time leaders of the communist party are in all truth capitalists. they are the ones who are rich and live fabulously, and, as i've said before, al- though the russians are snow, "all white folks ain't bad.” many american teen-age gangs, black and white, are communist ins- pired, although the kids are not aware of it. kill out the youth of a nation and you've destroyed the nation. the narcotic traffic in the united states is masterminded by snow folks. it spreads to all nationalities. russia and red china would do everything within their power to feed narcotics into the united states, because this is a systematic way of destroying humans without firing a single shot. americans who seek individual wealth through the narcotics racket are destroy- ing our wonderful youth. it is our youth of the coming genera- co dually or as a group. you know the history of the klu klux klan which still roams the southern countryside, killing, burning, lynching, and drowning the black man. now we have the islam cult, an all-black, anti-white society. the snows both in the north and in the south are upset over the existence of this all-negro clique. if the federal government allows the white citizens' councils to live, the ku klux klan to survive, then this all-negro cult has just as much right to oppose the snow race. i personally do not believe in snow supremacy or black supremacy, therefore i am opposed to the white citizens councils, the ku klux klan, and the all-black islam cult. if we are to practice and live in a sincere democratic society, then the above organizations, regardless of protective laws, should, along with the underworld of gangsterism, be absolutely de- stroyed. this all-black islam cult, if allowed to grow in stature and power, would be deadly venom to the human race. its violence would have no equal. members of the cult that i have met have proved to be extreme fanatics, and hate all negroes that do not agree with their philosophy and are not dedicated members. if they were fortunate enough to gain utopian power, they would be one billion times more inhuman than the mau maus of africa and the british of the sixteenth century. however, as long as the federal government allows hate organizations to exist, such as the white citizens councils, the ku klux klan, and the slanderous john birch society, then the all-black islam cult, by the same token, has the skunky rights to practice their anti-snow tactics. the only thing i have against the islam cult is its advocacy of black supremacy. its other facts and philosophies should be taught to the negro masses. negroes spend billions of dollars yearly on the snow man's products. as the cult preaches, negroes should be in business for themselves to gain great economic power. the islam cult operates a school that is more than the other millionaire negroes have done. furthermore, through this school negroes can learn everything about the true history of the negro. i maintain that if the cult abandons lucky enough to get a seat. the other boys started putting their schoolbooks on his lap. as there were about ten or twelve of them, the books made quite a stack, so he said to them, “what the hell do youse guys t'ink i is?” one of them said, “a nigger.” and they all laughed. some of the snow grown- ups on the bus looked around at them and didn't even crack a smile, which proves that all white folks ain't bad. the word “nigger" is a stigma put on the colored race by snows. the united states is the only so-called-civilized country that slanders its american brothers with this derogatory word. most races in the united states have some stigma attached to them, but i don't care to go into it. mr. webster at one time defined a nigger as one, white or black, who was low in morals; now, however, the definition has changed to one who is black. he didn't say whether he meant black in color or in heart. all race haters constantly suffer in many different fashions. race haters definitely keep their minds locked against the facts and understanding of brotherly love. three of the many reasons that heart disease is the number-one killer in the united states today can be attributed to hatred, jealousy, and prejudice. in all truth, the hater suffers much more agony than the hated. every day of my life that i pick up a paper i read where snow folks are killing each other. sons are murdering mothers and dads, daughters are finishing off mothers, young boys are slaughtering sweethearts, snow folks are kidnaping and taking the lives of small babies, snow folks are raping and slaying their victims. yet because of my intelligence, i do not judge the whole snow race by these daily occurrences, for i know that all white folks ain't bad. every native negro american and every native snow amer- ican are just as much related as jesus christ is to god, but they won't permit themselves the thought, and on this point they keep their minds opaque. every white woman who speaks out against a colored man is speaking against her own brother. we all are a reproduction of each other, beginning with, of course, one man, adam, and one woman, eve. off the davenport on the floor, and i was forced to stop. there was absolutely nothing to obstruct my view. my eyes were exactly twenty-twenty, and even if i had been blind, my sight would have been restored at this unexpected and commanding spectacle. i was forced to gaze upon her lovely solitude. i was speechless and positively spellbound at such a spirited squab. when i regained my senses, i was a block away from my boss's domain, trying to concentrate on my dusky experience. i don't know what was expected of me, but i do know i'm here today on a furlough from hell. they say that money is the root of all evil; maybe so. but the snow woman with her prejudices and black heart is running a very close second. how can she have the audacity to teach her offspring to hate because of pigmentation or nationality? doesn't she realize that the waste that's released from her off- spring's rectum is just as squalid as that of anyone else's off- spring, or that her offspring's breath can be even more filthy than his black brother's? and that if he is promiscuous he, too, can bring gonorrhea or syphilis into the house? and that he, too, will kill her, rape her, damn his grandma, set fire to the house, rob his preacher, kill his brother as cain did abel- all because she taught him to hate? yet i maintain all white folks ain't bad. how can she teach him “our father, which art in heaven," or "now i lay me down to sleep,” and then turn around and tell the innocent thing that “all black folks are diarrhea," don't fraternize with them, for they are unclean, dumb, ignorant, shiftless, thieves, and morons. i went to a social function one evening at a friend's home. he had a poker game running. the affair was really nice, quiet, and enjoyable, and refreshments were served. to play poker wasn't unusual, for this type of game happens anywhere when- ever men gather for pastime. now i'm not a poker player. i don't even know the game well enough to play it. another guest and i were sitting and conversing when someone responded to a knock on the door. in walked three six-foot snow dicks (detectives) with guns drawn. one said, “stick 'em up, you have often asked me why. in their own countries there is no prejudice. my reply was not to worry about it, because all white folks ain't bad. snow women have always been respected by the entire negro race. we have always held them on a high pedestal, because they were the snow man's woman. some snow women, however, have lost their perfection. she has proved, not only to her black-and-tan brothers and sisters, but to the whole world, that she is perfidious, tough, and shrewd. their grotesque demonstrations in chicago's trumbull park, in arkansas, and in new orleans portray a true picture of the other side of the snow woman, and strengthen the fact that some snow women are truly the utopian culprits behind bias and prejudice. her chanting, her hissing, her derogatory remarks have been heard around the globe. innocent little snow children had to be smuggled into an in- tegrated school in america, mind you! here there's supposed to be liberty and justice for all. these snow blockade runners were insulted and intimidated by screaming, violent snow women, all because of a little lone negro girl. the snow women, considered the cream of american culture (because they are snow), proved to be blacker in heart than the ace of spades. these so-called grown-ups are the ones who should have i been going to school; they are the ones who need education. these imitators of snow women screamed filthy epithets, beat and tore clothes from other snows, from university students, | newspaper reporters, and any other snows who didn't approve of their methods. the sight of these big fat snow women and their practice of communist doctrine proved that pigmentation has no relation whatever to ignorance and stupidity. the snow women have proved that the snow woman ain't what the wood- pecker left in the woods, and he wasn't cutting any wood and didn't leave any chips. we can thank god, however, that all white folks ain't bad. they even called a representative of god a “nigger lover” and other viles names. now satan himself respects a disciple of god. when a snow woman stoops so low and dispenses with morality, then i know they were of the chitterling type all the time. now the whole world knows about some of the amer- ican snow women. this is her culture! one out of every three million snow boys who are born will truly be a man of nonprejudice and accept other men for what they are, regardless of race, religion, language, or color- which is another good reason why all white folks ain't bad. one of the most disgusting sights to me is a snow prostitute who invades the south side and submits herself to as many simple-minded blacks as she can get, and then charges them high prices. most snow people really love money. they will seg- regate themselves from their black brother in every respect except, of course, when greenbacks are involved. they have even gone so far as to kidnap a few colored boys and hold them for high ransom. the negro used to control and own policy, a racket that grossed thirty million dollars a year. of course, snow legitimate officials reaped a profitable share. now the snow man has not only infiltrated it and killed some of the black policy barons, he has just about ruined it with his devious methods. when a snow man stoops so low as to steal, cheat, rob, and kidnap, what snow folks call uncouth negroes, then you must have begun to realize that the black brothers are moving up and the snow men sliding down. i had a snow man pick my pocket once. i was in an elevator that was overloaded and ripe for a pickpocket. i was, however, on the alert, for i knew what i had in my pocket. there was only a quarter of a pack of cigarettes. yes, he eased them out of my pocket, and i was somewhat elated at having my pocket picked by a stinking snow thief, for i knew he was disappointed. and setting vicious dogs to attack our young sit-in students. you are the eichmanns that locked the doors to economic advancement, social advancement, educational advancement. you are the eichmanns not on trial. you are free of trials. any world court, if allowed, would find you guilty. you are, be- cause the law is your made law, because you have the army, the navy, the marines, the air force, the atom bombs, the hydrogen bombs, and the missiles to continue to massacre. really, is this truly what they call “democracy,” or is the word a mistake for “hyprocrisy”? the snow man in the south or the north gives less than a damn about the black human, yet with all his earthly mate- rialistic power, he can't stop the negroes' progress. something stronger than mortal man is now making the moves, calling the shots. but don't choke now, snow folks, because all white folks ain't bad. the snow man has quit ascending; the wheel of fortune has put the red light on him. not a clock in the world will tick tock in the snow man's favor. he has betrayed his fellow human and disappointed his creator. the new black man's time has rolled along, and he is gradually ascending. in as short a time as fifty years, the black man will have a powerful voice in world affairs. what goes up must come down, mr. snow man. god did not mean for us to be separated. his blueprint called for his children to unite in harmony. (you know, like you say once a year, “peace on earth, good will toward men”?) there will definitely be complete wholesale integration. just as your forefathers made the entire race of black people slaves, you will make the entire black race com- pletely free. white folks! white folks! listen to my plea. when the atom bomb is dropped, color knows it not. the american snow man is the crookedest, lyingest, mean- est, most prejudiced, freakish, most educated, and just down- to go all the way in seeking your desire of equal dignity with your snow brother-then mr. negro baseball star, you don't deserve it. of course, i believe that, before we negroes attain complete freedom and equality, the sidewalks, streets, alleys, and fields of many a town and city will flow with life blood. you fabulous stars think that to be outspoken on an issue that involves you will jeopardize your job, your big salary. well, remember this! those sit-in students are jeopardizing their lives. certain snow radio and tv personalities are putting their lives, popularity, and jobs on the spot, fighting for your cause. if the snow man in my estimation was to give any sort of integra- tion i would rather see honored the god-given sit-in students. they are the ones knocking the home runs, mr. negro base- ball star; they are the ones catching the impossible fly ball, not for thousands of dollars, but for their lives. some of you big- time stars are also silent, period, but waiting to ride the band- wagon at the expense of those sit-in students. god bless those sit-in students. inside their bodies are hearts of angels, and the courage of a samson to withstand stabbings and beatings by perfidious snow folks. god himself said a child would lead the way. our so-called negro singers and musicians of worth are as bad as the negroes in the sports world. they, too, have been like the three monkeys-seeing nothing, hearing nothing, and saying nothing. but at least they are not on their knees crying for equality. equality has to be fought for strongly with the voice and finally with the body. blood will have to be shed, come what may. the snow men who are fighting for equal status for their american negro brothers deserve thanks and praise, and certainly prove that all white folks ain't bad. the negro and the snow utopian politician in america has been among the most crooked, traitorous statesmen in the world. they have betrayed the citizens that elected them to office just as judas betrayed jesus christ. first, the congressmen, whose first obligation is the protection of citizens, sit on their stinking back seats and allow the citizens to be intimidated and beaten and killed. these same big-time statesmen fight furiously against civil-rights laws. all ordinary citizens honor them. they travel throughout the fifty states and see their fellow citizens living in shanties and shacks. they see buildings that are too dilapidated for human living, yet these so-called statesmen ignore the same citizens who gave a vote of confidence in their favor. the practices of these elected officials have been going on for a century. in certain parts of the south, snow people live worse than negroes. these nasty politicians, instead of spending time practicing hate and accepting money under the table, should have all the damn shacks and shanties torn down and replaced with new, modern buildings. the united states, of which they, the loaded politicians, claim they are proud, should make them hide their faces in shame. they boast of one side of the face of the united states and conceal the other. all the in- tellectual politicians know the conditions that the snows and blacks live in in the south breed hate and filth. one of these days, mr. leader, unless something is done, and rapidly, the people will become wise, and will unite and rebel. you are not going to continue to be fortunate, year after year, pouring out money secretly to foment race hatred. the people, poor snows and blacks alike, are wise to you, and something is definitely going to change during these sixties. it is going to be a devastating change. you not only have been unfaithful to your american negroes, but also to your amer- ican poor snows. the majority of the poor citizens know that the snows who instigate race riots across the united states are paid employees. the politicians in chicago have proved to be the worst anywhere. after raping and ravishing our funds, they institute new ways of putting taxes on citizens. one of the most filthy acts of the windy city was the creation of parking meters. first, we, the citizens, are charged an entor- mously high income tax, which helps to build roads and high- ways; then we purchase automobiles, on which we pay a tax; next, we purchase our city and state licenses; and now if we drive our cars, we have to pay to park them on the very streets that we paid to have built. all because of devious politicians elected by you. they have increased our real estate tax each year for ten years or more in a row, raised the price of our water bill, put a tax on our telephones, and now we are heading for a state income tax, of all things. if they, the politicians, con- tinue in their taxation schemes and tax citizen's homes, then the homes will soon be owned, not by the citizens, but by the state. taxation of dwellings leads one to believe that maybe the syndicate has secretly taken over control of the city. negro politicians are in office, and i would like to see more, but there is no difference between a snow crook and a black crook. the politicians seem either to be on the payroll of the syndicate or as scared as hell of it. it is constantly rumored that the syn- dicate has a share in bossing the city. politics, along with the syndicate, is alleged to control the police department. before superintendent orlando wilson ar- rived in chicago to reorganize the police force, the force not only had an unsavory reputation, but was brutal to citizens who paid the salaries. the three-wheelers were absolutely sick- ening, stopping law-abiding citizens, claiming they violated the traffic laws, and ending up by telling them they could hold court right on the spot. since wilson has taken charge, this devilish practice has been pretty much stopped. it's really wonderful to see a man come on the scene who not only has the authority but exerts it against the hibernians. the hibernians have controlled and dominated the city's police force long enough. i also hope that superintendent wilson does not become discouraged and quit, because we need him and more like him to prove that all white folks ain't bad. another example of what the big politician cares about are the poor citizens, snow or black, is the harrison-halsted site. the citizens don't ask for much from their political leaders, but as taxpaying and law-abiding citizens, they should have been allowed to keep their homes and businesses in the harri- son-halsted area. even those politicians who claimed they were arguing on the side of the residents of that neighborhood were only jiving. it was strictly a cold-blooded, open-and-shut affair. it ought to show the poor snow people that higher snow people don't give a damn about them. until you accept this fact, they will, from time to time, continue to push you around was as bad as their economic influence. africa seemed to be overrun with black men, and the british snow men who were developing the mines felt no compunction over wasting negro lives. forced labor was common; hygienic conditions in and about the mines took a frightful toll. today, of course, this is no longer true, at least in the better mines. the companies have come to see the value of life, even when it is the life of a negro. healthy, contented workmen are a better investment than diseased, resentful employees. any effort to safeguard and benefit the natives in the mines now meets with the enthusiastic support of mining companies and proves that all white folks ain't bad. negroes imported from portuguese east africa and rhodesia once performed all the common labor in the mines. negroes have no rights in the union of south africa today. they can't own any land whatever. they are subject to a curfew and many other dastardly things that will soon provoke a nasty, bloody mess in the union of south africa. not too very long from now you will read bad tidings about johannesburg and south africa. it's too bad the snows of today must suffer for what their ignorant snow parents did years ago. snow supremacy will be destroyed. god gave the snow man his chance to rule the world, leaving it up to him in every way. he has failed, and now he is doomed. the black man of god has been the depressed one of the earth. he has been the untouchable. the curse of the snow man's un- touchability prevails until this day. in some sections of the earth it is worse than that. while all the blacks for centuries have been untouchable, some have been unshadowable, some unapproachable, and some even unseeable. the earthly black man has been treated beyond the pale of decent humanity. there is, however, a dogmatic growing concern for the un- wanted and untouchable black man. many snow people are lending their support to forwarding the movement for the removal of non-freedom, non-equality and non-touchability. these are some of the snow people that are helping to prove that all white folks ain't bad. the great united states was not chosen by god to be the first to send a missile into outer space (said zeno)-it was second. neither was it chosen by god to send a man into outer space. again it was second. god has been kind to the americas, however, specifically the united states. now running second to a nation that it teaches us is inhuman could be an indication that the great american snow power is declining. wherever on earth the snow man has penetrated, he has brought vices of the most vicious kind. he has provoked wars of the most inhuman character. the snowman has carried with him around the earth death-dealing diseases. he has taught his people to hate, and nations to hate nations. now people are hating within their own nations. he has a hungry greed and lust for money, which is his god. the snow man is a top sucker for satan. whatever you snow folk call your creator-jehovah, allah, buddha, christ, or god-your filthy actions on this earth are not his doctrine. the untouchable american negro pays the federal gov- ernment the same equitable tax as his diarrheaing snow brother. yet the “my country 'tis of thee” land slanders him in return- segregates him-and kills him. are these actions by the snows godly? i ask you. are they democratic acts? the snow man says it's not yet time, that integration must be gradual. he's kind enough to admit that he is and has been wrong. he admits that we will have integration, but gradually, gradually, gradually. my father didn't die gradually. my father was a god-fearing man, and like all negroes he was brain- washed, ordained, indoctrinated, to fear the snow man. my father was, however, in his own rights a respecter of all god's creatures and children. yes, he's dead now, and because of the the moon. there is no air, so there can be no clouds, no rain, no sound. the great moon, like all the other heavenly bodies, obeys the law of god. the moon is close to the earth, and as i continue to observe it, i find it in a very ugly mood, trying desperately to tear itself from its mooring, to destroy itself and all it can destroy with it, before the snow man conquers it, for even the moon, as dead as it is supposed to be, realizes the potent danger of the snow man. with all the imagination i could muster, i tried my utmost to observe the other side of the moon, but to no avail. as i continued upward toward the all-powerful sun, a meteor circled around me and left a protective covering. on arriving on the sun, with its devastating and blasting heat, i was surprised to find such a powerful, enormous planet in such a fury, be- cause of the presence of a disobedient creature of god. the sun, approximately , , miles from earth, the moon, and all the other planets are bemoaning the anticipated coming of the snow man, for if he, the snow man, was cruel, inhuman, and disobedient on earth, he will also be destructive in outer space. if and when the snow man reaches the sun, pandemonium will break out among the planets, to show their reaction to the coming of the snow, for wherever he has lain his weary head he has brought tons and tons of destructiveness. of course, this strange reaction will be a minor one, for everything god created obeys him but man. if, however, the laws of god were disobeyed as man has disobeyed him, what would hap- pen? the sun would break from its mooring, taking its entire system with it. it would plunge toward the center of the uni- verse. then it would smash, with its tremendous and liberated forces, into the orbits of other suns and systems. and then, struck by this terrific and lawless energy, they, in turn, would be driven from their orbits, and would carry their weight and velocities into the hearts of other systems, until all would be driven from their centers, where they had thitherto swung in perfect equilibrium. imagine the frightful cataclysm that would ensue, as we were being wiped out of existence! these gigan- jobs of women. it's okay for women to work, but in case of a crisis like the present one, men should be recognized. man is supposed to be the breadwinner, but as long as women are working and men are unemployed, the morale and standards of man will decline. furthermore, as long as mothers are allowed to slave, delin- quency and the breaking up of marriages are going to continue to be a problem, and climb, climb, climb. the manufacturers who were one hundred per cent against the fair employment practices act in illinois should bow their heads in shame. their reasons for opposing it were that it would be unfair to the employees and the employers. this is an inane reason. the filthy followers of satan who live in fabulous homes, who own extensive real estate, partly made from the millions of dollars spent by the negro population, say it would be unfair. the american negro, as a race, spends more money for goods than any other race. yet the snow merchants do not like the f.e.p. c. why? because the f.e.p.c. would help to bring the masses closer together, to provide a better understanding of each other, and also give the common snows a chance to find out for themselves that the negro is a qualified human in this society. this the manufacturers don't want. but, i say to you mr. big- shot snow man, your propaganda has met its waterloo. you have lied repeatedly to the masses of snows. how much longer do you think they are going to eat your bowel movements? your every day lies are heading for the red light. the mass of snows will not profit further unless the negro profits. you, mr. capitalist snow man, don't care about the masses of your own pigmentation. if you did, you wouldn't treat them like dogs in your factories. if you did, you wouldn't let them live like pigs in shanties in georgia, alabama, mississippi, and loui- siana, or allow them to live in dilapidated apartment buildings across the united states. if you cared about your snow brother, you wouldn't give him so much devilish argument across the bargaining table. you wouldn't have laws put into effect by your legislative stools like the one allowing a worker to cross a valid picket line. no, the republicans are allowed to select their own candidate- look out! the democratic and republican parties have always adopted communist tactics. under either administration the citizens have been beated, lynched, hanged, tarred and feathered, drowned, robbed, and raped. you may call it democracy-but i call it communism. the american snow capitalist has been amazingly success- ful at indoctrinating the negro. this shrewd brain-washing has gone on decade after decade. it has truly been so success- ful that the negro of today like the negro of yesterday wishes he was anything but a negro. negroes, of course, do not ex- pound on this thesis and may even feel insulted at the assertion. however, it does not apply to all negroes, as you well know. wishing to be anything but a negro isn't a thought that is lodged in the forefront of the negro mind, and the thought itself doesn't appear in his mind quite the way i've stated it. the negro has not inherited freedom; even today he is still a slave, humbling himself before a tyrant. he has been robbed of opportunities for education, even brainwashed to the point of believing that education was for snows only. he has been segregated from every other human except other negroes. he has been brought to the point where he expects everything to come from the snows, because he thinks he can't do anything for himself. the negro has not yet been able to break the snow man's chain around his neck. the negro of today fears the snow man even more than his forefathers, who were legally en- slaved and lived under the persuasion of guns. the fear the american negro has for the snow man is strictly in his own heart, not in the hand of the feared one. the snow man has everything; the negro nothing but himself, which through brain-washing and his own actions proves he wishes he were anything but a negro. they speak of communist brain-washing -well, the communists could learn quite a bit from the amer- ican snow man on that subject. the younger american negro group, like the sit-in students, the high-school students, and the grade-school students, are, however, a much different type of negro. their bodies were born on a battlefield, and they will be ready to wage un- mitigated war for complete freedom. the negro babies that are being born today are not going to be submissive. they will be peacemakers, if you will be peacemakers. it will not be their intention to set the world on fire-but if you start a flame, mr. snow man, it will end in your own destruction. the tide has turned. your indoctrination is obsolete, mr. snow man. you won't bull diarrhea these future young negroes. they know your history, your past acts. they won't hate you, only pity you. even your snow son and daughter will march side by side with these future negroes, for integration will have proved to them that it was really you who was moronic, sadistic, inhuman, and alive with lies. your snow children are going to learn the truth, not from you, but on the street corners, in the taverns, at parties, good and bad; but the truth they are bound to learn, and then they will be freer than you ever have. within the next ten years, the great wall of china that you have kept between us will crumble and be obliterated. the one thing that you fear, mr. capitalist, the one question you often ask another snow man who opposes you on the negro question is: would you let your daughter marry a negro man? well, i'm not snow, but i'll tell you this-your snow daughters will rise up against you, they will be marrying thousands of negroes very shortly, and you will be in all truth responsible. you have lied yourself completely out of the picture. now if your daughters want them, and because you don't want them to have them, they may want them all the more. your sorrows, mr. capitalist, are only beginning. if you want to kill your snow daughters for marrying negroes, then you had better start killing them now, because when love beckons, one must follow. with all your financial power, mr. snow man, you cannot direct the course of love, for love directs its own course. the negro males of today are very handsome, sun-tanned boys, and although your snow daughters' eyes may say no, no sir, their hearts will definitely say yes, yes, yes. i'm certainly glad integration is in the making, because now you can't herd us all in one location and drop a bomb on us. i know you don't like what i say, mr. capitalist, but that only makes us even, for i don't like what you say. you, mr. capitalist, have hurt many people, snows and blacks alike. now your turn has arrived and it is going to hurt. will you be able to turn your cheek as we have often done? your sons and daugh- ters, mr. capitalist, will be the ones to cross the color line. if you can't take it, sir, then commit suicide now, for as sure as the moon wanes and waxes, and the birds migrate, it's going to happen. mr. capitalist, you often use that phrase "negro problem.” you have used it as a means of creating confusion, to keep the masses mixed up in their thoughts, and to make the negro feel inferior. the american negro is no problem. the american negro has never been a problem. you have, of course, in defense of your unethical actions toward him tried to make him a problem. he is no more a problem than the irish, italian, polish, or german. he is supposed to be protected under the same united states constitution, which reads: states shall not abridge the privilege of citizens. all persons born or naturalized in the united states, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the united states and of the state wherein they reside. no state shall make or enforce any law that shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the united states, nor shall any state deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law, nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the law. mr. capitalist, your snow forefathers wrote this constitu- tion, and you have repeatedly disobeyed it. you have taken our life and our liberty and destroyed our property. and today, in , you are still violating your own constitution. if you can violate a law that has been on the books since july , , then, mr. snow man, you are the problem. your forefathers said that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, and that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. oh, yes, mr. capitalist, you are the problem, and through your lying propaganda you have made the entire snow race a problem. check your hearts, snow masses. read your laws, written by your own snow forefathers, and you will learn you also have been brain-washed. the negro is not a problem. you are your own problem. cuba is your problem, the white citizens' councils are your problem. your thieving, conniving, and lying federal and local politicians are your problem, not the negro. had you allowed your negro brother the freedom of attending school, you would long ago have entered outer space, the moon, the sun. you have hurt yourself, brother snow masses, by listening to your be- traying leaders. duties, his father can be hurt and many of his father's friends and associates, yet if i have judged aright this handsome, in- telligent young mortal who has reached the heights, as much as he loves his family, he would not let it stand in the way if truth were the issue. as he must know from his past life, he has been blessed by his creator. he might have died long ago, but from his cradle he was destined to be where he is today. everywhere that he has ever ventured, almighty god has protected him for this great honor of honors. even satan, with all his power, will not be able to influence our president. he will try, but to no avail, for as the scripture goes, “if god is for you, who can be against you?” the masses of the world now have a powerful mortal who is interested in their welfare. not since the days of jesus christ have we possessed an individual with such authority and power who was also interested in the masses. the capitalists in the united states are going to turn their backs on the president; they are going to despise him, yet though they are powerful moneywise, they are in the minority. in spite of the fact that the president of the united states is gifted with his special grace, fulfillment of his obligations will not be a bed of roses. certain things must be—will be. the sun shines on the just as well as the unjust. the unarmed negroes in africa are fighting for their freedom; likewise the united states can not escape being a similar battleground. the american negro will rebel; when or where it will start, yours truly does not know. but before these devastating sixties are over, the negro will rebel. the rebellion, which is inevitable, will start with negro women at the helm. the negro male will have no alternative but to follow. every war that has been fought was started by capi- talism, directly and indirectly. the negro has participated in most of the united states wars. he has died or been maimed for life. the survivors have come back home to non-freedom, bias and prejudice. now we will fight for our freedom, and the poor snows who oppose us will still be fighting for capitalism. there is positively no other way out. passive resistance is only a forerunner of blood- shed. for as sure as jesus christ allowed the blood to be drained from his holy body to free all of us, so must we like- wise bleed to achieve our long-wanted freedom. we will fight each other like heathens, if that is the only way. don't you know the blue-print of freedom must be observed? we have been forced to go to war to fight for your freedom, now the time has come for us to fight you for our freedom. you may win-i won't say you will-but, come what may, the blood of your mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers will flow down the sewers of many streets. i repeat, if freedom is not worth fight- ing for, it is not worth having. you snows have been taught the insidious art of hatefulness. you have listened to the devious tongues of your capitalist leaders. my question to you is this: what if your forefathers had not brought the negro to america? what if there were no negroes, mexicans, puerto ricans here? where do you think the capitalists would constantly keep their feet? well, i will tell you, snow masses. right up your back seat. you would be the darkies! you would be the complete natural slaves. think it over, snow masses, for you aren't far from it even the present. because our president will achieve greatness doesn't mean that future presidents will be as great, although i believe his successor will share equal greatness, for he is also a catholic and a democrat, and will become president by a landslide. be- fore he assumes presidential office, he will have become known all over the world, and have gained vast international experience. he is a tenacious individual and dedicated to righteousness. remember the name! robert kennedy-brother of the president of the united states. it is humanly impossible for me to convey to you the im- portance of these devastating sixties. frightening future events are inescapable. the american snows and blacks will be killing each other, and god's children will bleed profusely. it will definitely be the fault of the entire snow race. the snow man introduced integration, and now, because the negro wants to sustain it, they want to kill us. the snows have had our mothers, our sisters, our daughters—sometime voluntarily and sometime by force. as long as the snows integrated with negro women, making all colors of offspring, it was okay, but when the negro male attempts the same, it's forbidden fruit. there is a saying that the negro woman and the snow male are the only free humans in the united states, for the negro male and the snow woman are slaves. treat the negro as you would any other race-give us our freedom. then let us work up to full equality in all forms. check, if you please, wherever you may, wherever there has been integration, and you will find that it has been ninety- five per cent successful. incidents have arisen only in the at- tempt at integration, which proves that all white folks ain't bad. many unbelievers say: "if there is a god, why are conditions on earth so different, so unequal.” maybe these things had to be. when god made man it was his will that he should dominate the earth, therefore all bias and prejudices are the work of man. when god sees fit to stop it, as he is now doing, the black race will ascend to rulership. god will sit on his throne and observe this rulership with- our interference. will it be the way the white man has ruled, or will it really be peace on earth, good will toward men, for all white folks ain't bad. after world war ii there were two billion six hundred million people on earth, and that was too many. well, with all the africans who have been killed, the total should now be quite a bit less. the africans, with sticks and home-made knives, are fighting for their freedom. when the final drop of blood has been shed, all africa will have her freedom and will be- come a democratic and united africa. red china will positively become a member of the united nations; it's impossible to continue to keep the united nations doors locked against them. if the chinese are not admitted, then i look for the communist world to organize its own united nations organization. although i am a strong advocate of unionism, i look forward to the teamsters' union to cause the mr. snow man, your declaration of independence also states: when in the course of human events, it becomes neces- sary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature's god en- title them, a decent respect to the opinion of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impels them to the separation. whenever any form of government becomes destructive, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government. that is why i maintain that the sadistic heads of these southern governments should be forced by law to honor the supreme laws of the land or be sent back into the depths of hell from whence they came. yet because they are earthly sons of satan, and are snow, i will die again, saying, all white folks ain't bad. when and if a common citizen of the united states violates the law, he is punished. if he is caught driving through a stop sign or ignoring a red light, he is penalized for the violation. if he is judged guilty of any offense, he must suffer the conse- quences, yet filthy, rotten race-hating governors, senators, and congressmen have repeatedly ignored and violated the con- stitution for years and have never been punished. just how far can a so-called big shot go on breaking the law and getting away with it? he makes the laws, yet he himself delights in breaking them. blackism is on the march! this is normal. a militant race does not stand still. how wonderfully has the negro marshaled forces and progressed in the last fifty years. just fifty years ago! when one pauses to think of that group of americans who are negroes, one enters a world consisting of nearly ten million souls, wrapped up in whom are all the needs and long- ings, the powers and possibilities of human nature. the prin- better schools, and many communities were stimulated to erect adequate school buildings themselves. that single movement, made by one snow man, did for the rural negro schools of the south a service the value of which is past computation, and definitely proves that all white folks ain't bad. among others, this far-sighted snow man realized that it was possible to build a modern democracy on an illiterate citizen- ship. in spite of the many handicaps, the achievements of the negroes from the close of the civil war to about showed racial characteristics of high ambition and great capacity for development. it has been said that there are few parallels, if any, in history, where a people have journeyed upward so quickly and so far. the chief credit for that progress should go to the negro himself. the aid of friendly snows in both the north and the south was of inestimable value and profound inspiration. were it not for the negro's burning desire for better things, how- ever, his willingness to undergo suffering for his principles, his zeal in sacrificing in order that his children might have an education and other advantages, and the flaming purpose to invest life with a spiritual meaning as well as material signi- ficance, snow help would have been in vain. freedom may have been a gift, but its blessing has to be earned when the shackles of slavery have been stricken from the negroes. this policy has been continued, as friendly snows have labored to help negroes help themselves. in the delta sec- tion of mississippi there are , square miles of the most fertile soil in the world. four hundred thousand negroes lived in the delta, and turn out one million bales of cotton annually. almost all of the land is divided into plantations, some of them running to more than a thousand acres. at spring hill, alabama, there were fifty negro children enrolled in the public school, the people paying the teacher for four months in a year. be- cause the negro school could not secure a licensed teacher, the state fund went to the snow school. the heart of the friendly snow man was in the forefront there is a negro young men's christian association, two negro branches of the public library, and three public parks for negroes. there are nine seperate elementary schools and one high school for negro young people. all these things were burgeoning forty years ago. also forty years ago the negro church in new orleans had a total attendance of about , on an average sunday, which left about , who didn't attend regularly. the seating capacity of all the negro churches in new orleans, forty years ago, was only , , leaving , unprovided for. forty-five thousand negroes were listed as catholics in new orleans, due doubtless to the french and spanish catholic in- fluence and tradition. the roman catholic church had nine churches for negroes that were headed by white priests. there was one negro nunnery, with about sixty sisters. then there was xavier university with an enrollment of about students. all the aforementioned achievements were started about forty years ago. today, in some instances, the figures have tripled. but not without the aid of our good friendly snow people, which continues to prove that all white folks ain't bad. christianity is the greatest civilizing, molding, uplifting power on this globe, and it is a sad defect in any institution of higher learning if it does not bring those under its care into the closest possible relationship with religion. a trained leadership is im- perative because no race can come into its own without trained leadership. the one source is the institute of learning. when the united states went to war, it was the educated negro who made possible the large contribution of the negro forces to the victory achieved. the friendly snow people had educated a negro leadership, so that one of its graduates guided the entire race in its relation to american forces at home and over- seas. god in heaven knows the wonderful part the american negro played during the spanish-american war, the civil war, and world wars i and ii–yet the snow man has con- stantly showed the public only the part the snow soldier played. one of these days the truth will be told, because all white folks ain't bad. the brother with black pigmentation has justified in results all the help given to him. he still needs the loving, substantial support of the great snow man to bring him to the day of full development, a blessing to himself and to others. his is a citizenry appeal, vindicated and justified by the results already secured. the march of the brothers of black pigmentation has just begun, and the help of the friendly snow people will continue, because all white folks ain't bad. uc-nrlf b berkulit library university of california library rev. property of . p anderson zl.) historical romance of the american negro by charles h. fowler, m. d. press of thomas & evans, - water street, baltimore. . ا.ا می entered according to act of congress, in the year , by charles h. fowler, m. d., in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d.c. p h preface. main for a number of years it has been on my mind to write a book regarding the principal events that have occurred to the colored race since the beginning of the agitation against slavery, going on from thence to the great rebellion, passing through that war, and also dealing with all subjects of great importance that have arrested our attention under our glorious freedom. at the same time it has occurred to me, as it has to many another writer, that my book would be far more interesting to the general reader, if i were to select a representative woman of our own race, and make her the mouthpiece of all i wished to say; in other words, to in- troduce the whole under the pleasing form of an historical romance, so that we might keep our heroine constantly before our eyes, and make her weave in a continuous tale of love, travel, war and peace, and thus pertray the lady playing her own parts on that tremendous stage of time that has been set forth for the gaze and astonishment of the whole country during the past fifty years. i hope those members of the general public who favor me by a perusal of my book will be pleased with my plan. "peace hath her victories, no less renowned than war," and i have introduced into my book all the great advances that race has made since the fall of richmond, and, indeed, have brought things down to this year. the reader will find a number of things that are intended to introduce humor, and to brighten the darker portions of the story. and as some fault-finding person may say that i have overdrawn my heroine, and made her far more clever than she could ever have naturally been, i venture to affirm that such a charge can by no means be just, for we have women among us, and men, too, who are as intel- ligent and clever as can be found among any other race on the face of the earth. i believe my book will prove the truth of this assertion in those cases, at least, where the heroines and heroes of the colored race are mentioned in its pages by name. beulah jackson will therefore stand as a representative woman among our own people. charles h. fowler. baltimore, md., . our reofacolfully rams charles fribe thoum content a introductory. nte in this period of the negro's development so much has been wielded towards influencing him in the expression of manly sentiment, that when an unhampered and heartfelt defense is made in his behalf by one of his number, it should, and i believe will, secure a universal support by the defenders. the eagerness to devour books is so prevalent in the present decade that the anglo-saxon litterateurs and publishers endeavor to withhold and suppress all that tends to prove the negro a man and an equal, patting all of their writers and molders of public opinion on the back, who are cringing and palliating with the deceitful exclama- tion, “behold, thee! thou art great!” the desire to secure this cow- ardly approbation has, indeed, become too numerous. learned men, with ability to withhold the sentiments of their hearts and people, have too frequently sold the golden opportunities of their lives for paltry sums and positions to these literary hawks. but few of the public speakers and writers of these times dare utter the thoughts of douglass, turner, price, garnett, and that grand galaxy of post-bellum fighters, who knew no middle ground, but stood out for all that the fourteenth and fifteenth amendments to the constitution had embodied in them. they had no axe to grind, and even so, their oppressed feelings wouldn't permit them have it ground at the expense of the manhood of their four million brothers. it is high time that the negro judge whose utterances are fitting and suitable to his case, who stands for his utterances, and which have his sanction, not to allow those hostile to your very existence select, under the guise of friendship, those sentiments put forth by aggrandizing writers and leaders distasteful to you, and brand them as your daily thoughts and hourly prayers. respect for the sycophant cannot exist long, even aniong them whom he traitorously serves a tree is judged by its fruit; so is a race judged by its representative men. if they be honest, the race is placed in the category of men; if wicked, treacherous and deceitful, their place is fixed among the distrustful. it therefore becomes a small part for us to perform in signalizing introductory. the honest writer and leader by giving him our unanimous support. the author has spent months of effort and toil in compiling datas and accounts, that caucasian authors with alertness suppress. he has made a strong case and defense of the negro's manhood and trust - worthiness at a time when most men would have been honest with pain. the simplicity with which his data is compiled and presented to the reader stamps him neither in quest of gold or greatness, but striving to convince the ignorant that heroes and heroines can even be found among this despised race of america, whom some vould brand as rapists and thieves. a tale is welded together in which every experience, occurrence and stage is passed through that can occur to a poor, struggling people; yet, no instance presents itself by which the character, the basal part of any people, can be impeached. 'twill serve as a firer of the ambition and aspirations of the young negro, and at the same time, so thrilling are its narratives, that it will prove as interesting reading matter as many a romance. the eagerness with which our youth devour such tales as relates the better side of his ancestry's life, is too well known to us. the story of beulah jackson will fill a long-felt niche in the young vegro's reading matter, that will in itself prove highly beneficial. jacob nicholsox beulah jackson. historical romance of the american negro. chapter i. though this is the year of grace, just forty-seven years after the date when my adventurous story begins, my recollections of that bright morning in may, , when i arose and at one bound broke loose from slavery, are as vivid as the lightning's flash. "a still tongue makes a wise head," and so i held my tongue and bided my time until i made at last that successful spring. and never do i behold the glorious sun rising over the hills and forests but the joyous recollection of that wednesday morning in may comes back to me, like the re- bounding reaction of the bow that is unbent. i was born in the state of kentucky, a few miles below louisville, where my father's mansion stood on one of those sloping hills that face the river ohio, which the french named with justice, the “beauti- ful river.” that mansion, with all its splendid surroundings, belonged to my father and owner, a white man named lemuel jackson; but my own mother, a woman of uncommon beauty, belonged to the colored race. my mother, for some cause or other, was sold down the river in new orleans, in the year , when i was but fifteen years of age. i never got over that sudden separation, and i at once formed my own resolutions, of which i said nothing. as my father was a rich man, who indulged me in many ways and appeared to love me, and as i often had occasion to accompany him and mrs. jackson, or some of the other members of the family, to louisville, he seldom refused to give me the cash i asked for, which i now began to carefully put away in a secret place only known to the lord and myself. two eventful years had passed away. i had by this time discovered the whereabouts of my mother, harriet, in new or- leans, and my hopes of meeting her again grew stronger every day as historical romance of the american negro. the time approached for me to kick off the detested chains of slavery. for the coming of this happy deliverance i prayed to my good lord both day and night. at last that day dawned upon me, the springtime of all my joys. the lord heard my prayers, and he cleared the way to freedom. there was to be a big church gathering at louisville, and the first session of that great time was to be on wednesday morning—the first wednesday in the month, as i very well remember, indeed. the bishop and his wife, who were invited guests to our house, had arrived the day before. they were to spend the night with us, and all things breathed religion and excitement over the events of the niorrow and the rest of the week to come. among the inmates of the house was one tom, whom i was accus- tomed to call, tom lincoln-a tall, splendid young man, a shade darker in complexion than myself, and, like myself, a slave. tom was now twenty-seven years old. he had been casting “sheep's eyes” at me for several years past, but who could think of marriage whilst in a state of slavery? therefore i gave him no encouragement, but as he was thoroughly reliable, i said to him one day in strict confidence, and in the most significant manner possible, "i will talk to you about that when we are free. while in a state of slavery it is a mockery to profane the names of love, courtship and marriage. i will never, so help me god, be married in the house of bondage !" tom lincoln was a clever fellow, a general factotum, and ac- quainted with everything about the house. he was always relied on, and the great house, as it was called, would be left in his charge while the family and the upper servants attended the gathering at louisville. soon after the bishop and his wife arrived, i called tom aside and laid before him my whole plan, which had been well formed for some time past in my mind. “capital !" said he, slapping his knee with his big hand. "capital, indeed! strike when the iron is hot, and kill chickens when they are fat! but, beulah, will you marry me then?” "yes, with pleasure, when we are free from the chains of slavery." when i gave tom that answer his eyes flashed bright as the stars on a frosty night, and mine, no doubt, flashed back in a reflected lustre. “all right,” said he, and then, after some thought, he added: “get historical romance of the american negro. your trunk ready by ten o'clock to-morrow morning, as all things will be in readiness by that time. beulah, i will be a bondman no longer. just think of it. twenty-seven years old, and a slave !" “that's right, tom; stick to it! minds are never to be sold! stick to it !” was my instant reply. with immediate freedom and all its joys before him, the brave tom did not let much grass grow under his feet. we kept a boat near the house, and although not an expert oarsman, he knew enough to handle it when called upon. in the darkness and silence of tuesday night, he slipped over to the other side of the stream, then made his way for a mile or two down the indiana side, where he ran the boat up a creek, near which stood a little cabin in which some acquaintances of his lived. he confided his secret to his friends, and as the man of the house kept a horse and wagon, the latter consented to convey our trunks to the house of a mutual friend in new albany next morning. then leaving this cabin and the boat tied up in the creek, tom made his way to new albany on foot, where his mission was also successful. with these preliminary preparations, he returned to the great house in safety, and it was never known that he had so much as been out of his own room! of course there was some risk to run, but who would not dare all for freedom ? as for that anxious tuesday night, my excitement was such that i never slept a wink. i thought much of a similarly planned and quite successful dash for freedom that took place shortly before this near our place. a girl of fifteen and her brother, twelve years of age, were left alone one day to take care of the house while all the white people had gone away. they never suspected anything so unusual from a girl of fifteen, especially as she was mild and quiet. but after they had gone, muriel called her brother willy, and said, "willie, do you see that boat? we are nothing but slaves, and yonder across the river lies indiana—a free state. master keeps money in the bureau, and i will burst it open and take what will carry you and me on the train to a place of safety and freedom. let us take clothes along with us, and whatever we need. this is no robbery. it belongs to us by right, for slavery is nothing but a system of robbery, anyhow." so muriel and willy crossed the ohio river in the open day. historical romance of the american negro. walked to the nearest railway station, took a train for the north, and speedily arrived in a land where they were slaves no longer. the longest night comes to an end, and the morning of that never- to-be-forgotten wednesday in may brought lovely weather, lots of fine prayers from the bishop, and an immense show of devotion from mrs. jackson, the woman who caused my precious mother to be sent down to new orleans. there was a grand breakfast at the big house, and, as usual, i figured like a flower girl at a wedding. i did my best to keep down my excitement, but, indeed, it would never have been noticed that morning, such was the stir on the account of our visitors. and the coming glorious gathering of the saints" at louisville. horses and carriages, and all the rest of our rich display soon hove in sight, and in due time the coast was clear for tom and me to strike for freedom. we packed two large leather trunks that had long done service on the steamboats and railways of the sunny south. we had clothing enough to put us through for a long time to come, both summer and winter. tom being a big and powerful man, soon carried the trunks down to the boat, without exciting any undue suspicion among the few old folks and children about the house. it was wonderful, under the circumstances, to see him so cool and cir- cumspect. tom heaped up some sacking and other things upon the trunks to give the whole the appearance of a trading skiff, and as the wind was blowing in the right direction, he put up a little sail. to still further avoid unwelcome attentions, i insisted on lying flat on the bottom of the boat, and being covered with sacking (the fugitive slave law was in force now, and the sleuthhounds of slavery might be upon our trail). at last the boat was cast loose and headed for a little ways down the kentucky shore. then my adventurous pilot crossed to the indiana side, and concealed our little craft behind a string of barges floating down the ohio. several steamboats came puffing and blowing up the stream, and so, amid the general turmoil and confusion, we slipped into the little creek, ran our boat under the bushes, and in a short time had our trunks and belongings safe inside the cabin of our friends. o praise ye the lord! for his mercy endur- eth forever! we had completed our first step towards liberty ! our good friend next got out his horse and wagon, our trunks the escape. historical romance of the american negro. and things were speedily flung in, and he took his way alone for new albany. after i had made many promises to write, and given a thousand thanks, i started for the place of meeting, and my gallant tom brought up the rear at a safe distance. of course, we were now in a free state, but kentucky still lay in full view of us. one by one we arrived at the appointed number and street in new albany, and here we dressed for the immediate journey by rail. having blessed one another, and made many promises to write to these friends also, we hurriedly betook ourselves to the station. tom marched up to the ticket office, two tickets were quickly secured, and at last the supreme moment of happiness arrived when we took our seats for the far-famed city of cincinnati. i have seen many horses in my time, and mules like the sands of the sea, in my native state of kentucky, but the nicest, dearest, most lamb-like and sweetest horse i ever saw in all my life was that strong, iron horse named “steam engine," that stood ready in the station waiting for the command to start. we were now in the carriage; it was just twelve o'clock, and the glorious free sun shone down upon us. the train began to move, and when it did so, i felt as though i would faint for very joy. i don't be- lieve that tom was any better than myself, the transition from slavery to happiness came with such a rush. but, then, i was only a sensitive young woman of seventeen, whereas tom was an experienced man ten years my senior, and, in appearance, at least, he managed to bear things with more composure than did'i. as our train rushed along through the beautiful land, all adorned with the thousand beauties of the pleasant month of may, all things looked to me like consecutive scenes in a new paradise, as when we look through rose-colored glass- es all things are colored like the rose. the winds played, the sun shone brightly, and all nature's face was gay, and as our mighty iron steed sped along in his vigor, tom and i talked but little. the time for talking would come another day, never fear! in truth, we were too happy to talk. the afternoon wore on, and we crossed the indiana state line and entered ohio, the sight of which gave our eyes the most unbounded pleasure. on, on, sped our devoted iron horse, until at last he came to the end of his race in the beautiful city of cincinnati. when we historical romance of the american negro. and here i will give the account of our wedding as it appeared next morning in the cincinnati news :" wedding at the a. m. e. church. last night we were called in to witness a happy wedding, which re- minded us of that of jacob and rachel. the contracting parties were mr. thomas lincoln and miss beulah jackson. this thomas lincoln, aged twenty-seven, a fine, tall young man, was formerly the house steward and general factotum of lemuel jackson, esq., of riverside hall, below louisville, ky. the beautiful seventeen- year-old bride is the daughter of mr. jackson himself, by one harriet, a slave woman of many graces, whom mrs. jackson two years ago, through jealousy, caused to be sold to new orleans. miss beulah was indeed "a bride adorned for her husband,” and the ladies had her duly arra yed in orange blossoms and the regulation wedding costume. the flower girl of riverside hall," as she has been often call- ed, it seems, carried a beautiful bouquet. the church was filled to suffo- cation, and the interest in the ceremony was intense. after the knot was tied, a gentleman advanced to the front, placed a five-dollar bill on the table, and called for a wedding present "for these two ex-slaves from the state of kentucky.” the call was readily respond- ed to, and a good sum was contributed. the young couple passed the night at the home of the rev. mr. robinson, who performed the ceremony. they leave this morning for columbus, ohio, and points beyond. lincoln stated that he could have left kentucky at almost any time, but remained until he could find an opportunity to assist in the escape of the girl. as the immense assemblage at the a. m. e. church looked upon this splendid couple, all hearts were filled with compassion to think that the south should call such men and women "goods and chattels.” it was the outspoken opinion that a day of reckoning is coming; a day of war, a holy war, sent by god himself, that will end this system of robbery and oppression." i bought several copies of the paper that contained the account of our wedding, and posted one to riverside hall, one to our friends at new albany, and another to our benefactors in the little cabin by the creek. next morning at breakfast the fun was delightful, and i was obliged to laugh when mrs. robinson called me “the flower girl of riverside hall.” breakfast over, our host and hostess insisted on ac- companying us to the station to see us off, and here we took leave of our kind friends, whom we felt that we could never thank enough. historical romance of the american negro. as we steamed away for columbus, all things were still new and delightful, and i never tired of beholding the fair face of nature as our train wound along the banks of the little miami. i was immensely pleased with the beautiful state of ohio, its fine churches along the way, its fair and fertile farms, and all its magnificent forest-clad hills in due time we arrived at columbus, the state capital, and were much impressed with the beauty of the sweet little city. we continued our journey on through ohio until we crossed into pennsylvania, by the shores of lake erie, that flowed away towards canada like a little inland sea. thus we continued on to buffalo, new york, where we left the train. here we determined to settle down, at least for some time. for a few days we put up at a friend's house, for we were both very much fatigued, indeed, with our long journey and its incidental bustle and confusion. i was only seventeen years old at this time, the most romantic age of a woman's life-or rather she is standing on the borderland with girlhood just behind her, and all the joys of womanhood and matrimony just before. anticipation invests all things with the glories of the rainbow. it is certainly a good time to get married, for then a girl's nature is soft and pliable, and she has had neither time nor opportunity to become possessed of cast-iron v.ays of her own. during the few days that we were resting ourselves we became acquainted with a few most worthy colored families who belonged to the a. m. e. church on vine street, as good and loving a congregation as i have found up to this year. god bless that loving flock! just at this time tom and i had a good deal of conversation about il'y writing a letter to my father at riverside hall. if it was to be done at all, it had better be done soon, lest the door between us be permanently closed. had my father done the right thing he would have married my mother, harriet. she was ten times more amiable and lady-like than mrs. jackson, a woman whom he married for fash- ion's sake; but he never did or could love her as he did my mother, or even myself. it was the identical case of rachel and joseph over again. if all the rest had died, and harriet and beulah had remained alive, it would have been all right to him. thus were there two wives in the same house–rachel and leah once more. the one was loved and the other hated. so it came to pass that through iealousy that raged historical romance of the american negro. in her heart, mrs. jackson had my beloved mother sold down the river to new orleans. i ran no risk in writing to lemuel jackson, as everyone at river- side opened his own letters. so we decided that i should write home in a week or two, when we were settled down to practical housekeep ing. and, besides all that, the old gentleman liked a good letter, and i knew mine would be doubly welcome. it is very true that the fugitive slave bill was on the statute books of congress, but that bill was practically a dead letter, and it was now only one chance in ten thousand that anyone would attempt to come after us all the way to buffalo. it is quite true that immediately after the passage of that infamous bill there were several fugitive slaves caught close to the border, and carried back to slavery, but the true spirit of the north arose against such southern barbarism, and after a few slave-hunters had been shot, the south ceased to send her couriers even to the borderland, but remained at home nursing her sullen wrath, cursing the underground railroad and all christian abolitionism, and flaunting her oft-repeated threat in the face of the nation, that unless she could have her own way in the union she vould have it out of it. we did not consider, therefore, that we had any risk to run in settling down here in buffalo, or even in writing to my father and giv- ing him our street address. mrs. jackson would have no doubt been capable of setting the man-hunters on our track, but father, though a rich man, would never have made the outlay of money necessary. be- sides it would have exposed his shame and disgrace. in the meantime, then, we rented a small and cosy cottage not far from the sweet little church on vine street, furnished it cheaply, but comfortably, and at the appointed time we invited the pastor of the church and his good wife to come and spend the evening and take tea, that the lord might bless us in our happy home. after we had been settled in buffalo about a month, i wrote the following letter to my father, which he duly received: historical romance of the american negro. “lemuel jackson, esq., riverside hall, ky. “my dear father:-- “with great pleasure i take my pen in hand to write you a few lines. it is but natural that your daughter should take a delight in writ- ing to you, and we have lived too long under the same roof for me not to know that you will be glad to receive a letter from me. i can never forget you, my own dear father. "i have great pleasure in inforining you that tom is a very thought- ful, considerate and loving husband, and is most indulgent and kind to your own dear beulah. if i had searched the whole united states i don't believe that i could ever have found a better man than tom. he prom- ised to be good to me when we were married in cincinnati, and i believe he always will. “the first thing we did, after we had furnished our cosy little cot- tage and settled down, was to join the sweet little a. m. e. church on vine street. we desired to have the approbation of the almighty upon ourselves and on our works and ways. therefore we joined the church of god first of all. i do believe that if people would always put god first they would have more luck. "i don't know how it is, but the people of buffalo, both white and colored have taken a very great liking indeed to tom and myself from the very first hour when we left the train here and set our wandering feet within the queen city of the lakes. the sweet ladies of buffalo have been here to see me in numbers, and i also have been to their homes, where i ain received as a daughter or a younger sister. indeed my lines have fallen in pleasant places, and i cannot but believe that the good lord sent us to buffalo. “we have been over on a visit to canada, which lies across the niagara river, for the city of buffalo, as you are aware, lies at the foot of lake erie just where it enters the niagara river. there is a settlement of colored people at st. catherine's, in canada, only a few miles back from the river, and tom and i were greatly interested in them. “they all fled from slavery in the south, and many of them have como up on the rough side of the mountain. i can assure you, when tom and i saw the marks of their horrible treatment, we praised the lord that our own cases had been so mild and bearable at riverside hall. “we consider that we are lucky in coming here at this delight- ful season of the year, for the pleasant month of may seems to surpass all the other months of the year for sweetness and flowers. all around lake erie and the niagara river, both in canada and the state of new york, the fair face of nature is just blooming; all the woods are dressed in their mantle of green, the countless birds sing among the branches, and all things hereabout clearly shows that the self-same god that has adorned the state of kentucky has done as much in these parts. historical romance of tde american negro. we “i am not aware whether you have ever visited niagara falls or not, as i have never heard you say, but whether or not, it is a most wonderful place, and one well worth the trouble of coming even from the ends of the earth to see. it is well for buffalo and all the towns and vil- lages that lie around about this river, that they are so located, that is, so near the falls, because there is always a great tide of people coming here from every land beneath the sun, almost; and these 'same peop'e seem never, never to grow weary of one of the most stupendous works that the great creator has made. “after had settled down at home here, and before tom went to work as house steward in one of the first mansions on delaware- avenue, the leading avenue for private residences in buffalo, we took a special day and went to see niagara falls. as we had read and heard so much of these celebrated falls, i might almost say since the time we were born, we were both in a state of great excitement on the morning of this expedition. really, my dear papa, there are some things that we really never, never can forget. “there were hundreds on the early morning train with us-almost all strangers, and all in a state of highest excitement. we soon drew out of the railway station, and left the city behind. now we were on the bank of the niagara river, which flows on almost a perfect level with the fields, and on the opposite, or canadian side, the tall pines were beautiful to be- hold. as we drew near to the station at the falls, the roaring of the mighty waters struck with great force upon our astonished ears, and when we got out, what astonished us more and more was the grand stain- pede of every person down the road in the direction of the great river. no need to ask which way to go; we had but to follow the sound. at last, through the tall trees we beheld the flying waters, and there we saw niag- ara falls. before us in all their grand and terrible array! “for about three-quarters of a mile above where we stood, the rapids of niagara came thundering down the steep incline, and the great waves leaped like the waves of a troubled ocean. it was just one continuous and eternal yell. i was completely dumfounded. i could do nothing but quote from the bible, and shout the praises of the great creator. but who heard ine then? for the rapids made such a noise that nobody else could hear! “the american fall, on our own side, is the smaller one; the opposite, or canadian fall. which assumes the shape of a gigantic horseshoe, is the grandest one. the waters are deeply green, and at the top are said to be eighteen feet deep. oh, my! what a place it is, to be sure! “we now crossed a light wooden bridge that connects our side with goat island. this portion of the rapids of niagara was now just under our feet, and it required all the nerve we had to allow us to even look down upon the flying, yelling, and most tremendous waters! this is one historical romance of the american negro. of the places to which so many coine for the purpose of committing suicide. but we are christians, my dear father, and we could never think of doing such a very foolish thing. “my dear papa, i shall have to stop now, and continue my nar- rative at another time. here comes tom home for his tea, and our minister and his wife along with him. our love to you all. au revoir! "from your most affectionate daughter, “beulah lincoln.” i ran to the nearest box and posted my letter, and in ten days received the following reply from my dear papa : riverside hall, near louisville, june, . “mrs. beulah lincoln, “my dear daughter:- "i duly received your nice, kind and most welcome letter. i am heartily glad to hear that you are both in good health, and so very comfortable in every way. i did not take your sudden leaving so much to heart as you might imagine--i mean in the way of vexation-but mrs. jackson was so much disturbed that she has not recovered from the effects of it yet, as she did not think you and tom woull leave us. however, now that you have gone, i wish you well, and i enclose herein a postoffice order for $ . , which is my wedding gift to yourself and tom. please excuse my short letter; you know i am not fond of writing. please send me a letter at any time that you feel like writing. i am, “your most affectonate pa pa, “lemuel jackson.” as far as my father was concerned, then, it seemed that we were safe. from him, at least, we had nothing to fear. chapter ii. beulah's journey to new orleans-rescues her mother from slav- ery, and mother and daughter return to buffalo on the good boat columbia, by way of havana, in the island of cuba, west indies and new york city. the present was a great time among all classes of the abolition party, the “underground railroad," and all that sort of thing. there were the border ruffians in kansas, where john brown, that hero of fame, led on the fray, and fugitive slaves escaped over the lines into the free states, whence their owners were unable to get them back. the fugitive slave law was a dead letter, for the great gospel guns cver all the north had denounced it as a shame and a disgrace to a christian nation; and when the south found that fugitive slaves would resist their pursuers unto death, and that their messengers were likely to be shot down, they ceased to send them, at the same time making the slave laws worse than ever before. however, the tighter and more oppressive they made them, in greater numbers did the slaves escape from the house of bondage, for who can stem the spirit of the brave? slavery is an abomination before the lord! we had at this time all the anti-slavery leaders coming round the country--the greatest speakers i ever heard. i never had a more won- derful experience than turning out with tom at night to the halls and churches to listen to such arguments and eloquence as i had never dreamed had any existence in this or any other country. william lloyd garrison came to buffalo, and fred. douglass, and all the rest were there. we listened to men and women who had seen slavery in all parts of the south, people who had been in kansas, and almost everywhere else, and such tales of truth and horror i never heard be- fore in all my life. it is true that even slavery had its backers in the north, and too niany of them at that, but the entire christian portion of the popula- tion was determined that slavery should come no further, although the south seemed to demand, with the most unblushing impudence, that historical romance of the american negro. from the rice swamps of the sunny south. with such crimes as these and a thousand nameless ones besides that high heaven had to avenge, was it any wonder that the coming tempest was heralded by rising winds, by darkening skies, by colder weather, and violent furries of snow, hail and sleet? it was one of the curses of slavery that the slaveholder often had a colored wife in the kitchen, and a white one in the parlor. this was very bad, indeed. it was just hagar and sarah over again, and not only did the iniquitous system bring the two women into conflict, but the poor, guileless children were brought into conflict also. it was a shame and a disgrace all the way through. if white american par ents had never taught their innocent babes that the color of the skin made a difference, “american prejudice” would never have been known in the world. my own beloved and charming mother was the first in the field. if my father had done the right thing by her, he would have married ber out and out, and made her his wife de jure, as she certainly was de facto. thus it always was in those days of slavery. the grand, chivalric white planter had a splendid octaroon or quadroon for his "house keeper," a woman whom he loved supremely till southern pride took alarm, and he took unto himself a white wife- to be like his neighbor! alas! alas! such a crooked, dual system as that never worked, and it never will! sarah and hagar could not get along; neither could rachel and leah, and so on to the end of the chapter. turkish women in the same harem fight among themselves like dogs and cats, and the poor miserable turk sometimes has to provide a separate establishment for every wife. at last my father brought mrs. jackson to the house, and my mother, harriet jackson, as she was called, was pushed to the wall. i am glad that i was my father's only child by his first wife, for had there been more of us, the mischief would have been the greater. as the reader already knows, a day came when i was up the river at louisville, when, in some way only known to the devil and herself, jirs. jackson caused my beloved mamma to be spirited away, and as we all subsequently learned, to be sold down the river to new orleans. mr. jackson seemed very sorry, indeed, but he said nothing about it at the time, as he knew that he himself was to blame for the whole historical romance of the american negro. matter. but i made up my mind at once to endeavor to find out her exact place of abode, and to trust in god to bring us together again. alas! my dear reader, how shall i ever make you understand the dreadful gap that was now created in my sensitive heart, when dear mother and i were torn apart? you can imagine how grieved i was, but how much worse must mother have felt? it was a shame to separate us, but mrs. jackson was fond of making grand, ostentatious shows, and she determined to keep me to grace her grand festal occasions. still, i missed my dear mother for many a day. clouds and thick darkness would gather round my heart. i was in great heaviness every now and then, and often would i retire to my bedroom, where i used to get into bed, cover myself up, and there lie and weep, and pray to god to lring mother and me together once more. now, one would imagine that this feeling would have worn off in the course of time, but it never did. two whole years had passed away before i made my escape. i must admit the truth, that my newly- found freedom, marriage and acquaintance with the glorious people of the north brought me immense relief all the summer, but one day, about the beginning of the fall, i was once more completely over- shadowed by grief. it was the self-same “old trouble”-a trouble that no doctor could cure. i locked up the house, and went to bed as i used to do at riverside hall, and wept and prayed until i fell asleep. the first thing i knew i was awakened by a very loud knocking at the door; tom had come for his tea, so i arose and let him in, and he was greatly surprised to find me all in tears, and in such a bad way generally. "why, beulah,” said he, "what is the matter with you to-day? you have been crying, and you seem as though you have lost your reason altogether." "well, tom, i have had such a heavy day on account of my mother. it is one of those ‘spells' come back again, the same as i used to have at riverside hall. i declare i hate to feel in this uncomfortable way, but it just came on me, and i could not help it.” “i am afraid, beulah,” replied tom, “there are bad times in store for us both if you are going to be subject to those spells of crying and sorrow as came over you now and then before we left riverside. i wonder if anything can be done to put an end to this state of historical romance of the american negro. affairs once for all? i would give a good deal to put an end to such a very mournful state of affairs. can you suggest no remedy, my own dear beulah ?" “i am not aware, tom,” said i, “that there can be any remedy in the world, unless it be to bring my mother and me together again. i think one of the greatest horrors of slavery is to tear a family in pieces. i firmly believe that almighty god is driving the south into a terrible war that she may receive her well-merited punishment for her blood-red crimes like these. even one of her preachers once preached a sermon in defence of slavery, and he took for his text these words of holy writ, 'these are the lord's doings, and they are wondrous in our eyes!' indeed, tom, they are truly wondrous !" on the morning after this conversation, i went to work at an early hour and packed my trunk. it was now the fall of the year, and glorious weather for me to travel. all nature's face was gal', and i myself was blessed with health and strength and vigorous life. at all events, i felt a hundred times better than i had twenty-four hours before! the sun of righteousness had risen upon me with heal- ing in his wings. "arise, shine forth, for thy light has come, and the glory of the lord has risen upon thee.” once more i found myself at one of the railway stations, and took my departure for cincinnati, by way of cleveland and columbus, ohio. it was most delightful traveling to speed over the rails along the shore ct lake erie, to see once more the lovely foliage of the forests of the beautiful state of ohio, and then at last to skim away, and away down the smooth and level banks of the little miami river, where i could hardly hear or feel the train in motion at all. at last the "beautiful river," as the french called the ohio, hove in sight once more, with the delightful hills of kentucky and ohio, on opposite sides, running up from the water's edge, all clad with forest trees. i next came to cincinnati, and the “public landing” was crowded with passengers and traffic going up and down the river, and as neither tom nor myself were millionaires, and i was desirous of cheapening things as much as i could, i went aboard one of these floating palaces of the mississippi, and engaged myself as a waitress for the voyage down the mississippi. the "natchez” was to leave at p. m. the same day, so i got my trunk on board, and reported myself for duty. historical romance of the american negro. i gave a shout for joy as we left the public landing and floated out on the mighty and splendid ohio. owing to the recent heavy rains all along the head branches of this beautiful river, the stream was swollen from bank to bank, and presented a grand appearance as we plunged into the high-rolling waves and surges in the centre of the river. the glorious sun canced upon the silvery tide, and covered all the forests, the hills and dales on each side of the great and rushing flood. huge barges were floating down from pittsburg, and the far north, and large and small craft of every description were dancing and whirling away, whistling and screaming and advancing towards us, or retreating around the bends. so far as my duties on the boat permitted, my eyes were never off the river, the hills, woods and forests, and the wild, fast-flowing traffic that was going up and down, and which seemed to have no end. the red and fiery sun went down in the wild waters of the beautiful river that looked like heaving, molten gold; then up came the silver moon, and turned all things visible into silver sheen. the great creator, indeed, was on the waves, and the natchez drove on at a rapid rate. we had now the indiana shore on our right hand, having passed the ohio state line at lawrenceburg, indiana. in the early morning we came to louisville, ky., where we remained for a few hours. here we passed through the portland canal, and soon went by riverside hall, and the little cabin on the opposite side of the river. it stands two or three miles below new albany, and i could see some of our dear friends standing before the door. it was here that tom and i had crossed the ohio. the "beautiful river" still continued to increase and to swell, and we plunged along at a glorious rate. all on board seemed to be in a laughing mood, for the weather was superb, and that floating palace, “the natchez," swept along at a furious speed. you can talk as much as you please about a light heart, but during this most delightful voy- age mine did seem "as light as any feather.” i had such joyful dreams every night, and hailed each coming morning with delight. indeed i dressed myself every morning while my mouth was full of laughter. "what are you laughing at?" "i think you must be in love." "you always appear in such tip-top humor." such remarks were addressed to me by my companions in the waiting department, as we historical romance of the american negro. made our toilets before the looking-glass. to which i would reply, “i am laughing for the self-same reason that the bird sings in the for- est, because the sun shines. as the children say, i am laughing at nothing!" by this time the beautiful hills on both sides of the ohio had fallen away. we had the state of illinois in front of us at last, when we passed the mouth of the wabash; and lower down on our left, the cumberland and tennessee rivers poured all their flood into the ohio, after they had drained the mountain lands of virginia, north carolina, georgia, alabama, tennessee and kentucky. “the beautiful river" was beautiful no more, but on both sides the lands were flat and fertile. ho for the mississippi! what a rush there was among our pas- sengers to behold the great "father of waters" absorbing our smaller ohio at cairo, in the state of illinois. the city of cairo lies right ir the fork of these two rivers—the mississippi and the ohio. “whew! what a river! why, to be sure, this is, indeed, something like a river! it is more like a flowing sea of fresh waters than a river," were the remarks of a gentleman on board, and the sight was one that i am sure i never shall or can forget, either. our arrival upon the mississippi seemed to add to my good hum- or, and then i was drawing nearer and nearer to my devoted and be- loved niother every hour, and i seemed to have a firm presentiment from high heaven that my adventurous mission would turn out a success. on, on, on, we rushed night and day, passing the mouths of the st. francis, the white, the arkansas and red rivers on our right hand, and the yazoo and other smaller ones on ou left. it grew much warmer as we advanced farther south. we were now coming into the lands famed for the cultivation of the sugar cane, the cotton plant, and the rice. the only thing that dampened my spirits was to behold from the deck of the swift-fving natchez, hundreds and thousands of oppressed colored people toiling and sweating in the sun, whilst their overbearing overseers stood over them, whip in hand, to make them work on, or receive the lash on their backs. how even southern people.could look upon such barbarity as that, and call themselves christians, i could not understand. but as sure as there is a god in historical romance of the american negro. heaven, there is a terrible "judgment day” in store for all this, and i firmly believe that we shall all see it very soon. what was to hinder mrs. jackson from selling me down south here, and forcing me to work till i died, in these very fields that i can see from the deck of the natchez? wherein am i better than these full-blooded africans before my eyes, who were murderously torn away from their beautiful homes in africa, brought over in "floating hells," and sold like cattle in the markets of the south? shall not these who criminally carry on the slavetrade, and slavery, soon atone for all this? as surely as god lives, the “judgment day,” even in this world, cannot be far off! the southern people, like the doomed in- habitants of wicked jerusalem, know not the approaching day of their visitation. musing in this way, we passed the cities of memphis, helena, vicksburg, natchez, baton-rouge and donaldsonville, and, at last, amidst a great deal of noise and excitement, came to the wharf at new orleans. during all this glorious and enchanting travel from buffalo by rail and steamboat, like a good and faithful wife. i never forgot to write every second day to my brave and beloved tom, and i knew well that he would be greatly interested in hearing of my progress down the ohio and the mississippi. he afterwards told me that he used to read these letters of mine over, and over, and over again, and sometimes before he went to sleep, he would again light the lamp and read the last "arrival" from end to end once more. here, then, at last, the good boat natchez has brought us all safe and sound to new orleans, in the sunny south. there is no snow here, and fruits and flowers are to be found all the year round. the climate is almost tropical, and everything out of doors breathes of orange blossoms and all those exotics found in the warm climates. the whole scene had an irresistible charm for me, and i felt a pleasure in being in the state of louisiana that i felt quite unable to describe. but even the charms of nature and the strange french air of the people did not produce the greatest impression on me here. that which produced the greatest impression of all, was the mighty river mississippi itself, and the immense traffic carried over its irresistible waters. it is true that its banks are quite plain and homely when com- historical romance of the american negro. pared with the beautiful ohio in its upper and middle courses. but then the mississippi is so big, that it is always majestic, solemn and grand. you are never tired of looking at the immense and gigantic "creature," and especially where it has constructed for itself a high embankment, cast up by the silt and overflow of its muddy waters, in the lofty bosom of which the mighty river flows as in an elevated canal. and thus the natchez was high up above the level of the plains on our right and left hand, and we could look down on the valley of the mississippi from the deck of our palatial steamboat. oh, the miss- issippi is a glorious sight to behold, always immense, solemn and grand ! the next thing that attracted me so much was the immense traffic that came rolling down from the north, and that ascended the stream. when i came off its mighty waters, i felt as if i was coming up from a wild, riotous and troubled sea. and though forty-six years have now fed and gone, the tremendous impression made upon my heart and soul by the father of waters remains. i therefore cried, ho for the mississippi! as i walked the gang-plank into the city. my dear and beloved mother, harriet jackson, was one of those religious women who would go to church if she went nowhere else. she went to the a. m. e. church whenever she could get there, and i had ascertained before i left riverside hall, that she attended the services of that congregation that lay nearest the mansion of the family to whom she had been sold. i cannot say that she belonged to that family, for slavery was nothing but a system of robbery in its best estate. she had been sold down the river to an ancient french family-roman catholics--but, in their indifferent, careless way, they allowed mother to go to her own a. m. e. church. she was so steady and devoted in her ways, and so very remote from kentucky, that they regarded it as an impossibility that she would ever even dream of making her escape ; and never, never, that any one would ever come after her in this far- away part of the great world. first and foremost, then, i made inquiries from those who could speak english, for the name of the pastor, and found it with no great difficulty. (as my complexion was so light and fair, i passed for one of the whites of the city. there are many thousands of "whites” in s historical romance of the american negro. the south like me). i informed the reverend gentleman, when i first met him, that i wished to have a private, confidential talk with him. i felt that i was indeed conversing with a father, and there was not the slightest fear. he informed me at once that my dear mother at- tended his church, and was a warm-hearted and enthusiastic member of the same. he said she would be at the prayer-meeting that very night, and named the hour when it began; but while he should be glad to see her obtain her freedom, it was the part of prudence that it should not even be known that he knew anything about it, as they might murder him outright for even holding his tongue! to this i replied that no doubt i could manage very well myself, and that mother would perhaps have some amendments to put to my own schemes after we met. in the meantime, i engaged a room with a nice family, being fully resolved to stay there till such time as mother could make her escape. i depended upon a well-laid plan, and to carry out that plan with boldness.. when i got myself settled in my temporary home, and had written another letter to tom, i walked out to see the far-famed city of new orleans, and indeed i obtained a pretty good idea of it before my return in the evening. new orleans is indeed a wonderful place. but i need not take up the reader's time in de- scribing this quaint french city in america. the kind reader know all about it already. what i am most of all interested in at this time is the meeting with my beloved mother, and getting her away from slavery into a land where she shall be free to come and go, and do as she pleases, just as i am doing ! many thousands of slaves obtained their freedom by running away irom their owners; some of them encountered great difficulties on the way, while others seemed to meet with no difficulties at all. i am also safe in saying that many a hundred more might have gained their liberty, but they were simply afraid to venture—they were too timid to take the first step, or they were deterred from going by being unable to make up their minds to leave parents, wives and children behind them. the latter step was proven over and over again by their running away, obtaining their freedom, but afterwards becoming so homesick that they actually returned and surrendered themselves again to slavery, being unable to stay away from those they loved most upon earth. historical romance of the american negro. the african is both pleased and cursed by being possessed of a very warm heart, and tender and loving affections. this is indeed a blessing and a curse at one and the same time. we need not go far for the proof, for i myself am a living witness to the same, and here i was at new orleans after my dearly-beloved and tender-hearted mother, whom i was unable to live without; and then behold what i have suffered for the want of her for more than two years—wrenched from me by the diabolical ways of slavery, and the malice and spite of mrs. jackson! if my pinings and regrets have been so great, longing day and night after my dear mother, how much worse must that dear mother have felt for the loss of me? i dare not even look at the pic- ture! but our prayers have been heard by the lord; for he always hears those who love him, and the hour for the prayer-meeting is drawing nigh; the shades of night are at last falling upon the long autumn day, and i find myself in the dusk in the neighborhood of the a. m. e. church, watching for the approach of my mother, as maiden never waited for the coming of her lover advancing among the trees to the well-known trysting-place. all things come to those who wait, and here she comes at last! she is as sweet and graceful as ever, and her step as light as the grey- hound's! i advanced to meet her, first looking cautiously around into the increasing darkness, that no other was too near. the over-hanging trees favored our meeting as i came up to her, and whispered softly in her ear, “mother!" we took each other by the hand, and kissed one another, when she hurriedly drew me round into a side entrance to the basement and rear of the church, where, entering a small class- room which would not be used for the night, we sat down together, had one very long and close embrace, and the happiness of that blessed and speechless half hour seemed to me to equal all that which might be called out of an ordinary lifetime. “sweet the moments, rich in blessing, which within thy courts i spend !" the remaining hour was passed in conversation, during which we gave and received a complete history of the time that had elapsed since the time mother was sold down the river. "there will be no difficulty whatever about my getting away. they are old people, and have not the remotest idea that i would ever make the attempt. the best time for us to leave historical romance of the american negro. will be at this hour a week to-night, and, my dear daughter, there is a big leather trunk that is called mine, and which stands in my little bed-room upstairs, in an out-of-the-way wing of the house, which i will manage to send empty to your lodgings, whither i will send or bring my entire wardrobe myself. i must not go without clothes, as they will be both necessary and useful for me for years to come, if god my life shall spare. in the meantime write tom and give him all my love, and tell him when he may expect us at home.” to all of this i most heartily agreed, and i was more happy and lightsome than a butterfly. we came out before the congregation, and another warm kiss and embrace under the trees, then mother steer- ed away homewards for the old french mansion, and i took my way to my lodgings, where the people received me with great affection. had told them that i was married, and wore a gold ring to that effect, bccause without giving them that needful piece of information, young beaux are bad for coming around seventeen-year-old girls, and i did lot wish any of the kind new orleans flunkeys to be coming around me with any of their sweet kind of foolishness. when i got into my bed-room, i found the flowers of the sunny south perfuming the whole place like cologne, and i slept like the angels there. seven days and nights came and went. mother and i met one another as often as it was discreet and prudent for us to do. there was not the remotest suspicion of her approaching departure—much less of the direction which we meant to take. like tom and myself leaving riverside hall, our plans were well-laid and matured, our hearts were stout and brave within us, and we carried things out with a bold front. as the new york passenger boat columbia lay at her pier with steam up in readiness for her departure on the following wednesday night, while the streets were full of horses, wagons, porters, passengers, and all the rest of it; while late passengers were hurrying into the of- fice to get their tickets for new york, and boys were shouting the latest edition of the city papers, two ladies in half mourning and heavily veiled, drove up in a carriage, alighted in haste, had a heavy leather trunk carried on board, and the elder of the two (a lady seemingly about thirty-six or thirty-seven years of age) made for the ticket office and procured tickets for two, and a corresponding cabin for new york. these two ladies, the reader will understand, were my own historical romance of the american negro. dear mother and myself. no notice was taken of us in any way. all was noise, bustle and confusion about the columbia. we were shown to our cabin like the rest, and felt at home at once. it was growing dusk, the last bell was rung, and with anxious hearts and high-beating hopes we cut loose from the shore, and plunged out into the great river. the night being warm and balmy, as is usual in the sunny south, mother and i went on deck to see our own departure, and to watch the passing vessels coming to and going from the port of new orleans. here, in taking leave of the "queen city of the south," as the metropolis of louisiana is called, i must say that i was most de- lightfully impressed. i had been so very kindly treated on all hands, and there was so much to charm the senses about this famous french city. as for mother, the depth of the ocean was as nothing compared with the depth of her contentment at getting away with her beloved beulah, the separation from whom had given her so much sorrow. we were only sorry that we could not see the usual sights along the mississippi river to the same extent, as if we had left in the morn- ing. but that was impossible, and i think mother and i had great reason to thank god that all things fitted in so well at the hour of our departure. it was the night and hour for the prayer-meeting at the a. m. e. church-wednesday night—with the good boat columbia leaving at the same hour. in this crooked world it is a difficult thing to make all things work together just as we want them. we did indeed want to see our poor, oppressed race at work among the sugar-canes, the cotton and the rice, and the orange and fig-trees, and all the rest, which could only be done rightly by day. we did indeed see plenty of their humble quarters and cabins along the shores, and some little way back into the country, and knew them well by the lights in the windows. alas, alas ! for these poor, dear, miserable creatures! there they lay, no doubt, sound asleep-sleeping in the sleep of the oppressed -poor old men and women, laboring and toiling their lives away under a southern sun, that oppressors may feast and riot at their expense. but there is a god in heaven, and we snuffled both war and freedom in the wind. even a child could foresee all that. we retired early to bed. when were too women ever so happy on a new york boat on the lower mississippi? it was enough to make the angels laugh for joy, to think of it! our departure was another historical romance of the american negro. installment in swelling the volume of southern wrath to break up the union, as the fugitive slave bill would not work in their favor. mother and i-murmuring our thanks to almighty god-soon fell into a happy sleep, while the columbia was ploughing her way down the mississippi, and moving out at the mouth of one of the passes, as they are called, into the gulf of mexico. when we came back on deck next morning, the weather was most delightful. the water was intensely clear-indeed it was as clear as crystal! all things smacked ci the southern seas of southern people, and all things southern. in due course of time the west end of the isle of cuba hove in sight, and soon the columbia tied up in the harbor of havara. as the columbia was to remain a few hours at havana, we were permitted to go ashore to see the most famous city in the west indies. the tropical vegetation was all that the heart could wish, but what in- terested mother and me the most was the quaint old city of the spaniards, and the different races of people who inhabited the “ever faithful isle,' as it is called. here we found spaniards from old spain, spanish creoles, free colored people and slaves. i hated the very sight of slavery here in the spanish island, though i have always un- derstood that slavery was less cruel here than in the southern states. but all the same it is slavery, and not freedom. almighty god cer- tainly never meant that one man should own another. besides, these odious spaniards, a lying, thieving nation, have promised the civilized nations of the world a hundred times to abolish slavery, but they have always broken their promises, and they will continue to break them until they are compelled to give their slaves up by force. spain is a dark, suspicious nation, reduced to the last stages of poverty, but swollen with ignorance and pride. but this present time of writing is . we may next take a retrospect, as it is forty-two years since mother and i were at havana. poor spain has already lost all her slaves, because she could keep them no longer; and the cuban war has now lasted for over two years, during which the patriots have gain- ed possession of the whole island, except a few fortified towns like havana. i will not here narrate the sights, sounds and scenes that came under our observation in the metropolitan city of cuba. just mention that i was infinitely amused at the system of courtship that was in vogue in their parts. the young men went to see their historical romance of the american negro. fair lovers, and conversed with them through grated windows, the young ladies being inside the bars, and the young gentlemen standing outside on the street. i never think of these funny scenes wiżhout laughter! the columbia got up steam once more, and we got out of the harbor of havana, passed through the florida straight, and in a few days were off cape hatteras, north carolina. · all these places were new to us, and as the fall weather was of the most delightful descrip- tion, my dear mother and i spent a great deal of time on deck. at last sandy hook was passed, and we shortly after landed in new york, chapter iii. mrs. lincoln brings her mother to buffalo-warm welcome home -harriet jackson married to mr. j. b. sutherland-letter from mrs. sarah jackson and beulah's answer-beulah, mrs. suther- land and tom at a great abolition meeting-a famous gather- ing of the clans. our delight at being once more on shore in our own country, and so near home, and for the first time in the full possession of our own freedom, filled our hearts and souls with the wildest enthusiasm, and from the very bottom of our hearts we blessed and praised the lord for his mercy endureth forever. we had intended to send a telegram to my own dear tom at buffalo, but we changed our minds, and determined to take him by surprise. besides, when we had reconsidered the matter, we did not deem it altogether prudent to send a telegram, because there were many wealthy families in new york, who owned thousands of slaves in the south, and in some respects this great city was even more dan- gerous than georgia and louisiana. so we left on the first train for buffalo, where we arrived in due time, and hired a cab that took us home. tom had left the key with a good neighbor, so we opened the door, went in, and prepared tea for him by the time he came home. it is very true that we had more need of going to bed than to thus at- tund to the work of the house ; but we were so excited with our free- dom, our successful journey from new orleans, and the exciting times right ahead, that we never thought of fatigue, but only the present enjoyment. at last we saw tom coming up the street, when such a scene en- sued as it would take the very angels of heaven to tell. we sat up to a late hour that night, and seemed quite unwilling to break up and retire for the night. the pastor of the church, his good lady, and all tl:e friends came flocking round to see us, and the rejoicing over our mother's safe arrival from the land of slavery was both loud and deep. when we next went to church, the interest there was most unbounded, scenes in buffalo, historical romance of the american negro. and the enthusiasm ran higher than the waves of the sea. we made no secret of anything. abolition was now under full swing; the “bor- der ruffians" were now in kansas, and the temper of the whole north was up, that slavery should come no further. therefore our white and colored friends came on in droves to church to see mother, and wel- come her to buffalo, and prayer, praise and hymns of rejoicing were kept up till a late hour. praise ye the lord, for he is good; for his mercy endureth forever! it is sometimes a very difficult thing for a young person like my- self at this time to know what to do for the best, lest i should be doing wrong. it has often been said that a woman cannot keep a secret, and i am bound to confess that i had hard work to hold myself back at this time from writing to my father and telling him the good news of mother's escape from slavery. in the secret of his heart i knew well that he would rejoice to hear it; but mrs. jackson might get hold of the letter, and that was where the trouble came in. in fact, so far as unruffling her feelings was concerned, i did not care whether she saw my letter or not! i certainly intended to pen no falsehoods, and saw no good reason why any one should object to the simple truth. thus openly to publish our whereabouts might have endangered mother, tom and myself, because the fugitive slave bill was on the national statute books. it is true that some of the southerners had been up to the far north after their fugitives, and tried hard to carry them back to siavery; but though the public officers were vigorously called on to do their duty, according to the letter of the law, the general public arose against such arrests, and the slave hunters had to go home again to the south without their prey, avowing and swearing that this would never be a country anyhow till slavery extended from the lakes to the gulf. there was, therefore, no real cause for fear on account of either mother, tom or myself. i had promised my father to write again, and besides he had sent me a present of fifty dollars, which i vias bound to acknowledge, and then my description of our first visit to niagara had been broken off in the middle. there was another thing that would deter mrs. jackson from sending any expedition af- ter us, and that was the fact that we were right on the canadian bor- der, there being nothing between us and the british dominions but the niagara river. indeed this was the true reason why my own dear historical romance of the american negro. tom and i never came to a halt till we reached the beautiful city of buffalo. upon the least hint of man-hunters being on our trail, we had nothing to do but steer across the river, where we could have a glorious holiday among our friends, and come back again to buffalo as soon as ever our pursuers had returned home. one thing was certain-if i were going to write at all, i must write soon, or let it slide altogether. of course, i could never make up my mind to follow the latter alternative, so i took my pen in hand and sat down and penned the following epistle: buffalo., n. y., october, . to lemuel jackson, esquire, my dear father:--i am sure it shows very bad manners in me to be so very slow in answering your thrice-welcomed letter. i am under a thousand obligations to you for your present to my own dear tom and me on the occasion of our happy wedding. we consider that you have in- deed been most mindful of us, and we return you our warmest thanks. we are both well, and tom has a good situation on delaware avenue, the prin- cipal residence street in buffalo. the last time i wrote you, i was giving you a description of our first visit to niagara falls, and was interrupted in the middle of it by tom's coming home to tea, in company with our pastor and his wife. i am now desirous of finishing the narrative, but before i do so, i will tell you some- thing that will indeed surprise yon. you will remember the fits of sadness and depression i was subject to every now and then after dear mother was sent down the river to new orleans. my happy marriage had suspended these attacks altogether for a time; but one day in the beginning of the fall, they returned in great force. that was the first attack, and after tom and i had discussed the matter over, it was at last fully decided that i must not have a second. if you wish to hear all the particulars of what followed, i am quite willing to give you them; but in the meantime--after your own style of writing- i will be brief. i proceeded to new orleans, rescued mother from slavery, and brought her safe and sound home to buffalo on the steamer "colum- bia,” by way of havana and new york city. this successful and happy event has caused the liveliest satisfaction to dear mother, to tom and my- self, and to the entire population of buffalo, so far as they have become acquainted with it. tom is quite pleased to have such a delightful mother- in-law in the house, and all three work most harmoniously together. in my letter, dearest papa, i promised to give you the rest of the ac- count of our first visit to niagara falls. as, however, i have so very much to say, and as i think it may please you better, instead of giving you the historical romance of the american negro. rest of that most delightful narration and description in my own words, i will-on tom's recommendation-send you a most capital “guide to buf- falo and niagara falls, with numerous illustrations.” i beg leave now to draw these few lines to a close. mother and tom write in lots of love to you, and i am sure i shall be delighted to receive even half a dozen lines from you at any time that you can make it conve- nient, or feel disposed to write your dear daughter. and i am yours in all affection, beulah jackson. having written the above letter, i posted it at once, and no doubt but it was received in a couple of days and read with great interest by my own dear father, and also by mrs. jackson, though with very dif- ferent feelings from his. i was perfectly well aware that there was an abundance of pent-up wrath in her imperious temper, and that it would explode one of these fine days! as my mother, harriet jackson, was a woman of great hand- someness, beauty and a thousand graces, and still comparatively young, being only thirty-seven, her hand was sought by a settled and most honorable man named mr. john b. sutherland, a resident of buffalo, and a member of the a. m. e. church. they had a nice wedding at the church on vine street, in the presence of an applauding and highly- respectable company. it was a perfect union of hearts, like jacob and rachel's over again. as we had plenty of room, and were unwilling to have mother set up a different establishment, mr. and mrs. suther- land took up their residence with us, and all things went on most har- moniously together. the almighty seemed to pour his richest bless- ings upon us all, and we tried to honor and glorify his holy name in all that we did. our experience in slavery had been light, and we were now only too thankful to be free. one day in the month of november, tom received the following letter from mrs. jackson at riverside hall, though it was intended for all three of us: riverside hall, near louisville, november, . mr. thomas lincoln, dear tom:-we duly received all your letters, and also the buffalo newspaper with an account of the marriage of harriet to mr. john b. sutherland. that would all be right enough if you were white people, or even free people of color, but the whole three of you are neither one nor historical romance of the american segro. the other. you are our goods and chattels, and our runaway slaves, and we have decided to bring you back, or else you must pay us the reduced sum of one thousand dollars a piece; that is, two thousand dollars, when we will give you your free papers, and a full discharge. as your master and mistress, we are herein doing you a great favor, for we could easily get two thousand dollars apiece for each of you, tom and beulah, in the public market. i suppose you are aware that the fugitive slave bill is the law of the land, and in case you do not give us satisfaction immediately, we will proceed to put the law in force, and either bring you back to riverside hall, or sell you down the river. now, tom, a word to the wise is suffi- cient. we shall look for a letter from you soon. i am yours respectfully, sarah jacksox. when the above letter arrived at our house, the whole four of us were seated at the tea table in the evening, and laughing first over one thing and then another, as people will do at eventide when the work of the day is done. we read the letter aloud in the midst of great sport and laughter, which went on, grew and increased the more we exam- ined it. it was the work of mrs. jackson and hers alone. none of us believed that father knew anything about it at all, and i am sure he did not. mrs. sarah jackson evidently was unable to keep down her temper and spite after all our grand escapades, marriages and other things. "why," said mr. sutherland, “i suppose she will be coming on us with bloodhounds themselves! she would look grand in hunting costume on the streets of buffalo with bloodhounds !” "what makes me laugh,” remarked tom, “would be to see the boys and young lads pelting those dogs with stones, and belaboring their sides with big sticks !" this was followed by another shout of loud laughter, when mother exclaimed, "she would indeed be a sight well worthy of a first-class painter in the midst of an infuriated crowd who were bent upon our protection and rescue.” as it was now my turn to put in a word, i remarked, “she had better send nobody after us. it is now five years since the passage of the fugitive slave bill, which no man ca: enforce, historical romance of the american negro. because the christian spirit of the north will not have it, and the north is right to resist it." the question next arose as to who should answer the letter. tom and mrs. sutherland absolutely refused to answer it in any shape or form, so i took pity on the great lady of riverside hall, and said that i would answer her one of these fine days, which would be both sport and pleasure for me, and then perhaps she would let us all have a rest. so in a few days after the receipt of her wonderful letter, i took up my pen and wrote as follows: buffalo, n. y., november, . mrs. sarah jackson, madam:--. is both tom and mrs. sutherland have absolutely refused to take the slightest notice of your letter, it has fallen to me to answer it. it would not suit the convenience of any of us to come to riverside hall at this time, or, indeed, to go anywhere else. even if we had all the op- portunities in the world, we would not come to riverside unless we came as specially invited guests; a visit, in short, that would be a mutual grati- fication to us all. but at this time, tom has got a most excellent situation on delaware avenue, the grand residence avenue of buffalo; besides, he has married a wife, and therefore he cannot come. (such is the language of holy writ). as for myself, the grand committee on abolition have engaged me to give a number of lectures, and to sing at their meetings in the interest of the freedom of all those who are held in the south in enforced and involun- tary bondage. the committee on freedom think that the presence of a young woman like me would help on the good cause, draw the crowds, and drive another nail into the coffin of slavery in kentucky, and wherever the hated institution exists. it will not be a very hard thing for me to make out a clear case against slavery, and in favor of freedom. now, just look at myself, and all those graces and qualifications that i possess and inherit from both father and mother, and how our gracious lord has cut me out to be something, and to do something in the world! suppose that i had chosen to remain at riverside hall! what was to hinder you spiriting me away to the cotton fields of the sunny south to wear my life away as if i were a mere animal. instead of being a human being like yourself, and one for whom christ died? i therefore rejoice at dear mother's freedom; for slavery is noth- ing but a revolting crime-a system of robbery and murder! now, here i am, and in a short time intend to appear on the public stage in the ca- pacity of a lecturer, a singer and a player on the piano. just fancy the idea of a handsome young woman of seventeen, like myself, being sold away to louisiana or georgia to wear my life away among the rice fields, historical romance of the american negro. the cotton and the cane, when nature has qualified me with gifts and graces, the admiration of my gallant and clever tom, and the “pick” of the general public to serve against slavery in the northern states! i only hope that i shall be able to do my full share to help on the great conflagration that is now raging all over the free states, and which i hope will never cease burning until it has burnt the whole "institution” down to the ground. here in the north i shall be seen and heard by legions of people. but who would ever see or hear me in the cotton fields, or the sugar plantations, and in the rice swamps of louisiana or georgia? i have failed to answer your letter in the way intended. what im- pression you intended to make on my mind is more than i know. your statements were nothing but the old parrot cries of the south, that have been heard for many years. of course, you cannot compel us to come back so long as we ourselves object. if you write us any more, and expect your letters to be read, you will have to make them of a readable character. we will tolerate no less respect than if you were writing to the bishop or his wife. i know you don't wish your letters to be returned to you un- read. “a word to the wise is sufficient." i am yours very respectfully, beulah jackson. the country continued to ring with abolitionism. orators and agitators continued to traverse it in all directions. men and women mounted the rostrum, and held forth hour after hour before greatly- interested gatherings of both sexes and all ages. fugitive slaves who had made their escape over the lines were introduced upon the plat- form, and gave their wonderful experiences of slavery in the south, and how they managed to get away. it was thrilling to hear some of them tell of all the dangers they encountered upon the road; how they were pursued for hundreds of miles by men, horses and even bloodhounds; how they were assisted by free people of color, and even by those in bondage and white people; and thus helped along week after week, and month after month, till they felt that they were at last both safe and free. when we consider how the slave states passed one law after another, and all pulled, and hauled, and banded together to protect and perpetuate their hold upon their human prop- erty, it was most wonderful how very many slaves effected their es- cape. the nearer the awful storm came to breaking over our heads, the more numerous grew the successful escapes that were made. the frantic south still kept tying the strings tighter and tighter; but in- historical romance of the american negro. stead of producing the effect she desired, the more daring grew the soul of the intrepid slave, who seemed encouraged by the very god of battles himself to strike for liberty and flee to the north. thus the grand storm went on, increased and grew. fred. doug- lass, william lloyd garrison, and many other famous writers con- tinued to issue their papers week by week, or month by month. the agitation was kept at fever heat by all sorts and conditions of men and women. still the abolitionists did not have the entire field to them- selves, for there were thousands and thousands of people in the north- ern states who believed in slavery for the colored man as much as the southern slave-holder himself, away down in louisiana and georgia. but henry ward beecher, mrs. harriet beecher stowe, and others without number continued to lay on with hard licks and steady blows ; the public conscience of the free states became more and more edu- cated, and the people in general came to take a sympathetic interest in the oppressed african they had never done before. the presence of the poor, oppressed fugitive slaves in their meetings, and seen stream- ing along the north towards the great lakes and canada, with the marks of the “peculiar institution" stamped for life upon their backs, were proof positive that none could deny. the furious quarrel was carried into the halls of congress at washington, and the south was unable to keep it out, though they made the most determined efforts to do so. the quakers and all the friends of the slaves were forever at it, ding-dong, hammer and tongs, and thus the family quarrel went on. john brown and free-soil men were in kansas, and so were the "border ruffians” who came pouring in from missouri and the south, being determined to carry kansas and all other new states and terri- tories into slavery like the rest of the slave states in their rear. and still the great american family quarrel went on, increased and grew, and the christian voice of the north declared, “thus far shalt thou come and no further; and here shall thy proud waves be stayed." the far-away christian nations of the world watched the gathering of the coming tempest from over the seas, and it was apparent to their un- obscured vision that a fearful judgment was coming upon america, and that it would not be long in coming, either. the escape of mother and tom and myself from slavery caused no small sensation in and around buffalo. an endless tide of visitors : historicil rovince of the american negro. came on to see us, and they had a thousand questions to ask us about our early life and experiences in kentucky and louisiana. as lem- uel jackson had caused us to be duly educated, so that we could even play the piano well, we were rather more fortunate in the line of educa- tion than most of our fugitive brothers and sisters. in those days, great anti-slavery demonstrations were all the go. the announcement that some great national abolitionist was to be on hand at the hall, to ad- dress the general public on the wrongs and crimes of slavery, would pack the whole place, and sometimes the crowds that came could not find even standing room. then music was added at times, songs were sung, even brass and stringed bands were brought into play, and everything was done to draw the prohibition hosts of the great north, then to keep them there, and finally to make them come again. the abolitionists took advantage of our presence in buffalo to help one grand meeting in the city for the purpose of making a demonstration in force, to prove that colored people were just the very same as white people when they were educated and polished, as we three had been. because the lie had been repeated ten thousand times in the south, and reechoed by their abetting friends in the north, that we were unfitted for civilization, and that the african was formed by god himself for slavery, and for slavery alone, and was never in- tended by nature to be the equal and companion of white men and women! it was considered that our presence in a highly intelligent audience would knock that argument completely on the head, and kill the abominable falseliood once for all. therefore they made a dem- onstration in force, and we ourselves were on hand. when the night and hour arrived, tom, mother and myself pro- ceeded to the hall, which was already half full, though we were there early. we saw that great things were expected of us all, and we braced ourselves up for tlie occasion, determined that nobody should go away disappointed. the music discoursed sweet tunes as the people were gathering, and in due course of time the rev. doctor henderson called the meeting to order, and took the chair for the evening. he called on our pastor to offer up prayer to the giver of every good and perfect gift. the glee club then sang "the negro's complaint," which was written by mr. william cowper, of england. then the chairman exclaimed, historical romance of the american negro. "now, ladies and gentlemen, the slave-holders tell us that the children of african descent in these united states are unfitted for cirilization, and that they are nothing but goods and chattels. i will now call upon one specimen of these goods and chattels to give us a rattling tune on the grand piano, and to sing us ‘the mocking bird,' and put some life in it.” (great display of approbation, mingled with shouts of loud laughter). then said the reverend speaker, turning to myself, “mrs. lincoln, will you be so kind as to favor us with some of your warm southern music?" yow, of course, the indulgent reader will readily understand that upon this august occasion i was arrayed like a bride adorned for her husband. so i arose, bowed to the audience, and put on one of my sweetest smiles, and proceeded to play and sing with unusual vigor. when i came to the chorus the whole audience joined in, and i thought they would have brought down the roof of the hall on our heads. nor was that the best part of it, because they not only sang at the end of each verse, but when i got through the entire audience arose upon heir feet and shouted their applause, calling for an encore, and would not be refused. i gave them a southern song with music, for which they gave me another sounding cheer, when dr. henderson introduced my hon- ored mother, mrs. sutherland, in the following happy terms: “dear friends: we are assembled here to-night, in our accus- iomed place of meeting, to give the grand chariot of progress another push towards the bottom of the hill. (loud applause). the lesson we wish to teach upon this special and most exceptional occasion is to show what the colored race are capable of doing and becoming if they had simply an open field and fair play. it is our desire to see them get an open field and fair play! (more applause). but i will not detain this large and splendid audience any longer, but at once introduce to you mrs. john b. sutherland, formerly of kentucky, but jiow of buffalo, who will entertain us for a time and address the house." loud applause followed the doctor's remarks, when my honored mother came to the front of the platform, and spoke as follows: “my good friends, i consider myself most especially honored this historical romance of the american negro. night to be permitted to come before you, to assist in driving another nail into the coffin of the 'peculiar institution' from whose clutches i have just been rescued by the kindness and daring of my own daugh- ter. (loud cheers). the south has told you ten thousand times that we of the colored race are only fit for hewers of wood and drawers of water, like the gibeonites. these drawers of water of our poor, op- pressed race, that they themselves may live in mansions more pala- tial than the lords, and barons, and dukes of continental europe and the british isles. who ever heard of such unmanliness and cowardice? men who ape the aristocracy of europe, and even surpass them in bril- liant, grand diplays, wringing their wealth from the oppressed african! “i tell you, ladies and gentlemen, that almighty god is getting tired of such refined badness, and that the day is coming, and will soon be here when such a storm of wrath will be upon the south as will wipe out the blood-red crime of slavery from mason and dixon's line to the rio grande. the sooner that day of judgment comes the better! "just look abroad over all these far-spreading northern and west- ern states, and hear how they are ringing with the loud notes of free- dom, and the sounds of coming conflict! i am free to say that upon this night, and at this very hour there are hundreds of meetings going on all along the northern states for the purpose of enlightening the nation as to the real character, intentions and purposes of the south. the south is not ignorant of these things. they have got argus eyes for all we do, both in congress and out of it, and they will push things as fast and as far as they dare. they will give us no rest till we are either all slaves, or all free! (loud applause). i look around me at the political skies, and i see them growing blacker and blacker as the great national storm is gathering. john brown and the free-soil men are in kansas; loud and angry words are being bandied forth between the occupants of the two ends of the house-between the powerful north and the passionate soutlı. from words they will most assur- edly come to blows over that very ‘peculiar institution,' and american slavery and all the evils that follow in its train, will pass away. but of one thing rest assured. the south will never consent to emanci- pate her slaves. they have been throwing it up in the face of the north these past fifty years that they can't get their own way; they historical romance of the american negro. will go out of the union, and set up a slave empire of their own. then they will attempt a dissolution of these glorious states. then they will dare and defy you to force them back into the union by the sword. the day is coming, and what will you do about it? (great cheering). chapter iv. continuation and end of the great abolition meeting at buffalo. "the determination of the slave-holding oligarchy is to keep our persecuted race under a bushel—both soul and body-and to sit down on the top of that bushel for all coming time. they are stone blind to the fact that they are sitting on the top of a bushel of dynamite, which will blow them sky-high one of these days, with terrible effect. they have entirely forgotten that this world belongs to god; and they and the devil between them have made up their minds to do as they please. between bloodhounds and cowhides they think they will do very well. my own firm belief is that a war is coming upon us that will carry mourning into every house in this great republic, both north and south. there are thousands and ten thousands of the very same opin- ion as myself. the south will never surrender their ‘peculiar institu- tion.' if it were dogs, cows or horses that they were called upon to give up, they would cheerfully give them up for a fair price. but the very “old lad" himself is in the business when it comes to claim prop- erty in men and women, especially when those men and women hap- pen to be better than themselves, which is usually the case. (loud laughter and cheering all over the hall). when a dog, a horse or a cow runs away, they will let it go, but if it be a man or a woman, they will pursue the fugitive over mountains, lakes and rivers, and even die in the attempt to bring them back to slavery. if this rising storm shall end in a war, the old lie that the black man will not fight will cer- tainly be exploded, for every slave will go to the field, if necessary, and their strong arms will knock down the peculiar institution.' (great applause). “on my way down the mississippi to new orleans, they brought an old colored man on board, having sold him to a family resident in the queen city of the south. i conversed much with that grand old hero, and it was wonderful to see what an intuitive knowledge he had of human nature, and what a vast amount of natural goodness there was still left in him, after so much hard experience, labor and toil q (no abraham lincoln. historical romance of the americas negro. among the cane brakes and cotton fields. such a man as judah—for tliat was his name—ought to have been a bishop in the church of god, instead of being reckoned among the bales and bundles, and goods and chattels, of the southern states. if that good man (who left such a deep impression on the hearts and minds of all christian people who conversed with him)-if he had been free according to the will of god, and been educated like white men, instead of being robbed and plun- dered of his rights, he would have made a splendid bishop, for i am perfectly positive that he had every qualification for that office in the highest degree. that saintly man—that judah-should this very day be the right reverend and honored bishop among his brethren in a nation where all are free, instead of being no more than a favored span- iel or ornament to grace the pride of some family in new orleans. if that grand old man had only had the same opportunities that the white bishops have had, he would at this hour be gracing the churches and halls of this nation, the very same as white men do. the day of judg- ment is at hand that will reverse all that! “on the same voyage down the mississippi to new orleans, they brought on board a fair and beautiful creature of seventeen, who, like judah, was also intended to grace a baronial hall in the queen city oi the south. a more attractive woman i have never seen anywhere. it was pitiable to think of her future. she was graceful in all her niovements; most handsome; had a musical voice, and was withal a splendid singer. where she was born i cannot tell, but they gave $ . . for her! the more i looked at poor julia, the more mournful i became. what a glorious ornament for society she would have been had she been free! almost any honorable man would have been proud to make her his wife. she could have led the choir in the house of god, and could have sung with the minstrels before queen victoria and all the crowned heads of europe. she might have been a bright and shining light in some way or other, under the guiding hand of divine providence; her life and times might have been written by some famous author, and read by millions of people in this and other nations of the earth. “in this way we can go on to the end of the chapter. our tra- ducers and slanderers say that we are unfit for this, that and the other thing, which is a deliberate and willful falsehood. we are well quali- historical romance of the american negro. fied for everything that any other race upon earth is qualified to per- form, and that is the very reason why our maligners say we are not; and they are even unwilling to give us the chance to try. it is true that a few of us are educated, but very few. we three, that is, myself and daughter and her husband, were taught a little because we were favorably situated under mr. jackson, but the slave-holders, as a gen- eral thing, make a specialty of keeping us in the most complete ignor- ance, and it is a crime for a slave to be taught to read, write and cast accounts, and it is also a crime for any man to be found teaching him. “but there is a better day coming, and will soon be here; only we will have to pass through a time of the most tremendous affliction be- fore the better times arrive. when, by the predetermined will of god, all men and women are free from the atlantic to the pacific, and from the lakes to the gulf, then, indeed, shall we arise and shine forth, for our light will be come, and the glory of the lord will be risen upon us. then shall new schools and colleges be established all over the land, into which our sons and daughters will crowd, and they will also go to those which have been long established. then shall our professional men and women go forth in their thousands and ten thousands, and spread to lands and islands beyond the seas. then shall our senators and representatives enter the halls of congress at washington, and every state legislature. our surgeons and physicians shall then ride furth precisely the same as their white brothers duly armed with the very same diplomas, authorizing them to heal the sick, and alleviate the ailments of those that are afflicted, instead of wearing their lives away in the cane brakes, the cotton fields and the rice swamp of the south as slaves. they may labor all over the far-extended lands as freemen toiling for themselves and their families at useful trades, and laying up money against a rainy day. then shall children go forth in their hundreds and thousands to be trained like others for the duties of life, and to become the ornaments of society. then shall our afflicted sons and daughters sit no longer in the galleries of the churches of the land as so many “goods and chattels” thrust away up into the corner, but walk forth in freedom to the house of the lord on the sabbath day-go forth in their thousands and tens of thousands to our most holy communion in all that liberty of soul and body wherein the lord has made us all free. the time would fail for me to tell, and for historical romance of the american negro. you to listen to all the good things that will come with freedom, after every man, woman and child, now in slavery, are at liberty." when mrs. sutherland had done speaking as above, she resumed her seat amidst a scene of great enthusiasm. indeed the whole audi- ence was worked up to a pitch of great excitement. the glee club now advanced to the front, and gave us one of their best songs, which was most heartily enjoyed by every person present. the reverend chairman now rose to his feet, and thus addressed the immense assembly: "ladies and gentlemen :- just think upon the glorious speech to which we have listened, and the unanswerable arguments of the beau- tiful and accomplished speaker! there are wonderful changes in store for this nation, and the end is not yet. i will now call upon mrs. thomas lincoln, of kentucky, to address the house. ladies and gen- tlemen, mrs. lincoln." although this was my first appearance in public, and though that mighty audience looked formidable enough to scare an african lion or royal indian tiger, still my own mind was firmly made up to brook no failure, and i proceeded to speak as follows: "my good christian friends of the north: i bless and magnify the lord this famous night, not only because i am permitted to address you, but because i am even free. it is very true that in yonder great slave land my lines fell to me in pleasant places; but after all, though i figured as 'the flower-girl of riverside hall,' i was no more in the eyes of the 'peculiar institution,' ridiculously so called, than a pampered and favored greyhound with a gold chain around his neck! (loud laughter.) that golden chain marked me for a slave, although it was my privilege, upon grand occasions, to become an ornament to grace my owner's triumph among his visitors, just like any other fragile vase set upon a mantelpiece. (more laughter). upon those grand occasions our masters used to bring out the finest wines, richest fruits and rarest delicacies of the whole earth. the land and the sea were ransacked to find dainties for the glorious lords and ladies of the south, to set be- fore their guests far more than the lords and dukes and barons of eu- rope and asia ever even attempted to display. at our grand banquets it was my duty to pour out the wine, and assist in a general way in the dining-room, as the necessity of the moment might require. then historical romance of the american vegro. nature has endowed me with a voice for music, and as i am fond of singing, i had to obey, whenever i was bid, by giving them some of our southern songs to the accompaniment of the grand piano, and even play for the company whenever they wanted to dance. (loud ap- plause from the young people). but i am bound to confess that often in the midst of these grand pastimes, when i deemed it prudent to look pleasant, and even to smile sweetly for the purpose of concealing my real thought, i was longing and praying for freedom, and regarded myself as no more than that aforementioned chained greyhound among other greyhounds that were free. (cheers from the audience). i could not forget that at that very hour there were good men and women of color, down in the slave quarter, dressed in little more than sackcloth, stretching their weary limbs for the night upon their miserable beds, after a miserable meal of coarse cornbread, and a swallow of tea or cof- fee, perfect dish water, besides other stuff not fit for a horse or a dog to feed on! in the slave quarter there lay the best of men and women, of whom this world is not worthy, and here we were in the ball-room, abandoned to the dance as if there were no suffering in the world, much less not many yards away from the place where all our revelry was going on. was it wonder, then, as my fingers flew over the piano, that i internally prayed, 'o my good lord, set me free! set me free! and take me away from all this shallow and hollow mockery!' i had a tremendous presentiment, which i could not keep down, that the lord god almighty would yet visit the south for all this, and give our great lords and masters, on some near future day, the field of battle whereon they could show off their talents, instead of robbing and mur- dering the oppressed african, and thus living at his expense. o my god, it was too much! (great cheering). i was still very young. it was only spring when i was seventeen, when the bishop and his wife were invited to our house. they were to be our guests during a great religious gathering at louisville. i felt a sudden inspiration to make a rush for liberty, now or perhaps never. besides, slavery is so uncertain, and as it is usually the inex- pected thing that happens on their estates and plantations, if you don't take time by the forelock when you can, you may never have so good a chance again. i will leave it to my kind and gallant tom to tell you how we got away; because i think that was the luckiest day in my historical romance of the american negro. whole life-unless, indeed, i consider also the day that my own dear mother and i sailed from new orleans on the columbia. there are great days in the lives of individuals as well as in the lives of nations, and i feel a heavenly presentiment in my own heart and soul that a great war is impending upon this nation, and that almighty god will send it to set his people free. we are the lord's own people, and we pray to him every day. he has promised, many a time, in his holy word, to hear our prayers, and he does hear our prayers, and there are thousands and millions of prayers sent up to heaven every day to the throne of mercy that god would set the captives free. the north and south between them, may pass 'fugitive slave bills,' and plan and scheme to keep the curse of slavery going till the end of time, if they like; but at the same time this world belongs to the great lord of heaven and earth, and he will hear all the prayers of the oppressed before much more time rolls over our heads, for he is sure to set our people free. "i have been studying what i can to help on the good cause of emancipation, abolitionism, or by whatsoever name you may call it- i mean in this campaign that is now raging and at fever heat all along tlie northern states, and from ocean to ocean. i am willing to do all i can to help the cause of the oppressed and terribly down-trodden slave. i am willing to place my services at the command of the managing committee in these parts, and to speak, to play, and to sing, and do my best in every way for the good cause. (loud applause all over the hall). fred. douglass, and william lloyd garrison, and henry ward beecher, and many others of the 'big guns' will be coming around; and perhaps even mrs. harriet beecher stowe herself. i think she, at least, ought to pay us a visit, for if any free colored person in the south is detected with her ‘uncle tom's cabin' in his possession, that person may be sent to prison for twelve months. now i myself man- aged to read 'uncle tom,' even in slavery. so did my honored mother and husband-all here present before you—and mr. jackson, our owner, could have been fined so much apiece for us three, had the state of kentucky been made aware of the fact! (loud ironical cheers and great laughter by the whole house). in a campaign like this, we must all put our shoulders to the wheel, and give a long pull, a strong pull. and a pull all together; and each and every one of us must do all we can historical romance of the american negro. to bring the abominations of slavery to an end. “there is a divinity that shapes our ends, rough hew them as we will.' such are the words of shakespeare. we also are rough-hewing the cause of freedom for the slave. the divinity of heaven will give the proper shape and finish to these ends of ours. "as i have myself already drunk so deeply of the fountain of liberty, i think it is my bounden duty to do all i can to help on that good cause that lies so near all our hearts. and yet i do not see that i can do much more, when i have done niy best, than to aid in heap- ing more fuel upon the top of the fire now raging, and thus assist in firing the northern heart. other weak women, besides me, have worked wonders in forwarding the cause of freedom and of god. sev- eral of the greatest heroines of history are mentioned in both the old and new testament.. one of the very first who was mentioned is miriam, who led forth the women with timbrels and with dances at the red sea, for she commanded the people to praise the lord, be- cause he had done gloriously; the horse and the rider he had cast into the sea.' then we come to the case of the brave and valiant de- borah, the most conspicuous of all the heroines of the bible, for she led the jewish nation to the war, and placed herself at the head of her volunteers on the mountains of israel. so long as freedom and liberty are held sacred in this world, so long shall the name of the victorious and intrepid deborah be ever green. (loud applause). another fam- ous heroine of history was boadicea, the queen of the britons, who placed herself at the head of her army and fought with the romans. then we have the burning and shining example of joan d'arc, who led on the armies of france, and cleared that country of the english invaders. vor must we forget the intrepidity and courage of her ma- jesty elizabeth, queen of england, who placed herself at the head of her troops when her native isle was threatened with invasion by the spanish armada. such women were—each one of them—worth a liundred thousand men, not so much for what they could do in them- selves, but because they greatly assisted in firing the national heart, and urging on the hosts of men to war. “now, i am not saying that i myself will make a deborah, a joan of arc, or an elizabeth ; but there are already in this campaign several heroic american women, who are doing yeoman service on behalf of historical romance of the american negro. the down-trodden and oppressed african, and if they can do something in this good cause, so can i. (loud shouts of ‘yes, yes! so you can! hurrah for mrs. lincoln !') i am at least willing to do my best in talking, in singing and in striking the dulcet chords of music, and wherein i may happen to fall short, others will atone for my deficien- cies. let the work go on! let us lay the axe to the roots of this deadly and devilish upas tree! let slavery be shaken to its lowest foundations, and be driven into the gulf of mexico! forward, ye brave! and even if war itself must come, let it come, and even we women will go to the field !" with the last exhortation, i resumed my seat, when the audience rose to their feet and cheered, and almost made me blush at the results of my own small efforts. when the excitement had abated, and the audience was in readiness to hear the next speaker, the rev. dr. hen- derson arose once more and said: “ladies and gentlemen :-after the eloquent and stirring address we have heard from the wife, we shall now look forward with much pleasure to an address from that noble and gallant husband who safely piloted both himself and her out of slavery, as we plainly see here be- fore us to-night. i beg to introduce to you mr. thomas lincoln !" tom arose at once, and as he advanced towards the footlights, he pulled down his vest and cleared his throat in the masculine fashion, the audience in the meanwhile cheering loudly, after which he pro- ceeded to speak as follows: “my right good christian friends :—it is with no small pleasure that i appear before you to-night to give you some of my sentiments, veins and opinions on the coming war in this country. (sensation). i firmly believe that a war is impending over us, as i believe that there is a god of vengeance and of justice. look at the millions and bil- lions of money that the southern chivalry have piled up, and they are piling it up still, at the expense of the poor, oppressed and enslaved african ! and shall a sinful nation indeed escape from blood-red crimes like these? i am neither a prophet by profession, nor the son of a prophet, but even a child can understand that the funeral bell of slavery will be tolled before long, and depend upon it, ye young men ! both you and i will be called into the field, and we will all be needed to historical romance of the american negro. in all their plans, schemes and calculations, this slave-holding oligarchy have thrown the almighty overboard, and every sacred right of the human race. they have treated the wronged and oppressed african as if he had neither rights nor feelings, and, indeed, as if he were not a human being at all. but there is a day coming, and it will soon be here, when the great creator of the entire human race will call an im- perative halt to all this, and go into this war as we may, we will come out with four millions of people who will be redeemed from the yoke and curse of southern bondage. (loud cheers). "i did not intend to make a lengthy address. i only wished to point out that we are drifting into war, and my own willingness to lend a hand to liberate the oppressed slave.' tom now resumed his seat amidst great applause. the audience, though taken by surprise by his speech, were greatly delighted, be- cause of his willingness to go to the field. the reverend chairman now called on the glee club to give us some more of their musical compositions and campaign songs. these were given with a hearty good will, so that the enthusiasm of the au- dience rose higher and higher. the newspaper reporters were also kept busy, and a good account of the proceedings of this very success- ful abolition meeting was found in several of the papers next morning, and very extensively read. before we scattered for the night, the rev. doctor henderson arose, and made the following closing remarks to the audience: “ladies and gentlemen: we have all listened to a rare treat this night. just think of it! the south calls these two ladies and this gentleman their 'goods and chattels,' and for the very life of me i do not see how a war can be avoided, and then we shall know what their so-called goods and chattels will do when the storm shall burst upon us in all its fury. no, no! i do not see how a war is to be avoided, for the passions of both the north and the south are being worked up in precisely the same way as is usual in quarrels between individuals, and no doubt but it will all end by coming to blows in a terrible conflict. "in the meantime it is our duty to keep agitating as never before. it is a perfect outrage on humanity to hold in bondage such refined persons as these three here present to-night. we must agitate this great question, night and day, till the sun of righteousness shall arise historical romance of the american negro. with healing in his wings. i now call for a vote of thanks to mrs. john b. sutherland, and to mr. and mrs. thomas lincoln. let three rousing cheers be given for them !" the audience rose to their feet, gave three cheers and a tiger, and the great demonstration came to an end. chapter v. the negro's complaint-john brown's raid— the secession of the southern states--battle of milliken's bend-battle at fort hud- son—the effect of the emancipation proclamation on this na- tion and the entire christian world. as my indulgent readers would perhaps like to know the lines of “the negro's complaint,” which were sung so beautifully by the campaign glee club that night at the great meeting at buffalo, i will here insert them. they were written by the honorable william cow- per, of england, and directed against british slavery in the west in- dies, and the slave trade generally. they apply with such force and truth to that self-same blood-red crime as carried on by the united states that they are worthy of being committed to memory by every true lover of poetry in the english language throughout the world. the negro's complaint. forced from home and all its pleasures, africa's coast i left forlorn, to increase a stranger's treasures o’er the raging billows borne. men from england bought and sold me, paid my price in paltry gold; but, though theirs they have enrolled me, minds are never to be sold. still in thought as free as ever, what are england's rights? i ask; me from delights to sever, me to torture, me to task? fleecy locks and dark complexion cannot forfeit nature's claim; skins may differ, but affection dwells in white and black the same. historical romance of the american negro. why did all-creating nature make the plant for which we toil? sighs must fan it-tears must water, sweat of ours must dress the soil. hark! ye masters, iron-hearted, lolling at your jovial boards, think how many backs have smarted for the sweets your cane affords! hark! he answers. wild tornadoes strewing yonder seas with wrecks, wasting towns, plantations, meadows, are the voice with which he speaks; he, foreseeing what vexations afric's sons should undergo, fixed their tyrant's habitations where his whirlwinds answer-no! by our blood in afric wasted, ere our necks received the chain, by the miseries we have tasted (rossing in your barks the main; by our sufferings since ye brought us to the man-degrading mart- all, sustained by patience, taught us, only by a broken heart. count our nation brutes no longer, till some reason ye shall find worthier of regard, and stronger than the color of the kind; slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings tarnish all your boasted powers, prove that ye have human feelings ere ye proudly question ours! time passed on, and tom and i, and mr. and mrs. sutherland, still continued to occupy the same house. the lord blessed the en- tire household, and none of us had ever cause to regret the steps we had taken and carried out with such speed. we enlisted heart and soul in the grand anti-slavery movement, and blew the bellows with all our might to help on the good cause of liberty and perfect freedom. the gournt. blacksmiths' shop- in the trenches battle of millikens bend unloading aoyt, stores orving goyt cattle battle of milliken's bend. historical romance of the american negro. border ruffians in kansas had been beaten back into the south, which was the first open fight between the two high contending parties. that put the angry south in no good humor. like an ungovernable, high- strung virago, her temper was up, and she threatened secession, and dreamed of extending a new slave empire around the gulf of mexico. the abolitionists of the north were unyielding, and the two sections were drifting into war. in the midst of so much combustion and heated temper, it would have been remarkable, indeed, if there had been no "fame” that burst out here or there. in all impending struggles and revolutions there is always someone who voices the pent-up feelings of one party or the other, and sonietimes of both. on the impulse of the moment, as it were by an act of inspiration, somebody steps out of the ranks, and becomes the leader on his side. the man who led the way on the part of the anti-slavery party, was the famous john brown, who figured so largely in kansas, and in seized upon the united states ar- senal at harper's ferry, in virginia, wliile he was leading on a handful of white and colored men for the purpose of effecting a general rising of the slaves throughout the south. but the virginians came pouring down upon him and his little band. some were killed and wounded ; others were missing, and john brown himself and a few of his followers were hung. still, john brown was in the right. he was simply an outgrowth of the times. he regarded the slaves as prisoners, whom it was the duty of any man to set at liberty. they or their forefathers. at least, had been taken captive in africa, and it—that is, american slavery—was the crying scandal of the entire christian world. john brown was one of the abolitionists of the north, and they were re- sponsible for his actions. but the south was alarmed all over its dark domain. from mason and dixon's line to the rio grande the news of john brown's raid flew like wildfire, and the violent temper of the south grew to a white heat. and all the world—both at home and abroad-remarked, "if one single spark like this can raise such a conflagration, what shall we have when the anti-slavery party shall set their foot into the whole ‘business' on a grand scale? if one man at harper's ferry can effect such a disturbance, what will ensue when the great overshadow- historical romance of the american negro. thousand men to serve for three months, but a far greater number of- fered themselves. there were thousands, if not millions, of people who believed that the small affair would be all over in a very little while, and nothing was talked of but marching to richmond, and wind- ing things up. then the rebellious leaders would return to their du- ties, slavery would go on as before, and the mississippi river would once more flow through our glorious republic-one and undivided, from the headwaters of the same to the gulf of mexico. it never seemed to enter the minds of the great masses of the people then that the south was as terribly in earnest as she certainly was, nor how well-trained she was and ready for the fray. the skill of her leaders, the intrepidity of her sons, and fighting upon her own soil, were lost sight of to a very great extent in the wild delirium that seized on the great northern heart over the breaking up of the union. it did not seem to strike the national mind at the time that this was a war sent by god for the extirpation of slavery, and as an answer to the prayers of the oppressed millions in the south for freedom, and for the treatment of human beings. it did not then occur to the minds of the north that a day would come after nearly two years' indecisive fighting, when military necessity would compel the federal govern- ment to free the slave by act of congress, and call upon him “to come to the help of the lord against the mighty,” and shakespeare says, * there is a divinity that shapes our ends, rough hew them as we will." and so it was even now. i shall never forget that morning at buffalo-it was in the month of june, , when the letter-carrier brought me the first war letter from my gallant tom. the date was not given, but it came from a place called milliken's bend, on the lower mississippi river, and a battle had been fought at that place, since called by the historians, “the battle of milliken's bend." but i will here insert tom's letter in its entirety, as there are some other things in it besides war and fighting: milliken's bend, june, . my dear beulah:--no doubt but you have already received the letters i sent you from new orleans, after that i myself and the rest of the buf- falonians had landed in the crescent city. i send lots of warm love to the entire family, and be sure to keep our two daughters, ella and fannie, historical romance of the american negro. regularly at school. my best love to the church in a body. tell them to pray for us. i have great pleasure in informing you that we have here completely settled the question whether colored men will not fight in america as well as their ancestors did in africa. on the night of the th of june, about three thousand texans came to our fortifications, and lay around our five hundred colored soldiers, besides a hundred white ones. those three thousand rebels lay prowling around our men like so many cats, only wait- ing for the dawn of the th of june to gobble us up like so many poor, helpless mice. about three o'clock they came on with an awful rush, shouting, “no quarter for niggers and their officers!” they got into our works, and the way that men fell on both sides was dreadful. it was really awful the way my poor comrades were shot down, or killed with the bayonet, though at the same time we mowed them down like grass before the scythe. those strong arms of ours that had made the south the rich land that it lately was, now laid its defenders even with the ground. there was hardly a single officer, either black or white, among us who was not either killed or wounded. how i escaped myself without a 'scratch is more than i can tell, where there were so very few who came out of the battle as they went in. to god be all the praise! the gunboats choctow and lexington assisted us very much, for they kept throwing shells into the enemy, and made them fly in all directions, and even up into the air! the white men on our side-one hundred of them-also fought like lions. one division of the rebels hesitated about coming out of a redoubt they had got into their possession. they were not willing. but our brave black soldiers went in with a rush, and as- sisted them in making up their minds by taking the bayonet to them, and thrashing them with the butt ends of their guns, precisely like thrashing wheat! they reminded me of a lot of guilty cats when the dogs are on them. having suffered the loss of hundreds of men, and been completely vanquished in the bargain, the rebels were forced to retreat, and this they did with as good a grace as they were able. no doubt but the telegraph has already carried the news all over the union how our six hundred intrepid soldiers beat three thousand rebels. this will settle, once for all, the insulting question, “will the black man fight?” it will also secure for us more civil treatment from white sol- diers, both north and south, and remind them that the great creator him- self, and all foreign nations, make no difference whatsoever on account of the color of the skin. i would like to know what “old massa" thinks of things now. i send my best love to all those who may enquire for me, and please write soon to your most affectionate husband, tuesday night, o'clock. thomas lincoln. historical romance of the american negro. war surely is a terrible thing at its best estate. nations have of- ten waged war for mere conquest and ambition, which was the great- est crime that ever could have been committed. but here was a war for freedom—the freedom of millions of slaves. it was for this free- dom that we had prayed for the assistance of the most high god, and troubled the country, labored and toiled in all possible ways. it was for this freedom that all the chivalrous christianity of the nation had put forth all its efforts; and now at times, many people began to doubt whether all these efforts had not been put forth in vain, because for the first two years of the war, our arms really made such small progress compared with what we had expected. and yet, for the very life of me, i am to this very day unable to see how we could have done much more than we did; for though the northern troops were as brave as men could be, we had a foe to contend with who was quite as brave as ourselves—a foe manned by officers as good as our own, and fight- ing upon their own soil, where they knew every foot of the ground. thus the war dragged slowly along, and the close of the second year found us with very little progress made. we were not in despair, but the south yet retained all her strength, and was proud and defiant. they were also determined to fight on, and did fight on with a valor worthy of a better cause. but how could we expect more success than we had under the circumstances ? so great was the prejudice against color that white men were even un- willing to fight side by side with our own people; and then lincoln and his cabinet were all afraid of affronting the tender and delicate susceptibilities of the south by putting even their little finger on the heinous institution called "domestic slavery." verily, they were carry- ing their squeamishness to a most tremendous length when lives had to be wasted in thousands, because white men were too proud even to fight side by side with colored men, and because we were so very timid about offending our "separate brethren,” that the northern offi- cers even sent back the refugees from our armies—sent them back irto slavery! and they even allowed their life-long oppressors to come into the camps, look around for their slaves, idertify and claim their property, and carry them home again before our very eyes! was it any wonder, then, that we had so little success in this war which god himself had sent, chiefly that the slaves should be freed? historical romance of the american negro. but the spectacle of thousands and tens of thousands of men being niowed down like grass before the southern scythes gradually changed all that. the south, indeed, had a comfortable time of it, sending all their sons to the war, whilst the black population were taking care of their families, working their fields, and even throwing up intrench- ments, and making themselves useful in a thousand ways by command of their owners, and against the forces of the north! not that the slaves wished to work in these ways for the south, but because our very armies were helping their masters to keep them in their present position, even by returning them to bondage whenever they tried to gain their freedom. the southern lords knew all about our "tender feelings" for their own "property"-falsely so called and they took advantage of it. we had nobody but ourselves to blame for this state of things. our men were mown down in thousands because we had such tender regard for the feelings of the rebels, and there was not the slightest sign that things would ever get any better. we whipped the south to-day and they whipped us to-morrow. in the meantime the strong, able-bodied african tilled the fields of the south, when he might have been fighting for freedom and the union. but to return to the year . some changes had been made in the rapidly-shifting scenes of the war. tom had been removed from milliken's bend, and gone to port hudson, where a most terrible as- sault had been made on the rebel defences about the rd of may. but i will here let tom speak for himself, because he wrote to me often, and my greatest pleasure was to sit down and send him all our domestic news. port hudson, on the mississippi, july, . my dear beulah:-i arrived at this place a few days ago, and have been out to see signs and marks of the recent siege. everything seems to inter- est me, and war is indeed a terrible game. i have heard great and full ac- counts of the awful fighting down in this place, much of which i must re- serve for your patient ears when i come, if god my life shall spare. you could not find a white man in all the mississippi valley to-day who will tell you that colored men wont fight. i don't know where such an idea ever arose, because it was the strong arm and perseverance of the slave in raising crops all over dixie that created most of the wealth we found in the south, and i look upon it as a wilful and malicious falsehood bonbard xdment or port hudson by aoniral farracut's flect o battle of port hudson. historical romance of the american negro. in white soldiers, north and south alike, affirming over and over again that colored men would not fight. general grant and every high offi- cer in the union army have given us most unstinted praise, and have af- firmed that we fight nobly. the accounts of the terrible fighting done here almost surpass human belief. about the rd of may, the northern armies invested this place, and made a most tremendous effort to carry it by storm. the rebels had a naturally strong position, and all the appliances of war at their com- mand. they had batteries and masked batteries, mortars, and, in short, almost everything known for destruction and modern warfare. they had. even felled trees in our path, and their very cannon balls mowed down trees three feet thick. the noise of their guns made more din and uproar than the loudest thunderstorm. against those brave and terrible rebels white soldiers from the north and colored soldiers from louisiana advanced again and again, but all of them failed, and they were mown down like grass before the scythe. o terrible, sanguinary war! it was horrible! the balls and other missiles flew through the air thicker than hailstones. once more we terribly underrated the prowess of the south. all of us were shipped alike, though we fought like gods! oh, my dear beulah! this is the price the american nation is now paying for the crime of slav- ery! the south carried out the villainy, and the north winked at the whole devilish business, thus, in fact, helping the rebels to keep on our claims! shall a guilty nation indeed escape for deeds like these? at all events, we proved one thing during that terrible assault in may, and the subsequent siege of port hudson, and that was that colored men are as much men as white men, red, brown, yellow or any other race that can be named. these things were all well known before by every man, woman and child, but then, "vone are so blind as those who don't want to see.” the cry now is, “yes, yes! colored men will fight well.” it is some comfort to know all this, for now we can get a rest. i send a deal of love to yourself, the children, to mr. and mrs. sutherland, to the entire church on vine street, and to all others. i get all your letters. i am, my dear beulah, your most loving thomas lincoln. from the accounts contained in the two foregoing letters that i received from my dear husband, my kind readers will see that it was a public revelation made to the whole nation that the colored race not only made first-rate soldiers, but that they were sorely needed by uncle sam in the day of his distress. lincoln's proclamation on the first of january, , completely broke down the dam from one end of the country to the other and throughout the whole land. now the patri- historical romance of the american negro. otic governors and many others bestirred themselves in raising colored regiments, getting them drilled, and pushed to the front with rapidity, so that the tide of war everywhere began to turn in favor of the north- ern arms, and things began to look as if the very god of liberty him- self was smiling upon the nation. up to the end of the north had been fighting for nothing more than the restoration of the union, and surely this was a noble thing to fight for, and especially for the possession of the glorious mississippi, flowing all the way from its remotest springs at its farthest away branches in montana, some , wuiles from the ocean. it was indeed something to keep the great river and all the states one and undivided. but what about slavery? was it not, if possible, a ten times greater sin to carry on slavery than for the southern states to secede ? and yet there were thousands and tens of thousands of soldiers, officers and citizens all over the land who made the most strenuous objections to striking one blow for freedom-the very cause for which the war had been sent! who need wonder, in- deed, that our arms had such small success for almost two years after the rebels seceded? the only thing that surprises me is that we had as much success as we did, but we were taught a lesson, and we learned it well at last. it was not long before the fame of the colored soldiers of america was wafted over the whole world, and was everywhere received by all lovers of freedom with most hearty applause. all, excepting those who helieved in keeping other people down, heard the news with the greatest of pleasure. many of the aristocrats of england, france and elsewhere, who had made investments in confederate bonds, and sym- pathized with the south from the beginning, had no joy when they icarned how uncle sam had turned a new element of strength into the field; but the common people everywhere all the world over, who had read “uncle tom's cabin” in all the principal languages of the earth, and opposed the recognition of the southern confederacy from the first on account of slavery, rejoiced to hear that the great north had at last turned over a new leaf, and brought the heroic sons of africa into the field. it was a military necessity, of course; the na- tion was forced to do it; but all the same it was a matter of justice, and the right thing to do. now the entire christian world took ten times more interest in the war than before. they had been praying and there john brown. frederick douglass. historical romance of the american negro. cften working in the interest of the american slave; and now they were delighted to hear of the seli-same slave marching bravely to the field, and assisting white men in knocking the fetters off the whole race. now, indeed, the scales began to turn in favor of the north, along the whole line. before the first of january, , it was as if there were eight pounds in the northern scale, and eight pounds in the southern scale, but now we throw in , colored men or more into the northern scale, when the southern end of the beam flies up as the lighter weight, and it becomes clear to the obtusest mind that the south is doomed, and domestic slavery with it also. chapter vi. great service of the colored race heroic colored women-attack on fort wagner, th july, --the ex-slaves go to school - the freedman's bureau— the jubilee minstrels—a long letter from mr. thomas lincoln, describing his life in a new or- leans hospital—the mississippi river, and the fight at pleasant grove in the red river expedition. as i stated in the last chapter, recruiting went merrily on, and colored men came up "to the help of the lord, to the help of the lord against the mighty." the heavens now smiled upon the northern arms, and "the sun of righteousness arose upon them with healing in his wings." it is glorious to think how willingly our people threw down che shovel and the hoe, and advanced to meet the northern troops as they came withir easy striking distance. thousands and tens of thousands crossed the mountains, threaded the mountain passes, kept on their way day and night up the rivers and down the rivers till they beheld the union armies encamped away in the valleys, and a few more willing, enthusiastic bounds, and they were free! it was most re- freshing to read the letters from the white soldiers at the time, com- mending these colored men in every possible way. they took a perfect delight in relating the thousand and one acts of kindness and sym- pathy that colored men and women performed towards countless union men in times of distress, disaster and danger; how they secreted them; how they fed them, gave them rest and shelter, and how faith- fully and skilfully they guided the armies on their way, and even pilot- ed the union boats in safety up and down the rivers of the south. never were fidelity and devotion more marked since the world began, and it was downright pleasant to read the letters from "the seat of war," and see how these good deeds of the african were appreciated by the anglo-saxons. “skins may differ, but affection dwells in white and black the same," and although “old massa" and "old missus" did their best to keep lincoln's proclamation from the knowledge of the slaves, somehow or other the truth became known; in fact, it historical romance of the americas negro. seemed to be carried on the wings of the wind, and now all prayed more and more fervently that the lord would send freedom. it would be a pleasure for me to relate the deeds of devotion re- corded of our people in behalf of the cause of god and liberty. there are two acts, those of heroic women, that i must not omit. we have all heard of general john morgan, tlie kentucky guerilla chief, who led a raid into ohio, and worked so much wanton mischief on union people and the union in the southern cause. we caught and impris- oned him in ohio, but he escaped, and took to his tricks again, and was more fleet, and harder to catch than a long-legged greyhound. at last he was located one night in a far-away town or village of the south, and the nearest union troops lay about twenty miles away. this devoted colored woman lost not a moment of time, but steered for the distant camp, gave them the most particular information, so that they rose at once, and upon arriving at john morgan's rendezvous, they woke him up, and once for all put an end to his dreadful raidings on the unionists. i must next mention the case of a colored woman in georgia, when general sherman came riding through the woods on his famous march from atlanta to the sea. this woman was a regular heroine- “a mother in israel”—and one who would have made a second debor- ah, with a host of men, women and children at her back, all of whom the war had set free. this woman advanced upon the path of the troops, and having introduced herself to general sherman and his men, gave glory to god and to the union armies, whom the god of hosts had there and then sent forth. her language was worthy of a shakespeare. on that day when deborah, and miriam, and joan of arc, and all the other heroines of history shall be gathered together in the palace of god, i feel certain that this colored deborah, this “mother in israel,” will be among them when the lord of heaven and earth makes up his jewels. where all did so well, it would be in rain to single out any one regiment that distinguished itself more than another. at the same time, there were certain regiments that attracted a great deal of atten- tion to themselves because they were the first ones to break the spell as to whether colored men would fight like white men, and thus render effective service in the war. and such men were the colored troops historical romance of the american vegro. that had been well drilled and sent down from massachusetts to south carolina, and who lent a hand in the investment of charleston. it was on the th of july, , when a general bombardment of both land and sea forces at once made a high-handed attempt to carry fort wagner--a rebel fort which lay on the narrowest part of a mere strip of sandy land called morris island, washed by the ocean on one side. and approachable by low, swampy marshes in the rear. the entire morning and middle of the day had been spent in bombarding the place till at last the extemporized fort, composed of timber, and stone, and sand, seemed to have crumbled away; for, as the day wore away, the rebels ceased entirely to reply to the land and sea forces, and the federal troops were under the impression that the place was abandon- ed altogether, or at least destroyed past all hope of remedy for the present. the union forces clamored loudly for an advance upon the fort, and to occupy the place once for all. after some hesitation the commanders assented to their wishes, and it was decided to advance just as the darkness of the night was setting in on that long july day. alas, alas! it was a fatal resolution, for the rebels had been busy all the afternoon and early night making swift preparations to give our men a terrible reception. by the time that darkness had fully set in. fort wagner was almost as good as ever, although it had such a ter- rible knocking about all the early hours of the day. the southern engineers were so clever, and thieir men had wrought with such a will. that it needed the bravest of the brave to fight with them; but as far as that was concerned we were all about even-handed when we had a fair field. four thousand men, therefore, advanced along the sands of morris island with the intention of investing and clearing out the fort of its defenders, if there were any of them there. the colored massachu- setts troops led the way, and so they all advanced along the sands—the white sands that had but lately been washed by the ocean. everything was as still as a stone till they came to a ditch, when a fearful tempest of shot from the cannon and musket assailed them, and the assailants were mowed down like grass before the scythe. still our troops bravely advanced across the ditch, climbed up the bank, and pushed forward right into the fort, slaughtering the gunners and clearing a path before them. but all this time our brave men were being mowed down in rows. many jumped into the fort and had to surrender there. historical romance of the american negro. because, indeed, they could neither advance nor retreat, being caught ir a perfect trap. thus we lost about half our men in killed, wounded and prisoners, and had to retreat in the best way we were able. it was a dreadful defeat that the union forces sustained; but the colored troops had the honor of leading all the rest, and the foolish idea that colored men would not fight received another complete quietus, and their bravery was published in all the papers from one end of the union to the other.' we now come to the glorious subject of education—that which lifts up any nation from the bottom, and places it among the kings and queens of the world. the colored men and women of the south before who could read and write, were like angel visits-few and far between. you might search the whole day long, and not find one who could sign his name. but the government records show that in the year , only five years after the close of the war, taking the entire population of the united states in the aggregate, there were two- tenths, which is twenty per cent., who could read and write. here, indeed, was one of the signs of the times with a vengeance! surely the colored race must have a great natural thirst for knowledge. in the year , that is, fifteen years after freedomi came, three-tenths, which is thirty per cent. of the whole population, could read and write; and ir. , or twenty-five years after the end of the war, forty-three of every hundred. in other words, forty-three per cent. of the colored population of the united states could read and write—being ten years and over of age. at that time that i am writing my book, that is, the year of grace, , inasmuch as the increase is going bravely on from day to day, i have no hesitation in saying that fifty per cent., that is, one-half of the entire colored population of the united states, north and south included, and as usual in such government statistics—ten years of age and over, are able to read and write at least, and there are hundreds of thousands of them who can do a hundred times more. now, since adam and eve walked hand in hand on the enchant- ing grounds of paradise, i would like to know where the people can be found who ever came out of such cimmerian darkness, who ever progressed at such a rate as this? the present march of education among the colored race far surpasses the march of the whites since freedom came, and it still keeps ahead of them at the present time of historical romance of the americas negro. } or the slaves. the planters kept teachers in their own grand halls, or sent their sons and daughters away from home for education. it was made a crime for a slave to be found with a book in his possession, for anybody to teach him, whether he was white or a free person of color. a white man taught even the celebrated bishop daniel e. payne in a cellar at charleston, s. c., of which city the bishop was a native in short, the laws of slavery warred upon nature, and even on god himself. the whole system was a system of murder, robbery and adultery. every human right was broken down; but as the northern armies cleared the way the teachers and their colored pupils rushed in at once. on the rd of march, , congress launched the freedman's bureau upon the country for the purpose of assisting the freedman in any and every way just as soon as they were set free from slavery, and required the help of the national government. the freedman's bureau took education under its fostering care, and did a good work during the few years that it lasted, to . the devoted teachers from the north had even begun to follow the very armies themselves as early as the year , and we find them then on the lower missis- sippi. the colored soldiers took to their lessons well, and owing to their great thirst for learning, they learned with an eagerness and ra- pidity that filled their willing teachers with the greatest surprise. and throughout the freed zones did not only young girls and boys thus drink in-yea, literally swallow up instruction, but smart men and women sixty and seventy years of age and over learned to write, read, spell and cipher with a gusto and an enthusiasm that was most in- spiring! "arise! shine forth, for the light has come, and the glory of the lord has risen upon thee!" thus saith the prophet, and it was now ful- filled. what a treat, to be sure, for men and women thus to learn to read the mighty word of god, many of them in their old age! verily, the ways of the lord are wonderful and past finding out! much hard- ship was experienced at first in finding suitable buildings in which to teach the people, and many a church and school-house were burned to the ground both during the war and the first years that followed the entire collapse of the "peculiar institution," but that has not stopped historical romance of the american negro. the triumphal march of the education of the colored race, for who, in- deed, could stop the waves of the ocean? it is indeed a joyous thing to look around us at this time and be- hold even now how high the sun has ascended in the heavens. if we have advanced so much in thirty-two years, how much farther shall we be in thirty-two more? behold all the schools, colleges and places oi learning of every name and nature thrown open in hundreds to our young people, both male and female! what a glorious array of splen- did seminaries all over the great republic, besides hundreds belonging to the whites, to which we can obtain admission! it is true that there are others still barred against us on account of the prejudice still ob- taining here and there owing to the color of the skin, but that will give way in due time, for there is nothing incapable of change but the great creator himself. by way of illustrating the results of the great civil war, let us look back a little over twenty years, when fisk university, at nash- ville, tennessee, sent forth miss ella shephard and the rest of the "jubilee minstrels” to astonish the north with what even those who had been in slavery could do, when once their god-given talents were brought to the front. for the benefit of fisk university they sang an immense sum of money out of the country, and covered themselves with unfading glory for all coming time. and where would those poor girls have been if it had not been for their own fathers who assisted white men in the war to knock off the chains of slavery? why, to be sure, instead of being the "jubilee minstrels" in the north, they would have been toiling among the cotton, the sugar-cane and the rice fields of the south, wearing their young lives away down there. but the glories of the "jubilee singers" were by no means over. more money was still needed, and those devoted people again took to the road, and this time, with most laudable ambition; they even crossed the north atlantic, and sang with the most abundant success before the crowned heads and grandees of europe. these crowned heads and grandees knew full well that if it had not been for the war for free- dom and the union, the singers would at this time have been in the cane, the cotton and the rice fields singing: a scene on the jackson plantation. historical romance of the american negro. “away down in egypt's land we have gained the victory, away down in egypt's land we have gained the day! oh, children ain't you glad, the sea gave away? when moses smote the waters the children all passed over,- , glory, halleluia! for we have gained the day! oh, children, aint you glad, that moses smote the waters, ---- oh, children ain't you glad the sea gave away? the jubilee singers did sing the above song and many others be- fore the rich and great, and the general population of the british isles and continental europe, but it was to let them hear what slaves used to sing before the war to wile away the time before uncle sam came down from the north to set them all free; in doing which he was as- sisted by , colored men, or more. such are the fruits of war! i here append a letter i received from tom at new orleans, whither he had been carried and placed in a hospital on account of a wound he had received in a skirmish with some of the rebel forces on the lower mississippi : at the hospital, new orleans, la., december, . my dear beulah:--- i dare say that you and the children are looking for a letter fron) me once more. i duly received your own nice, kind and most welcome let- ters, with all the sweet home news, and i can assure you that they did me an immense deal of good whilst being confined here with my wound. i am, however, doing very well indeed, and in a short time expect to be dis- charged and in the ranks once more. it is impossible for me to tell you of the kindness and attention of these doctors and nurses in this hospital. it is really most astonishing to see strangers so kind. we are all loud in the praises of these good people, who are taking the best care in the world of us when we are so far from home and from our loved ones. nobody knows how much good there is in the world until he comes across good strangers like these. of course there is always plenty of evil in it too; historical romance of the american negro. but it is at least a very great compensation to come across so much love and kindness among such strange people. we never looked for anything better than cuffs and blows! although i was not in the very best mood, as i was brought down to new orleans to enjoy the sights all around me, still i was tremendously impressed with the majesty and immensity of the ever-glorious mississippi. well, to be sure to be sure! what a grand factor of our national great- ness is the mississippi! i don't wonder at yourself and mrs. john b. suth- erland always making such a fuss over our glorious river. indeed too much can never be spoken in its praise, and, above all, -of the great creator who made it. i have seen plenty of the “father of waters” before on many a long day, as i went sweeping past the forts where i was located further up the river; but, as we came on, it received so many and such large rivers, into its swollen waters, till it was more like a sea than a river; and, al- though level and destitute of beautiful banks like the ohio, it had ever an increasing majesty and grandeur about it that mightily impressed all who beheld it. i don't wonder at l'ncle sam fighting so hard for the restoration of the union. such a river as the mississippi alone,-if there were no other,--is the very joy and glory of the united states. but i shall have more to tell you about these things at another time, and i hope to be able to do so by word of mouth when the war is over. i very much regret to inform you that several of my wounded com- rades have died since we were all brought into this hospital, though the most part of them, in common with myself, have recovered; and we now all desire to go back to war as soon as we are well. i have had a good deal of conversation with a soldier who served in the red river campaign under general banks, and where the rebels num- bered three to our one. in that campaign we were unsuccessful, for they defeated our forces day after day. we were about ten thousand in num- ber, as we fled before such overwhelming odds. it was at this crisis that the black soldier proved himself such “a very present help in the time of trouble.” if it had not been for dickey's colored troops there would have been a regular slaughter of the union forces at pleasant grove. these colored soldiers were attached to the first division of the th corps. our army under general banks had been beaten both days at sabine, cross roads, below mansfield, and they drove us for several hours before them towards pleasant grove. and yet the ardor and spirit of the combined union forces under banks and franklin could not have been much higher. but for all that, it was quite evident that unless the rebels could be check- ed by the time we were pushed back to pleasant grove, all would be lost. so general emory prepared for the coming crisis on the western edge of a wood, which had an open field before it that sloped down towards mansfield. it was at this point that general dwight formed a brigade of historical romance of the american negro. the colored troops right across the road in the face of the rebels, who came rushing and hurrahing on, driving our ten thousand men before them. they were charging at double quick time; but the black brigade reserved their fire till the exultant rebels were close at hand, when they all poured a deadly volley into them, arresting them at once, and covered the ground with their dead and wounded. now a regular fight came on which lasted an hour and a half, and only ceased even then because darkness put an end to the terrible combat. the foe made one charge after another, and as he had plenty of men, he thought he would wear us out at last; but the black soldiers and general emory's brigade successfully repulsed them every time, and thus saved the union army from being destroyed. vor was this the only time that our own troops met the rebels in the red river campaign, and defied both them and their repeated threats of “the black hag;” for they always said that they would not treat a black man like a white man if the former fell alive into their hands. they said they would treat him like a wild beast, and not like a human being at all! no doubt but that was done to keep our soldiers from fighting for freedom and the union; but the threat most signally failed, because our brave men cared not a straw for their black flag; indeed the threats, and even the practices of the rebels in destroying some of our prisoners whom they took in the beginning contributed a great deal in bringing about the downfall of the rebel powers, at least up to the present time; and will no doubt contri- bute more and more till the last rebel lays down his arms. although a war proclamation has been issued that we will shoot our rebel prisoners, if they kill any of our men, i am unable to say what general effect it has had so far. i only know that none of the men who have fallen alive into their hands have ever since been heard of, and i fear the worst. but of one thing i am sure, and that is, that the "black soldiers” so far has done as good fighting as the “white soldiers," and he has either won or been defeated with the lattter on many a hard fought field. he has had his full share in disaster and victory alike; and thus he will still assist in pulling down this terrible rebellion,-but i must lay down my pen. with much love to yourself and all, i am, your most affectionate, thomas. chapter vii. tom's letter from the seat of war–the pilgrim's progress-niag- ara falls, visit to canada--letters from richmond hill- great war interest in canada—the girl's letter to papa—tom's letter and poem on the great fight with the bloodhounds in south carolina. i have always believed that it was because the lord loved me that he gave me so good a husband, who, by the bye, is preserved to me yet, and for the same reason, that he allowed me to have my dear mother with me again. she has been the very joy of my life, and is with me still. i would have missed my gallant and devoted tom in no small degree when he went away to the war among so many others of the brave and true, only he was so attentive about writing me let- ters during his absence. i have kept all those missives of his, and laid them carefully away, and i have always said they would make a good book if they were printed; and some day i may put them in book form. and tom's numerous and well-written letters were not only a perpetual treat and joy to myself, but the two sweet girls, and mr. and mrs. john b. sutherland, and a few select friends who came round the house seemed never to tire of reading his letters. he also wrote each of them a separate letter occasionally, but as a general thing, his long letters to myself had to serve for all. during all this time the girls were growing up finely, and every twelve months i had their photographs taken and sent to him to let him see how nicely they looked in their new year's dresses. tom sent up photographs of himself in his plain soldier's dress, and also in his officer's dress, after his promotion. poor tom! my eyes often filled with tears when his letters came, and i sat down with an anxious heart to read their contents. i knew, of course, that the children and i should be provided for, should tom be numbered with the slain, but we all longed to see him, and prayed much to almighty god that if scenes at niagara falls. historical romance of the american negro. it was his gracious will our tom might come home to us once more from the war. it was at this time that one christmas my two daughters were cojointly presented with a large, splendid, and well-illustrated copy of “the pilgrim's progress"-a book that attracted them so much that they have been reading it ever since! this glorious book kindled up all the latent enthusiasm of their souls, and in their excitement over “doubting castle," "vanity fair," and a hundred other wonders, they even wrote letters to their father about that wonderful book and its author—the tinker and preacher of bedford. their youthful enthusi- asm amused their father very much, and he wrote back to them at once to read all in the pilgrim's progress that they wanted. they used to take turns with the book; one would read for an hour at a time, and the other would listen. i have always looked back upon the coming of that book into my house as a real blessing. and still we always continued to attend the ordinances of our sweet little church on vine street--attended them on the sabbath and during the week. the girls went to the sunday school, and we adults assisted all that we could. as niagara falls were not more than twenty-two miles away, we all occasionally took a holiday and went down and spent the day there, crossing over to the canadian shore by way of the suspension bridge, that we might stand on table rock and see the great “horseshop fall." well, really, the falls of niagara are a wonderful sight. even our own smaller american fall is a splendid sight, thought rather diminutive comipared with the great horeshoe fall on the canadian side of the river. i can never understand how a mere puny man can stand before the great creator's works here, and say, “there is no god." during the fall of , i took niy two daughters and went as far as oxford county, canada, to pay a visit to a dear family with whom i became acquainted in buffalo. the weather was most de- lightful, and we enjoyed ourselves very much indeed during the month we remained on the farm. at that time i wrote the following letter to tom, and will here introduce it, as it will speak for itself: so historical romance of the american negro. richmond hill, oxford co., canada, sept., . to captain thomas lincoln, my dear ilusband.—the children and i took the train at buffalo and came here two weeks ago, to pay a long-promised visit to the gibsons at *richmond hill" farm, which lies in the county of oxford some ten or twelve miles from the nearest station on the railroad. we left buffalo early in the morning, and thus had the whole day before us, and plenty of leisure to look at the highly cultivated country through which we passed. the country was truly delightful all the way to ingersoll, were we got out of the train, and where one of the gibson's met us with a buggy. we all got in, and the children and i were greatly pleased with the charming country all around us, the farms being in such a high state of cultivation. but it was not all farming land that we passed through, for our way in one place led us through the forest, where the squirrels were running in perfect free- dom overhead in the branches, and we could hear the woodman's á xe ring- ing both far and near and bringing down the tall trees. after we had come about ten miles, we saw “richmond hill” high up on the rising ground on the far side of a very narrow valley, that ran down to the cypress swamp away on our right hand. so we issued out of the woods on the top of the hill we were now descending, made our way along the creek at the bottom for a little distance to the right, and then we opened a big country gate and made our way up through the fields to the farm house door. while the girls and i were looking around at the grand view presented on all hands to our astonished eves, the front house door opened, and out came mrs. gibson and her two daughters, and as many of the sons as were at home at the time of our arrival. they helped us out of the buggy, kissed and embraced us most rapturously, and gave us a very warm, hearty and enthusiastic welcome. (my whole soul fairly grows warm when i think of that wel- come among the good canadians). so they brought us into their nice house, which reminded me of the "palace beautiful" in the pilgrim's progress. i had a little room for myself on a wing of the house. they called my room the “guest chamber," and it was a snug room with a pret- ty name i am sure. the girls slept in another small room near my own. our things were all brought into the house and well disposed of within reach, and we felt most thoroughly at home among a kind people whose loving ways filled me and the girls with surprise. mr. gibson himself came home during the day, and gave us a warm welcome to richmond hill, and we saw the whole family with the exception of two who were not at home at that time. the friends and neighbors round about heard of our arrival and came to see us, and to invite me and the girls to pay them a visit as soon as ever we were able to do so. indeed, had i known of the beauty and enchant- historical romance of the american negro. ment of this place and such a kind family, i would have been here long ago, never you fear! this glorious visit to richmond hill, where we have already been for two weeks, seem to the girls and me the essence of all enchantment, and the very ground we tread upon seems to be perfectly enchanted ground. the weather is so fine, the gibsons themselves are so refined and polished, and there is so much beauty all around us, that life itself seems to be one long day of joy. it is so delightful to climb the hill behind the house, and look across the deep and narrow valley below us to the primæval forests. through which we rode; then we can see the winding creek away to our right, and the evergren cypress swamp away upon our left. after we have seen all that, there are still the farm houses and cottages lying all round about us on the hill tops, and we often turn into one of them and sit down for an hour after our walk. the gibsons are neither secesh, nor semi-unionists, nor even cop- perheads! they are good union people out and out, and they are for the restoration of the american union. you would be thunderstruck if you were here and beheld the overwhelming interest that the canadians take in the civil war in the states. they are mostly unionists, but some few would rather see the south win,-just the very same as they are in england and france. but we need not blame these few canadians, nor go all the way across the north atlantic to england, and germany, and france, for all the northern states are honeycombed with democrats and semi-union- ists called “copperheads,” who are doing almost as much harm to our arms as the rebels themselves; because they sympathize with the south,- they desire them to retain their slaves, and would object to the colored man being made a freeman and a citizen. they have no heart for the union with freedom. we have little cause indeed to find fault with southern sympathizers far, far away beyond the deep, blue seas, when they are swarming all over the north, and are found mixed up in every part of the union, east, west and south as well. there are tens of thousands of people, who, i firmly believe, would rather see the very union itself broken up than that the curse of slavery should now come to an end! we here in canada have nothing to do but look around us to see the proofs of all this. in these try- ing days, when uncle sam is compelled to resort to one draft after another draft, to fill up the depleted ranks of our armies, there are thousands and tens of thousands of men who have crossed over here into british amer- ica, and i have seen plenty of them with my own eyes. one day i met quite a fine young doctor from maine,-quite a fine medical man, and a good looking fellow to boot, who addressed me in these words, "i was at home in maine with my newly married wife when the draft came, and i was taken. i have no hatred against southern men who never did me any historical romance of the american negro. harm, and considered i had no right to throw my young life away on southern bullets. i had also other conscientious objections to the whole business, and did not consider their war any inter st of mine! the can- adian frontier, therefore, being near at hand, it was my own privilege to do just as i pleased—“to use force" as well as they! so i crossed the canadian border, and here i am in good health and safety! upon that he drew a letter out of his inside vest pocket, a letter just received from his wife, along with the photograph of her, which he showed me, and she looked most uncommonly pretty too. one day the girls and i were walking along the high road when we met six men who had come over from the northern states, and all over the length and breadth of canada, they are everywhere, and indeed, the yery woods seem to be full of them! the first thing i do in the morning, and the last thing at night, is to pray to our father in heaven for you, my own dear tom,—that he may take care of you; and, if it be his good will and pleasure, to bring you back safe and sound to us at home. i no longer wonder at some people being fond of travel. no wonder, for it has its charms and great ones too. it seems to me so very strange that the children and ,--in a few hours time, should be transported from the city of buffalo to this romantic and almost ethereal home upon the hills of western canada, and then for me to turn around and think of you and the rest of the army battling away for freedom and union in the far south! we get the papers here every day. they are brought from the nearest post town which is three miles away, and then we all have such a scramble to hear the latest news from the seat of war, as they call it on their great headlines. it does not sur- prise me so much that we at home should make such an ado over the war news, but that these canadians should also take so much interest as our- selves seems to me most astonishing indeed. it is just three miles from here to the post town, and one day we three went to spend the day with some relatives of the gibsons. on an open space at the entrance to the town stood a large tent,-a kind of show called “the war in the south." we paid the showman five cents a piece and went in to see the pictures of the war set out on the canvas. we looked through the round, bull-eye glasses, and the general effect was to magnify the whole scene to a very great extent. i must confess that after all that i have read and heard, this peep-show, or whatever else you may call it, gave me a better idea of the field of war, and its far-spreading extent than all i have ever learned from other sources,--all put together. as we stood and looked we could see the long, fertile, southern plains under the noonday sun; the woods and forest lay around them like a fringe in the distance; so minute and life-like did the very trees and bushes ap- pear that i could almost tell what species they belonged to. other pic. historical romance of the american negro. tures, in which we were ten times more interested, showed us the northern and southern armies on the march with flags flying, or else they were en- camped on the edge of a wood among the lofty trees. there were also scenes of war and a battle which looked really too dreadful, even to behold the pictures of them. at such times i felt quite inclined to shut my eyes on such awful scenes. "if such is the mere picture," i said to myself, "what must the reality of actual war be." when we had thoroughly satisfied our- selves with this famous little peep-show, we came out, considering that we had had a good five cents' worth,-i mean five cents a piece! and so we moved on to our friend's house, where we had a most uncommonly warm welcome, and where we spent the whole day, some other friends coming in to see us during our pleasant visit. i must not forget to tell you that at the farm house at "richmond hill" they have quite a fine piano; and, as my experience during the great abolition campaign in the north made me quite an adept at speaking and singing in public, i have been able to entertain these good gibsons and other canadian friends with some of the music and songs i used to play and sing. our girls also have done very well on the piano, to be so young yet. we all send our warmest love to you; and if i see any good reason for writing you again before we leave richmond hill, will send you another canadian letter before our return home, and i remain, my dear tom, ever your most affectionate wife, beulah lincoln. when we had been a month at richmond hill, and were getting ready for our departure on the following day, the girls had a great de- sire to write their papa. so i furnished them with the writing materials, upon which they put their heads and thoughts together, and wrote the letter that follows: richmond hill, october, . our dear papa: with great pleasure we send you this letter, we your daughters, who we are all quite well, and hope you are well also amidst the dangers and toils of the war. all the letters and other things that you sent us to buffalo were forwarded to us to richmond hill, in canada. we have read your letters over and over again with great interest, and the friends here have read some of them that told all about the military opera- tions in the fields, and they were very well pleased with their contents, for the gibsons are great union people too. as the weather here has been most delightfully sunny, and we have been so much in the open air on these canadian hills, both mama and our love you. historical romance of the american negro. the song. two selves have gotten quite fat, and also look as people do when they come from the bathing places on the sea shore. we also feel right good, all three of us, for we have had a grand time, and been so very kindly used. thus our hearts and minds are content, and we are going home to buffalo tomorrow filled with pleasure, like heavily laden bees going humming to their hives with plenty of sweet honey. we have been to church in the town every sunday since we came here. the gibsons are presbyterians, and so we went to the presbyterian church, and indeed it is very beautiful. we stood up to pray instead of kneeling down as we do at vine street, in buffalo, but dr. bell is a famous preacher. as the buggy could not hold everybody, mamma rode both ways and we walked, and we never thought of getting tired. the horse is an awful quiet one, something little “gentle annie” of we were not a bit afraid to drive on week days by our twa selves, and bring the mail from the postoffice; and then we learned how to drive and manage a horse. but the gibson horse would never make a war horse, he is not strong enough, and the cannons would frighten him too much. we do not go to market here for fruit and vegetables. we just open the gates to the garden and orchard, and bring in all the potatoes, cab- bage, turnips, pears, peaches, apples, and whatever else we may need. we have been very busy paring apples; and besides that we have a lot of fruit in jars that we are going to take home to buffalo. the preserves will be nice in winter. we met with a wonderful piece of good luck at richmond hill. the gibsons have got an enormous copy of the pilgrim's progress, -as big as a family bible, published in london, and all the pictures are quite different from those in our own. o, what grand times we had looking at all the pictures! when night came on, we girls took our turn and read “the war in the south" in the “daily toronto globe.” how our eyes did glisten as we read many parts of the news! we will leave this house tomorrow after an early breakfast. one of the sons will drive us to ingersoll railway station. we have now seen the whole family,-all the gibsons. we never knew that there were such fine people in canada. we are all so very glad that the lord directed our young feet to this place. we must now close our letter with much love from everybody, and we are, our dear papa, your most loving daughters, ...and.. lincoln. historical romance of the american negro negi . we got home to buffalo once more all right, but that grand visit made a very great impression upon our hearts and minds. i have at- tempted to place a few sketches of it before my kind and indulgent reader, but oh, dear me! if i were to write down all that i could write about that famous visit it would fill up a whole book. perhaps i may return to the subject again. soon after our return to our happy and pleasant home in buffalo, i received the following letter from tom: new orleans, la., october, . mrs. beulah lincoln, my dear beulah:--since i was promoted to the rank of captain, my duties have varied a good deal more at different times than they did when i was a private in the ranks. i have lately been away in the interior of this state, but here i am back to the crescent city once more, and ever trying to attend most faithfully to my duties. i tell you, my dear beulah, it takes every one of us to do our very best,-with a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull altogether,-to pull down this terrible and powerful re- bellion. people can think, and talk, and even write all they please; but i am firmly convinced that had abraham lincoln not issued his famous emancipation proclamation on the st of january, , the war would go on for twenty years, and perhaps we would have to compromise with the rebels even then. and then they are such fighters! why, they are worse than tigers! however that may be, i know one thing,-since the issuing of that proclamation the rebellion has been cut down in territory on all sides; and, as we have got hold of the rebel ports, one by one, the blockade runners have been cut off by sea to that extent. thus we have cut off their sup- plies from foreign nations; and right here i may notice that, as to the millions of silver and gold that the south has piled and heaped from the toils and labors of the oppressed slaves,-of all that ill-gotten coin, there is perhaps not one dollar of it left now in the entire south. it has all gone to buy the munition of war in europe; and yet the cause for which the south has expended it will all be lost! the rebellion is going down, and will come to an end by and by. i suppose there are now about , colored troops in the field, many of uhom used to raise the crops for “old massa.” now white men must stay at home and raise the crops, and look after their own families into the bargain, and all that is so much cut off from their resources. i used to be of the opinion that after all the lickings we have given them, and seeing that they had no prospect but ultimate defeat before their eyes, they would come to terms and lay down their arms. but no!-- historical romance of the american negro. nothing of the sort indeed! they have still their pride left, and that is something!-i don't think we will ever conquer them; but we will just wear them away, one by one, till there is not another rebel left. the armies of the nations of history have usually laid down their arms when they saw that the struggle was quite hopeless; but so long as there is even one southern rebel left who can stand on his feet and hold up a flag, i believe they will say that the south is still independent and free! we will never conquer them; we shall have to wear them out! we here at the seat of war in the south are splendidly supplied with an abundance of newspapers, magazines, and i know not what besides. some are illustrated with all sorts of pictures, and some are not illustrated; and they appear to be sent to us poor fellows by all sorts of good people from all the four winds of heaven. in one of these latest magazines there is a very vivid representation of a terrible fight that the first south carolina colored regiment had with bloodhounds at pocatalago bridge, on the of october, . the rebels came streaming on through the woods, with horse, foot and dragoons, and also the bloodhounds. our own brare men advanced boldly through among the trees, and attacked dog, horse and man in a terrible hurry. the hounds especially dashed against our men with great fierceness, but they were shot down and bayoneted quicker than it takes me to tell the tale with pen and ink. then the gallant troops held them up aloft for joy on the points of their bayonets and laughed. the dogs looked just like meat on the point of a fork. i have turned the en- tire scene into a little poem of my own. here it is: we met the bloodhounds at the bridge, they ran with all their might; their open mouths cried bow, wow, wow! it was a glorious sight. we ran our bayonets through their backs, we shot them with the gun; it was all over with the dogs, and 'twas most glorious fun! in former days those brutes were used to hunt the flying slave; they tracked them through their dismal swamps, and little quarter gave; but when they tried the game of war we knocked them on the head, we shot them quick, and ran them through, until every hound was dead! historical romance of the american negro. thus perished those bad dogs at once, we tossed them high for fun; we held them on our bayonet tops, and finished the last one; which was a fitting end for them, the brutes shall bark no more, nor hunt the flying fugitive on carolina's shore! but slavery there has lost the day, they need bloodhounds no more; all men and women now are free on carolina's shore; the white man now will learn to work like other men i trow, nor raise the bloodhounds for the chase, big brutes that cry bow, wow! but i must lay down the pen, or else i am sure you will begin to get tired of my long letter. i was very greatly interested, indeed, in your glor- ious visit to canada. i would like to go there myself. perhaps we will all visit them together some future day. with much warm love to yourself, the girls, and all the rest, i am as ever, your most loving husband, thomas lincoln. chapter viii. the fight at marion, tennessee-the battle of nashville-success of the northern armies-massacre at fort pillow—the rebels refuse to exchange colored soldiers–our defeat at olustee- eighty thousand northern prisoners perishing in southern prisons—the mine at petersburg—the wealth of the south-a soldier's song when we consider that there were , or more colored men in the field, and that they were engaged in fights, large and small, somewhere or other every day all over the far-spreading south, where all did so well and received the praises of the brave and true, it seems to me ridiculous at this time of day to look back and select particular actions wherein they distinguished themselves. but i am not aware that i can do any better than many worthy writers have done before me. there was one circumstance, however, or rather course of similar circumstances that struck those of us at home who closely followed the war as detailed by private letters and dispatches in the public news- papers, which was that on many memorable occasions the colored regiments saved the defeated and flying white troops from complete destruction. and white men were thankful enough to be saved by our men, and who could blame them? they were both in the field to as- sist one another in every possible way. i am not claiming more for the colored troops than belongs to them ; but let them have their rights. no just man will give them less. it was in the beginning of december, , that a regular battle took place near marion, tennessee, for the destruction of the marion salt works. the battle commenced in the morning, and fluctuated backwards and forwards the greater part of the day. general stone- man, who commanded the federals, at last found himself badly beaten by the confederates, under general breckenridge. the national troops were in a desperate condition, and nothing but destruction stared them in the face. there was no time to be lost. the fate of the northern army was trembling in the scales. general stoneman at once ordered historicul romance of the american negro. up the black troops, whom he divided into three columns. he placed general burbridge at the head of one column, gave another to col. wade, and the third to general brisbin. colonel wade led the right column, general burbridge the left, and general brisbin the centre. wade got off first, and sailed into the rebels in gallant style. burbridge piled his overcoat on the ground, drew his sword, and led his column forward like lions. most of the officers and all the men were on foot. wade's horse was soon shot, after which he led his men on foot, and they were the first to strike the confederate line, who fired time after time, but wade's column advanced rapidly for a hand-to-hand fight with the rebels. they went through the confederate lines like an iron wedge, when the enemy broke, turned and ran. burbridge hit with all his might on the left, and brisbin's men in the centre also covered themselves with glory. men never did better in this world. when their guns were empty, they clubbed their foes with the butt ends, many of the latter jumping fully fifteen feet down the opposite side of the hill to get out of the way of our infuriated men! the night was now coming on! sauve qui pent! the rebels fled in the darkness, and ultimately took the north carolina road, fleeing over the mountains. thus ended the grand struggle for the salt works at marion, tennessee. our troops now advanced, nor stopped till their destruction was complete. we all know that it must go very hard, indeed, with any people when they have got no salt. poor things! what could they do with- out salt? so these coveted salt works at marion were destroyed by the union army, but not till the army had been first rescued from de- struction by the colored troops who were attached to the service there. i don't know how it happened, but somehow or other the north- ern generals had a great deal of confidence in colored men, whom they often put aside, and held in reserve in case of the direst necessity in the end, and when the worst might come to the worst. it was then that our faithful fellows were called forwards to save the armies, and they saved them, too, standing like walls of adamant between the white unionists and their terrible foes. our brave boys often did as well elsewhere as they did at marion. it used to be the grand hue and cry in the beginning of the war that if colored men were enlisted into the armies of the union, they historical romance of the american negro. would not fight like their white brothers! even we ladies, who surely were never intended to fight in the ranks—we ladies living far away up in the north at buffalo, used to laugh at the whole thing as a joke, ior certainly everybody knew better. but that miserable parrot cry ceased after a while, and was no more heard of. another grievance in the beginning of the enlistment of colored troops was to offer them smaller pay than white men. some of our regiments absolutely refused to take less; others took what was of- fered. but as a general thing, between congress and the states them- saires, all things were put right at last, and justice was done by mak- ing things about even. but whether right or wrong the troops never refused to do their duty. it certainly was a shameful and shabby affair to offer them less, because many of them certainly were superior to their white brothers in the field. the color of the skin was a poor, miserable reason for giving them less. general t. j. morgan gives a long and brilliant account of his connection with several colored regiments in the department of cum- berland. he is also very jokey, and furnished us with a great many an using anecdotes, which he loves to relate. he gives us some very good sketches of the battle of nashville, tennessee, which occupied two days, in the middle of december, . a thaw had set in; the ice and cold had given way, and general george t. thomas now took advantage of the opportunity that presented itself to compel the rebel general hood to raise the siege of nashville. it was decided that general morgan and his colored regiments should begin the attack on the union left as soon as they could see their way in the dawn of that december morning. after an early breakfast, morgan and his men advanced upon the rebel right with unbounded enthusiasm, and struck it with all their might. their attacks were simply irresistible, and al- though the southerners fought with their accustomed stubbornness and bravery they had to give way. general hood was under the im- pression that this attack upon his left was to be the grand attack of the day's battle, but it was a feint to draw off his men from his right, where general thomas struck him with awful force, doubled him up, and forced the whole rebel army, right, left and centre, to retreat for the space of two miles. thus the first day's battle (which the colored troops began) was a complete success along the whole line, although cotton picking. historical romance of the american negro. we lost many a brave man. general hood made haste to fortify him- self, and threw up intrenchments on his line of battle-in short, he did everything that a prudent general upon the defensive could do. but the white and colored troops followed up their success by attack- ing his forces with unwonted vigor and enthusiasm on the morning of the second day. the southerners not being gods, nor made even of iron, now turned and fled. a general pursuit of the rebels at once be- gan; colored and white alike pressed on like hounds behind the hares. we followed them all the way to franklin, tennessee, followed them day and night, and traversed hundreds of miles, with mud and rains. the roads were in a dreadful condition. many of our brave men lost their shoes in the deep and sticky mud, but still kept on, though their feet were cold, and bled into the bargain. at night they would take down fence-rails and such like to make fires to keep themselves warm. general hood fled away, and returned no more. the confederacy was now beginning to shake in every limb of its body. the north de- termined to hold on. thus our own , colored men contributed to the grand result. as the songs of the day said, “the colored troops fought bravely!" about the th of april, , after i had given the children their breakfast, and sent them to school, the letter-carrier came up the steps with another missive from my own dear tom, and just as i had opened it to begin to read it, who came into the room but dear mother! co to work we went and read the letter together : new orleans, april, . mrs. beulah lincoln, my dear beulah:-with great pleasure i sit down to answer all the delightful letters i have received from yourself and the girls. your let- ters have been a very great joy to me indeed all the time i have been in the hospital. they have actually helped me to mend by keeping up my spirits! at least that is what the doctors and nurses say, who have read some of your letters, and they liked them so much. they were greatly delighted over your letters on your trip to canada! if it had not been for my wound, my residence at this beautiful hospital in the sunny south would have been almost as great a treat to me as the month you and the girls spent at rich- mond hill. because here comes neither frost nor snow, and the sun is always bright and genial, and the flowers scent the air all the year round, and the winds come through the open windows just laden with their fra- historical romance of the american negro. grance. but, thank god, i shall soon be well now, and then i will go back to the war if it is not all over by the time i receive my discharge from this gcod hospital. if the war is not over then, i will go back to the field; but, if it is all over, then i am likely to get my discharge from the army and come home. i have taken “notes” of all the active operations in which i was engaged in the field up to the time i was wounded; and i think i will write and publish a book when i come home! all the events, let things be going as they may, i am sure that they are going ten times better now that our glorious grant has got the chief command over all the armies in the field throughout the far-extended seat of war in the south. before he took command even a child could see how our own northern generals and colonels themselves wrangled, and were jealous of one another, and car- ried on. it always appeared to me that before grant took command they waisted as much strength and national resources as the rebels themselves did! too many cooks spoil the broth; and they also resembled a balky team of cross-grained mules pulling, kicking and flinging against one an- other! indeed they had a great deal to learn, and that was how to agree. but grant put them all to rights with a few shuffles of national "cards." he made all things work aright, and those who were too anxious to be bosses, he either set off on one side by themselves, or else sent them home about their business. in this respect the rebels had been far wiser than we were. they had, of course, their quarrels and disagreements also, but never to the same extent as ourselves. but grant ended all that, and i observe that secession has been ailing very much ever since! it will be old news to you to speak in this letter about the late mas- sacre of white and colored officers and soldiers at fort pillow, where general forrest and his men murdered hundreds of our own brave fel- lows in cold blood. i understand that although that massacre occurred only a few days ago, so to speak, that the war-cry “remember fort pil- low!" has already been made in quite a number of the most recent en- gagements between colored troops and rebels on the seat of war. the wholesale murder of our own men and officers at fort pillow is the entire conversation throughout the hospital, the city of new orleans and the en- tire south. surely that ,murder was winked at by the rebel government at richmond. from the very first day when a rebel was shot dead by a former servant (?) all the rebels of the south together have been more faint at heart than if they had got the leprosy! there has been a con- stant attempt from the first to treat colored troops not as soldiers under the united states government, but as perfect out laws or even as wild ani- mals themselves. a certain kind of shudder, a horror,--a something that no man can describe-seems to have taken possession of the rebel breast at the very idea of letting loose their former slaves against their masters! they think that this is awful indeed, and hold up their hands in holy historical romance of the american negro. horror. and this horror of theirs holds good not only with regard to the colored troops themselves, but it is even more bitter if possible when di- reated against the white officers who trained them in the art of war, and who led them on the battlefield. it is true that we have officers chosen from among ourselves, but then we are all one army, and we must go shares hand in hand with the rest in the general conflict. it was not only a great crime in general forrest and his rebels mur- derinġ hundreds of union men at fort pillow, but it was the greatest blunder they have yet committed as they will themselves find out at once. instead of making over , men afraid of them, or deterring them from the battle entirely, we shall only go into battle ten times more eagerly than before, and do fighting ten times more valiant than ever. a shudder has already run over the entire north that will do more to unite the whole union than if we had gained one of the greatest victories of war. the southern policy from jeff. davis downwards is to ignore us completely as men, and to treat us as “goods and chattels" still. jeff. even issued a proclamation against benjamin f. butler, at new orleans, treating him as an outlaw for organizing regiments of colored troops, or, in fact, for press- ing their former slaves into the war in any shape and form. at the same time, they themselves have made use of their slaves to throw up breast- works, and to do all kinds of labor, almost from the hour when they them- selves at first rebelled. their theory is that they have a perfect right to use their slaves to fight against the union, and we, who own the whole nation must not indeed even touch them with our little fingers! this will dever do, because it is a game that two of us at least cannot play at. it will never be known until the great day of judgment what became of all the colored soldiers who fell into the hands of the rebels. it is true that the rebel authorities directed them to be handed over to the states to which they belonged to be dealt with by the civil laws of those states, out even this is a subject upon which i can obtain no information whatever. i can only say that their path is unknown, and they have never been seen alive after their capture. of other things we are more certain. the south- ern soldiers have been seen killing their colored prisoners on the battle- field,-killing them in hospitals, and in many ways awarding to them the treatment we would give to any wild animal that we shot at a hunt. from the very first the rebels at richmond have refused to exchange colored prisoners like white prisoners of war. they have never even exchanged a single man! there is an old saying that those whom the gods intend to destroy, they first make mad, that is insane. we do not thank the rebel crew for attempting to treat us as outlaws and wild beasts, but we will do one thing for them for all this, ; -we will now assist in pulling down their confederacy far faster than we have done before. as to the murder at fort pillow, the whole thing was, of course, historical romance of the american negro. a put up job. after fighting all the morning, and finding ten times more trouble to get into the fort than they ever expected, at p. m. they sent in a flag of truce. but whilst they pretended to be parleying round that flag of truce, the rebels rapidly and quietly pushed their men up on the sides of the fort, which was contrary to the laws of war, and then breaking off the truce made a sudden rush into the fort and took it. then we sur- rendered, but the rebels would not receive our surrender, and their massa- cre began. they shot down and killed our officers and men in every pos- sible way after they had given up their weapons of war. general forrest and other rebel commanders were there and allowed the carnage to go on that afternoon and next morning. the rebels took our men, nailed some of them to the floors of old wooden buildings to which they next set fire, and thus burned them while yet alive. then they called out others, one by one, and shot them as fast as they appeared. one of the principal white officers was murdered on the road as the rebels were marching away from the fort,- at least he never came through alive. no doubt that con- gress will appoint a commission of inquiry at once, and make a complete examination of the whole affair, and the entire truth will be established from the mouths of those white and black soldiers who escaped. in the meantime, we have facts enough at hand to put all the above beyond the shadow of a doubt. it was horrible. my dear beulah, i had much more to write to you about, but the doctors will be here in a quarter of an hour, and as i wish you to receive my letter without delay, i will now draw it to a hurried end, and leave the balance for my next epistle. in the meantime, my dear beulah, keep the girls steady at school, for after good religion, i think that good education (put to good use) is the grandest ornament in the world, and in a woman i think it looks splendid. also give all my love to mr. and mrs. john b. sutherland, and give them a reading of this letter-and let our children read it too, by all means. i just feel, my dear, as if i could go on writing to you for a month,--you are such a comfort! but, good-by, god bless you! ta-ta! your thrice loving tom. my indulgent and kind readers, i would be glad if i could draw down the veil upon the disasters and defeats we met with from the hands of the rebels whilst our brave men were battling for freedom, and the reunion of all the states. but, alas, alas! that would never do, and i must tell the whole truth on both sides. we had our victories in plenty, and there was a general caving-in of secessiа going on con- tinually, but o dear me! what drawbacks and disasters there are for historical romance of the american negro. the historian to tell! the whole nation was still smarting from our signal defeat at olustee, fla., when the butchery at fort pillow fell upon us like a thunderstorm in summer. i can't tell which was the worst in its way-our complete defeat, our flight and almost total an- nihilation at olustee, or the barbarous murders at fort pillow. our defeat at olustee took place on the th of february, . we must, in the first place, thank our general gillmore for disobeying orders, and leading his black and white troops into that perfect trap which the rebels had prepared for us among the forest trees at olustee. they had their masked batteries, and all their perfect preparations of war completely concealed from us till we were right inside the very trap itself, and then general gillmore, instead of drawing back his forces and forming them into a regular line of battle, wildly rushed one regi- ment after another into the powerful rebel position that lay concealed between two swamps, where our poor fellows were just mown down like grass before the scythe. when eight hundred colored soldiers and six hundred white ones had thus been placed hors de combat, we turned and fled for jacksonville, and all along the way the rebels fol- lowed up our retreat, and all the fugitives alike shared the disasters of a defeat, which was most complete in every part. the exultation at the south, of course, was as great as our depression of spirits at the north, for it was another braddock's defeat over again; but then war is as much of a game as a game of cards, or a game at the checker- board. thus one was in joy whilst the other was in grief; in the same way the dark night follows the bright day, and sunshine gives way to shadow. it is the self-same with the individual as with the nation. which one of us has not had a grand day of triumph, as well as his night of misfortune and distress? what proportion our defeats bore to our victories i am at this time unable to say; but i know they were a very high percentage of the whole, as we found out to our cost. it is not my intention to open up the whole question, but there is at least one horror that i must mention besides actual conflict on the battle- field, which is, that the nation lost about , men that were starved to death (i might almost say) or perished through misusage and ne- glect, and the want of all comforts in the southern prisons, at rich- mond, andersonville and elsewhere. whilst we were fattening their men in our northern cities, and exchanging them as prisoners of war, historical romance of the american negro. it was so they might take the field against us once more, our poor fellows, who were merely skin and bone, were returned to us only to remain mental and bodily wrecks on our hands the rest of their days. few of them, indeed, were ever found fit to go back to the field again. thus , men, some at least of whom were colored, died in the south from want of sufficient food, from cold in the winters, and almost every other conceivable and bad reason, such as the want of medicine, proper nursing and attention during sickness, and so forth. no won- der, then, that our people used to associate the murders at fort pil- low and the deaths in the southern prisons together. we also met with a great defeat at the explosion of the mine at petersburg, on the th of july, . that turned out one of the greatest blunders and most bungled affairs of the whole war. decided that the colored troops should lead the charge into peters- burg after the explosion had cleared the way for the advance and at- tack. then a general, who ranked higher, in a spirit of jealousy countermanded the first and best arrangements, and ordered his white troops to lead the advance. then the mine itself did not explode until some hours after the appointed time. when the explosion came the advance and attack were so bungled that the whole affair turned out a complete failure. the attacking troops were also caught inside the crater in a perfect trap, and the colored troops who were sent in to their aid, fared no better. in fact, at last there was neither advance nor retreat for any one, and things were even worse than at olustee, and all had to surrender in a body, prisoners of war. thus all our labors were thrown away at petersburg on that fatal morning, through jeal- ousy and every kind of bungling and mismanagement. general grant has recorded it in his life, that if the first arrangements had been car- ried out, they would no doubt have succeeded in capturing the city. but such are jealousy and ignorance! these were the two grand causes of the disaster of the union armies during the first half of the war, and all these misfortunes happened in the face of an ever-watch- ful and desperate enemy, who had staked everything on the issue–life, fortune and all-an enemy fighting with all his might for the institution of slavery, and for the control of his own land and government with- out interference from uncle sam. but so it has ever been with all wars that the historian has ever recorded. nations have their dark historical romance of the american negro. days as well as their bright ones. and if we had great and crowning victories, we also had our defeats and dark days. before my dear tom got wounded, and was taken to the hospital at new orleans, i received a letter from him describing a march his regiment had down the banks of a beautiful river in mississippi, after which they came upon the boundaries of one of those grand mansions that i alluded to before as almost excelling the princely palaces of the grandees of europe. we used to think riverside hall something (continues my dear letter-writer), but riverside hall was nothing to belmont, as this place was called. the family had all left, and there was nobody in and about the princely place. no wonder that the slave-holder had grown rich! with a thousand people to work for them for nothing, and themselves pocketing the entire proceeds of their labors and toils, all they had to do was to bank their money, and lay it out in eating and drinking and riotous living, as the bible tells lis. no wonder that they had pleasant trees and shrubbery, and fine streams gliding through the park here, the smooth lawns reminding one of the garden of eden before the fall of our first parents. no wonder that they had grand statuary all along their graveled walks, along which fine carriages and lordly companies on foot glided along their sunny way in the palmy days of slavery, now departed to return nevermore! in the sunny south this day, we marched down the banks of one of the sweetest rivers i have seen in the state of miss- issippi. i have written a few verses on the subject; written them on a marble table in the interior of splendid belmont, a mansion, which for glory and for beauty, it would dazzle your eyes to look upon. here are the lines i composed : upon the southern river! across the bridge we made our way, the dancing waves sang loud and gay, and warm and bright the sunbeams lay, upon the southern river! and countless birds sang in the trees, our banners fluttered in the breeze, all eyes were charmed midst scenes like these, all down the southern river! our hearts were light, our bands did play upon that glorious sunny day. ! historical romance of the american negro. beside the southern river! “the su south!-the unny south!” these words were ever in each mouth, suggesting things of love and youth along the southern river. and still we marched, and laughed and sang and down the flowery banks we sprang, the wild woods with the echoes rang all down the southern river! until we came to "belmont” grand,- the finest mansion in the land, that on the rising ground does stand beside the southern river! thus my tom wrote about the southern river and the sunny south. after this i never wondered more why the slave-holders fought so hard to gain their independence. no wonder, when they fought for "belmont," etc.! chapter ix. the colored men of iowa-hard fight near white river-the men of kansas-enthusiasm for the war-fight at butler-battle of cabin creek-battle of honey springs—the battle of poison springs—battle at the sabine river-battle of boykin's mill with poem-incidents of the war. i have said nothing yet about the far western frontier, and the enlistments that took place far away between the mississippi river and the rocky mountains. there were not many colored people in those states and territories at that time, but the few who were there acted. with the greatest enthusiasm, and came joyously up to the rescue of the union and liberty. although all colored men were free in those parts, they most willingly laid down the plough and other implements of husbandry, left their sweethearts, their wives and families, and all that they held dearest, with wonderful zeal and alacrity, and marched to the field even with the utmost joy, “to help of the lord against the mighty.” of course the western frontier was not the only part of the union where such devotion for the union and liberty was shown. it was the very same everywhere. even in the old slave states, when the recruiting sergeants came along, and asked the slaves if they would like to go to the war and fight for uncle sam, to a man they answered yes. thus the recruiting went rapidly on wherever col- ored volunteers could be found. poor uncle sam was in great need of men, and these brave recruits were gathered together at places ap- pointed for drill, in all the various branches of the art of war, and they learned with great willingness and with great rapidity also. with so much enthusiasm and fire, is it any wonder that colored troops did so well in the war, and with their strong, brawny, willing arms so mightily helped to knock down the south? it is no wonder at all! yes, poor uncle sam was in great need of assistance about the time of lincoln's proclamation of freedom, for these terrible and clever rebels had not only destroyed our white troops by tens of thousands, but they had at the same time thinned out some thousands of the black historical romance of the american negro. soldiers also. lincoln kept calling for more troops, for a very great many more, indeed, and black and white men came up to the national call like heroes. it was not until august, , when the men of iowa arose, hur- ried through their drill, and marched to the front. they gathered at first at st. louis, where mrs. i. x. triplet presented one of the regi- ments with a beautiful silk national flag, on behalf of the ladies of iowa, and of the city of muscatine. that beautiful flag was carried all through the war, and was brought home again to iowa, in the midst of great congratulations. in january, , this regiment was ordered to report to helena, arkansas, and lent a hand in a number of small engagements, where they took numbers of prisoners. but the most serious fight in which they were engaged took place in the following july, near the white river, where they attacked a force of the rebels twice as numerous as themselves. this fight was most desperate, though the rebels lost three men to our one. most of our own officers were killed or wound- ed; night was coming on apace, and still we held out-yea! fought like lions hour after hour. at last a body of white union soldiers coming to our aid, burst through the rebel ranks with loud cheering, and our poor fellows, who were so hard pressed, cheered loudly in return. still the arrival of these reenforcements did not turn the battle into a union victory, but they enabled us to retreat from the field in good order. later on in the day, more colored reenforcements from helena arrived, but too late to make any changes in the situation. it was well for us, however, to save all the men we could, because the rebel soldiers and the rebel population on these western states and territories seldom missed an opportunity to murder every colored soldier who fell alive into their hands. still we cared nothing for their "black flag," but fought ten times harder than before, and thus we helped on the down- fall of slavery! the state of kansas was the very first state in the entire unior to make a commencement in recruiting and drilling regiments of colored men to put down the great rebellion. kansas was only ad- mitted into the union as a free state on the th of january, . it was her admission as such that transferred the slave-holder's rebellion from kansas to south carolina, and the other seceding states. in historical romance of the american negro. other words, the rebellion began in kansas, and the scene was simply shifted upon lincoln's election. but the republican men of kansas arose with unbounded alacrity and enthusiasm, and in a short time had . men in the field, some of whom were regiments of colored men, who did yeoman's service in the west. and not only in kansas, but in every other section of the union, colored men showed a great deal of principle in the way in which they came up to the rescue of the nation : came up with horse, foot and artillery! as deborah says in her song of victory (judges, chapter, verse ): "lebulon and nap- thali were a people that jeopardized their lives unto the death in the high place of the field." the first fight in which the colored troops of kansas were engaged took place near butler. there were about two hundred and twenty-five men in all, and they were attacked by about five hundred confederates. this is supposed to have been the very first engagement in the war between colored soldiers and the rebels, and the rebels were defeated with considerable loss. the date of the engagement was the th of october, . the next morning a few recruits came up and joined their comrades in the pursuit of the seces- sionists, but failed to overtake them. the work of recruiting, drilling and disciplining the regiments still went on, till at last they were so efficient in the various arms of the service that they were second to none. soon after this a foraging party of forty-five of our men were attacked by three hundred confederates, and half of them killed or captured in a short time. this regiment, which was lead by the gallant colonel williams, remained in camp at baxter springs till the th of june, , when it marched for fort gibson, in connection with a large supply train from fort scott en route to the former place. the colonel was led to be- lieve that they would be attacked in the neighborhood of cabin creek. he made haste, and gathered all his men together, about eight hun- dred in all. upon arriving at cabin creek the rebels in great force under general cooper met him there, but our men were unable to cross the stream on account of a shower of rain, which had swollen its waters too high for infantry to get over. when the morning came, by the aid of those who had come up in the night, the whole effective force was now raised to , men, which embraced some cavalry, a few indians, and four pieces of artillery. being well lead on by their historical romance of the american negro. officers, these , men made a most heroic attack on the vastly-su- perior rebel force, and after two hours' hard fighting, vanquished them completely, killing and wounding one hundred men, and taking eight prisoners. we had eight killed and twenty-five wounded on our side. the road was now open, and our men proceeded with the train to fort gibson, where they arrived on the th of july, . it was on the morning of the th of july when our small force under command of general blunt, left fort gibson, and moved upon the enemy, , strong, who were commanded by general cooper. we found the latter encamped at honey springs, twenty miles south of fort gibson. after a desperate combat of two hours, the rebels were totally defeated with a loss of four hundred men killed and wound- ed, and one hundred prisoners. after this the kansas city troops re- turned to fort gibson, where they remained till september, when they moved out again against general cooper and his forces, who fled at their approach. we followed them for one hundred miles, but as they still continued to keep ahead of us, we returned and encamped at fort davis, a former confederate fort on the arkansas river. the troops marched and countermarched till the month of march, , when they joined union general steele's forces, and marched against the enemy, who were posted on the west side of prairie d'aune, within twenty-five miles of washington. as we came up, the enemy hled before us, and we occupied their works without having to fight for tliem! indeed, a good deal of the warfare on the western frontier was nothing but marching and countermarching: coming to blows now and then, in which we were mainly successful, for the rebels often preferred to fly before us! it was curious to note at the time how what appeared to be very frivolous circumstances led to pitched battles and the most serious results. letters from newspaper correspondents, and private letters as well, made this quite clear. private letters to friends were often more clear and explicit than the more general and profuse war cor- respondence. col. williams informs us that he arrived at camden on the th of april, , but on the following day, the th, started with five hundred men of the first colorado, two hundred cavalry detailed from thie second, sixth and fourteenth kansas regiments, and one section a relic of slavery days. historical romance of the american negro. fire-arms used upon that occasion. we had ninety-two killed, ninety- seven wounded, and one hundred and six missing-in all two hundred and ninety-five. the enemy probably lost more than we did. as no re-enforcements arrived by p. m., it was decided to abandon our en- tire train, and work our way through the woods as best we could to camden, where those who remained arrived at ii f. m. on the day of the battle. col. williams named this tremendous fight the battle of poison springs, from a spring of that name in the neighborhood. this was one of the very hardest fights of all that took place in the west. no one but a fool would now ask the ridiculous question, “will col- ored men fight?”—because here we see a force of a thousand colored men or less fighting most desperately for four hours with ten times their own numbers. this was as good as the , greeks under miltiades, at marathon. the greeks did not one whit better than our troops at poison springs. but the success of the troops already raised in kansas fired the hearts of other devoted men to lend a hand in the battle for the union and liberty. in june, , another regiment was organized at fort scott, and the regimental organization of the same was completed at fort smith, arkansas. the regiment went into camp on the poteau river, about two miles south of fort smith. the work of drill and discipline was here carried on till the regiment was in splendid condi- tion for the field. on the th of march, , the regiment left fort smith, and set out on the camden expedition, forming a part of col. williams' bri- gade of general thayer's division. this division united with that un- der major-general steele on the little missouri river, after which they all moved on together against the rebels in the direction of the red river. the rebels under generals price, smith and taylor having de- feated union general banks at the red river, vajor-general steele retreated eastward to camden, a distance of about sixty miles. dur- ing the retreat the regiment had several skirmishes with the enemy, and quite distinguished themselves. on the th of april, , the rebel cavalry came up with the rear of the union forces at the saline river, and skirmishing continued until night came on. a pontoon bridge had been aung over the river, historical romance of the american negro, to endure-long, weary marches, cold, and the want of all things; but such is the life of the soldier, and such is war. we must take the rough with the smooth. upon the whole, the western men fought bravely and successfully, and mightily helped to pull down the rebellion. the present generation have very little idea of the excitement that prevailed all over the country during the long war. where all our regiments did so well—indeed, covered themselves with honor-it would be ridiculous to make any distinction, and place one before an- other. but i may at least make a selection at random, and single out the th regiment of massachusetts, in march, , who fought with unsurpassed valor until the close of the war-yea, after the close of the war! i followed the career of that devoted regiment as if i had been one of the brave fellows! well, how they did fight, to be sure ! they fought at james island, at fort wagner, at olustee, at honey hill, and at boykin's mill, after the war was over, because they had not heard that lee had surrendered! this boykin's mill was a few miles from camden, south carolina. the fifty-fourth regiment had fought every step of the way from georgetown to camden, and the rebels made a last desperate, but un- successful stand at boykin's mill. it was a splendid place for the defense, as there was no other way of approaching it except by a nar- row embankment about two hundred yards long, where only one man could walk at a time. the rebels had torn up the planks of the bridge over the mill-race, thus compelling the men of the fifty-fourth to cross over on the timbers and cross-ties, and all this under a fatal fire of mus- ketry, which swept the embankment and the bridge, and made it little better than a “forlorn hope” to pass over. but he fifty-fourth did not falter. they had fought at olustee and fort wagner, so they charged over the dreadful way in single file. the first men to advance were all shot down, but the rest of their comrades advanced over their prostrate bodies, till the enemy became so panic-stricken at the sight that they gave up the fight, abandoned their position at the mill, and fled. there seems to have been a poet in the regiment—mr. henry a. monroe, of new bedford, massachusetts, who was the drummer-boy of company c, of the fifty-fourth. he thus describes the fight at boykin's mill: historical romance of the american negro. and their warm thanks gave great joy to the officer. the same officer relates another incident for the purpose of show- ing the humor of the colored soldier. a spent ball had struck one of our men on the side of the head, passed under the scalp, and making nearly a circuit of the skull, came out on the other side. his com- rades merrily declared, when the ball struck him it sang out, “too thick !" and then merrily passed on. here is another incident that happened, which i think is very diverting, even amidst the horrors of war. an officer was riding at the head of his column, and the men were swinging along "arms at will," when they spied general george h. thomas and his staff ap- proaching. without orders, at once they brought their arms to “right shoulder shift,” took the step, and striking up their favorite tune of "john brown," whistled it with most admirable effect while they were passing the general, who was greatly amused and pleased at the in- cident. there was a private soldier who during an engagement had taken his position up a tree as a sharpshooter, when he had his right arm broken by a ball. the captain called out to him, “you had better come down from there, go to the rear, and find the surgeon." “oh, no, captain,” he replied; “i can fire with my left arm !" and so he did. when general thomas rode over the field, after the battle of nashville, and saw the bodies of colored men side by side with the fcremost of white men, and upon the very ramparts and works of the confederates, he turned to his staff and said: "gentlemen, the question is settled ; negroes will fight!" and thus i might go on, adding incident to incident, and that without end. where a war was being carried on all the way from the potomac to the rio grande, it must needs have been that thousands of such incidents were taking place every day. chapter x. mrs. beulah lincoln and the girls leave buffalo for new orleans the journey to cleveland, columbus, cincinnati, ohio-voyage down the ohio to the mississippi—arrival at new orleans—met by old friends at the landing-meeting with tom at the hos- pital—the newspaper reports. weeks and months had passed away, during which my gallant tom had written incessantly from the hospital at new orleans, and the two girls and myself had answered him. it was now the winter of , and tom was not yet well enough to get his discharge from the hospital, much less to take the field. i was beginning to tire of writing letters, and things called for a change of scene and fresh air. besides, another stern winter was setting in, and i thought i might get along better in another climate. so i got the girls ready, and we boarded the train for cleveland, columbus and cincinnati, ohio. it was wonderful to see and feel how warmer the weather became as we got further south. the icy fetters of winter relaxed their hold as we advanced, and we were quite delighted with the hills and forests of the beautiful state of ohio all the way to cincinnati. here we travelled over a great part of the city, and called at the parsonage of the a. m. e. church, and visited the a. m. e. church itself, where tom and i were so hap- pily married upon the evening the self-same day when we took our de- parture from riverside hall, near louisville, kentucky. having seen a few of our dear friends here—friends whose ac- quaintance we had made at the time of our marriage—the girls and i, escorted by some of those beloved acquaintances, moved down to the "public landing," where we boarded the "natchez" for new orleans. we took a fond leave of those dear souls, and got on board, and soon felt quite happy in our nice and cosy stateroom, which the girls thought the most delightful little home they had ever been in. at p. m., whilst the bright and dazzling sun was still some distance above the horizon, and after all the loud racket and wild confusion of the embark- historical romance of the american negro. ation were over, the last whistle was blown, they drew in the gang- planks, and we pushed out into the river ohio. our hearts felt as light as feathers as the "natchez" ploughed out into mid-stream, a thousand branches up above, swollen with the re- cent rains, having filled up the mighty and splendid ohio from bank to bank, so that we seemed to be floating down a grand, heaving, fresh-water sea! now, indeed, did we enjoy new life with a vim. i told the girls how the first french owners and explorers named the ohio "la belle riviere," that is, "the beautiful river," and it is the beautiful river, still. our eyes were quite enchanted with the endless hills on both sides, all clothed with primeval forests up to their sum- mits, and coming down to the water's edge. the girls were quite transported with the beautiful, endless turns and windings, and seemed to get no rest for the thousands of boats and barges, and floating things of every shape and size, rushing up and down the river day and night, whistling and screaming, and that without end. it was a perfect delight for me to be once more on this river, for nature is al- ways fresh, fair and enchanting, but for my two daughters the whole scene was nothing but a succession of unending delights. their feet and eyes had no rest, and their tongues were never still. it was more than i could do to answer all their questions. i was quite delighted to see how the girls and several other nice children on the boat be- came acquainted, and learned to love one another. and this acquaint- anceship and love seemed to grow upon them all from day to day as we advanced farther south. indeed, children are great people, and they will have ways of their own. and on, on, still flew “the nat- chez,” whilst our glorious river increased with innumerable branches from the right and left, till we reached the lower end of kentucky, where the lands were more flat and uninteresting. we made a call here or there, and rushed down the stream again, until at last our glorious ohio was swallowed up in the mississippi, “the father of waters." i don't know how it is! i suppose it is because i am a sensitive woman; but our arrival in the mississippi river seemed to put a new soul into me that i am altogether unable to define. like the far-trar- elled queen of sheba, there seemed no more spirit left within me. my first and grandest sensation arose, no doubt, from the fact that the re- mr. jackson. historical romance of the american negro. even union between my well-beloved tom and me was almost an accom- plished fact, because we were now both on the same river, and the rapid "natchez," assisted by the mighty forces of the great rushing river, would soon bring us face to face, after several years of separa- tion, which looked to me like half a life-time already. then there was the mighty “father of waters” himself, always majestic, solemn and grand, bearing your boat along upon his mighty bosom, like a perfect fly! and then we seemed to live our lives over again in our dear children, and the two thoughtful, contemplative girls were filled with a wonder that seemed to strike them dumb. it was a truly wondrous. sight, especially for those passengers who had never been on the mighty “father of waters” before, nor seen his rushing waters. oh, the mississippi, the mississippi! how i thought and thought, and thought again how my dear tom had battled on for many a day against the powerful rebel forts on this very river, to clear uncle sam's way from the headwaters to the gulf of mexico! it brought the tears to my eyes when i thought how my own tender husband had fought and bled on this very stream that the union, one and all re-united, might be restored to the nation at large; how tom had fought and bled, and almost died that the shackles might be knocked off the suffering slave, and freedom reign all over the land, from the lakes to the gulf. thus i stood for many a long hour in my usual feeling, womanish, sentimental way, watching the gathering and thundering waters, over which the swift and beautiful "natchez," the floating palace of the mississippi, hurried and bowled along like a thing of life. and as we swept on past vicksburg and other places that had long ago surren- dered to the union armies, i thought of lincoln's famous words (president lincoln's): "the mississippi, the 'father of waters' flows once more annexed to the sea !" and in this way the joyous days and nights passed away on the rapid "natchez," whilst the passengers spent the time in any way they pleased, reading, talking and sleeping by day, and dancing, courting and lolling away the evening hours, or looking lazily at the rushing waters of the great river. attracted by the hilarity in the saloon, my girls spent some time flirting and waltzing around with the other chil- dren on the boat, nice, harmless playmates, whom i mentioned before. historical romance of the american negro. at once. indeed, the girls were quite fortunate in having such nice girl com- panions, for of all the curses on the face of the earth, i think bad com- pany is about the worst of all! somehow or other this voyage down the mississippi and ohio seemed food for my health. the complete want of domestic cares, the fresh air on the open deck, the happiness of the two children, and all my delightful surroundings, made me fat and rosy, and the girls, also. indeed, we were complimented on our appearance before we left the boat. the rapid "natchez" flew along in, and in due course the "crescent city," as new orleans is called, arose upon our view, and thrilled us with the utmost delight. we drew up to the land-place in due time, and now followed one oi those wild, exciting scenes that usually take place when we come to the end of a grand journey and anticipate grand things in the im- mediate future. no sooner had the gang-planks been thrown out, but the usual rush for the shore, and the usual rush on board, took place cabs, carriages and porters, all were on hand. as i had taken the precaution to communicate with those dear friends at whose house i lodged when i rescued my own dear mother, mrs. john b. sutherland, from slavery, there were two of the self-same sweet ladies awaiting us on the wharf, and signalling to us before we even came up to it, whilst myself and the girls waved our handkerchiefs to them in reply. but when the gang-planks were flung down between us and the shore, the dear souls rushed on board, and a scene of wild embrac- ing, kissing, tears and laughter followed, that it would be quite vain for me to describe. in that brief and joyous meeting on the deck of the "natchez," we all experienced a lifetime of bliss. with a terrible vim, indeed, did we all realize the truth of the th chapter of first corinthians, wherein the great apostle of the gentiles dilates so elo- quently on love (not charity). well, the girls and i got all our traps together, called for a cab, when we all got in, and drove for my cosy old quarters. although i had only spent a week with that dear family on my last visit, the attachment that had grown up between us was truly wonderful. i had heard from them several times, and they never, never forgot my dear mother and me. when we all reached the never- to-be-forgotten house with the cab, we received another ovation at the door from those who had remained at home. the grand welcome put historical romance of the american negro. the girls and me into the very best humor. after we had heard and told each other's news, the girls and myself walked forth to meet dear husband and father at the hospital. our impatience was so great, mine at least was, that we did not seen able to live out this day unless we met with capt. thomas lincoln, of the union army, in the south. we soon reached the hospital, where we were received with all that politeness, tenderness and humanity that are so characteristic of doc- tors and nurses. i told them at once who we were, and they were very greatly astonished and delighted, indeed, to think that we had thus purposely travelled all the way from one extreme end of the united states to the other on a pilgrimage of love and devotion for husband and father. as i told them that tom knew nothing about our coming, i asked them to take us into a parlor, and simply to announce to my husband that some friends had called to see him. our attendants smiled with pleasure at the proposal, and led us into one of the parlors of this beautiful hospital, and we had not long to wait till we heard a heavy man coming-clank, clank, clanking along on one crụtch. (he sent me word that at first he used two, but now he only required one of them). when tom came to the door, we three advanced to meet him, and now followed a wild scene of tears, laughter, embracing and joy, which my dear readers will understand far better than i am able to describe. the wild, heaving, rushing waters of the mississippi were as nothing to this. oh, sweet is the pleasure after pain! we seemed to live a whole lifetime of joy of the most elysian bliss whilst seated in that never-to-be-forgotten parlor. thus hour after hour passed away, till it was dinner time, but on this ocasion, tom's dinner and ours were served up in this parlor. by this time the news had been well spread throughout the hos- pital, and even into the city of new orleans, that the children and i had come to see tom. and no sooner had we got through with our dinner when the tide of visitors began-doctors, nurses, with their lady and gentlemen friends from all quarters, besides almost all the officials on the premises, at least those who could get away from theit duties, to come and shake hands and speak a kind word to us three pilgrim travelers to their own hospital. no doubt but a good deal of this interest arose from the high favor in which captain thomas lin- coln had been held from the first, and that in turn was greatly due to historical romance of the american negro. his well-known bravery on the field of battle and of fame. then tom is of a tall, commanding, splendid personage, and a perfect magnet among all comers. we had intended to spend the afternoon in our own way, but cir- cumstances alter cases, and the afternoon wore away with nothing at all but one round of introductions after another round, till at last the first crowds began to die off as tea time drew near; and as the authorities at the hospital were very kind, indeed, and as we were still in that self-same parlor where we had spent the day, as an additional favor to us four our tea was served up in the same place where we had had our dinner. and so we all sat down, our hearts overflowing with joy-joy that found vent even in tears, and filled our eyes, out of gratitude to that good god who had thus allowed us all to meet again, "for his mercy endureth forever.” one of the girls having said grace before meat, we all fell to, and had a most glorious repast of the very best that the hospital and the city of new orleans could produce. as good news flies fast in a strange place, especially where a good cause is under way, we had no sooner got through with our most capital tea than the newspaper reporters began to arrive. and those reporters were the politest gentlemen i ever saw in my life, for they treated us with as much kindly interest as if we had all been acquainted for the last twenty years. tom and i asked them to be seated whilst we had a brief consultation between ourselves aside. this consultation was about my own coming to new orleans at a former time, and re- leasing my own dear mother from slavery. but as the bottom had al- ready been knocked out of the peculiar institution, as it was playfully called, and what remained of it would soon pass away, we did not con- sider that there was any risk to run, and decide to tell the whole truth, and give all the facts of the case to the reporters, leaving it to their own discretion to say and do anything that they pleased, themselves. so the reporting gentlemen took their seats, got out their note-books, and went to work, writing down our depositions, one and all, first and last, asking us questions which we answered with the greatest pleas- ure. there was a good deal of amusement in the parlor that evening over the reporting business, i suspect arising out of the slavery ques- tion, and the whole of us being a lot of "runaways"! in the meantime, when all had left, the girls and myself were: historical romance of the american negro. arrival of mrs. thomas lincoln and her two daughters. it is an old and true saying "that wonders never cease,” and again we are reminded of the words used by paul against his enemies,-“those who have turned the world up-side down have come hither also!” we southern people, after this, need wonder no longer at the terrible war that the mighty north has brought about our ears! there arrived in the port of new orleans yesterday, the wife and two daughters of capt. thos. lincoln, an inmate of one of our hospitals, a captain of colored troops, promoted on the battlefield for bravery. mrs. lincoln is a perfect paragon among ladies, and seem to possess every accomplishment under the sun, -both mind and body. she is only twenty-seven years of age, and brought her children, two well-grown girls--along with her, having traveled by rail from buffalo, new york, and from thence came on the "natchez," down the ohio and mississippi to new orleans. their arrival was a great surprise to captain lincoln, and all the high authorities at the hospital; and a tremendous, warm welcome was what tuey all received from all whom they met. we ourselves heard of their arrival, hurried up to the hospital, met captain lincoln's wife and daughters in one of the parlors there, and were very much impressed indeed by this entire happy family, who appeared to us "as fine as silk." we found all four brimful of talk and intelligence; mrs. lincoln and the girls being expert hands on the piano, whilst the girls have evidently had splendid opportunities of get- ting a first-class training in every way. indeed the intelligence of the great north has not yet been told by one half! we remember reading in the public papers, some nine or ten years ago, that this self-same capt. thos. lincoln and miss beulah jackson, now mrs. lincoln, made their escape from riverside hall, kentucky, and were married on the evening of the same day at cincinnati, ohio. tom lin- coln, as he used to be called, was general manager at the old baronial resi- dence, and beulah went by the facetious name of “the flower girl of riverside hall," and beulah is “flower girl" still. mrs. lincoln and the girls are very comfortably lodged at the house of some old friends where, according to present appearances, they will spend the winter,-a solace and a comfort to the brave husband and father, who is slowly recovering from the wounds he received on the banks of the mississippi whilst heroically contending with the enemy up the river. the happiness of this now re-united family, and under such romantic circum- stances, taught us that the age oi chivalry has not yet gone by. we are all aware that this war sent by god himself for the down- fall of slavery, was begun in kansas, transferred to south carolina, and then spread over almost all the southern states. it was the abolitionism of the north aided by the anger and high-strung temper of the south that blew up the flames of war, and brought on the present state of things that we now see! and there were not only men in the great abolition cam- historical romance of the american negro. paign, but a few intrepid women also, who traveled the northern states, attended great meetings, where they played, and sang, and even made most eloquent addres es to fire the great noi hern heart, and thus these talented and warring women, these deborahs of the great north, were a mighty factor in blowing up the raging fires of abolitionism, and driving the nation into war. mrs. thomas lincoln herself was one of those moving spirits, and her great natural intelligence, splendid training, and good looks helped to put wind in her sails, and to stir up the war spirit of the dominant north in every kind of way possible. as slavery is almost dead and gone,--and what remains cannot exist much longer, we must accept the entire situation with as good a grace as we can! it can do no harm now to let the cat out of the bag and tell the whole truth! we have shown that not only is capt. thos. lincoln a brave man, but his affectionate and beautiful wife is brave also; and she proved it about ten years ago, when she was only some seventeen years of age, and came to this very city of new orleans, and "stole away" her own handsome and accomplished mother out of one of the grandest houses here, marched on board the new york steamer with her, and conveyed her to buffalo, new york, by way of havana and new york city. surely that was a great feat for a mere seventeen-year-old married woman, or 'big' school girl if you prefer it,—to perform,—that is travelling all the way by rail to cincinnati, then down the ohio and mississippi rivers, and then braving the dangers of the gulf of mexico and the stormy north atlantic and all this to have her own beloved mother under the self-same roof with herself-and she succeeded in the bargain! we are informed that her mother,-formerly called harriet jackson, was married some eight or nine years ago to mr. john b. sutherland, of buffalo, n. y. under all these altered circumstances we think that the right thing to do now, is to ac- cept of the changed situation with all the grace that we can,-turn over a new leaf, and do all for our former slaves, but now our freed brothers and sisters that lies in our power. it is clearly the will of god that men should be free. it will never do to talk about "goods and chattels” any longer. if tom lincoln and beulah jackson had not left riverside hall in kentucky, it is quite clear that had it not been for god and northern lib- erty, we would never have seen such a splendid development of things, as we now behold at the hospital which we have just visited, that is.--a brave and well-trained soldier from the battlefield and a mother and two daughters that possess all the gifts and the graces that can ever be claimed by the mistress of the “white house," at washington, and the queens and ladies of rank of europe. with all our hearts we welcome our visitors to the crescent city of new orleans, and desire to make a good impression on their hearts and minds, trusting that their stay among us will be very pleasant indeed; and may they ever be much in love with the sunny south. historical romance of the american negro. all things being now in readiness, the chairman called the meeting to order by saying,-"ladies and gentlemen! we are assembled here to- night for an evening's entertainment from the lincoln family of buffalo, and we may also consider this a public reception of the same family. und inasmuch as mrs. lincoln is a splendid hand on the piano, and a "number one” singer in the bargain, and as i had the pleasure of hearing her my- self, only the other day, going through the “mocking bird” at a rate and in a way such as i have never heard-no, nerer, elsewhere,i will ask this accomplished lady to give us “the mocking bird,” and sing to her own accompaniment at the same time. when jirs. lincoln arose and advanced to the grand piano on the stage in front of the audience, a most tremendous outburst of applause a rose from the audience, and almost brougnt down the roof. but our plucky and accomplished musician struck in without stint, and such a “mocking bird" came forth from her lungs and off the chords of the piano as has not been heard for many a long day on the lower mississippi. the attention was such as could be felt, and when she got through with the performance, the applause was simply indescribable. an encore was im- mediately called for with such vigor that the fair player was forced to com- ply, and with grand spirit and vim she gave us "we are coming father abraham, six hundred thousand more." this really is a grand story, to which mrs. lincoln's clever hands and powerful, sweet voice did ample justice. another encore was called for, but the gallant chairman inter- ferred by rising and saying, “we now call upon captain thos. lincoln for a few remarks. let us all give our most earnest attention to captain tom. when the applause that had greeted his appearance had somewhat died down, captain lincoln went on to say, “ladies and gentlemen, such a night as this makes up for all i have sufferea in the cause of the union and freedom. when i first entered the army to assist in putting down the rebellion, i came down to the state of louisiana and did my level best against the enemy along the lower mississippi. while we in louisiana and the colored troops in south carolina under general hunter, proved from our first blows that we could and would fight, the president and his cabinet were deterred by many prejudiced men in the north and in the very army itself from enisting colored men. a portion of the northern press were forever thundering against the enlistment of colored men, on account of the prejudice against the color of the skin, or at least against the inheritance of a few drops of african blood. they were envious and jealous lest the descendant of african parentage should fall side by side with the fair-skinned caucasian, should die and be buried with him, or if he survived the shock of war, should receive the self-same honors as his inglo-saxon brother. of course the white man of the north knew that we could fight quite as well as himself. why not? but he was afraid of our proving that our claims to manhood were as good as anything he historical romance of the american negro. a could claim for himself; and therefore he felt unwilling to give us chance. then again, not only did the slave-holders of the south desire the continuation of slavery, but there was an "immense mixed multitude” of their sympathizers north of mason and dixon's line, who took the same view of the situation, and who foresaw that, once the colored race marched to the field, slavery would come to an end. this opposition was rampant in the union army and throughout the north till the southrons had given us dozens, if not hundreds of lickings on many a hard fought field, and the winter of saw the entire nation in a fearful state of depression. what was to be done?-the answer was at hand!--as a matter of imme- diate military necessity call the colored men into the field,-free them,- and end the war! then drilling of colored men began at once, from the atlantic to the rocky mountains, and from the great lakes to the ohio and missouri rivers, and now i believe that we have some two hundred thousand colored men in the field and in the fleets together. neither have we fought for pay nor from any other personal selfish motive; we have fought for the salvation of uncle sam and the freedom of the slave at one and the same time. we have not fought for ourselves alone, we have fought for others, and all the commanding generals have ever given us a good word, and never a bad one. they have uniformly praised our men with a good grace, and praised them without stint. now the south is steadily going down, down, down. all they have left is a small section in the northeastern part of the confederacy, and they cannot hold out much longer. still like rats, they will fight as long as there is one man left stand- ing on his feet. i am afraid we shall have to kill every one of them for they are a stiff-necked and rebellious generation, and they will never sur- render whilst they have a man in front who can carry a flag. i ought to be in virginia now myself, where so many of my friends and compatriots, under grant, are wearing out the rebellion to a nonentity. i would like to be there, and would soon show the rebels and rebel sympa- thizers again whether i will fight or not. but i am not entirely recovered, even now, from the wounds i received up the river, and here i will remain until i am cured." captain lincoln having thus spoken resumed his seat amidst a per- fect storm of applause all over the hall. the gallant chairman once more arose and said, “ladies and gentle- men. it is now nuy extreme pleasure to bring under your kind notice the two accomplished young daughters of mr. and mrs. lincoln, two of the sweetest girls that i ever met with in all my life. they are regular at- tendants of a christian church at buffalo, and have also received a first class musical education in the north. they will now treat us all to a fine duett on the grand piano.” when the commanding general had thus spoken, these two elegant girls advanced to the piano, took their seats, and commenced a duett historical romance of the american negro. which gave a world of pleasure to all assembled in the hall, both soldiers and citizens alike, and where and how these girls had got so much training and perfected musical education was a wonder to many. be that as it may, the girls were not at all daunted, and played as quietly and collected as if they had been in a private parlor at home. when the girls had got through their lively and enthusiastic duett, the applause that followed was so great and continued that they were obliged to comply with the demand for an encore, which they accordingly gave, and which was, if possible, better than the one before it, and was rewarded with another tremendous round of applause. the chairman arose again and said, “ladies and gentlemen, we have all listened with extreme pleasure to the two duetts played by these two children. we will now call upon mrs. thos. lincoln to address the house. she did splendid service during the abolition campaign that led on to the election of abraham lincoln; and thousands, who are now free, have al- ready risen up and called her blessed. but we will now have the pleasure of hearing the lady herself.” mrs. lincoln on coming forward was met with a splendid reception from the audience, who even rose to their feet and cheered loudly. it was a glorious sight to see the meeting at this time, the handsome lady waiting on the stage, and soldiers and citizens like to go frantic with joy, as well indeed they might. when order had been evolved out of chaos, mrs. lincoln proceeded as follows: “gallant general, ladies and gentlemen, it seems to me that this must be the happiest day of my life, thus to stand before an audience in the famous crescent city in company with my dear husband and daughters. most assuredly this is the red letter day of my life, if i ever had one, to address both soldiers and citizens at new orleans. and yet i am quite overwhelmed when i contrast the little i was permitted to do in the abolition campaign before the war with what many a brave man,-yes, hundreds of thousands of men have done since, and are doing now, both by day and by night. i feel quite overcome when i think even of these brave men all around me here, and remember the easy times hy comparison, that we abolitionists had as we travelled the northern states, and were not always well received. yes, small and puny was our work compared with that of the black and white heroes who have often met a most determined and even desperate foe, on many a hard fought field. the hearts of us poor women in the north have often bled as we all these years at home lay secure and safe, whilst our loved ones were fighting like giants against the enemies of human liberty, and mankind also. the brarest of the brave were in the field. white and black all fought alike well. they were the flower of all the men of the north. they were swifter than eagles. they were stronger than lions. the war, no doubt, is now drawing to a close. the host of slavery bal house where lincoln died. emancipation statue boston, mass. historical romance of the american negro. is in their last ditch, even at richmond in virginia, where blacks and whites will have to finish them between them. and when this cruel war is all over, and those who remain alive return home again, then the country will begin to teem with chronicles and histories of the great rebellion. but will one hundredth part of the truth ever be told? i don't think it erer will; because it will never be known, and who can write the history of that which we don't know? such and such things could be related, but there is no one to record them. it is very true that we may catch a glimpse of things here and there, but for one item that is recorded, there will be a thousand lost. there are the marches, and the counter-marches, the snow, the rain, and the hail of winter; the heats and droughts of summer; weakness and sickness arising from the want of all things, hunger and fatigue. o, there is none but the lord from heaven himself who can ever know all that our brave fellows have endured before they breathed their precious lives away in the service of their country. just consider for a moment how their decaying bodies have been found weeks and months afterwards in the deep ravines, at the bottom of swamps and rivers, in the wild tangled thickets of the forest, upon every highway, and under every green tree. here a poor wounded fellow wandering away by himself and perishing all alone in a strange land far from home and his native state, who knows all about the end of that man; and who shall write his heroism and the suffering he en- dured before the lord put an end to his pains, and took him home to heaven to himself? alas, alas! there is no one to tell us how he suffered. fought and died. we only know that he marched forth to the field, in health and strength and vigorous life, and did his part in pulling down this terrible rebellion, a wicked rebellion indeed, built upon the broken laws of human nature, an outrage upon humanity, and a sin against god. but those gallant heroes who have fallen in the war often said, that it was simply their part to do their duty, and, if they fell, their wives and chil- dren would at least be free, and not forgotten by a grateful and christian government. (they shall not be forgotten). when i look around me, and see the great advance along the whole line already in the way of human liberty, the results are perfectly grand and most inspiring. with the ex- ception of a small section of the confederacy, it may be truthfully stated that the armies of the union have already freed all the slaves. from the potomac to the rio grande one grand song of liberty has been sung by the emancipated race. was there ever such a shout of joy heard since the is- raelites escaped from egyptian slavery, when pharaoh and all his host perished in the red sea ? who would ever have imagined that in our own day history would thus have repeated itself? but it has done so all the same; and for the self-same reason our own poor, oppressed people have raised one universal shout to heaven, and sung all along the whole line, "i will sing unto the lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously; the horse historical romance of the american negro. and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.” o, my brother! ye brave sold- iers of the army of the union, ye have deserved well of your god and of your country, and your honers will never fade while sun and moon endure. white and black soldiers, shoulder to shoulder, have marched to the field; they have overthrown their terrible foe, and they have cleared the way for the education, the christianization, and grand enlightenment and in- telligence of an emancipated race. our sufferings have been great. the whole nation has suffered, but the sacrifice has not been made in vain, for generations unborn shall arise and call you blessed. your labors, toils and sufferings will neither he lost nor forgotten. the entire emancipated race will bless you while life and time shall last; your names shall be inscribed upon the roll of fame, and all generations shall conspire to call you bless- ed. *be thou faithful unto death, and i will give you a crown of life.' "enter ye into the joy of your lord.' mr. chairman, ladies and gentlemen, i thank you very much indeed for your kind attention to my few remarks." when mrs. lincoln had thus spoken, she resumed her seat amidst a loud and long-continued storm of applause. the gallant chairman then called for “three cheers and a tiger,” for the lincoln family, which were given with a terrible vim, when the meeting broke up, and we all scattered for our separate homes. but a grander demonstration was never gotten up in the city of new orleans. the last grand struggle of war was in virginia, where general grant gathered together many of the veterans who had fought in the south and southwest, including , colored troops, one-half, at least, of whom were veterans, and there were also many powerful, en- thusiastic recruits who desired nothing better than an opportunity to assist in knocking down the confederacy! a goodly number of those brave young fellows had been enlisted in maryland. it is quite amus- ing to recall the letters and chronicles of the times when the recruiting officers landed from their vessels on the shores of the chesapeake, marched up to the slave-holder's estates, called for all the male slaves to be brought before them, when they picked out the strongest and the best, asked them if they were willing to fight for freedom and the union, and always receiving the joyful answer, “yes, master, i am willing," laid down their tools there and then, and marched on board the union vessels with great delight. it was in vain that their rebel masters and mistresses pointed out their need of their slaves, to gather it. their harvest, which was then about ripe ( ), or that the officers took their able-bodied “servants," who left their teams right there on historical romance of the american negro. the highways, the heads of the horses being turned round in the direction of the plantation. the rebel masters and mistresses were sim- ply referred to washington for redress—if any could be got there! "you must apply to the secretary of war; we are merely acting un- der orders from the head of the department." in the meantime the delighted slaves marched on board, and were taken to the camp ap- pointed for drilling, and thus many a splendid soldier was recruited who mightily helped to pull down the "confederate states." the children and i spent a delightful time, as i remember well, on the th of april, , reading the glorious accounts in the papers of the grand march, the day before, past the white house at wash- ington, of the mighty army destined for the conquest of virginia, and the destruction of the entire slave-holders' rebellion. that never-to- be-forgotten show-day was indeed one of the red-letter days for the army of the union, among whom were thousands of colored soldiers who marched gaily past, and hurrahed lustily for "father abraham," who was smiling down upon them from the balcony of the white house. although they were not yet declared american citizens, still these brave young men were going to fight for the star-spangled ban- ner. they had often heard the name of abraham lincoln, but this was the first time they ever saw him, and they swung their caps around their heads, clapped their hands, and shouted aloud for joy, "hurrah, hurrah, hurrah for mr. lincoln! three cheers for the president!" long and loud were the rejoicings, as regiment after regiment march- ed past; powerful, enthusiastic men, who were once slaves, but now freemen, with steady step and even ranks moved in splendid order down the street past the white house on their venturesome way to the seat of war. the president had never seen a general review of colored troops before, but he was greatly pleased, indeed, and heartily acknowledged their enthusiastic shouts by bowing and waving his hand to them, and making himself agreeable and pleasant to them, a. they marched past. thus the whole army under review passed on, crossed “yon long bridge" over the potomac river, and entered the state of virginia. poor, brave fellows! many of them never returned alive, but they were the bravest of the brave, and performed their glorious mission. the grand march was past at washington. it was like the ball historical romance of the american negro. and dance before the battle of waterloo, when the british and allied armies had that glorious night's revelry before they marched to the field to meet the french under napoleon. and so some , men of african descent niet on the soil of virginia to contend with lee and his confederate veterans. it would require a whole volume to itself to relate all the marching and counter-marching of the next twelve months; the battles in the woods, the advancing and retreating, and the fighting at the fords of the rivers of virginia. general grant, poor fellow, lost many brave men, for the rebels were bold and cour- ageous; they were on their own soil, and, worst of all, were fighting for slavery. the evolutions of the contending hosts these last twelve months of the war, remind me somewhat of a great “circus,” where the horse and their riders fly along in one unending whirl, whilst grant seemed to stand in the middle of the circus, and direct the evolutions of both riders and steeds. the colored troops came in for their full share of the work, bravely performed their duties every time, but, alas ! there was many a brave man who was laid under the sod! yes, it would take a whole volume to recount all the deeds that our brave brothers did, marching and fighting nionth in and month out, in sum- mer's heat and winter's cold. it was in the end of september, , that general butler, at the head of a strong force of colored troops, carried the new market heights, and utterly defeated the rebels. our loss was considerable, but our own men were completely successful. many other instances of devotion and bravery might be given; but it would be nothing but an unendless task. general grant and all the other commanders had nothing but good words for our heroic bro- thers. it was now the beginning of april, . the bottom had almost been knocked out of the confederacy by sherman's march from at- lanta to the sea. general lee and his determined rebel crew still held out at richmond, but grant and the union armies were thinning them down and wearing them out. then came the fall of petersburg, the key to richmond, and then followed the retreat of the rebels from richmond itself. the intention of lee and the rest of the confeder- ates was to betake themselves to the mountains, and there carry on a guerrilla warfare as long as they had a man left to carry the rebel flag and shoot a gun. but this was not allowed. swift-footed white and historical romance of the american negro. black troops followed them up with unrelenting vigor day and night; with horsemen and footmen we hurried after them, and at last got right in front of them, and outflanked them also at appomattox court house. the confederates had been without food for three days and nights, and all things were coming to an end. lee soon discovered that he could not break through the union forces, under grant, meade and sheridan. at one and the same time, he therefore dispatched fleet couriers to each one of the three union generals to cease fighting, and stating that he would surrender himself and his army prisoners of war.. generals grant and lee accordingly met, when the surrender was made ; and when the rebel forces in other parts of the south heard of the surrender of lee at appomattox court house, they also laid down their arms. thus the south was conquered, and slavery was destroy- ed. the shackles were knocked off , , of our own beloved race, the union was restored, and, as lincoln said, “the mississippi, father et waters, flowed once more unvexed to the sea !” glory to god! i shall never forget the excitement when the news arrived at new orleans that lee had surrendered. among the rebel sympathizers it was a time of great depression, indeed; but among all union people, and the entire colored race, most of all, it was truly a time of such re- joicing as only occurs once in a lifetime. people embraced and even kissed one another who had never met before; they shed tears of joy, sang, shouted, and gave glory to god. it was a perfect carnival both day and night. to the colored race, at least, it brought the deepest and most sincere joy, and all felt that the war had not been waged in vain, nor so many valuable lives sacrificed for nothing. in many parts of the union the people met together in halls and churches for the pur- pose of giving praise and glory to god; and there was general rejoic- ing over the triumph of the armies of the union. thousands-i might say millions-never went to bed. that night was like the night when the israelites came out of egypt. it was the passage of the red sea over again. "sing unto the lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously; the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea! praise ye the lord !" the war also vindicated and proved the complete manhood of the colored race before the entire world. at least , of the flower of our youth had fought most manfully to save the very life of the nation; historical romance of the american negro. in fact, the late slave had earned his own freedom, and therefore had at least as much reason to thank his own powerful right arm as to uncle sam himself and the arnies of the union. it now gives me great pleasure to inform the kind reader that tom was now completely recovered from the effects of the wounds he had received up the river. it was now the month of june, , and we were all longing to see our dear friends at buffalo, and they also were anxious to see us. as tom and the girls had never seen the gulf of mexico, nor the atlantic ocean, we thought it would afford us a pleasant variety in the line of travel to return home by havana and new york city. so we all took a tender leave of our dear friends at the hospital, and throughout the city, many of whom came down to the new york boat to give us the last sweet tokens of affection and see us off. as upon the former occasion, when mrs. sutherland and i came this way, we had splendid weather all the way to havana, where we all landed and had a pleasant walk through the city of the capi- tal of cuba. it is wonderful what a good idea a person can get of a strange place, even in a few hours. we got up steam once more, passed through among the bahama islands, and made a call for a few hours at the beautiful little city of nassau, on the island of new providence. this belongs to the eng- lish, and is the most spicy and perfect place in all the west india is- lands. got up steam again, and passed cape hatteras in safety, and in due time landed at new york, after which we took the train for buffalo, where we arrived after a long and weary ride on the cars; and mr. and mrs. john b. sutherland and several other dear friends gave s a very warm welcome when they met us at the depot, and took us all to our own home. chapter xii. receptions at buffalo—the lincoln's and sutherland's visit to can- ada-their grand reception there-our sacrifices for the union and freedom-the difficulties of reconstruction-good work of the freedman's bureau-universal rejoicing of all the re- deemed race, the colored people settling down to hard work throughout the south. the long and terrible civil war was all over at last, and by the grace of god we had got our tom home to buffalo once more, all safe and sound. our sea voyage from new orleans to new york did us all an immense lot of good, and seemed to brighten us all up in a won- derful degree. it was at least a grand event in the lives of the girls, and is not forgotten even now. by way of returning thanks and giving glory to god for the vic- tcrious end of the war, a regular reception was given to us one night ai the a. m. e. church on vine street, when every member was pres- ent, and there was such a time of rejoicing and general jollification as i thought had never been exceeded since the world began. we were also called upon for short speeches; hymns of praise and triumph were sung, and, indeed, there was a high time generally. “o give thanks unto the lord, for he is good, for his mercy endureth forever!" for the space of a whole month thereafter we just spent the whole time receiving friends at our house, and entertaining them, and going out and being entertained by them in turn. it was just one round of the purest pleasure, in which there was neither danger nor alloy. tom had to do an infinite deal of talking, relating his wars and battles in the sunny south, and the girls and i supplemented the same by giving our experiences of the rivers ohio and mississippi, and the grand sea voyage all the way from new orleans to new york. people were greatly taken with the two girls, as they were just as bright as two buttons. after all this turmoil was over, we all sighed for some fresh air in the country, and new scenes altogether. the glorious gibsons of historical romance of the american negro. canada had been writing incessantly ever since we spent that never- to-be-forgotten month at richmond hill, and had most urgently in- sisted upon us three coming back the second time after tom's return to buffalo—and for us to bring tom along with us. and tom him- self was not only willing but he was most anxious to go, for the tongues of our children had been going ding-dong hammer and tongs, about the glories of richmond hill and western canada. and when it was at last decided that we would take the road, and the day of our departure from buffalo had been set, nothing would satisfy our anxious children but that they should write a conjoint letter to the gibsons about our coming to canada. and this they did in their own way, and with such an incredible amount of enthusiasm that the good gib- sons have been laughing over it ever since. so we got already for our journey in the beginning of august, , and when we were about to start for the railway station, what was our surprise when mr. and mrs. sutherland, in travelling costume, marched back into the parlor, and said that they also were bound along with us to richmond hill and the canadas! we were as much knock- ed down by this piece of information as if we had been prostrated on the battlefield by a discharge of grapeshot. we four all gave a loud shout for joy, made a general rush for them, and such a scene of em- bracing, kissing and congratulation followed as certainly can never be described by the pen. this unexpected turn of affairs put new courage into us all, and served its purpose as well as a tremendous victory over the enemy. the girls shouted, “come on, father! come on, mother! grandpa, come on! come on, grandma! there's a good time com- ing, and no mistake this time.” the children set us all laughing. but business is business, and so we got our trunks into a conveyance, and all the presents intended for the good folk at richmond hill, and the conveyance rolled on to the railroad station, while we six happy trar- elers proceeded, after it on foot. we all reached the station in due time, and being in a very hilari- ous mood, the weather being so fine, and with such pleasing prospects before us, we were taken for a wedding party, and no wonder! we got into the train, and soon was off for canada. having at length crossed over the niagara river, we were fairly launched upon canadian soil. all hearts were light, all eyes were bright, and nature's face was fair hauling cotton to the gin. historical romance of the american negro. and gay. our ride from the river to the railway station at ingersoll was indeed perfectly delightful, and we had nothing to do by the way but sit back in our seats and admire the beautiful and well-cultivated country. as the girls and i had been here two years ago, it was not such a wonder to us, but the beautiful hills and dales of this land of ref- uge, to our oppressed people in days gone by, were a perfect inspira- tion, a wonder and a delight to the rest. in due course of time we ar- rived at the station at ingersoll, where we were met by a conveyance from richmond hill; but as there were six of us in all, more than they, or even than some of our ownselves, had expected, we could not all get in, and tom got another conveyance and divided the company in two. when we had almost completed our journey, the gibsons at richmond hill saw us coming over the top of the last hill, as we is- sued out among the trees, upon which the entire family, dogs, cats and all, were seen leaving the house, and going down the field for the purpose of meeting our cavalcade at the gate that opened into the high-road. we cautiously descended the last hill, moved down the road that leads to the cedar swamp, and met these good gibsons at the gate. i have said hundreds of times since that the warm welcome they gave us put me in mind of heaven, and it seemed to me at the time worth going all the way to richmond hill to receive! ile all steered up the field road on foot, and when we came to richmond hill, and looked around us upon the country far and wide, we were all perfectly enchanted with the view, and one and all of us exclaimed, “what a beautiful land! fair as the garden of eden before the lord! beautiful as tirzah !" then we all went into the house, where we disposed of our trunks, and all the rest of our things, after which we sat down and talked, and felt thoroughly at home. indeed, there was a home feeling about the place that was irresistible. with true canadian kindness refreshments were immediately placed before the young man who drove the hired conveyance, and after he had helped himself to his heart's content, he took his departure for inger- soll, where i doubt not he arrived safely in a short time. a good supply of bread and cheese and milk were set upon the table, and each of us took a snack only, because the afternoon was now wearing on apace, and supper would be ready in a couple of hours. in the meantime, we all put on our hats and bonnets, and ac- historical romance of the american negro. companied by several members of the family, we took a walk up to the top of the range of hills that ran away above the house, from whence we could see the sloping lands and dales that lay away beyond them; and, indeed, we had a most complete view of the whole coun- try, as far as the eye could reach. there was something perfectly sub- lime in the scenery that lay all around us, far and wide. how we did admire the fair-faced forest land, where the streams rolled away for lake erie, winding round, and round, and round; and the forests grew on both sides all down their banks, and the rest of the country was under a course of careful, splendid cultivation. we were so much taken with the glorious views of fair and fertile canada that we felt in no hurry to return, but sat down on the hill- top, like a lot of birds of passage resting after a long flight, and inhaled the very inspiration of the joyous scene. but at last time was called for, and we all steered back to the house, where we found doctor and mrs. mckenzie, of the presbyterian church, to which the gibsons go, in the little country town three miles off. the mckenzies live in a beautiful mansion among the trees on the hill-top opposite rich- mond hill. (we left the mansion on our right hand before we de- scended the last hill). they had heard that we six had come, and in our absence had arrived to pay us a visit. dr. mckenzie and wife are excellent company; they are highly intelligent, and come from the highlands of scotland. we had attended his church in the town upon our last visit in the autumn of . supper was now ready, and we all sat down around the jovial board, which was fairly groaning under an enormous weight of good things. dr. mckenzie said grace; mary and margaret gibson acted a: waiters, and we had one of the best suppers that were ever served up even in hospitable canada. after that we resolved ourselves into a sort of open parliament, and the night drove on with fun and con- versation. one after another of the neighbors continued to arrive, and the enthusiasm of the night went on, grew and still increased. the piano was also brought into full play, and the girls and some of the rest of us played and sang, and a better time had never been heard along the sides of those peaceful and lovely hills. i am sure it was for all a time of extraordinary enjoyment. during a lull in the proceedings of the night, dr. mckenzie stated historical romance of the american negro. al appomattox court house, in virginia. he had, indeed, no great army to surrender, and what little armies remained to the rebellion elsewhere were but of small account, and promptly laid down their arms at last. whilst the south fought with a valor that was worthy of a better cause, and her slave-holders and followers actually laid down their lives in thousands and ten thousands for their darling "independence" and slavery, i am never able to think without regret of the dreadful sacrifice of human lives and treasure that we of the north were forced to make to restore the union to its former state, and to secure the free- dom of the last slave in all the land. never since this world began did a defiant, haughty and valiant race of rebels so long and so successfully resist-i might almost say the wealth, the resources, and the physical strength of half the world. it was the "strong man armed," and in his own house, fighting there with all his might and main. and how did we knock down the house and kill him? alas, alas! we had to sacrifice whole legions of our well-beloved, both white and black, that the union and liberty might be where they are at the present day. i have just above compared the condition of the south at the close of the war to that of a forest of mighty trees, all suddenly dashed to the earth by the force of overwhelming and irresistible winds—even the terrible winds that are swept upon the land from the wild and stormy ocean that breaks upon our shores. the question next was how were we to clear this forest land; remove all the trees with their great up- turned roots; fill up the great cavities--in a word, “clear the land," and worst of all, restore the forest? what abraham lincoln might have done if he had lived-he and his cabinet between them-i am unable to say. a great many people are of the opinion that had lincoln lived things would have gone ten times better with reconstruction than they did. that may have been so, but the wish was father to the thought, and it has always been my opinion that there would have been a bad time of it for years and years to come, as there was without the great war president. poor fellow! because ever during his lifetime, and when the war was going on, there were many times when lincoln him- self confessed that he was almost at his wit's end, and did not know what to do for the best. with the southerners going home, sullen, angry and defeated, and four millions of slaves redeemed from the curse historical romance of the american negro. of the "peculiar institution," for the very life of me i am unable to see that any one with much less wisdom than that which is divine, could ever had at once brought order out of chaos in a day, or even in a year. even with the assistance of , giants, it must have taken time to clear away that fallen forest, fill up the awful gaps, and put a new forest in the place of the one that had been knocked down! in order to make a beginning at reconstruction it was decided to place the late rebellious states under military governors, who acted in concert with the bureau for freedmen, refugees and abandoned lands. this “freedman's bureau," as it was briefly called, was wisely established in the spring of for the purpose of assisting in every possible way those , , of the african race whom the war had made free and turned loose on the country. of course they must not be permitted to starve, and the government at washington wisely es- tablished the bureau to assist them in tiding over the crisis. richmond and the confederacy had not fallen yet, but the grand crash was at hand, and all things were in readiness for the mighty changes that were at the door of the nation. but the freedmen were not the only people who had to be provid- ed for. there was a host of white people—all sorts of refugees-who had also been rendered homeless and entirely destitute, who were in precisely the same condition as the recent slaves of african descent. these had to be looked after the same as the rest of the people, and all had to be clothed and fed, and encouraged to go to work at once, be- sides sending their children to public schools that were to be estab- lished all over the states lately in rebellion. besides all these, courts of law were set agoing to try ordinary cases throughout the new mili- tary districts everywhere. and for the purpose of farming, it was decided to take the lands that had been abandoned by the rebels dur- ing the war, or confiscated by the government, and portion out the same to freedman and refugees, not giving more than forty acres to each, and that upon the easiest terms, for the space of three years, with the right of purchase afterwards, if the tenants wished to buy, when the easiest terms again would be granted. but right here i have some- thing of a most unusual pleasant nature to relate. my indulgent read- er, iny book would come far short of the mark without it! the war that had lasted about four years and a half was now all historical romance of the american negro. over and gone. the last rebel had been forced to lay down his arms, and slavery, that had existed under the most aggravated form for about two hundred and fifty years, had been swept from the land, and there remained not the shadow of a doubt that every colored man, woman and child were entirely free. then, like the jews of old, after the drowning of pharaoh and his rebel army in the red sea, there arose a loud and long-continued song of joy from the hearts of all the , ,- of freed people all over secessia—from mason and dixon's line to the rio grande river; and from the wild atlantic waves to the state of missouri in the far west. for some time after the close of the war, throughout the entire south, the entire colored race could think of little else but rejoicing, singing and dancing for joy. and i would think it a very strange thing iſ the redeemed race had not so abandoned themselves to such joy and rejoicing for a time at least. it was the natural song of the captive, suddenly and unexpectedly released from his prison. joy, joy, joy! oh, nothing but joy! "i will sing unto the lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously; the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea." for two hundred and fifty years the poor, dear, oppressed people of god had been under the lash of the task-master; but now they were free as the masters themselves! this was right, perfectly right, and accounts for all their joy, their songs and rejoicing all over the lately far-extended battle-field. "oh, praise ye the lord, for he is good : for his mercy endureth forever!" when abraham lincoln was assassinated, andrew johnson, of tennessee, who had been elected vice-president, became in turn the president of the united states. this man had been brought up in the south, and when reconstruction came, all his southern sympathies floated up to the surface. he entered into a direct quarrel with the houses of congress, and vetoed almost every bill that ever came before him. but in all such cases, congress passed his vetoes over his head, and they were of no effect. at last he was impeached and tried for his cross-grained, contrary measures, but escaped conviction by the smallest majority. but all the same he was one of the most destructive rebels that we had. in the meantime reconstruction went on in the late rebellious states in the best way that congress knew how to do it, which was not much at the best. a race of men swept down from the north with historical romance of the american negro. their carpet-bags in their hands in search of fortune, who were nick- named carpet-baggers; then there were the middle class whites of the south, who were nick-named the scalawags, who assisted the carpet- baggers in ruling the south, all of whom, however, were under the eyes of the military generals, each of whom was placed in command of one of the states, and these generals in turn worked hand in hand along with an assistant commissioner of the freedman's bureau, major- general . . howard, at washington, being the chief commissioner, and one of the best men that ever lived. immediately after the close of the war, many of the more pro- nounced rebels retired abroad, where they found employment in for- eign armies, or more peaceful occupations. they had no heart for any further rule under the flag of uncle sam, which now, indeed, floated freely over all races of people from the lakes to the gulf. for such arch-rebels the sunny south was a home no more. but many of the late rebel leaders preferred to stay at home and take their chance, hop- ing for mercy and pardon from the northern government, which they had so terribly outraged. as a general thing they were cross-vexed and sullen, and had no heart whatever for the reconstruction of the southern states, which was entirely conducted by legislatures, com- posed of loyal southerners and colored men, all of whom were duly elected. these colored men were in all the lower houses of legislature, while in some of the states they were also in the senate, and in a few of the states they filled the office of deputy-governor. the heads and leaders of the late rebellion showed no disposition to lend a hand; they allowed the military and civil administrators to take their own way, as- sisted as the latter were by the colored senators and representatives in the state legislature, carpet-baggers and scalawags. whilst no doubt all of the above were doing the best they knew how, the entire race of , , of freedmen had recovered from their dance of new and glorious liberty; had opened their eyes to the stern realities of the changed situation, and settled down to steady work all over the land. many of them crowded into the towns, cities and vil- lages, while a host of others went to work over all the plantations and farms—some working on shares with their former masters, whilst others farmed their own lands, and did wonderfully. many a brave old "prophecy" had been uttered that the descendants of africans were historical romance of the american negro. unfit for the pursuits of freedom, and that the whole freed race would fall to pieces like a ship on the sands; but the race went steadily to work, and with some aid from the freedman's bureau, they prospered from the very beginning. in short, the people now fairly began to see the beauties of personal liberty, and they had a mind to work. the american government, however, never did a better thing than to es- tablish that bureau, without the aid of which entire legions of colored and white people must inevitably have perished. all things, however, did not work satisfactorily, and under the crooked circumstances perhaps that was more than was to be expected. throughout the entire south the system of working on shares was not in favor of the redeemed race in many cases. the white man had got a notion in his head that he had been cheated out of his rights, and that somehow or other, the former slave still of right belonged to him. some of them therefore thought themselves privileged in beating the freedman out of the fruits of their toil in every possible way. if such white men were thus aggrieved over the new order of things, their wives were worse, and could find no one to comfort them! the slave was now, at least, as free as themselves, and there was no power in the land to force him back to his former condition. so they took their spite out of him by cheating him on the division of the crops, and he was obliged either to stay on the lands and be imposed upon, or leave ai a loss. the public papers were full of the freedman's complaints at the time. one way of defrauding him who did all the hard work was to open a general store for the sale of all kinds of groceries and other needful things. the accounts were cooked and managed in a way to suit the bosses, and almost everything was charged for far above the general prices of the country. thus, when the day of settle- ment came, the laborer usually found himself from $ to $ in debt, owing to the system of thieving practiced on him by his betrayer. the southern people generally were sullen, and almost inconsolable under the new order of things, and they refused to be comforted for a long time. indeed, some of them are not comforted yet, and never will be. andrew johnson, the president, did much harm in contending for the rebels in every way in his power. in fact, he went right over to them, and even obstructed reconstruction itself in every way that he could. historical romance of the american negro. this sullenness on the part of the southerners at last found vent in the organization of a secret and murderous conspiracy called the ku-klux-klan-whoever was guilty of inventing such an ugly name! this ku-klux-klan reached for their shotguns, and went forth by night, and shot down the carpet-baggers and their like, like crows. this was soon after the first election of president grant, an election, by the by, in which the rebels took no part, but they now determined to spoil that which they were unwilling to mend. these wicked ku- klux sought to obstruct the courts of justice, harass and trouble the colored people in every possible way, and cripple the local govern- ments. the terror that spread all over the south at the time was per- fectly dreadful. people were shot down everywhere, colored churches and school-houses were burned to the ground in the night, and the work of revenge and destruction went on night and day. it seemed as if the late rebel soldiers, who had been beaten in the field by the north, were once more trying to raise a rebellion in a new form. the writ of habeas corpus was suspended for a time, and uncle sam put his heavy foot down upon the whole matter. the powers of the day went forth; arrests were made; the trials and convictions of many of those bad men were secured, and some of the penitentiaries were filled with the enemies of law and order. then for a time, at least, followed a pause in the obstructing work of the reconstruction of the late re- bellious states, and the governments by colored legislators, scalawags and carpet-baggers went on as before. how much better it would have been if all parties, both white and black, had been harmonious and agreeable after lee surrendered at appomattox court house ! but instead of that the defeated rebel went home, nursed his wrath to keep it warm. robbing and stealing from the injured freedmen follow- ed, and then he went out working mischief after dark with the aid of his shotgun. chapter xiii. reconstruction in the south-great progress in education—the fif- teenth amendment-message of president grant-certificate of mr. secretary fish regarding the same-great joy over amendment-it goes to work. general grant had been elected president of the united states in for his first term of office. in he carried the southern states once more. he met with but little opposition in the south colored lieutenant-governors were elected in louisiana, mississippi and south carolina, in which three states the colored population is far greater than the white. the states of alabama, georgia, florida, louisiana, mississippi and south carolina had colored men in their houses of representatives, and mississippi had them also in her sen- ate house. many of the most important offices in the southern states were held by men of color. but by the year the white leaders in the republican party had become intimidated by the ku-klux-klan, and were quite driven out or destroyed by that deadly shot-gun. i hus the colored men in the legislatures were abandoned to their fate, and the presence of the united states army became necessary to sup- port them at elections, whilst they held office, and carried on the state governments. the whole south was in a bad way, and things had gone on from bad to worse. the sullen and stubborn leaders of the late rebellion had refused to lend a hand in building up the state gov- ernments once more, which they had torn down, and the northern government of the whole nation had committed the reconstruction of the late rebel states to hands as yet far too feeble at such a time, and that was, namely, to colored men, many of whom had little experience before with carpet-baggers and scalawags. at the same time there did not seem to be any others who could be trusted by the national govern- ment to carry on the business of the southern states. even colored men, carpet-baggers and scalawags were either heartily or formally republicans, and could be trusted by the washington authorities in acting loyally and faithfully in the discharge of their duties at least. historical romance of the american negro. i am unable to see how the washington government can be much blamed for committing the care of the southern states to hands so feeble, so long as there did not seem to be anybody else to rule, and the late rebels themselves were still in too sullen a mood to lend a hand in the governments. but during all these unhappy years that followed the close of the war there was one thing that did not miscarry, and that was the great march of the emancipated slaves on the road to progress, and every- thing that tends to elevate and ennoble a nation. the fostering na- tional government, the churches of the north, and all that which was best in this great republic, were straining themselves to the very ut- most to lift up the entire redeemed race by affording them the best education that they could possibly bestow. teachers still flocked down from the north in great numbers, all kinds of schools were op- ened, and institutes and colleges were set on float for the benefit of the boys and girls, and young men and young women, who wished to at- tend them. there was no branch of education that was not supplied to the white race that was not also supplied to the colored. and not only did children and youths attend those schools, but even men and women; parents and grandparents in thousands took up their spelling- books and first readers, and went to work with a hearty good will, and learned to read, write and spell with great rapidity. the progress that the emancipated race made in the line of education was perfectly mar- velous, and astonished the whole nation. even old preachers, who had been preaching the gospel for fifty years, went to work and learn- ed how to read the bible; they learned how to write letters and work arithmetic for the first time in their lives. it had been charged often enough that the colored race were unfitted by nature to learn this, that and other things. the studied policy of the slaveholders was, not to give them a chance, and then to tell a willful falsehood. but now that all were free, they rushed in at once, and showed the whole world that they were as capable of learning as any other race under the sun. nay, more! they even crossed the oceans, and were recog- nized by all the nations on the face of the earth! nor did the people only learn how to read, write and work arith- metic, but all kinds of industrial schools were started throughout the south; first in one place, then in another, so that the young men learn- historical romance of the american negro. ed different trades, and thus qualified themselves to learn a living in coming years. and they not only learned, but they learned well, were ambitious to excel, took naturally to it, and earned the good will and praise of their teachers. in short, after the war was over, the south was both cursed and blessed by a race of "volunteers,” who came down from the north, and whose mission was to take advantage of the new state of things. the curse came in with those carpet-baggers, who came to take all they could get, and hold on as long as ever they could. it is true that they were not all bad, for indeed they ran all the way from good to middling. but they have generally been looked lipon as a set of rapacious men, who came down to help themselves first, last and all the time; and when all was done, if anybody else could i:e benefitted by them, so much the better! but with the teachers things were altogether different. they can in no sense be compared with the carpet-baggers, for they were a perfect blessing—all of them, or nearly all, being “volunteers" for the south, and for the benefit of freedmen, and for them alone. they were sent forth, as i have stated before, by the churches and societies of the north, and the national government encouraged them and their efforts in every possible way. and not only were public schools set on foot all over the land, but there were a great many who opened private schools, and thus the work went merrily on. and the walls of the new educational structure began to rise rapidly on all sides, "for the people had a mind to work,” and, as the ancient romans said, “labor con- quers all things. and even to the very day and time whilst i am now writing, i have great pleasure in informing my kind reader that the work goes on, and still goes on well. beginning gradually at the close of the war, nay, i might almost say, in some places before the close of the war-schools and colleges for all studies were set on foot, either south or north, some for the training of young colored men and women, who were destined to become teachers of their own race throughout the land; some were institutes or colleges for the study of law, medi- cine, music, elocution and a variety of other subjects. and the work still continues and extends in all directions, and promises to unfold it- self more and more as the years go by. at the present time there are many beautiful private schools and seminaries in many parts of the first reading emancipation proclamation. de soto discovering mississippi river. historical romance of the american negro. south where young colored ladies exclusively are sent to be educated, and they are splendidly educated, too. and inasmuch as the colored race are born to excel in music, many of them have come to the front, and in the departments of music and song they have shone brightly in the nation, and in distant lands also, where they have no prejudice to contend with. but though the color line has by no means been wiped out yet, even in the northern states, it must in all fairness be stated that colored youths and maidens are freely permitted to pursue their studies in almost all the schools and colleges of the land; and it is only where race prejudice exists, and the last dregs thereof prevail, that the children of african descent are barred from entering. but time changes all things; god alone cannot be changed-new generations- will arise who will entirely sweep the evil past away! the thirteenth and fourteenth amendments to the constitution had been passed, securing the race in their personal and civil rights as freemen before the common law of the united states; but as yet col- ored men could not vote, and the republican party, as a just and de- fensive measure, considered that it would be well to arm those who had formerly been slaves with all the rights of citizens, even as others. this brought up the question of a new amendment to the constitution. it was to be a new dress in which the new citizens were to be clothed before the work was complete. there was opposition enough to this in some quarters; of course, it never was once intended to ask such men as jefferson davis and robert e. lee for their consent. even if many of the colored men were uneducated, they were as good, if not better, than a wicked and intelligent rebel. the rebels (as they were still commonly called), would rather pull the national government down to the ground than restore it, but the entire ransomed race de- sired to build it up. . politically, and also from a sense of gratitude for their freedom, they belonged to the republican party, and there- fore they were perfectly right in siding with the republicans on every and all occasions. besides, the right for colored men to vote was bound to come forward sometime or other, and it might just as well come now as hereafter. ignorance on their part was much better than the studied opposition on the part of the rebels. and i doubt very much whether the most illiterate colored man did not know more about the american constitution than those ignorant hordes of europeans who historical romance of the american negro. are almost weekly dumped down on our shores, who neither know nor care anything about our constitution, and who never even heard of the name of george washington. if this was not so serious a matter, i could almost laugh at the thought of the ignorance of those foreigners. besides, if colored men were in many cases unfit for the franchise, it was no bad thing to give it them at once anyhow, because it would stimulate the nation at large to push their complete education along, and the race themselves would now have a far more powerful motive to acquire knowledge than they had ever had before. therefore, there was a very great deal of interest taken by the nation at large in the pas- sage of the new amendment to the constitution that was destined to place black men upon the self-same footing with white men. the white republicans also considered that they were indebted to colored sol- diers for the restoration of the union to the tune of at least , brave, heroic men, and that they owed them the right to vote. the necessary three-fourths of all the states of the union having voted in their legislatures in favor of the passage of the new amendment to the constitution, president grant deemed the new measure of such vast importance that he went out of the usual mode adopted upon such occasions, and addressed the following special message on the subject to congress, for the purpose of still further enhancing its importance in the eyes of the senate and house of representatives, and, in short, of the whole american people: special message of president grant on the ratification of the fifteenth amendment. to the senate and house of representatives: it is unusual to notify the two houses of congress, by message, of the promulgation by proclamation of the secretary of state of the ratifi- cation of a constitutional amendment. in view, however, of the vast im- portance of the fifteenth amendment to the constitution this day declared a part of the revered instrument. i deem a departure from the usual cus- tom justifiable. a measure which makes at once four millions of people voters, who were heretofore declared by the highest tribunal in the land not citizens of the united states, nor eligible to become so (with the as- sertion that, at the time of the declaration of independence, the opinion was fixed and universal in the civilized portion of the white race, regarded as an axiom in morals as well as politics, that black men had no rights which the white man was bound to respect) is indeed a measure of grander historical romance of the american negru, importance than any other one act of the kind from the foundation of our free government to the present day. institutions like ours, in which all power is derived directly from the people, must depend mainly upon their intelligence, patriotism, and in- dustry. i call the attention, therefore, of the newly-enfranchised race to the importance of their new privilege. to the race more favored hereto- fore by our laws, i would say, withhold no legal privilege of advancement to the new citizen. the framers of our constitution firmly believed that a republican government could not endure without intelligence and educa- tion generally diffused among the people. the "father of his country,” in his farewell address, uses this language, “promote, then, as a matter of primary importance, institutions for the general diffusion of knowledge. in proportion as the structure of the government gives force to public opinion, it is essential that public opinion should be enlightened.” in his first annual message to congress, the same views are forcible presented, and are again urged in his eighth message. i repeat that the adoption of the fifteenth amendment to the con- stitution completes the greatest civil change and constitutes the most important event that has occurred since the nation came into life. the change will be beneficial in proportion to the need that is given to the urgent recommendations of washington. if these recommendations were important then, with a population of but a few millions, how much more now with a population of forty millions, and increasing in rapid ratio. i would therefore call upon congress to take all the means within their constitutional power to promote and encourage popular education throughout the country; and upon the people everywhere to see to it that all who possess and exercise political rights shall have the opportunity to acquire the knowledge which will make their share in the government a blessing and not a danger. by such means only can the benefits con- templated by this amendment to the constitution be secured. executive mansion, march , . u. s. grant. on account of the vast importance of the fifteenth amendment to the constitution, and its direct bearing upon the elevation of the colored race, and the immediate amelioration of their condition, i will here append the certificate of mr. secretary fish respecting ratifica- tion of the fifteenth amendment to the constitution, march , : hamilton fish, secretary of state of the united states. to all to whom these presents may come, greeting, know ye that the congress of the united states, on or about the th day of february, in the year , passed a resolution in the words and figures following, to wit: historical romance of the american negro. a resolution proposing an amendment to the constitution of the united states. resolved, by the senate and house of representatives of the united states of america in congress assembled (two thirds of both houses con- curring,) that the following article be proposed to the legislature, shall be valid as part of the constitution, namely, section . the right of citizens of the united states to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the united states, or by any state, on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude. section . the congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation. and, further, that it appears, from official documents on file in this department, that the amendment to the constitution of the united states, proposed as aforesaid, has been ratified by the legislatures of the states of forth carolina, west virginia, massachusetts, wisconsin, maine, louisi- ana, michigan, south carolina. pennsylvania, arkansas, connecticut, flori- da, illinois, indiana, new york, new hampshire, nevada, vermont, vir- ginia, alabama, missouri, mississippi, ohio, iowa, kansas, minnesota, rhode island, nebraska, and texas, in all, twenty-nine states. and, further, that the states whose legislatures have so ratified the said proposed amendment constitute three-fourths of the whole number of states in the united states. and, further, that it appears, from an official document on file in this department, that the legislature of the state of new york has since passed resolutions claiming to withdraw the said ratification of the said amendment, which had been made by the legislature of that state, and of which official notice had been filed in the department. and, further, that it appears from an official document on file in this department, that the legislature of georgia has by resolution ratified the said proposed amendment. now, therefore, be it known, that i, hamilton fish, secretary of state of the united states, by virtue and in pursuance of the second section of the act of congress, approved the th day of april, , entitled, an act to provide for the publication of the laws of the united states, and for other purposes, do hereby certify that the amendment aforesaid has be- come valid, to all intents and purposes, as part of the constitution of the united states. in testimony whereof, i have hereunto set my hand, and caused the seal of the department of state to be affised. done at the city of washington, this th day of march, in the year of our lord, eighteen hundred and seventy; and of the independence of the united states the ninety-fourth. seal. hamilton fish. historical romance of the american negro. thus, as will be seen above, the ever-glorious fifteenth amend- ment became a part of the american constitution, and the same was made known to the remotest bounds of the republic. "arise, shine forth, for thy light has come, and the glory of the lord has risen upon thee!" such is the language of holy scripture, and it expresses well the sudden outburst of the joy that filled the hearts of the entire colored race when the fifteenth amendment be- came the law of the land. then, indeed, did the colored soldier feel that he had a country, and that he had not fought and bled in vain for the cause of freedom and the union! then did all colored men and women feel, indeed, that they were men and women among other full- hledged citizens of the united states! then did they feel, in the cele- brated words of robert burns, the scotch poet, that “an honest man, though e'er so poor, is king of men for all that!" if the emancipation proclamation called forth a tremendous flood of thankfulness and gratitude, if even the fall of richmond and the freeing of the last slave called for shouts of joy and rejoicing, much more-yea, ten times more --did the publication of the fifteenth amendment exercise the entire redeemed race from the very bottom of their hearts! their forefathers had been stolen away from africa; they had been brought here. this was their home, such as it was. they had no other country but the united states. now, the new amendment to the constitution had put the right to vote into their hands, the same as others—just the same as others, and they most loyally sent up a shout of joy that reached from maine to the rio grande river, and that shout arose to heaven and entered into the ears of the celestials. where, now, was the doctrine, indeed, "that the descendants the african race had no rights that a white man was bound to respect ?" who ever gave “the white man” the right to use such language, un- less it was wickedly presumed by his own presumptuous and lying ar- rogance? the white race only compose a small portion of the human race. according to tradition, adam was as brown as a bun; and cer- tainly our lord and saviour jesus christ must liave been a very dark- complexioned man? does anybody mean to say that adam and the lord jesus had no right to be respected because they were as brown as a bun in complexion? like the so-called "divine right of kings," such language was nothing but a wilful and deliberate false- historical romance of the american negro. hood, for the entire race of man have rights to be respected—the one as much as the other. how passeth away the glory of this world! behold your millions of people gloriously set free, and after a long and fearful war pronounced full-fledged citizens, even as others! if the ransomed race formerly rejoiced when they felt their bodily chains fall off, much more did they rejoice when they were invested with the same rights as the rest of the american nation, and could vote like the free- men that they were! it is true that in the sight of god and all justice (both divine and human) they were always men, they had always rights that other men were bound to respect, but now we had the full confession of those rights from all the rest of our own compatriots. who fully and freely admitted, that all their rights were ours also and justice, though long delayed, was done at last ! the colored people were now in full possession of their politica! rights for the first time, and many new things happened that passed for a great wonder in the history of the nation. hiram b. revels took his seat as united states senator for mississippi on the th of febru- ary, . it was from the self-same state that jefferson davis hailed. for he was senator for mississippi until he resigned his seat and went out with the rest of the rebels. nine brief years had passed away: for four and a half years the civil war had raged; the curse of slavery had disappeared from the land, and now came hiram b. revels from mississippi, from which the head of the southern confederacy had come in former days! most assuredly this was the lord's work, and it was wondrous in our eyes ! it was just one year from the day and hour when senator revels took his seat in the united states senate that jefferson f. long, also a colored man, was sworn in as a member of the house of representa- tives from the state of georgia—the state of alexander h. stephens, who had been vice-president of the late confederate states! it was that same stephens who had put forth the idea in a speech of his own. immediately after he was made vice-president, that slavery should be the corner-stone of the new government of secessia! then the united states government sent e. d. bassett, a colored man from pennsylvania, as minister-resident and consul-general to tie republic of hayti, in the west indies. this was carrying things on at quite a lively rate, indeed. vor was this all. president grant historical romance of the american negro. on then turned around, and sent j. milton turner, a colored man from missouri, as minister-resident and consul-general to the republic of liberia, in western africa. it is true that hayti and liberia are not nations of the first rank in power and population, but they are at least as respectable as any, and the time must yet come when ambassadors cf the colored race will be appointed to the first nations earth. president grant was at least making a good beginning, and as he had been a soldier, like the lion, he had nothing to fear! about this time frederick douglass had been made a presidential elector for the great empire state of new york, and he helped to cast the vote for that state for general grant upon his election for the second term, in . times were indeed mightily changed with fred- erick douglass since he was a young man, and fled away from balti- more in the disguise of a sailor, passing through new york city, which was then almost as much opposed to freedom of the slaves as the state of georgia. well does the english poet say, “slavery there has lost the day!” the ballot was now in the hands of the colored man as well as others. he had tilled the fertile soil of the united states for two hundred and fifty years; he had now lent a vigorous hand in three wars, and had compeltely won his right and title to full-fledged citizenship, with all the honors and powers that it carries with it. all abolitionists and true-hearted republicans rejoiced at the spectacle, whilst the late arch- rebels and others of that ilk were depressed at the changes! chapter xiv. joyful demonstrations over the fifteenth amendment-processions in all the cities of the land-departure for louisville, ky.--the journey thither--the river ohio-great celebration—the week at louisville—the return to buffalo. my dear, kind reader, as i have already indicated, the eventful year of had come, and the fifteenth amendment had become the law of the land. from maine to texas, from the wild atlantic waves to the coast of the pacific ocean, the entire colored race abandoned themselves to the most unbounded demonstration of joy and delight. i never saw the tide of delight running so high either before or since. as upon this most august occasion. great mass-meetings, immense processions, music, dancing, religious meetings for sacred song, pray- er and praise were the order of the night and of the day. indeed, there was no outward form of joy and rejoicing that can either be conceived or described, that was not observed upon this glorious occasion. we read in the book of esther about the joy of the whole jewish nation, when they were all saved by the lord from the wicked plots and schemes of the evil-minded haman—the jew's enemy. so great, in- deed, was the impression produced upon the heart of god's ancient people that the feast of purim is still kept up in commemoration of that terrible crisis through which all israel had to pass. we ourselves, the colored race in america-had had our experiences in times past, as bad or worse than the israelites of old. it was now five full years since the close of the war; we had had five years of national freedom; slavery here had lost the day; we could now vote like any other race, and therefore the free exercise of the self-same power was placed in our hands; the spring of was come, when the entire colored race abandoned themselves to singing, dancing and rejoicing in all ways in general; and, indeed, they had good cause and the right to rejoice, for they had waited a long time for it, and their patience had been sorely tried. justice was long in coming, but it came at last. in all the larger towns and cities of the united states, both north historical romance of the american negro. and south, immense processions were organized and carried out in the greatest and grandest perfection. it struck me as a truly wonder- ful thing at the time that the democratic and rebel element that were so rank and strong even in former days in the north did not take mor- tal offense at such out-and-out demonstrations, carried out with such a high hand before the noonday sun! but our people were discreet, and neither said nor did anything purposely to cause any reasonable person to take offense. of course, they stood upon their rights, and they claimed their rights of way as much as others, but all the same their lawful demonstration of joy and rejoicing went with a most tremendous swing, and nothing was done by anybody to mar the exultation of the grand occasion. so far as the republicans were concerned, and all the brave old abolition school, and every one of that ilk, they were well pleased to see the happy consummation of all their labors and toils. i do not wonder so much that this tremendous colored demon- stration passed off without opposition in the north, but what was really surprising was that the processions and other demonstrations of joy in the cities of the south, in honor of the fifteenth amendment, should not have brought on opposition, conflicts and riots. in brief, the en- tire white race, over all the land, submitted to the inevitable; they sub- mitted to the results of the war. their consciences at least bore wit- ness that neither race nor color, nor previous condition make men nor unmake them; that one man is as much of a man as another in a gen- eral sense, and that the colored race had fought for their equal rights, and deserved them, and all seemed now willing to live in peace. as we heard that a very great demonstration was to be made at louisville, ky., in honor of the fifteenth amendment, and as my be- loved mother, tom and myself had been longing for a long time past for a sight of the dear old place upon the kentucky shore, where we had all been born and brought up, we determined to take the girls and go along to the celebration, and mr. sutherland also consented to ac- company us. he had never been in kentucky, and so anticipated that it would be a great treat to him. it was a fine morning in the spring when we took the road for the railway station, and soon we found ourselves all seated in the train. mr. sutherland and the girls were in a great way about going to ken- historical romance of the american negro. tucky, and the girls had so long desired to see it once more. ever since they awoke in the morning they had been humming and singing “the old kentucky shore !" vay, they even played it on the piano, and sang to their own accompaniments. thus the whole house was ringing that early morning with the sounds of music. but to those of us who were older the children's hilarity, music and song brought other thoughts, for we were no longer children. many dear old slave ditties had been sung about kentucky, which was a slave state, as the dear reader knows very well. thousands of fugitives had escaped over the river ohio, which bounds all her northern line. indeed, runaway slaves from states further south usually made for this river, and made their escapes into the free states of the north. even my own dear tem and i had made our escape over this river, and my own dear nother had been carried down and over its waters on her way to the sunny south. thus our feelings that morning were rather conflicting. mr. suth- erland and the girls seemed best off, for there were no dark shadows in the immediate past to cloud their brows, like mother, tom and my- self. but all clouds passed away sooner or later, and we happily for- gct our old-time experiences in the pleasantness of the new day, the bright and warming sunlight, and even the joyous surroundings that were all around about us on our happy way. the girls having bought a couple of bright new picture books from the book-stand at the depot while we were securing our tickets, all things were now in readi- ness for our departure. we took our seats in a very contented and flowery state of mind at last, and our brave iron horse set out for the open road along the shores of lake erie, and soon we had left the city of buffalo behind us. the dark shadows of the early morning had indeed departed altogether, and our eyes and thoughts were fixed up- on the beautiful country as we flew past, and on the shining waters of lake erie, till we came to cleveland, ohio. here we left the lake, and switched away towards the southwest of columbus, the capital of this state. the rest of us had been over this ground before, as the dear reader will remember; but all was new ground to mother and mr. sutherland, who now greatly admired the beauties of the state of ohio, adorned in all the charms of spring, and with all its fine woods and forests arrayed in their new mantle of green, that set off the beau- in danger of the overseer's lash. historical romance of the american negro. ties of the hills and dales in great perfection. and whatever our tiloughts and feelings might otherwise have been, on one point we were all united—we were going back to our dear old kentucky shore, and the city of louisville, to behold the glorious celebration of the fif- teenth amendment to the american constitution, and to such an out- pouring of the colored race as had never been seen in kentucky. that, indeed, made our hearts light; that was joy enough for all. in due time we reached columbus, the capital of the state, as nice a little country city as ever i saw. here a small contingent of our own beloved people came on board the train for cincinnati and louis- ville. they were in a state of high excitement over the forthcoming events. some of them, no doubt, had fled away from the curse and chains of slavery in kentucky, and more remote states; but now they could return without fear. "slavery there had lost the day!" continuing our journey, we all reached cincinnati in safety, a fine city, of which mr. and mrs. sutherland often heard, but had never seen; and they were quite captivated with its beauty, reposing so sweetly on the hills that line the northern banks of the "beautiful river," as the french discoverers delighted to call it. with what wonder and delight did mr. and mrs. sutherland behold the beautiful hills and dells of kentucky, just across the mighty stream! mrs. sutherland had of course seen the ohio at riverside, and all the way down to the mississippi, but it was the first time her husband had seen the beautiful river of the frenchmen, or even slave land, and it produced in his mind mingled feelings of pain and pleasure to behold it, for though born free himself, his forefathers had fled across the ohio river as they made their escape from the south. we decided to spend a night at sweet cincinnati, where we paid a visit to a. m. e. church parsonage, where my beloved tom and i put up when we were married at the church there, and what was our surprise and joy to find the very same family there, the self-same reverend gentleman having been called back for a second time. what kissing, embracing and joy there was between the two families upon this happy, happy reunion! heaven alone can tell, my dear reader, how very much good this meeting did us all. my goodness! this poor pen of mine is altogether unequal to the task. it was indeed a heav- enly union! historical romance of the american negro. there being a class that night at the dear, dear church, after tea, we all went along with the pastor and his family and had a glorious time, where we praised the lord, for he is good, for his mercy en- dureth forever. many old friends remembered us still, and gave us a warm welcome. o christianity! christianity! what joys has this world like them? after this grand meeting was over, we all made our way to the private quarters, which we had engaged for the night, and where we had a most refreshing sleep. we were all quite amused with the girls, for they were worse than wild birds for sheer delight. the fine weather and the great events in the immediate future were mighty stimulants. indeed the whole of us were completely carried away by our feelings, and we ran the city and suburbs of cincinnati in all directions, our pri- vate boarding-house being our rendezvous at three o'clock in the after- noon, so that we could all start together for the boat that was to leave an hour or two later for louisville. it is a remarkable thing how rapidly some people become ac- quainted. by the time we had spent some twenty-four hours with the kind people at the boarding-house, we were almost as fond of one another as if we had been brought up together. some of them even accompanied us to the public landing, where we were to embark for louisville. i don't know what the neighbors along the street thought of us, for we were more excited and exultant and louder than a lot of barn-yard fowl, with laughing and one thing and another! well, it was a time for laughing, i think, and after two hundred and fiſty years of slavery, i also think we had a right to laugh, and to laugh with all our might and main! at last we reached the public landing, marched on board, secured our cabins, and settled ourselves down for our passage to louisville, greatly admiring the scenery and traffic of “the beautiful river." a great many passengers came on board at cincinnati, all bound for the great celebration. all eyes were bright with animation, and high-beating hope swelled in every human heart. the rush to the colossal exhibition at louisville reminded me of the tides of people on the grand march to see a circus; but his was a circus of a most unusual kind. from the grand reports that had been circulated all over the country for weeks, we all expected a high old time, we expected the historical romance of the american negro. colored race and their friends at louisville to make a mighty effort to place a great show before the whole state, and also expected to swell the mighty chorus and throng by our own presence. many persons on board had never been back to louisville since they took french leave of the same place; whilst others had numerous friends and re- lations whom they greatly desired to see. but all wished to behold the old kentucky shore again, for who does not love the scenes of their youth? we were now fairly launched out upon the great river. the sweet spring winds blew over us, and seemed to accompany and cheer us upon our way. at such times the imagination gives play to all sorts of sweet things, and the very surges of the ohio river seemed to rejoice as they bore us along on their downward course to the mississippi and the gulf states. the sun went down, and the moon arose upon the fleeting scene. the night was now upon us, and all the hills and dells that lined both sides of the beautiful river enchanted the eyes and hearts of all beholders. a sweet peace stole into our hearts that came down from heaven. with what interest did we view the little wooden cabins that lay along the shores of the river on the kentucky side, and along the slopes of her hills! what tales of grief and joy those dear little homes could have told if they had been able to speak. my two dear children were awed into silence as they looked upon the passing scenes, for they had both read “uncle tom's cabin,' and many other plaintive books besides ; and heard from us and from others a thousand tales of slavery in days gone by. many eyes besides our own were wet with tears of love, sorrow and emotion, as we viewed those little cabin homes, and saw the lights that night on the "old kentucky shore" of the poet, and in our hearts we thanked the lord that slavery here had ir:deed passed away forever. it has been often a wonder to me that the lord allowed the curse to continue so long; but then he knows what is for the best, and i am always willing to take things on trust that i cannot understand. “the lord is good; a stronghold in the day of trouble, and he knoweth them who put their trust in him." how true, how very true, indeed! we called at no place on our way, but at the beautiful little city of madison, indiana, that lies so sweet-looking in the edge of the historical romance of the american negro. heard in our lives, and it made us laugh to hear even the little children lisp "the fifteenth amendment !" poor, dear little things! theirs was a happy lot. they were all free, and had not come up by the rough side of the mountain like their oppressed parents. the glorious weather was immensely in our favor. we blessed god for that, and we blessed him for all things. the sun was shining in all his beauty; the mocking-birds sang in the parks, and the light winds blew over the fair and garden-like city on the ohio. thousands upon thousands of people still continued to arrive upon boats that came up and down the river, by the ferry-boats, and on all the heavily-laden incoming trains that arrived thick and fast. even the old inhabitant was aston- ished at the tremendous crowds that at last packed all the main streets along which the procession was to pass, because we were now getting well into line, just as is done at a presidential inauguration at wash- ington. uniformed riders and fast messengers, ex-soldiers dressed in uncle sam's conventional blue, the fair sex as thick as the leaves of the forest, boys in the trees, all the windows full of sight-seers, and men and boys on the roofs of the houses—well, indeed, might the old- est inhabitant ask where all the people came from! nobody could have given a complete answer to that question, for there were tens of thousands of people here this day who had never been to louisville before. all had heard of louisville, the beautiful metropolis of the state, but they were slaves then, and had no hope of ever beholding its beauties; but god is good—here came the war, here came victory and freedom, here came new laws and the fifteenth amendment, and here came they themselves at last to help on the good cause with loud shouts of joy. flags fluttered from thousands of windows, and the indications of joy were universal. and not only did the colored, but the white population packed the streets in thousands and tens of thousands : the crowds were good-humored to the last degree, and there was nothing but joy and rejoicing on every side all day long. the outriders now began to move in advance of the procession; the first men in line followed next with a band of music, and these again were followed by a tasteful and beautiful float that promised mighty things in the rear! bands of music at intervals, all the differ- ent societies, another wonderful and beautiful float came sailing on historical romance of the american negro. laden with rejoicing citizens, young and old, and a thousand other strange and wonderful features and devices of the triumphal march called forth loud shouts of joy, great outbursts of laughter and gen- eral applause. a beautiful colored maiden of sixteen or seventeen summers, named miss laura claggett, stood up in a chariot during the entire procession, and she made a splendid living representation of the "goddess of liberty.' it was said of her, as of the beauty of ancient tyre, “thou hast made thy beauty perfect." the interest that we all took in the long, splendid and varied procession was most in- tense. so much pains had been taken with all the necessary prepara- tions that every part of it was complete, and the warmest approbation was bestowed upon all the preliminary arrangements, and the way in which they were carried out. here was a true object lesson, indeed, that we were as fit for the highest civilization as the whites. this was freely admitted on all hands, with the exception, of course, of those blind persons who did not wish to see. we find them everywhere, and the best thing to do is simply to ignore them altogether. it was won- derful, thrice wonderful, to look around, and see the people who had come from the remotest parts of the state to see louisville and the great celebration. it was most pathetic to look at some of them—bent down in some cases with hard work, labor and toil of half a century. there was a feeling of unutterable thankfulness that was apparent to all observers—thankfulness that they could yet enjoy a few years of freedom before they went home to be with the lord, and thankfuliſess that their children should be free for all coming time. “no more auction blocks for me!" was the sentiment. thus the whole glorious procession marched and counter-march- ed over the principal streets of the beautiful garden-like city of louis- ville, and at last broke up and scattered like all other famous proces- sions of the kind, whether at washington or anywhere else. the whole city press were loud in their praises of the universal good con- duct and splendid management of the new citizens, and of course the republican organ brought out the whole truth flat-footed, and cast all its glories to the breeze without stint. it was a downright triumph in the interest of law and order, for the police authorities had little or nothing to do. the pastors of all the churches, and other leaders, had impressed it upon the hearts and minds of all the people to be good, historical romance of the american negro. and to act as citizens, and give the enemy no just reason to throw stones. for my own part, though i had by this time seen a hundred processions, at least, in my time, i ain bound to confess that the pro- cession and day's doings at louisville were as good as the best in re- gard to law and order, and i understand that other cities behaved quite as well as they did in kentucky, throughout the union. for a week or so the entire colored population at louisville were en fete, and a high old time of it they did have, indeed. it was a per- fect carnival—a general jollification along the whole line. music and dancing, and grand tea parties, both in public and private, were all the go, and as our presence in town was soon well known, we were invited to lend a hand in the general festivities along with others. there was a good time all over the metropolis of kentucky, and don't you forget it. there is a poem that says in one place, “joy's image may vanish, and griefs die away; but the scenes of our youth are recorded for aye,” —which leads me on to say that tom, mother and myself had a great and yearning desire to revisit all those dear scenes and places round about the beautiful river that had been so deeply stamped into our hearts and memories in the glorious, youthful spring-time of life. mr. sutherland had no such longing to satisfy, and the two girls were not then born. the latter three, indeed, were born at buffalo, on the niagara river, in the great empire state of new york. so tom, mother and myself made calls on all those dear, dear friends of our earliest days who still remained alive, or still dwelt in louisville. but many changes had taken place. some had grown old and almost past recognition; the children of others received us kindly, for their parents were gone to a better land, and there were other changes all around, too numerous to mention. with the exception of god himself, and the course of nature, all things seemed to be altered, and it was a source of thankfulness to us all that something remained that could not be shaken. when we had thus ransacked the whole city in search of old friends (mr. sutherland and the girls coming bravely along with us), we crossed the river to jeffersonville, indiana, where we made two or three calls, and then went down to new albany, on the indiana side, where we had grand welcomes from all whom we knew there. it was really astonishing to behold our mutual joy, and to tell our true tales historical romance of the american negro. oi joys and sorrows, and hear theirs in return. praise ye the lord! we now hired a boat, and had a glorious sail up the ohio, and showed mr. sutherland and the children all the old familiar places up the stream where we had formerly been. then we went down the river, passed through the canal at portland, below the city, and came out upon the ohio once more. there were six of us in the boat be- sides the two rowers. we had taken the precaution to borrow a vari- ely of loud-sounding musical instruments; we kept close to the ken- tucky side of the ohio, and when we drew near to the place of our birth, that is, riverside hall, we struck up “the old kentucky shore, which we both played and sang with tremendous force, raising more excitement than the salvation army! this brought out mr. and mrs. jackson, and all the old retainers who chose to remain after the fall of slavery. there were new faces there, also. my father recognized us at once, and invited us in to receive the hospitalities of the house. here we remained all day, saw everything once more, and returned to louisville at set of sun. but we afterwards returned to riverside, and spent another whole day in perfect love and harmony. it was a sweet time. we were now all far, far more than satisfied. all things had gone well with us, and we returned home to buffalo more thankful and glad- some than ever. oh, what shall we render unto the lord for ali his goodness! because his mercy endureth forever! chapter xv. the great commercial panic of —collapse of the republican government of the south--the rebel shot-gun-the force bill -rebellion at new orleans-dangerous state of the whole country-election of president hayes—presumption of the late secessionists—speech of congressman foster, in ohio—the solid north against the solid south-the election of james a. garfield-for the sake of peace. as i have indicated at the close of the last chapter, we all got home to buffalo in perfect safety, and settled down once more to the duties of life. in the meantime we continued to watch the course of reconstruction in the south, which was run by the republicans with but very few exceptions. we all seemed to think that things had settled down all right in those states. white and colored republicans were mixed up pretty fairly in the governments, and in all the differ- ent departments. there were about a dozen colored congressmen at washington, and numbers were also employed abroad in the con- sular and diplomatic service of the united states. all things appeared to have settled down in quietness and peace, but it was only to lull that which comes before the tempest, for the elements in secessia were only awaiting a favorable opportunity to strike their favorable blow. up to the year (as i still remember well) this entire nation seemed to be running a course of unprecedented and joyful prosperity. everybody was working, there seemed to be plenty of money in the country, and glorious good times, and immediately prospective wealth were the order of the day everywhere. alas, alas! it was nothing but the inflation of a big balloon. in came a universal crash, and the balloon collapsed entirely! there was nothing but consternation over the whole nation, and the northern states ceased for a time to keep their watchful eyes upon the reconstruction of the south, in order to attend to the dreadful troubles at home, caused by the complete col- lapse in trade. this was the opportunity for which the late open rebels had been waiting. they determined at once to take advantage of the historical romance of the american negro. by physical force in its stead. but president grant sent troops to new orleans, and the lawful government was restored. state elec- tions followed in the north in the states of indiana, ohio, new york, new jersey, connecticut and massachusetts, which resulted in the de- feat of the republican ticket and the triumph of the democrats. in their short-sighted way, the bourbon democrats of the south gave way to great exultation and joy, and behaved in the most cruel and shameful way to the white and colored republicans in secessia. nor did the mischief end there, for in their mistaken sympathy, many of the northern legislatures passed resolutions condemning president grant for sending troops into the south, although he only did so in the discharge of his most legitimate duty, and in accordance with the law. these movements caused the next congress, which was the forty-fourth, to be organized by the democrats, when the very! cabinet ministers themselves were divided upon the policy to be pur- sued towards the south, one half pulling one way, and the other half pulling the other way. to help on the bad cause still further, although a majority of colored people exists in mississippi, and that state ought *( have gone republican, still the shot-gun policy of the rebels carried that state before them, and the republican government ceased to exist. the country was truly in a dangerous condition; a portion of the northern population were in favor of general grant and his policy, and the rest were in favor of a change in the south. a house divided against itself will not stand; at least, it will not stand long. men eve deserted the grand republican party, not for any ill it had done, but simply because others deserted it. it was even charged against the grant administration that it was responsible for the ruin of the republican government in the southern states, and even for the great business disasters that had overtaken the whole country, north and south. it is easy to find a stick to beat a dog. such puerile charges remind me rather of the tricks of children than actions of men. a those charges were entirely false, and the democrats, both north and south, must have known it themselves. we still remember well the mischief that president andrew johnson did in his great sympathy for the rebels after they had laid down their arms, and liow the southern states had been ruled by hands far too weak for the task; that is, by cclored men, formerly unaccustomed to politics, by scalawags and historical romance of the american negro. on and general rutherford b. hayes was declared duly elected president of the united states, and took his seat the fourth of march, . now arose a wild cry about injustice from all the democrats of the land that what they called “a great steal" had been done. the rebel south (that cared for no rights but the right of their murderous shot-guns) was exasperated to the last degree. in fact they were ready to fight for what they considered their rights, that is the right to do as they pleased. they had hoped that with the res- toration of the democratic government at that time they would be able to collect their rebel war claims of the national treasury at washington, and even get the price of their lost slaves from the same source. they considered that they had a perfect right to all such claims, and that the very rebel soldiers wounded in the war ought to receive pensions the same as those who fought against them for the union and for freedom. when colored girls called upon those old rebel ladies of secessia at this time, asking for employment, those fe- male rebels replied, “oh, we will hire you from your masters or mis- tresses," thus clearly indicating that they fully expected the restora- tion of slavery itself ! so the democrats of the north, and the bourbon democrats of the south setted down in a sullen mood to four years more of repub- lican rule. it was nothing but right and proper that they should be disappointed of their prey. even st. paul, in the new testament, tells us that no man is entitled to the prize unless he contends lawfully. of course, the south neither cared for the opinion of st. paul, lawful contention, nor anything else of the same kind. so long as they could carry the elections by the shot-gun it was all right, and good enough for them. the south was still discontented and sullen. they had, indeed, knocked down the republican governments of her several states, but though allowed to govern was not allowed all war claims on the treas- ury at washington, and there was not one single ray of hope for the res- toration of slavery. none, none whatever! that was settled for all time. “dixie” sat down like a ky, sullen woman by her own hearth- stone, and refused to be comforted. while she was in sorrow, others were in joy. uncle sam, like a kind and tender husband, next tried the gentler arts of pacifying and pleasing his termagant wife—the wife historical romance of the american negro. who in former days, yea, even for fifty years, had always threatened to go out of the union unless she could have her own way! so an ex- major-general of the late confederate army was called into the cabinet of president hayes, and was given a portfolio for the purpose of try- ing what he could do to better the condition of the south. then gen- eral longstreet, also a leader in the army of the rebellion, was made postmaster at gainesville, in georgia, and was afterwards sent as min- ister to turkey. colonel mosby, the famous confederate guerilla, was sent to china, and colonel fitzsimmons was made marshal of georgia. the south nevertheless did not show any signs of real im- provement. they stuck together, however, in a certain fashion, like solid rocks of ice, all congealed and frozen tight and hard together into one lump, and became known as the "solid south.” they showed the gratest repugnance to the scalawags and carpet-baggers, and all white republicans generally, who were intimidated, persecuted and driven out of all participation in the reconstruction of the states. black republicans were allowed to vote, but the democrats of secessia took the counting of the votes into their own hands, and secured the offices, all the same! at this time president hayes was under the influence of alexander h. stephens, of georgia, and wade hampton, of south carolina. president hayes expected much, but received nothing in return. the more kindness and consideration he showed them the more arrogant and ungrateful they became. the southern leaders in congress even tried to deprive the president of his constitu- tional veto—tried to starve the army, and even to protract the session of congress. the north was indeed holding out the olive branch of peace to the late rebel states, and these states were trampling the kindness of the north beneath their feet. southern insolence went on, grew and increased. there were loyal republican men at washing- ton, who could have assisted the president to steer the ship of state better than he did; but president hayes did not seem to care for their advice; he preferred to shut himself up altogether in his own abilities, and left his real well-wishers and friends the outside. there was evidently no such thing as satisfying the demands of the south. with unthankfulness she took all that was given and de- manded more, and never as much as said “thank you!” she consid- ered that she had done right to secede, and was only sorry that she on historical romance of the american negro. - had not succeeded with her rebellion. president hayes refused to surrender his veto power to those arrogant and secessionist congress- men at washington. at last he saw clearly that the south was not capable of appreciating his kindness as she ought, and that all his good intentions had been flung away. he now decided to change front, being worn out with so much arrogance and ingratitude. dealing out kindness to a gang of ex-rebel officers, who had once owned and whipped their slaves, was found to be very irksome work. the entire republican party were now firmly and solidly united against the south. the cabinet, which was a splendid one, became more and more unanimous than before; the administration was without fault, and other good things that followed in their train did wonders for the republican party all over the land. among these was the resumption of specie payment-a source of delight to the nation. thus, at last we see the republican ranks of the north were firmly united. they saw clearly that the arrogance of the south was simply unlimited, and that nothing short of the state of things before the war would satisfy her, unless, indeed, it was the complete extension of her darling slav- ery from the gulf of mexico to all the northern states of the union along the canadian border. there was one man in this country at the time who clearly saw what the country needed next to tide hier over the present state of things. this clear-sighted man was the hon. charles foster, con- gressman from ohio. mr. foster returned home to ohio from wash- ington in the summer of . he had been watching with eagle eyes the follies of president hayes in the vain attempt he made to pacify the south by love and kindness. he had watched the governments of the northern states slipping away from their allegiance to the re- publican party one after another, and, indeed, he took in the whole situation, and saw what was needed to steer the ship of state through the right channel in safety. mr. foster saw that the south had been thoroughly disloyal in every respect; they had acted with treason to the union; they had not shown the least desire to protect the new citi- zens, the colored voters at the polls, but in fact had purposely mur- dered them with the shot-gun; they had shown the whole nation that they were bent on rebellion, and nothing else. on the first of august, , mr. foster made a great and famous historical romance of the american negro. question by a republican majority of , , and redeemed the state of ohio to the republican party. the rising tide of enthusiasm swept the whole country. that famous little speech was printed and set forth by all the papers of the land. editorials were written on the sub- ject, and orators all over the land took mr. foster's speech at upper sandusky as a text from which to preach their sermons. the whole country was aroused over the treasonable designs and aims of the south. her intentions were to come as near back to slavery as ever she could get, or rather as near as ever she dared to come, once more. but now the north was on her guard, and presented a solid republi- can front against the solid south, and in the course of two years more returned james a. garfield as president of the united states. you must have observed, my dear reader, in the last few pages, how the former secessionists arose in the south, and tore down the ne- gro, or republican, governments that ruled in the days of reconstruc- tion. you have seen the arrogance and insolence of the rebel brigad- ier-generals who vaulted into their places, and even came to congress at washington, and attempted to tie the hands of president hayes by depriving him of the right to veto. you have seen how these self- same rebels next began to talk about pensioning the very soldiers who broke up the union for a time, or at least prevented the free course of law in the southern states, and they next built their hopes on the pay- ment of their own war-claims and the price of their slaves out of the united states treasury at washington. you have seen how all the above, and far more, welded all the northern states into what was termed "the solid north,” and rolled back the great southern of presumption and insolence, saying to the sea, "thus far shalt thou come, and no further; and here shall thy proud waves be stayed!" having said and done so much, and having awakened the southern states to their proper senses, a person would have thought that col- ored men would have been restored to the government of these states, at least in cases where the colored men were clever men, and therefore well qualified to rule. but the aforementioned vegro, or republican, governments of the late rebel states were not restored, though we had established the “solid north,” and returned james a. garfield to the white house as the head of the great republic. for the time being, therefore, and for the sake of peace, the north aves chapter xvi. the exodus of colored people from the south to kansas—causes that led to it-the plantation credit system-reign of terror in louisiana and other states-trials on the way to kansas- splendid welcome by the state of kansas-good beginning of the pilgrims—“god helps those who help themselves!” no doubt my indulgent reader has often heard of the exodus of many thousands of colored people from the southern states to the generous and hospitable state of kansas. this was a truly remark- able movement, and began in the early spring of . i have already pointed out some of the shameful causes that led to that exodus that drew the eyes of the whole nation, and elicited the most profound sym- pathy from all christian and philanthropic people all over the north, and even in england. to trace this deplorable state of affairs to their foundation head, i need only allude to what was called at the time "the plantation credit system,” when colored people worked on shares with the white owners of the land, and the latter kept stores of all kinds of provisions and clothing, and swindled the hard-working colored man out of the rightful share of the profits. the latter were always over- charged for their goods, and could never get a clear settlement. this system of robbery and swindling gave the laborer no chance, and made him sigh for a land of freedom. that was bad enough, but there was something worse that began to show itself, even before those days when the ku-klux-klan be- came regularly organized for the expulsion of the republican govern- ments in the south, and that was a gradual and general adoption of the shot-gun policy, to make colored men understand that the whites were still lords and masters, and colored people must serve and obey, as they used to do before the war. this shook the confidence of the lat- ter in the general government of the nation, for if great uncle sam could afford them no better protection than that, things might as well have remained as they were, and all their boasted freedom was of very little use to them, or no account at all. historical romance of the american negro. in general grant ran for president on the republican ticket -grant and colfax—whilst seymour and blair were the nominees on the democratic ticket. although the rebel element had always been too rampant in the state of louisiana, they grew ten times more as the day for the election for president drew near. it was particularly de- sired by the democrats of the south to carry louisiana for seymour and blair. the plan they adopted was the wholesale use of the shot- gun in the different "parishes" (or counties) of the state. the rebels began their work of murder, terror and intimidation in good time be- fore the election day in november. wherever the republican votes were likely to be heaviest, there a great effort was made to kill, maim and scatter all those white and colored men who would be likely to vote for grant and colfax. these southern thugs in louisiana and other states of the south put in their fell work mostly after dark, kill- ing, burning and destroying in every possible way. it soon became well understood that the rebels were aiming at the coming election: and for a fact, when election day came there were very, very few men in the different parishes of louisiana that voted the republican ticket, because they were afraid of their lives; and who need wonder if they stayed away from the polls when the united states government af- forded them no protection in casting their votes? all things had gone finely during the years of the republican governments in the southern states, when men owned their own land, and there was no one to. trouble them, or to make them afraid ; but these reconstruction govern- mients were now tottering to their fall; the white man demanded the government, and the law, too, and evil days were in store for the col- ored race in the south, the following lines from the pen of general p. h. sheridan will help to explain the cause of the exodus. he was then in command at new orleans, and writes under the date of january roth, : since the year nearly , persons, a great majority of whom were colored men, have been killed and wounded in the state. in the official record shows that , were killed and wounded. from to the present time, no official investigation has been made, and in the civil authorities in all but a few cases have been unable to arrest, convict or punish the perpetrators. consequently there are no correct records to be consulted for information. there is ample evidence, however, to show that more than , persons have been killed and wounded during this time on historical romance of the american negro. self-same policy everywhere throughout the south, and as a rule col- ored men kept away from the polls, in fear of their lives. now, my dear reader, i have placed before you the reasons that led our oppressed people to rise up in the early spring of , and search out for themselves new homes, where they could dwell in safety, and where they would not be robbed, oppressed and burned out, and even murdered on account of their political opinions. colored men could never be expected to vote the democratic ticket. besides, were they not free? and had they not the right to vote as they pleased, even as others had? they never dreamed of terrorizing the whites because they would not vote the republican ticket. it was a most remarkable thing that president grant, the great war general, who had conquered the south, was unable to devise ways and means to protect the lives of colored men on election days. so far as i have ever heard there was not even a semblance of protection anywhere in those states where it was desired to carry the same for the democratic nominees. thus colored men were left unprotected in all their natural rights by the very government itself that had passed the constitutional amendments. in fact they were left like sheep in the midst of wolves. they had been swindled and cheated in every way, as i have already shown. the government now failed to protect their very lives, and therefore they began to turn their eyes to other regions where they could at least worship god, and sleep in their beds in safety. the shot- gun policy was now beginning to recoil on itself, for who can till the soil of the south like colored men ? the state of kansas possessed many attractions for our oppressed and wronged people. all had often heard of the long struggle there between the border ruffians from the south, and the free soil men of the north, as to whether kansas should be enslaved or free; and how at last it had been won by the abolitionists as a free state. all had heard how the immortal john brown (of glorious memory) had warred and fought in kansas for the liberty of all people, and how in the struggle between slavery and liberty had been transferred from the soil of kansas to the rebel lands of south carolina. thus kansas had a name that charmed all hearts, and letters that were written at the time by those colored families already settled down there and flourish- ing, like the green bay-tree, among a good and just white population, historical romance of the american negro. gave glorious accounts of the new state in the west, and invited all others to come and settle down on its fertile lands who wished for peaceful homes. one thing was clear-colored people could not afford to remain in the old rebel states of the south, where there was no safety for their lives, and where even the national government appeared unable to protect them. indeed, something must be done soon. here are a few questions and answers that will speak for them- selves: "now, uncle joe, what did you come for?" “oh, lawd, missus, i follows my two boys and the old woman; and then, 'pears like i wants a taste of votin' before i dies, an' the ole man done wants no swamps to wade in afore he votes, 'kase he must be republican, ye see !" "well, aunty, give us the sympathetic side of the story, or tell us what you think of leaving your old home.” "i done have no home, nohow, if they shoots my ole man an' the boys, an' gives me no money for de washing." "a bright woman of twenty-five years of age was asked her con- dition, when she answered, "i hadn't much real trouble yet, like some of my neighbors who lost everything. we had a lot, an'a little house, an' some stock on the place. we sold all out, ’kase we didn't dare to stay when votin' time came again. some neighbors better off than we had been all broken up by a pack of night-riders, all in white, who scared everybody to death, ran the men off the swamps before elections, ran the stock off, an' set fire to their places. a poor woman might as well be killed, and done with it." whoever read anything more pathetic than the above? who can wonder any longer that a regular panic seized upon the people in cer- tain sections on the south to go forth unto a land they knew not, wliere they could live in peace and safety among a better race of men ? the number of persecuted pilgrims, those seeking a home in kansas, is variously given at between forty and sixty thousand men, women and children. when the army of the israelites left egypt, they were well supplied, for they had been instructed to ask of the egyptians anything they wanted; but these , or , people departed in most cases historical romance of the american negro. down and carried them home. a result like this was to be expected, and the only wonder is that more of them did not perish, even while they were on the way. the lord knows those that are his; we shall meet them in heaven! there was no time to be lost. news travels fast in the days of electric telegraph, and even of railroads and steamboats. the news of the tide of the exodus from the murderous sections of the sunny south was swiftly wafted all over the land, and even crossed the broad at- lantic to mother england. swift as the fleet winds, christians and phil- anthropists were on their feet at once, and a relief association was or- ganized. “they give twice who give quickly.” a dear quaker lady named mrs. comstock (whose name is written in the book of life) immediately put herself at the head of affairs, and aided by “the kan- sas freedman's relief association,” she was just the right and proper person to manage the raising of money, clothing and relief in every shape and form. the name of governor st. john, of kansas, must be associated with this glorious work of swiftly relieving the pilgrims in the day of their distress. he will ever stand before the world as a christian and a gentleman for his willing help at this time. we too of- ten hear people speaking of “this bad world,” but this world contains millions of friends—all ready for the day of trial! the pilgrims from the south were not long in turning round after they reached the friendly and welcoming lands of kansas. they felt safe now, and had no more to fear. they soon became self-sustaining, because they were willing, and had a mind to work. all their past sor- rows were now happily forgotten; they took hold, and were most en- thusiastic, industrious and frugal. the relief association at first gave them a supply of stoves, teams and seeds. in a little over a year about $ , were used, and , pounds of clothing, bedding, and so forth. “old england” sent , pounds of goods, and $ , in money, which chiefly came from mrs. comstock's friends in "the tight little island" beyond the seas, who had known her there by her good works. much of the remainder had come in small sums, and from the christian women of america. the most noble and loyal quakers fur- nished one-third. the state of ohio gave more than any other state. the funds of the state of kansas were not drawn upon. the freedman at once set to work, and during the first year en- historical romance of the american negro. tered upon the cultivation of , acres of land, and they ploughed and fitted , acres for grain-growing. they also built cabins and dugouts, and amassed $ , in money. we have heard of one henry carter, a colored man of tennessee, who set out from topeka ini , and made his way on foot for dunlap, which was sixty-five miles away; he carried his own tools, whilst his plucky wife carried their bed clotlies. in he had forty acres of land cleared, and had made the first paynient for the same. he earned that money by work- ing on sheep ranches, and making himself generally useful. he built for himself and wife a good stone cottage, sixteen feet by ten, and then owned a horse, a cow and other things besides. not only did the white people assist the pilgrims, as good friends and neighbors, far and wide, over all the broad lands of kansas, but colored families pulled and hauled together, lent and borrowed, and most willingly assisted one another in every conceivable way. “good samaritans” sprang up in all directions, thicker than the grass of the field. these blessed eyes oi mine, dear reader, were privileged to look upon many letters at the time, giving lovely accounts of the way, the doings and sayings of the good folks of kansas. with what warmth of feeling did they praise all their neighbors, colored and white alike, and pressed upon all “to come out!" there were, of course, inany who arrived at first at to- peka, and other large towns, in a sadly destitute condition, needing clothing, food, medicine and all things. but they were at once assisted upon their feet--they turned round at once like swift winds, and all were soon most industriously at work. none were ever arrested for stealing, and very few were found drunk. all at once "made tracks," as we say, for the church of god, and the bible and the school-house. the colored children were at once admitted into the public schools, as the color of the skin was too paltry a matter to be noticed by the great- minded people of the state of kansas. industrial schools were also set going for all those who needed such institutions. may god forever bless the state of kansas for her unsurpassed humanity and hospital- ity to our oppressed people in the days of their distress! this is a most uncommonly prosperous and well-to-do state. the lord has smiled upon them, and remembered all their loving ways. john m. brown, esq., was the general superintendent of the freedman's relief association, and in february, , he read a very historical romance of the american negro. own, where they can become self-sustaining, educate their children, and be useful citizens to the state of kansas. money spent in this way will be much more profitable to them than so much old clothing and provisions. they will no longer be objects of charity, or a burden to benevolent people. historical romance of the american negro. pleted its work and disbanded itself, as the union soldiers did when the civil war was over. how glorious is all this now to sit down and think of! “as one door shuts, another opens.” very good, indeed let us thank god that the world is so big and roomy; and if we have plenty of enemies here, we have plenty of friends also. it was so in the old-time bible days, for in that blessed book we read how hosts of people, and even individuals, rose up, and departed in millions, in thousands and hundreds, and even in single cases, and went away from among "devils," that they might dwell in peace among better people. thus history has simply repeated itself over and over again, and the exodus of colored people from the south is perhaps the most recent ex- ample of that oft-repeated affair. and it is safe to say, when we con- sider the natural badness of the human race, that other exoduses else- where will follow. it may not be in this country, but it will be some- where. there is an old but true saying that “none are so blind as those who don't want to see,” which leads me on to say that the hon. d. w. voorhees, united states senator from indiana, must either have been niost dreadfully blind to the truth, or else he must have been in a very childish humor, when he introduced his famous resolution into the senate at washington for the investigation of “the causes of the mi- gration of the colored people from the southern to the northern states." now, since this world began, dear reader, when did any one of us ever hear of such a farce as this? to institute a national inquiry of the causes of the exodus of entire legions of men, women and chil- dren, when mr. voorhees and the whole population of the united states knew all about things before he ever asked the question? that inquiry cost the government thousands of dollars—flung away upon what every man, woman and child knew already! verily, this was the greatest national farce ever heard of from the creation of the world down to the present time of writing! while this inquiry was going on, money and clothing were sent to the state of kansas by every train; and the refugees were rapidly scattered all over the different counties as fast as the relief association could secure homes for them. the "chicago inter-ocean” newspaper sent a special correspond- ent to topeka, to report on the state of things in kansas, in connec- historical romance of the american negro. tion with the pilgrims from the sunny south. this faithful man made the following report, which is so very interesting that i will copy it iri full: topeka, kansas, april th. during the last few days i have in obedience to your request been taking notice of the exodus as it may be studied here at the headquarters for relief among the refugees in kansas. this is the third visit your cor- respondent has made to the “promised land” of the dusky hosts, who flee- ing from persecution and wrongs, have swarmed within its borders to the number of , . in a letter written here in december last the number then within the state was estimated about , , and since that date at least , more have come. in the "barracks" to-day i found what seemed to be the same one hundred who crowded about the stove that cold de- cember day; but they were not the same of course, but their places have been filled many times since with other hundreds, who have found their first welcome to kansas in the rest, food and warmth, which the charity of the north has provided here. so efficient have the plan of relief and the machinery of distribution been made, that of the thousands who have passed through here, none have remained as a burden of expense to the associa- tion more than four or five days before places were found where their own labor could furnish them support. “if that pure statesman of indi- ana, (mr. voorhees) whose great heart was so filled with solicitude for the welfare of his colored brethren, that he asked congress to appropriate thousands of dollars to ascertain why they moved from one state to an- other will come here,-he will be rewarded with such a flood of light on the question as could never penetrate the recesses of his committee-room in washington. he need hardly propound an inquiry; he had, indeed, best not let his great presence be known,-for in the presence of “democracy” the negro has learned to keep silence. but in search of the truch, let him go to the file of over , letters in the governor's office from negroes in the south, and read in them the homely but truthful tales of suffering. oppression and wrongs. let him note how real is their complaint, but how modest the boon they ask; for, in different words,--sometimes in quaint and often in awkward phrases, the questions are always the same.- "can we be free? can we have work? and can we have our rights in kansas ?” let him go next to the "barracks,” and watch the tired, ragged, hungry, scared-looking negroes as they come by the dozens on every train. if he is not prompted by shame, then from caution necessary to the suc- cess of his errand, let him here conceal the fact that he is a "democrat;” for these half-famished and terrified negroes have been fleeing from dem- ocrats in the south, and in their ignorance they may not be able to com- prehend the nice distinction between a northern and a southern democrat. i! he will be content simply to listen as they talk among themselves, he chas, sumner. wm, lloyd garrison, historical romance of the american negro. ern white people, who were unable to contemplate the sight of a col- ored man voting the republican ticket of freedom without the wish of taking his life—the life of his neighbor citizen who had even a better right to vote than himself; for the colored man had certainly never been a traitor to his country, as these self-same murderous southerners had been. we are all perfectly well aware that colored men could get on better without the white man, than the white man could without him. the climate of the south, and especially of the far south, is warm, and men of african descent are naturally better able to stand against the rays of the hot sun than the caucasian race. it was for this express reason that the slave trade and slavery were so long carried on with such vigor and persistency, because the african was well qualified to work among the cane-brakes, the cotton fields and the rice swamps of the southern states. the african was found to be strong-bodied, and through and by means of his diligent labor the cities and lands of the south had been built up and tilled respectively. the "poor white trash," as caucasian laborers were termed, were not so well qualified to toil under a semi- tropical sky, and extract the wealth from the soil in the same degree. no part of the united states was so rich when the war began as these states. they had amassed an immense horde of silver and of gold by means of the labors of the slaves; although all that previous metal was thrown away upon cannon and gunpowder, and all other necessar- ies of war, and the cause for which they fought was lost after all. still, the fact remains that the south had to a great extent been built up by the labor of the hardy and diligent african, who was so very useful and valuable that "secessia" struggled on for four long years to re- tain the colored race in slavery, and even to make slavery itself the chief corner-stone of the southern confederacy. but crime could not be allowed to go unpunished, and the oppressed african was entitled to his liberty and his rights. with the tramp, tramp, tramp of so many refugees from the southern states upon their pilgrim way to kansas and other north- ern states, the leading white men of the country that they left behind at last began to open their eyes to the mischief which they and their minions had already done, and they saw that they had lost the confi- historical romance of the american negro. dence of the colored race. as from forty to sixty thousand men, women and children had gone to kansas alone, and immense numbers had emigrated to other northern states, both far and near, the leading men in the deserted sections now began to wonder to what extent this thing would grow. they saw that if things went on at this rate the southern states would become depopulated, or at least as destitute of inhabitants as they were upon the landing of columbus. something must be done to stop at once this great rush of wronged and oppressed men for other states, where they could live in safety and freedom; and not only must the shot-gun policy of the southerners be brought to an end, but that system of cheating and robbery, also, whereby white men had beat the colored ones out of their full share of the crops, on the plantations, and defrauded them in every way under the so-called "credit system." it was most unmanly, cowardly, and even shameful to the last degree, for wise and intelligent white men to thus rob and plunder the oppressed and uneducated african. such a devilish policy was simply adding insult to injury. never was a more savage thing done through the wickedness of the human race since the creation. it now became the policy of all thinking ex-rebels to put on their think- ing caps, and study a better system than such sheer dishonesty. the leading white men of the south, therefore, now went to work to reverse the system that had driven so many of the colored people out of the land, and to do every possible thing to regain their confi- dence, because there was no one who could fill the empty places, and do the needful work. and not only was it now necessary to gain the confidence of the colored man, but even to regain the confidence of white men who had any intention of going south and settling down in that part of the country. there were many men of capital, besides thousands of ac- complished artisans, who could both enrich themselves and the south- ern states by going and settling down there, but who were now justly alarmed, when they saw whole hosts of orderly and industrious people of color moving away from these self-same states on account of rob- bers and murders by the very same men among whom they had been planning to go and settle down, to labor and toil, and there to end their days. it was perfectly clear to the most obtuse southern mind that no northern man would ever go south and invest his capital where historical romance of the american negro. those who ran his mills and cultivated his plantations were liable to be brought down by the shot-gun of the old soldiers of lee and jack- son, because they voted the republican ticket-if they even dared to go to the poils at all on election day! this was as bad, or worse, than despotic russia or turkey; and therefore southern men wisely decid- ed to reverse the policy they had adopted towards the colored popula- tion, for they now saw that if they did not do so, no capitalists or ar- tisans would ever come south, but remain at home or go elsewhere. on the other hand the exodus was a benefit to the colored race; at least, to a portion of them. those who emigrated from the south- ern states found an abundant entrance, and a warm welcome to the fertile lands of kansas and other northern cities and western states, where there was plenty of land calling for nothing so much as culti- vation, and where the oppressed pilgrims and refugees built up for themselves comfortable homes, and they and their children are there to this day. in kansas and the other states whither they emigrated, the spirit of freedom and justice prevailed, and every man could abide under his own vine and fig tree without having any midnight thugs about to make him afraid. and those who remained behind were also benefited by the exodus, because there was now more room for those who were left there; and inasmuch as the white leaders of the south had decided upon possessing a wiser and more christian policy, the prospect of good treatment in every rspect was far brighter than ever; they need not emigrate to the north and west, as their brethren had done, but could remain at home in safety. thus, my dear reader, i have related to you the story of the ex- odus of our people to kansas and other states, as it passed before our eyes about the years and , as i very well remember. it was a wonderful object lesson set before the whole nation, and an out- growth of slavery, and the war, and the violent passions of the van- quished. but good has come out of evil. the poor, oppressed pilgrim refugees were not forsaken in the days of their distress, for they were tenderly cared for by the most loving of mankind, and underneath them were the everlasting arms of the merciful god. chapter xviii. my daughters' weddings-departure for england for the honey- moon-the voyage-letter to the rev. mr. carroll—the city of liverpool-england, wales, scotland, ireland-return home to america-benefits of travel. this chapter will introduce the kind reader to my life and times in the eventful year —eventful in the history of my own family, because my two dear daughters had now almost reached their twenti- eth year, were, therefore, come to the age when the fair sex turn their hearts to the thoughts of love, courtship and marriage; and, in short, my dear · children were engaged to be married in the month oi may, in the spring of the year . the bridegrooms were both christian, industrious and highly-respectable young men, and such as we knew would promote the happiness of the two dear girls as well as their own. all four candidates for matrimony were well matched in every way, having been brought up in schools and colleges where the most select members of the anglo-saxon race theniselves have received their polish. indeed, freedom and all the advantages that flow from a brilliant education, have polished our young men and maidens, until now they are as smooth as a mirror, and you can see your face in that mirror as well as the best looking-glass! thus these young people had been trained and polished till training and polishing could not be carried much further; because they had had all the advantages that honey and talent could give; they shone in the best society, and no company of refined young christian people was considered perfect unless they were invited, enhancing the happiness of all by their pres- ence. but the best thing of all was the pure, unadulterated christianity that grew and flourished like the green bay-tree in every heart. my own dear husband and i were most profoundly thankful to see our dear children so well inclined by grace and training to every good thought and deed; and no less so to see, in their prospective husbands men who could encourage such dispositions instead of being obstacles in their way, like so many others. historical romance of the american negro. the main points being secured, we gave our willing consent to the marriage and it was thought best to have them both together. accord- ingly the double wedding came off the first wednesday night of the merry month of may, and the a. m. e. church on vine street was packed to its utmost capacity. all the particulars of dress, bon- nets, bouquets, etc., with all the latest improvements down to the eventful year, , were duly noted by the reporter who was present, and who wrote a flourishing account of the weddings, which came out in the paper next morning. after the ceremony at the church was over, we all adjourned to our own house, where a reception was held and continued until a late hour. as my two dear girls (as i always call them) stood before the altar, i could not but reflect what their fate might have been had it not been for the providence of god, and for the fact that their parents managed to get away from slavery, and gave them a good christian education in a free state of the north. verily, the present generation of colored men and maidens have something to be thankful for to that good lord who sent the war, destroyed slavery, and opened the doors for them to enter in, and enjoy all the privileges that the white race possesses. it is quite unnecessary for me to say that marriage is one of the greatest events in human life, and that their marriage gave each one of these four young people the most abundant joy. to still further en- hance the happiness of the young people it was decided that they should spend their honeymoon upon the ocean, and in the british isles, where some of our ancestors had come from ; and my husband and myself de- cided to go with them for company, and have a good time generally. so all preparations were made for our departure to pay this delightful visit to john bull and his island, which made all feel as gay as birds. thursday morning came on apace—the day after their marriage- and we were all in a great bustle and high excitement over our depart- ure for old england, as it is called. our trunks were packed, and all things made ready for the journey and voyage before us. we under- stood that dear mother and her devoted husband, mr. sutherland, were not going with us; at least they had said nothing about doing so to the rest of us—i dare say they intended to take us by surprise. and li was a surprise, indeed! because when we were almost ready to walk down the street to the railway station, who came in smiling all fred'k douglass, rochester, n. y. historical romance of the american negro. have a first-class time upon the rolling deep in the merry month of may. life on the ocean wave has really ten times more charms than i am able to define. you must come to sea yourself to experience it, for it is indeed far too much for my pen. the sea! the sea! the broad, blue sea! what a glorious thing it is to look away as far as ever the eye can reach, and behold nothing but the big, blue waves of the north atlantic heaving up and down, while our bold and plucky steamboat rushes fearlessly over those watery hills, and the bright and beautiful sun pours his warm rays down upon the rolling deep. and a fascinating and bewitching feeling floods upon your own heart, and there begets a feeling of enthusiasm that no language can describe! the porpoise is a lively fish, often seen from the deck of an atlantic steamboat, and we saw plenty of them rushing through the waves like winged lightning. it was indeed a fine sight; but the best companions we had all the way to the british isles were the bold, brave sea-gulls, that left the coast of america with us, and came all the way to liverpool. the sea-gull acts more like a human being than anything else to which i can describe him; cavorting about all over the main, and then coming down almost to the deck itself, to let you know that he is there, and trying to make you feel at home on the ocean. there seemed to be no end of sweet, peaceful enjoyment; the weather continued so fine all the way across the sea, our health was so good, and we had such pleasant companions on all sides around, and nothing happened to the ship to mar the general joy. it was, indeed, a downright holiday, most thoroughly enjoyed by us all. the sabbath-day came around, and there were two church services in the grand saloon. we all went both times, which proved, as i thought at the time, the greatest treat in our whole life. the singing, the prayers, the sermons, and everything else combined to form a novelty that i am again quite at a loss to explain. and yet there were many on board who never went to a church ser- vice at sea, although it was the very joy of our lives, and a treat that turn- ed our gallant ship into a floating heaven on the deep. it is just the same on shore. there are people who live next door to the church who nerer enter its portals once in their lives. we spent a good deal of time watching for vessels on the ocean, and saw plenty of them. we passed quite close to several, and spoke to a few. some of them came so near that we saw everything on deck, and that was something when far from home. what a glorious sight it was to behold the red, red sun rising out of the waves in the east every morning, like a great, big, round, red cheese, and again to watch him at night going down in all his glory in the west, like a red and fiery wheel, flooding all the main with the splendor of his glory, as he sank down into his water bed! we used to stand on the open historical romance of the american negro. deck, and watch the “glorious god of day” sink, sink, sinking, till at last he quite disappeared from view. then the fair-faced silver moon, fair luna, queen of wight, arose in the east, and flooded all the ocean with her silver shining that was laid so entrancingly upon the rolling waves, whilst the thousand stars came out in ones, and twos, and hundreds, and bestudded all the skies. thus again we would gather out upon the deck at night, and watch the starry heavens, and the moon, and listen to the wild waves of the north atlantic rolling away, far and near; and when night came on, we found ourselves pretty well worn out after another long and busy day. but we slept well, as indeed we well might, for the good lord and the sailors were ever taking good care of us all and the brave sarmatian was battling her rapid way cross the north atlantic. as i used to stand and muse upon the deck, it often occurred to my mind how all the ancestors of the colored race in america had been borne over the waves of the self-same north atlantic over which we were now sailing, though farther to toe south. over these waves, also, the great fred. douglass had passed several times on his journeys to and from the british isles; for he is one of the great pillars of history, and has filled the whole world with his fame. his renown is bright all over the earth! thus time passed on, day and night, and we all enjoyed ourselves to the top of our bent; at the grand piano in the saloon, watching the play of the wild waves of the rolling deep, etc., etc. the excitement in every bosom began to rise as we drew near to the land, and when the old head of kinsale rose from the main in the southwest of ireland, there was truly a most tremendous flurry in every heart. and as the samartian passed rapidly along, one lofty, frowning headland after another rose from the waves, reminding one of grand lofty church steeples placed at intervals here and there; then the bold, precipitous coasts ran far away back into some estuary or frith, at the head of which a river came pouring down from the interior of the land. a heavy summer shower of rain came up all of a sudden, after which the sun burst out with indescribable splendor, and a mighty rainbow stood over the entire convex of heaven, with its great feet like elephant's legs, deep down in the ocean. our american sea- gulls came bravely on, and in irish waters were met by irish sea-gulls, and countless wild sea-mews. the excitement that began when we passed the old head at kensale did not subside. it went on, grew and increased hour after hour, as we called at queenstown, and then moved on to liverpool. nothing was now thought of nor talked about but john bull and his island-brittania, the pride of the ocean, the home of the brave and the free! we noticed that we were no longer upon the big, blue waves of whe north atlantic, but ploughing our rapid way across the shallower green seas of the british isles-quite a pleasant change in its way, after so much blue, because nature's green is a beautiful color. historical romance of the american negro. it was time for us to go to bed, as we approached st. george's chan- nel, that divides ireland from wales; but we were all up and fresh, and bright as buttons in the morning, when holyhead, the isle of anglesea, and the bold mountains of north wales arose almost perpendicular out of the irish sea, and dipped their feet, deep, deep into the waves. the excitement on board now among us all was simply dreadful! we were so near home, and yet not quite there! hundreds of ships in all directions were moving about over all the sea; and no wonder, because we were close to the doors of one of the most famous queen seaports that this orld has ever seen. at last we came up in front of the city of liverpool, and having a tremendous traffic in full view, and here we had to lie till two o'clock in the afternoon, when the tide would be full, and we could cross the bar of the mersey. we crossed the bar in due time, and got into that famous river, came up to the great landing stage where we land- ed in great excitement, for here at last was john bull and his island! having landed and passed the custom-house officers, we procured cabs and drove to our appointed quarters in the city, where we received a most hearty welcome upon our arrival, and were ushered into our rooms, and we never felt more thoroughly at home in our lives. the good people seemed determined to make us feel all right, and to make a good impression on the americans. the english tea time, p. m., drew nigh, and we had toast and tea, with jams, etc., in the regular english fashion. it was de- lightful to have all things so nice in a foreign way. the fire was also de- lightful in the open grate, and that also looked most cheerful. pictures of queen victoria and the royal family hung from the walls, and battle scenes by land and sea, and landscape pictures powerfully reminded us that we were now under the british flag, and in another part of the world. after tea, we walked out to view the city, the river, the mighty traffic of this modern tyre, and , seamen talking far more languages than we knew anything about. thus several days and nights passed away, and we found the people one of the most delightful in the world-frank, free, open- hearted and generous and hospitable to a fault. i am told that there is not a heartier people on the face of the earth than the half million inhabi- tants of liverpool, and so far as my experience goes that is quite true. we accepted several invitations, and had glorious times among these people; we ran the whole town and saw many places of great interest and beauty. but from fifteen to twenty miles of dock, the busy river and the great landing stage almost took our breath away. it is worth crossing the atlantic to see the far-famed city of liverpool! everybody saw and knew that we had a wedding party along with us. and, indeed, my two daughters and their husbands were just like so many birds set free, when once they got ashore. like the spirited singing birds of the british isles, there was no end to their hilarity; and it was delight- ful to see them. our entire party were very favorably impressed with all historical romance of the american negro. that we both heard and saw, and everybody was so very polite to us, and agreeable in all their ways. we now began to make excursions to see some of the fine sights of "old england," and some of the grand castles and palaces of fame and renown. what seemed to impress us all most was the smooth, lawn-like appearance of the whole fair-faced country, which is the most polished upon the face of the earth. beautiful england, in- deed, reminds me of a well-cultivated garden, and it looks like a great gar- den, and nothing else. the houses and grounds of some of the nobility are flung open for the inspection of foreign visitors, and truly they are a delight to behold, with all their flower gardens, conservatories of plants, playing fountains, and other attractions too numerous to mention. go where we might, nothing seemed more gratifying to our feelings than the polite attention and fine manners of all those with whom we came in con- tact. the sights and scenes round about us, and so much to charm the senses in a foreign land, in the delightful month of may, delighted us to the core, and made us think of the garden of eden, and the fabled, golden regions of the blessed. the stately homes of england-how beautiful they stand!-amidst the tall, ancestral trees, o'er all the pleasant land: such is england, that has been polished for , years, till polishing can do no more! all the world has heard of “beautiful wales," and we determined to pass a few weeks among her enchanting scenery. we visited the vale of llangollen, the vale of clwyd, the vale of conway, saw bettws-y-coed, the pass of llanberis, and, indeed, the best things in all north wales, including lakes, rivers, waterfalls, and glorious romance without end. the warm- hearted, impulsive welsh people almost carried us all off our feet with their unbounded enthusiasm, and the tremendous warmth of their welcome. they are the greatest singers in the world. indeed, ali wales is one sea of song, and they sing well, and they even dearly love to sing. they are a god-fearing race, and we never heard a welshman swear-no, not even here was something for our young people to learn, for it was so sweet to hear the name of the lord mentioned only in terms of praise. wales always reminded our entire party of the "delectable mountains" of the pilgrim's progress, for the welsh mountains were delightful to us. after we got through with all we cared about seeing in “beautiful wales," and among its warm-hearted people, we next moved away to the north to become somewhat acquainted with what is truly called “bonnie scotland.” we passed around the highlands and the islands of that roman- tie country, and beheld the famous lakes and the lofty mountains, her deep waterfalls and historic straits and glens. we visited the land of burns, in the south, or lowlands, saw edinburg and glasgow, and the home of sir walter scott, on the lower tweed. of a truth, scotland is a beautiful, enchanting and enchanted land, and her warm-hearted, enthusiastic people olce. chapter xix. eminent colored men and women-bishop daniel e. payne-fred- erick douglass--his life and times—mrs. frances ellen harp- er-miss louise de mortie. one of the hardest things in the world is to keep down a man who is determined to rise. he comes up like a plant of spontaneous growth, and the more we try to keep him down, the more he will per- severe in his determination to stand upon his own feet like other men. this was often shown in the days before the war, when the bold, in- trepid slave, who clearly saw that the whole system was wrong, made up his mind at least to be free, and the next thing we hear of him is a daring and successful attempt to shake off the chains of slavery, through his successful escape to the free states of the north, or to canada, or even to europe. but this determined spirit to at least be free, did not confine itself merely to such adventurous and successful escapes, but assumed the form of acquiring an education also; and no better illustration of this can be given than that of the late bishop daniel e. payne, of the a m. e. church, who was born in south carolina, in the year . the heinous system of slavery in that rebellious state treated as a crime the teaching of any slave or free colored person whatsoever. but dan- iel e. payne had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, and in order to flank the evil system that then prevailed, and to gain that knowledge. to which he was as much entitled as the president of the united states himself, he procured the assistance of a friendly white man, who taught him in a cellar, where neither friend nor foe could see what they were doing. daniel was an apt and clever student, and above all things, as the bible says, "he had a mind to work,” and an enthusiastic mind at that. it did not take this young hero long to take in the en- tire situation regarding slave lands and slavery when once his mind had begun to expand. like moses and many other famous leaders, the lord had work for him to do, and he was preparing him for it at this time. historical romance of the american negro. young payne saw that south carolina was no place for him, and that the first duty he owed to himself was to get away as best he could, to the northern states, where he could enjoy his own manly and manful rights. as fortune favors the brave, he succeeded in mak- ing his escape, and his freedom being now secure, he made all due haste to become that eminent scholar, who was destined by the will of god, to become a leader and an instructor of his people. he con- nected himself with the a. m. e. church, and through and by means of that powerful body he did mighty things for the education of his own people, both before the war and after it. he has justly been called “the apostle of education,” and what the great fred. douglass was in the political world, daniel e. payne was in the educational and intellectual world. such a man as bishop payne should be revered as a philanthropist for all coming time. the colored race will never be able to say that they are out of his debt. at last he was made a bishop of his own church, and became the head of wilberforce univer- sity, in ohio-a glorious institution that had made itself felt by its in- fluence over all this nation. bishop payne was sent to europe for a time in the interest of his church, and his high qualities were every- where honored by the christian and scholars across the atlantic. thus we see in daniel payne a diamond in the rough, in the slave state of south carolina, but by the predetermined will of god, brought to the free north and polished, as it were, by the hand of the jeweler. we see all the work that the great creator had given him to do, and how well he did it, too. and what we have said of payne could as well be said of thousands of others--men in whom the spirit of right and ambition dwells; men who ever forge to the front; men whom god helps, because he sees that they are also willing to help themselves. we next come to the far-famed and highly-celebrated frederick douglass, renowned over all the earth wherever honest worth is appre- ciated and valued by the civilized sons and daughters of adam. the name of “fred. douglass," as he is affectionately called, stands out in alto-relief with that of john bunyan, george washington, and some few others who carry fame and goodness with them at one and the same time. nobody seems to be jealous of them nor envy them, for their fame is far beyond the reach of jealousy or envy. it would be a difficult thing to find a village, valley or an isle of any ocean on the kangas southern chivalry argument versus club's historical romance of the american negro. ern states; but the north at that time abode in thick darkness as to the rights of colored men to freedom on the self-same footing with them- selves. and not only did thick darkness cover the land, but entire legions and hosts of the people were almost as much prejudiced upon the slave question as the slave-holders of the south. they had no more idea of the grand, self-elevating capabilities of the colored race than the child that was unborn; and the ignorant masses of white people were certainly unwilling to give them a chance. and our poor, dear fred., now a married man, had just to stand his chances, and run his risks with the rest, while the untutored north was in such a crude and chaotic state. therefore, on account of the presence of so much ignorance and prejudice againt men of color in new york city, the friends of freedom considered it unsafe for frederick douglass to remain there any longer, and advised him to move on to new bedford, in massachusetts, where he would at least be out of danger. we can never forget the honored name of mr. david ruggles, a colored gen- tleman of new york city, in connection with these events. it was he who mainly took charge of our hero and his wife in new york city, and sent them on to new bedford. and when they arrived in new bedford, they were met by one mr. nathan johnson, a very intelligent and industrious colored man, a warm friend of theirs, who advanced them a sum of money to redeem their baggage, which was held for fare. he advised fred. to drop the name of fred. lloyd, and to call himself "fred. douglass," as he (nathan johnson) had lately been reading of douglass, in sir walter scott's novels, relating to scotland and the scotch, being now in possession of his freedom, having a sweet young wife and a home of his own, he had something to live for! douglass had learned the trade of the ship-builder, at baltimore, but was unable to work at that trade at new bedford, on account of the prejudices of the white workmen there against color, for had he taken his tools in among them and gone to work, they would all at once have stopped work and left the yard. such was the character of even northern men in the year , but douglass was not the man to flinch. he was strong, hardy and handy at almost everything. if he could not do one thing he could do another; and therefore he picked up a living at anything that presented itself to him. historical romance of the american negro. the whole colored race are preeminently inquiring, and possess a thirst and love for knowledge in the very highest degree. fred. douglass was a splendid specimen of this noble trait of character. be- ing now his own master, he literally devoured knowledge, and his splendid intellect expanded, flourished and grew on apace like the growth of vegetation in the tropics. he was no longer watched, or al- most murdered, if he was found with a book in his hand! he was no longer the so-called "property” of a fellow calling himself his "owner," who robbed him of his week's wages, and then pretended to niake him a present of a quarter of his own money to treat himself with! oh, dear me, no! no more of that for him! when this brave young man, this hero of twenty-one had done his day's work, he came home to his beloved anna at his cosy home in new bedford, and after he had his supper, the way was clear for a grand time reading "the liberator," which william lloyd garrison sent out every week, and that fired the warm, receptive mind and heart of young fred., so that his fame as a brilliant conversationalist and a well-read man, spread rapidly through out the town. he had been often listened to as an exhorter and unusually fervid speaker at the colored methodist church in the town, and all men with sharp eyes perceived that another star had risen in the intellectual heavens, and that some circumstance or other would bring him to the front some day. and it came to pass as they had prophesied ! in new bedford mr. douglass had attended several meetings in defence of the poor, oppressed slave; and there he had heard the most unmitigated denunciation of the whole infamous system of slavery. the eloquent, burning language of the speakers went home to his heart. in the summer of , when douglass was twenty-four years old, an anti-slavery convention was to be held at nantucket, massa- chusetts, a place not far from new bedford, and the convention would be under the management of the famous william lloyd garrison, whose weekly paper, “the liberator," douglass had been devouring week by week with such unwonted avidity. he determined to take a little respite from his hard work in the brass foundry, and attend this gathering of anti-slavery people. there was a great assemblage of people at nantucket. the fires of enthusiasm on behalf of the op- pressed slave burned hot and high. in the midst of the vast audience historical romance of the american negro. wales, the green fields of ireland, and the bold mountains of scotland, all rang with the illustrious name of fred. douglass. such a man as he was did not belong to the colored race alone, and to the united states; he belonged to the whole world, and to all races. such men can never be appropriated by one people, but they are, indeed, the common property of all. douglass returned home, .and founded a paper called “the north star.” he moved to roches- ter, n. y., and there he and his family took up their abode. the glor- ious work for the destruction of slavery went on, grew and increased, and at last brought on the war of secession, and freedom likewise for the entire enslaved race. mr. douglass then removed to washington, and was honored with high offices in the services of his native country. he had the misfortune of losing his darling anna, though after five years he married again, and went on a wedding tour to europe and the east, this being his third voyage across the ocean. he died at wash- ington in february, , at the age of seventy-eight—no very great age, but then he had done the work,of ten men, and that wears human life rapidly away. thousands of eminent men have arisen from the ranks of the col- ored race since , and thousands are now upon their feet also. their names have reached the ends of the earth. but fred. douglass was early in the field, and he was a very, very bright particular star. like john bunyan, george washington, and some few others, he shines for all time, and for the entire human race. he did a mighty work for god and humanity. of all those illustrious men who have been born of women, there has never arisen a greater man, in all the arinals of time, than our congenial friend and brother, fred. douglass. my dear reader, i have given but short sketches of two eminent colored men who elevated themselves head and shoulder above their fellows, for the purpose of showing what the race can do. and i could go on to any length in the same strain, and pick out and describe other eminent men whose fame has reached the ends of the earth, though not in the same degree, as fred. douglass. but i need not dwell further here in showing what we can do, especially now that we are set free. though the whole world freely admits that we have done well, and very well, still, we are only now at the threshold of our advancement, for it is only thirty odd years since the close of the war. but in that short historical romance of the american negro. and ambition, and patience and perseverance with them to forge to the front, like the lady in question). this eminent woman soon became widely known for her brilliant talents, and all her sweet, lady-like graces, and admonished all abolitionists and anti-slavery people what our race could do if they were once freed from their shackles ! mrs. harper possessed a great natural fondness for poetry, which she proceeded early to cultivate, so that she had become well-known for her sweet effusions in that line, and they have been published far and wide throughout the world, and prove that we have “birds of song” among us as well as others. she has written some pieces pos- sessing much merit. she has a great natural facility for writing, and reminds me of a clause in deborah's song of triumph in the fifth chap- ter of the book of judges, "out of labulon came down those who handle the pen of the writer.” for a facile, easy pen, mrs. frances ellen harper is a perfect labulonite, for she has shown that she also can handle the pen of the writer. this gifted lady has also been a bright and shining light on the lecture platform, and, indeed, has appeared on many wof the leading platforms of the nation, and crowned herself with honor and glory. she has proved to the whole world that a woman can do mighty deeds as well as man. there was a dark and doleful time in this world's history when a woman was regarded as little more than a mere serf, for man's will and pleasure everywhere. but those dark ages have passed away, and women have advanced to the front line, and taken their rightful places in the world. mrs. harper is a living proof of this nobility among women, and she has done yeoman service in trying to elevate her sisters of the colored race. her splendid services will never be forgotten by either this generation or the generations to come. “well done, good and faithful servant; enter thou into the joy of thy lord !” louise de mortie, of norfolk, va., was born of free parents in that place in the year . as she was not allowed to receive an educa- tion at the home of her youth, she decided to go to boston, where she could get one. it was in the year that she took up her resi- dence in that city, when she was twenty years of age, with life and all its opportunities before her in a free state. at once she took a vigorous hold, and availed herself of all favoring opportunities that presented historical romance of the american negro. themselves. she was a young maiden of great personal beauty, and possessed a sweet disposition and a most remarkably good memory. she took very high standing as a pupil in the schools and seminaries of boston, and made a whole host of friends, won over by her graces and accomplishments. in she came out as a public reader, and shone like a very brilliant star. she showed that she was a perfect elocutionist by birth, and had been polished like a rich jewel. her natural beauty and per- sonal graces, engaging manners and richly-toned voice, drew the eyes of the whole country. just as she had come to be well-known, she heard of the great destitution among the colored orphans at new or- leans at the close of the war. hither she hastened, and in raised funds to build an asylum for the colored people of that city. this she did in her spirit of christian love, and she won the hearts of all those who beheld her, like another angel of mercy, at her good works. but the vellow fever struck her down on the roth of october of the above year, , when she said so touchingly, "i belong to god, our father," and then expired. thus was this brave young woman cut off in her thirty-fourth year. but she lived long enough to show to others a brilliant example that will never be forgotten. chapter xx. our first great men and women-new lights to the front-our own iiumble beginning in —cleanliness and industry- music and song-immense progress in education, and a mighty advance along the whole line–the rapid increase of wealth - the crime of lynching-the church and sunday-school- the colored man's right to vote, and to rule the nation. though i have only sketched the lives of two most eminent mem- bers of color, and two. famous women of the same race, i must con- fess that i feel greatly tempted to go on with the subject, and speak of many others, some of whom have gone to their reward, and others remain alive unto the present day. at first sight the general reader might imagine that those first bright stars that shone in our intellec- ual firmament were brighter than the talented men and women whom we can see at this day and hour, walking up and down our streets, and shining like suns in their different professions, doing splendid ser- vice in elevating the colored race in america. we had fred. douglass, bishop payne, mrs. frances ellen harper, and some other bright, par- ticular stars, who shone with apparently unusual brilliancy some fifty or sixty years ago, and they have been set down for the seven wonders of the world (fred. douglass, at least, was a genuine wonder for all time). but while we are inclined to look upon these worthies as tow- ering geniuses, and most extraordinary lights in the heavens in but recently bye-gone days, we forget that the thick darkness that sur- rounded them went a long way in making their brilliance and splen- dor appear far brighter than they really were. this is quite true of all races, and is no detraction whatever from the real merits that were justly their own. i am safe in saying that , clever colored men and women, representing all the different arts and professions, could be picked out at this day, who would have passed for stars of the first magnitude, had they made their appearance upon the stage of time some fifty or sixty years ago. to shine to the same extent of brilliancy and glory nowadays would indeed be a very difficult matter, when the historical romance of the american negro. whole united states is flooded with a great tide of knowledge that was never known before. in these happy days of ours knowledge covers the land, as the waters cover the seas. it is perfectly laughable for me now to look back and remember the taunting expressions that were flung upon our dear people, saying that we had no originality, and that we could never rise above being mere imitators of the white man! in those days our people were in slavery, and had no opportunities of showing what they were capable of doing. but now we are free, and we can all go to school, and education can polish us like other races, in the same way as we polish the block of marble, and cut out the precious jewels of all descriptions. if we leave a diamond in its rude, rough state, like the colored race in the dark days of slavery, that diamond will continue to be rude and rough still; but place the precious stone in the hand of the jeweler, and we shall soon behold a bright and shining precious stone, indeed. it was not only cruel, but it was cowardly to taunt a whole race of people with incapacity and lack of talent, when our ene- mies had our hands tied, and were unwilling to give us a chance. but by the grace of god, and the blood of the americans, both white and black, we are now all free, and thousands upon thousands of our dear people have acquired splendid educations, in all the different profes- sions and walks of life, and they have proved to the whole world, both men and women, that there is talent and genius among our sons and daughters who have forged to the front, who are self-made men and women, indeed—men and women who have risen from the ranks, just the same as officers and commanders start up from the ranks in the time of war. my dear reader, we are often told that poverty is no disgrace, but that it is very inconvenient. which is all true, indeed, too true; and what is still worse, it often cannot be helped. in days not so long since gone by, we used to be taunted with poverty, but if we had no possessions of our own in the days of slavery, we at least, like the apostle paul, made others rich, and it was our oppressed people who built up the sunny south—the richest section of the united states be- fore the war. if we had had all the wealth that was thus stolen away from us and given to those who led on the great rebellion, we would never had been turned loose with nothing in our hands in , and to historical romance of the american negro. begin life anew at the lowermost round of the ladder of prosperity. it is very true that even in the days of slavery there were colored men scattered over all the free states of the union, many of whom had amassed vast sums of money, and who were invariably treated with great respect and honor by white people because they were rich. so long as they had plenty of money it was all right, and there was nothing either thought or said about the color of their skin. but if the whole race of colored people in the south were turned loose with nothing in , they have at least made in the aggregate immense sums of money since then, and devoted it all to those noble purposes wherby the entire race has been raised up and elevated in the scale of nations. above all other causes, religion and education have been thus spread all over the land, the money being supplied by a willing people, whose good natural inclination to give has never been surpassed, and very seldom equalled by any race under the sun. immense sums of money have been put away in savings banks, and property in land is a noble feature of the wisdom of our people in the south. take the more than , , colored people all over the union, and behold what a vast number own their own houses, and have money to their credit stored up in banks against a rainy day. and then see the comfort, cleanliness and order to be observed everywhere in an untold number of dwellings. the colored race are unusually fond of cleanliness and order in their nice and cosy snug homes, when they can get them; and take the united states all over to-day, it is most astonishing to behold such a number of beautiful and comfortable homes as there are. i think, dear reader, that our own people taken as a whole, have been both industrious and thrifty since the close of the war, and, as the bible tells us, they have succeeded in building up the walls of jerusalem, because they have had a mind to work. wher- ever there is a will there is a way. it is all very true that some among us are extravagant, lazy, shiftless, but that is quite true of the white race, too, only i think more so, and we never condemn a whole race for the faults of a few. let us then judge fairly, and award to the colored race what be- longs to them by right. as in the days of slavery, so at the present day it is the colored man who still extracts the wealth from the soil of the south, partly for himself, and partly for the white man. he can historical romance of the american negro. offence, and thus try to produce the impression that the guilty party was a colored man, and not a white man at all! cases have thus oc- curred where innocent colored men have been lynched, and the real criminals made their escape by simply discoloring their faces. there is hardly a week passes but we find the hurrying mobs themselves dis- covering their own mistakes, sometimes in time to prevent the execu- tion, but at other times too late. it is very true that on many occas- ions the really guilty party is taken, confesses his crime, and is duly executed by the wild and unruly mob of lynchers. the chief fault, as it appears to my mind, is a lack of firmness on the part of the states, and i might also add of the central government at washington. it is a perfect scandal to a duly constituted govern- ment to say that they are not able to carry out the law, or let the law take its course. who would believe for a moment that england or russia would allow any and every wild mob to take their victims out of the hands of the police, and, in fact, administer the law for them? such a test of home authority would never run on for twenty-four hours in any foreign civilized land. if the governors and the authori- ties would show a proper amount of firmness, and the central govern- ment at washington would tighten up the screws a little all these lynch- ings would come to an end, and such a thing would be heard of no more. with regard to the southern states, at least, where lynchings have been more common, the taunting question has been asked by foreign na- tions, "are the southern states fit for civilization, and ought they to be depended on to govern themselves?" well, i think they are fit for self-government, but the screws ought to be tightened up considerably, and i think the sooner the better. if i had any power to advise the houses at washington, i would advise them to take the scandal of lynching by the wild mobs into their own hands, and put a stop to it in their own way. and let congress see that all races and crimes are treated alike, and let the duly constituted authorities of the states ad- minister the laws for which they are appointed and paid. lynching is not only a breach of the law, but it is murder itself, and a horrible sys- tem of crime and public disorder that have brought this most shameful nation into great disrepute. let us hope and pray that something may be done very soon to bring this national scandal to an end; and let historical romance of the american negro. public murder by infuriated mobs come to an end, and be heard of no more. in the books which fred. douglass wrote of his life and times he always mentions the miserable and doleful processions of slaves who were driven, during the darkness of the night, from the pens into which they had been gathered in baltimore to the vessels which were tu sail with them to georgia and other scenes of toil and exhaustion in the far-distant south. alas, alas! the sunny south had no joys for them, and as they passed through the streets of baltimore, during the night, they wailed and lamented their hard fate. this leads me on to reflect, my dear reader, upon the gloriously-altered state of affairs that freedom has brought around, and which we can see all around about us at the present day. one of the grandest sights that delights our eyes now is the great array of sunday-schools in every state and county of the united states. i have always called the sunday-school "the children's church," and it is the children's church, indeed, and a glorious church at that, too. far and wide, spread over all this broad land, running all along the way from the wild atlantic to the mild pa- cific, and from the lakes to the gulf, young, well-dressed boys and girls in thousands and tens of thousands may be seen wending their happy way to their own dearly beloved “children's church”—i mean their sunday-school. the great and powerful wide-spread methodist, baptist and other grand churches, organized and carried on by the colored race to the utmost limits of the american union, deserve the utmost praise for pains and labors they have been at to make such splendid provision for the rising generation of boys and girls, who thus go forth upon the sabbath-day to worship the lord in their own youthful, sweet and attractive way, well taught by devoted men and women, who rear their tender vines, and watch over them, and tend them well, as the careful and skilful gardener tends and ripens his precious plants in the hot-house. what a glorious change for the better, my dear reader, has come over this federal union of ours in our own day! well did the jubilee minstrels sing before the royal family of england, “no more auction blocks for me!" for at the present day, instead of auction blocks and wronged and oppressed slaves being conveyed (in a fugitive way, under cover of the darkness of the night) from their pens to the ships, historical romance of the american negro. : wailing and lamenting their sad fate, in the self-same city of baltimore, at the present time thousands and tens of thousands of children, and men and women, wend their peaceful way to sunday-school and church, walking the streets of the city in love and peace, on their pil- grimage to jerusalem, the city of the great king. and yet if anybody had told the slave-holder only fifty years ago that his darling "peculiar institution" was on its last legs, he would probably there and then have caused us to be lynched for our rashness of speech! as i have mentioned already in this book, preachers in the south in those days had even the audacity to preach sermons in the defence of slavery, and they were so bold as to select for their text: “this” (meaning slavery) “is the lord's doings; and it is wonderful in our eyes." very wonderful, indeed, i should say. and the war for the extinction of slavery was the lord's doing, too, i suppose! and it also was won- derful in our eyes, indeed! if those miserable slave-traders were to rise from their graves to-day; were to hear colored minstrels singing in the courts of europe, “no more auction blocks for me!" and then were to see millions of colored children, youths and maidens wending their way to the happy sunday-schools on the day of rest-even they also would be compelled to admire the great changes for the better, and to exclaim in a different sense,"truly these are the lord's doings, and they are wonderful in our eyes!" it has always been a matter of personal interest and importance for men to take a hand in voting and the ruling of their native state. uni- versal history shows us plainly that this has always been the case, unless, indeed, the nation was a monarchy, and therefore subject to the unlimited will and pleasure of one man as despot in chief, and those who served under him, and did as they were commanded. but in those lands where freedom ruled in the days of old, and all countries to-day where constitutional government prevails, men have always voted in one form or another, and they still lend a hand at elections, and this without regard to race, color or any such thing. neither has there ever been any friction or trouble in legislative assemblies, and there is none now in foreign nations, where men of different races, colors, and even creeds, take their seats side by side, and proceed to work together for the good of all the citizens. we all know how it was in the south in the early years of reconstruction after the close of the war, when the historical romance of the american negro. state legislatures were composed of white and colored men, who ruled the states together. we thought at the time that this thing would go on and that all parties had settled down in peace and harmony, for every man to vote as he pleased, and to send such men, black or white, to represent them in their legislatures, as were returned by the largest number of voters at the elections, conducted according to the consti- tuition of the nation. but the white man of the south had almost always been accustomed to his own selfish, despotic way and sway in the days of slavery. the south had not only the rule of colored men, but even over white men in the halls of congress! unless that section of the union could have her own dictatorial way there was no peace whatever in the house ! the north therefore felt herself often obliged to give way, which encouraged the south to take a mile the next time when we gave her ar ell. i have shown the reader of these pages how the ku-klux-klan arose ; how the new shot-gun policy brought the republican govern- ments of secessia to an end, and how the very amendments to the constitution, including the bare privilege of casting one's own vote, were all brought to an end—nay, more than that—the reader knows by this time how an immense number of colored men, women and children tore up stakes, and left the states of the south where they were born, and sought new homes in northern and western states. where the shot-gun policy of the late rebels did not prevail ! but where are representatives in congress to-day, and where are the colored senators and others in the legislative halls of the southern states? for the present they have been wiped out, and so far uncle sam has given way, and backed down once more to the violent south for the sake of keeping peace in the house. it may be argued that coming but recently out of slavery, as we did, we were unfitted for the full privilege of freemen and voters. perhaps there is some reason in that view of the question. as a nation we certainly could not be expected to be college-hred in . but that is over thirty years ago, and both we ourselves and our children have been to almost all the schools, seminaries and colleges in the land since then. if we were ignorant in , sure cannot race be called igno- rant now. in my own opinion, i think it is about time that we as a historical romance of the american negro. the last three amendments to the constitution were now carried out to the fullest extent, and that we should be no longer contented merely to vote for the white man, but vote for colored men, too, who run for office. as the south has been so violent over the matter of ruling her own states to the exclusion of the colored man, the grand hue and cry among some of our own people has been raised, "let politics alone. and attend to your own business, and let the white man rule!" so far as i can see there is neither sense nor justice in such a cry as that. if the white man has a right to vote, so has the colored man. to stuff the ballot-boxes with manufactured votes, or to throw out those that colored men have voted, is simply breaking the law, and the central government should punish it as such. if an ambitious young colored man desires to represent his country in the field of politics, it stands neither in law nor reason for any white man to presume to stop him. if he be a man of great talent, like frederick douglass, or john m. langston, or blanche k. bruce, that is just so much more the reason why he should go to congress, or represent his own country and state at home. the colored man must receive every fair play at the elec- tions; his vote must not be tampered with any more than the white man's vote. by all means let him have his vote, for he will never be satisfied with anything less. let every infringement of the law be pushed to the utmost extent; let a few examples be made, and tam- pering with other men's votes will come to an end. for the very life of me i can see no reason why colored men should abstain from poli- tics any more than white men. there is no reason why they should do so if they wish to enter into political life. we can aiso attend to other business at home, like the rest of the population. to discharge our duties at the polls, indeed, is one of the very first duties of every citizen, and we have a perfect right to vote under the law of the land. every now and then some surviving rebel in south carolina, or some other of the late seceded states, takes upon himself to raise the old parrot-cry, “this is a white man's government! colored men shall not rule with us !" if the national government did its full duty, it would arrest such a man as this for trying to teach the rising gener- ation falsehoods, and for disturbing the minds of the lieges. this is not a white man's country, nor a black man's country, nor a red man's historical romance of the american negro. country—but it belongs to all alike. we have only to go back four hundred years, when this country belonged to the indians, and if it be- longs by right to anybody at all, it belongs to them. but spaniards, frenchmen, englishmen and others came over the sea, they murdered or drove back the indians, and stole away their lands. then the seli- same europeans went to africa, and killed and kidnapped the nations, and by physical force brought our ancestors here—and here we are at the present day. the war of revolution came; the colonists secured their own freedom, but they did not set their own slaves free. they complained that they were in subjection under the king of england, but they winked at the thraldom of our ancestors, and left us to languish in chains and slavery till the lord sent the civil war, and made us all free, while the three amendments to the constitution put us on the self- same footing with white citizens, and here we are in our own country, part and parcel of the entire american population. this country, then, either belongs to the lord from heaven, or it is the property of the north american indian, or else it has become, in some way or other, the property of the whole of us. we had better not examine into our rights too closely, for we cannot go back more than four hundred years to establish our claims, and four hundred years will not go for much, especially with the owner--the lord of heaven. historical romance of the american negro. wonders to perform.” we fondly expected and hoped to see freedom in our own day—“some sweet day”—but our minds were little pre- pared for its coming so soon. we heard the rumblings of the storm, indeed, but there had been other storms before, and they had blown over, and why should not this one go the same as they? that is the way that we poor, limited, erring human beings are likely to go aside and miss the mark. we judged of the rising storm of that it would be like those that had gone before it, but there was not a single being on the face of the earth who ever dreamed that we were at last drifting into a mighty war, that was to continue for over four years, and would sweep away slavery and all its belongings, as the mighty tides of the ocean wash away the foot-prints on the sands. it became clear as time and war went on, that the almighty ruler of the uni- verse had risen up to strike the earth, and that he would not smite a second blow, but finish things up now. he says in his sacred word that he will hear our prayers; our oppressed people had been crying to him for many years, "how long, o lord, how long !" the prayers of the distressed, their tears and cries, had been heard ; they had all been duly chronicled in heaven; the day for settlement with the slave- holders had now fully come, and one of those mighty changes that have followed each other these last forty years with such rapidity was now at the door. like the prompt railroad train, or, better still, the tide of the sea, the lord of heaven and earth was ready, and armed from head to foot; freedom was at the door, indeed and in truth, and the doors must be opened that captives should go free! “what hath not god wrought?” those more than four decisive years, so heavy with fate and destiny, looked long, very long, in pass- ing, but ah! they brought changes to the entire colored race, both col- lectively and individually; and as slavery had grown more and more even down to the very year when the war began, so was the joy all the greater when it was all over, and bright shining freedom came sud- denly at last. there was joy and rejoicing all over the united states at the result; dancing and singing from the potomac to the rio grande ir particular. so much for the whole race taken collectively. to us individually as a family, that mighty upheaval, the war, brought great and varied experiences—both sorrows and joy. when the first rush of wild enthusiasm against the rebellion was over, we all found out that old curiosity shop theataunted by charles dickens sillabobs nes he carte paper pfer sint t mes bus dickens old curiosity shop. tower of london. historical romance of the american negro. we had to settle down to hard work, and four full years of war and fighting were before us. thus the children and i saw tom leave for the seat of war, and after many a hard-fought field, tom was wounded so badly that he lay for a long time at new orleans. we had done an immense quantity of correspondence by this time, but more changes wrought through and by the war were at hand. the whole american ration was undergoing changes, and so were we! the children and i longed with all our hearts to see husband and father once more. he was not yet well enough to travel to buffalo; indeed, the military au- thorities forbade it, and so we three determined to tear up stakes at buffalo for a time, and make a sudden and unexpected march on the city of new orleans. this was not my first visit to the crescent city of the sunny south. as my dear reader is already well aware, i went there about the year , and rescued my dear mother from slavery, which i consider one of the very best things that ever i did in this world! this journey to new orleans was a most glorious experience, for the girls in particular, and they are even talking of it now. when we were in the lower mississippi, we had a good time to look about us and see what a mighty work the sword of the north had already done for that section of the union. the colored people were all free, and thousands were flocking to schools just newly set up, and learning as people had never learned before. the rebels, and all those that sym- pathized with them, used to say that if the slaves were set free, they would turn in and massacre their former owners, and become regular heathens and savages. this was, of course, nothing but a silly par- rot-cry that nobody seriously believed, as no colored man had any other intention than to become a peaceable citizen. but during our delightful residence in the sunny south we saw those who had been slaves in that section all working away upon the lands, and in the towns and cities, in perfect freedom, and their lives were both orderly and exemplary. but what surprised us most was to see them going to work with first readers, spelling books, slates and pencils, and all the other appliances of education, and gathering knowledge like the sands of the sea. this, indeed, augured well for the future—to see people even seventy and eighty years of age learning to read, write and figure like the rest! here was a field of bright promise for the near future. here was a race of people, just set free, grasping at the historical romance of the american negro. in minnesota. it is of truth very small indeed, when it begins its jour- ney to the sea. but the river advances boldly upon its long way, and keeps on and on, and still on, while every now and then a branch comes flowing in, now on the right hand, now on the left, sometimes nothing but a small rivulet, then a large and swelling stream. thus the mississippi still keeps advancing on mile after mile on its journey. till the great ohio swells its waters, and then the greater missouri comes rolling down from the rocky mountains, and now the miss issippi is growing large, indeed—yes, very large. and here comes the arkansas and the red river, with many smaller streams from the east, and thus the mighty mississippi, that began so small in lake itasca, has now reached the crescent city, and whole fleets of ships can float upon its bosom before its great and swelling waters reach the gulf of mexico. and thus it is with the advancement that has already been wade by the colored race along the whole line. we began, indeed, very small in the year , when the war closed, and the appliances oi education and improvement were put into our hands. but here is the year , and, like the mississippi river, we have advanced far. very far upon our way; and yet we have by no means attained the goal of our expectations, by any means, but great changes are under way, and we are still advancing. many travelers have left it on record how they turned round upon the ever-ascending mountain way to mark progress, and see how far they had come. then with fresh resolution they again turned their faces to the road that still lay before and above them, and that with re- newed interest and courage. i don't know how it may be with any- body else, but as i am now about sixty years of age, i am at times given to look back, and to muse not only over all the way the lord has led me, but also how he has led the entire race in my own days. the rising generation knows little of the thoughts and feelings, and the sufferings of their fathers and mothers on their way to freedom, and the present happy condition of things. but i am like that mountain traveller of whom i have just spoken, and i sit at times and muse and muse upon the tremendous excitement all over the north on the slavery question, and how the abolitionists demanded freedom, and the south would not listen to any such thing. then my mind runs back to fred. douglass, henry ward beecher, and all those heroes historical romance of the american negro. and night are coming on. but in my time i have learned to trust in god, to lay hold upon eternal life, to keep hope alive in my heart for all times for myself and all my people, not only my immediate family, but the entire colored race. i am therefore able to look forward with calmness, and even joy, to the time when the great lord will take me home to himself. but still, as the evening and shadows of life are coming on, i will converse with my own family and friends upon the stirring events of the past years, and keep musing upon them, also. if variety is the spice of life, i am sure i have had plenty of it for my own part. i can never com- plain of the want of variety. and it has been a downright blessing to me, too; for it has added to my knowledge and blessing in every way. my travels and varied experiences have brought me into contact with strange and interesting peoples, and countless individuals, worth far more than their weight in gold. my many delightful journeys to the dearly beloved friends in canada, and their return visits to me, have been like glorious rainbows that spanned the heavens of my happiness on earth. then there is the permanent love and friendship of the many brave and true hearts that have thrown light and pleasure upon my path all along the line-good and faithful friends who assisted in pulling down the powers of slavery, and who now rejoice, in common with myself, that the mighty work was done at last, and that all our grand destiny is still before us. thank god for this splendid prospect before us! it has been the joy of my life to see the improvements in- troduced into the american constitution in our favor, and the celebra- tion of the fifteenth amendment all over the land, including the one we took a part in at louisville, kentucky, was a series of brilliant events that can never be forgotten. as i am by nature a great lover of the ocean, i have made two voyages from new orleans to new york, and have even crossed the great atlantic, and visited the british isles upon the happy occasion when my daughters were niarried. but above all things, i have had the pleasure of seeing the entire colored race set free; have seen them make incredible advances in every walk and department of life, and the promise is held out that they will still go on in the path of pro- historical romance of the american neuro. gress. we must still trust in god and ourselves, and march forward! and now, my dear reader, wishing for you all that is good, health and prosperity, i am yours most sincerely, beulah lincoln. finis. gen. antonio maceo. the american spanish war. indulgent reader, i had grown accustomed to think that i should now live and die, and never see any more war, either foreign or do- mestic, on the part of the united states. all things were running smoothly on the part of our nation, and there hardly appeared the most distant cloud in our peaceful-looking skies. but, as robert burns, the famous scotch poet, most truthfully says, “the best-laid schemes of mice and men gang aft aglee, and leave us nought but grief and pain for promised joy." in the month of february, , the oppressed and robbed people of cuba once more raised the stand- ard of rebellion against spain, and entered upon another struggle with the mother country. the tyrant spain had broken all the promises she had made at the close of the ten years' cuban war, in , and thus it came to pass, after an uiseless truce of seventeen years, that the cuban leaders once more decided to raise the standard of rebellion against the tyrant, considering it better to die in a war for freedom than to sit down any longer in a state of endless oppression. as our own nation had had a fearful war with england, in the days of george washington—a war that lasted over seven years—all citizens of the united states felt a great deal of sympathy for the cuban leaders, and for all the cuban people—"a people who now de- voted their lives unto death on the high places of the field"--and my- self, my own family, and all my beloved race, felt very, very deeply for them. and not only did the people of the united states, but all lovers of freedom throughout the world felt the greatest sympathy for the cubans. thus long, weary months came and went, and poor, proud, decrepit old spain, in her antiquated way, continued to borrow many millions of money at home and abroad, till at last “pobre espagna" (poor spain) was hardly able to pay the mere interest upon the money she had borrowed, let alone the principal. the patriotic cubans fought long, well and nobly; so did the spaniards, but no real advantage was historical romance of the american negro. ever gained upon either side, because the cubans had neither seaport nor fleet, and were never able to get the spaniards out of their ancient and powerful fortifications, whilst the spaniards were never able to beat the cubans off the field, get them out of their strongholds among the mountains, and their inaccessible retreats amidst their grand, pri- meval forests. the cubans of the united states, assisted by many of our own people, gathered money, and loaded filibustering vessels that ran the feeble spanish blockade off the island, and safely landed an untold number of cargoes of arms and ammunition for the struggling patriots, whi our own national feeling against spain still increased as the days went by. it is very true that the government of the united states did all that it was able to preserve neutrality, and to keep the peace with spain--nay, more than that we were at last obliged even to police the seas around the southern states to prevent those blockade-runners from slipping away from our parts with their loads of arms and ammu- nition for that devoted island, and we were hardly able to stop them when we had done our best. thus we were put to endless trouble to watch the seas for a foreign and cruel country, and that country was always laying complaints at our doors because we could watch no better! when campos was captain-general of cuba, the war for inde- pendence in that unhappy island was conducted with some regard to decency and civilized ways; but the spanish arms made no progress, and the mother country sent over the cruel general weyler, usually called “the butcher," and gave him a free hand in putting down the islanders in any way he saw fit. the mind of this bad man seems to have been imbued with all the old spanish cruelties of the dark ages, and all that tiger-like love for cruelty and bloodshed for which spain and the spaniards have always been so notorious. the readers of the public press are no doubt well aware already of the treacherous acts, cruelties and medieval deeds of barbarism to which that monster and his soldiers resorted for the purpose of suppressing the cuban rebel- lion. the worst of them all was his gathering the country people into seacoast towns and cities—mainly women, children and old men- where they subsequently died by tens of thousands; and thus the poor, oppressed cuban nation was weakened at last to the number of at least the defense of santiago. historical romance of the american negro. , , if not more; and by such cold-blooded deeds, and others on a smaller scale, quite as cruel, did that black-hearted spanish butcher wear down the population of cuba. he made war upon nature, and shocked the moral sense of the whole world. and yet, this weyler had the entire approval of the mother country while he thus caused the non-combatant part of the cubans to perish, when they had the unblushing impudence to carry on the barbarities of the dark ages all over the island of cuba, and right before our front door! the false and wilfully-lying messages that even this butcher sent home to spain from day to day about victories that he had gained over the insurgents were usually contradicted by the american, and other foreign presses next day. weyler excelled in nothing but writing false dispatches, while the hatred against him increased, both in congress, and all over the united states. so great, indeed, was the outcry against the spane iards, that the proud and scornful dons kept sending more and more soldiers over the atlantic, to give us to understand by that, that if v americans dared to interfere between her and what she called “the ever-faithful isle," she would there fight uncle sam to the death, and never surrender cuba! captain-general weyler's want of success, his cruelties and count- less false reports were at last so revolting to the feelings of uncle sam that spain decided to withdraw her faithful butcher, and send another captain-general over, and his name was general blanco. he was ad- monished to bring the cuban leaders and the cubans to terms by wiles, bribes and flattery; but the patriotic cubans refused to swallow any such baits, and war went on the same as before-all our trade with cuba being now destroyed, almost the whole island being reduced to the condition of a wilderness, while the silence of the grave seemed supreme everywhere. spain continued to make more and more fresh promises from month to month, both to ourselves and to the cubans -promises made in deceit and craft, which she never meant to fulfill. it is calculated that at one time there were two hundred thousand spanish soldiers in cuba, when the cuban troops became so numer- ous that they even threatened havana, and whipped the spanish out- posts in the suburbs of the stronghold. affairs at last became so un- safe and threatening for the numerous american colonists in havana, historical romance of the american negro. we we were and throughout cuba, that the united states battleship “maine" was sent to the island, by way of protection, and she was duly anchored by the direction of the port authorities, in a certain specified position with- in the harbor of havana. alas, alas! little knew what doing! and yet, for the very life of me, i cannot but see that the hand of provi- dence was in some way or other connected with the anchoring of the maine in the harbor of havana. it is true that we might at some time or other have interfered in the island, and there put an end to the medieval and murderous practices of "old spain," carried on at our front door here in the end of the nineteenth century; but war, in its best state, is a serious business, and spain might have succeeded for a long time in gulling us with fair-faced promises she never meant to fulfill. in the pride of her heart she regarded the poor cuban patriots as nothing but a gang of rebels, who, had they laid down their arms at her request, would have been treated as so many footballs—as de- serving less consideration than mere dogs and cats. thus it appears to me very doubtful whether we would have embarked upon a war with that proud, haughty and impoverished nation, that loves to talk of her former grandeur, four hundred years ago. but the spaniards viewed the coming of the maine to havana with hatred and disgust. whispers in high places in the cuban capital declared that she should be destroyed, and so in fact she was, for on tuesday night, the th of february, , the spaniards blew her up with torpedoes planted un- derneath her in the water. this destruction of a splendid american battleship, with the ac- companying loss of lives, brought much comfort and joy to the cruel spanish heart; for the head gentlemen of spain at havana were known to laugh and be jolly, and to drink champagne wine over the destruction of our devoted vessel! but with us it was otherwise. we were overwhelemed with the most profound sorrow and grief. every nian, woman and child in all uncle sam's far-spreading union was bowed down under this sudden blow that supplied so much comfort to the heart of the spaniard. he looked upon us as his enemy because of our own sympathy for the cubans; and so that ship was another “enemy” out of his way. his mirtlı did not prevent our national grief over the sudden murder of our men, and the loss of the poor historical romance of the american negro. ship, so we sat down and cried real, sincere tears, while the naval com- mission were in session at key west over the cause of the destruction of the unfortunate vessel. the finding of the court of inquiry was that the vessel was not blown up from within (as the spaniards pretended), but was blown up from without, and that by the hands of the span- iards, and done on purpose by them. then we wiped our tears away, and every man, woman and un- derstanding child, from the atlantic to the pacific, and from the lakes to the gulf, arose and took an oath that that cruel and bloody nation of spaniards, should leave this hemisphere, bag and baggage, and that we should make them! then the shout, “remember the maine!" was heard all over the land. congress demanded spain's withdrawal irom anierican waters; or else that war should be levied on her forth- with. now did the regent mother country send letters to all the mag- nates of europe, begging them to intercede, and make peace between the americans and spaniards. but from all quarters came the same reply, “you and the americans help yourselves; this is not our war. hold the ever-faithful isle—if you are able !" while the war clouds were gathering the spaniards still ran around europe, praying and screeching for help. uncle sam went swiftly to work laid down fifty million dollars instantly, and quickly bought up a number of newly-built and powerful men-of-war from foreign na- tions-bought and hired swift and powerful merchant vessels, and swiftly clad then round their sides and all over their decks with steel- mail, so that they might boldly plough the waves, and do as useful ser- vice as the very best of iron-clads of effete old spain. uncle sam made two swift calls for troops, and almost every white and colored man replied, “we come, we come!" so terrible, indeed, was the im- pression produced by the loss of our poor ship, and the murder of men at havana, that almost every colored and white man in this na- tion seemned even to sigh and thirst to go and fight with spain! women by thousands and tens of thousands offered themselves as nurses, and to be used in any way that the government pleased. our colored men, once slaves, or the children of slaves, but now loyal free- men, came forward almost to a man, and with quite as much patriotism as their white brethren, at least, offered themselves as ready, quite ready to march to the war. uncle sam's great difficulty lay in his hav- battle of san juan hill. historical romance of the american negro. it is very true there were a few colored officers in the ranks, and colored chaplains; but, like angels' visits, they were few and far between. but the spanish war was on, and colored men had to go or stay. some demanded officers of their own race, seeing they were competent to fill such positions as the whitest of men. it was only the dregs of slavery in the bottom of the cup that were left. it was only the difference between a dark skin and a light one, don't you know. well, quite a number of the governors granted the colored regiments their petitions ; gave them all the officers of their own race, from colonel down, and it has been proven that they have acted and succeeded as well as white officers could ever have possibly done. other governors hesitated about granting their just demands, and claimed that white officers ought to be placed over colored men. but, as i said before, the war was now under way, and as too much time could not be lost in wrangling in this unseemly manner over a matter, after all, no greater than the color of the skin, our brave fellows in some of the states said they were willing to give way, and go and fight the spaniards under command of white officers. in some states there was no dispute. it is a well-known fact that col- ored men have often been greatly attached to their white officers, and in like manner, these officers have been greatly attached to their own soldiers, and thus they have got along harmoniously together at all times. at the same time, this knotty point has been settled once for all in many a state, and the men-colored men, i mean—have been allowed to have the officers of their own choice. no doubt the time will come when all these "trumpery distinctions" will be done away! the dregs of slavery washed out of the cup! the time will come in the united states when white men will be led by colored officers, and col- ored men will be led by white officers. life is really too short for such foolishness as squabbling over small trifles like these. one thing i know, the bible tells us that god has made of one blood all the races that dwell upon earth. the readings in the public papers about the enthusiasm of col- ored men for the war against the spaniards was most refreshing taken as a whole, white men of every walk in life, awarded them the very highest possible praise for their love of drilling—for their great willingness to be drilled, and for the great progress they made in colored soldiers and musicians spanish-american, war. historical romance of the american negro. and twenty-fifth infantry. among the first that went to santiago in general shafter's expedition were those four regiments—brave, pow- erful, well-built fellows, big, brawny men, who could knock spaniards over like ninepins, and smite them hip and thigh like the heroes of old. in the different engagements that took place while the enemy was be- ing driven into his beleaguered city, and was being pushed back, back farther and farther, into the fortifications of santiago, these colored regiments did splendid service, laying on with might and main, and making their enemy flee before them into his last retreat. our troops were usually mixed up with the whites in the days in the end of june, and the beginning of july, and thus the history of the one is the his- tory of the other. seeing, therefore, that they had been so well trained as regulars, we need not wonder that they acquitted themselves so well in the pre- liminary assault, that occurred before preparations were made for the final advance on the doomed city. that part of the operations of our men that caused most noise to be made in the newspapers and else- where took place when colonel roosevelt and his rough riders ad- vanced up one of the hills that was overgrown with dense brushwood, where the spaniards had dug trenchies along the face of the hill, and had run powerful wire fences along the front of those trenches, from which they fired upon the americans as they came up the hillside. the rough riders had a hard time of it as they advanced in the face of the showers of balls that were poured down upon them. little pro- gress did they make, although they lay down again and again to let those leaden showers pass over their devoted heads. colonel roose- velt had a horse killed under him, jumped off the animal before it car- ried him under as it fell, and advanced up the hill in advance of all liis men, shouting to them to come on. well, of course, the men did come on; but some were killed here, and others were wounded there; while as for the spaniards, they went down like grass before the scythe. as a general thing they were bad shots—as might be expected of a dy- ing nation still bragging of the deeds of their ancestors four hundred years back; and they themselves swollen with ignorance and pride, too haughty to be taught better ways! thus the rough riders gravely struggled up the hillside, cutting the wire fences as they went, clearing the retreating spaniards out of the rifle-pits (or trenches, rather), lving historical romance of the american negro. down and advancing again and again as best they could. it was evi- dent that they must suffer great losses, or might even fail altogether. at this very crisis the vinth and tenth cavalry, or united states colored troops, were ordered forward to the rescue of their dismounted brothers, and so dismounted, they advanced up the hill-side, laughing. and hurrahing with as much trained case, and as cheerfully as if they had been upon their old parade grounds in the far west! success against the enemy was now assured. our brave, well-seasoned veter- ans from the west fired, advanced, lay down, chatted and laughed with their white brothers, as they lay upon the ground, partly hidden among the brushwood, tall grasses and bushes of the cuban jungle ; and thus the day there was saved, and the white men were saved by the ninth and tenth cavalry, just in the self-same way as white and black had oiten saved one another during the civil war in the sixties. the wire fences were cut, the trenches were cleared of their occupants, the hill-top was gained, the spaniards were set upon the run down the hill, on the other side, and now our men could see their enemies, and have a straight shot at them as they ran down the open, in full retreat and rapid flight. our own trained heroes followed fast after them, dropping on one knee every now and then, to get a steadier aim at the fleeing spaniards and thus they fell at a rapid rate before cur guns. while it is true that there was no desire among our own men to be vain of their achievements when they had thus timely assisted in saving and winning the field, still, the wild and hearty cheers that were there and then given to the black soldiers by their white comrades were very encouraging, indeed, to the hearts of the former. many of the letters sent home and published in the papers were quite unstinted in th-ir praise, and showed how the white men shouted their loudest huz- zas to the colored men, swung their arms and caps in the air, and made other demonstrations of mutual good will and delight. most of the republican papers, and even some of the democratic and others wrote editorials and other shorter and well-pointed paragraphs, too numerous fcr me either to mention or extract. with the exception of the sore- heads and those whose stubborn natures love to hide all such promising things and keep them from public favor, there were none who failed to do us that justice to which we were entitled. as for the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth colored infantry, they historical romance of the american negro. lent a hand in the different actions that were fought around santiago, and are well spoken of by one and all whose duty, love or pleasure it was to record the details of the fighting that took place in the environ- ments of santiago de cuba. but what shall we say of all those many regiments of colored men who were raised in many different states, and drilled and put in a state of readiness to march forward to the war, and assist in knocking down the tottering powers of old and bigoted spain? did those men do nothing for their country, after all their drillings and other miglity preparations for the purpose of going to the field ? what was the use ef camp this, or camp that, or camp the other place to them? either for good luck, or bad luck, as it turned out, all those camps were of no use at all to them. and it was just the same with the white volunteers and their camps. all, indeed, were drilled, and lay to be called away at any moment-all were in perfect readiness to go, and even very greatly desired to go; but few went, for their services were not required, as the war came to an end on the th of august, because “old spain” was fast going to the wall, as the bible says of the wicked, “i will laugh at your calamity, and mock when your fear cometh." in fact, most that had been done in the war so far had been done upon the sea. dewey and schley had sunk spain's best war ships, which circumstance placed the spanish peninusla entirely at our mercy. then she was bankrupt and inferior to the united states in every way. we had lost men in the war, who were killed outright; but how many thousands spain lost, she is probably too proud ever to let us know. she probably lost at least fifty to our one. a great deal has been written about the hospitals in and around santiago, and the conduct and sufferings of the patients who were treated there. it has been universally stated of the colored men who were treated for wounds that they were most exemplary and patient in every way, and even ready and willing to give way in favor of those white soldiers who lay side by side with them, waiting to be treated by the doctors on hand. it is really touching to read in the public papers how our own men insisted on their unfortunate suffering neighbors being treated first, and that they themselves would wait. "he is worse than i am, i can wait!"-and-"he is shot through the body, while i ani only wounded in the arms; save him first!” this is the very es- historical romance of the american negro. sence of all generosity. this, indeed, is the most tender-hearted mercy and christianity. if there is any bravery and nobility of character upon earth, this, indeed, is it. and the white americans in the hospital were quite as generous as the colored men—to both their colored and white companions, according to the direct testimony and eye witness of for- eign and domestic correspondents right there and then on the ground. there was no color line even dreamed of in the fields and hospitals of santiago. it is only in the day of health and pride that people can af- ford to draw that line. but in the day of distress, and when death is hovering over us, then all that kind of foolishness is driven far away, and we only know that god has made of one blood all the nations upon earth. it is quite refreshing to look back even now, and think upon the grand times we had when flags were raised on our houses, or flags were presented to regiments of volunteers getting ready to go to fight the spaniards. i here select from the southwestern christian advo- cate, of new orleans, an organ of the m. e. church, the following vivid description of the presentation of a flag to colored troops at new orleans: a glorious day and a great crowd. on wednesday of last week, july th, there took place in this city, the most patriotic demonstration that it has ever been my privi- lege to witness. it was the occasion of the formal presentation of the regimenal flag, the national colors, and a red cross flag to the ninth infantry regiment of united states volunteers, by the afro-american citizens of new orleans. fully ten thousand people took part in what has been said to be the most enthusiastic gathering around the nation's flag that has ever assembled in the crescent city for years, if ever before. political parties and denominational antagonisms were lost sight of in the fixed purpose to do honor to our boys in blue. it was thrilling, inspiring, to see a thousand black soldiers standing in line before the grandstand, with eyes to the front, and ears attentive to the words of the speakers. the committee on programme had done their work well in select- ing such an array of talent for the occasion. the hon. j. madison historical romance of the american negro. vance, was master of ceremonies. the grace and dignity with which he conducted the exercises were worthy of the occasion. rev. w. r. butler, pastor of the first street m. e. church, led in a fervent and earnest prayer for the protection of our boys, and the success of our army. rev. dr. scott, the editor of the southwestern christian advocate, was the orator of the day. his speech was schol- arly, burning with eloquence, and full of patriotisnı, and words of advice for the black boys in blue. again and again he was interrupted by the wildest applause by the vast concourse of people. i am sorry that space forbids the giving of the whole address. i simply give this. he said: “we shall always look to you as our regi- ment, our boys. we are glad to see you here; glad to have you re- spond so readily to your country's call; glad you had the opportunity to do so. we present this flag, hoping it will ever signify to you the interest we feel in you, and impress you with your responsibility to your country and your race. we are a part of a great nation, and there are many reasons why we should be patriotic and true. the strength of a nation is largely measured by its patriotism. if the citizens of a country are devoted to the highest and best interests of that country there is little cause to fear. patriotism enlists armies and develops martyrs." the flag was presented by dr. l. h. reynolds, editor "the african methodist," published in this city. dr. reynolds is gifted as a speaker, and the thrilling occasion warmed his heart. his words, pa- triotic and weighty, stirred the entire assembly, which cheered liim to the echo. at the conclusion of the address, mr. vance introduced major armand romain, “as a remarkable son, from one of the best homes of the south," who received the beautiful and costly flag with well- chosen words. as the flag was unfolded, the cheering was deafening. the officers and soldiers joined with the people in cheering the colors of the ninth regiment. this flag was purchased by a committee of ladies and gentlemen organized for that purpose. the red cross flag was presented by miss emma m. williams, who represented the donor, "the phillis wheatley club," and it was received on behalf of the regiment by lieutenant barnett. tlie na- tional colors were given by the israel lodge of the grand united historical romance of the american negro. crispus attucks was the first to fall; he and samuel gray and jonas caldwell were killed on the spot; samuel maverick and patrick carr were mortally wounded. the excitement which followed was intense. the bells of the town were rung; an impromptu town meeting was held, and an im- mense assembly was gathered. three days after, on the th, a public funeral of the martyrs took place. the shops of boston were closed, and all the bells of boston and the neighboring towns were rung. it is said that a greater number of persons assembled on this occasion than were ever before gathered on this continent for a similar purpose. the body of crispus attucks, the mulatto slave, had been placed in faneuil hall, with that of caldwell, both being strangers in the city. maverick was buried from his mother's house, on union street, and gray from his brothers, in royal exchange lane. the four hearses formed a junction in king street, and there the procession marched in columns six deep, with a long file of coaches belonging to the most distinguished citizens, to the middle burying-ground, where the four victims were deposited in one grave, over which a stone was placed with this inscription : "long as in freedom's cause the wise contend, dear to your country shall your fame extend; while to the world the lettered stone shall tell where caldwell, attucks, gray, mayerick fell.” the anniversary of this event was publicly commemorated in boston by an ovation and other exercises every year until after our national independence was achieved, when the fourth of july was sub- stituted for the fifth of march, as the more proper day for a general celebration. not only was the event commemorated, but the mar- tyrs who then gave up their lives were remembered and honored. for half a century after the close of the war, the name of crispus attucks was honorably mentioned by the most noted men of the coun- try, who were not blinded by foolish prejudice. at the batle of bunker hill, peter salem, a negro, distinguished himself by shooting major pitcairn, who, in the midst of the battle, having passed the storm of fire without mounting the redoubt, and waving the sword, cried to the rebels to surrender. the fall of pitcairn ended the battle in favor of liberty. historical romance of the american negro. mulattoes; they are strong, robust men, and those i have seen had a very good appearance." when colonel greene was surprised and murdered near point bridge, new york, on the th of may, , his colored soldiers he- roically defended him till they were cut to pieces; and the negro reach- ed him over the dead bodies of his faithful negroes. that large num- bers of negroes were enrolled in the army, and served faithfully as sol- diers during the whole period of the war of the revolution, may be re- garded as a well-established historical fact, and it should be borne in mind that the enlistment was not confined, by any means, to those who had before enjoyed the privileges of free citizens. very many slaves were offered to and received by the army, on the condition that they were to be emancipated either at the time of enlistment, or when they had served out the term of their enlistment. the inconsistency of keeping in slavery any person who had taken up arms for the defence of our national liberty had led to the passing of an order forbidding slaves, as such, to be received as soldiers. the colored men were equally serviceable in the last war with great britain is true, as the following historical document will show: gen. jackson's proclamation to the negroes. headquarters, seventh military district, mobile, september st, . to the free colored inhabitants of louisiana : through a mistaken policy, you have heretofore been deprived of a participation in the glorious struggle for national rights, in which our country is engaged. this no longer shall exist. as sons of free- men, you are now called upon to defend our most inestimable bless- ing. as americans, your country looks with confidence to her adopt- ed children for a valorous support, as a faithful return for the advan- tages enjoyed under her mild and equitable government. as fathers, husbands and brothers, you are summoned to rally around the stand- ard of the eagle, to defend all which is dear in existence. your country, although calling for your exertions, does not wish you to engage in nick biddle the grave one of the first defenders." the inters detenders peaasia ched those we pie ring alestown nicholas nel. that his was the captur herste lese lace th congress of cuinted states, jun . . resolve t share this hose jetes the of bada, and he wastingtone buiana gophet) the depress the graves bite mersha bikes dos the great with chas do "nick" biddle. the title of “first defenders” has been given to the five com- panies of pennsylvania troops, two of which were from schuylkill co., one from reading, one from allentown, and one from lewistown, pa., that marched through baltimore on the day before the massa- chusetts soldiers were mobbed in the streets on the way to defend the national capital. after running the gauntlet of a furious rabble, the five companies reached washington on the evening of the th, and were quartered in the capitol building. a pool of blood, which ran from the wounded check of “nick" biddle, marked the spot on the capitol floor, where he lay that night. it was the first blood shed in the war for the union. his grave is in the colored churchyard in pottsville, pa. the grave of “nick" biddle a mecca should be, to pilgrims who seek in this land of the free, the tombs of the lowly as well as the great, who struggled for freedom in war or debate; for there lies a black man distinguished from all in that his veins furnished the first blood to fall in war for the union, when traitors assailed its brave "first defenders," whose hearts never quailed. the eighteenth of april, eighteen sixty-one, was the day “nick” biddle his great laurels won, in baltimore city, where riot ran high, he stood by our banner to do or to die; and onward, responsive to liberty's call- the capital city to reach ere it fall. brave biddle with others as true and as brave, marched through the wild tempest, the nation to save. their pathway was fearful, surrounded by foes, who strove in fierce madness their course to oppose; who hurl threats and curses defiant of law, * theodore roosevelt. historical romance of the american negro. upon deeds and ideas. deeds which are formidable, and ideas which grow and expand, and gather strength, until they become the very life of the social, moral and religious structure of the nation. to my mind there can be no truer measurement of a man, or a race, or a na- tion, than the standard of ideas which formulate themselves into deeds. “deeds and ideas,” which, according to disraeli, “render a man inde- pendent of his constituencies, independent of dissolution, independent even of the course of time." measure from this standard theodore roosevelt," the president of the united states of america, is the most unique figure before the american people to-day. no president since the days of lincoln, the emancipator, merits in a larger degree the unselfish praise and de- votion, not only of his countrymen, but of the whole civilized world. in the strictest sense of the term, he is a man of destiny. born, like all true leaders and reformers, at a particular time, for a particular purpose; endowed by nature with a constitution which defies the en- croachment of disease; with an intellect which craves the most rigid discipline ; with a courage which knows no daring, and a conscience which repels the slightest innovation which might result to the detri- ment of his fellow-man, regardless of race, color or creed. it was for abraham lincoln to issue the proclamation of freedom, and thus save the nation from disintegration; it is for theodore roosevelt to pre- serve that proclamation, and preserve the amendments to the consti- tution, which is the very life of the freedom guaranteed to the eman- cipated. from the time of president grant down to the present time, there has been a persistent attempt on the part of the south to para- lyze the spirit and practice of the thirteenth and fourteenth amend- ments to the constitution, without which freed men would have no legal standing in the nation. the amendments received a dangerous wound during the admin- istration of president hayes. from the effects of this wound it hardly ever recovered. when, by a strange providence, theodore roose- velt was called suddenly to occupy the place of the martyred president mckinley, a most lovable and peaceful man, black men and their friends, all over the country, rejoiced in the hope of a better day, when right and justice would succeed policy and conciliation. in this we were not mistaken. not that theodore roosevelt loves the black historical romance of the american negro. man any more than any of his predecessors, but that theodore roose- velt has convictions and the courage of his convictions, regardless of consequences. the appended correspondence, which explains itself, will render him immortal, and will keep his memory fresh in the rec- ollection of his fellow-men, and when future historians chronicle his acts, they shall speak of him as "theodore, the great and the good.” historical romance of the american negro. could have gained the idea that i had said i would not appoint repu- table and upright colored men to office when objection was made to them solely on account of their color, i confess i am wholly unable to understand. at the time of my visit to charleston last spring, i had made, and since that time i have made, a number of such appointments from several states in which there was considerable colored population. for example, i made one such appointment in mississippi, and an- other in alabama shortly before my visit to charleston. i had at that time appointed two colored men as judicial magistrates in the district of columbia. i have recently announced another such appointment for new orleans, and have just made one from pennsylvania. the great majority of my appointments in every state have been of white men. vorth and south alike it has been my sedulous endeavor to ap- point only men of high character and good capacity, whether white or black. but it has been my consistent policy in every state where their numbers warranted it to recognize colored men of good repute and standing in making appointments to office. these appointments of colored men have in no state made more than a small proportion of the total number of appointments. i am unable to see how i can legi- timately be asked to make an exception for south carolina. in south carolina, to the four most important positions in the state, i have ap- pointed three men and continued in office a fourth, all of them white men-three originally gold democrats; two of them, as i am in- formed, the sons of confederate soldiers. i have been informed by the citizens of charleston whom i met that these four men represent a high grade of public service. "i do not intend to appoint any unfit man to office. so far as i legitimately can i shall always endeavor to pay regard to the wishes and feelings of the people of each locality, but i cannot consent to take the position that the door of hope—the door of opportunity-is to be shut upon any man, no matter how worthy, purely upon the grounds of race or color. such an attitude would, according to my con- victions, be fundamentally wrong. if, as you hold, the great bulk of the colored people are not yet fit in point of character and influence to hold such positions, it seems to me that it is worth while putting a premium upon the effort among them to achieve the character and standing which will fit them. historical romance of the american negro. “the question of "negro domination” does not enter into the matter at all. it might as well be asserted that when i was governor of new york, i sought to bring about negro domination in that state because i appointed two colored men of good character and standing to responsible positions—one of them to a position paying a salary twice as large as that paid in the office now under consideration; one of them as a director of the buffalo exposition. the question raised by you and mr.—- in the statements to which i refer is simply whether it is to be declared that under no circumstances shall any man of color, no inatter how upright and honest, no matter how good a citizen, no matter how fair in his dealings with all his fellows, be permitted to hold any office under our government. “i certainly cannot assume such an attitude, and you must permit me to say that in my view it is an attitude no man should assume, whether he looks at it from the standpoint of the true interest of the white man of the south or of the colored man of the south—not to speak of any other section of the union. it seems to me that it is a good thing from every standpoint to let the colored man know that if he shows in marked degree the qualities of good citizenship—that the qualities which in a white man we feel are entitled to reward-then he will not be cut off from all hope of similar reward. "without any regard as to what my decision may be on the merits of this particular applicant for this particular place, i feel that i ought to let you know clearly my attitude on the far broader question raised by you and mr. an attitude from which i have not varied during my term of office. faithfully yours, > "theodore roosevelt. “hon. "charleston, s. c." return circulation department to_ ) main library loan period i home use all books may be recalled after days cate دبر - ما رد: در بطن مع ده ملا vt ستد due as stamped below interlibrary loan jun univ. of calif., berk. jul zo to jul circulatiile university of california, ber' form no. dd , m, / berkeley, ca general library - u.c. berkeley b university of illinois library at urbana-champaign stacks love and vengeance or little viola's victory - a story of love and romance in the south : also society and its effects .* * * b y t. e. d. nas h . % of . copyrighted, by t. e. d. nash x/ m & chapter i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi. vii. viii. ix. x. xi. xii. xiii. xiv. xv. xvi. xvii. xviii. xix. xx. xxi. xxii. xxiii. xxiv. xxv. xxvi. * xxvii. xxviii. xxix. s s: \ * * contents < * page a social event. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . bertram too poor. retribution. a love competition between brothers. . . . . . . . . . . . bertram's amazement. a mortal foe. . . . . . . . . . . . . . • • • • • • • • • * * * * * * * * * * * * * pretty bessie hartwell betrothed casually. . . . . . . . . . . . . . • • * * * * * * * * * * * * * * arnold and mona wreak vengeance. - to meet only as acquaintances. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . returns and finds mother dead. . . . . . . . . . . • • • • • • lost letter. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . letter found. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . mrs. hawthorn's deceit. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . viola's new home warning to banker. . . . . . . . . . . . viola adopted. the rescue. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . viola, arnold campbell's prey. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . bertram and mona's marriage announcement. . . . . mona's conscience. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . viola not a suicide. . . . . . . . . . .~~~~ mrs. smith's story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . mrs. smith and viola. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . • - - - - - attempt to escape. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . did not know his love. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . bertram's mistake. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . burglars break in on mrs. smith and viola....... viola consents. arnold delighted. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . bessie's ride. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . arnold attempts bigamy. wife objects. . . . . . . . . villain pleads for mercy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . a happy meeting. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . excitement over . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . bessie consents. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . would be murderess falls to death. . . . . . . . . . . . . . loves geography. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . handsome woman about forty years of age and bore a smile and pleasant word for everyone. her beauty, wealth and high birth all tend to make her one of the ringleaders of washington society. among the guests that she is engaged in welcom- ing was a tall, fashionably dressed gentleman. he stepped into an ante-room, and, after a moment, re- turned to mrs. warrington and asked nervously in a low tone: “has miss hawthorne yet arrived?” “yes,” she replied. he turned on his heel and made his way with some difficulty through the crowd. bertram heathcourt, for that is his name, was about thirty years old and one of the handsomest men in washington. his curly hair, that was admirably worn, brushed away from his high, intellectual brow; blue eyes and amber-hued mustache that half covered a firm, but expressive mouth; broad shoulders, mus- cular limbs and an upright bearing, made him a fine specimen of manly beauty. he was the only son of the late col. heathcourt, his mother having died shortly after his birth, threw him on his own re- sources. he managed to get a first-class education, and, being an energetic young man, had taken to journalism, and consequently was editor of “the national record.” while wending his way through the crowded salon he felt a fan tap him lightly on the shoulder. he turned with a look of pleasure in his eyes as he bowed low before a beautiful girl. she was superbly dressed in black velvet and diamonds that suited to perfection her splendid brunette beauty. “i was just looking for you,” he said, and, with her hand laid gently in his arm, they were moving slowly along. “the music is beautiful. will you give me this waltz?” “yes if you wish it,” she said lightly. the next moment they were floating down the long salon to the time of the dreamy music. “ah! that was delightful,” he said, as the music suddenly ceased and he led her to the conservatory. “mona, at last i have the opportunity of relating and relieving my mind of a weight that it has carried for days and weeks. “my darling,” he cried pas- sionately, “have you not seen that i love you with all my soul? i know that i am not worthy to kiss the hem of your garment. but if you would only love me a little, i would make you so happy. you are not indifferent to me. will you become my wife?” her lovely face had slowly become paler and paler. her lips had become compressed. he watched her in evident alarm. “mona ! good heavens! are you ill?” recovering herself with a supreme effort, she was just about to reply when there was an interruption. a haughty woman arrived on the scene. one glance was enough to tell anyone that it was the mother of the girl. “mona,” she said sharpy (when she saw the love- like attitude in which her companion was bending over her), “i have a severe headache, and i think i shall go home.” with a distant bow to the young man, she turned to leave the conservatory. with a sigh of relief the young lady rose and to- gether they all passed out. with gentlemanly cour- tesy he saw after their wraps and assisted them to their carriage. when he was assisting the young lady in he pressed her hand and whispered, “tomorrow “a fig for love,” interrupted the mother harshly. “it is all silly nonsense that you will get the better of soon. there is no such thing as love when there is nothing on which to found it but grim poverty, wealth first, love and everything else will follow.”. “but, mother, bertram will be rich some day. his business is good and he is energetic and he is sure to succeed.” “yes, and be as old as the hills when he does suc- ceed,” retorted the mother. “where will all your beauty be by that time?” a little shudder passed over the girl, not unnoticed by the sharp eyes of the mother, and as she observed it she knew the right chord was struck. “you will be a pretty, faded, washed-out thing by that time,” she continued with a wicked leer. “while your friends who will forsake you as soon as you become poor, are riding, driving, or going to balls and attending operas, you will be at home nurs- ing dirty brats, scrubbing, washing or doing some- thing else equally disagreeable to one of your fas- tidious taste. i would rather see vou dead than mar- ried to bertram heathcourt.” and after delivering this stinging speech she dismissed her daughter with a haughty wave of the hand. she knew her daughter well enough and felt confident that her words had left a deep impression on her mind. so she smiled com- placently, went to bed and was soon sleeping sweetly and dreaming that she was a grand duchess with more silk, jewels and money than she could use. not so. the words uttered by mona's mother had left a deep impression on her mind; one not so easily eradicated. being the daughter of a selfish mercenary woman of the world, brought up to consider the almighty dollar above everything else that was noble, and who was used to making one dollar go as far as three, so that she might keep up impressions, it was but natural that the picture drawn by her mother was not very pleasing to her taste. standing at the window she heard the noise of vehicles plying over the stone-paved street, coming from mrs. warrington's ball, she thought with a shudder that all this would be denied her if married to bertram heathcourt. “i cannot give up wealth and luxury,” she cried excitedly. “i should die if i had to do it. oh! bertram, why are you not rich? i—i love you so, and we would be so happy together, only—only you are poor and i cannot be the wife of a poor man, i —cannot.” throwing herself down by the side of her bed the proud and haughty woman gave herself up to the fierce battle of grief that was being waged within her. she lay there until the tolling of a neighboring clock belched forth the hour of two. slowly rising she proceeded toward her wardrobe. it was quite evident that the better instincts of her heart had been vanquished, there was a cold, hard expression in her black eyes, her full lips were drawn tightly together; her fair forehead was distorted by a black frown. “i will reject him,” she muttered harshly, and in that decision she brought a world of trouble and heartaches to the door of more than one unsus- pecting soul. retribution. bertram heathcourt arose early the next morning and, after partaking of a light breakfast, proceeded o several persons were in the room, they moved about with muffled tread and spoke in hushed whis- pers. bertram took them to be nurses. on a bed, half covered in the coverlid, lay the sick man, his face pale and pinched, the lips purple, the eyes had a vacant look. in spite of himself bertram could not suppress a shudder as he gazed on the awful face. nerving himself to his task he slowly advanced to the side of the bed, took one of the cold hands of the dying man in his, and said, in a low tone: “sir— mr. heathcourt i have come. i am truly sorry sir, to see you so ill. i hope you will be better soon.” the sick man turned his head slowly upon the pil- low and let his eyes rest on the face of the young man. and into his own there sprang a look of terror mingled with remorse, as he said huskily: “you sorry for me! me! and i have done such a great wrong to you and yours.” bertram looked at him in astonishment. he thought the old man was wandering in his mind. he turned to request one of the nurses to summon the physician, but the old n'an seemed instinctively to divine his intention, for he caught him hastily by the hand and said: “it will do no good. i am dying now-dying. i have sinned, and sinned times without number against my god. retribution has at last fallen on my guilty head and all that is left for me is atonement for my sins. he paused as if exhausted. bertram stood quite still, but his face showed signs of conflicting emo- tions—surprise, doubt, perplexity. presently the old man drew him down and whispered, “tell them to go out, i have something to say to you.” bertram did his bidding. the nurses who had all this time been standing with open-mouthed amazement, left the ii room rather reluctantly. when they passed out ber- 'tram closed and locked the door, returned to the bed and waited in silence. “prop me up,” said the old man, which was done, tand the old man told a remarkable story, which was told with many pauses and gasps for breath. the substance of which is as follows: “my father,” began the very sick man, “was a very rich man, and also a proud one—very proud. i had a brother that was two years my senior. when we were young we loved each other very dearly, but i soon began to develop traits of character and habits that he did not approve, and naturally he took me to task about them, and after he found out that i still persisted in them, he threatened to acquaint father of them. for this cause i began to find fault of him. about this time there lived in the village a beau- tiful girl, the daugher of a poor working man. she was the most beautiful creature you ever saw. poor doris! i fell desperately in love with her and finally asked her to become my wife, and she refused. half blind with fury and unrequited love i demanded of her the reason why she would not become my wife, and she told me that she loved another. i told her by the right of my great love i ought to know the for- tunate gentleman. she then informed me that it was my brother. fierce rage and hate sprang up in my heart against my innocent brother, and i determined to be revenged—to kill him. i went toward the wood and sat down under a tree called the “old elm,” developing my plan of revenge. late that night i came home and entered the house softly and crept up to his room. fortune favored me; his door was unlocked. i crept to his bed, drew back the curtains of the bed, and by the dim light of the lamp which was turned low, gazed long and earnestly into his face. it wore a peaceful smile, and the thought entered my mind that possibly doris and he had met and for all i knew to the contrary, exchanged confi- dences. the thought added fuel to the fire of my jealous wrath and almost maddened me. i raised my 'hand in which gleamed a sword, a present from my father, and a moment later he would have been in eternity, when the moon, which had previously been obscured by a cloud, bursted into the room with a flood of mellow light and shone on him. his hands were folded on his breast and between his fingers something white was shining. i looked more closely and saw that it was a letter. it might be from doris thorndyke, the woman we both love, thought i jeal- ously, and with jealous haste, but with due caution i managed to possess myself of it. by the light of the moon i read: my own fleming: you know that i could refuse you nothing. you are all the world to me. my love. my life. yes, i will meet you by the “old elm,” and go with you to the city. do you think it can be done? oh, fleming dear, suppose your father should know it, he would disinherit you for marrying the daughter of a poor working man, and clandestinely. he would never forgive you. oh! why am i not rich or why are you not poor? i would rather be your wife—yes, al- though you were a tiller of the soil—than the wife of any other man. yours, doris thorndyke. “and there it ended. so that is the extent his love making had gone. she was to become his wife. h ground my teeth with rage, but suddenly a dark scheme entered my mind. i started guiltily and looked strangely about, and, stepping to the window, raised it softly to let the balmy air blow over my 'heated brow, that i might think—think.” chapter ii. a love competition between brothers. the old man paused from sheer exhaustion. the young man sat with pale face and eyes dilated with horror; the pallor having been renewed since the mention of the name fleming. a terrible suspicion had entered his mind, one that took his breath away; that almost unmanned him. after a few moments’ pause the old man continued: “directly a triumphant smile broke over my face. i would let him marry her. i knew my father would disinherit him if he did, and i would be the only heir. i would be the master of the park—a thing which i had always dearly craved. i determined to kill two birds with one stone, rob him of his birthright and be revenged on him for my disappointment. i closed the window, and re- turned softly to the side of the bed and replaced the note. then, lowering the light, i left the room and retired. the next day passed wihout any unusual event, about seven o’clock in the evening i took up my position in a thicket near the “old elm” and waited events. f i had not long to wait. a carriage came hurriedly up the road and turned into the wood, and after driv- ing a few paces, stopped. about half an hour later there was the sound of skirts and i saw doris coming. she was attired in a dark suit with a heavy cloak, over her face i could see a veil. a moment later there was the sound of another person, and the next instant a man appeared. in spite of the heavy ulster which he wore pulled up to his chin and soft hat that was pulled down over his eyes, i recognized the upright bearing and princely carriage of my brother, fleming. and i could scarcely keep from rushing out of my cover and slaying them both as i saw him take her in his arms, murmuring low, impassioned words of deathless love to her. i controlled myself with a mighty effort and, as they walked hurriedly over to the hack, entered, and were driven rapdly away. i left my hiding place, and as i walked home my heart was filled with triumph- ant exaltation. the next day my brother returned and i knew by the happy light in his eyes which he could not con- ceal, that he was the husband of doris thorndyke, and the knowledge almost drove me mad. “i asked him why he wasn’t home last night. something in my voice made him look up quickly and give me a keen glance. and when he replied he had stayed in the city with one of his school fel- lows i smiled mockingly and turned my face that he might not see the triumphant look in my eyes. the next day i went to washington and hired a detective, who had little trouble in tracing doris out. we found out she was staying in a pleasant little cottage in the suburbs of the city. after i had been home i about four days my brother suddenly announced his intention of going fishing for a week with some friends. my father readily gave his consent and my brother left early the next morning. now was my time to strike. it was the hour for which i had so patiently waited. i told my father at breakfast that i should like to have a word with him in the library. he complied, and when he had lit a cigar i began my story. i told him how the village was ringing with the strange disappearance of a beau- tiful girl, how i had witnessed the meeting between her and my brother, and wound up by telling him where he would find him and her. my father's face was terrible to see. he rang for a carriage and bade me prepare to accompany him. we were finally on our way and soon arrived in the city. engaging a hack we were swiftly driven to our destination. we found fleming and his wife in the garden, with his arm around her waist, examining the flow- ers. but i need not tell you of that meeting. my father abused him, heaped up reproaches upon him, cursed him and wound up by forbidding him ever enter his house again, also informed him that all let- ters would be sent back unopened. i saw by the re- proachful look in his eyes that he knew i had betrayed him. we finally left them and when we had arrived home my father retired to his room, from which he never left. he never recovered from the shock, and soon after died. then i had things my own way. i went to washington and engaged the same detec- tive to abduct fleming's wife. i would wring his heart as mine had been wrung. he should be made to feel as i had felt, i said. the detective did his i work well, and after i had her in my power, i dis- patched a letter to him telling him that his darling wife had eloped with me, and by the time he received it we would be for out at sea. i knew that would throw him on the wrong scent. i simply had her placed in a private asylum, where she finally died of a broken heart. poor doris! poor young thing! previous to this occurrence a son had been born to them, and placing the child in care of friends fleming went to europe in search of his wife, and after a year of fruitless search returned to this country. he finally went into the banking business and for years did well. when the war broke out he enlisted at the call for arms and went out to fight and returned with well earned laurels. for twenty years he was known all over the south as col. fleming heathcourt. he was your father, bertram, and i am your uncle.” bertram's amazement. the old man sank back on his pillow, completely exhausted. when he had utered those last terrible words, bertram sprang to his feet pale as death. “you !” he gasped, “you, my uncle! great heav- ens, i see it all now. that's why my father never mentioned your name. that's why his brow always darkened when my mother's name was mentioned. and—my god! he died without knowing that she was true to him l—that she loved him to the last!” and, whirling around suddenly, he hissed: “you traitor ! you peace-breaker! you—you destroyer of a loving household. you—” the old man interrupted him with a feeble wave of his hand, as he said huskily: “bertram, i am dying.” “true, true!” said bertram, brought to his senses by the rebuke, and carried away by the intensity of his emotion, he sat down and buried his face in his hands, he wept as only a strong man can weep, great heartrending sobs shaking him from head to foot. when the storm of emotion had spent itself the old man said feebly: “bertram, i have sinned and sinned deeply. i have wronged you and yours terribly. can you ever forgive me?” bertram looked at the old man on whom the death damp was swiftly gathering, and whose eyes were fast glazing, and a great pity sprang up in his heart for him. after all it was the demon of jealousy that had taken complete possession of him. he pitied him and said earnestly: “i forgive you, indeed i do, as i hope to be for- given.” an almost immediate light of happiness shone in the old man's eyes and he turned on his pillow toward bertram and died. the next day mona hawthorne was all in a flutter; she could not stay in one place ten minutes at a time. she walked from room to room and then to the garden and then back to the house. the mother watched her for a while in derplexity. then she seemed to arrive at a solution of the mys- tery. she thought that her daughter had ben think- ing the mater over and had decided to reject the “beggarly editor.” a surmise which, to say the least, was not very far from wrong, as the reader can testify. mona had just arisen from the piano when there came a quick, sharp ring at the bell. her heart leaped like a wild thing. the blood surged through her veins like electric fire. she heard someone enter the room and raising her drooping eyelids she en- countered the admiring gaze of col. philip clayton. at that instant she almost hated the man. she had been hoping in spite of herself that it might be ber- tram, until she had looked up and found that it was not bertram. she did not know nor did she realize how much she did love him. she loved him with a love that was her doom. she shuddered as she real- ized what her future would be without him. recovering herself with an effort, she calmly ex- tended her hand and motioned him to a seat. afer a few commonplace remarks a painful silence followed. she watched him curiously. he fidgetted in his chair, ever and anon pulling out a handker- chief and clearing his throat. after he had done this about half a dozen times. she broke the silence. “we seem to be dull,” she remarked with a ner- vous little laugh. the colonel tried to smile, but made a rank failure of the attempt. the colonel was very much affected by that frown that on entering the room he had seen come over her countenance. he wanted to declare himself but was afraid to do so. he did not know in which form he had better put it. finally he said, in sheer desperation, “miss hawthorne, i came over to inform you that i love you—have loved you dearly for two years, and to ask if you will not accept of my hand and my heart. she had been watching him since he first came in it) and she saw something in his face that told her he would speak about marrying, and she had been puz- zling her brain as to whether she should accept him now or wait until she had seen bertram. if i accept him now, she argued, i will not have a chance to pledge myself to bertram, and thus i fear i will show weakness in the interview with him. so she was about to accept the colonel, when he seeing silence, repeated his question. “mona, dar- ling, won’t you be my wife?” “yes, if you wish it,” she replied quietly. the colonel was overjoyed. it seemed to be too good to be true. the possibility that she had consent- ed to marry him for pecuniary reasons never for once entered his mind. the colonel was considered a very amiable man, and the catch of the season. the forty years which ‘had passed over his head had left no visible effect about him, beyond a few threads of silver in his hair and an iron-grey mustache, which gave him a dis- tinguished appearance. his firm, upright carriage, and military air made him quite a handsome man, and mona would have considered herself a most for- tunate woman if she only loved him. but despite his amiability, there was, at times, a cold glitter in his steel grey eyes and a curve to his well formed lips that showed that he could also be as hard and as cruel as fate, when the necessity presented itself. her mother went into hysterics when mona told her of the engagement. she hugged and kissed her with a vehemence that nearly took away her breath. “oh! my daughter, my darling child,” she ex- claimed in great excitement. “you don’t know— cannot realize how you have pleased me. it is the o dearest wish of my heart to see you married to a mrani of wealth and influence, so that we can take our proper position in society.” and, sitting back in the velvet cushions of her easy chair, she smiled compla– cently. selfish woman. her only aim, her only ambition was money. she would have betrayed her soul for the filthy lucre. she was now ready to sell her daughter to a man she did not love simply because it would be the means of securing her position in society. hat night, as she lay on her “virtuous couch,” *appy, light-hearted, no thought of the terrible tum- ble this match was to make, entered her mind. chapter iii. a mortal foe. it was a lovely afternoon about four days after the events narrated in previous pages that mona, attired in her pretty cream wrapper, with costly lace around neck and sleeves, and a pink band of costly silk around her waist, was sitting in her private parlor, drawling over the latest book of fiction, when there came a timid tap to her door. in answer to her summons the door was pushed open in a hesitating way and a young girl between eighteen and twenty entered. to say that she was pretty would give a very poor estimate of her charms. viola dunkirk was poor, but surely an american beauty, and nature's hands did well its work. beau- tiful as a poet’s dream, lovely as a sylph, with a sheen of golden hair that covered her well shaped head like a halo of light. clear milk white complexion that gave token of every thought by little rushes of pink that ever and anon chased each other from brow to chin and from cheek to cheek. she was of that strange mixture of golden hair and dark eyes over which poets rave and artists go into ecstasies, and that which make a blonde beauty so unusually at- tractive. her beautiful dark eyes shaded by long curling lashes, with such a sweet expression to her face, made her an object of envy to the fashion- able belles for whom she worked. “i have come,” she said hesitatingly, in a sweet, musical voice, “to bring that lace you ordered last week.” and she cast a pleading glance at mona from the depths of her beautiful dark eyes. f “very well. i will inspect them,” replied the haughty voice of mona. viola was a lace-maker. her mother was a feeble woman, and her father, having died a few years ago, the support of her remaining parent fell on her young shoulders. they were very poor. the father was at one time well to do, but by the visitation of misfor- tune he had lost all, caused by some rash business venture. viola, who had previously learned fancy work at school, managed to keep the wolf from the door by the use of her nimble fingers. mona had never liked the young girl. her fresh blonde loveliness was in such strong contrast with her brunette charms that she could not but see the difference herself, and she was jealous of viola's beauty. she always seized every opportunity to humiliate the poor girl. solved the problem. her mother must have suspect- ed that he was proposing the night of the ball, and supposing him to be a poor man, did not want any alliance between her daughter and a poor editor to continue any longer. it did not occur to him that mona did not wish to see him. he had seen that in her eyes when she looked at him that was different from that bestowed on any one else. he thought it simply the maneuver of a worldly woman. “i must see her once more, if only for a moment,” he muttered as he retraced his steps from the prem- ises as far as the corner, and stopped as if in dismay. “i will do it,” he said after a moment, and, taking out a notebook, he tore a leaf and wrote a few lines. calling a small boy who was passing and giving him a coin, he bade him carry it to the address marked thereon and wait for an answer. “ask for miss mona, and give it to no one else,” he said. the boy darted on his errand. ten minutes passed and then he saw the boy come out of the gate, and the next moment he had the answer in hand, and was taking in its contents. what he read therein seemed to be a deathblow to his hopes. it was this: “mr. heathcourt. “sir—i cannot make it convenient to see you. what my mother did to-day in refusing you admis- sion, she did with my fullest acquiescence. while i am writing this i will take advantage of the oppor- tunity to refer to the question you asked some nights since, and say that i cannot comply with your re- and, with her little fluttering hand in his arm, they moved away. the jiscomfited villain deliberately rose, brushed the dirt from his clothes, shaking his clenched fist at the retreating figures, hissed: “i will repay that blow with interest. curse you, i hold the trump card. i know you, bert heath- court, and i'll make you regret the day you ever saw arnold campbell. and you, too, viola dunkirk. you shall not escape me.” and, being dogmatic in the foregoing statements, turned and vanished in the gathering darkness, and the day came i: which he kept his word. pretty bessie hartwell. about a year previous to the ending of the fore- going chapter, there lived in a quict portion of the capital an old merchant by the name of archibald hartwell, his wife and daughter. the head of the family was a pompous individual with a bald head, keen gray eyes and thin lips, that were lmost invariably compressed in a manner that was very suggestive of an iron will. his better half was a thin, delicate woman, with a sweet face, and in spite of furrows on her forehead and lines under her brown eyes, she still retained the remnants of a once beautiful face. the daughter is just the image of what the mother once was. a fair complexion, with red cheeks that rivaled the heart of the blush rose. brown eyes and hair, a sweet little mouth that suc- cessfully concealed two rows of pearly white teeth. bessie hartwell was a trifle romantic. and so it happened that when young and handsome men came to pay court to her, in spite of the opposition by the father, and the appeals of the mother, she, having be- come affectionately attached to one of her admirers married. the father swore that he would disinherit her. but that had no material effect on bessie. she loved her young husband, and for six whole months she was extremely happy. arnold campbell was a handsome man, good bear- ing with dark hair and eyes, but the sinister lines about the corners of his mouth were effectually con- cealed beneath his long, drooping, black mustache, so that the innocent girl who was caught in his toils had nothing to warn her of the character of the man to whom she was joined for life. when arnold campbell came from heaven knows where to washington, the city was ringing with the praises of old hartwell's beautiful and accomplished heiress. so he made up his mind to win her and her money bags for his own. but the old man took objections. he was some- what suspicious of him. being a stranger and having nothing to recommend him but his handsome face, the old man swore that he was not good enough for his daughter. he had a husband picked out for her. kent howard was not handsome, but was honest and true as the day is long. he loved bessie with a pure and unselfish love. she knew that he loved her, but she said she could never love him. it hap- pened one night that he had to go into a disreputable portion of the city. as he passed by a gambling hell the door was opened and a man, held by three or four others, was fired out on the pavement. he arose bruised and bleeding, and, looking around, his glance fell on kent. he gave a start of recognition, and, turning, fled down the street as fast as his legs could carry him, but not before kent had recognized the face and form of arnold campbell. the next day he went to bessie's, and, having heard of her infatuation for the young man, tried to dissuade her from such a rash step as marrying him, telling her of the occurrence of the previous night. she told him he was just giving advice for selfish motives—self-interest, as she called it. and wound up by telling him never to speak to her again. sad and disheartened kent left her, and a few days later when he heard she had married him against the opposition of her parents, he departed suddenly to try his fortune in australia. >k >k >k >k >k >k >k in the dining room of a cozy little cottage in the suburbs of the city, sat bessie campbell. on a table in the centre of the room was a meat set of tea dishes. a pot of tea and coffee is steaming on the heater in the kitchen and ever and anon she stirred the fire with housewifely precision. “he is rather late to-night,” she murmured anxi- ously. “i wonder what can be keeping * she paused, because she had just caught the sound of his well known steps on the pavement without. “ah! there he comes,” she said gladly. directly he entered, his face dark as a thunder- cloud. she went up to him timidly (for of late she had often noticed just such a frown as this on his face) and putting her arms about his neck, tried to kiss it away. “you are not looking pleased to-night, arny, dear, why, arnold, what is the matter?” for he had cast her roughly from him, and there was a look on his face that made her shiver with a foreboding of coming trouble. “what is the matter, arnold? oh, for pity sake don’t look at me like that, you frighten me. what have i done?” she asked piteously. “what have you done?” he echoed harshly. “what have you done? shall i tell you, you have been the cause of all my blighted prospects. i might have been the husband of the finest and most well bred lady in the land, had you not crossed my path with your pretty face, and infatuated me.” white as death she cowered from that angry face, and trembling like an aspen, as he continued: “now, i am tired of you. yes, you may as well start. i am tired of you and we must part this night—aye, this hour, forever.” the hopeless misery and despair would have touched the heart of a fiend, but his hatred for her blinded him to her sufferings. “arnold, why did you marry me, if you did not love me?” she asked piteously. “oh, arnold!” and her voice was like the last wail of a lost spirit. “why did i marry you? ha, ha! why did i marry you.” silence followed for a moment. the laugh which had just ceased was one which made her blood run icy cold in her veins. “why, indeed? be- cause i thought your old duffer of a father would finally forgive you and take his children (with a sneer) to his heart, and i would obtain the money bags that i had risked so much to obtain, but i have failed in my expectations. so i will have to make a change in life. i will go to pastures new, where a man of my beauty can make life a success. “to be truthful, bessie, i am in love with a pretty adamsel—very pretty,” he continued, very candidly, “and i don’t want any encumbrance in the shape of a wife, you understand.” and he laughed pleasantly, unmindful of the fact that a heart was breaking. bessie had fallen into a seat and sat looking into the fire with eyes as black as night from suppressed excitement. suddenly she raised her head and asked him in a voice that was calm, “at least you will let me have my marriage certificate—all in the world i have that will bind me to the old days.” a wicked thought shot through his subtle brain like light and he said, after remaining as if in deep thought: - “yes, i will let you have it, but unfortunately it is in my other coat pocket at the club room. i lost heavily to-night. that is why i forgot it. at any rate you can have it. meet me to-morrow night at ten o’clock at the old wharf, and you shall have it.” “lost heavily!” then he was a gambler. this man whom she thought was the embodiment of everything that was noble and grand. and she had wronged, cruelly wronged poor kent howard. and he had loved her. after a short silence arnold said: “i am glad to see you taking the matter so philo- sophically. you are still beautiful and you may yet make a great match and marry some wealthy old dog.” and, seeing the horror depicted on her face, at the affections whenever he wishes, and so easily too?” no, bertram, he cannot. but when a man loves he generally loves something that is good, noble and lovable, about the object of his love. and when all that is good, noble and lovable about the object dies, why, naturally, his love dies with it. so it was with bertram, he loved, or thought he loved mona, for her nobility of nature, her upright- ness of character and unselfishness. and when he found that those virtues had ceased to exist his infatuation died, and he found that his every thought belonged to another. and viola? well, she hardly knew her own heart. she could not understand this sweet, new happiness that had recently come into her life, that made the earth seem brighter, and her pleased with every thing in it. she had caught herself more than once watch- ing impatiently for his coming, and blushed a rosy red, as she realized what she was doing. “pshaw! what right have i—a poor lacemaker— to think of the rich and handsome mr. heathcourt of heathcourt park. “he only comes here to inquire after mother be- cause he is kind and good, and likes to please. so i will not think of him any more.” but she did think of him again—times without number. she could not cease to do so. every way she turned, his frank blue eyes rose up before her. his musical voice rang in her ears. she tried to shake off the strange feeling, but could not. dimly she began to realize that she had given her heart to him —that her heart had left her, irrevocably left her. one afternoon she was standing on the stoop watching the beautiful sunset. her face wore a sweet, pensive expression. and she murmured over and over again: “bertram, bertram. i wonder what he is doing now. i wonder what he is thinking of now. bertram. i wonder if he knows how completely he has taken possession of my life. he is my world. i love him. i love you bertram, my darling. oh, god! how i love you.” “then be my wife,” whispered a low musical voice in her ear, as she was embraced passionately to the broad bosom of bertram heathcourt. she had unconsciously been uttering her thoughts aloud, and she failed to hear the light steps of ber- tram as he came quickly up the green walk and found out her little secret. she lifted her eyes with a startled, frightened glance at his face as she lay close to his throbbing heart. love her! a poor working girl, and he a cultured man of fortune. she was speechless, terrified. she could have been satisfied to love him without any re- turn, and would have been happy in the loving. she could scarcely believe her senses, “surely you must have seen, viola, how completely my life is wrapped up in you,” continued the low voice, in impassioned tones that thrilled her to her heart's core. “without you—ah, god would not be so cruel as to separate us—my life would be a blank. speak to me, dear. will you be my wife?” “your wife!” she gasped, breaking away from him and attempting to flee, but he caught her fluttering little hand and held it tighly. “your wife, and i—i a poor working girl! and - you—” “yes! and you the only woman in the world for m a '’ “you love me, don’t you?” “yes,” she said, very softly, “but—” “then nothing shall ever separate us.” x *k *k k sk >k * there was to be a grand opera at the criterion theatre. mona and her mother had procured tickets the theatre was crowded from pit to dome. mona and her mother, escorted by col. clayton, occupied one of the boxes, and had in full view the play. mona looked lovely in a black silk, with rich black lace and diamonds on her shapely wrist, in her hair, and a costly opera shawl thrown carelessly around her shoulders. - col. clayton felt his heart swell with all a lover's pride, as he saw the admiration she had evinced. at the end of the third act, a few acquaintances made their way into the hox, and they all began chat- ting gayly. someone casually mentioned the name of heath- court and mona felt her heart give a heavy bump, continuing rapidly, and in spite of herself, her cheek crimsoned. - “speaking of heathcourt,” remarked one young man with a drawl, “edgar ! he is a lucky fellow. have you heard the news?” “news?” echoed some one else. “no, let us hear it.” “oh, it is just like a novel. some old uncle or tion of his name.” the day came when he knew why she fainted, only too well, and he cursed the day he had ever seen her. arnold and mona wreak vengeance. the whole city was ringing with the news of the impending marriage of the handsome young million- aire to the daughter of one of the poorest, but who was once one of washington's most respected citi- zens. it was discussed at the table, in the clubs, and at all the social gatherings. there are two persons the news had a very seri- ous effect upon. arnold campbell heard it with all the chagrin and rage of a wicked man who sees his victim escaping from his clutches. mona heard it with the bitterness of death in her heart, and she realized that she had lost all that was best and brightest of her youth—her love. she also realized how happy she could have been with ber- tram if she had not been such a fool. that the very girl she hated and whom she had feared as a rival had won the love of the man who was all the world to her, increased her hatred ten- fold. that night at ten o'clock bessie appeared at the wharf, the place agreed upon, to obtain her marriage certificate. she had a haggard, careworn look about her which was pitiful to see. she walked slowly and feebly to the wharf and glanced around to see if her husband had put in an appearance. he had not yet come, and bessie set herself to the task of waiting. she stood up by one of the huge posts used to make the boats fast, and gave herself up to deep thought. how long she stood there she never knew. but a rustling sound reached her ears, and, turning quickly she had just time to give one piercing shriek, when a heavy blow struck her on the temple and she top- pled over. there was a sudden splash and the waters closed over bessie campbell. at the same time there came a hollow groan to the ear of the would-be assassin, and, dropping his instrument of death, he turned and flew down the road as if pursued by seven devils. “it was a terrible thing to do,” he muttered, when he had stopped to rest. “but it is better, for she was in my way. and i have sworn to possess viola dun- kirk. she shall be mine,” he continued fiercely. “all the opposition on earth shall not come between she and me.” “and there was no chance for me to do so while bessie was alive. “uugh !” with a shudder. “how she did scream,” he thought. “i would not like to undertake the job again.” and he began feeling his pockets for his handkerchief, for great beads of perspiration had broken out over his face. suddenly he stopped short, pale as death, and, began feeling more hastily in his pockets in a nervous nanner. “it’s gone,” he gasped hoarsely, “and they will find it in the morning, and it will be all up with me when the body is found. and—great heaven!—the certificate was wrapped up in it. and then the hounds of the law will have a clew as to the motive for the deed. and—and i cannot go back to look for it. that voice—that voice—i wonder—. fool! fool that i was to bring it with me. i might have known that would be my luck.” the baffled villain beat his forehead and gnashed his teeth in a paroxysm of baffled rage. bessie had not been knocked senseless, her turning so opportunely, and the blinding flash of the light- ning had made the blow less effective than it would have been under different circumstances. as soon as she struck the water it had a revivify- ing effect upon her, and, being a good swimmer, she struck out boldly for the wharf. just as she was clinging to the wharf for dear life there came a hurrying of feet upon the pier, and half dead with fatigue and fright she still clung to one of the pier posts. there was another vivid flash of lightning, and by the light of it she saw that it was a negro bending over the side of the pier looking anxiously at the place where she had struck the water. she felt her strength failing her, and when she saw it was not her husband she called in a weak voice for help. “bress de lord,” said a voice, “she is alive. hold on tight, dearie, and youse'll be all right in a minnit.” and the next moment she was safe on the pier. then all her strength seemed to fail her, and she sank into unconsciousness. the old colored man, looking around for some- thing to bathe her face, as he did not have a hand- kerchief, saw by the dim light of the moon, which had been previously hidden by clouds, something white a little distance away. o he stooped and picked it up, and saw that it was a handkerchief. “umph! what's dis?” he muttered as he felt some- thing hard on the inside. “i’ll just stick it in my pocket an' lave missus face and carry her home to de ole 'oman an in de mornin’ she kin see wot it is. spec's its a letter some ob de white folks lost to-day, an’ if tis, i can gib it to 'em in de mornin.” and with this he went to bathing bessie's face, and chafing her hands, and, as she didn't come around he stooped and took her in his strong arms and set out for his own little cabin, which he reached in a very short time. old steve jenkins, an old colored man who had lived with his wife in washington for years, notwith- standing the blackness of his skin, had as good and true a heart as ever beat in human breast. he had been standing in his cabin door, looking at the threatenening clouds, and considering the ad- visibility of going to an all night camp meeting about three miles distance, the voices of the attendants at which meeting was borne to him on the summer still- ness, when, chancing to look around, he saw the figure of a woman plodding in the direction of the pier. his cabin door was open, and the light from a wax candle was streaming out across the road, which af- forded him a good view of her as she went on her way. it was such an unusual thing to see, and several persons having been found drowned lately, his sus- picions were aroused. he thought the woman con- templated suicide. so he determined to be on the watch and prevent such an act, if possible. so he walked along in the path behind, and saw and, seeing his curious burden, his wife uttered a cry of dismay. “sakes alive! mercy on us! wot is dat-ar you got, stebe?” “just move an’ let me come in, an’ see wot you can do fur her while i make a fire an' heat up de room, an den i'll told you all 'bout it.” and depositing his burden tenderly on a well worn lounge, he soon had a bright fire burning. the wife sat chafing bes- sie's hands and bathing her face. steve, smoking his pipe, told the circumstances of the night. “de lawd hab mercy,” exclaimed clory at the con- clusion. “he sartainly must be a debbil to hit dis bu'ful crittur. golly! how pale she is and how soft her lilly hands is. she suttinly must be a lady, she is so—” clory paused, for bessie had opened her brown eyes, and sitting bolt upright, was staring around in bewilderment. “where am i?” she asked, “how came i— oh, i remember all now. and you saved me. how kind of you! but, who are you?” “dat's all right, honey,” said aunt clory, “but you'se in good hands. but youse mustn't 'zert yer- self. it'll be all de wuss fur yer. jest lay down now and youse kin go ter sleep while you clothes is a- drying.” and so saying,the good old colored woman hustled off and soon returned with dry clothing. steve stepped into the next room and clory dressed bessie in them, and when he returned she was sleep- ing like a tired child in the clean, white bed of clory's. viola dunkirk. he found that lady under the arbor at the side of the house, stitching away at some fancy work that lay in her lap. it was a beautiful picture as she sat under the shade of the green vines, with the evening light on her face, in her simple white robe, with red sash tied loosely around her waist and a spray of violets in her hair. bertram, standing under one of the great old cedars in the yard, drank in her every movement, and he could not but compare her to all the women of his acquaintance. immediately a great wave of tender love came over him, stepping quickly up to her he took her in ''. is arms and showered kisses on her eyes, brow, hair and ripe rosy mouth, murinur- ing words of passionate, deathless love. “viola! viola ! my love, my life, my all,” he mur- mured, and his voice was full of impassioned fine en- thusiasm. “bless you! my life is crowned with its chief blessing. you are mine, viola. mine—all mine!” almost bereft of physical strength by her great love for him, she lay with her face hidden on the broad bosom of her impulsive lover for many mo- ments. at last she raised herself, moved back a little, and looked up into bertram's face, her own blushing in sweet confusion, and her eyes radiant with loving glances. “do you really love me so much?” she faltered, her eyelids drooping bashfully. “love vou! why, my darling, what would be my life without you. i shudder to think of it. why do you ask, dearest?” “because—because you are so—so far above me. you are such a fine gentleman that i—i am almost afraid to marry you. people will say that i married you for selfish reasons. but—but you know better, don’t you, bertram? you know it is because i—i love you more than i can tell. oh! ber- tram, if anything should happen to part us i should die. i love you so.” and she cast her arms about his neck and sobbed happy tears. it was the first voluntary confession he had ever had from her lips- and he kissed her tenderly when she made it, as he he said: - “nothing shall ever part us, dear.” and so these sillv actions, of which lovers never weary, was kept up until the golden sun had sunk to rest and the clock in a neighboring church tower brought to viola’s mind other thoughts. “how selfish i have been. i must go and look after mother, poor mother,” she said sadly. “she seems to be getting worse. i have to be very careful of her. any little excitement might prove fatal.” they had strolled on to the gate and were taking leave of each other. “i want you to think a good deal to-night, dear- est, for i want you to name the date the next time i see you.” the next time i see you! how many things can be done before that time! and in after days bertram realized it. mona in rage.—mrs. dunkirk dies. when mona received bertram's letter she and her mother were sitting in the drawing room. she read it over slowly, and her face became pale with sup- pressed passion. suddenly she sprang to her feet, her face distorted with rage, and she hissed: “it is all her fault. she has won my love from me. i—i could kill her with my own hand. beware viola dunkirk, how you cross my path. you will re- gret it.” her mother looked at her evil face with a sort of terror. she had never seen her daughter like this before. “my dear mona,” she began, “you must not give way to passion like this. you must control yourself. it is too late to indulge in vain regrets. you have selected your own destiny. now stick to it.” “i selected my own destiny? il how can you say such a thing? who was it that poisoned my mind against marrying bertram? who was it that told me to angle for philip clayton and forget the beggarly editor? the one i might have won from the first. it was only a matter of time, and short at that. you did—you, who never did love anyone but yourself, and don’t even know the meaning of the term. and then you stand there and tell me i select- ed my own destiny. and her lips curled in with a haughty scorn. the old lady winced at these homethrusts. she knew that every word was true, but it galled her to have her daughter to speak to her in that manner. so, rallying, she said sternly: “hush ! how dare you speak to me like that, and i your mother, too. then you must never speak of ber- tram in that man...er again. he is nothing to you— nothing. just suppose mr. clayton were to hear of it, he would never—” “i don’t care a fig for old clayton,” blazed mona. “i hate him, loath him. and it is as much as i can do to keep from telling him so sometimes. if it were to claim miss hawthorne's hand in a very short while. hoping that you will consider yourself (as i do) dead to me, i remain, respectfully, “bertram heathcourt.” having written this she called a servant and, tell- ing him to mail it early in the morning, she sat down to think of the second movement toward love and vengeance. chapter vi. returns and finds mother dead. viola watched her love out of sight, and slowly turned toward the house. “if i should lose him i believe it would kill me,” she murmured musingly. she entered the house. its stillness struck her strangely. quickening her pace she continued to her mother's room. “mother,” she called, as she reached the closed door. “mother, may i come in. it is only i—your daughter.” she received no answer. a horrible fear shot through the girl's heart. what if she were worse, or perhaps—but, no, no, perish the thought.” but, despite this little assurance, she opened the door rather quickly, and what she saw never left her mind. on the bed in the corner, pale as snow, lay her mother—dead. “mother!” screamed the girl, “mother! speak to me. it is viola—your child.” but no answer came from these pale, still lips. if they were not cold in death no power on earth could have prevented her from answering when that dear voice called. “mother! oh, mother!” continued that agonized voice. “oh, why did you leave me all alone? mother, let me die and go with you, too,” and, throwing her- self on that dear breast, she wept as if her heart would break. how long she lay she did not know, but soon she caught the noise of closing doors and muf- fled tread, and into the room came three women. they were neighbors, and were on their back piazza chatting pleasantly when that agonizing scream reached their ears. they knew of the ill- health of mrs. dunkirk, and suspected the cause of the cry. so they hastily went over to see if they could render any assistance. viola lay in a half-stupefied condition. while one bore her light form to her room, the others performed the last sad offices of the dead. they remained all night at watch by the corpse, each taking turns to watch by the bedside of viola, who lay tossing on her pillow over half the night, murmuring always in the same monotonous strain, “mother, oh, my mother! let me go with you.” she fell to sleep far into the night, and slept till late the next day. she arose calm and collected, for she knew she had to cease repining and turn her at- tention to the practical side of life. she dressed herself in a dress of deep black, and, going downstairs, she softly opened the door of the death chamber and stepped in. she went up to the couch on which the corpse lay, and drawing a chair close by the side of it, she gazed long and earnestly on the face of her mother. finally she arose slowly, and with tears in her eyes, said: “betram is all i have left. i am alone in the world.” she looked around the room, and, seeing a letter after the funeral she was sitting in her room, tak- ing comfort from her bible when there came a quick ring at her door bell. she arose hastily and went to the door. it was the mail carrier. he handed her a letter, and, tearing it open eagerly, she read it. when she finished her cheeks were ghastly pale, and, giving a low moan, she clutched at her heart convulsively, and sank into a deep swoon. chapter vii. lost letter. when viola recovered from her swoon it was dark. at first she could not remember what had happened. but gradually the truth dawned upon her mind, and with a low moan she staggered to her feet and wend- ed her way to her room. one of the neighbors consented to remain with her for several days—until she became used to the loneliness, viola told her she was going to lie down, as she had a severe headache. but the next day found her unable to leave her room. the terrible strain on her nervous system had been so great for the last twenty-four hours that for two days she was utterly prostrated. when she began to feel better, she remembered the necessity of her finding some work, so she gave up the house and with what little money she had she secured cheaper rooms in a dif- ferent section of the city. bertram was not at home when viola's mail ar- rived. a servant went to the village post office for the mail. when he was returning home he noticed that the horse he was riding was unusually restless. the servant thought he was thirsty, so he went down to the watering place with him to give him a drink. as ill luck would have it, some persons in skiffs were passing at the time, and as the horse stepped into the water to drink, they sent up a loud shout of jol- lity. the horse became frightened and reared. the suddenness of the movement caused the servant to lose his equilibrium. and in recovering dropped some of the letters in the water. as fate would have it, viola’s own letter was among them, and before the man could do anything to save them they were whirled out into the middle of the stream, and went floating swiftly down toward the ocean. the man was very much frightened, but he decided not to say anything about it and of course nobody would know of it. when bertram arrived after two days' absence, he read his mail. the letter from mrs. dunkirk had a great effect upon him. it read thus: “dear mr. heathcourt—i am dying. i know you love my daughter and i wish you would come and take charge of her right away, for when you receive this letter i shall be in eternity. mr. heathcourt, i will take this opportunity to tell you something strange which happened in my youthful days. when i was a young girl in england, a young and handsome man came from america and made love to me. i loved him dearly, and after a while married him. we were very happy for about a year. in the meantime my baby, viola, was born. during one of our confidential chats he told me of a great wrong he had done his brother. how they both had loved the same woman, and his brother be- ing the favored one, he had revenged himself upon him by informing his father of the affair. how his father disinherited his brother after he had married her, and the fortune went to him. i was shocked, horrified, and i chided him for his sin. a coldness sprang up between us, and every day we drifted fur- ther apart, until he left me altogether i was alone, except for my baby viola. i need not go into details. suffice it to say that he gave me money enough to educate my child, and keep us from immediate want. he left a note also, informing me that i never was his wife. he had deceived me. the man who per- formed the ceremony was simply some one gotten for the occasion. a man by the name of dunkirk, a good man, became acquainted with my story. he pitied me and finally made me his wife and gave my daughter—my nameless child—the shelter and pro- tection of his honorable name. “a few years after we came to america to try our fortune, and while my daughter was at school i, with the assistance of my husband, and detectives, man- aged to get on the track of the man who had wrong- ed me, intending that justice should be done his child at least. he, living under a fictitious name, made it very difficult for us to run him to earth, and when we were just about to close in on him he died. the next news that my detective brought was that he had done justice to the son of the brother he had wronged, and had installed him in the place that was his by right of birth. “the man that wronged me was richard heath- court, your uncle. i watched your growing intimacy with my daughter with pleasure, for i knew that a great wrong would be partially righted if you finally married her. you say you love her! i leave her young life into your hands. be a good husband to my child, and you will well merit the dying blessing of “catherine dunkirk.” when bertram finished the letter, he sat staring straight before him. at last he said in a very low tone: “poor woman! i guess she is dead now. this letter is two days old. how she must have suffered. but how much more happily she would have died if “my god!” gasped bertram. “that description tallies with viola. i believe it is she. i must go and see at once,” and wheeling about he called a cab and said: “to pinkham's undertaking establishment! swift as you can! double fare!” the driver needed no second bidding. the horse fairly flew over the hard ground, and in ten minutes he was before the door of the undertaker. paying the cabman he went up the stairs three at a time. “i want to see the body, the body of the drowned girl,” he said, when he was in the presence of the un- dertaker the undertaker looked at him, and seeing the anx- iousness in his face, escorted him to the bedside of the corpse, and pulled back the sheet from her face. bertram gave one swift glance. “great heavens! how i loved her!” and fell down by the dead body, writhing in an agony of grief that he could give no utterance to except by heart-rending groans. pres- ently he felt a touch on his arm, and looking up he found the undertaker looking at him pityingly. the good man was really touched by the young fellow's grief. “do you recognize her?” he asked, gently. “recognize her!” bertram exclaimed. “recog- nize her! yes. she was all i had in the world. my viola! my own viola!” “poor fellow,” murmured the good man, with streaming eyes. “but you may be mistaken. see! the face is somewhat mutilated.” “ah, no! i cannot be mistaken. it is she. see! the golden hair, the dark eyes, and long lashes; the white, even teeth. the sweet lips that i have kissed over and over again. it is shel i know it! oh, viola! my lost love!” when the violence of his grief had somewhat abated he said to the undertaker: “give her a christian burial and charge it to bert- ram heathcourt.” on that day he attended the funeral. he brought some violets, her favorite flowers, and put them on her grave, and long after everyone had left he sat there by the side of that grave, trying to think what his life was worth now. . he finally left the cemetery for the city, and as he wended his way up the gravel path of his own home, he told himself that his heart was dead within him and buried in the grave of his lost viola. chapter viii. letter found. two days had passed since mona had taken her first step toward “love and vengeance.” on the afternoon of the second day she was feeling very rest- less, and thought she would take a row on the river for a change. so she dressed herself in a neat boating costume, and calling for a carriage she was driven to the boathouse on the great potomac. she hired a little shell of a boat and was soon skimming over the smooth water like a swallow on the wind. she rowed up the river about two miles, and dropping the oars, let the little boat drift with the current. after drifting about half a mile, she looked over to- ward the shore and saw a pretty little place, and the notion struck her to go there. seizing the oars she steered for it. it was indeed a pretty little spot. the dark water was almost entirely still. schools of small fish frisked about sportingly, casting miniature waves along its smooth surface. the tall white oak trees, that lined the shore; and the long, drooping willows that hung far out over the water, made it a lovely little cove that would have been dear to the heart of any romantic person. mona rowed her boat under one of the trees, and gave herself up to thought. she had been sitting about half an hour looking into the water with an unusual degree of pen- siveness when she noticed something white being borne slowly on the water toward her. closer and closer it came, and then she saw that it was a letter. she leaned out to reach it, but the movement caused a wavelet or two to take it farther from her boat. standing up quickly she reached up and broke off a i “you!” he exclaimed in astonishment. “you, mona—miss hawthorne, and here! great heaven! you must be mad to come here.” it was indeed mona her face was very pale, and there was a determined compression about her lips and a light in her eyes not good to see. “call it madness, or what you will, i am here, and i must ask you a few questions.” “what do you wish to know?” asked bertram, hesitatingly, there was a few moments pause, and then she an- swered: “i would like to know if you love that pau- per, viola dunkirk, and if you are going to marry her?” bertram stood as if rooted to the spot. what did it mean? was not everybody aware of viola's death? “you do not answer,” she continued, seeing his hesitation. at last he recovered himself and asked: “is it possible, miss hawthorne, that you do not know that viola dunkirk is dead?” mona started violently. was this true? the girl she feared—dead? “no—no. i did not know it.” to herself she said: “if i cannot win him now, i have not the power over the male sex that i once had, and may as well give him up. there was a long pause, which was at last broken hy mona, who asked: “did you love her?” “did i love her?” in surprise. “do you think i would ask her to be my wife if i did not?” “true, true. and yet—oh, bertram! when did you cease to love me—i, who loved you first and best? after asking me to be your wife, to fall in love with that beggar girl, even while the words were yet warm on your lips.” she looked at him beseechingly. her eyes were streaming with tears. bertram was astonished. “i beg your pardon,” he said, a little coldly. “but if viola was a poor girl, she was a lady in every sense of the word, and she was not a coquette,” he contin- ued, meaningly. “i would rather you would not speak of her in that irreverent manner.” this defence of the girl she hated, and above all, the covert sneer in his words, to sting her, almost drove her to madness. “she had no right to come between us—to rob me of my love!” she cried, springing to her feet, her black eyes flashing. “i loved you first and best; she had no right to take you from me. why did you cast my love back in my teeth after winning my heart?” “you forget that you are the one to whom that accusation might be applied, he said sternly. “after giving me every reason to believe that you loved me, to reject me, because i was a beggarly editor, and ac- cept col. philip clayton, because he was wealthy.” tor one single moment mona was disconcerted— only for a moment. instantly a plan shot through her subtle brain and she proceeded to act upon it. abruptly. “man | can't you understand. can't you see that that is forgery?” a swift pallor shot across his face. what if it were a forgery? but it was closely followed by a look of incredulity. “a forgery! how can it be? who could have any object in doing such a thing?” • “my mother,” she said, sharply. bertram started. “but the note i sent you? the boy who carried it said he gave it to you as i in- structed him to do.” “the boy prevaricated,” she said, sharply. “i heard him ring, and came to the head of the stairs; my mother answered the bell, and i heard her say: “what is it? “i want to see miss mona,' answered he. “i’ve got a note for her.’ ‘give it to me; i will deliver it,' my mother said. it seemed as if the boy hesitated. ‘give it here this instant, said mother, stamping her foot. the boy must have been frightened into com- plying, for i heard mother say: “now, wait for an answer. soon i heard the door slam, and knowing that he was gone i came down to see what it was all about. “what is it, mother?' i asked. ‘it is nothing but an invitation to the opera, she remarked, care- lessly. mother was always at liberty to open my letters, so i thought no more of it. that night we attended the opera, and some one made a remark about your being engaged to that—that viola dun- kirk, and half dead with unrequitted love i accepted col. clayton the next day, partly at his earnest re- quest, and partly out of spite my mother, whom i trusted, and whom i believed the soul of honor, be- trayed me, and now i’ve lost all that is worth living for!” and she cast herself dejectedly into a chair, and burst afresh into angry tears. bertram felt really sorry that she loved him so well—sorry that he could not respond to her love. the idea that she had uttered a deliberate falsehood never for once entered his mind. he did not believe that this girl, in order to gain the ends of her own selfish heart, would be willing to sacrifice her mother. her mother, though a scheming woman, loved her dearly, and did all of her scheming for her daughter's sake. after sitting some minutes in deep thought he said: “i am very sorry for you, mona—very sorry. but what can i do?” “what can you do?” she echoed, eagerly. “you can make me your wife. you need not look so shocked. i have no pride now. why can’t a woman plead for her love just as a man. the foolish world debars a woman from obeying the dictates of her own heart when she ought to be allowed to do so. her love is all she has. oh, bertram! let me be your wife.” she had come close to him, and rested her hand pleadingly on his arm, looking him directly in the eyes. - he moved back a little as he said: “impossible, miss hawthorne. i cannot do as you suggest.” ‘why can't you?” “for the simple reason that i do not love you. see : my pulse does not thrill at your touch. my heart does not throb more quickly. it would be wrong to marry you.” “you used to love me once—until she came be- tween us. oh, bertram! if you do not marry me i shall die. my heart is broken.” it is no light thing for a man to have a young and beautiful woman standing before him with tear-dim- med eyes and tell him in a woebegone voice that her heart is broken, especially when she is inclined to lay the cause of it at his door. no wonder, then, that bertram seeing her sorrow, felt touched by her pleadings and after thinking deeply, said: “mona, you have suffered and i seem to be in- directly the cause of your suffering. if, therefore, i can make atonement for the unintentional wrong i will consent to do as you wish. i will strive to make you happy and to be a good husband to you, but i tell you frankly, my heart is dead, and the ashes can never be kindled. will you accept me at such an ex- pense?” “yes, gladly. my own bertram,” she murmured, twining her fair arms around his neck and kissing him passionately, the light of a deathless love shining in her eyes. she thinks, love like mine cannot fail to win love in return. he drew her head down on his bosom and im- planted a cold kiss on her forehead and they were betrothed. finally he said: “it is late,” taking out his watch, “and the last train goes by in half an hour. sit here while i order the carriage.” he ordered the carriage, which soon came around to the entrance and in a short time they were at the station. he had just arrived, when he noticed the slender figure of a woman, closely veiled, come staggering into the waiting-room and in a weary voice ask for a ticket for washington. it seemed as if she could hardly stand as she walked on toward the train after receiving her ticket. bertram, with inherent cour- tesy offered to assist her, but shrinking from him, she made some inaudible refusal and passed on. there seemed to be something strangely familiar about her to bertram, but after vainly trying to think where he had seen her before, he dismissed the occurrence from his mind. but oh! with what force was it re- called in after days. o she took a seat in the car at one end, and cover- ing her face more effectually, she cowered down in her seat like a criminal. arriving in washington she set out on foot for her home. just before reaching her cottage, and while she was yet in the copse of woods, the sound of men's voices reached her ears. concealing herself beyond some briar bushes, she heard the following conversation. one of the speakers had a voice that was very familiar. “when are you going to tackle the house, boss?” said a course voice. “in three hours' time—at half-past two a.m.” “jimmy, this is mighty short notice.” “yes, i just got my bearings. and, as i’ve got a job on for to-morrow night, i thought that this would be the best time in which to break in the old duffer's house.” “but you haven’t told me whose house we are to crack yet, boss.” “that's so. well, it is the old retired banker, quimby, on pennsylvania avenue. here is a bunch of false keys for the door, and these are for the safe. it is an old-fashioned affair, and i guess it won’t be difficult to open secure the boodle if you can with- out shedding blood, but if any one tries to stop you, why, just tickle him under the fifth rib with your frog sticker.” viola did not want to hear any more she knew they were planning robbery, and would perhaps kill some one if they were caught in the act. here one thought entered her mind, and that was to save the banker. creeping out of her place of concealment as quietly as possible, she sped down the road as fast as her feet could carry her. she knew where the rang for assistance, and to a servant who answered the summons, said: “have a room fixed for her immediately; she must remain here for the present” “what is it, george?” was asked, as a tall woman advanced into the room, and despite the streaks of silver that were in her hair, she was still very hand- some. “a young girl, wife, who heard men planning to rob me to-night, and came to warn me. she must have exerted herself too much. she has fainted.” “poor young thing,” said motherly mrs. quimby. “how beautiful she is. how perfectly sweet and lovely. take her, jaundice, to the unoccupied room on the second floor.” viola was conveyed to the room mentioned, where all manner of restoratives were used to bring her out of her swoon. at last she opened her beautiful eyes, but there was no look of recognition in their dark depths. the doctors who were called in pronounced it a severe case of brain fever, and recommended quiet- ness. she lay on the pillow, white as a sheet, with the exception of two spots burning on either cheek, crying always: “robbers! they will shed blood, you did not mean it. you were just trifling,” and so on she continued, with but little cessation, for days and nights. chapter xi. viola adopted. the rescue. three weeks had passed since viola went to the house of mr. quimby to warn him of the robbers. the night she went to warn him the robbers came, but were surprised to find officers of the law lying in wait to entertain them. a portion of them were captured, but the principals escaped. the banker and his wife fell in love with the beau- tiful girl at first sight. when she recovered and spoke of going away, they would not hear her. they pleaded so earnestly with viola to stay—to remain and be their child, to let them adopt her—that she consented, partly to please them, and partly because she loved the two gentle old people who had been so good and kind to her. she had come to be the light of the house. her gay laughter, her merry snatches of song and natural vivacity which could not be repressed, were in strong contrast to the former grimness and quietude of the grand old house. the old banker and his wife were delighted. they loved the young girl who had come into their lives so miraculously. viola was very happy in her new home after she recovered, she found herself the belle in fashionable society. she rode, went to balls, parties, operas and picnics. there was a continual round of gayety. she was very happy in her new home. poor girl! she had been so unfortunate in this world's goods that the other side of life formed a very pleasing con- trast, and one that was duly appreciated by her. so matters ran on for two months, without anything to mar its brightness. one day viola announced her girlish head, her fine golden hair tossed playfully by the breeze people turned and watched her admir- ingly, wondering who the beautiful equestrienne was, who sat her horse so gracefully. bertram heathcourt, who was on his way to mr. quimby's to pay a call, for he was an intimate friend of the banker's, saw her just as she suddenly turned a corner, and he started back with a wild cry. “my god! it is viola!” he cried, hoarsely. “tell me,” he panted, turning to a fashionably-dressed dandy, with patent leather pumps with pink bows, and clad in that very becoming style of male attire called “skin-tights,” which would have puzzled the scientist of any age to explain the phenomenon; an eye-glass, and the head of his cane in his mouth. “tell me who that young lady was that just passed on that chestnut-colored horse.” the fellow leisurely took his cane from his mouth, elevated his eye-glasses, and rewarded bert- tram with a cool stare that made bertram consider the advisibility of knocking him down, and was only prevented from doing so by the hope of obtaining the desired infomation. “well, stand there and stare at me about four min- utes longer and not answer my question as a gentle- man should.” bertram rather emphasized the word “gentleman,” and, as he had guessed, not without the desired effect. the dandy straightened himself, pushed out his tiny left foot in advance of the right and after making a few vigorous attempts to clear his throat, drawled: “oh, baw jove! that wath mith quimby, the adopted daughter and heireth of the honorable mr. quimby the banker. she's a dooced pretty girwell, left. the horse started and reared. the shooting had frightened him. under ordinary circumstances viola was a good horsewoman, but she was so occu- pied in gazing at the beautiful sunset that when the report was heard she unintentionally dropped the reins. the horse took advantage of the situation and seizing the bit in his teeth, started off full tilt for the river. along the smooth road he sped as if mad- dened. viola managed to get the reins in her hand, and attempted to rein in the frightened animal. the only result was the bruising of her hands. half dead with fear she tried to pull him in, and so hard did she pull that the blood oozed from her finger ends. “oh, heavens! i can’t stop him,” she moaned, in despair. - straight to the precipice overhanging the river the horse sped, with dilated nostrils and foam-flecked flanks. four hundred yards, and then, poor viola! would nothing save her? she was so young to die. “oh, god! am i to die such a horrible death?” she moaned piteously is she? see! a young man on horseback sees her danger, raises his gun as if to shoot he hesitates, drops his gun and comes toward the runaway at full speed. nearer he approaches. nearer. two hun- dred yards to the precipice, fifty yards from him to her. nearer he comes. he gives a shout, but the sound is drowned in the noise of the hoofbeats. nearer! one hundred yards to the precipice. ten yards between him and her. fifty yards to the preci- pice. three yards still intervene between them. see! he reaches out his hand! he seizes her around the waist, lifts her bodily from the saddle into his own, and by a superhuman effort stops his horse just as the the other, with a cry like that of a human being, van- ished over the precipice. it was a brave act—one that few men would have undertaken. he turns his unconscious burden in his arms to a more comfortable position, and, for the first time, takes a good look at her. the effect was wonderful. chapter xii. viola arnold campbell's prey. the young man catches his breath; his eyes seem to start from their sockets. he almost loses his hold of his fair burden. “viola dunkirk!” he gasps. my god! how is this? the whole city has been ringing with the ac- count of her death, and now”— he pauses and a triumphant smile passes over his dark face. his eyes light up with a devilish expres- sion. “she is mine, now; all mine,” he said, with intense satisfaction. “i swore to possess you, my beautiful viola, and i will keep my word. you shall be mine, body and soul.” he chuckled wickedly to himself as he realized how completely the young girl was in his power. - he rode up the river road, thinking deeply. pres- ently he muttered: “i wonder what it all means? she, a poor girl, dressed in all this finery?” he could not answer that query, and he finally quickened the pace of his horse as he said: “i will take her to the rendezvous. madge will keep her safe until i get a minister to tie the knot” he turned from the road as he uttered this, and rode up to a large, rambling house on the river bank. it was a peculiar structure, about three stories high. half the windows were out on the upper floor, but the doors and windows, which were all of wood and the great wheel at the side, would have given it the appearance of a disused mill but for the latticed piaz- za at the front. the young man rode around to the side of the house, and after dismounting, knocked on i “he’ll be in after a while—the one that saved your life—and i’m his housekeeper,” was the surly reply. “what gentleman was it who saved my life?” “you’ll see for yourself directly,” she said, and then there was an exultant ring in her voice. “he’ll soon be in to answer for himself.” viola remained quiet for a short time, looking thoughtfully at the floor. suddenly she took out her watch and was surprised to find that it was so late “why, it is twenty minutes to seven, and papa will be so anxious to know where i am. can't you tell the gentleman to make haste. i shouldn’t like to go without thanking the man who saved my”— she stopped, for the door had opened, and a man advanced into the room. one glance, and viola started to her feet with a wild cry, and clutched at her throat as if suffocating. “you!” she gasped. “you! oh! pitying heaven! why didn't i perish over the precipice?” the woman had stepped from the room as soon as he had entered it. the man closed the door, locked it and put the key in his pocket and turning to viola with a mocking smile, said: “you seem to shrink from me as if i were an ogre, miss dunkirk. i am sure i mean you no harm. have you no kind word for me? and it is such a long time since we have seen each other. you remember our last meeting, do you not?” she was looking straight before her and beyond the nervous rising and falling of her bosom, one would imagine that she was a statue. “you do not answer me,” he said, impatiently, “and after i have just saved your life by risking my own. i think i deserve some consideration, if moth- ing more than a look.” she realized that she had better say something, and act in a conciliatory manner, and probably he would release her. for that she was wholly in his power she fully realized. so with an effort she ex- tended her hand, and said: “i thank you ever so much for saving my life. it was a brave act and when i go home i shall tell papa quimby, and as he is rich, i know that he will remun- erate you.” at the mention of that name arnold started back. “what is mr. quimby to you?” he asked quickly. “he is my adopted father,” she answered. his eyes lighted up avariciously. so this is why she was so finely clothed, and was out enjoying the evening on horseback. the daughter of the great banker and therefore his heiress. if arnold camp- bell was determined to win her before, he was doubly so now the money itself was a great incentive, to say nothing of his love. “she shall be mine!” he muttered, fiercely, with bated breath. “by fair means or foul.” aloud he said: “you are very fortunate in being the daughter of such a worthy gentleman.” “yes,” she said. “papa is very good to me and loves me and that reminds me,” she said suddenly, “that he will be very anxions at my long absence. i must go to him at once.” a peculiar gleam shot into his dark eyes. “must you really go so soon?” he inquired, with well-assumed sorrow. “yes, i have been from home two whole hours. and besides, it is almost dark. will you let me pass, please?” he turned on his heel as he spoke, and with a piti- ful cry viola sprang after him, and throwing herself at his feet, cried: “oh, sir, for the love of heavven, don't detain me here. think how troubled my father and mother will be at my strange absence . if you have one spark of manhood in your breast, you will release me for their sake.” “i will give you one minute to consent to be my wife; if you refuse, here you'll stay until you do con- sent,” he answered, doggedly. “then hear my answer now, without a minute's re- flection,” she cried, springing to her feet, her eyes blazing, her face crimson with indignation, “i would rather die than become your wife. do you hear? god never ordained such, nor is there any possible chance of your ever becoming my husband. a thief and a murderer i never would marry!” “what do you mean?” he cried, hoarsely, his face ghastly pale. “you know what i mean. ah, ha! you may try well to cover it, you wretch. i know your little secret and will blaze it forth to the world if you do not re- lease me.” “she knows my little secret,” thought arnold. “nevertheless, she shall never leave here other than as my wife. then her testimony will not be worth anything. i must go to the city early in the morning and secure the services of some not over-conscien- tious clergyman to officiate. it is not now a question of love and wealth, but a question of safety.” viola had sprang after him as he left the room only to have the door closed in her face, and a squeaky click announced the fact that the door was lock- ed. the girl became well nigh frantic. she screamed and kicked at the door, and realizing that all such attempts were failures, she ceased. “oh! heaven help and pity me,” she moaned. “i am in this man's power and unless some assistance comes i shall be forced into a union with him. she was feeling terribly exhausted and she threw herself on the little cot and was soon sleeping, obliv- ious of every trouble. formed the chief of viola's disappearance. the chief told him he thought she could be found, and referred him to special officer turpin. “dick turpin,” as he was usually termed by the rough class, had not been a year on the force, but his shrewdness and strict attention to business and the discharge of his duty had made him a man who was mortally feared by criminals, while his natural geni- ality of manner and his general temperament had won for him the respect and admiration of his breth- ren and made him a general favorite with them all. mr. quimby appeared at the office of the great de- tective. he found the man busily engaged with a pile of documents. on his entering the detective turned on him a pair of piercing gray eyes. mr. quimby asked: “have i the honor of addressing mr. turpin, the detective?” “i am he. to whom am i indebted for the pleas- ure of this visit?” the banker handed him his card. ah!” said the detective. “mr. quimby, the banker.” “yes, and i would like you to take a case for me if you are not busy.” “well, i have a case on hand, as you see, but i think i can take another,” said the detective. “very well, sir. my daughter—my adopted daughter—is missing she disappeared very strange- ly from her home yesterday.” “disappeared?” “yes, sir, and in order that you may fully under- stand the case, i will have to tell you my story.” “very well, sir, let me have all the facts, and al- ways remember that whatever you may tell me will simply be in the strictest confidence, and as such i shall hold it sacred.” the banker began and told the detective the cir- cumstances with which the reader is aquainted, from the time viola had come into his family, until her disappearance. when he had finished the detec- tive sat quite still, looking thoughtfully at the car- peted floor. finally he said: “you say she did not tell you anything of her for- mer life, except that her mother and father were both dead. might there not”—and here he gave the banker a keen look, as he began again. “has it never occurred to you that there might be a lover in the case?” this second mentioning of a lover in connection with viola and her strange disappearance seemed to give the case a startling significance. as the old man raised his head he answered: “no-no. i have never looked at the matter in that light,” he finally said. “you don't know my dear girl, sir. she was very different from the girls in general and, besides if there had been anything of the kind, i think she would have told me.” the detective smiled cheerfully, rubbing his hands vigorously, and said in a pleasant manner: “very well, sir; i will undertake your case and i will have good news for you soon.” the banker arose and moved toward the door. when he had laid his hand on the knob he turned: “oh, by the bye. you haven't said anything about your pay.” “oh, never mind, sir, never mind. we’ll speak about that when my work is done” “you shall be amply remunerated if you succeed. good morning.” “good morning.” five days had elapsed since viola had been a pris- oner in the house by the river. she had pleaded for her liberty, implored, stormed and threatened, but it had done no good. hope had given place to despair. she had made up her mind to meet the issue, what- ever it might be, bravely. her tormenter had been to see her this morning and had begged her to be- come his wife, and had left her in anger, because of her refusal. he told her to prepare herself, for on the morrow she would have to become his wife. she was sitting now on one of the hard stools, try- ing to be resigned to her fate, but there was a dull pain at her heart when there came a light step in the hall. the knob turned in the door and a young woman entered. viola sprang to her feet; her heart leaped with great joy. she was to be free at last. “miss mona! oh! merciful father in heaven, i thank thee!” she cried, joyously. “oh! i am so glad you have come to deliver me from that villain -—that fiend in human shape. how is father and mother?” she continued, breathlessly. “are they anxious about me? oh! take me to them. please do, and i will bless you as long as i live.” and the poor girl—poor, because her joy was soon to be turned into the bitterness of death— clasped the haughty mona hawthorne about the knees and sobbed for very joy. “why, my dear girl,” said mona, mockingly, “you seem to have very pleasant quarters here. how do you like them? true, your furniture is rough, but i presume your husband that is to be will refurnish your apartments when you are settled down.” i “don’t you dare do it! i—i hate him, loathe him and you, too. and i believe you have had a hand in this outrage. you know more about it than you care to admit.” mona had started back quite frightened before this burst of indignation. she did not believe viola had life enough in her for that. “my! what a regular little virago you are. mr. campbell, your intended husband, will have to bring that little temper in check, or you will make it warm for him.” “leave me to my misery, you wicked woman. why did you come here?” an angry fire flashed into the eyes of mona. “why did i come here?” she echoed, advancing meaningly up to the girl. “shall i tell you? well, then, hear me. it was to triumph over you, my rival. i knew you were here. you are here by my instruc- tions. nay! hear me out. you were in my way. you won the love of my life from me, and i am deter- mined on revenge. i tell you this because i am now safe in the love of bertram heathcourt, and on the fifteenth of this month will become the wife of his bosom. now, listen. your lover was never false to you. ah, ha! you started the rivalry which almost broke my heart strings. i shall wring your heart strings as mine have been wrung. i wrote that letter telling you that he never did love you; that hence- forward you would meet as strangers. he never re- ceived your letter. i have it in my possession now. how i got it matters not. he now believes that you are dead, and in less than a fortnight i shall be his wife. while you (with a dazzling smile) will be ditto of mr. arnold campbell. you see, little viola, i q have triumphed, and there is no use to kick against the pricks. you had better accept your fate with good grace, and make the best of circumstances.” viola never moved. she had been looking straight before her since the beginning of mona's story. she had become pale to the lips. her eyes were dilated with horror at the enormity of the sin of the woman whom she believed at most to be proud and haughty. “my dear,” continued mona. “why do you look like that? you quite frighten me. you do not look very much like a prospective bride.” “so you deceived me,” murmured viola, brokenly. “and he was true to me! he meant it when he said that he loved me. he was not doing it to pass away the time?” “no, he was not doing it passer le temps. but so far as you are concerned he might as well have done so. well,” said mona, as she moved toward the door. “i must leave you, my dear. i will not see you for—oh! ever so long after our wedding tour, i may drop in to see you. so, au revoir.” she paused on the threshold of the door as if to take one last look, and what she saw never left her mind until her dying day. viola was acting as if she did not hear her—was not even aware of her presence. she was murmuring over and over again: “bertram did mean it. he was not fooling. he loved me.” suddenly, and while mona was still looking at her, she started toward the table and, snatching up a fork that was lying on the plate from which she had eaten her dinner, said: “good bye, bertram, my lost love; i will never see you again. i love you! oh! so well. mother, dear mother, i will soon be with you.” and chapter xiv. mona's conscience. mona had returned to her home that night and fearful thoughts were haunting her. she could not vanish from her mind that last despairing cry of the poor, innocent young girl whom she had so terribly wronged. she made an excuse to her mother and after eating a very light supper retired. but not to sleep. sleep, that blessed boon which brings rest and peace to the innocent would not bring oblivion to her guilty mind. she undressed herself and laid down. she would ever and anon drop off into a fitful slum- ber, only to start up again with a smothered cry, as a voice seemed to whisper: “murderess!” from under her pillow. finally she arose, and robing herself in a wrapper, threw up the window, drawing a chair close to the side of it, sat down to look out. in one of the trees a night bird was singing, but its lovely notes seemed to her excited fancy to be crying in harsh tones: “murderess! murderess!” in the grass on the lawn beneath her a cricket took up the strain of “murderess! murderess!” “oh, heaven! will those terrible sounds never cease?” she moaned and closing the window with a bang, she arose and began pacing restlessly to and fro, until a faint gray streak came stealing through the window and she knew that day was breaking. she threw herself across the bed and finally dropped into a kind of deep apathy, which lasted until late in the day. he finally arose, and asked the woman, who had been standing near, looking at him with a cynical expression on her ugly visage, how it had happened. she told him all she knew about it. how mona had visited the girl and after staying in the room a considerable length of time, came to her and in- formed her that the girl had killed herself. “so she was here, eh,” he muttered under his breath. “i wonder if she could—but no. the girl was safe from ever molesting her in her love affairs, and it would be foolish to think that she would do such a thing.” he finally left the old woman alone with the corpse. in half an hour he put his head in the door and said: “madge, i am going to town after a coffin to bury the girl in. i shall return this afternoon.” “all right, sir.” - madge sat quiet for an hour or two, and then she began to feel hungry. she remembered that she had not left the room since the afternoon of the previous day. “i’ll step out and get a bite; it won’t, take long.” so saying, she hobbled from the room. three minutes passed and a panel in the wall slid back, and into the room a woman stepped cautiously. she was tall and dark, with black hair and eyes of the same hue. there were lines as of trouble around her sweet mouth and eyes, but despite that fact she seemed to have been once a very beautiful woman. she advanced cautiously to the side of the bed and gazed long and earnestly at the girl. “how beautiful! how very beautiful!” she said. “and they hounded her down, poor creature, as they attempted to hound me—but” she paused. was she mistaken? she thought she saw the lace at the throat of the girl move. it was only imagination. no! there it is again! she bent over closer and examined the girl's face. then she put out her hand and pinched that of the girl. it did not remain pinched and puckered like that of a dead person's, but the flesh came back into its place just like elastic. the woman tried the other hand in the same manner, with a like result. her face lit up radiantly. “not dead,” she murmured, joyously. “i think i can save her if i begin at once.” and with incredible strength for a woman she bore her through the open panel and shoved it into its place. about five minutes elapsed, at the end of which time madge returned to the room. when she looked in and saw that the body of the girl had disappeared, she was almost wild with superstitious wonder. where had she gone? where could she go? she looked under the bed, and opening the shutters of the window, looked out, but nothing rewarded her gaze. she searched every room through and through, but no viola could be found. “i don’t believe that gal was dead. she's been a playin’ possum on us. but—i could a’swore she was a corpse. mr. arnold will be wild when he finds out she's gone.” and she sat down on a chair by the window and waited patiently for his return. meanwhile the strange woman had borne viola through the panel, and after sliding it back into its place, walked along the narrow passage until she came to a flight of stairs. ascending these she walked along another passage until she came to a wall. pressing her finger on a small button another panel slid back, which she closed after passing through. she entered a room that was poorly but comfortably furnished. a clean white bed and a ta- ble, a few chairs, a stove, lamp, trunk, cupboard and washstand constituted its furnishings. the woman lay her burden tenderly on the bed, took a flask containing brandy and another of cam- phor from the cupboard, and for two hours worked vigorously on the girl, bathing her hands and face in the camphor, and administering the brandy. a while after she noticed the chest of the girl begin- ning to rise and fall, as if in respiration. soon there was a little movement of the hand and a long-drawn sigh, accompanied by a quivering of the eyelids, which announced that viola had at last come out of her trance. she struggled feebly to rise, but the attempt was a failure, and she sank back, gasping for breath. the woman raised the pillow under her head and otherwise made her position more comfortable. she stood with her hand resting lightly on the girl's head with a soothing, magnetic touch. viola lay quiet, with her eyes closed. presently she stirred, and when the woman removed her hand, she let her gaze wan- der around the room, as if taking in every detail. “where am i?” she asked, feebly, passing her hand slowly over her eyes. “and why am i here?” the woman put her finger to her lips as if to en- join silence. - “hush, my dear child,” she said, in a sweet voice that won viola's heart on the spot. “you must re- cover as fast as you can, and the only way to do so is by keeping very quiet, and when you get better i will tell you all about it.” so saying, she drew a, chair to the bedside, and taking viola’s hand in hers, she stroked it caress- ingly. viola felt a strange sense of comfort and pro- tection in this woman's presence. she did not ques-- tion further. she only realized with a wild joy that in some miraculous manner she had escaped from the clutches of her enemies. and so, under the soothing touches of this kind woman, she soon dropped into a light and refreshing sleep. io small cave on the river. by the way, you see i pro- cure work from several families hereabouts and am enabled to earn a livelihood. i come and go when i please, without any one being the wiser. she closed the panel and returned to her seat be- side the wondering girl. “you are wondering? i can see it in your eyes. how came i to take up my abode here? would you like to hear my story?” “i would, ever so much, if it does not pain you to tell it.” “indeed, it does not. it has been such a long time since i’ve had any one with whom to exchange con- fidences that it is rather a relief than otherwise to be able to unburden my mind of its weight to some one whom i can trust. it is all a case of man's duplicity, woman's weakness and suffering, on account of an imprudent folly,” she said, sadly. viola clasped her hand and then gave it a reassur- ing pressure, and then began to listen to the most remarkable story of her life. io chapter xvi. mrs. smith's story. “in the village of b— i lived when quite a small girl, with my father, who was a simple gardener. i was a very happy girl though far from being rich, we managed to live comfortably, and my mother being dead, i was the light of my father's life and loved him dearly i grew from girlhood into young womanhood, and people all called me beautiful. “there was in the woods a great old tree known throughout the settlement as the “old elm. it was strange that almost all the trees in the woods were beach, and there was not another of its kind to be found around the village. but it stood in the midst of the other trees, tall and majestic, like a grim sen- tinel, spreading its huge arms out over the others in its vicinity, as if in protection. it was my chief de- light to take a novel or some other interesting book in the afternoon and sit under its delightful shade to read and dream one day while i was so engaged i did not notice that the sky had suddenly become overcast presaging one of our southern storms, until the drops began to fall thick and fast. i simply had on a thin dress and a straw hat i surely would have been the recipient of a good drenching and probably caught my death of cold, had not a young man, whom i recognized as the eldest son of the leading personage in our town, passed opportunely and see- ing my condition, offered to see me in safety to my home. i need not tell you of the frequent meetings under the old elm; of the honeyed words and confi- dences exchanged. suffice it to say that when the summer had gone and the leaves began to fall from the trees, i had promised to be the wife of the son of the purse-proud millionaire. in the meantime the younger son of this gentle- man had met me on several occasions and said he had fallen in love with me. he proposed and i rejected him. he stormed; i threatened and defied him. he asked me why i would not marry him. i told him that i loved another. then he pleaded by the right of his love to know who it was. i told him that it was his brother. i never shall for- get the look of murderous hate that came into his countenance. i shivered with fear when i saw it. it was terrible. burt secure in the love of the man who was all the world to me, his deadly threats of vengeance did not long remain in mind. “one day i received a letter from my loved one, asking me to meet him the next night by the “old elm' and flee with him. i knew that it was not a prudent thing to do, but what girl with the glamour of love over her eyes listens to the reasonings of her own mind or her common sense? it is certain that i did not. i sat down and wrote him a loving assent, and the next evening met him at the place named, and before six hours had rolled over our heads we were married. - “the next day my husband left me in a little cot- tage and returned home. in a few days he came back and said he had come to remain with me for a whole week. we went into the garden after awhile and were lovingly examining some flowers together when who should drive up to the door but the father and brother of my husband. the stern father denounced his son and heaped reproaches upon him and cursed him. and as i stood trembling at his side, i could io “when i saw that he was so utterly heartless i be- came indignant and heaped reproaches on him. he said to me: ‘my dear doris, you must not blame me for the part that i have played in this affair, for i assure you that i am not the prime mover in it.' i indignantly demanded to know who was, and he an- swered: “your own husband. i never shall forget the horror with which i heard those awful words, never! my husband, whom i believed so good, true, and honorable! my husband, whom i loved so dear- ly, and whom i knew loved me so well! but why should he do such a wicked thing, and what was his object. “i stood there, speechless. my tongue refused to do its work. it seemed as if a hand of iron were clutching at my meart. at last i managed to gasp and then said, sternly: ‘i do not believe it; my hus- band loved me, and he would never be a party to such devilish work. all right, my dear, answered my tor- mentor with taunting coolness, but your incredulity does not alter the state of affairs in the least. now listen. your husband truly loved you when he mar- ried you, but his was not the love of a lifetime, such as i offered you, and which you rejected with scorn. my brother was not born to be a poor man and when my father disinherited him, he began to hate you be- cause of the blight you had cast over his life. he soon grew tired of you, and as he did not care to stain his soul with a worse crime, he had you ab- ducted and brought here.” “it was such a ridiculous story that i could not re- press a smile, in spite of my terrible situation. the idea of my husband being guilty of such a plot against the wife he had sworn to cherish was simply i io “that was all, my child, but who can describe the suffering it brought to me. i was faint and dizzy at the knowledge of my husband's baseness. it was all a mistake, his having married me, and oh! the pity of it—my child, my darling baby—was never to know its real mother. to be brought up in ignorance of her very existence. i wonder why it did not drive me mad. but it did not. nor did the other horrors that are presented to inmates of a lunatic asylum drive me mad. i stayed there for fifteen years— fifteen long, weary years, and when one night the asylum caught fire and i escaped, i was the same in mind as you, or as i am at this moment.” i i aspen. did he know that she had been to the house? true, the woman knew, but she had never seen her before, and therefore did not know her. she must find out how much he knew. so, recovering herself, she asked, laughingly: “what do you mean?” “you know what i mean,” said he angrily, stung by her manner. “you know that you came to the river house yesterday and caused her death.” “it is false!” “it is true. you cannot fool me, mona haw- thorne. why did you cause her death? answer me! why did you do it?” he had advanced upon her menacingly, his eyes blazing, his splendid physique trembling with pas- sion. mona was frightened. what would he do? this man loved the girl. would he betray her for the part she had played in it? would he avenge the girl's death by informing bertram of her sin? oh horrors! anything but that! there was madness in the thought. she must try to conciliate the man. “arnold” she said, “i admit that i did go to the river house but i did not kill the girl. she commit- ted suicide. when she found i had not come to re- lease her, she—she became desperate.” “is that all?” sneeringly. “yes,” eagerly coming forward. “and—and, is she—have they buried her?” “no.” “and why?” with a frown. “do yon want some- one to find out about her and begin making unpleas- ant inquiries. why hasn't she been buried?” “because she is gone.” ii “how is that, chief? how did you happen to fail?” “well, you men went off on your own hooks and i had to employ strangers to do the job. they did not know the bearings of the old banker's house, and the result was they botched the job and were caught.” “they were caught?” “yes, they were caught and it was a close call in my getting away.” “good!” exclaimed a few. “i am glad they were caught, for botching the job.” “it’s all very well to rejoice that they were caught, but you see, we missed the money in consequence.” “but, chief,” said one speaker, rather anxiously. “did you think they might squeal on us?” “no. well, it doesn't make any difference if they do. their squealing would have no effect for the simple reason that they do not know me—never saw my face, and furthermore, do not know of the band. but, boys,” continued the chief, lowering his voice a trifle, “since you speak of squealing, there is some- thing of importance i want to tell you.” instantly everybody was all attention. “boys,” continued the speaker, and the trembling of his voice showed that he was greatly excited. “boys, there is someone on our track—a spy.” there was a hoarse, angry roar, mingled with fear- ful oaths, and the men were on their feet in a mo- ment, flourishing their revolvers in the air. “a spy! a spy!” “who is he?” “tell us who he is !” “name him, chief!” i in some manner, just how she could never tell, as she turned, her arm came in contact with that of the woman, and the candle fell to the floor with a loud noise. the glass candlestick, which held the candle, made a terrible noise, and the noise came to the ears of those on the inside. there arose an angry, mad- dened roar: “a spy!” kill them!” “down with the spy!” was heard. - there was a series of vigorous blows against the partition, and as the partition was thin, it soon gave way. the next instant the excited men, with revol- vers in hand, came pouring through into the tunnel. i chapter xix. did not know his love. bertram heathcourt was perplexed as to what course to pursue. here he was to become the hus- band of mona hawthorne in five days, and he did not even love her. he not only did not love her but he found out that he loved another. yes, loved another. loved a woman he never saw but once and that at a distance, and who, as he thought, had never seen him. ever since mr. quimby's daughter had passed him on the street he had been thinking of her. her face haunted him. he wanted to know more of her. when he went to mr. quimby's house and found that she was missing, he was almost wild, although he held himself in control, and never by word or look betrayed to his old friend, the banker, that his heart was slowly but surely breaking. he called every day to learn if there was any news of the missing girl, only to hear with a heavy heart that there was none. he regretted a thousand times his hasty step in ask- ing mona to be his wife, out of pity. what was she to him that he should waste the best years of his life to make her happy? he asked himself, regretfully, thinking of how happy he would be with viola, should she put in her appearance. he could not un- derstand himself or his love. was he a fickle man, that his love could change with every pretty face he met? he asked himself in surprise,and yet he was sure that he had loved, and still did love, viola. every time he thought of her it was with the same yearning tenderness that he thought of the banker's daughter. why was it? which did he love? these terrible i questions were unanswerable, and his attempting to answer them was telling on him daily. his steps grew slow and halting, his brow was thoughtful, and the lines were becoming deeper and deeper on his noble forehead, and around his handsome mobile mouth. each day that he called to see mona she noticed that there was a slight increase of silver threads among the gold of his hair, and her heart smote her for an instant, only an instant, when she saw that he was becoming prematurely old. one morning bertram called at the house of his betrothed, his face shining with a grim resolution. he had been sitting up all night, trying to solve this momentous problem of his life. should he submit to this marriage and so bring the curse of god on their heads? should he spoil both their lives by doing this wicked thing? for since he had begun to think the matter over, he could see that it was wicked. not to marry mona was his determination. he would go to mona's mother and lay his case before her, and if she was a woman with reason and a heart, she would see that the best thing to do would be to release him from the engagement, and she would do it. she could then explain all to her daughter, and that would save him the necessity of witnessing her sorrow, for he told himself he could not stand it. so, with a heart light with hope, he had gone this morn- ing to put his plan into operation. mona had been expecting him. therefore when he came she met him at the door and admitted him. she was also expecting to have him all to herself this morning. bertram noticed the eager light in her eyes and suspecting that something was in the wind, pressed a cold kiss on her brow and made haste to inquire for her mother. i “i have something to say to her alone that is im- portant,” he said, in answer to her look of surprise. “oh! certainly,” she said, sweetly, ringing for a servant, “you can see mamma all you want, now, be- cause i will soon have you all to myself, and neither mamma nor any one else can come between us.” bertram winced at these words and was rather glad when the servant came and announced the fact that mrs. hawthorne would see him upstairs in her sitting-room, and straightaway he repaired to the place mentioned. “it’s very peculiar—very peculiar—that he wants to see her, and alone, too. he has always shunned her as much as possible since i told him about her. i must hear what it is he says, must. i believe that i am the subject of this interview. strange—strange that i should feel that this is my very last happy day —that i shall never know another.” “there is only one thing that will make me un- happy, and if that should happen”—mona stopped and drew a deep breath, and her face became abso- lutely fiendish in its expression. suddenly she started and a low laugh was hissed from between her livid lips—a laugh that would make little chills creep up one's back, as if a blast had blown on one from an empty grave. “i must hear what is being said,” she muttered, in tense tones, and with that she flew up the stairs to a chamber adjoining her mother's sitting-room and standing behind the heavy velvet hangings that sepa- rated the apartments she listened to her doom. chapter xx. bertram's mistake. bertram found mrs. hawthorne robed in a pretty satin wrapper, with some fancy-work laying grace- fully across her lap. after the usual greeting he plunged without any preliminaries into the topic nearest his heart. “mrs. hawthorne i have come to you on a mis- sion of mercy.” “is that so?” in surprise. “well, state your mis- sion, and if it is reasonable, i shall be happy to be merciful.” “mrs. hawthorne, i have discovered that i made a mistake in offering my hand to your daughter. i do not love her.” the woman started violently. her face turned an ashen-gray hue. there was a roaring in her ears, and it was by the mightiest effort of will that she kept from fainting. recovering, she said coldly: “sir! i do not understand you. i thought you loved my daughter, or else why did you win her heart and offer to marry her?” “mrs. hawthorne,” said bertram, slowly. he was pained. how could he betray, even to the mother, the pleadings of the daughter for his love. it seemed to him as if it should be held sacred, but there was no other way to do. and so in a straightforward, modest way, he told her all, dwelling quite severely on the part that she had played in the affair as repre- sented by mona. when he had finished she sat look- ing straight before her, pale as a marble statue. “did mona, my own child, tell that wicked lie?” she asked, more to herself than to him, “lie! good heavens, mrs. hawthorne, what do you mean?” mrs. hawthorne aroused herself. there were lines of pain on her face, and for the first time in his life bertram thought she looked noble. noble she should look; noble she did look. for there was a noble reso- lution in her heart. if her daughter was wicked enough to tell so base a lie on the mother who bore her, lowering her and making her appear a con- temptible deceiver, then that daughter was not fit to be the wife of this good man—of any honest man. “mr. heathcourt, i am not a good woman, but i love my daughter, and for her sake i have schemed and planned, done everything except actual sin to promote her welfare. i have done these things for her, not through any selfish motive—and the thanks i have received—oh! heavens! but it is hard ' to think that my daughter, my own child, should lower me in the estimation of my acquaintances; should make me appear a liar and a cheat. mr. heathcourt, i have been cold to you when you were poor; mer- cenary toward you when you came into wealth, but i did not write that note to you; do not even know that you wrote one. i now pronounce my daugh- ter's story a base, wicked fabrication, and i absolve you from your engagement with her. go! you are free!” at the same time there came to their ears a low moan, accompanied by a heavy fall in the apartment adjoining and on appearing there found mona in a dead faint on the floor, her hand clutching the lace at her throat as if in agony. tenderly bertram placed her on the couch, and the maid, who had come in answer to the mother's ring, began applying restora- i i chapter xxi. burglars break in on mrs. smith and viola. mrs. smith's presence of mind did not desert her for an instant. when the very first blow was struck on the frail partition, she knew that she had to act, and act quickly. so, seizing the girl by the arms, she shoved her under the stairs which they had just de- scended. she was just preparing to follow herself when the angry men began pouring into the passage. heaven only knows what would have happened if their anger had not given way to surprise. at sight of the woman, the men involuntarily halted, and stared at her aghast. they were so sure it was a man. they soon became repossessed with anger and made a combined rush toward her. “a female detective! slit her gullet!” “hold!” - the effect was electrical. the command rang out like a clarion. they were accustomed to obeying that voice when it was heard. and this occasion was no exception to the rule. the chief advanced, and turning to the men, said: “do not injure the woman yet.” “but, chief,” they all remonstrated, “we’ve just swore to kill all spies at sight.” “that's it,” answered the chief. “but is she a spy? do not injure her yet. we’ll carry her into the den and question her. if she does not give a satisfactory reason for being here, why, she'll die, that's all.” viola, under the steps, heard these terrible words with bated breath. she knew the woman would never tell why she was there, and the result would be death. a cold sweat broke out over her at the thought i ing stupidly at her. finally he said, in a husky whis- per: “you! viola dunkirk! i thought you were (lead!” - “i wish i were,” groaned the poor girl. “oh! i wish i were. father in heaven let me die!” the man had now fully recovered from the shock of the meeting, and he saw the necessity of getting her out of the way before any of his pals saw her. so, taking her by the arm, he said: “come along with me.” “i will not—i will scream for help.” he stooped and picked up his pistol and pointed it at her, while an angry gleam shot into his eyes, and said: “if you do not come with me without any trouble i will kill you where you stand.” viola like the most of women was mortally afraid of a pistol and it proved more of a persuader than anything else that could have been done. “don't! don’t point it at me!” covering her face with her hands that she might not see it. “i will do as you say. i will go with you, indeed i will.” “very well, then, come on.” he led her along the long passage until they came to a door. he took a key from his pocket and in- serting it in the door, opened it. then he led her across a room to another door through which they passed. then they ascended a flight of stairs and en- tered another room that was furnished just like the one in which she had been previously imprisoned. and but for its being larger, she would have thought that she was in the same room. “now, viola, my darling,” he said, after fastening i hall she flew up the stairs like a flash, and soon re- turned, wearing a black dress and veil. taking a dark hat from the rack she ran down the steps and opened the gate just as the hack drove up to the next door. at the same moment an old man came along the sidewalk going in the opposite direction. he stopped and gave her a scrutinizing glance and turned and looked at the vehicle, and without a word passed on his way. bessie was annoyed at the man's curious actions, and waited to see him out of sight. the man was evidently not thinking of her, for he crossed the street and disappeared around the corner. then bessie closed the gate softly and gliding up to the hack like a shadow, disappeared under it. the next moment the minister came down the steps and entered the carriage, and they were all whirled swiftly away. i i face, come out of the door, down the steps and hob- ble toward the stable. bessie's heart beat with joy as she noticed that the woman did not lock the door. as soon as the woman disappeared she came from her place of concealment and approached the door. the unseen figure all the time kept the same distance from her. she put her hand on the knob and turned it. the door flew open and she stepped across the threshold. before she could close the door a sudden gust of wind blew out the light and she was in total darkness. she closed the door however, and began feeling her way toward the place where she had last seen another door. she found it and opening it passed through. she stopped still and listened, and after a moment the sound of voices was borne to her ears from a room on the left. looking up the passage from whence the voices came she saw a single ray of light shooting out from a key- hole. eagerly she went toward it, and reaching the door she knelt by the side of the keyhole and listened. sk sk >k >k * s >k * poor viola, when she was left alone stood where she was for twenty minutes at least. finally, with a weary sigh, she cast herself down upon the iron cot. not to weep. oh, no! she was past weeping, poor girl. but to think. lying there, she began to think over her past life, from the time she left school, a happy, hopeful girl. how, although poor, she was free from care. these were her every thought until the first blow in the form of her father’s death came. then how happy she had been working for her poor, invalid mother. then she thought of the time when i * “well, if you will release me,” she said, eagerly, “i will give it to you.” but to this the woman gave no answer. “if that is not enough,” she continued, her face flushing with hope, as she saw the woman's silence, and thought she might be won over to her side “i will add this to it,” going down in her pocket and pulling out her watch. and when i get home i will give you five hundred dollars besides.” the woman smiled a sarcastic smile as she said: “it ain't no use, miss. i know that you haven't got that much to your name. mr. arnold said so. he said you was a poor lacemaker, and if you is, how is yer going to give me five hundred dollars?” viola's heart sank, and tears of disappointment started to her eyes. “indeed, i am rich, and i will do as i say. i have just been adopted by rich people, and if you release me they will remunerate you.” “i don’t believe a word on it. say, miss, if they're so rich, why don't they do somethin about findin' you? i know there's detectives 'nough in washin'ton to find a needle in a haystack. why hasn't they found you, eh?” viola saw that the woman was not to be convinced and with a last wail of despair, cried: “oh! my good woman, for pity’s sake, for heaven's sake, release me. surely you could not stand by quietly and see one of your own sex in sore trouble and not come to her assistance. no woman could do that.” “i am sorry, miss, but i can't do you no good. why, you doesn’t know nothin'. mr. arnold would kill me if i was to loose you. i couldn't think o' i chapter xxiv. arnold attempts bigamy—wife objects. the objection to the marriage fell upon the trio like an exploding bomb, and the effect upon each was different. the minister with surprise and annoy- ance. viola with hope and joy. arnold campbell with—well, no one knows what the emotion or emo- tions with which he gazed at that slim, pale figure standing in the doorway, pointing her finger at him in condemnation, and lifting a pair of big accusing eyes at him—the figure of his wronged wife, bessie. had he been confronted by a ghost he could not have been paler or more rigid. “bessie! alive!” was all that he could say. “i pronounce this marriage a sacrilege, and forbid it to proceed any further.” “why, my dear woman?” asked the minister, seri- ously. “because that man has a wife living.” “it's a lie!” gulped the baffled villain. “has a wife living?” said the minister. “that is a serious matter. how do you know he has a wife living?” “because i am his wife.” the minister frowned as the words rang out clear and firm. - viola uttered a glad cry and burst into tears of joy. arnold stood pale and still as a statue. he could not utter a word. his tongue seemed paralyzed. “can you prove what you say, my good woman? have you a certificate?” bessie faltered for a moment. in her previous excitement she had forgotten all about the certificate i “well, sir,” said the minister, “are you prepared to prove that this young woman is the wife of this young man?” “yes, sir.” “well, where is your proof, sir?” “there it is,” going into his pocket and bringing out a folded paper. “here is mrs. campbell’s mar- arge certificate.” * bessie uttered a glad cry as she caught sight of that precious document, and sprang eagerly forward, taking it from him and kissed it, and pressed it to her bosom, while tears flowed freely from her eyes. campbell, on realizing that he had been foiled, sprang forward with a cry like that of a wounded animal and clutched the old man by the throat. he expected to have a picnic in throttling the old man, but it seemed as if the old man objected to taking a part in the feast, for with a quick motion of his mus- cular arm he threw off arnold's grasp and catching him by the collar he shook him until his teeth chat- tered. the old man seemed well preserved, and his joints very firm, as he danced around like a whirl- wind. with a quick sweep of his feet, he tripped arnold's legs from under him, and before the baffled villain realized what had happened, he found his wrists securely encircled by a pair of steel “darbies.” “who are you, man?” gasped arnold. “who am i?” quizzically echoed the old man. “yes, who are you? what right have you to com- mit this outrage?” “by the right of the law,” sternly. “man, i am dick turpin, the detective.” with a groan the prostrate villain closed his eyes. he had fainted outright. i and found that it was a marriage certificate. i re- solved to keep it, as it would enable me to spring a trap on the villain when he least expected it. every- thing went well until to-night, when i met this young lady at her gate. i recognized her and seeing the carriage standing so close by, i thought there was something wrong. so i passed on and crossing the street, hid behind a tree and saw her crawl among the springs of the vehicle. it happened that the car- riage passed by me, and i had no trouble in springing up behind it, and we all rode out together. the rest you know.” i chapter xxv. villain pleads for mercy. by this time arnold had regained consciousness and as he realized that his race was run, he began to whine for mercy, but it had no effect on the stony- hearted detective. after a while viola spoke. “oh, sir, that man has made a good woman, who was with me, a prisoner. make him tell you where she is, and release her.” that was not hard to do. arnold seemed, on ac- count of his defeat, to be all down and out, and readily told where she was. soon mrs. smith was clasped in the arms of her friends. when they had become quiet the detective stepped out and gave a shrill whistle. in an instant a man appeared. “hurry to town, fitch,” said the detective, “and get the patrol wagon.” in an incredibly short space of time the patrol wagon arrived. - “well,” said the detective, “we are all here and as our business is completed here, we might as well va- cate.” they all reached the city safely, and by the request of the detective, all save the minister remained in quarters prepared by him. he had a hard time to persuade viola to remain overnight. “i cannot remain,” she said. “my father and mother are anxious about me, and besides”— she did not finish, but a deep flush completed the statement. i “oh! he is all right,” said the detective, in his bluff, hearty manner. “you need have no fear on that score.” “but,” she said, shyly, dropping her eyes. “you do not understand that he is to be married to that woman to-morrow, and i must try and prevent that.” “you need not be uneasy,” said mr. turpin. “i will attend to things all right, and besides, if i did not it would be just the same. the engagement be- tween them is off. i want to see you with rosy cheeks when i come in the morning. you are very pale now.” he did not know that it was a rush of happiness that had made her pale, and what a struggle she had to keep from fainting outright from excess of joy. bertram heathcourt, in spite of the blight that had fallen upon him, was happier as he rang the doorbell of the great banker, mr. quimby, on the succeeding morning, than he had been for months. as soon as he was admitted he inquired for the banker. mr. quimby was looking very ill. his steps were grow- ing feeble and he was becoming morose and thoughtful, in strong contrast with his once buoyant step and hearty, jolly air. although he had no news for bertram, that did not quench the ardor of his hopefulness. after the usual greeting, bertram con- fided his secret to the old banker and you may be sure that the old gentleman was as pleased as he was surprised. he heartily sympathized with the young man and made up his mind that he would redouble his efforts to find his daughter. on her face, was the almost strange, but dearly loved mother. the next instant they were clasped in each other's arms. mother and son were reunited. chapter xxviii. bessie consents. as has been stated bessie had been the companion of viola since the latter's rescue. all the remon- strances of bessie could not make viola change her decision that after her marriage bessie should come to the park and continue to live there, and as bert- ram so earnestly voiced the sentiment, bessie con- sented. - viola and bertram both sympathized with the poor girl. they knew that she had suffered and they did all they could to make her happy. the detective, too, seemed to take a great interest in the girl. he had advised her to go to her parents and tell them all, and he was sure they would forgive her and take her back to their hearts. but when he had told her to do this, she had shrunk from him as if he had cut her with a lash. “oh! no, no! i could never go to them with my wrecked life, and then, too, i know that they would never forgive me. never! it will soon be all over. don't you see that i am getting thinner and thinner every day? mr. turpin, i am slowly but surely dy- ing.” the detective started and exclaimed huskily: “for god's sake, don’t speak so! i cannot bear it. if anything of the kind should occur it would kill me. i—i could not bear it. i—” and he stopped and turning abruptly, left her alone. >k >k >k >k >k >k >k >k the window, threw it up, thinking that the cool air would make her feel better and refreshed. “what was that?” she could have sworn that she saw a dark-robed figure skulking along in the shrubbery. no, it was all a fancy of—no, there it is again, sneaking along as if it did not desire to be seen. what did it mean? bessie's first impulse was to arouse the house, but then she thought it might possibly be some servant who had been out for a time, and she had no desire to cause anyone trouble. she was sure it was a ser- vant when she saw the figure turn in towards the servants' rooms and disappear behind the house. so she drew her chair beside the window and gave her- self up to thought. presently the clock on the man- tel struck one. no sooner had the sound died away when another sound came to her ears. what was it? nothnig. her imagination was playing pranks with her. hark! there it was again! she was sure she heard stealthy footsteps pass her door. she arose softly, and going to the door quietly opened it and peeped out. yes! there it was, the figure of a woman in black. what did it mean? this was not the servants' part of the house and if she was a servant what did she want there? did bertram have any dishonest persons in his employ? what was she doing sneak- ing in this portion of the house? impelled by some force stronger than herself she noiselessly glided after her. she saw the woman pass swiftly along the hall and stop at viola's door and after trying a few keys in the lock, opened it and passed in. bessie was close at her heels. viola al- chapter xxix. would-be murderer falls to death. the woman turned with a stifled cry of fright and fled toward the door. bessie had to go a little dis- tance from the door in order to seize the bell cord, and before she could return to it, the woman had darted through and toward the staircase. bessie gave chase and so close was she to her that she man- aged to catch the shawl from her shoulder. this caused the woman to redouble her efforts to escape, and she made a spurt forward and began lowering her veil. this proved the most disastrous thing she could have done. in lowering her veil it momentarily cut off her view ahead. failing to see the marble statue just at the point where she was to turn to de- scend the stairs, resulted in her running against it with force enough to have killed some people. she was simply momentarily checked and started off again, but the statue had fallen directly across her path, and as she started forward she tripped. strug- gling desperately to regain her equilibrium, she trip- ped again, falling headlong down the heavy oak stairs, bouncing from step to step, finally landing in a heap thirty feet below, with a sickening thud. bes- sie stopped and covered her face with her hands in horror. the servants began to arrive on the scene half- dressed, with terror-stricken faces. “what is the trouble?” asked bertram, who had just arrived. “what does it all mean?” bessie was trembling like an aspen, and could not speak from horror. bertram, after notifying the authorities, and after the inquest had been held over the remains of mona, had instructed the jurors not to give the facts in the case to the newspapers. they complied and the jury found a verdict that the deceased had met death by accidently falling down stairs in the house of ber- tram heathcourt. bertram ordered the body buried at his expense, and placed in a plot in the clairmount cemetery, near the family vault of the heathcourts. * >k >k >k >k x >k >k >k two years have passed and bessie is still at the park. she is looking paler and growing thinner every day. so much so, in fact, that it has become quite noticeable to those with whom she daily came in contact. bertram and viola have advised a change of air and scenery, but she would not hear of it. she had also refused to follow the advice of mr. turpin, and return to her parents, whom he was confident would forgive her. it seemed as if she was waiting for something. every day she would look up eagerly when the mail arrived, and if there was anything for her, after reading it, she would sigh heavily, as if it was not from the one she expected. the days flew by into weeks, and weeks into months. one day the detective drove to the park with an expression of grim determination on his face. he in- quired for bessie, and when they were alone, in his quick but earnest manner and without any parleying, he began straightway to lay his heart at her feet. “it breaks my heart to see you dying by inches -- five years have elapsed. two women are standing on the broad piazza at the park admiring the beauti- ful sunset. it needs but one glance to tell that they are the two mrs. heathcourts. mrs. heathcourt, the elder, is still beautiful, although her brow is becoming wrinkled and her hair gray. viola is almost the same viola as of old, only she is becoming less fragile look- ing. her superb form has in it now the fulness of matronhood, and her cheeks the same glow, her eyes the same sparkle as she gazes on the crimson sky as they had shown that afternoon on the cliff, when she was in such imminent danger. together the two women turned as the sun was sinking behind the western horizon, and walked along the piazza to the other side of the house, where they stopped to gaze at the pretty picture that their eyes beheld. - seated in an easy chair is bertram, handsome as ever, a tiger-skin rug under his feet, and he is divid- ing his attention between an old virginia cheroot, a newspaper and a curly golden head peeping up be- tween his knees. mrs. bertram heathcourt, while standing quietly hy, gazing on, bent forward over the back of the chair in which was seated her love, tenderly placed her arms around his neck and gently pressed a kiss on bertram's forehead. suddenly the little tot of four summers called out: “mamma! gamma! here tums my uzzer gamma an' gampa timby” “yes, yes,” said viola, smiling. “bless him,” said mrs. heathcourt, the elder, “bless him ! god bless you all, my children!” and together they go down the steps to meet the newly-arrived party. the end. - |- -|- flight also by walter white the fire in the flint sinclair lewis writes: “the fire in the flint is splendidly courageous, rather terrifying and of the highest significance.” - º walter white f l i g h t new york & london a l fr e d - a - kno pf mcmxxvi copyright, i , by alfred a. knopf, inc. published, april, i seco nd printing, j uly, i manufactured in the united states of america ( a, º'ck p . w) & pºſ for my daughter jane flight flight incisive mr. robertson kissed mary and mimi brusquely, shook hands with jean and hustled them through the waiting- room labeled “for coloured” to the sidewalk where a horse- drawn surrey was waiting. “no-no,” shouted mr. robertson as the driver started down the street. “go around by pryor street and from there down auburn avenue.” to the daquins he explained: “if he’d gone that way he'd have carried you through decatur and ivy streets—that's the slum district—saloons and houses he paused significantly, looking at mimi. “pretty bad,” he added. “lowest kind of negroes.” but mimi did not hear him nor even the newsboy who ran alongside the cab shouting: “extry! all about the japs licking the rooshians! all about th' big battle!” because it was terra incognita to her she tried to see everything as eagerly as she had watched the land from the car window in the long ride from new orleans. spring was in the air. the cab, to the accompaniment of various cluckings, “gid- d aps,” go-long-theres” of the ancient driver, joggled and bounced over the belgian block pavement. mimi sniffed the air eagerly, anticipatorily. the carriage rumbled and jerked through the ghostly con- fines of shut business houses, turned into auburn avenue lined with blowzy boarding-houses, their porches lined with men and women, a loud, staccato, mirthless laugh occasion- ally floating on the breeze. soon the scene changed. black and brown and yellow faces replaced the white, the laughs be- came more frequent, more rich, more spontaneous. the april evening seemed more filled with the sheer joy of living. to mimi the sudden change was pleasant, warming, inviting. jean, sunk dejectedly in the seat beside the driver so that only the top of his black, crumpled felt hat showed above the high seat, was too engrossed in delightfully painful nostalgia for his new orleans to notice anything. mary and her father [ ] f light were eagerly discussing the change in the lives of the daquins, which to them both seemed so altogether admirable and de- sirable there was no questioning of its wisdom. “got to rush right back to chicago thursday—election this fall and two or three important deals—had to see you get started off right—” floated in mr. robertson's crisp tones to jean. “you were a darling to come all the way to atlanta,” gushed mary. “nothing at all—nothing at all,” declared her father. he pronounced it “nothing a-tall.” “wanted to see you get introduced in the right circles, too. gene thinks his creole crowd's stuck-up and exclusive—these atlanta negroes'll show him a trick or two for fair. got to get in right—or you’ll never get in.” jean, who squirmed every time mr. robertson familiarly called him “gene,” found his old hostility to mr. robertson, his voice, his ideas, his coarseness, rising higher than ever before. his gratitude to him in the train began to vanish. he wished fervently his father-in-law had remained in chicago. he hated his high-handed method of interfering in his and mary's and mimi's most private affairs. money—money—money—how much is it worth?—how much can i make out of it?—these were the first, last and intermediate stages of mr. robertson's every thought, every statement, every action. i’ll go through with it, thought jean, but i’ll never let my soul be turned into a money- grubber's. the resolution, even though he knew it couldn't possibly be carried out completely in this new world he was entering, nevertheless gave jean some comfort. . . . mrs. plummer waddled down the hall, pushed open the screen door, and slapped with the corner of her gingham apron at the insects which buzzed inside. “these nasty bugs’ll be the death of me yet,” she complained to her com- [ ] flight panion, mrs. sophronisba king, lean, acidulous, suspicious of all humans and their motives save her own. mrs. king was as curveless as a young sapling as she went around the room giving quick little jabs at the furniture with an oiled cloth, pursuing relentlessly bits of dust which had settled upon the chairs and table and mantelpiece since late after- in oon. “heard the news about that lizzie stone?” she asked mrs. plummer. “you ain’t?” she demanded incredulously when mrs. plummer shamefacedly admitted she had not. the pos- session of a juicy morsel which had not yet come to her friend's ears caused mrs. king's skinny frame to swell with prideful importance. “why, honey, it's all over town!” “she always seemed to me such a nice, christian girl—so quiet and respectable—” “mis’ plummer, them's the very ones who'll fool you nine times out of ten—they go to church and they's sweet as pie in the daytime—but slipping and sliding into all sorts of devilment.” mrs. plummer's ears seemed to stretch out from her head in her eagerness to learn the derelictions of lizzie stone. “tell me what she's done. you know my heart's bad and the doctor told me i couldn't stand much excitement,” she pleaded. “you know jerry reed—he's head of the royal united order of heavenly reapers?” “’cose i do—ain't i a member of the ladies auxil’ry?” “you know, mis’ plummer, i ain't one of these no-count women who runs around town meddlin’ in other folks's business—i stays at home and tends to my own bus'ness.” “’cose you don't, mis’ king—ev'rybody knows you don’t gossip. but what's lizzie and jerry reed been doing?” “i’ll tell you, mis’ plummer, though i ain't vouching for [ ] flight the truth of it 'cause i wasn't there to see it with my own eyes—but they tell me they saw lizzie getting in jerry reed's automobile down on auburn avenue late last tuesday night —and he had all the curtains up.” “you don't say! a body'd think she'd have mo’ sense than to do her dirt so bold like! i always heard that jerry reed wouldn't have a girl work for him unless he could get fresh with her. the nerve of her—she was at church last sunday, struttin’ round just as brazen as any fancy woman!” “lord, mis’ plummer, i don't know what's gettin' into these coloured folks—they gettin' mo’ like white folks ev'ry day. comes from workin’ in white folks' houses and in these here hotels—seein’ all their dirt and thinkin’ they got to do the same things white folks does.” “that's the god's truth! and say, mis’ king, did you know these new folks is cath’lics? well, they is—their name's ‘day-quinn' or ‘day-kin’ or something frenchy like that. he's goin’ to work down to the lincoln mutual life insurance company—that's the company got them swell offices down auburn avenue.” “cath’lics, is they? any time i hear tell of coloured folks bein’ anything 'cept baptists or methodists i know some white man's been tamperin’ with their religion. that's what booker t. said once and he sho’ did know what he was talkin' *hout.” “that's the god's truth! wonder where these folks goin' to church? they tell me down in n’awleens where there's so many furriners most anybody can go where they please long's they ain’t black. but they better not try it in georgia.” “is you got a picture, mis’ plummer, of any coloured folks no matter what kinda religion they got stickin’ their heads in that ‘sacred heart” church out peachtree street? white folks talk about jesus but the only jesus they thinkin' 'bout's [ ] f light got a white skin. an’ the only heaven they want's one got a sign on it ten foot high, “no niggers allowed in here.’” “lord, mis' king, there they come. an' me settin' here talkin'. i bet them 'taters done boiled to death!” mrs. plummer rocked briskly in the chair wherein she had rested her weary frame. the needed momentum gained, she heaved her bulky person to her feet and disappeared in the general direction of the kitchen as through the open door mr. robertson's hearty voice came: “well, folks, here we are!” . . . mimi and jean and mary climbed down from the surrey and entered the house. mrs. plummer, her potatoes looked after with incredible speed considering her size, greeted them as though she were welcoming them into her own home. “come right in! come right in! i know you must be as tired as all-out-doors. my name's mrs. plummer—i live right down the street and mr. robertson got me to sorter fix things up—” she poured forth. - “mrs. king! mrs. king!” she called. mrs. king hastened from the kitchen, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand as she came, scanning the arrivals from head to foot in one swift, critical—very critical—glance. “this is mrs. king,” introduced mrs. plummer grandly. “she was nice enough to help too.” mrs. king nodded in rapid succession to the three, adding one for mr. robertson though she had seen him only an hour before. he had employed only mrs. plummer to clean up the house and arrange everything but it had not been a difficult matter to persuade mrs. king to assist—it gave both women ample opportunity to examine at their leisure each piece of furniture and to speculate on its probable cost. without taking off her hat, mme. daquin (mrs. plummer called her mrs. day-queen) rushed from room to room of the two-storied house. on the first floor there was a living- [ ] f light room, “the parlour,” to the left as one entered the door, back of that the dining-room and then the kitchen. to the right were steps leading to the floor above, behind them a small room to be used instead of the more formal parlour and dining-room which apparently were opened only when com- pany came. above stairs were two fairly large bedrooms above the parlour and dining-room, while a small bathroom, its woodwork painted a yellowish white, and a third and smaller bedroom opened on the other side of the narrow hall. “this big front room will be mine,” decided mme. daquin, half to mrs. plummer and mrs. king, who had accompanied her on the tour of discovery and appraisement, and half to herself, “jean will sleep in the next room, while mimi gets the little room off the hall.” “that po” little skinny man downstairs with the funny moustache don't seem to have much to say in this house,” whispered mis’ king to her companion as they followed mme. daquin. “”tain't hard to see who wears the pants in this family.” like beagles they followed every word, every expression. their scanty store of information about the new-comers would be sufficient, when amplified during their mutual discussions on the morrow, as foundation of the extensive tales they would bear to eager ears in the neighbourhood. downstairs mimi sat in the parlour, wearied, but interested in sizing up her new home. she was perched in a huge chair, of brilliantly polished oak, the seat and back of plum- coloured damask. the chandelier was of intricately twisted bands of metal painted a dull gold which formed weird and awesome designs on the ceiling in the reflections from the flick- ering gas lights. underneath it there sat an oak table with elaborately, fantastically carved legs, covered with a faded tap- estry centre-piece. on it rested a fat family album of red [ ] flight plush, a diamond-shaped mirror in the centre. near it rested an odd-shaped instrument that mimi longed to examine but which she contemplated from afar for fear of incurring a frown from mr. robertson, who was advising or, rather, ordering jean regarding the steps he must take to “get on” in his new position. the object was of dark polished wood, a long rod serving as a sort of backbone. at the end was a glass partly enclosed with a little wooden fence, on the rod below was a handle. at the other end was a slotted rack. near this odd object rested a pile of cards. gently raising herself by her elbows pressed against the arms of the chair, mimi could see a brightly coloured picture of a mountain scene on the topmost card. she made a mental resolution to explore this mystery at the earliest possible time. “. . . and to-morrow morning right after breakfast you'll go with me to the office, gene, where i’ll introduce you to hunter—he's the president of the lincoln—watkins, jones and the rest of the crowd. they're a live bunch—that is, live for this town but pretty small potatoes up in chicago, and they've got a gold mine insuring all the coloured folks here in the south. i want you to stick to the job—no monkey business or i’m through, you hear me?—and you'll make so much money you’ll wonder how you ever managed to stick in that dead old hole of new orleans.” mr. robertson's words came to mimi sharply as his voice rose. he took a fat cigar from his pocket, bit the end from it and tossed the severed bit through the open window. she disliked this bossy old man intensely. she looked at jean, wondering that he so calmly submitted to the dictatorial at- titude of the man who, though his father-in-law, was not many years his senior. but jean heard his words only vaguely, if he heard them at all. he sat beside his wife's father on the couch that matched the chair on which mimi perched and gazed through the window, the thin white curtains opening and [ ] f light closing as a faint breeze stirred them. somewhere outside, a voice, throaty but rich, plaintively sang of his woes and his “blues”: “i’m jes' as misabul as i can be, i'm unhappy even if i am free, i'm feelin' down, i'm feelin' blue; i wander round, don't know what to do. i'm go'na lay mah haid on de railroad line, let de b. & o. come and pacify mah min’.” the voice died away in the distance but the poignant, nostalgic longing of the unseen singer remained. jean and mimi, used to the creole dilution of the negro songs, sat straining their ears to catch every note of this barbaric, mel- ancholy wail as it died in the distance, a strange thrill filling them. the swiftly moving tragedy of the song, dying off abruptly as though the singer was too full for further words, stirred them both to the exclusion of all else. again a voice was heard, this time a woman's: “these men i love, honey, sho’ do make me tiahed, these men i love, honey, sho’ do make me tiahed. they got a han'fulla gimme an' a mouth fulla much oblige.” a loud laugh greeted the end of her song. “hey dere, babe, what'cha doin’?” called the first voice, and in response to the reply: “nothin' much. come on in!” the two voices mingled in indistinct words, punctuated fre- quently with laughter, gay, rich and in unison. “gene, are you listening to what i'm telling you?” snapped mr. robertson, and jean came back to realities with a start. “certainly! certainly!” jean hastened to assure him. mr. robertson eyed him suspiciously and then, as the look of apparent interest on jean's face seemed to satisfy him, he [ ] f light continued his instructions. no sooner had be begun again, however, before jean's mind began to wander once more. he hoped fervently the singers would again begin but the warm night wrapped them in its vast silence. mimi welcomed her step-mother, who came briskly down the stairs followed at a respectful distance by her two com- panions. “everything's just lovely and i don't know really how to thank you, papa,” she bubbled. “mimi, you’d better run upstairs and get your face and hands washed. mrs. plummer tells me she's fixed supper for us and we don't want it to get cold. jean, you and papa'd better do the same thing and don't take all night getting back.” napoleon, caesar, alexander never spoke to common soldiers more brusquely nor with greater assurance that their commands would be obeyed. nor did it occur to mimi or jean to protest—both were too much under the domination of this person who would never be familiar to either of them. [ ] cha pter ii uring the meal mme. daquin and her father talked ani- matedly of the new life of the daquins, for which the two of them were so largely responsible. but the thoughts which ran through the heads of jean daquin and mimi dealt with the past and especially with the rapid changes which a few weeks had wrought. though neither of them knew precisely what the other was thinking, their minds were going over the events which had taken place since that morning which had been the beginning of the new order of things. had some person possessing the powers of wizardry, an adept in the process of thought amalgamation, been present and woven a picture made of the fragments which filled jean's and mimi's minds, the product of his labours would have re- sulted somewhat after this fashion. . . . it was a sunny morning in new orleans several weeks past. jean daquin tapped gently on the door. no answer came. again he tapped—tapped—tapped. again there was silence. carefully he pushed open the heavy door, which groaned dismally on its ancient hinges. from within there came the rhythmic inhaling of breath of a sound sleeper. jean tiptoed to the deep casemented window and drew aside the heavy curtains of dusty wine-coloured velvet. warm, intoxicating louisiana sunshine tumbled into the room as though a giant hand had loosed a celestial sluice- gate. with the yellow flood poured the sensuous blend of odours—of wild honeysuckle, of cherokee rose in full bloom, of hyacinth, of oleander. jean stood at the window, his arms [ ] flight raised clutching the draperies, and took deep draughts of the air heady as old wine. the trees and flowers sparkled in the sunshine, covered with glittering beads of water from the recently ended shower. his tiny garden enclosed with the crumbling brick wall had never seemed so beautiful. he picked out one by one the flowers he had planted and tended—the oleander-bush by the house, which, a generation before, had quartered the slave house servants. it was in bloom now, the ground beneath it covered over with salver-shaped white petals. there near it was the bed of pansies—bernard dieux, sleeping the long sleep in old st. louis cemetery this year and a half had given him the cuttings. over to the left was the cherokee rose in whose shade he had spent many happy hours, reading a part of the time, more often just sitting and dreaming. many a day he had sat there or in the cool quietness of the decaying servant house, two-storied, of brick laid between heavy posts, briqueté entre poteaux. its walls were slowly crumbling these late years and its bricks were covered with greenish mould but the old house was sturdily standing up, despite its years, against all the furies of rain and sun that beat upon it. there jean had sat in the rickety chair and sucked into his nostrils the faint fragrance of his orange-trees that grew just inside and along the old wall. he loved to rest his eyes grown weary with the printed page on their blackish green foliage that provided so perfect a background for their tiny fruit—little globules of deep yellow gold. but he loved these best when they were shedding their flowers—“a steam of rich distilled perfumes,” bernard, who was given to quotation of poetry, used to say of the orange-trees. “jean! why don't you come down?” a strident, querulous voice from below stirred him. jean hastily quitted the win- dow and shuffled over to the huge and elaborately carved bed. “mimi" mimi! wake up! your mother's in an awful [ ] fl i g ht humour this morning! get up quickly before she comes and gets us both!” the sleeper stirred, turned over and recommenced her steady breathing. the rays of the sunlight touched her hair as her head rolled to one side. in the shadow it had seemed brown. before jean's eyes it underwent a miraculous trans- formation as the tiny rays of light picked out the coppery brilliance that here was auburn, and there shaded off into a deeper reddish colour. it was like spun gold dipped in flam- ing cochineal. the curls in tangled disarray framed the oval, cream-coloured face. half full lips were slightly parted, even teeth gleaming from the red frame. mimi lay stretched on the bed, the bed-clothes pushed towards its foot, her slender body covered only with the thin night-dress. small soft breasts rose and fell gently, the promise of ap- proaching womanhood revealed in the curves of her rapidly maturing body. jean looked at his daughter, his eyes half filled with joy at her warm beauty, half with troubled anxiety. he had seen too much of life to be unaware of what his child's delicate and fragile beauty might bring to her. at times he had al- most wished she were less attractive—when he walked with her along the streets he watched with envious, jealous eyes the glances mimi, though not yet fourteen, drew instinctively from the men, young and old. he was proud of her, of course—many girls of eighteen or nineteen were not half so well formed. yet, he feared for her and, more often than not, his apprehension swept over and wiped out his joy in her comeliness. “holy mother, keep me alive—not for life alone, sweet as it is for me, but that i may be with her to guide her steps and protect her!” he often prayed as mimi knelt beside him at mass, innocent of the anxiety bordering on agony which filled the breast of her father. [ ] f light “jean! must i come up for you?” came again the voice from below, anger sharpening its usual petulance. “mimi'ſ get up, chérie! at once, or we’ll both be raked over the coals!” jean pleaded. mimi stirred again, opened her eyes, sat up and smiled. “here's your coffee—i’m afraid it's cold but drink it quickly and slip on your clothes. your mother's all out of sorts this morning and we'll both catch it if you keep breakfast waiting much longer.” “let her fuss, papa. it's too pretty a morning to bother with maman. she’ll quarrel anyhow,” smiled mimi as she took the cup of black coffee and stirred it slowly. “ugh— it's all cold—i don't want it!” she grimaced as she pushed the cup away. “you go down, papa, and i’ll be ready in a few minutes.” jean took the cup but made no motion of leaving. “mimi, we're going to move away from new orleans—' “move away? where? why? leave this old house?” the questions tumbled out of her mouth, her eyes now wide- awake with surprise. “it’s your mother—she's had her way at last—we're going to move to a more ‘progressive' town where folks get ahead faster—” his words, despite conscious effort to sound matter-of-fact, were tinged with a bit of irony, with a fragment of bitterness and pain. “your mother “stop calling her my mother!” mimi half angrily de- manded, all the cheerfulness gone from her voice and face. “she’s only a step-mother!” “all right! all right!” jean hastily agreed. “i can't tell you all of it now—but i can't stand this nagging any longer. i’ve got to have peace even if i have to go to the north pole to get it—” “why do you yield so easily to her? why don't you tell her right out you won't go and she must stop fussing at you [ ] flight all the time? if i were you i certainly wouldn't let her run all over me!” mimi declared as she slipped out of the bed and began to dress. “mimi!” jean chided; the hurt her words caused were evi- dent in his voice. “forgive me, papa. i wouldn't hurt you for anything.” mimi caught him as he started to the door, tray in hand, and kissed him warmly. even as he forgave her, he was troubled at the moist softness of her lips. “after breakfast we’ll go for a walk down to the basin. i'll tell you all about it then and a lot of other things i’ve been planning to tell you for a long time. don't be long now!” he cautioned as he left the room. mimi smiled as she heard his carpet slippers pat-pat-patting down the hall. poor, gentle, lovable old jean. he would never learn the combination to the intricately devised safe called life, mimi thought for the thousandth time. fumbling in his aimless way, living in a world of his own filled with ghostly figures of silken clad ladies and velvet garmented gen- tlemen—mandevilles, marignys, de pontalbas and gayarres— he would never understand nor master bustle and hurry and pep of the newer years. she did not consciously think these things as she dressed hurriedly, yet mimi sensed that jean was living in a day that had passed and would never return. though her step-mother irritated her almost to frenzy, mimi was aware of the fact that mme. daquin was better armed for present-day life than either jean or herself. she who was mary robertson of chicago, american for many generations, was unencumbered with the hoary traditions which kept jean with his pride of creole an- cestry content with his dreams, caring little whether his house was better furnished than those of his neighbours and friends, worrying not at all and wholly free from envy if his bank balance was more or less than the man's next door. [ ] f light jean had often told mimi how mary robertson had come to new orleans on a visit at mardi gras time two years after margot had died and just when he had become most lonely and afraid. his grief had dulled his senses so completely that for more than a year after his wife had died jean had lived in a state that bordered on coma. when he grieved most was at night and then he sought forgetfulness in wine. night after night he sat down after dinner, a wicker-covered demijohn by the side of his chair. on the table in front of him rested two objects—a faded photograph of margot in her wedding gown and an ample-proportioned wine-glass of mot- tled green. mimi used to steal into the room in her night-dress and crouch in the shadows back of the door and watch him, fasci- nated by his varying moods. one thing only was constant— as soon as his glass was emptied jean reached down, hooked the first two fingers of his right hand in the handle of the gal- lon container. steadying it with his thumb, he raised the demi- john up and over with a flip until its bowl rested on his biceps. pouring his glass full, jean lowered the jar to the floor again. the process was repeated at regular intervals. in time jean's head would sink lower and lower until it rested on the table, his arms his only pillow. mimi would then cover his shoulders with the damask cover from the couch and creep back to her own bed. mary robertson did not herself know why she had been attracted by jean daquin. she knew that, in part, she had been drawn by his gentle manner, so different from the bluster- ing, raw, at times tiresome aggressiveness of her own chicago. even to herself she sternly denied that this had caused her in- terest in jean to grow. her father had used his earnings as a physician to speculate in real estate. through shrewd and clever means he had accumulated considerable wealth in [ ] flight mined she would capture jean, distaste for her life in chicago growing daily as she stayed on in new orleans long after she had originally intended to leave. she was beguiled by the romance and languorous charm of the creole quarter where she, for the first time, could forget the petty meanness and prejudice she felt as a negro elsewhere in america. mary robertson swiftly but without jean's realizing it led him to propose to her. to him, blundering along like a pilotless balloon, blown unresistingly this way or that by every passing breeze, she seemed the embodiment of all the virtues he himself lacked. energetic, purposeful, dynamic, she supplied a driving force which smoothed out numerous little difficulties which to him had seemed insurmountable. under her influence he walked with her in the evenings, methodically answering the soft “good-nights” which floated down to them from shadowed balconies or from doorways, instead of sitting at home drink- ing his usual half-gallon of double port. his mind clearer from alcohol, he brought some semblance of order to his in- surance business, which had suffered greatly during his year of neglect. he resisted sturdily and successfully her slightly less than tactful suggestions that more modern business methods be in- stalled. “no, mary, i don't want a big business—then i’d be only a slave to it—just a creature run this way or that by the machine i've created. i get my living as things are—and i’m satisfied.” she was too wise to pursue the matter further but his ada- mant resistance did not prevent her from resolving, silently of course, to bide her time until she had the right and the power to have her way. her intention was not consciously unkind nor meddlesome. he's got a gold mine practically [ ] flight untouched, she thought, and i’ll convince him he can make ten times as much as he does. jean, meanwhile, thought he had ended the discussion for all time. mimi, christened “annette angela daquin” but thereafter known only as “mimi,” was eleven when mary robertson en- tered jean daquin's life. from the beginning mimi had felt a barrier within herself arising against the overtures of friendship mary robertson made. there was no dislike which mimi felt. nor was there affection. had mimi analyzed her feelings towards this new and alien creature who had come, whirlwind-like, into their placid lives, she would have found indifference or perhaps passive acceptance of the new- comer as one of the vagaries of fate. this calm acceptance was in no small degree caused by mimi's realization that this new creature furnished a much needed stimulating influ- ence on jean. for mimi was wise beyond her eleven years. so mimi accepted her without audible protest even when jean hinted mary robertson might come and take margot's place. . . . so jean and mary were married first by father andré at the little catholic church jean had always attended, and then by the rev. george w. brown of the ebenezer baptist church, to which denomination mary belonged. to the marriage there arose storms of protest from the relatives and friends of both mary and jean. he was alter- nately reviled and pitied for marrying an outsider, one who, though respectable and worthy, yet was not of creole blood. “le pauvre jean,” they wailed, “grief and drink have weakened his understanding.” from mary's relatives, her father in par- ticular, there came an outburst that overshadowed the protest of jean's friends as a tornado outsweeps the gentle breeze of a woman's fan. mr. robertson rushed to new orleans, stormed, [ ] flight denounced, ridiculed, pleaded, but in vain. mary met his every mood in kind until, wise from his years of political training, he yielded, remained for the protestant ceremony, refused to attend the catholic one, and returned to chicago, where he boasted to his friends of the “high creole society” into which his mary had married. for a year they were happy. mary was too clever to at- tempt revolutionary changes in her new milieu, even in the home where the to her slipshod methods of management irked her sorely. towards mimi she adopted a conciliatory policy, sensing the girl's latent hostility to her who had taken, in physical ways at least, the place so long filled by the adored margot. mary made few friends among the intimates of jean and mimi. they with gentle but unmistakable signs let her know that despite her marriage to jean she yet was and would ever remain an outsider. time and time again jean and mimi received invitations to dinner, to parties which did not in- clude mary. the mellow old families, militantly proud of their creole and negro ancestry, yielded not an inch to that which went on in the world outside. deadlines there were which they never permitted crossing. one of these was family. another was colour. mary offended in both. she was an outsider. and her skin was deep brown, in sharp contrast to the ivory tint of jean and mimi. for the first year of her marriage mary was oblivious of these things. she was too intelligent not to notice them but they either amused her or were ignored by her as evidences of narrow-mindedness by those who too long had lived in a world apart. she loved gentle, irresponsible jean with her whole heart, with a woman's inconsistency, though he offended in almost every particular the canons of efficiency and prog- ress which were a part of her very being. she was content to spend her time at home, learning to cook bºr [ ] flight it seemed to say to her: “silly woman, you are so much in error, it's useless even to discuss the matter with you—you couldn't understand if you tried.” had jean sought the manner which most surely would infuriate mary, he could have found none so efficacious as this. slowly at first, then with increasing vigour, she argued, pleaded with him, scorned or ridiculed his easy-going ways. she found him adamant and her irritation rapidly changed to excoriation. morning, noon and night she nagged him. she wrote her father, who had invested heavily in an industrial insurance company operated by negroes in atlanta. his judg- ment vindicated, mr. robertson used his influence, and jean received a flattering offer to associate himself with the atlanta company. as a belated wedding present mr. robertson offered them a home in atlanta, furnished and ready for im- mediate occupancy. then the real struggle began. mary might not have suc- ceeded even though easy-going jean was becoming almost frantic at her eternal nagging. he yet loved her and she gave him no cause for divorce, even if such a way out of his dilemma had ever occurred to him, that would have been approved by the catholic church. two things began to make him weaken. the first of these and of slighter influence was that mary's darkness of skin pre- vented him from eating at the old restaurants, antoine's, dela- toire's, mme. begue's. he and margot and mimi had often gone there in the old days and without trouble though the proprietors and waiters and the regular patrons knew of his negro blood. he and mary had gone once or twice until slight but unmistakable hints had been given him that he was welcome but his wife—“we are most sorry but our american guests, on whose continued patronage we are largely dependent, object to une femme de couleur.” there were stormy, very stormy scenes. jean, his white [ ] flight hair and waxed moustache and goatee bristling, his face an apoplectic crimson, refused to listen to the profuse apologies, strode, shoulders back, head high in the air, from the places, vowing “never again to darken your doors, sir!” this vow he kept and the old places knew him no more. of greater moment, even, were the changes in the creole quarter. the old families were dying off, poverty was forc- ing others to sell their homes. one by one the old houses were razed by boisterous, unfeeling house-wreckers and in their places were going up cheap, viciously plain and garishly ornate apartment houses. one by one the old places dis- appeared. graceful lines of sloping roofs were replaced by harshly severe brick or wooden eaves, leaded glass dim with years was ruthlessly removed for plain sashes turned out by thousands by unimaginative factory hands, newel posts of carved brass and delicate balustrades of ancient mahogany were thrown away and in their stead came cheap pine ones, all carved alike. the new houses were filled by new people, as cheap and noisy and brazen as their homes. tenants of six months thought themselves old residents and, compared to their neighbours, they were. but to jean and his diminishing ac- quaintances of an older day, they were noisily vulgar aliens and barbarians. strident, unpleasant voices rose in ever increasing numbers and volume so that no longer could one enjoy the stroll of an evening through the once quiet streets. “it can’t be worse even in atlanta,” said jean to mimi sorrowfully one day. “i can’t stand to see the changes any longer—it's too much like watching at the bedside of a dearly loved one who rapidly wastes away from a loathsome dis- ease.” then did mimi know they would some day soon leave new orleans never to return. the prospect at times frightened [ ] f light her—at times, with the venturesomeness of eager youth, she looked forward to new faces, new scenes, new experi- € s. . . . “good morning, mme. daquin,” was mimi's greeting to her step-mother as she entered the dining-room and slipped into her place at the table. “morning? it's nearer afternoon,” acidulously replied mme. daquin. jean winced and looked appealingly at mimi. “you’re as shiftless and slow as your father,” continued mary. “you know we'll be busy as can be with packing all this junk your father insists we take to atlanta—” “junk?” mimi inquired with suspicious sweetness. “that's what i said and that’s what i mean. junk! j-u-n-k! i’m going to get rid of some of this worn-out fantastic stuff and get me some nice fresh oak. mahogany's too gloomy and funeral-like.” “i suppose you'd like to throw away that bed you sleep in —over two hundred years old and brought from france—and get a nice, shiny brass one?” “that's exactly what i’m going to do “you’ll do nothing ” burst out mimi, but at a sign from jean she stopped talking. the meal was finished in silence. mary, her broad face, deep brown of colour and framed with black hair that curled attractively, set in un- relieved displeasure, grimly ate without speaking until jean rose to leave the table. “you’ll find on the table in the hall the telegram to atlanta telling them you’ll be there ready for work on the first. wait until i finish,” she demanded when jean started to speak. “to-day is the sixteenth—that gives us less than two weeks in which to pack and move. papa writes me he has sent his cheque for the house he's giving us and it's all ready for us to move into—” [ ] fl i g ht “but what about this house?” jean broke in, panic in his voice at the unexpected imminence of quitting his beloved new orleans for ever. “i’ve seen to that, too,” mary answered methodically but, withal, a note in her voice of pride in her own far-sightedness and efficiency. “laroux, the real-estate man on canal street, telephoned me yesterday he's found a buyer—a company that plans to build an apartment house here—and laroux tells me he'll be ready to close the deal by the end of the week.” “sell this house, papa!” broke in mimi. “no–no! we can’t let them tear our house down!” “yes, sell this house,” affirmed mary before jean could reply. “i can't for the life of me see why you are so crazy about these draughty, moth-eaten old places. if i had the money i'd tear all of them down, build nice, modern places and make ten—twenty times the money off of them.” before jean could speak mary swept conqueringly from the room. mimi slipped her hand into jean's and squeezed it comfortingly, the pair of them too full for speech. ignoring the dreaded telegram, jean and mimi left the cool shadows of the house for the cheery brightness of sun-swept dumaine street. oblivious of passers-by, answering saluta- tions and the greetings of friends methodically, they walked slowly through the streets, down the esplanade, on and on until they found themselves at the gates of st. louis cemetery. yet in silence they wandered through the confused, close- packed vieux carré of the dead, past tombs piled one upon the other, their walls lined with row upon row of ghostly store- houses, “the ovens” like those of a baker-shop, each large enough only to hold a coffin. crumbling bricks, covered with vines within which scampered in the dazzling, warming sun- light lizards of green or of gold. here and there the ci-git and the ici repos and the names, birth and death dates of [ ] f light those buried within had been eaten away by countless storms of rain and sunlight until none could tell who had been buried there. “it's just as well,” thought jean. “if there are those, rela- tive or friend, who yet remain alive, they know which tomb holds their friends. and if there are none left—what differ- ence does it make? silly curiosity-seekers who ramble through a place like this as they would a penny arcade during mardi gras seeking new thrills—what do their wishes count?” their reveries were unbroken until they heard a noise be- hind them. from beyond a pile of “ovens” a silver crucifix flashed in the sunlight, raised high above the tombs. soon the cortège appeared, winding its slow way through the tor- tuous maze of irregularly built tombs, the “chant for the dead” rolling out on the still air in lugubrious and chilling melody, rising or dropping as the tombs opened or closed in about the procession. here and there, where the turning of a passage was too narrow to permit the carrying of the casket at its usual height, jean and mimi saw it raised high on a level with the crucifix. they stood hand in hand until the chanting died down in the distance. “mimi, that's how i feel to-day,” said jean softly. “leav- ing new orleans, the old houses, the old friends—it makes me feel as though it were i in that coffin “papa, why don't you put your foot down?” burst out mimi; “tell mme. daquin you just won't go—let her go on back to chicago if she dosen’t like it—and you and i stay here and be happy?” “it’s too late now, petite mimi,” he answered. “my word's been given—they're tearing down so many of the old houses —my old friends are dying off, one by one “but you're not old! you're only fifty-two, yet you talk as though you were a hundred “sometimes i feel a hundred—a thousand. oh, well, i've [ ] flight made my decision and i’ll stick to it. it wasn't about that i wanted to talk with you. it's related to it but—but it isn't easy to talk about—” he broke off. they walked slowly in silence as she waited for him to speak. an inexpressible tenderness filled her for this gentle old man—he seemed very old to her to-day. the growing surliness and quarrelsomeness of her step-mother, the alien who would never fit into the scheme of things as she and jean knew it, infuriated her for the pain it was causing her dear jean. she felt within her a steadily growing bitterness against mary and her petty shopkeeper attitude, her scorn for traditions so dear to jean and herself. as she had dressed, the notion of leaving new orleans (she had never been more than a few miles beyond the city's limits) had appealed to her, offering as it did new experiences, new scenes, new people, naturally attractive to a girl of fourteen. her mind had dwelt more on the favourable aspects of the change than on the severance of old and dear ties of tradi- tion and friendship, of quitting familiar scenes, with all the instinctive optimism and disregard of consequences of youth. but now she felt, on seeing jean's reluctance to go, as though she were in some subtle manner guilty of disloyalty to jean. suddenly contrite, her eyes filled with tears and she clung to jean in passionate repudiation of her joy at leaving. she realized jean was speaking—had been talking to her for some minutes. “. . . and yet it ought not to be hard for me. neither margot nor i have ever consciously sought to keep from you the fact that the negro blood in you set you aside, here in america, as one apart, though we have tried to shield you as much as we could from the embarrassments that blood can bring you.” “oh, is that all that was troubling you, papa jean?” laughed mimi. “you can afford to laugh here in creole new orleans,” [ ] f light jean cautioned. “but away from here it's a different matter. here in the place we know i want to tell you of some of the stock from which we daquins come. it's a record we're proud of—we've helped build this louisiana of ours —much of what we did's been forgotten but it's there, just the same. i’m telling you, for when you run up against hard situations later on in life—and we all do—the knowledge of what's back of you will give you strength and courage.” mimi said nothing. jean went on. “we daquins trace our history a long ways back—back to the early days of the convent louis xv founded here in —the ursalines—to teach the negro and indian girls. you know of beloved madeline hachard—she who was a postulant in the ursaline convent in rouen—rouen beloved of flaubert and maupassant. her letters home tell of their perilous voyage to louisiana in , of shipwreck and shortages of food and water, of sickness and discomfort. soon after madeline hachard—who called herself “hachard de st. stanislas” after she took the veil—and the others opened the doors of their convent, there was need of wives for the young men of character and means. girls of good family were sent to the colony—les filles a la cassette they were called. from these matings sprang many of the great families of louisiana—and to one of them you and i owe our being. from her who nearly two hundred years ago took the long and perilous voyage there comes down to us a path—at times clear and distinct—at times faded and shad- owy—from that path innumerable branches shoot like the limbs of that ancient oak over there.” jean's words had begun to weave a mysterious spell over mimi. she looked at the tree to which jean pointed—vaguely disappointed that instead of its leaves she did not see fami- lies, faces with laughing eyes and alluring mysteriousness. jean had never talked to her like this before—she felt a thrill- [ ] flight ing pride that he spoke to her as to one of mature years and understanding. “you’ve many relatives, mimi, of whom you can justly be proud—and some of whom the less said, the better. like two great rivers from the same mother source, plunging, roar- ing, or gently purling they flow—parallel much of the way, touching at others, then springing apart to seek their way through diverse lands. we of the so-called coloured branch —many of our ancestry of the proud gens de coleur libre— we too have had a large share in making louisiana what it is to-day.” “tell me about some of them, jean,” demanded mimi eagerly. “tell me of the ones of whom you're proud—tell me of those you're not so proud of.” the sun was high in the sky and beating down upon them with vigour before jean had finished his story. mimi was too absorbed to notice the heat or to note the passing of the hours. jean, with the mellowness acquired only through an unhurried life, had great pride in his ability as a racon- teur-when he fancied he detected a waning interest on mi- mi's face as he delved into the more abstract historical part of his tale, he quickly injected anecdotes, dramatic episodes, colourful vignettes. when mimi seemed wearied of too great stress on the part negroes had played as soldiers or labourers or if she appeared surfeited with tales of too great virtue and exemplary constructiveness on the part of those who were her forebears, jean would, almost shyly and im- perceptibly, relate a tale of derring do by one who lived at barataria with that great pirate and freebooter—jean la- fitte. mimi felt a delicious tingle titillating her body as jean told of that other jean—he of the swart skin, midnight- black hair and eyes, beard shaven clean from the front of his face. she was glad—very glad one of her line had known this intrepid, carefree adventurer who, a marine [ ] flight robin hood, had plundered and smuggled and risked death a thousand times as though he were passing the time of day on the street corner. she, too, was fascinated by jean's picture of the coming into being of the creole. “the white louisianian will tell you the creole is white with ancestry of french or spanish or west indian extrac- tion. there may be some of that kind—but i’m not sure— but most creoles are a little bit of everything and from that very mixture comes the delightful colourfulness which is their greatest charm. to them the cardinal sin is avarice or stinginess. dalliance at love—too great devotion to the cup —poverty—all these are minor faults to be forgiven and for- gotten. we are not a nation of shopkeepers, thank god, even though you and i, mimi, are about to desert to the enemy.” many other stories he told her there. he told of that governor perier who armed negroes in and sent them to fight that fear-inspiring tribe of indians, the chonchas, with whom the black slaves were becoming too friendly, and how, with an ease that should have frightened perier, these blacks wiped out the indian enemy. proudly jean told how this example and others gave impetus to the later freeing of the slaves which had come largely through their own efforts —the revolt of the slaves led by the chickasaws and ban- baras and other stirring uprisings—gentle, kindly jean— who would not have crushed an ant—exultantly told of car- nage, of slaughter, of death. he took great pride in telling mimi of jeannot, stalwart slave offered freedom by kerlerec if he would become the public executioner, a job no white man would take. mimi lived again the agony of jeannot, now dead some one hun- dred and fifty years, who in horror and anguish cried out: “what! cut off the heads of people who have never done me any harm?” she could almost see him pleading, even [ ] cha pt e r iii nder the efficient management of mme. daquin, it was not long before they became adjusted physically to their new surroundings in atlanta. “i wish you'd stop calling me ‘madam daquin,’” she querulously demanded one day of mimi. “i don't want people here being reminded constantly we're outsiders or think we're trying to put on airs. call me “mrs. daquin’ or “mamma,” or, if you insist on being high-toned, call me ‘mother.’” mimi vigorously protested, to herself and jean, against either of the latter terms and compromised on “mrs. daquin.” soon after their arrival they received formal calls. these came usually in the afternoon and were more or less elabo- rate ceremonials. mrs. hunter, willowy spouse of the presi- dent of the lincoln mutual life insurance company, came with her husband the sunday after they reached atlanta. she was cordial—very cordial. mimi wondered why mrs. hunter felt it necessary to implant a slightly moist kiss upon her lips, though she permitted herself to be fondled by the effusive one without audible or visible protest. she sub- mitted and that was all. “what a darling little girl you have, mrs. daquin!” she exclaimed. “and what's her name?” on being told she went on: “mimi? how very cute. just like a stage name or opera.” “that's where it does come from. la bohème. do you know the opera?” mimi assured her. “no, i can't say i do—no, i don't believe i know that one,” mrs. hunter, somewhat embarrassed, answered. she [ ] f light did not feel altogether sure that mimi wasn't trying either to poke fun at her or test her learning. “my real name's annette angela daquin—but no one ever calls me that. they only call me mimi,” innocently replied mimi. yet not sure of herself, mrs. hunter felt it necessary that she justify herself before this queer infant. “we don't get much chance here to see good plays or hear such music as comes this way. the only play i’ve seen was “ben hur’ and mr. hunter has never forgiven me for climb- ing up the back stairs to the peanut gallery at the grand opera house where the coloured people sit. that was grand, though, and almost worth the quarrel i had with mr. hunter about going.” and mrs. hunter beamed at her husband in a benign fashion. her duty done in commenting on mimi's cuteness and beauty, mrs. hunter turned her attention to mrs. daquin and subjects near to housewifely hearts. they wondered if there would be a late spring—“it’s been years since it's been so cool in april as it is now,” affirmed mrs. hunter—they talked of the rising price of cloth and food and shoes—the art of cookery—“you must teach me some of those spicy dishes they tell me you have in new orleans”—of local social life in atlanta and how it compared with that in louisiana. mimi listened alternately to the two and to the more re- strained conversation of jean and mr. hunter. the latter speculated, somewhat idly, as to the probable chances of japan's defeating russia, mr. hunter told jean of business prospects in the fall if cotton sold well. her attention was caught, momentarily, by mr. hunter, who was deploring the general shiftlessness of the younger people in general and his own son in particular. “i’ve always maintained that hard work's what boys and girls need. when i was a youngster my daddy put me in the [ ] flight fields at six o'clock in the morning and i stayed there until six or seven o'clock at night. but these young ones coming along nowadays have got funny ideas. take my own boy, for example. he's pretty nearly seventeen and for the life of me, i can't make him out. always talking about doing some- thing big but never knows from one day to the other what line he's going to do big things in. i tell molly,” he con- fided, leaning closer to jean and lowering his voice, “it’s all her fault. she coddles him too much—” “now, william, you aren't going into that here,” chided his wife, who had overheard him. “carl's nothing but a child as yet and he and mildred are all we’ve got. he'll come round all right.” back and forth the discussion raged, mr. hunter appeal- ing to jean for confirmation of his contentions, mrs. hun- ter relying on mrs. daquin for aid and succour. on only one point could they agree and that was carl's essential dif- ference from other children. not until mrs. daquin, in her desire to help mrs. hunter and thereby gain her favour, in- troduced the matter of religion did carl hunter's name cease being bandied back and forth like a tennis ball between his parents. mrs. hunter, tired of the argument over her son, swooped down upon the new topic with avidity. it was wholly a verbal swoop. it was difficult to imagine one of mrs. hun- ter's proportions and dignity swooping in any other manner. “i knew there was something i intended asking you and i almost forgot it. what church’re you planning to attend?” “well—er—that's a problem we haven't met yet,” mrs. daquin, somewhat flustered, replied. “you see, in chicago i was a baptist—and you know the baptist saying, “baptist born and baptist bred, be a baptist till i'm dead,” she some. what incorrectly quoted. “but my husband and his daugh- ter, they're catholics [ ] flight “oh, indeed!” exclaimed mrs. hunter, her eyebrows mak- ing a rapid ascent until they seemed to mingle with the hairs that straggled down from beneath her elaborate coiffure. mrs. hunter's ears were not so keen as mrs. plummer's—the news regarding the religious beliefs of the daquins had not reached her. now she uttered the exclamation as though mrs. daquin had said: “my husband and his daughter have leprosy!” or “they suffer from epileptic fits.” mrs. daquin unmistakably caught the implication—she flushed and twisted the handkerchief in her hands and laughed a silly, titterish and mirthless laugh. mrs. hunter turned and surveyed jean and mimi as though they were specimens of some new flora or fauna of a weird and unfamiliar species. her inspection lasted but a minute but it was long enough to make mimi squirm uncomfortably and she felt vaguely as though she had been caught in the act of doing some loathsome and criminal thing. they did not pursue the subject. mrs. hunter rose soon afterwards, her husband following her lead. “my dear, on tuesday of next week i’m entertaining my club, the fleur-de-lis—mr. hunter calls it ‘the eating bri- gade' but that's because he's jealous, we don't let any men attend our affairs except once a year. you must come, for there you'll meet the right people—it's fatal to get mixed up with the wrong crowd,” she smilingly warned. mrs. daquin eagerly accepted the invitation, too eagerly mimi thought. as she bade the hunters a formal good- bye, she was thinking to herself: “why can't she accept the attentions of mrs. hunter as though she were used to decent society instead of fawning all over herself?” after the hunters had left, there was a silence which was unbroken until they sat at supper. mrs. daquin several times looked inquiringly at jean as though she were about to speak but each time desisted. mimi noticed the words [ ] flight shut off as they were about to be said but knew the flood would not be long in coming. she was right. “what are you and mimi going to do about attending church, jean?” began mrs. daquin. “there's no coloured catholic church here—and you saw from mrs. hunter's man- ner that—er—well, we aren't going to get along as well here as we might if the abrupt ending of her uncompleted sentence and the eloquent silence which followed it were sufficient. “you mean you think we should give up our religion to make money and get into ‘society’?” queried jean in aston- ishment, his last word tinged ever so slightly with irony. “well, i don’t mean exactly that,” his wife answered. “but you can't attend a white catholic church here and i just thought you might—well, you might refrain from mention- ing you’re a catholic, for you can see from the way mrs. hunter acted it puts you in a different—er—it makes you different from the others,” she ended lamely. “what if it does make us different?” jean demanded, al- most belligerently. “coloured people here, from what i’ve seen, are always talking about ‘prejudice’ and they're just about as full of prejudice against catholics, jews and black negroes as white people themselves. you can do what you want, mary, but mimi and i will stick to our own religion. and i’m sure we can attend some catholic church here, so that's an end to that.” there was no mistaking the tone. being a wise woman, mrs. daquin dropped the subject. afterwards, mimi hugged jean in the hallway. “you were gorgeous, papa jean. that's one time you bearded the lioness. and if you did it oftener—there'd be fewer times you'd have to do it.” jean grinned at her hap- pily, proud of her approval. [ ] cha pte r iv the latter part of the week, “to bring your lovely little girl with you to my party next tuesday. mrs. adams is bringing her girl, hilda, and the two of them can play together.” and so it was that mimi, dressed in her best dress, a pale yellow confection of lawn, set out with mrs. daquin for mrs. hunter's house and the fleur-de-lis club meeting. mrs. daquin, too, dressed carefully and elaborately. she spent an hour arranging her hair in the style of the day, brushed back from the forehead high over a “rat” that made her head appear as though soldiers had thrown up breastworks, carefully smoothed over. from behind this amazing ram- part peeped coyly a lacy hat perched perilously on the back of the head. mrs. daquin's modified leg-o’-mutton sleeves, her tightly fitting waist with high neck supported by whale- bone stays, her long skirt flaring wide and with a train were all of the latest design, as were the half-mittens of black lace from which mrs. daquin's fingers, short and round, emerged shyly like little fat sausages. she knew her sex— she would be on inspection and much depended on the first impression. she was determined that that first glance should establish her as one of the elect. mrs. hunter had said “four o'clock sharp.” mrs. daquin and mimi therefore arrived at the hunter domicile, a huge pile of towers and turrets and bulging bay windows adorned at the most unlikely and unlooked-for places with startling "i meant to tell you on sunday,” telephoned mrs. hunter [ ] fl i ght varieties of woodwork, at twenty minutes of five. mrs. da- quin knew the value of a dramatic entrance, of the desira- bility of being just late enough to have permitted everybody else's arrival prior to her own. she was not wrong. in the warm april afternoon the door and windows were open. as they ascended the steps there floated out to them the hum of well-bred voices, pitched at just the right angle. mrs. hunter rushed to greet them— and from the sudden stilling of the animated conversation mimi knew the talk had been about her step-mother and her- self. they were conducted around the large living-room and presented to each of the carefully dressed women who sat in a circle whose circumference was only a little less than that of the room. “pleased to meet you’s” “happy to form your acquaintance's,” “my compliments” and “how do you do’s” greeted mrs. daquin; “what a pretty little girl's,” and “how cute’s” were mimi's portion. the ordeal ended, mrs. daquin subsided into a chair near mrs. hunter's standing approximately at the point where they had started on their circumnavigation of the room. the buzzing conversation began again. mimi listened to the ex- change of recipes and ideas, discussions of the best manner in which jams and jellies and rolls should be prepared, gen- tle arguments as to the relative desirability of this store or that one. mimi looked around the room for hilda adams but there were no younger people except herself. she began to feel out of place, to wish she were at home with her sewing or at her piano. knowing there was no escape she began to examine the women around her. she remembered few of their names but that did not worry her. she noticed that none of the women present were darker than a light brown, their com- plexions varying from that shade to one indistinguishable from white. just as this fact came to her she caught a snatch of [ ] fl i ght conversation from a group near her that linked itself start- lingly with her own observation. a slender, very slender, woman with lips which she pressed together closely whenever she began or ended a sentence was talking. “. . . it seems mrs. adams has been going to the grand opera house and buying seats in the orchestra, “passing’ for white, and seeing all the plays that’ve been coming here. well, the other day, as she was going in, some coloured per- son saw her and went and told the manager. she tried to bluff it out but it didn't work—they made her get out.” “serves her right,” sweetly commented one of the informa- tive one's companions, satisfaction in her tone. “going where she isn't wanted. she always did think she knew more than the rest of us. they tell me she and hilda wash their own clothes after dark and hang them up in the yard when nobody can see them—and then get up before daybreak to take them in oh! how do you do, mrs. adams?—i didn't see you come in. and how sweet you look! that's a beautiful new dress you’ve on,” she broke off as the sub- ject of their conversation came up. mimi wondered how so miraculous a change could come over the group which now chatted easily and cordially, very cordially, with her who had been ejected from the local theatre and who laundered her clothes after nightfall. she felt a deep warmth within her for this woman who, because she wanted so avidly the entertainment, the touch with the world of ideas, the stimulus that came from the plays which came to atlanta, and which her race barred her from seeing respectably, made her run the risk of discovery. and to the same degree that she felt a yearning to touch, to smile at mrs. adams and thereby let her know that she sympathized with her, did mimi detest with a burning intensity the pettiness and envy of her detractors. [ ] flight so engrossed had she been in mrs. adams, mimi had not seen hilda, who stood silent just beyond her mother. mrs. adams started to move away to another group and the mo- tion brought mimi face to face with a girl of her own age with wide, placid black eyes. hilda and mimi stood looking at each other, each caught and held fast by some power, neither of them knew what nor even that there was such a power holding them. for a minute—an hour—a century they stood there unable either to move or speak. the spell was broken when hilda smiled shyly and moved toward mimi. at that instant mrs. adams turned to mimi. “you must be mrs. daquin's little girl. this is my hilda ” she began. “oh, i see you're friends already,” she smiled. “come on, let's sit over there on the steps and talk,” said hilda simply, taking mimi's hand. through the buzz of conversation, through the games of flinch (these gentle ladies got a delicious sense of near- wickedness from this simple game played with pasteboard cards which were not playing-cards), even through the stir created by the announcement that refreshments would be served in the dining-room, mimi and hilda sat there and talked. they began with questions of each other, about school, about their childhood, revealing little intimacies that subtly wove between them a gossamer band of friendship, fragile and almost invisible, yet with the strength of piano wire. nor was this union born of spoken words. much more came to each of them from the other in the little mo- ments of silence, when by accident hand touched hand or smile met smile. mimi, through all of her fourteen years, had had no confidante other than her father and, despite deepest bonds between father and daughter, there are some secrets too precious to be told even to a father like jean. mimi felt tender affection surge through her for this new-found [ ] f light friend. she longed to stroke her hair, to kiss hilda on the cheek, just under her chin, to pour out devotion lavishly, without stint. and she could tell from hilda's smile, her tiny gestures of tenderness, that her love was returned, and happi- ness filled her being. . . . mrs. hunter brought them back to realities. “oh, there you are, little chickabiddies,” she cooed. “come along, i’ve fixed a cute little table for you two where you can be to yourselves and where you won't be bothered by us old folks.” hilda gave mimi a fleeting, wry smile at the blundering condescension of the dowager-like hostess. “looks just like a battleship trying to be cute,” whispered hilda. mimi rewarded her with a spontaneous but subdued little laugh as they followed mrs. hunter into the dining- iroorn. as they sat at the table near the huge bay window hilda told mimi in whispers about the women who chattered and ate at the large table. “that skinny one over there,” pointing to the woman who had been telling of the ejection of hilda's mother from the theatre, “is mrs. watkins. her husband's a doctor and he was crazy about mamma but she didn't like him like she did daddy. they say,” and here hilda leaned across the table and whispered, “that dr. watkins is still in love with mamma and it makes mrs. watkins furious. she doesn’t like mamma and the main reason, i think, is because mamma is so much better-looking and knows so much more.” mimi wriggled ecstatically at this revelation. she felt the delicious sense of being a conspirator, as the repository of a secret told only to one very dear and close. “that one with the gold tooth who laughs all the time is the wife of a school-teacher—her name's mrs. tompkins—she’s been to new york twice—but it didn't seem to do her any [ ] f light good. she laughs as much as ever and hasn't anything new to talk about except the new clothes she's bought and how she and her husband could go to all the shows in new york and sit in any part of the theatre they wanted to.” mimi, as discreetly as she could, turned and surveyed her of the gold tooth. she was not very impressed—she ex- pected anyone who had twice been to new york to have some distinguishing mark or characteristic which revealed two journeys to manhattan. mimi did not know what form this mark should have taken, she only felt that mrs. tompkins should have differed in some way from those who had not journeyed so far. the cataloguing was interrupted by hilda, who asked sud- denly, and to mimi with an eagerness which she could not at the time fathom, if mimi had met carl hunter. “mamma tells me i’m a silly little goose,” proceeded hilda when mimi told her she had not met their hostess’ son, “but carl's the most thrilling boy in atlanta. he's seventeen and not a bit like the other boys around here—they're so—so babyish. but carl's different and mamma says he doesn't get along any too well with his mother and father—his father wants carl to study insurance and banking and carl doesn’t want to.” “does he know you're—that you like him so?” asked mimi. “ooh—no!” gasped hilda. “but he is different—” she ended. . . . that night mimi told jean of the things she had seen and heard during the afternoon. to her piquant recital of the things said and done and to the vivid little pictures, each etched so graphically and clearly jean could see the women and their mannerisms, he listened eagerly. “and how did mary seem to like it?” he asked. “she was right at home! i heard her tell two or three of them she just adored atlanta—reminded her of her chicago [ ] flight —and so different from that sleepy old new orleans!” mimi grimaced. . . . “i’m happy you’ve found hilda,” jean told her. “you need the companionship of young people—when you're as old as i it won't be so easy to find somebody whose ideas fit in with your own.” “how are things going at the office?” asked mimi, remem- bering that she in her excitement had almost forgotten him and his affairs. “about as well as can be expected—better than i thought they would,” he answered. “they're a fine bunch—very much in earnest—and i suppose i’ll have to admit mary and her father are right—they do put things over. mr. hunter's the best of the lot—and, well, i suppose in time i’ll get my- self fitted into the groove—” he ended lamely. “you’re whistling in the dark to keep up your courage!” mimi challenged him. “you’re not happy here and you never will be.” “not entirely so, i am afraid, but—well, i’ll be contented after a fashion,” jean smiled bravely. “i miss the old houses, the old ways. i'd give anything almost to walk once more down to the basin, to sit in st. louis cemetery—do you remember the gold and green lizards scampering round, in and out of the vines over the graves, that day we walked and talked there, mimi? i miss the calmness, the placidity, the smell of the water. here things are rushing, bustling, matter-of-fact. i feel as if some power has pulled me out of a quiet pool where i was lying on my back floating on the water and thrown me head first into a deadly revolving whirl- pool. “and what are they getting out of all this, these minnows who are squirming and fighting each other?” he demanded with the old gesture of questioning she knew so well. “here are these coloured people with the gifts from god of laugh- [ ] f light ter and song and of creative instincts—do you remember that man who sang as he went past the house our first night in atlanta?—and what are they doing with it? they are ap- ing the white man—becoming a race of money-grubbers with ledgers and money tills for brains and shylock hearts.” “but, papa jean, they’ve got to do it! they’re living in a world where they must either make money or else perish.” “no-no—mimi' you don't understand what i mean. the whole world's gone mad over power and wealth. the strong- est man wins, not the most decent or the most intelligent or the best. all the old virtues of comradeship and art and liter- ature and philosophy, in short, all the refinements of life, are being swallowed up in this monster, the machine, we are creating which is slowly but surely making us mere auto- matons, dancing like marionettes when the machine pulls the strings and bids us prance. i know you're thinking i sound like a masculine cassandra—but some day, perhaps long after i’m gone, maybe you'll think back to this day and agree with me.” to mimi most of this was rather baffling—she was glad that jean obviously did not expect her to answer. it was true that she had been fascinated by the song they had heard, she loved the colourfulness of the life she saw around her and she had noticed that in her few contacts with white people she had felt a certain chill that she was not aware of when with her own people. “her own people.” the phrase interested her. in new orleans she had thought all people were hers—that only in- dividuals mattered. but here there were sharp, unchanging lines which seemed to matter with extraordinary power. this one was white—that one black. even though the “white” one was swarthy while the “black” one might be as fair as the whitest of the white. and within the circle of those who were called negroes she [ ] flight found duplications of the lines between the two major groups. she in the few days she had been in atlanta had heard enough to know there were churches attended in the main only by coloured people who were mulattoes or quadroons, others only by those whose complexions were quite dark. at mrs. hunter's the uniform lightness of skin had impressed itself upon her. and when she had sought to make overtures to mrs. plummer's girl, iwilla (mrs. plummer had told mrs. daquin proudly her daughter had a biblical name—it was taken from the verse, “i will arise and go unto my father”), mrs. plummer had called her child into the house and mimi had heard her being scolded: “how many times i got to tell you to leave these yaller children alone? first thing you know, you’ll be coming home saying some of them's called you ‘black.’” all this perplexed mimi. she was too young and inex- perienced to know that these people were in large part the victims of a system which made colour and hair texture and race a fetish. nor did she know how all too frequently, opportunity came in a direct ratio to the absence of pigmen- tation. it was baffling, annoying. and so too were jean's criticisms of his new environment. mimi missed the romance of her old home, it is true, but the new scene with all its rawness and lack of beauty intrigued and fascinated her through its vigour and progressiveness. she began to feel a sympathy, at first faint but growing in strength, tinged with pity, for jean in his unwillingness to adapt himself to newer ways and customs. not that she consciously put these into words nor even into tangible thought. she loved jean too dearly, too whole- heartedly for that, and any criticism of him, real or implied, would have made her miserable for its imputation of disloy. alty. no. it was simply that jean was the follower of an older day, of an age that was passing even in louisiana, that [ ] flight definitely had passed here in georgia and to an even greater degree farther north. . . . and jean's efforts to find his place in the new order and to make that place as comfortable, as little irritating as possi- ble, met with but indifferent success. he found that he could not with any degree of pleasure nor of comfort join in the social activities of his business associates. they were too vigorous, too forthright for his simple taste. he had no puritanical streaks in his nature but the lusty laughter with which the men greeted the stories which were current, usu- ally of a ribald and smutty nature, at first surprised him, then slightly nauseated him. it was the one thing he disliked in mr. hunter, whom he liked better than most of the others. he could always tell when mr. hunter had heard a new one —for these stories the older man had a particular smile that at times bordered on a leer, and a manner of portentous and cryptic winking. the stories themselves did not so much disgust him—he had indulged frequently in racy wit and re- partee with his old cronies at home—it was their general stupidity and their clinging to one theme. jean formed more and more the habit of spending his time at home, despite his wife's constant urging that he go out and “mingle more with the men and make himself more sociable.” he read indefatigably, sitting in his room, summer and winter, until the early hours of the morning, or until his wife forced him to retire. she, on the other hand, berated and criticized him much less than in those last few months before he consented to move from new orleans. jean quite frankly and with an equanimity which amazed him realized they had grown farther apart than ever and were continuing to find their pleasure in widely diverse fields. mrs. daquin, under mrs. hunter's dexterous management, had been extended and had accepted an invitation to join the fleur-de-lis club. more and more mrs. daquin, to her intense delight, found [ ] flight herself accepted into the inner circle of negro society and she soon was able with entire naturalness to speak pityingly of those who were not of the elect. she had won, too, her efforts towards religious conformity by jean and mimi, though this victory had come from an unexpected ally. she had gone, not unprotestingly, with jean and mimi to one of the local catholic churches. there they had been refused admission in a firm and unmistakable rebuff, amazement having been expressed that they had even dared to think they could attend services there. jean, grieved, his faith shaken, had gone later to see the priest, protesting against the refusal of admittance, but he had re- ceived cold comfort—even his question (that was more a protest than an interrogation) as to whether or not the virgin mary blessed or withheld blessing from catholics whose skins were dark, remained unanswered. that he might be forced to sit in a segregated section of the church had occurred to jean. of late years that custom had grown in popularity even in new orleans in the churches not attended wholly by negroes. but that he might be refused even admittance had been a terrific shock from which he never completely recovered. mrs. daquin had said nothing, but a faint smile which seemed to mimi to shout exultantly: “i told you so!” wreathed her face. mrs. hunter's gentle hints that “the" church to attend was the congregational had not fallen on barren ground. it was not long therefore before sunday morning found her and mimi and jean in one of the pews there. . . . not many months passed before mrs. daquin was as much at home as though she had lived since birth in atlanta. mimi, too, was accepted in time, though with reservations. her affection for hilda was so apparent there was no mistak- ing that she esteemed her above all the other girls she met. both of them had completed their grammar-school careers [ ] f light when mimi came to atlanta—both entered high school at atlanta university in the same class that fall. they walked to school together and they walked home together. they confided each to the other their innermost secrets, they aired their grievances against whatever displeased either of them, secure in the knowledge that the other would understand and would be in complete sympathy. there came, of course, little differences, but these soon evaporated in the warm surge of reconciliation. this very friendship in a manner prevented mimi's accept- ance into the fold of complete conformity. mrs. adams was invited to all the parties and she in turn did her share of entertaining. but always there was an air of detachment in her social relations—she seemed merely to be going through the motions of things which did not greatly interest her, if indeed she did not derive a kind of quiet amusement from the frantic efforts to out-entertain each other. instead of attempting to serve courses more in number and elaborateness, to decorate her house more gorgeously than the member of the fleur-de-lis club who had entertained the last time, mrs. adams served simple but well-prepared “colla- tions,” as they were called. the sensing that they were more attractive for their very simplicity did not serve to sweeten the tempers of those who depended on elaborateness. this same simplicity governed all mrs. adams' actions whether in social or other relations. it had brought to her the dam- ning reputation of being “stuck-up” and there is none other accusation more certain to gain a measured unpopularity. this reputation, though unfounded in fact as in the case of her mother, had been attached to hilda and, in turn, to her friend, mimi. to about the same degree mimi's lack of religious con- formity militated against her. she felt a certain bitterness against the catholic church for its surrender to a race prej- [ ] flight udice which to her seemed silly, but her animosity towards that church was based most largely on the fact that the sur- render had hurt jean. with the fortunate tendency of youth not to bother itself too greatly about creeds and dogmas, mimi might quickly have forgotten or at least put into the limbo of half-forgotten things most of the religious duties which to her in new orleans had seemed so natural—as natural as eating or sleeping. though jean rarely mentioned it now, mimi knew he grieved deeply that he could not at- tend mass—that down deep beneath the calm exterior he presented to the world and even to his family, jean felt the loss keenly of church attendance. and when mimi saw this hurt, it caused her frequently to speak of the differences she noticed between catholic and protestant devotees. usually these were, quite naturally, more critical of the protestant, and this constant reiteration of her own unconformity to local creeds and beliefs in time caused the phrase “those catholics” to be instinctively synonymous with her name and jean's. . . . but it was the instinctive cruelty towards and jealousy of woman to woman which created difficulties for mimi. some- thing of the colourfulness of the sapphire and purple and jade green waters round new orleans had gone into the mak- ing of mimi. there was in her too something of the grace of the languorous waves of the gulf of mexico as they lapped the jagged shores of barataria. in her too was the luxuriousness of tropic plants bursting into startlingly vivid and beautiful reds and yellows and greens and blues. her reddish hair in the sunlight was a magnet that caught and held the eye, the mind meanwhile feasting on its brilliant decora- tiveness. and in combination with these reminders of tropic warmth and colour was mimi's air, piquant, vaguely mysterious and seductive. not that she was aware of all this, nor did she do other than laugh when hilda compared her to some [ ] flight other girl, always to the disparagement of the other one. there were other pretty ones—several of them, in fact, more beautiful than mimi. yet, none of them possessed the com- bination which was hers and, not having lived in atlanta all her life and thus newer to the eye, mimi without apparent volition drew to her side most of the younger men. and the eyes of even the older ones she drew to her, covered, if the wife of the beholder was at his side, by a studiously casual remark like “that little daquin girl is certainly a pretty child!” . . . [ ] flight daughter was that they're women—they can get away with lots more than we can because they are women. no, daquin, you might as well let the matter drop and forget it. protest will do no good and you haven't a chance in the courts.” . . . on another occasion one of jean's associates whose skin was brown but whose wife's was fair, assisted his own wife in boarding a car. a crowd of whites jumped down from the vehicle and pummelled him viciously before his wife could explain that she too was a negro. . . . jean bought for their use a horse and surrey and thereafter they never rode in the cars. he was conscious that this was an ineffective compromise with principle but he was happy in that compromise in that it gave him greater peace of mind. with such exceptions their lot was not a very difficult one. in the stores mrs. daquin was not allowed to try on hats or shoes or dresses before purchasing them and they frequently were forced to wait until whites who had entered after they had were served. but with time they became accustomed to these slights and particularly when they found that with but few exceptions these were accepted by their friends as the expected thing, unpleasant but inevitable. “you can get used to being hung if you're only hung often enough,” seemed to be current philosophy, except in the cases of the younger oil s. . . . beside their regular lives of work and play they found an additional outlet in various affairs at the colleges which were situated in atlanta. there were occasional musical evenings, now and then some speaker of note came and lectured. there were basball and football games between the teams of the lo- cal schools and a few with teams from institutions located in other cities. in the local papers they read of events going on in the outside world, some of them exciting lengthy comment and interest, others less. general rejoicing greeted the vic- tory of japan over russia, the nation of smaller men being en- [ ] flight thusiastically supported largely because they were a coloured nation. “teddy” roosevelt was acclaimed a great friend of the negro despite the brownsville affair, though to jean it seemed much of his popularity among the coloured people in atlanta was due to the fact that he was a republican. the san francisco earthquake elicited a certain degree of interest and sympathy, though, being far away, its maximum reaction usu- ally was summed up in the remark, “isn't that too bad!” twice the world thrilled to stories that men had at last plunged through the frozen wastes of the north and come to the top of the world. and because one of them was dis- covered to be a liar many, many wiseacres shook their heads portentously and opined that the other one might be lying too. among the younger men there were frequent discussions of the relative merits of a promising young negro prizefighter named johnson recently emerged from texas who was achiev- ing a considerable reputation with his fists. one cloud that had appeared first as a tiny speck began to grow with distressing speed during the summer of and brought deep concern to the more thoughtful ones. by these, certain ominous signs had been seen all through the long hot months of the summer when nerves are frayed and tempers sharpened to razor-blade keenness by the sultry heat. a period of unemployment had caused a marked loafing of whites and negroes followed by a long series of petty crimes. saloons and dives and “social clubs” sprang up like mush- rooms and throve. a bitter political campaign was waged, its central issue the question of disenfranchisement of ne- groes and “negro domination.” a play, “the clansmen,” a distorted picture of reconstruction filled with venom and hatred, came to atlanta and stayed during this time of strain, and whipped into fury bitterness between white and black. some crimes against women were reported, others were not chronicled. a man named turnadge committed a crime ter- [ ] flight rible in detail but little was said of it. turnadge was white. other white men committed other crimes and the press said little of it. twelve or more negroes were charged with rape or attempted rape. circulation-seeking newspapers brought out “extra” after “extra,” screaming in twelve-inch head- lines, “third assault,” “fourth assault,” “negro attempts to assault mrs. mary chafin near sugar creek bridge,” “angry citizens pursue black brute.” it meant little at the time that later it was to be discovered that all but two of these reports were with- out foundation in truth. to most of the citizens he encountered, jean found, the tenseness meant little. it was considered variously as a bit embarrassing, rather unfortunate, and mostly as the slightly aggravated condition of the usual state of affairs. but to him, unused to the ominous rumbling which terrified him, the situation seemed grave, very grave indeed. in the few con- tacts he had with white people, on his daily visits to the bank uptown, in his contacts with tradesmen and men and women on the streets, he saw with troubled eyes the glances of suspi- cion, of hostility, of hatred. once on entering the bank he stood near the desk of the cashier, who had always had a smile and cheery word for jean, whom he liked. now he looked grimly at jean and demanded, in what was almost a snarl: “what do you want, daquin?” “i came to see you about some notes, mr. stewart,” jean answered, troubled, “but—i wonder why you've changed— you're usually so pleasant and to-day you're—why, you're—” “there's reason enough, daquin. you've read the papers. why don't you better-class negroes do something to stop your criminals from attacking our women?” “we’re as bitterly opposed to attacks on women, whether they're white ones or coloured ones, as you are, mr. stewart. that is, we're opposed when they really are attacks.” [ ] f light “what do you mean—when they are attacks?” the cashier demanded. “just what i say—how many of these attacks reported in the papers are really attacks? they spread the story of an alleged or a reported attack all over the front page—but when they found the woman was mistaken or hysterical from reading all these other wild tales, they stick it in an insignif- icant item on the inside, if they mention it at all. there's trouble ahead if these inflammatory stories aren't stopped, mr. stewart. and it seems to me it's up to men like you who’ve got sense to stop them—the crowd that makes up the mob isn't going to do any thinking for itself—it never does.” “that isn't the point, daquin,” stewart asserted. “you negroes have got to stop these real attacks!” “there are more ways than one of looking at that,” was jean's troubled rejoinder. “in the first place, nearly every one of these ‘attacks’ has on investigation been found to be untrue. yet, your papers are screaming madly every day without much investigating of their stories beforehand that more and more assaults are being committed. a second thing is that it's up to the police and the sheriff's office to catch and put in prison any man suspected or accused of a crime what- ever his colour. if one of your race kills somebody or at- tacks a woman, you don't rush around saying that it's up to the white people to catch him—quite properly you say it's up to the police. and a third thing—there’ve been several attacks on coloured girls by white men of late but i haven't seen those listed as part of the record of assaults.” “that kind of talk won’t get you anywhere, daquin. you're only fooling yourself and the fact there's a certain degree of truth in what you say only makes it the more dan- gerous for you to be talking that way—you'd make most of these white people mad because you have done some thinking about the situation.” [ ] flight other than with her friends and with shopkeepers who care- fully concealed their feelings, scoffed at his forebodings. “you’re not used to anything like this and you're too easily scared,” she laughed. “mrs. hunter tells me they have lots of situations here just as delicate and they've all blown over in time. same as this one will blow over as soon as the hot weather ends.” her air of finality in citing mrs. hunter as authority convinced jean there was little need of pursuing the subject further in that direction. mimi was more sympathetic but she showed by her puzzled frown she did not comprehend his reasons for worrying. “white people—and coloured people—you didn't used to separate people into such definite classes before you left new orleans, papa jean!” she declared, somewhat confused. “after all, what real difference does it make? a difference in colour, different hair, different features, but what do those matter in the long run? why can't people be just people and stop all this meanness?” “that isn't the point right now, mimi,” he explained. “i suppose it's silly but i'm worried—this thing's mighty seri- ous and it may be you and i and the rest of us may see some pretty dark scenes. oh, why did i ever leave new or- leans? i'd never have had all this trouble—at least, it wouldn't have been so terrifying—” “it’ll blow over,” mimi comforted him. “blow over”! there was that phrase of mrs. hunter's again. he was miserable. he saw his old house in louisiana, his garden, his flowers. he could almost see his old friends, bernard, pierre, andré. he wished he were sitting once more in the old café on chartres street, with his friends spending long hours in comfortable, soothing conversation, sipping their glasses of le petit gouave, that heart-warming, gently exhil- arating concoction from old san domingo. he could smell the wild odours of the tropical, luxuriant flowers, the mildly [ ] flight intoxicating smell of the wild orange, the honeysuckle, the roses, fragrant pines. he could close his eyes and see the delicate pink and white of the oleanders, could hear the soft-throated cries of the hucksters, many of them with huge gold ear-rings and brilliantly coloured dresses, their heads bound with gay headkerchiefs. “belles des figues! belles des figues! pralines, pistache! pralines, pacanes!” they called. a violent nostalgia assailed him, its accompaniment a bitter distaste for the harsh scenes of his new home. . . . long, tense days crept into anxious nights. feverishly busy with the making of money, men and women, white and black, good citizens and christians all and in their own minds true to their own various standards, did nothing. along towards the middle of september a few of them began to be disturbed. calls were sent out for mass meetings to check the wave of hatred and passion that rapidly was mounting. somnolent, apathetic city officials began to become vaguely apprehensive. the grand jury was called to meet on the twenty-fourth. slowly, terribly slowly, the gargantuan crea- ture of public opinion began to rub its eyes sleepily and grumblingly bestir itself. . . . on a saturday afternoon when september had crawled its torrid way two-thirds into october, mrs. daquin took her turn entertaining the fleur-de-lis club. jean closeted him- self in his own room, alternately reading and taking short cat naps. he did not want to be forced to hear the rumble of chatter and gossip nor was he unaware of the shortness of his wife's temper had he blunderingly impeded the smooth running of the carefully constructed plans for the afternoon's pleasure. mimi and hilda brought him his supper, which he ate slowly as he gazed into the dusty, sere garden backing the house next door. the leaves of the corn stalks, the tomato plants, the cabbages were yellowed and dried, mute appeals for saving showers. [ ] f light he must have fallen asleep, for it was night when mimi rushed into the room and shook him until he was awake. “come quick, papa jean! mrs. daquin is sick!” she urged. jean rushed downstairs. all the women had gone save mrs. adams, who had loosened mrs. daquin's corsets and clothing. “i think it's indigestion,” was mrs. adams' calm reply to jean's fearful questions. “hilda's telephoning for the doctor. you and mimi help me get her upstairs.” jean was grateful for her cool command of the situation. they got mrs. daquin into bed before the doctor came. he came, examined, looked grave, then more cheerful. his orders were terse. “keep her quiet—hot applications—give this prescription every two hours—this one every four hours. afraid all the drug stores round here are closed, so you’ll have to go down town—probably to jacobs'—they stay open late.” mimi remembered the conversation with jean as he started to leave the house. “wait a minute until i get my hat. i’m going with you,” she announced. he protested, told her she should remain at home with mrs. daquin. “mrs. adams and hilda will stay. i've just asked them.” she had returned, hat on, before he could answer. real- izing that further argument would be unavailing, he and mimi set out for the distant drug store. . . . a hot saturday afternoon, traditionally a half-holiday, had brought into town hundreds of country people. saloons were doing a rushing business, those labelled “for white” and those bearing signs, “for coloured only.” late in the afternoon an elderly white woman had gone to a window to close the shutters. a negro was passing on the sidewalk. her mind inflamed with the news stories she had read, she screamed. someone telephoned for the police. newspapers [ ] flight got wind of the story, rushed “extras” on the street bear- ing letters five inches high, “another woman as- saulted.” before the police could reach her house, the woman telephoned it was all a mistake—she had only been hysterical. in the meantime, too late to be stopped, presses had begun to rumble and roar and belch forth flaming sheets of alarm, the ink smearing in its freshness. others followed, “second assault,” “third assault,” “fourth assault.” at first it was a gentle murmur of hatred. then it began to swell. papers were snatched eagerly from panting news- boys. over the shoulders of each purchaser hung a group, standing on tiptoe to grasp the story of the latest outrage. the grumbling grew. little flames of violent words shot up. they grew in number. they shot higher. they com- bined in volume until one great peal of implacable negro- phobia went up like the din of a continuous thunderclap, like a pipe organist treading angrily on his foot-pedals in dissonant roaring. the entire city was as a huge boil, packed tight with putrescence. a pin-prick was applied, the fester- ing, purulent tumour burst open and flung high its venom. spattering, smearing, befouling matter came down and sprang, like the sown dragon's teeth, into howling, murder- bent mobs. . . . jean and mimi had noted the little knots of angry men gathered on street corners muttering and cursing. they had hurried past these, hoping that they might safely reach the drug store and return home. “i don’t like the looks of these men,” said jean. “they're in a nasty mood and it wouldn't take much to start trouble.” here and there they noticed a policeman, paunchy, helmeted, swinging night sticks but doing little to disperse the rapidly growing crowds. it was with a deep sigh of relief that jean reached the drug store. they had to wait nearly an hour [ ] flight while the prescriptions were being filled. leaving the store, they found the embers had burst into flame. a huge man, shirt-sleeved and collarless, his eyes bloodshot and venomous, was perched high on a box haranguing the crowd, which swayed and eddied and shouted approval of the speaker's remarks. fascinated, jean and mimi stood in the doorway and watched the spectacle. “five points,” the intersection of five heavily travelled streets, was rapidly becoming filled with a milling, motley throng. other speakers ascended hastily improvised rostrums, the tail end of a delivery wagon, a fire hydrant, the projecting ledge of a show-window. the move- ment of the crowd became swifter, the blood lust was roused, the killer was eager for the victim. . . . a negro was seen walking down marietta street, one of the five thoroughfares focusing in five points, unaware apparently of the scene he was approaching. mimi saw him and wanted to shout a warning to him. it would have been fruitless—the roar was too great and her voice would have been as the falling of a single drop of water on the shore while near-by boomed the surf. it would have been almost suicidal—the pack might easily have turned on them. never- theless she wanted to cry out to this unknown man to flee. it was too late. one man in the crowd spied him just as mimi saw him, just as she uttered a little scream of terror. up went the roar, “there's a nigger now!” too late the negro saw his danger. he turned to flee but before he had gone many yards the pack was upon him. mimi saw him strike out, dodge, attempt to elude his at- tackers. it was useless. down he went and a great bellow of hatred, of passion, of sadistic exultation filled his ears as he died. mimi covered her eyes with her hands and pressed close to jean as she saw the flashing jack-knives. she was never able to tell, even in her own thoughts, what [ ] flight happened to her in that terrible moment. to her before that dread day, race had been a relative matter, something that did exist but of which one was not conscious except when it was impressed upon one. the death before her very eyes of that unknown man shook from her all the apathy of the past. there flashed through her mind in letters that seared her brain the words, “i too am a negro!” . . . “come on, mimi, we’ve got to get out of this!” jean's words made her uncover her face. from near-by decatur street, thoroughfare of saloons and dives, of pawn- shops and rooming-houses, of cheap restaurants and tailor shops, there came the crash of breaking glass. “they're breaking into the pawnshops to get weapons,” was jean's correct conjecture. here—there—everywhere the howling mobs rushed. street cars were stopped, negroes pulled from them, stabbed, kicked, beaten to death. few shots were fired—the quarters were too close—some member of the mob might get hurt. a shout went up that made all others seem puny. out of a side street lurched a carriage drawn by two horses. on the box there half crouched a white man. taut reins in left hand, in the right he held a long, winding, cruel-looking whip. in the back crouched two frightened negroes. on and on the carriage swayed and rushed. the driver with one motion lashed the foaming horses, with almost the same sweep he swung backwards and across at the yelling men who sprang at the carriage like starving wolves at a dangling carcass. shouts of pain and fury from the lashed, who fell back, huge welts on their faces, mingled with the pounding of the horses’ hoofs. above it all there came a piercing yell from the driver, an obbligato of exultation and challenge welling above the deeper-throated rumble of the crowd. breathlessly jean and mimi followed the carriage as far as they could see it, [ ] f light a prayer in their hearts for the escape of the three. there came a subtle change in the sounds growing fainter in the dis- tance. a note of bafflement entered the deeper tones. a final roar of disappointment told them the carriage had escaped with its human burdens, and happiness filled them. clutching mimi's hand, jean cautiously sped from doorway to doorway as the crowd, lessened by those who had gone in pursuit of the carriage, thinned out. across the broad expanse of marietta street they scurried. once they crouched in a doorway while a crowd sped in pursuit of a crippled negro bootblack who hopelessly sought to distance his pursuers. he fell, the mob atop him. mimi screamed. a member of the mob heard her, turned and thrust his face into jean's. he snatched off jean's hat and peered into his face in the dim light. in terror, jean lapsed into french. “mon dieu!” he cried, in dismay. “’scuse me, brother! i thought you were a nigger!” apologized jean's tormentor, handing jean his hat. . . . on they sped, down peachtree street, to auburn avenue, down auburn avenue to pryor street. there, as they started to cross, a shout welling into a roar made them draw back into the shelter of a doorway. up pryor street sped a young, well-dressed negro. inch by inch, foot by foot, yard by yard he gained on his pursuers. one by one he left them behind until only one was near him. here was one who ran as swiftly as the intended victim. mimi and jean saw the negro glance over his shoulder. from his pocket they saw him take a pocket-knife and open it. in so doing he lost a few feet. as the two racing figures were abreast the hiding-place of jean and mimi, the pursuer lunged forward, clutching at the shoulders of the negro to drag him to the earth. twisting, turning, the negro plunged the knife to its hilt in the [ ] / flight breast of his pursuer, who gasped, groaned and ludicrously sank to the ground. without pausing, the negro turned down auburn avenue and soon was lost in its shadows. . . . the mob rushed up, gathered around the victim, peered indecisively down the street where the negro had fled, dis- cussed and voted against following him as the street led to the negro section. a cry went up. another victim had been sighted. off it sped its death cry again in full volume. down the street and home scurried jean and mimi, weak with fright and the horror of the scenes they had witnessed. . . . all during sunday and monday the three remained at home. reports came to them of bloody fighting in south atlanta, of negroes in despair fighting bravely and successfully to check the mobs, of the coming of troops. the ghastly epi- sode ended, slowly the town returned to its normal state. to mimi there came whenever she remembered it a chill terror that almost became unconsciousness. in the still hours of the night she would awaken from a sound sleep screaming with terror which turned on awakening into hysterical sobbing until jean came to her and comforted her. the healing brought alone by time lessened her spasms, but many days passed before she could smile again. [ ] chapter wi imi dated thereafter her consciousness of being col- m oured from september, nineteen hundred and six. for her the old order had passed, she was now defi- nitely of a race set apart. at times this created within her moods of introspection which veered dangerously near the morbid. at other times it inculcated a deep and passionate scorn of those who were her own and her race's oppressors. she chuckled when she read or heard of or saw their imbecili- ties, their shortcomings. she looked with scorn on their pro- vincialism, their stupidity, their ignorance. conversely, she found herself magnifying the virtues, the excellencies of her own people and, at the same time, she tried to explain away through a process of subtle sophistry all their faults. in time the continuation of these practices began to work a decided and noticeable change in her outlook on life in gen- eral. she found herself in time thinking of practically all things, it mattered not what their nature nor how remotely connected with race or colour problems they were, in terms of race or colour. this distorted vision seriously handicapped her but she was unaware of it for it coincided so completely with the viewpoints of her friends. “poor white trash” became the ultimate of scorn, of contumely, of disparagement. in marked contrast with her former jovial and friendly manner she became almost malicious in little cruelties to tradesmen, to hucksters, to clerks in stores who happened to be white. in these episodes she took acute delight in the fact that her cream-coloured skin, her gallic name and her french accent [ ] f light gave her immunities she might not have possessed had she been more distinctly negro. when first she had come to atlanta she had been cap- tiously critical of the foibles and petty vices of her new friends. she had recoiled from their bearing of tales, their tearing down of reputations on scanty and imperfect reports of alleged shortcomings. she had hated the obsession of the men on the making of money, the vying of woman with woman in dress, in grandeur of entertainment and of homes. but with the passing of years and particularly after the scenes she had witnessed in the rioting, she began to take these as a matter of course and she found they no longer shocked nor an- noyed her. she did not know if she were becoming inured to the new order, if she were succumbing to the new point of view. her association with jean and the lack of contact in her youth with children of her own age had given her a ma- turity of mind far in advance of her years. she was pained now when she realized that her talks with jean were becoming more and more infrequent and when they did come they were somewhat less understanding than they had been before. her sense of loyalty kept her from thinking consciously that jean was being rapidly left behind by the procession of events, that she who once had seen life eye to eye with him was far beyond him. but though she would not admit it, nevertheless it was true and therein lay the reason why both he and she sought less and less for the old comradeship which had meant so much to both. jean, however, saw with clear eye the changes being wrought in mimi. her new attitude towards race grieved him though he fully understood the reasons for that change. he knew that a blind race obsession would materially arrest her development and he deplored its rapid growth. he knew that [ ] flight argument and direct attack would be of little avail—mimi's face on that memorable and terrible night had revealed to him the bitter travail of soul which was going on underneath. nor would he have argued against her feeling of hatred towards the whites with whom she came into infrequent contact, had he felt that good would have come of it. he sought instead to counterbalance it through carefully casual remarks regarding the genuine worth of this man or that one, to place in mimi's hands, or where she would surely come upon them, articles, newspapers, books which would fill her mind with beauty and truth. once it was an excellent translation of the short stories of balzac. another time it was “the way of all flesh.” or a thomas hardy novel, though he kept from her “tess”—that, he felt, was too—well, a little too advanced for one of mimi's tender years. he did not know that before they had left new orleans mimi had spent many hours locked in her own room while she surreptitiously devoured (almost literally, her nose was so close to the pages) the tragedy of tess. nor did he know she had read every one of the morocco-bound volumes of maupassant he had so care- fully placed on the topmost shelf. now mimi read (or re- read) the volumes he gave her, she listened to his long talks and she answered the questions he at the most unlikely mo- ments would ask her about her reading, for she knew it would have given him pain had she not done so. and jean's strategy was not wholly a failure. it gave mimi a sense of almost malicious delight when she found in class- rooms that she was more or less familiar with a sonnet of shakespeare, that she knew who chaucer was, that tennyson was something more than the shadowy figure of a man who had “written poetry or painted pictures or something.” only with hilda did she refrain from stressing, ever so gently, the advantages she possessed in having chosen a father like jean. [ ] flight with hilda she shared the stories that gave her pleasure, with jean's permission she loaned hilda books and therein was built another link between them. . . . to the trumpet-heralded tune of the martial “god of our fathers, whose almighty hand . . . ,” mimi and hilda, clad in white, filmy dresses identical of material and design with thirty others, marched forth one sunshiny june morning when the new century had reached its eleventh year. in their hands were clutched rolls of paper, each tied with a bow of ribbon. the required tasks for completion of the normal school course had been done, the seal of official approval was bestowed. there were presents and congratulations, parties and sighs of relief that it was all over. jean sat in the throng of parents and relatives in the seats reserved for them, his eyes moist as he watched his tiny mimi pass another milestone between that day when he had anx- iously hovered outside margot's door and womanhood. as the music rolled its sonorous way upward, growing more and more faint as the huge chorus followed the graduates from the chapel, he lived once more the twenty short years that had so miraculously sped by on winged feet. it was as though it were yesterday he had stood waiting eagerly for some word from margot's room. as he had heard her agony he had hated this new-comer who was causing his margot to descend into the shadows. when finally he had been admitted to the room he had rushed to the bed, refusing even to look at the intruder, and had fallen on his knees weeping bit- ter tears of suffering and relief. he had taken a solemn oath margot would never go through the ordeal again, an oath which later the doctor had confirmed as necessary—another child would have killed margot. . . . the years of happiness the three of them had spent together came back to him. the first step, the first word, the first tooth. long walks wander- ing through the old winding streets of new orleans, little [ ] f light fat hands clutching his and margot's fingers. the first days of school. margot's illness and death. a sharp pain went through him that shook him like a convulsion. “what's the matter? sick?” inquired mrs. daquin. “no- i’m all right, he whispered, resenting the intrusion into his reverie of her who had come after margot. the years of indecision, days followed by lonely nights when he had sought to achieve oblivion in the mottled green wineglass. mary. the coming to atlanta. years of discon- tent. years of unhappiness. he was better off, materially, of course. he had made money, it's true, but he wondered if he would have even held his job had it not been backed by mary's father with his money and his influence. good lord, he had been slowly achieving the respectable status of solid citizenry under the combined urging and guidance of mary and mr. robertson. and what was it all worth? was any of this petty striving and scrambling worth half the things it took out of you? and mimi–she had grown away from him, too. there was between them of course the old affection—he never doubted that for a minute. but the little ways that revealed the bond beneath, they were becoming fewer each passing year. oh, well, she is young, he thought, while i'm old and away behind the new generation. he was proud of her, nevertheless. as she marched from the chapel and passed successively the long, narrow windows, the sun streaming in had made her beauti- ful hair burst into a wild, exotic, flaming red beauty. it stood out against the blacks and browns of the heads of the other girls like a radiant setting sun in a sky of rain clouds. he was happy she was so pretty—he hoped she'd be married before he joined margot. he had watched the little ways, the growth of tiny revealments of the warm blood which coursed beneath mimi's laughing exterior. he was afraid, terribly afraid, of leaving her alone. alone? yes, he con- [ ] flight cluded, that's exactly what would be the case if anything hap- pened to me. mary and mimi would never agree were he not there. . . . “come on, jean,” mary roused him. “it’s all over. . . . oh, how do you do, mrs. lewis? yes, it's sad, in a way, to see our little mimi become a young woman right before your very eyes. yes, she did look nice. . . and she's a dear— mr. daquin and i adore her.—oh, thank you so much, mr. thompson.—where's mrs. thompson?—there she is! my dear, that was a beautiful gift you sent. i was just thank- ing your husband for it but i want to thank you both. . . .” here, there, everywhere mrs. daquin nodded or flung a cheerful, religiously proper phrase. jean and mimi owe all this to me, she was thinking. it was i who brought them into a civilized community. . . . it was that summer that carl hunter came home. mr. hunter told jean why. “that boy's been there at school all these years, spending money and having a good time. i told him if he flunked any more of his studies he would have to come home and work. i guess he thought i was fooling but he'll see whether i am or not. either he's going to come back here and work or else i’m through with him.” “aren't you a little hard on the boy?” jean ventured to inquire. “he’s young yet—hasn't found himself—he'll come around in time. . . .” “come around?” mr. hunter snorted. “he’s twenty-three now, and when i was his age i had been working for six years. no, i'm through coddling him and he's got to strike out for himself or go under. . . .” it was at a picnic late in june that mimi saw carl again. she remembered the curt manner in which he had greeted her at the party years before and she found on seeing him again that she still resented the cavalier way in which he had acted. [ ] f light she determined to treat him with the same coolness and lack of interest. as he spied her and hilda a three-piece orches- tra began to play in the covered pavilion. “hello,” he casually greeted them both. mimi stiffened, it was the same word he had used five years before. “how do you do?” she questioned but in a tone that said plainly she did not expect nor did she want an answer to her inquiry. carl grinned. “my! you're upstagy. will you dance with me?” “thanks, no. you'd better dance with hilda,” was mimi's answer as she turned away. hilda had stood there, saying nothing, but fighting to keep her eyes free from tears. she felt the electrical current that flashed between the two of her friends—heavily charged with antagonism—but hilda was too wise to let that ill feeling re- assure her. his five years' absence had not changed carl— she knew he cared no more for her now than he did then. and here was mimi, the only girl with whom she had ever felt completely happy, the girl she loved passionately, catch- ing and holding carl's interest and attention. hilda knew mimi was not doing so deliberately. she knew mimi too well to believe that. she knew, too, mimi would rather have done almost anything than hurt her. despite these reassur- ances of herself hilda felt the first bitterness in her heart against her friend, the first twinges of jealousy. her pride was hurt, it was true, but beneath that and far deeper was the pain caused by the sudden realization that carl had never been, was not now, and never would be interested in her. she wanted to cry, to dash madly through the woods near-by, to get away from everybody and everything and cry until no , more tears would come. #. all this raced through her mind at mimi's words. she smiled bravely. [ ] flight “no-no. i don't want to dance,” she lied cheerfully. “you two go ahead.” she watched them leave trying hard to keep from herself the certainty that her best and dearest friend had created in an in- stant, with two or three meaningless words, an interest which she had hoped and dreamed she would arouse. it was hard —terribly hard. consciously, she held mimi blameless. but underneath it was a bitterness, a feeling almost of nausea, a pain that made her think of the spartan youth smiling while his abdomen was being gnawed underneath his tunic or shirt or whatever they wore in those days. the figure gave her a bit of cold comfort. she toyed with the idea, turning it over and over in her mind as she went and sat silent with her mother. . . . mimi was wholly unaware of the emotions she and carl had roused in hilda. she knew of hilda's carefully shielded affec- tion for him, but she had been so absorbed in her own reac- tions towards him she had neither noticed the expression on hilda's face during the brief episode nor had she caught the too elaborately casual way in which hilda had urged her to dance with carl. as she walked with him towards the pa- vilion all her old resentment against him surged through her. she detested his cool and aloof superiority, his calm assump- tion that she would gladly dance with him. carl too was si- lent. his thoughts were of this girl who was mimi, yet was not the mimi he had only casually noticed before. her flam- ing hair intrigued him, he had always loved that torch-like shade of gold and red. and she had a temper, too. that was fine—he liked folks to show some spirit. they danced. mimi loved to dance. she found her- self forgetting her resentment, she had to keep reminding her- self that she was angry. and carl did dance well. no step- ping awkwardly all over her feet as did most of the other boys. the big bass fiddle moaned. the violin chirped. [ ] flight the mandolin pertly strummed. every few minutes the play- ers joined in the song. from near at hand came the smells of meat being barbecued. with it mingled the fragrancy of pines and the shout of children. it was going to be hard to remain aloof. the music stopped. its spell broken, she found her re- sentment rising. but carl only stood and grinned happily at her. “that's the best dance i ever had,” he announced. “how many times and to how many different girls have you said that?” she countered. “many, many times and to countless girls! but i meant it each time i said it.” at any rate he didn't protest he had never said such a thing before. “shall we sit over there and talk? i'd like to,” he asked, simply. they sat down and watched the crowd. over near the pavilion sat a little cluster of middle-aged women, heads close together but not so close that they missed anything going on around them. “the anvil chorus commences,” carl commented, nodding his head at the group. “the old tabbies will now proceed to dissect every soul around here.” “oh, they mean no real harm. why bother about them? that's about all they care about,” mimi easily remarked. “why? the hit dog yelps. they've begun again on me right where they left off when i went away to school nearly six years ago. i am discovering that i'm an extremely worth- less fellow—i smoke cigarettes, i don't see much use in go- ing to church and listening to a lot of platitudes about re- ligion mixed with bum philosophy and worse science—the di- rect opposite of most of the things i learned in school. i haven't sense enough to listen to it and keep my mouth shut— [ ] fl i g ht i go around mouthing my own disagreement with a lot of ignorant preachers!” “why go to the trouble of expressing your own opinions? why not ignore the things that annoy you by their falseness? it would be much easier—” “ignore them? lord, i’ve tried a thousand times and just when i think i’ve tied my tongue, out pops an objection and i'm in hot water again. my dad's disgusted with me—he says i’m a conceited, useless young fool and i'm more than half-way inclined to believe he's right. he's yanked me out of college 'cause i flunked math and physics again even though i did fairly well in languages and literature and one or two other things. he says i’ve got to go to work in the insurance business or he's going to wash his hands of me.” “what makes you so restless—makes you kick against the traces all the time?” mimi found herself taking delight in siding with mr. hunter against carl. “i don't know,” carl answered, a faint note of bafflement, almost of despair, creeping into his voice. “all my life i’ve been just what you called me—a kicker. i’ve tried to con- form—but all the time i find myself saying: ‘is that so?' when some greybeard starts to lecture me. and most of the things that everybody accepts as axiomatic, as truths never to be questioned, seem to me false and absolutely without value. in college i ran across a passage one day from spinoza that fits it exactly where he says that “truths are the falsehoods grown hoary with age.’” “you’re just pessimistic—you'll settle down in time,” coun- selled mimi, finding herself interested in spite of herself. carl picked up her words. “pessimistic! settle down! i’ve heard those words with variations a thousand times! why should i settle down? if i’d only work like a slave for ten or fifteen years, make some money, marry some respectable but dull girl who'd have a lot [ ] f light “you’re exaggerating—you're letting a handful give you an obsession that puts the same stamp on all of them,” she protested. “there are lots of women and men who’d fit into neither of the classes you've given.” “i know it—there are lots of folks like mrs. adams, for example, and hilda, but the trouble is they’re the kind who attend to their own affairs. it's this other kind that sets the example and they're the ones who do the talkng you’ve got to listen to. . . . say, i guess we'd better not sit here too long or they'll begin talking about you.” “let 'em,” retorted mimi, and she was rewarded by his smile of thanks. “nope. you can't afford it. but you're the only person i know i could have talked to like this and who'd have under- stood. . . .” hilda sat beside her mother, silent for a long time. seldom did her eyes leave mimi and carl. though she could not hear what they were saying, she knew from the absorbed, eager way they were talking they had found some subject of deep mutual interest. to her their blissful ignoring of others was as excruciating as though red-hot irons were being applied to her own flesh. at first she furiously rejected the thought that mimi was deliberately seeking to attract carl. as the distant conversation continued she began to toy idly with the notion, turning it over and over in her mind, though it pained her, much as one will constantly probe a sore tooth with one's tongue. then she hugged the belief closely to her, firm in the con- viction mimi was maliciously trying to take carl—her, hilda's, carl—away from her. she knew this wasn't true, she hated herself for her distrust of her friend. but back she went each time to that same distrust which bordered dangerously near hatred. it was like meeting a person afflicted with some facial [ ] flight or bodily affliction, a hare-lip or a glass eye, determining not to notice the deformity, yet fascinatedly unable to keep one's gaze from returning to the very thing one determined not to watch. hilda was all the more ashamed of her feeling toward mimi because, so far as carl knew, there was no reason why hilda should have any claim upon him. there had never been any word of love between them, he had always been rather fond of her in an off-hand way, had called her, as long as she could remember, “little sister.” she hated the term not alone because it seemed to her banal but more because of the mild affection it implied, vastly inferior in intensity to her own emotion. reason, however, plays but small part when one's love is concerned, thought hilda, and she returned to her brooding. . . . “it seems to me you're making a mistake,” mimi meanwhile was saying to carl. “you keep harping on the way the women here gossip—that's no practice peculiar only to atlanta and the folks you and i know. women do that everywhere, it seems to me, and i often think men do more gossiping than women. does it ever occur to you there are a lot of things on the other side of the shield?” “that's the only reason i came back here,” carl eagerly replied, the look of morbid unrest changing quickly to one of alert cheerfulness. “when i get most pessimistic about our own folks all i need to cheer me up is to look at un- happiness of white people. you ever notice that no matter how hard the luck he may be in, the negro can laugh and sing and forget all his worries? they call it shiftlessness and laziness but, lord, when i see the terribly unhappy way these white people live, so busy making money and keeping ‘the nigger in his place, i think we're mighty well off. say, would you like to go with me sometime to a camp-meeting [ ] flight or some of these other places where you’ll see the thing that's kept the negro from being wiped out—this thing they call “spirit’ or “soul” of the race?” “i’d love to,” answered mimi as they walked back towards where hilda was sitting. hilda was able to manage a smile but mimi noticed all during the day that she was strangely silent and aloof. the first coolness of consequence during their friendship had come between them. mimi was at first puzzled and wondered what might have caused it. then she remembered hilda's shy admissions of her interest from childhood in carl. mimi knew then, or rather she sensed, the reason for hilda's attitude. mimi said nothing to her, knowing the unwisdom of mentioning the subject and fearing that the breach might be widened if she spoke of it. and, being human, hilda's pouting irritated her. “she's silly,” thought mimi, “getting angry with me simply because carl and i talked for a few minutes. if that's the kind of friend she is mimi did not complete the thought but she felt vaguely amused and annoyed at hilda. at the same time she looked forward to talking with carl again. he was different. . . . [ ] chapte r w ii she saw around her than the song, the laughter, the deep religious faith and the spontaneous humanity of the people of whom she was now a part. in new orleans she had been stirred by the music which had a distinctive negro note but which had been influenced to a definite extent by french songs that made it a sort of africanized french. here she felt much more vividly the rhythmic surge and sweep of the negro music untouched by other influences—the ecstatic pouring forth of melodies that often were not melo- dies but a wild and intoxicating thing that made little chills run up and down her spine and filled her eyes with tears. with carl she came upon new phases of this life in out-of-the- way places which had hitherto been unknown to her. she began to see and understand the deep spirituality which lay back of this people of hers, to comprehend the gifts which had enabled them to withstand oppression which would long since have crushed a weaker race. the day when a convict gang began to repair the street in front of their home was one mimi never forgot. she awoke hearing a wild, plaintive, poignantly simple melody so strange she thought herself yet asleep. drawn by the music, she dressed hastily and hurried to see from whence it came. in the street a strange sight met her eyes. a crowd of negro convicts, clad in the broad-striped and ill-fitting garb of rough material, huge balls of iron attached to their ankles by heavy chains, were tearing up the street with synchronized strokes of their pickaxes. up and down the sidewalks strode t o mimi there was no more fascinating thing in the life [ ] flight the guards, sawed-off shotguns on their shoulders. one of these was a stalwart fellow with stooped shoulders, unshaven, his mouth stained by the tobacco he constantly chewed. another was of shorter and stockier build, equally unshaven and tobacco-stained, one eye missing, the empty socket shrunken until it gave his face a curiously unbalanced and evil look. up and down the guards strode, keeping ever-watchful eyes upon their charges, who worked and sang, apparently in blissful ignorance of guards or toil or any external thing. occaionally one would stop for a drink of water brought by a remarkably ragged young negro who nearly all the time was playing when he was most needed. the thirsty one would dawdle, invent all sorts of ingenious methods of de- laying, take as long as he could in assuaging his thirst. if the operation consumed too much time there would come a warning from one of the guards, ominous, threatening, but shaken off as lightly as the water from the proverbial duck. the convicts were of all shades and sizes and shapes. in the awkward garb they were a ludicrous, ill-assorted lot. some there were with the shifty, roving eyes of tricksters. others wore on their faces the hall-mark of the criminal of dangerous type. the faces of a few of these bore livid scars of varying lengths gained by knifings in desperate fights. but to mimi most of the men were kindly of expression, were obviously those arrested and convicted on petty charges be- cause the city needed them or men like them to work its streets. - there was one item only in which this motley crowd was as one. a stalwart negro with a ringing barytone led them in the song which had awakened mimi. on and on he sang, verse after verse of a wildly sweet and simple song, joined in the chorus by the others. like the beat of a giant metro- nome there came a grunting “hunh!” as the shining points of [ ] flight she was afraid she would not have been that optimistic—she doubted that she could have used song even as an opiate to forget hard circumstance as these men were doing. she mar- velled at their toughness of fibre which seemed to be a racial characteristic, which made them able to live in the midst of a highly mechanized civilization, enjoy its undoubted advan- ' tages, and yet keep free that individual and racial distinctive- ness which did not permit the surrender of individuality to the machine. in slavery it had kept them from being crushed and exter- minated as oppression had done to the indian. in freedom it had kept them from becoming mere cogs in an elaborately or- ganized machine. some people called it shiftlessness, laziness, inherent racial inferiority. mimi herself at times had heard these charges made and frequently she had believed them and had been ashamed of them, especially during the years she had lived in atlanta and particularly since that terrible night dur- ing the riot. the forced growth of her race-conscious attitude had accelerated this shamedness of her people's apparent lack of assimilation by industrialism—now she began to feel glad that this was so. she wished she could make up her mind just what she would have them be. when she listened to mr. hunter and the type of hustling, progressive, acquisitive men which he represented, she doubted seriously the wisdom of the negro's doing anything other than acquire wealth, forge ahead in business and commerce and manufacture as many of them were doing. but when she talked with carl or, more strongly, when she heard negroes sing or laugh, she wondered which road would lead to greater happiness. on communion sundays she went through the same process of ratiocination. the passing of the bread and wine after the sermon, the bread hard and tasteless, the wine in a huge silver cup passed from hand to hand, was followed always [ ] flight by a silent prayer ending with the singing of a spiritual, “were you there when they crucified my lord?” she never forgot the emotions which the song created within her as plaintive, eerily sweet, stirring verse after verse winged its way through the small church and lost itself among the age-stained rafters. for years afterward the song made her imagine she had pains in her neck and back, for the song was always sung bent forward in prayer. it was with this weariness that she associated the terrifyingly real agony of jesus which the words evoked. “were you there when they nailed him to the tree?” “when they pierced him in the side?” “when he bowed his head and died?” “when they laid him in the tomb?” verse after verse told with terrible inevitableness the grim story of his agony and sacrifice and to mimi she lived each time she heard the song the tortures of the crucified one. al- ways she longed for them to come to the verses of hope and happiness, when they rolled away the stone, when he rose from the dead. the rising and falling “oh-oh-oh–o which preceded the wail, “sometimes it causes me to tremble— tremble—tremble,” changed now from dolour and pity and pain to an exultant, happy paean of exuberant joy in the resur- rection. always mimi was glad to reach the open air out- side—the song did too many things to her down inside. af- terwards she felt as though she had been the victim of some peculiar metempsychosis—that during the minutes of the song her soul had taken flight from her own body to that of some other rarer, more sentient, more delicately strung being of in- finite beauty and understanding, to return only when the spell had been broken. the other spirituals worked spells upon her of varied kinds. carl took her frequently to out-of-the-way churches, some of them housed in miserably poor, ramshackle edifices, others in more pretentious buildings. in them all she found that [ ] flight deep earnestness, that abiding faith and hope and patience which she found herself able more and more to understand. humble, simple folk most of the worshippers were, with envy and malice and smallness like all other humans, but blessed with that rare gift of lifting themselves emotionally and spir- itually far, far above their material lives and selves. she was filled with inarticulate rage when she sensed all too often that the preacher was far inferior to his flock, that he played upon their emotions and fears and hopes only to earn for himself a comfortable livelihood free from too much toil. these leeches, fattening on the sacrifice of washerwomen and other humble ones who worked terrifically hard to earn their small wage, stirred in mimi and carl the desire to wreak some sort of vengeance upon them. their rage usually re- sulted in avoiding such churches and there were many to which they never went a second time for this reason. mimi soon was convinced she had found an accurate measuring- rod of worth in negro preachers—the worse the preacher, the longer the coat he wore. but they did not confine their visits to churches. carl took her to parties where usually to the music of a three or four- piece orchestra of strings they danced or watched others dance with a lissom grace and abandon that intoxicated them like old, rare wines. among all sorts and classes of their own people they rambled, oblivious of the criticism that came to them occasionally. the storm was rising though they did not know it. it broke with disturbing fury when one night carl suggested they go to what he termed a “honky-tonky” dance. to mrs. daquin's rather sharp inquiry regarding her destina- tion, mimi answered shortly that that was her own affair, and she thought no more of the matter at the time. the dance was held in a small, poorly lighted and venti- lated hall. the floor was so crowded they did not attempt to dance but sat and watched the others as they somewhat [ ] flight “cripple joe, de ole rheumatic, danced that flo' frum side to middle. throwed away his crutch an' hopped it, what's rheumatics 'gainst a fiddle? eldah thompson got so tickled dat he lak to los’ his grace, had to take bofe feet an’ hold 'em, so’s to keep ’em in deir place. an' de christuns an’ de sinnahs got so mixed up on dat flo’, dat i don't see how dey's pahted ef de trump had chonced to blow.” she smiled appreciatively at the quotation. “it does just that to you,” she remarked. “i’m seeing bet- ter every day just what you mean.” . . . it was not chance that caused mrs. plummer and mrs. king to see mimi and carl as they left the hall. always they took a short cut homewards from prayer meeting which car- ried them past the two-storied brick building which housed on its top floor the hall. “look there, mis’ king!” whispered mrs. plummer. “ain’t that that day-quinn girl with that carl hunter coming outa that joint?” “it’s her, sho's you born,” mrs. king assured her. “i told you she'd bear watching. playing off respectable and going in such places—” “that's just what i say,” eagerly put in mrs. plummer, de- termined that her friend should not get ahead of her in the discovery made by her own sharp eyes. “an' her ma's such a good woman—though they tell me she ain't her own ma, only her step-ma. but you remember i tol’ you befo' they come here you couldn't depen’ on these here cath’lics—i'm a good methodist and i ain't got much use for baptists but they're regular christians, anyhow mrs. plummer shook with quick breaths, the combined result of her eagerness and the speed at which mrs. king was hurrying down the street so that she could keep the couple ahead within sight. “that girl's headed straight for trouble—carrying on like that!” mrs. king affirmed. “hurry up, can't you? i want to see where they’re going now!” [ ] flight “ain’t i hurryin’ as fast's i can?” mrs. plummer grum- bled. “and ain't i as anxious as you to follow 'em? oh! they’ve gone in her house,” she complained, a note that closely approximated disappointment in her tone. the cha- grin was deepened a minute later when she saw carl leave and turn down the street towards his own home. . . . it was hilda who first told mimi of the talk that was being spread about her and carl. mrs. daquin had heard it, too, and had spoken to jean about it, demanding that he forbid mimi from seeing carl again. this jean had hesitated about doing. he trusted mimi implicitly and he was fond of carl. he had liked him ever since the day on which mr. hunter had confided in jean his disappointment at carl's failure to show a keener interest in the insurance business. with hilda it had been different. when the story put into circulation by the mesdames plummer and king had first come to her, she had undergone a variety of emotions. first was indignation against those who dared say anything against mimi. she resented, too, any disparagement of carl for whom her affection, unexpressed though it yet remained, had grown instead of decreased since he had begun to show so deep an interest in mimi. and, being human, she found herself just a little bit glad this had come to them. she had two reasons for this feeling, the first of them being summed up in the words, “it serves them right!” had hilda cared less for mimi and carl, her momen- tary elation on hearing that they were being talked about would have been far slighter, if indeed she had felt the emotion at all. the very intensity of her passionate love for them both made her capable of greater cruelty, a vindictiveness that bordered on gloating over their descent into disfavour. a second reason for her fleeting satisfaction was wrapped in the possibility that through some means, she knew not what, there might come a break in the friendship between carl and mimi. [ ] tlight tº = wºuie if the fates were kind gain the interest and -is isºe tº deeper affectim for herself which she was - - -s isºshing mn mimi. who can tell? she re- *=: sºrr tims that that have happened. + ºr ====nturierime a cºnscious one, hilda furi- = - - - - resºre- nº ihr hasºs kind to her friends. t. -- - - -tºrs sº -ister in see mimi, fearing a return - - - - ---is == is fºre was made less easy - - - ** *** =mmer it with mimi greeted her. -- *-i- tº ses sist entre+ mºx tºir hitherto warm -----> --> --- sº erº isºmºr dated from that --> - * ~ *-* = resummer ellis through an es- s--, -º- is sº-erºes alsº is ºr tºught found ~ *-s == a-sºus him win ºr ºli cordiality - - - - - - -em, mººrismemº has stayed away --> * > * * is se ºr him: ricº this change - ------------- ºr sust. i. ºsteº she felt it was * - -, --, -ºs---tº its fur sh; tººd not see --- s --- - - - -a-i was nº = -iºnistip and - - - -s. sº sº set-ºrie extºr viii. fis and hurt * -- e, , ºs as sºrt tº vºs = ºrain dis- , s ------ *-s re re-sºn has visiºned and …s is a re - -- sº set ºut misins any ----- -- * ---e ºssi i- * -ss-s-s-s-s-sºns ºr in sening -e-ºs-ºs-ºs is sºme hims which sºs ºne-issº-sºs ºr their salººs- lºss is sº-ºs-ºs-ºsser fºr sºme sis sº-line-ºns ºs ºsae sur - at *-s-s-s-sº reesºme was sur ºf the º - - ~ - - = = = * * --- = − = — = = - ** - - †- = - †- — - --- -- -- - - - -- * =s* - —t = - - - - - -_ --- - - --- * *- --- * - --> - - -- - * * - -- - --- ** =w=r ºr - t----- - *-ºs- - - * - --- - ==== ----- gº- -- *- t-_i=--- _--- tº ---- - - - º -t—- = –- - - - -" " - - -- == – ~ * * - _- - - - = - - º - = ** ise --→ ~ irº– = = ** -- *— — - * * - - - ----- - --- --- *** * --- --- - - - - - - º - - ----- - * ------- - - *- -s --- * --- - - - - - - ** --~~~ t- **** -- -º- - + --- * = -s. *- - - - * * - - ** º - - - -gº- - º- º- - ** - - - - - -*** †† - - ** - º * * *-*º- --- = −. tº i. º -- º _ - ~ —º-tº- --- - - * * - * -- * * * ~ -- == ==== --- i = ** ** "t * * -- --- -- * - ** = an === r = −. r − = - - º - -- ==-------> * --~~ -* - --- - - ºil.- --~~~~ --- - _-_ - - - - - - *> === + m + i === ** * crº- + - - - - - - is-tº- = eat tº t * fitz —º == --- wº-l i risiſ: º hº **** flight then she would, if the fates were kind, gain the interest and perhaps later the deeper affection for herself which she was sure carl was lavishing on mimi. who can tell? she re- flected; stranger things than that have happened. as soon as this emotion became a conscious one, hilda furi- ously rejected it as treachery of the basest kind to her friends. filled with remorse, she rushed to see mimi, fearing a return of the unworthy feeling. her task there was made less easy by the somewhat cool manner in which mimi greeted her. a very decided chilliness had entered into their hitherto warm relations which they both very distinctly dated from that day of the picnic early in the summer. hilda through an es- sential honesty that governed all she did or thought found herself unable to act towards mimi with the old cordiality and, to save both of them embarrassment, had stayed away from mimi as much as she could. mimi noticed this change and wondered what had caused it. waguely she felt it was due to her own friendship with carl but she could not see why this should affect hilda—it was only a friendship and nothing more. she had become vexed with hilda and hurt that hilda by her actions had shown there was a certain dis- trust of mimi's loyalty. thus the breach had widened and the intense pride of the two had kept each from making any advance that might have closed it. the two girls faced each other, praying for an opening while they talked of little and unimportant things which served, rather ineffectually, as a mask for their real feelings. ineffectually, for both knew the other was eager for some chance phrase, some little thing, which might put them at ease. five—ten—fifteen minutes passed. they still talked of inconsequentialities. the air was becoming more tense. they each longed, ached desperately, for some way out of the difficult situation between them. hilda began to wish she had [ ] f light not come, to think of excuses for leaving, her mission un- fulfilled. it was mimi who in desperation and uneasiness broke the spell. “you’ve been acting queerly all summer, hilda,” she chal- lenged. “why have you acted so?” she hated herself for the awkward way in which she had spoken, the almost bel- ligerent note in her voice when she had intended to speak with utmost casualness. “why?” hilda echoed. “don’t you know why?” “no-i can’t see— has it anything to do with carl?” she blurted out, knowing, as she spoke, it had wholly to do with carl. hilda flushed and twisted her hands. now that it was out, she felt a sense of nakedness, of being stripped bare and forced to walk through crowded streets, as she had often dreamed— a dream that always awoke her with fright. even to her mother, close as she was to her, and to mimi she had never dared reveal the extent of her love for carl. a natural shy- ness and a fear of being made or thought ridiculous had forced her to keep her real feeling to herself. now that mimi had put it into words, she wished fervently she had kept to her former secretiveness. not knowing the extent to which carl's and mimi's friendship had developed, she felt she had laid herself open to ridicule. her perturbation was answer enough for mimi. “but why have you acted as you have?” she pursued the inquiry. “you of all people ought to know there's nothing between carl and me—” hilda silenced her with a raising of her hand. “tell me—truthfully—mimi–is that true?” her tone was so earnest, so appealing and fraught with apprehension, mimi was startled. [ ] f light “of course i am telling you the truth,” she answered, irri- tation creeping into her voice despite her efforts to keep it out. “don’t be silly, hilda. and you might at least have trusted me.” “i have trusted you—i have trusted you, mimi, and i’ve hated myself for ever doubting you, but you know how i've always liked carl ” she ended miserably. mimi's heart filled with pity and her eyes with tears. she clasped hilda in her arms and hilda clung to her passionately, pleading through her tears for forgiveness. all the misun- derstanding was wiped away and they smiled happily through their tears. it was some time before hilda could tell her the thing which had brought her. she felt great relief when mimi merely laughed at the slanderous tales which were go- ing the rounds. “oh, i’m not paying any attention to these gossipy old women around here. why should i? if i had done any- thing of which i felt ashamed, it might worry me, but why worry one's head over something that doesn't exist? life's too short for that.” . . . [ ] cha pte r w iii imi went to her room after hilda had gone, and lay m | across the bed for a long time in deep thought. hilda was a silly little goose for her anxiety, she thought, but she must care a great deal more about carl than she, mimi, had cver dreamed of. she determined to see carl, tell him as much as was necessary about hilda's affection for him, and then refuse to see or go out with carl herself. it was little enough for her to do for hilda who had been so loyal a friend. and it would be a service, too, for hilda's shyness would prevent her from ever indicating to carl that she cared for him. she herself would hate to break off the com- panionship with carl which had come to mean so much to them both and from which she had derived so much. his alert mind appealed to her, the reading he had done and the eager, lovable way in which he rushed to share with her any- thing he had come across in his reading which he thought would interest her, his keen interest in things other than those right under his nose, his quick and unforetellable changes of mood, at one minute happy and carefree and an excellent com- panion, at another changing abruptly to a serious-minded, at times morose and dissatisfied individual. with a woman's love for the unusual, the unstable, the unforeseen, she was attracted by these various moods. she had grown tired of most of the other boys of her acquaintance, for she could tell in ad- vance, almost to the exact words, what each of them would say under any given circumstance. she had never had this feeling with carl and he seemed to be possessed of an unend- ing and never uninteresting variety of humours, most of them of mercurial state. [ ] fl i g ht but with all these varied characteristics there was among them nothing which even remotely resembled a tendency to become mushily sentimental. here, too, he was different from the others. mimi had learned on several unpleasant occa- sions the proneness of the youth she knew to wax tender often when there was not the slightest provocation or encourage- ment. their friendship had never been marred in this fash- ion and that was the reason, mimi was certain, it had grown so beautifully and naturally. it had been a frank, eager companionship based on mutual interests and mutual under- standing. no, it would not be easy to give up this friendship, but she owed it to hilda, who, in her way and as one of her own sex, had been equally if not a better friend than carl. certainly their companionship had been of longer duration and there- fore made greater demands upon the parties to it. she was glad now there had been no word of love nor even any thought of love between her and carl. he had never entered her mind in this guise and she could soon forget him. but could she? the thought made her pause in the smooth course of her reasoning. now that hilda had brought the fact tangibly to her consciousness, was it true that her feeling towards carl was so wholly platonic? she began to have her doubts. it wouldn't be so easy to give him up as she at first so glibly promised herself and hilda. who would there be who could take his place—who could interest her as carl had done? knowing the futility of attempting to answer a ques- tion when there was in her own mind no question existing, nevertheless she went slowly, painstakingly through the list of all the young men she knew. one by one she discarded them until she came to the point she knew she would reach—only carl remained. rousing herself from the lethargy into which the circle of thought had plunged her, she went back to her original de- [ ] flight ward signs was intently examining the plate of salad before him. no help obviously to be expected from that quarter, mrs. daquin braced herself and proceeded. “they're saying you and carl were seen coming out of a disreputable dance hall one night last wee “it’s true. what of it?” broke in mimi. “what of it? what of it?” mrs. daquin's second interro- gation was almost a thin scream. “jean, do you hear what your daughter is saying? she brazenly admits she and that hunter boy went to a disreputable, vile place and then she asks: “what of it?’” mrs. daquin's anger was fast mastering her, despite her previously determined plan to retain mastery of the situation through calmness and scorn. mimi's willing admission of her guilt, as mrs. daquin considered it, had taken some of the wind out of her sails. or, better, instead of a strong head wind mrs. daquin's craft had been suddenly assailed by a veering wind from port. like an inexperienced sailor she sought to bring her helm around and steer her boat into wa- ters where there was less danger of squalls. jean looked up from his plate and stared hard but in not unfriendly fashion at mimi. he answered his wife's ques- tion without looking at her. “yes, mary, i heard her. what about it, mimi?” “carl did take me to the dance, papa. i wanted to see some of these new dances, hear the music, see a side of life among coloured people i had never seen before. we went there, we stayed awhile, and then carl brought me home. do you see anything wrong in that, papa jean?” mimi ended calmly. before jean could reply his wife burst in upon the conversa- tion, able no longer to restrain her anger. “wrong in it? mimi, haven't you any sense of decency at all? even if you didn't do anything but what you said, [ ] flight think of what the neighbours will say! think of what—” “i told my father, mrs. daquin, what took place, and i’m not in the habit of lying to him,” mimi with cold fury, her eyes flaming with suppressed anger, said. “furthermore, i resent your words “even if you didn't do anything but what you said.’” the two women glared at each other across the table. but mrs. daquin's anger was beyond the heeding of the danger signs in mimi's eyes. “young woman, you can’ “mary, keep quiet!” jean half rose from the table, his hands pressed against it with such force all the blood had fled from his knuckles. “mimi has told me what happened and that's enough.” jean's voice held a note which even mary in her anger could not help but respect and fear. “but, jean dear,” she pleaded, her tone changing miracu- lously. “i’m only thinking of our good name—” “damn your good name!” the unfamiliar jean snapped. “i’m sick and tired of your petty bickering with these little folks you're so mad about—these busybodies so worried keep- ing track of other people and meddling into their affairs. as for this present matter, i want it stopped right here. whether mimi acted right or not, she's told us what's happened and that's enough of it. do you hear me?” it was a long speech for jean and it was not often that he permitted himself to become so angry. he did not know it but it gave him the opportunity of expressing his opinion of these aliens, so different to those of his own new orleans whom he missed more and more. and his nostalgia was none the less potent and painful because he knew that even had he remained in new orleans he would not have been happy. just as when a man dies, his good traits or those good traits given him by popular belief are magnified after his death and [ ] flight his faults are minimized until they disappear altogether, so jean remembered as the years passed only the beauties of new orleans and he forgot the changes which had been so largely instrumental in persuading him to move to atlanta. but, though calmed, the fire of mrs. daquin's wrath, hotly burning because she feared any scandal might jeopardize her own social position, was too great to be quenched even by jean's outburst. “all i’ve got to say then, jean, if that's all the thanks i get for trying to keep our name clean, is that mimi had better not see carl hunter again, even if he's the son of my best friend.” jean was about to speak again angrily, when mimi stopped him. “neither of you need worry about that—carl and i won't see each other again.” both jean and his wife looked inquiringly at mimi and waited for an explanation but none was forthcoming. but mrs. daquin concluded at this unexpected acquiescence that there was more to the incident than appeared on the surface. she privately concluded that mimi had effectually hood- winked jean and that it was fear and guilt which made mimi so readily consent to the breaking off of the friendship with carl. . . . her interview with carl was not so easy as mimi had sup- posed it would be. he came readily enough when she sent for him. he supposed she wanted to discuss with him the talk which had come to his ears, too. a look of amazement came over his face as she quietly told him of her resolve, followed by an expression that was almost dismay when she guardedly told him of hilda's affection for him. “she likes you, carl,” mimi ended, “and she's been think- ing all summer that i, her best friend, have been trying to vamp you away from her. she knows now, though, there's [ ] fl i ght nothing between us. so for her sake and since this talk's been started, we'd better see less of each other.” she added, almost as an afterthought: “i do hate, though, the satisfac- tion we'll give these old tabbies.” “but, mimi,” carl protested, his face eloquent of the pain within, “hilda's an awfully nice kid and i’m fond of her— just as i’m fond of my own sister, mildred. and i’d like to know who saw us at that dance so i could take one good punch at them!” he added with bitterness. “it wouldn't do any good—they'd be sure then we'd done something terrible,” she counselled. “just now, mimi, you said there's nothing between us. i haven’t thought of you that way, mimi, but—but—” he stammered, trying to take her hand. “don’t be silly, carl,” mimi laughed, moving away from him. she felt a sense of guilt, of disloyalty to hilda that she had phrased it so crudely. as carl repeated her words she was ashamed of them—they sounded almost as though she had uttered them in the hope of a denial from carl. “we’ve had a good time together and i’ve learned a lot and i’m grateful. you've given me a faith in my own people that i have never had before. before i came to atlanta i never thought much about ‘white people’ or ‘coloured peo- ple.’ i just thought of people as people. and then came that terrible night of the riot. after that i hated all white people and began to think every negro was perfect even though my common sense told me i was foolish. now i be- gin to see the good and the bad, in white people and coloured people—and that’s something.” but carl heard none of the things she was saying. he sat with his face in his hands, his shoulders drooping dejectedly. he raised his head as she finished speaking. mimi was touched with the look of pain upon it. “mimi,” he pleaded, “let’s forget all this silly talk and [ ] flight let things go on like they were before. i was wrong in tak- ing you to that hall—it wasn't wrong in itself but wrong in the eyes of these people here—so i shouldn't have let you go. you're the only person here i care about seeing. oh, mimi, don’t let's break off here. i’m a weak and foolish creature and the only thing that's held me up has been you.” desperately, despairingly, he pleaded, but mimi, though she felt herself weakening, steeled herself against the almost overwhelming impulse to take carl's head into her lap and hold it to her breast as she would a child's. the confident, rebellious man had become a child and the mother instinct, strong within her, almost overpowered her. she found her- self swept by a flaming, consuming affection for carl. had he remained assertive, sure of himself, she would have mas- tered it easily. but his self-revilement, his dependency upon her touched her deeply. love had come to her and now she must put it from her. loyalty to hilda and the prom- ise she had made to her demanded it. “no, carl,” she firmly reiterated her resolution. . . . [ ] cha pter ix the golden haze of indian summer but its beauties brought little happiness to three young people of at- lanta. hilda had listened with tearful gratitude to mimi's recital of her talk with carl. hopefully she had waited for some sign of interest, some word, some gesture from carl, but day followed day and she yet was looking in vain. lan- guidly she prepared for the opening of school when she would begin her career as teacher, the customary interlude between student days and marriage for the girls to whom custom forbade pursuit of any other calling. hilda passed through various periods of hope, of despair, of rage against herself, against mimi, against carl. at times she consoled herself that all affairs of this sort took time, that she need but wait and then her own excellencies would become so apparent, carl would see how desirable it would be for him to follow up the opening she had made through mimi's intercession. at other times she reviled herself as a hoyden, a brazen creature, a person without shame. her talk with mimi as- sumed gigantic proportions as a stripping bare of all her inner self, shamelessly flaunting her affection for a boy not worth the sacrifice. she castigated herself with all the cru- elty of some zealot, crazed by religious fervour, who sub- jects himself to all manner of barbarities. tartarus itself nor the spanish inquisition contained such instruments of torture as those with which unrequited love can flagellate its victims, hilda learned, and her unhappiness was not les- sened by her lack of one in whom she could confide. she t; blazing suns of august and september cooled into [ ] f light dared not risk further pain even from her mother, who might not understand, she thought, and whose lightest word would be as salt to a raw, quivering wound if she should speak lightly or with uncomplete understanding. hilda's conviction that her procedure had been wrong and very unwise, certain to drive carl further from her than achieve any other end, only added to her unwillingness to confide even in her mother. she thought several times of talking again with mimi but each time, upon reflection, she rejected this procedure. as time passed with no sign from carl other than he seemed to avoid her now almost obviously, she began to harbour a new suspicion of mimi–she wondered if mimi had said to carl exactly what she had told hilda she had said. she made for herself greater unhappiness by conjecturing phrases or sentences (or implications in phrases or sentences) that mimi might have used in talking with him. especially did such thoughts race through her mind after she had turned out the light at night and crept into her bed. like a child frightened by ghosts and goblins and weird figments of the dis- ordered brain, she shrank in terror from her own thoughts. she saw herself being laughed at by carl and mimi, being ridiculed as a brainless, silly little fool. daylight always brought relief from these tortures and re- gret for having entertained such thoughts. she would then rush as soon as she could to mimi and try by unexplained little tendernesses to atone for her distrust. mimi was often puzzled by these outbursts and she wondered what caused them. she was too wise, however, to ask directly—she waited for some voluntary word from hilda, which hilda, in her shy- ness and because she was so thoroughly ashamed of her sus- picions, never vouchsafed. nor was mimi so free from her own worries that she could expend much thought on the problems of others. after her dismissal, carl had resolutely avoided her, his pride too great [ ] f l i g ht to permit him to risk a second rebuff at her hands. three times she had seen him approaching her on auburn avenue. twice he had turned into a side street. once he had entered a grocery store where she was certain he had no reason for going other than to avoid her. with a woman's perversity of mind, she was annoyed that he should so explicitly obey her com- mand that their friendship be kept on a mere disinterested plane. mimi had never before been touched by the flaming torch of love nor even of affection despite her volatile and tender nature. the self-imposed abstention from companion- ship with carl which had formed, she now discovered, so large a part of her thoughts, was resulting in the steady growth of an interest that before the rupture had been largely an im- personal one. as he continued to avoid her, mimi determined to tell carl how foolish she thought him to carry out her quixotic request too literally. many days passed, though, be- tween the making of the resolution and its execution. then one sunday morning she saw him enter with his mother and sister and father the pew they always occupied near the front of the church. with all the eager impulsiveness of youth in love or youth imagining itself in love, mimi felt a delight- fully pleasant sensation in watching the back of carl's head, in being near him. she wanted to put in place the rebellious lock of hair which sprang in disarray from the top of carl's head like the feather from an indian's head-dress. she wanted ea- gerly to talk with him again as they used to, she wanted to ramble from subject to subject in that comradely way which she missed now that the talks had been ended. the gossip which had partly led to that abrupt severance of their com- panionship had died down, though mimi knew from experi- ence that rumour, apparently dead and forgotten, was many- lived and any misstep of the future could and would resurrect all previous reports. she knew they could arise again and always did, springing into life with new vigour like that myth- [ ] flight ical being whose name she could never remember who, thrown to earth, received new strength by contact with it, and entered the struggle again invigorated and more powerful than before. to regain the friendship she had lost, however, she was will- ing to risk the wagging of tongues. she stood with bowed head watching carl with irreverently slitted eyes as the serv- ices neared their close. “the grace of our lord and saviour, jesus christ, the love of god the father . . . now and for evermore, amen!” droned the minister, his head tilted back, closed eyes raised to the low-hung ceiling. the human impulse to talk, to move, to be saying or doing something, anything rather than endure introspection however slight, found gushing release as soon as the minister finished. cloaks and wraps half donned as the benediction was being pronounced were adjusted and feminine hats given the final pat of arrangement, while little eddies of gusts of greeting and conversation flew back and forth. comments, most of them admiring, were made on the sermon; inquiries, most of them perfunctory, regarding the health of those absent and those present; remarks on the weather, all the petty chit-chat which serves as the mucilage that holds together everyday so- cial relations. mimi manoeuvred her way from the pew into the aisle, tim- ing it so exactly that she reached the end of the seat just as the hunters were passing up the aisle. she greeted them inclu- sively but her eyes were on carl. he sought to avoid her but as his parents passed on he was left standing face to face with mimi. she smiled easily, he somewhat embarrassedly. “i haven’t seen you lately—that is, only at a distance,” she said. “i saw you enter wright's grocery rather hastily one day, though,” she added maliciously. carl flushed and seemed anxious to escape. “why should you see me?” he demanded, half angrily. [ ] f light “you practically told me to stay away from you just because of some silly old fools gossiping “you know that isn’t the truth,” she corrected him. “but i didn't mean for you to avoid me as though i had some sort of contagious disease.” carl's aggressiveness vanished, a tortured, hurt look in his eyes. “it’s best things go along this way, mimi,” he pleaded. “if we can't be the kind of friends we were, it's wisest i stay away from you altogether.” his earnestness, for some reason she could not explain, cre- ated within her a vague uneasiness. he went on hurriedly before she could speak, his voice lowered to prevent those near overhearing. “i’ve done a lot of thinking during the last few weeks and i think you were right in breaking off our friendship. no, i don’t mean on account of hilda—i wish i did care for her, it would make things easier. but i don't and that's all there is to it. i was happy with you, mimi, because you made me content to go along and try to satisfy dad by working. but now i see i was just fooling myself—i never will be an in- surance man—” “but, carl, you've no right mimi interrupted him. “right? what do i care about right? and who's to say what is right for me and what isn’t? i’m no fool—i know pretty well what i’m doing and i know i'm a pretty rotten sort—you'll know what i mean by that before long—as soon as the anvil chorus starts on me again.” “why don't you come to see us any more, carl? you know papa and i’ll always welcome you.” neither of them noticed that mrs. daquin had not been included. “no-i’ve caused enough talk about you already,” he an- swered cryptically as he lost himself in the crowd. . . . [ ] flight for many days mimi thought of the talk she had had with carl. naturally his mysterious statements of the talk he was certain to create piqued her interest. as discreetly as she could, she sought to find out what he referred to but with no success until mrs. hunter called at the daquin home a week or two later and asked to speak to mimi, alone. mrs. daquin, bursting with curiosity, regretfully complied with the sugges- tion that she absent herself. as soon as the door closed, mrs. hunter explained her mis- sion. she prefaced her story with a disconcerting question. “mimi,” she demanded, her eyes fixed on mimi's face, “do you love my carl?” “oh, mrs. hunter, why do you ask me such a question?” mimi, startled, parried the query. she was amazed—she had never asked herself so directly the question carl's mother had flung at her. “don’t be frightened or worried—i was so in hopes you did care for him. his father and i are terribly worried about him —he has always been a restless, queer sort of a child but as long as you and he were friendly he seemed satisfied. oh, yes, i know the silly talk that was going around,” she put in as mimi started to speak, “but nobody who counted ever believed that rot.” “that wasn’t the reason we did what we did, mrs. hunter,” mimi quickly broke in. “it was on account of hilda “hilda? what did she have to do with it?” mimi told her the story while mrs. hunter showed on her face the amazement she felt. “silly little fool!” she pontifically announced when mimi had finished. “she isn't a silly little fool and she's far too good a girl for carl or any other boy i’ve seen around here!” mimi hotly declared, her anger flaming high at the disparagement of her friend. it never occurred to her that she had applied the same [ ] f light term to hilda or at least terms suspiciously similar in mean- ing. “oh, don't misunderstand me, dearie,” mrs. hunter hastened to cover her hasty statement. “mind you, i didn't mean she wasn't good enough for my carl but that she didn't show very good judgment. but that isn't what i came to talk about. it's this. carl, since you and he stopped seeing each other, has taken to staying out nights with all sorts of people and three times this week he's come home drunk. he's in such a nasty temper i’ve been afraid to say anything to him and i know there'll be a terrible scene when his father finds out about his carryings-on.” “i’m sorry to hear carl's acting this way, mrs. hunter, but what have i got to do with it?” mimi, puzzled, asked. “i was wondering if you'd let him see you occasionally—and —and i thought maybe you cared enough to be willing to do that and see if he would stop. oh, mimi, he's my boy and i want you to help me to save him from himself.” mimi did not know what to say. she felt sorry, terribly sorry, for mrs. hunter—knowing her, she knew the ordeal through which the older woman was going, imperiously proud as she was, in abasing herself before a younger woman, an out- sider, and confessing her weakness, her impotence in saving her own son. on the other hand there was her promise to hilda. true, carl had said twice he did not care and would never care for hilda, but that made her own promise none the less binding. she felt impatience with carl coming over her. she was not puritanical by nature but carl's rapid succumbing to temptation vexed her, he was destroying the ideal she had cre- ated in her mind of which he was the embodiment. her indecisiveness was due more than to any other cause to her own lack of understanding of the full importance of mrs. hunter's words. this was not because of stupidity, it was be- cause of mimi's amazing innocence of life. she had never [ ] flight fully realized why there should have been so much talk re- garding the visit she and carl had paid to the dance hall. the people she saw there she knew were not of her class nor were they of the kind she ever encountered. margot and jean had closely guarded mimi from all influences which they felt might contaminate her mind. they had seen to it that her playmates were from families which observed indentically the same customs and beliefs as did the daquins. at school mimi had heard phrases which would have shocked her had she understood their import but, knowing nothing of what they meant, she had given them no particular thought. the same circumstance had existed during the years in at- lanta, where it was considered highly immoral to mention even the most rudimentary facts about oneself. mimi had asked questions but these had been more or less skilfully evaded. she had asked only once about certain amazingly distressing things she noticed in her body and the answer to that query, implying as it did that she had said something she should not have mentioned, had sealed her lips. but in her own mind she had wondered at and been distressed by these things, by periods of intense depression when the most minor incident made her cry or laugh. thus mrs. hunter's dark suggestions regarding carl's deviations meant little to her and she won- dered that his own mother and father could be so lacking in control over him that she had to appeal to her to help save him. “i asked carl at church two weeks ago,” she began, mrs. hunter meanwhile waiting anxiously for mimi's decision, “why he never came to see us any more and he told me he didn’t want to.” “oh, please, mimi,” the mother pleaded, begging almost piteously for her boy, “ask him again and again until he does come. you can save him—if you will.” [ ] f light “i’ve asked him once and if he doesn't want to come to see me then i won't ask him again,” mimi said firmly. mrs. hunter rose, her eyes wet with tears. she jabbed them jerkily with a tiny square of linen, ludicrously small for one of her bulk, mimi thought irrelevantly even as she pitied the older woman's plight. . . . mrs. daquin sought skilfully to pry from mimi the reason for mrs. hunter's visit but mimi evaded her questions and went to her own room. her resentment against carl increased. it was so silly of him to act as he was doing. mrs. hunter was an old frump, it was true, but she was a decent old sort after all. mimi wondered just what he had been doing. getting drunk was pretty bad for a young man who was yet in most respects a boy. mimi remembered jean and his demijohn of double port-wine after margot died and before mary robert- son came to new orleans. her loyalty to jean and the con- tact with intoxication having removed some of its terrors made her maintain stoutly that getting drunk wasn't the worst sin in the world. she wondered what sort of people mrs. hunter was referring to when she spoke of carl's new associates. there had been a note in mrs. hunter's voice when she said it that brought little chills of apprehension to mimi. suppose carl were killed by these shadowy and horrible creatures. mimi felt an iciness gripping her that took her breath from her. the very indefiniteness of the danger that threatened carl made it all the more terrifying and horrific. . . . [ ] cha pte r x sons for mrs. hunter's apprehension. like a great orches- tra beginning pianissimo upon a symphony, the tongues started clacking in soft and cryptic whisperings. carl, with reckless disregard of the conventions, made no attempt to con- ceal his derelictions, his wandering from the ultra-strict codes which governed his family and the set in which it moved. he gave the prying eyes and clattering tongues an abundance of fuel, his flaunting of local standards serving much as the up- ward sweep of a conductor's baton would draw forth a great swelling tone from his players. carl was seen no more at church despite several acrimonious discussions on the subject with his father. twice he was seen at a moving-picture show with a girl who was déclassée—years before, her name had been linked in somewhat opprobrious fashion with that of a married man of the town. it was true no proof had been pro- duced of any wrongdoing on their part and, as was the usual custom in such affairs, the man's connexion with the embryonic scandal had been long since forgotten. with the passage of years the blot on her name had grown through the very in- definiteness of the original rumour. for years she had been considered by the good christians of the town almost as though her offence had been that of being “a fancy woman.” carl had known the girl for many years, as long, in fact, as he could remember. when mimi had refused to see him, he had by chance met and talked with the girl one day and she had interested him. even when he said to her one day: “why haven’t we been friendly all these years?” she had made no t was not long before mimi knew in greater detail the rea- [ ] f light defence of her reputation nor had she complained of the years of ostracism she had undergone. had she done either of these, carl's interest in her would probably have died instantly. knowing in a hazy sort of way of her story, he was attracted by her calm acceptance of it, and he found himself more and more drawn to her. neither of them thought of their friend- ship save as friendship. but it would have been a feat of no mean proportions to convince those who saw them together that there was nothing questionable about their relationship. her halting suggestion to carl that he might bring unpleasant comment upon himself if he were seen too frequently with her had angered him—he resolved to go with her wherever and whenever he chose. this affair, together with the known fact that carl was drink- ing rather heavily, was all that was needed to consign him to the outermost circles. his family's standing saved him from complete condemnation, though at the same time it brought more criticism upon him. he knew that had he come from a less respected family little would have been said regarding his derelictions. but the fact of his dissipation, which he took little pains to conceal, only furnished the groundwork for the reputation that grew with startling speed. bandied about over tea-cups and back fences, across pews and shop-counters, through telephone and letter, a character of infinitely intricate pattern was woven around him. all this meant little to carl, however. he knew now that his feeling towards mimi was not the disinterested, impersonal affair he had thought it. women were queer, he concluded. at times they can be as ruthless and as without scruples as pirates or highwaymen and then turn right around and permit far-fetched and ultra-chivalrous and foolish little consciences to destroy happiness for themselves and for others. he knew mimi did not love him but he could not understand why she had insisted, all because she felt she owed some vague sort [ ] fl i g ht of duty to hilda, that they sacrifice all the happiness there had been for them in their companionship. and while carl was rambling through the misty and un- happy realm of his thoughts, mimi was treading much the same path. she heard the stories of his dissipation—her friends saw to it that she should hear them with all current elaborations. these, instead of having the intended effect of driving the wedge between her and carl deeper, appealed to her vanity—she rather enjoyed the romantic glow which filled her on realizing that a man was throwing his life away for love of her. she found, too, that carl occupied an increasing part in her thoughts. at night she lay awake for hours, seeing his face, hearing his voice. the separation which she herself imposed began to act as a boomerang upon her emotions—in- stead of holding herself in check, as she had never experienced any difficulty in doing when she was seeing carl regularly, she now found that she could no longer keep him from her thoughts. with rapidly growing intensity these moods came upon her until the mention of carl's name caused a queerly delightful sensation within her. . . . mrs. adams took her turn entertaining the fleur-de-lis in october. jean objected strenuously to going but mrs. daquin insisted. - “it’s only once a year husbands are allowed to attend and it's little enough to ask you to go just this once. besides, mrs. adams will feel badly if you don't go,” she had pleaded, successfully. after they had gone mimi sat on the porch enjoying the crisp, chilly air. tiring, she was entering the house when she saw a familiar figure enter and pass through the circle of light cast by the corner street-lamp. she waited until the shadowy form was passing the gate. it turned and looked up at the darkened house as it passed and she was happy that it did so. [ ] flight “you mustn't talk that way, carl. you're nothing of the sort.” she tried to comfort him but he stopped her with a gesture of mingled impatience and denial. his abjectness stirred her deeply. she felt again the wave of tenderness coming over her that she had experienced the last time she had talked with him in this very room, the time she had sent him away. she was a little frightened—her emotion was deeper, more moving than before. his unhappiness had subtly trans- ferred itself to her and she found herself filled with an al- most overwhelming desire to touch him, to hold him near her. carl raised his head and looked searchingly at her. his gaze disturbed her, moved her, made her uncomfortable. she remembered the day she first met him, the inclusive way in which he had surveyed her and the resentment his look had stirred in her. there was no resentment now. instead there was a fear he might see way down beneath and know how she had missed him, how she had longed for him. “mimi, there's one thing i want to tell you now that i’m here. i feel like a dog in telling you—i have no business even thinking it. but i want you to know—no matter what stories you hear—that—that—i love you!” his tone was half de- fiant, half tender, as he nervously flung the last three words at her. mimi sat silent, her eyes in her lap. with carl's declara- tion a great peace came upon her. doubt, fear, uncertainty left her. “and i love you, too, carl,” she said, simply. with a bound he crossed the room and sat beside her. “you—love—me—too?” he asked, amazement, doubt that he had heard aright in his voice. mimi, her eyes filled with tears of happiness, could only nod. “oh, mimi darling,” carl half sobbed, and pillowed his face on her breast while she pressed him close to her, holding [ ] f light him with all the tenderness that had been pent up within her, holding him as though he would fly away never to return if she relaxed for an instant the tightness of her grasp. . . . it seemed years later when carl left. “mimi, i wonder if we have done right?” he asked as he stood at the door, his voice worried, uncertain. mimi only smiled as she kissed him. . . . she had been asleep for a long time when jean and his wife returned. after she had undressed and turned out the light she lay in bed and thought of carl. life was funny, she mused. peo- ple came into one's life, flickered like the figures in a movie thrown on an imperfect screen and passed out of one's con- sciousness leaving no memories of importance behind them. most people were like that but every so often there came those, always few in number, who stayed and, by staying, created all sorts of difficult and unpleasant or pleasant complications. she wondered why nearly everybody she knew or had read about made simple little problems into tremendous ones and harried themselves with things which, seen later, were of such slight worth. conscience? right? honour? justice? truth? what were all these except little shibboleths which man had created in his own mind like little gods and before which he prostrated himself in abject grovelling? truth? she remembered the thing carl had once quoted to her from spinoza—truth is made up of the lies grown hoary with age. but after all there must be something in these things men had lived by and for which they had died. she wondered what it all could be. were they worth all the agony and bloodshed and sacrifice they had brought? here i am, she mused, a woman, a negro. life for me if i were white would be hard enough, but it's going to be doubly so when i have race problems added to my own difficulties as [ ] f light a woman. she toyed idly with the notion as to what her lot would have been if she had been born white—if she were to cross over the line and forget the negro blood in her body. the idea was not attractive. in new orleans the women who attracted her most and whom she admired above all others were not white—at least, they were not anglo-saxon. they all lived in the creole quarter and jean had pointed out many of them who had negro blood, some of them knowing it and others in ignorance of it. she had not needed jean's telling her to pick them out—there was something tangible yet intangible about them which indicated it to the observant eye—a warmth, a deli- cate humanness, an attractiveness which did not belong to the women who lived north of canal street. and here in atlanta she had watched them, noting the subtle differences even in those like herself whose skins were fair. no wonder that in new orleans in the old days, as she had read in the books of french travellers, the men often deserted the balls where their wives and daughters were, and slipped away to those more resplendent ones where quadroon women held sway. mimi remembered a comparison one of them had made between these who had negro blood with the american women —“frank, warm-hearted . . . with manners more interesting than the americans . . . the roundness and beauty of shape in the women also contrasting with the straightness and angularity of american figures.” she had asked jean, in her innocence, to tell her about these balls but for some reason she could not explain he had evaded her question and seemed to be somewhat embarrassed by it. no, she concluded, with all its faults and petty unpleasant features, she would rather remain with her own people. they got, apparently, so much more out of the life they lived with all its barriers than those who had more but seemed infinitely less happy with it. her thoughts, she realized, revolved always in a circle of [ ] f light which the exact centre was carl. she wondered why he and she had not ended their worries sooner by acceptance of the love which had come to them. it had all been so futile, so childish, and mimi, with the reluctance of youth to think of itself as youthful, felt rather ashamed that they had acted in such callow and infantile manner. now that she had stopped fighting against the love for carl which she realized had been in her heart all the time, her fretful and worried air left her. she lay in her narrow bed and smiled tenderly as she felt again his lips from which his kisses at first had fallen upon hers like gentle, soft blows. she stirred happily as she felt once more the rough possessiveness to which his lips had changed—she was not conscious of hurt until now when she realized her own lips were swollen slightly where he had pressed her close to him, while she had yielded happily. she was wondering where it would all end as she fell asleep. . . . it seemed to her she had hardly closed her eyes when she was rudely awakened. mrs. daquin was shaking her roughly, a dressing-gown thrown hastily over her night-dress. “mimi, come quickly!” she was calling. “something's hap- pened to your father.” “what's the matter? have you called the doctor?” asked mimi as she hurried down the hall after mrs. daquin. mimi was now thoroughly awake, a strange fear in her heart. “yes, he's on the way here,” the older woman whispered as they entered jean's bedroom. jean was lying on the bed stretched at full length. his breath came with difficulty and his face was covered with a cold, clammy perspiration. mimi with a little cry of distress and fear, quickly checked, flung herself on her knees beside the bed. she tried to feel jean's pulse but could find no trace. she pressed her head against jean's breast, trying to hear or feel his heart beating. an icy terror came over her when she could feel no throbbing. jean groaned heavily as though in [ ] f light great pain. mimi was happy to hear it—at least, that was a sign that jean was not dead. the doctor found her there beside the bed while mrs. daquin stood at the foot, weeping and wringing her hands, all her efficiency and forthrighteousness fled in the face of this phe- nomenon. he gently led them from the room. for hours, it seemed, they waited there. once the door opened hastily and they heard the doctor, who had rushed past them without speaking, telephone another physician, speaking ominously of strychnine and nitroglycerine. as he re-entered the sick-room he muttered in answer to mi- mi's question something about jean's heart. “he’s a sick man —a very sick man,” floated back to the two women as he closed the door. . . . morning found them waiting. for the first time mimi felt close to mrs. daquin. unconsciously they had clung together, brought close by the spectre which hovered over them. mrs. daquin brought a wrap and put it around mimi and mimi smiled her thanks. it seemed quite a natural thing that mrs. daquin should let her arm remain around the girl's shoulders when she had placed the wrap there. mimi snuggled near her and in her embrace mimi felt a security from the dreadful thing in the room where jean lay. the door opened and the two doctors, haggard from their work, anxiety and loss of sleep, emerged, closed the door softly behind them. dr. adams led them to the lower floor before speaking. “mr. daquin has had a very serious attack. heart trouble. brought on by acute indigestion. we’ve given him a double injection of strychnine and nitroglycerine to speed up his heart action. at first i couldn't get any heart action even with my stethoscope. thought he was gone. he's resting now. keep him quiet. i’ll be back in an hour or so.” [ ] flight mimi felt, as dr. adams uttered his crisp, staccato sentences, as though she were a condemned criminal standing before a judge, hearing a terrible sentence pronounced upon her. jean —her jean—gentle, uncomplaining, always kind—dangerously ill. it didn't seem possible. “i’ll tell mrs. adams and hilda to come over and do what they can to help you,” dr. adams promised as he left the house. . . . the news of jean's illness spread rapidly. before mimi and mrs. daquin could finish dressing they began to come with offers of help. mrs. adams and hilda were the first. hilda and mimi held each other close, all differences melted away by the sadness which had come to mimi. for a long time now hilda had known from carl's attitude that her hopes were of no avail. she had freely unburdened her woes at last to her mother and in the telling of them and the ready sympathy which she received from mrs. adams had found the peace of resignation. she knew through some psychic means that carl loved mimi and her new-found calm enabled her to feel thor- oughly happy for their sakes. . . . all day they came. mimi never knew there could be so much solicitude, so much genuine kindness. one came and pre- pared a meal, another tidied the house, another volunteered to do errands. mimi felt ashamed of her dislike for some of them in the past. affliction had shown her the real worth which lay beneath the petty malice, the ignominious bickerings and jealousies which to her had seemed the outstanding character- istics of many of these folks. jean slept the greater part of the day. late in the afternoon dr. adams gave him another stimulant. mimi had begun to show the strain through which she had been and he urged her to go for a walk. returning, she found mrs. daquin waiting for her in the hall. “your father's been asking for you. dr. adams said it [ ] f light like you haven't much patience for the old ways and customs —you, too, would in time have become unhappy there. but i didn't intend to ramble off like that. it's about you i wanted to talk. . . . you've grown into a beautiful woman, mimi,” he declared, proudly. “every day you look more like margot did when i first knew her. and you've ways like hers—only you've more spirit, more fire. . . .” again he lay silent and mimi, knowing instinctively he was living again his days with margot, hardly dared breathe lest she break the spell. the room grew dark but neither of them noticed it. from outside came the soft cries of chil- dren at play far away, the bumping of a short, fat street car as it meandered down auburn avenue, the shrill voice of a woman calling her child to supper. “i’m worried, mimi–not afraid—just worried. i’ve had these heart attacks before but i said nothing about them be- cause i didn't want to worry you and mary—but this one last night was the worst one yet.” she sought to comfort him, telling him little falsehoods about the allegedly minor importance which dr. adams had attached to the attack. it’ll pass over and he'll be none the worse for it, were the words she put in the physician's mouth. “did he say that really?” jean asked anxiously, yet hope- fully. she assured him that those were the exact words. jean leaned back on his pillow, a more peaceful look on his face which removed some of the shame she was feeling on account of the lie. she would have lied a thousand times cheerfully if they served to make him more content. “he didn't seem so optimistic when he was talking to me,” jean mused. “i suppose he was trying to scare me so i would stay in bed.” “of course that was what he intended. doctors assume [ ] flight patients will do just about half what they are told to do, so they are told to do twice what they need to do,” she encour- aged him. “i’m tired, mimi–so tired. i think i'll take a little nap now,” he said after a pause. “i wanted to talk to you be- cause i didn't know how serious this attack might be—tell you to remember, whatever happened, you're a daquin, but now i’ve heard what the doctor said, that can wait. you're a beautiful girl, mimi, almost too beautiful. but you’ll come through all right—just make up your own mind what's the right thing to do, pay no attention to what other people say, and then do what you think is right.” automatically she thought of carl. “last night, after you and mrs. daquin left, carl came by the house and i called him in,” she told jean. “he was very unhappy—i never saw him so downcast. we talked awhile— then—then—oh, jean, he told me he loved me—and it made me mighty happy—” “carl's a good boy, mimi. a little too flighty—a little weak, too, i'm afraid—but he'll come around all right, i think. they don't understand him and they're always rub- bing his fur the wrong way but—carl's got the right stuff in him.” jean lapsed again into one of his retrospective moods. his eyes slowly closed and soon he fell asleep. mimi kissed him gently, lowered the shade to keep the light from the street lamp from disturbing him, and stole softly from the room. . . . [ ] chapter xi “he’s resting easily now and i think he'll sleep through the night. call me if you need me. and you'd better get a little sleep yourself or i'll have two pa- tients,” he advised mimi as he left. his words brought realization to mimi that she was tired. she sent mrs. daquin to bed, telling her she would lock up the house and see that everything was attended to. she then tiptoed into jean's room and found him breathing gently, his face, with a smile upon it, turned towards the door. when he called at seven the next morning dr. adams said that jean had been dead about three hours. mimi found on his face the same smile that had been there when she had seen him last. mrs. daquin came into the room weeping but for mimi there were no tears. death had come too suddenly upon her, its swift snatching away of her jean had rendered her incapable of thought, of every emotion. she knelt by the bed, her head resting beside jean's, stunned, inarticulate. dr. adams tried to pull her away, telling her it would be better for her if she did not stay too long there. “no, doctor, i’m happier here. i’ve just a few more hours with jean now. leave me here alone, won't you?” he led the weeping mrs. daquin from the room and mimi was alone with jean. jean dead? she couldn’t believe it was true. she touched his hand, stiffened, cold. it terrified her. how many times she might have held it, warm, pulsat- ing, responsive. m t midnight dr. adams made his last call for the day. [ ] flight no—she had been too busy with her own petty affairs, her own insignificant worries, to think of him—longing for his quiet old home, unhappy in an environment and among people he did not understand and whose ways were not his. she had known in an indefinite sort of way that jean was not happy, that he and mary grew farther and farther apart each year, each month, each day. a spasm of remorse swept through mimi–remorse that held her in an icy, terrifying grip—when she realized now how she might have been of comfort, of con- solation, to jean, and instead had chased merrily after her own whims and fancies, giving little thought to him. she knew now that these later years must have been terribly lonely ones for him. she felt she would cheerfully have given ten years of her life to have him back for one year, for one month, even for one day. then she would show him the quality of her love for him. holy mother, why did one see these things only when it was too late? she was glad they had had their talk yesterday afternoon. it had been like old times, she and jean had been so happy to- gether. even in his own illness his thoughts had been of her —he had wanted to live not for his own sake but only for hers. “you’ll come through all right,” he had said. she wondered if she would. without jean's physical presence she speculated what her relations with mrs. daquin would be. in his quiet way jean had had a very real control over his wife. mimi sensed now as she had never done before that despite his gentleness, which sometimes seemed to be al- most weakness, his apparent softness had had great strength behind it—strength enough to hold in check mrs. daquin's ag- gressiveness and domineering attitude. jean had not spoken sharply often but when he had his wife listened and obeyed. he had never had to speak twice. why don't i cry, she wondered, like all women do and most men when death comes? she was conscious of a slight [ ] f light feeling of guilt because of her dry eyes. she wondered if she was showing proper respect. she looked at jean's peace- ful face. her own face was set in hard, tight lines, her teeth were clamped until the muscles of her jaws ached, but no tears came. jean dead? no-no–no—it couldn't be true. . . . they found her there, dry-eyed, when the undertaker came to prepare jean for burial. she was calm until the dingy wicker basket, sagging with the weight of its load, was being carried through the door. she was thinking of that day jean had referred to yesterday—that day in the st. louis cemetery when the funeral procession passed near them. jean had said he felt just as though his own body were in the casket. she knew now what he had meant—her own body was there in that straw container. “be careful!” she cried as one of the men let the basket strike against the door. a sharp physical pain shot through her body, followed by nausea as the men righted the slipping basket. then all went dark for her. without a sound she sank to the floor, unconscious. . . . when she awoke she was in bed. hilda sat near and smiled at her when she opened her eyes. “papa says you must keep quiet, absolutely. mama is see- ing after things and mr. hunter is taking care of all the ar- rangements for the funeral the ominous, horrifying word brought a little cry of an- guish from mimi. hilda's eyes filled with tears at her in- eptness. “ask your mother if she'll try and get some candles. and see if she can get a priest for the funeral. jean would be happiest if he was buried that way,” begged mimi. when hilda had hurried away to execute her wishes, mimi tried to get up but found herself too weak. she was glad to [ ] flight sink back into the soft pillows. yes, jean would be happiest if he had a catholic burial. he hadn't been to mass for years now but he had never allowed the narrowness and prej- udice of priests who after all were human and with human fear and cowardice and prejudice to destroy his faith. rever- ently, mimi made the sign of the cross. . . . the morning passed before she had strength enough to rise. she talked over with mrs. daquin, mrs. adams and mr. hunter plans for the funeral. jean's sister in new york whom mimi had never seen had been telegraphed and had wired she was leaving for atlanta at once. they decided the services were to be held on friday. mrs. daquin thought it best to have a protestant service but mimi was obdurate, immovable. this was the last thing she could do for jean and she was determined that it should be done, if possible. late in the afternoon, in the lull of visitors who were called home by household duties, carl came. to both it seemed impossible that less than twenty-four hours before they had been so happy together in that very room. “there's no use of my saying i’m sorry, mimi. you know it—i loved your father better than anybody except you. he seemed to understand me—i—i ” his sudden rush of feeling made it impossible for him to speak. his eyes filled with tears as he touched mimi's hand, gently and but for a second. “yes, carl, i know . . .” she whispered. . . . by thursday evening mimi felt she could no longer stand the torture of greeting people, answering the same questions over and over again, performing the many additional tasks the death had brought. mrs. daquin seemed actually to be enjoying after a fashion the new importance which jean's death had brought to her as his widow. not that she let it [ ] flight show on her face. she saw to it her eyes bore the appearance of much weeping and her general air was that of a christian martyr about to be thrown to the lions. to mimi she seemed to have donned the atmosphere of the sorely tried and heavily bereaved with full attention to the effectiveness of details, wearing the rôle as an accomplished actress would. mimi found all her old antagonism rising again—jean's life, she reflected bitterly, would have been much happier had his wife expended some of that energy now used in simulated grief to- wards happiness for jean when alive. there was but one place where mimi felt at peace, and that sitting beside jean's casket. to-morrow morning jean's sister, mrs. rogers of new york, would arrive. to-morrow afternoon the funeral. mimi crept quietly into the parlour. the room was unlighted save for the illumination from the flickering candles. through the partly opened windows floated a warm breeze of an unusually balmy late october evening. the lace curtains swayed lazily back and forth as though bidding a languid farewell to the body in the casket just beyond their reach. in the dimness they seemed to mimi like long slender fingers seeking vainly to caress the sides of the box which held all that remained of jean. the house was nearly deserted. one by one they had gone away. mimi, wearied by the incessant stream, felt a great eagerness to find the peace she could get nowhere else save near jean. it annoyed her to find she was not alone. mrs. plummer and mrs. king sat near the window conversing in lowered voices. mimi ignored them, drew a chair close to the casket and sat there gazing at jean's face. on it was un- mistakable peace—she almost wished that she were there be- side him. the extent of her loss was creeping upon her. without jean she felt lost, terrified, afraid. to whom could she turn? mrs. daquin? obviously, no. mrs. hunter? hilda? hilda's mother? carl? each of them had his [ ] flight good points but none of them were so all-inclusive, so gentle, so understanding, so unselfish. nor even was she herself, she realized. for here i am thinking only of myself—had i done less of that when jean was alive, i would have made his life and my own far happier. “. . . her eyes ain’t even red . . . if she was so crazy about him as she pretended to be, she'd . . .” mimi suddenly became conscious of the sibilant whispers which came to her from the two women by the window. lost in the grief bottled up within her like turbulent waters held by a great dam, she had been oblivious of comments during the days since jean had died. even to the undoubtedly sympa- thetic ones she had replied methodically, listlessly, giving lit- tle thought to the words, words, words. now as the sinister, malevolent whisperings came to her, the inevitable reaction to the apathy she had felt flamed into being. she rose from her chair, bitter hatred welling up for the evil-tongued old women. but even as she opened her mouth to speak, an overwhelming sense of the futility of it all came over her, a sense of inap- propriateness, the lack of respect for jean if she were to en- gage here in what would be but little more than a fishwives’ quarrel. she checked the hot, bitter words that pressed for utterance and rushed from the room. in the security of her own room she lay on the bed and en- vied the peace on jean's face. again and again the picture melted into the face of carl as he had left the house the night jean died. she wondered if this fantastic trick of her mind were not sacrilege, if it were not in some manner disloyalty to jean. yet, one was living, the other gone, and she felt a comforting sense that jean would not think her disloyal. she wondered what course her new relations with carl would take. now that hilda was removed from the problem . . . ? weighing, pondering, wondering, she lightly slept. they'll surely be gone now, she thought, as she on awaking descended [ ] fl i g ht to the parlour once more, drawn back to jean as iron filings are attracted by a powerful magnet, the chairs by the window were empty and mimi was glad. she sat again by the casket and peace again came to her. how long she sat there she did not know, lost as she was in her own rambling, chaotic musings. again there came to her a feeling she was not alone. the whispering rose once more, this time from the shadows on the other side of the casket. she sought to put them out of her mind, to lose her- self again in her own thoughts. after all, she thought, they are trying to show their respect for jean and their willingness to be of service. it is thoughtful of them to come over here and sit up. from the kitchen came the sound of voices and the aroma of coffee. maybe they'll leave soon if only to get something to eat. they did not leave. . though she made every effort to close her ears and mind to the words which floated jerkily to her, mimi found her resentment rising again. mrs. plummer and mrs. king discussed the probable price of the casket, the fur- niture. they speculated as to what the widow and daughter would do now, in what sort of financial circumstances the de- ceased had left them. mimi heard carl's name linked with her own—followed by an appreciative chuckle from mrs. king in response to some remark made by her companion which mimi could not hear. it was obvious the women had not seen or heard mimi re-enter the room, for the frankness of their comment indicated their assumption they were alone. on and on they roamed, by innuendo and by unqualified as- sertion destroying, maligning, tearing to pieces. . a cold, blind fury seized mimi. she jumped to her feet. the women gasped as mimi's bloodless face framing flashing eyes filled with fury rose at the head of the casket, the light from the tall candles giving it a terrifying, ghostlike ap- pearance. [ ] flight “you two get out!” mimi demanded. “you might have had enough respect for my father here to have silenced your filthy, lying tongues! get out! get out! get out!” her voice at first was but little more than a sharp whisper. as her anger mastered her it rose until her words carried to the hall beyond. mrs. plummer and mrs. king, thoroughly frightened, hastily edged around the room towards the door, keeping as great distance as was possible between them and mimi, who slowly circled her body so that her eyes remained upon them. the two gossips hurried through the little knot which had gathered at the door, drawn there by the com- motion. as the door shut behind them mimi sank into her chair and wept as mrs. adams came in and put her arms about her. . . . down the street hurried two indignant, surprised women. mrs. plummer speculated plaintively in an aggrieved tone as she panted her way homeward. “i wonder what was the matter with her,” she asked her companion. “we didn't say nothing to make her r'ar and tear like that—and over her dead father's body at that! some folks sho’ is funny!” “mis’ plummer,” her companion declared portentously,” it's the truth that hurts! you remember the old sayin's, “the hit dog yelps!” and ‘where there's smoke there's fire!’ guess we weren't so far wrong at that. . . . guess that gal will bear watchin'.” early the next morning mrs. rogers came. as she entered the house mimi rushed to meet her. her aunt took her in her arms, murmuring gentle words of consolation to mimi, who felt instantly the presence of a friend and ally. mrs. rogers was of medium height, younger than jean but so like her brother that jean seemed only a replica to which white, [ ] flight close-cropped hair, a moustache and a little beard had been added. “poor, dear mimi,” she whispered, her eyes wet. she pressed mimi to her in a warm outpouring of real affection, affection which sprang into existence unreservedly, binding them together in a flash of understanding and love. . . . mimi and her aunt talked a long time together just before mrs. rogers returned to new york two days after the funeral. “what are your plans, mimi? what are you going to do?” “i don't know, aunt sophie—this thing has come on me so suddenly i’m all upset. i suppose i’ll stay on here as long as i can get along with mrs. daquin “why did jean marry her? she's not our sort at all—an estimable woman, i suppose, but—well, she just isn't the sort —not margot's type at all.” mimi told her the circumstances of the marriage, of the years of misunderstanding which had followed the union. “just like jean to do a thing like that,” his sister observed when mimi had finished. “why stay on here with her? won't you go back to new york with me?” “oh, aunt sophie, i'd love to-but i can't leave atlanta right now “what's his name?” mrs. rogers demanded with what to mimi seemed uncanny shrewdness. “carl hunter,” she answered frankly, her face reddening. “you see, he needs me.” and she told the story simply, fully, knowing that her aunt would understand. when she finished, mrs. rogers smiled sympathetically. “i see—i see. but if ever things get unpleasant here, send me a wire and come on to new york. i've been pretty lonely since henry died and i’ve always wanted a daughter. i’d try to make you happy and i don't think there's overmuch happiness here for you with jean's widow. and up north [ ]] flight you'd have a much better chance than here where all you can do is to teach school or get married. the last isn't bad if you get the right man—but, don't hurry—a girl with your looks and brains can go a long way if she only keeps her head. . . . [ ] cha pte r xii she could find herself settling back into a routined life. at first there had been the long, empty days and the longer nights when the house seemed a vast, empty place from which the spirit or thing or whatever it might be called which had made it different from other places had fled. but mrs. daquin had removed most of the things which too vividly brought back memories of jean. “there's no use of keeping things that only make you sad,” she had said. “i get the creeps every time i go to see mrs. simpkins—those dried flowers from her husband's funeral hanging in the frame in her parlour. there'll be nothing like that around here—a dead person's dead and you can't bring him back, no matter how much you loved him.” at first mimi had objected strenuously to mrs. daquin's seemingly ruthless disposal of all the things which to her were so intimately associated with jean. they had, however, brought little furniture from new orleans, only jean's books and a few odds and ends. these latter mimi removed to her own room and then she willingly consented to whatever changes her step-mother desired. a new parlour set was pur- chased as soon after the funeral as was decently possible. new wall-paper appeared in the long dark hall and in mrs. daquin's bedroom. out, too, went the bedroom furniture of mottled walnut. a brass bed with frolicsome curves and angles of shiny metal contrasting with the cloudy dullness of the heavier portions took its place. the imperfect set of plain white china with the narrow border of gold and blue s. would not have believed that so soon after jean's death [ ] f light was stored in the attic. in its stead appeared china of awe- inspiring combinations of bluebirds kissing on the wing, many cupolaed pagodas, sampans rowed by fat-bellied chinamen, and trees of a design never produced even by a profligate nature. mimi took only a perfunctory interest in these changes other than vouchsafing a listless “they're pretty,” when pressed for comment by mrs. daquin. mimi at times was amazed at her ready acceptance of the uneventful life. she was grateful that she had apparently been wrong in her estimation of her step-mother. mrs. da- quin seemed changed, chastened by jean's death. she had really loved her husband in her own fashion even when she had been most irritated by what to her seemed his lack of in- telligence in grasping opportunities for advancement or gain. now that he was dead, she found herself regarding him not in the light of the later years but more as she had during their short courtship and the first year of their marriage. this mood was sustained by the very evident advantages which she found coming to her as a recently bereaved widow. she knew that in time this too would pass. in time jean would be but a faint memory to most of those with whom she asso- ciated. it was not conscious dishonesty nor was she a deliberate poseuse when she accepted the little attentions, the deference which they bestowed on her. mrs. daquin found herself for the first time a personage in her own right. all her youth she had lived under the dominating influence of her father, and even after her marriage to so retiring a person as jean, she found that her handicap in being a woman in a conven- tional society was very great. her father had not attended the funeral but he had wired and written her repeatedly urging her to return to chicago. this she resolved not to do—at least not unless circumstances compelled such a step—for she [ ] flight forts and even a few necessities which before had seemed to her so natural she had never given thought to their source. she did not grumble but began at once to prepare for the examination as a school-teacher in the spring. in fact, she was glad to find a definite thing on which to concentrate—it served as an opiate when jean's loss seemed too great to bear. . . . into this new life carl came with much larger importance than mimi had supposed was possible. in time mrs. daquin, who had never been able to find out from mimi the purpose of mrs. hunter's mysterious call but who had linked it up after a fashion with carl and mimi, offered no objection to carl's visits to the house. this lack of hostility changed in time to actual welcome due to the increased cordiality of mrs. hunter towards mrs. daquin which the latter sensed was in large measure because of his visits. this welcome was strengthened by carl's evident reformation. no longer was he seen with questionable companions. he had not been seen under the influence of liquor since he had begun again to visit mimi, and every sunday now he was to be seen with his par- ents and sister at church. the old comradeship, deepened and enriched in a subtle but unmistakable way, was returning. memory of that night dur- ing which so much had taken place, their reunion, jean's death and all the rest, had kept them from the torridity of feeling which had swept over them then. instead there was a com- forting sense of unity which ripened and deepened through the unspoken avowals of their love that flashed between them whenever they met. this feeling was always deepest as they walked out in the evening. during the latter part of september and the early part of october there had been many crisply cold nights. dying october and budding november brought that year balmy [ ] flight nights and pleasant days that were reminiscent of late summer. through the darkened streets they strolled arm in arm. here and there were street lamps which shed little light more than to a radius of fifteen or twenty feet. back in tidy little yards sat squat little houses or imposing two-storied ones with an occasional light peeping from them in friendly manner. up above, a moon, slender and graceful like a fragile, spreading . horseshoe of coruscation, or full-bodied and vigorous in its yellowish brilliance. mimi always liked the new moon best— it stirred her by its slender grace. but carl preferred the full ones—“no wonder the greeks and romans gave a ‘corona’ as a badge of victory—those old boys were poets, and real ones— they saw that there could be no greater beauty and splendour than in an award resembling that band of light up yonder.” it was not long before they were accepted as “going to- gether.” with the ready forgiveness accorded a man who has transgressed against local codes of conduct, carl's derelic- tions of the past were forgotten, or, if not forgotten, thrust into that indefinite realm of things not to be mentioned again save in most intimate conversations. it was assumed that, now jean was dead, mimi would soon be marrying, and the assumption more or less naturally followed that she would marry carl. between them, however, there was no thought of to-morrow nor, for some inexplicable reason, did there come to their ears the now friendly discussions regarding what they would do which were going on. they floated along happily on the stream of their new-found contentment, as oblivious of the future as two bits of wood held together by a string on the bosom of some placid pond. on rainy nights or evenings when mimi did not feel like walking or going to a moving- picture show, they sat at home, carl talking or reading some bit of verse, or some story he had come across, while mimi sat and sewed or just sat. carl's restlessness had almost left [ ] flight him, he seemed more contented, he now actually took a deeper interest in the work his father wanted him to do. more and more there entered his conversations his plans, his hopes, his eagerness to please his father. mimi learned that even under his former discontent there was a deep respect and a sort of affection that carl had for his father. she saw that the older man's will worked with great effect upon that of his son— too much so, she feared. . . . early in november she found that this was even more true than she had suspected. one morning she was awakened by a dream. in it she saw jean again, standing beside her bed, his eyes sad, his finger pointing accusingly at her. no word came from his lips, but his face had on it an expression she had never seen in life, one that made her shrink from it into the warm, comforting embrace of the bed-clothes. she lay awake and then fell again into troubled slumber. when she awoke she felt a violent nausea and a dizziness that made her glad to lie down again. she called mrs. da- quin, who listened to her recital of her ailments and then gave her some medicine, advising her to remain in bed. later mrs. daquin brought her breakfast and sat with her as she toyed with it, eating little. it's nice of her to do this, thought mimi. she's getting more lovable every day. as she still felt badly in the afternoon, mimi went at her step-mother's suggestion to see dr. adams. a few questions, an examination, and then dr. adams looked gravely at mimi. “you’re going to have a baby, mimi,” he told her. mimi gasped, echoing his words. a great happiness filled her, happiness mingled with a sweeping flame of love for carl. a baby! hers and carl's! her face shone with a great light, the light of contentment and love. there was no feeling of shame nor could she clearly understand why dr. adams' face should remain so grave and worried. on that [ ] flight eventful night she and carl had been caught up and swept on by a great tide of passion, an emotion overwhelming, beauti- ful, sacred. she had given of herself freely, without thought of consequences and without any sense of shame. to her it had been a magnificent, a pure and holy giving. her smile puzzled dr. adams. “mimi, i'm afraid you don't realize how serious a thing this is. do you know what'll happen to you and your repu- tation? and who's the man?” she told him simply and freely. still her manner was a source of wonder to him. ordinarily such a message would have brought forth tears, protestations of innocence, pleas for help. mimi did none of these. his face was set in grim lines as she told of carl. “the scoundrel! we'll make him marry you and save your name from being dragged in the mud.” “no-no, doctor, you don't understand. we've done noth- ing wrong, and if we have i’m as much to blame as carl. please don't say anything about this until i see him. . . .” she telephoned carl, who came over to her house at once. she greeted him happily, the light of love yet shining in her face. “carl,” she cried as soon as he entered, “i’m going to have a baby!” “you’re what?” “i’m going to have a baby—dr. adams told me so this af. ternoon—i’m so happy,” she ended, a puzzled tone creeping into her voice. “did he ask you who was the father?” “yes, of course he did.” “who did you tell him?” “why, you, of course.” he turned on her roughly. [ ] f light “you little fool, what did you want to do that for?” she gazed at him in dismay. she had expected a happiness equal to her own. instead carl glared at her as though he wanted to spring at her throat. with his anger was mingled fear—humiliation—she knew not what emotions passed rap- idly over his countenance. “don’t you tell anybody else,” he demanded. “and to- morrow i'll take you to a doctor who'll fix you up—” “fix me up?” “yes—fix you up! don't you understand?” realization of what he meant came slowly to her. a bit- terness filled her, bitterness that knew no end, bitterness worse than any she had ever known before. this, then, was the carl she had loved, a shrivelling coward. what a fool she had been to have believed that to him their love was the beautiful thing which it had been to her. “my dad’ll kill me for this—he'll drive me away like a dog . . .” carl was saying hoarsely. he straightened up, fear leaving him. “no-no–mimi. we'll go straight to mother and she'll help us. we’ll go away and get married—pretend we eloped.” he sought to put his arms around her. in his gesture there was a new note of possessiveness, his indecisiveness of the minutes before now gone. she shrank from his touch. her head went high and in her eyes was a look that frightened him. “we'll do nothing of the kind!” she cried. “i was a fool —you are right. i thought you were fine—clean—different from the others. you're not. you're just the same weak, vile sort that you were always hating and denouncing.” “that's all right, mimi,” he sought to quiet her. “you’re all unstrung now. we’ll get married and give the kid a clean name—” [ ] flight mimi looked at him and in that glance was something that silenced him. “unstrung? give the baby a clean name? after what you just suggested? you'll do nothing of the sort! i'm go- ing to have this baby, do you hear me? i’m going to have him and he's going to be all mine. i guess he can get along lots easier with just a bad name than he can with a cowardly father—” “mimi, you don't know what you're saying!” carl, now thoroughly alarmed, pleaded. “we’ve got to get mar- ried!” “got to? well, we haven't got to and we won't! i'll get along somehow, don't you worry, but all the love i had for you has turned to black hate! this baby’ll be mine—all mine!” she rushed from the room, leaving him standing there. . . . safe in her room, she let the tears she had fought so hard to check in the parlour below flow without hindrance. as from a distance, she heard the front door slam and she breathed more easily, knowing carl was no longer in the house. she wondered why she had acted as she had, knowing as she did the full reason. bitterness filled her as she went again and again over the scene just ended. faith, deep, un- limited, had been killed. a bitter laugh mingled with her tears. she saw carl now for the insincere poseur that he was —him whom she had thought decent and clean. for the first time there came over her a sense of shame—a feeling of guilt. she wondered how mrs. daquin would take it. mimi determined resolutely that if there were a scene or recrimina- tions of any sort she would leave and never return. from below came the sound of mrs. daquin's voice, call- ing her. mimi dried her tears away and went down. mr. and mrs. hunter sat in the parlour. behind them stood carl, [ ] flight his head down. mrs. hunter rose and attempted to take mimi in her arms. mimi evåded her. “you poor, dear child!” mrs. hunter consoled her. “thank you, mrs. hunter, but i don't need any pity—it's your son who needs it more,” mimi told her. her voice was hard, flat, cold. mrs. hunter was not to be deterred. “but you and carl must get married right away and save your name. when the baby's nearly here, you two can go off on a long trip. oh, dear, i’m so terribly upset—i almost feel like i’m the guilty one, pleading with you to save him—” back and forth the discussion raged. mr. hunter urged. his wife pleaded. mrs. daquin stormed. but mimi re- mained firm. . . . after they had gone mrs. daquin took her turn. “you silly little fool. you're crazy. you're going to get these crazy notions out of your head and marry carl. i never in all my life heard of so silly a thing as this idea of yours. what if carl is a weak and worthless scamp? any kind of a man for a husband is better than none when a girl's in your fix. . . .” on and on she went, denouncing, pleading, scorning, ap- pealing. mimi listened to the niagara of words but they served only to make her more determined to do as she had declared she would. jean's words came to her—the advice he had given her long ago as they were about to leave new orleans— “decide in your own mind the wisest, the best thing to be done, and then do it.” as she looked at the four faces she wondered what jean would say if he were here now. even as mrs. daquin stormed, mimi knew there was much right in what she said. she would be condemned, her name derided. she knew she could not remain in atlanta. even if she could, [ ] flight the looks of disdain, the insults, would be unbearable. they had done that for years to the girl carl had been going to see and they had had no definite proof on her of wrong- doing. she wondered what she could do. where could she go? she had no training by which she could earn a living. and she certainly would not go to any city where she was liable to meet anybody who knew her. she thought of aunt sophie and her invitation to come and live with her in new york. no, she couldn't accept that invitation now. aunt sophie would be just like these people here, would hate her for her misdeed. suppose she did marry carl. his parents would see that they wanted nothing. but always there would be in their minds, she was sure, the thought that she had come to them under a cloud—that she had done something dis- graceful and by that means had married into their family. mimi felt sure in time they too would hate her as much as she now hated carl. no, her mind was made up. whatever she might have to suffer, it was better that she keep her own soul free. that would certainly not be true if she married carl now. wearily she faced her step-mother and spoke. the words came slowly, painstakingly, as though she were explaining a complex matter to a rather stupid child. “yes, i know all that you say is true. i am foolish. i am bringing on myself a terrible responsibility. but i can't marry carl—not now. he wanted me to go to a doctor—to fix me up—those were his very words. i hate him—and if i live to be a thousand years old i’ll hate him more every day i live. don't you worry—i’ll go away—i don't know where, but anyway you won't be bothered with me any more. but i won't marry carl. my mind's made up and i won't change it. . . .” a few weeks later mimi boarded a train for philadelphia. [ ] f light she could give no reason why she chose that city to which to go. the nearest she could explain her choice was that phila- delphia was large, she knew no one there and she was sure she could lose herself in its vastness. mr. hunter offered her money but she took only that which was due her through his purchase of half, her half, of the stock jean had owned. mrs. daquin pleaded with her to the hour of departure to marry carl, but mimi's determination grew stronger with her pleading. as the train wound its way through the maze of tracks and puffed its way northward through the bare red hills of georgia, she gazed from the car-window with the feeling that she had definitely closed the pages of the first book of her life. she stared at the darkening landscape long after the lights in the car were turned on, and wondered what was written on the pages of that second book whose cover she now was lifting. . . . [ ] cha pte r xiii onth by month the time rolled slowly by for mimi. she slept late in the morning, went out for walks in the afternoon or to a moving-picture show, retired early every evening. on sundays she stole unobtrusively into the catholic church near where she lived, varying this occasionally with attendance at the methodist church to which the elderly couple with which she boarded belonged. they were simple, kindly people who made a comfortable living from a small catering business which kept them away from home a great deal. mimi thus had the house to herself a large part of the time, for which she was grateful, as it relieved her of the strain of meeting and talking to people and an- swering embarrassing questions. the old couple frequently speculated to themselves who and what she might be. to the woman's indirect and friendly questions mimi gave evasive answers which seemed to satisfy the simple and uninguisitive nature of the elderly woman. to her neighbours she said that mimi was a young widow grieving for her dead husband, which explanation, in view of the mourning garments mimi yet wore for jean, was accepted in good faith. mimi often wept at the expressions, either by word or unobtrusive actions, of sympathy which came to her from the elderly couple and their friends. and often, too, guilt assailed her, for she felt she was accepting these minis- trations under false colours. there were moments when she felt she could not accept them any longer, that she must tell them the true story. always before taking such a step, how- ever, she restrained her impulses. she knew no one else [ ] flight in philadelphia who would take her in, she was paying for her room and excellent food a ridiculously low sum, and her little store of money which had seemed so large when mr. hunter had given it to her, was shrinking with dismaying speed. when the long, dreary, slushy days of winter had given way to the invigorating and friendly warmth of an early spring, she spent most of her days sitting in the park. used to the tropical heat of new orleans, the biting winds and driving snows of the north made her miserable and depressed, though her years in atlanta had inured her to a degree against the cold. but she did not like cold weather, and the coming of the days when she could see the delicate green of the sprouting grass and budding trees made her very happy. she would take with her to the park a book or more often a newspaper but she seldom read. she was content to sit and watch children at play or gaze at friendly squirrels who so ludicrously sat rapidly revolving a nut disentombed from earthy caches in their little forepaws as they bit into its hard shell. even the sinking of a huge vessel like the titanic after col- lision with an iceberg off the canadian coast with great loss of life could not stir her. nor could the hectic days of an election year stir her from her apathy. a former school- teacher from new jersey, a prominent member of congress, a twice-defeated candidate for the presidency, a fat, jovial and weak president, and a vigorous ex-president were scrambling madly for nominations, but so far as mimi was concerned, they might just as well have been struggling for the rulership of an obscure island in the south seas. as the time of her ordeal approached she achieved a calm- ness of which she had never believed herself capable. her hatred, her contempt for carl had passed and in its stead had come a complete lack of feeling towards him. she saw him now in perspective more and more clearly as the weak individ- [ ] flight ual he had proved himself to be. she wondered why she had not seen it sooner, why traits of his which now were revealed all too clearly had been invisible to her. his indecisiveness, his succumbing to indifference and easy vices when they had first parted on hilda's account, should have been a clear warn- ing to her. she did not object to his drinking or other derelic- tions on moral grounds. as a matter of fact carl's associa- tion with the girl who was déclassée had not seemed to her as a thing to be condemned. towards the girl mimi had had a very kindly and sympathetic feeling and she had had no word of condemnation or scorn for her. mimi now realized that she should have seen in these little strayings from which she had saved carl at such a cost to herself the true measure of carl's character. but even as she saw now what might and should have been, she knew that at the time she had been so blinded by her love for carl she could never have re- alized the full importance of the things then under her very eyes. her sense of contentment had its roots in a deep spiritual awareness which gave her great comfort. she seldom thought now of the condemnation she was doubtless receiving in atlanta. instead she was happy, very happy she had acted as she had. she and the baby would get along somehow and they would be very happy together. lacking respect, de- spising carl, she would never have been happy with him, and her religion would not have allowed her to divorce him. what though her money was disappearing so rapidly? by economy she would surely have enough to last her through her confinement and permit her to spend a few weeks in the country until she was strong again. then she could easily get a job and she and the baby would be happy together. she loved the restless stirring within her body, she was happy at the signs of creation. it was a sensation at times beautiful, at other times she was overwhelmed with the mar- [ ] flight boy would be less trouble and there would be fewer people to demand of him the story of his parentage than would be the case with a girl. day after day this speculation went on end- lessly, and she always came back to the exact spot in her reasoning from which she had begun. . . . it was a boy. a hot night in early july saw his entry into the world after two days and two nights of pain which tore mimi's body with its burning shafts of agony. when it was all over she lay in her narrow cot in the maternity ward of the public hospital and passed her hand lovingly over the tiny, shapeless mass of red flesh. there had never been any question in her mind regarding the name she should give him . . . jean, of course. for his sake she had cheerfully lied in answering the usual form questions. . . . she had hoped to take at least a private room. but she had spent her money faster than she had realized and the private room would have made the weeks in the country impossible. . . . she was glad afterwards she had put up with the lack of privacy and the other inconveniences of the public ward. mr. manning had arranged for her to stay with a friend of theirs in new jersey and there mimi was so contented, so happy, in the little cottage near camden, she wished she could have remained there always. she loved to give jean his bath, to feed him, to shower on him little attentions and superfluous affections. his clutching hands dug into her flesh as he nursed and the exquisite pain of it sent deliriously exhilarat- ing tingles throughout her body. and she talked to him as though he were old enough to understand, whenever she was certain no one could overhear her. “you’re mine, baby jean, all mine. . . . no other person owns any part of you. . . . i’ll work for you, sacrifice everything for you . . . and we'll be happy, so happy, to- gether. . . . you'll never know the agony your mother went [ ] f light through. . . . i’ll give everything gladly to save you and keep you free. . . .” all too soon she was forced to return to philadelphia. up to this time mimi had refused to permit herself to worry over the problem of earning a living for herself and little jean. she told the mannings frankly of her financial condition. they so readily showed their willingness to help her, it brought tears of gratitude that could not be checked. her regular hours during the long months when she was awaiting jean's arrival, the willingness she had always shown to help with any task around the house, her regular church attendance, had all combined to endear her to the elderly couple who had no children of their own. “don’t you worry one little bit, honey,” mrs. manning told her. “you’ll never have to worry about rent or food—so long's we've got anything to eat and a roof over our heads you’ve them too.” they sat in the dining-room until long after midnight the evening mimi returned from the country, devising ways and means of mimi's earning in some way enough to supply the needs of herself and “petit jean,” as she called the baby, to differentiate him from the jean who had gone. mr. manning scratched his white head and pursed his lips as he gazed at the ceiling. “you say you haven't been taught a trade—you're too good for housework—hm—let me see—let me see-e-e,” he spoke half to himself, half to the two women. mimi volunteered the information that she could sew rather well. “you can? why’n’t you tell me that before? why, that settles it all! i’ll speak to some of my customers and get you plenty of work doing sewing by the day.” a smile, beautiful in its radiant joy at solution of the vexing problem, wreathed his face. “but what about the baby?” his wife inquired. mr. man- [ ] f light ning's face fell, wiped as clean of its elation as a blackboard when a damp cloth is passed over it. “i’ll tell you what we can do,” mrs. manning went on. “days when i'm away we can put him in a day nursery.” mimi was not allowed to begin her new life for some time, however. on one pretext after another her day of beginning work was deferred by the mannings. the most frequent ex- cuse was that most of the people who needed the services of a seamstress had gone away for the summer. though mimi had now been in philadelphia more than eight months she knew little of the city. her life before the baby was born had been so limited a one she had seldom been farther from home than a few blocks. the hugeness of the city, its teem- ing streets, the roar of traffic, the hurrying throngs, each person in it set on his own affairs to the exclusion of every- thing and everybody else, frightened her. when she ventured out alone she always had the feeling as though some huge hand had picked her up and thrown her into a raging torrent. and always she regained the haven of home with a prayer of thanks- giving in her heart that she had not been killed in the bustle by one of the wagons or trucks that rushed down upon one with such terrifying speed. used to the somnolence of new orleans and the lesser traffic of atlanta, she often wondered why she had ever chosen philadelphia as her city of refuge—“city of brotherly love” was certainly an anachronism to a stranger like herself. she was happy with the mannings but her inaction worried her. except for a few dollars she was now completely with- out funds. she had had to buy a number of things for the baby but even though she had made most of his clothes her- self, cloth and thread and buttons cost. she did not tell the mannings of her worries, for they invariably sought to dismiss them from her mind. but she had overheard snatches of their conversation when they did not know she was near—in [ ] fl i g ht the small house a secret conversation was most difficult—and she had noticed little economies they practised, and not because of parsimony. the two were getting old, there were fewer and fewer calls every year now for their services. younger and more progressive people were gobbling the bulk of the catering jobs. their older customers they yet retained, but some of these were dying off and others entertained less, for they too were getting old. their sons and daughters who now had their own homes went to the established firms where newer and fresher and more bizarre effects could be obtained than those of the old order furnished by the mannings. having always been thrifty, the mannings had saved some money, but they knew and mimi knew that they would need all of this in the years to come when even the little work they now did would be gone and they would be too old to do any work at all. mimi was miserable when she thought of this and she seemed to herself to be a leech feeding off the bodies of these two who had been so generous to her, a stranger. and this guilty feeling was added to when she thought, as she frequently did, that she had eaten of their bread under false colours. mrs. manning might as well have applied hot irons to mimi's flesh unwittingly as to mention mimi's “late husband.” never was there any malice or inquisitiveness in her voice, and that lack of suspicion hurt mimi a thousand times more than accusations and recriminations. “if your poor husband had only lived to see the baby!” or “does the boy take after you or your husband?” she would say gently, and her innocent words would make mimi feel like a distillation of all the judas iscariots, the benedict arnolds, the tartuffes, the pharisees and all the other de- ceivers and hypocrites of history. now that she had regained her strength, her inaction annoyed her, the very food she ate at times almost choked her because after all it was charity and more, charity granted through deceit and lies. time [ ] flight men whom she passed on the street and she knew what these looks meant. she hurried along with downcast eyes to es- cape them, frightened by their boldness. she felt safe, for she seldom ventured forth after nightfall, but even in the daytime these unmistakable glances caused a nausea to well up within her. in the episode with carl, mimi had given herself freely and with no sense of shame or guilt but she had loved him when that had taken place. but these un- solicited attentions caused a revulsion within her which swept through her like a physical illness. one of her best-paying customers for whom she sewed reg- ularly every thursday lived in germantown. often the work was so great she did not leave until very late but she was glad of this, for she was paid generously for her overtime and re- ceived her dinner, which meant an additional saving. one thursday afternoon as she came down the stairs from the room where she always worked she met the husband of her em- ployer. “hello,” he greeted her, “and who are you?” she told him. after answering various questions regarding the length of time she had worked there and listening to his surprised comment that he had not seen her during all that time, he let her pass. but the following thursday he was there again, this time earlier than before. he came into the room where she was hurrying through her work. “tell me about yourself,” he demanded, pleasantly, too pleasantly mimi thought. “there's little to tell. i work for my living.” “your husband's dead, then?” he remarked, looking at her black dress. mimi yet wore mourning, partly because she could afford no new clothes. she began to gather her work to avoid his questions. “you don't mean to tell me you're coloured?” he pursued, [ ] flight “that's really very nice of you—very generous indeed,” mimi observed, her amusement now rapidly conquering her apprehension. “oh, no, not at all—not at all!” he protested, thinking her serious. “even when i lived in the south i had none of the usual prejudice.” “how very remarkable!” cooed mimi. her voice had in it the velvety smoothness of swan's-down. to himself he thought, this is easier than i expected, as he advanced possessively towards her. “how soon am i going to see you?” he queried softly. “don’t be silly!” mimi calmly advised him. “in the first place you are fat. in the second, you are old and bald. in the third, you are white. fourth, you are vain and stupid and ignorant and repulsive. don't think i'm falling back on the sentimental melodramatics of the ‘poor working girl.” i'm not—i let you run along just to set the stage for telling you my opinion of you.” her voice was as dispassionate as that of a schoolgirl monotonously listing the products from brazil. there were no heroics, no tears, but only a relentless cataloguing of the physical and mental defects of the would-be casanova. he gasped. “you little fool—you ought to feel proud that i, a white man, would even want you—a nigger!” her face flamed at the despised word but she kept her temper. “i’m not surprised at your thinking that. i suppose even that such a notion is natural—you've made your own ideas about your own attractiveness and irresistibility and you've told yourself so often you're invincible you believe it your- selves. seducers of servant-girls! a noble accomplishment!” infuriated at her impassivity and her ridicule, so markedly a contrast to what he had assumed was complacence, he ” [ ] chapter xiv imi was not greatly surprised when she received a message that she would no longer be expected on thursdays at the germantown home. at first it amused her. had she resorted to tears or pleading for re- lease or any of the usual methods of damsels in defence of their virtue, she reflected, the curt note of dismissal would not have been sent. man is a peculiar creature. so long as by implication or any other means he is allowed to imagine himself the superior being, whether that superiority came through brute strength or intellect or wealth or any other means, he is manageable and easily guſled. but when he is made ridiculous and the little bubble of his conceit is pricked by a woman's obvious contempt, he becomes a vengeful and ridiculous person. mimi was sustained by her elation at the ease with which she had escaped an unpleasant and possibly dangerous situ- ation. she was glad she had retained her poise. she felt angry only when she remembered the nasty way in which he had implied and later definitely stated that in his opinion she should have been happy, being coloured, to have attracted his notice. for the first time she saw the reasons for jean's ap- prehension in those talks which seemed to have taken place so many years ago. life for any woman who was unprotected and who sought to live up to certain ideals was hard. but when that woman was coloured she was more than ever at the mercy of those who were her constant pursuers. she found her old race-consciousness surging up again. bitter- [ ] flight ness against the husband of her former employer welled in her not so much because he had assumed she would be amenable to his suggestions but more because he had so read- ily assumed that she, being coloured, would offer no objec- tions whatever. but when her joy in her victory and her bitterness at the vanquished had passed, she found that the revenue lost in this manner was seriously affecting her. she found other jobs but none of them were as regular nor did they pay as well. every dollar counted, every fraction of a dollar earned or expended made a difference. once or twice she had been a few days late in paying the rent for the small room in which she and petit jean lived. the lessened cordiality with which her landlady greeted her pleas for more time for pay- ment made this an ordeal she avoided even when it meant, as it frequently did, the forgoing of meals for herself. petit jean thrived and grew, singularly free from the mala- dies of childhood. with what to mimi seemed amazing speed, his monthly birthdays sped by and accumulated—the fifth, the sixth, the seventh, the eighth. as long as he was well and clothed and fed, mimi's own difficulties seemed of little more than passing moment. nothing greatly matters, she com- forted herself, when seen in perspective—it is only when a thing is happening that it frightens and pains one. she found a new strength coming to her out of the problems and perplexities she was meeting. it was, she found, like looking into a mirror. when one did look the image was there and if one was sick or unhappy it gave back a reflection of that condition or mood. but as soon as one removed himself from a place in front of the looking-glass the image was gone. she consoled herself with this convenient philosophy and found in it a courage of which she would not have believed herself capable. but inevitably there came to her periods of depression. [ ] f light most frequently these occurred when she thought of jean's fu- ture. suppose her own health failed. she could not go on indefinitely this way, common sense told her, going without food, improperly clothed, saving nothing. her rather ample wardrobe which she had brought from atlanta was nearly threadbare and she just could not afford to spend money on adornment for herself. little garments for jean, talcums, soaps, and the infinite variety of essentials which an infant required for his comfort took all she could earn and more. it seldom occurred to her she could have asked and received aid from the hunters, mrs. daquin or her aunt sophie. the idea at times of greatest need came fleetingly to her, hazily, but she resolutely put it from her mind before it could find lodgment there. whatever else might come to her, she would never yield to such temptations, at least she would never per- mit herself to beg from her step-mother or carl's parents. to do so would have been surrender of the principle for which she had so bravely fought—the determination to keep her own soul free. however adroitly worded, a plea to them would have been admission of defeat, of her failure to make good the lofty words of determination she had spoken. she knew they did not understand the motives which had driven her on. in truth, she sometimes wondered if she herself knew them. but when she held jean in her arms, when his toothless smile greeted her on her calling for him at the nursery, when his warm flesh rested against her side in bed, she was happy to a degree which she knew would never have been possible had she accepted the easier way out of her diffi- culties. no, despite all, she knew, her course had been the only one she could have taken in the face of carl's abject fail- ure to measure up to the high qualities with which she had in fancy endowed him. one extravagance, a pitifully small one, she permitted her- self. in the late spring she passed an old second-hand book [ ] f light shop on a side street. she lingered at the weather-beaten old table outside the shop, fingering, examining, peeping into the battered and worn books displayed there. volume after vol- ume she looked into but most of them were dull and prosy stuff which bored her. she lingered so long the proprietor came to the door and stood there looking everywhere except at her, with too great casualness, mimi reflected with a smile. it amused her to watch him with equal lack of obviousness, knowing that his suspiciousness led him to remain there. she named him “old scrooge,” for he looked at though he had stepped from dickens' pages with his fringe of dusty grey hair, his square, steel-rimmed spectacles, his baggy and non- descript clothing. the game interested her and she lingered, idly fingering book after book. her delay was repaid when a dingy, much- handled volume seemed to spring from the table, bringing with it a strange thrill. jean had had a copy of this same book. so had carl. both of them had with elaborate indi- rection kept it from her and, with natural curiosity, she had always been eager to know why. and, with equal naturalness, she had made a solemn vow to read it from cover to cover when she could put her hands upon a copy. it was “leaves of grass.” she opened it eagerly. her eyes fell on the yel- lowed page. they read: o me! o life! o me! o life! of the questions of these recurring, of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill'd with the foolish, of myself for ever reproaching myself (for who more foolish than i, and who more faithless?), of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew'd, of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds i see around me, [ ] fl i ght of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me inter- twined, the question, o me! so sad, recurring—what good amid these, o me, o life? answer that you are here—that life exists and identify, that the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. the old man, the shop, the passers-by, everything was blotted out by the words, powerful, true, so applicable to her own case. “that the powerful play goes on, and i may contrib- ute a verse,” she repeated softly, consciously changing the pro- noun. she paid the man for the book, cheerfully giving up the food which the book would cost, and hurried home with it. when she had put jean to bed she sat and read over and over again the words. “foolish and faithless.” “for who more foolish than i, and who more faithless?” she had been foolish, to the dead jean she had been faithless. to herself, but a wild happiness filled her that in the hour of difficulty, at the time when she had been forced to make the biggest decision of her life, she may have been foolish but not faithless. she fell asleep whispering: “that the powerful play goes on, and i, mimi daquin, may contribute a verse.” the words gave her a comforting sense of direction. she had been blindly wandering, groping, striving towards a goal that had never been clear, indeed she had never even vaguely visualized any destination other than the struggle to do those things which seemed to her to be right. even for this indefi- nite rightness or wrongness she had no tangible definition— she sought only by instinct or conscience or some other in- definable guide the path to truth and beauty and happi- ilê . . . . this new consciousness gave her faith and courage at a time when she needed these things more than she had ever [ ] flight needed them before. summer came with the usual migration of the few regular customers she had to the seashore or the mountains. mimi no longer called on the mannings, for she could no longer conceal even from their unsuspecting eyes the extent of her distress. she saved the small fee at the day nursery, for it was seldom now that she had to be away from home. her rent was several weeks overdue and the rela- tions between mimi and her landlady had reached an actually strained point. “stuck-up niggers think they can sponge off of common ones—humph! i'll show her she can't make no footmat out of me!” she overheard her landlady saying to her husband one evening. “an i ain't never been satisfied she's respect- able—if that baby's got a daddy he must have had some rela- tives she could get money from. i'm tired of foolin’ with her and if she don't pay me by sad'dy i'm goin’ to put her and her baby right out there in the street!” sick at heart, hungry, discouraged, mimi slowly struggled up the stairs to her room. even petit jean's coos of welcome could not cheer her up. she lay on the bed beside him and wept. and as though she had not already enough to bear, she found new trouble awaiting her that dwarfed all that had gone before, when she returned to the house the following evening after another day of fruitless search for work. mrs. williams, her landlady, had volunteered to care for jean while she was out, despite her words of the night before. when the rickety screen door banged behind her, mimi heard mrs. williams calling from the rear of the house. on an old davenport lay jean, vomiting wretchedly. intermittently he screamed, writhing in the paroxysmal pain which recurred every few minutes. on his face was a ghastly pallor and he seemed in a state of complete collapse. mimi rushed to the cot and fell on her knees beside jean [ ] fl i g ht as she flung anxious questions at the perspiring, frightened woman above her. “yes'm, i called a doctor—my doctor—and he said it wasn't nothing but cramps. . he gave your baby some castor oil, but soon as the doctor left he began throwin' up and yellin' mo' than ever.” . . . mimi, frightened as she was, remained calm. “while i take him up to my room, will you get dr. new- ton?” she asked. she knew him by sight, having seen him at church often when she had gone there with the mannings. his name came instantly to her, for she had been told many times of his eminence among the coloured physicians of phil- adelphia. he came at once, trim, alert, intelligent. his brown face was a mask as he asked questions and examined jean. long brown fingers probed the baby's abdomen, me- thodically, confidently he measured pulse and temperature. coolly he recited the symptoms as he found them: “. . . vomiting, at first contents of stomach, then bilious . . . collapse . . . pallor . . . feeble pulse . . . temperature normal . . . abdomen relaxed . . . increasing prostration . . . rising temperature . . . tumour, sausage-shaped, curv- ing . . .” he turned to mimi. “what's been done for him?” mimi told him of the doctor called by mrs. wil- liams, of the administration of castor oil. “he said somepin about 'fectious diarrhoea,” mrs. williams added, her fright now gone with the coming of dr. newton. “gave him castor oil?” dr. newton asked, incredulously. “the blithering fool!” mimi, and mrs. williams showed their dismay at his words. “thank goodness he's probably vomited it all up by now.” his words were punctuated by jean's pathetic screams. “mrs. daquin, your baby's got a bad case of intussuscep- tion—folding back of a part of the intestine over another part,” he added as she showed her lack of comprehension of [ ] f light the longer word. “or, to make it simpler, it's acute intestinal obstruction. the only chance of saving him is through an operation—and it’ll have to be done without an hour's de- lay.” - mimi sank her head into her hands. had she just heard the death sentence pronounced on her, she would have felt not half as terrified as the thought of her petit jean going un- der the knife. she felt sick, disheartened, beaten. she raised a haggard face, her hair dishevelled, to the doctor. “isn't there anything else than operating?” she pleaded. “nothing,” he told her. “and even then the chances are somewhat less than one in ten. this sounds hard and bru- tally frank—but it's best you know the truth,” he added kindly, deep pity in his voice for her distress. “then operate,” she declared, firmly, all panic gone from her face and voice. . . . they drove rapidly to the coloured hospital where dr. newton was to operate on jean. mimi held his tiny form close to her, stifling its screams in the softness of her breast. on her face was fear, despair, agony without hope. she was haunted by the spectre of death, she saw before her petit jean lifeless, never again to coo and smile and welcome her with soft little cries. not until now did she realize how much he meant to her. she felt guilty of a great crime, of putting food into her own body when it might have averted this hor- rible thing. even dr. newton's assurance in answer to her timid questioning that physicians did not know the cause of the malady other than that it was due to the thinness of the intestinal walls of an infant, that most frequently it occurred in apparently perfectly healthy and well-cared-for children, her feeling of guilt did not leave her. jean's eyes were closed. he seemed to be in a deep stupor from which he roused only when another spasm of pain came over him. [ ] f light pale moon was sheathed in dusky blue swirls of clouds, so deli- cate and wispy they looked like graceful twistings of chiffon, but this beauty she did not see. from near at hand the fast- dying noises of the city came to her, the hum imperceptibly fading away as the crowds thinned out, but she heard none of these. any minute jean might be dying, she thought with a shiver. and then she would hurry down the stairs to tele- phone the hospital. always she received the same answer, he's resting easily. though she tried to keep the thought from her mind, she knew she had come to the parting of the ways. i wonder i ever thought i could go through with it, she reflected. for my own sake i don't care. but i’m not making enough money to keep us and i won't be able to save anything at this rate for the future—for petit jean's future, she amended. rent due mrs. williams, the surgeon's fee, bills for the hospital. she cudgelled her brains for some way of making money. the hunters? no! mrs. daquin? a thousand times no! the man in germantown? a bitter smile came over her face. it wouldn't be wise for him to make such an offer now. the thought brought her to herself with a shock. defi- antly she answered her own question—i’d do even that if it would save jean! she had reached the stage of desperation. the long months of anxious toil and uncertainty, of worry and undernourishment, had gathered their toll. now that jean's life hung in the balance, she felt that there were no means to which she would not go. but all the possible sources of help she could think of would serve only to help her out of her present dilemma and would offer no lasting solution. only one thing was certain—it was not only im- possible to go on as she had during the last few months but she was seriously jeopardizing jean and his future. she did not know but that she might have a serious accident or be- [ ] fl i g ht come dangerously ill, perhaps die. what then would happen to him if he should live? she had sacrificed so much for him already, she would under no circumstances want him to go to the hunters or to her step-mother, even if either of them would take him. she wrestled with her problem but morning found her no nearer its solution. as soon as daylight came she dressed and went to the hospital. jean had come out from under the anaesthetic. he greeted her with a faint smile, infinitely pa- thetic in its unconscious bravery. she sank to her knees gaz- ing into his face as though he had died and had come to life again before her very eyes. and as she looked deep into his brown eyes and pallid face she offered a prayer of thanksgiv- ing to the virgin for life for jean. . . . dr. newton found her there. “well, he pulled through all right and, barring set-backs or complications, he’ll be well before long,” he cheerfully told her. after they left the room mimi told dr. newton frankly of her financial position. it galled her to be forced to confess her poverty but she could see no other way out of it and she was unwilling to do other than be truthful about it. “oh, that's all right,” he assured her. “we doctors are used to waiting for our money. and the mannings have told me about you—i’m not worried. pay me when you can—no, i'll tell you what. operations like the one i did on your baby are mighty rare. i’ve been practising medicine for fourteen years now and it's the first one i've ever seen outside of a clinic. you pay the hospital bills and i'll just dismiss the bill. the case is so remarkable a one that i’ll gladly let the fee go she protested vigorously against his proposal. she was grateful, so grateful the tears stood in her eyes. but, fol. [ ] f light lowing so closely upon her confession of poverty, it smacked too much of charity, and she would not, she could not permit that. “well, have it your own way,” he finally agreed. “but don't hurry.” she was touched by his kindness. he hurried away. when he was gone a dozen phrases of thanks came to her mind, vexing her that she had been too stunned by his generosity to think of them before he had gone. . . . as if fate felt ashamed of the blows it had dealt her, there came to mimi several profitable jobs during the four weeks jean was in the hospital. one of these lasted more than a week, the making of the trousseau of a girl who be- longed to one of the old philadelphia coloured families. she never knew that she had been recommended by dr. new- ton, but the money she earned enabled her to pay not only the hospital bill but to settle a part of the debt she owed mrs. williams. now that jean was out of danger and well on the road to recovery, mimi worked with a song in her heart and happiness in the belief that her darkest days were past. and when he was returned from the hospital she bought little things for his amusement, toys, games, dainty bits of the foods he was allowed to eat. she was envious of everything which separated her from him even for a short time, she be- grudged the hours they spent in sleep, for they robbed her, she felt, of so many moments of conscious knowledge of and contact with him. the acuteness of her desire to be with jean was rooted not alone in the to her more than miraculous escape he had had. it was, too, in the decision she had reached through that illness and the inevitability of execution of that deci- sion pained her beyond measure. mimi had faced during her dark hours when jean's life hung in the balance the practical situation before her. ruthlessly she had cut away [ ] flight all the entangling meshes created by her love for jean and had considered as dispassionately as she could the question as to what course would be for his greatest good. she found she could not approach the hunters or her stepmother and she would rather have died herself than to have surrendered jean to either of them. those contingencies therefore were definitely out of the question. so too was the possibility of her attempting to carry on the struggle she had now been making for more than a year. if only i could get some money saved and secure a steady income, perhaps start a small dressmaking establishment of my own, i could see my way clear. but these possibilities seemed to her much more remote than the probability of her jumping safely to the moon. another thing was certain. there was little chance of her making any great progress in philadelphia. new york to her seemed the only field in which any marked advance could be made, but here again there were the same problems if not greater ones. mimi found a certain grim amusement in remembering the tenuous plans she had so confidently builded and which now had tumbled about her. realizing her own weakness for the first time, comprehending that she could not make the fight alone, she wrote tentatively of her distress to her aunt sophie. the second day after her letter was posted there came an answer—a warmingly cordial letter—scolding mimi because she had not called upon her aunt for aid long before, offering mimi whatever aid she needed. from the envelope there fell a cheque of generous size. and the letter ended: “alone you will have little trouble, especially if you come to new york. but with the baby it will be harder—you would have to be away all day—and people, even here, do talk. i know just how you feel about it, but why don't you put jean in a home until you can get on your feet? i don't urge this—i merely suggest it. do what you think is wisest and best.” [ ] f light finally a decision had been made, the only possible way out, and she wept many bitter tears before she would let her. self even consider this solution. always, however, she had come back to it—the suggestion of aunt sophie—the one stable thing in a sea of uncertainties. she would put jean in a children's home, work as hard as mortal could toil, save her money until she had accumulated enough to assure herself and him freedom from their more immediate wants, and then get him again when she had gained her objective. and here she was confronted with another problem. she was unwilling to put him in a negro orphanage, for their all- too-slender resources made it problematical if he would re- ceive the care and attention he needed. she would rather struggle along in her present hopeless way than have him neglected. nor would she want to place him in a white or- phanage as a negro child—she knew the insults and slights he would be forced to suffer. the only recourse left to her and the one she decided upon was to place him in a catholic orphanage and say nothing about his negro blood. this had been done, she knew, even with children not nearly so fair as jean. his french name would be an additional safeguard to him and further assurance he would be given all the ad- vantages available. she had had some qualms of conscience about this pro- cedure. she had wondered if she were doing the right thing, if she were not placing jean at such a disadvantage in the event his coloured blood were discovered that it would be greater than if his race were told of at the beginning. but she soon dismissed these fears from her mind. in the first place, it would be only for a short time, and in the second, he had so little coloured blood there was really little question that could be raised. overshadowing both of these was the mood of desperation in which her ill fortune had forced her. just as in the hours of that night when jean was lying at the hos- [ ] cha pte r xv she had closed the pages of a volume in the story of her life, so now did mimi sense intuitively that the second book was being shut, never to be opened again. through the fading light of a dreary, cold day the train sped across the desolate jersey meadows. just dipping below the horizon, a frigid sun gave a sickly brilliance but no warmth. mimi shivered. the dreariness of the landscape was relieved only by the lank chimneys of factories belching turgescent billows of smoke. from these dingy buildings poured streams of men as dingy as the factories from which they were emerging. dinner-pails in hand, they plodded wearily across the waste places in knots of twos and threes, home to slatternly, wasp- ish wives. into the murky darkness of newark the train rumbled, paused momentarily, and then went its way into the gather- ing darkness. lights began to twinkle in the dusty windows of the factories and the nondescript homes along the tracks. into manhattan transfer and out again, past a fertilizer fac- tory that filled the car with the fetid odours of offal, and the train plunged into the roaring, alarming bowels of the earth beneath the hudson river. mimi knew of the tunnel and was prepared for it but the shock coming so suddenly following the dismal screeching of the whistle blowing for the tunnel frightened her. midway where there is an opening going up from the tunnel to the air above she felt relieved that the or- deal was over but again the train rushed on into darkness after the flash of grey. her ears pounded. she pressed the j; as she had had the feeling on leaving atlanta that [ ] flight heels of her hands against them to relieve the roaring in them. she was glad when at last the electric engine pulled its way into the maze of winding tracks on the new york side. . bewildered by the hugeness of the pennsylvania station, made timid by the rushing throngs all seemingly with some definite destination the reaching of which in the shortest pos- sible time was apparently of vast importance, mimi with pro- test yielded her shabby bag to the porter and followed him up the narrow stairs. she peered upwards at the faces which scanned the incoming passengers through iron fences which made her think of prisoners or animals eager to escape. she was gripped with fear—no aunt sophie was to be seen, but that fear was changed to happiness when she was inun- dated with affectionate greeting by her aunt. “you poor dear, i ought to be angry with you for not com- ing to me sooner, but i’m so glad to see you i just can't be,” her aunt welcomed her. threading her way deftly through the crowd, she led mimi, her eyes distended at the bewildering massiveness of the build- ing, down into the earth again. ashamed of her greenness, mimi shrank from the roaring monster that leapt upon them from the yawning blackness of a cavern made blacker by dim lights but faintly discernible in the cavern. with a horrible grinding of brakes the creature came to a stop and mimi found herself shoved into it. station after station they passed and once more they came to the street, this time in a setting more familiar to her, yet strange, and her bewilderment was de- creased but little. for here was a new life, teeming, exotic, individual. hur- rying along the streets, coming out of restaurants, standing in doorways and on street corners were groups of negroes, well dressed, jubilant, cheerful. here and there hurried col- oured men in twos and threes, clad in smartly fitting dinner [ ] flight jackets, snow-white bosoms peeping from heavy overcoats, musical instruments, violins, saxophones, mandolins in cases clutched in their hands. they hastened into the subway kiosk mimi and her aunt had just quitted and were swallowed up. from near by there came to them the bewitching odours of frying corn and chicken, of pig's-feet. they came from a stand where a middle-aged coloured woman was serving her wares to passers-by. “that’s ‘pig-foot mary'—she's making lots of money at that little stand and she's saving it, too,” mrs. rogers informed mimi. she was thrilled by the new scene. gone was the morbid, morose, worried air of the people she had encountered at the other end of the subway. here there was spontaneous laugh- ter, shrewd observations which brought loud and free laugh- ter from listeners. there was an exhilarating sense here that these people knew the secret of enjoying life. black and brown and yellow faces flitted by, some carefree, some care- worn. mimi sensed again the essential rhythm, the oneness of these variegated colours and moods. it was all vivid, col- ourful, of a pattern distinctive and apart, and she warmed to the friendliness of it all. . . . behind them stood two flashily dressed coloured men as they took it all in. the voice of one worried, the other con- ciliatory. “say, sam, i sent the fifty dollars and my application to jim washington like you told me to,” the worried voice com- plained, “and i ain't heard nothing a-tall from him or the idlehour social club either.” “ain’t you heard you was blackballed?” the other in- quired with a markedly incredulous air. “no, i ain’t. i wonder who could’ve blackballed me,” he speculated, the worry in his tones increasing. “there's pudd’n’ jones—he's a friend of mine and he wouldn't do that [ ] f light to me. and there's babe carter and spider and bill john- son—they’re friends of mine and they wouldn't blackball me, i know. say, was there many black balls in that box?” he inquired, hopefully. “you’ve seen a bowl of russian caviare, ain't you?” his friend asked. “yeh—but what's that got to do with them blackballing me?” “well, boy, just this—that box when they voted on your name looked just like a bowl of caviare.” . . . “come along, mimi, we can't stand here all night—dinner's ready at home,” urged mrs. rogers. mimi could have stood there for hours. the colourful scenes fascinated her, made her want to stay there and watch the comedies, the tragedies, the shifting panorama of life as it flowed, now swiftly, now slowly, by. down lenox avenue they walked. harlem, which first had been dutch “haarlem,” then irish, afterwards jewish and german, was in the flood-tide of transition to a negro city within a city. from the doorway of a former private dwelling in a side street near bustling lenox avenue came a resonant flooding swell of music. high above the rest sounded a heavy barytone, chopping off of the words like little sausages, setting the beat like a metronome for the other sing- ers. “what a friend we have in jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear.” verse after verse poured forth, mingling with the clatter and roar of the crowds outside. mimi and her aunt paused un- wittingly outside. the song had ceased. the barytone voice of the preacher was lifted in prayer, his words punctuated by fervent “amens!” and “hallelujahs!” and “praise gods!” “we are vile, sinful creatures, o lord, strayed from the path you tol’ us to follow. (ain't it the gospell) reach [ ] flight down from thy heaven with a sword of flaming fire and wipe from the face of the earth these hell-holes of vice that’re send- ing the souls of our boys and girls to damnation! (yes, lord, reach down!—amen!) wipe out, jesus, the dance halls and theatres, the gamblers and the drunkards, the wolves in sheep's clothes who're workin' 'gainst thy cause. . . . purify us, lord! save us! save us! . . .” the preacher's voice swayed and rumbled, excoriating the sinners, pleading for redemption of their souls, damning to everlasting hell-fire those who were unrepentant. the un- seen voice was talking to a god who was no mystery to him, a very real and ever present and potent deity. down the street his words followed them as they went home. . . . mimi looked back on her days of suffering and poverty al- most as though it had been a terrible dream. her aunt deluged her with kindness, delicately drew from her the story of her unsuccessful struggle in philadelphia against odds that proved too great for her. the one link with that nightmare of pain and worry and anxiety was her aching need of petit jean. night after night she cried herself to sleep. night after night she awoke when all the rest of the household was asleep, feel- ing him near her, his warm flesh nestled against her side. she could feel his tiny lips against her own, his hands clutch- ing at her breast, his laugh sounding in her ears. only the thought that some day soon she would be able to have him with her again comforted her, only the realization that she could not possibly make her way as fast towards that goal . if he were with her restrained her from going back to balti- more and taking him from the home. her aunt sophie was, she found, gifted with a fund of hard common sense but with it she possessed a warmth of feeling that made mimi know the older woman understood all her difficulties without the necessity of putting into words her [ ] flight various moods. mr. rogers had held for a number of years before his death a responsible position in a bank down town. he had left his widow some money and a few shares of stock in various corporations that brought her a steady, but small, income. by practice of rigid economy mrs. rogers could have lived in fairly comfortable circumstances but she was unwilling to do this. she had married young and was of a more progressive nature than her brother, although she un- derstood jean as well as had margot. after her husband's death mrs. rogers had taken a course in manicuring, massag- ing and the treatment of the hair and scalp. she then had opened a small “beauty parlour,” from which she derived a small income after all expenses were paid. best of all, it kept her busy, and that was of greater importance to her than the money she earned. with a widowed sister of her husband she kept a small flat near lenox avenue, and it was to this she welcomed mimi. . . . the morning after her arrival mimi had a long talk with her aunt. “you’ve had a hard time, mimi,” the older woman said. “you’ve made what people call a serious mistake—it's not for me to judge you nor am i going to. if you did, you've paid for it—and you've done a mighty brave thing, to my way of thinking, in sticking it out as you have. your problem now as i see it is to forget the past and decide what you're going to do with your future. you're young yet—just twenty-one, aren't you?—you're much better-looking than the average. the best part of your life's ahead of you. the ques- tion you've got to decide is what you're going to do with it— make it fruitful and full and happy? or let the past swal- low you up?” she paused while mimi sat in thought. “jean—and his future count much more than mine, aunt sophie.” [ ] fl i g ht “yes, i know how you feel. what i’m going to say may sound mighty hard and unfeeling but you know i don’t feel that way. with jean you’ll be so handicapped you’ll settle into a rut out of which you’ll probably never emerge. he's well fed, he's sheltered, he's clothed, he's being trained, edu- cated. he hasn't your care and training, i know, but work. ing all day, you wouldn't be able to give him much attention if he were with you. . . . in philadelphia you by some miracle were able to avoid meddling inquiry about jean's parentage. here you wouldn't be so successful, i know. there are gossips everywhere—and in every race. so my ad- vice is to let jean stay there a few years, run down to see him whenever you can afford it, and get to the place where you can have jean with you again. and—who knows?—perhaps the right man “no, no, aunt sophie. that's all done for now. i’m through with men mrs. rogers smiled. “you say that now. but wait awhile. youth and espe- cially youth like yours can work wonders. standards are changing—new york isn't new orleans or atlanta—the man who may come may have sense enough to see what's back of your—well, your so-called misfortune. men are simple crea- tures after all though we women make of them in our own minds an insoluble riddle.” wise in the ways of the world, tolerant and understanding of human foibles and weaknesses, mrs. rogers smiled reminis- cently. “i’ve seen lots of things in my time, mimi, and i’ve learned a lot of things, too. there are some people whose notion of getting along in the world is to butt their brains out against the walls that come up in front of them. others go to the other extreme and dodge every obstacle, taking the easiest way out. maybe they’re both right—but i doubt it. the [ ] flight stories her aunt told her of her own people in new york. she insisted that mrs. rogers take her to the sections where negroes had lived in years past; they wandered through broome and spring streets, where negroes had lived before the civil war, through sullivan and bleecker streets and minetta lane in greenwich willage, now settled thickly with italians, among them little groups of coloured people who had never lived anywhere else. but neither of these settlements nor the former habitats in the twenties and thirties interested her nearly so much as the section which negroes had but lately quitted for harlem. she made her aunt tell her of the maceo and marshall's and other rendezvous of negro and white musicians and writers and bohemians. she asked many questions about williams and walker, about aida overton, jim europe, buddy gilmore who served as model for trap drummers in all the orchestras, ernest hogan, cole and johnson, and many others of the stars of the stage. mrs. rogers had lived near the marshall and had known everybody who was worth knowing. she told mimi of the brilliant sunday nights when they used to dine to the music of a negro orchestra at marshall's, when one was always sure of finding interesting companions and acquaintances. she told of this orchestra, the members of which played and sang and danced and established the vogue out of which sprang the modern cabaret. mimi wished fervidly she had been a part of this brilliant scene, might have known in the flesh these of whom she had heard so often even in new orleans. she was new enough to this growth to enable her to see how it formed itself and gradually spread over a greater territory. it seemed that every month saw the opening up to coloured tenants and buyers of new blocks. a group of white property- owners became alarmed and formed a holding company to buy all property occupied by negro tenants and eject them. this step was promptly met by a countermove on the part [ ] f light of an intelligent coloured real-estate dealer who formed a negro realty company to purchase for coloured tenants apart- ment houses of the best class. then came panic among the whites, who deserted houses long before there was any inva- sion of their neighbourhoods by coloured tenants. prices dropped and negroes reaped the benefit by buying at these figures. the district spread with increasing rapidity and the new city was definitely in the making. . . . mimi kept track of these changes through the interesting circle of friends which frequented her aunt sophie's house. there were types she had not known before—business men who had a broad vision of the city that was to be, men who were eager, of course, to make money but who made personal gain secondary to the deep love of race and pride in the ad- vances of that race toward a more secure foothold than was theirs in most parts of the country. there were the wives of these men, some of them of small minds fixed on nothing but dress and gossip and petty, unimportant social affairs, but others of them intelligent and valuable aids to their hus- bands. some of the women were in business for themselves like mrs. rogers and they were no less shrewd and far-seeing than the men, in a number of cases more so. it was through these and their conversations, to which was added her own deductions and observations, that she saw the thing which interested her develop. this live, pulsating, vigorous move- ment fascinated her, for it gave her interests which kept her mind alert, and free from too great concentration on her own problems. so too, in addition to aunt sophie's friends, who soon be- came her friends as well, she and her aunt found great joy in modest excursions down town to the theatres and greater happiness in music. they purchased the cheapest seats avail- able and climbed the innumerable stairs at the metropolitan or at carnegie hall to hear a favourite opera or singer. to [ ] f light mimi these were as drugs or liquor to addicts—they swept her up, up above her narrow, difficult existence to a world where cares and sorrows and toils did not exist, where there was an ecstatic abandon to the intoxicating music that thrilled her so. she would have enjoyed the music under any circum- stances but it gave her greater happiness because she knew she could not afford even these inexpensive and harmless de- bauches. it was her aunt who urged her to take them, who frequently paid for the tickets, telling mimi they had been given to her because of mimi's insistence upon bearing an equal share of all costs of their journeys. on this point they often had good-natured quarrels—mimi had a violent hatred of sponging, of feeling under obligations to any person, even to one so near as her aunt. she knew her aunt had obliga- tions she must meet, rental of her apartment and shop, the current expenses at both places, the care of her sister-in-law, a chronic invalid who seldom left her room and who played as little a part in the household as the decrepit chair in the closet on which old newspapers were piled. she was unwill- ing to add further to her aunt's burdens and insisted upon paying for her room and board as though she had been merely a boarder. . . . another spring came and went, this time a happier one than mimi had known for several years, merged imperceptibly into summer, when the only variations she permitted to her regu- lar routine of work were trips to coney island with her aunt and some of their friends or rides down town and back of an evening on the fifth avenue buses. mimi had decided that she could never make the progress which was so necessary if she continued only to do plain sewing. she always had a knack for devising new and unusual designs, many of them impractical but all of them touched with a distinctiveness that separated them from other clothes. she began in the fall a course in designing at a trade school, taking the course in the [ ] cha pte r xvi imi forgot the days of her misery. the years spent m in atlanta became hazy and unreal in the eager hap- piness of her new life. again she had the feeling that the things which had distressed her so had never really happened—that they were either the phantasmagoria of a nightmare or the sorrows of an existence she had lived prior to this life. her step-mother she rarely thought of, she had returned to chicago and there had married again. the hunters she equally had removed from her thoughts. when she did think of them or of carl they seemed unreal, like apparitions of an indistinctly remembered dream. she had completely recovered from even her hatred of and contempt for carl. in the light of her life since she had left atlanta, she saw him now even more clearly as the weak individual he was. she was amused now when she remembered how devot- edly, how passionately she had loved him during those short months. “i was a silly little fool then,” she laughed amus- edly at herself when she did remember. the entire episode seemed to her now a rather cheap and worthless thing. the only comfort she could extract from it was the satisfaction that she had not succumbed to a dishonest compromise. even her years in philadelphia began to fade into the land of half-remembered, half-forgotten things. she occasionally corresponded with the mannings but as the months sped by she found her interest lessening even in this contact with the old couple who had been so kind to her. the one link to both of these episodes in her life, for she now looked upon them only as episodes, was petit jean, and he served as a link [ ] f light and as the centre of all her hopes for the future. under the skilful guidance of her aunt she had thrown off her moroseness and spells of despondency and was working indefatigably towards securing all the things which would bring happiness to her and jean. back of her lay disappointment and sadness, ahead of her lay only hope. it was in this mood that she went with her aunt one friday evening to a dance at manhattan casino. they had been invited to join a box party in which were in- cluded several younger people, three or four young men and three girls beside mimi, in addition to mrs. rogers and two older persons. for the dance mimi had made for herself a party dress of pale green charmeuse—green with the green- ness of young leaves in springtime—a green that was indefin- ably between jade and eau-de-nil. “you look like a rosebud-a marvellously golden flower springing out of its leafy greenness,” tom henderson whis- pered to her as they danced together. the not very subtle compliment pleased mimi. she was happy, too, she was capable of pleasure from such a source— she had thought herself impervious to polite remarks of this sort—she fancied she had put all this behind her for ever. she was glad that this was not so—after all, she yet was young. and he had seemed so sincere when he had said it. all the evening she danced, danced with a lightness and ease that brought young men in droves to the box when she rested there between dances. her feet seemed endowed with wings, for she moved over the floor without conscious effort. and the music! she had heard of ford dabney, had been told of the way in which his orchestra could play. but she had never dreamed that any human beings could entice from inanimate objects such intoxicating, inspiriting music. once, and once only, was she able to sit in the box and watch the dancers. [ ] f light “nobody's told on her yet—and when she's through with her work she comes back to harlem. she's got mighty little use for white people—hates them—she was born in georgia and her brother was lynched when he beat up a white man in a quarrel.” “who’s the fellow over there—the one with the black hair who looks like a japanese?” mimi queried, now thoroughly interested. she scanned the flaming chequer-board of colour, picking out the ones who interested her. “where is he? oh, that's tod james—he's assistant cash- ier of a bank down in the financial district. he's married white but ever so often the call of harlem is too great and he bobs up here again. he's had an amazing career—born in texas, was mixed up in two or three revolutions in mexico and south america, has travelled all over the world, made and lost three or four fortunes, and now has settled down to a comfortable, placid existence in wall street.” “does his wife know he's coloured?” “that's she dancing down there with the slender brown chap—looks like she knows what he is. and she was born in tennessee but had sense enough not to stay there.” “and who's the flashily dressed fellow standing there look- ing on?” “i don't know his name but he runs a club where they have entertainers and music for dancing—they call them cabarets. you'll find all sorts of people here—it's a pay dance and anybody who's got the price can get in. there are women who are being kept and men who live the same way, doctors and lawyers, and about every class in the world represented here.” mimi felt a thrill of adventure run through her. perhaps she had brushed against some of these fearful characters and it made her tingle with adventure. [ ] flight “goodness, haven't they any lines they draw?” she wanted to know. “strictest in the world—you've noticed you've been asked to dance only by folks you know and who move with our set.” mimi laughed. “i don't know about that. see that nice-looking chap over there in that box? i’ve never seen him before and he asked me if i wanted to dance with him.” mrs. rogers peered in the direction of mimi's nod. “no, you haven't seen him,” she told mimi grimly, when she had located him. “he’s probably one of the most notor- ious gamblers in new york—has never been known to do a lick of work. i told you you'd see all sorts of people here, didn't i?” the music began again and there was a wild rush to the dance floor. mimi sat and watched the kaleidoscopic scene, brilliant, colourful, fascinating. new york is the only place on earth where such a crowd could be got together, she mused. like one body the crowd on the huge, densely packed floor swayed and moved with an easy grace, laughing, carefree, exuberant. there was a natural spontaneity to the movement, a rhythmic unity that gave mimi the impression that the dancers had been rehearsed with great pains by an expert maitre de danse. they moved with graceful animation, with a decorous but fascinating abandon. her aunt was speak- ing. “it’s lucky for the negro he was given the ability to forget— there are at least a dozen people down there i’ve recognized who probably don't know where they’ll get money enough to pay their rent. yet there's not a soul having a better time than they. he can work all day methodically and steadily as long as he knows there will be opportunities to forget harsh and unpleasant things.” . . . [ ] flight mimi did not see mrs. plummer as she descended the stairs when the music began for the next dance. that estimable per- son had come that afternoon to new york and she now was receiving her first glimpse of new york life. she wore a brilliant purple confection of velvet, adorned with extraordi- nary little flowers of an indescribable and unknown species and shape. she seized the arm of her cousin, with whom she was staying, and though in the noise there was no need of cau- tion, she whispered: “who is that girl with the green dress and red hair—i mean what name does she go by here?” “that's miss daquin—she's mrs. rogers' niece and she's very popular—some of the women don't like her but that's be- cause she's better-looking than most of them. men like her be- cause she pays no attention to them—” mrs. plummer snorted. “miss daquin! so that's how she's getting by, is it?” she was in her element. new york did not terrify her any more by its hugeness and strangeness. the eyes of her friend picked out mimi's form as it appeared and disappeared through the dancing forms. mrs. plummer was giving a com- plete, more than complete, account of mimi and her life. “these society coloured folks make me tired,” mrs. plum- mer was saying. “they look down on us ordinary folks but they're carrying on their deviltry just as much as any of us. and they do some of the craziest things! that girl was car- rying on round atlanta with this hunter boy and when they found out she was going to have a baby she just went crazy— said she didn't want to marry the boy! can you imagine any- body doing such a fool thing?” she demanded rhetorically. “i always did think there was something funny about her,” her vis-à-vis answered satisfactorily. “you can't fool me—i can spot 'em a mile off. what became of the baby?” [ ] f light “the lord only knows! i heard tell she had it and i don't know whether it lived or not. must not of if you say you ain't never heard about it. some funny things happen in this world—” on and on the thread was unspun. in the years since mimi had left atlanta, the stories about her, with the facile growth that age always brings, had gained almost the proportions of a myth. never had any girl taken so absurd a position as she. always they had been only too glad to marry even when they had lived with their husbands but a short time. not under- standing, gossip had assumed there was more to the story than appeared on the surface, and various inventive minds specu- lated as to the untold part. rumour had scoffed at the notion mimi had refused to marry carl even though he and his parents were willing. that was too improbable, too far-fetched. the hunters had volunteered no information and tongues had run wild. some had it that the father of the child was uncertain—every man under seventy years of age who had ever been on the most casual terms of friendship with mimi was discussed as the possible father. others were firmly convinced mimi had trapped carl with an eye on the wealth which his father was credited with possessing. those of this persuasion were convinced she had been bought off or frightened by the hunters. forgotten except by a few, hilda and her mother among them, were the derelictions popular report had credited to or charged against carl. mimi had fled, therefore she was the guilty one. “the wicked fleeth when no man pursueth,” the wise ones said. the scandal was a juicy morsel that served its purpose well over many back fences and at innumerable parties, at church and on front porches. only hilda and mrs. adams championed the cause of mimi, but soon, because [ ] f light their views were well known, the subject was not mentioned to them. scandal thrives only when it is retailed to those with open ears and credulous minds. . . . mrs. plummer's friend was well capable of holding her own in the dissemination of interesting news. mimi alone would have been a target almost too small for the guns of the talka- tive ones. but as the niece of mrs. rogers, in business, well known, and with enemies gained through the frank comment and eyes with which mimi's aunt saw readily through pre- tence and sham, mrs. rogers herself could be hurt through the mud plastered on her niece. mimi found herself being avoided at church, on the street, at the few affairs which she attended. at first she paid no attention to them but in time they were too obvious to be ignored. she had not seen mrs. plummer during the two weeks that she had visited in new york. the first intimation mimi had of the talk which was going on was given her in a weekly publication, the blabber. modelled upon town topics, it devoted its pages to not too cryptic references, almost invariably scandalous ones, to per- sons of prominence. its editors had been handled roughly several times, the paper had been sued frequently, but seldom were any copies left on harlem newsstands more than a few hours after it appeared on thursday mornings. mimi read the reference to herself three times before she could realize that once again she was confronted with sus- picion. “all harlem is agog,” the paragraph ran, “with some hith- erto hidden chapters in the life of one of our most attractive and popular young women. she and the relative with whom she lives have been seen often at the smartest affairs and the breath of scandal which has been stirred will undoubtedly prove a nine days' sensation. innocence, according to all who know the young lady of french extraction, has been her most [ ] flight its were good or bad. she tried to keep her mind on the com- forting flow of words with which mrs. rogers was seeking to bolster her courage. “people have gossiped from the beginning of time and i suppose they’ll keep right on until gabriel blows his trump. i don't know why it is but there's one thing that's always true —they tear you to pieces not for what you’ve done but for get- ting caught. take some of the biggest men in america—men who everybody knows have stolen railroads and banks but who've never been caught at it—why, they're popular idols. there are lots of magazines with big circulations that fill their pages with stories of how these giants have gained wealth and fame by ‘honesty, hard work, sticking to the job.” that's bunk! do you remember the story of one of these ‘self-made” men who was telling a college class that his secret of success was ‘pluck! pluck! pluck!’ and the irreverent boy who asked the pompous one who he had plucked? that's the true story of a lot of these people who haven’t been caught with their hands in the other fellow's pockets.” mimi smiled a wan smile. this was interesting, perhaps, but it didn't help her much. mrs. rogers went on. “and coloured people are no better than anybody else. the motive is the same everywhere in the world and with all races and sexes and classes. if you aren't of any importance they don't gossip about you because nobody's interested. but they’ve got to have something humiliating, something that’ll bear down a person's reputation, something malicious and spiteful. it's got to be about somebody who's got something to lose, it’ll have to be something that’ll stick, something that’ll be dangerous but not too dangerous for the person who's gos- siping. and above everything else it's got to be spread with a high and lofty manner—the biggest spreader of tales i ever knew always started her most vile story the same way. she'd say: “i stay at home attending to my own business and i [ ] fl i g ht don't meddle in other people's affairs, but have you heard that—” and then she proceeds to give you a long account of what some person has done, all of it told in a tone of christian forbearance and pity and tacit regret.” “that’s a very interesting and logical analysis but it doesn't offer much comfort. it's just like a doctor explaining why your leg broke when you're lying in a hospital bed.” “you’re depressed and worried—there's no need giving in to what these people say. just face it and it will all blow over. and i’ll stick with you always, mimi.” mrs. rogers watched mimi, more worried over the girl's troubles than she would admit even to herself. in a few months mimi had become a part and a very important part of the household. younger people came and she had always preferred associating with young people. “it keeps me young, too,” she would say when the subject was mentioned. the house would be unbearable if mimi went away or did any- thing desperate. she feared this though she laughed at her fears. but the set look on mimi's face, the despondency which was greater now than when mimi had first come to new york after putting petit jean in the orphanage, the utter dejection so evident in mimi's face and body, made her definitely ap- prehensive. “you’re a darling, aunt sophie, but i just can't stick it out. i can stand a lot of things—i’ve had to—but what's happened here will just keep on happening every place i go. i’ve tried to go straight—god knows i have. but these meddling peo- ple won't let me have any peace. do you remember that night at the dance you pointed out a girl to me who was work- ing down town, passing for white?” mrs. rogers admitted she had, but wondered what that had to do with mimi. “just this,” was the answer she received. “i never thought i’d want to leave my own people. i wouldn't leave them now [ ] fl i g ht but they've driven me away—driven me to the point where i’ve either got to drop out of sight where i won't be hounded again or else i'll do something terrible. if that girl can pass i think i can too. my name is french, i speak french—at least well enough to fool anybody who isn't french—i can sew, and they'll never think me anything else but french. i’ll see you, of course, but i’m leaving harlem, leaving coloured people for good. i’ll live my own life, make more money than i can here, i'll be able sooner to have jean with me, and —well, there's no other way out. . . .” [ ] cha pte r xvii her life and opening a new one. just like a novel by rolland, she thought. or, better, her life to her was like one of those harlem apartments of seemingly interminable length, with no hall and with each room opening into the next one. railroad flats, she had heard them called. she felt she was always opening the door of another room, passing through it, then opening and closing behind her, never to be reopened, the door of the next cubicle. those years of childhood in new orleans had been the first one, happy and carefree years when she was more content than ever afterwards. the next had been atlanta, then philadelphia, then harlem. four separate lives, and here was a new one opening before her. she wondered how many more through which she must pass before the final exit. sometimes now she wished she could skip all the rest and make that last step, wherever it might lead. in her mo- ments of greatest depression she thought of suicide but these morbid thoughts did not remain with her long. petit jean and thoughts of his future would have driven them away even if she had not felt a deep aversion to death by her own hand. from a newspaper advertisement she was able to secure a small room with a private family, living in the lower nineties, respectable but commonplace. in the matter of linear feet and rods and miles she was not far distant from harlem but in other ways she might as well have been halfway round the world from the scenes she had once known. here the towering apartment houses, most of them five or six stories in height . gain mimi had the feeling she was closing a book in [ ] flight sing sing, for not even the oldest inhabitant of the house, who had been living there now for a year and a half, had ever seen anyone sitting in them. but they added class, tone, éclat. and they likewise added a few dollars to the rent of each apart- ment in the house so adorned. she had not wanted to leave harlem. mrs. rogers had ar- gued, pleaded, almost wept. at times mimi had been on the point of weakening, had almost thought seriously of trying to stick it out. each time that she had almost convinced herself that this was the wisest and only course, some new evidence of the ordeal would come to her and make her vow anew that she would not attempt to live it down. years before she had heard a story which booker washington had told in which he likened negroes to a basket of crabs—when one of them had with great energy climbed almost to the top of the bas- ket and freedom, the others less progressive than he would reach up with their claws and pull him back to their own level. this had seemed to her then merely an effective story coined for oratorical purposes, but now its applicability was forced upon her with painful truth. though she had to a considerable degree recovered from the intense consciousness of race which her experiences in the riot at atlanta had engendered in her, yet mimi, despite the shortcomings which she saw in her own people, had a loyalty to and an affection for them that was almost an obsession. she never spoke of this feeling, for she felt that to those who under- stood, explanations were unnecessary, while to those who needed an explanation, whatever she might say would have been obscure and difficult of understanding. in other words, to her it was as useless for her to attempt the depiction of her loyalty as it would be for a man to maintain loudly and persistently the faithfulness of his wife. she had always felt an instinctive distrust of those negroes who boasted of their loyalty and devo- tion to their race. it had seemed to her that if such faithful- [ ] flight ness were genuine and unselfish it needed restatement no more than did the affirmation by a woman that she was respectable. thus her passing from the race seemed to mimi persecution greater than any white people had ever visited upon coloured people—the very intolerance of her own people had driven her from them. and in the deception she would have to practise as one ostensibly white, she felt she was doing a mean and dis- honourable thing. she would do so, she determined, for there was no other course open to her. but in her new life she missed the spontaneity, the ready laughter, the naturalness of her own. she saw morose, worried faces. here there was lit- tle of that softness of speech to which she was accustomed. here there was an obsession with material things that crowded out the naturalness that made life for her tolerable. i’ve made my bed now, she reflected, and there's nothing for me to do ex- cept lie in it. . . . she did not experience the difficulty in securing employment that she had feared. there had been vague rumblings of dis- cord and war in europe, but all that seemed very far away, too distant ever to affect america. the mad rush that ushered in easter and spring, the return like homing pigeons of the wealthy from palm beach, the momentary pause in new york before taking wing again for europe or the mountains or the sea-shore, taxed to the limit the shops of the modistes and milli- ners, the makers of boots and gowns and habiliments of a thou- sand kinds for those vaguely classed as “society.” deft fingers flew, the needles of sewing-machines flashed in and out like pelting raindrops of silver in a summer shower. yards and bolts and tons of filmy silks and crêpes de chine and organdie turned overnight into dainty dresses. a long, nastily cold winter was gasping its last long breath and little wisps of softer breezes fanned the cheeks of the scurrying throngs, telling them spring was near. [ ] flight and when the visitor had made her wants known she was con- ducted, if her need was of gowns or tailored suits or hats, up the winding marble stairway to the miniature theatre on the floor above. she was aided in the ascent by the balustrade of metal covered with mull velvet. madame francine's sense of the appropriate and impressive setting rose to its heights in the room she entered at the top of these stairs. here the rugs were of grey, the woodwork and walls and draperies blending unobtrusively in the colours of the show-room below. on a marble mantel to the left stood in solemn dignity a marvellously fashioned clock, so beautifully made, one felt it almost a profanation that it should measure unimportant things like minutes and hours. to each side of it there stood a delicately carved candlestick of shiny brass, their brightness matching the framework of the long table with mar- ble top on which rested sketch-books of designs and models. the tiny stage fitted with footlights and drops, its flooring of squares of black and white marble, glowed with impressive and anticipatory dignity. daintily clad and perfumed and mani- cured ladies lolled at ease upon divans or in straight-backed chairs, according to tastes and sizes, while mannequins pirouet- ted and posed and paraded around and across the stage. every detail had been minutely scrutinized, every bit of unobtrusive allure had been utilized to induce the dawdling audience to the point of conviction and purchase. instinctively one lowered one's voice—the temple must not be profaned. one bought, too, for few were strong enough to resist the feeling that all this had been designed and executed solely for one's own pri- vate delectation, and certainly one could not be guilty of base ingratitude through failure to render homage by ordering one or more of the creations displayed. . . . but all this magnificence was terra incognita to mimi for many, many months after she had begun work as a finisher [ ] flight at francine's. there were four other floors occupied by work- rooms and tailoring-rooms and lunch-room. there was the basement used as an office and stockroom and shipping-room. in the upper stories the finishers and drapers and drapers' as- sistants and fitters and clerks and stenographers and tailors moved and had their being. these were never seen by cus- tomers, nor were the first two floors ever seen by any employees save the sales persons, except when viewed in hasty peeps af. ter hours. these workers entered through rear or side doors, ascended to their work tables by rear elevators, saw nothing of the pageant enacted daily in the same building. timidly mimi told the imposing and business-like fitter her qualifications as a wielder of the needle and thimble. in these less dignified purlieus there was no need of lowered voices, and the rush of work in the pre-easter season had shortened tempers and sharpened tongues. mimi would have fled madly from the scene had not she so eagerly wanted work, and work at francine's. timidly, yet desperately, she emphasized her ability and experience. she clinched her claim to fitness by her training at the manhattan trade school, though the diffi- dence with which she advanced this argument would have de- feated its purpose had not there been need of a finisher at francine's and a very pressing need on that particular day when mimi made her application. deftly, quickly, she did the work assigned her. from eight- thirty each week-day morning until five-thirty she plied her needle, head bent low at the table given her in the long work- room on the fourth floor. she seldom spoke to any of the other thirty girls except when addressed directly, but she stole many a furtive glance at them, envying their pert assur- ance, their complete lack of awe at their surroundings save when the eyes of the fitter or a very rare visit from francine herself hushed their whispered chatter. “talking and work don't go together—one or the other will be neglected and al- [ ] fl i g ht ways it will be the work that suffers,” the fitter had told mimi on her first day. the other girls obeyed this injunction—to have done otherwise would have brought reproof and in time dismissal. but no sooner did the fitter leave the room than they gushed forth a torrent of whispered comments, of subdued snickering. and even when the coldly efficient fitter was with them but her eyes not upon them, they found ways of com- munication to relieve the tedium of silence. because her wages were small as a finisher and because her need of work was great, mimi obeyed implicitly the instruc- tions given her. she made few friends, and even these few were kept at a distance. only one girl progressed beyond the barrier mimi imposed. sylvia smith was the name she gave mimi, and their tables adjoined. “how do you like old faithful?” sylvia inquired as she led mimi to the lunch-room where the girls were provided with tea or coffee at noon while they ate the lunches they had brought. “old faithful?” mimi, puzzled, inquired. “yeah—the fitter we got,” sylvia mumbled as she bit deep into a sandwich. “oh—she's very nice.” “you don't know her, kid. she's a pain—just wait until you do something wrong—you'll want to jump down her throat when she bawls you out with all the other girls grinning at you behind her back.” “i hope then i'll never make any mistakes,” mimi mur- mured. “don’t worry, kiddo. you'll make 'em. and the best way to handle old faithful is to keep your mouth shut and let her gab on until she runs out of breath. the one we had before she came was a coloured girl—she knew her stuff and we didn't try no monkey business with her, either. but she treated us like we were human—” [ ] f light “a coloured girl?” mimi asked, alarm creeping into her voice. “yeah. say, where you from?” “new york, now. new orleans was where i was born.” “oh—i thought you talked like you was from the south. well, up here being coloured don't count as much as it does down your way mimi hastened to disclaim the imputation in sylvia's voice. “that's all right, dearie. i wasn't accusing you of preju- dice.” “no–no, i'm not prejudiced,” was mimi's reply. she felt a sense of guilt at her duplicity, but at the same time sylvia's words gave her assurance that the task of passing would not be as difficult as she had feared. “race prejudice is a lot of bunk,” sylvia was philosophiz- ing. “take me, for instance. i went to manhattan trade, too. my real name's bernstein—but you can't get by in some of these places if they think you're a jew. so my name here is ‘smith.’ i’m starting at the bottom just like you, to learn the tricks of the trade, but some day i’m going to have my own business. you see, my mother's french and i took after her, so i can pass for french even if i don't speak any of that lingo. so i know what prejudice means, dearie. some of the girls tried to get nasty when they put miss lawrence over us— miss lawrence was the coloured woman—but i liked her and she soon had 'em under her thumb, believe me.” as sylvia chattered on, mimi felt an urge to tell her new friend that she too was sailing under false colours, but she feared to reveal this fact so early in their acquaintance. cau- tion urged her to remain silent though she felt she could trust sylvia implicitly despite the fact she had seen her for the first time a few hours before. she liked sylvia. she was slangy. she was coarse, after a fashion. but it took no very keen eye to see that beneath these externals she was made of fine stuff. [ ] f light ambitious, too. just like a jew, mimi thought, and though she meant nothing derogatory, she was ashamed she had used a phrase so often spoken in dispraise of sylvia's race. yes, she was going to like sylvia. “say, mimi–you're french, too, aren't you?—let's have lunch together every day. i don't have anything to do with the rest of the girls—all they think about is clothes and lovers—but i like you.” “and i like you, too, sylvia,” mimi shyly answered, stirred by the prompt offer of friendship. “that's o.k., then. we’ll be real pals. and any time you want to know anything, just call on me. “tell me, sylvia, what became of miss lawrence—the col- oured woman who was a fitter? is she still working for fran- cine?” “nope—some of the girls objected to her and raised such a row she left. she's got a place of her own in harlem—she's married now and francine don't know it but a lot of these swells go all the way up there to get miss lawrence to do their clothes. francine would throw a fit or two if she found it out.” mimi liked her work. she started at fifteen dollars a week but before many months had passed her pay was increased. the hours were not as long as they seemed and she learned to like sylvia more and more as each day brought forth some new sign of the determination and keen intelligence that lay back of sylvia's rather slangy and disrespectful manner. with mimi there was none of the subtle antagonisms sylvia felt towards the other girls. this hostility was born of syl- via's contempt for their greater polish and worldly cleverness, their air of distinction with which they aped the manners of the patrons of francine's whom they watched when the girls walked on the avenue during the lunch hour. sylvia would [ ] flight never have admitted it, but there was, too, envy in her heart of these among whom she felt like the proverbial ugly duck- ling. mimi saw without difficulty the motives which inspired sylvia's distrust and dislike, but she never hinted even that she understood. sylvia would have been hurt, pained terribly, had she felt mimi ascribed her emotions to such sources. but whatever their source, they served as a driving power of tre- mendous strength in sylvia's life. she often told mimi her plans and dreams, at first shyly, then freely. “i was born way down on the east side—father and mother came here from france when they had only one child. i was the third and there were four after me—no chance down there at all. so i made up my mind i was going to get somewhere and i pulled out of that hole and here i am. i had to sew on men's clothes that mother brought home from the factory— started sewing when i was eight years old. i didn't get much education, and living down there, i soon lost what little i had, got to talking rough and using slang—oh, you needn't try to save my feelings—i know i’m rough as a dockhand. but i'm going to night school—and some day i'm going to be some- body.” sylvia's face, dark and in moments of intense feeling strong with the mark of israel upon it, lighted up as she looked down the years and saw herself sitting as francine now did in a delicately beautiful “studio” of her own, while all around her bustled employees of madame sylvia. “take francine, for instance. she says she is french, but you and i are lots more french than she is—every time she opens her mouth and spills some french words, you can hear killarney all through it. and if she can get away with it— well, i can put it over, too.” under sylvia's direction mimi began to see new worlds in new york she had never thought of penetrating. at first to occupy her mind, later because the pursuit of knowledge was [ ] flight an intriguing and comforting thing, she began to spend her evenings at night school. she finished her course in designing, she studied french, soon regaining her old-time proficiency in the tongue which had once been more native to her than eng- lish, she took courses in english literature and economics and psychology. with sylvia she attended lectures at the rand school and at cooper union. most of the theories advanced there seemed to her visionary and impractical—the burning intensity of most of the students and hearers frightened and re- pelled her. like alchemists of old searching, probing, seeking diligently for the mysterious and elusive secret by which baser metals could be changed into gold, so many of these seemed intent on finding some panacea which could be applied willy- nilly to all problems, economic, social, political, and in a flash solve them all. though she kept her thoughts to herself, nevertheless the test tube in which she tried all these solutions and solvers was in their reactions towards mimi's own people —her own, even though she had deserted them. do they in- clude consideration of the negro as a human being just like themselves when they talk glibly of the “comrades” and “the brotherhood of man”? was the question she found herself con- stantly asking. it was at the very beginning of mimi's work at francine's that an austrian archduke was assassinated at sarajevo. aus- tria, serbia, germany, france, great britain, belgium, japan —one by one they tumbled into the whirlpool of slaughter and blood and bullets. headlines screamed and front pages were filled with stories of belgium invaded, of the marne and lou- vain. francine apparently was untouched except there was more work to be done now that paris and its energies were turned to the making of guns instead of gowns. mimi was deeply moved by the stories of scores, hundreds, thousands of deaths, but in time she scanned the headlines as she hurried home in the evenings on the subway with the calm acceptance [ ] chapter xviii occasional visits to her aunt sophie or mrs. rogers came down town for a hasty luncheon or a leisurely dinner with her. she told her aunt glowingly of the progress she was making, gave her vivid little pictures of her life at francine's, of the girls with whom she worked. once or twice a year, she went to baltimore and spent a few days with jean. these vis- its cheered, saddened and comforted her. she treasured each minute spent with him, watching with eager eyes the rapid growth of the infant into a sturdy, intelligent child. he had mimi's reddish hair and her brown eyes. his mouth was sensitive like carl's but the chin was that of his maternal grandfather. the authorities gave excellent reports of him though they hinted broadly that jean was—well, inclined strongly towards mischief. mimi's passionate sadness on leav- ing him was tempered always with the assurance he was being cared for as well as could be hoped for in such surroundings and she always returned to new york filled with determina- tion to work twice—three times as hard as ever until she could bring jean back with her and care for him properly. she was reaching the point where she could take care of his immediate wants from her earnings. but she knew it was best she let him remain there until she could more nearly assure that he could be taken care of even if she herself should get sick or die. of social relations she had none. sylvia invited her fre- quently to go to coney island, to the movies, to dances, but these mimi always declined. she liked sylvia very much as an individual but she was always afraid she would not like the t: was little variation to the life mimi led. she paid [ ] flight young men and women of sylvia's set. having been all her life unsuccessful at dissembling or pretence, mimi was cer- tain sylvia would detect any dislike of sylvia's friends and she did not want this possible breach between them. but this was not the deeper reason for mimi's refusal nor was even she aware of the cause of her abstention from all relations other than those of her work and school. as a girl mimi had had a fragile, flower-like beauty. the hardships she had undergone—the agonies of flesh and spirit—had not coarsened or embittered her. instead they had given her an air of hard brilliancy like the glistening surface of porcelain, beautiful, alluring but chilling to the touch—and as impenetra- ble. men instinctively turned and looked at her again as they passed her on the street. she was, of course, not unaware of these attentions nor did they altogether displease her. but her experiences with men, the disastrous one with carl, the unpleas- ant ones in germantown and new york, had made her frankly sceptical of men and their motives. she was frankly repelled by the contacts she had had with men and she had definitely vowed that she would concentrate on her work and jean's fu- ture to the exclusion of everything else. she was strengthened in this vow by the realization that she would never be able to give up jean and that his existence with the necessity of ex- planation of his existence would mean almost inevitably the rupture of any friendship other than a most casual one which she might form. so year after year mimi went ploddingly along the way she had laid out for herself. one by one girls left francine's em- ploy, some to get married, some to work elsewhere, some be- cause they were discharged. yet others, usually very pretty ones who had served as mannequins or in other ways had come in contact with men who had accompanied customers to francine's, left mysteriously. some of these paid visits later at francine's as customers themselves or visited the workrooms [ ] fl i ght don't go very far with me. oh, excuse me! sit down, won't you?” mimi sat. the request was more a demand. she poised on the edge of the blue and gold chair as though she was not at all sure it would sustain her weight. must learn something about furniture, she resolved. this room's louis xiv, i think, she thought to herself, as she gazed around the room with quick glances while waiting for madame francine to continue. “how'd you like to go with me to paris next month to get new styles?” mimi came back to the subject at hand with a start. she gasped. “go with you to france?” she echoed. “certainement!” came the answer as madame francine re- membered her french. “you speak french, don't you? and you've a keen eye. and you can use your own head—your imagination. i’m not so young as i once was. it's a real bother for me to chase around as i must—going to the shops, the races, the theatres and the opera, the smart hotels and res- taurants, everywhere i can pick up ideas. you see, my dear, i always carry an artist with me who's got a mind like the sensitive, so sensitive plate of a camera—he sees a gown or a hat and he never forgets a single detail until he has sketched it on paper.” “i see,” murmured mimi, though she didn't see at all. her mind was too filled with the prospect of going to paris. but she must have made her reply sound interested and intelligent enough, for francine went on. “only the department stores and wholesalers buy models— we only absorb ideas and then develop them ourselves. that's why we can ask and get two hundred dollars and up for a gown while the department stores sell theirs for seventy-five.” in her voice there was a tinge, faint but unmistakable, of scorn when she spoke of “wholesalers” and “department stores.” so [ ] flight francine, who had been born margaret o'donnell, to reach the heights she had attained. but the madame francine who sat opposite mimi had travelled a long way from the irish im- migrant girl who had looked with startled eyes upon the ex- panse of new york bay as she clutched feverishly the hand of her squat and unimaginative father. she must be fifty if she's a day, mimi reflected. no, that can't be so. she's been in business for over thirty years—she must be sixty. anyway, the old girl's certainly taken care of herself, mimi decided, as she gave polite and reassuring answers to the questions which occasionally interrupted the even flow of madame francine's narrative. . . . “in the meantime, you'll give up your workroom and spend most of your time with me. there are a lot of little points about the business you need to learn—i need a pair of strong, young shoulders on which to rest a part of my burdens”— here madame francine gave a gentle upward motion of her shoulders that would have convinced even a parisian of her gallicism—“and from all i can see, you're the best one here to share these burdens with me.” . . for six weeks while the shops above them rushed through young mountains of work, making creations of all sorts for the palm beach migration of the socially and financially elect, mimi and madame francine spent several hours together each day in the sheltered quietness of madame francine's private of. fice—“my studio” she called it. mimi saw and met and heard about women and men whose names she had seen in society col- umns and in the smartest magazines but whom she had never seen in the flesh. she heard of the idiosyncrasies, the foibles, and the predilections of each of them. she learned the things each liked to hear. more important, she memorized the things they did not like to hear. she listened to lengthy accounts of [ ] fl i g ht the business routine until her head swam and she felt sure she could never by any means digest a tenth of it. and there were other things she learned too—phases of the business which she had never suspected before, marooned as she had been in the workrooms. had she gossiped more with the girls, she reflected, she would have known these things sooner. she learned the names of the men customers whose wives and whose mistresses both purchased their gowns at francine's. and she was properly impressed with the necessity of never— never—permitting any mix-ups in the delivery of gowns or hats. she learned the necessary precautions in advising the book-keepers about the bills for these goods—which bill was to be sent to the man's home and which to his office, marked “personal.” too, she was admitted to the secret of the victimizing of these men both by their wives and their mistresses. she heard ma- dame francine explain suavely how many of the wives, per- mitted unlimited charge accounts at as many shops as they chose, were given little cash by their husbands. madame fran- cine answered mimi's guileless question why husbands with money to give did not give it to their wives with a knowing lit- tle laugh. “wives with too much money to spend might— with interesting young men around—well, they might forget they’re wives.” mimi listened with amazement as madame francine told her how the wives—and the mistresses—fre- quently came and bought gowns costing three hundred dollars for which a bill was sent to the man for four hundred. “and what becomes of the extra hundred?” mimi asked. “we give that in cash to the customer, little innocent! . . , what will happen if we don't? they'll go to another shop and we’ll have lost a customer.” despite all she had undergone, mimi realized that she knew pitifully little about the ways of the world. duplicity, deceit, [ ] f light lying, dishonesty, all around her and she had never even sus- pected it. i am a silly little innocent, she mused. in a flash whitman's lines came back to her: “of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill'd with the foolish, of myself for ever reproaching myself (for who more foolish than i, - and who more faithless?) . . .” she was faithless and foolish. if she weren't she'd drop the whole thing and get herself a job scrubbing floors, washing dishes, anything rather than be a willing part of this sort of trickery. but even as she scourged herself and despised her- self for her weakness, she knew she wouldn't scrub floors or wash dishes. there's jean to think of, was her dominant thought. but she resolved she'd get out of the whole business and work at home when she had earned and saved the money she must have. miss lawrence had done it and some of her customers had followed her all the way to negro harlem. she could do it too—perhaps open a shop of her own as syl- via had done. she was glad she had done nothing so foolish when a few days after christmas she stood on deck and watched the ser- rated sky-line of new york, clad mistily in a blanket of snow that fell like a great celestial curtain, drop silently in the dis- tance. the thrill and mystery of departure no longer of in- terest to her, madame francine had already gone to her state- room, while percival edwards, the sketch artist, had fallen an easy victim to sea-sickness before the hawsers had been cast off and the huge ship had nosed its way from its slip. the long, dark pier with its distinctive odour of things nautical, the crowds of passengers and of others who had come to bid them a snowy and chilly farewell, the trim officers of the lux- urious vessel that seemed so immense mimi felt an immediate sense of security replacing her fear of the sea, all these ex- cited and delighted mimi. only in short trips of a few hours on the gulf of mexico before they had left new orleans had [ ] f light mimi ever before been on a ship. those little boats of her childhood could have been stored away and forgotten in the hold of this huge boat, she reflected, as the shore became fainter and fainter in the greyish white curtain of snowflakes. she drew her shoulders deeper into the collar of her fur coat until there was but a thin slit of creamy flesh visible between the collar and the tight-fitting little toque that covered her head. this is life, she thought comfortably. a big liner, paris, the boulevards, the shops, the theatres, the opera, the restaurants, all the life of la plus belle ville du monde—the phrase came to her from the text-book she had used but a short time be- fore. . . . even madame francine's at times crotchety querulousness and percival edward's effeminacy could not ruffle her spirits in paris—it was all too marvellous, too intoxicatingly beauti- ful, that she was at last in the one place she had always dreamed of visiting. the torn and unkempt streets could not destroy her happiness—c'est la guerre,” she heard on every side, but for her there was no destroyed beauty—she saw beyond the disorder and envisioned the city as it was before shells and neglect had ruffled its beauty. she loved the reviving splen- dour and gaiety of fashionable life, loved it so well that ma- dame francine was forced several times to remind her not too gently that she was in paris for work and not as a lady of leisure. these reminders brought her back to herself for a time but soon her thoughts were again far from sketching frocks or absorbing ideas. all too soon for her the six weeks one by one began and ended, one after the other. she did not want to return to america. she wanted to stay for ever in paris. she would do it, she promised herself, with the recklessness of those infatuated with the charm of a place when leaving it. she would bring jean to france, educate him there, and blot from her memory and his all the dark days in their own [ ] f light america. this dream remained with her for a long time after they returned to new york. . . . “my dear, i’m an old woman now and i can't make the trips i used to,” madame francine told mimi after they had made their second trip to paris. “it’s nice of you to deny my age,” she smiled at mimi's eager protestations that she was not old. “but it's true, nevertheless, and i’ve got to shift even more of the burdens on you. do you think you could go without me to paris next time?” with a woman's eye for such signs, mimi had noticed the telltale wrinkles in madame francine's chin which, despite massages and all the other means she had used to retain her youth, had become each year more evident until now when she held her head at a certain angle they reminded mimi of the neck of a plucked hen. under madame francine's eyes hung revealing pouches that of mornings were dark and wrin- kled. francine had had a desperate struggle to establish and maintain her position—the comp tition had been cruelly keen, any lessening of her efforts would have meant the swift relega- tion of the business she had built to a place in the rear of the procession. this strain was now telling on her. she was weary. she no longer was able to drive herself and those un- der her at high speed. only the will to make francine's the place where smart new york came for its clothes remained. she would always keep a supervisory eye on the shop. but she was glad she had mimi. under her direction the pace would be maintained, francine’s name would not die out, francine's gowns would yet be known as the last word in fem- inine circles. closely she had watched mimi and she had been satis- fied. she had given the younger woman many useful hints and her delight had known no bounds when these hints had been taken, elaborated, overhauled and embellished in [ ] f light such fashion the books had shown a decided increase in busi- ness transacted. francine was forced to admit, though her confessions were rueful ones and kept to herself, that mimi's tactful handling of several wealthy customers who had been wont to buy the bulk of their wares at other modistes' had re- sulted in the transfer of practically all their business to her own place. and there were, she noted, a number of women with wealth and little else, who under no circumstances would permit any other individual to advise with them on colours and fabrics and designs save mimi. madame francine was con- tent—mimi would do. some day, who knows but mimi will be able to take her own place and she could with satisfied mind retire for the long rest and the leisurely life she had always promised herself? [ ] fl i g ht of dilapidated and abandoned stores through the hanging of vivid strips of turkish gauzes and calicoes across the dusty windows, the thronging of the streets of love-making young girls and boys, of surprisingly agile old women and stalwart men with fierce and terrifyingly strange faces. or perhaps she wandered on the lower east side through streets packed from curb to curb with jews, arguing, strolling slowly of an evening under the garish lights from stores selling jewellery and cloth- ing and food and amusement. sometimes she ate in a res- taurant on houston street where she could obtain white caviare and strange, exotic dishes served nowhere else, while the propri- etor, who had come to america from roumania, played the cymbalom, accompanied by a pathetic old blind man. she found down here a new standard of appraisal of these peo- ple, who, if for no other reason than that they, like her own race, had known bitter persecution, appealed to her with col- our and romance and kindred emotions. she was often re- pelled by the bustling, noisy, aggressive younger generation, for ever concerned with profits and losses. but the older gen- eration, the women of the calm eyes and heavy wigs, the men with magnificent beards and extraordinarily well-formed fea- tures, appealed to her more than almost any other type she had ever seen. through the italian section she wandered along sidewalks littered with fruit and vegetable stands, listening to voices sing- ing to guitar accompaniment songs of venice and genoa and naples. diminutive sicilians slithered past her in the shad- ows, huge calabrians swaggered, haughty and handsome men and women from milan and tuscania occasionally strode proudly by. but most of all she loved the lightness and gaiety of the streets where the french lived, to listen to their gay love-making and the delicately beautiful songs which flowed forth as naturally as did the speech which she understood and loved. she sat in cafés and lazily watched men and women [ ] flight though she denied it to herself, sometimes with a trace of bit- terness that her own people had forced her to live a life of du- plicity and deceit, nevertheless she felt frequently a yearning v . for contact with her own people, for whom she had the same passionate love of the days following the riot in atlanta de- spite all she had suffered at their hands. she was lonely, for despite her success she had no intimates, none she could call friend, though she might have had them had she chosen. she missed the warm colourfulness of life among her own, she had never been able to shake off the chill she felt even when her present-day associates sought to be most cordial. and she resented bitterly the airs of superiority they assumed. frequently when she heard contemptuous remarks about “niggers,” “coons,” “darkies,” from those who showed by their words their complete ignorance of negroes, she felt like reminding them that to her there were two ways of achiev- ing and maintaining superiority: one, by being superior; the other, by keeping somebody else inferior. and she felt no bet- ter that her life made her keep silent when these attacks were made. once or twice she had sought to disprove the contention of some obviously biased person. her face had flamed and she had relapsed into a silence that galled her when she had been met by the curt statement that in itself was a challenge: “oh, you're a “nigger-lover'—and from the south too!” . . . steadily she kept to the course she had set despite these and other distractions. madame francine's visits to the new shop in fifty-seventh street became more and more infrequent, now that she spent most of her time in her home at mount vernon and her winters in florida. mimi was now actually the mis- tress of the place and she occupied the room which would have been madame francine's, though there was always a desk ready for her when she chose to come in and consult with mimi on matters of importance. . . . [ ] flight mrs. horace crosby, late of chicago, where her rotary club husband had manipulated certain markets in grain, very much to the advantage of the crosby exchequer, waddled puffingly, her succession of chins joggling with jelly-like quiverings above her ample breast, across the narrow pavement of the rue de la paix to her waiting motor-car. her rotund, much bepowdered and berouged face broke into a cherubic smile that spread like ripples on a placid pond when a stone is dropped into it, as she saw a trim, reddish-haired young woman approaching. she turned and effectively blocked the passage of the young woman, making non-recognition even less possible by extend- ing her fat arms adorned with numerous bracelets and her fin- gers much bedecked with diamonds. “well, now, if this ain't lovely—to run across you like this in paris, miss daquin! you must get right in and come to the hotel for luncheon with me. i just must show you some of the lovely things i’ve bought—real antiques and pictures and lots of pretty things—but horace says i’m a fool to spend so much money on these ‘frog' things—tells me they sting me every time i go in a place—” mimi tried to plead a multiplicity of engagements, but to no avail. mrs. crosby as a poor woman had had a knack of mak- ing people do what she wanted them to do. now that her ag- gressiveness was backed by wealth far greater than she had ever dreamed as a girl the world possessed, she could be evaded now only by one's abrupt taking to one's heels. mimi made a wry face as she entered the lavender car adorned by the huge crosby monogram in gilt. resistance was useless, she realized, and mrs. crosby did buy a lot of things from francine. though her gowns always looked as though they had been pur- chased on fourteenth street in new york, somewhere east of the avenue. “my dear, i bought the cutest, sweetest little statue yesterday —the darlingest little cupids with bows and arrows you ever [ .] flight luncheon finished, mimi began taking surreptitious peeps at her wrist watch as she waited for some lull in the niagara of words which poured from the crosby mouth. she thought she saw her chance when the telephone rang. “answer it, won't you, miss daquin, for me? that's a dear! these silly little french phones annoy me so—why don't they show some initiative and put in telephones like we have in america?” “there's a man named forrester calling,” mimi told her when she had answered the telephone. “oh, jimmy forrester! tell them to send him right up! no—no, dear, you can’t run away now. jimmy is the cutest and sweetest boy—even though he does laugh at me and some of my ways. he swears he doesn't but some of the things he says sometimes sound suspiciously like he's chaffing—that's a nice word, isn't it? i picked it up in london last week— . . . oh, dear! you really must go? i do wish you'd take the afternoon off and come along to help me buy a few little things i need. . . .” but mimi already had put her hat on and was half-way to the door, with elaborate indefiniteness promising to look in on mrs. crosby again “the very first time i can steal a minute or two.” privately she was vowing to have no minutes free for her rotund hostess as long as she was in paris. these prom- ises and mrs. crosby's reiteration of her demands that mimi spend all her spare time with her took a longer time than mimi knew. she wanted to get away but her hostess had launched into a life history of jimmy forrester and resignedly mimi lis- tened. “. . . he comes of a very good family in new york—they haven't much money but they've got position—jimmie's con- nected with a big brokerage house in new york that handles a lot of mr. crosby's business—jimmie does practically all of horace's buying and selling of stocks or bonds—frightfully [ ] f light smart, jimmy is, and bright as a steel trap—jimmie's just like he's my own son. . . .” “hello, jimmie dear—i want you to meet a friend of mine who's been trying her hardest to slip away before you came. miss daquin, this is jimmie forrester. you two ought to know each other real well”; and mrs. crosby beamed with ma- ternal benedictions upon them. jimmie forrester—james h. forrester was the name en- graved on his stationery—bowed and scanned mimi from head to foot as he bowed. he was tall and slender, brown hair greying at his temples, his face lean and tanned. his face in repose, was indistinguishable from thousands of carefully groomed and tolerably handsome young men to be seen any afternoon on fifth avenue or in the fashionable streets near piccadilly. but when he smiled jimmie forrester became an in- dividual. he had a trick of opening wide his eyes, and mimi saw that they did not match. one of them was brownish while the other veered more towards hazel, giving him an exotic air which interested her mildly. and his smile revealed oddly crooked teeth, disarranged in a way that brought dis- tinction to an otherwise uninteresting and commonplace mouth, a distinction, she decided, which modern dentistry would have destroyed had the teeth been straightened. all this she no- ticed in the hasty glance she gave him as they uttered the usual set phrases accompanying an introduction. “awfully sorry my coming ran you away—didn't know i was such an ogre,” he apologized as mrs. crosby hurriedly gathered the more intimate garments she had brought forth for mimi's inspection. “you didn't run me—i should have been gone long since “the holy behemoth's been talking you deaf, dumb and blind,” he whispered with a nod in the general direction of mrs. crosby, who was humming a music-hall air she had heard [ ] flight the night before. or, rather she hummed with a peculiar dis- sonance the tune she thought she had heard. “not so bad—she has her good points. i wish i could have saved her the job of buying a lot of the things she's been show- ing me.” “don’t flatter yourself—neither wind nor wave nor howling storm can stop her from dumping horace's money all over the place. there's a glitter that springs to the eyes of shopkeep- ers all over europe whenever eulalia appears on the scene— they hustle to drag out all the junk they think they've been stuck with and unload it on her, telling her it's genuine rodin or millet or whatever springs to their minds at the moment. even horace, who has twisted the tail of wall street dozens of times, is powerless before eulalia—she’s irresistible when she sets out to do a thing gosh, here she comes!” some undefinable bond had sprung into being between them. by the time mrs. crosby had puffed her way around the room once or twice bearing armfuls of clothing into the bedroom beyond, they felt they had known each other much longer than the few minutes they had stood there. “let me take you wherever you're going,” he asked her but she declined and hurried away. but when she reached her hotel in the rue duphot that evening she found there had been three telephone calls from mrs. crosby. as she turned away from the desk determined to change her dress and slip away for a quiet meal alone, the telephone rang again and she heard the girl say: “yes, mam'selle daquin has just come—i’ll con- nect you at once!” fearing it might be mrs. crosby, mimi went to the telephone and found her fears well-grounded. even through the machine one got a distinct sense of gushing good will, of sweetness and light. “my dear, i was so afraid i’d never get you—we're having dinner to-night—just a little comfy party of us—and you must come—i won't take ‘no’ for an answer. all the shops are [ ] flight closed now and you can't work all the time, it's not good for any of us—all work and no play, you remember. . . .” mrs. crosby's voice was laden with little unexpected thrills and flute-like runs that she fancied were quite cute and fasci- nating. she never got out of practice, for she generously be- stowed the silveriness of her tones on male and female alike, even on the servants, who could not as easily flee from them. mimi knew she would go even as she felt herself a spineless sycophant as she agreed. hardly had she washed her face be- fore the car was announced. she got some small satisfaction from seeing the new respect on the faces of the hotel attendants as they looked with awe upon the lavender rolls-royce with its shining silver trimmings and silken upholstery. she knew forrester would be in the car, having sensed that he had been responsible for the dinner invitation. as they were whirled through the boulevard madeleine and down the rue royal to maxim's she listened to mrs. crosby's cooing ex- clamations of pleasure that she had accepted, while she watched the rounded broadness of mr. crosby's back and the straight lines of forrester's in the seats in front of them. “jimmie went quite mad about you this afternoon,” mrs. crosby whispered as she sought to maintain her perilous bal- ance while the car slithered around corners and came to an abrupt stop. “raved about you, my dear—said you were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. you should be proud —there have been loads of women who’ve run their fool heads off after him and he never even looked at them.” mimi was not at all certain that forrester had said all this, nor even that he had been the hard-hearted, stern woman- dodger mrs. crosby tried to make of him. but she did notice that he managed to bring his chair as close to hers as he could and that he took advantage of every occasion, which were not few, to say meaningless little things in a confidential tone, when mrs. crosby became interested with little squeals, as [ ] flight some acquaintance was spied in another part of the dining- room. his manner was entirely open but the way in which he said these things seemed to imply that they had a bond of un- derstanding between them, a bond secret and very precious. this disturbed mimi in a way she could not explain even to her- self. jimmie forrester interested her, there was something in- tangible about him that made her afraid of herself. once he leaned over as mrs. crosby was excitedly pointing out a friend who had just entered. “you are more beautiful now than you were even this afternoon!” he whispered. the remark was not brilliant nor was it one she had not heard before. but it made queer little tingles chase each other through her, she felt her- self blushing as though she were a girl of sixteen. “don’t be silly,” she admonished herself. “you’d be a pretty fool to let yourself get interested. it's hopeless. it can’t lead anywhere but to bitterness and disappointment. keep your head! keep your head!” she gave herself this sage advice and found herself promptly disregarding it. she was glad when the dinner was over and she escaped, pleading headache and weariness. safe in her room, she tried to shake jimmie forrester's mismated eyes and crooked teeth from her mind. she failed. she was afraid— terribly afraid. she knew it was folly, suicide, madness. but the vision persisted. for years she had in an indefinite way been lonely, had wanted the companionship of some man who would be to her the summation of the ideals she cherished as the most desirable. these spells had come infrequently, only with great rareness breaking through the vitreous shell with which her experiences had encased her. but they had been af- ter all easy to shake off, for there had been no one man but in- stead an ideal of her own construction which had never taken form in the flesh. now that she had met jimmie forrester, she vaguely realized that she was not as immune as she had fancied herself. she fell asleep, worried. [ ] f light feeling that he had gone to all that trouble to find out why she had gone. “chasing around to modistes and steamship offices instead of enjoying paris “mimi, don't you know why i did it?” he pleaded. neither of them noticed that he had called her by her first name. “no, i don’t,” she prevaricated and then was immediately sorry, not because she had told an untruth but because he might consider it as an invitation to tell her why he had fol- lowed her. that was exactly what he did. “don’t think me foolish, silly, childish. perhaps i’m all three and if i am i don't care. i’ve always laughed at the notion of ‘love at first sight' but i won’t do it again “don’t be foolish. you have seen me twice. you know nothing whatever about me other than that i work for my liv- ing at francine's. i might be an adventuress—” “please don't,” he pleaded. “be serious. let me finish.” “no, i can't let you go on. there are very good reasons why there can never be anything between us—and i shan’t see you again,” she said firmly, as she rose from the table. “it’s best we let this drop right here—and oh, jimmie, it must end now.” her voice, which had begun so bravely and positively, faltered. at the end it was almost a sob. she left him there and was gone before he could follow her. . . three times the next day she picked up the receiver of the telephone on her desk and hung it up again when she heard his voice. as she started to leave the building for the day, she saw him waiting outside just in time to dart back into the building and go out by the back door. he wrote her but his letters were unanswered. once she saw him crossing peril- ously fifth avenue, dodging taxicabs and buses by a hair's- breadth while their drivers cursed and shouted at him fluently but a near-by shop gave her friendly refuge. she prayed he would become disheartened, angry with her. [ ] f light and even as she prayed, a malevolent spirit within her was battling with her prayer and making her hope fervently he would not forget. she knew that if she saw him she would not be able to check the seeds of love which she found had taken root miraculously and sprouted alarmingly. she did not call it “love”—“silly infatuation which will pass away” was her name for it. she debated the wisdom of her course, wondered what would happen if she surrendered to the im- pulse to yield to this feeling towards him which came to her after she had switched off the night-lamp beside her bed and lay there between the cool sheets and listened to the street noises that came faintly up to her. she shielded the keen sen- sitiveness to each tiny impact of experience and of thought from heavy blows by trying to keep the heart of reality away from her. for reality frightened her while it fascinated her, made her long to creep away from it and find refuge in some realm of forgetfulness where she would be safe. warring re- lentlessly and ruthlessly against that timidity was her common v sense, which had been so largely increased by the experiences she had encountered. suppose i should marry him? i’d live in constant terror. all my life, fearing that he would find out about jean, about v my race. the latter did not seem so important, but could she give up jean for ever? she knew she couldn't. fanciful plans sprang to her mind and as quickly were rejected. she thought of telling him jean was a nephew, the child of some mythical and deceased sister or brother. no, she couldn't do that—she couldn't live a lie like that. she thought of leaving him with the family in county. they had learned to love him as their own child and had looked alarmed when she had mentioned that some day she would take him with her. she could establish a trust fund with all the money she possessed and insure at least reasonable comfort for him. no, that was impossible—she could never give him up that way. [ ] f light drama, i have gloated as i saw you humble while i stood cold and impassive. oh, yes, mimi, i’ve gone through all this and more—more than ever a boy of sixteen in love for the first time has suffered. “yet i find that despite all i do to pluck you and the mem- ory of you out of my heart i love you more devotedly every day that passes. take pity, mimi, just let me talk with you— see you, sit beside you and hear your voice. i know now there's nothing you can do which can kill my love. i cannot understand why you act as you do—surely you do not hate me completely. if you won't let me see you, won't you write me just one little note and tell me why you have acted as you have?” - that night mimi read the letter over and over again. she knew what it had cost him to write it—to make such con- fessions of his inability to stop loving her despite all she had done to kill that love. for a long time she sat by the window and gazed out into the quiet street below. the roar of the east side elevated trains came faintly to her like the gentle rumbles of far-off thunder. one by one the little groups of children playing near at hand dispersed with shrill shouts of parting until the morrow. a slightly chilling breeze from the east river swayed the yellowish silk curtains lazily. ever and again it bustled through the windows in little gusts that swept in and were gone. she heard leaves of paper on the table behind her blowing to the floor but she made no move to pick them up. life for her was like that, she thought. little gusts came and swept her out of life just as she was beginning to find her way about in the new spot where she had been placed. they took her and tossed her about, this way and that, dropping her willy-nilly into some new place, some new situation in which she had to begin all over again the process of adjusting herself. there was no pity for herself in mimi's reflections. she had [ ] flight been flung this way and that, buffeted by winds that often threatened to capsize the tiny boat which was her life. but with it all her lot had not been as hard as it might have been. there had been compensation—jean and petit jean, her work, the love of people, human beings she had studied at first to take herself out of herself, and later because she found in them interest and joy in that interest. but all the things hitherto now seemed easy, for through them all she had kept her soul free. now she was threatened with inundation, the great ris- ing of a wave that rose up—up—up and, bursting into a mil- lion silver bubbles, took shape again and formed the face of jimmie forrester. that face haunted her with its pleading, its suffering, eloquent of the struggle which he too was making. from below voices came to her. she recognized one of them as that of mrs. mahoney, the wife of the janitor, out for a breath of air before going to bed. “and i says to him, says i,” mrs. mahoney was declaring in tones redolent of shamrocks and st. patricks and harps, “you can't get nowhere by dodging the truth. if you got a hard job in front of you, the only thing to do is to jump at it and clean it up. . . .” mrs. mahoney was probably speaking of housework but her words filtered through the fog of thoughts which enveloped mimi. “you can’t get nowhere by dodging the truth!” the only thing to do is to jump at it and clean it up! she had been dodging the truth and shrinking from doing the very thing which she had known from the beginning she must do. there could be no happiness either for her or jimmie if there was deceit or concealment of facts which he should know. she determined to tell him everything. if he was repelled by these facts, as she felt sure he would be, then the telling would end this strain for both of them and they could pass quietly out of each other's lives. [ ] flight fearing that if she waited until morning her mind might be changed, she rose from the window and hurried, head held high and all her indecision and haggard fears fled, to the telephone. her lips were set in a grim line, pressed so tightly together they made a thin red gash across her chalky-white bloodless face. perversely, her mind flew back to that other crisis— when she waited outside the door which closed her from the operating-room in which petit jean was being put to sleep, perhaps never to waken again. then, nerves raw and tingling, she had hovered dangerously near the brink of a collapse in the consciousness that flesh of her flesh was about to die. now she felt the same quivering nerves stabbing her with fiery daggers as she knew that a thing, close and beautiful and precious, closer to her even than flesh, was even at the moment in danger of destruction, yes, was almost sure to wither up and pass into oblivion. she took the telephone in her hand, for some minutes holding down the receiver with the forefinger of her right hand, even then fearing to take the step which she feared but which she knew must be taken. . . . jimmie was at home. incredulously he spoke to her, hardly daring to believe that it really was she. come over, jimmie, i want to talk with you—to tell you some things you must know, she whispered hoarsely. as she sat on the side of her bed after hanging up the receiver, she stared vacantly ahead of her, wondering, wondering. . . . hardly had she had time to dash a bit of powder on her face and arrange her hair before he rang the bell. she was shocked when she saw him, the first time in several weeks. his face was drawn and there were telltale hollows in his cheeks, and his eyes were far back in his head. “mimi, tell me, have you decided? you need not answer now about marrying me—if you don't want to answer—but [ ] flight velvet jacket.” but mr. crosby, gruff and kindly and intensely practical, gave them a cheque—“you youngsters’ll know what you want better'n an old man like me—get what you want with it.” madame francine wept throughout the ceremony and her tears were because she loved mimi and not—well, not very much because she did not know what she would do now that mimi was going to leave the shop. mimi had wanted to keep on working but jimmie had been adamant. “you’ve worked long enough already—now you’re going to play!” he had de- clared, and there was no changing his mind. jimmie's mother was there, white-haired and kindly and self-effacing, but she had kissed mimi tenderly and said: “my dear, you're the only woman i’ve ever seen who's good enough for my jimmie!” jimmie became mildly tipsy from the imbibing of many glasses of champagne drunk as toasts, and the breakfast was yet in progress, that is, the liquid portion of it, when mimi, more lovely than ever in a coral green gown with a hat to match which madame francine herself had designed, slipped away with jimmie at three in the afternoon. [ ] flight in the mornings, négligé-clad, she poured jimmie's coffee and commented with more or less interest on the things he read to her, between mouthfuls, from the morning paper. she rather wished he wouldn't read to her, for it spoiled in a measure her own reading of the paper after he had gone. he liked to tell her what had happened, usually prefaced by the exclamation, “oh, look here! here's a pretty how-to-do! listen!” and dutifully she would hear him read how harry thaw was about to gain his freedom at last or how babe ruth had hit another home run, or learned that another woman had shot a man who had betrayed her. such items together with the market pages ended jimmie's interest in the sheet, for he shunned all news from washington or europe as he would have dodged the plague—“i leave such heavy stuff to the spectacled birds who like it!” jimmie dutifully kissed and sent to the office, mimi did what household duties she wanted to do, went shopping or to a matinée, and then waited for jimmie's homecoming and din- ner. in the evening they went to the theatre or to a supper club or cabaret or, occasionally, they dined at the crosbys' or with other friends or in turn entertained at dinner. her placid existence was so restful, so different from the stormy life which had been hers that mimi wished it could be for ever the same simple one. when jimmie had swept aside her attempts to tell him why she could not marry him, mimi had resolutely set her will towards securing some of that happiness which had eluded her. grimly she resolved that she would be happy, she would forget all that had gone before and by devoting her every energy towards making jimmie content, she would achieve contentment for herself too. there were two or three times during the first year they were married that she fancied she saw a quizzical, indecisive look in jimmie's eyes, but some jovial remark had always followed, proving he had not been thinking, as she had suspected and feared, of the things she had [ ] flight these kikes and catholics and niggers got to be kept under control. . . .” - * mimi listened only half-heartedly to jimmie's selection of the news which interested him—in fact, did not hear him. she interrupted him as he paused. º, “here's a note from mrs. crosby—wants us to come to din- ner friday night—they're having a few people in to meet some chinaman—wu hseh-chuan.” - “that’s the bird horace met when he was in china—official or something horace had to deal with to get some concession he wanted. guess we'll have to go.” - “you go along, jimmie, and let me stay at home, won't you?” mimi asked. “i’m fed up on dinners and parties—you see the same people and hear the same things and drink the same liquors at all of them.” “but horace and the holy behemoth, eulalia, will get sore if you don’t show up, pet.” “they’ll get over it. i really am sick of the same old rou- tine, there's never anything new and it all seems so futile, wast- ing so much time—” “that comes from reading these stories by fellows like dreiser and sinclair lewis—i told you they'd make you unhappy. that's why i leave those birds alone—they’re always picking flaws in the best civilization the world's ever seen “bathtubs and radio and big business, eh?” mimi murmured softly, perhaps a shade too softly. “yes—bathtubs—and radio and all the other things you sneer at-but just the same you’d be darned unhappy and un- comfortable if you didn't have these same benefits this civili- zation's brought you,” snapped jimmie testily. “oh, well, if you're going to get angry about it, i’ll go. only, please don’t raise your voice so—remember the maid is [ ] flight “seems to me,” jimmie interrupted triumphantly, “you've granted about everything that's worth considering.” “no-no, mr. forrester, i haven't though. we've developed the printing-press and the telephone and telegraph and the radio, but what has been the result? we've made it possible to spread faster and more easily bigotry and hatred and intol- erance and give more power to the mob, whether represented by the crowd that beats up a crowd of jews or germans or russians or negroes or whether it's represented by nations fighting each other for spoils in some part of the world. and we call ourselves free men, boast of it. such a notion is silly—we are all of us petty little creatures who are slaves to the newspaper and the radio, to politicians and mouthy preach- ers, to our employers and the movies, to the telephone and every other regimented idea or thing.” “but you forget our art, our literature, all the other things we've created beside the machine you hate so,” jimmie, now thoroughly aroused and interested in spite of himself, chal- lenged. “our art? our literature? as if other civilizations didn't have art and literature, ethics and philosophies of life and codes of conduct many of them much better than anything we, busy as we are with material things, have created. through luck and abundant natural resources we've become immensely wealthy—not through any particular effort on our part yet we pat ourselves on the back and think we're god's elect.” meekins was happy in finding an opponent who gave him op- portunity to show the discovery he had made, even though the thing he had discovered had been in existence several thousands of years. mimi had sat without speaking, glad to see jimmie aroused from his habitual complacency, glad to hear meekins confirm and make more concrete some of her own vague dis- satisfaction. [ ] chapter xxii home. as their car worked its way up the avenue through the throngs of jewish clothing workers that poured from the cross streets south of madison square, jimmie recited, with an airy wave of his hand at the homegoing toil- ers: m. and jimmie dutifully made their way to the crosby “how odd of god to choose the jews.” he looked at mimi, expecting the hoped-for smile at his clev- erness, but she continued to gaze at the throngs of work- deadened, stoop-shouldered men and women, the chattering groups of younger people dressed in brave but unsuccessful imitations of their sisters who were strolling the same avenue a mile or two northward. she watched the swirling eddies of humans, swept this way and that from curb to building line, rushing to subway kiosk or surface car, going homeward to close-packed apartments to sleep until time to begin another day of work. mimi did not breathe freely until the car had swept on past the waldorf and east to park avenue. but the sad, weary faces remained with her. they were not surprised to find that mrs. crosby had run true to form when she had written: “we’re having only a few people to meet wu hseh-chuan.” as was her custom, the word “few” meant the same thing as a “crowd” to most people. and mimi, with a smile at jimmie, noticed that mrs. crosby [ ] flight had shown her usual lack of tact in selecting her guests. it was a heterogeneous assemblage—“she must have written the names of every person she ever met, put them in a hat, and then pulled out the first forty,” was jimmie's whispered comment. mimi saw seven or eight of mr. crosby's business associates whom mimi had met. there were two elderly couples, dressed properly, but obviously ill at ease and uncomfortable, who mimi learned were relatives from iowa of mrs. crosby. at the other extreme from these unsophisticated folks were several representatives of the stage, at the moment “at leisure.” mimi had heard from jimmie of mr. crosby's recently acquired interest in the theatre. jimmie had told the story with much archness and numerous elaborately meaningful winks—“hor- ace hints he may put some money into a show or two, said a man ‘ought to have other interests besides his business.’ i’d like to know what her name is and what she looks like,” jimmie had ended his story. between the guests from iowa and those from broadway ranged representatives of various groups such as can be gathered only in a city like new york. and off in one corner, surveying with wise, calm and inscrutable eyes the throng of vivaciously chatting individuals, stood the man mimi rightly guessed to be the guest of honour, listening to horace crosby, who was talking with unusual volubleness. “so glad you came, mimi dear,” mrs. crosby came up and whispered, patting mimi's arm quickly. “i told horace he oughtn't expect me to entertain this chinaman—chinks al- ways give me the creeps—but he would have me do it. said it'd mean money to him—it's about some big deal he's trying to put over. i did the best i could—even went down to an employment agency on madison avenue and hired special japanese waiters to serve the dinner—wanted to make him feel right at home. but i’ve had all sorts of trouble to-day try- ing to keep maggie from hitting one of the japs with a skil- let. . . .” [ ] flight most valuable asset towards that rôle, then he was undoubtedly the man for it. for bert bellamy went everywhere, knew everybody and, to him most fascinating, he knew everything about everybody. he had with admirably masked intentions sought to suggest to mimi that he would enjoy taking her to dine some evening when jimmie made infrequent business trips. when mimi, seeing his hidden meaning, had only laughed gently and told him she did not make a practice of dining out when her hus- band was away, he had recognized at once that his efforts there were futile ones. so he had returned her laugh, called her a “little mid-victorian,” and let the subject drop, never to be brought up again. thereafter they had been friends of a sort. for he was amusing and often relieved the boredom of stupid dinners and parties by his scandalous dissection of the lives of the others present. “tell me, bert, who are all these people?” she asked him. “the holy behemoth alone knows—and i doubt if she knows them all! she's certainly outdone herself to-night!” he ex- claimed as they stood looking over the crowd. “there's miss gloria russell acting literary—no, not that one—the girl in the pink dress with the teeth sticking out like a circular awning over a window. she reads the times book review every sunday—and if you haven't read the books your- self, you’ll believe she's read every book that's ever been pub- lished. my, how that gal can quote dante and homer and housman—she must have a bookshelf of bartletts! she's hoping some man will seduce her but she's had no luck yet—" mimi laughed. “why so bitter? she rebuff you, bert?” she inquired, mockingly. - “lord, no! i'm no saint but i have got taste. . . . there's [ ] f light so much to gain further information as to keep the fast-dying conversation going. “know her? i should say i do! why, she and i used to be sweethearts when we was little—i used to carry her books home from school.” a mimi regretted at once her unwise question, for her com- panion went at great length into the course of the childhood love affair he had had with the to him resplendent woman who sat at the head of the long table. oh, well, she concluded philosophically, as the story went on and on, he doesn't expect comments from me, so i won't have to listen. she looked about her and examined the queerly assorted lot, ignoring bert bellamy's grin of amusement as he nodded towards the gentle- man from iowa who was regaling mimi with his childhood reminiscences. dinner finished, the guests spoke briefly to the guest of hon- our and most of them left as soon as they decently could. mimi sensed the bewilderment of the chinese (she wasn’t sure whether the most proper word for him was “the chinese” or “the chinaman”). his calm dignity interested her—beside the uneasy and garrulous, the sophisticated and unsophisti- cated, the smartly and the not so smartly dressed group in the room, he seemed to her to possess the wisdom and the dignity of a bronze buddha. she went over to him and sat down be- side him. “i was talking last night to a young professor who's spent some time in your country, mr. chuan” (she wished she had asked beforehand what the proper form of his name was), “and he was telling us you of the east are beginning to look on western civilization with considerable less enchantment than you used to.” he looked at her fleetingly but sharply and with acute in- quiry. mimi met his eyes frankly and he seemed satisfied with what he saw in them. [ ] f light “there is a change taking place in china—all over the world, in fact,” he assented in precise oxford english. “gandhi in india, we in the far east, in africa, in turkey, in the whole near east—there is a stirring going on. but it isn't against what you call your “western civilization’ nor is it primarily against white people as white people—it’s a healthy movement of people who for centuries have been asleep—it's a rising, given form by the late war, of peoples who have been exploited.” - “but isn’t that the same thing?” mimi inquired. “these peoples are rising because they have been exploited—and who has done the exploiting but the white nations? i seem to remember a story of a chinese who told a white man the chinese could never attain to the marvellous civilization of the white man because, as he put it, ‘i can't shoot straight enough.’” he looked at her again sharply as he smiled. “we orientals are accused of being inscrutable—impossible to understand, mysterious. but to us you of the west are just as difficult to comprehend. for example, you spend millions of dollars every year on missions in our country, you send us hundreds of missionaries to win us from our religion to yours. do you wonder we think you inscrutable when we see unbe- lief spreading throughout your christian nations, see you quar- relling and bickering among yourselves over creed and dogma, not apparently understanding just what you do believe? it seems to us that a doctor who is dying of a disease for which he has the cure does not go out and try to force a man passing in the street to take the medicine he himself needs. and you preach to us of your jesus whose life was built on meekness and love, yet you use guns and warships to force us to accept your religion. and you have just fought a war among your- selves that was more terrible than any non-christian nations have ever known. and yet you call us of the east inscrut- [ ] f light jimmie and though she had acted with the ruthless courage born alone of mother love when petit jean's welfare required it, she could not bring herself to take this step now that she was able to care for him and to assure him every comfort he needed. as she sat by the window she thought of the dinner the night before. the calm dignity, the far-sighted wisdom of the chinese had stood out in bold relief against the background of the tawdry, shallow people around him. she thought of the concept which had always sprung to her mind when she had heard the word chinese or chinaman—it always had been of a slant-eyed oriental shuffling across a laundry floor or a bestial, treacherous villain upon the stage or moving-picture screen. but even allowing for the contrast between that stereo- typed concept and the man she had met at the crosbys', hseh- chuan had towered far above the other guests, she decided. it wasn't fair to compare him, who must be an exception even in his own country, with poor pathetic mrs. crosby nor even with bert bellamy, product of the sophistication of his age. she remembered a phrase she had read in an essay by james branch cabell—“man is, they say, the only animal that has reason; and so he must have also, if he is to stay sane, diver- sion to prevent his using it.” cynical, scoffing, it was true, but after all was that not the premise upon which life now- adays seemed to be conducted? and were not the eulalia crosbys and the bert bellamys and the jimmie forresters, yes, the mimi forresters too, restlessly, blindly, neurotically, un- ceasingly seeking diversions to prevent the use of that thing they called their intellect? again she came back to the figure of countless millions of worried and insignificant little people obeying blindly the implacable bidding of a huge, insatiable machine. horace crosby seeking release and forgetfulness in an empty, sordid affair with a woman, beautiful though she was, like dolores [ ] f light from the reflection that the humans caught from their bedroom mirrors. above all, they demonstrated through their prayers that they believed only in themselves and they were unable to accomplish the miracles they sought. morality meant merely the observance, usually in the breach, of certain man-made rules and regulations. it seemed to her there was a far greater amount of immorality practised by cer- tain married couples she knew between whom all love had died than in relationships which she could easily imagine but which conventions would condemn with ferocious bitterness. the mouthings of stupid and sensational preachers who ranted and shouted that the solution of all the ills of the world and of mankind could be cured by blind acceptance of outworn theo- logical doctrines that had served their day and then rightly died, sickened her and made her more intolerant than ever of creed and dogma. she did not at all know what she would have desired but she did know that these empty-pated figures were of infinitely more harm than good. they to her seemed parallel figures to the absurd members of bodies like the ku klux klan. she hazily remembered a passage in thayer's “cavour” which fitted these groups. she searched the shelves until she found the book she wanted, and read: “moribund institutions, whether lay or religious, usually press their most virulent claims. . . . a singular parallel can be drawn between the papal party in italy and the slave party in the united states during the sixth decade of the th century. when new ideals began to undermine the civilization from which they had risen, both the papacy and the slavocracy adopted a policy of no compromise. both arrogantly proposed to extend their dominion at the very time when this doom was at hand.” it seemed to her that this was sound—that what had been true in the ' 's was doubtless true sixty years later. war had become the great objective of all peoples of the western world, their religion had become the religion of brute strength instead [ ] cha pte r xxiv white and black, that were swallowed up in the vast building. their car finally edged its way towards the curb close enough for them to alight. inside, mimi noted that every seat seemed to be taken as she followed jimmie down the aisle in the wake of the grey-clad usher. the tiers of seats on the platform too were rapidly filling. the rumble of voices hushed. out of a door on one side of the platform came a short dark figure followed by a taller one whose skin was brown. a salvo of applause welled up and swept over the bowing figure as he faced the shifting panorama of up- turned faces. silence. the pianist leaned low over his instrument, and long brown fingers lightly touched ivory keys, prodding them gently in light, gentle touches. a chord. the immobile figure of the singer galvanized into tense attentiveness. back went the head on which crisply curled hair hung close. eyes shut, gleaming teeth were revealed as a thin pure note poured from parted lips. the harsh guttural tones of the german were transmuted into a finespun sound as pure and delicate as a silken thread. out it poured. cº. hall was surrounded by streams of people, if thou art near me, i will go with joy to death and rest; ah, how happy were my end, with the pressure of thy fair hands and the glance of thy true eyes. through songs by bach and schubert, by brahms and franck, by quilter and jensen, the singer made his way. and then he sang the songs of his own people. not a sound [ ] f light disturbed the spell he had woven, the auditors dared hardly breathe. “nobody knows de trouble i see,” he sang, a strange, wistful sadness pervading the music. as from a fountain of bronze, tiny jets of gold and silver sound were flung in a pellucid stream high above the heads of the silent throng. it broke against the ceiling, the iridescent bubbles bursting in radiant glory, dissolving into myriad lit- tle drops of sound, each perfect and complete in itself. down they were wafted in gentle benediction upon the heads of the listeners. soothing, comforting, they brought peace and rest and happiness. before them fled all worries, all cares, all lines of sex and class and race melting the heterogeneous throng into a perfect unity. upon mimi the music served as magic metal keys which opened before her eyes mystic rooms, some of them long closed, some of them never opened for her before, all of them musty through long dark days and longer nights of disuse. “nobody knows the trouble i see, nobody knows but jesus. . . .” ghostly figures moved shadowily across the rooms—figures with eyes sad with the tragedies of a thousand years, eyes bright with the faith which is born of strength in trial. fig- ures which by some strange legerdemain began as she watched them to lose their unearthly diaphanousness and, like galatea, to become flesh and blood. the transformation did not startle nor alarm her—instead, held fast in the spell woven by the black singer, the re-creation of life in the figures before her seemed the most natural thing in the world. a vast impenetrable tangle of huge trees appeared, their pithy bulk rising in ebon beauty to prodigious heights. as she gazed, half afraid of the wild stillness, the trees became less and less blackly solid, shading off into ever lighter greys. then the trees were white, then there were none at all. . . [ ] a note on the type in which this book is set this book is composed on the linotype in bodoni, so- called after its designer, giambattista bodoni ( – ) a celebrated italian scholar and printer. bo- doni planned his type especially for use on the more smoothly finished papers that came into vogue late in the eighteenth century and drew his letters with a mechanical regularity that is readily apparent on comparison with the less formal old style. other characteristics that will be noted are the square serifs without fillet and the marked contrast between the light and heavy strokes. set up, electrotyped, printed and bound by the vail-ball ou press, inc., binghamt on, n. y. • es- parto paper manu factured in scotland and flj rnished by w. f. etherington & c.o., new york. william b. cairns collection of american women writers - william b. cairns professor of english university of wisconsin-madison the deeper wrong ; or, incidents in the life of a slave girl. written by herself. “northerners know nothing at all about slavery. they think it is perpetual bondage only. they have no conception of the depth of degradation involved in that word slavery; if they had, they would never cease their efforts until so horrible a system was overthrown."-a woman of north carolina, “rise up, ye women that are at ease! hear my voice, ye careless daughters give ear unto my speech."-isaiah xxxii. . edited by l. maria child. london: w. tweedie, , str a n d. . london: richard barrett, printer, mark lane. preface by the author. - when i first arrived in philadelphia, bishop paine advised me to publish a sketch of my life, but i told him i was altogether incompetent to such an undartaking. though i have improved my mind somewhat since that time, i still remain of the same opinion; but i trust my motives will excuse what might otherwise seem presumptuous. i have not written my experiences in order to attract attention to myself; on the contrary, it would have been more pleasant to me to have been silent about my own history. neither do i care to excite sympathy for my own sufferings. but i do earnestly desire to arouse the women of the north to a realizing sense of the condition of two millions of women at the south, still in bondage, suffering what i suffered, and most of them far worse. i want to add my testimony to that of abler pens to convince the people of the free states what slavery really is. only by experience can any one realize how deep, and dark, and foul is that pit of abominations. may the blessing of god rest on this imperfect effort in behalf of my perse- cuted people! linda brent. introduction by the editor. the author of the following autobiography is per- sonally known to me, and her conversation and man- ners inspire me with confidence. during the last seventeen years, she has lived the greater part of the time with a distinguished family in new york, and has so deported herself as to be highly esteemed by them. this fact is sufficient, without further cre dentials of her character. i believe those who know her will not be disposed to doubt her veracity though some incidents in her story are more ro. mantic than fiction. at her request, i have revised her manuscript; but such changes as i have made have been mainly for purposes of condensation and orderly arrangement. i have not added any thing to the incidents, or changed the import of her very pertinent remarks. with trifling exceptions, both the ideas and the language are her own. i pruned excrescences a little, but otherwise i had no reason for changing her lively and dramatic way of telling her own story. the names of both persons and places are known to me; but for good reasons i suppress them. it will naturally excite surprise that a woman reared in slavery should be able to write so well. but cir- ( ) contents. . childhood. •,· · · · · · ...... the new master and mistre$ ....... the slaves' new year's day. , ......... the slave who dared to feel like a. man. ... thb trials of girlhood. . . ....... the jealous mistress. ....... . . . . . .. . . thb lover. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . what slaves are taught to think of the north. .. sketches of neighboring slaveholders....... a perilous passage in the slave girl's life... ... the new tie to life. . ........ ... fear of insurrection. . . . . . . . . . the church and slavery. ........... another link to life. . . . . . . . . . . . continued persecutions. . . . . . . . . . . . . scenes at the plantation. ... .... the flight. . . . . . . . . . months of peril. . . . . . . . . . . . . . the children sold. . . . . . . · · · · · · new perils. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . the loophoie of retreat. ........... . . . · . . . . · . . . . . . contents. . . . christmas festivities. ............. still in prison. ............... the candidate for congress. ........... competition in cunning. . . . . . . . . . . : . important era in my brother's life. ...... new destination for the children. .. . . aunt nancy. · · · · · · · · · · · preparations for escape. . . . . . . . . . northward bound. ................. incidents in philadelphia........... the meeting of mother. and daughter. ..... a home found................ the old enemy again. . . ... ... · · · · prejudice against color. . . . . . . . . . the hair-breadth escape. . .... a visit to england. . .. . .... . . . renewed. invitation to go south. ....... the confession. ............. the fugitive slave law.............. free at last. ................ . . . . . . . . . appendix. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . incidents in the life of a slave girl, seven years concealed. i. childhood. i was born a slave; but i never knew it till six years of happy childhood had passed away. my father was a carpenter, and considered so intelligent and skilful in his trade, that, when buildings out of the common line were to be erected, he was sent for from long distances, to be head workman. on condition of paying his mistress two hundred dollars a year, and supporting himself, he was allowed to work at his trade, and manage his own affairs. his strongest wish was to purchase his children ; but, though he several times offered his hard earnings for that pur- pose, he never succeeded. in complexion my parents were a light shade of brownish yellow, and were termed mulattoes. they lived together in a comfort- able home; and, though we were all slaves, i was so fondly shielded that i never dreamed i was a piece ( ) .. .." " childhood..", assisted by her two oldest children. the business proved profitable; and each year she laid by a little, which was saved for a fund to purchase her children. her master died, and the property was divided among his heirs. the widow had her dower in the hotel, which she continued to keep open. my grandmother remained in her service as a slave; but her children were divided among her master's children. as she had five, benjamin, the youngest one, was sold, in order that each heir might have an equal portion of dollars and cents. there was so little difference in our ages that he seemed more like my brother than my uncle. he was a bright, handsome lad, nearly white; for he inherited the complexion my grand- mother had derived from anglo-saxon ancestors. though only ten years old, seven hundred and twenty dollars were paid for him. his sale was a terrible blow to my grandmother; but she was naturally hope-- ffil, and she went to work with renewed energy, trust ing in time to be able to purchase some of her children. she had laid up three hundred dollars, which her mistress one day begged as a loan, promising to pay her soon. the reader probably knows that no promise or writing given to a slave is legally binding ; for, according to southern laws, a slave, being property, can hold no property. when my grandmother lent hier hard earnings to her mistress, she trusted solely to her honor. the honor of a slaveholder to a slave! to this good grandmother i was indebted for many comforts. my brother willie and i often received portions of the crackers, cakes, and preserves, she - made to sell ; and after we ceased to be children we incidents in the life of a slave girl. were indebted to her for many more important ser vices. such were the unusually fortunate circumstances of my early childhood. when i was six years old, my mother died; and then, for the first time, i learned, by the talk around me, that i was a slave. my mother's mistress was the daughter of my grandmother's mis- tress. she was the foster sister of my mother; they were both nourished at my grandmother's breast. in fact, my mother had been weaned at three months old, that the babe of the mistress might obtain suffi- cient food. they played together as children; and, when they became women, my mother was a most faithful servant to her whiter foster sister. on her death-bed her mistress promised that her children should never suffer for any thing; and during her lifetime she kept her word. they all spoke kindly :of my dead mother, who had been a slave merely in .name, but in nature was noble and womanly. i grieved for her, and my young mind was troubled with the thought who would now take care of me and my little brother. i was told that my home was now to be with her mistress ; and i found it a happy one. no toilsome or disagreeable duties were imposed upon me. my mistress was so kind to me that i was always glad to do her bidding, and proud to labor for her as much as my young years would permit. i would sit by her side for hours, sewing diligently, with a heart as free from care as that of any free-born white child. when she thought i was tired, she would send me out to run and jump; and away i bounded, to gather berries or flowers to decorate her room. those were incidents in the life of a slave girl. lcye thy neighbor as thyself.” “whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so unto them.” but i was her slave, and i suppose she did not recognize me as her neighbor. i would give much to blot out from my memory that one great wrong. as a child, i loved my mistress ; and, looking back on the happy days. i spent with her, i try to think with less bitterness of this act of injustice. while i was with her, she taught me to read and spell; and for this privilege, which so rarely falls to the lot of a slave, i bless her memory. she possessed but few slaves; and at her death those were all distributed among her relatives. five of them were my grandmother's children, and had shared the same, milk. that nourished her mother's children. notwithstanding my grandmother's long and faithful service to her owners, not one of her chil- dren escaped the auction block. these god-breathing machines are no more, in the sight of their masters, than the cotton they plant, or the horses they tend. the new maſter and miſtress. ii. the new master and mistress. dr. flint, a physician in the neighborhood, had married the sister of my mistress, and i was now the property of their little daughter. it was not without murmuring that i prepared for my new home; and what added to my unhappiness, was the fact that my brother william was purchased by the same family. my father, by his nature, as well as by the habit of transacting business, as a skilful mechanic, had more of the feelings of a freeman than is common among slaves. my brother was a spirited boy; and being brought up under such influences, he early detested the name of master and mistress. one day, when his father and his mistress both happened to call him at the same time, he hesitated between the two; being perplexed to know which had the strongest claim upon his obedience. he finally concluded to go to his mis- tress. when my father reproved him for it, he said, “ you both called me, and i didn't know which i ought to go to first." " you are my child," replied our father, “and when i call you, you should come immediately, if you have to pass through fire and water." poor willie! he was now to learn his first lesson of obedience to a master. grandmother tried to cheer us with hopeful words, and they found an echo in the credulous hearts of youth. when we entered our new home we encountered incidents in the life of a slave girl. cold looks, cold words, and cold treatment. we were glad when the night came. on my narrow bed i moaned and wept, i felt so desolate and alone. i had been there nearly a year, when a dear little friend of mine was buried. i heard her mother sob, as the clods fell on the coffin of her only child, and i turned away from the grave, feeling thankful that i still had something left to love. i met my grand- mother, who said, “ come with me, linda;” and from her tone i knew that something sad had happened. she led me apart from the people, and then said, “ my child, your father is dead.” dead! how could i believe it? he had died so suddenly i had not even heard that he was sick. i went home with my grandmother. my heart rebelled against god, who had taken from me mother, father, mistress, and friend. the good grandmother tried to comfort me. “ who knows the ways of god?” said she. “perhaps they have been kindly taken from the evil days to come.” years afterwards i often thought of this. she promised to be a mother to her grandchildren, so far as she might be permitted to do so; and strength- ened by her love, i returned to my master's. i thought [ should be allowed to go to my father's house the next morning; but i was ordered to go for flowers, that my mistress's house might be decorated for an evening party. i spent the day gathering flowers and weaving them into festoons, while the dead body of my father was lying within a mile of me. what cared my owners for that? he was merely a piece of property. moreover, they thought he had spoiled his children, by teaching them to feel that they were human beings. the new maſter and miſtress.: courage. thing abonand by." this was blasphemous doctrine for a slave to teach ; presumptuous in him, and dangerous to the masters, the next day i followed his remains to a humble, grave beside that of my dear mother. there were those who knew my father's worth, and respected his memory. my home now seemed more dreary than ever. the laugh of the little slave-children sounded harsh and cruel. it was selfish to feel so about the joy of others. my brother moved about with a very grave face. i tried to comfort him, by saying, “take courage, willie ; brighter days will come by and by.” “you don't know any thing about it, linda," he re- plied. “we shall have to stay here all our days; we shall never be free.” i argued that we were growing older and stronger, and that perhaps we might, before long, be allowed to hire our own time, and then we could earn money to buy our freedom. william declared this was much easier to say than to do; moreover, he did not intend to buy his freedom. we held daily controversies upon this subject. little attention was paid to the slaves' meals in dr. flint's house. if they could catch a bit of food while it was going, well and good. i gave myself no trouble on that score, for on my various errands i passed my grandmother's house, where there was always some- thing to spare for me. i was frequently threatened with punishment if i stopped there; and my grand- mother, to avoid detaining me, often stood at the gate with something for my breakfast or dinner. i was in- debted to her for all my comforts, spiritual or temporal. incidents in the life of a slave girl. it was her labor that supplied my scanty wardrobe. i have a vivid recollection of the linsey-woolsey dress given me every winter by mrs. flint. how i hated it! it was one of the badges of slavery. while my grandmother was thus helping to support me from her hard earnings, the three hundred dollars she had lent her mistress were never repaid. when her mistress died, her son-in-law, dr. flint, was ap- pointed executor. when grandmother applied to him for payment, he said the estate was insolvent, and the law prohibited payment. it did not, however, prohibit him from retaining the silver candelabra, which had been purchased with that money. i presume they will be handed down in the family, from generation to generation. my grandmother's mistress had always promised her that, at her death, she should be free; and it was said that in her will she made good the promise. but when the estate was settled, dr. flint told the faithful old servant that, under existing circumstances, it was necessary she should be sold. on the appointed day, the customary advertisement was posted up, proclaiming that there would be a public sale of negroes, horses, &c.” dr. flint called to tell my grandmother that he was unwilling to wound her feelings by putting her up at auction, and that he would prefer to dispose of her at private sale. my grandmother saw through his hypocrisy; she un- derstood very well that he was ashamed of the job. she was a very spirited woman, and if he was base enough to sell her, when her mistress intended she should be free, she was determined the public should : the new maſter and miſtress. know it. she had for a long time supplied many fami- ilies with crackers and preserves; consequently, “ aunt marthy,” as she was called, was generally known, and every body who knew her respected her intelligence and good character. her long and faithful service in the family was also well known, and the intention of her mistress to leave her free. when the day of sale came, she took her place among the chattels, and at the first call she sprang upon the auction-block. many voices called out, “ shame! shame! who is going to sell you, aunt marthy? don't stand there! that is no place for you.” without saying a word, she quietly awaited her fate. no one bid for her. at last, a feeble voice said, “ fifty dollars.” it came from a maiden lady, seventy years old, the sister of my grandmother's deceased mistress. she had lived forty years under the same roof with my grandmother; she knew how faithfully she had served her owners, and how cruelly she had been defrauded of her rights; and she resolved to protect her. the auctioneer waited for a higher bid; but her wishes were respected ; no one bid above her. she could neither read nor write; and when the bill of sale was made out, she signed it with a cross. but what consequence was that, when she had a big heart overflowing with human kindness ? she gave the old servant her freedom. at that time, my grandmother was just fifty years old. laborious years had passed since then; and now my brother and i were slaves to the man who had defrauded her of her money, and tried to defraud her of her freedom. one of my mother's sisters called aunt nancy, was also a slave in his family. she was a kind, good aunt to me; and supplied the incidents in the life of a slave girl. place of both housekeeper and waiting maid to her mistress. she was, in fact, at the beginning and end of every thing. mrs. flint, like many southern women, was totally deficient in energy. she had not strength to super- intend her household affairs; but her nerves were so strong, that she could sit in her easy chair and see a woman whipped, till the blood trickled from every stroke of the lash. she was a member of the church; þut partaking of the lord's supper did not seem to put her in a christian frame of mind. if dinner was not served at the exact time on that particular sunday, she would station herself in the kitchen, and wait till it was dished, and then spit in all the kettles and pans that had been used for cooking. she did this to prevent the cook and her children from eking out their meagre fare with the remains of the gravy and other scrapings. the slaves could get nothing to eat except what she chose to give them. provisions were weighed out by the pound and ounce, three times a day, i can assure you she gave them no chance to eat wheat bread from her flour barrel. she knew how many biscuits a quart of flour would make, and exactly what size they ought to be. dr. flint was an epicure. the cook never sent a dinner to his table without fear and trembling; for if there happened to be a dish not to his liking, he would either order her to be whipped, or compel her to eat every mouthful of it in his presence. the poor, hun- gry creature might not have objected to eating it; but she did object to having her master cram it down her throat till she choked. they had a pet dog, that was a nuisance in the house. ..the new maſter and miſtreſs. the cook was ordered to make some indian mush for him. he refused to eat, and when his head was held over it, the froth flowed from his mouth into the basin. he died a few minutes after. when dr. flint came in, he said the mush had not been well cooked, and that was the reason the animal would not eat it. he sent for the cook, and compelled her to eat it. he thought that the woman's stomach was stronger than the dog's; but her sufferings afterwards proved that he was mistaken. this poor woman endured many cruel- ties from her master and mistress; sometimes she was locked up, away from her nursing baby, for a whole day and night. when i had been in the family a few weeks, one of the plantation slaves was brought to town, by order of his master. it was near night when he arrived, and dr. flint ordered him to be taken to the work house, and tied up to the joist, so that his feet would just escape the ground. in that situation he was to wait till the doctor had taken his tea. i shall never forget that night. never before, in my life, had i heard hundreds of blows fall, in succes- sion, on a human being. his piteous groans, and his “ , pray don't, massa,” rang in my ear for months afterwards. there were many conjectures as to the cause of this terrible punishment. some said master accused him of stealing corn; others said the slave had quarrelled with his wife, in presence of the overseer, and had accused his master of being the father of her child. they were both black, and the child was very fair. i went into the work house next morning, and saw the cowhide still wet with blood, and the boards all covered with gore. the poor man' lived, and con- tinued to quarrel with his wife. a few months after- . incidents in the lite of a slave girl. well." "ands, she mother her wards dr. flint handed them both over to a slave trader. the guilty man put their value into his pocket, and had the satisfaction of knowing that they were out of sight and hearing. when the mother was delivered into the trader's hands, she said, “you promised to treat me well.” to which he replied, “you have let your tongue run too far; damn you!” she had forgotten that it was a crime for a slave to tell who was the father of her child. from others than the master persecution also comes in such cases. i once saw a young slave girl dying soon after the birth of a child nearly white. in her agony she cried out, “o lord, come and take me!” her mistress stood by, and mocked at her like an incarnate fiend. “you suffer, do you ?” she ex- claimed. “i am glad of it. you deserve it all, and more too." the girl's mother said, “the baby is dead, thank god; and i hope my poor child will soon be in heaven, too.” “heaven!” retorted the mistress. “there is no such place for the like of her and her bastard.” the poor mother turned away, sobbing. her dying daughter called her, feebly, and as she bent over her, i heard her say, “ don't grieve so, mother; god knows all about it; and he will have mercy upon me.” her sufferings, afterwards, became so intense, that her mistress felt unable to stay; but when she left the room, the scornful smile was still on her lips. seven children called her mother. the poor black woman . had but the one child, whose eyes she saw closing in death, while she thanked god for taking her away from the greater bitterness of life. the slaves' new year's day. iii. the slaves' new year's day. dr. flint owned a fine residence in town, several farms, and about fifty slaves, besides hiring a number by the year. hiring-day at the south takes place on the st of january. on the d, the slaves are expected to go to their new masters. on a farm, they work until the corn and cotton are laid. they then have two holi- days. some masters give them a good dinner under the trees. this over, they work until christmas eve. if no heavy charges are meantime brought against them, they are given four or five holidays, whichever the master or overseer may think proper. then comes new year's eve; and they gather together their little alls, or more properly speaking, their little nothings, and wait anxiously for the dawning of day. at the appointed hour the grounds are thronged with men, women, and children, waiting, like criminals, to hear their doom pronounced. the slave is sure to know who is the most humane, or cruel master, within forty miles of him. it is easy to find out, on that day, who clothes and feeds his slaves well; for he is surrounded by a crowd, begging, “ please, massa, hire me this year. i will work very hard, massa.” if a slave is unwilling to go with his new master, he is whipped, or locked up in jail, until he consents to go, and promises not to run away during the year. incidents in the life of a slave girl. should he chance to change his mind, thinking it jus- tifiable to violate an extorted, promise, woe unto him if he is caught! the whip is used till the blood flows at his feet; and his stiffened limbs are put in chains, to be dragged in the field for days and days! if he lives until the next year, perhaps the same man will hire him again, without even giving him an opportunity of going to the hiring-ground. after those for hire are disposed of, those for sale are called up. [ , you happy free women, contrast your new year's day with that of the poor bond-woman! with you it is a pleasant season, and the light of the day is blessed. friendly wishes meet you every where, and gifts are showered upon you. even hearts that have been estranged from you soften at this season, and lips that have been silent echo back, “i wish you a happy new year." children bring their little offer- ings, and raise their rosy lips for a caress. they are your own, and no hand but that of death can take them from you... but to the slave mother new year's day comes laden with peculiar sorrows. she sits on her cold cabin floor, watching the children who may all be torn from her the next morning; and often does she wish that she and they might die before the day dawns. she may be an ignorant creature, degraded by the system that has brutalized her from childhood ; but she has a mother's instincts, and is capable of feeling a mother's agonies. on one of these sale days, i saw a mother lead seven children to the auction-block. she knew that some of them would be taken from her; but they took all. the : the slaves new year's day. children were sold to a slave-trader, and their mother was bought by a man in her own town. before night her children were all far away. she begged the trader to tell her where he intended to take them; this he refused to do. how could he, when he knew he would sell them, one by one, wherever he could command the highest price? i met that mother in the street, and her wild, haggard face lives to-day in my mind. she wrung her hands in anguish, and exclaimed, “ gone! all gone! why don't god kill me?” i had no words wherewith to comfort her. instances of this kind are of daily, yea, of hourly occurrence. slaveholders have a method, peculiar to their insti- tution, of getting rid of old slaves, whose lives have been worn out in their service. i knew an old woman, who for seventy years faithfully served her master. she had become almost helpless, from hard labor and disease. her owners moved to alabama, and the old black woman was left to be sold to any body who would give twenty dollars for her. incidents in the life of a slave girl. iv. the slave who dared to feel like a man. two years had passed since i entered dr. flint's family, and those years had brought much of the knowledge that comes from experience, though they had afforded little opportunity for any other kinds of knowledge. my grandmother had, as much as possible, been a mother to her orphan grandchildren. by perse- verance and unwearied industry, she was now mistress of a snug little home, surrounded with the necessaries of life. she would have been happy could her chil- dren have shared them with her. there remained but three children and two grandchildren, all slaves. most earnestly did she strive to make us feel that it was the will of god: that he had seen fit to place us under such circumstances; and though it seemed hard, we ought to pray for contentment. it was a beautiful faith, coming from a mother who could not call her children her own. but i, and ben- jamin, her youngest boy, condemned it. we reasoned that it was much more the will of god that we should be situated as she was. we longed for a home like hers. there we always found sweet balsam for our troubles. she was so loving, so sympathizing! she always met us with a smile, and listened with patience to all our sorrows. she spoke so hopefully, that un- incidents in the life of a slave girl.. i love you.' 'o, linda, isn't this a bad world? every body seems so cross and unhappy. i wish i had died when poor father did." i told him that every body was not cross, or un- happy; that those who had pleasant homés, and kind friends, and who were not afraid to love them, were happy. but we, who were slave-children, without father or mother, could not expect to be happy. we must be good ; perhaps that would bring us content ment. “ yes," he said, “i try to be good ; but what's the use? they are all the time troubling me.” then he proceeded to relate his afternoon's difficulty with young master nicholas. it seemed that the brother of master nicholas had pleased himself with making -up stories about william. master nicholas said he should be flogged, and he would do it. whereupon he went to work; but william fought bravely, and the young master, finding he was getting the better of him, undertook to tie his hands behind him.' he failed in that likewise. by dint of kicking and fisting, william came out of the skirmish none the worse for a few scratches. he continued to discourse on his young master's meanness; how he whipped the little boys, but was à perfect coward when a tussle ensued between him and white 'boys of his own size. on such occasions he always took to his legs. william had other charges to make against him. one was his rubbing up pennies with quicksilver, and passing them off for quarters of a dollar on an old man who kept a fruit stall. william was often sent to buy fruit, and he earnestly inquired the slaye who dared to feel like a man. of me what he ought to do under such circumstances. i told him it was certainly wrong to deceive the old man, and that it was his duty to tell him of the impoşi. tions practised by his young master. i assured him the old man would not be slow to comprehend the whole, and there the matter would end. william thought it might with the old man, but not with him. he said he did not mind the smart of the whip, but he did not like the idea of being whipped. while i advised him to be good and forgiving i was not unconscious of the beam in my own eye. it was the very knowledge of my own shortcomings that urged me to retain, if possible, some sparks of my brother's god-given nature. i had not lived fourteen years in slavery for nothing. i had felt, seen, and heard enough, to read the characters, and question the motives, of those around me. the war of my life had begun; and though one of god's most powerless crea- tures, i resolved never to be conquered. alas, for me ! if there was one pure, sunny spot for me, i believed it to be in benjamin's heart, and in another's, whom i loved with all the ardor of a girl's first love. my owner knew of it, and sought in every way to render me miserable. he did not resort to corporal punish- ment, but to all the petty, tyrannical ways that human ingenuity could devise. i remember the first time i was punished. it was in the month of february. my grandmother had taken my old shoes, and replaced them with a new pair. i needed them; for several inches of snow had fallen, and it still continued to fall. when i walked · incidents in the life of a slave girl. through mrs. flint's room, their creaking grated harshly on her refined nerves. she called me to her, and asked what i had about me that made such a horrid noisé. i told her it was my new shoes. “take them off," said she ; " and if you put them on again, i'll throw them into the fire.” i took them off, and my stockings also. she then sent me a long distance, on an errand. as i went through the snow, my bare feet tingled. that night i was very hoarse; and i went to bed thinking the next day would find me sick, perhaps dead. what was my grief on waking to find myself quite well! i had imagined if i died, or was laid up for some time, that my mistress would feel a twinge of remorse that she had so hated “the little imp," as she styled me. it was my ignorance of that mistress that gave rise to such extravagant imaginings. dr. flint occasionally had high prices offered for me; but he always said," she don't belong to me. she is my daughter's property, and i have no right to sell her.” good, honest man! my young mistress was still a child, and i could look for no protection from her. i loved her, and she returned my affection. i once heard her father allude to her attachment to me; and his wife promptly replied that it proceeded from fear. this put unpleasant doubts into my mind. did the child feign what she did not feel ? or was her mother jealous of the mite of love she bestowed on me? i concluded it must be the latter. i said to myself, “ surely, little children are true.” one afternoon i sat at my sewing, feeling unusual depression of spirits. my mistress had been accusing the slave who dared to feel like a man. me of an offence, of which i assured her i was per- fectly innocent; but i saw, by the contemptuous curl of her lip, that she believed i was telling a lie. i wondered for what wise purpose god was leading me through such thorny paths, and whether still darker days were in store for me. as i sat musing thus, the door opened softly, and william came in. well, brother,” said i, “what is the matter this time?” “o linda, ben and his master have had a dread- ful time!” said he. my first thought was that benjamin was killed. “ don't be frightened, linda,” said william ; “ i will tell you all about it.” it appeared that benjamin's master had sent for him, and he did not immediately obey the summons. when he did, his master was angry, and began to whip him. he resisted. master and slave fought, and finally the master was thrown. benjamin had cause to tremble; for he had thrown to the ground his master - one of the richest men in town. i anxiously awaited the result. that night i stole to my grandmother's house, and benjamin also stole thither from his master's. my grandmother had gone to spend a day or two with an old friend living in the country. .“ i have come,” said benjamin, “ to tell you good by. i am going away.” i inquired where. “ to the north,” he replied. i looked at him to see whether he was in earnest. i saw it all in his firm, set mouth. i implored him not incidents in the life of a slave girl. to go, but he paid no heed to my words. he said he was no longer a boy, and every day made his yoke more galling. he had raised his hand against his master, and was to be publicly whipped for the offence. i reminded him of the poverty and hardships he must encounter among strangers. i told him he might be caught and brought back; and that was terrible to think of. he grew vexed, and asked if poverty and hardships with freedom, were not preferable to our treatment in slavery. “linda,” he continued, “we are dogs here; foot-balls, cattle, every thing that's mean. no, i will not stay. let them bring me back. we don't die but once." he was right; but it was hard to give him up. go," said i, “and break your mother's heart." i repented of my words ere they were out. “ linda," said he, speaking as i had not heard him speak that evening, “ how could you say that ? poor mother! be kind to her, linda; and you, too, cousin fanny." cousin fanny was a friend who had lived some years with us. farewells were exchanged, and the bright, kind boy, endeared to us by. so many acts of love, vanished from our sight. it is not necessary to state how he made his escape. suffice it to say, he was on his way to new york when a violent storm overtook the vessel. the captain said he must put into the nearest port. this alarmed ben- jamin, who was aware that he would be advertised in every port near his own town. his embarrassment was the slave who dared to feel like a man. noticed by the captain. to port they went. there the advertisement met the captain's eye. benjamin so exactly answered its description, that the captain laid hold on him, and bound him in chains. the storm passed, and they proceeded to new york. before reaching that port benjamin managed to get off his chains and throw them overboard. he escaped from the vessel, but was pursued, captured, and carried back to his master. when my grandmother returned home and found her youngest child had fled, great was her sorrow; but, with characteristic piety, she said, “god's will be done." each morning, she inquired if any news had been heard from her boy. yes, news was heard. the master was rejoicing over a letter, announcing the cap- ture of his human chattel. that day seems but' as yesterday, so well do i re- member it. i saw him led through the streets in chains, to jail. his face was ghastly pale, yet full of determination. he had begged one of the sailors to go to his mother's house and ask her not to meet him. he said the sight of her distress would take from him all self-control. she yearned to see him, and she went; but she screened herself in the crowd, that it might be as her child had said. we were not allowed to visit him; but we had known the jailer for years, and he was a kind-hearted man. at midnight he opened the jail door for my grandmother and myself to enter, in disguise. when we entered the cell not a sound broke the stillness. “benjamin, benjamin!” whispered my grandmother. no answer. “benjamin!” she again faltered. there incidents in the life of a slave girl. was a jingle of chains. the moon had just risen, and cast an uncertain light through the bars of the win- dow. we knelt down and took benjamin's cold hands in ours. we did not speak. sobs were heard, and benjamin's lips were unsealed; for his mother was weeping on his neck. how vividly does memory bring back that sad night! mother and son talked together. he asked her pardon for the suffering he had caused her. she said she had nothing to forgive; she could not blame his desire for freedom. he told her that when he was captured, he broke away, and was about casting himself into the river, when thoughts of her came over him, and he desisted. she asked if he did not also think of god. i fancied i saw his face grow fierce in the moonlight. he answered, “no, i did not think of him. when a man is hunted like a wild beast he forgets there is a god, a heaven. he forgets every thing in his struggle to get beyond the reach of the bloodhounds." “don't talk so, benjamin," said she. " put your trust in god. be humble, my child, and your master will forgive you." " forgive me for what, mother? for not letting him treat me like a dog? no! i will never humble myself to him. i have worked for him for nothing all my life, and i am repaid with stripes and imprison- ment. here i will stay till i die, or till he sells me.” the poor mother shuddered at his words. i think he felt it; for when he next spoke, his voice was calmer. “don't fret about me, mother. i ain't worth it,” said he. “i wish i had some of your goodness. you bear every thing patiently, just as though you thought it was all right. i wish i could.” the slave who dared to feel like a man. she told him she had not always been so; once, she was like him; but when sore troubles came upon her, and she had no arm to lean upon, she learned to call on god, and he lightened her burdens. she besought him to do likewise. we overstaid our time, and were obliged to hurry from the jail. benjamin had been imprisoned three weeks, when my grandmother went to intercede for him with his master. he was immovable. he said benjamin should serve as an example to the rest of his slaves; he should be kept in jail till he was subdued, or be sold if he got but one dollar for him. however, he afterwards relented in some degree. the chains were taken off,. and we were allowed to visit him. as his food was of the coarsest kind, we carried him as often as possible a warm supper, accompanied with some little luxury for the jailer. three months elapsed, and there was no prospect of release or of a purchaser. one day he was heard to sing and laugh. this piece of indecorum was told to his master, and the overseer was ordered to re-chain him. he was now confined in an apartment with other prisoners, who were covered with filthy rags. benjamin was chained near them, and was soon covered with vermin. he worked at his chains till he suc- ceeded in getting out of them. he passed them through the bars of the window, with a request that they should be taken to his master, and he should be in- formed that he was covered with vermin. this audacity was punished with heavier chains, and prohibition of our visits. incidents in the life of a slave girl. my grandmother continued to send him fresh changes of clothes. the old ones were burned up. the last night we saw him in jail his mother still begged him to send for his master, and beg his pardon. neither persuasion nor argument could turn hin from his purpose. he calmly answered, “i am waiting his time.” those chains were mournful to hear. another three months passed, and benjamin left his prison walls. we that loved him waited to bid him long and last farewell. a slave trader had bought him. you remember, i told you what price he brought when ten years of age. now he was more than twenty years old, and sold for three hundred dol- lars. the master had been blind to his own interest. long confinement had made his face too pale, his form too thin ; moreover, the trader had heard some- thing of his character, and it did not strike him as suitable for a slave. he said he would give any'price if the handsome lad was a girl. we thanked god that he was not. could you have seen that mother clinging to her child, when they fastened the irons upon his wrists; could you have heard her heart-rending groans, and seen her bloodshot eyes wander wildly from face to face, vainly pleading for mercy; could you have wit- nessed that scene as i saw it, you would exclaim, slavery is damnable ! benjamin, her youngest, her pet, was forever gone! she could not realize it. she had had an interview with the trader for the purpose of ascertaining if benjamin could be purchased. she was told it was the slave who dared to feel like a man. impossible, as he had given bonds not to sell him till he was out of the state. he promised that he would not sell him till he reached new orleans. with a strong arm and unvaried trust, my grand- mother began her work of love. benjamin must be free. if she succeeded, she knew they would still be sepa- rated; but the sacrifice was not too great. day and night she labored. the trader's price would treble that he gave; but she was not discouraged. she employed a lawyer to write to a gentleman, whom she knew, in new orleans. she begged him to interest himself for benjamin, and he willingly favored her request. when he saw benjamin, and stated his business, he thanked him; but said he preferred to wait a while before making the trader an offer. he knew he had tried to obtain a high price for him, and had invariably failed. this encouraged him to make another effort for freedom. so one morning, long be- fore day, benjamin was missing. he was riding over the blue billows, bound for baltimore. for once his white face did him a kindly service. they had no suspicion that it belonged to a slave; otherwise, the law would have been followed out to the letter, and the thing rendered back to slavery. the brightest skies are often overshadowed by the dark- est clouds. benjamin was taken sick, and compelled to remain in baltimore three weeks. his strength was slow in returning; and his desire to continue his journey seemed to retard his recovery. how could he get strength without air and exercise ? he resolved to venture on a short walk. a by-street was selected, where he thought himself secure of not being met by incidents in the life of a slave girl. any one that knew him; but a voice called out, “ halloo, ben, my boy! what are you doing here ?" his first impulse was to run; but his legs trembled so that he could not stir. he turned to confront his antagonist, and behold, there stood his old master's next door neighbor! he thought it was all over with him now; but it proved otherwise. that man was a miracle. he possessed a goodly number of slaves, and yet was not quite deaf to that mystic clock, whose ticking is rarely heard in the slaveholder's breast. "ben, you are sick," said he.“ why, you look like a ghost. i guess i gave you something of a start. never mind, ben, i am not going to touch you. you had a pretty tough time of it, and you may go on your way rejoicing for all me. but i would advise you to get out of this place plaguy quick, for there are several gentlemen here from our town." he de- scribed the nearest and safest route to new york, and added, “i shall be glad to tell your mother i have seen you. good by, ben.” benjamin turned away, filled with gratitude, and surprised that the town he hated contained such a gem — a gem worthy of a purer setting. . this gentleman was a northerner by birth, and had married a southern lady. on his return, he told my grandmother that he had seen her son, and of the ser- vice he had rendered him. benjamin reached new york safely, and concluded to stop there until he had gained strength enough to proceed further. it happened that my grandmother's only remaining son had sailed for the same city on business for his mistress. through god's providence, the slave who dared to feel like a man. the brothers met. you may be sure it was a happy meeting. “ o phil,” exclaimed benjamin, “ i am here at last.” then he told him how near he came to dying, almost in sight of free land, and how he prayed that he might live to get one breath of free air. he said life was worth something now, and it would be hard to die. in the old jail he had not valued it; once, he was tempted to destroy it; but something, he did not know what, had prevented him; perhaps it was fear. he had heard those who profess to be re- ligious declare there was no heaven for self-murderers; and as his life had been pretty hot here, he did not de- sire a continuation of the same in another world. “if i die now," he exclaimed, “ thank god, i shall die a freeman!" he begged my uncle phillip not to return south; but stay and work with him, till they earned enough to buy those at home. his brother told him it would kill their mother if he deserted her in her trouble. she had pledged her house, and with difficulty had raised money to buy him. would he be bought ? “no, never!” he replied. “do you suppose, phil, when i have got so far out of their clutches, i will give them one red cent? no! and do you suppose i would turn mother out of her home in her old age ? that i would let her pay all those hard-earned dollars for me, and never to see me? for you know she will stay south as long as her other children are slaves. what a good mother! tell her to buy you, phil. you have been a comfort to her, and i have been a trouble. and linda, poor linda; what'll become of her ? phil, you don't know what a life they lead her. she has told incidents in the life of a slave girl. me something about it, and i wish old flint was dead, or a better man. when i was in jail, he asked her if she didn't want him to ask my master to forgive me, and take me home again. she told him, no; that i didn't want to go back. he got mad, and said we were all alike. i never despised my own master half as much as i do that man. there is many a worse slaveholder than my master; but for all that i would not be his slave.” · while benjamin was sick, he had parted with nearly all his clothes to pay necessary expenses. but he did not part with a little pin i fastened in his bosom when we parted. it was the most valuable thing i owned, and i thought none more worthy to wear it. he had it still. his brother furnished him with clothes, and gave him what money he had. they parted with moistened eyes; and as benjamin turned away, he said, “ phil, i part with all my kin- dred.” and so it proved. we never heard from him again. uncle phillip came home; and the first words he uttered when he entered the house were, “ mother, ben is free! i have seen him in new york.” she stood looking at him with a bewildered air. “mother, don't you believe it?” he said, laying his hand softly upon her shoulder. she raised her hands, and ex- claimed, “god be praised! let us thank him.” she dropped on her knees, and poured forth her heart in prayer. then phillip must sit down and repeat to her every word benjamin had said. he told her all; only he forbore to mention how sick and pale her darling the slave who dared to feel like a man. looked. why should he distress her when she could do him no good ? the brave old woman still toiled on, hoping to res- cue some of her other children. after a while she succeeded in buying phillip. she paid eight hundred dollars, and came home with the precious document that secured his freedom. the happy mother and son sat together by the old hearthstone that night, telling how proud they were of each other, and how they would prove to the world that they could take care of themselves, as they had long taken care of others. we all concluded by saying, “he that is willing to be a slave, let him be a slave.” . incidents in the life of a slave girl. v. the trials of girlhood. during the first years of my service in dr. flint's family, i was accustomed to share some indulgences with the children of my mistress. though this seemed to me no more than right, i was grateful for it, and tried to merit the kindness by the faithful discharge of my duties. but i now entered on my fifteenth year — a sad epoch in the life of a slave girl. my master began to whisper foul words in my ear. young as i was, i could not remain ignorant of their import. i tried to treat them with indifference or contempt. the master's age, my extreme youth, and the fear that his conduct would be reported to my grandmother, made him bear this treatment for many months. he was a crafty man, and resorted to many means to accomplish his purposes. sometimes he had stormy, terrific ways, that made his victims tremble; some- times he assumed a gentleness that he thought must surely subdue. of the two, i preferred his stormy moods, although they left me trembling. he tried his utmost to corrupt the pure principles my grandmother had instilled. he peopled my young mind with un- clean images, such as only a vile monster could think of. i turned from him with disgust and hatred. but he was my master. i was compelled to live under the same roof with him where i saw a man forty years my senior daily violating the most sacred command- the trials of girlhood. ments of nature. he told me i was his property; that i must be subject to his will in all things. my soul revolted against the mean tyranny. but where could i turn for protection ? no matter whether the slave girl be as black as ebony or as fair as her mis tress. in either case, there is no shadow of law to protect her from insult, from violence, or even from death ; all these are inflicted by fiends who bear the shape of men. the mistress, who ought to protect the helpless victim, has no other feelings towards her but those of jealousy and rage. the degradation, the · wrongs, the vices, that grow out of slavery, are more than i can describe. they are greater than you would willingly believe. surely, if you credited one half the truths that are told you concerning the helpless mil- lions suffering in this cruel bondage, you at the north would not help to tighten the yoke. you surely would refuse to do for the master, on your own soil, the mean and cruel work which trained bloodhounds and the lowest class of whites do for him at the south. every where the years bring to all enough of sin and sorrow; but in slavery the very dawn of life is darkened by these shadows. even the little child, who is accustomed to wait on her mistress and her children, will learn, before she is twelve years old, why it is that her mistress hates such and such a one among the slaves. perhaps the child's own mother is among those hated ones. she listens to violent outbreaks of jealous passion, and cannot help under- standing what is the cause. she will become prema- turely knowing in evil things. soon she will learn to tremble when she hears her master's footfall. she incidents in the life of a slave girl. will be compelled to realize that she is no longer a child. if god has bestowed beauty upon her, it will prove her greatest curse. that which commands ad- miration in the white woman only hastens the degra- dation of the female slave. i know that some are too much brutalized by slavery to feel the humiliation of their position; but many slaves feel it most acutely, and shrink from the memory of it. i cannot tell how much i suffered in the presence of these wrongs, nor how i am still pained by the retrospect. my master met me at every turn, reminding me that i belonged to him, and swearing by heaven and earth that he would compel me to submit to him. if i went out for a breath of fresh air, after a day of unwearied toil, his footsteps dogged me. if i knelt by my mother's grave, his dark shadow fell on me even there. the light heart which nature had given me became heavy with sad forebodings. the other slaves in my master's house noticed the change. many of them pitied me; but none dared to ask the cause. they had no need to inquire. they knew too well the guilty practices under that roof; and they were aware that to speak of them was an offence that never went unpunished. i longed for some one to confide in. i would have given the world to have laid my head on my grand- mother's faithful bosom, and told her all my troubles. but dr. flint swore he would kill me, if i was not as silent as the grave. then, although my grandmother was all in all to me, i feared her as well as loved her. i had been accustomed to look up to her with a re- spect bordering upon awe. i was very young, and felt shamefaced about telling her such impure things, the trials of girlhood. especially as i knew her to be very strict on such sub- jects. moreover, she was a woman of a high spirit. she was usually very quiet in her demeanor; but if her indignation was once roused, it was not very easily quelled. i had been told that she once chased a white gentleman with a loaded pistol, because he insulted one of her daughters. i dreaded the conse- quences of a violent outbreak; and both pride and fear kept me silent. but though i did not confide in my grandmother, and even evaded her vigilant watch- fulness and inquiry, her presence in the neighborhood was some protection to me. though she had been a slave, dr. flint was afraid of her. he dreaded her scorching rebukes. moreover, she was known and patronized by many people ; and he did not wish to have his villany made public. it was lucky for me that i did not live on a distant plantation, but in a town not so large that the inhabitants were ignorant of each other's affairs. bad as are the laws and cus- toms in a slaveholding community, the doctor, as a professional man, deemed it prudent to keep up some outward show of decency. , what days and nights of fear and sorrow that man caused me! reader, it is not to awaken sym- pathy for myself that i am telling you truthfully what i suffered in slavery. i do it to kindle a flame of compassion in your hearts for my sisters who are still in bondage, suffering as i once suffered. i once saw two beautiful children playing together, one was a fair white child; the other was her slave, and also her sister. when i saw them embracing each other, and heard their joyous laughter, i turned incidents in the life of a slave girl. sadly away from the lovely sight. i foresaw the inev- itable blight that would fall on the little slave's heart. i knew how soon her laughter would be changed to sighs. the fair child grew up to be a still fairer woman. from childhood to womanhood her pathway was blooming with flowers, and overarched by a sunny sky. scarcely one day of her life had been clouded when the sun rose on her happy bridal morning. how had those years dealt with her slave sister, the little playmate of her childhood ? she, also, was very beautiful ; but the flowers and sunshine of love were not for her. she drank the cup of sin, and shame, and misery, whereof her persecuted race are com- pelled to drink. in view of these things, why are ye silent, ye free men and women of the north? why do your tongues falter in maintenance of the right ? would that i had more ability! but my heart is so full, and my pen is so weak! there are noble men and women who plead for us, striving to help those who cannot help themselves. god bless them! god give them strength and courage to go on! god bless those, every where, who are laboring to advance the cause of humanity! the jealous miſtreſs. vi. the jealous mistress. i would ten thousand times rather that my children should be the half-starved paupers of ireland than to be the most pampered among the slaves of america. i would rather drudge out my life on a cotton planta- tion, till the grave opened to give me rest, than to live with an unprincipled master and a jealous mistress. the felon's home in a penitentiary is preferable. he may repent, and turn from the error of his ways, and so find peace; but it is not so with a favorite slave. she is not allowed to have any pride of character. it is deemed a crime in her to wish to be virtuous. mrs. flint possessed the key to her husband's char- acter before i was born. she might have used this knowledge to counsel and to screen the young and the innocent among her slaves; but for them she had no sympathy. they were the objects of her constant sus- picion and malevolence. she watched her husband with unceasing vigilance; but he was well practised in means to evade it. what he could not find opportu- nity to say in words he manifested in signs. he in- vented more than were ever thought of in a deaf and dumb asylum. i let them pass, as if i did not under- stand what he meant; and many were the curses and threats bestowed on me for my stupidity. one day he caught me teaching myself to write. he frowned, as if he was not well pleased ; but i suppose he came to incidents in the life of a slave girl. the conclusion that such an accomplishment might help to advance his favorite scheme. before long, notes were often slipped into my hand. i would re- turn them, saying, “i can't read them, sir.” “ can't you ?” he replied ; “then i must read them to you.” he always finished the reading by asking, “do you understand ?” sometimes he would complain of the heat of the tea room, and order his supper to be placed on a small table in the piazza. he would seat himself there with a well-satisfied smile, and tell me to stand by and brush away the flies. he would eat very slowly, pausing between the mouthfuls. these inter- vals were employed in describing the happiness i was so foolishly throwing away, and in threatening me with the penalty that finally awaited my stubborn dis- obedience. he, boasted much of the forbearance he had exercised towards me, and reminded me that there was a limit to his patience. when i succeeded in avoiding opportunities for him to talk to me at home, i was ordered to come to his office, to do some errand. when there, i was obliged to stand and listen to such language as he saw fit to address to me. sometimes i so openly expressed my contempt for him that he would become violently enraged, and i wondered why he did not strike me. circumstanced as he was, he probably thought it was better policy to be forbearing. but the state of things grew worse and worse daily. in desperation i told him that i must and would apply to my grandmother for protection. he threatened me with death, and worse than death, if i made any com- plaint to her. strange to say, i did not despair. i was naturally of a buoyant disposition, and always i the jealous mistreſs. had a hope of somehow getting out of his clutchos. like many a poor, simple slave before me, i trusted that some threads of joy would yet be woven into my dark destiny. i had entered my sixteenth year, and every day it became more apparent that my presence was intoler- able to mrs. flint. angry words frequently passed between her and her husband. he had never punished me himself, and he would not allow any body else to punish me. in that respect, she was never satisfied; but, in her angry moods, no terms were too vile for her to bestow upon me. yet i, whom she detested so bitterly, had far more pity for her than he had, whose duty. it was to make her life happy. i never wronged her, or wished to wrong her; and one word of kind- ness from her would have brought me to her feet. after repeated quarrels between the doctor and his wife, he announced his intention to take his youngest daughter, then four years old, to sleep in his apart- ment. it was necessary that a servant should sleep in the same room, to be on hand if the child stirred. i was selected for that office, and informed for what purpose that arrangement had been made. by man- aging to keep within sight of people, as much as pos- sible, during the day time, i had hitherto succeeded in eluding my master, though a razor was often held to my throat to force me to change this line of policy. at night i slept by the side of my great aunt, where i felt safe. he was too prudent to come into her room. she was an old woman, and had been in the family many years. moreover, as a married man, and a pro- fessional man, he deemed it necessary to save appear- incidents in the life of a slave girl. ances in some degree. but he resolved to remove the obstacle in the way of his scheme; and he thought he had planned it so that he should evade suspicion. he was well aware how much i prized my refuge by the side of my old aunt, and he determined to dispossess me of it. the first night the doctor had the little child in his room alone. the next morning, i was ordered to take my station as nurse the following night. a kind providence interposed in my favor. during the day mrs. flint heard of this new arrange- ment, and a storm followed. i rejoiced to hear it rage. after a while my mistress sent for me to come to her room. her first question was, “ did you know you were to sleep in the doctor's room ?” yes, ma'am.” who told you ?" my master.” . will you answer truly all the questions i ask ?" “ yes, ma'am.” “ tell me, then, as you hope to be forgiven, are you innocent of what i have accused you ?” “i am.” she handed me a bible, and said, “ lay your hand on your heart, kiss this holy book, and swear before god that you tell me the truth.” i took the oath she required, and i did it with a clear conscience. “ you have taken god's holy word to testify your innocence," said she. “ if you have deceived me, be- ware! now take this stool, sit down, look me directly in the face, and tell me all that has passed between your master and you." the jealous mistreſs. did as she ordered. as i went on with my ac- count her color changed frequently, she wept, and sometimes groaned. she spoke in tones so sad, that i was touched by her grief. the tears came to my eyes ; but i was soon convinced that her emotions arose from anger and wounded pride. she felt that her marriage vows were desecrated, her dignity in- sulted ; but she had no compassion for the poor viga. tim of her husband's perfidy. she pitied herself au a martyr; but she was incapable of feeling for the condition of shame and misery in which her unfor- tunate, helpless slave was placed. yet perhaps she had some touch of feeling for me; for when the conference was ended, she spoke kindly, and promised to protect me. i should have been much comforted by this assurance if i could have had confidence in it; but my experiences in slavery, had filled me with distrust. she was not a very refined woman, and had not much control over her passions. i was an object of her jealousy, and, consequently, of her hatred ; and i knew i could not expect kindness or confidence from her under the circumstances in which i was placed. i could not blame her. slave- holders' wives feel as other women would under sim. ilar circumstances. the fire of her temper kindled from small sparks, and now the flame became so in- tense that the doctor was obliged to give up his intended arrangement. i knew i had ignited the torch, and i expected to suffer for it afterwards; but i felt too thankful to my mistress for the timely aid she rendered me to care much about that. she now took me to sleep in a d incidents in the life of a slave girl. room adjoining her own. there i was an object of her especial care, though not of her especial comfort, for she spent many a sleepless night to watch over me. sometimes i woke up, and found her bending over me. at other times she whispered in my ear, as though it was her husband who was speaking to me, and listened to hear what i would answer. if she startled me, on such occasions, she would glide stealth- ily away; and the next morning she would tell me i had been talking in my sleep, and ask who i was talk- ing to. at last, i began to be fearful for my life. it had been often threatened ; and you can imagine, bet- ter than i can describe, what an unpleasant sensation it must produce to wake up in the dead of night and find a jealous woman bending over you. terrible as this experience was, i had fears that it would give place to one more terrible. my mistress grew weary of her vigils; they did not - prove satisfactory. she changed her tactics. she now tried the trick of accusing my master of crime, in my presence, and gave my name as the author of the accusation. to my utter astonishment, he replied, “i don't believe it; but if she did acknowledge it, you tortured her into exposing me." tortured into expos- ing him! truly, satan had no difficulty in distin- guishing the color of his soul! i understood his object in making this false representation. it was to show me that i gained nothing by seeking the protec- tion of my mistress; that the power was still all in his own hands. i pitied mrs. flint. she was a second wife, many years the junior of her husband; and the hoary-headed miscreant was enough to try the patience the jealous mistreſs. of a wiser and better woman. she was completely foiled, and knew not how to proceed. she would gladly have had me flogged for my supposed false oath ; but, as i have already stated, the doctor never allowed any one to whip me. the old sinner was politic. the application of the lash might have led to remarks that would have exposed him in the eyes of his children and grandchildren. how often did i re- joice that i lived in a town where all the inhabitants knew each other! if i had been on a remote planta- tion, or lost among the multitude of a crowded city, i should not be a living woman at this day. the secrets of slavery are concealed like those of the inquisition. my master was, to my knowledge, the father of eleven slaves. but did the mothers dare to tell who was the father of their children? did the other slaves dare to allude to it, except in whispers among themselves ? no, indeed! they knew too well the terrible consequences. my grandmother could not avoid seeing things which excited her suspicions. she was uneasy about me, and tried various ways to buy me; but the never- changing answer was always repeated : “linda does not belong to me. she is my daughter's property, and i have no legal right to sell her.” the conscientious man! he was too scrupulous to sell me ; but he had no scruples whatever about committing a much greater wrong against the helpless young girl placed under his guardianship, as his daughter's property. sometimes my persecutor would ask me whether i would like to be sold. i told him i would rather be sold to any body than to lead such a life as i did. on such occa. , incidents in the life of a slave girl. sions he would assume the air of a very injured individual, and reproach me for my ingratitude. “ did i not take you into the house, and make you the companion of my own children ?” he would say. “ have i ever treated you like a negro ? i have never allowed you to be punished, not even to please your mistress. and this is the recompense i get, you un- grateful girl!" i answered that he had reasons of his own for screening me from punishment, and that the course he pursued made my mistress hate me and per- secute me. if i wept, he would say, “poor child ! don't cry! don't cry! i will make peace for you with your mistress. only let me arrange matters in my own way. poor, foolish girl! you don't know what is for your own good. i would cherish you. i would make a lady of you. now go, and think of all i have promised you." i did think of it. . reader, i draw no imaginary pictures of southern homes. i am telling you the plain truth. yet when victims make their escape from this wild beast of slavery, northerners consent to act the part of blood- hounds, and hunt the poor fugitive back into his den, full of dead men's bones, and all uncleanness." nay, more, they are not only willing, but proud, to give their daughters in marriage to slaveholders. the poor girls have romantic notions of a sunny clime, and of the flowering vines that all the year round shade a happy home. to what disappointments are they des- tined! the young wife soon learns that the husband in whose hands she has placed her happiness pays no regard to his marriage vows. children of every shade the jealous mistreſs. of complexion play with her own fair babies, and too well she knows that they are born unto him of his own household. jealousy and hatred enter the flowery home, and it is ravaged of its loveliness. southern women often marry a man knowing that he is the father of many little slaves. they do not trouble themselves about it. they regard such chil- dren as property, as marketable as the pigs on the plantation; and it is seldom that they do not make them aware of this by passing them into the slave- trader's hands as soon as possible, and thus getting them out of their sight. i am glad to say there are some honorable exceptions. i have myself known two southern wives who ex- horted their husbands to free those slaves towards whom they stood in a “parental relation;" and their request was granted. these husbands blushed before the superior nobleness of their wives' natures. though they had only counselled them to do that which it was their duty to do, it commanded their respect, and ren- dered their conduct more exemplary. concealment was at an end, and confidence took the place of dis- trust. though this bad institution deadens the moral sense, even in white women, to a fearful extent, it is not alto- gether extinct. i have heard southern ladies say of mr. such a one, "he not only thinks it no disgrace to be the father of those little niggers, but he is not ashamed to call himself their master. i declare, such things ought not to be tolerated in any decent so ciety!" incidents in the life of a slave girl. vii. the lover. why does the slave ever love? why allow the ten- drils of the heart to twine around objects which may at any moment be wrenched away by the hand of vio- lence? when separations come by the hand of death, the pious soul can bow in resignation, and say, “ not my will, but thine be done, o lord!” but when the ruthless hand of man strikes the blow, regardless of the misery he causes, it is hard to be submissive. i did not reason thus when i was a young girl. youth will be youth. i loved, and i indulged the hope that the dark clouds around me would turn out a bright lining. i forgot that in the land of my birth the shadows are too dense for light to penetrate. a land “where laughter is not mirth; nor thought the mind; nor words a language; nor e'en men mankind. where cries reply to curses, shrieks to blows, and each is tortured in his separate hell.” there was in the neighborhood a young colored car- penter'; a free born man. we had been well ac quainted in childhood, and frequently met together afterwards. we became mutually attached, and he proposed to marry me. i loved him with all the ardor of a young girl's first love. but when i reflected that i was a slave, and that the laws gave no sanction to the marriage of such, my heart sank within me. my lover wanted to buy me; but i knew that dr. flint the lover was too wilful and arbitrary a man to consent to that arrangement. from him, i was sure of experiencing all sorts of opposition, and i had nothing to hope from my mistress. she would have been delighted to have got rid of me, but not in that way. it would have relieved her mind of a burden if she could have seen me sold to some distant state, but if i was married near home i should be just as much in her husband's power as i had previously been,- for the husband of a slave has no power to protect her. moreover, my mis- tress, like many others, seemed to think that slaves had no right to any family ties of their own; that they were created merely to wait upon the family of the mistress. i once heard her abuse a young slave girl, who told her that a colored man wanted to make her his wife. “i will have you peeled and pickled, my lady,” said she, “ if i ever hear you mention that sub- ject again. do you suppose that i will have you tend- ing my children with the children of that nigger ?” the girl to whom she said this had a mulatto child, of course not acknowledged by its father. the poor black man who loved her would have been proud to acknowledge his helpless offspring. many and anxious were the thoughts i revolved in my mind. i was at a loss what to do. above all things, i was desirous to spare my lover the insults that had cut so deeply into my own soul. i talked with my grandmother about it, and partly told her my fears. i did not dare to tell her the worst. she had long suspected all was not right, and if i confirmed her sus- picions i knew a storm would rise that would prove the overthrow of all my hopes. incidents in the life of a slave girl. this love-dream had been my support through many trials; and i could not bear to run the risk of having it suddenly dissipated. there was a lady in the neigh- borhood, a particular friend of dr. flint's, who often visited the house. i had a great respect for her, and she had always manifested a friendly interest in me. grandmother thought she would have great influence with the doctor. i went to this lady, and told her my story. i told her i was aware that my lover's being a free-born man would prove a great objection ; but he wanted to buy me; and if dr. flint would consent to that arrangement, i felt sure he would be willing to pay any reasonable price. she knew that mrs. flint disliked me; therefore, i ventured to suggest that per- haps my mistress would approve of my being sold, as that would rid her of me. the lady listened with kindly sympathy, and promised to do her utmost to promote my wishes. she had an interview with the doctor, and i believe she pleaded my cause earnestly; but it was all to no purpose. how i dreaded my master now! every minute i expected to be summoned to his presence; but the day passed, and i heard nothing from him. the next morning, a message was brought to me: “ master wants you in his study." i found the door ajar, and i stood a moment gazing at the hateful man who claimed a right to rule me, body and soul. i entered, and tried to appear calm. i did not want him to know how my heart was bleeding. he looked fixedly at me, with an expression which seemed to say, “i have half a mind to kill you on the spot." at last he broke the silence, and that was a relief to both of us. the lover. “ so you want to be married, do you ?” said he, and to a free nigger." “ yes, sir." well, i'll soon convince you whether i am your master, or the nigger fellow you honor so highly. if you must have a husband, you may take up with one of my slaves." what a situation i should be in, as the wife of one of his slaves, even if my heart had been interested ! i replied, “ don't you suppose, sir, that a slave can have some preference about marrying? do you sup- pose that all men are alike to her ?” “do you love this nigger ?” said he, abruptly. “ yes, sir.” “ how dare you tell me so !” he exclaimed, in great wrath. after a slight pause, he added, “i supposed you thought more of yourself ; that you felt above the insults of such puppies." “i replied, “if he is a puppy i am a puppy, for we are both of the negro race. it is right and honor. able for us to love each other. the man you call a puppy never insulted me, sir; and he would not love me if he did not believe me to be a virtuous woman." he sprang upon me like a tiger, and gave me a stunning blow. it was the first time he had ever struck me; and fear did not enable me to control my anger. when i had recovered a little from the effects, i exclaimed, “ you have struck me for answering you honestly. how i despise you!” there was silence for some minutes. perhaps he was deciding what should be my punishment; or, per- haps, he wanted to give me time to reflect on what i incidents in the life of a slave girl. had said, and to whom i had said it. finally, he asked, “do you know what you have said ?” “ yes, sir; but your treatment drove me to it.” “do you know that i have a right to do as i like with you, — that i can kill you, if i please?”. “ you have tried to kill me, and i wish you had; but you have no right to do as you like with me.” “ silence!” he exclaimed, in a thundering voice. “by heavens, girl, you forget yourself too far! are you mad? if you are, i will soon bring you to your senses. do you think any other master would bear what i have borne from you this morning ? many masters would have killed you on the spot. how would you like to be sent to jail for your insolence ?" “i know i have been disrespectful, sir," i replied ; but you drove me to it; i couldn't help it. as for the jail, there would be more peace for me there than there is here." “ you deserve to go there,” said he, “and to be under such treatment, that you would forget the mean- ing of the word peace. it would do you good. it would take some of your high notions out of you. but i am not ready to send you there yet, notwith- standing your ingratitude for all my kindness and for- bearance. you have been the plague of my life. i have wanted to make you happy, and i have been re- paid with the basest ingratitude; but though you have proved yourself incapable of appreciating my kind- ness, i will be lenient towards you, linda. i will give you one more chance to redeem your character. if you behave yourself and do as i require, i will forgive you and treat you as i always have done; but if you incidents in the life of a slave girl. his displeasure. he wrote that he had made up his mind to go to louisiana ; that he should take several slaves with him, and intended i should be one of the number. my mistress would remain where she was; therefore i should have nothing to fear from that quarter. if i merited kindness from him, he assured me that it would be lavishly bestowed. he begged me to think over the matter, and answer the following day. the next morning i was called to carry a pair of scissors to his room. i laid them on the table, with the letter beside them. he thought it was my answer, and did not call me back. i went as usual to attend my young mistress to and from school. he met me in the street, and ordered me to stop at his office on my way back. when i entered, he showed me his letter, and asked me why i had not answered it. i replied, “i am your daughter's property, and it is in your power to send me, or take me, wherever you please.” he said he was very glad to find me so will- ing to go, and that we should start early in the autumn. he had a large practice in the town, and i rather thought he had made up the story merely to frighten me. however that might be, i was determined that i would never go to louisiana with him. summer passed away, and early in the autumn dr. flint's eldest son was sent to louisiana to examine the country, with a view to emigrating. that news did not disturb me. i knew very well that i should not be sent with him. that i had not been taken to the planta- tion before this time, was owing to the fact that his son was there. he was jealous of his son; and jeal- ousy of the overseer had kept him from punishing me by incidents in the life of a slave girl. mely azut stripp affection na k hard as it was to bring my feelings to it, i earnestly entreated him not to come back. i advised him to go to the free states, where his tongue would not be tied, and where his intelligence would be of more avail to him. he left me, still hoping the day would come when i could be bought. with me the lamp of hope had gone out. the dream of my girlhood was over. i felt lonely and desolate. still i was not stripped of all. i still had my good grandmother, and my affectionate brother. when he put his arms round my neck, and looked into my eyes, as if to read there the troubles i dared not tell, i felt that i still had something to love. but even that pleasant emotion was chilled by the reflection that he might be torn from me at any moment, by some sud- den freak of my master. if he had known how we loved each other, i think he would have exulted in separating us. we often planned together how we could get to the north. but, as william remarked, such things are easier said than done. my movements were very closely watched, and we had no means of getting any money to defray our expenses. as for grandmother, she was strongly opposed to her chil- dren's undertaking any such project. she had not for- gotten poor benjamin's sufferings, and she was afraid that if another child tried to escape, he would have a similar or a worse fate. to me, nothing seemed more dreadful than my present life. i said to myself, “ william must be free. he shall go to the north, and i will follow him.” many a slave sister has formed the same plans. what slaves are taught of the north. , viii. what slaves are taught to think of the north. slaveholders pride themselves upon being honor- able men; but if you were to hear the enormous lies they tell their slaves, you would have small respect for their veracity. i have spoken plain english. pardon me. i cannot use a milder term. when they visit the north, and return home, they tell their slaves of the runaways they have seen, and describe them to be in the most deplorable condition. a slaveholder once told me that he had seen a runaway friend of mine in new york, and that she besought him to take her back to her master, for she was literally dying of starva- tion; that many days she had only one cold potato to eat, and at other times could get nothing at all. he said he refused to take her, because he knew her master would not thank him for bringing such a mis- erable wretch to his house. he ended by saying to me, “ this is the punishment she brought on herself for running away from a kind master.". this whole story was false. i afterwards staid with that friend in new york, and found her in comfort- able circumstances. she had never thought of such a thing as wishing to go back to slavery. many of the slaves believe such stories, and think it is not worth while to exchange slavery for such a hard kind of free- com. it is difficult to persuade such that freedom what slaves are taught of the north. uous expressions about the yankees, while they, on their part, consent to do the vilest work for them, such as the ferocious bloodhounds and the despised negro- hunters are employed to do at home. when south- erners go to the north, they are proud to do them honor; but the northern man is not welcome south of mason and dixon's line, unless he suppresses every thought and feeling at variance with their “ peculiar institution.” nor is it enough to be silent. the mas- ters are not pleased, unless they obtain a greater do gree of subservienee than that; and they are gener- ally accomodated. do they respect the northerner for this? i trow not. even the slaves despise “ a northern man with southern principles ;” and that is the class they generally see. when northerners go to the south to reside, they prove very, apt scholars. they soon imbibe the sentiments and disposition of their neighbors, and generally go beyond their teachers. of the two, they are proverbially the hardest masters. they seem to satisfy their consciences with the doc- trine that god created the africans to be slaves. what a libel upon the heavenly father, who “ made of one blood all nations of men !” and then who are afri- cans? who can measure the amount of anglo-saxon blood coursing in the veins of american slaves ? i have spoken of the pains slaveholders take to give their slaves a bad opinion of the north ; but, notwith- standing this, intelligent slaves are aware that they have many friends in the free states. even the most ignorant have some confused notions about it. they knew that i could read; and i was often asked if i had seen any thing in the newspapers about white folks e sketches of neighboring slaveholders. . ix. : sketches of neighboring slaveholders. · there was a planter in the country, not far from us, whom i will call mr. litch. he was an ill-bred, un- educated man, but very wealthy. he had six hun- dred slaves, many of whom he did not know by sight. his extensive plantation was managed by well-paid overseers. there was a jail and a whipping post on his grounds; and whatever cruelties were perpetrated there, they passed without comment. he was so effectually screened by his great wealth that he was called to no account for his crimes, not even for murder. . - various were the punishments resorted to. ' a fa- vorite one was to tie a rope round a man's body, and suspend him from the ground. a fire was kindled over him, from which was suspended a piece of fat pork. as this cooked, the scalding drops of fat con- tinually fell on the bare flesh. on his own plantation, he required very strict obedience to the eighth com- mandment. but depredations on the neighbors were allowable, provided the culprit managed to evade de- tection or suspicion. if a neighbor brought a charge of theft against any of his slaves, he was browbeaten by the master, who assured him that his slaves had enough of every thing at home, and had no induce- ment to steal. no sooner was the neighbor's back turned, than the accused was sought out, and whipped incidents in the life of a slave girl. for his lack of discretion. if a slave stole from him even a pound of meat or a peck of corn, if detection followed, he was put in chains and imprisoned, and so kept till his form was attenuated by hunger and suf- fering. a freshet once bore his wine cellar and meat house miles away from the plantation. some slaves followed, and secured bits of meat and bottles of wine. two were detected ; a ham and some liquor being found in their huts. they were summoned by their master. no words were used, but a club felled them to the ground. a rough box was their coffin, and their interment was a dog's burial. nothing was said. murder was so common on his plantation that he feared to be alone after nightfall. he might have believed in ghosts. his brother, if not equal in wealth, was at least equal in cruelty. his bloodhounds were well trained. their pen was spacious, and a terror to the slaves. they were let loose on a runaway, and, if they tracked him, they literally tore the flesh from his bones. when this slaveholder died, his shrieks and groans were so frightful that they appalled his own friends. his last words were, “i am going to hell ; bury my money with me.” after death, his eyes remained open. to press the lids down, silver dollars were laid on them. these were buried with him. from this circumstance, a rumor went abroad that his coffin was filled with money. three times his grave was opened, and his coffin taken out. the last time, his body was found on the ground, and a flock of buzzards were pecking sketches of neighboring slaveholders. at it. he was again interred, and a sentinel set over bis grave. the perpetrators were never discovered. cruelty is contagious in uncivilized communities. mr. conant, a neighbor of mr. litch, returned from town one evening in a partial state of intoxication. his body servant gave him some offence. he was divested of his clothes, except his shirt, whipped, and tied to a large tree in front of the house. it was a stormy night in winter. the wind blew bitterly cold, and the boughs of the old tree crackled under falling sleet. a member of the family, fearing he would freeze to death, begged that he might be taken down; but the master would not relent. he remained there three hours ; and, when he was cut down, he was more dead than alive. another slave, who stole a pig from this master, to appease his hunger, was terribly flogged. in desperation, he tried to run away. but at the end of two miles, he was so faint with loss of blood, he thought he was dying. he had a wife, and he longed to see her once more. too sick to walk, he crept back that long distance on his hands and knees. when he reached his master's, it was night. he had not strength to rise and open the gate. he moaned, and tried to call for help. i had a friend living in the same family. at last his cry reached her. she went out and found the prostrate man at the gate. she ran back to the house for assistance, and two men returned with her. they carried him in, and laid him on the floor. the back of his shirt was one clot of blood. by means of lard, my friend loosened it from the raw flesh. she bandaged him, gave him cool drink, and left him to rest. the master said he de incidents in the life of a slave girl. se served a hundred more lashes. when his own labor was stolen from him, he had stolen food to appease his hunger. this was his crime. · another neighbor was a mrs. wade. at no hour of the day was there cessation of the lash on her premises. her labors began with the dawn, and did not cease till long after nightfall. the barn was her particular place of torture. there she lashed the slaves with the might of a man. an old slave of hers once said to me, “ it is hell in missis's house. 'pears i can never get out. day and night i prays to die.” · the mistress died before the old woman, and, when dying, entreated her husband not to permit any one of her slaves to look on her after death. a slave who had nursed her children, and had still a child in her care, watched her chanco, and stole with it in her arms to the room where lay her dead mistress. she gazed a while on her, then raised her hand and dealt two blows on her face, saying, as she did so, “the devil is got you now !” she forgot that the child was looking on. she had just begun to talk ; and she said to her father, “i did see ma, and mammy did strike ma, so,” striking her own face with her little hand. the master was startled. he could not im- agine how the nurse could obtain access to the room where the corpse lay; for he kept the door locked. he questioned her. she confessed that what the child had said was true, and told how she had procured the key. she was sold to georgia. .. in my childhood i knew a valuable slave, named charity, and loved her, as all children did. her young mistress married, and took her to louisiana. her sketches of neighboring slaveholders. little boy, james, was sold to a good sort of master. he became involved in debt, and james was sold again to a wealthy slaveholder, noted for his cruelty. with this man he grew up to manhood, receiving the treatment of a dog. after a severe whipping, to save himself from further infliction of the lash, with which he was threatened, he took to the woods. he was in a most miserable condition – cut by the cowskin, half naked, half starved, and without the means of procuring a crust of bread." some weeks after his escape, he was captured, tied, and carried back to his master's plantation. this man considered punishment in his jail, on bread and water, after receiving hundreds of lashes, too mild for the poor slave's offence. therefore he decided, after the overseer should have whipped him to his satis- faction, to have him placed between the screws of the cotton gin, to stay as long as he had been in the woods. this wretched creature was cut with the whip from his head to his feet, then washed with strong brine, to prevent the flesh from mortifying, and make it heal sooner than it otherwise would. he was then put into the cotton gin, which was screwed down, only allowing him room to turn on his side when he could not lie on his back. every morning a slave was sent with a piece of bread and bowl of water, which were placed within reach of the poor fellow. the slave was charged, under penalty of severe punishment, not to speak to him. four days passed, and the slave continued to carry the bread and water. on the second morning, he found the bread gone, but the water untouched. incidents in the life of a slave girl. when he had been in the press four days and five nights, the slave informed his master that the water had not been used for four mornings, and that a hor- rible stench, came from the gin house. the overseer was sent to examine into it. when the press was unscrewed, the dead body was found partly eaten by rats and vermin. perhaps the rats that devoured his bread had gnawed him before life was extinct. poor charity! grandmother and i often asked each other how her affectionate heart would bear the news, if she should ever hear of the murder of her son. we had known her husband, and knew that james was like him in manliness and intelligence, these were the qualities that made it so hard for him to be a planta- tion slave. they put him into a rough box, and buried him with less feeling than would have been manifested for an old house dog. nobody asked any questions. he was a slave; and the feeling was that the master had a right to do what he pleased with his own property. and what did he care for the value of a slave? he had hundreds of them. when they had finished their daily toil, they must hurry to eat their little morsels, and be ready to extinguish their pine knots before nine o'clock, when the overseer went his patrol rounds. he entered every cabin, to see that men and their wives had gone to bed together, lest the men, from over-fatigue, should fall asleep in the chim- ney corner, and remain there till the morning horn called them to their daily task. women are consid- ered of no value, unless they continually increase their owner's stock. they are put on a par with animals. this same master shot a woman through the head, who sketches of neighboring slaveholders. had run away and been brought back to him. no one called him to account for it. if a slave resisted being whipped, the bloodhounds were unpacked, and set upon him, to tear his flesh from his bones. the master who did these things was highly educated, and styled a perfect gentleman. he also boasted the name and standing of a christian, though satan never had a truer follower. i could tell of more slaveholders as cruel as those i have described. they are not exceptions to the gen- eral rule. i do not say there are no humane slave- holders. such characters do exist, notwithstanding the hardening influences around them. but they are like angels' visits — few and far between,” i knew a young lady who was one of these rare specimens. she was an orphan, and inherited as slaves a woman and her six children. their father was a free man. they had a comfortable home of their own, parents and children living together. the mother and eldest daughter served their mistress during the day, and at night returned to their dwell- ing, which was on the premises. the young lady was very pious, and there was some reality in her religion. she taught her slaves to lead pure lives, and wished them to enjoy the fruit of their own industry. her religion was not a garb put on for sunday, and laid aside till sunday returned again. the eldest daugh- ter of the slave mother was promised in marriage to a free man ; and the day before the wedding this good mistress emancipated her, in order that her marriage might have the sanction of law. report said that this young lady cherished an un- incidents in the life of a slave girl. requited affection for a man who had resolved to marry for wealth. in the course of time a rich uncle of hers died. he left six thousand dollars to his two sons by a colored woman, and the remainder of his property to this orphan niece. the metal soon at- tracted the magnet. the lady and her weighty purse became his. she offered to manumit her slaves — tell- ing them that her marriage might make unexpected changes in their destiny, and she wished to insure their happiness. they refused to take their freedom, saying that she had always been their best friend, and they could not be so happy any where as with her. i was not surprised. i had often seen them in their comfortable home, and thought that the whole towu did not contain a happier family. they had never felt slavery; and, when it was too late, they were con- vinced of its reality. " when the new master claimed this family as his property, the father became furious, and went to his mistress for protection. “i can do nothing for you now, harry,” said she. “i no longer have the power i had a week ago. i have succeeded in obtaining the freedom of your wife ; but i cannot obtain it for your children.” the unhappy father swore that nobody should take his children from him. he concealed them in the woods for some days; but they were dis- covered and taken. the father was put in jail, and the two oldest boys sold to georgia. one little girl, too young to be of service to her master, was left with the wretched mother. the other three were carried to their master's plantation. the eldest soon became a mother; and, when the slaveholder's wife looked at incidents in the life of a slave girl. mother or grandmother, or some good mistress; she may have a lover, whose good opinion and peace of mind are dear to her heart; or the profligate men who have power over her may be exceedingly odious to her. but resistance is hopeless. ... "the poor worm . .. shall prove her contest vain. life's little day shall pass, and she is gone!” the slaveholder's sons are, of course, vitiated, even while boys, by the unclean influences every where around them. . nor do the master's daughters always escape. severe retributions sometimes come upon him for the wrongs he does to the daughters of the slaves. the white daughters early hear their parents quarrel ling about some female slave. their curiosity is excited, and they soon learn the cause. they are attended by the young slave girls whom their father has corrupted ; and they hear such talk as should never meet youthful ears, or any other ears. they know that the women slaves are subject to their fa- ther's authority in all things, and in some cases they exercise the same authority over the men slaves. i have myself seen the master of such a household whose head was bowed down in shame; for it was known in the neighborhood that his daughter had selected one of the meanest slaves on his plantation to be the father of his first grandchild. she did not make her ad- vances to her equals, nor even to her father's more intelligent servants. she selected the most brutalized, over whom her authority could be exercised with less fear of exposure. her father, half frantic with rage, sought to revenge himself on the offending black man ; sketches of neighboring slaveholders. but his daughter, foreseeing the storm that would arise, had given him free papers, and sent himn out of the state. in such cases the infant is smothered, or sent where it is never seen by any who know its history. but if the white parent is the father, instead of the mother, the offspring are unblushingly reared for the market. if they are girls, i have indicated plainly enough what will be their inevitable destiny. you may believe what i say; for i write only that whereof i know. i was twenty-one years in that cage of obscene birds. i can testify, from my own experi- ence and observation, that slavery is a curse to the whites as well as to the blacks. it makes the white fathers cruel and sensual ; the sons violent and licen- tious; it contaminates the daughters, and makes the wives wretched. and as for the colored race, it needs an abler pen than mine to describe the extremity of their sufferings, the depth of their degradation, yet few slaveholders seem to be aware of the wide- spread moral ruin occasioned by this wicked system. their talk is of blighted cotton crops -- not of the blight on their children's souls. · if you want to be fully convinced of the abomina- tions of slavery, go on a southern plantation, and call yourself a negro trader. then there will be no con- cealment; and you will see and hear things that will seem to you impossible anong human beings with immortal souls. incidents in the life of a slave girl. x. a perilous passage in the slave girl's life. after my lover went away, dr. flint contrived a new plan. he seemed to have an idea that my fear of my mistress was his greatest obstacle. in the blandest tones, he told me that he was going to build a small house for me, in a secluded place, four miles away from the town. i shuddered; but i was constrained to listen, while he talked of his intention to give me a home of my own, and to make a lady of me. hitherto, i had escaped my dreaded fate, by being in the midst of people. my grandmother had already had high words with my master about me. she had told him pretty plainly what she thought of his character, and there was considerable gossip in the neighborhood about our affairs, to which the open-mouthed jealousy of mrs. flint contributed not a little. when my mas- ter said he was going to build a house for me, and that he could do it with little trouble and expense, i was in hopes something would happen to frustrate his scheme; but i soon heard that the house was actually begun. i vowed before my maker that i would never enter it. i had rather toil on the plantation from dawn till dark; i had rather live and die in jail, than drag on, from day to day, through such a living death. i was deter- mined that the master, whom i so hated and loathed, who had blighted the prospects of my youth, and made a perilous paffage in the slave girl's life. my life a desert, should not, after my long struggle with him, succeed at last in trampling his victim under his feet. i would do any thing, every thing, for the sake of defeating him. what could i do? i thought and thought, till i became desperate, and made a plunge into the abyss. and now, reader, i come to a period in my unhappy life, which i would gladly forget if i could. the re- membrance fills me with sorrow and shame. it pains me to tell you of it; but i have promised to tell you the truth, and i will do it honestly, let it cost me what it may. i will not try to screen myself behind the plea of compulsion from a master; for it was not so. neither can i plead ignorance or thought- lessness. for years, my master had done his utmost to pollute my mind with foul images, and to destroy the pure principles inculcated by my grandmother, , and the good mistress of my childhood. the influ- ences of slavery had had the same effect on me that they had on other young girls; they had made me prematurely knowing, concerning the evil ways of the world. i knew what i did, and i did it with de liberate calculation. but, , ye happy women, whose purity has been sheltered from childhood, who have been free to choose the objects of your affection, whose homes are protected by law, do not judge the poor desolate slave girl too severely! if slavery had been abolished, i, also, could have married the man of my choice; i could have had a home shielded by the laws; and i should have been spared the painful task of confessing what i am now about to relate; but all my prospects had been blighted incidents in the life of a slave girl. by slavery. i wanted to keep myself pure; and, under the most adverse circumstances, i tried hard to preserve my self-respect; but i was struggling alone in the powerful grasp of the demon slavery; and the monster proved too strong for me. i felt as if i was forsaken by god and man; as if all my efforts must be frus- trated; and i became reckless in my despair. i have told you that dr. flint's persecutions and his wife's jealousy had given rise to some gossip in the neighborhood. among others, it chanced that a white unmarried gentleman had obtained some knowledge of the circumstances in which i was placed. he knew my grandmother, and often spoke to me in the street. he became interested for me, and asked questions about my master, which i answered in part. he ex- pressed a great deal of sympathy, and a wish to aid me. he constantly sought opportunities to see me, and wrote to me frequently. i was a poor slave girl, only fifteen years old. so much attention from a superior person was, of course, flattering; for human nature is the same in all. i also felt grateful for his sympathy, and encouraged by his kind words. it seemed to me a great thing to have such a friend. by degrees, a more tender feeling crept into my heart. he was an educated and elo quent gentleman; too eloquent, alas, for the poor slave girl who trusted in him. of course i saw whither all this was tending. i knew the impassable gulf between us; but to be an object of interest to a man who is not married, and who is not her master, is agreeable to the pride and feelings of a slave, if her miserable situation nas left her any pride or sentiment. · it seems less de incidents in the life of a slave girl.“ this case, i felt confident i should obtain the boon. i also felt quite sure that they would be made free. with all these thoughts revolving in my mind, and seeing no other way of escaping the doom i so much dreaded, i made a headlong plunge. pity me, and pardon me, o virtuous reader! you never knew what it is to be a slave; to be entirely unprotected by law or custom; to have the laws reduce you to the condition of a chattel, entirely subject to the will of another. you never exhausted your ingenuity in avoiding the snares, and eluding the power of a hated tyrant ; you never shuddered at the sound of his footsteps, and trembled within hearing of his voice. i know i did wrong. no one can feel it more sensibly than i do. the painful and humiliating memory will haunt me to my dying day. still, in looking back, calmly, on the events of my life, i feel that the slave woman ought not to be judged by the same standard as others. the months passed on. i had many unhappy hours. i secretly mourned over the sorrow i was bringing on my grandmother, who had so tried to shield me from harm. i knew that i was the greatest comfort of her old age, and that it was a source of pride to her that i had not degraded myself, like most of the slaves. i wanted to confess to her that i was no longer worthy of her love; but i could not utter the dreaded words. as for dr. flint, i had a feeling of satisfaction and triumph in the thought of telling him. from time to time he told me of his intended arrangements, and i was silent. at last, he came and told me the cottage was completed, and ordered me to go to it. i told him i would never enter it. he said, “i have heard a perilous paffage in the slave girl's life. enough of such talk as that. you shall go, if you are carried by force; and you shall remain there.". ', i replied, “i will never go there.' in a few months i shall be a mother." he stood and looked at me in dumb amazement, and left the hcuse without a word. i thought i should be happy in my triumph over him. but now that the truth was out, and my relatives would hear of it, i felt wretched. humble as were their circumstances, they had pride in my good character. now, how could i look them in the face? my self-respect was gone! i had resolved that i would be virtuous, though i was a slave. i had said, “let the storm beat! i will brave it till i die.” and now, how humiliated i felt! 'i went to my grandmother. my lips moved to make confession, but the words stuck in my throat. i sat down in the shade of a tree at her door and began to sew. i think she saw something unusual was the matter with me. the mother of slaves is very watch- ful. she knows there is no security for her children. after they have entered their teens she lives in daily expectation of trouble. this leads to many questions. if the girl is of a sensitive nature, timidity keeps her from answering truthfully, and this well-meant course has a tendency to drive her from maternal counsels. presently, in came my mistress, like a mad woman, and accused me concerning her husband. my grand- mother, whose suspicions had been previously awak- ened, believed what she said. she exclaimed, “o linda! has it come to this? i had rather see you dead than to see you as you now are. you are a dis- grace to your dead mother.” she tore from my fin. a perilous paſſage in the slave girl's life. thought i could bear my shame if i could only be re- conciled to my grandmother. i longed to open my heart to her. i thought if she could know the real state of the case, and all i had been bearing for years, she would perhaps judge me less harshly. my friend advised me to send for her. i did so; but days of agonizing suspense passed before she came. had she utterly forsaken me? no. she came at last. i knelt before her, and told her the things that had poisoned my life ; how long i had been persecuted; that i saw no way of escape; and in an hour of extremity i had become desperate. she listened in silence. i told her i would bear any thing and do any thing, if in time i had hopes of obtaining her forgiveness. i begged of her to pity me, for my dead mother's sake. and she did pity.me. she did not say, “i forgive you;" but she looked at me lovingly, with her eyes full of tears. she laid her old hand gently on my head, and murmured, “ poor child! poor child !” the new tie to life. : lover who had always treated me honorably; when i remembered that but for him i might have been a virtuous, free, and happy wife, i lost my patience. “ i have sinned against god and myself,” i replied ; but not against you.” he clinched his teeth, and muttered, “ curse you!" he came towards me, with ill-suppressed rage, and ex- claimed, “you obstinate girl! i could grind your bones to powder! you have thrown yourself away on some worthless rascal. you are weak-minded, and have been easily persuaded by those who don't care a straw for you. the future will settle accounts between us. you are blinded now; but hereafter you will be convinced that your master was your best friend. my lenity towards you is a proof of it. i might have pun- ished you in many ways. i might have had you whipped till you fell dead under the lash. but i wanted you to live; i would have bettered your con- dition. others cannot do it. you are my slave. your mistress, disgusted by your conduct, forbids you to return to the house; therefore i leave you here for the present; but i shall see you often. i will call to- morrow.” he came with frowning brows, that showed a dis- satisfied state of mind. after asking about my health, he inquired whether my board was paid, and who visited me. he then went on to say that he had neg- lected his duty; that as a physician there were cer- tain things that he ought to have explained to me. then followed talk such as would have made the most shameless blush. he ordered me to stand up before him. i obeyed. : “i command you,” said he," to tell incidents in the life of a slave girl. me whether the father of your child is white or black.” i hesitated. “ answer me this instant!” he exclaimed. i did answer. he sprang upon me like a wolf, and grabbed my arm as if he would have broken it. do you love him?” said he, in a hissing tone. “i am thankful that i do not despise him," i re- plied. he raised his hand to strike me; but it fell again. i don't know what arrested the blow. he sat down, with lips tightly compressed. at last he spoke. :" i came here," said he, “ to make you a friendly proposi- tion; but your ingratitude chafes me beyond endur- ance. you turn aside all my good intentions towards you. i don't know what it is that keeps me from kill- ing you.” again he rose, as if he had a mind to strike me. but he resumed. « on one condition i will forgive your insolence and crime. you must henceforth have no communication of any kind with the father of your child. you must not ask any thing from him, or receive any thing from him. i will take care of you and your child. you had better promise this at once, and not wait till you are deserted by him. this is the last act of mercy i shall show towards you." · i said something about being unwilling to have my child supported by a man who had cursed it and me also. he rejoined, that a woman who had sunk to my level had no right to expect any thing else. he asked, for the last time, would i accept his kindness? i an- swered that i would not. “ very well," said he ; " then take the consequences of your wayward course. never look to me for help. the new tie to life. you are my slave, and shall always be my, slave. i will never sell you, that you may depend upon." hope died away in my heart as he closed the door after him. i had calculated that in his rage he would sell me to a slave-trader; and i knew the father of my child was on the watch to buy me. about this time my uncle phillip was expected to return from a voyage. the day before his departure i had officiated as bridesmaid to a young friend. my heart was then ill at ease, but my smiling countenance did not betray it. only a year had passed; but what fearful changes it had wrought! my heart had grown gray in misery. lives that flash in sunshine, and lives that are born in tears, receive their hue from circum- stances. none of us know what a year may bring forth. i felt no joy when they told me my uncle had come. he wanted to see me, though he knew what had hap- pened. i shrank from him at first; but at last con- sented that he should come to my room. he received me as he always had done. o, how my heart smote me when i felt his tears on my burning cheeks! the words of my grandmother came to my mind, —" per- haps your mother and father are taken from the evil days to come.” my disappointed heart could now praise god that it was so. but why, thought i, did my relatives ever cherish hopes for me? what was there to save me from the usual fate of slave girls ? many more beautiful and more intelligent than i had experienced a similar fate, or a far worse one. how could they hope that i should escape ? my uncle's stay was short, and i was not sorry for incidents in the life of a slave girl. it. i was too ill in mind and body to enjoy my friends as i had done. for some weeks i was unable to leave my bed. i could not have any doctor but my master, and i would not have him sent for. at last, alarmed by my increasing illness, they sent for him. i was very weak and nervous; and as soon as he entered the room, i began to scream. they told him my state was very critical. he had no wish to hasten me out of the world, and he withdrew. when my babe was born, they said it was premature. it weighed only four pounds; but god let it live. i heard the doctor say i could not survive till morning. i had often prayed for death; but now i did not want to die, unless my child could die too. many weeks passed before i was able to leave my bed. i was a mere wreck of my former self. for a year there was scarcely a day when i was free from chills and fever. my babe also was sickly. his little limbs were often racked with pain. dr. flint continued his visits, to look after my health ; and he did not fail to remind me that my child was an addition to his stock of slaves. i felt too feeble to dispute with him, and listened to his remarks in silence. his visits were less frequent; but his busy spirit could not remain quiet. he em- ployed my brother in his office, and he was made the medium of frequent notes and messages to me. wil- liam was a bright lad, and of much use to the doctor, he had learned to put up medicines, to leech, cup, and bleed. he had taught himself to read and spell. i was proud of my brother; and the old doctor sus pected as much. one day, when i had not seen him for several weeks, i heard his steps approaching the . the new tie to life. ' ' door.' i dreaded the encounter, and hid myself. he inquired for me, of course; but i was nowhere to be found. he went to his office, and despatched william with a note. the color mounted to my brother's face when he gave it to me; and he said, “ don't you hate me, linda, for bringing you these things ?" i told him i could not blame him; he was a slave, and obliged to obey his master's will. the note ordered me to come to his office. i went. he demanded to know where i was when he called. i told him i was at home. he flew into a passion, and said he knew better. then he launched out upon his usual themes, — my crimes against him, and my ingratitude for his for- bearance. the laws were laid down to me anew, and i was dismissed. i felt humiliated that my brother should stand by, and listen to such language as would be addressed only to a slave. poor boy! he was powerless to defend me; but i saw the tears, which he vainly strove to keep back. this manifestation of feel. ing irritated the doctor. william could do nothing to please him. one morning he did not arrive at the office so early as usual ; and that circumstance afforded his master an opportunity to vent his spleen. he was put in jail. the next day my brother sent a trader to the doctor, with a request to be sold. his master was greatly incensed at what he called his in- solence. he said he had put him there to reflect upon his bad conduct, and he certainly was not giving any evidence of repentance. for two days he harassed himself to find somebody to do his office work; but every thing went wrong without william. he was released, and ordered to take his old stand, with many fear of inſurrection.. fear of insurrection. . . not far from this time nat turner's insurrection broke out; and the news threw our town into great commotion. strange that they should be alarmed, when their slaves were so “ contented and happy" ! but so it was. it was always the custom to have a muster every year. on that occasion every white man shouldered his musket. the citizens and the so-called country gentlemen wore military uniforms. the poor whites took their places in the ranks in every-day dress, some without shoes, some without hats. this grand occa- sion had already passed ; and when the slaves were told there was to be another muster, they were sur- prised and rejoiced. poor creatures! they thought it was going to be a holiday. i was informed of the true state of affairs, and imparted it to the few i could trust. most gladly would i have proclaimed it to every slave; but i dared not. all could not be relied on. mighty is the power of the torturing lash. by sunrise, people were pouring in from every quar- ter within twenty miles of the town. i knew the houses were to be searched ; and i expected it would be done by country bullies and the poor whites. i knew nothing annoyed them so much as to see colored people living in comfort and respectability; so i made arrangements for them with especial care. i arranged incidents in the life of a slave girl. every thing in my grandmother's house as neatly as possible. i put white quilts on the beds, and deco rated some of the rooms with flowers. when all was arranged, i sat down at the window to watch. far as my eye could reach, it rested on a motley crowd of soldiers. drums and fifes were discoursing martial music. the men were divided into companies of six- teen, each headed by a captain. orders were given, and the wild scouts rushed in every direction, wherever a colored face was to be found. it was a grand opportunity for the low whites, who had no negroes of their own to scourge. they exulted in such a chance to exercise a little brief authority, and show their subserviency to the slaveholders; not reflecting that the power which trampled on the col- ored people also kept themselves in poverty, ignorance, and moral degradation. those who never witnessed such scenes can hardly believe what i know was in- flicted at this time on innocent men, women, and chil- dren, against whom there was not the slightest ground for suspicion. colored people and slaves who lived in remote parts of the town suffered in an especial manner. in some cases the searchers scattered powder and shot among their clothes, and then sent other parties to find them, and bring them forward as proof that they were plotting insurrection. every where men, women, and children were whipped till the blood stood in puddles at their feet. some received five hundred lashes ; others were tied hands and feet, and tortured with a bucking paddle, which blisters the skin terribly. the dwellings of the colored people, unless they happened to be protected by some influential white person, who fear of inſurrection. was nigh at hand, were robbed of clothing and every thing else the marauders thought worth carrying away. all day long these unfeeling wretches went round, like a troop of demons, terrifying and tormenting the help- less. at night, they formed themselves into patrol bands, and went wherever they chose among the col- ored people, acting out their brutal will. many women hid themselves in woods and swamps, to keep out of their way. if any of the husbands or fathers told of these outrages, they were tied up to the public whip- ping post, and cruelly scourged for telling lies about white men. the consternation was universal. no two people that had the slightest tinge of color in their faces dared to be seen talking together. i entertained no positive fears about our household, because we were in the midst of white families who would protect us. we were ready to receive the soldiers whenever they came. it was not long before we heard the tramp of feet and the sound of voices. the door was rudely pushed open ; and in they tum- bled, like a pack of hungry wolves. they snatched at every thing within their reach. every box, trunk, closet, and corner underwent a thorough examination. a box in one of the drawers containing some silver change was eagerly pounced upon. when i stepped forward to take it from them, one of the soldiers turned and said angrily, “ what d'ye foller us fur ? d'ye s'pose white folks is come to steal ?” i replied, “ you have come to search; but you have searched that box, and i will take it, if you please.” at that moment i saw a white gentleman who was friendly to us; and i called to him, and asked him to incidents in the life of a slave girl. have the goodness to come in and stay till the search was over. he readily complied. his entrance into the house brought in the captain of the company, whose business it was to guard the outside of the house, and see that none of the inmates left it. this officer was mr. litch, the wealthy slaveholder whom i mentioned, in the account of neighboring planters, as being notorious for his cruelty. he felt above soiling his hands with the search. he merely gave orders ; and, if a bit of writing was discovered, it was carried to him by his ignorant followers, who were unable to read. my grandmother had a large trunk of bedding and table cloths. when that was opened, there was a great shout of surprise ; and one exclaimed, “ where'd the damned niggers git all dis sheet an' table clarf ? " my grandmother, emboldened by the presence of our white protector, said, “ you may be sure we didn't pilfer 'em from your houses." look here, mammy," said a grim-looking fellow without any coat, “ you seem to feel mighty gran' 'cause you got all them 'ere fixens. white folks oughter have 'em all.” his remarks were interrupted by a chorus of voices shouting, “ we's got 'em! we's got 'em! dis 'ere yaller gal's got letters !” there was a general rush for the supposed letter, which, upon examination, proved to be some verses written to me by a friend. in packing away my things, i had overlooked them. when their captain informed them of their contents, they seemed much disappointed. he inquired of me who wrote them. fear of inſurrection. i told him it was one of my friends. “ can you read them ?” he asked. when i told him i could, he swore, and raved, and tore the paper into bits. “ bring me all your letters !” said he, in a com- manding tone. i told him i had none." don't be afraid,” he continued, in an insinuating way. “ bring them all to me. nobody shall do you any harm." seeing i did not move to obey him, his pleasant tone changed to oaths and threats. “who writes to you? half free niggers ?” inquired he. i replied, “o, no; most of my letters are from white people. some request me to burn them after they are read, and some i destroy without reading." an exclamation of surprise from some of the com- pany put a stop to our conversation. some silver spoons which ornamented an old-fashioned buffet had just been discovered. my grandmother was in the habit of preserving fruit for many ladies in the town, and of preparing suppers for parties ; consequently she had many jars of preserves. the closet that con- tained these was next invaded, and the contents tasted. one of them, who was helping himself freely, tapped his neighbor on the shoulder, and said, “ wal done! don't wonder de niggers want to kill all de white fólks, when dey live on 'sarves” (meaning preserves]. i stretched out my hand to take the jar, saying, “ you were not sent here to search for sweetmeats.” and what were we sent for?” said the captain, bristling up to me. i evaded the question. the search of the house was completed, and notlı- ing found to condemn us. they next proceeded to the garden, and knocked about every bush and vine, g incidents in the life of a slave girl. with no better success. the captain called his men together, and, after a short consultation, the order to march was given. as they passed out of the gate, the captain turned back, and pronounced a maledic- tion on the house. he said it ought to be burned to the ground, and each of its inmates receive thirty- nine lashes. we came out of this affair very fortu- nately; not losing any thing except some wearing apparel. towards evening the turbulence increased. the soldiers, stimulated by drink, committed still greater cruelties. shrieks and shouts continually rent the air. not daring to go to the door, i peeped under the window curtain. i saw a mob dragging along a num- ber of colored people, each white man, with his musket upraised, threatening instant death if they did not stop their shrieks. among the prisoners was a respectable old colored minister. they had found a few parcels of shot in his house, which his wife had for years used to balance her scales. for this they were going to shoot him on court house green. what a spectacle was that for a civilized country! a rabble, staggering under intoxication, assuming to be the administrators of justice ! the better class of the community exerted their influence to save the innocent, persecuted people; and in several instances they succeeded, by keeping them shut up in jail till the excitement abated. at last the white citizens found that their own property was not safe from the lawless rabble they had summoned to protect them. they rallied the drunken swarm, drove them back into the country, and set a guard over the town. fear of inſurrection. the next day, the town patrols were commissioned to search colored people that lived out of the city; and the most shocking outrages were committed with perfect impunity. every day for a fortnight, if i looked out, i saw horsemen with some poor panting negro tied to their saddles, and compelled by the lash to keep up with their speed, till they arrived at the jail yard. those who had been whipped too unmer- cifully to walk were washed with brine, tossed into a cart, and carried to jail. one black man, who had not fortitude to endure scourging, promised to give information about the conspiracy. but it turned out that he knew nothing at all. he had not even heard the name of nat turner. the poor fellow had, how- ever, made up a story, which augmented his own sufferings and those of the colored people. the day patrol continued for some weeks, and at sundown a night guard was substituted. nothing at all was proved against the colored people, bond or free. the wrath of the slaveholders was somewhat appeased by the capture of nat turner. the imprisoned were released. the slaves were sent to their masters, and the free were permitted to return to their ravaged homes. visiting was strictly forbidden on the planta- tions. the slaves begged the privilege of again meet- ing at their little church in the woods, with their burying ground around it. it was built by the colored people, and they had no higher happiness than to meet there and sing hymns together, and pour out their hearts in spontaneous prayer. their request was denied, and the church was demolished. they were permitted to attend the white churches, a certain por- incidents in the life of a slave girl. tion of the galleries being appropriated to their use. there, when every body else had partaken of the communion, and the benediction had been pronounced, the minister said, “ come down, now, my colored friends." they obeyed the summons, and partook of the bread and wine, in commemoration of the meek and lowly jesus, who said, “ god is your father, and all ye are brethren." the church and slavery. xiii. the church and slavery. after the alarm caused by nat turner's insurrection had subsided, the slaveholders came to the conclusion that it would be well to give the slaves enough of reli- gious instruction to keep them from murdering their masters. the episcopal clergyman offered to hold a separate service on sundays for their benefit. his colored members were very few, and also very respect- able - a fact which i presume had some weight with him. the difficulty was to decide on a suitable place for them to worship. the methodist and baptist churches admitted them in the afternoon; but their carpets and cushions were not so costly as those at the episcopal church. it was at last decided that they should meet at the house of a free colored man, who was a member. i was invited to attend, because i could read. sun- day evening came, and, trusting to the cover of night, i ventured out. i rarely ventured out by daylight, for i always went with fear, expecting at every turn to encounter dr. flint, who was sure to turn me back, or order me to his office to inquire where i got my bon- net, or some other article of dress. when the rev. mr. pike came, there were some twenty persons pres- ent. the reverend gentleman knelt in prayer, then seated himself, and requested all present, who could read, to open their books, while he gave out the por- tions he wished them to repeat or respond to. the church and slavery. your sinful ways, and be faithful servants. obey your old master and your young master — your old mistress and your young mistress. if you disobey your earthly master, you offend your heavenly master. you must obey god's commandments. when you go from here, don't stop at the corners of the streets to talk, but go directly home, and let your master and mistress see that you have come.” the benediction was pronounced. we went home, highly amused at brother pike's gospel teaching, and we determined to hear him again. i went the next sabbath evening, and heard pretty much a repetition of the last discourse. at the close of the meeting, mr. pike informed us that he found it very inconven- ient to meet at the friend's house, and he should be glad to see us, every sunday evening, at his own kitchen.. i went home with the feeling that i had heard the reverend mr. pike for the last time. some of his members repaired to his house, and found that the kitchen sported two tallow candles; the first time, i am sure, since its present occupant owned it, for the servants never had any thing but pine knots. it was so long before the reverend gentleman descended from his comfortable parlor that the slaves left, and went to enjoy a methodist shout. they never seem so happy as when shouting and singing at religious meetings. many of them are sincere, and nearer to the gate of heaven than sanctimonious mr. pike, and other long- faced christians, who see wounded samaritans, and pass by on the other side. the slaves generally compose their own songs and incidents in the life of a slave girl. hymns; and they do not trouble their heads much about the measure. they often sing the following verses : “ ora satan is one busy ole man; he rolls dem blocks all in my way; but jesus is my bosom friend; he rolls dem blocks away. “if i had died when i was young, den how my stam'ring tongue would have sung; but i am ole, and now i stand a narrow chance for to tread dat heavenly land." ; i well remember one occasion when i attended a methodist class meeting. i went with a burdened spirit, and happened to sit next a poor, bereaved mother, whose heart was still heavier than mine. the class leader was the town constable - a man who bought and sold slaves, who whipped his brethren and sisters of the church at the public whipping post, in jail or out of jail. he was ready to perform that christian office any where for fifty cents. this white- faced, black-hearted brother came near us, and said to the stricken woman, “ sister, can't you tell us how the lord deals with your soul ? do you love him as you did formerly ?” she rose to her feet, and said, in piteous tones, my lord and master, help me! my load is more than i can bear. god has hid himself from me, and i am left in darkness and misery.” then, striking her breast, she continued, “ i can't tell you what is in here! they've got all my children. last week they took the last one. god only knows where they've sold her. they let me have her sixteen years, and then - ! ! pray for her brothers and sisters ! the church and slavery. i've got nothing to live for now. god make my time short!” she sat down, quivering in every limb. i saw that constable class leader become crimson in the face with suppressed laughter, while he held up his handker- chief, that those who were weeping for the poor wo- man's calamity might not see his merriment. then, with assumed gravity, he said to the bereaved mother, sister, pray to the lord that every dispensation of his divine will may be sanctified to the good of your poor needy soul!” the congregation struck up a hymn, and sung as though they were as free as the birds that warbled round us, – “ole satan thought he had a mighty aim; he missed my soul, and caught my sins. cry amen, cry amen, cry amen to god! “ he took my sins upon his back; went muttering and grumbling down to hell. cry amen, cry amen, cry amen to god! “ole satan's church is here below. up to god's free church i hope to go. cry amen, cry amen, cry amen to god!” precious are such moments to the poor slaves. if you were to hear them at such times, you might think they were happy. but can that hour of singing and shouting sustain them through the dreary week, toiling without wages, under constant dread of the lash ? the episcopal clergyman, who, ever since my earli- est recollection, had been a sort of god among the slaveholders, concluded, as his family was large, that he must go where money was more abundant. a incidents in the life of a slave girl. very different clergyman took his place. the change was very agreeable to the colored people, who said, “ god has sent us a good man this time.” they loved him, and their children followed him for a smile or a kind word. even the slaveholders felt his influence. he brought to the rectory five slaves. his wife taught them to read and write, and to be useful to her and themselves. as soon as he was settled, he turned his attention to the needy slaves around him. he urged upon his parishioners the duty of having a meeting expressly for them every sunday, with a sermon adapted to their comprehension. after much argu- ment and importunity, it was finally agreed that they might occupy the gallery of the church on sunday evenings. many colored people, hitherto unaccus- tomed to attend church, now gladly went to hear the gospel preached. the sermons were simple, and they understood them. moreover, it was the first time they had ever been addressed as human beings. it was not long before his white parishioners began to be dissatis- fied. he was accused of preaching better sermons to the negroes than he did to them. he honestly con- fessed that he bestowed more pains upon those sermons than upon any others; for the slaves were reared in such ignorance that it was a difficult task to adapt him- self to their comprehension. dissensions arose in the parish. some wanted he should preach to them in the evening, and to the slaves in the afternoon. in the midst of these disputings his wife died, after a very short illness. her slaves gathered round her dying bed in great sorrow. she said, “i have tried to do you good and promote your happiness; and if i have the church and slavery. failed, it has not been for want of interest in your welfare. do not weep for me ; but prepare for the new duties that lie before you. i leave you all free. may we meet in a better world.” her liberated slaves were sent away, with funds to establish them comfort- ably. the colored people will long bless the memory of that truly christian woman. soon after her death her husband preached his farewell sermon, and many tears were shed at his departure. several years after, he passed through our town and preached to his former congregation. in his afternoon sermon he addressed the colored people. « my friends," said he, “it affords me great happiness to have an opportunity of speaking to you again. for two years i have been striving to do something for the colored people of my own parish; but nothing is yet accomplished. i have not even preached a sermon to them. try to live according to the word of god, my friends. your skin is darker than mine; but god judges men by their hearts, not by the color of their skins." this was strange doctrine from a southern pulpit. it was very offensive to slaveholders. they said he and his wife had made fools of their slaves, and that he preached like a fool to the negroes. i knew an old black man, whose piety and child- like trust in god were beautiful to witness. at fifty- three years old he joined the baptist church. he had a most earnest desire to learn to read. he thought he should know how to serve god better if he could only read the bible. he came to me, and begged me to teach him. he said he could not pay me, for he had the church and slavery. uncle fred, how do you manage to get your lessons so well ?” lord bress you, chile," he replied. “you nebber gibs me a lesson dat i don't pray to god to help me to understan' what i spells and what i reads. and he does help me, chile. bress his holy name !!! there are thousands, who, like good uncle fred, are thirsting for the water of life; but the law forbids it, and the churches withhold it. they send the bible to heathen abroad, and neglect the heathen at home. i am glad that missionaries go out to the dark corners of the earth; but i ask them not to overlook the dark corners at home. talk to american slaveholders as you talk to savages in africa. tell them it is wrong to traffic in men. tell them it is sinful to sell their own children, and atrocious to violate their own daughters. tell them that all men are brethren, and that man has no right to shut out the light of knowl- edge from his brother. tell them they are answerable to god for sealing up the fountain of life from souls that are thirsting for it. there are men who would gladly undertake such missionary work as this; but, alas! their number is small. they are hated by the south, and would be driven from its soil, or dragged to prison to die, as others have been before them. the field is ripe for the harvest, and awaits the reapers. perhaps the great grandchildren of uncle fred may have freely imparted to them the divine treasures, which he sought by stealth, at the risk of the prison and the scourge. are doctors of divinity blind, or are they hyp- incidents in the life of a slave girl. ocrites ? i suppose some are the one, and some the other; but i think if they felt the interest in the poor and the lowly, that they ought to feel, they would not be so easily blinded. a clergyman who goes to the south, for the first time, has usually some feeling, however vague, that slavery is wrong. the slave- holder suspects this, and plays his game accordingly. he makes himself as agreeable as possible; talks on theology, and other kindred topics. the reverend gentleman is asked to invoke a blessing on a table loaded with luxuries. after dinner he walks round the premises, and sees the beautiful groves and flower- ing vines, and the comfortable huts of favored house- hold slaves. the southerner invites him to talk with these slaves. he asks them, if they want to be free, and they say, “ , no, massa.” this is sufficient to satisfy him. he comes home to publish a “ south- side view of slavery," and to complain of the exag- gerations of abolitionists. he assures people that he has been to the south, and seen slavery for himself; that it is a beautiful “ patriarchal institution ;” that the slaves don't want their freedom ; that they have hallelujah meetings, and other religious privileges. what does he know of the half-starved wretches toil. ing from dawn till dark on the plantations ? of moth- ers shrieking for their children, torn from their arms by slave traders ? of young girls dragged down into moral filth ? of pools of blood around the whipping post ? of hounds trained to tear human flesh ? of men screwed into cotton gins to die? the slaveholder showed him none of these things, and the slaves dared not tell of them if he had asked them. the church and slavery. there is a great difference between christianity and religion at the south. if a man goes to the commun- ion table, and pays money into the treasury of the church, no matter if it be the price of blood, he is called religious. if a pastor has offspring by a woman not his wife, the church dismiss him, if she is a white woman; but if she is colored, it does not hinder his continuing to be their good shepherd. when i was told that dr. flint had joined the episcopal church, i was much surprised. i supposed that religion had a purifying effect on the character of men; but the worst persecutions i endured from him were after he was a communicant. the conver- sation of the doctor, the day after he had been con- firmed, certainly gave me no indication that he had renounced the devil and all his works.” in answer to some of his usual talk, i reminded him that he had just joined the church. “ yes, linda,” said he. “it was proper for me to do so. i am getting in years, and my position in society requires it, and it puts an end to all the damned slang. you would do well to join the church, too, linda.” there are sinners enough in it already," re- joined i. “if i could be allowed to live like a chris- tian, i should be glad.” ' “ you can do what i require; and if you are faithful to me, you will be as virtuous as my wife,” he replied. i answered that the bible didn't say so. his voice became hoarse with rage. “how dare you preach to me about your infernal bible!” he i incidents in the life of a slave girl. exclaimed. “what right have you, who are my negro, to talk to me about what you would like, and what you wouldn't like? i am your master, and you shall obey me." no wonder the slaves sing, “ole satan's church is here below; up to god's free church i hope to go." another link to life. xiv. another link to life. i had not returned to my master's house since the birth of my child. the old man raved to have me thus removed from his immediate power; but his wife vowed, by all that was good and great, she would kill me if i came back; and he did not doubt her word. sometimes he would stay away for a season. then he would come and renew the old threadbare discourse about his forbearance and my ingratitude. he la bored, most unnecessarily, to convince me that i had lowered myself. the venomous old reprobate had no need of descanting on that theme. i felt humiliated enough. my unconscious babe was the ever-present witness of my shame. i listened with silent contempt when he talked about my having forfeited his good opinion ; but i shed bitter tears that i was no longer worthy of being respected by the good and pure. alas! slavery still held me in its poisonous grasp. there was no chance for me to be respectable. there was no prospect of being able to lead a better life. sometimes, when my master found that i still re- fused to accept what he called his kind offers, he would threaten to sell my child. perhaps that will humble you,” said he. humble me! was i not already in the dust? but his threat lacerated my heart. i knew the law gave him power to fulfil it; for slaveholders have been incidents in the life of a slave girl. cunning enough to enact that “ the child shall follow the condition of the mother," not of the father ; thus taking care that licentiousness shall not interfere with avarice. this reflection made me clasp my innocent babe all the more firmly to my heart. horrid visions passed through my mind when i thought of his lia- bility to fall into the slave trader's hands. i wept over him, and said, “ o my child! perhaps they will leave you in some cold cabin to die, and then throw you into a hole, as if you were a dog." when dr. flint learned that i was again to be a mother, he was exasperated beyond measure. he rushed from the house, and returned with a pair of shears. i had, a fine head of hair; and he often yailed about my pride of arranging it nicely. he cut every hair close to my head, storming and swearing all the time. i replied to some of his abuse, and he struck me. some months before, he had pitched me down stairs in a fit of passion; and the injury i re- ceived was so serious that i was unable to turn myself in bed for many days. he then said, “ linda, i swear by god i will never raise my hand against you again;" but i knew that he would forget his promise. after he discovered my situation, he was like a restless spirit from the pit. he came every day; and i was subjected to such insults as no pen can describe. i would not describe them if i could ; they were too low, too revolting. i tried to keep them from my grandmother's knowledge as much as i could. i knew she had enough to sadden her life, without having my troubles to bear. when she saw the doctor treat me with violence, and heard him utter incidents in the life of a slave girl. came in, and he hurried out of the house. i suffered in consequence of this treatment; but i begged my friends to let me die, rather than send for the doctor. there was nothing i dreaded so much as his presence. my life was spared; and i was glad for the sake of my little ones. had it not been for these ties to life, i should have been glad to be released by death, though i had lived only nineteen years. always it gave me a pang that my children had no lawful claim to a name. their father offered his; but, if i had wished to accept the offer, i dared not while my master lived. moreover, i knew it would not be accepted at their baptism. a christian name they were at least entitled to ; and we resolved to call my boy for our dear good benjamin, who had gone far away from us. my grandmother belonged to the church ; and she was very desirous of having the children christened. i knew dr. flint would forbid it, and i did not venture to attempt it. but chance favored me. he was called to visit a patient out of town, and was obliged to be absent during sunday. “ now is the time,” said my grandmother; “ we will take the chil- dren to church, and have them christened.” when i entered the church, recollections of my mother came over me, and i felt subdued in spirit. there she had presented me for baptism, without any reason to feel ashamed. she had been married, and had such legal rights as slavery allows to a slave. the vows had at least been sacred to her, and she had never violated them. i was glad she was not alive, to know under what different circumstances her grand- another link to life. children were presented for baptism. why had my lot been so different from my mother's ? her master had died when she was a child ; and she remained with her mistress till she married. she was never in the power of any master; and thus she escaped one class of the evils that generally fall upon slaves. - when my baby was about to be christened, the former mistress of my father stepped up to me, and proposed to give it her christian name. to this i added the surname of my father, who had himself no legal right to it; for my grandfather on the paternal side was a white gentleman. what tangled skeins are the genealogies of slavery! i loved my father; but it mortified me to be obliged to bestow his name on my children. when we left the church, my father's old mistress invited me to go home with her. she clasped a gold chain round my baby's neck. i thanked her for this kindness; but i did not like the emblem. i wanted no chain to be fastened on my daughter, not even if its links were of gold. how earnestly i prayed that she might never feel the weight of slavery's chain, whose iron entereth into the soul ! . incidents in the life of a slave girl. xv. continued. persecutions. my children grew finely; and dr. flint would often say to me, with an exulting smile, “these brats will bring me a handsome sum of money one of these days." · i thought to myself that, god being my helper, they should never pass into his hands. it seemed to me i would rather see them killed than have them given up to his power. the money for the freedom of my- self and my children could be obtained; but i de- rived no advantage from that circumstance. dr. flint loved money, but he loved power more. after much discussion, my friends resolved on making another trial. there was a slaveholder about to leave for texas, and he was commissioned to buy me. he was to begin with nine hundred dollars, and go up to twelve. my master refused his offers. “sir," said he, “ she don't belong to me. she is my daughter's property, and i have no right to sell her. i mistrust that you come from her paramour. if so, you may tell him that he cannot buy her for any money ; neither can he buy her children.” the doctor came to see me the next day, and my heart beat quicker as he entered. i never had seen the old man tread with so majestic a step. he seated him- self and looked at me with withering scorn. my chil- dren had learned to be afraid of him. the little one continued perſecutions. would shut her eyes and hide her face on my shoulder whenever she saw him; and benny, who was now nearly five years old, often inquired, “what makes that bad man come here so many times? does he want to hurt us?” i would clasp the dear boy in my arms, trusting that he would be free before he was old enough to solve the problem. and now, as the doctor sat there so grim and silent, the child left his play and came and nestled up by me. at last my tormentor spoke. “ so you are left in disgust, are you ?” said he. “ it is no more than i expected. you remember i told you years ago that you would be treated so. so he is tired of you? ha! ha! ha! the virtuous madam don't like to hear about it, does she? ha! ha! ha!” there was a sting in his calling me virtuous madam. i no longer had the power of answering him as i had formerly done. he continued: “so it seems you are trying to get up another intrigue. your new paramour came to me, and offered to buy you; but you may be assured you will not succeed. you are mine; and you shall be mine for life. there lives no human being that can take you out of slavery. i would have done it; but you rejected my kind offer.” i told him i did not wish to get up any intrigue; that i had never seen the man who offered to buy me. • do you tell me i lie ?” exclaimed he, dragging me from my chair. “ will you say again that you never saw that man ?” i answered, " i do say so.” he clinched my arm with a volley of oaths. ben began to scream, and i told him to go to his grand- mother. incidents in the life of a slave girl. don't you stir a step, you little wretch !” said he. the child drew nearer to me, and put his arms round me, as if he wanted to protect me. this was too much for my enraged master. he caught him up and hurled him across the room. i thought he was dead, and rushed towards him to take him up. “ not yet!” exclaimed the doctor. “let him lie there till he comes to.” let me go ! let me go !” i screamed, “ or i will raise the whole house." i struggled and got away; but he clinched me again. somebody opened the door, and he released me. i picked up my insensible child, and when i turned my tormentor was gone. anxiously i bent over the little form, so pale and still; and when the brown eyes at last opened, i don't know whether i was very happy. all the doctor's former persecutions were renewed. he came morning, noon, and night. no jealous lover ever watched a rival more closely than he watched me and the unknown slaveholder, with whom he accused me of wishing to get up an intrigue. when my grand- mother was out of the way he searched every room to find him. in one of his visits, he happened to find a young girl, whom he had sold to a trader a few days previous. his statement was, that he sold her because she had been too familiar with the overseer. she had had a bitter life with him, and was glad to be sold. she had no mother, and no near ties. she had been torn from all her family years before. a few friends had entered into bonds for her safety, if the trader would allow her to spend with them the time that intervened between continued perſecutions. hér sale and the gathering up of his human stock. such a favor was rarely granted. it saved the trader the expense of board and jail fees, and though the amount was small, it was a weighty consideration in a slave-trader's mind. dr. flint always had an aversion to meeting slaves after he had sold them. he ordered rose out of the house; but he was no longer her master, and she took no notice of him. for once the crushed rose was the conqueror. his gray eyes flashed angrily upon her; but that was the extent of his power. “how came this girl here?” he exclaimed. what right had you to allow it, when you knew i had sold her ?”. i answered “ this is my grandmother's house, and rose came to see her. i have no right to turn any body out of doors, that comes here for honest purposes." he gave me the blow that would have fallen upon rose if she had still been his slave. my grandmoth- er's attention had been attracted by loud voices, and she entered in time to see a second blow dealt. she was not a woman to let such an outrage, in her own house, go unrebuked. the doctor undertook to ex- plain that i had been insolent. her indignant feelings rose higher and higher, and finally boiled over in words. “ get out of my house !” she exclaimed. “go home, and take care of your wife and children, and you will have enough to do, without watching my family." he threw the birth of my children in her face, and accused her of sanctioning the life i was leading. she told him i was living with her by compulsion of his wife ; that he needn't accuse her, for he was the one to blame; he was the one who had caused all the incidents in the life of a slave girl. trouble. she grew more and more excited as she went on. “i tell you what, dr. flint,” said she, “you ain't got many more years to live, and you'd better be saying your prayers. it will take 'em all, and more too, to wash the dirt off your soul.” “do you know whom you are talking to ?” he es. claimed. she replied, “ yes, i know very well who i am talk. ing to.” he left the house in a great rage. i looked at my grandmother. our eyes met. their angry expres- sion had passed away, but she looked sorrowful and weary — weary of incessant strife. i wondered that it did not lessen her love for me; but if it did she never showed it. she was always kind, always ready to sympathize with my troubles. there might have been peace and contentment in that humble home if it had not been for the demon slavery. the winter passed undisturbed by the doctor. the beautiful spring came; and when nature resumes her loveliness, the human soul is apt to revive also. my drooping hopes came to life again with the flowers. i was dreaming of freedom again; more for my children's sake than my own. i planned and i planned. ob- stacles hit against plans. there seemed no way of overcoming them; and yet i hoped. back came the wily doctor. i was not at home when he called. a friend had invited me to a small party, and to gratify her i went. to my great consternation, a messenger came in haste to say that dr. flint was at my grandmother's, and insisted on seeing me. they did not tell him where i was, or he would have come continued perfecutions. and raised a disturbance in my friend's house. they sent me a dark wrapper; i threw it on and hurried home. my speed did not save me; the doctor had gone away in anger. i dreaded the morning, but i could not delay it; it came, warm and bright. at an early hour the doctor came and asked me where i had been last night. i told him. he did not believe me, and sent to my friend's house to ascertain the facts. he came in the afternoon to assure me he was satisfied that i had spoken the truth. he seemed to be in a facetious mood, and i expected some jeers were coming. “ i suppose you need some recreation,” said he, “ but i am surprised at your being there, among those negroes. it was not the place for you. are you allowed to visit such people ?” i understood this covert fling at the white gentleman who was my friend ; but i merely replied, “i went to visit my friends, and any company they keep is good enough for me." he went on to say, “i have seen very little of you of late, but my interest in you is unchanged. when i said i would have no more mercy on you i was rash. i recall my words. linda, you desire freedom for your- self and your children, and you can obtain it only through me. if you agree to what i am about to pro- pose, you and they shall be free. there must be no communication of any kind between you and their father. i will procure a cottage, where you and the children can live together. your labor shall be light, such as sewing for my family. think what is offered you, linda - a home and freedom! let the past be forgotten. if i have been harsh with you at times, incidents in the life of a slave girl. your wilfulness drove me to it. you know i exact obedience from my own children, and i consider you as yet a child.” he paused for an answer, but i remained silent. “why don't you speak ?" said he. “what more do you wait for ?" “ nothing, sir." “ then you accept my offer ?” “ no, sir." his anger was ready to break loose ; but he succeeded in curbing it, and replied, “ you have answered with- out thought. but i must let you know there are two sides to my proposition; if you reject the bright side, you will be obliged to take the dark one. you must either accept my offer, or you and your children shall be sent to your young master's plantation, there to remain till your young mistress is married ; and your children shall fare like the rest of the negro children. i give you a week to consider of it.” he was shrewd ; but i knew he was not to be trusted. i told him i was ready to give my answer now. “i will not receive it now," he replied. “you act too much from impulse. remember that you and your children can be free a week from to-day if you choose." on what a monstrous chance hung the destiny of my children! i knew that my master's offer was a snare, and that if i entered it escape would be impos- sible. as for his promise, i knew him so well that i was sure if he gave me free papers, they would be so managed as to have no legal value. the alternative was inevitable. i resolved to go to the plantation. but then i thought how completely i should be in his continued perfecutions. power, and the prospect was apalling. even if i should kneel before him, and implore him to spare me, for the sake of my children, i knew he would spurn me with his foot, and my weakness would be his triumph. before the week expired, i heard that young mr. flint was about to be married to a lady of his own stamp. i foresaw the position i should occupy in his establishment. i had once been sent to the plantation for punishment, and fear of the son had induced the father to recall me very soon. my mind was made up; i was resolved that i would foil my master and save my children, or i would perish in the attempt. i kept my plans to myself; i knew that friends would try to dissuade me from them, and i would not wound their feelings by rejecting their advice. on the decisive day the doctor came, and said he hoped i had made a wise choice. “i am ready to go to the plantation, sir," i replied. “ have you thought how important your decision is to your children ?” said he. i told him i had. very well. go to the plantation, and my curse go with you,” he replied. “your boy shall be put to work, and he shall soon be sold; and your girl shall be raised for the purpose of selling well. go your own ways!” he left the room with curses, not to be re- peated. as i stood rooted to the spot, my grandmother came and said, “ linda, child, what did you tell him ?” i answered that i was going to the plantation. “ must you go ?” said she. “ can't something be done to stop it ?” on?” said " importer - told him incidents in the life of a slave girl. i told her it was useless to try; but she begged me not to give up. she said she would go to the doctor, and remind him how long and how faithfully she had served in the family, and how she had taken her own baby from her breast to nourish his wife. she would tell him i had been out of the family so long they would not miss me; that she would pay them for my time, and the money would procure a woman who had more strength for the situation than i had. i begged her not to go; but she persisted in saying, “ he will listen to me, linda.” she went, and was treated as i ex- pected. he coolly listened to what she said, but denied her request. he told her that what he did was for my good, that my feelings were entirely above my situa- tion, and that on the plantation i would receive treat- ment that was suitable to my behavior. my grandmother was much cast down. i had my secret hopes ; but i must fight my battle alone. i had a woman's pride, and a mother's love for my children; and i resolved that out of the darkness of this hour a brighter dawn should rise for them. my master had power and law on his side ; i had a determined will. there is might in each. scenes at the plantation. xvi. scenes at the plantation. early the next morning i left my grandmother's with my youngest child. my boy was ill, and i left him behind. i had many sad thoughts as the old wagon jolted on. hitherto, i had suffered alone; now, my little one was to be treated as a slave. as we drew near the great house, i thought of the time when i was formerly sent there out of revenge. i wondered for what purpose i was now sent. i could not tell. i resolved to obey orders so far as duty required; but. within myself, i determined to make my stay as short. as possible. mr. flint was waiting to receive us, and told me to follow him up stairs to receive orders for the day. my little ellen was left below in the kitchen. it was a change for her, who had always been so care- fully tended. my young master said she might amuse herself in the yard. this was kind of him, since the child was hateful to his sight. my task was to fit up the house for the reception of the bride. in the midst of sheets, tablecloths, towels, drapery, and carpeting, my head was as busy planning, as were my fingers with the needle. at noon i was allowed to go to ellen. she had sobbed herself to sleep. i heard mr. flint say to a neighbor, “ i've got her down here, and i'll soon take the town notions out of her head. my father is partly to blame for her nonsense. he ought to have broke her in long ago.” the remark incidents in the life of a slave giri. was made within my hearing, and it would have been quite as manly to have made it to my face. he had said things to my face which might, or might not, have surprised his neighbor if he had known of them. he was “a chip of the old block." i resolved to give him no cause to accuse me of being too much of a lady, so far as work was con- cerned. i worked day and night, with wretehedness before me. when i lay down beside my child, i felt how much easier it would be to see her die than to see her master beat her about, as i daily saw him beat other little ones. the spirit of the mothers was so crushed by the lash, that they stood by, without courage to remonstrate. how much more must i suffer, before i should be broke in " to that degree? i wished to appear as contented as possible. : some- times i had an opportunity to send a few lines home; and this brought up recollections that made it difficult, for a time, to seem calm and indifferent to my lot. not- withstanding my efforts, i saw that mr. flint regarded me with a suspicious eye. ellen broke down under the trials of her new life. separated from me, with no one to look after her, she wandered about, and in a few days cried herself sick. one day, she sat under the window where i was at work, crying that weary cry which makes a mother's heart bleed. i was obliged to steel myself to bear it. after a while it ceased. i looked out, and she was gone. as it was near noon, i ventured to go down in search of her. the great house was raised two feet above the ground. i looked under it, and saw her about midway, fast asleep. i , scenes at the plantation. .. crept under and drew her out. as i held her in my arms, i thought how well it would be for her if she never waked up; and i uttered my thought aloud. i was startled to hear some one say, “ did you speak to me?” i looked up, and saw mr. flint standing be- side me. he said nothing further, but turned, frown- ing, away. that night be sent ellen a biscuit and a cup of sweetened milk. this generosity surprised me. i learned afterwards, that in the afternoon he had killed a large snake, which crept from under the house; and i supposed that incident had prompted his unusual kindness. the next morning the old cart was loaded with shingles for town. i put ellen into it, and sent her to her grandmother. mr. flint said i ought to have asked his permission. i told him the child was sick, and required attention which i had no time to give. he let it pass; for he was aware that i had accomplished much work in a little time.. i had been three weeks on the plantation, when i planned a visit home. it must be at night, after every body was in bed. i was six miles from town, and the road was very dreary. i was to go with a young man, who, i knew, often stole to town to see his mother. one night, when all was quiet, we started. fear gave speed to our steps, and we were not long in performing the journey. i arrived at my grandmother's. her bed room was on the first floor, and the window was open, the weather being warm. i spoke to her and she awoke. she let me in' and closed the window, lest some late passer-by should see me. a light was brought, and the whole household gathered round me, some smiling incidents in the life of a slave girl. and some crying. i went to look at my children, and thanked god for their happy sleep. the tears fell as i leaned over them. as i moved to leave, benny stirred. i turned back, and whispered, “ mother is here." after digging at his eyes with his little fist, they opened, and he sat up in bed, looking at me curiously. having satisfied himself that it was i, he exclaimed, “o mother! you ain't dead, are you? they didn't cut off your head at the plantation, did they?” my time was up too soon, and my guide was waiting for me. i laid benny back in his bed, and dried his tears by a promise to come again soon. rapidly we retraced our steps back to the plantation. about half way we were met by a company of four patrols. luckily we heard their horse's hoofs before they came in sight, and we had time to hide behind a large tree. they passed, hallooing and shouting in a manner that in- dicated a recent carousal. how thankful we were that they had not their dogs with them! we hastened our footsteps, and when we arrived on the plantation we heard the sound of the hand-mill. the slaves were grinding their corn. we were safely in the house be- fore the horn summoned them to their labor. i divided my little parcel of food with my guide, knowing that he had lost the chance of grinding his corn, and must toil all day in the field. mr. flint often took an inspection of the house, to see that no one was idle. the entire management of the work was trusted to me, because he knew noth- ing about it; and rather than hire a superintendent he contented himself with my arrangements. he had scenes at the plantation. often urged upon his father the necessity of having me at the plantation to take charge of his affairs, and make clothes for the slaves; but the old man knew him too well to consent to that arrangement. when i had been working a month at the plantation, the great aunt of mr. flint came to make him a visit. this was the good old lady who paid fifty dollars for my grandmother, for the purpose of making her free, when she stood on the auction block. my grand- mother loved this old lady, whom we all called miss fanny. she often came to take tea with us. on such occasions the table was spread with a snow-white cloth, and the china cups and silver spoons were taken from the old-fashioned buffet. there were hot muffins, tea rusks, and delicious sweetmeats. my grandmother kept two cows, and the fresh cream was miss fanny's delight. she invariably declared that it was the best in town. the old ladies had cosey times together. they would work and chat, and sometimes, while talking over old times, their spectacles would get dim with tears, and would have to be taken off and wiped. when miss fanny bade us good by, her bag was filled with grandmother's best cakes, and she was urged to come again soon. there had been a time when dr. flint's wife came to take tea with us, and when her children were also sent to have a feast of " aunt marthy's” nice cooking. but after i became an object of her jealousy and spite, she was angry with grandmother for giving a shelter to me and my children. she would not even speak to her in the street. this wounded my grandmother's feelings, for she could not retain ill will against the incidents in the life of a slave girl. woman whom she had nourished with her milk when a babe. the doctor's wife would gladly have prevented our intercourse with miss fanny if she could have done it, but fortunately she was not dependent on the bounty of the flints. she had enough to be inde- pendent; and that is more than can ever be gained from charity, however lavish it may be. miss fanny was endeared to me by many recollec- tions, and i was rejoiced to see her at the plantation. the warmtli of her large, loyal heart made the house seem pleasanter while she was in it. she staid a week, and i had many talks with her. she said her prin- cipal object in coming was to see how i was treated, and whether any thing could be done for me. she in- quired whether she could help me in any way. i told her i believed not. she condoled with me in her own peculiar way, saying she wished that i and all my grandmother's family were at rest in our graves, for not until then should she feel any peace about us. the good old soul did not dream that i was planning to bestow peace upon her, with regard to myself and my children ; not by death, but by securing our freedom. again and again i had traversed those dreary twelve miles, to and from the town; and all the way, i was meditating upon some means of escape for myself and my children. my friends had made every effort that ingenuity could devise to effect our purchase, but all their plans had proved abortive. dr. flint was suspi- cious, and determined not to loosen his grasp upon us. i could have made my escape alone ; but it was more for my helpless children than for myself that i longed scenes at the plantation. . for freedom. though the boon would have been precious to me, above all price, i would not have taker it at the expense of leaving them in slavery. ever trial i endured, every sacrifice i made for their sakes, drew them closer to my heart, and gave me fresh courage to beat back the dark waves that rolled and rolled over me in a seemingly endless night of storms. the six weeks were nearly completed, when mr. flint's bride was expected to take possession of her new home. the arrangements were all completed, and mr. flint said i had done well. he expected to leave home on saturday, and return with his bride the following wednesday. after receiving various orders from him, i ventured to ask permission to spend sun- day in town. it was granted ;. for which favor i was thankful. it was the first i had ever asked of him, and i intended it should be the last. it needed more than one night to accomplish the project i had in view ; but the whole of sunday would give me an opportunity. i spent the sabbath with my grandmother. a calmer; more beautiful day never came down out of heaven. to me it was a day of conflicting emotions. perhaps it was the last day i should ever spend under that dear, old sheltering roof! perhaps these were the last talks i should ever have with the faithful old friend of my whole life! perhaps it was the last time i and my children should be together! well, better so, i thought, than that they should be slaves. i knew the doom that awaited my fair baby in slavery, and i de- termined to save her from it, or perish in the attempt. i went to make this vow at the graves of my poor incidents in the life of a slave girl. parents, in the burying-ground of the slaves. “thore the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary be at rest. there the prisoners rest together; they hear not the voice of the oppressor; the servant is free from his master.” i knelt by the graves of my parents, and thanked god, as i had often done before, that they had not lived to witness my trials, or to mourn over my sins. i had received my mother's blessing when she died; and in many an hour of trib- ulation i had seemed to hear her voice, sometimes chiding me, sometimes whispering loving words into my wounded heart. i have shed many and bitter tears, to think that when i am gone from my children they cannot remember me with such entire satisfaction as i remembered my mother. the graveyard was in the woods, and twilight was coming on. nothing broke the death-like stillness ex- cept the occasional twitter of a bird. my spirit was overawed by the solemnity of the scene. for more than ten years i had frequented this spot, but never, had it seemed to me so sacred as now. a black stump, at the head of my mother's grave, was all that re- mained of a tree my father had planted. his grave was marked by a small wooden board, bearing his name, the letters of which were nearly obliterated. i knelt down and kissed them, and poured forth a prayer to god for guidance and support in the perilous step i was about to take. as i passed the wreck of the old meeting house, where, before nat turner's time, the slaves had been allowed to meet for worship, i seemed to hear my father's voice come from it, bid- ding me not to tarry till i reached freedom or the incidents in the life of a slave girl. give it up, linda. try to bear a little longer. things may turn out better than we expect.” my courage failed me, in view of the sorrow i should bring on that faithful, loving old heart. i promised that i would try longer, and that i would take nothing out of her house without her knowledge. whenever the children climbed on my knee, or laid their heads on my lap, she would say, “ poor little souls! what would you do without a mother? she don't love you as i do.” and she would hug them to her own bosom, as if to reproach me for my want of affection ; but she knew all the while that i loved them better than my life. i slept with her that night, and it was the last time. the memory of it haunted me for many a year. on monday i returned to the plantation, and busied myself with preparations for the important day. wed- nesday came. it was a beautiful day, and the faces of the slaves were as bright as the sunshine. the poor creatures were merry. they were expecting little presents from the bride, and hoping for better times under her administration. i had no such hopes for them. i knew that the young wives of slaveholders often thought their authority and importance would be best established and maintained by cruelty; and what i had heard of young mrs. flint gave me no reason to expect that her rule over them would be less severe than that of the master and overseer. truly, the colored race are the most cheerful and forgiving people on the face of the earth. that their masters sleep in safety is owing to their superabundance of heart; and yet they look upon their sufferings with less scenes at the plantation. pity than they would bestow on those of a horse or a dog. i stood at the door with others to receive the bride- groom and bride. she was a handsome, delicate-look- ing girl, and her face flushed with emotion at sight of her new home. i thought it likely that visions of a happy future were rising before her. it made me sad ; for i knew how soon clouds would come over her sun- shine. she examined every part of the house, and told me she was delighted with the arrangements i had made. i was afraid old mrs. flint had tried to prejudice her against me, and i did my best to please her. all passed off smoothly for me until dinner time arrived. i did not mind the embarrassment of wait- ing on a dinner party, for the first time in my life, half so much as i did the meeting with dr. flint and his wife, who would be among the guests. it was a mystery to me why mrs. flint had not made her ap- pearance at the plantation during all the time i was putting the house in order. i had not met her, face to face, for five years, and i had no wish to see her now. she was a praying woman, and, doubtless, considered my present position a special answer to her prayers. nothing could please her better than to see me hum- bled and trampled upon. i was just where she would have me — in the power of a hard, unprincipled mas- ter. she did not speak to me when she took her seat at table ; but her satisfied, triumphant smile, when i handed her plate, was more eloquent than words. the old doctor was not so quiet in his demonstrations. he ordered me here and there, and spoke with pecu- incidents in the life of a slave girl. liar emphasis when he said “your mistress.” i was drilled like a disgraced soldier. when all was over, and the last key turned, i sought my pillow, thank- ful that god had appointed a season of rest for the weary. the next day my new mistress began her housekeep- ing. i was not exactly appointed maid of all work ; but i was to do whatever i was told. monday evening came. it was always a busy time. on that night the slaves received their weekly allowance of food. three pounds of meat, a peck of corn, and perhaps a dozen herring were allowed to each man. women received a pound and a half of meat, a peck of corn, and the same number of herring. children over twelve years old had half the allowance of the women. the meat was cut and weighed by the foreman of the field hands, and piled on planks before the meat house. then the second foreman went behind the building, and when the first foreman called out, “ who takes this piece of meat ?” he answered by calling somebody's name. this method was resorted to as a means of preventing partiality in distributing the meat. the young mis tress came out to see how things were done on her plantation, and she soon gave a specimen of her char- acter. among those in waiting for their allowance was a very old slave, who had faithfully served the flint family through three generations. when he hobbled up to get his bit of meat, the mistress said he was too old to have any allowance; that when niggers were too old to work, they ought to be fed on grass. poor old man! he suffered much before he found rest in the grave. the flight. xvii. the flight. mr. flint was hard pushed for house servants, and rather than lose me he had restrained his malice. i did my work faithfully, though not, of course, with a willing mind. they were evidently afraid i should leave them. mr. flint wished that i should sleep in the great house instead of the servants' quarters. his wife agreed to the proposition, but said i mustn't bring my bed into the house, because it would scatter feathers on her carpet. i knew when i went there that they would never think of such a thing as furnish- ing a bed of any kind for me and my little one. i therefore carried my own bed, and now i was forbidden to use it. i did as i was ordered. but now that i was certain my children were to be put in their power, in order to give them a stronger hold on me, i resolved to leave them that night. i remembered the grief this step would bring upon my dear old grand- mother; and nothing less than the freedom of my chil- dren would have induced me to disregard her advice. i went about my evening work with trembling steps. mr. flint twice called from his chamber door to in- quire why the house was not locked up. i replied that i had not done my work. “you have had time enough to do it,” said he. «take care how you answer me!” i shut all the windows, locked all the doors, and went up to the third story, to wait till midnight. how incidents in the life of a slave girl. mother's inquiring for me. she told him she had not seen me, and supposed i was at the plantation. he watched her face narrowly, and said, “ don't you know any thing about her running off ?” she assured him that she did not. he went on to say, “ last night she ran off without the least provocation. we had treated her very kindly. my wife liked her. she will soon be foupd and brought back. are her children with you ?” when told that they were, he said, “ i am very glad to hear that. if they are here, she cannot be far off. if i find out that any of my niggers have had any thing to do with this damned business, i'll give 'em five hundred lashes.” as he started to go to his father's, he turned round and added, persuasively, “ let her be brought back, and she shall have her children to live with her.” the tidings made the old doctor rave and storm at a furious rate. it was a busy day for them. my grandmother's house was searched from top to bottom. as my trunk was empty, they concluded i had taken my clothes with me. before ten o'clock every vessel northward bound was thoroughly examined, and the law against harboring fugitives was read to all on board. at night a watch was set over the town. knowing how distressed my grandmother would be, i wanted to send her a message ; but it could not be done. every one who went in or out of her house was closely watched. the doctor said he would take my children, unless she became responsible for them; which of course she willingly did. the next day was spent in searching. before night, the following ad- vertisement was posted at every corner, and in every public place for miles round:- the flight. “$ reward! ran away from the subscriber, an intelligent, bright, mulatto girl, named linda, years of age. five feet four inches high. dark eyes, and black hair inclined to curl ; but it can be made straight. has a decayed spot on a front tooth. she can read and write, and in all probability will try to get to the free states. all persons are for- bidden, under penalty of the law, to harbor or employ said slave. $ will be given to whoever takes her in the state, and $ if taken out of the state and delivered to me, or lodged in jail. dr. flint.” е incidents in the life of a slave girl. xviii. months of peril. the search for me was kept up with more perse- verence than i had anticipated. i began to think that escape was impossible. i was in great anxiety lest i should implicate the friend who harbored me. i knew the consequences would be frightful; and much as i dreaded being caught, even that seemed better than causing an innocent person to suffer for kindness to me. a week had passed in terrible suspense, when my pur- suers came into such close vicinity that i concluded they had tracked me to my hiding-place. i flew out of the house, and concealed myself in a thicket of bushes. there i remained in an agony of fear for two hours. suddenly, a reptile of some kind seized my leg. in my fright, i struck a blow which loosened its hold, but i could not tell whether i had killed it; it was so dark, i could not see what it was ; i only knew it was something cold and slimy. the pain i felt soon indicated that the bite was poisonous. i was compelled to leave my place of concealment, and i groped my way back into the house. the pain had become intense, and my friend was startled by my look of anguish. i asked her to prepare a poultice of warm ashes and vinegar, and i applied it to my leg, which was already much swollen. the application gąve me some relief, but the swelling did not abate. the dread of being disabled was greater than the physical pain i endured. months of peril. my friend asked an old woman, who doctored among the slaves, what was good for the bite of a snake or a lizard. she told her to steep a dozen coppers in vine- gar, over night, and apply the cankered vinegar to the inflamed part.* i had succecded in cautiously conveying some mes- sages to my relatives. they were harshly threatened, and despairing of my having a chance to escape, they advised me to return to my master, ask his forgiveness, and let him make an example of me. but such coun- sel had no influence with me. when i started upon this hazardous undertaking, i had resolved that, come what would, there should be no turning back. “ give me liberty, or give me death,” was my motto. when my friend contrived to make known to my relatives the painful situation i had been in for twenty-four hours, they said no more about my going back to my master. something must be done, and that speedily ; but where to turn for help, they knew not. god in his mercy raised up" a friend in need.” among the ladies who were acquainted with my grandmother, was one who had known her from child- hood, and always been very friendly to her. she had also known my mother and her children, and felt inter- ested for them. at this crisis of affairs she called to see my grandmother, as she not unfrequently did. she observed the sad and troubled expression of her face, and asked if she knew where linda was, and whether * the poison of a snake is a powerful acid, and is counteracted by pow. erful alkalies, such as potash, ammonia, &c. the indians are accustomed to apply wet ashes, or plunge the limb into strong lie. white men, em- ployed to lay out railroads in snaky places, often carry ammonia with them as an artidote. - editor. months of peril. ing who i was to meet, or where i was going. i did not like to move thus blindfolded, but i had no choice. it would not do for me to remain where i was. i dis- guised myself, summoned up courage to meet the worst, and went to the appointed place. my friend betty was there; she was the last person i expected to see. we hurried along in silence. the pain in my leg was so intense that it seemed as if i should drop; but fear gave me strength. we reached the house and entered unobserved. her first words were : “ honey, now you is safe. dem devils ain't coming to search dis house. when i get you into missis' safe place, i will bring some nice hot supper. i specs you need it after all dis skeering.” betty's vocation led her to think eating the most important thing in life. she did not realize that my heart was too full for me to care much about supper. the mistress came to meet us, and led me up stairs to a small room over her own sleeping apartment. “ you will be safe here, linda,” said she; “i keep this room to store away things that are out of use. the girls are not accustomed to be sent to it, and they will not suspect any thing unless they hear some noise. i always keep it locked, and betty shall take care of the key. but you must be very careful, for my sake as well as your own; and you must never tell my secret; for it would ruin me and my family. i will keep the girls busy in the morning, that betty may have a chance to bring your breakfast; but it will not do for her to come to you again till night. i will come to see you sometimes. keep up your courage. i hope this state of things will not last long." betty came with the incidents in the life of a slave girl. nice hot supper," and the mistress hastened down stairs to keep things straight till she returned. how my heart overflowed with gratitude! words choked in my throat; but i could have kissed the feet of my benefactress. for that deed of christian womanhood, may god forever bless her! i went to sleep that night with the feeling that i was for the present the most fortunate slave in town. morning came and filled my little cell with light. i thanked the heavenly father for this safe retreat. opposite my window was a pile of feather beds. on the top of these i could lie perfectly concealed, and command a view of the street through which dr. flint passed to his office. apxious as i was, i felt a gleam of satisfaction when i saw him. thus far i had out- witted him, and i triumphed over it. who can blame slaves for being cunning ? they are constantly com- pelled to resort to it. it is the only weapon of the weak and oppressed against the strength of their tyrants. i was daily hoping to hear that my master had sold my children; for i knew who was on the watch to buy them. but dr. flint cared even more for revenge than he did for money. my brother william, and the good aunt who had served in his family twenty years, and my little benny, and ellen, who was a little over two years old, were thrust into jail, as a means of com- pelling my relatives to give some information about me. he swore my grandmother should never see one of them again till i was brought back. they kept these facts from me for several days. when i heard that my little ones were in a loathsome jail, my first impulse months of peril. was to go to them. i was encountering dangers for the sake of freeing them, and must i be the cause of their death? the thought was agonizing. my benefac- tress tried to soothe me by telling me that my aunt would take good care of the children while they remained in jail. but it added to my pain to think that the good old aunt, who had always been so kind to her sister's orphan children, should be shut up in prison for no other crime than loving them. i suppose my friends feared a reckless movement on my part, knowing, as they did, that my life was bound up in my children. i received a note from my brother william. it was scarcely legible, and ran thus: “wherever you are, dear sister, i beg of you not to come here. we are all much better off than you are. if you come, you will ruin us all. they would force you to tell where you had been, or they would kill you. take the ad- vice of your friends ; if not for the sake of me and your children, at least for the sake of those you would ruin.” poor william! he also must suffer for being my brother. i took his advice and kept quiet. my aunt was taken out of jail at the end of a month, because mrs. flint could not spare her any longer. she was tired of being her own housekeeper. it was quite too fatiguing to order her dinner and eat it too. my children remained in jail, where brother william did all he could for their comfort. betty went to see them sometimes, and brought me tidings. she was not per- mitted to enter the jail ; but william would hold them up to the grated window while she chatted with them. when she repeated their prattle, and told me how they incidents in the life of a slave girl. wanted to see their ma, my tears would flow. old betty would exclaim, “lors, chile! what's you crying 'bout? dem young uns vil kill you dead. don't be so chick’n hearted! if you does, you vil nebber git thro’ dis world.” good old soul! she had gone through the world childless. she had never had little ones to clasp their arms round her neck; she had never seen their soft eyes looking into hers; no sweet little voices had called her mother; she had never pressed her own infants to her heart, with the feeling that even in fetters there was something to live for. how could she realize my feelings? betty's husband loved children dearly, and wondered why god had denied them to him. he ex- pressed great sorrow when he came to betty with the tidings that ellen had been taken out of jail and carried to dr. flint's. she had the measles a short time before they carried her to jail, and the disease had left her eyes affected. the doctor had taken her home to attend to them. my children had always been afraid of the doctor and his wife. they had never been inside of their house. poor little ellen cried all day to be carried back to prison. the instincts of childhood are true. she knew she was loved in the jail. her screams and sobs annoyed mrs. flint. be- fore night she called one of the slaves, and said, “ here, bill, carry this brat back to the jail. i can't stand her noise. if she would be quiet i should like to keep the little minx. she would make a handy wait- ing-maid for my daughter by and by. but if she staid here, with her white face, i suppose i should either kill her or spoil her. i hope the doctor will months of peril. well them as far as wind and water can carry them. as for their mother, her ladyship will find out yet what she gets by running away. she hasn't so much feeling for her children as a cow has for its calf. if she had, she would have come back long ago, to get them out of jail, and save all this expense and trouble. the good-for-nothing hussy! when she is caught, she shall stay in jail, in irons, for one six months, and then be sold to a sugar plantation. i shall see her broke in yet. what do you stand there for, bill ? why don't you go off with the brat? mind, now, that you don't let any of the niggers speak to her in the street!” when these remarks were reported to me, i smiled at mrs. flint's saying that she should either kill my child or spoil her. i thought to myself there was very little danger of the latter. i have always considered it as one of god's special providences that ellen screamed till she was carried back to jail. that same night dr. flint was called to a patient, and did not return till near morning. passing my grandmother's, he saw a light in the house, and thought to himself, “ perhaps this has something to do with linda.” he knocked, and the door was opened. “what calls you up so early ?” said he. “ i saw your light, and i thought i would just stop and tell you that. i have found out where linda is. i know where to put my hands on her, and i shall have her before twelve o'clock.” when he had turned away, my grandmother and my uncle looked anxiously at each other. they did not know whether or not it was merely one of the doctor's tricks to frighten them. in their uncertainty, they thought it was best to have a incidents in the life of a slave girl. message conveyed to my friend betty. unwilling to alarm her mistress, betty resolved to dispose of me herself. she came to me, and told me to rise and dress quickly. we hurried down stairs, and across the yard, into the kitchen. she locked the door, and lifted up a plank in the floor. a buffalo skin and a bit of carpet were spread for me to lie on, and a quilt thrown over me. “stay dar," said she,“ till i sees if dey know 'bout you. dey say dey vil put thar hans on you afore twelve o'clock. if dey did know whar you are, dey won't know now. dey'll be disapinted dis time. dat's all i got to say. if dey comes rum- magin 'mong my tings, dey'll get one bressed sarssin from dis 'ere nigger.” in my shallow bed i had but just room enqugh to bring my hands to my face to keep the dust out of my eyes; for betty walked over me twenty times in an hour, passing from the dresser to the fireplace. when she was alone, i could hear her pronouncing anathemas over dr. flint and all his tribe, every now and then saying, with a chuckling laugh, “dis nigger's too cute for 'em dis time." when the housemaids were about, she had sly ways of drawing them out, that i might hear what they would say. she would repeat stories she had heard about my being in this, or that, or the other place. to which they would answer, that i was not fool enough to be staying round there; that i was in philadelphia or new york before this time. when all were abed and asleep, betty raised the plank, and said, “ come out, chile; come out. dey don't know nottin 'bout you. 'twas only white folks' lies, to skeer de niggers.” some days after this adventure i had a much worse months of peril. fright. as i sat very still in my retreat above stairs, cheerful visions floated through my mind. i thought dr. flint would soon get discouraged, and would be willing to sell my children, when he lost all hopes of making them the means of my discovery. i knew who was ready to buy them. suddenly i heard a voice that chilled my blood. the sound was too familiar to me, it had been too dreadful, for me not to recognize at once my old master. he was in the house, and i at once concluded he had come to seize me. i looked round in terror. there was no way of escape. the voice receded. i supposed the constable was with him, and they were searching the house. in my alarm i did not forget the trouble i was bringing on my gener- ous benefactress. it seemed as if i were born to bring sorrow on all who befriended me, and that was the bitterest drop in the bitter cup of my life. after a while i heard approaching footsteps; the key was turned in my door. i braced myself against the wall to keep from falling. i ventured to look up, and there stood my kind benefactress alone. i was too much overcome to speak, and sunk down upon the floor. “i thought you would hear your master's voice," she said ; " and knowing you would be terrified, i came to tell you there is nothing to fear. you may even indulge in a laugh at the old gentleman's ex- pense. he is so sure you are in new york, that he came to borrow five hundred dollars to go in pursuit of you. my sister had some money to loan on interest. he has obtained it, and proposes to start for new york to-night. so, for the present, you see you are safe. the doctor will merely lighten his pocket hunting after the bird he has left behind.” incidents in the life of a slave girl. xix. the children sold. the doctor came back from new york, of course without accomplishing his purpose. he had expended considerable money, and was rather disheartened. my brother and the children had now been in jail two months, and that also was some expense. my friends thought it was a favorable time to work on his dis- couraged feelings. · mr. sands sent a speculator to offer him nine hundred dollars for my brother wil- liam, and eight hundred for the two children. these were high prices, as slaves were then selling; but the offer was rejected. if it had been merely a question of money, the doctor would have sold. any boy of benny's age for two hundred dollars; but he could not bear to give up the power of revenge. but he was hard pressed for money, and he revolved the matter in his mind. he knew that if he could keep ellen till she was fifteen, he could sell her for a high price; but i presume he reflected that she might die, or might be stolen away. at all events, he came to the conclusion that he had better accept the slave-trader's offer. meeting him in the street, he inquired when he would leave town. “to-day, at ten o'clock,” he replied. “ah, do you go so soon?”, said the doctor; “i have been reflecting upon your proposition, and i have con- cluded to let you have the three negroes if you will say nineteen hundred dollars.” after some parley, incidents in the life of a slave girl. wrong for him to take grandmother's children. i want to go to my mother.” my grandmother was told that the children would be restored to her, but she was requested to act as if they were really to be sent away. accordingly, she made up a bundle of clothes and went to the jail. when she arrived, she found william handcuffed among the gang, and the children in the trader's cart. the scene seemed too much like reality. she was afraid there might have been some deception or mis- take. she fainted, and was carried home. when the wagon stopped at the hotel, several gentle men came out and proposed to purchase william, but the trader refused their offers, without stating that he was already sold. and now came the trying hour for that drove of human beings, driven away like cattle, to be sold they knew not where. husbands were torn from wives, parents from children, never to look upon each other again this side the grave. there was wringing of hands and cries of despair. dr. flint had the supreme satisfaction of seeing the wagon leave town, and mrs. flint had the gratification of supposing that my children were going “ as far as wind and water would carry them.” according to agreement, my uncle followed the wagon some miles, until they came to an old farm house. there the trader took the irons from william, and as he did so, he said, “ you are a damned clever fellow. i should like to own you myself. them gentlemen that wanted to buy you said you was a bright, honest chap, and i must git you a good home. i guess your old master will swear tomorrow, and call himself an old fool for indir the children sold. selling the children. i reckon he'll never git their mammy back agin. i expect she's made tracks for the north. good by, old boy. remember, i have done you a good turn. you must thank me by coax- ing all the pretty gals to go with me next fall. that's going to be my last trip. this trading in niggers is a bad business for a fellow that's got any heart. move on, you fellows !” and the gang went on, god alone knows where. much as i despise and detest the class of slave-traders, whom i regard as the vilest wretches on earth, i must do this man the justice to say that he seemed to have some feeling. he took a fancy to william in the jail, and wanted to buy him. when he heard the story of my children, he was willing to aid them in getting out of dr. flint's power, even without charging the customary fee. : my uncle procured a wagon and carried william and the children back to town. great was the joy in my grandmother's house! the curtains were closed, and the candles lighted. the happy grand- mother cuddled the little ones to her bosom. they hugged her, and kissed her, and clapped their hands, and shouted. she knelt down and poured forth one of her heartfelt prayers of thanksgiving to god. the father was present for a while; and though such a “ parental relation ” as existed between him and my children takes slight hold of the hearts or consciences of slaveholders, it must be that he experienced some • moments of pure joy in witnessing the happiness he had imparted. i had no share in the rejoicings of that evening, incidents in the life of a slave girl. the events of the day had not come to my knowledge. and now i will tell you something that happened to me; though you will, perhaps, think it illustrates the superstition of slaves. i sat in my usual place on the floor near the window, where i could hear much that was said in the street without being seen. the family had retired for the night, and all was still. i sat there thinking of my children, when i heard a low strain of music. a band of serenaders were under the window, playing “home, sweet home.” i listened till the sounds did not seem like music, but like the moaning of children. it seemed as if my heart would burst. i rose from my sitting posture, and knelt. a streak of moonlight was on the floor before me, and in the midst of it appeared the forms of my two children. they vanished; but i had seen them distinctly. . some will call it a dream, others a vision. i know not how to account for it, but it made a strong impression on my mind, and i felt certain something had happened to my little ones. :: i had not seen betty since morning. now i heard her softly turning the key. as soon as she entered, i clung to her, and begged her to let me know whether my children were dead, or whether they were sold; for i had seen their spirits in my room, and i was sure something had happened to them. “lor, chile,” said she, putting her arms round me, "you's got de high- sterics. i'll sleep wid you to-night, 'cause you'll make a noise, and ruin missis. something has stirred you up mightily. when you is done cryin, i'll talk wid you. de chillern is well, and mighty happy. i seed 'em my. self. does dat satisfy you? dar, chile, be still! some- the children sold. body vill hear you,” i tried to obey her. she lay down, and was soon sound asleep; but no sleep would come to my eyelids. at dawn, betty was up and off to the kitchen. the hours passed on, and the vision of the night kept con- stantly recurring to my thoughts. after a while i heard the voices of two women in the entry. in one of them i recognized the housemaid. the other said to her, “ did you know linda brent's children was sold to the speculator yesterday. they say ole massa flint was mighty glad to see 'em drove out of town; but they say they've come back agin. i’spect it's all their daddy's doings. they say he's bought william too. lor! how it will take hold of ole massa flint! i'm going roun' to aunt marthy's to see 'bout it.” i bit my lips till the blood came to keep from cry, ing out. were my children with their grandmother, or had the speculator carried them off? the suspense was dreadful. would betty never come, and tell me the truth about it? at last she came, and i eagerly repeated what i had overheard. her face was one broad, bright smile. “lor, you foolish ting!” said she. “i'se gwine to tell you all 'bout it. de gals is eating thar breakfast, and missus tole me to let her tell- you; but, poor creeter! t'aint right to keep you waitin', and i'sę gwine to tell you. brudder, chillern, all is bought by de daddy! i'se laugh more dan nuff, tinking 'bout ole massa flint. lor, how he vill swar! he's got ketched dis time, any how; but i must be getting out o' dis, or dem gals vill come and ketch me.” betty went off laughing; and i said to myself, "can it be true that my children are free ? i have not suf- fered for them in vain. thank god!” incidents in the life of a slave girl. great surprise was expressed when it was known that my children had returned to their grandmother’s. the news spread through the town, and many a kind word was bestowed on the little ones. dr. flint went to my grandmother's to ascertain who was the owner of my children, and she informed him. " i expected as much,” said he. “i am glad to hear it. i have had news from linda lately, and i shall soon have her. you need never expect to see her free. she shall be my slave as long as i live, and when i am dead she shall be the slave of my children. if i ever find out that you or phillip had any thing to do with her running off i'll kill him. and if i meet william in the street, and he presumes to look at me, i'll flog him within an inch of his life. keep those brats out. of my sight!”. as he turned to leave, my grandmother said some thing to remind him of his own doings. he looked back upon her, as if he would have been glad to strike her to the ground. i had my season of joy and thanksgiving. it was the first time since my childhood that i had ex- perienced any real happiness. i heard of the old doctor's threats, but they no longer had the same power to trouble me. the darkest cloud that hung over my life had rolled away. whatever slavery might do to me, it could not shackle my children. if i fell a sacrifice, my little ones were saved. it was well for me that my simple heart believed all that had been promised for their welfare. it is always better to trust than to doubt. incidents in the life of a slave girl. was renewed. something had excited suspicions that i was in the vicinity. they searched the house i was in. i heard their steps and their voices. at night, when all were asleep, betty came to release me from my place of confinement. the fright i had under- gone, the constrained posture, and the dampness of the ground, made me ill for several days. my uncle was soon after taken out of prison ; but the movements of all my relatives, and of all our friends, were very closely watched. · we all saw that i could not remain where i was much longer. i had already staid longer than was intended, and i knew my presence must be à source of perpetual anxiety to my kind benefactress. during this time, my friends had laid many plans for my escape, but the extreme vigilance of my persecutors made it impossible to carry them into effect. one morning i was much startled by hearing some- body trying to get into my room. several keys were tried, but none fitted. i instantly conjectured it was one of the housemaids; and i concluded she must either have heard some noise in the room, or have noticed the entrance of betty. when my friend came, at her usual time, i told her what had happened. "i knows who it was," said she. “'pend upon it, 'twas dat jenny. dat nigger allers got de debble in her.” i suggested that she might have seen or heard something that excited her curiosity. “ tut! tut! chile !” exclaimed betty, “she ain't seen notin', nor hearn notin'. she only 'spects some- ting. dat's all. she wants to fine out who hab cut and make my gownd. but she won't nebber know. dat's sartin. i'll git missis to fix her.” incidents in the life of a slave girl. you to de lower gate. put your hands in your pock- ets, and walk ricketty, like de sailors." · i performed to her satisfaction. at the gate i found peter, a young colored man, waiting for me. i had known him for years. he had been an apprentice to my father, and had always borne a good character. i was not afraid to trust to him. betty bade me a hur- ried good by, and we walked off. “take courage, linda,” said my friend peter. “i've got a dagger, and no man shall take you from me, unless he passes over my dead body.” it was a long time since i had taken a walk out of doors, and the fresh air revived me. it was also pleas- ant to hear a human voice speaking to me above a whis- per. i passed several people whom i knew, but they did not recognize me in my disguise. i prayed inter- nally that, for peter's sake, as well as my own, nothing might occur to bring out his dagger. we walked on till we came to the wharf. my aunt nancy's husband was a seafaring man, and it had been deemed neces- sary to let him into our secret. he took me into his boat, rowed out to a vessel not far distant, and hoisted me on board. we three were the only occupants of the vessel. i now ventured to ask what they proposed to do with me. they said i was to remain on board till near dawn, and then they would hide me in snaky swamp, till my uncle phillip had prepared a place of concealment for me. if the vessel had been bound north, it would have been of no avail to me, for it would certainly have been searched. about our o'clock, we were again seated in the boat, and rowed three miles to the swamp. my fear of snakes had been new perils. increased by the venomous bite i had received, and i dreaded to enter this hiding-place. but i was in no situation to choose, and i gratefully accepted the best that my poor, persecuted friends could do for me.. peter landed first, and with a large knife cut a path through bamboos and briers of all descriptions. he came back, took me in his arms, and carried me to a seat made among the bamboos. before we reached it, we were covered with hundreds of mosquitos. in an hour's time they had so poisoned my flesh that i was a pitiful sight to behold. as the light increased, i saw snake after snake crawling round us. i had been accustomed to the sight of snakes all my life, but these were larger than any i had ever seen. to this day i shudder when i remember that morning. as evening approached, the number of snakes increased so much that we were continually obliged to thrash them with sticks to keep them from crawling over us. the bam- boos were so high and so thick that it was impossible to see beyond a very short distance. just before it became dark we procured a seat nearer to the entrance of the swamp, being fearful of losing our way back to the boat. it was not long before we heard the paddle of oars, and the low whistle, which had been agreed upon as a signal. we made haste to enter the boat, and were rowed back to the vessel. i passed a wretched night; for the heat of the swamp, the mosquitos, and the constant terror of snakes, had brought on a burn- ing fever. i had just dropped asleep, when they came and told me it was time to go back to that horrid swamp. i could scarcely summon courage to rise. but even those large, venomous snakes were less dread. incidents in the life of a slave girl. ful to my imagination than the white men in that community called civilized. this time peter took a quantity of tobacco to burn, to keep off the mosqui- tos. it produced the desired effect on them, but gare me nausea and severe headache. at dark we returned to the vessel. i had been so sick during the day, that peter declared i should go home that night, if the devil himself was on patrol. they told me a place of concealment had been provided for me at my grand- mother's. i could not imagine how it was possible to hide me in her house, every nook and corner of which was known to the flint family. they told me to wait and see. we were rowed ashore, and went boldly through the streets, to my grandmother's. i wore my sailor's clothes, and had blackened my face with char- coal. i passed several people whom i knew. the father of my children came so near that i brushed against his arm; but he had no idea who it was. “ you must make the most of this walk,” said my friend peter, “ for you may not have another very soon.” i thought his voice sounded sad. it was kind of him to conceal from me what a dismal hole was to be my home for a long, long time. the loophole of retreat. xxi. the loophole of retreat. a small shed had been added to my grandmother's house years ago. some boards were laid across the joists at the top, and between these boards and the roof was a very small garret, never occupied by any thing but rats and mice. it was a pent roof, covered with nothing but shingles, according to the southern cus- tom for such buildings. the garret was only nine feet long and seven wide. the highest part was three feet high, and sloped down abruptly to the loose board floor. there was no admission for either light or air. my uncle philip, who was a carpenter, had very skil- fully made a concealed trap-door, which communicated with the storeroom. he had been doing this while i was waiting in the swamp. the storeroom opened upon a piazza. to this hole i was conveyed as soon as i entered the house. the air was stilling; the dark- ness total. a bed had been spread on the floor. i could sleep quite comfortably on one side ; but the slope was so sudden that i could not turn on the other with- out hitting the roof. the rats and mice ran over my bed; but i was weary, and i slept such sleep as the wretched may, when a tempest has passed over them. morning came. i knew it only by the noises i heard ; for in my small den day and night were all the same. i suffered for air even more than for light. but i was not comfortless. i heard the voices of my children. incidents in the life of a slave girl. there was joy and there was sadness in the sound. it made my tears flow. how i longed to speak to them ! i was eager to look on their faces; but there was no hole, no crack, through which i could peep. this con- tinued darkness was oppressive. it seemed horrible to sit or lie in a cramped position day after day, without one gleam of light. yet i would have chosen this, rather than my lot as a slave, though white people considered it an easy one; and it was so compared with the fate of others. i was never cruelly over-worked ; i was never lacerated with the whip from head to foot; i was never so beaten and bruised that i could not turn from one side to the other; i never had my heel-strings cut to prevent my running away; i was never chained to a log and forced to drag it about, while i toiled in the fields from morning till night; i was never branded with hot iron, or torn by bloodhounds. on the con- trary, i had always been kindly treated, and tenderly cared for, until i came into the hands of dr. flint, i had never wished for freedom till then. but though my life in slavery was comparatively devoid of hard- ships, god pity the woman who is compelled to lead such a life! my food was passed up to me through the trap-door my uncle liad contrived ; and my grandmother, my uncle phillip, and aunt nancy would seize such oppor- tunities as they could, to mount up there and chat with me at the opening. but of course this was not safe in the daytime. it must all be done in darkness. it was impossible for me to move in an erect position, but i crawled about my den for exercise. one day i hit my head against something, and found it was a gimlet. the loophole of retreat. my uncle had left it sticking there when he made the trap-door. i was as rejoiced as robinson crusoe could have been at finding such a treasure. it put a lucky thought into my head. i said to myself, “ now i will have some light. now i will see my children.” i did not dare to begin my work during the daytime, for fear of attracting attention. but i groped round; and hav- ing found the side next the street, where i could fre- quently see my children, i stuck the gimlet in and waited for evening. i bored three rows of holes, one above another; then i bored out the interstices between. i thus succeeded in making one hole about an inch long and an inch broad. i sat by it till late into the night, to enjoy the little whiff of air that floated in. in the morning i watched for my children. the first person i saw in the street was dr. flint. i had a shuddering, superstitious feeling that it was a bad omen. several familiar faces passed by. at last i heard the merry laugh of children, and presently two sweet little faces were looking up at me, as though they knew i was there, and were conscious of the joy they imparted. how. i longed to tell them i was there ! my condition was now a little improved. but for weeks i was tormented by hundreds of little red insects, fine as a needle's point, that pierced through my skin, and pro- duced an intolerable burning. the good grandmother gave me herb teas and cooling medicines, and finally i got rid of them. the heat of my den was intense, for nothing but thin shingles protected me from the scorching summer's sun. but i had my consolations. through my peeping-hole i could watch the children, and when they were near enough, i could hear their talk. incidents in the life of a slave gisl. aunt nancy brought me all the news she could hear at dr. flint's. from her i learned that the doctor had written to new york to a colored woman, who had been born and raised in our neighborhood, and had breathed his contaminating atmosphere. he offered her a reward if she could find out any thing about me. i know not what was the nature of her reply; but he soon after started for new york in haste, saying to his family that he had business of importance to transact. i peeped at him as he passed on his way to the steam- boat. it was a satisfaction to have miles of land and water between us, even for a little while; and it was a still greater satisfaction to know that he believed me to be in the free states. my little den seemed less dreary than it had done. he returned, as he did from his former journey to new york, without obtaining any satisfactory information. when he passed our house next morning, benny was standing at the gate. he had heard them say that he had gone to find me, and he called out, “ dr. flint, did you bring my mother home? i want to see her.” the doctor stamped his foot at him in a rage, and exclaimed, “ get out of the way, you little damned rascal! if you don't, i'll cut off your head." benny ran terrified into the house, saying, “you can't put me in jail again. i don't belong to you now." it was well that the wind carried the words away from the doctor's ear. i told my grandmother of it, when we had our next conference at the trap-door; and begged of her not to allow the children to be impertinent to the irascible old man. autumn came, with a pleasant abatement of heat. the loophole of retreat my eyes had become accustomed to the dim light, and by holding my book or work in a certain position near the aperture i contrived to read and sew. . that was a great relief to the tedious monotony of my life. but when winter came, the cold penetrated through the thin shingle roof, and i was dreadfully chilled. the winters there are not so long, or so severe, as in northern lati- tudes; but the houses are not built to shelter from cold, and my little den was peculiarly comfortless. the kind grandmother brought me bed-clothes and warm drinks. often i was obliged to lie in bed all day to keep com- fortable; but with all my precautions, my shoulders and feet were frostbitten. o, those long, gloomy days, with no object for my eye to rest upon, and no thoughts to occupy my mind, except the dreary past and the un- certain future! i was thankful when there came a day sufficiently mild for me to wrap myself up and sit at the loophole to watch the passers by. southerners have the habit of stopping and talking in the streets, and i heard many conversations not intended to meet my ears. i heard slave-hunters planning how to catch some poor fugitive. several times i heard allusions to dr. flint, myself, and the history of my children, who, perhaps, were playing near the gate. one would say, “i wouldn't move my little finger to catch her, as old flint's property.” another would say, “i'll catch any nigger for the reward. a man ought to have what belongs to him, if he is a damned brute.” the opin- ion was often expressed that i was in the free states. very rarely did any one suggest that i might be in the vicinity. had the least suspicion rested on my grand- mother's house, it would have been burned to the ground. incidents in the life of a slave girl. but it was the last place they thought of. yet there was no place, where slavery existed, that could have afforded me so good a place of concealment. dr. flint and his family repeatedly tried to coax and bribe my children to tell something they had heard said about me. one day the doctor took them into a shop, and offered them some bright little silver pieces and gay handkerchiefs if they would tell where their mother was. ellen shrank away from him, and would not speak ; but benny spoke up, and said, “ dr. flint, i don't know where my mother is. i guess she's in new york; and when you go there again, i wish you'd ask her to come home, for i want to see her ; but if you put her in jail, or tell her you'll cut her head off, i'll tell her to go right back.” chriſtmas feſtivities. xxii. christmas festivities. christmas was approaching. grandmother brought me materials, and i busied myself making some new garments and little playthings for my children. were it not that hiring day is near at hand, and many fami- lies are fearfully looking forward to the probability of separation in a few days, christmas might be a happy season for the poor slaves. even slave mothers try to gladden the hearts of their little ones on that occasion. benny and ellen had their christmas stockings filled. their imprisoned mother could not have the privilege of witnessing their surprise and joy. but i had the pleasure of peeping at them as they went into the street with their new suits on. i heard benny ask a little playmate whether santa claus brought him any thing." yes," replied the boy ; " but santa claus ain't a real man. it's the children's mothers that put things into the stockings.” “no, that can't be," re- plied benny, “ for santa claus brought ellen and me these new clothes, and my mother has been gone this long time.” how i longed to tell him that his mother made those garments, and that many a tear fell on them while she worked ! · every child rises early on christmas morning to see the johnkannaus. without them, cliristmas would incidents in the life of a slave girl. whip him as much as he liked ; and that was a privi- lege to be coveted. when the guests were ready to depart, my grandmother gave each of them some of her nice pudding, as a present for their wives. through my peep-hole i saw them go out of the gate, and i was glad when it closed after them. so passed the first christmas in my den. still in priſon. xxiii. still in prison. when spring returned, and i took in the little patch of green the aperture commanded, i asked myself how many more summers and winters i must be condemned to spend thus. i longed to draw in a plentiful draught of fresh air, to stretch my cramped limbs, to have room to stand erect, to feel the earth under my feet again. my relatives were constantly on the lookout for a chance of escape ; but none offered that seemed prac- ticable, and even tolerably safe. the hot summer came again, and made the turpentine drop from the thin roof over my head. during the long nights i was restless for want of air, and i had no room to toss and turn. there was but one compensation ; the atmosphere was so stifled that even mosquitos would not condescend to buzz in it. with all my detestation of dr. flint, i could hard- ly wish him a worse punishment, either in this world or that which is to come, than to suffer what i suffered in one single summer. yet the laws allowed him to be out in the free air, while i, guiltless of crime, was pent up here, as the only means of avoiding the cruelties the laws allowed him to inflict upon me! i don't know what kept life within me. again and again, i thought i should die before long; but i saw the leaves of another autumn whirl through the air, and felt the touch of another winter. in summer the most terri- incidents in the life of a slave girl. ble thunder storms were acceptable, for the rain came through the roof, and i rolled up my bed that it mighi cool the hot boards under it. later in the season, storms sometimes wet my clothes through and through, and that was not comfortable when the air grew chilly. moderate storms i could keep out by filling the chinks with oakum. but uncomfortable as my situation was, i had glimpses of things out of doors, which made me thank- ful for my wretched hiding-place. one day i saw a slave pass our gate, muttering, “ it's his own, and he can kill it if he will.” my grandmother told me that woman's history. her mistress had that day seen her baby for the first time, and in the lineaments of its fair face she saw a likeness to her husband. she turned the bondwoman and her child out of doors, and for- bade her ever to return. the slave went to her mas- ter, and told him what had happened. he promised to talk with her mistress, and make it all right. the next day she and her baby were sold to a georgia trader. another time i saw a woman rush wildly by, pur- sued by two men. she was a slave, the wet nurse of her mistress's children. for some trifling offence her mistress ordered her to be stripped and whipped. to escape the degradation and the torture, she rushed to the river, jumped in, and ended her wrongs in death, senator brown, of mississippi, could not be ignorant of many such facts as these, for they are of frequent occurrence in every southern state. yet he stood up in the congress of the united states, and declared that slavery was “ a great moral, social, and political bless- will in frilon. still in priſon. : ing; a blessing to the master, and a blessing to the slave!" i suffered much more during the second winter than i did during the first. my limbs were benumbed by inaction, and the cold filled them with cramp. i had a very painful sensation of coldness in my head ; even my face and tongue stiffened, and i lost the power of speech. of course it was impossible, under the cir- cumstances, to summon any physician. my brother william came and did all he could for me. uncle phillip also watched tenderly over me; and poor grand- mother crept up and down to inquire whether there were any signs of returning life. i was restored to consciousness by the dashing of cold water in my face, and found myself leaning against my brother's arm, while he bent over me with streaming eyes. he after- wards told me he thought i was dying, for i had been in an unconscious state sixteen hours. i next became delirious, and was in great danger of betraying myself and my friends. to prevent this, they stupefied me with drugs. i remained in bed six weeks, weary in body and sick at heart. how to get medical advice was the question. william finally went to a thompso- uian doctor, and described himself as having all my pains and aches. he returned with herbs, roots, and ointment. he was especially charged to rub on the ointment by a fire; but how could a fire be made in my little den? charcoal in a furnace was tried, but there was no outlet for the gas, and it nearly cost me my life. afterwards coals, already kindled, were brought up in an iron pan, and placed on bricks. i was so weak, and it was so long since i had enjoyed the warmth of a fire, incidents in the life of a slave girl. that those few coals actually made me weep. i think the medicines did me some good; but my recovery was very slow. dark thoughts passed through my mind as i lay there day after day. i tried to be thankful for my little cell, dismal as it was, and even to love it, as part of the price i had paid for the redemption of my children. sometimes i thought god was a compassion- ate father, who would forgive my sins for the sake of my sufferings. at other times, it seemed to me there was no justice or mercy in the divine government. i asked why the curse of slavery was permitted to exist, and why i had been so persecuted and wronged from youth upward. these things took the shape of mys- tery, which is to this day not so clear to my soul as i trust it will be hereafter. in the midst of my illness, grandmother broke down under the weight of anxiety and toil. the idea of losing her, who had always been my best friend and a mother to my children, was the sorest trial i had yet had. o, how earnestly i prayed that she might re- cover! how hard it seemed, that i could not tend upon her, who had so long and so tenderly watched over me! one day the screams of a child nerved me with strength to crawl to my peeping-hole, and i saw my son covered with blood. a fierce dog, usually kept chained, had seized and bitten him. a doctor was sent for, and i heard the groans and screams of my child while the wounds were being sewed up. o, what torture to a mother's heart, to listen to this and be unable to go to him ! but childhood is like a day in spring, alternately incidents in the life of a slave girl. the dogs will grab her yet.” with these christian words she and her husband departed, and, to my great satisfaction, returned no more. i heard from uncle phillip, with feelings of unspeak- able joy and gratitude, that the crisis was passed and grandmother would live. i could now say from my heart, “ god is merciful. he has spared me the an- guish of feeling that i caused her death." the candidate for congreſs. xxiv. the candidate for congress. • the summer had nearly ended, when dr. flint made a third visit to new york, in search of me. two candidates were running for congress, and he returned in season to vote. the father of my children was the whig candidate. the doctor had hitherto been a stanch whig; but now he exerted all his energies for the defeat of mr. sands. he invited large parties of men to dine in the shade of his trees, and supplied them with plenty of rum and brandy. if any poor fellow drowned his wits in the bowl, and, in the open- ness of his convivial heart, proclaimed that he did not mean to vote the democratic ticket, he was shoved into the street without ceremony. - the doctor expended his liquor in vain. mr. sands was elected ; an event which occasioned me some anxious thoughts. he had not emancipated my chil- dren, and if he should die they would be at the mercy of his heirs. two little voices, that frequently met my ear, seemed to plead with me not to let their father depart without striving to make their freedom secure. years had passed since i had spoken to him. i had not even seen him since the night i passed him, un- recognized, in my disguise of a sailor. i supposed he would call before he left, to say something to my grand- mother concerning the children, and i resolved what course to take. incidents in the life of a slave girl. the day before his departure for washington i made arrangements, towards evening, to get from my hiding-place into the storeroom below. i found my- self so stiff and clumsy that it was with great diffi culty i could hitch from one resting place to another. when i reached the storeroom my ankles gave way under me, and i sank exhausted on the floor. it seemed as if i could never use my limbs again. but the purpose i had in view roused all the strength i had. i crawled on my hands and knees to the window, and, screened behind a barrel, i waited for his coming. the clock struck nine, and i knew the steamboat would leave between ten and eleven. my hopes were failing. but presently i heard his voice, saying to some one, wait for me a moment. i wish to see aunt martha." when he came out, as he passed the window, i said, “ stop one moment, and let me speak for my children.”. he started, hesitated, and then passed on, and went out of the gate. i closed the shutter i had partially opened, and sank down behind the barrel. i had suf- fered much; but seldom had i experienced a keener pang than i then felt. had my children, then, be- come of so little consequence to him? and had he so little feeling for their wretched mother that he would not listen a moment while she pleaded for them ? painful memories were so busy within me, that i forgot i had not hooked the shutter, till i heard some one opening it. i looked up. he had come back. “who called me ?” said he, in a low tone. “ i did," i replied. “oh, linda," said he, “i knew your voice; but i was afraid to answer, lest my friend should hear me. why do you come here? is it pos- : the candidate for congreſs. sible you risk yourself in this house? they are mad to allow it. i shall expect to hear that you are all ruined.” i did not wish to implicate him, by letting him know my place of concealment; so i merely said, “ i thought you would come to bid grandmother good by, and so i came here to speak a few words to you about emancipating my children. many changes may take place during the six months you are gone to washington, and it does not seem right for you to expose them to the risk of such changes. i want noth- ing for myself; all i ask is, that you will free my children, or authorize some friend to do it, before you go." he promised he would do it, and also expressed a readiness to make any arrangements whereby i could be purchased. i heard footsteps approaching, and closed the shut- ter hastily. i wanted to crawl back to my den, without letting the family know what i had done ; for i knew they would deem it very imprudent. but he stepped back into the house, to tell my grandmother that he had spoken with me at the storeroom window, and to beg of her not to allow me to remain in the house over night. he said it was the height of madness for me to be there; that we should certainly all be ruined. luckily, he was in too much of a hurry to wait for a reply, or the dear old woman would surely have told him all. i tried to go back to my den, but found it more difficult to go up than i had to come down. now that my mission was fulfilled, the little strength that had supported me through it was gone, and i sank help- incidents in the life of a slave girl. less on the floor. my grandmother, alarmed at the risk i had run, came into the storeroom in the dark, and locked the door behind her. “linda," she whis pered, “ where are you?” “i am here by the window," i replied. "i couldn't have him go away without emancipating the children. who knows what may happen?". “ come, come, child,” said she, “it won't do for you to stay here another minute. you've done wrong; but i can't blame you, poor thing ! ” i told her i could not return without assistance, and she must call my uncle. unele phillip came, and pity prevented him from scolding me. he carried me back to my dungeon, laid me tenderly on the bed, gave me some medicine, and asked me if there was any thing more he could do. then he went away, and i was left with my own thoughts--starless as the midnight dark- ness around me. my friends feared i should become a cripple for life; and i was so weary of my long imprisonment that, had it not been for the hope of serving my children, i should have been thankful to die; but, for their sakes, i was willing to bear on. competition in cunning. xxv. competition in cunning. dr. flint had not given me up. every now and then he would say to my grandmother that i would yet come back, and voluntarily surrender myself; and that when i did, i could be purchased by my relatives, or any one who wished to buy me. i knew his cun- ning nature too well not to percieve that this was a trap laid for me; and so all my friends understood it. i resolved to match my cunning against his cunning. in order to make him believe that i was in new york, i resolved to write him a letter dated from that place. i sent for my friend peter, and asked him if he knew any trustworthy seafaring : person, who would carry such a letter to new york, and put it in the post office there. he said he knew one that he would trust with his own life to the ends of the world. i reminded him that it was a hazardous thing for him to under- take. he said he knew it, but he was willing to do any thing to help me. i expressed a wish for a new york paper, to ascertain the names of some of the streets. he run his hand into his pocket, and said, “here is half a one, that was round a cap i bought of a pedler yesterday.” i told him the letter would be ready the next evening. he hade me good-bye. add- ing, “keep up your spirits, linda; brighter days will come by and by.” my uncle phillip kept watch over the gate until incidents in the life of a slave girl. our brief interview was over. early the next morn- ing, i seated myself near the little aperture to examine the newspaper. it was a piece of the new york her- ald; and, for once, the paper that systematically abuses the colored people, was made to render them a service. haring obtained what information i wanted concern- ing streets and numbers, i wrote two letters, one to my grandmother, the other to dr. flint. i reminded him how he, a gray-headed man, had treated a helpless child, who had been placed in his power, and what years of misery he had brought upon her. to my grandmother, i expressed a wish to have my children sent to me at the north, where i could teach them to respect themselves, and set them a virtuous example; which a slave mother was not allowed to do at the south. i asked her to direct her answer to a certain street in boston, as i did not live in new york, though i went there sometimes. i dated these letters ahead, to allow for the time it would take to carry them, and sent a memorandum of the date to the messenger. when my friend came for the letters, i said, “ god bless and reward you, peter, for this disinterested kind- ness. pray be careful. if you are detected, both you and i will have to suffer dreadfully. i have not a relative who would dare to do it for me." he replied, “ you may trust to me, linda. i don't forget that your father was my best friend, and i will be a friend to his children so long as god lets me live.” it was necessary to uli uy grandmother what i had done, in order that she might be ready for the letter, and prepared to hear what dr. flint might say about my being at the north. she was sadly troubled. incidents in the life of a slave girl. when you obtain her freedom, you'll make a 'happy family. i suppose, martha, you have no objection to my reading to you the letter linda has written to you.” he broke the seal, and i heard him read it. the old villain! he had suppressed the letter i wrote to grandmother, and prepared a substitute of his own, the purport of which was as follows:- “ dear grandmother: i have long wanted to write to you; but the disgraceful manner in which i left you and my children made me ashamed to do it. if you knew how much i have suffered since i ran away, you would pity and forgive me. i have purchased free- dom at a dear rate. if any arrangement could be made for me to return to the south without being a slave, i would gladly come. if not, i beg of you to send my children to the north. i cannot live any longer without them. let me know in time, and i will meet them in new york or philadelphia, which ever place best suits my uncle's convenience. write as soon as possible to your unhappy daughter, linda." * it is very much as i expected it would be," said the old hypocrite, rising to go. “you see the foolish girl has repented of her rashness, and wants to re- sturn. we must help her to do it, martha. talk with phillip about it. if he will go for her, she will trust to him, and come back. i should like an answer to- morrow. good morning, martha." as he stepped out on the piazza, he stumbled over competition in cunning. my little girl. “ah, ellen, is that you ?” he said, in his most gracious manner. “ i didn't see you. how do you do?" pretty well, sir," she replied. i heard you tell grandmother that my mother is coming home. i want to see her.” “yes, ellen, i am going to bring her home very soon," rejoined he; and you shall see her as much as you like, you little curly-headed nigger." this was as good as a comedy to me, who had heard it all; but grandmother was frightened and distressed, because the doctor wanted my uncle to go for me. the next evening dr. flint called to talk the matter over. my uncle told him that from what he had heard of massachusetts, he judged he should be mobbed if he went there after a runaway slave. "all stuff and nonsense, phillip!” replied the doctor. “do you suppose i want you to kick up a row in boston ? the business can all be done quietly. linda writes that she wants to come back. you are her relative, and she would trust you. the case would be different if i went. she might object to coming with me; and the damned abolitionists, if they knew i was her master, would not believe me, if i told them she had begged to go back. they would get up a row; and i should not like to see linda dragged through the streets like a common negro. she has been very un- grateful to me for all my kindness; but i forgive her, and want to act the part of a friend towards her. i have no wish to hold her as my slave. her friends can buy her as soon as she arrives here." n incidents in the life of a slave girl. finding that his arguments failed to convince my uncle, the doctor “let the cat out of the bag,” by say. ing that he had written to the mayor of boston, to as- certain whether there was a person of my description at the street and number from which my letter was dated. he had omitted this date in the letter he had made up to read to my grandmother. if i had dated from new york, the old man would probably have made another journey to that city. but even in that dark region, where knowledge is so carefully excluded from the slave, i had heard enough about massachu- setts to come to the conclusion that slaveholders did not consider it a comfortable place to go to in search of a runaway. that was before the fugitive slave law was passed; before massachusetts had consented to become a " nigger hunter" for the south. my grandmother, who had become skittish by seeing her family always in danger, came to me with a very distressed countenance, and said, “ what will you do if the mayor of boston sends him word that you haven't been there? then he will suspect the letter was a trick; and maybe he'll find out something about it, and we shall all get into trouble. o linda, i wish you had never sent the letters." don't worry yourself, grandmother,” said i. “ the mayor of boston won't trouble himself to hunt niggers for dr. flint. the letters will do good in the end. i shall get out of this dark hole some time or other." “i hope you will, child,” replied the good, patient old friend. “you have been here a long time; almost five years; but whenever you do go, it will break your competition in cunning. old grandmother's heart. i should be expecting every day to hear that you were brought back in irons and put in jail god help you, poor child! let us be thankful that some time or other we shall go “ where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest." my heart responded, amen. the fact that dr. flint had written to the mayor of boston convinced me that he believed my letter to be genuine, and of course that he had no sus- picion of my being any where in the vicinity. it was a great object to keep up this delusion, for it made me and my friends feel less anxious, and it would be very convenient whenever there was a chance to escape. i resolved, therefore, to continue to write letters from the north from time to time. two or three weeks passed, and as no news came from the mayor of boston, grandmother began to listen to my entreaty to be allowed to leave my cell, sometimes, and exercise my limbs to prevent my becoming a cripple. i was allowed to slip down into the small storeroom, early in the morning, and remain there a little while. the room was all filled up with barrels, except a small open space under my trap-door. this faced the door, the upper part of which was of glass, and purposely left un- curtained, that the curious might look in. the air of this place was close; but it was so much better than the atmosphere of my cell, that i dreaded to return. i came down as soon as it was light, and remained till eight o'clock, when people began to be about, and there was danger that some one might come on the piazza. i had tried various incidents in the life of a slave girl. applications to bring warmth and feeling into my limbs, but without avail. they were so numb and stiff that it was a painful effort to move; and had my enemies come upon me during the first mornings i tried to exercise them a little in the small un-- occupied space of the storeroom, it would have been impossible for me to have escaped. incidents in the life of a slave girl. autumn, accompanied by a bride. still no letters from william. i felt almost sure i should never see him again on southern soil ; but had he no word of comfort to send to his friends at home ? to the poor captive in her dungeon ? my thoughts wandered through the dark past, and over the uncertain future. alone in my cell, where no eye but god's could see me, i wept bit- ter tears. how earnestly i prayed to him to restore me to my children, and enable me to be a useful woman and a good mother! at last the day arrived for the return of the travellers. grandmother had made loving preparations to welcome her absent boy back to the old hearthstone. when the dinner table was laid, william's plate occupied its old place. the stage coach went by empty. my grand- mother waited dinner. she thought perhaps he was necessarily detained by his master. in my prison i listened anxiously, expecting every moment to hear my dear brother's voice and step. in the course of the after- noon a lad was sent by mr. sands to tell grandmother that william did not return with him; that the aboli- tionists had decoyed him away. but he begged her not to feel troubled about it, for he felt confident she would see william in a few days. as soon as he had time to reflect he would come back, for he could never expect to be so well off at the north as he had been with him. if you had seen the tears, and heard the sobs, you would have thought the messenger had brought tidings of death instead of freedom. poor old grandmother felt that she should never see her darling boy again. and i was selfish. i thought more of what i had lost, important era in my brother's life. than of what my brother had gained. a new anxiety began to trouble me. mr. sands had expended a good deal of money, and would naturally feel irritat- ed by the loss he had incurred. i greatly feared this might injure the prospects of my children, who were now becoming valuable property. i longed to have their emancipation made certain. the more so, be- cause their master and father was now married. i was too familiar with slavery not to know that promises made to slaves, though with kind intentions, and sin- cere at the time, depend upon many contingencies for their fulfilment. much as i wished william to be free, the step he had taken made me sad and anxious. the following sab- bath was calm and clear; so beautiful that it seemed like a sabbath in the eternal world. my grandmother brought the children out on the piazza, that i might hear their voices. she thought it would comfort me in my despondency; and it did. they chatted mer- rily, as only children can. benny said, “ grandmother, do you think uncle will has gone for good ? won't he ever come back again ? may be he'll find mother. if he does, won't she be glad to see him! why don't you and uncle phillip, and all of us, go and live where mother is ? i should like it; wouldn't you, ellen ?” yes, i should like it,” replied ellen; “but how could we find her? do you know the place, grand- mother? i don't remember how mother looked — do you, benny ?" benny was just beginning to describe me when they were interrupted by an old slave woman, a near neigli- important era in my brother's life. enough to convince him he had better not lose the chance that offered. he concluded by saying, "don't worry about me, dear grandmother. i shall, think of you always; and it will spur. me on to work hard and try to do right. when. i have earned money enough to give you a home, perhaps you will come to the north, and we can all live happy together." mr. sands, told my uncle phillip the particulars about william's leaving him. he said, “i trusted him as if he were my own brother, and treated him as kindly. the abolitionists talked to him in several places ; but i had no idea they could tempt him. however, i don't blame william. he's young and in- considerate, and those northern rascals decoyed him. i must confess the scamp was very bold about it. i met him coming down the steps of the astor house with his trunk on his shoulder, and. i asked him where he was going. he said he was going to change his old trunk. i told him it was rather shabby, and asked if he didn't need some money. he said, no, thanked me, and went off. he did not return so soon as i ex- pected; but i waited patiently. at last i went to see if. our trunks were packed, ready for our journey. i found them locked, and a sealed note on the table in- formed. me where i could find the keys. the fellow even tried to be religious. he wrote that he hoped god would always bless me, and reward me for my kindness ; that he was not unwilling to serve me; but he wanted to be a free man; and that if i thought he did wrong, he hoped i would forgive him. i intended to give him his freedom in five years. he might have trusted me. he has shown himself ungrateful; but i incidents in the life of a slave girl. shall not go for him, or send for him. i feel confident that he will soon return to me.” . . i afterwards heard an account of the affair from william himself. he had not been urged away by abolitionists. he needed no information they could give him about slavery to stimulate his desire for freedom. he looked at his hands, and remembered that they were once in irons. what security had he that they would not be so again ? mr. sands was kind to him; but he might indefinitely postpone the promise he had made to give him his freedom. he might come under pecuniary embarrassments, and his property be seized by creditors; or he might die, with- out making any arrangements in his favor. he had too often known such accidents to happen to slaves who had kind masters, and he wisely resolved to make sure of the present opportunity to own himself. he was scrupulous about taking any money from his master on false pretences ; so he sold his best clothes to pay for his passage to boston. the slaveholders pronounced him a base, ungrateful wretch, for thus requiting his master's indulgence. what would they have done under similar circumstances ? when dr. flint's family heard that william had deserted mr. sands, they chuckled greatly over the news. mrs. flint made her usual manifestations of christian feeling, by saying, “i'm glad of it. i hope he'll never get him again. i like to see people paid back in their own coin. i reckon linda's children will have to pay for it. i should be glad to see them in the speculator's hands again, for i'm tired of seeing those little niggers march about the streets." new deſtination for the children. ' xxvii. new destination for the children. mrs. flint proclaimed her intention of informing mrs. sands who was the father of my children. she likewise proposed to tell her what an artful devil i was; that i had made a great deal of trouble in her family; that when mr. sands was at the north, she didn't doubt i had followed him in disguise, and persuaded william to run away. she had some reason to enter- tain such an idea ; for i had written from the north, from time to time, and i dated my letters from various places. many of them fell into dr. flint's hands, as i expected they would ; and he must have come to the conclusion that i travelled about a good deal. he kept a close watch over my children, thinking they would eventually lead to my detection. a new and unexpected trial was in store for me. one day, when mr. sands and his wife were walking in the street, they met benny. the lady took a fancy to him, and exclaimed, “what a pretty little negro ! whom does he belong to ?”. benny did not hear the answer; but he came home very indignant with the stranger lady, because she had called him a negro. a few days afterwards, mr. sands called on my grandmother, and told her he wanted her to take the children to his house. he said he had informed his wife of his relation to them, and told her they were motherless; and she wanted to see them. incidents in the life of a slave girl. when he had gone, my grandmother came and asked what i would do. the question seemed a mockery. what could i do? they were mr. sands's slaves, and their mother was a slave, whom he had represented to be dead. perhaps he thought i was. i was too much pained and puzzled to come to any decision; and the children were carried without my knowledge. mrs. sands had a sister from illinois staying with her. this lady, who had no children of her own, was so much pleased with ellen, that she offered to adopt her, and bring her up as she would a daughter. mrs. sands wanted to take benjamin. when grandmother reported this to me, i was tried almost beyond endur- ance. was this all i was to gain by what i had suf- fered for the sake of having my children free? true, the prospect seemed fair; but i knew too well how lightly slaveholders held such parental relations." if pecuniary troubles should come, or if the new wife required more money than could conveniently be spared, my children might be thought of as a con- venient means of raising funds. i had no trust in thee, slavery! never should i know peace till my children were emancipated with all due formalities of law. i was too proud to ask mr. sands to do any thing for my own benefit; but i could bring myself to become a supplicant for my children. i resolved to remind him of the promise he had made me, and to throw myself upon his honor for the performance of it. i persuaded my grandmother to go to him, and tell him i was not dead, and that i earnestly entreated him to keep the promise he had made me; that i had heard of the new deſtination for the children. recent proposals concerning my children, and did not feel easy to accept them; that he had promised to emancipate them, and it was time for him to redeem his pledge. i knew there was some risk in thus be- traying that i was in the vicinity ; but what will not a mother do for her children? he received the message with surprise, and said, “the children are free. 'i have never intended to claim them as slaves. linda may decide their fate. in my opinion, they had better be sent to the north. i don't think they are quite safe here. dr. flint boasts that they are still in his power. he says they were his daughter's property, and as she was not of age when they were sold, the contract is not legally binding." so, then, after all i had endured for their sakes, my poor children were between two fires; between my old master and their new master! and i was powerless. there was no protecting arm of the law for me to in- voke. mr. sands proposed that ellen should go, for the present, to some of his relatives, who had removed to brooklyn, long island. it was promised that she should be well taken care of, and sent to school. i consented to it, as the best arrangement i could make for her. my grandmother, of course, negotiated it all; and mrs. sands knew of no other person in the trans- action. she proposed that they should take ellen with them to washington, and keep her till they had a good chance of sending her, with friends, to brooklyn.' she had an infant daughter. i had had a glimpse of it, as the nurse passed with it in her arms. it was not a pleasant thought to me, that the bondwoman's child should tend her free-born sister; but there was no al- new deſtination for the children. there i had watched over them, each day with a deeper and sadder love; there i had knelt to god, in anguish of heart, to forgive the wrong i had done. how viv- idly it all came back! and after this long, gloomy interval, i stood there such a wreck ! in the midst of these meditations, i heard footsteps on the stairs. the door opened, and my uncle phillip came in, leading ellen by the hand. i put my arms round her, and said, “ ellen, my dear child, i am your mother.” she drew back a little, and looked at me; then, with sweet confidence, she laid her cheek against mine, and i folded her to the heart that had been so long desolated. she was the first to speak. raising her head, she said, inquiringly, “ you really are my mother?” i told her i really was; that during all the long time she had not seen me, i had loved her most tenderly; and that now she was going away, i wanted to see her and talk with her, that she might remember me. with a sob in her voice, she said, “ i'm glad you've come to see me; but why didn't you ever come before ? benny and i have wanted so much to see you! he remembers you, and sometimes he tells me about you. why didn't you come home when dr. flint went to bring you ?” i answered, “i couldn't come before, dear. but now that i am with you, tell me whether you like to go away.” “i don't know," said she, crying. “grand- mother says i ought not to cry; that i am going to a good place, where i can learn to read and write, and that by and by i can write her a letter. but i shan't have benny, or grandmother, or uncle phillip, or any body to love me. can't you go with me? o, do go, dear mother!” incidents in the life of a slave girl. i told her i couldn't go now, but sometime i would come to her, and then she and benny and i would live together, and have happy times. she wanted to run and bring benny to see me now. i told her he was going to the north, before long, with uncle phillip, and then i would come to see him before he went away. i asked if she would like to have me stay all. night and sleep with her. “o, yes,” she replied. then, turning to her uncle, she said, pleadingly, “ may i stay? please,, uncle! she is my own mother." he laid his hand on her head, and said, solemnly, " ellen, this is the secret, you have promised grand- mother never to tell. if you ever speak of it to any body, they will never let you see your grandmother again, and your mother can never come to brooklyn.” “ uncle,” she replied, “i will never tell.” he told. her she might stay with me; and when he had gone, i took her in my armas and told her i was a slave, and that was the reason she must never say she had seen me. i exhorted her to be a good child, to try to please the people where she was going, and that god would raise her up friends. i told her. to say her prayers, and remember always to pray for her poor mother, and that god would permit us to meet again. she wept, and i did not check her tears. perhaps she would never again have a chance to pour her tears into a mother's bosom. all night she nestled in my arms, and i had no inclination to slumber. the moments were too precious to lose any of them. once, when i thought she was asleep, i kissed her forehead softly, and she said, “i am not asleep, dear mother.” before dawn they came to take me back to my den. new deſtination for the children. i drew aside the window curtain, to take a last look of my child. the moonlight shone on her face, and i bent over her, as i had done years before, that wretched night when i ran away. i hugged her close to my throbbing heart;, and tears, too. sad for such young eyes, to shed, flowed down her cheeks, as she gave her last kiss, and whispered in my ear, “ mother, i will; never tell.” and she never did. when i got back to my den, i threw myself on the bed and wept there alone in the darkness. it seemed as if my heart would burst. when the time for el- len's departure drew nigh, i could hear neighbors and friends saying to her, “good by, ellen. i hope your poor mother will find you out. won't you be glad to see her!” she replied, “ yes, ma'am ;” and they little dreamed of the weighty secret that weighed down, her young heart. she was an affectionate child, but naturally very reserved, except with those she loved, and i felt secure that my secret would be safe with her. i heard the gate close after her, with such feelings as only a slave mother can experience. during the day my meditations were very sad. sometimes i feared i had been very selfish not to give up all claim to her, and let her go to illinois, to be adopted by mrs. sands's sister. it was my experience of slavery that decided me against it. i feared that circumstances might arise that would cause her to be sent back. i felt confident that. i should go to new york, myself; and then i should be able to watch over her, and in some degree protect her. dr. flint's family knew nothing of the proposed arrangement till after ellen was gone, and the news incidents in the life of a slave girl. displeased them greatly. mrs. flint called on mrs. sands's sister to inquire into the matter. she ex- pressed her opinion very freely as to the respect mr. sands showed for his wife, and for his own character, in acknowledging those “young niggers.” and as for sending ellen away, she pronounced it to be just as much stealing as it would be for him to come and take a piece of furniture out of her parlor. she said her daughter was not of age to sign the bill of sale, and the children were her property; and when she became of age, or was married, she could take them, wherever she could lay hands on them. miss emily flint, the little girl to whom i had been bequeathed, was now in her sixteenth year. her mother considered it all right and honorable for her, or her future husband, to steal my children; but she did not understand how any body could hold up their heads in respectable society, after they had purchased their own children, as mr. sands had done. dr. flint said very little. perhaps he thought that benny would be less likely to be sent away if he kept quiet. one of my letters, that fell into his hands, was dated from canada ; and he seldom spoke of me now. this state of things enabled me to slip down into the storeroom more frequently, where i could stand upright, and move my limbs more freely. days, weeks, and months passed, and there came no news of ellen. i sent a letter to brooklyn, written in my grandmother's name, to inquire whether she had arrived there. answer was returned that she had not. i wrote to her in washington; but no notice was taken of it. there was one person there, who ought to have new deſtination for the children, had some sympathy with the anxiety of the child's friends at home; but the links of such relations as he had formed with me, are easily broken and cast away as rubbish. yet how protectingly and persuasively he once talked to the poor, helpless slave girl! and how entirely i trusted him! but now suspicions dark- ened my mind. was my child dead, or had they de- ceived me, and sold her ? if the secret memoirs of many members of congress should be published, curious details would be unfolded. i once saw a letter from a member of congress to a slave, who was the mother of six of his children. he wrote to request that she would send her children away from the great house before his return, as he expected to be accompanied by friends. the woman could not read, and was obliged to employ another to read the letter. the existence of the colored children did not trouble this gentleman, it was only the fear that friends might recognize in their features a resem- blance to him. at the end of six months, a letter came to my grand- mother, from brooklyn. it was written by a young lady in the family, and announced that ellen had just arrived. it contained the following message from her: “i do try to do just as you told me to, and i pray for you every night and morning." i understood that these words were meant for me; and they were a balsam to my heart. the writer closed her letter by saying, “ ellen is a nice little girl, and we shall like to have her with us. my cousin, mr. sands, has given her to me, to be my little waiting maid. i shall send her to school, and i hope some day she will write to incidents in the life of a slave girl. you herself.” this letter perplexed and troubled me, had my child's father merely placed her there till she was old enough to support herself? or had he given her to his cousin, as a piece of property? if the last idea was correct, his cousin might return to the south at any time, and hold ellen as a slave. i tried to put away from me the painful thought that such a foul wrong could have been done to us. i said to myself, “ surely there must be some justice in man;" then i remembered, with a sigh, how slavery perverted all the natural feelings of the human heart. it gave me a pang to look on my light-hearted boy. he believed himself free; and to have him brought under the yoke of slavery, would be more than i could bear. how i longed to have him safely out of the reach of its power! aunt nancy. - . xxviii. ... aunt nancy.. i have mentioned my great-aunt, who was a slave in dr. flint's family, and who had been my refuge during the shameful persecutions i suffered from him. this aunt had been married at twenty years of age ; that is, as far as slaves can marry. she had the consent of her master and mistress, and a clergyman performed the ceremony. but it was a mere form, without any legal value. her master or mistress could annul it any day they pleased. she had always slept on the floor in the entry, near mrs. flint's chamber door, that she might be within call. when she was married, she was told she might have the use of a small room in an out- house. her mother and her husband furnished it. he was a seafaring man, and was allowed to sleep there when he was at home. but on the wedding evening, the bride was ordered to her old post on the entry floor. mrs. flint, at that time, had no children; but she was expecting to be a mother, and if she should want a drink of water in the night, what could she do without her slave to bring it? so my aunt was compelled to lie at her door, until one midnight she was forced to leave, to give premature birth to a child. in a fortnight she was required to resume her place on the entry floor, because mrs. flint's babe needed her attentions. she kept her station there through summer and winter, until she had given premature birth to six children; incidents in the life of a slave girl. and all the while she was employed as night-nurse to mrs. flint's children. finally, toiling all day, and be- ing deprived of rest at night, completely broke down her constitution, and dr. flint declared it was impossi- ble she could ever become the mother of a living child. the fear of losing so valuable a servant by death, now induced them to allow her to sleep in her little room in the out-house, except when there was sickness in the family. she afterwards had two feeble babes, one of whom died in a few days, and the other in four weeks. i well remember her patient sorrow as she held the last dead baby in her arms. “i wish it could have lived," she said ; “it is not the will of god that any of my children should live. but i will try to be fit to meet their little spirits in heaven.” aunt nancy was housekeeper and waiting-maid in dr. flint's family. indeed, she was the factotum of the household. nothing went on well without her. she was my mother's twin sister, and, as far as was in her power, she supplied a mother's place to us orphans. i slept with her all the time i lived in my old master's house, and the bond between us was very strong. when my friends tried to discourage me from running away, she always encouraged me. when they thought i had better return and ask my master's pardon, be- cause there was no possibility of escape, she sent me word never to yield. she said if i persevered i might, perhaps, gain the freedom of my children; and even if i perished in doing it, that was better than to leave them to groan under the same persecutions that had blighted my own life. after i was shut up in my dark cell, she stole away, whenever she could, to aunt nancy. bring me the news and say something cheering. how often did i kneel down to listen to her words of conso- lation, whispered through a crack ? “i am old, and have not long to live,” she used to say; "and i could die happy if i could only see you and the children free. you must pray to god, linda, as i do for you, that he will lead you out of this darkness.” i would beg her not to worry herself on my account; that there was an end of all suffering sooner or later, and that whether i lived in chains or in freedom, i should always re- member her as the good friend who had been the com- fort of my life. a word from her always strengthened me; and not me only. the whole family relied upon her judgment, and were guided by her advice. i had been in my cell six years when my grand- mother was summoned to the bedside of this, her last remaining daughter. she was very ill, and they said she would die. grandmother had not entered dr. flints house for several years. they had treated her cruelly, but she thought nothing of that now. she was grateful for permission to watch by the death-bed of her child. they had always been devoted to each other; and now they sat looking into each other's eyes, longing to speak of the secret that had weighed so much on the hearts of both. my aunt had been stricken with paralysis. she lived but two days, and the last day she was speechless. before she lost the power of ut- terance, she told her mother not to grieve if she could not speak to her; that she would try to hold up her hand, to let her know that all was well with her. even the hard-hearted doctor was a little softened when he saw the dying woman try to smile on the aged aunt nancy. her made me utterly miserable. at last, as uncle phillip came into the house, i heard some one inquire, “how is she ?” and he answered, “she is dead." my little cell seemed whirling round, and i knew noth- ing more till i opened my eyes and found uncle phillip bending over me. i had no need to ask any questions. he whispered, “linda, she died happy.” i could not weep. my fixed gaze troubled him. don't look so,” he said. “don't add to my poor mother's trouble. remember how much she has to bear, and that we ought to do all we can to comfort her.” ah, yes, that blessed old grandmother, who for seventy- three years had borne the pelting storms of a slave- mother's life. she did indeed need consolation ! mrs. flint had rendered her poor foster-sister child- less, apparently without any compunction; and with cruel selfishness had ruined her health by years of in- cessant, unrequited toil, and broken rest. but now she became very sentimental. i suppose she thought it would be a beautiful illustration of the attachment ex- isting between slaveholder and slave, if the body of her old worn-out servant was buried at her feet. she sent for the clergyman and asked if he had any objec- tion to burying aunt nancy in the doctor's family burial-place. no colored person had ever been allowed interment in the white people's burying-ground, and the minister knew that all the deceased of our family reposed together in the old graveyard of the slaves. he therefore replied, “ i have no objection to comply- ing with your wish; but perhaps aunt nancy's mother may have some choice as to where her remains shall be deposited.” aunt nancy. touched their hearts, if they had any hearts to feel for the colored people. we could have told them how the poor old slave-mother had toiled, year after year, to earn eight hundred dollars to buy her son phillip's right to his own earnings; and how that same phillip paid the expenses of the funeral, which they regarded as do- ing so much credit to the master. we could also have told them of a poor, blighted young creature, shut up in a living grave for years, to avoid the tortures that would be inflicted on her, if she ventured to come out and look on the face of her departed friend. all this, and much more, i thought of, as i sat at my loophole, waiting for the family to return from the grave; sometimes weeping, sometimes falling asleep, dreaming strange dreams of the dead and the living. it was sad to witness the grief of my bereaved grand- mother. she had always been strong to bear, and now, as ever, religious faith supported her. but her dark life had become still darker, and age and trouble were leaving deep traces on her withered face. she had four places to knock for me to come to the trap-door, and each place had a different meaning. she now came oftener than she had done, and talked to me of her dead daughter, while tears trickled slowly down her furrowed cheeks. i said all i could to comfort her; but it was a sad reflection, that instead of being able to help her, i was a constant source of anxiety and trouble. the poor old back was fitted to its burden. it bent under it, but did not break. . incidents in the life of a slave e girl. xxix. preparations for escape. i hardly expect that the reader will credit me, when i affirm that i lived in that little dismal hole, almost deprived of light and air, and with no space to move my limbs, for nearly seven years. but it is a fact; and to me a sad one, even now; for my body still suffers from the effects of that long imprison- ment, to say nothing of my soul. members of my family, now living in new york and boston, can tes. tify to the truth of what i say. countless were the nights that i sat late at the little loophole scarcely large enough to give me a glimpse of one twinkling star. there, i heard the patrols and slave-hunters conferring together about the capture of runaways, well knowing how rejoiced: they would be to catch me. season after season, year after year, i peeped at iny children's faces, and heard their sweet voices, with a heart yearning all the while to say, “ your mother is here.” sometimes it appeared to me as if ages had rolled-away since i entered upon that gloomy, monoto- nous existence. at times, i was stupefied and listless; at other times i became very impatient to know when these dark years would end, and i should again be allowed to feel the sunshine, and breathe the pure air. after ellen left us, this feeling increased. mr. sands had agreed that benny might go to the north incidents in the life of a slave girl. might reckon years of suffering during that festival so joyous to the free. on the new year's day preceding my aunt's death, one of my friends, named fanny, was to be sold at auction, to pay her master's debts. my thoughts were with her during all the day, and at night i anxiously inquired what had been her fate. i was told that she had been sold to one master, and her four little girls to another master, far distant; that she had escaped from her purchaser, and was not to be found. her mother was the old aggie i have spoken of. she lived in a small tenement belonging to my grandmother, and built on the same lot with her own house. her dwelling was searched and watched, and that brought the patrols so near me that i was obliged to keep very close in my den. the hunters were some- how eluded; and not long afterwards benny acci- dentally caught sight of fanny in her mother's hut. he told his grandmother, who charged him never to speak of it, explaining to him the frightful con- sequences; and he never betrayed the trust. aggie little dreamed that my grandmother knew where her daughter was concealed, and that the stooping form of her old neighbor was bending under a similar burden of anxiety and fear; but these dangerous secrets deep- ened the sympathy between the two old persecuted mothers. my friend fanny and i remained many weeks hidden within call of each other; but she was unconscious of the fact. i longed to have her share my den, which seemed a more secure retreat than her own; but i had brought so much trouble on my grandmother, that it ceemed wrong to ask her to incur greater risks. my preparations for eſcape. restlessness increased. i had lived too long in bodily pain and anguish of spirit. always i was in dread that by some accident, or some contrivance, slavery would succeed in snatching my children from me. this thought drove me nearly frantic, and i determined to steer for the north star at all hazards. at this crisis, providence opened an unexpected way for me to es- cape. my friend peter came one evening, and asked to speak with me. “your day has come, linda,” said he. “i have found a chance for you to go to the free states. you have a fortnight to decide.” the news seemed too good to be true; but peter explained his arrangements, and told me all that was necessary was for me to say i would go. i was going to answer him with a joyful yes, when the thought of benny came to my mind. i told him the temptation was exceed- ingly strong, but i was terribly afraid of dr. flint's alleged power over my child, and that i could not go and leave him behind. peter remonstrated earnestly. he said such a good chance might never occur again ; that benny was free, and could be sent to me; and that for the sake of my children's welfare i ought not to hesitate a moment. i told him i would consult with uncle phillip. my uncle rejoiced in the plan, and bade me go by all means. he promised, if his life was spared, that he would either bring or send my son to me as soon as i reached a place of safety. i re- solved to go, but thought nothing had better be said to niy grandmother till very near the time of departure. but my uncle thought she would feel it more keenly if i left her so suddenly. “i will reason with her," said he, “ and convince her how necessary it is, not incidents in the life of a slave girl. only for your sake, but for hers also. you cannot be blind to the fact that she is sinking under her bur- dens.” i was not blind to it. i knew that my con- cealment was an ever-present source of anxiety, and that the older she grew the more nervously fearful she was of discovery. my uncle talked with her, and finally succeeded in persuading her that it was abso- lutely necessary for me to seize the chance so unex- peetedly offered. the anticipation of being a free woman proved al- most too much for my weak frame. the excitement stimulated me, and at the same time bewildered me. i made busy preparations for my journey, and for my son to follow me. i resolved to have an interview with him before i went, that i might give him cautions and advice, and tell him how anxiously i should be waiting for him at the north. grandmother stole up to me as often as possible to whisper words of counsel. she insisted upon my writing to dr. flint, as soon as i arrived in the free states, and asking him to sell me to her. she said she would sacrifice her house, and all she had in the world, for the sake of having me safe with my children in any part of the world. if she could only live to know that she could die in peace. promised the dear old faithful friend that i would write to her as soon as i arrived, and put the letter in a safe way to reach her; but in my own mind i re- solved that not another cent of her hard earnings should be spent to pay rapacious slaveholders for what they called their property. and even if i had not been unwilling to buy what i had already a right to possess, common humanity would have prevented me incidents in the life of a slave girl. and arrangements were made for her to go on board the vessel the next night. they both supposed that i had long been at the north, therefore my name was not mentioned in the transaction. fanny was carried on board at the appointed time, and stowed away in a very small cabin. this accommodation had been purchased at a price that would pay for a voyage to england. but when one proposes to go to fine old england, they stop to calculate whether they can afford the cost of the pleasure; while in making a bargain to escape from slavery, the trembling victim is ready to say, “ take all i have, only don't betray me!” the next morning i peeped through my loophole, and saw that it was dark and cloudy. at night i re- ceived news that the wind was ahead, and the vessel had not sailed. i was exceedingly anxious about fanny, and peter too, who was running a tremendous risk at my instigation. next day the wind and weather remained the same. poor fanny had been half dead with fright when they carried her on board, and i could readily imagine how she must be suffering now. grandmother came often to my den, to say how thank- ful she was i did not go. on the third morning she rapped for me to come down to the storeroom. the poor old sufferer was breaking down under her weight of trouble. she was easily furried now. i found her in a nervous, excited state, but i was not aware that she had forgotten to lock the door behind her, as usual. she was exceedingly worried about the detention of the vessel. she was afraid all would be discovered, and then fanny, and peter, and i, would all be tor- tured to death, and phillip would be utterly ruined, preparations for eſcape. and her house would be torn down. poor peter! if he should die such a horrible death as the poor slave james had lately done, and all for his kindness in try- ing to help me, how dreadful it would be for us all! alas, the thought was familiar to me, and had sent many a sharp pang through my heart. i tried to sup- press my own anxiety, and speak soothingly to her. she brought in some allusion to aunt nancy, the dear daughter she had recently buried, and then she lost all control of herself. as she stood there, trembling and sobbing, a voice from the piazza called out, “ whar is you, aunt marthy ?” grandmother was startled, and in her agitation opened the door, without thinking of me. in stepped jenny, the mischievous housemaid, who had tried to enter my room, when i was concealed in the house of my white benefactress. “i's bin huntin ebery whar for you, aunt marthy,” said she. “my missis wants you to send her some crackers.” i had slunk down behind a barrel, which entirely screened me, but i imagined that jenny was looking directly at the spot, and my heart beat violently. my grand mother immediately thought what she had done, and went out quickly with jenny to count the crackers locking the door after her. she returned to me, in a few minutes, the perfect picture of despair. “ poor child!” she exclaimed, “my carelessness has ruined you. the boat ain't gone yet. get ready immedi ately, and go with fanny. i ain't got another word to say against it now; for there's no telling what may happen this day.” uncle phillip was sent for, and he agreed with his mother in thinking that jenny would inform dr. flint incidents in the life of a slave girl. in less than twenty-four hours. he advised getting me on board the boat, if possible; if not, i had better keep very still in my den, where they could not find me without tearing the house down. he said it would not do for him to move in the matter, because suspicion would be immediately excited; but he promised to communicate with peter. i felt reluctant to apply to him again, having implicated him too much already; but there seemed to be no alternative. vexed as peter had been by my indecision, he was true to his generous nature, and said at once that he would do his best to help me, trusting i should show myself a stronger woman this time. he immediately proceeded to the wharf, and found that the wind had shifted, and the vessel was slowly beating down stream. on some pretext of urgent necessity, he offered two boatmen a dollar apiece to catch up with her. he was of lighter complexion than the boatmen he hired, and when the captain saw them coming so rapidly, he thought officers were pursuing his vessel in search of the runaway slave he had on board. they hoisted sails, but the boat gained upon them, and the indefatigable peter sprang on board. the captain at once recognized him. peter asked him to go below, to speak about a bad bill he had given him. when he told his errand, the captain replied, “ why, the woman's here already; and i've put her where you or the devil would have a tough job to find her." but it is another woman i want to bring,” said peter. she is in great distress, too, and you shall be paid any thing within reason, if you'll stop and take her.” incidents in the life of a slave girl. storeroom; so they brought him there, and locked us up together, in a place concealed from the piazza door. it was an agitating interview for both of us. after we had talked and wept together for a little while, he said, “ mother, i'm glad you're going away. i wish i could go with you. i knew you was here; and i have been so afraid they would come and catch you!” i was greatly surprised, and asked him how he had found it out. he replied, " i was standing under the eaves, one day, before ellen went away, and i heard somebody cough up over the wood shed. i don't know what made me think it was you, but i did think so. i missed ellen, the night before she went away; and grandmother brought her back into the room in the night; and i thought maybe she'd been to see you, be- fore she went, for i heard grandmother whisper to her, • now go to sleep; and remember never to tell.'” i asked him if he ever mentioned his suspicions to his sister. he said he never did ; but after he heard the cough, if he saw her playing with other children on that side of the house, he always tried to coax her round to the other side, for fear they would hear me cough, too. he said he had kept a close lookout for dr. flint, and if he saw him speak to a constable, or a patrol, he always told grandmother. i now recol- lected that i had seen him manifest uneasiness, when people were on that side of the house, and i had at the time been puzzled to conjecture a motive for his actions. such prudence may seem extraordinary in a boy of twelve years, but slaves, being surrounded by mysteries, deceptions, and dangers, early learn to be preparations for eſcape. suspicious and watchful, and prematurely cautious and cunning. he had never asked a question of grand- mother, or uncle phillip, and i had often heard him chime in with other children, when they spoke of my being at the north. i told him i was now really going to the free states, and if he was a good, honest boy, and a loving child to his dear old grandmother, the lord would bless him, and bring him to me, and we and ellen would live together. he began to tell me that grandmother had not eaten any thing all day. while he was speaking, the door was unlocked, and she came in with a small bag of money, which she wanted me to take. i begged her to keep a part of it, at least, to pay for benny's being sent to the north ; but she insisted, while her tears were falling fast, that i should take the whole. “ you may be sick among strangers,” she said, “ and they would send you to the poorhouse to die.” ah, that good grandmother! for the last time i went up to my nook. its deso late appearance no longer chilled me, for the light of hope had risen in my soul. yet, even with the blessed prospect of freedom before me, i felt very sad at leav- ing forever that old homestead, where i had been shel- tered so long by the dear old grandmother; where i had dreamed my first young dream of love; and where, after that had faded away, my children came to twine themselves so closely round my desolate heart. as the hour approached for me to leave, i again descended to the storeroom. my grandmother and benny were there. she took me by the hand, and said, “linda, let us pray.” we knelt down together, with my child incidents in the life of a slave girl. said i hope alb had told it probablo but i had presence of mind to think that it probably referred to something the captain had told him ; so i thanked him, and said i hoped we should have pleasant weather. when i entered the vessel the captain came forward to meet me. he was an elderly man, with a pleasant countenance. he showed me to a little box of a cabin, where sat my friend fanny. she started as if she had seen a spectre. she gazed on me in utter astonishment, and exclaimed, “ linda, can this be you? or is it your ghost ?” when we were locked in each other's arms, my overwrought feelings could no longer be restrained. my sobs reached the ears of the captain, who came and very kindly reminded us, that for his safety, as well as our own, it would be prudent for us not to attract any attention. he said that when there was a sail in sight he wished us to keep below; but at other times, he had no objection to our being on deck. he assured us that he would keep a good lookout, and if we acted pru- dently, he thought we should be in no danger. he had represented us as women going to meet our hus- bands in — we thanked him, and promised to observe carefully all the directions he gave us. fanny and i now talked by ourselves, low and qui- etly, in our little cabin. she told me of the sufferings she had gone through in making her escape, and of her terrors while she was concealed in her mother's house. above all, she dwelt on the agony of separation from all her children on that dreadful auction day. she could scarcely credit me, when i told her of the place where i had passed nearly seven years. “we have the same sorrows,” said i. “no," replied she, “ you are incidents in philadelphia. might ask me where i came from. i gave him a gold piece, and when he returned the change, i counted it, and found out how much a levy was. i made my way back to the wharf, where the captain introduced me to the colored man, as the rev. jeremiah durham, min- ister of bethel church. he took me by the hand, as if i had been an old friend. he told us we were too late for the morning cars to new york, and must wait until the evening, or the next morning. he invited me to go home with him, assuring me that his wife would give me a cordial welcome; and for my friend he would provide a home with one of his neighbors. i thanked him for so much kindness to strangers, and told him if i must be detained, i should like to hunt up some people who formerly went from our part of the country. mr. durham insisted that i should dine · with him, and then he would assist me in finding my friends. the sailors came to bid us good by. i shook their hardy hands, with tears in my eyes. they had all been kind to us, and they had rendered us a greater service than they could possibly conceive of. i had never seen so large a city, or been in contact with so many people in the streets. it seemed as if those who passed looked at us with an expression of curiosity. my face was so blistered and peeled, by sitting on deck, in wind and sunshine, that i thought they could not easily decide to what nation i belonged. mrs. durham met me with a kindly welcome, with- out asking any questions. i was tired, and her friendly manner was a sweet refreshment. god bless her! i was sure that she had comforted other weary hearts, before i received her sympathy. she was surrounded incidents in philadelphia. have my children, i intend to be a good mother, and to live in such a manner that people cannot treat me with contempt.” “i respect your sentiments,” said he. “place your trust in god, and be governed by good principles, and you will not fail to find friends." when we reached home, i went to my room, glad to shut out the world for a while. the words he had spoken made an indelible impression upon me. they brought up great shadows from the mournful past. in the midst of my meditations i was startled by a knock at the door. mrs. durham entered, her face all beam- ing with kindness, to say that there was an anti-slavery friend down stairs, who would like to see me. i over- came my dread of encountering strangers, and went with her. many questions were asked concerning my experiences, and my escape from slavery; but i ob- served how careful they all were not to say any thing that might wound my feelings. how gratifying this was, can be fully understood only by those who have been accustomed to be treated as if they were not in- cluded within the pale of human beings. the anti- slavery friend had come to inquire into my plans, and to offer assistance, if needed. fanny was comfortably established, for the present, with a friend of mr. dur- ham. the anti-slavery society agreed to pay her ex- penses to new york. the same was offered to me, but i declined to accept it; telling them that my grand- mother had given me sufficient to pay my expenses to the end of my journey. we were urged to remain in philadelphia a few days, until some suitable escort could be found for us. i gladly accepted the proposi- q incidents in philadelphia. new to me. i dressed myself at an early hour, and sat at the window to watch that unknown tide of life. philadelphia seemed to me a wonderfully great place. at the breakfast table, my idea of going out to drag the engine was laughed over, and i joined in the mirth. i went to see fanny, and found her so well con- tented among her new friends that she was in no haste to leave. i was also very happy with my kind hostess. she had had advantages for education, and was vastly my superior. every day, almost every hour, i was adding to my little stock of knowledge. she took me out to see the city as much as she deemed prudent. one day she took me to an artist's room, and showed me the portraits of some of her children. i had never seen any paintings of colored people before, and they seemed to me beautiful. at the end of five days, one of mrs. durham's friends offered to accompany us to new york the following morning. as i held the hand of my good hostess in a parting clasp, i longed to know whether her husband had repeated to her what i had told him. i supposed he had, but she never made any allusion to it. i pre- sume it was the delicate silence of womanly sympathy. when mr. durham handed us our tickets, he said, “i am afraid you will have a disagreeable ride; but i could not procure tickets for the first class cars.” supposing i had not given him money enough, i offered more. “ , no,” said he, “they could not be had for any money. they don't allow colored people to go in the first-class cars.” this was the first chill to my enthusiasm about the free states. colored people were allowed to ride in a incidents in the life of a slave girl. filthy box, behind white people, at the south, but there they were not required to pay for the privilege. it made me sad to find how the north aped the customs of slavery. . we were stowed away in a large, rough car, with windows on each side, too high for us to look out with- out standing up. it was crowded with people, appar- ently of all nations. there were plenty of beds and cradles, containing screaming and kicking babies. every other man had a cigar or pipe in his mouth, and jugs of whiskey were handed round freely. the fumes of the whiskey and the dense tobacco smoke were sickening to my senses, and my mind was equally nauseated by the coarse jokes and ribald songs around me. it was a very disagreeable ride. since that time there has been some improvement in these matters. incidents in the life of a slave girl. home for her, and i afterwards heard of her in pros- perous circumstances. i sent for an old friend from my part of the country, who had for some time been doing business in new york. he came immediately. i told him i wanted to go to my daughter, and asked him to aid me in procuring an interview. i cautioned him not to let it be known to the family that i had just arrived from the south, because they supposed i had been at the north seven years. he told me there was a colored woman in brooklyn who came from the same town i did, and i had better go to her house, and have my daughter meet me there. i accepted the proposition thankfully, and he agreed to escort me to brooklyn. we crossed fulton ferry, went up myrtle avenue, and stopped at the house he designated. i was just about to enter, when two girls passed. my friend called my attention to them. i turned, and recognized in the eldest, sarah, the daughter of a woman who used to live with my grand- mother, but who had left the south years ago. sur- prised and rejoiced at this unexpected meeting, i threw my arms round her, and inquired concerning her mother. “ you take no notice of the other girl," said my friend. i turned, and there stood my ellen! i pressed her to my heart, then held her away from me to take a look at her. she had changed a good deal in the two years since i parted from her. signs of neglect could be discerned by eyes less observing than a mother's. my friend invited us all to go into the house; but ellen said she had been sent of an errand, which she would do as quickly as possible, and go the meeting of mother and daughter. home and ask mrs. hobbs to let her come and see me. it was agreed that i should send for her the next day. her companion, sarah, hastened to tell her mother of my arrival. when i entered the house, i found the mistress of it absent, and i waited for her return. before i saw her, i heard her saying, “ where is linda brent? i used to know her father and mother.” soon sarah came with her mother. so there was quite a company of us, all from my grand- mother's neighborhood. these friends gathered round me and questioned me eagerly. they laughed, they cried, and they shouted. they thanked god that i had got away from my persecutors and was safe on long island. it was a day of great excitement. how different from the silent days i had passed in my dreary den! the next inorning was sunday. my first waking thoughts were occupied with the note i was to send to mrs. hobbs, the lady with whom ellen lived. that i had recently come into that vicinity was evident; otherwise i should have sooner inquired for my daughter. it would not do to let them know i had just arrived from the south, for that would involve the suspicion of my having been harbored there, and might bring trouble, if not ruin, on several people. i like a straightforward course, and am always re- luctant to resort to subterfuges. so far as my ways have been crooked, i charge them all upon slavery. it was that system of violence and wrong which now left me no alternative but to enact a falsehood. i began my note by stating that i had recently arrived from canada, and was very desirous to have my incidents in the life of a slave girl. daughter come to see me. she came and brought a message from mrs. hobbs, inviting me to her house, and assuring me that i need not have any fears. the conversation i had with my child did not leave my mind at ease. when i asked if she was well treated, she answered yes; but there was no heartiness in the tone, and it seemed to me that she said it from an unwillingness to have me troubled on her account. before she left me, she asked very earnestly, “mother, when will you take me to live with you ?” it made me sad to think that i could not give her a home till i went to work and earned the means; and that might take me a long time. when she was placed with mrs. hobbs, the agreement was that she should be sent to school. she had been there two years, and was now nine years old, and she scarcely knew her letters. there was no excuse for this, for there were good public schools in brooklyn, to which she could have been sent without expense. she staid with me till dark, and i went home with her. i was received in a friendly manner by the family, and all agreed in saying that ellen was a useful, good girl. mrs. hobbs looked me coolly in the face, and said, “i suppose you know that my cousin, mr. sands, has given her to my eldest daughter. she will make a nice waiting-maid for her when she grows up.” i did not answer a word. how could she, who knew by experience the strength of a mother's love, and wlio was perfectly aware of the relation mr. sands bore to my children,- how could she look me in the face, while she thrust such a dagger into my heart ? i was no longer surprised that they had kept her in such a state of ignorance. mr. hobbs had formerly the meeting of mother and daughter. heen wealthy, but he had failed, and afterwards ob- tained a subordinate situation in the custom house. perhaps they expected to return to the south some day; and ellen's knowledge was quite sufficient for a slave's condition. i was impatient to go to work and earn money, that i might change the uncertain position of my children. mr. sands had not kept his promise to emancipate them. i had also been deceived about ellen. what security had i with regard to benjamin ? i felt that i had none. i returned to my friend's house in an uneasy state of mind. in order to protect my children, it was necessary that i should own myself. i called myself free, and sometimes felt so; but i knew i was insecure. i sat down that night and wrote a civil letter to dr, flint, asking him to state the lowest terms on which he would sell me; and as i belonged by law to his daughter, i wrote to her also, making a similar request. since my arrival at the north i had not been un- mindful of my dear brother william. i had made diligent inquiries for him, and having heard of him in boston, i went thither. when i arrived there, i found he had gone to new bedford. i wrote to that place, and was informed he had gone on a whaling voyage, and would not return for some months. i went back to new york to get employment near ellen. i received an answer from dr. flint, which gave me no encouragement. he advised me to return and submit myself to my rightful owners, and then any request i might make would be granted. i lent this letter to a friend, who lost it; otherwise i would pre- sent a copy to my readers. incidents in the life of a slave girl. xxxiii. a home found. my greatest anxiety now was to obtain employment. my health was greatly improved, though my limbs con- tinued to trouble me with swelling whenever i walked much. the greatest difficulty in my way was, that those who employed strangers required a recommenda- tion; and in my peculiar position, i could, of course, obtain no certificates from the families i had so faith fully served. one day an acquaintance told me of a lady who wanted a nurse for her babe, and i immediately ap- plied for the situation. the lady told me she preferred to have one who had been a mother, and accustomed to the care of infants. i told her i had nursed two babes of my own. she asked me many questions, but, to my great relief, did not require a recommendation from my former employers. she told me she was an english woman, and that was a pleasant circumstance to me, because i had heard they had less prejudice against color than americans entertained. it was agreed that we should try each other for a week. the trial proved satisfactory to both parties, and i was en- gaged for a month. the heavenly father had been most merciful to me in leading me to this place. mrs. bruce was a kind and gentle lady, and proved a true and sympathizing friend. before the stipulated month expired, the necessity of the old enemy again. you were purchased by your grandmother, it is doubt- ful whether you would be permitted to remain, although it would be lawful for you to do so. if a servant should be allowed to purchase herself, after absenting herself so long from her owners, and return free, it would have an injurious effect. from your letter, i think your situation must be hard and uncomfortable. come home. you have it in your power to be reinstated in our affections. we would receive you with open arms and tears of joy. you need not apprehend any un kind treatment, as we have not put ourselves to any trouble or expense to get you. had we done so, perhaps we should feel otherwise. you know my sis- ter was always attached to you, and that you were never treated as a slave. you were never put to hard work, nor exposed to field labor. on the contrary, you were taken into the house, and treated as one of us, and almost as free; and we, at least, felt that you were above disgracing yourself by running away. believing you may be induced to come home voluntarily has in- duced me to write for my sister. the family will be rejoiced to see you; and your poor old grandmother expressed a great desire to have you come, when she heard your letter read. in her old age she needs the consolation of having her children round her. doubt- less you have heard of the death of your aunt. she was a faithful servant, and a faithful member of the episcopal church. in her christian life she taught us how to live — and, , too high the price of knowl- edge, she taught us how to die! could you have seen us round her death bed, with her mother, all mingling our tears in one common stream, you would have . r incidents in the life of a slave girl. thought the same heartfelt tie existed between a mas- ter and his servant, as between a mother and her child. but this subject is too painful to dwell upon. i must bring my letter to a close. if you are contented to stay away from your old grandmother, your child, and the friends who love you, stay where you are. we shall never trouble ourselves to apprehend you. but should you prefer to come home, we will do all that we can to make you happy. if you do not wish to remain in the family, i know that father, by our persuasion, will be induced to let you be purchased by any person you may choose in our community. you will please an- swer this as soon as possible, and let us know your decision. sister sends much love to you. in the mean time believe me your sincere friend and well wisher." this letter was signed by emily's brother, who was as yet a mere lad. i knew, by the style, that it was not written by a person of his age, and though the writing was disguised, i had been made too unhappy by it, in former years, not to recognize at once the hand of dr. flint. , the hypocrisy of slaveholders! did the old fox suppose i was goose enough to go into such a trap? verily, he relied too much on “the stupidity of the african race.” i did not return the family of flints any thanks for their cordial invitation - a re- missness for which i was, no doubt, charged with base ingratitude. not long afterwards i received a letter from one of my friends at the south, informing me that dr. flint was about to visit the north. the letter had been delayed, and i supposed he might be already on the the old enemy again. the city was swarming with southerners, some of whom might recognize me. hot weather brings out snakes and slaveholders, and i like one class of the venomous creatures as little as i do the other. what a comfort it is, to be free to say so! prejudice againſt color. dissatisfied with themselves, for not having too much self-respect to submit to such treatment; that there was no difference in the price of board for colored and white servants, and there was no justification for difference of treatment. i staid a month after this, and finding i was resolved to stand up for my rights, they concluded to treat me well. let every colored man and woman do this, and eventually we shall cease to be trampled under foot by our oppressors. incidents in the life of a slave girl xxxvi. the hairbreadth escape. after we returned to new york, i took the earliest opportunity to go and see ellen. i asked to have her called down stairs; for i supposed mrs. hobbs's south- ern brother might still be there, and i was desirous to avoid seeing him, if possible. but mrs. hobbs came to the kitchen, and insisted on my going up stairs. “my brother wants to see you,” said she, “ and he is sorry you seem to shun him. he knows you are living in new york. he told me to say to you that he owes thanks to good old aunt martha for too many little acts of kindness for him to be base enough to betray her grandchild.” this mr. thorne had become poor and reckless long before he left the south, and such persons had much rather go to one of the faithful old slaves to borrow a dollar, or get a good dinner, than to go to one whom they consider an equal. it was such acts of kindness as these for which he professed to feel grateful to my grandmother. i wished he had kept at a distance, but as he was here, and knew where i was, i concluded there was nothing to be gained by trying to avoid him ; on the contrary, it might be the means of exciting his ill will. i followed his sister up stairs. he met me in a very friendly manner, congratulated me on my escape from slavery, and hoped i had a good place, where i felt happy. incidents in the life of a slave girl. been waiting for you this long time. i'm afraid mr. thorne has written to tell dr. flint where you are. make haste and come in. mrs. hobbs will tell you all about it! ” the story was soon told. while the children were playing in the grape-vine arbor, the day before, mr. thorne came out with a letter in his hand, which he tore up and scattered about. ellen was sweeping the yard at the time, and having her mind full of suspi- cions of him, she picked up the pieces and carried them to the children, saying, "i wonder who mr. thorne has been writing to.” “ i'm sure i don't know, and don't care," replied the oldest of the children ; " and i don't see how it con- cerns you." " but it does concern me," replied ellen; “ for i'm afraid he's been writing to the south about my mother." they laughed at her, and called her a silly thing, but good-naturedly put the fragments of writing to gether, in order to read them to her. they were no sooner arranged, than the little girl exclaimed, " i de- clare, ellen, i believe you are right.” the contents of mr. thorne's letter, as nearly as i can remember, were as follows: “i have seen your slave, linda, and conversed with her. she can be taken very easily, if you manage prudently. there are enough of us here to swear to her identity as your property. i am a patriot, a lover of my country, and i do this as an act of justice to the laws.” he con- cluded by informing the doctor of the street and num- ber where i lived. the children carried the pieces to mrs. hobbs, who immediately went to her brother's incidents in the life of a slave girl. if the case came to trial. mrs. bruce took me in a carriage to the house of one of her friends, where she assured me i should be safe until my brother could arrive, which would be in a few days. in the interval my thoughts were much occupied with ellen. she was mine by birth, and she was also mine by southern law, since my grandmother held the bill of sale that made her so. i did not feel that she was safe unless i had her with me. mrs. hobbs, who felt badly about her brother's treachery, yielded to my entreaties, on condition that she should return in ten days. i avoided making any promise. she came to me clad in very thin garments, all outgrown, and with a school satchel on her arm, containing a few articles. it was late in october, and i knew the child must suffer; and not daring to go out in the streets to purchase any thing, i took off my own flannel skirt and converted it into one for her. kind mrs. bruce came to bid me good by, and when she saw that i had taken off my clothing for my child, the tears came to her eyes. she said, “ wait for me, linda," and went out. she soon re- turned with a nice warm shawl and hood for ellen. truly, of such souls as hers are the kingdom of heaven. my brother reached new york on wednesday. law. yer hopper advised us to go to boston by the stoning- ton route, as there was less southern travel in that direction. mrs. bruce directed her servants to tell all inquirers that i formerly lived there, but had gone from the city. we reached the steamboat rhode island in safety. that boat employed colored hands, but i knew that colored passengers were not admitted to the cabin. i the hairbreadth eſcape. was very desirous for the seclusion of the cabin, not only on account of exposure to the night air, but also to avoid observation. lawyer hopper was waiting on board for us. he spoke to the stewardess, and asked, as a particular favor, that she would treat us well. he said to me," go and speak to the captain yourself by and by. take your little girl with you, and i am sure that he will not let her sleep on deck.” with these kind words and a shake of the hand he departed. the boat was soon on her way, bearing me rapidly from the friendly home where i had hoped to find security and rest. my brother had left me to purchase the tickets, thinking that i might have better success than he would. when the stewardess came to me, i paid what she asked, and she gave me three tickets with clipped corners. in the most unsophisticated manner i said, “ you have made a mistake ; i asked you for cabin tickets. i cannot possibly consent to sleep on deck with my little daughter.” she assured me there was no mistake. she said on some of the routes colored people were allowed to sleep in the cabin, but not on this route, which was much travelled by the wealthy. i asked her to show me to the captain's office, and she said she would after tea. when the time came, i took ellen by the hand and went to the captain, politely requesting him to change our tickets, as we should be very uncomfortable on deck. he said it was contrary to their custom, but he would see that we had berths below; he would also try to obtain com- fortable seats for us in the cars; of that he was not certain, but he would speak to the conductor about it, incidents in the life of a slave girl. as i had constant care of the child, i had little op portunity to see the wonders of that great city; but i watched the tide of life that flowed through the streets, and found it a strange contrast to the stagnation in our southern towns. mr. bruce took his little daughter to spend some days with friends in oxford crescent, and of course it was necessary for me to accompany her. i had heard much of the systematic method of english education, and i was very desirous that my dear mary should steer straight in the midst of so much propriety. i closely observed her little play- mates and their nurses, being ready to take any lessons in the science of good management. the children were more rosy than american children, but i did not see that they differed materially in other respects. they were like all children - sometimes docile and some- times wayward. we next went to steventon, in berkshire. it was a small town, said to be the poorest in the county. i saw men working in the fields for six shillings, and seven shillings, a week, and women for sixpence, and seven- pence, a day, out of which they boarded themselves. of course they lived in the most primitive manner; it could not be otherwise, where a woman's wages for an entire day were not sufficient to buy a pound of meat. they paid very low rents, and their clothes were made of the cheapest fabrics, though much better than could have been procured in the united states for the same money. i had heard much about the oppression of the poor in europe. the people i saw around me were, many of them, among the poorest poor. but when i visited them in their little thatched cottages, i felt that incidents in the life of a slave girl. of my experience would enable her to read her own pages with anointed eyes. if she were to lay aside her title, and, instead of visiting among the fashionable, become domesticated, as a poor governess, on some plantation in louisiana or alabama, she would see and hear things that would make her tell quite a dif- ferent story. my visit to england is a memorable event in my life, from the fact of my having there received strong re- ligious impressions. the contemptuous manner in which the communion had been administered to colored people, in my native place; the church membership of dr. flint, and others like him; and the buying and selling of slaves, by professed ministers of the gospel, had given me a prejudice against the episcopal church. the whole service seemed to me a mockery and a sham. but my home in steventon was in the family of a cler- gyman, who was a true disciple of jesus. the beauty of his daily life inspired me with faith in the genuine- ness of christian professions. grace entered my heart, and i knelt at the communion table, i trust, in true humility of soul. i remained abroad ten months, which was much longer than i had anticipated. during all that time, i never saw the slightest symptom of prejudice against color. indeed, i entirely forgot it, till the time came for us to return to america. renewed invitations to go south. xxxviii. renewed invitations to go south. we had a tedious winter passage, and from the distance spectres seemed to rise up on the shores of the united states. it is a sad feeling to be afraid of one's native country. we arrived in new york safely, and i hastened to boston to look after my children. i found ellen well, and improving at her school ; but benny was not there to welcome me. he had been left at a good place to learn a trade, and for several months every thing worked well. he was liked by the master, and was a favorite with his fellow-appren- tices; but one day they accidentally discovered a fact they had never before suspected—that he was colored! this at once transformed him into a different being. some of the apprentices were americans, others american-born irish; and it was offensive to their dignity to have a “nigger” among them, after they had been told that he was a “nigger.” they began by treating him with silent scorn, and finding that he returned the same, they resorted to insults and abuse. he was too spirited a boy to stand that, and he went off. being desirous to do something to support him- self, and having no one to advise him, he shipped for a whaling voyage. when i received these tidings i shed many tears, and bitterly reproached myself for having left him so long. but i had done it for the best, and now all i could do was to pray to the heavenly father to guide and protect him. incidents in the life of a slave giri. not long after my return, i received the following letter from miss emily flint, now mrs. dodge:- in this you will recognize the hand of your friend and mistress. having heard that you had gone with a family to europe, i have waited to hear of your return to write to you. i should have answered the letter you wrote to me long since, but as i could not then act independently of my father, i knew there could be nothing done satisfactory to you. there were persons here who were willing to buy you and run the risk of getting you. to this i would not con- sent. i have always been attached to you, and would not like to see you the slave of another, or have un- kind treatment. i am married now, and can protect you. my husband expects to move to virginia this spring, where we think of settling. i am very anxious that you should come and live with me. if you are not willing to come, you may purchase yourself; but i should prefer having you live with me. if you come, you may, if you like, spend a month with your grand- mother and friends, then come to me in norfolk, vir- ginia. think this over, and write as soon as possible, and let me know the conclusion. hoping that your children are well, i remain you friend and mistress.” , of course i did not write to return thanks for this cordial invitation. i felt insulted to be thought stupid enough to be caught by such professions. "come up into my parlor,' said the spider to the fly; . ''tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.'” incidents in the life of a slave girl. and as for the system of slavery, she had a most hearty dislike of it. no sophistry of southerners could blind her to its enormity. she was a person of excellent principles and a noble heart. to me, from that hour to the present, she has been a true and sympathizing friend. blessings be with her and hers! about the time that i reëntered the bruce family, an event occurred of disastrous import to the colored people. the slave hamlin, the first fugitive that came under the new law, was given up by the bloodhounds of the north to the bloodhounds of the south. it was the beginning of a reign of terror to the colored popu- lation. the great city rushed on in its whirl of ex- citement, taking no note of the “ short and simple annals of the poor.” but while fashionables were listening to the thrilling voice of jenny lind in met- ropolitan hall, the thrilling voices of poor hunted colored people went up, in an agony of supplication, to the lord, from zion's church. many families, who had lived in the city for twenty years, fled from it now. many a poor washerwoman, who, by hard labor, had made herself a comfortable home, was obliged to sac- rifice her furniture, bid a hurried farewell to friends, and seek her fortune among strangers in canada. many a wife discovered a secret she had never known before — that her husband was a fugitive, and must leave her to insure his own safety. worse still, many a husband discovered that his wife had fled from sla- very years ago, and as “the child follows the condition of its mother," the children of his love were liable to be seized and carried into slavery. every where, in those humle homes, there was consternation and the fugitive slave law. anguish. but what cared the legislators of the domi- nant race” for the blood they were crushing out of trampled hearts ? when my brother william spent his last evening with me, before he went to california, we talked nearly all the time of the distress brought on our oppressed people by the passage of this iniquitous law; and never had i seen him manifest such bitterness of spirit, such stern hostility to our oppressors. he was him- self free from the operation of the law; for he did not run from any slaveholding state, being brought into the free states by his master. but i was subject to it; and so were hundreds of intelligent and industrious people all around us. i seldom ventured into the streets; and when it was necessary to do an errand for mrs. bruce, or any of the family, i went as much as possible through back streets and by-ways. what a disgrace to a city calling itself free, that inhabitants, guiltless of offence, and seeking to perform their duties conscientiously, should be condemned to live in such incessant fear, and have nowhere to turn for protection ! this state of things, of course, gave rise to many im- promptu vigilance committees. every colored person, and every friend of their persecuted race, kept their eyes wide open. every evening i examined the news- papers carefully, to see what southerners had put up at the hotels. i did this for my own sake, thinking my young mistress and her husband might be among the list; i wished also to give information to others, if necessary; for if many were “running to and fro," i resolved that “ knowledge should be increased.” this brings up one of my southern reminiscences, the fugitive slave law. hood, he took into his head the strangest freaks of des- potism; and if luke hesitated to submit to his orders, the constable was immediately sent for. some of these freaks were of a nature too filthy to be repeated. when i fled from the house of bondage, i left poor luke still chained to the bedside of this cruel and dis- gusting wretch. one day, when i had been requested to do an errand for mrs. bruce, i was hurrying through back streets, as usual, when i saw a young man approaching, whose face was familiar to me. as he came nearer, i recog- nized luke. i always rejoiced to see or hear of any one who had escaped from the black pit; but, remem- bering this poor fellow's extreme hardships, i was peculiarly glad to see him on northern soil, though i no longer called it free soil. i well remembered what a desolate feeling it was to be alone among strangers, and i went up to him and greeted him cordially. at first, he did not know me; but when i mentioned my name, he remembered all about me. i told him of the fugitive slave law, and asked him if he did not know that new york was a city of kidnappers. he replied, “ de risk ain't so bad for me, as 'tis fur you. 'cause i runned away from de speculator, and you runned away from de massa. dem speculators vont spen dar money to come here fur a runaway, if dey ain't sartin sure to put dar hans right on him. an i tell you i's tuk good car 'bout dat. i had too hard times down dar, to let 'em. ketch dis nigger." he then told me of the advice he had received, and the plans he had laid. i asked if he had money enough to take him to canada. 'pend upon it, i the fugitive slave law. : south that dr. flint knew of my return to my old place, and was making preparations to have me caught. i learned afterwards that my dress, and that of mrs. bruce's children, had been described to him by some of the northern tools, which slaveholders employ for their base purposes, and then indulge in sneers at their cupidity and mean servility. i immediately informed mrs. bruce of my danger, and she took prompt measures for my safety. my place as nurse could not be supplied immediately, and this generous, sympathizing lady proposed that i should carry her baby away. it was a comfort to me to have the child with me; for the heart is reluctant to be torn away from every object it loves. but how few mothers would have consented to have one of their own babes become a fugitive, for the sake of a poor, hunted nurse, on whom the legislators of the country had let loose the bloodhounds! when i spoke of the sacrifice she was making, in depriving herself of her dear baby, she replied, “ it is better for you to have baby with you, linda; for if they get on your track, they will be obliged to bring the child to me; and then, if there is a possibility of saving you, you shall be saved." this lady had a very wealthy relative, a benevolent gentleman in many respects, but aristocratic and pro- slavery. he remonstrated with her for harboring a fugitive slave; told her she was violating the laws of her country; and asked her if she was aware of the penalty. she replied, “i am very well aware of it. it is imprisonment and one thousand dollars fine. shame on my country that it is so! i am ready to incidents in the life of a slave girl. incur the penalty. i will go to the state's prison, rather than have any poor victim torn from my house, to be carried back to slavery.” . the noble heart! the brave heart! the tears are in my eyes while i write of her. may the god of the helpless reward her for her sympathy with my 'perse- cuted people! · iwas sent into new england, where i was 'sheltered by the wife of a senator, whom i shall always hold in grateful remembrance. this honorable gentleman would not have voted for the fugitive slave law, 'as did the senator in “ uncle tom's cabin;" on the contrary, he was strongly opposed to it; but he was enough under its influence to be afraid of having me remain in his house many hours. so i was sent into the country, where i remained a month with the baby. when it was supposed that dr. flint's emissaries had lost track of me, and given up the pursuit for the present, i returned to new york. free at laſt... . . little to will to his heirs, except such property as he was unable to grasp. i was well aware what i had to expect from the family of flints; and my fears were confirmed by a letter from the south, warning me to be on my guard, because mrs. flint openly declared that her daughter could not afford to lose so valuable a slave as i was. i kept close watch of the newspapers for arrivals; but one saturday night, being much occupied, i forgot to examine the evening express as usual. i went down into the parlor for it, early in the morning, and found the boy about to kindle a fire with it, i took it from him and examined the list of arrivals. reader, if you have never been a slave, you cannot imagine the acute sensation of suffering at my heart, when i read the names of mr. and mrs. dodge, at a hotel in courtland street. it was a third-rate hotel, and that circum- stance convinced me of the truth of what i had heard, that they were short of funds and had need of my value, as they valued me; and that was by dollars and cents. i hastened with the paper to mrs. bruce. her heart and hand were always open to every one in dis- tress, and she always warmly sympathized with mine. it was impossible to tell how near the enemy was. he might have passed and repassed the house while we were sleeping. he might at that moment be waiting to pounce upon me if i ventured out of doors. i had never seen the husband of my young mistress, and therefore i could not distinguish him from any other stranger. a carriage was hastily ordered; and, closely veiled, i followed mrs. bruce, taking the baby again with me into exile. after various turnings and cross- incidents in the life of a slave girl. come where i was; but in the course of the day i received a note from him. i supposed they had not come from the south, in the winter, for a pleasure excursion; and now the nature of their business was very plain. · mrs. bruce came to me and entreated me to leave the city the next morning. she said her house was watched, and it was possible that some clew to me might be obtained. i refused to take her advice. she pleaded with an earnést tenderness, that ought to have moved me; but i was in a bitter, disheartened mood. i was weary of flying from pillar to post. i had been chased during half my life, and it seemed as if the chase was never to end. there i sat, in that great city, guiltless of crime, yet not daring to worship god in any of the churches. i heard the bells ringing for afternoon ser- vice, and, with contemptuous sarcasm, i said, “ will the preachers take for their text, “proclaim liberty to the captive, and the opening of prison doors to them that are bound'? or will they preach from the text, do unto others as ye would they should do unto you'?” oppressed poles and hungarians could find a safe refuge in that city; john mitchell was free to proclaim in the city hall his desire for a plantation well stocked with slaves ;” but there i sat, an oppressed american, not daring to show my face. god forgive the black and bitter thoughts i indulged on that sabbath day! the scripture says, “oppression makes even a wise man mad;" and i was not wise. i had been told that mr. dodge said his wife had never signed away her right to my children, and if he could not get me, he would take them. this it was, more free at laſt. than any thing else, that roused such a tempest in my soul. benjamin was with his uncle william in cali- fornia, but my innocent young daughter had come to spend a vacation with me. i thought of what i had suffered in slavery at her age, and my heart was like a tiger's when a hunter tries to seize her young. dear mrs. bruce! i seem to see the expression of her face, as she turned away discouraged by my obsti- nate mood. finding her expostulations unavailing, she sent ellen to entreat me. when ten o'clock in the evening arrived and ellen had not returned, this watch- ful and unwearied friend became anxious. she came to us in a carriage, bringing a well-filled trunk for my journey — trusting that by this time i would listen to reason. i yielded to her, as i ought to have done before. the next day, baby and i set out in a heavy snow storm, bound for new england again. i received let- ters from the city of iniquity, addressed to me under an assumed name. in a few days one came from mrs. bruce, informing me that my new master was still searching for me, and that she intended to put an end to this persecution by buying my freedom. i felt grate- ful for the kindness that prompted this offer, but the idea was not so pleasant to me as might have been expected. the more my mind had become enlightened, the more difficult it was for me to consider myself an article of property; and to pay money to those who had so grievously oppressed me seemed like taking from my sufferings the glory of triumph. i wrote to mrs. bruce, thanking her, but saying that being sold from one owner to another seemed too much like free at. laſt. of paper; but much as i love freedom, i do not like to look upon it. i am deeply grateful to the generous friend who procured it, but i despise the miscreant who demanded payment for what never rightfully belonged to him or his. i had objected to having my freedom bought, yet i must confess that when it was done i felt as if a heavy load had been lifted from my weary shoulders. when i rode home in the cars i was no longer afraid to unveil my face and look at people as they passed. i should have been glad to have met daniel dodge himself; to have had him seen me and known me, that he might have mourned over the untoward circumstances which compelled him to sell me for three hundred dollars. when i reached home, the arms of my benefactress were thrown round me, and our tears mingled. as soon as she could speak, she said, “ o linda, i'm so glad it's all over! you wrote to me as if you thought you were going to be transferred from one owner to another. but i did not buy you for your services. should have done just the same, if you had been going to sail for california to-morrow. i should, at least, have the satisfaction of knowing that you left me a: free woman.” my heart was exceedingly full. i remembered how my poor father had tried to buy me, when i was a small child, and how he had been disappointed. i hoped his spirit was rejoicing over me now. i remembered how my good old grandmother had laid up her earnings to purchase me in later years, and how often her plans had been frustrated. how that faithful, loving old heart would leap for joy, if she could look on me and free at laſt. children's sake far more than for my own. but god so orders circumstances as to keep me with my friend mrs. bruce. love, duty, gratitude, also bind me to her side. it is a privilege to serve her who pities my oppressed people, and who has bestowed the inestima- ble boon of freedom on me and my children. it has been painful to me, in many ways, to recall the dreary years i passed in bondage. i would gladly forget them if i could. yet the retrospection is not altogether without solace; for with those gloomy recol- lections come tender memories of my good old grand- mother, like light, fleecy clouds floating over a dark and troubled sea. appendix. the following statement is from amy post, a member of the society of friends in the state of new york, well known and highly respected by friends of the poor and the oppressed. as has been already stated, in the preceding pages, the author of this volume spent some time under her hospitable roof. l. m. c. “ the author of this book is my highly-esteemed friend. if its readers knew her as i know her, they could not fail to be deeply interested in her story. she was a beloved inmate of our family nearly the whole of the year . she was introduced to us by her affectionate and conscientious brother, who had previously related to us some of the almost incredible events in his sister's life. i immediately became much interested in linda ; for her ap- pearance was prepossessing, and her deportment indicated remark- able delicacy of feeling and purity of thought. “as we became acquainted, she related to me, from time to time some of the incidents in her bitter experiences as a slave-woman. though impelled by a natural craving for human sympathy, she passed through a baptism of suffering, even in recounting her trials to me, in private confidential conversations. the burden of these memories lay heavily upon her spirit — naturally virtuous and refined. i repeatedly urged her to consent to the publication of her narrative; for i felt that it would arouse people to a more earnest work for the disinthralment of millions still remaining in that soul-crushing condition, which was so unendurable to her. but her sensitive spirit shrank from publicity. she said, you ( )